[i ^ ■^^ "DC CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY GIFT OF Dr. Mary M, Crawford Cornell University Library DC 165.M62 1888 Historical view of the French Revolution 3 1924 024 313 474 ohn DATE DUE m Ts*' MY ^, ^4^499T GAYLORD PRINTED IN U.S.A. The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924024313474 :vr 'CrEHlMAirT i; Ml^-^iE IK li i.) '\ S HISTOEICAL VIEW OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION FROM ITS EARLIEST INDICATIONS TO THE FLIGHT OF THE KING IN 1791. BY J. MICHELET, TRANSLATED BV C. COCKS, B.L., PROFESSOR (bREVET6) OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE IN THE COLLEGE ROYAL. WITH A GENERAL INDEX. LONDON: GEORGE BELL AND SONS, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1888. CONTENTS. -♦- PREFACE. PA OB The Revolution explains anterior times i The Revolution has no monuments . . . . , . . 2 Her principle was eminently pacific : Right ..... 3 Fraternity ........ . . 6 The Revolution by no means egotistical 7 Popular instinct . . . . 10 Inspiration of the author ] 1 INTRODUCTION. FIRST PART. The Religion of the Middle Ages. SECTION I. Is the Revolution Christian or Anti-christian ? . . . . l;^ Politicians and devotees . . . . . . . . . 15 SECTION II. Is the Revolution the fulfilling of Christianity I . . . .17 Christianity and the Revolution . . . . . . . In Embarrassment of Christianity . , . . . . .20 Christianity and Justice . . . , . . . . . 21 SECTION III. Sufferings and Legends of the Middle Ages 23 They have the Legends for consolation ...... 24 The civil world was imitated from the theological dogma . . . 2.5 VI CONTENTS. SECTION VIII. The Red Book. Ruinous good-natui'e of the Kings ... The pom^ 'privileged class ........ Philanthropy of the Farmers of the revenue ; Sensibility of the Financiers Injurious good-nature ........ PAOB ih. 61 lb (784. SECTION IX The Bastille. To be forgotten in the Bastille The Jesuits directing the Bastille Clerks directing the Bastille The Bastille the prison of the mind Its regulations become more and more severe Case of Latude . . The Philanthi'opists weep, but do nothing Madame Legros undertakes to save Latude Her courage and perseverance The King refuses Madame Legros persists .... The King grants pardon .... Long expectation of the Revolution At last people can hope no longer . Its spirit extends to all, to the people, to women Justice is at length found to be identical with Gract- Triumph of Justice 62 63 64 65 ib. 67 68 ib, 69 ih. 70 71 ib. ih. 71 7*2 BOOK I. APRIL TO JULY, 1789. CHAPTER L Elections of 1789. The whole people called upon to elect the electors ; — to write down their complaints and requests ..... Sureness of the popular instinct ...... Firmness of tlie people ; their unanimity .... The Convocation of the States delayed ... , . 73 76 77 78 CONTENTS. VII April 1789. The elections of Paris delayed First act of the national sovereignty April 27, 28. The electors troubled by the Keveillon riot Who was interested in it . . . April 29 to May 20. The elections are finished CHAPTER II. Opening of the States-General. May 4. Procession of the States- General 5. Opening ....... Necker's speech ..... Question on the Separation of the Orders . The Third Estate invites the others to unite Inaction of the Assembly . , . . June. Snares laid for it . PARE 78 79 80 82 83 84 88 90 91 J>2 93 94 . i)5 . ii7 . .')H . 103 . 104 . 105 . 106 . 107 CHAPTER III. National Assembly. June 10. Last Summons of the Third .... It takes the name of Communes . . . . 17. The Commons take the name of National Assembly They seize on the right of taxation Projects for a coup d'etat ..... The King circumvented ...... The King orders the hall to be shut The Assembly at the Temiis-Com't (Jeu-do-JPaumc) CHAPTER IV. Oath at the Tennis-Court, Ju.\e 20th. The Assembly wandering about . . . . . 110 A coupd'elat ; Necker's project . . . .111 23. And the King's declaration . . . . . . 112 The Assembly refuses to separate . , . .117 The King entreats Necker to remain, but does not re- voke his declaration . . , . . . . 118 CHAPTER V. Movement of Paris. 25. Assembly of the electors . . . . . .118 Insurrection of the French Guards . . . . 120 "Vlll CONTENTS. Agitation in the Palais- Royal Intrigues of the Orleans party June 80. The people deliver the French Guards Paris desires to arm Julv 11. Necker dismissed The Court prepares for resistance . PAOJ? 1-21 1-22 126 129 130 131 CHAPTER VI. IlNSURRECTION OF PaRIS. Danger of Paris July 12. Outbreak of Paris Inaction of Versailles Provocation of the troops . Paris takes up arms 1 3. The Assembly applies to the King ui vain The electors authorize the arming Organization of the citizen guard Hesitation of the electors The people seize some gunpowder The people seek for guns Security of the Court . 139 133 134 135 ib. 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 CHAPTER VII. Taking of the Bastille, July 14Tn, 17o9. Difficulty of taking the Bastille The idea of the attack belongs to the people Hatred of the people for the Bastille Joy of the world at its capture 14. The people carry off the guns The Bastille was in a state of defence . . Thuriot summons the Bastille to surrender The electors send uselessly several deputations Last attack, Elie, HuUin Danger of delay ..... The people believe themselves betrayed The people menace the provost and the electors The conquerors at the H6tel-de-Ville How the Bastille surrendered The Bastille invaded by the people Death of the governor Prisoners put to death .... Prisoners pardoned by the people Clemency of the people • . . 143 . 144 . . 145 . 146 . . 147 . 148 . . 149 5 . . 152 . . 153 . l.U . . 155 'S . . ib . ib. . 156 . . 157 . 158 . . /6. . 159 • . . 160 CONTENTS. IX BOOK II. JULY 14 TO OCTOBER 6, 1789, CHAPTER I. The Hollow Truce. ft Versailles, on the 14th and 15th of Jn\j July 15. The King at the Assembly .... Paris in mourning and misery Deputation of the Assembly to the city of Paris 17. The hollow peace ...... The King goes to Paris First emigi'ation : Artois, Conde, PoUgnac, &c. Isolated position of the King . . . - PAGB 162 165 166 167 169 172 175 ih. CHAPTER II. Popular Judgments, No power inspires any confidence 176 The judiciary power has lost confidence Breton club — Advocates ; the Basoche . . 17 Danton and Camille Desmoulins Barbarity of the laws and punishments Judgments pronounced at the Palais- Royal La Greve and famine ..... Foulon and Berthier .... Famine ....... July 22. Death of Foulon, and of Berthier lb. 7, 178, 179 . 179 . . 180 . 181 ib. . 183 . . 185 . 186 CHAPTER in. France in Arms. Embarrassment of the Assembly .... 23. They engage the people to put confidence in them Distrust of the people Fears of Paris ....... Alarms of the provinces ..... Conspiracy of Brest ..... 27. The court compromised by the Enghsh Ambassador Fury of the old nobles and new nobles Threats and plottings Terror of the rural districts .... The peasants take up arms against the brigands 19K) 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 ib. 199 200 They burn the feudal charters, and fire several castles 201 "VUl CONTENTS. Agitation in the Palais-Royal Intrigues of the Orleans party June 30. The people deliver the French Guards Paris desu'es to arm July 11. Neelier dismissed The Court prepares for resistance . PAGB 1-21 122 126 129 130 131 CHAPTER VI. Insurrection of Paris. Danger of Paris July 12. Outbreak of Paris Inaction of Versailles Provocation of the troops . Paris takes up arras 1 3. The Assembly applies to the King hi vain The electors authorize the arming Organization of the citizen guard Hesitation of the electors The people seize some gunpowder The people seek for guns Security of the Court . 139 133 134 135 ib. 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 CHAPTER VII. Taking of the Bastille, July Hth, 17i>9. Difficulty of taking the Bastille The idea of the attack belongs to the people Hatred of the people for the Bastille Joy of the world at its capture 14. The people carry off the guns The Bastille was in a state of defence . Thuriot summons the Bastille to surrender The electors send uselessly several deputations Last attack, Elie, Hullin Danger of delay ..... The people believe themselves betrayed The people menace the provost and the electors The conquerors at the H6tel-de-Ville How the Bastille surrendered The Bastille invaded by the people Death of the governor Prisoners put to death .... Prisoners pardoned by the people Clemency of the people . . 143 . 144 . . 145 . 146 . . 147 . 148 . . 149 s . . 152 . . 153 . 154 . . 15o • Q . ;h ih . 156 . . 157 . 158 . . ib. . 159 . . IGO CONTENTS. IX BOOK II. JULY 14 TO OCTOBER 6, 1789. CHAPTER I. The Hollow Truce. Versailles, on the 14th and 15th of Jul/ July 1 5. The King at the Assembly .... Paris in mourning and misery Deputation of the Assembly to the city of Paris 17. The hollow peace The King goes to Paris ..... First emigration : Artois, Conde, Polignac, &c. Isolated position of the King . PAGE 162 165 166 167 169 17-2 175 ib. CHAPTER II. Popular Judgments. No power inspires any confidence . . . . . J 76 The judiciary power has lost confidence Breton club — Advocates ; the Basoche . . 17 Danton and Camille Desmoulins Barbarity of the laws and punishments Judgments pronounced at the Palais-Royal La Greve and famine ..... Foulon and Berthier .... Famine ....... July 2*2. Death of Foulon, and of Berthier lb. 7, 178, 179 . 179 . . 180 . 181 ib. . 183 . . 185 . 186 CHAPTER III. France in Arms. Embarrassment of the Assembly .... 23. They engage the people to put confidence in them Distrust of the people Fears of Paris ....... Alarms of the provinces ..... Conspiracy of Brest ..... 27. The court compromised by the English Ambassador Fury of the old nobles and new nobles Threats and plottings Terror of the rural districts .... The peasants take up arms against the brigands 19^ 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 ib. 199 200 They burn the feudal charters, and fire several castles 201 CONTENTS. CHAPTER IV. The Rights of Man. PAGR Declaration of tlic rights of man and citizen . . 204 Distnrbances ; danger of France . . . . 207 July 27. The Assembly creates the Committee of Inquiry . 209 Attempts of the Court . . . . . . . ih. They wish to prevent the ti'ial of Besenval . . i^- The royalist party wish to make a weapon of public charity . . . . . . . . . 211 The revolutionary part of the nobles offer to abandon the feudal rights . . , . . . .212 Night of the 4th of August . . . . . . 213 Class privileges abandoned . . . . .214 Resistance of the clergy . . . . ..216 Privileges of provinces nbandoned . . . .217 CHAPTER V. The Clergy and the People. Prophetic speeches of Fauchet .... Impotent efforts for reconciliation Imminent ruin of the ancient Church The Church had abandoned the people August 6. Buzot claims the estates of the clergy for the nation Suppression of Tithes ..... Religious liberty acknowledged .... League of the clergy, the nobility, and the Court Paris abandoned to itself . . . . . . No public authority : few acts of violence Patriotic donations ...... Devotion and sacrifice ..... CHAPTER VI. The Veto. Difficulty of procuring provisions The urgent state of things .... Can the King arrest everything? .... Long discussion on the Veto .... Secret projects of the Court .... Is there to be one Chamber or two? The Enghsh school ........ The Assembly required to be dissolved and renewed It was heterogeneous, discordant, and powerless Discordant principles of Mirabeau ; his fear 218 219 220 221 ih. 0.7.7 t^ ^ ^d 224 225 226 227 229 230 231 232 ib. 233 ih. 234 235 236 ih. CONTENTS. XI CHAPTER VII. The Press. ... ^ PAGE August 30. Agitation of Paris on the question of the Veto . . 237 State of the Press. Multiplication of the newspapers .239 Tendency of the Press ib. The Press is still royalist ih, Loustalot, the editor of the Revolutions de Paris . .240 31. His proposition rejected at the Hotel-de-Ville . . . 242 Conspiracy of the Court, known to Lafayette and every- body ... . . . , 243 Growing opposition between the National Guards and the people 244 Uncertain conduct of the Assembly . . . . 245 Sept. 18. Volney proposes to it to dissolve .... 246 Impotency of Necker and the Assembly . . . 247 Impotency of the Court and the Duke of Orleans . 248 Even the Press powerless ih. CHAPTER VTII. The People go to fetch the KiiVG, October 5th, The people alone find a remedy Egotistical position of the Kings at Versailles Louis XVI. unable to act in any way The Queen solicited to act October 1. Orgy of the body guards Insults offered to the national cockade Irritation of Paris Misery and sufferings of the women Their courageous compassion 5. They invade the Hotel-de-Ville They march upon Versailles The Assembly receives warning Maillard and the women before the Assembly Robespierre supports Maillard The women before the King Indecision of the Court .... 1789. 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 259 260 261 2<.-2 264 265 266 CHAPTER IX. The People bring the King back to Paris, October 6th, 1789. 6th of October continued. First blood shed . . . 267 The women gain over the regiment of Flanders . . 268 A fight between the body guard and the National Guard of Versailles • • • . .269 Xll CONTENTS. The King no longer able to escape The affright of the Court The women pass the night in the liall of the Assembly Lafayette forced to march agaiiist Versailles . October 6. The chateau assailed ...... The danger of the Queen ..... The body guard saved by the French ex-guards . The Queen before the people ..... Hesitation of the Assembly ..... 279 Movement unforeseen 280 Conduct of the Duke of Orleans ... "28 1 The King conducted to Paris . • • . 282 pagb 2H9 270 271 272 275 27 r; 277 278 CONTFA^TS. x'ni BOOK III. OCTOBER 6, 1789, TO JULY 14, 1790. CHAPTER I. Unanimity for raising the Royal Power, October, 1789, — Enthusiastic Transport of Fraternity, October to July. PAGE October, 1789. The love of the people for the King . . . i!83 Generosity of the people ...... 284 Tendency of the people to union .... 285 October '89, to July '90. Confederations ib. October '89. Lafayette and Mirabeau for the King . . . 287 The Assembly for the King 288 The King was not a captive ib. CHAPTER 11. Resistance. — The Clergy, October and November, 1789 Great Misery ....... Necessity of taking back the estates of the clergy October '89. Defence of the clergy The clergy were not proprietors Victims of the clergy: the serfs of tlie Jura October — November. Monks and nuns, Jews, comedians The Protestants CHAPTER III. Resistance. — The Clergy. — The Parliaments. — The Provincial States. 289 290 291 ib, 292 293 294 October 14. The clergy make an appeal to civil war . The enthusiasm of the cities of Brittany The Assembly reduces the primary electors to the number of four millions November 3. The Assembly annuls the clergy as a body The Assembly dissolves the parhaments October — November. Resistance of the tribunals Fatal part performed by the parliaments in latter times ...... They no longer admit any but nobles November. The Parliaments of Rouen and Metz offer to resist 303 They retract i^- 295 297 299 300 ib. ib. 301 302 XIV CONTENTS. CHAPTER IV. Resistance. — Parliaments. — Movements of the Confederations. Labours of the judiciary organisation Januarys, 1790. The Parliaments of Brittany at the bar . January to March. The Parliaments of Brittany and Bordeaux condemned ...... 1789. Origin of the Confederations .... December '89 to January '90. Confederations of Anjou, Brittany and Dauphine', ...... Of the Rhone, Languedoc, and Provence . Of Burgundy and Franche-Comt^ . February '90. The warfare against the castles repressed The cities defend the nobles, their enemies CHAPTER V. Resistance. — The Queen and Austria. October. Animosity of the Queen. Plottings of the court November — December. The King a prisoner of the people November. The Queen disdains Lafayette and Mirabeau . She distrusts the princes ..... The Queen but little allied with the clergy She had ever been governed by Austria Austria interested in the King's inactivity February^ March. Louis XVL and Leopold declare themselves friendly to constitutions .... Trial of Besenval and Favras February IB. Death of Favras. Discouragement of the royalists March. Great confederations of the North PAGE 304 ih. 307 308 lb. 309 310 311 ih. 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 323 324 325 CHAPTER VL Continuation. — The Queen and Austria. — The Queen and Mirabeau. — The Army. — March — Mav, 1790. Austria obtains the alhance of Europe . . , 326 March. Austria advises the court to gain Mirabeau . . 327 Equivocal conduct of the cornet with Mirabeau . 328 April. Mirabeau chastises -it again ..... 329 Mirabeau has little influence in the clubs . . 3r.il May 10. Mirabeau gained by the court . . ... 334 20. He causes the King to have the initiative in making war .?35 End of May. Interview between Mirabeau and the Queen . . 336 The French soldier fraternises with the people . 337 CONTENTS. XV PAGE The court expects, but in vain, to gain over the soldiery 338 Misery of the ancient army ih. Insolence of the officers 339 They endeavour to set the soldiers against the people ib. Rehabilitation of the soldier and the sailor . , . 340 CHAPTER VII. Religious Struggle. — Easter. — The Passion of Louis XVI. Legend of the Martyr King 341 Scandal caused by the opening of the convents . . 342 The clergy excite the ignorant masses . . .343 The agent of the clergy wishes to come to an under- standing ^\ith the emigrants . , , . . 344 The clergy and the nobility in opposition . . .345 Manoeuvres of the clergy at Easter . . . . 34 6 April, 1790. The Assembly publishes the Red Booh . . .347 It mortgages the assignments on the estates of the clergy 348 April 12. The clergy summon the Assembly to declare Cathoh- cism a national rehgion 349 CHAPTER VIII. Religious Struggle. — Success of the CouNTER-REvoLUTiOiN. — May, 1790. Sequel. The Assembly eludes the question . . . .351 April. The King dares not receive the protestation of the clergy 352 May. A rehgious outbreak in the South . . . . 353 The South ever excitable ..... 26. Ancient religious persecutions ; Avignon and Toulon 354 Fanaticism grown lukewarm in the eighteenth century, skilfully revived ....... 355 The Protestants ever excluded from civil and military employments ....... 357 Unanimity of both forms of worship (Cathohc and Protestant) in 1789 ....... 358 1790. The clergy re-kindle fanaticism, and organise an opposition at Nimes ...... 359 The clergy awakens social jealousy . . . . 360 Terror of the Protestants 361 April, 1790. Outbreak at Toulouse and Nimes . . . . 362 Connivance of the municipahties . . .368 May 10. Massacre at Montauban 364 Triumph of the coimter-re volution in the South . 365 6 XTl CONTENTS,' CHAPTER IX, Religious Struggle. — The Counter-Revolution Crushed iw the - South, June, 3790. Relii^ious indecision of the Revolution Violence of the bishops ..... The Revolution thinks itself reconcilable with Christianity The last Christians ...... Note, The Christian sentiment existed in every age (it is more ancient than Christianity) . They urge the Assembly to reform the clergy May— June, 1790. Opposition of the clergy .... June 1-3. Outbreak at Nimes 14 — 16. Repressed June. The Revolution victorious at Nimes, Avignon, and throughout the South The Revolution alone possessed faith April — June, The soldier fraternises everywhere with the people PAGE '^^^ 367 368 369 ih. 370 371 375 377 378 380 381 . CHAPTER X. The New Principle — Spontaneous Organisation of France. — July '89 to July 90. The law was everywhere anticipated by spontaneous action 382 Obscui'ity and disorder of the ancient system , . 383 The new order creates itself ..... 384 The new powers arise from the movement of deliver- ance and defence ....... 385 Interior and exterior associations, which prepare the municipalities and the departments . . .387 The Assembly creates thirteen hundred thousand departmental, municipal, and judiciary magistrates 388 Education of the people by public employments . 389 CHAPTER XI. The New Religion. — Confederations,— July '89 to July '90. Fr9,nce of '89 felt liberty ; that of '90 feels the unity of the native land 390 The confederations removed obstacles . . . 391 Artificial barriers are removed . . . .393 July '89 to July '90. Proces-ve?'6a^a: of the confederations . . 394 They testify the lo\e of the new unity, the sacrifice of provincial sentiments and ancient habits . .395 CONTENTS. XVll PACK Confedei*ation festivals 'dli6 Living symbols : the old man and the young maiden : woman, the mother ...... lb. The child upon the altar of the native land . . . 397 Divisions of class, party, and religion, forgotten . 308 June — July '90, Man embraces his native land and humanity witli his heart ........ 392 Note. Additions and particulars respecting the confederations 4 00 CHAPTER XII. The New Religion. — A General Confederation, July 14, 1790. The astonishment and emotion of every nation at the spectacle afforded by France . . . .403 May 30, 1790. The great confederation at Lyons . . . . 404 June. France demands a general confederation . .405 The song of tlie confederates . . . , . 406 Paris prepares for them the field of Mars . .407 June 19. The Assembly aboHshes hereditary nobility . . . 409 It had ah-eady abolished the Christian principle of the transmission of sins . . . . . , ib. The Assembl V gives a reception to the Deputies of the Human Race . . . . . , ..410 July. Confederation of kings formed against that of nations ib. July 14. General confederation of France at Paris . .411 Enthusiasm of France, at once pacific and warhke . 413 BOOK IV. JULY, 1790, TO JUNE, 1791. CHAPTER L The Reason why the New Religion could not be Reduced to a Formula. — Interior Obstacles. July 27, 1790. Unanimity of the kings against the Revolution Interior obstacles, Dissentions in France Nevertheless, no great revolution had cost less Religious fecundity of the year 1 790 . Inventive powers of France .... Generous disposition of the people Re-action of egotism and fear, irritation and hatred The Revolution being impeded, produces its political results, but cannot yet attain the religious and social 414 415 416 417 418 419 420 results which would have given it a solid foundation 421 XVUl CONTENTS. CHAPTER II. Continuation. — Exterior Obstacles. — Two Sorts of Hypockist: Hypocrisy of Authority, — the Priest. PAGE Two sorts of hypocrisy : the Priest and the Englishman 425 The Priest employs the confessional and the press against the Revolution . . - . ib. Pamphlets of the Catholics in 1790 . . . . 426 Having been unproductive for several centuries, they were unable to stifle the Revolution . . . 427 Their irapotency ever since 1800 . . . . 428 The Revolution is destined to give religious nourish- ment to the soul 429 CHAPTER III. Continuation. — Exterior Obstacles. — Hypocrisy of Liberty. — The Englishman. The false Enghsh ideal 430 England deceived France by means of France , . 431 Real causes of England's greatness . . . . ift. Montesquieu's- poUtical romances . . . . 433 Right obscured and stifled by physics and mechanics 434 ib. 435 Pretended constitutional equilibrium False European equilibrium .... England endeavours to neutralise Holland, Portugal and France England, not possessing a moral idea, can do nothing against France ..... England hates France Two Irishmen promote this hatred Lally-Tollendal Kind-hearted men provoke a universal warfare Their blind confidence in the enemies of France Burke's fury Alliance between the Priest and the Englishman Hateful credulity of the English people . Fury of the English against an Englishman friendly to France The English entertained at Paris Sad results of the great struggle for England The Englishman has become a mere part of a machine The Frenchman has remained a man Note 1. England has not changed : the historian Carlyle Note -2. True aim of policy and political economy 436 437 438 439 ib. 440 441 443 ib. 444 445 ib. 446 447 448 ib. 452 CONTENTS. xix CHAPTER IV. Massacre at Nancy, August 31, 1790. PAGE The Priest and the Englishmau have been the tempta- tion of France 456 Understanding between the royalists and the con- stitutional party 457 The King of the citizen-class, M. De Lafayette an Anglo-American 458 Agitation of the army 460 Irritation of the officers and soldiers . . . . ib. Persecution of the Vaudois regiment, " Chateau-vieux" 4 62 Lafayette, being sure of the Assembly, comes to an understanding with Bouill^ 464 And being sure of the Jacobins, authorises him to strike a blow ........ 465 August 26. The soldiers receive provocation .... 467 Bouilld marches against Nancy ib. He refuses to make any condition , . . , 468 31. Fight and massacre 469 Massacre of the forsaken Vaudois , , . , 470 The rest executed or sent to the galleys . . . ib. The King and the Assembly return thanks to BouiU^ ib. September. Loustalot dies of grief . . , , , 471 CHAPTER V. The Jacobins. Danger of France 472 The Nancy affair causes the National Guard to be looked upon with suspicion . . . , . ib. New disturbances in the South . . . .473 Counter-revolutionary confederation at JaJes . . 474 End of August. The King consults the Pope ib. October 6. The King sends a protestation to the King of Spain . 475 Agreement of Europe against the Revolution . . ib. Europe derives a moral power from the interest inspired by Louis XVI. ..... 476 Necessity for a great association of surveillance . . 477 1789. Origin of the Jacobins ib. 1790, Example of a Jacobin Confederation . . . . 478 What classes composed the Jacobm Club , .479 Had the Jacobins any precise creed ? . , . . 480 In what did they modify the ancient French spirit? . 481 They formed a body of surveillanfs and public in- formers, an inquisition formed against an inquisition 482 XX CONTENTS. PAGB October '89. The Jacobin Assembly at Paris is at first a meetiag of deputies "^^^ It prepares laws and organises a revolutionary police 484 September '90. The Revolution resumes the offensive . . . 486 Necker's flight ^^^7 System of terror practised by the nobles by means of duelling 438 November. The Jacobins oppose to them a system of terror by means of the people *'^- 13. The mansion of the Duke de Castries ransacked . ib. CHAPTER VI. Struggle of Principles in the Assembly and at the Jacobins. Paris towards the end of 1790 489 Social Circle, Bouche de Fer (newspaper) . . , 491 The Club of '89 ib. The Jacobin Club 492 Robespierre at the Jacobin Club .... ib. Robespierre's origin . . . . . . . 493 Robespierre, an orphan at the age of ten, receives a presentation from the clergy . . . .494 Robespierre's literary attempts 495 Judge of the criminal court of Arras ; he tenders his resignation . . . . . . .496 He pleads against the bishop ib. Robespierre at the States-General .... 497 On the 5th of October he supports Maillard . . ib. A conspiracy to make him ridiculous . . . 498 His solitude and poverty . . . . . . 499 He breaks off his acquaintance with the Lameths . 500 Uncei"taiu or retrograde course of the Assembly . 501 The Assembly had limited the number of active citizens ib. 1790. Two-fold conduct of the Lameths and the Jacobins at that time ....... 502 November. The Jacobins intrust their journal to an agent of the Duke of Orleans . . . . . . 504 The public put confidence in Robespierre's probity . 5U5 In 1790 RobespieiTe addresses himself to the only great associations then existing in France : the Jacobins and the Priests 508 Robespierre's pohcy and his prudence. . . , 509 CONTENTS. XXI CHAPTER VII. The Cordeliers. PAGE Revolutionary history of the convent of the Cordeliers (Franciscan friars) . . , . . .510 Energetic individualities of the club of the Cordehers 511 Their faith in the people . . , , . . 5j3 ib, 514 515 516 517 ib, 519 520 5-21 522 523 Their impotency in organisation Marat's irritability .... The Cordeliers are still a young club in 1790 Enthusiasm of that period , Interior aspect of the Cordelier Club Marat at the tribune of the Cordeliers Caraille Desmouhns against Marat , Theroigne at the Cordeher club . Anacharsis Clootz ..... Two-fold spirit of the Cordeliers . One of Danton's portraits CHAPTER VIII. Impotency of the Assembly, — The Oath Refused. — November '90, TO January '91. First appearance of the future Jacobins . , , 524 The former Jacobins (Duport, Barnave, Lameth, &c.) would like to halt ....... 526 Iletrograde spirit of the Assembly .... 527 November 21. Mirabeau at the Jacobin club 528 Mirabeau and the Lameths surpassed by Robespierre at the Jacobin club . . . . . .529 The Lameths support themselves by a warfare against the clergy . . . . . . . ib. The pnests provoke persecution . . . .530 27. The oafh required of the priests 531 December 26. Sanction forced Irom the King .... 532 January 4, 1791. The Assembly orders in vain that the oath shall be taken immediately . . . . . . 533 The oath refused even in the Assembly . . .534 CHAPTER IX. The First Step of the System of Terror, Marat's fury and levity 536 Had he any pohtical or social theory ? . . , . 537 Js Marat a conunuuist ? , . . , . 539 XXU CONTENTS. PAGR Do Marat's newspapers contain any practical views f ^^^ Marat's previous history ; his birth and education His first works, pohtical and philosophical Marat in the establishment of the Count d'Artois His system of physics ; his attacks against Newton Franklin, &c • ■ Marat begins his newspaper VAmi du 'peu'pU - Marat's models as a journalist . . • • His hidden and laborious life . His predictions ....••* His rancour against his personal enemies His fury against Lavoisier . . • • • January, 1791. The tribunals dare not judge Marat Why all the press followed Marat in the path of violence 550 A struggle between violence and corruption . . 551 541 542 543 544 ih. 545 ih. ih. 546 547 549 CHAPTER X. The First Step of the System of Terror.— Mi rabeau's Opposition. The Jacobins persecute the other clubs . . . 562 Dec. *90 to March 91. The Jacobins destroy the club of the friends of the monarchical constitution . . . . 553 The majority of the Jacobins then belonged to the parties of Lameth and Orleans . . . . ih. January *91. The Duke of Orleans injures his own party . . 554 First ideas of a Republic ..... ^^S The Jacobins are still royalists .... BS^ Inquisition without a religion . . . . . ih. February. First effects of the political inquisition . . . ih. The departure of the King's amits {Mesdames) gives rise to the question of the liberty of emigrating . 557 Violence of the retrograde Jacobins in this debate , 559 The debate interrupted by the events at Vincennes and the Tuileries 560 Mirabeau defends the liberty of emigrating . .561 Danger of Mirabeau attacked at tlie Jacobin Club . 562 Mirabeau at the Jacobins, sacrificed by the Lameths 563 CHAPTER XI. Death of Mirabeau, April 2, 1791. Mirabeau ruined by mediocrity . . . .564 Indecision of the spurious party that he opposed . 565 Silliness of the party that he defends . . , , {^^ March. He believes himself poisoned, and hastens his death . 566 Mirabeau's last moments 5g7 CONTENTS. XXIU April 2. His death Honours paid to him His funeral ....... Different judgments passed on Mii^abeau He did not betray France .... He was guilty of conniption, not of treason . Fifty years of expiation suffice for national justice PAGE 568 ih. 569 570 571 ih. 572 CHAPTER XII. Intolerance of the Two Parties. — Progress of Robespierre. April 7, May 16, 17.^1. The Assembly, on Robespierre's motion, decides that deputies shall be neither ministers nor re-elected before, &c. ...... 573 April. Robespierre inherits the credit of the Lameths among the Jacobins . . . . . . 574 The Lameths advisers of the court .... 575 April to May. They speak neither against the limitation of the National Guard, nor in defence of the clubs . 576 May 17. A struggle between Duport and Robespierre . . 577 They both speak against the penalty of death . . ib. April 17. The religious struggle breaks out at the approach of Easter 578 The King takes the communion with much ceremony ih. 18. He makes a public demonstration of his captivity . 579 Ecclesiastical intolerance, especially against those who leave the convents . . . . . . . 580 May. Jacobin intolerance against the rehgious worship of the refractory 581 4. The Pope's letter burnt . . . . . . ih. 30. The Assembly confers on Voltaire the honours of the Pantheon . 582 CHAPTER XIII. Precedents of the King's Flight. History of the portrait of Charles I. . . . 583 Louis XV. and Louis XVI. were pre-occupied by it . ih. Louis XVL pre-occupied with the history of Charles I and James II. . Louis XVI. is afraid of all the powers of Europe He is resolved not to quit the kingdom Europe is delighted to behold France divided Russia and Sweden encourage the King's escape October '90. Austria furnishes its plan . . . . . 586 c 584 ih. ih, 585 ih. XXn CONTENTS. PAGH The project had at first a French appearance, but afterwards becomes quite foreign . . . .587 The King, a foreigner by his mother ; indifferent, as a Christian, to nationahty 588 February to May '91. The King wounded in the person of his nobles and priests 589 Duplicity of the King and the Q,ueen . . . . 590 March to May. They deceive everybody . . . . . il>- All the royal family, especially the Queen, contribute to the ruin of the King 591 March to May. Imprudent preparations for the King's flight . 592 CHAPTER XIV. The King's Flight to Varennes, June 20—21, 1791. The King, in departing, abandoned his friends to death 593 Confidence and credulity of Lafayette, Bailly, Sic. . 594 June 20, Imprudent circumstances attending the departure . 595 The King was to take refuge in the Austrian territory ib. The danger of France 506 Probable vengeance of the court ; Th^roigne already arrested ......... ih. France watches over her own safety ; the road is watched 597 21. The King pursued 598 Delayed at the entrance to Varennes . . .599 The King stopped 600 The rural inhabitants flock to Varennes . . .601 Indignation of the people 602 The King's arrest 603 22. The decree of the Assembly ordering the King to retrn-n to Paris 605 The King taken back to Paris ih. PREFACE. Every year, when I descend from my chair, at the close of my academic labours, when I see the crowd disperse. — another generation that I shall behold no more,— my mind is lost in inward contemplation. Summer comes on ; the town is less peopled, the streets are less noisy, the pavement grows more sonorous around my Pantheon. Its large black and white slabs resound beneath my feet. I commune with my own mind. I interrogate myself as to my teaching, my history, and its all-powerful interpreter, — the spirit of the Revolution. It possesses a knowledge of which others are ignorant. It contains the secret of all bygone times. In it alone France was conscious of herself. When, in a moment of weakness, we may appear forgetful of our own worth, it is to this point we should recur in order to seek and recover ourselves again. Here, the inextinguishable spark, the profound mystery of life, is ever glowing within us. The Revolution lives in ourselves, — in our souls ; it has no outward monument. Living spirit of France, where shall I seize thee, but within myself? — The governments that have succeeded each other, hostile in all other respects, appear at least agreed in this, to resuscitate, to awaken remote and departed ages. But thee they would have wished to bury. Yet why ? Thou, thou alone dost live. Thou livest ! I feel this truth perpetually impressed upon me at the present period of the year, when my teaching is suspended, — when labour grows fatiguing, and the season B Z THE REVOLUTION HAS NO MONUMENTS. becomes oppressive, Then I wander to the Champ de Mars, I sit me down on the parched grass, and inhale the strong breeze that is wafted across the arid plain. The Champ de Mars ! This is the only monimient that the Revolution has left. The Empire has its Column, and engrosses almost exclusively the arch of Triumph ; royalty has its Louvre, its Hospital of Invalids ; the feudal church of the twelfth century is still enthroned at Notre Dame : nay, the very Romans have their Imperial Ruins, the Thermae of the Csesars ! And the Revolution has for her monument — empty space. Her monument is this sandy plain, flat as Arabia. A tumulus on either hand, resembling those which Gaul was accustomed to erect, — obscure and equivocal testimonial to her heroes' fame. The Hero ! do you mean him who founded the bridge of Jena ? No, there is one here greater even than he, more powerful and more immortal, who fills this immensity. '* What God ? We know not. But here a God doth dwell." Yes, though a forgetful generation dares to select this spot for the theatre of its vain amusements, borrowed from a foreign land, — though the English race-horse may gallop insolently over the plain, a mighty breath yet traverses it, such as you nowhere else perceive ; a soul, and a spirit omnipotent. And though that plain be arid, and the grass be withered, it will, one day, renew its verdure. For in that soil is profoundly mingled the fruitful sweat of their brows who, on a sacred day, piled up those hills, — that day when, aroused by the cannon of the Bastille, France from the North and France from the South came forward and embraced ; that day when three millions of heroes in arms rose with the unanimity of one man, and decreed eternal peace. Ala.5 I poor Revolution. How confidingly on thy first day didst thou invite the world to love and peace. ** my enemies," didst thou exclaim, ** there are no longer any enemies ! " Thou didst stretch forth thy hand to all, and ofi'er them thy cup to drink to the peace of nations — But they would not. And even when they advanced to inflict a treacherous wound, the sword drawn by France was the sword of peace. It was to deliver the nations, and give them true peace — liberty, THE PRINCIPLE EMINENTLY PACIFIC : RIGHT. 6 that she struck the tyrants. Dante asserts Eternal Love to be the founder of the gates of hell. And thus the Revolution wrote Peace upon her flag of war. Her heroes, her invincible warriors, were the most pacific of human beings. Hoche, Marceau, Desais, and Kleber, are deplored by friends and foes, as the champions of peace ; they are mourned by the Nile, and by the Rhine, nay, by war itself, — by the inflexible Vendee. France had so completely identified herself with this thought, that she did her utmost to restrain herself from achieving conquests. Every nation needing the same bless- ing — liberty, — and pursuing the same right, whence could war possibly arise ? Could the Revolution, which, in its principle, was but the triumph of right, the resurrection of justice, the tardy reaction of thought against brute force, — could it, without provocation, have recourse to violence ? This utterly pacific, benevolent, loving character of the Revolution seems to-day a paradox : — so unknown is its origin, so misunderstood its nature, and so obscured its tradition, in so short a time ! The violent, terrible efforts which it was obliged to make, in order not to perish in a struggle with the conspiring world, has been mistaken for the Revolution itself by a blind, for- getful generation. And from this confusion has resulted a serious, deeply- rooted evil, very difiicult to be cured among this people ; the adoration of force. The force of resistance, the desperate effort to defend unity, '93. They shudder, and fall on their knees. The force of invasion and conquest, 1800 ; the Alps brought low, and the thunder of Austerlitz. They fall prostrate, and adore. Shall I add, that, in 1815, with too much tendency to over- value force, and to mistake success for a judgment of God, they found at the bottom of their hearts, in their grief and their anger, a miserable argument for justifying their enemy. Many whispered to themselves, " they are strong, therefore they are just," Thus, two evils, the greatest that can afflict a people, fell upon France at once. Her own tradition slipped away from b2 4 COVENANT WITH RELIGIOUS TYRANNY. her, she forgot herself. And, every day more uncertain, paler, and more fleeting, the douhtful image of Right flitted before her eyes. Let us not take the trouble to inquire why this nation conti- nues to sink gradually lower, and becomes more weak. Attri- bute not its decline to outward causes ; let it not accuse either heaven or earth ; the evil is in itself. The reason wby an insidious tyranny was able to render it a prey to corruption is, that it was itself corruptible. Weak and unarmed, and ready for temptation, it had lost sight of the idea by which alone it had been sustained ; like a wretched man deprived of sight, it groped its way in a miry road : it no longer saw its star. What ! the star of victory ? No, the sun of Justice and of the Revolution. That the powers of darkness should have laboured through- out the earth to extinguish the light of France, and to smother Right, was natural enough. But, in spite of all their endeavours, success was impossible. The wonder is, that the friends of light should help its enemies to veil and extinguish it. The party who advocate liberty have evinced, of late, two sad and serious symptoms of an inward evil. Let them permit a friend, a solitary writer, to tell them his entire mind. A perfidious, an odious hand, — the hand of death, — has been ofl*ered and stretched out to them, and they have not withdrawn their own. They believed the foes of religious liberty might become the friends of political fi-eedom. Vain scholastic distinctions, which obscured their view ! Liberty is liberty. And to please their enemy, they have proved false to their fiiend — nay, to their own father, the grand eighteenth century. They have forgotten that that century bad founded liberty on the enfranchisement of the mind — till then bound down by the flesh, bound by the material principle of the double incarnation, theological and political, kingly and sacerdotal. That century, that of the spirit, abolished the gods of flesh in the state and in religion, so that there was no longer any idol, and there was no god but God. Yet why have sincere friends of liberty formed a league SPIRIT OF EXCLUSION 5 with the party of religious tyranny ? Because they had reduced themselves to a feeble minority. They were as- tonished at their own insignificance, and durst not refuse the advances of a great party which seemed to make overtures to them. Our fathers did not act thus. They never counted their number. When Voltaire, a child, in the reign of Louis XIV. entered upon the perilous career of religious contention, he appeared to be alone. Rousseau stood alone, in the middle of the century, when, in the dispute between the Christians and the philosophers, he ventured to lay down the new dogma. He stood alone. On the morrow the whole world was with him. If the friends of liberty see their numbers decreasing, they are themselves to blame. Not a few hare invented a system of progressive refinement, of minute orthodoxy, which aims at making a party a sect, — a petty church. They reject first this, and then that ; they abound in restrictions, distinctions, exclusions. Some new heresy is discovered every day. For heaven's sake, let us dispute less about the light of Tabor, like besieged Byzantium — Mahomet 11. is at our gates. When the Christian sects became multiplied, we could find Jansenists, Molinists, &c., in abundance, but no longer any Christians ; and so, the sects which are the offspring of the Revolution annul the Revolution itself ; people became Con- stituants, Girondists, Montagnards ; but the Revolutionists ceased to exist. Voltaire is but little valued, Mirabeau is laid aside, Madame Roland is excluded, even Danton is not orthodox. What ! must none remain but Robespierre and Saint-Just ? Without disowning what was in these men, without wishing to anticipate their sentence, let one word be sufficient here : If the Revolution rejects, condemns their predecessors, it rejects the very persons who gave it a hold upon mankind, — the very men who for a time imbued the whole world with a revolutionary spirit. If, on the other hand, it declares to the world its sympathy with their characters, and shews no more than the image of these two Apostles upon its altar, the conversion to its tenets will be slow, the French Propaganda will not have much to fear, and absolute governments may repose in peace. b FRATERNITY, Fraternity ! fraternity ! It is not enough to re-echo the word — to attract the world to our cause, as was the case at first. It must acknowledge in us a fraternal heart. It must he gained over hy the fraternity of love, and not hj the guillotine. Fraternity ! Why who, since the creation, has not pro- nounced that word ? Do you imagine it was first coined by Robespierre or Mably ? Every state of antiquity talked of fraternity ; but the word was addressed only to citizens, — to men ; the slave was but a thing. And in this case fraternity was exclusive and inhuman. When slaves or freed-men govern the Empire, — when they are named Terence, Horace, Phedrus, Epictetus, it is difficult not to extend fraternity to the slave. ** Let us be brethren, cries Christianity. But, to be a brother, one must first exist ; man had no being ; right and liberty alone constitute life. A theory from which these are excluded, is but a specu- lative fraternity between nought and nought. *' Fraternity, or death,'' as the reign of Terror subsequently exclaimed. Once more a brotherhood of slaves. Why, by atrocious derision, impart to such an union the holy name of liberty ? Brett ren who mutually fly from one another, who shudder when they meet, who extend, who withdraw a dead and icy hand. odious and disgusting sight ! Surely, if anything ought to be free, it is the fraternal sentiment. Liberty alone, as founded in the last century, has rendered fraternity possible. Philosophy found man without right, or rather a nonentity, entangled in a religious and political system, of which despotism was the base. And she said, ** Let us create man, let him he, by liberty.*' No sooner was he created than he loved. It is by liberty moreover, that our age, awakened and recalled to its true tradition, may likewise commence its work. It will no longer inscribe amongst its laws, " Be my brother, or die ! '' But by a skilful culture of the best sentiments of the human soul, it will attain its ends in such a manner that all, without compulsion, shall wish to be brothers indeed. The state will realise its destiny, and be a fraternal initiation, an education. THE REVOLUTION NOT EGOTISTICAL. 7 a constant exchange of the spontaneous ideas of inspiration and faith, which are common to us all, and of the reflected ideas of science and meditation, which are found among thinkers,* Such is the task for our age to accomplish. May it at last set about the work in earnest! It would indeed be a melancholy reflection, if, instead of achieving something great for itself, its time were wasted in censuring that age — so renowned for its labours, and to which it is so immensely indebted. Our fathers, we must repeat, did all that it was necessary then to do, — began precisely as it was incumbent on them to begin. They found despotism in heaven and on earth, and they instituted law. They found individual man disarmed, bare, unprotected, confounded, lost in a system of apparent unity, which was no better than common death. And in order that he might have no appeal, even to the supreme tribunal, the religious dogma of the day held him bound for the penalty of a transgression which he had not committed ; this eminently carnal dogma supposed that injustice is transmitted with our blood from father to son. It was necessary, above all things, to vindicate the rights of * Initiation, education, government, are three synonymous words. Rousseau had some notion of this, when, speaking of the states of antiquity, and of the crowd of great men produced by that little city of Athens, he says, " They were less governments than the most fruitful systems of education that have ever been." Unfortunately, the age of Rousseau invoking only deliberate reason, and but little analysing the faculties of instinct, of inspiration, could not well discern the mutual connexion -which constitutes all the mystery of education, initiation, and government. The masters of the Revolution, the philosophers, famous antagonists, and very subtle, excellent logicians, were endov^ed with every gift, except that profound simplicity which alone enables one to comprehend the child and the people. Therefore, the Revolution could not organise the grand revolutionary machine : I mean that which, better than laws, ought to found fraternity — education. That will be the work of the nineteenth century ; it has already entered upon it, in feeble attempts. In my little book The People,^ I have, as far as in me lay, vindicated the rights of instinct — of inspiration — against her aristocratic sister, reflection, the reasoning science, that pretends to be the queen of the world. * See my translation of le Peuple (London : Longman & Co., 1846), Part II., eh. V, S REVOLUTION NOT EGOTISTICAL. man, which were thus so cruelly outraged, and to reestablish this truth, which, though obscured, was yet undeniable : *' Man has rights, he is something ; he cannot be disowned or annulled, even in the name of God ; he is a responsible creature but for his own actions alone, for whatever good or evil he himself commits." Thus does this false liability for the actions of others dis- appear from the world. The unjust transmission of good, perpetuated by the rights of the nobility ; the unjust trans- mission of evil, by original sin, or the civil brand of being descended from sinners, are effaced by the Revolution. men of the present age, is this the creed you tax with individualism — is this what you term an egotistical law ? But, remember, that without these rights of the individual, by which alone man was constituted, he really had no existence, was incapable of action, and man, therefore, could not fraternize. It was actually necessary to abolish the fraternity of death to found that of life. Speak not of egotism. History will answer here, quite as strongly as logic. It was at the jSrst moment of the Revolution, at the moment she was proclaiming the rights of the individual, it was then that the soul of France, far from shrinking, ex- tended, embraced the whole world in sympathetic thought : then did she offer peace to all, and wish to participate with all her treasure, — liberty. The moment of birth, the entrance upon a still dubious life, seems to justify a feeling of egotism in every being. We may observe that the newly -born infant, above all things, wishes to live, to prolong its existence. Yet, in the case before us, it was far otherwise. When young French Liberty first opened her eyes to the light, and uttered that earliest cry which trans- ports every new creature, — ** I am!" even in that moment her thoughts were not confined to self; she did not indulge in a selfish joy, she extended to mankind her life and her hope ; her first impulse, in her cradle, was to open her affectionate arms. '* I am ! " she exclaimed to all nations ; "0 my brethren, you shall be also ! ' ' In this lay her glorious error, her touching and sublime weak- ness : the Revolution, it must be confessed, commenced by loving everything. THE PEOPLK BETTER THAN THEIR LEADERS. y She loved even her enemy, — England. She loved, and long she strove to save, royalty — the key-stone of the abuses which she had just demolished. She wanted to save the Church ; she endeavoured to remain Christian, being wilfully blind to the contradiction of the old principle, — Arbi- trary Grace, and of the new one, — Justice. This universal sympathy which, at first, made her adopt, and indiscreetly mingle so many contradictory elements, led her to inconsistency, — to wish and not to wish, to do and undo, at the same time. Such is the strange result of our early assemblies. The world has smiled at that work of hers : but let it not forget, that whatever was discordant in it, was partly owing to the too easy sympathy, to the indiscriminate benevolence which was the first feature in our Revolution. Genius utterly humane ! I love to follow and watch its pro- gress, in those admirable fetes wherein a whole people, at once the actors and spectators, gave and received the impulse of moral enthusiasm ; wherein every heart expanded with all the sublimity of France, — of a country which, for its law, pro- claimed the rights of humanity. At the festival of the 14th of July, 1792, among the sacred images of Liberty and the Law, — in the civic procession, — in which figured, together with the magistrates, the representa- tives, the widows and orphans of those killed at the Bastille, — were seen divers emblems, — those of trades useful to men, instruments of agriculture, ploughs, sheaves, branches loaded with fruits ; and the bearers were crowned with ears of corn and green vine-leaves. But others also were seen in mourning, crowned with cypress ; they were carrying a table covered with crape, and, under the crape, a veiled sword, — that of the law ! A touching image ! Justice, showing her sword in mourning, was no longer distinguished from Humanity herself. A year after, the 10th of August, 1793, a very diff'erent festival was celebrated. This one was heroic and gloomy. But the law had been mutilated ; the legislative power had been violated ; the judiciary power, unguaranteed and annulled, was the slave of violence. They durst no longer show the sword ; it was no longer that of Justice ; the eye could have borne it no longer. 10 POPULAR INSTINCT. A thing to he told to everybody, and which it is but too easy to prove, is, that the humane and benevolent period of our Revolution had for its actors the very people, the whole people, — everybody. And the period of violence, the period of san- guinary deeds, into which danger afterwards thrust it, had for actors but an inconsiderable, an extremely small number of men. That is what I have found established and verified, either by written testimony, or by such as I have gathered from the lips of old men. The remarkable exclamation of a man who belonged to the Faubourg Saint-Antoine will never die: *'We were all of us at the 10th of August, and not one at the 2nd of September." Another thing which this history will render most conspi- cuous, and which is true of every party, is, that the people were generally much better than their leaders. The further I have searched, the more generally have I found that the more deserving class was ever underneath, buried among the utterly obscure. I have also found that those brilliant, powerful speakers, who expressed the thoughts of the masses, are usually but wrongfully considered as the sole actors. The fact is, that they rather received than communicated the impulse. The chief actor is the people. In order to find and restore the latter to its proper position, I have been obliged to reduce to their proportions those ambitious puppets whom they had set in motion, and in whom, till now, people fancied they saw, and have sought for, the secret transactions of history. This sight, I must confess, struck me with astonishment. In proportion as I entered more deeply into this study, I observed that the mere party leaders, those heroes of the pre- pared scene, neither foresaw nor prepared anything, that they were never the first proposers of any grand measure, — more particularly of those which were the unanimous work of the people in the outset of the Revolution. Left to themselves, at those decisive moments, by their pre- tended leaders, they found out what was necessary to be done, and did it. Great, astonishing results ! But how much greater was the INSPIRATION OP THE AUTHOR. 11 heart which conceived them : The deeds themselves are as nothing in comparison. So astonishing, indeed, was that great- ness of heart, that the future may draw upon it for ever, with- out fearing to exhaust its resources. No one can approach its contemplation, without retiring a better man. Every soul dejected, or crushed with grief, every human or national heart has but to look there in order to find comfort : it is a mirror wherein humanity, in beholding itself, becomes once more heroic, magnanimous, disinterested ; a singular purity, shrink- ing from the contamination of lucre as from filth, appears to be the characteristic glory of all. I am endeavouring to describe to-day that epoch of unani- mity, that holy period, when a whole nation, free from all party distinction, as yet a comparative stranger to the opposition of classes, marched together under a flag of brotherly love. No- body can behold that marvellous unanimity, in which the self- same heart beat together in the breasts of twenty millions of men, without returning thanks to God. These are the sacred days of the world — thrice happy days for history. For my part, 1 have had my reward, in the mere narration of them. Never, since the composition of my Maid of Orleans, have I received such a ray from above, such a vivid inspiration from Heaven. But as " our thread of life is of a mingled yarn," whilst I enjoyed so much happiness in reviving the annals of France, my own peace has been disturbed for ever. I have lost him who so often narrated the scenes of the Revolution to me, him whom I revered as the image and venerable witness of the Grand Age, that is, of the eighteenth century. I have lost my father, with whom I had lived all my hfe, — forty-eight years. When that blow fell upon me, I was lost in contemplation. I was elsewhere, hastily realizing this work, so long the object of my meditation. I was at the foot of the Bastille, taking that fortress, and planting our inmiortal banner upon its towers. That blow came upon me, unforeseen^ like a shot from the Bastille. Many of these important questions, which have obliged me to fathom deeply the foundations of my faith, have been inves- tigated by me during the most awful circumstances that can attend human life, between death and the grave, — when the 12 INSPIRATION OF THE AUTHOR. survivor, himself partly dead, has been sitting in judgment between two worlds. Then I resumed my course, even to the conclusion of this work, whilst death and life had equal claims upon my mind, I struggled to keep my heart in the closest com- munion with justice, strengthening myself in my faith by my very bereavements and my hopes ; and, in proportion as my own household gods were shattered, I clung to the home of my native land. INTRODUCTION, FIRST PART. ON THE RELIGION OF THE MIDDLE AGES. SECTION I. IS THE REVOLUTION CHRISTIAN OR ANTI-CHRISTIAN ? I DEFINE the Revolution, — The advent of the Law, the resur- rection of Right, and the reaction of Justice. Is the Law, such as it appeared in the Revolution, conform- able, or contrary, to the religious law which preceded it? In other words, is the Revolution Christian or Anti-Christian ? This question, historically, logically, precedes every other. It reaches and penetrates even those which might he believed to be exclusively poUtical. All the institutions of the civil order which the Revolution met with, had either emanated from Christianity, or were traced upon its forms, and authorised by it. Religious or political, the two questions are deeply, inextricably intermingled. Confounded in the past, they will reappear to-morrow as they really are, one and identical. Socialists' disputes, ideas which seem to-day new and para- doxical, were discussed in the bosom of Christianity and of the Revolution. There are few of those ideas into which the two systems have not deeply entered. The Revolution especially, in her rapid apparition, wherein she realised so little, saw, by the flashes of the lightning, unknown depths, abysses of the future. 14 CHAKACTER OF THE REVOLUTIOX. Therefore, in spite of the developments which theories have been able to take, notwithstanding new forms and new words, I see upon the stage but two grand facts, two principles, two actors and two persons, Christianity and the Revolution. He who would describe the crisis whence the new ])rinciple emerged and made room for itself, cannot dispense with inquir- ing what relation it bears to its predecessor, in what respects it continues or outsteps, sways or abolishes it : — a serious problem, which nobody has yet encountered face to face. It is curious to see so many persons approaching, and yet nobody willing to look at this question seriously. Even those who believe, or pretend to believe, the question obsolete, show plainly enough, by their avoiding it, that it is extant, present, perilous, and formidable. If you are not afraid of the pit, why do you shrink back ? Why do you turn aside your head ? There is here, apparently, a power of dangerous attraction, at which the brain grows giddy. Our great politicians have also, we must say, a mysterious reason for avoiding these questions. They believe that Christi- anity is still a great party, that it is better to treat it cautiously. Why fall out with it ? They prefer to smile at it, keeping themselves at a distance, and to act politely towards it, without compromising themselves. They believe, moreover, that the religious world is generally very simple, and that to keep it in play, it is merely sufficient to praise the Gospel a little. That does not engage them very deeply. The Gospel, in its gentle morality, contains hardly any of the dogmas which make Christianity a religion so positive, so assuming, and so ab- sorbing, so strong in its grasp upon man. All the philosophers, of every religion, of every philosophy, would subscribe, without difficulty, to the precepts of the Gospel. To say, with the Mahometans, that Jesus is a great prophet, is not being a Christian. Does the other party expostulate ? Does the zeal of God which devours them, fill their hearts with serious indifi-nation against this trifling of politicians ? Not so ; they declaim much, but only about minor matters, being but too happy so long as they are not molested in what is fundamental. The conduct of politicians, often trifling and occasionally savouring of irony, does not grieve them much. They pretend not to POLITICIANS AND DEVOTEES. 15 understand the question. Ancient as that party is, it has still a strong hold upon the world. Whilst their opponents are occupied in their parliamentary displays, ever rolling their useless wheel and exhausting themselves without advancing, that old party still holds possession of all that constitutes the hasis of life — the family and the domestic hearth, woman, and, through her instrumentality, the child. They who are the most hostile to this party, nevertheless abandon to its influence all they love, and all that makes them happy. They surrender to it every day the infant, man unarmed and feeble, whose mind, still dreaming, is incapable of defending itself. This gives the party many chances. Let it but keep and fortify this vast; mute, un- disputed empire, its case is all the better ; it may grumble and complain, but it will take good care never to drive politicians to a statement of their belief. Politicians on either side ! connivance against connivance ! Where shall I turn to find the friends of truth ? The friends of the holy and the just? Does the world then contain no one who cares for God ? Children of Christianity, you who claim to be faithful, we here adjure you. Thus to pass by God in silence, to omit in every disputation what is truly the faith, as something too dangerous, offensive to the ear — is this religion? One day, when I was conversing with one of our best bishops on the contradictions between Grace and Justice, which is the very basis of the Christian faith, he stopped me and said: " This question luckily no longer engages the attention of men. On that subject we enjoy repose and silence. Let us maintain it, and never go beyond. It is superfluous to return to that discussion.'* Yet that discussion, my lord, is no less than the question, whether Grace and Salvation through Christ, the only basis of Christianity, is reconcileable with justice ; it is to examine whether such a dogma is founded on justice, whether it can subsist. Nothing lasts against justice. Does, then, the duration of Christianity appear to you an accessory question ? I well know, that after a debate of several centuries, after heaps of distinctions and scholastic subtleties had been piled together, without throwing light on the question, the pope silenced all parties, judging, like my bishop, that the question 16 POLITICIANS AND DEVOTEES, might be laid aside with no hope of settling the matter, and leaving justice and injustice in the arena to make up matters as they could. This is much more than has ever been done by the greatest enemies of Christianity. To say the least, they have always been respectful enough to examine the question, and not put it out of court without deigning to grant it a hearing. For how could we, who have no inimical feelings, reject examination and debate ? Ecclesiastical prudence, the trifling of politicians, and their avoiding the question, do not suit us in the least. We owe it to Christianity to see how far it may be reconcileable with the Revolution, to know what regeneration the old principle may find in the bosom of the new one. We have desired fervently and heartily that it would transform itself and live again ! In what sense can this transformation be achieved ? What hope ought we to entertain that it is possible ? As the historian of the Revolution, I cannot, without this inquiry, advance one step. But even though I were not in- vincibly impelled towards it by the very nature of my subject, I should be urged to the investigation by my own heart. The miserable reluctance to grapple with the difficulty which either party evinces, is one of the overwhelming causes of our moral debasement, — a combat of condottieri, in which nobody fights ; they advance, retire, menace, without touching one another, — contemptible sight ! As long as fundamental questions remain thus eluded, there can be no progress, either religious or social. The world is waiting for a faith, to march forward again, to breathe and to live. But, never can faith have a beiriuninfr in deceit, cunning, or treaties of falsehood. Single-handed and free from prejudices, I will attempt, in my weakness, what the strong do not venture to perform. I will fathom the question from which they recoil, and I shall attain, perhaps, before I die, the prize of life ; namely, to dis- cover tlie truth, and to tell it according to one's heart. Engaged as I am in the task of describing the heroic dav^ of Liberty, I may venture to entertain a hope that she hcrsell may deign to support me, — accomplish her own w^ork throuoh the medium of this ray book, and lay the deep foundation upon which a better age may build the faith of the future. 17 SECTION 11. IS THE REYOLUTION THE FULFILLING OF CHRISTIANITY ? Several eminent writers, with a laudable wish for peace and reconciliation, have lately affirmed that the Eevolution was but the accomplishment of Christianity, — that it came to con- tinue and to realize the latter, and to make good all it had promised.* If this assertion be well founded, the eighteenth century, the philosophers, the precursors, the masters of the Revolution, have grievously erred, and have acted very differently from their real intentions. Generally, they aimed at anything rather than the accomplishment of Christianity. If the Revolution consisted in that, and nothing more, it would then not be distinct from Christianity, but the actual time of its existence, its virile age — its age of reason. It would be nothing in itself. In this case, there would not be two actors, but one, — Christianity. If there be but one actor, then no drama, no crisis ; the struggle we believe we see, is a mere illusion ; the world seems to be agitated, but, in reahty, is motionless. But no, it is not so. The struggle is but too real. There is no sham fight here between one and the same person. There are two distinct combatants. IS^either must it be said that the new principle is but a criticism on the old one, — a doubt, a mere negation. Who ever saw a negation ? What is a living, an acting negation, one that vivifies like this ? A world sprang forth from it yesterday. No: in order to produce, there must be existence. Therefore, there are two things here, and not one, — it is impossible to deny it. There are two principles, two spirits — the old and the new. In vain the former, confident of life, and for this reason so much the more pacific, would whisper to the latter: *' I come to fulfil, and not to abolish." The old principle has no manner of wish to be fulfilled. The very word sounds ominous and * Sec, among other works, Qiiinet's " Ohnstianity and the French Revcr lution,^'' (London, Tiongman & Co., 1846.) — C. C. C 18 CHRISTIANITY ANL THE REVOLUTION. sepulchral; it rejects that filial benediction, and desires neither tears nor prayers ; it flings aside the branch that is shaken over it. We must keep clear of misunderstandings, if we would know whither we are going. The Revolution continues Christianity, and it contradicts it. It is, at the same time, its heir and its adversary. In sentiment, and in all that is general and human between them, the two principles agree, but in all that constitutes very and special life, — in the operations of the mind, from which both derive their birth, — they are adverse and thwart each other. They agree in the sentiment of human fraternity. This sentiment, born with man, — with the world, common to every society, has nevertheless been made more extensive and pro- found by Christianity. This is its glory, its eternal palm. It found fraternity confined to the banquets of ancient states ; it extended its influence, and spread it throughout the vast Christian world. In her turn, the Revolution, the daughter of Christianity, has taught its lessons to the whole world, to every race, and to every religion under the sun. This is the whole of the resemblance. Now for the difference. The Revolution founds fraternity on the love of man for man, on mutual duty, — on Right and Justice. This base is funda- mental, and no other is necessary. It did not seek to add to this certain principle one derived from dubious history. It did not ground fraternity on a common relationship, — a filiation which transmits, with our blood, the participation of crime from father to son. This carnal, material principle, which introduces justice and injustice into the blood, and transmits them, with the tide of life, from one generation to another, violently contradicts the spiritual notion of Justice which is implanted in the depths of the human soul. No; Justice is not a fluid, to be transmitted with p-ene- ration. Will alone is just or unjust ; the heart alone feels itself responsible. Justice is entirely in the soul; the body has nothing to do with it. This barbarous material starting-point is astounding in a religion that has carried the subtlety of the dogma farther than any other. It impresses upon the whole system a profound CRIME AND SALVATION. 19 character of arbitrariness, from which no subtlety will be able to extricate it. Arbitrariness reaches, penetrates the develop- ments of the dogma, all the religious institutions which are derived from it ; and, lastly, the civil order, which, in the middle ages, is itself derived from those institutions, imitates its forms and is swayed by its spirit. Let us consider this grand sight: I. The starting-point is this: Crime comes from one, salva- tion from one ; Adam has lost, Christ has saved. He has saved ! Why ? Because he would save. No other motive. No virtue, no work of man, no human merit can deserve this prodigious sacrifice of God sacrificing himself. He gives himself, but for nothing: that is the miracle of love ; he asks of man no work, — no anterior merit. II. What does he require in return for this immense sacri- fice ? One single thing: people to believe in him, to believe themselves indeed saved by the blood of Jesus Christ. Faith is the condition of salvation, and not the works of Righteousness. No Rio'hteousness without faith. Whoever does not believe is unrighteous. Is righteousness without faith of any use ? No. Saint Paul, in laying down this principle of salvation by faith alone, has nonsuited Righteousness. Henceforth she is, at most, only an accessory, a sequel, one of the eflfects of faith. III. Having once quitted Righteousness, we must ever go on descending into Necessity. Believe, or perish ! The question being thus laid down, people discover with terror that they will perish, that salvation is attached to a condition independent of the M-ill. We do not believe as we will. Saint Paul had laid down that man can do nought by good works, but only by faith. Saint Augustine demonstrates his insufficiency in faith itself. God alone gives it ; he gives it even gratuitously, without requiring anything, neither faith nor justice. This gratuitous gift, this grace^ is the only cause of salvation. God gives grace to whom he pleases. Saint Augustine has said : *' I believe, because it is absurd." He might also say in this system : ''I believe, because it is unjust." Necessity goes no further. The system is consummated. God loves ; no other explanation ; he loves whom he pleases. c2 20 EMBAERASSMENT OF CHRISTIANITY. the least of all, the sinner, the least deserving. Love is it& own reason ; it requires no merit. What then would be merit, if we may still employ this word ? To be loved, the elect of God, predestined to salvation. And demerit, damnation ! To be hated by God, condemned beforehand, created for dcxmnation. Alas ! we believed just now that humanity was saved. The sacrifice of a God seemed to have blotted out the sins of the world. No more judgment, no more justice. Blind that we were ! we were rejoicing, believing justice drowned in the blood of Jesus Christ. And lo ! judgment re-appears more harsh, — a judgment without justice, or at least the justice of which will be hidden from us for ever. The elect of God, the favourite, receives from him, with the gift of faith, the gift of doing good works, — the gift of salvation. That justice should be a gift ! For our part, we had tliought it was active,^ the very act of the will. Yet here we have it passive, transmitted as a present, from God to the elect of his heart. This doctrine, made into a formula more severely by the Protestants, is no less that of the Catholic world, such as it is acknowledged by the Council of Trent. If gj-ace (it says with the apostle) were not gratuitous, as its very name impHes, if it ought to be merited by works of riixhteousness, it would be righteousness, and no longer grace. (Cone, Trid., sess. vi. cap. viii.) Such, says that council, has been the permanent belief of the church. And it could not be otherwise ; it is the ground- work of Christianity ; beyond that, there is pliilosophy, but no lono-er religion. The latter is the relio'ion of orace, — of Q;ra- tuitous, arbitrary salvation, and of the good pleasure of God. Great was the embarrassment when Christianity, with this doctrine opposed to justice, was called to govern, to judge the world, — when Jurisprudence descended from her prretorium, and said to the new faith : *' Judge in my place." Then were people able to see at the bottom of this doctrine, which seemed to be sufficient for the world, an abyss of insufficiency, uncertainty, and discouragement. If he remained faithful to the principle that salvation is a gift, and not the reward of Justice, man would have folded his arms, sat down, and waited ; for well he knew that his works cnuisTiANixr and justice. *JA could have no influence on his lot. All moral activity ceased in this world, And hu\v could civil life, order, human justice, be maintained ? God loves, and no longer judges. How shall man judge ? Every judgment, religiuus or political, is a flagrant contradiction in a religion founded solely on a dogma foreign to justice. Without justice one cannot live. Therefore, the Chrisiian world must put up with the contradiction. This introduces into manv thinos somethins: false and wrono; ; and this double position is only surmounted by means of hypocritical formulae. The church judges, yet judges not ; kills, yet kills not. She has a hoiTor of shedding blood ; therefore she burns — What do I say ? She does not burn. She hands over the culprit to another to burn, and adds moreover a little prayer, as if to intercede — a terrible comedy, wherein Justice, false and cruel justice, assumes the mask of grace ! A strange punisbment of the excessive ambition which de- sired more than justice, and yet despised it ! This church has remained without justice. When, in the middle ages, she sees the latter revivino; ao-ain, she wants to draw nearer to her. She tries to speak like her, to assume her language ; she avows that man can do something towards his salvation by works of righteousness. Vain eiforts! Christianity can be reconciled with Papinian only by withdrawing from Saint Paul — quitting its proper base, and leaning aside at the risk of losing its equilibrium and being dashed to atoms. Having Necessity for a starting-point, this system must remain in Necessity ; it cannot step beyond it."'- All the * At the present day, people despdr of reconciling these different views. They no longer attempt to make peace between the dogma and justice. They manacle matters better. Now they show it, now they conceal it. To simple confiding persons, to women, to children, whom they keep docile and obedient, they teach the old doctrine which places a terrible arbitrariness in God and in the man of God, and gives up the trembling creature defenceless to the priest. This terror is ever the faith and the law of the latter ; the sword ever remains keen-edged for those poor hearts. If, on the contrary, they speak to the strong, to thinkers and politicians, they suddenly become indulgent : " Is Christianity, after all, anywhere but in the Gospel? Are faith and philosophy so at variance? The old dispute between Grace and Justice (that is, the question to know whether Christianity be just) is quite obsolete." This double policy has two effects, and both fatal. It weighs heavily upon 22 CHRISTIANITY AND JUSTICE. spurious attempts by which schoolmen, and others also since their time, have vainly attempted to institute a dogma founded upon reason, that is to say, a philosophical and jurist Christi- anity, must be discarded. They are devoid alike of virtue and strength. We can take no notice of them ; they have passed into silence and oblivion. We must examine the system in itself, in its terrible purity, which constituted all its strength ; we must follow it through its reign in the middle ages, and, above all things, mark its progress at the period when at length fixed, armed, and inflexible, it exercised a sway over the whole world, A sombre doctrine this, which, at the destruction of the Roman empire, when civil order perished and human justice was, as it were, effaced, shut out all appeal to the supreme ti'ibunal, and for a thousand years veiled the face of eternal justice. The iniquity of conquest confirmed by decrees from God, becomes authorised and believes itself just. The conquerors are the elect, the conquered are the damned. Damnation without appeal. Ages may pass away and conquest be for- gotten ; but Heaven, devoid of justice, will not the less oppress the earth, though formed in its own image. Necessity, which constitutes the basis of this theology, will everywhere re- appear with desperate fidelity in the political institutions, even in those wherein man had thought to build an asylum for justice. All monarchies, divine and human, govern for their elect. Where then shall man take refuge ? Grace reigns alone in heaven, and favour here below. That Justice, twice proscribed and banished, should venture to raise her head, requires indeed a difficult effort (so completely is the common sense of man extinguished beneath the weight of woes and the oppression of ages) ; it is necessary, in fact, that Justice should once more believe herself just, that she should arouse, remember herself, woman, upon the child, upon the family, in which it creates discord, maintain- ing in opposition two contrary authorities, — two fathers. It weighs heavily upon the world hy a negative power, which does little, but which impedes, especially by the facility of presenting either of two aspects, — tu some the elastic morality of the Gospel, to others immutable fatality, adorned with the name of grace Hence, many a misunderstanding. Hence, many are icmpted to connect modern faith, — that of Justice and the Revolution, — with the dogma of ancient mjustice. SUFFERINGS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 23 and resume the conssiousness of right. This consciousness, slowly endeavouring to awake throughout a period of six centuries of religious efibrts, burst forth in the year '89 in the political and social world. The Revolution is nothing but the tardy reaction of justice against the goyernment of favour and the religion of grace. SECTION III. LEGENDS OF THE MIDDLE AGES. If you have sometimes travelled among mountains, you may perhaps have observed the same spectacle which I once met with. From among a confused heap of rocks piled together, amid a landscape diversified with trees and verdure, towered a gigantic peak. That object, black, bare, and solitary, was but too evidently thrown up from the deep bowels of the earth. Enlivened by no verdure, no season changed its aspect ; the very birds would hardly venture to alight on it, as if they feared to singe their wings on touching the mass which was projected from earth's central fire. That gloomy evidence of the throes of the interior world seemed still to muse over the scene, re- gardless of surrounding objects, without ever rousing from its savage melancholy. What were then the subterraneous revolutions of the earth, what incalculable powers combated in its bosom, for that mass, disturbing mountains, piercing through rocks, shattering beds of marble, to burst forth to the surface ! What convulsions, what agony forced from the entrails of the globe that pro- digious groan ! I sat down, and from my eyes tears of anguish, slow and painful, began to flow. Nature had but too well reminded me of history. That chaos of mountain heaps oppressed me with the same weight which had crushed the heart of man through- out the middle ages ; and in that desolate peak, which from her inmost bowels the earth had hurled towards heaven, I saw pictured the despair and the cry of the human race. That Justice should have borne for a thousand years that mountain of dogTua upon her heart, and, crushed beneath its weight, have counted the hours, the days, the years, so 24 nESIGNATION OF THE MIDDLE AGES. many long years — is, for him who knows it, a source of eternal tears. He who through the medium of history has partici- pated in that long torture, will never entirely recover from it ; whatever may happen he will be sad ; the sun, the joy of the world, will never more afford him comfort ; he has lived too long in sorrow and in darkness ; and my very heart hied in contemplating the long resignation, the meekness, the patience, and the efforts of humanity to love that world of hate and malediction under which it was crushed. When man, resigning liberty and justice as something useless, entrusted himself blindly to the hands of Grace, and saw it becoming concentrated on an imperceptible point, — that is to say the privileged, the elect, — and saw all other beings, whether on earth or under the earth, lost for eternity, you would suppose there arose everywhere a hoAvl of blasphemy! — No, only a groan. And these affecting words : " If thou wilt that I be damned, thy will be done, Lord!" Then peaceful, submissive, and resigned, they folded them- selves in the shroud of damnation! This is, indeed, serious, worthy of remembrance ; a thing which theology had never foreseen. It had taught that the damned could do nothino; but hate. But these still loved. These damned souls trained themselves to love theelect, their masters. The priest, the lord, those chosen children of heaven, ibund, for ages, only meekness, docility, love, and confidence in that humble people. They served, they suffered, in silence ; trod upon, they returned thanks ; they did not sin even with their lips, as did the saintly Job. What preserved them from death ? One thing, we must oay, which reanimated, refreshed the sufferer in his long torment. That astonishing meekness of soul which he pre- served, gave him bliss ; from that heart, so wounded, yet so good, sprung a living source of lovely and tender fancy, a flood of popular religion to counteract the dryness of the other. Watered by those fruitful streams, the legend flourished and grew ; it shaded the unfortunate with its compassionate flowers — flowers of the native soil, blossoms of the father- land, which somewhat refreshed and occasionally buried in oblivion Byzantine metaphysics and the theology of death. THE CIVIL WORLD. 25 Yet deatli was beneath those flowers. The patron, the good saint of the ])laee, was not potent enough to defend his protege against a dogma of dread. The Devil hardly waited till man expired in order to seize him. He beset him living. He was the lord of this Avorld ; man was his property, his lief. It appeared so but too plainly in the social order of the time. What a constant temptation to despair and doubt ! How bondage here below was, with all its miseries, the beginning, — the foretaste of eternal damnation ! First, a life of suffering ; next, for consolation, hell ! — Damned beforehand ! — Then, wl.erefore those comedies of Judgment represented in the church-porches ! Is it not barbarous to keep in uncertainty, in dreadful anxiety, ever suspended over the abyss, him who, before his birth, is adjudged to the bottomless pit, is due to it, and belono-s to it ? Before his birth! — The infant, the innocent, created ex- pressly for hell ! Nay, did I say the innocent ? This is the horror of the system ; innocence is no more. I know not, but I boldly and unhesitatingly affirm this to be the insoluble knot at which the human soul stopped short, and patience was staggered. The infant damned ! I have elsewhere pointed out that deep, frightfid wound of the maternal heart. I pointed it out, and again drew the veil over it. In exploring its depths we should find there much more than the terrors of death. Thence it was, believe me, that the first sigh arose. Of protestation? No! And yet, unknown to the heart whence it escajied, there was a terrible remonstrance in that humble, low, agonising groan. So low, but so heart-rending ! The man who heard it at night, slept no more — not for many a night after : and in the morning, before day-light, he went to his furrow ; and there found many things were changed. He found the valley and the field of labour lower — much lower, — deep, like a sepul- chre ; and the two towers in the horizon more lofty — more gloomy and heavy ; gloomy the church-steeple, and dismal the feudal castle. Then he began to comprehend the sounds of the two bells. The church-bell murmured, Ever ; that of the donjon, Never. But, at the same time, a mighty voice spoke louder in his heart. That voice cried, One day f And that was the voice of God ! 07ie day justice shall return ! Leave 26 CHURCH IN THE MIDDLE AGE». those idle bells ; let them prate to the wind. Be not alarmed with thy doubt. That doubt is already faith. Believe, hope ! Right, though postponed, shall have its advent ; it will come to sit in judgment, on the dogma and on the world. And that day of Judgment will be called the Revolution. SECTION IV. THE CLERGY AND THE PEOPLE. I HAVE often asked myself, whilst pursuing the dismal study of the middle ages, through paths full of thorns *' tristis usque ad mortem," how a religion, which is the mildest in its principle, and has its starting-point in love itself, could ever have covered the world with that vast sea of blood ? Pagan antiquity, entirely warlike, murderous, and destructive, had been lavish of human life, unconscious of its value. Youth- ful and merciless, beautiful and cold, like the virgin of Tauris, she killed and remained unmoved. You do not find in her grand immolations so much passion, inveteracy, or fury of hate, as characterise, in the middle ages, the combats and the vengeances of the religion of love. The first reason which I have assigned for this, in my book Du Pretre, is the prodigious intoxication of pride which this belief gives to its elect. What maddening dizziness ! Every day, to make God descend upon the altar, to be obeyed by God ! — Shall I say it? (I hesitated for fear of blaspheming) to make God ! How shall he be called who does this miracle of miracles every day ? A God ? That would not be enough. The more strange, unnatural, and monstrous this greatness, the more uneasy and full of misgiving is he who pretends to it : he seems to me as though he were sitting on the steeple of Strasburg, upon the point of the cross. Imagine his hatred and violence towards any man who dares to touch him, shake him, or try and make him descend! — Descend? There is no descending. He must fall from such a place, — he must fall ; but so heavy is the fall, that it would bury him into the earth. Be well convinced that if, in order to maintain himself, he THE CHURCH AND JUSTICE. 27 can suppress the world with a nod ; if what God created with one word, he can exterminate with one word, the world is annihilated. This state of uneasiness, anger, and trembling hate explains alone the incredible fury of the church in the middle ages, in proportion as she beheld her rival, Justice, arise against her. The latter was scarcely perceptible at first. Nothing was so low, so minute, so humble. A paltry blade of grass, for- gotten in the furrow ; even stooping, you would hardly have perceived it. Justice, thou who wast lately so feeble, how canst thou grow so fast ! If I but turn aside a moment, I know thee no longer. I find thee every hour grown ten cubits higher. Theology quakes, reddens with anger, and turns pale. Then begins a terrible, frightful struggle, beyond the power of language to express. Theology flinging aside the demure mask of grace, abdicating, denying herself, in order to annihi- late Justice, striving to absorb — to destroy her within herself, to swallow her up. Behold them standing face to face ; which of them, at the end of this mortal combat, is found to have absorbed, incorporated, assimilated the other ? Let the revolutionary reign of Terror beware of comparing herself with the Inquisition. Let her never boast of having, in her two or three years, paid back to the old system what it did to us for six hundred years ! The Inquisition would have good cause to laugh ! What are the t\^ve thousand men guillotined of the one, to the millions of men butchered, hung, broken on the wheel, — to that pyramid of burning stakes, — to those masses of burnt flesh, which the other piled up to heaven. The single Inquisition of one of the provinces of Spain states, in an authentic monument, that in sixteen years it burned twenty thousand men ! But why speak of Spain, rather than of the Albigenses, of the Vaudois of the Alps, of the Beggars of Flanders, of the Protestants of France, or of the horrible crusade against the Hussites, and so many nations whom the pope abandoned to the sword ? History will inform us that in her most ferocious and impla- cable moments the Revolution trembled at the thought of aggravating death, that she shortened the sufferings of victims, removed the hand of man, and invented a machine to abridge the pangs of death. 28 THE INv-iUISITION. And it will also inform us that the church of the middle ages exhausted herself in inventions to augment suifering, to render it poignant, intense ; that she found out exquisite arts of tor- ture, ingenious means to contrive that, without dying, one might long taste of death — and that, being stopped in that path by inflexible nature, who, at a certain degree of pain, mercifully grants death, she wept at not being able to make man sutler longer. I cannot, I will not agitate that sea of blood. If God allow me one day to touch it, that blood shall boil again with life, flow in torrents to drown false history and the hired flatterers of murder, to fill their lying mouths. Well do I know that the greater part of those grand butcheries can no longer be related. They have burnt the books, burnt the men, burnt the calcined bones over again, and flung away the ashes. When, for instance, shall I recover the history of the Vaudois, or of the Albigenses ? The day when I shall have the history of the star that I saw falling to-night. A world, a whole world has sunk, perished, both men and things. A poem has been recovered, and bones have been found at the bottom of caverns ; but no names, no signs. Is it with these sad remnants that I can form that history again ? Let our enemies triumph that they have rendered us powerless, and at having been so barbarous that one cannot, with certainty, recount their barbarities ! At least the desert speaks, — the desert of Languedoc, the solitudes of the Alps, the unpeopled mountains of Bohemia, and so many other places, where man has disappeared, where the earth has become sterile for ever, and where Nature, after man, seems itself exterminated. But one thing cries louder than all their destructions (and this one thing is authentic), "Tvhich is, that the system which killed in the name of a principle, in the name of a faith, made use indifi'erently of two opposite principles, — the tyranny of kings, and the blind anarchy of nations. In one single century, the sixteenth, Rome changed three times, throwing herself now to the right, now to the left, without either prudence or decency. First, she gives herself up to the kings ; next, she throws her- self into the arms of the people ; then again, she returns to the kings. Three lines of policy, but one aim. How attained ? No matter. What aim ? To destroy the power of thought. MASSACRE OF ST, BARTHOLOMEW. 29 A writer has discovered that the pope's nuncio had no fore- knowledge of the Saint Bartholomew (massacre). And I have discovered that the pope had prepared it, — worked at it, for ten years. " A trifle," says another, ** a mere local affair, a vengeance of Paris." In spite of the utter disgust, the contempt, the sickness, which these theories occasion me, I have confronted them with the records of history, with unexceptionable documents. And I have found far and near, the blood-red traces of the mas- sacre. 1 can prove that, from the day when Paris proposed (1561) the general sale of the goods of the clergy, from the day when the church beheld the king wavering, and tempted by the hopes of that booty, she turned hastily, violently towards the people, and employed every means in her power, by preach- ing, by alms, by different influences, and by her immense con- nection, her converts, trades-people, and mendicants, to organize the massacre. ** A popular affair," say you. True. But tell us also by what diabolical scheme, b}" what infernal perseverance, you worked during the space of ten years to pervert the under- standing of the people, to excite and drive them mad. spirit of cunning and murder ! I have lived too many cen- turies in face of thee, throughout the middle aoes, for thee ever to deceive me. After having so long denied justice and liberty, thou didst assume their name for thy sliout of war. In their name thou didst work a rich mine of hate, — that eternal repining which inequality implants in the heart of man, the envy of the poor for the rich. Thou tyrant, thou proprietor, and the most ravenous in the world, didst unhesitatingly em- brace on a sudden, and exceed, with one bound, the most impracticable theories of the Levellers. Before the Saint Bartholomew massacre, the clergy used to say to the people, in order to excite them, " The Protestants are nobles, provincial gentlemen." That was true ; tlie clergy havincr already exterminated, stifled Protestantism in the towns. The castles alone being shut, were still able to remain Pro- testant. But read of their earlier martyrs ; they wore the inha- bitants of towns, petty tradesmen, and workmen. Those creeds which were pointed out to the hatred of people as those of the ^0 CLERGY IN THE PRESENT DAT. aristocracy, had sprung from the very people. AVho does not know that Calvin was the son of a cooper? It would be too easy for me to show how all this has been misrepresented in our time by writers subservient to the clergy, and then copied without consideration. I wanted only to show, by one example, the ferocious address with which the cJergyurged the people, and made for themselves a deadly weapon of social jealousy. The detail would be curious ; I regret to postpone it. I could tell you the plans resorted to, in order to work the ruin of an individual — or a set of men ; calumn3% skilfully directed by a special press, slowly manipulated in the schools and seminaries, especially in the parlours of convents, directly intrusted (in order to be more quickly diffused) to penitents, to the suborned trades-people of the curates and canons, w^as put in motion among the people. How it worked itself into fury in those establishments of gluttony, termed Brotherhoods, to which, among other things, they abandoned the immense wealth of the hospitals. Low, paltry, miserable details, but without which the wholesale murders perpetrated by a Catholic rabble would remain incomprehensible. Occasionally, if it was sought to destroy a man of repute, superior art was added to these manoeuvres. By means of money or intimidation, some talented writer was found and let loose upon him. Thus, the king's confessor, to succeed in getting Vallee burnt, made Ronsard write against him. And so to ruin Theophile, the confessor instigated Balzac, who could not forgive Theophile for having drawn his sword for him, and saved him from personal chastisement. In our own times, I have had an opportunity of noticing how the same set, in the name of the Church, arouse and foster hatred and disturbance in the breasts of the obscure and lower orders, — the very dregs of society. I once saw, in a city of the west, a young professor of philosophy, whom the eccle- siawStics wanted to expel from his chair, followed, and pointed at in the street by a mob of women. What did thev know about philosophical questions ? Nothing, save what they wore taught in the confessional. They were not less furious on that account, standing before their doors, pointing, and shoutini;- : *' There he is! " In a large city in the eastern department, I was witness VIOLENCE AGAINST DUMOULIN. 31 to another, and, perhaps, still more odious spectacle. An old Protestant pastor, almost hhnd, who, every day, and often several times in the day, was followed and insulted by the children of a school, Avho pulled him behind, and strove to throw him down. That is their usual way of beginning their game ; by innocent agents, against whom you cannot defend yourself, — little child- ren, women. On more favourable occasions, in unenlightened provinces, easy to be excited, men take a share in the game. The master, who holds to the church, as a member of some confrerie^ as a tradesman or a lodger, grumbles, shouts, cabals, and collects a mob. The journeyman and the valet get drunk to do mischief ; the apprentice follows — surpasses them — strikes, without knowing why, — the very children sometimes assassinate. Next come false reasoners, foolish theorists, to baptize this pious assassination with the name of justice of the people, to canonize the crime perpetrated by tyrants in the name of liberty. Thus it was, that, in the selfsame day, they found means to slaughter, with one blow, all that formed the honour of France, the first philosopher of the age, the first sculptor, and the first musician, — Ramus, Jean Goujon, and Goudimel. How much rather would they have butchered our great jurisconsult, the enemy of Rome and the Jesuits, the genius of right, — Duraoulin ! Happily, he was safe. He had spared them a crime ; his noble life had taken refuge in God. But, before that time, he had seen riots organised four times by the clergy against him and his home. That holy temple of study four times violated and pillaged, his books profaned and dispersed, his manuscripts, irreparable patrimony of mankind, flung into the gutter and destroyed. They have not destroyed Justice ; the living spirit contained in those books was emancipated by the flames; it expanded and pervaded everything, impregnating the very atmosphere, so . that, thanks to the murderous fury of fanaticism, they could breathe no air but that of equity. 32 SECTION V. now FREE-THINKERS ESCAPED. After a grand festival, a great carnage in the Coliseum of Rome, when the sand had been moistened with blood, and the lions were lying down, cloyed, surfeited witli human flesh, then, in order to divert the people, to distract their attention a little, a farce was enacted. An egg was put into the hand of a miserable slave condemned to the wild beasts ; and then he was cast into the arena. If he manao-ed to reach the end, if, by good fortune, he succeeded in carrying his egg and laying it upon the altar, he was saved. The distance was not great, but how far it seemed to him ! Those brutes, glutted, asleep, or just going to sleep, would, nevertheless, at the sound of the light footstep, raise their heavy eyelids, and yawn fearfuUy, in doubt apparently whether they ought to interrupt their re- pose for such ridiculous prey. He, half dead with fear, stooping, shrinking, cringing, as if to sink into the earth, would have exclaimed, doubtless, could he have given utterance to his thought : *' Alas ! alas ! noble lions, I am so meagre ! Pray allow this living skeleton to pass ; it is a meal unworthy of you." Never did any buffoon, any mimic, produce such an effect upon the people ; the extraordinary comical contortions and agonies of fear convulsed all the spectators with laughter; they rolled on their benches in the excess of their mirth; it was a fearful tempest of merriment — a roar of joy. I am obliged to say, in spite of every consideration, that this spectacle was revived towards the close of the middle ages, when the old principle, furious at the thought of dying, imagined it would still have time to annihilate human thought. Once more, as in the Coliseum, miserable slaves were seen carrying among wild beasts, uncloyed, unglutted, furious, atrocious and ravenous, the poor little deposit of proscribed truth, — the fragile egg which might savethe world, if it reached the altar. Others will laugh — and w^oe to them! But I can never laugh on beholding that spectacle — that farce, those contortions, those efforts to deceive, to dupe, the growling monsters, to THE HUMAN MIND INTRUSTED TO ROYALTY. 3 ♦♦ amuse that uinvorthy multitude, woumi me to the heart. Those slaves whom I see passing yonder across the bloody arena, are the sovereigns of the mind, the benefactors of the human race. my fathers, my brethren, Voltaire, Moliere, Eabelais, beloved of my thoughts, it is you whom I behold trembling, suffering and ridiculous, under that sad disguise! Sublime geniuses, privileged to bear the sacred gift of God, have you then accepted, on our account, that degraded martyrdom to be the buffoons of fear ? Degraded I — Oh! no, never! From the centre of the amphitheatre they addressed me in a kind voice : *' Friend, what matters if they laugh at us ? What do we care at being devoured by wild beasts, at suffering the outrage of cruel men, if we but reach the goal, provided this dear treasure, laid safely upon the altar, be recovered by mankind, whom it will save sooner or later. Do vou know what this treasure is ? — Liberty, Justice, Truth, Reason." When we reflect by what imperceptible degrees, through what difficulties and obstacles, every grand design is accom- plished, we are less surprised on beholding the humiliation, the degradation, to which its originator is often subjected. Who would undertake the task of following, from unknown depths to the surface, the progress of a thought ? Who can tell the confused forms, the modifications, the fatal delays it has to undergo for ages ? With what slow steps does it emerge from instinct to inui>ing, to rcveiie, and thence to the poetical chiaro- oscuro ! How long is its progress confined to children and fools, to poets and madmen ? And yet one day that madness proves to be the common sense of all ! But this is not enough. All men think, but nobody dares speak. — Why? Is courage wanting ? — Yes ; and why is it wanting ? — Because the dis- covered truth is not yet clear enough ; it must first shine out in all its splendour for people to become its martyrs. At length it bursts forth luminous in some genius, and it renders him heroic ; it inflames him with devotion, love, and sacrifice. He lays it to his heart and goes among the lions. Hence that strange spectacle which I beheld just now, that sublime yet terrible farce. Look, see how he quakes as he passes, humble and trembling ; how he clasps, conceals, presses something to his heart. Oh ! he trembles not for himself. — D 3-1: THEY EXALT THE ROYAL POWER. Glorious trepidation ! heroic fear ! See you not that he is carrying the salvation of mankind ? Only one thing gives me uneasiness. — Where is the place of refuge in which that deposit is to be concealed ? What altar is sacred enough to guard that holy treasure ? And what god is sufficiently divine to protect what is no less than the concep- tion of God himself ? Great men, ye who are carrying that deposit of salvation with the tender care of a mother nursing her child, take heed, I beseech you ; be wary in choosing the asylum to which you intrust it. Beware of human idols, shun the gods of flesh or of wood, who, far from protecting others, cannot protect themselves. I behold you all, towards the close of the middle ages, from the thirteenth to the sixteenth century, emulously building up and aggrandizing that sanctuary of refuge, the Altar of Royalty. In order to dethrone idols, you erect an idol — and you offer to her everything, — gold, incense, and myrrh. To her, heavenly wisdom ; to her, tolerance, liberty, philosophy ; to her, the ultima ratio of society — Right. How should this divinity not become colossal ? The most powerful minds in the woiid, pursued and hunted to death by the old implacable principle, work hard to build up their asylum ever higher and higher ; they would like to raise it to heaven. Hence, a series of legends, faldcs, adorned and amplified by. every effort of genius : in the thirteenth century, it is the saint- king, more priest than the priest himself ; the chevalier-king in the sixteenth; the ^ood-king in Henri IV., and the God-king in Louis XIV. 35 SECOND PART. ON THE ANCIENT MONARCHY. SECTION I. As early as the year 1300, 1 behold the great Ghibelin poet, who, in opposition to the pope, strengthens and exalts to heaven the Colossus of Cgesar. Unity is salvation ; one monarch, one for the whole earth. Then, blindly following up his austere, inflexible loo'ic, he lays it down, that the greater this monarch, the more he becomes omnipotent, — the more he becomes a God, and the less mankind should apprehend that he will ever abuse his power. If he has all, he desires nought ; still less can he envy or hate. He is perfect, and perfectly, sovereignly just ; he governs infallibly, like the justice of God. Such is the ground- work of all the theories which have since been heaped up in support of this principle : U^iity, and the supposed result of unity, peace. And since then we have hardly ever had anything but wars. We must dig lower than Dante, and discover and look into the earth for the deep popular foundation whereon the Colossus was built. Man needs justice. A captive within the straight limits of a dogma reposing entirely on the arbitrary grace of God, he thought to save justice in a political religion, and made unto himself, of a man, a God of Justice, hoping that this visible God would preserve for him the light of equity which had been darkened in the other. I hear this exclamation escape from the bosom of ancient France, — a tender expression of intense love : ** my king !" This is no flattery. Louis XIV., when young, was truly [oved by two persons, — by the people and La VaUiere. d2 36 THE KINGLY INCARNATION, LOUIS XIV. At that time, it was the faith of all. Even the priest seems to remove his God from the altar, to make room for the new God. The Jesuits banish Jesus from the door of their esta- blishment to substitute Louis-le-Grand ; I read on the vaults of the chapel at Versailles : " Intrabit templum suum domi- nator." The words had not two meanings : the court knew but one God. The Bishop of Meaux, is afraid lest Louis XIV. should not have enough faith in himself; he encourages him : " kings, exercise your power boldly, for it is divine — Ye are gods ! An astounding dogma, and yet the people were most willing to believe it. They suffered so many local tyrannies, that, from the most remote quarters, they invoked the distant God, the God of the monarchy. No evil is imputed to him : if his people suffer any, it is because he is too high or too distant. — *' If the king did but know ! " We have here a singular feature of France ; this nation for a long time comprehended politics only as devotion and love. A vigorous, obstinate, blind love, which attributes as a merit to their God all his imperfections ; whatever human weakness they perceive in him is a cause of thanksgiving rather than of disgust. They believe he will be but so much the nearer to them, less haughty, less hardhearted, and more compassionate on that account. They feel obliged to Henri IV. for his love of Gabrielle. This love for royalty during the earlier days of Louis XIV. and Colbert, \>as idolatry ; the king's endeavours to do equal justice to all, to lessen the odious inequality of taxation, gained him the heart of the people. Colbert reduced forty thousand pretended nobles, and subjected them to taxation ; he forced the leading burgesses to give an account at length of the finances of the towns, which they used to turn to their own advantage. The nobles of the provinces who, under favour of the confusion, made themselves feudal barons, received the formidable visits of the envoys of the parliament ; royal justice was blessed for its severity. The king appeared as terrible, in his Grands jou7's,*' as the Day of Judgment, between the people and the nobihty, the people being on hie * High days, on which was held a liigh Court of Justice. — C. C. THE KING AS GOD OF JUSTICE. 37 right, and huddling together by the side of their judge, full of love and confidence. ** Tremble, tyrants ! Do you not see that we have God on our side ? " This is exactly the language of a poor simple people, who believe they have the lung in their favour. They imagine they already behold in him the Angel of the Revolu- tion, and, with outstretched arms, they invoke him, full of tenderness and hope. Nothing is more affecting to read, among other facts of this kind, than the account of the Grands ^ours (V Anvergne, the ingenuous hope of the people, the quaking of the nobility. A peasant, whilst speaking to a lord, had not uncovered ; the noble knocked his hat off: " If you do not pick it up," said the peasant, "the High Days are approaching, and the king will cut your head off." The noble was afraid, and picked it up.* Grand, sublime position of royalty ! Would that she had never forsaken it ; would that the judge of all had not become the judge of afeio, and that this God of Justice had not, like the God of the theologians, wished also to have his elect ! Such confidence, and such love ! and yet, all betrayed I That well-beloved king was hardhearted towards his people. Search everywhere, in books and pictures, contemplate him in his portraits : not a motion, not one look, reveals the least emotion of the heart. The love of a whole people — that grand * The gens clu roi, or, jparlementaires, \\h.o inspired the people with so much confidence (and who, it is true, have done important services) did not, however, represent Justice more seriously than the priests represented Grace. This regal justice was, after all, subject to the king's good pleasure. A great master of Machiavelism, Cardinal Dubois, explains, w^ith much good sense and precision, in a memorial to the regent against the States-General (vol. i. of the Mo7iiteur), the very simple mechanism of this parliamentary game, the steps of this minuet, the figures of this dance, up to the lit de Justice which ends the whole affair, by putting Justice under the feet of the king's good pleasure. As to the States-General, which were a subject of dread to Dubois, Saint Simon, his adversary, recommends them as an expedient at once innocent, agreeable and easy, for dispensing one from paying one's debts, for rendering bankruptcy honourable, canonizing it, to use his own expression ; more- over, those States are never sei-iously effective, says he very properly: verha, voces, nothing more. I say that there was, both in the States and in the parliaments, one thing most serious ; which is, that those vain images of liberty occupied, employed, the little vigour and spiiit of resistance that subsisted. The reason why France could not have a constitution, is, that she believed shu had one. 38 FAMINE IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. rarity, that true miracle — has succeeded only in making of their idol a miracle of egotism. He took Adoration at its word, and believed himself a God. But he comprehended nothing in that word God, To be a God is to Uve for all ; but he becomes more and more the king of the court; the few he sees, that band of gilded beggars who beset him, are his people. A strange Divinity, he con- tracted and stifled a world in one man, instead of extending and ao-o-randizino' that man to the meas?ire of a world. His whole world now is Versailles ; and even there, look narrowly ; if you find some petty, obscure, dismal closet, a living tomb, that is all he wants ; enough for one individual.* SECTION II FAMINE IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. I WJLL presently investigate the idea on which France sub- sisted — the government of grace and paternal monarchy ; that inquiry will be much promoted perhaps, if I first establish, by authentic proofs, the results in which this system had at length ternunated. A tree is known by its fruits. First, nobody will deny that it secured for this people the glory of a prodigious and incredible patience. Head the foreign travellers of the last two centuries ; you behold them stupified, when travelling through om* plains, at their wretched appearance, at the sadness, the soHtude, the miserable poverty, the dismal, naked, empty cottages, and the starving, ragged population. There they learn what man is able to endure without dying ; what nobody, neither the English, the Dutch, nor the Germans, would have supported. What astonishes them stiU more, is the resignation of this people, their respect for their masters,, lay or ecclesiastical, and their idolatrous attachment for their kings. That they should preserve, amid such sufferings, so much patience and meekness, such goodness and docihty, so Httle rancour for * I allude to the little dark apartment of Madame de Maintenon, where liOuis XIV. expired. For his personal belief of his own divinity, see especially his surprising Memoirs written before his face and revised by himself FASTING OF THE ARMIES OF LOUIS XIV. 39 oppression, is indeed a strange mystery. It perhaps explains itself partly by the kind of careless philosophy, the too in- different facility with which the Frenchman welcomes had weather ; it will be fine again sooner or later ; rain to-day, sunshine to-morrow. He does not grumble at a rainy day. French sobriety also, that eminently military quality, aided their resignation. Our soldiers, in this matter, as in every other, have shown the limits of human endurance. Their fasting, in painful marches and excessive toils, would have frightened the lazy hermits of the Thebais, such as Anthony and Pachomus. We must learn from Marshal Villars how the armies of Louis XIV. used to live : ** Several times we thought that bread would absolutely fail us ; then, by great efforts, we got together enough for half a day : the next day is got over by fasting. When M. d'Artagnan marched, the brigades not marching were obliged to fast. Our sustenance is a miracle, and the virtue and firmness of our soldiers are marvellous. Pa- rtem nostrum qitotidianum da nobis hodie, say they to me as I pass through the ranks, after they have but the quarter and the half ration. I encourage them and give them promises; they merely shrug up their shoulders, and gaze at me with a look of resignation that affects me. ' The Marshal is right,' say they; * we must learn to suffer sometimes.' '' Patience ! Virtue ! Resignation ! Can any one help being affected, on meeting with such traces of the goodness of our fathers ? Who will enable me to go through the history of their long sufferings, their gentleness and moderation ? It was long the astonishment, sometimes the laughing-stock of Europe ! Great merriment was it for the English to see those soldiers half- starved and almost naked, yet cheerful, amiable, and good towards their officers ; performing, without a murmur, immense marches, and, if they found nothing in the evening, making their supper of songs. If patience merits heaven, this people, in the two last centuries, truly surpassed all the merits of the saints ; but how shall we make the legend ? Their vestiges are widely diffused. Misery is a general fact.; the virtue to support it a virtue so common among us, that historians seldom deign to 40 DIFFICULTY OF DESCRIBING THOSE MISERIES. notice it. Moreover, history is defective in the eighteenth century ; France, after the cruel fatigues of the wars of Louis XI Y., suffers too much to relate her own story. No more memoirs ; nobody has the courage to write his individual life ; even vanity is mute, having but shame to tell. Till the philo- sophical movement, this country is silent, — like the deserted palace of Louis XIV. — surviving his own family, like the chamber of the dying man who still governs, the old Cardinal Fleury. It is difficult to describe properly the history of those times, as they are unmarked by rebellions. No people ever had fewer. This nation loved hor masters ; she had no rebellion, — nothing but a Revolution. It is from their very masters, their kings, princes, ministers, prelates, magistrates, and intendants, that we may learn to what extremities the people were reduced. It is they who are about to describe the restraints in which the people were held. The mournful procession in which they all advance one aftei the other in order to recount the death of France, is led by Colbert in 1681 : *' One can go on no longer," says he, and he dies. — They do go on however, for they expel half a million of industrious men about 1685, and kill still more, in a thirty years' war. But, good God ! how many more die of misery ! As early as 1698, the result is visible. The intendants themselves, who create the evil, reveal and deplore it. In the memorials which they are asked to give for the young duke of Burgundy, they declare that such a province has lost the quarter of its inhabitants, another a third, and another the half. And the population is not renewed ; the peasant is so miserable that his children are all weak, sickly, and unable to live. Let us follow attentively the series of years. That deplor- able period of 1698 becomes an object of regret. *' Then," says Boisguillebert, a magistrate, " there was still oil in the lamp. To-day (1707) it goes out for want of nourishment." — A mournful expression ; and he adds a threatening sentence ; one would think it was the year '89 ; ** The trial will now be between those who pay, and those whose only function is to receive." The preceptor to the grandson of Louis XIV., the Archbishop MISERY UNDER THE REGENCY. 41 of Cambrai, is not less revohitionnaire than this petty Norman magistrate : *' The people no longer live like men ; it is no longer safe to rely upon their patience. The old machine will break up at the first shock. We dare not look upon the state of exhaustion which we have now attained ; all we can do is to shut our eyes, open our hands, and go on taking." Louis XIV. dies at last, and the people thank God. Happily we have the regent, that good duke of Orleans, who, if Fenelon still lived, would take him for his counsellor ; he prints Telemaclius; France shall be a Salentum. No more wars. We are now the friends of England ; we give up to her our commerce, our honour, nay even our State secrets. Who would believe that, in the bosom of peace, this amiable prince, in only seven years, finds means to add to the two billions and a half of debts left by Louis XIV., seven hundred and fifty millions (of francs) more ? — The whole paid up in paper. " If I were a subject,*' he used to say, "I would most certainly revolt ! " And when he was told that a disturbance was about to take place, '* The people are right," said he; " they are good- natured fools to suffer so lono^ ! " Fleury is as economical as the regent was lavish. Does France improve 'i I doubt it, when I see that the bread presented to Louis XV. as the bread that the people ate, is bread made of fern. The Bishop of Chartres told him, that, in his diocese, the men browsed with the sheep. What is perhaps still stronger, is, that M. d'Argenson (a minister) speaking of the sufferings of those times, contrasts them with the good time. Guess which. That of the regent and the duke, — the time when France, exhausted by Louis XIV., and bleeding at every pore, sought a remedy in a bankruptcy of three billions ! Everybody sees the crisis approaching. Fenelon says, so early as 1709 : " The old machine will break up at the first shock." It does not break up yet. Then Madame de Chateauroux, about 1742 : "I see plainly that there will be a general overthrow, if no remedy be used.'* — Yes, Madam, every- body sees it, — the king and your successor, Madame de Pompadour, as well as the economists, the philosophers, foreigners, everybody. All admire the longanimity of this people ; it is Job sitting amon^r the nations. meekness ! 42 THE LAND BECOMES STERILE. patience ! — Walpole laughs at it, but I mourn over it. That unfortunate people still loves ; still believes ; is obstinate in hoping. It is ever waiting for its saviour. Which ? Its God-man, its king. Ridiculous yet affecting idolatry — What will this God, this king, do ? He possesses neither the firm will, nor the power, perhaps, to cure the deeply-rooted, inveterate, universal evil now consuming, parching, famishing the community, draining its life's blood from its veins, — from its very heart. The evil consists in this, that the nation, from the highest to the lowest, is organised so as to go on producing less and less, and paying more and more. She will go on declining, wasting away, giving, after her blood, her marrow ; and there will be no end to it, till having reached the last gasp, and just expiring, the convulsion of the death-struggle arouses her once more, and raises that pale feeble body on its legs — Feeble ? — grown strong perhaps by fury ! Let us minutely examine, if you will, these words producing less and less. They are exact to the letter. As early as under Louis XIV. the excise [aides) already weighed so heavily, that at Mantes, Etampes, and elsewhere, all the vines were plucked up. The peasant having no goods to seize, the exchequer can lay hold of nothing but the cattle ; it is gradually exterminated. No more manure. The cultivation of corn, though extended in the seventeenth century, by immense clearings of waste land, decreases in the eighteenth. The earth can no longer repair her generative strength ; she fasts, and becomes exhausted ; as the cattle may become extinct, so also the land now appears dead. Not only does the land produce less, but it is less cultivated. In many places, it is not worth while to cultivate it. Large proprietors, tired of advancing to their peasants sums that never return, neglect the land which would require expensive improvements. The portion cultivated grows less, and the desert expands. People talk of agriculture, write books on it, make expensive experiments, paradoxical schemes of cultivation; -7— and agriculture, devoid of succour, of cattle, grows wild. Men, women, and children, yoke themselves to the plough. They would dig the ground with their nails, if our ancient laws ANCIENT rATRONAGE IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 43 did not, at least, defend the ploughshare, — the last poor imple- ment that furrows the earth. How can we be surprised that the crops should fail with such half-starved husbandmen, or that the land should suffer and refuse to yield ? The yearly produce no longer suffices for the year. As we approach 1789, Nature yields less and less. Like a beast over fatigued, unwilling te move one step further, and preferring to lie down and die, she waits, and produces no more. Liberty is not only the life of man, but also that of nature. SECTION m. DOES ANCIENT PATRONAGE SUBSIST IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY ? Never accuse Nature of beings a bad mother. Believe not that God has withdrawn the beneficent light of his countenance from the earth. The earth is always a good and bountiful mother, ever ready and willing to help mankind ; though super- ficially she may appear sterile and ungrateful, yet she loves him tenderly in her innermost depths. It is man who has ceased to love, — man who is the enemy of mankind. The malediction which weighs him down is his own, the curse of egotism and injustice, the load of an unjust society. Whom must he blame ? Neither nature, nor God, but himself, his work, his idols, his gods, whom he has created. He has transferred his idolatry from one to another. To his wooden gods he has said, *' Protectme, be my saviours !" He has said so to the priest, he has said so to the noble, he has said so to the king. — Alas ! poor man, be thy own saviour, — save thyself. He loved them, — that is his excuse ; it explains his blind- ness. How he loved, how he believed ! What artless faith in i\ie good Lord, in the dea7\ holy man of God I How he would fall on his knees before them on the public road, and kiss the dust long after they had passed! How obstinately he put his trust and his hopes in them, even when spurned and trampled on ! Remaining ever a minor, — an infant, he felt a sort of filial delight in concealing nothing from them, in intrust- ing to their hands the whole care of his future. *'I have 44 CLEVERNESS OF THE CLERGY TO GIVE NOTHING. nothing : I am poor ; but I am the baron's man, and belong to tliat fine chateau yonder !" Or else, "I have the honour to be the serf of that famous monastery. I can never want for anything." Go now, go, good man, in the day of thy need ; go and knock at their gate. At the chateau ? But the gate is shut ; the large table, where so many once sat down, has long been empty ; the hearth is cold ; there is no fire, no smoke. The lord is at Versailles. He does not, however, forget thee. He has left his attorney behind, and his bailiff, to take care of thee. *' Well ! I will go to the monastery. Is not that house of charity the poor man's home ? The Church says to me every day : ' God so loved the world I — He was made man, and became food to nourish man ! ' Either the Church is nothing, or it must be charity divine realised upon earth." Knock, knock, poor Lazarus ! Thou wilt wait long enough. Dost thou not know that the Church has now withdrawn from the world, and that all these affairs of poor people and charity no lono^er concern her ? There were two thino's in the middle ages, — wealth and functions, of which she was very jealous ; more equitable, however, in modern timps, she has made two divisions of them ; the functions, such as schools, hospitals, alms, and the patronage of the poor, — all these things which mixed her up too much with worldly cares, she has generously handed over to the laity. Her other duties absorb all her attention, — those principally which consist in defending till death the pious foundations of which she is the trustee, in allowing no diminution of them, and in transmitting them with increased wealth to future gene- rations. In these respects she is truly heroic, ready for mar- tyrdom, if necessary. In 1788, the State, weighed down with debt, and driven to its last extremity, at a loss to devise new schemes for draining a ruined people, applies as a suppliant to the clergy, and entreats them to pay their taxes. Their an- swer is admirable, and should never be forgotten : *' No, the people of France is not taxable at pleasure." What ! invoke the name of the people as a ground to excuse themselves from succouring the people ? That was the utmost, truly the sublimest pitch, which Phariseean wisdom could ever ILLNESS OF LOUIS XV. 45 hope to attain. Come at length to the ever-memorable year of '89. The clergy is after all but mortal. It must sbare the common lot. But it can enjoy the thought, so consoling in our last moments, to have been consistent till death. The mystery of Christianity, a God giving himself to man — a God descending into man, — that doctrine, harsh to reason, could be imposed on the heart only by the visible continuation of the miracle, — alms ever flowing without a capability of exhaustion, and spiritual alms deriving a never-failing support from a similar doctrine ; in this vou mioht see some evidence of a God ever present in his Church. But the Church of the eighteenth century, sterile, and no longer giving anything, either material or intellectual, demonstrates precisely the very contrary of what religion teaches, (Oh, impiety !) I mean^ " The absence of God in man." SECTION IV. ROYAL POPULARITY. In the eighteenth century, the people no longer hoped for anything from that patronage which supported tbem at other times, — the clergy and the nobility. These will do nothing for them But they still believe in the king ; they transfer to the infant Louis XV. both their faith and their necessity of loving. He, the only remains of so great a family, saved like the infant Joas, is preserved apparently that he may himself save others. They w^eep on beholding that child ! How many evil years have to run their course ! But they wait with patience, and still hope ; that minority, that long tuition of twenty or thirty years, must have an end. It was night when the news reached Paris, that Louis XV., on his way to the army, had been seized with illness at Metz. ** The people leaped from their beds, rushed out in a tumult, without knowing whither. The churcbes were thrown open in the middle of the night. Men assembled in the cross-roads, accosted, and asked questions, without knowing one another. In several churches, the priest who pronounced the prayer for recovery of the king, interrupted the chanting with his sobs, and the people responded by their cries and tears. The iQ THE REGAL INCARNATION HAS PERISHED. courier who brought the news of his recovery, was hugged, and almost stifled ; they kissed his horse, and led him in triumph. Every street re-echoed the same joyful cry : * Le Hoi est gueri ! ' '' This, in 1744. Louis XV. is named the Well-beloved, Ten years pass. The same people believe that the well-beloved takes baths of human blood ; that, in order to renew his ex- hausted frame, he bathes himself in children's blood. One day, when the police, according to their atrocious custom, were carrying oif men, children wandering in the streets, and little girls (especially such as were pretty), the mothers screamed, the people flocked together, and a riot broke out. From that moment, the king never resided in Paris. He seldom passed through it, except to go from Versailles to Compiegne. He had a road made in great haste, which avoided Paris, and enabled the king to escape the observation of his people. That road is still called Le Chemin de la Revoke, These ten years (1744 — 1754) are the very crisis of the century. The king, that God, that idol, becomes an object of horror. The dogma of the regal incarnation perishes irre- coverably. And in its place arises the sovereignty of the mind. Montesquieu, Buffon, and Voltaire, in that short interval publish their grand works ; Rousseau was just beginning his. Unity till then had reposed on the idea of an incarnation, either religious or political. A human God was an essential requisite — a God of flesh, for the purpose of uniting either the church or the state. Humanity, still feeble, placed its unity in a sign, a visible living sign, a man, an individual. Hence- forth, unity, more pure, and free from this material condition, will consist in the union of hearts, the community of the mind, the profound union of sentiments and ideas arising from identity of opinions. The great doctors of the new church, mentioned before, though dissenting in secondary matters, are admirably agreed on two essential points, which constitute the genius of the ao*e in which they lived, as well as that of future times. 1st. Their mind is free from all forms of incarnation; dis- entangled from that corporeal vest'/tre which had so lono- invested it, 2dly. The mind, in their opinion, is not only inteUigence, it VOLTAIRE BANISHED FROM COURT. 47 is warmtli, love, an ardent love for mankind : love in itself, and not subject to certain dogmata, or conditions of religious policy. The chariti/ of the middle ages, a slave to Theology, but too easily followed her imperious mistress ; too docile, indeed, and so conciliating as to admit whatever could be tole- rated by hate. What is the value of a charity which could enact the Massacre of Saint Bartholomew, fire the faggots at the stake, and organise the Inquisition? Whilst endeavouring to divest religion of its carnal character, and to reject the doctrine of a religious incarnation, this century, at first timid in its audacity, remained for a long time carnal in its politics, and seemed anxious to respect the doctrine of a regal incarnation, — and through the king, that God- man, to achieve the happiness of mankind. It is the chimera of the philosophers and economists, of such men, I mean, as Voltaire and Turgot, to accomplish the revolution by the king. Nothing is more curious than to behold this idol disputed as it were by both parties. The philosophers pull him to the right, the priests to the left. Who will carry him ofi'? Women. This god is a god of flesh. The woman who secures him for twenty years, Madame de Pompadour (whose maiden name was Poisson) would like, at first, to make an ally for herself of the public, against the court. The philosophers are summoned. Voltaire writes the king's history, and poems and dramas for the king ; d'Argenson is made minister; and the comptroller-general, Machault, de- mands a statement of ecclesiastical property. That blow awakens the clergy. The Jesuits do not waste time in arguing the point with a woman ; they bring another woman to oppose her, and they triumph. But what woman ? The kino-'s own dauo:hter. Here we want Suetonius. Such thinefs had never been since the days of the twelve Caesars. Voltaire was dismissed ; and so was d'Argenson, and Machault later. Madame de Pompadour humbled herself, took the Communion, and put herself at the feet of the queen. Meanwhile, she was preparing an infamous and pitiful machine, whereby she regained and kept possession of the king till his death : a seraglio, recruited by children whom they bought. And there slowly expired Louis XV. The god of flesh abdicated every vestige of mind. 48 DEATH OF THE PEOPLE. Avoiding Paris, shunning his people, ever shut up at Ver sailles, he finds even there too many people, too much daylight. He wants a shadowy retreat, the wood, the chace, the secret lodge of Trianon, or his convent of the Parc-aux-cerfs. How strange and inexplicable that those amours, at least those shadows, those images of love, cannot soften his heart. He purchases the daughters of the people ; by them he lives with the people ; he receives their childish caresses, and assumes their language. Yet he remains the enemy of the people ; hard-hearted, selfish, and unfeeling ; he transforms the king into a dealer in corn, a speculator in famine. In that soul, so dead to sentiment, one thing still remained alive : the fear of dying. He was ever speaking of death, ot funerals, and of the grave. He would often forebode the death of the monarchy ; but provided it lasted his time, he desired no more. In a year of scarcity (they were not uncommon then), he was hunting, as usual, in the forest of Senart. He met a peasant carrying a bier, and inquired " whither he was convey- ing it ? — To such a place. — For a man or woman ? — A man. — What did he die of? — Hunger." SECTION V. NO HOPE BUT JUSTICE. That dead man is Ancient France, and that bier, the coffin of the Ancient Monarchy. Therein let us bury, and for ever, the dreams in which we once fondly trusted, — paternal roy- alty, the government of grace, the clemency of the monarch, and the charity of the priest ; filial confidence, implicit belief in the gods here below. That fiction of the old world, — that deceitful legend, which was ever on its tongue, — was to substitute love in the place vf law. if that world, almost annihilated under the title of love, wounded by charity, and heart-broken by grace, can revive^ it will revive by the means of law, justice, and equity. blasphemy ! They had opposed grace to law, love to justice. As if unjust grace could still be grace * as if those THE STATE OF WEAKNESS OF MORAL LIFE. 4& things which our weakness divides, were not two aspects of the same truth, — the right and the left-hand of God. Tliej have made justice a negative thing, which forbids, prohibits, excludes, — an obstacle to impede, and a knife to slaughter. They do not know that justice is the eye of Pro- vidence. Love, blind among us, clear-sighted in God, sees by justice — a vital-absorbing glance. A prolific 'power is in the justice of God ; whenever it touches the earth, the latter is blest, and brings forth. The sun and the dew are not enough, it must have Justice. Let her but appear, and the harvests come. Harvests of men and nations will spring up, put forth, and flourish in the sunshine of equity. A day of justice, one single day, which is called the Revo- lution, produced ten millions of men. But how far off? Did it appear, in the middle of the eighteenth century, remote and impossible? Of what materials shall I compose it ? all is perishing around me. To build, I should want stones, lime, and cement ; and I am empty-handed. The two saviours of this people — the priest and the king — have destroyed them, beyond the possibility of restoration. Feudal life and municipal life are no more, — both swallowed up in royalty. Keligious life became extinct with the clergy. Alas! not even a local legend or national tradition remains: — no more of those happy prejudices which constitute the life of an infant people. They have destroyed everything, even popular delu- sions. Behold them now stripped and empty, — tabula rasa; the future must write as best it may. 0, pure spirit, last inhabitant of that destroyed world ; uni- versal heir of all those extinct powers, how wilt thou guide us to the only bestower of life? How wilt thou restore to us Justice and the idea of Right ? Here, thou beholdest nothing but stumbling-blocks, old ruins, that one must pull down, crumble to powder, and neglect. Nothing is standing, nothing living. Do what thou wilt, thou wilt have at least the consolation of having destroyed only that which was already dead. The working of the pure spirit is even that of God — the art of God is its art. Its construction is too profoundly harmo- nious within, to appear so without. Seek not here the straight Unes and the angles, the stiff regularity of your buildings of E 50 BUFFON, DIDEROT. THE THREE FIGURES OF RIGHT. stone and marble. In a living organisation, harmony of a far superior strength is ever deeply seated within. First, let this new world have material life ; let us give it for a beginning, for a first foundation, — the colossal Histoire Naiurelle:'^ let us put order in Nature ; for her order is justice. But order is as yet impossible. From the bosom of Nature, — glowing, boiling, as when Etna awakes, — flames forth an immense volcano.t Every science and every art bursts forth. The eruption over, a mass remains, — an enormous mass mmgled with dross and gold : the Encydopedie, Behold two ages of the young world, — two days of the crea- tion. Order is wanting, and so is Unity. Let us make man, tlie unity of the world, and with him let Order come, and with her, the Divinity whose advent we expect, the long-desired majesty of Divine Justice. Man appears under three figures : Montesquieu, Voltaire, and Rousseau, three interpreters of the Just and Right. Let us note law ; let us seek law ; perhaps we may yet find it in some corner of the globe. There may perhaps be some clime favourable for justice, — some better land which naturally yields the fruit of equity. The traveller, the inquirer, who pursues it through the earth, is the calm, majestic Montesquieu. But justice flies before him ; it remains relative and moveable ; law, in his estimation, is a relation, — merely abstract, and inanimate ; it is not endowed with vitality. J Montesquieu maybe resigned to this result; but not soVoltaire. Voltaire is the one who suffers, who has taken upon him all the agony of mankind, who feels and hunts out every iniquity. All the ills that fanaticism and tyranny have ever inflicted upon the world, have been inflicted upon Voltaire. It was he, the martyr, the universal victim, whom they slaughtered in their Saint Bartholomew, whom they buried in the mines of the new * Buffon ; the first volume, 1748. See the edition of MM. GeofFroy- Saint-Hilaire. f Diderot, who published the two first volumes of the Encyclopedie in 1751. M. Genin has just written an article on him, which everybody will find witty, brilliant, full of amusement, charming. I find it penetrating ; it goes to the very marrow of the subject. X Montesquieu''s Esprit des Lois appeared in !748. I shall frequently liavc occasion to explain how very little that great genius possessed the percep- tion of Right. He is, unwittingly, the founder of our absurd English school. MONTESQUIEU, VOLTAIRE, ROUSSEAU. 51 world, whom they hurned at Seville, whom the parliament of Toulouse broke on the wheel with Galas. — He weeps, he laughs, in his agony, — a terrible Ian gh, at which the bastilles of tyrants and the temples of the Pharisees fall to the ground.* And down fell at the same time all those petty barriers within which every church intrenched itself, calling itself uni- versal, and wishing to destroy all others. They fall before Voltaire, to make room for the human church, for that catholic church which will receive and contain them all injustice and in peace. Voltaire is the witness of Right, — its apostle and its martyr. He has settled the old question put from the origin of the world : Is there religion without justice, without humanity ? SECTION "VI. THE THREE MASTER MINDS. Montesquieu is the writer, the interpreter of Right ; Voltaire weeps and clamours for it ; and Rousseau founds it. It was a grand moment, which found Voltaire overwhelmed by a new calamity, the disaster of Lisbon ; when, blinded by tears, and doubting Heaven, Rousseau comforted him, restored God to him, and upon the ruins of the world proclaimed the existence of Providence. Par more than Lisbon, it is the world which is tumbling to pieces. Religion and the State, morals and laws, everything is perishing. — And where is the family ? Where is love ? — even the child — the future ? Oh ! what must we think of a world wherein even maternal love is perishing ? And is it thou, poor, ignorant, lonely, abandoned workman, hated by the philosophers and detested by the clergy, sick in the depth of winter, dying upon the snow, in thy unprotected pavilion of Montmorenci, who art willing to resist alone, and to write (though the ink freezes in thy pen) to protest against death ! * Read, on Voltaire, four pages, stamped with the seal of genius, which no man or mere talent could ever have WTitten. — Quinet, Ultramontanism. — (See my translation of this book, Roman Church and Modern Soviety, pp. 117, 118, 119, 120. Chapman : London 1845, C.C.) e2 52 ROUSSEAU RECOMMENCES RIGHT. Is it indeed ^vitli thj spinet and thy " Village Curate," poor musician, that thou art going to re-construct a ^vovld ^ Thou hadst a slender voice, some energy and warmth of language on thy arrival at Paris, rich in thy Pergolese, in music, and in hope. It is long since then ; soon thou wilt have lived half a century ; thou art old ; all is over. Why dost thou speak of regenera- tion to that dying society, when thou thyself art no more ? Yes, it was truly difficult, even for a man less cruelly treated by fate, to extricate his feet from the quicksand, from that deep mire where everything was swallowed up. What was the resting-point whereon that strong man, finding a footing, stopped, held fast — and everything stood firm ? What footing did he find ? feeble world, ye of little faith, degenerate sons, forgetful of Rousseau and the Revolu- tion ? He found it in what has grown too faint among you — in his heart. In the depths of his suifering he read, and read distinctly, what the middle ages were never able to read : A Just God. And what was said by a glorious child of Rousseau ? * * Bight is the sovereign of the world, ' ' That splendid motto was uttered only at the end of the century ; it is its revelation, — its profound and sublime formula. Rousseau spoke by the mouth of another, by Mirabeau ; yet it is no less the soul of Rousseau's genius. When once he severed himself from the false science of the time, and from a no less false society, you behold in his writings the dawn of a celestial efi'ulgence, — Duty, Right ! Its sweet and prolific power shines forth in all its brilliancy in the profession of faith of the Vicar of Savoy. God himself subject to Justice, subject to Right ! — Let us say rather that God and Right are identical. If Rousseau had spoken in the terms of Mirabeau, his lan- guage would not have taken eftect. Necessities change with the times. — To a world ready to act, on the very day of action, Mirabeau said: "Right is the sovereign of the world," you are the subjects of Right. — To a world still slumbering, inert, feeble, and devoid of energy, Rousseau said, and said well : ** The geneial will is right and reason." Your will is Right. Then arouse yourselves, ye slaves ! ROUSSEAU ACTS BY SENTIMENT. 53 ** Your collective will is Reason herself." In other words, Ye are Gods ! And who, indeed, without believing himself God, could ever do anything great ? Then it is that you may fearlessly cross the bridge of Areola ; then it is, that, in the name of duty, you sever yourself from your dearest affections, your heart. Let us be God ! The impossible becomes possible and easy. Then, to overthrow a world is a mere trifle ; why, one creates a world. This it is which explains how a feeble breath from a manly breast, a simple melody arising from the heart of the poor musician, raised the dead. France is moved in her inmost soul. All Europe is changed by it. The vast massy German empire rocks on her old founda- tions. They criticise, but obey. "Mere sentimentality," say they, with an attempt to smile. And yet these dreamers follow it. The very philosophers, the abstractors of quint- essence, take, in spite of themselves, the simple path of the poor Vicar of Savoy. What, then, has happened ? What divine light has shone, to produce so great a change ? Is it the power of an idea, of .a new inspiration, of a revelation from above ? Yes, there has been a revelation. But the novelty of the doctrine is not what aflects us most. We have here a more strange, a more mysterious phenomenon, — an influence felt even by those who do not read, and could never comprehend. Nobody knows why, but since that glowing language impregnated the air, the temperature has changed ; it seems as though a breath of life had been wafted over the world ; the earth begins to bear fruits that she would never else have borne. What is it ? Shall I tell you ? It is what vivifies and melts the heart ; it is the breath of youth ; and that is why we all yield to its influence. In vain would you prove to us that this language is weak, or overstrained, or of vulgar sentiment. Such is youth and such is passion. Such have we been, and, if we occasionally recognise therein the foibles of our early youth, we do but feel more vividly the sweet yet bitter charms of the time that will return no more. Warmth and thrilling melody, such is the magic of Rousseau. His power, as it is in his *' Emile" and the " Contrat Social,'' 54 VOLTAIRE RESUMES THE FIGHT OF JUSTICE. may be discussed and combated. But, by his '* Confessions ' and his " Reveries," by his weakness, he has vanquished u^, and drawn tears from every eye. Foreign, hostile geniuses were able to reject the light, but they have all felt the influence of the warmth. They did not listen to the words ; but the music subdued them. The gods of profound harmony, the rivals of the storm, which thun- dered from the Rhine to the Alps, themselves felt the all- powerful incantation of that sweet melody, that soft human voice, — the little morning ditty, sung for the first time beneath the vine at Charmettes. That youthful affecting voice, that melody of the heart, is heard long after that tender heart has been buried in the eartb. The "Confessions," which appeared after the death of Rousseau, seem a sigh from the tomb. He returns — rises from the dead, more potent, more admired, more adored than ever. That miracle he shares in common with his rival, Voltaire. His rival ? — No. Enemy ? — No. Let them be for ever upon the same pedestal, those two Apostles of Humanity.* Voltaire, nearly octogenarian, buried among the snows of the Alps, broken down by age and labour, nevertheless rises also from the dead. The grand thought of the century, inaugurated by him, is also to be closed by him ; he who was the first to open, is also to resume and finish the chorus. Glorious century ! Well does it deserve to be called for ever the heroic age of the mind. An old man on the verge of the grave ; he has seen the others, Montesquieu, Diderot, and Bufibn pass away ; he has witnessed the extraordinary success of Rousseau, — three books in three years. "And the earth was silent." Voltaire is not discouraged ; behold him entering, lively and young, upon a new career. Where, then, is the old Voltaire ? He was dead. But a voice has roused him all alive from the tomb, that voice which had ever given him life, — the voice of Humanity. * A noble and tender idea of Madame Sand, which shows how genius rises superior to those vain oppositions which the esprit de systeme creates for itself between those great witnesses, of truth not opposed, but harmonising. When it was lately proposed to raise statues to Voltaire and Rousseau, Madame Sand, in an admirable letter, requested that the two reconciled geniuses might be placed upon the same pedestal. Noble thoughts come from the heart. VOLTAIRE BEGINS THE REVOLUTION. 55 Ancient champion, to thee the crown ! Here thou art again, conqueror of conquerors. Throughout a century, in every kind of warfare, with every weapon and doctrine, opposite, contrary, no matter what, thou hast pursued, without ever deviating, one interest, one cause — holy Humanity. And yet they have called thee a sceptic ! And they have termed thee changeable ! They thought to surprise thee in the seeming contradictions of a flexible language ever serving the selfsame thought ! Thy faith shall be crowned by the very work of faith. Others have spoken of Justice, but thou shalt perform it ; thy words are acts, realities. Thou defendest Galas and La Barre, thou savest Sirven, and dost annihilate the scaffold of the Protestants. Thou hast conquered for religious liberty, and moreover, for civil freedom, as advocate of the last serfs, for the reform of our barbarous legislation and criminal laws, which themselves were crimes. Behold in all this the dawn of the Revolution. Thou dost make it, and see it. Look for thy reward, look, behold it yonder ! Now thou mayest die ; thy firm faith deserved that thou shouldst not take thy flight before thou hadst seen the holy land. SECTION VIL THE REVOLUTION COMMENCES. When those two men have passed, the Revolution is accom- plished in the intellectual world. Now it becomes the duty of their sons, legitimate and illegitimate, to expound and diffuse it in a hundred ways : some in eloquence and fiery satire, others will strike bronze medals to transmit it from hand to hand ; Mirabeau, Beaumarchais, Raynal, Mably, and Sieyes, are now to do their work. The Revolution is on her march, with Rousseau and Voltaire still in front. Kings themselves are in her train ; Frederick, Catherine, Joseph, Leopold — that is the court of tie two chieftains of the age. Reign, great men, ye true sovereigns of the world ; reign, my kings ! All appear converted, all wish for the Revolution ; though every one, it is true, wishes it, not for himself, but for others. 56 ALL DESIRE THE REVOLUTION : The nobility would willingly make it against the clergy, and the clergy against the nobility. Turgot is the touchstone for all : he summons them to say whether they wish truly to amend ; they all unanimously answer : No, let what ought to be done, be done ! Meanwhile, I see the Revolution everywhere, even in Ver- sailles. All admit it to a certain limit, where it will not hurt them : Louis XVI. as far as the plans of Fenelon and the Duke of Burgundy, and the Count d'Artois as far as Figaro ; he forces the king to allow the trying drama to be played. The queen wishes for the Revolution, at least in her palace, for the parvenus ; that queen, devoid of prejudices, turns all her grand ladies out of doors, in order to keep her beautiful friend Madame de Polignac. Necker, the horrower, himself discredits his loans by pub- lishing the misery of the monarchy. A revolutionnaire by publicity, he believes he is so by his little provincial assem- blies, wherein the privileged are to say what must be taken from the privileged. The witty Calonne comes next, and being unable to glut the privileged even by breaking into the public treasury, he takes his course, accuses them, and hands them over to the hatred of the people. He has accomplished the Revolution against the notables ; Lomenie, a philosophical priest, accomplishes it against the parliaments. Calonne said admirably, when he avowed the deficit, and pointed to the yawning gulf: " What remains to fill it with ? The abuses,^ ^ That seemed clear to everybody ; the only tbing obscure was whether Calonne did not speak in the name of the very Prince of abuses, of him who sustained all others, and was the key- stone of the whole wretched edifice ? In two words, was Royalty the support or the remedy of those abuses denounced by the King's own creature. That the clergy was an abuse, and the nobility an abuse, seemed but too evident. The privilege of the clergy, founded on teaching, and the example they formerly set the people, had become nonsense ; nobody possessed the faith less. In their last assembly, they BUT TO A CERTAIN LIMIT. 57 strive hard to get the philosophers punished, and, to make the demand, they are represented by an atheist and a sceptic : Lomenie and Talleyrand. The privilege of the nobility had likewise become nonsense : formerly they paid nothing because they paid with their sword; they furnished the han and arriere-ban; a vast undisciplined multitude, called together for the last time in 1674. They continued to furnish the army with officers, by shutting out all others from the career, and rendering the formation of a real army impossible. The civil army, the administration, the bureau-cracy, was invaded by the nobility ; the ecclesiastical army, in its higher ranks, was also filled with nobles. Those who made it their profession to live in grand style, that is to say, to do nothing, had undertaken to do all ; and everything remained undone. Once more, the clergy and the nobility were a burden to the land, the malediction of the country, a gangrene which it was necessary to cut away ; that was as clear as daylight to everybody. The only obscure question was that of Royalty ; a ques- tion, not of mere form, as people have so often repeated, but a fundamental, intimate question, more vital than any other in France ; a question not only of politics, but of love and religion. No people ever loved their kings so dearly. The eyes of men, open under Louis XV., shut again under Louis XVL, and the question remained once more in the dark. The hope of the people still clung to royalty ; Turgot hoped, Voltaire hoped, that poor young king, so ill born and bred, would have desired to do good. He struggled, and was dragged away. The prejudices of his birth and education, even his hereditary virtues, hurried him to his ruin — a sad historical problem ! Honest men have excused him, and honest men have condemned him. Duplicity, mental reservations, (but little surprising, no doubt, in a pupil of the Jesuit party,) such were his faults ; and lastly his crime, which led him to death, his appeal to foreigners. With all that, let us not forget that he had been sincerely anti- Austrian and anti-English ; that he had truly, fervently desired to improve our navy ; that he had founded Cherbourg at eighteen leagues from Ports- mouth ; that he helped to cut England in two, and set one part of England against the other. That tear which Carnot shed 5,8 THE RED BOOK. on signing his death-warrant, remains for him in history ; History, and even Justice, in judging him, will weep. Every day brings on his punishment. This is not the time for me to relate these things. Let it suffice to say here that the best was the last — great lesson of Providence ! — so that it might appear plain to all that the evil was less in the man than in the institution itself ; that it might be more than the condem- nation of the king — the condemnation of ancient royalty. That religion is at an end. Louis XV. or Louis XVI,, infamous or honest, the god is nevertheless still a man ; if he be not so by vice, he is by virtue, by easy good nature. Human and feeble, incapable of refusing, of resisting, every day sacrificing the people to the courtiers, and like the God of the priests, damning the many, and saving his elect. As we have already said : The religion of grace, partial for the elect, and the government of grace, in the hands of favourites, are perfectly analogous. Privileged mendicity, whether it be filthy and monastic, or gilded, as at Versailles, is ever mendicity. Two paternal powers : ecclesiastical paternity, characterised by the Inquisition ; and monarchical paternity, by the Red Book and the Bastille. SECTION vin. THE RED BOOK. When Queen Anne of Austria was regent, ** there remained," says Cardinal Retz, *' but two little words in the language : * The queen is so good ! ' '' From that day France declines in energy ; the elevation of the lower classes, which notwithstanding the harsh adminis- tration of Richelieu had been so remarkable, subsides and dis- appears. Wherefore ? Because the " queen is good ; " she loads with presents the brilliant crowd besetting her palace ; all the provincial nobility who fled under Richelieu return, demand, obtain, take, and pillage ; the least they expect is to be exempted from taxation. The peasant who has managed to purchase a few acres has the sole duty of payment ; he must bear all — he is obliged to sell again, and once more becomes a tenant, steward, or a poor domestic. THE RED BOOK. 59 Louis XIV. is severe at first ; no exemption from taxes ; Colbert cancels 40,000 of them. The country thrives. But Louis XIV. grows good-natured ; he is more and more affected by the fate of the poor nobility ; everything is for them, — grades, places, pensions, even benefices, and Saint-Cyr for noble young ladies. The nobility flourishes, and France is at her last extremity. Louis XVI. is also severe at first, grumbles, and even refuses ; the courtiers jest bitterly about his incivility and rough answers {coups de houtoir). The reason is, he has a bad minister — that inflexible Turgot : and, alas ! the queen has no power yet. In 1778, the king at last yields ; the re-action of nature acts powerfull}'- in favour of the queen ; he can no longer refuse anything, neither to her nor to her brother. The most amiable man in France becomes comptroller-general ; M. de Calonne uses as much wit and grace to give, as his predecessors had used skill to elude and refuse. ** Madam," he would say to the queen, *'if it be possible, it is done ; if impossible, it shall be done." The queen purchases Saint Cloud ; the king, so parsimonious till then, allows him- self to be seduced, and buys Rambouillet. Vaudreuil, the disinterested friend of the Count d'Artois, will receive nothing ; he sells to the crown, for a million, his estates in America, receives them back and keeps them. Who can say how many estates and what sums Diane de Polignac, by cleverly directing Jules de Polignac, managed to secure ? The crowned Rosina, having become in course of time Countess Almaviva, could refuse nothing to Suzanne, — to the versatile charms of her who was Suzanne or Cherubino, The Revolution spoiled all. It roughly tore aside the graceful veil that masked the public ruin. The veil, being removed, revealed the vessel of the Danaides. The monstrous affair of the Puy Paulin and Fenestrange, those millions squandered (between a famine and a bankruptcy), flung away by a silly woman into a woman's lap, far surpassed anything that satire had exposed. People laughed, — with horror. The inflexible reporter of the Committee of Finances ac- quainted the assembly with a mystery unknown to everybody : •' In expenditure, the king is the sole director/' The only standard of expenditure was the king's good nature. 60 RUINOUS GOOD-NATURE OF THE KING. Too tender-hearted to refuse — to grieve those whom he saw about him — he found himself in reality dependent on them. At the slightest inclination towards economy, they were moody and sullen. He was obliged to yield. Several of them were still bolder ; they spoke out, loud and resolutely, and took the king to task. M. de Coigny (the queen's first or second lover, according to dates), refused to submit to a retrenchment which they had proposed in one of his enormous pensions ; a scene ensued, and he got into a passion with Louis XVI. The king shrugged up his shoulders, and made no answer. In the even- ing, he said : " Indeed, had he beaten me, I should have submitted to it." No noble family in difficulties, no illustrious mother marrying her daughter and son, but draws money from the king. ** Those great families contribute to the splendour of the monarchy and the glory of the throne," &lg. ^o/?/e meant plebs or populus. The equivocation was laid bare. The king, the clergy, and the nobility would doubtless have interpreted people in the sense of 2)lebs, or inferior people, — a simple part of the nation. Many had not perceived the equivocation, nor how much ground it would have caused the Assembly to lose. But they all understood it, when Malouet, Necker's friend, accepted the word people. The fear which Mirabeau attempted to inspire with the royal veto, excited only indignation. Camus, the Jansenist, one of the firmest characters in the Assembly, replied in these strong terms : ** We are what we are. Can the veto prevent truth from being one and immutable ? Can the royal sanction chancre the order of things and alter their nature ? " Mirabeau, irritated by the contradiction, and losing all pru- dence, became so angry as to say : ''I believe the king's veto so necessary, that I would rather live at Constantinople than in France if he had it not. Yes, I declare I know nothing more terrible than the sovereign aristocracy of six hundred persons, who might to-morrow render themselves irrevocable, hereditary the day after, and end, like the aristocracies of every country in the world, by invading everything." Thus, of two evils, one possible, the other present, Mirabeau COMMONS TAKE THE TITLE OF NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 101 preferred the one present and certain. In the hypothesis that this Assembly might one day wish to perpetuate itself and become an hereditary tyrant, he armed, with the tyrannical power of preventing every reform, that incorrigible court which it was expedient to reform. The king I the king I Why should they ever abuse that old religion ? Who did not know that since Louis XIV. there had been no king. The war was between two republics : one, sitting in the Assembly, com- posed of the master minds of the age, the best citizens, Avas France herself; the other, the republic of abuses, held its council with the old cabinets of such as Dubois, Pompadour, and Du Bai-ry, in the house of Diana de Polignac. Mirabeau's speech was received with thunders of indignation and a torrent of imprecations and abuse. The eloquent rhe- toric with which he refuted what nobody had said (that the word people is vile) was unable to dupe his auditory. It was nine in the evenincr. The discussion was closed in order to take the votes. The singular precision with which the question had been brought to bear on royalty itself, caused some apprehension that the court might do the only thing that it had to do to prevent the people from being king on the morrow ; it possessed brute force, — an army round Versailles, which it might employ to carry off the principal deputies, dis- solve the states, and, if Paris stirred, famish Paris. This bold crime was its last cast, and people believed that it was going to be played. They wished to prevent it by consti- tuting the Assembly that very night. This was the opinion of more than four hundred deputies ; a hundred, at most, were against it. That small majority precluded, all night, by shouts and violence, every possibilit}^ of calling over the names. But this shameful sight of a majority being tyrannized over, and the Assembly endangered by a delay, together with the idea that, one moment or other, the work of liberty, the salvation of the future, might be annihilated, — all contributed to transport with fury the crowd that filled the tribunes ; a man rushed for- ward and seized Malouet, the principal leader of the obstinate shouters, by the collar.* * The principal witness, Bailly, does not give this circumstance, which M. Droz alone relates, doubtless on the authority of Malouet. 102 COMMONS TAKE THE TITLE OF NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. The man escaped. The shouts continued. In presence of that tumult, says Baillj, who presided, the assembly remained firm and worthy ; as patient as strong, it waited in silence till that turbulent band had exhausted itself with shouting. An hour after midnight, the deputies being less numerous, voting was formally postponed till the morrow. On the following morning, at the moment of voting, the president was informed that he was summoned to the chancel- lerie to receive a letter from the king. This letter, in which he reminded them that they could do nothing without the con- currence of the three orders, would have arrived just at the right moment to furnish a text for the hundred opponents, to give rise to long speeches, and unsettle and disaffect many weak minds. The Assembly, with royal gravity, adjourned the king's letter, and forbade its president to leave the haU before the end of the meeting. It wanted to vote and voted. The different motions might be reduced to three, or rather to two : — 1st. That of Sieyes — National Assembly. 2ndly. That of Mounier — Assembly of the Representatives of the Major part of the Nation, in the absence of the Minor part. The equivocal formula of Mirabeau was equivalent to Mounier' s, as the word people could be taken in a limited sense, and as the major part of the nation. Mounier had the apparent advantage of a judicial literalness, au arithmetical exactness, but was fundamentally conti-ary to justice. It brought into symmetrical opposition, and compared, as on a level, two things of an enormously different value. The Assembly represented the nation, minus the privileged ; that is to say, 96 or 98 hundredths to 4 hundredths (according to Sieyes), or 2 hundredths (according to Necker). Why should such an enormous importance be given to these 2 or 4 hun- dredths ? Certainly not for the moral power they contained ; they no longer had any. It was, in reality, because all the large properties of the kingdom, the two-thirds of the lands, were in their possession. Mounier was the advocate of the landed property against the ])Opulation, — of the land against man: — a feudal, English, and materialist point of view. Sieyes had given the true French formula. With Mounier's arithmetic and unjust justness, and with THEY SEIZE ON THE RIGHT OF TAXATION. 103 Mirabeau's equivocation, the nation remained a class, and the fixed property — the land — constituted also a class in face of the nation. We remained in the injustice of antiquity ; the Middle Ages was perpetuated — the barbarous system by which the ground was reckoned more precious than man ; and the land, manure, and ashes, were the liege lords of the mind. Sieyes, being put to the vote at once, had near five hundred votes for him, and not one hundred against him.* Therefore the Assembly was proclaimed National Asse7nbl]/ . Many cried, Vive le Roi I Two interruptions again intervened, as if to stop the Assembly, — one from the nobility, who sent for a mere pretext; the other from certain deputies, who wanted to have a president and a regular bureau created before everything else. The Assembly proceeded immediately to the solemnity of the oath. In presence of a multitude of four thousand deeply affected spectators, the six hundred deputies, standing in profound silence, with up-raised hands and contemplating the calm, honest countenance of their president, listened to him whilst reading the formula, and exclaimed: '' We swear." A universal sentiment of respect and religion filled every heart. The Assembly was founded ; it existed ; it lacked but strength, the certainty of living. It secured this by assert- ing the right of taxation. It declared that the impost, till then illegal, should be collected p'ovisionalli/ " till the day of the separation of the present Assembly," This was, with one blow, condemning all the past and seizing upon the future. It adopted openly the question of honour, the public debt, and guaranteed it. And all these royal acts were in royal language, in the very formulae \Yhich the king alone had hitherto taken : '* The As- sembly intends and decrees ^ Finally, it evinced much concern about public subsistences. The administrative power having declined as much as the others, the legislature, the only authority then respected, was forced to interfere. It demanded, moreover, for its committee of subsistence, what the king himself had offered to the * Four hundred and ninety-one votes acjainst ninety. Mirabeau durst not vote either for or against, and remained at : -me. 104 PROJECTS OF A COUP D ETAT. deputation of the clergy, — a communication of the information that would throw a light upon this matter. But what he had then offered, he was no longer willing to grant. The most surprised of all was Necker ; he had, in his sim- plicity, believed he could lead the world ; and the world was going on without him. He had ever regarded the young Assembly as his daughter — his pupil ; he warranted the king that it would be docile and well-behaved ; yet, behold, all on a sudden, without consulting its tutor, it went alone, advanced and climbed over the old barriers without deigning even to look at them. When thus motionless with astonishment, Necker received two counsels, one from a royalist, the other from a republican, and both came to the same thing. The royalist was the intendant Bertrand de Molleville, — an impassioned and narrow-minded intendant of the ancien regime; the re- publican was Durovray, one of those democrats whom the king had driven from Geneva in 1782. It is necessary to know who this foreigner was, who, in so serious a crisis, took so great an interest in France, and ven- tured to give advice. Durovray, settled in England, pensioned by the English, and grown English in heart and maxims, was, a little later, a chief of emigrants. Meanwhile, he formed a part of a little Genevese coterie which, unfortunately for us, was circumventino; Mirabeau. EnMand seemed to be sur- rounding the principal organ of French liberty.* Unfavourable towards the English till then, the great man had allowed him- self to be taken by those ex-republicans, — the self-termed martyrs of liberty. The Durovray s, the Dumonts, and other indefatigable writers of mediocrity, were ever ready to assist his idleness. He was already an invalid, and going the very way to render himself worse and worse. His nights destroyed his days. In the morning he remembered the Assembly and * These Genevese were not precisely agents of England. But the pensiona they received from her, — the monstrous present of more than a million (of Irancs) that she made them to found an Irish Geneva (M'hich remained on paper), — all that imposed on tliem the obligation to serve the English. JMore- over, they became two parties. Yvernois became English and our most cruel enemy ; Claviere alone was French. What shall we say of Etienne Dumont, who pretends that those people, with their leaden pens, \\Tote all Mirabeau's orations? His Souvenirs bear witness to a base ingratitude towards the man of genius who honoured him with his friendship. THEY CIRCUMVENT THE KING. 105 business, and collected his thoughts ; he had there, ready at hand, the English policy, sketched by the Genevese ; he re- ceived it with his eyes shut, and embellished it with his talent. Such was his readiness and his lack of preparation, that, at the tribune, even his admirable language was occasionally only a translation of the notes which these Genevese handed to him from time to time. Durovray, who was not in communication with Necker, made himself his officious counsellor in this serious crisis. Like Bertrand de Molleville, his opinion was that the king should annul the decree of the Assembly, deprive it of its name of National Assembli/, command the union of the three orders, declare himself the Provisional Legislator of France^ and do, bi/ royal authority, what the Commons had done with- out it. Bertrand believed justly, that, after this coup d' etat, the Assembly could but dissolve. Durovray pretended that the Assembly, crushed and humiliated under the royal pre- rogative, would accept its petty part, as a machine to make laws.*' On the evening of the 17th, the heads of the clergy, Cardinal de Laroehefoucauld, and the Archbishop of Paris, had hastened to Marly, and implored the king and the queen. On the 19th, vain disputes in the Chamber of the nobility ; Orleans proposed to join the Third, and Montesquieu to unite with the clergy. But there was no longer any order of the clergy. The very same day, the cures had transferred the majority of their order to form a union with the Third, and thus divided the order into two. The cardinal and the arch- bishop return the same evening to Marly, and fall at the feet of the king: '* Religion is ruined!" Next, come the Par- liament people: *' The monarchy is lost, unless the States be dissolved.'' A dangerous advice, and already impossible to follow. The flood was rising higher every hour. Versailles and Paris were in commotion. Necker had persuaded two or three of the * Compare the two plans in Bertrand's Memoires and Diimont's Souvenirs. The latter confesses that the Genevese had taken good care not to confide their fine project to Mirabeau ; he was not informed of it till after the event, and then said with much good sense : " This is the way kings are led to the scafFold." 106 THE KING ORDERS THE HALL TO BE SHUT. ministers, and even the king, that his project was the only means of salvation. That project had been read over again in a last and definitive council on Friday evening, the 19th ; everything was finished and agreed: "The portfolios were already being shut up," says Necker, ** when one of the royal servants suddenly entered ; he whispered to the king ; and His Majesty immediately arose, commanding his ministers to remain in their places. M. de Montmorin, sitting by my side, said to me : * We have effected nothing ; the queen ahme could have ventured to interrupt the Council of State ; the princes, apparently, have circumvented her."* Everything was stopped : this might have been foreseen ; it was, doubtless, for this that the king had been brought to Marly, away from Versailles and the people; and, alone with the queen, more affectionate and liable to be influenced by her, in their common affliction for the death of their child. A fine opportunity, an excellent chance for the suggestions of the priests ! Was not the Dauphin's death a severe judgment of Providence, when the king was yielding to the dangerous inno- vations of a Protestant minister ? The king, still undecided, but already almost overcome, was contented to command (in order to prevent the clergy fi*om uniting with the Third Estate) that the hall should be shut on the morrow, (Saturday June 20th) ; the pretext was the preparations necessary for a royal meeting to be held on the Monday. All this was settled in the night, and placarded in Versailles at six in the morning. The president of the National Assembly learned, by mere chance, that it could not be held. It was past seven when he received a letter, not from the king (as was natural, the king being accustomed to write with his own hand to the president of the Parliament), but simply a notice from young Breze, the master of the ceremonies. It was not to the president, to M. Bailly, at his lodgings, that such a notice ought to have been given, but to the Assembly itself. Bailly had no power to act of himself. At ei^ht o'clock, the hour appointed the night before, he repaired to the door of the hall with a great number of deputies. Being stopped by the sentinels, he protested against the hindrance, and declared the meeting convened. Several "oung members made a show of THE ASSEMBLY IN THE TtNNIS-COURT. 107 breaking open tlie door ; the officer commanded his soldiers to arm, thus annoimcing that his orders contained no reservation for inviolability. Behold our new kings, put out, kept out of doors, like unruly scholars. Beliold them wandering about in the rain, among the people, on the Paris avenue. All agree about the necessity of holding the meeting and of assembling. Some shout, Let us go to the Place d'Armes I Others, to Marly ! Another, to Paris ! This last was an extreme measure ; it was firing the powder-magazine. The deputy Guillotin made a less hazardous motion, to repair to Old Versailles, and take up their quarters in the Tennis- court (Jeu-de-Paume)y — a miserable, ugly, poor, and unfur- nished building, but the better on that account. The Assembly also was poor, and represented the people, on that day, so much the better. They remained standing all day long, having scarcely a wooden bench. It was like the manger of the new religion, — its stable of Bethlehem ! One of those intrepid cures who had decided the union of the clergy — the illustrious Gregoire — long after, when the Empu'e had sa cruelly effaced every trace of the Revolution, its parent, used often to go near Versailles to visit the ruins of Port-Royal ; one day (doubtless on his return), he entered the Jeu-de-Paume^ — the one in ruins, the other abandoned — tears flowed from the eyes of that firm man, who had never shown any weakness. Two religions to weep for ! this was too much for the heart of man. We too revisited, in 1846, that cradle of Liberty, that place whose echo repeated her first words, that received, and still preserves her memorable oath. But what could we say to it ? What news could we give it of the world that it brought forth? Oh ! time has not flown quickly ; generations have succeeded one another ; but the work has not progressed. When we stepped upon its venerable pavement, we felt ashamed in our heart of what we are, — of the little we have done. We felt we were unworthy, and quitted that sacred place. * Mtmoires de Gregoire, i., p. 380. 108 CHAPTER IV. OATH AT THE JEU-DE-PAUME. Oath at the Jeu-de-Paume^ June 20th, 1789. — The Assembly wandering. — ACoupcP£t(U ; Necker's Project ; the King's Declaration, June 23rd, 1789; the Assembly Refuses to Separate. — The King entreats Necker to remain, but does not revoke his Declaration, Behold them now in the Tennis-court, assemhled in spite of the king. But what are they going to do ? Let us not forget that at that period the whole Assembly was royalist, without excepting a single member.* Let us not forget that on the 17th, when it assumed the title of National Assembly, it shouted Vive le Boi ! And when it attributed to itself the right of voting the impost, declaring illegal the impost collected till then, the opposition members had left the Assembly, unwilling to consecrate, by their presence, this infringement of the royal authority.! The king, that shadow of the past, that ancient superstition, so powerful in the hall of the States-General, grew pale in the Tennis-court. The miserable building, entirely modern, bare, and unfurnished, has not a single corner where the dreams of the past can yet find shelter. Let, therefore, the pure spirit of Reason and .Justice, that king of the future, reign here ! That day there was no longer any opponent; J the Assembly was one, in thought and heart. It was one of the moderate party, Mounier of Grenoble, who proposed to the Assembly the celebrated declaration : That wherever it might be forced to unite, there was ever the National Assembly; that yiothiyig could, preveiit it from continuing its deliberations. And, till the com- * See further, the 22nd of July, a note relating to Robespierre. •j- As appears to me by comparing the numbers of the votes. The illegality of the impost not consented to, &c., was voted una^iiviotisly by the four hundred and twenty-six deputies alone remaining in the hall. — Archives du Jioyaitmej Proces-verhaux MSS. de V Assemblee Nationale. X There was only one. The ninety opponents of the 17tli of June joined the majority. OATH AT THE JEU-DE-PAUME. 109 pletlon and establishment of the constitution, it took an oath never to separate. Baillv was the first who took the oath ; and he pronounced it so loud and distinctly that the whole multitude of people crowd- ing' without could hear, and applauded in the excess of their enthusiasm. Shouts of Vive le Roi ! arose from the Assembly and from the people. It was the shout of ancient France, in her extreme transports, and it was now added to the oath of resistance.* In 1792, Mounier, then an emigrant, alone in a foreign land, questions and asks himself whether his motion of the 20th of June was founded on right ; whether his loyalty as a royalist was consistent with liis duty as a citizen. And even there, in emigration, and among all the prejudices of hatred and exile, he replies, Yes ! "Yes," says he, *' the oath was just; they wanted the dissolution, and it would have taken place without the oath ; the court, freed from the States, would never have convoked them ; it would have been necessary to renounce the founding of that constitution claimed unanimously in the old writings of France." That is what a royalist, the most moderate of the moderate, a jurist accustomed to find moral decisions in positive texts, pronounces on the primordial act of our Revolution. What were they doing all this time at Marly ? On Saturday and Sunday, Necker was contending with the Parliament people, to whom the king had abandoned him, and who, with the coolness sometimes possessed by madmen, were overthrow- ing his project, abridging it of what might have caused it to pass, and took from it its bastard character, in order to convert it into a simple but brutal cokj) d 'etat, in the manner of Louis XV., a simple lit de justice, as the Parliament had suffered so many times. The discussion lasted till the evening. It was not till midnight that the president, then in bed, was informed that the royal meeting could not take place in the morning, — that it was postponed till Tuesday. * The Assembly went no further. It rejected the strong, but true motion of Chapelier, who was bold enough to speak out plainly what was in the minds of all. He proposed an address : " To inform His Majesty that the enemies of the country were besieging the throne, and that their counsels tended to place the monarch at the head of a party." 1 10 A COUP d'j^tat. The nobilit}^ had come to Marly on the Sunday in great numbers and with much turbulence. They had again showed to the king, in an address, that tlie question now concerned him much more than the nobility. The court was animated with a chivalrous daring ; these swordsmen seemed to wait only for a signal to resist the champions of the pen. The Count D'Artois, amid these bravadoes, became so intoxicated with insolence, as to send word to the Tennis-court that he would play on the morrow. On the Monday morning, therefore, the Assembly found itself once more in the open streets of Versailles, wandering about, without house or home. Fine amusement for the court ! The master of the hall was afraid ; he feared the princes. The Assembly does not succeed better at the door of the Recollets where it next knocks ; the monks dare not compromise them- selves. Who then are these vagrants, tliis dangerous band, before whom every door is shut ? Nothing less than tlie Nation itself. But why not deliberate in the open air ? What more noble canopy than the sky ? But on that day the majority of the clergy wish to come and sit with the commons. Where are they to receive them ? Luckily, the hundred and thirty-four cnrcs, v.'ith a few prelates at their head, had already taken up their quarters, in the morning, in the church of Saint-Louis. The Assembly was introduced there into the nave ; and the ecclesiastics, at first assembled in the choir, then came forth, and took their places among its members. A grand moment, and one of sincere joy ! *' The temple of religion," says an orator, with emotion, ** became the temple of the native land ! On that very day, Monday the 22nd, Necker was still con- tending, but in vain. His project, fatal to liberty because he preserved in it a shadow of moderation, had to give way to another more liberal and better calculated to place things in their proper light. Necker. was now nothing more than a guilty mediator between good and evil, preserving a semblance of equilibrium between the just and the unjust, — a courtier, at the same time, of the people and the enemies of the people. At the last council held on Monday at Versailles, the princes, who were invited to it, did liberty the essential service of necker's project. Ill removing- this equivocal mediator, who prevented reason and unreasonableness from seeing each other plainly face to face. Before the sitting begins, I wish to examine both projects, — Necker's and the court's. In what concerns the former, I will bcHeve none but Necker himself. necker's project. In his book of 1796, written at a time of decided reaction, Necker avows to us confidentially what his project was ; he shows that that project was, bold, verij hold — in favour of the privileged. This confession is rather painful for him, and he makes it by an effort. " The defect of my project was its being too bold; I risked all that it was possible for me to risk. Ex- plain yourself. I will, and I ought. Deign to hsten to me."* He is speaking to the emigrants, to whom this a^^ology is addressed. A vain undertaking ! How wiU they ever for- give him for having called the people to political life, and made five millions of electors ? 1st. Those necessary, inevitable reforms, which the court had so long refused, and which they accepted only by force, he promulgated by the king. He, who knew, to his cost, that the king was the puppet of the queen and the court, a mere cipher, nothing more, — even he became a party for the continuing of that sad comedy. Liberty, that sacred right which exists of itself, he made a present from the king, a granted charier, as was the charter of the invasion in 1814. But it required thirty years of war, and all Europe at Paris, for France to accept that constitution of falsehood. 2ndly. No legislative unity, — two Chambers, at least. This was like a timid advice to France to become English ; in which there were two advantages : to strengthen the privileged, priests and nobles, henceforth concentrated in one upper Cham- ber ; next, to make it easier for the king to amuse the people, to refuse by the upper Chamber, instead of refusing by himself, and of having (as we see to-day) two vetos for one. 3rdlv. The king was to permit the three orders to deliberate in common on general affairs ; but as to privileges of personal distinction, of honour, and as to rights attached to fiefs, no dis- * CEuvrcs de Nid'cv, vi., p. 191. 112 NECKER*S PROJECT. ciission in common. Now this was precisely what France con- sidered as the superlatively ^ewera/ business. Who then dared to see a special business in the question of honour ? 4thly. These crippled States-General, now united, now sepa- rated into three orders, at one time active, at another supine, through their triple movement, Necker balances, shackles, and neutralises still more, by promncial States^ thus augmenting division, when France is thirsting for unity. 5thly. That is what he gives, and as soon as given, he takes away again. This fine legislative machine is never to be seen at work by anybody ; he grudges us the sight of it ; it is to Avork with closed doors : no publicity of its sittings. The law is thus to be made, far from daylight, in the dark, as one would make a plot against the law. Gthly. — The law ? What does this word mean, without personal liberty ? Who can act, elect, or vote freely, when nobody is sure of sleeping at home ? This first condition of social life, anterior to, and indispensable for political action, is not yet secured by Necker. The king is to invite the Assembly to seek the meaiis that miyht permit the abolition of the lett^-es- de~cachet. Meanwhile, he keeps them together with the arbi- trary power of kidnapping, the state-prisons, and the Bastille. Such is the extreme concession which ancient royalty makes, in its most favourable moment, and urged on by a popular minister. Moreover, it cannot go even thus far. The nominal king promises ; the real king, the court — laughs at the pro- mise. Let them die in their sin ! THE king's declaration (june 23, 1789). The plan of the court is worth more than the bastard plan of Neoker ; at least it is plainer to understand. Whatever is bad in Necker is preciously preserved, nay richly augmented. This act, which may be called the testament of despotism, is divided into two parts : 1st. The prohibition of securities : under this head. Declaration concerning the present holding of the States. 2ndly. The reforms and benefits as they say,* * The style on a par with the matter; now hombastic, now flat, and strongly- savouring of false valour : " Never did a king do so much ! " Towards the end is a phrase of admirable impudence and awkwardness (Necker claims it accordingly, tome ix.,p. 196) : " Reflect, gentlemen, that none of your projects can have the force of law without my special approbation.'" THE king's declaration. 113 Declaration of the king's intentions, of his wishes and desires for future contingencies. The evil is sure, and the good pos- sible. Let us see the detail. I. The king annihilates the will of five millions of electors, declaring that their demands are only information. The king annihilates the decisions of the deputies of the Third Estate, declaring them '* null, illegal, unconstitutional." The king will have the three orders remain distinct, that one ma}' be able to shackle the others (that two hundredths of the nation may weigh as much as the whole nation). If they icish to meet, he permits it, but only for this time, and also only for general business ; in this general business is included neither the rights of the three orders, the constitution of the future States, the feudal and seigneurial properties, nor the privileges of money or of honour. All the ancien regime is thus found to be an exception. All this was the work of the court. Here is, according to every appearance, the king's manifesto, the one he fondly che- rished, and wrote himself. The order of the clergy shall have a special veto (against the nobility and the Third Estate) for everything relating to religion, the discipline and government of the secular and regular orders. Thus, not one monk less ; no reform to be made. And all those convents, every day more odious and useless, and unable any longer to be recruited, the clergy wanted to maintain. The nobility was furious. It lost its dearest hope. It had reckoned that, one day or other, that prey would fall into its hands ; at the very least, it hoped that, if the king and the people pressed it too much to make some sacrifice, it would generously make that of the clergy. Veto on veto. For what purpose ? Here we have a refine- ment of precautions, far more sure to render every result impossible. In the common deliberations of the three orders, it is sufficient that the two-thirds of one order protest against the deliberation, for the decision to be referred to the king. Nay more, the thing being decided, it is sufficient that a hundred members protest for the decision to be referred to the king. That is to say, that the words assembly, deliberation, and decision, are only a mystification, a farce. And who could play it without laughing ? I 114 THE king's DECLAKATION. II. Now come the benefits : publicity for finance, voting of taxes, regulation of the expenditure for which the States will indicate the means, and his Majesty " will adopt them, if they he compatible loith the kfngly dignity ^ and the despatch of the public service." Second benefit : The king will sanction the equality of tax- ation, when the clergy and the nobility shall be willing to renounce their pecuniary privileges. Third benefit : Properties shall be respected, especially tithes, feudal rights, and duties. Fourth benefit : Individual liberty ? No. The king invites the States to seek for and to propose to him means for reconcil- ing the abolition of the lettres-de-cachet, with the precautions necessary either for protecting the honour of families, or for repressing the commencement of sedition, (fee. Fifth: Liberty of the press ? No. The States shall seek the means of recoyiciling the liberty of the press with the respect due to religion, the morals, and the honour of the citizens. Sixth : Admission to every employment ? No. Refused expressly for the army. The king declares, in the ynost decided manner, that he wiU preserve entire, and without the slightest alteration, the institution of the army. That is to say, that the plebeian shall never attain any grade, tfec. Thus does the idiotic legislator subject everything to violence, force, and the sword : and this is the very moment he chooses to break his own. Let him now call soldiers, surround the assembly with them, and urge them towards Paris ; they are so many defenders that he gives to the Revolution. On the eve of the grand day, three deputies of the nobility, MM. d'Aiguillon, de Menou, and de Montmorency, came at midnight to inform the president of the results of the last council, held the same evening at Versailles: " M. Necker will not countenance, by his presence, a project contrary to his own ; he will not come to the meeting ; and will doubtless depart." The meeting opened at ten o'clock; and Bailly was able to tell the deputies, and the latter many others, the grand secret of the day. 0}3inions might have been divided and duped, had the popular minister been seen sitting boside the king ; he being absent, the king remained di.^covered, and forsaken by public opinion. The court had hoped to play their THE king's declaration. 115 « game at Necker's expense, and to be sheltered by him ; they have never forgiven him for not having allowed himself to be abused and dishonoured by them. What proves that everything was known is, that on his very exit from the castle, the king found the crowd sullenly silent." The affair had got abroad, and the grand scene, so highly wrought, had not the least effect. The miserable petty spirit of insolence which swayed the court, had suggested the idea of causing the two superior orders to enter in front, by the grand entrance, and the commons behind, and to keep them under a shed, half in the rain. The Third Estate, thus humbled, wet and dirty, was to have entered crest-fallen, to receive its lesson. Nobody to introduce them ; the door shut ; and the guard within. Mirabeau to the president : " Sir, conduct the nation into the presence of the king !" The president knocks at the door. The body-guards from within : *' Presently." The president : ** Gentlemen, where is then the master of the ceremonies?" The body-guards: ** We know nothing about it." The deputies: "Well then, let us go; come away ! '' At last the president succeeds in bringing forth the captain of the guards, who goes in quest of Breze. The deputies, filing in one by one, find, in the hall, the clergy and the nobility, who, already in their places, and holding the meeting, seem to be awaiting them, like judges. In other respects, the hall was empty. Nothing could hv more desolate than that hall, from which the people were excluded. The king read, with his usual plainness of manner, the speech composed for him, — that despotic language so strange from his lips. He perceived but little its provoking violence, for he appeared surprised at the aspect of the Assembly. The nobles having applauded the article consecrating feudal rights, loud distinct voices were heard to utter : " Silence there ! " The king, after a moment's pause and astonishment, con- cluded with a grave, intolerable sentence, which flung down the gauntlet to the Assembly, and began the war : " If you abandon me in so excellent an enterprise, I will, alone, effect * Dumont'fan eyc-A^tness), p.. 91. i2 116 THE KL\'(/S DECLAllATIOX. the welfare of my people ; alone^ I shall consider myself as their true representative / '* And at the end : ** / order you, gentlemen, to disperse immediately y and to repair to-morrow morning to the chambers appropriated to your order, there to resume your sitting.' The king departed, followed by the nobility and the clergy. The commons remained seated, calm, and silent.* The master of the ceremonies then ent^isred, and said to the president in a low tone : '* Sir, you heard the king's order !" He replied : " The Assembly adjourned after the royal meeting ; I cannot dismiss it till it has deliberated.*' Then turnine; towards his colleagues near him : "It seems to me that the assembled nation cannot receive any orders." That sentence was admirably taken up by Mirabeau, who addressed it to the master of the ceremonies. With hi" powerful and imposing voice, and with terrible dignity, he hurled back these words : *' We have heard the intentions suggested to the king ; and you, sir, who can never be his organ to the National Assembly, you, who have here neither place, voice, nor right to speak, you are not a man to remind us of his discourse. Go and tell those who send you, that we are here by the will of the people, and are to be driven hence only by the power of bayonets."! Breze was disconcerted, thunderstruck ; he felt the power of that new royalty, and, rendering. to the one what etiquette commanded for the other, he retired walking backwards, as was the custom before the king. J The court had imagined another way to disperse the com- mons, — a brutal means formerly employed with success in the * There was neither hesitation, nor consternation, notwithstanding what Dumont says, who was not there. The ardent, like Gregoirc (Mem.,i., 381 ), and the moderate, like Malouet, were perfectly agreed. The latter says, on this head, these fine and simple words : " We had ne other course to take. We owed France a constitution."' — Malouet, Compte-rendu a mes Cora- nicttants. -f- This version is the only one likely. Miraheau was a royalist ; he would never have said : " Go and tell your master,'^ nor the other words that have hcoii added. :J: Related by M. Frochot, an eye-witness, to the son of Mirabeau. (M^m., vi., j>. 39). That family has thought proper to contest a few details of this well- known 8cene, forty-four years after the event. THE ASSEMBLY REFUSES TO SEPARATE, 117 States-General, — merely to have the hall dismantled, to de- molish the amphitheatre and the king's estrade. Workmen accordingly enter ! but, at one word from the president, they stop, lay down their tools, contemplate with admiration the calm majesty of the Assembly, and become attentive and respectful auditors. A deputy proposed to discuss the king's resolutions on the morrow. He was not listened to. Camus laid down forcibly, and it was declared : *' That the sitting was but a ministerial act, and that the Assembly persisted in its decrees." Barnave, the young member for Dauphiny : '* You have declared what you are ; you need no sanction." Glezen, the Breton: " How now ! does the sovereign speak as a master, when he ought to consult!" Petion, Buzot, Garat, Gregoirc, spoke with equal energy; and Sieyes, with simphcity: " Gentlemen, you are to- day what you were yesterday." The Assembly next declared, on Mirabeau's proposal, that its members were inviolable ; that whoever laid hands on a deputy was a traitor, infamous, and worthy of death. This decree was not useless. The body-guards had formed in a line in front of the hall. It was expected that sixty depu- ties would be kidnapped in the night. The nobility, headed by their president, went straightway to thank their protector, the Count d'Artois, and afterwards to Monsieur, who was prudent and took care not to be at home. Many of them went to see the queen, who, triumphant and smiling, leading her daughter and carrying the dauphin, said to them : '* I intrust him to the nobility." The king was far from sharing their joy. The silence of the people, so new to him, had overwhelmed him. When Breze, who came and informed him that the deputies of the Third Estate remained sitting, asked for orders, he walked about for a few minutes, and said at last, in the tone of one tired to death : " Very well ; leave them alone." The king spoke wisely. The moment was fraught with danger. One step more and Paris marched against Versailles. Versailles was already in commotion. Behold five or six thousand men advancing towards the castle. The queen sees with terror that strange and novel court, which, in a moment, fills the gardens, the terraces, and even the apartments. She 118 MOVEMENT OF PARIS. begs, she entreats the king to undo what she has done, t*^ recall Necker. His return did not take long; he was there, near at hand, convinced, as usual, that nothing could ever go on without him. Louis XVI. said to him good-naturedly : *' For my part 1 am not at all tenacious of that declaration." Necker required no more, and made no condition. His vanity once satisfied, his delight in hearing everybody shout Necker! deprived him of every other thought. He went out, overjoyed, into the great court of the castle, and to comfort the multitude, passed in the midst of them. There a few silly persons fell on their knees and kissed his hands. He, muck affected, said : " Yes, my children,— yes, my children, — I re- main ; be comforted." He burst into tears, and then shut himself up in his cabinet. The poor tool of the com't remained without exacting any- thing ; he remained to shield the cabal with his name, to serve them as an advertisement, and reassure them against the people ; he restored courage to those worthies, and gave them the time to summon more troops. CHAPTER V. MOVEMENT OF PARIS. Assembly of the Electors, June 25th. — Insurrection of the French Guards. — Agitation of the Palais Royal. — Intrigues of the Orleans party. — The King commands the junction of the Orders, June 27th. — The people deliver the French Guards, June 30th. — The Court prepares for War. — Paris demands permission to arm. — Necker dismissed, July 11th, 1789. The situation of things was strange, — evidently temporary. The Assembly had not obeyed. But the king had not re- voked anything. The king had recalled Necker ; but he kept the Assembly like a prisoner among his troops ; he had excluded the public from the sitting ; the grand entrance remained shut ; the Assembly entered by the small one, and debated with closed doors. The Assembly protested feebly and but slightly. The resist- ance, on the 23rd, seemed to have exhausted its strength. ASSEMBLY OF THE ELECTORS OF PARIS. 119 Paris did not imitate its weakness. It was not content to see its deputies making laws in prison. On the 24th the ferment was terrible. On the 25th it burst out in three different ways at once ; by the electors, by the crowd, and by the soldiery. The seat of the Revolution fixes itself at Paris. The electors had agreed to meet again after the elections, in order to complete their instructions to the deputies whom they had elected. Though the ministry refused its permission,* the coup d'etat, on the 23rd, urged them on ; they had like- wise their coitp d'etat, and assembled, of their own accord, on the 2oth, in the Rue Dauphine. A wretched assembly-room, occupied at that moment by a wedding-party, which made room for them, received, at first, the Assembly of the electors of Paris. This was their Tennis-court. There Paris, through their medium, made an engagement to support the National Assem- bly. One of them, Thuriot, advised them to go to the Hotel- de-Ville, into the great hall of Saint-Jean, which nobody durst refuse them. These electors were mostly rich men, citizens of note ; the aristocracy was numerous in this body ; but among them were, also, men of over-excited minds. First, two men, fervent revolutionnaires, with a singular tendency to mysticism ; one was the ahhe Fauchet, eloquent and intrepid ; the other, his friend Bonneville, (the translator of Shakespeare). Both, in the thirteenth century, would have caused themselves, most certainly, to be burnt as heretics. In the nineteenth they were as forward as any, or rather the first, to propose resistance ; which was scarcely to be expected from the burgess assembly of the electors.! On the 6th of June, Bonneville proposed that Paris should be armed, and was the first to cry, ** To arms." % * Compare the Memoires de Bailly with the Proces-verbal des £lecteuTS, drawn up by Bailly et Duveyirier. + Yet, nowhere had more reliance been placed on the weakness of the people. The well-known gentleness of Parisian manners, the multitude of government people, and financiers, who could but lose in a rebellion, the crowds of those who lived on abuses, had altogether created a belief, before the elections that Pans would prove very citizen-like, easy, and timid. See Baillv, pp. 16, 150. X Dussaulx, (Euvre des Sept Jours, p. 271, (ed. 1822). 120 INSURRECTION OF THE FRENCH GUARDS, Faucliet, Bonneville, Bertolio, and Carra, a violent journalist, made these bold motions, which ought to have been made from the first in the National Assembly: — firstly, the Citizen Guard; secondly, the early organization of a true, elective, and annual Commune ; thirdly, an address to the King, for the removal of the troops and the liberty of the Assembly, and for the revoca- tion of the coup (THat of the 23rd. On the very day of the first assembly of the electors, as if the cry to arms had resounded in the barracks, the soldiers of the French Guards, confined for several days past, over- powered their guard, walked about in Paris, and went to fraternise with the people in the Palais Royal. For some time past, secret societies had been forming among them ; they swore they would obey no orders that might be contrary to those of the Assembly. The Act of the 23rd, in which the king assador at Vienna, a valiant penman, but who, for noise and bravado, was equal to any swordsman. '* His big manly voice sounded like energy; he used to step heavily and stamp with his foot, as if he would conjure an army out of the earth." AH this warlike preparation at lengtli aroused the Assembly. Mirabeau, who had read on the lITih. an address for peace, without being listened to, now proposed a new one for the removal of the troops ; that sonorous and harmonious speech, extremely flattering for the king, was very much relished by the Assembly. The best thing it contained, a demand for a citizen guard, was the only part they suppressed.* The Paris electors, who had been the first to make this request now rejected by the Assembly, resumed it energetically on the 10th of July. Carra, in a very abstract dissertation, in the manner of Sieyes, set forth the right of the Commune, — an imprescriptible right, and, said he, ev^'n anterior to that (ff the monarch I/, which right s|)ecially comprehends that of self- protection. Bonneville demanded, in his own name, and in that of his friend Fauchet, that they should pass on from theory to practice, and think of constituting themselves as a com- mune, preserving provisionally/ the 'pretended municipal body. Charton wished moreover the sixty districts to be assembled affain, their decisions to be transmitted to the National As- sembly, and a correspondence to be formed with the chief cities of the kinQ;dom All these bold motions were made in the great hall of Saint-Jean, in the Hotel de Ville, in presence of an immense multitude. Paris seemed to crowd fondly about this authority which it had created, and to trust to no other ; it wanted to obtain from it the permission to organize and arna itself, and thus to work out its own salvation. * It is not unlikely that the Duke of Orleans, seeing that his mediation was by no means solicited, urged Mirabeau to speak, in order to perplex the court, before it had completed its preparations for war. M. Droz assigns to chis period the first connexion of Mirabeau with Laclos, and the money he received from him. K 130 NECKER DISMISSED. The weakness of the National Assembly was not calculated to give it comfort. On the 11th of July it had received the king's answer to the address, and remained satisfied with it. Yet, what was the answer? That the troops were there to secure the liberty of the Assembly ; but that, if they gave umbrage, the king would transfer it to Noyon or Soissons ; that is, would place it between two or three divisions of the army. Mirabeau could not prevail on them to insist on the troops being removed. It was evident that the junction of the five hundred deputies of the clergy and nobility had enervated the Assembly. It set the grand business aside, and gave its attention to a declara- tion of the rights of man presented by Lafayette. One of the moderate, most modei'ate members, the philan- thropic GuiUotin, went to Paris on purpose to communicate this state of tranquillity to the assembly of the electors. That honest man, doubtless deceived, assured them that everything was going on prosperously, and that M. Necker was stronger than ever. That excellent news was hailed with loud applause, and the electors, no less duped than the Assembly, amused them- selves in like manner with admiring the declaration of rights which, by good fortune, was also just brought from Ver- sailles. That very day, whilst honest Guillotin was speak- ing, M. Necker, dismissed, was already very far on his road to Brussels. When Necker received the order to depart immediately, it "was three o'clock, and he was sitting down to table. The poor man, who always so tenderly embraced the ministry, and never left it without weeping, contrived however to restrain his emo- tion before his guests, and to keep his countenance. After dinner he departed with his wife, without even giving notice to his daughter, and took the nearest way out of the country, — the road to the Netherlands. The queen's party, shameful to relate, were anxious to have him arrested ; they were so little acquainted with Necker, that they were afiaid he might dis- obey the king, and throw himself into Paris. MM. de BrogUe and do Breteuil, the first day they were fcummonud, had themselves been friglitoned to see the dangers into which they were running. Broglie was unwilling that Necker should be sent away. Breteuil is said to have ex- claimed : *' Give us then a hundred thousand men and a THE COURT PREPARES FOR WAR. 131 hundred millions." *' You shall have them," said the queen. And they set about secretly fabricating paper-money.* M. de Broglie, taken unawares, stooping beneath his burden of seventy-one years, bustled about but did nothing. Orders and counter-orders flew to and fro. His mansion was the head- quarters, full of scribes, ordinances, and aides-de-camp, ready to mount on horse-back. '* They made out a list of general officers and drew up an order of battle, "t The military authorities were not too well agreed among themselves. There were no less than three commanders. Broglie, who was about to be minister, Puysegur, who was so still, and lastly Besenval, who had had for eight years the command of the provinces of the interior, and to whom they intimated unceremoniously that he would have to obey the old marshal. Besenval explained to him the dangerous posi- tion of things, and that they were not en camjyagiiey but before a city of eight hundred thousand souls in a state of feverish excitement. Broglie would not listen to him. Strong in his conceit of his Seven Years' War, being acquainted with nothing but soldiers and physical force, full of contempt for citizens, he felt perfectly convinced that at the mere sight of an uniform the people would run away. He did not consider it necessary to send troops to Paris ; he merely surrounded it with foreign regiments, being quite unconcerned about thus increasing the popular excitement. All those German soldiers presented the appearance of a Swiss or an Austrian invasion. The outlandish names of the regiments sounded harsh to the ear: Royal- Cravate was at Charenton, Reinach and Diesbach at Sevres, Nassau at Versailles, Salis-Samade at Issy, the hussars of Bercheny at the Military School ; at other stations were Cha- teauvieux, Esterazy, RoBmer, (fcc. The Bastille, sufficiently defended by its thick walls, had just received a reinforcement of Swiss soldiers. It had ammu- nition and a monstrous quantity of gunpowder, enough to blow up the town. The cannon, mounted en batterie upon the towers ever since the 30th of June, frowned upon Paris, and ready loaded, thrust their menacing jaws between the battlements. * " Several of my colleagues told me they had seen printed ones." — Bailly, i, pp. 395, 331. f Besenval, ii., 359. k2 132 CHAPTER VI. INSURRECTION OF PARIS. Danger of Paris. — Explosion of Paris, July 1 2th, 1789. — Inaction of Ver- sailles. — Provocation of the Troops; Paris arnns.— The National Assembly applies in vain to the King, July 13th. — The Electors of Paris authorise the People to arm.— Organisation of the Citizen Guard. — Hesitation of the Electors. — The People seize on the Powder Magazines and search for Guns. — Security of the Court. From the 23rcl of June to the 12th of July, from the king's menace to the outbreak of the people, there was a strange pause. It was, says an observer of tbose days, a stormy, heavy, gloomy time, like a feverish, painful dream, full of illusions and anxiety. There were false alarms, false news, and all sorts of fables and inventions. People knew, but nothing for certain. They wished to account for and guess at everything. Profound causes were discovered even in indifferent things. Partial risings began, without any author or project, of their own accord, fjom a general fund of distrust and sullen anger. The ground was burning, and as if undermined ; and, underneath, you might hear already the grumbling of the volcano. We have seen that, at the very first assembly of the electors, Bonneville had cried: '* To arms!" — a strange cry in that assembly of the notables of Paris, and which expired of itself. Many were indignant, others smiled, and one of them said pro- phetically : *' Young man, postpone your motion for a fortnight. " To arms ? What, against a ready organised ai'my at the oates ? To arms ? when that army could so easily famish the city, when famine was already beginning to be felt, and when the crowd was hourl}' growing larger at the doors of the bakers. The poor of the neighbouring country were flocking to town by every road, wan and ragged, leaning on their long walking- staffs. A mass of twenty thousand beggars, employed at Montmartre, was suspended over the town ; and if Paris made a movement, this other army might come down. A few had already attempted to burn and pillage the barrier-houses. It was almost certain that the court would strike the first EXPLOSION OF PARIS. 133 blow. It was necessary for it to compel the king f o lay aside his scruples, his hankering for peace, and do away at once with every compromise. To effect this it was necessary ^o conquer. Young officers in the hussars, such as Sonibrcuil and Polig- nac, went even into the Palais Royal to defy the orowd, and left it sword in hand. Evidently, the court fancied itself too strong ; it wished for violence.* On Sunday morning, July 12th, nobody at Paris, up to 10 o'clock, had yet heard of Necker's dismissal. The first who spoke of it in the Palais Royal was called an aristocrat, and insulted. But the news is confirmed ; it spreads ; and so does the fury of the people. It was then noon, and the can- non of the Palais Royal was fired. "It is impossible," says the Ami du Roi, "to express the gloomy feeling of terror which pervaded every soul on hearing that report." A young man, Camille Desmoulins, rushed from the Cafe de Foy, leaped upon a table, drew a sword, and showed a pistol: — "To arms ! " cried he ; " the Germans in the Champ de Mars will enter Paris to-night, to butcher the inhabitants ! Let us hoist a cockade ! " He tore down a leaf from a tree, and stuck it in his hat : everybody followed his example ; and the trees were stripped of their leaves. " No theatres ! no dancing ! This is a day of mourning ! " They go and fetch, from a collection of wax-figures, a bust of Necker ; others, ever at hand to seize the opportunity, add one of the Duke of Orleans. The}^ cover them with crape, and carry them through Paris : the procession, armed with staves, swords, pistols, and hatchets, proceeds first up the Rue Riche- lieu, then turning the boulevard^ and the streets St. Martin, Saint-Denis, and Saint-Honore, arrives at the Place Ven- dome. There, in front of the hotels of the farmers of the revenue, a detachment of dragoons was waiting for the people ; it charged them, put them to flight, and destroyed their Necker; one of the French guards, unarmed, stood his ground, and was killed. * " Ta"ke care," said Doctor Marat, a philanthropic physician, in one of the innumerable pamphlets of the day, " take care, consider what would be the fatal consequences of a seditious movement. If you are so unfortunate as to engage in it, you are treated as rebels; blood flows," &c. This pj'j-'^pnce was conspicuous in many people. 134 INACTION OF VERSAILLES. The barriers, which were scarcely finished, — those oppressive little bastilles of the farmers of the revenue, — were attacked everywhere on that same Sunday, by the people, and but ill- defended by the troops, who however killed a few persons. They were burnt during the night. The court, so near Paris, could not be ignorant of what was passing. It remained motionless, and sent neither orders nor troops. Apparently, it was waiting till the disturbance, increas- ing to rebellion and war, should give it what the Reveillon riot (too soon appeased) had not been able to give — a specious pre- text fur dissolving the Assembly. Therefore, it allowed Paris to go on doing mischief at pleasure. It guarded well Ver- sailles, the bridges of Sevres and Saint-Cloud, cut off all communication, and believed itself sure of being able, if things came to the worst, to famish the city of Paris. As for itself, surrounded by troops, of which two-thirds were German, what had it to fear ? Nothing, but to lose France. The minister of Paris (there was one still) remained at Ver- sailles. The other authorities, the lieutenant of police, Fles- selles the provost, and Berthier the intendant, appeared equally inactive. Flesselles, summoned to court, was unable to go there ; but it is likely he received instructions.* Besenval, the commander, without any responsibility, since he could act only by the orders of Broglie, remained idly at the Military School, He durst not make use of the French guards, and kept them confined. But he had several detach- ments of difi'erent corps, and three disposable regiments, one of Swiss, and two of German cavalry. Towards the after- noon, seeing the riot increasing, he posted his Swiss in the Champs- Ell/ sees with four pieces of cannon, and drew up his cavalry on the Place Louis XV, Before evening, before the hour at which people return home on Sunday, the crowd was coming back by the Champs-Elysees, and filling the gardens of the Tuileries ; they were, for the most part, quiet people taking their walk, families who wanted to return home early " because there had been disturbances." However, the sight of those German soldiers, drawn up in As we learn from the king himself. See his first reply (July 14th) to the National Assembly. PARIS ARMS. 135 order of battle on the spot, necessarily excited some indigna- tion. Some of the men abused theui, and children threw ^^tones.* Then Besenval, fearing at length lost he should be reproached at Versailles with having done nothing, gave the insensate, barbarous order, so like his thoughtlessness, to drive the people forward with the dragoons. They could not move in that dense crowd without trampling on some of them. Their colonel, prince of Lambesc, entered the Tuileries, at first at a slow pace. He was stopped by a barricade of chairs ; and being assailed by a shower of bottles and stones, he fired upon the crowd. The women shrieked, and the men tried to shut the gates behind the prince. He had the presence of mind to retire. One man was thrown down and trampled upon ; and an old man whilst trying to escape was grievously wounded. The crowd, rushing out of the Tuileries, with exclamations of horror and indignation, filled Paris with the account of this brutality, of those Germans driving their horses against women and children, and even the old man wounded, so they said, by the hand of the prince himself. Then they run to the gun- smiths and take whatever they find. They hasten also to the Hotel de Ville to demand arms and ring the alarm-bell. No municipal magistrate was at hi.> post. A few electors, of their own good- will, repaired thither about six in the evening, occupied their reserved seats in the great hall, and tried to calm the multitude. But behind that crowd, already entered, there was another in the square, shouting *' Arms ! " who believed the town possessed a secret arsenal, and were threatening to burn everything. They overpowered the guard, invaded the hall, pushed down the barriers, and pressed the electors as far as their bureau. Then they related to them a thousand accounts at once of what has just happened. The electors could not refuse the arms of the city guards ; but the crowd • If there had been any pistols fired by the people, or any dragoons xvounded, as Besenval has stated, Deseze, his very clever defender, would not have failed to make the most of it in his Observations sur le rapport d' accusation. See this report in the Histoire Parlementaire, iv., p. 6.9 ; and Deseze, at the end of Besenval, ii., p. 369. Who is to be believed, Deseze, who pretends that Besenval gave no orders, or Besenval, who confesses before his judges that he had a strong desii-e to drive away that crowd, and that he gave orders to charge ? — Hi^t. Purl., ii., p. 89. 136 THE ASSEMBLY APPLIES TO THE KING IN VAIN. had sought, found, and taken them ; and already a man in lais sliirt, without either shoes or stockings, had taken the place of the sentinel, and with his gun on his shoulder was resolutely mounting guard at the door of the hall/"^ The electors declined the responsibility of authorising the insurrection. They only granted the convocation of the districts, and sent a few of their friends '* to the posts of the armed citizens, to entreat them, in the name of their native land, to suspend riotous meetings and acts of violence." They had begun that evening in a very serious manner. Some French guards having escaped from their barracks, formed in the Palais Royal, marched against the Germans, and avenged their comrade. They killed three of the cavalry on the boule- vard, and then marched to the Place Louis XV., which they found evacuated. On Monday, July 13th, Guillotin the deputy, with two electors, went to Versailles, and entreated the Assembly to *' concur in establishing a citizen guard." They gave a terrible description of the crisis of Paris. The Assembly voted two deputations, one to the king, the otljer to the city. That to the king obtained from him only a cold unsatisfactory answer, and a very strange one when blood was flowing : Tliat he could make no alterations in the measures he had taken, that he was the only judge of their necessities, and that the presence of the deputies at Paris could do no good. The indignant Assembly decreed : — 1st, that M. Necker bore with him the regret of the nation ; 2ndly, that it insisted on the removal of the troops ; 3rdly, that not only the ministers, but the king's counsellors, oi ichotever rank i\\Qj mi^\i\)e, were personally responsible for the present misfortunes ; 4thl3\ that no power had the right to pronounce the infamous word "bank- ruptcy." The third article sufficiently designated the queen and the princes, and the last branded them with reproach. The Assembly thus resumed its noble attitude ; unarmed in the middle of the troops, without any other support than the law, threatened that very evening to be dispersed or made away * Proces- Verbal des J^lecteurs, i., p. 180. Compare Dussaulx, (Fuvre des Sept Jours. Dussaulx, who wrote some time 3?ter, often inverts the order of the facts. THE ELECTORS AUTHORISE THE PEOPLE TO ARM. 137 with, it yet bravely branded its enemies on their brow with their true name : bankrupts.^ After that vote, the Assembly had but one asylum — the Assembly itself, the room it occupied ; beyond that, it had not an inch of ground in the world ; not one of its members durst any longer sleep at home. It feared also lest the court should seize upon its archives. On the preceding evening, Sunday, Gregoire, one of the secretaries, had folded up, sealed, and hidden all the papers in a house at Versailles.! On Monday he presided, per inierim, and sustained by his courage the weak-hearted, by reminding them of the Tennis- Court, and the words of the Roman : '* Fearless amid the crush of worlds." (Impavidum ferient ruinse.) The sitting was declared permanent, and it continued for seventy-two hours. M. Lafayette, who had contributed not a little to the vigorous decree, was name d vice-president. Meanwhile Paris was in the utmost anxiety. The Faubourg Saint-Honore expected every moment to see the troops enter. In spite of the efforts of the electors, who ran about all night to make the people lay down their arms, everybody was arming; nobody was disposed to receive the Croats and the Hungarian hussars peaceably, and to carry the keys to the queen. As early as six o'clock on Monday morning, all the bells in every Church sounding alarm, a few electors repaired to the Hotel- de-Ville, found the crowd already assembled, and sent it off to the different districts. At eight o'clock, seeing the people were in earnest, they affirmed that the citizen guard was authorised, which was not yet the case. The people were perpetually shouting for arms. To which the electors reply : If the town has any, they can only be obtained through the mayor. *' Well then," cried they, " send for him ! The mayor, or provost, Flesselles, was on that day summoned to Versailles by the king, and to the H6tel-de-Ville by the people. Whether he durst not refuse the summons of the crowd, or thought he could better serve the King at Paris, he went to the H6tel-de-Ville, was applauded in La Greve, and said in a * They were going to make payments with a paper-money, without any other guarantee than the signature of an insolvent king. See ante,^ p. 13L \ Memoires de Gregoire, i., p 382. 138 ORGANISATION OF THE CITIZEN GUARD. fatherly tone : '* You shall be satisfied, my friends, I am your father." He declared in the hall that he would preside only by election of the people. Thereupon, a fresh burst of en- thusiasm. Though there was as yet no Parisian army, they were already discussing wlio should be its general. The American Moreau de Saint-Mery, the president of the electors, pointed to a bust of Lafayette, and that name was received with applause. Others proposed and obtained that the command should be offered to the Duke d'Aumont, who demanded twenty-four hours for reflection, and then refused. The second in command was the Marquis de la Salle, a well-tried soldier, a patriotic writer, full of devotion and probity. All this was wasting time, and the crowd was in a fever of impatience ; it was in a hurry to be armed, and not without reason. The beggars of Montmartre, throwing away their spades, came down upon the town ; crowds of unknown vagrants were prowling about. The frightful misery of the rural districts had poured, from all sides, their starving popula- tions towards Paris : it was peopled by famine. That same morninc, on a report that there was some corn at Saint-Lazare, the crowd ran thither, and found indeed an enormous quantity of flour, amassed by the good friars, enough to load more than fifty carts which were driven to market. They broke open everything, and ate and drank what was in the house ; however, they carried nothing away ; the first who attempted to do so, was hung by the people themselves. The prisoners of Saint-Lazare had escaped. Those of La Force who had been imprisoned for debt were set at liberty. The criminals of Le ChcUelet wanted to take advantage of the opportunity, and were already breaking down the doors. The gaoler called in a band of the people who were passing ; it entered, fired upon the rebels, and forced them to become orderly again. The arms of the store-room were carried off, but subsequently all restored. The electors, being unable to defer the arming any longer, attempted to keep it within limits. They voted, and the pro- vost pronounced : That each of the sixty districts should elect and arm two hundred men, and that all the rest should be dis- HESITATION OF THE ELECTORS. 139 armed. It was an army of tivche tJiousand respectable persons, wonderfully good for police, but very ]»ad for the defence. Paris would have been givLU up. In the afternoon of the same day, it was decided : That the Parisian police should consist ^{ forty - eight thousand men. The cockade was to be of the colours of the city, blue and red.--'' This decree was confirmed on the same day by all the districts. A permanent committee is named to watch night and day over public order. It is formed of electors. *' Why electors alone?" said a man, stepping forward. " Why, whom would you have named ? " " Myself," said he. He was appointed by acclamation. The provost then ventured to put a very serious question : '* To whom shall the oath be taken ? " ''To the Assembly of the Citizens," exclaimed an elector with energy. The question of subsistence was as urgent as that of arms. The lieutenant of police, on being summoned by the electors, said that the supplies of corn were entirely beyond his juiisdiction. The town was necessarily obliged to think about obtaining provisions as it could. The roads in every direction were occupied with troops ; it was necessary for the farmers and traders who brought their merchandise to run the risk of passing through military posts and camps of foreigners, who spoke nothing but German. And even supposing they did arrive, they met with a thousand difficulties in re-passing the barriers. Paris was evidently to die of hunger, or conquer, and to conquer in one day. How was this miracle to be expected ? It had the enemy in the very town, in the Bastille, and at the Military School, and every barrier besieged ; the French guards, except a small number, remained in their barracks, and had not yet made up their minds. That the miracle should be wrought by the Parisians quite alone, was almost ridiculous to suppose. They had the reputation of being a gentle, quiet, good-natui-ed sort of population. That such people should become, all of a sudden, an army, and a warlike army, was most unlikely. This was certainly the opinion of the cool-headed notables * But as they were also those of the house of Orleans, white, the old colour of France, was added, on the proposal of M. de Lafayette. — See his Memoires, ii., p. 266. " I give you," said he, " a cockade which will go round the world.'' 140 THE PEOPLE SEIZE SOME GUNPOWDER. and citizens who composed the committee of the town. They wanted to gain time, and not to increase the immense respon- sibility which weighed already upon them. They had go- verned Paris cer since the 12th ; was it as electors ? did the electoral power extend so far? They expected every mo- ment to see the old Marshal de Brodie arrive with all his troops to call them to account. Hence their hesitation, and their conduct so long equivocal ; hence, also, the distrust of the people, who found in them their principal obstacle, and did business without them. About the middle of the day, the electors who had been sent to Versailles, returned with the king's threatening answer, and the decree of the Assembly. There was nothing left but war. The envoys had met on the road the green cockade, the colour of the Count d'Artois. They had passed through the cavalry and all the German troops stationed along the road in their white Austrian cloaks. The situation of things was terrible, unprovided for, almost hopeless, considering the materials. But the courage of the people was inmiense ; everybody felt his heart waxing hourly stronger within his bosom. They all marched to the Hotel- de-Ville, to offer themselves for the fight ; there were whole corporations, whole quarters of the town forming legions of volunteers. The company of arquebusiers offered its services. The school of surgery came forward with Boyer at its head ; the Basoche wanted to take the lead and fight in the vanguard : all those young men swore they would die to the last man. Fight ? But with what ? Without arms, guns, and powder ? The arsenal was said to be empty. Tlie people however were not so easily satisfied. An invalid and a peruke-maker kept watch in the neighbourhood ; and soon they saw a large quantity of powder brought out, which was going to be em- barked fur Rouen They ran to the Hotel-de-Ville, and obliged the electors to command the powder to be brought. A brave aM/ undertook the dangerous mission of guarding it and distributing it among the people.* • This heroic man was the ohhe Lefehvre {VOrmesson. Nobody rendered a greater service to the Revolution and the city of Paris, He remained forty- eight hours upon that volcano, amo'jg madmen figliting for the powder; they fired at him several times ; a druv.ken man went and smoked upon the open casks, &c THE PEOPLE SEARCH FOR GUNS. l4l Nothing was now wanting but guns. It was well known that there was a laige magazine of them in Paris. Berthier, the intendant, had caused thirty thousand to be imported, and had commanded two hundred thousand cartridges to be made. The provost could nut possibly be ignorant of these active measures at the intendant's office. Urged to point out the depot, he said the manufactory at Charleville had promised him thirty thousand guns, and moreover, twelve thousand were momentarily expected. To support this falsehood, waggons inscribed with the word Artillerie are seen passing through La Grreve. These must evidently be the guns. The provost orders the cases to be stowed in the magazines. But he must have French guards to distribute them. The people run to the barracks ; but, as tliey might have expected, the officers will nut give a single soldier. So the electors must distribute the guns themselves. They open the cases ! Judge what they find. Rags ! The fury of the people knows no bounds ; they shout out " Treason !" Flesselles, not knowing what to say, thinks it best to send them to the Celestin and the Char- treux friars, saying: — "The monks have arms concealed." Another disappointment : the Chartreux friars open and show everything ; and not a gun is found after the closest search. The electors authorised the districts to manufacture fifty thousand pikes ; they were forged in thirty-six hours ; yet even that dispatch seemed too slow for such a crisis. Every- thing might be decided in the night. The people, who always knew things when their leaders did not, heard, in the evening, of the grand depot of guns at the Invalides. The deputies of one district went, the same evening, to Besenval, the com- mandant, and Sombreuil, the governor of the Hotel. " I will write to Versailles about it," said Besenval, coldly. Accord- ingly, he gave notice to the Marshal de Broghe. Most strange to say, he received no answer ! This inconceivable silence was doubtless owing, as it has been alleged, to the complete anarchy that reigned in the council : all diff'ering on every point, excepting a very decided one, the dissolution of the National Assembly. It was like- wise owing, in my opinion, to the misconception of the court, who, over cunning and subtle, looked upon that great insur- rection as the effect of a petty intrigue, believed that the 142 THE TAKING OF THE BASTILLE, Palais Royal did everything, and that Orleans paid for all. A puerile explanation. Is it possible to bribe millions of men ? Had the duke paid also the insurrections at Lyons and in Dauphine, which, at that very moment, had loudly refused to pay the taxes ? Had he bribed the cities of Brittany, which were rising up in arms, or the soldiers, who, at Renncs, refused to fire upon the citizens ? The prince's effigy had, it is true, been carried in triumph. But the prince himself had come to Versailles to surrender to his enemies, and to protest that he was as much afraid of the riot as anybody, or even more so. He was requested to have the goodness to sleep at the castle. The court, having him under its hand, thought it held fast the fabricator of the whole machination, and felt more at its ease. The old mar- shal, to whom all the miUtary forces were intrusted at that moment, surrounded himself well with troops, held the king in safety, put Versailles, which nobody thought of, in a state of defence,, and looking upon the insurrection of Paris as so much smoke, left it to subside of itself. CHAPTER VII. THE TAKING OF THE BASTILLE, JULY 14, 1789. Difficulty of taking the Bastille. — The Idea of the Attack belongs to the People. — Hatred of the People towards the Bastille. — The Joy of the World on hearing of the taking of the Bastille. — The People carry off the Guns from the Invalidcs, — The Bastille was in a State of Defence. — Thnriot summons the Bastille to surrender. — The Electors send to it uselessly several Deputations. — Last Attack ; Elie, Hulin — Danger of Delay. — The People believe themselves betrayed; they menace the Provost and the Electors, — The Conquerors at the H6tel-de-Ville. — How the Bastille surrendered. — Death of the Governor. — Prisoners put to Death. — Prisoners Pardoned. — Clemency of the People. Versailles, with an organised government, a king, ministers, a general, and an army, was all hesitation, doubt, uncertainty, and in a state of the most complete moral anarchy. Paris, all commotion, destitute of every legal authority, and in the utmost confusion, attained, on the 14th of July, what is morally the highest degree of order, — unanimity of feeling. DIFFICULTY OF TAKING THE BASTILLE. 143 On the 13th, Paris thought only of defending itself; on the 14:th, it attacked. On the evening of the 13th, some duuht still existed, but none remained in the morning. The evening had been stormy, agitated by a whirlwind of ungovernable frenzy. The morning was still and serene, — an awful calm. With daylight, one idea dawned upon Paris, and all were illumined with the same ray of hope. A light broke upon every mind, and the same voice thrilled through every heart : *' Go ! and thou shalt take the Bastille ! '* That was impossible, unreasonable, preposterous. And yet everybody believed it. And the thino- was done. The Bastille, though an old fortress, was nevertheless impregnable, unless besieged for several days and with an abundance of artillery. The pecple had, in that crisis, neither the time nor the means to make a regular siege. Had they done so, the Bastille had no cause for fear, having enough provisions to wait for succour so near at hand, and an im- mense supply of ammunition. Its walls, ten feet thick at the top of the towers, and thirty or forty at the base^ might long laugh at cannon-balls ; and its batteries firing down upon Paris, could, in the meantime, demolish the whole of the Marais and the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. Its towers, pierced with windows and loop-holes, protected by double and triple gratings, enabled the garrison, in full security, to make a dreadful carnage of its assailants. The attack on the Bastille was by no means reasonable. It was an act of faith. Nobody proposed ; but all believed, and all acted. Along the streets, the quays, the bridges, and the boulevards, the crowd shouted to the crowd : " To the Bastille ! The Bastille! " And the tollinor of the tocsin thundered in every ear : "a la Bastille!^' Xobody, I repeat, gave tlie impulse. The orators of the Palais Rfiyal passed the time in drawing up a list of proscription, in condemning the queen to death, as well as Madame de Polignac, Artois, Flosselles the provost, and others. The names of the L'onquerors of the Bastille do not include one of these makers of motions. The Palais Royal was not tlie starting-point, neither was it to the Palais Royal that the conquerors brought back the spoils and prisoners. 144 THE IDEA OF THE ATTACK BELONGS TO THE PEOPLE. Still less had the electors, assembled in the H6tcl-de-VilIe, the idea of the attack. On t]\e contrary, in order to prevent it, as veil as the carnage which the Bastille could so easily make, they went so far as to promise the governor, that if he withdrew his cannon he should not be attacked. The electors did not behave treacherously, though they were accused of having done so ; but they had no faith. Who had ? They who had also the devotion and the strength to accomplish their faith. Who ? Why, the people, — everybody, Old men who have had the happiness and the misery to see all that has happened in this unprecedented half century, in which ages seem to be crowded together, declare, that the grand and national achievements of the Republic and the Empire, had nevertheless a partial non-unanimous character, but that the 1-1 th of July alone was the day of the whole people. Then let that grand day remain ever one of the eternal fetes of the human race, not only as having been the first of deliverance, but as having been superlatively the day of concord ! What had happened during that short night, on which nobody slept, for every uncertainty and difference of opinion to disappear with the shades of darkness, and all to have the same thoughts in the morning ? What took place at the Palais Royal and the H6tel-de- Ville is well known ; but what would be far more important to know, is, what took place on the domestic hearth of the people. For there indeed, as we may sufficiently divine by what followed, there every heart summoned the past to its day ot judgment, and every one, before a blow was struck, pronounced its irrevocable condemnation. History returned that night a long history of sufferings to the avenging instinct of the people. The souls of fathers who, for so many ages, had suffered and died in silence, descended into their sons, and spoke. brave men, you who till then had been so patient, so pacific, who, on that day, were to inflict the heavy blow of Providence, did not the sight of your families, whose only resource is in you, daunt your hearts ? Far from it : gazing once more at your slumbering children, those children for HATRED OF THE PEOPLE TOWARDS THE BASTILLE. 145 whom that day was to create a destiny, your expanding minds embraced the free generations arising from their cradle, and felt at that moment the whole battle of the future ! The future and the past both gave the same reply; both cried Advance ! And w^liat is bevond all time, — bevond the future and the past, — immutable right said the same. The immortal sentiment of the Just imparted a temper of adamant to the flutter- ing heart of man ; it said to him : '* Go in peace ; what matters? Whatever may happen, I am with thee, in death or victory ! " And yet what was the Bastille to them ? The lower orders seldom or never entered it. Justice spoke to them, and, a voice that speaks still louder to the heart, the voice of humanity and mercy ; that still small voice which seems so w^eak but that overthrows towers, had, for ten years, been shaking the very foundations of the doomed Bastille. Let the truth be told ; if any one had the glory of causing its downfcill, it was that intrepid woman who wrought so long for the deliverance of Latude against all the powers in the world. RoyaUy refused, and the nation forced it to pardon ; that woman, or that hero, was crowned in a public solemnity. To crown her who had, so to speak, forced open the state- prisons, was already branding them with infamy, devoting them to public execration, and demolishing them in the hearts and desires of men. That woman had shaken the Bastille to its foundations. From that day, the people of the town and the faubourg, w^ho, in that much-frequented quarter, were ever passing and re- passing in its shadow, never failed to curse it.* And well did it deserve their hatred. There were many other prisons, but this one was the abode of capricious arbitrariness, wanton despotism, and ecclesiastical and bureaucratical inquisition. The court, so devoid of religion in that age, had made the Bastille a dungeon for free minds, — the prison of thought. Less crowded during the reign of Louis XVL, it had become more cruel ; the prisoners were deprived of their walk : more rigorous, and no less unjust : we blush for France, to be • ELle ecrasait la rue Saint- Antoinie, is Linguet's eneri^etical expression, p. 147. The best known conquerors of the Bastille were, either men of the Faubourg, or ot the quarter Saint-Paul, of the Culture-Sainte-Catherine. L 14G JOY OF THE WORLD AT ITS CAPTURE. obliged to say that the crime of one of the prisoners was to have given a useful secret to our navy ! They were afraid lest he should tell it elsewhere. The Bastille was known and detested by the whole world. Bastille and tyranny were, in every language, synonymous terms. Every nation, at the news of its destruction, believed it had recovered its liberty. In Russia, that empire of mystery and silence, — that mon- strous Bastille between Europe and Asia, scarcely had the news arrived when you might have seen men of every nation shouting and weeping for joy in the open streets ; they rushed into each other's arms to tell the news : *' Who can help weeping for joy ? The Bastille is takeyu' * On the very morning of that great day, the people had as yet no arms. The powder they had taken from the arsenal the night before, and put in the Hotel-de-Ville, was slowly distributed to them, during the night, by only three men. The distribution having ceased for a moment, about two o'clock, the desperate crowd hammered down the doors of the magazine, every blow striking fire on the nails. No guns ! — It was necessary to go and take them, to carry them off from the Invalides ; that was very hazardous. The Hotel des Invalides is, it is true, an open mansion ; but Sombreuil, the governor, a brave old soldier, had received a strong detachment of artillery and some cannon, without count- ing those he had already. Should those cannon be brought to act, the crowd might be taken in the flank, and easily dispersed by the regiments that Besenval had at the military school. Would those foreign regiments have refused to act ? In spite of what Besenval says to the contrary, there is reason to doubt it. What is much plainer, is, that being left without orders, he was himself full of hesitation, and appeared paralysed in mind. At five o'clock that same morning, he had received a strange visit ; — a man rushed in ; his countenance was livid, his eyes flashed fire, his language was impetuous and brief, and * This fact is related by a -witness above suspicion, Count de S^gur, am- bassador at the court of Russia, who was far from sharing that enthusiasm: "This madness \\hich I can hardly believe whilst relating it," &c. S^gur, Memoires iii., p. 508. THE PEOPLE CARRY OFF THE GUNS. 147 his maTiTier audacious. The old coxcomb, who was the most frivolous officer of the anclen regime, but brave and collected, gazed at the man, and was struck with admiration. *' Baron," said the man, '* I come to advise you to make no resistance ; the barriers will be burnt to-day ;* I am sure of it, but cannot prevent it ; neither can you — do not try." Besenval was not afraid ; but he had, nevertheless, felt the shock, and suffered its moral effect. ** There was something eloquent in that man," says he, '' that strruck me ; I ought to have had him arrested, and yet I did not." It was the ancien regime and the Revolution meeting face to face, and the latter left the former lost in astonishment. Before nine o'clock thirty thousand men were in front of the Invalides ; the Attorney General of the City was at their head : the committee of the electors had not dared to refuse him. Among them were seen a few companies of the French Guards, who had escaped from their barracks, the Clerks of the Basoche, in their old red dresses, and the Curate of Saint- Etienne-du-Mont, who, being named president of the Assembly formed in his church, did not decline the perilous office of heading this armed multitude. Old Sombreuil acted very adroitly. He showed himself at the gate, said it was true he had guns, but that they had been intrusted to him as a deposit, and that his honour, as a soldier and a gentleman, did not allow him to be a traitor. This unexpected argument stopped the crowd at once ; a proof of the admirable candour of the people in that early age of the Revolution. Sombreuil added, that he had sent a courier to Versailles, and was expecting the answer ; backing- all this with numerous protestations of attachment and friend- ship for the ITOtel-de-Ville and the city in general. The majoiity was willing to wait. Luckily, there was one man present who was less scrupulous, and prevented the crowd from being so easily mystified.! * By these words we perceive that at five o'clock, no plan had been formed. The man in question, who was not one of the people, repeated, apparently, the rumours of the Palais Royal. — The Utopians had long been talking of the utility of destroying the Bastille, forming plans, &c. ; but the heroic, wild idea of taking it in one day, could be conceived only by the people. f One of the assembled citizens. Proce.s-verhaZ des electewSj i., p 300. l2 148 THE TEOFLE LAKIiY OFF THE GL'XS. '* There is no time to be lost," said he, '' and whose arms are these but the nation's ?'' Then the}^ leaped into the trenches, and the Hotel was invaded ; twenty-eight thousand muskets were found in the cellars, and carried off, together with twenty ])i(.'ces of cannon. All this between nine and eleven o'clock ; but, let us hasten ii) the Bastille. The governor, De Launey, had been under arms ever since two o'clock in the morning of the 13th ; no precaution had been neglected ; besides his cannon on the towers, he had otliers from the arsenal, which he placed in the com't, and loaded with grape-shot. He caused six cart-loads of paving- stones, cannon-balls, and old iron, to be carried to the tops of the towers, in order to crush his assailants.* In the bottom loop-holes he had placed twelve large rampart guns, each of which carried a pound and a half of bullets. He kept below his trustiest soldiers, thirty-two Swiss, who had no scruple in firing upon Frenchmen. His eighty-two InvaUds were mostly distributed in different posts, far from the gates, upon the towers. He had evacuated the outer buildings which covered the foot of the fortress. On the 13th, nothing save curses bestowed on the Bastille b}' passers by. On the 14th, about midnight, seven shots were fired at the sentinels upon the towers. — Alarm ! — The governor ascends with staff, remains half-an-hour, listening to the distant mur- muring of the town ; finding all quiet he descends. The next morning many people were about, and, from time to time, young men (from the Palais Royal, or others) were calling out that they must give them arms. They pay no attention to them. They hear and introduce the pacific depu- tation of the H6tel-de-Ville, which, about ten o'clock, intreats the governor to withdraw his cannon, promising that if he does not fire, he shall not be attacked. He, willingly, accepts, having no orders to fire, and highly delighted, obliges the envoys to breakfast with him. As they were leaving, a man arrives who speaks in a very different tone. * Biographic Michaud, — article De LaK/ney^ written from information fur- nighed by his family. THURIOT SUMMONS THE BASTILLE TO SURRENDER. 149 A violent, bold man, unacquainted with liuman respect, fear- less and pitiless, knowing neither obstacle nor delay, and bearing in his breast the passionate genius of the Revolution — he came to summon the Bastille. Terror accompanied him. The Bastille was afraid ; the governor, without knowing why, was troubled and stammered. That man was Thuriot, a monster of ferocity, one of the race of Danton. We meet with him twice, in the beginning and at the end. And twice his words are deadly ; he destroys the Bastille,* and he kills Robespierre. He was not to pass the bridge ; the governor would not allow it ; and yet he passed. From the first court, he marches to a second ; another refusal ; but he passes on, and crosses the second ditch by the draw-bridge. Behold him now in front of the enormous iron gate by which the third court was shut. This seemed a monstrous well rather than a court, its eio^ht towers united together, forming its inside walls. Those frightful gigantic towers did not look towards the court, nor had they a single window. At their feet, in their shadow, was the prisoners' only walk. Lost at the bottom of the pit, and overwhelmed by those enoiTQOus masses, he could contemplate only the stern nudity of *the walls. On one side only, had been placed a clock, between two figures of captives in chains, as if to fetter time itself, and make the slow succession of hours still more burdensome. There were the loaded cannon, the garrison, and the staif. Thuriot was daunted by nothing. *'Sir, " said he to the governor, *' I summon you, in the name of the people, in the name of honour, and of our native land, to withdraw your cannon, and surrender the Bastille." — Then, turning towards the garrison, he repeated the same words. If M. De Launey had been a true soldier, he would not thus have introduced the envoy into the heart of the citadel ; still less would he have let him address the garrison. But, it is very necessary to remark, that the officers of the Bastille were mostly officers by favour of the lieutenant of police ; even those Avho had never seen service, wore the cross of Saint * He destroyed it in two ways. He introduced division and demoralization and when it was taken, it was he who proposed to have it demolished. He killed Robespierre, by refusing to let him speak, on the 9th thermidor,, Thuriot was then president of the Convention. 150 THURIOT SUMMONS THE BASTILLE TO SURRENDER, Louis. All of them, from the governor down to the scullions, had bought their places, and turned them to the best advan- tage. The governor found means to add every year to his salary of sixty thousand francs, (£2400), a sum quite as large by his rapine. He supplied his establishment at the prisoners' expense ; he had reduced their supply of firewood, and made a profit on their wine,* and their miserable fm-niture. What was most infamous and barbarous, was, that he let out to a gardener the little garden of the Bastille, over a bastion ; and, for that miserable profit, he had deprived the prisoners of that walk, as well as of that on the towers ; that is to say, of air and light. That greedy, sordid soul had moreover good reason to be dispirited ; he felt he was known ; Linguet's terrible memoirs had rendered De Launey infamous throughout Europe. The Bastille was hated ; but the governor was personally detested. The furious imprecations of the people, which he heard, he ap- propriated to himself ; and he was full of anxiety and fear. Thuriot's words acted difi'erently on the Swiss and the French. The Swiss did not understand them ; their captain, M. de Flue, was resolved to hold out. But the Staff and the Invalids were much shaken ; those old soldiers, in habitual communication with the people of the faubourg, had no desire to fire upon them. Thus the garrison was divided ; what wiU these two parties do ? If they cannot agree, wiU they fire upon each other ? The dispirited governor said, in an apologetical tone, what had just been agreed with the town. He swore, and made the gar- rison swear, that if they were not attacked they would not begin. Thuriot did not stop there. He desired to ascend to the top of the towers, to see whether the cannon were really withdrawn. De Launey, who had been all this time repenting of having allowed him already to penetrate so far, refused ; but, being pressed by his officers, he ascended with Thuriot. The cannon were drawn back and masked, but still pointed. The view from that height of a hundi-ed and forty feet was * The governor had the privilege of ordering in a hundred pieces of wine free of duty. He sold that right to a tavern, and received from it vinegar to give to the prisoners ; Linguet, p. 86. Sec in La Bastille DevoiUe, the history of a rich prisoner, whom De Launey used to conduct, at night, to a female, whom ke> De Launey, had kept, hut would no longer pay. THURIOT SUMMONS THE BASTILLE TO SURRENDER. 151 immense and startling ; the streets and openings full of people, and all the o^arden of the arsenal crowded with armed men. But, on the other side, a hlack mass was advancing. It was the faubourg Saint Antoine. The governor turned pale. He grasped Thuriot by the arm : ** Wliat have you done ? You abuse your privilege as an envoy ! You have betrayed me ! " They were both standing on the brink, and De Launey had a sentinel on the tower. Everybody in the Bastille was bound by oath to the governor ; in his fortress, he was king and the law. He was still able to aveno-e himself. But, on the contrary, it was Thuriot who made him afraid : ** Sir," said he, *' one word more, and I swear to you that one of us two shall be hurled headlong into the moat ! "* At the same moment, the sentinel approached, as frightened as the governor, and, addressing Thuriot : *' Pray, Sir," said he, " show yourself ; there is no time to lose ; they are march- ing forward. Not seeing you, they will attack us. " He leaned over through the battlements ; and the people seeing him alive, and standing boldly upon the tower, uttered deafening shouts of joy and approbation. Thuriot descended with the governor, again crossed through the court, and addressing the garrison once more : *' I am going to give my report," said he ; ** I hope the people will not refuse to furnish a citizen guardt to keep the Bastille with you." The people expected to enter the Bastille as soon as Thuriot came forth. When they saw him depart, to make his report to the H6tel-de-Ville, they took him for a traitor, and threatened him. Their impatience was growing into fury. The crowd seized on three Invalids, and wanted to tear them to pieces. They also seized on a young lady whom they believed to be the governor's daughter, and some wanted to burn her, if he refused to surrender. Others dragged her from them. What will become of us, said they, if the Bastille be not taken before night ? The burly Santarre, a brewer, whom the faubourg had elected its commander, proposed to burn the * Account of M.Thuriot's conduct, at the end of Dussaulx, (Euvre dessept jours, p. 408 Compare the Proces-verbal cles electeurs, i., p. 310c t This bold dignified langaage is related by the besieged. See their declaration at the end of Dussaulx, p. 449. 152 DEPUTATION OF ELECTORS TO THE BASTILLE. place by throwing into it poppy and spikenard oil* that they had seized the night before, and which they could fire with phosphorus. He was sending to fetch the engines. A blacksmith, an old soldier, without wasting time in idle talk, sets bravely to work. He marches forward, hatchet in hand, leaps upon the roof of a small guard-house, near the first drawbridge, and, under a shower of bullets, coolly plies his hatchet, cuts away, and loosens the chains ; down falls the bridge. The crowd rush over it, and enter the court. The firing began at once from the towers and from the loop- holes below. The assailants fell in crowds, and did no harm to the garrison. Of all the shots they fired that day, two took efi'ect : only one of the besieged was killed. The committee of electors, who saw the wounded already arriving at the Hotel-de-Ville, and deplored the shedding of blood, would have wished to stop it. There was now but one way of doing so, which was to summon the Bastille, in the name of the city, to surrender, and to allow the citizen-guard to enter. The provost hesitated for a long time ; Fauchet insisted ; t and other electors entreated him. They went as deputies ; but in the fire and smoke, they were not even seen ; neither the Bastille nor the people ceased firing. The deputies were in the greatest danger. A second deputation, headed by the city proctor, with a drum and a flag of truce, was perceived from the fortress. The soldiers who were upon the towers hoisted a white flag, and reversed their arms. The people ceased firing, followed the deputation, and entered the court. There, they were welcomed by a furious discharge, which brought down several men by the side of the deputies. Very probably the Swiss who were below with De Launey, paid no attention to the signs made by the Invalids. J The rage of the people was inexpressible. Ever since the morning, it had been said that the governor had enticed the crowd into the court to fire upon them ; they believed them- selves twice deceived, and resolved to perish, or to be revenged * He himself boasts of this folly. Proces-verhal des ^lecfeurs, i., p. 385. *f" If we may believe him, he had the honour of being the first to propose it. Fauchet, Discours sur la liberie prononce Ic 6 Aout 89 a Saint Jacques, p. 11. X Tliis is the most satisfactory way of reconciling the apparently conti-adictory declarations of the besieged and of the deputation. LAST ATTACK — ELIE HULLIK. 153 on the traitors. To those who were calling them hack, the^ exclaimed in a transport of frenzy : '' Our bodies at least shall serve to fill the moats ! " And on they rushed obstinately and nothing daunted, amid a shower of bullets and against those murderous towers, as if, by dying in heaps, they could at length overthrow them. But then, numbers of generous men, who had hitherto taken no part in the action, beheld, with increased indignation, such an imequal struggle, which was actual assassination. They wanted to lend their assistance. It was no longer possible to hold back the French Guards ; they all sided with the people. They repaired to the commandants nominated b}^ the town, and obliged them to sm-render their five cannons. Two columns were formed, one of workmen and citizens, the other of French Guards. The former took for its chief a young man, of heroic stature and strength, named Hullin, a clockmaker of Geneva, but now a servant, being gamekeeper to the Marquis de Conflans ; his Hungarian costume as a chasseur was doubt- less taken for a uniform ; and thus did the livery of servitude guide the people to the combat of liberty. The leader of the other column was Elie, an officer of fortune belonging to the Queen's regiment, who, changing his private dress for his bril- liant uniform, showed himself bravely a conspicuous object to both friends and foes. Among his soldiers, was one admirable for his valour, youth, and candour, Marceau, one of the glories of France, who remained satisfied Avith fighting, and claimed no share in the honour of the victory. Things were not very far advanced when they arrived. Three cart-loads of straw had been pushed forward and set on fire, and the barracks and kitchens had been burnt down. They knew not what else to do. The despair of the people was vented upun the H6tel-de-ViUe. They blamed the provost and the electors, and urged them, in threatening language, to issue formal orders for the siege of the Bastille. But they could never induce them to give those orders. Several strange singular means were proposed to the electors for taking the fortress. A carpenter advised the erection of a Roman catapult, in wood-work, to hurl stones against the walls. The commanders of the town said it was necessary to attack in a regular way, and open a trench. During this long and 154 DANGER OF DELAY. useless debate, a letter at that moment intercepted, waa brought in and read ; it was from Besenval to de Launej, com- manding him to hold out to the last extremity. To appreciate the value of time at that momentous crisis, and understand the dread felt at any delay, we must know that there were false alarms every instant. It was supposed that the court, informed at two o'clock of the attack on the Bastille, which had begun at noon, would take that opportunity of pouring down its Swiss and German troops upon Paris. Again, would those at the Military School pass the day in inaction ? That was unlikely. What Besenval says about the little reliance he could place on his troops seems like an excuse. The Swiss showed themselves very firm at the Bastille, as appeared from the carnage ; the German dragoons had, on the 12th, fired several times, and killed some of the French Guards ; the latter had killed several dragoons ; a spirit of mutual hatred ensured fidelity. In the faubourg Saint Honore, the paving-stones were dug up, the attack being expected every moment ; La Villette was in the same state, and a regiment really came and occupied it, but too late. Every appearance of dilatoriness appeared treason. The provost's shuffling conduct caused him to be suspected, as well as the electors. The exasperated crowd perceived it was losing time with them. An old man exclaimed: "Friends, why do we remain with these traitors? Let us rather hasten to the Bastille! " They all vanished. The electors, thunder- struck, found themselves alone. One of them goes out, but returns with a livid, spectral countenance : *' You have not two minutes to live," says he, "if you remain here. La Greve is filled by a furious crowd. Here they are coming." They did not, however, attempt to fly ; and that saved their lives. All the fury of the people was now concentrated on the provost. The envoys of the difi'erent districts came succes- sively to accuse him of treachery to his face. A part of the electors, finding themselves compromised with the people, by his imprudence and falsehood, turned round and accused him. Others, the good old Dussaulx (the translator of Juvenal), and the intrepid Fauchet endeavoured to defend him, innocent or guilty, and to save him from death. Being forced by the people to remove from their bureau into the grand hall of Saint THE PEOPLE BELIEVE THEMSELVES BETRAYED. 155 Jean, they surrounded him, and Fauchet sat down by his side. The terrors of death were impressed on his countenance. " I saw him,'' says Dussaulx, "chewing his last mouthful of bread ; it stuck in his teeth, and he kept it in his mouth two hours before he could swallow it." Surrounded with papers, letters, and people who came to speak to him on business, and amid shouts of death, he strove hard to reply with affability. The crowds of the Palais Eoyal and from the district of Saint Roch, being the most inveterate, Fauchet hastened to them to pray for pardon. The district body was assembled in the church of Saint Roch ; twice did Fauchet ascend the pulpit, praying, weeping, and uttering the fervent language which his noble heart dictated in that hour of need ; his robe, torn to tatters by the bullets of the Bastille,* was eloquent also ; it prayed for the people, for the honour of that great day, and that the cradle of liberty might be left pure and undefiled. The provost and the electors remained in the hall of Saint Jean, between life and death, guns being levelled at them several times. All those who were present, says Dussaulx, were like savages ; sometimes they would listen and look on in silence ; sometimes a terrible murmur, like distant thunder, arose from the crowd. Many spoke and shouted ; but the greater number seemed astounded by the novelty of the sight. The uproar, the exclamations, the news, the alarms, the intercepted letters, the discoveries, true or false, so many secrets revealed, so many men brought before the tribunal, perplexed the mind and reason. One of the electors exclaimed : ** Is not doomsday come ? " So dizzy, so confounded was the crowd, that they had forgotten everything, even the provost and the Bastille. t It was half-past ^yb when a shout arose from La Greve. An immense noise, like the growhng of distant thunder, re- sounds nearer and nearer, rushing on with the rapidity and roaring of a tempest. The Bastille is taken. That hall already so full is at once invaded by a thousand men, and ten thousand pushing behind. The wood-work cracks, * Fauchet, Bouche defer, No. XVI., Nov. 90, t. iii., p. 244. + The Proces verbal shows, however, that a new deputation was being prepared, and that De la Salle, the commandant, meant at length to take a part in the action. 156 now THE BASTILLE SURRENDERED. the benches are thrown down, and the barrier driven upon the bureau, the bureau upon the president. All were armed in a fantastical manner ; some almost naked, others dressed in every colour. One man was borne aloft upon their shoulders and crowned with laurel ; it was Elie, with all the spoils and prisoners around him. At the head, amid all that din, which would have drowned a clap of thunder, ad- vanced a young man full of meditation and religion ; he carried suspended and pierced with his bayonet a vile, a thrice-accursed object, — the regulations of the Bastille. The keys too were carried, — those monstrous, vile, ignoble keys, worn out by centuries and the sufferings of men. Chance or Providence directed that they should be intrusted to a man who knew them but too well, — a former prisoner. The National Assembly placed them in its Archives ; the old machine of tyrants thus lying beside the laws that had destroyed them. We still keep possession of those keys, in the iron safe of the Archives of France. Oh ! would that the same iron-chest might contain the keys of all the Bastilles in the world ! Correctly speaking, the Bastille was not taken ; it sur- rendered. Troubled by a bad conscience it went mad, and lost all presence of mind. Some wanted to surrender ; others went on firing, especially the Swiss, who, for five hours, pointed out, aimed at, and brought down whomsoever they pleased, without any danger or even the chance of being hurt in return. They killed eighty- three men and wounded eighty-eight. Twenty of the slain were poor fathers of famihes, who left wives and children to die of huno-er. Shame for such cowardly warfare, and the horror of shed- ding French blood, which but little affected the Swiss, at length caused the Invalids to drop their arms. At four o'clock the subaltern officers begged and prayed De Launey to put an end to this massacre. He knew what he deserved ; oblio-ed to die one way or other, he had, for a moment, the horribly fero- cious idea of blowing up the citadel : he would have destroyed one-third of Paris. His hundred and thirty-five barrels of gunpowder would have blown the Bastille into the air, and shattered or buried the whole fauboui'g, all the Marais, and the whole of the (juartier of the Arsenal. He seized a match THE BASTILLE INVADED BY THE PEOrLE. 157 from a cannon. Two subaltern officers prevented the crime; tliey crossed their bayonets, and barred his passage to the magazines. He then made a show of killing himself, and seized a knife, which they snatched from him. He had lost his senses and could give no orders.* When the French Guards had ranged their cannon and fli'ed (accord- ing to some), the captain of the Swiss saw plainly that it was necessary to come to terms ; he wrote and passed a note,+ in which he asked to be allowed to go forth with the honours of war. Refused. Next, that his life should be spared. Hullin and Ehe promised it. The difficulty was to perform their pro- mise. To prevent a revenge accumulating for ages, and now incensed by so many murders pei*petrated by the Bastille, was beyond the power of man. An authority of an hour's exist- ence, that had but just come from La Greve, and was known only to the two small bands of the vanguard, was not ade- quate to keep in order the hundred thousand men behind. The ci-owd was enraged, blind, drunk with the very sense of their danger. And yet they killed but one man in the fortress. They spared their enemies the Swiss, whom their smock- frocks caused to pass for servants or prisoners ; but they ill-treated and wounded their friends the Invalids. They wished to have annihilated the Bastille ; they pelted and broke to pieces the two captives of the dial; they ran up to the top of the towers to spurn the cannon ; several attacked the stones, and tore their hands in dragging them away. They hastened to the dungeons to deliver the prisoners : two had become mad. One, frightened by the noise, wanted to defend himself, and was quite astonished when those who had battered down his door threw themselves into his arms and bathed him with their tears. Another, whose beard reached to his waist, inquired about the health of Louis XV., beheving him to be still reigning. To those who asked him his name, he replied that he was called the Major of Immensity. The conquerors were not yet at the end of their labours : in * Even in the morning, according to Thuriot's testimony. See the Procea- verho.l des electeurs. f To fetch it, a plank was placed on the moat. The first -who ventured, foil ; the second (Arae ? — or i\Iaillard ?) was more lucky and brought back the note 158 DEATH OF THE GOVERNOR. the Rue Saint Antoine they had to fight a battle of a different kind. On approaching La Greve, they came successfully on crowds of men, who, having been unable to take any part in the fight, wanted at all events to do something, were it merely to massacre the prisoners. One was killed at the Rue des Tournelles, and another on the quay. Women, with dishevelled hair, came rushing forward, and recognizing their husbands among the slain, left them to fly upon their assassins; one of them, foaming at the mouth, ran about asking every- body for a knife. De Launey was conducted and supported in that extreme danger by two men of extraordinary courage and strength, Hullin, and another. The latter went with him as far as the Petit Antoine, but was there torn from his side by the rush of the crowd. Hullin held fast. To lead his man from that spot to La Greve, which is so near, was more than the twelve labours of Hercules. No longer knowing how to act, and perceiving that they knew De Launey only by his being alone without a hat, he conceived the heroic idea of putting his own upon his head ; and, from that moment, he received the blows intended for the governor.* At length, he passed the Arcade Saint Jean ; if he could but get him on the flight of steps, and push him towards the stairs, all was over. The crowd saw that very plainly, and accordingly made a desperate onset. The Herculean strength hitherto displayed by Hullin no longer served him here. Stifled by the pressure of the crowd around him, as in the crushing fold of an enormous boa, he lost his footing, was hurled to and fro, and thrown upon the pavement. * The royalist tradition whicli aspires to the difficult task of inspiring interest for the least interesting of men, has pretended that De Launey, still more heroic than Hullin, gave him his hat back again, wishing rather to die tlian expose liim. The same tradition attributes the honour of a similar deed to Berthier, the intendant of Paris. Lastly, they relate that the major of the Bastille, on being recognized and defended at La Greve, by one of his former prisoners, whom he had treated vnth kindness, dismissed him, saying : " You will ruin yourself wiihout saving me." This last story, being authentic, very probably gave rise to the two others. As for De Launey and Berthier, there is nothing in their previous conduct to incline us to believe in the heroism of their last moments. The silence of Michaud, the biographer, in the article JJe Launey, drawn up from information furnished by that family, suflSciently bliows that they did not believe in that tradition. PRISONERS PARDONED BY THE PEOPLE. 159 Twice he regained bis feet. The second time he beheld aloft the head of De Launej at the end of a pike. Another scene was passing in the hall of Saint Jean. The prisoners were there, in great danger of death. The people were especially inveterate towards three Invalids, whom they supposed to have been the cannoneers of the Bastille. One was wounded ; De la Salle, the commandant, by incredible efforts, and proclaiming loudly his title of commandant, at last managed to save him ; whiht he was leading him out, the two others were dragged out and hung up to the lamp at the corner of the Vannerie, facing the H6tel-de-Ville. All this great commotion, which seemed to have caused Flesselles to be forgotten, was nevertheless what caused his destruction. His implacable accusers of the Palais Royal, few in number, but discontented to see the crowd occupied with any other business, kept close to the bureau, menacing him, and summoning him to follow them. At length he yielded : whether the long^ expectation of death appeared to him worse than death itself, or that he hoped to escape in the universal pre-occupation about the great event of the day. "Well! gentlemen," said he, "let us go to the Palais Royal.*' He had not reached the quay before a young man shot him through the head with a pistol bullet. The dense multitude crowding the hall did not wish for bloodshed ; according to an eye-witness, they w^ere stupefied on beholding it. They stared gaping at that strange, pro- digious, grotesque, and maddening spectacle. Arms of the middle ages and of every age were mingled together ; centuries had come back again. Elie, standing on a table, with a helmet on his brow, and a sword hacked in three places, in his hand, seemed a Roman warrior. He was entirely surrounded by prisoners, and pleading for them. The French Guards demanded the pardon of the prisoners as their reward. At that moment, a man, followed by his wife, is brought or rather carried in ; it was the Prince de Montbarrey, an ancient minister, arrested at the barrier. The lady fainted ; her hus- band was thrown upon the bureau, held down by the arms of twelve men, and bent double. The poor man, in that strange posture, exjdaincd that he had not been minister for a long time, and that his son had taken a prominent part in the revo- 160 CLEMENCY OF THE PEOPLE. lution of nis province. De la Salle, the commandant, spoke for him, and exposed himself to great danger. Meanwhile, the people relented a little, and for a moment let go their hold. De la Salle, a very powerful man, caught him up, and carried him off. This trial of strength pleased the people, and was received with applause. At the same moment, the brave and excellent Elie found means to put an end at once to every intention of trial or con- demnation. He perceived the children of the Bastille, and began to shout : " Pardon ! for the children, pardon ! " Then you might have seen sunburnt faces and hands blackened with gunpowder, washed with big tears, falling like heavy di'ops of rain after a shower. Justice and vengeance were thought of no longer. The tribunal was broken up ; for Elie had conquered the conquerors of the Bastille. They made the prisoners swear fidelity to the nation, and led them away; the InvaUds marched off in peace to their Hotel ; the French Guards took charge of the Swiss, placed them in safety within their ranks, conducting them to their own barracks, and gave them lodging and food. What was most admirable, the widows showed themselves equally magnanimous. Though needy, and burdened with children, they were unwilling to receive alone a small sum allotted to them ; they shared it with the widow of a poor Invalid who had prevented the Bastille from being blown up, but was killed by mistake. The wife of the besieged was thus adopted, as it were, by those of the besiegers. END OF BOOK U BOOK 11. JULY TO OCTOBER, 1789. CHAPTER I. THE HOLLOW TRUCE. .Versailles, on the 14th of July. — The King at the Assemhly, July 15th. — Paris in Mourning and Miser}\ — Deputation of the Assembly to the City of Paris, July 15th. — Hollow Truce. — The King goes to Paris on the 17th of July.— First Emigration: Artois, Conde, Polignac, &c. — The King's isolated Position. The Assembly passed the whole of the 14th of July in a state of two-fold trepidation, between the violent measures of the Court, the fury of Paris, and the chances of an insurrection, which, if unsuccessful, would stifle liberty. They listened to every rumour, and with their ears anxiously open imagined they heard the faint thunder of a distant cannonade. That moment mii;ht be their last ; several members wished the bases of the constitution to be hastily established, that the Assembly, if it was to be dispersed and destroyed, should leave that testa- mentary evidence behind, as a beacon for the opponents of tyranny. The Court was preparing the attack, and little was wanting for its execution. At two o'clock, Berthier, the intendant, was still at the military school, giving orders for the details of the attack. Foulon, his father-in-law, the under-minister of war, was at Versailles, completing the preparations. Paris was to be attacked, that night, on seven points simultaneously.* The council was discussing the list of the deputies who were * Bailly, i., pp. 391, 392. M 162 VERSAILLES, ON THE FOURTEENTH OF JULY. to be carried off that evening : one was proscribed, another excepted ; M. de Breteuil defended the innocence of BaiUy. Meanwhile the queen and Madame de Polignac went into the Orangerie to encourage the troops and to order wine to be given to the soldiers, who Avere dancing about and singing roundelays. To complete the general intoxication, this lovely creature conducted the officers to her apartments, excited them with liqueurs, with sweet words and glances. Those madmen, once let loose, would have made a feaiful night. Letters were intercepted, wherein they had written: **A^e are marching against the enemy." AYhat enemy? The law and France. But see! a cloud of dust is rising in the Arewue de Parh, it is a body of cavalry, with Prince de Lambesc and all his officers flying before the people of Paris. But he meets with those of Versailles : if they had not been afraid of wounding the others, they would have fired upon him. De Noailles arrives, saying : '* The Bastille is taken.'' Df Wimpfen arrives : '* The governor is killed ; he saw the deed, and was nearly treated in the same way." At last, two envoyp of the electors come and acquaint the Assembly with tlie frightful state of Paris. The Assembly is furious, and invokes against the Court and the ministers the vengeance of God and men. "Heads!" cried Mirabeau ; " We must have De Brog lie's head ! " * A deputation of the Assembly waits upon the king, but it can get from him only two equivocal expressions : he sends officers to take the command of the local militia, and orders the troops in the Champ-de-Mars to fall back. A movement very well devised for the general attack. The Assembly is furious and claiinorous ; it sends a second deputation. " The king is heart-broken, but he can do no more." Louis XVL, whose weakness has been so often deplored, here made a show of deplorable firmness. Berthicr had come to stay with him ; he was in his closed and comforted him,t telling him there was no great harm done. Li the present troubled state of Paris, there was still every chance of the * Ferriercs, i , p. 1 3'2. t Rapport d Accusation^ Hist Pari., iv., p. 83. VERSAILLES, ON THE FOURTEENTH OF JULY. 163 grand attack in the evening. However, they soon discovered that the town was on its guard. It had ah-eadj placed cannon on Montmartre, which covered La Villette, and kept Saint- Denis in check. Amid the contradictory reports, the king gave no orders ; and, faithful to his usual habits, retired to rest at an early hour. The Duke de Liancourt, whose duties gave him the privilege of entering at any hour, even in the night, could not see him perish thus in his apathy and ignorance. He entered, and awoke him. He loved the kin^-, and wanted to save him. He told him the extent of his danger, the importance of the movement, its irresistible force; that he ou<-'ht to meet it, get the start of the Duke of Orleans, and secure the friend- ship of the Assembly. Louis XVL, half asleep (and who was never entirely awake) : *' What then," said he, ** is it a revolt?" ** Sire, it is a Revolution." The king concealed nothing from the queen ; so everythino- was known in the apartment of the Count d'Artois. His followers were much alarmed ; royalty might save itself at their expense. One of them, who knew the prince, and that fear was the weak point in his character, secured him by saying that he was proscribed at the Palais Royal, like Fles- selles and De Laimey, and that he might tranquillise every mind by uniting with the king in the popular measure dictated by necessity. The same man, who was a deputy, ran to th^ Assembly (it was then midnight); he there found the worthy Bailly, who durst not retire to rest, and asked him, in the name of the prince, for a speech that the king might read on the morrow. There was one man at Versailles who grieved as much as any. I mean the Duke of Orleans. On the 12th of July, his effigy had been carried in triumph, and then brutally broken to pieces. There the matter rested ; nobody had cared about it. On the 13th, a few had spoken of the election of a lieutenant-general, but the crowd seemed deaf, and either did not, or woidd not, hear. On the morning of the 14th, Madame de Genii s took the daring and incredible step of sending her Pamela with a lackey in red livery into the middle of the riot.* * Madame Lebrun, Souvenirs, i., p. 189 m2 164 VERSAILLES, OS THE FOURTEENTH OF JULY. Somebody exclaimed : " Why it is not the queen ! " And those words died away. All their pett}' intrigues were swamped in that immense commotion, every paltry interest was ^mothered in the excitement of that sacred day. The poor Duke of Orleans went on the morning of the 15th to the council at the castle. But he had to stay at the door. He waited; then wrote ; not to demand the lieutenancy-general, not to oifer his mediation (as had been agreed between him, Mirabeau, and a few others), but to assure the king, as a good and loyal subject, that if matters grew worse, he would go over to England. lie did not stir all day from the Assembly, or from Ver- sailles, and went to the castle in the evening ;* he thus made good an alibi against every accusation of being an accomplice, and washed his hands of the taking of the Bastille. Mirabeau was furious, and left him from that moment. He said (I soften the expression) : " He is an eunuch for crime ; he would, but cannot ! " Whilst the duke was being kept waiting like a petitioner at the council door, Sillery-Genlis, his warm partisan, was striving to avenge him ; he read, and caused to be adopted, an insidious project of address, calculated to diminish the effect of the king's visit, deprive it of the merit of being spontaneous, and chill, beforehand, every heart : " Come, sire, your majesty will see the consternation of the Assembly, but you will be perhaps astonished at its calmness," vas still shut up with those same ministers, whose audacious folly had filled Paris with bloodshed, and shaken the throne for ever. At that council, the queen wanted to fly, carry off the king, put him at the head of the troops, and begin a civil war. But, were the troops very sure ? AY hat would hapi)en if war broke out in the army itself, between the French soldiers and the foreign mercenaries ? Was it not better to temporise, gain time, and amuse the people ? Louis XVI., between these two opinions. A HOLLOW PEACE. 171 had none of his own, — no will;* he was ready to follow either inditfcrently. The majority of the council were for the latter opinion ; so the king remained. A mayor and a commandant of Paris appointed by the electors without the king's consent, those places accepted by men of such importance as Bailly and Lafayette, and their nominations confirmed by the Assembly, without asking the king for any permission, was no longer an insurrection, but a well and duly organized Revolution. Lafayette, " not doubting but all the corimiHiies would be willing to intrust their defence to armed citizens," proposed to call the citizen militia National Guards (a name already invented by Sieyes). This name seemed to Generalize, and extend the armine: of Paris to all the kino-dom, even as the blue and red cockade of the city, augmented with white, the old French coloiu-s, became that of all France. If the king remained at Versailles, if he delayed, he risked Paris. Its attitude was becoming more hostile every moment. On the districts being engaged to join their deputies to those of the Hotel-de-Ville, in order to go and thank the king, several replied, " There was no occasion yet to return thanks." It was not till the evening of the 1 6th, that Bailly having happened to see Vicq d'Azir, the queen's physician, gave him notice that the city of Paris wished for and expected the king. The king promised to go, and the same evening wrote to M. Necker to engage him to return. On the rZth, the king departed at nine o'clock, very serious, melancholy, and pale ; he had heard mass, taken the com- munion, and given to Monsieur his nomination as lieutenant- general, in case he was killed or detained prisoner ; the queen, in his absence, wrote, with a trembling hand, the speech she would go and pronounce at the Assembly, if the king should be detained. Without guards, but surrounded by three or four hundred deputies, he arrived at the (city) barrier at three o'clock. The mayor, on presenting him the keys, said : *' These are the same keys that were presented to Henri IV. ; he had re- * The Histoire Parlementaire is wTong in quoting a pretended letter from Loms XVI. to the Count d'Artoi8 (v. ii., p. 101), an apocryphal and ridiculous letter, like most of those puhlished by Miss Williams, in the Correspondance inecUte, so well criticised and condemned by MM. Barbicr and Beuchot. 172 THE KING GOES TO PARIS. conquered bis people, now the people have re-conquered their king." Those last words, s-o true and so strong, the full meaning of which was not perceived, even by Bailly, were enthusiastically applauded. The Place Louis XV. presented a circle of troops, with the French Guards, drawn up in a square battalion, in the centre. The battalion opened and formed into file, displaying cannon in the midst (perhaps those of the Bastille). It put itself at the head of the procession, dragging its cannon after it — and the king followed. In front of the king's carriage rode Lafayette, the command- ant, in a private dress, sword in hand, with the cockade and plume in his hat. Everything was obedient to his slightest gesture. There was complete order and silence too ; not one cry of Vive le Roi.'^ Now and then, they cried Vive la Nation, From the Point-du-Jour to Paris, and from the barrier to the H6tel-de-Ville, there were two hundred thousand men under arms, more than thirty thousand guns, fifty thousand pikes, and, for the others, lances, sabres, swords, pitchforks, and scythes. No uniforms, but two regular Unes, throughout that immense extent, of three, and sometimes of four or ^\q men deep. A formidable apparition of the nation in arms ! The king could not misunderstand it ; it was not a party. Amid so many weapons and so many different dresses, there was the same soul and the same silence ! Everybody was there ; all had wanted to come ; nobody was missing at that solemn review. Even ladies were seen armed beside their husbands, and girls with their fathers. A woman figured among the conquerors of the Bastille. Monks, believing also that they were men and citizens, had come to take their part in that grand crusade. The Mathurins were in their ranks under the banner of their order, now become * Save one miehap ; one gun went off, and a woman was killed. There was no bad intention towards the king. Everybody was royalist, both the Assembly and the people : even Marat was till \1\}\. In an unpublished letter of Robespierre's (which M. De George communicated to me at Arras), he seems to believe in the good faith of Louis XVI., whose visit to the city of Paris is therein related, (23rd of July, 1789) THE KING GOES TO PARIS. 173 the standard of the district of that name. Capucins were there shouldering the sword or the musket. The ladies of the Fiace- Manbert bad put the revolution of Paris under the protection of Saint Genevieve, and offered on the preceding evening a picture wherein the saint was encouraging the destroying angel to over- throw the Bastille, which was seen falling to pieces with broken crowns and sceptres. Two men only were applauded, Bailly and Lafayette, and no others. The deputies marched surrounding the king's carriage, with sorrowful, uneasy looks ; there was something gloomy about that procession. Those strange looking weapons, those pitch-forks and scythes, were not pleasing to the eye. Those cannon reclining so quietly in the streets, silent, and bedecked with flowers, seemed as though they would awake. Above all the apparent signs of peace hovered a conspicuous and significant image of war, — the tattered flag of the Bastille. The king alights, and Bailly presents to him the new cockade of the colours of the city, which had become those of France. He begs of him to accept "that distinguishing symbol of Frenchmen." The king put it in his hat, and, separated from his suite by the crowd, ascended the gloomy stairs of the Hotel- de-Ville. Over head, swords placed crosswise formed a canopy of steel ; a singular honour, borrowed from the masonic cus- toms, which seemed to have a double meaning, and might lead to suppose that the king was passing under the yoke. There was no intention to cause either humihation or dis- pleasure. On the contrary, he was received with extraordinary emotion. The great hall, crowded with a confused mass of notables and men of every class, presented a strange spectacle; those in the middle remained kneeling, in order not to deprive the others of the happiness of seeing the king, and all had their hands raised towards the throne, and their eyes full of tears. Bailly, in his speech, had pronounced the word alliance be- tween the king and the people. The president of the electors, Moreau de Saint Mery (he who had been chairman during the great days, and given three thousand orders in thirty hours) ventured a word that seemed to engage the king : " You come to ■promise your subjects that the authors of those disastrous councils shall surround you no longer, and that Virtue, too long exiled, shall remain your support. ' ' Virtue meant Necker. 174 THE KING GOES TO PARIS. The king, from timidity or prudence, said notliing. The city proctor then made a proposal to raise a statue on the Place de la Bastille ; it was voted unanimously. Next, Lally, always eloquent, only too tender-hearted and lachrymose, avowed the king's chagrin^ and the 'need he hod of consolation. This was showing him as conquered, instead of associating him with the victory of the people over the minis- ters who were departing. ** Well, citizens, are you satisfied ! Behold the king," (fee. That Behold, thrice repeated, seemed like a sad parody of Ecce Homo. Those who had noticed that similitude found it exact and complete, when Bailly showed the king at the window of the H6tel-de-Ville, with the cockade in his hat. He remained there a quarter of an hour, serious and silent. On his de- parture it was intimated to him, in a whisper, that he ought to say something himself. But all they could get from him was the ratification of the citizen guard, the mayor, and the commandant, and the very laconic sentence : " You may always rely on my aifection." The electors were satisfied, but not so the people. They had imagined that tae king, rid of his bad advisers, had come to fraternize with the city of Paris. But, what ! not one word, not one gesture ! Nevertheless, the crowd applauded on his return ; they seemed to desire to give vent at length to their long restrained feelings. Every weapon was reversed in sign of peace. They shouted Vive le Roi, and he was carried to his carriage. A market-woman flung her arms round his neck. Men with bottles stopped his horses, poured out wine for his coachman and valets, and drank Avith them the health of the king. He smiled, but still said nothing. The least kind word, uttered at that moment, would have been re-echoed and cele- brated with immense efiect. It was past nine in the evening when he returned to the castle. On the staircase he found the queen and his children in tears, who came and threw themselves into his arms. Had the kincT then incurred some alarmino- dano-er in a'oino- to visit his people ? Was his people his enemy ? Why what more would they have done for a king set at lil>erty, for John or Frr.ncis I., returning from London or Madrid ? On the same day, Friday, the 17th, as if to protest that the FIRST EMIGRATION, 175 king neither said nor did anything at Paris but by force and constraint, his brother the Count d'Artois, the Condes, the Contis, the Pohgnacs, Vaudreuil, Broglie, Lambesc, and others, absconded from France. It was no easy matter. They found everywhere their names held in detestation, and tlie people rising against them. The Polignacs and Vau- dreuils were only able to escape by declaiming along their road aoainst Vaudreuil and Polio-nac. The conspiracy of the court, aggravated with a thousand popular accounts, both strange and horrible, had seized upon eveiy imagination, and rendered them incurably suspicious and distrustful. Versailles, excited at least as much as Paris, watched the castle night and day as the centre of treason. That immense palace seemed a desert. Many durst no longer enter it. The north wing, appropriated to the Condes, was almost empty ; the south wing, that of the Count d'Artois, and the seven vast apartments of the ladies Polignac were shut up for ever. Several of the king's servants would have liked to forsake their master. They were beginning lo enter- tain strange ideas about him. For three days, says Besenval, the king had scarcely any- body about him but M. de Montmorin and myself. On the 19th, every minister being absent, I had entered the king's apartment to ask him to sign an order to have horses given to a colonel who was returning. As 1 was presenting that order a footman placed himself between the king and me, in order to see what he was writing. The king turned round, perceived the insolent fellow, and snatched up the tongs. I prevented him from following that impulse of very natural indignation ; he clasped ray hand to thank me, and I perceived tears in his eyes. 17C CHAPTER II. POPULAR JUDGMENTS. No Power inspires Confidence.— The Judiciary Power has lost Confidence. — The Breton Club. — Advocates, the Basoche — Danton and Camille Des- moulins.— Barbarity of the Laws, and of the Punishments. — Judgments of the Palais Royal. — La Gr^ve and Famine. — Death of Foulon and Berthier, July -Li-i 1789. Royalty remains alone. The privileged class go into exile or submit ; they declare they will henceforth vote in the National Assembly and be subject to the majority. Being isolated and laid bare, royalty appears what it had been fundamentally for a long time : a nonentity. Tliat nonentity was the ancient faith of France ; and that faith deceived now causes her distrust and incredulity ; it makes her excessively uneasy and suspicious. To have believed and loved, and to have been for a century always deceived in that love, is enough to make her no longer believe in anything. Where will faith be now ? At that question, they experience a feeling of terror and sohtude, like Louis XVI. himself in the forner of his lonely palace. There will no longer be faith in any mortal power. The legislative power itself, that Assembly beloved by France, is now so unfortunate as to have absorbed its enemies, five or six hundred nobles and priests, and to contain them in its bosom. Another evil is, that it has conquered too much ; it will now be the authority, the government, the king — when a king is no longer possible. The electoral power, which likewise found itself obliged to govern, feels itself expiring at the end of a few days, and entreats the districts to create its successor. During the can- nonade of the Bastille, it had shuddered and doubted. Men of little faith ! But perfidious ? No. That bourgeoisie of '89, imbued with the philosophy of that grand age, was certainly less egotisti- cal than our own. It was wavering and uncertain, bold in prin- ciple, but timid in application ; it had been so long in bondage ! THE JUDICIARY POWER HAS LOST CONFIDENCE. 177 It is the virtue of the judiciary power, when it remains entire and strong, to supply every other ; but itself is supplied by none. It was the mainstay and the resource of our ancient France, in her most terrible moments. In the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries, it sat immutable and firm, so that the country, almost lost in the tempest, recovered and found itself still in the inviolable sanctuary of civil justice. Well ! even that power is shattered. Shattered by its incon- sistency and contradictions. Servile and bold at once, for the king and against the king, for the pope and against the pope, the defender of the law and the champion of privilege, it speaks of liberty and resists for a century every liberal progress. It also, and as much as the king, deceived the hope of the people. What joy, what enthusiasm, when the parliament returned from exile, on the accession of Louis XVI. ! And it was in answer to that confidence that it joined the privileged class, stopped all reform, and caused Target to be dismissed! In 1787, the people sustained it still, and, by way of recompense, the Parlia- ment demanded that the States-General should be restored in imitation of the old form of 1614, that is to say useless, power- less, and derisive. No, the people cannot confide in the judiciary power. What is most strange, is, that it was this power, the guar- dian of order and the laws, that began the riot. Disturbances first begin about the Parliament, at every lit de justice. They were encouraged by the smiles of the magistrate. Young coun- sellors, such as d'Espremesnil or Duport, mindful of the Fronde, would willingly have imitated Broussel and the Coadjutor. The organised Basoche furnishes an army of clerks. It has its king, its judgments, its provosts, old students, as was Moreau at Rennes, or brilliant orators and duellists, like Barnave at Grenoble. The solemn prohibition that the clerks should not wear a sword, did but make them the more pugnacious. The first club was the one opened by counsellor Duport at his house in the Rue du Chaume in the Marais. There he assembled the most forward of the Parliament people, advocates and deputies, especially the Bretons. The club being transferred to Versailles, was called the Breton Club. On its return to Paris with the Assembly, and changing its cha- racter, it took up its quarters at the convent of the Jacobins. 178 THE BRETON CLUB ADVOCATES. Mirabeau went but once to Duport's; he used to call Duport, Barnave, and Lameth, the Triumgueusat.^ Sieyes also went but would not return there : *' It is a den of poHtical banditti, 6£id he ; they take outrages for expedients." Elsewhere he designates them still more harshly : ** One may imagine them to be a set of wicked blackguards, ever in action, shouting, intriguing, and rioting lawlessly, recklessly, and then laughing at the mischief they had done. To them may be attributed the greater part of the errors of the Revolution. Happy would it have been for France, if the subaltern agents of those early perturbators, on becoming leaders in their tarn, Dy a sort of customary hereditary right in long revolutions, had renounced the spirit by which they had been so long agitated ! '* These subalterns alluded to by Sieyes, who will succeed their leaders (and who were far superior to them), were especially two men, — two revolutionary levers, Camille Desmoulins and Danton. Those two men, one the king of pamphleteers, the other the thundering orator of the Palais Royal, before he was that of the Convention, cannot be further mentioned in this place. Besides, they are about to follow us, and will soon never leave us. In them, or in nobody, are personified the comedy and tragedy of the Revolution. Presently they will let their masters form the club of the Jacobins, and will go and found the Cordeliers, At the present, all is mingled together : the grand club of a hundred clubs, among the cafes, the gaming-houses, and women, is still the Palais Royal. There it was that on the 12th of July, Desmou- lins cried : To arms ! And there, on the night of the 13th, sentence was passed on Flesselles and De Launey. Those passed on the Count D'Artois, the Condes and the Polignacs, were forwarded to them ; and they had the astonishing effect, hardly to be expected from several battles, of making them depart from France, Hence arose a fatal predilection for the means of terror which had so well succeeded. Desmoulins, in the speech which he attributes to the lamp (lanterne) of La Greve, makes it say, *' That strangers gaze upon it in an ecstasy of itsionishment ; that they wonder that a lamp should * Meaning the Three Knaves, — a parody, of course, on triuinvirato. — C. C. CAMILLE DESMOULINS. 179 have done more in (wo days than all their heroes in a hundred years. * Besmoulins renews ever with inexhaustible wit the old jokes that filled all the middle ages on the gallows, the rope, and the persons hung. That hideous, atrocious punishment, which renders agony visible, was the usual text of the most joyous stories, the amusement of the vulgar, the inspiration of the Basoche. This found all its genius in Camille Desmoulins. That young lawyer of Picardy, with a very light purse and a still lighter character, was loitering briefless at the Palais, when the Revolution made him suddenly plead at the Palais Royal. A slight impediment in his speech did but render hira the more amusing. His lively sallies playing about his em- barrassed lips, escaped like darts. He followed his comic humour without much considering whether it might not end in tragedy. The famous judgments of the Basoche, those judicial farces which had so much amused the old Palais, were not more merry than the judgments of the Palais Royal ; t the difference was that the latter were often executed in La Greve (the place of execution). What is most strange, and a subject for reflection, is, that Bes- moulins, with his roguish genius and mortal jests, and that bull of a Bantou, who bellows murder, are the very men who, four year? later, perish for having proposed The Committee of Clevienci/ ! Mirabeau, Buport, the Lameths, and many others more moderate, approved of the acts of violence ; several said they had advised them. In 1788, Sieyes demanded the death of the ministers. On the 14th of July, Mirabeau demanded Be Broglie's head ! Besmoulins lodged in his house. Ho marched willingly between Besmoulins and Banton ; and, being tired of his Genevese, preferred these men, directing the former to write, and the latter to speak. Target, a very moderate, prudent, cool-headed man was intimate with Besmoulins, and gave his approbation to the pamphl<^-t De la La7iterne. * Camille Desmoulins, Discours de la Lanterne aux PaHsiens, p. 2. He insinuates, however, rather adroitly, that those rapid condemnations are not without inconvenience, that they are liable to cause mistakes, &c. f See the judgment of Duval d'Espr^mesnil, related by C. Desmoulins \v his letters. N 2 180 BARBARITY OF THE I'UKISILMENTS. This clesei-ves an explanation : Nobody believed in justice, save in that of the people. The legists especially despised the law, the jurisprudence of that time, in contradiction to all the ideas of the age. They were well acquainted with the tribunals, and knew that the Revolution had not more passionate adversaries than the Par- liament, the High Court of Justice [le Chdtelet), and the judges in general. Such, a judgment-seat was the enemy. To give up the trial of the enemy to the enemy, and charge it to decide between the Revolution and its adversaries, was to absolve the latter, render them stronger and more haughty, and send them to the armies to begin a civil war. Were they able to make one ? Yes, in spite of the enthusiasm of Paris and the taking of the Bastille. They had foreign troops, and all the oflacers were for them ; they had especially a formidable body, which then con- stituted the glory of France, the officers of the navy. The people alone, in that rapid crisis, were able to seize and strike such powerful criminals. But if the people should mis- take ? This objection did not embarrass the partizans of violence. They recriminated. " How many times," would they reply, "have not the Parliament and the Chitelet made mis- takes?" They quoted the notorious mistakes in the cases of Galas and Sirven; they reminded their opponents of Dupaty's terrible memorial for three men condemned to the wheel, — that memorial burnt by the Parliament that was unable to answer it. What popular trials, would they again say, can ever be more barbarous than the procedure of the regular tribunals, just as they now are, in 1789. — Secret proceedings, made entirely on documents that the defendant is not allowed to see; the accusa- tions uncommimicated, the witnesses non-confronted, save that last short moment when the defendant, but just emerging from the utter darkness of his dungeon, bewildered by the light of day, comes to sit on his bench, replies or not, and sees his judges for the two minutes during which he hears himself condemned.* — Barbarous procedure, more barbarous sentences, execrable punishments ! — We shudder to think of Damiens torn with pincers, quartered, sprinkled with molten lead. — Just before * A truly eloquent passage in Dupaty's memorial for three men condemned to be broken on the wheel, p. 117 (1786, in 4to.), LA GREVE AND FAMINE. 181 the Revolution, a man was burned at Strasburg. On the 11th of August 1789, the Parhament of Paris, itself expiring, once more condemned a man to be broken on the wheel. Such punishment, which was torture even for the spectator, wounded the souls of men, made them furious, mad, eon- founded every idea of justice, and subverted justice itself ; the criminal who suffered such torture seemed no longer guilty ; the guilty party was the judge ; and a world of maledictions was heaped upon him. Sensibility was excited into fury, and pity grew ferocious. History offers several instances of this sort of furious sensibility which often transported the people beyond all the bounds of respect and fear, and made them rack and buin the officers of justice in place of the criminal. A fact, too little noticed, but which enables us to understand a great many things, is, that several of our terrorists were men of an exquisite feverish sensibility, who felt cruelly the suffer- ings of the people, and whose pity turned into fury. This remarkable phenomenon chiefly showed itself in nervous men, of a weak and irritable imagination, among artists of every kind : the artist is a man- woman.-'' The people whose nerves are stronger followed that impulse, but in the earlier period never gave it. The acts of violence proceeded from the Palais Royal, where the citizens, advocates, artists, and men of letters were predominant. Even among these men, nobody incurred the whole respon- sibility. A Camille Desmoulins might start the game and begin the hunt ; a Danton hunted it to death — in words, of course. But there was no lack of mute actors for the execu- tion, of pale furious men to carry the thing to La Greve, where it was urged on by inferior Dantons. In the miserable crowd surrounding the latter, were strange looking figures, like beings escaped from the other world ; spectral looking men, mad with hunger, delirious from fasting, and who were no longer men. It was stated that several, on the 20th of July, had not eaten for three days. Occasionally, they were resigned, and died without injuring anybody. The women were not so resigned ; they had children. They wandered about like lionesses. In every riot they were the most inveterate and furious ; they uttered * I mean a complete man, who, having both sexes of the mind, is fruitful ; bowever, having almost always the sense of irritation and choler predominant. 182 LA GREVE AND FAMINE. cries of frenzy, and made the men ashamed of their tardiness ; the summary judgments of La Greve were ever too long for them. They hung at once.* England has had in this century her poetry of hunger. t Who will give its history to France ? A terrible history in the last century, neglected by the historians, who have re- served their pity for the artisans of famine. I have attempted to descend into the regions of that hell, guided nearer and nearer by deep groans of agony. I have shown the land mpre and more sterile in proportion as the exchequer seized and destroyed the cattle, and that the earth devoid of manure is condemned to a perpetual fast. I have shown how, as the nobles, the exempt from taxes, multiplied, the impost weighed ever more heavily on an ever declining land. I have not suffi- ciently shown how food became, from its very scarcity, the object of an eminently productive traffic. The profits were so obvious, that the king wished also to take a part. The world saw with astonishment a king trafficking with the lives of his subjects, a king speculating on scarcity and death, — a king the assassin of his people. Famine is no longer only the result of the seasons, — a natural phenomenon ; it is neither rain nor hail. It is a deed of the civil order : people starve by order of tlie king. The king here is the system. The people were starving under Louis XV., and they starve under Louis XVL Famine was then a science, a complicated art of administra- tion and commerce. Its parents are the exchequer and mono- poly. It engenders a race apart, a bastard breed of contractors, bankers, financiers, revenue-farmers, intendants, counsellors, and ministers. A profound expression on the alliance between the speculators and politicians was uttered from the bowels of the people : compact of famine. Among those men was one who had long been famous. His name Foulon (very expressive, | and which he strove to justify) was in the mouth of the people as early as 1756. He had begun his career as an intendant of the army, and in the * They hung tLu? on the 5th of October the honest a66^ Lefebvre, one of the heroes of the 14th of July ; luckily the rope was cut. t Ebcrezcr Elliott, Corn-law Rhynics (Manchester, 1834), &c., &c. As iffouloTis: let us trample (on the people). — C. C. FOULON AND BERTHIER. 183 enemy's country. Truly terrible to Germany, he was even more so to our soldiers. His manner of victualling was as fatal as a battle of Rosbach. He had grown fat on the destitution of the army, doubly rich by the fasting of the French and the Germans. Foulon was a speculator, financier, and contractor on one hand, and on the other a member of the Council who alone judge the contractors. He expected certainly to become minister. He would have died of grief, if bankruptcy had been effected by any other than he. The laurels of the abbe Terray did not allow him to sleep. He had the fault of preaching his system too loudly ; his tongue counteracted his doings and rendered it impossible. The Court relished very much the idea of not paying, but it wanted to borrow, and the calling the apostle of bankruptcy to the ministry was not the way to entice lenders. Foulon was already an old man, one of the good old dayi> of Louis XV., one of that insolent school that gloried in its rapine, boldly showing it, and which, for a trophy of depredation, built on the boulevard the Pavilion of Hanover. For his part, he had erected for himself, in the most frequented thorough- fare, at the corner of the Rue du Temple, a delightful mansion, which was still admired in 1845. He was convinced that in France, as Figaro Beaumarchais says, "Everything ends in a song;" therefore he must assume a bold face, brave and laugh at public opinion. Hence those words which were re-echoed everywhere : "If they are hungry, let them browse grass. Wait till I am minister, I will make them eat hay ; my horses eat it. " He is also stated to have uttered this terrible threat: "France must be mowed." II faut faucher la France, The old man beheved, by such bravado, to please the young military party, and recommend himself for the day he saw approaching, when the Court, wanting to strike some desperate blo\^f, would look out for a hardened villain. Foulon had a son-in law after his own heart, Berthier, the intendant of Paris, a clever, but hard-hearted man, as confessed by the royalists,* and unscrupulous, since he had espoused a fortune acquired in such a manner. * According toBeaulieu's confession, Memoires, ii., p. 10. 184 FOULON AND BERTHIER. Of humble extraction, being descended from a race of pro- vincial attorneys or petty magistrates, he was hard-working, active, and energetic. A libertine at the age of fifty, in spite of his numerous family, he purchased, on all sides, so it was said, little girls twelve years of age. He knew well that ho was detested by the Parisians, and was but too happy to find an opportunity of making war upon them. With old Foulon, he was the soul of the three days' ministry. Marshal dr. Broglie augured no good of it : he obeyed.* But Foulon and Berthier were very ardent. The latter showed a diabolical activity in collecting arms, troops, everything together, and in manufacturing cartridges. If Paris was not laid waste with fire and sword, it was not his fault. People feel astonished that persons so wealthy, so well-in- fiirmed, of mature age and experience, should have cast them- selves into such mad proceedings. The reason is, that all great financial speculators partake of the manner of gamblers ; they have their temptations. Now, the most lucrative afikir tliey could ever find, was thus to undertake to efi'ect bankruptcy by military execution. That was hazardous. But what great afi*air is without risk ? A profit is made on storm and fire ; why not then on war and famine ? Nothing risk, nothing gain. Famine and war, I mean Foulon and Berthier, who thought tlicy lield Paris fast, were disconcerted by the taking of the Bastille. On the evening of the 14th, Berthier attempted to reassure Louis XVI. ; if he could but get from him the slightest order, he could even then pour down his Germans upon Paris. Louis XVI. neither said nor did anything. From that UKanent, those two ministers felt they were dead men, Ber- thier fled towards the north, escaping by night from place to place ; he passed four nights without sleeping, or even stopping, and yet had reached only Soissons. Foulon did not attempt to fly : first of all, he spread the report everywhere that he had not wished to be minister ; next, that he was struck with apoplexy, and lastly pretended he was dead. He had himself buried with great pomp (one of his servants having died at the * Alex, de Lamcth, Jllst. de VAssemhUe constituante, i., p. 67. FAMINE, 185 right moment.) This being done, he repaired very quietly to the house of his wortliy friend Sartine, the former Heutenant of pohce. He had good reason to be afraid : the movement was terrible. Let us go back a little. As early as the month of May, famine had exiled whole populations, driving them one upon the other. Caen and Rouen, Orleans, Lyons, and Nancy, had witnessed struggles for corn. Marseilles had seen at her gates a band of eight thousand famished people who must pillage or die ; the whole town, in spite of the Government, in spite of the Parliament of Aix, had taken up arms, and remained armed. The movement slackened a moment in June. All France, with eyes fixed on the Assembly, was waiting for it to conquer : no other hope of salvation. The most extreme sufi'erings were for a moment silent ; one thought was predominant over all others. Who can describe the rage, the horror of hope deceived, on the news of Necker's dismissal. Necker was not a politician ; he was, as we have seen, timid, vain-glorious, and ridiculous. But in what concerned subsistence, it is but justice to say, that he was an indefatigable, ingenious administrator, full of in- dustry and resources.* What is far better, he showed himself to be an honest, good, kind-hearted man ; when nobody would lend to the state, he borrowed in his own name, and engaged his own credit as far as two millions of francs, the half of his for- tune. When dismissed, he did not withdraw his security ; but wrote to the lenders that he maintained it. In a word, if he knew not how to govern, he nourished the people, and fed them with his own money. Necker and subsistence were words that had the same sound in the ears of the people. Necker's dismissal and famine, hopeless, irremediable famine, was what France felt on the 12th of July. The provincial Bastilles, that of Caen and that of Bordeaux, either surrendered, or were taken by force, at the same time as that of Paris. At Reunes, Saint Malo, and Strasburg, the troops sided with the people. At Caen there was a fight among • See Necker, (EuvreSy vi., pp. 298 — 324. 186 DEATH OF FOULON AND BERTHIER. the soldiers. A few men of the Artois regiment were wearing the patriotic symbols ; those of the Bourbon regiment, taking advantage of their being unarmed, tore thera away. It was thought that Major Belzunce had paid them to offer this insult to their companions. Belzunce was a smart, witty officer, but impertinent, violent, and haughty. He was loud in expressing his contempt for the National Assembly, for the people, the canail/e ; he used to walk in the town, armed to the teeth, with a ferocious-looking servant.* His looks were provoking. The people lost patience, threatened, and besieged the barracks ; an officer had the imprudence to fire ; and then the people ran to fetch cannon ; Belzunce surrendered, or was given up to be conducted to prison ; he could not reach it ; he was fired upon and killed, and his body torn piece-meal : a woman ate his heart. There was blood-shed at Rouen and Lyons : at Saint Ger- main, a miller was beheaded : a monopolist baker was near being put to death at Poissy ; he was saved only by a depu- tation of the Assembly, who showed themselves admirable for courage and humanity, risked their lives, and preserved the man only after having begged him of the people on their knees. Foulon would perhaps have outlived the storm, if he had not been hated by all France. His misfortune was to be so by those who knew him best, by his vassals and servants. They did not lose sight of him, neither had they been duped by the pretended burial. They followed and found the dead man alive and well, walking in M. de Sartine's park : " You wanted to give us hay," said they, " you shall eat some your- self I " They put a truss of hay on his back, and adorn him with a nosegay of nettles, and a collar of thistles. They then lead him on foot to Paris, to the Hotel- de-Ville, and demand his trial of the electors, the only authority that remained. The latter must then have regretted they had not hastened the popular decision which was about to create a real municipal power, give them successors, and put an end to their royalty. Royalty is the word ; the French Guards mounted guard at the royal palace of Versailles only on orders received (strange to say) from the electors of Paris. * Mtmoires de DumouHez^ ii., p. 53. DEATH OF FOULOX AND BERTHIER. 1ST That illegal power, invoked for everything, but poAverless in all things, weakened still further by its fortuitous associa- tion with the ancient eschevins, having nobody for its head but the worthy Bailly, the new mayor, and for its arm only La- fayette, the commander of a scarcely organised national guard, was now about to find itself in face of a terrible necessity. They heard almost at the same time that Berthier had been arrested at Compiegne, and that Foulon was being conducted back again. For the former, they assumed a responsibility both serious and bold (fear is so sometimes), that of teUing the people of Compiegne : *' That there was no reason for detain- ing M. Berthier." They replied that he would then be assuredly killed at Compiegne, and that he could only be saved by con- ductino; him to Paris. As to Foulon, it was decided : That henceforth delinquents of that description should be lodged in the Abbaye, and that these words should be inscribed over the door: "Prisoners entrusted to the care of the nation." This general measure, taken in the interest of one man, secured for the ex-counsellor his trial by his friends and colleagues, the ancient magistrates, the only judges of that time. All that was too evident ; but also well watched by keen- sighted men, the attorneys and the Basoche, by annuitants, enemies of the minister of bankruptcy, and lastly, by many men who held public securities and were ruined by the fall in the funds. An attorney filed an indictment against Berthier, for his deposits of guns. The Basoche maintained that he had moreover one of those deposits with the abbess of Montmartre, and obliged a search to be made. La Greve was full of men, strangers to the people, '' o/a decent exterior,'' and some very well dressed. The Exchange was at La Greve. People came at the same time to the H6tel-de-Yille, to denounce Beaumarchais, another financier, who had stolen some papers from the Bastille. They ordered them to be taken back. It was thought that the poor, at all events, might be kept silent by filling their mouths ; so they lowered the price of bread : by means of a sacrifice of thirty thousand francs per day, the price was fixed at thirteen sous and a half the four pounds (equal to twenty sous at the present time). 188 DEATH OF FOULON. The multitude of La Greve did not vociferate the less. At two, Bailly descends ; all demand justice. *' He expounded the principles/' and made some impression on those who were within hearing. The others shouted : *' Hang ! Hang him !" Bailly prudently withdrew, and shut himself up in the Bureau des Subsistances. The c:uard was strono- said he, but M. de Lafayette, who relied on his ascendancy, had the imprudence to lessen it. The crowd was in a terrible fever of uneasiness lest Foulon should escape. He was shown to them at a window ; never- theless, they broke open the doors : it became necessary to place him in a chair in front of the bureau, in the great hall of Saint- Jean. There, they began to preach to the crowd again, to " expound the principles," that he must be judged. ** Judged instantly, and hung ! " ci'ied the crowd. So saying, they appointed judi;es, among others two cures, who refused. *' Make room there for M. de Lafayette ! " He arrives, speaks in his turn, avows that Foulon is a villain, but says it is neces- sary to discover his accomplices ; " Let him be conducted to the Abbaye ! " The front ranks, who heard him, consented ; not so the others. **You are joking," exclaimed a well- dressed man, " does it require time to judge a man who has been judged these thirty years?" At the same time, a shout is heard, and a new crowd rushes in ; some say : ** It is the faubourg," others : " It is the Palais Royal." Foulon is carried off and dragged to the lamp opposite ; they make him demand pardon of the nation. Then hoist him. — The rope broke twice. They persisted, and go for a new one. At length, having hung him, they chopped off his head, and carried it throu^rh Paris. Meanwhile, Berthier has just arrived by the Porte Saint- Martin, tlirough the most frightful mob that was ever seen : he had been followed for twenty leagues. He was in a cabri- olet, the top of which they had broken to pieces in order to see him. Beside him sat an elector, Etienne de la Riviere, who was twenty times near being killed in defending him, and shielding him with his body. A furious mob was dancing on before him ; others flung black bread into the carriage : — ** Take that, brigand, that is the bread you made us eat ! " What had also exasperated all the population about Paris DEATH OF BERTHIER. 189 was, that amid the scarcity, the numerous cavah-y collected by Berthier and Foulon, had destroyed ov eaten a great quantity of young green corn. This havoc was attributed to the orders of the intendant, to his firm resolution to prevent there being any crop and to starve the people. To adorn that horrible procession of death, they carried before Berthier, as in the Roman triumphs, inscriptions to his glory : — '* He has robbed the king and France. He has devoured the substance of the people. He has been the slave of the rich, and the tyrant of the poor. He has drunk the blood of the widow and the orphan. He has cheated the king. He has betrayed his country."* At tlie fountain Maubuee, they had the barbarity to shew him Foulon's head, livid, with the mouth full of hay. At that sight his eyes were glazed ; he smiled a ghastly smile. They forced Bailly at the H6tel-de-Ville to take his examin- ation. Berthier alleged superior orders. The minister was his father-in-law, it was the same person. Moreover, if the hall of Saint-Jean was inclined to listen a little. La Greve neither listened nor heard ; the vociferations were so dreadful, that the mayor and the electors felt more uneasy every mo- ment. A new crowd of people having forced its way through the very mass, it was no longer possible to hold out. The mayor, on the advice of the board, exclaimed : *' To the Abbaye I " adding that the guards were answerable for the prisoner. They could not defend him ; but, seizing a gun, he defended himself. He was stabbed with a hundred bayonets ; a dragoon, who imputed his father's death to him, tore out his heart, and ran to show it at the H6tel-de-Yille. The spectators in La Greve, who had watched from the windows the tact of the leaders in urging and exciting the mob, believed that Berthier's accomplices had taken their mea- sures well, in order that he might not have the time to make any revelation. He alone, perhaps, possessed the real inten- tions of the party. They found in his portfolio the description of the persons of many friends of liberty, who, doubtless, had no mercy to expect, if the court conquered, * Histoire de la Revolution de '89, j)ar deux amis de la liberie {Kerverseau et Chivdin, jusqu'au t. 7,) t; 2, p. 1 30. See also the account of Etienne de .a Riviere, in the Proces-verbal des ^lecteurs. 190 EMBARRASSMENT OF THE ASSEMBLY. However this may be, a great number of the comrades of the dragoon declared to him, that having dishonoured the com- pany he must die, and that they would all fight him till he was killed. He was killed the same evening. CHAPTER III. FRANCE IN ARMS. Embarrassment of tlie Assembly. — It engages the People to confide in it, July 23rcl. — Distrust of the People ; Fears of Paris ; Alarm of the Provinces. — Conspiracy of Brest ; the Court compromised by the English Ambassador, July 27th. — Fury of the old Nobles and new Nobles : Menaces and Plots. — Terror in the Rural Districts. — -The Peasants take up arms against the Brigands, Burn the Feudal Charters, and set fire to several Chateaux. — July to August, 1789. The vampires of the ancien regime, whose lives had done so much harm to France, did still more by their death. Those people, whom Mirabeau termed so well *' the refuse of public contempt," are as if restored to character by punish- ment.- The gallows becomes their apotheosis. They are now become interesting victims, the martyrs of monarchy ; their legend will go on increasing in pathetic fictions. Mr. Burke canonized them and prayed on their tomb. The acts of violence of Paris, and those of which the pro- vinces were the theatre, placed the National Assembly in a difficult position, from which it could not well escape. If it did not act, it would seem to encourage anarchy and authorise murder, and thus furnish a text for eternal calumny. If it attempted to remedy the disorder, and raise fallen authority, it restored, not to the king, but to the queen and the court, the sword that the people had shivered in their hands. In either hypothesis, despotism and caprice were about to be re-established, either for the old royalty or the royalty of the mob. At that moment they were destroying the odious symbol of despotism — the Bastille ; and behold another Bas- tille — arbitrary rule — again springing up. England rubs her hands with glee at this, and is grateful to EMBARRASSMENT OF THE ASSEMBLY. 191 the Lanterne. *' Thank God," says she, *' the Bastille will never disappear." Wliat would you have done ? Tell us, you officious coun- sellers, you friendly enemies, sages of European aristocracy, you who so carefully pour calumny on the hatred you have jlanted. Sitting at your ease on the dead bodies of Ireland, Italy, and Poland, deign to answer ; have not your revolutions of interest cost more blood than our revolutions of ideas ? What would you have done ? Doubtless what was advised on the eve and the morrow of the 22nd of July, by Lally Tollendal, Mounier, and Malouet ; to re-establish order, they wished that power should be restored to the king. Lally put his whole trust in the king's virtues. Malouet wanted them to entreat the king to use his power and lend a strong hand to the municipal authority. The king would have armed, and not the people ; no national guard. Should the people complain, why then let them apply to the Parliament and the Attorney- General. Have we not magistrates? Foulon was a magistrate. So Malouet would send Poulon to the tribunal of Foulon. It is necessary, they very truly said, to repress disturbances. Only it was necessary to come to a right understanding. This word comprehended many things : Thefts, other ordinary crimes, pillaging committed by a starving population, murders of monopolists, irregular judg- ment pronounced on the enemies of the people, resistance offered to their plottings, legal resistance, resistance in arms. All comprised in the word troubles. Did they wish to sup- press all with an equal hand ? If royal authority was charged to repress the disturbances, the greatest in its estimation was, most certainly, the taking of the Bastille ; it would have punished that first. This was the reply made by Buzot and Robespierre on the 20th of July, two days before the death of Foulon: and this was what Mirabeau said, in his journal, after the event. He set this misfortune before the Assembly in its true light, — the absence of all authority in Paris, the impotency of the electors, who, without any lawful delegation of power, continued to exercise the nmnicipal functions. He wished municipalities to be organised, invested with strength, and who should under- 192 IT DEMxiNDS THE CONFIDENCE OF THE PEOPLE. take the maintenance of order. Indeed what other means were there than to strengthen the local power, when the central power was so justly suspected? Barnave said three things were necessary : well-organized municipalities, citizen guards, and a legal administration of the law that might reassure the people. What was that legal administration ,to be ? A deputy-sub- stitute, Dufresnoy, sent by a district of Paris, demanded sixty jurymen, chosen from the sixty districts. This proposition, sup- ported b}^ petition, was modified by another deputy, who wished ma£:;istrates to be added to the jurymen. The Assembly came to no decision. An hour after mid- night, being weary of contention, it adopted a proclamation, in which it claimed the prosecution of crimes of Icse-nation^ re- serofng to itself the right to indicate in the constitution the tribu- nal that should judge. This was postponing for a long time. It invited to peace, for this reason : That the king had acquired mo7-e rights than ever to the confidence of the people, that there existed a perfect accord, (fee. Confidence ! And yet there never was any confidence again! At the very moment the Assembly was speaking of confidence, a sad light burst forth, and fresh dangers were seen. The Assembly had been wrong; the people had been right. However willing the people might be to be deceived, and be- lieve all Avas ended, common sense whispered that the ancien regime being conquered, would wish to have its revenge. Was it possible that a power which had possessed, for ages, all the forces of the countrv, administration, finances, armies, and tri- bunals, that still had everywhere its agents, its officers, its judges, without any change, and for compulsory partisans, two or three hundred thousand nobles or priests, proprietors of one- half or two-thirds of the kingdom, — could that immense and complicated power, wliich covered all France, die like one man, at once, by a single blow ? Had it fallen down dead, shot by a cannon-ball of July ? That is what the most simple child could not liave been induced to believe. It wa? not dead. It had been struck and wounded ; morally it was dead ; physically it was not. It might rise again. How would that phantom reappear? That was the whole question put by the people! — the one that troubled the imagination. DISTRUST OF THE PEOPLE. 193 Common sense here assumed a thousand forms of popular superstition. Everybody used to go and see the Bastille ; all beheld with terror the prodigious rope ladder by which Latude descended the towers. They would visit those ominous towers, and those dark, deep, fetid dungeons, where the prisoner, on a level with the common sewers, lived besieged and menaced by rats, toads, and every kind of foul vermin. Beneath a staircase they found two skeletons, with a chain and a cannon-ball which one of those unfortunates had doubt- less to drag after him. Those dead bodies indicated crime. For the prisoners were never buried within the fortress ; they were always carried by ni^ht to the cemetery of Saint Paul, the church of the Jesuits (the confessors of the Bastille) ; where they were buried under names of servants, so that nobody ever knew whether they were alive or dead. As for those two, the workmen who found them gave them the only reparation the dead could receive ; twelve among them, bearing their imple- ments, and holding the pall with respect, carried and buried them honourably in the parish church. They were even hoping to make other discoveries in that old cavern of kings. Outraged humanity was taking its re- venge ; people enjoyed a mingled sentiment of hatred, fear, and curiosity, — an insatiable curiosity, which, when everything had been seen, hunted and searched for more, wished to pene- trate further, suspected something else, imagined prisons under prisons, dungeons under dungeons, into the very bowels of the earth. The imagination actually sickened at that Bastille. So many centuries and generations of prisoners who had there succeeded each other, so many hearts broken by despair, so many tears of rage, and heads dashed against the stones. What ! had no- thing left a trace ! At most, some poor inscription, scratched with a nail, and illegible ? Cruel envy of time, the accomphce of tyranny, conniving with it to efface every vestige of the victims ! They could see nothing, but they listened. There were certainly some sounds, groans, and hollow moans. Was it imagination ? Why, everybody heard them. Were they to beheve that wretched beings were still buried at the bottom of Q 194 fEARS OF PARIS. some secret dungeon known only to the governor who had perished ? The district of the lie Saint-Louis, and others, demanded that they should seek the cause of those lamentable groans. Once, twice, nay, several times, the people returned to the charge ; in spite of all these searches, they could not make up their minds : they were full of trouble and uneasiness for those unfortunates, perhaps buried alive. Then again, if they were not prisoners, might they not be enemies ? Was there not some communication, under the fau- bourg, between the subterraneous passages of the Bastille and those of Vincennes ? Might not gunpowder be passed from one fortress to the other, and execute what De Launey had con- ceived the idea of doing, to blow up the Bastille, and over- whelm and crush the faubourg of liberty ? Public searches were made, and a solemn and authentic in- quiry, in order to tranquillise the minds of the people. The imagination then transported its dream elsewhere. It trans- ferred its mine and its fears to the opposite side of Paris, into those immense cavities whence our monuments were dug, those abysses whence we have drawn the Louvre, Notre Dame, and other churches. There, in 1786, had been cast, without there being any appearance of it (so vast are those caverns) all who had died in Paris for a thousand years, a terrible mass of dead bodies, which, during that year, were transported by night in funeral cars, preceded by the clergy, to seek, from the Innocents to the Tombe Issoire, a final repose and complete oblivion. Those dead bodies were calling for others, and it was doubt- less there that a volcano was preparing ; the mine, from the Pantheon to the sky, was going to blow up Paris, and letting it fall again, would confound the shattered and disfigured mem- bers of the living and the dead, — a chaos of palpitating limbs, dead bodies, and skeletons. Those means of extermination seemed unnecessary ; famine ■vAas su:fficient. A bad year was followed by a worse ; the little corn that had grown up about Paris was trodden, spoilt, or eaten by the numerous cavalry that had been collected. Nay, the corn disappeared without horse-soldiers. People saw, or fancied they saw, armed bands that came by night and cut the unripe corn. Foulon, though dead, seemed to return on purpose to perform to the letter what he had promised : ' ' Mow France. ' * ALARM OF THE PROVINCES. 195 To cut down the green corn and destroy it in the second year of famine, was also to mow down men. Terror went on spreading- ; the couriers, repeating those rumours, spread it every day from one end of the kingdom to the other. They had not seen the hrigands, but others had ; they were at such and such places, marching forwards, numerous, and aimed to the teeth ; thoy would arrive probably that night or on the morrow without fail. At such a place, they had cut down the corn in broad daylight, as the municipality of Soissons wrote in despair to the National Assembly, demanding assist- ance ; a whole army of brigands were said to be marching against that town. They hunted for them ; but they had dis- appeared in the mists of evening or in the morning fog. What is more real, is, that to the dreadful scourge of famine, some had conceived the idea of adding another, which makes us shudder, when we do but remember the hundred years of war- fare which, in the fom-teenth and fifteenth centuries, made a cemetery of our unfortunate country, They wanted to bring the English into France. This has been denied ; yet why ? It is more than likely, since it was solicited at a subsequent period ; attempted, and foiled at Quiberon. But then, the question was not to bring their fleet on a shore difficult of access and destitute of defence, but to establish them firmly in a good, defensible place, to hand over to them the naval arsenal, wherein France, for a whole century, had expended her millions, her labours, and her energies ; the head, the prow of our great national vessel, and the stumbling-block of England. The question was to give up Brest. Ever since France had assisted in the deliverance of America, and cut the British empire asunder, England had desired not its misery, but its ruin and utter destruction ; that some strong autumnal tide would raise the ocean from its bed, and cover with one grand flood all the land from Calais to the Yosges, the Pyrenees, and the Alps. But, there was something still more desirable to be seen, which was, that this new inundation should be one of blood, the blood of France, drawn by herself from her own veins, that she should commit suicide and tear out her intestines. The conspiracy of Brest was a good beginning. Only, there was reason to fear that England, by making friends with the o2 196 CONSPIRACY OF BREST. villains who were selling her their native land, might unite against her all France reconciled in one common indignation, and that there should he no longer any party. Another thing might have sufficed to restrain the English government, which is, that, in the first moments, England, in spite of her hate, smiled upon our Revolution. She had no suspicion of its extent ; in that great French and European movement, which was no less than the advent of eternal right, she fancied she perceived an imitation of her own petty insular and egotistical revolution of the seventeenth century. She applauded France as a mother encourages the child that is trying to walk after her. A strange sort of mother, who was not quite sure whether she would rather the child should walk or break its neck. Therefore, England withstood the temptation of Brest. She was virtuous, and revealed the thing to the ministers of Louis XVL, without mentioning the names of the parties. In that half revelation, she found an immense advantage, that of per- plexing France, to complete the measure of distrust and suspi- cion, have a terrible hold on that feeble government, and take a mortgage upon it. There was every chance of its not inquiring seriously into the plot, fearful of finding more than it wished and of smiting its own friends. And if it did not inquire, if it kept the secret to itself, England was able at any time to unveil the awful mystery. It kept that sword suspended over the head of Louis XVI. Dorset, the English ambassador, was an agreeable man ; he never stirred from Versailles ; many thought he had found favour in the eyes of the queen, and had been well received. Nevertheless, this did not prevent him, after the taking of the Bastille, the importance of which he fully appreciated, as well as the weight of the blow that the king had received, from seizing every opportunity of ruining Louis, as far as lay in his power. A rather equivocal letter from Dorset to the Count d'Artois having been intercepted by chance, he wrote to the minister that they were >vrong in suspecting him of having in the least influenced the disturbances of Paris ; far from it, added he quietly, 3^our Excellency knows well the eagerness I evinced in imparting to you the infamous conspiracy of Brest, in the begins THE COURT COMPROMISED BY THE ENGLISH AMBASSADOR. 197 ning of June, the horror felt by my court, and the renewed assurance of its sincere attachment for the king and the nation. And then he entreated the minister to communicate his letter to the National Assembly. In other words, he begged him to hang himself. His letter of the 2^th of July stated, and published to the world, that the court, for two whole months, had kept the secret, without either acting or adopting, apparently reserving that plot as a last weapon in case of civil war, — the dagger of mercy (poignard de misericorde), as they called it in the middle ages, which the warrior always kept, so that, when vanquished, thrown on the ground, and his sword broken, he might, whilst begging his life, assassinate his conqueror. The minister Montmorin, dragged by the English into broad dayHght, before the National Assembly, had but a very poor explanation to give, namely, that, not having the names of the guilty parties, they had been unable to prosecute. The Assembly did not insist ; but the blow was struck, and was but so much the heavier. It was felt by all France. Dorset's affirmation, which might have been believed to be false, a fiction, a brand cast at random by our enemies, appeared confirmed by the imprudence of the officers in the garrison of Brest, who, on the news of the taking of the Bastille, made a demonstration of intrenching themselves in the castle, menacing to subject the town to martial law, if it should stir. This it instantly did, taking up arms, and overpowering the guard of the port. The soldiers and sailors, bribed in vain by their officers, sided with the people. The noble corps of the marine was very aristocratical, but certainly anything but English. Suspicions nevertheless extended even to them, and even further, to the nobles of Brittany. In vain were the latter indignant, and vainly did they protest their loyalty. This irritation carried to excess made people credit the foulest plots. The prolonged obstinacy of the nobility in re- maining separate from the Third in the States-General, the bitter, desperate dispute which had arisen on that occasion in every town, large or small, in villages and hamlets, often in the same house, had inculcated an indelible idea in the people, that the noble was an enemy. A considerable portion of the higher nobility, illustrious and 198 FURY OF THE OLD NOBLES AND NEW NOBLES. memorable in history, did what was necessary to prove that this idea was false, not at all fearful of the Revolution, and believing that, do what it might, it could not destroy history. But the others, and smaller gentry, less proud of their rank, more vain- glorious or more frank, moreover piqued every day by the new rising of the people whom they saw approaching nearer tbem, and who incommoded them more, declared themselves boldly the enemies of the Revolution. The new nobles and the Parliament people were the most furious ; the magistrates had become more warlike than the military ; they spoke of nothing but battles, and vowed death, l)]ood, and ruin. Those among them who had been till then the vanguard in opposing the wishes of the court, who had the most relished popularity, the love and enthusiasm of the public, were astounded and enraged, to see themselves suddenly indif- ferent or hated. They hated with a boundless hate. They often sought the cause of that very sudden change in the artful machination of their personal enemies, and political enmities were still further envenomed by ancient family feuds. At Quimper, one Kersalaun, a member of the Parliament of Brittany, one of the friends of Chalotais, and very lately the ardent champion of parliamentary opposition, becoming suddenly a still more ardent royalist and aristocrat, would walk gravely among the hooting crowds, who, however, durst not touch him, and naming his enemies aloud, used to say : ** I shall judge them shortly, and wash my hands in their blood.*'* One of these Parliament people, M. Memmay de Quincey, a noble seigneur in Franche-Comte, did not confine himself to threats. Envenomed probably by local animosity, and with his mind in a fever of frenzy, urged likewise perhaps by that fatal propensity of imitation which causes one infamous crime very often to engender many others, he realized precisely what De Launey had wanted to do, — what the people of Paris believed they had still to fear. He gave out at Vesoul, and in the neighbourhood, that by way of rejoicings for the good news, he would give a feast and keep open house. Citizens, peasants, soldiers, all arrive, drink, and dance. The earth opens, and a mine bursts, shatters, shivers, and destroys at random ; the * Duchatellier, La Revolution en Brctagne, i., p. 175. TEEROR OF THE RURAL DISTRICTS. 199 ground is strewn with bleeding members. The whole was attested b}^ the cure^ who confessed a few of the wounded who survived, attested hj. the gendarmerie ^ and brought on the 25th of July before the National Assembly. The Assembly being- exasperated, obtained leave from the king that every power should be written to, in order to demand that the guilty should be delivered up.* An opinion was gaining ground and growing stronger, that the brigands who used to cut down the corn, in order to starve the people, were not foreigners, as had been first supposed, not Italians or Spaniards, as Marseilles believed in May, but French- men, enemies to France, furious enemies of the Revolution, their agents, their servants, and bands whom they paid.f The horror of them increased, everybody believing he had exterminatino; demons about him. In the mornino', thev would run to the field, to see whether it was not laid waste. In the evening, they were uneasy, fearing they might be burned in the night. At the very name of these brigands, mothers would snatch up their children and conceal them. Where then was that royal protection, on the faith of which the people had so long slept ? Where that old guardianship which had so well re-assured them that they had remained minors, and had, as it were, grown up without ceasing to be * Later, M. de Memmay was restored on the pleading of M. Courvoisier. He maintained that the a<:cident had been occasioned by the barrel of gun- powder, left by chance beside some drunken men. Three things had contri- buted to create another suspicion : 1st. M. de Memmay 's absence on the day of the feast ; he was unwilling to be present, he said, wishing to give full scope to ihe rejoicings; 2ndly, his entire disappearance-, 3rdly, the Parliament, of which he was an ancient member, would not allow the ordinary tribunals to make an inquiiy, called the affair before a higher court, and reserved the trial to itself. '\' The historians all affirm, without the least proof, that these alarms and accusations, all that great commotion, proceeded from Paris, from such and such persons. Doubtless, the leaders influenced the Palais Royal ; the Palais Royal, Paris ; and Paris, France. It is not less inexact to attribute everything to the Duke of Orleans, like most of the royalists; or to Duport, like ^L Droz; to Mirabeau, like Montgaillard, &c. See the very wise answer of Alexandre de Lameth. What he ought to have added is, that Mirabeau, Duport, the Lameths, the Duke of Orleans, and most of the men of that period, less ener- getic than is believed, were delighted in being thought to possess so much money, such vast influence. They replied Imt little to such accusations, smiled gredestly, leaving such to believe as would, that they were great villains. 200 THE PEASANTS TAKE ARMS. children ? They began to perceive that, no matter what sort of man Louis XVI. might be, royalty was the intimate friend of the enemy. The king's troops, which, at other times, would have appeared a protection, were precisely a subject of dread. Who were at their head ? The more insolent of the nobles, those who the least concealed their hate. They used to excite, to bribe when necessary the soldiers against the people, and to intoxicate their Germans ; they seemed to be preparing an attack. Man was obliged to rely on himself, and on himself alone. In that complete absence of authority and public protection, his duty as a father of a family constituted him the defender of his household. He became, in his house, the magistrate, the king, the law, and the sword to execute the law, agreeably to the old proverb : ** The poor man in his home is king." The hand of Justice, the sword of Justice : that king has his scythe in default of gun, his mattock, or his iron fork. Now let those brigands come ! But he does not wait for them. Neigh- bours unite, villagers unite, and go armed into the country to see whether those villains dare come. They proceed and behold a band. Do not lire however. Those are the people of another village, friends and relations, who are also hunting about.* France was armed in a week. The National Assembly learn every moment the miraculous progress of that Revo- lution ; they find themselves, in an instant, at the head of the most numerous army ever seen since the crusades. Every courier that arrived astonished and almost frightened them. One day, somebody came and said : ** You have two hundred thousand men." The next day, another said: ** You have five hundred thousand men." Others arrived : " A million of men have armed this week, — two millions, three millions." And all that great armed multitude, rising suddenly from the furrow, asked the Assembly what they were to do. Where then is the old army ? It seems to have disap- peared. The new one, being so numerous, must have stifled it without fighting, merely by crowding together. People have said France is a soldier, and so she has been from that day. On that day a new race rose from the earth, — * Moiitlosicr, Memoires, i., p. 233. Toulongcon, i., p. 56, &c.. Sec THE PEASANTS BURX THE FEUDAL CHARTERS. 201 cliildren born with teetli to tear cartridges, and with strong indefatigable Hmbs to march from Cairo to the Kremhn, and with the admirable gift of being able to march and fight with- out eating, of having only *' their good spirits to feed and clothe them." Relying on their good spirits, joj and hope ! Who then has a right to hope, if it be not he who bears in his bosom the enfranchisement of the world ? Did France exist before that time ? It might be denied. She became at once a sword and a principle. To be thus armed is to be. What has neither idea nor strength, exists but on sufferance. They K'ere in fact ; and they wanted to be by right. The barbarous middle ages did not admit their existence, denying them as men, and considering them only as things. That period taught, in its singular school-divinity, that souls redeemed at the same price are all worth the blood of a God ; then debased those souls, thus exalted, to brutes, fastened them to the earth, adjudged them to eternal bondage, and an- nihilated liberty. This lawless right they called conquest, that is to say, an- cient injustice. Conquest, would it say, made the nobles, the lords. '* If that be all," said Sieyes, '* we will be conquerors in our turn." Feudal right alleged, moreover, those h3^pocritical acts, wherein it was supposed that man stipulated against himself : wherein the weaker party, through fear or force, gave himself up without reserving anything, gave away the future, the pos- sible, his children unborn, and future generations. Those guilty parchments, a disgrace to nature, had been sleeping with impunitv for ao'es in the archives of the castles. Much was said about the grand example given by Louis XVI., who had enfranchised the last serfs of his domains. An im- perceptible sacrifice that cost the treasury but little, and which had scarcely any imitator in France. What ! it will be said, were the seigneurs in '89 hard- hearted, merciless men ? By no means. They were a very varied class of men, but generally feeble and physically decayed, frivolous, sensual, and sensitive, so sensitive that they could not look closely at the 202 THE TEASAXTS BURN SEVERAL CASTLES. unfortunate.* Tbej saw them in idyls, operas, stories, and romances, which caused them to shed teai's of compassion ; they wept with Bernardin Saint-Pierre, with Gretry and Se- daine, Berquin and Florian ; they found merit in their tears, and would saj to themselves : *' I have a good heart." Thus weak-hearted, easy, open-handed, and incapable of withstanding the temptation of spending, they required money, much money, more than their fathers. Hence the necessity of deriving large profits from their lands, of handing the pea- sant over to men of money, stewards, and agents. The more feeling the masters possessed, the more generous and philan- thropic they were at Paris, and the more their vassals died of hunger ; they lived less at their castles, in order not to see this misery, which would have been too painful for their sensibility. Such was in general that feeble, worn-out, effeminate society. It willingly spared itself the sight of oppression, and oppressed only by proxy. However, there were not wanting provincial nobles, who prided themselves on maintaining in their castles the rude feudal traditions, and governed their family and their vassals harshly. Let us merely mention here the cele- brated Ami des homines^ Mirabeau's father, the enemy of his family, who would lock up all his household, wife, Bons, and daughters, people the state-prisons, have law-suits with his neighbours, and reduce his people to despair. He relates that, on giving a fete, he was himself astonished at the moody, savage aspect of his peasants. I can easily believe it ; those poor people were .probably afraid lest the Ami des homm.es should take them for his children. We must not be surprised if the peasant, having once taken up arms, made use of them, and had his revenge. Several lords had cruelly vexed their districts, who remembered it when the time had come. One of them had walled up the village well, and monopolised it for his own use. Another had seized on the common lands. They perished. Several other murders are recorded, which, doubtless, were acts of revenge. * This is confessed by M. De Maitre, in his Considerations sur la Rev^'«' on liis life, but does not succeed. SUPPRESSION OF TITHES. 223 He said that tithes were a real property. How so ? By their having been at first a voluntary gift, a vaUd donation. To which tiiey were able to reply in the terms of law, that a donation is revocable for cause of ingratitude, for the forgetting or neglecting the end for which it was given ; that end was the instruction of the people, so long abandoned by the clergy. Sieyes urged adroitly that, in every case, tithes could not benefit the present possessors, who had purchased with the knowledge, prevision, and deduction of the tithes. This would be, said he, to make them a present of an income of seventy millions (of francs). The tithes were worth more than a hundred and thirty. To give them to the proprietors, was an eminently political measure, engaging for ever the cultivator, the nrmest element of the people, in the cause of the Revolution. That onerous, odious impost, variable according to the pro- Tinces, which often amounted to one-third of the harvest ! which caused war between the priest and the labourer, which obhged ..he former, in harvest-time, to make a contemptible investiga- tion, was nevertheless defended by the clergy, for three whole days, with obstinate violence. *' What! " exclaimed a cure, ** when you invited us to come and join you, in the name of the God of peace I was it to cut our throats ! " So tithes were then their very life, — what they held most precious. On the third day, seeing everybody against them, they made the sacrifice. Some fifteen or twenty curves renounced, throwing themselves on the generosity of the nation. The great prelates, the Arch- bishop of Paris, and Cardinal De Larochefoucauld, followed that example, and renounced, in the name of the clergy. Tithes were abolished without ve([Qin-^\Aon for the future, but maintained for the present, till provision had been made for the support of the pastors (August 11th). The resistance of the clergy could not be avaihng. They had almost the whole Assembly against them. Mirabeau spoke three times ; he was more than usually bold, haughty, and often ironical, yet using respectful language. He knew well the assent he must meet with both in the Assembly and among the people. The grand theses of the eighteenth century were re- reproduced, as things consented to, admitted beforehand, and incontestable. Voltaire returned there, a terrible, rapid con- 221: RELIGIOUS LIBERTY ACKNOWLEDGED. quoror. Tieligious liberty was consecrated, in the Declaration of Rights, and not tolerance, a ridiculons term, which supposes a rii;ht to tyranny. That oi predominant roWgioxi, predominant worship, which the clergy demanded, was treated as it deserved. The great orator, in this the organ both of the century and of France, put this word under the ban of every legislation. ** If you write it," said he, ** have also a predominant philosophy, and predominant systems. Nothing ought to be predominant but right and justice." Those who know by history, by the study of the middle ages, the prodigious tenacity of the clergy in defending their least interest, may easily judge what efforts they would now make to save their possessions, and their most precious possession, their cherished intolerance. One thing gave them courage ; which is, that the provincial nobility, the Parliament people, all the ancien regime, had sided with them in their common resistance to the resolutions of the 4th of August. More than one who, on that night, proposed or supported them, was beginning to repent. That such resolutions should have been taken by their repre- sentatives, — by nobles, was more than the privileged classes could comprehend. They remained confounded, beside them- selves with astonishment. The peasants who had commenced by violence, now continued by the authority of the law. It was the law that was levelling, throwing down the barriers, breaking the seigneurial boundary, defacing escutcheons, and opening the chase throughout France to people in arms. All armed, - all sportsmen, and all nobles ! And this very law which seemed to ennoble the people and dise?inoble the nobility, had been voted by the nobles themselves ! If privilege was perishing, the privileged classes, the nobles and priests, preferred to perish also ; tliey had for a long time become identified and incorporated within equality and intoler- ance. Rather die a hundred times than cease to be unjust ! They could accept nothing of the Revolution, neither its prin- ciple, written in its Declaration of Rights, nor the application 01 that principle in its great social charter of the 4th of Au- gust. However irresolute the king might be, his religious scruples caused him to be on their side, and guaranteed his obstinacy. He would, perhaps, have consented to a diminution LEAGUE OF THE CLERGY, ETC. 225 of the regal power ; but tithes — that sacred property — and then the jurisdiction of the clergy, their right of ascertaining secret transgressions, disavowed by the Assembly, and the liberty of religious opinions proclaimed, that timorous prince could not admit. They might be sure that Louis XVI. would, of his own accord, and without needing any outward impulse, reject, or at least attempt to elude, tho Declaration of Rights, and the de- crees of the 4th of August. But between that and his being made to act and fight, the distance was still great. He abhorred bloodshed. It might be possible to place him in such a position as to oblige him to make war ; but to obtain it directly, or to get from him reso- lution or order, was what nobody could ever think of. The queen had no assistance to expect from her brother Joseph, too much occupied about his Belgium. From Austria she received nothing but counsels, those of the ambassador, M. Mercy d'Argenteau. The troops were not sure. What she possessed, was a very great number of officers, of the navy and others, and Swiss and German regiments. For her prin- cipal forces, she had an excellent select army of from twenty- five to thirty thousand troops in Metz and its environs, under M. de Bouille, a devoted, resolute officer, who had given proofs of great vigour. He had kept those troops in severe discipline, inculcating in them aversion and contempt for citizens and the mob. The queen's opinion had ever been to depart, to throw themselves into M. de Bouill^'s camp, and begin a civil war. Being unable to prevail upon the king, what remained but to wait, to wear out Necker, to compromise him ; to wear out Bailly and Lafayette, to allow disorder and anarchy to continue ; to see whether the people, whom they supposed to act by the instioration of others, would not o-row tired of their leaders who left them to die of hunger. The excess of their miseries must at length calm, wear out, and dispirit them. They expected from day to day, to see them ask for the restoration of the ancien regime, the good old time, and entreat the king to resume his absolute authority. *' You had bread, when under the king: now that you have twelve hundred kings, go and ask them for some ! " These Q 226 PARIS ABANDONED TO ITSELF. words, attiibuted to a minister of those days,* were, whether uttered or not, the opinion of the court. This policy was but too well aided by the sad state of Paris. It is a terrible but certain fact, that, in that city of eight hun- dred thousand souls, there was no public authority for the space of three months, from July to October. No riiunicipal power : — That primitive, elementary authority of societies was as it were dissolved. The sixty districts used to discuss but did nothing. Their representatives at the H6tel-de-Ville were just as inactive. Only, they impeded the mayor, prevented Bailly from acting. The latter, a studious man, recently an astronomer and academician, quite unprepared for his new character, always remained closeted in the bureau des suhsfstances, uneasy, and never knowing whether he could pro- vision Paris. No police : — It was in the powerless hands of Bailly. The lieutenant of police had given in his resignation, and was not replaced. No justice : — The old criminal justice was suddenly found to be so contrary to ideas and manners, and appeared so barbarous, that M. de Lafayette demanded its immediate reform. The judges were obliged to change their old customs suddenly, learn new forms, and follow a more humane but also a more dilatory mode of procedure. The prisons became full, and crowded to excess ; what was henceforth the most to be feared, was to be left there and forgotten. No more cwporation authwities : — The deans, syndics, (fee, and the regulations of trades, were paralysed and annulled by the simple effect of the 4th of August. The most jealous of the trades, those the access to which had till then been difficult ; the butchers, whose shambles were a sort of fief ; the printers, and the peruke- makers, multiplied exceedingly. Printing, it is true, was increasing to an immense extent. The peruke- makers, on the contrary, beheld at the same time their number increasing, and their customers disappearing. All the rich weie leaving Paris. A journal, affirms that in three months sixty thousand passports were signed at the H6tel-de-Ville.t * See the partial but curious article Saint-Priest, in the Biographic Michaud, evidently written from information given by his family. f Revolutions de Paris, t. ii.. No. 9, p. 8. NO PUBLIC AUTHORITY. 227 Vast crowds of perukemakers, tailors, and shoemakers, used to assemble at the Louvre and in the Champs Elysees. The National Guard would go and disperse them, sometimes roughly and unceremoniously. They used to address complaints and demands to the town impossible to be granted, — to maintain the old regulations, or else make new ones, to iix the price of daily wages, (fee. The servants, left out of place by the departure of their masters, wanted to have all the Savoyards sent back to their country. What will always astonish those who are acquainted with the history of other revolutions is, that in this miserable and famished state of Paris, denuded of all authority, there were on the whole but very few serious acts of violence. One word, one reasonable observation, occasionally a jest, was sufficient to check them. On the first days only, subsequent to the 14th of July, there were instances of violence committed. The people, full of the idea that they were betrayed, sought for their enemies haphazard, and were near making some cruel mis- takes. M. de Lafayette interposed several times at the critical moment, and was attended to : he saved several persons.* When I think of the times that followed, of our own time, so listless and interested, I cannot help wondering that extreme misery did not in the least dispirit this people, nor drew from them one regret for their ancient slavery. They could suffer and fast. The grand deed achieved in so short a time, the oath at the Jeu-de-Paume, the taking of the Bastille, the night of the 4th of August, had exalted their courage, and inspired everybody with a new idea of human dignity. Necker, who had departed on the 11th of July, and returned three weeks after, no longer recognised the same people. Dussaulx, who had passed sixty years underthe ancien regime, can find old France nowhere. Everything is changed, says he, deportment, cos- * On those occasions, jM. de Lafayette was truly admirable. He found in his heart, in his love for order and justice, words and happy sayings above his nature, "which was, we must say, rather ordinary. Just as he was endeavouring to save Abbe C'ordier, whom the peciyile mistook for another, a friend was con- ducting Lafayette's young son to the Hotel-de-Ville, He seized the opportunity, and turning towards the crowd : " Gentlemen," said he, " I have the honour to present you my son." The crowd, lost in surprise and emotion, stopped short. Lafayette's friends led the abbe into the Hotel and he was saved. See his Memoires, ii., p. 264. q2 228 FEW ACTS OF VIOLENCE. tume, the appearance of the streets, and tlie signs. The con- sents are full of soldiers ; and stalls are turned into guard- houses. Everywhere are young men performing military exer- cises ; the children try to imitate them, and follow them, step- ping to time. Men of fourscore are mounting guard with their great-grandchildren : " Who would have believed,*' say they to me, " that we should be so happy as to die free men ? " A thing little noticed is, that in spite of certain acts of violence of the people, their sensibility had increased ; they no longer beheld with san^ froid those atrocious punishments which under the old government had been a spectacle for them. At Versailles, a man was going to be broken on the wheel as a parricide ; he had raised a knife against a woman, and his father throwing himself between them, had been killed by the blow. The people thought the punishment still more barbarous than the act, prevented the execution, and overthrew the scaffold. The heart of man had expanded by the youthful warmth of our Revolution. It beat quicker, was more impassioned than ever, more violent, and more generous. Every meeting of the Assembly presented the touching, interesting spectacle of patriotic donations which people brought in crowds. The National Assembly was obliged to become banker and receiver ; there they came for everything, and sent everything, petitions, donations, and complaints. Its narrow enclosure was, as it were, the mansion of France. The poor especially would give. Now, it was a young man who sent his savings, six hundred francs, painfully amassed. Then, again, poor artisans' wives, who brought whatever they had, — their jewels and ornaments that they had received at their marriage. A husbandman came to declare that he gave a certain quantity of corn. A schoolboy offered a purse collected and sent to him by his parents, his New-year's gift perhaps, his little reward. Dona- tions of children and women, generosity of the poor, the widow's mite, so small, and yet so great before their native land ! — before God ! Amid the commotion of ambition and dissension, and the moral sufferings under which it laboured, the Assembly was affected and transported beyond itself by this magnanimity of the people. When M. Necker came to expose the misery and PATRIOTIC DONATIONS. 229 destitution of France, and to solicit, in order to live at least two months longer, a loan of thirty millions, several deputies proposed that he should he guaranteed hj their estates, — by those of the members of the Assembly. M. de Foucault, like a true nobleman, made the first proposition, and offered to pledge six hundred thousand francs, which constituted his whole fortune. A sacrifice far greater than any sacrifice of money, is that which all, both rich and poor, made for the public welfare, — that of their time, their constant thoughts, and all their activity. The municipalities then forming, the departmental administrations which were soon organized, absorbed the citizen entirely, and without exception. Several of them had their beds carried into the offices, and worked day and night.* To the fatigue add also the danger. The sufl'ering crowds were ever distrustful ; they blamed and threatened. The treachery of the old administration caused the new one to be treated with suspicion. It was at the peril of their lives that those new magistrates worked for the salvation of France. But the poor ! Who can tell the sacrifices of the poor ? At night, the poor man mounted guard ; in the morning, at four or five o'clock, he took his turn [a la queue) at the baker's door ; and late, very late, he got his bread. The day was partly lost, and the workshop shut. Why do I say work- shop ? They were almost all closed. Why do I say the baker ? Bread was wanting, and still more often the money to buy bread. Sorrowful and fasting, the unfortunate being wandered about, crawled along the streets, preferring to be abroad to hearing at home the complaints and sobs of his children. Thus the man who had but his time and his hands wherewith to gain his living and feed his family, devoted them in prefer- ence to the grand business of public welfare. It caused him to forget his own. noble, generous nation ! Why must we be so imperfectly acquainted with that heroic period ? The terrible, violent, heart-rending deeds which followed, have caused a world of sacrifices which characterised the outset of the Revolution to • As did the admmistrators of Finistere. See, for what relates to this truly ftdmirable activity, Duchatellier's Eevolution en Bretagne, pamm. 230 DEVOTION AND SACRIFICE. be forgotten. A phenomenon more grand than any political event then appeared in the world ; that power of man, by which man is God — the power of sacrifice had augmented. CHAPTER VL THE VETO. Difficulty of procuring Provisions. — The urgent State of Things. — Can the King check everything? — Long Discussion on the Vefo. — Secret Projects of the Court. — Is there to be one Chamber or two? — The English School. — The Assembly required to be dissolved and renewed. — It was heterogeneous, discordant, and powerless. — Discordant Principles of Mira- beau. — His Impotency. (August-September, 1789). The situation was growing worse and worse. France, between two systems, the old and the new, tossed about without advanc- ing ; and she was starving. Paris, we must say, was living at the mercy of chance. Its subsistence, ever uncertain, depended on some arrival or other, on a convoy from Beauce or a boat from Corbeil. The city, at immense sacrifices, was lowering the price of bread ; the con- sequence was, that the population of the whole environs, for more than ten leagues round, came to procure provisions at Paris. The question was therefore to feed a vast country. The bakers found it advantageous to sell at once to the pea- cant, and afterwards, when the Parisians found their shops empty, they laid the blame on the administration for not pro- visioning Paris. The uncertainty of the morrow, and vain alarms, further augmented the number of difficulties ; every- body reserved, stored up, and concealed provisions. The administration, put to its last resom-ces, sent in every direction, and bought up by fair means or by force. Occasionally, loads of flour on the road were seized and detained on their passage by the neighbouring localities whose wants were pressing. Versailles and Paris shared together ; but Versailles kept, so it was said, the finest part, and made a superior bread. This was a great cause of jealousy. One day, when the people of Versailles had been so imprudent as to turn aside for them- selves a supply intended for the Parisians, Bailly, the honest DIFFICULTY OF PROCURING PROVISIONS* 231 and respectful Bailly, wrote to M. Necker, that if the flour was not restored, thirty thousand men would go and fetch it on the morrow. Fear made him bold. His head was in danoer if provisions failed. It often happened that at midnight he had but the half of the flour necessary for the morning market.* The provisioning of Paris was a kind of war. The national guard was sent to protect such an arrival, or to secure certain purchases ; purchases were made by force of arms. Being incommoded in their trade, the farmers would not thrash any longer, neither would the millers grind any more. The spe- culators were afraid. A pamphlet by Camille Desmoulins designated and threatened the brothers Leleu, who had the monopoly of the royal mills at Corbeil. Another, who passed for the principal agent of a company of monopolists, killed himself, or was killed, in a forest near Paris. His death brought about his immense frightful bankruptcy, of more than fifty millions of francs. It is not unlikely, that the court, who had large sums lodged in his hands, suddenly drew them to pay a multitude of officers who were invited to Versailles, and perhaps to be carried off to Metz : without money they could not begin the civil war. This was already war against Paris, and the very worst perhaps, from their keeping the town in such a state of peace. No work, — and famine ! '* I used to see," says Bailly, *'good tradespeople, mercers and goldsmiths, who prayed to be admitted among the beggars employed at Montmartre in digging the ground. Judge what Isufl'ered." He did not sufl'er enough. We see him, even in his Memcfires, too much taken up with petty vanities — ques- tions of precedence, to know by what honorary forms the speech for the consecration of the flags should begin, &c. Neither did the National Assembly sufl'er enough from the sufi*erings of the people. Otherwise it would not have pro- longed the eternal debate of its political scolastiqice. It would have understood that it ought to hasten on the movement of reforms, remove every obstacle, and abridge that mortal transi- tion where France remained between the old order and the new. Everybody saw the question, yet the Assembly saw it not. Though endowed with generally good intentions and vast * Memoir es de Bailly, passim. 232 THE URGENT STATE OF THINGS. information, it seemed to have but little perception of tlie real state of things. Impeded in its progress by the opposition of its royalist and aristocratic members, it was still more so by those habits of the bar or of the Academy, which its most illustrious members, men of letters or advocates, still preserved. It was necessary to insist and obtain at once, at any price, without wasting time in talking, the sanction of the decrees of the 4th of August, and to bury the feudal world ; it was neces- sary to deduce from those general decrees political laws, and those administrative laws which should determine the applica- tion of the former ; that is to say, to organise, to arm the Revolution, to give it form and power, and make it a living being. As such it became less dangerous than by being left floating, overflowing, vague, and terrible, like an element, — like a floods or a conflagration. It was especially necessary to use dispatch. It was a thunderbolt for Paris to learn that the Assembly was occupied only with the inquiry whether it would recognise in the King the absolute right of preventing (absolute veto), or the right of adjoumng, of suspending for two years, four years, or six years. For such pressing, mortal evils, this prospect was despair itself, a condemnation without appeal. Four years, six years, good God ! for people who knew not whether they should live till the morrow. Far from progressing, the Assembly was evidently receding. It made two retrograde and sadly significant choices. It appointed for president La Luzerne, the bishop of Langres, a partisan of the veto, and next Mounier, once more a partisan of the veto. The warmth with which the people espoused this question has been treated with derision. Several, so it was stated, believed that the veto was a person, or a tax.* There is nothing laughable in this but the sneerers themselves. Yes, the veto was equal to a tax, if it prevented reforms and a dimi- nution of the taxes. Yes, the veto was eminently personal ; a man had but to say, / forbid, without any reason ; it was quite enough. M. de Seze thought to plead skilfully for this cause, by * See Fcrrleres, Molleville Beaulieu, &c. LONG DISCUSSION ON THE VETO. 233 saying that the question was not about a person, but a pei'ma- nent vy'll, more steady than any Assembly. Permanent ? According to the influence of courtiers, con- fessors, mistresses, passions, and interests. vSupposing it per- manent, that will may be veiy personal and very oppressive, if, whilst everything is changing about it, it neither change nor improve. How will it be if one same poUcy, one self-same interest, pass on with generation and tradition throughout a whole dynasty ? The resolutions {caJiiers) written under very different circum- stances granted to the King the sanction and the refusal of sanction. France had trusted to the kingly power against the privileged classes. But were those resolutions to be followed now that same power was their auxiliary ? They might as well restore the Bastille. The sheet-anchor left with the privileged classes was the royal veto. They hugged and embraced the King in their shipwreck, wishing him to share their fate, and be saved or drowned with them. The Assembly discussed the question as if it had been a mere struggle of systems. Paris perceived in it less a question than a crisis, the grand crisis and the total cause of the Revo- lution, which it was necessary to save or destroy : To he or not to he, nothing less. And Paris alone was ri, the violent d'Epremesnil had said : *' We must unhourhonise France." JBut it was only to make the Parliament king. Mirabeau, who was destined to complete the sum of contra- dictions, caused Milton's violent little book against kings to be translated and printed in his name in '89, at the very moment when he was undertaking the defence of royalty. It was suppressed by his friends. Two men were preaching the Republic : one of the most prolific writers of the period, the indefatigable Brissot, and the brilliant, eloquent, and bold Desmoulins. His book La France lihre contains a violently satirical brief history of the monarchy. Therein he shows that principle of order and stability to have been, in practice, a perpetual disorder. Hereditary royalty, in order to redeem itself from so many inconveniences which are 2vidently inherent, has one general reply to everythii^g : peace, 240 THE PRESS — LOUSTALOT. the maintenance of peace ; which does not prevent it from having, by minorities and quarrels of succession, kept France in an almost perpetual state of war : — wars with the English, wars with Italy, wars about the succession in Spain, &c.* Robespierre has said that the Republic has crept in between the parties, without anybody having suspected it. It is more exact to say that royaUy itself introduced it, and urged it upon the minds of men. If men refuse to govern themselves, it is because ro^^alty offers itself as a simplification which facilitates, removes impediments, and dispenses with virtue and efforts. But how, if it become itself the obstacle ? It may be boldly affirmed, that royalty taught the Republic, that it hurried France into it, when she distrusted it, and was far from it, even in thought. To return, the first of the journalists of that day was neither Alirabeau, Camille Desmoulins, Brissot, Condorcet, Mercier, Carra, Gorsas, Marat, nor Barrere. They all published news- papers, and some to a great extent. Mirabeau used to print ten thousand copies of his famous Courrier de P?'ovence. But of the Revolutions de Paris there were (of some numbers) as many as two hundred thousatid copies printed. This was the greatest publicity ever obtained. The editor's name did not appear. The printer signed : — Prudhomme. That name has become one of the best known in the world. The unknown editor was Loustalot. Loustalot, who died in 1792 at the age of twenty-nine, "was a serious, honest, laborious young man. A writer of mediocrity, but grave, of an impassioned seriousness ; his real originality was his contrast with the frivolity of the journalists of the time. In his very violence we perceive an effort to be just. He was the writer preferred by the people. Nor was he unworthy of the preference. He gave, in the outbreak of the Revolution, more than one proof of courageous moderation. When the French guards were delivered by the people, he said there was but one solution for the affair ; that the prisoners should betake them- selves to prison again, and that the electors and the National * Sismondi has shown, by an exact calculation on a penod of 500 years, how much longer and more frequent wars have been in hereditary than in elective monarchies : this is the natural effect of minorities, quarrels of succession, &c. Sismondi, Et'^^es sur les Condiiutions dcs Peuples lihrcSj i., 214 — 22 1. LOUSTALOT*S PROPOSITION. 241 Assembly should petition the king to pardon them. When a mistake of the crowd had placed good Lasalle, the brave com- mandant of the cit3% in peril, Loustalot undertook his defence, justified him, and restored him to favour. In the afi'air of the servants who wanted the Savoyards to be driven away, he showed himself firm and severe as well as judicious. A true journalist, he was the man of the day, and not of the morrow. When Camille Desmoulins published his book, La France libre, wherein he suppresses the king, Loustalot, whilst praising him, finds him extravagant, and calls him a man of feverish imagination. Marat, then little known, had violently attacked Bailly in the Ami du Peuple, both as a public character and as a man. Loustalot defended him. He considered journalism as a public function, a sort of magistracy. No tendency to abstractions. He lives wholly and entirely in the crowd, and feels their wants and sufferings ; he applies himself especially to the consideration of provisions, and to the grand question of the day, — bread. He proposes machines for grinding corn more expeditiously. He visits the unfortunate beings employed at work at Montmartre. And those miserable objects, whose extreme wretchedness had almost divested them of the human form, — that deplorable army of phantoms or skeletons, w^ho inspire rather fear than pity, — wound Loustalot to the heart, and he addresses them in words of affection and tenderest compassion. Paris could not remain in that position. It was necessary either to restore absolute royalty or found liberty. On Monday morning, August 31st, Loustalot, finding the minds of the multitude more calm than on the Sunday evening, harangued in the Palais Royal. He said the remedy was not to go to Versailles, and made a less violent yet a bolder propo- sition. It was to go to the city, obtain the convocation of the districts, and in those assemblies to put these questions : — 1st. Does Paris believe that the king has the right of pre- venting ? 2ndly. Does Paris confirm or revoke its deputies ? 3dly. If deputies be named, will they have a special mandate to refuse the veto ? 4:th\y. If the former deputies be confirmed, cannot the Assembly be induced to adjourn the discussion ? The measure proposed, though eminently revolutionary and illegal (unconstitutional if there had been a constitution), never- R 243 PROPOSITION REJECTED AT THE HOTEL-DE-VILLE. theless was so perfectly adapted to the necessities of the day, that it was, a few days later, reproduced, at least the principal part of it, in the Assemhly itself, by one of its most eminent members, Loustalot and the deputation of the Palais Royal were very badly received, their proposition rejected at the H6tel-de-Ville, and the next morning accused in the Assembly. A threatening letter, received by the president and signed Saint-Hururge (who, however, maintained it was a forgery), completed the general irritation. They caused Saint-Hururge to be arrested, and the National Guard took advantage of a momentary tumult to shut up the Cafe de Foy. Meetings in the Palais Royal were for- bidden and dispersed by the municipal authority. The piquant part of the affair is that the executor of these measures, M. de Lafayette, was, at that time and always, a republican in heart. Throughout his life he dreamed of the republic and served royalty. A democratical royalty, or a royal democracy, appeared to him a necessary transition. To undeceive him it required no less than two experiments. The court trifled with Necker and the Assembly. It did not deceive Lafayette ; and yet he served it, and kept Paris in check. The horror of the former acts of violence of the people, and the bloodshed, made him recoil before the idea of another 14th of July. But would the civil war which the court was preparing have cost less blood ? A serious and delicate question for the friend of humanity. He was acquainted with everything. On the 13th of Sep- tember, whilst receiving old Admiral d'Estaing, the com- mander of the National Guards of VersaiUes, to dinner at his house, he told him news of Versailles of which he was igno- rant. That honest man, who thought he was very deep in the confidence of the king and the queen, now learned that they had returned to the fatal project of taking the king to Metz, that is to say, of beginning a civil war ; that Breteuil was pre- paring everything in concert with the ambassador of Austria ; that they were bringing towards Versailles the musketeers, the gendarmes y nine thousand of the king's household, two thirds of whom were noblemen ; that they were to seize on Montariiis, where they would be joined by the Baron de Viomenil, a man of action. The latter, who had served in almost all the wars CONSPIRACY OF THE COURT. • 243 of the century, recently in that of America, had cast himself violently into the counter-revolution party, perhaps out of jealousy for Lafayette, who seemed to be playing the first part in the Revolution. Eighteen regiments, and especially the Cardbiniers, had not taken the oath. That was enough to block up all the roads to Paris, cut off its supplies, and famish it. They were no longer in want of money ; they had col- lected and enforced it from all sides ; they made sure of having fifteen hundred thousand francs a month. The clergy would supply the remainder ; a steward of the Benedictins was bound, for himself alone, in the sum of one hundred thousand crowns.* The old Admiral wrote to the queen on the Monday (14th): ** I have always slept well the night before a naval battle, but since this terrible revelation, I have not been able to close my eyes." On hearing it at M. de Lafayette's table, he shud- dered lest any one of the servants should hear it: *'I remarked to him that one word from his mouth might become the signal of death.'* To which Lafayette, with his American coolness, replied : ** That it would be advantageous for one to die for the salvation of all." The only head in peril would have been the queen's. The Spanish ambassador said as much to d'Estaing ; he knew it all from a considerable personage to whom they had proposed for his signature a list of association which the court caused to be circulated. Thus, this profound secret, this mystery, was spread through the saloons on the 13th, and about the streets from the 1 4th to the 16th. On the 16th, the grenadiers of the French Guards, now become a paid national guard, declared they would go to Versailles to resume their old duties, to guard the Chateau and the king. On the 22nd, the grand plot was printed in the Revolutions de Paris, and read by all France. M. de Lafayette, who believed himself strong, too strong, according to his own expressions, wished on one hand to check the Court by making them afraid of Paris, and on the other hand, to check Paris, and repress agitation by his National Guards. He used and abused theii' zeal, in quieting the rabble, * Three hundred thousand francs, or 12,000/. sterliog. — C. G. R 2 2i4 CONSPIRACY. KNOWN TO LAFAYETTE AND EVERYBODY. imposing silence on the Palais Royal, and preventing mobs ^ lie carried on a petty police warfare of annoyance against a crowd excited by the fears which he himself shared ; he knew of the plot, and yet he dispersed and arrested those who spoke of it. He managed so well that he created the most fatal anin:iosity between the National Guards and the people. The latter began to remark that the chiefs, the commanders, were nobles, rich men, people of consequence. The National Guards in general, rjeduced in number, proud of their uniform and their arms, new to them, appeared to the people a sort of aristocracy. Being citizens and merchants, they were great sufferers by the j'iots, receiving nothing from their country estates, and gain- ing nothing ; they were every day called out, fatigued, and jaded ; every day, they wanted to bring matters to an end, and they testified their impatience by some act of brutality which set the crowd against them. Once, they drew their swords against a mob of peruke-makers, and there was bloodshed ; on another occasion, they arrested some persons who had indulged in jokes about the National Guard. A girl, having said she did not care for them, was taken and whipped. The people were exasperated to such a degree, that they brought against the National Guard the strangest accusation — that of favouring the Court, and being in the plot of Versailles. Lafayette was no hypocrite, but his position was equivocal. Pie prevented the grenadiers from going to Versailles to resume their duties as the king's guards, and gave warning to the minister, Saint-Priest (September 17th). His letter was turned to advantage. They showed it to the municipality of Ver- sailles, making them take an oath of secrecy, and inducing them to ask that the regiment of Flanders should be sent for. They solicited the same step from a part of the National Guards of Versailles, but the majority refused. That regiment, strongly suspected, because it had hitherto reiused to take the new oath, arrived with its cannon, ammu- nition, and baggage, and entered Versailles with much noise. At the same time, the Chateau detained the body guards, who had concluded their service, in order to have double the num- ber. A crowd of officers of every grade were daily arriving en jjoste, as the old nobility used to do on the eve of a battle, fearinrr to arrive too late. UNCERTAIN CONDUCT OF THE ASSEMBLY. 245 Paris was uneasy. The French Guards were indignant ; they had been tried and tampered with without any other result than to put them on their guard. Bailly could not help speak- ing at the Hotel-de-Ville. A deputation was sent, headed by the good old Dussaulx, to convey to the king the alarms of Paris. The conduct of the Assembly in the meantime was strange. Now it seemed to be asleep, and then it would suddenly start up ; one day violent, on the next moderate and timid. One morning, the 12th of September, it remembers the 4th of August, and the grand social revolution it had voted. It was five weeks since the decrees had been given ; all France spoke of them with joy ; but the Assembly said not one word about them. On the 12th, whilst a decree was being proposed in which the judicial committee demanded that the laios should he put in force confoi'mctbly to a decision of the 4:th of August, a deputy of Franche-Comte broke the ice and said : ** Steps are being taJceyi to prevent the promulgation of those decrees of the 4:th of August ; it is said they are not to appear. It is time they should be seen, furnished with the royal seal. The people are waiting." Those words were quickly taken up. The Assembly was roused. Malouet, the orator of the mode- rate party — of the constitutional royalists, — even he (singu- larly enough) supported the proposition, and others with them. In spite of the Abbe Maury, it was decided that the decrees of the 4th of August should be presented for the king's sanction. This sudden movement, this aggressive disposition of even the moderates, inclines one to suppose that the most influential members were not ignorant of what Lafayette, the Spanish ambassador, and many others, were saying at Paris. The Assembly seemed on the morrow astonished at its vigour. Many thought that the Court would never let the king sanction the decrees of the 4th of August, and foresaw that his refusal would provoke a terrible movement — a second fit of the Revolution. Mirabeau, Chapelier, and others, main- tained that these decrees, not being properly laws, but prin- ciples of constitution, had no need of the royal sanction ; that the promulgation was sufficient. A bold, yet timid opinion : bold, in doing without the king ; timid, in dispensing with 246 VOLNEY PROPOSES TO DISSOLVE THE ASSEMBLY. his examining, sanctioning, or refusing : no refusal, no col- lision. Things would have heen decided ipso facto, according as either party was predominant in this or that province. Here, they would have applied the decisions of the 4th of August, as decreed by the Assembly ; there, they would have eluded them, as not sanctioned by the king. On the 15th, the royal inviolability, hereditary right, was voted by acclamation, as if to dispose \\\e king in their favour. They nevertheless received from him a dilatory, equivocal reply relative to the 4th of August. He sanctioned nothing, but discussed, blaming this, commending tbat, and admitting scarcely any article without some modification. The whole bore the impress of Necker's usual style, his tergiversa- tion, blunders, and half measures. The Court, tbat was pre- paring something very diflferent, apparently expected to capti- vate public attention by this empty answer. The Assembly was in great agitation. Cbapelier, Mirabeau, Robespierre, Petion, and others usually less energetic, affirmed that in demanding the sanction for these preliminary articles, the Assembly expected only a pure and simple promulgation. Then, a great discussion, and an unexpected, but very sensible motion from Volney : " This Assembly is too mixed in inte- rests and passions. Let us determine the new conditions of election, and retire." Applause, but nothing more. Mirabeau objects that the Assembly has sworn not to separate before havinof formed the constitution. On the 21st, the king being pressed to promulgate, laid aside all circumlocution ; the Court apparently believed itself stronger. He replied that promulgation belonged only to laws invested with forms which procure their execution (he meant to say sanctioned) ; that he was going to order the publication, and that he did not doubt but the laws which the Assembly would decree, would be such as he could sanction. On the 24th, Necker came to make his confession to the Assembly. The first loan, thirty millions, had given but two. The second, eighty, had given but ten. The general of finance, as Necker's friends called him in their pamphlets, had been able to do nothing ; the credit which he expected to control and restore had perished in spite of him. He came to ajDpeal to the devotion of the nation. The only remedy was IMPOTENCY OF NECKER AND THE ASSEMBLY. 24:1 that she should enforce it herself, that everybody should tax himself at a fourth of his income.* Necker had now ended his part. After huving tried every reasonable means, he trusted himself to the faith, the miracle, the vague hope that a people unable to pay less was about to pay more, and that they would tax themselves with the monstrous impost of a quarter of their revenue. The chimerical financier brought forward as the last word of his balance-sheet, as cash, a Utopia which the good Abbe of Saint-Pierre would not have proposed. The impotent wilhngly believes in the impossible ; being incapacitated from acting himself, he imagines that chance, or some unknown and unforeseen accident, will act for him. The Assembly, no less impotent than the minister, shared his cre- dulity. A wonderful speech from Mirabeau overcame all their doubts, and transported them out of their senses. He showed them bankruptcy, a hideous bankruptcy opening its monstrous abyss beneath them, and ready to devour both themselves and France. They voted. If the measure had been serious, it money had come in, the effect would have been singular : Necker would have succeeded in relieving those who were to drive Necker away, and the Assembly would have paid a war in order to dissolve the Assembly. Impossibility, contradic- tion, a perfect stand-stiU in every direction, was fundamentally the state of things for every man and every party. To sum up all in one word : nothing comes of nothing (nid ne pent.) The Assembly can do nothing. Discordant in elements and principles, it was naturally incapable ; but it becomes still more so in presence of tumult, at the entirely novel noise of the press which drowns its voice. It would willingly cling to the royal power which it has demolished ; but its ruins are hostile ; they would like to crush the Assembly. Thus Paris makes them afraid, and so does the Chateau. After the king's refusal, they dare no longer show their anger for fear of adding to the indignation of Paris. Except the responsibility of the ministers which they decree, they do nothing at all consonant with the situation of affairs ; the dividing of France into depart- * Necker, ever generous, for his own part exceeded the quarter; he taxed himself at one hundred thousand francs (£4000.) 248 EVEN THE TRESS TOWERLESS. ments, and the criminal law, are discussed in empty space ; the hall is thinly attended ; scarcely do six hundred members assemble, and it is to give the presidency to Mounier, a personi- fication of immobility ; to him who expresses the best all the difficulties of acting, and the general paralysis. Can the Court do anything ? They think so at that moment. They see the nobility and clergy rallying around them. They perceive the Duke of Orleans unsupported in the Assembly ;* they behold him, at Paris, spending much money, and gaining but little ground ; his popularity is surpassed by Lafayette. All were ignorant of the situation, all overlooked the general force of things, and attributed events to some person or other, ridiculously exaggerating individual power. According to its hatred or its love, passion believes miracles, monsters, heroes. The Court accuse Orleans or Lafayette of everything. Lafayette himself, though naturally firm and cool-headed, becomes imagi- native ; he is not far from believing likewise that all the dis- turbances are the work of the Palais Royal. A visionary appears on the press, the credulous, blind, furious Marat, who will vent accusations dictated at random by his dreams, desig- nating one to-day, and to-morrow another to death ; he begins by affirming that the whole famine is the work of one man ; that Necker buys up corn on every side, in order that Paris may have none. Marat is only beginning, however ; as yet he has but little influence. He stands conspicuously apart from all the press. The press accuses, but vaguely ; it complains, and is angry, like the people, without too well knowing what ought to be done. It sees plainly in general that there will be *' a second fit of the Revolution." But how? For what precise object? It cannot exactly say. For the prescription of remedies, the press, — that young poweV, suddenly grown so great through the impotency of the others, — the press itself is powerless. It does but little during the interval previous to the 5th of October ; the Assembly does little, and the H6tel-de-Ville little. And yet everybody plainly perceives that some grand deed is about to be achieved. Mirabeau, on receiving one day his * In regulating the succession, the Assembly spared its rival the King of Spain, declaring it brought no prejudice to tlie renunciations of the Bourbons of Spain to the crown of France. THE PEOPLE FIND A REMEDY. 249 bookseller of Versailles, sends away his three secretaries, shuts the door, and says to him : "My dear Blaisot, you will see here soon some great calamity — bloodshed. From friendship, I wished to give you warning. But be not afraid ; there is no danger for honest men hke you." CHAPTER YIII. THE PEOPLE GO TO FETCH THE KING, OCTOBER 5, 1789. The People alone find a Remedy : they go to fetch the King. — Egotistical Po- sition of the Kings at Versailles. — Louis X VI. was unahle to act in any way, — The Queen is solicited to act. — Orgy of the Body Guards, October 1st. — Insults offered to the National Cockade. — Irritation of Paris. — Misery and Sufferings of the Women. — Their courageous Compassion. — They invade the H6tel-de-Ville, October 5th. — They march against Versailles. — The Assembly receives Warning. — Maillard and the Women before the Assembly. — Robespierre supports Maillard. — The Women before the Kjng. — Indecision of the Court. On the 5th of October, eio'ht or ten thousand women went to Versailles, followed by crowds of people. The National Guard forced M. de Lafayette to lead them there the same evening. On the 6th, they brought back the king, and obliged him to inhabit Paris. This grand movement is the most general, after the 14th of July, that occurs in the Revolution. The one of October was unanimous, almost as much so as the other ; at least in this sense, that they who took no part in it wished for its success, and all rejoiced that the king should be at Paris. Here we must not seek the action of parties. They acted, but did very little. The real, the certain cause, for the women and the most miserable part of the crowd, was nothing but hunger. Having ,1 dismounted a horseman at Versailles, they killed and ate his ' horse almost raw. For the majority of the men, both the people and the National iGruards, the cause of the movement was honour, the outrage of the Court against the Parisian cockade, adopted by all France as a symbol of the Revolution. Whether the men, however, would have marched against 250 EGOTISTICAL FOSITION OF THE KINGS AT VEllSAILLES. Versailles, if the women had not preceded them, is doubtful. Nobody before them had the idea of going to fetch the king. The Palais Royal, on the 30th of August, departed with Saint- Hururge, but it was to convey complaints and threats to the Assembly tlien discussing the veto. But here, the people alone are the first to propose ; alone, they depart to take the king, as alone they took the Bastille. What is most people in the people, I mean most instinctive and inspired, is assuredly the women. Their idea was this: "Bread is wanting, let us go and fetch the king ; they will take care, if he be with us, that bread be wanting no longer. Let us go and fetch the baker I " A word of simple yet profound meaning ! The king ought to live with the people, see their sufferings, suffer with them, and be of the same household with them. The ceremonies of marriage and those of the coronation used to coincide in several particulars ; the king espoused the people. If royalty is not tyranny, there must be marriage and community, and the couple must live, according to the low but energetic motto of the middle ages, " With one loaf and one pot."* Was not the egotistical solitude in which the kings were kept, with an artificial crowd of gilded beggars in order to make them forget the people, something strange and unnatural, and calculated to harden their hearts ? How can we be sur- prised if those kings became estranged, hard-hearted, and barbarous ? How could they, without their isolated retreat at Versailles, ever have attained that degree of insensibility ? The very sight of it is immoral : a world made expressly for one man ! There only could a man forget the condition of humanity, and sign, like Louis XIV., the expulsion of a million of men ; or, like Louis XV., speculate on famine. The unanimity of Paris had overthrown the Bastille. To conquer the king and the Assembly, it was necessary that it should find itself once more unanimous. The National Guard and the people were beginning to divide. In order to re-unite them, and make them concur for the same end, it required no less than a provocation from the Court. No political wisdom would have brought about the event ; an act of folly was necessary. ft * See my Ori^in^s du Droit: symboles et formules juHdiquey. LOUIS XVI. UNABLE TO ACT IN ANY WAY. 251 That was the real remedy, tlie only means of getting rid of the intolerahle position in which everybody seemed entangled. This folly would have been done by the queen's party long before, if it had not met with its chief stumbling-block and difficulty in Louis XVL Nobody could be more averse to a change of habits. To deprive him of his hunting, his workshop, and his early hour of retiring to rest ; to interrupt the regularity of his meals and prayers ; to put him on horseback en cawjmgne^ and make an active partisan of him, as we see Charles I., in the picture by Vandyck, was not easy. His own good sense like- wise told him that he ran much risk in declaring himself against the National Assembly, On the other hand, this same attachment to his habits, to the ideas of his education and childhood, made him against the Revolution even more than the diminution of the royal authority. He did not conceal his displeasure at the demo- lition of the Bastille.* The uniform of the National Guards worn by his own people ; his valets now become lieutenants — officers ; more than one musician of the chapel chanting mass in a captain's uniform ; all that annoyed his sight : he caused his servants to be forbidden ** to appear in his presence in such an unseasonable costume, "t It was difficult to move the king, either one way or the other. In every deliberation, he was very fluctuating, but in his old habits, and in his rooted ideas, insuperably obstinate. Even the queen, ^hom he dearly loved, would have gained nothing by persuasion. Fear had still less influence upon him ; he knew he was the anointed of the Lord, inviolable and sacred ; what could he fear ? Meanwhile, the queen was surrounded by a whirlwind of pas- sions, intrigues, and interested zeal ; prelates and lords, all that aristocracy who had so aspersed her character, and now were trying to effect a reconciliation, crow^ded her apartments, fer- vently conjuring her to save the monarchy. She alone, if they were to be believed, possessed genius and courage ; it was time that she, the daughter of Maria-Theresa, should show herself. The queen derived courage, moreover, from two very different Borts of people ; on one hand, brave and worthy chevaliers of * Alexandre de Lametli. f Campan, ii. 252 THE QUEEN IS SOLICITED TO ACT. ( Saint-Louis, officers or provincial noblemen, who offered her their swords ; on the other, projectors and schemers, who showed plans, undertook to execute them, and warranted suc- cess. Versailles was as if besieged by these Figaros of royalty. It was necessary to make a holy league, and for all honest people to rally round the queen. The king would then be car- ried away in the enthusiasm of their love, and unable to resist any longer. The revolutionary party could make hut one cam- paign ; once conquered, it would perish : on the contrary, the other party, comprising all the large proprietors, was able to suffice for several campaigns, and maintain the war for many years. For such arguments to be good, it was only necessary to suppose that the unanimity of the people would not affect the soldier, and that he would never remember that he also was the people. The spirit of jealousy then rising between the National Guard and the people doubtless emboldened the Court, and made them believe Paris to be powerless ; they risked a pre- mature manifestation which was destined to ruin them. Fresh bod}^ guards were arriving, for their three months' service • these men, unacquainted with Paris or the Assembly, strangers to the new spirit, good provincial royalists, imbued with all their family prejudices, and paternal and maternal recom- mendations to serve the king, and the king alone. That body of guards, though some of its members were friends of liberty, had not taken the oath, and still wore the white cockade. By them, they attempted to entice away the officers of the regi- ment of Flanders, and those of a few other troops. In order to bring them all together, a grand dinner was given, to which were admitted a few officers selected from the National Guard of Versailles, whom they hoped to attach to their cause. We must know that the town in France which had the catest detestation for the Court, w^as the one that saw most of it, namely, Versailles. Whoever was not a servant or an ewploye belonging to the Chateau was a revolutionist. The constant sight of all that pomp, of those splendid equipages, and those haughty, supercilious people, engendered envy and hatred. This disposition of the inhabitants had caused them to name one Lecointre, a linendraper, a firm patriot, but other- ORGY OF THE BODY GUARD. 253. wise a spiteful, virulent man, as lieutenant-colonel of their National Guard. The invitation sent to a few of the officers was but little flattering to them, and a cause of great dissatis- faction to the others. ' A military repast might have been given in the Orangerie or anywhere else ; hut the king (an unprecedented favour) granted the use of his magnificent theatre, in which no ftte, had been given since the visit of the emperor Joseph II. Wines are lavished with royal prodigality. They drink the health of the king, the queen, and the dauphin ; somebody, in a low, timid voice, proposed that of the nation ; but nobody would pay any attention. At the dessert, the grenadiers of the regiment of Flanders, the Swiss, and other soldiers are introduced. They all drink and admire, dazzled by the fantastical brilliancy of that singular fairy scene, Avhere the boxes, lined with looking-glasses, reflect a blaze of light in every direction. The doors open. Behold the king and the queen ! The king has been prevailed on to visit them on his return from the chase. The queen walks round to every table, looking beautiful, and adorned with the child she bears in her arms. All those young men are delighted, transported out of their senses. The queen, we must confess, less majestic at other periods, had never discourao-ed those who devoted their hearts to her service ; she had not disdained to wear in her head-dress a plume from Lauzun's helmet.* There was even a tradition that the bold declaration of a private in the body guards had been listened to without anger ; and that, without any other punishment than a benevolent irony, the queen had obtained his promotion. So beautiful, and yet so unfortunate ! As she was depart- ing with the king, the band played the afi'ecting air : "0 Eichard, my king, abandoned by the whole world ! '* Every heart melted at that appeal. Several tore oif their cockades, and took that of the queen, the black Austrian cockade, de- voting themselves to her service. At the very least, the tri- color cockade was turned inside out, so as to appear white. The * What does it signify whether Lauzun offered it, or she had asked for itf See M^TTwires de Campan, and Lauzun {Revue retrosjoective), &c. 254 INSULTS OFFERED TO THE NATIONAL COCKADE. music continued, ever more impassioned and ardent : it played the Mai'che des Hulans, and sounded the charge. They all leaped to their feet, looking ahout for the enemy. No enemy appeared ; for want of adversaries they scaled the hoxes, rushed out, and reached the marble court. Perseval, aide-de-camp to d'Estaing, scales the grand balcony, and makes himself master of the interior posts, shouting, ** They are our prisoners.'* He adorns himself with the white cockade. A grenadier of the regiment of Flanders likewise ascends, and Perseval tore off and gave him a decoration which he then wore. A dragoon wanted also to ascend, but being unsteady, he tumbled down, and would have killed himself in his despair. To complete the scene, another, half drunk, and half mad, goes shouting about that he is a spy of the Duke of Orleans, and inflicts a slight wound upon himself ; his companions were so disgusted that they kicked him almost to death. The frenzy of that mad orgy seemed to infect the whole court. The queen, on presenting flags to the National Guards of Versailles, said *' that she was still enchanted with it." On the 3rd of October, another dinner; they grow more daring, their tongues are untied, and the counter-revolution showed itself boldly ; several of the National Guards withdrew in indig- nation. The costume of National Guard is no longer received in the palace. ** You have no feeling,*' said one officer to another, ** to wear such a dress." In the long gallery, and in the apartments, the ladies no longer allow the tricolor cockade to circulate. With their handkerchiefs and ribands they make white cockades, and tie them themselves. The damsels grow so bold as to receive the vows of these new chevaliers, and allow them to kiss their hands. "Take this cockade," said they, " and guard it well ; it is the true one, and alone shall be triumphant." How could they refuse, from such lovely hands, that symbol, ih2i.i souvenir ? And yet it is civil war and death : to-morrow, La Vendee ! That fair and almost infan- tine form, standing by the aunts of the king, will be Madame de Lescure and De la Rochejaquelin.* The brave National Guards of Versailles had much ado to * She -was then at Versailles. See the novel, true in this particular, which M. de Baranto has published in her name. IRRITATION OF PARIS, 255 (Icfetul themselves. One of their Ccaptains had been, willingly or unwillingly, decked out by the ladies with an enormous white cockade. His colonel, Lecointre, the linendraper, was furious. " Those cockades," said he, firmly, ** shall be changed, and within a week, or all is lost." He was right. Who could mis- take the omnipotence of the symbol ? The three colours were the 14th of July and the victory of Paris, the Revolution itself. Thereupon a chevalier of Saint-Louis runs after Lecointre, declaring himself the champion of the white cockade against all comers. He follows, lies in wait for him, and insults him. This passionate defender of the ancien regime was not, how- ever, a Montmorency, but simply the son-in-law of the queen's flower-girl. Lecointre marches oif to the Assembly, and requests the military committee to require the oath from the body guard. Some old guards there present declared that it could never be obtained. The committee did nothing, fearful of occasionino- some collision and bloodshed ; but it was precisely this prudence that occasioned it. Paris felt keenly the insult offered to its cockade ; it was said to have been ignominiously torn to pieces and trodden under foot. On the very day of the second dinner (Saturday evening, the 3rd) Danton was thundering at the club of the Cordeliers. On Sunday, there was a general onslaught on black or white cockades. Mobs of people and citizens, where coats and jackets appeared mingled together, took place in the cafes, before the doors of the cafes , in the Palais Royal, at the Faubomg Saint- Antoine, at the ends of the bridges, and on the quays. Terrible rumours were in circulation about the ap- proaching war ; on the league of the queen and the princes with the German princes ; on the foreign uniforms, red and green, then seen in Paris ; on the supplies of flour from Cor- beil, which came now only every other day ; on the inevitably increasing scarcity, and on the approaching severe winter. There is no time to be lost, said they ; if people want to pre- vent war and famine, the king must be brought here ; other- wise the Court wiU carry him off. Nobody felt all that more keenly than the women. The family, the household, had then become a scene of extreme suffering. A lady gave the alarm on the evening of Saturday, 256 SUFFERINGS OF THE WOMEN. the 3rd. Seeing her husband was not sufficiently listened to, she ran to the Cafe de Foj, there denounced the anti-national cockades, and exposed the public danger. On Monday a young girl took a drum into the markets, beat the generaky and marched off. all the women in the quarter. Such things are seen only in France ; our women are brave, and make others so. The country of Joan of Arc, Joan of Montfort, and Joan Hachette, can quote a hundred heroines. There was one at the Bastille, who afterwards departed for war, and was made captain in the artillery ; her husband was a soldier. On the 18th of July, when the king went to Paris, many of the women were armed. The women were in the van of our Revolution. We must not be surprised ; they suf- fered more. Great misei'ies are ferocious ; they strike tlie weak rather than the strong ; they ill-treat children and women rather than men. The latter come and go, boldly hunt about, set their wits to work, and at length find at least sufficient for the day. Women, poor women, live, for the most part, shut up, sitting, knitting or sewing ; they are not fit, on the day when every- thing is wanting, to seek their living. It is cruel to think that woman, the dependent being, who can live only in com- pany, is more often alone than man. He finds company every- where, and forms new connexions. But she is nothing without family. And yet her family overwhelms her ; all the burden falls upon her. She remains in her cold, desolate, unfurnished lodging, with her children weeping, or sick and dying, who will weep no more. A thing little remarked, but which gives perhaps the greatest pang to the maternal heart, is, that the child is unjust. Accustomed to find in the mother a universal all-sufficient providence, he taxes her cruelly, unfeelingly, for whatever is wanting, is noisy and angry, adding to her grief a greater agony. Such is the mother. Let us take into account also many lonely girls, sad creatures, without any family or support, who, too ugly, or virtuous, have neither friend nor lover, know none of the joys of life. Should their little work be no longer able to support them, they know not how to make up the deficiency, but return to their garret and wait ; sometimes they are found dead, chance revealing the fact to a neighbour. THEIR COURAGEOUS COMPASSIOX. 257 These unfortunate beings possess not even enougli energy to complain, to make known their situation, and protest against their fate. Such as act and agitate in times of great distress, are the strong, the least exhausted by misery, poor rather than indigent. Generally, the intrepid ones, who then make them- selves conspicuous, are women of a noble heart, who suffer little for themselves, but much for others ; pity, inert and passive in men, who are more resigned to the sufferings of others, is in women a very active, violent sentiment, which occasionally becomes heroic, and impels them imperatively towards the boldest achievements. On the 5th of October, there was a multitude of unfortunate creatures who had eaten nothing for thirty hours.* That pain- ful sight affected everybody, yet nobody did anything for them; everybody contented themselves with deploring the hard neces- sity of the times. On Sunday evening (4th) a courageous woman, who could not behold this any longer, ran from the quarter Saint-Denis to the Palais Royal, forced her way through a noisy crowd of orators, and obtained a hearing. She was a woman of thirty-six years of age, well dressed and respectable, but powerful and intrepid. She wants them to go to Versailles, and she will march at their head. Some laugh at her; she boxes the ears of one of them for doing so. The next morning she departed among the foremost, sword in hand, took a cannon from the city, sat astride on it, and, with the match ready lit, rode off to Versailles. Among the failing trades which seemed to be perishing with the ancien regime was that of carvers of wood. There used to be much work of that kind, both for the churches and apart- ments. Many women were sculptors. One of them, Made- leine Chabry, being quite out of work, had set up as a floAver- girl [bouq netiere) in the quarter of the Palais Royal, under the name of Louison; she was a girl of seventeen, handsome and witty. One may boldly venture to state that it was not hunger that drove her to Versailles. She followed the gene- ral impulse, and the dictates of her good courageous heart. * See the depositions of the witnesses, Moniteur^ i., p. 568, col. 2. This is the principal source. Another, very important, abounding in details, and whicli everybody copies, -without quoting it, is the Histoire de cUuxAmisde Id Liberty, t. iii. S 2r)S COrRAGEOUS COMPASSION OF THE WOMEN. The women placed her at tiaeir head and made her their orator. There were many others who were not driven by hunger: shopwomen, portresses, girls of the town, compassionate and charitable, as they so often are. There was also a considerable number of market-women; the latter were strict Royalists, but they wanted so much the more to have the king at Paris. They had already been to see him, on some occasion or other, si>me time before; they had spoken to him Avith much affection, Avith a laughable 3^et touching familiarity, which showed a per- fect sense of the situation of affairs: '* Poor man," said they, looking at the king, *' poor dear man, good papa !" And to the queen more seriously: " Madam, madam, take compassion, — let us be free with each other. Let us conceal nothing, but F^ay frankly what we have to say." These market-women are not those who suffer much from misery : their trade consisting of the necessaries of life is subject to less variation. But they see wretchedness more than anybody, and feel it ; passing their lives in the public streets, they do not, like us, escape the scenes of suffering. Nobody is more compassionate or kinder towards the wretchedly poor. With their clownish forms and rude and violent lan- guage, they have often a noble heart ovei'flowing with good nature. We have seen our women of Picardy, poor fruit- women of the market of Amiens, save the father of four children, Avho was going to be guillotined. It was at the time of the coronation of Charles X. ; they left their business and their families, went off to Reims, made the king weep with compassion, obtained the pardon, and on their return, making an abundant subscription among themselves, sent away the father, with his wife and children, safe, and loaded with presents. On the 5th of October, at seven in the morning, they heard the beating of a drum, and could no longer resist. A little girl had taken a drum from the guard-house, and was beating the generale. It was Monday ; the markets were deserted, and all marched forth. ** We will bring back," said they, *' the baker and tlie baker s wife. And we shall have the pleasure of hearing our little daring mother Mirabeau." The market people march forth, and the Faubourg Saint- \ THEY INVADE THE HOTEL-DE-VILLE. 259 Antoine, on the other hand, was likewise marching. On the road, the women hm-ry along with them all they happen to meet, threat- ening such as are nnwilling that they will cut their hair off. First they go to the H6tel-de-Ville. There a baker had just been brought who used to give false weight of ^even ounces in a two pound loaf. The lamp was lowered. Though the man was guilty on his own confession, the National Guard contrived to let him escape. They presented their bayonets to the four or five hundred women already assembled. On the other side, at the bottom of the square, stood the cavalry of the National Guard. The women were by no means daunted. They charged infantry and cavalry with a shower of stones ; but the soldiers could not make up their minds to fire on them. The women then forced open the H6tel-de-Ville, and entered all the ofiices. Many of them were well dressed : they had put on white gowns for that grand day. They inquired curiously into the use of every room, and entreated the representatives of the districts to give a kind reception to the women they had forced to accompany them, several of whom were enceinte^ and ill, perhaps from fear. Others, ravenous and wild, shouted out Bread and arms!— ihixi the men were cowards, — and they would show them what courage was. — That the people of the H6tel-de-Ville were only fit to be hanged, — that they must burn their writings and waste paper. And they were going to do so, and to burn the building perhaps. A man stopped them, — a man of gigantic stature, dressed in black, and whose serious countenance seemed more sombre than his dress. At first they were going to kill him, thinking he belonged to the town, and calling him a traitor. He replied he was no traitor, but a bailiff by profession, and one of the conquerors of the Bastille. It was Stanislas Maillard. Early that morning, he had done good service in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. The volunteers of the Bastille under the com- mand of Hullin, were drawn up on the square in arms. The workmen who were demolishing the fortress believed they were sent against them. Maillard interposed and prevented the collision. At the H6tel-de-Ville, he was lucky enough to prevent its being burnt. The women even promised they would not allow any men to enter : they had left armed sentinels at the grand entrance. At eleven o'clock, the men attacked s2 260 THEY MARCH TO VERSAILLES. the small door wlilcli opened under the arcade Saint-Jean. Armed with levers, hammers, hatchets, and pick-axes, they hroke open the door, and forced the magazine of arms. Among them was a French guardsman, who had wanted in the morning to ring the tocsin, and had heen caught in the act. He had, he said, escaped hy miracle ; the moderate party, as furious as the others, would have hung him had it not been for the women ; he showed his bare neck, which they had relieved from the rope. By way of retaliation, they took a man of the Hotel-de- Ville in order to hang him. It was the brave Abbe Lefebvre, wlio had distributed the gunpowder on the 14th of July. Some women, or men disguised as women, hung him accordingly to the little steeple ; one of them cut the rope, and he fell, alive and only stunned, into a room twenty-five feet below. Neither Bailly nor Lafayette had arrived. Maillard repaired to the aide-major-general and told him there was only one way of ending the business, which was that he, MaiUard, should lead the women to Versailles. That journey will give time to collect the troops. He descends, beats the drum, and obtains a hearing. The austere tragical countenance of that tall man in black was very effective in La Greve ; he appeared a prudent man, and likely to bring matters to a successful issue. The women, who were already departing with the cannon of the town, proclaimed him their captain. He put himself at their head with eight or ten drums ; seven or eight thousand women followed, with a few hundred armed men, and a com- pany of the volunteers of the Bastille brought up the rear. On arrivino; at the Tuileries, Maillard wanted to follow the quay, but the women wished to pass triumphantly under the clock, through the palace and the garden. Maillard, an ob- server of ceremony, told them to remember that it was the king's house and garden ; and that to pass through without permission was insulting the king.* He politely approached the Swiss guard, and told him that those ladies merely wished to pass through, without doing any mischief. The Swiss drew his sword and rushed upon Maillard, who drew his. A portress gave a lucky stroke with a stick ; the Swiss fell, and a man held his bayonet to his breast. Maillard stopped him, coolly * Deposition de Maillard, Moniteur, i., p. 572. THE ASSEMBLY KECEIVES WARNING. 261 disarmed them both, and carried off the bayonet and the swords. The morning was passing, and their hunger increased. At Chaillot, Auteuil, and Sevres, it was very difficult to prevent the poor starving women from stealing food. Maillard would not allow it. At Sevres the troop was exhausted ; there, there was nothing to be had, not even for money ; every door was closed except one, that of a sick man who had remained ; Maillard contrived to buy of him a few pitchers of wine. Then, he choose out seven men, and charged them to bring before him the bakers of Sevres, "with whatever they might have. There were eight loaves in all, thirty-two pounds of bread for eight thousand persons. They shared them among them and crawled further. Fatigue induced most of the women to lay aside their arms. Maillard, moreover, made them understand that as they wished to pay a visit to the king and the Assembly, and to move and affect them, it was not proper to arrive in such a warlike fashion. The cannon were placed in the rear, and in a manner concealed. The sage bailiff wished it to be a^^r.,>'/er sans scandale, as they say in courts of law. At the entrance of Versailles, in order to hint their pacific intention, he gave a signal to the women to sing the air of Henri IV. The people of Versailles were delighted, and cried Vivent nos Parisiennes ! Foreigners among the spectators saw nothing but what was innocent in that crowd comins; to ask the kina." for succour. The Genevese Dumont, a man unfriendly to the Revolution, who was dining at the palace Des Petites-Ecuries^ looking out of window, says himself: *'A11 that crowd only wanted bread/' The Assembly had been that day full of stormy discussions. The kino;, beino^ unwiUino: to sanction either the declaration of rights, or the decrees of the 4th of August, replied that con- stitutional laws could be judged only in their ensemble; that he acceded, however, in consideration of the alarming circum- stances, and on the express condition that the executive power would resume all its force. ** If you accept the king's letter," said Robespierre, there is no longer any constitution, nor any right to have one." Duport, 262 MAILLARD ANP THE WOMEN Gregoire, and otner deputies speak in the same manner. Petion mentions and blames the orgy of the body guards. A deputy, who had himself served among them, demands, for their honour, that the denunciation be stated in a regular form, and that the guilty parties be prosecuted. " I will denounce,'* cried Mirabeau, "and I will sign, if the Assembly declare that the person of the king is alo7ie inviolable." This was designat- ing the queen. The whole Assembly recoiled from the motion, which was withdrawn. On such a day, it would have provoked assassination. Mirabeau himself was not free from uneasiness for his back- sliding, and his speech on the veto. He approached the presi- dent, and said to him in an under tone : " Mounier, Paris is marching against us, — believe me or not, forty thousand men are marching against us. Feign illness, go to the palace, and give them this notice ; there is not a moment to be lost." *' Is Paris marching ?" said Mounier, drily (he thought Mirabeau was one of the authors of the movement). ** Well ! so much the better ! we shall have a republic the sooner." The Assembly decide that they will send to the ^ v"* to request the mere and simple acceptation of the DeclarCiVi^^P^t Rights. At three o'clock. Target announces that a crowd had appeared before the doors on the Avenue de Paris, Everybody was acquainted with the event, except the king He had departed for the chase that morning as usual, and was hunting in the woods of Meudon. They sent after him. Meanwhile, they beat the gcnerahy the body guards mounted their horses on the Place d'Armes, and stood with their backs to the iron gates ; the regiment of Flanders below, on their right, near the Avenue de Sceaux, M. d'Estaing, in the name of the municipality of Versailles, orders the troops to act in concert with the National Guard, and oppose the rioters. The municipality had carried their precaution so far as to authorize d'Estaing to follow the king, if he went far, on the singular condition of bringing him hack to Versailles as soon as possible. D'Estaing adhered to the latter order, went up to the Chateau, and left the National Guard of Versailles to manasre as it pleased. M. de Gouvernet, the second in command, likewise left his post, and placed himself among the body guards, pre- BEFORE THE ASSEMBLY. 263 ferring, he said, to be with people who know how to fight and sabre, Lecointre, the lieutenant-colonel, remained alone to command. Meanwhile, Maillard arrived at the National Assembly. All the women wanted to enter. He had the jxreatest trouble to prevail on them to send in only fifteen of their number. They placed themselves at the bar, having at their head the French guardsman of whom we have spoken, a woman who carried a tambourine at the end of a pole, and the gigantic bailiff in the midst, in his tattered black coat, and sword in hand. The soldier began by pertly telling the Assembly that, on no bread being found at the baker's that morning, he had wanted to ring the tocsin ; that he had near been hanged, and owed his safety to the ladies who accompanied him. " We come," said he, "to demand bread, and the punishment of the body guard who have insulted the cockade. We are good patriots ; on our road we have torn down the black cockades, and I will have the pleasure of tearing one before the Assembly." To which the other gravely added : ** Everybody must cer- tainly wear the patriotic cockade." This was received with.a few murmurs. *' And yet we are all brethren ! " cried the sinister apparition. Maillard alluded to what the municipal council of Paris had declared the day before : that the tricolor cockade, having been adopted as a sijmbol of fraternity , was the only one that ought to be worn by citizens. The women, being impatient, shouted together, '* Bread ! Bread ! " Maillard then began to speak of the horrible situa- tion of Paris, of the supplies being intercepted by the other towns, or by the aristocrats. "They want," said he, "to starve us. A miller has received from somebody two hundred francs to induce him not to grind, with a promise that he should receive as much every week." The Assembly exclaimed, "Name him." It was in the Assembly itself that Gregoire had spoken of that current report ; and Maillard had heard of it on the road. *' Name him ! " some of the women shouted at random : "It is the archbishop of Paris." At that moment, when the lives of many men seemed hang- ing by a thread, Robespierre took a serious step. Alone, he -Gi ROBESPIERRE SUPrOHTS MAILLARD. supported Halliard ; said that Abbe Gregoire had spoken of the fact, and would doubtless ffive some information.* Otlier members of the Assembly tried threats and caresses, A deputy of the clergy, an ahhe, or a prelate, offered his hand to one of the Avomen to kiss. She flew into a passion, and said, ** I was not made to kiss a dog's paw." Another deputy, a military man, and wearing the cross of Saint-Louis, hearing Maillard say that the clergy were the grand obstacle to the con- stitution, exclaimed, in a passion, that he ought instantly to be punished as an example. Maillard, nothing daunted, replied that he inculpated no member of the Assembly ; that the Assembly were doubtless ignorant of all ; and that he thought he was doing them a service in giving them this information. For the second time, Robespierre supported Maillard, and calmed the anger of the women. Those outside were growing impa- tient, fearing for the safety of their orator. A report was spreading among them that he had perished. He went out for a moment, and showed himself. Maillard, then resuming his speech, begged the Assembly to engage the National Guards to make atonement for the insult offered to the cockade. Some deputies gave him the lie. Mail- lard insisted in unceremonious language Mounier, the pre- sident, reminded him of the respect due to the Assembly ; and added, foolishly, that they who wished to be citizens were per- fectly at liberty to be so. This gave an advantage to Maillard ; he replied : '' Everybody ought to be proud of the name of citizen ; and if, in that august assembly, there were anybody who considered it a dishonour, he ought to be excluded." The Assembly started with emotion, and applauded : ** Yes," cried they, '* we are all citizens ! " At that moment a tricolored cockade was brought in, sent by the body guard. The women shouted, " God save the king and the body guard ! " Maillard, who was not so easily satis- fied, insisted on the necessity of sending away the regiment of Flanders. Mounier, then hoping to be able to get rid of them, said that the Assembly had neglected nothing to obtain provisions, * All tills has been disfigured and curtailed by \)iq MonUair. Luckily, it gives biter the depositions (at the end of the 1st volume). See also the DeVjX Amis de la Libcrte, Ferrieree, &c. &c. THE WOMEN BEFORE THE KING. 265 iieither had tlie king ; that they would try to find some new means, and that the}^ might withdraw in peace. Maillard did not stir, saying, *' No, that is not enough." A deputy then proposed to go and inform the king of the miserable state of Paris. The Assembly voted it, and the women, eagerly seizing that hope, threw tlieir arms round the necks of the deputies, and embraced the president in spite of his resistance. " But where is our MIrabeau ? " said they, once more ; *' we should like to see our Count de Mirabeau." Mounier, surrounded, kissed, and almost stifled, then moodily set out with the deputation and a ci'owd of women, who insisted on folloAAiing him. *' We were on foot," says he, *' in the mud, and it was raining in torrents. We had to pass through a ragged noisy multitude, ai'med in a fantastical manner. Body guards were patrolling and galloping about. Those guards on beholding ]\Iounier and the deputies, with their strange cortege of honour, imagined they saw there the leaders of the insurrec- tion, and wanting to disperse that multitude, galloped through them."* The inviolable deputies escaped as they could, and ran for their lives through the mud. It is easy to conceive the rage of the people, who had imagined that, with them, they were sure of being respected ! Two women were wounded, and even by swords, according to some witnesses.! However, the people did nothing. From three till eight in the evening, they were patient and motionless, only shouting and hooting whenever they beheld the odious uniform of the body guard. A child threw stones. The king had been found ; he had returned from Meudon, without hurrying himself. Mounier, being at length recognised, was allowed to enter with twelve women. He spoke to the king of the misery of Paris, and to the ministers of the request of the Assembly, who were waiting for the pure and simple acceptation of the Declaration of Rights and other constitutional articles. Meanwhile the kino; listened to the women with much kind- ness. The young girl^ Louison Chabry, had been charged to * See Mounier, at the end of the Expose justificatif. + If the king forbade the troops to act, as people affirm, it "was at a later perioa, and too late. 266 INDECISION OF THE COURT. speak for the others ; but her emotion was so great in presence of the king, that she could only articulate *' Bread ! " and fell down in a swoon. The king, much affected, ordered her to he taken care of ; and when, on departing, she wanted to kiss his hand, he embraced her like a father. She ran out a Royalist, and shouting '* Vive le Roi ! " The women, who were waiting for her in the square, were furious, and began saying she had been bribed ; in vain did she turn her pockets inside out, to show that she had no money ; the women tied their garters round her neck to strangle her. She was torn from them, but not without much difficulty. She was obliged to return to the Chateau, and obtain from the king a written order to send for corn, and remove every obstacle for the provisioning of Paris. To the demands of the president, the king had coolly replied : **Eeturn about nine o'clock." Mounier had nevertheless re- mained at the castle, at the door of the council, insisting on having an answer, knocking every hour, till ten in the evening. But nothing was decided. The minister of Paris, M. de Saint-Priest, had heard the news very late (which proves how indecisive and spontaneous the departure for Versailles had been). He proposed that the queen should depart for Rambouillet, and that the king should "emain, resist, and fight if necessary ; the departure of the queen alone would have quieted the people and rendered fight- ing unnecessary. M. Necker wanted the king to go to Paris, and trust himself to the people ; that is to say, that he should be sincere and frank, and accept the Revolution. Louis XVI., without coming to any resolution, dismissed the council, in order to consult the queen. She was very willing to depart, but with him, and not to leave such an indecisive man to himself ; the name of the king was her weapon for beginning the civil war. Saint-Priest heard, about seven o'clock, that Lafayette, urged by the National Guard, was marching against Versailles. ** We must depart immediately," said he ; " the king at the head of the troops will pass without any difficulty." But it was impossible to bring him to any decision. He believed (but very wrongly) that, if he departed, the Assembly would make the Duke of Orleans king. He was also adverse to flight ; he strode to and fro, FIRST BLOOD Sjri;D. 267 repeating from time to time : *' A king a fugitive! a king a fugitive ! " * The queen, however, having insisted on depart- ing, the order was given for the carriages. It was too late. CHAPTER IX. THE KING BROUGHT BACK TO PARIS. The 5th of October continued. — First Blood shed. — The Women gain over the Regiment of Flanders, — Fight between the Body Guard and the National Guard of Versailles. — The King no longer able to escape. — Afiright of the Court. — Tlie Women pass the Night in the Hall of the Assembly. — Lafayette forced to march against Versailles. — 6th of October. — The Chateau assailed. — Danger of the Queen, — The Body Guards saved by the French Ex-Guards. — Hesitation of the Assembly. — Conduct of the Duke of Orleans. — The King led to Paris. One of the Paris militia, whom a crowd of women had taken, in spite of himself, for their leader, and who excited hy the journey, had shown himself at A^ersailles more enthusiastic than all the others, ventured to pass behind the body guard there : seeing the iron gate shut, he began insulting the sen- tinel stationed within, and menacing him \vith his bayonet. A lieutenant of the guard and two others drew their swords, and galloped after him. The man ran for his life, tried to reach a shed, but tumbled over a tub, still shouting for assist- ance. The horseman had come up with him, just as the National Guard of Versailles could contain themselves no longer : one of them, a retail wine-merchant, stepped from the ranks, aimed, fired, and stopped him short ; he had broken the arm that held the uplifted sabre. D'Estaing, the commander of this National Guard, was at the castle, still believing that he was to depart with the king. Lecointre, the lieutenant-colonel, remained on the spot demand- ing orders of the municipal council, who gave none. He was justly fearful lest that famished multitude should overrun the town and feed themselves. He went to them, inquired what quantity of provisions was necessary, and entreated the council * See Necker, and his daughter, Madame de ytaei's Considerations. 268 THE WOMEN' GAIN OVER THE REGIMENT OF FLANDERS. to give tliem ; but could only obtain a little rice, which was nothing for such a multitude. Then he caused a search to be made in every direction, and, by his laudable diligence, gave some relief to the people. At the same time, he addressed himself to the regiment of Flanders, and asked the officers and soldiers whether they would fire. The latter were already under a far more powerful influence. Women had cast themselves among them, entreat- ing them not to hurt the people. A woman then appeared among them, whom we shall often see again, who seemed not to have walked in the mire with the others, but had, doubtless, arrived later, and who now threw herself at once among the soldiers. This was a handsome young lady. Mademoiselle Theroigne de Mericourt, a native of Liege, lively and passionate, like so many of the women of Liege who effected the Revolution of the fifteenth century,-'^ and fought valiantly against Charles the Bold. Interesting, original, and strange, with her riding- habit and hat, and a sabre by her side, speaking and con- founding equally French and the patois of Liege, and yet eloquent. She was laughable, yet irresistible. Theroigne, impetuous, charming, and terrible, was insensible to every obstacle. She had had amours ; but then she felt but one passion, — one violent and mortal, which cost her more than life,t her love for the Revolution ; she followed it with enthu- siasm, never missed a meeting of the Assembly, frequented the clubs and the public places, held a club at her own house, and received many deputies. She would have no more lovers, and declared that she would have none but the great metaphysician, the abstract, cold Abbe Sieyes, ever the enemy of women. Theroigne, having addressed that regiment of Flanders, be- wildered, gained them over, and disarmed them so completely that they gave away their cartridges like brothers to the National Guard of Versailles. D'E stain g then sent word to the latter to withdraw. A few departed ; others replied that they would not go till the body guards had first moved. The latter were then ordered to file off. It was eight o'clock, and the evening was dark. The * See my Histoire de France^ t. vi. ■f A tragical story, terribly disfigured by Beaulieu and all tbe royalists. I entreat the people of Liege to defend the honour of their heroine. THE KING NO LONGER ABLE TO ESCAPE. 269 t people followed, pressed upon the body guards, and hooted after them. The guards force their way sword in hand. Some who were behind, being more molested than the rest, fired their pistols : three of the National Guard were hit, one in the face ; the two others received the bullets in their clothes. Their comrades fire also by way of answer ; and the body guard reply with their musquetoons. Other National Guards entered the court-yard, surrounded d'Estaing, and demanded ammunition. He was himself asto- nished at their enthusiasm and the boldness they displayed amid the troops : " True martyrs of enthusiasm," said he sub- sequently to the queen.* A lieutenant of Versailles declared to the guard of the artil- lery, that if he did not give him some gunpowder, he would blow his brains out. He gave him a barrel which was opened on the spot ; and they loaded some cannon which they pointed opposite the balustrade, so as to take in flank the troops which still covered the castle, and the body guards who were return- ing to the square. The people of Versailles had shown the same firmness on the other side of the Chateau. Five carriages drew up to the iron gates in order to depart ; they said it was the queen, who was going to Trianon. The Swiss opened, but the guards shut. " It would be dangerous for her Majesty," said the commandant, *'to leave the Chateau." The carriages were escorted back. There was no longer any chance of escape. The king was a prisoner. The same commandant saved one of the body guard whom the crowd wanted to tear to pieces, for having fired on the people. He managed so well that they left the man ; they were satisfied with tearing the horse to pieces ; and they began roasting him on the Place D' Armes ; but the crowd were too hungry to wait, and devoured it almost raw. It was a rainy night. The crowd took shelter where they could ; some burst open the gates of the great stables [grandes ecuries), where the regiment of Flanders was stationed, and mixed pell-meU with the soldiers. Others, about four thousandi in number, had remained in the Assembly. The men were * See one of his letters at the end vol. li, of Ikux Amis de la Liberie, ilTO AFFRIGHT OF THE COURT. quiet enough, but the women were impatient at that state of inaction : they talked, shouted, and made an uproar. Maillard alone could keep them quiet, and he managed to do so only by haranguing the Assembly. What contributed to incense the crowd, was that the body guards came to the dragoons, who were at the doors of the Assembly, to ask whether they would assist them in seizing the cannon that menaced the Chiteau. The people wore about to rush upon them, when the dragoons contrived to let them escape. At eight o'clock, there was another attempt. They brougkt a letter from the king, in which, without speaking of the Declaration of Rights, he promised in vague terms to allow corn to circulate freely. It is probable that, at that moment, the idea of flight was predominant at the Chateau. Without giving any answer to Mounier, who still remained at the door of the council, they sent this letter to engage the attention of the impatient crowd. A singular apparition had added to the affright of the Court. A young man enters, ill-dressed, like one of the mob, and quite aghast.* Everybody was astonished ; it was the young Duke of Richelieu who, in that disguise, had mingled with the crowd, a fresh swarm of people who had marched from Paris ; he had left them half way on the road in order to give warning to the royal family ; he had heard horrible language, atrocious threats, which made his hair stand on end. In saying this, he was so livid, that everybody turned pale. The king's heart was beginning to fail him ; he perceived that the queen was in peril. However agonizing it was to his conscience to consecrate the legislative work of philosophy, at ten o'clock in the evening he signed the Declaration of Rights. Mounier was at last able to depart. He hastened to re- sume his place as president before the arrival of that vast army from Paris, whose projects were not yet known. He re-entered the hall ; but there was no longer any Assembly ; it had broken up : the crowd, ever growing more clamorous and exacting, had demanded that the prices of bread and meat should be lowered. * Stael, Considerations J 2nd part, cli. xi. THE WOMEN IN THE HALL. 271 Mounier found in his place, in the president's chair, a tall fine well-behaved woman, holding the bell in her hand, and who left the chair with reluctance. He gave orders that they were to try to collect the deputies again ; meanwhile, he announced to the people that the king had just accepted the constitutional articles. The women crowding about him, then entreated him to give them copies of them ; others said : *' But, M. Presi- dent, will this be very advantageous ? Will this give bread to the poor people of Paris ?" Others exclaimed : " We are very hungry. We have eaten nothing to-day." Mounier ordered bread to be fetched from the bakers'. Provisions then came in on all sides. They all began eating in the hall with much clamour. The women, whilst eating, chatted with Mounier : *' But, dear President, why did you defend that villanous veto ? Mind the lanterne ! " Mounier replied firmly, that they were not able to judge, — that they were mistaken ; that, for his part, he would rather expose his life than betray his conscience. This reply pleased them very much, and from that moment they showed him great respect and friendship.*' Mirabeau alone would have been able to obtain a hearing, and silence the uproar. He did not care to do so. He was certainly uneasy. According to several witnesses, he had walked about in the evening among the people, with a large sabre, saying to those he met, *' Children, we are for you." Afterwards, he had gone to bed. Dumont, the Genevese, went in quest of him, and brought him back to the Assembly. As soon as he arrived, he called out, in his voice of thunder, *' I should like to know how people have the assurance to come and trouble our meeting. M. President, make them respect the Assembly ! " The women shouted *' Bravo ! " They became more quiet. In order to kill time, they resumed the discussion on the criminal laws. 'Twas in a gallery (says Dumont) where a fish-woman was acting as commander-in-chief, and directing about a hundred women, especially girls, who, at a signal from her, shouted or remained silent. She was calling the deputies famiUarly by their names, or else woidd inquire, " Who is that speaking * Mounier, at the end of the Expose jicsiificatij: 272 LAFAYETTE AT VERSAILLES. yonder ? Make that chatterbox liold his prating ! That is not the question ! The thing is to have bread ! Let them rather hear our darhno; httle Mirabeau ! " Then all the women would shout, " Our darling mother Mirabeau ! " But he would not speak.* Lafayette, Avho had left Paris between five and six in the evening, did not arrive till after twelve. We must now go back, and follow him from noon to midnight. About eleven, being informed that the Hotel-de-Ville was invaded, he repaired thither, found the crowd dispersed, and began dictating a despatch for the king. La Greve was full of the paid and unpaid National Guards, who were muttering from rank to rank that they ought to march to Versailles. Many French ex-guards, especially, regretted having lost their ancient privilege of guarding the king, and wanted to recover it. Some of them went to the Hutel-de-Ville, and knocked at the bureau, where Lafayette was dictating. A handsome young grenadier, who spoke admirably, said to him firmly : *' My General, the people are without bread ; misery is extreme. The committee of subsistence either deceives you, or are themselves deceived. This state of things cannot last ; there is but one remedy : let us go to Versailles. They say the king is a fool ; we will place the crown on the head of his son ; a council of regency shall be named, and everything will o'o on better." Lafayette was very firm and obstinate, but the crowd was still more so. He believed very properly in his influence over the people : he was, however, able to see that he had over- rated it. In vain did he harangue the people ; in vain did he remain several hours in the Greve on his white horse, some- times speaking, sometimes imposing silence with a gestiu'e, or else, by way of having something to do, patting his horse with his hand. The difficulty was growing more urgent ; it was no longer his National Guards who pressed him, but bodies from the Faubourgs Saint- Antoine and Saint-Marceau, — men who would listen to nothing. They spoke to the general by eloquent signs, preparing the lamp for him, and taking aim at him. Then he got down from his horse, and wanted to re-enter the * Etienne Duuiont, Souvenirs, p. 181. LAFAYETTE AT VERSAILLES. 273 H6tel-de-ViIle ; but his grenadiers barred the passage : '•^ Mor» bleu ! general," said they, '* you shall stop with us ; you would not abandon us ! " Luckily, a letter is brought down from the H6tel-de-ViIle ; they authorise the general to depart, " seeing it is impossible to refuse." ** Let us march," said he, though he did so with regret. The order was received with shouts of joy. Of +he thirty thousand men of the National Guard, fifteen thouo»v-v4 marched forth. Add to this number a few thousands of the people. The insult ofi^ered to the national cockade was a noble motive for the expedition. Everybody applauded them on their passage. An elegantly-dressed assemblage on the ter- race by the water-side looked on and applauded. At Passy, where the Duke of Orleans had hired a house, Madame de Genlis was at her post, shouting, and waving her handkerchief, doing all she could to be seen. The bad weather caused them to march rather slowly. Many of the National Guards, so eager before, now began to cool. This was not like the fine weather on the 14th of July. They were drenched with a cold October rain. Some of them stopped on the road ; others grumbled, and walked on. '' It is disagreeable," said the rich tradesmen, *'for people who go to their country-houses in fine weather only in coaches, to march four leagues in the rain." Others said, " We will not do all this drudgery for nothing." And they then laid all the blame on the queen, uttering mad threats, and appearing very malignant. The Chateau had been expecting them in the greatest anxiety. They thought that Lafayette only pretended that he was forced, but that really he availed himself willingly of the opportunity. They wanted to see whether, at eleven o'clock, the crowd being then dispersed, the carriages could pass through the Dragon gates. The National Guard of Versailles was on the watch, and blocked the passage. The queen, however, would not depart alone. She rightly judged that there was no safe refuge for her, if she separated from the king. About two hundred noblemen, several of whom were deputies, ofi'ered themselves to defend her, and asked her for an order to take horses from her stables. She authorised them, in case, she said, the king should be in danger. Lafayette, before entering Versailles, made his troops renew T 274 LAFAYETTE AT VERSAILLES. their oath of fidelity to the law and the king. He sent him notice of his arrival, and the king replied : ** that he would see him with pleasure, and that he had just accepted his Declaration of Rights." Lafayette entered the Chateau alone, to the great astonish- ment of the guards and everybody else. In the oeil-de-boeuff one of the courtiers was so foohsh as to say : ** There goes Cromwell." To which Lafayette replied very aptly, ** Sir, Cromwell would not have entered alone.'* *' He appeared very calm," says Madame De Stael (who was present); ** nobody ever saw him otherwise; his modesty suffered from the importance of his position." The stronger he ap- peared, the more respectful was his behaviour. The outrage, moreover, to which he had been subjected, made him more of a Royalist than ever. The king intrusted to the National Guard the outer posts of the castle ; the body guards preserved those within. Even the outside was not entirely intrusted to Lafayette. On one of his patrols wishing to pass into the park, the entrance was refused. The park was occupied by body guards and other troops ; tiU two in the morning"* they awaited the king, in case he should at last resolve to fly. At two o'clock only, having been pacified by Lafayette, they told them they might go to Rambouillet. The Assembly had broken up at three o'clock. The people had dispersed, and retired to rest, as they could, in the churches and elsewhere. Maillard and many of the women, among whom was Louison Chabry, had departed for Paris, shortly after the arrival of Lafayette, carrying with them the decrees on corn and the Declaration of Rights. Lafayette had much trouble to find lodging for his National Guards ; wet, and worn out, they were trying to dry themselves and to get food. At last, believing everything quiet, he also went to the Hotel de Noailles, and slept, as a man sleeps after twenty hours' fatigue and agitation. Many people did not sleep : especially those who having come from Paris in the evening, had not undergone the fatigue of the preceding day. The first expedition, in which the women * Till that hour, they still thought of doing so, if we may believe the teati- inoay of M. de la Tour-du-Pin. — Memoires de Lafayette, ii. THE CHATEAU STORMED. 275 were predominant, being very spontaneous, natural as it ^ve^e^ and urged by necessity, bad not cost any bloodshed. Maillard had bad tbe glory of maintaining some sort of order in tbat disorderly crowd. Tbe natural crescendo ever observable in such insurrections, scarcely left room to hope that the second expedi- tion would pass oiF as quietly. True, it had been formed before tlie eyes of the National Guard, and as if in concert with it. Nevertheless there were men there who were determined to act without them ; many were furious fanatics, who would have liked to kill the queen ;* others who pretended to be so, and seemed to be the most violent, were simply a class of men ever superabundant when the police is weak, namely, thieves. The latter calculated the chances of breakino-into the Chateau. They had not found much in the Bastille worth taking. But, what a delightful prospect was opened for pillage in the wonderful palace of Versailles, where the riches of France had been amassed for more than a century ! At ^ve in the morning, before daylight, a large crowd was already prowling about the gates, armed with pikes, spits, and scythes. They had no guns. Seeing some body guards as sentinels at the gates, they forced the National Guards to fire on them ; the latter obeyed, taking care to fire too high. In that crowd, wandering or standing round fires that had been made in the square, was a little hump-backed lawyer, Verrieres, mounted on a large horse ; he was considered very violent; they had been waiting for him ever since the preced- ing evening, saying they would do nothing without him. Le- cointre was likewise there, going to and fro haranguing the crowd. The people of Versailles were perhaps more inveterate than the Parisians, having been long enraged against the court and the body guards ; they had lost an opportunity, the night before, of falling on them, which they regretted, and wanted now to pay them what they owed them. Among them were several locksmiths and blacksmiths, (of the manufactory of * I do not see in the Ami d/u peiiple how Marat can be accused of having been the first to suggest sanguinary violdnce. What is certain is he was very restless : " M. Marat flies to Versailles, returns like lightning and makes alone as much noise as the four trumpets of the Day of Judgment, shouting : ' O death ! arise ! ' " — Camille Desmoulins, Revolutiom de France et de Bra^ banL iii., p. 359, t2 276 THE CHATEAU STOKMED. arms?) rough men, who strike hard, and who, moreover, ever thirsty at the forge, are also hard drinkers. About six o'clock, this crowd, composed of Parisians and people of Versailles, scale or force the gates, and advance into the courts with fear and hesitation. The first who was killed, if we believe the Royalists, died from a fall, having slipped in the marble court. According to another and a more likely version, he was shot dead by the body guard. Some took to the left, toward the queen's apartment, others to the right, toward the chapel stairs, nearer the king's apartment. On the left, a Parisian running unarmed, among the foremost, met one of the body guard, who stabbed him with a knife. The guardsman was killed. On the right, the foremost was a militia-man of the guard of Versailles, a diminutive locksmith, with sunken eyes, almost bald, and his hands chapped by the heat of the forge.* This man and another, without answering the guard, who had come down a few steps and was speaking to him on the stairs, strove to pull him down by his belt, and hand him over to the crowd rushing behind. The guards pulled him towards them ; but two of them were killed. They all fled along the grand gallery, as far as the oeil-de-boe2tf, between the apart- ments of the king and the queen. Other guards were already there. The most furious attack had been made in the direction of the queen's apartment. The sister of her femme-de-chambre Madame de Campan, having half opened the door, saw a guardsman covered with blood, trying to stop the furious rabble. She quickly bolted that door and the next, put a petti- coat on the queen, and tried to lead her to the king. An awful moment ! The door was bolted on the other side ! They knock again and again. The king was not within; he had gone round by another passage to reach the queen. At that moment a pistol was fired, and then a gun, close to them. ** My friends, my dear friends," cried the queen, bursting into tears, *' save me and my children." They brought her the dauphin. At length the door was opened, and she rushed into the king's apartment. * Deposition of Miomandre, one of the body guardf — MonUeurf i., p. 566, THE BODY GUARD SAVED. 277 The crowd was knocking louder and louder to enter the oeiU de-hceuf. The guards barricaded the place, piling up benches, stools, aud other pieces of furniture; the lower panel was burst in. They expected nothing but death ; but suddenly the uproar ceased, and a kind clear voice exclaimed : '* Open!" As they did not obey, the same voice repeated: *' Come, open to us, body guard; we have not forgotten that you men saved us French Guards at Fontenoy." It was indeed the French Guards, now become National Guards, with the brave and generous Hoche, then a simple sergeant-major — it was the people, who had come to save the nobdity. They opened, threw themselves into one another's arms, and wept. At that moment, the king, believing the passage forced, and mistaking his saviours for his assassins, opened his door himself, by an impulse of courageous humanity, saying to those without : *' Do not hurt my guards." The danger was past, and the crowd dispersed ; the thieves alone were unwilling to be inactive. Wholly engaged in their own business, they were pillaging and moving away the furni- ture. The grenadiers turned that rabble out of the castle. A scene of horror was passing in the court. A man with a long beard was chopping with a hatchet to cut off the heads of two dead bodies, — the guards killed on the stairs. That wretch, whom some took for a famous brigand of the south, was merely a modele who used to sit at the Academy of Paini- ing ; for that day, he had put on the picturesque costume of an antique slave, which astonished everybody, and added to their fear.* * His name was Nicolas. According to his landlord, the man had never given any proof of violence or ill-nature. Children used to take that terrible man by the beard. He was in fact a vain half-silly person who fancied he was doing something grand, audacious, and original, and perhaps wanted to realize the bloody scenes he had beheld in pictures or at the theatre. When he had committed the horrible deed, and everybody had recoiled from him, he sud- denly felt the dreariness of that strange solitude, and sought, under different pretexts, to get into the conversation, asking a servant for a pinch of snuff, and a Swiss of the castle for some \vine, which he paid for, boasting, and trying to encourage and comfort himself. — See the depositions in the Moniteur. The heads were carried to Paris on pikes ; one by a child. According to some, they departed the same morning ; others say, a little before the king, and, 278 THE QUEEN BEFORE THE PEOPLE. Lafayette, awakened but too late, then arrived on horseback. He saw one of the body guards whom they had taken and dragged near the body of one of those killed by the guards, in order to kill him by way of retaliation. ** I have given my word to the king," cried Lafayette, *' to save his men. Cause my word to be respected." The man was saved ; not so Lafayette. A furious fellow cried out: *' Kill him!" He gave orders to have him arrested, and the obedient crowd dragged him accordingly towards the general, dashing his head against the pavement. He then entered the castle, Madame Adelaide, the king's aunt, went up to him and embraced him : *' It is you," cried she, •* who have saved us." He ran to the king's cabinet. Who would believe that etiquette still subsisted ? A grand officer stopped him for a moment, and then allowed him to pass : " Sir," said he seriously, ** the king grants you les grandes entrees. ^^ The king showed himself at the balcony, and was welcomed with the unanimous shout of *' God save the King ! Vive le Boi.r' ** The King at Paris !" was the second shout, which was taken up by the people, and repeated by the whole army. The queen was standing near a window with her daughter beside her, and the dauphin before her. The child, playing with his sisters hair, cried: ** Mamma, I am hungry ! " hard reaction of necessity ! Hunger passes from the people to the king ! Providence ! Providence ! Pardon ! This one is but a child ! At that moment several voices raised a formidable shout : ** The queen ! " The people wanted to see her in the balcony. She hesitated : ** What ! " said she, ** all alone? " ** Madam, be not afraid," said Lafayette. She went, but not alone, holding an admirable safeguard, — -in one hand her daughter, in the other her son. The court of marble was terrible, in awful commotion, like the sea in its fury ; the National Guards, lining every side, could not answer for the centre ; there were consequently, in presence of Lafayette, "which is not likely. The body guard had killed five men of the crowd or National Guards of Versailles, and the latter seven body guards. HESITATION OP THE ASSEMBLY. 279 fire-arms, and men blind with rage. Lafayette's conduct was admirable ; for that trembling woman, he risked his popularity, his destiny, his very hfe ; he appeared with her on the balcony, and kissed her hand.* The crowd felt all that ; the emotion was unanimous. They Raw there the woman and the mother, nothing more. ** Oh! how beautiful she is I What ! is that the queen ? How she fondles her children ! '* Noble people ! may God bless you for your clemency and forgetfulness ! The king was trembling with fear, when the queen went to the balcony. The step having succeeded : ** My guards," said he to Lafayette, " could you not also do something for them ? '* *' Give me one." Lafayette led him to the balcony, told him to take the oath, and show the national cockade in his hat. The guard kissed it, and the people shouted : ** Vivent les gardes-du-corps !'^ The grenadiers, for more safety, took the caps of the guards, and gave them theirs, so that, by this mixture of costume, the people could no longer fire on the guards without running the risk of killing them. The king was very reluctant to quit Versailles. To leave the royal residence was in his estimation the same thing as to abandon royalty. A few days before, he had rejected the entreaties of Malouet and other deputies, who in order to be further from Paris, had begged him to transfer the Assembly to Compiegne. And now, he must leave Versailles to go to Paris, — pass through that terrible crowd. What would befall the queen ? He shuddered to think. The king sent to entreat the Assembly to meet at the Chateau. Once there, the Assembly and the king being together, and supported by Lafayette, some of the deputies were to beseech the king not to go to Paris. That request * By far the most curious deposition is that of the woman La Varenne,— the valiant portress of Mhom we have spoken. Therein we may perceive how a legend hegins. This woman was an eye-witness, — had a hand in the busi- ness ; she received a wound in saving one of the body guard ; and she sees and hears whatever is uppermost in her mind ; she adds it honestly : " The queen appeared in the balcony ; M. de Lafayette said : ' The queen has been deceived. She promises to love Iter people, to bo attached to them, as Jesus Christ is to his Church.' And aa a token of approval, the queen, shedding t€a«, twice raised her hand. The king asked pardon for his guards,'* &c. 280 MOVEMENT UNFORESEEN was to have been represented to the people as tne wisn of the Assembly. All that great commotion would subside ; fatigue, lassitude, and hunger would gradually disperse the people ; they would depart of their own accord. The Assembly, which was then forming, appeared wavering and undecided. Nobody had any fixed resolution or determination. That popular movement had taken all by surprise. The most keen- sighted had expected nothing of this. Mirabeau had not fore- seen it, neither had Sieyes. The latter said pettishly, when he received the first tidings of it : ** I cannot understand it ; it is going all wrong.** I think he meant to say: "contrary to the Revolution." Sieyes, at that time, was still a revolutionist, and perhaps rather favourably inclined towards the branch of Orleans. For the king to quit Versailles, his old court, and live at Paris among the people, was, doubtless, a fine chance for Louis XVI. to become popular again. If the queen (killed, or in exile) had not followed him, the Parisians would, very probably, have felt an affection for the king. They had, at all times, entertained a predilection for that fat, good-tempered man, whose very corpulency gave him an air of pious paternal good-nature, quite to the taste of the crowd. We have already seen that the market-women used to call him a good papa : that was the very idea of the people. This removal to Paris, which so much frightened the king, frightened, in a contrary manner, such as wanted to strengthen and continue the Revolution, and, still more, those who, for patriotic or personal views, would have liked to make the Duke of Orleans lieutenant-general (or something better.) The very worst thing that could have happened for the latter, who was foolishly accused of wishing to kiU the queen, was, that the queen should have been killed, and that the king, freed from that living cause of unpopularity, should return to Paris, and fall into the hands of such men as BaiDy or Lafayette. The Duke of Orleans was pei-fectly innocent of the move- ment of the 5th of October. He could neither help it, nor take advantage of it. On the 5th and the following night, he went restlessly from place to place. Depositions prove that he was seen everywhere between Paris and Versailles, but CONDUCT OF THE DUKE OF ORLEANS. 28i » that he did nothing.* Between eight and nine in the morning of the 6th, so soon after the massacre, that the court of the castle was still stained with blood, he went and showed himself to the people, with an enormous cockade m his hat, laughing, and flourishing a switch in his hand. To return to the Assembly. There were not forty members who repaired to the castle. Most of them were already in the entrance hall, and rather undecided how to act. The crowds of persons who thronged the tribunes increased their indecision. At the first word said about sitting at the Chateau, they began vociferating. Mirabeau then arose, and, according to his custom of disguising his obedience to the people in haughty language, said, " that the liberty of the Assembly would be compromised if they deliberated in the palace of kings ; that it did not become their dignity to quit their usual place of meeting ; and that a deputation was sufficient." Young Barnave supported the motion. Mounier, the president, opposed it, but in vain. At length, they heard that the king had consented to depart for Paris ; the Assembly, on Mirabeau's proposition, voted, that, for their present session, they are inseparable from the king. The day was advancing. It was not far from one o'clock. They must depart, and quit Versailles. Farewell to ancient monarchy ! A hundred deputies surround the king ; a whole army, — a whole people. He departs from the palace of Louis XIV., never to return. The whole multitude begins to move : they march off towards Paris, some before the king, and some behind. Men and wo- men, all go as they can, on foot or on horseback, in coaches and carts, on carriages of cannon, or whatever they could find. They had the good fortune to meet with a large convoy of flour, — a blessing for the famished town. The women carried large loaves on pikes, others, branches of poplar, already tinted * All that he appears to hare done, was to authorise the purveyor of the Assembly, on the evening of the 5th, to furnish provisions to the people who b^ere in the hall. There is nothing to show that he acted, to any extent, from ..- 15th of July to the 5th of October, except in an awkward and weak attempt which Danton made in his favour with Lafayette. — Sec the Memoires of tho latter. U 282 THE KING CONDUCTED TO PARIS. by autumn. They were all very merry, and amiable in their own fashion, except a few jokes addressed to the queen. **We are bringing back," cried they, *'the baker, his wife, and the little shop-boy." They all thought they could never starve, as long as they had the king with them. They were all still royalists, and full of joy at being able at length to put their good papa in good keeping : he was not verj' clever ; he had broken his word ; it was his wife's fault ; but, once in Paris, good women would not be wanting, who would give him better advice. The whole spectacle was at once gay, melancholy, joyous, and gloomy. They were full of hope, but the sky was over- cast, and the weather unfortunately did not favour the holiday. The rain fell in torrents ; they marched but slowly, and in muddy roads. Now and then, several fired off guns, by way of rejoicing, or to discharge their arms. The royal carriage, surrounded by an escort, and with Lafayette at the door, moved like a hearse. The queen felt uneasy. Was it sure she should arrive ? She asked Lafayette what he thought, and he inquired of Moreau de Mery, who, having presided at the H6tel-de-Ville on the famous days of the taking of the Bastille, was well acquainted with the matter. He replied in these significant words : *' I doubt whether the queen could arrive alone at the Tuileries ; but, once at the ri6tel-de-Ville, she will be able to return." Behold the king at Paris, in the place where he ought to be, in the very heart of France. Let us hope he will be worthy of it. The Revolution of the 6th of October, necessary, natural, and justifiable, if any ever was ; entirely spontaneous, unfore- seen, and truly popular; belongs especially to the women, as that of the 14th of July does to the men. The men took the Bastille, and the women took the king. On the 1st of October, ever}? thing was marred by the ladies of Versailles ; on the 6th, all was repaired by the women of Paris. BOOK III. OCTOBER 6, 1789, TO JULY 14, 1796. CHAPTER I. UNANIMITY TO REVIVE THE KINGLY POWER (OCTOBER, 1789.)— BURST OF FRATERNAL ENTHUSIASM.— ENTHUSIAS- TIC TRANSPORT OF BROTHERHOOD, (OCTOBER TO JULY). The Love of tlie People for the King. — Generosity of the People. — Their Tendency towards Unity ; their Confederations. — (October to July.) — Lafayette and Mirabeau for the King. — The Assembly for the King, October, 1789. — The King was not Captive in October. Early in the morning of the 7tli of October, the Tuileries were crowded with an excited multitude, impatient to see their king. Throughout the day, whilst he was receiving the homage of the constituted authorities, the crowd was watching without, and anxiously expecting to behold him. They saw, or thought they saw him through the distant windows ; and whenever any one was happy enough to catch a glimpse of him, he pointed him out to his neighbour, exclaiming, *' Look ! there he is ! " He was obliged to show himself in the balcony, where he was received with unanimous acclamations ; nay, he felt obliged to descend even into the gardens, to make a still closer demon- stration of sympathy for the enthusiasm of the people. His sister, Madame Elizabeth, an innocent young person, was so affected by it, that she caused her windows to be opened, and supped in presence of the multitude. Women with their children drew near, blessing her, and extolling her beauty. On the very preceding evening, that of the 6th of October, everybody had felt quite sure of that people of whom they X 284 UNANIMITY TO REVIYE THE KINGLY POWER. liaJ been so much afraid. When the kins; and the queen appeared by torch-ho;ht at the Hotel -de-Ville, a roar like thunder arose from La Greve, — shouts of joy, love, and grati- tude, towards the kincr who had come to live among them. The men wept like children, shook hands, and embraced each other.* *' The Revolution is ended,'' cried they ; *'here is the king delivered from that Palace of Versailles, from his courtiers and advisers." And indeed that pernicious charm which for more than a century had held royalty captive, remote from mankind, in a world of statues and automata still more artificial, was now, thank heaven, dissolved. The king was restored again to true nature, — to life and truth. Returning from that long exile, he was restored to his home ; he resumed his proper place, and found himself re-established in the kingly element, — ^ which is no other than the people. And where else could a king ever breathe and live ? Live amongst us, king, and be at length free ; for, free you have never been ; but have ever acted, and let others act, against your will. Every morning you have been made to do what you repented of before night ; yet you obeyed every day. After having been so long the slave of caprice, reign at length according to the law ; for this is royalty, — this is liberty ; and such is the kingdom of God. Such were the thoughts of the people, generous and sympa- thetic, without either rancour or distrust. Mingling, for the first time, in the crowd of lords and elegant ladies, they behaved towards them with great respect. Nay, they looked kindly upon the body-guards themselves, as they walked along arm in arm with the brave French guards, their friends and protectors. They cheered them both, in order to reassure and console their enemies of the preceding day. Let it be for ever remembered that at this period, so falsely described, or perverted by hate, the heart of France was full of magnanimity, clemency, and forgiveness. Nay, even in the acts of resistance, provoked on all sides by the aristocracy, — in those energetic measures whereby the people declare themselves ♦ All this, and the following, is quoted from royalist writers, Weber, i., 257 ; Beaulieii, ii., 203, &c. Their testimony is confonnuble to that of the Amis de la liberie, iv., 2 — 6. UNANIMITY TO REVIVE THE KINGLY TOWER. 285 ready to strike, they threaten hut forgive. Metz denounces its rebellious parliament to the National Assembly, and then intercedes for it. Brittany, in the formidable federation that she formed in the middle of winter (January), showed herself both strong and merciful. One hundred and fifty thousand armed men there engaged themselves to withstand the enemies of the law ; and the youthful commander, who, at the head of their deputies, swore with his sword on the altar, added to his oath : *' If they become good citizens, we will forgive them," > Those great confederacies, which were made throughout France for eight or nine months, are the characteristic feature, the stamp of originality, of that period. They had at first a defensive character, being formed for mutual protection again.-t unknown enemies, the hrigands^ and against the aristocracy. Next, these brothers being up in arms together, wished also to live together ; they sympathised in the wants of their fellow- citizens, and pledged themselves to secure a free circulation for corn, and to forward provisions from one province to another, from those who had but little to those who had none. At length, confidence is restored, and food is less scarce ; but the confederations continue, without any other necessity than that of the heart : To unite, as they said, and love one another. The towns at first unite together, in order to protect them- selves against the nobles. Next, the nobles being attacked by the peasants, or by wandering bands of paupers, and the castles burnt ; the townsmen sally forth in arms, and hasten to protect the castles and defend the nobles, their enemies. These nobles go in crowds to take refuge in the towns, among those who have saved them, and take the civic oath (February and March). Struggles between town and country places are happily (jf short duration. The peasant soon perceives the course -jf events, and, in his turn, confederates for order and the consti- tution. I have now before me the proces-verhaux of a number of those rural confederations, and I perceive in them the patriotic spirit, in spite of the simple language in which it is expressed, bursting forth as energetically as in the towns, and perhaps even more so. There is no longer any rampart between men. One would think that the walls of cities had fallen. Great confede- rations of the towns are often held in the country ; and x2 28(5 .UNANIMITY TO REVIVE THE KINGLY POWEU. often the peasants, in orderly bands, with the mayor or cure at their head, go and fraternise with the inhabitants of the towns. All were orderly, and all armed. The National Guard, at that period (a circumstance worthy of memory), was generally composed of everybody.* Everybody is in motion and all march forth as in the time of the Crusades. Whither are they all marching thus in groups of cities, villages, and provinces ? What Jerusalem attracts thus a whole nation, attracting it not abroad, but uniting it, concentrating it within itself ... It is one more potent than that of Judea ; it is the Jerusalem of hearts, the holy unity of fraternity, the great living city, made of men. It was built in less than a year, and since then has been called Native Land. Such is my course in this third book of the Revolution ; obstacles of every kind, outcries, acts of violence, and bitter disputes may delay me, but shall not deter me from my task. The 14th of July has proved to me the unanimity of Paris, and another 14th of July will presently show me the unanimity of France. How was it possible that the king, the ancient object of the * Everj'body without exception in the rural districts. Amid the panic teiTors renewed every moment for more than a year, everybody was armed, at least with agricultural implements, and appeared thus armed at the reviews and most solemn festivals. In towns, the organisation varied ; the permanent committees which formed there, on the news of the taking of the Bastille, opened registers in which the well-disposed of every class of men went and wrote their names •, wherever there was any danger, these volunteers were abso- lutely everybody without exception. The unlucky question about the uniform first gave rise to divisions ; then select bodies were formed, much disliked by all the others. The uniform was exacted very early at Paris, and the National Guard there became reduced to some thirty thousand men. But every- where else there were but few uniforms ; at most facings were added varying in colour, according to each town. At length the blue and red became predomi- nant. The proposition to require a uniform throughout France was not made till July 18th, 1790. On the 28th of April, 1791, the Assembly limited the title of national guard to active citizens, or primary electors ; the number of these electors (who, as proprietors, or tenants, paid taxes to the value of three days' labour, or three francs at most) amounted to four million four hundred tliousand men. And even of this number the majority, being workmen and living from hand to mouth by daily labour, were unable to continue the enormous sacrifice of time which the service of the national guard then required. i ENTHUSIASTIC TRANSPORT OF BROTHERHOOD. 287 people's affection, should alone be forgotten in this universal brotherly embrace ? On the contrary, he was its first object. In spite of his being accompanied by the ever melancholy, hard-hearted, and rancorous queen ; and notwithstanding, the abject thraldom in which he was evidently held by his bigoted scruples, and the bondage also in which his aifection for his wife enabled the latter to keep him, the people were obstinately bent on placing all their hopes in the king. A fact ridiculous to state, is, that the dread inspired by the events of the 6th of October had created a multitude of royalists. That terrible surprise, that nocturnal phantasmagoria, had seriously startled the imagination ; and people became more closely attached to the king. The Assembly, especially, had never felt so well disposed in his favour. They had been frightened ; and even ten days later it was with great repug- nance that they went to assemble in that moody Paris of October, amid that stormy multitude. One hundred and fifty deputies preferred to take passports ; and Mounier and Lally absconded. The two first men in France, Lafayette and Mirabeau, one the most popular, the other the most eloquent, were royalists on their return to Paris, Lafayette had been mortified at being led to Versailles, though apparently the leader of the people. He was piqued about his involuntary triumph almost as much as the king himself. He effected two measures on his return : he emboldened the municipality to prosecute Marat's sanguinary newspaper at the Chatelet (tribunal) ; and he went in person to the Duke of Orleans, intimidated him, spoke to him in strong and resolute terms, both at his house and before the king, giving him to understand that after the 6th of October, his presence at Paris was troublesome, furnished pretexts, and excluded tranquillity. By these means he induced him to go to London ; but when the duke wanted to return, Lafayette sent him word that, the day after his return, he would have to fight a duel with him. Mirabeau, thus deprived of Viis duke, and plainly perceiving that he should never be able to derive any advantage from him, turned, with all the assurance of superior power, like an indispensable person whom it is impossible to reject, and went over to the side of Lafayette. (October 10th — 20th). 2S8 ENTHUSIASTIC TRANSPORT OF BROTHERHOOD. He frauldj proposed to him to overthrow Neeker, and to sliare the government between themselves.* This was certainly the only chance of safety that remained to the king. But Lafayette neither liked nor esteemed Mirabeau ; and the Court detested tliem both. At one time, for a brief space, the two remaining powers, popularity and genius, agreed together for the advantage of royalty. An accident that happened just at the door of the Assembly, two or three days after they arrived in Paris, alarmed them, and induced them to desire order, cost what it would. A cruel mistake caused a baker to lose his life (October 21). t The murderer was immediately judged and hanged. This was an opportunity for the municipality to demand a law of severity and force. The Assembly decreed a martial law, which armed the municipalities with the right of calling out the troops and citizen guard for dispersing the mob. At the same time, they decreed that crimes of lese-nation should be tried by an old royal tribunal, at the Chatelet, — a petty tribunal for so great a mission. Buzot and Robespierre said it was necessary to create a high national court. Mirabeau ventured so far as to say that all these measures were power- less, but that it tvas necessary to restore strength to the executive poioer, and not allow it to take advantage of its own annihilation. This happened on the 21st of October. What progress since the 6th ! In the course of a fortnight, the king had recovered so much ground, that the bold orator placed frankly the safety of France in the strength of the kingly power. Lafayette wrote to the fugitive Mounier in Dauphine, where he was lamenting the king's captivity, and inciting people to civil war : \ that the king was by no means captive, that he would habitually inhabit the capital, and that he was about to recommence his hunting parties. This Avas not a falsehood. * Consult the three principal witnesses — Mirabeau, Lafayette, and Alex- andre do Lamcth. i' This crime, committed at the door of the Assembly, and which caused them to vote forthwith coercive laws, could not have benefited any but the royalists. I am, however, of ojnnion that it was the mere result of accident, and of the distrust and animosity engendered by miseiy. :}: M. de Lally has himself assured us that his friend Mounier used to Bay, " I think we must fight for it." — See Bailly, iii., 223, note. RESISTANCE. 289 Lafayette in fact entreated the king to go forth and show himself, and not give credit to the report of his captivit;y hy a voluntary seclusion.* No doubt but Louis XVL could, at that period, have easily withdrawn either to Rouen, as Mirabeau advised him, or to Metz, and the army commanded by Bouille, which the queen desired. CHAPTER IL RESISTANCE.— THE CLERGY (OCTOBER TO NOVEMBER, 1789.) Great Misery. — Necessity of taking back the Estates of the Clergy. — They were rmt Proinictors. — Protestations of the Victims of tlie Clergy. — Serfs of the Jura, Monks and Nuns, Protestants, Jews, and Actors. The gloomy winter on which we are now entering was not horribly cold like that of 1789 ; God took compassion on France. Otherwise, there would have been no possibility either of enduring it or of living. The general misery had increased : there was no labour, no work. At that period, the nobles were emigrating, or at least quitting their castles and the country, then hardly safe, and settling in the towns, where they remained close and quiet, in the expectation of events ; several of them were preparing for flight, and quietly packing up their trunks. If they acted on their estates, it was to demand money and not to give relief ; they collected in haste whatever was owing, the arrears of feudal rights. Hence, a scarcity of money, a cessa- tion of labour, and a frightful increase of beggars in every town, — nearly two hundred thousand in Paris ! Others would have come, by millions, if the municipalities were not obliged to keep their own paupers. Each of them, thioughout the v/inter, drained itself in feeding its poor, till every resource was exhausted ; and the rich, no longer receiving any pensions, descended almost to the level of paupers. Everybody com- plains and implores the National Assembly. If things remain in this state, its task will be no less than to feed the whole nation. • Lafayette, ii., 418, note. 290 BESISTANCE. But tLe people must not die. There is, after all, one resource, a patrimouy in reserve, whicli they do not enjoy. It was on their account and to feed them that our charitable ancestors exhausted their fortunes in pious foundations, and endowed the ecclesiastics, the dispensers of charity, with the best part of their possessions. The clergy had so well kept and augmented the property of the poor, that at length it compiised one-fifth of the lands of the kingdom, and was estimated at four thousand millions of francs (160,000,000/.) The people, these paupers really so rich, now go and knock at the door of the church, their own mansion, to ask for a part of a property the whole of which is their own — Partem I propter Deum ! *. — It would be cruel to let this proprietor, this mem- ber of the family, this lawful heir, starve on the threshold. Give, if you are Christians ; the poor are the members of Christ. Give, if you are citizens ; for the people are the living city. Pay back, if you are honest ; for this property was only a deposit. Restore, and the nation will give you more. The question is not to cast yourselves into an abyss in order to fill it up ; you are not asked to sacrifice yourselves, as new martyrs^ for the people. On the contrary, the question is to come to your own assistance and to save yourselves. In order to understand this, it must be remembered that the body of the clergy, monstrously rich in comparison to the nation, was also, in itself, a monster of injustice and inequality. Though the head of that body was enormously swollen and bloated, its lower members were meagre and starving : whilst one priest possessed an income of a million, another had but two hundred francs a year.f ; In the project of the Assembly, which did not appear till the spring, this was all altered. The country curates and vicard were to receive from the state about sixty millions, and the bishops only three. Hence their cry : religion is destroyed ; Jesus is angry ; the Virgin is weeping in the churches of the south, and in La Vendee ; and hence all the phantasmagoria necessary to incite the peasants to rebellion and slaughter. • « Bread ! for the love of God !" •f" An English reader, unacquainted with French money, has only to beai An mind that 100 francs are equal to il, sterling. — C, C. RESISTANCE. 291 > The Assembly wished also to give pensions of thirty-three millions to the monks and nuns, and twelve millions to separate ecclesiastics, y brigands — that is to say, the nation, the National Assembly. To be able to say &uch things on the 1 4th, it would have been necessary to be ready to make a civil war on the morrow. Indeed, a few giddy * Satirical Poems. THE CLERGY. 297 young nobles, made an attempt to excite the peasantry. But the peasant of Brittany, so resohite when once on the road and bent on proceeding, is slow in making the first move ; he found it difficult to understand that the question of church lands, though doubtless very serious, comprised all religion. Whilst the peasant was ruminating, and studying this knotty point, the town did not wait to reflect, but acted, and with terrible vigour, witliout consulting anybody. All the municipalities in the diocese invaded Treguier, and proceeded without losing a day, against the bishop and the noble instigators ; interrogated them, and took down the depositions of witnesses against them. The intimidation was so great, tiiat the prelate and the others denied everything, assuring that they had neither said nor done anything to excite the country people to rebel. The municipalities sent the whole of the proceedings thus begun to the National Assembly, to the Keeper of the Seals ; but, without waiting for the judgment, they pronounced at once a provisional sentence : " AVhoever enlists for the nobles is a traitor to the communes ; and the nobles themselves are unworthy the safe-guard of the nation, if they attempt to obtain a grade in the national guard. ' ' * The mandate came out on the 14th ; and this violent retaliation took place on the 18th (at latest). During the week the sword was drawn. Brest having purchased some corn for provision, some of the peasantry were paid and urged to stop the corn-waggons, and the envoys of Brest, at Lannion ; they w^ere in imminent danger of their lives, and obliged to sign a shameful surrender. An army immediately marched forth from Brest, and from all the different towns at once. Such as were too remote, as Quimper, Lorient, and Hennebon, offered money and assistance. Brest, Morlaix, Landernau, and several others, marcbed in whole masses ; on the road, they met all the communes arriving also in arms, and were obliged to send some of them back again. The wonder is that no violence was committed. This general mustering, rising like a storm along the whole country, arrived at the heights above Lannion, and there halted. The heroic manhood of Brittany was never more conspicuously displayed ; she was firm against • Bailly, iii., 209. Ducbatellier gives but little information in this matter. 298 THE PARLIAMENTS. herself. They merely took back the purchased corn, and handed the guilty parties over to the judges, that is to say, their friends. , What rendered the privileged classes so easy to he conquered at that period, was that they did not act in concert. Several niade an appeal to physical force at once ; but the greater number did not despair of resisting by the law, by the old, and perhaps by the new, system. The parhaments had not yet acted. It was their vacation. They intended to act on their return to business in November. The majority of the nobles and upper clergy did not yet act. They still entertained one hope. Being the proprietors of the greater part of the land, and predominant in the rural districts, they held in their dependency a whole race of servants and chents under different denominations. These country people being called to vote by Necker's universal election in the spring of 1789, had generally voted properly, because their- patrons, for the most part, gloried in bringing about the States-general, which they considered a thing of no consequence. But ages had passed away in a year. The same patrons at the present time, the end of the year '89, would certainly make desperate efforts to get the rural population to vote against the Revolu- tion ; they were going to make the farmer choose between his patriotism (still very young) and his daily bread, and to lead their submissive, trembling labourers, in bands, to the electoral urn, and make them vote by cudgel law. Things will presently change, when the peasant will be able to catch a glimpse of the way to acquire the church estates, and the lands of the manors, aud when the Assembly will have created, by these sales, a legion of proprietors and free electors. At the present moment, however, there is nothing of the kind. The rural districts are still subject to electoral bondage : Necker's universal suffrage, if the Assembly had adopted it, would incontestibly have given the victory to the old state of affairs. On the 22nd of October, the Assembly decreed that nobody could be an elector unless he paid in direct taxes, as proprietor or tenant, the value of three days' labour, (that is to say, three francs, at most). With that one line, they swept away from the hands of the aristocracy a million of rural electors, •> CONTEST WITH THE CLERGY. 299 Of the five or six millions of electors produced by the uni- versal suffrage, there remained four millions four hundred thousand * proprietors or tenants. Gregoire, Duport, Robespierre, and other worshippers of the ideal, objected, but in vain, that men were equal and ought therefore all to vote according to the dictates of natural law. Two days previously, Montlosier, the royalist, had likewise proved that all men are equal. In the crisis in which they then were, nothing could have been more futile and fatal than this thesis of natural law. These Utopists thus bestowed a million of electors on the enemies of equality in the name of equality. . The glory of this truly revolutionary measure belongs to Thouret, the illustrious legist of Normandy, a practical Sieyes, who caused the Assembly to pass, or at least facilitated, the great 'measures which it then enacted. Without either elo- quence or effect, he severed with the power of his logic those knotty questions with which the most intelligent, such as Sieyes and Mirabeau, seemed to be puzzled. He alone ends the discussion on the ecclesiastical estates, by extricating it from the lower region of disputation, and boldly raising it to the light of philosophical right. All his arguments, in October and December, are summed up in this profound sentence : '* How could you possess ? " said he to the clergy, '' i/ou do not exist. ** You do not exist as a body. The moral bodies which the state creates are not bodies in the proper sense of the word, are not living beings. They have a moral ideal existence which is imparted to them by the will of the state, their creator. The state made them, and causes them to live. As useful, it maintained them ; but having become noxious, it withdraws from them its will, which constitutes all their life and rational being." To which Maury replied : ** No, the state did not create us ; we exist without the state." Which was equivalent to saying, We are a state within the state, a principle in opposition to a principle, a struggle, an organised warfare, permanent discord in the name of charity and union. * This is, at least, the number found in 1791. We shall revert to l!iis baaportant point. Y 300 THE ASSEMBLY ANNULS THE PARLIAMENTS. On tlie Srd of November, the Assembly decreed that the estates of the clergy were at the disposal of the nation. In December it further decreed, in the terms laid down by Thouret:. That the clerg-y are no longer an order ; that they do not exist (as a body). The 3rd of November is a great day. It breaks up the par- liaments and even the provincial states. On the same day appeared Thouret 's report on the organisa- tion of departments, the necessity of dividing the provinces, of removing those false nationalities, so malevolent and hostile, in order to constitute a real nation in the spirit of unity. Who was interested in maintaining those ancient divisions, all those feelings of bitter rivalry, to keep people Gascons, Provengaux, and Britons, and to prevent Frenchmen from being one France ? Those who reigned in the provinces, the parliaments, and the provincial states; those false phantoms of liberty which for so long a time had made it but its shadow, a snare, and even impeded its birth. Well then, on the 3rd of November, at the moment when, it gives the first blow to the provincial states, the Assembly adjourns the parliaments for an indefinite period. Lameth made the proposal, and Thouret drew up the decree. ** We have buried them alive,'' said Lameth on leaving the Assembly. All the ancient magistracy had sufficiently proved what the Revolution had to expect from it. The tribunals of Alsace, Beaujolais, and Corsica, the prevosts of Champaign and Pro- vence, took upon themselves to choose between the different laws ; they were perfectly acquainted with such as favoured the king, but did not know the others. On the 27th of October, the judges sent to Marseilles by the parliament of Aix acted according to the ancient forms, with secret procedures, and all the old barbarous practices, without paying any attention to the contrary decree, sanctioned on the 4th of October. The parliament of Besangon openly refused to register any decree of the Assembly, The latter had but to sav one word to annihilate this inso- lence. The people were trembling with indignation around those rebellious tribunals. " Against those states and parlia- ments," said Robespierre, *' you need do nothing ; the munici- palities will act sufficiently." SUBSERVIENCY OF THE COURTIERS. 301 On the 5tli of November, the Assembly raised its arms to chastise. ** Such tribunals as do not register within three days shall be prosecuted for illegal behaviour. These companies had had under the feeble government now expiring, a considerable power of making resistance, both legal and seditious. The whimsical mixture of functions which they comprised gave them abundant means of doing so. — Their sovereign, absolute, herediteir j jurisdiction, which never forgot an injury, was dreaded by all ; even ministers and great lords durst never exasperate judges who would remember the cir- cumstance, perhaps fifty years afterwards, in some trial or other to ruin their families. — Their refusal to register, which gave them a kind of veto against the king, had at least the effect of affording a signal to sedition, and, in an indirect manner, of proclaiming it legal. — Their adrainistrative usui-pa- tions, the superintendence of provisions in which they interfered, afforded them a thousand opportunities of causing a terrible accusation to impend over people in power. — Lastly, a part of \hQ police was in their hands ; that is to say, that they were charged to repress on one hand the troubles they excited on the other. Was this dangerous power at least in safe hands that might warrant security ? The parliament men in the eighteenth century had been seriously corrupted by their intercourse with the nobility. Even those among them who,, as Jansenists, were hostile to the court, devout, austere, and factious, were, in spite of their surly haughtiness, not the less flattered to behold the duke or prince such a one in their antechamber. The great lords, who laughed at them in secret, courted and flattered them, and spoke subserviently to them in order to gain unjust law-suits, especially to be able to usurp the lands of the commons with impunity. The meanness to which the courtiers stooped before those big wigs, involved them no further. They themselves would laugh at it ; occasionally, they condescended to marry their daughters, — their fortunes, in order to replenish their own. The younger of the par- liamentarians, too much flattered by this acquaintance and these alliances with personages of higher rank, strove hard to imitate them — to be, after their example, good-natured profligates, and, like awkward imitators, they outstepped their masters. They y2 302 . VENALITY OF JUSTICE. would lay aside their red robes," and descend from the fleurs- de-lis to frequent houses of a lower order, fashionable suppers, and to take pai-t in private theatricals. J ustice, how low hast thou fallen ! . . . degrading history ! In the middle ages it was material, in the land and in the race,- in the fief and in the blood. The lord, or he who succeeds all others, the lord of lords, the king, would say: *' Justice is mine ; I can judge or cause to be judged." By whom ? ** No matter by whom ; by any one of my lieutenants, by my servant, my steward, my porter . , , .Come here ; I am pleased with you and give you a magistracy." This man says, to the same purpose : *' I shall not be a judge myself, 1 shall sell this magistracy." — Then comes the son of a merchant, who pur- chases, to sell a second time, this most holy of sacred things ; thus justice passes from hand to hand, like a parcel of goods, nay, passes into a heritage, a dowry ... A strange jointure for a young bride, the right of hanging and breaking a man on the wheel ! Hereditary right, venality, privilege, exception, — such were the names of justice. And yet how otherwise should we term injustice ? — Privileges of pet'soiis, judged by whom they chose. Privilege of time : I judge thee, at my good pleasure, to-morrow, in ten years, or never, — And privilege of place. The parliament will summon from the distance of a hundred and fifty leagues or more some poor fellow who is pleading against his lord. I advise him to be resigned and give up his cause ; let him abandon it altogether rather than come and waste years perhaps at Paris, in dirt and poverty, in soliciting a decree from the good friends of his lord. The parliaments of latter years had provided, by decrees, not promulgated, but avowed and faithfully executed, that none but men of noble birth or newly-made nobles could any longer be admitted among them. Thence arose a deplorable decline of capacity. The study of the law, debased in the schools,* weakened among the lawyers, * The venerable M. Berriat Saint-Prix has often related to me some singular facts relating to this matter. Ignorance and routine were becoming the character of the tribunals more and more every day. On tlieir systematic opposition to d'Aguesseau's attempts to restore unity to the law, see M. La Ferriere's fine Histoire du Droit Fran^ais* ENREGISTRY OF STATES. 303 was altogether wanting among the magistrates, — those very men who applied the law for life or death. The companies very seldom required the candidate to give proofs of his science, if he proved his titles of nobilitv. Thence also proceeded a line of conduct more and more false and ambiguous. Those noble magistrates are constantly ad- vancing and retreating. They shout for liberty ; Turgot becomes minister, and then they reject him. They raise a cry of States-General ! But on the day they are given to them, they propose to render them null by fashioning them in the likeness of the old powerless States. On that day they expired. When the Assembly decreed an indefinite vacation, they had little expected such a blow. Those of Paris wanted to resist ; * but the Archbishop of Bordeaux, the Keeper of the Seals, entreated them not to do so. November would have renewed the great October movement. They registered and made the somewhat dilatory offer to give judgment gratuitously. Those of Rouen also enregistered ; but they wrote secretly and prudently to the king, that they did so provisionally, and from motives of obedience to him. Those of Metz said as much, publicly and boldly, in a general meeting of all the chambers, grounding resolutely this act on the non-liberty of the king. Those men were able to swagger, being protected by Bouille's artillery. The timid Bishop, the Keeper of the Seals, was sore afraid. He pointed out the danger to the king : how the Assembly would retaliate, in anger, and let loose the people. The way to save the parliaments, was for the king to hasten to condemn them himself. He would be in a better position to interfere and intercede. Indeed, the cities of Rouen and Metz were already impeaching their parliaments and demanding their punishment. Those proud bodies saw themselves alone, with the whole population against them : they retracted. Metz itself interceded for its guilty parliament ; and the Assembly pardoned it (November 25th, 1789). r * See Sallier, the Parliamentarian, Annales, ii., p. 49. 304 CHAPTER IV. RESISTANCE.— PARLIAMENTS— MOVEMENT OF THE CONFEDERATIONS. Labours of the Judiciaiy Organisation. — The Parliament of Brittany at the Bar of the Assembly, Januaiy 8, 1790. — The Parliaments of Brittany and Bordeaux condemned, January, March. — Origin of the Confedera- tions : Anjou, Brittany, Dauphin^, Franche-Comt^, Rhone, Burgundy, Languedoc, Provence, &c. — War against the Chateaux repressed ; the Cities defend the Nobles, their Enemies, February, 1790. The most obstinate resistance was that of the parliament of Brittany. Three several times it refused to register, and thought itself able to maintain its refusal. On one hand, it had the nobility, who were mustering at Saint-Malo, the numerous and very faithful servants of the nobles, its own members and clients in the towns, its friends in the religious establishments (confreries), and the corporations of trades ; add, moreover, the facility of obtaining recruits in that multitude of workmen out of employ, and people wandering about the streets, dying of hunger. The towns beheld them busily engaged in preparing a civil war. Surrounded as they were by hostile or doubtful rural districts, they might be reduced to famine ; they there- fore resolved to settle the question at once. Rcnnes and Nantes, Vannes and Saint Malo, sent overwhelming accusations to the Assembly, declaring that they abjured all connection with the traitors. Without waiting for orders, the national guard of Rennes entered the castle and secured the cannon (December 18, 178'J). The Assembly took two measures. It summoned the parlia- ment of Brittany to its bar ; and it gave a favourable reception to the petition of Rennes soliciting the creation of other tribu- nals. It began its grand work, the organisation of a system of justice worthy of the name, neither paid, purchased, nor here- ditary, but sprung from the people and for the people. The first article of such an organisation was, of course, the supprea- sion of the parliaments (December 22, 1789). ' " '" POWER OF THE NATIONAL ASSEMBLY. 305 ' Tliouret, the author of the report, well laid down this maxim, sadly overlooked since then, that a revolution that wishes to be durable ought, before everything else, to deprive its enemies of the sword of justice. It is a strange contradiction to say to the system overthrown: ** Thy principle is adverse to me ; I blot it out of the laws and government ; but in all private matters, thou shalt apply it against me." How was it possible thus to disown the quiet, calm, but terrible omnipotence of the judicial power, which must inevitably absorb it. Every other power is in need of it ; but it can do without the others. Give me but the judicial power, and keep your laws and ordinances, all that mountain-, heap of paper ; and I will undertake to establish triumphantly the system the most opposite to your laws. Those old parlia- mentary tyrants were obliged, in spite of themselves, to come and bow down to the National Assembly (January 8th). If they had not come by fair means, Brittany would even have raised an army on purpose to drag them thither. They appeared with an arrogant air and an ill-disguised contempt for that Assembly of lawyers, for whom they cared almost as little as they did in days of yore, when, with a lofty demeanour, they overwhelmed the bar with their severe lectures. But now the tables were turned. Besides, what did it matter who were the persons ? It was to reason that they were to reply, in presence of principles now laid down for the first time. Their haughtiness entirely disappeared, and they remained, as it were, nailed to the ground, when, from that Assembly of advocates, they listened to the following words : '* You say Brittany is not represented : and yet she has, in this Assembly, sixty-six representatives. It is not in antiquated charters, in which cunning, combined with power, found means to oppress the people, that you must look for the rights of the nation ; it is in Reason ; its rights are as ancient as time, and as sacred as nature." The president of the parliament of Brittany had not defended the parliament which formed the matter of debate. He defended Brittany, which neither wished nor needed to be defended. He alleged the clauses of the marriage of Anne of Brittany, a marriage that was no better than a divorce organised and stipulated for by Brittany and France. He pleaded for this 306 THE PRINCIPALITIES ARRAYED AGAINST THE PARLIAMENTS. divorce, as a right that was to be eternal. A hateful insidious defence, addressed not to the Assembly, but to provincial pride, — a provocation exciting civil war. Had Brittany to fear she would become less by becoming France ? Was it possible that such a separation should last for ever ? Was it not necessary that a more real alliance should be sooner or later effected ? Brittany has gained enough in sharing the glory of so great an empire ; and certainly this empire has also gained, we must frankly confess, in espousing that poor yet glorious country, its bride of granite, that mother of noble hearts and vigorous resistance. Thus the defence of the parliaments, being untenable, sub- sided into a defence of provinces and provincial states But these states found themselves still weaker in one respect. The parliaments were homogeneous organised bodies ; but the states were nothing better than monstrous and barbarous constructions, heterogeneous and discordant. The best to be said in their favour was that a few of them, those of Languedoc, for instance, had administered injustice wisely and prudently. Others, thos^ of Dauphine, under the able direction of Mounier, had made a noble beginning on the eve of the Revolution. ') This same Mounier, a fugitive, and belonging to the reaction- party, had abused his influence over Dauphine to fix an early convocation of the states, " in Avhich they would examine whether the king were really free." At Toulouse one or two hundred nobles and parliamentarians had made a show of assembling the states. Those of Cambresis, an imperceptible assembly in an imperceptible country, which termed themselves states, had also claimed their privilege of not being France, and said, like those of Brittany, '* We are a nation." The false and faithless representatives of these provmces came boldly and spoke in their name ; but they were violently contradicted at the very same moment. The municipalities, roused into life, and full of vigour and energy, came one after the other before the National Assembly to say to those States and Parliaments : ** Speak not in the name of the people ; the people do not know you ; you represent only yourselves, — venality, hereditary right, and Gothic privilege." The municipality, a real living body (this we perceive from the violence of its blows), used towards those old artificial bodies, ASSOCIATION OF FRATERNITIES. 307 those ancient barbarous ruins, the equivalent of the language already expressed to the body of the clergy ; *' You do not exist !" They appeared pitiable to the Assembly. All it did to those of Brittany was to declare them incapable of doing what they refused to do, — to interdict them from all public functions, until they had presented a request for leave to take the oath (January 11th). ' The same indulgence was granted, two months later, to the parliament of Bordeaux, which, taking advantage of the troubles in the south, ventured so far as to make a kind of suit ao^ainst the Revolution, declaring, in a public document, that it had done nothing but mischief, and insolently terming the Assembly the deputies of the bailiwicks. The Assembly had but little occasion to act with severity : this was more than sufficiently carried out by the people. Brit- tany quelled her parliament, and that of Bordeaux was accused before the Assembly by the very city of Bordeaux which sent the ardent and youthful Fonfrede expressly to support the accusation (March 4th). These attempts at resistance became quite insignificant amid the immense popular movement manifested on all sides. Never, since the Crusades, had there been so general and deep a com- motion among all classes of the people. In 1790 it was the enthusiasm of fraternity ; about to become the enthusiasm of war. Where did this enthusiasm first begin ? Everywhere. No precise origin can be assigned to these great spontaneous facts* In the summer of 1789, from the general dread of brigandsy solitary habitations, and even the hamlets felt alarmed at their isolated position : one hamlet united with another, their villages with villages, and even the town with the country Confedera- tion, mutual assistance, brotherly friendship, fraternity, — such was the idea, the title of their covenants. Few, very few are yet written. The idea of fraternity is at first rather limited. It implies only the neighbours, or at most the province. The great con- federation of Brittany and Anjou has still this provincial character. Convoked for the 26th of November, it was com-i pleted in January. At the central point of the peninsula, far 308 NO LONGER PROVINCES, BUT FRANCE. from the roads, and in the solitary little town of Pontivy the representatives of a hundred and fifty thousand national guards assembled together. Those on horseback alone wore a common uniform, a red body with black facings ; all the others, distin- guished by rose, amaranth, or chamois facings, reminded one in their very union, of the diversity of the towns that deputed them. In their covenant of union, to which they invite all the municipalities in the kingdom, they insist nevertheless on always forming a family of Brittany and Anjou, ** whatever be the new division of departments, necessary for the administra- tion." They estaWish a system of correspondence between their cities. In the general disorganisation and the uncertainty in which they are about the success of the new order of things,^ they take their measures to be at least always organised apart.' • In less detached places, in districts traversed by high roads, and especially on rivers, this brotherly covenant assumes a more" extensive signification. The rivers which, under the old orders of things, by the vast number of tolls and interior custom- house duties, were hardly anything better than bari-iers, obsta- cles, and impediments, become under the government of liberty, the principal means of circulation, and bring men into a correspondence of ideas and sentiments as much as of com- merce. It was near the Rhone, at the petty town Etoile, two leagues from Valence, that the province was abjured for the first time ; fourteen rural communes of Dauphine unite together and devote themselves to the grand unity of France (Nov. 2^th, 1789), — a noble answer from these peasants to politicians like Mounier, who were making an appeal to provincial pride the spirit of dissension, and were endeavouring to arm Dauphine against France. This confederation, renewed at Montelimart, is no longer that of Dauphine alone, but composed of several provinces of either bank, Dauphine and Vivarais, Provence and Languedoc ; this time, therefore, they are Frenchmen. — Grenoble sends to it, of her own accord, in spite of her municipality and of politi- cians ; she no longer cares about her position as a capital-town ; she prefers being France. — All repeat together the sacred oath, which the peasants had already taken in November : — No more provinces ! one native-land ! and to give one another mutual CONFEDERATION OF THE SAONE, 309 aid and provisions, passing corn from one place to another by the Rhone (December 13th). That sacred river, flowing by so many races of men, of difl*erent nation and language, seems to hasten to exchange difl'erent products, sentiments, and ideas ; and is, in its varied ,course, the universal mediator, the sociable Genius, the bond of fellowship of the South. It was at its delightful and smiling point of junction with the Saone, that, in the reign of Augustus, sixty nations of the Gauls had raised their altar ; and it is at the sternest point, at the deep, melancholy passage commanded by the copper mountains of the Ardeche, in the Roman province of Valence, seated beneath her eternal arc, that took place, on the 31st of January, 1790, the first of our grand confederations. Ten thousand men were up in arms, who must have represented several hundreds of thousands. There were thirty thousand spectators. In presence of that immutable antiquity, those everlasting mountains, and that noble river, ever changing yet ever the same, the solemn oath was taken. The ten thousand bending one knee, and the thirty thousand kneeling, swore all together the holy unity of France. The whole was grand ; both the time and place ; and, what is more rare, the language was b}^ no means inferior. It was full of the wisdom of Dauphine and the simplicity of Vivaraia, the whole being animated with the breath of Languedoc and Provence. At the commencement of a career of sacrifices which they clearly foresaw, at the moment they were beginning the grand but difficult task, those excellent citizens recom- mended to one another to found liberty on its only solid base ** virtue," on what renders devotion easy, " simplicity, sobriety, and pureness of heart." I would also know what was said at Voute, almost opposite, on the other side of the Rhone, by the hundred thousand armed peasants who there cemented the union of the province of Vivarais. It was still the month of February, a rough season in those cold mountains ; neither weather, misery, nor the horrible roads, prevented those poor people from arriving at the place of meeting. Neither torrents, ice, precipices, nor the thawino; of the snow was able to arrest their march. A new breath of life was in the air which inspired them with a glow of enthusiasm ; citizens for the first time, and summoned 310 MUTUAL ASSOCIATIONS. from their remote snowy regions by the unknown name ot liberty, they set forth, like the kings and shepherds of the East at the birth of Christ, seeing clearly in the middle of night, and following unerringly, through the wintry mists, the dawn of spring, and the star of France. Long before this, the fourteen towns of Franche-Comte, feeling uneasy between the castles and the pillagers forcing and burning the castles, had united at Besangon and promised one another mutual assistance. Thus, far above the riots, dangers, and fears, I hear a great and mighty word, at once sweet and formidable, one that will restrain and calm everything, Fraternity, gradually rising and re-echoed by those imposing assemblies, each of which is a great people. And in proportion as these associations are formed, they associate also one with another : like those great farandoles of the South, where each new company of dancers join hands with another, and the same dance transports whole populations. At the same period, the noble heart of Burgundy displayed itself by two early illustrious examples. In the very depth of winter, and during the general scarcity, Dijon calls upon all the municipalities of Burgundy to hasten to the assistance of starving Lyons.* Lyons was starving, and Dijon grieves. Thus these words fraternity and national bond of fellowship, are not words only, but sincere sentiments, real and efficacious actions. The same city of Dijon, joined to the confederations of Dauphine and Vivarais (themselves united to those of Provence and Languedoc) invites Burgundy to give her hand to the cities of Franche-Comte. Thus, the immense farandole of the south-east, joining and ever forming new links, advances as far as Dijon, which is connected with Paris. All emerging from egotism, all wishing to do good to all and to feed one another, provisions begin to circulate easily, and plenty is again restored ; it seemed as though, by some miracle of fraternity, a new harvest had been made in the dead of winter. ' In all this, there is not a vestige of that spirit of exclusion * Archives of Dijon. I owe this communication to the obliging service of M. Gamier. THE PEASANTRY TAKE UP ARMS. 311 and local isolation later designated by the name of fede- ralism. On the contrary, there is here a covenant sworn for the unity of France. These confederations of provinces look all towards the centre ; all invoke, join, and devote themselves to the National Assembly, that is to say, to unity. They all thank Paris for its brotherly summons ; one town demands its assist- ance, another to be affiliated to its national guard. Clermont had proposed to it in November a general association of municipalities. At that period, indeed, threatened by the States, the Parliaments, and the Clergy, the rural districts being doubtful, all the safety of France seemed to depend on a close union of the cities. Thank heaven, the great con- federations gave a happier solution to this difficulty. In their movement they transported, with the towns, an immense number of the rural population. This has been seen in the case of Dauphine, Vivarais, and Languedoc. In Brittany, Quercy, Rouergue, Limousin, and Perigord, the country places are less peaceful ; in February there were several disturbances and acts of violence. The beggars, sup- ported till then with great difficulty by the municipalities, gradually spread abroad over the whole country. The peasants begin again to force the castles, burn the feudal charters, and execute by main force the declarations of the 4th of August, the promises of the Assembly. Whilst the latter is ruminating, terror reigns in the rural districts. The nobles forsake their castles and remove to town to conceal themselves and seek safety among their enemies. And those enemies defend them. The national guards of Brittany, who have just sworn their league against the nobles, now arm in their favour, and go to defend those manors where the}^ were conspiring against them. * Those of Quercy and the South in general were equally magnanimous. * The National Guards of 1790 were by no means an aristocracy, as some writers, by a strange anachronism, have given us to understand. In most of the towns, they were, as I have said, literally everybody. All were interested in preventing the devastation of the rural districts, which would have rendered cultivation impossible, and famished France. Besides, those transient dis- turbances had by no means the character of a Jacquerie. In certain neigh- bourhoods of Brittany and Provence, the peasants themselves repaired tho damage that had been committed. In a castle where they found only a sick lady with her children, they abstained from every kind of disturbance, &c. 312 RESISTANCE. — THE QUEEN AND AUSTRIA. The pillagers were checked, the peasantry kept in order, and gradually initiated and interested in the march of the Revolu- tion. To whom, indeed, could it be more profitable than to them ? It had delivered from tithes such of them as were pro- prietors ; and among the rest it was going to create proprietors by hundreds and thousands. It was about to honour them with the sword, to raise them in one day from serfs to nobles, to conduct them throughout the earth to glory and adventures, and to create from them princes and kings, — nay, more, heroes ! CHAPTER V. RESISTANCE.— THE QUEEN AND AUSTRIA (OCTOBER TO FEBRUARY.) Irritation of the Queen, October. — Plottings of the Court. — The King the Prisoner of the People (November — December?) — The Queen distrusts the Princes. — The Queen but little allied with the Clergy. — She had always been governed by Austria. — Austria interested that the King should not act. — Louis XVI. and Leopold declare themselves friendly to Constitutions, February and March. — Trial of Besenval and Favras. — Death of Favras, February 18th. — Discouragement of the Royalists. — Great Confederations of the North. From the sublime spectacle of fraternity, I fall, alas ! to the earth, among intrigues and plots. Nobody appreciated the immensity of the movement ; no- body fathomed that rapid and invincible tide rising from October to July. Wliole populations, till then unknown to one another, met and united. Distant towns and provinces, which even lately were still divided by an ancient spirit of rivalry, marched forth, as it were, to meet one another, em- braced and fraternised. This novel and strikino* fact was scarcely remarked by the great thinkers of the age. If it had been possible for it to be noticed by the queen and the Court, it would have discouraged all useless opposition. For who, whilst the ocean is rising, would dare to march against it ? The queen deceived herself at the very outset ; and she remained mistaken. She looked upon the 6th of October as an affair p u} ared by the Duke of Orleans, a trick played THE queen's want OF PRUDENCE. 313 iagainst her by the enemy. She yielded ; but, before her departure, she conjured the king, in the name of his son, to go to Paris only to wait for an opportunity to escape.* On the very first day, the Mayor of Paris, on entreating him to fix his residence there, and telling him that the centre of the empire was the natural abode of the kings, obtained from him only this answer : *' That he would willingly make Paris his most habitual residence." On the 9th appeared the king's proclamation, in which he announced that if he had not been in Paris, he should have been afraid of causing a great disturhance ; that, the constitution being made, he would realise his project of going to visit his pro* vinces ; that he indulged in the hope of receiving from them proofs of their affection, of seeing them encourage the National Assembly, ckc. This ambiguous letter, which seemed to provoke Royalist addresses, decided the commune of Paris to write also to the provinces ; it desired to comfort them, it said, against certain insinuations, casting a veil over the plot which had nearly over- thrown the new order of things ; and it offered a sincere fra* ternal alliance to all the communes in the kino-dom. The queen refused to receive the conquerors of the Bastille, who had come to present to her their homage. She gave an audience to the market-women [dames de la Halle), but at a distance, and as though separated and defended by the wide baskets of the ladies of the court, who placed themselves before her. By thus acting, she estranged from her a very royalist class ; several of the market-women disavowed the 6th of October ; and themselves arrested some female vagrants who were entering houses to extort money. These sad mistakes committed by the queen were not calcu- lated to increase confidence. And how indeed could it have existed amid the attempts of the Court, ever miscarrying and always discovered ? Between October and March, a plot was discovered nearly every month (those of Augeard, Favras, Maillebois, kc.) On the 25th of October, Augeard, the queen's keeper of the seals, was arrested, and at his house was found a plan to conduct the king to Metz. * Beaulieu, ii., 203. , .; 314 THE KING UNDER SURVEILLANCE. On the 21st of November, in the Assembly, the committee of inquiry, provoked by Malouet, silences the latter by telling him there exists a new plot to carry off the king to Metz, and that he, Malouet, is perfectly well acquainted with it. On the 25th of December, they arrest the Marquis de Favras, another agent for carrying off the king, who was recruiting partisans in Paris. If their object had been to trouble the minds of the people for ever, and drive them mad with distrust and fear, thus involving them in dark plottings and snares, they had but to do what they did : to show them, by a series of awkward conspiracies, the king absconding every instant, putting himself at the head of the armies, and returning to take Paris by famine. Doubtless, supposing liberty to have been firmly established, and the opposition less vigorous, it would have been better to have allowed the king and the queen to escape, to have con- ducted them to their proper place, — the frontier, and made a present of them to Austria. But, in the fluctuating and uncertain state in which our poor country then was, having for her director an assembly of metaphysicians, and against her men of execution and vigour, like M. de Bouille, our naval officers, and the nobles of Brittany, it was very difficult to part with so great an hostage as the king, and thus bestow on all those powers that unity of which they were in want. Therefore, the people kept watch night and day, prowling around the Tuilerles, and trusting to nobody. They went every morning to see whether the king had not departed ; and they held the national guard and its commander responsible for his presence. A thousand reports were in circulation, copied by violent furious newspapers, which were denouncing plots at a venture. The moderate party felt indignant, denied, and would not believe them. , . And yet the plot was not the less discovered the next day. The result of all this was that the king, who was by no means a prisoner in October, was so in November or December. The queen had overlooked one admirable Irreparable oppor- tunity, — the moment when Lafayette and Mirabeau were united in her favour (the end of October). She was unwilling to be saved by the Revolution, or men such LAFAYETTE BECOMES ROYALIST. ' 315 as Mlrabeau and Lafayette ; this true princess of the house of Lorraine, courageous and rancorous, desired to conquer and be revenged. She risked everything inconsiderately, evidently thinking, that after all, as Henrietta of England said in a tempest, queens could not be drowned. Maria-Theresa had been on the point of perishing, and yet had not perished. This heroic remembrance of the mother had much influence over the daughter, though without reason ; the mother had the people on her side, and the daughter had them against her. Lafayette, though but little inclined to be a royalist before the 6th of October, had become so sincerely ever since. He had saved the queen and protected the king. Such actions form attachments The prodigious efforts he was obliged to make for the maintenance of order, caused him to desire earnestly that the kingly power should resume its strength ; and he wrote twice to M. de Bouille, intreating him to unite with him for the safety of royalty. M. de Bouille, in his memoirs, bitterly regrets his not having listened to him. Lafayette had performed a service agreeable to the queen, by driving away the Duke of Orleans. He seemed to be acting the part of a courtier. It is curious to behold the general, the man of business, following the queen to the churches, and attending the service when she performed her Easter devo- tions.* For the sake of the queen and the king, Lafayette overcame the repugnance he felt for Mirabeau. As early as the 15th of October, Mirabeau had offered his services, by a note, which his friend Lamarck, the queen's attendant, did not show even to the king. On the 20th came another note from Mirabeau ; but this one was sent to Lafayette, who had a conversation with the orator, and con- ducted him to the house of the minister Montmorin. This unexpected succour, though a god-send, was very badly received. Mirabeau would have wished the king to be satisfied with a million (of francs) for his whole expenditure ; to withdraw, not to the army at Metz, but to Rouen, and thence * By so doing, Lafayette wanted, I think, to pay also his court to his devout and virtuous wife. He hastened to write and tell her this important event. 316 MIRABEAU EXCLUDED FROM THE MINISTRY, publish ordinances more popular than the decrees of the Assembly.* Thus there would be no civil war, the king making himself more revolutionary than the Revolution itself. A strange project, proving the confidence and easy credulity of genius ! If the Court had accepted it for a day, if it had consented to act this borrowed part, it would have been to hang Mirabeau on the morrow. He might have seen very plainly, as far back as November, what he had to expect from those whom he wished to save. He wanted to be minister, and to keep at the same time his predominant position in the National Assembly. For this purpose, he desired the Court to contrive to secure for him the support and connivance, or at least the silence, of the royalist deputies ; but, so far from doing so, the Keeper of the Seals warned and animated several deputies, even in the opposition, against the project. In the ministry, and at the Jacobins (this club was scarcely open), they strove at the same time to disqualify Mirabeau for the ministry. Two upright men, Montlosier on the right side of the Assembly, and Lanjuinais on the left, spoke to the same effect. They proposed, and caused it to be decreed, *' that no deputy, on duty, nor for three years afterwards, could accept any place in the govern- ment/' Thus the Royalists succeeded in debarring from the ministry the great orator, who would have been the support of their party (November 7th). The queen, as we have said, was unwilling to be saved by the Revolution, neither would she be so by the princes and the emigrant party. She had been too well acquainted with the Count d'Artois t not to know that he was of very little value ; and she very properly distrusted Monsieur J as a person of a false and uncertain character. What then were her hopes, her views, and her secret counsellors ? We must not reckon Madame de Lamballe §, a pretty, little, * See the documents quoted in the Histoire, by M. Droz, and in ine Me moires de Miraheau, f Afterwards Charles X. — C. C. X Afterwards Louis XVIII. — C. C. § Pretty is the proper expression ; nothing could be farther from beauty : very small features, a very low forehead, and very little brain. Her bands POWER OF THE HIERARCHY. 317 insignificant woman, and a dear friend of the queen's, but devoid of ideas and conversation, and little deserving the terrible reponsibility laid to her charge. She seemed to form a centre, doing gracefully the honours of the queen's private saloon, on the ground floor of the Pavilion of Flora (at the Tulleries). Many of the nobility would go there ; an indiscreet, frivolous, inconsiderate race, who thought, as in the time of the Fronde, to gain the day by satirical verses, witticisms, and lampoons. There, they would read a very witty newspaper, called the Acts of the Apostles, and sing ditties about the king's captivity, which made everybody weep, both friends and enemies. The connections of Marie-Antoinette were entirely with the nobles, very little with the priests. She was no more a bigot than her brother Joseph II. The nobles were not a party ; they were a numerous, divided, and disconnected class ; but the priests were a party, a very close, and materially a very powerful body. The transient dissension between the curates and the prelates made it appear weak ; but the power of the hierarchical system, the party spirit, the Pope, the voice of the Holy-See, would presently restore the unity of the clergy. Then, from its inferior mem- bers, it was about to derive incalculable powers in the land, and in the men of the land, the inhabitants of the rural districts ; it was about to bring against the people of the Revolution a whole nation, — Vendee against France. Marie-Antoinette saw nothing of all this. These great moral powers were to her a dead letter. She was meditating victory, physical force, Bouille and Austria. When the papers of Louis XVI. were found on the 10th of August in the iron chest, people read with astonishment that, during the first years of his marriage, he had looked upon his youthful bride as a mere agent of Austria.* Having been married by M. de Choiseul, against his will, were rather large, says Madame de Genlis. The portrait at Versailles shows very plainly her extraction and her country; she was a nice little Savoyard. Her hair, concealed by powder, was luxuriant and admirable. (Alas ! this appeared but too plainly !) * He caused her correspondence with Vienna to be watched by Thugut, in whom she confided. — Letter dated October 17th, 1774, quoted by Brissot, M^oireSf iv., 1 20. z2 318 "DEATH OF MARIA-THERESA. into that twice hostile house of Lorraine and Austria, and, obliged to receive into his palace the abbe de Vermond, spy of Maria-Theresa, he persevered so long in his distrust as to remain nineteen years without speaking to this Vermond. It is well known how the pious empress had distributed among her numerous family their several parts, employing her daughters especially as the agents of her policy. By Caroline, she governed Naples ; and by Marie-Antoinette she expected to govern France. The latter, a true Lorraine- Austrian, persecuted Louis XVL to oblige him to give the ministry to Choiseul, himself a Lorraine and the friend of the empress. She succeeded at least in making him accept Breteuil, who, like Choiseul, had been at first ambassador at Vienna, and, like him again, belonged entirely to that court. It was again the same influence (Vermond's over the queen) which, at a more recent period, overcame the scruples of Louis XVI., and made him take for his prime minister an atheist, the Archbishop of Toulouse. The death of Maria-Theresa, and the severe language of Joseph IL on his sister and Versailles, would, one would think, have rendered the latter less favourable towards Austria. Yet it was at this very time that she persuaded the king to grant the millions which Joseph II. wanted to extort from the Dutch. In 1789 the queen had three confidants, — three advisers, — Vermond, ever in the Austrian interest ; Breteuil, no less so ; and lastly, M. Mercy d'Argenteau, the Austrian ambassador. Behind this old man, we may perceive another urging him for- ward, — old Prince de Kaunitz, for seventy years a minister of the Austrian monarchy ; these two coxcombs, or rather these old women, who seemed to be entirely occupied with toilet and trifles, directed the queen of France. ; r A fatal direction, a dangerous alliance ! Austria was then in so bad a situation, that, far from serving Marie-Antoinette, she could only be an obstacle to her in acting, a guide to lead to evil, and impel her towards every absurd step that the Austrian interest might require. That Catholic and devout Austria having become half philo- sophical in her ideas under Joseph II., had found means to have nobody on her side. Hungary, her own sword, was turned THE TWO REVOLUTIONS. 319 against her. The Belgian priests had robbed her of the Low- Countries, with the encouragement of the three Protestant powers, England, Holland, and Prussia. And what was Austria doing in the meantime ? She was turning her back on Europe, marching through the deserts of the Turks, and exhausting her best armies for the advantage of Russia. The emperor was in no better plight than his empire. Joseph II. was consumptive ; he was dying and beyond the power of remedy. He had showed, in the Belgian business, a deplorable vacillation of conduct : first furious threats of fire and sword, and barbarous executions which exnited horror through- out Europe ; next (on the 25th of November) a general amnesty, which nobody would accept. Austria would have been lost if the Rerolution of Belgium had found support in the Revolution of France.* Here in France, everybody thought that the two revolutions were about to act in concert and march forward too-ether. The most brilliant of our journalists, Camille Desmoulins, had, without awaiting events, united in one hope these sister coun- tries by intitling his journal Revolutions of France and Brabant, The obstacle to this was that the one was a revolution made by priests, and the other by philosophers. The Belgians, how- ever, being aware that they could not rely upon their protec- tors, the three Protestant powers, applied to France. Vander Noot, the champion of the clergy of the Low-Countries, the great agitator of the Catholic mob, did not scruple to write to the Assembly and the king. The letter was sent back (December 10th). Louis XVI . showed himself the true brother- in-law of the emperor. t The Assembly despised a revolution * Any vigoroua movement, even a counter-revolutionary one, might have been prejudicial to her. If our bishops, for instance, had been aided by the king in their attempts, and obtained any advantage, their success would have encouraged the Belgian prelates who had expelled Austria. She found it expedient for the: time being to turn moderate, nay, libera], in order to gain over the Belgian progressists, whose moderate liberal principles were very similar to Lafayette's. If Lafayette had lent liis support to those progressists, they would most cer-' tainly have rejected the alliance of Austria, and preferred the assistance of France, Therefore the interest of Austria was, that nothing should be done in France, either one way or the other. . + 1 do not think that the idea tp make the Duke of Orleans King of Brabant was ever seriously entertained at the Tuileries, as some writers have 320 LAMAUCK ENDEAVOURS TO MEDIATE. made by abbes. The Tuileries, entirely governed by the ambassador of Austria, succeeded in lulling the honest Lafayette (and he the Assembly) into security. The queen's agent, Lamarck, departed in December to offer his sword to the Belgians, his countrymen, against the Aus- trians. He had, however, the queen s consent, and consequently the Austrian ambassador's. They had hoped that Lamarck, a nobleman of pleasing manners and fond of novelty, might serve as a mediator, and perhaps induce the Belgians, then the con- quering party, to accept a middle course that would reconcile everything, — a spurious constitution under an Austrian prince. With the word constitution, they lull Lafayette into security a second time. Lamarck, very justly treated with suspicion by the party of the Belgian priests and the aristocracy, succeeded better with those who were called progressists. Austria, in order to divide her enemies, was then giving out that she was a partisan of progress ; and the accession of Leopold, the philanthropic reformer, much contributed to give credit to this falsehood (February 20th). In her indirect participation in all this, the queen did herself much harm. She ought to have allied herself more and more closely with the clergy. Austria, in her struggle with the clergy, had interests diametrically opposite. Apparently, she hoped that, if the Emperor, coming to terms with the Belgians, at length found himself free to act, she would be able to find shelter under his protection, show the Revolution a war ready to break out against France, and perhaps strengthen Bouill^'s little army with a few Austrian troops. This was a wrong calculation. All that required much time ; and there was none to spare, Austria, extremely egotistical, was a very distant and very doubtful ally. However this may be, the two brothers-in-law pursued exactly the same line of conduct. In the same month, Louis XVI. and Leopold both declared themselves the friends of liberty, the zealous defenders of constitutions, ^c. stated. The surest way of being in the good graces of the Court was to testify much interest for the Emperor. This is also the line of conduct followed by Livarot, the commandant of Lille, — {Correspondance inedite^ November 30th and December 13th, 1789.) THE KING AND THE ASSEMBLY, 321 The same conduct in two situations diametrically opposite. Leopold was acting very well to recover Belgium : he was dividing his enemies and strengthening his friends. Louis XVL, on the contrary, far from strengthening his friends, was casting them, by this parade, into utter discouragement ; he was paralysing the clergy, the nobility, and the counter- revolution. Necker, Malouet, and the moderate party, believed that the king, by making an almost revolutionary constitutional pro- fession of faith, might constitute himself the leader of the Revolution. It was thus that the counsellors of Henry IIL had induced him to take the false step of calling himself the Leader of the League. It is true the opportunity seemed favourable. The riots of January had excited much alarm on the subject of property. In presence of this great social interest, it was supposed that every political interest would appear of minor importance. The state of disorganisation was frightful ; and the authority took care not to remedy it ; in one place it was really extinct ; in another it pretended to he dead, as one of the brothers Lameth used to say. Many people had had revolution enough, and more than enough ; and from discouragement, would willingly have sacrificed their golden dreams for peace and unity. At the same time (from the 1st to the 4th of February) there occurred two events of similar meaning : First, the opening of the club of the Impartial (composed of Malouet, Virieu, (fcc). Their impartiality consisted, as they tell us in their declaration, in restoring power to the king, and preserving church property, in submitting the alienation of the ecclesiastical estate to the will of the provinces. On the 4th of February, the king unexpectedly presents himself before the Assembly, makes an afiecting speech which fills everybody with surprise and emotion. It was incredible, marvellous ! The king was secretly in love with that very constitution which stripped him of his power. He commands and admires, especially the beautiful division of the departments. Only, he advises the Assembly to postpone a part of the reforms. He deplores the disorders, and defends and consoles the clergy and the nobility ; but, in short, he is, he declares, before everything else, the friend of the constitution. 322 THE REVOLUTION ACHIEVED^ ' He presented himself thus before the Assembly, then em- barrassed about the means of restoring order, and seemed to say : You know not what to do ? Well, give me back my power. The scene had a prodigious effect. The Assembly lost its reason. Barrere was drowned in tears. The king withdrew, and the Assembly crowded about him and escorted him back to the queen, who received the deputation, in presence of the Dauphin. Still haughty and gracious : ** Here is my son," said she, " I will teach him to cherish liberty, and 1 hope he will be its support." On that day she was not the daughter of Maria-Theresa, but the sister of Leopold. Shortly afterwards, her brother issued his hypocritical manifesto, in which he declared himself to be the friend of liberty and of the constitution of the Belgians ; nay, he went so far as to tell them that after all they had the right to take up arms against him, their emperor. - To return ; the Assembly seemed completely delirious, no longer knowing what it said. It arose in a mass and swore fidelity to the constitution which, as yet, did not exist. The galleries joined in those transports with inconceivable en- thusiasm. Everybody began to take the oath, at the Hotel- de-Ville, at La Greve, and in the streets. A Te Deum was Sling ; and Paris illuminated in the evening. And, indeed, why should they not rejoice ? The Revolution is effected, and this time thoroughly, ; From the 5th to the 15th of February, there was nothing but a succession of fetes both at Paris and in the provinces. On all sides, and in every public thoroughfare, the people crowded together to take the oath. School-boys and children were led thither in procession ; and the whole country was transported with joy and enthusiasm. Many of the friends of liberty were frightened at this move- ment, thinking it might turn to the king's advantage. This was a mistake. The Revolution was so powerful in its nature, and so buoyant in its spirit, that every new event, whether for or against it, ever favoured it ultimately and impelled it still faster. This affair of the oath ended in what always happens in every strong emotion. In uttering words nobody attributed CONFIDENCE OF THE ASSEMBLY IN THE MUNICIPALITIES. 323 to them any other meaning than what he felt In his heart* Many a one had taken the oath to the king, who had meant nothing more than swearing fidehty to his native land. It was remarked that at the Te Deum, the kin 2: had not gone to Notre-Dame ; that he had not, as had been hoped, sworn at the altar. He was very willing to lie, but not to perjure himself. On the 9th of February, whilst the fetes still continued, Gr^goire and Lanjuinais said that the cause of the riots was the non-execution of the decrees of the 4th of August ; con- sequently, that they ought not to halt, but to proceed. . : The attempts of the Royalists to restore power and military force to royal authority, were not happy. Many attempted a ruse, saying that at least in the rural districts, it was necessary to allow the military to act without the authorisation of the municipalities. Cazales tried audacity, and broached the strange advice to give the king a dictatorship for three months ; — a clumsy trick. Mirabeau, Buzot, and several others, frankly declared that the executive power was not to be trusted. The Assembly would confide in none but the municipalities, gave them full power to act, and made them responsible for such disturbances as they were able to prevent. The extraordinary audacity of Cazales' proposal can only be accounted for by its date (February 20th). A sanguinary sacrifice had been made on the 18th, which appeared to answer for the good faith of the com-t. It had at that time two suits, two trials on its hands, those of Besenval and Favras. Besenval, accused for the events of the 14th of July, had after all only executed the orders of his superior, the minister — the king's own commands. However, his being considered innocent would seem to condemn the taking of the Bastille and even the Revolution. He was especially odious as being a queen's man, the ex-confidant of her parties at Trianon, an old friend of ChoiseuPs, and, as such, belonging to the Austrian cabal. . , . The Court was less interested about Favras. He was an agent of Monsieur ; and had undertaken, in his name, to carry Ofl' the king. Monsieur, probably, was to have been lieutenant- general, perhaps regent, if the king, had been suspended, as. 324 EXECUTION OF FAVRAS. some of the Parliamentarians and friends of the princes had proposed. Lafa^^ette says in his memoirs, that Favras was to have begun by killing Bailly and Lafayette. On Favras being: arrested in the niffht of the 25th of De- cember, Monsieur, much alarmed, took the singular step of going to justify himself — (where do you suppose ? Before what tribunal ?) — before the city of Paris. The municipal magis- trates were by no means qualified to receive such an act. Mon- sieur denied all association with Favras, said he had know- ledge of the business, and made a hypocritical parade of revolutionary sentiments and his love of liberty. Favras displayed much courage, and ennobled his life by his death. He made a very good defence, and not more than necessary, compromising nobody. He had been given to understand that it was necessary that he should die discreetly, and he did so. The long and cruel promenade to which he was condemned, the penance at Notre-Dame, &c., did not shake his resolution. At La Greve, he requested to depose once more, and was not hung until dark, by torchlight (February 18th). It was the first time a nobleman had been hung. The people testified a furious impatience, always believing that the Court would find means to save him. His papers, taken possession of by the lieutenant-civil, were (says Lafayette) given up by the daughter of this magistrate to Monsieur, on his succeeding to the throne as Louis XVIII., who burned them in great haste. On the Sunday following the execution, the widow of Favras and -her son attended in mourning at the public dinner of the king and queen. The Royalists thought they would exalt and welcome with aflection the family of the victim. The queen durst not even raise her eyes. - Then they perceived the state of impotency to which the Court was reduced, and how little support they might expect who devoted their lives to its service. As early as the 4th of February, the king's visit to the Assembly and his profession of patriotic faith had much dis- couraged them. The Viscount de Mirabeau withdrew in. despair and broke his sword. For, indeed, what could he believe ; or what could it mean ? The Royalists had the alter- native, either of believing the king to be a liar, a turn-coat, or a, deserter from his own party. Was it true that the king was no DESIRE FOR UNION AMONG THE PROVINCES. 325 longer a royalist ? Or else, was he sacrificing his clergy and faithful nobility, in order to save a remnant of royalty ? Bouille, left without orders^ and absolutely ignorant of what he had to do, then fell into the deepest despondency. Such was also the feeling of many nobles, officers of the army or navy, who then abandoned their country. Bouille himself requested permission to do the same, and serve abroad. The king sent him word to remain, because he should want him. People had begun to hope too soon. The Revolution was finished on the 14th of July ; finished on the 6th of October ; and finished on the 4th of February ; and yet I begin to fear that in March it is not quite ended. What matter ! Liberty, mature and powerful even in her cradle, needs not be alarmed at her antagonists. In a moment, she has just overcome the most formidable disorder and anarchy. Those pillages in the rural districts, that warfare against the castles, which, extending further and further, was threatening the whole country with one immense conflagration ; all subsides in a moment. The movement of January and February is already appeased in March. Whilst the king was presenting himself as the only guarantee of public tranquillity, and the Assembly was seeking but not finding the means of restoring it, France had created it herself. The enthusiastic transport of fraternity had outstepped the speed of legislation ; the knotty point which nobody could solve, had been settled for ever by national magnanimity. The cities all in arms, had marched forth for the defence of the chateaux, and protected the nobles, their enemies. The great meetings continue, and become more numerous every day, so formidable, that without acting, by their mere presence, they necessarily intimidate the two enemies of France; on one hand, anarchy and pillage, on the other the counter-revo- lution. They are no longer merely the more thin and scattered populations of the South that now assemble ; but the massy and compact legions of the great provinces of the north ; now it is Champaign with her hundred thousand men ; now Lor- raine with her hundred thousand ; next, the Vosges, Alsace, and others. A movement full of grandeur, disinterested, and devoid of jealousy. All France is grouping, uniting, and gra- vitating towards union. Paris summons the provinces, and 326 Leopold's negotiations. wishes to unite to herself every commune. And the provinces wish, of their own accord, without the least particle of envy, to unite still more closely. On the 20th of March, Brittany demands that France should send to Paris one man in every thousand. Bordeaux has already demanded a civic festival for the 14th of July. These two propositions presently will make but one. France will invite all France to this grand festival, the first of the new religion. CHAPTER VI. CONTINUATION.— THE QUEEN AND AUSTRIA.— THE QUEEI^ AND MIRABEAU.— THE ARMY (MARCH TO MAY, 1790). Austria obtains the Alliance of Europe. — She advises the Court to gain over Mirabeau (March). — Equivocal Conduct of the Court in its Negotiation with Mirabeau. — Mirabeau lashes it aejain (Apnl). — Mirabeau has little Influence in the Clubs. — Mirabeau gained over (May 10th). — Miraheati ca\ises the King to obtain the Initiative in making War (May 22nd). — Interview between Mirabeau and the Queen (end of May). — The Soldier fraternises with the People. — The Court tries to gain over the Soldiery.-^ Misery of the Ancient Army. — Insolence of the Officers. — 'J'hey endeavour - to set the Soldiers against the People. — Restoration of the Soldier and the Sailor. The conspiracy of Favras was devised hy Monsieur ; that of Maillebois (discovered in March) belonged to the Count d'Artois and the emigrants. The Court, without being ignorant of these, seemed to follow rather the counsel in the memorial of Augeard, the queen's keeper of the seals : to refuse, wait, feign confix dence, and let Jive or six mo7it/fs slip away. This same watcK^ word was given at Vienna and at Paris. Leopold was negotiating. He was putting the governments self-styled the friends of liberty — those spurious revolutionists (I mean England and Prussia) — to a serious trial : he was placing them opposite to the Revolution, and they were gradually unmasking. Leopold said to the English : '* Does it suit you that I should be forced to yield to France a portion of the Low Countries ? '* and England drew back ; she sacri* ficed, to that dread, the hope of seizing on Ostend. To the Prussians and Germans in general, he said : " Can we eibandon AUSTRIA OBTAINS THE ALLIANCE OF EUROPE. 327 our German princes established in Alsace, who are losing their feudal rights ? " As early as the 16th of February, Prussia had already spoken in their favour, and proclaimed the right of the empire to demand satisfaction of France. The whole of Europe belonging to either party, — on one hand Austria and Russia, on the other England and Prussia, were gradually gravitating towards the self-same thought, — the hatred of the Revolution. However, there was this difference, that liberal England and philosophical Prussia needed a little time in order to pass from one pole to the other, to prevail upon themselves to give themselves the lie, to abjure and dis- own their principles, and avow that they Tvere the enemies of liberty. This 'worthy struggle between decency and shame was to be treated delicately by Austria ; therefore, by waiting, an infinite advantage would be obtained. A little longer, and all honest people would be agreed. Then, left quite alone, what would France do ? . . What an enormous advantae^e would Austria presently have over her, when assisted by all Europe ! Meanwhile, there was no harm in deluding the revolutionists of France and Belgium with fair words, in lulling them into security, and, if possible, in dividing them. As soon as ever Leopold was made emperor (February 20th), and published his strange manifesto, in which he adopted the principles of the Belgian revolution, and acknowledged the legality of the insurrection against the emperor (March 2nd), his ambassador, M. Mercy d'Argenteau, prevailed upon Marie- Antoinette to master her repugnance and form an alliance with Mirabeau. But, nothwithstanding the facility of the orator's character, and his eternal need of money, this alliance was difficult to execute. He had been slighted and rejected at the time when he might have been useful. And now they came to court liim, when all was compromised, and perhaps even lost. In November they had had an understanding with the most revolutionary deputies to exclude Mirabeau from the ministry for ever ; and now they invited him. He was summoned for an enterprise that had become im- possible, after so many acts of imprudence and three unsuccess- ful plots. 328 . EQUIVOCAL CONDUCT OF THE COURT. * The ambassador of Austria himself undertook to recall from Belgium the man the most likely to prove the best mediator, M. de Lamarck, Mirabeau's personal friend, and also personally devoted to the queen. He returned. On the 15th of March he took to Mirabeau the overtures of the Court, but found him very cool ; for his good sense enabled him to perceive that the Court merely pro- posed to him that they should sink together. When pressed by Lamarck, he said that the throne could only be restored by establishing it upon the basis of liberty ; that if the Court wanted anything else, he would oppose it instead of serving it. And what guarantee had he for this ? He himself had just proclaimed before the Assembly how little confidence he put in the executive power. In order to pacify him, Louis XVL wrote to Lamarck that he had never desired anything but a power limited by the laws. Whilst this negotiation was pending, the Court was carrying on another with Lafayette. The king gave him a written pro- mise of the most absolute confidence. On the 14th of April, he asked him his opinion on the royal prerogative, and Lafayette was simple enough to give it. Now, seriously, what was it that the Court wanted ? To gain time, — nothing more ; to delude Lafayette, neutralise Mirabeau, annihilate his influence, keep him divided between opposite principles, and, perhaps, also to compromise him, as it had served Necker. The Court had ever shown its deepest policy in ruining and destroying its deliverers. Exactly at the same period, and in the very same manner, the queen's brother, Leopold, was negotiating with the Belgian progressists and compromising them ; then, when menaced by the people, denounced and prosecuted, they were at length induced to desire the invasion and the re-establishment of Austria.* How is it possible to believe that these precisely identical proceedings of the brother and the sister happened by mere chance to be the same. Mirabeau, indeed, had reason to reflect twice before he trusted himself to the Court. It was the time when the king, * For the conduct of Leopold in Europe, and especially in Belgium, see Hardenberg, Borgnet, &c. MIRABEAU LASHES IT. 329 yielding to the importunate demands of the Assembly, gave up to it the famous Red Book (of which we shall presently speak) and the honour of so many persons ; all the secret pensioners heard their names cried in the streets. Who could assure Mirabeau that the Court might not think proper, in a short time, to publish also his treaty with it ? . . The negotiation was not very encouraging ; offers were made, and then with- drawn : the Court put no confidence in him at all, but demanded his secrets and the opinions of his party. But a man like Mirabeau was not to be deluded so easily. However great might be his tendency to royalty in his heart, it was impossible to blind so keen-sighted a person. Mean- while, he proceeded in his usual course : as the organ of the Revolution, his voice was never wanting on decisive occasions ; he might have been gained over, but he was neither to be silenced, enervated, nor neutralised. Whenever the state of affairs was urgent, the vicious and corrupt politician instantly disappeared ; the god of eloquence took possession of him, his native land acted by him, and thundered by his voice. In the single month of April, whilst the Court was hesitating, bargaining, and concluding, the power of his eloquence smote it twice. The first blow (which we postpone to the next chapter, in order to keep together whatever relates to the clergy) was his famous apostrophe on Charles IX. and the St. Bartholomew massacre, which is to be found in every memoir : " From hence I behold the window," &c. Never had the priests been stunned by so terrible a blow ! (April 13th.) The second affair, no less serious, was on the question whether the Assembly should dissolve ; the powers of several deputies were limited to one year, and this year was drawing to a close. As far back as the 6th of October, a proposal had been made (and then very properly) to dissolve the Assembly. The Court was expecting and watching for the moment of dissolution, — tlie interregnum, — the ever perilous moment between the Assembly that exists no longer, and the one not jet formed. Who was to reign in the interval but the king, by ordinances ? And having once resumed his power and seized the sword, it ^ould be his business to keep it. Maury and Cazales in forcible, but irritating and provoking, 330 MIRABEAU'S ELOQUENCE AT THE CONVENTION. speeches, asked the Asaemhly whether its powers were unhraited, — whether it considered itself a National Convention ; they insisted on this distinction between convention and legislative assembly. These subtleties provoked Mirabeau into one of those magnificent bursts of eloquence which reached the sublime : ** You ask," said he, *' how, being deputies of bailiwicks, we have made ourselves a convention ? I will answer. The day when, finding our assembly-room shut, bristling and defiled with bayonets, we hastened to the first place that could contain us, and swore we would rather perish, — on that day, if we were not a convention, we became one. Let them now go and hunt out of the useless nomenclature of civilians the definition of the words National Convention ! Gentlemen, you all know the conduct of that Roman who, to save his country from a great conspiracy, had been obliged to outstep the powers conferred upon him by the laws. A captious tribune required from him the oath that he had respected them. He thought, by that insidious proposal, to leave the consul no alternative but perjury, or an embarrassing avowal. I swear, said that great man, that I have saved the republic ! Gentlemen, I swear also, that you have saved the commonwealth ! " At that splendid oath, the whole Assembly arose, and decreed that there should be no elections till the constitution was finished. The Royalists were stunned by the blow. Several, neverthe- less, thought that the hope of their party, the new election, might even have turned against them ; that it might, perhaps, have brought about a more hostile and violent assembly. In the immense fermentation of the kingdom, and the increasing ebullition of public feeling, who could be sure of seeing his way clearly ? The mere organisation of the municipalities had shaken France to her centre. Scarcely were they formed when, by their side, societies and clubs were already organised to watch over them : formidable, but useful societies ; eminently useful in such a crisis ; a necessary organ and instrument of public distrust, in presence of so many conspiracies. The clubs will grow greater and greater ; it must be so : the state of things requires it. This period is not yet that of their greatest power. For the rest of France, it is the period of ponfederations ; but the clubs already reign at Paris. CLUBS OF THE CORDELIERS AND JACOBINS. 331 Paris seems to be watching over France, panting and on the alert ; keeping its sixty districts permanently assembled ; not acting, but ever ready. It stands listening and uneasy, like a sentinel in the neighbourhood of the enemy. The watch-word ** Beware ! " is heard every hour ; and two voices are incessantly urging it forward, — the club of the Cordeliers, and that of the Jacobins. In the next book, I shall enter those formidable caverns ; in this place I abstain. The Jacobins are not yet characterised, being in their infancy, or rather in a spurious constitutional age, in which they are governed by such men as Duport and the Lameths, The principal character of those great laboratories of agita- tion and public surveillance, of those powerful machines (I speak especially of the Jacobins), is that, as in the case with all machinery, collective action was far more predominant than individual influence ; that the strongest and most heroic individual there lost his advantages. In societies of this kind, active mediocrity rises to importance ; but genius has very little weight. Accordingly, Mirabeau never willingly frequented the clubs, nor belonged exclusively to any ; paying short visits, and passing an hour at the Jacobins, and another in the same evening at the club of '89, formed in the Palais-Ptoyal by Sieyes, Bailly, Lafayette, Chapelier, and Talleyrand (May 13). This was a dignified and elegant club, but devoid of action : true power resided in the old smoky convent of the Jacobins. The dominion of intrigue and commonplace oratory, there sovereignly swayed by the triumvirate of Duport, Barnave, and Lameth, contributed not a little to render Mirabeau accessible to the suggestions of the Court. This man was contradiction personified. What was he in reality ? A royalist, a noble in the most absolute sense. And what was his action ? Exactly the contrary ; he shattered royalty with the thunders of his eloquence. If he really wished to defend it, he had not a moment to lose ; it was hourly declining. It had lost Paris ; but it still possessed large scattered crowds of adherents in the provinces. By what art could these be collected into a body ? This was the dream of Mirabeau. He meditated organising a vast correspondence, doubtless similar, and in opposition to that of the Jacobins. Such was the groundwork of Mirabeau' s A A 332 England's dread of revolution. treaty with the Court (]\Iay 10th). He would have constituted in his house a sort of ministry of public opinion. For this purpose, or under this pretext, he received money and a regular salary ; and as he ,was accustomed to do everything, whether good or evil, boldly and publicly, he established himself in grand style, kept his carriage and open house in the little mansion which still exists in the Chaussee d'Antin. All this was but too manifest ; and it appeared still clearer, Avhen, from the midst of the left of the Assembly, he was seen to speak with the right in favour of royalty, to obtain for the king the initiative of making peace or war. The king had lost the management of the interior, and afterwards power in the law courts : the judges as well as the municipal magistrates were being abstracted from his preroga- tive. If he was now to lose war, what would remain of royalty? Such was the argument of Cazales. Barnave and the opposite side had a thousand ready answers without uttering a word effectually. The truth was, that the king was distrusted ; that the Revolution had been made only by shattering the sword in his hands ; that of all his powers the most dangerous that they could leave in his hands was war. The occasion of the debate was this. England had been alarmed at seeing Belgium offer its alliance to France. Like the Emperor and Prussia, she began to be afraid of a vivacious and contagious revolution which captivated both by its ardour and a character of human (more than national) generality, very contrary to the English genius. Burke, a talented, but passionate and venal Irishman, a pupil of the Jesuits of Saint Omer, vented, in parliament, a furious philippic against the Revolution, for which he was paid by his adversary Mr. Pitt. England did not attack France ; but she abandoned Belgium to the Emperor, and then went to the other end of the world to seek a quarrel on the sea with Spain, our ally. Louis XVI. intimated to the Assembly that he was arming fourteen vessels. Thereupon, there arose a long and compHcated theoretical discussion on the general question, — to whom belonged the initiative of makino^ war. Little or nothins: was said on the particular question, which nevertheless commanded the other. Everybody seemed to avoid it — to be afraid of con- sidering it. SKETCH OF MIRABEAU. 333 Paris was not afraid of it, but considered it attentively. All the people perceived and said that if the king swayed the sword, the Revolution must perish. There were fifty thousand men at the Tuileries, in the Place Vendome, and the Rue Saint Honore, waiting with inexpressible anxiety, and greedily devour- ing the notes flung to them from the windows of the Assembly, to enable them to keep pace every moment with the progress of the discussion. They were all indignant and exasperated against Mirabeau. On his entering and leaving the Assembly, one showed him a rope, another a pair of pistols. He testified much calnmess. Even at moments when Bar- nave was occupying the tribune with his long orations, thinking the time had come to overthrow him, Mirabeau did not even listen, but went out to take a walk in the garden of the Tuile- ries amid the crowd, and paid his respects to the youthful and enthusiastic Madame de Stael, who was there also waiting with the people. His courage did not make his cause the better. He triumphed in speaking on the theoretical question, on the natural associa- tion (in the great act of war) between thought and power, between the Assembly and the king. But all this metaphy- sical language could not disguise the situation of affairs. His enemies took every unparliamentaiy means, akin to assassination, which mii;lit have caused him to be torn in pieces. During the night they caused an atrocious libel to be written, printed, and circulated. In the morning, on his way to the Assembly, Mirabeau heard on all sides the cry of " The discovery of the great treachery of Count de Mirabeau." The danger, as was always the case with him, inspired him admirably ; he overwhelmed his enemies : ** I knew well," cried he, *'how short is the distance from the Capitol to the Tarpeian rock," kc. He thus triumphed on the personal question. And even on the question in debate, he made a skilful retreat ; at the first opportunity afforded him by the projiosal of a less startling formula, he turned about, yielded on the form but gained the substance. It was decided that the king had the right to make the preparations^ to direct the foi'ces as he would, that he proposed war to the Assembly, which was to decide on nothing that was not sanctioned by the king (May 22ud). A a2 334 SYMPATHY WITH THE KLNG AND QUEEN. On leaving the Assembly, Barnave, Duport, and Lameth, who were retiring in despair, were applauded and almost carried home by the people, who imagined they had gained the day. They had not the courage to tell them the truth. In reality the Court had the advantage. It had just experienced on two occasions the power of Mirabeau, — in April against it, and in May in its favour. On the latter occasion, he had made superhuman efforts, sacrificed his popularity, and risked his life. The queen granted him an interview, the only one, in all probability, that he ever had. There was another weak point in this man which cannot be dissembled. A few proofs of confidence, doubtless exaggerated by the zeal of Lamarck, who wished to bring them together, excited the imagination of the great orator — a credulous being, as such men ever are. He attributed to the queen a superiority of genius and character of which she never gave any proof. On the other hand, he easily believed, in his pride and the sense of his superiority, that he whom nobody could resist would easily captivate the mind of a woman. He would much rather have been the minister of a queen than of a king — the minister, or rather the lover. The queen was then with the king at Saint Cloud. Sur- rounded by the national guard, generally disposed in their favour, they found themselves pretty free, in a sort of half captivity, since they used to go every day to take long walks, sometimes to the distance of several leagues, without guards. There were, however, many kind good-natured persons who could not bear the idea that a king and a queen should be the prisoners of their subjects. One day, in the afternoon, the queen heard a slight sound of lamentation in the solitary court of Saint Cloud ; she raised the curtain and saw beneath her balcony about fifty persons, countrywomen, priests, and okl chevaliers of Saint Louis, who were silently weeping and stifling their sobs. Mirabeau could not be callous to such impressions. Having remained, in spite of all his vices, a man of ardent imagination and violent passion, he found some happiness in feeling himself the supporter, the defender, perhaps the deliverer of a handsome and captive queen. The mystery of the interview added to his MIRABEAU AND MARIE-ANTOINETTE. 335 emotion. He went, not in his carriage, but on horseback, in order not to attract any attention, and he was received, not at the castle, but in a very sohtary spot, at the highest point in the private park, in a kiosk which crowned that fairy garden. It was at the end of May. Mirabeau was then very evidently suffering from the malady that brought him to his grave. I do not allude to his excesses and prodigious fatigues. No, Mirabeau died of nothing but the hatred entertained towards him by the people. First adored and then execrated ! To have had his prodigious triumph in Provence, where he felt himself pressed upon the bosom of his native land; next, in May, 1790, the people in the Tuileries demanding him that they might hang him ! Himself facing the storm, without being sustained by a good conscience, laying his hand upon his breast and feeling there only the money received in the morning from the Court ! All this, anger, shame, uncertain hope, were boiling in confusion in his troubled soul. With a dull, leaden, unhealthy complexion, sore red eyes, sunken cheeks, and symptoms of an unwieldy and un- wholesome obesity, such appeared the violent Mirabeau, as he slowly wended his way on horseback through the avenue of Saint Cloud, injured and wounded, but not overthrown. And how much also is that queen changed, who is waiting in her pavilion. Her thirty -five years begin to appear, that affecting age which Van-Dyck so often delig^ited to paint. Add, moreover, those delicate and faint purple hues which betoken profound grief — a malady, a deep-seated and incurable malady — of the heart and of the body. It is evidently an incessant internal struggle. Her carriage is haughty, and her eyes are dry ; yet they show but too plainly that every night is passed in tears. Her natural dignity, and that of her courage and misfortune which constitute another royalty, forbid any kind of distrust. And much does he need to believe in her who now devotes himself to her service. She was surprised to see that this man so detested and decried, this fatal man the first oro-an of the Revolution, this monster, in short, was still a man ; that he possessed a peculiar charming delicacy, which the energy of his character would seem to ex- clude. According to every appearance, their conversation was vague and by no means conclusive. The queen had her own 336 CONDITION OF THE ARMY. intentions, which she kept to herself, and Mirabeaii his, whicli he took no pains to conceal, — to save at the same time the king and liberty. How were they to understand each other ? At the close of the interview, Mirabeau addressing himself to the woman as much as to the queen by a o-ajlantry at once respect- ful and bold : *' Madam," said ho, " when your august mother admitted one of her subjects to the honour of her picsence, she never dismissed him without allowing him to kiss her hand." The queen held foi'th her hand. Mirabeau bowed ; then, rais- ing Ids head, he exclaimed in a tune of sincerity and pride : '' Madam, the monarchy is saved !" He withdrew, affected, delii;htcd, — and deceived ! The queen wrote to her agent in Germany, M. de Flachslanden, that they were making use of Mi)abeau, hut that there was nothino' serious in their connection with him. At the time he had just gained, at the price of his popularity, and neai'ly of his life, that dangei'ous decree which in reality restored to the king the right of making peace and war. the kin^• was causins; a search to be made in the archives of the parhament for the ancient forms of protestation against the States-General, wishing to make a seci'et one against all the decrees of the Assembly (May 23rd).* Thank heaven the salvation of France did not depend on that great yet credulous man and that deceitful court. A decree restores the sword to the kino- ; but that sword is broken. The soldier becomes again one of the people, and mingles and fratei'nises with the people. M. de Bouille informs us in his I\remoirs that he left nothing untried to set the soldiery and the people in opposition, and inspire the military with hatred and contempt for the citizens. The officers had eagerly seized an opportunity of raising this hatred still higher, even to the National Assembly, and of calumniating its conduct towards the soldiery. One of the stanchest patriots, Dubois de Crance, had expounded to the Assembly the lamentable composition of the army, recruited for * The king sent thither the keeper of the seals himself, Avho, during the emignition, revealed the Hict to Montgaillard. As to tlie queen's letter to Flaehslanden, the original still exists in a particular collecti»)n, and has been read, not by me, but by a very careful learned person, worthy of confidence, employed in the archives. CONDITION OF THE ARMY. 337 the most part with vagabonds ; and thence deduced the necessity of a new organisation which would make the army what it has been, the flower of France. Now it was this lano-uan-e, so well intentioned towards the military, — this attempt to reform and rehabilitate the army, that they abused. The officers went about saying and repeating everywhere to the soldiers that the Assembly had insulted them. This gave great hope to the Com't ; for it expected to be thus able to regain possession of the armv. These sio-nifieant words were written to the commandant of Lille from the office of the ministry : " Every day we are gaining ground a little. Only just forget us and reckon ns as nothing, and soon we shall be everything " (December 8th, January 3rd). Vain hope ! Was it possible to believe that the soldier would long remain blind, that he would see without emotion that intoxicating spectacle of the fraternity of France, that, at a moment when his native land was found again, he alone would obstinately remain outside his home, and that the barracks and the camp would be like an isle separated from the rest of the world ? It is doubtless alarming to see the army deliberating, distin- guishing, and choosing in its obedience. Yet, in this case, how could it be otherwise ? If the soldier were blindly obedient to authority, he disobeyed that supreme authority whence all others proceed ; if docile to his officers, he found himself infal- libly a rebel to the commander of his commanders, — the Law. Neither was he at liberty to abstain and remain neuter ; the counter-revolution had no intention to do so ; it commanded him to fire on the Revolution, — on France, — on the people, — on his father and his brother, who were holding forth their arms to embrace him. The officers appeared to him what they were, the enemy, — a nation apart, becoming more and more of another race and a different nature. As inveterate hardened sinners bury them- selves still deeper in sin on the approach of death, so the old system towards its close was more cruel and unjust. The upper grades were no longer given to any but the young men of the Court, to youthful proteges of noble ladies ; Montbarry, the minister, has himself related the violent and shameful scene between himself a:id ihe queen in favour of a young colonel. 338 CONDITION OF THE ARMY. The least Important grades, still accessible imder Louis XIV. and Louis XV., were, in the reign of Louis XVL, given only to those who were able to prove four degrees of nobility, Fabert, Catinat, and Chevert, would have been unable to attain the rank of lieutenant. I have said what was the budget for war (in 1784) : forty- six millions for the officer, and forty-four for the soldier. Why say soldier ? Beggar would be the proper term. The pay, comparatively high in the seventeenth century, is reduced to nothing under Louis XV. It is true that under Louis XVI. another pay was added, settled with the cudgel. This was to imitate the famous discipline of Prussia ; and was supposed to contain the whole secret of the victories of Frederick the Great : man driven like a machine, and punished like a child. This is most assuredly the worst of all systems, thus uniting opposite evils, — a system at the same time mechanical and non-mechanical ; on one hand fatally harsh, and on the other violently arbitrary. The officers sovereignly despised the soldier, the citizen, and every kind of man ; and took no pains to conceal this contempt. Yet, wherefore ? What was their great merit ? Only one, they were good swordsmen. That respectable prejudice which sets the life of a brave man at the discretion of the skilful con- stituted for the latter a kind of tyranny. They even tried this sort of intimidation on the Assembly ; in the chamber of the nobility, certain members fought duels to prevent others from uniting with the Third-Estate. Labourdonnaie, Noailles, Castries, Cazales, challenged Barnave and Lameth. Some of them addressed gross insults to Mirabeau, in the hope of getting rid of him ; but he was immutable. Would to heaven that the greatest seaman of that time, Suifren, had been equally impassible ! According to a tradition which is but too probable, a young coxcomb of noble birth had the culpable insolence to call out that heroic man, whose sacred life belonged only to France : and he, already in years, was simple enough to accept, and received his death wound. The youno- man having friends at court, the affair was hushed up. Who rejoiced ? England ; for so lucky a stroke of the sword she would have given millions. The people have never had the wit to understand this point of STATE OF THE NAVY. 339 honour. Men like Belzunce and Patrice, who defied every- body, laboured in vain. The sword of the emigration broke like glass under the sabre of the Republic. If our land officers, Avho had done nothing, were nevertheless so insolent, good heavens ! what were our officers of the navy ! Ever since their late successes (which, after all, were only brilliant single fights of one vessel with another), they could no longer contain themselves ; their pride had fretted into ferocity. One of them having been so remiss as to keep com- pany with an old friend, then a land officer, they forced him to fight a duel with him, to wash out the crime ; and, horrible to relate, he killed him ! Acton, a naval officer, was as if King of Naples ; the Vau- dreuils surrounded the queen and the Count d'Artois with their violent counsels ; other naval officers, the Bonchamps and Marignis, as soon as France had to face the whole of Europe, stabbed her behind with the poignard of La Vendee. The first blow to their pride was given by Toulon. There commanded the very brave, but very insolent and hard-hearted Albert de Rioms, one of our best captains. He had thought he could lead both towns, the Arsenal and Toulon, in precisely the same manner, like a crew of galley-slaves, with a cat-o'- nine-tails, protecting the black cockade, and punishing the tri- colour. He trusted to an ao-reement which his naval officers had made with those of the land, against the national guard. When the latter came to make their complaints, headed by the magistrates, he gave them the reception that he would have given to the galley-slaves in the Arsenal. Then a furious mul- titude besietred the commandant's hotel. He ordered the soldiers to fire, but nobody obeyed. At last, he Avas obliged to entreat the magistrates of the town to grant him their assist- ance. The national guard, whom he had insulted, had great difficulty in defending him ; and were only able to save him by putting him in his own prison (November, December, 1789). At Lille, an attempt was made in the same manner to bring the troops and the national guards to blows, and even to arm one regiment against another. Livarot, the commandant (as ap- pears in his unpublished letters), urged them on by speaking to them of the pretended insult offered them by Dubois de Crance in the National Assembly. The Assembly replied only by 340 CONDITION OF THE AKMY. measures to improve the condition of tlie soldieij, testifying at least some interest for them, as far as it could, by the augmen- tation of a few deniers added to their pay. What encouraged them much more, was to see that, at Paris, M. de Lafayette had promoted all the subaltern officers to the superior grades. Thus the insurmountable barrier was at length destroyed. Poor soldiers of the ancient system, who had so long suffered beyond all hope and in silence ! . . Without being the wonder- fid soldiers of tlie Republic and tlie empire, they were not unworthy of having also at last their day of liberty. All I read of them in our old chronicles, astonishes me with their patience, and affects me with the kindness of their hearts. I beheld them, at La Rochelle, entering the famished city and giving their bread to the inhabitants. Their tyrants, their officers, who shut them out from every career, found in them only docility, respect, kindness, and benevolence. In some skirmish or other under Louis XV., an officer fourteen years of age, who had but just arrived from Versailles, was unable to march any further: "Pass him on to me,*' said a gigantic grenadier, " I will put Inm on my back; in case of a bullet, I will receive it for the child." It was inevitable that there should be at length a day for justice, equality, and nature ; happy were they who lived long enough to behold it : it was indeed a day of happiness for all. What joy for Brittany to find again the pilot of Duguay-Trouin, nearly a hundred years of age, still in his humble profession ; he whose calm and resolute hand had steered the conqueror to battle. Jean Robin, of the Isle of Batz, was recognised at the elections, and with one accord placed by the side of the president. People blur^hed for France for so long a period of injustice, and wished, in the person of this venerable man, to honour so many heroic generations unworthily slighted and trampled upon, during their lives, by the insolence of those who profited by their services, and then, alas ! condemned them tq oblivion. 341 CHAPTER VII. A RELIGIOUS STRUGGLE.— THE PASSION OF LOUIS XVI. Ivcgcnd of the Martyr Kino:. — Scandal created by opening the Convents. — The Clergy excite the Ignorant Masses.^The A^ent of the ClerL^- wislies to act in concert Avith the Emigrants. — The Clergy and the Nobility in Opposition. — Manoeuvres of the Ck-rgy at Easter. — The Assembly publishes the Rcd-Booh, April, 1790. — It Mortgages the Paper-Money on the Ecclesiastical Estate:?. — The Clergy summon tlie Assembly to declare Catholicism the National Religion, April 12th, 1790. It was too evident that the soldier was not to be armed against the people ; therefore, it became necessary to find a way of arming the people against themselves, — against a revolution made entirely on their account. To the spirit of confederation and union, to the neAv revolu- ionary faith, nothing could be opposed but the ancient faith, if D still existed. In default of the old fanaticism, either extinct, or at least ^)rofoundly torpid, the clergy had a hold that has seldom failed them, the easy good-nature of the people, their blind sensibihty, their credulity towards those Avhom they love, their inveterate respect for the priest and tlie king — the kino;, that ancient worship, that mystic personage, a compound of the two characters of the priest and tlie magistrate, with a gleam of the grace of God ! There the people had even addres.^ed their prayers and their groans ; and well do we know with what success, — what a sad return. In vain did royalty trample tliem underfoot and crush them, like a merciless machine ; they still loved it as a person. Nothing Avas easier to the priests than to make Louis XVI. appear in the light of a saint or a martyr. His sanctified, paternal, and heavy-lookiiig countenance (uniting the character- istic features of the houses of Saxony and Bourbon) was that of a cathedral saint, ready made for a church-porch. His short-sighted air, and his indecision and insignificance, 342 SUPPRESSION OF THE COxTVENTS. invested him precisely with that vague mystery so very favour- able for every legend. This was an admirable, pathetic text, well calculated to affect the hearts of men. lie had loved the people, desired their welfare, and yet he was punished by them. Ungrateful madmen had dared to raise their hand against that excellent father, against God's anointed ! The good king, the noble queen, the saint-like princess Elizabeth, and the poor little dauphin, were captives in that horrid Paris ! How many tears flowed at such a narration ; how many prayers, vows, and masses to heaven for their deliverance ! What female heart was not bursting when, on leaving the church, the priest whispered : " Pray for the poor king ! " Pi'ay also for France, — is what they ought to have said ; pray for a poor people, betrayed and delivered up to foreigners. Another text, no less powerful for exciting civil war, was the opening of tbe convents, the order for making an inventory of the ecclesiastical possessions, and the reduction of the religious houses. This reduction was nevertheless conducted with the kindest solicitude. In every department, one house at least was reserved for every order, whither those who wished to remain might alwaj^s retire. Whoever was willing to come out, came out and received a pension. All this was moderate, and by -no means violent. The municipalities, very kindly disposed at that period, showed but too much indulgence in the execution of their orders. They often connived, and scarcely took an inventory, frequently noting only half the objects, and half the real value. No matter ! Nothing was left untried to render their task both diflicult and dangerous. The day of the inventory, the accursed day on which laymen were to invade the sacred cloisters, was clamorously noised abroad. To arrive even at the gate, the municipal magistrates were first obliged, at the peril of their lives, to pass through a collected mob, amid the screams of women, and the threats of sturdy beggars fed by the monasteries. The gentle lambs of the Lord, opposed to the representatives of the law, forced to execute the law, refusals, delays, and resistance enough, to cause them to be torn in pieces. All that was prepared with much skill and remarkable address. If it were possible to give a complete history of it, ATTEMPTS AT COUNTER-REVOLUTION. 343 with all its particulars, we should he very much edified on a curious subject of transcendental philosophy ; how, at a period of indifference and increduHty, poUticians can make and rekindle fanaticism ? A grand chapter this would be to add to the book imagined by a philosopher, — *' The Mechanism of Enthusiasm." Tbe clergy were devoid of faith ; but they found for instru- ments persons who still possessed it, people of conviction, pious souls, ardent visionaries with poetical and whimsical imagina- tions, which are ever to he found, especially in Brittany. A lady, named Madame de Pont-Leves, the wife of a naval officer, published a fervent mystical little volume, called " The Compassion of the Virgin for France," a female composition well adapted to females, calculated to excite their imagination, and turn their brains. The clergy had, moreover, another very easy means of acting on those poor populations ignorant of the French language. They allowed them to remain ignorant of the suppression of the tithes and collections, said not a word about the successive abolition of the indirect taxes, and plunged them in despair, by pointing out to them the burden of taxation which oppressed the land, and informing them that they were presently to be deprived of one-third of their goods and cattle. The south offered other elements of anarchy no less favour- able ; men of feverish passion, active, fervent, and political, whose minds, full of intrigue and cunning, were well calculated not only to create a revolt, but to organise, regulate, and direct an insurrection. The real secret of resistance, the only way that gave any serious chance to the counter-revolution, the idea of the future Vendee, was first reduced to a formula at Nimes : Against the Revolution, no result is possible without a religious war. In other words : Against faith, no other power but faith. Terrible means, that make us shudder when we remember — when we see the ruins and deserts made by ancient fanaticism. What would have happened, if all the South and the West, all France, had become a Vendee ? But the counter-revolution had no other chance. To the genius of fraternity only one could be opposed, that of the St. Bartholomew massacre. 344 ATTEMPTS AT COUNTER-REVOLUTION. Such was, in general terms, the thesis which, as early as January, 1790, was supported at Turin, before the general council of the emigration, by the fervent envoy of Nimes, a man sprung from the people, and possessed of little merit, but obsti- nate and intrepid, who saw his way clearly and frankly stated the question. The man who, by special grace, was thus admitted to speak before princes and lords, Charles Fromcnt, for such was his name, the son of a man accused of forgery (afterwards acquitted), was himself nothing more tban a petty collector for the clergy and their factotum. After being a revolutionist at first, he had perceived that at Nimes there was more business to be done on the opposite side. He had at once found himself the leader of the Catholic populace, whom he let loose on the Protestants. He himself was much less fanatical than factious, a man fit for the period of the Gibelins. But he saw very plainly that the true power was the people, — an appeal to the faith of the multitude. Froment was graciously received and listened to, but little understood. They gave him some money, and the hope that the commandant of Montpellier would furnish him with arms. Moreover, they were so little aware how very useful he might be, that subsequently, when he emigrated, be did not even obtain from the princes permission to join the Spaniards and put them in communication with his former friends. ** What ruined Louis XVI.," says Froment in his pamphlets, ** was his having philosophers for ministers." He might have extended this still further, with no loss reason. What rendered the counter-revolution generally powerless, was that it possessed within itself, at difi'erent degrees, but still it possessed at heart, the philosophy of the age, that is to say, the Revolution itself. I have said, in my Introduction, tliat everybody, even the queen, the Count d'Artois, and the nobility, was, at that time, though in a different degree, under the influence of the new spirit. The language of ancient fanaticism was for them a dead letter. To rekindle it in the masses was for such minds an operation quite incomprehensible. The idea of exciting the people to rebel, even in their favour, gave them alarm. Besides, CONTESTS OF NOBLES AND CLERGY. 345 to restore power to the priests, was a thing quite contrary to the ideas of the nobility ; they had ever been waitino- and hoping for the spoils of the clergy. The interests of these two orders were adverse and hostile. The llevolution, which seemed likely to bring them together, had caused a wider separation. Nobles who were proprietors, in certain provinces, in Languedoc for instance, gained by the suppression of church tithes more than they lost by their feudal rights. In the debate on the monastic vows (February), not one noble sided with the clei'gy. They alone defended the old tyrannical system of irrevocable vows. The nobles voted with their usual adversaries for the abolition of vows, the openino- of the monasteries, and the liberty of the monks and nuns. The clergy take their revenge. When the question is to abohsh the feudal rights, the nobility cry out, in their turn, about violence, atrocity, &lc. The clergy, or at least the ma- jority of the clergy, let the nobility cry on, vote against them, and help to ruin them. The advisers of the Count d'Artois, M. de Calonne and others, and the queen's Austrian advisers, were certainly, like the party of the nobility in general, very favourable to the spoliation of the clergy, provided it was performed by them- selves. But rather than employ ancient fanaticism as a weapon, they much preferred making an appeal to foreigners. On this head they had no repugnance. The queen beheld in the foreigners her near relations ; and the nobility had throughout Europe connexions of kindred, caste, and common culture, which rendered them very philosophical on the subject of the vulgar prejudices of nationality. VVhat Frenchman was more a Frenchman than the general of Austria, the charming Prince de Ligne ! And did not French philosophy reign, triumphant at Berlin ? As for England, for our most en- hghtened nobles, she was precisely the ideal, the classic land of liberty. In their opinion there were but two nations in Europe, — the polite and the impolite. Why should they not have called the former to France, to reduce the others to reason ? So, we have here three counter-revolutions in operation without being able to act in concert. 1st. The queen and the ambassador of Austria, her chief adviser, are waiting till Austria, rid of her Belgian aflPair, and 346 DEBATE ON THE MONASTERIES. securing the alliance of Europe, shall he able to threaten France, aud subdue her (if necessary) by physical force. 2nd. The emigration party, the Count d'Artois, and the brilliant chevaliers of the (Eil-de Bceuf, who, tired to death of Turin and wanting to return to their mistresses and actresses, would like the foreign powers to act at once, and open for them a road to France, cost what it would ; in 1790 they were already wishino' for 1815. 3rd, The clergy are still less inclined to wait. Sequestrated by the Assembly, and gradually turned out of house and home, they would like at once to arm their numerous clients, the pea- sants and farmers ; — at once, for to-morrow perhaps they would all grow lukewarm. How would it be if the peasant should think of purchasing the ecclesiastical lands ? Why then the Revolution would have conquered irrevocably. We have seen them in October firing before the word was given. In February, there was a new explosion even in the Assembly. It was the time when the agent of Nimes, on his return from Turin, was scouring the country, organising Catholic societies, and thoroughly agitating the South. In the midst of the debate on the inviolability of vows, a member of the Assembly invoked the rights of nature, and re- pelled as a crime of ancient barbarity this surprising of man's will, which, on a word that has escaped his lips or been extorted from him, binds him and buries him alive for ever. Thereupon loud shouts of "Blasphemy ! blasphemy ! He has blasphemed !" The Bishop of Nancy rushes to the tribune : " Do you acknow- ledge," cried he, ** that the Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman Religion, is the rehgion of the nation ?" The Assembly per- ceived the blow, and avoided it. The answer was, that the question of the suppression of the convents was especially one of finances ; that there was nobody who did not believe but that the Catholic religion was the national religion ; and that to sanction it by a decree would be to compromise it. This happened on the 13th of February. On the 18th, they issued a libel, diffused in Normandy, wherein the Assembly was devoted to the hatred of the people, as assassinating at the same time religion and royalty. Easter was then approaching ; the opportunity was not lost : they sold and distributed about the churches, a terrible pamphlet, — *' The Passion of Louis XVI." THE *' RED-BOOK. 34? To this legend the Assembly was able to oppose another, of equal interest, which was, that Louis XVL, who, on the 4th of February, had sworn fidelity to the constitution, still kept a permanent agent with his brother, amid the mortal enemies of the constitution ; that Turin, Treves, and Paris, were like the same court, kept and paid by the king. At Treves was his military estabhshment, paid and main- tained by him, with his grand and private stables, under Prince de Lambesc* Artois, Conde, Lambesc, and all the emigrants were paid enormous pensions. And yet alimentary pensions of widows and other unfortunates of two, three, or four hundred francs were indefinitely postponed. The king was paying the emigrants in defiance of a decree by which the Assembly had, for the last two months, attempted to withhold this money which was thus passing over to the enemy ; and this decree he had precisely forgotten to sanction. The irritation increased, when Camus, the severe reporter of the financial committee, declared he could not discover the appli- cation of a sum of sixty millions of francs. The Assembly enacted that, for every decree presented for royal sanction, the keeper of the seals should render an account within eight days of the royal sanction or refusal. Great was the outcry and lamentation on this outrageous exaction against the royal will. Camus replied by printing the too celebrated " Red Book," (April 1,) which the king had given up in the hope that it would remain a secret between him and the committee. This impure book, defiled at every page with the shameful corruption of the aristocracy, and the criminal weaknesses of royalty, showed whether people had been wrong in shutting up the filthy channel through which the substance of France was flowing away. A glorious book, in spite of all that ! For it plunged the Revolution into the hearts of men. * Everything was carried on exactly as at Versailles ; it was a ministry that the king kept publicly abroad. "Whatever was done at Paris was regulated at Treves. The accounts of expenses and other unpublished papers, show Lambesc signing the accounts, executing petitions sent from Paris, appointing employes for Paris, pages for the Tuileries, &c. Uniforms for the body-guards were made in France to be sent to Treves ; and horses were brouglit over from England for the officers at that place. The king entreats Lambetc to be 80 good as to employ at least French horses. B B 348 SALE OF ECCLESIASTICAL ESTATES. ** Oh ! how rightly we have acted ! '* was the general cry ; and how far people were, even in their most violent accusations, from suspecting the reaHty ! At the same time, the faith grew stronger that this monstrous old system of things, contrary to nature and God, could never return. The Revolution, on beholding the hideous face of her adversary, unveiled and unmasked, felt strong, living, and eternal. Yes, whatever may have been the obstacles, delays, and villainies, she Hves and will live for ever ! A proof of this strong faith is that in the universal distresb, and during more than one insurrection against indirect taxation, direct taxes were punctually and religiously paid. Ecclesiastical estates are set up for sale to the value of four hundred millions of francs ; the city of Paris alone purchases the value of half, and all the municipalities follow this example. This method was very good. Few individuals would have wished themselves to have expropriated the clergy ; the munici- palities alone were able to undertake this painful operation. They were to purchase, and then sell again. There was much hesitation, especially among the peasantry ; for this reason, the cities were to give them the example in purchasing and selling again, first the ecclesiastical houses ; after which would come the sale of the lands. All those properties served as mortgage for the paper- money created by the Assembly. To each note a lot was assigned and affected ; and these notes were called assignats. Every piece of paper was property, — a portion of land ; and had nothing in common with those forged notes of the Regency, founded on the Mississippi, on distant and future possessions. Here the pledge was tangible. To this guarantee, add that of the municipahties that had purchased of the State and were selHng again. Being divided among so many hands, those lots of paper-money once given out and circulated, were about to engage the whole nation in this great operation. Everybody would have a part of this money, and thus both friends and enemies would be equally interested in the safety of the Revolution. Nevertheless, the remembrance of Law, and the traditions of so many families ruined by his system, were no slight obstacle. PROPOSALS OF THE CLERGT 349 France was far less accustomed than England or Holland to behold real values circulating in the fonn of paper. It was necessary for a whole nation to rise superior to their every -day habits ; it was an act of spiritualism, of revolutionary faith, that the Assembly demanded. The clergy were terrified on seeing that their spoils would thus be in the hands of the whole people ; for after having been reduced to impalpable powder, it was very unlikely that they should ever come again into their possession. They endeavoured at first to liken these solid assignats, each of which was land, to the Mississippi rubbish : " I had thought," said the Archbishop of Aix in a perfidious manner, ** that you had really renounced the idea of bankruptcy." The answer to this was too easy. Then, they had recourse to another argument. *' All this," said they, *' is got up by the Paris bankers : the provinces will not accept it." Then, they were shown addresses from the provinces demanding a speedy creation of assignats. They had expected at least to gain time, and in the interval to remain in possession, ever waiting and watching to seize some good opportunity. But even this hope was taken from them : ** What confidence,'* said Prieur, **^will people have in the mortgage that founds the assignats, if the mortgaged estates are not really in our hands?" This tended to dispossess and dislodge the clergy immediately, and to put all the property into the hands of the municipalities and districts. In vain did the Assembly ofi'er them an CMormous salary of a hundred millions : they were inconsolable. The Archbishop of Aix in a whining discourse, full of childish and unconnected lamentations, inquired whether they would really be so cruel as to ruin the poor, by depriving the clergy of what was given for the poor. He ventured this paradox that a bankruptcy would infallibly follow the operation intended to prevent the bankruptcy ; and he accused the Assembly of having meddled with spiritual things by declaring vows invalid, &c. Lastly, he went so far as to offer, in the name of the clergy, a loan of four hundred millions, mortgaged upon their estates. Whereupon Thcuret replied with his Norman impassibility : ** An offer is made in the name of a body no longer existing,'^ bb2 350 DEBATES ON RELIGION. And again : ** When the religion sent you into the world, did it say to you : go, prosper, and acquire ? " There was then in the Assembly a good-natured simple Car- thusian friar, named Dom Gerles, a well-meaning short-sighted man, — a warm patriot, but no less a good Catholic. He believed (or very probably he allowed himself to be persuaded by some cunning ecclesiastic) that what gave so much uneasiness to the prelates, was solely the spiritual danger, the fear lest the civil power should meddle with the altar. " Nothing is more simple," said he ; '*in order to reply to persons who say that the Assembly wishes to have no religion, or that it is willing to admit every religion in France, it has only to decree : *' That the Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman religion, is and shall ever be the religion of the nation, and that its worship is the only one authorised " (April 12, 1790). Charles de Lameth expected to escape the difficulty, as on the 1 3th of February, by saying that the Assembly, which, in its decrees, followed the spirit of the Gospel, had no need to justify itself in this manner. But the word was not allowed to drop. The Bishop of Clermont bitterly rejoined, and pretended to be astonished that, when there was a question of doing homage to the religion, people should deliberate instead of replying by a hearty acclamation. All the right side of the Assembly arose, and gave a cheer. In the evening they assembled at the Capucins, and — to be provided incase the Assembly should not declare Catholicism the national religion — prepared a violent protest to be carried in solemn procession to the king, and published to a vast number of copies throughout France, in order to make the people well understand that the National Assembly desired to have no kind of religion. 351 CHAPTER VIII. RELIGIOUS STRUGGLE.— SUCCESS OF THE COUNTER- REVOLUTION, (MAY, 1790.) Continuation. — The Assembly eludes the question. — The King dare8 tot receive the Protest oi' the Clergy (April.) — Religious Outbreak in the South (May.) — The South ever inflammable. — Ancient Religious Persecutions ; Avignon and Toulon. — Fanaticism, grown lukewarm, skilfully rekindled.- The Protestants still excluded from Civil and Military functions. — Unanimity of these two foims of Worship in 1789. — The Clergy rekindle Fanaticism, and organise a resistance at Nimes (1790.) — They awaken Social Jealousies. — Terror of the Protestants. — Outbreak at Toulouse, at Nimes (April.) — Connivance of the Munici- palities. — Massacre at Montauban (May 10th.) — Triumph of the Counter- Revolution in the South. The motion made by that plain man had wonderfuUj changed the aspect of affairs. From a period of 'debate, the revolution appeared suddenly transported into an age of terror. The Assembly had to contend with terror of two kinds. The clergy had a silent formidable argument, well understood ; they exhibited to the Assembly a Medusa, civil war, the imminent insurrection of the west and the south, the probable resurrection of the old wars of religion. And the Assembly felt witliin itself the immense irresistible force of a revolution let loose, that was to overthrow everything, — a revolution which had for its principal organ the riots of Paris, thundering at its doors, and often drowning the voices of the deputies. In this affair, the clergy had the advantage of position ; first, because they seemed to be in personal danger ; that very danger sanctified them : many an unbelieving, licentious, intriguing prelate suddenly found himself, under favour of the riots, exalted to the glory of martyrdom — a martyrdom never- theless impossible, owing to the infinite precautions taken by Lafayette, then so strong and popular, at the zenith of his glory, — the real king of Paris. The clergy had moreover in their favour the advantage of a clear position, and the outward appearances of faith. Hitherto 352 DEBATES ON RELIGION. interrogated and placed at the bar by the spirit of the age, it is now their turn to question, and thej boldly demand " Are you Catholics ? " The Assembly replies timidly, in a disguised equivocal tone, that it cannot answer, that it respects reli- gion too much to make any answer, that, by paying such a religion, it has given sufficient proof, &c, Mirabeau said hypocritically : " Must we decree that the sun shines ? " and another : "I believe the Catholic religion to be the only true one ; I respect it infinitely. It is said the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. Are we then to confirm such language by some miserable decree ? " &c.