The French Revolution.......................................................................................................................................1

Thomas Carlyle ........................................................................................................................................1

President Henault, remarking on royal Surnames of Honour how difficult it often is to ascertain not only why,

but even when, they were conferred, takes occasion in his sleek official way, to make a philosophical

reflection. 'The Surname of Bienaime (Wellbeloved),' says he, 'which Louis XV. bears, will not leave

posterity in the same doubt. This Prince, in the year 1744, while hastening from one end of his kingdom to

the other, and suspending his conquests in Flanders that he might fly to the assistance of Alsace, was arrested

at Metz by a malady which threatened to cut short his days. At the news of this, Paris, all in terror, seemed a

city taken by storm: the churches resounded with supplications and groans; the prayers of priests and people

were every moment interrupted by their sobs: and it was from an interest so dear and tender that this Surname

of Bienaime fashioned itself, a title higher still than all the rest which this great Prince has earned.' (Abrege

So stands it written; in lasting memorial of that year 1744. Thirty other years have come and gone; and 'this

great Prince' again lies sick; but in how altered circumstances now! Churches resound not with excessive

groanings; Paris is stoically calm: sobs interrupt no prayers, for indeed none are offered; except Priests'

Litanies, read or chanted at fixed money rate per hour, which are not liable to interruption. The shepherd of

the people has been carried home from Little Trianon, heavy of heart, and been put to bed in his own Chateau

of Versailles: the flock knows it, and heeds it not. At most, in the immeasurable tide of French Speech (which

ceases not day after day, and only ebbs towards the short hours of night), may this of the royal sickness

emerge from time to time as an article of news. Bets are doubtless depending; nay, some people 'express

themselves loudly in the streets.' (Memoires de M. le Baron Besenval (Paris, 1805), ii. 59 90.) But for the

rest, on green field and steepled city, the May sun shines out, the May evening fades; and men ply their useful

Dame Dubarry, indeed, might pray, if she had a talent for it; Duke d'Aiguillon too, Maupeou and the

Parlement Maupeou: these, as they sit in their high places, with France harnessed under their feet, know well

on what basis they continue there. Look to it, D'Aiguillon; sharply as thou didst, from the Mill of St. Cast, on

Quiberon and the invading English; thou, 'covered if not with glory yet with meal!' Fortune was ever

Forlorn enough languished Duke d'Aiguillon, some years ago; covered, as we said, with meal; nay with

worse. For La Chalotais, the Breton Parlementeer, accused him not only of poltroonery and tyranny, but even

of concussion (official plunder of money); which accusations it was easier to get 'quashed' by backstairs

Influences than to get answered: neither could the thoughts, or even the tongues, of men be tied. Thus, under

disastrous eclipse, had this grandnephew of the great Richelieu to glide about; unworshipped by the world;

resolute Choiseul, the abrupt proud man, disdaining him, or even forgetting him. Little prospect but to glide

into Gascony, to rebuild Chateaus there, (Arthur Young, Travels during the years 17878889 (Bury St.

Edmunds, 1792), i. 44.) and die inglorious killing game! However, in the year 1770, a certain young soldier,

Dumouriez by name, returning from Corsica, could see 'with sorrow, at Compiegne, the old King of France,

on foot, with doffed hat, in sight of his army, at the side of a magnificent phaeton, doing homage

theDubarry.' (La Vie et les Memoires du General Dumouriez (Paris, 1822), i. 141.)

Much lay therein! Thereby, for one thing, could D'Aiguillon postpone the rebuilding of his Chateau, and

rebuild his fortunes first. For stout Choiseul would discern in the Dubarry nothing but a wonderfully dizened

Scarletwoman; and go on his way as if she were not. Intolerable: the source of sighs, tears, of pettings and

pouting; which would not end till 'France' (La France, as she named her royal valet) finally mustered heart to

see Choiseul; and with that 'quivering in the chin (tremblement du menton natural in such cases) (Besenval,

Memoires, ii. 21.) faltered out a dismissal: dismissal of his last substantial man, but pacification of his

scarletwoman. Thus D'Aiguillon rose again, and culminated. And with him there rose Maupeou, the

banisher of Parlements; who plants you a refractory President 'at Croe in Combrailles on the top of steep

rocks, inaccessible except by litters,' there to consider himself. Likewise there rose Abbe Terray, dissolute

Financier, paying eightpence in the shilling,so that wits exclaim in some press at the playhouse, "Where is

Abbe Terray, that he might reduce us to twothirds!" And so have these individuals (verily by blackart)

built them a Domdaniel, or enchanted Dubarrydom; call it an ArmidaPalace, where they dwell pleasantly;

Chancellor Maupeou 'playing blindman'sbuff' with the scarlet Enchantress; or gallantly presenting her with

dwarf Negroes;and a Most Christian King has unspeakable peace within doors, whatever he may have

without. "My Chancellor is a scoundrel; but I cannot do without him." (Dulaure, Histoire de Paris (Paris,

Beautiful ArmidaPalace, where the inmates live enchanted lives; lapped in soft music of adulation; waited

on by the splendours of the world;which nevertheless hangs wondrously as by a single hair. Should the

Most Christian King die; or even get seriously afraid of dying! For, alas, had not the fair haughty

Chateauroux to fly, with wet cheeks and flaming heart, from that Feverscene at Metz; driven forth by sour

shavelings? She hardly returned, when fever and shavelings were both swept into the background.

Pompadour too, when Damiens wounded Royalty 'slightly, under the fifth rib,' and our drive to Trianon went

off futile, in shrieks and madly shaken torches,had to pack, and be in readiness: yet did not go, the wound

not proving poisoned. For his Majesty has religious faith; believes, at least in a Devil. And now a third peril;

and who knows what may be in it! For the Doctors look grave; ask privily, If his Majesty had not the

smallpox long ago?and doubt it may have been a false kind. Yes, Maupeou, pucker those sinister brows

of thine, and peer out on it with thy malign rateyes: it is a questionable case. Sure only that man is mortal;

that with the life of one mortal snaps irrevocably the wonderfulest talisman, and all Dubarrydom rushes off,

with tumult, into infinite Space; and ye, as subterranean Apparitions are wont, vanish utterly,leaving only

These, and what holds of these may pray,to Beelzebub, or whoever will hear them. But from the rest of

France there comes, as was said, no prayer; or one of an opposite character, 'expressed openly in the streets.'

Chateau or Hotel, were an enlightened Philosophism scrutinises many things, is not given to prayer: neither

are Rossbach victories, Terray Finances, nor, say only 'sixty thousand Lettres de Cachet' (which is Maupeou's

share), persuasives towards that. O Henault! Prayers? From a France smitten (by blackart) with plague after

plague, and lying now in shame and pain, with a Harlot's foot on its neck, what prayer can come? Those lank

scarecrows, that prowl hungerstricken through all highways and byways of French Existence, will they

pray? The dull millions that, in the workshop or furrowfield, grind foredone at the wheel of Labour, like

haltered gin horses, if blind so much the quieter? Or they that in the Bicetre Hospital, 'eight to a bed,' lie

waiting their manumission? Dim are those heads of theirs, dull stagnant those hearts: to them the great

Sovereign is known mainly as the great Regrater of Bread. If they hear of his sickness, they will answer with

Yes, will he die? that is now, for all France, the grand question, and hope; whereby alone the King's sickness

Such a changed France have we; and a changed Louis. Changed, truly; and further than thou yet seest!To

the eye of History many things, in that sickroom of Louis, are now visible, which to the Courtiers there

present were invisible. For indeed it is well said, 'in every object there is inexhaustible meaning; the eye sees

in it what the eye brings means of seeing.' To Newton and to Newton's Dog Diamond, what a different pair of

Universes; while the painting on the optical retina of both was, most likely, the same! Let the Reader here, in

Time was when men could (so to speak) of a given man, by nourishing and decorating him with fit

appliances, to the due pitch, make themselves a King, almost as the Bees do; and what was still more to the

purpose, loyally obey him when made. The man so nourished and decorated, thenceforth named royal, does

verily bear rule; and is said, and even thought, to be, for example, 'prosecuting conquests in Flanders,' when

he lets himself like luggage be carried thither: and no light luggage; covering miles of road. For he has his

unblushing Chateauroux, with her bandboxes and rougepots, at his side; so that, at every new station, a

wooden gallery must be run up between their lodgings. He has not only his MaisonBouche, and Valetaille

without end, but his very Troop of Players, with their pasteboard coulisses, thunderbarrels, their kettles,

fiddles, stagewardrobes, portable larders (and chaffering and quarrelling enough); all mounted in wagons,

tumbrils, secondhand chaises,sufficient not to conquer Flanders, but the patience of the world. With such

a flood of loud jingling appurtenances does he lumber along, prosecuting his conquests in Flanders;

wonderful to behold. So nevertheless it was and had been: to some solitary thinker it might seem strange; but

For ours is a most fictile world; and man is the most fingent plastic of creatures. A world not fixable; not

fathomable! An unfathomable Somewhat, which is Not we; which we can work with, and live amidst,and

model, miraculously in our miraculous Being, and name World.But if the very Rocks and Rivers (as

Metaphysic teaches) are, in strict language, made by those outward Senses of ours, how much more, by the

Inward Sense, are all Phenomena of the spiritual kind: Dignities, Authorities, Holies, Unholies! Which

inward sense, moreover is not permanent like the outward ones, but forever growing and changing. Does not

the Black African take of Sticks and Old Clothes (say, exported MonmouthStreet castclothes) what will

suffice, and of these, cunningly combining them, fabricate for himself an Eidolon (Idol, or Thing Seen), and

name it MumboJumbo; which he can thenceforth pray to, with upturned awestruck eye, not without hope?

The white European mocks; but ought rather to consider; and see whether he, at home, could not do the like a

So it was, we say, in those conquests of Flanders, thirty years ago: but so it no longer is. Alas, much more lies

sick than poor Louis: not the French King only, but the French Kingship; this too, after long rough tear and

wear, is breaking down. The world is all so changed; so much that seemed vigorous has sunk decrepit, so

much that was not is beginning to be!Borne over the Atlantic, to the closing ear of Louis, King by the

Grace of God, what sounds are these; muffled ominous, new in our centuries? Boston Harbour is black with

unexpected Tea: behold a Pennsylvanian Congress gather; and ere long, on Bunker Hill, DEMOCRACY

announcing, in riflevolleys deathwinged, under her Star Banner, to the tune of Yankee doodledoo, that

Sovereigns die and Sovereignties: how all dies, and is for a Time only; is a 'Timephantasm, yet reckons

itself real!' The Merovingian Kings, slowly wending on their bullockcarts through the streets of Paris, with

their long hair flowing, have all wended slowly on,into Eternity. Charlemagne sleeps at Salzburg, with

truncheon grounded; only Fable expecting that he will awaken. Charles the Hammer, Pepin Bowlegged,

where now is their eye of menace, their voice of command? Rollo and his shaggy Northmen cover not the

Seine with ships; but have sailed off on a longer voyage. The hair of Towhead (Tete d'etoupes) now needs no

combing; Ironcutter (Taillefer) cannot cut a cobweb; shrill Fredegonda, shrill Brunhilda have had out their

hot lifescold, and lie silent, their hot lifefrenzy cooled. Neither from that black Tower de Nesle descends

now darkling the doomed gallant, in his sack, to the Seine waters; plunging into Night: for Dame de Nesle

how cares not for this world's gallantry, heeds not this world's scandal; Dame de Nesle is herself gone into

Night. They are all gone; sunk,down, down, with the tumult they made; and the rolling and the trampling

of ever new generations passes over them, and they hear it not any more forever.

And yet withal has there not been realised somewhat? Consider (to go no further) these strong

Stoneedifices, and what they hold! MudTown of the Borderers (Lutetia Parisiorum or Barisiorum) has

paved itself, has spread over all the Seine Islands, and far and wide on each bank, and become City of Paris,

sometimes boasting to be 'Athens of Europe,' and even 'Capital of the Universe.' Stone towers frown aloft;

longlasting, grim with a thousand years. Cathedrals are there, and a Creed (or memory of a Creed) in them;

Palaces, and a State and Law. Thou seest the Smokevapour; unextinguished Breath as of a thing living.

Labour's thousand hammers ring on her anvils: also a more miraculous Labour works noiselessly, not with

the Hand but with the Thought. How have cunning workmen in all crafts, with their cunning head and

righthand, tamed the Four Elements to be their ministers; yoking the winds to their Seachariot, making the

very Stars their Nautical Timepiece;and written and collected a Bibliotheque du Roi; among whose Books

is the Hebrew Book! A wondrous race of creatures: these have been realised, and what of Skill is in these:

Observe, however, that of man's whole terrestrial possessions and attainments, unspeakably the noblest are

his Symbols, divine or divine seeming; under which he marches and fights, with victorious assurance, in

this lifebattle: what we can call his Realised Ideals. Of which realised ideals, omitting the rest, consider only

these two: his Church, or spiritual Guidance; his Kingship, or temporal one. The Church: what a word was

there; richer than Golconda and the treasures of the world! In the heart of the remotest mountains rises the

little Kirk; the Dead all slumbering round it, under their white memorialstones, 'in hope of a happy

resurrection:'dull wert thou, O Reader, if never in any hour (say of moaning midnight, when such Kirk

hung spectral in the sky, and Being was as if swallowed up of Darkness) it spoke to theethings

unspeakable, that went into thy soul's soul. Strong was he that had a Church, what we can call a Church: he

stood thereby, though 'in the centre of Immensities, in the conflux of Eternities,' yet manlike towards God and

man; the vague shoreless Universe had become for him a firm city, and dwelling which he knew. Such virtue

was in Belief; in these words, well spoken: I believe. Well might men prize their Credo, and raise stateliest

Temples for it, and reverend Hierarchies, and give it the tithe of their substance; it was worth living for and

Neither was that an inconsiderable moment when wild armed men first raised their Strongest aloft on the

bucklerthrone, and with clanging armour and hearts, said solemnly: Be thou our Acknowledged Strongest!

In such Acknowledged Strongest (well named King, Konning, Canning, or Man that was Able) what a

Symbol shone now for them,significant with the destinies of the world! A Symbol of true Guidance in

return for loving Obedience; properly, if he knew it, the prime want of man. A Symbol which might be called

sacred; for is there not, in reverence for what is better than we, an indestructible sacredness? On which

ground, too, it was well said there lay in the Acknowledged Strongest a divine right; as surely there might in

the Strongest, whether Acknowledged or not,considering who made him strong. And so, in the midst of

confusions and unutterable incongruities (as all growth is confused), did this of Royalty, with Loyalty

environing it, spring up; and grow mysteriously, subduing and assimilating (for a principle of Life was in it);

till it also had grown worldgreat, and was among the main Facts of our modern existence. Such a Fact, that

Louis XIV., for example, could answer the expostulatory Magistrate with his "L'Etat c'est moi (The State? I

am the State);" and be replied to by silence and abashed looks. So far had accident and forethought; had your

Louis Elevenths, with the leaden Virgin in their hatband, and torture wheels and conical oubliettes

(maneating!) under their feet; your Henri Fourths, with their prophesied social millennium, 'when every

peasant should have his fowl in the pot;' and on the whole, the fertility of this most fertile Existence (named

of Good and Evil),brought it, in the matter of the Kingship. Wondrous! Concerning which may we not

again say, that in the huge mass of Evil, as it rolls and swells, there is ever some Good working imprisoned;

How such Ideals do realise themselves; and grow, wondrously, from amid the incongruous everfluctuating

chaos of the Actual: this is what World History, if it teach any thing, has to teach us, How they grow; and,

after long stormy growth, bloom out mature, supreme; then quickly (for the blossom is brief) fall into decay;

sorrowfully dwindle; and crumble down, or rush down, noisily or noiselessly disappearing. The blossom is so

brief; as of some centennial Cactusflower, which after a century of waiting shines out for hours! Thus from

the day when rough Clovis, in the Champ de Mars, in sight of his whole army, had to cleave retributively the

head of that rough Frank, with sudden battleaxe, and the fierce words, "It was thus thou clavest the vase" (St.

Remi's and mine) "at Soissons," forward to Louis the Grand and his L'Etat c'est moi, we count some twelve

hundred years: and now this the very next Louis is dying, and so much dying with him!Nay, thus too, if

Catholicism, with and against Feudalism (but not against Nature and her bounty), gave us English a

Shakspeare and Era of Shakspeare, and so produced a blossom of Catholicismit was not till Catholicism

But of those decadent ages in which no Ideal either grows or blossoms? When Belief and Loyalty have

passed away, and only the cant and false echo of them remains; and all Solemnity has become Pageantry; and

the Creed of persons in authority has become one of two things: an Imbecility or a Macchiavelism? Alas, of

these ages WorldHistory can take no notice; they have to become compressed more and more, and finally

suppressed in the Annals of Mankind; blotted out as spurious,which indeed they are. Hapless ages:

wherein, if ever in any, it is an unhappiness to be born. To be born, and to learn only, by every tradition and

example, that God's Universe is Belial's and a Lie; and 'the Supreme Quack' the hierarch of men! In which

mournfulest faith, nevertheless, do we not see whole generations (two, and sometimes even three

successively) live, what they call living; and vanish,without chance of reappearance?

In such a decadent age, or one fast verging that way, had our poor Louis been born. Grant also that if the

French Kingship had not, by course of Nature, long to live, he of all men was the man to accelerate Nature.

The Blossom of French Royalty, cactuslike, has accordingly made an astonishing progress. In those Metz

days, it was still standing with all its petals, though bedimmed by Orleans Regents and Roue Ministers and

Cardinals; but now, in 1774, we behold it bald, and the virtue nigh gone out of it.

Disastrous indeed does it look with those same 'realised ideals,' one and all! The Church, which in its palmy

season, seven hundred years ago, could make an Emperor wait barefoot, in penanceshift; three days, in the

snow, has for centuries seen itself decaying; reduced even to forget old purposes and enmities, and join

interest with the Kingship: on this younger strength it would fain stay its decrepitude; and these two will

henceforth stand and fall together. Alas, the Sorbonne still sits there, in its old mansion; but mumbles only

jargon of dotage, and no longer leads the consciences of men: not the Sorbonne; it is Encyclopedies,

Philosophie, and who knows what nameless innumerable multitude of ready Writers, profane Singers,

Romancers, Players, Disputators, and Pamphleteers, that now form the Spiritual Guidance of the world. The

world's Practical Guidance too is lost, or has glided into the same miscellaneous hands. Who is it that the

King (Ableman, named also Roi, Rex, or Director) now guides? His own huntsmen and prickers: when

there is to be no hunt, it is well said, 'Le Roi ne fera rien (Today his Majesty will do nothing). (Memoires

sur la Vie privee de Marie Antoinette, par Madame Campan (Paris, 1826), i. 12). He lives and lingers there,

The nobles, in like manner, have nearly ceased either to guide or misguide; and are now, as their master is,

little more than ornamental figures. It is long since they have done with butchering one another or their king:

the Workers, protected, encouraged by Majesty, have ages ago built walled towns, and there ply their crafts;

will permit no Robber Baron to 'live by the saddle,' but maintain a gallows to prevent it. Ever since that

period of the Fronde, the Noble has changed his fighting sword into a court rapier, and now loyally attends

his king as ministering satellite; divides the spoil, not now by violence and murder, but by soliciting and

finesse. These men call themselves supports of the throne, singular giltpasteboard caryatides in that singular

edifice! For the rest, their privileges every way are now much curtailed. That law authorizing a Seigneur, as

he returned from hunting, to kill not more than two Serfs, and refresh his feet in their warm blood and

bowels, has fallen into perfect desuetude, and even into incredibility; for if Deputy Lapoule can believe in

it, and call for the abrogation of it, so cannot we. (Histoire de la Revolution Francaise, par Deux Amis de la

Liberte (Paris, 1793), ii. 212.) No Charolois, for these last fifty years, though never so fond of shooting, has

been in use to bring down slaters and plumbers, and see them roll from their roofs; (Lacretelle, Histoire de

France pendant le 18me Siecle (Paris, 1819) i. 271.) but contents himself with partridges and grouse. Close

viewed, their industry and function is that of dressing gracefully and eating sumptuously. As for their

debauchery and depravity, it is perhaps unexampled since the era of Tiberius and Commodus. Nevertheless,

one has still partly a feeling with the lady Marechale: "Depend upon it, Sir, God thinks twice before damning

a man of that quality." (Dulaure, vii. 261.) These people, of old, surely had virtues, uses; or they could not

have been there. Nay, one virtue they are still required to have (for mortal man cannot live without a

Such are the shepherds of the people: and now how fares it with the flock? With the flock, as is inevitable, it

fares ill, and ever worse. They are not tended, they are only regularly shorn. They are sent for, to do

statutelabour, to pay statutetaxes; to fatten battlefields (named 'Bed of honour') with their bodies, in

quarrels which are not theirs; their hand and toil is in every possession of man; but for themselves they have

little or no possession. Untaught, uncomforted, unfed; to pine dully in thick obscuration, in squalid destitution

and obstruction: this is the lot of the millions; peuple taillable et corveable a merci et misericorde. In Brittany

they once rose in revolt at the first introduction of Pendulum Clocks; thinking it had something to do with the

Gabelle. Paris requires to be cleared out periodically by the Police; and the horde of hunger stricken

vagabonds to be sent wandering again over spacefor a time. 'During one such periodical clearance,' says

Lacretelle, 'in May, 1750, the Police had presumed withal to carry off some reputable people's children, in the

hope of extorting ransoms for them. The mothers fill the public places with cries of despair; crowds gather,

get excited: so many women in destraction run about exaggerating the alarm: an absurd and horrid fable

arises among the people; it is said that the doctors have ordered a Great Person to take baths of young human

blood for the restoration of his own, all spoiled by debaucheries. Some of the rioters,' adds Lacretelle, quite

coolly, 'were hanged on the following days:' the Police went on. (Lacretelle, iii. 175.) O ye poor naked

wretches! and this, then, is your inarticulate cry to Heaven, as of a dumb tortured animal, crying from

uttermost depths of pain and debasement? Do these azure skies, like a dead crystalline vault, only reverberate

the echo of it on you? Respond to it only by 'hanging on the following days?'Not so: not forever! Ye are

heard in Heaven. And the answer too will come,in a horror of great darkness, and shakings of the world,

Remark, meanwhile, how from amid the wrecks and dust of this universal Decay new Powers are fashioning

themselves, adapted to the new time and its destinies. Besides the old Noblesse, originally of Fighters, there

is a new recognised Noblesse of Lawyers; whose galaday and proud battleday even now is. An

unrecognised Noblesse of Commerce; powerful enough, with money in its pocket. Lastly, powerfulest of all,

least recognised of all, a Noblesse of Literature; without steel on their thigh, without gold in their purse, but

with the 'grand thaumaturgic faculty of Thought' in their head. French Philosophism has arisen; in which little

word how much do we include! Here, indeed, lies properly the cardinal symptom of the whole widespread

malady. Faith is gone out; Scepticism is come in. Evil abounds and accumulates: no man has Faith to

withstand it, to amend it, to begin by amending himself; it must even go on accumulating. While hollow

langour and vacuity is the lot of the Upper, and want and stagnation of the Lower, and universal misery is

very certain, what other thing is certain? That a Lie cannot be believed! Philosophism knows only this: her

other belief is mainly that, in spiritual supersensual matters no Belief is possible. Unhappy! Nay, as yet the

Contradiction of a Lie is some kind of Belief; but the Lie with its Contradiction once swept away, what will

remain? The five unsatiated Senses will remain, the sixth insatiable Sense (of vanity); the whole daemonic

nature of man will remain,hurled forth to rage blindly without rule or rein; savage itself, yet with all the

In such a France, as in a Powdertower, where fire unquenched and now unquenchable is smoking and

smouldering all round, has Louis XV. lain down to die. With Pompadourism and Dubarryism, his

Fleurdelis has been shamefully struck down in all lands and on all seas; Poverty invades even the Royal

Exchequer, and Taxfarming can squeeze out no more; there is a quarrel of twentyfive years' standing with

the Parlement; everywhere Want, Dishonesty, Unbelief, and hotbrained Sciolists for statephysicians: it is a

Such things can the eye of History see in this sickroom of King Louis, which were invisible to the Courtiers

there. It is twenty years, gone Christmasday, since Lord Chesterfield, summing up what he had noted of this

same France, wrote, and sent off by post, the following words, that have become memorable: 'In short, all the

symptoms which I have ever met with in History, previous to great Changes and Revolutions in government,

now exist and daily increase in France.' (Chesterfield's Letters: December 25th, 1753.)

For the present, however, the grand question with the Governors of France is: Shall extreme unction, or other

It is a deep question. For, if administered, if so much as spoken of, must not, on the very threshold of the

business, Witch Dubarry vanish; hardly to return should Louis even recover? With her vanishes Duke

d'Aiguillon and Company, and all their ArmidaPalace, as was said; Chaos swallows the whole again, and

there is left nothing but a smell of brimstone. But then, on the other hand, what will the Dauphinists and

Choiseulists say? Nay what may the royal martyr himself say, should he happen to get deadly worse, without

getting delirious? For the present, he still kisses the Dubarry hand; so we, from the anteroom, can note: but

afterwards? Doctors' bulletins may run as they are ordered, but it is 'confluent smallpox,'of which, as is

whispered too, the Gatekeepers's once so buxom Daughter lies ill: and Louis XV. is not a man to be trifled

with in his viaticum. Was he not wont to catechise his very girls in the Parcauxcerfs, and pray with and for

them, that they might preserve theirorthodoxy? (Dulaure, viii. (217), Besenval, A strange fact, not an

For the moment, indeed, it were all well, could Archbishop Beaumont but be prevailed uponto wink with

one eye! Alas, Beaumont would himself so fain do it: for, singular to tell, the Church too, and whole

posthumous hope of Jesuitism, now hangs by the apron of this same unmentionable woman. But then 'the

force of public opinion'? Rigorous Christophe de Beaumont, who has spent his life in persecuting hysterical

Jansenists and incredulous Nonconfessors; or even their dead bodies, if no better might be,how shall he

now open Heaven's gate, and give Absolution with the corpus delicti still under his nose? Our

GrandAlmoner RocheAymon, for his part, will not higgle with a royal sinner about turning of the key: but

there are other Churchmen; there is a King's Confessor, foolish Abbe Moudon; and Fanaticism and Decency

are not yet extinct. On the whole, what is to be done? The doors can be well watched; the Medical Bulletin

The doors are well watched, no improper figure can enter. Indeed, few wish to enter; for the putrid infection

reaches even to the OeildeBoeuf; so that 'more than fifty fall sick, and ten die.' Mesdames the Princesses

alone wait at the loathsome sickbed; impelled by filial piety. The three Princesses, Graille, Chiffe, Coche

(Rag, Snip, Pig, as he was wont to name them), are assiduous there; when all have fled. The fourth Princess

Loque (Dud), as we guess, is already in the Nunnery, and can only give her orisons. Poor Graille and

Sisterhood, they have never known a Father: such is the hard bargain Grandeur must make. Scarcely at the

Debotter (when Royalty took off its boots) could they snatch up their 'enormous hoops, gird the long train

round their waists, huddle on their black cloaks of taffeta up to the very chin;' and so, in fit appearance of full

dress, 'every evening at six,' walk majestically in; receive their royal kiss on the brow; and then walk

majestically out again, to embroidery, small scandal, prayers, and vacancy. If Majesty came some morning,

with coffee of its own making, and swallowed it with them hastily while the dogs were uncoupling for the

hunt, it was received as a grace of Heaven. (Campan, i. 1136.) Poor withered ancient women! in the wild

tossings that yet await your fragile existence, before it be crushed and broken; as ye fly through hostile

countries, over tempestuous seas, are almost taken by the Turks; and wholly, in the Sansculottic Earthquake,

know not your right hand from your left, be this always an assured place in your remembrance: for the act

was good and loving! To us also it is a little sunny spot, in that dismal howling waste, where we hardly find

Meanwhile, what shall an impartial prudent Courtier do? In these delicate circumstances, while not only

death or life, but even sacrament or no sacrament, is a question, the skilfulest may falter. Few are so happy as

the Duke d'Orleans and the Prince de Conde; who can themselves, with volatile salts, attend the King's

antechamber; and, at the same time, send their brave sons (Duke de Chartres, Egalite that is to be; Duke de

Bourbon, one day Conde too, and famous among Dotards) to wait upon the Dauphin. With another few, it is a

resolution taken; jacta est alea. Old Richelieu,when Beaumont, driven by public opinion, is at last for

entering the sickroom,will twitch him by the rochet, into a recess; and there, with his old dissipated

mastiffface, and the oiliest vehemence, be seen pleading (and even, as we judge by Beaumont's change of

colour, prevailing) 'that the King be not killed by a proposition in Divinity.' Duke de Fronsac, son of

Richelieu, can follow his father: when the Cure of Versailles whimpers something about sacraments, he will

Happy these, we may say; but to the rest that hover between two opinions, is it not trying? He who would

understand to what a pass Catholicism, and much else, had now got; and how the symbols of the Holiest have

become gamblingdice of the Basest,must read the narrative of those things by Besenval, and Soulavie,

and the other Court Newsmen of the time. He will see the Versailles Galaxy all scattered asunder, grouped

into new ever shifting Constellations. There are nods and sagacious glances; go betweens, silk dowagers

mysteriously gliding, with smiles for this constellation, sighs for that: there is tremor, of hope or desperation,

in several hearts. There is the pale grinning Shadow of Death, ceremoniously ushered along by another

grinning Shadow, of Etiquette: at intervals the growl of Chapel Organs, like prayer by machinery;

proclaiming, as in a kind of horrid diabolic horselaughter, Vanity of vanities, all is Vanity!

Poor Louis! With these it is a hollow phantasmagory, where like mimes they mope and mowl, and utter false

Frightful to all men is Death; from of old named King of Terrors. Our little compact home of an Existence,

where we dwelt complaining, yet as in a home, is passing, in dark agonies, into an Unknown of Separation,

Foreignness, unconditioned Possibility. The Heathen Emperor asks of his soul: Into what places art thou now

departing? The Catholic King must answer: To the Judgmentbar of the Most High God! Yes, it is a

summingup of Life; a final settling, and givingin the 'account of the deeds done in the body:' they are done

now; and lie there unalterable, and do bear their fruits, long as Eternity shall last.

Louis XV. had always the kingliest abhorrence of Death. Unlike that praying Duke of Orleans, Egalite's

grandfather,for indeed several of them had a touch of madness,who honesty believed that there was no

Death! He, if the Court Newsmen can be believed, started up once on a time, glowing with sulphurous

contempt and indignation on his poor Secretary, who had stumbled on the words, feu roi d'Espagne (the late

King of Spain): "Feu roi, Monsieur?""Monseigneur," hastily answered the trembling but adroit man of

business, "c'est une titre qu'ils prennent ('tis a title they take)." (Besenval, i. 199.) Louis, we say, was not so

happy; but he did what he could. He would not suffer Death to be spoken of; avoided the sight of

churchyards, funereal monuments, and whatsoever could bring it to mind. It is the resource of the Ostrich;

who, hard hunted, sticks his foolish head in the ground, and would fain forget that his foolish unseeing body

is not unseen too. Or sometimes, with a spasmodic antagonism, significant of the same thing, and of more, he

would go; or stopping his court carriages, would send into churchyards, and ask 'how many new graves there

were today,' though it gave his poor Pompadour the disagreeablest qualms. We can figure the thought of

Louis that day, when, all royally caparisoned for hunting, he met, at some sudden turning in the Wood of

Senart, a ragged Peasant with a coffin: "For whom?"It was for a poor brother slave, whom Majesty had

sometimes noticed slaving in those quarters. "What did he die of?""Of hunger:"the King gave his steed

But figure his thought, when Death is now clutching at his own heart strings, unlooked for, inexorable! Yes,

poor Louis, Death has found thee. No palace walls or lifeguards, gorgeous tapestries or gilt buckram of

stiffest ceremonial could keep him out; but he is here, here at thy very lifebreath, and will extinguish it.

Thou, whose whole existence hitherto was a chimera and scenic show, at length becomest a reality:

sumptuous Versailles bursts asunder, like a dream, into void Immensity; Time is done, and all the scaffolding

of Time falls wrecked with hideous clangour round thy soul: the pale Kingdoms yawn open; there must thou

enter, naked, all unking'd, and await what is appointed thee! Unhappy man, there as thou turnest, in dull

agony, on thy bed of weariness, what a thought is thine! Purgatory and Hellfire, now alltoo possible, in the

prospect; in the retrospect,alas, what thing didst thou do that were not better undone; what mortal didst

thou generously help; what sorrow hadst thou mercy on? Do the 'five hundred thousand' ghosts, who sank

shamefully on so many battlefields from Rossbach to Quebec, that thy Harlot might take revenge for an

epigram,crowd round thee in this hour? Thy foul Harem; the curses of mothers, the tears and infamy of

daughters? Miserable man! thou 'hast done evil as thou couldst:' thy whole existence seems one hideous

abortion and mistake of Nature; the use and meaning of thee not yet known. Wert thou a fabulous Griffin,

devouring the works of men; daily dragging virgins to thy cave;clad also in scales that no spear would

pierce: no spear but Death's? A Griffin not fabulous but real! Frightful, O Louis, seem these moments for

And yet let no meanest man lay flattering unction to his soul. Louis was a Ruler; but art not thou also one?

His wide France, look at it from the Fixed Stars (themselves not yet Infinitude), is no wider than thy narrow

brickfield, where thou too didst faithfully, or didst unfaithfully. Man, 'Symbol of Eternity imprisoned into

'Time!' it is not thy works, which are all mortal, infinitely little, and the greatest no greater than the least, but

But reflect, in any case, what a lifeproblem this of poor Louis, when he rose as BienAime from that Metz

sickbed, really was! What son of Adam could have swayed such incoherences into coherence? Could he?

Blindest Fortune alone has cast him on the top of it: he swims there; can as little sway it as the driftlog

sways the windtossed moonstirred Atlantic. "What have I done to be so loved?" he said then. He may say

now: What have I done to be so hated? Thou hast done nothing, poor Louis! Thy fault is properly even this,

that thou didst nothing. What could poor Louis do? Abdicate, and wash his hands of it,in favour of the first

that would accept! Other clear wisdom there was none for him. As it was, he stood gazing dubiously, the

absurdest mortal extant (a very Solecism Incarnate), into the absurdest confused world;wherein at lost

nothing seemed so certain as that he, the incarnate Solecism, had five senses; that were Flying Tables (Tables

Volantes, which vanish through the floor, to come back reloaded). and a Parcauxcerfs.

Whereby at least we have again this historical curiosity: a human being in an original position; swimming

passively, as on some boundless 'Mother of Dead Dogs,' towards issues which he partly saw. For Louis had

withal a kind of insight in him. So, when a new Minister of Marine, or what else it might be, came

announcing his new era, the Scarletwoman would hear from the lips of Majesty at supper: "He laid out his

ware like another; promised the beautifulest things in the world; not a thing of which will come: he does not

know this region; he will see." Or again: "'Tis the twentieth time I hear all that; France will never get a Navy,

I believe." How touching also was this: "If I were Lieutenant of Police, I would prohibit those Paris

Doomed mortal;for is it not a doom to be Solecism incarnate! A new Roi Faineant, King Donothing; but

with the strangest new Mayor of the Palace: no bowlegged Pepin now, but that same cloudcapt,

firebreathing Spectre of DEMOCRACY; incalculable, which is enveloping the world!Was Louis no

wickeder than this or the other private Donothing and Eatall; such as we often enough see, under the name of

Man, and even Man of Pleasure, cumbering God's diligent Creation, for a time? Say, wretcheder! His Life

solecism was seen and felt of a whole scandalised world; him endless Oblivion cannot engulf, and swallow to

However, be this as it will, we remark, not without interest, that 'on the evening of the 4th,' Dame Dubarry

issues from the sickroom, with perceptible 'trouble in her visage.' It is the fourth evening of May, year of

Grace 1774. Such a whispering in the OeildeBoeuf! Is he dying then? What can be said is, that Dubarry

seems making up her packages; she sails weeping through her gilt boudoirs, as if taking leave. D'Aiguilon

and Company are near their last card; nevertheless they will not yet throw up the game. But as for the

sacramental controversy, it is as good as settled without being mentioned; Louis can send for his Abbe

Moudon in the course of next night, be confessed by him, some say for the space of 'seventeen minutes,' and

Nay, already, in the afternoon, behold is not this your Sorceress Dubarry with the handkerchief at her eyes,

mounting D'Aiguillon's chariot; rolling off in his Duchess's consolatory arms? She is gone; and her place

knows her no more. Vanish, false Sorceress; into Space! Needless to hover at neighbouring Ruel; for thy day

is done. Shut are the royal palacegates for evermore; hardly in coming years shalt thou, under cloud of

night, descend once, in black domino, like a black nightbird, and disturb the fair Antoinette's musicparty in

the Park: all Birds of Paradise flying from thee, and musical windpipes growing mute. (Campan, i. 197.)

Thou unclean, yet unmalignant, not unpitiable thing! What a course was thine: from that first trucklebed (in

Joan of Arc's country) where thy mother bore thee, with tears, to an unnamed father: forward, through lowest

subterranean depths, and over highest sunlit heights, of Harlotdom and Rascaldomto the guillotineaxe,

which shears away thy vainly whimpering head! Rest there uncursed; only buried and abolished: what else

Louis, meanwhile, is in considerable impatience for his sacraments; sends more than once to the window, to

see whether they are not coming. Be of comfort, Louis, what comfort thou canst: they are under way, those

sacraments. Towards six in the morning, they arrive. Cardinal Grand Almoner RocheAymon is here, in

pontificals, with his pyxes and his tools; he approaches the royal pillow; elevates his wafer; mutters or seems

to mutter somewhat;and so (as the Abbe Georgel, in words that stick to one, expresses it) has Louis 'made

the amende honorable to God;' so does your Jesuit construe it."Wa, Wa," as the wild Clotaire groaned out,

when life was departing, "what great God is this that pulls down the strength of the strongest kings!"

The amende honorable, what 'legal apology' you will, to God:but not, if D'Aiguillon can help it, to man.

Dubarry still hovers in his mansion at Ruel; and while there is life, there is hope. GrandAlmoner

RocheAymon, accordingly (for he seems to be in the secret), has no sooner seen his pyxes and gear

repacked, then he is stepping majestically forth again, as if the work were done! But King's Confessor Abbe

Moudon starts forward; with anxious acidulent face, twitches him by the sleeve; whispers in his ear.

Whereupon the poor Cardinal must turn round; and declare audibly; "That his Majesty repents of any subjects

of scandal he may have given (a pu donner); and purposes, by the strength of Heaven assisting him, to avoid

the likefor the future!" Words listened to by Richelieu with mastiff face, growing blacker; answered to,

aloud, 'with an epithet,'which Besenval will not repeat. Old Richelieu, conqueror of Minorca, companion

of FlyingTable orgies, perforator of bedroom walls, (Besenval, i. 159172. Genlis; Duc de Levis, is thy day

Alas, the Chapel organs may keep going; the Shrine of Sainte Genevieve be let down, and pulled up

again,without effect. In the evening the whole Court, with Dauphin and Dauphiness, assist at the Chapel:

priests are hoarse with chanting their 'Prayers of Forty Hours;' and the heaving bellows blow. Almost

frightful! For the very heaven blackens; battering raintorrents dash, with thunder; almost drowning the

organ's voice: and electric fireflashes make the very flambeaux on the altar pale. So that the most, as we are

told, retired, when it was over, with hurried steps, 'in a state of meditation (recueillement),' and said little or

So it has lasted for the better half of a fortnight; the Dubarry gone almost a week. Besenval says, all the world

was getting impatient que cela finit; that poor Louis would have done with it. It is now the 10th of May 1774.

This tenth May day falls into the loathsome sickbed; but dull, unnoticed there: for they that look out of the

windows are quite darkened; the cisternwheel moves discordant on its axis; Life, like a spent steed, is

panting towards the goal. In their remote apartments, Dauphin and Dauphiness stand roadready; all grooms

and equerries booted and spurred: waiting for some signal to escape the house of pestilence. (One grudges to

interfere with the beautiful theatrical 'candle,' which Madame Campan (i. 79) has lit on this occasion, and

blown out at the moment of death. What candles might be lit or blown out, in so large an Establishment as

that of Versailles, no man at such distance would like to affirm: at the same time, as it was two o'clock in a

May Afternoon, and these royal Stables must have been some five or six hundred yards from the royal

sickroom, the 'candle' does threaten to go out in spite of us. It remains burning indeedin her fantasy;

throwing light on much in those Memoires of hers.) And, hark! across the OeildeBoeuf, what sound is that;

sound 'terrible and absolutely like thunder'? It is the rush of the whole Court, rushing as in wager, to salute

the new Sovereigns: Hail to your Majesties! The Dauphin and Dauphiness are King and Queen!

Overpowered with many emotions, they two fall on their knees together, and, with streaming tears, exclaim,

Thus, in any case, 'with a sound absolutely like thunder,' has the Horologe of Time struck, and an old Era

passed away. The Louis that was, lies forsaken, a mass of abhorred clay; abandoned 'to some poor persons,

and priests of the Chapelle Ardente,'who make haste to put him 'in two lead coffins, pouring in abundant

spirits of wine.' The new Louis with his Court is rolling towards Choisy, through the summer afternoon: the

royal tears still flow; but a word mispronounced by Monseigneur d'Artois sets them all laughing, and they

weep no more. Light mortals, how ye walk your light lifeminuet, over bottomless abysses, divided from you

For the rest, the proper authorities felt that no Funeral could be too unceremonious. Besenval himself thinks it

was unceremonious enough. Two carriages containing two noblemen of the usher species, and a Versailles

clerical person; some score of mounted pages, some fifty palfreniers; these, with torches, but not so much as

in black, start from Versailles on the second evening with their leaden bier. At a high trot they start; and keep

up that pace. For the jibes (brocards) of those Parisians, who stand planted in two rows, all the way to St.

Denis, and 'give vent to their pleasantry, the characteristic of the nation,' do not tempt one to slacken.

Towards midnight the vaults of St. Denis receive their own; unwept by any eye of all these; if not by poor

Him they crush down, and huddle underground, in this impatient way; him and his era of sin and tyranny

and shame; for behold a New Era is come; the future all the brighter that the past was base.

A paradoxical philosopher, carrying to the uttermost length that aphorism of Montesquieu's, 'Happy the

people whose annals are tiresome,' has said, 'Happy the people whose annals are vacant.' In which saying,

mad as it looks, may there not still be found some grain of reason? For truly, as it has been written, 'Silence is

divine,' and of Heaven; so in all earthly things too there is a silence which is better than any speech. Consider

it well, the Event, the thing which can be spoken of and recorded, is it not, in all cases, some disruption, some

solution of continuity? Were it even a glad Event, it involves change, involves loss (of active Force); and so

far, either in the past or in the present, is an irregularity, a disease. Stillest perseverance were our blessedness;

The oak grows silently, in the forest, a thousand years; only in the thousandth year, when the woodman

arrives with his axe, is there heard an echoing through the solitudes; and the oak announces itself when, with

a farsounding crash, it falls. How silent too was the planting of the acorn; scattered from the lap of some

wandering wind! Nay, when our oak flowered, or put on its leaves (its glad Events), what shout of

proclamation could there be? Hardly from the most observant a word of recognition. These things befell not,

they were slowly done; not in an hour, but through the flight of days: what was to be said of it? This hour

It is thus everywhere that foolish Rumour babbles not of what was done, but of what was misdone or undone;

and foolish History (ever, more or less, the written epitomised synopsis of Rumour) knows so little that were

not as well unknown. Attila Invasions, WalterthePenniless Crusades, Sicilian Vespers, ThirtyYears Wars:

mere sin and misery; not work, but hindrance of work! For the Earth, all this while, was yearly green and

yellow with her kind harvests; the hand of the craftsman, the mind of the thinker rested not: and so, after all,

and in spite of all, we have this so glorious highdomed blossoming World; concerning which, poor History

may well ask, with wonder, Whence it came? She knows so little of it, knows so much of what obstructed it,

what would have rendered it impossible. Such, nevertheless, by necessity or foolish choice, is her rule and

practice; whereby that paradox, 'Happy the people whose annals are vacant,' is not without its true side.

And yet, what seems more pertinent to note here, there is a stillness, not of unobstructed growth, but of

passive inertness, and symptom of imminent downfall. As victory is silent, so is defeat. Of the opposing

forces the weaker has resigned itself; the stronger marches on, noiseless now, but rapid, inevitable: the fall

and overturn will not be noiseless. How all grows, and has its period, even as the herbs of the fields, be it

annual, centennial, millennial! All grows and dies, each by its own wondrous laws, in wondrous fashion of its

own; spiritual things most wondrously of all. Inscrutable, to the wisest, are these latter; not to be prophesied

of, or understood. If when the oak stands proudliest flourishing to the eye, you know that its heart is sound, it

is not so with the man; how much less with the Society, with the Nation of men! Of such it may be affirmed

even that the superficial aspect, that the inward feeling of full health, is generally ominous. For indeed it is of

apoplexy, so to speak, and a plethoric lazy habit of body, that Churches, Kingships, Social Institutions,

oftenest die. Sad, when such Institution plethorically says to itself, Take thy ease, thou hast goods laid

up;like the fool of the Gospel, to whom it was answered, Fool, this night thy life shall be required of thee!

Is it the healthy peace, or the ominous unhealthy, that rests on France, for these next Ten Years? Over which

the Historian can pass lightly, without call to linger: for as yet events are not, much less performances. Time

of sunniest stillness;shall we call it, what all men thought it, the new Age of God? Call it at least, of Paper;

which in many ways is the succedaneum of Gold. Bankpaper, wherewith you can still buy when there is no

gold left; Bookpaper, splendent with Theories, Philosophies, Sensibilities,beautiful art, not only of

revealing Thought, but also of so beautifully hiding from us the want of Thought! Paper is made from the

rags of things that did once exist; there are endless excellences in Paper.What wisest Philosophe, in this

halcyon uneventful period, could prophesy that there was approaching, big with darkness and confusion, the

event of events? Hope ushers in a Revolution,as earthquakes are preceded by bright weather. On the Fifth

of May, fifteen years hence, old Louis will not be sending for the Sacraments; but a new Louis, his grandson,

with the whole pomp of astonished intoxicated France, will be opening the StatesGeneral.

Dubarrydom and its D'Aiguillons are gone forever. There is a young, still docile, wellintentioned King; a

young, beautiful and bountiful, well intentioned Queen; and with them all France, as it were, become young.

Maupeou and his Parlement have to vanish into thick night; respectable Magistrates, not indifferent to the

Nation, were it only for having been opponents of the Court, can descend unchained from their 'steep rocks at

Croe in Combrailles' and elsewhere, and return singing praises: the old Parlement of Paris resumes its

functions. Instead of a profligate bankrupt Abbe Terray, we have now, for ControllerGeneral, a virtuous

philosophic Turgot, with a whole Reformed France in his head. By whom whatsoever is wrong, in Finance or

otherwise, will be righted,as far as possible. Is it not as if Wisdom herself were henceforth to have seat and

voice in the Council of Kings? Turgot has taken office with the noblest plainness of speech to that effect;

been listened to with the noblest royal trustfulness. (Turgot's Letter: Condorcet, Vie de Turgot (Oeuvres de

Condorcet, t. v.), p. 67. The date is 24th August, 1774.) It is true, as King Louis objects, "They say he never

goes to mass;" but liberal France likes him little worse for that; liberal France answers, "The Abbe Terray

always went." Philosophism sees, for the first time, a Philosophe (or even a Philosopher) in office: she in all

things will applausively second him; neither will light old Maurepas obstruct, if he can easily help it.

Then how 'sweet' are the manners; vice 'losing all its deformity;' becoming decent (as established things,

making regulations for themselves, do); becoming almost a kind of 'sweet' virtue! Intelligence so abounds;

irradiated by wit and the art of conversation. Philosophism sits joyful in her glittering saloons, the

dinnerguest of Opulence grown ingenuous, the very nobles proud to sit by her; and preaches, lifted up over

all Bastilles, a coming millennium. From far Ferney, Patriarch Voltaire gives sign: veterans Diderot,

D'Alembert have lived to see this day; these with their younger Marmontels, Morellets, Chamforts, Raynals,

make glad the spicy board of rich ministering Dowager, of philosophic FarmerGeneral. O nights and

suppers of the gods! Of a truth, the longdemonstrated will now be done: 'the Age of Revolutions

approaches' (as Jean Jacques wrote), but then of happy blessed ones. Man awakens from his long

somnambulism; chases the Phantasms that beleagured and bewitched him. Behold the new morning glittering

down the eastern steeps; fly, false Phantasms, from its shafts of light; let the Absurd fly utterly forsaking this

lower Earth for ever. It is Truth and Astraea Redux that (in the shape of Philosophism) henceforth reign. For

what imaginable purpose was man made, if not to be 'happy'? By victorious Analysis, and Progress of the

Species, happiness enough now awaits him. Kings can become philosophers; or else philosophers Kings. Let

but Society be once rightly constituted,by victorious Analysis. The stomach that is empty shall be filled;

the throat that is dry shall be wetted with wine. Labour itself shall be all one as rest; not grievous, but joyous.

Wheatfields, one would think, cannot come to grow untilled; no man made clayey, or made weary

thereby;unless indeed machinery will do it? Gratuitous Tailors and Restaurateurs may start up, at fit

intervals, one as yet sees not how. But if each will, according to rule of Benevolence, have a care for all, then

surelyno one will be uncared for. Nay, who knows but, by sufficiently victorious Analysis, 'human life

may be indefinitely lengthened,' and men get rid of Death, as they have already done of the Devil? We shall

then be happy in spite of Death and the Devil.So preaches magniloquent Philosophism her Redeunt

The prophetic song of Paris and its Philosophes is audible enough in the Versailles OeildeBoeuf; and the

OeildeBoeuf, intent chiefly on nearer blessedness, can answer, at worst, with a polite "Why not?" Good

old cheery Maurepas is too joyful a Prime Minister to dash the world's joy. Sufficient for the day be its own

evil. Cheery old man, he cuts his jokes, and hovers careless along; his cloak well adjusted to the wind, if so

be he may please all persons. The simple young King, whom a Maurepas cannot think of troubling with

business, has retired into the interior apartments; taciturn, irresolute; though with a sharpness of temper at

times: he, at length, determines on a little smithwork; and so, in apprenticeship with a Sieur Gamain (whom

one day he shall have little cause to bless), is learning to make locks. (Campan, i. 125.) It appears further, he

understood Geography; and could read English. Unhappy young King, his childlike trust in that foolish old

Maurepas deserved another return. But friend and foe, destiny and himself have combined to do him hurt.

Meanwhile the fair young Queen, in her halls of state, walks like a goddess of Beauty, the cynosure of all

eyes; as yet mingles not with affairs; heeds not the future; least of all, dreads it. Weber and Campan (Ib. i.

100151. Weber, i. 1150.) have pictured her, there within the royal tapestries, in bright boudoirs, baths,

peignoirs, and the Grand and Little Toilette; with a whole brilliant world waiting obsequious on her glance:

fair young daughter of Time, what things has Time in store for thee! Like Earth's brightest Appearance, she

moves gracefully, environed with the grandeur of Earth: a reality, and yet a magic vision; for, behold, shall

not utter Darkness swallow it! The soft young heart adopts orphans, portions meritorious maids, delights to

succour the poor,such poor as come picturesquely in her way; and sets the fashion of doing it; for as was

said, Benevolence has now begun reigning. In her Duchess de Polignac, in Princess de Lamballe, she enjoys

something almost like friendship; now too, after seven long years, she has a child, and soon even a Dauphin,

Events? The Grand events are but charitable Feasts of Morals (Fetes des moeurs), with their Prizes and

Speeches; Poissarde Processions to the Dauphin's cradle; above all, Flirtations, their rise, progress, decline

and fall. There are Snowstatues raised by the poor in hard winter to a Queen who has given them fuel. There

are masquerades, theatricals; beautifyings of little Trianon, purchase and repair of St. Cloud; journeyings

from the summer CourtElysium to the winter one. There are poutings and grudgings from the Sardinian

Sistersinlaw (for the Princes too are wedded); little jealousies, which CourtEtiquette can moderate.

Wholly the lightest hearted frivolous foam of Existence; yet an artfully refined foam; pleasant were it not so

Monsieur, the King's elder Brother, has set up for a kind of wit; and leans towards the Philosophe side.

Monseigneur d'Artois pulls the mask from a fair impertinent; fights a duel in consequence,almost drawing

blood. (Besenval, ii. 282330.) He has breeches of a kind new in this world;a fabulous kind; 'four tall

lackeys,' says Mercier, as if he had seen it, 'hold him up in the air, that he may fall into the garment without

vestige of wrinkle; from which rigorous encasement the same four, in the same way, and with more effort,

must deliver him at night.' (Mercier, Nouveau Paris, iii. 147.) This last is he who now, as a gray timeworn

man, sits desolate at Gratz; (A.D. 1834.) having winded up his destiny with the Three Days. In such sort are

With the working people, again it is not so well. Unlucky! For there are twenty to twentyfive millions of

them. Whom, however, we lump together into a kind of dim compendious unity, monstrous but dim, far off,

as the canaille; or, more humanely, as 'the masses.' Masses, indeed: and yet, singular to say, if, with an effort

of imagination, thou follow them, over broad France, into their clay hovels, into their garrets and hutches, the

masses consist all of units. Every unit of whom has his own heart and sorrows; stands covered there with his

own skin, and if you prick him he will bleed. O purple Sovereignty, Holiness, Reverence; thou, for example,

Cardinal GrandAlmoner, with thy plush covering of honour, who hast thy hands strengthened with dignities

and moneys, and art set on thy world watchtower solemnly, in sight of God, for such ends,what a

thought: that every unit of these masses is a miraculous Man, even as thyself art; struggling, with vision, or

with blindness, for his infinite Kingdom (this life which he has got, once only, in the middle of Eternities);

Dreary, languid do these struggle in their obscure remoteness; their hearth cheerless, their diet thin. For them,

in this world, rises no Era of Hope; hardly now in the other,if it be not hope in the gloomy rest of Death,

for their faith too is failing. Untaught, uncomforted, unfed! A dumb generation; their voice only an

inarticulate cry: spokesman, in the King's Council, in the world's forum, they have none that finds credence.

At rare intervals (as now, in 1775), they will fling down their hoes and hammers; and, to the astonishment of

thinking mankind, (Lacretelle, France pendant le 18me Siecle, ii. 455. Biographie Universelle, para Turgot

(by Durozoir).) flock hither and thither, dangerous, aimless; get the length even of Versailles. Turgot is

altering the Corntrade, abrogating the absurdest Cornlaws; there is dearth, real, or were it even 'factitious;'

an indubitable scarcity of bread. And so, on the second day of May 1775, these waste multitudes do here, at

Versailles Chateau, in widespread wretchedness, in sallow faces, squalor, winged raggedness, present, as in

legible hieroglyphic writing, their Petition of Grievances. The Chateau gates have to be shut; but the King

will appear on the balcony, and speak to them. They have seen the King's face; their Petition of Grievances

has been, if not read, looked at. For answer, two of them are hanged, 'on a new gallows forty feet high;' and

Clearly a difficult 'point' for Government, that of dealing with these masses;if indeed it be not rather the

sole point and problem of Government, and all other points mere accidental crotchets, superficialities, and

beatings of the wind! For let CharterChests, Use and Wont, Law common and special say what they will,

the masses count to so many millions of units; made, to all appearance, by God,whose Earth this is

declared to be. Besides, the people are not without ferocity; they have sinews and indignation. Do but look

what holiday old Marquis Mirabeau, the crabbed old friend of Men, looked on, in these same years, from his

lodging, at the Baths of Mont d'Or: 'The savages descending in torrents from the mountains; our people

ordered not to go out. The Curate in surplice and stole; Justice in its peruke; Marechausee sabre in hand,

guarding the place, till the bagpipes can begin. The dance interrupted, in a quarter of an hour, by battle; the

cries, the squealings of children, of infirm persons, and other assistants, tarring them on, as the rabble does

when dogs fight: frightful men, or rather frightful wild animals, clad in jupes of coarse woollen, with large

girdles of leather studded with copper nails; of gigantic stature, heightened by high woodenclogs (sabots);

rising on tiptoe to see the fight; tramping time to it; rubbing their sides with their elbows: their faces haggard

(figures haves), and covered with their long greasy hair; the upper part of the visage waxing pale, the lower

distorting itself into the attempt at a cruel laugh and a sort of ferocious impatience. And these people pay the

taille! And you want further to take their salt from them! And you know not what it is you are stripping barer,

or as you call it, governing; what by the spurt of your pen, in its cold dastard indifference, you will fancy you

can starve always with impunity; always till the catastrophe come!Ah Madame, such Government by

Blindman'sbuff, stumbling along too far, will end in the General Overturn (culbute generale). (Memoires de

Mirabeau, ecrits par Luimeme, par son Pere, son Oncle et son Fils Adoptif (Paris, 345), ii.186.)

Undoubtedly a dark feature this in an Age of Gold,Age, at least, of Paper and Hope! Meanwhile, trouble us

not with thy prophecies, O croaking Friend of Men: 'tis long that we have heard such; and still the old world

Or is this same Age of Hope itself but a simulacrum; as Hope too often is? Cloudvapour with rainbows

painted on it, beautiful to see, to sail towards,which hovers over Niagara Falls? In that case, victorious

Alas, yes! a whole world to remake, if she could see it; work for another than she! For all is wrong, and gone

out of joint; the inward spiritual, and the outward economical; head or heart, there is no soundness in it. As

indeed, evils of all sorts are more or less of kin, and do usually go together: especially it is an old truth, that

wherever huge physical evil is, there, as the parent and origin of it, has moral evil to a proportionate extent

been. Before those fiveandtwenty labouring Millions, for instance, could get that haggardness of face,

which old Mirabeau now looks on, in a Nation calling itself Christian, and calling man the brother of

man,what unspeakable, nigh infinite Dishonesty (of seeming and not being) in all manner of Rulers, and

appointed Watchers, spiritual and temporal, must there not, through long ages, have gone on accumulating! It

will accumulate: moreover, it will reach a head; for the first of all Gospels is this, that a Lie cannot endure for

In fact, if we pierce through that rosepink vapour of Sentimentalism, Philanthropy, and Feasts of Morals,

there lies behind it one of the sorriest spectacles. You might ask, What bonds that ever held a human society

happily together, or held it together at all, are in force here? It is an unbelieving people; which has

suppositions, hypotheses, and froth systems of victorious Analysis; and for belief this mainly, that Pleasure

is pleasant. Hunger they have for all sweet things; and the law of Hunger; but what other law? Within them,

Their King has become a King Popinjay; with his Maurepas Government, gyrating as the weathercock does,

blown about by every wind. Above them they see no God; or they even do not look above, except with

astronomical glasses. The Church indeed still is; but in the most submissive state; quite tamed by

Philosophism; in a singularly short time; for the hour was come. Some twenty years ago, your Archbishop

Beaumont would not even let the poor Jansenists get buried: your Lomenie Brienne (a rising man, whom we

shall meet with yet) could, in the name of the Clergy, insist on having the Antiprotestant laws, which

condemn to death for preaching, 'put in execution.' (Boissy d'Anglas, Vie de Malesherbes, i. 1522.) And,

alas, now not so much as Baron Holbach's Atheism can be burnt,except as pipe matches by the private

speculative individual. Our Church stands haltered, dumb, like a dumb ox; lowing only for provender (of

tithes); content if it can have that; or, dumbly, dully expecting its further doom. And the Twenty Millions of

'haggard faces;' and, as fingerpost and guidance to them in their dark struggle, 'a gallows forty feet high'!

Certainly a singular Golden Age; with its Feasts of Morals, its 'sweet manners,' its sweet institutions

(institutions douces); betokening nothing but peace among men!Peace? O PhilosopheSentimentalism,

what hast thou to do with peace, when thy mother's name is Jezebel? Foul Product of still fouler Corruption,

Meanwhile it is singular how long the rotten will hold together, provided you do not handle it roughly. For

whole generations it continues standing, 'with a ghastly affectation of life,' after all life and truth has fled out

of it; so loth are men to quit their old ways; and, conquering indolence and inertia, venture on new. Great

truly is the Actual; is the Thing that has rescued itself from bottomless deeps of theory and possibility, and

stands there as a definite indisputable Fact, whereby men do work and live, or once did so. Widely shall men

cleave to that, while it will endure; and quit it with regret, when it gives way under them. Rash enthusiast of

Change, beware! Hast thou well considered all that Habit does in this life of ours; how all Knowledge and all

Practice hang wondrous over infinite abysses of the Unknown, Impracticable; and our whole being is an

infinite abyss, overarched by Habit, as by a thin Earthrind, laboriously built together?

But if 'every man,' as it has been written, 'holds confined within him a madman,' what must every Society

do;Society, which in its commonest state is called 'the standing miracle of this world'! 'Without such

Earth rind of Habit,' continues our author, 'call it System of Habits, in a word, fixed ways of acting and of

believing,Society would not exist at all. With such it exists, better or worse. Herein too, in this its System

of Habits, acquired, retained how you will, lies the true LawCode and Constitution of a Society; the only

Code, though an unwritten one which it can in nowise disobey. The thing we call written Code, Constitution,

Form of Government, and the like, what is it but some miniature image, and solemnly expressed summary of

this unwritten Code? Is,or rather alas, is not; but only should be, and always tends to be! In which latter

discrepancy lies struggle without end.' And now, we add in the same dialect, let but, by ill chance, in such

everenduring struggle,your 'thin Earthrind' be once broken! The fountains of the great deep boil forth;

firefountains, enveloping, engulfing. Your 'Earthrind' is shattered, swallowed up; instead of a green

flowery world, there is a waste wildweltering chaos:which has again, with tumult and struggle, to make

On the other hand, be this conceded: Where thou findest a Lie that is oppressing thee, extinguish it. Lies exist

there only to be extinguished; they wait and cry earnestly for extinction. Think well, meanwhile, in what

spirit thou wilt do it: not with hatred, with headlong selfish violence; but in clearness of heart, with holy zeal,

gently, almost with pity. Thou wouldst not replace such extinct Lie by a new Lie, which a new Injustice of

thy own were; the parent of still other Lies? Whereby the latter end of that business were worse than the

So, however, in this world of ours, which has both an indestructible hope in the Future, and an indestructible

tendency to persevere as in the Past, must Innovation and Conservation wage their perpetual conflict, as they

may and can. Wherein the 'daemonic element,' that lurks in all human things, may doubtless, some once in

the thousand yearsget vent! But indeed may we not regret that such conflict,which, after all, is but like

that classical one of 'hatefilled Amazons with heroic Youths,' and will end in embraces,should usually be

so spasmodic? For Conservation, strengthened by that mightiest quality in us, our indolence, sits for long

ages, not victorious only, which she should be; but tyrannical, incommunicative. She holds her adversary as if

annihilated; such adversary lying, all the while, like some buried Enceladus; who, to gain the smallest

Wherefore, on the whole, we will honour a Paper Age too; an Era of hope! For in this same frightful process

of Enceladus Revolt; when the task, on which no mortal would willingly enter, has become imperative,

inevitable, is it not even a kindness of Nature that she lures us forward by cheerful promises, fallacious or

not; and a whole generation plunges into the Erebus Blackness, lighted on by an Era of Hope? It has been

well said: 'Man is based on Hope; he has properly no other possession but Hope; this habitation of his is

But now, among French hopes, is not that of old M. de Maurepas one of the bestgrounded; who hopes that

he, by dexterity, shall contrive to continue Minister? Nimble old man, who for all emergencies has his light

jest; and ever in the worst confusion will emerge, corklike, unsunk! Small care to him is Perfectibility,

Progress of the Species, and Astraea Redux: good only, that a man of light wit, verging towards fourscore,

can in the seat of authority feel himself important among men. Shall we call him, as haughty Chateauroux

was wont of old, 'M. Faquinet (Diminutive of Scoundrel)'? In courtier dialect, he is now named 'the Nestor of

At bottom, nevertheless, it might puzzle one to say where the Government of France, in these days, specially

is. In that Chateau of Versailles, we have Nestor, King, Queen, ministers and clerks, with paperbundles tied

in tape: but the Government? For Government is a thing that governs, that guides; and if need be, compels.

Visible in France there is not such a thing. Invisible, inorganic, on the other hand, there is: in Philosophe

saloons, in OeildeBoeuf galleries; in the tongue of the babbler, in the pen of the pamphleteer. Her Majesty

appearing at the Opera is applauded; she returns all radiant with joy. Anon the applauses wax fainter, or

threaten to cease; she is heavy of heart, the light of her face has fled. Is Sovereignty some poor Montgolfier;

which, blown into by the popular wind, grows great and mounts; or sinks flaccid, if the wind be withdrawn?

France was long a 'Despotism tempered by Epigrams;' and now, it would seem, the Epigrams have get the

Happy were a young 'Louis the Desired' to make France happy; if it did not prove too troublesome, and he

only knew the way. But there is endless discrepancy round him; so many claims and clamours; a mere

confusion of tongues. Not reconcilable by man; not manageable, suppressible, save by some strongest and

wisest men;which only a lightlyjesting lightly gyrating M. de Maurepas can so much as subsist amidst.

Philosophism claims her new Era, meaning thereby innumerable things. And claims it in no faint voice; for

France at large, hitherto mute, is now beginning to speak also; and speaks in that same sense. A huge,

manytoned sound; distant, yet not unimpressive. On the other hand, the OeildeBoeuf, which, as nearest,

one can hear best, claims with shrill vehemence that the Monarchy be as heretofore a Horn of Plenty;

wherefrom loyal courtiers may draw,to the just support of the throne. Let Liberalism and a New Era, if

such is the wish, be introduced; only no curtailment of the royal moneys? Which latter condition, alas, is

Philosophism, as we saw, has got her Turgot made ControllerGeneral; and there shall be endless

reformation. Unhappily this Turgot could continue only twenty months. With a miraculous Fortunatus' Purse

in his Treasury, it might have lasted longer; with such Purse indeed, every French ControllerGeneral, that

would prosper in these days, ought first to provide himself. But here again may we not remark the bounty of

Nature in regard to Hope? Man after man advances confident to the Augean Stable, as if he could clean it;

expends his little fraction of an ability on it, with such cheerfulness; does, in so far as he was honest,

accomplish something. Turgot has faculties; honesty, insight, heroic volition; but the Fortunatus' Purse he has

not. Sanguine ControllerGeneral! a whole pacific French Revolution may stand schemed in the head of the

thinker; but who shall pay the unspeakable 'indemnities' that will be needed? Alas, far from that: on the very

threshold of the business, he proposes that the Clergy, the Noblesse, the very Parlements be subjected to

taxes! One shriek of indignation and astonishment reverberates through all the Chateau galleries; M. de

Maurepas has to gyrate: the poor King, who had written few weeks ago, 'Il n'y a que vous et moi qui aimions

le peuple (There is none but you and I that has the people's interest at heart),' must write now a dismissal; (In

May, 1776.) and let the French Revolution accomplish itself, pacifically or not, as it can.

Hope, then, is deferred? Deferred; not destroyed, or abated. Is not this, for example, our Patriarch Voltaire,

after long years of absence, revisiting Paris? With face shrivelled to nothing; with 'huge peruke a la Louis

Quatorze, which leaves only two eyes "visible" glittering like carbuncles,' the old man is here. (February,

1778.) What an outburst! Sneering Paris has suddenly grown reverent; devotional with Heroworship.

Nobles have disguised themselves as tavernwaiters to obtain sight of him: the loveliest of France would lay

their hair beneath his feet. 'His chariot is the nucleus of a comet; whose train fills whole streets:' they crown

him in the theatre, with immortal vivats; 'finally stifle him under roses,'for old Richelieu recommended

opium in such state of the nerves, and the excessive Patriarch took too much. Her Majesty herself had some

thought of sending for him; but was dissuaded. Let Majesty consider it, nevertheless. The purport of this

man's existence has been to wither up and annihilate all whereon Majesty and Worship for the present rests:

and is it so that the world recognises him? With Apotheosis; as its Prophet and Speaker, who has spoken

wisely the thing it longed to say? Add only, that the body of this same rosestifled, beatifiedPatriarch

cannot get buried except by stealth. It is wholly a notable business; and France, without doubt, is big (what

the Germans call 'Of good Hope'): we shall wish her a happy birthhour, and blessed fruit.

Beaumarchais too has now windedup his LawPleadings (Memoires); (17736. See Oeuvres de

Beaumarchais; where they, and the history of them, are given.) not without result, to himself and to the world.

Caron Beaumarchais (or de Beaumarchais, for he got ennobled) had been born poor, but aspiring, esurient;

with talents, audacity, adroitness; above all, with the talent for intrigue: a lean, but also a tough, indomitable

man. Fortune and dexterity brought him to the harpsichord of Mesdames, our good Princesses Loque, Graille

and Sisterhood. Still better, Paris Duvernier, the CourtBanker, honoured him with some confidence; to the

length even of transactions in cash. Which confidence, however, Duvernier's Heir, a person of quality, would

not continue. Quite otherwise; there springs a Lawsuit from it: wherein tough Beaumarchais, losing both

money and repute, is, in the opinion of JudgeReporter Goezman, of the Parlement Maupeou, of a whole

indifferent acquiescing world, miserably beaten. In all men's opinions, only not in his own! Inspired by the

indignation, which makes, if not verses, satirical lawpapers, the withered Musicmaster, with a desperate

heroism, takes up his lost cause in spite of the world; fights for it, against Reporters, Parlements and

Principalities, with light banter, with clear logic; adroitly, with an inexhaustible toughness and resource, like

the skilfullest fencer; on whom, so skilful is he, the whole world now looks. Three long years it lasts; with

wavering fortune. In fine, after labours comparable to the Twelve of Hercules, our unconquerable Caron

triumphs; regains his Lawsuit and Lawsuits; strips Reporter Goezman of the judicial ermine; covering him

with a perpetual garment of obloquy instead:and in regard to the Parlement Maupeou (which he has helped

to extinguish), to Parlements of all kinds, and to French Justice generally, gives rise to endless reflections in

the minds of men. Thus has Beaumarchais, like a lean French Hercules, ventured down, driven by destiny,

into the Nether Kingdoms; and victoriously tamed helldogs there. He also is henceforth among the

Observe, however, beyond the Atlantic, has not the new day verily dawned! Democracy, as we said, is born;

stormgirt, is struggling for life and victory. A sympathetic France rejoices over the Rights of Man; in all

saloons, it is said, What a spectacle! Now too behold our Deane, our Franklin, American Plenipotentiaries,

here in position soliciting; (1777; Deane somewhat earlier: Franklin remained till 1785.) the sons of the

Saxon Puritans, with their OldSaxon temper, OldHebrew culture, sleek Silas, sleek Benjamin, here on such

errand, among the light children of Heathenism, Monarchy, Sentimentalism, and the Scarletwoman. A

spectacle indeed; over which saloons may cackle joyous; though Kaiser Joseph, questioned on it, gave this

answer, most unexpected from a Philosophe: "Madame, the trade I live by is that of royalist (Mon metier a

So thinks light Maurepas too; but the wind of Philosophism and force of public opinion will blow him round.

Best wishes, meanwhile, are sent; clandestine privateers armed. Paul Jones shall equip his Bon Homme

Richard: weapons, military stores can be smuggled over (if the English do not seize them); wherein, once

more Beaumarchais, dimly as the Giant Smuggler becomes visible,filling his own lank pocket withal. But

surely, in any case, France should have a Navy. For which great object were not now the time: now when that

proud Termagant of the Seas has her hands full? It is true, an impoverished Treasury cannot build ships; but

the hint once given (which Beaumarchais says he gave), this and the other loyal Seaport, Chamber of

Commerce, will build and offer them. Goodly vessels bound into the waters; a Ville de Paris, Leviathan of

And now when gratuitous threedeckers dance there at anchor, with streamers flying; and eleutheromaniac

Philosophedom grows ever more clamorous, what can a Maurepas dobut gyrate? Squadrons cross the

ocean: Gages, Lees, rough Yankee Generals, 'with woollen nightcaps under their hats,' present arms to the

farglancing Chivalry of France; and newborn Democracy sees, not without amazement, 'Despotism

tempered by Epigrams fight at her side. So, however, it is. King's forces and heroic volunteers;

Rochambeaus, Bouilles, Lameths, Lafayettes, have drawn their swords in this sacred quarrel of

Off Ushant some naval thunder is heard. In the course of which did our young Prince, Duke de Chartres, 'hide

in the hold;' or did he materially, by active heroism, contribute to the victory? Alas, by a second edition, we

learn that there was no victory; or that English Keppel had it. (27th July, 1778.) Our poor young Prince gets

his Opera plaudits changed into mocking tehees; and cannot become GrandAdmiral,the source to him of

Woe also for Ville de Paris, the Leviathan of ships! English Rodney has clutched it, and led it home, with the

rest; so successful was his new 'manoeuvre of breaking the enemy's line.' (9th and 12th April, 1782.) It seems

as if, according to Louis XV., 'France were never to have a Navy.' Brave Suffren must return from Hyder

Ally and the Indian Waters; with small result; yet with great glory for 'six nondefeats;which indeed, with

such seconding as he had, one may reckon heroic. Let the old seahero rest now, honoured of France, in his

native Cevennes mountains; send smoke, not of gunpowder, but mere culinary smoke, through the old

chimneys of the Castle of Jales,which one day, in other hands, shall have other fame. Brave Laperouse

shall by and by lift anchor, on philanthropic Voyage of Discovery; for the King knows Geography. (August

1st, 1785.) But, alas, this also will not prosper: the brave Navigator goes, and returns not; the Seekers search

far seas for him in vain. He has vanished trackless into blue Immensity; and only some mournful mysterious

Neither, while the War yet lasts, will Gibraltar surrender. Not though Crillon, NassauSiegen, with the ablest

projectors extant, are there; and Prince Conde and Prince d'Artois have hastened to help. Wondrous leather

roofed Floatingbatteries, set afloat by FrenchSpanish Pacte de Famille, give gallant summons: to which,

nevertheless, Gibraltar answers Plutonically, with mere torrents of redhot iron,as if stone Calpe had

become a throat of the Pit; and utters such a Doom'sblast of a No, as all men must credit. (Annual Register

And so, with this loud explosion, the noise of War has ceased; an Age of Benevolence may hope, for ever.

Our noble volunteers of Freedom have returned, to be her missionaries. Lafayette, as the matchless of his

time, glitters in the Versailles OeildeBeouf; has his Bust set up in the Paris HoteldeVille. Democracy

stands inexpugnable, immeasurable, in her New World; has even a foot lifted towards the Old;and our

What to do with the Finance? This indeed is the great question: a small but most black weathersymptom,

which no radiance of universal hope can cover. We saw Turgot cast forth from the Controllership, with

shrieks, for want of a Fortunatus' Purse. As little could M. de Clugny manage the duty; or indeed do

anything, but consume his wages; attain 'a place in History,' where as an ineffectual shadow thou beholdest

him still lingering;and let the duty manage itself. Did Genevese Necker possess such a Purse, then? He

possessed banker's skill, banker's honesty; credit of all kinds, for he had written Academic Prize Essays,

struggled for India Companies, given dinners to Philosophes, and 'realised a fortune in twenty years.' He

possessed, further, a taciturnity and solemnity; of depth, or else of dulness. How singular for Celadon

Gibbon, false swain as he had proved; whose father, keeping most probably his own gig, 'would not hear of

such a union,'to find now his forsaken Demoiselle Curchod sitting in the high places of the world, as

Minister's Madame, and 'Necker not jealous!' (Gibbon's Letters: date, 16th June, 1777,

A new young Demoiselle, one day to be famed as a Madame and De Stael, was romping about the knees of

the Decline and Fall: the lady Necker founds Hospitals; gives solemn Philosophe dinnerparties, to cheer her

exhausted ControllerGeneral. Strange things have happened: by clamour of Philosophism, management of

Marquis de Pezay, and Poverty constraining even Kings. And so Necker, Atlaslike, sustains the burden of

the Finances, for five years long? (Till May, 1781.) Without wages, for he refused such; cheered only by

Public Opinion, and the ministering of his noble Wife. With many thoughts in him, it is hoped;which,

however, he is shy of uttering. His Compte Rendu, published by the royal permission, fresh sign of a New

Era, shows wonders;which what but the genius of some Atlas Necker can prevent from becoming

portents? In Necker's head too there is a whole pacific French Revolution, of its kind; and in that taciturn dull

Meanwhile, alas, his Fotunatus' Purse turns out to be little other than the old 'vectigal of Parsimony.' Nay, he

too has to produce his scheme of taxing: Clergy, Noblesse to be taxed; Provincial Assemblies, and the

rest,like a mere Turgot! The expiring M. de Maurepas must gyrate one other time. Let Necker also depart;

Great in a private station, Necker looks on from the distance; abiding his time. 'Eighty thousand copies' of his

new Book, which he calls Administration des Finances, will be sold in few days. He is gone; but shall return,

and that more than once, borne by a whole shouting Nation. Singular ControllerGeneral of the Finances;

So marches the world, in this its Paper Age, or Era of Hope. Not without obstructions, warexplosions;

which, however, heard from such distance, are little other than a cheerful marchingmusic. If indeed that

dark living chaos of Ignorance and Hunger, fiveandtwenty million strong, under your feet,were to begin

For the present, however, consider Longchamp; now when Lent is ending, and the glory of Paris and France

has gone forth, as in annual wont. Not to assist at Tenebris Masses, but to sun itself and show itself, and

salute the Young Spring. (Mercier, Tableau de Paris, ii. 51. Louvet, Roman de Faublas, Manifold,

brighttinted, glittering with gold; all through the Bois de Boulogne, in longdrawn variegated rows;like

longdrawn living flowerborders, tulips, dahlias, lilies of the valley; all in their moving flowerpots (of

newgilt carriages): pleasure of the eye, and pride of life! So rolls and dances the Procession: steady, of firm

assurance, as if it rolled on adamant and the foundations of the world; not on mere heraldic

parchment,under which smoulders a lake of fire. Dance on, ye foolish ones; ye sought not wisdom, neither

have ye found it. Ye and your fathers have sown the wind, ye shall reap the whirlwind. Was it not, from of

But at Longchamp, as elsewhere, we remark for one thing, that dame and cavalier are waited on each by a

kind of human familiar, named jokei. Little elf, or imp; though young, already withered; with its withered air

of premature vice, of knowingness, of completed elfhood: useful in various emergencies. The name jokei

(jockey) comes from the English; as the thing also fancies that it does. Our Anglomania, in fact , is grown

considerable; prophetic of much. If France is to be free, why shall she not, now when mad war is hushed,

love neighbouring Freedom? Cultivated men, your Dukes de Liancourt, de la Rochefoucault admire the

English Constitution, the English National Character; would import what of it they can.

Of what is lighter, especially if it be light as wind, how much easier the freightage! NonAdmiral Duke de

Chartres (not yet d'Orleans or Egalite) flies to and fro across the Strait; importing English Fashions; this he,

as handandglove with an English Prince of Wales, is surely qualified to do. Carriages and saddles;

topboots and redingotes, as we call ridingcoats. Nay the very mode of riding: for now no man on a level

with his age but will trot a l'Anglaise, rising in the stirrups; scornful of the old sitfast method, in which,

according to Shakspeare, 'butter and eggs' go to market. Also, he can urge the fervid wheels, this brave

Chartres of ours; no whip in Paris is rasher and surer than the unprofessional one of Monseigneur.

Elf jokeis, we have seen; but see now real Yorkshire jockeys, and what they ride on, and train: English racers

for French Races. These likewise we owe first (under the Providence of the Devil) to Monseigneur. Prince

d'Artois also has his stud of racers. Prince d'Artois has withal the strangest horseleech: a moonstruck,

muchenduring individual, of Neuchatel in Switzerland,named Jean Paul Marat. A problematic Chevalier

d'Eon, now in petticoats, now in breeches, is no less problematic in London than in Paris; and causes bets and

lawsuits. Beautiful days of international communion! Swindlery and Blackguardism have stretched hands

across the Channel, and saluted mutually: on the racecourse of Vincennes or Sablons, behold in English

curricleandfour, wafted glorious among the principalities and rascalities, an English Dr. Dodd, (Adelung,

Geschichte der Menschlichen Narrheit, para Dodd.)for whom also the too early gallows gapes.

Duke de Chartres was a young Prince of great promise, as young Princes often are; which promise

unfortunately has belied itself. With the huge Orleans Property, with Duke de Penthievre for Fatherinlaw

(and now the young Brotherinlaw Lamballe killed by excesses),he will one day be the richest man in

France. Meanwhile, 'his hair is all falling out, his blood is quite spoiled,'by early transcendentalism of

debauchery. Carbuncles stud his face; dark studs on a ground of burnished copper. A most signal failure, this

young Prince! The stuff prematurely burnt out of him: little left but foul smoke and ashes of expiring

sensualities: what might have been Thought, Insight, and even Conduct, gone now, or fast going,to

confused darkness, broken by bewildering dazzlements; to obstreperous crotchets; to activities which you

may call semidelirious, or even semi galvanic! Paris affects to laugh at his charioteering; but he heeds not

On the other hand, what a day, not of laughter, was that, when he threatened, for lucre's sake, to lay

sacrilegious hand on the PalaisRoyal Garden! (178182. (Dulaure, viii. 423.)) The flowerparterres shall be

riven up; the Chestnut Avenues shall fall: timehonoured boscages, under which the Opera Hamadryads were

wont to wander, not inexorable to men. Paris moans aloud. Philidor, from his Cafe de la Regence, shall no

longer look on greenness; the loungers and losels of the world, where now shall they haunt? In vain is

moaning. The axe glitters; the sacred groves fall crashing,for indeed Monseigneur was short of money: the

Opera Hamadryads fly with shrieks. Shriek not, ye Opera Hamadryads; or not as those that have no comfort.

He will surround your Garden with new edifices and piazzas: though narrowed, it shall be replanted; dizened

with hydraulic jets, cannon which the sun fires at noon; things bodily, things spiritual, such as man has not

imagined;and in the PalaisRoyal shall again, and more than ever, be the Sorcerer's Sabbath and

What will not mortals attempt? From remote Annonay in the Vivarais, the Brothers Montgolfier send up their

paperdome, filled with the smoke of burnt wool. (5th June, 1783.) The Vivarais provincial assembly is to be

prorogued this same day: Vivarais Assemblymembers applaud, and the shouts of congregated men. Will

Paris hears with eager wonder; Paris shall ere long see. From Reveilion's Paperwarehouse there, in the Rue

St. Antoine (a noted Warehouse),the new Montgolfier airship launches itself. Ducks and poultry are

borne skyward: but now shall men be borne. (October and November, 1783.) Nay, Chemist Charles thinks of

hydrogen and glazed silk. Chemist Charles will himself ascend, from the Tuileries Garden; Montgolfier

solemnly cutting the cord. By Heaven, he also mounts, he and another? Ten times ten thousand hearts go

palpitating; all tongues are mute with wonder and fear; till a shout, like the voice of seas, rolls after him, on

his wild way. He soars, he dwindles upwards; has become a mere gleaming circlet,like some Turgotine

snuffbox, what we call 'Turgotine Platitude;' like some new daylight Moon! Finally he descends; welcomed

by the universe. Duchess Polignac, with a party, is in the Bois de Boulogne, waiting; though it is drizzly

winter; the 1st of December 1783. The whole chivalry of France, Duke de Chartres foremost, gallops to

Beautiful invention; mounting heavenward, so beautifully,so unguidably! Emblem of much, and of our

Age of Hope itself; which shall mount, specificallylight, majestically in this same manner; and

hover,tumbling whither Fate will. Well if it do not, Pilatrelike, explode; and demount all the more

Or observe Herr Doctor Mesmer, in his spacious Magnetic Halls. Longstoled he walks; reverend, glancing

upwards, as in rapt commerce; an Antique Egyptian Hierophant in this new age. Soft music flits; breaking

fitfully the sacred stillness. Round their Magnetic Mystery, which to the eye is mere tubs with water,sit

breathless, rod in hand, the circles of Beauty and Fashion, each circle a living circular PassionFlower:

expecting the magnetic afflatus, and newmanufactured HeavenonEarth. O women, O men, great is your

infidelfaith! A Parlementary Duport, a Bergasse, D'Espremenil we notice there; Chemist Berthollet

Had not the Academy of Sciences, with its Baillys, Franklins, Lavoisiers, interfered! But it did interfere.

(Lacretelle, 18me Siecle, iii.258.) Mesmer may pocket his hard money, and withdraw. Let him walk silent by

the shore of the Bodensee, by the ancient town of Constance; meditating on much. For so, under the strangest

new vesture, the old great truth (since no vesture can hide it) begins again to be revealed: That man is what

we call a miraculous creature, with miraculous power over men; and, on the whole, with such a Life in him,

and such a World round him, as victorious Analysis, with her Physiologies, Nervoussystems, Physic and

Metaphysic, will never completely name, to say nothing of explaining. Wherein also the Quack shall, in all

In such succession of singular prismatic tints, flush after flush suffusing our horizon, does the Era of Hope

dawn on towards fulfilment. Questionable! As indeed, with an Era of Hope that rests on mere universal

Benevolence, victorious Analysis, Vice cured of its deformity; and, in the long run, on Twentyfive dark

savage Millions, looking up, in hunger and weariness, to that Eccesignum of theirs 'forty feet high,'how

Through all time, if we read aright, sin was, is, will be, the parent of misery. This land calls itself most

Christian, and has crosses and cathedrals; but its Highpriest is some RocheAymon, some

NecklaceCardinal Louis de Rohan. The voice of the poor, through long years, ascends inarticulate, in

Jacqueries, mealmobs; lowwhimpering of infinite moan: unheeded of the Earth; not unheeded of Heaven.

Always moreover where the Millions are wretched, there are the Thousands straitened, unhappy; only the

Units can flourish; or say rather, be ruined the last. Industry, all noosed and haltered, as if it too were some

beast of chase for the mighty hunters of this world to bait, and cut slices from,cries passionately to these its

wellpaid guides and watchers, not, Guide me; but, Laissez faire, Leave me alone of your guidance! What

market has Industry in this France? For two things there may be market and demand: for the coarser kind of

fieldfruits, since the Millions will live: for the fine kinds of luxury and spicery,of multiform taste, from

operamelodies down to racers and courtesans; since the Units will be amused. It is at bottom but a mad state

To mend and remake all which we have, indeed, victorious Analysis. Honour to victorious Analysis;

nevertheless, out of the Workshop and Laboratory, what thing was victorious Analysis yet known to make?

Detection of incoherences, mainly; destruction of the incoherent. From of old, Doubt was but half a magician;

she evokes the spectres which she cannot quell. We shall have 'endless vortices of frothlogic;' whereon first

words, and then things, are whirled and swallowed. Remark, accordingly, as acknowledged grounds of Hope,

at bottom mere precursors of Despair, this perpetual theorising about Man, the Mind of Man, Philosophy of

Government, Progress of the Species and suchlike; the main thinking furniture of every head. Time, and so

many Montesquieus, Mablys, spokesmen of Time, have discovered innumerable things: and now has not Jean

Jacques promulgated his new Evangel of a Contrat Social; explaining the whole mystery of Government, and

how it is contracted and bargained for,to universal satisfaction? Theories of Government! Such have been,

and will be; in ages of decadence. Acknowledge them in their degree; as processes of Nature, who does

nothing in vain; as steps in her great process. Meanwhile, what theory is so certain as this, That all theories,

were they never so earnest, painfully elaborated, are, and, by the very conditions of them, must be

incomplete, questionable, and even false? Thou shalt know that this Universe is, what it professes to be, an

infinite one. Attempt not to swallow it, for thy logical digestion; be thankful, if skilfully planting down this

and the other fixed pillar in the chaos, thou prevent its swallowing thee. That a new young generation has

exchanged the Sceptic Creed, What shall I believe? for passionate Faith in this Gospel according to Jean

Blessed also is Hope; and always from the beginning there was some Millennium prophesied; Millennium of

Holiness; but (what is notable) never till this new Era, any Millennium of mere Ease and plentiful Supply. In

such prophesied Lubberland, of Happiness, Benevolence, and Vice cured of its deformity, trust not, my

friends! Man is not what one calls a happy animal; his appetite for sweet victual is so enormous. How, in this

wild Universe, which storms in on him, infinite, vaguemenacing, shall poor man find, say not happiness, but

existence, and footing to stand on, if it be not by girding himself together for continual endeavour and

endurance? Woe, if in his heart there dwelt no devout Faith; if the word Duty had lost its meaning for him!

For as to this of Sentimentalism, so useful for weeping with over romances and on pathetic occasions, it

otherwise verily will avail nothing; nay less. The healthy heart that said to itself, 'How healthy am I!' was

already fallen into the fatalest sort of disease. Is not Sentimentalism twinsister to Cant, if not one and the

same with it? Is not Cant the materia prima of the Devil; from which all falsehoods, imbecilities,

abominations body themselves; from which no true thing can come? For Cant is itself properly a

And now if a whole Nation fall into that? In such case, I answer, infallibly they will return out of it! For life is

no cunninglydevised deception or selfdeception: it is a great truth that thou art alive, that thou hast desires,

necessities; neither can these subsist and satisfy themselves on delusions, but on fact. To fact, depend on it,

we shall come back: to such fact, blessed or cursed, as we have wisdom for. The lowest, least blessed fact one

knows of, on which necessitous mortals have ever based themselves, seems to be the primitive one of

Cannibalism: That I can devour Thee. What if such Primitive Fact were precisely the one we had (with our

In such a practical France, let the theory of Perfectibility say what it will, discontents cannot be wanting: your

promised Reformation is so indispensable; yet it comes not; who will begin itwith himself? Discontent

with what is around us, still more with what is above us, goes on increasing; seeking ever new vents.

Of Street Ballads, of Epigrams that from of old tempered Despotism, we need not speak. Nor of Manuscript

Newspapers (Nouvelles a la main) do we speak. Bachaumont and his journeymen and followers may close

those 'thirty volumes of scurrilous eavesdropping,' and quit that trade; for at length if not liberty of the

Press, there is license. Pamphlets can be surreptititiously vended and read in Paris, did they even bear to be

'Printed at Pekin.' We have a Courrier de l'Europe in those years, regularly published at London; by a De

Morande, whom the guillotine has not yet devoured. There too an unruly Linguet, still unguillotined, when

his own country has become too hot for him, and his brother Advocates have cast him out, can emit his

hoarse wailings, and Bastille Devoilee (Bastille unveiled). Loquacious Abbe Raynal, at length, has his wish;

sees the Histoire Philosophique, with its 'lubricity,' unveracity, loose loud eleutheromaniac rant (contributed,

they say, by Philosophedom at large, though in the Abbe's name, and to his glory), burnt by the common

hangman;and sets out on his travels as a martyr. It was the edition of 1781; perhaps the last notable book

Again, in Courts of Law, with their moneyquarrels, divorcecases, wheresoever a glimpse into the

household existence can be had, what indications! The Parlements of Besancon and Aix ring, audible to all

France, with the amours and destinies of a young Mirabeau. He, under the nurture of a 'Friend of Men,' has,

in State Prisons, in marching Regiments, Dutch Authors' garrets, and quite other scenes, 'been for twenty

years learning to resist 'despotism:' despotism of men, and alas also of gods. How, beneath this rosecoloured

veil of Universal Benevolence and Astraea Redux, is the sanctuary of Home so often a dreary void, or a dark

contentious HellonEarth! The old Friend of Men has his own divorce case too; and at times, 'his whole

family but one' under lock and key: he writes much about reforming and enfranchising the world; and for his

own private behoof he has needed sixty LettresdeCachet. A man of insight too, with resolution, even with

manful principle: but in such an element, inward and outward; which he could not rule, but only madden.

Edacity, rapacity;quite contrary to the finer sensibilities of the heart! Fools, that expect your verdant

Millennium, and nothing but Love and Abundance, brooks running wine, winds whispering music,with the

whole ground and basis of your existence champed into a mud of Sensuality; which, daily growing deeper,

Or consider that unutterable business of the Diamond Necklace. Redhatted Cardinal Louis de Rohan;

Sicilian jailbird Balsamo Cagliostro; milliner Dame de Lamotte, 'with a face of some piquancy:' the highest

Church Dignitaries waltzing, in Walpurgis Dance, with quackprophets, pickpurses and public women;a

whole Satan's Invisible World displayed; working there continually under the daylight visible one; the smoke

of its torment going up for ever! The Throne has been brought into scandalous collision with the Treadmill.

Astonished Europe rings with the mystery for ten months; sees only lie unfold itself from lie; corruption

among the lofty and the low, gulosity, credulity, imbecility, strength nowhere but in the hunger. Weep, fair

Queen, thy first tears of unmixed wretchedness! Thy fair name has been tarnished by foul breath;

irremediably while life lasts. No more shalt thou be loved and pitied by living hearts, till a new generation

has been born, and thy own heart lies cold, cured of all its sorrows.The Epigrams henceforth become, not

sharp and bitter; but cruel, atrocious, unmentionable. On that 31st of May, 1786, a miserable Cardinal

Grand Almoner Rohan, on issuing from his Bastille, is escorted by hurrahing crowds: unloved he, and

worthy of no love; but important since the Court and Queen are his enemies. (Fils Adoptif, Memoires de

How is our bright Era of Hope dimmed: and the whole sky growing bleak with signs of hurricane and

earthquake! It is a doomed world: gone all 'obedience that made men free;' fast going the obedience that made

men slaves,at least to one another. Slaves only of their own lusts they now are, and will be. Slaves of sin;

inevitably also of sorrow. Behold the mouldering mass of Sensuality and Falsehood; round which plays

foolishly, itself a corrupt phosphorescence, some glimmer of Sentimentalism;and over all, rising, as Ark of

their Covenant, the grim Patibulary Fork 'forty feet high;' which also is now nigh rotted. Add only that the

French Nation distinguishes itself among Nations by the characteristic of Excitability; with the good, but also

with the perilous evil, which belongs to that. Rebellion, explosion, of unknown extent is to be calculated on.

There are, as Chesterfield wrote, 'all the symptoms I have ever met with in History!'

Shall we say, then: Wo to Philosophism, that it destroyed Religion, what it called 'extinguishing the

abomination (ecraser 'l'infame)'? Wo rather to those that made the Holy an abomination, and extinguishable;

wo at all men that live in such a time of worldabomination and worlddestruction! Nay, answer the

Courtiers, it was Turgot, it was Necker, with their mad innovating; it was the Queen's want of etiquette; it

was he, it was she, it was that. Friends! it was every scoundrel that had lived, and quacklike pretended to be

doing, and been only eating and misdoing, in all provinces of life, as Shoeblack or as Sovereign Lord, each in

his degree, from the time of Charlemagne and earlier. All this (for be sure no falsehood perishes, but is as

seed sown out to grow) has been storing itself for thousands of years; and now the accountday has come.

And rude will the settlement be: of wrath laid up against the day of wrath. O my Brother, be not thou a

Quack! Die rather, if thou wilt take counsel; 'tis but dying once, and thou art quit of it for ever. Cursed is that

trade; and bears curses, thou knowest not how, long ages after thou art departed, and the wages thou hadst are

all consumed; nay, as the ancient wise have written, through Eternity itself, and is verily marked in the

Hope deferred maketh the heart sick. And yet, as we said, Hope is but deferred; not abolished, not

abolishable. It is very notable, and touching, how this same Hope does still light onwards the French Nation

through all its wild destinies. For we shall still find Hope shining, be it for fond invitation, be it for anger and

menace; as a mild heavenly light it shone; as a red conflagration it shines: burning sulphurous blue, through

darkest regions of Terror, it still shines; and goes sent out at all, since Desperation itself is a kind of Hope.

Thus is our Era still to be named of Hope, though in the saddest sense,when there is nothing left but Hope.

But if any one would know summarily what a Pandora's Box lies there for the opening, he may see it in what

by its nature is the symptom of all symptoms, the surviving Literature of the Period. Abbe Raynal, with his

lubricity and loud loose rant, has spoken his word; and already the fast hastening generation responds to

another. Glance at Beaumarchais' Mariage de Figaro; which now (in 1784), after difficulty enough, has issued

on the stage; and 'runs its hundred nights,' to the admiration of all men. By what virtue or internal vigour it so

ran, the reader of our day will rather wonder:and indeed will know so much the better that it flattered some

pruriency of the time; that it spoke what all were feeling, and longing to speak. Small substance in that

Figaro: thin wiredrawn intrigues, thin wiredrawn sentiments and sarcasms; a thing lean, barren; yet which

winds and whisks itself, as through a wholly mad universe, adroitly, with a high sniffing air: wherein each,

as was hinted, which is the grand secret, may see some image of himself, and of his own state and ways. So it

runs its hundred nights, and all France runs with it; laughing applause. If the soliloquising Barber ask: "What

has your Lordship done to earn all this?" and can only answer: "You took the trouble to be born (Vous vous

etes donne la peine de naitre)," all men must laugh: and a gay horseracing Anglomaniac Noblesse loudest of

all. For how can small books have a great danger in them? asks the Sieur Caron; and fancies his thin epigram

may be a kind of reason. Conqueror of a golden fleece, by giant smuggling; tamer of helldogs, in the

Parlement Maupeou; and finally crowned Orpheus in the Theatre Francais, Beaumarchais has now

culminated, and unites the attributes of several demigods. We shall meet him once again, in the course of his

Still more significant are two Books produced on the eve of the ever memorable Explosion itself, and read

eagerly by all the world: Saint Pierre's Paul et Virginie, and Louvet's Chevalier de Faublas. Noteworthy

Books; which may be considered as the last speech of old Feudal France. In the first there rises melodiously,

as it were, the wail of a moribund world: everywhere wholesome Nature in unequal conflict with diseased

perfidious Art; cannot escape from it in the lowest hut, in the remotest island of the sea. Ruin and death must

strike down the loved one; and, what is most significant of all, death even here not by necessity, but by

etiquette. What a world of prurient corruption lies visible in that super sublime of modesty! Yet, on the

whole, our good SaintPierre is musical, poetical though most morbid: we will call his Book the swansong

Louvet's again, let no man account musical. Truly, if this wretched Faublas is a deathspeech, it is one under

the gallows, and by a felon that does not repent. Wretched cloaca of a Book; without depth even as a cloaca!

What 'picture of French society' is here? Picture properly of nothing, if not of the mind that gave it out as

some sort of picture. Yet symptom of much; above all, of the world that could nourish itself thereon.

While the unspeakable confusion is everywhere weltering within, and through so many cracks in the surface

sulphursmoke is issuing, the question arises: Through what crevice will the main Explosion carry itself?

Through which of the old craters or chimneys; or must it, at once, form a new crater for itself? In every

Society are such chimneys, are Institutions serving as such: even Constantinople is not without its

safetyvalves; there too Discontent can vent itself,in material fire; by the number of nocturnal

conflagrations, or of hanged bakers, the Reigning Power can read the signs of the times, and change course

We may say that this French Explosion will doubtless first try all the old Institutions of escape; for by each of

these there is, or at least there used to be, some communication with the interior deep; they are national

Institutions in virtue of that. Had they even become personal Institutions, and what we can call choked up

from their original uses, there nevertheless must the impediment be weaker than elsewhere. Through which of

them then? An observer might have guessed: Through the Law Parlements; above all, through the Parlement

Men, though never so thickly clad in dignities, sit not inaccessible to the influences of their time; especially

men whose life is business; who at all turns, were it even from behind judgmentseats, have come in contact

with the actual workings of the world. The Counsellor of Parlement, the President himself, who has bought

his place with hard money that he might be looked up to by his fellowcreatures, how shall he, in all

Philosophe soirees, and saloons of elegant culture, become notable as a Friend of Darkness? Among the

Paris Longrobes there may be more than one patriotic Malesherbes, whose rule is conscience and the public

good; there are clearly more than one hotheaded D'Espremenil, to whose confused thought any loud

reputation of the Brutus sort may seem glorious. The Lepelletiers, Lamoignons have titles and wealth; yet, at

Court, are only styled 'Noblesse of the Robe.' There are Duports of deep scheme; Freteaus, Sabatiers, of

incontinent tongue: all nursed more or less on the milk of the Contrat Social. Nay, for the whole Body, is not

this patriotic opposition also a fighting for oneself? Awake, Parlement of Paris, renew thy long warfare! Was

not the Parlement Maupeou abolished with ignominy? Not now hast thou to dread a Louis XIV., with the

crack of his whip, and his Olympian looks; not now a Richelieu and Bastilles: no, the whole Nation is behind

thee. Thou too (O heavens!) mayest become a Political Power; and with the shakings of thy horsehair wig

Light old M. de Maurepas, since the end of 1781, has been fixed in the frost of death: "Never more," said the

good Louis, "shall I hear his step overhead;" his light jestings and gyratings are at an end. No more can the

importunate reality be hidden by pleasant wit, and today's evil be deftly rolled over upon tomorrow. The

morrow itself has arrived; and now nothing but a solid phlegmatic M. de Vergennes sits there, in dull matter

of fact, like some dull punctual Clerk (which he originally was); admits what cannot be denied, let the

remedy come whence it will. In him is no remedy; only clerklike 'despatch of business' according to routine.

The poor King, grown older yet hardly more experienced, must himself, with such nofaculty as he has,

begin governing; wherein also his Queen will give help. Bright Queen, with her quick clear glances and

impulses; clear, and even noble; but all too superficial, vehementshallow, for that work! To govern France

were such a problem; and now it has grown wellnigh too hard to govern even the OeildeBoeuf. For if a

distressed People has its cry, so likewise, and more audibly, has a bereaved Court. To the OeildeBoeuf it

remains inconceivable how, in a France of such resources, the Horn of Plenty should run dry: did it not use to

flow? Nevertheless Necker, with his revenue of parsimony, has 'suppressed above six hundred places,' before

the Courtiers could oust him; parsimonious financepedant as he was. Again, a military pedant,

SaintGermain, with his Prussian manoeuvres; with his Prussian notions, as if merit and not coatofarms

should be the rule of promotion, has disaffected military men; the Mousquetaires, with much else are

suppressed: for he too was one of your suppressors; and unsettling and oversetting, did mere mischiefto

the OeildeBoeuf. Complaints abound; scarcity, anxiety: it is a changed OeildeBoeuf. Besenval says,

already in these years (1781) there was such a melancholy (such a tristesse) about Court, compared with

No wonder that the OeildeBoeuf feels melancholy, when you are suppressing its places! Not a place can be

suppressed, but some purse is the lighter for it; and more than one heart the heavier; for did it not employ the

workingclasses too,manufacturers, male and female, of laces, essences; of Pleasure generally, whosoever

could manufacture Pleasure? Miserable economies; never felt over Twentyfive Millions! So, however, it

goes on: and is not yet ended. Few years more and the Wolfhounds shall fall suppressed, the Bearhounds,

the Falconry; places shall fall, thick as autumnal leaves. Duke de Polignac demonstrates, to the complete

silencing of ministerial logic, that his place cannot be abolished; then gallantly, turning to the Queen,

surrenders it, since her Majesty so wishes. Less chivalrous was Duke de Coigny, and yet not luckier: "We got

into a real quarrel, Coigny and I," said King Louis; "but if he had even struck me, I could not have blamed

him." (Besenval, iii. 25558.) In regard to such matters there can be but one opinion. Baron Besenval, with

that frankness of speech which stamps the independent man, plainly assures her Majesty that it is frightful

(affreux); "you go to bed, and are not sure but you shall rise impoverished on the morrow: one might as well

How singular this perpetual distress of the royal treasury! And yet it is a thing not more incredible than

undeniable. A thing mournfully true: the stumblingblock on which all Ministers successively stumble, and

fall. Be it 'want of fiscal genius,' or some far other want, there is the palpablest discrepancy between Revenue

and Expenditure; a Deficit of the Revenue: you must 'choke (combler) the Deficit,' or else it will swallow

you! This is the stern problem; hopeless seemingly as squaring of the circle. Controller Joly de Fleury, who

succeeded Necker, could do nothing with it; nothing but propose loans, which were tardily filled up; impose

new taxes, unproductive of money, productive of clamour and discontent. As little could Controller

d'Ormesson do, or even less; for if Joly maintained himself beyond year and day, d'Ormesson reckons only

by months: till 'the King purchased Rambouillet without consulting him,' which he took as a hint to withdraw.

And so, towards the end of 1783, matters threaten to come to stillstand. Vain seems human ingenuity. In

vain has our newlydevised 'Council of Finances' struggled, our Intendants of Finance, Controller General

of Finances: there are unhappily no Finances to control. Fatal paralysis invades the social movement; clouds,

of blindness or of blackness, envelop us: are we breaking down, then, into the black horrors of NATIONAL

Great is Bankruptcy: the great bottomless gulf into which all Falsehoods, public and private, do sink,

disappearing; whither, from the first origin of them, they were all doomed. For Nature is true and not a lie.

No lie you can speak or act but it will come, after longer or shorter circulation, like a Bill drawn on Nature's

Reality, and be presented there for payment, with the answer, No effects. Pity only that it often had so long

a circulation: that the original forger were so seldom he who bore the final smart of it! Lies, and the burden of

evil they bring, are passed on; shifted from back to back, and from rank to rank; and so land ultimately on the

dumb lowest rank, who with spade and mattock, with sore heart and empty wallet, daily come in contact with

Observe nevertheless how, by a just compensating law, if the lie with its burden (in this confused whirlpool

of Society) sinks and is shifted ever downwards, then in return the distress of it rises ever upwards and

upwards. Whereby, after the long pining and demistarvation of those Twenty Millions, a Duke de Coigny

and his Majesty come also to have their 'real quarrel.' Such is the law of just Nature; bringing, though at long

But with a Fortunatus' Purse in his pocket, through what length of time might not almost any Falsehood last!

Your Society, your Household, practical or spiritual Arrangement, is untrue, unjust, offensive to the eye of

God and man. Nevertheless its hearth is warm, its larder well replenished: the innumerable Swiss of Heaven,

with a kind of Natural loyalty, gather round it; will prove, by pamphleteering, musketeering, that it is a truth;

or if not an unmixed (unearthly, impossible) Truth, then better, a wholesomely attempered one, (as wind is to

the shorn lamb), and works well. Changed outlook, however, when purse and larder grow empty! Was your

Arrangement so true, so accordant to Nature's ways, then how, in the name of wonder, has Nature, with her

infinite bounty, come to leave it famishing there? To all men, to all women and all children, it is now

indutiable that your Arrangement was false. Honour to Bankruptcy; ever righteous on the great scale, though

in detail it is so cruel! Under all Falsehoods it works, unweariedly mining. No Falsehood, did it rise heaven

high and cover the world, but Bankruptcy, one day, will sweep it down, and make us free of it.

Under such circumstances of tristesse, obstruction and sick langour, when to an exasperated Court it seems as

if fiscal genius had departed from among men, what apparition could be welcomer than that of M. de

Calonne? Calonne, a man of indisputable genius; even fiscal genius, more or less; of experience both in

managing Finance and Parlements, for he has been Intendant at Metz, at Lille; King's Procureur at Douai. A

man of weight, connected with the moneyed classes; of unstained name,if it were not some peccadillo (of

showing a Client's Letter) in that old D'Aiguillon Lachalotais business, as good as forgotten now. He has

kinsmen of heavy purse, felt on the Stock Exchange. Our Foulons, Berthiers intrigue for him:old Foulon,

who has now nothing to do but intrigue; who is known and even seen to be what they call a scoundrel; but of

unmeasured wealth; who, from Commissariatclerk which he once was, may hope, some think, if the game

Such propping and backing has M. de Calonne; and then intrinsically such qualities! Hope radiates from his

face; persuasion hangs on his tongue. For all straits he has present remedy, and will make the world roll on

wheels before him. On the 3d of November 1783, the OeildeBoeuf rejoices in its new ControllerGeneral.

Calonne also shall have trial; Calonne also, in his way, as Turgot and Necker had done in theirs, shall forward

the consummation; suffuse, with one other flush of brilliancy, our now too leadencoloured Era of Hope, and

Great, in any case, is the felicity of the OeildeBoeuf. Stinginess has fled from these royal abodes:

suppression ceases; your Besenval may go peaceably to sleep, sure that he shall awake unplundered. Smiling

Plenty, as if conjured by some enchanter, has returned; scatters contentment from her newflowing horn. And

mark what suavity of manners! A bland smile distinguishes our Controller: to all men he listens with an air of

interest, nay of anticipation; makes their own wish clear to themselves, and grants it; or at least, grants

conditional promise of it. "I fear this is a matter of difficulty," said her Majesty."Madame," answered the

Controller, "if it is but difficult, it is done, if it is impossible, it shall be done (se fera)." A man of such

'facility' withal. To observe him in the pleasurevortex of society, which none partakes of with more gusto,

you might ask, When does he work? And yet his work, as we see, is never behindhand; above all, the fruit of

his work: readymoney. Truly a man of incredible facility; facile action, facile elocution, facile thought: how,

in mild suasion, philosophic depth sparkles up from him, as mere wit and lambent sprightliness; and in her

Majesty's Soirees, with the weight of a world lying on him, he is the delight of men and women! By what

magic does he accomplish miracles? By the only true magic, that of genius. Men name him 'the Minister;' as

indeed, when was there another such? Crooked things are become straight by him, rough places plain; and

Nay, in seriousness, let no man say that Calonne had not genius: genius for Persuading; before all things, for

Borrowing. With the skilfulest judicious appliances of underhand money, he keeps the StockExchanges

flourishing; so that Loan after Loan is filled up as soon as opened. 'Calculators likely to know' (Besenval, iii.

216.) have calculated that he spent, in extraordinaries, 'at the rate of one million daily;' which indeed is some

fifty thousand pounds sterling: but did he not procure something with it; namely peace and prosperity, for the

time being? Philosophedom grumbles and croaks; buys, as we said, 80,000 copies of Necker's new Book: but

Nonpareil Calonne, in her Majesty's Apartment, with the glittering retinue of Dukes, Duchesses, and mere

The misery is, such a time cannot last! Squandering, and Payment by Loan is no way to choke a Deficit.

Neither is oil the substance for quenching conflagrations;but, only for assuaging them, not permanently!

To the Nonpareil himself, who wanted not insight, it is clear at intervals, and dimly certain at all times, that

his trade is by nature temporary, growing daily more difficult; that changes incalculable lie at no great

distance. Apart from financial Deficit, the world is wholly in such a newfangled humour; all things working

loose from their old fastenings, towards new issues and combinations. There is not a dwarf jokei, a cropt

Brutus'head, or Anglomaniac horseman rising on his stirrups, that does not betoken change. But what then?

The day, in any case, passes pleasantly; for the morrow, if the morrow come, there shall be counsel too. Once

mounted (by munificence, suasion, magic of genius) high enough in favour with the Oeil deBoeuf, with

the King, Queen, StockExchange, and so far as possible with all men, a Nonpareil Controller may hope to

go careering through the Inevitable, in some unimagined way, as handsomely as another.

At all events, for these three miraculous years, it has been expedient heaped on expedient; till now, with such

cumulation and height, the pile topples perilous. And here has this world'swonder of a Diamond Necklace

brought it at last to the clear verge of tumbling. Genius in that direction can no more: mounted high enough,

or not mounted, we must fare forth. Hardly is poor Rohan, the NecklaceCardinal, safely bestowed in the

Auvergne Mountains, Dame de Lamotte (unsafely) in the Salpetriere, and that mournful business hushed up,

when our sanguine Controller once more astonishes the world. An expedient, unheard of for these hundred

and sixty years, has been propounded; and, by dint of suasion (for his light audacity, his hope and eloquence

Let notable persons, the actual or virtual rulers of their districts, be summoned from all sides of France: let a

true tale, of his Majesty's patriotic purposes and wretched pecuniary impossibilities, be suasively told them;

and then the question put: What are we to do? Surely to adopt healing measures; such as the magic of genius

will unfold; such as, once sanctioned by Notables, all Parlements and all men must, with more or less

Here, then is verily a sign and wonder; visible to the whole world; bodeful of much. The OeildeBoeuf

dolorously grumbles; were we not well as we stood,quenching conflagrations by oil? Constitutional

Philosophedom starts with joyful surprise; stares eagerly what the result will be. The public creditor, the

public debtor, the whole thinking and thoughtless public have their several surprises, joyful and sorrowful.

Count Mirabeau, who has got his matrimonial and other Lawsuits huddled up, better or worse; and works

now in the dimmest element at Berlin; compiling Prussian Monarchies, Pamphlets On Cagliostro; writing,

with pay, but not with honourable recognition, innumerable Despatches for his Government,scents or

descries richer quarry from afar. He, like an eagle or vulture, or mixture of both, preens his wings for flight

M. de Calonne has stretched out an Aaron's Rod over France; miraculous; and is summoning quite

unexpected things. Audacity and hope alternate in him with misgivings; though the sanguinevaliant side

carries it. Anon he writes to an intimate friend, "Here me fais pitie a moimeme (I am an object of pity to

myself);" anon, invites some dedicating Poet or Poetaster to sing 'this Assembly of the Notables and the

Revolution that is preparing.' (Biographie Universelle, para Calonne (by Guizot).) Preparing indeed; and a

matter to be sung,only not till we have seen it, and what the issue of it is. In deep obscure unrest, all things

have so long gone rocking and swaying: will M. de Calonne, with this his alchemy of the Notables, fasten all

together again, and get new revenues? Or wrench all asunder; so that it go no longer rocking and swaying, but

Be this as it may, in the bleak short days, we behold men of weight and influence threading the great vortex

of French Locomotion, each on his several line, from all sides of France towards the Chateau of Versailles:

summoned thither de par le roi. There, on the 22d day of February 1787, they have met, and got installed:

Notables to the number of a Hundred and Thirtyseven, as we count them name by name: (Lacretelle, iii.

286. Montgaillard, i. 347.) add Seven Princes of the Blood, it makes the round Gross of Notables. Men of the

sword, men of the robe; Peers, dignified Clergy, Parlementary Presidents: divided into Seven Boards

(Bureaux); under our Seven Princes of the Blood, Monsieur, D'Artois, Penthievre, and the rest; among whom

let not our new Duke d'Orleans (for, since 1785, he is Chartres no longer) be forgotten. Never yet made

Admiral, and now turning the corner of his fortieth year, with spoiled blood and prospects; half weary of a

world which is more than halfweary of him, Monseigneur's future is most questionable. Not in illumination

and insight, not even in conflagration; but, as was said, 'in dull smoke and ashes of outburnt sensualities,'

does he live and digest. Sumptuosity and sordidness; revenge, lifeweariness, ambition, darkness,

putrescence; and, say, in sterling money, three hundred thousand a year,were this poor Prince once to burst

loose from his Courtmoorings, to what regions, with what phenomena, might he not sail and drift! Happily

as yet he 'affects to hunt daily;' sits there, since he must sit, presiding that Bureau of his, with dull

We observe finally, that Count Mirabeau has actually arrived. He descends from Berlin, on the scene of

action; glares into it with flashing sun glance; discerns that it will do nothing for him. He had hoped these

Notables might need a Secretary. They do need one; but have fixed on Dupont de Nemours; a man of smaller

fame, but then of better;who indeed, as his friends often hear, labours under this complaint, surely not a

universal one, of having 'five kings to correspond with.' (Dumont, Souvenirs sur Mirabeau (Paris, 1832), p.

20.) The pen of a Mirabeau cannot become an official one; nevertheless it remains a pen. In defect of

Secretaryship, he sets to denouncing Stockbrokerage (Denonciation de l'Agiotage); testifying, as his wont is,

by loud bruit, that he is present and busy;till, warned by friend Talleyrand, and even by Calonne himself

underhand, that 'a seventeenth LettredeCachet may be launched against him,' he timefully flits over the

And now, in stately royal apartments, as Pictures of that time still represent them, our hundred and fortyfour

Notables sit organised; ready to hear and consider. Controller Calonne is dreadfully behindhand with his

speeches, his preparatives; however, the man's 'facility of work' is known to us. For freshness of style,

lucidity, ingenuity, largeness of view, that opening Harangue of his was unsurpassable:had not the

subjectmatter been so appalling. A Deficit, concerning which accounts vary, and the Controller's own

account is not unquestioned; but which all accounts agree in representing as 'enormous.' This is the epitome

of our Controller's difficulties: and then his means? Mere Turgotism; for thither, it seems, we must come at

last: Provincial Assemblies; new Taxation; nay, strangest of all, new Landtax, what he calls Subvention

Territoriale, from which neither Privileged nor Unprivileged, Noblemen, Clergy, nor Parlementeers, shall be

Foolish enough! These Privileged Classes have been used to tax; levying toll, tribute and custom, at all hands,

while a penny was left: but to be themselves taxed? Of such Privileged persons, meanwhile, do these

Notables, all but the merest fraction, consist. Headlong Calonne had given no heed to the 'composition,' or

judicious packing of them; but chosen such Notables as were really notable; trusting for the issue to offhand

ingenuity, good fortune, and eloquence that never yet failed. Headlong ControllerGeneral! Eloquence can

do much, but not all. Orpheus, with eloquence grown rhythmic, musical (what we call Poetry), drew iron

tears from the cheek of Pluto: but by what witchery of rhyme or prose wilt thou from the pocket of Plutus

Accordingly, the storm that now rose and began to whistle round Calonne, first in these Seven Bureaus, and

then on the outside of them, awakened by them, spreading wider and wider over all France, threatens to

become unappeasable. A Deficit so enormous! Mismanagement, profusion is too clear. Peculation itself is

hinted at; nay, Lafayette and others go so far as to speak it out, with attempts at proof. The blame of his

Deficit our brave Calonne, as was natural, had endeavoured to shift from himself on his predecessors; not

excepting even Necker. But now Necker vehemently denies; whereupon an 'angry Correspondence,' which

In the OeildeBoeuf, and her Majesty's private Apartments, an eloquent Controller, with his "Madame, if it

is but difficult," had been persuasive: but, alas, the cause is now carried elsewhither. Behold him, one of these

sad days, in Monsieur's Bureau; to which all the other Bureaus have sent deputies. He is standing at bay:

alone; exposed to an incessant fire of questions, interpellations, objurgations, from those 'hundred and thirty

seven' pieces of logicordnance,what we may well call bouches a feu, firemouths literally! Never,

according to Besenval, or hardly ever, had such display of intellect, dexterity, coolness, suasive eloquence,

been made by man. To the raging play of so many firemouths he opposes nothing angrier than lightbeams,

selfpossession and fatherly smiles. With the imperturbablest bland clearness, he, for five hours long, keeps

answering the incessant volley of fiery captious questions, reproachful interpellations; in words prompt as

lightning, quiet as light. Nay, the crossfire too: such side questions and incidental interpellations as, in the

heat of the mainbattle, he (having only one tongue) could not get answered; these also he takes up at the

first slake; answers even these. (Besenval, iii. 196.) Could blandest suasive eloquence have saved France, she

Heavyladen Controller! In the Seven Bureaus seems nothing but hindrance: in Monsieur's Bureau, a

Lomenie de Brienne, Archbishop of Toulouse, with an eye himself to the Controllership, stirs up the Clergy;

there are meetings, underground intrigues. Neither from without anywhere comes sign of help or hope. For

the Nation (where Mirabeau is now, with stentorlungs, 'denouncing Agio') the Controller has hitherto done

nothing, or less. For Philosophedom he has done as good as nothing,sent out some scientific Laperouse, or

the like: and is he not in 'angry correspondence' with its Necker? The very OeildeBoeuf looks

questionable; a falling Controller has no friends. Solid M. de Vergennes, who with his phlegmatic judicious

punctuality might have kept down many things, died the very week before these sorrowful Notables met. And

now a Sealkeeper, GardedesSceaux Miromenil is thought to be playing the traitor: spinning plots for

LomenieBrienne! Queen'sReader Abbe de Vermond, unloved individual, was Brienne's creature, the work

of his hands from the first: it may be feared the backstairs passage is open, ground getting mined under our

feet. Treacherous GardedesSceaux Miromenil, at least, should be dismissed; Lamoignon, the eloquent

Notable, a stanch man, with connections, and even ideas, ParlementPresident yet intent on reforming

Parlements, were not he the right Keeper? So, for one, thinks busy Besenval; and, at dinnertable, rounds the

same into the Controller's ear,who always, in the intervals of landlordduties, listens to him as with

Alas, what to answer? The force of private intrigue, and then also the force of public opinion, grows so

dangerous, confused! Philosophedom sneers aloud, as if its Necker already triumphed. The gaping populace

gapes over Woodcuts or Coppercuts; where, for example, a Rustic is represented convoking the poultry of

his barnyard, with this opening address: "Dear animals, I have assembled you to advise me what sauce I shall

dress you with;" to which a Cock responding, "We don't want to be eaten," is checked by "You wander from

the point (Vous vous ecartez de la question)." (Republished in the Musee de la Caricature (Paris, 1834).)

Laughter and logic; balladsinger, pamphleteer; epigram and caricature: what wind of public opinion is

this,as if the Cave of the Winds were bursting loose! At nightfall, President Lamoignon steals over to the

Controller's; finds him 'walking with large strides in his chamber, like one out of himself.' (Besenval, iii.

209.) With rapid confused speech the Controller begs M. de Lamoignon to give him 'an advice.' Lamoignon

candidly answers that, except in regard to his own anticipated Keepership, unless that would prove remedial,

'On the Monday after Easter,' the 9th of April 1787, a date one rejoices to verify, for nothing can excel the

indolent falsehood of these Histoires and Memoires,'On the Monday after Easter, as I, Besenval, was

riding towards Romainville to the Marechal de Segur's, I met a friend on the Boulevards, who told me that M.

de Calonne was out. A little further on came M. the Duke d'Orleans, dashing towards me, head to the wind'

(trotting a l'Anglaise), 'and confirmed the news.' (Ib. iii. 211.) It is true news. Treacherous GardedesSceaux

Miromenil is gone, and Lamoignon is appointed in his room: but appointed for his own profit only, not for

the Controller's: 'next day' the Controller also has had to move. A little longer he may linger near; be seen

among the money changers, and even 'working in the Controller's office,' where much lies unfinished: but

neither will that hold. Too strong blows and beats this tempest of public opinion, of private intrigue, as from

the Cave of all the Winds; and blows him (higher Authority giving sign) out of Paris and France,over the

Such destiny the magic of genius could not forever avert. Ungrateful Oeil deBoeuf! did he not

miraculously rain gold manna on you; so that, as a Courtier said, "All the world held out its hand, and I held

out my hat," for a time? Himself is poor; penniless, had not a 'Financier's widow in Lorraine' offered him,

though he was turned of fifty, her hand and the rich purse it held. Dim henceforth shall be his activity, though

unwearied: Letters to the King, Appeals, Prognostications; Pamphlets (from London), written with the old

suasive facility; which however do not persuade. Luckily his widow's purse fails not. Once, in a year or two,

some shadow of him shall be seen hovering on the Northern Border, seeking election as National Deputy; but

be sternly beckoned away. Dimmer then, farborne over utmost European lands, in uncertain twilight of

diplomacy, he shall hover, intriguing for 'Exiled Princes,' and have adventures; be overset into the Rhine

stream and halfdrowned, nevertheless save his papers dry. Unwearied, but in vain! In France he works

miracles no more; shall hardly return thither to find a grave. Farewell, thou facile sanguine Controller

General, with thy light rash hand, thy suasive mouth of gold: worse men there have been, and better; but to

thee also was allotted a task,of raising the wind, and the winds; and thou hast done it.

But now, while ExController Calonne flies stormdriven over the horizon, in this singular way, what has

become of the Controllership? It hangs vacant, one may say; extinct, like the Moon in her vacant interlunar

cave. Two preliminary shadows, poor M. Fourqueux, poor M. Villedeuil, do hold in quick succession some

simulacrum of it, (Besenval, iii. 225.)as the new Moon will sometimes shine out with a dim preliminary

old one in her arms. Be patient, ye Notables! An actual new Controller is certain, and even ready; were the

indispensable manoeuvres but gone through. Longheaded Lamoignon, with Home Secretary Breteuil, and

Foreign Secretary Montmorin have exchanged looks; let these three once meet and speak. Who is it that is

strong in the Queen's favour, and the Abbe de Vermond's? That is a man of great capacity? Or at least that

has struggled, these fifty years, to have it thought great; now, in the Clergy's name, demanding to have

Protestant deathpenalties 'put in execution;' no flaunting it in the Oeil deBoeuf, as the gayest manpleaser

and womanpleaser; gleaning even a good word from Philosophedom and your Voltaires and D'Alemberts?

With a party readymade for him in the Notables?Lomenie de Brienne, Archbishop of Toulouse! answer

all the three, with the clearest instantaneous concord; and rush off to propose him to the King; 'in such haste,'

says Besenval, 'that M. de Lamoignon had to borrow a simarre,' seemingly some kind of cloth apparatus

LomenieBrienne, who had all his life 'felt a kind of predestination for the highest offices,' has now therefore

obtained them. He presides over the Finances; he shall have the title of Prime Minister itself, and the effort of

his long life be realised. Unhappy only that it took such talent and industry to gain the place; that to qualify

for it hardly any talent or industry was left disposable! Looking now into his inner man, what qualification he

may have, Lomenie beholds, not without astonishment, next to nothing but vacuity and possibility. Principles

or methods, acquirement outward or inward (for his very body is wasted, by hard tear and wear) he finds

none; not so much as a plan, even an unwise one. Lucky, in these circumstances, that Calonne has had a plan!

Calonne's plan was gathered from Turgot's and Necker's by compilation; shall become Lomenie's by

adoption. Not in vain has Lomenie studied the working of the British Constitution; for he professes to have

some Anglomania, of a sort. Why, in that free country, does one Minister, driven out by Parliament, vanish

from his King's presence, and another enter, borne in by Parliament? (Montgaillard, Histoire de France, i.

41017.) Surely not for mere change (which is ever wasteful); but that all men may have share of what is

going; and so the strife of Freedom indefinitely prolong itself, and no harm be done.

The Notables, mollified by Easter festivities, by the sacrifice of Calonne, are not in the worst humour.

Already his Majesty, while the 'interlunar shadows' were in office, had held session of Notables; and from his

throne delivered promissory conciliatory eloquence: 'The Queen stood waiting at a window, till his carriage

came back; and Monsieur from afar clapped hands to her,' in sign that all was well. (Besenval, iii. 220.) It has

had the best effect; if such do but last. Leading Notables meanwhile can be 'caressed;' Brienne's new gloss,

Lamoignon's long head will profit somewhat; conciliatory eloquence shall not be wanting. On the whole,

however, is it not undeniable that this of ousting Calonne and adopting the plans of Calonne, is a measure

which, to produce its best effect, should be looked at from a certain distance, cursorily; not dwelt on with

minute near scrutiny. In a word, that no service the Notables could now do were so obliging as, in some

handsome manner, totake themselves away! Their 'Six Propositions' about Provisional Assemblies,

suppression of Corvees and suchlike, can be accepted without criticism. The Subvention on Landtax, and

much else, one must glide hastily over; safe nowhere but in flourishes of conciliatory eloquence. Till at

length, on this 25th of May, year 1787, in solemn final session, there bursts forth what we can call an

explosion of eloquence; King, Lomenie, Lamoignon and retinue taking up the successive strain; in

harrangues to the number of ten, besides his Majesty's, which last the livelong day;whereby, as in a kind of

choral anthem, or bravura peal, of thanks, praises, promises, the Notables are, so to speak, organed out, and

dismissed to their respective places of abode. They had sat, and talked, some nine weeks: they were the first

By some Historians, sitting much at their ease, in the safe distance, Lomenie has been blamed for this

dismissal of his Notables: nevertheless it was clearly time. There are things, as we said, which should not be

dwelt on with minute close scrutiny: over hot coals you cannot glide too fast. In these Seven Bureaus, where

no work could be done, unless talk were work, the questionablest matters were coming up. Lafayette, for

example, in Monseigneur d'Artois' Bureau, took upon him to set forth more than one deprecatory oration

about LettresdeCachet, Liberty of the Subject, Agio, and suchlike; which Monseigneur endeavouring to

repress, was answered that a Notable being summoned to speak his opinion must speak it. (Montgaillard, i.

Thus too his Grace the Archbishop of Aix perorating once, with a plaintive pulpit tone, in these words?

"Tithe, that freewill offering of the piety of Christians""Tithe," interrupted Duke la Rochefoucault, with

the cold businessmanner he has learned from the English, "that freewill offering of the piety of Christians;

on which there are now fortythousand lawsuits in this realm." (Dumont, Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, p. 21.)

Nay, Lafayette, bound to speak his opinion, went the length, one day, of proposing to convoke a 'National

Assembly.' "You demand StatesGeneral?" asked Monseigneur with an air of minatory surprise."Yes,

Monseigneur; and even better than that."Write it," said Monseigneur to the Clerks. (Toulongeon, Histoire

de France depuis la Revolution de 1789 (Paris, 1803), i. app. 4.)Written accordingly it is; and what is

Thus, then, have the Notables returned home; carrying to all quarters of France, such notions of deficit,

decrepitude, distraction; and that States General will cure it, or will not cure it but kill it. Each Notable, we

may fancy, is as a funeral torch; disclosing hideous abysses, better left hid! The unquietest humour possesses

all men; ferments, seeks issue, in pamphleteering, caricaturing, projecting, declaiming; vain jangling of

It is Spiritual Bankruptcy, long tolerated; verging now towards Economical Bankruptcy, and become

intolerable. For from the lowest dumb rank, the inevitable misery, as was predicted, has spread upwards. In

every man is some obscure feeling that his position, oppressive or else oppressed, is a false one: all men, in

one or the other acrid dialect, as assaulters or as defenders, must give vent to the unrest that is in them. Of

such stuff national wellbeing, and the glory of rulers, is not made. O Lomenie, what a wildheaving,

wastelooking, hungry and angry world hast thou, after lifelong effort, got promoted to take charge of!

Lomenie's first Edicts are mere soothing ones: creation of Provincial Assemblies, 'for apportioning the

imposts,' when we get any; suppression of Corvees or statutelabour; alleviation of Gabelle. Soothing

measures, recommended by the Notables; long clamoured for by all liberal men. Oil cast on the waters has

been known to produce a good effect. Before venturing with great essential measures, Lomenie will see this

Most proper, surely. But what if it were not a swell of the abating kind? There are swells that come of upper

tempest and windgust. But again there are swells that come of subterranean pent wind, some say; and even

of inward decomposion, of decay that has become selfcombustion:as when, according to

NeptunoPlutonic Geology, the World is all decayed down into due attritus of this sort; and shall now be

exploded, and newmade! These latter abate not by oil.The fool says in his heart, How shall not tomorrow

be as yesterday; as all days,which were once tomorrows? The wise man, looking on this France, moral,

intellectual, economical, sees, 'in short, all the symptoms he has ever met with in history,'unabatable by

Meanwhile, abate or not, cash must be had; and for that quite another sort of Edicts, namely 'bursal' or fiscal

ones. How easy were fiscal Edicts, did you know for certain that the Parlement of Paris would what they call

'register' them! Such right of registering, properly of mere writing down, the Parlement has got by old wont;

and, though but a LawCourt, can remonstrate, and higgle considerably about the same. Hence many

quarrels; desperate Maupeou devices, and victory and defeat;a quarrel now near forty years long. Hence

fiscal Edicts, which otherwise were easy enough, become such problems. For example, is there not Calonne's

Subvention Territoriale, universal, unexempting Landtax; the sheetanchor of Finance? Or, to show, so far

as possible, that one is not without original finance talent, Lomenie himself can devise an Edit du Timbre or

Stamptax, borrowed also, it is true; but then from America: may it prove luckier in France than there!

France has her resources: nevertheless, it cannot be denied, the aspect of that Parlement is questionable.

Already among the Notables, in that final symphony of dismissal, the Paris President had an ominous tone.

Adrien Duport, quitting magnetic sleep, in this agitation of the world, threatens to rouse himself into

preternatural wakefulness. Shallower but also louder, there is magnetic D'Espremenil, with his tropical heat

(he was born at Madras); with his dusky confused violence; holding of Illumination, Animal Magnetism,

Public Opinion, Adam Weisshaupt, Harmodius and Aristogiton, and all manner of confused violent things: of

whom can come no good. The very Peerage is infected with the leaven. Our Peers have, in too many cases,

laid aside their frogs, laces, bagwigs; and go about in English costume, or ride rising in their stirrups,in the

most headlong manner; nothing but insubordination, eleutheromania, confused unlimited opposition in their

heads. Questionable: not to be ventured upon, if we had a Fortunatus' Purse! But Lomenie has waited all

June, casting on the waters what oil he had; and now, betide as it may, the two Finance Edicts must out. On

the 6th of July, he forwards his proposed Stamptax and Land tax to the Parlement of Paris; and, as if

putting his own leg foremost, not his borrowed Calonne'sleg, places the Stamptax first in order.

Alas, the Parlement will not register: the Parlement demands instead a 'state of the expenditure,' a 'state of the

contemplated reductions;' 'states' enough; which his Majesty must decline to furnish! Discussions arise;

patriotic eloquence: the Peers are summoned. Does the Nemean Lion begin to bristle? Here surely is a duel,

which France and the Universe may look upon: with prayers; at lowest, with curiosity and bets. Paris stirs

with new animation. The outer courts of the Palais de Justice roll with unusual crowds, coming and going;

their huge outer hum mingles with the clang of patriotic eloquence within, and gives vigour to it. Poor

Lomenie gazes from the distance, little comforted; has his invisible emissaries flying to and fro, assiduous,

So pass the sultry dogdays, in the most electric manner; and the whole month of July. And still, in the

Sanctuary of Justice, sounds nothing but HarmodiusAristogiton eloquence, environed with the hum of

crowding Paris; and no registering accomplished, and no 'states' furnished. "States?" said a lively

Parlementeer: "Messieurs, the states that should be furnished us, in my opinion are the

STATESGENERAL." On which timely joke there follow cachinnatory buzzes of approval. What a word to

be spoken in the Palais de Justice! Old D'Ormesson (the ExController's uncle) shakes his judicious head; far

enough from laughing. But the outer courts, and Paris and France, catch the glad sound, and repeat it; shall

repeat it, and reecho and reverberate it, till it grow a deafening peal. Clearly enough here is no registering to

The pious Proverb says, 'There are remedies for all things but death.' When a Parlement refuses registering,

the remedy, by long practice, has become familiar to the simplest: a Bed of Justice. One complete month this

Parlement has spent in mere idle jargoning, and sound and fury; the Timbre Edict not registered, or like to be;

the Subvention not yet so much as spoken of. On the 6th of August let the whole refractory Body roll out, in

wheeled vehicles, as far as the King's Chateau of Versailles; there shall the King, holding his Bed of Justice,

order them, by his own royal lips, to register. They may remonstrate, in an under tone; but they must obey,

It is done: the Parlement has rolled out, on royal summons; has heard the express royal order to register.

Whereupon it has rolled back again, amid the hushed expectancy of men. And now, behold, on the morrow,

this Parlement, seated once more in its own Palais, with 'crowds inundating the outer courts,' not only does

not register, but (O portent!) declares all that was done on the prior day to be null, and the Bed of Justice as

good as a futility! In the history of France here verily is a new feature. Nay better still, our heroic Parlement,

getting suddenly enlightened on several things, declares that, for its part, it is incompetent to register Tax

edicts at all,having done it by mistake, during these late centuries; that for such act one authority only is

To such length can the universal spirit of a Nation penetrate the most isolated Bodycorporate: say rather,

with such weapons, homicidal and suicidal, in exasperated political duel, will Bodiescorporate fight! But, in

any case, is not this the real deathgrapple of war and internecine duel, Greek meeting Greek; whereon men,

had they even no interest in it, might look with interest unspeakable? Crowds, as was said, inundate the outer

courts: inundation of young eleutheromaniac Noblemen in English costume, uttering audacious speeches; of

Procureurs, BasocheClerks, who are idle in these days: of Loungers, Newsmongers and other nondescript

classes,rolls tumultuous there. 'From three to four thousand persons,' waiting eagerly to hear the Arretes

(Resolutions) you arrive at within; applauding with bravos, with the clapping of from six to eight thousand

hands! Sweet also is the meed of patriotic eloquence, when your D'Espremenil, your Freteau, or Sabatier,

issuing from his Demosthenic Olympus, the thunder being hushed for the day, is welcomed, in the outer

courts, with a shout from four thousand throats; is borne home shoulder high 'with benedictions,' and strikes

Arise, LomenieBrienne: here is no case for 'Letters of Jussion;' for faltering or compromise. Thou seest the

whole loose fluent population of Paris (whatsoever is not solid, and fixed to work) inundating these outer

courts, like a loud destructive deluge; the very Basoche of Lawyers' Clerks talks sedition. The lower classes,

in this duel of Authority with Authority, Greek throttling Greek, have ceased to respect the CityWatch:

Policesatellites are marked on the back with chalk (the M signifies mouchard, spy); they are hustled, hunted

like ferae naturae. Subordinate rural Tribunals send messengers of congratulation, of adherence. Their

Fountain of Justice is becoming a Fountain of Revolt. The Provincial Parlements look on, with intent eye,

with breathless wishes, while their elder sister of Paris does battle: the whole Twelve are of one blood and

Ever worse it grows: on the 10th of August, there is 'Plainte' emitted touching the 'prodigalities of Calonne,'

and permission to 'proceed' against him. No registering, but instead of it, denouncing: of dilapidation,

peculation; and ever the burden of the song, StatesGeneral! Have the royal armories no thunderbolt, that

thou couldst, O Lomenie, with red righthand, launch it among these Demosthenic theatrical thunder

barrels, mere resin and noise for most part;and shatter, and smite them silent? On the night of the 14th of

August, Lomenie launches his thunderbolt, or handful of them. Letters named of the Seal (de Cachet), as

many as needful, some sixscore and odd, are delivered overnight. And so, next day betimes, the whole

Parlement, once more set on wheels, is rolling incessantly towards Troyes in Champagne; 'escorted,' says

History, 'with the blessings of all people;' the very innkeepers and postillions looking gratuitously reverent.

(A. Lameth, Histoire de l'Assemblee Constituante (Int. 73).) This is the 15th of August 1787.

What will not people bless; in their extreme need? Seldom had the Parlement of Paris deserved much

blessing, or received much. An isolated Bodycorporate, which, out of old confusions (while the Sceptre of

the Sword was confusedly struggling to become a Sceptre of the Pen), had got itself together, better and

worse, as Bodiescorporate do, to satisfy some dim desire of the world, and many clear desires of

individuals; and so had grown, in the course of centuries, on concession, on acquirement and usurpation, to

be what we see it: a prosperous social Anomaly, deciding Lawsuits, sanctioning or rejecting Laws; and withal

disposing of its places and offices by sale for ready money,which method sleek President Henault, after

meditation, will demonstrate to be the indifferentbest. (Abrege Chronologique, p. 975.)

In such a Body, existing by purchase for readymoney, there could not be excess of public spirit; there might

well be excess of eagerness to divide the public spoil. Men in helmets have divided that, with swords; men in

wigs, with quill and inkhorn, do divide it: and even more hatefully these latter, if more peaceably; for the

wigmethod is at once irresistibler and baser. By long experience, says Besenval, it has been found useless to

sue a Parlementeer at law; no Officer of Justice will serve a writ on one; his wig and gown are his

The Parlement of Paris may count itself an unloved body; mean, not magnanimous, on the political side.

Were the King weak, always (as now) has his Parlement barked, curlike at his heels; with what popular cry

there might be. Were he strong, it barked before his face; hunting for him as his alert beagle. An unjust Body;

where foul influences have more than once worked shameful perversion of judgment. Does not, in these very

days, the blood of murdered Lally cry aloud for vengeance? Baited, circumvented, driven mad like the snared

lion, Valour had to sink extinguished under vindictive Chicane. Behold him, that hapless Lally, his wild dark

soul looking through his wild dark face; trailed on the ignominious death hurdle; the voice of his despair

choked by a wooden gag! The wild fire soul that has known only peril and toil; and, for threescore years,

has buffeted against Fate's obstruction and men's perfidy, like genius and courage amid poltroonery,

dishonesty and commonplace; faithfully enduring and endeavouring,O Parlement of Paris, dost thou

reward it with a gibbet and a gag? (9th May, 1766: Biographie Universelle, para Lally.) The dying Lally

bequeathed his memory to his boy; a young Lally has arisen, demanding redress in the name of God and man.

The Parlement of Paris does its utmost to defend the indefensible, abominable; nay, what is singular,

duskyglowing Aristogiton d'Espremenil is the man chosen to be its spokesman in that.

Such Social Anomaly is it that France now blesses. An unclean Social Anomaly; but in duel against another

worse! The exiled Parlement is felt to have 'covered itself with glory.' There are quarrels in which even Satan,

bringing help, were not unwelcome; even Satan, fighting stiffly, might cover himself with glory,of a

But what a stir in the outer courts of the Palais, when Paris finds its Parlement trundled off to Troyes in

Champagne; and nothing left but a few mute Keepers of records; the Demosthenic thunder become extinct,

the martyrs of liberty clean gone! Confused wail and menace rises from the four thousand throats of

Procureurs, BasocheClerks, Nondescripts, and Anglomaniac Noblesse; ever new idlers crowd to see and

hear; Rascality, with increasing numbers and vigour, hunts mouchards. Loud whirlpool rolls through these

spaces; the rest of the City, fixed to its work, cannot yet go rolling. Audacious placards are legible, in and

about the Palais, the speeches are as good as seditious. Surely the temper of Paris is much changed. On the

third day of this business (18th of August), Monsieur and Monseigneur d'Artois, coming in statecarriages,

according to use and wont, to have these late obnoxious Arretes and protests 'expunged' from the Records, are

received in the most marked manner. Monsieur, who is thought to be in opposition, is met with vivats and

strewed flowers; Monseigneur, on the other hand, with silence; with murmurs, which rise to hisses and

groans; nay, an irreverent Rascality presses towards him in floods, with such hissing vehemence, that the

Captain of the Guards has to give order, "Haut les armes (Handle arms)!"at which thunderword, indeed,

and the flash of the clear iron, the Rascalflood recoils, through all avenues, fast enough. (Montgaillard, i.

369. Besenval, New features these. Indeed, as good M. de Malesherbes pertinently remarks, "it is a quite new

kind of contest this with the Parlement:" no transitory sputter, as from collision of hard bodies; but more like

"the first sparks of what, if not quenched, may become a great conflagration." (Montgaillard, i. 373.)

This good Malesherbes sees himself now again in the King's Council, after an absence of ten years: Lomenie

would profit if not by the faculties of the man, yet by the name he has. As for the man's opinion, it is not

listened to;wherefore he will soon withdraw, a second time; back to his books and his trees. In such King's

Council what can a good man profit? Turgot tries it not a second time: Turgot has quitted France and this

Earth, some years ago; and now cares for none of these things. Singular enough: Turgot, this same Lomenie,

and the Abbe Morellet were once a trio of young friends; fellowscholars in the Sorbonne. Forty new years

Meanwhile the Parlement sits daily at Troyes, calling cases; and daily adjourns, no Procureur making his

appearance to plead. Troyes is as hospitable as could be looked for: nevertheless one has comparatively a dull

life. No crowds now to carry you, shoulderhigh, to the immortal gods; scarcely a Patriot or two will drive

out so far, and bid you be of firm courage. You are in furnished lodgings, far from home and domestic

comfort: little to do, but wander over the unlovely Champagne fields; seeing the grapes ripen; taking counsel

about the thousandtimes consulted: a prey to tedium; in danger even that Paris may forget you. Messengers

come and go: pacific Lomenie is not slack in negotiating, promising; D'Ormesson and the prudent elder

After a dull month, the Parlement, yielding and retaining, makes truce, as all Parlements must. The

Stamptax is withdrawn: the Subvention Landtax is also withdrawn; but, in its stead, there is granted, what

they call a 'Prorogation of the Second Twentieth,'itself a kind of Landtax, but not so oppressive to the

Influential classes; which lies mainly on the Dumb class. Moreover, secret promises exist (on the part of the

Elders), that finances may be raised by Loan. Of the ugly word StatesGeneral there shall be no mention.

And so, on the 20th of September, our exiled Parlement returns: D'Espremenil said, 'it went out covered with

glory, but had come back covered with mud (de boue).' Not so, Aristogiton; or if so, thou surely art the man

Was ever unfortunate Chief Minister so bested as LomenieBrienne? The reins of the State fairly in his hand

these six months; and not the smallest motivepower (of Finance) to stir from the spot with, this way or that!

He flourishes his whip, but advances not. Instead of readymoney, there is nothing but rebellious debating

Far is the public mind from having calmed; it goes chafing and fuming ever worse: and in the royal coffers,

with such yearly Deficit running on, there is hardly the colour of coin. Ominous prognostics! Malesherbes,

seeing an exhausted, exasperated France grow hotter and hotter, talks of 'conflagration:' Mirabeau, without

talk, has, as we perceive, descended on Paris again, close on the rear of the Parlement, (Fils Adoptif,

Over the Frontiers, behold Holland invaded by Prussia; (October, 1787. Montgaillard, i. 374. Besenval, iii.

283.) the French party oppressed, England and the Stadtholder triumphing: to the sorrow of WarSecretary

Montmorin and all men. But without money, sinews of war, as of work, and of existence itself, what can a

Chief Minister do? Taxes profit little: this of the Second Twentieth falls not due till next year; and will then,

with its 'strict valuation,' produce more controversy than cash. Taxes on the Privileged Classes cannot be got

registered; are intolerable to our supporters themselves: taxes on the Unprivileged yield nothing,as from a

thing drained dry more cannot be drawn. Hope is nowhere, if not in the old refuge of Loans.

To Lomenie, aided by the long head of Lamoignon, deeply pondering this sea of troubles, the thought

suggested itself: Why not have a Successive Loan (Emprunt Successif), or Loan that went on lending, year

after year, as much as needful; say, till 1792? The trouble of registering such Loan were the same: we had

then breathing time; money to work with, at least to subsist on. Edict of a Successive Loan must be proposed.

To conciliate the Philosophes, let a liberal Edict walk in front of it, for emancipation of Protestants; let a

liberal Promise guard the rear of it, that when our Loan ends, in that final 1792, the StatesGeneral shall be

Such liberal Edict of Protestant Emancipation, the time having come for it, shall cost a Lomenie as little as

the 'Deathpenalties to be put in execution' did. As for the liberal Promise, of StatesGeneral, it can be

fulfilled or not: the fulfilment is five good years off; in five years much intervenes. But the registering? Ah,

truly, there is the difficulty!However, we have that promise of the Elders, given secretly at Troyes.

Judicious gratuities, cajoleries, underground intrigues, with old Foulon, named 'Ame damnee,

Familiardemon, of the Parlement,' may perhaps do the rest. At worst and lowest, the Royal Authority has

resources, which ought it not to put forth? If it cannot realise money, the Royal Authority is as good as

dead; dead of that surest and miserablest death, inanition. Risk and win; without risk all is already lost! For

the rest, as in enterprises of pith, a touch of stratagem often proves furthersome, his Majesty announces a

Royal Hunt, for the 19th of November next; and all whom it concerns are joyfully getting their gear ready.

Royal Hunt indeed; but of twolegged unfeathered game! At eleven in the morning of that RoyalHunt day,

19th of November 1787, unexpected blare of trumpetting, tumult of charioteering and cavalcading disturbs

the Seat of Justice: his Majesty is come, with GardedesSceaux Lamoignon, and Peers and retinue, to hold

Royal Session and have Edicts registered. What a change, since Louis XIV. entered here, in boots; and, whip

in hand, ordered his registering to be done,with an Olympian look which none durst gainsay; and did,

without stratagem, in such unceremonious fashion, hunt as well as register! (Dulaure, vi. 306.) For Louis

XVI., on this day, the Registering will be enough; if indeed he and the day suffice for it.

Meanwhile, with fit ceremonial words, the purpose of the royal breast is signified:Two Edicts, for

Protestant Emancipation, for Successive Loan: of both which Edicts our trusty GardedesSceaux

Lamoignon will explain the purport; on both which a trusty Parlement is requested to deliver its opinion, each

member having free privilege of speech. And so, Lamoignon too having perorated not amiss, and wound up

with that Promise of States General,the Spheremusic of Parlementary eloquence begins. Explosive,

responsive, sphere answering sphere, it waxes louder and louder. The Peers sit attentive; of diverse sentiment:

unfriendly to StatesGeneral; unfriendly to Despotism, which cannot reward merit, and is suppressing places.

But what agitates his Highness d'Orleans? The rubicund moonhead goes wagging; darker beams the copper

visage, like unscoured copper; in the glazed eye is disquietude; he rolls uneasy in his seat, as if he meant

something. Amid unutterable satiety, has sudden new appetite, for new forbidden fruit, been vouchsafed him?

Disgust and edacity; laziness that cannot rest; futile ambition, revenge, nonadmiralship:O, within that

'Eight Couriers,' in course of the day, gallop from Versailles, where Lomenie waits palpitating; and gallop

back again, not with the best news. In the outer Courts of the Palais, huge buzz of expectation reigns; it is

whispered the Chief Minister has lost six votes overnight. And from within, resounds nothing but forensic

eloquence, pathetic and even indignant; heartrending appeals to the royal clemency, that his Majesty would

please to summon StatesGeneral forthwith, and be the Saviour of France:wherein duskyglowing

D'Espremenil, but still more Sabatier de Cabre, and Freteau, since named Commere Freteau (Goody Freteau),

are among the loudest. For six mortal hours it lasts, in this manner; the infinite hubbub unslackened.

And so now, when brown dusk is falling through the windows, and no end visible, his Majesty, on hint of

GardedesSceaux, Lamoignon, opens his royal lips once more to say, in brief That he must have his

LoanEdict registered.Momentary deep pause!See! Monseigneur d'Orleans rises; with moonvisage

turned towards the royal platform, he asks, with a delicate graciosity of manner covering unutterable things:

"Whether it is a Bed of Justice, then; or a Royal Session?" Fire flashes on him from the throne and

neighbourhood: surly answer that "it is a Session." In that case, Monseigneur will crave leave to remark that

Edicts cannot be registered by order in a Session; and indeed to enter, against such registry, his individual

humble Protest. "Vous etes bien le maitre (You will do your pleasure)", answers the King; and thereupon, in

high state, marches out, escorted by his Courtretinue; D'Orleans himself, as in duty bound, escorting him,

but only to the gate. Which duty done, D'Orleans returns in from the gate; redacts his Protest, in the face of an

applauding Parlement, an applauding France; and sohas cut his Courtmoorings, shall we say? And will

Thou foolish D'Orleans; Equality that art to be! Is Royalty grown a mere wooden Scarecrow; whereon thou,

Next day, a LettredeCachet sends D'Orleans to bethink himself in his Chateau of VillersCotterets, where,

alas, is no Paris with its joyous necessaries of life; no fascinating indispensable Madame de Buffon,light

wife of a great Naturalist much too old for her. Monseigneur, it is said, does nothing but walk distractedly, at

VillersCotterets; cursing his stars. Versailles itself shall hear penitent wail from him, so hard is his doom.

By a second, simultaneous LettredeCachet, Goody Freteau is hurled into the Stronghold of Ham, amid the

Norman marshes; by a third, Sabatier de Cabre into Mont St. Michel, amid the Norman quicksands. As for

the Parlement, it must, on summons, travel out to Versailles, with its RegisterBook under its arm, to have

the Protest biffe (expunged); not without admonition, and even rebuke. A stroke of authority which, one

Unhappily, no; it is a mere taste of the whip to rearing coursers, which makes them rear worse! When a team

of Twentyfive Millions begins rearing, what is Lomenie's whip? The Parlement will nowise acquiesce

meekly; and set to register the Protestant Edict, and do its other work, in salutary fear of these three

LettresdeCachet. Far from that, it begins questioning LettresdeCachet generally, their legality,

endurability; emits dolorous objurgation, petition on petition to have its three Martyrs delivered; cannot, till

that be complied with, so much as think of examining the Protestant Edict, but puts it off always 'till this day

In which objurgatory strain Paris and France joins it, or rather has preceded it; making fearful chorus. And

now also the other Parlements, at length opening their mouths, begin to join; some of them, as at Grenoble

and at Rennes, with portentous emphasis,threatening, by way of reprisal, to interdict the very

Taxgatherer. (Weber, i. 266.) "In all former contests," as Malesherbes remarks, "it was the Parlement that

What a France, through these winter months of the year 1787! The very OeildeBoeuf is doleful, uncertain;

with a general feeling among the Suppressed, that it were better to be in Turkey. The Wolfhounds are

suppressed, the Bearhounds, Duke de Coigny, Duke de Polignac: in the Trianon littleheaven, her Majesty,

one evening, takes Besenval's arm; asks his candid opinion. The intrepid Besenval,having, as he hopes,

nothing of the sycophant in him,plainly signifies that, with a Parlement in rebellion, and an

OeildeBoeuf in suppression, the King's Crown is in danger;whereupon, singular to say, her Majesty, as

if hurt, changed the subject, et ne me parla plus de rien! (Besenval, iii. 264.)

To whom, indeed, can this poor Queen speak? In need of wise counsel, if ever mortal was; yet beset here only

by the hubbub of chaos! Her dwelling place is so bright to the eye, and confusion and black care darkens it

all. Sorrows of the Sovereign, sorrows of the woman, thinkcoming sorrows environ her more and more.

Lamotte, the NecklaceCountess, has in these late months escaped, perhaps been suffered to escape, from the

Salpetriere. Vain was the hope that Paris might thereby forget her; and this ever wideninglie, and heap of

lies, subside. The Lamotte, with a V (for Voleuse, Thief) branded on both shoulders, has got to England; and

will therefrom emit lie on lie; defiling the highest queenly name: mere distracted lies; (Memoires justificatifs

de la Comtesse de Lamotte (London, 1788). Vie de Jeanne de St. Remi, Comtesse de Lamotte, See Diamond

Necklace (ut supra).) which, in its present humour, France will greedily believe.

For the rest, it is too clear our Successive Loan is not filling. As indeed, in such circumstances, a Loan

registered by expunging of Protests was not the likeliest to fill. Denunciation of LettresdeCachet, of

Despotism generally, abates not: the Twelve Parlements are busy; the Twelve hundred Placarders,

Balladsingers, Pamphleteers. Paris is what, in figurative speech, they call 'flooded with pamphlets (regorge de

brochures);' flooded and eddying again. Hot deluge,from so many Patriot readywriters, all at the fervid or

boiling point; each readywriter, now in the hour of eruption, going like an Iceland Geyser! Against which

what can a judicious friend Morellet do; a Rivarol, an unruly Linguet (well paid for it),spouting cold!

Now also, at length, does come discussion of the Protestant Edict: but only for new embroilment; in pamphlet

and counterpamphlet, increasing the madness of men. Not even Orthodoxy, bedrid as she seemed, but will

have a hand in this confusion. She, once again in the shape of Abbe Lenfant, 'whom Prelates drive to visit and

congratulate,'raises audible sound from her pulpitdrum. (Lacretelle, iii. 343. Montgaillard, Or mark how

D'Espremenil, who has his own confused way in all things, produces at the right moment in Parlementary

harangue, a pocket Crucifix, with the apostrophe: "Will ye crucify him afresh?" Him, O D'Espremenil,

without scruple;considering what poor stuff, of ivory and filigree, he is made of!

To all which add only that poor Brienne has fallen sick; so hard was the tear and wear of his sinful youth, so

violent, incessant is this agitation of his foolish old age. Baited, bayed at through so many throats, his Grace,

growing consumptive, inflammatory (with humeur de dartre), lies reduced to milk diet; in exasperation,

almost in desperation; with 'repose,' precisely the impossible recipe, prescribed as the indispensable.

On the whole, what can a poor Government do, but once more recoil ineffectual? The King's Treasury is

running towards the lees; and Paris 'eddies with a flood of pamphlets.' At all rates, let the latter subside a

little! "D'Orleans gets back to Raincy, which is nearer Paris and the fair frail Buffon; finally to Paris itself:

neither are Freteau and Sabatier banished forever. The Protestant Edict is registered; to the joy of Boissy

d'Anglas and good Malesherbes: Successive Loan, all protests expunged or else withdrawn, remains

open,the rather as few or none come to fill it. StatesGeneral, for which the Parlement has clamoured, and

now the whole Nation clamours, will follow 'in five years,'if indeed not sooner. O Parlement of Paris, what

a clamour was that! "Messieurs," said old d'Ormesson, "you will get StatesGeneral, and you will repent it."

Like the Horse in the Fable, who, to be avenged of his enemy, applied to the Man. The Man mounted; did

swift execution on the enemy; but, unhappily, would not dismount! Instead of five years, let three years pass,

and this clamorous Parlement shall have both seen its enemy hurled prostrate, and been itself ridden to

foundering (say rather, jugulated for hide and shoes), and lie dead in the ditch.

Under such omens, however, we have reached the spring of 1788. By no path can the King's Government

find passage for itself, but is everywhere shamefully flung back. Beleaguered by Twelve rebellious

Parlements, which are grown to be the organs of an angry Nation, it can advance nowhither; can accomplish

nothing, obtain nothing, not so much as money to subsist on; but must sit there, seemingly, to be eaten up of

The measure of the Iniquity, then, of the Falsehood which has been gathering through long centuries, is

nearly full? At least, that of the misery is! For the hovels of the Twentyfive Millions, the misery, permeating

upwards and forwards, as its law is, has got so far,to the very OeildeBoeuf of Versailles. Man's hand, in

this blind pain, is set against man: not only the low against the higher, but the higher against each other;

Provincial Noblesse is bitter against Court Noblesse; Robe against Sword; Rochet against Pen. But against

the King's Government who is not bitter? Not even Besenval, in these days. To it all men and bodies of men

are become as enemies; it is the centre whereon infinite contentions unite and clash. What new universal

vertiginous movement is this; of Institution, social Arrangements, individual Minds, which once worked

cooperative; now rolling and grinding in distracted collision? Inevitable: it is the breakingup of a

WorldSolecism, worn out at last, down even to bankruptcy of money! And so this poor Versailles Court, as

the chief or central Solecism, finds all the other Solecisms arrayed against it. Most natural! For your human

Solecism, be it Person or Combination of Persons, is ever, by law of Nature, uneasy; if verging towards

bankruptcy, it is even miserable:and when would the meanest Solecism consent to blame or amend itself,

These threatening signs do not terrify Lomenie, much less teach him. Lomenie, though of light nature, is not

without courage, of a sort. Nay, have we not read of lightest creatures, trained Canarybirds, that could fly

cheerfully with lighted matches, and fire cannon; fire whole powder magazines? To sit and die of deficit is

no part of Lomenie's plan. The evil is considerable; but can he not remove it, can he not attack it? At lowest,

he can attack the symptom of it: these rebellious Parlements he can attack, and perhaps remove. Much is dim

to Lomenie, but two things are clear: that such Parlementary duel with Royalty is growing perilous, nay

internecine; above all, that money must be had. Take thought, brave Lomenie; thou GardedesSceaux

Lamoignon, who hast ideas! So often defeated, balked cruelly when the golden fruit seemed within clutch,

rally for one other struggle. To tame the Parlement, to fill the King's coffers: these are now lifeanddeath

Parlements have been tamed, more than once. Set to perch 'on the peaks of rocks in accessible except by

litters,' a Parlement grows reasonable. O Maupeou, thou bold man, had we left thy work where it was!But

apart from exile, or other violent methods, is there not one method, whereby all things are tamed, even lions?

The method of hunger! What if the Parlement's supplies were cut off; namely its Lawsuits!

Minor Courts, for the trying of innumerable minor causes, might be instituted: these we could call Grand

Bailliages. Whereon the Parlement, shortened of its prey, would look with yellow despair; but the Public,

fond of cheap justice, with favour and hope. Then for Finance, for registering of Edicts, why not, from our

own OeildeBoeuf Dignitaries, our Princes, Dukes, Marshals, make a thing we could call Plenary Court;

and there, so to speak, do our registering ourselves? St. Louis had his Plenary Court, of Great Barons;

(Montgaillard, i. 405.) most useful to him: our Great Barons are still here (at least the Name of them is still

Such is the LomenieLamoignon device; welcome to the King's Council, as a lightbeam in great darkness.

The device seems feasible, it is eminently needful: be it once well executed, great deliverance is wrought.

Silent, then, and steady; now or never!the World shall see one other Historical Scene; and so singular a

Behold, accordingly, a HomeSecretary Breteuil 'beautifying Paris,' in the peaceablest manner, in this

hopeful spring weather of 1788; the old hovels and hutches disappearing from our Bridges: as if for the State

too there were halcyon weather, and nothing to do but beautify. Parlement seems to sit acknowledged victor.

Brienne says nothing of Finance; or even says, and prints, that it is all well. How is this; such halcyon quiet;

though the Successive Loan did not fill? In a victorious Parlement, Counsellor Goeslard de Monsabert even

denounces that 'levying of the Second Twentieth on strict valuation;' and gets decree that the valuation shall

not be strict,not on the privileged classes. Nevertheless Brienne endures it, launches no LettredeCachet

Smiling is such vernal weather; but treacherous, sudden! For one thing, we hear it whispered, 'the Intendants

of Provinces 'have all got order to be at their posts on a certain day.' Still more singular, what incessant

Printing is this that goes on at the King's Chateau, under lock and key? Sentries occupy all gates and

windows; the Printers come not out; they sleep in their workrooms; their very food is handed in to them!

(Weber, i. 276.) A victorious Parlement smells new danger. D'Espremenil has ordered horses to Versailles;

prowls round that guarded PrintingOffice; prying, snuffing, if so be the sagacity and ingenuity of man may

To a shower of gold most things are penetrable. D'Espremenil descends on the lap of a Printer's Danae, in the

shape of 'five hundred louis d'or:' the Danae's Husband smuggles a ball of clay to her; which she delivers to

the golden Counsellor of Parlement. Kneaded within it, their stick printed proofsheets;by Heaven! the

royal Edict of that same selfregistering Plenary Court; of those Grand Bailliages that shall cut short our

This, then, is what the Intendants were bid wait for at their posts: this is what the Court sat hatching, as its

accursed cockatriceegg; and would not stir, though provoked, till the brood were out! Hie with it,

D'Espremenil, home to Paris; convoke instantaneous Sessions; let the Parlement, and the Earth, and the

On the morrow, which is the 3rd of May, 1788, an astonished Parlement sits convoked; listens speechless to

the speech of D'Espremenil, unfolding the infinite misdeed. Deed of treachery; of unhallowed darkness, such

as Despotism loves! Denounce it, O Parlement of Paris; awaken France and the Universe; roll what

thunderbarrels of forensic eloquence thou hast: with thee too it is verily Now or never!

The Parlement is not wanting, at such juncture. In the hour of his extreme jeopardy, the lion first incites

himself by roaring, by lashing his sides. So here the Parlement of Paris. On the motion of D'Espremenil, a

most patriotic Oath, of the Oneandall sort, is sworn, with united throat;an excellent newidea, which, in

these coming years, shall not remain unimitated. Next comes indomitable Declaration, almost of the rights of

man, at least of the rights of Parlement; Invocation to the friends of French Freedom, in this and in

subsequent time. All which, or the essence of all which, is brought to paper; in a tone wherein something of

plaintiveness blends with, and tempers, heroic valour. And thus, having sounded the stormbell,which

Paris hears, which all France will hear; and hurled such defiance in the teeth of Lomenie and Despotism, the

But how Lomenie felt to see his cockatriceegg (so essential to the salvation of France) broken in this

premature manner, let readers fancy! Indignant he clutches at his thunderbolts (de Cachet, of the Seal); and

launches two of them: a bolt for D'Espremenil; a bolt for that busy Goeslard, whose service in the Second

Twentieth and 'strict valuation' is not forgotten. Such bolts clutched promptly overnight, and launched with

the early new morning, shall strike agitated Paris if not into requiescence, yet into wholesome astonishment.

Ministerial thunderbolts may be launched; but if they do not hit? D'Espremenil and Goeslard, warned, both of

them, as is thought, by the singing of some friendly bird, elude the Lomenie Tipstaves; escape disguised

through skywindows, over roofs, to their own Palais de Justice: the thunderbolts have missed. Paris (for the

buzz flies abroad) is struck into astonishment not wholesome. The two martyrs of Liberty doff their

disguises; don their long gowns; behold, in the space of an hour, by aid of ushers and swift runners, the

Parlement, with its Counsellors, Presidents, even Peers, sits anew assembled. The assembled Parlement

declares that these its two martyrs cannot be given up, to any sublunary authority; moreover that the 'session

is permanent,' admitting of no adjournment, till pursuit of them has been relinquished.

And so, with forensic eloquence, denunciation and protest, with couriers going and returning, the Parlement,

in this state of continual explosion that shall cease neither night nor day, waits the issue. Awakened Paris

once more inundates those outer courts; boils, in floods wilder than ever, through all avenues. Dissonant

hubbub there is; jargon as of Babel, in the hour when they were first smitten (as here) with mutual

Paris City goes through its diurnal epochs, of working and slumbering; and now, for the second time, most

European and African mortals are asleep. But here, in this Whirlpool of Words, sleep falls not; the Night

spreads her coverlid of Darkness over it in vain. Within is the sound of mere martyr invincibility; tempered

with the due tone of plaintiveness. Without is the infinite expectant hum,growing drowsier a little. So has

But hark, through the dead of midnight, what tramp is this? Tramp as of armed men, foot and horse; Gardes

Francaises, Gardes Suisses: marching hither; in silent regularity; in the flare of torchlight! There are Sappers,

too, with axes and crowbars: apparently, if the doors open not, they will be forced!It is Captain D'Agoust,

missioned from Versailles. D'Agoust, a man of known firmness;who once forced Prince Conde himself, by

mere incessant looking at him, to give satisfaction and fight; (Weber, i. 283.) he now, with axes and torches is

advancing on the very sanctuary of Justice. Sacrilegious; yet what help? The man is a soldier; looks merely at

The doors open on summons, there need no axes; door after door. And now the innermost door opens;

discloses the longgowned Senators of France: a hundred and sixtyseven by tale, seventeen of them Peers;

sitting there, majestic, 'in permanent session.' Were not the men military, and of cast iron, this sight, this

silence reechoing the clank of his own boots, might stagger him! For the hundred and sixtyseven receive

him in perfect silence; which some liken to that of the Roman Senate overfallen by Brennus; some to that of a

nest of coiners surprised by officers of the Police. (Besenval, iii. 355.) Messieurs, said D'Agoust, De par le

Roi! Express order has charged D'Agoust with the sad duty of arresting two individuals: M. Duval

d'Espremenil and M. Goeslard de Monsabert. Which respectable individuals, as he has not the honour of

knowing them, are hereby invited, in the King's name, to surrender themselves.Profound silence! Buzz,

which grows a murmur: "We are all D'Espremenils!" ventures a voice; which other voices repeat. The

President inquires, Whether he will employ violence? Captain D'Agoust, honoured with his Majesty's

commission, has to execute his Majesty's order; would so gladly do it without violence, will in any case do it;

grants an august Senate space to deliberate which method they prefer. And thereupon D'Agoust, with grave

What boots it, august Senators? All avenues are closed with fixed bayonets. Your Courier gallops to

Versailles, through the dewy Night; but also gallops back again, with tidings that the order is authentic, that it

is irrevocable. The outer courts simmer with idle population; but D'Agoust's grenadierranks stand there as

immovable floodgates: there will be no revolting to deliver you. "Messieurs!" thus spoke D'Espremenil,

"when the victorious Gauls entered Rome, which they had carried by assault, the Roman Senators, clothed in

their purple, sat there, in their curule chairs, with a proud and tranquil countenance, awaiting slavery or death.

Such too is the lofty spectacle, which you, in this hour, offer to the universe (a l'univers), after having

generously"with much more of the like, as can still be read. (Toulongeon, i. App. 20.)

In vain, O D'Espremenil! Here is this castiron Captain D'Agoust, with his castiron military air, come back.

Despotism, constraint, destruction sit waving in his plumes. D'Espremenil must fall silent; heroically give

himself up, lest worst befall. Him Goeslard heroically imitates. With spoken and speechless emotion, they

fling themselves into the arms of their Parlementary brethren, for a last embrace: and so amid plaudits and

plaints, from a hundred and sixtyfive throats; amid wavings, sobbings, a whole forestsigh of Parlementary

pathos,they are led through winding passages, to the reargate; where, in the gray of the morning, two

Coaches with Exempts stand waiting. There must the victims mount; bayonets menacing behind.

D'Espremenil's stern question to the populace, 'Whether they have courage?' is answered by silence. They

mount, and roll; and neither the rising of the May sun (it is the 6th morning), nor its setting shall lighten their

heart: but they fare forward continually; D'Espremenil towards the utmost Isles of Sainte Marguerite, or

Hieres (supposed by some, if that is any comfort, to be Calypso's Island); Goeslard towards the land fortress

Captain D'Agoust may now therefore look forward to Majorship, to Commandantship of the Tuilleries;

(Montgaillard, i. 404.)and withal vanish from History; where nevertheless he has been fated to do a

notable thing. For not only are D'Espremenil and Goeslard safe whirling southward, but the Parlement itself

has straightway to march out: to that also his inexorable order reaches. Gathering up their long skirts, they

file out, the whole Hundred and Sixtyfive of them, through two rows of unsympathetic grenadiers: a

spectacle to gods and men. The people revolt not; they only wonder and grumble: also, we remark, these

unsympathetic grenadiers are Gardes Francaises,who, one day, will sympathise! In a word, the Palais de

Justice is swept clear, the doors of it are locked; and D'Agoust returns to Versailles with the key in his

As for this Parlement of Paris, now turned out to the street, we will without reluctance leave it there. The

Beds of Justice it had to undergo, in the coming fortnight, at Versailles, in registering, or rather refusing to

Protesting, (Weber, i. 299303.) or hovered disconsolate, with outspread skirts, not knowing where to

assemble; and was reduced to lodge Protest 'with a Notary;' and in the end, to sit still (in a state of forced

'vacation'), and do nothing; all this, natural now, as the burying of the dead after battle, shall not concern us.

The Parlement of Paris has as good as performed its part; doing and misdoing, so far, but hardly further,

Lomenie has removed the evil then? Not at all: not so much as the symptom of the evil; scarcely the twelfth

part of the symptom, and exasperated the other eleven! The Intendants of Provinces, the Military

Commandants are at their posts, on the appointed 8th of May: but in no Parlement, if not in the single one of

Douai, can these new Edicts get registered. Not peaceable signing with ink; but browbeating, bloodshedding,

appeal to primary clublaw! Against these Bailliages, against this Plenary Court, exasperated Themis

everywhere shows face of battle; the Provincial Noblesse are of her party, and whoever hates Lomenie and

the evil time; with her attorneys and Tipstaves, she enlists and operates down even to the populace. At

Rennes in Brittany, where the historical Bertrand de Moleville is Intendant, it has passed from fatal continual

duelling, between the military and gentry, to streetfighting; to stonevolleys and musketshot: and still the

Edicts remained unregistered. The afflicted Bretons send remonstrance to Lomenie, by a Deputation of

Twelve; whom, however, Lomenie, having heard them, shuts up in the Bastille. A second larger deputation

he meets, by his scouts, on the road, and persuades or frightens back. But now a third largest Deputation is

indignantly sent by many roads: refused audience on arriving, it meets to take council; invites Lafayette and

all Patriot Bretons in Paris to assist; agitates itself; becomes the Breton Club, first germ ofthe Jacobins'

Society. (A. F. de BertrandMoleville, Memoires Particuliers (Paris, 1816), I. ch. i. Marmontel, Memoires,

So many as eight Parlements get exiled: (Montgaillard, i. 308.) others might need that remedy, but it is one

not always easy of appliance. At Grenoble, for instance, where a Mounier, a Barnave have not been idle, the

Parlement had due order (by LettresdeCachet) to depart, and exile itself: but on the morrow, instead of

coaches getting yoked, the alarmbell bursts forth, ominous; and peals and booms all day: crowds of

mountaineers rush down, with axes, even with firelocks,whom (most ominous of all!) the soldiery shows

no eagerness to deal with. 'Axe over head,' the poor General has to sign capitulation; to engage that the

LettresdeCachet shall remain unexecuted, and a beloved Parlement stay where it is. Besancon, Dijon,

Rouen, Bourdeaux, are not what they should be! At Pau in Bearn, where the old Commandant had failed, the

new one (a Grammont, native to them) is met by a Procession of townsmen with the Cradle of Henri Quatre,

the Palladium of their Town; is conjured as he venerates this old Tortoiseshell, in which the great Henri was

rocked, not to trample on Bearnese liberty; is informed, withal, that his Majesty's cannon are all safein the

keeping of his Majesty's faithful Burghers of Pau, and do now lie pointed on the walls there; ready for action!

At this rate, your Grand Bailliages are like to have a stormy infancy. As for the Plenary Court, it has literally

expired in the birth. The very Courtiers looked shy at it; old Marshal Broglie declined the honour of sitting

therein. Assaulted by a universal storm of mingled ridicule and execration, (La Cour Pleniere,

heroitragicomedie en trois actes et en prose; jouee le 14 Juillet 1788, par une societe d'amateurs dans un

Chateau aux environs de Versailles; par M. l'Abbe de Vermond, Lecteur de la Reine: A Baville (Lamoignon's

Countryhouse), et se trouve a Paris, chez la Veuve Liberte, a l'enseigne de la Revolution, 1788.La

Passion, la Mort et la Resurrection du Peuple: Imprime a Jerusalem, Montgaillard, i. 407.) this poor Plenary

Court met once, and never any second time. Distracted country! Contention hisses up, with forked

hydratongues, wheresoever poor Lomenie sets his foot. 'Let a Commandant, a Commissioner of the King,'

says Weber, 'enter one of these Parlements to have an Edict registered, the whole Tribunal will disappear, and

leave the Commandant alone with the Clerk and First President. The Edict registered and the Commandant

gone, the whole Tribunal hastens back, to declare such registration null. The highways are covered with

Grand Deputations of Parlements, proceeding to Versailles, to have their registers expunged by the King's

hand; or returning home, to cover a new page with a new resolution still more audacious.' (Weber, i. 275.)

Such is the France of this year 1788. Not now a Golden or Paper Age of Hope; with its horseracings,

balloonflyings, and finer sensibilities of the heart: ah, gone is that; its golden effulgence paled, bedarkened

in this singular manner,brewing towards preternatural weather! For, as in that wreckstorm of Paul et

Virginie and SaintPierre,'One huge motionless cloud' (say, of Sorrow and Indignation) 'girdles our whole

horizon; streams up, hairy, copperedged, over a sky of the colour of lead.' Motionless itself; but 'small

clouds' (as exiled Parlements and suchlike), 'parting from it, fly over the zenith, with the velocity of

birds:'till at last, with one loud howl, the whole Four Winds be dashed together, and all the world exclaim,

For the rest, in such circumstances, the Successive Loan, very naturally, remains unfilled; neither, indeed, can

that impost of the Second Twentieth, at least not on 'strict valuation,' be levied to good purpose: 'Lenders,'

says Weber, in his hysterical vehement manner, 'are afraid of ruin; tax gatherers of hanging.' The very

Clergy turn away their face: convoked in Extraordinary Assembly, they afford no gratuitous gift (don

gratuit),if it be not that of advice; here too instead of cash is clamour for States General. (Lameth,

O LomenieBrienne, with thy poor flimsy mind all bewildered, and now 'three actual cauteries' on thy

wornout body; who art like to die of inflamation, provocation, milkdiet, dartres vives and maladie(best

untranslated); (Montgaillard, i. 424.) and presidest over a France with innumerable actual cauteries, which

also is dying of inflammation and the rest! Was it wise to quit the bosky verdures of Brienne, and thy new

ashlar Chateau there, and what it held, for this? Soft were those shades and lawns; sweet the hymns of

Poetasters, the blandishments of highrouged Graces: (See Memoires de Morellet.) and always this and the

other Philosophe Morellet (nothing deeming himself or thee a questionable ShamPriest) could be so happy

in making happy:and also (hadst thou known it), in the Military School hard by there sat, studying

mathematics, a duskycomplexioned taciturn Boy, under the name of: NAPOLEON BONAPARTE!With

fifty years of effort, and one final deadlift struggle, thou hast made an exchange! Thou hast got thy robe of

On the 13th of July of this 1788, there fell, on the very edge of harvest, the most frightful hailstorm;

scattering into wild waste the Fruits of the Year; which had otherwise suffered grievously by drought. For

sixty leagues round Paris especially, the ruin was almost total. (Marmontel, iv. 30.) To so many other evils,

Some days before this hailstorm, on the 5th of July; and still more decisively some days after it, on the 8th of

August,Lomenie announces that the StatesGeneral are actually to meet in the following month of May.

Till after which period, this of the Plenary Court, and the rest, shall remain postponed. Further, as in Lomenie

there is no plan of forming or holding these most desirable StatesGeneral, 'thinkers are invited' to furnish

What could a poor Minister do? There are still ten months of respite reserved: a sinking pilot will fling out all

things, his very biscuit bags, lead, log, compass and quadrant, before flinging out himself. It is on this

principle, of sinking, and the incipient delirium of despair, that we explain likewise the almost miraculous

'invitation to thinkers.' Invitation to Chaos to be so kind as build, out of its tumultuous drift wood, an Ark of

Escape for him! In these cases, not invitation but command has usually proved serviceable.The Queen

stood, that evening, pensive, in a window, with her face turned towards the Garden. The Chef de Gobelet had

followed her with an obsequious cup of coffee; and then retired till it were sipped. Her Majesty beckoned

Dame Campan to approach: "Grand Dieu!" murmured she, with the cup in her hand, "what a piece of news

will be made public today! The King grants StatesGeneral." Then raising her eyes to Heaven (if Campan

were not mistaken), she added: "'Tis a first beat of the drum, of illomen for France. This Noblesse will ruin

During all that hatching of the Plenary Court, while Lamoignon looked so mysterious, Besenval had kept

asking him one question: Whether they had cash? To which as Lamoignon always answered (on the faith of

Lomenie) that the cash was safe, judicious Besenval rejoined that then all was safe. Nevertheless, the

melancholy fact is, that the royal coffers are almost getting literally void of coin. Indeed, apart from all other

things this 'invitation to thinkers,' and the great change now at hand are enough to 'arrest the circulation of

capital,' and forward only that of pamphlets. A few thousand gold louis are now all of money or money's

worth that remains in the King's Treasury. With another movement as of desperation, Lomenie invites Necker

to come and be Controller of Finances! Necker has other work in view than controlling Finances for

What shall a desperate Prime Minister do? He has grasped at the strongbox of the King's Theatre: some

Lottery had been set on foot for those sufferers by the hailstorm; in his extreme necessity, Lomenie lays

hands even on this. (Besenval, iii. 360.) To make provision for the passing day, on any terms, will soon be

impossible.On the 16th of August, poor Weber heard, at Paris and Versailles, hawkers, 'with a hoarse

stifled tone of voice (voix etouffee, sourde)' drawling and snuffling, through the streets, an Edict concerning

Payments (such was the soft title Rivarol had contrived for it): all payments at the Royal Treasury shall be

made henceforth, threefifths in Cash, and the remaining twofifthsin Paper bearing interest! Poor Weber

almost swooned at the sound of these cracked voices, with their bodeful ravennote; and will never forget the

But the effect on Paris, on the world generally? From the dens of Stock brokerage, from the heights of

Political Economy, of Neckerism and Philosophism; from all articulate and inarticulate throats, rise hootings

and howlings, such as ear had not yet heard. Sedition itself may be imminent! Monseigneur d'Artois, moved

by Duchess Polignac, feels called to wait upon her Majesty; and explain frankly what crisis matters stand in.

'The Queen wept;' Brienne himself wept;for it is now visible and palpable that he must go.

Remains only that the Court, to whom his manners and garrulities were always agreeable, shall make his fall

soft. The grasping old man has already got his Archbishopship of Toulouse exchanged for the richer one of

Sens: and now, in this hour of pity, he shall have the Coadjutorship for his nephew (hardly yet of due age); a

Dameship of the Palace for his niece; a Regiment for her husband; for himself a red Cardinal'shat, a Coupe

de Bois (cutting from the royal forests), and on the whole 'from five to six hundred thousand livres of

revenue:' (Weber, i. 341.) finally, his Brother, the Comte de Brienne, shall still continue Warminister.

Buckled round with such bolsters and huge featherbeds of Promotion, let him now fall as soft as he can!

And so Lomenie departs: rich if Courttitles and Moneybonds can enrich him; but if these cannot, perhaps

the poorest of all extant men. 'Hissed at by the people of Versailles,' he drives forth to Jardi; southward to

Brienne,for recovery of health. Then to Nice, to Italy; but shall return; shall glide to and fro, tremulous,

fainttwinkling, fallen on awful times: till the Guillotinesnuff out his weak existence? Alas, worse: for it is

blown out, or choked out, foully, pitiably, on the way to the Guillotine! In his Palace of Sens, rude Jacobin

Bailiffs made him drink with them from his own winecellars, feast with them from his own larder; and on

the morrow morning, the miserable old man lies dead. This is the end of Prime Minister, Cardinal Archbishop

Lomenie de Brienne. Flimsier mortal was seldom fated to do as weighty a mischief; to have a life as

despicableenvied, an exit as frightful. Fired, as the phrase is, with ambition: blown, like a kindled rag, the

sport of winds, not this way, not that way, but of all ways, straight towards such a powdermine,which he

kindled! Let us pity the hapless Lomenie; and forgive him; and, as soon as possible, forget him.

Besenval, during these extraordinary operations, of Payment twofifths in Paper, and change of Prime

Minister, had been out on a tour through his District of Command; and indeed, for the last months, peacefully

drinking the waters of Contrexeville. Returning now, in the end of August, towards Moulins, and 'knowing

nothing,' he arrives one evening at Langres; finds the whole Town in a state of uproar (grande rumeur).

Doubtless some sedition; a thing too common in these days! He alights nevertheless; inquires of a 'man

tolerably dressed,' what the matter is?"How?" answers the man, "you have not heard the news? The

Archbishop is thrown out, and M. Necker is recalled; and all is going to go well!" (Besenval, iii. 366.)

Such rumeur and vociferous acclaim has risen round M. Necker, ever from 'that day when he issued from the

Queen's Apartments,' a nominated Minister. It was on the 24th of August: 'the galleries of the Chateau, the

courts, the streets of Versailles; in few hours, the Capital; and, as the news flew, all France, resounded with

the cry of Vive le Roi! Vive M. Necker! (Weber, i. 342.) In Paris indeed it unfortunately got the length of

turbulence.' Petards, rockets go off, in the Place Dauphine, more than enough. A 'wicker Figure (Mannequin

d'osier),' in Archbishop's stole, made emblematically, threefifths of it satin, twofifths of it paper, is

promenaded, not in silence, to the popular judgmentbar; is doomed; shriven by a mock Abbe de Vermond;

then solemnly consumed by fire, at the foot of Henri's Statue on the Pont Neuf;with such petarding and

huzzaing that Chevalier Dubois and his Citywatch see good finally to make a charge (more or less

ineffectual); and there wanted not burning of sentryboxes, forcing of guardhouses, and also 'dead bodies

thrown into the Seine overnight,' to avoid new effervescence. (Histoire Parlementaire de la Revolution

Francaise; ou Journal des Assemblees Nationales depuis 1789 (Paris, 1833 et seqq.), i. 253. Lameth,

Parlements therefore shall return from exile: Plenary Court, Payment two fifths in Paper have vanished;

gone off in smoke, at the foot of Henri's Statue. StatesGeneral (with a Political Millennium) are now certain;

nay, it shall be announced, in our fond haste, for January next: and all, as the Langres man said, is 'going to

To the prophetic glance of Besenval, one other thing is too apparent: that Friend Lamoignon cannot keep his

Keepership. Neither he nor Warminister Comte de Brienne! Already old Foulon, with an eye to be

warminister himself, is making underground movements. This is that same Foulon named ame damnee du

Parlement; a man grown gray in treachery, in griping, projecting, intriguing and iniquity: who once when it

was objected, to some financescheme of his, "What will the people do?"made answer, in the fire of

discussion, "The people may eat grass:" hasty words, which fly abroad irrevocable,and will send back

Foulon, to the relief of the world, fails on this occasion; and will always fail. Nevertheless it steads not M. de

Lamoignon. It steads not the doomed man that he have interviews with the King; and be 'seen to return

radieux,' emitting rays. Lamoignon is the hated of Parlements: Comte de Brienne is Brother to the Cardinal

Archbishop. The 24th of August has been; and the 14th September is not yet, when they two, as their great

And now, as if the last burden had been rolled from its heart, and assurance were at length perfect, Paris

bursts forth anew into extreme jubilee. The Basoche rejoices aloud, that the foe of Parlements is fallen;

Nobility, Gentry, Commonalty have rejoiced; and rejoice. Nay now, with new emphasis, Rascality itself,

starting suddenly from its dim depths, will arise and do it,for down even thither the new Political Evangel,

in some rude version or other, has penetrated. It is Monday, the 14th of September 1788: Rascality assembles

anew, in great force, in the Place Dauphine; lets off petards, fires blunderbusses, to an incredible extent,

without interval, for eighteen hours. There is again a wicker Figure, 'Mannequin of osier:' the centre of

endless howlings. Also Necker's Portrait snatched, or purchased, from some Printshop, is borne

But chiefly on the Pont Neuf, where the Great Henri, in bronze, rides sublime; there do the crowds gather. All

passengers must stop, till they have bowed to the People's King, and said audibly: Vive Henri Quatre; au

diable Lamoignon! No carriage but must stop; not even that of his Highness d'Orleans. Your coachdoors are

opened: Monsieur will please to put forth his head and bow; or even, if refractory, to alight altogether, and

kneel: from Madame a wave of her plumes, a smile of her fair face, there where she sits, shall suffice;and

surely a coin or two (to buy fusees) were not unreasonable from the Upper Classes, friends of Liberty? In this

manner it proceeds for days; in such rude horseplay,not without kicks. The City watch can do nothing;

hardly save its own skin: for the last twelvemonth, as we have sometimes seen, it has been a kind of pastime

to hunt the Watch. Besenval indeed is at hand with soldiers; but they have orders to avoid firing, and are not

On Monday morning the explosion of petards began: and now it is near midnight of Wednesday; and the

'wicker Mannequin' is to be buried, apparently in the Antique fashion. Long rows of torches, following it,

move towards the Hotel Lamoignon; but 'a servant of mine' (Besenval's) has run to give warning, and there

are soldiers come. Gloomy Lamoignon is not to die by conflagration, or this night; not yet for a year, and

then by gunshot (suicidal or accidental is unknown). (Histoire de la Revolution, par Deux Amis de la Liberte,

i. 50.) Foiled Rascality burns its 'Mannikin of osier,' under his windows; 'tears up the sentrybox,' and rolls

off: to try Brienne; to try Dubois Captain of the Watch. Now, however, all is bestirring itself; Gardes

Francaises, Invalides, Horsepatrol: the Torch Procession is met with sharp shot, with the thrusting of

bayonets, the slashing of sabres. Even Dubois makes a charge, with that Cavalry of his, and the cruelest

charge of all: 'there are a great many killed and wounded.' Not without clangour, complaint; subsequent

criminal trials, and official persons dying of heartbreak! (Histoire de la Revolution, par Deux Amis de la

Liberte, i. 58.) So, however, with steelbesom, Rascality is brushed back into its dim depths, and the streets

Not for a century and half had Rascality ventured to step forth in this fashion; not for so long, showed its

huge rude lineaments in the light of day. A Wonder and new Thing: as yet gamboling merely, in awkward

Brobdingnag sport, not without quaintness; hardly in anger: yet in its huge halfvacant laugh lurks a shade of

However, the thinkers invited by Lomenie are now far on with their pamphlets: StatesGeneral, on one plan

or another, will infallibly meet; if not in January, as was once hoped, yet at latest in May. Old Duke de

Richelieu, moribund in these autumn days, opens his eyes once more, murmuring, "What would Louis

Fourteenth" (whom he remembers) "have said!" then closes them again, forever, before the evil time.

The universal prayer, therefore, is to be fulfilled! Always in days of national perplexity, when wrong

abounded and help was not, this remedy of StatesGeneral was called for; by a Malesherbes, nay by a

Fenelon; (Montgaillard, i. 461.) even Parlements calling for it were 'escorted with blessings.' And now behold

To say, let StatesGeneral be, was easy; to say in what manner they shall be, is not so easy. Since the year of

1614, there have no StatesGeneral met in France, all trace of them has vanished from the living habits of

men. Their structure, powers, methods of procedure, which were never in any measure fixed, have now

become wholly a vague possibility. Clay which the potter may shape, this way or that:say rather, the

twentyfive millions of potters; for so many have now, more or less, a vote in it! How to shape the

StatesGeneral? There is a problem. Each Bodycorporate, each privileged, each organised Class has secret

hopes of its own in that matter; and also secret misgivings of its own,for, behold, this monstrous

twentymillion Class, hitherto the dumb sheep which these others had to agree about the manner of shearing,

is now also arising with hopes! It has ceased or is ceasing to be dumb; it speaks through Pamphlets, or at least

brays and growls behind them, in unison,increasing wonderfully their volume of sound.

As for the Parlement of Paris, it has at once declared for the 'old form of 1614.' Which form had this

advantage, that the Tiers Etat, Third Estate, or Commons, figured there as a show mainly: whereby the

Noblesse and Clergy had but to avoid quarrel between themselves, and decide unobstructed what they

thought best. Such was the clearly declared opinion of the Paris Parlement. But, being met by a storm of mere

hooting and howling from all men, such opinion was blown straightway to the winds; and the popularity of

the Parlement along with it,never to return. The Parlements part, we said above, was as good as played.

Concerning which, however, there is this further to be noted: the proximity of dates. It was on the 22nd of

September that the Parlement returned from 'vacation' or 'exile in its estates;' to be reinstalled amid boundless

jubilee from all Paris. Precisely next day it was, that this same Parlement came to its 'clearly declared

opinion:' and then on the morrow after that, you behold it covered with outrages;' its outer court, one vast

sibilation, and the glory departed from it for evermore. (Weber, i. 347.) A popularity of twenty four hours

On the other hand, how superfluous was that invitation of Lomenie's: the invitation to thinkers! Thinkers and

unthinkers, by the million, are spontaneously at their post, doing what is in them. Clubs labour: Societe

Publicole; Breton Club; Enraged Club, Club des Enrages. Likewise Dinner parties in the Palais Royal; your

Mirabeaus, Talleyrands dining there, in company with Chamforts, Morellets, with Duponts and hot

Parlementeers, not without object! For a certain Neckerean Lion'sprovider, whom one could name,

assembles them there; (Ibid. i. 360.)or even their own private determination to have dinner does it. And

then as to Pamphletsin figurative language; 'it is a sheer snowing of pamphlets; like to snow up the

Government thoroughfares!' Now is the time for Friends of Freedom; sane, and even insane.

Count, or selfstyled Count, d'Aintrigues, 'the young Languedocian gentleman,' with perhaps Chamfort the

Cynic to help him, rises into furor almost Pythic; highest, where many are high. (Memoire sur les Etats

Generaux. See Montgaillard, i. 4579.) Foolish young Languedocian gentleman; who himself so soon,

'emigrating among the foremost,' must fly indignant over the marches, with the Contrat Social in his

pocket,towards outer darkness, thankless intriguings, ignisfatuus hoverings, and death by the stiletto!

Abbe Sieyes has left Chartres Cathedral, and canonry and bookshelves there; has let his tonsure grow, and

come to Paris with a secular head, of the most irrefragable sort, to ask three questions, and answer them:

What is the Third Estate? All.What has it hitherto been in our form of government? Nothing.What does

D'Orleans,for be sure he, on his way to Chaos, is in the thick of this, promulgates his Deliberations;

(Deliberations a prendre pour les Assemblees des Bailliages.) fathered by him, written by Laclos of the

Liaisons Dangereuses. The result of which comes out simply: 'The Third Estate is the Nation.' On the other

hand, Monseigneur d'Artois, with other Princes of the Blood, publishes, in solemn Memorial to the King, that

if such things be listened to, Privilege, Nobility, Monarchy, Church, State and Strongbox are in danger.

(Memoire presente au Roi, par Monseigneur Comte d'Artois, M. le Prince de Conde, M. le Duc de Bourbon,

M. le Duc d'Enghien, et M. le Prince de Conti. (Given in Hist. Parl. i. 256.)) In danger truly: and yet if you do

not listen, are they out of danger? It is the voice of all France, this sound that rises. Immeasurable, manifold;

as the sound of outbreaking waters: wise were he who knew what to do in it,if not to fly to the mountains,

How an ideal, allseeing Versailles Government, sitting there on such principles, in such an environment,

would have determined to demean itself at this new juncture, may even yet be a question. Such a Government

would have felt too well that its long task was now drawing to a close; that, under the guise of these

StatesGeneral, at length inevitable, a new omnipotent Unknown of Democracy was coming into being; in

presence of which no Versailles Government either could or should, except in a provisory character, continue

extant. To enact which provisory character, so unspeakably important, might its whole faculties but have

sufficed; and so a peaceable, gradual, wellconducted Abdication and Dominedimittas have been the issue!

This for our ideal, allseeing Versailles Government. But for the actual irrational Versailles Government?

Alas, that is a Government existing there only for its own behoof: without right, except possession; and now

also without might. It foresees nothing, sees nothing; has not so much as a purpose, but has only

purposes,and the instinct whereby all that exists will struggle to keep existing. Wholly a vortex; in which

vain counsels, hallucinations, falsehoods, intrigues, and imbecilities whirl; like withered rubbish in the

meeting of winds! The OeildeBoeuf has its irrational hopes, if also its fears. Since hitherto all

StatesGeneral have done as good as nothing, why should these do more? The Commons, indeed, look

dangerous; but on the whole is not revolt, unknown now for five generations, an impossibility? The Three

Estates can, by management, be set against each other; the Third will, as heretofore, join with the King; will,

out of mere spite and selfinterest, be eager to tax and vex the other two. The other two are thus delivered

bound into our hands, that we may fleece them likewise. Whereupon, money being got, and the Three Estates

all in quarrel, dismiss them, and let the future go as it can! As good Archbishop Lomenie was wont to say:

"There are so many accidents; and it needs but one to save us."How many to destroy us?

Poor Necker in the midst of such an anarchy does what is possible for him. He looks into it with obstinately

hopeful face; lauds the known rectitude of the kingly mind; listens indulgentlike to the known perverseness

of the queenly and courtly;emits if any proclamation or regulation, one favouring the Tiers Etat; but

settling nothing; hovering afar off rather, and advising all things to settle themselves. The grand questions,

for the present, have got reduced to two: the Double Representation, and the Vote by Head. Shall the

Commons have a 'double representation,' that is to say, have as many members as the Noblesse and Clergy

united? Shall the States General, when once assembled, vote and deliberate, in one body, or in three

separate bodies; 'vote by head, or vote by class,'ordre as they call it? These are the mootpoints now filling

all France with jargon, logic and eleutheromania. To terminate which, Necker bethinks him, Might not a

second Convocation of the Notables be fittest? Such second Convocation is resolved on.

On the 6th of November of this year 1788, these Notables accordingly have reassembled; after an interval of

some eighteen months. They are Calonne's old Notables, the same Hundred and Fortyfour,to show one's

impartiality; likewise to save time. They sit there once again, in their Seven Bureaus, in the hard winter

weather: it is the hardest winter seen since 1709; thermometer below zero of Fahrenheit, Seine River frozen

over. (Marmontel, Memoires (London, 1805), iv. 33. Hist. Parl, Cold, scarcity and eleutheromaniac clamour:

a changed world since these Notables were 'organed out,' in May gone a year! They shall see now whether,

under their Seven Princes of the Blood, in their Seven Bureaus, they can settle the mootpoints.

To the surprise of Patriotism, these Notables, once so patriotic, seem to incline the wrong way; towards the

antipatriotic side. They stagger at the Double Representation, at the Vote by Head: there is not affirmative

decision; there is mere debating, and that not with the best aspects. For, indeed, were not these Notables

themselves mostly of the Privileged Classes? They clamoured once; now they have their misgivings; make

their dolorous representations. Let them vanish, ineffectual; and return no more! They vanish after a month's

session, on this 12th of December, year 1788: the last terrestrial Notables, not to reappear any other time, in

And so, the clamour still continuing, and the Pamphlets; and nothing but patriotic Addresses, louder and

louder, pouting in on us from all corners of France,Necker himself some fortnight after, before the year is

yet done, has to present his Report, (Rapport fait au Roi dans son Conseil, le 27 Decembre 1788.)

recommending at his own risk that same Double Representation; nay almost enjoining it, so loud is the jargon

and eleutheromania. What dubitating, what circumambulating! These whole six noisy months (for it began

with Brienne in July,) has not Report followed Report, and one Proclamation flown in the teeth of the other?

However, that first mootpoint, as we see, is now settled. As for the second, that of voting by Head or by

Order, it unfortunately is still left hanging. It hangs there, we may say, between the Privileged Orders and the

Unprivileged; as a readymade battleprize, and necessity of war, from the very first: which battleprize

But so, at least, by Royal Edict of the 24th of January, (Reglement du Roi pour la Convocation des

EtatsGeneraux a Versailles. (Reprinted, wrong dated, in Histoire Parlementaire, i. 262.)) does it finally, to

impatient expectant France, become not only indubitable that National Deputies are to meet, but possible (so

Up, then, and be doing! The royal signalword flies through France, as through vast forests the rushing of a

mighty wind. At Parish Churches, in Townhalls, and every House of Convocation; by Bailliages, by

Seneschalsies, in whatsoever form men convene; there, with confusion enough, are Primary Assemblies

forming. To elect your Electors; such is the form prescribed: then to draw up your 'Writ of Plaints and

Grievances (Cahier de plaintes et doleances),' of which latter there is no lack.

With such virtue works this Royal January Edict; as it rolls rapidly, in its leathern mails, along these

frostbound highways, towards all the four winds. Like some fiat, or magic spellword;which such things

do resemble! For always, as it sounds out 'at the marketcross,' accompanied with trumpetblast; presided by

Bailli, Seneschal, or other minor Functionary, with beefeaters; or, in country churches is droned forth after

sermon, 'au prone des messes paroissales;' and is registered, posted and let fly over all the world,you

behold how this multitudinous French People, so long simmering and buzzing in eager expectancy, begins

heaping and shaping itself into organic groups. Which organic groups, again, hold smaller organic grouplets:

the inarticulate buzzing becomes articulate speaking and acting. By Primary Assembly, and then by

Secondary; by 'successive elections,' and infinite elaboration and scrutiny, according to prescribed

processshall the genuine 'Plaints and Grievances' be at length got to paper; shall the fit National

How the whole People shakes itself, as if it had one life; and, in thousandvoiced rumour, announces that it is

awake, suddenly out of long deathsleep, and will thenceforth sleep no more! The long lookedfor has come

at last; wondrous news, of Victory, Deliverance, Enfranchisement, sounds magical through every heart. To

the proud strong man it has come; whose strong hands shall no more be gyved; to whom boundless

unconquered continents lie disclosed. The weary daydrudge has heard of it; the beggar with his crusts

moistened in tears. What! To us also has hope reached; down even to us? Hunger and hardship are not to be

eternal? The bread we extorted from the rugged glebe, and, with the toil of our sinews, reaped and ground,

and kneaded into loaves, was not wholly for another, then; but we also shall eat of it, and be filled? Glorious

news (answer the prudent elders), but alltoo unlikely!Thus, at any rate, may the lower people, who pay

no moneytaxes and have no right to vote, (Reglement du Roi (in Histoire Parlementaire, as above, i.

267307.) assiduously crowd round those that do; and most Halls of Assembly, within doors and without,

Paris, alone of Towns, is to have Representatives; the number of them twenty. Paris is divided into Sixty

Districts; each of which (assembled in some church, or the like) is choosing two Electors. Official

deputations pass from District to District, for all is inexperience as yet, and there is endless consulting. The

streets swarm strangely with busy crowds, pacific yet restless and loquacious; at intervals, is seen the gleam

of military muskets; especially about the Palais, where Parlement, once more on duty, sits querulous, almost

Busy is the French world! In those great days, what poorest speculative craftsman but will leave his

workshop; if not to vote, yet to assist in voting? On all highways is a rustling and bustling. Over the wide

surface of France, ever and anon, through the spring months, as the Sower casts his corn abroad upon the

furrows, sounds of congregating and dispersing; of crowds in deliberation, acclamation, voting by ballot and

by voice,rise discrepant towards the ear of Heaven. To which political phenomena add this economical

one, that Trade is stagnant, and also Bread getting dear; for before the rigorous winter there was, as we said, a

rigorous summer, with drought, and on the 13th of July with destructive hail. What a fearful day! all cried

while that tempest fell. Alas, the next anniversary of it will be a worse. (Bailly, Memoires, i. 336.) Under

The incidents and specialties of these Elections belong not to Universal, but to Local or Parish History: for

which reason let not the new troubles of Grenoble or Besancon; the bloodshed on the streets of Rennes, and

consequent march thither of the Breton 'Young Men' with Manifesto by their 'Mothers, Sisters and

Sweethearts;' (Protestation et Arrete des Jeunes Gens de la Ville de Nantes, du 28 Janvier 1789, avant leur

depart pour Rennes. Arrete des Jeunes Gens de la Ville d'Angers, du 4 Fevrier 1789. Arrete des Meres,

Soeurs, Epouses et Amantes des Jeunes Citoyens d'Angers, du 6 Fevrier 1789. (Reprinted in Histoire

Parlementaire, i. 2903.)) nor suchlike, detain us here. It is the same sad history everywhere; with superficial

variations. A reinstated Parlement (as at Besancon), which stands astonished at this Behemoth of a

StatesGeneral it had itself evoked, starts forward, with more or less audacity, to fix a thorn in its nose; and,

alas, is instantaneously struck down, and hurled quite out,for the new popular force can use not only

arguments but brickbats! Or else, and perhaps combined with this, it is an order of Noblesse (as in Brittany),

which will beforehand tie up the Third Estate, that it harm not the old privileges. In which act of tying up,

never so skilfully set about, there is likewise no possibility of prospering; but the Behemoth Briareus snaps

your cords like green rushes. Tie up? Alas, Messieurs! And then, as for your chivalry rapiers, valour and

wagerofbattle, think one moment, how can that answer? The plebeian heart too has red life in it, which

changes not to paleness at glance even of you; and 'the six hundred Breton gentlemen assembled in arms, for

seventytwo hours, in the Cordeliers' Cloister, at Rennes,'have to come out again, wiser than they entered.

For the Nantes Youth, the Angers Youth, all Brittany was astir; 'mothers, sisters and sweethearts' shrieking

after them, March! The Breton Noblesse must even let the mad world have its way. (Hist. Parl. i. 287. Deux

In other Provinces, the Noblesse, with equal goodwill, finds it better to stick to Protests, to wellredacted

'Cahiers of grievances,' and satirical writings and speeches. Such is partially their course in Provence; whither

indeed Gabriel Honore Riquetti Comte de Mirabeau has rushed down from Paris, to speak a word in season.

In Provence, the Privileged, backed by their Aix Parlement, discover that such novelties, enjoined though

they be by Royal Edict, tend to National detriment; and what is still more indisputable, 'to impair the dignity

of the Noblesse.' Whereupon Mirabeau protesting aloud, this same Noblesse, amid huge tumult within doors

and without, flatly determines to expel him from their Assembly. No other method, not even that of

successive duels, would answer with him, the obstreperous fierceglaring man. Expelled he accordingly is.

'In all countries, in all times,' exclaims he departing, 'the Aristocrats have implacably pursued every friend of

the People; and with tenfold implacability, if such a one were himself born of the Aristocracy. It was thus that

the last of the Gracchi perished, by the hands of the Patricians. But he, being struck with the mortal stab,

flung dust towards heaven, and called on the Avenging Deities; and from this dust there was born Marius,

Marius not so illustrious for exterminating the Cimbri, as for overturning in Rome the tyranny of the Nobles.'

(Fils Adoptif, v. 256.) Casting up which new curious handful of dust (through the Printingpress), to breed

That he now, to ingratiate himself with this Third Estate, 'opened a cloth shop in Marseilles,' and for

moments became a furnishing tailor, or even the fable that he did so, is to us always among the pleasant

memorabilities of this era. Stranger Clothier never wielded the ellwand, and rent webs for men, or fractional

parts of men. The Fils Adoptif is indignant at such disparaging fable, (Memoires de Mirabeau, v.

307.)which nevertheless was widely believed in those days. (Marat, AmiduPeuple Newspaper (in

Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 103), But indeed, if Achilles, in the heroic ages, killed mutton, why should not

More authentic are his triumphprogresses through that disturbed district, with mob jubilee, flaming torches,

'windows hired for two louis,' and voluntary guard of a hundred men. He is Deputy Elect, both of Aix and of

Marseilles; but will prefer Aix. He has opened his farsounding voice, the depths of his farsounding soul;

he can quell (such virtue is in a spoken word) the pridetumults of the rich, the hungertumults of the poor;

and wild multitudes move under him, as under the moon do billows of the sea: he has become a world

One other incident and specialty we note; with how different an interest! It is of the Parlement of Paris; which

starts forward, like the others (only with less audacity, seeing better how it lay), to nosering that Behemoth

of a StatesGeneral. Worthy Doctor Guillotin, respectable practitioner in Paris, has drawn up his little 'Plan

of a Cahier of doleances;'as had he not, having the wish and gift, the clearest liberty to do? He is getting

the people to sign it; whereupon the surly Parlement summons him to give an account of himself. He goes;

but with all Paris at his heels; which floods the outer courts, and copiously signs the Cahier even there, while

the Doctor is giving account of himself within! The Parlement cannot too soon dismiss Guillotin, with

compliments; to be borne home shoulderhigh. (Deux Amis de la Liberte, i. 141.) This respectable Guillotin

we hope to behold once more, and perhaps only once; the Parlement not even once, but let it be engulphed

Meanwhile such things, cheering as they are, tend little to cheer the national creditor, or indeed the creditor of

any kind. In the midst of universal portentous doubt, what certainty can seem so certain as money in the

purse, and the wisdom of keeping it there? Trading Speculation, Commerce of all kinds, has as far as possible

come to a dead pause; and the hand of the industrious lies idle in his bosom. Frightful enough, when now the

rigour of seasons has also done its part, and to scarcity of work is added scarcity of food! In the opening

spring, there come rumours of forestalment, there come King's Edicts, Petitions of bakers against millers; and

at length, in the month of Apriltroops of ragged Lackalls, and fierce cries of starvation! These are the

thricefamed Brigands: an actual existing quotity of persons: who, long reflected and reverberated through so

many millions of heads, as in concave multiplying mirrors, become a whole Brigand World; and, like a kind

of Supernatural Machinery wondrously move the Epos of the Revolution. The Brigands are here: the

Brigands are there; the Brigands are coming! Not otherwise sounded the clang of Phoebus Apollos's silver

bow, scattering pestilence and pale terror; for this clang too was of the imagination; preternatural; and it too

walked in formless immeasurability, having made itself like to the Night (Greek.)!

But remark at least, for the first time, the singular empire of Suspicion, in those lands, in those days. If poor

famishing men shall, prior to death, gather in groups and crowds, as the poor fieldfares and plovers do in

bitter weather, were it but that they may chirp mournfully together, and misery look in the eyes of misery; if

famishing men (what famishing fieldfares cannot do) should discover, once congregated, that they need not

die while food is in the land, since they are many, and with empty wallets have right hands: in all this, what

need were there of Preternatural Machinery? To most people none; but not to French people, in a time of

Revolution. These Brigands (as Turgot's also were, fourteen years ago) have all been set on; enlisted, though

without tuck of drum,by Aristocrats, by Democrats, by D'Orleans, D'Artois, and enemies of the public

weal. Nay Historians, to this day, will prove it by one argument: these Brigands pretending to have no

victual, nevertheless contrive to drink, nay, have been seen drunk. (Lacretelle, 18me Siecle, ii. 155.) An

unexampled fact! But on the whole, may we not predict that a people, with such a width of Credulity and of

Incredulity (the proper union of which makes Suspicion, and indeed unreason generally), will see Shapes

enough of Immortals fighting in its battleranks, and never want for Epical Machinery?

Be this as it may, the Brigands are clearly got to Paris, in considerable multitudes: (Besenval, iii. 385, with

sallow faces, lank hair (the true enthusiast complexion), with sooty rags; and also with large clubs, which

they smite angrily against the pavement! These mingle in the Election tumult; would fain sign Guillotin's

Cahier, or any Cahier or Petition whatsoever, could they but write. Their enthusiast complexion, the smiting

of their sticks bodes little good to any one; least of all to rich mastermanufacturers of the Suburb

But now also National Deputies from all ends of France are in Paris, with their commissions, what they call

pouvoirs, or powers, in their pockets; inquiring, consulting; looking out for lodgings at Versailles. The

States General shall open there, if not on the First, then surely on the Fourth of May, in grand procession

and gala. The Salle des Menus is all new carpentered, bedizened for them; their very costume has been

fixed; a grand controversy which there was, as to 'slouchhats or slouchedhats,' for the Commons Deputies,

has got as good as adjusted. Ever new strangers arrive; loungers, miscellaneous persons, officers on

furlough,as the worthy Captain Dampmartin, whom we hope to be acquainted with: these also, from all

regions, have repaired hither, to see what is toward. Our Paris Committees, of the Sixty Districts, are busier

On Monday, the 27th of April, Astronomer Bailly notices that the Sieur Reveillon is not at his post. The Sieur

Reveillon, 'extensive Paper Manufacturer of the Rue St. Antoine;' he, commonly so punctual, is absent from

the Electoral Committee;and even will never reappear there. In those 'immense Magazines of velvet paper'

has aught befallen? Alas, yes! Alas, it is no Montgolfier rising there today; but Drudgery, Rascality and the

Suburb that is rising! Was the Sieur Reveillon, himself once a journeyman, heard to say that 'a journeyman

might live handsomely on fifteen sous aday?' Some sevenpence halfpenny: 'tis a slender sum! Or was he

only thought, and believed, to be heard saying it? By this long chafing and friction it would appear the

Down in those dark dens, in those dark heads and hungry hearts, who knows in what strange figure the new

Political Evangel may have shaped itself; what miraculous 'Communion of Drudges' may be getting formed!

Enough: grim individuals, soon waxing to grim multitudes, and other multitudes crowding to see, beset that

PaperWarehouse; demonstrate, in loud ungrammatical language (addressed to the passions too), the

insufficiency of sevenpence halfpenny aday. The Citywatch cannot dissipate them; broils arise and

bellowings; Reveillon, at his wits' end, entreats the Populace, entreats the authorities. Besenval, now in active

command, Commandant of Paris, does, towards evening, to Reveillon's earnest prayer, send some thirty

Gardes Francaises. These clear the street, happily without firing; and take post there for the night in hope that

Not so: on the morrow it is far worse. SaintAntoine has arisen anew, grimmer than ever;reinforced by the

unknown Tatterdemalion Figures, with their enthusiast complexion and large sticks. The City, through all

streets, is flowing thitherward to see: 'two cartloads of pavingstones, that happened to pass that way' have

been seized as a visible godsend. Another detachment of Gardes Francaises must be sent; Besenval and the

Colonel taking earnest counsel. Then still another; they hardly, with bayonets and menace of bullets,

penetrate to the spot. What a sight! A street choked up, with lumber, tumult and the endless press of men. A

PaperWarehouse eviscerated by axe and fire: mad din of Revolt; musket volleys responded to by yells, by

miscellaneous missiles; by tiles raining from roof and window,tiles, execrations and slain men!

The Gardes Francaises like it not, but have to persevere. All day it continues, slackening and rallying; the sun

is sinking, and SaintAntoine has not yielded. The City flies hither and thither: alas, the sound of that

musketvolleying booms into the far diningrooms of the Chaussee d'Antin; alters the tone of the

dinnergossip there. Captain Dampmartin leaves his wine; goes out with a friend or two, to see the fighting.

Unwashed men growl on him, with murmurs of "A bas les Aristocrates (Down with the Aristocrats);" and

insult the cross of St. Louis? They elbow him, and hustle him; but do not pick his pocket;as indeed at

Reveillon's too there was not the slightest stealing. (Evenemens qui se sont passes sous mes yeux pendant la

At fall of night, as the thing will not end, Besenval takes his resolution: orders out the Gardes Suisses with

two pieces of artillery. The Swiss Guards shall proceed thither; summon that rabble to depart, in the King's

name. If disobeyed, they shall load their artillery with grapeshot, visibly to the general eye; shall again

summon; if again disobeyed, fire, and keep firing 'till the last man' be in this manner blasted off, and the

street clear. With which spirited resolution, as might have been hoped, the business is got ended. At sight of

the lit matches, of the foreign redcoated Switzers, SaintAntoine dissipates; hastily, in the shades of dusk.

There is an encumbered street; there are 'from four to five hundred' dead men. Unfortunate Reveillon has

found shelter in the Bastille; does therefrom, safe behind stone bulwarks, issue, plaint, protestation,

explanation, for the next month. Bold Besenval has thanks from all the respectable Parisian classes; but finds

no special notice taken of him at Versailles,a thing the man of true worth is used to. (Besenval, iii. 389.)

But how it originated, this fierce electric sputter and explosion? From D'Orleans! cries the Courtparty: he,

with his gold, enlisted these Brigands,surely in some surprising manner, without sound of drum: he raked

them in hither, from all corners; to ferment and take fire; evil is his good. From the Court! cries enlightened

Patriotism: it is the cursed gold and wiles of Aristocrats that enlisted them; set them upon ruining an innocent

Sieur Reveillon; to frighten the faint, and disgust men with the career of Freedom.

Besenval, with reluctance, concludes that it came from 'the English, our natural enemies.' Or, alas, might not

one rather attribute it to Diana in the shape of Hunger? To some twin Dioscuri, OPPRESSION and

REVENGE; so often seen in the battles of men? Poor Lackalls, all betoiled, besoiled, encrusted into dim

defacement; into whom nevertheless the breath of the Almighty has breathed a living soul! To them it is clear

only that eleutheromaniac Philosophism has yet baked no bread; that Patrioti Committeemen will level

down to their own level, and no lower. Brigands, or whatever they might be, it was bitter earnest with them.

They bury their dead with the title of Defenseurs de la Patrie, Martyrs of the good Cause.

Or shall we say: Insurrection has now served its Apprenticeship; and this was its proofstroke, and no

inconclusive one? Its next will be a master stroke; announcing indisputable Mastership to a whole

astonished world. Let that rockfortress, Tyranny's stronghold, which they name Bastille, or Building, as if

But, in such wise, with primary and secondary Assemblies, and Cahiers of Grievances; with motions,

congregations of all kinds; with much thunder of frotheloquence, and at last with thunder of

platoonmusquetry,does agitated France accomplish its Elections. With confused winnowing and sifting,

in this rather tumultuous manner, it has now (all except some remnants of Paris) sifted out the true

wheatgrains of National Deputies, Twelve Hundred and Fourteen in number; and will forthwith open its

On the first Saturday of May, it is gala at Versailles; and Monday, fourth of the month, is to be a still greater

day. The Deputies have mostly got thither, and sought out lodgings; and are now successively, in long well

ushered files, kissing the hand of Majesty in the Chateau. Supreme Usher de Breze does not give the highest

satisfaction: we cannot but observe that in ushering Noblesse or Clergy into the anointed Presence, he

liberally opens both his foldingdoors; and on the other hand, for members of the Third Estate opens only

The good Louis welcomes his Honourable Members, with smiles of hope. He has prepared for them the Hall

of Menus, the largest near him; and often surveyed the workmen as they went on. A spacious Hall: with

raised platform for Throne, Court and Bloodroyal; space for six hundred Commons Deputies in front; for

half as many Clergy on this hand, and half as many Noblesse on that. It has lofty galleries; wherefrom dames

of honour, splendent in gaze d'or; foreign Diplomacies, and other giltedged white frilled individuals to the

number of two thousand,may sit and look. Broad passages flow through it; and, outside the inner wall, all

round it. There are committeerooms, guardrooms, robingrooms: really a noble Hall; where upholstery,

aided by the subject finearts, has done its best; and crimson tasseled cloths, and emblematic fleursdelys

The Hall is ready: the very costume, as we said, has been settled; and the Commons are not to wear that hated

slouchhat (chapeau clabaud), but one not quite so slouched (chapeau rabattu). As for their manner of

working, when all dressed: for their 'voting by head or by order' and the rest, this, which it were perhaps

still time to settle, and in few hours will be no longer time, remains unsettled; hangs dubious in the breast of

But now finally the Sun, on Monday the 4th of May, has risen;unconcerned, as if it were no special day.

And yet, as his first rays could strike music from the Memnon's Statue on the Nile, what tones were these, so

thrilling, tremulous of preparation and foreboding, which he awoke in every bosom at Versailles! Huge Paris,

in all conceivable and inconceivable vehicles, is pouring itself forth; from each Town and Village come

subsidiary rills; Versailles is a very sea of men. But above all, from the Church of St. Louis to the Church of

NotreDame: one vast suspendedbillow of Life,with spray scattered even to the chimneypots! For on

chimney tops too, as over the roofs, and up thitherwards on every lampiron, sign post, breakneck coign of

vantage, sits patriotic Courage; and every window bursts with patriotic Beauty: for the Deputies are gathering

Yes, friends, ye may sit and look: boldly or in thought, all France, and all Europe, may sit and look; for it is a

day like few others. Oh, one might weep like Xerxes:So many serried rows sit perched there; like winged

creatures, alighted out of Heaven: all these, and so many more that follow them, shall have wholly fled aloft

again, vanishing into the blue Deep; and the memory of this day still be fresh. It is the baptismday of

Democracy; sick Time has given it birth, the numbered months being run. The extremeunction day of

Feudalism! A superannuated System of Society, decrepit with toils (for has it not done much; produced you,

and what ye have and know!)and with thefts and brawls, named gloriousvictories; and with profligacies,

sensualities, and on the whole with dotage and senility,is now to die: and so, with deaththroes and

birththroes, a new one is to be born. What a work, O Earth and Heavens, what a work! Battles and

bloodshed, September Massacres, Bridges of Lodi, retreats of Moscow, Waterloos, Peterloos, Tenpound

Franchises, Tarbarrels and Guillotines;and from this present date, if one might prophesy, some two

centuries of it still to fight! Two centuries; hardly less; before Democracy go through its due, most baleful,

stages of Quackocracy; and a pestilential World be burnt up, and have begun to grow green and young again.

Rejoice nevertheless, ye Versailles multitudes; to you, from whom all this is hid, and glorious end of it is

visible. This day, sentence of death is pronounced on Shams; judgment of resuscitation, were it but far off, is

pronounced on Realities. This day it is declared aloud, as with a Doom trumpet, that a Lie is unbelievable.

Believe that, stand by that, if more there be not; and let what thing or things soever will follow it follow. 'Ye

can no other; God be your help!' So spake a greater than any of you; opening his Chapter of WorldHistory.

Behold, however! The doors of St. Louis Church flung wide; and the Procession of Processions advancing

towards NotreDame! Shouts rend the air; one shout, at which Grecian birds might drop dead. It is indeed a

stately, solemn sight. The Elected of France, and then the Court of France; they are marshalled and march

there, all in prescribed place and costume. Our Commons 'in plain black mantle and white cravat;' Noblesse,

in goldworked, brightdyed cloaks of velvet, resplendent, rustling with laces, waving with plumes; the

Clergy in rochet, alb, or other best pontificalibus: lastly comes the King himself, and King's Household, also

in their brightest blaze of pomp,their brightest and final one. Some Fourteen Hundred Men blown together

Yes, in that silent marching mass there lies Futurity enough. No symbolic Ark, like the old Hebrews, do these

men bear: yet with them too is a Covenant; they too preside at a new Era in the History of Men. The whole

Future is there, and Destiny dimbrooding over it; in the hearts and unshaped thoughts of these men, it lies

illegible, inevitable. Singular to think: they have it in them; yet not they, not mortal, only the Eye above can

read it,as it shall unfold itself, in fire and thunder, of siege, and fieldartillery; in the rustling of

battlebanners, the tramp of hosts, in the glow of burning cities, the shriek of strangled nations! Such things

lie hidden, safewrapt in this Fourth day of May;say rather, had lain in some other unknown day, of which

this latter is the public fruit and outcome. As indeed what wonders lie in every Day,had we the sight, as

happily we have not, to decipher it: for is not every meanest Day 'the conflux of two Eternities!'

Meanwhile, suppose we too, good Reader, should, as now without miracle Muse Clio enables ustake our

station also on some coign of vantage; and glance momentarily over this Procession, and this Lifesea; with

far other eyes than the rest do, namely with prophetic? We can mount, and stand there, without fear of falling.

As for the Lifesea, or onlooking unnumbered Multitude, it is unfortunately alltoo dim. Yet as we gaze

fixedly, do not nameless Figures not a few, which shall not always be nameless, disclose themselves; visible

or presumable there! Young Baroness de Staelshe evidently looks from a window; among older

honourable women. (Madame de Stael, Considerations sur la Revolution Francaise (London, 1818), i.

114191.) Her father is Minister, and one of the gala personages; to his own eyes the chief one. Young

spiritual Amazon, thy rest is not there; nor thy loved Father's: 'as Malebranche saw all things in God, so M.

But where is the brownlocked, lightbehaved, firehearted Demoiselle Theroigne? Brown eloquent Beauty;

who, with thy winged words and glances, shalt thrill rough bosoms, whole steel battalions, and persuade an

Austrian Kaiser,pike and helm lie provided for thee in due season; and, alas, also straitwaistcoat and long

lodging in the Salpetriere! Better hadst thou staid in native Luxemburg, and been the mother of some brave

Of the rougher sex how, without tongue, or hundred tongues, of iron, enumerate the notabilities! Has not

Marquis Valadi hastily quitted his quaker broadbrim; his Pythagorean Greek in Wapping, and the city of

Glasgow? (Founders of the French Republic (London, 1798), para Valadi.) De Morande from his Courrier de

l'Europe; Linguet from his Annales, they looked eager through the London fog, and became

ExEditors,that they might feed the guillotine, and have their due. Does Louvet (of Faublas) stand

atiptoe? And Brissot, hight De Warville, friend of the Blacks? He, with Marquis Condorcet, and Claviere

the Genevese 'have created the Moniteur Newspaper,' or are about creating it. Able Editors must give account

Or seest thou with any distinctness, low down probably, not in places of honour, a Stanislas Maillard,

ridingtipstaff (huissier a cheval) of the Chatelet; one of the shiftiest of men? A Captain Hulin of Geneva,

Captain Elie of the Queen's Regiment; both with an air of halfpay? Jourdan, with tilecoloured whiskers,

not yet with tilebeard; an unjust dealer in mules? He shall be, in a few months, Jourdan the Headsman, and

Surely also, in some place not of honour, stands or sprawls up querulous, that he too, though short, may

see,one squalidest bleared mortal, redolent of soot and horsedrugs: Jean Paul Marat of Neuchatel! O

Marat, Renovator of Human Science, Lecturer on Optics; O thou remarkablest Horseleech, once in D'Artois'

Stables,as thy bleared soul looks forth, through thy bleared, dullacrid, wostricken face, what sees it in

all this? Any faintest light of hope; like dayspring after NovaZembla night? Or is it but blue sulphurlight,

Of Draper Lecointre, how he shut his clothshop hard by, and stepped forth, one need hardly speak. Nor of

Santerre, the sonorous Brewer from the Faubourg St. Antoine. Two other Figures, and only two, we signalise

there. The huge, brawny, Figure; through whose black brows, and rude flattened face (figure ecrasee), there

looks a waste energy as of Hercules not yet furibund,he is an esurient, unprovided Advocate; Danton by

name: him mark. Then that other, his slightbuilt comrade and craftbrother; he with the long curling locks;

with the face of dingy blackguardism, wondrously irradiated with genius, as if a naphthalamp burnt within

it: that Figure is Camille Desmoulins. A fellow of infinite shrewdness, wit, nay humour; one of the

sprightliest clearest souls in all these millions. Thou poor Camille, say of thee what they may, it were but

falsehood to pretend one did not almost love thee, thou headlong lightlysparkling man! But the brawny, not

yet furibund Figure, we say, is Jacques Danton; a name that shall be 'tolerably known in the Revolution.' He

is President of the electoral Cordeliers District at Paris, or about to be it; and shall open his lungs of brass.

We dwell no longer on the mixed shouting Multitude: for now, behold, the Commons Deputies are at hand!

Which of these Six Hundred individuals, in plain white cravat, that have come up to regenerate France, might

one guess would become their king? For a king or leader they, as all bodies of men, must have: be their work

what it may, there is one man there who, by character, faculty, position, is fittest of all to do it; that man, as

future not yet elected king, walks there among the rest. He with the thick black locks, will it be? With the

hure, as himself calls it, or black boar'shead, fit to be 'shaken' as a senatorial portent? Through whose

shaggy beetlebrows, and roughhewn, seamed, carbuncled face, there look natural ugliness, smallpox,

incontinence, bankruptcy,and burning fire of genius; like cometfire glaring fuliginous through murkiest

confusions? It is Gabriel Honore Riquetti de Mirabeau, the worldcompeller; manruling Deputy of Aix!

According to the Baroness de Stael, he steps proudly along, though looked at askance here, and shakes his

Yes, Reader, that is the TypeFrenchman of this epoch; as Voltaire was of the last. He is French in his

aspirations, acquisitions, in his virtues, in his vices; perhaps more French than any other man;and

intrinsically such a mass of manhood too. Mark him well. The National Assembly were all different without

that one; nay, he might say with the old Despot: "The National Assembly? I am that."

Of a southern climate, of wild southern blood: for the Riquettis, or Arighettis, had to fly from Florence and

the Guelfs, long centuries ago, and settled in Provence; where from generation to generation they have ever

approved themselves a peculiar kindred: irascible, indomitable, sharp cutting, true, like the steel they wore;

of an intensity and activity that sometimes verged towards madness, yet did not reach it. One ancient

Riquetti, in mad fulfilment of a mad vow, chains two Mountains together; and the chain, with its 'iron star of

five rays,' is still to be seen. May not a modern Riquetti unchain so much, and set it drifting,which also

Destiny has work for that swart burlyheaded Mirabeau; Destiny has watched over him, prepared him from

afar. Did not his Grandfather, stout Col. d'Argent (SilverStock, so they named him), shattered and slashed

by seven andtwenty wounds in one fell day lie sunk together on the Bridge at Casano; while Prince

Eugene's cavalry galloped and regalloped over him, only the flying sergeant had thrown a campkettle

over that loved head; and Vendome, dropping his spyglass, moaned out, 'Mirabeau is dead, then!'

Nevertheless he was not dead: he awoke to breathe, and miraculous surgery;for Gabriel was yet to be.

With his silver stock he kept his scarred head erect, through long years; and wedded; and produced tough

Marquis Victor, the Friend of Men. Whereby at last in the appointed year 1749, this longexpected

roughhewn Gabriel Honore did likewise see the light: roughest lion'swhelp ever littered of that rough

breed. How the old lion (for our old Marquis too was lionlike, most unconquerable, kinglygenial, most

perverse) gazed wonderingly on his offspring; and determined to train him as no lion had yet been! It is in

vain, O Marquis! This cub, though thou slay him and flay him, will not learn to draw in dogcart of Political

Economy, and be a Friend of Men; he will not be Thou, must and will be Himself, another than Thou.

Divorce lawsuits, 'whole family save one in prison, and threescore LettresdeCachet' for thy own sole use,

Our Luckless Gabriel, sinned against and sinning, has been in the Isle of Rhe, and heard the Atlantic from his

tower; in the Castle of If, and heard the Mediterranean at Marseilles. He has been in the Fortress of Joux; and

fortytwo months, with hardly clothing to his back, in the Dungeon of Vincennes;all by LettredeCachet,

from his lion father. He has been in Pontarlier Jails (selfconstituted prisoner); was noticed fording estuaries

of the sea (at low water), in flight from the face of men. He has pleaded before Aix Parlements (to get back

his wife); the public gathering on roofs, to see since they could not hear: "the clatterteeth (claque dents)!"

snarles singular old Mirabeau; discerning in such admired forensic eloquence nothing but two clattering

But as for Gabriel Honore, in these strange wayfarings, what has he not seen and tried! From drillsergeants,

to primeministers, to foreign and domestic booksellers, all manner of men he has seen. All manner of men

he has gained; for at bottom it is a social, loving heart, that wild unconquerable one:more especially all

manner of women. From the Archer's Daughter at Saintes to that fair young Sophie Madame Monnier, whom

he could not but 'steal,' and be beheaded forin effigy! For indeed hardly since the Arabian Prophet lay dead

to Ali's admiration, was there seen such a Lovehero, with the strength of thirty men. In War, again, he has

helped to conquer Corsica; fought duels, irregular brawls; horsewhipped calumnious barons. In Literature, he

has written on Despotism, on LettresdeCachet; Erotics SapphicWerterean, Obscenities, Profanities;

Books on the Prussian Monarchy, on Cagliostro, on Calonne, on the Water Companies of Paris:each book

comparable, we will say, to a bituminous alarumfire; huge, smoky, sudden! The firepan, the kindling, the

bitumen were his own; but the lumber, of rags, old wood and nameless combustible rubbish (for all is fuel to

him), was gathered from huckster, and asspanniers, of every description under heaven. Whereby, indeed,

Nay, consider it more generally, seldom had man such a talent for borrowing. The idea, the faculty of another

man he can make his; the man himself he can make his. "All reflex and echo (tout de reflet et de reverbere)!"

snarls old Mirabeau, who can see, but will not. Crabbed old Friend of Men! it is his sociality, his aggregative

nature; and will now be the quality of all for him. In that fortyyears 'struggle against despotism,' he has

gained the glorious faculty of selfhelp, and yet not lost the glorious natural gift of fellowship, of being

helped. Rare union! This man can live selfsufficingyet lives also in the life of other men; can make men

But consider further how, as the old Marquis still snarls, he has "made away with (hume, swallowed) all

Formulas;"a fact which, if we meditate it, will in these days mean much. This is no man of system, then;

he is only a man of instincts and insights. A man nevertheless who will glare fiercely on any object; and see

through it, and conquer it: for he has intellect, he has will, force beyond other men. A man not with logic

spectacles; but with an eye! Unhappily without Decalogue, moral Code or Theorem of any fixed sort; yet not

without a strong living Soul in him, and Sincerity there: a Reality, not an Artificiality, not a Sham! And so he,

having struggled 'forty years against despotism,' and 'made away with all formulas,' shall now become the

spokesman of a Nation bent to do the same. For is it not precisely the struggle of France also to cast off

despotism; to make away with her old formulas,having found them naught, worn out, far from the reality?

She will make away with such formulas;and even go bare, if need be, till she have found new ones.

Towards such work, in such manner, marches he, this singular Riquetti Mirabeau. In fiery rough figure, with

black Samsonlocks under the slouch hat, he steps along there. A fiery fuliginous mass, which could not be

choked and smothered, but would fill all France with smoke. And now it has got air; it will burn its whole

substance, its whole smokeatmosphere too, and fill all France with flame. Strange lot! Forty years of that

smouldering, with foul firedamp and vapour enough, then victory over that;and like a burning mountain

he blazes heavenhigh; and, for twenty three resplendent months, pours out, in flame and molten

firetorrents, all that is in him, the Pharos and Wondersign of an amazed Europe;and then lies hollow,

cold forever! Pass on, thou questionable Gabriel Honore, the greatest of them all: in the whole National

But now if Mirabeau is the greatest, who of these Six Hundred may be the meanest? Shall we say, that

anxious, slight, ineffectuallooking man, under thirty, in spectacles; his eyes (were the glasses off) troubled,

careful; with upturned face, snuffing dimly the uncertain futuretime; complexion of a multiplex atrabiliar

colour, the final shade of which may be the pale seagreen. (See De Stael, Considerations (ii. 142);

Barbaroux, Memoires, That greenishcoloured (verdatre) individual is an Advocate of Arras; his name is

Maximilien Robespierre. The son of an Advocate; his father founded masonlodges under Charles Edward,

the English Prince or Pretender. Maximilien the firstborn was thriftily educated; he had brisk Camille

Desmoulins for schoolmate in the College of Louis le Grand, at Paris. But he begged our famed

NecklaceCardinal, Rohan, the patron, to let him depart thence, and resign in favour of a younger brother.

The strictminded Max departed; home to paternal Arras; and even had a Lawcase there and pleaded, not

unsuccessfully, 'in favour of the first Franklin thunderrod.' With a strict painful mind, an understanding

small but clear and ready, he grew in favour with official persons, who could foresee in him an excellent man

of business, happily quite free from genius. The Bishop, therefore, taking counsel, appoints him Judge of his

diocese; and he faithfully does justice to the people: till behold, one day, a culprit comes whose crime merits

hanging; and the strictminded Max must abdicate, for his conscience will not permit the dooming of any son

of Adam to die. A strictminded, straitlaced man! A man unfit for Revolutions? Whose small soul,

transparent wholesomelooking as small ale, could by no chance ferment into virulent alegar,the mother of

Between which two extremes of grandest and meanest, so many grand and mean roll on, towards their several

destinies, in that Procession! There is Cazales, the learned young soldier; who shall become the eloquent

orator of Royalism, and earn the shadow of a name. Experienced Mounier, experienced Malouet; whose

Presidential Parlementary experience the stream of things shall soon leave stranded. A Petion has left his

gown and briefs at Chartres for a stormier sort of pleading; has not forgotten his violin, being fond of music.

His hair is grizzled, though he is still young: convictions, beliefs, placidunalterable are in that man; not

hindmost of them, belief in himself. A Protestantclerical RabautSt.Etienne, a slender young eloquent and

vehement Barnave, will help to regenerate France. There are so many of them young. Till thirty the Spartans

did not suffer a man to marry: but how many men here under thirty; coming to produce not one sufficient

citizen, but a nation and a world of such! The old to heal up rents; the young to remove rubbish:which

Dim, formless from this distance, yet authentically there, thou noticest the Deputies from Nantes? To us mere

clothesscreens, with slouchhat and cloak, but bearing in their pocket a Cahier of doleances with this

singular clause, and more such in it: 'That the master wigmakers of Nantes be not troubled with new

gildbrethren, the actually existing number of ninetytwo being more than sufficient!' (Histoire

Parlementaire, i. 335.) The Rennes people have elected Farmer Gerard, 'a man of natural sense and rectitude,

without any learning.' He walks there, with solid step; unique, 'in his rustic farmerclothes;' which he will

wear always; careless of shortcloaks and costumes. The name Gerard, or 'Pere Gerard, Father Gerard,' as

they please to call him, will fly far; borne about in endless banter; in Royalist satires, in Republican didactic

Almanacks. (Actes des Apotres (by Peltier and others); Almanach du Pere Gerard (by Collot d'Herbois) As

for the man Gerard, being asked once, what he did, after trial of it, candidly think of this Parlementary

work,"I think," answered he, "that there are a good many scoundrels among us." so walks Father Gerard;

And worthy Doctor Guillotin, whom we hoped to behold one other time? If not here, the Doctor should be

here, and we see him with the eye of prophecy: for indeed the Parisian Deputies are all a little late. Singular

Guillotin, respectable practitioner: doomed by a satiric destiny to the strangest immortal glory that ever kept

obscure mortal from his restingplace, the bosom of oblivion! Guillotin can improve the ventilation of the

Hall; in all cases of medical police and hygiene be a present aid: but, greater far, he can produce his 'Report

on the Penal Code;' and reveal therein a cunningly devised Beheading Machine, which shall become famous

and worldfamous. This is the product of Guillotin's endeavours, gained not without meditation and reading;

which product popular gratitude or levity christens by a feminine derivative name, as if it were his daughter:

La Guillotine! "With my machine, Messieurs, I whisk off your head (vous fais sauter la tete) in a twinkling,

and you have no pain;"whereat they all laugh. (Moniteur Newspaper, of December 1st, 1789 (in Histoire

Parlementaire).) Unfortunate Doctor! For twoandtwenty years he, unguillotined, shall near nothing but

guillotine, see nothing but guillotine; then dying, shall through long centuries wander, as it were, a

disconsolate ghost, on the wrong side of Styx and Lethe; his name like to outlive Caesar's.

See Bailly, likewise of Paris, timehonoured Historian of Astronomy Ancient and Modern. Poor Bailly, how

thy serenely beautiful Philosophising, with its soft moonshiny clearness and thinness, ends in foul thick

confusionof Presidency, Mayorship, diplomatic Officiality, rabid Triviality, and the throat of everlasting

Darkness! Far was it to descend from the heavenly Galaxy to the Drapeau Rouge: beside that fatal

dungheap, on that last hellday, thou must 'tremble,' though only with cold, 'de froid.' Speculation is not

practice: to be weak is not so miserable; but to be weaker than our task. Wo the day when they mounted thee,

a peaceable pedestrian, on that wild Hippogriff of a Democracy; which, spurning the firm earth, nay lashing

In the Commons Deputies there are Merchants, Artists, Men of Letters; three hundred and seventyfour

Lawyers; (Bouille, Memoires sur la Revolution Francaise (London, 1797), i. 68.) and at least one Clergyman:

the Abbe Sieyes. Him also Paris sends, among its twenty. Behold him, the light thin man; cold, but elastic,

wiry; instinct with the pride of Logic; passionless, or with but one passion, that of selfconceit. If indeed that

can be called a passion, which, in its independent concentrated greatness, seems to have soared into

transcendentalism; and to sit there with a kind of godlike indifference, and look down on passion! He is the

man, and wisdom shall die with him. This is the Sieyes who shall be Systembuilder, Constitutionbuilder

General; and build Constitutions (as many as wanted) skyhigh,which shall all unfortunately fall before he

get the scaffolding away. "La Politique," said he to Dumont, "Polity is a science I think I have completed

(achevee)." (Dumont, Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, p. 64.) What things, O Sieyes, with thy clear assiduous eyes,

art thou to see! But were it not curious to know how Sieyes, now in these days (for he is said to be still alive)

(A.D. 1834.) looks out on all that Constitution masonry, through the rheumy soberness of extreme age?

Might we hope, still with the old irrefragable transcendentalism? The victorious cause pleased the gods, the

Thus, however, amid skyrending vivats, and blessings from every heart, has the Procession of the Commons

Next follow the Noblesse, and next the Clergy; concerning both of whom it might be asked, What they

specially have come for? Specially, little as they dream of it, to answer this question, put in a voice of

thunder: What are you doing in God's fair Earth and Taskgarden; where whosoever is not working is

begging or stealing? Wo, wo to themselves and to all, if they can only answer: Collecting tithes, Preserving

game!Remark, meanwhile, how D'Orleans affects to step before his own Order, and mingle with the

Commons. For him are vivats: few for the rest, though all wave in plumed 'hats of a feudal cut,' and have

sword on thigh; though among them is D'Antraigues, the young Languedocian gentleman,and indeed many

There are Liancourt, and La Rochefoucault; the liberal Anglomaniac Dukes. There is a filially pious Lally; a

couple of liberal Lameths. Above all, there is a Lafayette; whose name shall be CromwellGrandison, and fill

the world. Many a 'formula' has this Lafayette too made away with; yet not all formulas. He sticks by the

Washingtonformula; and by that he will stick; and hang by it, as by sure boweranchor hangs and swings

the tight war ship, which, after all changes of wildest weather and water, is found still hanging. Happy for

him; be it glorious or not! Alone of all Frenchmen he has a theory of the world, and right mind to conform

thereto; he can become a hero and perfect character, were it but the hero of one idea. Note further our old

Parlementary friend, CrispinCatiline d'Espremenil. He is returned from the Mediterranean Islands, a redhot

royalist, repentant to the fingerends;unsettledlooking; whose light, duskyglowing at best, now flickers

foul in the socket; whom the National Assembly will by and by, to save time, 'regard as in a state of

distraction.' Note lastly that globular Younger Mirabeau; indignant that his elder Brother is among the

Commons: it is Viscomte Mirabeau; named oftener Mirabeau Tonneau (Barrel Mirabeau), on account of his

There then walks our French Noblesse. All in the old pomp of chivalry: and yet, alas, how changed from the

old position; drifted far down from their native latitude, like Arctic icebergs got into the Equatorial sea, and

fast thawing there! Once these Chivalry Duces (Dukes, as they are still named) did actually lead the

world,were it only towards battle spoil, where lay the world's best wages then: moreover, being the ablest

Leaders going, they had their lion's share, those Duces; which none could grudge them. But now, when so

many Looms, improved Ploughshares, Steam Engines and Bills of Exchange have been invented; and, for

battlebrawling itself, men hire DrillSergeants at eighteenpence aday,what mean these goldmantled

Chivalry Figures, walking there 'in blackvelvet cloaks,' in highplumed 'hats of a feudal cut'? Reeds shaken

The Clergy have got up; with Cahiers for abolishing pluralities, enforcing residence of bishops, better

payment of tithes. (Hist. Parl. i. 32227.) The Dignitaries, we can observe, walk stately, apart from the

numerous Undignified,who indeed are properly little other than Commons disguised in Curatefrocks.

Here, however, though by strange ways, shall the Precept be fulfilled, and they that are greatest (much to

their astonishment) become least. For one example, out of many, mark that plausible Gregoire: one day Cure

Gregoire shall be a Bishop, when the now stately are wandering distracted, as Bishops in partibus. With other

thought, mark also the Abbe Maury: his broad bold face; mouth accurately primmed; full eyes, that ray out

intelligence, falsehood,the sort of sophistry which is astonished you should find it sophistical. Skilfulest

vamperup of old rotten leather, to make it look like new; always a rising man; he used to tell Mercier, "You

will see; I shall be in the Academy before you." (Mercier, Nouveau Paris.) Likely indeed, thou skilfullest

Maury; nay thou shalt have a Cardinal's Hat, and plush and glory; but alas, also, in the longrunmere

oblivion, like the rest of us; and six feet of earth! What boots it, vamping rotten leather on these terms?

Glorious in comparison is the livelihood thy good old Father earns, by making shoes,one may hope, in a

sufficient manner. Maury does not want for audacity. He shall wear pistols, by and by; and at deathcries of

But yonder, halting lamely along, thou noticest next Bishop Talleyrand Perigord, his Reverence of Autun. A

sardonic grimness lies in that irreverent Reverence of Autun. He will do and suffer strange things; and will

become surely one of the strangest things ever seen, or like to be seen. A man living in falsehood, and on

falsehood; yet not what you can call a false man: there is the specialty! It will be an enigma for future ages,

one may hope: hitherto such a product of Nature and Art was possible only for this age of ours,Age of

Paper, and of the Burning of Paper. Consider Bishop Talleyrand and Marquis Lafayette as the topmost of

their two kinds; and say once more, looking at what they did and what they were, O Tempus ferax rerum!

On the whole, however, has not this unfortunate Clergy also drifted in the Timestream, far from its native

latitude? An anomalous mass of men; of whom the whole world has already a dim understanding that it can

understand nothing. They were once a Priesthood, interpreters of Wisdom, revealers of the Holy that is in

Man: a true Clerus (or Inheritance of God on Earth): but now?They pass silently, with such Cahiers as they

King Louis with his Court brings up the rear: he cheerful, in this day of hope, is saluted with plaudits; still

more Necker his Minister. Not so the Queen; on whom hope shines not steadily any more. Illfated Queen!

Her hair is already gray with many cares and crosses; her firstborn son is dying in these weeks: black

falsehood has ineffaceably soiled her name; ineffaceably while this generation lasts. Instead of Vive la Reine,

voices insult her with Vive d'Orleans. Of her queenly beauty little remains except its stateliness; not now

gracious, but haughty, rigid, silently enduring. With a most mixed feeling, wherein joy has no part, she

resigns herself to a day she hoped never to have seen. Poor Marie Antoinette; with thy quick noble instincts;

vehement glancings, vision alltoo fitful narrow for the work thou hast to do! O there are tears in store for

thee; bitterest wailings, soft womanly meltings, though thou hast the heart of an imperial Theresa's Daughter.

And so, in stately Procession, have passed the Elected of France. Some towards honour and quick

fireconsummation; most towards dishonour; not a few towards massacre, confusion, emigration,

desperation: all towards Eternity!So many heterogeneities cast together into the fermentingvat; there,

with incalculable action, counteraction, elective affinities, explosive developments, to work out healing for a

sick moribund System of Society! Probably the strangest Body of Men, if we consider well, that ever met

together on our Planet on such an errand. So thousandfold complex a Society, ready to burstup from its

infinite depths; and these men, its rulers and healers, without liferule for themselves,other liferule than a

Gospel according to Jean Jacques! To the wisest of them, what we must call the wisest, man is properly an

Accident under the sky. Man is without Duty round him; except it be 'to make the Constitution.' He is without

What further or better belief can be said to exist in these Twelve Hundred? Belief in highplumed hats of a

feudal cut; in heraldic scutcheons; in the divine right of Kings, in the divine right of Gamedestroyers. Belief,

or what is still worse, canting halfbelief; or worst of all, mere Macchiavellic pretenceofbelief,in

consecrated doughwafers, and the godhood of a poor old Italian Man! Nevertheless in that immeasurable

Confusion and Corruption, which struggles there so blindly to become less confused and corrupt, there is, as

we said, this one salient point of a New Life discernible: the deep fixed Determination to have done with

Shams. A determination, which, consciously or unconsciously, is fixed; which waxes ever more fixed, into

very madness and fixedidea; which in such embodiment as lies provided there, shall now unfold itself

rapidly: monstrous, stupendous, unspeakable; new for long thousands of years!How has the Heaven's light,

oftentimes in this Earth, to clothe itself in thunder and electric murkiness; and descend as molten lightning,

blasting, if purifying! Nay is it not rather the very murkiness, and atmospheric suffocation, that brings the

lightning and the light? The new Evangel, as the old had been, was it to be born in the Destruction of a

But how the Deputies assisted at High Mass, and heard sermon, and applauded the preacher, church as it was,

when he preached politics; how, next day, with sustained pomp, they are, for the first time, installed in their

Salles des Menus (Hall no longer of Amusements), and become a States General,readers can fancy for

themselves. The King from his estrade, gorgeous as Solomon in all his glory, runs his eye over that majestic

Hall; manyplumed, manyglancing; brighttinted as rainbow, in the galleries and near side spaces, where

Beauty sits raining bright influence. Satisfaction, as of one that after long voyaging had got to port, plays

over his broad simple face: the innocent King! He rises and speaks, with sonorous tone, a conceivable speech.

With which, still more with the succeeding onehour and twohour speeches of GardedesSceaux and M.

Necker, full of nothing but patriotism, hope, faith, and deficiency of the revenue,no reader of these pages

We remark only that, as his Majesty, on finishing the speech, put on his plumed hat, and the Noblesse

according to custom imitated him, our Tiers Etat Deputies did mostly, not without a shade of fierceness, in

like manner clapon, and even crush on their slouched hats; and stand there awaiting the issue. (Histoire

Parlementaire (i. 356). Mercier, Nouveau Paris, Thick buzz among them, between majority and minority of

Couvrezvous, Decrouvrezvous (Hats off, Hats on)! To which his Majesty puts end, by taking off his own

The session terminates without further accident or omen than this; with which, significantly enough, France

That exasperated France, in this same National Assembly of hers, has got something, nay something great,

momentous, indispensable, cannot be doubted; yet still the question were: Specially what? A question hard to

solve, even for calm onlookers at this distance; wholly insoluble to actors in the middle of it. The

StatesGeneral, created and conflated by the passionate effort of the whole nation, is there as a thing high and

lifted up. Hope, jubilating, cries aloud that it will prove a miraculous Brazen Serpent in the Wilderness;

whereon whosoever looks, with faith and obedience, shall be healed of all woes and serpentbites.

We may answer, it will at least prove a symbolic Banner; round which the exasperating complaining

TwentyFive Millions, otherwise isolated and without power, may rally, and workwhat it is in them to

work. If battle must be the work, as one cannot help expecting, then shall it be a battle banner (say, an

Italian Gonfalon, in its old Republican Carroccio); and shall tower up, carborne, shining in the wind: and

with iron tongue peal forth many a signal. A thing of prime necessity; which whether in the van or in the

centre, whether leading or led and driven, must do the fighting multitude incalculable services. For a season,

while it floats in the very front, nay as it were stands solitary there, waiting whether force will gather round it,

this same National Carroccio, and the signalpeals it rings, are a main object with us.

The omen of the 'slouchhats clapt on' shows the Commons Deputies to have made up their minds on one

thing: that neither Noblesse nor Clergy shall have precedence of them; hardly even Majesty itself. To such

length has the Contrat Social, and force of public opinion, carried us. For what is Majesty but the Delegate of

the Nation; delegated, and bargained with (even rather tightly),in some very singular posture of affairs,

Coming therefore into their Hall, on the morrow, an inorganic mass of Six Hundred individuals, these

Commons Deputies perceive, without terror, that they have it all to themselves. Their Hall is also the Grand

or general Hall for all the Three Orders. But the Noblesse and Clergy, it would seem, have retired to their two

separate Apartments, or Halls; and are there 'verifying their powers,' not in a conjoint but in a separate

capacity. They are to constitute two separate, perhaps separatelyvoting Orders, then? It is as if both

Noblesse and Clergy had silently taken for granted that they already were such! Two Orders against one; and

Much may remain unfixed; but the negative of that is a thing fixed: in the Slouchhatted heads, in the French

Nation's head. Double representation, and all else hitherto gained, were otherwise futile, null. Doubtless, the

'powers must be verified;'doubtless, the Commission, the electoral Documents of your Deputy must be

inspected by his brother Deputies, and found valid: it is the preliminary of all. Neither is this question, of

doing it separately or doing it conjointly, a vital one: but if it lead to such? It must be resisted; wise was that

maxim, Resist the beginnings! Nay were resistance unadvisable, even dangerous, yet surely pause is very

natural: pause, with Twentyfive Millions behind you, may become resistance enough.The inorganic mass

of Commons Deputies will restrict itself to a 'system of inertia,' and for the present remain inorganic.

Such method, recommendable alike to sagacity and to timidity, do the Commons Deputies adopt; and, not

without adroitness, and with ever more tenacity, they persist in it, day after day, week after week. For six

weeks their history is of the kind named barren; which indeed, as Philosophy knows, is often the fruitfulest of

all. These were their still creationdays; wherein they sat incubating! In fact, what they did was to do

nothing, in a judicious manner. Daily the inorganic body reassembles; regrets that they cannot get

organisation, 'verification of powers in common, and begin regenerating France. Headlong motions may be

made, but let such be repressed; inertia alone is at once unpunishable and unconquerable.

Cunning must be met by cunning; proud pretension by inertia, by a low tone of patriotic sorrow; low, but

incurable, unalterable. Wise as serpents; harmless as doves: what a spectacle for France! Six Hundred

inorganic individuals, essential for its regeneration and salvation, sit there, on their elliptic benches, longing

passionately towards life; in painful durance; like souls waiting to be born. Speeches are spoken; eloquent;

audible within doors and without. Mind agitates itself against mind; the Nation looks on with ever deeper

There are private conclaves, supperparties, consultations; Breton Club, Club of Viroflay; germs of many

Clubs. Wholly an element of confused noise, dimness, angry heat;wherein, however, the Erosegg, kept at

the fit temperature, may hover safe, unbroken till it be hatched. In your Mouniers, Malouets, Lechapeliers in

science sufficient for that; fervour in your Barnaves, Rabauts. At times shall come an inspiration from royal

Mirabeau: he is nowise yet recognised as royal; nay he was 'groaned at,' when his name was first mentioned:

In the course of the week, the Commons having called their Eldest to the chair, and furnished him with young

strongerlunged assistants,can speak articulately; and, in audible lamentable words, declare, as we said,

that they are an inorganic body, longing to become organic. Letters arrive; but an inorganic body cannot open

letters; they lie on the table unopened. The Eldest may at most procure for himself some kind of List or

Musterroll, to take the votes by, and wait what will betide. Noblesse and Clergy are all elsewhere: however,

an eager public crowds all galleries and vacancies; which is some comfort. With effort, it is determined, not

that a Deputation shall be sent,for how can an inorganic body send deputations? but that certain

individual Commons Members shall, in an accidental way, stroll into the Clergy Chamber, and then into the

Noblesse one; and mention there, as a thing they have happened to observe, that the Commons seem to be

sitting waiting for them, in order to verify their powers. That is the wiser method!

The Clergy, among whom are such a multitude of Undignified, of mere Commons in Curates' frocks, depute

instant respectful answer that they are, and will now more than ever be, in deepest study as to that very

matter. Contrariwise the Noblesse, in cavalier attitude, reply, after four days, that they, for their part, are all

verified and constituted; which, they had trusted, the Commons also were; such separate verification being

clearly the proper constitutional wisdomofancestors method;as they the Noblesse will have much

pleasure in demonstrating by a Commission of their number, if the Commons will meet them, Commission

against Commission! Directly in the rear of which comes a deputation of Clergy, reiterating, in their insidious

conciliatory way, the same proposal. Here, then, is a complexity: what will wise Commons say to this?

Warily, inertly, the wise Commons, considering that they are, if not a French Third Estate, at least an

Aggregate of individuals pretending to some title of that kind, determine, after talking on it five days, to

name such a Commission,though, as it were, with proviso not to be convinced: a sixth day is taken up in

naming it; a seventh and an eighth day in getting the forms of meeting, place, hour and the like, settled: so

that it is not till the evening of the 23rd of May that Noblesse Commission first meets Commons

Commission, Clergy acting as Conciliators; and begins the impossible task of convincing it. One other

meeting, on the 25th, will suffice: the Commons are inconvincible, the Noblesse and Clergy irrefragably

convincing; the Commissions retire; each Order persisting in its first pretensions. (Reported Debates, 6th

Thus have three weeks passed. For three weeks, the ThirdEstate Carroccio, with farseen Gonfalon, has

Fancy can conceive the feeling of the Court; and how counsel met counsel, the loudsounding inanity

whirled in that distracted vortex, where wisdom could not dwell. Your cunningly devised TaxingMachine

has been got together; set up with incredible labour; and stands there, its three pieces in contact; its two

flywheels of Noblesse and Clergy, its huge working wheel of TiersEtat. The two flywheels whirl in the

softest manner; but, prodigious to look upon, the huge workingwheel hangs motionless, refuses to stir! The

cunningest engineers are at fault. How will it work, when it does begin? Fearfully, my Friends; and to many

purposes; but to gather taxes, or grind courtmeal, one may apprehend, never. Could we but have continued

gathering taxes by hand! Messeigneurs d'Artois, Conti, Conde (named Court Triumvirate), they of the

antidemocratic Memoire au Roi, has not their foreboding proved true? They may wave reproachfully their

high heads; they may beat their poor brains; but the cunningest engineers can do nothing. Necker himself,

were he even listened to, begins to look blue. The only thing one sees advisable is to bring up soldiers. New

regiments, two, and a battalion of a third, have already reached Paris; others shall get in march. Good were it,

in all circumstances, to have troops within reach; good that the command were in sure hands. Let Broglie be

appointed; old Marshal Duke de Broglie; veteran disciplinarian, of a firm drill sergeant morality, such as

For, alas, neither are the Clergy, or the very Noblesse what they should be; and might be, when so menaced

from without: entire, undivided within. The Noblesse, indeed, have their Catiline or Crispin D'Espremenil,

dusky glowing, all in renegade heat; their boisterous BarrelMirabeau; but also they have their Lafayettes,

Liancourts, Lameths; above all, their D'Orleans, now cut forever from his Courtmoorings, and musing

drowsily of high and highest seaprizes (for is not he too a son of Henri Quatre, and partial potential

HeirApparent?)on his voyage towards Chaos. From the Clergy again, so numerous are the Cures, actual

deserters have run over: two small parties; in the second party Cure Gregoire. Nay there is talk of a whole

Hundred and Fortynine of them about to desert in mass, and only restrained by an Archbishop of Paris. It

But judge if France, if Paris sat idle, all this while! Addresses from far and near flow in: for our Commons

have now grown organic enough to open letters. Or indeed to cavil at them! Thus poor Marquis de Breze,

Supreme Usher, Master of Ceremonies, or whatever his title was, writing about this time on some ceremonial

matter, sees no harm in winding up with a 'Monsieur, yours with sincere attachment.'"To whom does it

address itself, this sincere attachment?" inquires Mirabeau. "To the Dean of the TiersEtat.""There is no

man in France entitled to write that," rejoins he; whereat the Galleries and the World will not be kept from

applauding. (Moniteur (in Histoire Parlementaire, i. 405).) Poor De Breze! These Commons have a still older

In another way, Mirabeau has had to protest against the quick suppression of his Newspaper, Journal of the

StatesGeneral;and to continue it under a new name. In which act of valour, the Paris Electors, still busy

redacting their Cahier, could not but support him, by Address to his Majesty: they claim utmost 'provisory

freedom of the press;' they have spoken even about demolishing the Bastille, and erecting a Bronze Patriot

King on the site!These are the rich Burghers: but now consider how it went, for example, with such loose

miscellany, now all grown eleutheromaniac, of Loungers, Prowlers, social Nondescripts (and the distilled

Rascality of our Planet), as whirls forever in the Palais Royal; or what low infinite groan, first changing

into a growl, comes from Saint Antoine, and the Twentyfive Millions in danger of starvation!

There is the indisputablest scarcity of corn;be it Aristocratplot, D'Orleansplot, of this year; or drought

and hail of last year: in city and province, the poor man looks desolately towards a nameless lot. And this

StatesGeneral, that could make us an age of gold, is forced to stand motionless; cannot get its powers

verified! All industry necessarily languishes, if it be not that of making motions.

In the Palais Royal there has been erected, apparently by subscription, a kind of Wooden Tent (en planches

de bois); (Histoire Parlementaire, i. 429.) most convenient; where select Patriotism can now redact

resolutions, deliver harangues, with comfort, let the weather but as it will. Lively is that SatanatHome! On

his table, on his chair, in every cafe, stands a patriotic orator; a crowd round him within; a crowd listening

from without, openmouthed, through open door and window; with 'thunders of applause for every sentiment

of more than common hardiness.' In Monsieur Dessein's Pamphletshop, close by, you cannot without strong

elbowing get to the counter: every hour produces its pamphlet, or litter of pamphlets; 'there were thirteen

today, sixteen yesterday, ninetwo last week.' (Arthur Young, Travels, i. 104.) Think of Tyranny and

Scarcity; Fervideloquence, Rumour, Pamphleteering; Societe Publicole, Breton Club, Enraged Club;and

whether every taproom, coffeeroom, social reunion, accidental streetgroup, over wide France, was not an

To all which the Commons Deputies can only listen with a sublime inertia of sorrow; reduced to busy

themselves 'with their internal police.' Surer position no Deputies ever occupied; if they keep it with skill. Let

not the temperature rise too high; break not the Erosegg till it be hatched, till it break itself! An eager public

crowds all Galleries and vacancies! 'cannot be restrained from applauding.' The two Privileged Orders, the

Noblesse all verified and constituted, may look on with what face they will; not without a secret tremor of

heart. The Clergy, always acting the part of conciliators, make a clutch at the Galleries, and the popularity

there; and miss it. Deputation of them arrives, with dolorous message about the 'dearth of grains,' and the

necessity there is of casting aside vain formalities, and deliberating on this. An insidious proposal; which,

however, the Commons (moved thereto by seagreen Robespierre) dexterously accept as a sort of hint, or even

pledge, that the Clergy will forthwith come over to them, constitute the StatesGeneral, and so cheapen

grains! (Bailly, Memoires, i. 114.)Finally, on the 27th day of May, Mirabeau, judging the time now nearly

come, proposes that 'the inertia cease;' that, leaving the Noblesse to their own stiff ways, the Clergy be

summoned, 'in the name of the God of Peace,' to join the Commons, and begin. (Histoire Parlementaire, i.

413.) To which summons if they turn a deaf ear,we shall see! Are not one Hundred and Fortynine of

O Triumvirate of Princes, new GardedesSceaux Barentin, thou Home Secretary Breteuil, Duchess

Polignac, and Queen eager to listen,what is now to be done? This Third Estate will get in motion, with the

force of all France in it; Clergymachinery with Noblessemachinery, which were to serve as beautiful

counterbalances and drags, will be shamefully dragged after it,and take fire along with it. What is to be

done? The Oeilde Boeuf waxes more confused than ever. Whisper and counterwhisper; a very tempest of

whispers! Leading men from all the Three Orders are nightly spirited thither; conjurors many of them; but

can they conjure this? Necker himself were now welcome, could he interfere to purpose.

Let Necker interfere, then; and in the King's name! Happily that incendiary 'GodofPeace' message is not

yet answered. The Three Orders shall again have conferences; under this Patriot Minister of theirs, somewhat

may be healed, clouted up;we meanwhile getting forward Swiss Regiments, and a 'hundred pieces of

But as for NeckerAlas, poor Necker, thy obstinate Third Estate has one firstlast word, verification in

common, as the pledge of voting and deliberating in common! Halfway proposals, from such a tried friend,

they answer with a stare. The tardy conferences speedily break up; the Third Estate, now ready and resolute,

the whole world backing it, returns to its Hall of the Three Orders; and Necker to the OeildeBoeuf, with

the character of a disconjured conjuror therefit only for dismissal. (Debates, 1st to 17th June 1789 (in

And so the Commons Deputies are at last on their own strength getting under way? Instead of Chairman, or

Dean, they have now got a President: Astronomer Bailly. Under way, with a vengeance! With endless

vociferous and temperate eloquence, borne on Newspaper wings to all lands, they have now, on this 17th day

of June, determined that their name is not Third Estate, butNational Assembly! They, then, are the Nation?

Triumvirate of Princes, Queen, refractory Noblesse and Clergy, what, then, are you? A most deep

All regardless of which, our new National Assembly proceeds to appoint a 'committee of subsistences;' dear

to France, though it can find little or no grain. Next, as if our National Assembly stood quite firm on its legs,

to appoint 'four other standing committees;' then to settle the security of the National Debt; then that of the

Annual Taxation: all within eight andforty hours. At such rate of velocity it is going: the conjurors of the

Now surely were the time for a 'god from the machine;' there is a nodus worthy of one. The only question is,

Which god? Shall it be Mars de Broglie, with his hundred pieces of cannon?Not yet, answers prudence; so

soft, irresolute is King Louis. Let it be Messenger Mercury, our Supreme Usher de Breze.

On the morrow, which is the 20th of June, these Hundred and Fortynine false Curates, no longer restrainable

by his Grace of Paris, will desert in a body: let De Breze intervene, and produceclosed doors! Not only

shall there be Royal Session, in that Salle des Menus; but no meeting, nor working (except by carpenters), till

then. Your Third Estate, selfstyled 'National Assembly,' shall suddenly see itself extruded from its Hall, by

carpenters, in this dexterous way; and reduced to do nothing, not even to meet, or articulately lament,till

Majesty, with Seance Royale and new miracles, be ready! In this manner shall De Breze, as Mercury ex

machina, intervene; and, if the OeildeBoeuf mistake not, work deliverance from the nodus.

Of poor De Breze we can remark that he has yet prospered in none of his dealings with these Commons. Five

weeks ago, when they kissed the hand of Majesty, the mode he took got nothing but censure; and then his

'sincere attachment,' how was it scornfully whiffed aside! Before supper, this night, he writes to President

Bailly, a new Letter, to be delivered shortly after dawn tomorrow, in the King's name. Which Letter,

however, Bailly in the pride of office, will merely crush together into his pocket, like a bill he does not mean

Accordingly on Saturday morning the 20th of June, shrillsounding heralds proclaim through the streets of

Versailles, that there is to be a Seance Royale next Monday; and no meeting of the StatesGeneral till then.

And yet, we observe, President Bailly in sound of this, and with De Breze's Letter in his pocket, is

proceeding, with National Assembly at his heels, to the accustomed Salles des Menus; as if De Breze and

heralds were mere wind. It is shut, this Salle; occupied by Gardes Francaises. "Where is your Captain?" The

Captain shows his royal order: workmen, he is grieved to say, are all busy setting up the platform for his

Majesty's Seance; most unfortunately, no admission; admission, at furthest, for President and Secretaries to

bring away papers, which the joiners might destroy! President Bailly enters with Secretaries; and returns

bearing papers: alas, within doors, instead of patriotic eloquence, there is now no noise but hammering,

The Deputies stand grouped on the Paris Road, on this umbrageous Avenue de Versailles; complaining aloud

of the indignity done them. Courtiers, it is supposed, look from their windows, and giggle. The morning is

none of the comfortablest: raw; it is even drizzling a little. (Bailly, Memoires, i. 185206.) But all travellers

pause; patriot gallerymen, miscellaneous spectators increase the groups. Wild counsels alternate. Some

desperate Deputies propose to go and hold session on the great outer Staircase at Marly, under the King's

windows; for his Majesty, it seems, has driven over thither. Others talk of making the Chateau Forecourt,

what they call Place d'Armes, a Runnymede and new Champ de Mai of free Frenchmen: nay of awakening, to

sounds of indignant Patriotism, the echoes of the Oeilde boeuf itself.Notice is given that President

Bailly, aided by judicious Guillotin and others, has found place in the TennisCourt of the Rue St. Francois.

Thither, in longdrawn files, hoarsejingling, like cranes on wing, the Commons Deputies angrily wend.

Strange sight was this in the Rue St. Francois, Vieux Versailles! A naked TennisCourt, as the pictures of

that time still give it: four walls; naked, except aloft some poor wooden penthouse, or roofed spectators'

gallery, hanging round them:on the floor not now an idle teeheeing, a snapping of balls and rackets; but the

bellowing din of an indignant National Representation, scandalously exiled hither! However, a cloud of

witnesses looks down on them, from wooden penthouse, from walltop, from adjoining roof and chimney;

rolls towards them from all quarters, with passionate spoken blessings. Some table can be procured to write

on; some chair, if not to sit on, then to stand on. The Secretaries undo their tapes; Bailly has constituted the

Experienced Mounier, not wholly new to such things, in Parlementary revolts, which he has seen or heard of,

thinks that it were well, in these lamentable threatening circumstances, to unite themselves by an Oath.

Universal acclamation, as from smouldering bosoms getting vent! The Oath is redacted; pronounced aloud by

President Bailly,and indeed in such a sonorous tone, that the cloud of witnesses, even outdoors, hear it, and

bellow response to it. Six hundred righthands rise with President Bailly's, to take God above to witness that

they will not separate for man below, but will meet in all places, under all circumstances, wheresoever two or

three can get together, till they have made the Constitution. Made the Constitution, Friends! That is a long

task. Six hundred hands, meanwhile, will sign as they have sworn: six hundred save one; one Loyalist Abdiel,

still visible by this sole lightpoint, and nameable, poor 'M. Martin d'Auch, from Castelnaudary, in

Languedoc.' Him they permit to sign or signify refusal; they even save him from the cloud of witnesses, by

declaring 'his head deranged.' At four o'clock, the signatures are all appended; new meeting is fixed for

Monday morning, earlier than the hour of the Royal Session; that our Hundred and Fortynine Clerical

deserters be not balked: we shall meet 'at the Recollets Church or elsewhere,' in hope that our Hundred and

This, then, is the Session of the TennisCourt, famed Seance du Jeu de Paume; the fame of which has gone

forth to all lands. This is Mercurius de Breze's appearance as Deus ex machina; this is the fruit it brings! The

giggle of Courtiers in the Versailles Avenue has already died into gaunt silence. Did the distracted Court,

with GardesdesSceaux Barentin, Triumvirate and Company, imagine that they could scatter six hundred

National Deputies, big with a National Constitution, like as much barndoor poultry, big with next to

nothing,by the white or black rod of a Supreme Usher? Barndoor poultry fly cackling: but National

Deputies turn round, lionfaced; and, with uplifted righthand, swear an Oath that makes the four corners of

President Bailly has covered himself with honour; which shall become rewards. The National Assembly is

now doubly and trebly the Nation's Assembly; not militant, martyred only, but triumphant; insulted, and

which could not be insulted. Paris disembogues itself once more, to witness, 'with grim looks,' the Seance

Royale: (See Arthur Young (Travels, i. 115 118); A. Lameth, which, by a new felicity, is postponed till

Tuesday. The Hundred and Fortynine, and even with Bishops among them, all in processional mass, have

had free leisure to march off, and solemnly join the Commons sitting waiting in their Church. The Commons

welcomed them with shouts, with embracings, nay with tears; (Dumont, Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, c. 4.) for it

As for the Seance itself, the Carpenters seem to have accomplished their platform; but all else remains

unaccomplished. Futile, we may say fatal, was the whole matter. King Louis enters, through seas of people,

all grim silent, angry with many things,for it is a bitter rain too. Enters, to a Third Estate, likewise

grimsilent; which has been wetted waiting under mean porches, at backdoors, while Court and Privileged

were entering by the front. King and GardedesSceaux (there is no Necker visible) make known, not

without longwindedness, the determinations of the royal breast. The Three Orders shall vote separately. On

the other hand, France may look for considerable constitutional blessings; as specified in these Fiveand

thirty Articles, (Histoire Parlementaire, i. 13.) which GardedesSceaux is waxing hoarse with reading.

Which FiveandThirty Articles, adds his Majesty again rising, if the Three Orders most unfortunately

cannot agree together to effect them, I myself will effect: "seul je ferai le bien de mes peuples,"which

being interpreted may signify, You, contentious Deputies of the StatesGeneral, have probably not long to be

here! But, in fine, all shall now withdraw for this day; and meet again, each Order in its separate place,

tomorrow morning, for despatch of business. This is the determination of the royal breast: pithy and clear.

And herewith King, retinue, Noblesse, majority of Clergy file out, as if the whole matter were satisfactorily

These file out; through grimsilent seas of people. Only the Commons Deputies file not out; but stand there

in gloomy silence, uncertain what they shall do. One man of them is certain; one man of them discerns and

dares! It is now that King Mirabeau starts to the Tribune, and lifts up his lionvoice. Verily a word in season;

for, in such scenes, the moment is the mother of ages! Had not Gabriel Honore been there,one can well

fancy, how the Commons Deputies, affrighted at the perils which now yawned dim all round them, and

waxing ever paler in each other's paleness, might very naturally, one after one, have glided off; and the whole

But he is there. List to the brool of that royal forestvoice; sorrowful, low; fast swelling to a roar! Eyes kindle

at the glance of his eye: National Deputies were missioned by a Nation; they have sworn an Oath;

theybut lo! while the lion's voice roars loudest, what Apparition is this? Apparition of Mercurius de Breze,

muttering somewhat!"Speak out," cry several."Messieurs," shrills De Breze, repeating himself, "You

have heard the King's orders!"Mirabeau glares on him with fireflashing face; shakes the black lion's

mane: "Yes, Monsieur, we have heard what the King was advised to say: and you who cannot be the

interpreter of his orders to the StatesGeneral; you, who have neither place nor right of speech here; you are

not the man to remind us of it. Go, Monsieur, tell these who sent you that we are here by the will of the

People, and that nothing shall send us hence but the force of bayonets!" (Moniteur (Hist. Parl. ii. 22.).) And

poor De Breze shivers forth from the National Assembly;and also (if it be not in one faintest glimmer,

Hapless De Breze; doomed to survive long ages, in men's memory, in this faint way, with tremulent white

rod! He was true to Etiquette, which was his Faith here below; a martyr to respect of persons. Short woollen

cloaks could not kiss Majesty's hand as long velvet ones did. Nay lately, when the poor little Dauphin lay

dead, and some ceremonial Visitation came, was he not punctual to announce it even to the Dauphin's dead

body: "Monseigneur, a Deputation of the StatesGeneral!" (Montgaillard, ii. 38.) Sunt lachrymae rerum.

But what does the OeildeBoeuf, now when De Breze shivers back thither? Despatch that same force of

bayonets? Not so: the seas of people still hang multitudinous, intent on what is passing; nay rush and roll,

loud billowing, into the Courts of the Chateau itself; for a report has risen that Necker is to be dismissed.

Worst of all, the Gardes Francaises seem indisposed to act: 'two Companies of them do not fire when

ordered!' (Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 26.) Necker, for not being at the Seance, shall be shouted for, carried

home in triumph; and must not be dismissed. His Grace of Paris, on the other hand, has to fly with broken

coachpanels, and owe his life to furious driving. The GardesduCorps (BodyGuards), which you were

drawing out, had better be drawn in again. (Bailly, i. 217.) There is no sending of bayonets to be thought of.

Instead of soldiers, the OeildeBoeuf sendscarpenters, to take down the platform. Ineffectual shift! In

few instants, the very carpenters cease wrenching and knocking at their platform; stand on it, hammer in

hand, and listen openmouthed. (Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 23.) The Third Estate is decreeing that it is, was,

and will be, nothing but a National Assembly; and now, moreover, an inviolable one, all members of it

inviolable: 'infamous, traitorous, towards the Nation, and guilty of capital crime, is any person,

bodycorporate, tribunal, court or commission that now or henceforth, during the present session or after it,

shall dare to pursue, interrogate, arrest, or cause to be arrested, detain or cause to be detained, any,' 'on whose

part soever the same be commanded.' (Montgaillard, ii. 47.) Which done, one can wind up with this

comfortable reflection from Abbe Sieyes: "Messieurs, you are today what you were yesterday."

Courtiers may shriek; but it is, and remains, even so. Their wellcharged explosion has exploded through the

touchhole; covering themselves with scorches, confusion, and unseemly soot! Poor Triumvirate, poor

Queen; and above all, poor Queen's Husband, who means well, had he any fixed meaning! Folly is that

wisdom which is wise only behindhand. Few months ago these Thirtyfive Concessions had filled France

with a rejoicing, which might have lasted for several years. Now it is unavailing, the very mention of it

All France is in a roar; a sea of persons, estimated at 'ten thousand,' whirls 'all this day in the Palais Royal.'

(Arthur Young, i. 119.) The remaining Clergy, and likewise some Fortyeight Noblesse, D'Orleans among

them, have now forthwith gone over to the victorious Commons; by whom, as is natural, they are received

The Third Estate triumphs; Versailles Town shouting round it; ten thousand whirling all day in the Palais

Royal; and all France standing atiptoe, not unlike whirling! Let the OeildeBoeuf look to it. As for King

Louis, he will swallow his injuries; will temporise, keep silence; will at all costs have present peace. It was

Tuesday the 23d of June, when he spoke that peremptory royal mandate; and the week is not done till he has

written to the remaining obstinate Noblesse, that they also must oblige him, and give in. D'Espremenil rages

his last; Barrel Mirabeau 'breaks his sword,' making a vow,which he might as well have kept. The 'Triple

Family' is now therefore complete; the third erring brother, the Noblesse, having joined it;erring but

pardonable; soothed, so far as possible, by sweet eloquence from President Bailly.

So triumphs the Third Estate; and StatesGeneral are become National Assembly; and all France may sing Te

Deum. By wise inertia, and wise cessation of inertia, great victory has been gained. It is the last night of June:

all night you meet nothing on the streets of Versailles but 'men running with torches' with shouts of

jubilation. From the 2nd of May when they kissed the hand of Majesty, to this 30th of June when men run

with torches, we count seven weeks complete. For seven weeks the National Carroccio has stood farseen,

ringing many a signal; and, so much having now gathered round it, may hope to stand.

The Court feels indignant that it is conquered; but what then? Another time it will do better. Mercury

descended in vain; now has the time come for Mars.The gods of the OeildeBoeuf have withdrawn into

the darkness of their cloudy Ida; and sit there, shaping and forging what may be needful, be it 'billets of a new

Accordingly, what means this 'apparatus of troops'? The National Assembly can get no furtherance for its

Committee of Subsistences; can hear only that, at Paris, the Bakers' shops are besieged; that, in the Provinces,

people are living on 'mealhusks and boiled grass.' But on all highways there hover dustclouds, with the

march of regiments, with the trailing of cannon: foreign Pandours, of fierce aspect; SalisSamade, Esterhazy,

RoyalAllemand; so many of them foreign, to the number of thirty thousand, which fear can magnify to

fifty: all wending towards Paris and Versailles! Already, on the heights of Montmartre, is a digging and

delving; too like a scarping and trenching. The effluence of Paris is arrested Versaillesward by a barrier of

cannon at Sevres Bridge. From the Queen's Mews, cannon stand pointed on the National Assembly Hall

itself. The National Assembly has its very slumbers broken by the tramp of soldiery, swarming and defiling,

endless, or seemingly endless, all round those spaces, at dead of night, 'without drummusic, without audible

Shall eight, or even shall twelve Deputies, our Mirabeaus, Barnaves at the head of them, be whirled suddenly

to the Castle of Ham; the rest ignominiously dispersed to the winds? No National Assembly can make the

Constitution with cannon levelled on it from the Queen's Mews! What means this reticence of the

OeildeBoeuf, broken only by nods and shrugs? In the mystery of that cloudy Ida, what is it that they forge

and shape?Such questions must distracted Patriotism keep asking, and receive no answer but an echo.

Enough of themselves! But now, above all, while the hungry foodyear, which runs from August to August,

is getting older; becoming more and more a famineyear? With 'mealhusks and boiled grass,' Brigands may

actually collect; and, in crowds, at farm and mansion, howl angrily, Food! Food! It is in vain to send soldiers

against them: at sight of soldiers they disperse, they vanish as under ground; then directly reassemble

elsewhere for new tumult and plunder. Frightful enough to look upon; but what to hear of, reverberated

through Twentyfive Millions of suspicious minds! Brigands and Broglie, open Conflagration, preternatural

Rumour are driving mad most hearts in France. What will the issue of these things be?

At Marseilles, many weeks ago, the Townsmen have taken arms; for 'suppressing of Brigands,' and other

purposes: the military commandant may make of it what he will. Elsewhere, everywhere, could not the like

be done? Dubious, on the distracted Patriot imagination, wavers, as a last deliverance, some foreshadow of a

National Guard. But conceive, above all, the Wooden Tent in the Palais Royal! A universal hubbub there, as

of dissolving worlds: their loudest bellows the mad, madmaking voice of Rumour; their sharpest gazes

Suspicion into the pale dim WorldWhirlpool; discerning shapes and phantasms; imminent bloodthirsty

Regiments camped on the ChampdeMars; dispersed National Assembly; redhot cannonballs (to burn

Paris);the mad Wargod and Bellona's sounding thongs. To the calmest man it is becoming too plain that

Inevitable, silently nod Messeigneurs and Broglie: Inevitable and brief! Your National Assembly, stopped

short in its Constitutional labours, may fatigue the royal ear with addresses and remonstrances: those cannon

of ours stand duly levelled; those troops are here. The King's Declaration, with its Thirtyfive too generous

Articles, was spoken, was not listened to; but remains yet unrevoked: he himself shall effect it, seul il fera!

As for Broglie, he has his headquarters at Versailles, all as in a seat of war: clerks writing; significant

staffofficers, inclined to taciturnity; plumed aidesdecamp, scouts, orderlies flying or hovering. He himself

looks forth, important, impenetrable; listens to Besenval Commandant of Paris, and his warning and earnest

counsels (for he has come out repeatedly on purpose), with a silent smile. (Besenval, iii. 398.) The Parisians

resist? scornfully cry Messeigneurs. As a mealmob may! They have sat quiet, these five generations,

submitting to all. Their Mercier declared, in these very years, that a Parisian revolt was henceforth

'impossible.' (Mercier, Tableau de Paris, vi. 22.) Stand by the royal Declaration, of the Twentythird of June.

The Nobles of France, valorous, chivalrous as of old, will rally round us with one heart;and as for this

which you call Third Estate, and which we call canaille of unwashed Sansculottes, of Patelins, Scribblers,

factious Spouters,brave Broglie, 'with a whiff of grapeshot (salve de canons), if need be, will give quick

account of it. Thus reason they: on their cloudy Ida; hidden from men,men also hidden from them.

Good is grapeshot, Messeigneurs, on one condition: that the shooter also were made of metal! But

unfortunately he is made of flesh; under his buffs and bandoleers your hired shooter has instincts, feelings,

even a kind of thought. It is his kindred, bone of his bone, this same canaille that shall be whiffed; he has

brothers in it, a father and mother,living on mealhusks and boiled grass. His very doxy, not yet 'dead i'

the spital,' drives him into military heterodoxy; declares that if he shed Patriot blood, he shall be accursed

among men. The soldier, who has seen his pay stolen by rapacious Foulons, his blood wasted by Soubises,

Pompadours, and the gates of promotion shut inexorably on him if he were not born noble, is himself not

without griefs against you. Your cause is not the soldier's cause; but, as would seem, your own only, and no

For example, the world may have heard how, at Bethune lately, when there rose some 'riot about grains,' of

which sort there are so many, and the soldiers stood drawn out, and the word 'Fire!; was given,not a trigger

stirred; only the butts of all muskets rattled angrily against the ground; and the soldiers stood glooming, with

a mixed expression of countenance; till clutched 'each under the arm of a patriot householder,' they were

all hurried off, in this manner, to be treated and caressed, and have their pay increased by subscription!

Neither have the Gardes Francaises, the best regiment of the line, shown any promptitude for streetfiring

lately. They returned grumbling from Reveillon's; and have not burnt a single cartridge since; nay, as we saw,

not even when bid. A dangerous humour dwells in these Gardes. Notable men too, in their way! Valadi the

Pythagorean was, at one time, an officer of theirs. Nay, in the ranks, under the threecornered felt and

cockade, what hard heads may there not be, and reflections going on,unknown to the public! One head of

the hardest we do now discern there: on the shoulders of a certain Sergeant Hoche. Lazare Hoche, that is the

name of him; he used to be about the Versailles Royal Stables, nephew of a poor herbwoman; a handy lad;

exceedingly addicted to reading. He is now Sergeant Hoche, and can rise no farther: he lays out his pay in

rushlights, and cheap editions of books. (Dictionnaire des Hommes Marquans, Londres (Paris), 1800, ii. 198.)

On the whole, the best seems to be: Consign these Gardes Francaises to their Barracks. So Besenval thinks,

and orders. Consigned to their barracks, the Gardes Francaises do but form a 'Secret Association,' an

Engagement not to act against the National Assembly. Debauched by Valadi the Pythagorean; debauched by

money and women! cry Besenval and innumerable others. Debauched by what you will, or in need of no

debauching, behold them, long files of them, their consignment broken, arrive, headed by their Sergeants, on

the 26th day of June, at the Palais Royal! Welcomed with vivats, with presents, and a pledge of patriot liquor;

embracing and embraced; declaring in words that the cause of France is their cause! Next day and the

following days the like. What is singular too, except this patriot humour, and breaking of their consignment,

They are growing questionable, these Gardes! Eleven ringleaders of them are put in the Abbaye Prison. It

boots not in the least. The imprisoned Eleven have only, 'by the hand of an individual,' to drop, towards

nightfall, a line in the Cafe de Foy; where Patriotism harangues loudest on its table. 'Two hundred young

persons, soon waxing to four thousand,' with fit crowbars, roll towards the Abbaye; smite asunder the needful

doors; and bear out their Eleven, with other military victims:to supper in the Palais Royal Garden; to

board, and lodging 'in campbeds, in the Theatre des Varietes;' other national Prytaneum as yet not being in

readiness. Most deliberate! Nay so punctual were these young persons, that finding one military victim to

have been imprisoned for real civil crime, they returned him to his cell, with protest.

Why new military force was not called out? New military force was called out. New military force did arrive,

full gallop, with drawn sabre: but the people gently 'laid hold of their bridles;' the dragoons sheathed their

swords; lifted their caps by way of salute, and sat like mere statues of dragoons,except indeed that a drop

of liquor being brought them, they 'drank to the King and Nation with the greatest cordiality.' (Histoire

And now, ask in return, why Messeigneurs and Broglie the great god of war, on seeing these things, did not

pause, and take some other course, any other course? Unhappily, as we said, they could see nothing. Pride,

which goes before a fall; wrath, if not reasonable, yet pardonable, most natural, had hardened their hearts and

heated their heads; so, with imbecility and violence (illmatched pair), they rush to seek their hour. All

Regiments are not Gardes Francaises, or debauched by Valadi the Pythagorean: let fresh undebauched

Regiments come up; let RoyalAllemand, SalaisSamade, Swiss ChateauVieux come up,which can

fight, but can hardly speak except in German gutturals; let soldiers march, and highways thunder with

artillerywaggons: Majesty has a new Royal Session to hold,and miracles to work there! The whiff of

In which circumstances, before the redhot balls begin raining, may not the Hundredandtwenty Paris

Electors, though their Cahier is long since finished, see good to meet again daily, as an 'Electoral Club'? They

meet first 'in a Tavern;'where 'the largest weddingparty' cheerfully give place to them. (Dusaulx, Prise de

la Bastille (Collection des Memoires, par Berville et Barriere, Paris, 1821), p. 269.) But latterly they meet in

the HoteldeVille, in the Townhall itself. Flesselles, Provost of Merchants, with his Four Echevins

(Scabins, Assessors), could not prevent it; such was the force of public opinion. He, with his Echevins, and

the SixandTwenty TownCouncillors, all appointed from Above, may well sit silent there, in their long

gowns; and consider, with awed eye, what prelude this is of convulsion coming from Below, and how

So hangs it, dubious, fateful, in the sultry days of July. It is the passionate printed advice of M. Marat, to

abstain, of all things, from violence. (Avis au Peuple, ou les Ministres devoiles, 1st July, 1789 (in Histoire

Parlementaire, ii. 37.) Nevertheless the hungry poor are already burning Town Barriers, where Tribute on

The twelfth July morning is Sunday; the streets are all placarded with an enormoussized De par le Roi,

'inviting peaceable citizens to remain within doors,' to feel no alarm, to gather in no crowd. Why so? What

mean these 'placards of enormous size'? Above all, what means this clatter of military; dragoons, hussars,

rattling in from all points of the compass towards the Place Louis Quinze; with a staid gravity of face, though

saluted with mere nicknames, hootings and even missiles? (Besenval, iii. 411.) Besenval is with them. Swiss

Have the destroyers descended on us, then? From the Bridge of Sevres to utmost Vincennes, from

SaintDenis to the ChampdeMars, we are begirt! Alarm, of the vague unknown, is in every heart. The

Palais Royal has become a place of awestruck interjections, silent shakings of the head: one can fancy with

what dolorous sound the noontide cannon (which the Sun fires at the crossing of his meridian) went off

there; bodeful, like an inarticulate voice of doom. (Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 81.) Are these troops verily

come out 'against Brigands'? Where are the Brigands? What mystery is in the wind?Hark! a human voice

reporting articulately the Job'snews: Necker, People's Minister, Saviour of France, is dismissed. Impossible;

incredible! Treasonous to the public peace! Such a voice ought to be choked in the waterworks;

(Ibid.)had not the newsbringer quickly fled. Nevertheless, friends, make of it what you will, the news is

true. Necker is gone. Necker hies northward incessantly, in obedient secrecy, since yesternight. We have a

new Ministry: Broglie the Wargod; Aristocrat Breteuil; Foulon who said the people might eat grass!

Rumour, therefore, shall arise; in the Palais Royal, and in broad France. Paleness sits on every face; confused

But see Camille Desmoulins, from the Cafe de Foy, rushing out, sibylline in face; his hair streaming, in each

hand a pistol! He springs to a table: the Police satellites are eyeing him; alive they shall not take him, not they

alive him alive. This time he speaks without stammering:Friends, shall we die like hunted hares? Like

sheep hounded into their pinfold; bleating for mercy, where is no mercy, but only a whetted knife? The hour

is come; the supreme hour of Frenchman and Man; when Oppressors are to try conclusions with Oppressed;

and the word is, swift Death, or Deliverance forever. Let such hour be wellcome! Us, meseems, one cry

only befits: To Arms! Let universal Paris, universal France, as with the throat of the whirlwind, sound only:

To arms!"To arms!" yell responsive the innumerable voices: like one great voice, as of a Demon yelling

from the air: for all faces wax fireeyed, all hearts burn up into madness. In such, or fitter words, (Ibid.) does

Camille evoke the Elemental Powers, in this great moment.Friends, continues Camille, some rallying sign!

Cockades; green ones;the colour of hope!As with the flight of locusts, these green tree leaves; green

ribands from the neighbouring shops; all green things are snatched, and made cockades of. Camille descends

from his table, 'stifled with embraces, wetted with tears;' has a bit of green riband handed him; sticks it in his

hat. And now to Curtius' Imageshop there; to the Boulevards; to the four winds; and rest not till France be

on fire! (Vieux Cordelier, par Camille Desmoulins, No. 5 (reprinted in Collection des Memoires, par

France, so long shaken and windparched, is probably at the right inflammable point.As for poor Curtius,

who, one grieves to think, might be but imperfectly paid,he cannot make two words about his Images. The

Waxbust of Necker, the Waxbust of D'Orleans, helpers of France: these, covered with crape, as in funeral

procession, or after the manner of suppliants appealing to Heaven, to Earth, and Tartarus itself, a mixed

multitude bears off. For a sign! As indeed man, with his singular imaginative faculties, can do little or

nothing without signs: thus Turks look to their Prophet's banner; also Osier Mannikins have been burnt, and

In this manner march they, a mixed, continually increasing multitude; armed with axes, staves and

miscellanea; grim, manysounding, through the streets. Be all Theatres shut; let all dancing, on planked floor,

or on the natural greensward, cease! Instead of a Christian Sabbath, and feast of guinguette tabernacles, it

shall be a Sorcerer's Sabbath; and Paris, gone rabid, dance,with the Fiend for piper!

However, Besenval, with horse and foot, is in the Place Louis Quinze. Mortals promenading homewards, in

the fall of the day, saunter by, from Chaillot or Passy, from flirtation and a little thin wine; with sadder step

than usual. Will the BustProcession pass that way! Behold it; behold also Prince Lambesc dash forth on it,

with his RoyalAllemands! Shots fall, and sabrestrokes; Busts are hewn asunder; and, alas, also heads of

men. A sabred Procession has nothing for it but to explode, along what streets, alleys, Tuileries Avenues it

finds; and disappear. One unarmed man lies hewed down; a Garde Francaise by his uniform: bear him (or

bear even the report of him) dead and gory to his Barracks;where he has comrades still alive!

But why not now, victorious Lambesc, charge through that Tuileries Garden itself, where the fugitives are

vanishing? Not show the Sunday promenaders too, how steel glitters, besprent with blood; that it be told of,

and men's ears tingle?Tingle, alas, they did; but the wrong way. Victorious Lambesc, in this his second or

Tuileries charge, succeeds but in overturning (call it not slashing, for he struck with the flat of his sword) one

man, a poor old schoolmaster, most pacifically tottering there; and is driven out, by barricade of chairs, by

flights of 'bottles and glasses,' by execrations in bass voice and treble. Most delicate is the mobqueller's

vocation; wherein Toomuch may be as bad as Notenough. For each of these bass voices, and more each

treble voice, borne to all points of the City, rings now nothing but distracted indignation; will ring all another.

The cry, To arms! roars tenfold; steeples with their metal storm voice boom out, as the sun sinks; armorer's

shops are broken open, plundered; the streets are a living foamsea, chafed by all the winds.

Such issue came of Lambesc's charge on the Tuileries Garden: no striking of salutary terror into Chaillot

promenaders; a striking into broad wakefulness of Frenzy and the three Furies,which otherwise were not

asleep! For they lie always, those subterranean Eumenides (fabulous and yet so true), in the dullest existence

of man;and can dance, brandishing their dusky torches, shaking their serpenthair. Lambesc with Royal

Allemand may ride to his barracks, with curses for his marchingmusic; then ride back again, like one

troubled in mind: vengeful Gardes Francaises, sacreing, with knit brows, start out on him, from their barracks

in the Chaussee d'Antin; pour a volley into him (killing and wounding); which he must not answer, but ride

Counsel dwells not under the plumed hat. If the Eumenides awaken, and Broglie has given no orders, what

can a Besenval do? When the Gardes Francaises, with PalaisRoyal volunteers, roll down, greedy of more

vengeance, to the Place Louis Quinze itself, they find neither Besenval, Lambesc, RoyalAllemand, nor any

soldier now there. Gone is military order. On the far Eastern Boulevard, of SaintAntoine, the Chasseurs

Normandie arrive, dusty, thirsty, after a hard day's ride; but can find no billetmaster, see no course in this

City of confusions; cannot get to Besenval, cannot so much as discover where he is: Normandie must even

bivouac there, in its dust and thirst,unless some patriot will treat it to a cup of liquor, with advices.

Raging multitudes surround the HoteldeVille, crying: Arms! Orders! The Sixandtwenty

TownCouncillors, with their long gowns, have ducked under (into the raging chaos);shall never emerge

more. Besenval is painfully wriggling himself out, to the ChampdeMars; he must sit there 'in the cruelest

uncertainty:' courier after courier may dash off for Versailles; but will bring back no answer, can hardly bring

himself back. For the roads are all blocked with batteries and pickets, with floods of carriages arrested for

examination: such was Broglie's one sole order; the Oeilde Boeuf, hearing in the distance such mad din,

which sounded almost like invasion, will before all things keep its own head whole. A new Ministry, with, as

it were, but one foot in the stirrup, cannot take leaps. Mad Paris is abandoned altogether to itself.

What a Paris, when the darkness fell! A European metropolitan City hurled suddenly forth from its old

combinations and arrangements; to crash tumultuously together, seeking new. Use and wont will now no

longer direct any man; each man, with what of originality he has, must begin thinking; or following those that

think. Seven hundred thousand individuals, on the sudden, find all their old paths, old ways of acting and

deciding, vanish from under their feet. And so there go they, with clangour and terror, they know not as yet

whether running, swimming or flying,headlong into the New Era. With clangour and terror: from above,

Broglie the wargod impends, preternatural, with his redhot cannonballs; and from below, a preternatural

Happily, in place of the submerged Twentysix, the Electoral Club is gathering; has declared itself a

'Provisional Municipality.' On the morrow it will get Provost Flesselles, with an Echevin or two, to give help

in many things. For the present it decrees one most essential thing: that forthwith a 'Parisian Militia' shall be

enrolled. Depart, ye heads of Districts, to labour in this great work; while we here, in Permanent Committee,

sit alert. Let fencible men, each party in its own range of streets, keep watch and ward, all night. Let Paris

court a little fever sleep; confused by such feverdreams, of 'violent motions at the Palais Royal;'or from

time to time start awake, and look out, palpitating, in its nightcap, at the clash of discordant

mutuallyunintelligible Patrols; on the gleam of distant Barriers, going up alltoo ruddy towards the vault of

On Monday the huge City has awoke, not to its weekday industry: to what a different one! The working

man has become a fighting man; has one want only: that of arms. The industry of all crafts has

paused;except it be the smith's, fiercely hammering pikes; and, in a faint degree, the kitchener's, cooking

offhand victuals; for bouche va toujours. Women too are sewing cockades;not now of green, which being

D'Artois colour, the HoteldeVille has had to interfere in it; but of red and blue, our old Paris colours: these,

once based on a ground of constitutional white, are the famed TRICOLOR,which (if Prophecy err not)

All shops, unless it be the Bakers' and Vintners', are shut: Paris is in the streets;rushing, foaming like some

Venice wineglass into which you had dropped poison. The tocsin, by order, is pealing madly from all

steeples. Arms, ye Elector Municipals; thou Flesselles with thy Echevins, give us arms! Flesselles gives what

he can: fallacious, perhaps insidious promises of arms from Charleville; order to seek arms here, order to seek

them there. The new Municipals give what they can; some three hundred and sixty indifferent firelocks, the

equipment of the CityWatch: 'a man in wooden shoes, and without coat, directly clutches one of them, and

mounts guard.' Also as hinted, an order to all Smiths to make pikes with their whole soul.

Heads of Districts are in fervent consultation; subordinate Patriotism roams distracted, ravenous for arms.

Hitherto at the HoteldeVille was only such modicum of indifferent firelocks as we have seen. At the so

called Arsenal, there lies nothing but rust, rubbish and saltpetre, overlooked too by the guns of the Bastille.

His Majesty's Repository, what they call GardeMeuble, is forced and ransacked: tapestries enough, and

gauderies; but of serviceable fightinggear small stock! Two silver mounted cannons there are; an ancient

gift from his Majesty of Siam to Louis Fourteenth: gilt sword of the Good Henri; antique Chivalry arms and

armour. These, and such as these, a necessitous Patriotism snatches greedily, for want of better. The Siamese

cannons go trundling, on an errand they were not meant for. Among the indifferent firelocks are seen

tourneylances; the princely helm and hauberk glittering amid illhatted heads,as in a time when all times

At the Maison de SaintLazare, LazarHouse once, now a CorrectionHouse with Priests, there was no trace

of arms; but, on the other hand, corn, plainly to a culpable extent. Out with it, to market; in this scarcity of

grains!Heavens, will 'fiftytwo carts,' in long row, hardly carry it to the Halle aux Bleds? Well, truly, ye

reverend Fathers, was your pantry filled; fat are your larders; overgenerous your winebins, ye plotting

Vain is protesting, entreaty on bare knees: the House of SaintLazarus has that in it which comes not out by

protesting. Behold, how, from every window, it vomits: mere torrents of furniture, of bellowing and

hurlyburly;the cellars also leaking wine. Till, as was natural, smoke rose,kindled, some say, by the

desperate SaintLazaristes themselves, desperate of other riddance; and the Establishment vanished from this

world in flame. Remark nevertheless that 'a thief' (set on or not by Aristocrats), being detected there, is

Look also at the Chatelet Prison. The Debtors' Prison of La Force is broken from without; and they that sat in

bondage to Aristocrats go free: hearing of which the Felons at the Chatelet do likewise 'dig up their

pavements,' and stand on the offensive; with the best prospects,had not Patriotism, passing that way, 'fired

a volley' into the Felon world; and crushed it down again under hatches. Patriotism consorts not with thieving

and felony: surely also Punishment, this day, hitches (if she still hitch) after Crime, with frightful

shoesofswiftness! 'Some score or two' of wretched persons, found prostrate with drink in the cellars of that

Saint Lazare, are indignantly haled to prison; the Jailor has no room; whereupon, other place of security not

suggesting itself, it is written, 'on les pendit, they hanged them.' (Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 96.) Brief is the

In such circumstances, the Aristocrat, the unpatriotic rich man is packing up for departure. But he shall not

get departed. A woodenshod force has seized all Barriers, burnt or not: all that enters, all that seeks to issue,

is stopped there, and dragged to the HoteldeVille: coaches, tumbrils, plate, furniture, 'many mealsacks,' in

time even 'flocks and herds' encumber the Place de Greve. (Dusaulx, Prise de la Bastille, p. 20.)

And so it roars, and rages, and brays; drums beating, steeples pealing; criers rushing with handbells: "Oyez,

oyez. All men to their Districts to be enrolled!" The Districts have met in gardens, open squares; are getting

marshalled into volunteer troops. No redhot ball has yet fallen from Besenval's Camp; on the contrary,

Deserters with their arms are continually dropping in: nay now, joy of joys, at two in the afternoon, the

Gardes Francaises, being ordered to SaintDenis, and flatly declining, have come over in a body! It is a fact

worth many. Three thousand six hundred of the best fighting men, with complete accoutrement; with

cannoneers even, and cannon! Their officers are left standing alone; could not so much as succeed in 'spiking

the guns.' The very Swiss, it may now be hoped, ChateauVieux and the others, will have doubts about

Our Parisian Militia,which some think it were better to name National Guard,is prospering as heart

could wish. It promised to be fortyeight thousand; but will in few hours double and quadruple that number:

But see, the promised Charleville Boxes, marked Artillerie! Here, then, are arms enough?Conceive the

blank face of Patriotism, when it found them filled with rags, foul linen, candleends, and bits of wood!

Provost of the Merchants, how is this? Neither at the Chartreux Convent, whither we were sent with signed

order, is there or ever was there any weapon of war. Nay here, in this Seine Boat, safe under tarpaulings (had

not the nose of Patriotism been of the finest), are 'five thousandweight of gunpowder;' not coming in, but

surreptitiously going out! What meanest thou, Flesselles? 'Tis a ticklish game, that of 'amusing' us. Cat plays

Meanwhile, the faster, O ye blackaproned Smiths, smite; with strong arm and willing heart. This man and

that, all stroke from head to heel, shall thunder alternating, and ply the great forgehammer, till stithy reel

and ring again; while ever and anon, overhead, booms the alarmcannon,for the City has now got

gunpowder. Pikes are fabricated; fifty thousand of them, in sixandthirty hours: judge whether the

Blackaproned have been idle. Dig trenches, unpave the streets, ye others, assiduous, man and maid; cram

the earth in barrelbarricades, at each of them a volunteer sentry; pile the whinstones in windowsills and

upper rooms. Have scalding pitch, at least boiling water ready, ye weak old women, to pour it and dash it on

RoyalAllemand, with your old skinny arms: your shrill curses along with it will not be wanting!Patrols of

the newborn National Guard, bearing torches, scour the streets, all that night; which otherwise are vacant, yet

illuminated in every window by order. Strangelooking; like some naphtha lighted City of the Dead, with

O poor mortals, how ye make this Earth bitter for each other; this fearful and wonderful Life fearful and

horrible; and Satan has his place in all hearts! Such agonies and ragings and wailings ye have, and have had,

in all times:to be buried all, in so deep silence; and the salt sea is not swoln with your tears.

Great meanwhile is the moment, when tidings of Freedom reach us; when the longenthralled soul, from

amid its chains and squalid stagnancy, arises, were it still only in blindness and bewilderment, and swears by

Him that made it, that it will be free! Free? Understand that well, it is the deep commandment, dimmer or

clearer, of our whole being, to be free. Freedom is the one purport, wisely aimed at, or unwisely, of all man's

struggles, toilings and sufferings, in this Earth. Yes, supreme is such a moment (if thou have known it): first

vision as of a flamegirt Sinai, in this our waste Pilgrimage,which thenceforth wants not its pillar of cloud

by day, and pillar of fire by night! Something it is even,nay, something considerable, when the chains have

grown corrosive, poisonous, to be free 'from oppression by our fellowman.' Forward, ye maddened sons of

France; be it towards this destiny or towards that! Around you is but starvation, falsehood, corruption and the

Imagination may, imperfectly, figure how Commandant Besenval, in the Champ deMars, has worn out

these sorrowful hours Insurrection all round; his men melting away! From Versailles, to the most pressing

messages, comes no answer; or once only some vague word of answer which is worse than none. A Council

of Officers can decide merely that there is no decision: Colonels inform him, 'weeping,' that they do not think

their men will fight. Cruel uncertainty is here: wargod Broglie sits yonder, inaccessible in his Olympus;

does not descend terrorclad, does not produce his whiff of grapeshot; sends no orders.

Truly, in the Chateau of Versailles all seems mystery: in the Town of Versailles, were we there, all is rumour,

alarm and indignation. An august National Assembly sits, to appearance, menaced with death; endeavouring

to defy death. It has resolved 'that Necker carries with him the regrets of the Nation.' It has sent solemn

Deputation over to the Chateau, with entreaty to have these troops withdrawn. In vain: his Majesty, with a

singular composure, invites us to be busy rather with our own duty, making the Constitution! Foreign

Pandours, and suchlike, go pricking and prancing, with a swashbuckler air; with an eye too probably to the

Salle des Menus,were it not for the 'grimlooking countenances' that crowd all avenues there. (See

Lameth; Ferrieres, Be firm, ye National Senators; the cynosure of a firm, grimlooking people!

The august National Senators determine that there shall, at least, be Permanent Session till this thing end.

Wherein, however, consider that worthy Lafranc de Pompignan, our new President, whom we have named

Bailly's successor, is an old man, wearied with many things. He is the Brother of that Pompignan who

Savesvoux pourquoi Jeremie Se lamentait toute sa vie? C'est qu'il prevoyait Que Pompignan le traduirait!

Poor Bishop Pompignan withdraws; having got Lafayette for helper or substitute: this latter, as nocturnal

VicePresident, with a thin house in disconsolate humour, sits sleepless, with lights unsnuffed;waiting

So at Versailles. But at Paris, agitated Besenval, before retiring for the night, has stept over to old M. de

Sombreuil, of the Hotel des Invalides hard by. M. de Sombreuil has, what is a great secret, some eightand

twenty thousand stand of muskets deposited in his cellars there; but no trust in the temper of his Invalides.

This day, for example, he sent twenty of the fellows down to unscrew those muskets; lest Sedition might

snatch at them; but scarcely, in six hours, had the twenty unscrewed twenty gunlocks, or dogsheads (chiens)

of locks,each Invalide his dogshead! If ordered to fire, they would, he imagines, turn their cannon against

Unfortunate old military gentlemen, it is your hour, not of glory! Old Marquis de Launay too, of the Bastille,

has pulled up his drawbridges long since, 'and retired into his interior;' with sentries walking on his

battlements, under the midnight sky, aloft over the glare of illuminated Paris;whom a National Patrol,

passing that way, takes the liberty of firing at; 'seven shots towards twelve at night,' which do not take effect.

(Deux Amis de la Liberte, i. 312.) This was the 13th day of July, 1789; a worse day, many said, than the last

13th was, when only hail fell out of Heaven, not madness rose out of Tophet, ruining worse than crops!

In these same days, as Chronology will teach us, hot old Marquis Mirabeau lies stricken down, at

Argenteuil,not within sound of these alarmguns; for he properly is not there, and only the body of him

now lies, deaf and cold forever. It was on Saturday night that he, drawing his last life breaths, gave up the

ghost there;leaving a world, which would never go to his mind, now broken out, seemingly, into deliration

and the culbute generale. What is it to him, departing elsewhither, on his long journey? The old Chateau

Mirabeau stands silent, far off, on its scarped rock, in that 'gorge of two windy valleys;' the palefading

spectre now of a Chateau: this huge Worldriot, and France, and the World itself, fades also, like a shadow

Young Mirabeau, sad of heart, for he loved this crabbed brave old Father, sad of heart, and occupied with sad

cares,is withdrawn from Public History. The great crisis transacts itself without him. (Fils Adoptif,

But, to the living and the struggling, a new, Fourteenth morning dawns. Under all roofs of this distracted

City, is the nodus of a drama, not untragical, crowding towards solution. The bustlings and preparings, the

tremors and menaces; the tears that fell from old eyes! This day, my sons, ye shall quit you like men. By the

memory of your fathers' wrongs, by the hope of your children's rights! Tyranny impends in red wrath: help

From earliest light, a sleepless Permanent Committee has heard the old cry, now waxing almost frantic,

mutinous: Arms! Arms! Provost Flesselles, or what traitors there are among you, may think of those

Charleville Boxes. A hundredandfifty thousand of us; and but the third man furnished with so much as a

pike! Arms are the one thing needful: with arms we are an unconquerable mandefying National Guard;

Happily the word has arisen, for no secret can be kept,that there lie muskets at the Hotel des Invalides.

Thither will we: King's Procureur M. Ethys de Corny, and whatsoever of authority a Permanent Committee

can lend, shall go with us. Besenval's Camp is there; perhaps he will not fire on us; if he kill us we shall but

Alas, poor Besenval, with his troops melting away in that manner, has not the smallest humour to fire! At five

o'clock this morning, as he lay dreaming, oblivious in the Ecole Militaire, a 'figure' stood suddenly at his

bedside: 'with face rather handsome; eyes inflamed, speech rapid and curt, air audacious:' such a figure drew

Priam's curtains! The message and monition of the figure was, that resistance would be hopeless; that if blood

flowed, wo to him who shed it. Thus spoke the figure; and vanished. 'Withal there was a kind of eloquence

that struck one.' Besenval admits that he should have arrested him, but did not. (Besenval, iii. 414.) Who this

figure, with inflamed eyes, with speech rapid and curt, might be? Besenval knows but mentions not. Camille

Desmoulins? Pythagorean Marquis Valadi, inflamed with 'violent motions all night at the Palais Royal?'

Fame names him, 'Young M. Meillar'; (Tableaux de la Revolution, Prise de la Bastille (a folio Collection of

Pictures and Portraits, with letterpress, not always uninstructive,part of it said to be by Chamfort).) Then

In any case, behold about nine in the morning, our National Volunteers rolling in long wide flood,

southwestward to the Hotel des Invalides; in search of the one thing needful. King's procureur M. Ethys de

Corny and officials are there; the Cure of SaintEtienne du Mont marches unpacific, at the head of his

militant Parish; the Clerks of the Bazoche in red coats we see marching, now Volunteers of the Bazoche; the

Volunteers of the Palais Royal:National Volunteers, numerable by tens of thousands; of one heart and

mind. The King's muskets are the Nation's; think, old M. de Sombreuil, how, in this extremity, thou wilt

refuse them! Old M. de Sombreuil would fain hold parley, send Couriers; but it skills not: the walls are

scaled, no Invalide firing a shot; the gates must be flung open. Patriotism rushes in, tumultuous, from

grundsel up to ridgetile, through all rooms and passages; rummaging distractedly for arms. What cellar, or

what cranny can escape it? The arms are found; all safe there; lying packed in straw,apparently with a

view to being burnt! More ravenous than famishing lions over dead prey, the multitude, with clangour and

vociferation, pounces on them; struggling, dashing, clutching:to the jammingup, to the pressure, fracture

and probable extinction, of the weaker Patriot. (Deux Amis, i. 302.) And so, with such protracted crash of

deafening, most discordant Orchestramusic, the Scene is changed: and eightandtwenty thousand

sufficient firelocks are on the shoulders of so many National Guards, lifted thereby out of darkness into fiery

Let Besenval look at the glitter of these muskets, as they flash by! Gardes Francaises, it is said, have cannon

levelled on him; ready to open, if need were, from the other side of the River. (Besenval, iii. 416.) Motionless

sits he; 'astonished,' one may flatter oneself, 'at the proud bearing (fiere contenance) of the Parisians.'And

now, to the Bastille, ye intrepid Parisians! There grapeshot still threatens; thither all men's thoughts and steps

Old de Launay, as we hinted, withdrew 'into his interior' soon after midnight of Sunday. He remains there

ever since, hampered, as all military gentlemen now are, in the saddest conflict of uncertainties. The

Hotelde Ville 'invites' him to admit National Soldiers, which is a soft name for surrendering. On the other

hand, His Majesty's orders were precise. His garrison is but eightytwo old Invalides, reinforced by

thirtytwo young Swiss; his walls indeed are nine feet thick, he has cannon and powder; but, alas, only one

day's provision of victuals. The city too is French, the poor garrison mostly French. Rigorous old de Launay,

All morning, since nine, there has been a cry everywhere: To the Bastille! Repeated 'deputations of citizens'

have been here, passionate for arms; whom de Launay has got dismissed by soft speeches through portholes.

Towards noon, Elector Thuriot de la Rosiere gains admittance; finds de Launay indisposed for surrender; nay

disposed for blowing up the place rather. Thuriot mounts with him to the battlements: heaps of paving

stones, old iron and missiles lie piled; cannon all duly levelled; in every embrasure a cannon,only drawn

back a little! But outwards behold, O Thuriot, how the multitude flows on, welling through every street;

tocsin furiously pealing, all drums beating the generale: the Suburb Saint Antoine rolling hitherward wholly,

as one man! Such vision (spectral yet real) thou, O Thuriot, as from thy Mount of Vision, beholdest in this

moment: prophetic of what other Phantasmagories, and loudgibbering Spectral Realities, which, thou yet

beholdest not, but shalt! "Que voulez vous?" said de Launay, turning pale at the sight, with an air of reproach,

almost of menace. "Monsieur," said Thuriot, rising into the moralsublime, "What mean you? Consider if I

could not precipitate both of us from this height,"say only a hundred feet, exclusive of the walled ditch!

Whereupon de Launay fell silent. Thuriot shews himself from some pinnacle, to comfort the multitude

becoming suspicious, fremescent: then descends; departs with protest; with warning addressed also to the

Invalides,on whom, however, it produces but a mixed indistinct impression. The old heads are none of the

clearest; besides, it is said, de Launay has been profuse of beverages (prodigua des buissons). They think,

they will not fire,if not fired on, if they can help it; but must, on the whole, be ruled considerably by

Wo to thee, de Launay, in such an hour, if thou canst not, taking some one firm decision, rule circumstances!

Soft speeches will not serve; hard grapeshot is questionable; but hovering between the two is

unquestionable. Ever wilder swells the tide of men; their infinite hum waxing ever louder, into imprecations,

perhaps into crackle of stray musketry,which latter, on walls nine feet thick, cannot do execution. The

Outer Drawbridge has been lowered for Thuriot; new deputation of citizens (it is the third, and noisiest of all)

penetrates that way into the Outer Court: soft speeches producing no clearance of these, de Launay gives fire;

pulls up his Drawbridge. A slight sputter;which has kindled the too combustible chaos; made it a roaring

firechaos! Bursts forth insurrection, at sight of its own blood (for there were deaths by that sputter of fire),

into endless rolling explosion of musketry, distraction, execration;and overhead, from the Fortress, let one

great gun, with its grapeshot, go booming, to shew what we could do. The Bastille is besieged!

On, then, all Frenchmen that have hearts in their bodies! Roar with all your throats, of cartilage and metal, ye

Sons of Liberty; stir spasmodically whatsoever of utmost faculty is in you, soul, body or spirit; for it is the

hour! Smite, thou Louis Tournay, cartwright of the Marais, oldsoldier of the Regiment Dauphine; smite at

that Outer Drawbridge chain, though the fiery hail whistles round thee! Never, over nave or felloe, did thy

axe strike such a stroke. Down with it, man; down with it to Orcus: let the whole accursed Edifice sink

thither, and Tyranny be swallowed up for ever! Mounted, some say on the roof of the guardroom, some 'on

bayonets stuck into joints of the wall,' Louis Tournay smites, brave Aubin Bonnemere (also an old soldier)

seconding him: the chain yields, breaks; the huge Drawbridge slams down, thundering (avec fracas).

Glorious: and yet, alas, it is still but the outworks. The Eight grim Towers, with their Invalides' musketry,

their paving stones and cannonmouths, still soar aloft intact;Ditch yawning impassable, stonefaced; the

To describe this Siege of the Bastille (thought to be one of the most important in history) perhaps transcends

the talent of mortals. Could one but, after infinite reading, get to understand so much as the plan of the

building! But there is open Esplanade, at the end of the Rue Saint Antoine; there are such Forecourts, Cour

Avance, Cour de l'Orme, arched Gateway (where Louis Tournay now fights); then new drawbridges,

dormant bridges, rampartbastions, and the grim Eight Towers: a labyrinthic Mass, highfrowning there, of

all ages from twenty years to four hundred and twenty;beleaguered, in this its last hour, as we said, by

mere Chaos come again! Ordnance of all calibres; throats of all capacities; men of all plans, every man his

own engineer: seldom since the war of Pygmies and Cranes was there seen so anomalous a thing. Halfpay

Elie is home for a suit of regimentals; no one would heed him in coloured clothes: halfpay Hulin is

haranguing Gardes Francaises in the Place de Greve. Frantic Patriots pick up the grapeshots; bear them, still

hot (or seemingly so), to the HoteldeVille:Paris, you perceive, is to be burnt! Flesselles is 'pale to the

very lips' for the roar of the multitude grows deep. Paris wholly has got to the acme of its frenzy; whirled, all

ways, by panic madness. At every streetbarricade, there whirls simmering, a minor

whirlpool,strengthening the barricade, since God knows what is coming; and all minor whirlpools play

And so it lashes and it roars. Cholat the winemerchant has become an impromptu cannoneer. See Georget,

of the Marine Service, fresh from Brest, ply the King of Siam's cannon. Singular (if we were not used to the

like): Georget lay, last night, taking his ease at his inn; the King of Siam's cannon also lay, knowing nothing

of him, for a hundred years. Yet now, at the right instant, they have got together, and discourse eloquent

music. For, hearing what was toward, Georget sprang from the Brest Diligence, and ran. Gardes Francaises

also will be here, with real artillery: were not the walls so thick!Upwards from the Esplanade, horizontally

from all neighbouring roofs and windows, flashes one irregular deluge of musketry, without effect. The

Invalides lie flat, firing comparatively at their ease from behind stone; hardly through portholes, shew the tip

Let conflagration rage; of whatsoever is combustible! Guardrooms are burnt, Invalides messrooms. A

distracted 'Perukemaker with two fiery torches' is for burning 'the saltpetres of the Arsenal;'had not a

woman run screaming; had not a Patriot, with some tincture of Natural Philosophy, instantly struck the wind

out of him (butt of musket on pit of stomach), overturned barrels, and stayed the devouring element. A young

beautiful lady, seized escaping in these Outer Courts, and thought falsely to be de Launay's daughter, shall be

burnt in de Launay's sight; she lies swooned on a paillasse: but again a Patriot, it is brave Aubin Bonnemere

the old soldier, dashes in, and rescues her. Straw is burnt; three cartloads of it, hauled thither, go up in white

smoke: almost to the choking of Patriotism itself; so that Elie had, with singed brows, to drag back one cart;

and Reole the 'gigantic haberdasher' another. Smoke as of Tophet; confusion as of Babel; noise as of the

Blood flows, the aliment of new madness. The wounded are carried into houses of the Rue Cerisaie; the

dying leave their last mandate not to yield till the accursed Stronghold fall. And yet, alas, how fall? The walls

are so thick! Deputations, three in number, arrive from the HoteldeVille; Abbe Fouchet (who was of one)

can say, with what almost superhuman courage of benevolence. (Fauchet's Narrative (Deux Amis, i. 324.).)

These wave their Townflag in the arched Gateway; and stand, rolling their drum; but to no purpose. In such

Crack of Doom, de Launay cannot hear them, dare not believe them: they return, with justified rage, the

whew of lead still singing in their ears. What to do? The Firemen are here, squirting with their firepumps on

the Invalides' cannon, to wet the touchholes; they unfortunately cannot squirt so high; but produce only

clouds of spray. Individuals of classical knowledge propose catapults. Santerre, the sonorous Brewer of the

Suburb SaintAntoine, advises rather that the place be fired, by a 'mixture of phosphorous and

oilofturpentine spouted up through forcing pumps:' O SpinolaSanterre, hast thou the mixture ready?

Every man his own engineer! And still the firedeluge abates not; even women are firing, and Turks; at least

one woman (with her sweetheart), and one Turk. (Deux Amis (i. 319); Dusaulx, Gardes Francaises have

come: real cannon, real cannoneers. Usher Maillard is busy; halfpay Elie, half pay Hulin rage in the midst

How the great Bastille Clock ticks (inaudible) in its Inner Court there, at its ease, hour after hour; as if

nothing special, for it or the world, were passing! It tolled One when the firing began; and is now pointing

towards Five, and still the firing slakes not.Far down, in their vaults, the seven Prisoners hear muffled din

Wo to thee, de Launay, with thy poor hundred Invalides! Broglie is distant, and his ears heavy: Besenval

hears, but can send no help. One poor troop of Hussars has crept, reconnoitring, cautiously along the Quais,

as far as the Pont Neuf. "We are come to join you," said the Captain; for the crowd seems shoreless. A

largeheaded dwarfish individual, of smoke bleared aspect, shambles forward, opening his blue lips, for

there is sense in him; and croaks: "Alight then, and give up your arms!" the Hussar Captain is too happy to

be escorted to the Barriers, and dismissed on parole. Who the squat individual was? Men answer, it is M.

Marat, author of the excellent pacific Avis au Peuple! Great truly, O thou remarkable Dogleech, is this thy

day of emergence and new birth: and yet this same day come four years!But let the curtains of the

What shall de Launay do? One thing only de Launay could have done: what he said he would do. Fancy him

sitting, from the first, with lighted taper, within arm's length of the PowderMagazine; motionless, like old

Roman Senator, or bronze Lampholder; coldly apprising Thuriot, and all men, by a slight motion of his eye,

what his resolution was:Harmless he sat there, while unharmed; but the King's Fortress, meanwhile, could,

might, would, or should, in nowise, be surrendered, save to the King's Messenger: one old man's life

worthless, so it be lost with honour; but think, ye brawling canaille, how will it be when a whole Bastille

springs skyward!In such statuesque, taperholding attitude, one fancies de Launay might have left Thuriot,

the red Clerks of the Bazoche, Cure of Saint Stephen and all the tagragandbobtail of the world, to work

And yet, withal, he could not do it. Hast thou considered how each man's heart is so tremulously responsive

to the hearts of all men; hast thou noted how omnipotent is the very sound of many men? How their shriek of

indignation palsies the strong soul; their howl of contumely withers with unfelt pangs? The Ritter Gluck

confessed that the groundtone of the noblest passage, in one of his noblest Operas, was the voice of the

Populace he had heard at Vienna, crying to their Kaiser: Bread! Bread! Great is the combined voice of men;

the utterance of their instincts, which are truer than their thoughts: it is the greatest a man encounters, among

the sounds and shadows, which make up this World of Time. He who can resist that, has his footing some

where beyond Time. De Launay could not do it. Distracted, he hovers between the two; hopes in the middle

of despair; surrenders not his Fortress; declares that he will blow it up, seizes torches to blow it up, and does

not blow it. Unhappy old de Launay, it is the deathagony of thy Bastille and thee! Jail, Jailoring and Jailor,

For four hours now has the WorldBedlam roared: call it the World Chimaera, blowing fire! The poor

Invalides have sunk under their battlements, or rise only with reversed muskets: they have made a white flag

of napkins; go beating the chamade, or seeming to beat, for one can hear nothing. The very Swiss at the

Portcullis look weary of firing; disheartened in the firedeluge: a porthole at the drawbridge is opened, as by

one that would speak. See Huissier Maillard, the shifty man! On his plank, swinging over the abyss of that

stoneDitch; plank resting on parapet, balanced by weight of Patriots,he hovers perilous: such a Dove

towards such an Ark! Deftly, thou shifty Usher: one man already fell; and lies smashed, far down there,

against the masonry! Usher Maillard falls not: deftly, unerring he walks, with outspread palm. The Swiss

holds a paper through his porthole; the shifty Usher snatches it, and returns. Terms of surrender: Pardon,

immunity to all! Are they accepted?"Foi d'officier, On the word of an officer," answers halfpay

Hulin,or half pay Elie, for men do not agree on it, "they are!" Sinks the drawbridge, Usher Maillard

bolting it when down; rushesin the living deluge: the Bastille is fallen! Victoire! La Bastille est prise!

(Histoire de la Revolution, par Deux Amis de la Liberte, i. 267306; Besenval, iii. 410 434; Dusaulx, Prise

de la Bastille, 291301. Bailly, Memoires (Collection de Berville et Barriere), i. 322 et seqq.)

Why dwell on what follows? Hulin's foi d'officer should have been kept, but could not. The Swiss stand

drawn up; disguised in white canvas smocks; the Invalides without disguise; their arms all piled against the

wall. The first rush of victors, in ecstacy that the deathperil is passed, 'leaps joyfully on their necks;' but new

victors rush, and ever new, also in ecstacy not wholly of joy. As we said, it was a living deluge, plunging

headlong; had not the Gardes Francaises, in their cool military way, 'wheeled round with arms levelled,' it

would have plunged suicidally, by the hundred or the thousand, into the Bastilleditch.

And so it goes plunging through court and corridor; billowing uncontrollable, firing from windowson

itself: in hot frenzy of triumph, of grief and vengeance for its slain. The poor Invalides will fare ill; one

Swiss, running off in his white smock, is driven back, with a death thrust. Let all prisoners be marched to

the Townhall, to be judged!Alas, already one poor Invalide has his right hand slashed off him; his maimed

body dragged to the Place de Greve, and hanged there. This same right hand, it is said, turned back de Launay

De Launay, 'discovered in gray frock with poppycoloured riband,' is for killing himself with the sword of

his cane. He shall to the Hotelde Ville; Hulin Maillard and others escorting him; Elie marching foremost

'with the capitulationpaper on his sword's point.' Through roarings and cursings; through hustlings,

clutchings, and at last through strokes! Your escort is hustled aside, felled down; Hulin sinks exhausted on a

heap of stones. Miserable de Launay! He shall never enter the Hotel de Ville: only his 'bloody hairqueue,

held up in a bloody hand;' that shall enter, for a sign. The bleeding trunk lies on the steps there; the head is off

Rigorous de Launay has died; crying out, "O friends, kill me fast!" Merciful de Losme must die; though

Gratitude embraces him, in this fearful hour, and will die for him; it avails not. Brothers, your wrath is cruel!

Your Place de Greve is become a Throat of the Tiger; full of mere fierce bellowings, and thirst of blood. One

other officer is massacred; one other Invalide is hanged on the Lampiron: with difficulty, with generous

perseverance, the Gardes Francaises will save the rest. Provost Flesselles stricken long since with the

paleness of death, must descend from his seat, 'to be judged at the Palais Royal:'alas, to be shot dead, by an

O evening sun of July, how, at this hour, thy beams fall slant on reapers amid peaceful woody fields; on old

women spinning in cottages; on ships far out in the silent main; on Balls at the Orangerie of Versailles, where

highrouged Dames of the Palace are even now dancing with doublejacketted HussarOfficers;and also

on this roaring Hell porch of a HoteldeVille! Babel Tower, with the confusion of tongues, were not

Bedlam added with the conflagration of thoughts, was no type of it. One forest of distracted steel bristles,

endless, in front of an Electoral Committee; points itself, in horrid radii, against this and the other accused

breast. It was the Titans warring with Olympus; and they scarcely crediting it, have conquered: prodigy of

prodigies; delirious,as it could not but be. Denunciation, vengeance; blaze of triumph on a dark ground of

terror: all outward, all inward things fallen into one general wreck of madness!

Electoral Committee? Had it a thousand throats of brass, it would not suffice. Abbe Lefevre, in the Vaults

down below, is black as Vulcan, distributing that 'five thousand weight of Powder;' with what perils, these

eightandforty hours! Last night, a Patriot, in liquor, insisted on sitting to smoke on the edge of one of the

Powderbarrels; there smoked he, independent of the world,till the Abbe 'purchased his pipe for three

Elie, in the grand Hall, Electoral Committee looking on, sits 'with drawn sword bent in three places;' with

battered helm, for he was of the Queen's Regiment, Cavalry; with torn regimentals, face singed and soiled;

comparable, some think, to 'an antique warrior;'judging the people; forming a list of Bastille Heroes. O

Friends, stain not with blood the greenest laurels ever gained in this world: such is the burden of Elie's song;

could it but be listened to. Courage, Elie! Courage, ye Municipal Electors! A declining sun; the need of

victuals, and of telling news, will bring assuagement, dispersion: all earthly things must end.

Along the streets of Paris circulate Seven Bastille Prisoners, borne shoulderhigh: seven Heads on pikes; the

Keys of the Bastille; and much else. See also the Garde Francaises, in their steadfast military way, marching

home to their barracks, with the Invalides and Swiss kindly enclosed in hollow square. It is one year and two

months since these same men stood unparticipating, with Brennus d'Agoust at the Palais de Justice, when

Fate overtook d'Espremenil; and now they have participated; and will participate. Not Gardes Francaises

henceforth, but Centre Grenadiers of the National Guard: men of iron discipline and humour,not without a

Likewise ashlar stones of the Bastille continue thundering through the dusk; its paperarchives shall fly

white. Old secrets come to view; and longburied Despair finds voice. Read this portion of an old Letter:

(Dated, a la Bastille, 7 Octobre, 1752; signed QueretDemery. Bastille Devoilee, in Linguet, Memoires sur la

Bastille (Paris, 1821), p. 199.) 'If for my consolation Monseigneur would grant me for the sake of God and

the Most Blessed Trinity, that I could have news of my dear wife; were it only her name on card to shew that

she is alive! It were the greatest consolation I could receive; and I should for ever bless the greatness of

Monseigneur.' Poor Prisoner, who namest thyself Queret Demery, and hast no other history,she is dead,

that dear wife of thine, and thou art dead! 'Tis fifty years since thy breaking heart put this question; to be

But so does the July twilight thicken; so must Paris, as sick children, and all distracted creatures do, brawl

itself finally into a kind of sleep. Municipal Electors, astonished to find their heads still uppermost, are home:

only Moreau de SaintMery of tropical birth and heart, of coolest judgment; he, with two others, shall sit

permanent at the Townhall. Paris sleeps; gleams upward the illuminated City: patrols go clashing, without

common watchword; there go rumours; alarms of war, to the extent of 'fifteen thousand men marching

through the Suburb SaintAntoine,'who never got it marched through. Of the day's distraction judge by

this of the night: Moreau de SaintMery, 'before rising from his seat, gave upwards of three thousand orders.'

(Dusaulx.) What a head; comparable to Friar Bacon's Brass Head! Within it lies all Paris. Prompt must the

answer be, right or wrong; in Paris is no other Authority extant. Seriously, a most cool clear head;for

which also thou O brave SaintMery, in many capacities, from august Senator to Merchant'sClerk,

Bookdealer, ViceKing; in many places, from Virginia to Sardinia, shalt, ever as a brave man, find

employment. (Biographie Universelle, para Moreau Saint Mery (by FournierPescay).)

Besenval has decamped, under cloud of dusk, 'amid a great affluence of people,' who did not harm him; he

marches, with faintgrowing tread, down the left bank of the Seine, all night,towards infinite space.

Resummoned shall Besenval himself be; for trial, for difficult acquittal. His King's troops, his Royal

The Versailles Ball and lemonade is done; the Orangery is silent except for nightbirds. Over in the Salle des

Menus, Vicepresident Lafayette, with unsnuffed lights, 'with some hundred of members, stretched on tables

round him,' sits erect; outwatching the Bear. This day, a second solemn Deputation went to his Majesty; a

In the Court, all is mystery, not without whisperings of terror; though ye dream of lemonade and epaulettes,

ye foolish women! His Majesty, kept in happy ignorance, perhaps dreams of doublebarrels and the Woods

of Meudon. Late at night, the Duke de Liancourt, having official right of entrance, gains access to the Royal

Apartments; unfolds, with earnest clearness, in his constitutional way, the Job'snews. "Mais," said poor

Louis, "c'est une revolte, Why, that is a revolt!""Sire," answered Liancourt, "It is not a revolt, it is a

On the morrow a fourth Deputation to the Chateau is on foot: of a more solemn, not to say awful character,

for, besides 'orgies in the Orangery,' it seems, 'the grain convoys are all stopped;' nor has Mirabeau's thunder

been silent. Such Deputation is on the point of setting outwhen lo, his Majesty himself attended only by his

two Brothers, step in; quite in the paternal manner; announces that the troops, and all causes of offence, are

gone, and henceforth there shall be nothing but trust, reconcilement, good will; whereof he 'permits and

even requests,' a National Assembly to assure Paris in his name! Acclamation, as of men suddenly delivered

from death, gives answer. The whole Assembly spontaneously rises to escort his Majesty back; 'interlacing

their arms to keep off the excessive pressure from him;' for all Versailles is crowding and shouting. The

Chateau Musicians, with a felicitous promptitude, strike up the Sein de sa Famille (Bosom of one's Family):

the Queen appears at the balcony with her little boy and girl, 'kissing them several times;' infinite Vivats

spread far and wide;and suddenly there has come, as it were, a new HeavenonEarth.

Eightyeight august Senators, Bailly, Lafayette, and our repentant Archbishop among them, take coach for

Paris, with the great intelligence; benedictions without end on their heads. From the Place Louis Quinze,

where they alight, all the way to the HoteldeVille, it is one sea of Tricolor cockades, of clear National

muskets; one tempest of huzzaings, handclappings, aided by 'occasional rollings' of drummusic. Harangues

of due fervour are delivered; especially by Lally Tollendal, pious son of the illfated murdered Lally; on

whose head, in consequence, a civic crown (of oak or parsley) is forced,which he forcibly transfers to

But surely, for one thing, the National Guard must have a General! Moreau de SaintMery, he of the 'three

thousand orders,' casts one of his significant glances on the Bust of Lafayette, which has stood there ever

since the American War of Liberty. Whereupon, by acclamation, Lafayette is nominated. Again, in room of

the slain traitor or quasitraitor Flesselles, President Bailly shall beProvost of the Merchants? No: Mayor

of Paris! So be it. Maire de Paris! Mayor Bailly, General Lafayette; vive Bailly, vive Lafayettethe

universal outofdoors multitude rends the welkin in confirmation.And now, finally, let us to

Towards NotreDame Cathedral, in glad procession, these Regenerators of the Country walk, through a

jubilant people; in fraternal manner; Abbe Lefevre, still black with his gunpowder services, walking arm in

arm with the white stoled Archbishop. Poor Bailly comes upon the Foundling Children, sent to kneel to

him; and 'weeps.' Te Deum, our Archbishop officiating, is not only sung, but shotwith blank cartridges.

Our joy is boundless as our wo threatened to be. Paris, by her own pike and musket, and the valour of her

own heart, has conquered the very wargods,to the satisfaction now of Majesty itself. A courier is, this

night, getting under way for Necker: the People's Minister, invited back by King, by National Assembly, and

Nation, shall traverse France amid shoutings, and the sound of trumpet and timbrel.

Seeing which course of things, Messeigneurs of the Court Triumvirate, Messieurs of the deadborn

BroglieMinistry, and others such, consider that their part also is clear: to mount and ride. Off, ye tooloyal

Broglies, Polignacs, and Princes of the Blood; off while it is yet time! Did not the PalaisRoyal in its late

nocturnal 'violent motions,' set a specific price (place of payment not mentioned) on each of your

heads?With precautions, with the aid of pieces of cannon and regiments that can be depended on,

Messeigneurs, between the 16th night and the 17th morning, get to their several roads. Not without risk!

Prince Conde has (or seems to have) 'men galloping at full speed;' with a view, it is thought, to fling him into

the river Oise, at PontSainteMayence. (Weber, ii. 126.) The Polignacs travel disguised; friends, not

servants, on their coachbox. Broglie has his own difficulties at Versailles, runs his own risks at Metz and

This is what they call the First Emigration; determined on, as appears, in full Courtconclave; his Majesty

assisting; prompt he, for his share of it, to follow any counsel whatsoever. 'Three Sons of France, and four

Princes of the blood of Saint Louis,' says Weber, 'could not more effectually humble the Burghers of Paris

'than by appearing to withdraw in fear of their life.' Alas, the Burghers of Paris bear it with unexpected

Stoicism! The Man d'Artois indeed is gone; but has he carried, for example, the Land D'Artois with him? Not

even Bagatelle the Countryhouse (which shall be useful as a Tavern); hardly the fourvalet Breeches,

leaving the Breeches maker!As for old Foulon, one learns that he is dead; at least a 'sumptuous funeral' is

going on; the undertakers honouring him, if no other will. Intendant Berthier, his soninlaw, is still living;

lurking: he joined Besenval, on that Eumenides' Sunday; appearing to treat it with levity; and is now fled no

The Emigration is not gone many miles, Prince Conde hardly across the Oise, when his Majesty, according to

arrangement, for the Emigration also thought it might do good,undertakes a rather daring enterprise: that

of visiting Paris in person. With a Hundred Members of Assembly; with small or no military escort, which

indeed he dismissed at the Bridge of Sevres, poor Louis sets out; leaving a desolate Palace; a Queen weeping,

At the Barrier of Passy, Mayor Bailly, in grand gala, presents him with the keys; harangues him, in Academic

style; mentions that it is a great day; that in Henri Quatre's case, the King had to make conquest of his People,

but in this happier case, the People makes conquest of its King (a conquis son Roi). The King, so happily

conquered, drives forward, slowly, through a steel people, all silent, or shouting only Vive la Nation; is

harangued at the Townhall, by Moreau of the threethousand orders, by King's Procureur M. Ethys de Corny,

by Lally Tollendal, and others; knows not what to think of it, or say of it; learns that he is 'Restorer of French

Liberty,'as a Statue of him, to be raised on the site of the Bastille, shall testify to all men. Finally, he is

shewn at the Balcony, with a Tricolor cockade in his hat; is greeted now, with vehement acclamation, from

Square and Street, from all windows and roofs:and so drives home again amid glad mingled and, as it

It was Sunday when the redhot balls hung over us, in mid air: it is now but Friday, and 'the Revolution is

sanctioned.' An August National Assembly shall make the Constitution; and neither foreign Pandour,

domestic Triumvirate, with levelled Cannon, GuyFaux powderplots (for that too was spoken of); nor any

tyrannic Power on the Earth, or under the Earth, shall say to it, What dost thou?So jubilates the people;

sure now of a Constitution. Cracked Marquis SaintHuruge is heard under the windows of the Chateau;

The Fall of the Bastille may be said to have shaken all France to the deepest foundations of its existence. The

rumour of these wonders flies every where: with the natural speed of Rumour; with an effect thought to be

preternatural, produced by plots. Did d'Orleans or Laclos, nay did Mirabeau (not overburdened with money at

this time) send riding Couriers out from Paris; to gallop 'on all radii,' or highways, towards all points of

France? It is a miracle, which no penetrating man will call in question. (Toulongeon, (i. 95); Weber,

Already in most Towns, Electoral Committees were met; to regret Necker, in harangue and resolution. In

many a Town, as Rennes, Caen, Lyons, an ebullient people was already regretting him in brickbats and

musketry. But now, at every Town'send in France, there do arrive, in these days of terror,'men,' as men

will arrive; nay, 'men on horseback,' since Rumour oftenest travels riding. These men declare, with alarmed

countenance, The BRIGANDS to be coming, to be just at hand; and do thenride on, about their further

business, be what it might! Whereupon the whole population of such Town, defensively flies to arms.

Petition is soon thereafter forwarded to National Assembly; in such peril and terror of peril, leave to organise

yourself cannot be withheld: the armed population becomes everywhere an enrolled National Guard. Thus

rides Rumour, careering along all radii, from Paris outwards, to such purpose: in few days, some say in not

many hours, all France to the utmost borders bristles with bayonets. Singular, but undeniable,miraculous

or not!But thus may any chemical liquid; though cooled to the freezingpoint, or far lower, still continue

liquid; and then, on the slightest stroke or shake, it at once rushes wholly into ice. Thus has France, for long

months and even years, been chemically dealt with; brought below zero; and now, shaken by the Fall of a

Bastille, it instantaneously congeals: into one crystallised mass, of sharpcutting steel! Guai a chi la tocca;

In Paris, an Electoral Committee, with a new Mayor and General, is urgent with belligerent workmen to

resume their handicrafts. Strong Dames of the Market (Dames de la Halle) deliver congratulatory harangues;

present 'bouquets to the Shrine of Sainte Genevieve.' Unenrolled men deposit their arms,not so readily as

could be wished; and receive 'nine francs.' With Te Deums, Royal Visits, and sanctioned Revolution, there is

halcyon weather; weather even of preternatural brightness; the hurricane being overblown.

Nevertheless, as is natural, the waves still run high, hollow rocks retaining their murmur. We are but at the

22nd of the month, hardly above a week since the Bastille fell, when it suddenly appears that old Foulon is

alive; nay, that he is here, in early morning, in the streets of Paris; the extortioner, the plotter, who would

make the people eat grass, and was a liar from the beginning!It is even so. The deceptive 'sumptuous

funeral' (of some domestic that died); the hidingplace at Vitry towards Fontainbleau, have not availed that

wretched old man. Some living domestic or dependant, for none loves Foulon, has betrayed him to the

Village. Merciless boors of Vitry unearth him; pounce on him, like hellhounds: Westward, old Infamy; to

Paris, to be judged at the HoteldeVille! His old head, which seventyfour years have bleached, is bare;

they have tied an emblematic bundle of grass on his back; a garland of nettles and thistles is round his neck:

in this manner; led with ropes; goaded on with curses and menaces, must he, with his old limbs, sprawl

Sooty SaintAntoine, and every street, mustering its crowds as he passes, the Place de Greve, the Hall of

the HoteldeVille will scarcely hold his escort and him. Foulon must not only be judged righteously; but

judged there where he stands, without any delay. Appoint seven judges, ye Municipals, or

seventyandseven; name them yourselves, or we will name them: but judge him! (Histoire Parlementaire, ii.

1469.) Electoral rhetoric, eloquence of Mayor Bailly, is wasted explaining the beauty of the Law's delay.

Delay, and still delay! Behold, O Mayor of the People, the morning has worn itself into noon; and he is still

unjudged!Lafayette, pressingly sent for, arrives; gives voice: This Foulon, a known man, is guilty almost

beyond doubt; but may he not have accomplices? Ought not the truth to be cunningly pumped out of

him,in the Abbaye Prison? It is a new light! Sansculottism claps hands;at which handclapping, Foulon

(in his fainness, as his Destiny would have it) also claps. "See! they understand one another!" cries dark

Sansculottism, blazing into fury of suspicion."Friends," said 'a person in good clothes,' stepping forward,

"what is the use of judging this man? Has he not been judged these thirty years?" With wild yells,

Sansculottism clutches him, in its hundred hands: he is whirled across the Place de Greve, to the 'Lanterne,'

Lampiron which there is at the corner of the Rue de la Vannerie; pleading bitterly for life,to the deaf

winds. Only with the third rope (for two ropes broke, and the quavering voice still pleaded), can he be so

much as got hanged! His Body is dragged through the streets; his Head goes aloft on a pike, the mouth filled

with grass: amid sounds as of Tophet, from a grasseating people. (Deux Amis de la Liberte, ii. 606.)

Surely if Revenge is a 'kind of Justice,' it is a 'wild' kind! O mad Sansculottism hast thou risen, in thy mad

darkness, in thy soot and rags; unexpectedly, like an Enceladus, livingburied, from under his Trinacria?

They that would make grass be eaten do now eat grass, in this manner? After long dumbgroaning

generations, has the turn suddenly become thine? To such abysmal overturns, and frightful instantaneous

inversions of the centreofgravity, are human Solecisms all liable, if they but knew it; the more liable, the

To add to the horror of Mayor Bailly and his Municipals, word comes that Berthier has also been arrested;

that he is on his way hither from Compiegne. Berthier, Intendant (say, Taxlevier) of Paris; sycophant and

tyrant; forestaller of Corn; contriver of Camps against the people; accused of many things: is he not

Foulon's soninlaw; and, in that one point, guilty of all? In these hours too, when Sansculottism has its

blood up! The shuddering Municipals send one of their number to escort him, with mounted National Guards.

At the fall of day, the wretched Berthier, still wearing a face of courage, arrives at the Barrier; in an open

carriage; with the Municipal beside him; five hundred horsemen with drawn sabres; unarmed footmen

enough, not without noise! Placards go brandished round him; bearing legibly his indictment, as

Sansculottism, with unlegal brevity, 'in huge letters,' draws it up. ('Il a vole le Roi et la France (He robbed the

King and France).' 'He devoured the substance of the People.' 'He was the slave of the rich, and the tyrant of

the poor.' 'He drank the blood of the widow and orphan.' 'He betrayed his country.' See Deux Amis, ii.

6773.) Paris is come forth to meet him: with handclappings, with windows flung up; with dances,

triumphsongs, as of the Furies! Lastly the Head of Foulon: this also meets him on a pike. Well might his

'look become glazed,' and sense fail him, at such sight!Nevertheless, be the man's conscience what it may,

his nerves are of iron. At the HoteldeVille, he will answer nothing. He says, he obeyed superior order; they

have his papers; they may judge and determine: as for himself, not having closed an eye these two nights, he

demands, before all things, to have sleep. Leaden sleep, thou miserable Berthier! Guards rise with him, in

motion towards the Abbaye. At the very door of the HoteldeVille, they are clutched; flung asunder, as by a

vortex of mad arms; Berthier whirls towards the Lanterne. He snatches a musket; fells and strikes, defending

himself like a mad lion; is borne down, trampled, hanged, mangled: his Head too, and even his Heart, flies

Horrible, in Lands that had known equal justice! Not so unnatural in Lands that had never known it. Le sang

qui coule estil donc si pure? asks Barnave; intimating that the Gallows, though by irregular methods, has its

own.Thou thyself, O Reader, when thou turnest that corner of the Rue de la Vannerie, and discernest still

that same grim Bracket of old Iron, wilt not want for reflections. 'Over a grocer's shop,' or otherwise; with 'a

bust of Louis XIV. in the niche under it,' or now no longer in the niche, it still sticks there: still holding out

an ineffectual light, of fish oil; and has seen worlds wrecked, and says nothing.

But to the eye of enlightened Patriotism, what a thundercloud was this; suddenly shaping itself in the

radiance of the halcyon weather! Cloud of Erebus blackness: betokening latent electricity without limit.

Mayor Bailly, General Lafayette throw up their commissions, in an indignant manner;need to be flattered

back again. The cloud disappears, as thunderclouds do. The halcyon weather returns, though of a grayer

Thus, in any case, with what rubs soever, shall the Bastille be abolished from our Earth; and with it,

Feudalism, Despotism; and, one hopes, Scoundrelism generally, and all hard usage of man by his brother

man. Alas, the Scoundrelism and hard usage are not so easy of abolition! But as for the Bastille, it sinks day

after day, and month after month; its ashlars and boulders tumbling down continually, by express order of our

Municipals. Crowds of the curious roam through its caverns; gaze on the skeletons found walled up, on the

oubliettes, iron cages, monstrous stone blocks with padlock chains. One day we discern Mirabeau there;

along with the Genevese Dumont. (Dumont, Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, p. 305.) Workers and onlookers make

reverent way for him; fling verses, flowers on his path, Bastillepapers and curiosities into his carriage, with

Able Editors compile Books from the Bastille Archives; from what of them remain unburnt. The Key of that

RobberDen shall cross the Atlantic; shall lie on Washington's halltable. The great Clock ticks now in a

private patriotic Clockmaker's apartment; no longer measuring hours of mere heaviness. Vanished is the

Bastille, what we call vanished: the body, or sandstones, of it hanging, in benign metamorphosis, for

centuries to come, over the Seine waters, as Pont Louis Seize; (Dulaure: Histoire de Paris, viii. 434.) the soul

So far, ye august Senators, with your TennisCourt Oaths, your inertia and impetus, your sagacity and

pertinacity, have ye brought us. "And yet think, Messieurs," as the Petitioner justly urged, "you who were our

saviours, did yourselves need saviours,"the brave Bastillers, namely; workmen of Paris; many of them in

straightened pecuniary circumstances! (Moniteur: Seance du Samedi 18 Juillet 1789 (in Histoire

Parlementaire, ii. 137.) Subscriptions are opened; Lists are formed, more accurate than Elie's; harangues are

delivered. A Body of Bastille Heroes, tolerably complete, did get together;comparable to the Argonauts;

hoping to endure like them. But in little more than a year, the whirlpool of things threw them asunder again,

and they sank. So many highest superlatives achieved by man are followed by new higher; and dwindle into

comparatives and positives! The Siege of the Bastille, weighed with which, in the Historical balance, most

other sieges, including that of Troy Town, are gossamer, cost, as we find, in killed and mortally wounded, on

the part of the Besiegers, some Eightythree persons: on the part of the Besieged, after all that

strawburning, firepumping, and deluge of musketry, One poor solitary invalid, shot stonedead

(roidemort) on the battlements; (Dusaulx: Prise de la Bastille, p. 447, The Bastille Fortress, like the City of

Here perhaps is the place to fix, a little more precisely, what these two words, French Revolution, shall mean;

for, strictly considered, they may have as many meanings as there are speakers of them. All things are in

revolution; in change from moment to moment, which becomes sensible from epoch to epoch: in this

TimeWorld of ours there is properly nothing else but revolution and mutation, and even nothing else

conceivable. Revolution, you answer, means speedier change. Whereupon one has still to ask: How speedy?

At what degree of speed; in what particular points of this variable course, which varies in velocity, but can

never stop till Time itself stops, does revolution begin and end; cease to be ordinary mutation, and again

become such? It is a thing that will depend on definition more or less arbitrary.

For ourselves we answer that French Revolution means here the open violent Rebellion, and Victory, of

disimprisoned Anarchy against corrupt wornout Authority: how Anarchy breaks prison; bursts up from the

infinite Deep, and rages uncontrollable, immeasurable, enveloping a world; in phasis after phasis of

feverfrenzy;'till the frenzy burning itself out, and what elements of new Order it held (since all Force

holds such) developing themselves, the Uncontrollable be got, if not reimprisoned, yet harnessed, and its mad

forces made to work towards their object as sane regulated ones. For as Hierarchies and Dynasties of all

kinds, Theocracies, Aristocracies, Autocracies, Strumpetocracies, have ruled over the world; so it was

appointed, in the decrees of Providence, that this same Victorious Anarchy, Jacobinism, Sansculottism,

French Revolution, Horrors of French Revolution, or what else mortals name it, should have its turn. The

'destructive wrath' of Sansculottism: this is what we speak, having unhappily no voice for singing.

Surely a great Phenomenon: nay it is a transcendental one, overstepping all rules and experience; the

crowning Phenomenon of our Modern Time. For here again, most unexpectedly, comes antique Fanaticism in

new and newest vesture; miraculous, as all Fanaticism is. Call it the Fanaticism of 'making away with

formulas, de humer les formulas.' The world of formulas, the formed regulated world, which all habitable

world is,must needs hate such Fanaticism like death; and be at deadly variance with it. The world of

formulas must conquer it; or failing that, must die execrating it, anathematising it;can nevertheless in

nowise prevent its being and its having been. The Anathemas are there, and the miraculous Thing is there.

Whence it cometh? Whither it goeth? These are questions! When the age of Miracles lay faded into the

distance as an incredible tradition, and even the age of Conventionalities was now old; and Man's Existence

had for long generations rested on mere formulas which were grown hollow by course of time; and it seemed

as if no Reality any longer existed but only Phantasms of realities, and God's Universe were the work of the

Tailor and Upholsterer mainly, and men were buckram masks that went about becking and grimacing

there,on a sudden, the Earth yawns asunder, and amid Tartarean smoke, and glare of fierce brightness,

rises SANSCULOTTISM, manyheaded, firebreathing, and asks: What think ye of me? Well may the

buckram masks start together, terrorstruck; 'into expressive wellconcerted groups!' It is indeed, Friends, a

most singular, most fatal thing. Let whosoever is but buckram and a phantasm look to it: ill verily may it fare

with him; here methinks he cannot much longer be. Wo also to many a one who is not wholly buckram, but

partially real and human! The age of Miracles has come back! 'Behold the WorldPhoenix, in

fireconsummation and firecreation; wide are her fanning wings; loud is her deathmelody, of

battlethunders and falling towns; skyward lashes the funeral flame, enveloping all things: it is the

Whereby, however, as we often say, shall one unspeakable blessing seem attainable. This, namely: that Man

and his Life rest no more on hollowness and a Lie, but on solidity and some kind of Truth. Welcome, the

beggarliest truth, so it be one, in exchange for the royallest sham! Truth of any kind breeds ever new and

better truth; thus hard granite rock will crumble down into soil, under the blessed skyey influences; and cover

itself with verdure, with fruitage and umbrage. But as for Falsehood, which in like contrary manner, grows

ever falser,what can it, or what should it do but decease, being ripe; decompose itself, gently or even

Sansculottism will burn much; but what is incombustible it will not burn. Fear not Sansculottism; recognise it

for what it is, the portentous, inevitable end of much, the miraculous beginning of much. One other thing thou

mayest understand of it: that it too came from God; for has it not been? From of old, as it is written, are His

goings forth; in the great Deep of things; fearful and wonderful now as in the beginning: in the whirlwind

also He speaks! and the wrath of men is made to praise Him.But to gauge and measure this immeasurable

Thing, and what is called account for it, and reduce it to a dead logicformula, attempt not! Much less shalt

thou shriek thyself hoarse, cursing it; for that, to all needful lengths, has been already done. As an actually

existing Son of Time, look, with unspeakable manifold interest, oftenest in silence, at what the Time did

bring: therewith edify, instruct, nourish thyself, or were it but to amuse and gratify thyself, as it is given thee.

Another question which at every new turn will rise on us, requiring ever new reply is this: Where the French

Revolution specially is? In the King's Palace, in his Majesty's or her Majesty's managements, and

maltreatments, cabals, imbecilities and woes, answer some few:whom we do not answer. In the National

Assembly, answer a large mixed multitude: who accordingly seat themselves in the Reporter's Chair; and

therefrom noting what Proclamations, Acts, Reports, passages of logicfence, bursts of parliamentary

eloquence seem notable within doors, and what tumults and rumours of tumult become audible from

without,produce volume on volume; and, naming it History of the French Revolution, contentedly publish

the same. To do the like, to almost any extent, with so many Filed Newspapers, Choix des Rapports,

Histoires Parlementaires as there are, amounting to many horseloads, were easy for us. Easy but unprofitable.

The National Assembly, named now Constituent Assembly, goes its course; making the Constitution; but the

In general, may we not say that the French Revolution lies in the heart and head of every violentspeaking, of

every violentthinking French Man? How the Twentyfive Millions of such, in their perplexed combination,

acting and counteracting may give birth to events; which event successively is the cardinal one; and from

what point of vision it may best be surveyed: this is a problem. Which problem the best insight, seeking light

from all possible sources, shifting its point of vision whithersoever vision or glimpse of vision can be had,

may employ itself in solving; and be well content to solve in some tolerably approximate way.

As to the National Assembly, in so far as it still towers eminent over France, after the manner of a carborne

Carroccio, though now no longer in the van; and rings signals for retreat or for advance,it is and continues

a reality among other realities. But in so far as it sits making the Constitution, on the other hand, it is a fatuity

and chimera mainly. Alas, in the never so heroic building of MontesquieuMably cardcastles, though

shouted over by the world, what interest is there? Occupied in that way, an august National Assembly

becomes for us little other than a Sanhedrim of pedants, not of the gerundgrinding, yet of no fruitfuller sort;

and its loud debatings and recriminations about Rights of Man, Right of Peace and War, Veto suspensif, Veto

absolu, what are they but so many Pedant's curses, 'May God confound you for your Theory of Irregular

A Constitution can be built, Constitutions enough a la Sieyes: but the frightful difficulty is that of getting men

to come and live in them! Could Sieyes have drawn thunder and lightning out of Heaven to sanction his

Constitution, it had been well: but without any thunder? Nay, strictly considered, is it not still true that

without some such celestial sanction, given visibly in thunder or invisibly otherwise, no Constitution can in

the long run be worth much more than the wastepaper it is written on? The Constitution, the set of Laws, or

prescribed Habits of Acting, that men will live under, is the one which images their Convictions,their Faith

as to this wondrous Universe, and what rights, duties, capabilities they have there; which stands sanctioned

therefore, by Necessity itself, if not by a seen Deity, then by an unseen one. Other laws, whereof there are

always enough readymade, are usurpations; which men do not obey, but rebel against, and abolish, by their

The question of questions accordingly were, Who is it that especially for rebellers and abolishers, can make a

Constitution? He that can image forth the general Belief when there is one; that can impart one when, as here,

there is none. A most rare man; ever as of old a godmissioned man! Here, however, in defect of such

transcendent supreme man, Time with its infinite succession of merely superior men, each yielding his little

contribution, does much. Force likewise (for, as Antiquarian Philosophers teach, the royal Sceptre was from

the first something of a Hammer, to crack such heads as could not be convinced) will all along find somewhat

to do. And thus in perpetual abolition and reparation, rending and mending, with struggle and strife, with

present evil and the hope and effort towards future good, must the Constitution, as all human things do, build

itself forward; or unbuild itself, and sink, as it can and may. O Sieyes, and ye other Committeemen, and

Twelve Hundred miscellaneous individuals from all parts of France! What is the Belief of France, and yours,

if ye knew it? Properly that there shall be no Belief; that all formulas be swallowed. The Constitution which

will suit that? Alas, too clearly, a NoConstitution, an Anarchy; which also, in due season, shall be

But, after all, what can an unfortunate National Assembly do? Consider only this, that there are Twelve

Hundred miscellaneous individuals; not a unit of whom but has his own thinkingapparatus, his own

speaking apparatus! In every unit of them is some belief and wish, different for each, both that France

should be regenerated, and also that he individually should do it. Twelve Hundred separate Forces, yoked

miscellaneously to any object, miscellaneously to all sides of it; and bid pull for life!

Or is it the nature of National Assemblies generally to do, with endless labour and clangour, Nothing? Are

Representative Governments mostly at bottom Tyrannies too! Shall we say, the Tyrants, the ambitious

contentious Persons, from all corners of the country do, in this manner, get gathered into one place; and there,

with motion and countermotion, with jargon and hubbub, cancel one another, like the fabulous Kilkenny

Cats; and produce, for netresult, zero;the country meanwhile governing or guiding itself, by such

wisdom, recognised or for most part unrecognised, as may exist in individual heads here and there?Nay,

even that were a great improvement: for, of old, with their Guelf Factions and Ghibelline Factions, with their

Red Roses and White Roses, they were wont to cancel the whole country as well. Besides they do it now in a

much narrower cockpit; within the four walls of their Assembly House, and here and there an outpost of

Hustings and Barrelheads; do it with tongues too, not with swords:all which improvements, in the art of

producing zero, are they not great? Nay, best of all, some happy Continents (as the Western one, with its

Savannahs, where whosoever has four willing limbs finds food under his feet, and an infinite sky over his

head) can do without governing.What Sphinx questions; which the distracted world, in these very

One thing an elected Assembly of Twelve Hundred is fit for: Destroying. Which indeed is but a more decided

exercise of its natural talent for Doing Nothing. Do nothing, only keep agitating, debating; and things will

So and not otherwise proved it with an august National Assembly. It took the name, Constituent, as if its

mission and function had been to construct or build; which also, with its whole soul, it endeavoured to do:

yet, in the fates, in the nature of things, there lay for it precisely of all functions the most opposite to that.

Singular, what Gospels men will believe; even Gospels according to Jean Jacques! It was the fixed Faith of

these National Deputies, as of all thinking Frenchmen, that the Constitution could be made; that they, there

and then, were called to make it. How, with the toughness of Old Hebrews or Ishmaelite Moslem, did the

otherwise light unbelieving People persist in this their Credo quia impossibile ; and front the armed world

with it; and grow fanatic, and even heroic, and do exploits by it! The Constituent Assembly's Constitution,

and several others, will, being printed and not manuscript, survive to future generations, as an instructive

wellnigh incredible document of the Time: the most significant Picture of the then existing France; or at

But in truth and seriousness, what could the National Assembly have done? The thing to be done was,

actually as they said, to regenerate France; to abolish the old France, and make a new one; quietly or forcibly,

by concession or by violence, this, by the Law of Nature, has become inevitable. With what degree of

violence, depends on the wisdom of those that preside over it. With perfect wisdom on the part of the

National Assembly, it had all been otherwise; but whether, in any wise, it could have been pacific, nay other

Grant, meanwhile, that this Constituent Assembly does to the last continue to be something. With a sigh, it

sees itself incessantly forced away from its infinite divine task, of perfecting 'the Theory of Irregular

Verbs,' to finite terrestrial tasks, which latter have still a significance for us. It is the cynosure of

revolutionary France, this National Assembly. All work of Government has fallen into its hands, or under its

control; all men look to it for guidance. In the middle of that huge Revolt of Twentyfive millions, it hovers

always aloft as Carroccio or BattleStandard, impelling and impelled, in the most confused way; if it cannot

give much guidance, it will still seem to give some. It emits pacificatory Proclamations, not a few; with more

or with less result. It authorises the enrolment of National Guards,lest Brigands come to devour us, and

reap the unripe crops. It sends missions to quell 'effervescences;' to deliver men from the Lanterne. It can

listen to congratulatory Addresses, which arrive daily by the sackful; mostly in King Cambyses' vein: also to

Petitions and complaints from all mortals; so that every mortal's complaint, if it cannot get redressed, may at

least hear itself complain. For the rest, an august National Assembly can produce Parliamentary Eloquence;

and appoint Committees. Committees of the Constitution, of Reports, of Researches; and of much else: which

again yield mountains of Printed Paper; the theme of new Parliamentary Eloquence, in bursts, or in plenteous

smoothflowing floods. And so, from the waste vortex whereon all things go whirling and grinding, Organic

With endless debating, we get the Rights of Man written down and promulgated: true paper basis of all paper

Constitutions. Neglecting, cry the opponents, to declare the Duties of Man! Forgetting, answer we, to

ascertain the Mights of Man;one of the fatalest omissions!Nay, sometimes, as on the Fourth of August,

our National Assembly, fired suddenly by an almost preternatural enthusiasm, will get through whole masses

of work in one night. A memorable night, this Fourth of August: Dignitaries temporal and spiritual; Peers,

Archbishops, Parlement Presidents, each outdoing the other in patriotic devotedness, come successively to

throw their (untenable) possessions on the 'altar of the fatherland.' With louder and louder vivats, for indeed it

is 'after dinner' too,they abolish Tithes, Seignorial Dues, Gabelle, excessive Preservation of Game; nay

Privilege, Immunity, Feudalism root and branch; then appoint a Te Deum for it; and so, finally, disperse

about three in the morning, striking the stars with their sublime heads. Such night, unforeseen but for ever

memorable, was this of the Fourth of August 1789. Miraculous, or semimiraculous, some seem to think it. A

new Night of Pentecost, shall we say, shaped according to the new Time, and new Church of Jean Jacques

In such manner labour the National Deputies; perfecting their Theory of Irregular Verbs; governing France,

and being governed by it; with toil and noise;cutting asunder ancient intolerable bonds; and, for new ones,

assiduously spinning ropes of sand. Were their labours a nothing or a something, yet the eyes of all France

being reverently fixed on them, History can never very long leave them altogether out of sight.

For the present, if we glance into that Assembly Hall of theirs, it will be found, as is natural, 'most irregular.'

As many as 'a hundred members are on their feet at once;' no rule in making motions, or only

commencements of a rule; Spectators' Gallery allowed to applaud, and even to hiss; (Arthur Young, i. 111.)

President, appointed once a fortnight, raising many times no serene head above the waves. Nevertheless, as in

all human Assemblages, like does begin arranging itself to like; the perennial rule, Ubi homines sunt modi

sunt, proves valid. Rudiments of Methods disclose themselves; rudiments of Parties. There is a Right Side

(Cote Droit), a Left Side (Cote Gauche); sitting on M. le President's right hand, or on his left: the Cote Droit

conservative; the Cote Gauche destructive. Intermediate is Anglomaniac Constitutionalism, or TwoChamber

Royalism; with its Mouniers, its Lallys,fast verging towards nonentity. Preeminent, on the Right Side,

pleads and perorates Cazales, the Dragooncaptain, eloquent, mildly fervent; earning for himself the shadow

of a name. There also blusters BarrelMirabeau, the Younger Mirabeau, not without wit: dusky d'Espremenil

does nothing but sniff and ejaculate; might, it is fondly thought, lay prostrate the Elder Mirabeau himself,

would he but try, (Biographie Universelle, para D'Espremenil (by Beaulieu).)which he does not. Last and

greatest, see, for one moment, the Abbe Maury; with his jesuitic eyes, his impassive brass face, 'image of all

the cardinal sins.' Indomitable, unquenchable, he fights jesuiticorhetorically; with toughest lungs and heart;

for Throne, especially for Altar and Tithes. So that a shrill voice exclaims once, from the Gallery: "Messieurs

of the Clergy, you have to be shaved; if you wriggle too much, you will get cut." (Dictionnaire des Hommes

The Left side is also called the d'Orleans side; and sometimes derisively, the Palais Royal. And yet, so

confused, realimaginary seems everything, 'it is doubtful,' as Mirabeau said, 'whether d'Orleans himself

belong to that same d'Orleans Party.' What can be known and seen is, that his moon visage does beam forth

from that point of space. There likewise sits seagreen Robespierre; throwing in his light weight, with

decision, not yet with effect. A thin lean Puritan and Precisian; he would make away with formulas; yet lives,

moves, and has his being, wholly in formulas, of another sort. 'Peuple,' such according to Robespierre ought

to be the Royal method of promulgating laws, 'Peuple, this is the Law I have framed for thee; dost thou

accept it?'answered from Right Side, from Centre and Left, by inextinguishable laughter. (Moniteur, No.

67 (in Hist.Parl.).) Yet men of insight discern that the Seagreen may by chance go far: "this man," observes

Abbe Sieyes is busy with mere Constitutional work: wherein, unluckily, fellowworkmen are less pliable

than, with one who has completed the Science of Polity, they ought to be. Courage, Sieyes nevertheless!

Some twenty months of heroic travail, of contradiction from the stupid, and the Constitution shall be built;

the topstone of it brought out with shouting,say rather, the toppaper, for it is all Paper; and thou hast

done in it what the Earth or the Heaven could require, thy utmost. Note likewise this Trio; memorable for

several things; memorable were it only that their history is written in an epigram: 'whatsoever these Three

have in hand,' it is said, 'Duport thinks it, Barnave speaks it, Lameth does it.' (See Toulongeon, i. c. 3.)

But royal Mirabeau? Conspicuous among all parties, raised above and beyond them all, this man rises more

and more. As we often say, he has an eye, he is a reality; while others are formulas and eyeglasses. In the

Transient he will detect the Perennial, find some firm footing even among Paper vortexes. His fame is gone

forth to all lands; it gladdened the heart of the crabbed old Friend of Men himself before he died. The very

Postilions of inns have heard of Mirabeau: when an impatient Traveller complains that the team is

insufficient, his Postilion answers, "Yes, Monsieur, the wheelers are weak; but my mirabeau (main horse),

you see, is a right one, mais mon mirabeau est excellent." (Dumont, Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, p. 255.)

And now, Reader, thou shalt quit this noisy Discrepancy of a National Assembly; not (if thou be of humane

mind) without pity. Twelve Hundred brother men are there, in the centre of Twentyfive Millions; fighting so

fiercely with Fate and with one another; struggling their lives out, as most sons of Adam do, for that which

profiteth not. Nay, on the whole, it is admitted further to be very dull. "Dull as this day's Assembly," said

Consider that they are Twelve Hundred; that they not only speak, but read their speeches; and even borrow

and steal speeches to read! With Twelve Hundred fluent speakers, and their Noah's Deluge of vociferous

commonplace, unattainable silence may well seem the one blessing of Life. But figure Twelve Hundred

pamphleteers; droning forth perpetual pamphlets: and no man to gag them! Neither, as in the American

Congress, do the arrangements seem perfect. A Senator has not his own Desk and Newspaper here; of

Tobacco (much less of Pipes) there is not the slightest provision. Conversation itself must be transacted in a

low tone, with continual interruption: only 'pencil Notes' circulate freely; 'in incredible numbers to the foot of

the very tribune.' (See Dumont (pp. 15967); Arthur Young, work is it, regenerating a Nation; perfecting

Of the King's Court, for the present, there is almost nothing whatever to be said. Silent, deserted are these

halls; Royalty languishes forsaken of its wargod and all its hopes, till once the OeildeBoeuf rally again.

The sceptre is departed from King Louis; is gone over to the Salles des Menus, to the Paris Townhall, or one

knows not whither. In the July days, while all ears were yet deafened by the crash of the Bastille, and

Ministers and Princes were scattered to the four winds, it seemed as if the very Valets had grown heavy of

hearing. Besenval, also in flight towards Infinite Space, but hovering a little at Versailles, was addressing his

Majesty personally for an Order about posthorses; when, lo, 'the Valet in waiting places himself familiarly

between his Majesty and me,' stretching out his rascal neck to learn what it was! His Majesty, in sudden

choler, whirled round; made a clutch at the tongs: 'I gently prevented him; he grasped my hand in

Poor King; for French Kings also are men! Louis Fourteenth himself once clutched the tongs, and even smote

with them; but then it was at Louvois, and Dame Maintenon ran up.The Queen sits weeping in her inner

apartments, surrounded by weak women: she is 'at the height of unpopularity;' universally regarded as the evil

genius of France. Her friends and familiar counsellors have all fled; and fled, surely, on the foolishest errand.

The Chateau Polignac still frowns aloft, on its 'bold and enormous' cubical rock, amid the blooming

champaigns, amid the blue girdling mountains of Auvergne: (Arthur Young, i. 165.) but no Duke and

Duchess Polignac look forth from it; they have fled, they have 'met Necker at Bale;' they shall not return.

That France should see her Nobles resist the Irresistible, Inevitable, with the face of angry men, was unhappy,

not unexpected: but with the face and sense of pettish children? This was her peculiarity. They understood

nothing; would understand nothing. Does not, at this hour, a new Polignac, firstborn of these Two, sit

reflective in the Castle of Ham; (A.D. 1835.) in an astonishment he will never recover from; the most

King Louis has his new Ministry: mere Popularities; OldPresident Pompignan; Necker, coming back in

triumph; and other such. (Montgaillard, ii. 108.) But what will it avail him? As was said, the sceptre, all but

the wooden gilt sceptre, has departed elsewhither. Volition, determination is not in this man: only innocence,

indolence; dependence on all persons but himself, on all circumstances but the circumstances he were lord of.

So troublous internally is our Versailles and its work. Beautiful, if seen from afar, resplendent like a Sun;

seen near at hand, a mere Sun's Atmosphere, hiding darkness, confused ferment of ruin!

But over France, there goes on the indisputablest 'destruction of formulas;' transaction of realities that follow

therefrom. So many millions of persons, all gyved, and nigh strangled, with formulas; whose Life

nevertheless, at least the digestion and hunger of it, was real enough! Heaven has at length sent an abundant

harvest; but what profits it the poor man, when Earth with her formulas interposes? Industry, in these times of

Insurrection, must needs lie dormant; capital, as usual, not circulating, but stagnating timorously in nooks.

The poor man is short of work, is therefore short of money; nay even had he money, bread is not to be bought

for it. Were it plotting of Aristocrats, plotting of d'Orleans; were it Brigands, preternatural terror, and the

clang of Phoebus Apollo's silver bow,enough, the markets are scarce of grain, plentiful only in tumult.

Farmers seem lazy to thresh;being either 'bribed;' or needing no bribe, with prices ever rising, with perhaps

rent itself no longer so pressing. Neither, what is singular, do municipal enactments, 'That along with so

many measures of wheat you shall sell so many of rye,' and other the like, much mend the matter. Dragoons

with drawn swords stand ranked among the cornsacks, often more dragoons than sacks. (Arthur Young, i.

Starvation has been known among the French Commonalty before this; known and familiar. Did we not see

them, in the year 1775, presenting, in sallow faces, in wretchedness and raggedness, their Petition of

Grievances; and, for answer, getting a brandnew Gallows forty feet high? Hunger and Darkness, through

long years! For look back on that earlier Paris Riot, when a Great Personage, worn out by debauchery, was

believed to be in want of Bloodbaths; and Mothers, in worn raiment, yet with living hearts under it, 'filled

the public places' with their wild Rachelcries,stilled also by the Gallows. Twenty years ago, the Friend of

Men (preaching to the deaf) described the Limousin Peasants as wearing a painstricken (souffre douleur)

look, a look past complaint, 'as if the oppression of the great were like the hail and the thunder, a thing

irremediable, the ordinance of Nature.' (Fils Adoptif: Memoires de Mirabeau, i. 364394.) And now, if in

some great hour, the shock of a falling Bastille should awaken you; and it were found to be the ordinance of

Or has the Reader forgotten that 'flood of savages,' which, in sight of the same Friend of Men, descended

from the mountains at Mont d'Or? Lankhaired haggard faces; shapes rawboned, in high sabots; in woollen

jupes, with leather girdles studded with coppernails! They rocked from foot to foot, and beat time with their

elbows too, as the quarrel and battle which was not long in beginning went on; shouting fiercely; the lank

faces distorted into the similitude of a cruel laugh. For they were darkened and hardened: long had they been

the prey of excisemen and taxmen; of 'clerks with the cold spurt of their pen.' It was the fixed prophecy of

our old Marquis, which no man would listen to, that 'such Government by Blindman'sbuff, stumbling

No man would listen, each went his thoughtless way;and Time and Destiny also travelled on. The

Government by Blindman'sbuff, stumbling along, has reached the precipice inevitable for it. Dull

Drudgery, driven on, by clerks with the cold dastard spurt of their pen, has been driveninto a Communion

of Drudges! For now, moreover, there have come the strangest confused tidings; by Paris Journals with their

paper wings; or still more portentous, where no Journals are, (See Arthur Young, i. 137, 150, by rumour and

conjecture: Oppression not inevitable; a Bastille prostrate, and the Constitution fast getting ready! Which

Constitution, if it be something and not nothing, what can it be but bread to eat?

The Traveller, 'walking up hill bridle in hand,' overtakes 'a poor woman;' the image, as such commonly are,

of drudgery and scarcity; 'looking sixty years of age, though she is not yet twentyeight.' They have seven

children, her poor drudge and she: a farm, with one cow, which helps to make the children soup; also one

little horse, or garron. They have rents and quitrents, Hens to pay to this Seigneur, Oatsacks to that; King's

taxes, Statutelabour, Churchtaxes, taxes enough;and think the times inexpressible. She has heard that

somewhere, in some manner, something is to be done for the poor: "God send it soon; for the dues and taxes

Fair prophecies are spoken, but they are not fulfilled. There have been Notables, Assemblages, turnings out

and comings in. Intriguing and manoeuvring; Parliamentary eloquence and arguing, Greek meeting Greek in

high places, has long gone on; yet still bread comes not. The harvest is reaped and garnered; yet still we have

no bread. Urged by despair and by hope, what can Drudgery do, but rise, as predicted, and produce the

Fancy, then, some Five fullgrown Millions of such gaunt figures, with their haggard faces (figures haves);

in woollen jupes, with copperstudded leather girths, and high sabots,starting up to ask, as in forest

roarings, their washed UpperClasses, after long unreviewed centuries, virtually this question: How have ye

treated us; how have ye taught us, fed us, and led us, while we toiled for you? The answer can be read in

flames, over the nightly summer sky. This is the feeding and leading we have had of you: EMPTINESS,of

pocket, of stomach, of head, and of heart. Behold there is nothing in us; nothing but what Nature gives her

wild children of the desert: Ferocity and Appetite; Strength grounded on Hunger. Did ye mark among your

Rights of Man, that man was not to die of starvation, while there was bread reaped by him? It is among the

Seventytwo Chateaus have flamed aloft in the Maconnais and Beaujolais alone: this seems the centre of the

conflagration; but it has spread over Dauphine, Alsace, the Lyonnais; the whole SouthEast is in a blaze. All

over the North, from Rouen to Metz, disorder is abroad: smugglers of salt go openly in armed bands: the

barriers of towns are burnt; tollgatherers, taxgatherers, official persons put to flight. 'It was thought,' says

Young, 'the people, from hunger, would revolt;' and we see they have done it. Desperate Lackalls, long

prowling aimless, now finding hope in desperation itself, everywhere form a nucleus. They ring the Church

bell by way of tocsin: and the Parish turns out to the work. (See Hist. Parl. ii. 2436.) Ferocity, atrocity;

Ill stands it now with the Seigneur, who, for example, 'has walled up the only Fountain of the Township;' who

has ridden high on his chartier and parchments; who has preserved Game not wisely but too well. Churches

also, and Canonries, are sacked, without mercy; which have shorn the flock too close, forgetting to feed it.

Wo to the land over which Sansculottism, in its day of vengeance, tramps roughshod,shod in sabots!

Highbred Seigneurs, with their delicate women and little ones, had to 'fly half naked,' under cloud of night;

glad to escape the flames, and even worse. You meet them at the tablesd'hote of inns; making wise

reflections or foolish that 'rank is destroyed;' uncertain whither they shall now wend. (See Young, i. 149, The

metayer will find it convenient to be slack in paying rent. As for the Taxgatherer, he, long hunting as a

biped of prey, may now get hunted as one; his Majesty's Exchequer will not 'fill up the Deficit,' this season: it

is the notion of many that a Patriot Majesty, being the Restorer of French Liberty, has abolished most taxes,

Where this will end? In the Abyss, one may prophecy; whither all Delusions are, at all moments, travelling;

where this Delusion has now arrived. For if there be a Faith, from of old, it is this, as we often repeat, that no

Lie can live for ever. The very Truth has to change its vesture, from time to time; and be born again. But all

Lies have sentence of death written down against them, and Heaven's Chancery itself; and, slowly or fast,

advance incessantly towards their hour. 'The sign of a Grand Seigneur being landlord,' says the vehement

plainspoken Arthur Young, 'are wastes, landes, deserts, ling: go to his residence, you will find it in the

middle of a forest, peopled with deer, wild boars and wolves. The fields are scenes of pitiable management,

as the houses are of misery. To see so many millions of hands, that would be industrious, all idle and

starving: Oh, if I were legislator of France, for one day, I would make these great lords skip again!' (Arthur

Young, i. 12, 48, 84, O Arthur, thou now actually beholdest them skip:wilt thou grow to grumble at that

For long years and generations it lasted, but the time came. Featherbrain, whom no reasoning and no pleading

could touch, the glare of the firebrand had to illuminate: there remained but that method. Consider it, look at

it! The widow is gathering nettles for her children's dinner; a perfumed Seigneur, delicately lounging in the

OeildeBoeuf, has an alchemy whereby he will extract from her the third nettle, and name it Rent and Law:

such an arrangement must end. Ought it? But, O most fearful is such an ending! Let those, to whom God, in

To women it is a matter of wonder that the Seigneurs did not do something to help themselves; say, combine,

and arm: for there were a 'hundred and fifty thousand of them,' all violent enough. Unhappily, a hundred and

fifty thousand, scattered over wide Provinces, divided by mutual illwill, cannot combine. The highest

Seigneurs, as we have seen, had already emigrated,with a view of putting France to the blush. Neither are

arms now the peculiar property of Seigneurs; but of every mortal who has ten shillings, wherewith to buy a

Besides, those starving Peasants, after all, have not four feet and claws, that you could keep them down

permanently in that manner. They are not even of black colour; they are mere Unwashed Seigneurs; and a

Seigneur too has human bowels!The Seigneurs did what they could; enrolled in National Guards; fled,

with shrieks, complaining to Heaven and Earth. One Seigneur, famed Memmay of Quincey, near Vesoul,

invited all the rustics of his neighbourhood to a banquet; blew up his Chateau and them with gunpowder; and

instantaneously vanished, no man yet knows whither. (Hist. Parl. ii. 161.) Some half dozen years after, he

Nor are the authorities idle: though unluckily, all Authorities, Municipalities and such like, are in the

uncertain transitionary state; getting regenerated from old Monarchic to new Democratic; no Official yet

knows clearly what he is. Nevertheless, Mayors old or new do gather Marechaussees, National Guards,

Troops of the line; justice, of the most summary sort, is not wanting. The Electoral Committee of Macon,

though but a Committee, goes the length of hanging, for its own behoof, as many as twenty. The Prevot of

Dauphine traverses the country 'with a movable column,' with tipstaves, gallowsropes; for gallows any tree

Unhappy country! How is the fair goldandgreen of the ripe bright Year defaced with horrid blackness:

black ashes of Chateaus, black bodies of gibetted Men! Industry has ceased in it; not sounds of the hammer

and saw, but of the tocsin and alarmdrum. The sceptre has departed, whither one knows not;breaking

itself in pieces: here impotent, there tyrannous. National Guards are unskilful, and of doubtful purpose;

Soldiers are inclined to mutiny: there is danger that they two may quarrel, danger that they may agree.

Strasburg has seen riots: a Townhall torn to shreds, its archives scattered white on the winds; drunk soldiers

embracing drunk citizens for three days, and Mayor Dietrich and Marshal Rochambeau reduced nigh to

desperation. (Arthur Young, i. 141.Dampmartin: Evenemens qui se sont passes sous mes yeux, i.

Through the middle of all which phenomena, is seen, on his triumphant transit, 'escorted,' through Befort for

instance, 'by fifty National Horsemen and all the military music of the place,'M. Necker, returning from

Bale! Glorious as the meridian; though poor Necker himself partly guesses whither it is leading. (Biographie

Universelle, para Necker (by LallyTollendal).) One highest culminating day, at the Paris Townhall; with

immortal vivats, with wife and daughter kneeling publicly to kiss his hand; with Besenval's pardon

granted,but indeed revoked before sunset: one highest day, but then lower days, and ever lower, down

even to lowest! Such magic is in a name; and in the want of a name. Like some enchanted Mambrino's

Helmet, essential to victory, comes this 'Saviour of France;' beshouted, becymballed by the world:alas, so

soon, to be disenchanted, to be pitched shamefully over the lists as a Barber's Bason! Gibbon 'could wish to

shew him' (in this ejected, Barber'sBason state) to any man of solidity, who were minded to have the soul

burnt out of him, and become a caput mortuum, by Ambition, unsuccessful or successful. (Gibbon's Letters.)

Another small phasis we add, and no more: how, in the Autumn months, our sharptempered Arthur has been

'pestered for some days past,' by shot, leaddrops and slugs, 'rattling five or six times into my chaise and

about my ears;' all the mob of the country gone out to kill game! (Young, i. 176.) It is even so. On the Cliffs

of Dover, over all the Marches of France, there appear, this autumn, two Signs on the Earth: emigrant flights

of French Seigneurs; emigrant winged flights of French Game! Finished, one may say, or as good as finished,

is the Preservation of Game on this Earth; completed for endless Time. What part it had to play in the History

In this manner does Sansculottism blaze up, illustrating many things; producing, among the rest, as we

saw, on the Fourth of August, that semi miraculous Night of Pentecost in the National Assembly; semi

miraculous, which had its causes, and its effects. Feudalism is struck dead; not on parchment only, and by

ink; but in very fact, by fire; say, by self combustion. This conflagration of the SouthEast will abate; will

be got scattered, to the West, or elsewhither: extinguish it will not, till the fuel be all done.

If we look now at Paris, one thing is too evident: that the Baker's shops have got their Queues, or Tails; their

long strings of purchasers, arranged in tail, so that the first come be the first served,were the shop once

open! This waiting in tail, not seen since the early days of July, again makes its appearance in August. In

time, we shall see it perfected by practice to the rank almost of an art; and the art, or quasiart, of standing in

tail become one of the characteristics of the Parisian People, distinguishing them from all other Peoples

But consider, while work itself is so scarce, how a man must not only realise money; but stand waiting (if his

wife is too weak to wait and struggle) for half days in the Tail, till he get it changed for dear bad bread!

Controversies, to the length, sometimes of blood and battery, must arise in these exasperated Queues. Or if no

controversy, then it is but one accordant Pange Lingua of complaint against the Powers that be. France has

begun her long Curriculum of Hungering, instructive and productive beyond Academic Curriculums; which

extends over some seven most strenuous years. As Jean Paul says, of his own Life, 'to a great height shall the

Or consider, in strange contrast, the jubilee Ceremonies; for, in general, the aspect of Paris presents these two

features: jubilee ceremonials and scarcity of victual. Processions enough walk in jubilee; of Young Women,

decked and dizened, their ribands all tricolor; moving with song and tabor, to the Shrine of Sainte Genevieve,

to thank her that the Bastille is down. The Strong Men of the Market, and the Strong Women, fail not with

their bouquets and speeches. Abbe Fauchet, famed in such work (for Abbe Lefevre could only distribute

powder) blesses tricolor cloth for the National Guard; and makes it a National Tricolor Flag; victorious, or to

be victorious, in the cause of civil and religious liberty all over the world. Fauchet, we say, is the man for

TeDeums, and public Consecrations;to which, as in this instance of the Flag, our National Guard will

'reply with volleys of musketry,' Church and Cathedral though it be; (See Hist. Parl. iii. 20; Mercier, Nouveau

Paris, filling Notre Dame with such noisiest fuliginous Amen, significant of several things.

On the whole, we will say our new Mayor Bailly; our new Commander Lafayette, named also

'ScipioAmericanus,' have bought their preferment dear. Bailly rides in gilt statecoach, with beefeaters and

sumptuosity; Camille Desmoulins, and others, sniffing at him for it: Scipio bestrides the 'white charger,' and

waves with civic plumes in sight of all France. Neither of them, however, does it for nothing; but, in truth, at

an exorbitant rate. At this rate, namely: of feeding Paris, and keeping it from fighting. Out of the Cityfunds,

some seventeen thousand of the utterly destitute are employed digging on Montmartre, at tenpence a day,

which buys them, at market price, almost two pounds of bad bread;they look very yellow, when Lafayette

goes to harangue them. The Townhall is in travail, night and day; it must bring forth Bread, a Municipal

Constitution, regulations of all kinds, curbs on the Sansculottic Press; above all, Bread, Bread.

Purveyors prowl the country far and wide, with the appetite of lions; detect hidden grain, purchase open

grain; by gentle means or forcible, must and will find grain. A most thankless task; and so difficult, so

dangerous,even if a man did gain some trifle by it! On the 19th August, there is food for one day. (See

Bailly, Memoires, ii. 137409.) Complaints there are that the food is spoiled, and produces an effect on the

intestines: not corn but plasterofParis! Which effect on the intestines, as well as that 'smarting in the throat

and palate,' a Townhall Proclamation warns you to disregard, or even to consider as drastic beneficial. The

Mayor of SaintDenis, so black was his bread, has, by a dyspeptic populace, been hanged on the Lanterne

there. National Guards protect the Paris CornMarket: first ten suffice; then six hundred. (Hist. Parl. ii. 421.)

For, as just hinted, there is a Municipal Constitution to be made too. The old Bastille Electors, after some ten

days of psalmodying over their glorious victory, began to hear it asked, in a splenetic tone, Who put you

there? They accordingly had to give place, not without moanings, and audible growlings on both sides, to a

new larger Body, specially elected for that post. Which new Body, augmented, altered, then fixed finally at

the number of Three Hundred, with the title of Town Representatives (Representans de la Commune), now

sits there; rightly portioned into Committees; assiduous making a Constitution; at all moments when not

And such a Constitution; little short of miraculous: one that shall 'consolidate the Revolution'! The

Revolution is finished, then? Mayor Bailly and all respectable friends of Freedom would fain think so. Your

Revolution, like jelly sufficiently boiled, needs only to be poured into shapes, of Constitution, and

'consolidated' therein? Could it, indeed, contrive to cool; which last, however, is precisely the doubtful thing,

Unhappy friends of Freedom; consolidating a Revolution! They must sit at work there, their pavilion spread

on very Chaos; between two hostile worlds, the Upper Courtworld, the Nether Sansculottic one; and, beaten

on by both, toil painfully, perilously,doing, in sad literal earnest, 'the impossible.'

Pamphleteering opens its abysmal throat wider and wider: never to close more. Our Philosophes, indeed,

rather withdraw; after the manner of Marmontel, 'retiring in disgust the first day.' Abbe Raynal, grown gray

and quiet in his Marseilles domicile, is little content with this work; the last literary act of the man will again

be an act of rebellion: an indignant Letter to the Constituent Assembly; answered by 'the order of the day.'

Thus also Philosophe Morellet puckers discontented brows; being indeed threatened in his benefices by that

Fourth of August: it is clearly going too far. How astonishing that those 'haggard figures in woollen jupes'

Alas, yes: Speculation, Philosophism, once the ornament and wealth of the saloon, will now coin itself into

mere Practical Propositions, and circulate on street and highway, universally; with results! A Fourth Estate,

of Able Editors, springs up; increases and multiplies; irrepressible, incalculable. New Printers, new Journals,

and ever new (so prurient is the world), let our Three Hundred curb and consolidate as they can! Loustalot,

under the wing of Prudhomme dullblustering Printer, edits weekly his Revolutions de Paris; in an acrid,

emphatic manner. Acrid, corrosive, as the spirit of sloes and copperas, is Marat, Friend of the People; struck

already with the fact that the National Assembly, so full of Aristocrats, 'can do nothing,' except dissolve

itself, and make way for a better; that the Townhall Representatives are little other than babblers and

imbeciles, if not even knaves. Poor is this man; squalid, and dwells in garrets; a man unlovely to the sense,

outward and inward; a man forbid; and is becoming fanatical, possessed with fixedidea. Cruel lusus of

Nature! Did Nature, O poor Marat, as in cruel sport, knead thee out of her leavings, and miscellaneous waste

clay; and fling thee forth stepdamelike, a Distraction into this distracted Eighteenth Century? Work is

appointed thee there; which thou shalt do. The Three Hundred have summoned and will again summon

Marat: but always he croaks forth answer sufficient; always he will defy them, or elude them; and endure no

Carra, 'Exsecretary of a decapitated Hospodar,' and then of a Necklace Cardinal; likewise pamphleteer,

Adventurer in many scenes and lands,draws nigh to Mercier, of the Tableau de Paris; and, with foam on

his lips, proposes an Annales Patriotiques. The Moniteur goes its prosperous way; Barrere 'weeps,' on Paper

as yet loyal; Rivarol, Royou are not idle. Deep calls to deep: your Domine Salvum Fac Regem shall awaken

Pange Lingua; with an AmiduPeuple there is a King'sFriend Newspaper, AmiduRoi. Camille

Desmoulins has appointed himself ProcureurGeneral de la Lanterne, AttorneyGeneral of the Lampiron;

and pleads, not with atrocity, under an atrocious title; editing weekly his brilliant Revolutions of Paris and

Brabant. Brilliant, we say: for if, in that thick murk of Journalism, with its dull blustering, with its fixed or

loose fury, any ray of genius greet thee, be sure it is Camille's. The thing that Camille teaches he, with his

light finger, adorns: brightness plays, gentle, unexpected, amid horrible confusions; often is the word of

Camille worth reading, when no other's is. Questionable Camille, how thou glitterest with a fallen, rebellious,

yet still semicelestial light; as is the starlight on the brow of Lucifer! Son of the Morning, into what times

But in all things is good;though not good for 'consolidating Revolutions.' Thousand wagonloads of this

Pamphleteering and Newspaper matter, lie rotting slowly in the Public Libraries of our Europe. Snatched

from the great gulf, like oysters by bibliomaniac pearldivers, there must they first rot, then what was pearl,

Nor has public speaking declined, though Lafayette and his Patrols look sour on it. Loud always is the Palais

Royal, loudest the Cafe de Foy; such a miscellany of Citizens and Citizenesses circulating there. 'Now and

then,' according to Camille, 'some Citizens employ the liberty of the press for a private purpose; so that this

or the other Patriot finds himself short of his watch or pockethandkerchief!' But, for the rest, in Camille's

opinion, nothing can be a livelier image of the Roman Forum. 'A Patriot proposes his motion; if it finds any

supporters, they make him mount on a chair, and speak. If he is applauded, he prospers and redacts; if he is

hissed, he goes his ways.' Thus they, circulating and perorating. Tall shaggy Marquis SaintHuruge, a man

that has had losses, and has deserved them, is seen eminent, and also heard. 'Bellowing' is the character of his

voice, like that of a Bull of Bashan; voice which drowns all voices, which causes frequently the hearts of men

to leap. Cracked or halfcracked is this tall Marquis's head; uncracked are his lungs; the cracked and the

Consider further that each of the Fortyeight Districts has its own Committee; speaking and motioning

continually; aiding in the search for grain, in the search for a Constitution; checking and spurring the poor

Three Hundred of the Townhall. That Danton, with a 'voice reverberating from the domes,' is President of the

Cordeliers District; which has already become a Goshen of Patriotism. That apart from the 'seventeen

thousand utterly necessitous, digging on Montmartre,' most of whom, indeed, have got passes, and been

dismissed into Space 'with four shillings,'there is a strike, or union, of Domestics out of place; who

assemble for public speaking: next, a strike of Tailors, for even they will strike and speak; further, a strike of

Journeymen Cordwainers; a strike of Apothecaries: so dear is bread. (Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 359, 417,

423.) All these, having struck, must speak; generally under the open canopy; and pass

resolutions;Lafayette and his Patrols watching them suspiciously from the distance.

Unhappy mortals: such tugging and lugging, and throttling of one another, to divide, in some not intolerable

way, the joint Felicity of man in this Earth; when the whole lot to be divided is such a 'feast of shells!'

Diligent are the Three Hundred; none equals Scipio Americanus in dealing with mobs. But surely all these

No, Friends, this Revolution is not of the consolidating kind. Do not fires, fevers, sown seeds, chemical

mixtures, men, events; all embodiments of Force that work in this miraculous Complex of Forces, named

Universe, go on growing, through their natural phases and developments, each according to its kind; reach

their height, reach their visible decline; finally sink under, vanishing, and what we call die? They all grow;

there is nothing but what grows, and shoots forth into its special expansion, once give it leave to spring.

Observe too that each grows with a rapidity proportioned, in general, to the madness and unhealthiness there

is in it: slow regular growth, though this also ends in death, is what we name health and sanity.

A Sansculottism, which has prostrated Bastilles, which has got pike and musket, and now goes burning

Chateaus, passing resolutions and haranguing under roof and sky, may be said to have sprung; and, by law of

Nature, must grow. To judge by the madness and diseasedness both of itself, and of the soil and element it is

Many things too, especially all diseased things, grow by shoots and fits. The first grand fit and shooting forth

of Sansculottism with that of Paris conquering its King; for Bailly's figure of rhetoric was alltoo sad a

reality. The King is conquered; going at large on his parole; on condition, say, of absolutely good

behaviour,which, in these circumstances, will unhappily mean no behaviour whatever. A quite untenable

position, that of Majesty put on its good behaviour! Alas, is it not natural that whatever lives try to keep itself

living? Whereupon his Majesty's behaviour will soon become exceptionable; and so the Second grand Fit of

Necker, in the National Assembly, is making moan, as usual about his Deficit: Barriers and Customhouses

burnt; the Taxgatherer hunted, not hunting; his Majesty's Exchequer all but empty. The remedy is a Loan of

thirty millions; then, on still more enticing terms, a Loan of eighty millions: neither of which Loans,

unhappily, will the Stockjobbers venture to lend. The Stockjobber has no country, except his own black pool

And yet, in those days, for men that have a country, what a glow of patriotism burns in many a heart;

penetrating inwards to the very purse! So early as the 7th of August, a Don Patriotique, 'a Patriotic Gift of

jewels to a considerable extent,' has been solemnly made by certain Parisian women; and solemnly accepted,

with honourable mention. Whom forthwith all the world takes to imitating and emulating. Patriotic Gifts,

always with some heroic eloquence, which the President must answer and the Assembly listen to, flow in

from far and near: in such number that the honourable mention can only be performed in 'lists published at

stated epochs.' Each gives what he can: the very cordwainers have behaved munificently; one landed

proprietor gives a forest; fashionable society gives its shoebuckles, takes cheerfully to shoeties. Unfortunate

females give what they 'have amassed in loving.' (Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 427.) The smell of all cash, as

Beautiful, and yet inadequate! The Clergy must be 'invited' to melt their superfluous Churchplate,in the

Royal Mint. Nay finally, a Patriotic Contribution, of the forcible sort, must be determined on, though

unwillingly: let the fourth part of your declared yearly revenue, for this once only, be paid down; so shall a

National Assembly make the Constitution, undistracted at least by insolvency. Their own wages, as settled on

the 17th of August, are but Eighteen Francs a day, each man; but the Public Service must have sinews, must

have money. To appease the Deficit; not to 'combler, or choke the Deficit,' if you or mortal could! For withal,

Towards the end of August, our National Assembly in its constitutional labours, has got so far as the question

of Veto: shall Majesty have a Veto on the National Enactments; or not have a Veto? What speeches were

spoken, within doors and without; clear, and also passionate logic; imprecations, comminations; gone

happily, for most part, to Limbo! Through the cracked brain, and uncracked lungs of SaintHuruge, the

Palais Royal rebellows with Veto. Journalism is busy, France rings with Veto. 'I shall never forget,' says

Dumont, 'my going to Paris, one of these days, with Mirabeau; and the crowd of people we found waiting for

his carriage, about Le Jay the Bookseller's shop. They flung themselves before him; conjuring him with tears

in their eyes not to suffer the Veto Absolu. They were in a frenzy: "Monsieur le Comte, you are the people's

father; you must save us; you must defend us against those villains who are bringing back Despotism. If the

King get this Veto, what is the use of National Assembly? We are slaves, all is done."' (Souvenirs sur

Mirabeau, p. 156.) Friends, if the sky fall, there will be catching of larks! Mirabeau, adds Dumont, was

eminent on such occasions: he answered vaguely, with a Patrician imperturbability, and bound himself to

Deputations go to the HoteldeVille; anonymous Letters to Aristocrats in the National Assembly,

threatening that fifteen thousand, or sometimes that sixty thousand, 'will march to illuminate you.' The Paris

Districts are astir; Petitions signing: SaintHuruge sets forth from the Palais Royal, with an escort of fifteen

hundred individuals, to petition in person. Resolute, or seemingly so, is the tall shaggy Marquis, is the Cafe

de Foy: but resolute also is CommandantGeneral Lafayette. The streets are all beset by Patrols:

SaintHuruge is stopped at the Barriere des Bon Hommes; he may bellow like the bulls of Bashan; but

absolutely must return. The brethren of the Palais Royal 'circulate all night,' and make motions, under the

open canopy; all Coffeehouses being shut. Nevertheless Lafayette and the Townhall do prevail:

SaintHuruge is thrown into prison; Veto Absolu adjusts itself into Suspensive Veto, prohibition not forever,

but for a term of time; and this doom'sclamour will grow silent, as the others have done.

So far has Consolidation prospered, though with difficulty; repressing the Nether Sansculottic world; and the

Constitution shall be made. With difficulty: amid jubilee and scarcity; Patriotic Gifts, Bakers'queues;

AbbeFauchet Harangues, with their Amen of platoonmusketry! Scipio Americanus has deserved thanks

from the National Assembly and France. They offer him stipends and emoluments, to a handsome extent; all

which stipends and emoluments he, covetous of far other blessedness than mere money, does, in his

To the Parisian common man, meanwhile, one thing remains inconceivable: that now when the Bastille is

down, and French Liberty restored, grain should continue so dear. Our Rights of Man are voted, Feudalism

and all Tyranny abolished; yet behold we stand in queue! Is it Aristocrat forestallers; a Court still bent on

And yet, alas, what to do? Lafayette, with his Patrols prohibits every thing, even complaint. SaintHuruge

and other heroes of the Veto lie in durance. People'sFriend Marat was seized; Printers of Patriotic Journals

are fettered and forbidden; the very Hawkers cannot cry, till they get license, and leaden badges. Blue

National Guards ruthlessly dissipate all groups; scour, with levelled bayonets, the Palais Royal itself. Pass, on

your affairs, along the Rue Taranne, the Patrol, presenting his bayonet, cries, To the left! Turn into the Rue

SaintBenoit, he cries, To the right! A judicious Patriot (like Camille Desmoulins, in this instance) is driven,

O muchsuffering People, our glorious Revolution is evaporating in tricolor ceremonies, and complimentary

harangues! Of which latter, as Loustalot acridly calculates, 'upwards of two thousand have been delivered

within the last month, at the Townhall alone.' (Revolutions de Paris Newspaper (cited in Histoire

Parlementaire, ii. 357).) And our mouths, unfilled with bread, are to be shut, under penalties? The Caricaturist

promulgates his emblematic Tablature: Le Patrouillotisme chassant le Patriotisme, Patriotism driven out by

Patrollotism. Ruthless Patrols; long superfine harangues; and scanty illbaked loaves, more like baked Bath

bricks,which produce an effect on the intestines! Where will this end? In consolidation?

For, alas, neither is the Townhall itself without misgivings. The Nether Sansculottic world has been

suppressed hitherto: but then the Upper Court world! Symptoms there are that the OeildeBoeuf is

More than once in the Townhall Sanhedrim; often enough, from those outspoken Bakers'queues, has the

wish uttered itself: O that our Restorer of French Liberty were here; that he could see with his own eyes, not

with the false eyes of Queens and Cabals, and his really good heart be enlightened! For falsehood still

environs him; intriguing Dukes de Guiche, with Bodyguards; scouts of Bouille; a new flight of intriguers,

now that the old is flown. What else means this advent of the Regiment de Flandre; entering Versailles, as we

hear, on the 23rd of September, with two pieces of cannon? Did not the Versailles National Guard do duty at

the Chateau? Had they not Swiss; Hundred Swiss; GardesduCorps, Bodyguards socalled? Nay, it would

seem, the number of Bodyguards on duty has, by a manoeuvre, been doubled: the new relieving Battalion of

Actually, there runs a whisper through the best informed UpperCircles, or a nod still more potentous than

whispering, of his Majesty's flying to Metz; of a Bond (to stand by him therein) which has been signed by

Noblesse and Clergy, to the incredible amount of thirty, or even of sixty thousand. Lafayette coldly whispers

it, and coldly asseverates it, to Count d'Estaing at the Dinnertable; and d'Estaing, one of the bravest men,

quakes to the core lest some lackey overhear it; and tumbles thoughtful, without sleep, all night. (Brouillon de

Lettre de M. d'Estaing a la Reine (in Histoire Parlementaire, iii. 24.) Regiment Flandre, as we said, is clearly

arrived. His Majesty, they say, hesitates about sanctioning the Fourth of August; makes observations, of

chilling tenor, on the very Rights of Man! Likewise, may not all persons, the Bakers'queues themselves

discern on the streets of Paris, the most astonishing number of Officers on furlough, Crosses of St. Louis, and

such like? Some reckon 'from a thousand to twelve hundred.' Officers of all uniforms; nay one uniform never

before seen by eye: green faced with red! The tricolor cockade is not always visible: but what, in the name of

Hunger whets everything, especially Suspicion and Indignation. Realities themselves, in this Paris, have

grown unreal: preternatural. Phantasms once more stalk through the brain of hungry France. O ye laggards

and dastards, cry shrill voices from the Queues, if ye had the hearts of men, ye would take your pikes and

secondhand firelocks, and look into it; not leave your wives and daughters to be starved, murdered, and

worse!Peace, women! The heart of man is bitter and heavy; Patriotism, driven out by Patrollotism, knows

The truth is, the OeildeBoeuf has rallied; to a certain unknown extent. A changed OeildeBoeuf; with

Versailles National Guards, in their tricolor cockades, doing duty there; a Court all flaring with tricolor! Yet

even to a tricolor Court men will rally. Ye loyal hearts, burntout Seigneurs, rally round your Queen! With

For indeed selfpreservation being such a law of Nature, what can a rallied Court do, but attempt and

endeavour, or call it plot,with such wisdom and unwisdom as it has? They will fly, escorted, to Metz,

where brave Bouille commands; they will raise the Royal Standard: the Bondsignatures shall become armed

men. Were not the King so languid! Their Bond, if at all signed, must be signed without his

privity.Unhappy King, he has but one resolution: not to have a civil war. For the rest, he still hunts, having

ceased lockmaking; he still dozes, and digests; is clay in the hands of the potter. Ill will it fare with him, in a

world where all is helping itself; where, as has been written, 'whosoever is not hammer must be stithy;' and

'the very hyssop on the wall grows there, in that chink, because the whole Universe could not prevent its

But as for the coming up of this Regiment de Flandre, may it not be urged that there were SaintHuruge

Petitions, and continual mealmobs? Undebauched Soldiers, be there plot, or only dim elements of a plot, are

always good. Did not the Versailles Municipality (an old Monarchic one, not yet refounded into a

Democratic) instantly second the proposal? Nay the very Versailles National Guard, wearied with continual

duty at the Chateau, did not object; only Draper Lecointre, who is now Major Lecointre, shook his

head.Yes, Friends, surely it was natural this Regiment de Flandre should be sent for, since it could be got.

It was natural that, at sight of military bandoleers, the heart of the rallied OeildeBoeuf should revive; and

Maids of Honour, and gentlemen of honour, speak comfortable words to epauletted defenders, and to one

another. Natural also, and mere common civility, that the Bodyguards, a Regiment of Gentlemen, should

invite their Flandre brethren to a Dinner of welcome!Such invitation, in the last days of September, is

Dinners are defined as 'the ultimate act of communion;' men that can have communion in nothing else, can

sympathetically eat together, can still rise into some glow of brotherhood over food and wine. The dinner is

fixed on, for Thursday the First of October; and ought to have a fine effect. Further, as such Dinner may be

rather extensive, and even the Noncommissioned and the Common man be introduced, to see and to hear,

could not His Majesty's Opera Apartment, which has lain quite silent ever since Kaiser Joseph was here, be

obtained for the purpose?The Hall of the Opera is granted; the Salon d'Hercule shall be drawingroom. Not

only the Officers of Flandre, but of the Swiss, of the Hundred Swiss, nay of the Versailles National Guard,

And now suppose this Repast, the solid part of it, transacted; and the first bottle over. Suppose the customary

loyal toasts drunk; the King's health, the Queen's with deafening vivats;that of the Nation 'omitted,' or even

'rejected.' Suppose champagne flowing; with potvalorous speech, with instrumental music; empty feathered

heads growing ever the noisier, in their own emptiness, in each other's noise! Her Majesty, who looks

unusually sad tonight (his Majesty sitting dulled with the day's hunting), is told that the sight of it would

cheer her. Behold! She enters there, issuing from her Staterooms, like the Moon from the clouds, this fairest

unhappy Queen of Hearts; royal Husband by her side, young Dauphin in her arms! She descends from the

Boxes, amid splendour and acclaim; walks queenlike, round the Tables; gracefully escorted, gracefully

nodding; her looks full of sorrow, yet of gratitude and daring, with the hope of France on her motherbosom!

And now, the band striking up, O Richard, O mon Roi, l'univers t'abandonne (O Richard, O my King, and

world is all forsaking thee)could man do other than rise to height of pity, of loyal valour? Could

featherheaded young ensigns do other than, by white Bourbon Cockades, handed them from fair fingers; by

waving of swords, drawn to pledge the Queen's health; by trampling of National Cockades; by scaling the

Boxes, whence intrusive murmurs may come; by vociferation, tripudiation, sound, fury and distraction,

within doors and without,testify what tempesttost state of vacuity they are in? Till champagne and

tripudiation do their work; and all lie silent, horizontal; passively slumbering, with meedof battle

A natural Repast, in ordinary times, a harmless one: now fatal, as that of Thyestes; as that of Job's Sons, when

a strong wind smote the four corners of their banquethouse! Poor illadvised MarieAntoinette; with a

woman's vehemence, not with a sovereign's foresight! It was so natural, yet so unwise. Next day, in public

The heart of the OeildeBoeuf glows into hope; into daring, which is premature. Rallied Maids of Honour,

waited on by Abbes, sew 'white cockades;' distribute them, with words, with glances, to epauletted youths;

who in return, may kiss, not without fervour, the fair sewing fingers. Captains of horse and foot go swashing

with 'enormous white cockades;' nay one Versailles National Captain had mounted the like, so witching were

the words and glances; and laid aside his tricolor! Well may Major Lecointre shake his head with a look of

severity; and speak audible resentful words. But now a swashbuckler, with enormous white cockade,

overhearing the Major, invites him insolently, once and then again elsewhere, to recant; and failing that, to

duel. Which latter feat Major Lecointre declares that he will not perform, not at least by any known laws of

fence; that he nevertheless will, according to mere law of Nature, by dirk and blade, 'exterminate' any 'vile

gladiator,' who may insult him or the Nation; whereupon (for the Major is actually drawing his implement)

'they are parted,' and no weasands slit. (Moniteur (in Histoire Parlementaire, iii. 59); Deux Amis (iii.

But fancy what effect this Thyestes Repast and trampling on the National Cockade, must have had in the

Salle des Menus; in the famishing Bakers' queues at Paris! Nay such Thyestes Repasts, it would seem,

continue. Flandre has given its CounterDinner to the Swiss and Hundred Swiss; then on Saturday there has

Yes, here with us is famine; but yonder at Versailles is food; enough and to spare! Patriotism stands in queue,

shivering hungerstruck, insulted by Patrollotism; while bloodyminded Aristocrats, heated with excess of high

living, trample on the National Cockade. Can the atrocity be true? Nay, look: green uniforms faced with red;

black cockades,the colour of Night! Are we to have military onfall; and death also by starvation? For

behold the Corbeil Cornboat, which used to come twice aday, with its Plasterof Paris meal, now comes

only once. And the Townhall is deaf; and the men are laggard and dastard!At the Cafe de Foy, this

Saturday evening, a new thing is seen, not the last of its kind: a woman engaged in public speaking. Her poor

man, she says, was put to silence by his District; their Presidents and Officials would not let him speak.

Wherefore she here with her shrill tongue will speak; denouncing, while her breath endures, the

CorbeilBoat, the PlasterofParis bread, sacrilegious Operadinners, green uniforms, Pirate Aristocrats,

Truly, it is time for the black cockades at least, to vanish. Them Patrollotism itself will not protect. Nay,

sharptempered 'M. Tassin,' at the Tuileries parade on Sunday morning, forgets all National military rule;

starts from the ranks, wrenches down one black cockade which is swashing ominous there; and tramples it

fiercely into the soil of France. Patrollotism itself is not without suppressed fury. Also the Districts begin to

stir; the voice of President Danton reverberates in the Cordeliers: People'sFriend Marat has flown to

Versailles and back again; swart bird, not of the halcyon kind! (Camille's Newspaper, Revolutions de Paris

And so Patriot meets promenading Patriot, this Sunday; and sees his own grim care reflected on the face of

another. Groups, in spite of Patrollotism, which is not so alert as usual, fluctuate deliberative: groups on the

Bridges, on the Quais, at the patriotic Cafes. And ever as any black cockade may emerge, rises the

manyvoiced growl and bark: A bas, Down! All black cockades are ruthlessly plucked off: one individual

picks his up again; kisses it, attempts to refix it; but a 'hundred canes start into the air,' and he desists. Still

worse went it with another individual; doomed, by extempore Plebiscitum, to the Lanterne; saved, with

difficulty, by some active CorpsdeGarde.Lafayette sees signs of an effervescence; which he doubles his

Patrols, doubles his diligence, to prevent. So passes Sunday, the 4th of October 1789.

Sullen is the male heart, repressed by Patrollotism; vehement is the female, irrepressible. The

publicspeaking woman at the Palais Royal was not the only speaking one:Men know not what the pantry

is, when it grows empty, only housemothers know. O women, wives of men that will only calculate and not

act! Patrollotism is strong; but Death, by starvation and military onfall, is stronger. Patrollotism represses

male Patriotism: but female Patriotism? Will Guards named National thrust their bayonets into the bosoms of

women? Such thought, or rather such dim unshaped raw material of a thought, ferments universally under

If Voltaire once, in splenetic humour, asked his countrymen: "But you, Gualches, what have you invented?"

they can now answer: The Art of Insurrection. It was an art needed in these last singular times: an art, for

which the French nature, so full of vehemence, so free from depth, was perhaps of all others the fittest.

Accordingly, to what a height, one may well say of perfection, has this branch of human industry been carried

by France, within the last half century! Insurrection, which, Lafayette thought, might be 'the most sacred of

duties,' ranks now, for the French people, among the duties which they can perform. Other mobs are dull

masses; which roll onwards with a dull fierce tenacity, a dull fierce heat, but emit no lightflashes of genius

as they go. The French mob, again, is among the liveliest phenomena of our world. So rapid, audacious; so

clearsighted, inventive, prompt to seize the moment; instinct with life to its fingerends! That talent, were

there no other, of spontaneously standing in queue, distinguishes, as we said, the French People from all

Let the Reader confess too that, taking one thing with another, perhaps few terrestrial Appearances are better

worth considering than mobs. Your mob is a genuine outburst of Nature; issuing from, or communicating

with, the deepest deep of Nature. When so much goes grinning and grimacing as a lifeless Formality, and

under the stiff buckram no heart can be felt beating, here once more, if nowhere else, is a Sincerity and

Reality. Shudder at it; or even shriek over it, if thou must; nevertheless consider it. Such a Complex of human

Forces and Individualities hurled forth, in their transcendental mood, to act and react, on circumstances and

on one another; to work out what it is in them to work. The thing they will do is known to no man; least of all

to themselves. It is the inflammablest immeasurable Firework, generating, consuming itself. With what

phases, to what extent, with what results it will burn off, Philosophy and Perspicacity conjecture in vain.

'Man,' as has been written, 'is for ever interesting to man; nay properly there is nothing else interesting.' In

which light also, may we not discern why most Battles have become so wearisome? Battles, in these ages, are

transacted by mechanism; with the slightest possible developement of human individuality or spontaneity:

men now even die, and kill one another, in an artificial manner. Battles ever since Homer's time, when they

were Fighting Mobs, have mostly ceased to be worth looking at, worth reading of, or remembering. How

many wearisome bloody Battles does History strive to represent; or even, in a husky way, to sing:and she

A thought, or dim rawmaterial of a thought, was fermenting all night, universally in the female head, and

might explode. In squalid garret, on Monday morning, Maternity awakes, to hear children weeping for bread.

Maternity must forth to the streets, to the herbmarkets and Bakers' queues; meets there with

hungerstricken Maternity, sympathetic, exasperative. O we unhappy women! But, instead of

Bakers'queues, why not to Aristocrats' palaces, the root of the matter? Allons! Let us assemble. To the

In one of the Guardhouses of the Quartier SaintEustache, 'a young woman' seizes a drum,for how shall

National Guards give fire on women, on a young woman? The young woman seizes the drum; sets forth,

beating it, 'uttering cries relative to the dearth of grains.' Descend, O mothers; descend, ye Judiths, to food

and revenge!All women gather and go; crowds storm all stairs, force out all women: the female

Insurrectionary Force, according to Camille, resembles the English Naval one; there is a universal 'Press of

women.' Robust Dames of the Halle, slim Mantuamakers, assiduous, risen with the dawn; ancient Virginity

tripping to matins; the Housemaid, with early broom; all must go. Rouse ye, O women; the laggard men will

And so, like snowbreak from the mountains, for every staircase is a melted brook, it storms; tumultuous,

wildshrilling, towards the HoteldeVille. Tumultuous, with or without drummusic: for the Faubourg

SaintAntoine also has tucked up its gown; and, with besomstaves, fireirons, and even rusty pistols (void

of ammunition), is flowing on. Sound of it flies, with a velocity of sound, to the outmost Barriers. By seven

o'clock, on this raw October morning, fifth of the month, the Townhall will see wonders. Nay, as chance

would have it, a male party are already there; clustering tumultuously round some National Patrol, and a

Baker who has been seized with short weights. They are there; and have even lowered the rope of the

Lanterne. So that the official persons have to smuggle forth the short weighing Baker by back doors, and

Grand it was, says Camille, to see so many Judiths, from eight to ten thousand of them in all, rushing out to

search into the root of the matter! Not unfrightful it must have been; ludicroterrific, and most

unmanageable. At such hour the overwatched Three Hundred are not yet stirring: none but some Clerks, a

company of National Guards; and M. de Gouvion, the Major general. Gouvion has fought in America for

the cause of civil Liberty; a man of no inconsiderable heart, but deficient in head. He is, for the moment, in

his back apartment; assuaging Usher Maillard, the Bastille serjeant, who has come, as too many do, with

The National Guards form on the outer stairs, with levelled bayonets; the ten thousand Judiths press up,

resistless; with obtestations, with outspread hands,merely to speak to the Mayor. The rear forces them;

nay, from male hands in the rear, stones already fly: the National Guards must do one of two things; sweep

the Place de Greve with cannon, or else open to right and left. They open; the living deluge rushes in.

Through all rooms and cabinets, upwards to the topmost belfry: ravenous; seeking arms, seeking Mayors,

seeking justice;while, again, the bettercressed (dressed?) speak kindly to the Clerks; point out the misery

of these poor women; also their ailments, some even of an interesting sort. (Deux Amis, iii. 141166.)

Poor M. de Gouvion is shiftless in this extremity;a man shiftless, perturbed; who will one day commit

suicide. How happy for him that Usher Maillard, the shifty, was there, at the moment, though making

representations! Fly back, thou shifty Maillard; seek the Bastille Company; and O return fast with it; above

all, with thy own shifty head! For, behold, the Judiths can find no Mayor or Municipal; scarcely, in the

topmost belfry, can they find poor Abbe Lefevre the Powderdistributor. Him, for want of a better, they

suspend there; in the pale morning light; over the top of all Paris, which swims in one's failing eyes:a

horrible end? Nay, the rope broke, as French ropes often did; or else an Amazon cut it. Abbe Lefevre falls,

some twenty feet, rattling among the leads; and lives long years after, though always with 'a tremblement in

And now doors fly under hatchets; the Judiths have broken the Armoury; have seized guns and cannons, three

moneybags, paperheaps; torches flare: in few minutes, our brave HoteldeVille which dates from the

In flames, truly,were it not that Usher Maillard, swift of foot, shifty of head, has returned!

Maillard, of his own motion, for Gouvion or the rest would not even sanction him,snatches a drum;

descends the Porchstairs, rantan, beating sharp, with loud rolls, his Rogues'march: To Versailles! Allons;

a Versailles! As men beat on kettle or warmingpan, when angry shebees, or say, flying desperate wasps, are

to be hived; and the desperate insects hear it, and cluster round it,simply as round a guidance, where there

was none: so now these Menads round shifty Maillard, RidingUsher of the Chatelet. The axe pauses

uplifted; Abbe Lefevre is left halfhanged; from the belfry downwards all vomits itself. What rubadub is

that? Stanislas Maillard, Bastillehero, will lead us to Versailles? Joy to thee, Maillard; blessed art thou

The seized cannon are yoked with seized carthorses: brownlocked Demoiselle Theroigne, with pike and

helmet, sits there as gunneress, 'with haughty eye and serene fair countenance;' comparable, some think, to

the Maid of Orleans, or even recalling 'the idea of Pallas Athene.' (Deux Amis, iii. 157.) Maillard (for his

drum still rolls) is, by heavenrending acclamation, admitted General. Maillard hastens the languid march.

Maillard, beating rhythmic, with sharp rantan, all along the Quais, leads forward, with difficulty his

Menadic host. Such a hostmarched not in silence! The bargeman pauses on the River; all wagoners and

coachdrivers fly; men peer from windows,not women, lest they be pressed. Sight of sights: Bacchantes, in

these ultimate Formalized Ages! Bronze Henri looks on, from his PontNeuf; the Monarchic Louvre,

And now Maillard has his Menads in the Champs Elysees (Fields Tartarean rather); and the HoteldeVille

has suffered comparatively nothing. Broken doors; an Abbe Lefevre, who shall never more distribute powder;

three sacks of money, most part of which (for Sansculottism, though famishing, is not without honour) shall

be returned: (Hist. Parl. iii. 310.) this is all the damage. Great Maillard! A small nucleus of Order is round his

drum; but his outskirts fluctuate like the mad Ocean: for Rascality male and female is flowing in on him,

from the four winds; guidance there is none but in his single head and two drumsticks.

O Maillard, when, since War first was, had General of Force such a task before him, as thou this day? Walter

the Penniless still touches the feeling heart: but then Walter had sanction; had space to turn in; and also his

Crusaders were of the male sex. Thou, this day, disowned of Heaven and Earth, art General of Menads. Their

inarticulate frenzy thou must on the spur of the instant, render into articulate words, into actions that are not

frantic. Fail in it, this way or that! Pragmatical Officiality, with its penalties and lawbooks, waits before

thee; Menads storm behind. If such hewed off the melodious head of Orpheus, and hurled it into the Peneus

waters, what may they not make of thee,thee rhythmic merely, with no music but a sheepskin

drum!Maillard did not fail. Remarkable Maillard, if fame were not an accident, and History a distillation

On the Elysian Fields, there is pause and fluctuation; but, for Maillard, no return. He persuades his Menads,

clamorous for arms and the Arsenal, that no arms are in the Arsenal; that an unarmed attitude, and petition to

a National Assembly, will be the best: he hastily nominates or sanctions generalesses, captains of tens and

fifties;and so, in loosestflowing order, to the rhythm of some 'eight drums' (having laid aside his own),

Chaillot, which will promptly yield baked loaves, is not plundered; nor are the Sevres Potteries broken. The

old arches of Sevres Bridge echo under Menadic feet; Seine River gushes on with his perpetual murmur; and

Paris flings after us the boom of tocsin and alarmdrum,inaudible, for the present, amid shrillsounding

hosts, and the splash of rainy weather. To Meudon, to Saint Cloud, on both hands, the report of them is gone

abroad; and hearths, this evening, will have a topic. The press of women still continues, for it is the cause of

all Eve's Daughters, mothers that are, or that hope to be. No carriagelady, were it with never such hysterics,

but must dismount, in the mud roads, in her silk shoes, and walk. (Deux Amis, iii. 159.) In this manner, amid

wild October weather, they a wild unwinged storkflight, through the astonished country, wend their way.

Travellers of all sorts they stop; especially travellers or couriers from Paris. Deputy Lechapelier, in his

elegant vesture, from his elegant vehicle, looks forth amazed through his spectacles; apprehensive for

life;states eagerly that he is PatriotDeputy Lechapelier, and even OldPresident Lechapelier, who

presided on the Night of Pentecost, and is original member of the Breton Club. Thereupon 'rises huge shout

of Vive Lechapelier, and several armed persons spring up behind and before to escort him.' (Ibid. iii. 177;

Nevertheless, news, despatches from Lafayette, or vague noise of rumour, have pierced through, by side

roads. In the National Assembly, while all is busy discussing the order of the day; regretting that there should

be Antinational Repasts in OperaHalls; that his Majesty should still hesitate about accepting the Rights of

Man, and hang conditions and peradventures on them,Mirabeau steps up to the President, experienced

Mounier as it chanced to be; and articulates, in bass undertone: "Mounier, Paris marche sur nous (Paris is

marching on us).""May be (Je n'en sais rien)!""Believe it or disbelieve it, that is not my concern; but

Paris, I say, is marching on us. Fall suddenly unwell; go over to the Chateau; tell them this. There is not a

moment to lose.'"Paris marching on us?" responds Mounier, with an atrabiliar accent" "Well, so much the

better! We shall the sooner be a Republic." Mirabeau quits him, as one quits an experienced President getting

Yes, Paris is marching on us; and more than the women of Paris! Scarcely was Maillard gone, when M. de

Gouvion's message to all the Districts, and such tocsin and drumming of the generale, began to take effect.

Armed National Guards from every District; especially the Grenadiers of the Centre, who are our old Gardes

Francaises, arrive, in quick sequence, on the Place de Greve. An 'immense people' is there; SaintAntoine,

with pike and rusty firelock, is all crowding thither, be it welcome or unwelcome. The Centre Grenadiers are

received with cheering: "it is not cheers that we want," answer they gloomily; "the nation has been insulted;

to arms, and come with us for orders!" Ha, sits the wind so? Patriotism and Patrollotism are now one!

The Three Hundred have assembled; 'all the Committees are in activity;' Lafayette is dictating despatches for

Versailles, when a Deputation of the Centre Grenadiers introduces itself to him. The Deputation makes

military obeisance; and thus speaks, not without a kind of thought in it: "Mon General, we are deputed by the

Six Companies of Grenadiers. We do not think you a traitor, but we think the Government betrays you; it is

time that this end. We cannot turn our bayonets against women crying to us for bread. The people are

miserable, the source of the mischief is at Versailles: we must go seek the King, and bring him to Paris. We

must exterminate (exterminer) the Regiment de Flandre and the GardesduCorps, who have dared to

trample on the National Cockade. If the King be too weak to wear his crown, let him lay it down. You will

crown his Son, you will name a Council of Regency; and all will go better." (Deux Amis, iii. 161.)

Reproachful astonishment paints itself on the face of Lafayette; speaks itself from his eloquent chivalrous

lips: in vain. "My General, we would shed the last drop of our blood for you; but the root of the mischief is at

Versailles; we must go and bring the King to Paris; all the people wish it, tout le peuple le veut."

My General descends to the outer staircase; and harangues: once more in vain. "To Versailles! To

Versailles!" Mayor Bailly, sent for through floods of Sansculottism, attempts academic oratory from his gilt

state coach; realizes nothing but infinite hoarse cries of: "Bread! To Versailles!"and gladly shrinks within

doors. Lafayette mounts the white charger; and again harangues and reharangues: with eloquence, with

firmness, indignant demonstration; with all things but persuasion. "To Versailles! To Versailles!" So lasts it,

The great Scipio Americanus can do nothing; not so much as escape. "Morbleu, mon General," cry the

Grenadiers serrying their ranks as the white charger makes a motion that way, "You will not leave us, you

will abide with us!" A perilous juncture: Mayor Bailly and the Municipals sit quaking within doors; My

General is prisoner without: the Place de Greve, with its thirty thousand Regulars, its whole irregular

SaintAntoine and SaintMarceau, is one minatory mass of clear or rusty steel; all hearts set, with a moody

fixedness, on one object. Moody, fixed are all hearts: tranquil is no heart,if it be not that of the white

charger, who paws there, with arched neck, composedly champing his bit; as if no world, with its Dynasties

and Eras, were now rushing down. The drizzly day tends westward; the cry is still: "To Versailles!"

Nay now, borne from afar, come quite sinister cries; hoarse, reverberating in longdrawn hollow murmurs,

with syllables too like those of Lanterne! Or else, irregular Sansculottism may be marching off, of itself; with

pikes, nay with cannon. The inflexible Scipio does at length, by aidedecamp, ask of the Municipals:

Whether or not he may go? A Letter is handed out to him, over armed heads; sixty thousand faces flash

fixedly on his, there is stillness and no bosom breathes, till he have read. By Heaven, he grows suddenly pale!

Do the Municipals permit? 'Permit and even order,'since he can no other. Clangour of approval rends the

It is, as we compute, towards three in the afternoon. Indignant National Guards may dine for once from their

haversack: dined or undined, they march with one heart. Paris flings up her windows, claps hands, as the

Avengers, with their shrilling drums and shalms tramp by; she will then sit pensive, apprehensive, and pass

rather a sleepless night. (Deux Amis, iii. 165.) On the white charger, Lafayette, in the slowest possible

manner, going and coming, and eloquently haranguing among the ranks, rolls onward with his thirty

thousand. SaintAntoine, with pike and cannon, has preceded him; a mixed multitude, of all and of no arms,

hovers on his flanks and skirts; the country once more pauses agape: Paris marche sur nous.

For, indeed, about this same moment, Maillard has halted his draggled Menads on the last hilltop; and now

Versailles, and the Chateau of Versailles, and far and wide the inheritance of Royalty opens to the wondering

eye. From far on the right, over Marly and SaintGermainsen Laye; round towards Rambouillet, on the

left: beautiful all; softly embosomed; as if in sadness, in the dim moist weather! And near before us is

Versailles, New and Old; with that broad frondent Avenue de Versailles between,statelyfrondent, broad,

three hundred feet as men reckon, with four Rows of Elms; and then the Chateau de Versailles, ending in

royal Parks and Pleasances, gleaming lakelets, arbours, Labyrinths, the Menagerie, and Great and Little

Trianon. Hightowered dwellings, leafy pleasant places; where the gods of this lower world abide: whence,

nevertheless, black Care cannot be excluded; whither Menadic Hunger is even now advancing, armed with

Yes, yonder, Mesdames, where our straight frondent Avenue, joined, as you note, by Two frondent brother

Avenues from this hand and from that, spreads out into Place Royale and Palace Forecourt; yonder is the

Salle des Menus. Yonder an august Assembly sits regenerating France. Forecourt, Grand Court, Court of

Marble, Court narrowing into Court you may discern next, or fancy: on the extreme verge of which that

glassdome, visibly glittering like a star of hope, is theOeildeBoeuf! Yonder, or nowhere in the world,

is bread baked for us. But, O Mesdames, were not one thing good: That our cannons, with Demoiselle

Theroigne and all show of war, be put to the rear? Submission beseems petitioners of a National Assembly;

we are strangers in Versailles,whence, too audibly, there comes even now sound as of tocsin and generale!

Also to put on, if possible, a cheerful countenance, hiding our sorrows; and even to sing? Sorrow, pitied of

the Heavens, is hateful, suspicious to the Earth.So counsels shifty Maillard; haranguing his Menads, on the

Cunning Maillard's dispositions are obeyed. The draggled Insurrectionists advance up the Avenue, 'in three

columns, among the four Elmrows; 'singing Henri Quatre,' with what melody they can; and shouting Vive le

Roi. Versailles, though the Elmrows are dripping wet, crowds from both sides, with: "Vivent nos

Prickers, scouts have been out towards Paris, as the rumour deepened: whereby his Majesty, gone to shoot in

the Woods of Meudon, has been happily discovered, and got home; and the generale and tocsin set

asounding. The Bodyguards are already drawn up in front of the Palace Grates; and look down the Avenue

de Versailles; sulky, in wet buckskins. Flandre too is there, repentant of the OperaRepast. Also Dragoons

dismounted are there. Finally Major Lecointre, and what he can gather of the Versailles National Guard;

though, it is to be observed, our Colonel, that same sleepless Count d'Estaing, giving neither order nor

ammunition, has vanished most improperly; one supposes, into the OeildeBoeuf. Redcoated Swiss stand

within the Grates, under arms. There likewise, in their inner room, 'all the Ministers,' SaintPriest,

Lamentation Pompignan and the rest, are assembled with M. Necker: they sit with him there; blank,

President Mounier, though he answered Mirabeau with a tant mieux, and affected to slight the matter, had his

own forebodings. Surely, for these four weary hours, he has reclined not on roses! The order of the day is

getting forward: a Deputation to his Majesty seems proper, that it might please him to grant 'Acceptance pure

and simple' to those Constitution Articles of ours; the 'mixed qualified Acceptance,' with its peradventures,

So much is clear. And yet there is more, which no man speaks, which all men now vaguely understand.

Disquietude, absence of mind is on every face; Members whisper, uneasily come and go: the order of the day

is evidently not the day's want. Till at length, from the outer gates, is heard a rustling and justling, shrill

uproar and squabbling, muffled by walls; which testifies that the hour is come! Rushing and crushing one

hears now; then enter Usher Maillard, with a Deputation of Fifteen muddy dripping Women,having by

incredible industry, and aid of all the macers, persuaded the rest to wait out of doors. National Assembly shall

now, therefore, look its august task directly in the face: regenerative Constitutionalism has an unregenerate

Shifty Maillard, translating frenzy into articulation; repressive with the one hand, expostulative with the

other, does his best; and really, though not bred to public speaking, manages rather well:In the present

dreadful rarity of grains, a Deputation of Female Citizens has, as the august Assembly can discern, come out

from Paris to petition. Plots of Aristocrats are too evident in the matter; for example, one miller has been

bribed 'by a banknote of 200 livres' not to grind,name unknown to the Usher, but fact provable, at least

indubitable. Further, it seems, the National Cockade has been trampled on; also there are Black Cockades, or

were. All which things will not an august National Assembly, the hope of France, take into its wise

And Menadic Hunger, impressible, crying "Black Cockades," crying Bread, Bread," adds, after such fashion:

Will it not?Yes, Messieurs, if a Deputation to his Majesty, for the 'Acceptance pure and simple,' seemed

proper,how much more now, for 'the afflicting situation of Paris;' for the calming of this effervescence!

President Mounier, with a speedy Deputation, among whom we notice the respectable figure of Doctor

Guillotin, gets himself forthwith on march. VicePresident shall continue the order of the day; Usher

Maillard shall stay by him to repress the women. It is four o'clock, of the miserablest afternoon, when

O experienced Mounier, what an afternoon; the last of thy political existence! Better had it been to 'fall

suddenly unwell,' while it was yet time. For, behold, the Esplanade, over all its spacious expanse, is covered

with groups of squalid dripping Women; of lankhaired male Rascality, armed with axes, rusty pikes, old

muskets, ironshod clubs (baton ferres, which end in knives or swordblades, a kind of extempore

billhook);looking nothing but hungry revolt. The rain pours: Gardesdu Corps go caracoling through the

groups 'amid hisses;' irritating and agitating what is but dispersed here to reunite there.

Innumerable squalid women beleaguer the President and Deputation; insist on going with him: has not his

Majesty himself, looking from the window, sent out to ask, What we wanted? "Bread and speech with the

King (Du pain, et parler au Roi)," that was the answer. Twelve women are clamorously added to the

Deputation; and march with it, across the Esplanade; through dissipated groups, caracoling Bodyguards, and

President Mounier, unexpectedly augmented by Twelve Women, copiously escorted by Hunger and

Rascality, is himself mistaken for a group: himself and his Women are dispersed by caracolers; rally again

with difficulty, among the mud. (Mounier, Expose Justificatif (cited in Deux Amis, iii. 185).) Finally the

Grates are opened: the Deputation gets access, with the Twelve Women too in it; of which latter, Five shall

even see the face of his Majesty. Let wet Menadism, in the best spirits it can expect their return.

But already Pallas Athene (in the shape of Demoiselle Theroigne) is busy with Flandre and the dismounted

Dragoons. She, and such women as are fittest, go through the ranks; speak with an earnest jocosity; clasp

rough troopers to their patriot bosom, crush down spontoons and musketoons with soft arms: can a man, that

One reads that Theroigne had bags of money, which she distributed over Flandre:furnished by whom?

Alas, with moneybags one seldom sits on insurrectionary cannon. Calumnious Royalism! Theroigne had

only the limited earnings of her profession of unfortunatefemale; money she had not, but brown locks, the

Meanwhile, SaintAntoine, in groups and troops, is continually arriving; wetted, sulky; with pikes and

impromptu billhooks: driven thus far by popular fixedidea. So many hirsute figures driven hither, in that

manner: figures that have come to do they know not what; figures that have come to see it done!

Distinguished among all figures, who is this, of gaunt stature, with leaden breastplate, though a small one;

(See Weber, ii. 185 231.) bushy in red grizzled locks; nay, with long tilebeard? It is Jourdan, unjust dealer

in mules; a dealer no longer, but a Painter's Layfigure, playing truant this day. From the necessities of Art

comes his long tilebeard; whence his leaden breastplate (unless indeed he were some Hawker licensed by

leaden badge) may have come,will perhaps remain for ever a Historical Problem. Another Saul among the

people we discern: 'Pere Adam, Father Adam,' as the groups name him; to us better known as bullvoiced

Marquis SaintHuruge; hero of the Veto; a man that has had losses, and deserved them. The tall Marquis,

emitted some days ago from limbo, looks peripatetically on this scene, from under his umbrella, not without

interest. All which persons and things, hurled together as we see; Pallas Athene, busy with Flandre; patriotic

Versailles National Guards, short of ammunition, and deserted by d'Estaing their Colonel, and commanded

by Lecointre their Major; then caracoling Bodyguards, sour, dispirited, with their buckskins wet; and finally

Behold, however, the Twelve Shedeputies return from the Chateau. Without President Mounier, indeed; but

radiant with joy, shouting "Life to the King and his House." Apparently the news are good, Mesdames? News

of the best! Five of us were admitted to the internal splendours, to the Royal Presence. This slim damsel,

'Louison Chabray, worker in sculpture, aged only seventeen,' as being of the best looks and address, her we

appointed speaker. On whom, and indeed on all of us, his Majesty looked nothing but graciousness. Nay,

when Louison, addressing him, was like to faint, he took her in his royal arms; and said gallantly, "It was well

worth while (Elle en valut bien la peine)." Consider, O women, what a King! His words were of comfort, and

that only: there shall be provision sent to Paris, if provision is in the world; grains shall circulate free as air;

millers shall grind, or do worse, while their millstones endure; and nothing be left wrong which a Restorer of

Good news these; but, to wet Menads, all too incredible! There seems no proof, then? Words of comfort are

words only; which will feed nothing. O miserable people, betrayed by Aristocrats, who corrupt thy very

messengers! In his royal arms, Mademoiselle Louison? In his arms? Thou shameless minx, worthy of a

namethat shall be nameless! Yes, thy skin is soft: ours is rough with hardship; and well wetted, waiting

here in the rain. No children hast thou hungry at home; only alabaster dolls, that weep not! The traitress! To

the Lanterne!And so poor Louison Chabray, no asseveration or shrieks availing her, fair slim damsel, late

in the arms of Royalty, has a garter round her neck, and furibund Amazons at each end; is about to perish

so,when two Bodyguards gallop up, indignantly dissipating; and rescue her. The miscredited Twelve

Nay, behold, a new flight of Menads, with 'M. Brunout Bastille Volunteer,' as impressedcommandant, at the

head of it. These also will advance to the Grate of the Grand Court, and see what is toward. Human patience,

in wet buckskins, has its limits. Bodyguard Lieutenant, M. de Savonnieres, for one moment, lets his temper,

long provoked, long pent, give way. He not only dissipates these latter Menads; but caracoles and cuts, or

indignantly flourishes, at M. Brunout, the impressedcommandant; and, finding great relief in it, even chases

him; Brunout flying nimbly, though in a pirouette manner, and now with sword also drawn. At which sight of

wrath and victory two other Bodyguards (for wrath is contagious, and to pent Bodyguards is so solacing) do

likewise give way; give chase, with brandished sabre, and in the air make horrid circles. So that poor Brunout

has nothing for it but to retreat with accelerated nimbleness, through rank after rank; Parthian like, fencing

as he flies; above all, shouting lustily, "On nous laisse assassiner, They are getting us assassinated?"

Shameful! Three against one! Growls come from the Lecointrian ranks; bellowings,lastly shots.

Savonnieres' arm is raised to strike: the bullet of a Lecointrian musket shatters it; the brandished sabre jingles

down harmless. Brunout has escaped, this duel well ended: but the wild howl of war is everywhere beginning

The Amazons recoil; SaintAntoine has its cannon pointed (full of grapeshot); thrice applies the lit flambeau;

which thrice refuses to catch,the touchholes are so wetted; and voices cry: "Arretez, il n'est pas temps

encore, Stop, it is not yet time!" (Deux Amis, iii. 192201.) Messieurs of the GardeduCorps, ye had orders

not to fire; nevertheless two of you limp dismounted, and one warhorse lies slain. Were it not well to draw

back out of shotrange; finally to file off,into the interior? If in so filing off, there did a musketoon or two

discharge itself, at these armed shopkeepers, hooting and crowing, could man wonder? Draggled are your

white cockades of an enormous size; would to Heaven they were got exchanged for tricolor ones! Your

The Bodyguards file off, as we hint; giving and receiving shots; drawing no lifeblood; leaving boundless

indignation. Some three times in the thickening dusk, a glimpse of them is seen, at this or the other Portal:

saluted always with execrations, with the whew of lead. Let but a Bodyguard shew face, he is hunted by

Rascality;for instance, poor 'M. de Moucheton of the Scotch Company,' owner of the slain warhorse; and

has to be smuggled off by Versailles Captains. Or rusty firelocks belch after him, shivering asunder hishat.

In the end, by superior Order, the Bodyguards, all but the few on immediate duty, disappear; or as it were

We remark also that the Versaillese have now got ammunition: all afternoon, the official Person could find

none; till, in these so critical moments, a patriotic Sublieutenant set a pistol to his ear, and would thank him to

find some,which he thereupon succeeded in doing. Likewise that Flandre, disarmed by Pallas Athene, says

openly, it will not fight with citizens; and for token of peace, has exchanged cartridges with the Versaillese.

Sansculottism is now among mere friends; and can 'circulate freely;' indignant at Bodyguards;complaining

But why lingers Mounier; returns not with his Deputation? It is six, it is seven o'clock; and still no Mounier,

And, behold, the dripping Menads, not now in deputation but in mass, have penetrated into the Assembly: to

the shamefullest interruption of public speaking and order of the day. Neither Maillard nor VicePresident

can restrain them, except within wide limits; not even, except for minutes, can the lionvoice of Mirabeau,

though they applaud it: but ever and anon they break in upon the regeneration of France with cries of: "Bread;

not so much discoursing! Du pain; pas tant de longs discours!"So insensible were these poor creatures to

One learns also that the royal Carriages are getting yoked, as if for Metz. Carriages, royal or not, have verily

showed themselves at the back Gates. They even produced, or quoted, a written order from our Versailles

Municipality,which is a Monarchic not a Democratic one. However, Versailles Patroles drove them in

A busy man, truly, is Major Lecointre, in these hours. For Colonel d'Estaing loiters invisible in the

OeildeBoeuf; invisible, or still more questionably visible, for instants: then also a too loyal Municipality

requires supervision: no order, civil or military, taken about any of these thousand things! Lecointre is at the

Versailles Townhall: he is at the Grate of the Grand Court; communing with Swiss and Bodyguards. He is in

the ranks of Flandre; he is here, he is there: studious to prevent bloodshed; to prevent the Royal Family from

At the fall of night, we behold him advance to those armed groups of Saint Antoine, hovering alltoo grim

near the Salle des Menus. They receive him in a halfcircle; twelve speakers behind cannons, with lighted

torches in hand, the cannonmouths towards Lecointre: a picture for Salvator! He asks, in temperate but

courageous language: What they, by this their journey to Versailles, do specially want? The twelve speakers

reply, in few words inclusive of much: "Bread, and the end of these brabbles, Du pain, et la fin des affaires."

When the affairs will end, no Major Lecointre, nor no mortal, can say; but as to bread, he inquires, How

many are you?learns that they are six hundred, that a loaf each will suffice; and rides off to the

Which loaves, however, a Municipality of Monarchic temper will not give. It will give two tons of rice

rather,could you but know whether it should be boiled or raw. Nay when this too is accepted, the

Municipals have disappeared;ducked under, as the SixandTwenty Longgowned of Paris did; and,

leaving not the smallest vestage of rice, in the boiled or raw state, they there vanish from History!

Rice comes not; one's hope of food is baulked; even one's hope of vengeance: is not M. de Moucheton of the

Scotch Company, as we said, deceitfully smuggled off? Failing all which, behold only M. de Moucheton's

slain warhorse, lying on the Esplanade there! SaintAntoine, baulked, esurient, pounces on the slain

warhorse; flays it; roasts it, with such fuel, of paling, gates, portable timber as can be come at,not without

shouting: and, after the manner of ancient Greek Heroes, they lifted their hands to the daintily readied repast;

such as it might be. (Weber, Deux Amis, Other Rascality prowls discursive; seeking what it may devour.

Flandre will retire to its barracks; Lecointre also with his Versaillese, all but the vigilant Patrols, charged

So sink the shadows of Night, blustering, rainy; and all paths grow dark. Strangest Night ever seen in these

regions,perhaps since the Bartholomew Night, when Versailles, as Bassompierre writes of it, was a chetif

chateau. O for the Lyre of some Orpheus, to constrain, with touch of melodious strings, these mad masses

into Order! For here all seems fallen asunder, in wideyawning dislocation. The highest, as in downrushing

of a World, is come in contact with the lowest: the Rascality of France beleaguering the Royalty of France;

'ironshod batons' lifted round the diadem, not to guard it! With denunciations of bloodthirsty Antinational

The Court sits tremulous, powerless; varies with the varying temper of the Esplanade, with the varying colour

of the rumours from Paris. Thickcoming rumours; now of peace, now of war. Necker and all the Ministers

consult; with a blank issue. The OeildeBoeuf is one tempest of whispers:We will fly to Metz; we will

not fly. The royal Carriages again attempt egress; though for trial merely; they are again driven in by

Lecointre's Patrols. In six hours, nothing has been resolved on; not even the Acceptance pure and simple.

In six hours? Alas, he who, in such circumstances, cannot resolve in six minutes, may give up the enterprise:

him Fate has already resolved for. And Menadism, meanwhile, and Sansculottism takes counsel with the

National Assembly; grows more and more tumultuous there. Mounier returns not; Authority nowhere shews

itself: the Authority of France lies, for the present, with Lecointre and Usher Maillard.This then is the

abomination of desolation; come suddenly, though long foreshadowed as inevitable! For, to the blind, all

things are sudden. Misery which, through long ages, had no spokesman, no helper, will now be its own helper

and speak for itself. The dialect, one of the rudest, is, what it could be, this.

At eight o'clock there returns to our Assembly not the Deputation; but Doctor Guillotin announcing that it

will return; also that there is hope of the Acceptance pure and simple. He himself has brought a Royal Letter,

authorising and commanding the freest 'circulation of grains.' Which Royal Letter Menadism with its whole

heart applauds. Conformably to which the Assembly forthwith passes a Decree; also received with rapturous

Menadic plaudits:Only could not an august Assembly contrive further to "fix the price of bread at eight

sous the halfquartern; butchers'meat at six sous the pound;" which seem fair rates? Such motion do 'a

multitude of men and women,' irrepressible by Usher Maillard, now make; does an august Assembly hear

made. Usher Maillard himself is not always perfectly measured in speech; but if rebuked, he can justly excuse

himself by the peculiarity of the circumstances. (Moniteur (in Hist. Parl. ii. 105).)

But finally, this Decree well passed, and the disorder continuing; and Members melting away, and no

President Mounier returning,what can the VicePresident do but also melt away? The Assembly melts,

under such pressure, into deliquium; or, as it is officially called, adjourns. Maillard is despatched to Paris,

with the 'Decree concerning Grains' in his pocket; he and some women, in carriages belonging to the King.

Thitherward slim Louison Chabray has already set forth, with that 'written answer,' which the Twelve

Shedeputies returned in to seek. Slim sylph, she has set forth, through the black muddy country: she has

much to tell, her poor nerves so flurried; and travels, as indeed today on this road all persons do, with

extreme slowness. President Mounier has not come, nor the Acceptance pure and simple; though six hours

with their events have come; though courier on courier reports that Lafayette is coming. Coming, with war or

with peace? It is time that the Chateau also should determine on one thing or another; that the Chateau also

Victorious, joyful after such delay, Mounier does arrive at last, and the hardearned Acceptance with him;

which now, alas, is of small value. Fancy Mounier's surprise to find his Senate, whom he hoped to charm by

the Acceptance pure and simple,all gone; and in its stead a Senate of Menads! For as Erasmus's Ape

mimicked, say with wooden splint, Erasmus shaving, so do these Amazons hold, in mock majesty, some

confused parody of National Assembly. They make motions; deliver speeches; pass enactments; productive at

least of loud laughter. All galleries and benches are filled; a strong Dame of the Market is in Mounier's Chair.

Not without difficulty, Mounier, by aid of macers, and persuasive speaking, makes his way to the Female

President: the Strong Dame before abdicating signifies that, for one thing, she and indeed her whole senate

male and female (for what was one roasted warhorse among so many?) are suffering very considerably from

Experienced Mounier, in these circumstances, takes a twofold resolution: To reconvoke his Assembly

Members by sound of drum; also to procure a supply of food. Swift messengers fly, to all bakers, cooks,

pastrycooks, vintners, restorers; drums beat, accompanied with shrill vocal proclamation, through all streets.

They come: the Assembly Members come; what is still better, the provisions come. On tray and barrow come

these latter; loaves, wine, great store of sausages. The nourishing baskets circulate harmoniously along the

benches; nor, according to the Father of Epics, did any soul lack a fair share of victual ((Greek), an equal

Gradually some hundred or so of Assembly members get edged in, Menadism making way a little, round

Mounier's Chair; listen to the Acceptance pure and simple; and begin, what is the order of the night,

'discussion of the Penal Code.' All benches are crowded; in the dusky galleries, duskier with unwashed heads,

is a strange 'coruscation,'of impromptu billhooks. (Courier de Provence (Mirabeau's Newspaper), No. 50,

p. 19.) It is exactly five months this day since these same galleries were filled with high plumed jewelled

Beauty, raining bright influences; and now? To such length have we got in regenerating France. Methinks the

travailthroes are of the sharpest!Menadism will not be restrained from occasional remarks; asks, "What is

use of the Penal Code? The thing we want is Bread." Mirabeau turns round with lionvoiced rebuke;

Thus they, chewing tough sausages, discussing the Penal Code, make night hideous. What the issue will be?

Lafayette with his thirty thousand must arrive first: him, who cannot now be distant, all men expect, as the

Towards midnight lights flare on the hill; Lafayette's lights! The roll of his drums comes up the Avenue de

Versailles. With peace, or with war? Patience, friends! With neither. Lafayette is come, but not yet the

He has halted and harangued so often, on the march; spent nine hours on four leagues of road. At Montreuil,

close on Versailles, the whole Host had to pause; and, with uplifted right hand, in the murk of Night, to these

pouring skies, swear solemnly to respect the King's Dwelling; to be faithful to King and National Assembly.

Rage is driven down out of sight, by the laggard march; the thirst of vengeance slaked in weariness and

soaking clothes. Flandre is again drawn out under arms: but Flandre, grown so patriotic, now needs no

'exterminating.' The wayworn Batallions halt in the Avenue: they have, for the present, no wish so pressing as

Anxious sits President Mounier; anxious the Chateau. There is a message coming from the Chateau, that M.

Mounier would please return thither with a fresh Deputation, swiftly; and so at least unite our two anxieties.

Anxious Mounier does of himself send, meanwhile, to apprise the General that his Majesty has been so

gracious as to grant us the Acceptance pure and simple. The General, with a small advance column, makes

answer in passing; speaks vaguely some smooth words to the National President, glances, only with the

eye, at that so mixtiform National Assembly; then fares forward towards the Chateau. There are with him two

Paris Municipals; they were chosen from the Three Hundred for that errand. He gets admittance through the

The Court, male and female, crowds on his passage, to read their doom on his face; which exhibits, say

Historians, a mixture 'of sorrow, of fervour and valour,' singular to behold. (Memoire de M. le Comte de

Lally Tollendal (Janvier 1790), p. 161165.) The King, with Monsieur, with Ministers and Marshals, is

waiting to receive him: He "is come," in his highflown chivalrous way, "to offer his head for the safety of his

Majesty's." The two Municipals state the wish of Paris: four things, of quite pacific tenor. First, that the

honour of Guarding his sacred person be conferred on patriot National Guards;say, the Centre Grenadiers,

who as Gardes Francaises were wont to have that privilege. Second, that provisions be got, if possible. Third,

that the Prisons, all crowded with political delinquents, may have judges sent them. Fourth, that it would

please his Majesty to come and live in Paris. To all which four wishes, except the fourth, his Majesty answers

readily, Yes; or indeed may almost say that he has already answered it. To the fourth he can answer only, Yes

or No; would so gladly answer, Yes and No!But, in any case, are not their dispositions, thank Heaven, so

entirely pacific? There is time for deliberation. The brunt of the danger seems past!

Lafayette and d'Estaing settle the watches; Centre Grenadiers are to take the Guardroom they of old

occupied as Gardes Francaises;for indeed the Gardes du Corps, its late illadvised occupants, are gone

mostly to Rambouillet. That is the order of this night; sufficient for the night is the evil thereof. Whereupon

So brief has the interview been, Mounier and his Deputation were not yet got up. So brief and satisfactory. A

stone is rolled from every heart. The fair Palace Dames publicly declare that this Lafayette, detestable though

he be, is their saviour for once. Even the ancient vinaigrous Tantes admit it; the King's Aunts, ancient Graille

and Sisterhood, known to us of old. Queen MarieAntoinette has been heard often say the like. She alone,

among all women and all men, wore a face of courage, of lofty calmness and resolve, this day. She alone saw

clearly what she meant to do; and Theresa's Daughter dares do what she means, were all France threatening

Towards three in the morning all things are settled: the watches set, the Centre Grenadiers put into their old

Guardroom, and harangued; the Swiss, and few remaining Bodyguards harangued. The wayworn Paris

Batallions, consigned to 'the hospitality of Versailles,' lie dormant in sparebeds, sparebarracks,

coffeehouses, empty churches. A troop of them, on their way to the Church of SaintLouis, awoke poor

Weber, dreaming troublous, in the Rue Sartory. Weber has had his waistcoatpocket full of balls all day; 'two

hundred balls, and two pears of powder!' For waistcoats were waistcoats then, and had flaps down to

midthigh. So many balls he has had all day; but no opportunity of using them: he turns over now, execrating

Finally, the National Assembly is harangued; which thereupon, on motion of Mirabeau, discontinues the

Penal Code, and dismisses for this night. Menadism, Sansculottism has cowered into guardhouses, barracks

of Flandre, to the light of cheerful fire; failing that, to churches, officehouses, sentryboxes, wheresoever

wretchedness can find a lair. The troublous Day has brawled itself to rest: no lives yet lost but that of one

warhorse. Insurrectionary Chaos lies slumbering round the Palace, like Ocean round a Divingbell,no

Deep sleep has fallen promiscuously on the high and on the low; suspending most things, even wrath and

famine. Darkness covers the Earth. But, far on the Northeast, Paris flings up her great yellow gleam; far into

the wet black Night. For all is illuminated there, as in the old July Nights; the streets deserted, for alarm of

war; the Municipals all wakeful; Patrols hailing, with their hoarse Whogoes. There, as we discover, our poor

slim Louison Chabray, her poor nerves all fluttered, is arriving about this very hour. There Usher Maillard

will arrive, about an hour hence, 'towards four in the morning.' They report, successively, to a wakeful

HoteldeVille what comfort they can report; which again, with early dawn, large comfortable Placards,

Lafayette, in the Hotel de Noailles, not far from the Chateau, having now finished haranguing, sits with his

Officers consulting: at five o'clock the unanimous best counsel is, that a man so tost and toiled for twenty

Thus, then, has ended the First Act of the Insurrection of Women. How it will turn on the morrow? The

morrow, as always, is with the Fates! But his Majesty, one may hope, will consent to come honourably to

Paris; at all events, he can visit Paris. Antinational Bodyguards, here and elsewhere, must take the National

Oath; make reparation to the Tricolor; Flandre will swear. There may be much swearing; much public

speaking there will infallibly be: and so, with harangues and vows, may the matter in some handsome way,

Or, alas, may it not be all otherwise, unhandsome: the consent not honourable, but extorted, ignominious?

Boundless Chaos of Insurrection presses slumbering round the Palace, like Ocean round a Divingbell; and

may penetrate at any crevice. Let but that accumulated insurrectionary mass find entrance! Like the infinite

inburst of water; or say rather, of inflammable, selfigniting fluid; for example, 'turpentineandphosphorus

The dull dawn of a new morning, drizzly and chill, had but broken over Versailles, when it pleased Destiny

that a Bodyguard should look out of window, on the right wing of the Chateau, to see what prospect there

was in Heaven and in Earth. Rascality male and female is prowling in view of him. His fasting stomach is,

with good cause, sour; he perhaps cannot forbear a passing malison on them; least of all can he forbear

Ill words breed worse: till the worst word came; and then the ill deed. Did the maledicent Bodyguard, getting

(as was too inevitable) better malediction than he gave, load his musketoon, and threaten to fire; and actually

fire? Were wise who wist! It stands asserted; to us not credibly. Be this as it may, menaced Rascality, in

whinnying scorn, is shaking at all Grates: the fastening of one (some write, it was a chain merely) gives way;

The maledicent Bodyguard, more Bodyguards than he do now give fire; a man's arm is shattered. Lecointre

will depose (Deposition de Lecointre (in Hist. Parl. iii. 111115.) that 'the Sieur Cardaine, a National Guard

without arms, was stabbed.' But see, sure enough, poor Jerome l'Heritier, an unarmed National Guard he too,

'cabinetmaker, a saddler's son, of Paris,' with the down of youthhood still on his chin,he reels

deathstricken; rushes to the pavement, scattering it with his blood and brains!Allelew! Wilder than Irish

wakes, rises the howl: of pity; of infinite revenge. In few moments, the Grate of the inner and inmost Court,

which they name Court of Marble, this too is forced, or surprised, and burst open: the Court of Marble too is

overflowed: up the Grand Staircase, up all stairs and entrances rushes the living Deluge! Deshuttes and

Varigny, the two sentry Bodyguards, are trodden down, are massacred with a hundred pikes. Women snatch

their cutlasses, or any weapon, and stormin Menadic:other women lift the corpse of shot Jerome; lay it

down on the Marble steps; there shall the livid face and smashed head, dumb for ever, speak.

Wo now to all Bodyguards, mercy is none for them! Miomandre de Sainte Marie pleads with soft words, on

the Grand Staircase, 'descending four steps:'to the roaring tornado. His comrades snatch him up, by the

skirts and belts; literally, from the jaws of Destruction; and slamto their Door. This also will stand few

instants; the panels shivering in, like potsherds. Barricading serves not: fly fast, ye Bodyguards; rabid

The terrorstruck Bodyguards fly, bolting and barricading; it follows. Whitherward? Through hall on hall: wo,

now! towards the Queen's Suite of Rooms, in the furtherest room of which the Queen is now asleep. Five

sentinels rush through that long Suite; they are in the Anteroom knocking loud: "Save the Queen!" Trembling

women fall at their feet with tears; are answered: "Yes, we will die; save ye the Queen!"

Tremble not, women, but haste: for, lo, another voice shouts far through the outermost door, "Save the

Queen!" and the door shut. It is brave Miomandre's voice that shouts this second warning. He has stormed

across imminent death to do it; fronts imminent death, having done it. Brave Tardivet du Repaire, bent on the

same desperate service, was borne down with pikes; his comrades hardly snatched him in again alive.

Miomandre and Tardivet: let the names of these two Bodyguards, as the names of brave men should, live

Trembling Maids of Honour, one of whom from afar caught glimpse of Miomandre as well as heard him,

hastily wrap the Queen; not in robes of State. She flies for her life, across the OeildeBoeuf; against the

main door of which too Insurrection batters. She is in the King's Apartment, in the King's arms; she clasps her

children amid a faithful few. The Imperialhearted bursts into mother's tears: "O my friends, save me and my

children, O mes amis, sauvez moi et mes enfans!" The battering of Insurrectionary axes clangs audible across

Yes, Friends: a hideous fearful hour; shameful alike to Governed and Governor; wherein Governed and

Governor ignominiously testify that their relation is at an end. Rage, which had brewed itself in twenty

thousand hearts, for the last fourandtwenty hours, has taken fire: Jerome's brained corpse lies there as

livecoal. It is, as we said, the infinite Element bursting in: wildsurging through all corridors and conduits.

Meanwhile, the poor Bodyguards have got hunted mostly into the Oeilde Boeuf. They may die there, at the

King's threshhold; they can do little to defend it. They are heaping tabourets (stools of honour), benches and

all moveables, against the door; at which the axe of Insurrection thunders. But did brave Miomandre

perish, then, at the Queen's door? No, he was fractured, slashed, lacerated, left for dead; he has nevertheless

crawled hither; and shall live, honoured of loyal France. Remark also, in flat contradiction to much which has

been said and sung, that Insurrection did not burst that door he had defended; but hurried elsewhither, seeking

Poor Bodyguards, with their Thyestes' OperaRepast! Well for them, that Insurrection has only pikes and

axes; no right sieging tools! It shakes and thunders. Must they all perish miserably, and Royalty with them?

Deshuttes and Varigny, massacred at the first inbreak, have been beheaded in the Marble Court: a sacrifice to

Jerome's manes: Jourdan with the tilebeard did that duty willingly; and asked, If there were no more?

Another captive they are leading round the corpse, with howlchauntings: may not Jourdan again tuck up his

And louder and louder rages Insurrection within, plundering if it cannot kill; louder and louder it thunders at

the OeildeBoeuf: what can now hinder its bursting in?On a sudden it ceases; the battering has ceased!

Wild rushing: the cries grow fainter: there is silence, or the tramp of regular steps; then a friendly knocking:

"We are the Centre Grenadiers, old Gardes Francaises: Open to us, Messieurs of the GardeduCorps; we

have not forgotten how you saved us at Fontenoy!" (Toulongeon, i. 144.) The door is opened; enter Captain

Gondran and the Centre Grenadiers: there are military embracings; there is sudden deliverance from death

Strange Sons of Adam! It was to 'exterminate' these GardesduCorps that the Centre Grenadiers left home:

and now they have rushed to save them from extermination. The memory of common peril, of old help, melts

the rough heart; bosom is clasped to bosom, not in war. The King shews himself, one moment, through the

door of his Apartment, with: "Do not hurt my Guards!""Soyons freres, Let us be brothers!" cries Captain

Gondran; and again dashes off, with levelled bayonets, to sweep the Palace clear.

Now too Lafayette, suddenly roused, not from sleep (for his eyes had not yet closed), arrives; with passionate

popular eloquence, with prompt military word of command. National Guards, suddenly roused, by sound of

trumpet and alarmdrum, are all arriving. The deathmelly ceases: the first skylambent blaze of

Insurrection is got damped down; it burns now, if unextinguished, yet flameless, as charred coals do, and not

inextinguishable. The King's Apartments are safe. Ministers, Officials, and even some loyal National deputies

are assembling round their Majesties. The consternation will, with sobs and confusion, settle down gradually,

But glance now, for a moment, from the royal windows! A roaring sea of human heads, inundating both

Courts; billowing against all passages: Menadic women; infuriated men, mad with revenge, with love of

mischief, love of plunder! Rascality has slipped its muzzle; and now bays, three throated, like the Dog of

Erebus. Fourteen Bodyguards are wounded; two massacred, and as we saw, beheaded; Jourdan asking, "Was

it worth while to come so far for two?" Hapless Deshuttes and Varigny! Their fate surely was sad. Whirled

down so suddenly to the abyss; as men are, suddenly, by the wide thunder of the Mountain Avalanche,

awakened not by them, awakened far off by others! When the Chateau Clock last struck, they two were

pacing languid, with poised musketoon; anxious mainly that the next hour would strike. It has struck; to them

inaudible. Their trunks lie mangled: their heads parade, 'on pikes twelve feet long,' through the streets of

Versailles; and shall, about noon reach the Barriers of Paris,a too ghastly contradiction to the large

The other captive Bodyguard is still circling the corpse of Jerome, amid Indian warwhooping; bloody

Tilebeard, with tucked sleeves, brandishing his bloody axe; when Gondran and the Grenadiers come in sight.

"Comrades, will you see a man massacred in cold blood?""Off, butchers!" answer they; and the poor

Bodyguard is free. Busy runs Gondran, busy run Guards and Captains; scouring at all corridors; dispersing

Rascality and Robbery; sweeping the Palace clear. The mangled carnage is removed; Jerome's body to the

Townhall, for inquest: the fire of Insurrection gets damped, more and more, into measurable, manageable

Transcendent things of all sorts, as in the general outburst of multitudinous Passion, are huddled together; the

ludicrous, nay the ridiculous, with the horrible. Far over the billowy sea of heads, may be seen Rascality,

caprioling on horses from the Royal Stud. The Spoilers these; for Patriotism is always infected so, with a

proportion of mere thieves and scoundrels. Gondran snatched their prey from them in the Chateau;

whereupon they hurried to the Stables, and took horse there. But the generous Diomedes' steeds, according to

Weber, disdained such scoundrelburden; and, flinging up their royal heels, did soon project most of it, in

parabolic curves, to a distance, amid peals of laughter: and were caught. Mounted National Guards secured

Now too is witnessed the touching lastflicker of Etiquette; which sinks not here, in the Cimmerian

Worldwreckage, without a sign, as the house cricket might still chirp in the pealing of a Trump of Doom.

"Monsieur," said some Master of Ceremonies (one hopes it might be de Breze), as Lafayette, in these fearful

moments, was rushing towards the inner Royal Apartments, "Monsieur, le Roi vous accorde les grandes

entrees, Monsieur, the King grants you the Grand Entries,"not finding it convenient to refuse them!"

However, the Paris National Guard, wholly under arms, has cleared the Palace, and even occupies the nearer

external spaces; extruding miscellaneous Patriotism, for most part, into the Grand Court, or even into the

The Bodyguards, you can observe, have now of a verity, 'hoisted the National Cockade:' for they step forward

to the windows or balconies, hat aloft in hand, on each hat a huge tricolor; and fling over their bandoleers in

sign of surrender; and shout Vive la Nation. To which how can the generous heart respond but with, Vive le

Roi; vivent les GardesduCorps? His Majesty himself has appeared with Lafayette on the balcony, and

again appears: Vive le Roi greets him from all throats; but also from some one throat is heard "Le Roi a Paris,

Her Majesty too, on demand, shows herself, though there is peril in it: she steps out on the balcony, with her

little boy and girl. "No children, Point d'enfans!" cry the voices. She gently pushes back her children; and

stands alone, her hands serenely crossed on her breast: "should I die," she had said, "I will do it." Such

serenity of heroism has its effect. Lafayette, with ready wit, in his highflown chivalrous way, takes that fair

queenly hand; and reverently kneeling, kisses it: thereupon the people do shout Vive la Reine. Nevertheless,

poor Weber 'saw' (or even thought he saw; for hardly the third part of poor Weber's experiences, in such

hysterical days, will stand scrutiny) 'one of these brigands level his musket at her Majesty,'with or without

So that all, and the Queen herself, nay the very Captain of the Bodyguards, have grown National! The very

Captain of the Bodyguards steps out now with Lafayette. On the hat of the repentant man is an enormous

tricolor; large as a soupplatter, or sunflower; visible to the utmost Forecourt. He takes the National Oath

with a loud voice, elevating his hat; at which sight all the army raise their bonnets on their bayonets, with

shouts. Sweet is reconcilement to the heart of man. Lafayette has sworn Flandre; he swears the remaining

Bodyguards, down in the Marble Court; the people clasp them in their arms:O, my brothers, why would ye

force us to slay you? Behold there is joy over you, as over returning prodigal sons!The poor Bodyguards,

now National and tricolor, exchange bonnets, exchange arms; there shall be peace and fraternity. And still

"Vive le Roi;" and also "Le Roi a Paris," not now from one throat, but from all throats as one, for it is the

Yes, The King to Paris: what else? Ministers may consult, and National Deputies wag their heads: but there is

now no other possibility. You have forced him to go willingly. "At one o'clock!" Lafayette gives audible

assurance to that purpose; and universal Insurrection, with immeasurable shout, and a discharge of all the

firearms, clear and rusty, great and small, that it has, returns him acceptance. What a sound; heard for

leagues: a doom peal!That sound too rolls away, into the Silence of Ages. And the Chateau of Versailles

stands ever since vacant, hushed still; its spacious Courts grassgrown, responsive to the hoe of the weeder.

Times and generations roll on, in their confused Gulfcurrent; and buildings like builders have their destiny.

Till one o'clock, then, there will be three parties, National Assembly, National Rascality, National Royalty,

all busy enough. Rascality rejoices; women trim themselves with tricolor. Nay motherly Paris has sent her

Avengers sufficient 'cartloads of loaves;' which are shouted over, which are gratefully consumed. The

Avengers, in return, are searching for grain stores; loading them in fifty waggons; that so a National King,

probable harbinger of all blessings, may be the evident bringer of plenty, for one.

And thus has Sansculottism made prisoner its King; revoking his parole. The Monarchy has fallen; and not so

much as honourably: no, ignominiously; with struggle, indeed, oft repeated; but then with unwise struggle;

wasting its strength in fits and paroxysms; at every new paroxysm, foiled more pitifully than before. Thus

Broglie's whiff of grapeshot, which might have been something, has dwindled to the potvalour of an Opera

Repast, and O Richard, O mon Roi. Which again we shall see dwindle to a Favras' Conspiracy, a thing to be

Poor Monarchy! But what save foulest defeat can await that man, who wills, and yet wills not? Apparently

the King either has a right, assertible as such to the death, before God and man; or else he has no right.

Apparently, the one or the other; could he but know which! May Heaven pity him! Were Louis wise he

would this day abdicate.Is it not strange so few Kings abdicate; and none yet heard of has been known to

commit suicide? Fritz the First, of Prussia, alone tried it; and they cut the rope.

As for the National Assembly, which decrees this morning that it 'is inseparable from his Majesty,' and will

follow him to Paris, there may one thing be noted: its extreme want of bodily health. After the Fourteenth of

July there was a certain sickliness observable among honourable Members; so many demanding passports, on

account of infirm health. But now, for these following days, there is a perfect murrian: President Mounier,

Lally Tollendal, Clermont Tonnere, and all Constitutional TwoChamber Royalists needing change of air; as

For, in truth, it is the second Emigration this that has now come; most extensive among Commons Deputies,

Noblesse, Clergy: so that 'to Switzerland alone there go sixty thousand.' They will return in the day of

accounts! Yes, and have hot welcome.But Emigration on Emigration is the peculiarity of France. One

Emigration follows another; grounded on reasonable fear, unreasonable hope, largely also on childish pet.

The highflyers have gone first, now the lower flyers; and ever the lower will go down to the crawlers.

Whereby, however, cannot our National Assembly so much the more commodiously make the Constitution;

your TwoChamber Anglomaniacs being all safe, distant on foreign shores? Abbe Maury is seized, and sent

back again: he, tough as tanned leather, with eloquent Captain Cazales and some others, will stand it out for

But here, meanwhile, the question arises: Was Philippe d'Orleans seen, this day, 'in the Bois de Boulogne, in

grey surtout;' waiting under the wet sere foliage, what the day might bring forth? Alas, yes, the Eidolon of

him was,in Weber's and other such brains. The Chatelet shall make large inquisition into the matter,

examining a hundred and seventy witnesses, and Deputy Chabroud publish his Report; but disclose nothing

further. (Rapport de Chabroud (Moniteur, du 31 December, 1789).) What then has caused these two

unparalleled October Days? For surely such dramatic exhibition never yet enacted itself without Dramatist

and Machinist. Wooden Punch emerges not, with his domestic sorrows, into the light of day, unless the wire

be pulled: how can human mobs? Was it not d'Orleans then, and Laclos, Marquis Sillery, Mirabeau and the

sons of confusion, hoping to drive the King to Metz, and gather the spoil? Nay was it not, quite contrariwise,

the OeildeBoeuf, Bodyguard Colonel de Guiche, Minister SaintPriest and highflying Loyalists; hoping

also to drive him to Metz; and try it by the sword of civil war? Good Marquis Toulongeon, the Historian and

Alas, my Friends, credulous incredulity is a strange matter. But when a whole Nation is smitten with

Suspicion, and sees a dramatic miracle in the very operation of the gastric juices, what help is there? Such

Nation is already a mere hypochondriac bundle of diseases; as good as changed into glass; atrabiliar,

decadent; and will suffer crises. Is not Suspicion itself the one thing to be suspected, as Montaigne feared

Now, however, the short hour has struck. His Majesty is in his carriage, with his Queen, sister Elizabeth, and

two royal children. Not for another hour can the infinite Procession get marshalled, and under way. The

Processional marches not a few our world has seen; Roman triumphs and ovations, Cabiric cymbalbeatings,

Royal progresses, Irish funerals: but this of the French Monarchy marching to its bed remained to be seen.

Miles long, and of breadth losing itself in vagueness, for all the neighbouring country crowds to see. Slow;

stagnating along, like shoreless Lake, yet with a noise like Niagara, like Babel and Bedlam. A splashing and a

tramping; a hurrahing, uproaring, musketvolleying;the truest segment of Chaos seen in these latter Ages!

Till slowly it disembogue itself, in the thickening dusk, into expectant Paris, through a double row of faces all

Consider this: Vanguard of National troops; with trains of artillery; of pikemen and pikewomen, mounted on

cannons, on carts, hackneycoaches, or on foot;tripudiating, in tricolor ribbons from head to heel; loaves

stuck on the points of bayonets, green boughs stuck in gun barrels. (Mercier, Nouveau Paris, iii. 21.) Next, as

mainmarch, 'fifty cartloads of corn,' which have been lent, for peace, from the stores of Versailles. Behind

which follow stragglers of the GardeduCorps; all humiliated, in Grenadier bonnets. Close on these comes

the Royal Carriage; come Royal Carriages: for there are an Hundred National Deputies too, among whom sits

Mirabeau, his remarks not given. Then finally, pellmell, as rearguard, Flandre, Swiss, Hundred Swiss,

other Bodyguards, Brigands, whosoever cannot get before. Between and among all which masses, flows

without limit Saint Antoine, and the Menadic Cohort. Menadic especially about the Royal Carriage;

tripudiating there, covered with tricolor; singing 'allusive songs;' pointing with one hand to the Royal

Carriage, which the illusions hit, and pointing to the Provisionwagons, with the other hand, and these words:

"Courage, Friends! We shall not want bread now; we are bringing you the Baker, the Bakeress, and Baker's

Boy (le Boulanger, la Boulangere, et le petit Mitron)." (Toulongeon, i. 134161; Deux Amis (iii. c. 9);

The wet day draggles the tricolor, but the joy is unextinguishable. Is not all well now? "Ah, Madame, notre

bonne Reine," said some of these Strong women some days hence, "Ah Madame, our good Queen, don't be

a traitor any more (ne soyez plus traitre), and we will all love you!" Poor Weber went splashing along, close

by the Royal carriage, with the tear in his eye: 'their Majesties did me the honour,' or I thought they did it, 'to

testify, from time to time, by shrugging of the shoulders, by looks directed to Heaven, the emotions they felt.'

Thus, like frail cockle, floats the Royal Lifeboat, helmless, on black deluges of Rascality.

Mercier, in his loose way, estimates the Procession and assistants at two hundred thousand. He says it was

one boundless inarticulate Haha; transcendent WorldLaughter; comparable to the Saturnalia of the

Ancients. Why not? Here too, as we said, is Human Nature once more human; shudder at it whoso is of

shuddering humour: yet behold it is human. It has 'swallowed all formulas;' it tripudiates even so. For which

reason they that collect Vases and Antiques, with figures of Dancing Bacchantes 'in wild and all but

Thus, however, has the slowmoving Chaos or modern Saturnalia of the Ancients, reached the Barrier; and

must halt, to be harangued by Mayor Bailly. Thereafter it has to lumber along, between the double row of

faces, in the transcendent heavenlashing Haha; two hours longer, towards the HoteldeVille. Then again to

be harangued there, by several persons; by Moreau de SaintMery, among others; Moreau of the

Threethousand orders, now National Deputy for St. Domingo. To all which poor Louis, who seemed to

'experience a slight emotion' on entering this Townhall, can answer only that he "comes with pleasure, with

confidence among his people." Mayor Bailly, in reporting it, forgets 'confidence;' and the poor Queen says

eagerly: "Add, with confidence.""Messieurs," rejoins Bailly, "You are happier than if I had not forgot."

Finally, the King is shewn on an upper balcony, by torchlight, with a huge tricolor in his hat: 'And all the

"people," says Weber, grasped one another's hands;thinking now surely the New Era was born.' Hardly till

eleven at night can Royalty get to its vacant, longdeserted Palace of the Tuileries: to lodge there, somewhat

Poor Louis has Two other Paris Processions to make: one ludicrous ignominious like this; the other not

The victim having once got his strokeofgrace, the catastrophe can be considered as almost come. There is

small interest now in watching his long low moans: notable only are his sharper agonies, what convulsive

struggles he may take to cast the torture off from him; and then finally the last departure of life itself, and

how he lies extinct and ended, either wrapt like Caesar in decorous mantlefolds, or unseemly sunk together,

Was French Royalty, when wrenched forth from its tapestries in that fashion, on that Sixth of October 1789,

such a victim? Universal France, and Royal Proclamation to all the Provinces, answers anxiously, No;

nevertheless one may fear the worst. Royalty was beforehand so decrepit, moribund, there is little life in it to

heal an injury. How much of its strength, which was of the imagination merely, has fled; Rascality having

looked plainly in the King's face, and not died! When the assembled crows can pluck up their scarecrow, and

say to it, Here shalt thou stand and not there; and can treat with it, and make it, from an infinite, a quite finite

Constitutional scarecrow,what is to be looked for? Not in the finite Constitutional scarecrow, but in what

still unmeasured, infiniteseeming force may rally round it, is there thenceforth any hope. For it is most true

that all available Authority is mystic in its conditions, and comes 'by the grace of God.'

Cheerfuller than watching the deathstruggles of Royalism will it be to watch the growth and gambollings of

Sansculottism; for, in human things, especially in human society, all death is but a deathbirth: thus if the

sceptre is departing from Louis, it is only that, in other forms, other sceptres, were it even pikesceptres, may

bear sway. In a prurient element, rich with nutritive influences, we shall find that Sansculottism grows lustily,

and even frisks in not ungraceful sport: as indeed most young creatures are sportful; nay, may it not be noted

further, that as the grown cat, and catspecies generally, is the cruellest thing known, so the merriest is

But fancy the Royal Family risen from its trucklebeds on the morrow of that mad day: fancy the Municipal

inquiry, "How would your Majesty please to lodge?"and then that the King's rough answer, "Each may

lodge as he can, I am well enough," is congeed and bowed away, in expressive grins, by the Townhall

Functionaries, with obsequious upholsterers at their back; and how the Chateau of the Tuileries is repainted,

regarnished into a golden Royal Residence; and Lafayette with his blue National Guards lies encompassing it,

as blue Neptune (in the language of poets) does an island, wooingly. Thither may the wrecks of rehabilitated

Loyalty gather; if it will become Constitutional; for Constitutionalism thinks no evil; Sansculottism itself

rejoices in the King's countenance. The rubbish of a Menadic Insurrection, as in this everkindly world all

rubbish can and must be, is swept aside; and so again, on clear arena, under new conditions, with something

Arthur Young has witnessed the strangest scene: Majesty walking unattended in the Tuileries Gardens; and

miscellaneous tricolor crowds, who cheer it, and reverently make way for it: the very Queen commands at

lowest respectful silence, regretful avoidance. (Arthur Young's Travels, i. 264 280.) Simple ducks, in those

royal waters, quackle for crumbs from young royal fingers: the little Dauphin has a little railed garden, where

he is seen delving, with ruddy cheeks and flaxen curled hair; also a little hutch to put his tools in, and screen

himself against showers. What peaceable simplicity! Is it peace of a Father restored to his children? Or of a

Taskmaster who has lost his whip? Lafayette and the Municipality and universal Constitutionalism assert the

former, and do what is in them to realise it. Such Patriotism as snarls dangerously, and shows teeth,

Patrollotism shall suppress; or far better, Royalty shall soothe down the angry hair of it, by gentle pattings;

and, most effectual of all, by fuller diet. Yes, not only shall Paris be fed, but the King's hand be seen in that

work. The household goods of the Poor shall, up to a certain amount, by royal bounty, be disengaged from

pawn, and that insatiable Mont de Piete disgorge: rides in the city with their viveleroi need not fail; and so

by substance and show, shall Royalty, if man's art can popularise it, be popularised. (Deux Amis, iii. c. 10.)

Or, alas, is it neither restored Father nor diswhipped Taskmaster that walks there; but an anomalous complex

of both these, and of innumerable other heterogeneities; reducible to no rubric, if not to this newly devised

one: King Louis Restorer of French Liberty? Man indeed, and King Louis like other men, lives in this world

to make rule out of the ruleless; by his living energy, he shall force the absurd itself to become less absurd.

But then if there be no living energy; living passivity only? King Serpent, hurled into his unexpected watery

dominion, did at least bite, and assert credibly that he was there: but as for the poor King Log, tumbled hither

and thither as thousandfold chance and other will than his might direct, how happy for him that he was indeed

wooden; and, doing nothing, could also see and suffer nothing! It is a distracted business.

For his French Majesty, meanwhile, one of the worst things is that he can get no hunting. Alas, no hunting

henceforth; only a fatal beinghunted! Scarcely, in the next June weeks, shall he taste again the joys of the

gamedestroyer; in next June, and never more. He sends for his smith tools; gives, in the course of the day,

official or ceremonial business being ended, 'a few strokes of the file, quelques coups de lime. (Le Chateau

des Tuileries, ou recit, par Roussel (in Hist. Parl. iv. 195 219).) Innocent brother mortal, why wert thou not

an obscure substantial maker of locks; but doomed in that other farseen craft, to be a maker only of

worldfollies, unrealities; things self destructive, which no mortal hammering could rivet into coherence!

Poor Louis is not without insight, nor even without the elements of will; some sharpness of temper, spurting

at times from a stagnating character. If harmless inertness could save him, it were well; but he will slumber

and painfully dream, and to do aught is not given him. Royalist Antiquarians still shew the rooms where

Majesty and suite, in these extraordinary circumstances, had their lodging. Here sat the Queen; reading,for

she had her library brought hither, though the King refused his; taking vehement counsel of the vehement

uncounselled; sorrowing over altered times; yet with sure hope of better: in her young rosy Boy, has she not

the living emblem of hope! It is a murky, working sky; yet with golden gleamsof dawn, or of deeper

meteoric night? Here again this chamber, on the other side of the main entrance, was the King's: here his

Majesty breakfasted, and did official work; here daily after breakfast he received the Queen; sometimes in

pathetic friendliness; sometimes in human sulkiness, for flesh is weak; and, when questioned about business

would answer: "Madame, your business is with the children." Nay, Sire, were it not better you, your

Majesty's self, took the children? So asks impartial History; scornful that the thicker vessel was not also the

stronger; pity struck for the porcelainclay of humanity rather than for the tileclay, though indeed both

So, however, in this Medicean Tuileries, shall the French King and Queen now sit, for oneandforty

months; and see a wildfermenting France work out its own destiny, and theirs. Months bleak, ungenial, of

rapid vicissitude; yet with a mild pale splendour, here and there: as of an April that were leading to leafiest

Summer; as of an October that led only to everlasting Frost. Medicean Tuileries, how changed since it was a

peaceful Tile field! Or is the ground itself fatestricken, accursed: an Atreus' Palace; for that Louvre window

is still nigh, out of which a Capet, whipt of the Furies, fired his signal of the Saint Bartholomew! Dark is the

way of the Eternal as mirrored in this world of Time: God's way is in the sea, and His path in the great deep.

To believing Patriots, however, it is now clear, that the Constitution will march, marcher,had it once legs

to stand on. Quick, then, ye Patriots, bestir yourselves, and make it; shape legs for it! In the Archeveche, or

Archbishop's Palace, his Grace himself having fled; and afterwards in the Ridinghall, named Manege, close

on the Tuileries: there does a National Assembly apply itself to the miraculous work. Successfully, had there

been any heavenscaling Prometheus among them; not successfully since there was none! There, in noisy

debate, for the sessions are occasionally 'scandalous,' and as many as three speakers have been seen in the

Tough, dogmatic, long of wind is Abbe Maury; Ciceronian pathetic is Cazales. Keentrenchant, on the other

side, glitters a young Barnave; abhorrent of sophistry; sheering, like keen Damascus sabre, all sophistry

asunder,reckless what else he sheer with it. Simple seemest thou, O solid Dutchbuilt Petion; if solid,

surely dull. Nor lifegiving in that tone of thine, livelier polemical Rabaut. With ineffable serenity sniffs great

Sieyes, aloft, alone; his Constitution ye may babble over, ye may mar, but can by no possibility mend: is not

Polity a science he has exhausted? Cool, slow, two military Lameths are visible, with their quality sneer, or

demisneer; they shall gallantly refund their Mother's Pension, when the Red Book is produced; gallantly be

wounded in duels. A Marquis Toulongeon, whose Pen we yet thank, sits there; in stoical meditative humour,

oftenest silent, accepts what destiny will send. Thouret and Parlementary Duport produce mountains of

Reformed Law; liberal, Anglomaniac, available and unavailable. Mortals rise and fall. Shall goose Gobel, for

example,or Go(with an umlaut)bel, for he is of Strasburg German breed, be a Constitutional Archbishop?

Alone of all men there, Mirabeau may begin to discern clearly whither all this is tending. Patriotism,

accordingly, regrets that his zeal seems to be getting cool. In that famed PentecostNight of the Fourth of

August, when new Faith rose suddenly into miraculous fire, and old Feudality was burnt up, men remarked

that Mirabeau took no hand in it; that, in fact, he luckily happened to be absent. But did he not defend the

Veto, nay Veto Absolu; and tell vehement Barnave that six hundred irresponsible senators would make of all

tyrannies the insupportablest? Again, how anxious was he that the King's Ministers should have seat and

voice in the National Assembly;doubtless with an eye to being Minister himself! Whereupon the National

Assembly decides, what is very momentous, that no Deputy shall be Minister; he, in his haughty stormful

manner, advising us to make it, 'no Deputy called Mirabeau.' (Moniteur, Nos. 65, 86 (29th September, 7th

November, 1789).) A man of perhaps inveterate Feudalisms; of stratagems; too often visible leanings towards

the Royalist side: a man suspect; whom Patriotism will unmask! Thus, in these June days, when the question

Who shall have right to declare war? comes on, you hear hoarse Hawkers sound dolefully through the streets,

"Grand Treason of Count Mirabeau, price only one sou;"because he pleads that it shall be not the

Assembly but the King! Pleads; nay prevails: for in spite of the hoarse Hawkers, and an endless Populace

raised by them to the pitch even of 'Lanterne,' he mounts the Tribune next day; grimresolute; murmuring

aside to his friends that speak of danger: "I know it: I must come hence either in triumph, or else torn in

A man of stout heart; whose popularity is not of the populace, 'pas populaciere;' whom no clamour of

unwashed mobs without doors, or of washed mobs within, can scarce from his way! Dumont remembers

hearing him deliver a Report on Marseilles; 'every word was interrupted on the part of the Cote Droit by

abusive epithets; calumniator, liar, assassin, scoundrel (scelerat): Mirabeau pauses a moment, and, in a

honeyed tone, addressing the most furious, says: "I wait, Messieurs, till these amenities be exhausted."'

(Dumont, Souvenirs, p. 278.) A man enigmatic, difficult to unmask! For example, whence comes his money?

Can the profit of a Newspaper, sorely eaten into by Dame Le Jay; can this, and the eighteen francs aday

your National Deputy has, be supposed equal to this expenditure? House in the Chaussee d'Antin;

Countryhouse at Argenteuil; splendours, sumptuosities, orgies;living as if he had a mint! All saloons

barred against Adventurer Mirabeau, are flung wide open to King Mirabeau, the cynosure of Europe, whom

female France flutters to behold, though the Man Mirabeau is one and the same. As for money, one may

conjecture that Royalism furnishes it; which if Royalism do, will not the same be welcome, as money always

'Sold,' whatever Patriotism thinks, he cannot readily be: the spiritual fire which is in that man; which shining

through such confusions is nevertheless Conviction, and makes him strong, and without which he had no

strength,is not buyable nor saleable; in such transference of barter, it would vanish and not be. Perhaps

'paid and not sold, paye pas vendu:' as poor Rivarol, in the unhappier converse way, calls himself 'sold and

not paid!' A man travelling, cometlike, in splendour and nebulosity, his wild way; whom telescopic

Patriotism may long watch, but, without higher mathematics, will not make out. A questionable most

blameable man; yet to us the far notablest of all. With rich munificence, as we often say, in a most blinkard,

bespectacled, logicchopping generation, Nature has gifted this man with an eye. Welcome is his word, there

where he speaks and works; and growing ever welcomer; for it alone goes to the heart of the business: logical

cobwebbery shrinks itself together; and thou seest a thing, how it is, how is may be worked with.

Unhappily our National Assembly has much to do: a France to regenerate; and France is short of so many

requisites; short even of cash! These same Finances give trouble enough; no choking of the Deficit; which

gapes ever, Give, give! To appease the Deficit we venture on a hazardous step, sale of the Clergy's Lands and

superfluous Edifices; most hazardous. Nay, given the sale, who is to buy them, readymoney having fled?

Wherefore, on the 19th day of December, a papermoney of 'Assignats,' of Bonds secured, or assigned, on

that ClericoNational Property, and unquestionable at least in payment of that,is decreed: the first of a

long series of like financial performances, which shall astonish mankind. So that now, while old rags last,

there shall be no lack of circulating medium; whether of commodities to circulate thereon is another question.

But, after all, does not this Assignat business speak volumes for modern science? Bankruptcy, we may say,

was come, as the end of all Delusions needs must come: yet how gently, in softening diffusion, in mild

succession, was it hereby made to fall;like no alldestroying avalanche; like gentle showers of a powdery

impalpable snow, shower after shower, till all was indeed buried, and yet little was destroyed that could not

be replaced , be dispensed with! To such length has modern machinery reached. Bankruptcy, we said, was

On the whole, it is a matter of endless difficulty, that of the Clergy. Clerical property may be made the

Nation's, and the Clergy hired servants of the State; but if so, is it not an altered Church? Adjustment enough,

of the most confused sort, has become unavoidable. Old landmarks, in any sense, avail not in a new France.

Nay literally, the very Ground is new divided; your old partycoloured Provinces become new uniform

Departments, Eightythree in number;whereby, as in some sudden shifting of the Earth's axis, no mortal

knows his new latitude at once. The Twelve old Parlements too, what is to be done with them? The old

Parlements are declared to be all 'in permanent vacation,'till once the new equaljustice, of Departmental

Courts, National AppealCourt, of elective Justices, Justices of Peace, and other ThouretandDuport

apparatus be got ready. They have to sit there, these old Parlements, uneasily waiting; as it were, with the

rope round their neck; crying as they can, Is there none to deliver us? But happily the answer being, None,

none, they are a manageable class, these Parlements. They can be bullied, even into silence; the Paris

Parliament, wiser than most, has never whimpered. They will and must sit there; in such vacation as is fit;

their Chamber of Vacation distributes in the interim what little justice is going. With the rope round their

neck, their destiny may be succinct! On the 13th of November 1790, Mayor Bailly shall walk to the Palais de

Justice, few even heeding him; and with municipal sealstamp and a little hot wax, seal up the Parlementary

Paper rooms,and the dread Parlement of Paris pass away, into Chaos, gently as does a Dream! So shall

Not so the Clergy. For granting even that Religion were dead; that it had died, halfcenturies ago, with

unutterable Dubois; or emigrated lately, to Alsace, with NecklaceCardinal Rohan; or that it now walked as

goblin revenant with Bishop Talleyrand of Autun; yet does not the Shadow of Religion, the Cant of Religion,

still linger? The Clergy have means and material: means, of number, organization, social weight; a material,

at lowest, of public ignorance, known to be the mother of devotion. Nay, withal, is it incredible that there

might, in simple hearts, latent here and there like gold grains in the mudbeach, still dwell some real Faith in

God, of so singular and tenacious a sort that even a Maury or a Talleyrand, could still be the symbol for

it?Enough, and Clergy has strength, the Clergy has craft and indignation. It is a most fatal business this of

the Clergy. A weltering hydracoil, which the National Assembly has stirred up about its ears; hissing,

stinging; which cannot be appeased, alive; which cannot be trampled dead! Fatal, from first to last! Scarcely

after fifteen months' debating, can a Civil Constitution of the Clergy be so much as got to paper; and then for

getting it into reality? Alas, such Civil Constitution is but an agreement to disagree. It divides France from

end to end, with a new split, infinitely complicating all the other splits; Catholicism, what of it there is left,

with the Cant of Catholicism, raging on the one side, and sceptic Heathenism on the other; both, by

contradiction , waxing fanatic. What endless jarring, of Refractory hated Priests, and Constitutional despised

ones; of tender consciences, like the King's, and consciences hotseared, like certain of his People's: the

whole to end in Feasts of Reason and a War of La Vendee! So deepseated is Religion in the heart of man,

and holds of all infinite passions. If the dead echo of it still did so much, what could not the living voice of it

Finance and Constitution, Law and Gospel: this surely were work enough; yet this is not all. In fact, the

Ministry, and Necker himself whom a brass inscription 'fastened by the people over his doorlintel' testifies

to be the 'Ministre adore,' are dwindling into clearer and clearer nullity. Execution or legislation, arrangement

or detail, from their nerveless fingers all drops undone; all lights at last on the toiled shoulders of an august

Representative Body. Heavyladen National Assembly! It has to hear of innumerable fresh revolts, Brigand

expeditions; of Chateaus in the West, especially of Charterchests, Chartiers, set on fire; for there too the

overloaded Ass frightfully recalcitrates. Of Cities in the South full of heats and jealousies; which will end in

crossed sabres, Marseilles against Toulon, and Carpentras beleaguered by Avignon;such Royalist collision

in a career of Freedom; nay Patriot collision, which a mere difference of velocity will bring about! Of a

Jourdan Couptete, who has skulked thitherward, from the claws of the Chatelet; and will raise whole

Also it has to hear of Royalist Camp of Jales: Jales mountaingirdled Plain, amid the rocks of the Cevennes;

whence Royalism, as is feared and hoped, may dash down like a mountain deluge, and submerge France! A

singular thing this camp of Jales; existing mostly on paper. For the Soldiers at Jales, being peasants or

National Guards, were in heart sworn Sansculottes; and all that the Royalist Captains could do was, with false

words, to keep them, or rather keep the report of them, drawn up there, visible to all imaginations, for a terror

and a sign,if peradventure France might be reconquered by theatrical machinery, by the picture of a

Royalist Army done to the life! (Dampmartin, Evenemens, i. 208.) Not till the third summer was this portent,

burning out by fits and then fading, got finally extinguished; was the old Castle of Jales, no Camp being

Also it has to hear not only of Brissot and his Friends of the Blacks, but by and by of a whole St. Domingo

blazing skyward; blazing in literal fire, and in far worse metaphorical; beaconing the nightly main. Also of

the shipping interest, and the landedinterest, and all manner of interests, reduced to distress. Of Industry

every where manacled, bewildered; and only Rebellion thriving. Of subofficers, soldiers and sailors in

mutiny by land and water. Of soldiers, at Nanci, as we shall see, needing to be cannonaded by a brave

Bouille. Of sailors, nay the very galleyslaves, at Brest, needing also to be cannonaded; but with no Bouille

to do it. For indeed, to say it in a word, in those days there was no King in Israel, and every man did that

which was right in his own eyes. (See Deux Amis, iii. c. 14; iv. c. 2, 3, 4, 7, 9, 14. Expedition des Volontaires

de Brest sur Lannion; Les Lyonnais Sauveurs des Dauphinois; Massacre au Mans; Troubles du Maine

Such things has an august National Assembly to hear of, as it goes on regenerating France. Sad and stern: but

what remedy? Get the Constitution ready; and all men will swear to it: for do not 'Addresses of adhesion'

arrive by the cartload? In this manner, by Heaven's blessing, and a Constitution got ready, shall the

bottomless firegulf be vaulted in, with ragpaper; and Order will wed Freedom, and live with her

there,till it grow too hot for them. O Cote Gauche, worthy are ye, as the adhesive Addresses generally say,

to 'fix the regards of the Universe;' the regards of this one poor Planet, at lowest!

Nay, it must be owned, the Cote Droit makes a still madder figure. An irrational generation; irrational,

imbecile, and with the vehement obstinacy characteristic of that; a generation which will not learn. Falling

Bastilles, Insurrections of Women, thousands of smoking Manorhouses, a country bristling with no crop but

that of Sansculottic steel: these were tolerably didactic lessons; but them they have not taught. There are still

men, of whom it was of old written, Bray them in a mortar! Or, in milder language, They have wedded their

delusions: fire nor steel, nor any sharpness of Experience, shall sever the bond; till death do us part! Of such

may the Heavens have mercy; for the Earth, with her rigorous Necessity, will have none.

Admit, at the same time, that it was most natural. Man lives by Hope: Pandora when her box of gods'gifts

flew all out, and became gods'curses, still retained Hope. How shall an irrational mortal, when his

highplace is never so evidently pulled down, and he, being irrational, is left resourceless,part with the

belief that it will be rebuilt? It would make all so straight again; it seems so unspeakably desirable; so

reasonable, would you but look at it aright! For, must not the thing which was continue to be; or else the

solid World dissolve? Yes, persist, O infatuated Sansculottes of France! Revolt against constituted

Authorities; hunt out your rightful Seigneurs, who at bottom so loved you, and readily shed their blood for

you,in country's battles as at Rossbach and elsewhere; and, even in preserving game, were preserving you,

could ye but have understood it: hunt them out, as if they were wild wolves; set fire to their Chateaus and

Chartiers as to wolfdens; and what then? Why, then turn every man his hand against his fellow! In

confusion, famine, desolation, regret the days that are gone; rueful recall them, recall us with them. To

So, with dimmer or clearer consciousness, must the Right Side reason and act. An inevitable position

perhaps; but a most false one for them. Evil, be thou our good: this henceforth must virtually be their prayer.

The fiercer the effervescence grows, the sooner will it pass; for after all it is but some mad effervescence; the

For the rest, if they have any positive industry, it is that of plots, and backstairs conclaves. Plots which cannot

be executed; which are mostly theoretic on their part;for which nevertheless this and the other practical

Sieur Augeard, Sieur Maillebois, Sieur Bonne Savardin, gets into trouble, gets imprisoned, and escapes with

difficulty. Nay there is a poor practical Chevalier Favras who, not without some passing reflex on Monsieur

himself, gets hanged for them, amid loud uproar of the world. Poor Favras, he keeps dictating his last will at

the 'HoteldeVille, through the whole remainder of the day,' a weary February day; offers to reveal secrets,

if they will save him; handsomely declines since they will not; then dies, in the flare of torchlight, with

politest composure; remarking, rather than exclaiming, with outspread hands: "People, I die innocent; pray

for me." (See Deux Amis, iv. c. 14, 7; Hist. Parl. vi. 384.) Poor Favras;type of so much that has prowled

indefatigable over France, in days now ending; and, in freer field, might have earned instead of

In the Senatehouse again, the attitude of the Right Side is that of calm unbelief. Let an august National

Assembly make a FourthofAugust Abolition of Feudality; declare the Clergy Stateservants who shall

have wages; vote Suspensive Vetos, new LawCourts; vote or decree what contested thing it will; have it

responded to from the four corners of France, nay get King's Sanction, and what other Acceptance were

conceivable,the Right Side, as we find, persists, with imperturbablest tenacity, in considering, and ever and

anon shews that it still considers, all these socalled Decrees as mere temporary whims, which indeed stand

on paper, but in practice and fact are not, and cannot be. Figure the brass head of an Abbe Maury flooding

forth Jesuitic eloquence in this strain; dusky d'Espremenil, Barrel Mirabeau (probably in liquor), and enough

of others, cheering him from the Right; and, for example, with what visage a seagreen Robespierre eyes him

from the Left. And how Sieyes ineffably sniffs on him, or does not deign to sniff; and how the Galleries

groan in spirit, or bark rabid on him: so that to escape the Lanterne, on stepping forth, he needs presence of

mind, and a pair of pistols in his girdle! For he is one of the toughest of men.

Here indeed becomes notable one great difference between our two kinds of civil war; between the modern

lingual or Parliamentarylogical kind, and the ancient, or manual kind, in the steel battlefield;much to the

disadvantage of the former. In the manual kind, where you front your foe with drawn weapon, one right

stroke is final; for, physically speaking, when the brains are out the man does honestly die, and trouble you

no more. But how different when it is with arguments you fight! Here no victory yet definable can be

considered as final. Beat him down, with Parliamentary invective, till sense be fled; cut him in two, hanging

one half in this dilemmahorn, the other on that; blow the brains or thinkingfaculty quite out of him for the

time: it skills not; he rallies and revives on the morrow; tomorrow he repairs his golden fires! The think that

will logically extinguish him is perhaps still a desideratum in Constitutional civilisation. For how, till a man

know, in some measure, at what point he becomes logically defunct, can Parliamentary Business be carried

Doubtless it was some feeling of this difficulty; and the clear insight how little such knowledge yet existed in

the French Nation, new in the Constitutional career, and how defunct Aristocrats would continue to walk for

unlimited periods, as Partridge the Alamanackmaker did,that had sunk into the deep mind of

People'sfriend Marat, an eminently practical mind; and had grown there, in that richest putrescent soil, into

the most original plan of action ever submitted to a People. Not yet has it grown; but it has germinated, it is

growing; rooting itself into Tartarus, branching towards Heaven: the second season hence, we shall see it

risen out of the bottomless Darkness, fullgrown, into disastrous Twilight,a Hemlocktree, great as the

world; on or under whose boughs all the People'sfriends of the world may lodge. 'Two hundred and sixty

thousand Aristocrat heads:' that is the precisest calculation, though one would not stand on a few hundreds;

yet we never rise as high as the round three hundred thousand. Shudder at it, O People; but it is as true as that

ye yourselves, and your People'sfriend, are alive. These prating Senators of yours hover ineffectual on the

barren letter, and will never save the Revolution. A CassandraMarat cannot do it, with his single shrunk

arm; but with a few determined men it were possible. "Give me," said the People'sfriend, in his cold way,

when young Barbaroux, once his pupil in a course of what was called Optics, went to see him, "Give me two

hundred Naples Bravoes, armed each with a good dirk, and a muff on his left arm by way of shield: with

them I will traverse France, and accomplish the Revolution." (Memoires de Barbaroux (Paris, 1822), p. 57.)

Nay, be brave, young Barbaroux; for thou seest, there is no jesting in those rheumy eyes; in that sootbleared

figure, most earnest of created things; neither indeed is there madness, of the straitwaistcoat sort.

Such produce shall the Time ripen in cavernous Marat, the man forbid; living in Paris cellars, lone as fanatic

Anchorite in his Thebaid; say, as farseen Simon on his Pillar,taking peculiar views therefrom. Patriots

may smile; and, using him as bandog now to be muzzled, now to be let bark, name him, as Desmoulins does,

'Maximum of Patriotism' and 'Cassandra Marat:' but were it not singular if this dirkandmuff plan of his

After this manner, in these circumstances, do august Senators regenerate France. Nay, they are, in very deed,

believed to be regenerating it; on account of which great fact, main fact of their history, the wearied eye can

But looking away now from these precincts of the Tuileries, where Constitutional Royalty, let Lafayette

water it as he will, languishes too like a cut branch; and august Senators are perhaps at bottom only perfecting

their 'theory of defective verbs,'how does the young Reality, young Sansculottism thrive? The attentive

observer can answer: It thrives bravely; putting forth new buds; expanding the old buds into leaves, into

boughs. Is not French Existence, as before, most prurient, all loosened, most nutrient for it? Sansculottism

has the property of growing by what other things die of: by agitation, contention, disarrangement; nay in a

In such a France as this, Hunger, as we have remarked, can hardly fail. The Provinces, the Southern Cities

feel it in their turn; and what it brings: Exasperation, preternatural Suspicion. In Paris some halcyon days of

abundance followed the Menadic Insurrection, with its Versailles grain carts, and recovered Restorer of

Liberty; but they could not continue. The month is still October when famishing SaintAntoine, in a moment

of passion, seizes a poor Baker, innocent 'Francois the Baker;' (21st October, 1789 (Moniteur, No. 76).) and

hangs him, in Constantinople wise;but even this, singular as it my seem, does not cheapen bread! Too clear

it is, no Royal bounty, no Municipal dexterity can adequately feed a Bastille destroying Paris. Wherefore,

on view of the hanged Baker, Constitutionalism in sorrow and anger demands 'Loi Martiale,' a kind of Riot

This is that famed Martial law, with its Red Flag, its 'Drapeau Rouge:' in virtue of which Mayor Bailly, or

any Mayor, has but henceforth to hang out that new Oriflamme of his; then to read or mumble something

about the King's peace; and, after certain pauses, serve any undispersing Assemblage with musketshot, or

whatever shot will disperse it. A decisive Law; and most just on one proviso: that all Patrollotism be of God,

and all mob assembling be of the Devil;otherwise not so just. Mayor Bailly be unwilling to use it! Hang

not out that new Oriflamme, flame not of gold but of the want of gold! The thriceblessed Revolution is

But now let no mortal say henceforth that an august National Assembly wants riot: all it ever wanted was riot

enough to balance Courtplotting; all it now wants, of Heaven or of Earth, is to get its theory of defective

With famine and a Constitutional theory of defective verbs going on, all other excitement is conceivable. A

universal shaking and sifting of French Existence this is: in the course of which, for one thing, what a

multitude of lowlying figures are sifted to the top, and set busily to work there!

Dogleech Marat, now forseen as Simon Stylites, we already know; him and others, raised aloft. The mere

sample, these, of what is coming, of what continues coming, upwards from the realm of Night!Chaumette,

by and by Anaxagoras Chaumette, one already descries: mellifluous in streetgroups; not now a seaboy on

the high and giddy mast: a mellifluous tribune of the common people, with long curling locks, on

bournestone of the thoroughfares; able subeditor too; who shall riseto the very gallows. Clerk Tallien,

he also is become subeditor; shall become able editor; and more. Bibliopolic Momoro, Typographic

Pruhomme see new trades opening. Collot d'Herbois, tearing a passion to rags, pauses on the Thespian

boards; listens, with that black bushy head, to the sound of the world's drama: shall the Mimetic become

Real? Did ye hiss him, O men of Lyons? (Buzot, Memoires (Paris, 1823), p. 90.) Better had ye clapped!

Happy now, indeed, for all manner of mimetic, halforiginal men! Tumid blustering, with more or less of

sincerity, which need not be entirely sincere, yet the sincerer the better, is like to go far. Shall we say, the

Revolutionelement works itself rarer and rarer; so that only lighter and lighter bodies will float in it; till at

last the mere blownbladder is your only swimmer? Limitation of mind, then vehemence, promptitude,

audacity, shall all be available; to which add only these two: cunning and good lungs. Good fortune must be

presupposed. Accordingly, of all classes the rising one, we observe, is now the Attorney class: witness

Bazires, Carriers, FouquierTinvilles, BazocheCaptain Bourdons: more than enough. Such figures shall

Night, from her wonderbearing bosom, emit; swarm after swarm. Of another deeper and deepest swarm, not

yet dawned on the astonished eye; of pilfering Candlesnuffers, Thiefvalets, disfrocked Capuchins, and so

many Heberts, Henriots, Ronsins, Rossignols, let us, as long as possible, forbear speaking.

Thus, over France, all stirs that has what the Physiologists call irritability in it: how much more all wherein

irritability has perfected itself into vitality; into actual vision, and force that can will! All stirs; and if not in

Paris, flocks thither. Great and greater waxes President Danton in his Cordeliers Section; his rhetorical tropes

are all 'gigantic:' energy flashes from his black brows, menaces in his athletic figure, rolls in the sound of his

voice 'reverberating from the domes;' this man also, like Mirabeau, has a natural eye, and begins to see

whither Constitutionalism is tending, though with a wish in it different from Mirabeau's.

Remark, on the other hand, how General Dumouriez has quitted Normandy and the Cherbourg Breakwater, to

comewhither we may guess. It is his second or even third trial at Paris, since this New Era began; but now

it is in right earnest, for he has quitted all else. Wiry, elastic unwearied man; whose life was but a battle and a

march! No, not a creature of Choiseul's; "the creature of God and of my sword,"he fiercely answered in old

days. Overfalling Corsican batteries, in the deadly firehail; wriggling invincible from under his horse, at

Closterkamp of the Netherlands, though tethered with 'crushed stirrupiron and nineteen wounds;' tough,

minatory, standing at bay, as forlorn hope, on the skirts of Poland; intriguing, battling in cabinet and field;

roaming far out, obscure, as King's spial, or sitting sealed up, enchanted in Bastille; fencing, pamphleteering,

scheming and struggling from the very birth of him, (Dumouriez, Memoires, i. 28, man has come thus far.

How repressed, how irrepressible! Like some incarnate spirit in prison, which indeed he was; hewing on

granite walls for deliverance; striking fire flashes from them. And now has the general earthquake rent his

cavern too? Twenty years younger, what might he not have done! But his hair has a shade of gray: his way of

thought is all fixed, military. He can grow no further, and the new world is in such growth. We will name

him, on the whole, one of Heaven's Swiss; without faith; wanting above all things work, work on any side.

Not from over France only are the unrestful flocking towards Paris; but from all sides of Europe. Where the

carcase is, thither will the eagles gather. Think how many a Spanish Guzman, Martinico Fournier named

'Fournier l'Americain,' Engineer Miranda from the very Andes, were flocking or had flocked! Walloon

Pereyra might boast of the strangest parentage: him, they say, Prince Kaunitz the Diplomatist heedlessly

dropped;' like ostrichegg, to be hatched of Chanceinto an ostricheater! Jewish or German Freys do

business in the great Cesspool of Agio; which Cesspool this Assignatfiat has quickened, into a Mother of

dead dogs. Swiss Claviere could found no Socinian Genevese Colony in Ireland; but he paused, years ago,

prophetic before the Minister's Hotel at Paris; and said, it was borne on his mind that he one day was to be

Minister, and laughed. (Dumont, Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, p. 399.) Swiss Pachc, on the other hand, sits

sleekheaded, frugal; the wonder of his own alley, and even of neighbouring ones, for humility of mind, and a

thought deeper than most men's: sit there, Tartuffe, till wanted! Ye Italian Dufournys, Flemish Prolys, flit

hither all ye bipeds of prey! Come whosesoever head is hot; thou of mind ungoverned, be it chaos as of

undevelopment or chaos as of ruin; the man who cannot get known, the man who is too well known; if thou

have any vendible faculty, nay if thou have but edacity and loquacity, come! They come; with hot

unutterabilities in their heart; as Pilgrims towards a miraculous shrine. Nay how many come as vacant

Strollers, aimless, of whom Europe is full merely towards something! For benighted fowls, when you beat

their bushes, rush towards any light. Thus Frederick Baron Trenck too is here; mazed, purblind, from the cells

of Magdeburg; Minotauric cells, and his Ariadne lost! Singular to say, Trenck, in these years, sells wine; not

Nor is our England without her missionaries. She has her livesaving Needham; to whom was solemnly

presented a 'civic sword,'long since rusted into nothingness. Her Paine: rebellious Staymaker; unkempt;

who feels that he, a single Needleman, did by his 'Common Sense' Pamphlet, free America;that he can and

will free all this World; perhaps even the other. PriceStanhope Constitutional Association sends over to

congratulate; (Moniteur, 10 Novembre, 7 Decembre, 1789.) welcomed by National Assembly, though they

On thee too, for country's sake, O Chevalier John Paul, be a word spent, or misspent! In faded naval uniform,

Paul Jones lingers visible here; like a wineskin from which the wine is all drawn. Like the ghost of himself!

Low is his once loud bruit; scarcely audible, save, with extreme tedium in ministerial antechambers; in this

or the other charitable diningroom, mindful of the past. What changes; culminatings and declinings! Not

now, poor Paul, thou lookest wistful over the Solway brine, by the foot of native Criffel, into blue

mountainous Cumberland, into blue Infinitude; environed with thrift, with humble friendliness; thyself,

young fool, longing to be aloft from it, or even to be away from it. Yes, beyond that sapphire Promontory,

which men name St. Bees, which is not sapphire either, but dull sandstone, when one gets close to it, there is

a world. Which world thou too shalt taste of!From yonder White Haven rise his smoke clouds; ominous

though ineffectual. Proud Forth quakes at his bellying sails; had not the wind suddenly shifted. Flamborough

reapers, homegoing, pause on the hillside: for what sulphurcloud is that that defaces the sleek sea;

sulphurcloud spitting streaks of fire? A sea cockfight it is, and of the hottest; where British Serapis and

FrenchAmerican Bon Homme Richard do lash and throttle each other, in their fashion; and lo the desperate

valour has suffocated the deliberate, and Paul Jones too is of the Kings of the Sea!

The Euxine, the Meotian waters felt thee next, and longskirted Turks, O Paul; and thy fiery soul has wasted

itself in thousand contradictions;to no purpose. For, in far lands, with scarlet NassauSiegens, with sinful

Imperial Catherines, is not the heartbroken, even as at home with the mean? Poor Paul! hunger and

dispiritment track thy sinking footsteps: once or at most twice, in this Revolutiontumult the figure of thee

emerges; mute, ghostlike, as 'with stars dimtwinkling through.' And then, when the light is gone quite out,

a National Legislature grants 'ceremonial funeral!' As good had been the natural Presbyterian Kirkbell, and

six feet of Scottish earth, among the dust of thy loved ones.Such world lay beyond the Promontory of St.

But of all strangers, far the notablest for us is Baron Jean Baptiste de Clootz;or, dropping baptisms and

feudalisms, WorldCitizen Anacharsis Clootz, from Cleves. Him mark, judicious Reader. Thou hast known

his Uncle, sharpsighted thoroughgoing Cornelius de Pauw, who mercilessly cuts down cherished illusions;

and of the finest antique Spartans, will make mere modern cutthroat Mainots. (De Pauw, Recherches sur les

Grecs, The like stuff is in Anacharsis: hot metal; full of scoriae, which should and could have been smelted

out, but which will not. He has wandered over this terraqueous Planet; seeking, one may say, the Paradise we

lost long ago. He has seen English Burke; has been seen of the Portugal Inquisition; has roamed, and fought,

and written; is writing, among other things, 'Evidences of the Mahometan Religion.' But now, like his

Scythian adoptive godfather, he finds himself in the Paris Athens; surely, at last, the haven of his soul. A

dashing man, beloved at Patriotic dinnertables; with gaiety, nay with humour; headlong, trenchant, of free

purse; in suitable costume; though what mortal ever more despised costumes? Under all costumes Anacharsis

seeks the man; not Stylites Marat will more freely trample costumes, if they hold no man. This is the faith of

Anacharsis: That there is a Paradise discoverable; that all costumes ought to hold men. O Anacharsis, it is a

headlong, swiftgoing faith. Mounted thereon, meseems, thou art bound hastily for the City of Nowhere; and

wilt arrive! At best, we may say, arrive in good riding attitude; which indeed is something.

So many new persons, and new things, have come to occupy this France. Her old Speech and Thought, and

Activity which springs from those, are all changing; fermenting towards unknown issues. To the dullest

peasant, as he sits sluggish, overtoiled, by his evening hearth, one idea has come: that of Chateaus burnt; of

Chateaus combustible. How altered all Coffeehouses, in Province or Capital! The Antre de Procope has now

other questions than the Three Stagyrite Unities to settle; not theatrecontroversies, but a worldcontroversy:

there, in the ancient pigtail mode, or with modern Brutus' heads, do wellfrizzed logicians hold hubbub, and

Chaos umpire sits. The everenduring Melody of Paris Saloons has got a new groundtone: everenduring;

which has been heard, and by the listening Heaven too, since Julian the Apostate's time and earlier; mad now

ExCensor Suard, ExCensor, for we have freedom of the Press; he may be seen there; impartial, even

neutral. Tyrant Grimm rolls large eyes, over a questionable coming Time. Atheist Naigeon, beloved disciple

of Diderot, crows, in his small difficult way, heralding glad dawn. (Naigeon: Addresse a l'Assemblee

Nationale (Paris, 1790) sur la liberte des opinions.) But, on the other hand, how many Morellets, Marmontels,

who had sat all their life hatching Philosophe eggs, cackle now, in a state bordering on distraction, at the

brood they have brought out! (See Marmontel, Memoires, passim; Morellet, Memoires, It was so delightful to

have one's Philosophe Theorem demonstrated, crowned in the saloons: and now an infatuated people will not

There also observe Preceptress Genlis, or Sillery, or SilleryGenlis,for our husband is both Count and

Marquis, and we have more than one title. Pretentious, frothy; a puritan yet creedless; darkening counsel by

words without wisdom! For, it is in that thin element of the Sentimentalist and DistinguishedFemale that

SilleryGenlis works; she would gladly be sincere, yet can grow no sincerer than sincerecant: sincerecant

of many forms, ending in the devotional form. For the present, on a neck still of moderate whiteness, she

wears as jewel a miniature Bastille, cut on mere sandstone, but then actual Bastille sandstone. M. le Marquis

is one of d'Orleans's errandmen; in National Assembly, and elsewhere. Madame, for her part, trains up a

youthful d'Orleans generation in what superfinest morality one can; gives meanwhile rather enigmatic

account of fair Mademoiselle Pamela, the Daughter whom she has adopted. Thus she, in Palais Royal

saloon;whither, we remark, d'Orleans himself, spite of Lafayette, has returned from that English 'mission'

of his: surely no pleasant mission: for the English would not speak to him; and Saint Hannah More of

England, so unlike Saint SilleryGenlis of France, saw him shunned, in Vauxhall Gardens, like one

peststruck, (Hannah More's Life and Correspondence, ii. c. 5.) and his redblue impassive visage waxing

As for Constitutionalism, with its National Guards, it is doing what it can; and has enough to do: it must, as

ever, with one hand wave persuasively, repressing Patriotism; and keep the other clenched to menace Royalty

Thus, if People'sfriend Marat has today his writ of 'prise de corps, or seizure of body,' served on him, and

dives out of sight, tomorrow he is left at large; or is even encouraged, as a sort of bandog whose baying may

be useful. President Danton, in open Hall, with reverberating voice, declares that, in a case like Marat's,

"force may be resisted by force." Whereupon the Chatelet serves Danton also with a writ;which, however,

as the whole Cordeliers District responds to it, what Constable will be prompt to execute? Twice more, on

new occasions, does the Chatelet launch its writ; and twice more in vain: the body of Danton cannot be seized

by Chatelet; he unseized, should he even fly for a season, shall behold the Chatelet itself flung into limbo.

Municipality and Brissot, meanwhile, are far on with their Municipal Constitution. The Sixty Districts shall

become Fortyeight Sections; much shall be adjusted, and Paris have its Constitution. A Constitution wholly

Elective; as indeed all French Government shall and must be. And yet, one fatal element has been introduced:

that of citoyen actif. No man who does not pay the marc d'argent, or yearly tax equal to three days' labour,

shall be other than a passive citizen: not the slightest vote for him; were he acting, all the year round, with

sledge hammer, with forestlevelling axe! Unheard of! cry Patriot Journals. Yes truly, my Patriot Friends, if

Liberty, the passion and prayer of all men's souls, means Liberty to send your fiftythousandth part of a new

Tonguefencer into National Debating club, then, be the gods witness, ye are hardly entreated. Oh, if in

National Palaver (as the Africans name it), such blessedness is verily found, what tyrant would deny it to Son

of Adam! Nay, might there not be a Female Parliament too, with 'screams from the Opposition benches,' and

'the honourable Member borne out in hysterics?' To a Children's Parliament would I gladly consent; or even

lower if ye wished it. Beloved Brothers! Liberty, one might fear, is actually, as the ancient wise men said, of

Heaven. On this Earth, where, thinks the enlightened public, did a brave little Dame de Staal (not Necker's

Daughter, but a far shrewder than she) find the nearest approach to Liberty? After mature computation, cool

as Dilworth's, her answer is, In the Bastille. (See De Staal: Memoires (Paris, 1821), i. 169280.) "Of

Heaven?" answer many, asking. Wo that they should ask; for that is the very misery! "Of Heaven" means

One Sansculottic bough that cannot fail to flourish is Journalism. The voice of the People being the voice of

God, shall not such divine voice make itself heard? To the ends of France; and in as many dialects as when

the first great Babel was to be built! Some loud as the lion; some small as the sucking dove. Mirabeau

himself has his instructive Journal or Journals, with Geneva hodmen working in them; and withal has

quarrels enough with Dame le Jay, his Female Bookseller, so ultracompliant otherwise. (See Dumont:

King'sfriend Royou still prints himself. Barrere sheds tears of loyal sensibility in Break of Day Journal,

though with declining sale. But why is Freron so hot, democratic; Freron, the King'sfriend's Nephew? He

has it by kind, that heat of his: wasp Freron begot him; Voltaire's Frelon; who fought stinging, while sting

and poisonbag were left, were it only as Reviewer, and over Printed Wastepaper. Constant, illuminative, as

the nightly lamplighter, issues the useful Moniteur, for it is now become diurnal: with facts and few

commentaries; official, safe in the middle: its able Editors sunk long since, recoverably or irrecoverably, in

deep darkness. Acid Loustalot, with his 'vigour,' as of young sloes, shall never ripen, but die untimely: his

Prudhomme, however, will not let that Revolutions de Paris die; but edit it himself, with much else,dull

Of CassandraMarat we have spoken often; yet the most surprising truth remains to be spoken: that he

actually does not want sense; but, with croaking gelid throat, croaks out masses of the truth, on several things.

Nay sometimes, one might almost fancy he had a perception of humour, and were laughing a little, far down

in his inner man. Camille is wittier than ever, and more outspoken, cynical; yet sunny as ever. A light

melodious creature; 'born,' as he shall yet say with bitter tears, 'to write verses;' light Apollo, so clear,

Folded and hawked Newspapers exist in all countries; but, in such a Journalistic element as this of France,

other and stranger sorts are to be anticipated. What says the English reader to a JournalAffiche, Placard

Journal; legible to him that has no halfpenny; in bright prismatic colours, calling the eye from afar? Such, in

the coming months, as Patriot Associations, public and private, advance, and can subscribe funds, shall

plenteously hang themselves out: leaves, limed leaves, to catch what they can! The very Government shall

have its Pasted Journal; Louvet, busy yet with a new 'charming romance,' shall write Sentinelles, and post

them with effect; nay Bertrand de Moleville, in his extremity, shall still more cunningly try it. (See

BertrandMoleville: Memoires, ii. 100, Great is Journalism. Is not every Able Editor a Ruler of the World,

being a persuader of it; though selfelected, yet sanctioned, by the sale of his Numbers? Whom indeed the

world has the readiest method of deposing, should need be: that of merely doing nothing to him; which ends

Nor esteem it small what those Billstickers had to do in Paris: above Three Score of them: all with their

crosspoles, haversacks, pastepots; nay with leaden badges, for the Municipality licenses them. A Sacred

College, properly of Worldrulers' Heralds, though not respected as such, in an Era still incipient and raw.

They made the walls of Paris didactic, suasive, with an ever fresh Periodical Literature, wherein he that ran

might read: Placard Journals, Placard Lampoons, Municipal Ordinances, Royal Proclamations; the whole

other or vulgar Placarddepartment superadded, or omitted from contempt! What unutterable things the

stonewalls spoke, during these five years! But it is all gone; Today swallowing Yesterday, and then being

in its turn swallowed of Tomorrow, even as Speech ever is. Nay what, O thou immortal Man of Letters, is

Writing itself but Speech conserved for a time? The Placard Journal conserved it for one day; some Books

conserve it for the matter of ten years; nay some for three thousand: but what then? Why, then, the years

being all run, it also dies, and the world is rid of it. Oh, were there not a spirit in the word of man, as in man

himself, that survived the audible bodied word, and tended either Godward, or else Devilward for evermore,

why should he trouble himself much with the truth of it, or the falsehood of it, except for commercial

purposes? His immortality indeed, and whether it shall last half a lifetime, or a lifetime and half; is not that a

very considerable thing? As mortality, was to the runaway, whom Great Fritz bullied back into the battle with

a: "R, wollt ihr ewig leben, Unprintable Offscouring of Scoundrels, would ye live for ever!"

This is the Communication of Thought: how happy when there is any Thought to communicate! Neither let

the simpler old methods be neglected, in their sphere. The PalaisRoyal Tent, a tyrannous Patrollotism has

removed; but can it remove the lungs of man? Anaxagoras Chaumette we saw mounted on bournestones,

while Tallien worked sedentary at the subeditorial desk. In any corner of the civilised world, a tub can be

inverted, and an articulatespeaking biped mount thereon. Nay, with contrivance, a portable trestle, or

foldingstool, can be procured, for love or money; this the peripatetic Orator can take in his hand, and, driven

out here, set it up again there; saying mildly, with a Sage Bias, Omnia mea mecum porto.

Such is Journalism, hawked, pasted, spoken. How changed since One old Metra walked this same Tuileries

Garden, in gilt cocked hat, with Journal at his nose, or held loosefolded behind his back; and was a

notability of Paris, 'Metra the Newsman;' (Dulaure, Histoire de Paris, viii. 483; Mercier, Nouveau Paris, and

Louis himself was wont to say: Qu'en dit Metra? Since the first Venetian Newssheet was sold for a gazza, or

Where the heart is full, it seeks, for a thousand reasons, in a thousand ways, to impart itself. How sweet,

indispensable, in such cases, is fellowship; soul mystically strengthening soul! The meditative Germans,

some think, have been of opinion that Enthusiasm in the general means simply excessive

CongregatingSchwarmerey, or Swarming. At any rate, do we not see glimmering halfred embers, if laid

In such a France, gregarious Reunions will needs multiply, intensify; French Life will step out of doors, and,

from domestic, become a public Club Life. Old Clubs, which already germinated, grow and flourish; new

every where bud forth. It is the sure symptom of Social Unrest: in such way, most infallibly of all, does

Social Unrest exhibit itself; find solacement, and also nutriment. In every French head there hangs now,

whether for terror or for hope, some prophetic picture of a New France: prophecy which brings, nay which

almost is, its own fulfilment; and in all ways, consciously and unconsciously, works towards that.

Observe, moreover, how the Aggregative Principle, let it be but deep enough, goes on aggregating, and this

even in a geometrical progression: how when the whole world, in such a plastic time, is forming itself into

Clubs, some One Club, the strongest or luckiest, shall, by friendly attracting, by victorious compelling, grow

ever stronger, till it become immeasurably strong; and all the others, with their strength, be either lovingly

absorbed into it, or hostilely abolished by it! This if the Club spirit is universal; if the time is plastic. Plastic

enough is the time, universal the Clubspirit: such an all absorbing, paramount One Club cannot be wanting.

What a progress, since the first salientpoint of the Breton Committee! It worked long in secret, not

languidly; it has come with the National Assembly to Paris; calls itself Club; calls itself in imitation, as is

thought, of those generous PriceStanhope English, French Revolution Club; but soon, with more originality,

Club of Friends of the Constitution. Moreover it has leased, for itself, at a fair rent, the Hall of the Jacobin's

Convent, one of our 'superfluous edifices;' and does therefrom now, in these spring months, begin shining out

on an admiring Paris. And so, by degrees, under the shorter popular title of Jacobins' Club, it shall become

memorable to all times and lands. Glance into the interior: strongly yet modestly benched and seated; as

many as Thirteen Hundred chosen Patriots; Assembly Members not a few. Barnave, the two Lameths are

seen there; occasionally Mirabeau, perpetually Robespierre; also the ferretvisage of FouquierTinville with

other attorneys; Anacharsis of Prussian Scythia, and miscellaneous Patriots,though all is yet in the most

perfectly cleanwashed state; decent, nay dignified. President on platform, President's bell are not wanting;

oratorical Tribune highraised; nor strangers' galleries, wherein also sit women. Has any French Antiquarian

Society preserved that written Lease of the Jacobins Convent Hall? Or was it, unluckier even than Magna

Charta, clipt by sacrilegious Tailors? Universal History is not indifferent to it.

These Friends of the Constitution have met mainly, as their name may foreshadow, to look after Elections

when an Election comes, and procure fit men; but likewise to consult generally that the Commonweal take no

damage; one as yet sees not how. For indeed let two or three gather together any where, if it be not in Church,

where all are bound to the passive state; no mortal can say accurately, themselves as little as any, for what

they are gathered. How often has the broached barrel proved not to be for joy and heart effusion, but for duel

and headbreakage; and the promised feast become a Feast of the Lapithae! This Jacobins Club, which at

first shone resplendent, and was thought to be a new celestial Sun for enlightening the Nations, had, as things

all have, to work through its appointed phases: it burned unfortunately more and more lurid, more

sulphurous, distracted;and swam at last, through the astonished Heaven, like a Tartarean Portent, and

Its style of eloquence? Rejoice, Reader, that thou knowest it not, that thou canst never perfectly know. The

Jacobins published a Journal of Debates, where they that have the heart may examine: Impassioned, full

droning Patrioticeloquence; implacable, unfertilesave for Destruction, which was indeed its work: most

wearisome, though most deadly. Be thankful that Oblivion covers so much; that all carrion is by and by

buried in the green Earth's bosom, and even makes her grow the greener. The Jacobins are buried; but their

work is not; it continues 'making the tour of the world,' as it can. It might be seen lately, for instance, with

bared bosom and deathdefiant eye, as far on as Greek Missolonghi; and, strange enough, old slumbering

Hellas was resuscitated, into somnambulism which will become clear wakefulness, by a voice from the Rue

St. Honore! All dies, as we often say; except the spirit of man, of what man does. Thus has not the very

House of the Jacobins vanished; scarcely lingering in a few old men's memories? The St. Honore Market has

brushed it away, and now where dull droning eloquence, like a Trump of Doom, once shook the world,

there is pacific chaffering for poultry and greens. The sacred National Assembly Hall itself has become

common ground; President's platform permeable to wain and dustcart; for the Rue de Rivoli runs there.

Verily, at Cockcrow (of this Cock or the other), all Apparitions do melt and dissolve in space.

The Paris Jacobins became 'the MotherSociety, SocieteMere;' and had as many as 'three hundred'

shrilltongued daughters in 'direct correspondence' with her. Of indirectly corresponding, what we may call

granddaughters and minute progeny, she counted 'fortyfour thousand!'But for the present we note only

two things: the first of them a mere anecdote. One night, a couple of brother Jacobins are doorkeepers; for the

members take this post of duty and honour in rotation, and admit none that have not tickets: one doorkeeper

was the worthy Sieur Lais, a patriotic Operasinger, stricken in years, whose windpipe is long since closed

without result; the other, young, and named Louis Philippe, d'Orleans's firstborn, has in this latter time, after

unheardof destinies, become CitizenKing, and struggles to rule for a season. Allflesh is grass; higher

The second thing we have to note is historical: that the MotherSociety, even in this its effulgent period,

cannot content all Patriots. Already it must throw off, so to speak, two dissatisfied swarms; a swarm to the

right, a swarm to the left. One party, which thinks the Jacobins lukewarm, constitutes itself into Club of the

Cordeliers; a hotter Club: it is Danton's element: with whom goes Desmoulins. The other party, again, which

thinks the Jacobins scaldinghot, flies off to the right, and becomes 'Club of 1789, Friends of the Monarchic

Constitution.' They are afterwards named 'Feuillans Club;' their place of meeting being the Feuillans

Convent. Lafayette is, or becomes, their chiefman; supported by the respectable Patriot everywhere, by the

mass of Property and Intelligence,with the most flourishing prospects. They, in these June days of 1790,

do, in the Palais Royal, dine solemnly with open windows; to the cheers of the people; with toasts, with

inspiriting songs,with one song at least, among the feeblest ever sung. (Hist. Parl. vi. 334.) They shall, in

Another expressly Monarchic or Royalist Club, 'Club des Monarchiens,' though a Club of ample funds, and

all sitting in damask sofas, cannot realise the smallest momentary cheer; realises only scoffs and groans;

till, ere long, certain Patriots in disorderly sufficient number, proceed thither, for a night or for nights, and

groan it out of pain. Vivacious alone shall the MotherSociety and her family be. The very Cordeliers may,

Fatallooking! Are not such Societies an incipient New Order of Society itself? The Aggregative Principle

anew at work in a Society grown obsolete, cracked asunder, dissolving into rubbish and primary atoms?

With these signs of the times, is it not surprising that the dominant feeling all over France was still

continually Hope? O blessed Hope, sole boon of man; whereby, on his strait prison walls, are painted

beautiful farstretching landscapes; and into the night of very Death is shed holiest dawn! Thou art to all an

indefeasible possession in this God'sworld: to the wise a sacred Constantine'sbanner, written on the eternal

skies; under which they shall conquer, for the battle itself is victory: to the foolish some secular mirage, or

shadow of still waters, painted on the parched Earth; whereby at least their dusty pilgrimage, if devious,

In the deathtumults of a sinking Society, French Hope sees only the birth struggles of a new unspeakably

better Society; and sings, with full assurance of faith, her brisk Melody, which some inspired fiddler has in

these very days composed for her,the worldfamous caira. Yes; 'that will go:' and then there will

come? All men hope: even Marat hopes that Patriotism will take muff and dirk. King Louis is not

without hope: in the chapter of chances; in a flight to some Bouille; in getting popularized at Paris. But what

a hoping People he had, judge by the fact, and series of facts, now to be noted.

Poor Louis, meaning the best, with little insight and even less determination of his own, has to follow, in that

dim wayfaring of his, such signal as may be given him; by backstairs Royalism, by official or backstairs

Constitutionalism, whichever for the month may have convinced the royal mind. If flight to Bouille, and

(horrible to think!) a drawing of the civil sword do hang as theory, portentous in the background, much nearer

is this fact of these Twelve Hundred Kings, who sit in the Salle de Manege. Kings uncontrollable by him, not

yet irreverent to him. Could kind management of these but prosper, how much better were it than armed

Emigrants, Turinintrigues, and the help of Austria! Nay, are the two hopes inconsistent? Rides in the

suburbs, we have found, cost little; yet they always brought vivats. (See BertrandMoleville, i. 241, Still

cheaper is a soft word; such as has many times turned away wrath. In these rapid days, while France is all

getting divided into Departments, Clergy about to be remodelled, Popular Societies rising, and Feudalism and

On the 4th of February, accordingly, M. le President reads to his National Assembly a short autograph,

announcing that his Majesty will step over, quite in an unceremonious way, probably about noon. Think,

therefore, Messieurs, what it may mean; especially, how ye will get the Hall decorated a little. The

Secretaries' Bureau can be shifted down from the platform; on the President's chair be slipped this cover of

velvet, 'of a violet colour sprigged with gold fleurdelys;'for indeed M. le President has had previous

notice underhand, and taken counsel with Doctor Guillotin. Then some fraction of 'velvet carpet,' of like

texture and colour, cannot that be spread in front of the chair, where the Secretaries usually sit? So has

judicious Guillotin advised: and the effect is found satisfactory. Moreover, as it is probable that his Majesty,

in spite of the fleurdelys velvet, will stand and not sit at all, the President himself, in the interim, presides

standing. And so, while some honourable Member is discussing, say, the division of a Department, Ushers

announce: "His Majesty!" In person, with small suite, enter Majesty: the honourable Member stops short; the

Assembly starts to its feet; the Twelve Hundred Kings 'almost all,' and the Galleries no less, do welcome the

Restorer of French Liberty with loyal shouts. His Majesty's Speech, in diluted conventional phraseology,

expresses this mainly: That he, most of all Frenchmen, rejoices to see France getting regenerated; is sure, at

the same time, that they will deal gently with her in the process, and not regenerate her roughly. Such was his

Majesty's Speech: the feat he performed was coming to speak it, and going back again.

Surely, except to a very hoping People, there was not much here to build upon. Yet what did they not build!

The fact that the King has spoken, that he has voluntarily come to speak, how inexpressibly encouraging! Did

not the glance of his royal countenance, like concentrated sunbeams, kindle all hearts in an august Assembly;

nay thereby in an inflammable enthusiastic France? To move 'Deputation of thanks' can be the happy lot of

but one man; to go in such Deputation the lot of not many. The Deputed have gone, and returned with what

highestflown compliment they could; whom also the Queen met, Dauphin in hand. And still do not our

hearts burn with insatiable gratitude; and to one other man a still higher blessedness suggests itself: To move

Happiest honourable Member, with his word so in season as word seldom was; magic Fugleman of a whole

National Assembly, which sat there bursting to do somewhat; Fugleman of a whole onlooking France! The

President swears; declares that every one shall swear, in distinct je le jure. Nay the very Gallery sends him

down a written slip signed, with their Oath on it; and as the Assembly now casts an eye that way, the Gallery

all stands up and swears again. And then out of doors, consider at the HoteldeVille how Bailly, the great

TennisCourt swearer, again swears, towards nightful, with all the Municipals, and Heads of Districts

assembled there. And 'M. Danton suggests that the public would like to partake:' whereupon Bailly, with

escort of Twelve, steps forth to the great outer staircase; sways the ebullient multitude with stretched hand:

takes their oath, with a thunder of 'rolling drums,' with shouts that rend the welkin. And on all streets the glad

people, with moisture and fire in their eyes, 'spontaneously formed groups, and swore one another,'

(Newspapers (in Hist. Parl. iv. 445.)and the whole City was illuminated. This was the Fourth of February

Nor is the illumination for a night only, but partially or totally it lasts a series of nights. For each District, the

Electors of each District, will swear specially; and always as the District swears; it illuminates itself. Behold

them, District after District, in some open square, where the Non Electing People can all see and join: with

their uplifted right hands, and je le jure: with rolling drums, with embracings, and that infinite hurrah of the

enfranchised,which any tyrant that there may be can consider! Faithful to the King, to the Law, to the

Fancy, for example, the Professors of Universities parading the streets with their young France, and swearing,

in an enthusiastic manner, not without tumult. By a larger exercise of fancy, expand duly this little word: The

like was repeated in every Town and District of France! Nay one Patriot Mother, in Lagnon of Brittany,

assembles her ten children; and, with her own aged hand, swears them all herself, the highsouled venerable

woman. Of all which, moreover, a National Assembly must be eloquently apprised. Such three weeks of

swearing! Saw the sun ever such a swearing people? Have they been bit by a swearing tarantula? No: but they

are men and Frenchmen; they have Hope; and, singular to say, they have Faith, were it only in the Gospel

according to Jean Jacques. O my Brothers! would to Heaven it were even as ye think and have sworn! But

there are Lovers' Oaths, which, had they been true as love itself, cannot be kept; not to speak of Dicers' Oaths,

To such length had the Contrat Social brought it, in believing hearts. Man, as is well said, lives by faith; each

generation has its own faith, more or less; and laughs at the faith of its predecessor,most unwisely. Grant

indeed that this faith in the Social Contract belongs to the stranger sorts; that an unborn generation may very

wisely, if not laugh, yet stare at it, and piously consider. For, alas, what is Contrat? If all men were such that a

mere spoken or sworn Contract would bind them, all men were then true men, and Government a superfluity.

Not what thou and I have promised to each other, but what the balance of our forces can make us perform to

each other: that, in so sinful a world as ours, is the thing to be counted on. But above all, a People and a

Sovereign promising to one another; as if a whole People, changing from generation to generation, nay from

hour to hour, could ever by any method be made to speak or promise; and to speak mere solecisms: "We, be

the Heavens witness, which Heavens however do no miracles now; we, everchanging Millions, will allow

thee, changeful Unit, to force us or govern us!" The world has perhaps seen few faiths comparable to that.

So nevertheless had the world then construed the matter. Had they not so construed it, how different had their

hopes been, their attempts, their results! But so and not otherwise did the Upper Powers will it to be. Freedom

by Social Contract: such was verily the Gospel of that Era. And all men had believed in it, as in a Heaven's

Gladtidings men should; and with overflowing heart and uplifted voice clave to it, and stood fronting Time

and Eternity on it. Nay smile not; or only with a smile sadder than tears! This too was a better faith than the

one it had replaced : than faith merely in the Everlasting Nothing and man's Digestive Power; lower than

Not that such universally prevalent, universally jurant, feeling of Hope, could be a unanimous one. Far from

that! The time was ominous: social dissolution near and certain; social renovation still a problem, difficult

and distant even though sure. But if ominous to some clearest onlooker, whose faith stood not with one side

or with the other, nor in the ever vexed jarring of Greek with Greek at all,how unspeakably ominous to

dim Royalist participators; for whom Royalism was Mankind's palladium; for whom, with the abolition of

MostChristian Kingship and MostTalleyrand Bishopship, all loyal obedience, all religious faith was to

expire, and final Night envelope the Destinies of Man! On serious hearts, of that persuasion, the matter sinks

down deep; prompting, as we have seen, to backstairs Plots, to Emigration with pledge of war, to Monarchic

The Spirit of Prophecy, for instance, had been considered extinct for some centuries: nevertheless these

lasttimes, as indeed is the tendency of lasttimes, do revive it; that so, of French mad things, we might have

sample also of the maddest. In remote rural districts, whither Philosophism has not yet radiated, where a

heterodox Constitution of the Clergy is bringing strife round the altar itself, and the very Churchbells are

getting melted into small moneycoin, it appears probable that the End of the World cannot be far off.

Deepmusing atrabiliar old men, especially old women, hint in an obscure way that they know what they

know. The Holy Virgin, silent so long, has not gone dumb;and truly now, if ever more in this world, were

the time for her to speak. One Prophetess, though careless Historians have omitted her name, condition, and

whereabout, becomes audible to the general ear; credible to not a few: credible to Friar Gerle, poor Patriot

Chartreux, in the National Assembly itself! She, in Pythoness' recitative, with wildstaring eye, sings that there

shall be a Sign; that the heavenly Sun himself will hang out a Sign, or MockSun, which, many say, shall

be stamped with the Head of hanged Favras. List, Dom Gerle, with that poor addled poll of thine; list, O

Notable however was that 'magnetic vellum, velin magnetique,' of the Sieurs d'Hozier and PetitJean,

Parlementeers of Rouen. Sweet young d'Hozier, 'bred in the faith of his Missal, and of parchment

genealogies,' and of parchment generally: adust, melancholic, middleaged PetitJean: why came these two

to SaintCloud, where his Majesty was hunting, on the festival of St. Peter and St. Paul; and waited there, in

antechambers, a wonder to whispering Swiss, the livelong day; and even waited without the Grates, when

turned out; and had dismissed their valets to Paris, as with purpose of endless waiting? They have a magnetic

vellum, these two; whereon the Virgin, wonderfully clothing herself in Mesmerean Cagliostric Occult

Philosophy, has inspired them to jot down instructions and predictions for a muchstraitened King. To

whom, by Higher Order, they will this day present it; and save the Monarchy and World. Unaccountable pair

of visual objects! Ye should be men, and of the Eighteenth Century; but your magnetic vellum forbids us so

to interpret. Say, are ye aught? Thus ask the Guardhouse Captains, the Mayor of St. Cloud; nay, at great

length, thus asks the Committee of Researches, and not the Municipal, but the National Assembly one. No

distinct answer, for weeks. At last it becomes plain that the right answer is negative. Go, ye Chimeras, with

your magnetic vellum; sweet young Chimera, adust middleaged one! The Prisondoors are open. Hardly

again shall ye preside the Rouen Chamber of Accounts; but vanish obscurely into Limbo. (See Deux Amis, v.

Such dim masses, and specks of even deepest black, work in that whitehot glow of the French mind, now

wholly in fusion, and confusion. Old women here swearing their ten children on the new Evangel of Jean

Jacques; old women there looking up for Favras' Heads in the celestial Luminary: these are preternatural

In fact, to the Patriot children of Hope themselves, it is undeniable that difficulties exist: emigrating

Seigneurs; Parlements in sneaking but most malicious mutiny (though the rope is round their neck); above

all, the most decided 'deficiency of grains.' Sorrowful: but, to a Nation that hopes, not irremediable. To a

Nation which is in fusion and ardent communion of thought; which, for example, on signal of one Fugleman,

will lift its right hand like a drilled regiment, and swear and illuminate, till every village from Ardennes to the

Pyrenees has rolled its villagedrum, and sent up its little oath, and glimmer of tallowillumination some

If grains are defective, the fault is not of Nature or National Assembly, but of Art and Antinational Intriguers.

Such malign individuals, of the scoundrel species, have power to vex us, while the Constitution is a making.

Endure it, ye heroic Patriots: nay rather, why not cure it? Grains do grow, they lie extant there in sheaf or

sack; only that regraters and Royalist plotters, to provoke the people into illegality, obstruct the transport of

grains. Quick, ye organised Patriot Authorities, armed National Guards, meet together; unite your goodwill;

in union is tenfold strength: let the concentred flash of your Patriotism strike stealthy Scoundrelism blind,

Under which hat or nightcap of the Twentyfive millions, this pregnant Idea first rose, for in some one head

it did rise, no man can now say. A most small idea, near at hand for the whole world: but a living one, fit; and

which waxed, whether into greatness or not, into immeasurable size. When a Nation is in this state that the

Fugleman can operate on it, what will the word in season, the act in season, not do! It will grow verily, like

the Boy's Bean in the FairyTale, heavenhigh, with habitations and adventures on it, in one night. It is

nevertheless unfortunately still a Bean (for your longlived Oak grows not so); and, the next night, it may lie

felled, horizontal, trodden into common mud.But remark, at least, how natural to any agitated Nation,

which has Faith, this business of Covenanting is. The Scotch, believing in a righteous Heaven above them,

and also in a Gospel, far other than the JeanJacques one, swore, in their extreme need, a Solemn League and

Covenant,as Brothers on the forlornhope, and imminence of battle, who embrace looking Godward; and

got the whole Isle to swear it; and even, in their tough OldSaxon HebrewPresbyterian way, to keep it more

or less;for the thing, as such things are, was heard in Heaven, and partially ratified there; neither is it yet

dead, if thou wilt look, nor like to die. The French too, with their GallicEthnic excitability and

effervescence, have, as we have seen, real Faith, of a sort; they are hard bestead, though in the middle of

Hope: a National Solemn League and Covenant there may be in France too; under how different conditions;

Note, accordingly, the small commencement; first spark of a mighty firework: for if the particular hat cannot

be fixed upon, the particular District can. On the 29th day of last November, were National Guards by the

thousand seen filing, from far and near, with military music, with Municipal officers in tricolor sashes,

towards and along the Rhonestream, to the little town of Etoile. There with ceremonial evolution and

manoeuvre, with fanfaronading, musketrysalvoes, and what else the Patriot genius could devise, they made

oath and obtestation to stand faithfully by one another, under Law and King; in particular, to have all manner

of grains, while grains there were, freely circulated, in spite both of robber and regrater. This was the meeting

But now, if a mere empty Review, followed by Reviewdinner, ball, and such gesticulation and flirtation as

there may be, interests the happy County town, and makes it the envy of surrounding Countytowns, how

much more might this! In a fortnight, larger Montelimart, half ashamed of itself, will do as good, and better.

On the Plain of Montelimart, or what is equally sonorous, 'under the Walls of Montelimart,' the thirteenth of

December sees new gathering and obtestation; six thousand strong; and now indeed, with these three

remarkable improvements, as unanimously resolved on there. First that the men of Montelimart do federate

with the already federated men of Etoile. Second, that, implying not expressing the circulation of grain, they

'swear in the face of God and their Country' with much more emphasis and comprehensiveness, 'to obey all

decrees of the National Assembly, and see them obeyed, till death, jusqu'a la mort.' Third, and most

important, that official record of all this be solemnly delivered in to the National Assembly, to M. de

Lafayette, and 'to the Restorer of French Liberty;' who shall all take what comfort from it they can. Thus does

larger Montelimart vindicate its Patriot importance, and maintain its rank in the municipal scale. (Hist. Parl.

And so, with the Newyear, the signal is hoisted; for is not a National Assembly, and solemn deliverance

there, at lowest a National Telegraph? Not only grain shall circulate, while there is grain, on highways or the

Rhonewaters, over all that SouthEastern region,where also if Monseigneur d'Artois saw good to break

in from Turin, hot welcome might wait him; but whatsoever Province of France is straitened for grain, or

vexed with a mutinous Parlement, unconstitutional plotters, Monarchic Clubs, or any other Patriot

ailment,can go and do likewise, or even do better. And now, especially, when the February swearing has

set them all agog! From Brittany to Burgundy, on most plains of France, under most Citywalls, it is a

blaring of trumpets, waving of banners, a constitutional manoeuvring: under the vernal skies, while Nature

too is putting forth her green Hopes, under bright sunshine defaced by the stormful East; like Patriotism

victorious, though with difficulty, over Aristocracy and defect of grain! There march and constitutionally

wheel, to the cairaing mood of fife and drum, under their tricolor Municipals, our cleargleaming

Phalanxes; or halt, with uplifted righthand, and artillerysalvoes that imitate Jove's thunder; and all the

Country, and metaphorically all 'the Universe,' is looking on. Wholly, in their best apparel, brave men, and

beautifully dizened women, most of whom have lovers there; swearing, by the eternal Heavens and this

Sweetest days, when (astonishing to say) mortals have actually met together in communion and fellowship;

and man, were it only once through long despicable centuries, is for moments verily the brother of

man!And then the Deputations to the National Assembly, with highflown descriptive harangue; to M. de

Lafayette, and the Restorer; very frequently moreover to the Mother of Patriotism sitting on her stout benches

in that Hall of the Jacobins! The general ear is filled with Federation. New names of Patriots emerge, which

shall one day become familiar: BoyerFonfrede eloquent denunciator of a rebellious Bourdeaux Parlement;

Max Isnard eloquent reporter of the Federation of Draguignan; eloquent pair, separated by the whole breadth

of France, who are nevertheless to meet. Ever wider burns the flame of Federation; ever wider and also

brighter. Thus the Brittany and Anjou brethren mention a Fraternity of all true Frenchmen; and go the length

of invoking 'perdition and death' on any renegade: moreover, if in their NationalAssembly harangue, they

glance plaintively at the marc d'argent which makes so many citizens passive, they, over in the Mother

Society, ask, being henceforth themselves 'neither Bretons nor Angevins but French,' Why all France has not

one Federation, and universal Oath of Brotherhood, once for all? (Reports, (in Hist. Parl. ix. 122147).) A

most pertinent suggestion; dating from the end of March. Which pertinent suggestion the whole Patriot world

cannot but catch, and reverberate and agitate till it become loud;which, in that case, the Townhall

Some universal Federation seems inevitable: the Where is given; clearly Paris: only the When, the How?

These also productive Time will give; is already giving. For always as the Federative work goes on, it

perfects itself, and Patriot genius adds contribution after contribution. Thus, at Lyons, in the end of the May

month, we behold as many as fifty, or some say sixty thousand, met to federate; and a multitude looking on,

which it would be difficult to number. From dawn to dusk! For our Lyons Guardsmen took rank, at five in the

bright dewy morning; came pouring in, brightgleaming, to the Quai de Rhone, to march thence to the

Federationfield; amid wavings of hats and ladyhandkerchiefs; glad shoutings of some two hundred

thousand Patriot voices and hearts; the beautiful and brave! Among whom, courting no notice, and yet the

notablest of all, what queenlike Figure is this; with her escort of housefriends and Champagneux the Patriot

Editor; come abroad with the earliest? Radiant with enthusiasm are those dark eyes, is that strong

Minervaface, looking dignity and earnest joy; joyfullest she where all are joyful. It is Roland de la

Platriere's Wife! (Madame Roland, Memoires, i. (Discours Preliminaire, p. 23).) Strict elderly Roland, King's

Inspector of Manufactures here; and now likewise, by popular choice, the strictest of our new Lyons

Municipals: a man who has gained much, if worth and faculty be gain; but above all things, has gained to

wife Phlipon the Paris Engraver's daughter. Reader, mark that queenlike burgherwoman: beautiful,

Amazoniangraceful to the eye; more so to the mind. Unconscious of her worth (as all worth is), of her

greatness, of her crystal clearness; genuine, the creature of Sincerity and Nature, in an age of Artificiality,

Pollution and Cant; there, in her still completeness, in her still invincibility, she, if thou knew it, is the noblest

of all living Frenchwomen,and will be seen, one day. O blessed rather while unseen, even of herself! For

the present she gazes, nothing doubting, into this grand theatricality; and thinks her young dreams are to be

From dawn to dusk, as we said, it lasts; and truly a sight like few. Flourishes of drums and trumpets are

something: but think of an 'artificial Rock fifty feet high,' all cut into cragsteps, not without the similitude of

'shrubs!' The interior cavity, for in sooth it is made of deal,stands solemn, a 'Temple of Concord:' on the

outer summit rises 'a Statue of Liberty,' colossal, seen for miles, with her Pike and Phrygian Cap, and civic

column; at her feet a Country's Altar, 'Autel de la Patrie:'on all which neither dealtimber nor lath and

plaster, with paint of various colours, have been spared. But fancy then the banners all placed on the steps of

the Rock; highmass chaunted; and the civic oath of fifty thousand: with what volcanic outburst of sound

from iron and other throats, enough to frighten back the very Saone and Rhone; and how the brightest

fireworks, and balls, and even repasts closed in that night of the gods! (Hist. Parl. xii. 274.) And so the Lyons

Federation vanishes too, swallowed of darkness;and yet not wholly, for our brave fair Roland was there;

also she, though in the deepest privacy, writes her Narrative of it in Champagneux's Courier de Lyons; a

piece which 'circulates to the extent of sixty thousand;' which one would like now to read.

But on the whole, Paris, we may see, will have little to devise; will only have to borrow and apply. And then

as to the day, what day of all the calendar is fit, if the Bastille Anniversary be not? The particular spot too, it

is easy to see, must be the ChampdeMars; where many a Julian the Apostate has been lifted on bucklers, to

France's or the world's sovereignty; and iron Franks, loudclanging, have responded to the voice of a

How natural, in all decisive circumstances, is Symbolic Representation to all kinds of men! Nay, what is

man's whole terrestrial Life but a Symbolic Representation, and making visible, of the Celestial invisible

Force that is in him? By act and world he strives to do it; with sincerity, if possible; failing that, with

theatricality, which latter also may have its meaning. An Almack's Masquerade is not nothing; in more genial

ages, your Christmas Guisings, Feasts of the Ass, Abbots of Unreason, were a considerable something: since

sport they were; as Almacks may still be sincere wish for sport. But what, on the other hand, must not sincere

earnest have been: say, a Hebrew Feast of Tabernacles have been! A whole Nation gathered, in the name of

the Highest, under the eye of the Highest; imagination herself flagging under the reality; and all noblest

Ceremony as yet not grown ceremonial, but solemn, significant to the outmost fringe! Neither, in modern

private life, are theatrical scenes, of tearful women wetting whole ells of cambric in concert, of impassioned

bushywhiskered youth threatening suicide, and such like, to be so entirely detested: drop thou a tear over

At any rate, one can remark that no Nation will throwby its work, and deliberately go out to make a scene,

without meaning something thereby. For indeed no scenic individual, with knavish hypocritical views, will

take the trouble to soliloquise a scene: and now consider, is not a scenic Nation placed precisely in that

predicament of soliloquising; for its own behoof alone; to solace its own sensibilities, maudlin or

other?Yet in this respect, of readiness for scenes, the difference of Nations, as of men, is very great. If our

SaxonPuritanic friends, for example, swore and signed their National Covenant, without discharge of

gunpowder, or the beating of any drum, in a dingy CovenantClose of the Edinburgh High street, in a mean

room, where men now drink mean liquor, it was consistent with their ways so to swear it. Our

GallicEncyclopedic friends, again, must have a ChampdeMars, seen of all the world, or universe; and

such a Scenic Exhibition, to which the Coliseum Amphitheatre was but a stroller's barn, as this old Globe of

ours had never or hardly ever beheld. Which method also we reckon natural, then and there. Nor perhaps was

the respective keeping of these two Oaths far out of due proportion to such respective display in taking them:

inverse proportion, namely. For the theatricality of a People goes in a compoundratio: ratio indeed of their

trustfulness, sociability, fervency; but then also of their excitability, of their porosity, not continent; or say, of

How true also, once more, is it that no man or Nation of men, conscious of doing a great thing, was ever, in

that thing, doing other than a small one! O ChampdeMars Federation, with three hundred drummers,

twelve hundred windmusicians, and artillery planted on height after height to boom the tidings of it all over

France, in few minutes! Could no AtheistNaigeon contrive to discern, eighteen centuries off, those Thirteen

most poor mean dressed men, at frugal Supper, in a mean Jewish dwelling, with no symbol but hearts

godinitiated into the 'Divine depth of Sorrow,' and a Do this in remembrance of me;and so cease that

Pardonable are human theatricalities; nay perhaps touching, like the passionate utterance of a tongue which

with sincerity stammers; of a head which with insincerity babbles,having gone distracted. Yet, in

comparison with unpremeditated outbursts of Nature, such as an Insurrection of Women, how foisonless,

unedifying, undelightful; like small ale palled, like an effervescence that has effervesced! Such scenes,

coming of forethought, were they worldgreat, and never so cunningly devised, are at bottom mainly

pasteboard and paint. But the others are original; emitted from the great everliving heart of Nature herself:

what figure they will assume is unspeakably significant. To us, therefore, let the French National Solemn

League, and Federation, be the highest recorded triumph of the Thespian Art; triumphant surely, since the

whole Pit, which was of Twentyfive Millions, not only claps hands, but does itself spring on the boards and

passionately set to playing there. And being such, be it treated as such: with sincere cursory admiration; with

wonder from afar. A whole Nation gone mumming deserves so much; but deserves not that loving

minuteness a Menadic Insurrection did. Much more let prior, and as it were, rehearsal scenes of Federation

come and go, henceforward, as they list; and, on Plains and under Citywalls, innumerable regimental bands

One scene, however, the hastiest reader will momentarily pause on: that of Anacharsis Clootz and the

Collective sinful Posterity of Adam.For a Patriot Municipality has now, on the 4th of June, got its plan

concocted, and got it sanctioned by National Assembly; a Patriot King assenting; to whom, were he even free

to dissent, Federative harangues, overflowing with loyalty, have doubtless a transient sweetness. There shall

come Deputed National Guards, so many in the hundred, from each of the Eightythree Departments of

France. Likewise from all Naval and Military King's Forces, shall Deputed quotas come; such Federation of

National with Royal Soldier has, taking place spontaneously, been already seen and sanctioned. For the rest,

it is hoped, as many as forty thousand may arrive: expenses to be borne by the Deputing District; of all which

let District and Department take thought, and elect fit men,whom the Paris brethren will fly to meet and

Now, therefore, judge if our Patriot Artists are busy; taking deep counsel how to make the Scene worthy of a

look from the Universe! As many as fifteen thousand men, spademen, barrowmen, stonebuilders,

rammers, with their engineers, are at work on the ChampdeMars; hollowing it out into a natural

Amphitheatre, fit for such solemnity. For one may hope it will be annual and perennial; a 'Feast of Pikes, Fete

des Piques,' notablest among the hightides of the year: in any case ought not a Scenic free Nation to have

some permanent National Amphitheatre? The ChampdeMars is getting hollowed out; and the daily talk

and the nightly dream in most Parisian heads is of Federation, and that only. Federate Deputies are already

under way. National Assembly, what with its natural work, what with hearing and answering harangues of

Federates, of this Federation, will have enough to do! Harangue of 'American Committee,' among whom is

that faint figure of Paul Jones 'as with the stars dimtwinkling through it,'come to congratulate us on the

prospect of such auspicious day. Harangue of Bastille Conquerors, come to 'renounce' any special

recompense, any peculiar place at the solemnity;since the Centre Grenadiers rather grumble. Harangue of

'TennisCourt Club,' who enter with fargleaming Brassplate, aloft on a pole, and the TennisCourt Oath

engraved thereon; which far gleaming Brassplate they purpose to affix solemnly in the Versailles original

locality, on the 20th of this month, which is the anniversary, as a deathless memorial, for some years: they

will then dine, as they come back, in the Bois de Boulogne; (See Deux Amis, v. 122; Hist. Parl. however, do

it without apprising the world. To such things does the august National Assembly ever and anon cheerfully

listen, suspending its regenerative labours; and with some touch of impromptu eloquence, make friendly

reply;as indeed the wont has long been; for it is a gesticulating, sympathetic People, and has a heart, and

In which circumstances, it occurred to the mind of Anacharsis Clootz that while so much was embodying

itself into Club or Committee, and perorating applauded, there yet remained a greater and greatest; of which,

if it also took body and perorated, what might not the effect be: Humankind namely, le Genre Humain itself!

In what rapt creative moment the Thought rose in Anacharsis's soul; all his throes, while he went about

giving shape and birth to it; how he was sneered at by cold worldlings; but did sneer again, being a man of

polished sarcasm; and moved to and fro persuasive in coffeehouse and soiree, and dived down

assiduousobscure in the great deep of Paris, making his Thought a Fact: of all this the spiritual biographies

of that period say nothing. Enough that on the 19th evening of June 1790, the Sun's slant rays lighted a

spectacle such as our foolish little Planet has not often had to show: Anacharsis Clootz entering the august

Salle de Manege, with the Human Species at his heels. Swedes, Spaniards, Polacks; Turks, Chaldeans,

Greeks, dwellers in Mesopotamia: behold them all; they have come to claim place in the grand Federation,

"Our ambassador titles," said the fervid Clootz, "are not written on parchment, but on the living hearts of all

men." These whiskered Polacks, longflowing turbaned Ishmaelites, astrological Chaldeans, who stand so

mute here, let them plead with you, august Senators, more eloquently than eloquence could. They are the

mute representatives of their tonguetied, befettered, heavyladen Nations; who from out of that dark

bewilderment gaze wistful, amazed, with halfincredulous hope, towards you, and this your bright light of a

French Federation: bright particular daystar, the herald of universal day. We claim to stand there, as mute

monuments, pathetically adumbrative of much.From bench and gallery comes 'repeated applause;' for what

august Senator but is flattered even by the very shadow of Human Species depending on him? From President

Sieyes, who presides this remarkable fortnight, in spite of his small voice, there comes eloquent though shrill

reply. Anacharsis and the 'Foreigners Committee' shall have place at the Federation; on condition of telling

their respective Peoples what they see there. In the mean time, we invite them to the 'honours of the sitting,

honneur de la seance.' A longflowing Turk, for rejoinder, bows with Eastern solemnity, and utters articulate

sounds: but owing to his imperfect knowledge of the French dialect, (Moniteur, (in Hist. Parl. xii. 283).) his

words are like spilt water; the thought he had in him remains conjectural to this day.

Anacharsis and Mankind accept the honours of the sitting; and have forthwith, as the old Newspapers still

testify, the satisfaction to see several things. First and chief, on the motion of Lameth, Lafayette,

SaintFargeau and other Patriot Nobles, let the others repugn as they will: all Titles of Nobility, from Duke to

Esquire, or lower, are henceforth abolished. Then, in like manner, Livery Servants, or rather the Livery of

Servants. Neither, for the future, shall any man or woman, selfstyled noble, be 'incensed,'foolishly

fumigated with incense, in Church; as the wont has been. In a word, Feudalism being dead these ten months,

why should her empty trappings and scutcheons survive? The very Coatsofarms will require to be

obliterated;and yet Cassandra Marat on this and the other coachpanel notices that they 'are but

So that henceforth de Lafayette is but the Sieur Motier, and SaintFargeau is plain Michel Lepelletier; and

Mirabeau soon after has to say huffingly, "With your Riquetti you have set Europe at crosspurposes for

three days." For his Counthood is not indifferent to this man; which indeed the admiring People treat him

with to the last. But let extreme Patriotism rejoice, and chiefly Anacharsis and Mankind; for now it seems to

Such was, in historical accuracy, the famed feat of Anacharsis. Thus did the most extensive of Public Bodies

find a sort of spokesman. Whereby at least we may judge of one thing: what a humour the once sniffing

mocking City of Paris and Baron Clootz had got into; when such exhibition could appear a propriety, next

door to a sublimity. It is true, Envy did in after times, pervert this success of Anacharsis; making him, from

incidental 'Speaker of the ForeignNations Committee,' claim to be official permanent 'Speaker, Orateur, of

the Human Species,' which he only deserved to be; and alleging, calumniously, that his astrological

Chaldeans, and the rest, were a mere French tagragandbobtail disguised for the nonce; and, in short,

sneering and fleering at him in her cold barren way; all which, however, he, the man he was, could receive on

Most extensive of Public Bodies, we may call it; and also the most unexpected: for who could have thought

to see All Nations in the Tuileries RidingHall? But so it is; and truly as strange things may happen when a

whole People goes mumming and miming. Hast not thou thyself perchance seen diademed Cleopatra,

daughter of the Ptolemies, pleading, almost with bended knee, in unheroic teaparlour, or dimlit retailshop,

to inflexible gross Burghal Dignitary, for leave to reign and die; being dressed for it, and moneyless, with

small children;while suddenly Constables have shut the Thespian barn, and her Antony pleaded in vain?

Such visual spectra flit across this Earth, if the Thespian Stage be rudely interfered with: but much more,

when, as was said, Pit jumps on Stage, then is it verily, as in Herr Tieck's Drama, a Verkehrte Welt, of World

Having seen the Human Species itself, to have seen the 'Dean of the Human Species,' ceased now to be a

miracle. Such 'Doyen du Genre Humain, Eldest of Men,' had shewn himself there, in these weeks: Jean

Claude Jacob, a born Serf, deputed from his native Jura Mountains to thank the National Assembly for

enfranchising them. On his bleached worn face are ploughed the furrowings of one hundred and twenty years.

He has heard dim patois talk, of immortal GrandMonarch victories; of a burnt Palatinate, as he toiled and

moiled to make a little speck of this Earth greener; of Cevennes Dragoonings; of Marlborough going to the

war. Four generations have bloomed out, and loved and hated, and rustled off: he was fortysix when Louis

Fourteenth died. The Assembly, as one man, spontaneously rose, and did reverence to the Eldest of the

World; old Jean is to take seance among them, honourably, with covered head. He gazes feebly there, with

his old eyes, on that new wonderscene; dreamlike to him, and uncertain, wavering amid fragments of old

memories and dreams. For Time is all growing unsubstantial, dreamlike; Jean's eyes and mind are weary, and

about to close,and open on a far other wonderscene, which shall be real. Patriot Subscription, Royal

Pension was got for him, and he returned home glad; but in two months more he left it all, and went on his

Meanwhile to Paris, ever going and returning, day after day, and all day long, towards that Field of Mars, it

becomes painfully apparent that the spadework there cannot be got done in time. There is such an area of it;

three hundred thousand square feet: for from the Ecole militaire (which will need to be done up in wood with

balconies and galleries) westward to the Gate by the river (where also shall be wood, in triumphal arches), we

count same thousand yards of length; and for breadth, from this umbrageous Avenue of eight rows, on the

South side, to that corresponding one on the North, some thousand feet, more or less. All this to be scooped

out, and wheeled up in slope along the sides; high enough; for it must be rammed down there, and shaped

stairwise into as many as 'thirty ranges of convenient seats,' firmtrimmed with turf, covered with enduring

timber; and then our huge pyramidal Fatherland'sAltar, Autel de la Patrie, in the centre, also to be raised

and stairstepped! Forcework with a vengeance; it is a World's Amphitheatre! There are but fifteen days

good; and at this languid rate, it might take half as many weeks. What is singular too, the spademen seem to

work lazily; they will not work doubletides, even for offer of more wages, though their tide is but seven

Is it Aristocrats secretly bribing? Aristocrats were capable of that. Only six months since, did not evidence

get afloat that subterranean Paris, for we stand over quarries and catacombs, dangerously, as it were midway

between Heaven and the Abyss, and are hollow underground,was charged with gunpowder, which should

make us 'leap?' Till a Cordelier's Deputation actually went to examine, and found itcarried off again! (23rd

December, 1789 (Newspapers in Hist. Parl. iv. 44).) An accursed, incurable brood; all asking for 'passports,'

in these sacred days. Trouble, of rioting, chateauburning, is in the Limousin and elsewhere; for they are

busy! Between the best of Peoples and the best of RestorerKings, they would sow grudges; with what a

Fail for want of spadework, however, it shall not. He that has four limbs, and a French heart, can do

spadework; and will! On the first July Monday, scarcely has the signalcannon boomed; scarcely have the

languescent mercenary Fifteen Thousand laid down their tools, and the eyes of onlookers turned sorrowfully

of the still high Sun; when this and the other Patriot, fire in his eye, snatches barrow and mattock, and himself

begins indignantly wheeling. Whom scores and then hundreds follow; and soon a volunteer Fifteen Thousand

are shovelling and trundling; with the heart of giants; and all in right order, with that extemporaneous

adroitness of theirs: whereby such a lift has been given, worth three mercenary ones; which may end when

the late twilight thickens, in triumph shouts, heard or heard of beyond Montmartre!

A sympathetic population will wait, next day, with eagerness, till the tools are free. Or why wait? Spades

elsewhere exist! And so now bursts forth that effulgence of Parisian enthusiasm, goodheartedness and

brotherly love; such, if Chroniclers are trustworthy, as was not witnessed since the Age of Gold. Paris, male

and female, precipitates itself towards its Southwest extremity, spade on shoulder. Streams of men, without

order; or in order, as ranked fellowcraftsmen, as natural or accidental reunions, march towards the Field of

Mars. Threedeep these march; to the sound of stringed music; preceded by young girls with green boughs,

and tricolor streamers: they have shouldered, soldierwise, their shovels and picks; and with one throat are

singing caira. Yes, pardieu caira, cry the passengers on the streets. All corporate Guilds, and public and

private Bodies of Citizens, from the highest to the lowest, march; the very Hawkers, one finds, have ceased

bawling for one day. The neighbouring Villages turn out: their able men come marching, to village fiddle or

tambourine and triangle, under their Mayor, or Mayor and Curate, who also walk bespaded, and in tricolor

sash. As many as one hundred and fifty thousand workers: nay at certain seasons, as some count, two hundred

and fifty thousand; for, in the afternoon especially, what mortal but, finishing his hasty day's work, would

run! A stirring city: from the time you reach the Place Louis Quinze, southward over the River, by all

Avenues, it is one living throng. So many workers; and no mercenary mockworkers, but real ones that lie

freely to it: each Patriot stretches himself against the stubborn glebe; hews and wheels with the whole weight

Amiable infants, aimables enfans! They do the 'police des l'atelier' too, the guidance and governance,

themselves; with that ready will of theirs, with that extemporaneous adroitness. It is a true brethren's work; all

distinctions confounded, abolished; as it was in the beginning, when Adam himself delved. Longfrocked

tonsured Monks, with shortskirted Water carriers, with swallowtailed wellfrizzled Incroyables of a

Patriot turn; dark Charcoalmen, mealwhite Perukemakers; or Perukewearers, for Advocate and Judge are

there, and all Heads of Districts: sober Nuns sisterlike with flaunting Nymphs of the Opera, and females in

common circumstances named unfortunate: the patriot Ragpicker, and perfumed dweller in palaces; for

Patriotism like Newbirth, and also like Death, levels all. The Printers have come marching, Prudhomme's all

in Papercaps with Revolutions de Paris printed on them; as Camille notes; wishing that in these great days

there should be a Pacte des Ecrivains too, or Federation of Able Editors. (See Newspapers, (in Hist. Parl. vi.

381406).) Beautiful to see! The snowy linen and delicate pantaloon alternates with the soiled checkshirt

and bushelbreeches; for both have cast their coats, and under both are four limbs and a set of Patriot

muscles. There do they pick and shovel; or bend forward, yoked in long strings to boxbarrow or overloaded

tumbril; joyous, with one mind. Abbe Sieyes is seen pulling, wiry, vehement, if too light for draught; by the

side of Beauharnais, who shall get Kings though he be none. Abbe Maury did not pull; but the Charcoalmen

brought a mummer guised like him, so he had to pull in effigy. Let no august Senator disdain the work:

Mayor Bailly, Generalissimo Lafayette are there;and, alas, shall be there again another day! The King

himself comes to see: skyrending ViveleRoi; 'and suddenly with shouldered spades they form a guard of

honour round him.' Whosoever can come comes, to work, or to look, and bless the work.

Whole families have come. One whole family we see clearly, of three generations: the father picking, the

mother shovelling, the young ones wheeling assiduous; old grandfather, hoary with ninetythree years, holds

in his arms the youngest of all: (Mercier. ii. 76, frisky, not helpful this one; who nevertheless may tell it to his

grandchildren; and how the Future and the Past alike looked on, and with failing or with halfformed voice,

faltered their caira. A vintner has wheeled in, on Patriot truck, beverage of wine: "Drink not, my brothers, if

ye are not dry; that your cask may last the longer;" neither did any drink, but men 'evidently exhausted.' A

dapper Abbe looks on, sneering. "To the barrow!" cry several; whom he, lest a worse thing befal him, obeys:

nevertheless one wiser Patriot barrowman, arriving now, interposes his "arretez;" setting down his own

barrow, he snatches the Abbe's; trundles it fast, like an infected thing; forth of the ChampdeMars circuit,

and discharges it there. Thus too a certain person (of some quality, or private capital, to appearance), entering

hastily, flings down his coat, waistcoat and two watches, and is rushing to the thick of the work: "But your

watches?" cries the general voice."Does one distrust his brothers?" answers he; nor were the watches

stolen. How beautiful is noblesentiment: like gossamer gauze, beautiful and cheap; which will stand no tear

and wear! Beautiful cheap gossamer gauze, thou filmshadow of a rawmaterial of Virtue, which art not

woven, nor likely to be, into Duty; thou art better than nothing, and also worse!

Young Boardingschool Boys, College Students, shout Vive la Nation, and regret that they have yet 'only

their sweat to give.' What say we of Boys? Beautifullest Hebes; the loveliest of Paris, in their light airrobes,

with ribandgirdle of tricolor, are there; shovelling and wheeling with the rest; their Hebe eyes brighter with

enthusiasm, and long hair in beautiful dishevelment: hardpressed are their small fingers; but they make the

patriot barrow go, and even force it to the summit of the slope (with a little tracing, which what man's arm

were not too happy to lend?)then bound down with it again, and go for more; with their long locks and

tricolors blown back: graceful as the rosy Hours. O, as that evening Sun fell over the ChampdeMars, and

tinted with fire the thick umbrageous boscage that shelters it on this hand and on that, and struck direct on

those Domes and twoandforty Windows of the Ecole Militaire, and made them all of burnished

gold,saw he on his wide zodiac road other such sight? A living garden spotted and dotted with such

flowerage; all colours of the prism; the beautifullest blent friendly with the usefullest; all growing and

working brotherlike there, under one warm feeling, were it but for days; once and no second time! But Night

is sinking; these Nights too, into Eternity. The hastiest Traveller Versaillesward has drawn bridle on the

heights of Chaillot: and looked for moments over the River; reporting at Versailles what he saw, not without

Meanwhile, from all points of the compass, Federates are arriving: fervid children of the South, 'who glory in

their Mirabeau;' considerate North blooded Mountaineers of Jura; sharp Bretons, with their Gaelic

suddenness; Normans not to be overreached in bargain: all now animated with one noblest fire of Patriotism.

Whom the Paris brethren march forth to receive; with military solemnities, with fraternal embracing, and a

hospitality worthy of the heroic ages. They assist at the Assembly's Debates, these Federates: the Galleries

are reserved for them. They assist in the toils of the ChampdeMars; each new troop will put its hand to the

spade; lift a hod of earth on the Altar of the Fatherland. But the flourishes of rhetoric, for it is a gesticulating

People; the moralsublime of those Addresses to an august Assembly, to a Patriot Restorer! Our Breton

Captain of Federates kneels even, in a fit of enthusiasm, and gives up his sword; he weteyed to a King

weteyed. Poor Louis! These, as he said afterwards, were among the bright days of his life.

Reviews also there must be; royal Federatereviews, with King, Queen and tricolor Court looking on: at

lowest, if, as is too common, it rains, our Federate Volunteers will file through the inner gateways, Royalty

standing dry. Nay there, should some stop occur, the beautifullest fingers in France may take you softly by

the lapelle, and, in mild flutevoice, ask: "Monsieur, of what Province are you?" Happy he who can reply,

chivalrously lowering his sword's point, "Madame, from the Province your ancestors reigned over." He that

happy 'Provincial Advocate,' now Provincial Federate, shall be rewarded by a sunsmile, and such melodious

glad words addressed to a King: "Sire, these are your faithful Lorrainers." Cheerier verily, in these holidays,

is this 'skyblue faced with red' of a National Guardsman, than the dull black and gray of a Provincial

Advocate, which in workdays one was used to. For the same thriceblessed Lorrainer shall, this evening,

stand sentry at a Queen's door; and feel that he could die a thousand deaths for her: then again, at the outer

gate, and even a third time, she shall see him; nay he will make her do it; presenting arms with emphasis,

'making his musket jingle again': and in her salute there shall again be a sunsmile, and that little

blondelocked too hasty Dauphin shall be admonished, "Salute then, Monsieur, don't be unpolite;" and

therewith she, like a bright Skywanderer or Planet with her little Moon, issues forth peculiar. (Narrative by a

But at night, when Patriot spadework is over, figure the sacred rights of hospitality! Lepelletier

SaintFargeau, a mere private senator, but with great possessions, has daily his 'hundred dinnerguests;' the

table of Generalissimo Lafayette may double that number. In lowly parlour, as in lofty saloon, the winecup

passes round; crowned by the smiles of Beauty; be it of lightlytripping Grisette, or of highsailing Dame,

And so now, in spite of plotting Aristocrats, lazy hired spademen, and almost of Destiny itself (for there has

been much rain), the ChampdeMars, on the 13th of the month is fairly ready; trimmed, rammed, buttressed

with firm masonry; and Patriotism can stroll over it admiring; and as it were rehearsing, for in every head is

some unutterable image of the morrow. Pray Heaven there be not clouds. Nay what far worse cloud is this, of

a misguided Municipality that talks of admitting Patriotism, to the solemnity, by tickets! Was it by tickets we

were admitted to the work; and to what brought the work? Did we take the Bastille by tickets? A misguided

Municipality sees the error; at late midnight, rolling drums announce to Patriotism starting half out of its

bedclothes, that it is to be ticketless. Pull down thy nightcap therefore; and, with demi articulate grumble,

significant of several things, go pacified to sleep again. Tomorrow is Wednesday morning; unforgetable

The morning comes, cold for a July one; but such a festivity would make Greenland smile. Through every

inlet of that National Amphitheatre (for it is a league in circuit, cut with openings at due intervals), floodsin

the living throng; covers without tumult space after space. The Ecole Militaire has galleries and overvaulting

canopies, where Carpentry and Painting have vied, for the upper Authorities; triumphal arches, at the Gate by

the River, bear inscriptions, if weak, yet wellmeant, and orthodox. Far aloft, over the Altar of the

Fatherland, on their tall crane standards of iron, swing pensile our antique Cassolettes or pans of incense;

dispensing sweet incensefumes,unless for the Heathen Mythology, one sees not for whom. Two hundred

thousand Patriotic Men; and, twice as good, one hundred thousand Patriotic Women, all decked and glorified

What a picture: that circle of brighteyed Life, spread up there, on its thirtyseated Slope; leaning, one would

say, on the thick umbrage of those AvenueTrees, for the stems of them are hidden by the height; and all

beyond it mere greenness of Summer Earth, with the gleams of waters, or white sparklings of stoneedifices:

little circular enamelpicture in the centre of such a vaseof emerald! A vase not empty: the Invalides

Cupolas want not their population, nor the distant Windmills of Montmartre; on remotest steeple and

invisible village belfry, stand men with spy glasses. On the heights of Chaillot are manycoloured

undulating groups; round and far on, over all the circling heights that embosom Paris, it is as one more or less

peopled Amphitheatre; which the eye grows dim with measuring. Nay heights, as was before hinted, have

cannon; and a floating battery of cannon is on the Seine. When eye fails, ear shall serve; and all France

properly is but one Amphitheatre: for in paved town and unpaved hamlet, men walk listening; till the muffled

thunder sound audible on their horizon, that they too may begin swearing and firing! (Deux Amis, v. 168.)

But now, to streams of music, come Federates enough,for they have assembled on the Boulevard

SaintAntoine or thereby, and come marching through the City, with their Eightythree Department Banners,

and blessings not loud but deep; comes National Assembly, and takes seat under its Canopy; comes Royalty,

and takes seat on a throne beside it. And Lafayette, on white charger, is here, and all the civic Functionaries;

and the Federates form dances, till their strictly military evolutions and manoeuvres can begin.

Evolutions and manoeuvres? Task not the pen of mortal to describe them: truant imagination

droops;declares that it is not worth while. There is wheeling and sweeping, to slow, to quick, and double

quicktime: Sieur Motier, or Generalissimo Lafayette, for they are one and the same, and he is General of

France, in the King's stead, for fourandtwenty hours; Sieur Motier must step forth, with that sublime

chivalrous gait of his; solemnly ascend the steps of the Fatherland's Altar, in sight of Heaven and of the

scarcely breathing Earth; and, under the creak of those swinging Cassolettes, 'pressing his sword's point

firmly there,' pronounce the Oath, To King, to Law, and Nation (not to mention 'grains' with their

circulating), in his own name and that of armed France. Whereat there is waving of banners and acclaim

sufficient. The National Assembly must swear, standing in its place; the King himself audibly. The King

swears; and now be the welkin split with vivats; let citizens enfranchised embrace, each smiting heartily his

palm into his fellow's; and armed Federates clang their arms; above all, that floating battery speak! It has

spoken,to the four corners of France. From eminence to eminence, bursts the thunder; faintheard,

loudrepeated. What a stone, cast into what a lake; in circles that do not grow fainter. From Arras to

Avignon; from Metz to Bayonne! Over Orleans and Blois it rolls, in cannonrecitative; Puy bellows of it

amid his granite mountains; Pau where is the shellcradle of Great Henri. At far Marseilles, one can think,

the ruddy evening witnesses it; over the deepblue Mediterranean waters, the Castle of If ruddytinted darts

forth, from every cannon's mouth, its tongue of fire; and all the people shout: Yes, France is free. O glorious

France that has burst out so; into universal sound and smoke; and attainedthe Phrygian Cap of Liberty! In

all Towns, Trees of Liberty also may be planted; with or without advantage. Said we not, it is the highest

The Thespian Art, unfortunately, one must still call it; for behold there, on this Field of Mars, the National

Banners, before there could be any swearing, were to be all blessed. A most proper operation; since surely

without Heaven's blessing bestowed, say even, audibly or inaudibly sought, no Earthly banner or contrivance

can prove victorious: but now the means of doing it? By what thricedivine Franklin thunderrod shall

miraculous fire be drawn out of Heaven; and descend gently, lifegiving, with health to the souls of men?

Alas, by the simplest: by Two Hundred shavencrowned Individuals, 'in snowwhite albs, with tricolor

girdles,' arranged on the steps of Fatherland's Altar; and, at their head for spokesman, Soul's Overseer

TalleyrandPerigord! These shall act as miraculous thunderrod, to such length as they can. O ye deep

azure Heavens, and thou green all nursing Earth; ye Streams everflowing; deciduous Forests that die and

are born again, continually, like the sons of men; stone Mountains that die daily with every rainshower, yet

are not dead and levelled for ages of ages, nor born again (it seems) but with new worldexplosions, and such

tumultuous seething and tumbling, steam half way to the Moon; O thou unfathomable mystic All, garment

and dwellingplace of the UNNAMED; O spirit, lastly, of Man, who mouldest and modellest that

Unfathomable Unnameable even as we see,is not there a miracle: That some French mortal should, we say

not have believed, but pretended to imagine that he believed that Talleyrand and Two Hundred pieces of

Here, however, we are to remark with the sorrowing Historians of that day, that suddenly, while Episcopus

Talleyrand, longstoled, with mitre and tricolor belt, was yet but hitching up the Altarsteps, to do his

miracle, the material Heaven grew black; a northwind, moaning cold moisture, began to sing; and there

descended a very deluge of rain. Sad to see! The thirtystaired Seats, all round our Amphitheatre, get

instantaneously slated with mere umbrellas, fallacious when so thick set: our antique Cassolettes become

Waterpots; their incensesmoke gone hissing, in a whiff of muddy vapour. Alas, instead of vivats, there is

nothing now but the furious peppering and rattling. From three to four hundred thousand human individuals

feel that they have a skin; happily impervious. The General's sash runs water: how all military banners droop;

and will not wave, but lazily flap, as if metamorphosed into painted tinbanners! Worse, far worse, these

hundred thousand, such is the Historian's testimony, of the fairest of France! Their snowy muslins all

splashed and draggled; the ostrich feather shrunk shamefully to the backbone of a feather: all caps are ruined;

innermost pasteboard molten into its original pap: Beauty no longer swims decorated in her garniture, like

Lovegoddess hiddenrevealed in her Paphian clouds, but struggles in disastrous imprisonment in it, for 'the

shape was noticeable;' and now only sympathetic interjections, titterings, teeheeings, and resolute

goodhumour will avail. A deluge; an incessant sheet or fluidcolumn of rain;such that our Overseer's

very mitre must be filled; not a mitre, but a filled and leaky firebucket on his reverend head!Regardless

of which, Overseer Talleyrand performs his miracle: the Blessing of Talleyrand, another than that of Jacob, is

on all the Eightythree departmental flags of France; which wave or flap, with such thankfulness as needs.

Towards three o'clock, the sun beams out again: the remaining evolutions can be transacted under bright

On Wednesday our Federation is consummated: but the festivities last out the week, and over into the next.

Festivities such as no Bagdad Caliph, or Aladdin with the Lamp, could have equalled. There is a Jousting on

the River; with its watersomersets, splashing and hahaing: Abbe Fauchet, Te Deum Fauchet, preaches,

for his part, in 'the rotunda of the Cornmarket,' a Harangue on Franklin; for whom the National Assembly

has lately gone three days in black. The Motier and Lepelletier tables still groan with viands; roofs ringing

with patriotic toasts. On the fifth evening, which is the Christian Sabbath, there is a universal Ball. Paris, out

of doors and in, man, woman and child, is jigging it, to the sound of harp and four stringed fiddle. The

hoariestheaded man will tread one other measure, under this nether Moon; speechless nurselings, infants as

we call them, (Greek), crow in arms; and sprawl out numbplump little limbs,impatient for muscularity,

Or out, on the Earth's breast itself, behold the Ruins of the Bastille. All lamplit, allegorically decorated: a

Tree of Liberty sixty feet high; and Phrygian Cap on it, of size enormous, under which King Arthur and his

roundtable might have dined! In the depths of the background, is a single lugubrious lamp, rendering

dimvisible one of your iron cages, halfburied, and some Prison stones,Tyranny vanishing downwards,

all gone but the skirt: the rest wholly lampfestoons, trees real or of pasteboard; in the similitude of a fairy

grove; with this inscription, readable to runner: 'Ici l'on danse, Dancing Here.' As indeed had been obscurely

foreshadowed by Cagliostro (See his Lettre au Peuple Francais (London, 1786.) prophetic Quack of Quacks,

when he, four years ago, quitted the grim durance;to fall into a grimmer, of the Roman Inquisition, and not

But, after all, what is this Bastille business to that of the Champs Elysees! Thither, to these Fields well named

Elysian, all feet tend. It is radiant as day with festooned lamps; little oilcups, like variegated fireflies,

daintily illumine the highest leaves: trees there are all sheeted with variegated fire, shedding far a glimmer

into the dubious wood. There, under the free sky, do tightlimbed Federates, with fairest newfound

sweethearts, elastic as Diana, and not of that coyness and tart humour of Diana, thread their jocund mazes, all

through the ambrosial night; and hearts were touched and fired; and seldom surely had our old Planet, in that

huge conic Shadow of hers 'which goes beyond the Moon, and is named Night,' curtained such a Ballroom.

O if, according to Seneca, the very gods look down on a good man struggling with adversity, and smile; what

must they think of Fiveandtwenty million indifferent ones victorious over it,for eight days and more?

In this way, and in such ways, however, has the Feast of Pikes danced itself off; gallant Federates wending

homewards, towards every point of the compass, with feverish nerves, heart and head much heated; some of

them, indeed, as Dampmartin's elderly respectable friend, from Strasbourg, quite 'burnt out with liquors,' and

flickering towards extinction. (Dampmartin, Evenemens, i. 144184.) The Feast of Pikes has danced itself

off, and become defunct, and the ghost of a Feast;nothing of it now remaining but this vision in men's

memory; and the place that knew it (for the slope of that ChampdeMars is crumbled to half the original

height (Dulaure, Histoire de Paris, viii. 25).) now knowing it no more. Undoubtedly one of the memorablest

National Hightides. Never or hardly ever, as we said, was Oath sworn with such hearteffusion, emphasis

and expenditure of joyance; and then it was broken irremediably within year and day. Ah, why? When the

swearing of it was so heavenlyjoyful, bosom clasped to bosom, and Fiveandtwenty million hearts all

burning together: O ye inexorable Destinies, why?Partly because it was sworn with such overjoyance;

but chiefly, indeed, for an older reason: that Sin had come into the world and Misery by Sin! These

Fiveandtwenty millions, if we will consider it, have now henceforth, with that Phrygian Cap of theirs, no

force over them, to bind and guide; neither in them, more than heretofore, is guiding force, or rule of just

living: how then, while they all go rushing at such a pace, on unknown ways, with no bridle, towards no aim,

can hurlyburly unutterable fail? For verily not Federationrosepink is the colour of this Earth and her work:

not by outbursts of noblesentiment, but with far other ammunition, shall a man front the world.

But how wise, in all cases, to 'husband your fire;' to keep it deep down, rather, as genial radicalheat!

Explosions, the forciblest, and never so well directed, are questionable; far oftenest futile, always frightfully

wasteful: but think of a man, of a Nation of men, spending its whole stock of fire in one artificial Firework!

So have we seen fond weddings (for individuals, like Nations, have their Hightides) celebrated with an

outburst of triumph and deray, at which the elderly shook their heads. Better had a serious cheerfulness been;

for the enterprise was great. Fond pair! the more triumphant ye feel, and victorious over terrestrial evil, which

seems all abolished, the widereyed will your disappointment be to find terrestrial evil still extant. "And why

extant?" will each of you cry: "Because my false mate has played the traitor: evil was abolished; I meant

faithfully, and did, or would have done." Whereby the oversweet moon of honey changes itself into long

Shall we say then, the French Nation has led Royalty, or wooed and teased poor Royalty to lead her, to the

hymeneal Fatherland's Altar, in such oversweet manner; and has, most thoughtlessly, to celebrate the nuptials

Dimly visible, at Metz on the NorthEastern frontier, a certain brave Bouille, last refuge of Royalty in all

straits and meditations of flight, has for many months hovered occasionally in our eye; some name or shadow

of a brave Bouille: let us now, for a little, look fixedly at him, till he become a substance and person for us.

The man himself is worth a glance; his position and procedure there, in these days, will throw light on many

For it is with Bouille as with all French Commanding Officers; only in a more emphatic degree. The grand

National Federation, we already guess, was but empty sound, or worse: a last loudest universal

Hephephurrah, with full bumpers, in that National Lapithaefeast of Constitutionmaking; as in loud

denial of the palpably existing; as if, with hurrahings, you would shut out notice of the inevitable already

knocking at the gates! Which new National bumper, one may say, can but deepen the drunkenness; and so,

the louder it swears Brotherhood, will the sooner and the more surely lead to Cannibalism. Ah, under that

fraternal shine and clangour, what a deep world of irreconcileable discords lie momentarily assuaged,

damped down for one moment! Respectable military Federates have barely got home to their quarters; and

the inflammablest, 'dying, burnt up with liquors, and kindness,' has not yet got extinct; the shine is hardly out

of men's eyes, and still blazes filling all men's memories,when your discords burst forth again very

Bouille for the present commands in the Garrison of Metz, and far and wide over the East and North; being

indeed, by a late act of Government with sanction of National Assembly, appointed one of our Four supreme

Generals. Rochambeau and Mailly, men and Marshals of note in these days, though to us of small moment,

are two of his colleagues; tough old babbling Luckner, also of small moment for us, will probably be the

third. Marquis de Bouille is a determined Loyalist; not indeed disinclined to moderate reform, but resolute

against immoderate. A man long suspect to Patriotism; who has more than once given the august Assembly

trouble; who would not, for example, take the National Oath, as he was bound to do, but always put it off on

this or the other pretext, till an autograph of Majesty requested him to do it as a favour. There, in this post if

not of honour, yet of eminence and danger, he waits, in a silent concentered manner; very dubious of the

future. 'Alone,' as he says, or almost alone, of all the old military Notabilities, he has not emigrated; but

thinks always, in atrabiliar moments, that there will be nothing for him too but to cross the marches. He might

cross, say, to Treves or Coblentz where Exiled Princes will be one day ranking; or say, over into Luxemburg

where old Broglie loiters and languishes. Or is there not the great dim Deep of European Diplomacy; where

With immeasurable confused outlooks and purposes, with no clear purpose but this of still trying to do His

Majesty a service, Bouille waits; struggling what he can to keep his district loyal, his troops faithful, his

garrisons furnished. He maintains, as yet, with his Cousin Lafayette, some thin diplomatic correspondence,

by letter and messenger; chivalrous constitutional professions on the one side, military gravity and brevity on

the other; which thin correspondence one can see growing ever the thinner and hollower, towards the verge of

entire vacuity. (Bouille, Memoires (London, 1797), i. c. 8.) A quick, choleric, sharply discerning, stubbornly

endeavouring man; with suppressedexplosive resolution, with valour, nay headlong audacity: a man who

was more in his place, lionlike defending those Windward Isles, or, as with military tigerspring, clutching

Nevis and Montserrat from the English,than here in this suppressed condition, muzzled and fettered by

diplomatic packthreads; looking out for a civil war, which may never arrive. Few years ago Bouille was to

have led a French EastIndian Expedition, and reconquered or conquered Pondicherri and the Kingdoms of

the Sun: but the whole world is suddenly changed, and he with it; Destiny willed it not in that way but in this.

Indeed, as to the general outlook of things, Bouille himself augurs not well of it. The French Army, ever since

those old Bastille days, and earlier, has been universally in the questionablest state, and growing daily worse.

Discipline, which is at all times a kind of miracle, and works by faith, broke down then; one sees not with

that near prospect of recovering itself. The Gardes Francaises played a deadly game; but how they won it, and

wear the prizes of it, all men know. In that general overturn, we saw the Hired Fighters refuse to fight. The

very Swiss of ChateauVieux, which indeed is a kind of French Swiss, from Geneva and the Pays de Vaud,

are understood to have declined. Deserters glided over; RoyalAllemand itself looked disconsolate, though

stanch of purpose. In a word, we there saw Military Rule, in the shape of poor Besenval with that convulsive

unmanageable Camp of his, pass two martyr days on the Champde Mars; and then, veiling itself, so to

speak, 'under the cloud of night,' depart 'down the left bank of the Seine,' to seek refuge elsewhere; this

But what new ground to seek, what remedy to try? Quarters that were 'uninfected:' this doubtless, with

judicious strictness of drilling, were the plan. Alas, in all quarters and places, from Paris onward to the

remotest hamlet, is infection, is seditious contagion: inhaled, propagated by contact and converse, till the

dullest soldier catch it! There is speech of men in uniform with men not in uniform; men in uniform read

journals, and even write in them. (See Newspapers of July, 1789 (in Hist. Parl. ii. 35), There are public

petitions or remonstrances, private emissaries and associations; there is discontent, jealousy, uncertainty,

sullen suspicious humour. The whole French Army, fermenting in dark heat, glooms ominous, boding good

So that, in the general social dissolution and revolt, we are to have this deepest and dismallest kind of it, a

revolting soldiery? Barren, desolate to look upon is this same business of revolt under all its aspects; but how

infinitely more so, when it takes the aspect of military mutiny! The very implement of rule and restraint,

whereby all the rest was managed and held in order, has become precisely the frightfullest immeasurable

implement of misrule; like the element of Fire, our indispensable allministering servant, when it gets the

mastery, and becomes conflagration. Discipline we called a kind of miracle: in fact, is it not miraculous how

one man moves hundreds of thousands; each unit of whom it may be loves him not, and singly fears him not,

yet has to obey him, to go hither or go thither, to march and halt, to give death, and even to receive it, as if a

Fate had spoken; and the wordofcommand becomes, almost in the literal sense, a magicword?

Which magicword, again, if it be once forgotten; the spell of it once broken! The legions of assiduous

ministering spirits rise on you now as menacing fiends; your free orderly arena becomes a tumultplace of

the Nether Pit, and the hapless magician is rent limb from limb. Military mobs are mobs with muskets in their

hands; and also with death hanging over their heads, for death is the penalty of disobedience and they have

disobeyed. And now if all mobs are properly frenzies, and work frenetically with mad fits of hot and of cold,

fierce rage alternating so incoherently with panic terror, consider what your military mob will be, with such a

conflict of duties and penalties, whirled between remorse and fury, and, for the hot fit, loaded firearms in its

hand! To the soldier himself, revolt is frightful, and oftenest perhaps pitiable; and yet so dangerous, it can

only be hated, cannot be pitied. An anomalous class of mortals these poor Hired Killers! With a frankness,

which to the Moralist in these times seems surprising, they have sworn to become machines; and nevertheless

they are still partly men. Let no prudent person in authority remind them of this latter fact; but always let

force, let injustice above all, stop short clearly on this side of the reboundingpoint! Soldiers, as we often say,

do revolt: were it not so, several things which are transient in this world might be perennial.

Over and above the general quarrel which all sons of Adam maintain with their lot here below, the grievances

of the French soldiery reduce themselves to two, First that their Officers are Aristocrats; secondly that they

cheat them of their Pay. Two grievances; or rather we might say one, capable of becoming a hundred; for in

that single first proposition, that the Officers are Aristocrats, what a multitude of corollaries lie ready! It is a

bottomless everflowing fountain of grievances this; what you may call a general rawmaterial of grievance,

wherefrom individual grievance after grievance will daily body itself forth. Nay there will even be a kind of

comfort in getting it, from time to time, so embodied. Peculation of one's Pay! It is embodied; made tangible,

For unluckily that grand fountain of grievances does exist: Aristocrats almost all our Officers necessarily are;

they have it in the blood and bone. By the law of the case, no man can pretend to be the pitifullest lieutenant

of militia, till he have first verified, to the satisfaction of the LionKing, a Nobility of four generations. Not

Nobility only, but four generations of it: this latter is the improvement hit upon, in comparatively late years,

by a certain Warminister much pressed for commissions. (Dampmartin, Evenemens, i. 89.) An improvement

which did relieve the overpressed Warminister, but which split France still further into yawning contrasts

of Commonalty and Nobility, nay of new Nobility and old; as if already with your new and old, and then with

your old, older and oldest, there were not contrasts and discrepancies enough;the general clash whereof

men now see and hear, and in the singular whirlpool, all contrasts gone together to the bottom! Gone to the

bottom or going; with uproar, without return; going every where save in the Military section of things; and

there, it may be asked, can they hope to continue always at the top? Apparently, not.

It is true, in a time of external Peace, when there is no fighting but only drilling, this question, How you rise

from the ranks, may seem theoretical rather. But in reference to the Rights of Man it is continually practical.

The soldier has sworn to be faithful not to the King only, but to the Law and the Nation. Do our commanders

love the Revolution? ask all soldiers. Unhappily no, they hate it, and love the CounterRevolution. Young

epauletted men, with qualityblood in them, poisoned with qualitypride, do sniff openly, with indignation

struggling to become contempt, at our Rights of Man, as at some newfangled cobweb, which shall be brushed

down again. Old officers, more cautious, keep silent, with closed uncurled lips; but one guesses what is

passing within. Nay who knows, how, under the plausiblest word of command, might lie CounterRevolution

itself, sale to Exiled Princes and the Austrian Kaiser: treacherous Aristocrats hoodwinking the small insight

of us common men?In such manner works that general rawmaterial of grievance; disastrous; instead of

trust and reverence, breeding hate, endless suspicion, the impossibility of commanding and obeying. And

now when this second more tangible grievance has articulated itself universally in the mind of the common

man: Peculation of his Pay! Peculation of the despicablest sort does exist, and has long existed; but, unless

the newdeclared Rights of Man, and all rights whatsoever, be a cobweb, it shall no longer exist.

The French Military System seems dying a sorrowful suicidal death. Nay more, citizen, as is natural, ranks

himself against citizen in this cause. The soldier finds audience, of numbers and sympathy unlimited, among

the Patriot lowerclasses. Nor are the higher wanting to the officer. The officer still dresses and perfumes

himself for such sad unemigrated soiree as there may still be; and speaks his woes,which woes, are they

not Majesty's and Nature's? Speaks, at the same time, his gay defiance, his firmset resolution. Citizens, still

more Citizenesses, see the right and the wrong; not the Military System alone will die by suicide, but much

along with it. As was said, there is yet possible a deepest overturn than any yet witnessed: that deepest upturn

But how these things may act on the rude soldiermind, with its military pedantries, its inexperience of all

that lies off the paradeground; inexperience as of a child, yet fierceness of a man and vehemence of a

Frenchman! It is long that secret communings in messroom and guardroom, sour looks, thousandfold petty

vexations between commander and commanded, measure every where the weary military day. Ask Captain

Dampmartin; an authentic, ingenious literary officer of horse; who loves the Reign of Liberty, after a sort; yet

has had his heart grieved to the quick many times, in the hot SouthWestern region and elsewhere; and has

seen riot, civil battle by daylight and by torchlight, and anarchy hatefuller than death. How insubordinate

Troopers, with drink in their heads, meet Captain Dampmartin and another on the ramparts, where there is no

escape or side path; and make military salute punctually, for we look calm on them; yet make it in a

snappish, almost insulting manner: how one morning they 'leave all their chamois shirts' and superfluous

buffs, which they are tired of, laid in piles at the Captain's doors; whereat 'we laugh,' as the ass does, eating

thistles: nay how they 'knot two foragecords together,' with universal noisy cursing, with evident intent to

hang the Quarter master:all this the worthy Captain, looking on it through the ruddyand sable of fond

regretful memory, has flowingly written down. (Dampmartin, Evenemens, i. 122146.) Men growl in vague

Or let us ask another literary Officer; not yet Captain; Sublieutenant only, in the Artillery Regiment La Fere:

a young man of twentyone; not unentitled to speak; the name of him is Napoleon Buonaparte. To such

height of Sublieutenancy has he now got promoted, from Brienne School, five years ago; 'being found

qualified in mathematics by La Place.' He is lying at Auxonne, in the West, in these months; not sumptuously

lodged'in the house of a Barber, to whose wife he did not pay the customary degree of respect;' or even

over at the Pavilion, in a chamber with bare walls; the only furniture an indifferent 'bed without curtains, two

chairs, and in the recess of a window a table covered with books and papers: his Brother Louis sleeps on a

coarse mattrass in an adjoining room.' However, he is doing something great: writing his first Book or

Pamphlet,eloquent vehement Letter to M. Matteo Buttafuoco, our Corsican Deputy, who is not a Patriot

but an Aristocrat, unworthy of Deputyship. Joly of Dole is Publisher. The literary Sublieutenant corrects the

proofs; 'sets out on foot from Auxonne, every morning at four o'clock, for Dole: after looking over the proofs,

he partakes of an extremely frugal breakfast with Joly, and immediately prepares for returning to his

Garrison; where he arrives before noon, having thus walked above twenty miles in the course of the morning.'

This Sublieutenant can remark that, in drawingrooms, on streets, on highways, at inns, every where men's

minds are ready to kindle into a flame. That a Patriot, if he appear in the drawingroom, or amid a group of

officers, is liable enough to be discouraged, so great is the majority against him: but no sooner does he get

into the street, or among the soldiers, than he feels again as if the whole Nation were with him. That after the

famous Oath, To the King, to the Nation and Law, there was a great change; that before this, if ordered to fire

on the people, he for one would have done it in the King's name; but that after this, in the Nation's name, he

would not have done it. Likewise that the Patriot officers, more numerous too in the Artillery and Engineers

than elsewhere, were few in number; yet that having the soldiers on their side, they ruled the regiment; and

did often deliver the Aristocrat brother officer out of peril and strait. One day, for example, 'a member of our

own mess roused the mob, by singing, from the windows of our diningroom, O Richard, O my King; and I

had to snatch him from their fury.' (Norvins, Histoire de Napoleon, i. 47; Las Cases, Memoires (translated

All which let the reader multiply by ten thousand; and spread it with slight variations over all the camps and

Universal mutiny! There is in that what may well make Patriot Constitutionalism and an august Assembly

shudder. Something behoves to be done; yet what to do no man can tell. Mirabeau proposes even that the

Soldiery, having come to such a pass, be forthwith disbanded, the whole Two Hundred and Eighty Thousands

of them; and organised anew. (Moniteur, 1790. No. 233.) Impossible this, in so sudden a manner! cry all men.

And yet literally, answer we, it is inevitable, in one manner or another. Such an Army, with its

fourgeneration Nobles, its Peculated Pay, and men knotting forage cords to hang their quartermaster, cannot

subsist beside such a Revolution. Your alternative is a slowpining chronic dissolution and new organization;

or a swift decisive one; the agonies spread over years, or concentrated into an hour. With a Mirabeau for

Minister or Governor the latter had been the choice; with no Mirabeau for Governor it will naturally be the

To Bouille, in his NorthEastern circle, none of these things are altogether hid. Many times flight over the

marches gleams out on him as a last guidance in such bewilderment: nevertheless he continues here:

struggling always to hope the best, not from new organisation but from happy CounterRevolution and return

to the old. For the rest it is clear to him that this same National Federation, and universal swearing and

fraternising of People and Soldiers, has done 'incalculable mischief.' So much that fermented secretly has

hereby got vent and become open: National Guards and Soldiers of the line, solemnly embracing one another

on all paradefields, drinking, swearing patriotic oaths, fall into disorderly streetprocessions, constitutional

unmilitary exclamations and hurrahings. On which account the Regiment Picardie, for one, has to be drawn

out in the square of the barracks, here at Metz, and sharply harangued by the General himself; but expresses

Far and near, as accounts testify, insubordination has begun grumbling louder and louder. Officers have been

seen shut up in their messrooms; assaulted with clamorous demands, not without menaces. The

insubordinate ringleader is dismissed with 'yellow furlough,' yellow infamous thing they call cartouche jaune:

but ten new ringleaders rise in his stead, and the yellow cartouche ceases to be thought disgraceful. 'Within a

fortnight,' or at furthest a month, of that sublime Feast of Pikes, the whole French Army, demanding Arrears,

forming Reading Clubs, frequenting Popular Societies, is in a state which Bouille can call by no name but

that of mutiny. Bouille knows it as few do; and speaks by dire experience. Take one instance instead of many.

It is still an early day of August, the precise date now undiscoverable, when Bouille, about to set out for the

waters of Aix la Chapelle, is once more suddenly summoned to the barracks of Metz. The soldiers stand

ranked in fighting order, muskets loaded, the officers all there on compulsion; and require, with manyvoiced

emphasis, to have their arrears paid. Picardie was penitent; but we see it has relapsed: the wide space bristles

and lours with mere mutinous armed men. Brave Bouille advances to the nearest Regiment, opens his

commanding lips to harangue; obtains nothing but querulousindignant discordance, and the sound of so

many thousand livres legally due. The moment is trying; there are some ten thousand soldiers now in Metz,

Bouille is firm as the adamant; but what shall he do? A German Regiment, named of Salm, is thought to be of

better temper: nevertheless Salm too may have heard of the precept, Thou shalt not steal; Salm too may know

that money is money. Bouille walks trustfully towards the Regiment de Salm, speaks trustful words; but here

again is answered by the cry of fortyfour thousand livres odd sous. A cry waxing more and more vociferous,

as Salm's humour mounts; which cry, as it will produce no cash or promise of cash, ends in the wide

simultaneous whirr of shouldered muskets, and a determined quicktime march on the part of

Salmtowards its Colonel's house, in the next street, there to seize the colours and military chest. Thus does

Salm, for its part; strong in the faith that meum is not tuum, that fair speeches are not fortyfour thousand

Unrestrainable! Salm tramps to military time, quick consuming the way. Bouille and the officers, drawing

sword, have to dash into double quick pasdecharge, or unmilitary running; to get the start; to station

themselves on the outer staircase, and stand there with what of death defiance and sharp steel they have;

Salm truculently coiling itself up, rank after rank, opposite them, in such humour as we can fancy, which

happily has not yet mounted to the murderpitch. There will Bouille stand, certain at least of one man's

purpose; in grim calmness, awaiting the issue. What the intrepidest of men and generals can do is done.

Bouille, though there is a barricading picket at each end of the street, and death under his eyes, contrives to

send for a Dragoon Regiment with orders to charge: the dragoon officers mount; the dragoon men will not:

hope is none there for him. The street, as we say, barricaded; the Earth all shut out, only the indifferent

heavenly Vault overhead: perhaps here or there a timorous householder peering out of window, with prayer

for Bouille; copious Rascality, on the pavement, with prayer for Salm: there do the two parties stand;like

chariots locked in a narrow thoroughfare; like locked wrestlers at a deadgrip! For two hours they stand;

Bouille's sword glittering in his hand, adamantine resolution clouding his brows: for two hours by the clocks

of Metz. Moodysilent stands Salm, with occasional clangour; but does not fire. Rascality from time to time

urges some grenadier to level his musket at the General; who looks on it as a bronze General would; and

In such remarkable attitude, standing on that staircase for two hours, does brave Bouille, long a shadow,

dawn on us visibly out of the dimness, and become a person. For the rest, since Salm has not shot him at the

first instant, and since in himself there is no variableness, the danger will diminish. The Mayor, 'a man

infinitely respectable,' with his Municipals and tricolor sashes, finally gains entrance; remonstrates, perorates,

promises; gets Salm persuaded home to its barracks. Next day, our respectable Mayor lending the money, the

officers pay down the half of the demand in ready cash. With which liquidation Salm pacifies itself, and for

Such scenes as this of Metz, or preparations and demonstrations towards such, are universal over France:

Dampmartin, with his knotted foragecords and piled chamois jackets, is at Strasburg in the SouthEast; in

these same days or rather nights, Royal Champagne is 'shouting Vive la Nation, au diable les Aristocrates,

with some thirty lit candles,' at Hesdin, on the far NorthWest. "The garrison of Bitche," Deputy Rewbell is

sorry to state, "went out of the town, with drums beating; deposed its officers; and then returned into the

town, sabre in hand." (Moniteur (in Hist. Parl. vii. 29).) Ought not a National Assembly to occupy itself with

these objects? Military France is everywhere full of sour inflammatory humour, which exhales itself

fuliginously, this way or that: a whole continent of smoking flax; which, blown on here or there by any angry

Constitutional Patriotism is in deep natural alarm at these things. The august Assembly sits diligently

deliberating; dare nowise resolve, with Mirabeau, on an instantaneous disbandment and extinction; finds that

a course of palliatives is easier. But at least and lowest, this grievance of the Arrears shall be rectified. A

plan, much noised of in those days, under the name 'Decree of the Sixth of August,' has been devised for that.

Inspectors shall visit all armies; and, with certain elected corporals and 'soldiers able to write,' verify what

arrears and peculations do lie due, and make them good. Well, if in this way the smoky heat be cooled down;

if it be not, as we say, ventilated overmuch, or, by sparks and collision somewhere, sent up!

We are to remark, however, that of all districts, this of Bouille's seems the inflammablest. It was always to

Bouille and Metz that Royalty would fly: Austria lies near; here more than elsewhere must the disunited

People look over the borders, into a dim sea of Foreign Politics and Diplomacies, with hope or apprehension,

It was but in these days that certain Austrian troops, marching peaceably across an angle of this region,

seemed an Invasion realised; and there rushed towards Stenai, with musket on shoulder, from all the winds,

some thirty thousand National Guards, to inquire what the matter was. (Moniteur, Seance du 9 Aout 1790.) A

matter of mere diplomacy it proved; the Austrian Kaiser, in haste to get to Belgium, had bargained for this

short cut. The infinite dim movement of European Politics waved a skirt over these spaces, passing on its

way; like the passing shadow of a condor; and such a winged flight of thirty thousand, with mixed cackling

and crowing, rose in consequence! For, in addition to all, this people, as we said, is much divided: Aristocrats

abound; Patriotism has both Aristocrats and Austrians to watch. It is Lorraine, this region; not so illuminated

as old France: it remembers ancient Feudalisms; nay, within man's memory, it had a Court and King of its

own, or indeed the splendour of a Court and King, without the burden. Then, contrariwise, the Mother

Society, which sits in the Jacobins Church at Paris, has Daughters in the Towns here; shrilltongued, driven

acrid: consider how the memory of good King Stanislaus, and ages of Imperial Feudalism, may comport with

this New acrid Evangel, and what a virulence of discord there may be! In all which, the Soldiery, officers on

one side, private men on the other, takes part, and now indeed principal part; a Soldiery, moreover, all the

So stands Lorraine: but the capital City, more especially so. The pleasant City of Nanci, which faded

Feudalism loves, where King Stanislaus personally dwelt and shone, has an Aristocrat Municipality, and then

also a Daughter Society: it has some forty thousand divided souls of population; and three large Regiments,

one of which is Swiss ChateauVieux, dear to Patriotism ever since it refused fighting, or was thought to

refuse, in the Bastille days. Here unhappily all evil influences seem to meet concentered; here, of all places,

may jealousy and heat evolve itself. These many months, accordingly, man has been set against man, Washed

against Unwashed; Patriot Soldier against Aristocrat Captain, ever the more bitterly; and a long score of

Nameable grudges, and likewise unnameable: for there is a punctual nature in Wrath; and daily, were there

but glances of the eye, tones of the voice, and minutest commissions or omissions, it will jot down somewhat,

to account, under the head of sundries, which always swells the sumtotal. For example, in April last, in

those times of preliminary Federation, when National Guards and Soldiers were every where swearing

brotherhood, and all France was locally federating, preparing for the grand National Feast of Pikes, it was

observed that these Nanci Officers threw cold water on the whole brotherly business; that they first hung back

from appearing at the Nanci Federation; then did appear, but in mere redingote and undress, with scarcely a

clean shirt on; nay that one of them, as the National Colours flaunted by in that solemn moment, did, without

Small 'sundries as per journal,' but then incessant ones! The Aristocrat Municipality, pretending to be

Constitutional, keeps mostly quiet; not so the Daughter Society, the five thousand adult male Patriots of the

place, still less the five thousand female: not so the young, whiskered or whiskerless, fourgeneration

Noblesse in epaulettes; the grim Patriot Swiss of ChateauVieux, effervescent infantry of Regiment du Roi,

hot troopers of MestredeCamp! Walled Nanci, which stands so bright and trim, with its straight streets,

spacious squares, and Stanislaus' Architecture, on the fruitful alluvium of the Meurthe; so bright, amid the

yellow cornfields in these ReaperMonths,is inwardly but a den of discord, anxiety, inflammability, not

far from exploding. Let Bouille look to it. If that universal military heat, which we liken to a vast continent of

smoking flax, do any where take fire, his beard, here in Lorraine and Nanci, may the most readily of all get

Bouille, for his part, is busy enough, but only with the general superintendence; getting his pacified Salm,

and all other still tolerable Regiments, marched out of Metz, to southward towns and villages; to rural

Cantonments as at Vic, Marsal and thereabout, by the still waters; where is plenty of horseforage,

sequestered paradeground, and the soldier's speculative faculty can be stilled by drilling. Salm, as we said,

received only half payment of arrears; naturally not without grumbling. Nevertheless that scene of the drawn

sword may, after all, have raised Bouille in the mind of Salm; for men and soldiers love intrepidity and swift

inflexible decision, even when they suffer by it. As indeed is not this fundamentally the quality of qualities

for a man? A quality which by itself is next to nothing, since inferior animals, asses, dogs, even mules have

Of Nanci and its heats, Bouille, commander of the whole, knows nothing special; understands generally that

the troops in that City are perhaps the worst. (Bouille, i. c. 9.) The Officers there have it all, as they have long

had it, to themselves; and unhappily seem to manage it ill. 'Fifty yellow furloughs,' given out in one batch, do

surely betoken difficulties. But what was Patriotism to think of certain lightfencing Fusileers 'set on,' or

supposed to be set on, 'to insult the Grenadierclub,' considerate speculative Grenadiers, and that

readingroom of theirs? With shoutings, with hootings; till the speculative Grenadier drew his sidearms too;

and there ensued battery and duels! Nay more, are not swashbucklers of the same stamp 'sent out' visibly, or

sent out presumably, now in the dress of Soldiers to pick quarrels with the Citizens; now, disguised as

Citizens, to pick quarrels with the Soldiers? For a certain Roussiere, expert in fence, was taken in the very

fact; four Officers (presumably of tender years) hounding him on, who thereupon fled precipitately!

Fencemaster Roussiere, haled to the guardhouse, had sentence of three months' imprisonment: but his

comrades demanded 'yellow furlough' for him of all persons; nay, thereafter they produced him on parade;

capped him in paperhelmet inscribed, Iscariot; marched him to the gate of City; and there sternly

On all which suspicions, accusations and noisy procedure, and on enough of the like continually

accumulating, the Officer could not but look with disdainful indignation; perhaps disdainfully express the

So that when it here as elsewhere comes to the question of Arrears, the humour and procedure is of the

bitterest: Regiment MestredeCamp getting, amid loud clamour, some three gold louis aman,which

have, as usual, to be borrowed from the Municipality; Swiss ChateauVieux applying for the like, but getting

instead instantaneous courrois, or cato'ninetails, with subsequent unsufferable hisses from the women and

children; Regiment du Roi, sick of hope deferred, at length seizing its military chest, and marching it to

quarters, but next day marching it back again, through streets all struck silent:unordered paradings and

clamours, not without strong liquor; objurgation, insubordination; your military ranked Arrangement going

all (as the Typographers say of set types, in a similar case) rapidly to pie! (Deux Amis, v. c. 8.) Such is Nanci

Constitutional Patriotism, at Paris and elsewhere, may well quake at the news. WarMinister Latour du Pin

runs breathless to the National Assembly, with a written message that 'all is burning, tout brule, tout presse.'

The National Assembly, on spur of the instant, renders such Decret, and 'order to submit and repent,' as he

requires; if it will avail any thing. On the other hand, Journalism, through all its throats, gives hoarse outcry,

condemnatory, elegiacapplausive. The Fortyeight Sections, lift up voices; sonorous Brewer, or call him

now Colonel Santerre, is not silent, in the Faubourg SaintAntoine. For, meanwhile, the Nanci Soldiers have

sent a Deputation of Ten, furnished with documents and proofs; who will tell another story than the

'allisburning' one. Which deputed Ten, before ever they reach the Assembly Hall, assiduous Latour du Pin

picks up, and on warrant of Mayor Bailly, claps in prison! Most unconstitutionally; for they had officers'

furloughs. Whereupon SaintAntoine, in indignant uncertainty of the future, closes its shops. Is Bouille a

traitor then, sold to Austria? In that case, these poor private sentinels have revolted mainly out of Patriotism?

New Deputation, Deputation of National Guardsmen now, sets forth from Nanci to enlighten the Assembly. It

meets the old deputed Ten returning, quite unexpectedly unhanged; and proceeds thereupon with better

prospects; but effects nothing. Deputations, Government Messengers, Orderlies at hand gallops, Alarms,

thousandvoiced Rumours, go vibrating continually; backwards and forwards,scattering distraction. Not

till the last week of August does M. de Malseigne, selected as Inspector, get down to the scene of mutiny;

with Authority, with cash, and 'Decree of the Sixth of August.' He now shall see these Arrears liquidated,

Of Inspector Malseigne we discern, by direct light, that he is 'of Herculean stature;' and infer, with

probability, that he is of truculent moustachioed aspect,for Royalist Officers now leave the upper lip

unshaven; that he is of indomitable bullheart; and also, unfortunately, of thick bullhead.

On Tuesday the 24th of August, 1790, he opens session as Inspecting Commissioner; meets those 'elected

corporals, and soldiers that can write.' He finds the accounts of ChateauVieux to be complex; to require

delay and reference: he takes to haranguing, to reprimanding; ends amid audible grumbling. Next morning,

he resumes session, not at the Townhall as prudent Municipals counselled, but once more at the barracks.

Unfortunately ChateauVieux, grumbling all night, will now hear of no delay or reference; from

reprimanding on his part, it goes to bullying,answered with continual cries of "Jugez tout de suite, Judge it

at once;" whereupon M. de Malseigne will off in a huff. But lo, Chateau Vieux, swarming all about the

barrackcourt, has sentries at every gate; M. de Malseigne, demanding egress, cannot get it, though

Commandant Denoue backs him; can get only "Jugez tout de suite." Here is a nodus!

Bullhearted M. de Malseigne draws his sword; and will force egress. Confused splutter. M. de Malseigne's

sword breaks; he snatches Commandant Denoue's: the sentry is wounded. M. de Malseigne, whom one is

loath to kill, does force egress,followed by ChateauVieux all in disarray; a spectacle to Nanci. M. de

Malseigne walks at a sharp pace, yet never runs; wheeling from time to time, with menaces and movements

of fence; and so reaches Denoue's house, unhurt; which house ChateauVieux, in an agitated manner,

invests,hindered as yet from entering, by a crowd of officers formed on the staircase. M. de Malseigne

retreats by back ways to the Townhall, flustered though undaunted; amid an escort of National Guards. From

the Townhall he, on the morrow, emits fresh orders, fresh plans of settlement with ChateauVieux; to none of

which will ChateauVieux listen: whereupon finally he, amid noise enough, emits order that ChateauVieux

shall march on the morrow morning, and quarter at Sarre Louis. Chateau Vieux flatly refuses marching; M.

de Malseigne 'takes act,' due notarial protest, of such refusal,if happily that may avail him.

This is end of Thursday; and, indeed, of M. de Malseigne's Inspectorship, which has lasted some fifty hours.

To such length, in fifty hours, has he unfortunately brought it. MestredeCamp and Regiment du Roi hang,

as it were, fluttering: ChateauVieux is clean gone, in what way we see. Over night, an AidedeCamp of

Lafayette's, stationed here for such emergency, sends swift emissaries far and wide, to summon National

Guards. The slumber of the country is broken by clattering hoofs, by loud fraternal knockings; every where

the Constitutional Patriot must clutch his fighting gear, and take the road for Nanci.

And thus the Herculean Inspector has sat all Thursday, among terrorstruck Municipals, a centre of confused

noise: all Thursday, Friday, and till Saturday towards noon. ChateauVieux, in spite of the notarial protest,

will not march a step. As many as four thousand National Guards are dropping or pouring in; uncertain what

is expected of them, still more uncertain what will be obtained of them. For all is uncertainty, commotion,

and suspicion: there goes a word that Bouille, beginning to bestir himself in the rural Cantonments eastward,

is but a Royalist traitor; that ChateauVieux and Patriotism are sold to Austria, of which latter M. de

Malseigne is probably some agent. MestredeCamp and Roi flutter still more questionably: ChateauVieux,

far from marching, 'waves red flags out of two carriages,' in a passionate manner, along the streets; and next

morning answers its Officers: "Pay us, then; and we will march with you to the world's end!"

Under which circumstances, towards noon on Saturday, M. de Malseigne thinks it were good perhaps to

inspect the ramparts,on horseback. He mounts, accordingly, with escort of three troopers. At the gate of

the city, he bids two of them wait for his return; and with the third, a trooper to be depended upon,

hegallops off for Luneville; where lies a certain Carabineer Regiment not yet in a mutinous state! The two

left troopers soon get uneasy; discover how it is, and give the alarm. MestredeCamp, to the number of a

hundred, saddles in frantic haste, as if sold to Austria; gallops out pellmell in chase of its Inspector. And so

they spur, and the Inspector spurs; careering, with noise and jingle, up the valley of the River Meurthe,

towards Luneville and the midday sun: through an astonished country; indeed almost their own astonishment.

What a hunt, Actaeonlike;which Actaeon de Malseigne happily gains! To arms, ye Carabineers of

Luneville: to chastise mutinous men, insulting your General Officer, insulting your own quarters;above all

things, fire soon, lest there be parleying and ye refuse to fire! The Carabineers fire soon, exploding upon the

first stragglers of MestredeCamp; who shrink at the very flash, and fall back hastily on Nanci, in a state

not far from distraction. Panic and fury: sold to Austria without an if; so much per regiment, the very sums

can be specified; and traitorous Malseigne is fled! Help, O Heaven; help, thou Earth,ye unwashed Patriots;

Effervescent Regiment du Roi primes its firelocks, MestredeCamp saddles wholly: Commandant Denoue

is seized, is flung in prison with a 'canvass shirt' (sarreau de toile) about him; ChateauVieux bursts up the

magazines; distributes 'three thousand fusils' to a Patriot people: Austria shall have a hot bargain. Alas, the

unhappy huntingdogs, as we said, have hunted away their huntsman; and do now run howling and baying,

And so there is tumultuous march of men, through the night; with halt on the heights of Flinval, whence

Luneville can be seen all illuminated. Then there is parley, at four in the morning; and reparley; finally there

is agreement: the Carabineers give in; Malseigne is surrendered, with apologies on all sides. After weary

confused hours, he is even got under way; the Lunevillers all turning out, in the idle Sunday, to see such

departure: homegoing of mutinous MestredeCamp with its Inspector captive. MestredeCamp

accordingly marches; the Lunevillers look. See! at the corner of the first street, our Inspector bounds off

again, bull hearted as he is; amid the slash of sabres, the crackle of musketry; and escapes, full gallop, with

only a ball lodged in his buffjerkin. The Herculean man! And yet it is an escape to no purpose. For the

Carabineers, to whom after the hardest Sunday's ride on record, he has come circling back, 'stand deliberating

by their nocturnal watchfires;' deliberating of Austria, of traitors, and the rage of MestredeCamp. So that,

on the whole, the next sight we have is that of M. de Malseigne, on the Monday afternoon, faring

bullhearted through the streets of Nanci; in open carriage, a soldier standing over him with drawn sword;

amid the 'furies of the women,' hedges of National Guards, and confusion of Babel: to the Prison beside

Commandant Denoue! That finally is the lodging of Inspector Malseigne. (Deux Amis, v. 206251;

Surely it is time Bouille were drawing near. The Country all round, alarmed with watchfires, illuminated

towns, and marching and rout, has been sleepless these several nights. Nanci, with its uncertain National

Guards, with its distributed fusils, mutinous soldiers, black panic and redhot ire, is not a City but a Bedlam.

Haste with help, thou brave Bouille: if swift help come not, all is now verily 'burning;' and may burn,to

what lengths and breadths! Much, in these hours, depends on Bouille; as it shall now fare with him, the whole

Future may be this way or be that. If, for example, he were to loiter dubitating, and not come: if he were to

come, and fail: the whole Soldiery of France to blaze into mutiny, National Guards going some this way,

some that; and Royalism to draw its rapier, and Sansculottism to snatch its pike; and the Spirit if Jacobinism,

as yet young, girt with sun rays, to grow instantaneously mature, girt with hellfire,as mortals, in one

Brave Bouille is advancing fast, with the old inflexibility; gathering himself, unhappily 'in small affluences,'

from East, from West and North; and now on Tuesday morning, the last day of the month, he stands all

concentred, unhappily still in small force, at the village of Frouarde, within some few miles. Son of Adam

with a more dubious task before him is not in the world this Tuesday morning. A weltering inflammable sea

of doubt and peril, and Bouille sure of simply one thing, his own determination. Which one thing, indeed,

may be worth many. He puts a most firm face on the matter: 'Submission, or unsparing battle and destruction;

twentyfour hours to make your choice:' this was the tenor of his Proclamation; thirty copies of which he sent

yesterday to Nanci:all which, we find, were intercepted and not posted. (Compare Bouille, Memoires, i.

Nevertheless, at halfpast eleven, this morning, seemingly by way of answer, there does wait on him at

Frouarde, some Deputation from the mutinous Regiments, from the Nanci Municipals, to see what can be

done. Bouille receives this Deputation, 'in a large open court adjoining his lodging:' pacified Salm, and the

rest, attend also, being invited to do it,all happily still in the right humour. The Mutineers pronounce

themselves with a decisiveness, which to Bouille seems insolence; and happily to Salm also. Salm, forgetful

of the Metz staircase and sabre, demands that the scoundrels 'be hanged' there and then. Bouille represses the

hanging; but answers that mutinous Soldiers have one course, and not more than one: To liberate, with

heartfelt contrition, Messieurs Denoue and de Malseigne; to get ready forthwith for marching off, whither he

shall order; and 'submit and repent,' as the National Assembly has decreed, as he yesterday did in thirty

printed Placards proclaim. These are his terms, unalterable as the decrees of Destiny. Which terms as they,

the Mutineer deputies, seemingly do not accept, it were good for them to vanish from this spot, and even

promptly; with him too, in few instants, the word will be, Forward! The Mutineer deputies vanish, not

unpromptly; the Municipal ones, anxious beyond right for their own individualities, prefer abiding with

Brave Bouille, though he puts a most firm face on the matter, knows his position full well: how at Nanci,

what with rebellious soldiers, with uncertain National Guards, and so many distributed fusils, there rage and

roar some ten thousand fighting men; while with himself is scarcely the third part of that number, in National

Guards also uncertain, in mere pacified Regiments,for the present full of rage, and clamour to march; but

whose rage and clamour may next moment take such a fatal new figure. On the top of one uncertain billow,

therewith to calm billows! Bouille must 'abandon himself to Fortune;' who is said sometimes to favour the

brave. At halfpast twelve, the Mutineer deputies having vanished, our drums beat; we march: for Nanci! Let

And yet how shall Nanci think: not a City but a Bedlam! Grim Chateau Vieux is for defence to the death;

forces the Municipality to order, by tap of drum, all citizens acquainted with artillery to turn out, and assist in

managing the cannon. On the other hand, effervescent Regiment du Roi, is drawn up in its barracks; quite

disconsolate, hearing the humour Salm is in; and ejaculates dolefully from its thousand throats: "La loi, la loi,

Law, law!" MestredeCamp blusters, with profane swearing, in mixed terror and furor; National Guards

look this way and that, not knowing what to do. What a BedlamCity: as many plans as heads; all ordering,

none obeying: quiet none,except the Dead, who sleep underground, having done their fighting!

And, behold, Bouille proves as good as his word: 'at halfpast two' scouts report that he is within half a

league of the gates; rattling along, with cannon, and array; breathing nothing but destruction. A new

Deputation, Municipals, Mutineers, Officers, goes out to meet him; with passionate entreaty for yet one other

hour. Bouille grants an hour. Then, at the end thereof, no Denoue or Malseigne appearing as promised, he

rolls his drums, and again takes the road. Towards four o'clock, the terrorstruck Townsmen may see him

face to face. His cannons rattle there, in their carriages; his vanguard is within thirty paces of the Gate

Stanislaus. Onward like a Planet, by appointed times, by law of Nature! What next? Lo, flag of truce and

chamade; conjuration to halt: Malseigne and Denoue are on the street, coming hither; the soldiers all

repentant, ready to submit and march! Adamantine Bouille's look alters not; yet the word Halt is given:

gladder moment he never saw. Joy of joys! Malseigne and Denoue do verily issue; escorted by National

Guards; from streets all frantic, with sale to Austria and so forth: they salute Bouille, unscathed. Bouille steps

aside to speak with them, and with other heads of the Town there; having already ordered by what Gates and

Such colloquy with these two General Officers and other principal Townsmen, was natural enough;

nevertheless one wishes Bouille had postponed it, and not stepped aside. Such tumultuous inflammable

masses, tumbling along, making way for each other; this of keen nitrous oxide, that of sulphurous

firedamp,were it not well to stand between them, keeping them well separate, till the space be cleared?

Numerous stragglers of ChateauVieux and the rest have not marched with their main columns, which are

filing out by the appointed Gates, taking station in the open meadows. National Guards are in a state of nearly

distracted uncertainty; the populace, armed and unharmed, roll openly delirious,betrayed, sold to the

Austrians, sold to the Aristocrats. There are loaded cannon with lit matches among them, and Bouille's

vanguard is halted within thirty paces of the Gate. Command dwells not in that mad inflammable mass;

which smoulders and tumbles there, in blind smoky rage; which will not open the Gate when summoned;

says it will open the cannon's throat sooner!Cannonade not, O Friends, or be it through my body! cries

heroic young Desilles, young Captain of Roi, clasping the murderous engine in his arms, and holding it.

ChateauVieux Swiss, by main force, with oaths and menaces, wrench off the heroic youth; who undaunted,

amid still louder oaths seats himself on the touchhole. Amid still louder oaths; with ever louder

clangour,and, alas, with the loud crackle of first one, and then three other muskets; which explode into his

body; which roll it in the dust,and do also, in the loud madness of such moment, bring lit cannonmatch to

ready priming; and so, with one thunderous belch of grapeshot, blast some fifty of Bouille's vanguard into

Fatal! That sputter of the first musketshot has kindled such a cannon shot, such a deathblaze; and all is

now redhot madness, conflagration as of Tophet. With demoniac rage, the Bouille vanguard storms through

that Gate Stanislaus; with fiery sweep, sweeps Mutiny clear away, to death, or into shelters and cellars; from

which latter, again, Mutiny continues firing. The ranked Regiments hear it in their meadow; they rush back

again through the nearest Gates; Bouille gallops in, distracted, inaudible;and now has begun, in Nanci, as

Miserable: such scene of dismal aimless madness as the anger of Heaven but rarely permits among men!

From cellar or from garret, from open street in front, from successive corners of crossstreets on each hand,

ChateauVieux and Patriotism keep up the murderous rollingfire, on murderous not Unpatriotic fires. Your

blue National Captain, riddled with balls, one hardly knows on whose side fighting, requests to be laid on the

colours to die: the patriotic Woman (name not given, deed surviving) screams to ChateauVieux that it must

not fire the other cannon; and even flings a pail of water on it, since screaming avails not. (Deux Amis, v.

268.) Thou shalt fight; thou shalt not fight; and with whom shalt thou fight! Could tumult awaken the old

Dead, Burgundian Charles the Bold might stir from under that Rotunda of his: never since he, raging, sank in

Three thousand, as some count, lie mangled, gory; the half of ChateauVieux has been shot, without need of

Court Martial. Cavalry, of MestredeCamp or their foes, can do little. Regiment du Roi was persuaded to its

barracks; stands there palpitating. Bouille, armed with the terrors of the Law, and favoured of Fortune, finally

triumphs. In two murderous hours he has penetrated to the grand Squares, dauntless, though with loss of forty

officers and five hundred men: the shattered remnants of ChateauVieux are seeking covert. Regiment du

Roi, not effervescent now, alas no, but having effervesced, will offer to ground its arms; will 'march in a

quarter of an hour.' Nay these poor effervesced require 'escort' to march with, and get it; though they are

thousands strong, and have thirty ballcartridges a man! The Sun is not yet down, when Peace, which might

have come bloodless, has come bloody: the mutinous Regiments are on march, doleful, on their three Routes;

and from Nanci rises wail of women and men, the voice of weeping and desolation; the City weeping for its

Thus has Fortune, favouring the brave, dragged Bouille, as himself says, out of such a frightful peril, 'by the

hair of the head.' An intrepid adamantine man this Bouille:had he stood in old Broglie's place, in those

Bastille days, it might have been all different! He has extinguished mutiny, and immeasurable civil war. Not

for nothing, as we see; yet at a rate which he and Constitutional Patriotism considers cheap. Nay, as for

Bouille, he, urged by subsequent contradiction which arose, declares coldly, it was rather against his own

private mind, and more by public military rule of duty, that he did extinguish it, (Bouille, i. 175.)

immeasurable civil war being now the only chance. Urged, we say, by subsequent contradiction! Civil war,

indeed, is Chaos; and in all vital Chaos, there is new Order shaping itself free: but what a faith this, that of all

new Orders out of Chaos and Possibility of Man and his Universe, Louis Sixteenth and TwoChamber

Monarchy were precisely the one that would shape itself! It is like undertaking to throw deuceace, say only

five hundred successive times, and any other throw to be fatalfor Bouille. Rather thank Fortune, and

Heaven, always, thou intrepid Bouille; and let contradiction of its way! Civil war, conflagrating universally

over France at this moment, might have led to one thing or to another thing: meanwhile, to quench

conflagration, wheresoever one finds it, wheresoever one can; this, in all times, is the rule for man and

But at Paris, so agitated and divided, fancy how it went, when the continually vibrating Orderlies vibrated

thither at hand gallop, with such questionable news! High is the gratulation; and also deep the indignation.

An august Assembly, by overwhelming majorities, passionately thanks Bouille; a King's autograph, the

voices of all Loyal, all Constitutional men run to the same tenor. A solemn National funeralservice, for the

Law defenders slain at Nanci; is said and sung in the Champ de Mars; Bailly, Lafayette and National

Guards, all except the few that protested, assist. With pomp and circumstance, with episcopal Calicoes in

tricolor girdles, Altar of Fatherland smoking with cassolettes, or incensekettles; the vast ChampdeMars

wholly hung round with black mortcloth,which mortcloth and expenditure Marat thinks had better have

been laid out in bread, in these dear days, and given to the hungry living Patriot. (Ami du Peuple (in Hist.

Parl., ubi supra.) On the other hand, living Patriotism, and Saint Antoine, which we have seen noisily

closing its shops and such like, assembles now 'to the number of forty thousand;' and, with loud cries, under

the very windows of the thanking National Assembly, demands revenge for murdered Brothers, judgment on

At sound and sight of which things, if not WarMinister Latour, yet 'Adored Minister' Necker, sees good on

the 3d of September 1790, to withdraw softly almost privily,with an eye to the 'recovery of his health.'

Home to native Switzerland; not as he last came; lucky to reach it alive! Fifteen months ago, we saw him

coming, with escort of horse, with sound of clarion and trumpet: and now at ArcissurAube, while he

departs unescorted soundless, the Populace and Municipals stop him as a fugitive, are not unlike massacring

him as a traitor; the National Assembly, consulted on the matter, gives him free egress as a nullity. Such an

unstable 'driftmould of Accident' is the substance of this lower world, for them that dwell in houses of clay;

so, especially in hot regions and times, do the proudest palaces we build of it take wings, and become Sahara

sandpalaces, spinning many pillared in the whirlwind, and bury us under their sand!

In spite of the forty thousand, the National Assembly persists in its thanks; and Royalist Latour du Pin

continues Minister. The forty thousand assemble next day, as loud as ever; roll towards Latour's Hotel; find

cannon on the porchsteps with flambeau lit; and have to retire elsewhither, and digest their spleen, or

Over in Lorraine, meanwhile, they of the distributed fusils, ringleaders of MestredeCamp, of Roi, have got

marked out for judgment;yet shall never get judged. Briefer is the doom of ChateauVieux.

ChateauVieux is, by Swiss law, given up for instant trial in CourtMartial of its own officers. Which

CourtMartial, with all brevity (in not many hours), has hanged some Twentythree, on conspicuous gibbets;

marched some Threescore in chains to the Galleys; and so, to appearance, finished the matter off. Hanged

men do cease for ever from this Earth; but out of chains and the Galleys there may be resuscitation in

triumph. Resuscitation for the chained Hero; and even for the chained Scoundrel, or Semiscoundrel!

Scottish John Knox, such WorldHero, as we know, sat once nevertheless pulling grimtaciturn at the oar of

French Galley, 'in the Water of Lore;' and even flung their Virgin Mary over, instead of kissing her,as 'a

pented bredd,' or timber Virgin, who could naturally swim. (Knox's History of the Reformation, b. i.) So, ye

But indeed at Nanci generally, Aristocracy rides triumphant, rough. Bouille is gone again, the second day; an

Aristocrat Municipality, with free course, is as cruel as it had before been cowardly. The Daughter Society, as

the mother of the whole mischief, lies ignominiously suppressed; the Prisons can hold no more; bereaved

downbeaten Patriotism murmurs, not loud but deep. Here and in the neighbouring Towns, 'flattened balls'

picked from the streets of Nanci are worn at buttonholes: balls flattened in carrying death to Patriotism; men

wear them there, in perpetual memento of revenge. Mutineer Deserters roam the woods; have to demand

charity at the musket's end. All is dissolution, mutual rancour, gloom and despair:till NationalAssembly

Commissioners arrive, with a steady gentle flame of Constitutionalism in their hearts; who gently lift up the

downtrodden, gently pull down the too uplifted; reinstate the Daughter Society, recall the Mutineer

Deserter; gradually levelling, strive in all wise ways to smooth and soothe. With such gradual mild levelling

on the one side; as with solemn funeralservice, Cassolettes, CourtsMartial, National thanks,all that

Officiality can do is done. The buttonhole will drop its flat ball; the black ashes, so far as may be, get green

This is the 'Affair of Nanci;' by some called the 'Massacre of Nanci;' properly speaking, the unsightly

wrongside of that thrice glorious Feast of Pikes, the rightside of which formed a spectacle for the very

gods. Rightside and wrong lie always so near: the one was in July, in August the other! Theatres, the

theatres over in London, are bright with their pasteboard simulacrum of that 'Federation of the French

People,' brought out as Drama: this of Nanci, we may say, though not played in any pasteboard Theatre, did

for many months enact itself, and even walk spectrallyin all French heads. For the news of it fly pealing

through all France; awakening, in town and village, in clubroom, messroom, to the utmost borders, some

mimic reflex or imaginative repetition of the business; always with the angry questionable assertion: It was

right; It was wrong. Whereby come controversies, duels, embitterment, vain jargon; the hastening forward,

Meanwhile, at this cost or at that, the mutiny, as we say, is stilled. The French Army has neither burst up in

universal simultaneous delirium; nor been at once disbanded, put an end to, and made new again. It must die

in the chronic manner, through years, by inches; with partial revolts, as of Brest Sailors or the like, which

dare not spread; with men unhappy, insubordinate; officers unhappier, in Royalist moustachioes, taking

horse, singly or in bodies, across the Rhine: (See Dampmartin, i. 249, sick dissatisfaction, sick disgust on

both sides; the Army moribund, fit for no duty:till it do, in that unexpected manner, Phoenixlike, with

long throes, get both dead and newborn; then start forth strong, nay stronger and even strongest.

Thus much was the brave Bouille hitherto fated to do. Wherewith let him again fade into dimness; and at

Metz or the rural Cantonments, assiduously drilling, mysteriously diplomatising, in scheme within scheme,

How true that there is nothing dead in this Universe; that what we call dead is only changed, its forces

working in inverse order! 'The leaf that lies rotting in moist winds,' says one, 'has still force; else how could it

rot?' Our whole Universe is but an infinite Complex of Forces; thousandfold, from Gravitation up to Thought

and Will; man's Freedom environed with Necessity of Nature: in all which nothing at any moment slumbers,

but all is for ever awake and busy. The thing that lies isolated inactive thou shalt nowhere discover; seek

every where from the granite mountain, slowmouldering since Creation, to the passing cloudvapour, to the

living man; to the action, to the spoken word of man. The word that is spoken, as we know, fliesirrevocable:

not less, but more, the action that is done. 'The gods themselves,' sings Pindar, 'cannot annihilate the action

that is done.' No: this, once done, is done always; cast forth into endless Time; and, long conspicuous or soon

hidden, must verily work and grow for ever there, an indestructible new element in the Infinite of Things. Or,

indeed, what is this Infinite of Things itself, which men name Universe, but an action, a sumtotal of Actions

and Activities? The living readymade sumtotal of these three,which Calculation cannot add, cannot

bring on its tablets; yet the sum, we say, is written visible: All that has been done, All that is doing, All that

will be done! Understand it well, the Thing thou beholdest, that Thing is an Action, the product and

expression of exerted Force: the All of Things is an infinite conjugation of the verb To do. Shoreless

FountainOcean of Force, of power to do; wherein Force rolls and circles, billowing, manystreamed,

harmonious; wide as Immensity, deep as Eternity; beautiful and terrible, not to be comprehended: this is what

man names Existence and Universe; this thousandtinted Flameimage, at once veil and revelation, reflex

such as he, in his poor brain and heart, can paint, of One Unnameable dwelling in inaccessible light! From

beyond the Stargalaxies, from before the Beginning of Days, it billows and rolls,round thee, nay thyself

art of it, in this point of Space where thou now standest, in this moment which thy clock measures.

Or apart from all Transcendentalism, is it not a plain truth of sense, which the duller mind can even consider

as a truism, that human things wholly are in continual movement, and action and reaction; working

continually forward, phasis after phasis, by unalterable laws, towards prescribed issues? How often must we

say, and yet not rightly lay to heart: The seed that is sown, it will spring! Given the summer's blossoming,

then there is also given the autumnal withering: so is it ordered not with seedfields only, but with

transactions, arrangements, philosophies, societies, French Revolutions, whatsoever man works with in this

lower world. The Beginning holds in it the End, and all that leads thereto; as the acorn does the oak and its

fortunes. Solemn enough, did we think of it,which unhappily and also happily we do not very much! Thou

there canst begin; the Beginning is for thee, and there: but where, and of what sort, and for whom will the

End be? All grows, and seeks and endures its destinies: consider likewise how much grows, as the trees do,

whether we think of it or not. So that when your Epimenides, your somnolent Peter Klaus, since named Rip

van Winkle, awakens again, he finds it a changed world. In that sevenyears' sleep of his, so much has

changed! All that is without us will change while we think not of it; much even that is within us. The truth

that was yesterday a restless Problem, has today grown a Belief burning to be uttered: on the morrow,

contradiction has exasperated it into mad Fanaticism; obstruction has dulled it into sick Inertness; it is sinking

towards silence, of satisfaction or of resignation. Today is not Yesterday, for man or for thing. Yesterday

there was the oath of Love; today has come the curse of Hate. Not willingly: ah, no; but it could not help

coming. The golden radiance of youth, would it willingly have tarnished itself into the dimness of old

age?Fearful: how we stand enveloped, deepsunk, in that Mystery of TIME; and are Sons of Time;

fashioned and woven out of Time; and on us, and on all that we have, or see, or do, is written: Rest not,

But in seasons of Revolution, which indeed distinguish themselves from common seasons by their velocity

mainly, your miraculous Sevensleeper might, with miracle enough, wake sooner: not by the century, or

seven years, need he sleep; often not by the seven months. Fancy, for example, some new Peter Klaus, sated

with the jubilee of that Federation day, had lain down, say directly after the Blessing of Talleyrand; and,

reckoning it all safe now, had fallen composedly asleep under the timberwork of the Fatherland's Altar; to

sleep there, not twentyone years, but as it were year and day. The cannonading of Nanci, so far off, does not

disturb him; nor does the black mortcloth, close at hand, nor the requiems chanted, and minute guns,

incensepans and concourse right over his head: none of these; but Peter sleeps through them all. Through

one circling year, as we say; from July 14th of 1790, till July the 17th of 1791: but on that latter day, no

Klaus, nor most leaden Epimenides, only the Dead could continue sleeping; and so our miraculous Peter

Klaus awakens. With what eyes, O Peter! Earth and sky have still their joyous July look, and the

ChampdeMars is multitudinous with men: but the jubileehuzzahing has become Bedlamshrieking, of

terror and revenge; not blessing of Talleyrand, or any blessing, but cursing, imprecation and shrill wail; our

cannon salvoes are turned to sharp shot; for swinging of incensepans and Eighty three Departmental

Banners, we have waving of the one sanguinous Drapeau Rouge.Thou foolish Klaus! The one lay in the

other, the one was the other minus Time; even as Hannibal's rockrending vinegar lay in the sweet new wine.

That sweet Federation was of last year; this sour Divulsion is the selfsame substance, only older by the

No miraculous Klaus or Epimenides sleeps in these times: and yet, may not many a man, if of due opacity

and levity, act the same miracle in a natural way; we mean, with his eyes open? Eyes has he, but he sees not,

except what is under his nose. With a sparkling briskness of glance, as if he not only saw but saw through,

such a one goes whisking, assiduous, in his circle of officialities; not dreaming but that it is the whole world:

as, indeed, where your vision terminates, does not inanity begin there, and the world's end clearly declares

itselfto you? Whereby our brisk sparkling assiduous official person (call him, for instance, Lafayette),

suddenly startled, after year and day, by huge grapeshot tumult, stares not less astonished at it than Peter

Klaus would have done. Such naturalmiracle Lafayette can perform; and indeed not he only but most other

officials, nonofficials, and generally the whole French People can perform it; and do bounce up, ever and

anon, like amazed Sevensleepers awakening; awakening amazed at the noise they themselves make. So

strangely is Freedom, as we say, environed in Necessity; such a singular Somnambulism, of Conscious and

Unconscious, of Voluntary and Involuntary, is this life of man. If any where in the world there was

astonishment that the Federation Oath went into grapeshot, surely of all persons the French, first swearers

Alas, offences must come. The sublime Feast of Pikes, with its effulgence of brotherly love, unknown since

the Age of Gold, has changed nothing. That prurient heat in Twentyfive millions of hearts is not cooled

thereby; but is still hot, nay hotter. Lift off the pressure of command from so many millions; all pressure or

binding rule, except such melodramatic Federation Oath as they have bound themselves with! For 'Thou shalt'

was from of old the condition of man's being, and his weal and blessedness was in obeying that. Wo for him

when, were it on hest of the clearest necessity, rebellion, disloyal isolation, and mere 'I will', becomes his

rule! But the Gospel of JeanJacques has come, and the first Sacrament of it has been celebrated: all things,

as we say, are got into hot and hotter prurience; and must go on pruriently fermenting, in continual change

'Worn out with disgusts,' Captain after Captain, in Royalist moustachioes, mounts his warhorse, or his

Rozinante wargarron, and rides minatory across the Rhine; till all have ridden. Neither does civic

Emigration cease: Seigneur after Seigneur must, in like manner, ride or roll; impelled to it, and even

compelled. For the very Peasants despise him in that he dare not join his order and fight. (Dampmartin,

passim.) Can he bear to have a Distaff, a Quenouille sent to him; say in copperplate shadow, by post; or

fixed up in wooden reality over his gatelintel: as if he were no Hercules but an Omphale? Such scutcheon

they forward to him diligently from behind the Rhine; till he too bestir himself and march, and in sour

humour, another Lord of Land is gone, not taking the Land with him. Nay, what of Captains and emigrating

Seigneurs? There is not an angry word on any of those Twentyfive million French tongues, and indeed not

an angry thought in their hearts, but is some fraction of the great Battle. Add many successions of angry

words together, you have the manual brawl; add brawls together, with the festering sorrows they leave, and

they rise to riots and revolts. One reverend thing after another ceases to meet reverence: in visible material

combustion, chateau after chateau mounts up; in spiritual invisible combustion, one authority after another.

With noise and glare, or noisily and unnoted, a whole Old System of things is vanishing piecemeal: on the

Sleep who will, cradled in hope and short vision, like Lafayette, 'who always in the danger done sees the last

That sacred Herald'sCollege of a new Dynasty; we mean the Sixty and odd Billstickers with their leaden

badges, are not sleeping. Daily they, with pastepot and crossstaff, new clothe the walls of Paris in colours of

the rainbow: authoritative heraldic, as we say, or indeed almost magical thaumaturgic; for no PlacardJournal

that they paste but will convince some soul or souls of man. The Hawkers bawl; and the Balladsingers: great

Journalism blows and blusters, through all its throats, forth from Paris towards all corners of France, like an

Throats or Journals there are, as men count, (Mercier, iii. 163.) to the number of some hundred and

thirtythree. Of various calibre; from your Cheniers, Gorsases, Camilles, down to your Marat, down now to

your incipient Hebert of the Pere Duchesne; these blow, with fierce weight of argument or quick light banter,

for the Rights of man: Durosoys, Royous, Peltiers, Sulleaus, equally with mixed tactics, inclusive, singular to

say, of much profane Parody, (See Hist. Parl. vii. 51.) are blowing for Altar and Throne. As for Marat the

People'sFriend, his voice is as that of the bullfrog, or bittern by the solitary pools; he, unseen of men, croaks

harsh thunder, and that alone continually,of indignation, suspicion, incurable sorrow. The People are

sinking towards ruin, near starvation itself: 'My dear friends,' cries he, 'your indigence is not the fruit of vices

nor of idleness, you have a right to life, as good as Louis XVI., or the happiest of the century. What man can

say he has a right to dine, when you have no bread?' (Ami du Peuple, No. 306. See other Excerpts in Hist.

Parl. viii. 139149, 428433; ix. 8593, The People sinking on the one hand: on the other hand, nothing but

wretched Sieur Motiers, treasonous Riquetti Mirabeaus; traitors, or else shadows, and simulacra of Quacks, to

be seen in high places, look where you will! Men that go mincing, grimacing, with plausible speech and

brushed raiment; hollow within: Quacks Political; Quacks scientific, Academical; all with a fellowfeeling

for each other, and kind of Quack publicspirit! Not great Lavoisier himself, or any of the Forty can escape

this rough tongue; which wants not fanatic sincerity, nor, strangest of all, a certain rough caustic sense. And

then the 'three thousand gaminghouses' that are in Paris; cesspools for the scoundrelism of the world; sinks

of iniquity and debauchery,whereas without good morals Liberty is impossible! There, in these Dens of

Satan, which one knows, and perseveringly denounces, do Sieur Motier's mouchards consort and colleague;

battening vampyrelike on a People nextdoor to starvation. 'O Peuple!' cries he oftimes, with heartrending

accent. Treason, delusion, vampyrism, scoundrelism, from Dan to Beersheba! The soul of Marat is sick with

the sight: but what remedy? To erect 'Eight Hundred gibbets,' in convenient rows, and proceed to hoisting;

'Riquetti on the first of them!' Such is the brief recipe of Marat, Friend of the People.

So blow and bluster the Hundred and thirtythree: nor, as would seem, are these sufficient; for there are

benighted nooks in France, to which Newspapers do not reach; and every where is 'such an appetite for news

as was never seen in any country.' Let an expeditious Dampmartin, on furlough, set out to return home from

Paris, (Dampmartin, i. 184.) he cannot get along for 'peasants stopping him on the highway; overwhelming

him with questions:' the Maitre de Poste will not send out the horses till you have well nigh quarrelled with

him, but asks always, What news? At Autun, 'in spite of the rigorous frost' for it is now January, 1791,

nothing will serve but you must gather your wayworn limbs, and thoughts, and 'speak to the multitudes from

a window opening into the marketplace.' It is the shortest method: This, good Christian people, is verily

what an August Assembly seemed to me to be doing; this and no other is the news;

The good Dampmartin!But, on the whole, are not Nations astonishingly true to their National character;

which indeed runs in the blood? Nineteen hundred years ago, Julius Caesar, with his quick sure eye, took note

how the Gauls waylaid men. 'It is a habit of theirs,' says he, 'to stop travellers, were it even by constraint, and

inquire whatsoever each of them may have heard or known about any sort of matter: in their towns, the

common people beset the passing trader; demanding to hear from what regions he came, what things he got

acquainted with there. Excited by which rumours and hearsays they will decide about the weightiest matters;

and necessarily repent next moment that they did it, on such guidance of uncertain reports, and many a

traveller answering with mere fictions to please them, and get off.' (De Bello Gallico, iv. 5.) Nineteen

hundred years; and good Dampmartin, wayworn, in winter frost, probably with scant light of stars and

fishoil, still perorates from the Innwindow! This People is no longer called Gaulish; and it has wholly

become braccatus, has got breeches, and suffered change enough: certain fierce German Franken came

storming over; and, so to speak, vaulted on the back of it; and always after, in their grim tenacious way, have

ridden it bridled; for German is, by his very name, Guerreman, or man that wars and gars. And so the

People, as we say, is now called French or Frankish: nevertheless, does not the old Gaulish and Gaelic

Celthood, with its vehemence, effervescent promptitude, and what good and ill it had, still vindicate itself

For the rest, that in such prurient confusion, Clubbism thrives and spreads, need not be said. Already the

Mother of Patriotism, sitting in the Jacobins, shines supreme over all; and has paled the poor lunar light of

that Monarchic Club near to final extinction. She, we say, shines supreme, girt with sunlight, not yet with

infernal lightning; reverenced, not without fear, by Municipal Authorities; counting her Barnaves, Lameths,

Petions, of a National Assembly; most gladly of all, her Robespierre. Cordeliers, again, your Hebert, Vincent,

Bibliopolist Momoro, groan audibly that a tyrannous Mayor and Sieur Motier harrow them with the sharp

tribula of Law, intent apparently to suppress them by tribulation. How the Jacobin MotherSociety, as hinted

formerly, sheds forth Cordeliers on this hand, and then Feuillans on that; the Cordeliers on this hand, and

then Feuillans on that; the Cordeliers 'an elixir or doubledistillation of Jacobin Patriotism;' the other a

widespread weak dilution thereof; how she will reabsorb the former into her Motherbosom, and

stormfully dissipate the latter into Nonentity: how she breeds and brings forth Three Hundred

DaughterSocieties; her rearing of them, her correspondence, her endeavourings and continual travail: how,

under an old figure, Jacobinism shoots forth organic filaments to the utmost corners of confused dissolved

To passionate Constitutionalism, still more to Royalism, which see all their own Clubs fail and die, Clubbism

will naturally grow to seem the root of all evil. Nevertheless Clubbism is not death, but rather new

organisation, and life out of death: destructive, indeed, of the remnants of the Old; but to the New important,

indispensable. That man can co operate and hold communion with man, herein lies his miraculous strength.

In hut or hamlet, Patriotism mourns not now like voice in the desert: it can walk to the nearest Town; and

there, in the DaughterSociety, make its ejaculation into an articulate oration, into an action, guided forward

by the Mother of Patriotism herself. All Clubs of Constitutionalists, and such like, fail, one after another, as

shallow fountains: Jacobinism alone has gone down to the deep subterranean lake of waters; and may, unless

filled in, flow there, copious, continual, like an Artesian well. Till the Great Deep have drained itself up: and

On the other hand, Claude Fauchet, preparing mankind for a Golden Age now apparently just at hand, has

opened his Cercle Social, with clerks, corresponding boards, and so forth; in the precincts of the Palais Royal.

It is TeDeum Fauchet; the same who preached on Franklin's Death, in that huge Medicean rotunda of the

Halle aux bleds. He here, this winter, by Printingpress and melodious Colloquy, spreads bruit of himself to

the utmost Citybarriers. 'Ten thousand persons' of respectability attend there; and listen to this

'ProcureurGeneral de la Verite, AttorneyGeneral of Truth,' so has he dubbed himself; to his sage

Condorcet, or other eloquent coadjutor. Eloquent AttorneyGeneral! He blows out from him, better or worse,

what crude or ripe thing he holds: not without result to himself; for it leads to a Bishoprick, though only a

Constitutional one. Fauchet approves himself a glibtongued, stronglunged, wholehearted human

individual: much flowing matter there is, and really of the better sort, about Right, Nature, Benevolence,

Progress; which flowing matter, whether 'it is pantheistic,' or is pottheistic, only the greener mind, in these

days, need read. Busy Brissot was long ago of purpose to establish precisely some such regenerative Social

Circle: nay he had tried it, in 'Newmanstreet Oxfordstreet,' of the Fog Babylon; and failed,as some say,

surreptitiously pocketing the cash. Fauchet, not Brissot, was fated to be the happy man; whereat, however,

generous Brissot will with sincere heart sing a timbertoned Nunc Domine. (See Brissot, PatrioteFrancais

Newspaper; Fauchet, BouchedeFer, (excerpted in Hist. Parl. viii., ix., et seqq.).) But 'ten thousand persons

of respectability:' what a bulk have many things in proportion to their magnitude! This Cercle Social, for

which Brissot chants in sincere timbertones such Nunc Domine, what is it? Unfortunately wind and shadow.

The main reality one finds in it now, is perhaps this: that an 'AttorneyGeneral of Truth' did once take shape

of a body, as Son of Adam, on our Earth, though but for months or moments; and ten thousand persons of

Hundred and thirtythree Paris Journals; regenerative Social Circle; oratory, in Mother and Daughter

Societies, from the balconies of Inns, by chimneynook, at dinnertable,polemical, ending many times in

duel! Add ever, like a constant growling accompaniment of bass Discord: scarcity of work, scarcity of food.

The winter is hard and cold; ragged Bakers' queues, like a black tattered flagofdistress, wave out ever and

anon. It is the third of our Hungeryears this new year of a glorious Revolution. The rich man when invited

to dinner, in such distressseasons, feels bound in politeness to carry his own bread in his pocket: how the

poor dine? And your glorious Revolution has done it, cries one. And our glorious Revolution is subtilety, by

black traitors worthy of the Lampiron, perverted to do it, cries another! Who will paint the huge whirlpool

wherein France, all shivered into wild incoherence, whirls? The jarring that went on under every French roof,

in every French heart; the diseased things that were spoken, done, the sumtotal whereof is the French

Revolution, tongue of man cannot tell. Nor the laws of action that work unseen in the depths of that huge

blind Incoherence! With amazement, not with measurement, men look on the Immeasurable; not knowing its

laws; seeing, with all different degrees of knowledge, what new phases, and results of event, its laws bring

forth. France is as a monstrous Galvanic Mass, wherein all sorts of far stranger than chemical galvanic or

electric forces and substances are at work; electrifying one another, positive and negative; filling with

electricity your Leydenjars,Twentyfive millions in number! As the jars get full, there will, from time to

On such wonderful basis, however, has Law, Royalty, Authority, and whatever yet exists of visible Order, to

maintain itself, while it can. Here, as in that Commixture of the Four Elements did the Anarch Old, has an

august Assembly spread its pavilion; curtained by the dark infinite of discords; founded on the wavering

bottomless of the Abyss; and keeps continual hubbub. Time is around it, and Eternity, and the Inane; and it

Glancing reluctantly in, once more, we discern little that is edifying: a Constitutional Theory of Defective

Verbs struggling forward, with perseverance, amid endless interruptions: Mirabeau, from his tribune, with the

weight of his name and genius, awing down much Jacobin violence; which in return vents itself the louder

over in its Jacobins Hall, and even reads him sharp lectures there. (Camille's Journal (in Hist. Parl. ix.

36685).) This man's path is mysterious, questionable; difficult, and he walks without companion in it. Pure

Patriotism does not now count him among her chosen; pure Royalism abhors him: yet his weight with the

world is overwhelming. Let him travel on, companionless, unwavering, whither he is bound,while it is yet

But the chosen band of pure Patriot brothers is small; counting only some Thirty, seated now on the extreme

tip of the Left, separate from the world. A virtuous Petion; an incorruptible Robespierre, most consistent,

incorruptible of thin acrid men; Triumvirs Barnave, Duport, Lameth, great in speech, thought, action, each

according to his kind; a lean old Goupil de Prefeln: on these and what will follow them has pure Patriotism to

There too, conspicuous among the Thirty, if seldom audible, Philippe d'Orleans may be seen sitting: in dim

fuliginous bewilderment; having, one might say, arrived at Chaos! Gleams there are, at once of a Lieutenancy

and Regency; debates in the Assembly itself, of succession to the Throne 'in case the present Branch should

fail;' and Philippe, they say, walked anxiously, in silence, through the corridors, till such high argument were

done: but it came all to nothing; Mirabeau, glaring into the man, and through him, had to ejaculate in strong

untranslatable language: Ce jf ne vaut pas la peine qu'on se donne pour lui. It came all to nothing; and in

the meanwhile Philippe's money, they say, is gone! Could he refuse a little cash to the gifted Patriot, in want

only of that; he himself in want of all but that? Not a pamphlet can be printed without cash; or indeed written,

without food purchasable by cash. Without cash your hopefullest Projector cannot stir from the spot:

individual patriotic or other Projects require cash: how much more do widespread Intrigues, which live and

exist by cash; lying widespread, with dragonappetite for cash; fit to swallow Princedoms! And so Prince

Philippe, amid his Sillerys, Lacloses, and confused Sons of Night, has rolled along: the centre of the strangest

cloudy coil; out of which has visibly come, as we often say, an Epic Preternatural Machinery of SUSPICION;

and within which there has dwelt and worked,what specialties of treason, stratagem, aimed or aimless

endeavour towards mischief, no party living (if it be not the Presiding Genius of it, Prince of the Power of the

Air) has now any chance to know. Camille's conjecture is the likeliest: that poor Philippe did mount up, a

little way, in treasonable speculation, as he mounted formerly in one of the earliest Balloons; but, frightened

at the new position he was getting into, had soon turned the cock again, and come down. More fool than he

rose! To create Preternatural Suspicion, this was his function in the Revolutionary Epos. But now if he have

lost his cornucopia of readymoney, what else had he to lose? In thick darkness, inward and outward, he

must welter and flounder on, in that piteous deathelement, the hapless man. Once, or even twice, we shall

still behold him emerged; struggling out of the thick deathelement: in vain. For one moment, it is the last

moment, he starts aloft, or is flung aloft, even into clearness and a kind of memorability, to sink then for

The Cote Droit persists no less; nay with more animation than ever, though hope has now well nigh fled.

Tough Abbe Maury, when the obscure country Royalist grasps his hand with transport of thanks, answers,

rolling his indomitable brazen head: "Helas, Monsieur, all that I do here is as good as simply nothing."

Gallant Faussigny, visible this one time in History, advances frantic, into the middle of the Hall, exclaiming:

"There is but one way of dealing with it, and that is to fall sword in hand on those gentry there, sabre a la

main sur ces gaillards la," (Moniteur, Seance du 21 Aout, 1790.) franticly indicating our chosen Thirty on the

extreme tip of the Left! Whereupon is clangour and clamour, debate, repentance, evaporation. Things ripen

towards downright incompatibility, and what is called 'scission:' that fierce theoretic onslaught of Faussigny's

was in August, 1790; next August will not have come, till a famed Two Hundred and Ninetytwo, the chosen

of Royalism, make solemn final 'scission' from an Assembly given up to faction; and depart, shaking the dust

Connected with this matter of sword in hand, there is yet another thing to be noted. Of duels we have

sometimes spoken: how, in all parts of France, innumerable duels were fought; and argumentative men and

messmates, flinging down the winecup and weapons of reason and repartee, met in the measured field; to

part bleeding; or perhaps not to part, but to fall mutually skewered through with iron, their wrath and life

alike ending, and die as fools die. Long has this lasted, and still lasts. But now it would seem as if in an

august Assembly itself, traitorous Royalism, in its despair, had taken to a new course: that of cutting off

Patriotism by systematic duel! Bullyswordsmen, 'Spadassins' of that party, go swaggering; or indeed they

can be had for a trifle of money. 'Twelve Spadassins' were seen, by the yellow eye of Journalism, 'arriving

recently out of Switzerland;' also 'a considerable number of Assassins, nombre considerable d'assassins,

exercising in fencingschools and at pistol targets.' Any Patriot Deputy of mark can be called out; let him

escape one time, or ten times, a time there necessarily is when he must fall, and France mourn. How many

cartels has Mirabeau had; especially while he was the People's champion! Cartels by the hundred: which he,

since the Constitution must be made first, and his time is precious, answers now always with a kind of

stereotype formula: "Monsieur, you are put upon my List; but I warn you that it is long, and I grant no

Then, in Autumn, had we not the Duel of Cazales and Barnave; the two chief masters of tongueshot meeting

now to exchange pistolshot? For Cazales, chief of the Royalists, whom we call 'Blacks or Noirs,' said, in a

moment of passion, "the Patriots were sheer Brigands," nay in so speaking, he darted or seemed to dart, a

fireglance specially at Barnave; who thereupon could not but reply by fireglances,by adjournment to the

Boisde Boulogne. Barnave's second shot took effect: on Cazales's hat. The 'front nook' of a triangular Felt,

such as mortals then wore, deadened the ball; and saved that fine brow from more than temporary injury. But

how easily might the lot have fallen the other way, and Barnave's hat not been so good! Patriotism raises its

loud denunciation of Duelling in general; petitions an august Assembly to stop such Feudal barbarism by law.

Barbarism and solecism: for will it convince or convict any man to blow half an ounce of lead through the

head of him? Surely not.Barnave was received at the Jacobins with embraces, yet with rebukes.

Mindful of which, and also that his repetition in America was that of headlong foolhardiness rather, and want

of brain not of heart, Charles Lameth does, on the eleventh day of November, with little emotion, decline

attending some hot young Gentleman from Artois, come expressly to challenge him: nay indeed he first

coldly engages to attend; then coldly permits two Friends to attend instead of him, and shame the young

Gentleman out of it, which they successfully do. A cold procedure; satisfactory to the two Friends, to Lameth

and the hot young Gentleman; whereby, one might have fancied, the whole matter was cooled down.

Not so, however: Lameth, proceeding to his senatorial duties, in the decline of the day, is met in those

Assembly corridors by nothing but Royalist brocards; sniffs, huffs, and open insults. Human patience has its

limits: "Monsieur," said Lameth, breaking silence to one Lautrec, a man with hunchback, or natural

deformity, but sharp of tongue, and a Black of the deepest tint, "Monsieur, if you were a man to be fought

with!""I am one," cries the young Duke de Castries. Fast as fireflash Lameth replies, "Tout a l'heure, On

the instant, then!" And so, as the shades of dusk thicken in that BoisdeBoulogne, we behold two men with

lionlook, with alert attitude, side foremost, right foot advanced; flourishing and thrusting, stoccado and

passado, in tierce and quart; intent to skewer one another. See, with most skewering purpose, headlong

Lameth, with his whole weight, makes a furious lunge; but deft Castries whisks aside: Lameth skewers only

the air,and slits deep and far, on Castries' sword'spoint, his own extended left arm! Whereupon with

bleeding, pallor, surgeon's lint, and formalities, the Duel is considered satisfactorily done.

But will there be no end, then? Beloved Lameth lies deepslit, not out of danger. Black traitorous Aristocrats

kill the People's defenders, cut up not with arguments, but with rapierslits. And the Twelve Spadassins out

of Switzerland, and the considerable number of Assassins exercising at the pistoltarget? So meditates and

ejaculates hurt Patriotism, with ever deepening everwidening fervour, for the space of six and thirty hours.

The thirtysix hours past, on Saturday the 13th, one beholds a new spectacle: The Rue de Varennes, and

neighbouring Boulevard des Invalides, covered with a mixed flowing multitude: the Castries Hotel gone

distracted, devilridden, belching from every window, 'beds with clothes and curtains,' plate of silver and

gold with filigree, mirrors, pictures, images, commodes, chiffoniers, and endless crockery and jingle: amid

steady popular cheers, absolutely without theft; for there goes a cry, "He shall be hanged that steals a nail!" It

is a Plebiscitum, or informal iconoclastic Decree of the Common People, in the course of being executed!

The Municipality sit tremulous; deliberating whether they will hang out the Drapeau Rouge and Martial

Law: National Assembly, part in loud wail, part in hardly suppressed applause: Abbe Maury unable to decide

whether the iconoclastic Plebs amount to forty thousand or to two hundred thousand.

Deputations, swift messengers, for it is at a distance over the River, come and go. Lafayette and National

Guardes, though without Drapeau Rouge, get under way; apparently in no hot haste. Nay, arrived on the

scene, Lafayette salutes with doffed hat, before ordering to fix bayonets. What avails it? The Plebeian "Court

of Cassation,' as Camille might punningly name it, has done its work; steps forth, with unbuttoned vest, with

pockets turned inside out: sack, and just ravage, not plunder! With inexhaustible patience, the Hero of two

Worlds remonstrates; persuasively, with a kind of sweet constraint, though also with fixed bayonets,

Considering which things, however, Duke Castries may justly 'write to the President,' justly transport himself

across the Marches; to raise a corps, or do what else is in him. Royalism totally abandons that Bobadilian

method of contest, and the Twelve Spadassins return to Switzerland,or even to Dreamland through the

Horngate, whichsoever their home is. Nay Editor Prudhomme is authorised to publish a curious thing: 'We

are authorised to publish,' says he, dullblustering Publisher, that M. Boyer, champion of good Patriots, is at

the head of Fifty Spadassinicides or Bullykillers. His address is: Passage du BoisdeBoulonge, Faubourg

St. Denis.' (Revolutions de Paris (in Hist. Parl. viii. 440).) One of the strangest Institutes, this of Champion

Boyer and the Bullykillers! Whose services, however, are not wanted; Royalism having abandoned the

The truth is Royalism sees itself verging towards sad extremities; nearer and nearer daily. From over the

Rhine it comes asserted that the King in his Tuileries is not free: this the poor King may contradict, with the

official mouth, but in his heart feels often to be undeniable. Civil Constitution of the Clergy; Decree of

ejectment against Dissidents from it: not even to this latter, though almost his conscience rebels, can he say

'Nay; but, after two months' hesitating, signs this also. It was on January 21st,' of this 1790, that he signed it;

to the sorrow of his poor heart yet, on another Twentyfirst of January! Whereby come Dissident ejected

Priests; unconquerable Martyrs according to some, incurable chicaning Traitors according to others. And so

there has arrived what we once foreshadowed: with Religion, or with the Cant and Echo of Religion, all

France is rent asunder in a new rupture of continuity; complicating, embittering all the older;to be cured

Unhappy Royalty, unhappy Majesty, Hereditary (Representative), Representant Hereditaire, or however they

can name him; of whom much is expected, to whom little is given! Blue National Guards encircle that

Tuileries; a Lafayette, thin constitutional Pedant; clear, thin, inflexible, as water, turned to thin ice; whom no

Queen's heart can love. National Assembly, its pavilion spread where we know, sits near by, keeping

continual hubbub. From without nothing but Nanci Revolts, sack of Castries Hotels, riots and seditions; riots,

North and South, at Aix, at Douai, at Befort, Usez, Perpignan, at Nismes, and that incurable Avignon of the

Pope's: a continual crackling and sputtering of riots from the whole face of France; testifying how electric

it grows. Add only the hard winter, the famished strikes of operatives; that continual runningbass of

The plan of Royalty, so far as it can be said to have any fixed plan, is still, as ever, that of flying towards the

frontiers. In very truth, the only plan of the smallest promise for it! Fly to Bouille; bristle yourself round with

cannon, served by your 'fortythousand undebauched Germans:' summon the National Assembly to follow

you, summon what of it is Royalist, Constitutional, gainable by money; dissolve the rest, by grapeshot if need

be. Let Jacobinism and Revolt, with one wild wail, fly into Infinite Space; driven by grapeshot. Thunder over

France with the cannon's mouth; commanding, not entreating, that this riot cease. And then to rule afterwards

with utmost possible Constitutionality; doing justice, loving mercy; being Shepherd of this indigent People,

not Shearer merely, and Shepherd'ssimilitude! All this, if ye dare. If ye dare not, then in Heaven's name go

Nay, it were perhaps possible; with a man to do it. For if such inexpressible whirlpool of Babylonish

confusions (which our Era is) cannot be stilled by man, but only by Time and men, a man may moderate its

paroxysms, may balance and sway, and keep himself unswallowed on the top of it,as several men and

Kings in these days do. Much is possible for a man; men will obey a man that kens and cans, and name him

reverently their Kenning or King. Did not Charlemagne rule? Consider too whether he had smooth times of

it; hanging 'thirtythousand Saxons over the WeserBridge,' at one dread swoop! So likewise, who knows

but, in this same distracted fanatic France, the right man may verily exist? An olivecomplexioned taciturn

man; for the present, Lieutenant in the Artilleryservice, who once sat studying Mathematics at Brienne? The

same who walked in the morning to correct proofsheets at Dole, and enjoyed a frugal breakfast with M.

Joly? Such a one is gone, whither also famed General Paoli his friend is gone, in these very days, to see old

Royalty never executes the evasionplan, yet never abandons it; living in variable hope; undecisive, till

fortune shall decide. In utmost secresy, a brisk Correspondence goes on with Bouille; there is also a plot,

which emerges more than once, for carrying the King to Rouen: (See Hist. Parl. vii. 316; BertrandMoleville,

plot after plot, emerging and submerging, like 'ignes fatui in foul weather, which lead no whither. About 'ten

o'clock at night,' the Hereditary Representative, in partie quarree, with the Queen, with Brother Monsieur, and

Madame, sits playing 'wisk,' or whist. Usher Campan enters mysteriously, with a message he only half

comprehends: How a certain Compte d'Inisdal waits anxious in the outer antechamber; National Colonel,

Captain of the watch for this night, is gained over; posthorses ready all the way; party of Noblesse sitting

armed, determined; will His Majesty, before midnight, consent to go? Profound silence; Campan waiting

with upturned ear. "Did your Majesty hear what Campan said?" asks the Queen. "Yes, I heard," answers

Majesty, and plays on. "'Twas a pretty couplet, that of Campan's," hints Monsieur, who at times showed a

pleasant wit: Majesty, still unresponsive, plays wisk. "After all, one must say something to Campan," remarks

the Queen. "Tell M. d'Inisdal," said the King, and the Queen puts an emphasis on it, "that the King cannot

consent to be forced away.""I see!" said d'Inisdal, whisking round, peaking himself into flame of irritancy:

"we have the risk; we are to have all the blame if it fail," (Campan, ii. 105.)and vanishes, he and his plot,

as willo'wisps do. The Queen sat till far in the night, packing jewels: but it came to nothing; in that peaked

Little hope there is in all this. Alas, with whom to fly? Our loyal GardesduCorps, ever since the

Insurrection of Women, are disbanded; gone to their homes; gone, many of them, across the Rhine towards

Coblentz and Exiled Princes: brave Miomandre and brave Tardivet, these faithful Two, have received, in

nocturnal interview with both Majesties, their viaticum of gold louis, of heartfelt thanks from a Queen's lips,

though unluckily 'his Majesty stood, back to fire, not speaking;' (Campan, ii. 10911.) and do now dine

through the Provinces; recounting hairsbreadth escapes, insurrectionary horrors. Great horrors; to be

swallowed yet of greater. But on the whole what a falling off from the old splendour of Versailles! Here in

this poor Tuileries, a National BrewerColonel, sonorous Santerre, parades officially behind her Majesty's

chair. Our high dignitaries, all fled over the Rhine: nothing now to be gained at Court; but hopes, for which

life itself must be risked! Obscure busy men frequent the back stairs; with hearsays, wind projects, un fruitful

fanfaronades. Young Royalists, at the Theatre de Vaudeville, 'sing couplets;' if that could do any thing.

Royalists enough, Captains on furlough, burntout Seigneurs, may likewise be met with, 'in the Cafe de

Valois, and at Meot the Restaurateur's.' There they fan one another into high loyal glow; drink, in such wine

as can be procured, confusion to Sansculottism; shew purchased dirks, of an improved structure, made to

order; and, greatly daring, dine. (Dampmartin, ii. 129.) It is in these places, in these months, that the epithet

Sansculotte first gets applied to indigent Patriotism; in the last age we had Gilbert Sansculotte, the indigent

Poet. (Mercier, Nouveau Paris, iii. 204.) DestituteofBreeches: a mournful Destitution; which however, if

Meanwhile, amid this vague dim whirl of fanfaronades, windprojects, poniards made to order, there does

disclose itself one punctumsaliens of life and feasibility: the finger of Mirabeau! Mirabeau and the Queen of

France have met; have parted with mutual trust! It is strange; secret as the Mysteries; but it is indubitable.

Mirabeau took horse, one evening; and rode westward, unattended,to see Friend Claviere in that country

house of his? Before getting to Claviere's, the muchmusing horseman struck aside to a back gate of the

Garden of SaintCloud: some Duke d'Aremberg, or the like, was there to introduce him; the Queen was not

far: on a 'round knoll, rond point, the highest of the Garden of SaintCloud,' he beheld the Queen's face;

spake with her, alone, under the void canopy of Night. What an interview; fateful secret for us, after all

searching; like the colloquies of the gods! (Campan, ii. c. 17.) She called him 'a Mirabeau:' elsewhere we read

that she 'was charmed with him,' the wild submitted Titan; as indeed it is among the honourable tokens of this

high illfated heart that no mind of any endowment, no Mirabeau, nay no Barnave, no Dumouriez, ever came

face to face with her but, in spite of all prepossessions, she was forced to recognise it, to draw nigh to it, with

trust. High imperial heart; with the instinctive attraction towards all that had any height! "You know not the

Queen," said Mirabeau once in confidence; "her force of mind is prodigious; she is a man for courage."

(Dumont, p. 211.)And so, under the void Night, on the crown of that knoll, she has spoken with a

Mirabeau: he has kissed loyally the queenly hand, and said with enthusiasm: "Madame, the Monarchy is

saved!" Possible? The Foreign Powers, mysteriously sounded, gave favourable guarded response;

(Correspondence Secrete (in Hist. Parl. viii. 16973).) Bouille is at Metz, and could find fortythousand sure

Germans. With a Mirabeau for head, and a Bouille for hand, something verily is possible, if Fate intervene

But figure under what thousandfold wrappages, and cloaks of darkness, Royalty, meditating these things,

must involve itself. There are men with 'Tickets of Entrance;' there are chivalrous consultings, mysterious

plottings. Consider also whether, involve as it like, plotting Royalty can escape the glance of Patriotism;

lynxeyes, by the ten thousand fixed on it, which see in the dark! Patriotism knows much: know the dirks

made to order, and can specify the shops; knows Sieur Motier's legions of mouchards; the Tickets of Entree,

and men in black; and how plan of evasion succeeds plan,or may be supposed to succeed it. Then conceive

the couplets chanted at the Theatre de Vaudeville; or worse, the whispers, significant nods of traitors in

moustaches. Conceive, on the other hand, the loud cry of alarm that came through the HundredandThirty

Journals; the Dionysius'Ear of each of the Fortyeight Sections, wakeful night and day.

Patriotism is patient of much; not patient of all. The Cafe de Procope has sent, visibly along the streets, a

Deputation of Patriots, 'to expostulate with bad Editors,' by trustful word of mouth: singular to see and hear.

The bad Editors promise to amend, but do not. Deputations for change of Ministry were many; Mayor Bailly

joining even with Cordelier Danton in such: and they have prevailed. With what profit? Of Quacks, willing or

constrained to be Quacks, the race is everlasting: Ministers Duportail and Dutertre will have to manage much

But now, beaten on for ever by such inextricable contradictory influences and evidences, what is the indigent

French Patriot, in these unhappy days, to believe, and walk by? Uncertainty all; except that he is wretched,

indigent; that a glorious Revolution, the wonder of the Universe, has hitherto brought neither Bread nor

Peace; being marred by traitors, difficult to discover. Traitors that dwell in the dark, invisible there; or seen

for moments, in pallid dubious twilight, stealthily vanishing thither! Preternatural Suspicion once more rules

'Nobody here,' writes Carra of the Annales Patriotiques, so early as the first of February, 'can entertain a

doubt of the constant obstinate project these people have on foot to get the King away; or of the perpetual

succession of manoeuvres they employ for that.' Nobody: the watchful Mother of Patriotism deputed two

Members to her Daughter at Versailles, to examine how the matter looked there. Well, and there? Patriotic

Carra continues: 'The Report of these two deputies we all heard with our own ears last Saturday. They went

with others of Versailles, to inspect the King's Stables, also the stables of the whilom Gardes du Corps; they

found there from seven to eight hundred horses standing always saddled and bridled, ready for the road at a

moment's notice. The same deputies, moreover, saw with their own two eyes several Royal Carriages, which

men were even then busy loading with large wellstuffed luggagebags,' leather cows, as we call them,

'vaches de cuir; the Royal Arms on the panels almost entirely effaced.' Momentous enough! Also, 'on the

same day the whole Marechaussee, or Cavalry Police, did assemble with arms, horses and baggage,'and

disperse again. They want the King over the marches, that so Emperor Leopold and the German Princes,

whose troops are ready, may have a pretext for beginning: 'this,' adds Carra, 'is the word of the riddle: this is

the reason why our fugitive Aristocrats are now making levies of men on the frontiers; expecting that, one of

these mornings, the Executive Chief Magistrate will be brought over to them, and the civil war commence.'

If indeed the Executive Chief Magistrate, bagged, say in one of these leather cows, were once brought safe

over to them! But the strangest thing of all is that Patriotism, whether barking at a venture, or guided by some

instinct of preternatural sagacity, is actually barking aright this time; at something, not at nothing. Bouille's

Nay, it is undeniable, visible to all, that Mesdames the King's Aunts are taking steps for departure: asking

passports of the Ministry, safe conducts of the Municipality; which Marat warns all men to beware of. They

will carry gold with them, 'these old Beguines;' nay they will carry the little Dauphin, 'having nursed a

changeling, for some time, to leave in his stead!' Besides, they are as some light substance flung up, to shew

how the wind sits; a kind of proofkite you fly off to ascertain whether the grand paperkite, Evasion of the

In these alarming circumstances, Patriotism is not wanting to itself. Municipality deputes to the King;

Sections depute to the Municipality; a National Assembly will soon stir. Meanwhile, behold, on the 19th of

February 1791, Mesdames, quitting Bellevue and Versailles with all privacy, are off! Towards Rome,

seemingly; or one knows not whither. They are not without King's passports, countersigned; and what is more

to the purpose, a serviceable Escort. The Patriotic Mayor or Mayorlet of the Village of Moret tried to detain

them; but brisk Louis de Narbonne, of the Escort, dashed off at handgallop; returned soon with thirty

dragoons, and victoriously cut them out. And so the poor ancient women go their way; to the terror of France

and Paris, whose nervous excitability is become extreme. Who else would hinder poor Loque and Graille,

now grown so old, and fallen into such unexpected circumstances, when gossip itself turning only on terrors

and horrors is no longer pleasant to the mind, and you cannot get so much as an orthodox confessor in

They go, poor ancient dames,whom the heart were hard that does not pity: they go; with palpitations, with

unmelodious suppressed screechings; all France, screeching and cackling, in loud unsuppressed terror, behind

and on both hands of them: such mutual suspicion is among men. At Arnay le Duc, above halfway to the

frontiers, a Patriotic Municipality and Populace again takes courage to stop them: Louis Narbonne must now

back to Paris, must consult the National Assembly. National Assembly answers, not without an effort, that

Mesdames may go. Whereupon Paris rises worse than ever, screeching halfdistracted. Tuileries and

precincts are filled with women and men, while the National Assembly debates this question of questions;

Lafayette is needed at night for dispersing them, and the streets are to be illuminated. Commandant Berthier,

a Berthier before whom are great things unknown, lies for the present under blockade at Bellevue in

Versailles. By no tactics could he get Mesdames' Luggage stirred from the Courts there; frantic Versaillese

women came screaming about him; his very troops cut the waggontraces; he retired to the interior, waiting

Nay, in these same hours, while Mesdames hardly cut out from Moret by the sabre's edge, are driving rapidly,

to foreign parts, and not yet stopped at Arnay, their august nephew poor Monsieur, at Paris has dived deep

into his cellars of the Luxembourg for shelter; and according to Montgaillard can hardly be persuaded up

again. Screeching multitudes environ that Luxembourg of his: drawn thither by report of his departure: but, at

sight and sound of Monsieur, they become crowing multitudes; and escort Madame and him to the Tuileries

with vivats. (Montgaillard, ii. 282; Deux Amis, vi. c. 1.) It is a state of nervous excitability such as few

Or, again, what means this visible reparation of the Castle of Vincennes? Other Jails being all crowded with

prisoners, new space is wanted here: that is the Municipal account. For in such changing of Judicatures,

Parlements being abolished, and New Courts but just set up, prisoners have accumulated. Not to say that in

these times of discord and clublaw, offences and committals are, at any rate, more numerous. Which

Municipal account, does it not sufficiently explain the phenomenon? Surely, to repair the Castle of Vincennes

was of all enterprises that an enlightened Municipality could undertake, the most innocent.

Not so however does neighbouring SaintAntoine look on it: SaintAntoine to whom these peaked turrets

and grim donjons, alltoo near her own dark dwelling, are of themselves an offence. Was not Vincennes a

kind of minor Bastille? Great Diderot and Philosophes have lain in durance here; great Mirabeau, in

disastrous eclipse, for fortytwo months. And now when the old Bastille has become a dancingground (had

any one the mirth to dance), and its stones are getting built into the Pont LouisSeize, does this minor,

comparative insignificance of a Bastille flank itself with fresh hewn mullions, spread out tyrannous wings;

menacing Patriotism? New space for prisoners: and what prisoners? A d'Orleans, with the chief Patriots on

the tip of the Left? It is said, there runs 'a subterranean passage' all the way from the Tuileries hither. Who

knows? Paris, mined with quarries and catacombs, does hang wondrous over the abyss; Paris was once to be

blown up,though the powder, when we went to look, had got withdrawn. A Tuileries, sold to Austria and

Coblentz, should have no subterranean passage. Out of which might not Coblentz or Austria issue, some

morning; and, with cannon of long range, 'foudroyer,' bethunder a patriotic Saint Antoine into smoulder and

So meditates the benighted soul of SaintAntoine, as it sees the aproned workmen, in early spring, busy on

these towers. An officialspeaking Municipality, a Sieur Motier with his legions of mouchards, deserve no

trust at all. Were Patriot Santerre, indeed, Commander! But the sonorous Brewer commands only our own

Battalion: of such secrets he can explain nothing, knows nothing, perhaps suspects much. And so the work

goes on; and afflicted benighted SaintAntoine hears rattle of hammers, sees stones suspended in air.

SaintAntoine prostrated the first great Bastille: will it falter over this comparative insignificance of a

Bastille? Friends, what if we took pikes, firelocks, sledgehammers; and helped ourselves!Speedier is no

remedy; nor so certain. On the 28th day of February, SaintAntoine turns out, as it has now often done; and,

apparently with little superfluous tumult, moves eastward to that eyesorrow of Vincennes. With grave voice

of authority, no need of bullying and shouting, SaintAntoine signifies to parties concerned there that its

purpose is, To have this suspicious Stronghold razed level with the general soil of the country. Remonstrance

may be proffered, with zeal: but it avails not. The outer gate goes up, drawbridges tumble; iron

windowstanchions, smitten out with sledgehammers, become ironcrowbars: it rains furniture,

stonemasses, slates: with chaotic clatter and rattle, Demolition clatters down. And now hasty expresses rush

through the agitated streets, to warn Lafayette, and the Municipal and Departmental Authorities; Rumour

warns a National Assembly, a Royal Tuileries, and all men who care to hear it: That SaintAntoine is up; that

Vincennes, and probably the last remaining Institution of the Country, is coming down. (Deux Amis, vi.

Quick, then! Let Lafayette roll his drums and fly eastward; for to all Constitutional Patriots this is again bad

news. And you, ye Friends of Royalty, snatch your poniards of improved structure, made to order; your

swordcanes, secret arms, and tickets of entry; quick, by backstairs passages, rally round the Son of Sixty

Kings. An effervescence probably got up by d'Orleans and Company, for the overthrow of Throne and Altar:

it is said her Majesty shall be put in prison, put out of the way; what then will his Majesty be? Clay for the

Sansculottic Potter! Or were it impossible to fly this day; a brave Noblesse suddenly all rallying? Peril

threatens, hope invites: Dukes de Villequier, de Duras, Gentlemen of the Chamber give tickets and

admittance; a brave Noblesse is suddenly all rallying. Now were the time to 'fall sword in hand on those

The Hero of two Worlds is on his white charger; blue Nationals, horse and foot, hurrying eastward: Santerre,

with the SaintAntoine Battalion, is already there,apparently indisposed to act. Heavyladen Hero of two

Worlds, what tasks are these! The jeerings, provocative gambollings of that Patriot Suburb, which is all out

on the streets now, are hard to endure; unwashed Patriots jeering in sulky sport; one unwashed Patriot 'seizing

the General by the boot' to unhorse him. Santerre, ordered to fire, makes answer obliquely, "These are the

men that took the Bastille;" and not a trigger stirs! Neither dare the Vincennes Magistracy give warrant of

arrestment, or the smallest countenance: wherefore the General 'will take it on himself' to arrest. By

promptitude, by cheerful adroitness, patience and brisk valour without limits, the riot may be again

Meanwhile, the rest of Paris, with more or less unconcern, may mind the rest of its business: for what is this

but an effervescence, of which there are now so many? The National Assembly, in one of its stormiest

moods, is debating a Law against Emigration; Mirabeau declaring aloud, "I swear beforehand that I will not

obey it." Mirabeau is often at the Tribune this day; with endless impediments from without; with the old

unabated energy from within. What can murmurs and clamours, from Left or from Right, do to this man; like

Teneriffe or Atlas unremoved? With clear thought; with strong bassvoice, though at first low, uncertain, he

claims audience, sways the storm of men: anon the sound of him waxes, softens; he rises into farsounding

melody of strength, triumphant, which subdues all hearts; his rudeseamed face, desolate firescathed,

becomes firelit, and radiates: once again men feel, in these beggarly ages, what is the potency and

omnipotency of man's word on the souls of men. "I will triumph or be torn in fragments," he was once heard

to say. "Silence," he cries now, in strong word of command, in imperial consciousness of strength, "Silence,

the thirty voices, Silence aux trente voix!"and Robespierre and the Thirty Voices die into mutterings; and

How different, at the same instant, is General Lafayette's street eloquence; wrangling with sonorous Brewers,

with an ungrammatical Saint Antoine! Most different, again, from both is the CafedeValois eloquence,

and suppressed fanfaronade, of this multitude of men with Tickets of Entry; who are now inundating the

Corridors of the Tuileries. Such things can go on simultaneously in one City. How much more in one

Country; in one Planet with its discrepancies, every Day a mere crackling infinitude of discrepancieswhich

nevertheless do yield some coherent netproduct, though an infinitesimally small one!

Be this as it may. Lafayette has saved Vincennes; and is marching homewards with some dozen of arrested

demolitionists. Royalty is not yet saved;nor indeed specially endangered. But to the King's Constitutional

Guard, to these old Gardes Francaises, or Centre Grenadiers, as it chanced to be, this affluence of men with

Tickets of Entry is becoming more and more unintelligible. Is his Majesty verily for Metz, then; to be carried

off by these men, on the spur of the instant? That revolt of SaintAntoine got up by traitor Royalists for a

stalkinghorse? Keep a sharp outlook, ye Centre Grenadiers on duty here: good never came from the 'men in

black.' Nay they have cloaks, redingotes; some of them leatherbreeches, boots,as if for instant riding! Or

what is this that sticks visible from the lapelle of Chevalier de Court? (Weber, ii. 286.) Too like the handle of

some cutting or stabbing instrument! He glides and goes; and still the dudgeon sticks from his left lapelle.

"Hold, Monsieur!"a Centre Grenadier clutches him; clutches the protrusive dudgeon, whisks it out in the

face of the world: by Heaven, a very dagger; huntingknife, or whatsoever you call it; fit to drink the life of

So fared it with Chevalier de Court, early in the day; not without noise; not without commentaries. And now

this continually increasing multitude at nightfall? Have they daggers too? Alas, with them too, after angry

parleyings, there has begun a groping and a rummaging; all men in black, spite of their Tickets of Entry, are

clutched by the collar, and groped. Scandalous to think of; for always, as the dirk, swordcane, pistol, or

were it but tailor's bodkin, is found on him, and with loud scorn drawn forth from him, he, the hapless man in

black, is flung all too rapidly down stairs. Flung; and ignominiously descends, head foremost; accelerated by

ignominious shovings from sentry after sentry; nay, as is written, by smitings, twitchings,spurnings, a

posteriori, not to be named. In this accelerated way, emerges, uncertain which end uppermost, man after man

in black, through all issues, into the Tuileries Garden. Emerges, alas, into the arms of an indignant multitude,

now gathered and gathering there, in the hour of dusk, to see what is toward, and whether the Hereditary

Representative is carried off or not. Hapless men in black; at last convicted of poniards made to order;

convicted 'Chevaliers of the Poniard!' Within is as the burning ship; without is as the deep sea. Within is no

help; his Majesty, looking forth, one moment, from his interior sanctuaries, coldly bids all visitors 'give up

their weapons;' and shuts the door again. The weapons given up form a heap: the convicted Chevaliers of the

poniard keep descending pellmell, with impetuous velocity; and at the bottom of all staircases, the mixed

multitude receives them, hustles, buffets, chases and disperses them. (Hist. Parl. ix. 139 48.)

Such sight meets Lafayette, in the dusk of the evening, as he returns, successful with difficulty at Vincennes:

Sansculotte Scylla hardly weathered, here is Aristocrat Charybdis gurgling under his lee! The patient Hero of

two Worlds almost loses temper. He accelerates, does not retard, the flying Chevaliers; delivers, indeed, this

or the other hunted Loyalist of quality, but rates him in bitter words, such as the hour suggested; such as no

saloon could pardon. Hero illbested; hanging, so to speak, in midair; hateful to Rich divinities above;

hateful to Indigent mortals below! Duke de Villequier, Gentleman of the Chamber, gets such contumelious

rating, in presence of all people there, that he may see good first to exculpate himself in the Newspapers;

then, that not prospering, to retire over the Frontiers, and begin plotting at Brussels. (Montgaillard, ii. 286.)

His Apartment will stand vacant; usefuller, as we may find, than when it stood occupied.

So fly the Chevaliers of the Poniard; hunted of Patriotic men, shamefully in the thickening dusk. A dim

miserable business; born of darkness; dying away there in the thickening dusk and dimness! In the midst of

which, however, let the reader discern clearly one figure running for its life: CrispinCataline

d'Espremenil,for the last time, or the last but one. It is not yet three years since these same Centre

Grenadiers, Gardes Francaises then, marched him towards the Calypso Isles, in the gray of the May morning;

and he and they have got thus far. Buffeted, beaten down, delivered by popular Petion, he might well answer

bitterly: "And I too, Monsieur, have been carried on the People's shoulders." (See Mercier, ii. 40, 202.) A fact

But happily, one way and another, the speedy night covers up this ignominious Day of Poniards; and the

Chevaliers escape, though maltreated, with torn coatskirts and heavy hearts, to their respective dwelling

houses. Riot twofold is quelled; and little blood shed, if it be not insignificant blood from the nose: Vincennes

stands undemolished, reparable; and the Hereditary Representative has not been stolen, nor the Queen

smuggled into Prison. A Day long remembered: commented on with loud hahas and deep grumblings; with

bitter scornfulness of triumph, bitter rancour of defeat. Royalism, as usual, imputes it to d'Orleans and the

Anarchists intent on insulting Majesty: Patriotism, as usual, to Royalists, and even Constitutionalists, intent

on stealing Majesty to Metz: we, also as usual, to Preternatural Suspicion, and Phoebus Apollo having made

Thus however has the reader seen, in an unexpected arena, on this last day of February 1791, the Three

longcontending elements of French Society, dashed forth into singular comicotragical collision; acting and

reacting openly to the eye. Constitutionalism, at once quelling Sansculottic riot at Vincennes, and Royalist

treachery from the Tuileries, is great, this day, and prevails. As for poor Royalism, tossed to and fro in that

manner, its daggers all left in a heap, what can one think of it? Every dog, the Adage says, has its day: has it;

has had it; or will have it. For the present, the day is Lafayette's and the Constitution's. Nevertheless Hunger

and Jacobinism, fast growing fanatical, still work; theirday, were they once fanatical, will come. Hitherto, in

all tempests, Lafayette, like some divine Searuler, raises his serene head: the upper Aeolus's blasts fly back

to their caves, like foolish unbidden winds: the under sea billows they had vexed into froth allay themselves.

But if, as we often write, the submarine Titanic Firepowers came into play, the Ocean bed from beneath

being burst? If they hurled Poseidon Lafayette and his Constitution out of Space; and, in the Titanic melee,

The spirit of France waxes ever more acrid, feversick: towards the final outburst of dissolution and delirium.

Suspicion rules all minds: contending parties cannot now commingle; stand separated sheer asunder, eying

one another, in most aguish mood, of cold terror or hot rage. CounterRevolution, Days of Poniards, Castries

Duels; Flight of Mesdames, of Monsieur and Royalty! Journalism shrills ever louder its cry of alarm. The

sleepless Dionysius's Ear of the Fortyeight Sections, how feverishly quick has it grown; convulsing with

strange pangs the whole sick Body, as in such sleeplessness and sickness, the ear will do!

Since Royalists get Poniards made to order, and a Sieur Motier is no better than he should be, shall not

Patriotism too, even of the indigent sort, have Pikes, secondhand Firelocks, in readiness for the worst? The

anvils ring, during this March month, with hammering of Pikes. A Constitutional Municipality promulgated

its Placard, that no citizen except the 'active or cashcitizen' was entitled to have arms; but there rose,

instantly responsive, such a tempest of astonishment from Club and Section, that the Constitutional Placard,

almost next morning, had to cover itself up, and die away into inanity, in a second improved edition.

(Ordonnance du 17 Mars 1791 (Hist. Parl. ix. 257).) So the hammering continues; as all that it betokens does.

Mark, again, how the extreme tip of the Left is mounting in favour, if not in its own National Hall, yet with

the Nation, especially with Paris. For in such universal panic of doubt, the opinion that is sure of itself, as the

meagrest opinion may the soonest be, is the one to which all men will rally. Great is Belief, were it never so

meagre; and leads captive the doubting heart! Incorruptible Robespierre has been elected Public Accuser in

our new Courts of Judicature; virtuous Petion, it is thought, may rise to be Mayor. Cordelier Danton, called

also by triumphant majorities, sits at the Departmental Counciltable; colleague there of Mirabeau. Of

incorruptible Robespierre it was long ago predicted that he might go far, mean meagre mortal though he was;

Under which circumstances ought not Royalty likewise to cease doubting, and begin deciding and acting?

Royalty has always that sure trumpcard in its hand: Flight out of Paris. Which sure trumpcard, Royalty, as

we see, keeps ever and anon clutching at, grasping; and swashes it forth tentatively; yet never tables it, still

puts it back again. Play it, O Royalty! If there be a chance left, this seems it, and verily the last chance; and

now every hour is rendering this a doubtfuller. Alas, one would so fain both fly and not fly; play one's card

and have it to play. Royalty, in all human likelihood, will not play its trumpcard till the honours, one after

one, be mainly lost; and such trumping of it prove to be the sudden finish of the game!

Here accordingly a question always arises; of the prophetic sort; which cannot now be answered. Suppose

Mirabeau, with whom Royalty takes deep counsel, as with a Prime Minister that cannot yet legally avow

himself as such, had got his arrangements completed? Arrangements he has; far stretching plans that dawn

fitfully on us, by fragments, in the confused darkness. Thirty Departments ready to sign loyal Addresses, of

prescribed tenor: King carried out of Paris, but only to Compiegne and Rouen, hardly to Metz, since, once for

all, no Emigrant rabble shall take the lead in it: National Assembly consenting, by dint of loyal Addresses, by

management, by force of Bouille, to hear reason, and follow thither! (See Fils Adoptif, vii. 1. 6; Dumont, c.

11, 12, 14.) Was it so, on these terms, that Jacobinism and Mirabeau were then to grapple, in their

HerculesandTyphon duel; death inevitable for the one or the other? The duel itself is determined on, and

sure: but on what terms; much more, with what issue, we in vain guess. It is vague darkness all: unknown

what is to be; unknown even what has already been. The giant Mirabeau walks in darkness, as we said;

companionless, on wild ways: what his thoughts during these months were, no record of Biographer, not

To us, endeavouring to cast his horoscope, it of course remains doubly vague. There is one Herculean man, in

internecine duel with him, there is Monster after Monster. Emigrant Noblesse return, sword on thigh,

vaunting of their Loyalty never sullied; descending from the air, like Harpyswarms with ferocity, with

obscene greed. Earthward there is the Typhon of Anarchy, Political, Religious; sprawling hundredheaded,

say with Twenty five million heads; wide as the area of France; fierce as Frenzy; strong in very Hunger.

As for the King, he as usual will go wavering chameleonlike; changing colour and purpose with the colour of

his environment;good for no Kingly use. On one royal person, on the Queen only, can Mirabeau perhaps

place dependance. It is possible, the greatness of this man, not unskilled too in blandishments, courtiership,

and graceful adroitness, might, with most legitimate sorcery, fascinate the volatile Queen, and fix her to him.

She has courage for all noble daring; an eye and a heart: the soul of Theresa's Daughter. 'Faut ildonc, Is it

fated then,' she passionately writes to her Brother, 'that I with the blood I am come of, with the sentiments I

have, must live and die among such mortals?' (Fils Adoptif, ubi supra.) Alas, poor Princess, Yes. 'She is the

only man,' as Mirabeau observes, 'whom his Majesty has about him.' Of one other man Mirabeau is still surer:

Dim and great to the eye of Prophecy looks the future! A perpetual life anddeath battle; confusion from

above and from below;mere confused darkness for us; with here and there some streak of faint lurid light.

We see King perhaps laid aside; not tonsured, tonsuring is out of fashion now; but say, sent away any

whither, with handsome annual allowance, and stock of smithtools. We see a Queen and Dauphin, Regent

and Minor; a Queen 'mounted on horseback,' in the din of battles, with Moriamur pro rege nostro! 'Such a

Din of battles, wars more than civil, confusion from above and from below: in such environment the eye of

Prophecy sees Comte de Mirabeau, like some Cardinal de Retz, stormfully maintain himself; with head

alldevising, heart alldaring, if not victorious, yet unvanquished, while life is left him. The specialties and

issues of it, no eye of Prophecy can guess at: it is clouds, we repeat, and tempestuous night; and in the middle

of it, now visible, far darting, now labouring in eclipse, is Mirabeau indomitably struggling to be

CloudCompeller!One can say that, had Mirabeau lived, the History of France and of the World had been

different. Further, that the man would have needed, as few men ever did, the whole compass of that same 'Art

of Daring, Art d'Oser,' which he so prized; and likewise that he, above all men then living, would have

practised and manifested it. Finally, that some substantiality, and no empty simulacrum of a formula, would

have been the result realised by him: a result you could have loved, a result you could have hated; by no

likelihood, a result you could only have rejected with closed lips, and swept into quick forgetfulness for ever.

But Mirabeau could not live another year, any more than he could live another thousand years. Men's years

are numbered, and the tale of Mirabeau's was now complete. Important, or unimportant; to be mentioned in

WorldHistory for some centuries, or not to be mentioned there beyond a day or two,it matters not to

peremptory Fate. From amid the press of ruddy busy Life, the Pale Messenger beckons silently:

widespreading interests, projects, salvation of French Monarchies, what thing soever man has on hand, he

must suddenly quit it all, and go. Wert thou saving French Monarchies; wert thou blacking shoes on the Pont

Neuf! The most important of men cannot stay; did the World's History depend on an hour, that hour is not to

be given. Whereby, indeed, it comes that these same wouldhave beens are mostly a vanity; and the World's

History could never in the least be what it would, or might, or should, by any manner of potentiality, but

The fierce wear and tear of such an existence has wasted out the giant oaken strength of Mirabeau. A fret and

fever that keeps heart and brain on fire: excess of effort, of excitement; excess of all kinds: labour incessant,

almost beyond credibility! 'If I had not lived with him,' says Dumont, 'I should never have known what a man

can make of one day; what things may be placed within the interval of twelve hours. A day for this man was

more than a week or a month is for others: the mass of things he guided on together was prodigious; from the

scheming to the executing not a moment lost.' "Monsieur le Comte," said his Secretary to him once, "what

you require is impossible.""Impossible!" answered he starting from his chair, Ne me dites jamais ce bete

de mot, Never name to me that blockhead of a word." (Dumont, p. 311.) And then the social repasts; the

dinner which he gives as Commandant of National Guards, which 'costs five hundred pounds;' alas, and 'the

Sirens of the Opera;' and all the ginger that is hot in the mouth:down what a course is this man hurled!

Cannot Mirabeau stop; cannot he fly, and save himself alive? No! There is a Nessus' Shirt on this Hercules;

he must storm and burn there, without rest, till he be consumed. Human strength, never so Herculean, has its

measure. Herald shadows flit pale across the firebrain of Mirabeau; heralds of the pale repose. While he

tosses and storms, straining every nerve, in that sea of ambition and confusion, there comes, sombre and still,

In January last, you might see him as President of the Assembly; 'his neck wrapt in linen cloths, at the

evening session:' there was sick heat of the blood, alternate darkening and flashing in the eyesight; he had to

apply leeches, after the morning labour, and preside bandaged. 'At parting he embraced me,' says Dumont,

'with an emotion I had never seen in him: "I am dying, my friend; dying as by slow fire; we shall perhaps not

meet again. When I am gone, they will know what the value of me was. The miseries I have held back will

burst from all sides on France."' (Dumont, p. 267.) Sickness gives louder warning; but cannot be listened to.

On the 27th day of March, proceeding towards the Assembly, he had to seek rest and help in Friend de

Lamarck's, by the road; and lay there, for an hour, halffainted, stretched on a sofa. To the Assembly

nevertheless he went, as if in spite of Destiny itself; spoke, loud and eager, five several times; then quitted the

Tribunefor ever. He steps out, utterly exhausted, into the Tuileries Gardens; many people press round him,

as usual, with applications, memorials; he says to the Friend who was with him: Take me out of this!

And so, on the last day of March 1791, endless anxious multitudes beset the Rue de la Chaussee d'Antin;

incessantly inquiring: within doors there, in that House numbered in our time '42,' the over wearied giant has

fallen down, to die. (Fils Adoptif, viii. 42079.) Crowds, of all parties and kinds; of all ranks from the King

to the meanest man! The King sends publicly twice aday to inquire; privately besides: from the world at

large there is no end of inquiring. 'A written bulletin is handed out every three hours,' is copied and

circulated; in the end, it is printed. The People spontaneously keep silence; no carriage shall enter with its

noise: there is crowding pressure; but the Sister of Mirabeau is reverently recognised, and has free way made

for her. The People stand mute, heartstricken; to all it seems as if a great calamity were nigh: as if the last

man of France, who could have swayed these coming troubles, lay there at handgrips with the unearthly

The silence of a whole People, the wakeful toil of Cabanis, Friend and Physician, skills not: on Saturday, the

second day of April, Mirabeau feels that the last of the Days has risen for him; that, on this day, he has to

depart and be no more. His death is Titanic, as his life has been. Lit up, for the last time, in the glare of

coming dissolution, the mind of the man is all glowing and burning; utters itself in sayings, such as men long

remember. He longs to live, yet acquiesces in death, argues not with the inexorable. His speech is wild and

wondrous: unearthly Phantasms dancing now their torchdance round his soul; the soul itself looking out,

fireradiant, motionless, girt together for that great hour! At times comes a beam of light from him on the

world he is quitting. "I carry in my heart the deathdirge of the French Monarchy; the dead remains of it will

now be the spoil of the factious." Or again, when he heard the cannon fire, what is characteristic too: "Have

we the Achilles' Funeral already?" So likewise, while some friend is supporting him: "Yes, support that head;

would I could bequeath it thee!" For the man dies as he has lived; self conscious, conscious of a world

looking on. He gazes forth on the young Spring, which for him will never be Summer. The Sun has risen; he

says: "Si ce n'est pas la Dieu, c'est du moins son cousin germain." (Fils Adoptif, viii. 450; Journal de la

maladie et de la mort de Mirabeau, par P.J.G. Cabanis (Paris, 1803).)Death has mastered the outworks;

power of speech is gone; the citadel of the heart still holding out: the moribund giant, passionately, by sign,

demands paper and pen; writes his passionate demand for opium, to end these agonies. The sorrowful Doctor

shakes his head: Dormir 'To sleep,' writes the other, passionately pointing at it! So dies a gigantic Heathen

and Titan; stumbling blindly, undismayed, down to his rest. At halfpast eight in the morning, Dr. Petit,

standing at the foot of the bed, says "Il ne souffre plus." His suffering and his working are now ended.

Even so, ye silent Patriot multitudes, all ye men of France; this man is rapt away from you. He has fallen

suddenly, without bending till he broke; as a tower falls, smitten by sudden lightning. His word ye shall hear

no more, his guidance follow no more.The multitudes depart, heartstruck; spread the sad tidings. How

touching is the loyalty of men to their Sovereign Man! All theatres, public amusements close; no joyful

meeting can be held in these nights, joy is not for them: the People break in upon private dancingparties,

and sullenly command that they cease. Of such dancingparties apparently but two came to light; and these

also have gone out. The gloom is universal: never in this City was such sorrow for one death; never since that

old night when Louis XII. departed, 'and the Crieurs des Corps went sounding their bells, and crying along

the streets: Le bon roi Louis, pere du peuple, est mort, The good King Louis, Father of the People, is dead!'

(Henault, Abrege Chronologique, p. 429.) King Mirabeau is now the lost King; and one may say with little

For three days there is low wide moan: weeping in the National Assembly itself. The streets are all mournful;

orators mounted on the bournes, with large silent audience, preaching the funeral sermon of the dead. Let no

coachman whip fast, distractively with his rolling wheels, or almost at all, through these groups! His traces

may be cut; himself and his fare, as incurable Aristocrats, hurled sulkily into the kennels. The bournestone

orators speak as it is given them; the Sansculottic People, with its rude soul, listens eager,as men will to

any Sermon, or Sermo, when it is a spoken Word meaning a Thing, and not a Babblement meaning Nothing.

In the Restaurateur's of the Palais Royal, the waiter remarks, "Fine weather, Monsieur:""Yes, my friend,"

answers the ancient Man of Letters, "very fine; but Mirabeau is dead." Hoarse rhythmic threnodies comes

also from the throats of balladsingers; are sold on graywhite paper at a sou each. (Fils Adoptif, viii. l. 19;

Newspapers and Excerpts (in Hist. Parl. ix. 366402).) But of Portraits, engraved, painted, hewn, and written;

of Eulogies, Reminiscences, Biographies, nay Vaudevilles, Dramas and Melodramas, in all Provinces of

France, there will, through these coming months, be the due immeasurable crop; thick as the leaves of Spring.

Nor, that a tincture of burlesque might be in it, is Gobel's Episcopal Mandement wanting; goose Gobel, who

has just been made Constitutional Bishop of Paris. A Mandement wherein ca ira alternates very strangely

with Nomine Domini, and you are, with a grave countenance, invited to 'rejoice at possessing in the midst of

you a body of Prelates created by Mirabeau, zealous followers of his doctrine, faithful imitators of his

virtues.' (Hist. Parl. ix. 405.) So speaks, and cackles manifold, the Sorrow of France; wailing articulately,

inarticulately, as it can, that a Sovereign Man is snatched away. In the National Assembly, when difficult

questions are astir, all eyes will 'turn mechanically to the place where Mirabeau sat,'and Mirabeau is absent

On the third evening of the lamentation, the fourth of April, there is solemn Public Funeral; such as deceased

mortal seldom had. Procession of a league in length; of mourners reckoned loosely at a hundred thousand!

All roofs are thronged with onlookers, all windows, lampirons, branches of trees. 'Sadness is painted on

every countenance; many persons weep.' There is double hedge of National Guards; there is National

Assembly in a body; Jacobin Society, and Societies; King's Ministers, Municipals, and all Notabilities, Patriot

or Aristocrat. Bouille is noticeable there, 'with his hat on;' say, hat drawn over his brow, hiding many

thoughts! Slow wending, in religious silence, the Procession of a league in length, under the level sunrays,

for it is five o'clock, moves and marches: with its sable plumes; itself in a religious silence; but, by fits, with

the muffled roll of drums, by fits with some longdrawn wail of music, and strange new clangour of

trombones, and metallic dirgevoice; amid the infinite hum of men. In the Church of SaintEustache, there is

funeral oration by Cerutti; and discharge of firearms, which 'brings down pieces of the plaster.' Thence,

forward again to the Church of SainteGenevieve; which has been consecrated, by supreme decree, on the

spur of this time, into a Pantheon for the Great Men of the Fatherland, Aux Grands Hommes la Patrie

reconnaissante. Hardly at midnight is the business done; and Mirabeau left in his dark dwelling: first tenant of

Tenant, alas, with inhabits but at will, and shall be cast out! For, in these days of convulsion and disjection,

not even the dust of the dead is permitted to rest. Voltaire's bones are, by and by, to be carried from their

stolen grave in the Abbey of Scellieres, to an eager stealing grave, in Paris his birthcity: all mortals

processioning and perorating there; cars drawn by eight white horses, goadsters in classical costume, with

fillets and wheatears enough;though the weather is of the wettest. (Moniteur, du 13 Juillet 1791.)

Evangelist Jean Jacques, too, as is most proper, must be dug up from Ermenonville, and processioned, with

pomp, with sensibility, to the Pantheon of the Fatherland. (Ibid. du 18 Septembre, 1794. See also du 30 Aout,

1791.) He and others: while again Mirabeau, we say, is cast forth from it, happily incapable of being

replaced; and rests now, irrecognisable, reburied hastily at dead of night, in the central 'part of the

Churchyard SainteCatherine, in the Suburb SaintMarceau,' to be disturbed no further.

So blazes out, farseen, a Man's Life, and becomes ashes and a caput mortuum, in this WorldPyre, which we

name French Revolution: not the first that consumed itself there; nor, by thousands and many millions, the

last! A man who 'had swallowed all formulas;' who, in these strange times and circumstances, felt called to

live Titanically, and also to die so. As he, for his part had swallowed all formulas, what Formula is there,

never so comprehensive, that will express truly the plus and the minus, give us the accurate netresult of

him? There is hitherto none such. Moralities not a few must shriek condemnatory over this Mirabeau; the

Morality by which he could be judged has not yet got uttered in the speech of men. We shall say this of him,

again: That he is a Reality, and no Simulacrum: a living son of Nature our general Mother; not a hollow

Artfice, and mechanism of Conventionalities, son of nothing, brother to nothing. In which little word, let the

earnest man, walking sorrowful in a world mostly of 'Stuffed Clothessuits,' that chatter and grin meaningless

Of men who, in such sense, are alive, and see with eyes, the number is now not great: it may be well, if in this

huge French Revolution itself, with its alldeveloping fury, we find some Three. Mortals driven rabid we

find; sputtering the acridest logic; baring their breast to the battlehail, their neck to the guillotine; of whom

it is so painful to say that they too are still, in good part, manufactured Formalities, not Facts but Hearsays!

Honour to the strong man, in these ages, who has shaken himself loose of shams, and is something. For in the

way of being worthy, the first condition surely is that one be. Let Cant cease, at all risks and at all costs: till

Cant cease, nothing else can begin. Of human Criminals, in these centuries, writes the Moralist, I find but one

unforgivable: the Quack. 'Hateful to God,' as divine Dante sings, 'and to the Enemies of God,

But whoever will, with sympathy, which is the first essential towards insight, look at this questionable

Mirabeau, may find that there lay verily in him, as the basis of all, a Sincerity, a great free Earnestness; nay

call it Honesty, for the man did before all things see, with that clear flashing vision, into what was, into what

existed as fact; and did, with his wild heart, follow that and no other. Whereby on what ways soever he

travels and struggles, often enough falling, he is still a brother man. Hate him not; thou canst not hate him!

Shining through such soil and tarnish, and now victorious effulgent, and oftenest struggling eclipsed, the light

of genius itself is in this man; which was never yet base and hateful: but at worst was lamentable, loveable

with pity. They say that he was ambitious, that he wanted to be Minister. It is most true; and was he not

simply the one man in France who could have done any good as Minister? Not vanity alone, not pride alone;

far from that! Wild burstings of affection were in this great heart; of fierce lightning, and soft dew of pity. So

sunk, bemired in wretchedest defacements, it may be said of him, like the Magdalen of old, that he loved

much: his Father the harshest of old crabbed men he loved with warmth, with veneration.

Be it that his falls and follies are manifold,as himself often lamented even with tears. (Dumont, p. 287.)

Alas, is not the Life of every such man already a poetic Tragedy; made up 'of Fate and of one's own

Deservings,' of Schicksal und eigene Schuld; full of the elements of Pity and Fear? This brother man, if not

Epic for us, is Tragic; if not great, is large; large in his qualities, worldlarge in his destinies. Whom other

men, recognising him as such, may, through long times, remember, and draw nigh to examine and consider:

these, in their several dialects, will say of him and sing of him,till the right thing be said; and so the

Here then the wild Gabriel Honore drops from the tissue of our History; not without a tragic farewell. He is

gone: the flower of the wild Riquetti or Arrighetti kindred; which seems as if in him, with one last effort, it

had done its best, and then expired, or sunk down to the undistinguished level. Crabbed old Marquis

Mirabeau, the Friend of Men, sleeps sound. The Bailli Mirabeau, worthy uncle, will soon die forlorn, alone.

BarrelMirabeau, already gone across the Rhine, his Regiment of Emigrants will drive nigh desperate.

'BarrelMirabeau,' says a biographer of his, 'went indignantly across the Rhine, and drilled Emigrant

Regiments. But as he sat one morning in his tent, sour of stomach doubtless and of heart, meditating in

Tartarean humour on the turn things took, a certain Captain or Subaltern demanded admittance on business.

Such Captain is refused; he again demands, with refusal; and then again, till Colonel Viscount Barrel

Mirabeau, blazing up into a mere burning brandy barrel, clutches his sword, and tumbles out on this canaille

of an intruder,alas, on the canaille of an intruder's sword's point, who had drawn with swift dexterity; and

dies, and the Newspapers name it apoplexy and alarming accident.' So die the Mirabeaus.

New Mirabeaus one hears not of: the wild kindred, as we said, is gone out with this its greatest. As families

and kindreds sometimes do; producing, after long ages of unnoted notability, some living quintescence of all

the qualities they had, to flame forth as a man worldnoted; after whom they rest as if exhausted; the sceptre

passing to others. The chosen Last of the Mirabeaus is gone; the chosen man of France is gone. It was he who

shook old France from its basis; and, as if with his single hand, has held it toppling there, still unfallen. What

things depended on that one man! He is as a ship suddenly shivered on sunk rocks: much swims on the waste

The French Monarchy may now therefore be considered as, in all human probability, lost; as struggling

henceforth in blindness as well as weakness, the last light of reasonable guidance having gone out. What

remains of resources their poor Majesties will waste still further, in uncertain loitering and wavering.

Mirabeau himself had to complain that they only gave him half confidence, and always had some plan within

his plan. Had they fled frankly with him, to Rouen or anywhither, long ago! They may fly now with chance

immeasurably lessened; which will go on lessening towards absolute zero. Decide, O Queen; poor Louis can

decide nothing: execute this Flightproject, or at least abandon it. Correspondence with Bouille there has

been enough; what profits consulting, and hypothesis, while all around is in fierce activity of practice? The

Rustic sits waiting till the river run dry: alas with you it is not a common river, but a Nile Inundation; snow

Many things invite to flight. The voice Journals invites; Royalist Journals proudly hinting it as a threat,

Patriot Journals rabidly denouncing it as a terror. Mother Society, waxing more and more emphatic,

invites;so emphatic that, as was prophesied, Lafayette and your limited Patriots have ere long to branch off

from her, and form themselves into Feuillans; with infinite public controversy; the victory in which, doubtful

though it look, will remain with the unlimited Mother. Moreover, ever since the Day of Poniards, we have

seen unlimited Patriotism openly equipping itself with arms. Citizens denied 'activity,' which is facetiously

made to signify a certain weight of purse, cannot buy blue uniforms, and be Guardsmen; but man is greater

than blue cloth; man can fight, if need be, in multiform cloth, or even almost without clothas Sansculotte.

So Pikes continued to be hammered, whether those Dirks of improved structure with barbs be 'meant for the

WestIndia market,' or not meant. Men beat, the wrong way, their ploughshares into swords. Is there not

what we may call an 'Austrian Committee,' Comite Autrichein, sitting daily and nightly in the Tuileries?

Patriotism, by vision and suspicion, knows it too well! If the King fly, will there not be AristocratAustrian

Invasion; butchery, replacement of Feudalism; wars more than civil? The hearts of men are saddened and

Dissident Priests likewise give trouble enough. Expelled from their Parish Churches, where Constitutional

Priests, elected by the Public, have replaced them, these unhappy persons resort to Convents of Nuns, or other

such receptacles; and there, on Sabbath, collecting assemblages of Anti Constitutional individuals, who

have grown devout all on a sudden, (Toulongeon, i. 262.) they worship or pretend to worship in their strait

laced contumacious manner; to the scandal of Patriotism. Dissident Priests, passing along with their sacred

wafer for the dying, seem wishful to be massacred in the streets; wherein Patriotism will not gratify them.

Slighter palm of martyrdom, however, shall not be denied: martyrdom not of massacre, yet of fustigation. At

the refractory places of worship, Patriot men appear; Patriot women with strong hazel wands, which they

apply. Shut thy eyes, O Reader; see not this misery, peculiar to these later times,of martyrdom without

sincerity, with only cant and contumacy! A dead Catholic Church is not allowed to lie dead; no, it is

galvanised into the detestablest deathlife; whereat Humanity, we say, shuts its eyes. For the Patriot women

take their hazel wands, and fustigate, amid laughter of bystanders, with alacrity: broad bottom of Priests; alas,

Nuns too reversed, and cotillons retrousses! The National Guard does what it can: Municipality 'invokes the

Principles of Toleration;' grants Dissident worshippers the Church of the Theatins; promising protection. But

it is to no purpose: at the door of that Theatins Church, appears a Placard, and suspended atop, like Plebeian

Consular fasces,a Bundle of Rods! The Principles of Toleration must do the best they may: but no

Dissident man shall worship contumaciously; there is a Plebiscitum to that effect; which, though unspoken, is

like the laws of the Medes and Persians. Dissident contumacious Priests ought not to be harboured, even in

private, by any man: the Club of the Cordeliers openly denounces Majesty himself as doing it. (Newspapers

Many things invite to flight: but probably this thing above all others, that it has become impossible! On the

15th of April, notice is given that his Majesty, who has suffered much from catarrh lately, will enjoy the

Spring weather, for a few days, at SaintCloud. Out at SaintCloud? Wishing to celebrate his Easter, his

Paques, or Pasch, there; with refractory AntiConstitutional Dissidents?Wishing rather to make off for

Compiegne, and thence to the Frontiers? As were, in good sooth, perhaps feasible, or would once have been;

nothing but some two chasseurs attending you; chasseurs easily corrupted! It is a pleasant possibility, execute

it or not. Men say there are thirty thousand Chevaliers of the Poniard lurking in the woods there: lurking in

the woods, and thirty thousand, for the human Imagination is not fettered. But now, how easily might

these, dashing out on Lafayette, snatch off the Hereditary Representative; and roll away with him, after the

manner of a whirlblast, whither they listed!Enough, it were well the King did not go. Lafayette is

forewarned and forearmed: but, indeed, is the risk his only; or his and all France's?

Monday the eighteenth of April is come; the Easter Journey to SaintCloud shall take effect. National Guard

has got its orders; a First Division, as Advanced Guard, has even marched, and probably arrived. His

Majesty's Maisonbouche, they say, is all busy stewing and frying at SaintCloud; the King's Dinner not far

from ready there. About one o'clock, the Royal Carriage, with its eight royal blacks, shoots stately into the

Place du Carrousel; draws up to receive its royal burden. But hark! From the neighbouring Church of

SaintRoch, the tocsin begins dingdonging. Is the King stolen then; he is going; gone? Multitudes of

persons crowd the Carrousel: the Royal Carriage still stands there;and, by Heaven's strength, shall stand!

Lafayette comes up, with aidedecamps and oratory; pervading the groups: "Taisez vous," answer the

groups, "the King shall not go." Monsieur appears, at an upper window: ten thousand voices bray and shriek,

"Nous ne voulons pas que le Roi parte." Their Majesties have mounted. Crack go the whips; but twenty

Patriot arms have seized each of the eight bridles: there is rearing, rocking, vociferation; not the smallest

headway. In vain does Lafayette fret, indignant; and perorate and strive: Patriots in the passion of terror,

bellow round the Royal Carriage; it is one bellowing sea of Patriot terror run frantic. Will Royalty fly off

towards Austria; like a lit rocket, towards endless Conflagration of Civil War? Stop it, ye Patriots, in the

name of Heaven! Rude voices passionately apostrophise Royalty itself. Usher Campan, and other the like

official persons, pressing forward with help or advice, are clutched by the sashes, and hurled and whirled, in a

confused perilous manner; so that her Majesty has to plead passionately from the carriagewindow.

Order cannot be heard, cannot be followed; National Guards know not how to act. Centre Grenadiers, of the

Observatoire Battalion, are there; not on duty; alas, in quasimutiny; speaking rude disobedient words;

threatening the mounted Guards with sharp shot if they hurt the people. Lafayette mounts and dismounts;

runs haranguing, panting; on the verge of despair. For an hour and threequarters; 'seven quarters of an hour,'

by the Tuileries Clock! Desperate Lafayette will open a passage, were it by the cannon's mouth, if his

Majesty will order. Their Majesties, counselled to it by Royalist friends, by Patriot foes, dismount; and retire

in, with heavy indignant heart; giving up the enterprise. Maisonbouche may eat that cooked dinner

themselves; his Majesty shall not see SaintCloud this day,or any day. (Deux Amis, vi. c. 1; Hist. Parl. ix.

The pathetic fable of imprisonment in one's own Palace has become a sad fact, then? Majesty complains to

Assembly; Municipality deliberates, proposes to petition or address; Sections respond with sullen brevity of

negation. Lafayette flings down his Commission; appears in civic pepper andsalt frock; and cannot be

flattered back again;not in less than three days; and by unheardof entreaty; National Guards kneeling to

him, and declaring that it is not sycophancy, that they are free men kneeling here to the Statue of Liberty. For

the rest, those Centre Grenadiers of the Observatoire are disbanded,yet indeed are reinlisted, all but

fourteen, under a new name, and with new quarters. The King must keep his Easter in Paris: meditating much

on this singular posture of things: but as good as determined now to fly from it, desire being whetted by

For above a year, ever since March 1790, it would seem, there has hovered a project of Flight before the royal

mind; and ever and anon has been condensing itself into something like a purpose; but this or the other

difficulty always vaporised it again. It seems so full of risks, perhaps of civil war itself; above all, it cannot be

done without effort. Somnolent laziness will not serve: to fly, if not in a leather vache, one must verily stir

himself. Better to adopt that Constitution of theirs; execute it so as to shew all men that it is inexecutable?

Better or not so good; surely it is easier. To all difficulties you need only say, There is a lion in the path,

behold your Constitution will not act! For a somnolent person it requires no effort to counterfeit death,as

Dame de Stael and Friends of Liberty can see the King's Government long doing, faisant le mort.

Nay now, when desire whetted by difficulty has brought the matter to a head, and the royal mind no longer

halts between two, what can come of it? Grant that poor Louis were safe with Bouille, what on the whole

could he look for there? Exasperated Tickets of Entry answer, Much, all. But cold Reason answers, Little

almost nothing. Is not loyalty a law of Nature? ask the Tickets of Entry. Is not love of your King, and even

death for him, the glory of all Frenchmen,except these few Democrats? Let Democrat

Constitutionbuilders see what they will do without their Keystone; and France rend its hair, having lost the

Thus will King Louis fly; one sees not reasonably towards what. As a maltreated Boy, shall we say, who,

having a Stepmother, rushes sulky into the wide world; and will wring the paternal heart?Poor Louis

escapes from known unsupportable evils, to an unknown mixture of good and evil, coloured by Hope. He

goes, as Rabelais did when dying, to seek a great Maybe: je vais chercher un grand Peutetre! As not only

the sulky Boy but the wise grown Man is obliged to do, so often, in emergencies.

For the rest, there is still no lack of stimulants, and stepdame maltreatments, to keep one's resolution at the

due pitch. Factious disturbance ceases not: as indeed how can they, unless authoritatively conjured, in a

Revolt which is by nature bottomless? If the ceasing of faction be the price of the King's somnolence, he may

Remark, in any case, what somersets and contortions a dead Catholicism is making,skilfully galvanised:

hideous, and even piteous, to behold! Jurant and Dissident, with their shaved crowns, argue frothing

everywhere; or are ceasing to argue, and stripping for battle. In Paris was scourging while need continued:

contrariwise, in the Morbihan of Brittany, without scourging, armed Peasants are up, roused by pulpitdrum,

they know not why. General Dumouriez, who has got missioned thitherward, finds all in sour heat of

darkness; finds also that explanation and conciliation will still do much. (Deux Amis, v. 41021; Dumouriez,

But again, consider this: that his Holiness, Pius Sixth, has seen good to excommunicate Bishop Talleyrand!

Surely, we will say then, considering it, there is no living or dead Church in the Earth that has not the

indubitablest right to excommunicate Talleyrand. Pope Pius has right and might, in his way. But truly so

likewise has Father Adam, cidevant Marquis SaintHuruge, in his way. Behold, therefore, on the Fourth of

May, in the PalaisRoyal, a mixed loudsounding multitude; in the middle of whom, Father Adam,

bullvoiced SaintHuruge, in white hat, towers visible and audible. With him, it is said, walks Journalist

Gorsas, walk many others of the washed sort; for no authority will interfere. Pius Sixth, with his plush and

tiara, and power of the Keys, they bear aloft: of natural size,made of lath and combustible gum. Royou, the

King's Friend, is borne too in effigy; with a pile of Newspaper King'sFriends, condemned numbers of the

AmiduRoi; fit fuel of the sacrifice. Speeches are spoken; a judgment is held, a doom proclaimed, audible

in bullvoice, towards the four winds. And thus, amid great shouting, the holocaust is consummated, under

the summer sky; and our lathandgum Holiness, with the attendant victims, mounts up in flame, and sinks

down in ashes; a decomposed Pope: and right or might, among all the parties, has better or worse

accomplished itself, as it could. (Hist. Parl. x. 99102.) But, on the whole, reckoning from Martin Luther in

the Marketplace of Wittenberg to Marquis SaintHuruge in this PalaisRoyal of Paris, what a journey have

we gone; into what strange territories has it carried us! No Authority can now interfere. Nay Religion herself,

In such extraordinary manner does dead Catholicism somerset and caper, skilfully galvanised. For, does the

reader inquire into the subjectmatter of controversy in this case; what the difference between Orthodoxy or

My doxy and Heterodoxy or Thydoxy might here be? Mydoxy is that an august National Assembly can

equalize the extent of Bishopricks; that an equalized Bishop, his Creed and Formularies being left quite as

they were, can swear Fidelity to King, Law and Nation, and so become a Constitutional Bishop. Thydoxy, if

thou be Dissident, is that he cannot; but that he must become an accursed thing. Human illnature needs but

some Homoiousian iota, or even the pretence of one; and will flow copiously through the eye of a needle:

And, like the ancient Stoics in their porches With fierce dispute maintain their churches.

This Autodafe of SaintHuruge's was on the Fourth of May, 1791. Royalty sees it; but says nothing.

Royalty, in fact, should, by this time, be far on with its preparations. Unhappily much preparation is needful:

could a Hereditary Representative be carried in leather vache, how easy were it! But it is not so.

New clothes are needed, as usual, in all Epic transactions, were it in the grimmest iron ages; consider 'Queen

Chrimhilde, with her sixty semstresses,' in that iron Nibelungen Song! No Queen can stir without new

clothes. Therefore, now, Dame Campan whisks assiduous to this mantuamaker and to that: and there is

clipping of frocks and gowns, upper clothes and under, great and small; such a clipping and sewing, as might

have been dispensed with. Moreover, her Majesty cannot go a step anywhither without her Necessaire; dear

Necessaire, of inlaid ivory and rosewood; cunningly devised; which holds perfumes, toiletimplements,

infinite small queenlike furnitures: Necessary to terrestrial life. Not without a cost of some five hundred louis,

of much precious time, and difficult hoodwinking which does not blind, can this same Necessary of life be

forwarded by the Flanders Carriers,never to get to hand. (Campan, ii. c. 18.) All which, you would say,

augurs ill for the prospering of the enterprise. But the whims of women and queens must be humoured.

Bouille, on his side, is making a fortified Camp at Montmedi; gathering RoyalAllemand, and all manner of

other German and true French Troops thither, 'to watch the Austrians.' His Majesty will not cross the

Frontiers, unless on compulsion. Neither shall the Emigrants be much employed, hateful as they are to all

people. (Bouille, Memoires, ii. c. 10.) Nor shall old wargod Broglie have any hand in the business; but

solely our brave Bouille; to whom, on the day of meeting, a Marshal's Baton shall be delivered, by a rescued

King, amid the shouting of all the troops. In the meanwhile, Paris being so suspicious, were it not perhaps

good to write your Foreign Ambassadors an ostensible Constitutional Letter; desiring all Kings and men to

take heed that King Louis loves the Constitution, that he has voluntarily sworn, and does again swear, to

maintain the same, and will reckon those his enemies who affect to say otherwise? Such a Constitutional

circular is despatched by Couriers, is communicated confidentially to the Assembly, and printed in all

Newspapers; with the finest effect. (Moniteur, Seance du 23 Avril, 1791.) Simulation and dissimulation

We observe, however, that Count Fersen is often using his Ticket of Entry; which surely he has clear right to

do. A gallant Soldier and Swede, devoted to this fair Queen;as indeed the Highest Swede now is. Has not

King Gustav, famed fiery Chevalier du Nord, sworn himself, by the old laws of chivalry, her Knight? He will

descend on firewings, of Swedish musketry, and deliver her from these foul dragons,if, alas, the

But, in fact, Count Fersen does seem a likely young soldier, of alert decisive ways: he circulates widely, seen,

unseen; and has business on hand. Also Colonel the Duke de Choiseul, nephew of Choiseul the great, of

Choiseul the now deceased; he and Engineer Goguelat are passing and repassing between Metz and the

Tuileries; and Letters go in cipher,one of them, a most important one, hard to decipher; Fersen having

ciphered it in haste. (Choiseul, Relation du Depart de Louis XVI. (Paris, 1822), p. 39.) As for Duke de

Villequier, he is gone ever since the Day of Poniards; but his Apartment is useful for her Majesty.

On the other side, poor Commandment Gouvion, watching at the Tuileries, second in National Command,

sees several things hard to interpret. It is the same Gouvion who sat, long months ago, at the Townhall,

gazing helpless into that Insurrection of Women; motionless, as the brave stabled steed when conflagration

rises, till Usher Maillard snatched his drum. Sincerer Patriot there is not; but many a shiftier. He, if Dame

Campan gossip credibly, is paying some similitude of lovecourt to a certain false Chambermaid of the

Palace, who betrays much to him: the Necessaire, the clothes, the packing of the jewels, (Campan, ii.

141.)could he understand it when betrayed. Helpless Gouvion gazes with sincere glassy eyes into it; stirs

But, on the whole, one finds that, in the second week of June, Colonel de Choiseul is privately in Paris;

having come 'to see his children.' Also that Fersen has got a stupendous new Coach built, of the kind named

Berline; done by the first artists; according to a model: they bring it home to him, in Choiseul's presence; the

two friends take a proofdrive in it, along the streets; in meditative mood; then send it up to 'Madame

Sullivan's, in the Rue de Clichy,' far North, to wait there till wanted. Apparently a certain Russian Baroness

de Korff, with Waitingwoman, Valet, and two Children, will travel homewards with some state: in whom

these young military gentlemen take interest? A Passport has been procured for her; and much assistance

shewn, with Coachbuilders and such like;so helpful polite are young military men. Fersen has likewise

purchased a Chaise fit for two, at least for two waitingmaids; further, certain necessary horses: one would

say, he is himself quitting France, not without outlay? We observe finally that their Majesties, Heaven

willing, will assist at CorpusChristi Day, this blessed Summer Solstice, in Assumption Church, here at

Paris, to the joy of all the world. For which same day, moreover, brave Bouille, at Metz, as we find, has

invited a party of friends to dinner; but indeed is gone from home, in the interim, over to Montmedi.

These are of the Phenomena, or visual Appearances, of this wideworking terrestrial world: which truly is all

phenomenal, what they call spectral; and never rests at any moment; one never at any moment can know

On Monday night, the Twentieth of June 1791, about eleven o'clock, there is many a hackneycoach, and

glasscoach (carrosse de remise), still rumbling, or at rest, on the streets of Paris. But of all Glasscoaches,

we recommend this to thee, O Reader, which stands drawn up, in the Rue de l'Echelle, hard by the Carrousel

and outgate of the Tuileries; in the Rue de l'Echelle that then was; 'opposite Ronsin the saddler's door,' as if

waiting for a fare there! Not long does it wait: a hooded Dame, with two hooded Children has issued from

Villequier's door, where no sentry walks, into the Tuileries CourtofPrinces; into the Carrousel; into the

Rue de l'Echelle; where the Glasscoachman readily admits them; and again waits. Not long; another Dame,

likewise hooded or shrouded, leaning on a servant, issues in the same manner, by the Glasscoachman,

cheerfully admitted. Whither go, so many Dames? 'Tis His Majesty's Couchee, Majesty just gone to bed, and

all the Palaceworld is retiring home. But the Glasscoachman still waits; his fare seemingly incomplete.

By and by, we note a thickset Individual, in round hat and peruke, armand arm with some servant,

seemingly of the Runner or Courier sort; he also issues through Villequier's door; starts a shoebuckle as he

passes one of the sentries, stoops down to clasp it again; is however, by the Glass coachman, still more

cheerfully admitted. And now, is his fare complete? Not yet; the Glasscoachman still waits.Alas! and the

false Chambermaid has warned Gouvion that she thinks the Royal Family will fly this very night; and

Gouvion distrusting his own glazed eyes, has sent express for Lafayette; and Lafayette's Carriage, flaring

with lights, rolls this moment through the inner Arch of the Carrousel,where a Lady shaded in broad

gypsyhat, and leaning on the arm of a servant, also of the Runner or Courier sort, stands aside to let it pass,

and has even the whim to touch a spoke of it with her badine,light little magic rod which she calls badine,

such as the Beautiful then wore. The flare of Lafayette's Carriage, rolls past: all is found quiet in the

CourtofPrinces; sentries at their post; Majesties' Apartments closed in smooth rest. Your false

Chambermaid must have been mistaken? Watch thou, Gouvion, with Argus' vigilance; for, of a truth,

But where is the Lady that stood aside in gypsy hat, and touched the wheel spoke with her badine? O

Reader, that Lady that touched the wheelspoke was the Queen of France! She has issued safe through that

inner Arch, into the Carrousel itself; but not into the Rue de l'Echelle. Flurried by the rattle and rencounter,

she took the right hand not the left; neither she nor her Courier knows Paris; he indeed is no Courier, but a

loyal stupid cidevant Bodyguard disguised as one. They are off, quite wrong, over the Pont Royal and

River; roaming disconsolate in the Rue du Bac; far from the Glasscoachman, who still waits. Waits, with

flutter of heart; with thoughtswhich he must button close up, under his jarvie surtout!

Midnight clangs from all the Citysteeples; one precious hour has been spent so; most mortals are asleep.

The Glasscoachman waits; and what mood! A brother jarvie drives up, enters into conversation; is answered

cheerfully in jarvie dialect: the brothers of the whip exchange a pinch of snuff; (Weber, ii. 3402; Choiseul,

p. 4456.) decline drinking together; and part with good night. Be the Heavens blest! here at length is the

Queenlady, in gypsyhat; safe after perils; who has had to inquire her way. She too is admitted; her Courier

jumps aloft, as the other, who is also a disguised Bodyguard, has done: and now, O Glasscoachman of a

Dust shall not stick to the hoofs of Fersen: crack! crack! the Glasscoach rattles, and every soul breathes

lighter. But is Fersen on the right road? Northeastward, to the Barrier of SaintMartin and Metz Highway,

thither were we bound: and lo, he drives right Northward! The royal Individual, in round hat and peruke, sits

astonished; but right or wrong, there is no remedy. Crack, crack, we go incessant, through the slumbering

City. Seldom, since Paris rose out of mud, or the Longhaired Kings went in Bullockcarts, was there such a

drive. Mortals on each hand of you, close by, stretched out horizontal, dormant; and we alive and quaking!

Crack, crack, through the Rue de Grammont; across the Boulevard; up the Rue de la Chaussee

d'Antin,these windows, all silent, of Number 42, were Mirabeau's. Towards the Barrier not of

SaintMartin, but of Clichy on the utmost North! Patience, ye royal Individuals; Fersen understands what he

is about. Passing up the Rue de Clichy, he alights for one moment at Madame Sullivan's: "Did Count Fersen's

Coachman get the Baroness de Korff's new Berline?""Gone with it an hourandhalf ago," grumbles

responsive the drowsy Porter."C'est bien." Yes, it is well;though had not such hourand half been lost,

it were still better. Forth therefore, O Fersen, fast, by the Barrier de Clichy; then Eastward along the Outward

Thus Fersen drives, through the ambrosial night. Sleeping Paris is now all on the right hand of him; silent

except for some snoring hum; and now he is Eastward as far as the Barrier de SaintMartin; looking earnestly

for Baroness de Korff's Berline. This Heaven's Berline he at length does descry, drawn up with its six horses,

his own German Coachman waiting on the box. Right, thou good German: now haste, whither thou

knowest!And as for us of the Glasscoach, haste too, O haste; much time is already lost! The august

Glasscoach fare, six Insides, hastily packs itself into the new Berline; two Bodyguard Couriers behind. The

Glasscoach itself is turned adrift, its head towards the City; to wander whither it lists,and be found next

morning tumbled in a ditch. But Fersen is on the new box, with its brave new hammercloths; flourishing his

whip; he bolts forward towards Bondy. There a third and final Bodyguard Courier of ours ought surely to be,

with posthorses readyordered. There likewise ought that purchased Chaise, with the two Waitingmaids

and their bandboxes to be; whom also her Majesty could not travel without. Swift, thou deft Fersen, and may

Once more, by Heaven's blessing, it is all well. Here is the sleeping Hamlet of Bondy; Chaise with

Waitingwomen; horses all ready, and postillions with their churnboots, impatient in the dewy dawn. Brief

harnessing done, the postillions with their churnboots vault into the saddles; brandish circularly their little

noisy whips. Fersen, under his jarviesurtout, bends in lowly silent reverence of adieu; royal hands wave

speechless in expressible response; Baroness de Korff's Berline, with the Royalty of France, bounds off: for

ever, as it proved. Deft Fersen dashes obliquely Northward, through the country, towards Bougret; gains

Bougret, finds his German Coachman and chariot waiting there; cracks off, and drives undiscovered into

unknown space. A deft active man, we say; what he undertook to do is nimbly and successfully done.

A so the Royalty of France is actually fled? This precious night, the shortest of the year, it flies and drives!

Baroness de Korff is, at bottom, Dame de Tourzel, Governess of the Royal Children: she who came hooded

with the two hooded little ones; little Dauphin; little Madame Royale, known long afterwards as Duchess

d'Angouleme. Baroness de Korff's Waitingmaid is the Queen in gypsyhat. The royal Individual in round

hat and peruke, he is Valet, for the time being. That other hooded Dame, styled Travellingcompanion, is

kind Sister Elizabeth; she had sworn, long since, when the Insurrection of Women was, that only death

should part her and them. And so they rush there, not too impetuously, through the Wood of Bondy:over a

Great; though the future is all vague! If we reach Bouille? If we do not reach him? O Louis! and this all round

thee is the great slumbering Earth (and overhead, the great watchful Heaven); the slumbering Wood of

Bondy, where Longhaired Childeric Donothing was struck through with iron; (Henault, Abrege

Chronologique, p. 36.) not unreasonably. These peaked stonetowers are Raincy; towers of wicked d'Orleans.

All slumbers save the multiplex rustle of our new Berline. Looseskirted scarecrow of an Herb merchant,

with his ass and early greens, toilsomely plodding, seems the only creature we meet. But right ahead the great

NorthEast sends up evermore his gray brindled dawn: from dewy branch, birds here and there, with short

deep warble, salute the coming Sun. Stars fade out, and Galaxies; Streetlamps of the City of God. The

Universe, O my brothers, is flinging wide its portals for the Levee of the GREAT HIGH KING. Thou, poor

King Louis, farest nevertheless, as mortals do, towards Orient lands of Hope; and the Tuileries with its

Levees, and France and the Earth itself, is but a larger kind of doghutch,occasionally going rabid.

But in Paris, at six in the morning; when some Patriot Deputy, warned by a billet, awoke Lafayette, and they

went to the Tuileries?Imagination may paint, but words cannot, the surprise of Lafayette; or with what

bewilderment helpless Gouvion rolled glassy Argus's eyes, discerning now that his false Chambermaid told

However, it is to be recorded that Paris, thanks to an august National Assembly, did, on this seeming

doomsday, surpass itself. Never, according to Historian eyewitnesses, was there seen such an 'imposing

attitude.' (Deux Amis, vi. 67178; Toulongeon, ii. 138; Camille, Prudhomme and Editors (in Hist. Parl. x.

2404.) Sections all 'in permanence;' our Townhall, too, having first, about ten o'clock, fired three solemn

alarm cannons: above all, our National Assembly! National Assembly, likewise permanent, decides what is

needful; with unanimous consent, for the Cote Droit sits dumb, afraid of the Lanterne. Decides with a calm

promptitude, which rises towards the sublime. One must needs vote, for the thing is selfevident, that his

Majesty has been abducted, or spirited away, 'enleve,' by some person or persons unknown: in which case,

what will the Constitution have us do? Let us return to first principles, as we always say; "revenons aux

By first or by second principles, much is promptly decided: Ministers are sent for, instructed how to continue

their functions; Lafayette is examined; and Gouvion, who gives a most helpless account, the best he can.

Letters are found written: one Letter, of immense magnitude; all in his Majesty's hand, and evidently of his

Majesty's own composition; addressed to the National Assembly. It details, with earnestness, with a childlike

simplicity, what woes his Majesty has suffered. Woes great and small: A Necker seen applauded, a Majesty

not; then insurrection; want of due cash in Civil List; general want of cash, furniture and order; anarchy

everywhere; Deficit never yet, in the smallest, 'choked or comble:' wherefore in brief His Majesty has

retired towards a Place of Liberty; and, leaving Sanctions, Federation, and what Oaths there may be, to shift

for themselves, does now referto what, thinks an august Assembly? To that 'Declaration of the

Twentythird of June,' with its "Seul il fera, He alone will make his People happy." As if that were not

buried, deep enough, under two irrevocable Twelvemonths, and the wreck and rubbish of a whole Feudal

World! This strange autograph Letter the National Assembly decides on printing; on transmitting to the

Eightythree Departments, with exegetic commentary, short but pithy. Commissioners also shall go forth on

all sides; the People be exhorted; the Armies be increased; care taken that the Commonweal suffer no

damage.And now, with a sublime air of calmness, nay of indifference, we 'pass to the order of the day!'

By such sublime calmness, the terror of the People is calmed. These gleaming Pike forests, which bristled

fateful in the early sun, disappear again; the farsounding Streetorators cease, or spout milder. We are to

have a civil war; let us have it then. The King is gone; but National Assembly, but France and we remain.

The People also takes a great attitude; the People also is calm; motionless as a couchant lion. With but a few

broolings, some waggings of the tail; to shew what it will do! Cazales, for instance, was beset by

streetgroups, and cries of Lanterne; but National Patrols easily delivered him. Likewise all King's effigies

and statues, at least stucco ones, get abolished. Even King's names; the word Roi fades suddenly out of all

shopsigns; the Royal Bengal Tiger itself, on the Boulevards, becomes the National Bengal one, Tigre

How great is a calm couchant People! On the morrow, men will say to one another: "We have no King, yet

we slept sound enough." On the morrow, fervent Achille de Chatelet, and Thomas Paine the rebellious

Needleman, shall have the walls of Paris profusely plastered with their Placard; announcing that there must

be a Republic! (Dumont,c. 16.)Need we add that Lafayette too, though at first menaced by Pikes, has taken

a great attitude, or indeed the greatest of all? Scouts and Aidesdecamp fly forth, vague, in quest and

Thus Paris; sublimely calmed, in its bereavement. But from the Messageries Royales, in all Mailbags,

radiates forth fardarting the electric news: Our Hereditary Representative is flown. Laugh, black Royalists:

yet be it in your sleeve only; lest Patriotism notice, and waxing frantic, lower the Lanterne! In Paris alone is a

sublime National Assembly with its calmness; truly, other places must take it as they can: with open mouth

and eyes; with panic cackling, with wrath, with conjecture. How each one of those dull leathern Diligences,

with its leathern bag and 'The King is fled,' furrows up smooth France as it goes; through town and hamlet,

ruffles the smooth public mind into quivering agitation of deathterror; then lumbers on, as if nothing had

happened! Along all highways; towards the utmost borders; till all France is ruffled,roughened up

(metaphorically speaking) into one enormous, desperateminded, redguggling Turkey Cock!

For example, it is under cloud of night that the leathern Monster reaches Nantes; deep sunk in sleep. The

word spoken rouses all Patriot men: General Dumouriez, enveloped in roquelaures, has to descend from his

bedroom; finds the street covered with 'four or five thousand citizens in their shirts.' (Dumouriez, Memoires,

ii. 109.) Here and there a faint farthing rushlight, hastily kindled; and so many swartfeatured haggard faces,

with nightcaps pushed back; and the more or less flowing drapery of nightshirt: openmouthed till the

General say his word! And overhead, as always, the Great Bear is turning so quiet round Bootes; steady,

indifferent as the leathern Diligence itself. Take comfort, ye men of Nantes: Bootes and the steady Bear are

turning; ancient Atlantic still sends his brine, loudbillowing, up your Loirestream; brandy shall be hot in

the stomach: this is not the Last of the Days, but one before the Last.The fools! If they knew what was

Perhaps we may say the most terrified man in Paris or France iswho thinks the Reader?seagreen

Robespierre. Double paleness, with the shadow of gibbets and halters, overcasts the seagreen features: it is

too clear to him that there is to be 'a SaintBartholomew of Patriots,' that in four andtwenty hours he will

not be in life. These horrid anticipations of the soul he is heard uttering at Petion's; by a notable witness. By

Madame Roland, namely; her whom we saw, last year, radiant at the Lyons Federation! These four months,

the Rolands have been in Paris; arranging with Assembly Committees the Municipal affairs of Lyons, affairs

all sunk in debt;communing, the while, as was most natural, with the best Patriots to be found here, with

our Brissots, Petions, Buzots, Robespierres; who were wont to come to us, says the fair Hostess, four

evenings in the week. They, running about, busier than ever this day, would fain have comforted the seagreen

man: spake of Achille du Chatelet's Placard; of a Journal to be called The Republican; of preparing men's

minds for a Republic. "A Republic?" said the Seagreen, with one of his dry husky unsportful laughs, "What is

But scouts all this while and aidedecamps, have flown forth faster than the leathern Diligences. Young

Romoeuf, as we said, was off early towards Valenciennes: distracted Villagers seize him, as a traitor with a

finger of his own in the plot; drag him back to the Townhall; to the National Assembly, which speedily grants

a new passport. Nay now, that same scarecrow of an Herbmerchant with his ass has bethought him of the

grand new Berline seen in the Wood of Bondy; and delivered evidence of it: (Moniteur, (in Hist. Parl. x.

244313.) Romoeuf, furnished with new passport, is sent forth with double speed on a hopefuller track; by

Bondy, Claye, and Chalons, towards Metz, to track the new Berline; and gallops a franc etrier.

Miserable new Berline! Why could not Royalty go in some old Berline similar to that of other men? Flying

for life, one does not stickle about his vehicle. Monsieur, in a commonplace travellingcarriage is off

Northwards; Madame, his Princess, in another, with variation of route: they cross one another while changing

horses, without look of recognition; and reach Flanders, no man questioning them. Precisely in the same

manner, beautiful Princess de Lamballe set off, about the same hour; and will reach England safe:would

she had continued there! The beautiful, the good, but the unfortunate; reserved for a frightful end!

All runs along, unmolested, speedy, except only the new Berline. Huge leathern vehicle;huge Argosy, let

us say, or Acapulcoship; with its heavy sternboat of Chaiseandpair; with its three yellow Pilotboats of

mounted Bodyguard Couriers, rocking aimless round it and ahead of it, to bewilder, not to guide! It lumbers

along, lurchingly with stress, at a snail's pace; noted of all the world. The Bodyguard Couriers, in their yellow

liveries, go prancing and clattering; loyal but stupid; unacquainted with all things. Stoppages occur; and

breakages to be repaired at Etoges. King Louis too will dismount, will walk up hills, and enjoy the blessed

sunshine:with eleven horses and double drink money, and all furtherances of Nature and Art, it will be

found that Royalty, flying for life, accomplishes Sixtynine miles in Twentytwo incessant hours. Slow

Royalty! And yet not a minute of these hours but is precious: on minutes hang the destinies of Royalty now.

Readers, therefore, can judge in what humour Duke de Choiseul might stand waiting, in the Village of

PontdeSommevelle, some leagues beyond Chalons, hour after hour, now when the day bends visibly

westward. Choiseul drove out of Paris, in all privity, ten hours before their Majesties' fixed time; his Hussars,

led by Engineer Goguelat, are here duly, come 'to escort a Treasure that is expected:' but, hour after hour, is

no Baroness de Korff's Berline. Indeed, over all that Northeast Region, on the skirts of Champagne and of

Lorraine, where the Great Road runs, the agitation is considerable. For all along, from this

PontdeSommevelle Northeastward as far as Montmedi, at Postvillages and Towns, escorts of Hussars and

Dragoons do lounge waiting: a train or chain of Military Escorts; at the Montmedi end of it our brave Bouille:

an electric thunderchain; which the invisible Bouille, like a Father Jove, holds in his handfor wise

purposes! Brave Bouille has done what man could; has spread out his electric thunderchain of Military

Escorts, onwards to the threshold of Chalons: it waits but for the new Korff Berline; to receive it, escort it,

and, if need be, bear it off in whirlwind of military fire. They lie and lounge there, we say, these fierce

PontdeSommevelle, in all Postvillages; for the route shall avoid Verdun and great Towns: they loiter

Judge what a day this is for brave Bouille: perhaps the first day of a new glorious life; surely the last day of

the old! Also, and indeed still more, what a day, beautiful and terrible, for your young fullblooded Captains:

your Dandoins, Comte de Damas, Duke de Choiseul, Engineer Goguelat, and the like; entrusted with the

secret!Alas, the day bends ever more westward; and no Korff Berline comes to sight. It is four hours

beyond the time, and still no Berline. In all Villagestreets, Royalist Captains go lounging, looking often

Parisward; with face of unconcern, with heart full of black care: rigorous Quartermasters can hardly keep

the private dragoons from cafes and dramshops. (Declaration du Sieur La Gache du Regiment

RoyalDragoons (in Choiseul, pp. 12539.) Dawn on our bewilderment, thou new Berline; dawn on us, thou

It was of His Majesty's ordering, this military array of Escorts: a thing solacing the Royal imagination with a

look of security and rescue; yet, in reality, creating only alarm, and where there was otherwise no danger,

danger without end. For each Patriot, in these Postvillages, asks naturally: This clatter of cavalry, and

marching and lounging of troops, what means it? To escort a Treasure? Why escort, when no Patriot will

steal from the Nation; or where is your Treasure?There has been such marching and countermarching: for

it is another fatality, that certain of these Military Escorts came out so early as yesterday; the Nineteenth not

the Twentieth of the month being the day first appointed, which her Majesty, for some necessity or other, saw

good to alter. And now consider the suspicious nature of Patriotism; suspicious, above all, of Bouille the

Aristocrat; and how the sour doubting humour has had leave to accumulate and exacerbate for

At PontdeSommevelle, these Forty foreign Hussars of Goguelat and Duke Choiseul are becoming an

unspeakable mystery to all men. They lounged long enough, already, at SainteMenehould; lounged and

loitered till our National Volunteers there, all risen into hot wrath of doubt, 'demanded three hundred fusils of

their Townhall,' and got them. At which same moment too, as it chanced, our Captain Dandoins was just

coming in, from Clermont with his troop, at the other end of the Village. A fresh troop; alarming enough;

though happily they are only Dragoons and French! So that Goguelat with his Hussars had to ride, and even

to do it fast; till here at PontdeSommevelle, where Choiseul lay waiting, he found restingplace.

Restingplace, as on burning marle. For the rumour of him flies abroad; and men run to and fro in fright and

anger: Chalons sends forth exploratory pickets, coming from SainteMenehould, on that. What is it, ye

whiskered Hussars, men of foreign guttural speech; in the name of Heaven, what is it that brings you? A

Treasure?exploratory pickets shake their heads. The hungry Peasants, however, know too well what

Treasure it is: Military seizure for rents, feudalities; which no Bailiff could make us pay! This they

know;and set to jingling their Parishbell by way of tocsin; with rapid effect! Choiseul and Goguelat, if

the whole country is not to take fire, must needs, be there Berline, be there no Berline, saddle and ride.

They mount; and this Parish tocsin happily ceases. They ride slowly Eastward, towards SainteMenehould;

still hoping the SunChariot of a Berline may overtake them. Ah me, no Berline! And near now is that

SainteMenehould, which expelled us in the morning, with its 'three hundred National fusils;' which looks,

belike, not too lovingly on Captain Dandoins and his fresh Dragoons, though only French;which, in a

word, one dare not enter the second time, under pain of explosion! With rather heavy heart, our Hussar Party

strikes off to the left; through byways, through pathless hills and woods, they, avoiding SainteMenehould

and all places which have seen them heretofore, will make direct for the distant Village of Varennes. It is

This first military post, therefore, in the long thunderchain, has gone off with no effect; or with worse, and

your chain threatens to entangle itself!The Great Road, however, is got hushed again into a kind of

quietude, though one of the wakefullest. Indolent Dragoons cannot, by any Quartermaster, be kept altogether

from the dramshop; where Patriots drink, and will even treat, eager enough for news. Captains, in a state near

distraction, beat the dusky highway, with a face of indifference; and no SunChariot appears. Why lingers it?

Incredible, that with eleven horses and such yellow Couriers and furtherances, its rate should be under the

weightiest drayrate, some three miles an hour! Alas, one knows not whether it ever even got out of

Paris;and yet also one knows not whether, this very moment, it is not at the Villageend! One's heart

In this manner, however, has the Day bent downwards. Wearied mortals are creeping home from their

fieldlabour; the villageartisan eats with relish his supper of herbs, or has strolled forth to the villagestreet

for a sweet mouthful of air and human news. Still summereventide everywhere! The great Sun hangs

flaming on the utmost NorthWest; for it is his longest day this year. The hilltops rejoicing will ere long be

at their ruddiest, and blush Goodnight. The thrush, in green dells, on longshadowed leafy spray, pours

gushing his glad serenade, to the babble of brooks grown audibler; silence is stealing over the Earth. Your

dusty Mill of Valmy, as all other mills and drudgeries, may furl its canvass, and cease swashing and circling.

The swenkt grinders in this Treadmill of an Earth have ground out another Day; and lounge there, as we say,

in villagegroups; movable, or ranked on social stoneseats; (Rapport de M. Remy (in Choiseul, p. 143.)

their children, mischievous imps, sporting about their feet. Unnotable hum of sweet human gossip rises from

this Village of Sainte Menehould, as from all other villages. Gossip mostly sweet, unnotable; for the very

Dragoons are French and gallant; nor as yet has the Parisand Verdun Diligence, with its leathern bag,

One figure nevertheless we do note at the last door of the Village: that figure in looseflowing nightgown, of

Jean Baptiste Drouet, Master of the Post here. An acrid choleric man, rather dangerouslooking; still in the

prime of life, though he has served, in his time as a Conde Dragoon. This day from an early hour, Drouet got

his choler stirred, and has been kept fretting. Hussar Goguelat in the morning saw good, by way of thrift, to

bargain with his own Innkeeper, not with Drouet regular Maitre de Poste, about some gighorse for the

sending back of his gig; which thing Drouet perceiving came over in red ire, menacing the Innkeeper, and

would not be appeased. Wholly an unsatisfactory day. For Drouet is an acrid Patriot too, was at the Paris

Feast of Pikes: and what do these Bouille Soldiers mean? Hussars, with their gig, and a vengeance to

it!have hardly been thrust out, when Dandoins and his fresh Dragoons arrive from Clermont, and stroll.

For what purpose? Choleric Drouet steps out and steps in, with longflowing nightgown; looking abroad,

On the other hand, mark Captain Dandoins on the street of that same Village; sauntering with a face of

indifference, a heart eaten of black care! For no Korff Berline makes its appearance. The great Sun flames

broader towards setting: one's heart flutters on the verge of dread unutterabilities.

By Heaven! Here is the yellow Bodyguard Courier; spurring fast, in the ruddy evening light! Steady, O

Dandoins, stand with inscrutable indifferent face; though the yellow blockhead spurs past the Posthouse;

inquires to find it; and stirs the Village, all delighted with his fine livery.Lumbering along with its

mountains of bandboxes, and Chaise behind, the Korff Berline rolls in; huge Acapulcoship with its

Cockboat, having got thus far. The eyes of the Villagers look enlightened, as such eyes do when a

coachtransit, which is an event, occurs for them. Strolling Dragoons respectfully, so fine are the yellow

liveries, bring hand to helmet; and a lady in gipsyhat responds with a grace peculiar to her. (Declaration de

la Gache (in Choiseul ubi supra.) Dandoins stands with folded arms, and what look of indifference and

disdainful garrisonair a man can, while the heart is like leaping out of him. Curled disdainful moustachio;

careless glance,which however surveys the Villagegroups, and does not like them. With his eye he

bespeaks the yellow Courier. Be quick, be quick! Thickheaded Yellow cannot understand the eye; comes up

Nor is Postmaster Drouet unobservant, all this while; but steps out and steps in, with his longflowing

nightgown, in the level sunlight; prying into several things. When a man's faculties, at the right time, are

sharpened by choler, it may lead to much. That Lady in slouched gypsyhat, though sitting back in the

Carriage, does she not resemble some one we have seen, some time;at the Feast of Pikes, or elsewhere?

And this Grosse Tete in round hat and peruke, which, looking rearward, pokes itself out from time to time,

methinks there are features in it? Quick, Sieur Guillaume, Clerk of the Directoire, bring me a new

Assignat! Drouet scans the new Assignat; compares the Papermoney Picture with the GrossHead in round

hat there: by Day and Night! you might say the one was an attempted Engraving of the other. And this march

Drouet Postmaster of this Village, hot Patriot, Old Dragoon of Conde, consider, therefore, what thou wilt

do. And fast: for behold the new Berline, expeditiously yoked, cracks whipcord, and rolls away!Drouet

dare not, on the spur of the instant, clutch the bridles in his own two hands; Dandoins, with broadsword,

might hew you off. Our poor Nationals, not one of them here, have three hundred fusils but then no powder;

besides one is not sure, only morallycertain. Drouet, as an adroit OldDragoon of Conde does what is

advisablest: privily bespeaks Clerk Guillaume, OldDragoon of Conde he too; privily, while Clerk

Guillaume is saddling two of the fleetest horses, slips over to the Townhall to whisper a word; then mounts

with Clerk Guillaume; and the two bound eastward in pursuit, to see what can be done.

They bound eastward, in sharp trot; their moralcertainty permeating the Village, from the Townhall

outwards, in busy whispers. Alas! Captain Dandoins orders his Dragoons to mount; but they, complaining of

long fast, demand breadandcheese first;before which brief repast can be eaten, the whole Village is

permeated; not whispering now, but blustering and shrieking! National Volunteers, in hurried muster, shriek

for gunpowder; Dragoons halt between Patriotism and Rule of the Service, between bread and cheese and

fixed bayonets: Dandoins hands secretly his Pocketbook, with its secret despatches, to the rigorous

Quartermaster: the very Ostlers have stableforks and flails. The rigorous Quartermaster, halfsaddled, cuts

out his way with the sword's edge, amid levelled bayonets, amid Patriot vociferations, adjurations,

flailstrokes; and rides frantic; (Declaration de La Gache (in Choiseul), p. 134.)few or even none

And thus the new Berline rolls; and Drouet and Guillaume gallop after it, and Dandoins's Troopers or

Trooper gallops after them; and Sainte Menehould, with some leagues of the King's Highway, is in

explosion;and your Military thunderchain has gone off in a selfdestructive manner; one may fear with

This comes of mysterious Escorts, and a new Berline with eleven horses: 'he that has a secret should not only

hide it, but hide that he has it to hide.' Your first Military Escort has exploded selfdestructive; and all

Military Escorts, and a suspicious Country will now be up, explosive; comparable not to victorious thunder.

Comparable, say rather, to the first stirring of an Alpine Avalanche; which, once stir it, as here at Sainte

Menehould, will spread,all round, and on and on, as far as Stenai; thundering with wild ruin, till Patriot

Villagers, Peasantry, Military Escorts, new Berline and Royalty are down,jumbling in the Abyss!

The thick shades of Night are falling. Postillions crack the whip: the Royal Berline is through Clermont,

where Colonel Comte de Damas got a word whispered to it; is safe through, towards Varennes; rushing at the

rate of double drinkmoney: an Unknown 'Inconnu on horseback' shrieks earnestly some hoarse whisper, not

audible, into the rushing Carriagewindow, and vanishes, left in the night. (Campan, ii. 159.) August

Travellers palpitate; nevertheless overwearied Nature sinks every one of them into a kind of sleep. Alas, and

Drouet and Clerk Guillaume spur; taking side roads, for shortness, for safety; scattering abroad that

And your rigorous Quartermaster spurs; awakening hoarse trumpettone, as here at Clermont, calling out

Dragoons gone to bed. Brave Colonel de Damas has them mounted, in part, these Clermont men; young

Cornet Remy dashes off with a few. But the Patriot Magistracy is out here at Clermont too; National Guards

shrieking for ballcartridges; and the Village 'illuminates itself;'deft Patriots springing out of bed; alertly,

in shirt or shift, striking a light; sticking up each his farthing candle, or penurious oil cruise, till all glitters

and glimmers; so deft are they! A camisado, or shirttumult, every where: stormbell set aringing;

villagedrum beating furious generale, as here at Clermont, under illumination; distracted Patriots pleading

and menacing! Brave young Colonel de Damas, in that uproar of distracted Patriotism, speaks some

firesentences to what Troopers he has: "Comrades insulted at SainteMenehould; King and Country calling

on the brave;" then gives the fireword, Draw swords. Whereupon, alas, the Troopers only smite their

swordhandles, driving them further home! "To me, whoever is for the King!" cries Damas in despair; and

gallops, he with some poor loyal Two, of the subaltern sort, into the bosom of the Night. (Procesverbal du

Night unexampled in the Clermontais; shortest of the year; remarkablest of the century: Night deserving to be

named of Spurs! Cornet Remy, and those Few he dashed off with, has missed his road; is galloping for hours

towards Verdun; then, for hours, across hedged country, through roused hamlets, towards Varennes. Unlucky

Cornet Remy; unluckier Colonel Damas, with whom there ride desperate only some loyal Two! More ride not

of that Clermont Escort: of other Escorts, in other Villages, not even Two may ride; but only all curvet and

And Drouet rides and Clerk Guillaume; and the Country runs.Goguelat and Duke Choiseul are plunging

through morasses, over cliffs, over stock and stone, in the shaggy woods of the Clermontais; by tracks; or

trackless, with guides; Hussars tumbling into pitfalls, and lying 'swooned three quarters of an hour,' the rest

refusing to march without them. What an eveningride from PontdeSommerville; what a thirty hours,

since Choiseul quitted Paris, with Queen'svalet Leonard in the chaise by him! Black Care sits behind the

rider. Thus go they plunging; rustle the owlet from his branchy nest; champ the sweetscented forestherb,

queenofthemeadows spilling her spikenard; and frighten the ear of Night. But hark! towards twelve

o'clock, as one guesses, for the very stars are gone out: sound of the tocsin from Varennes? Checking bridle,

the Hussar Officer listens: "Some fire undoubtedly!"yet rides on, with double breathlessness, to verify.

Yes, gallant friends that do your utmost, it is a certain sort of fire: difficult to quench.The Korff Berline,

fairly ahead of all this riding Avalanche, reached the little paltry Village of Varennes about eleven o'clock;

hopeful, in spite of that horsewhispering Unknown. Do not all towns now lie behind us; Verdun avoided, on

our right? Within wind of Bouille himself, in a manner; and the darkest of midsummer nights favouring us!

And so we halt on the hilltop at the South end of the Village; expecting our relay; which young Bouille,

Bouille's own son, with his Escort of Hussars, was to have ready; for in this Village is no Post. Distracting to

think of: neither horse nor Hussar is here! Ah, and stout horses, a proper relay belonging to Duke Choiseul,

do stand at hay, but in the Upper Village over the Bridge; and we know not of them. Hussars likewise do

wait, but drinking in the taverns. For indeed it is six hours beyond the time; young Bouille, silly stripling,

thinking the matter over for this night, has retired to bed. And so our yellow Couriers, inexperienced, must

rove, groping, bungling, through a Village mostly asleep: Postillions will not, for any money, go on with the

tired horses; not at least without refreshment; not they, let the Valet in round hat argue as he likes.

Miserable! 'For fiveandthirty minutes' by the King's watch, the Berline is at a dead stand; Roundhat

arguing with Churnboots; tired horses slobbering their mealandwater; yellow Couriers groping,

bungling;young Bouille asleep, all the while, in the Upper Village, and Choiseul's fine team standing there

at hay. No help for it; not with a King's ransom: the horses deliberately slobber, Roundhat argues, Bouille

sleeps. And mark now, in the thick night, do not two Horsemen, with jaded trot, come clank clanking; and

start with halfpause, if one noticed them, at sight of this dim mass of a Berline, and its dull slobbering and

arguing; then prick off faster, into the Village? It is Drouet, he and Clerk Guillaume! Still ahead, they two, of

the whole riding hurlyburly; unshot, though some brag of having chased them. Perilous is Drouet's errand

The Village of Varennes lies dark and slumberous; a most unlevel Village, of inverse saddleshape, as men

write. It sleeps; the rushing of the River Aire singing lullaby to it. Nevertheless from the Golden Arms, Bras

d'Or Tavern, across that sloping marketplace, there still comes shine of social light; comes voice of rude

drovers, or the like, who have not yet taken the stirrupcup; Boniface Le Blanc, in white apron, serving them:

cheerful to behold. To this Bras d'Or, Drouet enters, alacrity looking through his eyes: he nudges Boniface, in

all privacy, "Camarade, es tu bon Patriote, Art thou a good Patriot?""Si je suis!" answers Boniface."In

that case," eagerly whispers Drouetwhat whisper is needful, heard of Boniface alone. (Deux Amis, vi.

And now see Boniface Le Blanc bustling, as he never did for the jolliest toper. See Drouet and Guillaume,

dexterous OldDragoons, instantly down blocking the Bridge, with a 'furniture waggon they find there,' with

whatever waggons, tumbrils, barrels, barrows their hands can lay hold of; till no carriage can pass. Then

swiftly, the Bridge once blocked, see them take station hard by, under Varennes Archway: joined by Le

Blanc, Le Blanc's Brother, and one or two alert Patriots he has roused. Some half dozen in all, with National

Muskets, they stand close, waiting under the Archway, till that same Korff Berline rumble up.

It rumbles up: Alte la! lanterns flash out from under coatskirts, bridles chuck in strong fists, two National

Muskets level themselves fore and aft through the two Coachdoors: "Mesdames, your Passports?"Alas!

Alas! Sieur Sausse, Procureur of the Township, Tallowchandler also and Grocer is there, with official

grocerpoliteness; Drouet with fierce logic and ready wit:The respected Travelling Party, be it Baroness

de Korff's, or persons of still higher consequence, will perhaps please to rest itself in M. Sausse's till the dawn

O Louis; O hapless MarieAntoinette, fated to pass thy life with such men! Phlegmatic Louis, art thou but

lazy semianimate phlegm then, to the centre of thee? King, CaptainGeneral, Sovereign Frank! If thy heart

ever formed, since it began beating under the name of heart, any resolution at all, be it now then, or never in

this world: "Violent nocturnal individuals, and if it were persons of high consequence? And if it were the

King himself? Has the King not the power, which all beggars have, of travelling unmolested on his own

Highway? Yes: it is the King; and tremble ye to know it! The King has said, in this one small matter; and in

France, or under God's Throne, is no power that shall gainsay. Not the King shall ye stop here under this your

miserable Archway; but his dead body only, and answer it to Heaven and Earth. To me, Bodyguards:

Postillions, en avant!"One fancies in that case the pale paralysis of these two Le Blanc musketeers; the

drooping of Drouet's underjaw; and how Procureur Sausse had melted like tallow in furnaceheat: Louis

faring on; in some few steps awakening Young Bouille, awakening relays and hussars: triumphant entry, with

cavalcading highbrandishing Escort, and Escorts, into Montmedi; and the whole course of French History

Alas, it was not in the poor phlegmatic man. Had it been in him, French History had never come under this

Varennes Archway to decide itself.He steps out; all step out. Procureur Sausse gives his grocerarms to

the Queen and Sister Elizabeth; Majesty taking the two children by the hand. And thus they walk, coolly

back, over the Marketplace, to Procureur Sausse's; mount into his small upper story; where straightway his

Majesty 'demands refreshments.' Demands refreshments, as is written; gets bread andcheese with a bottle

Meanwhile, the Varennes Notables, and all men, official, and nonofficial, are hastily drawing on their

breeches; getting their fightinggear. Mortals halfdressed tumble out barrels, lay felled trees; scouts dart off

to all the four winds,the tocsin begins clanging, 'the Village illuminates itself.' Very singular: how these

little Villages do manage, so adroit are they, when startled in midnight alarm of war. Like little adroit

municipal rattlesnakes, suddenly awakened: for their stormbell rattles and rings; their eyes glisten luminous

(with tallowlight), as in rattlesnake ire; and the Village will sting! OldDragoon Drouet is our engineer

and generalissimo; valiant as a Ruy Diaz:Now or never, ye Patriots, for the Soldiery is coming; massacre

by Austrians, by Aristocrats, wars more than civil, it all depends on you and the hour! National Guards

rank themselves, halfbuttoned: mortals, we say, still only in breeches, in underpetticoat, tumble out barrels

and lumber, lay felled trees for barricades: the Village will sting. Rabid Democracy, it would seem, is not

confined to Paris, then? Ah no, whatsoever Courtiers might talk; too clearly no. This of dying for one's King

And so our riding and running Avalanche and Hurlyburly has reached the Abyss, Korff Berline foremost; and

may pour itself thither, and jumble: endless! For the next six hours, need we ask if there was a clattering far

and wide? Clattering and tocsining and hot tumult, over all the Clermontais, spreading through the Three

Bishopricks: Dragoon and Hussar Troops galloping on roads and noroads; National Guards arming and

starting in the dead of night; tocsin after tocsin transmitting the alarm. In some forty minutes, Goguelat and

Choiseul, with their wearied Hussars, reach Varennes. Ah, it is no fire then; or a fire difficult to quench! They

leap the treebarricades, in spite of National serjeant; they enter the village, Choiseul instructing his Troopers

how the matter really is; who respond interjectionally, in their guttural dialect, "Der Konig; die Koniginn!"

and seem stanch. These now, in their stanch humour, will, for one thing, beset Procureur Sausse's house.

Most beneficial: had not Drouet stormfully ordered otherwise; and even bellowed, in his extremity,

"Cannoneers to your guns!"two old honeycombed Fieldpieces, empty of all but cobwebs; the rattle

whereof, as the Cannoneers with assured countenance trundled them up, did nevertheless abate the Hussar

ardour, and produce a respectfuller ranking further back. Jugs of wine, handed over the ranks, for the German

throat too has sensibility, will complete the business. When Engineer Goguelat, some hour or so afterwards,

What boots it? Goguelat, Choiseul, now also Count Damas, and all the Varennes Officiality are with the

King; and the King can give no order, form no opinion; but sits there, as he has ever done, like clay on

potter's wheel; perhaps the absurdest of all pitiable and pardonable clayfigures that now circle under the

Moon. He will go on, next morning, and take the National Guard with him; Sausse permitting! Hapless

Queen: with her two children laid there on the mean bed, old Mother Sausse kneeling to Heaven, with tears

and an audible prayer, to bless them; imperial MarieAntoinette near kneeling to Son Sausse and Wife

Sausse, amid candleboxes and treacle barrels,in vain! There are Threethousand National Guards got

in; before long they will count Tenthousand; tocsins spreading like fire on dry heath, or far faster.

Young Bouille, roused by this Varennes tocsin, has taken horse, andfled towards his Father. Thitherward

also rides, in an almost hysterically desperate manner, a certain Sieur Aubriot, Choiseul's Orderly; swimming

dark rivers, our Bridge being blocked; spurring as if the Hellhunt were at his heels. (Rapport de M. Aubriot

(Choiseul, p. 1507.) Through the village of Dun, he, galloping still on, scatters the alarm; at Dun, brave

Captain Deslons and his Escort of a Hundred, saddle and ride. Deslons too gets into Varennes; leaving his

Hundred outside, at the treebarricade; offers to cut King Louis out, if he will order it: but unfortunately "the

work will prove hot;" whereupon King Louis has "no orders to give." (Extrait d'un Rapport de M. Deslons

And so the tocsin clangs, and Dragoons gallop; and can do nothing, having gallopped: National Guards

stream in like the gathering of ravens: your exploding Thunderchain, falling Avalanche, or what else we

liken it to, does play, with a vengeance,up now as far as Stenai and Bouille himself. (Bouille, ii. 746.)

Brave Bouille, son of the whirlwind, he saddles Royal Allemand; speaks firewords, kindling heart and eyes;

distributes twenty five goldlouis a company:Ride, RoyalAllemand, longfamed: no Tuileries Charge

and NeckerOrleans BustProcession; a very King made captive, and world all to win!Such is the Night

At six o'clock two things have happened. Lafayette's Aidedecamp, Romoeuf, riding a franc etrier, on that

old Herbmerchant's route, quickened during the last stages, has got to Varennes; where the Ten thousand

now furiously demand, with fury of panic terror, that Royalty shall forthwith return Parisward, that there be

not infinite bloodshed. Also, on the other side, 'English Tom,' Choiseul's jokei, flying with that Choiseul

relay, has met Bouille on the heights of Dun; the adamantine brow flushed with dark thunder; thunderous

rattle of Royal Allemand at his heels. English Tom answers as he can the brief question, How it is at

Varennes?then asks in turn what he, English Tom, with M. de Choiseul's horses, is to do, and whither to

ride?To the Bottomless Pool! answers a thundervoice; then again speaking and spurring, orders Royal

Allemand to the gallop; and vanishes, swearing (en jurant). (Declaration du Sieur Thomas (in Choiseul, p.

188).) 'Tis the last of our brave Bouille. Within sight of Varennes, he having drawn bridle, calls a council of

officers; finds that it is in vain. King Louis has departed, consenting: amid the clangour of universal

stormbell; amid the tramp of Ten thousand armed men, already arrived; and say, of Sixty thousand flocking

thither. Brave Deslons, even without 'orders,' darted at the River Aire with his Hundred! (Weber, ii. 386.)

swam one branch of it, could not the other; and stood there, dripping and panting, with inflated nostril; the

Ten thousand answering him with a shout of mockery, the new Berline lumbering Parisward its weary

inevitable way. No help, then in Earth; nor in an age, not of miracles, in Heaven!

That night, 'Marquis de Bouille and twentyone more of us rode over the Frontiers; the Bernardine monks at

Orval in Luxemburg gave us supper and lodging.' (Aubriot, ut supra, p. 158.) With little of speech, Bouille

rides; with thoughts that do not brook speech. Northward, towards uncertainty, and the Cimmerian Night:

towards WestIndian Isles, for with thin Emigrant delirium the son of the whirlwind cannot act; towards

England, towards premature Stoical death; not towards France any more. Honour to the Brave; who, be it in

this quarrel or in that, is a substance and articulatespeaking piece of Human Valour, not a fanfaronading

hollow Spectrum and squeaking and gibbering Shadow! One of the few Royalist Chiefactors this Bouille, of

The brave Bouille too, then, vanishes from the tissue of our Story. Story and tissue, faint ineffectual Emblem

of that grand Miraculous Tissue, and Living Tapestry named French Revolution, which did weave itself then

in very fact, 'on the loudsounding 'LOOM OF TIME!' The old Brave drop out from it, with their strivings;

and new acrid Drouets, of new strivings and colour, come in:as is the manner of that weaving.

So then our grand Royalist Plot, of Flight to Metz, has executed itself. Long hovering in the background, as a

dread royal ultimatum, it has rushed forward in its terrors: verily to some purpose. How many Royalist Plots

and Projects, one after another, cunninglydevised, that were to explode like powdermines and

thunderclaps; not one solitary Plot of which has issued otherwise! Powdermine of a Seance Royale on the

Twentythird of June 1789, which exploded as we then said, 'through the touchhole;' which next, your

wargod Broglie having reloaded it, brought a Bastille about your ears. Then came fervent OperaRepast, with

flourishing of sabres, and O Richard, O my King; which, aided by Hunger, produces Insurrection of Women,

and Pallas Athene in the shape of Demoiselle Theroigne. Valour profits not; neither has fortune smiled on

Fanfaronade. The Bouille Armament ends as the Broglie one had done. Man after man spends himself in this

cause, only to work it quicker ruin; it seems a cause doomed, forsaken of Earth and Heaven.

On the Sixth of October gone a year, King Louis, escorted by Demoiselle Theroigne and some two hundred

thousand, made a Royal Progress and Entrance into Paris, such as man had never witnessed: we prophesied

him Two more such; and accordingly another of them, after this Flight to Metz, is now coming to pass.

Theroigne will not escort here, neither does Mirabeau now 'sit in one of the accompanying carriages.'

Mirabeau lies dead, in the Pantheon of Great Men. Theroigne lies living, in dark Austrian Prison; having

gone to Liege, professionally, and been seized there. Bemurmured now by the hoarseflowing Danube; the

light of her Patriot SupperParties gone quite out; so lies Theroigne: she shall speak with the Kaiser face to

face, and return. And France lies how! Fleeting Time shears down the great and the little; and in two years

But at all events, here, we say, is a second Ignominious Royal Procession, though much altered; to be

witnessed also by its hundreds of thousands. Patience, ye Paris Patriots; the Royal Berline is returning. Not

till Saturday: for the Royal Berline travels by slow stages; amid such loud voiced confluent sea of National

Guards, sixty thousand as they count; amid such tumult of all people. Three NationalAssembly

Commissioners, famed Barnave, famed Petion, generallyrespectable LatourMaubourg, have gone to meet

it; of whom the two former ride in the Berline itself beside Majesty, day after day. Latour, as a mere

respectability, and man of whom all men speak well, can ride in the rear, with Dame Tourzel and the

So on Saturday evening, about seven o'clock, Paris by hundreds of thousands is again drawn up: not now

dancing the tricolor joydance of hope; nor as yet dancing in furydance of hate and revenge; but in silence,

with vague look of conjecture and curiosity mostly scientific. A SainteAntoine Placard has given notice this

morning that 'whosoever insults Louis shall be caned, whosoever applauds him shall be hanged.' Behold then,

at last, that wonderful New Berline; encircled by blue National sea with fixed bayonets, which flows slowly,

floating it on, through the silent assembled hundreds of thousands. Three yellow Couriers sit atop bound with

ropes; Petion, Barnave, their Majesties, with Sister Elizabeth, and the Children of France, are within.

Smile of embarrassment, or cloud of dull sourness, is on the broad phlegmatic face of his Majesty: who keeps

declaring to the successive Officialpersons, what is evident, "Eh bien, me voila, Well, here you have me;"

and what is not evident, "I do assure you I did not mean to pass the frontiers;" and so forth: speeches natural

for that poor Royal man; which Decency would veil. Silent is her Majesty, with a look of grief and scorn;

natural for that Royal Woman. Thus lumbers and creeps the ignominious Royal Procession, through many

streets, amid a silentgazing people: comparable, Mercier thinks, (Nouveau Paris, iii. 22.) to some Procession

de Roi de Bazoche; or say, Procession of King Crispin, with his Dukes of Sutormania and royal blazonry of

Cordwainery. Except indeed that this is not comic; ah no, it is comicotragic; with bound Couriers, and a

Doom hanging over it; most fantastic, yet most miserably real. Miserablest flebile ludibrium of a

Pickleherring Tragedy! It sweeps along there, in most ungorgeous pall, through many streets, in the dusty

summer evening; gets itself at length wriggled out of sight; vanishing in the Tuileries Palacetowards its

Populace, it is true, seizes the three ropebound yellow Couriers; will at least massacre them. But our august

Assembly, which is sitting at this great moment, sends out Deputation of rescue; and the whole is got huddled

up. Barnave, 'all dusty,' is already there, in the National Hall; making brief discreet address and report. As

indeed, through the whole journey, this Barnave has been most discreet, sympathetic; and has gained the

Queen's trust, whose noble instinct teaches her always who is to be trusted. Very different from heavy Petion;

who, if Campan speak truth, ate his luncheon, comfortably filled his wineglass, in the Royal Berline; flung

out his chickenbones past the nose of Royalty itself; and, on the King's saying "France cannot be a

Republic," answered "No, it is not ripe yet." Barnave is henceforth a Queen's adviser, if advice could profit:

and her Majesty astonishes Dame Campan by signifying almost a regard for Barnave: and that, in a day of

retribution and Royal triumph, Barnave shall not be executed. (Campan, ii. c. 18.)

On Monday night Royalty went; on Saturday evening it returns: so much, within one short week, has Royalty

accomplished for itself. The Pickleherring Tragedy has vanished in the Tuileries Palace, towards 'pain strong

and hard.' Watched, fettered, and humbled, as Royalty never was. Watched even in its sleepingapartments

and inmost recesses: for it has to sleep with door set ajar, blue National Argus watching, his eye fixed on the

Queen's curtains; nay, on one occasion, as the Queen cannot sleep, he offers to sit by her pillow, and converse

In regard to all which, this most pressing question arises: What is to be done with it? "Depose it!" resolutely

answer Robespierre and the thoroughgoing few. For truly, with a King who runs away, and needs to be

watched in his very bedroom that he may stay and govern you, what other reasonable thing can be done? Had

Philippe d'Orleans not been a caput mortuum! But of him, known as one defunct, no man now dreams.

"Depose it not; say that it is inviolable, that it was spirited away, was enleve; at any cost of sophistry and

solecism, reestablish it!" so answer with loud vehemence all manner of Constitutional Royalists; as all your

Pure Royalists do naturally likewise, with low vehemence, and rage compressed by fear, still more

passionately answer. Nay Barnave and the two Lameths, and what will follow them, do likewise answer so.

Answer, with their whole might: terrorstruck at the unknown Abysses on the verge of which, driven thither

By mighty effort and combination this latter course, of reestablish it, is the course fixed on; and it shall by the

strong arm, if not by the clearest logic, be made good. With the sacrifice of all their hardearned popularity,

this notable Triumvirate, says Toulongeon, 'set the Throne up again, which they had so toiled to overturn: as

one might set up an overturned pyramid, on its vertex; to stand so long as it is held.'

Unhappy France; unhappy in King, Queen, and Constitution; one knows not in which unhappiest! Was the

meaning of our so glorious French Revolution this, and no other, That when Shams and Delusions, long

soulkilling, had become bodykilling, and got the length of Bankruptcy and Inanition, a great People rose

and, with one voice, said, in the Name of the Highest: Shams shall be no more? So many sorrows and bloody

horrors, endured, and to be yet endured through dismal coming centuries, were they not the heavy price paid

and payable for this same: Total Destruction of Shams from among men? And now, O Barnave Triumvirate!

is it in such doubledistilled Delusion, and Sham even of a Sham, that an Effort of this kind will rest

acquiescent? Messieurs of the popular Triumvirate: Never! But, after all, what can poor popular Triumvirates

and fallible august Senators do? They can, when the Truth is all toohorrible, stick their heads ostrich like

Readers who saw the Clermontais and ThreeBishopricks gallop, in the Night of Spurs; Diligences ruffling

up all France into one terrific terrified Cock of India; and the Town of Nantes in its shirt,may fancy what

an affair to settle this was. Robespierre, on the extreme Left, with perhaps Petion and lean old Goupil, for the

very Triumvirate has defalcated, are shrieking hoarse; drowned in Constitutional clamour. But the debate and

arguing of a whole Nation; the bellowings through all Journals, for and against; the reverberant voice of

Danton; the Hyperionshafts of Camille; the porcupinequills of implacable Marat:conceive all this.

Constitutionalists in a body, as we often predicted, do now recede from the Mother Society, and become

Feuillans; threatening her with inanition, the rank and respectability being mostly gone. Petition after

Petition, forwarded by Post, or borne in Deputation, comes praying for Judgment and Decheance, which is

our name for Deposition; praying, at lowest, for Reference to the Eightythree Departments of France. Hot

Marseillese Deputation comes declaring, among other things: "Our Phocean Ancestors flung a Bar of Iron

into the Bay at their first landing; this Bar will float again on the Mediterranean brine before we consent to be

slaves." All this for four weeks or more, while the matter still hangs doubtful; Emigration streaming with

double violence over the frontiers; (Bouille, ii. 101.) France seething in fierce agitation of this question and

Finally, on Friday the 15th of July 1791, the National Assembly decides; in what negatory manner we know.

Whereupon the Theatres all close, the Bournestones and Portablechairs begin spouting, Municipal Placards

flaming on the walls, and Proclamations published by sound of trumpet, 'invite to repose;' with small effect.

And so, on Sunday the 17th, there shall be a thing seen, worthy of remembering. Scroll of a Petition, drawn

up by Brissots, Dantons, by Cordeliers, Jacobins; for the thing was infinitely shaken and manipulated, and

many had a hand in it: such Scroll lies now visible, on the wooden framework of the Fatherland's Altar, for

signature. Unworking Paris, male and female, is crowding thither, all day, to sign or to see. Our fair Roland

herself the eye of History can discern there, 'in the morning;' (Madame Roland, ii. 74.) not without interest. In

But, what with sorrow of baulked Patriotism, what with closed theatres, and Proclamations still publishing

themselves by sound of trumpet, the fervour of men's minds, this day, is great. Nay, over and above, there has

fallen out an incident, of the nature of FarceTragedy and Riddle; enough to stimulate all creatures. Early in

the day, a Patriot (or some say, it was a Patriotess, and indeed Truth is undiscoverable), while standing on the

firm dealboard of Fatherland's Altar, feels suddenly, with indescribable torpedoshock of amazement, his

bootsole pricked through from below; he clutches up suddenly this electrified bootsole and foot; discerns next

instantthe point of a gimlet or bradawl playing up, through the firm dealboard, and now hastily drawing

itself back! Mystery, perhaps Treason? The wooden framework is impetuously broken up; and behold,

verily a mystery; never explicable fully to the end of the world! Two human individuals, of mean aspect, one

of them with a wooden leg, lie ensconced there, gimlet in hand: they must have come in overnight; they have

a supply of provisions,no 'barrel of gunpowder' that one can see; they affect to be asleep; look blank

enough, and give the lamest account of themselves. "Mere curiosity; they were boring up to get an eyehole;

to see, perhaps 'with lubricity,' whatsoever, from that new point of vision, could be seen:"little that was

edifying, one would think! But indeed what stupidest thing may not human Dulness, Pruriency, Lubricity,

Chance and the Devil, choosing Two out of Halfamillion idle human heads, tempt them to? (Hist. Parl. xi.

Sure enough, the two human individuals with their gimlet are there. Ill starred pair of individuals! For the

result of it all is that Patriotism, fretting itself, in this state of nervous excitability, with hypotheses,

suspicions and reports, keeps questioning these two distracted human individuals, and again questioning

them; claps them into the nearest Guardhouse, clutches them out again; one hypothetic group snatching them

from another: till finally, in such extreme state of nervous excitability, Patriotism hangs them as spies of

Sieur Motier; and the life and secret is choked out of them forevermore. Forevermore, alas! Or is a day to be

looked for when these two evidently mean individuals, who are human nevertheless, will become Historical

Riddles; and, like him of the Iron Mask (also a human individual, and evidently nothing more),have their

Dissertations? To us this only is certain, that they had a gimlet, provisions and a wooden leg; and have died

And so the signature goes on, in a still more excited manner. And Chaumette, for Antiquarians possess the

very Paper to this hour, (Ibid. xi. 113, signed himself 'in a flowing saucy hand slightly leaned;' and Hebert,

detestable Pere Duchene, as if 'an inked spider had dropped on the paper;' Usher Maillard also has signed, and

many Crosses, which cannot write. And Paris, through its thousand avenues, is welling to the Champ

deMars and from it, in the utmost excitability of humour; central Fatherland's Altar quite heaped with

signing Patriots and Patriotesses; the Thirtybenches and whole internal Space crowded with onlookers, with

comers and goers; one regurgitating whirlpool of men and women in their Sunday clothes. All which a

Constitutional Sieur Motier sees; and Bailly, looking into it with his long visage made still longer. Auguring

no good; perhaps Decheance and Deposition after all! Stop it, ye Constitutional Patriots; fire itself is

Stop it, truly: but how stop it? Have not the first Free People of the Universe a right to petition?Happily, if

also unhappily, here is one proof of riot: these two human individuals, hanged at the Lanterne. Proof, O

treacherous Sieur Motier? Were they not two human individuals sent thither by thee to be hanged; to be a

pretext for thy bloody Drapeau Rouge? This question shall many a Patriot, one day, ask; and answer

Enough, towards half past seven in the evening, the mere natural eye can behold this thing: Sieur Motier, with

Municipals in scarf, with blue National Patrollotism, rank after rank, to the clang of drums; wending

resolutely to the ChampdeMars; Mayor Bailly, with elongated visage, bearing, as in sad duty bound, the

Drapeau Rouge! Howl of angry derision rises in treble and bass from a hundred thousand throats, at the sight

of Martial Law; which nevertheless waving its Red sanguinary Flag, advances there, from the GrosCaillou

Entrance; advances, drumming and waving, towards Altar of Fatherland. Amid still wilder howls, with

objurgation, obtestation; with flights of pebbles and mud, saxa et faeces; with crackle of a

pistolshot;finally with volleyfire of Patrollotism; levelled muskets; roll of volley on volley! Precisely

after one year and three days, our sublime Federation Field is wetted, in this manner, with French blood.

Some 'Twelve unfortunately shot,' reports Bailly, counting by units; but Patriotism counts by tens and even

by hundreds. Not to be forgotten, nor forgiven! Patriotism flies, shrieking, execrating. Camille ceases

Journalising, this day; great Danton with Camille and Freron have taken wing, for their life; Marat burrows

deep in the Earth, and is silent. Once more Patrollotism has triumphed: one other time; but it is the last.

This was the Royal Flight to Varennes. Thus was the Throne overturned thereby; but thus also was it

In the last nights of September, when the autumnal equinox is past, and grey September fades into brown

October, why are the Champs Elysees illuminated; why is Paris dancing, and flinging fireworks? They are

gala nights, these last of September; Paris may well dance, and the Universe: the Edifice of the Constitution

is completed! Completed; nay revised, to see that there was nothing insufficient in it; solemnly proferred to

his Majesty; solemnly accepted by him, to the sound of cannonsalvoes, on the fourteenth of the month. And

now by such illumination, jubilee, dancing and fireworking, do we joyously handsel the new Social Edifice,

The Revision, especially with a throne standing on its vertex, has been a work of difficulty, of delicacy. In the

way of propping and buttressing, so indispensable now, something could be done; and yet, as is feared, not

enough. A repentant Barnave Triumvirate, our Rabauts, Duports, Thourets, and indeed all Constitutional

Deputies did strain every nerve: but the Extreme Left was so noisy; the People were so suspicious, clamorous

to have the work ended: and then the loyal Right Side sat feeble petulant all the while, and as it were, pouting

and petting; unable to help, had they even been willing; the two Hundred and Ninety had solemnly made

scission, before that: and departed, shaking the dust off their feet. To such transcendency of fret, and

desperate hope that worsening of the bad might the sooner end it and bring back the good, had our

However, one finds that this and the other little prop has been added, where possibility allowed. Civillist

and Privypurse were from of old well cared for. King's Constitutional Guard, Eighteen hundred loyal men

from the Eightythree Departments, under a loyal Duke de Brissac; this, with trustworthy Swiss besides, is of

itself something. The old loyal Bodyguards are indeed dissolved, in name as well as in fact; and gone mostly

towards Coblentz. But now also those Sansculottic violent Gardes Francaises, or Centre Grenadiers, shall

have their mittimus: they do ere long, in the Journals, not without a hoarse pathos, publish their Farewell;

'wishing all Aristocrats the graves in Paris which to us are denied.' (Hist. Parl. xiii. 73.) They depart, these

first Soldiers of the Revolution; they hover very dimly in the distance for about another year; till they can be

remodelled, newnamed, and sent to fight the Austrians; and then History beholds them no more. A most

notable Corps of men; which has its place in WorldHistory;though to us, so is History written, they

remain mere rubrics of men; nameless; a shaggy Grenadier Mass, crossed with buffbelts. And yet might we

not ask: What Argonauts, what Leonidas' Spartans had done such a work? Think of their destiny: since that

May morning, some three years ago, when they, unparticipating, trundled off d'Espremenil to the Calypso

Isles; since that July evening, some two years ago, when they, participating and sacreing with knit brows,

poured a volley into Besenval's Prince de Lambesc! History waves them her mute adieu.

So that the Sovereign Power, these Sansculottic Watchdogs, more like wolves, being leashed and led away

from his Tuileries, breathes freer. The Sovereign Power is guarded henceforth by a loyal Eighteen

hundred,whom Contrivance, under various pretexts, may gradually swell to Six thousand; who will hinder

no Journey to SaintCloud. The sad Varennes business has been soldered up; cemented, even in the blood of

the ChampdeMars, these two months and more; and indeed ever since, as formerly, Majesty has had its

privileges, its 'choice of residence,' though, for good reasons, the royal mind 'prefers continuing in Paris.'

Poor royal mind, poor Paris; that have to go mumming; enveloped in speciosities, in falsehood which knows

itself false; and to enact mutually your sorrowful farcetragedy, being bound to it; and on the whole, to hope

Nay, now that his Majesty has accepted the Constitution, to the sound of cannonsalvoes, who would not

hope? Our good King was misguided but he meant well. Lafayette has moved for an Amnesty, for universal

forgiving and forgetting of Revolutionary faults; and now surely the glorious Revolution cleared of its

rubbish, is complete! Strange enough, and touching in several ways, the old cry of Vive le Roi once more

rises round King Louis the Hereditary Representative. Their Majesties went to the Opera; gave money to the

Poor: the Queen herself, now when the Constitution is accepted, hears voice of cheering. Bygone shall be

bygone; the New Era shall begin! To and fro, amid those lampgalaxies of the Elysian Fields, the Royal

Carriage slowly wends and rolls; every where with vivats, from a multitude striving to be glad. Louis looks

out, mainly on the variegated lamps and gay human groups, with satisfaction enough for the hour. In her

Majesty's face, 'under that kind graceful smile a deep sadness is legible.' (De Stael, Considerations, i. c. 23.)

Brilliancies, of valour and of wit, stroll here observant: a Dame de Stael, leaning most probably on the arm of

her Narbonne. She meets Deputies; who have built this Constitution; who saunter here with vague

communings,not without thoughts whether it will stand. But as yet melodious fiddlestrings twang and

warble every where, with the rhythm of light fantastic feet; long lamp galaxies fling their coloured radiance;

and brasslunged Hawkers elbow and bawl, "Grande Acceptation, Constitution Monarchique:" it behoves the

Son of Adam to hope. Have not Lafayette, Barnave, and all Constitutionalists set their shoulders handsomely

to the inverted pyramid of a throne? Feuillans, including almost the whole Constitutional Respectability of

France, perorate nightly from their tribune; correspond through all Post offices; denouncing unquiet

Jacobinism; trusting well that its time is nigh done. Much is uncertain, questionable: but if the Hereditary

Representative be wise and lucky, may one not, with a sanguine Gaelic temper, hope that he will get in

motion better or worse; that what is wanting to him will gradually be gained and added?

For the rest, as we must repeat, in this building of the Constitutional Fabric, especially in this Revision of it,

nothing that one could think of to give it new strength, especially to steady it, to give it permanence, and even

eternity, has been forgotten. Biennial Parliament, to be called Legislative, Assemblee Legislative; with Seven

Hundred and Fortyfive Members, chosen in a judicious manner by the 'active citizens' alone, and even by

electing of electors still more active: this, with privileges of Parliament shall meet, selfauthorized if need be,

and selfdissolved; shall grant moneysupplies and talk; watch over the administration and authorities;

discharge for ever the functions of a Constitutional Great Council, Collective Wisdom, and National

Palaver,as the Heavens will enable. Our First biennial Parliament, which indeed has been achoosing since

early in August, is now as good as chosen. Nay it has mostly got to Paris: it arrived gradually;not without

pathetic greeting to its venerable Parent, the now moribund Constituent; and sat there in the Galleries,

Then as to changes in the Constitution itself? This, impossible for any Legislative, or common biennial

Parliament, and possible solely for some resuscitated Constituent or National Convention,is evidently one

of the most ticklish points. The august moribund Assembly debated it for four entire days. Some thought a

change, or at least reviewal and new approval, might be admissible in thirty years; some even went lower,

down to twenty, nay to fifteen. The august Assembly had once decided for thirty years; but it revoked that, on

better thoughts; and did not fix any date of time, but merely some vague outline of a posture of

circumstances, and on the whole left the matter hanging. (Choix de Rapports, (Paris, 1825), vi. 239 317.)

Doubtless a National Convention can be assembled even within the thirty years: yet one may hope, not; but

that Legislatives, biennial Parliaments of the common kind, with their limited faculty, and perhaps quiet

successive additions thereto, may suffice, for generations, or indeed while computed Time runs.

Furthermore, be it noted that no member of this Constituent has been, or could be, elected to the new

Legislative. So nobleminded were these Law makers! cry some: and Solonlike would banish themselves.

So splenetic! cry more: each grudging the other, none daring to be outdone in self denial by the other. So

unwise in either case! answer all practical men. But consider this other selfdenying ordinance, That none of

us can be King's Minister, or accept the smallest Court Appointment, for the space of four, or at lowest (and

on long debate and Revision), for the space of two years! So moves the incorruptible seagreen Robespierre;

with cheap magnanimity he; and none dare be outdone by him. It was such a law, not so superfluous then,

that sent Mirabeau to the Gardens of SaintCloud, under cloak of darkness, to that colloquy of the gods; and

Welcomer meanwhile, welcome surely to all right hearts, is Lafayette's chivalrous Amnesty. Welcome too is

that hardwrung Union of Avignon; which has cost us, first and last, 'thirty sessions of debate,' and so much

else: may it at length prove lucky! Rousseau's statue is decreed: virtuous JeanJacques, Evangelist of the

Contrat Social. Not Drouet of Varennes; nor worthy Lataille, master of the old worldfamous Tennis Court in

Versailles, is forgotten; but each has his honourable mention, and due reward in money. (Moniteur (in Hist.

Parl. xi. 473.) Whereupon, things being all so neatly winded up, and the Deputations, and Messages, and

royal and other Ceremonials having rustled by; and the King having now affectionately perorated about peace

and tranquilisation, and members having answered "Oui! oui!" with effusion, even with tears,President

Thouret, he of the Law Reforms, rises, and, with a strong voice, utters these memorable lastwords: "The

National Constituent Assembly declares that it has finished its mission; and that its sittings are all ended."

Incorruptible Robespierre, virtuous Petion are borne home on the shoulders of the people; with vivats

heavenhigh. The rest glide quietly to their respective places of abode. It is the last afternoon of September,

So, amid glitter of illuminated streets and Champs Elysees, and crackle of fireworks and glad deray, has the

first National Assembly vanished; dissolving, as they well say, into blank Time; and is no more. National

Assembly is gone, its work remaining; as all Bodies of men go, and as man himself goes: it had its beginning,

and must likewise have its end. A PhantasmReality born of Time, as the rest of us are; flitting ever

backwards now on the tide of Time: to be long remembered of men. Very strange Assemblages, Sanhedrims,

Amphictyonics, Trades Unions, Ecumenic Councils, Parliaments and Congresses, have met together on this

Planet, and dispersed again; but a stranger Assemblage than this august Constituent, or with a stranger

mission, perhaps never met there. Seen from the distance, this also will be a miracle. Twelve Hundred human

individuals, with the Gospel of JeanJacques Rousseau in their pocket, congregating in the name of

Twentyfive Millions, with full assurance of faith, to 'make the Constitution:' such sight, the acme and main

product of the Eighteenth Century, our World can witness once only. For Time is rich in wonders, in

monstrosities most rich; and is observed never to repeat himself, or any of his Gospels:surely least of all,

this Gospel according to JeanJacques. Once it was right and indispensable, since such had become the

They have made the Constitution, these Twelve Hundred JeanJacques Evangelists; not without result. Near

twentynine months they sat, with various fortune; in various capacity;always, we may say, in that

capacity of carborne Caroccio, and miraculous Standard of the Revolt of Men, as a Thing high and lifted up;

whereon whosoever looked might hope healing. They have seen much: cannons levelled on them; then

suddenly, by interposition of the Powers, the cannons drawn back; and a wargod Broglie vanishing, in

thunder not his own, amid the dust and downrushing of a Bastille and Old Feudal France. They have suffered

somewhat: Royal Session, with rain and Oath of the TennisCourt; Nights of Pentecost; Insurrections of

Women. Also have they not done somewhat? Made the Constitution, and managed all things the while;

passed, in these twenty nine months, 'twentyfive hundred Decrees,' which on the average is some three for

each day, including Sundays! Brevity, one finds, is possible, at times: had not Moreau de St. Mery to give

three thousand orders before rising from his seat?There was valour (or value) in these men; and a kind of

faith,were it only faith in this, That cobwebs are not cloth; that a Constitution could be made. Cobwebs

and chimeras ought verily to disappear; for a Reality there is. Let formulas, soulkilling, and now grown

bodykilling, insupportable, begone, in the name of Heaven and Earth!Time, as we say, brought forth

these Twelve Hundred; Eternity was before them, Eternity behind: they worked, as we all do, in the

confluence of Two Eternities; what work was given them. Say not that it was nothing they did. Consciously

they did somewhat; unconsciously how much! They had their giants and their dwarfs, they accomplished

their good and their evil; they are gone, and return no more. Shall they not go with our blessing, in these

By post, by diligence, on saddle or sole; they are gone: towards the four winds! Not a few over the marches,

to rank at Coblentz. Thither wended Maury, among others; but in the end towards Rome,to be clothed

there in red Cardinal plush; in falsehood as in a garment; pet son (her lastborn?) of the Scarlet Woman.

TalleyrandPerigord, excommunicated Constitutional Bishop, will make his way to London; to be

Ambassador, spite of the Self denying Law; brisk young Marquis Chauvelin acting as Ambassador'sCloak.

In London too, one finds Petion the virtuous; harangued and haranguing, pledging the winecup with

Constitutional Reform Clubs, in solemn tavern dinner. Incorruptible Robespierre retires for a little to native

Arras: seven short weeks of quiet; the last appointed him in this world. Public Accuser in the Paris

Department, acknowledged highpriest of the Jacobins; the glass of incorruptible thin Patriotism, for his

narrow emphasis is loved of all the narrow,this man seems to be rising, somewhither? He sells his small

heritage at Arras; accompanied by a Brother and a Sister, he returns, scheming out with resolute timidity a

small sure destiny for himself and them, to his old lodging, at the Cabinetmaker's, in the Rue St.

Lafayette, for his part, will lay down the command. He retires Cincinnatuslike to his hearth and farm; but

soon leaves them again. Our National Guard, however, shall henceforth have no one Commandant; but all

Colonels shall command in succession, month about. Other Deputies we have met, or Dame de Stael has met,

'sauntering in a thoughtful manner;' perhaps uncertain what to do. Some, as Barnave, the Lameths, and their

Duport, will continue here in Paris: watching the new biennial Legislative, Parliament the First; teaching it to

Thus these: sauntering in a thoughtful manner; travelling by post or diligence,whither Fate beckons. Giant

Mirabeau slumbers in the Pantheon of Great Men: and France? and Europe?The brasslunged Hawkers

sing "Grand Acceptation, Monarchic Constitution" through these gay crowds: the Morrow, grandson of

Yesterday, must be what it can, as Today its father is. Our new biennial Legislative begins to constitute

If the august Constituent Assembly itself, fixing the regards of the Universe, could, at the present distance of

time and place, gain comparatively small attention from us, how much less can this poor Legislative! It has

its Right Side and its Left; the less Patriotic and the more, for Aristocrats exist not here or now: it spouts and

speaks: listens to Reports, reads Bills and Laws; works in its vocation, for a season: but the history of France,

one finds, is seldom or never there. Unhappy Legislative, what can History do with it; if not drop a tear over

it, almost in silence? First of the twoyear Parliaments of France, which, if Paper Constitution and

oftrepeated National Oath could avail aught, were to follow in softlystrong indissoluble sequence while

Time ran,it had to vanish dolefully within one year; and there came no second like it. Alas! your biennial

Parliaments in endless indissoluble sequence; they, and all that Constitutional Fabric, built with such

explosive Federation Oaths, and its topstone brought out with dancing and variegated radiance, went to

pieces, like frail crockery, in the crash of things; and already, in eleven short months, were in that Limbo near

the Moon, with the ghosts of other Chimeras. There, except for rare specific purposes, let them rest, in

On the whole, how unknown is a man to himself; or a public Body of men to itself! Aesop's fly sat on the

chariotwheel, exclaiming, What a dust I do raise! Great Governors, clad in purple with fasces and insignia,

are governed by their valets, by the pouting of their women and children; or, in Constitutional countries, by

the paragraphs of their Able Editors. Say not, I am this or that; I am doing this or that! For thou knowest it

not, thou knowest only the name it as yet goes by. A purple Nebuchadnezzar rejoices to feel himself now

verily Emperor of this great Babylon which he has builded; and is a nondescript bipedquadruped, on the eve

of a seven years course of grazing! These Seven Hundred and Fortyfive elected individuals doubt not but

they are the First biennial Parliament, come to govern France by parliamentary eloquence: and they are what?

It is much lamented by many that this First Biennial had no members of the old Constituent in it, with their

experience of parties and parliamentary tactics; that such was their foolish Selfdenying Law. Most surely,

old members of the Constituent had been welcome to us here. But, on the other hand, what old or what new

members of any Constituent under the Sun could have effectually profited? There are First biennial

Parliaments so postured as to be, in a sense, beyond wisdom; where wisdom and folly differ only in degree,

OldConstituents, your Barnaves, Lameths and the like, for whom a special Gallery has been set apart, where

they may sit in honour and listen, are in the habit of sneering at these new Legislators; (Dumouriez, ii. 150,

but let not us! The poor Seven Hundred and Fortyfive, sent together by the active citizens of France, are

what they could be; do what is fated them. That they are of Patriot temper we can well understand. Aristocrat

Noblesse had fled over the marches, or sat brooding silent in their unburnt Chateaus; small prospect had they

in Primary Electoral Assemblies. What with Flights to Varennes, what with Days of Poniards, with plot after

plot, the People are left to themselves; the People must needs choose Defenders of the People, such as can be

had. Choosing, as they also will ever do, 'if not the ablest man, yet the man ablest to be chosen!' Fervour of

character, decided PatriotConstitutional feeling; these are qualities: but free utterance, mastership in

tonguefence; this is the quality of qualities. Accordingly one finds, with little astonishment, in this First

Biennial, that as many as Four hundred Members are of the Advocate or Attorney species. Men who can

speak, if there be aught to speak: nay here are men also who can think, and even act. Candour will say of this

ill fated First French Parliament that it wanted not its modicum of talent, its modicum of honesty; that it,

neither in the one respect nor in the other, sank below the average of Parliaments, but rose above the average.

Let average Parliaments, whom the world does not guillotine, and cast forth to long infamy, be thankful not

France, as we say, has once more done what it could: fervid men have come together from wide separation;

for strange issues. Fiery Max Isnard is come, from the utmost SouthEast; fiery Claude Fauchet, TeDeum

Fauchet Bishop of Calvados, from the utmost NorthWest. No Mirabeau now sits here, who had swallowed

formulas: our only Mirabeau now is Danton, working as yet out of doors; whom some call 'Mirabeau of the

Nevertheless we have our gifts,especially of speech and logic. An eloquent Vergniaud we have; most

mellifluous yet most impetuous of public speakers; from the region named Gironde, of the Garonne: a man

unfortunately of indolent habits; who will sit playing with your children, when he ought to be scheming and

perorating. Sharp bustling Guadet; considerate grave Censonne; kindsparkling mirthful young Ducos;

Valaze doomed to a sad end: all these likewise are of that Gironde, or Bourdeaux region: men of fervid

Constitutional principles; of quick talent, irrefragable logic, clear respectability; who will have the Reign of

Liberty establish itself, but only by respectable methods. Round whom others of like temper will gather;

known by and by as Girondins, to the sorrowing wonder of the world. Of which sort note Condorcet, Marquis

and Philosopher; who has worked at much, at Paris Municipal Constitution, Differential Calculus, Newspaper

Chronique de Paris, Biography, Philosophy; and now sits here as twoyears Senator: a notable Condorcet,

with stoical Roman face, and fiery heart; 'volcano hid under snow;' styled likewise, in irreverent language,

'mouton enrage,' peaceablest of creatures bitten rabid! Or note, lastly, JeanPierre Brissot; whom Destiny,

long working noisily with him, has hurled hither, say, to have done with him. A biennial Senator he too; nay,

for the present, the king of such. Restless, scheming, scribbling Brissot; who took to himself the style de

Warville, heralds know not in the least why;unless it were that the father of him did, in an unexceptionable

manner, perform Cookery and Vintnery in the Village of Ouarville? A man of the windmill species, that

In all these men there is talent, faculty to work; and they will do it: working and shaping, not without effect,

though alas not in marble, only in quicksand!But the highest faculty of them all remains yet to be

mentioned; or indeed has yet to unfold itself for mention: Captain Hippolyte Carnot, sent hither from the Pas

de Calais; with his cold mathematical head, and silent stubbornness of will: iron Carnot, far planning,

imperturbable, unconquerable; who, in the hour of need, shall not be found wanting. His hair is yet black; and

it shall grow grey, under many kinds of fortune, bright and troublous; and with iron aspect this man shall face

Nor is Cote Droit, and band of King's friends, wanting: Vaublanc, Dumas, Jaucourt the honoured Chevalier;

who love Liberty, yet with Monarchy over it; and speak fearlessly according to that faith;whom the

thickcoming hurricanes will sweep away. With them, let a new military Theodore Lameth be named;were

it only for his two Brothers' sake, who look down on him, approvingly there, from the OldConstituents'

Gallery. Frothy professing Pastorets, honeymouthed conciliatory Lamourettes, and speechless nameless

individuals sit plentiful, as Moderates, in the middle. Still less is a Cote Gauche wanting: extreme Left; sitting

on the topmost benches, as if aloft on its speculatory Height or Mountain, which will become a practical

fulminatory Height, and make the name of Mountain famousinfamous to all times and lands.

Honour waits not on this Mountain; nor as yet even loud dishonour. Gifts it boasts not, nor graces, of

speaking or of thinking; solely this one gift of assured faith, of audacity that will defy the Earth and the

Heavens. Foremost here are the Cordelier Trio: hot Merlin from Thionville, hot Bazire, Attorneys both;

Chabot, disfrocked Capuchin, skilful in agio. Lawyer Lacroix, who wore once as subaltern the single

epaulette, has loud lungs and a hungry heart. There too is Couthon, little dreaming what he is;whom a sad

chance has paralysed in the lower extremities. For, it seems, he sat once a whole night, not warm in his true

love's bower (who indeed was by law another's), but sunken to the middle in a cold peatbog, being hunted

out; quaking for his life, in the cold quaking morass; (Dumouriez, ii. 370.) and goes now on crutches to the

end. Cambon likewise, in whom slumbers undeveloped such a financetalent for printing of Assignats;

Father of Papermoney; who, in the hour of menace, shall utter this stern sentence, 'War to the Manorhouse,

peace to the Hut, Guerre aux Chateaux, paix aux Chaumieres!' (Choix de Rapports, xi. 25.) Lecointre, the

intrepid Draper of Versailles, is welcome here; known since the OperaRepast and Insurrection of Women.

Thuriot too; Elector Thuriot, who stood in the embrasures of the Bastille, and saw SaintAntoine rising in

mass; who has many other things to see. Last and grimmest of all note old Ruhl, with his brown dusky face

and long white hair; of Alsatian Lutheran breed; a man whom age and booklearning have not taught; who,

haranguing the old men of Rheims, shall hold up the Sacred Ampulla (Heaven sent, wherefrom Clovis and

all Kings have been anointed) as a mere worthless oilbottle, and dash it to sherds on the pavement there;

who, alas, shall dash much to sherds, and finally his own wild head, by pistol shot, and so end it.

Such lava welters redhot in the bowels of this Mountain; unknown to the world and to itself! A mere

commonplace Mountain hitherto; distinguished from the Plain chiefly by its superior barrenness, its baldness

of look: at the utmost it may, to the most observant, perceptibly smoke. For as yet all lies so solid, peaceable;

and doubts not, as was said, that it will endure while Time runs. Do not all love Liberty and the Constitution?

All heartily;and yet with degrees. Some, as Chevalier Jaucourt and his Right Side, may love Liberty less

than Royalty, were the trial made; others, as Brissot and his Left Side, may love it more than Royalty. Nay

again of these latter some may love Liberty more than Law itself; others not more. Parties will unfold

themselves; no mortal as yet knows how. Forces work within these men and without: dissidence grows

opposition; ever widening; waxing into incompatibility and internecine feud: till the strong is abolished by a

stronger; himself in his turn by a strongest! Who can help it? Jaucourt and his Monarchists, Feuillans, or

Moderates; Brissot and his Brissotins, Jacobins, or Girondins; these, with the Cordelier Trio, and all men,

And to think what fate these poor Seven Hundred and Fortyfive are assembled, most unwittingly, to meet!

Let no heart be so hard as not to pity them. Their soul's wish was to live and work as the First of the French

Parliaments: and make the Constitution march. Did they not, at their very instalment, go through the most

affecting Constitutional ceremony, almost with tears? The Twelve Eldest are sent solemnly to fetch the

Constitution itself, the printed book of the Law. Archivist Camus, an OldConstituent appointed Archivist,

he and the Ancient Twelve, amid blare of military pomp and clangour, enter, bearing the divine Book: and

President and all Legislative Senators, laying their hand on the same, successively take the Oath, with cheers

and hearteffusion, universal threetimesthree. (Moniteur, Seance du 4 Octobre 1791.) In this manner they

begin their Session. Unhappy mortals! For, that same day, his Majesty having received their Deputation of

welcome, as seemed, rather drily, the Deputation cannot but feel slighted, cannot but lament such slight: and

thereupon our cheering swearing First Parliament sees itself, on the morrow, obliged to explode into fierce

retaliatory sputter, of anti royal Enactment as to how they, for their part, will receive Majesty; and how

Majesty shall not be called Sire any more, except they please: and then, on the following day, to recal this

An effervescent wellintentioned set of Senators; too combustible, where continual sparks are flying! Their

History is a series of sputters and quarrels; true desire to do their function, fatal impossibility to do it.

Denunciations, reprimandings of King's Ministers, of traitors supposed and real; hot rage and fulmination

against fulminating Emigrants; terror of Austrian Kaiser, of 'Austrian Committee' in the Tuileries itself: rage

and haunting terror, haste and dim desperate bewilderment!Haste, we say; and yet the Constitution had

provided against haste. No Bill can be passed till it have been printed, till it have been thrice read, with

intervals of eight days;'unless the Assembly shall beforehand decree that there is urgency.' Which,

accordingly, the Assembly, scrupulous of the Constitution, never omits to do: Considering this, and also

considering that, and then that other, the Assembly decrees always 'qu'il y a urgence;' and thereupon 'the

Assembly, having decreed that there is urgence,' is free to decreewhat indispensable distracted thing seems

best to it. Two thousand and odd decrees, as men reckon, within Eleven months! (Montgaillard, iii. 1. 237.)

The haste of the Constituent seemed great; but this is treblequick. For the time itself is rushing treblequick;

and they have to keep pace with that. Unhappy Seven Hundred and Fortyfive: truepatriotic, but so

combustible; being fired, they must needs fling fire: Senate of touchwood and rockets, in a world of

Or think, on the other hand, looking forward some months, of that scene they call Baiser de Lamourette! The

dangers of the country are now grown imminent, immeasurable; National Assembly, hope of France, is

divided against itself. In such extreme circumstances, honeymouthed Abbe Lamourette, new Bishop of

Lyons, rises, whose name, l'amourette, signifies the sweetheart, or Delilah doxy,he rises, and, with pathetic

honied eloquence, calls on all august Senators to forget mutual griefs and grudges, to swear a new oath, and

unite as brothers. Whereupon they all, with vivats, embrace and swear; Left Side confounding itself with

Right; barren Mountain rushing down to fruitful Plain, Pastoret into the arms of Condorcet, injured to the

breast of injurer, with tears; and all swearing that whosoever wishes either Feuillant TwoChamber

Monarchy or Extreme Jacobin Republic, or any thing but the Constitution and that only, shall be anathema

marantha. (Moniteur, Seance du 6 Juillet 1792.) Touching to behold! For, literally on the morrow morning,

they must again quarrel, driven by Fate; and their sublime reconcilement is called derisively Baiser de

Like fated EteoclesPolynices Brothers, embracing, though in vain; weeping that they must not love, that

they must hate only, and die by each other's hands! Or say, like doomed Familiar Spirits; ordered, by Art

Magic under penalties, to do a harder than twist ropes of sand: 'to make the Constitution march.' If the

Constitution would but march! Alas, the Constitution will not stir. It falls on its face; they tremblingly lift it

on end again: march, thou gold Constitution! The Constitution will not march."He shall march, by!"

said kind Uncle Toby, and even swore. The Corporal answered mournfully: "He will never march in this

A constitution, as we often say, will march when it images, if not the old Habits and Beliefs of the

Constituted; then accurately their Rights, or better indeed, their Mights;for these two, wellunderstood, are

they not one and the same? The old Habits of France are gone: her new Rights and Mights are not yet

ascertained, except in Papertheorem; nor can be, in any sort, till she have tried. Till she have measured

herself, in fell death grip, and were it in utmost preternatural spasm of madness, with Principalities and

Powers, with the upper and the under, internal and external; with the Earth and Tophet and the very Heaven!

Then will she know.Three things bode ill for the marching of this French Constitution: the French People;

But quitting generalities, what strange Fact is this, in the far South West, towards which the eyes of all men

do now, in the end of October, bend themselves? A tragical combustion, long smoking and smouldering

Hot is that Southern Provencal blood: alas, collisions, as was once said, must occur in a career of Freedom;

different directions will produce such; nay different velocities in the same direction will! To much that went

on there History, busied elsewhere, would not specially give heed: to troubles of Uzez, troubles of Nismes,

Protestant and Catholic, Patriot and Aristocrat; to troubles of Marseilles, Montpelier, Arles; to Aristocrat

Camp of Jales, that wondrous realimaginary Entity, now fading paledim, then always again glowing forth

deephued (in the Imagination mainly); ominous magical, 'an Aristocrat picture of war done naturally!' All

this was a tragical deadly combustion, with plot and riot, tumult by night and by day; but a dark combustion,

Above all places, the unluminous combustion in Avignon and the Comtat Venaissin was fierce. Papal

Avignon, with its Castle rising sheer over the Rhonestream; beautifullest Town, with its purple vines and

goldorange groves: why must foolish old rhyming Rene, the last Sovereign of Provence, bequeath it to the

Pope and Gold Tiara, not rather to Louis Eleventh with the Leaden Virgin in his hatband? For good and for

evil! Popes, Anti popes, with their pomp, have dwelt in that Castle of Avignon rising sheer over the

Rhonestream: there Laura de Sade went to hear mass; her Petrarch twanging and singing by the Fountain of

And now in these new days, such issues do come from a squirt of the pen by some foolish rhyming Rene,

after centuries, this is what we have: Jourdan Coupetete, leading to siege and warfare an Army, from three

to fifteen thousand strong, called the Brigands of Avignon; which title they themselves accept, with the

addition of an epithet, 'The brave Brigands of Avignon!' It is even so. Jourdan the Headsman fled hither from

that Chatelet Inquest, from that Insurrection of Women; and began dealing in madder; but the scene was rife

in other than dyestuffs; so Jourdan shut his madder shop, and has risen, for he was the man to do it. The

tile beard of Jourdan is shaven off; his fat visage has got coppered and studded with black carbuncles; the

Silenus trunk is swollen with drink and high living: he wears blue National uniform with epaulettes, 'an

enormous sabre, two horsepistols crossed in his belt, and other two smaller, sticking from his pockets;'

styles himself General, and is the tyrant of men. (Dampmartin, Evenemens, i. 267.) Consider this one fact, O

Reader; and what sort of facts must have preceded it, must accompany it! Such things come of old Rene; and

of the question which has risen, Whether Avignon cannot now cease wholly to be Papal and become French

For some twentyfive months the confusion has lasted. Say three months of arguing; then seven of raging;

then finally some fifteen months now of fighting, and even of hanging. For already in February 1790, the

Papal Aristocrats had set up four gibbets, for a sign; but the People rose in June, in retributive frenzy; and,

forcing the public Hangman to act, hanged four Aristocrats, on each Papal gibbet a Papal Haman. Then were

Avignon Emigrations, Papal Aristocrats emigrating over the Rhone River; demission of Papal Consul, flight,

victory: reentrance of Papal Legate, truce, and new onslaught; and the various turns of war. Petitions there

were to National Assembly; Congresses of Townships; threescore and odd Townships voting for French

Reunion, and the blessings of Liberty; while some twelve of the smaller, manipulated by Aristocrats, gave

vote the other way: with shrieks and discord! Township against Township, Town against Town: Carpentras,

long jealous of Avignon, is now turned out in open war with it;and Jourdan Coupetete, your first General

being killed in mutiny, closes his dyeshop; and does there visibly, with siegeartillery, above all with

bluster and tumult, with the 'brave Brigands of Avignon,' beleaguer the rival Town, for two months, in the

Feats were done, doubt it not, farfamed in Parish History; but to Universal History unknown. Gibbets we

see rise, on the one side and on the other; and wretched carcasses swinging there, a dozen in the row;

wretched Mayor of Vaison buried before dead. (Barbaroux, Memoires, p. 26.) The fruitful seedfield, lie

unreaped, the vineyards trampled down; there is red cruelty, madness of universal choler and gall. Havoc and

anarchy everywhere; a combustion most fierce, but unlucent, not to be noticed here!Finally, as we saw, on

the 14th of September last, the National Constituent Assembly, having sent Commissioners and heard them;

(Lescene Desmaisons: Compte rendu a l'Assemblee Nationale, 10 Septembre 1791 (Choix des Rapports, vii.

27393).) having heard Petitions, held Debates, month after month ever since August 1789; and on the whole

'spent thirty sittings' on this matter, did solemnly decree that Avignon and the Comtat were incorporated with

And so hereby all is amnestied and finished? Alas, when madness of choler has gone through the blood of

men, and gibbets have swung on this side and on that, what will a parchment Decree and Lafayette Amnesty

do? Oblivious Lethe flows not above ground! Papal Aristocrats and Patriot Brigands are still an eyesorrow

to each other; suspected, suspicious, in what they do and forbear. The august Constituent Assembly is gone

but a fortnight, when, on Sunday the Sixteenth morning of October 1791, the unquenched combustion

suddenly becomes luminous! For Anticonstitutional Placards are up, and the Statue of the Virgin is said to

have shed tears, and grown red. (Procesverbal de la Commune d'Avignon, (in Hist. Parl. xii. 41923.)

Wherefore, on that morning, Patriot l'Escuyer, one of our 'six leading Patriots,' having taken counsel with his

brethren and General Jourdan, determines on going to Church, in company with a friend or two: not to hear

mass, which he values little; but to meet all the Papalists there in a body, nay to meet that same weeping

Virgin, for it is the Cordeliers Church; and give them a word of admonition. Adventurous errand; which has

the fatallest issue! What L'Escuyer's word of admonition might be no History records; but the answer to it

was a shrieking howl from the Aristocrat Papal worshippers, many of them women. A thousandvoiced

shriek and menace; which as L'Escuyer did not fly, became a thousandhanded hustle and jostle; a

thousandfooted kick, with tumblings and tramplings, with the pricking of semstresses stilettos, scissors, and

female pointed instruments. Horrible to behold; the ancient Dead, and Petrarchan Laura, sleeping round it

there; (Ugo Foscolo, Essay on Petrarch, p. 35.) high Altar and burning tapers looking down on it; the Virgin

quite tearless, and of the natural stonecolour!L'Escuyer's friend or two rush off, like Job's Messengers, for

Jourdan and the National Force. But heavy Jourdan will seize the TownGates first; does not run treblefast,

as he might: on arriving at the Cordeliers Church, the Church is silent, vacant; L'Escuyer, all alone, lies there,

swimming in his blood, at the foot of the high Altar; pricked with scissors; trodden, massacred;gives one

Sight to stir the heart of any man; much more of many men, selfstyled Brigands of Avignon! The corpse of

L'Escuyer, stretched on a bier, the ghastly head girt with laurel, is borne through the streets; with many

voiced unmelodious Nenia; funeralwail still deeper than it is loud! The copperface of Jourdan, of bereft

Patriotism, has grown black. Patriot Municipality despatches official Narrative and tidings to Paris; orders

numerous or innumerable arrestments for inquest and perquisition. Aristocrats male and female are haled to

the Castle; lie crowded in subterranean dungeons there, bemoaned by the hoarse rushing of the Rhone; cut

So lie they; waiting inquest and perquisition. Alas! with a Jourdan Headsman for Generalissimo, with his

copperface grown black, and armed Brigand Patriots chanting their Nenia, the inquest is likely to be brief.

On the next day and the next, let Municipality consent or not, a Brigand CourtMartial establishes itself in

the subterranean stories of the Castle of Avignon; Brigand Executioners, with naked sabre, waiting at the

door, for a Brigand verdict. Short judgment, no appeal! There is Brigand wrath and vengeance; not

unrefreshed by brandy. Close by is the Dungeon of the Glaciere, or IceTower: there may be deeds done?

For which language has no name!Darkness and the shadow of horrid cruelty envelopes these Castle

Dungeons, that Glaciere Tower: clear only that many have entered, that few have returned. Jourdan and the

Brigands, supreme now over Municipals, over all Authorities Patriot or Papal, reign in Avignon, waited on by

The result of all which is that, on the 15th of November 1791, we behold Friend Dampmartin, and subalterns

beneath him, and General Choisi above him, with Infantry and Cavalry, and proper cannoncarriages rattling

in front, with spread banners, to the sound of fife and drum, wend, in a deliberate formidable manner, towards

that sheer Castle Rock, towards those broad Gates of Avignon; three new NationalAssembly

Commissioners following at safe distance in the rear. (Dampmartin, i. 25194.) Avignon, summoned in the

name of Assembly and Law, flings its Gates wide open; Choisi with the rest, Dampmartin and the Bons

Enfans, 'Good Boys of Baufremont,' so they name these brave Constitutional Dragoons, known to them of

old,do enter, amid shouts and scattered flowers. To the joy of all honest persons; to the terror only of

Jourdan Headsman and the Brigands. Nay next we behold carbuncled swollen Jourdan himself shew

copperface, with sabre and four pistols; affecting to talk high: engaging, meanwhile, to surrender the Castle

that instant. So the Choisi Grenadiers enter with him there. They start and stop, passing that Glaciere,

snuffing its horrible breath; with wild yell, with cries of "Cut the Butcher down!"and Jourdan has to whisk

Be the mystery of iniquity laid bare then! A Hundred and Thirty Corpses, of men, nay of women and even

children (for the trembling mother, hastily seized, could not leave her infant), lie heaped in that Glaciere;

putrid, under putridities: the horror of the world. For three days there is mournful lifting out, and recognition;

amid the cries and movements of a passionate Southern people, now kneeling in prayer, now storming in wild

pity and rage: lastly there is solemn sepulture, with muffled drums, religious requiem, and all the people's

And Jourdan Coupetete? Him also we behold again, after a day or two: in flight, through the most romantic

Petrarchan hillcountry; vehemently spurring his nag; young Ligonnet, a brisk youth of Avignon, with Choisi

Dragoons, close in his rear! With such swollen mass of a rider no nag can run to advantage. The tired nag,

spurdriven, does take the River Sorgue; but sticks in the middle of it; firm on that chiaro fondo di Sorga;

and will proceed no further for spurring! Young Ligonnet dashes up; the Copperface menaces and bellows,

draws pistol, perhaps even snaps it; is nevertheless seized by the collar; is tied firm, ancles under horse's

belly, and ridden back to Avignon, hardly to be saved from massacre on the streets there. (Dampmartin, ubi

Such is the combustion of Avignon and the SouthWest, when it becomes luminous! Long loud debate is in

the august Legislative, in the Mother Society as to what now shall be done with it. Amnesty, cry eloquent

Vergniaud and all Patriots: let there be mutual pardon and repentance, restoration, pacification, and if so

might any how be, an end! Which vote ultimately prevails. So the SouthWest smoulders and welters again

in an 'Amnesty,' or Nonremembrance, which alas cannot but remember, no Lethe flowing above ground!

Jourdan himself remains unchanged; gets loose again as one not yet gallowsripe; nay, as we transciently

discern from the distance, is 'carried in triumph through the cities of the South.' (Deux Amis vii. (Paris,

With which transient glimpse, of a Copperfaced Portent faring in this manner through the cities of the

South, we must quit these regions;and let them smoulder. They want not their Aristocrats; proud old

Nobles, not yet emigrated. Arles has its 'Chiffonne,' so, in symbolical cant, they name that Aristocrat

SecretAssociation; Arles has its pavements piled up, by and by, into Aristocrat barricades. Against which

Rebecqui, the hot clear Patriot, must lead Marseilles with cannon. The Bar of Iron has not yet risen to the

top in the Bay of Marseilles; neither have these hot Sons of the Phoceans submitted to be slaves. By clear

management and hot instance, Rebecqui dissipates that Chiffonne, without bloodshed; restores the pavement

of Arles. He sails in Coastbarks, this Rebecqui, scrutinising suspicious Martellotowers, with the keen eye

of Patriotism; marches overland with despatch, singly, or in force; to City after City; dim scouring far and

wide; (Barbaroux, p. 21; Hist. Parl. xiii. 4214.) argues, and if it must be, fights. For there is much to do;

Jales itself is looking suspicious. So that Legislator Fauchet, after debate on it, has to propose Commissioners

Of all which, and much else, let us note only this small consequence, that young Barbaroux, Advocate,

TownClerk of Marseilles, being charged to have these things remedied, arrived at Paris in the month of

February 1792. The beautiful and brave: young Spartan, ripe in energy, not ripe in wisdom; over whose black

doom there shall flit nevertheless a certain ruddy fervour, streaks of bright Southern tint, not wholly

swallowed of Death! Note also that the Rolands of Lyons are again in Paris; for the second and final time.

King's Inspectorship is abrogated at Lyons, as elsewhere: Roland has his retiringpension to claim, if

attainable; has Patriot friends to commune with; at lowest, has a book to publish. That young Barbaroux and

the Rolands came together; that elderly Spartan Roland liked, or even loved the young Spartan, and was

loved by him, one can fancy: and Madame? Breathe not, thou poisonbreath, Evilspeech! That soul is

taintless, clear, as the mirrorsea. And yet if they too did look into each other's eyes, and each, in silence, in

tragical renunciance, did find that the other was all too lovely? Honi soit! She calls him 'beautiful as

Antinous:' he 'will speak elsewhere of that astonishing woman.'A Madame d'Udon (or some such name,

for Dumont does not recollect quite clearly) gives copious Breakfast to the Brissotin Deputies and us Friends

of Freedom, at her house in the Place Vendome; with temporary celebrity, with graces and wreathed smiles;

not without cost. There, amid wide babble and jingle, our plan of Legislative Debate is settled for the day,

and much counselling held. Strict Roland is seen there, but does not go often. (Dumont, Souvenirs, p. 374.)

Such are our inward troubles; seen in the Cities of the South; extant, seen or unseen, in all cities and districts,

North as well as South. For in all are Aristocrats, more or less malignant; watched by Patriotism; which

again, being of various shades, from light FayettistFeuillant down to deepsombre Jacobin, has to watch

Directories of Departments, what we call County Magistracies, being chosen by Citizens of a too 'active'

class, are found to pull one way; Municipalities, Town Magistracies, to pull the other way. In all places too

are Dissident Priests; whom the Legislative will have to deal with: contumacious individuals, working on that

angriest of passions; plotting, enlisting for Coblentz; or suspected of plotting: fuel of a universal

unconstitutional heat. What to do with them? They may be conscientious as well as contumacious: gently

they should be dealt with, and yet it must be speedily. In unilluminated La Vendee the simple are like to be

seduced by them; many a simple peasant, a Cathelineau the wooldealer wayfaring meditative with his

woolpacks, in these hamlets, dubiously shakes his head! Two Assembly Commissioners went thither last

Autumn; considerate Gensonne, not yet called to be a Senator; Gallois, an editorial man. These Two,

consulting with General Dumouriez, spake and worked, softly, with judgment; they have hushed down the

The General himself doubts not in the least but he can keep peace there; being an able man. He passes these

frosty months among the pleasant people of Niort, occupies 'tolerably handsome apartments in the Castle of

Niort,' and tempers the minds of men. (Dumouriez, ii. 129.) Why is there but one Dumouriez? Elsewhere you

find South or North, nothing but untempered obscure jarring; which breaks forth ever and anon into open

clangour of riot. Southern Perpignan has its tocsin, by torch light; with rushing and onslaught: Northern Caen

not less, by daylight; with Aristocrats ranged in arms at Places of Worship; Departmental compromise

proving impossible; breaking into musketry and a Plot discovered! (Hist. Parl. xii. 131, 141; xiii. 114, 417.)

Add Hunger too: for Bread, always dear, is getting dearer: not so much as Sugar can be had; for good

reasons. Poor Simoneau, Mayor of Etampes, in this Northern region, hanging out his Red Flag in some riot of

grains, is trampled to death by a hungry exasperated People. What a trade this of Mayor, in these times!

Mayor of SaintDenis hung at the Lanterne, by Suspicion and Dyspepsia, as we saw long since; Mayor of

Vaison, as we saw lately, buried before dead; and now this poor Simoneau, the Tanner, of Etampes,whom

With factions, suspicions, want of bread and sugar, it is verily what they call dechire, torn asunder this poor

country: France and all that is French. For, over seas too come bad news. In black SaintDomingo, before

that variegated Glitter in the Champs Elysees was lit for an Accepted Constitution, there had risen, and was

burning contemporary with it, quite another variegated Glitter and nocturnal Fulgor, had we known it: of

molasses and ardentspirits; of sugarboileries, plantations, furniture, cattle and men: skyhigh; the Plain of

What a change here, in these two years; since that first 'Box of Tricolor Cockades' got through the

Customhouse, and atrabiliar Creoles too rejoiced that there was a levelling of Bastilles! Levelling is

comfortable, as we often say: levelling, yet only down to oneself. Your palewhite Creoles, have their

grievances:and your yellow Quarteroons? And your darkyellow Mulattoes? And your Slaves sootblack?

Quarteroon Oge, Friend of our Parisian Brissotin Friends of the Blacks, felt, for his share too, that

Insurrection was the most sacred of duties. So the tricolor Cockades had fluttered and swashed only some

three months on the Creole hat, when Oge's signalconflagrations went aloft; with the voice of rage and

terror. Repressed, doomed to die, he took black powder or seedgrains in the hollow of his hand, this Oge;

sprinkled a film of white ones on the top, and said to his Judges, "Behold they are white;"then shook his

So now, in the Autumn of 1791, looking from the skywindows of Cap Francais, thick clouds of smoke

girdle our horizon, smoke in the day, in the night fire; preceded by fugitive shrieking white women, by Terror

and Rumour. Black demonised squadrons are massacring and harrying, with nameless cruelty. They fight and

fire 'from behind thickets and coverts,' for the Black man loves the Bush; they rush to the attack, thousands

strong, with brandished cutlasses and fusils, with caperings, shoutings and vociferation,which, if the White

Volunteer Company stands firm, dwindle into staggerings, into quick gabblement, into panic flight at the first

volley, perhaps before it. (Deux Amis, x. 157.) Poor Oge could be broken on the wheel; this firewhirlwind

too can be abated, driven up into the Mountains: but SaintDomingo is shaken, as Oge's seedgrains were;

shaking, writhing in long horrid deaththroes, it is Black without remedy; and remains, as African Haiti, a

O my Parisian Friends, is not this, as well as Regraters and Feuillant Plotters, one cause of the astonishing

dearth of Sugar! The Grocer, palpitant, with drooping lip, sees his Sugar taxe; weighed out by Female

Patriotism, in instant retail, at the inadequate rate of twentyfive sous, or thirteen pence a pound. "Abstain

from it?" yes, ye Patriot Sections, all ye Jacobins, abstain! Louvet and Collotd'Herbois so advise; resolute to

make the sacrifice: though "how shall literary men do without coffee?" Abstain, with an oath; that is the

Also, for like reason, must not Brest and the Shipping Interest languish? Poor Brest languishes, sorrowing,

not without spleen; denounces an Aristocrat BertrandMoleville traitorous Aristocrat MarineMinister. Do

not her Ships and King's Ships lie rotting piecemeal in harbour; Naval Officers mostly fled, and on furlough

too, with pay? Little stirring there; if it be not the Brest Gallies, whipdriven, with their Galley

Slaves,alas, with some Forty of our hapless Swiss Soldiers of Chateau Vieux, among others! These Forty

Swiss, too mindful of Nanci, do now, in their red wool caps, tug sorrowfully at the oar; looking into the

Atlantic brine, which reflects only their own sorrowful shaggy faces; and seem forgotten of Hope.

But, on the whole, may we not say, in fugitive language, that the French Constitution which shall march is

very rheumatic, full of shooting internal pains, in joint and muscle; and will not march without difficulty?

Extremely rheumatic Constitutions have been known to march, and keep on their feet, though in a staggering

sprawling manner, for long periods, in virtue of one thing only: that the Head were healthy. But this Head of

the French Constitution! What King Louis is and cannot help being, Readers already know. A King who

cannot take the Constitution, nor reject the Constitution: nor do anything at all, but miserably ask, What shall

I do? A King environed with endless confusions; in whose own mind is no germ of order. Haughty

implacable remnants of Noblesse struggling with humiliated repentant BarnaveLameths: struggling in that

obscure element of fetchers and carriers, of Halfpay braggarts from the Cafe Valois, of Chambermaids,

whisperers, and subaltern officious persons; fierce Patriotism looking on all the while, more and more

suspicious, from without: what, in such struggle, can they do? At best, cancel one another, and produce zero.

Poor King! Barnave and your Senatorial Jaucourts speak earnestly into this ear; BertrandMoleville, and

Messengers from Coblentz, speak earnestly into that: the poor Royal head turns to the one side and to the

other side; can turn itself fixedly to no side. Let Decency drop a veil over it: sorrier misery was seldom

enacted in the world. This one small fact, does it not throw the saddest light on much? The Queen is

lamenting to Madam Campan: "What am I to do? When they, these Barnaves, get us advised to any step

which the Noblesse do not like, then I am pouted at; nobody comes to my card table; the King's Couchee is

solitary." (Campan, ii. 177202.) In such a case of dubiety, what is one to do? Go inevitably to the ground!

The King has accepted this Constitution, knowing beforehand that it will not serve: he studies it, and executes

it in the hope mainly that it will be found inexecutable. King's Ships lie rotting in harbour, their officers gone;

the Armies disorganised; robbers scour the highways, which wear down unrepaired; all Public Service lies

slack and waste: the Executive makes no effort, or an effort only to throw the blame on the Constitution.

Shamming death, 'faisant le mort!' What Constitution, use it in this manner, can march? 'Grow to disgust the

Nation' it will truly, (Bertrand Moleville, i. c. 4.)unless you first grow to disgust the Nation! It is Bertrand

Or if, after all, this bestplan proved too slow; proved a failure? Provident of that too, the Queen, shrouded in

deepest mystery, 'writes all day, in cipher, day after day, to Coblentz;' Engineer Goguelat, he of the Night of

Spurs, whom the Lafayette Amnesty has delivered from Prison, rides and runs. Now and then, on fit

occasion, a Royal familiar visit can be paid to that Salle de Manege, an affecting encouraging Royal Speech

(sincere, doubt it not, for the moment) can be delivered there, and the Senators all cheer and almost

weep;at the same time Mallet du Pan has visibly ceased editing, and invisibly bears abroad a King's

Autograph, soliciting help from the Foreign Potentates. (Moleville, i. 370.) Unhappy Louis, do this thing or

The thing which the King's Government did do was to stagger distractedly from contradiction to

contradiction; and wedding Fire to Water, envelope itself in hissing, and ashy steam! Danton and needy

corruptible Patriots are sopped with presents of cash: they accept the sop: they rise refreshed by it, and travel

their own way. (Ibid. i. c. 17.) Nay, the King's Government did likewise hire Handclappers, or claqueurs,

persons to applaud. Subterranean Rivarol has Fifteen Hundred men in King's pay, at the rate of some ten

thousand pounds sterling, per month; what he calls 'a staff of genius:' Paragraphwriters, PlacardJournalists;

'two hundred and eighty Applauders, at three shillings a day:' one of the strangest Staffs ever commanded by

man. The musterrolls and accountbooks of which still exist. (Montgaillard, iii. 41.) BertrandMoleville

himself, in a way he thinks very dexterous, contrives to pack the Galleries of the Legislative; gets

Sansculottes hired to go thither, and applaud at a signal given, they fancying it was Petion that bid them: a

device which was not detected for almost a week. Dexterous enough; as if a man finding the Day fast decline

Here too let us note an unexpected apparition of Philippe d'Orleans at Court: his last at the Levee of any

King. D'Orleans, sometime in the winter months seemingly, has been appointed to that old firstcoveted rank

of Admiral,though only over ships rotting in port. The wishedfor comes too late! However, he waits on

BertrandMoleville to give thanks: nay to state that he would willingly thank his Majesty in person; that, in

spite of all the horrible things men have said and sung, he is far from being his Majesty's enemy; at bottom,

how far! Bertrand delivers the message, brings about the royal Interview, which does pass to the satisfaction

of his Majesty; d'Orleans seeming clearly repentant, determined to turn over a new leaf. And yet, next

Sunday, what do we see? 'Next Sunday,' says Bertrand, 'he came to the King's Levee; but the Courtiers

ignorant of what had passed, the crowd of Royalists who were accustomed to resort thither on that day

specially to pay their court, gave him the most humiliating reception. They came pressing round him;

managing, as if by mistake, to tread on his toes, to elbow him towards the door, and not let him enter again.

He went downstairs to her Majesty's Apartments, where cover was laid; so soon as he shewed face, sounds

rose on all sides, "Messieurs, take care of the dishes," as if he had carried poison in his pockets. The insults

which his presence every where excited forced him to retire without having seen the Royal Family: the crowd

followed him to the Queen's Staircase; in descending, he received a spitting (crachat) on the head, and some

others, on his clothes. Rage and spite were seen visibly painted on his face:' (BertrandMoleville, i. 177.) as

indeed how could they miss to be? He imputes it all to the King and Queen, who know nothing of it, who are

even much grieved at it; and so descends, to his Chaos again. Bertrand was there at the Chateau that day

For the rest, Nonjurant Priests, and the repression of them, will distract the King's conscience; Emigrant

Princes and Noblesse will force him to doubledealing: there must be veto on veto; amid the everwaxing

indignation of men. For Patriotism, as we said, looks on from without, more and more suspicious. Waxing

tempest, blast after blast, of Patriot indignation, from without; dim inorganic whirl of Intrigues, Fatuities,

within! Inorganic, fatuous; from which the eye turns away. De Stael intrigues for her so gallant Narbonne, to

get him made WarMinister; and ceases not, having got him made. The King shall fly to Rouen; shall there,

with the gallant Narbonne, properly 'modify the Constitution.' This is the same brisk Narbonne, who, last

year, cut out from their entanglement, by force of dragoons, those poor fugitive Royal Aunts: men say he is at

bottom their Brother, or even more, so scandalous is scandal. He drives now, with his de Stael, rapidly to the

Armies, to the Frontier Towns; produces rosecoloured Reports, not too credible; perorates, gesticulates;

wavers poising himself on the top, for a moment, seen of men; then tumbles, dismissed, washed away by the

Also the fair Princess de Lamballe intrigues, bosom friend of her Majesty: to the angering of Patriotism.

Beautiful Unfortunate, why did she ever return from England? Her small silvervoice, what can it profit in

that piping of the black Worldtornado? Which will whirl her, poor fragile Bird of Paradise, against grim

rocks. Lamballe and de Stael intrigue visibly, apart or together: but who shall reckon how many others, and in

what infinite ways, invisibly! Is there not what one may call an 'Austrian Committee,' sitting invisible in the

Tuileries; centre of an invisible AntiNational Spiderweb, which, for we sleep among mysteries, stretches its

threads to the ends of the Earth? Journalist Carra has now the clearest certainty of it: to Brissotin Patriotism,

O Reader, hast thou no pity for this Constitution? Rheumatic shooting pains in its members; pressure of

hydrocephale and hysteric vapours on its Brain: a Constitution divided against itself; which will never march,

hardly even stagger? Why were not Drouet and Procureur Sausse in their beds, that unblessed Varennes

Night! Why did they not, in the name of Heaven, let the Korff Berline go whither it listed! Nameless

incoherency, incompatibility, perhaps prodigies at which the world still shudders, had been spared.

But now comes the third thing that bodes ill for the marching of this French Constitution: besides the French

People, and the French King, there is thirdlythe assembled European world? it has become necessary now

to look at that also. Fair France is so luminous: and round and round it, is troublous Cimmerian Night.

Calonnes, Breteuils hover dim, farflown; overnetting Europe with intrigues. From Turin to Vienna; to

Berlin, and utmost Petersburg in the frozen North! Great Burke has raised his great voice long ago;

eloquently demonstrating that the end of an Epoch is come, to all appearance the end of Civilised Time. Him

many answer: Camille Desmoulins, Clootz Speaker of Mankind, Paine the rebellious Needleman, and

honourable Gallic Vindicators in that country and in this: but the great Burke remains unanswerable; 'The

Age of Chivalry is gone,' and could not but go, having now produced the still more indomitable Age of

Hunger. Altars enough, of the DuboisRohan sort, changing to the Gobeland Talleyrand sort, are faring by

rapid transmutation to, shall we say, the right Proprietor of them? French Game and French GamePreservers

did alight on the Cliffs of Dover, with cries of distress. Who will say that the end of much is not come? A set

of mortals has risen, who believe that Truth is not a printed Speculation, but a practical Fact; that Freedom

and Brotherhood are possible in this Earth, supposed always to be Belial's, which 'the Supreme Quack' was to

inherit! Who will say that Church, State, Throne, Altar are not in danger; that the sacred Strongbox itself,

last Palladium of effete Humanity, may not be blasphemously blown upon, and its padlocks undone?

The poor Constituent Assembly might act with what delicacy and diplomacy it would; declare that it abjured

meddling with its neighbours, foreign conquest, and so forth; but from the first this thing was to be predicted:

that old Europe and new France could not subsist together. A Glorious Revolution, oversetting StatePrisons

and Feudalism; publishing, with outburst of Federative Cannon, in face of all the Earth, that Appearance is

not Reality, how shall it subsist amid Governments which, if Appearance is not Reality, areone knows not

what? In death feud, and internecine wrestle and battle, it shall subsist with them; not otherwise.

Rights of Man, printed on Cotton Handkerchiefs, in various dialects of human speech, pass over to the

Frankfort Fair. (Toulongeon, i. 256.) What say we, Frankfort Fair? They have crossed Euphrates and the

fabulous Hydaspes; wafted themselves beyond the Ural, Altai, Himmalayah: struck off from wood

stereotypes, in angular Picturewriting, they are jabbered and jingled of in China and Japan. Where will it

stop? KienLung smells mischief; not the remotest DalaiLama shall now knead his doughpills in

peace.Hateful to us; as is the Night! Bestir yourselves, ye Defenders of Order! They do bestir themselves:

all Kings and Kinglets, with their spiritual temporal array, are astir; their brows clouded with menace.

Diplomatic emissaries fly swift; Conventions, privy Conclaves assemble; and wise wigs wag, taking what

Also, as we said, the Pamphleteer draws pen, on this side and that: zealous fists beat the Pulpitdrum. Not

without issue! Did not iron Birmingham, shouting 'Church and King,' itself knew not why, burst out, last

July, into rage, drunkenness, and fire; and your Priestleys, and the like, dining there on that Bastille day, get

the maddest singeing: scandalous to consider! In which same days, as we can remark, high Potentates,

Austrian and Prussian, with Emigrants, were faring towards Pilnitz in Saxony; there, on the 27th of August,

they, keeping to themselves what further 'secret Treaty' there might or might not be, did publish their hopes

and their threatenings, their Declaration that it was 'the common cause of Kings.'

Where a will to quarrel is, there is a way. Our readers remember that PentecostNight, Fourth of August

1789, when Feudalism fell in a few hours? The National Assembly, in abolishing Feudalism, promised that

'compensation' should be given; and did endeavour to give it. Nevertheless the Austrian Kaiser answers that

his German Princes, for their part, cannot be unfeudalised; that they have Possessions in French Alsace, and

Feudal Rights secured to them, for which no conceivable compensation will suffice. So this of the

Possessioned Princes, 'Princes Possessiones' is bandied from Court to Court; covers acres of diplomatic paper

at this day: a weariness to the world. Kaunitz argues from Vienna; Delessart responds from Paris, though

perhaps not sharply enough. The Kaiser and his Possessioned Princes will too evidently come and take

compensationso much as they can get. Nay might one not partition France, as we have done Poland, and

From South to North! For actually it is 'the common cause of Kings.' Swedish Gustav, sworn Knight of the

Queen of France, will lead Coalised Armies;had not Ankarstrom treasonously shot him; for, indeed, there

were griefs nearer home. (30th March 1792 (Annual Register, p. 11). Austria and Prussia speak at Pilnitz; all

men intensely listening: Imperial Rescripts have gone out from Turin; there will be secret Convention at

Vienna. Catherine of Russia beckons approvingly; will help, were she ready. Spanish Bourbon stirs amid his

pillows; from him too, even from him, shall there come help. Lean Pitt, 'the Minister of Preparatives,' looks

out from his watchtower in SaintJames's, in a suspicious manner. Councillors plotting, Calonnes

dimhovering;alas, Serjeants rubadubbing openly through all manner of German markettowns,

collecting ragged valour! (Toulongeon, ii. 100117.) Look where you will, immeasurable Obscurantism is

girdling this fair France; which, again, will not be girdled by it. Europe is in travail; pang after pang; what a

Nay the worst feature of the business is this last, still to be named; the Emigrants at Coblentz, so many

thousands ranking there, in bitter hate and menace: King's Brothers, all Princes of the Blood except wicked

d'Orleans; your duelling de Castries, your eloquent Cazales; bullheaded Malseignes, a wargod Broglie;

Distaff Seigneurs, insulted Officers, all that have ridden across the Rhinestream;d'Artois welcoming

Abbe Maury with a kiss, and clasping him publicly to his own royal heart! Emigration, flowing over the

Frontiers, now in drops, now in streams, in various humours of fear, of petulance, rage and hope, ever since

those first Bastille days when d'Artois went, 'to shame the citizens of Paris,'has swollen to the size of a

Phenomenon of the world. Coblentz is become a small extranational Versailles; a Versailles in partibus:

briguing, intriguing, favouritism, strumpetocracy itself, they say, goes on there; all the old activities, on a

Enthusiasm, of loyalty, of hatred and hope, has risen to a high pitch; as, in any Coblentz tavern, you may

hear, in speech, and in singing. Maury assists in the interior Council; much is decided on; for one thing, they

keep lists of the dates of your emigrating; a month sooner, or a month later determines your greater or your

less right to the coming Division of the Spoil. Cazales himself, because he had occasionally spoken with a

Constitutional tone, was looked on coldly at first: so pure are our principles. (Montgaillard, iii. 517;

Toulongeon, (ubi supra).) And arms are ahammering at Liege; 'three thousand horses' ambling hitherward

from the Fairs of Germany: Cavalry enrolling; likewise Footsoldiers, 'in blue coat, red waistcoat, and

nankeen trousers!' (See Hist. Parl. xiii. 1138, 4161, 358, They have their secret domestic correspondences,

as their open foreign: with disaffected CryptoAristocrats, with contumacious Priests, with Austrian

Committee in the Tuileries. Deserters are spirited over by assiduous crimps; RoyalAllemand is gone almost

wholly. Their route of march, towards France and the Division of the Spoil, is marked out, were the Kaiser

once ready. "It is said, they mean to poison the sources; but," adds Patriotism making Report of it, "they will

not poison the source of Liberty," whereat 'on applaudit,' we cannot but applaud. Also they have

manufactories of False Assignats; and men that circulate in the interior distributing and disbursing the same;

one of these we denounce now to Legislative Patriotism: 'A man Lebrun by name; about thirty years of age,

with blonde hair and in quantity; has,' only for the time being surely, 'a blackeye, oeil poche; goes in a wiski

with a black horse,' (Moniteur, Seance du 2 Novembre 1791 (Hist. Parl. xii. 212).)always keeping his Gig!

Unhappy Emigrants, it was their lot, and the lot of France! They are ignorant of much that they should know:

of themselves, of what is around them. A Political Party that knows not when it is beaten, may become one of

the fatallist of things, to itself, and to all. Nothing will convince these men that they cannot scatter the French

Revolution at the first blast of their wartrumpet; that the French Revolution is other than a blustering

Effervescence, of brawlers and spouters, which, at the flash of chivalrous broadswords, at the rustle of

gallowsropes, will burrow itself, in dens the deeper the welcomer. But, alas, what man does know and

measure himself, and the things that are round him;else where were the need of physical fighting at all?

Never, till they are cleft asunder, can these heads believe that a Sansculottic arm has any vigour in it: cleft

One may say, without spleen against his poor erring brothers of any side, that above all other mischiefs, this

of the Emigrant Nobles acted fatally on France. Could they have known, could they have understood! In the

beginning of 1789, a splendour and a terror still surrounded them: the Conflagration of their Chateaus,

kindled by months of obstinacy, went out after the Fourth of August; and might have continued out, had they

at all known what to defend, what to relinquish as indefensible. They were still a graduated Hierarchy of

Authorities, or the accredited Similitude of such: they sat there, uniting King with Commonalty; transmitting

and translating gradually, from degree to degree, the command of the one into the obedience of the other;

rendering command and obedience still possible. Had they understood their place, and what to do in it, this

French Revolution, which went forth explosively in years and in months, might have spread itself over

generations; and not a torturedeath but a quiet euthanasia have been provided for many things.

But they were proud and high, these men; they were not wise to consider. They spurned all from them; in

disdainful hate, they drew the sword and flung away the scabbard. France has not only no Hierarchy of

Authorities, to translate command into obedience; its Hierarchy of Authorities has fled to the enemies of

France; calls loudly on the enemies of France to interfere armed, who want but a pretext to do that. Jealous

Kings and Kaisers might have looked on long, meditating interference, yet afraid and ashamed to interfere:

but now do not the King's Brothers, and all French Nobles, Dignitaries and Authorities that are free to speak,

which the King himself is not,passionately invite us, in the name of Right and of Might? Ranked at

Coblentz, from Fifteen to Twenty thousand stand now brandishing their weapons, with the cry: On, on! Yes,

Messieurs, you shall on;and divide the spoil according to your dates of emigrating.

Of all which things a poor Legislative Assembly, and Patriot France, is informed: by denunciant friend, by

triumphant foe. Sulleau's Pamphlets, of the Rivarol Staff of Genius, circulate; heralding supreme hope.

Durosoy's Placards tapestry the walls; Chant du Coq crows day, pecked at by Tallien's Ami des Citoyens.

King'sFriend, Royou, Ami du Roi, can name, in exact arithmetical ciphers, the contingents of the various

Invading Potentates; in all, Four hundred and nineteen thousand Foreign fighting men, with Fifteen thousand

Emigrants. Not to reckon these your daily and hourly desertions, which an Editor must daily record, of whole

Companies, and even Regiments, crying Vive le Roi, vive la Reine, and marching over with banners spread:

(Ami du Roi Newspaper (in Hist. Parl. xiii. 175).) lies all, and wind; yet to Patriotism not wind; nor, alas,

one day, to Royou! Patriotism, therefore, may brawl and babble yet a little while: but its hours are numbered:

Europe is coming with Four hundred and nineteen thousand and the Chivalry of France; the gallows, one may

We shall have War, then; and on what terms! With an Executive 'pretending,' really with less and less

deceptiveness now, 'to be dead;' casting even a wishful eye towards the enemy: on such terms we shall have

Public Functionary in vigorous action there is none; if it be not Rivarol with his Staff of Genius and Two

hundred and eighty Applauders. The Public Service lies waste: the very taxgatherer has forgotten his

cunning: in this and the other Provincial Board of Management (Directoire de Departmente) it is found

advisable to retain what Taxes you can gather, to pay your own inevitable expenditures. Our Revenue is

Assignats; emission on emission of Papermoney. And the Army; our Three grand Armies, of Rochambeau,

of Luckner, of Lafayette? Lean, disconsolate hover these Three grand Armies, watching the Frontiers there;

three Flights of longnecked Cranes in moulting time;wretched, disobedient, disorganised; who never saw

fire; the old Generals and Officers gone across the Rhine. War minister Narbonne, he of the rosecoloured

Reports, solicits recruitments, equipments, money, always money; threatens, since he can get none, to 'take

his sword,' which belongs to himself, and go serve his country with that. (Moniteur, Seance du 23 Janvier,

The question of questions is: What shall be done? Shall we, with a desperate defiance which Fortune

sometimes favours, draw the sword at once, in the face of this inrushing world of Emigration and

Obscurantism; or wait, and temporise and diplomatise, till, if possible, our resources mature themselves a

little? And yet again are our resources growing towards maturity; or growing the other way? Dubious: the

ablest Patriots are divided; Brissot and his Brissotins, or Girondins, in the Legislative, cry aloud for the

former defiant plan; Robespierre, in the Jacobins, pleads as loud for the latter dilatory one: with responses,

even with mutual reprimands; distracting the Mother of Patriotism. Consider also what agitated Breakfasts

there may be at Madame d'Udon's in the Place Vendome! The alarm of all men is great. Help, ye Patriots; and

O at least agree; for the hour presses. Frost was not yet gone, when in that 'tolerably handsome apartment of

the Castle of Niort,' there arrived a Letter: General Dumouriez must to Paris. It is Warminister Narbonne

that writes; the General shall give counsel about many things. (Dumouriez, ii. c. 6.) In the month of February

1792, Brissotin friends welcome their Dumouriez Polymetis,comparable really to an antique Ulysses in

Let the Reader fancy this fair France with a whole Cimmerian Europe girdling her, rolling in on her; black, to

burst in red thunder of War; fair France herself handshackled and footshackled in the weltering

complexities of this Social Clothing, or Constitution, which they have made for her; a France that, in such

Constitution, cannot march! And Hunger too; and plotting Aristocrats, and excommunicating Dissident

Priests: 'The man Lebrun by name' urging his black wiski, visible to the eye: and, still more terrible in his

The excommunicatory Priests give new trouble in the Maine and Loire; La Vendee, nor Cathelineau the

wooldealer, has not ceased grumbling and rumbling. Nay behold Jales itself once more: how often does that

real imaginary Camp of the Fiend require to be extinguished! For near two years now, it has waned faint

and again waxed bright, in the bewildered soul of Patriotism: actually, if Patriotism knew it, one of the most

surprising products of Nature working with Art. Royalist Seigneurs, under this or the other pretext, assemble

the simple people of these Cevennes Mountains; men not unused to revolt, and with heart for fighting, could

their poor heads be got persuaded. The Royalist Seigneur harangues; harping mainly on the religious string:

"True Priests maltreated, false Priests intruded, Protestants (once dragooned) now triumphing, things sacred

given to the dogs;" and so produces, from the pious Mountaineer throat, rough growlings. "Shall we not

testify, then, ye brave hearts of the Cevennes; march to the rescue? Holy Religion; duty to God and King?"

"Si fait, si fait, Just so, just so," answer the brave hearts always: "Mais il y a de bien bonnes choses dans la

Revolution, But there are many good things in the Revolution too!"And so the matter, cajole as we may,

will only turn on its axis, not stir from the spot, and remains theatrical merely. (Dampmartin, i. 201.)

Nevertheless deepen your cajolery, harp quick and quicker, ye Royalist Seigneurs; with a deadlift effort you

may bring it to that. In the month of June next, this Camp of Jales will step forth as a theatricality suddenly

become real; Two thousand strong, and with the boast that it is Seventy thousand: most strange to see; with

flags flying, bayonets fixed; with Proclamation, and d'Artois Commission of civil war! Let some Rebecqui, or

other the like hotclear Patriot; let some 'LieutenantColonel Aubry,' if Rebecqui is busy elsewhere, raise

instantaneous National Guards, and disperse and dissolve it; and blow the Old Castle asunder, (Moniteur,

In the Months of February and March, it is recorded, the terror, especially of rural France, had risen even to

the transcendental pitch: not far from madness. In Town and Hamlet is rumour; of war, massacre: that

Austrians, Aristocrats, above all, that The Brigands are close by. Men quit their houses and huts; rush

fugitive, shrieking, with wife and child, they know not whither. Such a terror, the eyewitnesses say, never

fell on a Nation; nor shall again fall, even in Reigns of Terror expressly socalled. The Countries of the

Loire, all the Central and SouthEast regions, start up distracted, 'simultaneously as by an electric

shock;'for indeed grain too gets scarcer and scarcer. 'The people barricade the entrances of Towns, pile

stones in the upper stories, the women prepare boiling water; from moment to moment, expecting the attack.

In the Country, the alarmbell rings incessant: troops of peasants, gathered by it, scour the highways, seeking

an imaginary enemy. They are armed mostly with scythes stuck in wood; and, arriving in wild troops at the

barricaded Towns, are themselves sometimes taken for Brigands.' (Newspapers, (in Hist. Parl. xiii. 325).)

So rushes old France: old France is rushing down. What the end will be is known to no mortal; that the end is

To all which our poor Legislative, tied up by an unmarching Constitution, can oppose nothing, by way of

remedy, but mere bursts of parliamentary eloquence! They go on, debating, denouncing, objurgating: loud

But their two thousand and odd Decrees? Reader, these happily concern not thee, nor me. Mere Occasional

Decrees, foolish and not foolish; sufficient for that day was its own evil! Of the whole two thousand there are

not, now half a score, and these mostly blighted in the bud by royal Veto, that will profit or disprofit us. On

the 17th of January, the Legislative, for one thing, got its High Court, its Haute Cour, set up at Orleans. The

theory had been given by the Constituent, in May last, but this is the reality: a Court for the trial of Political

Offences; a Court which cannot want work. To this it was decreed that there needed no royal Acceptance,

therefore that there could be no Veto. Also Priests can now be married; ever since last October. A patriotic

adventurous Priest had made bold to marry himself then; and not thinking this enough, came to the bar with

his new spouse; that the whole world might hold honeymoon with him, and a Law be obtained.

Less joyful are the Laws against Refractory Priests; and yet no less needful! Decrees on Priests and Decrees

on Emigrants: these are the two brief Series of Decrees, worked out with endless debate, and then cancelled

by Veto, which mainly concern us here. For an august National Assembly must needs conquer these

Refractories, Clerical or Laic, and thumbscrew them into obedience; yet, behold, always as you turn your

legislative thumbscrew, and will press and even crush till Refractories give way, King's Veto steps in, with

magical paralysis; and your thumbscrew, hardly squeezing, much less crushing, does not act!

Truly a melancholy Set of Decrees, a pair of Sets; paralysed by Veto! First, under date the 28th of October

1791, we have Legislative Proclamation, issued by herald and billsticker; inviting Monsieur, the King's

Brother to return within two months, under penalties. To which invitation Monsieur replies nothing; or

indeed replies by Newspaper Parody, inviting the august Legislative 'to return to common sense within two

months,' under penalties. Whereupon the Legislative must take stronger measures. So, on the 9th of

November, we declare all Emigrants to be 'suspect of conspiracy;' and, in brief, to be 'outlawed,' if they have

not returned at Newyear'sday:Will the King say Veto? That 'triple impost' shall be levied on these men's

Properties, or even their Properties be 'put in sequestration,' one can understand. But further, on

Newyear'sday itself, not an individual having 'returned,' we declare, and with fresh emphasis some fortnight

later again declare, That Monsieur is dechu, forfeited of his eventual Heirship to the Crown; nay more that

Conde, Calonne, and a considerable List of others are accused of high treason; and shall be judged by our

High Court of Orleans: Veto!Then again as to Nonjurant Priests: it was decreed, in November last, that

they should forfeit what Pensions they had; be 'put under inspection, under surveillance,' and, if need were, be

banished: Veto! A still sharper turn is coming; but to this also the answer will be, Veto.

Veto after Veto; your thumbscrew paralysed! Gods and men may see that the Legislative is in a false

position. As, alas, who is in a true one? Voices already murmur for a 'National Convention.' (December 1791

(Hist. Parl. xii. 257).) This poor Legislative, spurred and stung into action by a whole France and a whole

Europe, cannot act; can only objurgate and perorate; with stormy 'motions,' and motion in which is no way:

What scenes in that National Hall! President jingling his inaudible bell; or, as utmost signal of distress,

clapping on his hat; 'the tumult subsiding in twenty minutes,' and this or the other indiscreet Member sent to

the Abbaye Prison for three days! Suspected Persons must be summoned and questioned; old M. de

Sombreuil of the Invalides has to give account of himself, and why he leaves his Gates open. Unusual smoke

rose from the Sevres Pottery, indicating conspiracy; the Potters explained that it was NecklaceLamotte's

Memoirs, bought up by her Majesty, which they were endeavouring to suppress by fire, (Moniteur, Seance du

Again, it would seem, Duke de Brissac and the King's ConstitutionalGuard are 'making cartridges secretly

in the cellars;' a set of Royalists, pure and impure; black cutthroats many of them, picked out of gaming

houses and sinks; in all Six thousand instead of Eighteen hundred; who evidently gloom on us every time we

enter the Chateau. (Dumouriez, ii. 168.) Wherefore, with infinite debate, let Brissac and King's Guard be

disbanded. Disbanded accordingly they are; after only two months of existence, for they did not get on foot

till March of this same year. So ends briefly the King's new Constitutional Maison Militaire; he must now be

guarded by mere Swiss and blue Nationals again. It seems the lot of Constitutional things. New

Constitutional Maison Civile he would never even establish, much as Barnave urged it; old resident

Duchesses sniffed at it, and held aloof; on the whole her Majesty thought it not worth while, the Noblesse

Or, looking still into this National Hall and its scenes, behold Bishop Torne, a Constitutional Prelate, not of

severe morals, demanding that 'religious costumes and such caricatures' be abolished. Bishop Torne warms,

catches fire; finishes by untying, and indignantly flinging on the table, as if for gage or bet, his own pontifical

cross. Which cross, at any rate, is instantly covered by the cross of TeDeum Fauchet, then by other crosses,

and insignia, till all are stripped; this clerical Senator clutching off his skullcap, that other his

frillcollar,lest Fanaticism return on us. (Moniteur, du 7 Avril 1792; Deux Amis, vii. 111.)

Quick is the movement here! And then so confused, unsubstantial, you might call it almost spectral; pallid,

dim, inane, like the Kingdoms of Dis! Unruly Liguet, shrunk to a kind of spectre for us, pleads here, some

cause that he has: amid rumour and interruption, which excel human patience; he 'tears his papers, and

withdraws,' the irascible adust little man. Nay honourable members will tear their papers, being effervescent:

Merlin of Thionville tears his papers, crying: "So, the People cannot be saved by you!" Nor are Deputations

wanting: Deputations of Sections; generally with complaint and denouncement, always with Patriot fervour

of sentiment: Deputation of Women, pleading that they also may be allowed to take Pikes, and exercise in the

ChampdeMars. Why not, ye Amazons, if it be in you? Then occasionally, having done our message and

got answer, we 'defile through the Hall, singing caira;' or rather roll and whirl through it, 'dancing our ronde

patriotique the while,'our new Carmagnole, or Pyrrhic wardance and libertydance. Patriot Huguenin,

ExAdvocate, ExCarabineer, ExClerk of the Barriers, comes deputed, with SaintAntoine at his heels;

denouncing Antipatriotism, Famine, Forstalment and Maneaters; asks an august Legislative: "Is there not a

tocsin in your hearts against these mangeurs d'hommes!" (See Moniteur, Seances (in Hist. Parl. xiii. xiv.).)

But above all things, for this is a continual business, the Legislative has to reprimand the King's Ministers. Of

His Majesty's Ministers we have said hitherto, and say, next to nothing. Still more spectral these! Sorrowful;

of no permanency any of them, none at least since Montmorin vanished: the 'eldest of the King's Council' is

occasionally not ten days old! (Dumouriez, ii. 137.) FeuillantConstitutional, as your respectable Cahier de

Gerville, as your respectable unfortunate Delessarts; or Royalist Constitutional, as Montmorin last Friend of

Necker; or Aristocrat as BertrandMoleville: they flit there phantomlike, in the huge simmering confusion;

poor shadows, dashed in the racking winds; powerless, without meaning;whom the human memory need

But how often, we say, are these poor Majesty's Ministers summoned over; to be questioned, tutored; nay,

threatened, almost bullied! They answer what, with adroitest simulation and casuistry, they can: of which a

poor Legislative knows not what to make. One thing only is clear, That Cimmerian Europe is girdling us in;

that France (not actually dead, surely?) cannot march. Have a care, ye Ministers! Sharp Guadet transfixes you

with crossquestions, with sudden Advocateconclusions; the sleeping tempest that is in Vergniaud can be

awakened. Restless Brissot brings up Reports, Accusations, endless thin Logic; it is the man's highday even

now. Condorcet redacts, with his firm pen, our 'Address of the Legislative Assembly to the French Nation.'

(16th February 1792 (Choix des Rapports, viii. 37592).) Fiery Max Isnard, who, for the rest, will "carry not

Fire and Sword" on those Cimmerian Enemies "but Liberty,"is for declaring "that we hold Ministers

For verily it grows serious: the time presses, and traitors there are. BertrandMoleville has a smooth tongue,

the known Aristocrat; gall in his heart. How his answers and explanations flow ready; jesuitic, plausible to

the ear! But perhaps the notablest is this, which befel once when Bertrand had done answering and was

withdrawn. Scarcely had the august Assembly begun considering what was to be done with him, when the

Hall fills with smoke. Thick sour smoke: no oratory, only wheezing and barking; irremediable; so that the

august Assembly has to adjourn! (Courrier de Paris, 14 Janvier, 1792 (Gorsas's Newspaper), in Hist. Parl.

xiii. 83.) A miracle? Typical miracle? One knows not: only this one seems to know, that 'the Keeper of the

Stoves was appointed by Bertrand' or by some underling of his!O fuliginous confused Kingdom of Dis,

with thy Tantalus Ixion toils, with thy angry Firefloods, and Streams named of Lamentation, why hast thou

Nevertheless let not Patriotism despair. Have we not, in Paris at least, a virtuous Petion, a wholly Patriotic

Municipality? Virtuous Petion, ever since November, is Mayor of Paris: in our Municipality, the Public, for

the Public is now admitted too, may behold an energetic Danton; further, an epigrammatic slowsure

Manuel; a resolute unrepentant BillaudVarennes, of Jesuit breeding; Tallien ableeditor; and nothing but

Patriots, better or worse. So ran the November Elections: to the joy of most citizens; nay the very Court

supported Petion rather than Lafayette. And so Bailly and his Feuillants, long waning like the Moon, had to

withdraw then, making some sorrowful obeisance, into extinction;or indeed into worse, into lurid

halflight, grimmed by the shadow of that Red Flag of theirs, and bitter memory of the ChampdeMars.

How swift is the progress of things and men! Not now does Lafayette, as on that Federationday, when his

noon was, 'press his sword firmly on the Fatherland's Altar,' and swear in sight of France: ah no; he, waning

and setting ever since that hour, hangs now, disastrous, on the edge of the horizon; commanding one of those

Three moulting Craneflights of Armies, in a most suspected, unfruitful, uncomfortable manner!

But, at most, cannot Patriotism, so many thousands strong in this Metropolis of the Universe, help itself? Has

it not righthands, pikes? Hammering of pikes, which was not to be prohibited by Mayor Bailly, has been

sanctioned by Mayor Petion; sanctioned by Legislative Assembly. How not, when the King's socalled

Constitutional Guard 'was making cartridges in secret?' Changes are necessary for the National Guard itself;

this whole FeuillantAristocrat Staff of the Guard must be disbanded. Likewise, citizens without uniform

may surely rank in the Guard, the pike beside the musket, in such a time: the 'active' citizen and the passive

who can fight for us, are they not both welcome?O my Patriot friends, indubitably Yes! Nay the truth is,

Patriotism throughout, were it never so whitefrilled, logical, respectable, must either lean itself heartily on

Sansculottism, the black, bottomless; or else vanish, in the frightfullest way, to Limbo! Thus some, with

upturned nose, will altogether sniff and disdain Sansculottism; others will lean heartily on it; nay others again

will lean what we call heartlessly on it: three sorts; each sort with a destiny corresponding. (Discours de

In such point of view, however, have we not for the present a Volunteer Ally, stronger than all the rest:

namely, Hunger? Hunger; and what rushing of Panic Terror this and the sumtotal of our other miseries may

bring! For Sansculottism grows by what all other things die of. Stupid Peter Baille almost made an epigram,

though unconsciously, and with the Patriot world laughing not at it but at him, when he wrote 'Tout va bien

ici, le pain manque, All goes well here, victuals not to be had.' (Barbaroux, p. 94.)

Neither, if you knew it, is Patriotism without her Constitution that can march; her not impotent Parliament; or

call it, Ecumenic Council, and GeneralAssembly of the JeanJacques Churches: the MOTHERSOCIETY,

namely! MotherSociety with her three hundred fullgrown Daughters; with what we can call little

Granddaughters trying to walk, in every village of France, numerable, as Burke thinks, by the hundred

thousand. This is the true Constitution; made not by TwelveHundred august Senators, but by Nature herself;

and has grown, unconsciously, out of the wants and the efforts of these Twentyfive Millions of men. They

are 'Lords of the Articles,' our Jacobins; they originate debates for the Legislative; discuss Peace and War;

settle beforehand what the Legislative is to do. Greatly to the scandal of philosophical men, and of most

Historians;who do in that judge naturally, and yet not wisely. A Governing power must exist: your other

Great is the MotherSociety: She has had the honour to be denounced by Austrian Kaunitz; (Moniteur,

Seance du 29 Mars, 1792.) and is all the dearer to Patriotism. By fortune and valour, she has extinguished

Feuillantism itself, at least the Feuillant Club. This latter, high as it once carried its head, she, on the 18th of

February, has the satisfaction to see shut, extinct; Patriots having gone thither, with tumult, to hiss it out of

pain. The Mother Society has enlarged her locality, stretches now over the whole nave of the Church. Let us

glance in, with the worthy Toulongeon, our old ExConstituent Friend, who happily has eyes to see: 'The

nave of the Jacobins Church,' says he, 'is changed into a vast Circus, the seats of which mount up circularly

like an amphitheatre to the very groin of the domed roof. A high Pyramid of black marble, built against one

of the walls, which was formerly a funeral monument, has alone been left standing: it serves now as back to

the Officebearers' Bureau. Here on an elevated Platform sit President and Secretaries, behind and above

them the white Busts of Mirabeau, of Franklin, and various others, nay finally of Marat. Facing this is the

Tribune, raised till it is midway between floor and groin of the dome, so that the speaker's voice may be in

the centre. From that point, thunder the voices which shake all Europe: down below, in silence, are forging

the thunderbolts and the firebrands. Penetrating into this huge circuit, where all is out of measure, gigantic,

the mind cannot repress some movement of terror and wonder; the imagination recals those dread temples

which Poetry, of old, had consecrated to the Avenging Deities.' (Toulongeon, ii. 124.)

Scenes too are in this Jacobin Amphitheatre,had History time for them. Flags of the 'Three free Peoples of

the Universe,' trinal brotherly flags of England, America, France, have been waved here in concert; by

London Deputation, of Whigs or Wighs and their Club, on this hand, and by young French Citizenesses on

that; beautiful sweettongued Female Citizens, who solemnly send over salutation and brotherhood, also

Tricolor stitched by their own needle, and finally Ears of Wheat; while the dome rebellows with Vivent les

trois peuples libres! from all throats:a most dramatic scene. Demoiselle Theroigne recites, from that

Tribune in mid air, her persecutions in Austria; comes leaning on the arm of Joseph Chenier, Poet Chenier, to

demand Liberty for the hapless Swiss of ChateauVieux. (Debats des Jacobins (Hist. Parl. xiii. 259, Be of

Deputy Brissot perorates from that Tribune; Desmoulins, our wicked Camille, interjecting audibly from

below, "Coquin!" Here, though oftener in the Cordeliers, reverberates the lionvoice of Danton; grim

BillaudVarennes is here; Collot d'Herbois, pleading for the Forty Swiss; tearing a passion to rags.

Apophthegmatic Manuel winds up in this pithy way: "A Minister must perish!"to which the Amphitheatre

responds: "Tous, Tous, All, All!" But the Chief Priest and Speaker of this place, as we said, is Robespierre,

the longwinded incorruptible man. What spirit of Patriotism dwelt in men in those times, this one fact, it

seems to us, will evince: that fifteen hundred human creatures, not bound to it, sat quiet under the oratory of

Robespierre; nay, listened nightly, hour after hour, applausive; and gaped as for the word of life. More

insupportable individual, one would say, seldom opened his mouth in any Tribune. Acrid,

implacableimpotent; dull drawling, barren as the Harmattanwind! He pleads, in endless earnest shallow

speech, against immediate War, against Woollen Caps or Bonnets Rouges, against many things; and is the

Trismegistus and DalaiLama of Patriot men. Whom nevertheless a shrillvoiced little man, yet with fine

eyes, and a broad beautifully sloping brow, rises respectfully to controvert: he is, say the Newspaper

Reporters, 'M. Louvet, Author of the charming Romance of Faublas.' Steady, ye Patriots! Pull not yet two

ways; with a France rushing panicstricken in the rural districts, and a Cimmerian Europe storming in on

About the vernal equinox, however, one unexpected gleam of hope does burst forth on Patriotism: the

appointment of a thoroughly Patriot Ministry. This also his Majesty, among his innumerable experiments of

wedding fire to water, will try. Quod bonum sit. Madame d'Udon's Breakfasts have jingled with a new

significance; not even Genevese Dumont but had a word in it. Finally, on the 15th and onwards to the 23d

day of March, 1792, when all is negociated,this is the blessed issue; this Patriot Ministry that we see.

General Dumouriez, with the Foreign Portfolio shall ply Kaunitz and the Kaiser, in another style than did

poor Delessarts; whom indeed we have sent to our High Court of Orleans for his sluggishness. Warminister

Narbonne is washed away by the Timeflood; poor Chevalier de Grave, chosen by the Court, is fast washing

away: then shall austere Servan, able Engineer Officer, mount suddenly to the War Department. Genevese

Claviere sees an old omen realized: passing the Finance Hotel, long years ago, as a poor Genevese Exile, it

was borne wondrously on his mind that he was to be Finance Minister; and now he is it;and his poor Wife,

given up by the Doctors, rises and walks, not the victim of nerves but their vanquisher. (Dumont, c. 20, 21.)

And above all, our Minister of the Interior? Roland de la Platriere, he of Lyons! So have the Brissotins,

public or private Opinion, and Breakfasts in the Place Vendome decided it. Strict Roland, compared to a

Quaker endimanche, or Sunday Quaker, goes to kiss hands at the Tuileries, in round hat and sleek hair, his

shoes tied with mere riband or ferrat! The Supreme Usher twitches Dumouriez aside: "Quoi, Monsieur! No

buckles to his shoes?""Ah, Monsieur," answers Dumouriez, glancing towards the ferrat: "All is lost, Tout

And so our fair Roland removes from her upper floor in the Rue Saint Jacques, to the sumptuous saloons

once occupied by Madame Necker. Nay still earlier, it was Calonne that did all this gilding; it was he who

ground these lustres, Venetian mirrors; who polished this inlaying, this veneering and ormoulu; and made it,

by rubbing of the proper lamp, an Aladdin's Palace:and now behold, he wanders dimflitting over Europe,

halfdrowned in the Rhinestream, scarcely saving his Papers! Vos non vobis.The fair Roland, equal to

either fortune, has her public Dinner on Fridays, the Ministers all there in a body: she withdraws to her desk

(the cloth once removed), and seems busy writing; nevertheless loses no word: if for example Deputy Brissot

and Minister Claviere get too hot in argument, she, not without timidity, yet with a cunning gracefulness, will

interpose. Deputy Brissot's head, they say, is getting giddy, in this sudden height: as feeble heads do.

Envious men insinuate that the Wife Roland is Minister, and not the Husband: it is happily the worst they

have to charge her with. For the rest, let whose head soever be getting giddy, it is not this brave woman's.

Serene and queenly here, as she was of old in her own hired garret of the Ursulines Convent! She who has

quietly shelled Frenchbeans for her dinner; being led to that, as a young maiden, by quiet insight and

computation; and knowing what that was, and what she was: such a one will also look quietly on ormoulu

and veneering, not ignorant of these either. Calonne did the veneering: he gave dinners here, old Besenval

diplomatically whispering to him; and was great: yet Calonne we saw at last 'walk with long strides.' Necker

next: and where now is Necker? Us also a swift change has brought hither; a swift change will send us hence.

So wags and wavers this unrestful World, day after day, month after month. The Streets of Paris, and all

Cities, roll daily their oscillatory flood of men; which flood does, nightly, disappear, and lie hidden horizontal

in beds and trucklebeds; and awakes on the morrow to new perpendicularity and movement. Men go their

roads, foolish or wise;Engineer Goguelat to and fro, bearing Queen's cipher. A Madame de Stael is busy;

cannot clutch her Narbonne from the Timeflood: a Princess de Lamballe is busy; cannot help her Queen.

Barnave, seeing the Feuillants dispersed, and Coblentz so brisk, begs by way of final recompence to kiss her

Majesty's hand; augurs not well of her new course; and retires home to Grenoble, to wed an heiress there. The

Cafe Valois and Meot the Restaurateur's hear daily gasconade; loud babble of Halfpay Royalists, with or

without Poniards; remnants of Aristocrat saloons call the new Ministry MinistereSansculotte. A Louvet, of

the Romance Faublas, is busy in the Jacobins. A Cazotte, of the Romance Diable Amoureux, is busy

elsewhere: better wert thou quiet, old Cazotte; it is a world, this, of magic become real! All men are busy;

doing they only half guess what:flinging seeds, of tares mostly, into the Seedfield of TIME"' this, by and

But Social Explosions have in them something dread, and as it were mad and magical: which indeed Life

always secretly has; thus the dumb Earth (says Fable), if you pull her mandrakeroots, will give a daemonic

madmaking moan. These Explosions and Revolts ripen, break forth like dumb dread Forces of Nature; and

yet they are Men's forces; and yet we are part of them: the Daemonic that is in man's life has burst out on us,

will sweep us too away!One day here is like another, and yet it is not like but different. How much is

growing, silently resistless, at all moments! Thoughts are growing; forms of Speech are growing, and

Customs and even Costumes; still more visibly are actions and transactions growing, and that doomed Strife,

The word Liberty is never named now except in conjunction with another; Liberty and Equality. In like

manner, what, in a reign of Liberty and Equality, can these words, 'Sir,' 'obedient Servant,' 'Honour to be,' and

such like, signify? Tatters and fibres of old Feudality; which, were it only in the Grammatical province, ought

to be rooted out! The Mother Society has long since had proposals to that effect: these she could not

entertain, not at the moment. Note too how the Jacobin Brethren are mounting new symbolical headgear: the

Woollen Cap or Nightcap, bonnet de laine, better known as bonnet rouge, the colour being red. A thing one

wears not only by way of Phrygian CapofLiberty, but also for convenience' sake, and then also in

compliment to the Lowerclass Patriots and Bastille Heroes; for the Red Nightcap combines all the three

properties. Nay cockades themselves begin to be made of wool, of tricolor yarn: the ribandcockade, as a

symptom of Feuillant Upperclass temper, is becoming suspicious. Signs of the times.

Still more, note the travailthroes of Europe: or, rather, note the birth she brings; for the successive throes

and shrieks, of Austrian and Prussian Alliance, of Kaunitz Antijacobin Despatch, of French Ambassadors

cast out, and so forth, were long to note. Dumouriez corresponds with Kaunitz, Metternich, or Cobentzel, in

another style that Delessarts did. Strict becomes stricter; categorical answer, as to this Coblentz work and

much else, shall be given. Failing which? Failing which, on the 20th day of April 1792, King and Ministers

step over to the Salle de Manege; promulgate how the matter stands; and poor Louis, 'with tears in his eyes,'

proposes that the Assembly do now decree War. After due eloquence, War is decreed that night.

War, indeed! Paris came all crowding, full of expectancy, to the morning, and still more to the evening

session. D'Orleans with his two sons, is there; looks on, wideeyed, from the opposite Gallery. (Deux Amis,

vii. 14666.) Thou canst look, O Philippe: it is a War big with issues, for thee and for all men. Cimmerian

Obscurantism and this thrice glorious Revolution shall wrestle for it, then: some Fourandtwenty years; in

immeasurable Briareus' wrestle; trampling and tearing; before they can come to any, not agreement, but

Let our Three Generals on the Frontiers look to it, therefore; and poor Chevalier de Grave, the Warminister,

consider what he will do. What is in the three Generals and Armies we may guess. As for poor Chevalier de

Grave, he, in this whirl of things all coming to a press and pinch upon him, loses head, and merely whirls

with them, in a totally distracted manner; signing himself at last, 'De Grave, Mayor of Paris:' whereupon he

demits, returns over the Channel, to walk in Kensington Gardens; (Dumont, c. 19, 21.) and austere Servan,

the able EngineerOfficer, is elevated in his stead. To the post of Honour? To that of Difficulty, at least.

And yet, how, on dark bottomless Cataracts there plays the foolishest fantasticcoloured spray and shadow;

hiding the Abyss under vapoury rainbows! Alongside of this discussion as to AustrianPrussian War, there

goes on no less but more vehemently a discussion, Whether the Forty or Two andforty Swiss of

ChateauVieux shall be liberated from the Brest Gallies? And then, Whether, being liberated, they shall have

Theroigne, as we saw, spoke; and Collot took up the tale. Has not Bouille's final display of himself, in that

final Night of Spurs, stamped your socalled 'Revolt of Nanci' into a 'Massacre of Nanci,' for all Patriot

judgments? Hateful is that massacre; hateful the Lafayette Feuillant 'public thanks' given for it! For indeed,

Jacobin Patriotism and dispersed Feuillantism are now at deathgrips; and do fight with all weapons, even

with scenic shows. The walls of Paris, accordingly, are covered with Placard and CounterPlacard, on the

subject of Forty Swiss blockheads. Journal responds to Journal; Player Collot to Poetaster Roucher; Joseph

Chenier the Jacobin, squire of Theroigne, to his Brother Andre the Feuillant; Mayor Petion to Dupont de

Nemours: and for the space of two months, there is nowhere peace for the thought of man,till this thing be

Gloria in excelsis! The Forty Swiss are at last got 'amnestied.' Rejoice ye Forty: doff your greasy wool

Bonnets, which shall become Caps of Liberty. The Brest DaughterSociety welcomes you from on board,

with kisses on each cheek: your iron Handcuffs are disputed as Relics of Saints; the Brest Society indeed can

have one portion, which it will beat into Pikes, a sort of Sacred Pikes; but the other portion must belong to

Paris, and be suspended from the dome there, along with the Flags of the Three Free Peoples! Such a goose is

man; and cackles over plushvelvet Grand Monarques and woollen Galleyslaves; over everything and over

On the ninth morning of April, these Forty Swiss blockheads arrive. From Versailles; with vivats

heavenhigh; with the affluence of men and women. To the Townhall we conduct them; nay to the

Legislative itself, though not without difficulty. They are harangued, bedinnered, begifted,the very Court,

not for conscience' sake, contributing something; and their Public Festival shall be next Sunday. Next Sunday

accordingly it is. (Newspapers of February, March, April, 1792; Iambe d'Andre Chenier sur la Fete des

Suisses; (in Hist. Parl. xiii, xiv.).) They are mounted into a 'triumphal Car resembling a ship;' are carted over

Paris, with the clang of cymbals and drums, all mortals assisting applausive; carted to the Champ deMars

and Fatherland's Altar; and finally carted, for Time always brings deliverance,into invisibility for

Whereupon dispersed Feuillantism, or that Party which loves Liberty yet not more than Monarchy, will

likewise have its Festival: Festival of Simonneau, unfortunate Mayor of Etampes, who died for the Law; most

surely for the Law, though Jacobinism disputes; being trampled down with his Red Flag in the riot about

On the whole, Festivals are not wanting; beautiful rainbowspray when all is now rushing treblequick

towards its Niagara Fall. National repasts there are; countenanced by Mayor Petion; SaintAntoine, and the

Strong Ones of the Halles defiling through Jacobin Club, "their felicity," according to Santerre, "not perfect

otherwise;" singing manyvoiced their caira, dancing their ronde patriotique. Among whom one is glad to

discern Saint Huruge, expressly 'in white hat,' the SaintChristopher of the Carmagnole. Nay a certain,

Tambour or National Drummer, having just been presented with a little daughter, determines to have the new

Frenchwoman christened on Fatherland's Altar then and there. Repast once over, he accordingly has her

christened; Fauchet the TeDeum Bishop acting in chief, Thuriot and honourable persons standing gossips:

by the name, PetionNationalPique! (PatrioteFrancais (Brissot's Newspaper), in Hist. Parl. xiii. 451.) Does

this remarkable Citizeness, now past the meridian of life, still walk the Earth? Or did she die perhaps of

And yet it is not by carmagnoledances and singing of caira, that the work can be done. Duke Brunswick is

On the Frontiers, our Armies, be it treason or not, behave in the worst way. Troops badly commanded, shall

we say? Or troops intrinsically bad? Unappointed, undisciplined, mutinous; that, in a thirtyyears peace, have

never seen fire? In any case, Lafayette's and Rochambeau's little clutch, which they made at Austrian

Flanders, has prospered as badly as clutch need do: soldiers starting at their own shadow; suddenly shrieking,

"On nous trahit," and flying off in wild panic, at or before the first shot; managing only to hang some two

or three Prisoners they had picked up, and massacre their own Commander, poor Theobald Dillon, driven into

And poor Gouvion: he who sat shiftless in that Insurrection of Women! Gouvion quitted the Legislative Hall

and Parliamentary duties, in disgust and despair, when those Galleyslaves of ChateauVieux were admitted

there. He said, "Between the Austrians and the Jacobins there is nothing but a soldier's death for it;"

(Toulongeon, ii. 149.) and so, 'in the dark stormy night,' he has flung himself into the throat of the Austrian

cannon, and perished in the skirmish at Maubeuge on the ninth of June. Whom Legislative Patriotism shall

mourn, with black mortcloths and melody in the ChampdeMars: many a Patriot shiftier, truer none.

Lafayette himself is looking altogether dubious; in place of beating the Austrians, is about writing to

denounce the Jacobins. Rochambeau, all disconsolate, quits the service: there remains only Luckner, the

Without Armies, without Generals! And the Cimmerian Night, has gathered itself; Brunswick preparing his

Proclamation; just about to march! Let a Patriot Ministry and Legislative say, what in these circumstances it

will do? Suppress Internal Enemies, for one thing, answers the Patriot Legislative; and proposes, on the 24th

of May, its Decree for the Banishment of Priests. Collect also some nucleus of determined internal friends,

adds Warminister Servan; and proposes, on the 7th of June, his Camp of Twentythousand.

Twentythousand National Volunteers; Five out of each Canton; picked Patriots, for Roland has charge of

the Interior: they shall assemble here in Paris; and be for a defence, cunningly devised, against foreign

Austrians and domestic Austrian Committee alike. So much can a Patriot Ministry and Legislative do.

Reasonable and cunningly devised as such Camp may, to Servan and Patriotism, appear, it appears not so to

Feuillantism; to that Feuillant Aristocrat Staff of the Paris Guard; a Staff, one would say again, which will

need to be dissolved. These men see, in this proposed Camp of Servan's, an offence; and even, as they

pretend to say, an insult. Petitions there come, in consequence, from blue Feuillants in epaulettes; ill received.

Nay, in the end, there comes one Petition, called 'of the Eight Thousand National Guards:' so many names are

on it; including women and children. Which famed Petition of the Eight Thousand is indeed received: and the

Petitioners, all under arms, are admitted to the honours of the sitting,if honours or even if sitting there be;

for the instant their bayonets appear at the one door, the Assembly 'adjourns,' and begins to flow out at the

Also, in these same days, it is lamentable to see how National Guards, escorting Fete Dieu or CorpusChristi

ceremonial, do collar and smite down any Patriot that does not uncover as the Hostie passes. They clap their

bayonets to the breast of Cattlebutcher Legendre, a known Patriot ever since the Bastille days; and threaten

to butcher him; though he sat quite respectfully, he says, in his Gig, at a distance of fifty paces, waiting till

the thing were by. Nay, orthodox females were shrieking to have down the Lanterne on him. (Debats des

To such height has Feuillantism gone in this Corps. For indeed, are not their Officers creatures of the chief

Feuillant, Lafayette? The Court too has, very naturally, been tampering with them; caressing them, ever since

that dissolution of the socalled Constitutional Guard. Some Battalions are altogether 'petris, kneaded full' of

Feuillantism, mere Aristocrats at bottom: for instance, the Battalion of the FillesSaintThomas, made up of

your Bankers, Stockbrokers, and other Fullpurses of the Rue Vivienne. Our worthy old Friend Weber,

Queen's Fosterbrother Weber, carries a musket in that Battalion,one may judge with what degree of

Heedless of all which, or rather heedful of all which, the Legislative, backed by Patriot France and the feeling

of Necessity, decrees this Camp of Twenty thousand. Decisive though conditional Banishment of malign

It will now be seen, therefore, Whether the Hereditary Representative is for us or against us? Whether or not,

to all our other woes, this intolerablest one is to be added; which renders us not a menaced Nation in extreme

jeopardy and need, but a paralytic Solecism of a Nation; sitting wrapped as in dead cerements, of a

ConstitutionalVesture that were no other than a windingsheet; our right hand glued to our left: to wait

there, writhing and wriggling, unable to stir from the spot, till in Prussian rope we mount to the gallows? Let

the Hereditary Representative consider it well: The Decree of Priests? The Camp of Twenty Thousand?By

Heaven, he answers, Veto! Veto!Strict Roland hands in his Letter to the King; or rather it was Madame's

Letter, who wrote it all at a sitting; one of the plainestspoken Letters ever handed in to any King. This

plain spoken Letter King Louis has the benefit of reading overnight. He reads, inwardly digests; and next

morning, the whole Patriot Ministry finds itself turned out. It is the 13th of June 1792. (Madame Roland, ii.

Dumouriez the manycounselled, he, with one Duranthon, called Minister of Justice, does indeed linger for a

day or two; in rather suspicious circumstances; speaks with the Queen, almost weeps with her: but in the end,

he too sets off for the Army; leaving what UnPatriot or SemiPatriot Ministry and Ministries can now

accept the helm, to accept it. Name them not: new quickchanging Phantasms, which shift like magiclantern

Unhappy Queen, unhappy Louis! The two Vetos were so natural: are not the Priests martyrs; also friends?

This Camp of Twenty Thousand, could it be other than of stormfullest Sansculottes? Natural; and yet, to

France, unendurable. Priests that cooperate with Coblentz must go elsewhither with their martyrdom:

stormful Sansculottes, these and no other kind of creatures, will drive back the Austrians. If thou prefer the

Austrians, then for the love of Heaven go join them. If not, join frankly with what will oppose them to the

Or alas, what extreme course was there left now, for a man like Louis? Underhand Royalists, ExMinister

BertrandMoleville, ExConstituent Malouet, and all manner of unhelpful individuals, advise and advise.

With face of hope turned now on the Legislative Assembly, and now on Austria and Coblentz, and round

generally on the Chapter of Chances, an ancient Kingship is reeling and spinning, one knows not

But is there a thinking man in France who, in these circumstances, can persuade himself that the Constitution

will march? Brunswick is stirring; he, in few days now, will march. Shall France sit still, wrapped in dead

cerements and graveclothes, its right hand glued to its left, till the Brunswick SaintBartholomew arrive; till

Verily, it is a moment frightful for all men. National Death; or else some preternatural convulsive outburst of

National Life;that same, daemonic outburst! Patriots whose audacity has limits had, in truth, better retire

like Barnave; court private felicity at Grenoble. Patriots, whose audacity has no limits must sink down into

the obscure; and, daring and defying all things, seek salvation in stratagem, in Plot of Insurrection. Roland

and young Barbaroux have spread out the Map of France before them, Barbaroux says 'with tears:' they

consider what Rivers, what Mountain ranges are in it: they will retire behind this Loirestream, defend these

Auvergne stonelabyrinths; save some little sacred Territory of the Free; die at least in their last ditch.

Lafayette indites his emphatic Letter to the Legislative against Jacobinism; (Moniteur, Seance du 18 Juin

Forward, ye Patriots whose audacity has no limits; it is you now that must either do or die! The sections of

Paris sit in deep counsel; send out Deputation after Deputation to the Salle de Manege, to petition and

denounce. Great is their ire against tyrannous Veto, Austrian Committee, and the combined Cimmerian

Kings. What boots it? Legislative listens to the 'tocsin in our hearts;' grants us honours of the sitting, sees us

defile with jingle and fanfaronade; but the Camp of Twenty Thousand, the PriestDecree, bevetoed by

Majesty, are become impossible for Legislative. Fiery Isnard says, "We will have Equality, should we

descend for it to the tomb." Vergniaud utters, hypothetically, his stern Ezekielvisions of the fate of

Antinational Kings. But the question is: Will hypothetic prophecies, will jingle and fanfaronade demolish

the Veto; or will the Veto, secure in its Tuileries Chateau, remain undemolishable by these? Barbaroux,

dashing away his tears, writes to the Marseilles Municipality, that they must send him 'Six hundred men who

know how to die, qui savent mourir.' (Barbaroux, p. 40.) No weteyed message this, but a fireeyed

Meanwhile the Twentieth of June is nigh, anniversary of that worldfamous Oath of the TennisCourt: on

which day, it is said, certain citizens have in view to plant a Mai or Tree of Liberty, in the Tuileries Terrace

of the Feuillants; perhaps also to petition the Legislative and Hereditary Representative about these

Vetos;with such demonstration, jingle and evolution, as may seem profitable and practicable. Sections

have gone singly, and jingled and evolved: but if they all went, or great part of them, and there, planting their

Among King's Friends there can be but one opinion as to such a step: among Nation's Friends there may be

two. On the one hand, might it not by possibility scare away these unblessed Vetos? Private Patriots and even

Legislative Deputies may have each his own opinion, or own noopinion: but the hardest task falls evidently

on Mayor Petion and the Municipals, at once Patriots and Guardians of the public Tranquillity. Hushing the

matter down with the one hand; tickling it up with the other! Mayor Petion and Municipality may lean this

way; DepartmentDirectory with ProcureurSyndic Roederer having a Feuillant tendency, may lean that. On

the whole, each man must act according to his one opinion or to his two opinions; and all manner of

influences, official representations cross one another in the foolishest way. Perhaps after all, the Project,

desirable and yet not desirable, will dissipate itself, being run athwart by so many complexities; and coming

Not so: on the Twentieth morning of June, a large Tree of Liberty, Lombardy Poplar by kind, lies visibly tied

on its car, in the Suburb Antoine. Suburb SaintMarceau too, in the uttermost SouthEast, and all that

remote Oriental region, Pikemen and Pikewomen, National Guards, and the unarmed curious are

gathering,with the peaceablest intentions in the world. A tricolor Municipal arrives; speaks. Tush, it is all

peaceable, we tell thee, in the way of Law: are not Petitions allowable, and the Patriotism of Mais? The

tricolor Municipal returns without effect: your Sansculottic rills continue flowing, combining into brooks:

towards noontide, led by tall Santerre in blue uniform, by tall SaintHuruge in white hat, it moves Westward,

What Processions have we not seen: CorpusChristi and Legendre waiting in Gig; Bones of Voltaire with

bullockchariots, and goadsmen in Roman Costume; Feasts of ChateauVieux and Simonneau; Gouvion

Funerals, Rousseau ShamFunerals, and the Baptism of PetionNationalPike! Nevertheless this Procession

has a character of its own. Tricolor ribands streaming aloft from pikeheads; ironshod batons; and emblems

not a few; among which, see specially these two, of the tragic and the untragic sort: a Bull's Heart transfixed

with iron, bearing this epigraph, 'Coeur d'Aristocrate, Aristocrat's Heart;' and, more striking still, properly the

standard of the host, a pair of old Black Breeches (silk, they say), extended on cross staff high overhead,

with these memorable words: 'Tremblez tyrans, voila les Sansculottes, Tremble tyrants, here are the

Scarfed tricolor Municipals do now again meet it, in the Quai Saint Bernard; and plead earnestly, having

called halt. Peaceable, ye virtuous tricolor Municipals, peaceable are we as the sucking dove. Behold our

TennisCourt Mai. Petition is legal; and as for arms, did not an august Legislative receive the socalled Eight

Thousand in arms, Feuillants though they were? Our Pikes, are they not of National iron? Law is our father

and mother, whom we will not dishonour; but Patriotism is our own soul. Peaceable, ye virtuous

Municipals;and on the whole, limited as to time! Stop we cannot; march ye with us.The Black Breeches

agitate themselves, impatient; the cannonwheels grumble: the manyfooted Host tramps on.

How it reached the Salle de Manege, like an everwaxing river; got admittance, after debate; read its

Address; and defiled, dancing and ca iraing, led by tall sonorous Santerre and tall sonorous SaintHuruge:

how it flowed, not now a waxing river but a shut Caspian lake, round all Precincts of the Tuileries; the front

Patriot squeezed by the rearward, against barred iron Grates, like to have the life squeezed out of him, and

looking too into the dread throat of cannon, for National Battalions stand ranked within: how tricolor

Municipals ran assiduous, and Royalists with Tickets of Entry; and both Majesties sat in the interior

surrounded by men in black: all this the human mind shall fancy for itself, or read in old Newspapers, and

Syndic Roederer's Chronicle of Fifty Days. (Roederer, (in Hist. Parl. xv. 98194).)

Our Mai is planted; if not in the Feuillants Terrace, whither is no ingate, then in the Garden of the Capuchins,

as near as we could get. National Assembly has adjourned till the Evening Session: perhaps this shut lake,

finding no ingate, will retire to its sources again; and disappear in peace? Alas, not yet: rearward still presses

on; rearward knows little what pressure is in the front. One would wish at all events, were it possible, to have

The shadows fall longer, eastward; it is four o'clock: will his Majesty not come out? Hardly he! In that case,

Commandant Santerre, Cattle butcher Legendre, Patriot Huguenin with the tocsin in his heart; they, and

others of authority, will enter in. Petition and request to wearied uncertain National Guard; louder and louder

petition; backed by the rattle of our two cannons! The reluctant Grate opens: endless Sansculottic multitudes

flood the stairs; knock at the wooden guardian of your privacy. Knocks, in such case, grow strokes, grow

smashings: the wooden guardian flies in shivers. And now ensues a Scene over which the world has long

wailed; and not unjustly; for a sorrier spectacle, of Incongruity fronting Incongruity, and as it were

recognising themselves incongruous, and staring stupidly in each other's face, the world seldom saw.

King Louis, his door being beaten on, opens it; stands with free bosom; asking, "What do you want?" The

Sansculottic flood recoils awestruck; returns however, the rear pressing on the front, with cries of "Veto!

Patriot Ministers! Remove Veto!"which things, Louis valiantly answers, this is not the time to do, nor this

the way to ask him to do. Honour what virtue is in a man. Louis does not want courage; he has even the

higher kind called moralcourage, though only the passive half of that. His few National Grenadiers shuffle

back with him, into the embrasure of a window: there he stands, with unimpeachable passivity, amid the

shouldering and the braying; a spectacle to men. They hand him a Red Cap of Liberty; he sets it quietly on

his head, forgets it there. He complains of thirst; half drunk Rascality offers him a bottle, he drinks of it.

"Sire, do not fear," says one of his Grenadiers. "Fear?" answers Louis: "feel then," putting the man's hand on

his heart. So stands Majesty in Red woollen Cap; black Sansculottism weltering round him, far and wide,

aimless, with in articulate dissonance, with cries of "Veto! Patriot Ministers!"

For the space of three hours or more! The National Assembly is adjourned; tricolor Municipals avail almost

nothing: Mayor Petion tarries absent; Authority is none. The Queen with her Children and Sister Elizabeth, in

tears and terror not for themselves only, are sitting behind barricaded tables and Grenadiers in an inner room.

The Men in Black have all wisely disappeared. Blind lake of Sansculottism welters stagnant through the

Nevertheless all things do end. Vergniaud arrives with Legislative Deputation, the Evening Session having

now opened. Mayor Petion has arrived; is haranguing, 'lifted on the shoulders of two Grenadiers.' In this

uneasy attitude and in others, at various places without and within, Mayor Petion harangues; many men

harangue: finally Commandant Santerre defiles; passes out, with his Sansculottism, by the opposite side of

the Chateau. Passing through the room where the Queen, with an air of dignity and sorrowful resignation, sat

among the tables and Grenadiers, a woman offers her too a Red Cap; she holds it in her hand, even puts it on

the little Prince Royal. "Madame," said Santerre, "this People loves you more than you think." (Toulongeon,

ii. 173; Campan, ii. c. 20.)About eight o'clock the Royal Family fall into each other's arms amid 'torrents

of tears.' Unhappy Family! Who would not weep for it, were there not a whole world to be wept for?

Thus has the Age of Chivalry gone, and that of Hunger come. Thus does all needing Sansculottism look in

the face of its Roi, Regulator, King or Ableman; and find that he has nothing to give it. Thus do the two

Parties, brought face to face after long centuries, stare stupidly at one another, This am I; but, Good Heaven,

is that thou?and depart, not knowing what to make of it. And yet, Incongruities having recognised

themselves to be incongruous, something must be made of it. The Fates know what.

This is the worldfamous Twentieth of June, more worthy to be called the Procession of the Black Breeches.

With which, what we had to say of this First French biennial Parliament, and its products and activities, may

How could your paralytic National Executive be put 'in action,' in any measure, by such a Twentieth of June

as this? Quite contrariwise: a large sympathy for Majesty so insulted arises every where; expresses itself in

Addresses, Petitions 'Petition of the Twenty Thousand inhabitants of Paris,' and such like, among all

Of which rallying it was thought King Louis might have made something. However, he does make nothing of

it, or attempt to make; for indeed his views are lifted beyond domestic sympathy and rallying, over to

Coblentz mainly: neither in itself is the same sympathy worth much. It is sympathy of men who believe still

that the Constitution can march. Wherefore the old discord and ferment, of Feuillant sympathy for Royalty,

and Jacobin sympathy for Fatherland, acting against each other from within; with terror of Coblentz and

Brunswick acting from without:this discord and ferment must hold on its course, till a catastrophe do ripen

and come. One would think, especially as Brunswick is near marching, such catastrophe cannot now be

distant. Busy, ye Twentyfive French Millions; ye foreign Potentates, minatory Emigrants, German

drillserjeants; each do what his hand findeth! Thou, O Reader, at such safe distance, wilt see what they

Consider therefore this pitiable Twentieth of June as a futility; no catastrophe, rather a catastasis, or

heightening. Do not its Black Breeches wave there, in the Historical Imagination, like a melancholy flag of

distress; soliciting help, which no mortal can give? Soliciting pity, which thou wert hardhearted not to give

freely, to one and all! Other such flags, or what are called Occurrences, and black or bright symbolic

Phenomena; will flit through the Historical Imagination: these, one after one, let us note, with extreme

The first phenomenon is that of Lafayette at the Bar of the Assembly; after a week and day. Promptly, on

hearing of this scandalous Twentieth of June, Lafayette has quitted his Command on the North Frontier, in

better or worse order; and got hither, on the 28th, to repress the Jacobins: not by Letter now; but by oral

Petition, and weight of character, face to face. The august Assembly finds the step questionable; invites him

meanwhile to the honours of the sitting. (Moniteur, Seance du 28 Juin 1792.) Other honour, or advantage,

there unhappily came almost none; the Galleries all growling; fiery Isnard glooming; sharp Guadet not

And out of doors, when the sitting is over, Sieur Resson, keeper of the Patriot Cafe in these regions, hears in

the street a hurlyburly; steps forth to look, he and his Patriot customers: it is Lafayette's carriage, with a

tumultuous escort of blue Grenadiers, Cannoneers, even Officers of the Line, hurrahing and capering round it.

They make a pause opposite Sieur Resson's door; wag their plumes at him; nay shake their fists, bellowing A

bas les Jacobins; but happily pass on without onslaught. They pass on, to plant a Mai before the General's

door, and bully considerably. All which the Sieur Resson cannot but report with sorrow, that night, in the

Mother Society. (Debats des Jacobins (Hist. Parl. xv. 235).) But what no Sieur Resson nor Mother Society

can do more than guess is this, That a council of rank Feuillants, your unabolished Staff of the Guard and

who else has status and weight, is in these very moments privily deliberating at the General's: Can we not put

down the Jacobins by force? Next day, a Review shall be held, in the Tuileries Garden, of such as will turn

out, and try. Alas, says Toulongeon, hardly a hundred turned out. Put it off till tomorrow, then, to give better

warning. On the morrow, which is Saturday, there turn out 'some thirty;' and depart shrugging their

shoulders! (Toulongeon, ii. 180. See also Dampmartin, ii. 161.) Lafayette promptly takes carriage again;

The dust of Paris is hardly off his wheels, the summer Sunday is still young, when Cordeliers in deputation

pluck up that Mai of his: before sunset, Patriots have burnt him in effigy. Louder doubt and louder rises, in

Section, in National Assembly, as to the legality of such unbidden Anti jacobin visit on the part of a

General: doubt swelling and spreading all over France, for six weeks or so: with endless talk about usurping

soldiers, about English Monk, nay about Cromwell: O thou Paris Grandison Cromwell!What boots it?

King Louis himself looked coldly on the enterprize: colossal Hero of two Worlds, having weighed himself in

the balance, finds that he is become a gossamer Colossus, only some thirty turning out.

In a like sense, and with a like issue, works our DepartmentDirectory here at Paris; who, on the 6th of July,

take upon them to suspend Mayor Petion and Procureur Manuel from all civic functions, for their conduct,

replete, as is alleged, with omissions and commissions, on that delicate Twentieth of June. Virtuous Petion

sees himself a kind of martyr, or pseudomartyr, threatened with several things; drawls out due heroical

lamentation; to which Patriot Paris and Patriot Legislative duly respond. King Louis and Mayor Petion have

already had an interview on that business of the Twentieth; an interview and dialogue, distinguished by

frankness on both sides; ending on King Louis's side with the words, "Taisezvous, Hold your peace."

For the rest, this of suspending our Mayor does seem a mistimed measure. By ill chance, it came out

precisely on the day of that famous Baiser de l'amourette, or miraculous reconciliatory DelilahKiss, which

we spoke of long ago. Which DelilahKiss was thereby quite hindered of effect. For now his Majesty has to

write, almost that same night, asking a reconciled Assembly for advice! The reconciled Assembly will not

advise; will not interfere. The King confirms the suspension; then perhaps, but not till then will the Assembly

interfere, the noise of Patriot Paris getting loud. Whereby your DelilahKiss, such was the destiny of

Nay there goes a word that as many as Thirty of our chief Patriot Senators are to be clapped in prison, by

mittimus and indictment of Feuillant Justices, Juges de Paix; who here in Paris were well capable of such a

thing. It was but in May last that Juge de Paix Lariviere, on complaint of BertrandMoleville touching that

Austrian Committee, made bold to launch his mittimus against three heads of the Mountain, Deputies Bazire,

Chabot, Merlin, the Cordelier Trio; summoning them to appear before him, and shew where that Austrian

Committee was, or else suffer the consequences. Which mittimus the Trio, on their side, made bold to fling in

the fire: and valiantly pleaded privilege of Parliament. So that, for his zeal without knowledge, poor Justice

Lariviere now sits in the prison of Orleans, waiting trial from the Haute Cour there. Whose example, may it

not deter other rash Justices; and so this word of the Thirty arrestments continue a word merely?

But on the whole, though Lafayette weighed so light, and has had his Mai plucked up, Official Feuillantism

falters not a whit; but carries its head high, strong in the letter of the Law. Feuillants all of these men: a

Feuillant Directory; founding on high character, and such like; with Duke de la Rochefoucault for

President,a thing which may prove dangerous for him! Dim now is the once bright Anglomania of these

admired Noblemen. Duke de Liancourt offers, out of Normandy where he is LordLieutenant, not only to

receive his Majesty, thinking of flight thither, but to lend him money to enormous amounts. Sire, it is not a

Revolt, it is a Revolution; and truly no rosewater one! Worthier Noblemen were not in France nor in Europe

than those two: but the Time is crooked, quickshifting, perverse; what straightest course will lead to any

Another phasis which we note, in these early July days, is that of certain thin streaks of Federate National

Volunteers wending from various points towards Paris, to hold a new FederationFestival, or Feast of Pikes,

on the Fourteenth there. So has the National Assembly wished it, so has the Nation willed it. In this way,

perhaps, may we still have our Patriot Camp in spite of Veto. For cannot these Federes, having celebrated

their Feast of Pikes, march on to Soissons; and, there being drilled and regimented, rush to the Frontiers, or

As indeed the other Veto, about Priests, is also like to be eluded; and without much cunning. For Provincial

Assemblies, in Calvados as one instance, are proceeding on their own strength to judge and banish

Antinational Priests. Or still worse without Provincial Assembly, a desperate People, as at Bourdeaux, can

'hang two of them on the Lanterne,' on the way towards judgment. (Hist. Parl. xvi. 259.) Pity for the spoken

It is true, some ghost of a Warminister, or Homeminister, for the time being, ghost whom we do not name,

does write to Municipalities and King's Commanders, that they shall, by all conceivable methods, obstruct

this Federation, and even turn back the Federes by force of arms: a message which scatters mere doubt,

paralysis and confusion; irritates the poor Legislature; reduces the Federes as we see, to thin streaks. But

being questioned, this ghost and the other ghosts, What it is then that they propose to do for saving the

country?they answer, That they cannot tell; that indeed they for their part have, this morning, resigned in a

body; and do now merely respectfully take leave of the helm altogether. With which words they rapidly walk

out of the Hall, sortent brusquement de la salle, the 'Galleries cheering loudly,' the poor Legislature sitting

'for a good while in silence!' (Moniteur, Seance du Juillet 1792.) Thus do Cabinet ministers themselves, in

extreme cases, strike work; one of the strangest omens. Other complete Cabinetministry there will not be;

only fragments, and these changeful, which never get completed; spectral Apparitions that cannot so much as

appear! King Louis writes that he now views this Federation Feast with approval; and will himself have the

And so these thin streaks of Federes wend Parisward through a paralytic France. Thin grim streaks; not thick

joyful ranks, as of old to the first Feast of Pikes! No: these poor Federates march now towards Austria and

Austrian Committee, towards jeopardy and forlorn hope; men of hard fortune and temper, not rich in the

world's goods. Municipalities, paralyzed by Warministers are shy of affording cash: it may be, your poor

Federates cannot arm themselves, cannot march, till the DaughterSociety of the place open her pocket, and

subscribe. There will not have arrived, at the set day, Three thousand of them in all. And yet, thin and feeble

as these streaks of Federates seem, they are the only thing one discerns moving with any clearness of aim, in

this strange scene. Angry buz and simmer; uneasy tossing and moaning of a huge France, all enchanted,

spellbound by unmarching Constitution, into frightful conscious and unconscious Magnetic sleep; which

frightful Magneticsleep must now issue soon in one of two things: Death or Madness! The Federes carry

mostly in their pocket some earnest cry and Petition, to have the 'National Executive put in action;' or as a

step towards that, to have the King's Decheance, King's Forfeiture, or at least his Suspension, pronounced.

They shall be welcome to the Legislative, to the Mother of Patriotism; and Paris will provide for their

Decheance, indeed: and, what next? A France spellfree, a Revolution saved; and any thing, and all things

next! so answer grimly Danton and the unlimited Patriots, down deep in their subterranean region of Plot,

whither they have now dived. Decheance, answers Brissot with the limited: And if next the little Prince Royal

were crowned, and some Regency of Girondins and recalled Patriot Ministry set over him? Alas, poor

Brissot; looking, as indeed poor man does always, on the nearest morrow as his peaceable promised land;

deciding what must reach to the world's end, yet with an insight that reaches not beyond his own nose! Wiser

are the unlimited subterranean Patriots, who with light for the hour itself, leave the rest to the gods.

Or were it not, as we now stand, the probablest issue of all, that Brunswick, in Coblentz, just gathering his

huge limbs towards him to rise, might arrive first; and stop both Decheance, and theorizing on it? Brunswick

is on the eve of marching; with Eighty Thousand, they say; fell Prussians, Hessians, feller Emigrants: a

General of the Great Frederick, with such an Army. And our Armies? And our Generals? As for Lafayette, on

whose late visit a Committee is sitting and all France is jarring and censuring, he seems readier to fight us

than fight Brunswick. Luckner and Lafayette pretend to be interchanging corps, and are making movements;

which Patriotism cannot understand. This only is very clear, that their corps go marching and shuttling, in the

interior of the country; much nearer Paris than formerly! Luckner has ordered Dumouriez down to him, down

from Maulde, and the Fortified Camp there. Which order the many counselled Dumouriez, with the

Austrians hanging close on him, he busy meanwhile training a few thousands to stand fire and be soldiers,

declares that, come of it what will, he cannot obey. (Dumouriez, ii. 1, 5.) Will a poor Legislative, therefore,

sanction Dumouriez; who applies to it, 'not knowing whether there is any Warministry?' Or sanction

The poor Legislative knows not what to do. It decrees, however, that the Staff of the Paris Guard, and indeed

all such Staffs, for they are Feuillants mostly, shall be broken and replaced. It decrees earnestly in what

manner one can declare that the Country is in Danger. And finally, on the 11th of July, the morrow of that

day when the Ministry struck work, it decrees that the Country be, with all despatch, declared in Danger.

Whereupon let the King sanction; let the Municipality take measures: if such Declaration will do service, it

In Danger, truly, if ever Country was! Arise, O Country; or be trodden down to ignominious ruin! Nay, are

not the chances a hundred to one that no rising of the Country will save it; Brunswick, the Emigrants, and

But to our minds the notablest of all these moving phenomena, is that of Barbaroux's 'Six Hundred

Prompt to the request of Barbaroux, the Marseilles Municipality has got these men together: on the fifth

morning of July, the Townhall says, "Marchez, abatez le Tyran, March, strike down the Tyrant;"

(Dampmartin, ii. 183.) and they, with grim appropriate "Marchons," are marching. Long journey, doubtful

errand; Enfans de la Patrie, may a good genius guide you! Their own wild heart and what faith it has will

guide them: and is not that the monition of some genius, better or worse? Five Hundred and Seventeen able

men, with Captains of fifties and tens; well armed all, musket on shoulder, sabre on thigh: nay they drive

three pieces of cannon; for who knows what obstacles may occur? Municipalities there are, paralyzed by

Warminister; Commandants with orders to stop even Federation Volunteers; good, when sound arguments

will not open a Towngate, if you have a petard to shiver it! They have left their sunny Phocean City and

Seahaven, with its bustle and its bloom: the thronging Course, with high frondent Avenues, pitchy

dockyards, almond and olive groves, orange trees on housetops, and white glittering bastides that crown the

hills, are all behind them. They wend on their wild way, from the extremity of French land, through unknown

Much wondering at this phenomenon, and how, in a peaceable trading City, so many householders or

hearthholders do severally fling down their crafts and industrial tools; gird themselves with weapons of war,

and set out on a journey of six hundred miles to 'strike down the tyrant,'you search in all Historical Books,

Pamphlets, and Newspapers, for some light on it: unhappily without effect. Rumour and Terror precede this

march; which still echo on you; the march itself an unknown thing. Weber, in the back stairs of the

Tuileries, has understood that they were Forcats, Galley slaves and mere scoundrels, these Marseillese; that,

as they marched through Lyons, the people shut their shops;also that the number of them was some Four

Thousand. Equally vague is Blanc Gilli, who likewise murmurs about Forcats and danger of plunder. (See

Barbaroux, Memoires (Note in p. 40, 41.).) Forcats they were not; neither was there plunder, or danger of it.

Men of regular life, or of the bestfilled purse, they could hardly be; the one thing needful in them was that

they 'knew how to die.' Friend Dampmartin saw them, with his own eyes, march 'gradually' through his

quarters at Villefranche in the Beaujolais: but saw in the vaguest manner; being indeed preoccupied, and

himself minded for matching just thenacross the Rhine. Deep was his astonishment to think of such a

march, without appointment or arrangement, station or ration: for the rest it was 'the same men he had seen

formerly' in the troubles of the South; 'perfectly civil;' though his soldiers could not be kept from talking a

So vague are all these; Moniteur, Histoire Parlementaire are as good as silent: garrulous History, as is too

usual, will say nothing where you most wish her to speak! If enlightened Curiosity ever get sight of the

Marseilles CouncilBooks, will it not perhaps explore this strangest of Municipal procedures; and feel called

to fish up what of the Biographies, creditable or discreditable, of these Five Hundred and Seventeen, the

As it is, these Marseillese remain inarticulate, undistinguishable in feature; a blackbrowed Mass, full of grim

fire, who wend there, in the hot sultry weather: very singular to contemplate. They wend; amid the infinitude

of doubt and dim peril; they not doubtful: Fate and Feudal Europe, having decided, come girdling in from

without: they, having also decided, do march within. Dusty of face, with frugal refreshment, they plod

onwards; unweariable, not to be turned aside. Such march will become famous. The Thought, which works

voiceless in this blackbrowed mass, an inspired Tyrtaean Colonel, Rouget de Lille whom the Earth still holds,

(A.D. 1836.) has translated into grim melody and rhythm; into his Hymn or March of the Marseillese:

luckiest musicalcomposition ever promulgated. The sound of which will make the blood tingle in men's

veins; and whole Armies and Assemblages will sing it, with eyes weeping and burning, with hearts defiant of

One sees well, these Marseillese will be too late for the Federation Feast. In fact, it is not ChampdeMars

Oaths that they have in view. They have quite another feat to do: a paralytic National Executive to set in

action. They must 'strike down' whatsoever 'Tyrant,' or MartyrFaineant, there may be who paralyzes it;

Of the Federation Feast itself we shall say almost nothing. There are Tents pitched in the ChampdeMars;

tent for National Assembly; tent for Hereditary Representative,who indeed is there too early, and has to

wait long in it. There are Eightythree symbolical Departmental Treesof Liberty; trees and mais enough:

beautifullest of all these is one huge mai, hung round with effete Scutcheons, Emblazonries and

Genealogybooks; nay better still, with Lawyers'bags, 'sacs de procedure:' which shall be burnt. The Thirty

seatrows of that famed Slope are again full; we have a bright Sun; and all is marching, streamering and

blaring: but what avails it? Virtuous Mayor Petion, whom Feuillantism had suspended, was reinstated only

last night, by Decree of the Assembly. Men's humour is of the sourest. Men's hats have on them, written in

Poor Louis, who has waited till five o'clock before the Assembly would arrive, swears the National Oath this

time, with a quilted cuirass under his waistcoat which will turn pistolbullets. (Campan, ii. c. 20; De Stael, ii.

c. 7.) Madame de Stael, from that Royal Tent, stretches out the neck in a kind of agony, lest the waving

multitudes which receive him may not render him back alive. No cry of Vive le Roi salutes the ear; cries only

of Vive Petion; Petion ou la Mort. The National Solemnity is as it were huddled by; each cowering off almost

before the evolutions are gone through. The very Mai with its Scutcheons and Lawyers'bags is forgotten,

stands unburnt; till 'certain Patriot Deputies,' called by the people, set a torch to it, by way of voluntary

Mayor Petion, named on hats, is at his zenith in this Federation; Lafayette again is close upon his nadir. Why

does the stormbell of SaintRoch speak out, next Saturday; why do the citizens shut their shops? (Moniteur,

Seance du 21 Juillet 1792.) It is Sections defiling, it is fear of effervescence. Legislative Committee, long

deliberating on Lafayette and that Antijacobin Visit of his, reports, this day, that there is 'not ground for

Accusation!' Peace, ye Patriots, nevertheless; and let that tocsin cease: the Debate is not finished, nor the

Report accepted; but Brissot, Isnard and the Mountain will sift it, and resift it, perhaps for some three weeks

So many bells, stormbells and noises do ring;scarcely audible; one drowning the other. For example: in

this same Lafayette tocsin, of Saturday, was there not withal some faint bobminor, and Deputation of

Legislative, ringing the Chevalier Paul Jones to his long rest; tocsin or dirge now all one to him! Not ten days

hence Patriot Brissot, beshouted this day by the Patriot Galleries, shall find himself begroaned by them, on

account of his limited Patriotism; nay pelted at while perorating, and 'hit with two prunes.' (Hist. Parl. xvi.

185.) It is a distracted empty sounding world; of bobminors and bobmajors, of triumph and terror, of rise

The more touching is this other Solemnity, which happens on the morrow of the Lafayette tocsin:

Proclamation that the Country is in Danger. Not till the present Sunday could such Solemnity be. The

Legislative decreed it almost a fortnight ago; but Royalty and the ghost of a Ministry held back as they could.

Now however, on this Sunday, 22nd day of July 1792, it will hold back no longer; and the Solemnity in very

deed is. Touching to behold! Municipality and Mayor have on their scarfs; cannonsalvo booms alarm from

the PontNeuf, and singlegun at intervals all day. Guards are mounted, scarfed Notabilities, Halberdiers,

and a Cavalcade; with streamers, emblematic flags; especially with one huge Flag, flapping mournfully:

Citoyens, la Patrie est en Danger. They roll through the streets, with sternsounding music, and slow rattle of

hoofs: pausing at set stations, and with doleful blast of trumpet, singing out through Herald's throat, what the

Is there a man's heart that hears it without a thrill? The manyvoiced responsive hum or bellow of these

multitudes is not of triumph; and yet it is a sound deeper than triumph. But when the long Cavalcade and

Proclamation ended; and our huge Flag was fixed on the Pont Neuf, another like it on the HoteldeVille, to

wave there till better days; and each Municipal sat in the centre of his Section, in a Tent raised in some open

square, Tent surmounted with flags of Patrie en danger, and topmost of all a Pike and Bonnet Rouge; and, on

two drums in front of him, there lay a planktable, and on this an open Book, and a Clerk sat, like recording

angel, ready to write the Lists, or as we say to enlist! O, then, it seems, the very gods might have looked

down on it. Young Patriotism, Culottic and Sansculottic, rushes forward emulous: That is my name; name,

blood, and life, is all my Country's; why have I nothing more! Youths of short stature weep that they are

below size. Old men come forward, a son in each hand. Mothers themselves will grant the son of their travail;

send him, though with tears. And the multitude bellows Vive la Patrie, far reverberating. And fire flashes in

the eyes of men;and at eventide, your Municipal returns to the Townhall, followed by his long train of

volunteer Valour; hands in his List: says proudly, looking round. This is my day's harvest. (Tableau de la

Revolution, para Patrie en Danger.) They will march, on the morrow, to Soissons; small bundle holding all

So, with Vive la Patrie, Vive la Liberte, stone Paris reverberates like Ocean in his caves; day after day,

Municipals enlisting in tricolor Tent; the Flag flapping on Pont Neuf and Townhall, Citoyens, la Patrie est en

Danger. Some Ten thousand fighters, without discipline but full of heart, are on march in few days. The like

is doing in every Town of France. Consider therefore whether the Country will want defenders, had we but

a National Executive? Let the Sections and Primary Assemblies, at any rate, become Permanent, and sit

continually in Paris, and over France, by Legislative Decree dated Wednesday the 25th. (Moniteur, Seance du

Mark contrariwise how, in these very hours, dated the 25th, Brunswick shakes himself 's'ebranle,' in

Coblentz; and takes the road! Shakes himself indeed; one spoken word becomes such a shaking. Successive,

simultaneous dirl of thirty thousand muskets shouldered; prance and jingle of tenthousand horsemen,

fanfaronading Emigrants in the van; drum, kettle drum; noise of weeping, swearing; and the immeasurable

lumbering clank of baggagewaggons and campkettles that groan into motion: all this is Brunswick shaking

himself; not without all this does the one man march, 'covering a space of forty miles.' Still less without his

By this Document, it would seem great things are in store for France. The universal French People shall now

have permission to rally round Brunswick and his Emigrant Seigneurs; tyranny of a Jacobin Faction shall

oppress them no more; but they shall return, and find favour with their own good King; who, by Royal

Declaration (three years ago) of the Twentythird of June, said that he would himself make them happy. As

for National Assembly, and other Bodies of Men invested with some temporary shadow of authority, they are

charged to maintain the King's Cities and Strong Places intact, till Brunswick arrive to take delivery of them.

Indeed, quick submission may extenuate many things; but to this end it must be quick. Any National Guard

or other unmilitary person found resisting in arms shall be 'treated as a traitor;' that is to say, hanged with

promptitude. For the rest, if Paris, before Brunswick gets thither, offer any insult to the King: or, for example,

suffer a faction to carry the King away elsewhither; in that case Paris shall be blasted asunder with

cannonshot and 'military execution.' Likewise all other Cities, which may witness, and not resist to the

uttermost, such forcedmarch of his Majesty, shall be blasted asunder; and Paris and every City of them,

startingplace, course and goal of said sacrilegious forcedmarch, shall, as rubbish and smoking ruin, lie

there for a sign. Such vengeance were indeed signal, 'an insigne vengeance:'O Brunswick, what words

thou writest and blusterest! In this Paris, as in old Nineveh, are so many score thousands that know not the

right hand from the left, and also much cattle. Shall the very milkcows, hardliving cadgers'asses, and

Nor is Royal and Imperial PrussianAustrian Declaration wanting: setting forth, in the amplest manner, their

SanssouciSchonbrunn version of this whole French Revolution, since the first beginning of it; and with what

grief these high heads have seen such things done under the Sun: however, 'as some small consolation to

mankind,' (Annual Register (1792), p. 236.) they do now despatch Brunswick; regardless of expense, as one

might say, of sacrifices on their own part; for is it not the first duty to console men?

Serene Highnesses, who sit there protocolling and manifestoing, and consoling mankind! how were it if, for

once in the thousand years, your parchments, formularies, and reasons of state were blown to the four winds;

and Reality Sansindispensables stared you, even you, in the face; and Mankind said for itself what the thing

But judge if there was comfort in this to the Sections all sitting permanent; deliberating how a National

High rises the response, not of cackling terror, but of crowing counter defiance, and Vive la Nation; young

Valour streaming towards the Frontiers; Patrie en Danger mutely beckoning on the Pont Neuf. Sections are

busy, in their permanent Deep; and down, lower still, works unlimited Patriotism, seeking salvation in plot.

Insurrection, you would say, becomes once more the sacredest of duties? Committee, selfchosen, is sitting

at the Sign of the Golden Sun: Journalist Carra, Camille Desmoulins, Alsatian Westermann friend of Danton,

American Fournier of Martinique;a Committee not unknown to Mayor Petion, who, as an official person,

must sleep with one eye open. Not unknown to Procureur Manuel; least of all to ProcureurSubstitute

Danton! He, wrapped in darkness, being also official, bears it on his giant shoulder; cloudy invisible Atlas of

Much is invisible; the very Jacobins have their reticences. Insurrection is to be: but when? This only we can

discern, that such Federes as are not yet gone to Soissons, as indeed are not inclined to go yet, "for reasons,"

says the Jacobin President, "which it may be interesting not to state," have got a Central Committee sitting

close by, under the roof of the Mother Society herself. Also, what in such ferment and danger of

effervescence is surely proper, the Fortyeight Sections have got their Central Committee; intended 'for

prompt communication.' To which Central Committee the Municipality, anxious to have it at hand, could not

Singular City! For overhead of all this, there is the customary baking and brewing; Labour hammers and

grinds. Frilled promenaders saunter under the trees; whitemuslin promenaderess, in green parasol, leaning

on your arm. Dogs dance, and shoeblacks polish, on that Pont Neuf itself, where Fatherland is in danger. So

much goes its course; and yet the course of all things is nigh altering and ending.

Look at that Tuileries and Tuileries Garden. Silent all as Sahara; none entering save by ticket! They shut their

Gates, after the Day of the Black Breeches; a thing they had the liberty to do. However, the National

Assembly grumbled something about Terrace of the Feuillants, how said Terrace lay contiguous to the back

entrance to their Salle, and was partly National Property; and so now National Justice has stretched a Tricolor

Riband athwart, by way of boundaryline, respected with splenetic strictness by all Patriots. It hangs there

that Tricolor boundaryline; carries 'satirical inscriptions on cards,' generally in verse; and all beyond this is

called Coblentz, and remains vacant; silent, as a fateful Golgotha; sunshine and umbrage alternating on it in

vain. Fateful Circuit; what hope can dwell in it? Mysterious Tickets of Entry introduce themselves; speak of

Insurrection very imminent. Rivarol's Staff of Genius had better purchase blunderbusses; Grenadier bonnets,

red Swiss uniforms may be useful. Insurrection will come; but likewise will it not be met? Staved off, one

But consider withal if the Bournestones and Portable chairs remain silent; if the Herald's College of

BillStickers sleep! Louvet's Sentinel warns gratis on all walls; Sulleau is busy: People'sFriend Marat and

King's Friend Royou croak and countercroak. For the man Marat, though long hidden since that

ChampdeMars Massacre, is still alive. He has lain, who knows in what Cellars; perhaps in Legendre's; fed

by a steak of Legendre's killing: but, since April, the bullfrog voice of him sounds again; hoarsest of earthly

cries. For the present, black terror haunts him: O brave Barbaroux wilt thou not smuggle me to Marseilles,

'disguised as a jockey?' (Barbaroux, p. 60.) In PalaisRoyal and all public places, as we read, there is sharp

activity; private individuals haranguing that Valour may enlist; haranguing that the Executive may be put in

action. Royalist journals ought to be solemnly burnt: argument thereupon; debates which generally end in

singlestick, coups de cannes. (Newspapers, Narratives and Documents (Hist. Parl. xv. 240; xvi. 399.) Or

think of this; the hour midnight; place Salle de Manege; august Assembly just adjourning: 'Citizens of both

sexes enter in a rush exclaiming, Vengeance: they are poisoning our Brothers;'baking brayedglass among

their bread at Soissons! Vergniaud has to speak soothing words, How Commissioners are already sent to

investigate this brayedglass, and do what is needful therein: till the rush of Citizens 'makes profound

Such is Paris; the heart of a France like to it. Preternatural suspicion, doubt, disquietude, nameless

anticipation, from shore to shore:and those blackbrowed Marseillese, marching, dusty, unwearied, through

the midst of it; not doubtful they. Marching to the grim music of their hearts, they consume continually the

long road, these three weeks and more; heralded by Terror and Rumour. The Brest Federes arrive on the 26th;

through hurrahing streets. Determined men are these also, bearing or not bearing the Sacred Pikes of

ChateauVieux; and on the whole decidedly disinclined for Soissons as yet. Surely the Marseillese Brethren

It was a bright day for Charenton, that 29th of the month, when the Marseillese Brethren actually came in

sight. Barbaroux, Santerre and Patriots have gone out to meet the grim Wayfarers. Patriot clasps dusty Patriot

to his bosom; there is footwashing and refection: 'dinner of twelve hundred covers at the Blue Dial, Cadran

Bleu;' and deep interior consultation, that one wots not of. (Deux Amis, viii. 90101.) Consultation indeed

which comes to little; for Santerre, with an open purse, with a loud voice, has almost no head. Here however

On which public entry the DayHistorians, Diurnalists, or Journalists as they call themselves, have preserved

record enough. How SaintAntoine male and female, and Paris generally, gave brotherly welcome, with

bravo and handclapping, in crowded streets; and all passed in the peaceablest manner;except it might be

our Marseillese pointed out here and there a ribandcockade, and beckoned that it should be snatched away,

and exchanged for a wool one; which was done. How the Mother Society in a body has come as far as the

Bastilleground, to embrace you. How you then wend onwards, triumphant, to the Townhall, to be embraced

by Mayor Petion; to put down your muskets in the Barracks of Nouvelle France, not far off;then towards

the appointed Tavern in the Champs Elysees to enjoy a frugal Patriot repast. (Hist. Parl. xvi. 196. See

Of all which the indignant Tuileries may, by its Tickets of Entry, have warning. Red Swiss look doubly sharp

to their ChateauGrates;though surely there is no danger? Blue Grenadiers of the FillesSaintThomas

Section are on duty there this day: men of Agio, as we have seen; with stuffed purses, ribandcockades;

among whom serves Weber. A party of these latter, with Captains, with sundry Feuillant Notabilities, Moreau

de Saint Mery of the three thousand orders, and others, have been dining, much more respectably, in a

Tavern hard by. They have dined, and are now drinking LoyalPatriotic toasts; while the Marseillese,

NationalPatriotic merely, are about sitting down to their frugal covers of delf. How it happened remains to

this day undemonstrable: but the external fact is, certain of these FillesSaintThomas Grenadiers do issue

from their Tavern; perhaps touched, surely not yet muddled with any liquor they have had;issue in the

professed intention of testifying to the Marseillese, or to the multitude of Paris Patriots who stroll in these

spaces, That they, the FillesSaintThomas men, if well seen into, are not a whit less Patriotic than any other

It was a rash errand! For how can the strolling multitudes credit such a thing; or do other indeed than hoot at

it, provoking, and provoked;till Grenadier sabres stir in the scabbard, and a sharp shriek rises: "A nous

Marseillais, Help Marseillese!" Quick as lightning, for the frugal repast is not yet served, that Marseillese

Tavern flings itself open: by door, by window; running, bounding, vault forth the Five hundred and

Seventeen undined Patriots; and, sabre flashing from thigh, are on the scene of controversy. Will ye parley,

ye Grenadier Captains and official Persons; 'with faces grown suddenly pale,' the Deponents say? (Moniteur,

Seances du 30, du 31 Juillet 1792 (Hist. Parl. xvi. 197210.) Advisabler were instant moderately swift

retreat! The FillesSaintThomas retreat, back foremost; then, alas, face foremost, at treblequick time; the

Marseillese, according to a Deponent, "clearing the fences and ditches after them like lions: Messieurs, it was

Thus they retreat, the Marseillese following. Swift and swifter, towards the Tuileries: where the Drawbridge

receives the bulk of the fugitives; and, then suddenly drawn up, saves them; or else the green mud of the

Ditch does it. The bulk of them; not all; ah, no! Moreau de SaintMery for example, being too fat, could not

fly fast; he got a stroke, flatstroke only, over the shoulderblades, and fell prone;and disappears there

from the History of the Revolution. Cuts also there were, pricks in the posterior fleshy parts; much rending of

skirts, and other discrepant waste. But poor Sublieutenant Duhamel, innocent Changebroker, what a lot for

him! He turned on his pursuer, or pursuers, with a pistol; he fired and missed; drew a second pistol, and again

fired and missed; then ran: unhappily in vain. In the Rue SaintFlorentin, they clutched him; thrust him

through, in red rage: that was the end of the New Era, and of all Eras, to poor Duhamel.

Pacific readers can fancy what sort of gracebeforemeat this was to frugal Patriotism. Also how the

Battalion of the FillesSaintThomas 'drew out in arms,' luckily without further result; how there was

accusation at the Bar of the Assembly, and counteraccusation and defence; Marseillese challenging the

sentence of free jury court,which never got to a decision. We ask rather, What the upshot of all these

distracted wildly accumulating things may, by probability, be? Some upshot; and the time draws nigh! Busy

are Central Committees, of Federes at the Jacobins Church, of Sections at the Townhall; Reunion of Carra,

Camille and Company at the Golden Sun. Busy: like submarine deities, or call them mudgods, working

And how your National Assembly, like a ship waterlogged, helmless, lies tumbling; the Galleries, of shrill

Women, of Federes with sabres, bellowing down on it, not unfrightful;and waits where the waves of

chance may please to strand it; suspicious, nay on the Left side, conscious, what submarine Explosion is

meanwhile acharging! Petition for King's Forfeiture rises often there: Petition from Paris Section, from

Provincial Patriot Towns; From Alencon, Briancon, and 'the Traders at the Fair of Beaucaire.' Or what of

these? On the 3rd of August, Mayor Petion and the Municipality come petitioning for Forfeiture: they openly,

in their tricolor Municipal scarfs. Forfeiture is what all Patriots now want and expect. All Brissotins want

Forfeiture; with the little Prince Royal for King, and us for Protector over him. Emphatic Federes asks the

legislature: "Can you save us, or not?" Fortyseven Seconds have agreed to Forfeiture; only that of the

FillesSaintThomas pretending to disagree. Nay Section Mauconseil declares Forfeiture to be, properly

speaking, come; Mauconseil for one 'does from this day,' the last of July, 'cease allegiance to Louis,' and take

minute of the same before all men. A thing blamed aloud; but which will be praised aloud; and the name

Mauconseil, of Illcounsel, be thenceforth changed to Bonconseil, of Goodcounsel.

President Danton, in the Cordeliers Section, does another thing: invites all Passive Citizens to take place

among the Active in Sectionbusiness, one peril threatening all. Thus he, though an official person; cloudy

Atlas of the whole. Likewise he manages to have that blackbrowed Battalion of Marseillese shifted to new

Barracks, in his own region of the remote SouthEast. Sleek Chaumette, cruel Billaud, Deputy Chabot the

Disfrocked, Huguenin with the tocsin in his heart, will welcome them there. Wherefore, again and again: "O

Legislators, can you save us or not?" Poor Legislators; with their Legislature waterlogged, volcanic

Explosion charging under it! Forfeiture shall be debated on the ninth day of August; that miserable business

Or will the humane Reader glance into the Leveeday of Sunday the fifth? The last Levee! Not for a long

time, 'never,' says BertrandMoleville, had a Levee been so brilliant, at least so crowded. A sad presaging

interest sat on every face; Bertrand's own eyes were filled with tears. For, indeed, outside of that Tricolor

Riband on the Feuillants Terrace, Legislature is debating, Sections are defiling, all Paris is astir this very

Sunday, demanding Decheance. (Hist. Parl. xvi. 3379.) Here, however, within the riband, a grand proposal

is on foot, for the hundredth time, of carrying his Majesty to Rouen and the Castle of Gaillon. Swiss at

Courbevoye are in readiness; much is ready; Majesty himself seems almost ready. Nevertheless, for the

hundredth time, Majesty, when near the point of action, draws back; writes, after one has waited, palpitating,

an endless summer day, that 'he has reason to believe the Insurrection is not so ripe as you suppose.' Whereat

BertrandMoleville breaks forth 'into extremity at one of spleen and despair, d'humeur et de desespoir.'

For, in truth, the Insurrection is just about ripe. Thursday is the ninth of the month August: if Forfeiture be

Legislature? A poor waterlogged Legislature can pronounce nothing. On Wednesday the eighth, after endless

oratory once again, they cannot even pronounce Accusation again Lafayette; but absolve him,hear it,

Patriotism!by a majority of two to one. Patriotism hears it; Patriotism, hounded on by Prussian Terror, by

Preternatural Suspicion, roars tumultuous round the Salle de Manege, all day; insults many leading Deputies,

of the absolvent Rightside; nay chases them, collars them with loud menace: Deputy Vaublanc, and others

of the like, are glad to take refuge in Guardhouses, and escape by the back window. And so, next day, there is

infinite complaint; Letter after Letter from insulted Deputy; mere complaint, debate and selfcancelling

jargon: the sun of Thursday sets like the others, and no Forfeiture pronounced. Wherefore in fine, To your

The MotherSociety ceases speaking; groups cease haranguing: Patriots, with closed lips now, 'take one

another's arm;' walk off, in rows, two and two, at a brisk businesspace; and vanish afar in the obscure places

of the East. (Deux Amis, viii. 12988.) Santerre is ready; or we will make him ready. Fortyseven of the

Fortyeight Sections are ready; nay Filles SaintThomas itself turns up the Jacobin side of it, turns down

the Feuillant side of it, and is ready too. Let the unlimited Patriot look to his weapon, be it pike, be it firelock;

and the Brest brethren, above all, the blackbrowed Marseillese prepare themselves for the extreme hour!

Syndic Roederer knows, and laments or not as the issue may turn, that 'five thousand ballcartridges, within

these few days, have been distributed to Federes, at the HoteldeVille.' (Roederer a la Barre (Seance du 9

And ye likewise, gallant gentlemen, defenders of Royalty, crowd ye on your side to the Tuileries. Not to a

Levee: no, to a Couchee: where much will be put to bed. Your Tickets of Entry are needful; needfuller your

blunderbusses!They come and crowd, like gallant men who also know how to die: old Maille the

CampMarshal has come, his eyes gleaming once again, though dimmed by the rheum of almost fourscore

years. Courage, Brothers! We have a thousand red Swiss; men stanch of heart, steadfast as the granite of their

Alps. National Grenadiers are at least friends of Order; Commandant Mandat breathes loyal ardour, will

"answer for it on his head." Mandat will, and his Staff; for the Staff, though there stands a doom and Decree

Commandant Mandat has corresponded with Mayor Petion; carries a written Order from him these three

days, to repel force by force. A squadron on the Pont Neuf with cannon shall turn back these Marseillese

coming across the River: a squadron at the Townhall shall cut SaintAntoine in two, 'as it issues from the

Arcade SaintJean;' drive one half back to the obscure East, drive the other half forward through 'the Wickets

of the Louvre.' Squadrons not a few, and mounted squadrons; squadrons in the Palais Royal, in the Place

Vendome: all these shall charge, at the right moment; sweep this street, and then sweep that. Some new

Twentieth of June we shall have; only still more ineffectual? Or probably the Insurrection will not dare to rise

at all? Mandat's Squadrons, HorseGendarmerie and blue Guards march, clattering, tramping; Mandat's

Cannoneers rumble. Under cloud of night; to the sound of his generale, which begins drumming when men

On the other hand, the Fortyeight Sections correspond by swift messengers; are choosing each their 'three

Delegates with full powers.' Syndic Roederer, Mayor Petion are sent for to the Tuileries: courageous

Legislators, when the drum beats danger, should repair to their Salle. Demoiselle Theroigne has on her

grenadierbonnet, shortskirted riding habit; two pistols garnish her small waist, and sabre hangs in baldric

Such a game is playing in this Paris Pandemonium, or City of All the Devils!And yet the Night, as Mayor

Petion walks here in the Tuileries Garden, 'is beautiful and calm;' Orion and the Pleiades glitter down quite

serene. Petion has come forth, the 'heat' inside was so oppressive. (Roederer, Chronique de Cinquante Jours:

Recit de Petion. Townhall Records, (in Hist. Parl. xvi. 399466.) Indeed, his Majesty's reception of him was

of the roughest; as it well might be. And now there is no outgate; Mandat's blue Squadrons turn you back at

every Grate; nay the FillesSaintThomas Grenadiers give themselves liberties of tongue, How a virtuous

Mayor 'shall pay for it, if there be mischief,' and the like; though others again are full of civility. Surely if any

man in France is in straights this night, it is Mayor Petion: bound, under pain of death, one may say, to smile

dexterously with the one side of his face, and weep with the other;death if he do it not dexterously enough!

Not till four in the morning does a National Assembly, hearing of his plight, summon him over 'to give

account of Paris;' of which he knows nothing: whereby however he shall get home to bed, and only his gilt

coach be left. Scarcely less delicate is Syndic Roederer's task; who must wait whether he will lament or not,

till he see the issue. Janus Bifrons, or Mr. Facing bothways, as vernacular Bunyan has it! They walk there,

in the meanwhile, these two Januses, with others of the like double conformation; and 'talk of indifferent

Roederer, from time to time, steps in; to listen, to speak; to send for the DepartmentDirectory itself, he their

Procureur Syndic not seeing how to act. The Apartments are all crowded; some seven hundred gentlemen in

black elbowing, bustling; red Swiss standing like rocks; ghost, or partialghost of a Ministry, with Roederer

and advisers, hovering round their Majesties; old Marshall Maille kneeling at the King's feet, to say, He and

these gallant gentlemen are come to die for him. List! through the placid midnight; clang of the distant

stormbell! So, in very sooth; steeple after steeple takes up the wondrous tale. Black Courtiers listen at the

windows, opened for air; discriminate the steeplebells: (Roederer, ubi supra.) this is the tocsin of

SaintRoch; that again, is it not SaintJacques, named de la Boucherie? Yes, Messieurs! Or even

SaintGermain l'Auxerrois, hear ye it not? The same metal that rang storm, two hundred and twenty years

ago; but by a Majesty's order then; on SaintBartholomew's Eve (24th August, 1572.)So go the

steeplebells; which Courtiers can discriminate. Nay, meseems, there is the Townhall itself; we know it by its

sound! Yes, Friends, that is the Townhall; discoursing so, to the Night. Miraculously; by miraculous

metaltongue and man's arm: Marat himself, if you knew it, is pulling at the rope there! Marat is pulling;

Robespierre lies deep, invisible for the next forty hours; and some men have heart, and some have as good as

What struggling confusion, as the issue slowly draws on; and the doubtful Hour, with pain and blind struggle,

brings forth its Certainty, never to be abolished!The Fullpower Delegates, three from each Section, a

Hundred and fortyfour in all, got gathered at the Townhall, about midnight. Mandat's Squadron, stationed

there, did not hinder their entering: are they not the 'Central Committee of the Sections' who sit here usually;

though in greater number tonight? They are there: presided by Confusion, Irresolution, and the Clack of

Tongues. Swift scouts fly; Rumour buzzes, of black Courtiers, red Swiss, of Mandat and his Squadrons that

shall charge. Better put off the Insurrection? Yes, put it off. Ha, hark! SaintAntoine booming out eloquent

tocsin, of its own accord!Friends, no: ye cannot put off the Insurrection; but must put it on, and live with it,

Swift now, therefore: let these actual Old Municipals, on sight of the Fullpowers, and mandate of the

Sovereign elective People, lay down their functions; and this New Hundred and fortyfour take them up!

Will ye nill ye, worthy Old Municipals, ye must go. Nay is it not a happiness for many a Municipal that he

can wash his hands of such a business; and sit there paralyzed, unaccountable, till the Hour do bring forth; or

even go home to his night's rest? (Section Documents, Townhall Documents (Hist. Parl. ubi supra).) Two

only of the Old, or at most three, we retain Mayor Petion, for the present walking in the Tuileries; Procureur

Manuel; Procureur Substitute Danton, invisible Atlas of the whole. And so, with our Hundred and fortyfour,

among whom are a TocsinHuguenin, a Billaud, a Chaumette; and EditorTalliens, and Fabre d'Eglantines,

Sergents, Panises; and in brief, either emergent, or else emerged and fullblown, the entire Flower of

unlimited Patriotism: have we not, as by magic, made a New Municipality; ready to act in the unlimited

manner; and declare itself roundly, 'in a State of Insurrection!'First of all, then, be Commandant Mandat

sent for, with that Mayor'sOrder of his; also let the New Municipals visit those Squadrons that were to

charge; and let the stormbell ring its loudest;and, on the whole, Forward, ye Hundred and fortyfour;

Reader, fancy not, in thy languid way, that Insurrection is easy. Insurrection is difficult: each individual

uncertain even of his next neighbour; totally uncertain of his distant neighbours, what strength is with him,

what strength is against him; certain only that, in case of failure, his individual portion is the gallows! Eight

hundred thousand heads, and in each of them a separate estimate of these uncertainties, a separate theorem of

action conformable to that: out of so many uncertainties, does the certainty, and inevitable netresult never to

be abolished, go on, at all moments, bodying itself forth;leading thee also towards civiccrowns or an

Could the Reader take an Asmodeus's Flight, and waving open all roofs and privacies, look down from the

Tower of Notre Dame, what a Paris were it! Of treblevoice whimperings or vehemence, of bassvoice

growlings, dubitations; Courage screwing itself to desperate defiance; Cowardice trembling silent within

barred doors;and all round, Dulness calmly snoring; for much Dulness, flung on its mattresses, always

sleeps. O, between the clangour of these highstorming tocsins and that snore of Dulness, what a gamut: of

trepidation, excitation, desperation; and above it mere Doubt, Danger, Atropos and Nox!

Fighters of this section draw out; hear that the next Section does not; and thereupon draw in. SaintAntoine,

on this side the River, is uncertain of SaintMarceau on that. Steady only is the snore of Dulness, are the Six

Hundred Marseillese that know how to die! Mandat, twice summoned to the Townhall, has not come. Scouts

fly incessant, in distracted haste; and the manywhispering voices of Rumour. Theroigne and unofficial

Patriots flit, dimvisible, exploratory, far and wide; like Nightbirds on the wing. Of Nationals some Three

thousand have followed Mandat and his generale; the rest follow each his own theorem of the uncertainties:

theorem, that one should march rather with SaintAntoine; innumerable theorems, that in such a case the

wholesomest were sleep. And so the drums beat, in made fits, and the stormbells peal. SaintAntoine itself

does but draw out and draw in; Commandant Santerre, over there, cannot believe that the Marseillese and

Saint Marceau will march. Thou laggard sonorous Beervat, with the loud voice and timber head, is it time

now to palter? Alsatian Westermann clutches him by the throat with drawn sabre: whereupon the

Timberheaded believes. In this manner wanes the slow night; amid fret, uncertainty and tocsin; all men's

However, Mandat, on the third summons does come;come, unguarded; astonished to find the Municipality

new. They question him straitly on that Mayor'sOrder to resist force by force; on that strategic scheme of

cutting SaintAntoine in two halves: he answers what he can: they think it were right to send this strategic

National Commandant to the Abbaye Prison, and let a Court of Law decide on him. Alas, a Court of Law, not

BookLaw but primeval ClubLaw, crowds and jostles out of doors; all fretted to the hysterical pitch; cruel

as Fear, blind as the Night: such Court of Law, and no other, clutches poor Mandat from his constables; beats

him down, massacres him, on the steps of the Townhall. Look to it, ye new Municipals; ye People, in a state

of Insurrection! Blood is shed, blood must be answered for;alas, in such hysterical humour, more blood

Seventeen Individuals have been seized in the Champs Elysees, by exploratory Patriotism; they flitting

dimvisible, by it flitting dim visible. Ye have pistols, rapiers, ye Seventeen? One of those accursed 'false

Patrols;' that go marauding, with AntiNational intent; seeking what they can spy, what they can spill! The

Seventeen are carried to the nearest Guardhouse; eleven of them escape by back passages. "How is this?"

Demoiselle Theroigne appears at the front entrance, with sabre, pistols, and a train; denounces treasonous

connivance; demands, seizes, the remaining six, that the justice of the People be not trifled with. Of which six

two more escape in the whirl and debate of the ClubLaw Court; the last unhappy Four are massacred, as

Mandat was: Two ExBodyguards; one dissipated Abbe; one Royalist Pamphleteer, Sulleau, known to us by

name, Able Editor, and wit of all work. Poor Sulleau: his Acts of the Apostles, and brisk PlacardJournals

(for he was an able man) come to Finis, in this manner; and questionable jesting issues suddenly in horrid

Or think what a night the poor National Assembly has had: sitting there, 'in great paucity,' attempting to

debate;quivering and shivering; pointing towards all the thirtytwo azimuths at once, as the

magnetneedle does when thunderstorm is in the air! If the Insurrection come? If it come, and fail? Alas, in

that case, may not black Courtiers, with blunderbusses, red Swiss with bayonets rush over, flushed with

victory, and ask us: Thou undefinable, waterlogged, selfdistractive, selfdestructive Legislative, what dost

thou here unsunk?Or figure the poor National Guards, bivouacking 'in temporary tents' there; or standing

ranked, shifting from leg to leg, all through the weary night; New tricolor Municipals ordering one thing, old

Mandat Captains ordering another! Procureur Manuel has ordered the cannons to be withdrawn from the Pont

Neuf; none ventured to disobey him. It seemed certain, then, the old Staff so long doomed has finally been

dissolved, in these hours; and Mandat is not our Commandant now, but Santerre? Yes, friends: Santerre

henceforth, surely Mandat no more! The Squadrons that were to charge see nothing certain, except that

they are cold, hungry, worn down with watching; that it were sad to slay French brothers; sadder to be slain

by them. Without the Tuileries Circuit, and within it, sour uncertain humour sways these men: only the red

Swiss stand steadfast. Them their officers refresh now with a slight wetting of brandy; wherein the Nationals,

King Louis meanwhile had laid him down for a little sleep: his wig when he reappeared had lost the powder

on one side. (Roederer, ubi supra.) Old Marshal Maille and the gentlemen in black rise always in spirits, as

the Insurrection does not rise: there goes a witty saying now, "Le tocsin ne rend pas." The tocsin, like a dry

milkcow, does not yield. For the rest, could one not proclaim Martial Law? Not easily; for now, it seems,

Mayor Petion is gone. On the other hand, our Interim Commandant, poor Mandat being off, 'to the

HoteldeVille,' complains that so many Courtiers in black encumber the service, are an eyesorrow to the

National Guards. To which her Majesty answers with emphasis, That they will obey all, will suffer all, that

And so the yellow lamplight dies out in the gray of morning, in the King's Palace, over such a scene. Scene of

jostling, elbowing, of confusion, and indeed conclusion, for the thing is about to end. Roederer and spectral

Ministers jostle in the press; consult, in side cabinets, with one or with both Majesties. Sister Elizabeth takes

the Queen to the window: "Sister, see what a beautiful sunrise," right over the Jacobins church and that

quarter! How happy if the tocsin did not yield! But Mandat returns not; Petion is gone: much hangs wavering

in the invisible Balance. About five o'clock, there rises from the Garden a kind of sound; as of a shout to

which had become a howl, and instead of Vive le Roi were ending in Vive la Nation. "Mon Dieu!" ejaculates

a spectral Minister, "what is he doing down there?" For it is his Majesty, gone down with old Marshal Maille

to review the troops; and the nearest companies of them answer so. Her Majesty bursts into a stream of tears.

Yet on stepping from the cabinet her eyes are dry and calm, her look is even cheerful. 'The Austrian lip, and

the aquiline nose, fuller than usual, gave to her countenance,' says Peltier, (In Toulongeon, ii. 241.)

'something of Majesty, which they that did not see her in these moments cannot well have an idea of.' O thou

King Louis enters, much blown with the fatigue; but for the rest with his old air of indifference. Of all hopes

Unhappy Friends, the tocsin does yield, has yielded! Lo ye, how with the first sunrays its Oceantide, of

pikes and fusils, flows glittering from the far East;immeasurable; born of the Night! They march there, the

grim host; SaintAntoine on this side of the River; SaintMarceau on that, the blackbrowed Marseillese in

the van. With hum, and grim murmur, farheard; like the Oceantide, as we say: drawn up, as if by Luna and

Influences, from the great Deep of Waters, they roll gleaming on; no King, Canute or Louis, can bid them roll

back. Wideeddying sidecurrents, of onlookers, roll hither and thither, unarmed, not voiceless; they, the

steel host, roll on. NewCommandant Santerre, indeed, has taken seat at the Townhall; rests there, in his

halfwayhouse. Alsatian Westermann, with flashing sabre, does not rest; nor the Sections, nor the

And now, where are Mandat's Squadrons that were to charge? Not a Squadron of them stirs: or they stir in the

wrong direction, out of the way; their officers glad that they will even do that. It is to this hour uncertain

whether the Squadron on the Pont Neuf made the shadow of resistance, or did not make the shadow: enough,

the blackbrowed Marseillese, and Saint Marceau following them, do cross without let; do cross, in sure

hope now of SaintAntoine and the rest; do billow on, towards the Tuileries, where their errand is. The

Tuileries, at sound of them, rustles responsive: the red Swiss look to their priming; Courtiers in black draw

their blunderbusses, rapiers, poniards, some have even fireshovels; every man his weapon of war.

Judge if, in these circumstances, Syndic Roederer felt easy! Will the kind Heavens open no middlecourse of

refuge for a poor Syndic who halts between two? If indeed his Majesty would consent to go over to the

Assembly! His Majesty, above all her Majesty, cannot agree to that. Did her Majesty answer the proposal

with a "Fi donc;" did she say even, she would be nailed to the walls sooner? Apparently not. It is written also

that she offered the King a pistol; saying, Now or else never was the time to shew himself. Close

eyewitnesses did not see it, nor do we. That saw only that she was queenlike, quiet; that she argued not,

upbraided not, with the Inexorable; but, like Caesar in the Capitol, wrapped her mantle, as it beseems Queens

and Sons of Adam to do. But thou, O Louis! of what stuff art thou at all? Is there no stroke in thee, then, for

Life and Crown? The silliest hunted deer dies not so. Art thou the languidest of all mortals; or the mildest

The tide advances; Syndic Roederer's and all men's straits grow straiter and straiter. Fremescent clangor

comes from the armed Nationals in the Court; far and wide is the infinite hubbub of tongues. What counsel?

And the tide is now nigh! Messengers, forerunners speak hastily through the outer Grates; hold parley sitting

astride the walls. Syndic Roederer goes out and comes in. Cannoneers ask him: Are we to fire against the

people? King's Ministers ask him: Shall the King's House be forced? Syndic Roederer has a hard game to

play. He speaks to the Cannoneers with eloquence, with fervour; such fervour as a man can, who has to blow

hot and cold in one breath. Hot and cold, O Roederer? We, for our part, cannot live and die! The Cannoneers,

by way of answer, fling down their linstocks.Think of this answer, O King Louis, and King's Ministers:

and take a poor Syndic's safe middlecourse, towards the Salle de Manege. King Louis sits, his hands leant

on knees, body bent forward; gazes for a space fixedly on Syndic Roederer; then answers, looking over his

shoulder to the Queen: Marchons! They march; King Louis, Queen, Sister Elizabeth, the two royal children

and governess: these, with Syndic Roederer, and Officials of the Department; amid a double rank of National

Guards. The men with blunderbusses, the steady red Swiss gaze mournfully, reproachfully; but hear only

these words from Syndic Roederer: "The King is going to the Assembly; make way." It has struck eight, on

O ye stanch Swiss, ye gallant gentlemen in black, for what a cause are ye to spend and be spent! Look out

from the western windows, ye may see King Louis placidly hold on his way; the poor little Prince Royal

'sportfully kicking the fallen leaves.' Fremescent multitude on the Terrace of the Feuillants whirls parallel to

him; one man in it, very noisy, with a long pole: will they not obstruct the outer Staircase, and backentrance

of the Salle, when it comes to that? King's Guards can go no further than the bottom step there. Lo,

Deputation of Legislators come out; he of the long pole is stilled by oratory; Assembly's Guards join

themselves to King's Guards, and all may mount in this case of necessity; the outer Staircase is free, or

passable. See, Royalty ascends; a blue Grenadier lifts the poor little Prince Royal from the press; Royalty has

entered in. Royalty has vanished for ever from your eyes.And ye? Left standing there, amid the yawning

abysses, and earthquake of Insurrection; without course; without command: if ye perish it must be as more

than martyrs, as martyrs who are now without a cause! The black Courtiers disappear mostly; through such

issues as they can. The poor Swiss know not how to act: one duty only is clear to them, that of standing by

But the glittering steel tide has arrived; it beats now against the Chateau barriers, and eastern Courts;

irresistible, loudsurging far and wide; breaks in, fills the Court of the Carrousel, blackbrowed Marseillese

in the van. King Louis gone, say you; over to the Assembly! Well and good: but till the Assembly pronounce

Forfeiture of him, what boots it? Our post is in that Chateau or stronghold of his; there till then must we

continue. Think, ye stanch Swiss, whether it were good that grim murder began, and brothers blasted one

another in pieces for a stone edifice?Poor Swiss! they know not how to act: from the southern windows,

some fling cartridges, in sign of brotherhood; on the eastern outer staircase, and within through long stairs

and corridors, they stand firmranked, peaceable and yet refusing to stir. Westermann speaks to them in

Alsatian German; Marseillese plead, in hot Provencal speech and pantomime; stunning hubbub pleads and

threatens, infinite, around. The Swiss stand fast, peaceable and yet immovable; red granite pier in that

Who can help the inevitable issue; Marseillese and all France, on this side; granite Swiss on that? The

pantomime grows hotter and hotter; Marseillese sabres flourishing by way of action; the Swiss brow also

clouding itself, the Swiss thumb bringing its firelock to the cock. And hark! highthundering above all the

din, three Marseillese cannon from the Carrousel, pointed by a gunner of bad aim, come rattling over the

roofs! Ye Swiss, therefore: Fire! The Swiss fire; by volley, by platoon, in rollingfire: Marseillese men not a

few, and 'a tall man that was louder than any,' lie silent, smashed, upon the pavement;not a few

Marseillese, after the long dusty march, have made halt here. The Carrousel is void; the black tide recoiling;

'fugitives rushing as far as SaintAntoine before they stop.' The Cannoneers without linstock have squatted

Think what a volley: reverberating doomful to the four corners of Paris, and through all hearts; like the clang

of Bellona's thongs! The blackbrowed Marseillese, rallying on the instant, have become black Demons that

know how to die. Nor is Brest behindhand; nor Alsatian Westermann; Demoiselle Theroigne is Sybil

Theroigne: Vengeance Victoire,ou la mort! From all Patriot artillery, great and small; from Feuillants

Terrace, and all terraces and places of the widespread Insurrectionary sea, there roars responsive a red

whirlwind. Blue Nationals, ranked in the Garden, cannot help their muskets going off, against Foreign

murderers. For there is a sympathy in muskets, in heaped masses of men: nay, are not Mankind, in whole,

like tuned strings, and a cunning infinite concordance and unity; you smite one string, and all strings will

begin sounding,in soft sphere melody, in deafening screech of madness! Mounted Gendarmerie gallop

distracted; are fired on merely as a thing running; galloping over the Pont Royal, or one knows not whither.

The brain of Paris, brainfevered in the centre of it here, has gone mad; what you call, taken fire.

Behold, the fire slackens not; nor does the Swiss rollingfire slacken from within. Nay they clutched cannon,

as we saw: and now, from the other side, they clutch three pieces more; alas, cannon without linstock; nor

will the steelandflint answer, though they try it. (Deux Amis, viii. 17988.) Had it chanced to answer!

Patriot onlookers have their misgivings; one strangest Patriot onlooker thinks that the Swiss, had they a

commander, would beat. He is a man not unqualified to judge; the name of him is Napoleon Buonaparte. (See

Hist. Parl. (xvii. 56); Las Cases, And onlookers, and women, stand gazing, and the witty Dr. Moore of

Glasgow among them, on the other side of the River: cannon rush rumbling past them; pause on the Pont

Royal; belch out their iron entrails there, against the Tuileries; and at every new belch, the women and

onlookers shout and clap hands. (Moore, Journal during a Residence in France (Dublin, 1793), i. 26.) City of

all the Devils! In remote streets, men are drinking breakfastcoffee; following their affairs; with a start now

and then, as some dull echo reverberates a note louder. And here? Marseillese fall wounded; but Barbaroux

has surgeons; Barbaroux is close by, managing, though underhand, and under cover. Marseillese fall

deathstruck; bequeath their firelock, specify in which pocket are the cartridges; and die, murmuring,

"Revenge me, Revenge thy country!" Brest Federe Officers, galloping in red coats, are shot as Swiss. Lo you,

the Carrousel has burst into flame!Paris Pandemonium! Nay the poor City, as we said, is in feverfit and

But what is this that, with Legislative Insignia, ventures through the hubbub and deathhail, from the

backentrance of the Manege? Towards the Tuileries and Swiss: written Order from his Majesty to cease

firing! O ye hapless Swiss, why was there no order not to begin it? Gladly would the Swiss cease firing: but

who will bid mad Insurrection cease firing? To Insurrection you cannot speak; neither can it, hydraheaded,

hear. The dead and dying, by the hundred, lie all around; are borne bleeding through the streets, towards help;

the sight of them, like a torch of the Furies, kindling Madness. Patriot Paris roars; as the bear bereaved of her

whelps. On, ye Patriots: vengeance! victory or death! There are men seen, who rush on, armed only with

walkingsticks. (Hist. Parl. ubi supra. Rapport du Captaine des Canonniers, Rapport du Commandant, (Ibid.

The Swiss, pressed on from without, paralyzed from within, have ceased to shoot; but not to be shot. What

shall they do? Desperate is the moment. Shelter or instant death: yet How? Where? One party flies out by the

Rue de l'Echelle; is destroyed utterly, 'en entier.' A second, by the other side, throws itself into the Garden;

'hurrying across a keen fusillade:' rushes suppliant into the National Assembly; finds pity and refuge in the

back benches there. The third, and largest, darts out in column, three hundred strong, towards the Champs

Elysees: Ah, could we but reach Courbevoye, where other Swiss are! Wo! see, in such fusillade the column

'soon breaks itself by diversity of opinion,' into distracted segments, this way and that;to escape in holes, to

die fighting from street to street. The firing and murdering will not cease; not yet for long. The red Porters of

Hotels are shot at, be they Suisse by nature, or Suisse only in name. The very Firemen, who pump and labour

on that smoking Carrousel, are shot at; why should the Carrousel not burn? Some Swiss take refuge in private

houses; find that mercy too does still dwell in the heart of man. The brave Marseillese are merciful, late so

wroth; and labour to save. Journalist Gorsas pleads hard with enfuriated groups. Clemence, the Wine

merchant, stumbles forward to the Bar of the Assembly, a rescued Swiss in his hand; tells passionately how

he rescued him with pain and peril, how he will henceforth support him, being childless himself; and falls a

swoon round the poor Swiss's neck: amid plaudits. But the most are butchered, and even mangled. Fifty

(some say Fourscore) were marched as prisoners, by National Guards, to the HoteldeVille: the ferocious

people bursts through on them, in the Place de Greve; massacres them to the last man. 'O Peuple, envy of the

Surely few things in the history of carnage are painfuller. What ineffaceable red streak, flickering so sad in

the memory, is that, of this poor column of red Swiss 'breaking itself in the confusion of opinions;' dispersing,

into blackness and death! Honour to you, brave men; honourable pity, through long times! Not martyrs were

ye; and yet almost more. He was no King of yours, this Louis; and he forsook you like a King of shreds and

patches; ye were but sold to him for some poor sixpence aday; yet would ye work for your wages, keep your

plighted word. The work now was to die; and ye did it. Honour to you, O Kinsmen; and may the old Deutsch

Biederheit and Tapferkeit, and Valour which is Worth and Truth be they Swiss, be they Saxon, fail in no age!

Not bastards; trueborn were these men; sons of the men of Sempach, of Murten, who knelt, but not to thee,

O Burgundy!Let the traveller, as he passes through Lucerne, turn aside to look a little at their monumental

Lion; not for Thorwaldsen's sake alone. Hewn out of living rock, the Figure rests there, by the still

Lakewaters, in lullaby of distanttinkling rancedesvaches, the granite Mountains dumbly keeping watch

Thus is the Tenth of August won and lost. Patriotism reckons its slain by thousand on thousand, so deadly

was the Swiss fire from these windows; but will finally reduce them to some Twelve hundred. No child's play

was it; nor is it! Till two in the afternoon the massacring, the breaking and the burning has not ended; nor

How deluges of frantic Sansculottism roared through all passages of this Tuileries, ruthless in vengeance,

how the Valets were butchered, hewn down; and Dame Campan saw the Marseilles sabre flash over her head,

but the Blackbrowed said, "Vaten, Get thee gone," and flung her from him unstruck: (Campan, ii. c. 21.)

how in the cellars winebottles were broken, winebutts were staved in and drunk; and, upwards to the very

garrets, all windows tumbled out their precious royal furnitures; and, with gold mirrors, velvet curtains, down

of ript featherbeds, and dead bodies of men, the Tuileries was like no Garden of the Earth:all this let him

who has a taste for it see amply in Mercier, in acrid Montgaillard, or Beaulieu of the Deux Amis. A hundred

and eighty bodies of Swiss lie piled there; naked, unremoved till the second day. Patriotism has torn their red

coats into snips; and marches with them at the Pike's point: the ghastly bare corpses lie there, under the sun

and under the stars; the curious of both sexes crowding to look. Which let not us do. Above a hundred carts

heaped with Dead fare towards the Cemetery of SainteMadeleine; bewailed, bewept; for all had kindred, all

had mothers, if not here, then there. It is one of those Carnagefields, such as you read of by the name

But the blackbrowed Marseillese have struck down the Tyrant of the Chateau. He is struck down; low, and

hardly to rise. What a moment for an august Legislative was that when the Hereditary Representative entered,

under such circumstances; and the Grenadier, carrying the little Prince Royal out of the Press, set him down

on the Assemblytable! A moment,which one had to smooth off with oratory; waiting what the next would

bring! Louis said few words: "He was come hither to prevent a great crime; he believed himself safer

nowhere than here.' President Vergniaud answered briefly, in vague oratory as we say, about "defence of

Constituted Authorities," about dying at our post. (Moniteur, Seance du 10 Aout 1792.) And so King Louis

sat him down; first here, then there; for a difficulty arose, the Constitution not permitting us to debate while

the King is present: finally he settles himself with his Family in the 'Loge of the Logographe' in the

Reporter's Box of a Journalist: which is beyond the enchanted Constitutional Circuit, separated from it by a

rail. To such Lodge of the Logographe, measuring some ten feet square, with a small closet at the entrance of

it behind, is the King of broad France now limited: here can he and his sit pent, under the eyes of the world,

or retire into their closet at intervals; for the space of sixteen hours. Such quiet peculiar moment has the

But also what a moment was that other, few minutes later, when the three Marseillese cannon went off, and

the Swiss rollingfire and universal thunder, like the Crack of Doom, began to rattle! Honourable Members

start to their feet; stray bullets singing epicedium even here, shivering in with windowglass and jingle. "No,

this is our post; let us die here!" They sit therefore, like stone Legislators. But may not the Lodge of the

Logographe be forced from behind? Tear down the railing that divides it from the enchanted Constitutional

Circuit! Ushers tear and tug; his Majesty himself aiding from within: the railing gives way; Majesty and

Rattle, and again rattle, went the thunder; one breathless wideeyed messenger rushing in after another:

King's orders to the Swiss went out. It was a fearful thunder; but, as we know, it ended. Breathless

messengers, fugitive Swiss, denunciatory Patriots, trepidation; finally tripudiation!Before four o'clock

The New Municipals have come and gone; with Three Flags, Liberte, Egalite, Patrie, and the clang of vivats.

Vergniaud, he who as President few hours ago talked of Dying for Constituted Authorities, has moved, as

Committee Reporter, that the Hereditary Representative be suspended; that a NATIONAL CONVENTION

do forthwith assemble to say what further! An able Report: which the President must have had ready in his

pocket? A President, in such cases, must have much ready, and yet not ready; and Januslike look before and

King Louis listens to all; retires about midnight 'to three little rooms on the upper floor;' till the Luxembourg

be prepared for him, and 'the safeguard of the Nation.' Safer if Brunswick were once here! Or, alas, not so

safe? Ye hapless discrowned heads! Crowds came, next morning, to catch a climpse of them, in their three

upper rooms. Montgaillard says the august Captives wore an air of cheerfulness, even of gaiety; that the

Queen and Princess Lamballe, who had joined her over night, looked out of the open window, 'shook powder

from their hair on the people below, and laughed.' (Montgaillard. ii. 135167.) He is an acrid distorted man.

For the rest, one may guess that the Legislative, above all that the New Municipality continues busy.

Messengers, Municipal or Legislative, and swift despatches rush off to all corners of France; full of triumph,

blended with indignant wail, for Twelve hundred have fallen. France sends up its blended shout responsive;

the Tenth of August shall be as the Fourteenth of July, only bloodier and greater. The Court has conspired?

Poor Court: the Court has been vanquished; and will have both the scath to bear and the scorn. How the

Statues of Kings do now all fall! Bronze Henri himself, though he wore a cockade once, jingles down from

the Pont Neuf, where Patrie floats in Danger. Much more does Louis Fourteenth, from the Place Vendome,

jingle down, and even breaks in falling. The curious can remark, written on his horse's shoe: '12 Aout 1692;' a

The Tenth of August was Friday. The week is not done, when our old Patriot Ministry is recalled, what of it

can be got: strict Roland, Genevese Claviere; add heavy Monge the Mathematician, once a stonehewer; and,

for Minister of Justice,Danton 'led hither,' as himself says, in one of his gigantic figures, 'through the

breach of Patriot cannon!' These, under Legislative Committees, must rule the wreck as they can: confusedly

enough; with an old Legislative waterlogged, with a New Municipality so brisk. But National Convention

will get itself together; and then! Without delay, however, let a New JuryCourt and Criminal Tribunal be set

up in Paris, to try the crimes and conspiracies of the Tenth. High Court of Orleans is distant, slow: the blood

of the Twelve hundred Patriots, whatever become of other blood, shall be inquired after. Tremble, ye

Criminals and Conspirators; the Minister of Justice is Danton! Robespierre too, after the victory, sits in the

New Municipality; insurrectionary 'improvised Municipality,' which calls itself Council General of the

For three days now, Louis and his Family have heard the Legislative Debates in the Lodge of the

Logographe; and retired nightly to their small upper rooms. The Luxembourg and safeguard of the Nation

could not be got ready: nay, it seems the Luxembourg has too many cellars and issues; no Municipality can

undertake to watch it. The compact Prison of the Temple, not so elegant indeed, were much safer. To the

Temple, therefore! On Monday, 13th day of August 1792, in Mayor Petion's carriage, Louis and his sad

suspended Household, fare thither; all Paris out to look at them. As they pass through the Place Vendome

Louis Fourteenth's Statue lies broken on the ground. Petion is afraid the Queen's looks may be thought

scornful, and produce provocation; she casts down her eyes, and does not look at all. The 'press is prodigious,'

but quiet: here and there, it shouts Vive la Nation; but for most part gazes in silence. French Royalty vanishes

within the gates of the Temple: these old peaked Towers, like peaked Extinguisher or Bonsoir, do cover it

up;from which same Towers, poor Jacques Molay and his Templars were burnt out, by French Royalty,

five centuries since. Such are the turns of Fate below. Foreign Ambassadors, English Lord Gower have all

So, then, the Constitution is over? For ever and a day! Gone is that wonder of the Universe; First biennial

Parliament, waterlogged, waits only till the Convention come; and will then sink to endless depths.

One can guess the silent rage of OldConstituents, Constitutionbuilders, extinct Feuillants, men who

thought the Constitution would march! Lafayette rises to the altitude of the situation; at the head of his Army.

Legislative Commissioners are posting towards him and it, on the Northern Frontier, to congratulate and

perorate: he orders the Municipality of Sedan to arrest these Commissioners, and keep them strictly in ward

The Sedan Municipals obey: but the Soldiers of the Lafayette Army? The Soldiers of the Lafayette Army

have, as all Soldiers have, a kind of dim feeling that they themselves are Sansculottes in buff belts; that the

victory of the Tenth of August is also a victory for them. They will not rise and follow Lafayette to Paris;

they will rise and send him thither! On the 18th, which is but next Saturday, Lafayette, with some two or

three indignant Staffofficers, one of whom is OldConstituent Alexandre de Lameth, having first put his

Lines in what order he could,rides swiftly over the Marches, towards Holland. Rides, alas, swiftly into the

claws of Austrians! He, longwavering, trembling on the verge of the horizon, has set, in Olmutz Dungeons;

this History knows him no more. Adieu, thou Hero of two worlds; thinnest, but compact honourworthy

man! Through long rough night of captivity, through other tumults, triumphs and changes, thou wilt swing

well, 'fastanchored to the Washington Formula;' and be the Hero and Perfectcharacter, were it only of one

idea. The Sedan Municipals repent and protest; the Soldiers shout Vive la Nation. Dumouriez Polymetis,

And, O Brunswick! what sort of 'military execution' will Paris merit now? Forward, ye welldrilled

exterminatory men; with your artillerywaggons, and camp kettles jingling. Forward, tall chivalrous King of

Prussia; fanfaronading Emigrants and wargod Broglie, 'for some consolation to mankind,' which verily is

Ye have roused her, then, ye Emigrants and Despots of the world; France is roused; long have ye been

lecturing and tutoring this poor Nation, like cruel uncalledfor pedagogues, shaking over her your ferulas of

fire and steel: it is long that ye have pricked and fillipped and affrighted her, there as she sat helpless in her

dead cerements of a Constitution, you gathering in on her from all lands, with your armaments and plots,

your invadings and truculent bullyings;and lo now, ye have pricked her to the quick, and she is up, and her

blood is up. The dead cerements are rent into cobwebs, and she fronts you in that terrible strength of Nature,

which no man has measured, which goes down to Madness and Tophet: see now how ye will deal with her!

This month of September, 1792, which has become one of the memorable months of History, presents itself

under two most diverse aspects; all of black on the one side, all of bright on the other. Whatsoever is cruel in

the panic frenzy of Twentyfive million men, whatsoever is great in the simultaneous deathdefiance of

Twentyfive million men, stand here in abrupt contrast, near by one another. As indeed is usual when a man,

how much more when a Nation of men, is hurled suddenly beyond the limits. For Nature, as green as she

looks, rests everywhere on dread foundations, were we farther down; and Pan, to whose music the Nymphs

Very frightful it is when a Nation, rending asunder its Constitutions and Regulations which were grown dead

cerements for it, becomes transcendental; and must now seek its wild way through the New, Chaotic,where

Force is not yet distinguished into Bidden and Forbidden, but Crime and Virtue welter unseparated,in that

domain of what is called the Passions; of what we call the Miracles and the Portents! It is thus that, for some

three years to come, we are to contemplate France, in this final Third Volume of our History. Sansculottism

reigning in all its grandeur and in all its hideousness: the Gospel (God's Message) of Man's Rights, Man's

mights or strengths, once more preached irrefragably abroad; along with this, and still louder for the time, and

fearfullest Devil'sMessage of Man's weaknesses and sins;and all on such a scale, and under such aspect:

cloudy 'deathbirth of a world;' huge smokecloud, streaked with rays as of heaven on one side; girt on the

other as with hellfire! History tells us many things: but for the last thousand years and more, what thing has

she told us of a sort like this? Which therefore let us two, O Reader, dwell on willingly, for a little; and from

its endless significance endeavour to extract what may, in present circumstances, be adapted for us.

It is unfortunate, though very natural, that the history of this Period has so generally been written in hysterics.

Exaggeration abounds, execration, wailing; and, on the whole, darkness. But thus too, when foul old Rome

had to be swept from the Earth, and those Northmen, and other horrid sons of Nature, came in, 'swallowing

formulas' as the French now do, foul old Rome screamed execratively her loudest; so that, the true shape of

many things is lost for us. Attila's Huns had arms of such length that they could lift a stone without stooping.

Into the body of the poor Tatars execrative Roman History intercalated an alphabetic letter; and so they

continue Tar tars, of fell Tartarean nature, to this day. Here, in like manner, search as we will in these

multiform innumerable French Records, darkness too frequently covers, or sheer distraction bewilders. One

finds it difficult to imagine that the Sun shone in this September month, as he does in others. Nevertheless it

is an indisputable fact that the Sun did shine; and there was weather and work,nay, as to that, very bad

weather for harvest work! An unlucky Editor may do his utmost; and after all, require allowances.

He had been a wise Frenchman, who, looking, close at hand, on this waste aspect of a France all stirring and

whirling, in ways new, untried, had been able to discern where the cardinal movement lay; which tendency it

was that had the rule and primary direction of it then! But at fortyfour years' distance, it is different. To all

men now, two cardinal movements or grand tendencies, in the September whirl, have become discernible

enough: that stormful effluence towards the Frontiers; that frantic crowding towards Townhouses and

Councilhalls in the interior. Wild France dashes, in desperate deathdefiance, towards the Frontiers, to

defend itself from foreign Despots; crowds towards Townhalls and Election Committeerooms, to defend

itself from domestic Aristocrats. Let the Reader conceive well these two cardinal movements; and what

sidecurrents and endless vortexes might depend on these. He shall judge too, whether, in such sudden

wreckage of all old Authorities, such a pair of cardinal movements, halffrantic in themselves, could be of

soft nature? As in dry Sahara, when the winds waken, and lift and winnow the immensity of sand! The air

itself (Travellers say) is a dim sandair; and dim looming through it, the wonderfullest uncertain colonnades

of SandPillars rush whirling from this side and from that, like so many mad SpinningDervishes, of a

Nevertheless in all human movements, were they but a day old, there is order, or the beginning of order.

Consider two things in this Saharawaltz of the French Twentyfive millions; or rather one thing, and one

hope of a thing: the Commune (Municipality) of Paris, which is already here; the National Convention, which

shall in few weeks be here. The Insurrectionary Commune, which improvising itself on the eve of the Tenth

of August, worked this evermemorable Deliverance by explosion, must needs rule over it, till the

Convention meet. This Commune, which they may well call a spontaneous or 'improvised' Commune, is, for

the present, sovereign of France. The Legislative, deriving its authority from the Old, how can it now have

authority when the Old is exploded by insurrection? As a floating piece of wreck, certain things, persons and

interests may still cleave to it: volunteer defenders, riflemen or pikemen in green uniform, or red nightcap (of

bonnet rouge), defile before it daily, just on the wing towards Brunswick; with the brandishing of arms;

always with some touch of Leonidaseloquence, often with a fire of daring that threatens to outherod

Herod,the Galleries, 'especially the Ladies, never done with applauding.' (Moore's Journal, i. 85.)

Addresses of this or the like sort can be received and answered, in the hearing of all France: the Salle de

Manege is still useful as a place of proclamation. For which use, indeed, it now chiefly serves. Vergniaud

delivers spiritstirring orations; but always with a prophetic sense only, looking towards the coming

Convention. "Let our memory perish," cries Vergniaud, "but let France be free!"whereupon they all start to

their feet, shouting responsive: "Yes, yes, perisse notre memoire, pourvu que la France soit libre!" (Hist. Parl.

xvii. 467.) Disfrocked Chabot abjures Heaven that at least we may "have done with Kings;" and fast as

powder under spark, we all blaze up once more, and with waved hats shout and swear: "Yes, nous le jurons;

plus de roi!" (Ibid. xvii. 437.) All which, as a method of proclamation, is very convenient.

For the rest, that our busy Brissots, rigorous Rolands, men who once had authority and now have less and

less; men who love law, and will have even an Explosion explode itself, as far as possible, according to rule,

do find this state of matters most unofficial unsatisfactory,is not to be denied. Complaints are made;

attempts are made: but without effect. The attempts even recoil; and must be desisted from, for fear of worse:

the sceptre is departed from this Legislative once and always. A poor Legislative, so hard was fate, had let

itself be handgyved, nailed to the rock like an Andromeda, and could only wail there to the Earth and

Heavens; miraculously a winged Perseus (or Improvised Commune) has dawned out of the void Blue, and cut

her loose: but whether now is it she, with her softness and musical speech, or is it he, with his hardness and

sharp falchion and aegis, that shall have casting vote? Melodious agreement of vote; this were the rule! But if

otherwise, and votes diverge, then surely Andromeda's part is to weep,if possible, tears of gratitude alone.

Be content, O France, with this Improvised Commune, such as it is! It has the implements, and has the hands:

the time is not long. On Sunday the twentysixth of August, our Primary Assemblies shall meet, begin

electing of Electors; on Sunday the second of September (may the day prove lucky!) the Electors shall begin

electing Deputies; and so an allhealing National Convention will come together. No marc d'argent, or

distinction of Active and Passive, now insults the French Patriot: but there is universal suffrage, unlimited

liberty to choose. Oldconstituents, Present Legislators, all France is eligible. Nay, it may be said, the

flower of all the Universe (de l'Univers) is eligible; for in these very days we, by act of Assembly, 'naturalise'

the chief Foreign Friends of humanity: Priestley, burnt out for us in Birmingham; Klopstock, a genius of all

countries; Jeremy Bentham, useful Jurisconsult; distinguished Paine, the rebellious Needleman;some of

whom may be chosen. As is most fit; for a Convention of this kind. In a word, Seven Hundred and Fortyfive

unshackled sovereigns, admired of the universe, shall replace this hapless impotency of a Legislative,out

of which, it is likely, the best members, and the Mountain in mass, may be reelected. Roland is getting ready

the Salles des Cent Suisses, as preliminary rendezvous for them; in that void Palace of the Tuileries, now

As for the Spontaneous Commune, one may say that there never was on Earth a stranger TownCouncil.

Administration, not of a great City, but of a great Kingdom in a state of revolt and frenzy, this is the task that

has fallen to it. Enrolling, provisioning, judging; devising, deciding, doing, endeavouring to do: one wonders

the human brain did not give way under all this, and reel. But happily human brains have such a talent of

taking up simply what they can carry, and ignoring all the rest; leaving all the rest, as if it were not there!

Whereby somewhat is verily shifted for; and much shifts for itself. This Improvised Commune walks along,

nothing doubting; promptly making front, without fear or flurry, at what moment soever, to the wants of the

moment. Were the world on fire, one improvised tricolor Municipal has but one life to lose. They are the

elixir and chosenmen of Sansculottic Patriotism; promoted to the forlornhope; unspeakable victory or a

high gallows, this is their meed. They sit there, in the Townhall, these astonishing tricolor Municipals; in

Council General; in Committee of Watchfulness (de Surveillance, which will even become de Salut Public, of

Public Salvation), or what other Committees and Sub committees are needful;managing infinite

Correspondence; passing infinite Decrees: one hears of a Decree being 'the ninetyeighth of the day.' Ready!

is the word. They carry loaded pistols in their pocket; also some improvised luncheon by way of meal. Or

indeed, by and by, traiteurs contract for the supply of repasts, to be eaten on the spot,too lavishly, as it was

afterwards grumbled. Thus they: girt in their tricolor sashes; Municipal notepaper in the one hand, firearms

in other. They have their Agents out all over France; speaking in townhouses, marketplaces, highways and

byways; agitating, urging to arm; all hearts tingling to hear. Great is the fire of AntiAristocrat eloquence:

nay some, as Bibliopolic Momoro, seem to hint afar off at something which smells of Agrarian Law, and a

surgery of the overswoln dropsical strongbox itself;whereat indeed the bold Bookseller runs risk of being

hanged, and ExConstituent Buzot has to smuggle him off. (Memoires de Buzot (Paris, 1823), p. 88.)

Governing Persons, were they never so insignificant intrinsically, have for most part plenty of

Memoirwriters; and the curious, in aftertimes, can learn minutely their goings out and comings in: which,

as men always love to know their fellowmen in singular situations, is a comfort, of its kind. Not so, with

these Governing Persons, now in the Townhall! And yet what most original fellowman, of the Governing

sort, highchancellor, king, kaiser, secretary of the home or the foreign department, ever shewed such a

phasis as Clerk Tallien, Procureur Manuel, future Procureur Chaumette, here in this Sandwaltz of the

Twentyfive millions, now do? O brother mortals,thou Advocate Panis, friend of Danton, kinsman of

Santerre; Engraver Sergent, since called Agate Sergent; thou Huguenin, with the tocsin in thy heart! But, as

Horace says, they wanted the sacred memoir writer (sacro vate); and we know them not. Men bragged of

August and its doings, publishing them in high places; but of this September none now or afterwards would

brag. The September world remains dark, fuliginous, as Lapland witchmidnight;from which, indeed, very

Understand this, however: that incorruptible Robespierre is not wanting, now when the brunt of battle is past;

in a stealthy way the seagreen man sits there, his feline eyes excellent in the twilight. Also understand this

other, a single fact worth many: that Marat is not only there, but has a seat of honour assigned him, a tribune

particuliere. How changed for Marat; lifted from his dark cellar into this luminous 'peculiar tribune!' All dogs

have their day; even rabid dogs. Sorrowful, incurable Philoctetes Marat; without whom Troy cannot be taken!

Hither, as a main element of the Governing Power, has Marat been raised. Royalist types, for we have

'suppressed' innumerable Durosoys, Royous, and even clapt them in prison, Royalist types replace the

worn types often snatched from a People'sFriend in old ill days. In our 'peculiar tribune' we write and redact:

Placards, of due monitory terror; AmisduPeuple (now under the name of Journal de la Republique); and sit

obeyed of men. 'Marat,' says one, 'is the conscience of the HoteldeVille.' Keeper, as some call it, of the

Sovereign's Conscience;which surely, in such hands, will not lie hid in a napkin!

Two great movements, as we said, agitate this distracted National mind: a rushing against domestic Traitors,

a rushing against foreign Despots. Mad movements both, restrainable by no known rule; strongest passions of

human nature driving them on: love, hatred; vengeful sorrow, braggart Nationality also vengeful,and pale

Panic over all! Twelve Hundred slain Patriots, do they not, from their dark catacombs there, in Death's

dumb shew, plead (O ye Legislators) for vengeance? Such was the destructive rage of these Aristocrats on

the evermemorable Tenth. Nay, apart from vengeance, and with an eye to Public Salvation only, are there

not still, in this Paris (in round numbers) 'thirty thousand Aristocrats,' of the most malignant humour; driven

now to their last trumpcard?Be patient, ye Patriots: our New High Court, 'Tribunal of the Seventeenth,'

sits; each Section has sent Four Jurymen; and Danton, extinguishing improper judges, improper practices

wheresoever found, is 'the same man you have known at the Cordeliers.' With such a Minister of Justice shall

not Justice be done?Let it be swift then, answers universal Patriotism; swift and sure!

One would hope, this Tribunal of the Seventeenth is swifter than most. Already on the 21st, while our Court

is but four days old, Collenot d'Angremont, 'the Royal enlister' (crimp, embaucheur) dies by torchlight. For,

lo, the great Guillotine, wondrous to behold, now stands there; the Doctor's Idea has become Oak and Iron;

the huge cyclopean axe 'falls in its grooves like the ram of the Pileengine,' swiftly snuffing out the light of

men?' 'Mais vous, Gualches, what have you invented?' This?Poor old Laporte, Intendant of the Civil List,

follows next; quietly, the mild old man. Then Durosoy, Royalist Placarder, 'cashier of all the Anti

Revolutionists of the interior:' he went rejoicing; said that a Royalist like him ought to die, of all days on this

day, the 25th or Saint Louis's Day. All these have been tried, cast,the Galleries shouting approval; and

handed over to the Realised Idea, within a week. Besides those whom we have acquitted, the Galleries

murmuring, and have dismissed; or even have personally guarded back to Prison, as the Galleries took to

howling, and even to menacing and elbowing. (Moore's Journal, i. 159168.) Languid this Tribunal is not.

Nor does the other movement slacken; the rushing against foreign Despots. Strong forces shall meet in

deathgrip; drilled Europe against mad undrilled France; and singular conclusions will be tried.Conceive

therefore, in some faint degree, the tumult that whirls in this France, in this Paris! Placards from Section,

from Commune, from Legislative, from the individual Patriot, flame monitory on all walls. Flags of Danger

to Fatherland wave at the HoteldeVille; on the Pont Neufover the prostrate Statues of Kings. There is

universal enlisting, urging to enlist; there is tearfulboastful leavetaking; irregular marching on the Great

North Eastern Road. Marseillese sing their wild To Arms, in chorus; which now all men, all women and

children have learnt, and sing chorally, in Theatres, Boulevards, Streets; and the heart burns in every bosom:

Aux Armes! Marchons!Or think how your Aristocrats are skulking into covert; how BertrandMoleville

lies hidden in some garret 'in Aubryleboucher Street, with a poor surgeon who had known me;' Dame de

Stael has secreted her Narbonne, not knowing what in the world to make of him. The Barriers are sometimes

open, oftenest shut; no passports to be had; Townhall Emissaries, with the eyes and claws of falcons, flitting

watchful on all points of your horizon! In two words: Tribunal of the Seventeenth, busy under howling

Galleries; Prussian Brunswick, 'over a space of forty miles,' with his wartumbrils, and sleeping thunders,

and Briarean 'sixtysix thousand' (See Toulongeon, Hist. de France. ii. c. 5.) righthands, coming,

O Heavens, in these latter days of August, he is come! Durosoy was not yet guillotined when news had come

that the Prussians were harrying and ravaging about Metz; in some four days more, one hears that Longwi,

our first strongplace on the borders, is fallen 'in fifteen hours.' Quick, therefore, O ye improvised

Municipals; quick, and ever quicker!The improvised Municipals make front to this also. Enrolment urges

itself; and clothing, and arming. Our very officers have now 'wool epaulettes;' for it is the reign of Equality,

and also of Necessity. Neither do men now monsieur and sir one another; citoyen (citizen) were suitabler; we

even say thou, as 'the free peoples of Antiquity did:' so have Journals and the Improvised Commune

Infinitely better, meantime, could we suggest, where arms are to be found. For the present, our Citoyens

chant chorally To Arms; and have no arms! Arms are searched for; passionately; there is joy over any

musket. Moreover, entrenchments shall be made round Paris: on the slopes of Montmartre men dig and

shovel; though even the simple suspect this to be desperate. They dig; Tricolour sashes speak encouragement

and wellspeed ye. Nay finally 'twelve Members of the Legislative go daily,' not to encourage only, but to

bear a hand, and delve: it was decreed with acclamation. Arms shall either be provided; or else the ingenuity

of man crack itself, and become fatuity. Lean Beaumarchais, thinking to serve the Fatherland, and do a stroke

of trade, in the old way, has commissioned sixty thousand stand of good arms out of Holland: would to

Heaven, for Fatherland's sake and his, they were come! Meanwhile railings are torn up; hammered into pikes:

chains themselves shall be welded together, into pikes. The very coffins of the dead are raised; for melting

into balls. All Churchbells must down into the furnace to make cannon; all Church plate into the mint to

make money. Also behold the fair swanbevies of Citoyennes that have alighted in Churches, and sit there

with swanneck, sewing tents and regimentals! Nor are Patriotic Gifts wanting, from those that have aught

left; nor stingily given: the fair Villaumes, mother and daughter, Milliners in the Rue St.Martin, give 'a

silver thimble, and a coin of fifteen sous (sevenpence halfpenny),' with other similar effects; and offer, at

least the mother does, to mount guard. Men who have not even a thimble, give a thimbleful,were it but of

invention. One Citoyen has wrought out the scheme of a wooden cannon; which France shall exclusively

profit by, in the first instance. It is to be made of staves, by the coopers;of almost boundless calibre, but

uncertain as to strength! Thus they: hammering, scheming, stitching, founding, with all their heart and with

all their soul. Two bells only are to remain in each Parish,for tocsin and other purposes.

But mark also, precisely while the Prussian batteries were playing their briskest at Longwi in the NorthEast,

and our dastardly Lavergne saw nothing for it but surrender,southwestward, in remote, patriarchal La

Vendee, that sour ferment about Nonjuring Priests, after long working, is ripe, and explodes: at the wrong

moment for us! And so we have 'eight thousand Peasants at ChatillonsurSevre,' who will not be ballotted

for soldiers; will not have their Curates molested. To whom Bonchamps, Larochejaquelins, and Seigneurs

enough, of a Royalist turn, will join themselves; with Stofflets and Charettes; with Heroes and Chouan

Smugglers; and the loyal warmth of a simple people, blown into flame and fury by theological and seignorial

bellows! So that there shall be fighting from behind ditches, deathvolleys bursting out of thickets and

ravines of rivers; huts burning, feet of the pitiful women hurrying to refuge with their children on their back;

seedfields fallow, whitened with human bones;'eighty thousand, of all ages, ranks, sexes, flying at once

across the Loire,' with wail borne far on the winds: and, in brief, for years coming, such a suite of scenes as

glorious war has not offered in these late ages, not since our Albigenses and Crusadings were over,save

indeed some chance Palatinate, or so, we might have to 'burn,' by way of exception. The 'eight thousand at

Chatillon' will be got dispelled for the moment; the fire scattered, not extinguished. To the dints and bruises

This rising in La Vendee reports itself at Paris on Wednesday the 29th of August;just as we had got our

Electors elected; and, in spite of Brunswick's and Longwi's teeth, were hoping still to have a National

Convention, if it pleased Heaven. But indeed, otherwise, this Wednesday is to be regarded as one of the

notablest Paris had yet seen: gloomy tidings come successively, like Job's messengers; are met by gloomy

answers. Of Sardinia rising to invade the SouthEast, and Spain threatening the South, we do not speak. But

are not the Prussians masters of Longwi (treacherously yielded, one would say); and preparing to besiege

Verdun? Clairfait and his Austrians are encompassing Thionville; darkening the North. Not Metzland now,

but the Clermontais is getting harried; flying hulans and huzzars have been seen on the Chalons Road, almost

It is not without a dramatic emotion that one reads in the Parliamentary Debates of this Wednesday evening

'past seven o'clock,' the scene with the military fugitives from Longwi. Wayworn, dusty, disheartened, these

poor men enter the Legislative, about sunset or after; give the most pathetic detail of the frightful pass they

were in:Prussians billowing round by the myriad, volcanically spouting fire for fifteen hours: we, scattered

sparse on the ramparts, hardly a cannoneer to two guns; our dastard Commandant Lavergne no where

shewing face; the priming would not catch; there was no powder in the bombs,what could we do?

"Mourir! Die!" answer prompt voices; (Hist. Parl. xvii. 148.) and the dusty fugitives must shrink elsewhither

for comfort.Yes, Mourir, that is now the word. Be Longwi a proverb and a hissing among French

strongplaces: let it (says the Legislative) be obliterated rather, from the shamed face of the Earth; and so

there has gone forth Decree, that Longwi shall, were the Prussians once out of it, 'be rased,' and exist only as

Nor are the Jacobins milder; as how could they, the flower of Patriotism? Poor Dame Lavergne, wife of the

poor Commandant, took her parasol one evening, and escorted by her Father came over to the Hall of the

mighty Mother; and 'reads a memoir tending to justify the Commandant of Longwi.' Lafarge, President,

makes answer: "Citoyenne, the Nation will judge Lavergne; the Jacobins are bound to tell him the truth. He

would have ended his course there (termine sa carriere), if he had loved the honour of his country." (Ibid. xix.

But better than raising of Longwi, or rebuking poor dusty soldiers or soldiers' wives, Danton had come over,

last night, and demanded a Decree to search for arms, since they were not yielded voluntarily. Let

'Domiciliary visits,' with rigour of authority, be made to this end. To search for arms; for

horses,Aristocratism rolls in its carriage, while Patriotism cannot trail its cannon. To search generally for

munitions of war, 'in the houses of persons suspect,'and even, if it seem proper, to seize and imprison the

suspect persons themselves! In the Prisons, their plots will be harmless; in the Prisons, they will be as

hostages for us, and not without use. This Decree the energetic Minister of Justice demanded, last night, and

got; and this same night it is to be executed; it is being executed, at the moment when these dusty soldiers get

saluted with Mourir. Two thousand stand of arms, as they count, are foraged in this way; and some four

hundred head of new Prisoners; and, on the whole, such a terror and damp is struck through the Aristocrat

heart, as all but Patriotism, and even Patriotism were it out of this agony, might pity. Yes, Messieurs! if

Brunswick blast Paris to ashes, he probably will blast the Prisons of Paris too: pale Terror, if we have got it,

we will also give it, and the depth of horrors that lie in it; the same leaky bottom, in these wild waters, bears

One can judge what stir there was now among the 'thirty thousand Royalists:' how the Plotters, or the accused

of Plotting, shrank each closer into his lurkingplace,like Bertrand Moleville, looking eager towards

Longwi, hoping the weather would keep fair. Or how they dressed themselves in valet's clothes, like

Narbonne, and 'got to England as Dr. Bollman's famulus:' how Dame de Stael bestirred herself, pleading with

Manuel as a Sister in Literature, pleading even with Clerk Tallien; a pray to nameless chagrins! (De Stael,

Considerations sur la Revolution, ii. 67 81.) Royalist Peltier, the Pamphleteer, gives a touching Narrative

(not deficient in height of colouring) of the terrors of that night. From five in the afternoon, a great City is

struck suddenly silent; except for the beating of drums, for the tramp of marching feet; and ever and anon the

dread thunder of the knocker at some door, a Tricolor Commissioner with his blue Guards (blackguards!)

arriving. All Streets are vacant, says Peltier; beset by Guards at each end: all Citizens are ordered to be within

doors. On the River float sentinal barges, lest we escape by water: the Barriers hermetically closed. Frightful!

The sun shines; serenely westering, in smokeless mackerelsky: Paris is as if sleeping, as if dead:Paris is

holding its breath, to see what stroke will fall on it. Poor Peltier! Acts of Apostles, and all jocundity of

LeadingArticles, are gone out, and it is become bitter earnest instead; polished satire changed now into

coarse pikepoints (hammered out of railing); all logic reduced to this one primitive thesis, An eye for an

eye, a tooth for a tooth! Peltier, dolefully aware of it, ducks low; escapes unscathed to England; to urge

there the inky war anew; to have Trial by Jury, in due season, and deliverance by young Whig eloquence,

Of 'thirty thousand,' naturally, great multitudes were left unmolested: but, as we said, some four hundred,

designated as 'persons suspect,' were seized; and an unspeakable terror fell on all. Wo to him who is guilty of

Plotting, of Anticivism, Royalism, Feuillantism; who, guilty or not guilty, has an enemy in his Section to call

him guilty! Poor old M. de Cazotte is seized, his young loved Daughter with him, refusing to quit him. Why,

O Cazotte, wouldst thou quit romancing, and Diable Amoureux, for such reality as this? Poor old M. de

Sombreuil, he of the Invalides, is seized: a man seen askance, by Patriotism ever since the Bastille days:

whom also a fond Daughter will not quit. With young tears hardly suppressed, and old wavering weakness

The famed and named go; the nameless, if they have an accuser. Necklace Lamotte's Husband is in these

Prisons (she long since squelched on the London Pavements); but gets delivered. Gross de Morande, of the

Courier de l'Europe, hobbles distractedly to and fro there: but they let him hobble out; on right nimble

crutches;his hour not being yet come. Advocate Maton de la Varenne, very weak in health, is snatched off

from mother and kin; Tricolor Rossignol (journeyman goldsmith and scoundrel lately, a risen man now)

remembers an old Pleading of Maton's! Jourgniac de SaintMeard goes; the brisk frank soldier: he was in the

Mutiny of Nancy, in that 'effervescent Regiment du Roi,'on the wrong side. Saddest of all: Abbe Sicard

goes; a Priest who could not take the Oath, but who could teach the Deaf and Dumb: in his Section one man,

he says, had a grudge at him; one man, at the fit hour, launches an arrest against him; which hits. In the

Arsenal quarter, there are dumb hearts making wail, with signs, with wild gestures; he their miraculous healer

What with the arrestments on this night of the Twentyninth, what with those that have gone on more or less,

day and night, ever since the Tenth, one may fancy what the Prisons now were. Crowding and Confusion;

jostle, hurry, vehemence and terror! Of the poor Queen's Friends, who had followed her to the Temple and

been committed elsewhither to Prison, some, as Governess de Tourzelle, are to be let go: one, the poor

Princess de Lamballe, is not let go; but waits in the strongrooms of La Force there, what will betide further.

Among so many hundreds whom the launched arrest hits, who are rolled off to Townhall or Sectionhall, to

preliminary Houses of detention, and hurled in thither, as into cattlepens, we must mention one other: Caron

de Beaumarchais, Author of Figaro; vanquisher of Maupeou Parlements and Goezman helldogs; once

numbered among the demigods; and now? We left him in his culminant state; what dreadful decline is this,

when we again catch a glimpse of him! 'At midnight' (it was but the 12th of August yet), 'the servant, in his

shirt,' with widestaring eyes, enters your room: Monsieur, rise; all the people are come to seek you; they

are knocking, like to break in the door! 'And they were in fact knocking in a terrible manner (d'une facon

terrible). I fling on my coat, forgetting even the waistcoat, nothing on my feet but slippers; and say to

him'And he, alas, answers mere negatory incoherences, panic interjections. And through the shutters and

crevices, in front or rearward, the dull streetlamps disclose only streetfuls of haggard countenances;

clamorous, bristling with pikes: and you rush distracted for an outlet, finding none;and have to take refuge

in the crockerypress, down stairs; and stand there, palpitating in that imperfect costume, lights dancing past

your keyhole, tramp of feet overhead, and the tumult of Satan, 'for four hours and more!' And old ladies, of

the quarter, started up (as we hear next morning); rang for their Bonnes and cordialdrops, with shrill

interjections: and old gentlemen, in their shirts, 'leapt gardenwalls;' flying, while none pursued; one of

whom unfortunately broke his leg. (Beaumarchais' Narrative, Memoires sur les Prisons (Paris, 1823), i.

17990.) Those sixty thousand stand of Dutch arms (which never arrive), and the bold stroke of trade, have

Beaumarchais escaped for this time; but not for the next time, ten days after. On the evening of the

Twentyninth he is still in that chaos of the Prisons, in saddest, wrestling condition; unable to get justice,

even to get audience; 'Panis scratching his head' when you speak to him, and making off. Nevertheless let the

lover of Figaro know that Procureur Manuel, a Brother in Literature, found him, and delivered him once

more. But how the lean demigod, now shorn of his splendour, had to lurk in barns, to roam over harrowed

fields, panting for life; and to wait under eavesdrops, and sit in darkness 'on the Boulevard amid

pavingstones and boulders,' longing for one word of any Minister, or Minister's Clerk, about those accursed

Dutch muskets, and getting none,with heart fuming in spleen, and terror, and suppressed caninemadness:

alas, how the swift sharp hound, once fit to be Diana's, breaks his old teeth now, gnawing mere whinstones;

and must 'fly to England;' and, returning from England, must creep into the corner, and lie quiet, toothless

(moneyless),all this let the lover of Figaro fancy, and weep for. We here, without weeping, not without

sadness, wave the withered tough fellowmortal our farewell. His Figaro has returned to the French stage;

nay is, at this day, sometimes named the best piece there. And indeed, so long as Man's Life can ground itself

only on artificiality and aridity; each new Revolt and Change of Dynasty turning up only a new stratum of

dry rubbish, and no soil yet coming to view,may it not be good to protest against such a Life, in many

Such are the last days of August, 1792; days gloomy, disastrous, and of evil omen. What will become of this

poor France? Dumouriez rode from the Camp of Maulde, eastward to Sedan, on Tuesday last, the 28th of the

month; reviewed that socalled Army left forlorn there by Lafayette: the forlorn soldiers gloomed on him;

were heard growling on him, "This is one of them, ce be la, that made War be declared." (Dumouriez,

Memoires, ii. 383.) Unpromising Army! Recruits flow in, filtering through Depot after Depot; but recruits

merely: in want of all; happy if they have so much as arms. And Longwi has fallen basely; and Brunswick,

and the Prussian King, with his sixty thousand, will beleaguer Verdun; and Clairfait and Austrians press

deeper in, over the Northern marches: 'a hundred and fifty thousand' as fear counts, 'eighty thousand' as the

returns shew, do hem us in; Cimmerian Europe behind them. There is CastriesandBroglie chivalry;

Royalist foot 'in red facing and nankeen trousers;' breathing death and the gallows.

And lo, finally! at Verdun on Sunday the 2d of September 1792, Brunswick is here. With his King and sixty

thousand, glittering over the heights, from beyond the winding Meuse River, he looks down on us, on our

'high citadel' and all our confectioneryovens (for we are celebrated for confectionery) has sent courteous

summons, in order to spare the effusion of blood! Resist him to the death? Every day of retardation

precious? How, O General Beaurepaire (asks the amazed Municipality) shall we resist him? We, the Verdun

Municipals, see no resistance possible. Has he not sixty thousand, and artillery without end? Retardation,

Patriotism is good; but so likewise is peaceable baking of pastry, and sleeping in whole skin. Hapless

Beaurepaire stretches out his hands, and pleads passionately, in the name of country, honour, of Heaven and

of Earth: to no purpose. The Municipals have, by law, the power of ordering it;with an Army officered by

Royalism or CryptoRoyalism, such a Law seemed needful: and they order it, as pacific Pastrycooks, not as

heroic Patriots would,To surrender! Beaurepaire strides home, with long steps: his valet, entering the

room, sees him 'writing eagerly,' and withdraws. His valet hears then, in a few minutes, the report of a pistol:

Beaurepaire is lying dead; his eager writing had been a brief suicidal farewell. In this manner died

Beaurepaire, wept of France; buried in the Pantheon, with honourable pension to his Widow, and for Epitaph

these words, He chose Death rather than yield to Despots. The Prussians, descending from the heights, are

And so Brunswick advances, from stage to stage: who shall now stay him, covering forty miles of

country? Foragers fly far; the villages of the NorthEast are harried; your Hessian forager has only 'three

sous a day:' the very Emigrants, it is said, will take silverplate,by way of revenge. Clermont,

SainteMenehould, Varennes especially, ye Towns of the Night of Spurs; tremble ye! Procureur Sausse and

the Magistracy of Varennes have fled; brave Boniface Le Blanc of the Bras d'Or is to the woods: Mrs. Le

Blanc, a young woman fair to look upon, with her young infant, has to live in greenwood, like a beautiful

Bessy Bell of Song, her bower thatched with rushes;catching premature rheumatism. (Helen Maria

Williams, Letters from France (London, 179193), iii. 96.) Clermont may ring the tocsin now, and illuminate

itself! Clermont lies at the foot of its Cow (or Vache, so they name that Mountain), a prey to the Hessian

spoiler: its fair women, fairer than most, are robbed: not of life, or what is dearer, yet of all that is cheaper

and portable; for Necessity, on three halfpence aday, has no law. At SaintMenehould, the enemy has been

expected more than once, our Nationals all turning out in arms; but was not yet seen. Postmaster Drouet,

he is not in the woods, but minding his Election; and will sit in the Convention, notable Kingtaker, and bold

Thus on the NorthEast all roams and runs; and on a set day, the date of which is irrecoverable by History,

Brunswick 'has engaged to dine in Paris,'the Powers willing. And at Paris, in the centre, it is as we saw;

and in La Vendee, SouthWest, it is as we saw; and Sardinia is in the SouthEast, and Spain is in the South,

and Clairfait with Austria and sieged Thionville is in the North;and all France leaps distracted, like the

winnowed Sahara waltzing in sandcolonnades! More desperate posture no country ever stood in. A country,

one would say, which the Majesty of Prussia (if it so pleased him) might partition, and clip in pieces, like a

Poland; flinging the remainder to poor Brother Louis,with directions to keep it quiet, or else we will keep

Or perhaps the Upper Powers, minded that a new Chapter in Universal History shall begin here and not

further on, may have ordered it all otherwise? In that case, Brunswick will not dine in Paris on the set day;

nor, indeed, one knows not when!Verily, amid this wreckage, where poor France seems grinding itself

down to dust and bottomless ruin, who knows what miraculous salientpoint of Deliverance and Newlife

may have already come into existence there; and be already working there, though as yet human eye discern

it not! On the night of that same twentyeighth of August, the unpromising Reviewday in Sedan,

Dumouriez assembles a Council of War at his lodgings there. He spreads out the map of this forlorn

wardistrict: Prussians here, Austrians there; triumphant both, with broad highway, and little hinderance, all

the way to Paris; we, scattered helpless, here and here: what to advise? The Generals, strangers to Dumouriez,

look blank enough; know not well what to advise,if it be not retreating, and retreating till our recruits

accumulate; till perhaps the chapter of chances turn up some leaf for us; or Paris, at all events, be sacked at

the latest day possible. The Manycounselled, who 'has not closed an eye for three nights,' listens with little

speech to these long cheerless speeches; merely watching the speaker that he may know him; then wishes

them all goodnight;but beckons a certain young Thouvenot, the fire of whose looks had pleased him, to

wait a moment. Thouvenot waits: Voila, says Polymetis, pointing to the map! That is the Forest of Argonne,

that long stripe of rocky Mountain and wild Wood; forty miles long; with but five, or say even three

practicable Passes through it: this, for they have forgotten it, might one not still seize, though Clairfait sits so

nigh? Once seized;the Champagne called the Hungry (or worse, Champagne Pouilleuse) on their side of it;

the fat Three Bishoprics, and willing France, on ours; and the Equinoxrains not far;this Argonne 'might

O brisk Dumouriez Polymetis with thy teeming head, may the gods grant it! Polymetis, at any rate, folds

his map together, and flings himself on bed; resolved to try, on the morrow morning. With astucity, with

swiftness, with audacity! One had need to be a lionfox, and have luck on one's side.

At Paris, by lying Rumour which proved prophetic and veridical, the fall of Verdun was known some hours

before it happened. It is Sunday the second of September; handiwork hinders not the speculations of the

mind. Verdun gone (though some still deny it); the Prussians in full march, with gallows ropes, with fire and

faggot! Thirty thousand Aristocrats within our own walls; and but the merest quartertithe of them yet put in

Prison! Nay there goes a word that even these will revolt. Sieur Jean Julien, wagoner of Vaugirard, (Moore, i.

178.) being set in the Pillory last Friday, took all at once to crying, That he would be well revenged ere long;

that the King's Friends in Prison would burst out; force the Temple, set the King on horseback; and, joined by

the unimprisoned, ride roughshod over us all. This the unfortunate wagoner of Vaugirard did bawl, at the top

of his lungs: when snatched off to the Townhall, he persisted in it, still bawling; yesternight, when they

guillotined him, he died with the froth of it on his lips. (Hist. Parl. xvii. 409.) For a man's mind, padlocked to

the Pillory, may go mad; and all men's minds may go mad; and 'believe him,' as the frenetic will do, 'because

So that apparently the knot of the crisis, and last agony of France is come? Make front to this, thou

Improvised Commune, strong Danton, whatsoever man is strong! Readers can judge whether the Flag of

Country in Danger flapped soothing or distractively on the souls of men, that day.

But the Improvised Commune, but strong Danton is not wanting, each after his kind. Huge Placards are

getting plastered to the walls; at two o'clock the stormbell shall be sounded, the alarmcannon fired; all Paris

shall rush to the ChampdeMars, and have itself enrolled. Unarmed, truly, and undrilled; but desperate, in

the strength of frenzy. Haste, ye men; ye very women, offer to mount guard and shoulder the brown musket:

weak cluckinghens, in a state of desperation, will fly at the muzzle of the mastiff, and even conquer

him,by vehemence of character! Terror itself, when once grown transcendental, becomes a kind of

courage; as frost sufficiently intense, according to Poet Milton, will burn.Danton, the other night, in the

Legislative Committee of General Defence, when the other Ministers and Legislators had all opined, said, It

would not do to quit Paris, and fly to Saumur; that they must abide by Paris; and take such attitude as would

put their enemies in fear,faire peur; a word of his which has been often repeated, and reprintedin italics.

At two of the clock, Beaurepaire, as we saw, has shot himself at Verdun; and over Europe, mortals are going

in for afternoon sermon. But at Paris, all steeples are clangouring not for sermon; the alarmgun booming

from minute to minute; ChampdeMars and Fatherland's Altar boiling with desperate terrorcourage: what

a miserere going up to Heaven from this once Capital of the Most Christian King! The Legislative sits in

alternate awe and effervescence; Vergniaud proposing that Twelve shall go and dig personally on

But better than digging personally with acclaim, see Danton enter;the black brows clouded, the

colossusfigure tramping heavy; grim energy looking from all features of the rugged man! Strong is that grim

Son of France, and Son of Earth; a Reality and not a Formula he too; and surely now if ever, being hurled low

enough, it is on the Earth and on Realities that he rests. "Legislators!" so speaks the stentorvoice, as the

Newspapers yet preserve it for us, "it is not the alarmcannon that you hear: it is the pasdecharge against

our enemies. To conquer them, to hurl them back, what do we require? Il nous faut de l'audace, et encore de

l'audace, et toujours de l'audace, To dare, and again to dare, and without end to dare!" (Moniteur (in Hist.

Parl. xvii. 347.)Right so, thou brawny Titan; there is nothing left for thee but that. Old men, who heard it,

will still tell you how the reverberating voice made all hearts swell, in that moment; and braced them to the

stickingplace; and thrilled abroad over France, like electric virtue, as a word spoken in season.

But the Commune, enrolling in the ChampdeMars? But the Committee of Watchfulness, become now

Committee of Public Salvation; whose conscience is Marat? The Commune enrolling enrolls many; provides

Tents for them in that Mars'Field, that they may march with dawn on the morrow: praise to this part of the

Commune! To Marat and the Committee of Watchfulness not praise;not even blame, such as could be

meted out in these insufficient dialects of ours; expressive silence rather! Lone Marat, the man forbid,

meditating long in his Cellars of refuge, on his Stylites Pillar, could see salvation in one thing only: in the fall

of 'two hundred and sixty thousand Aristocrat heads.' With so many score of Naples Bravoes, each a dirk in

his righthand, a muff on his left, he would traverse France, and do it. But the world laughed, mocking the

severebenevolence of a People'sFriend; and his idea could not become an action, but only a fixed idea.

Lo, now, however, he has come down from his Stylites Pillar, to a Tribune particuliere; here now, without the

dirks, without the muffs at least, were it not grown possible,now in the knot of the crisis, when salvation or

The IceTower of Avignon was noised of sufficiently, and lives in all memories; but the authors were not

punished: nay we saw Jourdan Coupe tete, borne on men's shoulders, like a copper Portent, 'traversing the

cities of the South.'What phantasms, squalidhorrid, shaking their dirk and muff, may dance through the

brain of a Marat, in this dizzy pealing of tocsinmiserere, and universal frenzy, seek not to guess, O Reader!

Nor what the cruel Billaud 'in his short brown coat was thinking;' nor Sergent, not yet AgateSergent; nor

Panis the confident of Danton;nor, in a word, how gloomy Orcus does breed in her gloomy womb, and

fashion her monsters, and prodigies of Events, which thou seest her visibly bear! Terror is on these streets of

Paris; terror and rage, tears and frenzy: tocsinmiserere pealing through the air; fierce desperation rushing to

battle; mothers, with streaming eyes and wild hearts, sending forth their sons to die. 'Carriagehorses are

seized by the bridle,' that they may draw cannon; 'the traces cut, the carriages left standing.' In such

tocsinmiserere, and murky bewilderment of Frenzy, are not Murder, Ate, and all Furies near at hand? On

slight hint, who knows on how slight, may not Murder come; and, with her snakysparkling hand, illuminate

How it was and went, what part might be premeditated, what was improvised and accidental, man will never

know, till the great Day of Judgment make it known. But with a Marat for keeper of the Sovereign's

ConscienceAnd we know what the ultima ratio of Sovereigns, when they are driven to it, is! In this Paris

there are as many wicked men, say a hundred or more, as exist in all the Earth: to be hired, and set on; to set

on, of their own accord, unhired.And yet we will remark that premeditation itself is not performance, is not

surety of performance; that it is perhaps, at most, surety of letting whosoever wills perform. From the purpose

of crime to the act of crime there is an abyss; wonderful to think of. The finger lies on the pistol; but the man

is not yet a murderer: nay, his whole nature staggering at such consummation, is there not a confused pause

rather,one last instant of possibility for him? Not yet a murderer; it is at the mercy of light trifles whether

the most fixed idea may not yet become unfixed. One slight twitch of a muscle, the death flash bursts; and he

is it, and will for Eternity be it;and Earth has become a penal Tartarus for him; his horizon girdled now not

with golden hope, but with red flames of remorse; voices from the depths of Nature sounding, Wo, wo on

Of such stuff are we all made; on such powdermines of bottomless guilt and criminality, 'if God restrained

not; as is well said,does the purest of us walk. There are depths in man that go the length of lowest Hell, as

there are heights that reach highest Heaven;for are not both Heaven and Hell made out of him, made by

him, everlasting Miracle and Mystery as he is?But looking on this ChampdeMars, with its

tentbuildings, and frantic enrolments; on this murkysimmering Paris, with its crammed Prisons (supposed

about to burst), with its tocsinmiserere, its mothers' tears, and soldiers' farewell shoutings,the pious soul

might have prayed, that day, that God's grace would restrain, and greatly restrain; lest on slight hest or hint,

Madness, Horror and Murder rose, and this Sabbathday of September became a Day black in the Annals of

The tocsin is pealing its loudest, the clocks inaudibly striking Three, when poor Abbe Sicard, with some

thirty other Nonjurant Priests, in six carriages, fare along the streets, from their preliminary House of

Detention at the Townhall, westward towards the Prison of the Abbaye. Carriages enough stand deserted on

the streets; these six move on,through angry multitudes, cursing as they move. Accursed Aristocrat

Tartuffes, this is the pass ye have brought us to! And now ye will break the Prisons, and set Capet Veto on

horseback to ride over us? Out upon you, Priests of Beelzebub and Moloch; of Tartuffery, Mammon, and the

Prussian Gallows, which ye name MotherChurch and God! Such reproaches have the poor Nonjurants to

endure, and worse; spoken in on them by frantic Patriots, who mount even on the carriagesteps; the very

Guards hardly refraining. Pull up your carriageblinds!No! answers Patriotism, clapping its horny paw on

the carriage blind, and crushing it down again. Patience in oppression has limits: we are close on the Abbaye,

it has lasted long: a poor Nonjurant, of quicker temper, smites the horny paw with his cane; nay, finding

solacement in it, smites the unkempt head, sharply and again more sharply, twice over,seen clearly of us

and of the world. It is the last that we see clearly. Alas, next moment, the carriages are locked and blocked in

endless raging tumults; in yells deaf to the cry for mercy, which answer the cry for mercy with sabrethrusts

through the heart. (Felemhesi (anagram for Mehee Fils), La Verite tout entiere, sur les vrais auteurs de la

journee du 2 Septembre 1792 (reprinted in Hist. Parl. xviii. 156181), p. 167.) The thirty Priests are torn out,

are massacred about the Prison Gate, one after one,only the poor Abbe Sicard, whom one Moton a

watchmaker, knowing him, heroically tried to save, and secrete in the Prison, escapes to tell;and it is Night

From Sunday afternoon (exclusive of intervals, and pauses not final) till Thursday evening, there follow

consecutively a Hundred Hours. Which hundred hours are to be reckoned with the hours of the Bartholomew

Butchery, of the Armagnac Massacres, Sicilian Vespers, or whatsoever is savagest in the annals of this world.

Horrible the hour when man's soul, in its paroxysm, spurns asunder the barriers and rules; and shews what

dens and depths are in it! For Night and Orcus, as we say, as was long prophesied, have burst forth, here in

this Paris, from their subterranean imprisonment: hideous, dim, confused; which it is painful to look on; and

The Reader, who looks earnestly through this dim Phantasmagory of the Pit, will discern few fixed certain

objects; and yet still a few. He will observe, in this Abbaye Prison, the sudden massacre of the Priests being

once over, a strange Court of Justice, or call it Court of Revenge and WildJustice, swiftly fashion itself, and

take seat round a table, with the PrisonRegisters spread before it;Stanislas Maillard, Bastillehero, famed

Leader of the Menads, presiding. O Stanislas, one hoped to meet thee elsewhere than here; thou shifty

RidingUsher, with an inkling of Law! This work also thou hadst to do; and thento depart for ever from

our eyes. At La Force, at the Chatelet, the Conciergerie, the like Court forms itself, with the like

accompaniments: the thing that one man does other men can do. There are some Seven Prisons in Paris, full

of Aristocrats with conspiracies;nay not even Bicetre and Salpetriere shall escape, with their Forgers of

Assignats: and there are seventy times seven hundred Patriot hearts in a state of frenzy. Scoundrel hearts also

there are; as perfect, say, as the Earth holds,if such are needed. To whom, in this mood, law is as nolaw;

So sit these sudden Courts of WildJustice, with the PrisonRegisters before them; unwonted wild tumult

howling all round: the Prisoners in dread expectancy within. Swift: a name is called; bolts jingle, a Prisoner is

there. A few questions are put; swiftly this sudden Jury decides: Royalist Plotter or not? Clearly not; in that

case, Let the Prisoner be enlarged With Vive la Nation. Probably yea; then still, Let the Prisoner be enlarged,

but without Vive la Nation; or else it may run, Let the prisoner be conducted to La Force. At La Force again

their formula is, Let the Prisoner be conducted to the Abbaye."To La Force then!" Volunteer bailiffs seize

the doomed man; he is at the outer gate; 'enlarged,' or 'conducted,'not into La Force, but into a howling sea;

forth, under an arch of wild sabres, axes and pikes; and sinks, hewn asunder. And another sinks, and another;

and there forms itself a piled heap of corpses, and the kennels begin to run red. Fancy the yells of these men,

their faces of sweat and blood; the crueller shrieks of these women, for there are women too; and a

fellowmortal hurled naked into it all! Jourgniac de Saint Meard has seen battle, has seen an effervescent

Regiment du Roi in mutiny; but the bravest heart may quail at this. The Swiss Prisoners, remnants of the

Tenth of August, 'clasped each other spasmodically,' and hung back; grey veterans crying: "Mercy Messieurs;

ah, mercy!" But there was no mercy. Suddenly, however, one of these men steps forward. He had a blue frock

coat; he seemed to be about thirty, his stature was above common, his look noble and martial. "I go first,"

said he, "since it must be so: adieu!" Then dashing his hat sharply behind him: "Which way?" cried he to the

Brigands: "Shew it me, then." They open the folding gate; he is announced to the multitude. He stands a

moment motionless; then plunges forth among the pikes, and dies of a thousand wounds.' (Felemhesi, La

Man after man is cut down; the sabres need sharpening, the killers refresh themselves from wine jugs.

Onward and onward goes the butchery; the loud yells wearying down into bass growls. A sombrefaced,

shifting multitude looks on; in dull approval, or dull disapproval; in dull recognition that it is Necessity. 'An

Anglais in drab greatcoat' was seen, or seemed to be seen, serving liquor from his own drambottle;for

what purpose, 'if not set on by Pitt,' Satan and himself know best! Witty Dr. Moore grew sick on approaching,

and turned into another street. (Moore's Journal, i. 185 195.)Quick enough goes this JuryCourt; and

rigorous. The brave are not spared, nor the beautiful, nor the weak. Old M. de Montmorin, the Minister's

Brother, was acquitted by the Tribunal of the Seventeenth; and conducted back, elbowed by howling

galleries; but is not acquitted here. Princess de Lamballe has lain down on bed: "Madame, you are to be

removed to the Abbaye." "I do not wish to remove; I am well enough here." There is a needbe for removing.

She will arrange her dress a little, then; rude voices answer, "You have not far to go." She too is led to the

hellgate; a manifest Queen'sFriend. She shivers back, at the sight of bloody sabres; but there is no return:

Onwards! That fair hindhead is cleft with the axe; the neck is severed. That fair body is cut in fragments; with

indignities, and obscene horrors of moustachio grandslevres, which human nature would fain find

incredible,which shall be read in the original language only. She was beautiful, she was good, she had

known no happiness. Young hearts, generation after generation, will think with themselves: O worthy of

worship, thou kingdescended, goddescended and poor sisterwoman! why was not I there; and some

Sword Balmung, or Thor's Hammer in my hand? Her head is fixed on a pike; paraded under the windows of

the Temple; that a still more hated, a MarieAntoinette, may see. One Municipal, in the Temple with the

Royal Prisoners at the moment, said, "Look out." Another eagerly whispered, "Do not look." The circuit of

the Temple is guarded, in these hours, by a long stretched tricolor riband: terror enters, and the clangour of

But it is more edifying to note what thrillings of affection, what fragments of wild virtues turn up, in this

shaking asunder of man's existence, for of these too there is a proportion. Note old Marquis Cazotte: he is

doomed to die; but his young Daughter clasps him in her arms, with an inspiration of eloquence, with a love

which is stronger than very death; the heart of the killers themselves is touched by it; the old man is spared.

Yet he was guilty, if plotting for his King is guilt: in ten days more, a Court of Law condemned him, and he

had to die elsewhere; bequeathing his Daughter a lock of his old grey hair. Or note old M. de Sombreuil, who

also had a Daughter:My Father is not an Aristocrat; O good gentlemen, I will swear it, and testify it, and in

all ways prove it; we are not; we hate Aristocrats! "Wilt thou drink Aristocrats' blood?" The man lifts blood

(if universal Rumour can be credited (Dulaure: Esquisses Historiques des principaux evenemens de la

Revolution, ii. 206 (cited in Montgaillard, iii. 205).)); the poor maiden does drink. "This Sombreuil is

innocent then!" Yes indeed,and now note, most of all, how the bloody pikes, at this news, do rattle to the

ground; and the tigeryells become bursts of jubilee over a brother saved; and the old man and his daughter

are clasped to bloody bosoms, with hot tears, and borne home in triumph of Vive la Nation, the killers

refusing even money! Does it seem strange, this temper of theirs? It seems very certain, well proved by

Royalist testimony in other instances; (BertrandMoleville (Mem. Particuliers, ii.213), and very significant.

As all Delineation, in these ages, were it never so Epic, 'speaking itself and not singing itself,' must either

found on Belief and provable Fact, or have no foundation at all (nor except as floating cobweb any existence

at all),the Reader will perhaps prefer to take a glance with the very eyes of eyewitnesses; and see, in that

way, for himself, how it was. Brave Jourgniac, innocent Abbe Sicard, judicious Advocate Maton, these,

greatly compressing themselves, shall speak, each an instant. Jourgniac's Agony of Thirtyeight hours went

through 'above a hundred editions,' though intrinsically a poor work. Some portion of it may here go through

'Towards seven o'clock' (Sunday night, at the Abbaye; for Jourgniac goes by dates): 'We saw two men enter,

their hands bloody and armed with sabres; a turnkey, with a torch, lighted them; he pointed to the bed of the

unfortunate Swiss, Reding. Reding spoke with a dying voice. One of them paused; but the other cried Allons

donc; lifted the unfortunate man; carried him out on his back to the street. He was massacred there.

'We all looked at one another in silence, we clasped each other's hands. Motionless, with fixed eyes, we gazed

on the pavement of our prison; on which lay the moonlight, checkered with the triple stancheons of our

'Three in the morning: They were breakingin one of the prisondoors. We at first thought they were coming

to kill us in our room; but heard, by voices on the staircase, that it was a room where some Prisoners had

'Ten o'clock: The Abbe Lenfant and the Abbe de ChaptRastignac appeared in the pulpit of the Chapel,

which was our prison; they had entered by a door from the stairs. They said to us that our end was at hand;

that we must compose ourselves, and receive their last blessing. An electric movement, not to be defined,

threw us all on our knees, and we received it. These two whitehaired old men, blessing us from their place

above; death hovering over our heads, on all hands environing us; the moment is never to be forgotten. Half

an hour after, they were both massacred, and we heard their cries.' (Jourgniac SaintMeard, Mon Agonie de

Trentehuit heures (reprinted in Hist. Parl. xviii. 103135).)Thus Jourgniac in his Agony in the Abbaye.

But now let the good Maton speak, what he, over in La Force, in the same hours, is suffering and witnessing.

This Resurrection by him is greatly the best, the least theatrical of these Pamphlets; and stands testing by

'Towards seven o'clock,' on Sunday night, 'prisoners were called frequently, and they did not reappear. Each

of us reasoned in his own way, on this singularity: but our ideas became calm, as we persuaded ourselves that

'At one in the morning, the grate which led to our quarter opened anew. Four men in uniform, each with a

drawn sabre and blazing torch, came up to our corridor, preceded by a turnkey; and entered an apartment

close to ours, to investigate a box there, which we heard them break up. This done, they stept into the gallery,

and questioned the man Cuissa, to know where Lamotte (Necklace's Widower) was. Lamotte, they said, had

some months ago, under pretext of a treasure he knew of, swindled a sum of threehundred livres from one

of them, inviting him to dinner for that purpose. The wretched Cuissa, now in their hands, who indeed lost his

life this night, answered trembling, That he remembered the fact well, but could not tell what was become of

Lamotte. Determined to find Lamotte and confront him with Cuissa, they rummaged, along with this latter,

through various other apartments; but without effect, for we heard them say: "Come search among the

'At this time, I heard Louis Bardy, the Abbe Bardy's name called: he was brought out; and directly massacred,

as I learnt. He had been accused, along with his concubine, five or six years before, of having murdered and

cut in pieces his own Brother, Auditor of the Chambre des Comptes at Montpelier; but had by his subtlety,

'One may fancy what terror these words, "Come search among the corpses then," had thrown me into. I saw

nothing for it now but resigning myself to die. I wrote my lastwill; concluding it by a petition and

adjuration, that the paper should be sent to its address. Scarcely had I quitted the pen, when there came two

other men in uniform; one of them, whose arm and sleeve up to the very shoulder, as well as the sabre, were

covered with blood, said, He was as weary as a hodman that had been beating plaster.

'Baudin de la Chenaye was called; sixty years of virtues could not save him. They said, "A l'Abbaye:" he

passed the fatal outergate; gave a cry of terror, at sight of the heaped corpses; covered his eyes with his

hands, and died of innumerable wounds. At every new opening of the grate, I thought I should hear my own

'I flung off my nightgown and cap; I put on a coarse unwashed shirt, a worn frock without waistcoat, an old

round hat; these things I had sent for, some days ago, in the fear of what might happen.

'The rooms of this corridor had been all emptied but ours. We were four together; whom they seemed to have

forgotten: we addressed our prayers in common to the Eternal to be delivered from this peril.

'Baptiste the turnkey came up by himself, to see us. I took him by the hands; I conjured him to save us;

promised him a hundred louis, if he would conduct me home. A noise coming from the grates made him

'It was the noise of some dozen or fifteen men, armed to the teeth; as we, lying flat to escape being seen,

could see from our windows: "Up stairs!" said they: "Let not one remain." I took out my penknife; I

considered where I should strike myself,'but reflected 'that the blade was too short,' and also 'on religion.'

Finally, however, between seven and eight o'clock in the morning, enter four men with bludgeons and

sabres!'to one of whom Gerard my comrade whispered, earnestly, apart. During their colloquy I searched

every where for shoes, that I might lay off the Advocate pumps (pantoufles de Palais) I had on,' but could

find none.'Constant, called le Sauvage, Gerard, and a third whose name escapes me, they let clear off: as

for me, four sabres were crossed over my breast, and they led me down. I was brought to their bar; to the

Personage with the scarf, who sat as judge there. He was a lame man, of tall lank stature. He recognised me

on the streets, and spoke to me seven months after. I have been assured that he was son of a retired attorney,

and named Chepy. Crossing the Court called Des Nourrices, I saw Manuel haranguing in tricolor scarf.' The

trial, as we see, ends in acquittal and resurrection. (Maton de la Varenne, Ma Resurrection (in Hist. Parl.

Poor Sicard, from the violon of the Abbaye, shall say but a few words; truelooking, though tremulous.

Towards three in the morning, the killers bethink them of this little violon; and knock from the court. 'I

tapped gently, trembling lest the murderers might hear, on the opposite door, where the Section Committee

was sitting: they answered gruffly that they had no key. There were three of us in this violon; my companions

thought they perceived a kind of loft overhead. But it was very high; only one of us could reach it, by

mounting on the shoulders of both the others. One of them said to me, that my life was usefuller than theirs: I

resisted, they insisted: no denial! I fling myself on the neck of these two deliverers; never was scene more

touching. I mount on the shoulders of the first, then on those of the second, finally on the loft; and address to

my two comrades the expression of a soul overwhelmed with natural emotions. (Abbe Sicard: Relation

The two generous companions, we rejoice to find, did not perish. But it is time that Jourgniac de

SaintMeard should speak his last words, and end this singular trilogy. The night had become day; and the

day has again become night. Jourgniac, worn down with uttermost agitation, has fallen asleep, and had a

cheering dream: he has also contrived to make acquaintance with one of the volunteer bailiffs, and spoken in

native Provencal with him. On Tuesday, about one in the morning, his Agony is reaching its crisis.

'By the glare of two torches, I now descried the terrible tribunal, where lay my life or my death. The

President, in grey coats, with a sabre at his side, stood leaning with his hands against a table, on which were

papers, an inkstand, tobaccopipes and bottles. Some ten persons were around, seated or standing; two of

whom had jackets and aprons: others were sleeping stretched on benches. Two men, in bloody shirts, guarded

the door of the place; an old turnkey had his hand on the lock. In front of the President, three men held a

Prisoner, who might be about sixty' (or seventy: he was old Marshal Maille, of the Tuileries and August

Tenth). 'They stationed me in a corner; my guards crossed their sabres on my breast. I looked on all sides for

my Provencal: two National Guards, one of them drunk, presented some appeal from the Section of Croix

Rouge in favour of the Prisoner; the Man in Grey answered: "They are useless, these appeals for traitors."

Then the Prisoner exclaimed: "It is frightful; your judgment is a murder." The President answered; "My

hands are washed of it; take M. Maille away." They drove him into the street; where, through the opening of

'The President sat down to write; registering, I suppose, the name of this one whom they had finished; then I

'Behold me then haled before this swift and bloody judgmentbar, where the best protection was to have no

protection, and all resources of ingenuity became null if they were not founded on truth. Two of my guards

held me each by a hand, the third by the collar of my coat. "Your name, your profession?" said the President.

"The smallest lie ruins you," added one of the judges,"My name is Jourgniac SaintMeard; I have served,

as an officer, twenty years: and I appear at your tribunal with the assurance of an innocent man, who

therefore will not lie.""We shall see that," said the President: "Do you know why you are

arrested?""Yes, Monsieur le President; I am accused of editing the Journal De la Cour et de la Ville. But I

But no; Jourgniac's proof of the falsity, and defence generally, though of excellent result as a defence, is not

interesting to read. It is long winded; there is a loose theatricality in the reporting of it, which does not

amount to unveracity, yet which tends that way. We shall suppose him successful, beyond hope, in proving

'"But after all," said one of the Judges, "there is no smoke without kindling; tell us why they accuse you of

'"Nay," continued I, "they accuse me even of recruiting for the Emigrants!" At these words there arose a

general murmur. "O Messieurs, Messieurs," I exclaimed, raising my voice, "it is my turn to speak; I beg M. le

President to have the kindness to maintain it for me; I never needed it more.""True enough, true enough,"

'While they were examining the testimonials I had produced, a new Prisoner was brought in, and placed

before the President. "It was one Priest more," they said, "whom they had ferreted out of the Chapelle." After

very few questions: "A la Force!" He flung his breviary on the table: was hurled forth, and massacred. I

'"You tell us always," cried one of the judges, with a tone of impatience, "that you are not this, that you are

not that: what are you then?""I was an open Royalist."There arose a general murmur; which was

miraculously appeased by another of the men, who had seemed to take an interest in me: "We are not here to

judge opinions," said he, "but to judge the results of them." Could Rousseau and Voltaire both in one,

pleading for me, have said better?"Yes, Messieurs," cried I, "always till the Tenth of August, I was an

open Royalist. Ever since the Tenth of August that cause has been finished. I am a Frenchman, true to my

'"My soldiers never distrusted me. Nay, two days before that business of Nanci, when their suspicion of their

officers was at its height, they chose me for commander, to lead them to Luneville, to get back the prisoners

of the Regiment MestredeCamp, and seize General Malseigne."' Which fact there is, most luckily, an

'The President, this crossquestioning being over, took off his hat and said: "I see nothing to suspect in this

man; I am for granting him his liberty. Is that your vote?" To which all the judges answered: "Oui, oui; it is

And there arose vivats within doors and without; 'escort of three,' amid shoutings and embracings: thus

Jourgniac escaped from jurytrial and the jaws of death. (Mon Agonie (ut supra), Hist. Parl. xviii. 128.)

Maton and Sicard did, either by trial, and no bill found, lank President Chepy finding 'absolutely nothing;' or

else by evasion, and new favour of Moton the brave watchmaker, likewise escape; and were embraced, and

Thus they three, in wondrous trilogy, or triple soliloquy; uttering simultaneously, through the dread

nightwatches, their Nightthoughts, grown audible to us! They Three are become audible: but the other

'Thousand and Eightynine, of whom Two Hundred and Two were Priests,' who also had Nightthoughts,

remain inaudible; choked for ever in black Death. Heard only of President Chepy and the Man in Grey!

But the Constituted Authorities, all this while? The Legislative Assembly; the Six Ministers; the Townhall;

Santerre with the National Guard?It is very curious to think what a City is. Theatres, to the number of

some twentythree, were open every night during these prodigies: while right arms here grew weary with

slaying, rightarms there are twiddledeeing on melodious catgut; at the very instant when Abbe Sicard was

clambering up his second pair of shoulders, threemen high, five hundred thousand human individuals were

As for the poor Legislative, the sceptre had departed from it. The Legislative did send Deputation to the

Prisons, to the StreetCourts; and poor M. Dusaulx did harangue there; but produced no conviction

whatsoever: nay, at last, as he continued haranguing, the StreetCourt interposed, not without threats; and he

had to cease, and withdraw. This is the same poor worthy old M. Dusaulx who told, or indeed almost sang

(though with cracked voice), the Taking of the Bastille,to our satisfaction long since. He was wont to

announce himself, on such and on all occasions, as the Translator of Juvenal. "Good Citizens, you see before

you a man who loves his country, who is the Translator of Juvenal," said he once."Juvenal?' interrupts

Sansculottism: "who the devil is Juvenal? One of your sacres Aristocrates? To the Lanterne!" From an orator

of this kind, conviction was not to be expected. The Legislative had much ado to save one of its own

Members, or ExMembers, Deputy Journeau, who chanced to be lying in arrest for mere Parliamentary

delinquencies, in these Prisons. As for poor old Dusaulx and Company, they returned to the Salle de Manege,

saying, "It was dark; and they could not see well what was going on." (Moniteur, Debate of 2nd September,

Roland writes indignant messages, in the name of Order, Humanity, and the Law; but there is no Force at his

disposal. Santerre's National Force seems lazy to rise; though he made requisitions, he says,which always

dispersed again. Nay did not we, with Advocate Maton's eyes, see 'men in uniform,' too, with their 'sleeves

bloody to the shoulder?' Petion goes in tricolor scarf; speaks "the austere language of the law:" the killers

give up, while he is there; when his back is turned, recommence. Manuel too in scarf we, with Maton's eyes,

transiently saw haranguing, in the Court called of Nurses, Cour des Nourrices. On the other hand, cruel

Billaud, likewise in scarf, 'with that small puce coat and black wig we are used to on him,' (Mehee, Fils (ut

supra, in Hist. Parl. xviii. p. 189).) audibly delivers, 'standing among corpses,' at the Abbaye, a short but

ever memorable harangue, reported in various phraseology, but always to this purpose: "Brave Citizens, you

are extirpating the Enemies of Liberty; you are at your duty. A grateful Commune, and Country, would wish

to recompense you adequately; but cannot, for you know its want of funds. Whoever shall have worked

(travaille) in a Prison shall receive a draft of one louis, payable by our cashier. Continue your work."

(Montgaillard, iii. 191.)The Constituted Authorities are of yesterday; all pulling different ways: there is

properly not Constituted Authority, but every man is his own King; and all are kinglets, belligerent, allied, or

'O everlasting infamy,' exclaims Montgaillard, 'that Paris stood looking on in stupor for four days, and did not

interfere!' Very desirable indeed that Paris had interfered; yet not unnatural that it stood even so, looking on

in stupor. Paris is in deathpanic, the enemy and gibbets at its door: whosoever in Paris has the heart to front

death finds it more pressing to do it fighting the Prussians, than fighting the killers of Aristocrats. Indignant

abhorrence, as in Roland, may be here; gloomy sanction, premeditation or not, as in Marat and Committee of

Salvation, may be there; dull disapproval, dull approval, and acquiescence in Necessity and Destiny, is the

general temper. The Sons of Darkness, 'two hundred or so,' risen from their lurkingplaces, have scope to do

their work. Urged on by fever frenzy of Patriotism, and the madness of Terror;urged on by lucre, and the

gold louis of wages? Nay, not lucre: for the gold watches, rings, money of the Massacred, are punctually

brought to the Townhall, by Killers sansindispensables, who higgle afterwards for their twenty shillings of

wages; and Sergent sticking an uncommonly fine agate on his finger ('fully meaning to account for it'),

becomes AgateSergent. But the temper, as we say, is dull acquiescence. Not till the Patriotic or Frenetic part

of the work is finished for want of material; and Sons of Darkness, bent clearly on lucre alone, begin

wrenching watches and purses, brooches from ladies' necks 'to equip volunteers,' in daylight, on the

streets,does the temper from dull grow vehement; does the Constable raise his truncheon, and striking

heartily (like a cattledriver in earnest) beat the 'course of things' back into its old regulated droveroads. The

GardeMeuble itself was surreptitiously plundered, on the 17th of the Month, to Roland's new horror; who

anew bestirs himself, and is, as Sieyes says, 'the veto of scoundrels,' Roland veto des coquins. (Helen Maria

This is the September Massacre, otherwise called 'Severe Justice of the People.' These are the Septemberers

(Septembriseurs); a name of some note and lucency,but lucency of the Netherfire sort; very different

from that of our Bastille Heroes, who shone, disputable by no Friend of Freedom, as in heavenly

lightradiance: to such phasis of the business have we advanced since then! The numbers massacred are, in

Historical fantasy, 'between two and three thousand;' or indeed they are 'upwards of six thousand,' for Peltier

(in vision) saw them massacring the very patients of the Bicetre Madhouse 'with grapeshot;' nay finally they

are 'twelve thousand' and odd hundreds,not more than that. (See Hist. Parl. xvii. 421, 422.) In Arithmetical

ciphers, and Lists drawn up by accurate Advocate Maton, the number, including two hundred and two priests,

three 'persons unknown,' and 'one thief killed at the Bernardins,' is, as above hinted, a Thousand and

A thousand and eightynine lie dead, 'two hundred and sixty heaped carcasses on the Pont au Change'

itself;among which, Robespierre pleading afterwards will 'nearly weep' to reflect that there was said to be

one slain innocent. (Moniteur of 6th November (Debate of 5th November, 1793).) One; not two, O thou

seagreen Incorruptible? If so, Themis Sansculotte must be lucky; for she was brief!In the dim Registers of

the Townhall, which are preserved to this day, men read, with a certain sickness of heart, items and entries

not usual in Town Books: 'To workers employed in preserving the salubrity of the air in the Prisons, and

persons 'who presided over these dangerous operations,' so much,in various items, nearly seven hundred

pounds sterling. To carters employed to 'the Burying grounds of Clamart, Montrouge, and Vaugirard,' at so

much a journey, per cart; this also is an entry. Then so many francs and odd sous 'for the necessary quantity

of quicklime!' (Etat des sommes payees par la Commune de Paris (Hist. Parl. xviii. 231).) Carts go along the

streets; full of stript human corpses, thrown pellmell; limbs sticking up:seest thou that cold Hand sticking

up, through the heaped embrace of brother corpses, in its yellow paleness, in its cold rigour; the palm opened

towards Heaven, as if in dumb prayer, in expostulation de profundis, Take pity on the Sons of

Men!Mercier saw it, as he walked down 'the Rue SaintJacques from Montrouge, on the morrow of the

Massacres:' but not a Hand; it was a Foot,which he reckons still more significant, one understands not well

why. Or was it as the Foot of one spurning Heaven? Rushing, like a wild diver, in disgust and despair,

towards the depths of Annihilation? Even there shall His hand find thee, and His righthand hold

thee,surely for right not for wrong, for good not evil! 'I saw that Foot,' says Mercier; 'I shall know it again

at the great Day of Judgment, when the Eternal, throned on his thunders, shall judge both Kings and

That a shriek of inarticulate horror rose over this thing, not only from French Aristocrats and Moderates, but

from all Europe, and has prolonged itself to the present day, was most natural and right. The thing lay done,

irrevocable; a thing to be counted besides some other things, which lie very black in our Earth's Annals, yet

which will not erase therefrom. For man, as was remarked, has transcendentalisms in him; standing, as he

does, poor creature, every way 'in the confluence of Infinitudes;' a mystery to himself and others: in the centre

of two Eternities, of three Immensities,in the intersection of primeval Light with the everlasting dark! Thus

have there been, especially by vehement tempers reduced to a state of desperation, very miserable things

done. Sicilian Vespers, and 'eight thousand slaughtered in two hours,' are a known thing. Kings themselves,

not in desperation, but only in difficulty, have sat hatching, for year and day (nay De Thou says, for seven

years), their Bartholomew Business; and then, at the right moment, also on an Autumn Sunday, this very Bell

(they say it is the identical metal) of St. Germain l'Auxerrois was set apealingwith effect. (9th to 13th

September, 1572 (Dulaure, Hist. de Paris, iv. 289.) Nay the same black boulderstones of these Paris Prisons

have seen Prisonmassacres before now; men massacring countrymen, Burgundies massacring Armagnacs,

whom they had suddenly imprisoned, till as now there are piled heaps of carcasses, and the streets ran

red;the Mayor Petion of the time speaking the austere language of the law, and answered by the Killers, in

old French (it is some four hundred years old): "Maugre bieu, Sire,Sir, God's malison on your justice, your

pity, your right reason. Cursed be of God whoso shall have pity on these false traitorous Armagnacs, English;

dogs they are; they have destroyed us, wasted this realm of France, and sold it to the English." (Dulaure, iii.

494.) And so they slay, and fling aside the slain, to the extent of 'fifteen hundred and eighteen, among whom

are found four Bishops of false and damnable counsel, and two Presidents of Parlement.' For though it is not

Satan's world this that we live in, Satan always has his place in it (underground properly); and from time to

time bursts up. Well may mankind shriek, inarticulately anathematising as they can. There are actions of such

emphasis that no shrieking can be too emphatic for them. Shriek ye; acted have they.

Shriek who might in this France, in this Paris Legislative or Paris Townhall, there are Ten Men who do not

shriek. A Circular goes out from the Committee of Salut Public, dated 3rd of September 1792; directed to all

Townhalls: a Statepaper too remarkable to be overlooked. 'A part of the ferocious conspirators detained in

the Prisons,' it says, 'have been put to death by the People; and it,' the Circular, 'cannot doubt but the whole

Nation, driven to the edge of ruin by such endless series of treasons, will make haste to adopt this means of

public salvation; and all Frenchmen will cry as the men of Paris: We go to fight the enemy, but we will not

leave robbers behind us, to butcher our wives and children.' To which are legibly appended these signatures:

Panis, Sergent; Marat, Friend of the People; (Hist. Parl. xvii. 433.) with Seven others;carried down

thereby, in a strange way, to the late remembrance of Antiquarians. We remark, however, that their Circular

rather recoiled on themselves. The Townhalls made no use of it; even the distracted Sansculottes made little;

they only howled and bellowed, but did not bite. At Rheims 'about eight persons' were killed; and two

afterwards were hanged for doing it. At Lyons, and a few other places, some attempt was made; but with

Less fortunate were the Prisoners of Orleans; was the good Duke de la Rochefoucault. He journeying, by

quick stages, with his Mother and Wife, towards the Waters of Forges, or some quieter country, was arrested

at Gisors; conducted along the streets, amid effervescing multitudes, and killed dead 'by the stroke of a

pavingstone hurled through the coach window.' Killed as a once Liberal now Aristocrat; Protector of

Priests, Suspender of virtuous Petions, and his unfortunate Hotgrowncold, detestable to Patriotism. He dies

lamented of Europe; his blood spattering the cheeks of his old Mother, ninetythree years old.

As for the Orleans Prisoners, they are State Criminals: Royalist Ministers, Delessarts, Montmorins; who have

been accumulating on the High Court of Orleans, ever since that Tribunal was set up. Whom now it seems

good that we should get transferred to our new Paris Court of the Seventeenth; which proceeds far quicker.

Accordingly hot Fournier from Martinique, Fournier l'Americain, is off, missioned by Constituted Authority;

with stanch National Guards, with Lazouski the Pole; sparingly provided with roadmoney. These, through

bad quarters, through difficulties, perils, for Authorities cross each other in this time,do triumphantly bring

off the Fifty or Fiftythree Orleans Prisoners, towards Paris; where a swifter Court of the Seventeenth will do

justice on them. (Ibid. xvii. 434.) But lo, at Paris, in the interim, a still swifter and swiftest Court of the

Second, and of September, has instituted itself: enter not Paris, or that will judge you!What shall hot

Fournier do? It was his duty, as volunteer Constable, had he been a perfect character, to guard those men's

lives never so Aristocratic, at the expense of his own valuable life never so Sansculottic, till some Constituted

Court had disposed of them. But he was an imperfect character and Constable; perhaps one of the more

Hot Fournier, ordered to turn thither by one Authority, to turn thither by another Authority, is in a perplexing

multiplicity of orders; but finally he strikes off for Versailles. His Prisoners fare in tumbrils, or open carts,

himself and Guards riding and marching around: and at the last village, the worthy Mayor of Versailles

comes to meet him, anxious that the arrival and locking up were well over. It is Sunday, the ninth day of the

month. Lo, on entering the Avenue of Versailles, what multitudes, stirring, swarming in the September sun,

under the dullgreen September foliage; the Fourrowed Avenue all humming and swarming, as if the Town

had emptied itself! Our tumbrils roll heavily through the living sea; the Guards and Fournier making way

with ever more difficulty; the Mayor speaking and gesturing his persuasivest; amid the inarticulate growling

hum, which growls ever the deeper even by hearing itself growl, not without sharp yelpings here and

there:Would to God we were out of this strait place, and wind and separation had cooled the heat, which

And yet if the wide Avenue is too strait, what will the Street de Surintendance be, at leaving of the same? At

the corner of Surintendance Street, the compressed yelpings became a continuous yell: savage figures spring

on the tumbrilshafts; first spray of an endless coming tide! The Mayor pleads, pushes, halfdesperate; is

pushed, carried off in men's arms: the savage tide has entrance, has mastery. Amid horrid noise, and tumult as

of fierce wolves, the Prisoners sink massacred,all but some eleven, who escaped into houses, and found

mercy. The Prisons, and what other Prisoners they held, were with difficulty saved. The stript clothes are

burnt in bonfire; the corpses lie heaped in the ditch on the morrow morning. (Pieces officielles relatives au

massacre des Prisonniers a Versailles (in Hist. Parl. xviii. 236249).) All France, except it be the Ten Men of

the Circular and their people, moans and rages, inarticulately shrieking; all Europe rings.

But neither did Danton shriek; though, as Minister of Justice, it was more his part to do so. Brawny Danton is

in the breach, as of stormed Cities and Nations; amid the Sweep of TenthofAugust cannon, the rustle of

Prussian gallowsropes, the smiting of September sabres; destruction all round him, and the rushingdown of

worlds: Minister of Justice is his name; but Titan of the Forlorn Hope, and Enfant Perdu of the Revolution, is

his quality,and the man acts according to that. "We must put our enemies in fear!" Deep fear, is it not, as of

its own accord, falling on our enemies? The Titan of the Forlorn Hope, he is not the man that would swiftest

of all prevent its so falling. Forward, thou lost Titan of an Enfant Perdu; thou must dare, and again dare, and

without end dare; there is nothing left for thee but that! "Que mon nom soit fletri, Let my name be blighted:"

what am I? The Cause alone is great; and shall live, and not perish.So, on the whole, here too is a

swallower of Formulas; of still wider gulp than Mirabeau: this Danton, Mirabeau of the Sansculottes. In the

September days, this Minister was not heard of as cooperating with strict Roland; his business might lie

elsewhere,with Brunswick and the HoteldeVille. When applied to by an official person, about the

Orleans Prisoners, and the risks they ran, he answered gloomily, twice over, "Are not these men

guilty?"When pressed, he 'answered in a terrible voice,' and turned his back. (Biographie des Ministres, p.

97.) Two Thousand slain in the Prisons; horrible if you will: but Brunswick is within a day's journey of us;

and there are Fiveand twenty Millions yet, to slay or to save. Some men have tasks,frightfuller than ours!

It seems strange, but is not strange, that this Minister of MolochJustice, when any suppliant for a friend's

life got access to him, was found to have human compassion; and yielded and granted 'always;' 'neither did

To shriek, we say, when certain things are acted, is proper and unavoidable. Nevertheless, articulate speech,

not shrieking, is the faculty of man: when speech is not yet possible, let there be, with the shortest delay, at

leastsilence. Silence, accordingly, in this forty fourth year of the business, and eighteen hundred and

thirtysixth of an 'Era called Christian as lucus a non,' is the thing we recommend and practise. Nay, instead

of shrieking more, it were perhaps edifying to remark, on the other side, what a singular thing Customs (in

Latin, Mores) are; and how fitly the Virtue, Virtus, Manhood or Worth, that is in a man, is called his

Morality, or Customariness. Fell Slaughter, one the most authentic products of the Pit you would say, once

give it Customs, becomes War, with Laws of War; and is Customary and Moral enough; and red individuals

carry the tools of it girt round their haunches, not without an air of pride,which do thou nowise blame.

While, see! so long as it is but dressed in hodden or russet; and Revolution, less frequent than War, has not

yet got its Laws of Revolution, but the hodden or russet individuals are UncustomaryO shrieking beloved

brother blockheads of Mankind, let us close those wide mouths of ours; let us cease shrieking, and begin

Plain, at any rate, is one thing: that the fear, whatever of fear those Aristocrat enemies might need, has been

brought about. The matter is getting serious then! Sansculottism too has become a Fact, and seems minded to

assert itself as such? This huge mooncalf of Sansculottism, staggering about, as young calves do, is not

mockable only, and soft like another calf; but terrible too, if you prick it; and, through its hideous nostrils,

blows fire!Aristocrats, with pale panic in their hearts, fly towards covert; and a light rises to them over

several things; or rather a confused transition towards light, whereby for the moment darkness is only darker

than ever. But, What will become of this France? Here is a question! France is dancing its desertwaltz, as

Sahara does when the winds waken; in whirlblasts twentyfive millions in number; waltzing towards

Townhalls, Aristocrat Prisons, and Election Committeerooms; towards Brunswick and the

Frontiers;towards a New Chapter of Universal History; if indeed it be not the Finis, and windingup of

In Election Committeerooms there is now no dubiety; but the work goes bravely along. The Convention is

getting chosen,really in a decisive spirit; in the Townhall we already date First year of the Republic. Some

Two hundred of our best Legislators may be reelected, the Mountain bodily: Robespierre, with Mayor

Petion, Buzot, Curate Gregoire, Rabaut, some three score OldConstituents; though we once had only 'thirty

voices.' All these; and along with them, friends long known to Revolutionary fame: Camille Desmoulins,

though he stutters in speech; Manuel, Tallien and Company; Journalists Gorsas, Carra, Mercier, Louvet of

Faublas; Clootz Speaker of Mankind; Collot d'Herbois, tearing a passion to rags; Fabre d'Eglantine,

speculative Pamphleteer; Legendre the solid Butcher; nay Marat, though rural France can hardly believe it, or

even believe that there is a Marat except in print. Of Minister Danton, who will lay down his Ministry for a

Membership, we need not speak. Paris is fervent; nor is the Country wanting to itself. Barbaroux, Rebecqui,

and fervid Patriots are coming from Marseilles. Seven hundred and fortyfive men (or indeed fortynine, for

Avignon now sends Four) are gathering: so many are to meet; not so many are to part!

Attorney Carrier from Aurillac, ExPriest Lebon from Arras, these shall both gain a name. Mountainous

Auvergne reelects her Romme: hardy tiller of the soil, once Mathematical Professor; who, unconscious,

carries in petto a remarkable New Calendar, with Messidors, Pluvioses, and such like; and having given it

well forth, shall depart by the death they call Roman. Sieyes oldConstituent comes; to make new

Constitutions as many as wanted: for the rest, peering out of his clear cautious eyes, he will cower low in

many an emergency, and find silence safest. Young SaintJust is coming, deputed by Aisne in the North;

more like a Student than a Senator: not fourandtwenty yet; who has written Books; a youth of slight

stature, with mild mellow voice, enthusiast olivecomplexion, and long dark hair. Feraud, from the far valley

D'Aure in the folds of the Pyrenees, is coming; an ardent Republican; doomed to fame, at least in death.

All manner of Patriot men are coming: Teachers, Husbandmen, Priests and ExPriests, Traders, Doctors;

above all, Talkers, or the Attorneyspecies. Manmidwives, as Levasseur of the Sarthe, are not wanting. Nor

Artists: gross David, with the swoln cheek, has long painted, with genius in a state of convulsion; and will

now legislate. The swoln cheek, choking his words in the birth, totally disqualifies him as orator; but his

pencil, his head, his gross hot heart, with genius in a state of convulsion, will be there. A man bodily and

mentally swolncheeked, disproportionate; flabbylarge, instead of great; weak withal as in a state of

convulsion, not strong in a state of composure: so let him play his part. Nor are naturalised Benefactors of the

Species forgotten: Priestley, elected by the Orne Department, but declining: Paine the rebellious Needleman,

Few Nobles come, and yet not none. Paul Francois Barras, 'noble as the Barrases, old as the rocks of

Provence;' he is one. The reckless, shipwrecked man: flung ashore on the coast of the Maldives long ago,

while sailing and soldiering as Indian Fighter; flung ashore since then, as hungry Parisian Pleasurehunter

and Halfpay, on many a Circe Island, with temporary enchantment, temporary conversion into beasthood

and hoghood; the remote Var Department has now sent him hither. A man of heat and haste; defective in

utterance; defective indeed in any thing to utter; yet not without a certain rapidity of glance, a certain swift

transient courage; who, in these times, Fortune favouring, may go far. He is tall, handsome to the eye, 'only

the complexion a little yellow;' but 'with a robe of purple with a scarlet cloak and plume of tricolor, on

occasions of solemnity,' the man will look well. (Dictionnaire des Hommes Marquans, para Barras.)

Lepelletier SaintFargeau, OldConstituent, is a kind of noble, and of enormous wealth; he too has come

hither:to have the Pain of Death abolished? Hapless ExParlementeer! Nay, among our Sixty Old

Constituents, see Philippe d'Orleans a Prince of the Blood! Not now d'Orleans: for, Feudalism being swept

from the world, he demands of his worthy friends the Electors of Paris, to have a new name of their choosing;

whereupon Procureur Manuel, like an antithetic literary man, recommends Equality, Egalite. A Philippe

Such a Convention is gathering itself together. Mere angry poultry in moulting season; whom Brunswick's

grenadiers and cannoneers will give short account of. Would the weather only mend a little!

In vain, O Bertrand! The weather will not mend a whit:nay even if it did? Dumouriez Polymetis, though

Bertrand knows it not, started from brief slumber at Sedan, on that morning of the 29th of August; with

stealthiness, with promptitude, audacity. Some three mornings after that, Brunswick, opening wide eyes,

perceives the Passes of the Argonne all seized; blocked with felled trees, fortified with camps; and that it is a

The manoeuvre may cost Brunswick 'a loss of three weeks,' very fatal in these circumstances. A

Mountainwall of forty miles lying between him and Paris: which he should have preoccupied;which how

now to get possession of? Also the rain it raineth every day; and we are in a hungry Champagne Pouilleuse, a

land flowing only with ditchwater. How to cross this Mountainwall of the Argonne; or what in the world

to do with it?there are marchings and wet splashings by steep paths, with sackerments and guttural

interjections; forcings of Argonne Passes,which unhappily will not force. Through the woods, volleying

War reverberates, like huge gong music, or Moloch's kettledrum, borne by the echoes; swoln torrents boil

angrily round the foot of rocks, floating pale carcasses of men. In vain! Islettes Village, with its

churchsteeple, rises intact in the Mountain pass, between the embosoming heights; your forced marchings

and climbings have become forced slidings, and tumblings back. From the hilltops thou seest nothing but

dumb crags, and endless wet moaning woods; the Clermont Vache (huge Cow that she is) disclosing herself

(See Helen Maria Williams. Letters, iii. 7981.) at intervals; flinging off her cloudblanket, and soon taking

it on again, drowned in the pouring Heaven. The Argonne Passes will not force: by must skirt the Argonne;

But fancy whether the Emigrant Seigneurs have not got their brilliancy dulled a little; whether that 'Foot

Regiment in redfacings with nankeen trousers' could be in fieldday order! In place of gasconading, a sort

of desperation, and hydrophobia from excess of water, is threatening to supervene. Young Prince de Ligne,

son of that brave literary De Ligne the Thundergod of Dandies, fell backwards; shot dead in GrandPre, the

Northmost of the Passes: Brunswick is skirting and rounding, laboriously, by the extremity of the South. Four

days; days of a rain as of Noah, without fire, without food! For fire you cut down green trees, and produce

smoke; for food you eat green grapes, and produce colic, pestilential dysentery, (Greek). And the Peasants

assassinate us, they do not join us; shrill women cry shame on us, threaten to draw their very scissors on us!

O ye hapless dulledbright Seigneurs, and hydrophobic splashed Nankeens; but O, ten times more, ye poor

sackermenting ghastlyvisaged Hessians and Hulans, fallen on your backs; who had no call to die there,

except compulsion and threehalfpence aday! Nor has Mrs. Le Blanc of the Golden Arm a good time of it,

in her bower of dripping rushes. Assassinating Peasants are hanged; OldConstituent Honourable members,

though of venerable age, ride in carts with their hands tied; these are the woes of war.

Thus they; sprawling and wriggling, far and wide, on the slopes and passes of the Argonne;a loss to

Brunswick of fiveandtwenty disastrous days. There is wriggling and struggling; facing, backing, and

rightabout facing; as the positions shift, and the Argonne gets partly rounded, partly forced:but still

Dumouriez, force him, round him as you will, sticks like a rooted fixture on the ground; fixture with many

hinges; wheeling now this way, now that; shewing always new front, in the most unexpected manner: nowise

consenting to take himself away. Recruits stream up on him: full of heart; yet rather difficult to deal with.

Behind GrandPre, for example, GrandPre which is on the wrongside of the Argonne, for we are now

forced and rounded,the full heart, in one of those wheelings and shewings of new front, did as it were

overset itself, as full hearts are liable to do; and there rose a shriek of sauve qui peut, and a deathpanic

which had nigh ruined all! So that the General had to come galloping; and, with thunderwords, with gesture,

stroke of drawn sword even, check and rally, and bring back the sense of shame; (Dumouriez, Memoires, iii.

29.) nay to seize the first shriekers and ringleaders; 'shave their heads and eyebrows,' and pack them forth

into the world as a sign. Thus too (for really the rations are short, and wet camping with hungry stomach

brings bad humour) there is like to be mutiny. Whereupon again Dumouriez 'arrives at the head of their line,

with his staff, and an escort of a hundred huzzars. He had placed some squadrons behind them, the artillery in

front; he said to them: "As for you, for I will neither call you citizens, nor soldiers, nor my men (ni mes

enfans), you see before you this artillery, behind you this cavalry. You have dishonoured yourselves by

crimes. If you amend, and grow to behave like this brave Army which you have the honour of belonging to,

you will find in me a good father. But plunderers and assassins I do not suffer here. At the smallest mutiny I

will have you shivered in pieces (hacher en pieces). Seek out the scoundrels that are among you, and dismiss

Patience, O Dumouriez! This uncertain heap of shriekers, mutineers, were they once drilled and inured, will

become a phalanxed mass of Fighters; and wheel and whirl, to order, swiftly like the wind or the whirlwind:

tanned mustachiofigures; often barefoot, even barebacked; with sinews of iron; who require only bread

and gunpowder: very Sons of Fire, the adroitest, hastiest, hottest ever seen perhaps since Attila's time. They

may conquer and overrun amazingly, much as that same Attila did;whose Attila'sCamp and Battlefield

thou now seest, on this very ground; (Helen Maria Williams, iii. 32.) who, after sweeping bare the world,

was, with difficulty, and days of tough fighting, checked here by Roman Aetius and Fortune; and his

Strangely enough, in this shrieking Confusion of a Soldiery, which we saw long since fallen all suicidally out

of square in suicidal collision,at Nanci, or on the streets of Metz, where brave Bouille stood with drawn

sword; and which has collided and ground itself to pieces worse and worse ever since, down now to such a

state: in this shrieking Confusion, and not elsewhere, lies the first germ of returning Order for France! Round

which, we say, poor France nearly all ground down suicidally likewise into rubbish and Chaos, will be glad

to rally; to begin growing, and newshaping her inorganic dust: very slowly, through centuries, through

Napoleons, Louis Philippes, and other the like media and phases,into a new, infinitely preferable France,

These wheelings and movements in the region of the Argonne, which are all faithfully described by

Dumouriez himself, and more interesting to us than Hoyle's or Philidor's best Game of Chess, let us,

nevertheless, O Reader, entirely omit;and hasten to remark two things: the first a minute private, the

second a large public thing. Our minute private thing is: the presence, in the Prussian host, in that wargame

of the Argonne, of a certain Man, belonging to the sort called Immortal; who, in days since then, is becoming

visible more and more, in that character, as the Transitory more and more vanishes; for from of old it was

remarked that when the Gods appear among men, it is seldom in recognisable shape; thus Admetus' neatherds

give Apollo a draught of their goatskin wheybottle (well if they do not give him strokes with their

oxrungs), not dreaming that he is the Sungod! This man's name is Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. He is

Herzog Weimar's Minister, come with the small contingent of Weimar; to do insignificant unmilitary duty

here; very irrecognizable to nearly all! He stands at present, with drawn bridle, on the height near Saint

Menehould, making an experiment on the 'cannonfever;' having ridden thither against persuasion, into the

dance and firing of the cannonballs, with a scientific desire to understand what that same cannonfever may

be: 'The sound of them,' says he, 'is curious enough; as if it were compounded of the humming of tops, the

gurgling of water and the whistle of birds. By degrees you get a very uncommon sensation; which can only

be described by similitude. It seems as if you were in some place extremely hot, and at the same time were

completely penetrated by the heat of it; so that you feel as if you and this element you are in were perfectly

on a par. The eyesight loses nothing of its strength or distinctness; and yet it is as if all things had got a kind

of brownred colour, which makes the situation and the objects still more impressive on you.' (Goethe,

This is the cannonfever, as a WorldPoet feels it.A man entirely irrecognisable! In whose irrecognisable

head, meanwhile, there verily is the spiritual counterpart (and call it complement) of this same huge Death

Birth of the World; which now effectuates itself, outwardly in the Argonne, in such cannonthunder;

inwardly, in the irrecognisable head, quite otherwise than by thunder! Mark that man, O Reader, as the

memorablest of all the memorable in this Argonne Campaign. What we say of him is not dream, nor flourish

of rhetoric; but scientific historic fact; as many men, now at this distance, see or begin to see.

But the large public thing we had to remark is this: That the Twentieth of September, 1792, was a raw

morning covered with mist; that from three in the morning SainteMenehould, and those Villages and

homesteads we know of old were stirred by the rumble of artillerywagons, by the clatter of hoofs, and many

footed tramp of men: all manner of military, Patriot and Prussian, taking up positions, on the Heights of La

Lune and other Heights; shifting and shoving,seemingly in some dread chessgame; which may the

Heavens turn to good! The Miller of Valmy has fled dusty under ground; his Mill, were it never so windy,

will have rest today. At seven in the morning the mist clears off: see Kellermann, Dumouriez' second in

command, with 'eighteen pieces of cannon,' and deepserried ranks, drawn up round that same silent

Windmill, on his knoll of strength; Brunswick, also, with serried ranks and cannon, glooming over to him

from the height of La Lune; only the little brook and its little dell now parting them.

So that the muchlongedfor has come at last! Instead of hunger and dysentery, we shall have sharp shot;

and then!Dumouriez, with force and firm front, looks on from a neighbouring height; can help only with

his wishes, in silence. Lo, the eighteen pieces do bluster and bark, responsive to the bluster of La Lune; and

thunderclouds mount into the air; and echoes roar through all dells, far into the depths of Argonne Wood

(deserted now); and limbs and lives of men fly dissipated, this way and that. Can Brunswick make an

impression on them? The dullbright Seigneurs stand biting their thumbs: these Sansculottes seem not to fly

like poultry! Towards noontide a cannonshot blows Kellermann's horse from under him; there bursts a

powdercart high into the air, with knell heard over all: some swagging and swaying

observable;Brunswick will try! "Camarades," cries Kellermann, "Vive la Patria! Allons vaincre pour elle,

Let us conquer." "Live the Fatherland!" rings responsive, to the welkin, like rollingfire from side to side: our

ranks are as firm as rocks; and Brunswick may recross the dell, ineffectual; regain his old position on La

Lune; not unbattered by the way. And so, for the length of a September day,with bluster and bark; with

bellow far echoing! The cannonade lasts till sunset; and no impression made. Till an hour after sunset, the

few remaining Clocks of the District striking Seven; at this late time of day Brunswick tries again. With not a

whit better fortune! He is met by rock ranks, by shouts of Vive la Patrie; and driven back, not unbattered.

Whereupon he ceases; retires 'to the Tavern of La Lune;' and sets to raising a redoute lest he be attacked!

Verily so: ye dulledbright Seigneurs, make of it what ye may. Ah, and France does not rise round us in

mass; and the Peasants do not join us, but assassinate us: neither hanging nor any persuasion will induce

them! They have lost their old distinguishing love of King, and King'scloak,I fear, altogether; and will

even fight to be rid of it: that seems now their humour. Nor does Austria prosper, nor the siege of Thionville.

The Thionvillers, carrying their insolence to the epigrammatic pitch, have put a Wooden Horse on their walls,

with a bundle of hay hung from him, and this Inscription: 'When I finish my hay, you will take Thionville.'

The trenches of Thionville may shut: and what though those of Lille open? The Earth smiles not on us, nor

the Heaven; but weeps and blears itself, in sour rain, and worse. Our very friends insult us; we are wounded

in the house of our friends: "His Majesty of Prussia had a greatcoat, when the rain came; and (contrary to all

known laws) he put it on, though our two French Princes, the hope of their country, had none!" To which

indeed, as Goethe admits, what answer could be made? (Goethe, xxx. 49.)Cold and Hunger and Affront,

Colic and Dysentery and Death; and we here, cowering redouted, most unredoubtable, amid the 'tattered

cornshocks and deformed stubble,' on the splashy Height of La Lune, round the mean Tavern de La

This is the Cannonade of Valmy; wherein the WorldPoet experimented on the cannonfever; wherein the

French Sansculottes did not fly like poultry. Precious to France! Every soldier did his duty, and Alsatian

Kellermann (how preferable to old Luckner the dismissed!) began to become greater; and Egalite Fils,

Equality Junior, a light gallant FieldOfficer, distinguished himself by intrepidity:it is the same intrepid

individual who now, as LouisPhilippe, without the Equality, struggles, under sad circumstances, to be called

But this Twentieth of September is otherwise a great day. For, observe, while Kellermann's horse was flying

blown from under him at the Mill of Valmy, our new National Deputies, that shall be a NATIONAL

CONVENTION, are hovering and gathering about the Hall of the Hundred Swiss; with intent to constitute

On the morrow, about noontide, Camus the Archivist is busy 'verifying their powers;' several hundreds of

them already here. Whereupon the Old Legislative comes solemnly over, to merge its old ashes Phoenixlike

in the body of the new;and so forthwith, returning all solemnly back to the Salle de Manege, there sits a

National Convention, Seven Hundred and Forty nine complete, or complete enough; presided by

Petion;which proceeds directly to do business. Read that reported afternoon'sdebate, O Reader; there are

few debates like it: dull reporting Moniteur itself becomes more dramatic than a very Shakespeare. For

epigrammatic Manuel rises, speaks strange things; how the President shall have a guard of honour, and lodge

in the Tuileries:rejected. And Danton rises and speaks; and Collot d'Herbois rises, and Curate Gregoire,

and lame Couthon of the Mountain rises; and in rapid Meliboean stanzas, only a few lines each, they propose

motions not a few: That the cornerstone of our new Constitution is Sovereignty of the People; that our

Constitution shall be accepted by the People or be null; further that the People ought to be avenged, and have

right Judges; that the Imposts must continue till new order; that Landed and other Property be sacred forever;

finally that 'Royalty from this day is abolished in France:'Decreed all, before four o'clock strike, with

acclamation of the world! (Hist. Parl. xix. 19.) The tree was all so ripe; only shake it and there fall such

And so over in the Valmy Region, as soon as the news come, what stir is this, audible, visible from our

muddy heights of La Lune? (Williams, iii. 71.) Universal shouting of the French on their opposite hillside;

caps raised on bayonets; and a sound as of Republique; Vive la Republique borne dubious on the

winds!On the morrow morning, so to speak, Brunswick slings his knapsacks before day, lights any fires he

has; and marches without tap of drum. Dumouriez finds ghastly symptoms in that camp; 'latrines full of

blood!' (1st October, 1792; Dumouriez, iii. 73.) The chivalrous King of Prussia, for he as we saw is here in

person, may long rue the day; may look colder than ever on these dulledbright Seigneurs, and French

Princes their Country's hope;and, on the whole, put on his greatcoat without ceremony, happy that he has

one. They retire, all retire with convenient despatch, through a Champagne trodden into a quagmire, the wild

weather pouring on them; Dumouriez through his Kellermanns and Dillons pricking them a little in the hinder

parts. A little, not much; now pricking, now negotiating: for Brunswick has his eyes opened; and the Majesty

Nor has Austria prospered, nor the Wooden Horse of Thionville bitten his hay; nor Lille City surrendered

itself. The Lille trenches opened, on the 29th of the month; with balls and shells, and redhot balls; as if not

trenches but Vesuvius and the Pit had opened. It was frightful, say all eyewitnesses; but it is ineffectual. The

Lillers have risen to such temper; especially after these news from Argonne and the East. Not a Sans

indispensables in Lille that would surrender for a King's ransom. Redhot balls rain, day and night;

'sixthousand,' or so, and bombs 'filled internally with oil of turpentine which splashes up in flame;'mainly

on the dwellings of the Sansculottes and Poor; the streets of the Rich being spared. But the Sansculottes get

waterpails; form quenchingregulations, "The ball is in Peter's house!" "The ball is in John's!" They divide

their lodging and substance with each other; shout Vive la Republique; and faint not in heart. A ball thunders

through the main chamber of the Hotel deVille, while the Commune is there assembled: "We are in

permanence," says one, coldly, proceeding with his business; and the ball remains permanent too, sticking in

the wall, probably to this day. (Bombardement de Lille (in Hist. Parl. xx. 6371).)

The Austrian Archduchess (Queen's Sister) will herself see red artillery fired; in their overhaste to satisfy an

Archduchess 'two mortars explode and kill thirty persons.' It is in vain; Lille, often burning, is always

quenched again; Lille will not yield. The very boys deftly wrench the matches out of fallen bombs: 'a man

clutches a rolling ball with his hat, which takes fire; when cool, they crown it with a bonnet rouge.'

Memorable also be that nimble Barber, who when the bomb burst beside him, snatched up a shred of it,

introduced soap and lather into it, crying, "Voila mon plat a barbe, My new shavingdish!" and shaved

'fourteen people' on the spot. Bravo, thou nimble Shaver; worthy to shave old spectral Redcloak, and find

treasures!On the eighth day of this desperate siege, the sixth day of October, Austria finding it fruitless,

draws off, with no pleasurable consciousness; rapidly, Dumouriez tending thitherward; and Lille too, black

with ashes and smoulder, but jubilant skyhigh, flings its gates open. The Plat a barbe became fashionable; 'no

Patriot of an elegant turn,' says Mercier several years afterwards, 'but shaves himself out of the splinter of a

Quid multa, Why many words? The Invaders are in flight; Brunswick's Host, the third part of it gone to death,

staggers disastrous along the deep highways of Champagne; spreading out also into 'the fields, of a tough

spongy redcoloured clay;like Pharaoh through a Red Sea of mud,' says Goethe; 'for he also lay broken

chariots, and riders and foot seemed sinking around.' (Campagne in Frankreich, p. 103.) On the eleventh

morning of October, the WorldPoet, struggling Northwards out of Verdun, which he had entered

Southwards, some five weeks ago, in quite other order, discerned the following Phenomenon and formed part

'Towards three in the morning, without having had any sleep, we were about mounting our carriage, drawn up

at the door; when an insuperable obstacle disclosed itself: for there rolled on already, between the

pavementstones which were crushed up into a ridge on each side, an uninterrupted column of sickwagons

through the Town, and all was trodden as into a morass. While we stood waiting what could be made of it,

our Landlord the Knight of SaintLouis pressed past us, without salutation.' He had been a Calonne's Notable

in 1787, an Emigrant since; had returned to his home, jubilant, with the Prussians; but must now forth again

into the wide world, 'followed by a servant carrying a little bundle on his stick.

'The activity of our alert Lisieux shone eminent; and, on this occasion too, brought us on: for he struck into a

small gap of the wagonrow; and held the advancing team back till we, with our six and our four horses, got

intercalated; after which, in my light little coachlet, I could breathe freer. We were now under way; at a

funeral pace, but still under way. The day broke; we found ourselves at the outlet of the Town, in a tumult

and turmoil without measure. All sorts of vehicles, few horsemen, innumerable footpeople, were crossing

each other on the great esplanade before the Gate. We turned to the right, with our Column, towards Estain,

on a limited highway, with ditches at each side. Selfpreservation, in so monstrous a press, knew now no

pity, no respect of aught. Not far before us there fell down a horse of an ammunitionwagon: they cut the

traces, and let it lie. And now as the three others could not bring their load along, they cut them also loose,

tumbled the heavypacked vehicle into the ditch; and, with the smallest retardation, we had to drive on, right

over the horse, which was just about to rise; and I saw too clearly how its legs, under the wheels, went

'Horse and foot endeavoured to escape from the narrow laborious highway into the meadows: but these too

were rained to ruin; overflowed by full ditches, the connexion of the footpaths every where interrupted. Four

gentlemanlike, handsome, welldressed French soldiers waded for a time beside our carriage; wonderfully

clean and neat: and had such art of picking their steps, that their footgear testified no higher than the ancle

'That under such circumstances one saw, in ditches, in meadows, in fields and crofts, dead horses enough,

was natural to the case: by and by, however, you found them also flayed, the fleshy parts even cut away; sad

'Thus we fared on; every moment in danger, at the smallest stoppage on our own part, of being ourselves

tumbled overboard; under which circumstances, truly, the careful dexterity of our Lisieux could not be

sufficiently praised. The same talent shewed itself at Estain; where we arrived towards noon; and descried,

over the beautiful wellbuilt little Town, through streets and on squares, around and beside us, one

senseconfusing tumult: the mass rolled this way and that; and, all struggling forward, each hindered the

other. Unexpectedly our carriage drew up before a stately house in the marketplace; master and mistress of

the mansion saluted us in reverent distance.' Dexterous Lisieux, though we knew it not, had said we were the

'But now, from the groundfloor windows, looking over the whole market place, we had the endless tumult

lying, as it were, palpable. All sorts of walkers, soldiers in uniform, marauders, stout but sorrowing citizens

and peasants, women and children, crushed and jostled each other, amid vehicles of all forms:

ammunitionwagons, baggagewagons; carriages, single, double, and multiplex; such hundredfold

miscellany of teams, requisitioned or lawfully owned, making way, hitting together, hindering each other,

rolled here to right and to left. Hornedcattle too were struggling on; probably herds that had been put in

requisition. Riders you saw few; but the elegant carriages of the Emigrants, manycoloured, lackered, gilt

and silvered, evidently by the best builders, caught your eye. (See Hermann and Dorothea (also by Goethe),

'The crisis of the strait however arose further on a little; where the crowded marketplace had to introduce

itself into a street,straight indeed and good, but proportionably far too narrow. I have, in my life, seen

nothing like it: the aspect of it might perhaps be compared to that of a swoln river which has been raging over

meadows and fields, and is now again obliged to press itself through a narrow bridge, and flow on in its

bounded channel. Down the long street, all visible from our windows, there swelled continually the strangest

tide: a high doubleseated travelling coach towered visible over the flood of things. We thought of the fair

Frenchwomen we had seen in the morning. It was not they, however, it was Count Haugwitz; him you could

look at, with a kind of sardonic malice, rocking onwards, step by step, there.' (Campagne in Frankreich,

In such untriumphant Procession has the Brunswick Manifesto issued! Nay in worse, 'in Negotiation with

these miscreants,'the first news of which produced such a revulsion in the Emigrant nature, as put our

scientific WorldPoet 'in fear for the wits of several.' There is no help: they must fare on, these poor

Emigrants, angry with all persons and things, and making all persons angry, in the hapless course they struck

into. Landlord and landlady testify to you, at tablesd'hote, how insupportable these Frenchmen are: how, in

spite of such humiliation, of poverty and probable beggary, there is ever the same struggle for precedence, the

same forwardness, and want of discretion. High in honour, at the head of the table, you with your own eyes

observe not a Seigneur but the automaton of a Seigneur, fallen into dotage; still worshipped, reverently

waited on, and fed. In miscellaneous seats, is a miscellany of soldiers, commissaries, adventurers; consuming

silently their barbarian victuals. 'On all brows is to be read a hard destiny; all are silent, for each has his own

sufferings to bear, and looks forth into misery without bounds.' One hasty wanderer, coming in, and eating

without ungraciousness what is set before him, the landlord lets off almost scotfree. "He is," whispered the

landlord to me, "the first of these cursed people I have seen condescend to taste our German black bread."

And Dumouriez is in Paris; lauded and feasted; paraded in glittering saloons, floods of beautifullest

blonddresses and broadclothcoats flowing past him, endless, in admiring joy. One night, nevertheless, in

the splendour of one such scene, he sees himself suddenly apostrophised by a squalid unjoyful Figure, who

has come in uninvited, nay despite of all lackeys; an unjoyful Figure! The Figure is come "in express mission

from the Jacobins," to inquire sharply, better then than later, touching certain things: "Shaven eyebrows of

Volunteer Patriots, for instance?" Also "your threats of shivering in pieces?" Also, "why you have not chased

Brunswick hotly enough?" Thus, with sharp croak, inquires the Figure."Ah, c'est vous qu'on appelle Marat,

You are he they call Marat!" answers the General, and turns coldly on his heel. (Dumouriez, iii.

115.Marat's account, In the Debats des Jacobins and Journal de la Republique (Hist. Parl. xix. 317 21),

agrees to the turning on the heel, but strives to interpret it differently.)"Marat!" The blondegowns quiver

like aspens; the dress coats gather round; Actor Talma (for it is his house), and almost the very

chandelierlights, are blue: till this obscene Spectrum, or visual Appearance, vanish back into native Night.

General Dumouriez, in few brief days, is gone again, towards the Netherlands; will attack the Netherlands,

winter though it be. And General Montesquiou, on the SouthEast, has driven in the Sardinian Majesty; nay,

almost without a shot fired, has taken Savoy from him, which longs to become a piece of the Republic. And

General Custine, on the NorthEast, has dashed forth on Spires and its Arsenal; and then on Electoral Mentz,

not uninvited, wherein are German Democrats and no shadow of an Elector now:so that in the last days of

October, Frau Forster, a daughter of Heyne's, somewhat democratic, walking out of the Gate of Mentz with

her Husband, finds French Soldiers playing at bowls with cannonballs there. Forster trips cheerfully over

one iron bomb, with "Live the Republic!" A blackbearded National Guard answers: "Elle vivra bien sans

vous, It will probably live independently of you!" (Johann Georg Forster's Briefwechsel (Leipzig, 1829), i.

France therefore has done two things very completely: she has hurled back her Cimmerian Invaders far over

the marches; and likewise she has shattered her own internal Social Constitution, even to the minutest fibre of

it, into wreck and dissolution. Utterly it is all altered: from King down to Parish Constable, all Authorities,

Magistrates, Judges, persons that bore rule, have had, on the sudden, to alter themselves, so far as needful; or

else, on the sudden, and not without violence, to be altered: a Patriot 'Executive Council of Ministers,' with a

Patriot Danton in it, and then a whole Nation and National Convention, have taken care of that. Not a Parish

Constable, in the furthest hamlet, who has said De Par le Roi, and shewn loyalty, but must retire, making way

It is a change such as History must beg her readers to imagine, undescribed. An instantaneous change of the

whole bodypolitic, the soul politic being all changed; such a change as few bodies, politic or other, can

experience in this world. Say perhaps, such as poor Nymph Semele's body did experience, when she would

needs, with woman's humour, see her Olympian Jove as very Jove;and so stood, poor Nymph, this moment

Semele, next moment not Semele, but Flame and a Statue of redhot Ashes! France has looked upon

Democracy; seen it face to face.The Cimmerian Invaders will rally, in humbler temper, with better or

worse luck: the wreck and dissolution must reshape itself into a social Arrangement as it can and may. But as

for this National Convention, which is to settle every thing, if it do, as Deputy Paine and France generally

expects, get all finished 'in a few months,' we shall call it a most deft Convention.

In truth, it is very singular to see how this mercurial French People plunges suddenly from Vive le Roi to

Vive la Republique; and goes simmering and dancing; shaking off daily (so to speak), and trampling into the

dust, its old social garnitures, ways of thinking, rules of existing; and cheerfully dances towards the Ruleless,

Unknown, with such hope in its heart, and nothing but Freedom, Equality and Brotherhood in its mouth. Is it

two centuries, or is it only two years, since all France roared simultaneously to the welkin, bursting forth into

sound and smoke at its Feast of Pikes, "Live the Restorer of French Liberty?" Three short years ago there was

still Versailles and an OeildeBoeuf: now there is that watched Circuit of the Temple, girt with

dragoneyed Municipals, where, as in its final limbo, Royalty lies extinct. In the year 1789, Constituent

Deputy Barrere 'wept,' in his BreakofDay Newspaper, at sight of a reconciled King Louis; and now in

1792, Convention Deputy Barrere, perfectly tearless, may be considering, whether the reconciled King Louis

Old garnitures and social vestures drop off (we say) so fast, being indeed quite decayed, and are trodden

under the National dance. And the new vestures, where are they; the new modes and rules? Liberty, Equality,

Fraternity: not vestures but the wish for vestures! The Nation is for the present, figuratively speaking, naked!

So far, therefore, in such manner have our Patriot Brissots, Guadets triumphed. Vergniaud's Ezekielvisions

of the fall of thrones and crowns, which he spake hypothetically and prophetically in the Spring of the year,

have suddenly come to fulfilment in the Autumn. Our eloquent Patriots of the Legislative, like strong

Conjurors, by the word of their mouth, have swept Royalism with its old modes and formulas to the winds;

and shall now govern a France free of formulas. Free of formulas! And yet man lives not except with

formulas; with customs, ways of doing and living: no text truer than this; which will hold true from the

Teatable and Tailor's shopboard up to the High Senatehouses, Solemn Temples; nay through all provinces

of Mind and Imagination, onwards to the outmost confines of articulate Being,Ubi homines sunt modi

sunt! There are modes wherever there are men. It is the deepest law of man's nature; whereby man is a

craftsman and 'toolusing animal;' not the slave of Impulse, Chance, and Brute Nature, but in some measure

their lord. Twentyfive millions of men, suddenly stript bare of their modi, and dancing them down in that

Eloquent Patriots of the Legislative, meanwhile, have precisely this problem to solve. Under the name and

nickname of 'statesmen, hommes d'etat,' of 'moderatemen, moderantins,' of Brissotins, Rolandins, finally of

Girondins, they shall become worldfamous in solving it. For the Twentyfive millions are Gallic

effervescent too;filled both with hope of the unutterable, of universal Fraternity and Golden Age; and with

terror of the unutterable, Cimmerian Europe all rallying on us. It is a problem like few. Truly, if man, as the

Philosophers brag, did to any extent look before and after, what, one may ask, in many cases would become

of him? What, in this case, would become of these Seven Hundred and Fortynine men? The Convention,

seeing clearly before and after, were a paralysed Convention. Seeing clearly to the length of its own nose, it is

To the Convention itself neither the work nor the method of doing it is doubtful: To make the Constitution; to

defend the Republic till that be made. Speedily enough, accordingly, there has been a 'Committee of the

Constitution' got together. Sieyes, OldConstituent, Constitutionbuilder by trade; Condorcet, fit for better

things; Deputy Paine, foreign Benefactor of the Species, with that 'red carbuncled face, and the black

beaming eyes;' Herault de Sechelles, ExParlementeer, one of the handsomest men in France: these, with

inferior guildbrethren, are girt cheerfully to the work; will once more 'make the Constitution;' let us hope,

more effectually than last time. For that the Constitution can be made, who doubts,unless the Gospel of

Jean Jacques came into the world in vain? True, our last Constitution did tumble within the year, so

lamentably. But what then, except sort the rubbish and boulders, and build them up again better? 'Widen your

basis,' for one thing,to Universal Suffrage, if need be; exclude rotten materials, Royalism and such like, for

another thing. And in brief, build, O unspeakable Sieyes and Company, unwearied! Frequent perilous

downrushing of scaffolding and rubblework, be that an irritation, no discouragement. Start ye always again,

clearing aside the wreck; if with broken limbs, yet with whole hearts; and build, we say, in the name of

Heaven,till either the work do stand; or else mankind abandon it, and the Constitutionbuilders be paid

off, with laughter and tears! One good time, in the course of Eternity, it was appointed that this of Social

Contract too should try itself out. And so the Committee of Constitution shall toil: with hope and faith;with

To make the Constitution, then, and return home joyfully in a few months: this is the prophecy our National

Convention gives of itself; by this scientific program shall its operations and events go on. But from the best

scientific program, in such a case, to the actual fulfilment, what a difference! Every reunion of men, is it not,

as we often say, a reunion of incalculable Influences; every unit of it a microcosm of Influences;of which

how shall Science calculate or prophesy! Science, which cannot, with all its calculuses, differential, integral,

and of variations, calculate the Problem of Three gravitating Bodies, ought to hold her peace here, and say

only: In this National Convention there are Seven Hundred and Forty nine very singular Bodies, that

gravitate and do much else;who, probably in an amazing manner, will work the appointment of Heaven.

Of National Assemblages, Parliaments, Congresses, which have long sat; which are of saturnine

temperament; above all, which are not 'dreadfully in earnest,' something may be computed or conjectured: yet

even these are a kind of Mystery in progress,whereby we see the Journalist Reporter find livelihood: even

these jolt madly out of the ruts, from time to time. How much more a poor National Convention, of French

vehemence; urged on at such velocity; without routine, without rut, track or landmark; and dreadfully in

earnest every man of them! It is a Parliament literally such as there was never elsewhere in the world.

Themselves are new, unarranged; they are the Heart and presiding centre of a France fallen wholly into

maddest disarrangement. From all cities, hamlets, from the utmost ends of this France with its Twentyfive

million vehement souls, thickstreaming influences storm in on that same Heart, in the Salle de Manege, and

storm out again: such fiery venousarterial circulation is the function of that Heart. Seven Hundred and

Fortynine human individuals, we say, never sat together on Earth, under more original circumstances.

Common individuals most of them, or not far from common; yet in virtue of the position they occupied, so

notable. How, in this wild piping of the whirlwind of human passions, with death, victory, terror, valour, and

all height and all depth pealing and piping, these men, left to their own guidance, will speak and act?

Readers know well that this French National Convention (quite contrary to its own Program) became the

astonishment and horror of mankind; a kind of Apocalyptic Convention, or black Dream become real;

concerning which History seldom speaks except in the way of interjection: how it covered France with woe,

delusion, and delirium; and from its bosom there went forth Death on the pale Horse. To hate this poor

National Convention is easy; to praise and love it has not been found impossible. It is, as we say, a

Parliament in the most original circumstances. To us, in these pages, be it as a fuliginous fiery mystery,

where Upper has met Nether, and in such alternate glare and blackness of darkness poor bedazzled mortals

know not which is Upper, which is Nether; but rage and plunge distractedly, as mortals, in that case, will do.

A Convention which has to consume itself, suicidally; and become dead asheswith its World! Behoves us,

not to enter exploratively its dim embroiled deeps; yet to stand with unwavering eyes, looking how it welters;

One general superficial circumstance we remark with praise: the force of Politeness. To such depth has the

sense of civilisation penetrated man's life; no Drouet, no Legendre, in the maddest tug of war, can altogether

shake it off. Debates of Senates dreadfully in earnest are seldom given frankly to the world; else perhaps they

would surprise it. Did not the Grand Monarque himself once chase his Louvois with a pair of brandished

tongs? But reading long volumes of these Convention Debates, all in a foam with furious earnestness, earnest

many times to the extent of life and death, one is struck rather with the degree of continence they manifest in

speech; and how in such wild ebullition, there is still a kind of polite rule struggling for mastery, and the

forms of social life never altogether disappear. These men, though they menace with clenched righthands,

do not clench one another by the collar; they draw no daggers, except for oratorical purposes, and this not

often: profane swearing is almost unknown, though the Reports are frank enough; we find only one or two

For the rest, that there is 'effervescence' who doubts? Effervescence enough; Decrees passed by acclamation

today, repealed by vociferation to morrow; temper fitful, most rotatory changeful, always headlong! The

'voice of the orator is covered with rumours;' a hundred 'honourable Members rush with menaces towards the

Left side of the Hall;' President has 'broken three bells in succession,'claps on his hat, as signal that the

country is near ruined. A fiercely effervescent OldGallic Assemblage! Ah, how the loud sick sounds of

Debate, and of Life, which is a debate, sink silent one after another: so loud now, and in a little while so low!

Brennus, and those antique Gael Captains, in their way to Rome, to Galatia, and such places, whither they

were in the habit of marching in the most fiery manner, had Debates as effervescent, doubt it not; though no

Moniteur has reported them. They scolded in Celtic Welsh, those Brennuses; neither were they Sansculotte;

nay rather breeches (braccae, say of felt or rough leather) were the only thing they had; being, as Livy

testifies, naked down to the haunches:and, see, it is the same sort of work and of men still, now when they

have got coats, and speak nasally a kind of broken Latin! But on the whole does not TIME envelop this

present National Convention; as it did those Brennuses, and ancient August Senates in felt breeches? Time

surely; and also Eternity. Dim dusk of Time,or noon which will be dusk; and then there is night, and

silence; and Time with all its sick noises is swallowed in the still sea. Pity thy brother, O Son of Adam! The

angriest frothy jargon that he utters, is it not properly the whimpering of an infant which cannot speak what

ails it, but is in distress clearly, in the inwards of it; and so must squall and whimper continually, till its

This Convention is not four days old, and the melodious Meliboean stanzas that shook down Royalty are still

fresh in our ear, when there bursts out a new diapason,unhappily, of Discord, this time. For speech has

been made of a thing difficult to speak of well: the September Massacres. How deal with these September

Massacres; with the Paris Commune that presided over them? A Paris Commune hatefulterrible; before

which the poor effete Legislative had to quail, and sit quiet. And now if a young omnipotent Convention will

not so quail and sit, what steps shall it take? Have a Departmental Guard in its pay, answer the Girondins, and

Friends of Order! A Guard of National Volunteers, missioned from all the Eightythree or Eightyfive

Departments, for that express end; these will keep Septemberers, tumultuous Communes in a due state of

submissiveness, the Convention in a due state of sovereignty. So have the Friends of Order answered, sitting

in Committee, and reporting; and even a Decree has been passed of the required tenour. Nay certain

Departments, as the Var or Marseilles, in mere expectation and assurance of a Decree, have their contingent

of Volunteers already on march: brave Marseillese, foremost on the Tenth of August, will not be hindmost

here; 'fathers gave their sons a musket and twentyfive louis,' says Barbaroux, 'and bade them march.'

Can any thing be properer? A Republic that will found itself on justice must needs investigate September

Massacres; a Convention calling itself National, ought it not to be guarded by a National force?Alas,

Reader, it seems so to the eye: and yet there is much to be said and argued. Thou beholdest here the small

beginning of a Controversy, which mere logic will not settle. Two small wellsprings, September,

Departmental Guard, or rather at bottom they are but one and the same small wellspring; which will swell

and widen into waters of bitterness; all manner of subsidiary streams and brooks of bitterness flowing in,

from this side and that; till it become a wide river of bitterness, of rage and separation,which can subside

only into the Catacombs. This Departmental Guard, decreed by overwhelming majorities, and then repealed

for peace's sake, and not to insult Paris, is again decreed more than once; nay it is partially executed, and the

very men that are to be of it are seen visibly parading the Paris streets,shouting once, being overtaken with

liquor: "A bas Marat, Down with Marat!" (Hist. Parl. xx. 184.) Nevertheless, decreed never so often, it is

repealed just as often; and continues, for some seven months, an angry noisy Hypothesis only: a fair

Possibility struggling to become a Reality, but which shall never be one; which, after endless struggling,

shall, in February next, sink into sad rest,dragging much along with it. So singular are the ways of men and

But on this fourth day of the Convention's existence, as we said, which is the 25th of September 1792, there

comes Committee Report on that Decree of the Departmental Guard, and speech of repealing it; there come

denunciations of anarchy, of a Dictatorship,which let the incorruptible Robespierre consider: there come

denunciations of a certain Journal de la Republique, once called Ami du Peuple; and so thereupon there

comes, visibly stepping up, visibly standing aloft on the Tribune, ready to speak, the Bodily Spectrum of

People'sFriend Marat! Shriek, ye Seven Hundred and Fortynine; it is verily Marat, he and not another.

Marat is no phantasm of the brain, or mere lying impress of Printer's Types; but a thing material, of joint and

sinew, and a certain small stature: ye behold him there, in his blackness in his dingy squalor, a living fraction

of Chaos and Old Night; visibly incarnate, desirous to speak. "It appears," says Marat to the shrieking

Assembly, "that a great many persons here are enemies of mine." "All! All!" shriek hundreds of voices:

enough to drown any People'sFriend. But Marat will not drown: he speaks and croaks explanation; croaks

with such reasonableness, air of sincerity, that repentant pity smothers anger, and the shrieks subside or even

become applauses. For this Convention is unfortunately the crankest of machines: it shall be pointing

eastward, with stiff violence, this moment; and then do but touch some spring dexterously, the whole

machine, clattering and jerking sevenhundredfold, will whirl with huge crash, and, next moment, is

pointing westward! Thus Marat, absolved and applauded, victorious in this turn of fence, is, as the Debate

goes on, prickt at again by some dexterous Girondin; and then and shrieks rise anew, and Decree of

Accusation is on the point of passing; till the dingy People'sFriend bobs aloft once more; croaks once more

persuasive stillness, and the Decree of Accusation sinks, Whereupon he draws fortha Pistol; and setting it

to his Head, the seat of such thought and prophecy, says: "If they had passed their Accusation Decree, he, the

People'sFriend, would have blown his brains out." A People's Friend has that faculty in him. For the rest, as

to this of the two hundred and sixty thousand Aristocrat Heads, Marat candidly says, "C'est la mon avis, such

is my opinion." Also it is not indisputable: "No power on Earth can prevent me from seeing into traitors, and

unmasking them,"by my superior originality of mind? (Moniteur Newspaper, Nos. 271, 280, 294, Annee

premiere; Moore's Journal, ii. 21, 157, (which, however, may perhaps, as in similar cases, be only a copy of

the Newspaper).) An honourable member like this Friend of the People few terrestrial Parliaments have had.

We observe, however, that this first onslaught by the Friends of Order, as sharp and prompt as it was, has

failed. For neither can Robespierre, summoned out by talk of Dictatorship, and greeted with the like rumour

on shewing himself, be thrown into Prison, into Accusation;not though Barbarous openly bear testimony

against him, and sign it on paper. With such sanctified meekness does the Incorruptible lift his seagreen

cheek to the smiter; lift his thin voice, and with jesuitic dexterity plead, and prosper: asking at last, in a

prosperous manner: "But what witnesses has the Citoyen Barbaroux to support his testimony?" "Moi!" cries

hot Rebecqui, standing up, striking his breast with both hands, and answering, "Me!" (Moniteur, ut supra;

Seance du 25 Septembre.) Nevertheless the Seagreen pleads again, and makes it good: the long hurlyburly,

'personal merely,' while so much public matter lies fallow, has ended in the order of the day. O Friends of the

Gironde, why will you occupy our august sessions with mere paltry Personalities, while the grand Nationality

lies in such a state?The Gironde has touched, this day, on the foul blackspot of its fair Convention

Domain; has trodden on it, and yet not trodden it down. Alas, it is a wellspring, as we said, this blackspot;

May we not conjecture therefore that round this grand enterprise of Making the Constitution there will, as

heretofore, very strange embroilments gather, and questions and interests complicate themselves; so that after

a few or even several months, the Convention will not have settled every thing? Alas, a whole tide of

questions comes rolling, boiling; growing ever wider, without end! Among which, apart from this question of

September and Anarchy, let us notice those, which emerge oftener than the others, and promise to become

Leading Questions: of the Armies; of the Subsistences; thirdly, of the Dethroned King.

As to the Armies, Public Defence must evidently be put on a proper footing; for Europe seems coalising itself

again; one is apprehensive even England will join it. Happily Dumouriez prospers in the North;nay what if

he should prove too prosperous, and become Liberticide, Murderer of Freedom! Dumouriez prospers,

through this winter season; yet not without lamentable complaints. Sleek Pache, the Swiss Schoolmaster, he

that sat frugal in his Alley, the wonder of neighbours, has got latelywhither thinks the Reader? To be

Minister of war! Madame Roland, struck with his sleek ways, recommended him to her Husband as Clerk:

the sleek Clerk had no need of salary, being of true Patriotic temper; he would come with a bit of bread in his

pocket, to save dinner and time; and, munching incidentally, do three men's work in a day" punctual, silent,

frugal,the sleek Tartuffe that he was. Wherefore Roland, in the late Overturn, recommended him to be

WarMinister. And now, it would seem, he is secretly undermining Roland; playing into the hands of your

hotter Jacobins and September Commune; and cannot, like strict Roland, be the Veto des Coquins! (Madame

How the sleek Pache might mine and undermine, one knows not well; this however one does know: that his

WarOffice has become a den of thieves and confusion, such as all men shudder to behold. That the Citizen

Hassenfratz, as HeadClerk, sits there in bonnet rouge, in rapine, in violence, and some Mathematical

calculation; a most insolent, red nightcapped man. That Pache munches his pocketloaf, amid headclerks

and subclerks, and has spent all the WarEstimates: that Furnishers scour in gigs, over all districts of

France, and drive bargains;and lastly that the Army gets next to no furniture. No shoes, though it is winter;

no clothes; some have not even arms: 'In the Army of the South,' complains an honourable Member, 'there are

Roland's strict soul is sick to see the course things take: but what can he do? Keep his own Department strict;

rebuke, and repress wheresoever possible; at lowest, complain. He can complain in Letter after Letter, to a

National Convention, to France, to Posterity, the Universe; grow ever more querulous indignant;till at last

may he not grow wearisome? For is not this continual text of his, at bottom a rather barren one: How

astonishing that in a time of Revolt and abrogation of all Law but Cannon Law, there should be such

Unlawfulness? Intrepid VetoofScoundrels, narrowfaithful, respectable, methodic man, work thou in that

manner, since happily it is thy manner, and wear thyself away; though ineffectual, not profitless in itthen

nor now!The brave Dame Roland, bravest of all French women, begins to have misgivings: the figure of

Danton has too much of the 'Sardanapalus character,' at a Republican Rolandin Dinnertable: Clootz,

Speaker of Mankind, proses sad stuff about a Universal Republic, or union of all Peoples and Kindreds in one

and the same Fraternal Bond; of which Bond, how it is to be tied, one unhappily sees not.

It is also an indisputable, unaccountable or accountable fact that Grains are becoming scarcer and scarcer.

Riots for grain, tumultuous Assemblages demanding to have the price of grain fixed abound far and near. The

Mayor of Paris and other poor Mayors are like to have their difficulties. Petion was reelected Mayor of

Paris; but has declined; being now a Convention Legislator. Wise surely to decline: for, besides this of Grains

and all the rest, there is in these times an Improvised insurrectionary Commune passing into an Elected legal

one; getting their accounts settled,not without irritancy! Petion has declined: nevertheless many do covet

and canvass. After months of scrutinising, balloting, arguing and jargoning, one Doctor Chambon gets the

post of honour: who will not long keep it; but be, as we shall see, literally crushed out of it. (Dictionnaire des

Think also if the private Sansculotte has not his difficulties, in a time of dearth! Bread, according to the

People'sFriend, may be some 'six sous per pound, a day's wages some fifteen;' and grim winter here. How

the Poor Man continues living, and so seldom starves, by miracle! Happily, in these days, he can enlist, and

have himself shot by the Austrians, in an unusually satisfactory manner: for the Rights of Man.But

Commandant Santerre, in this so straitened condition of the flourmarket, and state of Equality and Liberty,

proposes, through the Newspapers, two remedies, or at least palliatives: First, that all classes of men should

live, two days of the week, on potatoes; then second, that every man should hang his dog. Hereby, as the

Commandant thinks, the saving, which indeed he computes to so many sacks, would be very considerable. A

cheerfuller form of inventivestupidity than Commandant Santerre's dwells in no human soul.

Inventivestupidity, imbedded in health, courage and goodnature: much to be commended. "My whole

strength," he tells the Convention once, "is, day and night, at the service of my fellowCitizens: if they find

me worthless, they will dismiss me; I will return and brew beer." (Moniteur (in Hist. Parl. xx. 412).)

Or figure what correspondences a poor Roland, Minister of the Interior, must have, on this of Grains alone!

Freetrade in Grain, impossibility to fix the Prices of Grain; on the other hand, clamour and necessity to fix

them: Political Economy lecturing from the Home Office, with demonstration clear as

Scripture;ineffectual for the empty National Stomach. The Mayor of Chartres, like to be eaten himself,

cries to the Convention: the Convention sends honourable Members in Deputation; who endeavour to feed

the multitude by miraculous spiritual methods; but cannot. The multitude, in spite of all Eloquence, come

bellowing round; will have the GrainPrices fixed, and at a moderate elevation; or elsethe honourable

Deputies hanged on the spot! The honourable Deputies, reporting this business, admit that, on the edge of

horrid death, they did fix, or affect to fix the Price of Grain: for which, be it also noted, the Convention, a

Convention that will not be trifled with, sees good to reprimand them. (Hist. Parl. xx. 431 440.)

But as to the origin of these Grain Riots, is it not most probably your secret Royalists again? Glimpses of

Priests were discernible in this of Chartres,to the eye of Patriotism. Or indeed may not 'the root of it all lie

in the Temple Prison, in the heart of a perjured King,' well as we guard him? (Ibid. 409.) Unhappy perjured

King!And so there shall be Baker's Queues, by and by, more sharptempered than ever: on every Baker's

doorrabbet an iron ring, and coil of rope; whereon, with firm grip, on this side and that, we form our Queue:

but mischievous deceitful persons cut the rope, and our Queue becomes a ravelment; wherefore the coil must

be made of iron chain. (Mercier, Nouveau Paris.) Also there shall be Prices of Grain well fixed; but then no

grain purchasable by them: bread not to be had except by Ticket from the Mayor, few ounces per mouth

daily; after long swaying, with firm grip, on the chain of the Queue. And Hunger shall stalk direful; and

Wrath and Suspicion, whetted to the Preternatural pitch, shall stalk;as those other preternatural 'shapes of

Gods in their wrathfulness' were discerned stalking, 'in glare and gloom of that fire ocean,' when Troy Town

But the question more pressing than all on the Legislator, as yet, is this third: What shall be done with King

King Louis, now King and Majesty to his own family alone, in their own Prison Apartment alone, has been

Louis Capet and the Traitor Veto with the rest of France. Shut in his Circuit of the Temple, he has heard and

seen the loud whirl of things; yells of September Massacres, Brunswick war thunders dying off in disaster

and discomfiture; he passive, a spectator merely;waiting whither it would please to whirl with him. From

the neighbouring windows, the curious, not without pity, might see him walk daily, at a certain hour, in the

Temple Garden, with his Queen, Sister and two Children, all that now belongs to him in this Earth. (Moore, i.

123; ii. 224, Quietly he walks and waits; for he is not of lively feelings, and is of a devout heart. The wearied

Irresolute has, at least, no need of resolving now. His daily meals, lessons to his Son, daily walk in the

Garden, daily game at ombre or drafts, fill up the day: the morrow will provide for itself.

The morrow indeed; and yet How? Louis asks, How? France, with perhaps still more solicitude, asks, How?

A King dethroned by insurrection is verily not easy to dispose of. Keep him prisoner, he is a secret centre for

the Disaffected, for endless plots, attempts and hopes of theirs. Banish him, he is an open centre for them; his

royal warstandard, with what of divinity it has, unrolls itself, summoning the world. Put him to death? A

cruel questionable extremity that too: and yet the likeliest in these extreme circumstances, of insurrectionary

men, whose own life and death lies staked: accordingly it is said, from the last step of the throne to the first of

But, on the whole, we will remark here that this business of Louis looks altogether different now, as seen

over Seas and at the distance of forty four years, than it looked then, in France, and struggling, confused all

round one! For indeed it is a most lying thing that same Past Tense always: so beautiful, sad, almost

Elysiansacred, 'in the moonlight of Memory,' it seems; and seems only. For observe: always, one most

important element is surreptitiously (we not noticing it) withdrawn from the Past Time: the haggard element

of Fear! Not there does Fear dwell, nor Uncertainty, nor Anxiety; but it dwells here; haunting us, tracking us;

running like an accursed grounddiscord through all the musictones of our Existence;making the Tense a

mere Present one! Just so is it with this of Louis. Why smite the fallen? asks Magnanimity, out of danger

now. He is fallen so low this oncehigh man; no criminal nor traitor, how far from it; but the unhappiest of

Human Solecisms: whom if abstract Justice had to pronounce upon, she might well become concrete Pity,

So argues retrospective Magnanimity: but Pusillanimity, present, prospective? Reader, thou hast never lived,

for months, under the rustle of Prussian gallowsropes; never wert thou portion of a National Sahara waltz,

Twentyfive millions running distracted to fight Brunswick! Knights Errant themselves, when they

conquered Giants, usually slew the Giants: quarter was only for other Knights Errant, who knew courtesy and

the laws of battle. The French Nation, in simultaneous, desperate deadpull, and as if by miracle of madness,

has pulled down the most dread Goliath, huge with the growth of ten centuries; and cannot believe, though

his giant bulk, covering acres, lies prostrate, bound with peg and packthread, that he will not rise again,

mandevouring; that the victory is not partly a dream. Terror has its scepticism; miraculous victory its rage of

vengeance. Then as to criminalty, is the prostrated Giant, who will devour us if he rise, an innocent Giant?

Curate Gregoire, who indeed is now Constitutional Bishop Gregoire, asserts, in the heat of eloquence, that

Kingship by the very nature of it is a crime capital; that Kings' Houses are as wild beasts' dens. (Moniteur,

Seance du 21 Septembre, Annee 1er (1792).) Lastly consider this: that there is on record a Trial of Charles

First! This printed Trial of Charles First is sold and read every where at present: (Moore's Journal, ii.

165.)Quelle spectacle! Thus did the English People judge their Tyrant, and become the first of Free

Peoples: which feat, by the grace of Destiny, may not France now rival? Scepticism of terror, rage of

miraculous victory, sublime spectacle to the universe, all things point one fatal way.

Such leading questions, and their endless incidental ones: of September Anarchists and Departmental Guard;

of Grain Riots, plaintiff Interior Ministers; of Armies, Hassenfratz dilapidations; and what is to be done with

Louis,beleaguer and embroil this Convention; which would so gladly make the Constitution rather. All

which questions too, as we often urge of such things, are in growth; they grow in every French head; and can

be seen growing also, very curiously, in this mighty welter of Parliamentary Debate, of Public Business

which the Convention has to do. A question emerges, so small at first; is put off, submerged; but always

reemerges bigger than before. It is a curious, indeed an indescribable sort of growth which such things have.

We perceive, however, both by its frequent reemergence and by its rapid enlargement of bulk, that this

Question of King Louis will take the lead of all the rest. And truly, in that case, it will take the lead in a much

deeper sense. For as Aaron's Rod swallowed all the other Serpents; so will the Foremost Question, whichever

may get foremost, absorb all other questions and interests; and from it and the decision of it will they all, so

to speak, be born, or newborn, and have shape, physiognomy and destiny corresponding. It was appointed

of Fate that, in this wideweltering, strangely growing, monstrous stupendous imbroglio of Convention

Business, the grand FirstParent of all the questions, controversies, measures and enterprises which were to

be evolved there to the world's astonishment, should be this Question of King Louis.

The Sixth of November, 1792, was a great day for the Republic: outwardly, over the Frontiers; inwardly, in

Outwardly: for Dumouriez, overrunning the Netherlands, did, on that day, come in contact with

SaxeTeschen and the Austrians; Dumouriez widewinged, they widewinged; at and around the village of

Jemappes, near Mons. And firehail is whistling far and wide there, the great guns playing, and the small; so

many green Heights getting fringed and maned with red Fire. And Dumouriez is swept back on this wing, and

swept back on that, and is like to be swept back utterly; when he rushes up in person, the prompt Polymetis;

speaks a prompt word or two; and then, with clear tenorpipe, 'uplifts the Hymn of the Marseillese, entonna

la Marseillaise,' (Dumouriez, Memoires, iii. 174.) ten thousand tenor or bass pipes joining; or say, some Forty

Thousand in all; for every heart leaps at the sound: and so with rhythmic marchmelody, waxing ever

quicker, to double and to treble quick, they rally, they advance, they rush, deathdefying, mandevouring;

carry batteries, redoutes, whatsoever is to be carried; and, like the fire whirlwind, sweep all manner of

Austrians from the scene of action. Thus, through the hands of Dumouriez, may Rouget de Lille, in figurative

speech, be said to have gained, miraculously, like another Orpheus, by his Marseillese fiddlestrings (fidibus

Young General Egalite, it would seem, shone brave among the bravest on this occasion. Doubtless a brave

Egalite;whom however does not Dumouriez rather talk of oftener than need were? The Mother Society has

her own thoughts. As for the Elder Egalite he flies low at this time; appears in the Convention for some

halfhour daily, with rubicund, preoccupied, or impressive quasicontemptuous countenance; and then

takes himself away. (Moore, ii. 148.) The Netherlands are conquered, at least overrun. Jacobin missionaries,

your Prolys, Pereiras, follow in the train of the Armies; also Convention Commissioners, melting

churchplate, revolutionising and remodellingamong whom Danton, in brief space, does immensities of

business; not neglecting his own wages and tradeprofits, it is thought. Hassenfratz dilapidates at home;

Dumouriez grumbles and they dilapidate abroad: within the walls there is sinning, and without the walls there

But in the Hall of the Convention, at the same hour with this victory of Jemappes, there went another thing

forward: Report, of great length, from the proper appointed Committee, on the Crimes of Louis. The

Galleries listen breathless; take comfort, ye Galleries: Deputy Valaze, Reporter on this occasion, thinks Louis

very criminal; and that, if convenient, he should be tried;poor Girondin Valaze, who may be tried himself,

one day! Comfortable so far. Nay here comes a second Committeereporter, Deputy Mailhe, with a Legal

Argument, very prosy to read now, very refreshing to hear then, That, by the Law of the Country, Louis

Capet was only called Inviolable by a figure of rhetoric; but at bottom was perfectly violable, triable; that he

can, and even should be tried. This Question of Louis, emerging so often as an angry confused possibility,

Patriotism growls indignant joy. The socalled reign of Equality is not to be a mere name, then, but a thing!

Try Louis Capet? scornfully ejaculates Patriotism: Mean criminals go to the gallows for a purse cut; and this

chief criminal, guilty of a France cut; of a France slashed asunder with Clothoscissors and Civil war; with

his victims 'twelve hundred on the Tenth of August alone' lying low in the Catacombs, fattening the passes of

Argonne Wood, of Valmy and far Fields; he, such chief criminal, shall not even come to the bar?For, alas,

O Patriotism! add we, it was from of old said, The loser pays! It is he who has to pay all scores, run up by

whomsoever; on him must all breakages and charges fall; and the twelve hundred on the Tenth of August are

Patriotism, nothing doubting, watches over this Question of the Trial, now happily emerged in an articulate

shape; and will see it to maturity, if the gods permit. With a keen solicitude Patriotism watches; getting ever

keener, at every new difficulty, as Girondins and false brothers interpose delays; till it get a keenness as of

fixedidea, and will have this Trial and no earthly thing instead of it,if Equality be not a name. Love of

Equality; then scepticism of terror, rage of victory, sublime spectacle of the universe: all these things are

But indeed this Question of the Trial, is it not to all persons a most grave one; filling with dubiety many a

Legislative head! Regicide? asks the Gironde Respectability: To kill a king, and become the horror of

respectable nations and persons? But then also, to save a king; to lose one's footing with the decided Patriot;

and undecided Patriot, though never so respectable, being mere hypothetic froth and no footing?The

dilemma presses sore; and between the horns of it you wriggle round and round. Decision is nowhere, save in

the Mother Society and her Sons. These have decided, and go forward: the others wriggle round uneasily

But how this Question of the Trial grew laboriously, through the weeks of gestation, now that it has been

articulated or conceived, were superfluous to trace here. It emerged and submerged among the infinite of

questions and embroilments. The Veto of Scoundrels writes plaintive Letters as to Anarchy; 'concealed

Royalists,' aided by Hunger, produce Riots about Grain. Alas, it is but a week ago, these Girondins made a

For, one day, among the last of October, Robespierre, being summoned to the tribune by some new hint of

that old calumny of the Dictatorship, was speaking and pleading there, with more and more comfort to

himself; till, rising high in heart, he cried out valiantly: Is there any man here that dare specifically accuse

me? "Moi!" exclaimed one. Pause of deep silence: a lean angry little Figure, with broad bald brow, strode

swiftly towards the tribune, taking papers from its pocket: "I accuse thee, Robespierre," I, Jean Baptiste

Louvet! The Seagreen became tallowgreen; shrinking to a corner of the tribune: Danton cried, "Speak,

Robespierre, there are many good citizens that listen;" but the tongue refused its office. And so Louvet, with

a shrill tone, read and recited crime after crime: dictatorial temper, exclusive popularity, bullying at elections,

mob retinue, September Massacres;till all the Convention shrieked again, and had almost indicted the

Incorruptible there on the spot. Never did the Incorruptible run such a risk. Louvet, to his dying day, will

regret that the Gironde did not take a bolder attitude, and extinguish him there and then.

Not so, however: the Incorruptible, about to be indicted in this sudden manner, could not be refused a week

of delay. That week, he is not idle; nor is the Mother Society idle,fiercetremulous for her chosen son. He

is ready at the day with his written Speech; smooth as a Jesuit Doctor's; and convinces some. And now? Why,

now lazy Vergniaud does not rise with Demosthenic thunder; poor Louvet, unprepared, can do little or

nothing: Barrere proposes that these comparatively despicable 'personalities' be dismissed by order of the

day! Order of the day it accordingly is. Barbaroux cannot even get a hearing; not though he rush down to the

Bar, and demand to be heard there as a petitioner. (Louvet, Memoires (Paris, 1823) p. 52; Moniteur (Seances

du 29 Octobre, 5 Novembre, 1792); Moore (ii. 178), The convention, eager for public business (with that first

articulate emergence of the Trial just coming on), dismisses these comparative miseres and despicabilities:

splenetic Louvet must digest his spleen, regretfully for ever: Robespierre, dear to Patriotism, is dearer for the

This is the second grand attempt by our Girondin Friends of Order, to extinguish that blackspot in their

domain; and we see they have made it far blacker and wider than before! Anarchy, September Massacre: it is

a thing that lies hideous in the general imagination; very detestable to the undecided Patriot, of

Respectability: a thing to be harped on as often as need is. Harp on it, denounce it, trample it, ye Girondin

Patriots:and yet behold, the blackspot will not trample down; it will only, as we say, trample blacker and

wider: fools, it is no blackspot of the surface, but a wellspring of the deep! Consider rightly, it is the apex

of the everlasting Abyss, this blackspot, looking up as water through thin ice; say, as the region of Nether

Darkness through your thin film of Gironde Regulation and Respectability; trample it not, lest the film break,

The truth is, if our Gironde Friends had an understanding of it, where were French Patriotism, with all its

eloquence, at this moment, had not that same great Nether Deep, of Bedlam, Fanaticism and Popular wrath

and madness, risen unfathomable on the Tenth of August? French Patriotism were an eloquent Reminiscence;

swinging on Prussian gibbets. Nay, where, in few months, were it still, should the same great Nether Deep

subside?Nay, as readers of Newspapers pretend to recollect, this hatefulness of the September Massacre is

itself partly an afterthought: readers of Newspapers can quote Gorsas and various Brissotins approving of

the September Massacre, at the time it happened; and calling it a salutary vengeance! (See Hist. Parl. xvii.

401; Newspapers by Gorsas and others (cited ibid. 428.) So that the real grief, after all, were not so much

righteous horror, as grief that one's own power was departing? Unhappy Girondins!

In the Jacobin Society, therefore, the decided Patriot complains that here are men who with their private

ambitions and animosities, will ruin Liberty, Equality, and Brotherhood, all three: they check the spirit of

Patriotism, throw stumblingblocks in its way; and instead of pushing on, all shoulders at the wheel, will

stand idle there, spitefully clamouring what foul ruts there are, what rude jolts we give! To which the Jacobin

Society answers with angry roar;with angry shriek, for there are Citoyennes too, thick crowded in the

galleries here. Citoyennes who bring their seam with them, or their knittingneedles; and shriek or knit as the

case needs; famed Tricoteuses, Patriot Knitters;Mere Duchesse, or the like Deborah and Mother of the

Faubourgs, giving the keynote. It is a changed Jacobin Society; and a still changing. Where Mother Duchess

now sits, authentic Duchesses have sat. Highrouged dames went once in jewels and spangles; now, instead

of jewels, you may take the knittingneedles and leave the rouge: the rouge will gradually give place to

natural brown, clean washed or even unwashed; and Demoiselle Theroigne herself get scandalously

fustigated. Strange enough: it is the same tribune raised in midair, where a high Mirabeau, a high Barnave

and Aristocrat Lameths once thundered: whom gradually your Brissots, Guadets, Vergniauds, a hotter style of

Patriots in bonnet rouge, did displace; red heat, as one may say, superseding light. And now your Brissots in

turn, and Brissotins, Rolandins, Girondins, are becoming supernumerary; must desert the sittings, or be

expelled: the light of the Mighty Mother is burning not red but blue!Provincial DaughterSocieties loudly

disapprove these things; loudly demand the swift reinstatement of such eloquent Girondins, the swift 'erasure

of Marat, radiation de Marat.' The Mother Society, so far as natural reason can predict, seems ruining herself.

Nevertheless she has, at all crises, seemed so; she has a preternatural life in her, and will not ruin.

But, in a fortnight more, this great Question of the Trial, while the fit Committee is assiduously but silently

working on it, receives an unexpected stimulus. Our readers remember poor Louis's turn for smithwork: how,

in old happier days, a certain Sieur Gamain of Versailles was wont to come over, and instruct him in

lockmaking;often scolding him, they say for his numbness. By whom, nevertheless, the royal Apprentice

had learned something of that craft. Hapless Apprentice; perfidious MasterSmith! For now, on this 20th of

November 1792, dingy Smith Gamain comes over to the Paris Municipality, over to Minister Roland, with

hints that he, Smith Gamain, knows a thing; that, in May last, when traitorous Correspondence was so brisk,

he and the royal Apprentice fabricated an 'Iron Press, Armoire de Fer,' cunningly inserting the same in a wall

of the royal chamber in the Tuileries; invisible under the wainscot; where doubtless it still sticks! Perfidious

Gamain, attended by the proper Authorities, finds the wainscot panel which none else can find; wrenches it

up; discloses the Iron Press,full of Letters and Papers! Roland clutches them out; conveys them over in

towels to the fit assiduous Committee, which sits hard by. In towels, we say, and without notarial inventory;

Here, however, are Letters enough: which disclose to a demonstration the Correspondence of a traitorous

selfpreserving Court; and this not with Traitors only, but even with Patriots, socalled! Barnave's treason, of

Correspondence with the Queen, and friendly advice to her, ever since that Varennes Business, is hereby

manifest: how happy that we have him, this Barnave, lying safe in the Prison of Grenoble, since September

last, for he had long been suspect! Talleyrand's treason, many a man's treason, if not manifest hereby, is next

to it. Mirabeau's treason: wherefore his Bust in the Hall of the Convention 'is veiled with gauze,' till we

ascertain. Alas, it is too ascertainable! His Bust in the Hall of the Jacobins, denounced by Robespierre from

the tribune in midair, is not veiled, it is instantly broken to sherds; a Patriot mounting swiftly with a ladder,

and shivering it down on the floor;it and others: amid shouts. (Journal des Debats des Jacobins (in Hist.

Parl. xxii. 296.) Such is their recompense and amount of wages, at this date: on the principle of supply and

demand! Smith Gamain, inadequately recompensed for the present, comes, some fifteen months after, with a

humble Petition; setting forth that no sooner was that important Iron Press finished off by him, than (as he

now bethinks himself) Louis gave him a large glass of wine. Which large glass of wine did produce in the

stomach of Sieur Gamain the terriblest effects, evidently tending towards death, and was then brought up by

an emetic; but has, notwithstanding, entirely ruined the constitution of Sieur Gamain; so that he cannot work

for his family (as he now bethinks himself). The recompense of which is 'Pension of Twelve Hundred

Francs,' and 'honourable mention.' So different is the ratio of demand and supply at different times.

Thus, amid obstructions and stimulating furtherances, has the Question of the Trial to grow; emerging and

submerging; fostered by solicitous Patriotism. Of the Orations that were spoken on it, of the painfully devised

Forms of Process for managing it, the Law Arguments to prove it lawful, and all the infinite floods of

Juridical and other ingenuity and oratory, be no syllable reported in this History. Lawyer ingenuity is good:

but what can it profit here? If the truth must be spoken, O august Senators, the only Law in this case is: Vae

victis, the loser pays! Seldom did Robespierre say a wiser word than the hint he gave to that effect, in his

oration, that it was needless to speak of Law, that here, if never elsewhere, our Right was Might. An oration

admired almost to ecstasy by the Jacobin Patriot: who shall say that Robespierre is not a thorough going

man; bold in Logic at least? To the like effect, or still more plainly, spake young SaintJust, the

blackhaired, mildtoned youth. Danton is on mission, in the Netherlands, during this preliminary work. The

rest, far as one reads, welter amid Law of Nations, Social Contract, Juristics, Syllogistics; to us barren as the

East wind. In fact, what can be more unprofitable than the sight of Seven Hundred and Fortynine ingenious

men, struggling with their whole force and industry, for a long course of weeks, to do at bottom this: To

stretch out the old Formula and Law Phraseology, so that it may cover the new, contradictory, entirely

uncoverable Thing? Whereby the poor Formula does but crack, and one's honesty along with it! The thing

that is palpably hot, burning, wilt thou prove it, by syllogism, to be a freezingmixture? This of stretching out

Formulas till they crack is, especially in times of swift change, one of the sorrowfullest tasks poor Humanity

Meanwhile, in a space of some five weeks, we have got to another emerging of the Trial, and a more practical

On Tuesday, eleventh of December, the King's Trial has emerged, very decidedly: into the streets of Paris; in

the shape of that green Carriage of Mayor Chambon, within which sits the King himself, with attendants, on

his way to the Convention Hall! Attended, in that green Carriage, by Mayors Chambon, Procureurs

Chaumette; and outside of it by Commandants Santerre, with cannon, cavalry and double row of infantry; all

Sections under arms, strong Patrols scouring all streets; so fares he, slowly through the dull drizzling weather:

and about two o'clock we behold him, 'in walnutcoloured greatcoat, redingote noisette,' descending

through the Place Vendome, towards that Salle de Manege; to be indicted, and judicially interrogated. The

mysterious Temple Circuit has given up its secret; which now, in this walnutcoloured coat, men behold with

eyes. The same bodily Louis who was once Louis the Desired, fares there: hapless King, he is getting now

towards port; his deplorable farings and voyagings draw to a close. What duty remains to him henceforth, that

The singular Procession fares on; in silence, says Prudhomme, or amid growlings of the Marseillese Hymn;

in silence, ushers itself into the Hall of the Convention, Santerre holding Louis's arm with his hand. Louis

looks round him, with composed air, to see what kind of Convention and Parliament it is. Much changed

indeed:since February gone two years, when our Constituent, then busy, spread fleurdelys velvet for us;

and we came over to say a kind word here, and they all started up swearing Fidelity; and all France started up

swearing, and made it a Feast of Pikes; which has ended in this! Barrere, who once 'wept' looking up from his

Editor'sDesk, looks down now from his President'sChair, with a list of Fiftyseven Questions; and says,

dryeyed: "Louis, you may sit down." Louis sits down: it is the very seat, they say, same timber and stuffing,

from which he accepted the Constitution, amid dancing and illumination, autumn gone a year. So much

woodwork remains identical; so much else is not identical. Louis sits and listens, with a composed look and

Of the Fiftyseven Questions we shall not give so much as one. They are questions captiously embracing all

the main Documents seized on the Tenth of August, or found lately in the Iron Press; embracing all the main

incidents of the Revolution History; and they ask, in substance, this: Louis, who wert King, art thou not guilty

to a certain extent, by act and written document, of trying to continue King? Neither in the Answers is there

much notable. Mere quiet negations, for most part; an accused man standing on the simple basis of No: I do

not recognise that document; I did not do that act; or did it according to the law that then was. Whereupon the

Fiftyseven Questions, and Documents to the number of a Hundred and Sixtytwo, being exhausted in this

manner, Barrere finishes, after some three hours, with his: "Louis, I invite you to withdraw."

Louis withdraws, under Municipal escort, into a neighbouring Committee room; having first, in leaving the

bar, demanded to have Legal Counsel. He declines refreshment, in this Committeeroom, then, seeing

Chaumette busy with a small loaf which a grenadier had divided with him, says, he will take a bit of bread. It

is five o'clock; and he had breakfasted but slightly in a morning of such drumming and alarm. Chaumette

breaks his halfloaf: the King eats of the crust; mounts the green Carriage, eating; asks now what he shall do

with the crumb? Chaumette's clerk takes it from him; flings it out into the street. Louis says, It is pity to fling

out bread, in a time of dearth. "My grandmother," remarks Chaumette, "used to say to me, Little boy, never

waste a crumb of bread, you cannot make one." "Monsieur Chaumette," answers Louis, "your grandmother

seems to have been a sensible woman." (Prudhomme's Newspaper (in Hist. Parl. xxi. 314.) Poor innocent

mortal: so quietly he waits the drawing of the lot;fit to do this at least well; Passivity alone, without

Activity, sufficing for it! He talks once of travelling over France by and by, to have a geographical and

topographical view of it; being from of old fond of geography.The Temple Circuit again receives him,

closes on him; gazing Paris may retire to its hearths and coffeehouses, to its clubs and theatres: the damp

Louis is now separated from his Queen and Family; given up to his simple reflections and resources. Dull lie

these stone walls round him; of his loved ones none with him. In this state of 'uncertainty,' providing for the

worst, he writes his Will: a Paper which can still be read; full of placidity, simplicity, pious sweetness. The

Convention, after debate, has granted him Legal Counsel, of his own choosing. Advocate Target feels himself

'too old,' being turned of fiftyfour; and declines. He had gained great honour once, defending Rohan the

NecklaceCardinal; but will gain none here. Advocate Tronchet, some ten years older, does not decline. Nay

behold, good old Malesherbes steps forward voluntarily; to the last of his fields, the good old hero! He is grey

with seventy years: he says, 'I was twice called to the Council of him who was my Master, when all the world

coveted that honour; and I owe him the same service now, when it has become one which many reckon

dangerous.' These two, with a younger Deseze, whom they will select for pleading, are busy over that

Fiftyandsevenfold Indictment, over the Hundred and Sixtytwo Documents; Louis aiding them as he can.

A great Thing is now therefore in open progress; all men, in all lands, watching it. By what Forms and

Methods shall the Convention acquit itself, in such manner that there rest not on it even the suspicion of

blame? Difficult that will be! The Convention, really much at a loss, discusses and deliberates. All day from

morning to night, day after day, the Tribune drones with oratory on this matter; one must stretch the old

Formula to cover the new Thing. The Patriots of the Mountain, whetted ever keener, clamour for despatch

above all; the only good Form will be a swift one. Nevertheless the Convention deliberates; the Tribune

drones,drowned indeed in tenor, and even in treble, from time to time; the whole Hall shrilling up round it

into pretty frequent wrath and provocation. It has droned and shrilled wellnigh a fortnight, before we can

decide, this shrillness getting ever shriller, That on Wednesday 26th of December, Louis shall appear, and

plead. His Advocates complain that it is fatally soon; which they well might as Advocates: but without

On Wednesday, therefore, at the cold dark hour of eight in the morning, all Senators are at their post. Indeed

they warm the cold hour, as we find, by a violent effervescence, such as is too common now; some Louvet or

Buzot attacking some Tallien, Chabot; and so the whole Mountain effervescing against the whole Gironde.

Scarcely is this done, at nine, when Louis and his three Advocates, escorted by the clang of arms and

Deseze unfolds his papers; honourably fulfilling his perilous office, pleads for the space of three hours. An

honourable Pleading, 'composed almost overnight;' courageous yet discreet; not without ingenuity, and soft

pathetic eloquence: Louis fell on his neck, when they had withdrawn, and said with tears, Mon pauvre

Deseze. Louis himself, before withdrawing, had added a few words, "perhaps the last he would utter to

them:" how it pained his heart, above all things, to be held guilty of that bloodshed on the Tenth of August; or

of ever shedding or wishing to shed French blood. So saying, he withdrew from that Hall;having indeed

finished his work there. Many are the strange errands he has had thither; but this strange one is the last.

And now, why will the Convention loiter? Here is the Indictment and Evidence; here is the Pleading: does

not the rest follow of itself? The Mountain, and Patriotism in general, clamours still louder for despatch; for

Permanentsession, till the task be done. Nevertheless a doubting, apprehensive Convention decides that it

will still deliberate first; that all Members, who desire it, shall have leave to speak.To your desks,

therefore, ye eloquent Members! Down with your thoughts, your echoes and hearsays of thoughts: now is the

time to shew oneself; France and the Universe listens! Members are not wanting: Oration spoken Pamphlet

follows spoken Pamphlet, with what eloquence it can: President's List swells ever higher with names

claiming to speak; from day to day, all days and all hours, the constant Tribune drones;shrill Galleries

The Patriots, in Mountain and Galleries, or taking counsel nightly in Sectionhouse, in Mother Society, amid

their shrill Tricoteuses, have to watch lynxeyed; to give voice when needful; occasionally very loud. Deputy

Thuriot, he who was Advocate Thuriot, who was Elector Thuriot, and from the top of the Bastille, saw

SaintAntoine rising like the ocean; this Thuriot can stretch a Formula as heartily as most men. Cruel Billaud

is not silent, if you incite him. Nor is cruel JeanBon silent; a kind of Jesuit he too;write him not, as the

But, on the whole, let no man conceive it possible that Louis is not guilty. The only question for a reasonable

man is, or was: Can the Convention judge Louis? Or must it be the whole People: in Primary Assembly, and

with delay? Always delay, ye Girondins, false hommes d'etat! so bellows Patriotism, its patience almost

failing.But indeed, if we consider it, what shall these poor Girondins do? Speak their convictions that

Louis is a Prisoner of War; and cannot be put to death without injustice, solecism, peril? Speak such

conviction; and lose utterly your footing with the decided Patriot? Nay properly it is not even a conviction,

but a conjecture and dim puzzle. How many poor Girondins are sure of but one thing: That a man and

Girondin ought to have footing somewhere, and to stand firmly on it; keeping well with the Respectable

Classes! This is what conviction and assurance of faith they have. They must wriggle painfully between their

Nor is France idle, nor Europe. It is a Heart this Convention, as we said, which sends out influences, and

receives them. A King's Execution, call it Martyrdom, call it Punishment, were an influence! Two notable

influences this Convention has already sent forth, over all Nations; much to its own detriment. On the 19th of

November, it emitted a Decree, and has since confirmed and unfolded the details of it. That any Nation which

might see good to shake off the fetters of Despotism was thereby, so to speak, the Sister of France, and

should have help and countenance. A Decree much noised of by Diplomatists, Editors, International Lawyers;

such a Decree as no living Fetter of Despotism, nor Person in Authority anywhere, can approve of! It was

Deputy Chambon the Girondin who propounded this Decree;at bottom perhaps as a flourish of rhetoric.

The second influence we speak of had a still poorer origin: in the restless loudrattling slightlyfurnished

head of one Jacob Dupont from the Loire country. The Convention is speculating on a plan of National

Education: Deputy Dupont in his speech says, "I am free to avow, M. le President, that I for my part am an

Atheist," (Moniteur, Seance du 14 Decembre 1792.)thinking the world might like to know that. The

French world received it without commentary; or with no audible commentary, so loud was France otherwise.

The Foreign world received it with confutation, with horror and astonishment; (Mrs. Hannah More, Letter to

Jacob Dupont (London, 1793); a most miserable influence this! And now if to these two were added a third

Foreign Courts interfere in this Trial of Louis; Spain, England: not to be listened to; though they come, as it

were, at least Spain comes, with the olivebranch in one hand, and the sword without scabbard in the other.

But at home too, from out of this circumambient Paris and France, what influences come thickpulsing!

Petitions flow in; pleading for equal justice, in a reign of socalled Equality. The living Patriot pleads;O

ye National Deputies, do not the dead Patriots plead? The Twelve Hundred that lie in cold obstruction, do not

they plead; and petition, in Death's dumbshow, from their narrow house there, more eloquently than speech?

Crippled Patriots hop on crutches round the Salle de Manege, demanding justice. The Wounded of the Tenth

of August, the Widows and Orphans of the Killed petition in a body; and hop and defile, eloquently mute,

through the Hall: one wounded Patriot, unable to hop, is borne on his bed thither, and passes shoulderhigh,

in the horizontal posture. (Hist. Parl. xxii. 131; Moore, The Convention Tribune, which has paused at such

sight, commences again,droning mere Juristic Oratory. But out of doors Paris is piping ever higher.

Bullvoiced St. Huruge is heard; and the hysteric eloquence of Mother Duchesse: 'Varlet, Apostle of Liberty,'

with pike and red cap, flies hastily, carrying his oratorical foldingstool. Justice on the Traitor! cries all the

Patriot world. Consider also this other cry, heard loud on the streets: "Give us Bread, or else kill us!" Bread

The Limited or undecided Patriot is set against the Decided. Mayor Chambon heard of dreadful rioting at the

Theatre de la Nation: it had come to rioting, and even to fistwork, between the Decided and the Undecided,

touching a new Drama called Ami des Lois (Friend of the Laws). One of the poorest Dramas ever written; but

which had didactic applications in it; wherefore powdered wigs of Friends of Order and black hair of Jacobin

heads are flying there; and Mayor Chambon hastens with Santerre, in hopes to quell it. Far from quelling it,

our poor Mayor gets so 'squeezed,' says the Report, and likewise so blamed and bullied, say we,that he,

with regret, quits the brief Mayoralty altogether, 'his lungs being affected.' This miserable Amis des Lois is

debated of in the Convention itself; so violent, mutuallyenraged, are the Limited Patriots and the Unlimited.

Between which two classes, are not Aristocrats enough, and Crypto Aristocrats, busy? Spies running over

from London with important Packets; spies pretending to run! One of these latter, Viard was the name of him,

pretended to accuse Roland, and even the Wife of Roland; to the joy of Chabot and the Mountain. But the

Wife of Roland came, being summoned, on the instant, to the Convention Hall; came, in her high clearness;

and, with few clear words, dissipated this Viard into despicability and air; all Friends of Order applauding.

(Moniteur, Seance du 7 Decembre 1792.) So, with Theatreriots, and 'Bread, or else kill us;' with Rage,

Hunger, preternatural Suspicion, does this wild Paris pipe. Roland grows ever more querulous, in his

Messages and Letters; rising almost to the hysterical pitch. Marat, whom no power on Earth can prevent

seeing into traitors and Rolands, takes to bed for three days; almost dead, the invaluable People's Friend,

with heartbreak, with fever and headache: 'O, Peuple babillard, si tu savais agir, People of Babblers, if thou

To crown all, victorious Dumouriez, in these Newyear's days, is arrived in Paris;one fears, for no good.

He pretends to be complaining of Minister Pache, and Hassenfratz dilapidations; to be concerting measures

for the spring campaign: one finds him much in the company of the Girondins. Plotting with them against

Jacobinism, against Equality, and the Punishment of Louis! We have Letters of his to the Convention itself.

Will he act the old Lafayette part, this new victorious General? Let him withdraw again; not undenounced.

And still, in the Convention Tribune, it drones continually, mere Juristic Eloquence, and Hypothesis without

Action; and there are still fifties on the President's List. Nay these Gironde Presidents give their own party

preference: we suspect they play foul with the List; men of the Mountain cannot be heard. And still it drones,

all through December into January and a New year; and there is no end! Paris pipes round it; multitudinous;

ever higher, to the note of the whirlwind. Paris will 'bring cannon from SaintDenis;' there is talk of 'shutting

Whereupon, behold, the Convention Tribune suddenly ceases droning: we cut short, be on the List who likes;

and make end. On Tuesday next, the Fifteenth of January 1793, it shall go to the Vote, name by name; and,

Is Louis Capet guilty of conspiring against Liberty? Shall our Sentence be itself final, or need ratifying by

Appeal to the People? If guilty, what Punishment? This is the form agreed to, after uproar and 'several hours

of tumultuous indecision:' these are the Three successive Questions, whereon the Convention shall now

pronounce. Paris floods round their Hall; multitudinous, many sounding. Europe and all Nations listen for

their answer. Deputy after Deputy shall answer to his name: Guilty or Not guilty?

As to the Guilt, there is, as above hinted, no doubt in the mind of Patriot man. Overwhelming majority

pronounces Guilt; the unanimous Convention votes for Guilt, only some feeble twentyeight voting not

Innocence, but refusing to vote at all. Neither does the Second Question prove doubtful, whatever the

Girondins might calculate. Would not Appeal to the People be another name for civil war? Majority of two to

one answers that there shall be no Appeal: this also is settled. Loud Patriotism, now at ten o'clock, may hush

itself for the night; and retire to its bed not without hope. Tuesday has gone well. On the morrow comes,

Consider therefore if, on this Wednesday morning, there is an affluence of Patriotism; if Paris stands

atiptoe, and all Deputies are at their post! Seven Hundred and Fortynine honourable Deputies; only some

twenty absent on mission, Duchatel and some seven others absent by sickness. Meanwhile expectant

Patriotism and Paris standing atiptoe, have need of patience. For this Wednesday again passes in debate and

effervescence; Girondins proposing that a 'majority of threefourths' shall be required; Patriots fiercely

resisting them. Danton, who has just got back from mission in the Netherlands, does obtain 'order of the day'

on this Girondin proposal; nay he obtains further that we decide sans desemparer, in Permanentsession, till

And so, finally, at eight in the evening this Third stupendous Voting, by rollcall or appel nominal, does

begin. What Punishment? Girondins undecided, Patriots decided, men afraid of Royalty, men afraid of

Anarchy, must answer here and now. Infinite Patriotism, dusky in the lamplight, floods all corridors, crowds

all galleries, sternly waiting to hear. Shrillsounding Ushers summon you by Name and Department; you

Eyewitnesses have represented this scene of the Third Voting, and of the votings that grew out of it; a scene

protracted, like to be endless, lasting, with few brief intervals, from Wednesday till Sunday morning,as one

of the strangest seen in the Revolution. Long night wears itself into day, morning's paleness is spread over all

faces; and again the wintry shadows sink, and the dim lamps are lit: but through day and night and the

vicissitude of hours, Member after Member is mounting continually those Tribunesteps; pausing aloft there,

in the clearer upper light, to speak his Fateword; then diving down into the dusk and throng again. Like

Phantoms in the hour of midnight; most spectral, pandemonial! Never did President Vergniaud, or any

terrestrial President, superintend the like. A King's Life, and so much else that depends thereon, hangs

trembling in the balance. Man after man mounts; the buzz hushes itself till he have spoken: Death;

Banishment: Imprisonment till the Peace. Many say, Death; with what cautious wellstudied phrases and

paragraphs they could devise, of explanation, of enforcement, of faint recommendation to mercy. Many too

say, Banishment; something short of Death. The balance trembles, none can yet guess whitherward. Whereat

The poor Girondins, many of them, under such fierce bellowing of Patriotism, say Death; justifying,

motivant, that most miserable word of theirs by some brief casuistry and jesuitry. Vergniaud himself says,

Death; justifying by jesuitry. Rich Lepelletier SaintFargeau had been of the Noblesse, and then of the Patriot

Left Side, in the Constituent; and had argued and reported, there and elsewhere, not a little, against Capital

Punishment: nevertheless he now says, Death; a word which may cost him dear. Manuel did surely rank with

the Decided in August last; but he has been sinking and backsliding ever since September, and the scenes of

September. In this Convention, above all, no word he could speak would find favour; he says now,

Banishment; and in mute wrath quits the place for ever,much hustled in the corridors. Philippe Egalite

votes in his soul and conscience, Death, at the sound of which, and of whom, even Patriotism shakes its head;

and there runs a groan and shudder through this Hall of Doom. Robespierre's vote cannot be doubtful; his

speech is long. Men see the figure of shrill Sieyes ascend; hardly pausing, passing merely, this figure says,

"La Mort sans phrase, Death without phrases;" and fares onward and downward. Most spectral, pandemonial!

And yet if the Reader fancy it of a funereal, sorrowful or even grave character, he is far mistaken. 'The

Ushers in the Mountain quarter,' says Mercier, 'had become as Boxopeners at the Opera;' opening and

shutting of Galleries for privileged persons, for 'd'Orleans Egalite's mistresses,' or other highdizened women

of condition, rustling with laces and tricolor. Gallant Deputies pass and repass thitherward, treating them with

ices, refreshments and smalltalk; the highdizened heads beck responsive; some have their card and pin,

pricking down the Ayes and Noes, as at a game of RougeetNoir. Further aloft reigns Mere Duchesse with

her unrouged Amazons; she cannot be prevented making long Hahas, when the vote is not La Mort. In these

Galleries there is refection, drinking of wine and brandy 'as in open tavern, en pleine tabagie.' Betting goes on

in all coffeehouses of the neighbourhood. But within doors, fatigue, impatience, uttermost weariness sits now

on all visages; lighted up only from time to time, by turns of the game. Members have fallen asleep; Ushers

come and awaken them to vote: other Members calculate whether they shall not have time to run and dine.

Figures rise, like phantoms, pale in the dusky lamp light; utter from this Tribune, only one word: Death.

'Tout est optique,' says Mercier, 'the world is all an optical shadow.' (Mercier, Nouveau Paris, vi. 15659;

Montgaillard, iii. 34887; Moore, Deep in the Thursday night, when the Voting is done, and Secretaries are

summing it up, sick Duchatel, more spectral than another, comes borne on a chair, wrapt in blankets, 'in

nightgown and nightcap,' to vote for Mercy: one vote it is thought may turn the scale.

Ah no! In profoundest silence, President Vergniaud, with a voice full of sorrow, has to say: "I declare, in the

name of the Convention, that the Punishment it pronounces on Louis Capet is that of Death." Death by a

small majority of Fiftythree. Nay, if we deduct from the one side, and add to the other, a certain

Twentysix, who said Death but coupled some faintest ineffectual surmise of mercy with it, the majority will

Death is the sentence: but its execution? It is not executed yet! Scarcely is the vote declared when Louis's

Three Advocates enter; with Protest in his name, with demand for Delay, for Appeal to the People. For this

do Deseze and Tronchet plead, with brief eloquence: brave old Malesherbes pleads for it with eloquent want

of eloquence, in broken sentences, in embarrassment and sobs; that brave timehonoured face, with its grey

strength, its broad sagacity and honesty, is mastered with emotion, melts into dumb tears. (Moniteur (in Hist.

Parl. xxiii. 210). See Boissy d'Anglas, Vie de Malesherbes, ii. 139.)They reject the Appeal to the People;

that having been already settled. But as to the Delay, what they call Sursis, it shall be considered; shall be

voted for tomorrow: at present we adjourn. Whereupon Patriotism 'hisses' from the Mountain: but a

There is still this fourth Vote then, growls indignant Patriotism:this vote, and who knows what other votes,

and adjournments of voting; and the whole matter still hovering hypothetical! And at every new vote those

Jesuit Girondins, even they who voted for Death, would so fain find a loophole! Patriotism must watch and

rage. Tyrannical adjournments there have been; one, and now another at midnight on plea of fatigue,all

Friday wasted in hesitation and higgling; in recounting of the votes, which are found correct as they stood!

Patriotism bays fiercer than ever; Patriotism, by longwatching, has become redeyed, almost rabid.

"Delay: yes or no?" men do vote it finally, all Saturday, all day and night. Men's nerves are worn out, men's

hearts are desperate; now it shall end. Vergniaud, spite of the baying, ventures to say Yes, Delay; though he

had voted Death. Philippe Egalite says, in his soul and conscience, No. The next Member mounting: "Since

Philippe says No, I for my part say Yes, Moi je dis Oui." The balance still trembles. Till finally, at three

o'clock on Sunday morning, we have: No Delay, by a majority of Seventy; Death within fourandtwenty

Garat Minister of Justice has to go to the Temple, with this stern message: he ejaculates repeatedly, "Quelle

commission affreuse, What a frightful function!" (Biographie des Ministres, p. 157.) Louis begs for a

Confessor; for yet three days of life, to prepare himself to die. The Confessor is granted; the three days and

There is no deliverance, then? Thick stone walls answer, NoneHas King Louis no friends? Men of action,

of courage grown desperate, in this his extreme need? King Louis's friends are feeble and far. Not even a

voice in the coffeehouses rises for him. At Meot the Restaurateur's no Captain Dampmartin now dines; or

sees deathdoing whiskerandoes on furlough exhibit daggers of improved structure! Meot's gallant Royalists

on furlough are far across the Marches; they are wandering distracted over the world: or their bones lie

whitening Argonne Wood. Only some weak Priests 'leave Pamphlets on all the bournestones,' this night,

calling for a rescue; calling for the pious women to rise; or are taken distributing Pamphlets, and sent to

prison. (See Prudhomme's Newspaper, Revolutions de Paris (in Hist. Parl. xxiii. 318).)

Nay there is one deathdoer, of the ancient Meot sort, who, with effort, has done even less and worse: slain a

Deputy, and set all the Patriotism of Paris on edge! It was five on Saturday evening when Lepelletier St.

Fargeau, having given his vote, No Delay, ran over to Fevrier's in the Palais Royal to snatch a morsel of

dinner. He had dined, and was paying. A thickset man 'with black hair and blue beard,' in a loose kind of

frock, stept up to him; it was, as Fevrier and the bystanders bethought them, one Paris of the old

King'sGuard. "Are you Lepelletier?" asks he."Yes." "You voted in the King's Business?""I voted

Death.""Scelerat, take that!" cries Paris, flashing out a sabre from under his frock, and plunging it deep in

The voter Lepelletier lies dead; he has expired in great pain, at one in the morning;two hours before that

Vote of no Delay was fully summed up! Guardsman Paris is flying over France; cannot be taken; will be

found some months after, selfshot in a remote inn. (Hist. Parl. xxiii. 275, 318; Felix Lepelletier, Vie de

Michel Lepelletier son Frere, p. 61. Felix, with due love of the miraculous, will have it that the Suicide in the

inn was not Paris, but some doubleganger of his.)Robespierre sees reason to think that Prince d'Artois

himself is privately in Town; that the Convention will be butchered in the lump. Patriotism sounds mere wail

and vengeance: Santerre doubles and trebles all his patrols. Pity is lost in rage and fear; the Convention has

To this conclusion, then, hast thou come, O hapless, Louis! The Son of Sixty Kings is to die on the Scaffold

by form of law. Under Sixty Kings this same form of Law, form of Society, has been fashioning itself

together, these thousand years; and has become, one way and other, a most strange Machine. Surely, if

needful, it is also frightful this Machine; dead, blind; not what it should be; which, with swift stroke, or by

cold slow torture, has wasted the lives and souls of innumerable men. And behold now a King himself, or say

rather Kinghood in his person, is to expire here in cruel tortures;like a Phalaris shut in the belly of his own

redheated Brazen Bull! It is ever so; and thou shouldst know it, O haughty tyrannous man: injustice breeds

injustice; curses and falsehoods do verily 'return always home,' wide as they may wander. Innocent Louis

bears the sins of many generations: he too experiences that man's tribunal is not in this Earth; that if he had

A King dying by such violence appeals impressively to the imagination; as the like must do, and ought to do.

And yet at bottom it is not the King dying, but the Man! Kingship is a coat; the grand loss is of the skin. The

man from whom you take his Life, to him can the whole combined world do more? Lally went on his hurdle,

his mouth filled with a gag. Miserablest mortals, doomed for picking pockets, have a whole fiveact Tragedy

in them, in that dumb pain, as they go to the gallows, unregarded; they consume the cup of trembling down to

the lees. For Kings and for Beggars, for the justly doomed and the unjustly, it is a hard thing to die. Pity them

all: thy utmost pity with all aids and appliances and throneandscaffold contrasts, how far short is it of the

A Confessor has come; Abbe Edgeworth, of Irish extraction, whom the King knew by good report, has come

promptly on this solemn mission. Leave the Earth alone, then, thou hapless King; it with its malice will go its

way, thou also canst go thine. A hard scene yet remains: the parting with our loved ones. Kind hearts,

environed in the same grim peril with us; to be left here! Let the Reader look with the eyes of Valet Clery,

through these glassdoors, where also the Municipality watches; and see the cruellest of scenes:

'At halfpast eight, the door of the anteroom opened: the Queen appeared first, leading her Son by the hand;

then Madame Royale and Madame Elizabeth: they all flung themselves into the arms of the King. Silence

reigned for some minutes; interrupted only by sobs. The Queen made a movement to lead his Majesty

towards the inner room, where M. Edgeworth was waiting unknown to them: "No," said the King, "let us go

into the dining room, it is there only that I can see you." They entered there; I shut the door of it, which was

of glass. The King sat down, the Queen on his left hand, Madame Elizabeth on his right, Madame Royale

almost in front; the young Prince remained standing between his Father's legs. They all leaned towards him,

and often held him embraced. This scene of woe lasted an hour and threequarters; during which we could

hear nothing; we could see only that always when the King spoke, the sobbings of the Princesses redoubled,

continued for some minutes; and that then the King began again to speak.' (Clery's Narrative (London, 1798),

cited in Weber, iii. 312.)And so our meetings and our partings do now end! The sorrows we gave each

other; the poor joys we faithfully shared, and all our lovings and our sufferings, and confused toilings under

the earthly Sun, are over. Thou good soul, I shall never, never through all ages of Time, see thee any

For nearly two hours this agony lasts; then they tear themselves asunder. "Promise that you will see us on the

morrow." He promises:Ah yes, yes; yet once; and go now, ye loved ones; cry to God for yourselves and

me!It was a hard scene, but it is over. He will not see them on the morrow. The Queen in passing through

the anteroom glanced at the Cerberus Municipals; and with woman's vehemence, said through her tears,

King Louis slept sound, till five in the morning, when Clery, as he had been ordered, awoke him. Clery

dressed his hair. While this went forward, Louis took a ring from his watch, and kept trying it on his finger; it

was his weddingring, which he is now to return to the Queen as a mute farewell. At halfpast six, he took

the Sacrament; and continued in devotion, and conference with Abbe Edgeworth. He will not see his Family:

At eight, the Municipals enter: the King gives them his Will and messages and effects; which they, at first,

brutally refuse to take charge of: he gives them a roll of gold pieces, a hundred and twentyfive louis; these

are to be returned to Malesherbes, who had lent them. At nine, Santerre says the hour is come. The King begs

yet to retire for three minutes. At the end of three minutes, Santerre again says the hour is come. 'Stamping on

the ground with his right foot, Louis answers: "Partons, let us go."' How the rolling of those drums comes

in, through the Temple bastions and bulwarks, on the heart of a queenly wife; soon to be a widow! He is

gone, then, and has not seen us? A Queen weeps bitterly; a King's Sister and Children. Over all these Four

does Death also hover: all shall perish miserably save one; she, as Duchesse d'Angouleme, will live,not

At the Temple Gate were some faint cries, perhaps from voices of pitiful women: "Grace! Grace!" Through

the rest of the streets there is silence as of the grave. No man not armed is allowed to be there: the armed, did

any even pity, dare not express it, each man overawed by all his neighbours. All windows are down, none

seen looking through them. All shops are shut. No wheelcarriage rolls this morning, in these streets but one

only. Eighty thousand armed men stand ranked, like armed statues of men; cannons bristle, cannoneers with

match burning, but no word or movement: it is as a city enchanted into silence and stone; one carriage with

its escort, slowly rumbling, is the only sound. Louis reads, in his Book of Devotion, the Prayers of the Dying:

clatter of this deathmarch falls sharp on the ear, in the great silence; but the thought would fain struggle

As the clocks strike ten, behold the Place de la Revolution, once Place de Louis Quinze: the Guillotine,

mounted near the old Pedestal where once stood the Statue of that Louis! Far round, all bristles with cannons

and armed men: spectators crowding in the rear; d'Orleans Egalite there in cabriolet. Swift messengers,

hoquetons, speed to the Townhall, every three minutes: near by is the Convention sitting,vengeful for

Lepelletier. Heedless of all, Louis reads his Prayers of the Dying; not till five minutes yet has he finished;

then the Carriage opens. What temper he is in? Ten different witnesses will give ten different accounts of it.

He is in the collision of all tempers; arrived now at the black Mahlstrom and descent of Death: in sorrow, in

indignation, in resignation struggling to be resigned. "Take care of M. Edgeworth," he straitly charges the

The drums are beating: "Taisezvous, Silence!" he cries 'in a terrible voice, d'une voix terrible.' He mounts

the scaffold, not without delay; he is in puce coat, breeches of grey, white stockings. He strips off the coat;

stands disclosed in a sleevewaistcoat of white flannel. The Executioners approach to bind him: he spurns,

resists; Abbe Edgeworth has to remind him how the Saviour, in whom men trust, submitted to be bound. His

hands are tied, his head bare; the fatal moment is come. He advances to the edge of the Scaffold, 'his face

very red,' and says: "Frenchmen, I die innocent: it is from the Scaffold and near appearing before God that I

tell you so. I pardon my enemies; I desire that France" A General on horseback, Santerre or another,

prances out with uplifted hand: "Tambours!" The drums drown the voice. "Executioners do your duty!" The

Executioners, desperate lest themselves be murdered (for Santerre and his Armed Ranks will strike, if they do

not), seize the hapless Louis: six of them desperate, him singly desperate, struggling there; and bind him to

their plank. Abbe Edgeworth, stooping, bespeaks him: "Son of Saint Louis, ascend to Heaven." The Axe

clanks down; a King's Life is shorn away. It is Monday the 21st of January 1793. He was aged Thirtyeight

years four months and twentyeight days. (Newspapers, Municipal Records, (in Hist. Parl. xxiii. 298349)

Executioner Samson shews the Head: fierce shout of Vive la Republique rises, and swells; caps raised on

bayonets, hats waving: students of the College of Four Nations take it up, on the far Quais; fling it over Paris.

Orleans drives off in his cabriolet; the Townhall Councillors rub their hands, saying, "It is done, It is done."

There is dipping of handkerchiefs, of pikepoints in the blood. Headsman Samson, though he afterwards

denied it, (His Letter in the Newspapers (Hist. Parl. ubi supra).) sells locks of the hair: fractions of the puce

coat are long after worn in rings. (Forster's Briefwechsel, i. 473.)And so, in some halfhour it is done; and

the multitude has all departed. Pastrycooks, coffeesellers, milkmen sing out their trivial quotidian cries: the

world wags on, as if this were a common day. In the coffeehouses that evening, says Prudhomme, Patriot

shook hands with Patriot in a more cordial manner than usual. Not till some days after, according to Mercier,

A grave thing it indisputably is; and will have consequences. On the morrow morning, Roland, so long

steeped to the lips in disgust and chagrin, sends in his demission. His accounts lie all ready, correct in

blackon white to the uttermost farthing: these he wants but to have audited, that he might retire to remote

obscurity to the country and his books. They will never be audited those accounts; he will never get retired

It was on Tuesday that Roland demitted. On Thursday comes Lepelletier St. Fargeau's Funeral, and passage

to the Pantheon of Great Men. Notable as the wild pageant of a winter day. The Body is borne aloft,

halfbare; the winding sheet disclosing the deathwound: sabre and bloody clothes parade themselves; a

'lugubrious music' wailing harsh naeniae. Oakcrowns shower down from windows; President Vergniaud

walks there, with Convention, with Jacobin Society, and all Patriots of every colour, all mourning brotherlike.

Notable also for another thing, this Burial of Lepelletier: it was the last act these men ever did with concert!

All Parties and figures of Opinion, that agitate this distracted France and its Convention, now stand, as it

were, face to face, and dagger to dagger; the King's Life, round which they all struck and battled, being

hurled down. Dumouriez, conquering Holland, growls ominous discontent, at the head of Armies. Men say

Dumouriez will have a King; that young d'Orleans Egalite shall be his King. Deputy Fauchet, in the Journal

des Amis, curses his day, more bitterly than Job did; invokes the poniards of Regicides, of 'Arras Vipers' or

Robespierres, of Pluto Dantons, of horrid Butchers Legendre and Simulacra d'Herbois, to send him swiftly to

another world than theirs. (Hist. Parl. ubi supra.) This is TeDeum Fauchet, of the Bastille Victory, of the

Cercle Social. Sharp was the deathhail rattling round one's Flag oftruce, on that Bastille day: but it was

soft to such wreckage of high Hope as this; one's New Golden Era going down in leaden dross, and

At home this Killing of a King has divided all friends; and abroad it has united all enemies. Fraternity of

Peoples, Revolutionary Propagandism; Atheism, Regicide; total destruction of social order in this world! All

Kings, and lovers of Kings, and haters of Anarchy, rank in coalition; as in a war for life. England signifies to

Citizen Chauvelin, the Ambassador or rather Ambassador'sCloak, that he must quit the country in eight

days. Ambassador'sCloak and Ambassador, Chauvelin and Talleyrand, depart accordingly. (Annual Register

of 1793, pp. 114128.) Talleyrand, implicated in that Iron Press of the Tuileries, thinks it safest to make for

England has cast out the Embassy: England declares war,being shocked principally, it would seem, at the

condition of the River Scheldt. Spain declares war; being shocked principally at some other thing; which

doubtless the Manifesto indicates. (23d March (Annual Register, p. 161).) Nay we find it was not England

that declared war first, or Spain first; but that France herself declared war first on both of them; (1st February;

7th March (Moniteur of these dates).)a point of immense Parliamentary and Journalistic interest in those

days, but which has become of no interest whatever in these. They all declare war. The sword is drawn, the

scabbard thrown away. It is even as Danton said, in one of his alltoo gigantic figures: "The coalised Kings

This huge Insurrectionary Movement, which we liken to a breaking out of Tophet and the Abyss, has swept

away Royalty, Aristocracy, and a King's life. The question is, What will it next do; how will it henceforth

shape itself? Settle down into a reign of Law and Liberty; according as the habits, persuasions and

endeavours of the educated, monied, respectable class prescribe? That is to say: the volcanic lavaflood,

bursting up in the manner described, will explode and flow according to Girondin Formula and

preestablished rule of Philosophy? If so, for our Girondin friends it will be well.

Meanwhile were not the prophecy rather that as no external force, Royal or other, now remains which could

control this Movement, the Movement will follow a course of its own; probably a very original one? Further,

that whatsoever man or men can best interpret the inward tendencies it has, and give them voice and activity,

will obtain the lead of it? For the rest, that as a thing without order, a thing proceeding from beyond and

beneath the region of order, it must work and welter, not as a Regularity but as a Chaos; destructive and

selfdestructive; always till something that has order arise, strong enough to bind it into subjection again?

Which something, we may further conjecture, will not be a Formula, with philosophical propositions and

As for the Girondin Formula, of a respectable Republic for the Middle Classes, all manner of Aristocracies

being now sufficiently demolished, there seems little reason to expect that the business will stop there.

Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, these are the words; enunciative and prophetic. Republic for the respectable

washed Middle Classes, how can that be the fulfilment thereof? Hunger and nakedness, and nightmare

oppression lying heavy on Twentyfive million hearts; this, not the wounded vanities or contradicted

philosophies of philosophical Advocates, rich Shopkeepers, rural Noblesse, was the prime mover in the

French Revolution; as the like will be in all such Revolutions, in all countries. Feudal Fleurdelys had

become an insupportably bad marching banner, and needed to be torn and trampled: but Moneybag of

Mammon (for that, in these times, is what the respectable Republic for the Middle Classes will signify) is a

still worse, while it lasts. Properly, indeed, it is the worst and basest of all banners, and symbols of dominion

among men; and indeed is possible only in a time of general Atheism, and Unbelief in any thing save in brute

Force and Sensualism; pride of birth, pride of office, any known kind of pride being a degree better than

pursepride. Freedom, Equality, Brotherhood: not in the Moneybag, but far elsewhere, will Sansculottism

We say therefore that an Insurrectionary France, loose of control from without, destitute of supreme order

from within, will form one of the most tumultuous Activities ever seen on this Earth; such as no Girondin

Formula can regulate. An immeasurable force, made up of forces manifold, heterogeneous, compatible and

incompatible. In plainer words, this France must needs split into Parties; each of which seeking to make itself

good, contradiction, exasperation will arise; and Parties on Parties find that they cannot work together, cannot

As for the number of Parties, there will, strictly counting, be as many Parties as there are Opinions.

According to which rule, in this National Convention itself, to say nothing of France generally, the number of

Parties ought to be Seven Hundred and FortyNine; for every unit entertains his opinion. But now as every

unit has at once an individual nature, or necessity to follow his own road, and a gregarious nature or necessity

to see himself travelling by the side of others,what can there be but dissolutions, precipitations, endless

turbulence of attracting and repelling; till once the masterelement get evolved, and this wild alchemy

To the length of Seven Hundred and Fortynine Parties, however, no Nation was ever yet seen to go. Nor

indeed much beyond the length of Two Parties; two at a time;so invincible is man's tendency to unite, with

all the invincible divisiveness he has! Two Parties, we say, are the usual number at one time: let these two

fight it out, all minor shades of party rallying under the shade likest them; when the one has fought down the

other, then it, in its turn, may divide, selfdestructive; and so the process continue, as far as needful. This is

the way of Revolutions, which spring up as the French one has done; when the socalled Bonds of Society

snap asunder; and all Laws that are not Laws of Nature become naught and Formulas merely.

But quitting these somewhat abstract considerations, let History note this concrete reality which the streets of

Paris exhibit, on Monday the 25th of February 1793. Long before daylight that morning, these streets are

noisy and angry. Petitioning enough there has been; a Convention often solicited. It was but yesterday there

came a Deputation of Washerwomen with Petition; complaining that not so much as soap could be had; to

say nothing of bread, and condiments of bread. The cry of women, round the Salle de Manege, was heard

plaintive: "Du pain et du savon, Bread and Soap." (Moniteur (Hist. Parl. xxiv. 332348.)

And now from six o'clock, this Monday morning, one perceives the Baker's Queues unusually expanded,

angrily agitating themselves. Not the Baker alone, but two Section Commissioners to help him, manage with

difficulty the daily distribution of loaves. Softspoken assiduous, in the early candlelight, are Baker and

Commissioners: and yet the pale chill February sunrise discloses an unpromising scene. Indignant Female

Patriots, partly supplied with bread, rush now to the shops, declaring that they will have groceries. Groceries

enough: sugarbarrels rolled forth into the street, Patriot Citoyennes weighing it out at a just rate of

elevenpence a pound; likewise coffeechests, soapchests, nay cinnamon and cloveschests, with aquavitae

and other forms of alcohol,at a just rate, which some do not pay; the palefaced Grocer silently wringing

his hands! What help? The distributive Citoyennes are of violent speech and gesture, their long Eumenides'

hair hanging out of curl; nay in their girdles pistols are seen sticking: some, it is even said, have

beards,male Patriots in petticoats and mobcap. Thus, in the streets of Lombards, in the street of Five

Diamonds, street of Pullies, in most streets of Paris does it effervesce, the livelong day; no Municipality, no

Mayor Pache, though he was War Minister lately, sends military against it, or aught against it but

On Monday gone five weeks, which was the twentyfirst of January, we saw Paris, beheading its King, stand

silent, like a petrified City of Enchantment: and now on this Monday it is so noisy, selling sugar! Cities,

especially Cities in Revolution, are subject to these alternations; the secret courses of civic business and

existence effervescing and efflorescing, in this manner, as a concrete Phenomenon to the eye. Of which

Phenomenon, when secret existence becoming public effloresces on the street, the philosophical

causeandeffect is not so easy to find. What, for example, may be the accurate philosophical meaning, and

meanings, of this sale of sugar? These things that have become visible in the street of Pullies and over Paris,

That Pitt has a hand in it, the gold of Pitt: so much, to all reasonable Patriot men, may seem clear. But then,

through what agents of Pitt? Varlet, Apostle of Liberty, was discerned again of late, with his pike and his red

nightcap. Deputy Marat published in his journal, this very day, complaining of the bitter scarcity, and

sufferings of the people, till he seemed to get wroth: 'If your Rights of Man were anything but a piece of

written paper, the plunder of a few shops, and a forestaller or two hung up at the doorlintels, would put an

end to such things.' (Hist. Parl. xxiv. 353356.) Are not these, say the Girondins, pregnant indications? Pitt

has bribed the Anarchists; Marat is the agent of Pitt: hence this sale of sugar. To the Mother Society, again, it

is clear that the scarcity is factitious; is the work of Girondins, and such like; a set of men sold partly to Pitt;

sold wholly to their own ambitions, and hardhearted pedantries; who will not fix the grainprices, but prate

pedantically of freetrade; wishing to starve Paris into violence, and embroil it with the Departments: hence

And, alas, if to these two notabilities, of a Phenomenon and such Theories of a Phenomenon, we add this

third notability, That the French Nation has believed, for several years now, in the possibility, nay certainty

and near advent, of a universal Millennium, or reign of Freedom, Equality, Fraternity, wherein man should be

the brother of man, and sorrow and sin flee away? Not bread to eat, nor soap to wish with; and the reign of

perfect Felicity ready to arrive, due always since the Bastille fell! How did our hearts burn within us, at that

Feast of Pikes, when brother flung himself on brother's bosom; and in sunny jubilee, Twentyfive millions

burst forth into sound and cannonsmoke! Bright was our Hope then, as sunlight; redangry is our Hope

grown now, as consuming fire. But, O Heavens, what enchantment is it, or devilish legerdemain, of such

effect, that Perfect Felicity, always within arm's length, could never be laid hold of, but only in her stead

Controversy and Scarcity? This set of traitors after that set! Tremble, ye traitors; dread a People which calls

itself patient, longsuffering; but which cannot always submit to have its pocket picked, in this way,of a

Yes, Reader, here is a miracle. Out of that putrescent rubbish of Scepticism, Sensualism, Sentimentalism,

hollow Machiavelism, such a Faith has verily risen; flaming in the heart of a People. A whole People,

awakening as it were to consciousness in deep misery, believes that it is within reach of a Fraternal

HeavenonEarth. With longing arms, it struggles to embrace the Unspeakable; cannot embrace it, owing to

certain causes.Seldom do we find that a whole People can be said to have any Faith at all; except in things

which it can eat and handle. Whensoever it gets any Faith, its history becomes spiritstirring, noteworthy.

But since the time when steel Europe shook itself simultaneously, at the word of Hermit Peter, and rushed

towards the Sepulchre where God had lain, there was no universal impulse of Faith that one could note. Since

Protestantism went silent, no Luther's voice, no Zisca's drum any longer proclaiming that God's Truth was not

the Devil's Lie; and the last of the Cameronians (Renwick was the name of him; honour to the name of the

brave!) sank, shot, on the Castle Hill of Edinburgh, there was no partial impulse of Faith among Nations. Till

now, behold, once more this French Nation believes! Herein, we say, in that astonishing Faith of theirs, lies

the miracle. It is a Faith undoubtedly of the more prodigious sort, even among Faiths; and will embody itself

in prodigies. It is the soul of that worldprodigy named French Revolution; whereat the world still gazes and

But, for the rest, let no man ask History to explain by causeandeffect how the business proceeded

henceforth. This battle of Mountain and Gironde, and what follows, is the battle of Fanaticisms and Miracles;

unsuitable for causeandeffect. The sound of it, to the mind, is as a hubbub of voices in distraction; little of

articulate is to be gathered by long listening and studying; only battletumult, shouts of triumph, shrieks of

despair. The Mountain has left no Memoirs; the Girondins have left Memoirs, which are too often little other

than longdrawn Interjections, of Woe is me and Cursed be ye. So soon as History can philosophically

delineate the conflagration of a kindled Fireship, she may try this other task. Here lay the bitumenstratum,

there the brimstone one; so ran the vein of gunpowder, of nitre, terebinth and foul grease: this, were she

inquisitive enough, History might partly know. But how they acted and reacted below decks, one firestratum

playing into the other, by its nature and the art of man, now when all hands ran raging, and the flames lashed

The Fireship is old France, the old French Form of Life; her creed a Generation of men. Wild are their cries

and their ragings there, like spirits tormented in that flame. But, on the whole, are they not gone, O Reader?

Their Fireship and they, frightening the world, have sailed away; its flames and its thunders quite away, into

the Deep of Time. One thing therefore History will do: pity them all; for it went hard with them all. Not even

the seagreen Incorruptible but shall have some pity, some human love, though it takes an effort. And now, so

much once thoroughly attained, the rest will become easier. To the eye of equal brotherly pity, innumerable

perversions dissipate themselves; exaggerations and execrations fall off, of their own accord. Standing

wistfully on the safe shore, we will look, and see, what is of interest to us, what is adapted to us.

Gironde and Mountain are now in full quarrel; their mutual rage, says Toulongeon, is growing a 'pale' rage.

Curious, lamentable: all these men have the word Republic on their lips; in the heart of every one of them is a

passionate wish for something which he calls Republic: yet see their deathquarrel! So, however, are men

made. Creatures who live in confusion; who, once thrown together, can readily fall into that confusion of

confusions which quarrel is, simply because their confusions differ from one another; still more because they

seem to differ! Men's words are a poor exponent of their thought; nay their thought itself is a poor exponent

of the inward unnamed Mystery, wherefrom both thought and action have their birth. No man can explain

himself, can get himself explained; men see not one another but distorted phantasms which they call one

another; which they hate and go to battle with: for all battle is well said to be misunderstanding.

But indeed that similitude of the Fireship; of our poor French brethren, so fiery themselves, working also in

an element of fire, was not insignificant. Consider it well, there is a shade of the truth in it. For a man, once

committed headlong to republican or any other Transcendentalism, and fighting and fanaticising amid a

Nation of his like, becomes as it were enveloped in an ambient atmosphere of Transcendentalism and

Delirium: his individual self is lost in something that is not himself, but foreign though inseparable from him.

Strange to think of, the man's cloak still seems to hold the same man: and yet the man is not there, his volition

is not there; nor the source of what he will do and devise; instead of the man and his volition there is a piece

of Fanaticism and Fatalism incarnated in the shape of him. He, the hapless incarnated Fanaticism, goes his

road; no man can help him, he himself least of all. It is a wonderful tragical predicament;such as human

language, unused to deal with these things, being contrived for the uses of common life, struggles to shadow

out in figures. The ambient element of material fire is not wilder than this of Fanaticism; nor, though visible

to the eye, is it more real. Volition bursts forth involuntary; rapt along; the movement of free human minds

becomes a raging tornado of fatalism, blind as the winds; and Mountain and Gironde, when they recover

themselves, are alike astounded to see where it has flung and dropt them. To such height of miracle can men

work on men; the Conscious and the Unconscious blended inscrutably in this our inscrutable Life; endless

The weapons of the Girondins are Political Philosophy, Respectability and Eloquence. Eloquence, or call it

rhetoric, really of a superior order; Vergniaud, for instance, turns a period as sweetly as any man of that

generation. The weapons of the Mountain are those of mere nature: Audacity and Impetuosity which may

become Ferocity, as of men complete in their determination, in their conviction; nay of men, in some cases,

who as Septemberers must either prevail or perish. The ground to be fought for is Popularity: further you may

either seek Popularity with the friends of Freedom and Order, or with the friends of Freedom Simple; to seek

it with both has unhappily become impossible. With the former sort, and generally with the Authorities of the

Departments, and such as read Parliamentary Debates, and are of Respectability, and of a peaceloving

monied nature, the Girondins carry it. With the extreme Patriot again, with the indigent millions, especially

with the Population of Paris who do not read so much as hear and see, the Girondins altogether lose it, and

Egoism, nor meanness of mind, is not wanting on either side. Surely not on the Girondin side; where in fact

the instinct of selfpreservation, too prominently unfolded by circumstances, cuts almost a sorry figure;

where also a certain finesse, to the length even of shuffling and shamming, now and then shews itself. They

are men skilful in Advocatefence. They have been called the Jesuits of the Revolution; (Dumouriez,

Memoires, iii. 314.) but that is too hard a name. It must be owned likewise that this rude blustering Mountain

has a sense in it of what the Revolution means; which these eloquent Girondins are totally void of. Was the

Revolution made, and fought for, against the world, these four weary years, that a Formula might be

substantiated; that Society might become methodic, demonstrable by logic; and the old Noblesse with their

pretensions vanish? Or ought it not withal to bring some glimmering of light and alleviation to the

Twentyfive Millions, who sat in darkness, heavyladen, till they rose with pikes in their hands? At least and

lowest, one would think, it should bring them a proportion of bread to live on? There is in the Mountain here

and there; in Marat People'sfriend; in the incorruptible Seagreen himself, though otherwise so lean and

formularly, a heartfelt knowledge of this latter fact;without which knowledge all other knowledge here is

naught, and the choicest forensic eloquence is as sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal. Most cold, on the

other hand, most patronising, unsubstantial is the tone of the Girondins towards 'our poorer brethren;'those

brethren whom one often hears of under the collective name of 'the masses,' as if they were not persons at all,

but mounds of combustible explosive material, for blowing down Bastilles with! In very truth, a

Revolutionist of this kind, is he not a Solecism? Disowned by Nature and Art; deserving only to be erased,

and disappear! Surely, to our poorer brethren of Paris, all this Girondin patronage sounds deadening and

killing: if finespoken and incontrovertible in logic, then all the falser, all the hatefuller in fact.

Nay doubtless, pleading for Popularity, here among our poorer brethren of Paris, the Girondin has a hard

game to play. If he gain the ear of the Respectable at a distance, it is by insisting on September and such like;

it is at the expense of this Paris where he dwells and perorates. Hard to perorate in such an auditory!

Wherefore the question arises: Could we not get ourselves out of this Paris? Twice or oftener such an attempt

is made. If not we ourselves, thinks Guadet, then at least our Suppleans might do it. For every Deputy has his

Suppleant, or Substitute, who will take his place if need be: might not these assemble, say at Bourges, which

is a quiet episcopal Town, in quiet Berri, forty good leagues off? In that case, what profit were it for the Paris

Sansculottery to insult us; our Suppleans sitting quiet in Bourges, to whom we could run? Nay even the

Primary electoral Assemblies, thinks Guadet, might be reconvoked, and a New Convention got, with new

orders from the Sovereign people; and right glad were Lyons, were Bourdeaux, Rouen, Marseilles, as yet

Provincial Towns, to welcome us in their turn, and become a sort of Capital Towns; and teach these Parisians

Fond schemes; which all misgo! If decreed, in heat of eloquent logic, to day, they are repealed, by clamour,

and passionate wider considerations, on the morrow. (Moniteur, 1793, No. 140, Will you, O Girondins, parcel

us into separate Republics, then; like the Swiss, like your Americans; so that there be no Metropolis or

indivisible French Nation any more? Your Departmental Guard seemed to point that way! Federal Republic?

Federalist? Men and Knittingwomen repeat Federaliste, with or without much Dictionarymeaning; but go

on repeating it, as is usual in such cases, till the meaning of it becomes almost magical, fit to designate all

mystery of Iniquity; and Federaliste has grown a word of Exorcism and Apage Satanas. But furthermore,

consider what 'poisoning of public opinion' in the Departments, by these Brissot, Gorsas, CaritatCondorcet

Newspapers! And then also what counterpoisoning, still feller in quality, by a Pere Duchesne of Hebert,

brutallest Newspaper yet published on Earth; by a Rougiff of Guffroy; by the 'incendiary leaves of Marat!'

More than once, on complaint given and effervescence rising, it is decreed that a man cannot both be

Legislator and Editor; that he shall choose between the one function and the other. (Hist. Parl. xxv. 25, But

this too, which indeed could help little, is revoked or eluded; remains a pious wish mainly.

Meanwhile, as the sad fruit of such strife, behold, O ye National Representatives, how between the friends of

Law and the friends of Freedom everywhere, mere heats and jealousies have arisen; fevering the whole

Republic! Department, Provincial Town is set against Metropolis, Rich against Poor, Culottic against

Sansculottic, man against man. From the Southern Cities come Addresses of an almost inculpatory character;

for Paris has long suffered Newspaper calumny. Bourdeaux demands a reign of Law and Respectability,

meaning Girondism, with emphasis. With emphasis Marseilles demands the like. Nay from Marseilles there

come two Addresses: one Girondin; one Jacobin Sansculottic. Hot Rebecqui, sick of this Conventionwork,

has given place to his Substitute, and gone home; where also, with such jarrings, there is work to be sick of.

Lyons, a place of Capitalists and Aristocrats, is in still worse state; almost in revolt. Chalier the Jacobin

TownCouncillor has got, too literally, to daggersdrawn with NievreChol the Moderantin Mayor; one of

your Moderate, perhaps Aristocrat, Royalist or Federalist Mayors! Chalier, who pilgrimed to Paris 'to behold

Marat and the Mountain,' has verily kindled himself at their sacred urn: for on the 6th of February last,

History or Rumour has seen him haranguing his Lyons Jacobins in a quite transcendental manner, with a

drawn dagger in his hand; recommending (they say) sheer Septembermethods, patience being worn out; and

that the Jacobin Brethren should, impromptu, work the Guillotine themselves! One sees him still, in

Engravings: mounted on a table; foot advanced, body contorted; a bald, rude, slopebrowed, infuriated visage

of the canine species, the eyes starting from their sockets; in his puissant righthand the brandished dagger,

or horsepistol, as some give it; other dogvisages kindling under him:a man not likely to end well!

However, the Guillotine was not got together impromptu, that day, 'on the Pont SaintClair,' or elsewhere;

but indeed continued lying rusty in its loft: (Hist. Parl. xxiv. 38593; xxvi. 229, NievreChol with military

went about, rumbling cannon, in the most confused manner; and the 'nine hundred prisoners' received no hurt.

So distracted is Lyons grown, with its cannon rumbling. Convention Commissioners must be sent thither

Consider finally if, on all these mad jarrings of the Southern Cities, and of France generally, a traitorous

CryptoRoyalist class is not looking and watching; ready to strike in, at the right season! Neither is there

bread; neither is there soap: see the Patriot women selling out sugar, at a just rate of twentytwo sous per

pound! Citizen Representatives, it were verily well that your quarrels finished, and the reign of Perfect

On the whole, one cannot say that the Girondins are wanting to themselves, so far as goodwill might go.

They prick assiduously into the soreplaces of the Mountain; from principle, and also from jesuitism.

Besides September, of which there is now little to be made except effervescence, we discern two soreplaces

where the Mountain often suffers: Marat and Orleans Egalite. Squalid Marat, for his own sake and for the

Mountain's, is assaulted ever and anon; held up to France, as a squalid bloodthirsty Portent, inciting to the

pillage of shops; of whom let the Mountain have the credit! The Mountain murmurs, ill at ease: this

'Maximum of Patriotism,' how shall they either own him or disown him? As for Marat personally, he, with

his fixedidea, remains invulnerable to such things: nay the People'sfriend is very evidently rising in

importance, as his befriended People rises. No shrieks now, when he goes to speak; occasional applauses

rather, furtherance which breeds confidence. The day when the Girondins proposed to 'decree him accused'

(decreter d'accusation, as they phrase it) for that February Paragraph, of 'hanging up a Forestaller or two at

the doorlintels,' Marat proposes to have them 'decreed insane;' and, descending the Tribunesteps, is heard

to articulate these most unsenatorial ejaculations: "Les Cochons, les imbecilles, Pigs, idiots!" Oftentimes he

croaks harsh sarcasm, having really a rough rasping tongue, and a very deep fund of contempt for fine

outsides; and once or twice, he even laughs, nay 'explodes into laughter, rit aux eclats,' at the gentilities and

superfine airs of these Girondin "men of statesmanship," with their pedantries, plausibilities, pusillanimities:

"these two years," says he, "you have been whining about attacks, and plots, and danger from Paris; and you

have not a scratch to shew for yourselves." (Moniteur, Seance du 20 Mai 1793.)Danton gruffly rebukes

him, from time to time: a Maximum of Patriotism, whom one can neither own nor disown!

But the second soreplace of the Mountain is this anomalous Monseigneur Equality Prince d'Orleans. Behold

these men, says the Gironde; with a whilom Bourbon Prince among them: they are creatures of the d'Orleans

Faction; they will have Philippe made King; one King no sooner guillotined than another made in his stead!

Girondins have moved, Buzot moved long ago, from principle and also from jesuitism, that the whole race of

Bourbons should be marched forth from the soil of France; this Prince Egalite to bring up the rear. Motions

which might produce some effect on the public;which the Mountain, ill at ease, knows not what to do with.

And poor Orleans Egalite himself, for one begins to pity even him, what does he do with them? The

disowned of all parties, the rejected and foolishly bedrifted hither and hither, to what corner of Nature can

he now drift with advantage? Feasible hope remains not for him: unfeasible hope, in pallid doubtful

glimmers, there may still come, bewildering, not cheering or illuminating,from the Dumouriez quarter; and

how, if not the timewasted Orleans Egalite, then perhaps the young unworn Chartres Egalite might rise to be

a kind of King? Sheltered, if shelter it be, in the clefts of the Mountain, poor Egalite will wait: one refuge in

Jacobinism, one in Dumouriez and CounterRevolution, are there not two chances? However, the look of

him, Dame Genlis says, is grown gloomy; sad to see. Sillery also, the Genlis's Husband, who hovers about

the Mountain, not on it, is in a bad way. Dame Genlis has come to Raincy, out of England and Bury St.

Edmunds, in these days; being summoned by Egalite, with her young charge, Mademoiselle Egalite, that so

Mademoiselle might not be counted among Emigrants and hardly dealt with. But it proves a ravelled

business: Genlis and charge find that they must retire to the Netherlands; must wait on the Frontiers for a

week or two; till Monseigneur, by Jacobin help, get it wound up. 'Next morning,' says Dame Genlis,

'Monseigneur, gloomier than ever, gave me his arm, to lead me to the carriage. I was greatly troubled;

Mademoiselle burst into tears; her Father was pale and trembling. After I had got seated, he stood immovable

at the carriagedoor, with his eyes fixed on me; his mournful and painful look seemed to implore

pity;"Adieu, Madame!" said he. The altered sound of his voice completely overcame me; not able to utter a

word, I held out my hand; he grasped it close; then turning, and advancing sharply towards the postillions, he

gave them a sign, and we rolled away.' (Genlis, Memoires (London, 1825), iv. 118.)

Nor are Peacemakers wanting; of whom likewise we mention two; one fast on the crown of the Mountain,

the other not yet alighted anywhere: Danton and Barrere. Ingenious Barrere, OldConstituent and Editor

from the slopes of the Pyrenees, is one of the usefullest men of this Convention, in his way. Truth may lie on

both sides, on either side, or on neither side; my friends, ye must give and take: for the rest, success to the

winning side! This is the motto of Barrere. Ingenious, almost genial; quicksighted, supple, graceful; a man

that will prosper. Scarcely Belial in the assembled Pandemonium was plausibler to ear and eye. An

indispensable man: in the great Art of Varnish he may be said to seek his fellow. Has there an explosion

arisen, as many do arise, a confusion, unsightliness, which no tongue can speak of, nor eye look on; give it to

Barrere; Barrere shall be CommitteeReporter of it; you shall see it transmute itself into a regularity, into the

very beauty and improvement that was needed. Without one such man, we say, how were this Convention

bested? Call him not, as exaggerative Mercier does, 'the greatest liar in France:' nay it may be argued there is

not truth enough in him to make a real lie of. Call him, with Burke, Anacreon of the Guillotine, and a man

The other Peacemaker whom we name is Danton. Peace, O peace with one another! cries Danton often

enough: Are we not alone against the world; a little band of brothers? Broad Danton is loved by all the

Mountain; but they think him too easytempered, deficient in suspicion: he has stood between Dumouriez

and much censure, anxious not to exasperate our only General: in the shrill tumult Danton's strong voice

reverberates, for union and pacification. Meetings there are; dinings with the Girondins: it is so pressingly

essential that there be union. But the Girondins are haughty and respectable; this Titan Danton is not a man of

Formulas, and there rests on him a shadow of September. "Your Girondins have no confidence in me:" this is

the answer a conciliatory Meillan gets from him; to all the arguments and pleadings this conciliatory Meillan

can bring, the repeated answer is, "Ils n'ont point de confiance." (Memoires de Meillan, Representant du

Peuple (Paris, 1823), p. 51.)The tumult will get ever shriller; rage is growing pale.

In fact, what a pang is it to the heart of a Girondin, this first withering probability that the despicable

unphilosophic anarchic Mountain, after all, may triumph! Brutal Septemberers, a fifthfloor Tallien, 'a

Robespierre without an idea in his head,' as Condorcet says, 'or a feeling in his heart:' and yet we, the flower

of France, cannot stand against them; behold the sceptre departs from us; from us and goes to them!

Eloquence, Philosophism, Respectability avail not: 'against Stupidity the very gods fight to no purpose,

Shrill are the plaints of Louvet; his thin existence all acidified into rage, and preternatural insight of

suspicion. Wroth is young Barbaroux; wroth and scornful. Silent, like a Queen with the aspic on her bosom,

sits the wife of Roland; Roland's Accounts never yet got audited, his name become a byword. Such is the

fortune of war, especially of revolution. The great gulf of Tophet, and Tenth of August, opened itself at the

magic of your eloquent voice; and lo now, it will not close at your voice! It is a dangerous thing such magic.

The Magician's Famulus got hold of the forbidden Book, and summoned a goblin: Plaitil, What is your will?

said the Goblin. The Famulus, somewhat struck, bade him fetch water: the swift goblin fetched it, pail in each

hand; but lo, would not cease fetching it! Desperate, the Famulus shrieks at him, smites at him, cuts him in

two; lo, two goblin watercarriers ply; and the house will be swum away in Deucalion Deluges.

Or rather we will say, this Senatorial war might have lasted long; and Party tugging and throttling with Party

might have suppressed and smothered one another, in the ordinary bloodless Parliamentary way; on one

condition: that France had been at least able to exist, all the while. But this Sovereign People has a digestive

faculty, and cannot do without bread. Also we are at war, and must have victory; at war with Europe, with

Dumouriez had his outposts stretched as far as AixlaChapelle, and the beautifullest plan for pouncing on

Holland, by stratagem, flatbottomed boats and rapid intrepidity; wherein too he had prospered so far; but

unhappily could prosper no further. AixlaChapelle is lost; Maestricht will not surrender to mere smoke and

noise: the flatbottomed boats must launch themselves again, and return the way they came. Steady now, ye

rapidly intrepid men; retreat with firmness, Parthianlike! Alas, were it General Miranda's fault; were it the

Warminister's fault; or were it Dumouriez's own fault and that of Fortune: enough, there is nothing for it but

retreat,well if it be not even flight; for already terrorstricken cohorts and stragglers pour off, not waiting

for order; flow disastrous, as many as ten thousand of them, without halt till they see France again.

(Dumouriez, iv. 1673.) Nay worse: Dumouriez himself is perhaps secretly turning traitor? Very sharp is the

tone in which he writes to our Committees. Commissioners and Jacobin Pillagers have done such incalculable

mischief; Hassenfratz sends neither cartridges nor clothing; shoes we have, deceptively 'soled with wood and

pasteboard.' Nothing in short is right. Danton and Lacroix, when it was they that were Commissioners, would

needs join Belgium to France;of which Dumouriez might have made the prettiest little Duchy for his own

secret behoof! With all these things the General is wroth; and writes to us in a sharp tone. Who knows what

this hot little General is meditating? Dumouriez Duke of Belgium or Brabant; and say, Egalite the Younger

King of France: there were an end for our Revolution!Committee of Defence gazes, and shakes its head:

And General Custine is rolling back from the Rhine Country; conquered Mentz will be reconquered, the

Prussians gathering round to bombard it with shot and shell. Mentz may resist, Commissioner Merlin, the

Thionviller, 'making sallies, at the head of the besieged;'resist to the death; but not longer than that. How

sad a reverse for Mentz! Brave Foster, brave Lux planted Libertytrees, amid cairaing music, in the

snowslush of last winter, there: and made Jacobin Societies; and got the Territory incorporated with France:

they came hither to Paris, as Deputies or Delegates, and have their eighteen francs aday: but see, before

once the LibertyTree is got rightly in leaf, Mentz is changing into an explosive crater; vomiting fire,

Neither of these men shall again see Mentz; they have come hither only to die. Foster has been round the

Globe; he saw Cook perish under Owyhee clubs; but like this Paris he has yet seen or suffered nothing.

Poverty escorts him: from home there can nothing come, except Job'snews; the eighteen daily francs, which

we here as Deputy or Delegate with difficulty 'touch,' are in paper assignats, and sink fast in value. Poverty,

disappointment, inaction, obloquy; the brave heart slowly breaking! Such is Foster's lot. For the rest,

Demoiselle Theroigne smiles on you in the Soirees; 'a beautiful brownlocked face,' of an exalted temper; and

contrives to keep her carriage. Prussian Trenck, the poor subterranean Baron, jargons and jangles in an

unmelodious manner. Thomas Paine's face is redpustuled, 'but the eyes uncommonly bright.' Convention

Deputies ask you to dinner: very courteous; and 'we all play at plumsack.' (Forster's Briefwechsel, ii. 514,

460, 631.) 'It is the Explosion and Newcreation of a World,' says Foster; 'and the actors in it, such small

Likewise there is war with Spain. Spain will advance through the gorges of the Pyrenees; rustling with

Bourbon banners; jingling with artillery and menace. And England has donned the red coat; and marches,

with Royal Highness of York,whom some once spake of inviting to be our King. Changed that humour

now: and ever more changing; till no hatefuller thing walk this Earth than a denizen of that tyrannous Island;

and Pitt be declared and decreed, with effervescence, 'L'ennemi du genre humain, The enemy of mankind;'

and, very singular to say, you make an order that no Soldier of Liberty give quarter to an Englishman. Which

order however, the Soldier of Liberty does but partially obey. We will take no Prisoners then, say the Soldiers

of Liberty; they shall all be 'Deserters' that we take. (See Dampmartin, Evenemens, ii. 21330.) It is a frantic

order; and attended with inconvenience. For surely, if you give no quarter, the plain issue is that you will get

none; and so the business become as broad as it was long.Our 'recruitment of Three Hundred Thousand

men,' which was the decreed force for this year, is like to have work enough laid to its hand.

So many enemies come wending on; penetrating through throats of Mountains, steering over the salt sea;

towards all points of our territory; rattling chains at us. Nay worst of all: there is an enemy within our own

territory itself. In the early days of March, the Nantes Postbags do not arrive; there arrive only instead of

them Conjecture, Apprehension, bodeful wind of Rumour. The bodefullest proves true! Those fanatic Peoples

of La Vendee will no longer keep under: their fire of insurrection, heretofore dissipated with difficulty, blazes

out anew, after the King's Death, as a wide conflagration; not riot, but civil war. Your Cathelineaus, your

Stofflets, Charettes, are other men than was thought: behold how their Peasants, in mere russet and hodden,

with their rude arms, rude array, with their fanatic Gaelic frenzy and wildyelling battlecry of God and the

King, dash at us like a dark whirlwind; and blow the bestdisciplined Nationals we can get into panic and

sauvequipeut! Field after field is theirs; one sees not where it will end. Commandant Santerre may be sent

It has become peremptorily necessary that a National Convention cease arguing, and begin acting. Yield one

party of you to the other, and do it swiftly. No theoretic outlook is here, but the close certainty of ruin; the

It was Friday the eighth of March when this Job'spost from Dumouriez, thickly preceded and escorted by so

many other Job'sposts, reached the National Convention. Blank enough are most faces. Little will it avail

whether our Septemberers be punished or go unpunished; if Pitt and Cobourg are coming in, with one

punishment for us all; nothing now between Paris itself and the Tyrants but a doubtful Dumouriez, and hosts

in looseflowing loud retreat!Danton the Titan rises in this hour, as always in the hour of need. Great is his

voice, reverberating from the domes:Citizen Representatives, shall we not, in such crisis of Fate, lay

aside discords? Reputation: O what is the reputation of this man or of that? Que mon nom soit fletri, que la

France soit libre, Let my name be blighted; let France be free! It is necessary now again that France rise, in

swift vengeance, with her million righthands, with her heart as of one man. Instantaneous recruitment in

Paris; let every Section of Paris furnish its thousands; every section of France! Ninetysix Commissioners of

us, two for each Section of the Fortyeight, they must go forthwith, and tell Paris what the Country needs of

her. Let Eighty more of us be sent, posthaste, over France; to spread the firecross, to call forth the might of

men. Let the Eighty also be on the road, before this sitting rise. Let them go, and think what their errand is.

Speedy Camp of Fifty thousand between Paris and the North Frontier; for Paris will pour forth her

volunteers! Shoulder to shoulder; one strong universal deathdefiant rising and rushing; we shall hurl back

these Sons of Night yet again; and France, in spite of the world, be free! (Moniteur (in Hist. Parl. xxv.

6).)So sounds the Titan's voice: into all Sectionhouses; into all French hearts. Sections sit in Permanence,

for recruitment, enrolment, that very night. Convention Commissioners, on swift wheels, are carrying the

And so there is Flag of Fatherland in Danger waving from the Townhall, Black Flag from the top of

NotreDame Cathedral; there is Proclamation, hot eloquence; Paris rushing out once again to strike its

enemies down. That, in such circumstances, Paris was in no mild humour can be conjectured. Agitated

streets; still more agitated round the Salle de Manege! FeuillansTerrace crowds itself with angry Citizens,

angrier Citizenesses; Varlet perambulates with portablechair: ejaculations of no measured kind, as to

perfidious finespoken Hommes d'etat, friends of Dumouriez, secret friends of Pitt and Cobourg, burst from

the hearts and lips of men. To fight the enemy? Yes, and even to "freeze him with terror, glacer d'effroi;" but

first to have domestic Traitors punished! Who are they that, carping and quarrelling, in their jesuitic most

moderate way, seek to shackle the Patriotic movement? That divide France against Paris, and poison public

opinion in the Departments? That when we ask for bread, and a Maximum fixedprice, treat us with lectures

on Freetrade in grains? Can the human stomach satisfy itself with lectures on Freetrade; and are we to fight

the Austrians in a moderate manner, or in an immoderate? This Convention must be purged.

"Set up a swift Tribunal for Traitors, a Maximum for Grains:" thus speak with energy the Patriot Volunteers,

as they defile through the Convention Hall, just on the wing to the Frontiers;perorating in that heroical

Cambyses' vein of theirs: beshouted by the Galleries and Mountain; bemurmured by the Rightside and

Plain. Nor are prodigies wanting: lo, while a Captain of the Section Poissonniere perorates with vehemence

about Dumouriez, Maximum, and CryptoRoyalist Traitors, and his troop beat chorus with him, waving their

Banner overhead, the eye of a Deputy discerns, in this same Banner, that the cravates or streamers of it have

Royal fleurs delys! The SectionCaptain shrieks; his troop shriek, horrorstruck, and 'trample the Banner

under foot:' seemingly the work of some Crypto Royalist Plotter? Most probable; (Choix des Rapports, xi.

277.)or perhaps at bottom, only the old Banner of the Section, manufactured prior to the Tenth of August,

History, looking over the Girondin Memoirs, anxious to disentangle the truth of them from the hysterics,

finds these days of March, especially this Sunday the Tenth of March, play a great part. Plots, plots: a plot for

murdering the Girondin Deputies; Anarchists and SecretRoyalists plotting, in hellish concert, for that end!

The far greater part of which is hysterics. What we do find indisputable is that Louvet and certain Girondins

were apprehensive they might be murdered on Saturday, and did not go to the evening sitting: but held

council with one another, each inciting his fellow to do something resolute, and end these Anarchists: to

which, however, Petion, opening the window, and finding the night very wet, answered only, "Ils ne feront

rien," and 'composedly resumed his violin,' says Louvet: (Louvet, Memoires, p. 72.) thereby, with soft Lydian

tweedledeeing, to wrap himself against eating cares. Also that Louvet felt especially liable to being killed;

that several Girondins went abroad to seek beds: liable to being killed; but were not. Further that, in very

truth, Journalist Deputy Gorsas, poisoner of the Departments, he and his Printer had their houses broken into

(by a tumult of Patriots, among whom redcapped Varlet, American Fournier loom forth, in the darkness of

the rain and riot); had their wives put in fear; their presses, types and circumjacent equipments beaten to ruin;

no Mayor interfering in time; Gorsas himself escaping, pistol in hand, 'along the coping of the back wall.'

Further that Sunday, the morrow, was not a workday; and the streets were more agitated than ever: Is it a new

September, then, that these Anarchists intend? Finally, that no September came;and also that hysterics, not

unnaturally, had reached almost their acme. (Meillan, pp. 23, 24; Louvet, pp. 7180.)

Vergniaud denounces and deplores; in sweetly turned periods. Section Bonconseil, Goodcounsel sonamed,

not Mauconseil or Illcounsel as it once was,does a far notabler thing: demands that Vergniaud, Brissot,

Guadet, and other denunciatory finespoken Girondins, to the number of Twentytwo, be put under arrest!

Section Goodcounsel, so named ever since the Tenth of August, is sharply rebuked, like a Section of

Illcounsel; (Moniteur (Seance du 12 Mars), 15 Mars.) but its word is spoken, and will not fall to the ground.

In fact, one thing strikes us in these poor Girondins; their fatal shortness of vision; nay fatal poorness of

character, for that is the root of it. They are as strangers to the People they would govern; to the thing they

have come to work in. Formulas, Philosophies, Respectabilities, what has been written in Books, and

admitted by the Cultivated Classes; this inadequate Scheme of Nature's working is all that Nature, let her

work as she will, can reveal to these men. So they perorate and speculate; and call on the Friends of Law,

when the question is not Law or NoLaw, but Life or NoLife. Pedants of the Revolution, if not Jesuits of it!

Their Formalism is great; great also is their Egoism. France rising to fight Austria has been raised only by

Plot of the Tenth of March, to kill Twenty two of them! This Revolution Prodigy, unfolding itself into

terrific stature and articulation, by its own laws and Nature's, not by the laws of Formula, has become

unintelligible, incredible as an impossibility, the waste chaos of a Dream.' A Republic founded on what they

call the Virtues; on what we call the Decencies and Respectabilities: this they will have, and nothing but this.

Whatsoever other Republic Nature and Reality send, shall be considered as not sent; as a kind of Nightmare

Vision, and thing nonextant; disowned by the Laws of Nature, and of Formula. Alas! Dim for the best eyes

is this Reality; and as for these men, they will not look at it with eyes at all, but only through 'facetted

spectacles' of Pedantry, wounded Vanity; which yield the most portentous fallacious spectrum. Carping and

complaining forever of Plots and Anarchy, they will do one thing: prove, to demonstration, that the Reality

will not translate into their Formula; that they and their Formula are incompatible with the Reality: and, in its

dark wrath, the Reality will extinguish it and them! What a man kens he cans. But the beginning of a man's

doom is that vision be withdrawn from him; that he see not the reality, but a false spectrum of the reality;

and, following that, step darkly, with more or less velocity, downwards to the utter Dark; to Ruin, which is

the great Sea of Darkness, whither all falsehoods, winding or direct, continually flow!

This Tenth of March we may mark as an epoch in the Girondin destinies; the rage so exasperated itself, the

misconception so darkened itself. Many desert the sittings; many come to them armed. (Meillan (Memoires,

pp. 85, 24).) An honourable Deputy, setting out after breakfast, must now, besides taking his Notes, see

Meanwhile with Dumouriez in Belgium it fares ever worse. Were it again General Miranda's fault, or some

other's fault, there is no doubt whatever but the 'Battle of Nerwinden,' on the 18th of March, is lost; and our

rapid retreat has become a far too rapid one. Victorious Cobourg, with his Austrian prickers, hangs like a dark

cloud on the rear of us: Dumouriez never off horseback night or day; engagement every three hours; our

whole discomfited Host rolling rapidly inwards, full of rage, suspicion, and sauvequipeut! And then

Dumouriez himself, what his intents may be? Wicked seemingly and not charitable! His despatches to

Committee openly denounce a factious Convention, for the woes it has brought on France and him. And his

speechesfor the General has no reticence! The Execution of the Tyrant this Dumouriez calls the Murder of

the King. Danton and Lacroix, flying thither as Commissioners once more, return very doubtful; even Danton

Three Jacobin Missionaries, Proly, Dubuisson, Pereyra, have flown forth; sped by a wakeful Mother Society:

they are struck dumb to hear the General speak. The Convention, according to this General, consists of three

hundred scoundrels and four hundred imbeciles: France cannot do without a King. "But we have executed our

King." "And what is it to me," hastily cries Dumouriez, a General of no reticence, "whether the King's name

be Ludovicus or Jacobus?" "Or Philippus!" rejoins Proly;and hastens to report progress. Over the Frontiers

Let us look, however, at the grand internal Sansculottism and Revolution Prodigy, whether it stirs and waxes:

there and not elsewhere hope may still be for France. The Revolution Prodigy, as Decree after Decree issues

from the Mountain, like creative fiats, accordant with the nature of the Thing,is shaping itself rapidly, in

these days, into terrific stature and articulation, limb after limb. Last March, 1792, we saw all France flowing

in blind terror; shutting townbarriers, boiling pitch for Brigands: happier, this March, that it is a seeing

terror; that a creative Mountain exists, which can say fiat! Recruitment proceeds with fierce celerity:

nevertheless our Volunteers hesitate to set out, till Treason be punished at home; they do not fly to the

frontiers; but only fly hither and thither, demanding and denouncing. The Mountain must speak new fiat, and

And does it not speak such? Take, as first example, those Comites Revolutionnaires for the arrestment of

Persons Suspect. Revolutionary Committee, of Twelve chosen Patriots, sits in every Township of France;

examining the Suspect, seeking arms, making domiciliary visits and arrestments;caring, generally, that the

Republic suffer no detriment. Chosen by universal suffrage, each in its Section, they are a kind of elixir of

Jacobinism; some Fortyfour Thousand of them awake and alive over France! In Paris and all Towns, every

housedoor must have the names of the inmates legibly printed on it, 'at a height not exceeding five feet from

the ground;' every Citizen must produce his certificatory Carte de Civisme, signed by SectionPresident;

every man be ready to give account of the faith that is in him. Persons Suspect had as well depart this soil of

Liberty! And yet departure too is bad: all Emigrants are declared Traitors, their property become National;

they are 'dead in Law,'save indeed that for our behoof they shall 'live yet fifty years in Law,' and what

heritages may fall to them in that time become National too! A mad vitality of Jacobinism, with Fortyfour

Very notable also is the Tribunal Extraordinaire: (Moniteur, No. 70, (du 11 Mars), No. 76, decreed by the

Mountain; some Girondins dissenting, for surely such a Court contradicts every formula;other Girondins

assenting, nay cooperating, for do not we all hate Traitors, O ye people of Paris?Tribunal of the

Seventeenth in Autumn last was swift; but this shall be swifter. Five Judges; a standing Jury, which is named

from Paris and the Neighbourhood, that there be not delay in naming it: they are subject to no Appeal; to

hardly any Lawforms, but must 'get themselves convinced' in all readiest ways; and for security are bound

'to vote audibly;' audibly, in the hearing of a Paris Public. This is the Tribunal Extraordinaire; which, in few

months, getting into most lively action, shall be entitled Tribunal Revolutionnaire, as indeed it from the very

first has entitled itself: with a Herman or a Dumas for Judge President, with a FouquierTinville for

AttorneyGeneral, and a Jury of such as Citizen Leroi, who has surnamed himself DixAout, 'Leroi

AugustTenth,' it will become the wonder of the world. Herein has Sansculottism fashioned for itself a

Sword of Sharpness: a weapon magical; tempered in the Stygian hellwaters; to the edge of it all armour, and

defence of strength or of cunning shall be soft; it shall mow down Lives and Brazengates; and the waving of

But speaking of an amorphous Sansculottism taking form, ought we not above all things to specify how the

Amorphous gets itself a Head? Without metaphor, this Revolution Government continues hitherto in a very

anarchic state. Executive Council of Ministers, Six in number, there is; but they, especially since Roland's

retreat, have hardly known whether they were Ministers or not. Convention Committees sit supreme over

them; but then each Committee as supreme as the others: Committee of Twentyone, of Defence, of General

Surety; simultaneous or successive, for specific purposes. The Convention alone is allpowerful,

especially if the Commune go with it; but is too numerous for an administrative body. Wherefore, in this

perilous quickwhirling condition of the Republic, before the end of March, we obtain our small Comite de

Salut Public; (Moniteur, No. 83 (du 24 Mars 1793) Nos. 86, 98, 99, 100.) as it were, for miscellaneous

accidental purposes, requiring despatch;as it proves, for a sort of universal supervision, and universal

subjection. They are to report weekly, these new Committeemen; but to deliberate in secret. Their number is

Nine, firm Patriots all, Danton one of them: Renewable every month;yet why not reelect them if they turn

out well? The flower of the matter is that they are but nine; that they sit in secret. An insignificantlooking

thing at first, this Committee; but with a principle of growth in it! Forwarded by fortune, by internal Jacobin

energy, it will reduce all Committees and the Convention itself to mute obedience, the Six Ministers to Six

assiduous Clerks; and work its will on the Earth and under Heaven, for a season. 'A Committee of Public

If we call that Revolutionary Tribunal a Sword, which Sansculottism has provided for itself, then let us call

the 'Law of the Maximum,' a Provenderscrip, or Haversack, wherein better or worse some ration of bread

may be found. It is true, Political Economy, Girondin freetrade, and all law of supply and demand, are

hereby hurled topsyturvy: but what help? Patriotism must live; the 'cupidity of farmers' seems to have no

bowels. Wherefore this Law of the Maximum, fixing the highest price of grains, is, with infinite effort, got

passed; (Moniteur (du 20 Avril, to 20 Mai, 1793).) and shall gradually extend itself into a Maximum for all

manner of comestibles and commodities: with such scrambling and topsyturvying as may be fancied! For

now, if, for example, the farmer will not sell? The farmer shall be forced to sell. An accurate Account of what

grain he has shall be delivered in to the Constituted Authorities: let him see that he say not too much; for in

that case, his rents, taxes and contributions will rise proportionally: let him see that he say not too little; for,

on or before a set day, we shall suppose in April, less than onethird of this declared quantity, must remain in

his barns, more than twothirds of it must have been thrashed and sold. One can denounce him, and raise

By such inextricable overturning of all Commercial relation will Sansculottism keep life in; since not

otherwise. On the whole, as Camille Desmoulins says once, "while the Sansculottes fight, the Monsieurs

must pay." So there come Impots Progressifs, Ascending Taxes; which consume, with fastincreasing

voracity, and 'superfluousrevenue' of men: beyond fiftypounds ayear you are not exempt; rising into the

hundreds you bleed freely; into the thousands and tens of thousands, you bleed gushing. Also there come

Requisitions; there comes 'ForcedLoan of a Milliard,' some FiftyMillions Sterling; which of course they

that have must lend. Unexampled enough: it has grown to be no country for the Rich, this; but a country for

the Poor! And then if one fly, what steads it? Dead in Law; nay kept alive fifty years yet, for their accursed

behoof! In this manner, therefore, it goes; topsyturvying, cairaing;and withal there is endless sale of

Emigrant NationalProperty, there is Cambon with endless cornucopia of Assignats. The Trade and Finance

of Sansculottism; and how, with Maximum and Bakers'queues, with Cupidity, Hunger, Denunciation and

Paper money, it led its galvaniclife, and began and ended,remains the most interesting of all Chapters in

All which things are they not clean against Formula? O Girondin Friends, it is not a Republic of the Virtues

But Dumouriez, with his fugitive Host, with his King Ludovicus or King Philippus? There lies the crisis;

there hangs the question: Revolution Prodigy, or CounterRevolution?One wide shriek covers that

NorthEast region. Soldiers, full of rage, suspicion and terror, flock hither and thither; Dumouriez the

manycounselled, never off horseback, knows now no counsel that were not worse than none: the counsel,

namely, of joining himself with Cobourg; marching to Paris, extinguishing Jacobinism, and, with some new

King Ludovicus or King Philippus, resting the Constitution of 1791! (Dumouriez, Memoires, iv. c. 710.)

Is Wisdom quitting Dumouriez; the herald of Fortune quitting him? Principle, faith political or other, beyond

a certain faith of messrooms, and honour of an officer, had him not to quit. At any rate, his quarters in the

Burgh of SaintAmand; his headquarters in the Village of SaintAmand des Boues, a short way off,have

become a Bedlam. National Representatives, Jacobin Missionaries are riding and running: of the 'three

Towns,' Lille, Valenciennes or even Conde, which Dumouriez wanted to snatch for himself, not one can be

snatched: your Captain is admitted, but the Towngate is closed on him, and then the Prison gate, and 'his

men wander about the ramparts.' Couriers gallop breathless; men wait, or seem waiting, to assassinate, to be

assassinated; Battalions nigh frantic with such suspicion and uncertainty, with VivelaRepublique and

Sauvequipeut, rush this way and that;Ruin and Desperation in the shape of Cobourg lying entrenched

Dame Genlis and her fair Princess d'Orleans find this Burgh of SaintAmand no fit place for them;

Dumouriez's protection is grown worse than none. Tough Genlis one of the toughest women; a woman, as it

were, with nine lives in her; whom nothing will beat: she packs her bandboxes; clear for flight in a private

manner. Her beloved Princess she willleave here, with the Prince Chartres Egalite her Brother. In the cold

grey of the April morning, we find her accordingly established in her hired vehicle, on the street of

SaintAmand; postilions just cracking their whips to go, when behold the young Princely Brother,

struggling hitherward, hastily calling; bearing the Princess in his arms! Hastily he has clutched the poor

young lady up, in her very nightgown, nothing saved of her goods except the watch from the pillow: with

brotherly despair he flings her in, among the bandboxes, into Genlis's chaise, into Genlis's arms: Leave her

not, in the name of Mercy and Heaven! A shrill scene, but a brief one: the postilions crack and go. Ah,

whither? Through byroads and broken hillpasses: seeking their way with lanterns after nightfall; through

perils, and Cobourg Austrians, and suspicious French Nationals; finally, into Switzerland; safe though nigh

moneyless. (Genlis, iv. 139.) The brave young Egalite has a most wild Morrow to look for; but now only

For indeed over at that Village named of the Mudbaths, SaintAmand des Boues, matters are still worse.

About four o'clock on Tuesday afternoon, the 2d of April 1793, two Couriers come galloping as if for life:

Mon General! Four National Representatives, WarMinister at their head, are posting hitherward, from

Valenciennes: are close at hand,with what intents one may guess! While the Couriers are yet speaking,

WarMinister and National Representatives, old Camus the Archivist for chief speaker of them, arrive.

Hardly has Mon General had time to order out the Huzzar Regiment de Berchigny; that it take rank and wait

near by, in case of accident. And so, enter WarMinister Beurnonville, with an embrace of friendship, for he

They produce Papers, invite the General to the bar of the Convention: merely to give an explanation or two.

The General finds it unsuitable, not to say impossible, and that "the service will suffer." Then comes

reasoning; the voice of the old Archivist getting loud. Vain to reason loud with this Dumouriez; he answers

mere angry irreverences. And so, amid plumed staffofficers, very gloomylooking; in jeopardy and

uncertainty, these poor National messengers debate and consult, retire and reenter, for the space of some

two hours: without effect. Whereupon Archivist Camus, getting quite loud, proclaims, in the name of the

National Convention, for he has the power to do it, That General Dumouriez is arrested: "Will you obey the

National Mandate, General!" "Pas dans ce momentci, Not at this particular moment," answers the General

also aloud; then glancing the other way, utters certain unknown vocables, in a mandatory manner; seemingly

a German wordofcommand. (Dumouriez, iv. 159, Hussars clutch the Four National Representatives, and

Beurnonville the Warminister; pack them out of the apartment; out of the Village, over the lines to Cobourg,

in two chaises that very night,as hostages, prisoners; to lie long in Maestricht and Austrian strongholds!

(Their Narrative, written by Camus (in Toulongeon, iii. app. 6087).) Jacta est alea.

This night Dumouriez prints his 'Proclamation;' this night and the morrow the Dumouriez Army, in such

darkness visible, and rage of semidesperation as there is, shall meditate what the General is doing, what they

themselves will do in it. Judge whether this Wednesday was of halcyon nature, for any one! But, on the

Thursday morning, we discern Dumouriez with small escort, with Chartres Egalite and a few staffofficers,

ambling along the Conde Highway: perhaps they are for Conde, and trying to persuade the Garrison there; at

all events, they are for an interview with Cobourg, who waits in the woods by appointment, in that quarter.

Nigh the Village of Doumet, three National Battalions, a set of men always full of Jacobinism, sweep past us;

marching rather swiftly,seemingly in mistake, by a way we had not ordered. The General dismounts, steps

into a cottage, a little from the wayside; will give them right order in writing. Hark! what strange growling is

heard: what barkings are heard, loud yells of "Traitors," of "Arrest:" the National Battalions have wheeled

round, are emitting shot! Mount, Dumouriez, and spring for life! Dumouriez and Staff strike the spurs in,

deep; vault over ditches, into the fields, which prove to be morasses; sprawl and plunge for life; bewhistled

with curses and lead. Sunk to the middle, with or without horses, several servants killed, they escape out of

shotrange, to General Mack the Austrian's quarters. Nay they return on the morrow, to SaintAmand and

faithful foreign Berchigny; but what boots it? The Artillery has all revolted, is jingling off to Valenciennes:

all have revolted, are revolting; except only foreign Berchigny, to the extent of some poor fifteen hundred,

none will follow Dumouriez against France and Indivisible Republic: Dumouriez's occupation's gone.

Such an instinct of Frenehhood and Sansculottism dwells in these men: they will follow no Dumouriez nor

Lafayette, nor any mortal on such errand. Shriek may be of Sauvequipeut, but will also be of

VivelaRepublique. New National Representatives arrive; new General Dampierre, soon killed in battle;

new General Custine; the agitated Hosts draw back to some Camp of Famars; make head against Cobourg as

And so Dumouriez is in the Austrian quarters; his drama ended, in this rather sorry manner. A most shifty,

wiry man; one of Heaven's Swiss that wanted only work. Fifty years of unnoticed toil and valour; one year of

toil and valour, not unnoticed, but seen of all countries and centuries; then thirty other years again unnoticed,

of Memoirwriting, English Pension, scheming and projecting to no purpose: Adieu thou Swiss of Heaven,

His Staff go different ways. Brave young Egalite reaches Switzerland and the Genlis Cottage; with a strong

crabstick in his hand, a strong heart in his body: his Princedom in now reduced to that. Egalite the Father sat

playing whist, in his Palais Egalite, at Paris, on the 6th day of this same month of April, when a catchpole

entered: Citoyen Egalite is wanted at the Convention Committee! (See Montgaillard, iv. 144.) Examination,

requiring Arrestment; finally requiring Imprisonment, transference to Marseilles and the Castle of If!

Orleansdom has sunk in the black waters; Palais Egalite, which was Palais Royal, is like to become Palais

Our Republic, by paper Decree, may be 'One and Indivisible;' but what profits it while these things are?

Federalists in the Senate, renegadoes in the Army, traitors everywhere! France, all in desperate recruitment

since the Tenth of March, does not fly to the frontier, but only flies hither and thither. This defection of

contemptuous diplomatic Dumouriez falls heavy on the finespoken highsniffing Hommes d'etat, whom he

Or perhaps more strictly we might say, the second Girondin epoch, though little noticed then, began on the

day when, in reference to this defection, the Girondins broke with Danton. It was the first day of April;

Dumouriez had not yet plunged across the morasses to Cobourg, but was evidently meaning to do it, and our

Commissioners were off to arrest him; when what does the Girondin Lasource see good to do, but rise, and

jesuitically question and insinuate at great length, whether a main accomplice of Dumouriez had not probably

beenDanton? Gironde grins sardonic assent; Mountain holds its breath. The figure of Danton, Levasseur

says, while this speech went on, was noteworthy. He sat erect, with a kind of internal convulsion struggling to

keep itself motionless; his eye from time to time flashing wilder, his lip curling in Titanic scorn. (Memoires

de Rene Levasseur (Bruxelles, 1830), i. 164.) Lasource, in a finespoken attorney manner, proceeds: there

is this probability to his mind, and there is that; probabilities which press painfully on him, which cast the

Patriotism of Danton under a painful shade; which painful shade he, Lasource, will hope that Danton may

"Les Scelerats!" cries Danton, starting up, with clenched righthand, Lasource having done: and descends

from the Mountain, like a lavaflood; his answer not unready. Lasource's probabilities fly like idle dust; but

leave a result behind them. "Ye were right, friends of the Mountain," begins Danton, "and I was wrong: there

is no peace possible with these men. Let it be war then! They will not save the Republic with us: it shall be

saved without them; saved in spite of them." Really a burst of rude Parliamentary eloquence this; which is

still worth reading, in the old Moniteur! With firewords the exasperated rude Titan rives and smites these

Girondins; at every hit the glad Mountain utters chorus: Marat, like a musical bis, repeating the last phrase.

(Seance du 1er Avril, 1793 (in Hist. Parl. xxv. 2435).) Lasource's probabilities are gone: but Danton's

A third epoch, or scene in the Girondin Drama, or rather it is but the completion of this second epoch, we

reckon from the day when the patience of virtuous Petion finally boiled over; and the Girondins, so to speak,

took up this battlepledge of Danton's and decreed Marat accused. It was the eleventh of the same month of

April, on some effervescence rising, such as often rose; and President had covered himself, mere Bedlam now

ruling; and Mountain and Gironde were rushing on one another with clenched right hands, and even with

pistols in them; when, behold, the Girondin Duperret drew a sword! Shriek of horror rose, instantly

quenching all other effervescence, at sight of the clear murderous steel; whereupon Duperret returned it to the

leather again;confessing that he did indeed draw it, being instigated by a kind of sacred madness, "sainte

fureur," and pistols held at him; but that if he parricidally had chanced to scratch the outmost skin of National

Representation with it, he too carried pistols, and would have blown his brains out on the spot. (Hist. Parl. xv.

But now in such posture of affairs, virtuous Petion rose, next morning, to lament these effervescences, this

endless Anarchy invading the Legislative Sanctuary itself; and here, being growled at and howled at by the

Mountain, his patience, long tried, did, as we say, boil over; and he spake vehemently, in high key, with foam

on his lips; 'whence,' says Marat, 'I concluded he had got 'la rage,' the rabidity, or dogmadness. Rabidity

smites others rabid: so there rises new foamlipped demand to have Anarchists extinguished; and specially to

have Marat put under Accusation. Send a Representative to the Revolutionary Tribunal? Violate the

inviolability of a Representative? Have a care, O Friends! This poor Marat has faults enough; but against

Liberty or Equality, what fault? That he has loved and fought for it, not wisely but too well. In dungeons and

cellars, in pinching poverty, under anathema of men; even so, in such fight, has he grown so dingy, bleared;

even so has his head become a Stylites one! Him you will fling to your Sword of Sharpness; while Cobourg

The Mountain is loud, the Gironde is loud and deaf; all lips are foamy. With 'PermanentSession of

twentyfour hours,' with vote by rollcall, and a deadlift effort, the Gironde carries it: Marat is ordered to the

Revolutionary Tribunal, to answer for that February Paragraph of Forestallers at the doorlintel, with other

offences; and, after a little hesitation, he obeys. (Moniteur (du 16 Avril 1793, et seqq).)

Thus is Danton's battlepledge taken up: there is, as he said there would be, 'war without truce or treaty, ni

treve ni composition.' Wherefore, close now with one another, Formula and Reality, in deathgrips, and

It proves what strength, were it only of inertia, there is in established Formulas, what weakness in nascent

Realities, and illustrates several things, that this deathwrestle should still have lasted some six weeks or

more. National business, discussion of the Constitutional Act, for our Constitution should decidedly be got

ready, proceeds along with it. We even change our Locality; we shift, on the Tenth of May, from the old Salle

de Manege, into our new Hall, in the Palace, once a King's but now the Republic's, of the Tuileries. Hope and

It is a most dark confused deathwrestle, this of the six weeks. Formalist frenzy against Realist frenzy;

Patriotism, Egoism, Pride, Anger, Vanity, Hope and Despair, all raised to the frenetic pitch: Frenzy meets

Frenzy, like dark clashing whirlwinds; neither understands the other; the weaker, one day, will understand

that it is verily swept down! Girondism is strong as established Formula and Respectability: do not as many

as Seventytwo of the Departments, or say respectable Heads of Departments, declare for us? Calvados,

which loves its Buzot, will even rise in revolt, so hint the Addresses; Marseilles, cradle of Patriotism, will

rise; Bourdeaux will rise, and the Gironde Department, as one man; in a word, who will not rise, were our

Representation Nationale to be insulted, or one hair of a Deputy's head harmed! The Mountain, again, is

strong as Reality and Audacity. To the Reality of the Mountain are not all furthersome things possible? A

But, on Wednesday afternoon, twentyfourth day of April, year 1793, what tumult as of fierce jubilee is this?

It is Marat returning from Revolutionary Tribunal! A week or more of deathperil: and now there is

triumphant acquittal; Revolutionary Tribunal can find no accusation against this man. And so the eye of

History beholds Patriotism, which had gloomed unutterable things all week, break into loud jubilee, embrace

its Marat; lift him into a chair of triumph, bear him shoulderhigh through the streets. Shoulderhigh is the

injured People'sfriend, crowned with an oakgarland; amid the wavy sea of red nightcaps, carmagnole

jackets, grenadier bonnets and female mobcaps; farsounding like a sea! The injured People'sfriend has

here reached his culminatingpoint; he too strikes the stars with his sublime head.

But the Reader can judge with what face President Lasource, he of the 'painful probabilities,' who presides in

this Convention Hall, might welcome such jubileetide, when it got thither, and the Decreed of Accusation

floating on the top of it! A National Sapper, spokesman on the occasion, says, the People know their Friend,

and love his life as their own; "whosoever wants Marat's head must get the Sapper's first." (Seance (in

Moniteur, No. 116 (du 26 Avril, An 1er).) Lasource answered with some vague painful

mumblement,which, says Levasseur, one could not help tittering at. (Levasseur, Memoires, i. c. 6.) Patriot

Sections, Volunteers not yet gone to the Frontiers, come demanding the "purgation of traitors from your own

Nevertheless the Gironde has got its Commission of Twelve; a Commission specially appointed for

investigating these troubles of the Legislative Sanctuary: let Sansculottism say what it will, Law shall

triumph. Old Constituent Rabaut SaintEtienne presides over this Commission: "it is the last plank whereon

a wrecked Republic may perhaps still save herself." Rabaut and they therefore sit, intent; examining

witnesses; launching arrestments; looking out into a waste dim sea of troubles.the womb of Formula, or

perhaps her grave! Enter not that sea, O Reader! There are dim desolation and confusion; raging women and

raging men. Sections come demanding Twentytwo; for the number first given by Section Bonconseil still

holds, though the names should even vary. Other Sections, of the wealthier kind, come denouncing such

demand; nay the same Section will demand today, and denounce the demand tomorrow, according as the

wealthier sit, or the poorer. Wherefore, indeed, the Girondins decree that all Sections shall close 'at ten in the

evening;' before the working people come: which Decree remains without effect. And nightly the Mother of

Patriotism wails doleful; doleful, but her eye kindling! And Fournier l'Americain is busy, and the two Banker

Freys, and Varlet Apostle of Liberty; the bullvoice of Marquis SaintHuruge is heard. And shrill women

vociferate from all Galleries, the Convention ones and downwards. Nay a 'Central Committee' of all the

Fortyeight Sections, looms forth huge and dubious; sitting dim in the Archeveche, sending Resolutions,

receiving them: a Centre of the Sections; in dread deliberation as to a New Tenth of August!

One thing we will specify to throw light on many: the aspect under which, seen through the eyes of these

Girondin Twelve, or even seen through one's own eyes, the Patriotism of the softer sex presents itself. There

are Female Patriots, whom the Girondins call Megaeras, and count to the extent of eight thousand; with

serpenthair, all out of curl; who have changed the distaff for the dagger. They are of 'the Society called

Brotherly,' Fraternelle, say Sisterly, which meets under the roof of the Jacobins. 'Two thousand daggers,' or

so, have been ordered,doubtless, for them. They rush to Versailles, to raise more women; but the

Versailles women will not rise. (Buzot, Memoires, pp. 69, 84; Meillan, Memoires, pp. 192, 195, 196. See

Nay, behold, in National Garden of Tuileries,Demoiselle Theroigne herself is become as a brownlocked

Diana (were that possible) attacked by her own dogs, or shedogs! The Demoiselle, keeping her carriage, is

for Liberty indeed, as she has full well shewn; but then for Liberty with Respectability: whereupon these

serpenthaired Extreme ShePatriots now do fasten on her, tatter her, shamefully fustigate her, in their

shameful way; almost fling her into the Gardenponds, had not help intervened. Help, alas, to small purpose.

The poor Demoiselle's head and nervoussystem, none of the soundest, is so tattered and fluttered that it will

never recover; but flutter worse and worse, till it crack; and within year and day we hear of her in madhouse,

and straitwaistcoat, which proves permanent!Such brownlocked Figure did flutter, and inarticulately

jabber and gesticulate, little able to speak the obscure meaning it had, through some segment of that

Eighteenth Century of Time. She disappears here from the Revolution and Public History, for evermore.

(Deux Amis, vii. 7780; Forster, i. 514; Moore, i. 70. She did not die till 1817; in the Salpetriere, in the most

abject state of insanity; see Esquirol, Des Maladies Mentales (Paris, 1838), i. 44550.)

Another thing we will not again specify, yet again beseech the Reader to imagine: the reign of Fraternity and

Perfection. Imagine, we say, O Reader, that the Millennium were struggling on the threshold, and yet not so

much as groceries could be had,owing to traitors. With what impetus would a man strike traitors, in that

case? Ah, thou canst not imagine it: thou hast thy groceries safe in the shops, and little or no hope of a

Millennium ever coming!But, indeed, as to the temper there was in men and women, does not this one fact

say enough: the height SUSPICION had risen to? Preternatural we often called it; seemingly in the language

of exaggeration: but listen to the cold deposition of witnesses. Not a musical Patriot can blow himself a

snatch of melody from the French Horn, sitting mildly pensive on the housetop, but Mercier will recognise it

to be a signal which one Plotting Committee is making to another. Distraction has possessed Harmony

herself; lurks in the sound of Marseillese and ca ira. (Mercier, Nouveau Paris, vi. 63.) Louvet, who can see

as deep into a millstone as the most, discerns that we shall be invited back to our old Hall of the Manege, by a

Deputation; and then the Anarchists will massacre Twentytwo of us, as we walk over. It is Pitt and

Cobourg; the gold of Pitt.Poor Pitt! They little know what work he has with his own Friends of the People;

getting them bespied, beheaded, their habeascorpuses suspended, and his own Social Order and

But the strangest fact connected with French or indeed with human Suspicion, is perhaps this of Camille

Desmoulins. Camille's head, one of the clearest in France, has got itself so saturated through every fibre with

Preternaturalism of Suspicion, that looking back on that Twelfth of July 1789, when the thousands rose round

him, yelling responsive at his word in the Palais Royal Garden, and took cockades, he finds it explicable only

on this hypothesis, That they were all hired to do it, and set on by the Foreign and other Plotters. 'It was not

for nothing,' says Camille with insight, 'that this multitude burst up round me when I spoke!' No, not for

nothing. Behind, around, before, it is one huge Preternatural Puppetplay of Plots; Pitt pulling the wires. (See

Histoire des Brissotins, par Camille Desmoulins (a Pamphlet of Camille's, Paris, 1793).) Almost I conjecture

that I Camille myself am a Plot, and wooden with wires.The force of insight could no further go.

Be this as it will, History remarks that the Commission of Twelve, now clear enough as to the Plots; and

luckily having 'got the threads of them all by the end,' as they say,are launching Mandates of Arrest rapidly

in these May days; and carrying matters with a high hand; resolute that the sea of troubles shall be restrained.

What chief Patriot, SectionPresident even, is safe? They can arrest him; tear him from his warm bed,

because he has made irregular Section Arrestments! They arrest Varlet Apostle of Liberty. They arrest

ProcureurSubstitute Hebert, Pere Duchesne; a Magistrate of the People, sitting in Townhall; who, with high

solemnity of martyrdom, takes leave of his colleagues; prompt he, to obey the Law; and solemnly

The swifter fly the Sections, energetically demanding him back; demanding not arrestment of Popular

Magistrates, but of a traitorous Twentytwo. Section comes flying after Section;defiling energetic, with

their Cambyses' vein of oratory: nay the Commune itself comes, with Mayor Pache at its head; and with

question not of Hebert and the Twentytwo alone, but with this ominous old question made new, "Can you

save the Republic, or must we do it?" To whom President Max Isnard makes fiery answer: If by fatal chance,

in any of those tumults which since the Tenth of March are ever returning, Paris were to lift a sacrilegious

finger against the National Representation, France would rise as one man, in neverimagined vengeance, and

shortly "the traveller would ask, on which side of the Seine Paris had stood!" (Moniteur, Seance du 25 Mai,

1793.) Whereat the Mountain bellows only louder, and every Gallery; Patriot Paris boiling round.

And Girondin Valaze has nightly conclaves at his house; sends billets; 'Come punctually, and well armed, for

there is to be business.' And Megaera women perambulate the streets, with flags, with lamentable alleleu.

(Meillan, Memoires, p. 195; Buzot, pp. 69, 84.) And the Conventiondoors are obstructed by roaring

multitudes: findspoken hommes d'etat are hustled, maltreated, as they pass; Marat will apostrophise you, in

such deathperil, and say, Thou too art of them. If Roland ask leave to quit Paris, there is order of the day.

What help? Substitute Hebert, Apostle Varlet, must be given back; to be crowned with oakgarlands. The

Commission of Twelve, in a Convention overwhelmed with roaring Sections, is broken; then on the morrow,

in a Convention of rallied Girondins, is reinstated. Dim Chaos, or the sea of troubles, is struggling through all

Accordingly, on Friday, the Thirtyfirst of May 1793, there comes forth into the summer sunlight one of the

strangest scenes. Mayor Pache with Municipality arrives at the Tuileries Hall of Convention; sent for, Paris

How, in the grey of this morning, while we sat Permanent in Townhall, watchful for the commonweal, there

entered, precisely as on a Tenth of August, some Ninetysix extraneous persons; who declared themselves to

be in a state of Insurrection; to be plenipotentiary Commissioners from the Fortyeight Sections, sections or

members of the Sovereign People, all in a state of Insurrection; and further that we, in the name of said

Sovereign in Insurrection, were dismissed from office. How we thereupon laid off our sashes, and withdrew

into the adjacent Saloon of Liberty. How in a moment or two, we were called back; and reinstated; the

Sovereign pleasing to think us still worthy of confidence. Whereby, having taken new oath of office, we on a

sudden find ourselves Insurrectionary Magistrates, with extraneous Committee of Ninetysix sitting by us;

and a Citoyen Henriot, one whom some accuse of Septemberism, is made Generalissimo of the National

Guard; and, since six o'clock, the tocsins ring and the drums beat:Under which peculiar circumstances,

what would an august National Convention please to direct us to do? (Compare Debats de la Convention

Yes, there is the question! "Break the Insurrectionary Authorities," answers some with vehemence.

Vergniaud at least will have "the National Representatives all die at their post;" this is sworn to, with ready

loud acclaim. But as to breaking the Insurrectionary Authorities,alas, while we yet debate, what sound is

that? Sound of the AlarmCannon on the Pont Neuf; which it is death by the Law to fire without order from

It does boom off there, nevertheless; sending a sound through all hearts. And the tocsins discourse stern

music; and Henriot with his Armed Force has enveloped us! And Section succeeds Section, the livelong day;

demanding with Cambyses'oratory, with the rattle of muskets, That traitors, Twenty two or more, be

punished; that the Commission of Twelve be irrecoverably broken. The heart of the Gironde dies within it;

distant are the Seventy two respectable Departments, this fiery Municipality is near! Barrere is for a middle

course; granting something. The Commission of Twelve declares that, not waiting to be broken, it hereby

breaks itself, and is no more. Fain would Reporter Rabaut speak his and its lastwords; but he is bellowed

off. Too happy that the Twentytwo are still left unviolated!Vergniaud, carrying the laws of refinement to

a great length, moves, to the amazement of some, that 'the Sections of Paris have deserved well of their

country.' Whereupon, at a late hour of the evening, the deserving Sections retire to their respective places of

abode. Barrere shall report on it. With busy quill and brain he sits, secluded; for him no sleep tonight.

The Sections have deserved well: but ought they not to deserve better? Faction and Girondism is struck down

for the moment, and consents to be a nullity; but will it not, at another favourabler moment rise, still feller;

and the Republic have to be saved in spite of it? So reasons Patriotism, still Permanent; so reasons the Figure

of Marat, visible in the dim Sectionworld, on the morrow. To the conviction of men!And so at eventide

of Saturday, when Barrere had just got it all varnished in the course of the day, and his Report was setting off

in the evening mailbags, tocsin peals out again! Generale is beating; armed men taking station in the Place

Vendome and elsewhere for the night; supplied with provisions and liquor. There under the summer stars will

they wait, this night, what is to be seen and to be done, Henriot and Townhall giving due signal.

The Convention, at sound of generale, hastens back to its Hall; but to the number only of a Hundred; and

does little business, puts off business till the morrow. The Girondins do not stir out thither, the Girondins are

abroad seeking beds. Poor Rabaut, on the morrow morning, returning to his post, with Louvet and some

others, through streets all in ferment, wrings his hands, ejaculating, "Illa suprema dies!" (Louvet, Memoires,

p. 89.) It has become Sunday, the second day of June, year 1793, by the old style; by the new style, year One

of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. We have got to the last scene of all, that ends this history of the Girondin

It seems doubtful whether any terrestrial Convention had ever met in such circumstances as this National one

now does. Tocsin is pealing; Barriers shut; all Paris is on the gaze, or under arms. As many as a Hundred

Thousand under arms they count: National Force; and the Armed Volunteers, who should have flown to the

Frontiers and La Vendee; but would not, treason being unpunished; and only flew hither and thither! So

many, steady under arms, environ the National Tuileries and Garden. There are horse, foot, artillery, sappers

with beards: the artillery one can see with their campfurnaces in this National Garden, heating bullets red,

and their match is lighted. Henriot in plumes rides, amid a plumed Staff: all posts and issues are safe; reserves

lie out, as far as the Wood of Boulogne; the choicest Patriots nearest the scene. One other circumstance we

will note: that a careful Municipality, liberal of campfurnaces, has not forgotten provisioncarts. No

member of the Sovereign need now go home to dinner; but can keep rank,plentiful victual circulating

unsought. Does not this People understand Insurrection? Ye, not uninventive, Gualches!

Therefore let a National Representation, 'mandatories of the Sovereign,' take thought of it. Expulsion of your

Twentytwo, and your Commission of Twelve: we stand here till it be done! Deputation after Deputation, in

ever stronger language, comes with that message. Barrere proposes a middle course:Will not perhaps the

inculpated Deputies consent to withdraw voluntarily; to make a generous demission, and selfsacrifice for

the sake of one's country? Isnard, repentant of that search on which riverbank Paris stood, declares himself

ready to demit. Ready also is TeDeum Fauchet; old Dusaulx of the Bastille, 'vieux radoteur, old dotard,' as

Marat calls him, is still readier. On the contrary, Lanjuinais the Breton declares that there is one man who

never will demit voluntarily; but will protest to the uttermost, while a voice is left him. And he accordingly

goes on protesting; amid rage and clangor; Legendre crying at last: "Lanjuinais, come down from the

Tribune, or I will fling thee down, ou je te jette en bas!" For matters are come to extremity. Nay they do

clutch hold of Lanjuinais, certain zealous Mountainmen; but cannot fling him down, for he 'cramps himself

on the railing;' and 'his clothes get torn.' Brave Senator, worthy of pity! Neither will Barbaroux demit; he "has

sworn to die at his post, and will keep that oath." Whereupon the Galleries all rise with explosion;

brandishing weapons, some of them; and rush out saying: "Allons, then; we must save our country!" Such a

Churches fill, over Christian Europe, and then empty themselves; but this Convention empties not, the while:

a day of shrieking contention, of agony, humiliation and tearing of coatskirts; illa suprema dies! Round stand

Henriot and his Hundred Thousand, copiously refreshed from tray and basket: nay he is 'distributing five

francs apiece;' we Girondins saw it with our eyes; five francs to keep them in heart! And distraction of

armed riot encumbers our borders, jangles at our Bar; we are prisoners in our own Hall: Bishop Gregoire

could not get out for a besoin actuel without four gendarmes to wait on him! What is the character of a

National Representative become? And now the sunlight falls yellower on western windows, and the

chimneytops are flinging longer shadows; the refreshed Hundred Thousand, nor their shadows, stir not!

What to resolve on? Motion rises, superfluous one would think, That the Convention go forth in a body;

ascertain with its own eyes whether it is free or not. Lo, therefore, from the Eastern Gate of the Tuileries, a

distressed Convention issuing; handsome Herault Sechelles at their head; he with hat on, in sign of public

calamity, the rest bareheaded,towards the Gate of the Carrousel; wondrous to see: towards Henriot and his

plumed staff. "In the name of the National Convention, make way!" Not an inch of the way does Henriot

make: "I receive no orders, till the Sovereign, yours and mine, has been obeyed." The Convention presses on;

Henriot prances back, with his staff, some fifteen paces, "To arms! Cannoneers to your guns!"flashes out

his puissant sword, as the Staff all do, and the Hussars all do. Cannoneers brandish the lit match; Infantry

present arms,alas, in the level way, as if for firing! Hatted Herault leads his distressed flock, through their

pinfold of a Tuileries again; across the Garden, to the Gate on the opposite side. Here is Feuillans Terrace,

alas, there is our old Salle de Manege; but neither at this Gate of the Pont Tournant is there egress. Try the

other; and the other: no egress! We wander disconsolate through armed ranks; who indeed salute with Live

the Republic, but also with Die the Gironde. Other such sight, in the year One of Liberty, the westering sun

And now behold Marat meets us; for he lagged in this Suppliant Procession of ours: he has got some hundred

elect Patriots at his heels: he orders us in the Sovereign's name to return to our place, and do as we are bidden

and bound. The Convention returns. "Does not the Convention," says Couthon with a singular power of face,

"see that it is free?"none but friends round it? The Convention, overflowing with friends and armed

Sectioners, proceeds to vote as bidden. Many will not vote, but remain silent; some one or two protest, in

words: the Mountain has a clear unanimity. Commission of Twelve, and the denounced Twentytwo, to

whom we add ExMinisters Claviere and Lebrun: these, with some slight extempore alterations (this or that

orator proposing, but Marat disposing), are voted to be under 'Arrestment in their own houses.' Brissot,

Buzot, Vergniaud, Guadet, Louvet, Gensonne, Barbaroux, Lasource, Lanjuinais, Rabaut,Thirty two, by

the tale; all that we have known as Girondins, and more than we have known. They, 'under the safeguard of

the French People;' by and by, under the safeguard of two Gendarmes each, shall dwell peaceably in their

own houses; as NonSenators; till further order. Herewith ends Seance of Sunday the second of June 1793.

At ten o'clock, under mild stars, the Hundred Thousand, their work well finished, turn homewards. This same

day, Central Insurrection Committee has arrested Madame Roland; imprisoned her in the Abbaye. Roland has

Thus fell the Girondins, by Insurrection; and became extinct as a Party: not without a sigh from most

Historians. The men were men of parts, of Philosophic culture, decent behaviour; not condemnable in that

they were Pedants and had not better parts; not condemnable, but most unfortunate. They wanted a Republic

of the Virtues, wherein themselves should be head; and they could only get a Republic of the Strengths,

For the rest, Barrere shall make Report of it. The night concludes with a 'civic promenade by torchlight:'

(Buzot, Memoires, p. 310. See Pieces Justificatives, of Narratives, Commentaries, in Buzot, Louvet, Meillan:

Documens Complementaires, in Hist. Parl. xxviii. 178.) surely the true reign of Fraternity is now not far?

In the leafy months of June and July, several French Departments germinate a set of rebellious paperleaves,

named Proclamations, Resolutions, Journals, or Diurnals 'of the Union for Resistance to Oppression.' In

particular, the Town of Caen, in Calvados, sees its paperleaf of Bulletin de Caen suddenly bud, suddenly

establish itself as Newspaper there; under the Editorship of Girondin National Representatives!

For among the proscribed Girondins are certain of a more desperate humour. Some, as Vergniaud, Valaze,

Gensonne, 'arrested in their own houses' will await with stoical resignation what the issue may be. Some, as

Brissot, Rabaut, will take to flight, to concealment; which, as the Paris Barriers are opened again in a day or

two, is not yet difficult. But others there are who will rush, with Buzot, to Calvados; or far over France, to

Lyons, Toulon, Nantes and elsewhither, and then rendezvous at Caen: to awaken as with wartrumpet the

respectable Departments; and strike down an anarchic Mountain Faction; at least not yield without a stroke at

it. Of this latter temper we count some score or more, of the Arrested, and of the Not yetarrested; a Buzot,

a Barbaroux, Louvet, Guadet, Petion, who have escaped from Arrestment in their own homes; a Salles, a

Pythagorean Valady, a Duchatel, the Duchatel that came in blanket and nightcap to vote for the life of Louis,

who have escaped from danger and likelihood of Arrestment. These, to the number at one time of

Twentyseven, do accordingly lodge here, at the 'Intendance, or Departmental Mansion,' of the Town of

Caen; welcomed by Persons in Authority; welcomed and defrayed, having no money of their own. And the

Bulletin de Caen comes forth, with the most animating paragraphs: How the Bourdeaux Department, the

Lyons Department, this Department after the other is declaring itself; sixty, or say sixtynine, or seventytwo

(Meillan, p. 72, 73; Louvet, p. 129.) respectable Departments either declaring, or ready to declare. Nay

Marseilles, it seems, will march on Paris by itself, if need be. So has Marseilles Town said, That she will

march. But on the other hand, that Montelimart Town has said, No thoroughfare; and means even to 'bury

herself' under her own stone and mortar firstof this be no mention in Bulletin of Caen.

Such animating paragraphs we read in this Newspaper; and fervours, and eloquent sarcasm: tirades against

the Mountain, frame pen of Deputy Salles; which resemble, say friends, Pascal's Provincials. What is more to

the purpose, these Girondins have got a General in chief, one Wimpfen, formerly under Dumouriez; also a

secondary questionable General Puisaye, and others; and are doing their best to raise a force for war. National

Volunteers, whosoever is of right heart: gather in, ye National Volunteers, friends of Liberty; from our

Calvados Townships, from the Eure, from Brittany, from far and near; forward to Paris, and extinguish

Anarchy! Thus at Caen, in the early July days, there is a drumming and parading, a perorating and consulting:

Staff and Army; Council; Club of Carabots, Antijacobin friends of Freedom, to denounce atrocious Marat.

With all which, and the editing of Bulletins, a National Representative has his hands full.

At Caen it is most animated; and, as one hopes, more or less animated in the 'Seventytwo Departments that

adhere to us.' And in a France begirt with Cimmerian invading Coalitions, and torn with an internal La

Vendee, this is the conclusion we have arrived at: to put down Anarchy by Civil War! Durum et durum, the

Proverb says, non faciunt murum. La Vendee burns: Santerre can do nothing there; he may return home and

brew beer. Cimmerian bombshells fly all along the North. That Siege of Mentz is become famed;lovers of

the Picturesque (as Goethe will testify), washed countrypeople of both sexes, stroll thither on Sundays, to

see the artillery work and counterwork; 'you only duck a little while the shot whizzes past.' (Belagerung von

Mainz (Goethe's Werke, xxx. 278334).) Conde is capitulating to the Austrians; Royal Highness of York,

these several weeks, fiercely batters Valenciennes. For, alas, our fortified Camp of Famars was stormed;

General Dampierre was killed; General Custine was blamed,and indeed is now come to Paris to give

Against all which the Mountain and atrocious Marat must even make head as they can. They, anarchic

Convention as they are, publish Decrees, expostulatory, explanatory, yet not without severity; they ray forth

Commissioners, singly or in pairs, the olivebranch in one hand, yet the sword in the other. Commissioners

come even to Caen; but without effect. Mathematical Romme, and Prieur named of the Cote d'Or, venturing

thither, with their olive and sword, are packed into prison: there may Romme lie, under lock and key, 'for

fifty days;' and meditate his New Calendar, if he please. Cimmeria and Civil War! Never was Republic One

Amid which dim ferment of Caen and the World, History specially notices one thing: in the lobby of the

Mansion de l'Intendance, where busy Deputies are coming and going, a young Lady with an aged valet,

taking grave graceful leave of Deputy Barbaroux. (Meillan, p.75; Louvet, p. 114.) She is of stately Norman

figure; in her twentyfifth year; of beautiful still countenance: her name is Charlotte Corday, heretofore

styled d'Armans, while Nobility still was. Barbaroux has given her a Note to Deputy Duperret,him who

once drew his sword in the effervescence. Apparently she will to Paris on some errand? 'She was a

Republican before the Revolution, and never wanted energy.' A completeness, a decision is in this fair female

Figure: 'by energy she means the spirit that will prompt one to sacrifice himself for his country.' What if she,

this fair young Charlotte, had emerged from her secluded stillness, suddenly like a Star; cruellovely, with

halfangelic, halfdemonic splendour; to gleam for a moment, and in a moment be extinguished: to be held

in memory, so bright complete was she, through long centuries!Quitting Cimmerian Coalitions without,

and the dimsimmering Twentyfive millions within, History will look fixedly at this one fair Apparition of

a Charlotte Corday; will note whither Charlotte moves, how the little Life burns forth so radiant, then

With Barbaroux's Note of Introduction, and slight stock of luggage, we see Charlotte, on Tuesday the ninth of

July, seated in the Caen Diligence, with a place for Paris. None takes farewell of her, wishes her

Goodjourney: her Father will find a line left, signifying that she is gone to England, that he must pardon her

and forget her. The drowsy Diligence lumbers along; amid drowsy talk of Politics, and praise of the

Mountain; in which she mingles not; all night, all day, and again all night. On Thursday, not long before

none, we are at the Bridge of Neuilly; here is Paris with her thousand black domes,the goal and purpose of

thy journey! Arrived at the Inn de la Providence in the Rue des Vieux Augustins, Charlotte demands a room;

On the morrow morning, she delivers her Note to Duperret. It relates to certain Family Papers which are in

the Minister of the Interior's hand; which a Nun at Caen, an old Conventfriend of Charlotte's, has need of;

which Duperret shall assist her in getting: this then was Charlotte's errand to Paris? She has finished this, in

the course of Friday;yet says nothing of returning. She has seen and silently investigated several things.

The Convention, in bodily reality, she has seen; what the Mountain is like. The living physiognomy of Marat

About eight on the Saturday morning, she purchases a large sheathknife in the Palais Royal; then

straightway, in the Place des Victoires, takes a hackneycoach: "To the Rue de l'Ecole de Medecine, No. 44."

It is the residence of the Citoyen Marat!The Citoyen Marat is ill, and cannot be seen; which seems to

disappoint her much. Her business is with Marat, then? Hapless beautiful Charlotte; hapless squalid Marat!

From Caen in the utmost West, from Neuchatel in the utmost East, they two are drawing nigh each other;

they two have, very strangely, business together. Charlotte, returning to her Inn, despatches a short Note to

Marat; signifying that she is from Caen, the seat of rebellion; that she desires earnestly to see him, and 'will

put it in his power to do France a great service.' No answer. Charlotte writes another Note, still more

pressing; sets out with it by coach, about seven in the evening, herself. Tired day labourers have again

finished their Week; huge Paris is circling and simmering, manifold, according to its vague wont: this one

It is yellow July evening, we say, the thirteenth of the month; eve of the Bastille day,when 'M. Marat,' four

years ago, in the crowd of the Pont Neuf, shrewdly required of that Besenval Hussarparty, which had such

friendly dispositions, "to dismount, and give up their arms, then;" and became notable among Patriot men!

Four years: what a road he has travelled;and sits now, about halfpast seven of the clock, stewing in

slipperbath; sore afflicted; ill of Revolution Fever,of what other malady this History had rather not name.

Excessively sick and worn, poor man: with precisely elevenpencehalfpenny of ready money, in paper; with

slipperbath; strong threefooted stool for writing on, the while; and a squalidWasherwoman, one may

call her: that is his civic establishment in MedicalSchool Street; thither and not elsewhither has his road led

him. Not to the reign of Brotherhood and Perfect Felicity; yet surely on the way towards that?Hark, a rap

again! A musical woman'svoice, refusing to be rejected: it is the Citoyenne who would do France a service.

Citoyen Marat, I am from Caen the seat of rebellion, and wished to speak with you.Be seated, mon enfant.

Now what are the Traitors doing at Caen? What Deputies are at Caen?Charlotte names some Deputies.

"Their heads shall fall within a fortnight," croaks the eager People'sFriend, clutching his tablets to write:

Barbaroux, Petion, writes he with bare shrunk arm, turning aside in the bath: Petion, and Louvet,

andCharlotte has drawn her knife from the sheath; plunges it, with one sure stroke, into the writer's heart.

"A moi, chere amie, Help, dear!" No more could the Death choked say or shriek. The helpful Washerwoman

running in, there is no Friend of the People, or Friend of the Washerwoman, left; but his life with a groan

gushes out, indignant, to the shades below. (Moniteur, Nos. 197, 198, 199; Hist. Parl. xxviii. 3015; Deux

And so Marat People'sFriend is ended; the lone Stylites has got hurled down suddenly from his

Pillar,whither He that made him does know. Patriot Paris may sound triple and tenfold, in dole and wail;

reechoed by Patriot France; and the Convention, 'Chabot pale with terror declaring that they are to be all

assassinated,' may decree him Pantheon Honours, Public Funeral, Mirabeau's dust making way for him; and

Jacobin Societies, in lamentable oratory, summing up his character, parallel him to One, whom they think it

honour to call 'the good Sansculotte,'whom we name not here. (See Eloge funebre de JeanPaul Marat,

prononce a Strasbourg (in Barbaroux, p. 125131); Mercier, Also a Chapel may be made, for the urn that

holds his Heart, in the Place du Carrousel; and newborn children be named Marat; and LagodeComo

Hawkers bake mountains of stucco into unbeautiful Busts; and David paint his Picture, or Deathscene; and

such other Apotheosis take place as the human genius, in these circumstances, can devise: but Marat returns

no more to the light of this Sun. One sole circumstance we have read with clear sympathy, in the old

Moniteur Newspaper: how Marat's brother comes from Neuchatel to ask of the Convention 'that the deceased

JeanPaul Marat's musket be given him.' (Seance du 16 Septembre 1793.) For Marat too had a brother, and

natural affections; and was wrapt once in swaddlingclothes, and slept safe in a cradle like the rest of us. Ye

As for Charlotte Corday her work is accomplished; the recompense of it is near and sure. The chere amie, and

neighbours of the house, flying at her, she 'overturns some movables,' entrenches herself till the gendarmes

arrive; then quietly surrenders; goes quietly to the Abbaye Prison: she alone quiet, all Paris sounding in

wonder, in rage or admiration, round her. Duperret is put in arrest, on account of her; his Papers sealed,

which may lead to consequences. Fauchet, in like manner; though Fauchet had not so much as heard of her.

Charlotte, confronted with these two Deputies, praises the grave firmness of Duperret, censures the dejection

On Wednesday morning, the thronged Palais de Justice and Revolutionary Tribunal can see her face;

beautiful and calm: she dates it 'fourth day of the Preparation of Peace.' A strange murmur ran through the

Hall, at sight of her; you could not say of what character. (Proces de Charlotte Corday, (Hist. Parl. xxviii.

311338).) Tinville has his indictments and tape papers the cutler of the Palais Royal will testify that he

sold her the sheathknife; "all these details are needless," interrupted Charlotte; "it is I that killed Marat." By

whose instigation?"By no one's." What tempted you, then? His crimes. "I killed one man," added she,

raising her voice extremely (extremement), as they went on with their questions, "I killed one man to save a

hundred thousand; a villain to save innocents; a savage wildbeast to give repose to my country. I was a

Republican before the Revolution; I never wanted energy." There is therefore nothing to be said. The public

gazes astonished: the hasty limners sketch her features, Charlotte not disapproving; the men of law proceed

with their formalities. The doom is Death as a murderess. To her Advocate she gives thanks; in gentle phrase,

in highflown classical spirit. To the Priest they send her she gives thanks; but needs not any shriving, or

On this same evening, therefore, about halfpast seven o'clock, from the gate of the Conciergerie, to a City

all on tiptoe, the fatal Cart issues: seated on it a fair young creature, sheeted in red smock of Murderess; so

beautiful, serene, so full of life; journeying towards death,alone amid the world. Many take off their hats,

saluting reverently; for what heart but must be touched? (Deux Amis, x. 374384.) Others growl and howl.

Adam Lux, of Mentz, declares that she is greater than Brutus; that it were beautiful to die with her: the head

of this young man seems turned. At the Place de la Revolution, the countenance of Charlotte wears the same

still smile. The executioners proceed to bind her feet; she resists, thinking it meant as an insult; on a word of

explanation, she submits with cheerful apology. As the last act, all being now ready, they take the neckerchief

from her neck: a blush of maidenly shame overspreads that fair face and neck; the cheeks were still tinged

with it, when the executioner lifted the severed head, to shew it to the people. 'It is most true,' says Foster,

'that he struck the cheek insultingly; for I saw it with my eyes: the Police imprisoned him for it.'

In this manner have the Beautifullest and the Squalidest come in collision, and extinguished one another.

JeanPaul Marat and MarieAnne Charlotte Corday both, suddenly, are no more. 'Day of the Preparation of

Peace?' Alas, how were peace possible or preparable, while, for example, the hearts of lovely Maidens, in

their conventstillness, are dreaming not of Love paradises, and the light of Life; but of Codrus'sacrifices,

and death well earned? That Twentyfive million hearts have got to such temper, this is the Anarchy; the soul

of it lies in this: whereof not peace can be the embodyment! The death of Marat, whetting old animosities

tenfold, will be worse than any life. O ye hapless Two, mutually extinctive, the Beautiful and the Squalid,

This was the History of Charlotte Corday; most definite, most complete; angelicdemonic: like a Star! Adam

Lux goes home, halfdelirious; to pour forth his Apotheosis of her, in paper and print; to propose that she

have a statue with this inscription, Greater than Brutus. Friends represent his danger; Lux is reckless; thinks it

But during these same hours, another guillotine is at work, on another: Charlotte, for the Girondins, dies at

From rumbling of cannon along the streets of that City, it has come to firing of them, to rabid fighting:

NievreChol and the Girondins triumph; behind whom there is, as everywhere, a Royalist Faction waiting

to strike in. Trouble enough at Lyons; and the dominant party carrying it with a high hand! For indeed, the

whole South is astir; incarcerating Jacobins; arming for Girondins: wherefore we have got a 'Congress of

Lyons;' also a 'Revolutionary Tribunal of Lyons,' and Anarchists shall tremble. So Chalier was soon found

guilty, of Jacobinism, of murderous Plot, 'address with drawn dagger on the sixth of February last;' and, on

the morrow, he also travels his final road, along the streets of Lyons, 'by the side of an ecclesiastic, with

whom he seems to speak earnestly,'the axe now glittering high. He could weep, in old years, this man, and

'fall on his knees on the pavement,' blessing Heaven at sight of Federation Programs or like; then he

pilgrimed to Paris, to worship Marat and the Mountain: now Marat and he are both gone;we said he could

not end well. Jacobinism groans inwardly, at Lyons; but dare not outwardly. Chalier, when the Tribunal

Montelimart Town is not buried under its ruins; yet Marseilles is actually marching, under order of a 'Lyons

Congress;' is incarcerating Patriots; the very Royalists now shewing face. Against which a General Cartaux

fights, though in small force; and with him an Artillery Major, of the name of Napoleon Buonaparte. This

Napoleon, to prove that the Marseillese have no chance ultimately, not only fights but writes; publishes his

Supper of Beaucaire, a Dialogue which has become curious. (See Hazlitt, ii. 52941.) Unfortunate Cities,

with their actions and their reactions! Violence to be paid with violence in geometrical ratio; Royalism and

Anarchism both striking in;the final netamount of which geometrical series, what man shall sum?

The Bar of Iron has never yet floated in Marseilles Harbour; but the Body of Rebecqui was found floating,

selfdrowned there. Hot Rebecqui seeing how confusion deepened, and Respectability grew poisoned with

Royalism, felt that there was no refuge for a Republican but death. Rebecqui disappeared: no one knew

whither; till, one morning, they found the empty case or body of him risen to the top, tumbling on the salt

waves; (Barbaroux, p. 29.) and perceived that Rebecqui had withdrawn forever. Toulon likewise is

incarcerating Patriots; sending delegates to Congress; intriguing, in case of necessity, with the Royalists and

English. Montpellier, Bourdeaux, Nantes: all France, that is not under the swoop of Austria and Cimmeria,

seems rushing into madness, and suicidal ruin. The Mountain labours; like a volcano in a burning volcanic

Land. Convention Committees, of Surety, of Salvation, are busy night and day: Convention Commissioners

whirl on all highways; bearing olivebranch and sword, or now perhaps sword only. Chaumette and

Municipals come daily to the Tuileries demanding a Constitution: it is some weeks now since he resolved, in

Townhall, that a Deputation 'should go every day' and demand a Constitution, till one were got; (Deux Amis,

x. 345.) whereby suicidal France might rally and pacify itself; a thing inexpressibly desirable.

This then is the fruit your Antianarchic Girondins have got from that Levying of War in Calvados? This

fruit, we may say; and no other whatsoever. For indeed, before either Charlotte's or Chalier's head had fallen,

the Calvados War itself had, as it were, vanished, dreamlike, in a shriek! With 'seventytwo Departments' on

one's side, one might have hoped better things. But it turns out that Respectabilities, though they will vote,

will not fight. Possession is always nine points in Law; but in Lawsuits of this kind, one may say, it is

ninetyandnine points. Men do what they were wont to do; and have immense irresolution and inertia: they

obey him who has the symbols that claim obedience. Consider what, in modern society, this one fact means:

the Metropolis is with our enemies! Metropolis, Mothercity; rightly so named: all the rest are but as her

children, her nurselings. Why, there is not a leathern Diligence, with its postbags and luggageboots, that

lumbers out from her, but is as a huge lifepulse; she is the heart of all. Cut short that one leathern Diligence,

how much is cut short!General Wimpfen, looking practically into the matter, can see nothing for it but that

one should fall back on Royalism; get into communication with Pitt! Dark innuendoes he flings out, to that

effect: whereat we Girondins start, horrorstruck. He produces as his Second in command a certain

'Cidevant,' one Comte Puisaye; entirely unknown to Louvet; greatly suspected by him.

Few wars, accordingly, were ever levied of a more insufficient character than this of Calvados. He that is

curious in such things may read the details of it in the Memoirs of that same Cidevant Puisaye, the much

enduring man and Royalist: How our Girondin National Forces, marching off with plenty of windmusic,

were drawn out about the old Chateau of Brecourt, in the woodcountry near Vernon, to meet the Mountain

National forces advancing from Paris. How on the fifteenth afternoon of July, they did meet,and, as it

were, shrieked mutually, and took mutually to flight without loss. How Puisaye thereafter, for the Mountain

Nationals fled first, and we thought ourselves the victors,was roused from his warm bed in the Castle of

Brecourt; and had to gallop without boots; our Nationals, in the nightwatches, having fallen unexpectedly

into sauve qui peut:and in brief the Calvados War had burnt priming; and the only question now was,

Whitherward to vanish, in what hole to hide oneself! (Memoires de Puisaye (London, 1803), ii. 14267.)

The National Volunteers rush homewards, faster than they came. The Seventytwo Respectable

Departments, says Meillan, 'all turned round, and forsook us, in the space of fourandtwenty hours.'

Unhappy those who, as at Lyons for instance, have gone too far for turning! 'One morning,' we find placarded

on our Intendance Mansion, the Decree of Convention which casts us Hors la loi, into Outlawry: placarded by

our Caen Magistrates; clear hint that we also are to vanish. Vanish, indeed: but whitherward? Gorsas has

friends in Rennes; he will hide there,unhappily will not lie hid. Guadet, Lanjuinais are on cross roads;

making for Bourdeaux. To Bourdeaux! cries the general voice, of Valour alike and of Despair. Some flag of

Thitherward therefore; each as he can! Eleven of these illfated Deputies, among whom we may count, as

twelfth, Friend Riouffe the Man of Letters, do an original thing. Take the uniform of National Volunteers,

and retreat southward with the Breton Battalion, as private soldiers of that corps. These brave Bretons had

stood truer by us than any other. Nevertheless, at the end of a day or two, they also do now get dubious,

selfdivided; we must part from them; and, with some halfdozen as convoy or guide, retreat by

ourselves,a solitary marching detachment, through waste regions of the West. (Louvet, pp. 10137;

It is one of the notablest Retreats, this of the Eleven, that History presents: The handful of forlorn Legislators

retreating there, continually, with shouldered firelock and wellfilled cartridgebox, in the yellow autumn;

long hundreds of miles between them and Bourdeaux; the country all getting hostile, suspicious of the truth;

simmering and buzzing on all sides, more and more. Louvet has preserved the Itinerary of it; a piece worth all

O virtuous Petion, with thy earlywhite head, O brave young Barbaroux, has it come to this? Weary ways,

worn shoes, light purse;encompassed with perils as with a sea! Revolutionary Committees are in every

Township; of Jacobin temper; our friends all cowed, our cause the losing one. In the Borough of Moncontour,

by ill chance, it is marketday: to the gaping public such transit of a solitary Marching Detachment is

suspicious; we have need of energy, of promptitude and luck, to be allowed to march through. Hasten, ye

weary pilgrims! The country is getting up; noise of you is bruited day after day, a solitary Twelve retreating

in this mysterious manner: with every new day, a wider wave of inquisitive pursuing tumult is stirred up till

the whole West will be in motion. 'Cussy is tormented with gout, Buzot is too fat for marching.' Riouffe,

blistered, bleeding, marching only on tiptoe; Barbaroux limps with sprained ancle, yet ever cheery, full of

hope and valour. Light Louvet glances hareeyed, not harehearted: only virtuous Petion's serenity 'was but

once seen ruffled.' (Meillan, pp. 119137.) They lie in strawlofts, in woody brakes; rudest paillasse on the

floor of a secret friend is luxury. They are seized in the dead of night by Jacobin mayors and tap of drum; get

Of Bourdeaux, through fiery La Vendee and the long geographical spaces that remain, it were madness to

think: well, if you can get to Quimper on the seacoast, and take shipping there. Faster, ever faster! Before

the end of the march, so hot has the country grown, it is found advisable to march all night. They do it; under

the still nightcanopy they plod along;and yet behold, Rumour has outplodded them. In the paltry Village

of Carhaix (be its thatched huts, and bottomless peatbogs, long notable to the Traveller), one is astonished to

find light still glimmering: citizens are awake, with rushlights burning, in that nook of the terrestrial Planet;

as we traverse swiftly the one poor street, a voice is heard saying, "There they are, Les voila qui passent!"

(Louvet, pp. 138164.) Swifter, ye doomed lame Twelve: speed ere they can arm; gain the Woods of

The doomed Twelve do it; though with difficulty, with loss of road, with peril, and the mistakes of a night. In

Quimper are Girondin friends, who perhaps will harbour the homeless, till a Bourdeaux ship weigh.

Wayworn, heartworn, in agony of suspense, till Quimper friendship get warning, they lie there, squatted

under the thick wet boscage; suspicious of the face of man. Some pity to the brave; to the unhappy!

Unhappiest of all Legislators, O when ye packed your luggage, some score, or twoscore months ago; and

mounted this or the other leathern vehicle, to be Conscript Fathers of a regenerated France, and reap deathless

laurels,did ye think your journey was to lead hither? The Quimper Samaritans find them squatted; lift them

up to help and comfort; will hide them in sure places. Thence let them dissipate gradually; or there they can

And thus, in Calvados all is dissipated; Romme is out of prison, meditating his Calendar; ringleaders are

locked in his room. At Caen the Corday family mourns in silence; Buzot's House is a heap of dust and

demolition; and amid the rubbish sticks a Gallows, with this inscription, Here dwelt the Traitor Buzot who

conspired against the Republic. Buzot and the other vanished Deputies are hors la loi, as we saw; their lives

free to take where they can be found. The worse fares it with the poor Arrested visible Deputies at Paris.

'Arrestment at home' threatens to become 'Confinement in the Luxembourg;' to end: where? For example,

what palevisaged thin man is this, journeying towards Switzerland as a Merchant of Neuchatel, whom they

arrest in the town of Moulins? To Revolutionary Committee he is suspect. To Revolutionary Committee, on

probing the matter, he is evidently: Deputy Brissot! Back to thy Arrestment, poor Brissot; or indeed to strait

confinement,whither others are fared to follow. Rabaut has built himself a falsepartition, in a friend's

house; lives, in invisible darkness, between two walls. It will end, this same Arrestment business, in Prison,

Nor must we forget Duperret, and the seal put on his papers by reason of Charlotte. One Paper is there, fit to

breed woe enough: A secret solemn Protest against that suprema dies of the Second of June! This Secret

Protest our poor Duperret had drawn up, the same week, in all plainness of speech; waiting the time for

publishing it: to which Secret Protest his signature, and that of other honourable Deputies not a few, stands

legibly appended. And now, if the seals were once broken, the Mountain still victorious? Such Protestors,

your Merciers, Bailleuls, Seventythree by the tale, what yet remains of Respectable Girondism in the

Also we find, that, in these last days of July, the famed Siege of Mentz is finished; the Garrison to march out

with honours of war; not to serve against the Coalition for a year! Lovers of the Picturesque, and Goethe

standing on the Chaussee of Mentz, saw, with due interest, the Procession issuing forth, in all solemnity:

'Escorted by Prussian horse came first the French Garrison. Nothing could look stranger than this latter: a

column of Marseillese, slight, swarthy, partycoloured, in patched clothes, came tripping on;as if King

Edwin had opened the Dwarf Hill, and sent out his nimble Host of Dwarfs. Next followed regular troops;

serious, sullen; not as if downcast or ashamed. But the remarkablest appearance, which struck every one, was

that of the Chasers (Chasseurs) coming out mounted: they had advanced quite silent to where we stood, when

their Band struck up the Marseillaise. This Revolutionary TeDeum has in itself something mournful and

bodeful, however briskly played; but at present they gave it in altogether slow time, proportionate to the

creeping step they rode at. It was piercing and fearful, and a most seriouslooking thing, as these cavaliers,

long, lean men, of a certain age, with mien suitable to the music, came pacing on: singly you might have

'But now a single troop became notable: that of the Commissioners or Representans. Merlin of Thionville, in

hussar uniform, distinguishing himself by wild beard and look, had another person in similar costume on his

left; the crowd shouted out, with rage, at sight of this latter, the name of a Jacobin Townsman and Clubbist;

and shook itself to seize him. Merlin drew bridle; referred to his dignity as French Representative, to the

vengeance that should follow any injury done; he would advise every one to compose himself, for this was

not the last time they would see him here. (Belagerung von Maintz (Goethe's Werke, xxx. 315.) Thus rode

Merlin; threatening in defeat. But what now shall stem that tide of Prussians setting in through the open

NorthEast?' Lucky, if fortified Lines of Weissembourg, and impassibilities of Vosges Mountains, confine it

Furthermore, precisely in the same days, Valenciennes Siege is finished, in the NorthWest:fallen, under

the red hail of York! Conde fell some fortnight since. Cimmerian Coalition presses on. What seems very

notable too, on all these captured French Towns there flies not the Royalist fleur delys, in the name of a

new Louis the Pretender; but the Austrian flag flies; as if Austria meant to keep them for herself! Perhaps

General Custines, still in Paris, can give some explanation of the fall of these strongplaces? Mother Society,

from tribune and gallery, growls loud that he ought to do it;remarks, however, in a splenetic manner that

The Mother Society, purged now, by successive 'scrutinies or epurations,' from all taint of Girondism, has

become a great Authority: what we can call shieldbearer, or bottleholder, nay call it fugleman, to the

purged National Convention itself. The Jacobins Debates are reported in the Moniteur, like Parliamentary

But looking more specially into Paris City, what is this that History, on the 10th of August, Year One of

Liberty, 'by oldstyle, year 1793,' discerns there? Praised be the Heavens, a new Feast of Pikes!

For Chaumette's 'Deputation every day' has worked out its result: a Constitution. It was one of the rapidest

Constitutions ever put together; made, some say in eight days, by Herault Sechelles and others: probably a

workmanlike, roadworthy Constitution enough;on which point, however, we are, for some reasons, little

called to form a judgment. Workmanlike or not, the Fortyfour Thousand Communes of France, by

overwhelming majorities, did hasten to accept it; glad of any Constitution whatsoever. Nay Departmental

Deputies have come, the venerablest Republicans of each Department, with solemn message of Acceptance;

and now what remains but that our new Final Constitution be proclaimed, and sworn to, in Feast of Pikes?

The Departmental Deputies, we say, are come some time ago; Chaumette very anxious about them, lest

Girondin Monsieurs, Agiojobbers, or were it even Filles de joie of a Girondin temper, corrupt their morals.

(Deux Amis, xi. 73.) Tenth of August, immortal Anniversary, greater almost than Bastille July, is the Day.

Painter David has not been idle. Thanks to David and the French genius, there steps forth into the sunlight,

this day, a Scenic Phantasmagory unexampled:whereof History, so occupied with RealPhantasmagories,

For one thing, History can notice with satisfaction, on the ruins of the Bastille, a Statue of Nature; gigantic,

spouting water from her two mammelles. Not a Dream this; but a Fact, palpable visible. There she spouts,

great Nature; dim, before daybreak. But as the coming Sun ruddies the East, come countless Multitudes,

regulated and unregulated; come Departmental Deputies, come Mother Society and Daughters; comes

National Convention, led on by handsome Herault; soft windmusic breathing note of expectation. Lo, as

great Sol scatters his first firehandful, tipping the hills and chimneyheads with gold, Herault is at great

Nature's feet (she is Plaster of Paris merely); Herault lifts, in an iron saucer, water spouted from the sacred

breasts; drinks of it, with an eloquent Pagan Prayer, beginning, "O Nature!" and all the Departmental

Deputies drink, each with what best suitable ejaculation or propheticutterance is in him; amid breathings,

which become blasts, of windmusic; and the roar of artillery and human throats: finishing well the first act

Next are processionings along the Boulevards: Deputies or Officials bound together by long indivisible

tricolor riband; general 'members of the Sovereign' walking pellmell, with pikes, with hammers, with the

tools and emblems of their crafts; among which we notice a Plough, and ancient Baucis and Philemon seated

on it, drawn by their children. Manyvoiced harmony and dissonance filling the air. Through Triumphal

Arches enough: at the basis of the first of which, we descrywhom thinkest thou?the Heroines of the

Insurrection of Women. Strong Dames of the Market, they sit there (Theroigne too ill to attend, one fears),

with oakbranches, tricolor bedizenment; firmseated on their Cannons. To whom handsome Herault,

making pause of admiration, addresses soothing eloquence; whereupon they rise and fall into the march.

And now mark, in the Place de la Revolution, what other August Statue may this be; veiled in

canvas,which swiftly we shear off by pulley and cord? The Statue of Liberty! She too is of plaster, hoping

to become of metal; stands where a Tyrant Louis Quinze once stood. 'Three thousand birds' are let loose, into

the whole world, with labels round their neck, We are free; imitate us. Holocaust of Royalist and cidevant

trumpery, such as one could still gather, is burnt; pontifical eloquence must be uttered, by handsome Herault,

And then forward across the River; where is new enormous Statuary; enormous plaster Mountain;

HerculesPeuple, with uplifted allconquering club; 'manyheaded Dragon of Girondin Federalism rising

from fetid marsh;' needing new eloquence from Herault. To say nothing of ChampdeMars, and

Fatherland's Altar there; with urn of slain Defenders, Carpenter'slevel of the Law; and such exploding,

gesticulating and perorating, that Herault's lips must be growing white, and his tongue cleaving to the roof of

Towards sixo'clock let the wearied President, let Paris Patriotism generally sit down to what repast, and

social repasts, can be had; and with flowing tankard or lightmantling glass, usher in this New and Newest

Era. In fact, is not Romme's New Calendar getting ready? On all housetops flicker little tricolor Flags, their

flagstaff a Pike and LibertyCap. On all housewalls, for no Patriot, not suspect, will be behind another,

there stand printed these words: Republic one and indivisible, Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, or Death.

As to the New Calendar, we may say here rather than elsewhere that speculative men have long been struck

with the inequalities and incongruities of the Old Calendar; that a New one has long been as good as

determined on. Marechal the Atheist, almost ten years ago, proposed a New Calendar, free at least from

superstition: this the Paris Municipality would now adopt, in defect of a better; at all events, let us have either

this of Marechal's or a better,the New Era being come. Petitions, more than once, have been sent to that

effect; and indeed, for a year past, all Public Bodies, Journalists, and Patriots in general, have dated First Year

of the Republic. It is a subject not without difficulties. But the Convention has taken it up; and Romme, as we

say, has been meditating it; not Marechal's New Calendar, but a better New one of Romme's and our own.

Romme, aided by a Monge, a Lagrange and others, furnishes mathematics; Fabre d'Eglantine furnishes poetic

nomenclature: and so, on the 5th of October 1793, after trouble enough, they bring forth this New Republican

Four equal Seasons, Twelve equal Months of thirty days each: this makes three hundred and sixty days; and

five odd days remain to be disposed of. The five odd days we will make Festivals, and name the five

Sansculottides, or Days without Breeches. Festival of Genius; Festival of Labour; of Actions; of Rewards; of

Opinion: these are the five Sansculottides. Whereby the great Circle, or Year, is made complete: solely every

fourth year, whilom called Leapyear, we introduce a sixth Sansculottide; and name it Festival of the

Revolution. Now as to the day of commencement, which offers difficulties, is it not one of the luckiest

coincidences that the Republic herself commenced on the 21st of September; close on the Vernal Equinox?

Vernal Equinox, at midnight for the meridian of Paris, in the year whilom Christian 1792, from that moment

shall the New Era reckon itself to begin. Vendemiaire, Brumaire, Frimaire; or as one might say, in mixed

English, Vintagearious, Fogarious, Frostarious: these are our three Autumn months. Nivose, Pluviose,

Ventose, or say Snowous, Rainous, Windous, make our Winter season. Germinal, Floreal, Prairial, or Buddal,

Floweral, Meadowal, are our Spring season. Messidor, Thermidor, Fructidor, that is to say (dor being Greek

for gift) Reapidor, Heatidor, Fruitidor, are Republican Summer. These Twelve, in a singular manner, divide

the Republican Year. Then as to minuter subdivisions, let us venture at once on a bold stroke: adopt your

decimal subdivision; and instead of worldold Week, or Se'ennight, make it a Tennight or Decade;not

without results. There are three Decades, then, in each of the months; which is very regular; and the Decadi,

or Tenthday, shall always be 'the Day of Rest.' And the Christian Sabbath, in that case? Shall shift for itself!

This, in brief, in this New Calendar of Romme and the Convention; calculated for the meridian of Paris, and

Gospel of JeanJacques: not one of the least afflicting occurrences for the actual British reader of French

History;confusing the soul with Messidors, Meadowals; till at last, in selfdefence, one is forced to

construct some groundscheme, or rule of Commutation from Newstyle to Oldstyle, and have it lying by

him. Such groundscheme, almost worn out in our service, but still legible and printable, we shall now, in a

Note, present to the reader. For the Romme Calendar, in so many Newspapers, Memoirs, Public Acts, has

stamped itself deep into that section of Time: a New Era that lasts some Twelve years and odd is not to be

despised. Let the reader, therefore, with such ground scheme, help himself, where needful, out of Newstyle

into Oldstyle, called also 'slavestyle, stileesclave;'whereof we, in these pages, shall as much as

(September 22nd of 1792 is Vendemiaire 1st of Year One, and the new months are all of 30 days each;

There are 5 Sansculottides, and in leapyear a sixth, to be added at the end of Fructidor.

The New Calendar ceased on the 1st of January 1806. See Choix des Rapports, xiii. 8399; xix. 199.)

Thus with new Feast of Pikes, and New Era or New Calendar, did France accept her New Constitution: the

most Democratic Constitution ever committed to paper. How it will work in practice? Patriot Deputations

from time to time solicit fruition of it; that it be set agoing. Always, however, this seems questionable; for

the moment, unsuitable. Till, in some weeks, Salut Public, through the organ of SaintJust, makes report,

that, in the present alarming circumstances, the state of France is Revolutionary; that her 'Government must

be Revolutionary till the Peace!' Solely as Paper, then, and as a Hope, must this poor New Constitution

exist;in which shape we may conceive it lying; even now, with an infinity of other things, in that Limbo

In fact it is something quite other than paper theorems, it is iron and audacity that France now needs.

Is not La Vendee still blazing;alas too literally; rogue Rossignol burning the very cornmills? General

Santerre could do nothing there; General Rossignol, in blind fury, often in liquor, can do less than nothing.

Rebellion spreads, grows ever madder. Happily those lean Quixotefigures, whom we saw retreating out of

Mentz, 'bound not to serve against the Coalition for a year,' have got to Paris. National Convention packs

them into postvehicles and conveyances; sends them swiftly, by post, into La Vendee! There valiantly

struggling, in obscure battle and skirmish, under rogue Rossignol, let them, unlaurelled, save the Republic,

Does not the Coalition, like a firetide, pour in; Prussia through the opened NorthEast; Austria, England

through the NorthWest? General Houchard prospers no better there than General Custine did: let him look

to it! Through the Eastern and the Western Pyrenees Spain has deployed itself; spreads, rustling with

Bourbon banners, over the face of the South. Ashes and embers of confused Girondin civil war covered that

region already. Marseilles is damped down, not quenched; to be quenched in blood. Toulon, terrorstruck, too

far gone for turning, has flung itself, ye righteous Powers,into the hands of the English! On Toulon

Arsenal there flies a Flag,nay not even the Fleurdelys of a Louis Pretender; there flies that accursed St.

George's Cross of the English and Admiral Hood! What remnants of seacraft, arsenals, roperies, warnavy

France had, has given itself to these enemies of human nature, 'ennemis du genre humain.' Beleaguer it,

bombard it, ye Commissioners Barras, Freron, Robespierre Junior; thou General Cartaux, General

Dugommier; above all, thou remarkable ArtilleryMajor, Napoleon Buonaparte! Hood is fortifying himself,

But lo, in the Autumn night, late night, among the last of August, what sudden red sunblaze is this that has

risen over Lyons City; with a noise to deafen the world? It is the Powdertower of Lyons, nay the Arsenal

with four Powdertowers, which has caught fire in the Bombardment; and sprung into the air, carrying 'a

hundred and seventeen houses' after it. With a light, one fancies, as of the noon sun; with a roar second only

to the Last Trumpet! All living sleepers far and wide it has awakened. What a sight was that, which the eye of

History saw, in the sudden nocturnal sunblaze! The roofs of hapless Lyons, and all its domes and steeples

made momentarily clear; Rhone and Saone streams flashing suddenly visible; and height and hollow, hamlet

and smooth stubblefield, and all the region round;heights, alas, all scarped and counterscarped, into

trenches, curtains, redouts; blue Artillerymen, little Powderdevilkins, plying their helltrade there, through

the not ambrosial night! Let the darkness cover it again; for it pains the eye. Of a truth, Chalier's death is

costing this City dear. Convention Commissioners, Lyons Congresses have come and gone; and action there

was and reaction; bad ever growing worse; till it has come to this: Commissioner DuboisCrance, 'with

seventy thousand men, and all the Artillery of several Provinces,' bombarding Lyons day and night.

Worse things still are in store. Famine is in Lyons, and ruin, and fire. Desperate are the sallies of the

besieged; brave Precy, their National Colonel and Commandant, doing what is in man: desperate but

ineffectual. Provisions cut off; nothing entering our city but shot and shells! The Arsenal has roared aloft; the

very Hospital will be battered down, and the sick buried alive. A Black Flag hung on this latter noble Edifice,

appealing to the pity of the beseigers; for though maddened, were they not still our brethren? In their blind

wrath, they took it for a flag of defiance, and aimed thitherward the more. Bad is growing ever worse here:

and how will the worse stop, till it have grown worst of all? Commissioner Dubois will listen to no pleading,

to no speech, save this only, 'We surrender at discretion.' Lyons contains in it subdued Jacobins; dominant

Girondins; secret Royalists. And now, mere deaf madness and cannonshot enveloping them, will not the

desperate Municipality fly, at last, into the arms of Royalism itself? Majesty of Sardinia was to bring help,

but it failed. Emigrant Autichamp, in name of the Two Pretender Royal Highnesses, is coming through

At sight of which, all true Girondins sorrowfully fling down their arms: Let our Tricolor brethren storm us,

then, and slay us in their wrath: with you we conquer not. The famishing women and children are sent forth:

deaf Dubois sends them back;rains in mere fire and madness. Our 'redouts of cottonbags' are taken,

retaken; Precy under his Fleurdelys is valiant as Despair. What will become of Lyons? It is a siege of

Or see, in these same weeks, far in the Western waters: breasting through the Bay of Biscay, a greasy dingy

little Merchantship, with Scotch skipper; under hatches whereof sit, disconsolate,the last forlorn nucleus of

Girondism, the Deputies from Quimper! Several have dissipated themselves, whithersoever they could. Poor

Riouffe fell into the talons of Revolutionary Committee, and Paris Prison. The rest sit here under hatches;

reverend Petion with his grey hair, angry Buzot, suspicious Louvet, brave young Barbaroux, and others. They

have escaped from Quimper, in this sad craft; are now tacking and struggling; in danger from the waves, in

danger from the English, in still worse danger from the French; banished by Heaven and Earth to the

greasy belly of this Scotch skipper's Merchantvessel, unfruitful Atlantic raving round. They are for

Bourdeaux, if peradventure hope yet linger there. Enter not Bourdeaux, O Friends! Bloody Convention

Representatives, Tallien and such like, with their Edicts, with their Guillotine, have arrived there;

Respectability is driven under ground; Jacobinism lords it on high. From that Reole landingplace, or Beak of

Ambes, as it were, Pale Death, waving his Revolutionary Sword of sharpness, waves you elsewhither!

On one side or the other of that Bec d'Ambes, the Scotch Skipper with difficulty moors, a dexterous greasy

man; with difficulty lands his Girondins;who, after reconnoitring, must rapidly burrow in the Earth; and

so, in subterranean ways, in friends' backclosets, in cellars, barnlofts, in Caves of SaintEmilion and

Libourne, stave off cruel Death. (Louvet, p. 180199.) Unhappiest of all Senators!

Against all which incalculable impediments, horrors and disasters, what can a Jacobin Convention oppose?

The uncalculating Spirit of Jacobinism, and Sansculottic sansformulistic Frenzy! Our Enemies press in on

us, says Danton, but they shall not conquer us, "we will burn France to ashes rather, nous brulerons la

Committees, of Surete or Salut, have raised themselves 'a la hauteur, to the height of circumstances.' Let all

mortals raise themselves a la hauteur. Let the Fortyfour thousand Sections and their Revolutionary

Committees stir every fibre of the Republic; and every Frenchman feel that he is to do or die. They are the

lifecirculation of Jacobinism, these Sections and Committees: Danton, through the organ of Barrere and

Salut Public, gets decreed, That there be in Paris, by law, two meetings of Section weekly; also, that the

Poorer Citizen be paid for attending, and have his day'swages of Forty Sous. (Moniteur, Seance du 5

Septembre, 1793.) This is the celebrated 'Law of the Forty Sous;' fiercely stimulant to Sansculottism, to the

On the twentythird of August, Committee of Public Salvation, as usual through Barrere, had promulgated,

in words not unworthy of remembering, their Report, which is soon made into a Law, of Levy in Mass. 'All

France, and whatsoever it contains of men or resources, is put under requisition,' says Barrere; really in

Tyrtaean words, the best we know of his. 'The Republic is one vast besieged city.' Two hundred and fifty

Forges shall, in these days, be set up in the Luxembourg Garden, and round the outer wall of the Tuileries; to

make gunbarrels; in sight of Earth and Heaven! From all hamlets, towards their Departmental Town; from

all their Departmental Towns, towards the appointed Camp and seat of war, the Sons of Freedom shall march;

their banner is to bear: 'Le Peuple Francais debout contres les Tyrans, The French People risen against

Tyrants.' 'The young men shall go to the battle; it is their task to conquer: the married men shall forge arms,

transport baggage and artillery; provide subsistence: the women shall work at soldiers' clothes, make tents;

serve in the hospitals. The children shall scrape oldlinen into surgeon'slint: the aged men shall have

themselves carried into public places; and there, by their words, excite the courage of the young; preach

hatred to Kings and unity to the Republic.' (Debats, Seance du 23 Aout 1793.) Tyrtaean words, which tingle

In this humour, then, since no other serves, will France rush against its enemies. Headlong, reckoning no cost

or consequence; heeding no law or rule but that supreme law, Salvation of the People! The weapons are all

the iron that is in France; the strength is that of all the men, women and children that are in France. There, in

their two hundred and fifty shed smithies, in Garden of Luxembourg or Tuileries, let them forge

Nor with heroic daring against the Foreign foe, can black vengeance against the Domestic be wanting.

Lifecirculation of the Revolutionary Committees being quickened by that Law of the Forty Sous, Deputy

Merlin, not the Thionviller, whom we saw ride out of Mentz, but Merlin of Douai, named subsequently

Merlin Suspect,comes, about a week after, with his world famous Law of the Suspect: ordering all

Sections, by their Committees, instantly to arrest all Persons Suspect; and explaining withal who the

Arrestable and Suspect specially are. "Are Suspect," says he, "all who by their actions, by their connexions,

speakings, writings have"in short become Suspect. (Moniteur, Seance du 17 Septembre 1793.) Nay

Chaumette, illuminating the matter still further, in his Municipal Placards and Proclamations, will bring it

about that you may almost recognise a Suspect on the streets, and clutch him there,off to Committee, and

Prison. Watch well your words, watch well your looks: if Suspect of nothing else, you may grow, as came to

be a saying, 'Suspect of being Suspect!' For are we not in a State of Revolution?

No frightfuller Law ever ruled in a Nation of men. All Prisons and Houses of Arrest in French land are

getting crowded to the ridgetile: Fortyfour thousand Committees, like as many companies of reapers or

gleaners, gleaning France, are gathering their harvest, and storing it in these Houses. Harvest of Aristocrat

tares! Nay, lest the Fortyfour thousand, each on its own harvestfield, prove insufficient, we are to have an

ambulant 'Revolutionary Army:' six thousand strong, under right captains, this shall perambulate the country

at large, and strike in wherever it finds such harvestwork slack. So have Municipality and Mother Society

petitioned; so has Convention decreed. (Ibid. Seances du 5, 9, 11 Septembre.) Let Aristocrats, Federalists,

Monsieurs vanish, and all men tremble: 'The Soil of Liberty shall be purged,'with a vengeance!

Neither hitherto has the Revolutionary Tribunal been keeping holyday. Blanchelande, for losing

SaintDomingo; 'Conspirators of Orleans,' for 'assassinating,' for assaulting the sacred Deputy

LeonardBourdon: these with many Nameless, to whom life was sweet, have died. Daily the great Guillotine

has its due. Like a black Spectre, daily at eventide, glides the Deathtumbril through the variegated throng of

things. The variegated street shudders at it, for the moment; next moment forgets it: The Aristocrats! They

were guilty against the Republic; their death, were it only that their goods are confiscated, will be useful to

In the last days of August, fell a notabler head: General Custine's. Custine was accused of harshness, of

unskilfulness, perfidiousness; accused of many things: found guilty, we may say, of one thing,

unsuccessfulness. Hearing his unexpected Sentence, 'Custine fell down before the Crucifix,' silent for the

space of two hours: he fared, with moist eyes and a book of prayer, towards the Place de la Revolution;

glanced upwards at the clear suspended axe; then mounted swiftly aloft, (Deux Amis, xi. 148188.) swiftly

was struck away from the lists of the Living. He had fought in America; he was a proud, brave man; and his

On the 2nd of this same month, at three in the morning, a vehicle rolled off, with closed blinds, from the

Temple to the Conciergerie. Within it were two Municipals; and MarieAntoinette, once Queen of France!

There in that Conciergerie, in ignominious dreary cell, she, cut off from children, kindred, friend and hope,

sits long weeks; expecting when the end will be. (See Memoires particuliers de la Captivite a la Tour du

The Guillotine, we find, gets always a quicker motion, as other things are quickening. The Guillotine, by its

speed of going, will give index of the general velocity of the Republic. The clanking of its huge axe, rising

and falling there, in horrid systolediastole, is portion of the whole enormous Lifemovement and pulsation

of the Sansculottic System!'Orleans Conspirators' and Assaulters had to die, in spite of much weeping and

entreating; so sacred is the person of a Deputy. Yet the sacred can become desecrated: your very Deputy is

not greater than the Guillotine. Poor Deputy Journalist Gorsas: we saw him hide at Rennes, when the

Calvados War burnt priming. He stole afterwards, in August, to Paris; lurked several weeks about the Palais

cidevant Royal; was seen there, one day; was clutched, identified, and without ceremony, being already 'out

of the Law,' was sent to the Place de la Revolution. He died, recommending his wife and children to the pity

of the Republic. It is the ninth day of October 1793. Gorsas is the first Deputy that dies on the scaffold; he

ExMayor Bailly is in prison; ExProcureur Manuel. Brissot and our poor Arrested Girondins have become

Incarcerated Indicted Girondins; universal Jacobinism clamouring for their punishment. Duperret's Seals are

broken! Those Seventythree Secret Protesters, suddenly one day, are reported upon, are decreed accused;

the Conventiondoors being 'previously shut,' that none implicated might escape. They were marched, in a

very rough manner, to Prison that evening. Happy those of them who chanced to be absent! Condorcet has

vanished into darkness; perhaps, like Rabaut, sits between two walls, in the house of a friend.

On Monday the Fourteenth of October, 1793, a Cause is pending in the Palais de Justice, in the new

Revolutionary Court, such as these old stonewalls never witnessed: the Trial of MarieAntoinette. The once

brightest of Queens, now tarnished, defaced, forsaken, stands here at Fouquier Tinville's Judgmentbar;

answering for her life! The Indictment was delivered her last night. (Proces de la Reine (Deux Amis, xi.

251381.) To such changes of human fortune what words are adequate? Silence alone is adequate.

There are few Printed things one meets with, of such tragic almost ghastly significance as those bald Pages of

the Bulletin du Tribunal Revolutionnaire, which bear title, Trial of the Widow Capet. Dim, dim, as if in

disastrous eclipse; like the pale kingdoms of Dis! Plutonic Judges, Plutonic Tinville; encircled, nine times,

with Styx and Lethe, with Fire Phlegethon and Cocytus named of Lamentation! The very witnesses

summoned are like Ghosts: exculpatory, inculpatory, they themselves are all hovering over death and doom;

they are known, in our imagination, as the prey of the Guillotine. Tall cidevant Count d'Estaing, anxious to

shew himself Patriot, cannot escape; nor Bailly, who, when asked If he knows the Accused, answers with a

reverent inclination towards her, "Ah, yes, I know Madame." ExPatriots are here, sharply dealt with, as

Procureur Manuel; ExMinisters, shorn of their splendour. We have cold Aristocratic impassivity, faithful to

itself even in Tartarus; rabid stupidity, of Patriot Corporals, Patriot Washerwomen, who have much to say of

Plots, Treasons, August Tenth, old Insurrection of Women. For all now has become a crime, in her who has

MarieAntoinette, in this her utter abandonment and hour of extreme need, is not wanting to herself, the

imperial woman. Her look, they say, as that hideous Indictment was reading, continued calm; 'she was

sometimes observed moving her fingers, as when one plays on the Piano.' You discern, not without interest,

across that dim Revolutionary Bulletin itself, how she bears herself queenlike. Her answers are prompt, clear,

often of Laconic brevity; resolution, which has grown contemptuous without ceasing to be dignified, veils

itself in calm words. "You persist then in denial?""My plan is not denial: it is the truth I have said, and I

persist in that." Scandalous Hebert has borne his testimony as to many things: as to one thing, concerning

MarieAntoinette and her little Son,wherewith Human Speech had better not further be soiled. She has

answered Hebert; a Juryman begs to observe that she has not answered as to this. "I have not answered," she

exclaims with noble emotion, "because Nature refuses to answer such a charge brought against a Mother. I

appeal to all the Mothers that are here." Robespierre, when he heard of it, broke out into something almost

like swearing at the brutish blockheadism of this Hebert; (Vilate, Causes secretes de la Revolution de

Thermidor (Paris, 1825), p. 179.) on whose foul head his foul lie has recoiled. At four o'clock on Wednesday

morning, after two days and two nights of interrogating, jurycharging, and other darkening of counsel, the

result comes out: Sentence of Death. "Have you anything to say?" The Accused shook her head, without

speech. Night's candles are burning out; and with her too Time is finishing, and it will be Eternity and Day.

This Hall of Tinville's is dark, illlighted except where she stands. Silently she withdraws from it, to die.

Two Processions, or Royal Progresses, threeandtwenty years apart, have often struck us with a strange

feeling of contrast. The first is of a beautiful Archduchess and Dauphiness, quitting her Mother's City, at the

age of Fifteen; towards hopes such as no other Daughter of Eve then had: 'On the morrow,' says Weber an

eye witness, 'the Dauphiness left Vienna. The whole City crowded out; at first with a sorrow which was

silent. She appeared: you saw her sunk back into her carriage; her face bathed in tears; hiding her eyes now

with her handkerchief, now with her hands; several times putting out her head to see yet again this Palace of

her Fathers, whither she was to return no more. She motioned her regret, her gratitude to the good Nation,

which was crowding here to bid her farewell. Then arose not only tears; but piercing cries, on all sides. Men

and women alike abandoned themselves to such expression of their sorrow. It was an audible sound of wail,

in the streets and avenues of Vienna. The last Courier that followed her disappeared, and the crowd melted

The young imperial Maiden of Fifteen has now become a worn discrowned Widow of Thirtyeight; grey

before her time: this is the last Procession: 'Few minutes after the Trial ended, the drums were beating to arms

in all Sections; at sunrise the armed force was on foot, cannons getting placed at the extremities of the

Bridges, in the Squares, Crossways, all along from the Palais de Justice to the Place de la Revolution. By ten

o'clock, numerous patrols were circulating in the Streets; thirty thousand foot and horse drawn up under arms.

At eleven, MarieAntoinette was brought out. She had on an undress of pique blanc: she was led to the place

of execution, in the same manner as an ordinary criminal; bound, on a Cart; accompanied by a Constitutional

Priest in Lay dress; escorted by numerous detachments of infantry and cavalry. These, and the double row of

troops all along her road, she appeared to regard with indifference. On her countenance there was visible

neither abashment nor pride. To the cries of Vive la Republique and Down with Tyranny, which attended her

all the way, she seemed to pay no heed. She spoke little to her Confessor. The tricolor Streamers on the

housetops occupied her attention, in the Streets du Roule and SaintHonore; she also noticed the Inscriptions

on the house fronts. On reaching the Place de la Revolution, her looks turned towards the Jardin National,

whilom Tuileries; her face at that moment gave signs of lively emotion. She mounted the Scaffold with

courage enough; at a quarter past Twelve, her head fell; the Executioner shewed it to the people, amid

Whom next, O Tinville? The next are of a different colour: our poor Arrested Girondin Deputies. What of

them could still be laid hold of; our Vergniaud, Brissot, Fauchet, Valaze, Gensonne; the once flower of

French Patriotism, Twentytwo by the tale: hither, at Tinville's Bar, onward from 'safeguard of the French

People,' from confinement in the Luxembourg, imprisonment in the Conciergerie, have they now, by the

course of things, arrived. Fouquier Tinville must give what account of them he can.

Undoubtedly this Trial of the Girondins is the greatest that Fouquier has yet had to do. Twentytwo, all chief

Republicans, ranged in a line there; the most eloquent in France; Lawyers too; not without friends in the

auditory. How will Tinville prove these men guilty of Royalism, Federalism, Conspiracy against the

Republic? Vergniaud's eloquence awakes once more; 'draws tears,' they say. And Journalists report, and the

Trial lengthens itself out day after day; 'threatens to become eternal,' murmur many. Jacobinism and

Municipality rise to the aid of Fouquier. On the 28th of the month, Hebert and others come in deputation to

inform a Patriot Convention that the Revolutionary Tribunal is quite 'shackled by forms of Law;' that a Patriot

Jury ought to have 'the power of cutting short, of terminer les debats , when they feel themselves convinced.'

Which pregnant suggestion, of cutting short, passes itself, with all despatch, into a Decree.

Accordingly, at ten o'clock on the night of the 30th of October, the Twentytwo, summoned back once more,

receive this information, That the Jury feeling themselves convinced have cut short, have brought in their

verdict; that the Accused are found guilty, and the Sentence on one and all of them is Death with confiscation

Loud natural clamour rises among the poor Girondins; tumult; which can only be repressed by the

gendarmes. Valaze stabs himself; falls down dead on the spot. The rest, amid loud clamour and confusion, are

driven back to their Conciergerie; Lasource exclaiming, "I die on the day when the People have lost their

reason; ye will die when they recover it." (Greek,Plut. Opp. t. iv. p. 310. ed. Reiske, 1776.) No help!

Yielding to violence, the Doomed uplift the Hymn of the Marseillese; return singing to their dungeon.

Riouffe, who was their Prisonmate in these last days, has lovingly recorded what death they made. To our

notions, it is not an edifying death. Gay satirical Potpourri by Ducos; rhymed Scenes of Tragedy, wherein

Barrere and Robespierre discourse with Satan; death's eve spent in 'singing' and 'sallies of gaiety,' with

'discourses on the happiness of peoples:' these things, and the like of these, we have to accept for what they

are worth. It is the manner in which the Girondins make their Last Supper. Valaze, with bloody breast, sleeps

cold in death; hears not their singing. Vergniaud has his dose of poison; but it is not enough for his friends, it

is enough only for himself; wherefore he flings it from him; presides at this Last Supper of the Girondins,

with wild coruscations of eloquence, with song and mirth. Poor human Will struggles to assert itself; if not in

this way, then in that. (Memoires de Riouffe (in Memoires sur les Prisons, Paris, 1823), p. 4855.)

But on the morrow morning all Paris is out; such a crowd as no man had seen. The Deathcarts, Valaze's cold

corpse stretched among the yet living Twentyone, roll along. Bareheaded, hands bound; in their

shirtsleeves, coat flung loosely round the neck: so fare the eloquent of France; bemurmured, beshouted. To

the shouts of Vive la Republique, some of them keep answering with countershouts of Vive la Republique.

Others, as Brissot, sit sunk in silence. At the foot of the scaffold they again strike up, with appropriate

variations, the Hymn of the Marseillese. Such an act of music; conceive it well! The yet Living chant there;

the chorus so rapidly wearing weak! Samson's axe is rapid; one head per minute, or little less. The chorus is

worn out; farewell for evermore ye Girondins. TeDeum Fauchet has become silent; Valaze's dead head is

lopped: the sickle of the Guillotine has reaped the Girondins all away. 'The eloquent, the young, the beautiful

and brave!' exclaims Riouffe. O Death, what feast is toward in thy ghastly Halls?

Nor alas, in the far Bourdeaux region, will Girondism fare better. In caves of SaintEmilion, in loft and

cellar, the weariest months, roll on; apparel worn, purse empty; wintry November come; under Tallien and

his Guillotine, all hope now gone. Danger drawing ever nigher, difficulty pressing ever straiter, they

determine to separate. Not unpathetic the farewell; tall Barbaroux, cheeriest of brave men, stoops to clasp his

Louvet: "In what place soever thou findest my mother," cries he, "try to be instead of a son to her: no

resource of mine but I will share with thy Wife, should chance ever lead me where she is." (Louvet, p. 213.)

Louvet went with Guadet, with Salles and Valady; Barbaroux with Buzot and Petion. Valady soon went

southward, on a way of his own. The two friends and Louvet had a miserable day and night; the 14th of

November month, 1793. Sunk in wet, weariness and hunger, they knock, on the morrow, for help, at a

friend's countryhouse; the fainthearted friend refuses to admit them. They stood therefore under trees, in the

pouring rain. Flying desperate, Louvet thereupon will to Paris. He sets forth, there and then, splashing the

mud on each side of him, with a fresh strength gathered from fury or frenzy. He passes villages, finding 'the

sentry asleep in his box in the thick rain;' he is gone, before the man can call after him. He bilks

Revolutionary Committees; rides in carriers' carts, covered carts and open; lies hidden in one, under

knapsacks and cloaks of soldiers' wives on the Street of Orleans, while men search for him: has hairbreadth

escapes that would fill three romances: finally he gets to Paris to his fair Helpmate; gets to Switzerland, and

Poor Guadet and Salles were both taken, ere long; they died by the Guillotine in Bourdeaux; drums beating to

drown their voice. Valady also is caught, and guillotined. Barbaroux and his two comrades weathered it

longer, into the summer of 1794; but not long enough. One July morning, changing their hiding place, as they

have often to do, 'about a league from SaintEmilion, they observe a great crowd of countrypeople;'

doubtless Jacobins come to take them? Barbaroux draws a pistol, shoots himself dead. Alas, and it was not

Jacobins; it was harmless villagers going to a village wake. Two days afterwards, Buzot and Petion were

found in a Cornfield, their bodies halfeaten with dogs. (Recherches Historiques sur les Girondins (in

Such was the end of Girondism. They arose to regenerate France, these men; and have accomplished this.

Alas, whatever quarrel we had with them, has not their cruel fate abolished it? Pity only survives. So many

excellent souls of heroes sent down to Hades; they themselves given as a prey of dogs and all manner of

birds! But, here too, the will of the Supreme Power was accomplished. As Vergniaud said: 'The Revolution,

We are now, therefore, got to that black precipitous Abyss; whither all things have long been tending; where,

having now arrived on the giddy verge, they hurl down, in confused ruin; headlong, pellmell, down, down;

till Sansculottism have consummated itself; and in this wondrous French Revolution, as in a Doomsday, a

World have been rapidly, if not born again, yet destroyed and engulphed. Terror has long been terrible: but to

the actors themselves it has now become manifest that their appointed course is one of Terror; and they say,

So many centuries, say only from Hugh Capet downwards, had been adding together, century transmitting it

with increase to century, the sum of Wickedness, of Falsehood, Oppression of man by man. Kings were

sinners, and Priests were, and People. OpenScoundrels rode triumphant, bediademed, becoronetted,

bemitred; or the still fataller species of SecretScoundrels, in their fairsounding formulas, speciosities,

respectabilities, hollow within: the race of Quacks was grown many as the sands of the sea. Till at length such

a sum of Quackery had accumulated itself as, in brief, the Earth and the Heavens were weary of. Slow

seemed the Day of Settlement: coming on, all imperceptible, across the bluster and fanfaronade of

Pompadourisms: yet behold it was always coming; behold it has come, suddenly, unlooked for by any man!

The harvest of long centuries was ripening and whitening so rapidly of late; and now it is grown white, and is

reaped rapidly, as it were, in one day. Reaped, in this Reign of Terror; and carried home, to Hades and the

Pit!Unhappy Sons of Adam: it is ever so; and never do they know it, nor will they know it. With cheerfully

smoothed countenances, day after day, and generation after generation, they, calling cheerfully to one

another, "Wellspeedye," are at work, sowing the wind. And yet, as God lives, they shall reap the

whirlwind: no other thing, we say, is possible,since God is a Truth and His World is a Truth.

History, however, in dealing with this Reign of Terror, has had her own difficulties. While the Phenomenon

continued in its primary state, as mere 'Horrors of the French Revolution,' there was abundance to be said and

shrieked. With and also without profit. Heaven knows there were terrors and horrors enough: yet that was not

all the Phenomenon; nay, more properly, that was not the Phenomenon at all, but rather was the shadow of it,

the negative part of it. And now, in a new stage of the business, when History, ceasing to shriek, would try

rather to include under her old Forms of speech or speculation this new amazing Thing; that so some

accredited scientific Law of Nature might suffice for the unexpected Product of Nature, and History might get

to speak of it articulately, and draw inferences and profit from it; in this new stage, History, we must say,

babbles and flounders perhaps in a still painfuller manner. Take, for example, the latest Form of speech we

have seen propounded on the subject as adequate to it, almost in these months, by our worthy M. Roux, in his

Histoire Parlementaire. The latest and the strangest: that the French Revolution was a deadlift effort, after

eighteen hundred years of preparation, to realisethe Christian Religion! (Hist. Parl. (Introd.), i. 1 et seqq.)

Unity, Indivisibility, Brotherhood or Death did indeed stand printed on all Houses of the Living; also, on

Cemeteries, or Houses of the Dead, stood printed, by order of Procureur Chaumette, Here is eternal Sleep:

(Deux Amis, xii. 78.) but a Christian Religion realised by the Guillotine and DeathEternal, 'is suspect to

Alas, no, M. Roux! A Gospel of Brotherhood, not according to any of the Four old Evangelists, and calling

on men to repent, and amend each his own wicked existence, that they might be saved; but a Gospel rather, as

we often hint, according to a new Fifth Evangelist JeanJacques, calling on men to amend each the whole

world's wicked existence, and be saved by making the Constitution. A thing different and distant toto coelo,

as they say: the whole breadth of the sky, and further if possible!It is thus, however, that History, and

indeed all human Speech and Reason does yet, what Father Adam began life by doing: strive to name the new

But what if History were to admit, for once, that all the Names and Theorems yet known to her fall short?

That this grand Product of Nature was even grand, and new, in that it came not to range itself under old

recorded LawsofNature at all; but to disclose new ones? In that case, History renouncing the pretention to

name it at present, will look honestly at it, and name what she can of it! Any approximation to the right Name

has value: were the right name itself once here, the Thing is known thenceforth; the Thing is then ours, and

Now surely not realization, of Christianity, or of aught earthly, do we discern in this Reign of Terror, in this

French Revolution of which it is the consummating. Destruction rather we discernof all that was

destructible. It is as if Twentyfive millions, risen at length into the Pythian mood, had stood up

simultaneously to say, with a sound which goes through far lands and times, that this Untruth of an Existence

had become insupportable. O ye Hypocrisies and Speciosities, Royal mantles, Cardinal plushcloaks, ye

Credos, Formulas, Respectabilities, fairpainted Sepulchres full of dead men's bones,behold, ye appear to

us to be altogether a Lie. Yet our Life is not a Lie; yet our Hunger and Misery is not a Lie! Behold we lift up,

one and all, our Twentyfive million righthands; and take the Heavens, and the Earth and also the Pit of

Tophet to witness, that either ye shall be abolished, or else we shall be abolished!

No inconsiderable Oath, truly; forming, as has been often said, the most remarkable transaction in these last

thousand years. Wherefrom likewise there follow, and will follow, results. The fulfilment of this Oath; that is

to say, the black desperate battle of Men against their whole Condition and Environment,a battle, alas,

withal, against the Sin and Darkness that was in themselves as in others: this is the Reign of Terror.

Transcendental despair was the purport of it, though not consciously so. False hopes, of Fraternity, Political

Millennium, and what not, we have always seen: but the unseen heart of the whole, the transcendental

despair, was not false; neither has it been of no effect. Despair, pushed far enough, completes the circle, so to

Doctrine of Fraternity, out of old Catholicism, does, it is true, very strangely in the vehicle of a JeanJacques

Evangel, suddenly plump down out of its cloudfirmament; and from a theorem determine to make itself a

practice. But just so do all creeds, intentions, customs, knowledges, thoughts and things, which the French

have, suddenly plump down; Catholicism, Classicism, Sentimentalism, Cannibalism: all isms that make up

Man in France, are rushing and roaring in that gulf; and the theorem has become a practice, and whatsoever

cannot swim sinks. Not Evangelist Jean Jacques alone; there is not a Village Schoolmaster but has

contributed his quota: do we not 'thou' one another, according to the Free Peoples of Antiquity? The French

Patriot, in red phrygian nightcap of Liberty, christens his poor little red infant Cato,Censor, or else of

Utica. Gracchus has become Baboeuf and edits Newspapers; Mutius Scaevola, Cordwainer of that ilk,

presides in the Section MutiusScaevola: and in brief, there is a world wholly jumbling itself, to try what will

Wherefore we will, at all events, call this Reign of Terror a very strange one. Dominant Sansculottism makes,

as it were, free arena; one of the strangest temporary states Humanity was ever seen in. A nation of men, full

of wants and void of habits! The old habits are gone to wreck because they were old: men, driven forward by

Necessity and fierce Pythian Madness, have, on the spur of the instant, to devise for the want the way of

satisfying it. The wonted tumbles down; by imitation, by invention, the Unwonted hastily builds itself up.

What the French National head has in it comes out: if not a great result, surely one of the strangest.

Neither shall the reader fancy that it was all blank, this Reign of Terror: far from it. How many hammermen

and squaremen, bakers and brewers, washers and wringers, over this France, must ply their old daily work, let

the Government be one of Terror or one of Joy! In this Paris there are Twenty three Theatres nightly; some

count as many as Sixty Places of Dancing. (Mercier. ii. 124.) The Playwright manufactures: pieces of a

strictly Republican character. Ever fresh Novelgarbage, as of old, fodders the Circulating Libraries.

(Moniteur of these months, passim.) The 'Cesspool of Agio,' now in the time of Paper Money, works with a

vivacity unexampled, unimagined; exhales from itself 'sudden fortunes,' like AlladinPalaces: really a kind of

miraculous FataMorganas, since you can live in them, for a time. Terror is as a sable ground, on which the

most variegated of scenes paints itself. In startling transitions, in colours all intensated, the sublime, the

ludicrous, the horrible succeed one another; or rather, in crowding tumult, accompany one another.

Here, accordingly, if anywhere, the 'hundred tongues,' which the old Poets often clamour for, were of

supreme service! In defect of any such organ on our part, let the Reader stir up his own imaginative organ: let

us snatch for him this or the other significant glimpse of things, in the fittest sequence we can.

In the early days of November, there is one transient glimpse of things that is to be noted: the last transit to

his long home of Philippe d'Orleans Egalite. Philippe was 'decreed accused,' along with the Girondins, much

to his and their surprise; but not tried along with them. They are doomed and dead, some three days, when

Philippe, after his long halfyear of durance at Marseilles, arrives in Paris. It is, as we calculate, the third of

On which same day, two notable Female Prisoners are also put in ward there: Dame Dubarry and Josephine

Beauharnais! Dame whilom Countess Dubarry, Unfortunatefemale, had returned from London; they

snatched her, not only as Exharlot of a whilom Majesty, and therefore suspect; but as having 'furnished the

Emigrants with money.' Contemporaneously with whom, there comes the wife of Beauharnais, soon to be the

widow: she that is Josephine Tascher Beauharnais; that shall be Josephine Empress Buonaparte, for a black

Divineress of the Tropics prophesied long since that she should be a Queen and more. Likewise, in the same

hours, poor Adam Lux, nigh turned in the head, who, according to Foster, 'has taken no food these three

weeks,' marches to the Guillotine for his Pamphlet on Charlotte Corday: he 'sprang to the scaffold;' said he

'died for her with great joy.' Amid such fellow travellers does Philippe arrive. For, be the month named

Brumaire year 2 of Liberty, or November year 1793 of Slavery, the Guillotine goes always, Guillotine va

Enough, Philippe's indictment is soon drawn, his jury soon convinced. He finds himself made guilty of

Royalism, Conspiracy and much else; nay, it is a guilt in him that he voted Louis's Death, though he answers,

"I voted in my soul and conscience." The doom he finds is death forthwith; this present sixth dim day of

November is the last day that Philippe is to see. Philippe, says Montgaillard, thereupon called for breakfast:

sufficiency of 'oysters, two cutlets, best part of an excellent bottle of claret;' and consumed the same with

apparent relish. A Revolutionary Judge, or some official Convention Emissary, then arrived, to signify that he

might still do the State some service by revealing the truth about a plot or two. Philippe answered that, on

him, in the pass things had come to, the State had, he thought, small claim; that nevertheless, in the interest of

Liberty, he, having still some leisure on his hands, was willing, were a reasonable question asked him, to give

reasonable answer. And so, says Montgaillard, he lent his elbow on the mantelpiece, and conversed in an

undertone, with great seeming composure; till the leisure was done, or the Emissary went his ways.

At the door of the Conciergerie, Philippe's attitude was erect and easy, almost commanding. It is five years,

all but a few days, since Philippe, within these same stone walls, stood up with an air of graciosity, and asked

King Louis, "Whether it was a Royal Session, then, or a Bed of Justice?" O Heaven!Three poor

blackguards were to ride and die with him: some say, they objected to such company, and had to be flung in,

neck and heels; (Foster, ii. 628; Montgaillard, iv. 14157.) but it seems not true. Objecting or not objecting,

the gallowsvehicle gets under way. Philippe's dress is remarked for its elegance; greenfrock, waistcoat of

white pique, yellow buckskins, boots clear as Warren: his air, as before, entirely composed, impassive, not to

say easy and Brummelleanpolite. Through street after street; slowly, amid execrations;past the Palais

Egalite whilom PalaisRoyal! The cruel Populace stopped him there, some minutes: Dame de Buffon, it is

said, looked out on him, in Jezebel headtire; along the ashlar Wall, there ran these words in huge tricolor

National Property. Philippe's eyes flashed hellfire, one instant; but the next instant it was gone, and he sat

impassive, Brummelleanpolite. On the scaffold, Samson was for drawing of his boots: "tush," said Philippe,

So Philippe was not without virtue, then? God forbid that there should be any living man without it! He had

the virtue to keep living for fiveand forty years;other virtues perhaps more than we know of. Probably

no mortal ever had such things recorded of him: such facts, and also such lies. For he was a Jacobin Prince of

the Blood; consider what a combination! Also, unlike any Nero, any Borgia, he lived in the Age of

Pamphlets. Enough for us: Chaos has reabsorbed him; may it late or never bear his like again!Brave young

Orleans Egalite, deprived of all, only not deprived of himself, is gone to Coire in the Grisons, under the name

of Corby, to teach Mathematics. The Egalite Family is at the darkest depths of the Nadir.

A far nobler Victim follows; one who will claim remembrance from several centuries: JeanneMarie

Phlipon, the Wife of Roland. Queenly, sublime in her uncomplaining sorrow, seemed she to Riouffe in her

Prison. 'Something more than is usually found in the looks of women painted itself,' says Riouffe, (Memoires

(Sur les Prisons, i.), pp. 557.) 'in those large black eyes of hers, full of expression and sweetness. She spoke

to me often, at the Grate: we were all attentive round her, in a sort of admiration and astonishment; she

expressed herself with a purity, with a harmony and prosody that made her language like music, of which the

ear could never have enough. Her conversation was serious, not cold; coming from the mouth of a beautiful

woman, it was frank and courageous as that of a great men.' 'And yet her maid said: "Before you, she collects

her strength; but in her own room, she will sit three hours sometimes, leaning on the window, and weeping."'

She had been in Prison, liberated once, but recaptured the same hour, ever since the first of June: in agitation

and uncertainty; which has gradually settled down into the last stern certainty, that of death. In the Abbaye

Prison, she occupied Charlotte Corday's apartment. Here in the Conciergerie, she speaks with Riouffe, with

ExMinister Claviere; calls the beheaded Twentytwo "Nos amis, our Friends,"whom we are soon to

follow. During these five months, those Memoirs of hers were written, which all the world still reads.

But now, on the 8th of November, 'clad in white,' says Riouffe, 'with her long black hair hanging down to her

girdle,' she is gone to the Judgment Bar. She returned with a quick step; lifted her finger, to signify to us that

she was doomed: her eyes seemed to have been wet. Fouquier Tinville's questions had been 'brutal;'

offended female honour flung them back on him, with scorn, not without tears. And now, short preparation

soon done, she shall go her last road. There went with her a certain Lamarche, 'Director of Assignat printing;'

whose dejection she endeavoured to cheer. Arrived at the foot of the scaffold, she asked for pen and paper,

"to write the strange thoughts that were rising in her;" (Memoires de Madame Roland (Introd.), i. 68.) a

remarkable request; which was refused. Looking at the Statue of Liberty which stands there, she says bitterly:

"O Liberty, what things are done in thy name!" For Lamarche's seek, she will die first; shew him how easy it

is to die: "Contrary to the order" said Samson."Pshaw, you cannot refuse the last request of a Lady;" and

Noble white Vision, with its high queenly face, its soft proud eyes, long black hair flowing down to the

girdle; and as brave a heart as ever beat in woman's bosom! Like a white Grecian Statue, serenely complete,

she shines in that black wreck of things;long memorable. Honour to great Nature who, in Paris City, in the

Era of NobleSentiment and Pompadourism, can make a Jeanne Phlipon, and nourish her to clear perennial

Womanhood, though but on Logics, Encyclopedies, and the Gospel according to JeanJacques! Biography

will long remember that trait of asking for a pen "to write the strange thoughts that were rising in her." It is as

a little lightbeam, shedding softness, and a kind of sacredness, over all that preceded: so in her too there was

an Unnameable; she too was a Daughter of the Infinite; there were mysteries which Philosophism had not

dreamt of!She left long written counsels to her little Girl; she said her Husband would not survive her.

Still crueller was the fate of poor Bailly, First National President, First Mayor of Paris: doomed now for

Royalism, Fayettism; for that RedFlag Business of the ChampdeMars;one may say in general, for

leaving his Astronomy to meddle with Revolution. It is the 10th of November 1793, a cold bitter drizzling

rain, as poor Bailly is led through the streets; howling Populace covering him with curses, with mud; waving

over his face a burning or smoking mockery of a Red Flag. Silent, unpitied, sits the innocent old man. Slow

faring through the sleety drizzle, they have got to the ChampdeMars: Not there! vociferates the cursing

Populace; Such blood ought not to stain an Altar of the Fatherland; not there; but on that dungheap by the

Riverside! So vociferates the cursing Populace; Officiality gives ear to them. The Guillotine is taken down,

though with hands numbed by the sleety drizzle; is carried to the Riverside, is there set up again, with slow

numbness; pulse after pulse still counting itself out in the old man's weary heart. For hours long; amid curses

and bitter frostrain! "Bailly, thou tremblest," said one. "Mon ami, it is for cold," said Bailly, "c'est de froid."

Some days afterwards, Roland hearing the news of what happened on the 8th, embraces his kind Friends at

Rouen, leaves their kind house which had given him refuge; goes forth, with farewell too sad for tears. On the

morrow morning, 16th of the month, 'some four leagues from Rouen, Parisward, near BourgBaudoin, in

M. Normand's Avenue,' there is seen sitting leant against a tree, the figure of rigorous wrinkled man; stiff

now in the rigour of death; a canesword run through his heart; and at his feet this writing: 'Whoever thou art

that findest me lying, respect my remains: they are those of a man who consecrated all his life to being useful;

and who has died as he lived, virtuous and honest.' 'Not fear, but indignation, made me quit my retreat, on

learning that my Wife had been murdered. I wished not to remain longer on an Earth polluted with crimes.'

Barnave's appearance at the Revolutionary Tribunal was of the bravest; but it could not stead him. They have

sent for him from Grenoble; to pay the common smart, Vain is eloquence, forensic or other, against the dumb

Clothoshears of Tinville. He is still but twoandthirty, this Barnave, and has known such changes. Short

while ago, we saw him at the top of Fortune's Wheel, his word a law to all Patriots: and now surely he is at

the bottom of the Wheel; in stormful altercation with a Tinville Tribunal, which is dooming him to die!

(Foster, ii. 629.) And Petion, once also of the Extreme Left, and named Petion Virtue, where is he? Civilly

dead; in the Caves of SaintEmilion; to be devoured of dogs. And Robespierre, who rode along with him on

the shoulders of the people, is in Committee of Salut; civilly alive: not to live always. So giddyswift whirls

and spins this immeasurable tormentum of a Revolution; wildbooming; not to be followed by the eye.

Barnave, on the Scaffold, stamped his foot; and looking upwards was heard to ejaculate, "This then is my

Deputy ExProcureur Manuel is already gone; and Deputy Osselin, famed also in August and September, is

about to go: and Rabaut, discovered treacherously between his two walls, and the Brother of Rabaut. National

Deputies not a few! And Generals: the memory of General Custine cannot be defended by his Son; his Son is

already guillotined. Custine the ExNoble was replaced by Houchard the Plebeian: he too could not prosper

in the North; for him too there was no mercy; he has perished in the Place de la Revolution, after attempting

suicide in Prison. And Generals Biron, Beauharnais, Brunet, whatsoever General prospers not; tough old

Luckner, with his eyes grown rheumy; Alsatian Westermann, valiant and diligent in La Vendee: none of them

How busy are the Revolutionary Committees; Sections with their Forty Halfpence aday! Arrestment on

arrestment falls quick, continual; followed by death. ExMinister Claviere has killed himself in Prison.

ExMinister Lebrun, seized in a hayloft, under the disguise of a working man, is instantly conducted to

death. (Moniteur, 11 Decembre, 30 Decembre, 1793; Louvet, p. 287.) Nay, withal, is it not what Barrere calls

'coining money on the Place de la Revolution?' For always the 'property of the guilty, if property he have,' is

confiscated. To avoid accidents, we even make a Law that suicide shall not defraud us; that a criminal who

kills himself does not the less incur forfeiture of goods. Let the guilty tremble, therefore, and the suspect, and

the rich, and in a word all manner of culottic men! Luxembourg Palace, once Monsieur's, has become a huge

loathsome Prison; Chantilly Palace too, once Conde's:and their Landlords are at Blankenberg, on the

wrong side of the Rhine. In Paris are now some Twelve Prisons; in France some Fortyfour Thousand:

thitherward, thick as brown leaves in Autumn, rustle and travel the suspect; shaken down by Revolutionary

Committees, they are swept thitherward, as into their storehouse,to be consumed by Samson and Tinville.

The suspect may well tremble; but how much more the open rebels;the Girondin Cities of the South!

Revolutionary Army is gone forth, under Ronsin the Playwright; six thousand strong; in 'red nightcap, in

tricolor waistcoat, in blackshag trousers, blackshag spencer, with enormous moustachioes, enormous

sabre,in carmagnole complete;' (See Louvet, p. 301.) and has portable guillotines. Representative Carrier

has got to Nantes, by the edge of blazing La Vendee, which Rossignol has literally set on fire: Carrier will try

what captives you make, what accomplices they have, Royalist or Girondin: his guillotine goes always, va

toujours; and his woolcapped 'Company of Marat.' Little children are guillotined, and aged men. Swift as

the machine is, it will not serve; the Headsman and all his valets sink, worn down with work; declare that the

human muscles can no more. (Deux Amis, xii. 24951.) Whereupon you must try fusillading; to which

In Brest, to like purpose, rules JeanBon SaintAndre; with an Army of Red Nightcaps. In Bourdeaux rules

Tallien, with his Isabeau and henchmen: Guadets, Cussys, Salleses, may fall; the bloody Pike and Nightcap

bearing supreme sway; the Guillotine coining money. Bristly foxhaired Tallien, once Able Editor, still

young in years, is now become most gloomy, potent; a Pluto on Earth, and has the keys of Tartarus. One

remarks, however, that a certain Senhorina Cabarus, or call her rather Senhora and wedded not yet widowed

Dame de Fontenai, brown beautiful woman, daughter of Cabarus the Spanish merchant,has softened the

red bristly countenance; pleading for herself and friends; and prevailing. The keys of Tartarus, or any kind of

power, are something to a woman; gloomy Pluto himself is not insensible to love. Like a new Proserpine, she,

by this red gloomy Dis, is gathered; and, they say, softens his stone heart a little.

Maignet, at Orange in the South; Lebon, at Arras in the North, become world's wonders. Jacobin Popular

Tribunal, with its National Representative, perhaps where Girondin Popular Tribunal had lately been, rises

here and rises there; wheresoever needed. Fouches, Maignets, Barrases, Frerons scour the Southern

Departments; like reapers, with their guillotinesickle. Many are the labourers, great is the harvest. By the

hundred and the thousand, men's lives are cropt; cast like brands into the burning.

Marseilles is taken, and put under martial law: lo, at Marseilles, what one besmutted redbearded cornear is

this which they cut;one gross Man, we mean, with copperstudded face; plenteous beard, or

beardstubble, of a tilecolour? By Nemesis and the Fatal Sisters, it is Jourdan Coupetete! Him they have

clutched, in these martiallaw districts; him too, with their 'national razor,' their rasoir national, they sternly

shave away. Low now is Jourdan the Headsman's own head;low as Deshuttes's and Varigny's, which he

sent on pikes, in the Insurrection of Women! No more shall he, as a copper Portent, be seen gyrating through

the Cities of the South; no more sit judging, with pipes and brandy, in the Icetower of Avignon. The all

hiding Earth has received him, the bloated Tilebeard: may we never look upon his like again!Jourdan one

names; the other Hundreds are not named. Alas, they, like confused faggots, lie massed together for us;

counted by the cartload: and yet not an individual faggottwig of them but had a Life and History; and was

Least of all cities can Lyons escape. Lyons, which we saw in dread sunblaze, that Autumn night when the

Powdertower sprang aloft, was clearly verging towards a sad end. Inevitable: what could desperate valour

and Precy do; DuboisCrance, deaf as Destiny, stern as Doom, capturing their 'redouts of cottonbags;'

hemming them in, ever closer, with his Artillery lava? Never would that Cidevant d'Autichamp arrive;

never any help from Blankenberg. The Lyons Jacobins were hidden in cellars; the Girondin Municipality

waxed pale, in famine, treason and red fire. Precy drew his sword, and some Fifteen Hundred with him;

sprang to saddle, to cut their way to Switzerland. They cut fiercely; and were fiercely cut, and cut down; not

hundreds, hardly units of them ever saw Switzerland. (Deux Amis, xi. 145.) Lyons, on the 9th of October,

surrenders at discretion; it is become a devoted Town. Abbe Lamourette, now Bishop Lamourette, whilom

Legislator, he of the old Baiserl'Amourette or DelilahKiss, is seized here, is sent to Paris to be guillotined:

'he made the sign of the cross,' they say when Tinville intimated his deathsentence to him; and died as an

eloquent Constitutional Bishop. But wo now to all Bishops, Priests, Aristocrats and Federalists that are in

Lyons! The manes of Chalier are to be appeased; the Republic, maddened to the Sibylline pitch, has bared her

right arm. Behold! Representative Fouche, it is Fouche of Nantes, a name to become well known; he with a

Patriot company goes duly, in wondrous Procession, to raise the corpse of Chalier. An Ass, housed in Priest's

cloak, with a mitre on its head, and trailing the MassBooks, some say the very Bible, at its tail, paces

through Lyons streets; escorted by multitudinous Patriotism, by clangour as of the Pit; towards the grave of

Martyr Chalier. The body is dug up and burnt: the ashes are collected in an Urn; to be worshipped of Paris

Patriotism. The Holy Books were part of the funeral pile; their ashes are scattered to the wind. Amid cries of

"Vengeance! Vengeance!"which, writes Fouche, shall be satisfied. (Moniteur (du 17 Novembre 1793),

Lyons in fact is a Town to be abolished; not Lyons henceforth but 'Commune Affranchie, Township Freed;'

the very name of it shall perish. It is to be razed, this once great City, if Jacobinism prophesy right; and a

Pillar to be erected on the ruins, with this Inscription, Lyons rebelled against the Republic; Lyons is no more.

Fouche, Couthon, Collot, Convention Representatives succeed one another: there is work for the hangman;

work for the hammerman, not in building. The very Houses of Aristocrats, we say, are doomed. Paralytic

Couthon, borne in a chair, taps on the wall, with emblematic mallet, saying, "La Loi te frappe, The Law

strikes thee;" masons, with wedge and crowbar, begin demolition. Crash of downfall, dim ruin and

dustclouds fly in the winter wind. Had Lyons been of soft stuff, it had all vanished in those weeks, and the

Jacobin prophecy had been fulfilled. But Towns are not built of soapfroth; Lyons Town is built of stone.

Neither have the Lyons Girondins all one neck, that you could despatch it at one swoop. Revolutionary

Tribunal here, and Military Commission, guillotining, fusillading, do what they can: the kennels of the Place

des Terreaux run red; mangled corpses roll down the Rhone. Collot d'Herbois, they say, was once hissed on

the Lyons stage: but with what sibilation, of worldcatcall or hoarse Tartarean Trumpet, will ye hiss him

now, in this his new character of Convention Representative,not to be repeated! Two hundred and nine

men are marched forth over the River, to be shot in mass, by musket and cannon, in the Promenade of the

Brotteaux. It is the second of such scenes; the first was of some Seventy. The corpses of the first were flung

into the Rhone, but the Rhone stranded some; so these now, of the second lot, are to be buried on land. Their

one long grave is dug; they stand ranked, by the loose mouldridge; the younger of them singing the

Marseillaise. Jacobin National Guards give fire; but have again to give fire, and again; and to take the

bayonet and the spade, for though the doomed all fall, they do not all die;and it becomes a butchery too

horrible for speech. So that the very Nationals, as they fire, turn away their faces. Collot, snatching the

musket from one such National, and levelling it with unmoved countenance, says "It is thus a Republican

This is the second Fusillade, and happily the last: it is found too hideous; even inconvenient. They were Two

hundred and nine marched out; one escaped at the end of the Bridge: yet behold, when you count the corpses,

they are Two hundred and ten. Rede us this riddle, O Collot? After long guessing, it is called to mind that two

individuals, here in the Brotteaux ground, did attempt to leave the rank, protesting with agony that they were

not condemned men, that they were Police Commissaries: which two we repulsed, and disbelieved, and shot

with the rest! (Deux Amis, xii. 25162.) Such is the vengeance of an enraged Republic. Surely this,

according to Barrere's phrase, is Justice 'under rough forms, sous des formes acerbes.' But the Republic, as

Fouche says, must "march to Liberty over corpses." Or again as Barrere has it: "None but the dead do not

come back, Il n'y a que les morts qui ne reviennent pas." Terror hovers far and wide: 'The Guillotine goes not

But before quitting those Southern regions, over which History can cast only glances from aloft, she will

alight for a moment, and look fixedly at one point: the Siege of Toulon. Much battering and bombarding,

heating of balls in furnaces or farmhouses, serving of artillery well and ill, attacking of Ollioules Passes,

Forts Malbosquet, there has been: as yet to small purpose. We have had General Cartaux here, a whilom

Painter elevated in the troubles of Marseilles; General Doppet, a whilom Medical man elevated in the

troubles of Piemont, who, under Crance, took Lyons, but cannot take Toulon. Finally we have General

Dugommier, a pupil of Washington. Convention Representans also we have had; Barrases, Salicettis,

Robespierres the Younger:also an Artillery Chef de brigade, of extreme diligence, who often takes his nap

of sleep among the guns; a short taciturn, olivecomplexioned young man, not unknown to us, by name

Buonaparte: one of the best Artilleryofficers yet met with. And still Toulon is not taken. It is the fourth

month now; December, in slavestyle; Frostarious or Frimaire, in newstyle: and still their cursed RedBlue

Flag flies there. They are provisioned from the Sea; they have seized all heights, felling wood, and fortifying

Meanwhile, Frostarious is not yet become Snowous or Nivose, when a Council of War is called; Instructions

have just arrived from Government and Salut Public. Carnot, in Salut Public, has sent us a plan of siege: on

which plan General Dugommier has this criticism to make, Commissioner Salicetti has that; and criticisms

and plans are very various; when that young Artillery Officer ventures to speak; the same whom we saw

snatching sleep among the guns, who has emerged several times in this History,the name of him Napoleon

Buonaparte. It is his humble opinion, for he has been gliding about with spyglasses, with thoughts, That a

certain Fort l'Eguillette can be clutched, as with lionspring, on the sudden; wherefrom, were it once ours, the

very heart of Toulon might be battered, the English Lines were, so to speak, turned inside out, and Hood and

our Natural Enemies must next day either put to sea, or be burnt to ashes. Commissioners arch their

eyebrows, with negatory sniff: who is this young gentleman with more wit than we all? Brave veteran

Dugommier, however, thinks the idea worth a word; questions the young gentleman; becomes convinced; and

On the taciturn bronzecountenance, therefore, things being now all ready, there sits a grimmer gravity than

ever, compressing a hotter centralfire than ever. Yonder, thou seest, is Fort l'Eguillette; a desperate lion

spring, yet a possible one; this day to be tried!Tried it is; and found good. By stratagem and valour,

stealing through ravines, plunging fiery through the firetempest, Fort l'Eguillette is clutched at, is carried;

the smoke having cleared, wiser the Tricolor fly on it: the bronze complexioned young man was right. Next

morning, Hood, finding the interior of his lines exposed, his defences turned inside out, makes for his

shipping. Taking such Royalists as wished it on board with him, he weighs anchor: on this 19th of December

Cannonading has ceased at Toulon; and now the guillotining and fusillading may begin. Civil horrors, truly:

but at least that infamy of an English domination is purged away. Let there be Civic Feast universally over

France: so reports Barrere, or Painter David; and the Convention assist in a body. (Moniteur, 1793, Nos. 101

(31 Decembre), 95, 96, 98, Nay, it is said, these infamous English (with an attention rather to their own

interests than to ours) set fire to our storehouses, arsenals, warships in Toulon Harbour, before weighing;

some score of brave warships, the only ones we now had! However, it did not prosper, though the flame

spread far and high; some two ships were burnt, not more; the very galleyslaves ran with buckets to quench.

These same proud Ships, Ships l'Orient and the rest, have to carry this same young Man to Egypt first: not yet

can they be changed to ashes, or to SeaNymphs; not yet to skyrockets, O Ship l'Orient, nor became the

And so, over France universally, there is Civic Feast and hightide: and Toulon sees fusillading,

grapeshotting in mass, as Lyons saw; and 'death is poured out in great floods, vomie a grands flots' and

Twelve thousand Masons are requisitioned from the neighbouring country, to raze Toulon from the face of

the Earth. For it is to be razed, so reports Barrere; all but the National Shipping Establishments; and to be

called henceforth not Toulon, but Port of the Mountain. There in black deathcloud we must leave

it;hoping only that Toulon too is built of stone; that perhaps even Twelve thousand Masons cannot pull it

One begins to be sick of 'death vomited in great floods.' Nevertheless hearest thou not, O reader (for the

sound reaches through centuries), in the dead December and January nights, over Nantes Town,confused

noises, as of musketry and tumult, as of rage and lamentation; mingling with the everlasting moan of the

Loire waters there? Nantes Town is sunk in sleep; but Representant Carrier is not sleeping, the woolcapped

Company of Marat is not sleeping. Why unmoors that flatbottomed craft, that gabarre; about eleven at night;

with Ninety Priests under hatches? They are going to Belle Isle? In the middle of the Loire stream, on signal

given, the gabarre is scuttled; she sinks with all her cargo. 'Sentence of Deportation,' writes Carrier, 'was

executed vertically.' The Ninety Priests, with their gabarrecoffin, lie deep! It is the first of the Noyades,

Guillotining there was at Nantes, till the Headsman sank worn out: then fusillading 'in the Plain of

SaintMauve;' little children fusilladed, and women with children at the breast; children and women, by the

hundred and twenty; and by the five hundred, so hot is La Vendee: till the very Jacobins grew sick, and all

but the Company of Marat cried, Hold! Wherefore now we have got Noyading; and on the 24th night of

Frostarious year 2, which is 14th of December 1793, we have a second Noyade: consisting of 'a Hundred and

Or why waste a gabarre, sinking it with them? Fling them out; fling them out, with their hands tied: pour a

continual hail of lead over all the space, till the last struggler of them be sunk! Unsound sleepers of Nantes,

and the SeaVillages thereabouts, hear the musketry amid the night winds; wonder what the meaning of it

is. And women were in that gabarre; whom the Red Nightcaps were stripping naked; who begged, in their

agony, that their smocks might not be stript from them. And young children were thrown in, their mothers

vainly pleading: "Wolflings," answered the Company of Marat, "who would grow to be wolves."

By degrees, daylight itself witnesses Noyades: women and men are tied together, feet and feet, hands and

hands: and flung in: this they call Mariage Republicain, Republican Marriage. Cruel is the panther of the

woods, the shebear bereaved of her whelps: but there is in man a hatred crueller than that. Dumb, out of

suffering now, as pale swoln corpses, the victims tumble confusedly seaward along the Loire stream; the tide

rolling them back: clouds of ravens darken the River; wolves prowl on the shoal places: Carrier writes,

'Quel torrent revolutionnaire, What a torrent of Revolution!' For the man is rabid; and the Time is rabid.

These are the Noyades of Carrier; twentyfive by the tale, for what is done in darkness comes to be

investigated in sunlight: (Proces de Carrier (4 tomes, Paris, 1795.) not to be forgotten for centuries,We will

turn to another aspect of the Consummation of Sansculottism; leaving this as the blackest.

But indeed men are all rabid; as the Time is. Representative Lebon, at Arras, dashes his sword into the blood

flowing from the Guillotine; exclaims, "How I like it!" Mothers, they say, by his order, have to stand by

while the Guillotine devours their children: a band of music is stationed near; and, at the fall of every head,

strikes up its caira. (Les Horreures des Prisons d'Arras (Paris, 1823).) In the Burgh of Bedouin, in the

Orange region, the Libertytree has been cut down over night. Representative Maignet, at Orange, hears of it;

burns Bedouin Burgh to the last doghutch; guillotines the inhabitants, or drives them into the caves and

hills. (Montgaillard, iv. 200.) Republic One and Indivisible! She is the newest Birth of Nature's waste

inorganic Deep, which men name Orcus, Chaos, primeval Night; and knows one law, that of

selfpreservation. Tigresse Nationale: meddle not with a whisker of her! Swiftcrushing is her stroke; look

Prudhomme, the dullblustering Printer and Able Editor, as yet a Jacobin Editor, will become a renegade

one, and publish large volumes on these matters, Crimes of the Revolution; adding innumerable lies withal,

as if the truth were not sufficient. We, for our part, find it more edifying to know, one good time, that this

Republic and National Tigress is a New Birth; a Fact of Nature among Formulas, in an Age of Formulas; and

to look, oftenest in silence, how the so genuine NatureFact will demean itself among these. For the

Formulas are partly genuine, partly delusive, supposititious: we call them, in the language of metaphor,

regulated modelled shapes; some of which have bodies and life still in them; most of which, according to a

German Writer, have only emptiness, 'glasseyes glaring on you with a ghastly affectation of life, and in their

interior unclean accumulation of beetles and spiders!' But the Fact, let all men observe, is a genuine and

sincere one; the sincerest of Facts: terrible in its sincerity, as very Death. Whatsoever is equally sincere may

Simultaneously with this Tophetblack aspect, there unfolds itself another aspect, which one may call a

Tophetred aspect: the Destruction of the Catholic Religion; and indeed, for the time being of Religion itself.

We saw Romme's New Calendar establish its Tenth Day of Rest; and asked, what would become of the

Christian Sabbath? The Calendar is hardly a month old, till all this is set at rest. Very singular, as Mercier

observes: last CorpusChristi Day 1792, the whole world, and Sovereign Authority itself, walked in religious

gala, with a quite devout air;Butcher Legendre, supposed to be irreverent, was like to be massacred in his

Gig, as the thing went by. A Gallican Hierarchy, and Church, and Church Formulas seemed to flourish, a

little brownleaved or so, but not browner than of late years or decades; to flourish, far and wide, in the

sympathies of an unsophisticated People; defying Philosophism, Legislature and the Encyclopedie. Far and

wide, alas, like a brownleaved Vallombrosa; which waits but one whirlblast of the November wind, and in

an hour stands bare! Since that CorpusChristi Day, Brunswick has come, and the Emigrants, and La

Vendee, and eighteen months of Time: to all flourishing, especially to brownleaved flourishing, there

On the 7th of November, a certain Citoyen Parens, Curate of Boissisele Bertrand, writes to the Convention

that he has all his life been preaching a lie, and is grown weary of doing it; wherefore he will now lay down

his Curacy and stipend, and begs that an august Convention would give him something else to live upon.

'Mention honorable,' shall we give him? Or 'reference to Committee of Finances?' Hardly is this got decided,

when goose Gobel, Constitutional Bishop of Paris, with his Chapter, with Municipal and Departmental escort

in red nightcaps, makes his appearance, to do as Parens has done. Goose Gobel will now acknowledge 'no

Religion but Liberty;' therefore he doffs his Priestgear, and receives the Fraternal embrace. To the joy of

Departmental Momoro, of Municipal Chaumettes and Heberts, of Vincent and the Revolutionary Army!

Chaumette asks, Ought there not, in these circumstances, to be among our intercalary Days Sansbreeches, a

Feast of Reason? (Moniteur, Seance du 17 Brumaire (7th November), 1793.) Proper surely! Let Atheist

Marechal, Lalande, and little Atheist Naigeon rejoice; let Clootz, Speaker of Mankind, present to the

Convention his Evidences of the Mahometan Religion, 'a work evincing the nullity of all Religions,'with

thanks. There shall be Universal Republic now, thinks Clootz; and 'one God only, Le Peuple.'

The French Nation is of gregarious imitative nature; it needed but a fugle motion in this matter; and goose

Gobel, driven by Municipality and force of circumstances, has given one. What Cure will be behind him of

Boissise; what Bishop behind him of Paris? Bishop Gregoire, indeed, courageously declines; to the sound of

"We force no one; let Gregoire consult his conscience;" but Protestant and Romish by the hundred volunteer

and assent. From far and near, all through November into December, till the work is accomplished, come

Letters of renegation, come Curates who are 'learning to be Carpenters,' Curates with their newwedded

Nuns: has not the Day of Reason dawned, very swiftly, and become noon? From sequestered Townships

comes Addresses, stating plainly, though in Patois dialect, That 'they will have no more to do with the black

animal called Curay, animal noir, appelle Curay.' (Analyse du Moniteur (Paris, 1801), ii. 280.)

Above all things there come Patriotic Gifts, of Churchfurniture. The remnant of bells, except for tocsin,

descend from their belfries, into the National meltingpot, to make cannon. Censers and all sacred vessels are

beaten broad; of silver, they are fit for the povertystricken Mint; of pewter, let them become bullets to shoot

the 'enemies of du genre humain.' Dalmatics of plush make breeches for him who has none; linen stoles will

clip into shirts for the Defenders of the Country: oldclothesmen, Jew or Heathen, drive the briskest trade.

Chalier's Ass Procession, at Lyons, was but a type of what went on, in those same days, in all Towns. In all

Towns and Townships as quick as the guillotine may go, so quick goes the axe and the wrench: sacristies,

lutrins, altarrails are pulled down; the Mass Books torn into cartridge papers: men dance the Carmagnole all

night about the bonfire. All highways jingle with metallic Priesttackle, beaten broad; sent to the Convention,

to the povertystricken Mint. Good Sainte Genevieve's Chasse is let down: alas, to be burst open, this time,

and burnt on the Place de Greve. Saint Louis's shirt is burnt;might not a Defender of the Country have had

it? At SaintDenis Town, no longer Saint Denis but Franciade, Patriotism has been down among the

Tombs, rummaging; the Revolutionary Army has taken spoil. This, accordingly, is what the streets of Paris

'Most of these persons were still drunk, with the brandy they had swallowed out of chalices;eating

mackerel on the patenas! Mounted on Asses, which were housed with Priests' cloaks, they reined them with

Priests' stoles: they held clutched with the same hand communioncup and sacred wafer. They stopped at the

doors of Dramshops; held out ciboriums: and the landlord, stoop in hand, had to fill them thrice. Next came

Mules highladen with crosses, chandeliers, censers, holywater vessels, hyssops;recalling to mind the

Priests of Cybele, whose panniers, filled with the instruments of their worship, served at once as storehouse,

sacristy and temple. In such equipage did these profaners advance towards the Convention. They enter there,

in an immense train, ranged in two rows; all masked like mummers in fantastic sacerdotal vestments; bearing

on handbarrows their heaped plunder,ciboriums, suns, candelabras, plates of gold and silver.' (Mercier,

The Address we do not give; for indeed it was in strophes, sung viva voce, with all the parts;Danton

glooming considerably, in his place; and demanding that there be prose and decency in future. (See also

Moniteur, Seance du 26 Novembre.) Nevertheless the captors of such spolia opima crave, not untouched with

liquor, permission to dance the Carmagnole also on the spot: whereto an exhilarated Convention cannot but

accede. Nay, 'several Members,' continues the exaggerative Mercier, who was not there to witness, being in

Limbo now, as one of Duperret's Seventythree, 'several Members, quitting their curule chairs, took the hand

of girls flaunting in Priest's vestures, and danced the Carmagnole along with them.' Such Old Hallowtide

Out of which strange fall of Formulas, tumbling there in confused welter, betrampled by the Patriotic dance,

is it not passing strange to see a new Formula arise? For the human tongue is not adequate to speak what

'triviality run distracted' there is in human nature. Black MumboJumbo of the woods, and most Indian

Wauwaus, one can understand: but this of Procureur Anaxagoras whilom JohnPeter Chaumette? We will

say only: Man is a born idolworshipper, sightworshipper, so sensuousimaginative is he; and also partakes

For the same day, while this brave Carmagnole dance has hardly jigged itself out, there arrive Procureur

Chaumette and Municipals and Departmentals, and with them the strangest freightage: a New Religion!

Demoiselle Candeille, of the Opera; a woman fair to look upon, when well rouged: she, borne on palanquin

shoulderhigh; with red woolen nightcap; in azure mantle; garlanded with oak; holding in her hand the Pike

of the JupiterPeuple, sails in; heralded by white young women girt in tricolor. Let the world consider it!

This, O National Convention wonder of the universe, is our New Divinity; Goddess of Reason, worthy, and

alone worthy of revering. Nay, were it too much to ask of an august National Representation that it also went

with us to the cidevant Cathedral called of NotreDame, and executed a few strophes in worship of her?

President and Secretaries give Goddess Candeille, borne at due height round their platform, successively the

fraternal kiss; whereupon she, by decree, sails to the righthand of the President and there alights. And now,

after due pause and flourishes of oratory, the Convention, gathering its limbs, does get under way in the

required procession towards NotreDame;Reason, again in her litter, sitting in the van of them, borne, as

one judges, by men in the Roman costume; escorted by windmusic, red nightcaps, and the madness of the

world. And so straightway, Reason taking seat on the high altar of NotreDame, the requisite worship or

quasiworship is, say the Newspapers, executed; National Convention chanting 'the Hymn to Liberty, words

by Chenier, music by Gossec.' It is the first of the Feasts of Reason; first communionservice of the New

'The corresponding Festival in the Church of SaintEustache,' says Mercier, 'offered the spectacle of a great

tavern. The interior of the choir represented a landscape decorated with cottages and boskets of trees. Round

the choir stood tables overloaded with bottles, with sausages, pork puddings, pastries and other meats. The

guests flowed in and out through all doors: whosoever presented himself took part of the good things:

children of eight, girls as well as boys, put hand to plate, in sign of Liberty; they drank also of the bottles, and

their prompt intoxication created laughter. Reason sat in azure mantle aloft, in a serene manner; Cannoneers,

pipe in mouth, serving her as acolytes. And out of doors,' continues the exaggerative man, 'were mad

multitudes dancing round the bonfire of Chapelbalustrades, of Priests' and Canons' stalls; and the dancers, I

exaggerate nothing, the dancers nigh bare of breeches, neck and breast naked, stockings down, went whirling

and spinning, like those Dust vortexes, forerunners of Tempest and Destruction.' (Mercier, iv. 127146.) At

SaintGervais Church again there was a terrible 'smell of herrings;' Section or Municipality having provided

no food, no condiment, but left it to chance. Other mysteries, seemingly of a Cabiric or even Paphian

character, we heave under the Veil, which appropriately stretches itself 'along the pillars of the aisles,'not

But there is one thing we should like almost better to understand than any other: what Reason herself thought

of it, all the while. What articulate words poor Mrs. Momoro, for example, uttered; when she had become

ungoddessed again, and the Bibliopolist and she sat quiet at home, at supper? For he was an earnest man,

Bookseller Momoro; and had notions of Agrarian Law. Mrs. Momoro, it is admitted, made one of the best

Goddesses of Reason; though her teeth were a little defective. And now if the reader will represent to himself

that such visible Adoration of Reason went on 'all over the Republic,' through these November and December

weeks, till the Church woodwork was burnt out, and the business otherwise completed, he will feel

sufficiently what an adoring Republic it was, and without reluctance quit this part of the subject.

Such gifts of Churchspoil are chiefly the work of the Armee Revolutionnaire; raised, as we said, some time

ago. It is an Army with portable guillotine: commanded by Playwright Ronsin in terrible moustachioes; and

even by some uncertain shadow of Usher Maillard, the old Bastille Hero, Leader of the Menads, September

Man in Grey! Clerk Vincent of the WarOffice, one of Pache's old Clerks, 'with a head heated by the ancient

orators,' had a main hand in the appointments, at least in the staffappointments.

But of the marchings and retreatings of these Six Thousand no Xenophon exists. Nothing, but an inarticulate

hum, of cursing and sooty frenzy, surviving dubious in the memory of ages! They scour the country round

Paris; seeking Prisoners; raising Requisitions; seeing that Edicts are executed, that the Farmers have thrashed

sufficiently; lowering Church bells or metallic Virgins. Detachments shoot forth dim, towards remote parts

of France; nay new Provincial Revolutionary Armies rise dim, here and there, as Carrier's Company of Marat,

as Tallien's Bourdeaux Troop; like sympathetic clouds in an atmosphere all electric. Ronsin, they say,

admitted, in candid moments, that his troops were the elixir of the Rascality of the Earth. One sees them

drawn up in marketplaces; travel plashed, roughbearded, in carmagnole complete: the first exploit is to

prostrate what Royal or Ecclesiastical monument, crucifix or the like, there may be; to plant a cannon at the

steeple, fetch down the bell without climbing for it, bell and belfry together. This, however, it is said, depends

somewhat on the size of the town: if the town contains much population, and these perhaps of a dubious

choleric aspect, the Revolutionary Army will do its work gently, by ladder and wrench; nay perhaps will take

its billet without work at all; and, refreshing itself with a little liquor and sleep, pass on to the next stage.

Such things have been; and may again be. Charles Second sent out his Highland Host over the Western

Scotch Whigs; Jamaica Planters got Dogs from the Spanish Main to hunt their Maroons with: France too is

bescoured with a Devil's Pack, the baying of which, at this distance of half a century, still sounds in the

But the grand, and indeed substantially primary and generic aspect of the Consummation of Terror remains

still to be looked at; nay blinkard History has for most part all but overlooked this aspect, the soul of the

whole: that which makes it terrible to the Enemies of France. Let Despotism and Cimmerian Coalitions

consider. All French men and French things are in a State of Requisition; Fourteen Armies are got on foot;

Patriotism, with all that it has of faculty in heart or in head, in soul or body or breeches pocket, is rushing to

the frontiers, to prevail or die! Busy sits Carnot, in Salut Public; busy for his share, in 'organising victory.'

Not swifter pulses that Guillotine, in dread systolediastole in the Place de la Revolution, than smites the

Sword of Patriotism, smiting Cimmeria back to its own borders, from the sacred soil.

In fact the Government is what we can call Revolutionary; and some men are 'a la hauteur,' on a level with

the circumstances; and others are not a la hauteur,so much the worse for them. But the Anarchy, we may

say, has organised itself: Society is literally overset; its old forces working with mad activity, but in the

Curious to see how all still refers itself to some head and fountain; not even an Anarchy but must have a

centre to revolve round. It is now some six months since the Committee of Salut Public came into existence:

some three months since Danton proposed that all power should be given it and 'a sum of fifty millions,' and

the 'Government be declared Revolutionary.' He himself, since that day, would take no hand in it, though

again and again solicited; but sits private in his place on the Mountain. Since that day, the Nine, or if they

should even rise to Twelve have become permanent, always reelected when their term runs out; Salut

Committee of Public Salvation, as supreme; of General Surety, as subaltern: these like a Lesser and Greater

Council, most harmonious hitherto, have become the centre of all things. They ride this Whirlwind; they,

raised by force of circumstances, insensibly, very strangely, thither to that dread height;and guide it, and

seem to guide it. Stranger set of Cloud Compellers the Earth never saw. A Robespierre, a Billaud, a Collot,

Couthon, SaintJust; not to mention still meaner Amars, Vadiers, in Surete Generale: these are your

CloudCompellers. Small intellectual talent is necessary: indeed where among them, except in the head of

Carnot, busied organising victory, would you find any? The talent is one of instinct rather. It is that of

divining aright what this great dumb Whirlwind wishes and wills; that of willing, with more frenzy than any

one, what all the world wills. To stand at no obstacles; to heed no considerations human or divine; to know

well that, of divine or human, there is one thing needful, Triumph of the Republic, Destruction of the

Enemies of the Republic! With this one spiritual endowment, and so few others, it is strange to see how a

dumb inarticulately storming Whirlwind of things puts, as it were, its reins into your hand, and invites and

Hard by, sits a Municipality of Paris; all in red nightcaps since the fourth of November last: a set of men fully

'on a level with circumstances,' or even beyond it. Sleek Mayor Pache, studious to be safe in the middle;

Chaumettes, Heberts, Varlets, and Henriot their great Commandant; not to speak of Vincent the Warclerk,

of Momoros, Dobsents, and such like: all intent to have Churches plundered, to have Reason adored,

Suspects cut down, and the Revolution triumph. Perhaps carrying the matter too far? Danton was heard to

grumble at the civic strophes; and to recommend prose and decency. Robespierre also grumbles that in

overturning Superstition we did not mean to make a religion of Atheism. In fact, your Chaumette and

Company constitute a kind of HyperJacobinism, or rabid 'Faction des Enrages;' which has given orthodox

Patriotism some umbrage, of late months. To 'know a Suspect on the streets:' what is this but bringing the

Law of the Suspect itself into ill odour? Men half frantic, men zealous overmuch,they toil there, in their

red nightcaps, restlessly, rapidly, accomplishing what of Life is allotted them.

And the Fortyfour Thousand other Townships, each with revolutionary Committee, based on Jacobin

Daughter Society; enlightened by the spirit of Jacobinism; quickened by the Forty Sous aday!The French

Constitution spurned always at any thing like Two Chambers; and yet behold, has it not verily got Two

Chambers? National Convention, elected for one; Mother of Patriotism, selfelected, for another! Mother of

Patriotism has her Debates reported in the Moniteur, as important stateprocedures; which indisputably they

are. A Second Chamber of Legislature we call this Mother Society;if perhaps it were not rather

comparable to that old Scotch Body named Lords of the Articles, without whose origination, and signal

given, the socalled Parliament could introduce no bill, could do no work? Robespierre himself, whose words

are a law, opens his incorruptible lips copiously in the Jacobins Hall. Smaller Council of Salut Public, Greater

Council of Surete Generale, all active Parties, come here to plead; to shape beforehand what decision they

must arrive at, what destiny they have to expect. Now if a question arose, Which of those Two Chambers,

Convention, or Lords of the Articles, was the stronger? Happily they as yet go hand in hand.

As for the National Convention, truly it has become a most composed Body. Quenched now the old

effervescence; the Seventythree locked in ward; once noisy Friends of the Girondins sunk all into silent men

of the Plain, called even 'Frogs of the Marsh,' Crapauds du Marais! Addresses come, Revolutionary

Churchplunder comes; Deputations, with prose, or strophes: these the Convention receives. But beyond this,

the Convention has one thing mainly to do: to listen what Salut Public proposes, and say, Yea.

Bazire followed by Chabot, with some impetuosity, declared, one morning, that this was not the way of a

Free Assembly. "There ought to be an Opposition side, a Cote Droit," cried Chabot; "if none else will form it,

I will: people say to me, You will all get guillotined in your turn, first you and Bazire, then Danton, then

Robespierre himself." (Debats, du 10 Novembre, 1723.) So spake the Disfrocked, with a loud voice: next

week, Bazire and he lie in the Abbaye; wending, one may fear, towards Tinville and the Axe; and 'people say

to me'what seems to be proving true! Bazire's blood was all inflamed with Revolution fever; with coffee

and spasmodic dreams. (Dictionnaire des Hommes Marquans, i. 115.) Chabot, again, how happy with his rich

JewAustrian wife, late Fraulein Frey! But he lies in Prison; and his two JewAustrian BrothersinLaw, the

Bankers Frey, lie with him; waiting the urn of doom. Let a National Convention, therefore, take warning, and

know its function. Let the Convention, all as one man, set its shoulder to the work; not with bursts of

Convention Commissioners, what we ought to call Representatives, 'Representans on mission,' fly, like the

Herald Mercury, to all points of the Territory; carrying your behests far and wide. In their 'round hat plumed

with tricolor feathers, girt with flowing tricolor taffeta; in close frock, tricolor sash, sword and jackboots,'

these men are powerfuller than King or Kaiser. They say to whomso they meet, Do; and he must do it: all

men's goods are at their disposal; for France is as one huge City in Siege. They smite with Requisitions, and

Forcedloan; they have the power of life and death. SaintJust and Lebas order the rich classes of Strasburg

to 'strip off their shoes,' and send them to the Armies where as many as 'ten thousand pairs' are needed. Also,

that within four and twenty hours, 'a thousand beds' are to be got ready; (Moniteur, du 27 Novembre 1793.)

wrapt in matting, and sent under way. For the time presses!Like swift bolts, issuing from the fuliginous

Olympus of Salut Public rush these men, oftenest in pairs; scatter your thunderorders over France; make

Accordingly alongside of these bonfires of Church balustrades, and sounds of fusillading and noyading, there

rise quite another sort of fires and sounds: Smithyfires and Proofvolleys for the manufacture of arms.

Cut off from Sweden and the world, the Republic must learn to make steel for itself; and, by aid of Chemists,

she has learnt it. Towns that knew only iron, now know steel: from their new dungeons at Chantilly,

Aristocrats may hear the rustle of our new steel furnace there. Do not bells transmute themselves into cannon;

iron stancheons into the white weapon (arme blanche), by swordcutlery? The wheels of Langres scream,

amid their sputtering fire halo; grinding mere swords. The stithies of Charleville ring with gunmaking. What

say we, Charleville? Two hundred and fiftyeight Forges stand in the open spaces of Paris itself; a hundred

and forty of them in the Esplanade of the Invalides, fiftyfour in the Luxembourg Garden: so many Forges

stand; grim Smiths beating and forging at lock and barrel there. The Clockmakers have come, requisitioned,

to do the touchholes, the hardsolder and filework. Five great Barges swing at anchor on the Seine Stream,

loud with boring; the great pressdrills grating harsh thunder to the general ear and heart. And deft

Stockmakers do gouge and rasp; and all men bestir themselves, according to their cunning:in the

language of hope, it is reckoned that a 'thousand finished muskets can be delivered daily.' (Choix des

Rapports, xiii. 189.) Chemists of the Republic have taught us miracles of swift tanning; (Ibid. xv. 360.) the

cordwainer bores and stitches;not of 'wood and pasteboard,' or he shall answer it to Tinville! The women

sew tents and coats, the children scrape surgeon'slint, the old men sit in the marketplaces; able men are on

march; all men in requisition: from Town to Town flutters, on the Heaven's winds, this Banner, THE

All which is well. But now arises the question: What is to be done for saltpetre? Interrupted Commerce and

the English Navy shut us out from saltpetre; and without saltpetre there is no gunpowder. Republican Science

again sits meditative; discovers that saltpetre exists here and there, though in attenuated quantity: that old

plaster of walls holds a sprinkling of it;that the earth of the Paris Cellars holds a sprinkling of it, diffused

through the common rubbish; that were these dug up and washed, saltpetre might be had. Whereupon swiftly,

see! the Citoyens, with upshoved bonnet rouge, or with doffed bonnet, and hair toilwetted; digging fiercely,

each in his own cellar, for saltpetre. The Earthheap rises at every door; the Citoyennes with hod and bucket

carrying it up; the Citoyens, pith in every muscle, shovelling and digging: for life and saltpetre. Dig my

braves; and right well speed ye. What of saltpetre is essential the Republic shall not want.

Consummation of Sansculottism has many aspects and tints: but the brightest tint, really of a solar or stellar

brightness, is this which the Armies give it. That same fervour of Jacobinism which internally fills France

with hatred, suspicions, scaffolds and Reasonworship, does, on the Frontiers, shew itself as a glorious Pro

patria mori. Ever since Dumouriez's defection, three Convention Representatives attend every General.

Committee of Salut has sent them, often with this Laconic order only: "Do thy duty, Fais ton devoir." It is

strange, under what impediments the fire of Jacobinism, like other such fires, will burn. These Soldiers have

shoes of wood and pasteboard, or go booted in hayropes, in dead of winter; they skewer a bass mat round

their shoulders, and are destitute of most things. What then? It is for Rights of Frenchhood, of Manhood, that

they fight: the unquenchable spirit, here as elsewhere, works miracles. "With steel and bread," says the

Convention Representative, "one may get to China." The Generals go fast to the guillotine; justly and

unjustly. From which what inference? This among others: That illsuccess is death; that in victory alone is

life! To conquer or die is no theatrical palabra, in these circumstances: but a practical truth and necessity. All

Girondism, Halfness, Compromise is swept away. Forward, ye Soldiers of the Republic, captain and man!

Dash with your Gaelic impetuosity, on Austria, England, Prussia, Spain, Sardinia; Pitt, Cobourg, York, and

the Devil and the World! Behind us is but the Guillotine; before us is Victory, Apotheosis and Millennium

See accordingly, on all Frontiers, how the Sons of Night, astonished after short triumph, do recoil;the Sons

of the Republic flying at them, with wild caira or Marseillese Aux armes, with the temper of

cato'mountain, or demon incarnate; which no Son of Night can stand! Spain, which came bursting through

the Pyrenees, rustling with Bourbon banners, and went conquering here and there for a season, falters at such

cato'mountain welcome; draws itself in again; too happy now were the Pyrenees impassable. Not only

does Dugommier, conqueror of Toulon, drive Spain back; he invades Spain. General Dugommier invades it

by the Eastern Pyrenees; General Dugommier invades it by the Eastern Pyrenees; General Muller shall invade

it by the Western. Shall, that is the word: Committee of Salut Public has said it; Representative Cavaignac, on

mission there, must see it done. Impossible! cries Muller,Infallible! answers Cavaignac. Difficulty,

impossibility, is to no purpose. "The Committee is deaf on that side of its head," answers Cavaignac,

"n'entend pas de cette oreille la. How many wantest thou, of men, of horses, cannons? Thou shalt have them.

Conquerors, conquered or hanged, forward we must." (There is, in Prudhomme, an atrocity a la CaptainKirk

reported of this Cavaignac; which has been copied into Dictionaries of Hommes Marquans, of Biographie

Universelle, which not only has no truth in it, but, much more singular, is still capable of being proved to

have none.) Which things also, even as the Representative spake them, were done. The Spring of the new

Year sees Spain invaded: and redoubts are carried, and Passes and Heights of the most scarped description;

Spanish Fieldofficerism struck mute at such cato'mountain spirit, the cannon forgetting to fire. (Deux

Amis, xiii. 20530; Toulongeon, Swept are the Pyrenees; Town after Town flies up, burst by terror or the

petard. In the course of another year, Spain will crave Peace; acknowledge its sins and the Republic; nay, in

Few things, we repeat, can be notabler than these Convention Representatives, with their power more than

kingly. Nay at bottom are they not Kings, Ablemen, of a sort; chosen from the Seven Hundred and

Fortynine French Kings; with this order, Do thy duty? Representative Levasseur, of small stature, by trade a

mere pacific SurgeonAccoucheur, has mutinies to quell; mad hosts (mad at the Doom of Custine) bellowing

far and wide; he alone amid them, the one small Representative,small, but as hard as flint, which also

carries fire in it! So too, at Hondschooten, far in the afternoon, he declares that the battle is not lost; that it

must be gained; and fights, himself, with his own obstetric hand;horse shot under him, or say on foot, 'up

to the haunches in tidewater;' cutting stoccado and passado there, in defiance of Water, Earth, Air and Fire,

the choleric little Representative that he was! Whereby, as natural, Royal Highness of York had to

withdraw,occasionally at full gallop; like to be swallowed by the tide: and his Siege of Dunkirk became a

dream, realising only much loss of beautiful siegeartillery and of brave lives. (Levasseur, Memoires, ii. c.

General Houchard, it would appear, stood behind a hedge, on this Hondschooten occasion; wherefore they

have since guillotined him. A new General Jourdan, late Serjeant Jourdan, commands in his stead: he, in

longwinded Battles of Watigny, 'murderous artilleryfire mingling itself with sound of Revolutionary

battlehymns,' forces Austria behind the Sambre again; has hopes of purging the soil of Liberty. With hard

wrestling, with artillerying and cairaing, it shall be done. In the course of a new Summer, Valenciennes

will see itself beleaguered; Conde beleaguered; whatsoever is yet in the hands of Austria beleaguered and

bombarded: nay, by Convention Decree, we even summon them all 'either to surrender in twentyfour hours,

or else be put to the sword;'a high saying, which, though it remains unfulfilled, may shew what spirit one

Representative Drouet, as an OldDragoon, could fight by a kind of second nature; but he was unlucky. Him,

in a nightforay at Maubeuge, the Austrians took alive, in October last. They stript him almost naked, he

says; making a shew of him, as Kingtaker of Varennes. They flung him into carts; sent him far into the

interior of Cimmeria, to 'a Fortress called Spitzberg' on the Danube River; and left him there, at an elevation

of perhaps a hundred and fifty feet, to his own bitter reflections. Reflections; and also devices! For the

indomitable Olddragoon constructs wingmachinery, of Paperkite; saws windowbars: determines to fly

down. He will seize a boat, will follow the River's course: land somewhere in Crim Tartary, in the Black Sea

or Constantinople region: a la Sindbad! Authentic History, accordingly, looking far into Cimmeria, discerns

dimly a phenomenon. In the dead nightwatches, the Spitzberg sentry is near fainting with terror: Is it a huge

vague Portent descending through the night air? It is a huge National Representative Olddragoon,

descending by Paperkite; too rapidly, alas! For Drouet had taken with him 'a small provisionstore, twenty

pounds weight or thereby;' which proved accelerative: so he fell, fracturing his leg; and lay there, moaning,

till day dawned, till you could discern clearly that he was not a Portent but a Representative! (His narrative

Or see SaintJust, in the Lines of Weissembourg, though physically of a timid apprehensive nature, how he

charges with his 'Alsatian Peasants armed hastily' for the nonce; the solemn face of him blazing into flame;

his black hair and tricolor hattaffeta flowing in the breeze; These our Lines of Weissembourg were indeed

forced, and Prussia and the Emigrants rolled through: but we reforce the Lines of Weissembourg; and

Prussia and the Emigrants roll back again still faster,hurled with bayonet charges and fiery cairaing.

Cidevant Serjeant Pichegru, cidevant Serjeant Hoche, risen now to be Generals, have done wonders here.

Tall Pichegru was meant for the Church; was Teacher of Mathematics once, in Brienne School,his

remarkablest Pupil there was the Boy Napoleon Buonaparte. He then, not in the sweetest humour, enlisted

exchanging ferula for musket; and had got the length of the halberd, beyond which nothing could be hoped;

when the Bastille barriers falling made passage for him, and he is here. Hoche bore a hand at the literal

overturn of the Bastille; he was, as we saw, a Serjeant of the Gardes Francaises, spending his pay in

rushlights and cheap editions of books. How the Mountains are burst, and many an Enceladus is

disemprisoned: and Captains founding on Four parchments of Nobility, are blown with their parchments

What high feats of arms, therefore, were done in these Fourteen Armies; and how, for love of Liberty and

hope of Promotion, lowborn valour cut its desperate way to Generalship; and, from the central Carnot in

Salut Public to the outmost drummer on the Frontiers, men strove for their Republic, let readers fancy. The

snows of Winter, the flowers of Summer continue to be stained with warlike blood. Gaelic impetuosity

mounts ever higher with victory; spirit of Jacobinism weds itself to national vanity: the Soldiers of the

Republic are becoming, as we prophesied, very Sons of Fire. Barefooted, barebacked: but with bread and iron

you can get to China! It is one Nation against the whole world; but the Nation has that within her which the

whole world will not conquer. Cimmeria, astonished, recoils faster or slower; all round the Republic there

rises fiery, as it were, a magic ring of musketvolleying and cairaing. Majesty of Prussia, as Majesty of

Spain, will by and by acknowledge his sins and the Republic: and make a Peace of Bale.

Foreign Commerce, Colonies, Factories in the East and in the West, are fallen or falling into the hands of

searuling Pitt, enemy of human nature. Nevertheless what sound is this that we hear, on the first of June,

1794; sound of as warthunder borne from the Ocean too; of tone most piercing? Warthunder from off the

Brest waters: VillaretJoyeuse and English Howe, after long manoeuvring have ranked themselves there; and

are belching fire. The enemies of human nature are on their own element; cannot be conquered; cannot be

kept from conquering. Twelve hours of raging cannonade; sun now sinking westward through the

battlesmoke: six French Ships taken, the Battle lost; what Ship soever can still sail, making off! But how is

it, then, with that Vengeur Ship, she neither strikes nor makes off? She is lamed, she cannot make off; strike

she will not. Fire rakes her fore and aft, from victorious enemies; the Vengeur is sinking. Strong are ye,

Tyrants of the Sea; yet we also, are we weak? Lo! all flags, streamers, jacks, every rag of tricolor that will yet

run on rope, fly rustling aloft: the whole crew crowds to the upper deck; and, with universal soulmaddening

yell, shouts Vive la Republique,sinking, sinking. She staggers, she lurches, her last drunk whirl; Ocean

yawns abysmal: down rushes the Vengeur, carrying Vive la Republique along with her, unconquerable, into

Eternity! (Compare Barrere (Chois des Rapports, xiv. 41621); Lord Howe (Annual Register of 1794, p. 86),

Let foreign Despots think of that. There is an Unconquerable in man, when he stands on his Rights of Man:

let Despots and Slaves and all people know this, and only them that stand on the Wrongs of Man tremble to

In this manner, madblazing with flame of all imaginable tints, from the red of Tophet to the stellarbright,

But the hundredth part of the things that were done, and the thousandth part of the things that were projected

and decreed to be done, would tire the tongue of History. Statue of the Peuple Souverain, high as Strasburg

Steeple; which shall fling its shadow from the Pont Neuf over Jardin National and Convention

Hall;enormous, in Painter David's head! With other the like enormous Statues not a few: realised in paper

Decree. For, indeed, the Statue of Liberty herself is still but Plaster in the Place de la Revolution! Then

Equalisation of Weights and Measures, with decimal division; Institutions, of Music and of much else;

Institute in general; School of Arts, School of Mars, Eleves de la Patrie, Normal Schools: amid such

Gunboring, Altarburning, Saltpetredigging, and miraculous improvements in Tannery!

What, for example, is this that Engineer Chappe is doing, in the Park of Vincennes? In the Park of Vincennes;

and onwards, they say, in the Park of Lepelletier SaintFargeau the assassinated Deputy; and still onwards to

the Heights of Ecouen and further, he has scaffolding set up, has posts driven in; wooden arms with elbow

joints are jerking and fugling in the air, in the most rapid mysterious manner! Citoyens ran up suspicious.

Yes, O Citoyens, we are signaling: it is a device this, worthy of the Republic; a thing for what we will call

Farwriting without the aid of postbags; in Greek, it shall be named Telegraph.Telegraphe sacre! answers

Citoyenism: For writing to Traitors, to Austria?and tears it down. Chappe had to escape, and get a new

Legislative Decree. Nevertheless he has accomplished it, the indefatigable Chappe: this Farwriter, with its

wooden arms and elbowjoints, can intelligibly signal; and lines of them are set up, to the North Frontiers

and elsewhither. On an Autumn evening of the Year Two, Farwriter having just written that Conde Town

has surrendered to us, we send from Tuileries Convention Hall this response in the shape of Decree: 'The

name of Conde is changed to NordLibre, NorthFree. The Army of the North ceases not to merit well of the

country.'To the admiration of men! For lo, in some half hour, while the Convention yet debates, there

arrives this new answer: 'I inform thee, je t'annonce, Citizen President, that the decree of Convention,

ordering change of the name Conde into NorthFree; and the other declaring that the Army of the North

ceases not to merit well of the country, are transmitted and acknowledged by Telegraph. I have instructed my

Officer at Lille to forward them to NorthFree by express. Signed, CHAPPE.' (Choix des Rapports, xv. 378,

Or see, over Fleurus in the Netherlands, where General Jourdan, having now swept the soil of Liberty, and

advanced thus far, is just about to fight, and sweep or be swept, things there not in the Heaven's Vault, some

Prodigy, seen by Austrian eyes and spyglasses: in the similitude of an enormous Windbag, with netting and

enormous Saucer depending from it? A Jove's Balance, O ye Austrian spyglasses? One saucerhole of a

Jove's Balance; your poor Austrian scale having kicked itself quite aloft, out of sight? By Heaven, answer the

spyglasses, it is a Montgolfier, a Balloon, and they are making signals! Austrian cannonbattery barks at this

Montgolfier; harmless as dog at the Moon: the Montgolfier makes its signals; detects what Austrian

ambuscade there may be, and descends at its ease. (26th June, 1794 (see Rapport de GuytonMorveau sur les

aerostats, in Moniteur du 6 Vendemiaire, An 2).) What will not these devils incarnate contrive?

On the whole, is it not, O Reader, one of the strangest FlamePictures that ever painted itself; flaming off

there, on its ground of Guillotineblack? And the nightly Theatres are Twentythree; and the Salons de danse

are sixty: full of mere Egalite, Fraternite and Carmagnole. And Section Committeerooms are Fortyeight;

redolent of tobacco and brandy: vigorous with twentypence aday, coercing the suspect. And the Houses of

Arrest are Twelve for Paris alone; crowded and even crammed. And at all turns, you need your 'Certificate of

Civism;' be it for going out, or for coming in; nay without it you cannot, for money, get your daily ounces of

bread. Dusky redcapped Baker'squeues; wagging themselves; not in silence! For we still live by

Maximum, in all things; waited on by these two, Scarcity and Confusion. The faces of men are darkened with

suspicion; with suspecting, or being suspect. The streets lie unswept; the ways unmended. Law has shut her

Books; speaks little, save impromptu, through the throat of Tinville. Crimes go unpunished: not crimes

against the Revolution. (Mercier, v. 25; Deux Amis, xii. 142199.) 'The number of foundling children,' as

How silent now sits Royalism; sits all Aristocratism; Respectability that kept its Gig! The honour now, and

the safety, is to Poverty, not to Wealth. Your Citizen, who would be fashionable, walks abroad, with his Wife

on his arm, in red wool nightcap, black shag spencer, and carmagnole complete. Aristocratism crouches low,

in what shelter is still left; submitting to all requisitions, vexations; too happy to escape with life. Ghastly

chateaus stare on you by the wayside; disroofed, diswindowed; which the National Housebroker is peeling

for the lead and ashlar. The old tenants hover disconsolate, over the Rhine with Conde; a spectacle to men.

Cidevant Seigneur, exquisite in palate, will become an exquisite Restaurateur Cook in Hamburg; Cidevant

Madame, exquisite in dress, a successful Marchande des Modes in London. In NewgateStreet, you meet M.

le Marquis, with a rough deal on his shoulder, adze and jackplane under arm; he has taken to the joiner

trade; it being necessary to live (faut vivre). (See Deux Amis, xv. 189192; Memoires de Genlis; Founders of

the French Republic, than all Frenchmen the domestic Stock jobber flourishes,in a day of Papermoney.

The Farmer also flourishes: 'Farmers' houses,' says Mercier, 'have become like Pawnbrokers' shops;' all

manner of furniture, apparel, vessels of gold and silver accumulate themselves there: bread is precious. The

Farmer's rent is Papermoney, and he alone of men has bread: Farmer is better than Landlord, and will

And daily, we say, like a black Spectre, silently through that Lifetumult, passes the Revolution Cart; writing

on the walls its MENE, MENE, Thou art weighed, and found wanting! A Spectre with which one has grown

familiar. Men have adjusted themselves: complaint issues not from that Death tumbril. Weak women and

cidevants, their plumage and finery all tarnished, sit there; with a silent gaze, as if looking into the Infinite

Black. The once light lip wears a curl of irony, uttering no word; and the Tumbril fares along. They may be

guilty before Heaven, or not; they are guilty, we suppose, before the Revolution. Then, does not the Republic

'coin money' of them, with its great axe? Red Nightcaps howl dire approval: the rest of Paris looks on; if with

a sigh, that is much; Fellow creatures whom sighing cannot help; whom black Necessity and Tinville have

One other thing, or rather two other things, we will still mention; and no more: The Blond Perukes; the

Tannery at Meudon. Great talk is of these Perruques blondes: O Reader, they are made from the Heads of

Guillotined women! The locks of a Duchess, in this way, may come to cover the scalp of a Cordwainer: her

blond German Frankism his black Gaelic poll, if it be bald. Or they may be worn affectionately, as relics;

rendering one suspect? (Mercier, ii. 134.) Citizens use them, not without mockery; of a rather cannibal sort.

Still deeper into one's heart goes that Tannery at Meudon; not mentioned among the other miracles of

tanning! 'At Meudon,' says Montgaillard with considerable calmness, 'there was a Tannery of Human Skins;

such of the Guillotined as seemed worth flaying: of which perfectly good washleather was made:' for

breeches, and other uses. The skin of the men, he remarks, was superior in toughness (consistance) and

quality to shamoy; that of women was good for almost nothing, being so soft in texture! (Montgaillard, iv.

290.)History looking back over Cannibalism, through Purchas's Pilgrims and all early and late Records,

will perhaps find no terrestrial Cannibalism of a sort on the whole so detestable. It is a manufactured,

softfeeling, quietly elegant sort; a sort perfide! Alas then, is man's civilisation only a wrappage, through

which the savage nature of him can still burst, infernal as ever? Nature still makes him; and has an Infernal in

What then is this Thing, called La Revolution, which, like an Angel of Death, hangs over France, noyading,

fusillading, fighting, gunboring, tanning human skins? La Revolution is but so many Alphabetic Letters; a

thing nowhere to be laid hands on, to be clapt under lock and key: where is it? what is it? It is the Madness

that dwells in the hearts of men. In this man it is, and in that man; as a rage or as a terror, it is in all men.

Invisible, impalpable; and yet no black Azrael, with wings spread over half a continent, with sword sweeping

To explain, what is called explaining, the march of this Revolutionary Government, be no task of ours. Men

cannot explain it. A paralytic Couthon, asking in the Jacobins, 'what hast thou done to be hanged if the

CounterRevolution should arrive;' a sombre SaintJust, not yet sixand twenty, declaring that 'for

Revolutionists there is no rest but in the tomb;' a seagreen Robespierre converted into vinegar and gall; much

more an Amar and Vadier, a Collot and Billaud: to inquire what thoughts, predetermination or prevision,

might be in the head of these men! Record of their thought remains not; Death and Darkness have swept it

out utterly. Nay if we even had their thought, all they could have articulately spoken to us, how insignificant

a fraction were that of the Thing which realised itself, which decreed itself, on signal given by them! As has

been said more than once, this Revolutionary Government is not a selfconscious but a blind fatal one. Each

man, enveloped in his ambientatmosphere of revolutionary fanatic Madness, rushes on, impelled and

impelling; and has become a blind brute Force; no rest for him but in the grave! Darkness and the mystery of

horrid cruelty cover it for us, in History; as they did in Nature. The chaotic Thundercloud, with its pitchy

black, and its tumult of dazzling jagged fire, in a world all electric: thou wilt not undertake to shew how that

comported itself,what the secrets of its dark womb were; from what sources, with what specialities, the

lightning it held did, in confused brightness of terror, strike forth, destructive and self destructive, till it

ended? Like a Blackness naturally of Erebus, which by will of Providence had for once mounted itself into

dominion and the Azure: is not this properly the nature of Sansculottism consummating itself? Of which

Erebus Blackness be it enough to discern that this and the other dazzling firebolt, dazzling firetorrent, does

by small Volition and great Necessity, verily issue,in such and such succession; destructive so and so,

Royalism is extinct, 'sunk,' as they say, 'in the mud of the Loire;' Republicanism dominates without and

within: what, therefore, on the 15th day of March, 1794, is this? Arrestment, sudden really as a bolt out of the

Blue, has hit strange victims: Hebert Pere Duchene, Bibliopolist Momoro, Clerk Vincent, General Ronsin;

high Cordelier Patriots, redcapped Magistrates of Paris, Worshippers of Reason, Commanders of

Revolutionary Army! Eight short days ago, their Cordelier Club was loud, and louder than ever, with Patriot

denunciations. Hebert Pere Duchene had "held his tongue and his heart these two months, at sight of

Moderates, CryptoAristocrats, Camilles, Scelerats in the Convention itself: but could not do it any longer;

would, if other remedy were not, invoke the Sacred right of Insurrection." So spake Hebert in Cordelier

Session; with vivats, till the roofs rang again. (Moniteur, du 17 Ventose (7th March) 1794.) Eight short days

ago; and now already! They rub their eyes: it is no dream; they find themselves in the Luxembourg. Goose

Gobel too; and they that burnt Churches! Chaumette himself, potent Procureur, Agent National as they now

call it, who could 'recognise the Suspect by the very face of them,' he lingers but three days; on the third day

he too is hurled in. Most chopfallen, blue, enters the National Agent this Limbo whither he has sent so many.

Prisoners crowd round, jibing and jeering: "Sublime National Agent," says one, "in virtue of thy immortal

Proclamation, lo there! I am suspect, thou art suspect, he is suspect, we are suspect, ye are suspect, they are

The meaning of these things? Meaning! It is a Plot; Plot of the most extensive ramifications; which, however,

Barrere holds the threads of. Such Churchburning and scandalous masquerades of Atheism, fit to make the

Revolution odious: where indeed could they originate but in the gold of Pitt? Pitt indubitably, as Preternatural

Insight will teach one, did hire this Faction of Enrages, to play their fantastic tricks; to roar in their Cordeliers

Club about Moderatism; to print their Pere Duchene; worship skyblue Reason in red nightcap; rob all

Still more indubitable, visible to the mere bodily sight, is this: that the Cordeliers Club sits pale, with anger

and terror; and has 'veiled the Rights of Man,'without effect. Likewise that the Jacobins are in considerable

confusion; busy 'purging themselves, 's'epurant,' as, in times of Plot and public Calamity, they have

repeatedly had to do. Not even Camille Desmoulins but has given offence: nay there have risen murmurs

against Danton himself; though he bellowed them down, and Robespierre finished the matter by 'embracing

Whom shall the Republic and a jealous Mother Society trust? In these times of temptation, of Preternatural

Insight! For there are Factions of the Stranger, 'de l'etranger,' Factions of Moderates, of Enraged; all manner

of Factions: we walk in a world of Plots; strings, universally spread, of deadly gins and falltraps, baited by

the gold of Pitt! Clootz, Speaker of Mankind socalled, with his Evidences of Mahometan Religion, and

babble of Universal Republic, him an incorruptible Robespierre has purged away. Baron Clootz, and Paine

rebellious Needleman lie, these two months, in the Luxembourg; limbs of the Faction de l'etranger.

Representative Phelippeaux is purged out: he came back from La Vendee with an ill report in his mouth

against rogue Rossignol, and our method of warfare there. Recant it, O Phelippeaux, we entreat thee!

Phelippeaux will not recant; and is purged out. Representative Fabre d'Eglantine, famed Nomenclator of

Romme's Calendar, is purged out; nay, is cast into the Luxembourg: accused of Legislative Swindling 'in

regard to monies of the India Company.' There with his Chabots, Bazires, guilty of the like, let Fabre wait his

destiny. And Westermann friend of Danton, he who led the Marseillese on the Tenth of August, and fought

well in La Vendee, but spoke not well of rogue Rossignol, is purged out. Lucky, if he too go not to the

Luxembourg. And your Prolys, Guzmans, of the Faction of the Stranger, they have gone; Peyreyra, though he

fled is gone, 'taken in the disguise of a Tavern Cook.' I am suspect, thou art suspect, he is suspect!

The great heart of Danton is weary of it. Danton is gone to native Arcis, for a little breathing time of peace:

Away, black Arachnewebs, thou world of Fury, Terror, and Suspicion; welcome, thou everlasting Mother,

with thy spring greenness, thy kind household loves and memories; true art thou, were all else untrue! The

great Titan walks silent, by the banks of the murmuring Aube, in young native haunts that knew him when a

But strangest of all, Camille Desmoulins is purged out. Couthon gave as a test in regard to Jacobin purgation

the question, 'What hast thou done to be hanged if CounterRevolution should arrive?' Yet Camille, who

could so well answer this question, is purged out! The truth is, Camille, early in December last, began

publishing a new Journal, or Series of Pamphlets, entitled the Vieux Cordelier, Old Cordelier. Camille, not

afraid at one time to 'embrace Liberty on a heap of dead bodies,' begins to ask now, Whether among so many

arresting and punishing Committees there ought not to be a 'Committee of Mercy?' SaintJust, he observes, is

an extremely solemn young Republican, who 'carries his head as if it were a SaintSacrement; adorable

Hostie, or divine RealPresence! Sharply enough, this old Cordelier, Danton and he were of the earliest

primary Cordeliers,shoots his glittering warshafts into your new Cordeliers, your Heberts, Momoros,

with their brawling brutalities and despicabilities: say, as the Sungod (for poor Camille is a Poet) shot into

Whereat, as was natural, the Hebertist Python did hiss and writhe amazingly; and threaten 'sacred right of

Insurrection;'and, as we saw, get cast into Prison. Nay, with all the old wit, dexterity, and light graceful

poignancy, Camille, translating 'out of Tacitus, from the Reign of Tiberius,' pricks into the Law of the

Suspect itself; making it odious! Twice, in the Decade, his wild Leaves issue; full of wit, nay of humour, of

harmonious ingenuity and insight,one of the strangest phenomenon of that dark time; and smite, in their

wildsparkling way, at various monstrosities, SaintSacrament heads, and Juggernaut idols, in a rather

reckless manner. To the great joy of Josephine Beauharnais, and the other Five Thousand and odd Suspect,

who fill the Twelve Houses of Arrest; on whom a ray of hope dawns! Robespierre, at first approbatory, knew

not at last what to think; then thought, with his Jacobins, that Camille must be expelled. A man of true

Revolutionary spirit, this Camille; but with the unwisest sallies; whom Aristocrats and Moderates have the art

to corrupt! Jacobinism is in uttermost crisis and struggle: enmeshed wholly in plots, corruptibilities,

neckgins and baited falltraps of Pitt Ennemi du Genre Humain. Camille's First Number begins with 'O

Pitt!'his last is dated 15 Pluviose Year 2, 3d February 1794; and ends with these words of Montezuma's,

Be this as it may, the Hebertists lie in Prison only some nine days. On the 24th of March, therefore, the

Revolution Tumbrils carry through that Lifetumult a new cargo: Hebert, Vincent, Momoro, Ronsin,

Nineteen of them in all; with whom, curious enough, sits Clootz Speaker of Mankind. They have been

massed swiftly into a lump, this miscellany of Nondescripts; and travel now their last road. No help. They too

must 'look through the little window;' they too 'must sneeze into the sack,' eternuer dans le sac; as they have

done to others so is it done to them. SainteGuillotine, meseems, is worse than the old Saints of Superstition;

a mandevouring Saint? Clootz, still with an air of polished sarcasm, endeavours to jest, to offer cheering

'arguments of Materialism;' he requested to be executed last, 'in order to establish certain principles,'which

Philosophy has not retained. General Ronsin too, he still looks forth with some air of defiance, eye of

command: the rest are sunk in a stony paleness of despair. Momoro, poor Bibliopolist, no Agrarian Law yet

realised,they might as well have hanged thee at Evreux, twenty months ago, when Girondin Buzot

hindered them. Hebert Pere Duchene shall never in this world rise in sacred right of insurrection; he sits there

low enough, head sunk on breast; Red Nightcaps shouting round him, in frightful parody of his Newspaper

Articles, "Grand choler of the Pere Duchene!" Thus perish they; the sack receives all their heads. Through

some section of History, Nineteen spectrechimeras shall flit, speaking and gibbering; till Oblivion swallow

In the course of a week, the Revolutionary Army itself is disbanded; the General having become spectral.

This Faction of Rabids, therefore, is also purged from the Republican soil; here also the baited falltraps of

that Pitt have been wrenched up harmless; and anew there is joy over a Plot Discovered. The Revolution then

is verily devouring its own children. All Anarchy, by the nature of it, is not only destructive but

Danton, meanwhile, has been pressingly sent for from Arcis: he must return instantly, cried Camille, cried

Phelippeaux and Friends, who scented danger in the wind. Danger enough! A Danton, a Robespierre,

chiefproducts of a victorious Revolution, are now arrived in immediate front of one another; must ascertain

how they will live together, rule together. One conceives easily the deep mutual incompatibility that divided

these two: with what terror of feminine hatred the poor seagreen Formula looked at the monstrous colossal

Reality, and grew greener to behold him;the Reality, again, struggling to think no ill of a chiefproduct of

the Revolution; yet feeling at bottom that such chiefproduct was little other than a chief windbag, blown

large by Popular air; not a man with the heart of a man, but a poor spasmodic incorruptible pedant, with a

logicformula instead of heart; of Jesuit or MethodistParson nature; full of sincerecant, incorruptibility, of

virulence, poltroonery; barren as the eastwind! Two such chiefproducts are too much for one Revolution.

Friends, trembling at the results of a quarrel on their part, brought them to meet. "It is right," said Danton,

swallowing much indignation, "to repress the Royalists: but we should not strike except where it is useful to

the Republic; we should not confound the innocent and the guilty.""And who told you," replied

Robespierre with a poisonous look, "that one innocent person had perished?""Quoi," said Danton, turning

round to Friend Paris selfnamed Fabricius, Juryman in the Revolutionary Tribunal: "Quoi, not one

innocent? What sayest thou of it, Fabricius!" (Biographie de Ministres, para Danton.)Friends,

Westermann, this Paris and others urged him to shew himself, to ascend the Tribune and act. The man Danton

was not prone to shew himself; to act, or uproar for his own safety. A man of careless, large, hoping nature; a

large nature that could rest: he would sit whole hours, they say, hearing Camille talk, and liked nothing so

well. Friends urged him to fly; his Wife urged him: "Whither fly?" answered he: "If freed France cast me out,

there are only dungeons for me elsewhere. One carries not his country with him at the sole of his shoe!" The

man Danton sat still. Not even the arrestment of Friend Herault, a member of Salut, yet arrested by Salut, can

rouse Danton.On the night of the 30th of March, Juryman Paris came rushing in; haste looking through his

eyes: A clerk of the Salut Committee had told him Danton's warrant was made out, he is to be arrested this

very night! Entreaties there are and trepidation, of poor Wife, of Paris and Friends: Danton sat silent for a

while; then answered, "Ils n'oseraient, They dare not;" and would take no measures. Murmuring "They dare

And yet, on the morrow morning, strange rumour spreads over Paris City: Danton, Camille, Phelippeaux,

Lacroix have been arrested overnight! It is verily so: the corridors of the Luxembourg were all crowded,

Prisoners crowding forth to see this giant of the Revolution among them. "Messieurs," said Danton politely,

"I hoped soon to have got you all out of this: but here I am myself; and one sees not where it will

end."Rumour may spread over Paris: the Convention clusters itself into groups; wide eyed, whispering,

"Danton arrested!" Who then is safe? Legendre, mounting the Tribune, utters, at his own peril, a feeble word

for him; moving that he be heard at that Bar before indictment; but Robespierre frowns him down: "Did you

hear Chabot, or Bazire? Would you have two weights and measures?" Legendre cowers low; Danton, like the

Danton's Prisonthoughts were curious to have; but are not given in any quantity: indeed few such

remarkable men have been left so obscure to us as this Titan of the Revolution. He was heard to ejaculate:

"This time twelvemonth, I was moving the creation of that same Revolutionary Tribunal. I crave pardon for it

of God and man. They are all Brothers Cain: Brissot would have had me guillotined as Robespierre now will.

I leave the whole business in a frightful welter (gachis epouvantable): not one of them understands anything

of government. Robespierre will follow me; I drag down Robespierre. O, it were better to be a poor fisherman

than to meddle with governing of men."Camille's young beautiful Wife, who had made him rich not in

money alone, hovers round the Luxembourg, like a disembodied spirit, day and night. Camille's stolen letters

to her still exist; stained with the mark of his tears. (Apercus sur Camille Desmoulins (in Vieux Cordelier,

Paris, 1825), pp. 129.) "I carry my head like a Saint Sacrament?" so SaintJust was heard to mutter:

Unhappy Danton, thou still unhappier light Camille, once light Procureur de la Lanterne, ye also have

arrived, then, at the Bourne of Creation, where, like Ulysses Polytlas at the limit and utmost Gades of his

voyage, gazing into that dim Waste beyond Creation, a man does see the Shade of his Mother, pale,

ineffectual;and days when his Mother nursed and wrapped him are alltoo sternly contrasted with this day!

Danton, Camille, Herault, Westermann, and the others, very strangely massed up with Bazires, Swindler

Chabots, Fabre d'Eglantines, Banker Freys, a most motley Batch, 'Fournee' as such things will be called,

stand ranked at the Bar of Tinville. It is the 2d of April 1794. Danton has had but three days to lie in Prison;

What is your name? place of abode? and the like, Fouquier asks; according to formality. "My name is

Danton," answers he; "a name tolerably known in the Revolution: my abode will soon be Annihilation (dans

le Neant); but I shall live in the Pantheon of History." A man will endeavour to say something forcible, be it

by nature or not! Herault mentions epigrammatically that he "sat in this Hall, and was detested of

Parlementeers." Camille makes answer, "My age is that of the bon Sansculotte Jesus; an age fatal to

Revolutionists." O Camille, Camille! And yet in that Divine Transaction, let us say, there did lie, among other

things, the fatallest Reproof ever uttered here below to Worldly Right honourableness; 'the highest Fact,' so

devout Novalis calls it, 'in the Rights of Man.' Camille's real age, it would seem, is thirtyfour. Danton is one

Some five months ago, the Trial of the Twentytwo Girondins was the greatest that Fouquier had then done.

But here is a still greater to do; a thing which tasks the whole faculty of Fouquier; which makes the very heart

of him waver. For it is the voice of Danton that reverberates now from these domes; in passionate words,

piercing with their wild sincerity, winged with wrath. Your best Witnesses he shivers into ruin at one stroke.

He demands that the Committeemen themselves come as Witnesses, as Accusers; he "will cover them with

ignominy." He raises his huge stature, he shakes his huge black head, fire flashes from the eyes of

him,piercing to all Republican hearts: so that the very Galleries, though we filled them by ticket, murmur

sympathy; and are like to burst down, and raise the People, and deliver him! He complains loudly that he is

classed with Chabots, with swindling Stockjobbers; that his Indictment is a list of platitudes and horrors.

"Danton hidden on the Tenth of August?" reverberates he, with the roar of a lion in the toils: "Where are the

men that had to press Danton to shew himself, that day? Where are these high gifted souls of whom he

borrowed energy? Let them appear, these Accusers of mine: I have all the clearness of my selfpossession

when I demand them. I will unmask the three shallow scoundrels," les trois plats coquins, SaintJust,

Couthon, Lebas, "who fawn on Robespierre, and lead him towards his destruction. Let them produce

themselves here; I will plunge them into Nothingness, out of which they ought never to have risen." The

agitated President agitates his bell; enjoins calmness, in a vehement manner: "What is it to thee how I defend

myself?" cries the other: "the right of dooming me is thine always. The voice of a man speaking for his

honour and his life may well drown the jingling of thy bell!" Thus Danton, higher and higher; till the lion

voice of him 'dies away in his throat:' speech will not utter what is in that man. The Galleries murmur

O Tinville, President Herman, what will ye do? They have two days more of it, by strictest Revolutionary

Law. The Galleries already murmur. If this Danton were to burst your meshwork!Very curious indeed to

consider. It turns on a hair: and what a Hoitytoity were there, Justice and Culprit changing places; and the

whole History of France running changed! For in France there is this Danton only that could still try to

govern France. He only, the wild amorphous Titan;and perhaps that other olivecomplexioned individual,

On the evening of the second day, matters looking not better but worse and worse, Fouquier and Herman,

distraction in their aspect, rush over to Salut Public. What is to be done? Salut Public rapidly concocts a new

Decree; whereby if men 'insult Justice,' they may be 'thrown out of the Debates.' For indeed, withal, is there

not 'a Plot in the Luxembourg Prison?' Ci devant General Dillon, and others of the Suspect, plotting with

Camille's Wife to distribute assignats; to force the Prisons, overset the Republic? Citizen Laflotte, himself

Suspect but desiring enfranchisement, has reported said Plot for us:a report that may bear fruit! Enough, on

the morrow morning, an obedient Convention passes this Decree. Salut rushes off with it to the aid of

Tinville, reduced now almost to extremities. And so, Hors des Debats, Out of the Debates, ye insolents!

Policemen do your duty! In such manner, with a deadlift effort, Salut, Tinville Herman, Leroi DixAout, and

all stanch jurymen setting heart and shoulder to it, the Jury becomes 'sufficiently instructed;' Sentence is

passed, is sent by an Official, and torn and trampled on: Death this day. It is the 5th of April, 1794. Camille's

poor Wife may cease hovering about this Prison. Nay let her kiss her poor children; and prepare to enter it,

Danton carried a high look in the Deathcart. Not so Camille: it is but one week, and all is so topsyturvied;

angel Wife left weeping; love, riches, Revolutionary fame, left all at the Prisongate; carnivorous Rabble

now howling round. Palpable, and yet incredible; like a madman's dream! Camille struggles and writhes; his

shoulders shuffle the loose coat off them, which hangs knotted, the hands tied: "Calm my friend," said

Danton; "heed not that vile canaille (laissez la cette vile canaille)." At the foot of the Scaffold, Danton was

heard to ejaculate: "O my Wife, my well beloved, I shall never see thee more then!"but, interrupting

himself: "Danton, no weakness!" He said to HeraultSechelles stepping forward to embrace him: "Our heads

will meet there," in the Headsman's sack. His last words were to Samson the Headsman himself: "Thou wilt

So passes, like a gigantic mass, of valour, ostentation, fury, affection and wild revolutionary manhood, this

Danton, to his unknown home. He was of ArcissurAube; born of 'good farmerpeople' there. He had many

sins; but one worst sin he had not, that of Cant. No hollow Formalist, deceptive and selfdeceptive, ghastly to

the natural sense, was this; but a very Man: with all his dross he was a Man; fieryreal, from the great

firebosom of Nature herself. He saved France from Brunswick; he walked straight his own wild road,

Next week, it is still but the 10th of April, there comes a new Nineteen; Chaumette, Gobel, Hebert's Widow,

the Widow of Camille: these also roll their fated journey; black Death devours them. Mean Hebert's Widow

was weeping, Camille's Widow tried to speak comfort to her. O ye kind Heavens, azure, beautiful, eternal

behind your tempests and Timeclouds, is there not pity for all! Gobel, it seems, was repentant; he begged

absolution of a Priest; did as a Gobel best could. For Anaxagoras Chaumette, the sleek head now stript of its

bonnet rouge, what hope is there? Unless Death were 'an eternal sleep?' Wretched Anaxagoras, God shall

Hebert, therefore, is gone, and the Hebertists; they that robbed Churches, and adored blue Reason in red

nightcap. Great Danton, and the Dantonists; they also are gone. Down to the catacombs; they are become

silent men! Let no Paris Municipality, no Sect or Party of this hue or that, resist the will of Robespierre and

Salut. Mayor Pache, not prompt enough in denouncing these Pitts Plots, may congratulate about them now.

Never so heartily; it skills not! His course likewise is to the Luxembourg. We appoint one FleuriotLescot

InterimMayor in his stead: an 'architect from Belgium,' they say, this Fleuriot; he is a man one can depend

on. Our new AgentNational is Payan, lately Juryman; whose cynosure also is Robespierre.

Thus then, we perceive, this confusedly electric Erebuscloud of Revolutionary Government has altered its

shape somewhat. Two masses, or wings, belonging to it; an overelectric mass of Cordelier Rabids, and an

underelectric of Dantonist Moderates and Clemencymen,these two masses, shooting bolts at one

another, so to speak, have annihilated one another. For the Erebuscloud, as we often remark, is of suicidal

nature; and, in jagged irregularity, darts its lightning withal into itself. But now these two discrepant masses

being mutually annihilated, it is as if the Erebus cloud had got to internal composure; and did only pour its

hellfire lightning on the World that lay under it. In plain words, Terror of the Guillotine was never terrible till

now. Systole, diastole, swift and ever swifter goes the Axe of Samson. Indictments cease by degrees to have

so much as plausibility: Fouquier chooses from the Twelve houses of Arrest what he calls Batches,

'Fournees,' a score or more at a time; his Jurymen are charged to make feu de file, firefiling till the ground

be clear. Citizen Laflotte's report of Plot in the Luxembourg is verily bearing fruit! If no speakable charge

exist against a man, or Batch of men, Fouquier has always this: a Plot in the Prison. Swift and ever swifter

goes Samson; up, finally, to three score and more at a Batch! It is the highday of Death: none but the Dead

O dusky d'Espremenil, what a day is this, the 22d of April, thy last day! The Palais Hall here is the same

stone Hall, where thou, five years ago, stoodest perorating, amid endless pathos of rebellious Parlement, in

the grey of the morning; bound to march with d'Agoust to the Isles of Hieres. The stones are the same stones:

but the rest, Men, Rebellion, Pathos, Peroration, see! it has all fled, like a gibbering troop of ghosts, like the

phantasms of a dying brain! With d'Espremenil, in the same line of Tumbrils, goes the mournfullest medley.

Chapelier goes, cidevant popular President of the Constituent; whom the Menads and Maillard met in his

carriage, on the Versailles Road. Thouret likewise, cidevant President, father of Constitutional Lawacts; he

whom we heard saying, long since, with a loud voice, "The Constituent Assembly has fulfilled its mission!"

And the noble old Malesherbes, who defended Louis and could not speak, like a grey old rock dissolving into

sudden water: he journeys here now, with his kindred, daughters, sons and grandsons, his Lamoignons,

Chateaubriands; silent, towards Death.One young Chateaubriand alone is wandering amid the Natchez, by

the roar of Niagara Falls, the moan of endless forests: Welcome thou great Nature, savage, but not false, not

unkind, unmotherly; no Formula thou, or rapid jangle of Hypothesis, Parliamentary Eloquence,

Constitutionbuilding and the Guillotine; speak thou to me, O Mother, and sing my sick heart thy mystic

Another row of Tumbrils we must notice: that which holds Elizabeth, the Sister of Louis. Her Trial was like

the rest; for Plots, for Plots. She was among the kindliest, most innocent of women. There sat with her, amid

fourandtwenty others, a once timorous Marchioness de Crussol; courageous now; expressing towards her

the liveliest loyalty. At the foot of the Scaffold, Elizabeth with tears in her eyes, thanked this Marchioness;

said she was grieved she could not reward her. "Ah, Madame, would your Royal Highness deign to embrace

me, my wishes were complete!""Right willingly, Marquise de Crussol, and with my whole heart."

(Montgaillard, iv. 200.) Thus they: at the foot of the Scaffold. The Royal Family is now reduced to two: a girl

and a little boy. The boy, once named Dauphin, was taken from his Mother while she yet lived; and given to

one Simon, by trade a Cordwainer, on service then about the TemplePrison, to bring him up in principles of

Sansculottism. Simon taught him to drink, to swear, to sing the carmagnole. Simon is now gone to the

Municipality: and the poor boy, hidden in a tower of the Temple, from which in his fright and bewilderment

and early decrepitude he wishes not to stir out, lies perishing, 'his shirt not changed for six months;' amid

squalor and darkness, lamentably, (Duchesse d'Angouleme, Captivite a la Tour du Temple, pp. 3771.)so

The Spring sends its green leaves and bright weather, bright May brighter than ever: Death pauses not.

Lavoisier famed Chemist, shall die and not live: Chemist Lavoisier was FarmerGeneral Lavoisier too, and

now 'all the FarmersGeneral are arrested;' all, and shall give an account of their monies and incomings; and

die for 'putting water in the tobacco' they sold. (Tribunal Revolutionnaire, du 8 Mai 1794 (Moniteur, No.

231).) Lavoisier begged a fortnight more of life, to finish some experiments: but "the Republic does not need

such;" the axe must do its work. Cynic Chamfort, reading these Inscriptions of Brotherhood or Death, says "it

is a Brotherhood of Cain:" arrested, then liberated; then about to be arrested again, this Chamfort cuts and

slashes himself with frantic uncertain hand; gains, not without difficulty, the refuge of death. Condorcet has

lurked deep, these many months; Arguseyes watching and searching for him. His concealment is become

dangerous to others and himself; he has to fly again, to skulk, round Paris, in thickets and stonequarries.

And so at the Village of Clamars, one bleared May morning, there enters a Figure, ragged, roughbearded,

hungerstricken; asks breakfast in the tavern there. Suspect, by the look of him! "Servant out of place, sayest

thou?" CommitteePresident of FortySous finds a Latin Horace on him: "Art thou not one of those

Cidevants that were wont to keep servants? Suspect!" He is haled forthwith, breakfast unfinished, towards

BourglaReine, on foot: he faints with exhaustion; is set on a peasant's horse; is flung into his damp

prisoncell: on the morrow, recollecting him, you enter; Condorcet lies dead on the floor. They die fast, and

disappear: the Notabilities of France disappear, one after one, like lights in a Theatre, which you are snuffing

Under which circumstances, is it not singular, and almost touching, to see Paris City drawn out, in the meek

May nights, in civic ceremony, which they call 'Souper Fraternel, Brotherly Supper? Spontaneous, or

partially spontaneous, in the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth nights of this May month, it is seen. Along the Rue

SaintHonore, and main Streets and Spaces, each Citoyen brings forth what of supper the stingy Maximum

has yielded him, to the open air; joins it to his neighbour's supper; and with common table, cheerful light

burning frequent, and what due modicum of cut glasses and other garnish and relish is convenient, they eat

frugally together, under the kind stars. (Tableaux de la Revolution, para Soupers Fraternels; Mercier, ii. 150.)

See it O Night! With cheerfully pledged winecup, hobnobbing to the Reign of Liberty, Equality,

Brotherhood, with their wives in best ribands, with their little ones romping round, the Citoyens, in frugal

Lovefeast, sit there. Night in her wide empire sees nothing similar. O my brothers, why is the reign of

Brotherhood not come! It is come, it shall come, say the Citoyens frugally hobnobbing.Ah me! these

everlasting stars, do they not look down 'like glistening eyes, bright with immortal pity, over the lot of

One lamentable thing, however, is, that individuals will attempt assassinationof Representatives of the

People. Representative Collot, Member even of Salut, returning home, 'about one in the morning,' probably

touched with liquor, as he is apt to be, meets on the stairs, the cry "Scelerat!" and also the snap of a pistol:

which latter flashes in the pan; disclosing to him, momentarily, a pair of truculent saucereyes, swart

grimclenched countenance; recognisable as that of our little fellow lodger, Citoyen Amiral, formerly 'a

clerk in the Lotteries!; Collot shouts Murder, with lungs fit to awaken all the Rue Favart; Amiral snaps a

second time; a second time flashes in the pan; then darts up into his apartment; and, after there firing, still

with inadequate effect, one musket at himself and another at his captor, is clutched and locked in Prison.

(Riouffe, p. 73; Deux Amis, xii. 298302.) An indignant little man this Amiral, of Southern temper and

complexion, of 'considerable muscular force.' He denies not that he meant to "purge France of a tyrant;" nay

avows that he had an eye to the Incorruptible himself, but took Collot as more convenient!

Rumour enough hereupon; heavenhigh congratulation of Collot, fraternal embracing, at the Jacobins, and

elsewhere. And yet, it would seem the assassinmood proves catching. Two days more, it is still but the 23d

of May, and towards nine in the evening, Cecile Renault, Paperdealer's daughter, a young woman of soft

blooming look, presents herself at the Cabinetmaker's in the Rue SaintHonore; desires to see Robespierre.

Robespierre cannot be seen: she grumbles irreverently. They lay hold of her. She has left a basket in a shop

hard by: in the basket are female change of raiment and two knives! Poor Cecile, examined by Committee,

declares she "wanted to see what a tyrant was like:" the change of raiment was "for my own use in the place I

am surely going to.""What place?" "Prison; and then the Guillotine," answered she.Such things come

of Charlotte Corday; in a people prone to imitation, and monomania! Swart choleric men try Charlotte's feat,

and their pistols miss fire; soft blooming young women try it, and, only halfresolute, leave their knives in a

O Pitt, and ye Faction of the Stranger, shall the Republic never have rest; but be torn continually by baited

springs, by wires of explosive spring guns? Swart Amiral, fair young Cecile, and all that knew them, and

But on the day they call Decadi, NewSabbath, 20 Prairial, 8th June by old style, what thing is this going

All the world is there, in holydays clothes: (Vilate, Causes Secretes de la Revolution de 9 Thermidor.) foul

linen went out with the Hebertists; nay Robespierre, for one, would never once countenance that; but went

always elegant and frizzled, not without vanity even,and had his room hung round with seagreen Portraits

and Busts. In holyday clothes, we say, are the innumerable Citoyens and Citoyennes: the weather is of the

brightest; cheerful expectation lights all countenances. Juryman Vilate gives breakfast to many a Deputy, in

his official Apartment, in the Pavillon ci devant of Flora; rejoices in the brightlooking multitudes, in the

brightness of leafy June, in the auspicious Decadi, or NewSabbath. This day, if it please Heaven, we are to

Catholicism being burned out, and Reasonworship guillotined, was there not need of one? Incorruptible

Robespierre, not unlike the Ancients, as Legislator of a free people will now also be Priest and Prophet. He

has donned his skyblue coat, made for the occasion; white silk waistcoat broidered with silver, black silk

breeches, white stockings, shoebuckles of gold. He is President of the Convention; he has made the

Convention decree, so they name it, decreter the 'Existence of the Supreme Being,' and likewise 'ce principe

consolateur of the Immortality of the Soul.' These consolatory principles, the basis of rational Republican

Religion, are getting decreed; and here, on this blessed Decadi, by help of Heaven and Painter David, is to be

See, accordingly, how after Decree passed, and what has been called 'the scraggiest Prophetic Discourse ever

uttered by man,'Mahomet Robespierre, in skyblue coat and black breeches, frizzled and powdered to

perfection, bearing in his hand a bouquet of flowers and wheatears, issues proudly from the Convention

Hall; Convention following him, yet, as is remarked, with an interval. Amphitheatre has been raised, or at

least Monticule or Elevation; hideous Statues of Atheism, Anarchy and such like, thanks to Heaven and

Painter David, strike abhorrence into the heart. Unluckily however, our Monticule is too small. On the top of

it not half of us can stand; wherefore there arises indecent shoving, nay treasonous irreverent growling.

The seagreen Pontiff takes a torch, Painter David handing it; mouths some other frothrant of vocables,

which happily one cannot hear; strides resolutely forward, in sight of expectant France; sets his torch to

Atheism and Company, which are but made of pasteboard steeped in turpentine. They burn up rapidly; and,

from within, there rises 'by machinery' an incombustible Statue of Wisdom, which, by ill hap, gets besmoked

And then? Why, then, there is other Processioning, scraggy Discoursing, andthis is our Feast of the Etre

Supreme; our new Religion, better or worse, is come!Look at it one moment, O Reader, not two. The

Shabbiest page of Human Annals: or is there, that thou wottest of, one shabbier? MumboJumbo of the

African woods to me seems venerable beside this new Deity of Robespierre; for this is a conscious

MumboJumbo, and knows that he is machinery. O seagreen Prophet, unhappiest of windbags blown nigh to

bursting, what distracted Chimera among realities are thou growing to! This then, this common pitchlink for

artificial fireworks of turpentine and pasteboard; this is the miraculous Aaron's Rod thou wilt stretch over a

hagridden hellridden France, and bid her plagues cease? Vanish, thou and it!"Avec ton Etre Supreme,"

said Billaud, tu commences m'embeter: With thy Etre Supreme thou beginnest to be a bore to me." (See

Vilate, Causes Secretes. (Vilate's Narrative is very curious; but is not to be taken as true, without sifting;

Catherine Theot, on the other hand, 'an ancient servingmaid seventynine years of age,' inured to Prophecy

and the Bastille from of old, sits, in an upper room in the RuedeContrescarpe, poring over the Book of

Revelations, with an eye to Robespierre; finds that this astonishing thricepotent Maximilien really is the

Man spoken of by Prophets, who is to make the Earth young again. With her sit devout old Marchionesses,

cidevant honourable women; among whom OldConstituent Dom Gerle, with his addle head, cannot be

wanting. They sit there, in the RuedeContrescarpe; in mysterious adoration: Mumbo is Mumbo, and

Robespierre is his Prophet. A conspicuous man this Robespierre. He has his volunteer Bodyguard of Tappe

durs, let us say Strikesharps, fierce Patriots with feruled sticks; and Jacobins kissing the hem of his garment.

He enjoys the admiration of many, the worship of some; and is well worth the wonder of one and all.

The grand question and hope, however, is: Will not this Feast of the Tuileries MumboJumbo be a sign

perhaps that the Guillotine is to abate? Far enough from that! Precisely on the second day after it, Couthon,

one of the 'three shallow scoundrels,' gets himself lifted into the Tribune; produces a bundle of papers.

Couthon proposes that, as Plots still abound, the Law of the Suspect shall have extension, and Arrestment

new vigour and facility. Further that, as in such case business is like to be heavy, our Revolutionary Tribunal

too shall have extension; be divided, say, into Four Tribunals, each with its President, each with its Fouquier

or Substitute of Fouquier, all labouring at once, and any remnant of shackle or dilatory formality be struck

off: in this way it may perhaps still overtake the work. Such is Couthon's Decree of the Twentysecond

Prairial, famed in those times. At hearing of which Decree the very Mountain gasped, awestruck; and one

Ruamps ventured to say that if it passed without adjournment and discussion, he, as one Representative,

"would blow his brains out." Vain saying! The Incorruptible knit his brows; spoke a prophetic fateful word or

two: the Law of Prairial is Law; Ruamps glad to leave his rash brains where they are. Death, then, and always

Death! Even so. Fouquier is enlarging his borders; making room for Batches of a Hundred and fifty at

once;getting a Guillotine set up, of improved velocity, and to work under cover, in the apartment close by.

So that Salut itself has to intervene, and forbid him: "Wilt thou demoralise the Guillotine," asks Collot,

There is indeed danger of that; were not the Republican faith great, it were already done. See, for example, on

the 17th of June, what a Batch, Fiftyfour at once! Swart Amiral is here, he of the pistol that missed fire;

young Cecile Renault, with her father, family, entire kith and kin; the widow of d'Espremenil; old M. de

Sombreuil of the Invalides, with his Son,poor old Sombreuil, seventythree years old, his Daughter saved

him in September, and it was but for this. Faction of the Stranger, fiftyfour of them! In red shirts and

smocks, as Assassins and Faction of the Stranger, they flit along there; red baleful Phantasmagory, towards

Meanwhile will not the people of the Place de la Revolution, the inhabitants along the Rue SaintHonore, as

these continual Tumbrils pass, begin to look gloomy? Republicans too have bowels. The Guillotine is shifted,

then again shifted; finally set up at the remote extremity of the SouthEast: (Montgaillard, iv. 237.) Suburbs

SaintAntoine and Saint Marceau it is to be hoped, if they have bowels, have very tough ones.

It is time now, however, to cast a glance into the Prisons. When Desmoulins moved for his Committee of

Mercy, these Twelve Houses of Arrest held five thousand persons. Continually arriving since then, there have

now accumulated twelve thousand. They are Cidevants, Royalists; in far greater part, they are Republicans,

of various Girondin, Fayettish, Un Jacobin colour. Perhaps no human Habitation or Prison ever equalled in

squalor, in noisome horror, these Twelve Houses of Arrest. There exist records of personal experience in

them Memoires sur les Prisons; one of the strangest Chapters in the Biography of Man.

Very singular to look into it: how a kind of order rises up in all conditions of human existence; and wherever

two or three are gathered together, there are formed modes of existing together, habitudes, observances, nay

gracefulnesses, joys! Citoyen Coitant will explain fully how our lean dinner, of herbs and carrion, was

consumed not without politeness and placeauxdames: how Seigneur and Shoeblack, Duchess and

DollTearsheet, flung pellmell into a heap, ranked themselves according to method: at what hour 'the

Citoyennes took to their needlework;' and we, yielding the chairs to them, endeavoured to talk gallantly in a

standing posture, or even to sing and harp more or less. Jealousies, enmities are not wanting; nor flirtations,

Alas, by degrees, even needlework must cease: Plot in the Prison rises, by Citoyen Laflotte and Preternatural

Suspicion. Suspicious Municipality snatches from us all implements; all money and possession, of means or

metal, is ruthlessly searched for, in pocket, in pillow and paillasse, and snatched away; redcapped

Commissaries entering every cell! Indignation, temporary desperation, at robbery of its very thimble, fills the

gentle heart. Old Nuns shriek shrill discord; demand to be killed forthwith. No help from shrieking! Better

was that of the two shifty male Citizens, who, eager to preserve an implement or two, were it but a

pipepicker, or needle to darn hose with, determined to defend themselves: by tobacco. Swift then, as your

fell Red Caps are heard in the Corridor rummaging and slamming, the two Citoyens light their pipes and

begin smoking. Thick darkness envelops them. The Red Nightcaps, opening the cell, breathe but one

mouthful; burst forth into chorus of barking and coughing. "Quoi, Messieurs," cry the two Citoyens, "You

don't smoke? Is the pipe disagreeable! Estce que vous ne fumez pas?" But the Red Nightcaps have fled, with

slight search: "Vous n'aimez pas la pipe?" cry the Citoyens, as their door slamsto again. (Maison d'Arret de

PortLibre, par Coittant, (Memoires sur les Prisons, ii.) My poor brother Citoyens, O surely, in a reign of

Rigour grows, stiffens into horrid tyranny; Plot in the Prison getting ever riper. This Plot in the Prison, as we

said, is now the stereotype formula of Tinville: against whomsoever he knows no crime, this is a readymade

crime. His Judgmentbar has become unspeakable; a recognised mockery; known only as the wicket one

passes through, towards Death. His Indictments are drawn out in blank; you insert the Names after. He has

his moutons, detestable traitor jackalls, who report and bear witness; that they themselves may be allowed to

live,for a time. His Fournees, says the reproachful Collot, 'shall in no case exceed threescore;' that is his

maximum. Nightly come his Tumbrils to the Luxembourg, with the fatal Roll call; list of the Fournee of

tomorrow. Men rush towards the Grate; listen, if their name be in it? One deepdrawn breath, when the

name is not in: we live still one day! And yet some score or scores of names were in. Quick these; they clasp

their loved ones to their heart, one last time; with brief adieu, weteyed or dryeyed, they mount, and are

away. This night to the Conciergerie; through the Palais misnamed of Justice, to the Guillotine tomorrow.

Recklessness, defiant levity, the Stoicism if not of strength yet of weakness, has possessed all hearts. Weak

women and Cidevants, their locks not yet made into blond perukes, their skins not yet tanned into breeches,

are accustomed to 'act the Guillotine' by way of pastime. In fantastic mummery, with towelturbans,

blanketermine, a mock Sanhedrim of Judges sits, a mock Tinville pleads; a culprit is doomed, is guillotined

by the oversetting of two chairs. Sometimes we carry it farther: Tinville himself, in his turn, is doomed, and

not to the Guillotine alone. With blackened face, hirsute, horned, a shaggy Satan snatches him not

unshrieking; shews him, with outstretched arm and voice, the fire that is not quenched, the worm that dies

not; the monotony of Hellpain, and the What hour? answered by, It is Eternity! (Montgaillard, iv. 218;

And still the Prisons fill fuller, and still the Guillotine goes faster. On all high roads march flights of

Prisoners, wending towards Paris. Not Cidevants now; they, the noisy of them, are mown down; it is

Republicans now. Chained two and two they march; in exasperated moments, singing their Marseillaise. A

hundred and thirtytwo men of Nantes for instance, march towards Paris, in these same days: Republicans, or

say even Jacobins to the marrow of the bone; but Jacobins who had not approved Noyading. (Voyage de Cent

Trentedeux Nantais (Prisons, ii. 288335.) Vive la Republique rises from them in all streets of towns: they

rest by night, in unutterable noisome dens, crowded to choking; one or two dead on the morrow. They are

wayworn, weary of heart; can only shout: Live the Republic; we, as under horrid enchantment, dying in this

Some Four Hundred Priests, of whom also there is record, ride at anchor, 'in the roads of the Isle of Aix,' long

months; looking out on misery, vacuity, waste Sands of Oleron and the evermoaning brine. Ragged, sordid,

hungry; wasted to shadows: eating their unclean ration on deck, circularly, in parties of a dozen, with finger

and thumb; beating their scandalous clothes between two stones; choked in horrible miasmata, closed under

hatches, seventy of them in a berth, through night; so that the 'aged Priest is found lying dead in the morning,

in the attitude of prayer!' (Relation de ce qu'ont souffert pour la Religion les Pretres deportes en 1794, dans la

Not forever; no. All Anarchy, all Evil, Injustice, is, by the nature of it, dragon'steeth; suicidal, and cannot

It is very remarkable, indeed, that since the EtreSupreme Feast, and the sublime continued harangues on it,

which Billaud feared would become a bore to him, Robespierre has gone little to Committee; but held himself

apart, as if in a kind of pet. Nay they have made a Report on that old Catherine Theot, and her Regenerative

Man spoken of by the Prophets; not in the best spirit. This Theot mystery they affect to regard as a Plot; but

have evidently introduced a vein of satire, of irreverent banter, not against the Spinster alone, but obliquely

against her Regenerative Man! Barrere's light pen was perhaps at the bottom of it: read through the solemn

snuffling organs of old Vadier of the Surete Generale, the Theot Report had its effect; wrinkling the general

We note further that among the Prisoners in the Twelve Houses of Arrest, there is one whom we have seen

before. Senhora Fontenai, born Cabarus, the fair Proserpine whom Representative Tallien Plutolike did

gather at Bourdeaux, not without effect on himself! Tallien is home, by recall, long since, from Bourdeaux;

and in the most alarming position. Vain that he sounded, louder even than ever, the note of Jacobinism, to

hide past shortcomings: the Jacobins purged him out; two times has Robespierre growled at him words of

omen from the Convention Tribune. And now his fair Cabarus, hit by denunciation, lies Arrested, Suspect, in

spite of all he could do!Shut in horrid pinfold of death, the Senhora smuggles out to her redgloomy

Tallien the most pressing entreaties and conjurings: Save me; save thyself. Seest thou not that thy own head

is doomed; thou with a too fiery audacity; a Dantonist withal; against whom lie grudges? Are ye not all

doomed, as in the Polyphemus Cavern; the fawningest slave of you will be but eaten last!Tallien feels with

a shudder that it is true. Tallien has had words of omen, Bourdon has had words, Freron is hated and Barras:

Meanwhile Robespierre, we still observe, goes little to Convention, not at all to Committee; speaks nothing

except to his Jacobin House of Lords, amid his bodyguard of Tappedurs. These 'fortydays,' for we are now

far in July, he has not shewed face in Committee; could only work there by his three shallow scoundrels, and

the terror there was of him. The Incorruptible himself sits apart; or is seen stalking in solitary places in the

fields, with an intensely meditative air; some say, 'with eyes red spotted,' (Deux Amis, xii. 34773.) fruit of

extreme bile: the lamentablest seagreen Chimera that walks the Earth that July! O hapless Chimera; for thou

too hadst a life, and a heart of flesh,what is this the stern gods, seeming to smile all the way, have led and

let thee to! Art not thou he who, few years ago, was a young Advocate of promise; and gave up the Arras

What his thoughts might be? His plans for finishing the Terror? One knows not. Dim vestiges there flit of

Agrarian Law; a victorious Sansculottism become Landed Proprietor; old Soldiers sitting in National

Mansions, in Hospital Palaces of Chambord and Chantilly; peace bought by victory; breaches healed by Feast

of Etre Supreme;and so, through seas of blood, to Equality, Frugality, worksome Blessedness, Fraternity,

and Republic of the virtues! Blessed shore, of such a sea of Aristocrat blood: but how to land on it? Through

one last wave: blood of corrupt Sansculottists; traitorous or semitraitorous Conventionals, rebellious

Talliens, Billauds, to whom with my Etre Supreme I have become a bore; with my Apocalyptic Old Woman a

laughingstock!So stalks he, this poor Robespierre, like a seagreen ghost through the blooming July.

Vestiges of schemes flit dim. But what his schemes or his thoughts were will never be known to man.

New Catacombs, some say, are digging for a huge simultaneous butchery. Convention to be butchered, down

to the right pitch, by General Henriot and Company: Jacobin House of Lords made dominant; and

Robespierre Dictator. (Deux Amis, xii. 3508.) There is actually, or else there is not actually, a List made

out; which the Hairdresser has got eye on, as he frizzled the Incorruptible locks. Each man asks himself, Is it

Nay, as Tradition and rumour of Anecdote still convey it, there was a remarkable bachelor's dinner one hot

day at Barrere's. For doubt not, O Reader, this Barrere and others of them gave dinners; had 'countryhouse

at Clichy,' with elegant enough sumptuosities, and pleasures highrouged! (See Vilate.) But at this dinner we

speak of, the day being so hot, it is said, the guests all stript their coats, and left them in the drawingroom:

whereupon Carnot glided out; groped in Robespierre's pocket; found a list of Forty, his own name among

them; and tarried not at the winecup that day!Ye must bestir yourselves, O Friends; ye dull Frogs of the

Marsh, mute ever since Girondism sank under, even ye now must croak or die! Councils are held, with word

and beck; nocturnal, mysterious as death. Does not a feline Maximilien stalk there; voiceless as yet; his green

eyes redspotted; back bent, and hair up? Rash Tallien, with his rash temper and audacity of tongue; he shall

Lo, before the fixed day, on the day which they call Eighth of Thermidor, 26th July 1794, Robespierre

himself reappears in Convention; mounts to the Tribune! The biliary face seems clouded with new gloom;

judge whether your Talliens, Bourdons listened with interest. It is a voice bodeful of death or of life.

Longwinded, unmelodious as the screechowl's, sounds that prophetic voice: Degenerate condition of

Republican spirit; corrupt moderatism; Surete, Salut Committees themselves infected; backsliding on this

hand and on that; I, Maximilien, alone left incorruptible, ready to die at a moment's warning. For all which

what remedy is there? The Guillotine; new vigour to the allhealing Guillotine: death to traitors of every hue!

So sings the prophetic voice; into its Convention sounding board. The old song this: but today, O Heavens!

has the soundingboard ceased to act? There is not resonance in this Convention; there is, so to speak, a gasp

of silence; nay a certain grating of one knows not what! Lecointre, our old Draper of Versailles, in these

questionable circumstances, sees nothing he can do so safe as rise, 'insidiously' or not insidiously, and move,

according to established wont, that the Robespierre Speech be 'printed and sent to the Departments.' Hark:

gratings, even of dissonance! Honourable Members hint dissonance; CommitteeMembers, inculpated in the

Speech, utter dissonance; demand 'delay in printing.' Ever higher rises the note of dissonance; inquiry is even

made by Editor Freron: "What has become of the Liberty of Opinions in this Convention?" The Order to print

and transmit, which had got passed, is rescinded. Robespierre, greener than ever before, has to retire, foiled;

Mutiny is a thing of the fatallest nature in all enterprises whatsoever; a thing so incalculable, swiftfrightful;

not to be dealt with in fright. But mutiny in a Robespierre Convention, above all,it is like fire seen

sputtering in the ship's powderroom! One deathdefiant plunge at it, this moment, and you may still tread it

out: hesitate till next moment,ship and ship's captain, crew and cargo are shivered far; the ship's voyage

has suddenly ended between sea and sky. If Robespierre can, tonight, produce his Henriot and Company,

and get his work done by them, he and Sansculottism may still subsist some time; if not, probably not. Oliver

Cromwell, when that Agitator Serjeant stept forth from the ranks, with plea of grievances, and began

gesticulating and demonstrating, as the mouthpiece of Thousands expectant there,discerned, with those

truculent eyes of his, how the matter lay; plucked a pistol from his holsters; blew Agitator and Agitation

Robespierre, for his part, glides over at evening to his Jacobin House of Lords; unfolds there, instead of some

adequate resolution, his woes, his uncommon virtues, incorruptibilities; then, secondly, his rejected screech

owl Oration;reads this latter over again; and declares that he is ready to die at a moment's warning. Thou

shalt not die! shouts Jacobinism from its thousand throats. "Robespierre, I will drink the hemlock with thee,"

cries Painter David, "Je boirai la cigue avec toi;"a thing not essential to do, but which, in the fire of the

Our Jacobin soundingboard, therefore, does act! Applauses heavenhigh cover the rejected Oration;

fireeyed fury lights all Jacobin features: Insurrection a sacred duty; the Convention to be purged; Sovereign

People under Henriot and Municipality; we will make a new JuneSecond of it: to your tents, O Israel! In this

key pipes Jacobinism; in sheer tumult of revolt. Let Tallien and all Opposition men make off. Collot

d'Herbois, though of the supreme Salut, and so lately near shot, is elbowed, bullied; is glad to escape alive.

Entering Committeeroom of Salut, all dishevelled, he finds sleek sombre SaintJust there, among the rest;

who in his sleek way asks, "What is passing at the Jacobins?""What is passing?" repeats Collot, in the

unhistrionic Cambyses' vein: "What is passing? Nothing but revolt and horrors are passing. Ye want our

lives; ye shall not have them." SaintJust stutters at such Cambyses'oratory; takes his hat to withdraw. That

report he had been speaking of, Report on Republican Things in General we may say, which is to be read in

Convention on the morrow, he cannot shew it them this moment: a friend has it; he, Saint Just, will get it,

and send it, were he once home. Once home, he sends not it, but an answer that he will not send it; that they

Let every man, therefore, according to a wellknown goodadvice, 'pray to Heaven, and keep his powder

dry!' Paris, on the morrow, will see a thing. Swift scouts fly dim or invisible, all night, from Surete and Salut;

from conclave to conclave; from Mother Society to Townhall. Sleep, can it fall on the eyes of Talliens,

Frerons, Collots? Puissant Henriot, Mayor Fleuriot, Judge Coffinhal, Procureur Payan, Robespierre and all

Tallien's eyes beamed bright, on the morrow, Ninth of Thermidor 'about nine o'clock,' to see that the

Convention had actually met. Paris is in rumour: but at least we are met, in Legal Convention here; we have

not been snatched seriatim; treated with a Pride's Purge at the door. "Allons, brave men of the Plain," late

Frogs of the Marsh! cried Tallien with a squeeze of the hand, as he passed in; SaintJust's sonorous organ

SaintJust is verily reading that Report of his; green Vengeance, in the shape of Robespierre, watching nigh.

Behold, however, SaintJust has read but few sentences, when interruption rises, rapid crescendo; when

Tallien starts to his feet, and Billaud, and this man starts and that,and Tallien, a second time, with his:

"Citoyens, at the Jacobins last night, I trembled for the Republic. I said to myself, if the Convention dare not

strike the Tyrant, then I myself dare; and with this I will do it, if need be," said he, whisking out a

cleargleaming Dagger, and brandishing it there: the Steel of Brutus, as we call it. Whereat we all bellow,

and brandish, impetuous acclaim. "Tyranny; Dictatorship! Triumvirat!" And the Salut Committeemen

accuse, and all men accuse, and uproar, and impetuously acclaim. And SaintJust is standing motionless, pale

of face; Couthon ejaculating, "Triumvir?" with a look at his paralytic legs. And Robespierre is struggling to

speak, but President Thuriot is jingling the bell against him, but the Hall is sounding against him like an

AeolusHall: and Robespierre is mounting the Tribunesteps and descending again; going and coming, like

to choke with rage, terror, desperation:and mutiny is the order of the day! (Moniteur, Nos. 311, 312;

O President Thuriot, thou that wert Elector Thuriot, and from the Bastille battlements sawest SaintAntoine

rising like the Oceantide, and hast seen much since, sawest thou ever the like of this? Jingle of bell, which

thou jinglest against Robespierre, is hardly audible amid the Bedlamstorm; and men rage for life. "President

of Assassins," shrieks Robespierre, "I demand speech of thee for the last time!" It cannot be had. "To you, O

virtuous men of the Plain," cries he, finding audience one moment, "I appeal to you!" The virtuous men of the

Plain sit silent as stones. And Thuriot's bell jingles, and the Hall sounds like Aeolus's Hall. Robespierre's

frothing lips are grown 'blue;' his tongue dry, cleaving to the roof of his mouth. "The blood of Danton chokes

him," cry they. "Accusation! Decree of Accusation!" Thuriot swiftly puts that question. Accusation passes;

"I demand to share my Brother's fate, as I have striven to share his virtues," cries Augustin, the Younger

Robespierre: Augustin also is decreed. And Couthon, and SaintJust, and Lebas, they are all decreed; and

packed forth,not without difficulty, the Ushers almost trembling to obey. Triumvirat and Company are

packed forth, into Salut Committeeroom; their tongue cleaving to the roof of their mouth. You have but to

summon the Municipality; to cashier Commandant Henriot, and launch Arrest at him; to regular formalities;

hand Tinville his victims. It is noon: the Aeolus Hall has delivered itself; blows now victorious,

And so the work is finished? One thinks so; and yet it is not so. Alas, there is yet but the firstact finished;

three or four other acts still to come; and an uncertain catastrophe! A huge City holds in it so many

confusions: seven hundred thousand human heads; not one of which knows what its neighbour is doing, nay

not what itself is doing.See, accordingly, about three in the afternoon, Commandant Henriot, how instead

of sitting cashiered, arrested, he gallops along the Quais, followed by Municipal Gendarmes, 'trampling down

several persons!' For the Townhall sits deliberating, openly insurgent: Barriers to be shut; no Gaoler to admit

any Prisoner this day;and Henriot is galloping towards the Tuileries, to deliver Robespierre. On the Quai

de la Ferraillerie, a young Citoyen, walking with his wife, says aloud: "Gendarmes, that man is not your

Commandant; he is under arrest." The Gendarmes strike down the young Citoyen with the flat of their

swords. (Precis des evenemens du Neuf Thermidor, par C.A. Meda, ancien Gendarme (Paris, 1825).)

Representatives themselves (as Merlin the Thionviller) who accost him, this puissant Henriot flings into

guardhouses. He bursts towards the Tuileries Committeeroom, "to speak with Robespierre:" with difficulty,

the Ushers and Tuileries Gendarmes, earnestly pleading and drawing sabre, seize this Henriot; get the Henriot

Gendarmes persuaded not to fight; get Robespierre and Company packed into hackneycoaches, sent off

under escort, to the Luxembourg and other Prisons. This then is the end? May not an exhausted Convention

An exhausted Convention did it; and repented it. The end was not come; only the end of the secondact.

Hark, while exhausted Representatives sit at victuals,tocsin bursting from all steeples, drums rolling, in the

summer evening: Judge Coffinhal is galloping with new Gendarmes to deliver Henriot from Tuileries

Committeeroom; and does deliver him! Puissant Henriot vaults on horseback; sets to haranguing the

Tuileries Gendarmes; corrupts the Tuileries Gendarmes too; trots off with them to Townhall. Alas, and

Robespierre is not in Prison: the Gaoler shewed his Municipal order, durst not on pain of his life, admit any

Prisoner; the Robespierre Hackneycoaches, in confused jangle and whirl of uncertain Gendarmes, have

floated safeinto the Townhall! There sit Robespierre and Company, embraced by Municipals and Jacobins,

in sacred right of Insurrection; redacting Proclamations; sounding tocsins; corresponding with Sections and

Mother Society. Is not here a pretty enough thirdact of a natural Greek Drama; catastrophe more uncertain

The hasty Convention rushes together again, in the ominous nightfall: President Collot, for the chair is his,

enters with long strides, paleness on his face; claps on his hat; says with solemn tone: "Citoyens, armed

Villains have beset the Committeerooms, and got possession of them. The hour is come, to die at our post!"

"Oui," answer one and all: "We swear it!" It is no rhodomontade, this time, but a sad fact and necessity;

unless we do at our posts, we must verily die! Swift therefore, Robespierre, Henriot, the Municipality, are

declared Rebels; put Hors la Loi, Out of Law. Better still, we appoint Barras Commandant of what Armed

Force is to be had; send Missionary Representatives to all Sections and quarters, to preach, and raise force;

What a distracted City; men riding and running, reporting and hearsaying; the Hour clearly in travail,child

not to be named till born! The poor Prisoners in the Luxembourg hear the rumour; tremble for a new

September. They see men making signals to them, on skylights and roofs, apparently signals of hope; cannot

in the least make out what it is. (Memoires sur les Prisons, ii. 277.) We observe however, in the eventide, as

usual, the Deathtumbrils faring Southeastward, through SaintAntoine, towards their Barrier du Trone.

SaintAntoine's tough bowels melt; SaintAntoine surrounds the Tumbrils; says, It shall not be. O Heavens,

why should it! Henriot and Gendarmes, scouring the streets that way, bellow, with waved sabres, that it must.

But in this set of Tumbrils there are two other things notable: one notable person; and one want of a notable

person. The notable person is LieutenantGeneral Loiserolles, a nobleman by birth, and by nature; laying

down his life here for his son. In the Prison of SaintLazare, the night before last, hurrying to the Grate to

hear the Deathlist read, he caught the name of his son. The son was asleep at the moment. "I am

Loiserolles," cried the old man: at Tinville's bar, an error in the Christian name is little; small objection was

made. The want of the notable person, again, is that of Deputy Paine! Paine has sat in the Luxembourg since

January; and seemed forgotten; but Fouquier had pricked him at last. The Turnkey, List in hand, is marking

with chalk the outer doors of tomorrow's Fournee. Paine's outer door happened to be open, turned back on

the wall; the Turnkey marked it on the side next him, and hurried on: another Turnkey came, and shut it; no

chalkmark now visible, the Fournee went without Paine. Paine's life lay not there.

Our fifthact, of this natural Greek Drama, with its natural unities, can only be painted in gross; somewhat as

that antique Painter, driven desperate, did the foam! For through this blessed July night, there is clangour,

confusion very great, of marching troops; of Sections going this way, Sections going that; of Missionary

Representatives reading Proclamations by torchlight; Missionary Legendre, who has raised force somewhere,

emptying out the Jacobins, and flinging their key on the Convention table: "I have locked their door; it shall

be Virtue that re opens it." Paris, we say, is set against itself, rushing confused, as Oceancurrents do; a

huge Mahlstrom, sounding there, under cloud of night. Convention sits permanent on this hand; Municipality

most permanent on that. The poor Prisoners hear tocsin and rumour; strive to bethink them of the signals

apparently of hope. Meek continual Twilight streaming up, which will be Dawn and a Tomorrow, silvers

the Northern hem of Night; it wends and wends there, that meek brightness, like a silent prophecy, along the

great RingDial of the Heaven. So still, eternal! And on Earth all is confused shadow and conflict;

dissidence, tumultuous gloom and glare; and Destiny as yet shakes her doubtful urn.

About three in the morning, the dissident ArmedForces have met. Henriot's Armed Force stood ranked in

the Place de Greve; and now Barras's, which he has recruited, arrives there; and they front each other, cannon

bristling against cannon. Citoyens! cries the voice of Discretion, loudly enough, Before coming to bloodshed,

to endless civilwar, hear the Convention Decree read: 'Robespierre and all rebels Out of Law!'Out of

Law? There is terror in the sound: unarmed Citoyens disperse rapidly home; Municipal Cannoneers range

themselves on the Convention side, with shouting. At which shout, Henriot descends from his upper room,

far gone in drink as some say; finds his Place de Greve empty; the cannons' mouth turned towards him; and,

Stumbling in again, the wretched drunksobered Henriot announces: "All is lost!" "Miserable! it is thou that

hast lost it," cry they: and fling him, or else he flings himself, out of window: far enough down; into

masonwork and horror of cesspool; not into death but worse. Augustin Robespierre follows him; with the like

fate. SaintJust called on Lebas to kill him: who would not. Couthon crept under a table; attempting to kill

himself; not doing it.On entering that Sanhedrim of Insurrection, we find all as good as extinct; undone,

ready for seizure. Robespierre was sitting on a chair, with pistol shot blown through, not his head, but his

under jaw; the suicidal hand had failed. (Meda. p. 384. (Meda asserts that it was he who, with infinite

courage, though in a lefthanded manner, shot Robespierre. Meda got promoted for his services of this night;

and died General and Baron. Few credited Meda in what was otherwise incredible.).) With prompt zeal, not

without trouble, we gather these wretched Conspirators; fish up even Henriot and Augustin, bleeding and

foul; pack them all, rudely enough, into carts; and shall, before sunrise, have them safe under lock and key.

Robespierre lay in an anteroom of the Convention Hall, while his Prison escort was getting ready; the

mangled jaw bound up rudely with bloody linen: a spectacle to men. He lies stretched on a table, a dealbox

his pillow; the sheath of the pistol is still clenched convulsively in his hand. Men bully him, insult him: his

eyes still indicate intelligence; he speaks no word. 'He had on the skyblue coat he had got made for the Feast

of the Etre Supreme'O reader, can thy hard heart hold out against that? His trousers were nankeen; the

And so, at six in the morning, a victorious Convention adjourns. Report flies over Paris as on golden wings;

penetrates the Prisons; irradiates the faces of those that were ready to perish: turnkeys and moutons, fallen

from their high estate, look mute and blue. It is the 28th day of July, called 10th of Thermidor, year 1794.

Fouquier had but to identify; his Prisoners being already Out of Law. At four in the afternoon, never before

were the streets of Paris seen so crowded. From the Palais de Justice to the Place de la Revolution, for thither

again go the Tumbrils this time, it is one dense stirring mass; all windows crammed; the very roofs and

ridgetiles budding forth human Curiosity, in strange gladness. The Deathtumbrils, with their motley Batch

of Outlaws, some Twentythree or so, from Maximilien to Mayor Fleuriot and Simon the Cordwainer, roll

on. All eyes are on Robespierre's Tumbril, where he, his jaw bound in dirty linen, with his halfdead Brother,

and halfdead Henriot, lie shattered; their 'seventeen hours' of agony about to end. The Gendarmes point their

swords at him, to shew the people which is he. A woman springs on the Tumbril; clutching the side of it with

one hand; waving the other Sibyllike; and exclaims: "The death of thee gladdens my very heart, m'enivre de

joie;" Robespierre opened his eyes; "Scelerat, go down to Hell, with the curses of all wives and

mothers!"At the foot of the scaffold, they stretched him on the ground till his turn came. Lifted aloft, his

eyes again opened; caught the bloody axe. Samson wrenched the coat off him; wrenched the dirty linen from

his jaw: the jaw fell powerless, there burst from him a cry;hideous to hear and see. Samson, thou canst not

Samson's work done, there burst forth shout on shout of applause. Shout, which prolongs itself not only over

Paris, but over France, but over Europe, and down to this Generation. Deservedly, and also undeservedly. O

unhappiest Advocate of Arras, wert thou worse than other Advocates? Stricter man, according to his

Formula, to his Credo and his Cant, of probities, benevolences, pleasuresofvirtue, and such like, lived not

in that age. A man fitted, in some luckier settled age, to have become one of those incorruptible barren

PatternFigures, and have had marbletablets and funeralsermons! His poor landlord, the Cabinetmaker in

the Rue Saint Honore, loved him; his Brother died for him. May God be merciful to him, and to us.

This is end of the Reign of Terror; new glorious Revolution named of Thermidor; of Thermidor 9th, year 2;

which being interpreted into old slavestyle means 27th of July, 1794. Terror is ended; and death in the Place

de la Revolution, were the 'Tail of Robespierre' once executed; which service Fouquier in large Batches is

How little did any one suppose that here was the end not of Robespierre only, but of the Revolution System

itself! Least of all did the mutinying Committeemen suppose it; who had mutinied with no view whatever

except to continue the National Regeneration with their own heads on their shoulders. And yet so it verily

was. The insignificant stone they had struck out, so insignificant anywhere else, proved to be the Keystone:

the whole arch work and edifice of Sansculottism began to loosen, to crack, to yawn; and tumbled,

piecemeal, with considerable rapidity, plunge after plunge; till the Abyss had swallowed it all, and in this

For despicable as Robespierre himself might be, the death of Robespierre was a signal at which great

multitudes of men, struck dumb with terror heretofore, rose out of their hiding places: and, as it were, saw

one another, how multitudinous they were; and began speaking and complaining. They are countable by the

thousand and the million; who have suffered cruel wrong. Ever louder rises the plaint of such a multitude;

into a universal sound, into a universal continuous peal, of what they call Public Opinion. Camille had

demanded a 'Committee of Mercy,' and could not get it; but now the whole nation resolves itself into a

Committee of Mercy: the Nation has tried Sansculottism, and is weary of it. Force of Public Opinion! What

King or Convention can withstand it? You in vain struggle: the thing that is rejected as 'calumnious' today

must pass as veracious with triumph another day: gods and men have declared that Sansculottism cannot be.

Sansculottism, on that Ninth night of Thermidor suicidally 'fractured its under jaw;' and lies writhing, never

Through the next fifteenth months, it is what we may call the deathagony of Sansculottism. Sansculottism,

Anarchy of the JeanJacques Evangel, having now got deep enough, is to perish in a new singular system of

Culottism and Arrangement. For Arrangement is indispensable to man; Arrangement, were it grounded only

on that old primary Evangel of Force, with Sceptre in the shape of Hammer. Be there method, be there order,

cry all men; were it that of the Drillserjeant! More tolerable is the drilled Bayonetrank, than that undrilled

Guillotine, incalculable as the wind. How Sansculottism, writhing in deaththroes, strove some twice, or

even three times, to get on its feet again; but fell always, and was flung resupine, the next instant; and finally

breathed out the life of it, and stirred no more: this we are now, from a due distance, with due brevity, to

Two of the first acts of the Convention, very natural for it after this Thermidor, are to be specified here: the

first is renewal of the Governing Committees. Both Surete Generale and Salut Public, thinned by the

Guillotine, need filling up: we naturally fill them up with Talliens, Frerons, victorious Thermidorian men.

Still more to the purpose, we appoint that they shall, as Law directs, not in name only but in deed, be renewed

and changed from period to period; a fourth part of them going out monthly. The Convention will no more lie

under bondage of Committees, under terror of death; but be a free Convention; free to follow its own

judgment, and the Force of Public Opinion. Not less natural is it to enact that Prisoners and Persons under

Accusation shall have right to demand some 'Writ of Accusation,' and see clearly what they are accused of.

For now Fouquier's trade, shackled by Writ of Accusation, and legal proof, is as good as gone; effectual only

against Robespierre's Tail. The Prisons give up their Suspects; emit them faster and faster. The Committees

see themselves besieged with Prisoners' friends; complain that they are hindered in their work: it is as with

men rushing out of a crowded place; and obstructing one another. Turned are the tables: Prisoners pouring

out in floods; Jailors, Moutons and the Tail of Robespierre going now whither they were wont to send!The

Hundred and thirtytwo Nantese Republicans, whom we saw marching in irons, have arrived; shrunk to

Ninetyfour, the fifth man of them choked by the road. They arrive: and suddenly find themselves not

pleaders for life, but denouncers to death. Their Trial is for acquittal, and more. As the voice of a trumpet,

their testimony sounds far and wide, mere atrocities of a Reign of Terror. For a space of nineteen days; with

all solemnity and publicity. Representative Carrier, Company of Marat; Noyadings, Loire Marriages, things

done in darkness, come forth into light: clear is the voice of these poor resuscitated Nantese; and Journals and

Speech and universal Committee of Mercy reverberate it loud enough, into all ears and hearts. Deputation

arrives from Arras; denouncing the atrocities of Representative Lebon. A tamed Convention loves its own

life: yet what help? Representative Lebon, Representative Carrier must wend towards the Revolutionary

Tribunal; struggle and delay as we will, the cry of a Nation pursues them louder and louder. Them also

We must note moreover the decrepit condition into which a once omnipotent Mother Society has fallen.

Legendre flung her keys on the Convention table, that Thermidor night; her President was guillotined with

Robespierre. The once mighty Mother came, some time after, with a subdued countenance, begging back her

keys: the keys were restored her; but the strength could not be restored her; the strength had departed forever.

Alas, one's day is done. Vain that the Tribune in mid air sounds as of old: to the general ear it has become a

horror, and even a weariness. By and by, Affiliation is prohibited: the mighty Mother sees herself suddenly

The Revolutionary Committees, without Suspects to prey upon, perish fast; as it were of famine. In Paris the

whole Fortyeight of them are reduced to Twelve, their Forty sous are abolished: yet a little while, and

Revolutionary Committees are no more. Maximum will be abolished; let Sansculottism find food where it

can. (24th December 1794 (Moniteur, No. 97).) Neither is there now any Municipality; any centre at the

Townhall. Mayor Fleuriot and Company perished; whom we shall not be in haste to replace. The Townhall

remains in a broken submissive state; knows not well what it is growing to; knows only that it is grown weak,

and must obey. What if we should split Paris into, say, a Dozen separate Municipalities; incapable of concert!

The Sections were thus rendered safe to act with: or indeed might not the Sections themselves be

abolished? You had then merely your Twelve manageable pacific Townships, without centre or subdivision;

(October 1795 (Dulaure, viii. 4546).) and sacred right of Insurrection fell into abeyance!

So much is getting abolished; fleeting swiftly into the Inane. For the Press speaks, and the human tongue;

Journals, heavy and light, in Philippic and Burlesque: a renegade Freron, a renegade Prudhomme, loud they

as ever, only the contrary way. And Cidevants shew themselves, almost parade themselves; resuscitated as

from deathsleep; publish what deathpains they have had. The very Frogs of the Marsh croak with

emphasis. Your protesting Seventythree shall, with a struggle, be emitted out of Prison, back to their seats;

your Louvets, Isnards, Lanjuinais, and wrecks of Girondism, recalled from their haylofts, and caves in

Switzerland, will resume their place in the Convention: (Deux Amis, xiii. 339.) natural foes of Terror!

Thermidorian Talliens, and mere foes of Terror, rule in this Convention, and out of it. The compressed

Mountain shrinks silent more and more. Moderatism rises louder and louder: not as a tempest, with

threatenings; say rather, as the rushing of a mighty organblast, and melodious deafening Force of Public

Opinion, from the Twentyfive million windpipes of a Nation all in Committee of Mercy: which how shall

How, above all, shall a poor National Convention, withstand it? In this poor National Convention, broken,

bewildered by long terror, perturbations, and guillotinement, there is no Pilot, there is not now even a Danton,

who could undertake to steer you anywhither, in such press of weather. The utmost a bewildered Convention

can do, is to veer, and trim, and try to keep itself steady: and rush, undrowned, before the wind. Needless to

struggle; to fling helm alee, and make 'bout ship! A bewildered Convention sails not in the teeth of the

wind; but is rapidly blown round again. So strong is the wind, we say; and so changed; blowing fresher and

fresher, as from the sweet SouthWest; your devastating NorthEasters, and wild tornadogusts of Terror,

blown utterly out! All Sansculottic things are passing away; all things are becoming Culottic.

Do but look at the cut of clothes; that light visible Result, significant of a thousand things which are not so

visible. In winter 1793, men went in red nightcaps; Municipals themselves in sabots: the very Citoyennes had

to petition against such headgear. But now in this winter 1794, where is the red nightcap? With the thing

beyond the Flood. Your monied Citoyen ponders in what elegantest style he shall dress himself: whether he

shall not even dress himself as the Free Peoples of Antiquity. The more adventurous Citoyenne has already

done it. Behold her, that beautiful adventurous Citoyenne: in costume of the Ancient Greeks, such Greek as

Painter David could teach; her sweeping tresses snooded by glittering antique fillet; brighteyed tunic of the

Greek women; her little feet naked, as in Antique Statues, with mere sandals, and windingstrings of

There is such an effervescence of Luxury. For your Emigrant Cidevants carried not their mansions and

furnitures out of the country with them; but left them standing here: and in the swift changes of property,

what with money coined on the Place de la Revolution, what with Armyfurnishings, sales of Emigrant

Domain and Church Lands and King's Lands, and then with the Aladdin'slamp of Agio in a time of

Papermoney, such mansions have found new occupants. Old wine, drawn from Cidevant bottles, descends

new throats. Paris has swept herself, relighted herself; Salons, Soupers not Fraternal, beam once more with

suitable effulgence, very singular in colour. The fair Cabarus is come out of Prison; wedded to her

redgloomy Dis, whom they say she treats too loftily: fair Cabarus gives the most brilliant soirees. Round her

is gathered a new Republican Army, of Citoyennes in sandals; Cidevants or other: what remnants soever of

the old grace survive, are rallied there. At her righthand, in this cause, labours fair Josephine the Widow

Beauharnais, though in straitened circumstances: intent, both of them, to blandish down the grimness of

Recivilise, as of old they were civilised: by witchery of the Orphic fiddlebow, and Euterpean rhythm; by the

Graces, by the Smiles! Thermidorian Deputies are there in those soirees; Editor Freron, Orateur du Peuple;

Barras, who has known other dances than the Carmagnole. Grim Generals of the Republic are there; in

enormous horsecollar neckcloth, good against sabrecuts; the hair gathered all into one knot, 'flowing down

behind, fixed with a comb.' Among which latter do we not recognise, once more, the little

bronzedcomplexioned ArtilleryOfficer of Toulon, home from the Italian Wars! Grim enough; of lean,

almost cruel aspect: for he has been in trouble, in ill health; also in ill favour, as a man promoted, deservingly

or not, by the Terrorists and Robespierre Junior. But does not Barras know him? Will not Barras speak a

word for him? Yes,if at any time it will serve Barras so to do. Somewhat forlorn of fortune, for the present,

stands that ArtilleryOfficer; looks, with those deep earnest eyes of his, into a future as waste as the most.

Taciturn; yet with the strangest utterances in him, if you awaken him, which smite home, like light or

lightning:on the whole, rather dangerous? A 'dissociable' man? Dissociable enough; a natural terror and

horror to all Phantasms, being himself of the genus Reality! He stands here, without work or outlook, in this

forsaken manner;glances nevertheless, it would seem, at the kind glance of Josephine Beauharnais; and,

for the rest, with severe countenance, with open eyes and closed lips, waits what will betide.

That the Balls, therefore, have a new figure this winter, we can see. Not Carmagnoles, rude 'whirlblasts of

rags,' as Mercier called them 'precursors of storm and destruction:' no, soft Ionic motions; fit for the light

sandal, and antique Grecian tunic! Efflorescence of Luxury has come out: for men have wealth; nay newgot

wealth; and under the Terror you durst not dance except in rags. Among the innumerable kinds of Balls, let

the hasty reader mark only this single one: the kind they call Victim Balls, Bals a Victime. The dancers, in

choice costume, have all crape round the left arm: to be admitted, it needs that you be a Victime; that you

have lost a relative under the Terror. Peace to the Dead; let us dance to their memory! For in all ways one

It is very remarkable, according to Mercier, under what varieties of figure this great business of dancing goes

on. 'The women,' says he, 'are Nymphs, Sultanas; sometimes Minervas, Junos, even Dianas. In lightunerring

gyrations they swim there; with such earnestness of purpose; with perfect silence, so absorbed are they. What

is singular,' continues he, 'the onlookers are as it were mingled with the dancers; form as it were a

circumambient element round the different contredances, yet without deranging them. It is rare, in fact, that

a Sultana in such circumstances experience the smallest collision. Her pretty foot darts down, an inch from

mine; she is off again; she is as a flash of light: but soon the measure recalls her to the point she set out from.

Like a glittering comet she travels her eclipse, revolving on herself, as by a double effect of gravitation and

attraction.' (Mercier, Nouveau Paris, iii. 138, 153.) Looking forward a little way, into Time, the same Mercier

discerns Merveilleuses in 'fleshcoloured drawers' with gold circlets; mere dancing Houris of an artificial

Mahomet'sParadise: much too Mahometan. Montgaillard, with his splenetic eye, notes a no less strange

thing; that every fashionable Citoyenne you meet is in an interesting situation. Good Heavens, every! Mere

pillows and stuffing! adds the acrid man;such, in a time of depopulation by war and guillotine, being the

Behold also instead of the old grim Tappedurs of Robespierre, what new streetgroups are these? Young

men habited not in blackshag Carmagnole spencer, but in superfine habit carre or spencer with rectangular

tail appended to it; 'squaretailed coat,' with elegant antiguillotinish specialty of collar; 'the hair plaited at the

temples,' and knotted back, longflowing, in military wise: young men of what they call the Muscadin or

Dandy species! Freron, in his fondness names them Jeunesse doree, Golden, or Gilt Youth. They have come

out, these Gilt Youths, in a kind of resuscitated state; they wear crape round the left arm, such of them as

were Victims. More they carry clubs loaded with lead; in an angry manner: any Tappedur or remnant of

Jacobinism they may fall in with, shall fare the worse. They have suffered much: their friends guillotined;

their pleasures, frolics, superfine collars ruthlessly repressed: 'ware now the base Red Nightcaps who did it!

Fair Cabarus and the Army of Greek sandals smile approval. In the Theatre Feydeau, young Valour in

squaretailed coat eyes Beauty in Greek sandals, and kindles by her glances: Down with Jacobinism! No

Jacobin hymn or demonstration, only Thermidorian ones, shall be permitted here: we beat down Jacobinism

But let any one who has examined the Dandy nature, how petulant it is, especially in the gregarious state,

think what an element, in sacred right of insurrection, this Gilt Youth was! Broils and battery; war without

truce or measure! Hateful is Sansculottism, as Death and Night. For indeed is not the Dandy culottic,

habilatory, by law of existence; 'a clothanimal: one that lives, moves, and has his being in cloth?'

So goes it, waltzing, bickering; fair Cabarus, by Orphic witchery, struggling to recivilise mankind. Not

unsuccessfully, we hear. What utmost Republican grimness can resist Greek sandals, in Ionic motion, the

very toes covered with gold rings? (Ibid. Mercier (ubi supra).) By degrees the indisputablest newpoliteness

rises; grows, with vigour. And yet, whether, even to this day, that inexpressible tone of society known under

the old Kings, when Sin had 'lost all its deformity' (with or without advantage to us), and airy Nothing had

obtained such a local habitation and establishment as she never had,be recovered? Or even, whether it be

not lost beyond recovery? (De Stael, Considerations iii. c. 10, way, the world must contrive to struggle on.

But indeed do not these longflowing hairqueues of a Jeunesse Doree in semimilitary costume betoken,

unconsciously, another still more important tendency? The Republic, abhorrent of her Guillotine, loves her

And with cause. For, surely, if good fighting be a kind of honour, as it is, in its season; and be with the vulgar

of men, even the chief kind of honour, then here is good fighting, in good season, if there ever was. These

Sons of the Republic, they rose, in mad wrath, to deliver her from Slavery and Cimmeria. And have they not

done it? Through Maritime Alps, through gorges of Pyrenees, through Low Countries, Northward along the

Rhinevalley, far is Cimmeria hurled back from the sacred Motherland. Fierce as fire, they have carried her

Tricolor over the faces of all her enemies;over scarped heights, over cannonbatteries; down, as with the

Vengeur, into the dead deep sea. She has 'Eleven hundred thousand fighters on foot,' this Republic: 'At one

particular moment she had,' or supposed she had, 'seventeen hundred thousand.' (Toulongeon, iii. c. 7; v. c. 10

(p. 194).) Like a ring of lightning, they, volleying and cairaing, begirdle her from shore to shore.

Cimmerian Coalition of Despots recoils; smitten with astonishment, and strange pangs.

Such a fire is in these Gaelic Republican men; highblazing; which no Coalition can withstand! Not

scutcheons, with four degrees of nobility; but cidevant Serjeants, who have had to clutch Generalship out of

the cannon's throat, a Pichegru, a Jourdan, a Hoche, lead them on. They have bread, they have iron; 'with

bread and iron you can get to China.'See Pichegru's soldiers, this hard winter, in their looped and

windowed destitution, in their 'strawrope shoes and cloaks of bassmat,' how they overrun Holland, like a

demonhost, the ice having bridged all waters; and rush shouting from victory to victory! Ships in the Texel

are taken by huzzars on horseback: fled is York; fled is the Stadtholder, glad to escape to England, and leave

Holland to fraternise. (19th January, 1795 (Montgaillard, iv. 287311).) Such a Gaelic fire, we say, blazes in

this People, like the conflagration of grass and dryjungle; which no mortal can withstandfor the moment.

And even so it will blaze and run, scorching all things; and, from Cadiz to Archangel, mad Sansculottism,

drilled now into Soldiership, led on by some 'armed Soldier of Democracy' (say, that Monosyllabic

ArtilleryOfficer), will set its foot cruelly on the necks of its enemies; and its shouting and their shrieking

shall fill the world!Rash Coalised Kings, such a fire have ye kindled; yourselves fireless, your fighters

animated only by drill serjeants, messroom moralities, and the drummer's cat! However, it is begun, and will

not end: not for a matter of twenty years. So long, this Gaelic fire, through its successive changes of colour

and character, will blaze over the face of Europe, and afflict the scorch all men:till it provoke all men; till

it kindle another kind of fire, the Teutonic kind, namely; and be swallowed up, so to speak, in a day! For

there is a fire comparable to the burning of dryjungle and grass; most sudden, high blazing: and another

fire which we liken to the burning of coal, or even of anthracite coal; difficult to kindle, but then which

nothing will put out. The ready Gaelic fire, we can remark further, and remark not in Pichegrus only, but in

innumerable Voltaires, Racines, Laplaces, no less; for a man, whether he fight, or sing, or think, will remain

the same unity of a man,is admirable for roasting eggs, in every conceivable sense. The Teutonic

anthracite again, as we see in Luthers, Leibnitzes, Shakespeares, is preferable for smelting metals. How

But be this as it may, the Republic is clearly triumphing. In the spring of the year Mentz Town again sees

itself besieged; will again change master: did not Merlin the Thionviller, 'with wild beard and look,' say it

was not for the last time they saw him there? The Elector of Mentz circulates among his brother Potentates

this pertinent query, Were it not advisable to treat of Peace? Yes! answers many an Elector from the bottom

of his heart. But, on the other hand, Austria hesitates; finally refuses, being subsidied by Pitt. As to Pitt,

whoever hesitate, he, suspending his Habeascorpus, suspending his Cashpayments, stands

inflexible,spite of foreign reverses; spite of domestic obstacles, of Scotch National Conventions and

English Friends of the People, whom he is obliged to arraign, to hang, or even to see acquitted with jubilee: a

lean inflexible man. The Majesty of Spain, as we predicted, makes Peace; also the Majesty of Prussia: and

there is a Treaty of Bale. (5th April, 1795 (Montgaillard, iv. 319).) Treaty with black Anarchists and

Regicides! Alas, what help? You cannot hang this Anarchy; it is like to hang you: you must needs treat with

Likewise, General Hoche has even succeeded in pacificating La Vendee. Rogue Rossignol and his 'Infernal

Columns' have vanished: by firmness and justice, by sagacity and industry, General Hoche has done it.

Taking 'Movable Columns,' not infernal; girdlingin the Country; pardoning the submissive, cutting down the

resistive, limb after limb of the Revolt is brought under. La Rochejacquelin, last of our Nobles, fell in battle;

Stofflet himself makes terms; GeorgesCadoudal is back to Brittany, among his Chouans: the frightful

gangrene of La Vendee seems veritably extirpated. It has cost, as they reckon in round numbers, the lives of a

Hundred Thousand fellowmortals; with noyadings, conflagratings by infernal column, which defy

arithmetic. This is the La Vendee War. (Histoire de la Guerre de la Vendee, par M. le Comte de Vauban,

Nay in few months, it does burst up once more, but once only:blown upon by Pitt, by our Cidevant

Puisaye of Calvados, and others. In the month of July 1795, English Ships will ride in Quiberon roads. There

will be debarkation of chivalrous Cidevants, of volunteer Prisonersofwareager to desert; of firearms,

Proclamations, clotheschests, Royalists and specie. Whereupon also, on the Republican side, there will be

rapid stand toarms; with ambuscade marchings by Quiberon beach, at midnight; storming of Fort

Penthievre; warthunder mingling with the roar of the nightly main; and such a morning light as has seldom

dawned; debarkation hurled back into its boats, or into the devouring billows, with wreck and wail;in one

word, a Cidevant Puisaye as totally ineffectual here as he was in Calvados, when he rode from Vernon

Again, therefore, it has cost the lives of many a brave man. Among whom the whole world laments the brave

Son of Sombreuil. Illfated family! The father and younger son went to the guillotine; the heroic daughter

languishes, reduced to want, hides her woes from History: the elder son perishes here; shot by military

tribunal as an Emigrant; Hoche himself cannot save him. If all wars, civil and other, are misunderstandings,

The Convention, borne on the tide of Fortune towards foreign Victory, and driven by the strong wind of

Public Opinion towards Clemency and Luxury, is rushing fast; all skill of pilotage is needed, and more than

Curious to see, how we veer and whirl, yet must ever whirl round again, and scud before the wind. If, on the

one hand, we readmit the Protesting SeventyThree, we, on the other hand, agree to consummate the

Apotheosis of Marat; lift his body from the Cordeliers Church, and transport it to the Pantheon of Great

Men,flinging out Mirabeau to make room for him. To no purpose: so strong blows Public Opinion! A Gilt

Youthhood, in plaited hairtresses, tears down his Busts from the Theatre Feydeau; tramples them under

foot; scatters them, with vociferation into the Cesspool of Montmartre. (Moniteur, du 25 Septembre 1794, du

4 Fevrier 1795.) Swept is his Chapel from the Place du Carrousel; the Cesspool of Montmartre will receive

his very dust. Shorter godhood had no divine man. Some four months in this Pantheon, Temple of All the

Immortals; then to the Cesspool, grand Cloaca of Paris and the World! 'His Busts at one time amounted to

four thousand.' Between Temple of All the Immortals and Cloaca of the World, how are poor human

Furthermore the question arises, When will the Constitution of Ninety three, of 1793, come into action?

Considerate heads surmise, in all privacy, that the Constitution of Ninetythree will never come into action.

Or, again, where now are the Jacobins? Childless, most decrepit, as we saw, sat the mighty Mother; gnashing

not teeth, but empty gums, against a traitorous Thermidorian Convention and the current of things. Twice

were Billaud, Collot and Company accused in Convention, by a Lecointre, by a Legendre; and the second

time, it was not voted calumnious. Billaud from the Jacobin tribune says, "The lion is not dead, he is only

sleeping." They ask him in Convention, What he means by the awakening of the lion? And bickerings, of an

extensive sort, arose in the PalaisEgalite between Tappedurs and the Gilt Youthhood; cries of "Down with

the Jacobins, the Jacoquins," coquin meaning scoundrel! The Tribune in midair gave battle sound;

answered only by silence and uncertain gasps. Talk was, in Government Committees, of 'suspending' the

Jacobin Sessions. Hark, there! it is in Allhallowtime, or on the Halloweve itself, month cidevant

November, year once named of Grace 1794, sad eve for Jacobinism,volley of stones dashing through our

windows, with jingle and execration! The female Jacobins, famed Tricoteuses with knittingneedles, take

flight; are met at the doors by a Gilt Youthhood and 'mob of four thousand persons;' are hooted, flouted,

hustled; fustigated, in a scandalous manner, cotillons retrousses;and vanish in mere hysterics. Sally out ye

male Jacobins! The male Jacobins sally out; but only to battle, disaster and confusion. So that armed

Authority has to intervene: and again on the morrow to intervene; and suspend the Jacobin Sessions forever

and a day. (Moniteur, Seances du 1012 Novembre 1794: Deux Amis, xiii. 4349.) Gone are the Jacobins;

into invisibility; in a storm of laughter and howls. Their place is made a Normal School, the first of the kind

seen; it then vanishes into a 'Market of Thermidor Ninth;' into a Market of SaintHonore, where is now

peaceable chaffering for poultry and greens. The solemn temples, the great globe itself; the baseless fabric!

Maximum being abrogated, Trade was to take its own free course. Alas, Trade, shackled, topsyturvied in the

way we saw, and now suddenly let go again, can for the present take no course at all; but only reel and

stagger. There is, so to speak, no Trade whatever for the time being. Assignats, long sinking, emitted in such

quantities, sink now with an alacrity beyond parallel. "Combien?" said one, to a Hackneycoachman, "What

fare?" "Six thousand livres," answered he: some three hundred pounds sterling, in Papermoney. (Mercier, ii.

94. ('1st February, 1796: at the Bourse of Paris, the gold louis,' of 20 francs in silver, 'costs 5,300 francs in

assignats.' Montgaillard, iv. 419).) Pressure of Maximum withdrawn, the things it compressed likewise

withdraw. 'Two ounces of bread per day' in the modicum allotted: widewaving, doleful are the Bakers'

One can imagine, in these circumstances, with what humour Sansculottism growled in its throat, "La

Cabarus;" beheld Cidevants return dancing, the Thermidor effulgence of recivilisation, and Balls in

fleshcoloured drawers. Greek tunics and sandals; hosts of Muscadins parading, with their clubs loaded with

lead;and we here, cast out, abhorred, 'picking offals from the street;' (Fantin Desodoards, Histoire de la

Revolution, vii. c. 4.) agitating in Baker's Queue for our two ounces of bread! Will the Jacobin lion, which

they say is meeting secretly 'at the Acheveche, in bonnet rouge with loaded pistols,' not awaken? Seemingly

not. Our Collot, our Billaud, Barrere, Vadier, in these last days of March 1795, are found worthy of

Deportation, of Banishment beyond seas; and shall, for the present, be trundled off to the Castle of Ham. The

Behold, accordingly, on the day they call Twelfth of Germinal (which is also called First of April, not a lucky

day), how lively are these streets of Paris once more! Floods of hungry women, of squalid hungry men;

ejaculating: "Bread, Bread and the Constitution of Ninetythree!" Paris has risen, once again, like the

Oceantide; is flowing towards the Tuileries, for Bread and a Constitution. Tuileries Sentries do their best;

but it serves not: the Oceantide sweeps them away; inundates the Convention Hall itself; howling, "Bread,

Unhappy Senators, unhappy People, there is yet, after all toils and broils, no Bread, no Constitution. "Du

pain, pas tant de longs discours, Bread, not bursts of Parliamentary eloquence!" so wailed the Menads of

Maillard, five years ago and more; so wail ye to this hour. The Convention, with unalterable countenance,

with what thought one knows not, keeps its seat in this waste howling chaos; rings its stormbell from the

Pavilion of Unity. Section Lepelletier, old Filles SaintThomas, who are of the moneychanging species;

these and Gilt Youthhood fly to the rescue; sweep chaos forth again, with levelled bayonets. Paris is declared

'in a state of siege.' Pichegru, Conqueror of Holland, who happens to be here, is named Commandant, till the

disturbance end. He, in one day, so to speak, ends it. He accomplishes the transfer of Billaud, Collot and

Company; dissipating all opposition 'by two cannonshots,' blank cannonshots, and the terror of his name;

and thereupon announcing, with a Laconicism which should be imitated, "Representatives, your decrees are

executed," (Moniteur, Seance du 13 Germinal (2d April) 1795.) lays down his Commandantship.

This Revolt of Germinal, therefore, has passed, like a vain cry. The Prisoners rest safe in Ham, waiting for

ships; some nine hundred 'chief Terrorists of Paris' are disarmed. Sansculottism, swept forth with bayonets,

has vanished, with its misery, to the bottom of SaintAntoine and SaintMarceau.Time was when Usher

Maillard with Menads could alter the course of Legislation; but that time is not. Legislation seems to have got

bayonets; Section Lepelletier takes its firelock, not for us! We retire to our dark dens; our cry of hunger is

called a Plot of Pitt; the Saloons glitter, the fleshcoloured Drawers gyrate as before. It was for "The

Cabarus" then, and her Muscadins and Moneychangers, that we fought? It was for Balls in fleshcoloured

drawers that we took Feudalism by the beard, and did, and dared, shedding our blood like water? Expressive

Representative Carrier went to the Guillotine, in December last; protesting that he acted by orders. The

Revolutionary Tribunal, after all it has devoured, has now only, as Anarchic things do, to devour itself. In the

early days of May, men see a remarkable thing: FouquierTinville pleading at the Bar once his own. He and

his chief Jurymen, Leroi AugustTenth, Juryman Vilate, a Batch of Sixteen; pleading hard, protesting that

they acted by orders: but pleading in vain. Thus men break the axe with which they have done hateful things;

the axe itself having grown hateful. For the rest, Fouquier died hard enough: "Where are thy Batches?"

howled the People."Hungry canaille," asked Fouquier, "is thy Bread cheaper, wanting them?"

Remarkable Fouquier; once but as other Attorneys and Lawbeagles, which hunt ravenous on this Earth, a

wellknown phasis of human nature; and now thou art and remainest the most remarkable Attorney that ever

lived and hunted in the Upper Air! For, in this terrestrial Course of Time, there was to be an Avatar of

Attorneyism; the Heavens had said, Let there be an Incarnation, not divine, of the venatory Attorneyspirit

which keeps its eye on the bond only;and lo, this was it; and they have attorneyed it in its turn. Vanish,

then, thou rateyed Incarnation of Attorneyism; who at bottom wert but as other Attorneys, and too hungry

Sons of Adam! Juryman Vilate had striven hard for life, and published, from his Prison, an ingenious Book,

not unknown to us; but it would not stead: he also had to vanish; and this his Book of the Secret Causes of

Thermidor, full of lies, with particles of truth in it undiscoverable otherwise, is all that remains of him.

Revolutionary Tribunal has done; but vengeance has not done. Representative Lebon, after long struggling, is

handed over to the ordinary Law Courts, and by them guillotined. Nay, at Lyons and elsewhere, resuscitated

Moderatism, in its vengeance, will not wait the slow process of Law; but bursts into the Prisons, sets fire to

the prisons; burns some three score imprisoned Jacobins to dire death, or chokes them 'with the smoke of

straw.' There go vengeful truculent 'Companies of Jesus,' 'Companies of the Sun;' slaying Jacobinism

wherever they meet with it; flinging it into the Rhonestream; which, once more, bears seaward a horrid

cargo. (Moniteur, du 27 Juin, du 31 Aout, 1795; Deux Amis, xiii. 1219.) Whereupon, at Toulon, Jacobinism

rises in revolt; and is like to hang the National Representatives.With such action and reaction, is not a poor

National Convention hard bested? It is like the settlement of winds and waters, of seas long tornadobeaten;

and goes on with jumble and with jangle. Now flung aloft, now sunk in trough of the sea, your Vessel of the

What Parliament that ever sat under the Moon had such a series of destinies, as this National Convention of

France? It came together to make the Constitution; and instead of that, it has had to make nothing but

destruction and confusion: to burn up Catholicisms, Aristocratisms, to worship Reason and dig Saltpetre, to

fight Titanically with itself and with the whole world. A Convention decimated by the Guillotine; above the

tenth man has bowed his neck to the axe. Which has seen Carmagnoles danced before it, and patriotic

strophes sung amid Churchspoils; the wounded of the Tenth of August defile in handbarrows; and, in the

Pandemonial Midnight, Egalite's dames in tricolor drink lemonade, and spectrum of Sieyes mount, saying,

Death sans phrase. A Convention which has effervesced, and which has congealed; which has been red with

rage, and also pale with rage: sitting with pistols in its pocket, drawing sword (in a moment of effervescence):

now storming to the four winds, through a Dantonvoice, Awake, O France, and smite the tyrants; now

frozen mute under its Robespierre, and answering his dirgevoice by a dubious gasp. Assassinated,

decimated; stabbed at, shot at, in baths, on streets and staircases; which has been the nucleus of Chaos. Has it

not heard the chimes at midnight? It has deliberated, beset by a Hundred thousand armed men with

artilleryfurnaces and provisioncarts. It has been betocsined, bestormed; overflooded by black deluges of

Sansculottism; and has heard the shrill cry, Bread and Soap. For, as we say, its the nucleus of Chaos; it sat as

the centre of Sansculottism; and had spread its pavilion on the waste Deep, where is neither path nor

landmark, neither bottom nor shore. In intrinsic valour, ingenuity, fidelity, and general force and manhood, it

has perhaps not far surpassed the average of Parliaments: but in frankness of purpose, in singularity of

position, it seeks its fellow. One other Sansculottic submersion, or at most two, and this wearied vessel of a

Revolt of Germinal Twelfth ended as a vain cry; moribund Sansculottism was swept back into invisibility.

There it has lain moaning, these six weeks: moaning, and also scheming. Jacobins disarmed, flung forth from

their Tribune in mid air, must needs try to help themselves, in secret conclave under ground. Lo, therefore, on

the First day of the Month Prairial, 20th of May 1795, sound of the generale once more; beating sharp,

Sansculottism has risen, yet again, from its deathlair; waste wild flowing, as the unfruitful Sea.

SaintAntoine is afoot: "Bread and the Constitution of Ninetythree," so sounds it; so stands it written with

chalk on the hats of men. They have their pikes, their firelocks; Paper of Grievances; standards; printed

Proclamation, drawn up in quite official manner,considering this, and also considering that, they, a

muchenduring Sovereign People, are in Insurrection; will have Bread and the Constitution of Ninetythree.

And so the Barriers are seized, and the generale beats, and tocsins discourse discord. Black deluges overflow

the Tuileries; spite of sentries, the Sanctuary itself is invaded: enter, to our Order of the Day, a torrent of

dishevelled women, wailing, "Bread! Bread!" President may well cover himself; and have his own tocsin

rung in 'the Pavilion of Unity;' the ship of the State again labours and leaks; overwashed, near to swamping,

What a day, once more! Women are driven out: men storm irresistibly in; choke all corridors, thunder at all

gates. Deputies, putting forth head, obtest, conjure; SaintAntoine rages, "Bread and Constitution." Report

has risen that the 'Convention is assassinating the women:' crushing and rushing, clangor and furor! The oak

doors have become as oak tambourines, sounding under the axe of SaintAntoine; plasterwork crackles,

woodwork booms and jingles; door starts up;burstsin SaintAntoine with frenzy and vociferation,

Ragstandards, printed Proclamation, drummusic: astonishment to eye and ear. Gendarmes, loyal

Sectioners charge through the other door; they are recharged; musketry exploding: SaintAntoine cannot be

expelled. Obtesting Deputies obtest vainly; Respect the President; approach not the President! Deputy

Feraud, stretching out his hands, baring his bosom scarred in the Spanish wars, obtests vainly: threatens and

resists vainly. Rebellious Deputy of the Sovereign, if thou have fought, have not we too? We have no bread,

no Constitution! They wrench poor Feraud; they tumble him, trample him, wrath waxing to see itself work:

they drag him into the corridor, dead or near it; sever his head, and fix it on a pike. Ah, did an unexampled

Convention want this variety of destiny too, then? Feraud's bloody head goes on a pike. Such a game has

And so it billows free though all Corridors; within, and without, far as the eye reaches, nothing but Bedlam,

and the great Deep broken loose! President Boissy d'Anglas sits like a rock: the rest of the Convention is

floated 'to the upper benches;' Sectioners and Gendarmes still ranking there to form a kind of wall for them.

And Insurrection rages; rolls its drums; will read its Paper of Grievances, will have this decreed, will have

that. Covered sits President Boissy, unyielding; like a rock in the beating of seas. They menace him, level

muskets at him, he yields not; they hold up Feraud's bloody head to him, with grave stern air he bows to it,

And the Paper of Grievances cannot get itself read for uproar; and the drums roll, and the throats bawl; and

Insurrection, like spheremusic, is inaudible for very noise: Decree us this, Decree us that. One man we

discern bawling 'for the space of an hour at all intervals,' "Je demande l'arrestation des coquins et des laches."

Really one of the most comprehensive Petitions ever put up: which indeed, to this hour, includes all that you

can reasonably ask Constitution of the Year One, Rotten Borough, BallotBox, or other miraculous Political

Ark of the Covenant to do for you to the end of the world! I also demand arrestment of the Knaves and

Dastards, and nothing more whatever. National Representation, deluged with black Sansculottism glides out;

About four in the afternoon, there remain hardly more than some Sixty Members: mere friends, or even

secretleaders; a remnant of the Mountain crest, held in silence by Thermidorian thraldom. Now is the time

for them; now or never let them descend, and speak! They descend, these Sixty, invited by Sansculottism:

Romme of the New Calendar, Ruhl of the Sacred Phial, Goujon, Duquesnoy, Soubrany, and the rest. Glad

Sansculottism forms a ring for them; Romme takes the President's chair; they begin resolving and decreeing.

Fast enough now comes Decree after Decree, in alternate brief strains, or strophe and antistrophe,what will

cheapen bread, what will awaken the dormant lion. And at every new Decree, Sansculottism shouts, Decreed,

Fast enough; the work of months in hours,when see, a Figure enters, whom in the lamplight we recognise

to be Legendre; and utters words: fit to be hissed out! And then see, Section Lepelletier or other Muscadin

Section enters, and Gilt Youth, with levelled bayonets, countenances screwed to the stickingplace! Tramp,

tramp, with bayonets gleaming in the lamplight: what can one do, worn down with long riot, grown

heartless, dark, hungry, but roll back, but rush back, and escape who can? The very windows need to be

thrown up, that Sansculottism may escape fast enough. Moneychanger Sections and Gilt Youth sweep them

forth, with steel besom, far into the depths of SaintAntoine. Triumph once more! The Decrees of that Sixty

are not so much as rescinded; they are declared null and nonextant. Romme, Ruhl, Goujon and the

ringleaders, some thirteen in all, are decreed Accused. Permanentsession ends at three in the morning.

(Deux Amis, xiii. 12946.) Sansculottism, once more flung resupine, lies sprawling; sprawling its last.

Such was the First of Prairial, 20th May, 1795. Second and Third of Prairial, during which Sansculottism still

sprawled, and unexpectedly rang its tocsin, and assembled in arms, availed Sansculottism nothing. What

though with our Rommes and Ruhls, accused but not yet arrested, we make a new 'True National Convention'

of our own, over in the East; and put the others Out of Law? What though we rank in arms and march?

Armed Force and Muscadin Sections, some thirty thousand men, environ that old False Convention: we can

but bully one another: bandying nicknames, "Muscadins," against "Blooddrinkers, Buveurs de Sang."

Feraud's Assassin, taken with the red hand, and sentenced, and now near to Guillotine and Place de Greve, is

retaken; is carried back into SaintAntoine: to no purpose. Convention Sectionaries and Gilt Youth come,

according to Decree, to seek him; nay to disarm SaintAntoine! And they do disarm it: by rolling of cannon,

by springing upon enemy's cannon; by military audacity, and terror of the Law. SaintAntoine surrenders its

arms; Santerre even advising it, anxious for life and brewhouse. Feraud's Assassin flings himself from a high

Discerning which things, old Ruhl shot a pistol through his old white head; dashed his life in pieces, as he

had done the Sacred Phial of Rheims. Romme, Goujon and the others stand ranked before a

swiftlyappointed, swift Military Tribunal. Hearing the sentence, Goujon drew a knife, struck it into his

breast, passed it to his neighbour Romme; and fell dead. Romme did the like; and another all but did it;

Romandeath rushing on there, as in electricchain, before your Bailiffs could intervene! The Guillotine had

They were the Ultimi Romanorum. Billaud, Collot and Company are now ordered to be tried for life; but are

found to be already off, shipped for Sinamarri, and the hot mud of Surinam. There let Billaud surround

himself with flocks of tame parrots; Collot take the yellow fever, and drinking a whole bottle of brandy, burn

up his entrails. (Dictionnaire des Hommes Marquans, paras Billaud, Collot.) Sansculottism spraws no more.

The dormant lion has become a dead one; and now, as we see, any hoof may smite him.

So dies Sansculottism, the body of Sansculottism, or is changed. Its ragged Pythian Carmagnoledance has

transformed itself into a Pyrrhic, into a dance of Cabarus Balls. Sansculottism is dead; extinguished by new

isms of that kind, which were its own natural progeny; and is buried, we may say, with such deafening

jubilation and disharmony of funeralknell on their part, that only after some half century or so does one

And yet a meaning lay in it: Sansculottism verily was alive, a NewBirth of TIME; nay it still lives, and is

not dead, but changed. The soul of it still lives; still works far and wide, through one bodily shape into

another less amorphous, as is the way of cunning Time with his NewBirths: till, in some perfected shape,

it embrace the whole circuit of the world! For the wise man may now everywhere discern that he must found

on his manhood, not on the garnitures of his manhood. He who, in these Epochs of our Europe, founds on

garnitures, formulas, culottisms of what sort soever, is founding on old cloth and sheepskin, and cannot

endure. But as for the body of Sansculottism, that is dead and buried,and, one hopes, need not reappear, in

It was the frightfullest thing ever borne of Time? One of the frightfullest. This Convention, now grown

AntiJacobin, did, with an eye to justify and fortify itself, publish Lists of what the Reign of Terror had

perpetrated: Lists of Persons Guillotined. The Lists, cries splenetic Abbe Montgaillard, were not complete.

They contain the names of, How many persons thinks the reader?Two Thousand all but a few. There were

above Four Thousand, cries Montgaillard: so many were guillotined, fusilladed, noyaded, done to dire death;

of whom Nine Hundred were women. (Montgaillard, iv. 241.) It is a horrible sum of human lives, M.

l'Abbe: some ten times as many shot rightly on a field of battle, and one might have had his

GloriousVictory with TeDeum. It is not far from the two hundredth part of what perished in the entire

Seven Years War. By which Seven Years War, did not the great Fritz wrench Silesia from the great Theresa;

and a Pompadour, stung by epigrams, satisfy herself that she could not be an Agnes Sorel? The head of man

is a strange vacant soundingshell, M. l'Abbe; and studies Cocker to small purpose.

But what if History, somewhere on this Planet, were to hear of a Nation, the third soul of whom had not for

thirty weeks each year as many third rate potatoes as would sustain him? (Report of the Irish PoorLaw

Commission, 1836.) History, in that case, feels bound to consider that starvation is starvation; that starvation

from age to age presupposes much: History ventures to assert that the French Sansculotte of Ninetythree,

who, roused from long deathsleep, could rush at once to the frontiers, and die fighting for an immortal Hope

and Faith of Deliverance for him and his, was but the secondmiserablest of men! The Irish Sanspotato, had

he not senses then, nay a soul? In his frozen darkness, it was bitter for him to die famishing; bitter to see his

children famish. It was bitter for him to be a beggar, a liar and a knave. Nay, if that dreary Greenlandwind

of benighted Want, perennial from sire to son, had frozen him into a kind of torpor and numb callosity, so

that he saw not, felt not, was this, for a creature with a soul in it, some assuagement; or the cruellest

Such things were, such things are; and they go on in silence peaceably: and Sansculottisms follow them.

History, looking back over this France through long times, back to Turgot's time for instance, when dumb

Drudgery staggered up to its King's Palace, and in wide expanse of sallow faces, squalor and winged

raggedness, presented hieroglyphically its Petition of Grievances; and for answer got hanged on a 'new

gallows forty feet high,' confesses mournfully that there is no period to be met with, in which the general

Twentyfive Millions of France suffered less than in this period which they name Reign of Terror! But it was

not the Dumb Millions that suffered here; it was the Speaking Thousands, and Hundreds, and Units; who

shrieked and published, and made the world ring with their wail, as they could and should: that is the grand

peculiarity. The frightfullest Births of Time are never the loudspeaking ones, for these soon die; they are the

silent ones, which can live from century to century! Anarchy, hateful as Death, is abhorrent to the whole

Wherefore let all men know what of depth and of height is still revealed in man; and, with fear and wonder,

with just sympathy and just antipathy, with clear eye and open heart, contemplate it and appropriate it; and

draw innumerable inferences from it. This inference, for example, among the first: 'That if the gods of this

lower world will sit on their glittering thrones, indolent as Epicurus' gods, with the living Chaos of Ignorance

and Hunger weltering uncared for at their feet, and smooth Parasites preaching, Peace, peace, when there is

no peace,' then the dark Chaos, it would seem, will rise; has risen, and O Heavens! has it not tanned their

skins into breeches for itself? That there be no second Sansculottism in our Earth for a thousand years, let us

understand well what the first was; and let Rich and Poor of us go and do otherwise.But to our tale.

The Muscadin Sections greatly rejoice; Cabarus Balls gyrate: the wellnigh insoluble problem Republic

without Anarchy, have we not solved it?Law of Fraternity or Death is gone: chimerical Obtainwhoneed

has become practical Holdwhohave. To anarchic Republic of the Poverties there has succeeded orderly

On the Pont au Change, on the Place de Greve, in long sheds, Mercier, in these summer evenings, saw

working men at their repast. One's allotment of daily bread has sunk to an ounce and a half. 'Plates containing

each three grilled herrings, sprinkled with shorn onions, wetted with a little vinegar; to this add some morsel

of boiled prunes, and lentils swimming in a clear sauce: at these frugal tables, the cook's gridiron hissing near

by, and the pot simmering on a fire between two stones, I have seen them ranged by the hundred; consuming,

without bread, their scant messes, far too moderate for the keenness of their appetite, and the extent of their

stomach.' (Nouveau Paris, iv. 118.) Seine water, rushing plenteous by, will supply the deficiency.

O man of Toil, thy struggling and thy daring, these six long years of insurrection and tribulation, thou hast

profited nothing by it, then? Thou consumest thy herring and water, in the blessed goldred evening. O why

was the Earth so beautiful, becrimsoned with dawn and twilight, if man's dealings with man were to make it a

vale of scarcity, of tears, not even soft tears? Destroying of Bastilles, discomfiting of Brunswicks, fronting of

Principalities and Powers, of Earth and Tophet, all that thou hast dared and endured,it was for a Republic

In fact, what can be more natural, one may say inevitable, as a Post Sansculottic transitionary state, than

even this? Confused wreck of a Republic of the Poverties, which ended in Reign of Terror, is arranging itself

into such composure as it can. Evangel of JeanJacques, and most other Evangels, becoming incredible, what

is there for it but return to the old Evangel of Mammon? ContratSocial is true or untrue, Brotherhood is

Brotherhood or Death; but money always will buy money's worth: in the wreck of human dubitations, this

remains indubitable, that Pleasure is pleasant. Aristocracy of Feudal Parchment has passed away with a

mighty rushing; and now, by a natural course, we arrive at Aristocracy of the Moneybag. It is the course

through which all European Societies are at this hour travelling. Apparently a still baser sort of Aristocracy?

In which however there is this advantage, that, like Anarchy itself, it cannot continue. Hast thou considered

how Thought is stronger than Artilleryparks, and (were it fifty years after death and martyrdom, or were it

two thousand years) writes and unwrites Acts of Parliament, removes mountains; models the World like soft

clay? Also how the beginning of all Thought, worth the name, is Love; and the wise head never yet was,

without first the generous heart? The Heavens cease not their bounty: they send us generous hearts into every

generation. And now what generous heart can pretend to itself, or be hoodwinked into believing, that Loyalty

to the Moneybag is a noble Loyalty? Mammon, cries the generous heart out of all ages and countries, is the

basest of known Gods, even of known Devils. In him what glory is there, that ye should worship him? No

glory discernable; not even terror: at best, detestability, illmatched with despicability! Generous hearts,

discerning, on this hand, widespread Wretchedness, dark without and within, moistening its ounceandhalf

of bread with tears; and on that hand, mere Balls in fleshcoloured drawers, and inane or foul glitter of such

sort,cannot but ejaculate, cannot but announce: Too much, O divine Mammon; somewhat too much!The

voice of these, once announcing itself, carries fiat and pereat in it, for all things here below.

Meanwhile, we will hate Anarchy as Death, which it is; and the things worse than Anarchy shall be hated

more! Surely Peace alone is fruitful. Anarchy is destruction: a burning up, say, of Shams and

Insupportabilities; but which leaves Vacancy behind. Know this also, that out of a world of Unwise nothing

but an Unwisdom can be made. Arrange it, Constitutionbuild it, sift it through BallotBoxes as thou wilt, it

is and remains an Unwisdom, the new prey of new quacks and unclean things, the latter end of it slightly

better than the beginning. Who can bring a wise thing out of men unwise? Not one. And so Vacancy and

general Abolition having come for this France, what can Anarchy do more? Let there be Order, were it under

the Soldier's Sword; let there be Peace, that the bounty of the Heavens be not spilt; that what of Wisdom they

do send us bring fruit in its season! It remains to be seen how the quellers of Sansculottism were

themselves quelled, and sacred right of Insurrection was blown away by gunpowder: wherewith this singular

The Convention, driven such a course by wild wind, wild tide, and steerage and nonsteerage, these three

years, has become weary of its own existence, sees all men weary of it; and wishes heartily to finish. To the

last, it has to strive with contradictions: it is now getting fast ready with a Constitution, yet knows no peace.

Sieyes, we say, is making the Constitution once more; has as good as made it. Warned by experience, the

great Architect alters much, admits much. Distinction of Active and Passive Citizen, that is,

Moneyqualification for Electors: nay Two Chambers, 'Council of Ancients,' as well as 'Council of Five

Hundred;' to that conclusion have we come! In a like spirit, eschewing that fatal self denying ordinance of

your Old Constituents, we enact not only that actual Convention Members are reeligible, but that

Twothirds of them must be re elected. The Active Citizen Electors shall for this time have free choice of

only Onethird of their National Assembly. Such enactment, of Two thirds to be reelected, we append to

our Constitution; we submit our Constitution to the Townships of France, and say, Accept both, or reject

both. Unsavoury as this appendix may be, the Townships, by overwhelming majority, accept and ratify. With

Directory of Five; with Two good Chambers, doublemajority of them nominated by ourselves, one hopes

this Constitution may prove final. March it will; for the legs of it, the re elected Twothirds, are already

But now see how the contumacious Sections, Lepelletier foremost, kick against the pricks! Is it not manifest

infraction of one's Elective Franchise, Rights of Man, and Sovereignty of the People, this appendix of

reelecting your Twothirds? Greedy tyrants who would perpetuate yourselves!For the truth is, victory

over SaintAntoine, and long right of Insurrection, has spoiled these men. Nay spoiled all men. Consider too

how each man was free to hope what he liked; and now there is to be no hope, there is to be fruition, fruition

In men spoiled by long right of Insurrection, what confused ferments will rise, tongues once begun wagging!

Journalists declaim, your Lacretelles, Laharpes; Orators spout. There is Royalism traceable in it, and

Jacobinism. On the West Frontier, in deep secrecy, Pichegru, durst he trust his Army, is treating with Conde:

in these Sections, there spout wolves in sheep's clothing, masked Emigrants and Royalists! (Napoleon, Las

Cases (Choix des Rapports, xvii. 398411).) All men, as we say, had hoped, each that the Election would do

something for his own side: and now there is no Election, or only the third of one. Black is united with white

against this clause of the Twothirds; all the Unruly of France, who see their trade thereby near ending.

Section Lepelletier, after Addresses enough, finds that such clause is a manifest infraction; that it, Lepelletier,

for one, will simply not conform thereto; and invites all other free Sections to join it, 'in central Committee,'

in resistance to oppression. (Deux Amis, xiii. 375406.) The Sections join it, nearly all; strong with their

Forty Thousand fighting men. The Convention therefore may look to itself! Lepelletier, on this 12th day of

Vendemiaire, 4th of October 1795, is sitting in open contravention, in its Convent of Filles SaintThomas,

Rue Vivienne, with guns primed. The Convention has some Five Thousand regular troops at hand; Generals

in abundance; and a Fifteen Hundred of miscellaneous persecuted UltraJacobins, whom in this crisis it has

hastily got together and armed, under the title Patriots of Eightynine. Strong in Law, it sends its General

General Menou marches accordingly, with due summons and demonstration; with no result. General Menou,

about eight in the evening, finds that he is standing ranked in the Rue Vivienne, emitting vain summonses;

with primed guns pointed out of every window at him; and that he cannot disarm Lepelletier. He has to

return, with whole skin, but without success; and be thrown into arrest as 'a traitor.' Whereupon the whole

Forty Thousand join this Lepelletier which cannot be vanquished: to what hand shall a quaking Convention

now turn? Our poor Convention, after such voyaging, just entering harbour, so to speak, has struck on the

bar;and labours there frightfully, with breakers roaring round it, Forty thousand of them, like to wash it,

and its Sieyes Cargo and the whole future of France, into the deep! Yet one last time, it struggles, ready to

Some call for Barras to be made Commandant; he conquered in Thermidor. Some, what is more to the

purpose, bethink them of the Citizen Buonaparte, unemployed Artillery Officer, who took Toulon. A man of

head, a man of action: Barras is named Commandant'sCloak; this young Artillery Officer is named

Commandant. He was in the Gallery at the moment, and heard it; he withdrew, some half hour, to consider

with himself: after a half hour of grim compressed considering, to be or not to be, he answers Yea.

And now, a man of head being at the centre of it, the whole matter gets vital. Swift, to Camp of Sablons; to

secure the Artillery, there are not twenty men guarding it! A swift Adjutant, Murat is the name of him,

gallops; gets thither some minutes within time, for Lepelletier was also on march that way: the Cannon are

ours. And now beset this post, and beset that; rapid and firm: at Wicket of the Louvre, in Cul de Sac Dauphin,

in Rue SaintHonore, from Pont Neuf all along the north Quays, southward to Pont cidevant Royal,rank

round the Sanctuary of the Tuileries, a ring of steel discipline; let every gunner have his match burning, and

Thus there is Permanentsession through night; and thus at sunrise of the morrow, there is seen sacred

Insurrection once again: vessel of State labouring on the bar; and tumultuous sea all round her, beating

generale, arming and sounding,not ringing tocsin, for we have left no tocsin but our own in the Pavilion of

Unity. It is an imminence of shipwreck, for the whole world to gaze at. Frightfully she labours, that poor ship,

within cablelength of port; huge peril for her. However, she has a man at the helm. Insurgent messages,

received, and not received; messenger admitted blindfolded; counsel and countercounsel: the poor ship

labours! Vendemiaire 13th, year 4: curious enough, of all days, it is the Fifth day of October, anniversary

of that Menadmarch, six years ago; by sacred right of Insurrection we are got thus far.

Lepelletier has seized the Church of SaintRoch; has seized the Pont Neuf, our piquet there retreating

without fire. Stray shots fall from Lepelletier; rattle down on the very Tuileries staircase. On the other hand,

women advance dishevelled, shrieking, Peace; Lepelletier behind them waving its hat in sign that we shall

fraternise. Steady! The Artillery Officer is steady as bronze; can be quick as lightning. He sends eight

hundred muskets with ballcartridges to the Convention itself; honourable Members shall act with these in

case of extremity: whereat they look grave enough. Four of the afternoon is struck. (Moniteur, Seance du 5

Octobre 1795.) Lepelletier, making nothing by messengers, by fraternity or hat waving, bursts out, along the

Southern Quai Voltaire, along streets, and passages, treblequick, in huge veritable onslaught! Whereupon,

thou bronze Artillery Officer? "Fire!" say the bronze lips. Roar and again roar, continual, volcanolike,

goes his great gun, in the Cul de Sac Dauphin against the Church of SaintRoch; go his great guns on the

Pont Royal; go all his great guns;blow to air some two hundred men, mainly about the Church of

SaintRoch! Lepelletier cannot stand such horseplay; no Sectioner can stand it; the Fortythousand yield on

all sides, scour towards covert. 'Some hundred or so of them gathered both Theatre de la Republique; but,'

The Ship is over the bar, then; free she bounds shoreward,amid shouting and vivats! Citoyen Buonaparte is

'named General of the Interior, by acclamation;' quelled Sections have to disarm in such humour as they may;

sacred right of Insurrection is gone for ever! The Sieyes Constitution can disembark itself, and begin

marching. The miraculous Convention Ship has got to land;and is there, shall we figuratively say,

changed, as Epic Ships are wont, into a kind of Sea Nymph, never to sail more; to roam the waste Azure, a

'It is false,' says Napoleon, 'that we fired first with blank charge; it had been a waste of life to do that.' Most

false: the firing was with sharp and sharpest shot: to all men it was plain that here was no sport; the rabbets

and plinths of SaintRoch Church show splintered by it, to this hour.Singular: in old Broglie's time, six

years ago, this Whiff of Grapeshot was promised; but it could not be given then, could not have profited then.

Now, however, the time is come for it, and the man; and behold, you have it; and the thing we specifically

Homer's Epos, it is remarked, is like a Basrelief sculpture: it does not conclude, but merely ceases. Such,

indeed, is the Epos of Universal History itself. Directorates, Consulates, Emperorships, Restorations,

CitizenKingships succeed this Business in due series, in due genesis one out of the other. Nevertheless the

Firstparent of all these may be said to have gone to air in the way we see. A Baboeuf Insurrection, next year,

will die in the birth; stifled by the Soldiery. A Senate, if tinged with Royalism, can be purged by the Soldiery;

and an Eighteenth of Fructidor transacted by the mere shew of bayonets. (Moniteur, du 5 Septembre 1797.)

Nay Soldiers' bayonets can be used a posteriori on a Senate, and make it leap out of window,still

bloodless; and produce an Eighteenth of Brumaire. (9th November 1799 (Choix des Rapports, xvii. 196).)

Such changes must happen: but they are managed by intriguings, caballings, and then by orderly word of

command; almost like mere changes of Ministry. Not in general by sacred right of Insurrection, but by milder

methods growing ever milder, shall the Events of French history be henceforth brought to pass.

It is admitted that this Directorate, which owned, at its starting, these three things, an 'old table, a sheet of

paper, and an inkbottle,' and no visible money or arrangement whatever, (Bailleul, Examen critique des

Considerations de Madame de Stael, ii. 275.) did wonders: that France, since the Reign of Terror hushed

itself, has been a new France, awakened like a giant out of torpor; and has gone on, in the Internal Life of it,

with continual progress. As for the External form and forms of Life,what can we say except that out of the

Eater there comes Strength; out of the Unwise there comes not Wisdom! Shams are burnt up; nay, what as yet

is the peculiarity of France, the very Cant of them is burnt up. The new Realities are not yet come: ah no,

only Phantasms, Paper models, tentative Prefigurements of such! In France there are now Four Million

Landed Properties; that black portent of an Agrarian Law is as it were realised! What is still stranger, we

understand all Frenchmen have 'the right of duel;' the Hackneycoachman with the Peer, if insult be given:

such is the law of Public Opinion. Equality at least in death! The Form of Government is by Citizen King,

On the whole, therefore, has it not been fulfilled what was prophesied, ex postfacto indeed, by the

Archquack Cagliostro, or another? He, as he looked in rapt vision and amazement into these things, thus

spake: (Diamond Necklace, p. 35.) 'Ha! What is this? Angels, Uriel, Anachiel, and the other Five; Pentagon

of Rejuvenescence; Power that destroyed Original Sin; Earth, Heaven, and thou Outer Limbo, which men

name Hell! Does the EMPIRE Of IMPOSTURE waver? Burst there, in starry sheen updarting, Lightrays

from out its dark foundations; as it rocks and heaves, not in travailthroes, but in deaththroes? Yea,

Lightrays, piercing, clear, that salute the Heavens,lo, they kindle it; their starry clearness becomes as red

'IMPOSTURE is burnt up: one Redsea of Fire, wildbillowing enwraps the World; with its firetongue,

licks at the very Stars. Thrones are hurled into it, and Dubois mitres, and Prebendal Stalls that drop fatness,

and ha! what see I?all the Gigs of Creation; all, all! Wo is me! Never since Pharaoh's Chariots, in the

Redsea of water, was there wreck of Wheelvehicles like this in the Sea of Fire. Desolate, as ashes, as

gases, shall they wander in the wind. Higher, higher yet flames the FireSea; crackling with new dislocated

timber; hissing with leather and prunella. The metal Images are molten; the marble Images become

mortarlime; the stone Mountains sulkily explode. RESPECTABILITY, with all her collected Gigs inflamed

for funeral pyre, wailing, leaves the earth: not to return save under new Avatar. Imposture, how it burns,

through generations: how it is burnt up; for a time. The World is black ashes; which, ah, when will they grow

green? The Images all run into amorphous Corinthian brass; all Dwellings of men destroyed; the very

mountains peeled and riven, the valleys black and dead: it is an empty World! Wo to them that shall be born

then!A King, a Queen (ah me!) were hurled in; did rustle once; flew aloft, crackling, like paperscroll.

Iscariot Egalite was hurled in; thou grim De Launay, with thy grim Bastille; whole kindreds and peoples; five

millions of mutually destroying Men. For it is the End of the Dominion of IMPOSTURE (which is Darkness

and opaque Firedamp); and the burning up, with unquenchable fire, of all the Gigs that are in the Earth.' This

And so here, O Reader, has the time come for us two to part. Toilsome was our journeying together; not

without offence; but it is done. To me thou wert as a beloved shade, the disembodied or not yet embodied

spirit of a Brother. To thee I was but as a Voice. Yet was our relation a kind of sacred one; doubt not that!

Whatsoever once sacred things become hollow jargons, yet while the Voice of Man speaks with Man, hast

thou not there the living fountain out of which all sacrednesses sprang, and will yet spring? Man, by the

nature of him, is definable as 'an incarnated Word.' Ill stands it with me if I have spoken falsely: thine also it

ANTOINETTE, Marie, splendour of, applauded, compromised by Diamond Necklace, griefs of, weeps,

unpopular, at Dinner of Guards, courage of, Fifth October, at Versailles, shows herself to people, and Louis at

Tuileries, and the Lorrainer, and Mirabeau, previous to flight, flight from Tuileries, captured, and Barnave,

Coblentz intrigues, and Lamotte's Memoires, during Twentieth June, during Tenth August, as captive, and

Princess de Lamballe, in Temple Prison, parting scene with King, to the Conciergerie, trial of, guillotined.

ARISTOCRATS, officers in French army, number in Paris, seized, condition in 1794.

ARMS, smiths making, search for, at Charleville, manufacture, in 1794, scarcity in 1792, Danton's search for.

ARMY, French, after Bastille, officered by aristocrats, to be disbanded, demands arrears, general mutiny of,

outbreak of, Nanci military executions, Royalists leave, state of, in want, recruited, Revolutionary, fourteen

ARTOIS, M. d', ways of, unpopularity of, memorial by, flies, at Coblentz, refusal to return.

ASSEMBLY, National, Third Estate becomes, to be extruded, stands grouped in the rain, occupies

TennisCourt, scene there, joined by clergy, doings on King's speech, ratified by King, cannon pointed at,

ASSEMBLY, Constituent, National, becomes, pedantic, Irregular Verbs, what it can do, Night of Pentecost,

Left and Right side, raises money, on the Veto, Fifth October, women, in Paris RidingHall, on deficit,

assignats, on clergy, and riot, prepares for Louis's visit, on Federation, Anacharsis Clootz, eldest of men, on

Franklin's death, on state of army, thanks Bouille, on Nanci affair, on Emigrants, on death of Mirabeau, on

escape of King, after capture of King, completes Constitution, dissolves itself, what it has done.

ASSEMBLY, Legislative, First French Parliament, book of law, dispute with King, Baiser de Lamourette,

High Court, decrees vetoed, scenes in, reprimands King's ministers, declares war, declares France in danger,

reinstates Petion, nonplused, Lafayette, King and Swiss, August Tenth, becoming defunct, September

AUSTRIAN Army, invades France, defeated at Jemappes, Dumouriez escapes to, repulsed, Watigny.

AVIGNON, Union of, described, state of, riot in church at, occupied by Jourdan, massacre at.

BAILLY, Astronomer, account of, President of National Assembly, Mayor of Paris, receives Louis in Paris,

and Paris Parlement, on Petition for Deposition, decline of, in prison, at Queen's trial, guillotined cruelly.

BARBAROUX and Marat, Marseilles Deputy, and the Rolands, on Map of France, demand of, to Marseilles,

meets Marseillese, in National Convention, against Robespierre, cannot be heard, the Girondins declining,

arrested, and Charlotte Corday, retreats to Bourdeaux, farewell of, shoots himself.

BARNAVE, at Grenoble, member of Assembly, one of a trio, Jacobin, duel with Cazales, escorts the King

from Varennes, conciliates Queen, becomes Constitutional, retires to Grenoble, treason, in prison, guillotined.

BARRAS, PaulFrancois, in National Convention, commands in Thermidor, appoints Napoleon in

BASTILLE, Linguet's Book on, meaning of, shots fired at, summoned by insurgents, besieged, capitulates,

treatment of captured, QueretDemery, demolished, key sent to Washington, Heroes.

BEAUHARNAIS in ChampdeMars, Josephine, imprisoned, and Napoleon, at La Cabarus's.

BEAUMARCHAIS, Caron, his lawsuit, his 'Mariage de Figaro,' commissions arms from Holland, his

BESENVAL, Baron, Commandant of Paris, on French Finance, in riot of Rue St. Antoine, on corruption of

BILLAUDVARENNES, Jacobin, cruel, at massacres, September 1792, in Salut Committee, and

BOUILLE, at Metz, account of, character of, troops mutinous, and Salm regiment, intrepidity of, marches on

Nanci, quells Nanci mutineers, at Mirabeau's funeral, expects fugitive King, would liberate King, emigrates.

BREZE, Marquis de, his mode of ushering, and National Assembly, extraordinary etiquette.

BRIENNE, Lomenie, antiprotestant, in Notables, incapacity of, failure of, arrests Paris Parlement, secret

scheme, scheme discovered, arrests two Parlementeers, bewildered, desperate shifts by, wishes for Necker,

BRISSOT, edits 'Moniteur,' friend of Blacks, in First Parliament, plans in 1792, active in Assembly, in

BRUNSWICK, Duke, marches on France, advances, Proclamation, at Verdun, at Argonne, retreats.

CALONNE, M. de, Financier, character of, suavity and genius of, his difficulties, dismissed, marriage and

CARNOT, Hippolyte, notice of, plan for Toulon, discovery in Robespierre's pocket.

CHAMPDEMARS, Federation, preparations for, accelerated by patriots, anecdotes of, Federationscene

CHAUMETTE, notice of, signs petition, in governing committee, at King's trial, demands constitution, arrest

CLERGY, French, in StatesGeneral, conciliators of orders, joins Third Estate, lands, national, power of,

CLOOTZ, Anacharsis, Baron de, account of, disparagement of, in National Convention, universal republic

COMMITTEE of Defence, Central, of Watchfulness, of Public Salvation, Circular of, of the Constitution,

CONDORCET, Marquis, edits 'Moniteur,' Girondist, prepares Address, on Robespierre, death of.

CONVENTION, National, in what case to be summoned, demanded by some, determined on, Deputies

elected, constituted, motions in, work to be done, hated, politeness, effervescence of, on September

Massacres, guard for, try the King, debate on trial, invite to revolt, condemn Louis, armed Girondins in,

power of, removes to Tuileries, besieged, June 2nd, 1793, extinction of Girondins, Jacobins and, on forfeited

property, Carmagnole, Goddess of Reason, Representatives, at Feast of Etre Supreme, end of Robespierre,

CORDAY, Charlotte, account of, in Paris, assissinates Marat, examined, executed.

COUTHON, of Mountain, in Legislative, in National Convention, at Lyons, in Salut Committee, his question

CUSTINE, General, takes Mentz, retreats, censured, guillotined, his son guillotined.

DAMPMARTIN, Captain, at riot in Rue St. Antoine, on condition of army, on state of France, at Avignon,

DANTON, notice of, President of Cordeliers, and Marat, served with writs, in Cordeliers Club, elected

Councillor, Mirabeau of Sansculottes, in Jacobins, for Deposition, of Committee, August Tenth, Minister of

Justice, after September massacre, after Jemappes, and Robespierre, in Netherlands, at King's trial, on war,

rebukes Marat, peacemaker, and Dumouriez, in Salut Committee, breaks with Girondins, his law of Forty

sous, and Revolutionary Government, and Paris Municipality, retires to Arcis, and Robespierre, arrested,

DESMOULINS, Camille, notice of, in arms at Cafe de Foy, on Insurrection of Women, in Cordeliers Club,

and Brissot, in National Convention, on Sansculottism, on plots, suspect, for a committee of mercy, ridicules

DROUET, Jean B., notice of, discovers Royalty in flight, raises Varennes, blocks the bridge, defends his

DUMOURIEZ, notice by, account of him, in Brittany, at Nantes, in La Vendee, sent for to Paris, Foreign

Minister, dismissed, to Army, disobeys Luckner, CommanderinChief, his army, Council of War, seizes

Argonne Forest, Grand Pre, and mutineers, and Marat in Paris, to Netherlands, at Jemappes, in Paris,

discontented, retreats, beaten, will join the enemy, arrests his arresters, escapes to Austrians.

DUPORT, Adrien, in Paris Parlement, in Constituent Assembly, one of a trio, lawreformer.

EGLANTINE, Fabre d', in National Convention, assists in New Calendar, imprisoned.

ELIZABETH, Princess, flight to Varennes, August 10th, in Temple Prison, guillotined.

ESPREMENIL, Duval d', notice of, patriot, speaker in Paris Parlement, with crucifix, discovers Brienne's

plot, arrest and speech of, turncoat, in Constituent Assembly, beaten by populace, guillotined, widow

FAMINE, in France, in 17881792, Louis and Assembly try to relieve, in 1792, and remedy, remedy by

FAUCHET, Abbe, at siege of Bastille, his TeDeums, his harangue on Franklin, his Cercle Social, in First

Parliament, motion by, doffs his insignia, King's death, lamentation, will demit, trial of.

FEDERATION, spread of, of ChampdeMars, deputies to, human species at, ceremonies of, a new, 1792.

FEUILLANS, Club, denounce Jacobins, decline, extinguished, Battalion, Justices and Patriotism.

FRANCE, abject, under Louis XV., Kings of, early history of, decay of Kingship in, on accession of Louis

XVI., and Philosophy, famine in, 1775, state of, prior Revolution, aids America, in 1788, inflammable, July

1789, gibbets, general overturn, how to reform, riotousness of, Mirabeau and, after King's flight, petitions

against Royalty, warfare of towns in, European league against, terror of, in Spring 1792, decree of war,

France in danger, general enlisting, rage of, Autumn 1792, Marat's Circular, September, Sansculottic,

declaration of war, Mountain and Girondins divide, communes of, coalition against, levy in mass.

FRENCH Anglomania, character of the, literature, in 1784, Parlements, nature of, Mirabeau, type of the,

GIRONDINS, origin of term, in National Convention, against Robespierre, on King's trial, and Jacobins,

formula of, favourers of, schemes of, to be seized? break with Danton, armed against Mountain, accuse

Marat, departments, commission of twelve, commission broken, arrested, dispersed, war by, retreat of eleven,

GORSAS, Journalist, pleads for Swiss, in National Convention, his house broken into, guillotined.

GREGOIRE, Cure, notice of, in National Convention, detained in Convention, and destruction of religion.

GUARDS, Swiss, and French, at Reveillon riot, French refuse to fire, come to PalaisRoyal, fire on

RoyalAllemand, to Bastille, name changed, National origin of, number of, Body at Versailles, October

Fifth, fight, fly in Chateau, Body, and French, at Versailles, National, at Nanci, French, last appearance of,

National, how commanded, 1791, Constitutional, dismissed, FillesSt.Thomas, routed, Swiss, at Tuileries,

GUILLOTIN, Doctor, summoned by Paris Parlement, invents the guillotine, deputed to King.

GUILLOTINE invented, described, in action, to be improved, number of sufferers by.

HEBERT, Editor of 'Pere Duchene,' signs petition, arrested, at Queen's trial, quickens Revolutionary

HENRIOT, General of National Guard, and the Convention, to deliver Robespierre, seized, rescued, end of.

HERBOIS, Collot d', notice of, in National Convention, at Lyons massacre, in Salut Committee, attempt to

assassinate, bullied at Jacobins, President, night of Thermidor, accused, banished.

INSURRECTION, most sacred of duties, of Women, of August Tenth, difficult, of Paris, against Girondins,

JACOBINS, Society, beginning of, Hall, described, and members, Journal of, daughters of, at Nanci,

suppressed, Club increases, and Mirabeau, prospers, 'Lords of the Articles,' extinguishes Feuillans, Hall

enlarged, described, and Marseillese, and Lavergne, message to Dumouriez, missionaries in Army, on King's

trial, on accusation of Robespierre, against Girondins, National Convention and, Popular Tribunals of, purges

members, to become dominant, locked out by Legendre, begs back its keys, decline of, mobbed, suspended,

JOURDAN, Coupetete, at Versailles, leader of Brigands, supreme in Avignon, massacre by, flight of,

LAFAYETTE, bust of, erected, against Calonne, demands by, in Notables, CromwellGrandison, Bastille

time, VicePresident of National Assembly, General of National Guard, resigns and reaccepts,

ScipioAmericanus, thanked, rewarded, French Guards and, to Versailles, Fifth October, at Versailles,

swears the Guards, Feuillant, on abolition of Titles, at Champ deMars Federation, at De Castries' riot,

character of, in Day of Poniards, difficult position of, at King's going to St. Cloud, resigns and reaccepts, at

flight from Tuileries, after escape of King, moves for amnesty, resigns, decline of, doubtful against Jacobins,

LAMBALLE, Princess de, to England, intrigues for Royalists, at La Force, massacred.

LAMETH, in Constituent Assembly, one of a trio, brothers, notice of, Jacobins, Charles, Duke de Castries,

LAMOTTE, Countess de, and Diamond Necklace, in the Salpetriere, 'Memoirs' burned, in London, M. de, in

LAUNAY, Marquis de, Governor of Bastille, besieged, unassisted, to blow up Bastille, massacred.

LAWYERS, their influence on the Revolution, number of, in Tiers Etat, in Parliament First.

LEGENDRE, in danger, at Tuileries riot, in National Convention, against Girondins, for Danton, locks out

LOUIS XV., origin of his surname, last illness of, dismisses Dame Dubarry, Choiseul, wounded, has

smallpox, his mode of conquest, impoverishes France, his daughters, on death, on ministerial capacity,

LOUIS XVI., at his accession, good measures of, temper and pursuits of, difficulties of, commences

governing, and Notables, holds Royal Session, receives StatesGeneral Deputies, in StatesGeneral

procession, speech to StatesGeneral, National Assembly, unwise policy of, dismisses Necker, apprised of

the Revolution, conciliatory, visits Assembly, Bastille, visits Paris, deserted, will fly, languid, at Dinner of

Guards, deposition of, proposed, October Fifth, women deputies, to fly or not? grants the acceptance, Paris

propositions to, in the Chateau tumult, appears to mob, will go to Paris, his wisest course, procession to Paris,

review of his position, lodged at Tuileries, Restorer of French Liberty, no hunting, locksmith, schemes, visits

Assembly, Federation, Hereditary Representative, will fly, and D'Inisdal's plot, Mirabeau, useless, indecision

of, ill of catarrh, prepares for St. Cloud, hindered by populace, effect, should he escape, prepares for flight,

his circular, flies, letter to Assembly, manner of flight, loiters by the way, detected by Drouet, captured at

Varennes, indecision there, return to Paris, reception there, to be deposed? reinstated, reception of

Legislative, position of, proposes war, with tears, vetoes, dissolves Roland Ministry, in riot of, June 20, and

Petion, at Federation, with cuirass, declared forfeited, last levee of, Tenth August, quits Tuileries for

Assembly, in Assembly, sent to Temple prison, in Temple, to be tried, and the Locksmith Gamain, at the bar,

LOUISPHILIPPE, King of the French, Jacobin doorkeeper, at Valmy, bravery at Jemappes, and sister,

LOUVET, his 'Chevalier de Faublas,' his 'Sentinelles,' and Robespierre, in National Convention, Girondin

LYONS, Federation at, disorders in, Chalier, Jacobin, executed at, capture of magazine, massacres at.

MAILLARD, Usher, at siege of Bastille, Insurrection of Women, drum, Champs Elysees, entering Versailles,

addresses National Assembly there, signs Decheance petition, in September Massacres.

MANUEL, Jacobin, slowsure, in August Tenth, in Governing Committee, haranguing at La Force, in

MARAT, Jean Paul, horseleech to D'Artois, notice of, against violence, at siege of Bastille, summoned by

Constituent, not to be gagged, astir, how to regenerate France, police and, on abolition of titles, would gibbet

Mirabeau, bust in Jacobins, concealed in cellars, in seat of honour, signs circular, elected to Convention, and

Dumouriez, oaths by, in Convention, on sufferings of People, and Girondins, arrested, returns in triumph, fall

MARSEILLESE, March and Hymn of, at Charenton, at Paris, FillesSt.Thomas and, barracks.

MAURY, Abbe, character of, in Constituent Assembly, seized emigrating, dogmatic, efforts fruitless, made

MERCIER, on Paris revolting, Editor, the September Massacre, in National Convention, King's trial.

MIOMANDRE de Ste. Marie, Bodyguard, October Fifth, left for dead, revives, rewarded.

MIRABEAU, Count, his pamphlets, the Notables, LettresdeCachet against, expelled by the Provence

Noblesse, clothshop, is Deputy for Aix, king of Frenchmen, family of, wanderings of, his future course,

groaned at, in Assembly, his newspaper suppressed, silences Usher de Breze, at Bastille ruins, on

Robespierre, fame of, on French deficit, populace, on veto, Mounier, October Fifth, insight of, defends veto,

courage, revenue of, saleable? and Danton, on Constitution, at Jacobins, his courtship, on state of Army,

Marat would gibbet, his power in France, on D'Orleans, on duelling, interview with Queen, speech on

emigrants, the 'trente voix,' in Council, his plans for France, probable career of, last appearance in Assembly,

anxiety of populace for, last sayings of, death and funeral of, burialplace of, character of, last of Mirabeaus,

MIRABEAU the younger, nicknamed Tonneau, in Constituent Assembly, breaks his sword.

MOLEVILLE, Bertrand de, Historian, minister, his plan, frivolous policy of, and D'Orleans, Jesuitic,

MOMORO, Bookseller, agrarian, arrested, guillotined, his Wife, 'Goddess of Reason.'

MOUNIER, at Grenoble, proposes TennisCourt oath, October Fifth, President of Constituent Assembly,

MOUNTAIN, members of the, reelected in National Convention, Gironde and, favourers of the, vulnerable

NANCI, revolt at, description of town, deputation imprisoned, deputation of mutineers, state of mutineers in,

Bouille's fight, Paris thereupon, military executions at, Assembly Commissioners.

NAPOLEON Bonaparte (Buonaparte) studying mathematics, pamphlet by, democratic, in Corsica, August

Tenth, under General Cartaux, at Toulon, Josephine and, at La Cabarus's, Vendemiaire.

NARBONNE, Louis de, assists flight of King's Aunts, to be WarMinister, demands by, secreted, escapes.

NECKER, and finance, account of, dismissed, refuses Brienne, recalled, difficulty as to StatesGeneral,

reconvokes Notables, opinion of himself, popular, dismissed, recalled, returns in glory, his plans, becoming

NOTABLES, Calonne's convocation of, assembled 22nd February 1787, members of, effects of dismissal of,

ORLEANS, Philippe (Egalite), Duc d', Duke de Chartres (till 1785), waits on Dauphin, Father, with Louis

XV., not Admiral, wealth, debauchery, Palais Royal buildings, in Notables (Duke d'Orleans now), looks of,

Bedof Justice, 1787, arrested, liberated, in StatesGeneral Procession, joins Third Estate, his party, in

Constituent Assembly, Fifth October and, shunned in England, Mirabeau, cash deficiency, use of, in

Revolution, accused by Royalists, at Court, insulted, in National Convention, decline of, in Convention, vote

on King's trial, at King's execution, arrested, imprisoned, condemned, and executed.

PACHE, Swiss, account of, Minister of War, Mayor, dismissed, reinstated, imprisoned.

PARIS, origin of city, police in 1750, ship VilledeParis, riot at Palais deJustice, beautified, in 1788,

election, 1789, troops called to, military preparations in, July Fourteenth, cry for arms, search for arms,

Bailly, mayor of, tradestrikes in, Lafayette patrols, October Fifth, propositions to Louis, Louis in, Journals,

billstickers, undermined, after Champde Mars Federation, on Nanci affair, on death of Mirabeau, on

flight to Varennes, on King's return, Directory suspends Petion, enlisting, 1792, on forfeiture of King,

Sections, rising of, August Tenth, prepares for insurrection, Municipality supplanted, statues destroyed, King

and Queen to prison, September, 1792, names printed on housedoor, in insurrection, Girondins, May 1793,

PARLEMENT, patriotic, against Taxation, remonstrates, at Versailles, arrested, origin of, nature of, corrupt,

at Troyes, yields, Royal Session in, how to be tamed, oath and declaration of, firmness of, scene in, and

PARLEMENTS, Provincial, adhere to Paris, rebellious, exiled, grand deputations of, reinstated, abolished.

PETION, account of, Dutchbuilt, and D'Espremenil, to be mayor, Varennes, meets King, and Royalty, at

close of Assembly, in London, Mayor of Paris, in Twentieth June, suspended, reinstated, welcomes

Marseillese, August Tenth, in Tuileries, rebukes Septemberers, in National Convention, declines mayorship,

PHILOSOPHISM, influence of, on Revolution, what it has done with Church, with Religion.

PLOTS, of King's flight, various, of Aristocrats, October Fifth, Royalist, of Favras and others, cartels,

Twelve bullies from Switzerland, D'Inisdal, willo'wisp, Mirabeau and Queen, poniards, Mallet du Pan,

Narbonne's, traces of, in ArmoiredeFer, against Girondins, Desmoulins on, prison.

PRIESTS, dissident, marry in France, Antinational, hanged, many killed near the Abbaye, number slain in

PRISONS, Paris, in Bastille time, full, August 1792, number of, in France, state of, in Terror, thinned after

PRISON, Abbaye, refractory Members sent to, Temple, Louis sent to, Abbaye, Priests killed near, massacres

PROCESSION, of StatesGeneral Deputies, of Necker and D'Orleans busts, of Louis to Paris, again, after

PRUSSIA, Fritz of, against France, army of, ravages France, King of, and French Princes.

RABAUT, St. Etienne, French Reformer, in National Convention, in Commission of Twelve, arrested,

REBECQUI, of Marseilles, in National Convention, against Robespierre, retires, drowns himself.

REPUBLIC, French, first mention of, first year of, established, universal, Clootz's, Girondin, one and

REVOLT, Paris, in, of Gardes Francaises, becomes Revolution, military, what, of Lepelletier section.

REVOLUTION, French, causes of the, Lord Chesterfield on the, not a revolt, meaning of the term, whence it

grew, general commencement of, prosperous characters in, Philosophes and, state of army in, progress of,

duelling in, Republic decided on, European powers and, Royalist opinion of, cardinal movements in, Danton

and the, changes produced by the, effect of King's death on, Girondin idea of, suspicion in, Terror and, and

Christian religion, Revolutionary Committees, Government doings in, Robespierre essential to, end of.

RIOT, Paris, in May 1750, Cornlaw (in 1775), at Palais de Justice (1787), triumph, of Rue St. Antoine, of

July Fourteenth (1789), and Bastille, at Strasburg, Paris, on the veto, Versailles Chateau, October Fifth

(1789), uses of, to National Assembly, Paris, on Nanci affair, at De Castries' Hotel, on flight of King's Aunts,

at Vincennes, on King's proposed journey to St. Cloud, in ChampdeMars, with sharp shot, Paris, Twentieth

June, 1792, August Tenth, 1792, Grain, Paris, at Theatre de la Nation, selling sugar, of Thermidor, 1794, of

RIOUFFE, Girondin, to Bourdeaux, in prison, on death of Girondins, on Mme. Roland.

ROBESPIERRE, Maximilien, account of, derided in Constituent Assembly, Jacobin, incorruptible, on tip of

left, elected public accuser, after King's flight, at close of Assembly, at Arras, position of, plans in 1792, chief

priest of Jacobins, invisible on August Tenth, reappears, on September Massacre, in National Convention,

accused by Girondins, accused by Louvet, acquitted, King's trial, Condorcet on, at Queen's trial, in Salut

Committee, and Paris Municipality, embraces Danton, Desmoulins and, and Danton, Danton on, at trial, his

three scoundrels, supreme, to be assassinated, at Feast of Etre Supreme, apocalyptic, Theot, on Couthon's

plotdecree, reserved, his schemes, fails in Convention, applauded at Jacobins, accused, rescued, at

Townhall, declared out of law, halfkilled, guillotined, essential to Revolution.

ROEDERER, Syndic, Feuillant, 'Chronicle of Fifty Days,' on Federes Ammunition, dilemma at Tuileries,

ROLAND, Madame, notice of, at Lyons, narrative by, in Paris, after King's flight, and Barbaroux, public

dinners and business, character of, misgivings of, accused, Girondin declining, arrested, condemned and

ROLAND, M., notice of, in Paris, Minister, letter, and dismissal of, recalled, decline of, on September

ROMME, in National Convention, in Caen prison, his new Calendar, in riot of Prairial, 1795, suicide.

ROSIERE, Thuriot de la, summons Bastille, in First Parliament, in National Convention, President at

ROUSSEAU, JeanJacques, Contrat Social of, Gospel according to, burial place of, statue decreed to.

ST. ANTOINE to Versailles, Warhorse supper, Nanci affair, at Vincennes, at Jacobins, and Marseillese,

ST. FARGEAU, Lepelletier, in National Convention, at King's trial, assassinated, burial of.

ST. HURUGE, Marquis, bullvoice, imprisoned, at Versailles, and Pope's effigy, at Jacobins, on King's trial.

ST. JUST in National Convention, on King's trial, in Salut Committee, at Strasburg, repels Prussians, on

SANSCULOTTISM, apparition of, effects of, growth of, at work, origin of term, and Royalty, above theft, a

fact, French Nation and, Revolutionary Tribunal and, how it lives, consummated, fall of, last rising of, death

SANTERRE, Brewer, notice of, at siege of Bastille, at Tuileries, June Twentieth, meets Marseillese,

Commander of Guards, how to relieve famine, at King's trial, at King's execution, fails in La Vendee, St.

SECHELLES, Herault de, in National Convention, leads Convention out, arrested and guillotined.

SIDE, Right and Left, of Constituent Assembly, Right and Left, tip of Left, popular, Right after King's flight,

SIEYES, Abbe, account of, Constitutionbuilder, in ChampdeMars, in National Convention, of

SOMBREUIL, Governor of Hotel des Invalides, examined, seized, saved by his daughter, guillotined, his son

STAEL, Mme. de, at StatesGeneral procession, intrigue for Narbonne, secretes Narbonne.

STATESGENERAL, first suggested, meeting announced, how constituted, orders in, Representatives to,

Parlements against, Deputies to, in Paris, number of Deputies, place of Assembly, procession of, installed,

TALLEYRANDPERIGORD, Bishop, notice of, at fatherland's altar, his blessing, excommunicated, in

TALLIEN, notice of, editor of 'Ami des Citoyens,' in Committee of Townhall, August 1792, in National

Convention, at Bourdeaux, and Madame Cabarus, recalled, suspect, accuses Robespierre, Thermidorian.

TENNISCOURT, National Assembly in, Club of, and procession to, master of, rewarded.

THEROIGNE, Mlle., notice of, in Insurrection of Women, at Versailles (October Fifth), in Austrian prison,

in Jacobin tribune, armed for insurrection (August Tenth), keeps her carriage, fustigated, insane.

TINVILLE, Fouquier, revolutionist, Jacobin, AttorneyGeneral in Tribunal Revolutionnaire, at Queen's trial,

at trial of Girondins, at trial of Mme. Roland, at trial of Danton, and Salut Public, his prisonplots, his

batches, the prisons under, mock doom of, at trial of Robespierre, accused, guillotined.

TOULONGEON, Marquis, notice of, on Barnave triumvirate, describes Jacobins Hall.

TUILERIES, Louis XVI. lodged at, a tilefield, Twentieth June at, tickets of entry, 'Coblentz,' Marseillese

chase FillesSaintThomas to, August Tenth, King quits, attacked, captured, occupied by National

UNITED STATES, declaration of Liberty, embassy to Louis XVI., aided by France, of Congress in.

VALAZE, Girondin, on trial of Louis, plots at his house, trial of, kills himself.

VENDEE, La, Commissioners to, state of, in 1792, insurrection in, war, after King's death, on fire,

VERGNIAUD, notice of, August Tenth, orations of, President at King's condemnation, in fall of Girondins,

VERSAILLES, death of Louis XV. at, in Bastille time, National Assembly at, troops to, march of women on,

of French Guards on, insurrection scene at, the Chateau forced, prisoners massacred at.