Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.I. Death of Louis XVChapter 1.1.I. Louis the Well-Beloved
President Henault, remarking on royal Surnames of Honour howdifficult it often is to ascertain not only why, but even when,they were conferred, takes occasion in his sleek official way, tomake a philosophical reflection. 'The Surname of Bien-aime(Well-beloved),' says he, 'which Louis XV. bears, will not leaveposterity in the same doubt. This Prince, in the year 1744, whilehastening from one end of his kingdom to the other, and suspendinghis conquests in Flanders that he might fly to the assistance ofAlsace, was arrested at Metz by a malady which threatened to cutshort his days. At the news of this, Paris, all in terror, seemed acity taken by storm: the churches resounded with supplications andgroans; the prayers of priests and people were every momentinterrupted by their sobs: and it was from an interest so dear andtender that this Surname of Bien-aime fashioned itself, a titlehigher still than all the rest which this great Prince has earned.'(Abrege Chronologique de l'Histoire de France (Paris, 1775), p.701.) So stands it written; in lasting memorial of that year 1744.Thirty other years have come and gone; and 'this great Prince'again lies sick; but in how altered circumstances now! Churchesresound not with excessive groanings; Paris is stoically calm: sobsinterrupt no prayers, for indeed none are offered; except Priests'Litanies, read or chanted at fixed money- rate per hour, which arenot liable to interruption. The shepherd of the people has beencarried home from Little Trianon, heavy of heart, and been put tobed in his own Chateau of Versailles: the flock knows it, and heedsit not. At most, in the immeasurable tide of French Speech (whichceases not day after day, and only ebbs towards the short hours ofnight), may this of the royal sickness emerge from time to time asan article of news. Bets are doubtless depending; nay, some people'express themselves loudly in the streets.' (Memoires de M. leBaron Besenval (Paris, 1805), ii. 59- 90.) But for the rest, ongreen field and steepled city, the May sun shines out, the Mayevening fades; and men ply their useful or useless business as ifno Louis lay in danger. Dame Dubarry, indeed, might pray, if she had a talent for it;Duke d'Aiguillon too, Maupeou and the Parlement Maupeou: these, asthey sit in their high places, with France harnessed under theirfeet, know well on what basis they continue there. Look to it,D'Aiguillon; sharply as thou didst, from the Mill of St. Cast, onQuiberon and the invading English; thou, 'covered if not with gloryyet with meal!' Fortune was ever accounted inconstant: and each doghas but his day. Forlorn enough languished Duke d'Aiguillon, some years ago;covered, as we said, with meal; nay with worse. For La Chalotais,the Breton Parlementeer, accused him not only of poltroonery andtyranny, but even of concussion (official plunder of money); whichaccusations it was easier to get 'quashed' by backstairs Influencesthan to get answered: neither could the thoughts, or even thetongues, of men be tied. Thus, under disastrous eclipse, had thisgrand-nephew of the great Richelieu to glide about; unworshipped bythe world; resolute Choiseul, the abrupt proud man, disdaining him,or even forgetting him. Little prospect but to glide into Gascony,to rebuild Chateaus there, (Arthur Young, Travels during the years1787-88-89 (Bury St. Edmunds, 1792), i. 44.) and die ingloriouskilling game! However, in the year 1770, a certain young soldier,Dumouriez by name, returning from Corsica, could see 'with sorrow,at Compiegne, the old King of France, on foot, with doffed hat, insight of his army, at the side of a magnificent
phaeton, doinghomage the--Dubarry.' (La Vie et les Memoires du General Dumouriez(Paris, 1822), i. 141.) Much lay therein! Thereby, for one thing, could D'Aiguillonpostpone the rebuilding of his Chateau, and rebuild his fortunesfirst. For stout Choiseul would discern in the Dubarry nothing buta wonderfully dizened Scarlet-woman; and go on his way as if shewere not. Intolerable: the source of sighs, tears, of pettings andpouting; which would not end till 'France' (La France, as she namedher royal valet) finally mustered heart to see Choiseul; and withthat 'quivering in the chin (tremblement du menton natural in suchcases) (Besenval, Memoires, ii. 21.) faltered out a dismissal:dismissal of his last substantial man, but pacification of hisscarlet-woman. Thus D'Aiguillon rose again, and culminated. Andwith him there rose Maupeou, the banisher of Parlements; who plantsyou a refractory President 'at Croe in Combrailles on the top ofsteep rocks, inaccessible except by litters,' there to considerhimself. Likewise there rose Abbe Terray, dissolute Financier,paying eightpence in the shilling,--so that wits exclaim in somepress at the playhouse, "Where is Abbe Terray, that he might reduceus to two-thirds!" And so have these individuals (verily byblack-art) built them a Domdaniel, or enchanted Dubarrydom; call itan Armida-Palace, where they dwell pleasantly; Chancellor Maupeou'playing blind-man's-buff' with the scarlet Enchantress; orgallantly presenting her with dwarf Negroes;--and a Most ChristianKing has unspeakable peace within doors, whatever he may havewithout. "My Chancellor is a scoundrel; but I cannot do withouthim." (Dulaure, Histoire de Paris (Paris, 1824), vii. 328.) Beautiful Armida-Palace, where the inmates live enchanted lives;lapped in soft music of adulation; waited on by the splendours ofthe world;--which nevertheless hangs wondrously as by a singlehair. Should the Most Christian King die; or even get seriouslyafraid of dying! For, alas, had not the fair haughty Chateauroux tofly, with wet cheeks and flaming heart, from that Feverscene atMetz; driven forth by sour shavelings? She hardly returned, whenfever and shavelings were both swept into the background. Pompadourtoo, when Damiens wounded Royalty 'slightly, under the fifth rib,'and our drive to Trianon went off futile, in shrieks and madlyshaken torches,-had to pack, and be in readiness: yet did not go,the wound not proving poisoned. For his Majesty has religiousfaith; believes, at least in a Devil. And now a third peril; andwho knows what may be in it! For the Doctors look grave; askprivily, If his Majesty had not the small-pox long ago?-and doubtit may have been a false kind. Yes, Maupeou, pucker those sinisterbrows of thine, and peer out on it with thy malign rat-eyes: it isa questionable case. Sure only that man is mortal; that with thelife of one mortal snaps irrevocably the wonderfulest talisman, andall Dubarrydom rushes off, with tumult, into infinite Space; andye, as subterranean Apparitions are wont, vanish utterly,--leavingonly a smell of sulphur! These, and what holds of these may pray,--to Beelzebub, orwhoever will hear them. But from the rest of France there comes, aswas said, no prayer; or one of an opposite character, 'expressedopenly in the streets.' Chateau or Hotel, were an enlightenedPhilosophism scrutinises many things, is not given to prayer:neither are Rossbach victories, Terray Finances, nor, say only'sixty thousand Lettres de Cachet' (which is Maupeou's share),persuasives towards that. O Henault! Prayers? From a France smitten(by black-art) with plague after plague, and lying now in shame andpain, with a Harlot's foot on its neck, what prayer can come? Thoselank scarecrows, that prowl hunger-stricken through all highwaysand byways of French Existence, will they pray?
The dull millionsthat, in the workshop or furrowfield, grind fore-done at the wheelof Labour, like haltered gin- horses, if blind so much the quieter?Or they that in the Bicetre Hospital, 'eight to a bed,' lie waitingtheir manumission? Dim are those heads of theirs, dull stagnantthose hearts: to them the great Sovereign is known mainly as thegreat Regrater of Bread. If they hear of his sickness, they willanswer with a dull Tant pis pour lui; or with the question, Will hedie? Yes, will he die? that is now, for all France, the grandquestion, and hope; whereby alone the King's sickness has stillsome interest.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.I. Death of Louis XVChapter 1.1.II. Realised Ideals
Such a changed France have we; and a changed Louis. Changed,truly; and further than thou yet seest!--To the eye of History manythings, in that sick-room of Louis, are now visible, which to theCourtiers there present were invisible. For indeed it is well said,'in every object there is inexhaustible meaning; the eye sees in itwhat the eye brings means of seeing.' To Newton and to Newton's DogDiamond, what a different pair of Universes; while the painting onthe optical retina of both was, most likely, the same! Let theReader here, in this sick-room of Louis, endeavour to look with themind too. Time was when men could (so to speak) of a given man, bynourishing and decorating him with fit appliances, to the duepitch, make themselves a King, almost as the Bees do; and what wasstill more to the purpose, loyally obey him when made. The man sonourished and decorated, thenceforth named royal, does verily bearrule; and is said, and even thought, to be, for example,'prosecuting conquests in Flanders,' when he lets himself likeluggage be carried thither: and no light luggage; covering miles ofroad. For he has his unblushing Chateauroux, with her band-boxesand rouge-pots, at his side; so that, at every new station, awooden gallery must be run up between their lodgings. He has notonly his Maison-Bouche, and Valetaille without end, but his veryTroop of Players, with their pasteboard coulisses, thunder-barrels,their kettles, fiddles, stage-wardrobes, portable larders (andchaffering and quarrelling enough); all mounted in wagons,tumbrils, second-hand chaises,--sufficient not to conquer Flanders,but the patience of the world. With such a flood of loud jinglingappurtenances does he lumber along, prosecuting his conquests inFlanders; wonderful to behold. So nevertheless it was and had been:to some solitary thinker it might seem strange; but even to himinevitable, not unnatural. For ours is a most fictile world; and man is the most fingentplastic of creatures. A world not fixable; not fathomable! Anunfathomable Somewhat, which is Not we; which we can work with, andlive amidst,--and model, miraculously in our miraculous Being, andname World.--But if the very Rocks and Rivers (as Metaphysicteaches) are, in strict language, made by those outward Senses ofours, how much more, by the Inward Sense, are all Phenomena of thespiritual kind: Dignities, Authorities, Holies, Unholies! Whichinward sense, moreover is not permanent like the outward ones, butforever growing and changing. Does not the Black African take ofSticks and Old Clothes (say, exported Monmouth-Street cast-clothes)what will suffice, and of these, cunningly combining them,fabricate for himself an Eidolon (Idol, or Thing Seen), and name itMumbo-Jumbo; which he can thenceforth pray to, with upturnedawestruck eye, not without
hope? The white European mocks; butought rather to consider; and see whether he, at home, could not dothe like a little more wisely. So it was, we say, in those conquests of Flanders, thirty yearsago: but so it no longer is. Alas, much more lies sick than poorLouis: not the French King only, but the French Kingship; this too,after long rough tear and wear, is breaking down. The world is allso changed; so much that seemed vigorous has sunk decrepit, so muchthat was not is beginning to be!--Borne over the Atlantic, to theclosing ear of Louis, King by the Grace of God, what sounds arethese; muffled ominous, new in our centuries? Boston Harbour isblack with unexpected Tea: behold a Pennsylvanian Congress gather;and ere long, on Bunker Hill, Democracy announcing, inriflevolleys death-winged, under her Star Banner, to the tune ofYankee- doodle-doo, that she is born, and, whirlwind-like, willenvelope the whole world! Sovereigns die and Sovereignties: how all dies, and is for aTime only; is a 'Time-phantasm, yet reckons itself real!' TheMerovingian Kings, slowly wending on their bullock-carts throughthe streets of Paris, with their long hair flowing, have all wendedslowly on,--into Eternity. Charlemagne sleeps at Salzburg, withtruncheon grounded; only Fable expecting that he will awaken.Charles the Hammer, Pepin Bow-legged, where now is their eye ofmenace, their voice of command? Rollo and his shaggy Northmen covernot the Seine with ships; but have sailed off on a longer voyage.The hair of Towhead (Tete d'etoupes) now needs no combing;Iron-cutter (Taillefer) cannot cut a cobweb; shrill Fredegonda,shrill Brunhilda have had out their hot lifescold, and lie silent,their hot life-frenzy cooled. Neither from that black Tower deNesle descends now darkling the doomed gallant, in his sack, to theSeine waters; plunging into Night: for Dame de Nesle how cares notfor this world's gallantry, heeds not this world's scandal; Dame deNesle is herself gone into Night. They are all gone; sunk,--down,down, with the tumult they made; and the rolling and the tramplingof ever new generations passes over them, and they hear it not anymore forever. And yet withal has there not been realised somewhat? Consider(to go no further) these strong Stone-edifices, and what they hold!Mud-Town of the Borderers (Lutetia Parisiorum or Barisiorum) haspaved itself, has spread over all the Seine Islands, and far andwide on each bank, and become City of Paris, sometimes boasting tobe 'Athens of Europe,' and even 'Capital of the Universe.' Stonetowers frown aloft; long-lasting, grim with a thousand years.Cathedrals are there, and a Creed (or memory of a Creed) in them;Palaces, and a State and Law. Thou seest the Smoke-vapour;unextinguished Breath as of a thing living. Labour's thousandhammers ring on her anvils: also a more miraculous Labour worksnoiselessly, not with the Hand but with the Thought. How havecunning workmen in all crafts, with their cunning head andright-hand, tamed the Four Elements to be their ministers; yokingthe winds to their Sea-chariot, making the very Stars theirNautical Timepiece;--and written and collected a Bibliotheque duRoi; among whose Books is the Hebrew Book! A wondrous race ofcreatures: these have been realised, and what of Skill is in these:call not the Past Time, with all its confused wretchednesses, alost one. Observe, however, that of man's whole terrestrial possessionsand attainments, unspeakably the noblest are his Symbols, divine ordivine- seeming; under which he marches and fights, with victoriousassurance, in this life-battle: what we can call his RealisedIdeals. Of which realised ideals, omitting the rest, consider onlythese two: his Church, or spiritual Guidance; his Kingship,
ortemporal one. The Church: what a word was there; richer thanGolconda and the treasures of the world! In the heart of theremotest mountains rises the little Kirk; the Dead all slumberinground it, under their white memorial-stones, 'in hope of a happyresurrection:'--dull wert thou, O Reader, if never in any hour (sayof moaning midnight, when such Kirk hung spectral in the sky, andBeing was as if swallowed up of Darkness) it spoke to thee-thingsunspeakable, that went into thy soul's soul. Strong was he that hada Church, what we can call a Church: he stood thereby, though 'inthe centre of Immensities, in the conflux of Eternities,' yetmanlike towards God and man; the vague shoreless Universe hadbecome for him a firm city, and dwelling which he knew. Such virtuewas in Belief; in these words, well spoken: I believe. Well mightmen prize their Credo, and raise stateliest Temples for it, andreverend Hierarchies, and give it the tithe of their substance; itwas worth living for and dying for. Neither was that an inconsiderable moment when wild armed menfirst raised their Strongest aloft on the buckler-throne, and withclanging armour and hearts, said solemnly: Be thou our AcknowledgedStrongest! In such Acknowledged Strongest (well named King,Kon-ning, Canning, or Man that was Able) what a Symbol shone nowfor them,--significant with the destinies of the world! A Symbol oftrue Guidance in return for loving Obedience; properly, if he knewit, the prime want of man. A Symbol which might be called sacred;for is there not, in reverence for what is better than we, anindestructible sacredness? On which ground, too, it was well saidthere lay in the Acknowledged Strongest a divine right; as surelythere might in the Strongest, whether Acknowledged ornot,--considering who made him strong. And so, in the midst ofconfusions and unutterable incongruities (as all growth isconfused), did this of Royalty, with Loyalty environing it, springup; and grow mysteriously, subduing and assimilating (for aprinciple of Life was in it); till it also had grown world-great,and was among the main Facts of our modern existence. Such a Fact,that Louis XIV., for example, could answer the expostulatoryMagistrate with his "L'Etat c'est moi (The State? I am the State);"and be replied to by silence and abashed looks. So far had accidentand forethought; had your Louis Elevenths, with the leaden Virginin their hatband, and torture- wheels and conical oubliettes(man-eating!) under their feet; your Henri Fourths, with theirprophesied social millennium, 'when every peasant should have hisfowl in the pot;' and on the whole, the fertility of this mostfertile Existence (named of Good and Evil),--brought it, in thematter of the Kingship. Wondrous! Concerning which may we not againsay, that in the huge mass of Evil, as it rolls and swells, thereis ever some Good working imprisoned; working towards deliveranceand triumph? How such Ideals do realise themselves; and grow, wondrously,from amid the incongruous everfluctuating chaos of the Actual:this is what World- History, if it teach any thing, has to teachus, How they grow; and, after long stormy growth, bloom out mature,supreme; then quickly (for the blossom is brief) fall into decay;sorrowfully dwindle; and crumble down, or rush down, noisily ornoiselessly disappearing. The blossom is so brief; as of somecentennial Cactus-flower, which after a century of waiting shinesout for hours! Thus from the day when rough Clovis, in the Champ deMars, in sight of his whole army, had to cleave retributively thehead of that rough Frank, with sudden battleaxe, and the fiercewords, "It was thus thou clavest the vase" (St. Remi's and mine)"at Soissons," forward to Louis the Grand and his L'Etat c'est moi,we count some twelve hundred years: and now this the very nextLouis is dying, and so much dying with him!-Nay, thus too, ifCatholicism, with and against Feudalism (but not against Nature andher bounty),
gave us English a Shakspeare and Era of Shakspeare,and so produced a blossom of Catholicism-it was not tillCatholicism itself, so far as Law could abolish it, had beenabolished here. But of those decadent ages in which no Ideal either grows orblossoms? When Belief and Loyalty have passed away, and only thecant and false echo of them remains; and all Solemnity has becomePageantry; and the Creed of persons in authority has become one oftwo things: an Imbecility or a Macchiavelism? Alas, of these agesWorld-History can take no notice; they have to become compressedmore and more, and finally suppressed in the Annals of Mankind;blotted out as spurious,--which indeed they are. Hapless ages:wherein, if ever in any, it is an unhappiness to be born. To beborn, and to learn only, by every tradition and example, that God'sUniverse is Belial's and a Lie; and 'the Supreme Quack' thehierarch of men! In which mournfulest faith, nevertheless, do wenot see whole generations (two, and sometimes even threesuccessively) live, what they call living; and vanish,--withoutchance of reappearance? In such a decadent age, or one fast verging that way, had ourpoor Louis been born. Grant also that if the French Kingship hadnot, by course of Nature, long to live, he of all men was the manto accelerate Nature. The Blossom of French Royalty, cactus-like,has accordingly made an astonishing progress. In those Metz days,it was still standing with all its petals, though bedimmed byOrleans Regents and Roue Ministers and Cardinals; but now, in 1774,we behold it bald, and the virtue nigh gone out of it. Disastrous indeed does it look with those same 'realisedideals,' one and all! The Church, which in its palmy season, sevenhundred years ago, could make an Emperor wait barefoot, inpenanceshift; three days, in the snow, has for centuries seenitself decaying; reduced even to forget old purposes and enmities,and join interest with the Kingship: on this younger strength itwould fain stay its decrepitude; and these two will henceforthstand and fall together. Alas, the Sorbonne still sits there, inits old mansion; but mumbles only jargon of dotage, and no longerleads the consciences of men: not the Sorbonne; it isEncyclopedies, Philosophie, and who knows what nameless innumerablemultitude of ready Writers, profane Singers, Romancers, Players,Disputators, and Pamphleteers, that now form the Spiritual Guidanceof the world. The world's Practical Guidance too is lost, or hasglided into the same miscellaneous hands. Who is it that the King(Able-man, named also Roi, Rex, or Director) now guides? His ownhuntsmen and prickers: when there is to be no hunt, it is wellsaid, 'Le Roi ne fera rien (To-day his Majesty will do nothing).(Memoires sur la Vie privee de Marie Antoinette, par Madame Campan(Paris, 1826), i. 12). He lives and lingers there, because he isliving there, and none has yet laid hands on him. The nobles, in like manner, have nearly ceased either to guideor misguide; and are now, as their master is, little more thanornamental figures. It is long since they have done with butcheringone another or their king: the Workers, protected, encouraged byMajesty, have ages ago built walled towns, and there ply theircrafts; will permit no Robber Baron to 'live by the saddle,' butmaintain a gallows to prevent it. Ever since that period of theFronde, the Noble has changed his fighting sword into a courtrapier, and now loyally attends his king as ministering satellite;divides the spoil, not now by violence and murder, but bysoliciting and finesse. These men call themselves supports of thethrone, singular gilt-pasteboard caryatides in that singularedifice! For the rest, their privileges every way are now muchcurtailed. That law authorizing a Seigneur, as he returned fromhunting, to kill not more than two Serfs, and refresh his feet intheir warm blood
and bowels, has fallen into perfect desuetude,--and even into incredibility; for if Deputy Lapoule can believe init, and call for the abrogation of it, so cannot we. (Histoire dela Revolution Francaise, par Deux Amis de la Liberte (Paris, 1793),ii. 212.) No Charolois, for these last fifty years, though never sofond of shooting, has been in use to bring down slaters andplumbers, and see them roll from their roofs; (Lacretelle, Histoirede France pendant le 18me Siecle (Paris, 1819) i. 271.) butcontents himself with partridges and grouse. Close- viewed, theirindustry and function is that of dressing gracefully and eatingsumptuously. As for their debauchery and depravity, it is perhapsunexampled since the era of Tiberius and Commodus. Nevertheless,one has still partly a feeling with the lady Marechale: "Dependupon it, Sir, God thinks twice before damning a man of thatquality." (Dulaure, vii. 261.) These people, of old, surely hadvirtues, uses; or they could not have been there. Nay, one virtuethey are still required to have (for mortal man cannot live withouta conscience): the virtue of perfect readiness to fight duels. Such are the shepherds of the people: and now how fares it withthe flock? With the flock, as is inevitable, it fares ill, and everworse. They are not tended, they are only regularly shorn. They aresent for, to do statute-labour, to pay statute-taxes; to fattenbattle-fields (named 'Bed of honour') with their bodies, inquarrels which are not theirs; their hand and toil is in everypossession of man; but for themselves they have little or nopossession. Untaught, uncomforted, unfed; to pine dully in thickobscuration, in squalid destitution and obstruction: this is thelot of the millions; peuple taillable et corveable a merci etmisericorde. In Brittany they once rose in revolt at the firstintroduction of Pendulum Clocks; thinking it had something to dowith the Gabelle. Paris requires to be cleared out periodically bythe Police; and the horde of hungerstricken vagabonds to be sentwandering again over space--for a time. 'During one such periodicalclearance,' says Lacretelle, 'in May, 1750, the Police had presumedwithal to carry off some reputable people's children, in the hopeof extorting ransoms for them. The mothers fill the public placeswith cries of despair; crowds gather, get excited: so many women indestraction run about exaggerating the alarm: an absurd and horridfable arises among the people; it is said that the doctors haveordered a Great Person to take baths of young human blood for therestoration of his own, all spoiled by debaucheries. Some of therioters,' adds Lacretelle, quite coolly, 'were hanged on thefollowing days:' the Police went on. (Lacretelle, iii. 175.) O yepoor naked wretches! and this, then, is your inarticulate cry toHeaven, as of a dumb tortured animal, crying from uttermost depthsof pain and debasement? Do these azure skies, like a deadcrystalline vault, only reverberate the echo of it on you? Respondto it only by 'hanging on the following days?'-Not so: notforever! Ye are heard in Heaven. And the answer too will come,--ina horror of great darkness, and shakings of the world, and a cup oftrembling which all the nations shall drink. Remark, meanwhile, how from amid the wrecks and dust of thisuniversal Decay new Powers are fashioning themselves, adapted tothe new time and its destinies. Besides the old Noblesse,originally of Fighters, there is a new recognised Noblesse ofLawyers; whose gala-day and proud battle-day even now is. Anunrecognised Noblesse of Commerce; powerful enough, with money inits pocket. Lastly, powerfulest of all, least recognised of all, aNoblesse of Literature; without steel on their thigh, without goldin their purse, but with the 'grand thaumaturgic faculty ofThought' in their head. French Philosophism has arisen; in whichlittle word how much do we include! Here, indeed, lies properly thecardinal symptom of the whole wide-spread malady. Faith is goneout; Scepticism is come in. Evil abounds and accumulates: no manhas Faith to withstand it, to amend it, to begin by amendinghimself; it must even go on
accumulating. While hollow langour andvacuity is the lot of the Upper, and want and stagnation of theLower, and universal misery is very certain, what other thing iscertain? That a Lie cannot be believed! Philosophism knows onlythis: her other belief is mainly that, in spiritual supersensualmatters no Belief is possible. Unhappy! Nay, as yet theContradiction of a Lie is some kind of Belief; but the Lie with itsContradiction once swept away, what will remain? The fiveunsatiated Senses will remain, the sixth insatiable Sense (ofvanity); the whole daemonic nature of man will remain,--hurledforth to rage blindly without rule or rein; savage itself, yet withall the tools and weapons of civilisation; a spectacle new inHistory. In such a France, as in a Powder-tower, where fire unquenchedand now unquenchable is smoking and smouldering all round, hasLouis XV. lain down to die. With Pompadourism and Dubarryism, hisFleur-de-lis has been shamefully struck down in all lands and onall seas; Poverty invades even the Royal Exchequer, and Tax-farmingcan squeeze out no more; there is a quarrel of twenty-five years'standing with the Parlement; everywhere Want, Dishonesty, Unbelief,and hotbrained Sciolists for state-physicians: it is a portentoushour. Such things can the eye of History see in this sick-room of KingLouis, which were invisible to the Courtiers there. It is twentyyears, gone Christmas-day, since Lord Chesterfield, summing up whathe had noted of this same France, wrote, and sent off by post, thefollowing words, that have become memorable: 'In short, all thesymptoms which I have ever met with in History, previous to greatChanges and Revolutions in government, now exist and daily increasein France.' (Chesterfield's Letters: December 25th, 1753.)
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.I. Death of Louis XVChapter 1.1.III. Viaticum
For the present, however, the grand question with the Governorsof France is: Shall extreme unction, or other ghostly viaticum (toLouis, not to France), be administered? It is a deep question. For, if administered, if so much asspoken of, must not, on the very threshold of the business, WitchDubarry vanish; hardly to return should Louis even recover? Withher vanishes Duke d'Aiguillon and Company, and all theirArmida-Palace, as was said; Chaos swallows the whole again, andthere is left nothing but a smell of brimstone. But then, on theother hand, what will the Dauphinists and Choiseulists say? Naywhat may the royal martyr himself say, should he happen to getdeadly worse, without getting delirious? For the present, he stillkisses the Dubarry hand; so we, from the ante-room, can note: butafterwards? Doctors' bulletins may run as they are ordered, but itis 'confluent small-pox,'--of which, as is whispered too, theGatekeepers's once so buxom Daughter lies ill: and Louis XV. is nota man to be trifled with in his viaticum. Was he not wont tocatechise his very girls in the Parc-aux-cerfs, and pray with andfor them, that they might preserve their--orthodoxy? (Dulaure,viii. (217), Besenval, &c.) A strange fact, not an unexampledone; for there is no animal so strange as man. For the moment, indeed, it were all well, could ArchbishopBeaumont but be prevailed upon--to wink with one eye! Alas,Beaumont would himself so fain do it: for, singular to tell, theChurch too, and whole posthumous hope of Jesuitism, now hangs bythe apron of this same
unmentionable woman. But then 'the force ofpublic opinion'? Rigorous Christophe de Beaumont, who has spent hislife in persecuting hysterical Jansenists and incredulousNon-confessors; or even their dead bodies, if no better mightbe,--how shall he now open Heaven's gate, and give Absolution withthe corpus delicti still under his nose? Our Grand-AlmonerRoche-Aymon, for his part, will not higgle with a royal sinnerabout turning of the key: but there are other Churchmen; there is aKing's Confessor, foolish Abbe Moudon; and Fanaticism and Decencyare not yet extinct. On the whole, what is to be done? The doorscan be well watched; the Medical Bulletin adjusted; and much, asusual, be hoped for from time and chance. The doors are well watched, no improper figure can enter.Indeed, few wish to enter; for the putrid infection reaches even tothe Oeil-de-Boeuf; so that 'more than fifty fall sick, and tendie.' Mesdames the Princesses alone wait at the loathsome sick-bed;impelled by filial piety. The three Princesses, Graille, Chiffe,Coche (Rag, Snip, Pig, as he was wont to name them), are assiduousthere; when all have fled. The fourth Princess Loque (Dud), as weguess, is already in the Nunnery, and can only give her orisons.Poor Graille and Sisterhood, they have never known a Father: suchis the hard bargain Grandeur must make. Scarcely at the Debotter(when Royalty took off its boots) could they snatch up their'enormous hoops, gird the long train round their waists, huddle ontheir black cloaks of taffeta up to the very chin;' and so, in fitappearance of full dress, 'every evening at six,' walk majesticallyin; receive their royal kiss on the brow; and then walkmajestically out again, to embroidery, small- scandal, prayers, andvacancy. If Majesty came some morning, with coffee of its ownmaking, and swallowed it with them hastily while the dogs wereuncoupling for the hunt, it was received as a grace of Heaven.(Campan, i. 11-36.) Poor withered ancient women! in the wildtossings that yet await your fragile existence, before it becrushed and broken; as ye fly through hostile countries, overtempestuous seas, are almost taken by the Turks; and wholly, in theSansculottic Earthquake, know not your right hand from your left,be this always an assured place in your remembrance: for the actwas good and loving! To us also it is a little sunny spot, in thatdismal howling waste, where we hardly find another. Meanwhile, what shall an impartial prudent Courtier do? In thesedelicate circumstances, while not only death or life, but evensacrament or no sacrament, is a question, the skilfulest mayfalter. Few are so happy as the Duke d'Orleans and the Prince deConde; who can themselves, with volatile salts, attend the King'sante-chamber; and, at the same time, send their brave sons (Duke deChartres, Egalite that is to be; Duke de Bourbon, one day Condetoo, and famous among Dotards) to wait upon the Dauphin. Withanother few, it is a resolution taken; jacta est alea. OldRichelieu,--when Beaumont, driven by public opinion, is at last forentering the sick-room,-will twitch him by the rochet, into arecess; and there, with his old dissipated mastiff-face, and theoiliest vehemence, be seen pleading (and even, as we judge byBeaumont's change of colour, prevailing) 'that the King be notkilled by a proposition in Divinity.' Duke de Fronsac, son ofRichelieu, can follow his father: when the Cure of Versailleswhimpers something about sacraments, he will threaten to 'throw himout of the window if he mention such a thing.' Happy these, we may say; but to the rest that hover between twoopinions, is it not trying? He who would understand to what a passCatholicism, and much else, had now got; and how the symbols of theHoliest have become gambling-dice of the Basest,--must read thenarrative of those things by Besenval, and Soulavie, and the otherCourt Newsmen of the time. He will see the Versailles Galaxy allscattered asunder, grouped into new ever- shifting Constellations.There are
nods and sagacious glances; go- betweens, silk dowagersmysteriously gliding, with smiles for this constellation, sighs forthat: there is tremor, of hope or desperation, in several hearts.There is the pale grinning Shadow of Death, ceremoniously usheredalong by another grinning Shadow, of Etiquette: at intervals thegrowl of Chapel Organs, like prayer by machinery; proclaiming, asin a kind of horrid diabolic horse-laughter, Vanity of vanities,all is Vanity!
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.I. Death of Louis XVChapter 1.1.IV. Louis the Unforgotten
Poor Louis! With these it is a hollow phantasmagory, where likemimes they mope and mowl, and utter false sounds for hire; but withthee it is frightful earnest. Frightful to all men is Death; from of old named King ofTerrors. Our little compact home of an Existence, where we dweltcomplaining, yet as in a home, is passing, in dark agonies, into anUnknown of Separation, Foreignness, unconditioned Possibility. TheHeathen Emperor asks of his soul: Into what places art thou nowdeparting? The Catholic King must answer: To the Judgment-bar ofthe Most High God! Yes, it is a summing-up of Life; a finalsettling, and givingin the 'account of the deeds done in thebody:' they are done now; and lie there unalterable, and do beartheir fruits, long as Eternity shall last. Louis XV. had always the kingliest abhorrence of Death. Unlikethat praying Duke of Orleans, Egalite's grandfather,--for indeedseveral of them had a touch of madness,--who honesty believed thatthere was no Death! He, if the Court Newsmen can be believed,started up once on a time, glowing with sulphurous contempt andindignation on his poor Secretary, who had stumbled on the words,feu roi d'Espagne (the late King of Spain): "Feu roi,Monsieur?"--"Monseigneur," hastily answered the trembling butadroit man of business, "c'est une titre qu'ils prennent ('tis atitle they take)." (Besenval, i. 199.) Louis, we say, was not sohappy; but he did what he could. He would not suffer Death to bespoken of; avoided the sight of churchyards, funereal monuments,and whatsoever could bring it to mind. It is the resource of theOstrich; who, hard hunted, sticks his foolish head in the ground,and would fain forget that his foolish unseeing body is not unseentoo. Or sometimes, with a spasmodic antagonism, significant of thesame thing, and of more, he would go; or stopping his courtcarriages, would send into churchyards, and ask 'how many newgraves there were today,' though it gave his poor Pompadour thedisagreeablest qualms. We can figure the thought of Louis that day,when, all royally caparisoned for hunting, he met, at some suddenturning in the Wood of Senart, a ragged Peasant with a coffin: "Forwhom?"--It was for a poor brother slave, whom Majesty had sometimesnoticed slaving in those quarters. "What did he die of?"--"Ofhunger:"--the King gave his steed the spur. (Campan, iii. 39.) But figure his thought, when Death is now clutching at his ownheart- strings, unlooked for, inexorable! Yes, poor Louis, Deathhas found thee. No palace walls or life-guards, gorgeous tapestriesor gilt buckram of stiffest ceremonial could keep him out; but heis here, here at thy very life-breath, and will extinguish it.Thou, whose whole existence hitherto was a chimera and scenic show,at length becomest a reality: sumptuous Versailles bursts asunder,like a dream, into void Immensity; Time is done, and all thescaffolding of Time falls wrecked with hideous clangour round thysoul: the pale Kingdoms yawn open; there must thou enter, naked,all
unking'd, and await what is appointed thee! Unhappy man, thereas thou turnest, in dull agony, on thy bed of weariness, what athought is thine! Purgatory and Hell-fire, now all-too possible, inthe prospect; in the retrospect,--alas, what thing didst thou dothat were not better undone; what mortal didst thou generouslyhelp; what sorrow hadst thou mercy on? Do the 'five hundredthousand' ghosts, who sank shamefully on so many battle-fields fromRossbach to Quebec, that thy Harlot might take revenge for anepigram,--crowd round thee in this hour? Thy foul Harem; the cursesof mothers, the tears and infamy of daughters? Miserable man! thou'hast done evil as thou couldst:' thy whole existence seems onehideous abortion and mistake of Nature; the use and meaning of theenot yet known. Wert thou a fabulous Griffin, devouring the works ofmen; daily dragging virgins to thy cave;--clad also in scales thatno spear would pierce: no spear but Death's? A Griffin not fabulousbut real! Frightful, O Louis, seem these moments for thee.--We willpry no further into the horrors of a sinner's death-bed. And yet let no meanest man lay flattering unction to his soul.Louis was a Ruler; but art not thou also one? His wide France, lookat it from the Fixed Stars (themselves not yet Infinitude), is nowider than thy narrow brickfield, where thou too didst faithfully,or didst unfaithfully. Man, 'Symbol of Eternity imprisoned into'Time!' it is not thy works, which are all mortal, infinitelylittle, and the greatest no greater than the least, but only theSpirit thou workest in, that can have worth or continuance. But reflect, in any case, what a life-problem this of poorLouis, when he rose as Bien-Aime from that Metz sick-bed, reallywas! What son of Adam could have swayed such incoherences intocoherence? Could he? Blindest Fortune alone has cast him on the topof it: he swims there; can as little sway it as the drift-log swaysthe wind-tossed moon-stirred Atlantic. "What have I done to be soloved?" he said then. He may say now: What have I done to be sohated? Thou hast done nothing, poor Louis! Thy fault is properlyeven this, that thou didst nothing. What could poor Louis do?Abdicate, and wash his hands of it,--in favour of the first thatwould accept! Other clear wisdom there was none for him. As it was,he stood gazing dubiously, the absurdest mortal extant (a verySolecism Incarnate), into the absurdest confused world;--wherein atlost nothing seemed so certain as that he, the incarnate Solecism,had five senses; that were Flying Tables (Tables Volantes, whichvanish through the floor, to come back reloaded). and aParc-aux-cerfs. Whereby at least we have again this historical curiosity: ahuman being in an original position; swimming passively, as on someboundless 'Mother of Dead Dogs,' towards issues which he partlysaw. For Louis had withal a kind of insight in him. So, when a newMinister of Marine, or what else it might be, came announcing hisnew era, the Scarlet-woman would hear from the lips of Majesty atsupper: "He laid out his ware like another; promised thebeautifulest things in the world; not a thing of which will come:he does not know this region; he will see." Or again: "'Tis thetwentieth time I hear all that; France will never get a Navy, Ibelieve." How touching also was this: "If I were Lieutenant ofPolice, I would prohibit those Paris cabriolets." (Journal deMadame de Hausset, p. 293, &c.) Doomed mortal;--for is it not a doom to be Solecism incarnate! Anew Roi Faineant, King Donothing; but with the strangest new Mayorof the Palace: no bow-legged Pepin now, but that same cloud-capt,fire-breathing Spectre of Democracy; incalculable, which isenveloping the world!--Was Louis no wickeder than this or the otherprivate Donothing and Eatall; such as we
often enough see, underthe name of Man, and even Man of Pleasure, cumbering God's diligentCreation, for a time? Say, wretcheder! His Life- solecism was seenand felt of a whole scandalised world; him endless Oblivion cannotengulf, and swallow to endless depths,--not yet for a generation ortwo. However, be this as it will, we remark, not without interest,that 'on the evening of the 4th,' Dame Dubarry issues from thesick-room, with perceptible 'trouble in her visage.' It is thefourth evening of May, year of Grace 1774. Such a whispering in theOeil-de-Boeuf! Is he dying then? What can be said is, that Dubarryseems making up her packages; she sails weeping through her giltboudoirs, as if taking leave. D'Aiguilon and Company are near theirlast card; nevertheless they will not yet throw up the game. But asfor the sacramental controversy, it is as good as settled withoutbeing mentioned; Louis can send for his Abbe Moudon in the courseof next night, be confessed by him, some say for the space of'seventeen minutes,' and demand the sacraments of his ownaccord. Nay, already, in the afternoon, behold is not this yourSorceress Dubarry with the handkerchief at her eyes, mountingD'Aiguillon's chariot; rolling off in his Duchess's consolatoryarms? She is gone; and her place knows her no more. Vanish, falseSorceress; into Space! Needless to hover at neighbouring Ruel; forthy day is done. Shut are the royal palace-gates for evermore;hardly in coming years shalt thou, under cloud of night, descendonce, in black domino, like a black nightbird, and disturb thefair Antoinette's music-party in the Park: all Birds of Paradiseflying from thee, and musical windpipes growing mute. (Campan, i.197.) Thou unclean, yet unmalignant, not unpitiable thing! What acourse was thine: from that first trucklebed (in Joan of Arc'scountry) where thy mother bore thee, with tears, to an unnamedfather: forward, through lowest subterranean depths, and overhighest sunlit heights, of Harlotdom and Rascaldom--to theguillotine-axe, which shears away thy vainly whimpering head! Restthere uncursed; only buried and abolished: what else befittedthee? Louis, meanwhile, is in considerable impatience for hissacraments; sends more than once to the window, to see whether theyare not coming. Be of comfort, Louis, what comfort thou canst: theyare under way, those sacraments. Towards six in the morning, theyarrive. Cardinal GrandAlmoner Roche-Aymon is here, inpontificals, with his pyxes and his tools; he approaches the royalpillow; elevates his wafer; mutters or seems to muttersomewhat;--and so (as the Abbe Georgel, in words that stick to one,expresses it) has Louis 'made the amende honorable to God;' so doesyour Jesuit construe it.--"Wa, Wa," as the wild Clotaire groanedout, when life was departing, "what great God is this that pullsdown the strength of the strongest kings!" (Gregorius Turonensis,Histor. lib. iv. cap. 21.) The amende honorable, what 'legal apology' you will, toGod:--but not, if D'Aiguillon can help it, to man. Dubarry stillhovers in his mansion at Ruel; and while there is life, there ishope. GrandAlmoner Roche-Aymon, accordingly (for he seems to be inthe secret), has no sooner seen his pyxes and gear repacked, thenhe is stepping majestically forth again, as if the work were done!But King's Confessor Abbe Moudon starts forward; with anxiousacidulent face, twitches him by the sleeve; whispers in his ear.Whereupon the poor Cardinal must turn round; and declare audibly;"That his Majesty repents of any subjects of scandal he may havegiven (a pu donner); and purposes, by the strength of Heavenassisting him, to avoid the like--for the future!" Words
listenedto by Richelieu with mastiff- face, growing blacker; answered to,aloud, 'with an epithet,'-which Besenval will not repeat. OldRichelieu, conqueror of Minorca, companion of FlyingTable orgies,perforator of bedroom walls, (Besenval, i. 159-172. Genlis; Duc deLevis, &c.) is thy day also done? Alas, the Chapel organs may keep going; the Shrine of SainteGenevieve be let down, and pulled up again,--without effect. In theevening the whole Court, with Dauphin and Dauphiness, assist at theChapel: priests are hoarse with chanting their 'Prayers of FortyHours;' and the heaving bellows blow. Almost frightful! For thevery heaven blackens; battering rain-torrents dash, with thunder;almost drowning the organ's voice: and electric fire-flashes makethe very flambeaux on the altar pale. So that the most, as we aretold, retired, when it was over, with hurried steps, 'in a state ofmeditation (recueillement),' and said little or nothing. (Weber,Memoires concernant Marie-Antoinette (London, 1809), i. 22.) So it has lasted for the better half of a fortnight; the Dubarrygone almost a week. Besenval says, all the world was gettingimpatient que cela finit; that poor Louis would have done with it.It is now the 10th of May 1774. He will soon have done now. This tenth May day falls into the loathsome sick-bed; but dull,unnoticed there: for they that look out of the windows are quitedarkened; the cistern-wheel moves discordant on its axis; Life,like a spent steed, is panting towards the goal. In their remoteapartments, Dauphin and Dauphiness stand road-ready; all grooms andequerries booted and spurred: waiting for some signal to escape thehouse of pestilence. (One grudges to interfere with the beautifultheatrical 'candle,' which Madame Campan (i. 79) has lit on thisoccasion, and blown out at the moment of death. What candles mightbe lit or blown out, in so large an Establishment as that ofVersailles, no man at such distance would like to affirm: at thesame time, as it was two o'clock in a May Afternoon, and theseroyal Stables must have been some five or six hundred yards fromthe royal sick-room, the 'candle' does threaten to go out in spiteof us. It remains burning indeed--in her fantasy; throwing light onmuch in those Memoires of hers.) And, hark! across theOeil-de-Boeuf, what sound is that; sound 'terrible and absolutelylike thunder'? It is the rush of the whole Court, rushing as inwager, to salute the new Sovereigns: Hail to your Majesties! TheDauphin and Dauphiness are King and Queen! Over-powered with manyemotions, they two fall on their knees together, and, withstreaming tears, exclaim, "O God, guide us, protect us; we are tooyoung to reign!"--Too young indeed. Thus, in any case, 'with a sound absolutely like thunder,' hasthe Horologe of Time struck, and an old Era passed away. The Louisthat was, lies forsaken, a mass of abhorred clay; abandoned 'tosome poor persons, and priests of the Chapelle Ardente,'--who makehaste to put him 'in two lead coffins, pouring in abundant spiritsof wine.' The new Louis with his Court is rolling towards Choisy,through the summer afternoon: the royal tears still flow; but aword mispronounced by Monseigneur d'Artois sets them all laughing,and they weep no more. Light mortals, how ye walk your lightlife-minuet, over bottomless abysses, divided from you by afilm! For the rest, the proper authorities felt that no Funeral couldbe too unceremonious. Besenval himself thinks it was unceremoniousenough. Two carriages containing two noblemen of the usher species,and a Versailles clerical person; some score of mounted pages, somefifty
palfreniers; these, with torches, but not so much as inblack, start from Versailles on the second evening with theirleaden bier. At a high trot they start; and keep up that pace. Forthe jibes (brocards) of those Parisians, who stand planted in tworows, all the way to St. Denis, and 'give vent to their pleasantry,the characteristic of the nation,' do not tempt one to slacken.Towards midnight the vaults of St. Denis receive their own; unweptby any eye of all these; if not by poor Loque his neglectedDaughter's, whose Nunnery is hard by. Him they crush down, and huddle under-ground, in this impatientway; him and his era of sin and tyranny and shame; for behold a NewEra is come; the future all the brighter that the past wasbase.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.II. The Paper AgeChapter 1.2.I. Astraea Redux
A paradoxical philosopher, carrying to the uttermost length thataphorism of Montesquieu's, 'Happy the people whose annals aretiresome,' has said, 'Happy the people whose annals are vacant.' Inwhich saying, mad as it looks, may there not still be found somegrain of reason? For truly, as it has been written, 'Silence isdivine,' and of Heaven; so in all earthly things too there is asilence which is better than any speech. Consider it well, theEvent, the thing which can be spoken of and recorded, is it not, inall cases, some disruption, some solution of continuity? Were iteven a glad Event, it involves change, involves loss (of activeForce); and so far, either in the past or in the present, is anirregularity, a disease. Stillest perseverance were ourblessedness; not dislocation and alteration,--could they beavoided. The oak grows silently, in the forest, a thousand years; only inthe thousandth year, when the woodman arrives with his axe, isthere heard an echoing through the solitudes; and the oak announcesitself when, with a far-sounding crash, it falls. How silent toowas the planting of the acorn; scattered from the lap of somewandering wind! Nay, when our oak flowered, or put on its leaves(its glad Events), what shout of proclamation could there be?Hardly from the most observant a word of recognition. These thingsbefell not, they were slowly done; not in an hour, but through theflight of days: what was to be said of it? This hour seemedaltogether as the last was, as the next would be. It is thus everywhere that foolish Rumour babbles not of whatwas done, but of what was misdone or undone; and foolish History(ever, more or less, the written epitomised synopsis of Rumour)knows so little that were not as well unknown. Attila Invasions,Walter-the-Penniless Crusades, Sicilian Vespers, Thirty-Years Wars:mere sin and misery; not work, but hindrance of work! For theEarth, all this while, was yearly green and yellow with her kindharvests; the hand of the craftsman, the mind of the thinker restednot: and so, after all, and in spite of all, we have this soglorious high-domed blossoming World; concerning which, poorHistory may well ask, with wonder, Whence it came? She knows solittle of it, knows so much of what obstructed it, what would haverendered it impossible. Such, nevertheless, by necessity or foolishchoice, is her rule and practice; whereby that paradox, 'Happy thepeople whose annals are vacant,' is not without its true side.
And yet, what seems more pertinent to note here, there is astillness, not of unobstructed growth, but of passive inertness,and symptom of imminent downfall. As victory is silent, so isdefeat. Of the opposing forces the weaker has resigned itself; thestronger marches on, noiseless now, but rapid, inevitable: the falland overturn will not be noiseless. How all grows, and has itsperiod, even as the herbs of the fields, be it annual, centennial,millennial! All grows and dies, each by its own wondrous laws, inwondrous fashion of its own; spiritual things most wondrously ofall. Inscrutable, to the wisest, are these latter; not to beprophesied of, or understood. If when the oak stands proudliestflourishing to the eye, you know that its heart is sound, it is notso with the man; how much less with the Society, with the Nation ofmen! Of such it may be affirmed even that the superficial aspect,that the inward feeling of full health, is generally ominous. Forindeed it is of apoplexy, so to speak, and a plethoric lazy habitof body, that Churches, Kingships, Social Institutions, oftenestdie. Sad, when such Institution plethorically says to itself, Takethy ease, thou hast goods laid up;--like the fool of the Gospel, towhom it was answered, Fool, this night thy life shall be requiredof thee! Is it the healthy peace, or the ominous unhealthy, that rests onFrance, for these next Ten Years? Over which the Historian can passlightly, without call to linger: for as yet events are not, muchless performances. Time of sunniest stillness;--shall we call it,what all men thought it, the new Age of God? Call it at least, ofPaper; which in many ways is the succedaneum of Gold. Bank-paper,wherewith you can still buy when there is no gold left; Book-paper,splendent with Theories, Philosophies, Sensibilities,--beautifulart, not only of revealing Thought, but also of so beautifullyhiding from us the want of Thought! Paper is made from the rags ofthings that did once exist; there are endless excellences inPaper.--What wisest Philosophe, in this halcyon uneventful period,could prophesy that there was approaching, big with darkness andconfusion, the event of events? Hope ushers in a Revolution,--asearthquakes are preceded by bright weather. On the Fifth of May,fifteen years hence, old Louis will not be sending for theSacraments; but a new Louis, his grandson, with the whole pomp ofastonished intoxicated France, will be opening theStates-General. Dubarrydom and its D'Aiguillons are gone forever. There is ayoung, still docile, well-intentioned King; a young, beautiful andbountiful, well- intentioned Queen; and with them all France, as itwere, become young. Maupeou and his Parlement have to vanish intothick night; respectable Magistrates, not indifferent to theNation, were it only for having been opponents of the Court, candescend unchained from their 'steep rocks at Croe in Combrailles'and elsewhere, and return singing praises: the old Parlement ofParis resumes its functions. Instead of a profligate bankrupt AbbeTerray, we have now, for Controller-General, a virtuous philosophicTurgot, with a whole Reformed France in his head. By whomwhatsoever is wrong, in Finance or otherwise, will be righted,--asfar as possible. Is it not as if Wisdom herself were henceforth tohave seat and voice in the Council of Kings? Turgot has takenoffice with the noblest plainness of speech to that effect; beenlistened to with the noblest royal trustfulness. (Turgot's Letter:Condorcet, Vie de Turgot (Oeuvres de Condorcet, t. v.), p. 67. Thedate is 24th August, 1774.) It is true, as King Louis objects,"They say he never goes to mass;" but liberal France likes himlittle worse for that; liberal France answers, "The Abbe Terrayalways went." Philosophism sees, for the first time, a Philosophe(or even a Philosopher) in office: she in all things willapplausively second him; neither will light old Maurepas obstruct,if he can easily help it.
Then how 'sweet' are the manners; vice 'losing all itsdeformity;' becoming decent (as established things, makingregulations for themselves, do); becoming almost a kind of 'sweet'virtue! Intelligence so abounds; irradiated by wit and the art ofconversation. Philosophism sits joyful in her glittering saloons,the dinner-guest of Opulence grown ingenuous, the very nobles proudto sit by her; and preaches, lifted up over all Bastilles, a comingmillennium. From far Ferney, Patriarch Voltaire gives sign:veterans Diderot, D'Alembert have lived to see this day; these withtheir younger Marmontels, Morellets, Chamforts, Raynals, make gladthe spicy board of rich ministering Dowager, of philosophicFarmer-General. O nights and suppers of the gods! Of a truth, thelong-demonstrated will now be done: 'the Age of Revolutionsapproaches' (as Jean Jacques wrote), but then of happy blessedones. Man awakens from his long somnambulism; chases the Phantasmsthat beleagured and bewitched him. Behold the new morningglittering down the eastern steeps; fly, false Phantasms, from itsshafts of light; let the Absurd fly utterly forsaking this lowerEarth for ever. It is Truth and Astraea Redux that (in the shape ofPhilosophism) henceforth reign. For what imaginable purpose was manmade, if not to be 'happy'? By victorious Analysis, and Progress ofthe Species, happiness enough now awaits him. Kings can becomephilosophers; or else philosophers Kings. Let but Society be oncerightly constituted,--by victorious Analysis. The stomach that isempty shall be filled; the throat that is dry shall be wetted withwine. Labour itself shall be all one as rest; not grievous, butjoyous. Wheatfields, one would think, cannot come to grow untilled;no man made clayey, or made weary thereby;--unless indeed machinerywill do it? Gratuitous Tailors and Restaurateurs may start up, atfit intervals, one as yet sees not how. But if each will, accordingto rule of Benevolence, have a care for all, then surely--no onewill be uncared for. Nay, who knows but, by sufficiently victoriousAnalysis, 'human life may be indefinitely lengthened,' and men getrid of Death, as they have already done of the Devil? We shall thenbe happy in spite of Death and the Devil.--So preaches magniloquentPhilosophism her Redeunt Saturnia regna. The prophetic song of Paris and its Philosophes is audibleenough in the Versailles Oeil-deBoeuf; and the Oeil-de-Boeuf,intent chiefly on nearer blessedness, can answer, at worst, with apolite "Why not?" Good old cheery Maurepas is too joyful a PrimeMinister to dash the world's joy. Sufficient for the day be its ownevil. Cheery old man, he cuts his jokes, and hovers careless along;his cloak well adjusted to the wind, if so be he may please allpersons. The simple young King, whom a Maurepas cannot think oftroubling with business, has retired into the interior apartments;taciturn, irresolute; though with a sharpness of temper at times:he, at length, determines on a little smithwork; and so, inapprenticeship with a Sieur Gamain (whom one day he shall havelittle cause to bless), is learning to make locks. (Campan, i.125.) It appears further, he understood Geography; and could readEnglish. Unhappy young King, his childlike trust in that foolishold Maurepas deserved another return. But friend and foe, destinyand himself have combined to do him hurt. Meanwhile the fair young Queen, in her halls of state, walkslike a goddess of Beauty, the cynosure of all eyes; as yet minglesnot with affairs; heeds not the future; least of all, dreads it.Weber and Campan (Ib. i. 100-151. Weber, i. 11-50.) have picturedher, there within the royal tapestries, in bright boudoirs, baths,peignoirs, and the Grand and Little Toilette; with a wholebrilliant world waiting obsequious on her glance: fair youngdaughter of Time, what things has Time in store for thee! LikeEarth's brightest Appearance, she moves gracefully, environed withthe grandeur of Earth: a reality, and yet a magic vision; for,behold, shall not utter Darkness
swallow it! The soft young heartadopts orphans, portions meritorious maids, delights to succour thepoor,--such poor as come picturesquely in her way; and sets thefashion of doing it; for as was said, Benevolence has now begunreigning. In her Duchess de Polignac, in Princess de Lamballe, sheenjoys something almost like friendship; now too, after seven longyears, she has a child, and soon even a Dauphin, of her own; canreckon herself, as Queens go, happy in a husband. Events? The Grand events are but charitable Feasts of Morals(Fetes des moeurs), with their Prizes and Speeches; PoissardeProcessions to the Dauphin's cradle; above all, Flirtations, theirrise, progress, decline and fall. There are Snow-statues raised bythe poor in hard winter to a Queen who has given them fuel. Thereare masquerades, theatricals; beautifyings of little Trianon,purchase and repair of St. Cloud; journeyings from the summerCourt-Elysium to the winter one. There are poutings and grudgingsfrom the Sardinian Sisters-in-law (for the Princes too are wedded);little jealousies, which Court-Etiquette can moderate. Wholly thelightesthearted frivolous foam of Existence; yet an artfullyrefined foam; pleasant were it not so costly, like that whichmantles on the wine of Champagne! Monsieur, the King's elder Brother, has set up for a kind ofwit; and leans towards the Philosophe side. Monseigneur d'Artoispulls the mask from a fair impertinent; fights a duel inconsequence,-almost drawing blood. (Besenval, ii. 282-330.) He hasbreeches of a kind new in this world;--a fabulous kind; 'four talllackeys,' says Mercier, as if he had seen it, 'hold him up in theair, that he may fall into the garment without vestige of wrinkle;from which rigorous encasement the same four, in the same way, andwith more effort, must deliver him at night.' (Mercier, NouveauParis, iii. 147.) This last is he who now, as a gray time-worn man,sits desolate at Gratz; (A.D. 1834.) having winded up his destinywith the Three Days. In such sort are poor mortals swept andshovelled to and fro.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.II. The Paper AgeChapter 1.2.II. Petition in Hieroglyphs
With the working people, again it is not so well. Unlucky! Forthere are twenty to twenty-five millions of them. Whom, however, welump together into a kind of dim compendious unity, monstrous butdim, far off, as the canaille; or, more humanely, as 'the masses.'Masses, indeed: and yet, singular to say, if, with an effort ofimagination, thou follow them, over broad France, into their clayhovels, into their garrets and hutches, the masses consist all ofunits. Every unit of whom has his own heart and sorrows; standscovered there with his own skin, and if you prick him he willbleed. O purple Sovereignty, Holiness, Reverence; thou, forexample, Cardinal GrandAlmoner, with thy plush covering of honour,who hast thy hands strengthened with dignities and moneys, and artset on thy world watch-tower solemnly, in sight of God, for suchends,--what a thought: that every unit of these masses is amiraculous Man, even as thyself art; struggling, with vision, orwith blindness, for his infinite Kingdom (this life which he hasgot, once only, in the middle of Eternities); with a spark of theDivinity, what thou callest an immortal soul, in him! Dreary, languid do these struggle in their obscure remoteness;their hearth cheerless, their diet thin. For them, in this world,rises no Era of Hope; hardly now in the other,--if it be not hopein the gloomy rest of Death, for their faith too is failing.Untaught, uncomforted, unfed! A dumb
generation; their voice onlyan inarticulate cry: spokesman, in the King's Council, in theworld's forum, they have none that finds credence. At rareintervals (as now, in 1775), they will fling down their hoes andhammers; and, to the astonishment of thinking mankind, (Lacretelle,France pendant le 18me Siecle, ii. 455. Biographie Universelle,para Turgot (by Durozoir).) flock hither and thither, dangerous,aimless; get the length even of Versailles. Turgot is altering theCorntrade, abrogating the absurdest Corn-laws; there is dearth,real, or were it even 'factitious;' an indubitable scarcity ofbread. And so, on the second day of May 1775, these wastemultitudes do here, at Versailles Chateau, in wide-spreadwretchedness, in sallow faces, squalor, winged raggedness, present,as in legible hieroglyphic writing, their Petition of Grievances.The Chateau gates have to be shut; but the King will appear on thebalcony, and speak to them. They have seen the King's face; theirPetition of Grievances has been, if not read, looked at. Foranswer, two of them are hanged, 'on a new gallows forty feet high;'and the rest driven back to their dens,--for a time. Clearly a difficult 'point' for Government, that of dealing withthese masses;--if indeed it be not rather the sole point andproblem of Government, and all other points mere accidentalcrotchets, superficialities, and beatings of the wind! For letCharter-Chests, Use and Wont, Law common and special say what theywill, the masses count to so many millions of units; made, to allappearance, by God,--whose Earth this is declared to be. Besides,the people are not without ferocity; they have sinews andindignation. Do but look what holiday old Marquis Mirabeau, thecrabbed old friend of Men, looked on, in these same years, from hislodging, at the Baths of Mont d'Or: 'The savages descending intorrents from the mountains; our people ordered not to go out. TheCurate in surplice and stole; Justice in its peruke; Marechauseesabre in hand, guarding the place, till the bagpipes can begin. Thedance interrupted, in a quarter of an hour, by battle; the cries,the squealings of children, of infirm persons, and otherassistants, tarring them on, as the rabble does when dogs fight:frightful men, or rather frightful wild animals, clad in jupes ofcoarse woollen, with large girdles of leather studded with coppernails; of gigantic stature, heightened by high wooden-clogs(sabots); rising on tiptoe to see the fight; tramping time to it;rubbing their sides with their elbows: their faces haggard (figureshaves), and covered with their long greasy hair; the upper part ofthe visage waxing pale, the lower distorting itself into theattempt at a cruel laugh and a sort of ferocious impatience. Andthese people pay the taille! And you want further to take theirsalt from them! And you know not what it is you are strippingbarer, or as you call it, governing; what by the spurt of your pen,in its cold dastard indifference, you will fancy you can starvealways with impunity; always till the catastrophe come!--Ah Madame,such Government by Blindman's-buff, stumbling along too far, willend in the General Overturn (culbute generale). (Memoires deMirabeau, ecrits par Lui-meme, par son Pere, son Oncle et son FilsAdoptif (Paris, 34-5), ii.186.) Undoubtedly a dark feature this in an Age of Gold,--Age, atleast, of Paper and Hope! Meanwhile, trouble us not with thyprophecies, O croaking Friend of Men: 'tis long that we have heardsuch; and still the old world keeps wagging, in its old way.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.II. The Paper AgeChapter 1.2.III. Questionable
Or is this same Age of Hope itself but a simulacrum; as Hope toooften is? Cloud-vapour with rainbows painted on it, beautiful tosee, to sail towards,--which hovers over Niagara Falls? In thatcase, victorious Analysis will have enough to do. Alas, yes! a whole world to remake, if she could see it; workfor another than she! For all is wrong, and gone out of joint; theinward spiritual, and the outward economical; head or heart, thereis no soundness in it. As indeed, evils of all sorts are more orless of kin, and do usually go together: especially it is an oldtruth, that wherever huge physical evil is, there, as the parentand origin of it, has moral evil to a proportionate extent been.Before those five-and-twenty labouring Millions, for instance,could get that haggardness of face, which old Mirabeau now lookson, in a Nation calling itself Christian, and calling man thebrother of man,--what unspeakable, nigh infinite Dishonesty (ofseeming and not being) in all manner of Rulers, and appointedWatchers, spiritual and temporal, must there not, through longages, have gone on accumulating! It will accumulate: moreover, itwill reach a head; for the first of all Gospels is this, that a Liecannot endure for ever. In fact, if we pierce through that rosepink vapour ofSentimentalism, Philanthropy, and Feasts of Morals, there liesbehind it one of the sorriest spectacles. You might ask, What bondsthat ever held a human society happily together, or held ittogether at all, are in force here? It is an unbelieving people;which has suppositions, hypotheses, and froth- systems ofvictorious Analysis; and for belief this mainly, that Pleasure ispleasant. Hunger they have for all sweet things; and the law ofHunger; but what other law? Within them, or over them, properlynone! Their King has become a King Popinjay; with his MaurepasGovernment, gyrating as the weather-cock does, blown about by everywind. Above them they see no God; or they even do not look above,except with astronomical glasses. The Church indeed still is; butin the most submissive state; quite tamed by Philosophism; in asingularly short time; for the hour was come. Some twenty yearsago, your Archbishop Beaumont would not even let the poorJansenists get buried: your Lomenie Brienne (a rising man, whom weshall meet with yet) could, in the name of the Clergy, insist onhaving the Anti-protestant laws, which condemn to death forpreaching, 'put in execution.' (Boissy d'Anglas, Vie deMalesherbes, i. 15-22.) And, alas, now not so much as BaronHolbach's Atheism can be burnt,--except as pipe- matches by theprivate speculative individual. Our Church stands haltered, dumb,like a dumb ox; lowing only for provender (of tithes); content ifit can have that; or, dumbly, dully expecting its further doom. Andthe Twenty Millions of 'haggard faces;' and, as finger-post andguidance to them in their dark struggle, 'a gallows forty feethigh'! Certainly a singular Golden Age; with its Feasts of Morals,its 'sweet manners,' its sweet institutions (institutions douces);betokening nothing but peace among men!-Peace? OPhilosophe-Sentimentalism, what hast thou to do with peace, whenthy mother's name is Jezebel? Foul Product of still foulerCorruption, thou with the corruption art doomed! Meanwhile it is singular how long the rotten will hold together,provided you do not handle it roughly. For whole generations itcontinues standing, 'with a ghastly affectation of life,' after alllife and truth has fled out of it; so loth are men to quit theirold ways; and, conquering indolence and inertia, venture on new.Great truly is the Actual; is the Thing that has rescued itselffrom bottomless deeps of theory and possibility, and stands thereas a definite indisputable Fact, whereby men do work and live, oronce did so. Widely shall men cleave to that, while it will
endure;and quit it with regret, when it gives way under them. Rashenthusiast of Change, beware! Hast thou well considered all thatHabit does in this life of ours; how all Knowledge and all Practicehang wondrous over infinite abysses of the Unknown, Impracticable;and our whole being is an infinite abyss, over-arched by Habit, asby a thin Earth-rind, laboriously built together? But if 'every man,' as it has been written, 'holds confinedwithin him a mad-man,' what must every Society do;--Society, whichin its commonest state is called 'the standing miracle of thisworld'! 'Without such Earth- rind of Habit,' continues our author,'call it System of Habits, in a word, fixed ways of acting and ofbelieving,--Society would not exist at all. With such it exists,better or worse. Herein too, in this its System of Habits,acquired, retained how you will, lies the true Law-Code andConstitution of a Society; the only Code, though an unwritten onewhich it can in nowise disobey. The thing we call written Code,Constitution, Form of Government, and the like, what is it but someminiature image, and solemnly expressed summary of this unwrittenCode? Is,--or rather alas, is not; but only should be, and alwaystends to be! In which latter discrepancy lies struggle withoutend.' And now, we add in the same dialect, let but, by ill chance,in such ever-enduring struggle,--your 'thin Earth-rind' be oncebroken! The fountains of the great deep boil forth; fire-fountains,enveloping, engulfing. Your 'Earth-rind' is shattered, swallowedup; instead of a green flowery world, there is a wastewild-weltering chaos:-which has again, with tumult and struggle,to make itself into a world. On the other hand, be this conceded: Where thou findest a Liethat is oppressing thee, extinguish it. Lies exist there only to beextinguished; they wait and cry earnestly for extinction. Thinkwell, meanwhile, in what spirit thou wilt do it: not with hatred,with headlong selfish violence; but in clearness of heart, withholy zeal, gently, almost with pity. Thou wouldst not replace suchextinct Lie by a new Lie, which a new Injustice of thy own were;the parent of still other Lies? Whereby the latter end of thatbusiness were worse than the beginning. So, however, in this world of ours, which has both anindestructible hope in the Future, and an indestructible tendencyto persevere as in the Past, must Innovation and Conservation wagetheir perpetual conflict, as they may and can. Wherein the'daemonic element,' that lurks in all human things, may doubtless,some once in the thousand years--get vent! But indeed may we notregret that such conflict,--which, after all, is but like thatclassical one of 'hate-filled Amazons with heroic Youths,' and willend in embraces,--should usually be so spasmodic? For Conservation,strengthened by that mightiest quality in us, our indolence, sitsfor long ages, not victorious only, which she should be; buttyrannical, incommunicative. She holds her adversary as ifannihilated; such adversary lying, all the while, like some buriedEnceladus; who, to gain the smallest freedom, must stir a wholeTrinacria with it Aetnas. Wherefore, on the whole, we will honour a Paper Age too; an Eraof hope! For in this same frightful process of Enceladus Revolt;when the task, on which no mortal would willingly enter, has becomeimperative, inevitable,-- is it not even a kindness of Nature thatshe lures us forward by cheerful promises, fallacious or not; and awhole generation plunges into the Erebus Blackness, lighted on byan Era of Hope? It has been well said: 'Man is based on Hope; hehas properly no other possession but Hope; this habitation of hisis named the Place of Hope.'
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.II. The Paper AgeChapter 1.2.IV. Maurepas
But now, among French hopes, is not that of old M. de Maurepasone of the best-grounded; who hopes that he, by dexterity, shallcontrive to continue Minister? Nimble old man, who for allemergencies has his light jest; and ever in the worst confusionwill emerge, cork-like, unsunk! Small care to him isPerfectibility, Progress of the Species, and Astraea Redux: goodonly, that a man of light wit, verging towards fourscore, can inthe seat of authority feel himself important among men. Shall wecall him, as haughty Chateauroux was wont of old, 'M. Faquinet(Diminutive of Scoundrel)'? In courtier dialect, he is now named'the Nestor of France;' such governing Nestor as France has. At bottom, nevertheless, it might puzzle one to say where theGovernment of France, in these days, specially is. In that Chateauof Versailles, we have Nestor, King, Queen, ministers and clerks,with paper-bundles tied in tape: but the Government? For Governmentis a thing that governs, that guides; and if need be, compels.Visible in France there is not such a thing. Invisible, inorganic,on the other hand, there is: in Philosophe saloons, inOeil-de-Boeuf galleries; in the tongue of the babbler, in the penof the pamphleteer. Her Majesty appearing at the Opera isapplauded; she returns all radiant with joy. Anon the applauses waxfainter, or threaten to cease; she is heavy of heart, the light ofher face has fled. Is Sovereignty some poor Montgolfier; which,blown into by the popular wind, grows great and mounts; or sinksflaccid, if the wind be withdrawn? France was long a 'Despotismtempered by Epigrams;' and now, it would seem, the Epigrams haveget the upper hand. Happy were a young 'Louis the Desired' to make France happy; ifit did not prove too troublesome, and he only knew the way. Butthere is endless discrepancy round him; so many claims andclamours; a mere confusion of tongues. Not reconcilable by man; notmanageable, suppressible, save by some strongest and wisestmen;--which only a lightly-jesting lightlygyrating M. de Maurepascan so much as subsist amidst. Philosophism claims her new Era,meaning thereby innumerable things. And claims it in no faintvoice; for France at large, hitherto mute, is now beginning tospeak also; and speaks in that same sense. A huge, manytonedsound; distant, yet not unimpressive. On the other hand, theOeil-de-Boeuf, which, as nearest, one can hear best, claims withshrill vehemence that the Monarchy be as heretofore a Horn ofPlenty; wherefrom loyal courtiers may draw,--to the just support ofthe throne. Let Liberalism and a New Era, if such is the wish, beintroduced; only no curtailment of the royal moneys? Which lattercondition, alas, is precisely the impossible one. Philosophism, as we saw, has got her Turgot madeController-General; and there shall be endless reformation.Unhappily this Turgot could continue only twenty months. With amiraculous Fortunatus' Purse in his Treasury, it might have lastedlonger; with such Purse indeed, every French Controller-General,that would prosper in these days, ought first to provide himself.But here again may we not remark the bounty of Nature in regard toHope? Man after man advances confident to the Augean Stable, as ifhe could clean it; expends his little fraction of an ability on it,with such cheerfulness; does, in so far as he was honest,accomplish something. Turgot has faculties; honesty, insight,heroic volition; but the Fortunatus' Purse he has not.
SanguineController-General! a whole pacific French Revolution may standschemed in the head of the thinker; but who shall pay theunspeakable 'indemnities' that will be needed? Alas, far from that:on the very threshold of the business, he proposes that the Clergy,the Noblesse, the very Parlements be subjected to taxes! One shriekof indignation and astonishment reverberates through all theChateau galleries; M. de Maurepas has to gyrate: the poor King, whohad written few weeks ago, 'Il n'y a que vous et moi qui aimions lepeuple (There is none but you and I that has the people's interestat heart),' must write now a dismissal; (In May, 1776.) and let theFrench Revolution accomplish itself, pacifically or not, as itcan. Hope, then, is deferred? Deferred; not destroyed, or abated. Isnot this, for example, our Patriarch Voltaire, after long years ofabsence, revisiting Paris? With face shrivelled to nothing; with'huge peruke a la Louis Quatorze, which leaves only two eyes"visible" glittering like carbuncles,' the old man is here.(February, 1778.) What an outburst! Sneering Paris has suddenlygrown reverent; devotional with Hero-worship. Nobles have disguisedthemselves as tavern-waiters to obtain sight of him: the loveliestof France would lay their hair beneath his feet. 'His chariot isthe nucleus of a comet; whose train fills whole streets:' theycrown him in the theatre, with immortal vivats; 'finally stifle himunder roses,'--for old Richelieu recommended opium in such state ofthe nerves, and the excessive Patriarch took too much. Her Majestyherself had some thought of sending for him; but was dissuaded. LetMajesty consider it, nevertheless. The purport of this man'sexistence has been to wither up and annihilate all whereon Majestyand Worship for the present rests: and is it so that the worldrecognises him? With Apotheosis; as its Prophet and Speaker, whohas spoken wisely the thing it longed to say? Add only, that thebody of this same rose-stifled, beatified-Patriarch cannot getburied except by stealth. It is wholly a notable business; andFrance, without doubt, is big (what the Germans call 'Of goodHope'): we shall wish her a happy birth-hour, and blessedfruit. Beaumarchais too has now winded-up his Law-Pleadings (Memoires);(1773-6. See Oeuvres de Beaumarchais; where they, and the historyof them, are given.) not without result, to himself and to theworld. Caron Beaumarchais (or de Beaumarchais, for he got ennobled)had been born poor, but aspiring, esurient; with talents, audacity,adroitness; above all, with the talent for intrigue: a lean, butalso a tough, indomitable man. Fortune and dexterity brought him tothe harpsichord of Mesdames, our good Princesses Loque, Graille andSisterhood. Still better, Paris Duvernier, the Court-Banker,honoured him with some confidence; to the length even oftransactions in cash. Which confidence, however, Duvernier's Heir,a person of quality, would not continue. Quite otherwise; theresprings a Lawsuit from it: wherein tough Beaumarchais, losing bothmoney and repute, is, in the opinion of Judge-Reporter Goezman, ofthe Parlement Maupeou, of a whole indifferent acquiescing world,miserably beaten. In all men's opinions, only not in his own!Inspired by the indignation, which makes, if not verses, satiricallaw-papers, the withered Music-master, with a desperate heroism,takes up his lost cause in spite of the world; fights for it,against Reporters, Parlements and Principalities, with lightbanter, with clear logic; adroitly, with an inexhaustible toughnessand resource, like the skilfullest fencer; on whom, so skilful ishe, the whole world now looks. Three long years it lasts; withwavering fortune. In fine, after labours comparable to the Twelveof Hercules, our unconquerable Caron triumphs; regains his Lawsuitand Lawsuits; strips Reporter Goezman of the judicial ermine;covering him with a perpetual garment of obloquy instead:--and inregard to the Parlement Maupeou (which he has helped toextinguish), to Parlements of all kinds, and to French Justicegenerally, gives rise to
endless reflections in the minds of men.Thus has Beaumarchais, like a lean French Hercules, ventured down,driven by destiny, into the Nether Kingdoms; and victoriously tamedhell-dogs there. He also is henceforth among the notabilities ofhis generation.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.II. The Paper AgeChapter 1.2.V. Astraea Redux without Cash
Observe, however, beyond the Atlantic, has not the new dayverily dawned! Democracy, as we said, is born; storm-girt, isstruggling for life and victory. A sympathetic France rejoices overthe Rights of Man; in all saloons, it is said, What a spectacle!Now too behold our Deane, our Franklin, American Plenipotentiaries,here in position soliciting; (1777; Deane somewhat earlier:Franklin remained till 1785.) the sons of the Saxon Puritans, withtheir Old-Saxon temper, Old-Hebrew culture, sleek Silas, sleekBenjamin, here on such errand, among the light children ofHeathenism, Monarchy, Sentimentalism, and the Scarlet-woman. Aspectacle indeed; over which saloons may cackle joyous; thoughKaiser Joseph, questioned on it, gave this answer, most unexpectedfrom a Philosophe: "Madame, the trade I live by is that of royalist(Mon metier a moi c'est d'etre royaliste)." So thinks light Maurepas too; but the wind of Philosophism andforce of public opinion will blow him round. Best wishes,meanwhile, are sent; clandestine privateers armed. Paul Jones shallequip his Bon Homme Richard: weapons, military stores can besmuggled over (if the English do not seize them); wherein, oncemore Beaumarchais, dimly as the Giant Smuggler becomesvisible,-filling his own lank pocket withal. But surely, in anycase, France should have a Navy. For which great object were notnow the time: now when that proud Termagant of the Seas has herhands full? It is true, an impoverished Treasury cannot buildships; but the hint once given (which Beaumarchais says he gave),this and the other loyal Seaport, Chamber of Commerce, will buildand offer them. Goodly vessels bound into the waters; a Ville deParis, Leviathan of ships. And now when gratuitous three-deckers dance there at anchor,with streamers flying; and eleutheromaniac Philosophedom grows evermore clamorous, what can a Maurepas do--but gyrate? Squadrons crossthe ocean: Gages, Lees, rough Yankee Generals, 'with woollennight-caps under their hats,' present arms to the far-glancingChivalry of France; and new-born Democracy sees, not withoutamazement, 'Despotism tempered by Epigrams fight at her side. So,however, it is. King's forces and heroic volunteers; Rochambeaus,Bouilles, Lameths, Lafayettes, have drawn their swords in thissacred quarrel of mankind;--shall draw them again elsewhere, in thestrangest way. Off Ushant some naval thunder is heard. In the course of whichdid our young Prince, Duke de Chartres, 'hide in the hold;' or didhe materially, by active heroism, contribute to the victory? Alas,by a second edition, we learn that there was no victory; or thatEnglish Keppel had it. (27th July, 1778.) Our poor young Princegets his Opera plaudits changed into mocking tehees; and cannotbecome Grand-Admiral,--the source to him of woes which one may callendless. Woe also for Ville de Paris, the Leviathan of ships! EnglishRodney has clutched it, and led it home, with the rest; sosuccessful was his new 'manoeuvre of breaking the enemy's line.'(9th and
12th April, 1782.) It seems as if, according to Louis XV.,'France were never to have a Navy.' Brave Suffren must return fromHyder Ally and the Indian Waters; with small result; yet with greatglory for 'six non-defeats;--which indeed, with such seconding ashe had, one may reckon heroic. Let the old sea-hero rest now,honoured of France, in his native Cevennes mountains; send smoke,not of gunpowder, but mere culinary smoke, through the old chimneysof the Castle of Jales,--which one day, in other hands, shall haveother fame. Brave Laperouse shall by and by lift anchor, onphilanthropic Voyage of Discovery; for the King knows Geography.(August 1st, 1785.) But, alas, this also will not prosper: thebrave Navigator goes, and returns not; the Seekers search far seasfor him in vain. He has vanished trackless into blue Immensity; andonly some mournful mysterious shadow of him hovers long in allheads and hearts. Neither, while the War yet lasts, will Gibraltar surrender. Notthough Crillon, Nassau-Siegen, with the ablest projectors extant,are there; and Prince Conde and Prince d'Artois have hastened tohelp. Wondrous leather- roofed Floating-batteries, set afloat byFrench-Spanish Pacte de Famille, give gallant summons: to which,nevertheless, Gibraltar answers Plutonically, with mere torrents ofredhot iron,--as if stone Calpe had become a throat of the Pit; andutters such a Doom'sblast of a No, as all men must credit. (AnnualRegister (Dodsley's), xxv. 258-267. September, October, 1782.) And so, with this loud explosion, the noise of War has ceased;an Age of Benevolence may hope, for ever. Our noble volunteers ofFreedom have returned, to be her missionaries. Lafayette, as thematchless of his time, glitters in the Versailles Oeil-de-Beouf;has his Bust set up in the Paris Hotel-de-Ville. Democracy standsinexpugnable, immeasurable, in her New World; has even a footlifted towards the Old;--and our French Finances, littlestrengthened by such work, are in no healthy way. What to do with the Finance? This indeed is the great question:a small but most black weathersymptom, which no radiance ofuniversal hope can cover. We saw Turgot cast forth from theControllership, with shrieks,-- for want of a Fortunatus' Purse. Aslittle could M. de Clugny manage the duty; or indeed do anything,but consume his wages; attain 'a place in History,' where as anineffectual shadow thou beholdest him still lingering;--and let theduty manage itself. Did Genevese Necker possess such a Purse, then?He possessed banker's skill, banker's honesty; credit of all kinds,for he had written Academic Prize Essays, struggled for IndiaCompanies, given dinners to Philosophes, and 'realised a fortune intwenty years.' He possessed, further, a taciturnity and solemnity;of depth, or else of dulness. How singular for Celadon Gibbon,false swain as he had proved; whose father, keeping most probablyhis own gig, 'would not hear of such a union,'--to find now hisforsaken Demoiselle Curchod sitting in the high places of theworld, as Minister's Madame, and 'Necker not jealous!' (Gibbon'sLetters: date, 16th June, 1777, &c.) A new young Demoiselle, one day to be famed as a Madame and DeStael, was romping about the knees of the Decline and Fall: thelady Necker founds Hospitals; gives solemn Philosophedinner-parties, to cheer her exhausted Controller-General. Strangethings have happened: by clamour of Philosophism, management ofMarquis de Pezay, and Poverty constraining even Kings. And soNecker, Atlas-like, sustains the burden of the Finances, for fiveyears long? (Till May, 1781.) Without wages, for he refused such;cheered only by Public
Opinion, and the ministering of his nobleWife. With many thoughts in him, it is hoped;--which, however, heis shy of uttering. His Compte Rendu, published by the royalpermission, fresh sign of a New Era, shows wonders;--which what butthe genius of some Atlas- Necker can prevent from becomingportents? In Necker's head too there is a whole pacific FrenchRevolution, of its kind; and in that taciturn dull depth, or deepdulness, ambition enough. Meanwhile, alas, his Fotunatus' Purse turns out to be littleother than the old 'vectigal of Parsimony.' Nay, he too has toproduce his scheme of taxing: Clergy, Noblesse to be taxed;Provincial Assemblies, and the rest,--like a mere Turgot! Theexpiring M. de Maurepas must gyrate one other time. Let Necker alsodepart; not unlamented. Great in a private station, Necker looks on from the distance;abiding his time. 'Eighty thousand copies' of his new Book, whichhe calls Administration des Finances, will be sold in few days. Heis gone; but shall return, and that more than once, borne by awhole shouting Nation. Singular Controller-General of the Finances;once Clerk in Thelusson's Bank!
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.II. The Paper AgeChapter 1.2.VI. Windbags
So marches the world, in this its Paper Age, or Era of Hope. Notwithout obstructions, warexplosions; which, however, heard fromsuch distance, are little other than a cheerful marchingmusic. Ifindeed that dark living chaos of Ignorance and Hunger,five-and-twenty million strong, under your feet,--were to beginplaying! For the present, however, consider Longchamp; now when Lent isending, and the glory of Paris and France has gone forth, as inannual wont. Not to assist at Tenebris Masses, but to sun itselfand show itself, and salute the Young Spring. (Mercier, Tableau deParis, ii. 51. Louvet, Roman de Faublas, &c.) Manifold,bright-tinted, glittering with gold; all through the Bois deBoulogne, in longdrawn variegated rows;--like longdrawn livingflower-borders, tulips, dahlias, lilies of the valley; all in theirmoving flower-pots (of new-gilt carriages): pleasure of the eye,and pride of life! So rolls and dances the Procession: steady, offirm assurance, as if it rolled on adamant and the foundations ofthe world; not on mere heraldic parchment,--under which smoulders alake of fire. Dance on, ye foolish ones; ye sought not wisdom,neither have ye found it. Ye and your fathers have sown the wind,ye shall reap the whirlwind. Was it not, from of old, written: Thewages of sin is death? But at Longchamp, as elsewhere, we remark for one thing, thatdame and cavalier are waited on each by a kind of human familiar,named jokei. Little elf, or imp; though young, already withered;with its withered air of premature vice, of knowingness, ofcompleted elf-hood: useful in various emergencies. The name jokei(jockey) comes from the English; as the thing also fancies that itdoes. Our Anglomania, in fact , is grown considerable; prophetic ofmuch. If France is to be free, why shall she not, now when mad waris hushed, love neighbouring Freedom? Cultivated men, your Dukes deLiancourt, de la Rochefoucault admire the English Constitution, theEnglish National Character; would import what of it they can.
Of what is lighter, especially if it be light as wind, how mucheasier the freightage! Non-Admiral Duke de Chartres (not yetd'Orleans or Egalite) flies to and fro across the Strait; importingEnglish Fashions; this he, as hand-and-glove with an English Princeof Wales, is surely qualified to do. Carriages and saddles;top-boots and redingotes, as we call riding-coats. Nay the verymode of riding: for now no man on a level with his age but willtrot a l'Anglaise, rising in the stirrups; scornful of the oldsitfast method, in which, according to Shakspeare, 'butter andeggs' go to market. Also, he can urge the fervid wheels, this braveChartres of ours; no whip in Paris is rasher and surer than theunprofessional one of Monseigneur. Elf jokeis, we have seen; but see now real Yorkshire jockeys,and what they ride on, and train: English racers for French Races.These likewise we owe first (under the Providence of the Devil) toMonseigneur. Prince d'Artois also has his stud of racers. Princed'Artois has withal the strangest horseleech: a moonstruck,much-enduring individual, of Neuchatel in Switzerland,--named JeanPaul Marat. A problematic Chevalier d'Eon, now in petticoats, nowin breeches, is no less problematic in London than in Paris; andcauses bets and lawsuits. Beautiful days of internationalcommunion! Swindlery and Blackguardism have stretched hands acrossthe Channel, and saluted mutually: on the racecourse of Vincennesor Sablons, behold in English curricle-andfour, wafted gloriousamong the principalities and rascalities, an English Dr. Dodd,(Adelung, Geschichte der Menschlichen Narrheit, para Dodd.)--forwhom also the too early gallows gapes. Duke de Chartres was a young Prince of great promise, as youngPrinces often are; which promise unfortunately has belied itself.With the huge Orleans Property, with Duke de Penthievre forFather-in-law (and now the young Brother-in-law Lamballe killed byexcesses),--he will one day be the richest man in France.Meanwhile, 'his hair is all falling out, his blood is quitespoiled,'-by early transcendentalism of debauchery. Carbunclesstud his face; dark studs on a ground of burnished copper. A mostsignal failure, this young Prince! The stuff prematurely burnt outof him: little left but foul smoke and ashes of expiringsensualities: what might have been Thought, Insight, and evenConduct, gone now, or fast going,--to confused darkness, broken bybewildering dazzlements; to obstreperous crotchets; to activitieswhich you may call semi-delirious, or even semi- galvanic! Parisaffects to laugh at his charioteering; but he heeds not suchlaughter. On the other hand, what a day, not of laughter, was that, whenhe threatened, for lucre's sake, to lay sacrilegious hand on thePalais-Royal Garden! (1781-82. (Dulaure, viii. 423.)) Theflowerparterres shall be riven up; the Chestnut Avenues shallfall: time-honoured boscages, under which the Opera Hamadryads werewont to wander, not inexorable to men. Paris moans aloud. Philidor,from his Cafe de la Regence, shall no longer look on greenness; theloungers and losels of the world, where now shall they haunt? Invain is moaning. The axe glitters; the sacred groves fallcrashing,--for indeed Monseigneur was short of money: the OperaHamadryads fly with shrieks. Shriek not, ye Opera Hamadryads; ornot as those that have no comfort. He will surround your Gardenwith new edifices and piazzas: though narrowed, it shall bereplanted; dizened with hydraulic jets, cannon which the sun firesat noon; things bodily, things spiritual, such as man has notimagined;--and in the Palais-Royal shall again, and more than ever,be the Sorcerer's Sabbath and Satan-at-Home of our Planet. What will not mortals attempt? From remote Annonay in theVivarais, the Brothers Montgolfier send up their paper-dome, filledwith the smoke of burnt wool. (5th June, 1783.) The
Vivaraisprovincial assembly is to be prorogued this same day: VivaraisAssembly-members applaud, and the shouts of congregated men. Willvictorious Analysis scale the very Heavens, then? Paris hears with eager wonder; Paris shall ere long see. FromReveilion's Paper-warehouse there, in the Rue St. Antoine (a notedWarehouse),--the new Montgolfier air-ship launches itself. Ducksand poultry are borne skyward: but now shall men be borne. (Octoberand November, 1783.) Nay, Chemist Charles thinks of hydrogen andglazed silk. Chemist Charles will himself ascend, from theTuileries Garden; Montgolfier solemnly cutting the cord. By Heaven,he also mounts, he and another? Ten times ten thousand hearts gopalpitating; all tongues are mute with wonder and fear; till ashout, like the voice of seas, rolls after him, on his wild way. Hesoars, he dwindles upwards; has become a mere gleamingcirclet,--like some Turgotine snuff-box, what we call 'TurgotinePlatitude;' like some new daylight Moon! Finally he descends;welcomed by the universe. Duchess Polignac, with a party, is in theBois de Boulogne, waiting; though it is drizzly winter; the 1st ofDecember 1783. The whole chivalry of France, Duke de Chartresforemost, gallops to receive him. (Lacretelle, 18me Siecle, iii.258.) Beautiful invention; mounting heavenward, so beautifully,--sounguidably! Emblem of much, and of our Age of Hope itself; whichshall mount, specifically-light, majestically in this same manner;and hover,--tumbling whither Fate will. Well if it do not,Pilatre-like, explode; and demount all the more tragically!--So,riding on windbags, will men scale the Empyrean. Or observe Herr Doctor Mesmer, in his spacious Magnetic Halls.Long-stoled he walks; reverend, glancing upwards, as in raptcommerce; an Antique Egyptian Hierophant in this new age. Softmusic flits; breaking fitfully the sacred stillness. Round theirMagnetic Mystery, which to the eye is mere tubs with water,--sitbreathless, rod in hand, the circles of Beauty and Fashion, eachcircle a living circular Passion-Flower: expecting the magneticafflatus, and newmanufactured Heaven-on-Earth. O women, O men,great is your infidel-faith! A Parlementary Duport, a Bergasse,D'Espremenil we notice there; Chemist Berthollet too,--on the partof Monseigneur de Chartres. Had not the Academy of Sciences, with its Baillys, Franklins,Lavoisiers, interfered! But it did interfere. (Lacretelle, 18meSiecle, iii.258.) Mesmer may pocket his hard money, and withdraw.Let him walk silent by the shore of the Bodensee, by the ancienttown of Constance; meditating on much. For so, under the strangestnew vesture, the old great truth (since no vesture can hide it)begins again to be revealed: That man is what we call a miraculouscreature, with miraculous power over men; and, on the whole, withsuch a Life in him, and such a World round him, as victoriousAnalysis, with her Physiologies, Nervous-systems, Physic andMetaphysic, will never completely name, to say nothing ofexplaining. Wherein also the Quack shall, in all ages, come in forhis share. (August, 1784.)
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.II. The Paper AgeChapter 1.2.VII. Contrat Social
In such succession of singular prismatic tints, flush afterflush suffusing our horizon, does the Era of Hope dawn on towardsfulfilment. Questionable! As indeed, with an Era of Hope that restson mere universal Benevolence, victorious Analysis, Vice cured ofits deformity; and, in the long run, on Twenty-five dark savageMillions, looking up, in hunger and weariness, to that Eccesignumof theirs 'forty feet high,'--how could it but be questionable? Through all time, if we read aright, sin was, is, will be, theparent of misery. This land calls itself most Christian, and hascrosses and cathedrals; but its High-priest is some Roche-Aymon,some Necklace-Cardinal Louis de Rohan. The voice of the poor,through long years, ascends inarticulate, in Jacqueries, meal-mobs;low-whimpering of infinite moan: unheeded of the Earth; notunheeded of Heaven. Always moreover where the Millions arewretched, there are the Thousands straitened, unhappy; only theUnits can flourish; or say rather, be ruined the last. Industry,all noosed and haltered, as if it too were some beast of chase forthe mighty hunters of this world to bait, and cut slicesfrom,--cries passionately to these its well-paid guides andwatchers, not, Guide me; but, Laissez faire, Leave me alone of yourguidance! What market has Industry in this France? For two thingsthere may be market and demand: for the coarser kind offield-fruits, since the Millions will live: for the fine kinds ofluxury and spicery,--of multiform taste, from opera-melodies downto racers and courtesans; since the Units will be amused. It is atbottom but a mad state of things. To mend and remake all which we have, indeed, victoriousAnalysis. Honour to victorious Analysis; nevertheless, out of theWorkshop and Laboratory, what thing was victorious Analysis yetknown to make? Detection of incoherences, mainly; destruction ofthe incoherent. From of old, Doubt was but half a magician; sheevokes the spectres which she cannot quell. We shall have 'endlessvortices of froth-logic;' whereon first words, and then things, arewhirled and swallowed. Remark, accordingly, as acknowledged groundsof Hope, at bottom mere precursors of Despair, this perpetualtheorising about Man, the Mind of Man, Philosophy of Government,Progress of the Species and such-like; the main thinking furnitureof every head. Time, and so many Montesquieus, Mablys, spokesmen ofTime, have discovered innumerable things: and now has not JeanJacques promulgated his new Evangel of a Contrat Social; explainingthe whole mystery of Government, and how it is contracted andbargained for,--to universal satisfaction? Theories of Government!Such have been, and will be; in ages of decadence. Acknowledge themin their degree; as processes of Nature, who does nothing in vain;as steps in her great process. Meanwhile, what theory is so certainas this, That all theories, were they never so earnest, painfullyelaborated, are, and, by the very conditions of them, must beincomplete, questionable, and even false? Thou shalt know that thisUniverse is, what it professes to be, an infinite one. Attempt notto swallow it, for thy logical digestion; be thankful, if skilfullyplanting down this and the other fixed pillar in the chaos, thouprevent its swallowing thee. That a new young generation hasexchanged the Sceptic Creed, What shall I believe? for passionateFaith in this Gospel according to Jean Jacques is a further step inthe business; and betokens much. Blessed also is Hope; and always from the beginning there wassome Millennium prophesied; Millennium of Holiness; but (what isnotable) never till this new Era, any Millennium of mere Ease andplentiful Supply. In such prophesied Lubberland, of Happiness,Benevolence, and Vice cured of its deformity, trust not, myfriends! Man is not what one calls a happy animal; his
appetite forsweet victual is so enormous. How, in this wild Universe, whichstorms in on him, infinite, vague-menacing, shall poor man find,say not happiness, but existence, and footing to stand on, if it benot by girding himself together for continual endeavour andendurance? Woe, if in his heart there dwelt no devout Faith; if theword Duty had lost its meaning for him! For as to this ofSentimentalism, so useful for weeping with over romances and onpathetic occasions, it otherwise verily will avail nothing; nayless. The healthy heart that said to itself, 'How healthy am I!'was already fallen into the fatalest sort of disease. Is notSentimentalism twin-sister to Cant, if not one and the same withit? Is not Cant the materia prima of the Devil; from which allfalsehoods, imbecilities, abominations body themselves; from whichno true thing can come? For Cant is itself properly adouble-distilled Lie; the second-power of a Lie. And now if a whole Nation fall into that? In such case, Ianswer, infallibly they will return out of it! For life is nocunningly-devised deception or self-deception: it is a great truththat thou art alive, that thou hast desires, necessities; neithercan these subsist and satisfy themselves on delusions, but on fact.To fact, depend on it, we shall come back: to such fact, blessed orcursed, as we have wisdom for. The lowest, least blessed fact oneknows of, on which necessitous mortals have ever based themselves,seems to be the primitive one of Cannibalism: That I can devourThee. What if such Primitive Fact were precisely the one we had(with our improved methods) to revert to, and begin anew from!
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.II. The Paper AgeChapter 1.2.VIII. Printed Paper
In such a practical France, let the theory of Perfectibility saywhat it will, discontents cannot be wanting: your promisedReformation is so indispensable; yet it comes not; who will beginit--with himself? Discontent with what is around us, still morewith what is above us, goes on increasing; seeking ever newvents. Of Street Ballads, of Epigrams that from of old temperedDespotism, we need not speak. Nor of Manuscript Newspapers(Nouvelles a la main) do we speak. Bachaumont and his journeymenand followers may close those 'thirty volumes of scurrilouseaves-dropping,' and quit that trade; for at length if not libertyof the Press, there is license. Pamphlets can be surreptititiouslyvended and read in Paris, did they even bear to be 'Printed atPekin.' We have a Courrier de l'Europe in those years, regularlypublished at London; by a De Morande, whom the guillotine has notyet devoured. There too an unruly Linguet, still unguillotined,when his own country has become too hot for him, and his brotherAdvocates have cast him out, can emit his hoarse wailings, andBastille Devoilee (Bastille unveiled). Loquacious Abbe Raynal, atlength, has his wish; sees the Histoire Philosophique, with its'lubricity,' unveracity, loose loud eleutheromaniac rant(contributed, they say, by Philosophedom at large, though in theAbbe's name, and to his glory), burnt by the common hangman;--andsets out on his travels as a martyr. It was the edition of 1781;perhaps the last notable book that had such fire-beatitude,--thehangman discovering now that it did not serve. Again, in Courts of Law, with their money-quarrels,divorce-cases, wheresoever a glimpse into the household existencecan be had, what indications! The Parlements of Besancon and Aixring,
audible to all France, with the amours and destinies of ayoung Mirabeau. He, under the nurture of a 'Friend of Men,' has, inState Prisons, in marching Regiments, Dutch Authors' garrets, andquite other scenes, 'been for twenty years learning to resist'despotism:' despotism of men, and alas also of gods. How, beneaththis rose-coloured veil of Universal Benevolence and Astraea Redux,is the sanctuary of Home so often a dreary void, or a darkcontentious Hell-on-Earth! The old Friend of Men has his owndivorce case too; and at times, 'his whole family but one' underlock and key: he writes much about reforming and enfranchising theworld; and for his own private behoof he has needed sixtyLettres-de-Cachet. A man of insight too, with resolution, even withmanful principle: but in such an element, inward and outward; whichhe could not rule, but only madden. Edacity, rapacity;--quitecontrary to the finer sensibilities of the heart! Fools, thatexpect your verdant Millennium, and nothing but Love and Abundance,brooks running wine, winds whispering music,--with the whole groundand basis of your existence champed into a mud of Sensuality;which, daily growing deeper, will soon have no bottom but theAbyss! Or consider that unutterable business of the Diamond Necklace.Red-hatted Cardinal Louis de Rohan; Sicilian jail-bird BalsamoCagliostro; milliner Dame de Lamotte, 'with a face of somepiquancy:' the highest Church Dignitaries waltzing, in WalpurgisDance, with quackprophets, pickpurses and public women;--a wholeSatan's Invisible World displayed; working there continually underthe daylight visible one; the smoke of its torment going up forever! The Throne has been brought into scandalous collision withthe Treadmill. Astonished Europe rings with the mystery for tenmonths; sees only lie unfold itself from lie; corruption among thelofty and the low, gulosity, credulity, imbecility, strengthnowhere but in the hunger. Weep, fair Queen, thy first tears ofunmixed wretchedness! Thy fair name has been tarnished by foulbreath; irremediably while life lasts. No more shalt thou be lovedand pitied by living hearts, till a new generation has been born,and thy own heart lies cold, cured of all its sorrows.--TheEpigrams henceforth become, not sharp and bitter; but cruel,atrocious, unmentionable. On that 31st of May, 1786, a miserableCardinal Grand- Almoner Rohan, on issuing from his Bastille, isescorted by hurrahing crowds: unloved he, and worthy of no love;but important since the Court and Queen are his enemies. (FilsAdoptif, Memoires de Mirabeau, iv. 325.) How is our bright Era of Hope dimmed: and the whole sky growingbleak with signs of hurricane and earthquake! It is a doomed world:gone all 'obedience that made men free;' fast going the obediencethat made men slaves,--at least to one another. Slaves only oftheir own lusts they now are, and will be. Slaves of sin;inevitably also of sorrow. Behold the mouldering mass of Sensualityand Falsehood; round which plays foolishly, itself a corruptphosphorescence, some glimmer of Sentimentalism;--and over all,rising, as Ark of their Covenant, the grim Patibulary Fork 'fortyfeet high;' which also is now nigh rotted. Add only that the FrenchNation distinguishes itself among Nations by the characteristic ofExcitability; with the good, but also with the perilous evil, whichbelongs to that. Rebellion, explosion, of unknown extent is to becalculated on. There are, as Chesterfield wrote, 'all the symptomsI have ever met with in History!' Shall we say, then: Wo to Philosophism, that it destroyedReligion, what it called 'extinguishing the abomination (ecraser'l'infame)'? Wo rather to those that made the Holy an abomination,and extinguishable; wo at all men that live in such a time ofworld-abomination and worlddestruction! Nay, answer the Courtiers,it was Turgot, it was Necker, with their mad innovating; it was theQueen's want of etiquette; it was he, it was she, it was that.Friends! it was every
scoundrel that had lived, and quack-likepretended to be doing, and been only eating and misdoing, in allprovinces of life, as Shoeblack or as Sovereign Lord, each in hisdegree, from the time of Charlemagne and earlier. All this (for besure no falsehood perishes, but is as seed sown out to grow) hasbeen storing itself for thousands of years; and now the account-dayhas come. And rude will the settlement be: of wrath laid up againstthe day of wrath. O my Brother, be not thou a Quack! Die rather, ifthou wilt take counsel; 'tis but dying once, and thou art quit ofit for ever. Cursed is that trade; and bears curses, thou knowestnot how, long ages after thou art departed, and the wages thouhadst are all consumed; nay, as the ancient wise have written,-through Eternity itself, and is verily marked in the Doom-Book of aGod! Hope deferred maketh the heart sick. And yet, as we said, Hopeis but deferred; not abolished, not abolishable. It is verynotable, and touching, how this same Hope does still light onwardsthe French Nation through all its wild destinies. For we shallstill find Hope shining, be it for fond invitation, be it for angerand menace; as a mild heavenly light it shone; as a redconflagration it shines: burning sulphurous blue, through darkestregions of Terror, it still shines; and goes sent out at all, sinceDesperation itself is a kind of Hope. Thus is our Era still to benamed of Hope, though in the saddest sense,--when there is nothingleft but Hope. But if any one would know summarily what a Pandora's Box liesthere for the opening, he may see it in what by its nature is thesymptom of all symptoms, the surviving Literature of the Period.Abbe Raynal, with his lubricity and loud loose rant, has spoken hisword; and already the fast- hastening generation responds toanother. Glance at Beaumarchais' Mariage de Figaro; which now (in1784), after difficulty enough, has issued on the stage; and 'runsits hundred nights,' to the admiration of all men. By what virtueor internal vigour it so ran, the reader of our day will ratherwonder:--and indeed will know so much the better that it flatteredsome pruriency of the time; that it spoke what all were feeling,and longing to speak. Small substance in that Figaro: thinwiredrawn intrigues, thin wiredrawn sentiments and sarcasms; athing lean, barren; yet which winds and whisks itself, as through awholly mad universe, adroitly, with a high- sniffing air: whereineach, as was hinted, which is the grand secret, may see some imageof himself, and of his own state and ways. So it runs its hundrednights, and all France runs with it; laughing applause. If thesoliloquising Barber ask: "What has your Lordship done to earn allthis?" and can only answer: "You took the trouble to be born (Vousvous etes donne la peine de naitre)," all men must laugh: and a gayhorse-racing Anglomaniac Noblesse loudest of all. For how can smallbooks have a great danger in them? asks the Sieur Caron; andfancies his thin epigram may be a kind of reason. Conqueror of agolden fleece, by giant smuggling; tamer of hell-dogs, in theParlement Maupeou; and finally crowned Orpheus in the TheatreFrancais, Beaumarchais has now culminated, and unites theattributes of several demigods. We shall meet him once again, inthe course of his decline. Still more significant are two Books produced on the eve of theever- memorable Explosion itself, and read eagerly by all theworld: Saint- Pierre's Paul et Virginie, and Louvet's Chevalier deFaublas. Noteworthy Books; which may be considered as the lastspeech of old Feudal France. In the first there rises melodiously,as it were, the wail of a moribund world: everywhere wholesomeNature in unequal conflict with diseased perfidious Art; cannotescape from it in the lowest hut, in the remotest island of thesea. Ruin and death must strike down the loved one; and, what ismost significant of all, death even here not by necessity, but byetiquette. What a world of
prurient corruption lies visible in thatsuper- sublime of modesty! Yet, on the whole, our good Saint-Pierreis musical, poetical though most morbid: we will call his Book theswan-song of old dying France. Louvet's again, let no man account musical. Truly, if thiswretched Faublas is a death-speech, it is one under the gallows,and by a felon that does not repent. Wretched cloaca of a Book;without depth even as a cloaca! What 'picture of French society' ishere? Picture properly of nothing, if not of the mind that gave itout as some sort of picture. Yet symptom of much; above all, of theworld that could nourish itself thereon.
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While the unspeakable confusion is everywhere weltering within,and through so many cracks in the surface sulphur-smoke is issuing,the question arises: Through what crevice will the main Explosioncarry itself? Through which of the old craters or chimneys; or mustit, at once, form a new crater for itself? In every Society aresuch chimneys, are Institutions serving as such: evenConstantinople is not without its safety-valves; there tooDiscontent can vent itself,--in material fire; by the number ofnocturnal conflagrations, or of hanged bakers, the Reigning Powercan read the signs of the times, and change course according tothese. We may say that this French Explosion will doubtless first tryall the old Institutions of escape; for by each of these there is,or at least there used to be, some communication with the interiordeep; they are national Institutions in virtue of that. Had theyeven become personal Institutions, and what we can call choked upfrom their original uses, there nevertheless must the impediment beweaker than elsewhere. Through which of them then? An observermight have guessed: Through the Law Parlements; above all, throughthe Parlement of Paris. Men, though never so thickly clad in dignities, sit notinaccessible to the influences of their time; especially men whoselife is business; who at all turns, were it even from behindjudgment-seats, have come in contact with the actual workings ofthe world. The Counsellor of Parlement, the President himself, whohas bought his place with hard money that he might be looked up toby his fellow-creatures, how shall he, in all Philosophe- soirees,and saloons of elegant culture, become notable as a Friend ofDarkness? Among the Paris Long-robes there may be more than onepatriotic Malesherbes, whose rule is conscience and the publicgood; there are clearly more than one hotheaded D'Espremenil, towhose confused thought any loud reputation of the Brutus sort mayseem glorious. The Lepelletiers, Lamoignons have titles and wealth;yet, at Court, are only styled 'Noblesse of the Robe.' There areDuports of deep scheme; Freteaus, Sabatiers, of incontinent tongue:all nursed more or less on the milk of the Contrat Social. Nay, forthe whole Body, is not this patriotic opposition also a fightingfor oneself? Awake, Parlement of Paris, renew thy long warfare! Wasnot the Parlement Maupeou abolished with ignominy? Not now hastthou to dread a Louis XIV., with the crack of his whip, and hisOlympian looks; not now a Richelieu and Bastilles: no, the wholeNation is behind thee. Thou too (O heavens!) mayest become aPolitical Power; and with the shakings of thy horse-hair wig shakeprincipalities and dynasties, like a very Jove with his ambrosialcurls!
Light old M. de Maurepas, since the end of 1781, has been fixedin the frost of death: "Never more," said the good Louis, "shall Ihear his step overhead;" his light jestings and gyratings are at anend. No more can the importunate reality be hidden by pleasant wit,and today's evil be deftly rolled over upon tomorrow. The morrowitself has arrived; and now nothing but a solid phlegmatic M. deVergennes sits there, in dull matter of fact, like some dullpunctual Clerk (which he originally was); admits what cannot bedenied, let the remedy come whence it will. In him is no remedy;only clerklike 'despatch of business' according to routine. Thepoor King, grown older yet hardly more experienced, must himself,with such no-faculty as he has, begin governing; wherein also hisQueen will give help. Bright Queen, with her quick clear glancesand impulses; clear, and even noble; but all too superficial,vehement-shallow, for that work! To govern France were such aproblem; and now it has grown well-nigh too hard to govern even theOeil-de-Boeuf. For if a distressed People has its cry, so likewise,and more audibly, has a bereaved Court. To the Oeil-de-Boeuf itremains inconceivable how, in a France of such resources, the Hornof Plenty should run dry: did it not use to flow? NeverthelessNecker, with his revenue of parsimony, has 'suppressed above sixhundred places,' before the Courtiers could oust him; parsimoniousfinancepedant as he was. Again, a military pedant, Saint-Germain,with his Prussian manoeuvres; with his Prussian notions, as ifmerit and not coat-of-arms should be the rule of promotion, hasdisaffected military men; the Mousquetaires, with much else aresuppressed: for he too was one of your suppressors; and unsettlingand oversetting, did mere mischief--to the Oeil-deBoeuf.Complaints abound; scarcity, anxiety: it is a changedOeil-de-Boeuf. Besenval says, already in these years (1781) therewas such a melancholy (such a tristesse) about Court, compared withformer days, as made it quite dispiriting to look upon. No wonder that the Oeil-de-Boeuf feels melancholy, when you aresuppressing its places! Not a place can be suppressed, but somepurse is the lighter for it; and more than one heart the heavier;for did it not employ the working-classes too,--manufacturers, maleand female, of laces, essences; of Pleasure generally, whosoevercould manufacture Pleasure? Miserable economies; never felt overTwenty-five Millions! So, however, it goes on: and is not yetended. Few years more and the Wolf-hounds shall fall suppressed,the Bear-hounds, the Falconry; places shall fall, thick as autumnalleaves. Duke de Polignac demonstrates, to the complete silencing ofministerial logic, that his place cannot be abolished; thengallantly, turning to the Queen, surrenders it, since her Majestyso wishes. Less chivalrous was Duke de Coigny, and yet not luckier:"We got into a real quarrel, Coigny and I," said King Louis; "butif he had even struck me, I could not have blamed him." (Besenval,iii. 255-58.) In regard to such matters there can be but oneopinion. Baron Besenval, with that frankness of speech which stampsthe independent man, plainly assures her Majesty that it isfrightful (affreux); "you go to bed, and are not sure but you shallrise impoverished on the morrow: one might as well be in Turkey."It is indeed a dog's life. How singular this perpetual distress of the royal treasury! Andyet it is a thing not more incredible than undeniable. A thingmournfully true: the stumbling-block on which all Ministerssuccessively stumble, and fall. Be it 'want of fiscal genius,' orsome far other want, there is the palpablest discrepancy betweenRevenue and Expenditure; a Deficit of the Revenue: you must 'choke(combler) the Deficit,' or else it will swallow you! This is thestern problem; hopeless seemingly as squaring of the circle.Controller Joly de Fleury, who succeeded Necker, could do nothingwith it; nothing but propose loans, which were tardily filled up;impose new taxes, unproductive of money, productive of clamour anddiscontent. As little could Controller
d'Ormesson do, or even less;for if Joly maintained himself beyond year and day, d'Ormessonreckons only by months: till 'the King purchased Rambouilletwithout consulting him,' which he took as a hint to withdraw. Andso, towards the end of 1783, matters threaten to come tostill-stand. Vain seems human ingenuity. In vain has ournewly-devised 'Council of Finances' struggled, our Intendants ofFinance, Controller- General of Finances: there are unhappily noFinances to control. Fatal paralysis invades the social movement;clouds, of blindness or of blackness, envelop us: are we breakingdown, then, into the black horrors of nationalbankruptcy? Great is Bankruptcy: the great bottomless gulf into which allFalsehoods, public and private, do sink, disappearing; whither,from the first origin of them, they were all doomed. For Nature istrue and not a lie. No lie you can speak or act but it will come,after longer or shorter circulation, like a Bill drawn on Nature'sReality, and be presented there for payment,- -with the answer, Noeffects. Pity only that it often had so long a circulation: thatthe original forger were so seldom he who bore the final smart ofit! Lies, and the burden of evil they bring, are passed on; shiftedfrom back to back, and from rank to rank; and so land ultimately onthe dumb lowest rank, who with spade and mattock, with sore heartand empty wallet, daily come in contact with reality, and can passthe cheat no further. Observe nevertheless how, by a just compensating law, if the liewith its burden (in this confused whirlpool of Society) sinks andis shifted ever downwards, then in return the distress of it risesever upwards and upwards. Whereby, after the long pining anddemi-starvation of those Twenty Millions, a Duke de Coigny and hisMajesty come also to have their 'real quarrel.' Such is the law ofjust Nature; bringing, though at long intervals, and were it onlyby Bankruptcy, matters round again to the mark. But with a Fortunatus' Purse in his pocket, through what lengthof time might not almost any Falsehood last! Your Society, yourHousehold, practical or spiritual Arrangement, is untrue, unjust,offensive to the eye of God and man. Nevertheless its hearth iswarm, its larder well replenished: the innumerable Swiss of Heaven,with a kind of Natural loyalty, gather round it; will prove, bypamphleteering, musketeering, that it is a truth; or if not anunmixed (unearthly, impossible) Truth, then better, a wholesomelyattempered one, (as wind is to the shorn lamb), and works well.Changed outlook, however, when purse and larder grow empty! Wasyour Arrangement so true, so accordant to Nature's ways, then how,in the name of wonder, has Nature, with her infinite bounty, cometo leave it famishing there? To all men, to all women and allchildren, it is now indutiable that your Arrangement was false.Honour to Bankruptcy; ever righteous on the great scale, though indetail it is so cruel! Under all Falsehoods it works, unweariedlymining. No Falsehood, did it rise heaven- high and cover the world,but Bankruptcy, one day, will sweep it down, and make us free ofit.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.III. The Parlement of ParisChapter 1.3.II. Controller Calonne
Under such circumstances of tristesse, obstruction and sicklangour, when to an exasperated Court it seems as if fiscal geniushad departed from among men, what apparition could be
welcomer thanthat of M. de Calonne? Calonne, a man of indisputable genius; evenfiscal genius, more or less; of experience both in managing Financeand Parlements, for he has been Intendant at Metz, at Lille; King'sProcureur at Douai. A man of weight, connected with the moneyedclasses; of unstained name,--if it were not some peccadillo (ofshowing a Client's Letter) in that old D'Aiguillon- Lachalotaisbusiness, as good as forgotten now. He has kinsmen of heavy purse,felt on the Stock Exchange. Our Foulons, Berthiers intrigue forhim:--old Foulon, who has now nothing to do but intrigue; who isknown and even seen to be what they call a scoundrel; but ofunmeasured wealth; who, from Commissariat-clerk which he once was,may hope, some think, if the game go right, to be Minister himselfone day. Such propping and backing has M. de Calonne; and thenintrinsically such qualities! Hope radiates from his face;persuasion hangs on his tongue. For all straits he has presentremedy, and will make the world roll on wheels before him. On the3d of November 1783, the Oeil-de-Boeuf rejoices in its newController-General. Calonne also shall have trial; Calonne also, inhis way, as Turgot and Necker had done in theirs, shall forward theconsummation; suffuse, with one other flush of brilliancy, our nowtoo leaden-coloured Era of Hope, and wind it up--intofulfilment. Great, in any case, is the felicity of the Oeil-de-Boeuf.Stinginess has fled from these royal abodes: suppression ceases;your Besenval may go peaceably to sleep, sure that he shall awakeunplundered. Smiling Plenty, as if conjured by some enchanter, hasreturned; scatters contentment from her new-flowing horn. And markwhat suavity of manners! A bland smile distinguishes ourController: to all men he listens with an air of interest, nay ofanticipation; makes their own wish clear to themselves, and grantsit; or at least, grants conditional promise of it. "I fear this isa matter of difficulty," said her Majesty.--"Madame," answered theController, "if it is but difficult, it is done, if it isimpossible, it shall be done (se fera)." A man of such 'facility'withal. To observe him in the pleasure-vortex of society, whichnone partakes of with more gusto, you might ask, When does he work?And yet his work, as we see, is never behindhand; above all, thefruit of his work: ready-money. Truly a man of incredible facility;facile action, facile elocution, facile thought: how, in mildsuasion, philosophic depth sparkles up from him, as mere wit andlambent sprightliness; and in her Majesty's Soirees, with theweight of a world lying on him, he is the delight of men and women!By what magic does he accomplish miracles? By the only true magic,that of genius. Men name him 'the Minister;' as indeed, when wasthere another such? Crooked things are become straight by him,rough places plain; and over the Oeil-de-Boeuf there rests anunspeakable sunshine. Nay, in seriousness, let no man say that Calonne had not genius:genius for Persuading; before all things, for Borrowing. With theskilfulest judicious appliances of underhand money, he keeps theStock-Exchanges flourishing; so that Loan after Loan is filled upas soon as opened. 'Calculators likely to know' (Besenval, iii.216.) have calculated that he spent, in extraordinaries, 'at therate of one million daily;' which indeed is some fifty thousandpounds sterling: but did he not procure something with it; namelypeace and prosperity, for the time being? Philosophedom grumblesand croaks; buys, as we said, 80,000 copies of Necker's new Book:but Nonpareil Calonne, in her Majesty's Apartment, with theglittering retinue of Dukes, Duchesses, and mere happy admiringfaces, can let Necker and Philosophedom croak.
The misery is, such a time cannot last! Squandering, and Paymentby Loan is no way to choke a Deficit. Neither is oil the substancefor quenching conflagrations;--but, only for assuaging them, notpermanently! To the Nonpareil himself, who wanted not insight, itis clear at intervals, and dimly certain at all times, that histrade is by nature temporary, growing daily more difficult; thatchanges incalculable lie at no great distance. Apart from financialDeficit, the world is wholly in such a new-fangled humour; allthings working loose from their old fastenings, towards new issuesand combinations. There is not a dwarf jokei, a cropt Brutus'-head,or Anglomaniac horseman rising on his stirrups, that does notbetoken change. But what then? The day, in any case, passespleasantly; for the morrow, if the morrow come, there shall becounsel too. Once mounted (by munificence, suasion, magic ofgenius) high enough in favour with the Oeil- deBoeuf, with theKing, Queen, Stock-Exchange, and so far as possible with all men, aNonpareil Controller may hope to go careering through theInevitable, in some unimagined way, as handsomely as another. At all events, for these three miraculous years, it has beenexpedient heaped on expedient; till now, with such cumulation andheight, the pile topples perilous. And here has this world'swonderof a Diamond Necklace brought it at last to the clear verge oftumbling. Genius in that direction can no more: mounted highenough, or not mounted, we must fare forth. Hardly is poor Rohan,the Necklace-Cardinal, safely bestowed in the Auvergne Mountains,Dame de Lamotte (unsafely) in the Salpetriere, and that mournfulbusiness hushed up, when our sanguine Controller once moreastonishes the world. An expedient, unheard of for these hundredand sixty years, has been propounded; and, by dint of suasion (forhis light audacity, his hope and eloquence are matchless) has beengot adopted,-- Convocation of the Notables. Let notable persons, the actual or virtual rulers of theirdistricts, be summoned from all sides of France: let a true tale,of his Majesty's patriotic purposes and wretched pecuniaryimpossibilities, be suasively told them; and then the question put:What are we to do? Surely to adopt healing measures; such as themagic of genius will unfold; such as, once sanctioned by Notables,all Parlements and all men must, with more or less reluctance,submit to.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.III. The Parlement of ParisChapter 1.3.III. The Notables
Here, then is verily a sign and wonder; visible to the wholeworld; bodeful of much. The Oeil-deBoeuf dolorously grumbles; werewe not well as we stood,--quenching conflagrations by oil?Constitutional Philosophedom starts with joyful surprise; stareseagerly what the result will be. The public creditor, the publicdebtor, the whole thinking and thoughtless public have theirseveral surprises, joyful and sorrowful. Count Mirabeau, who hasgot his matrimonial and other Lawsuits huddled up, better or worse;and works now in the dimmest element at Berlin; compiling PrussianMonarchies, Pamphlets On Cagliostro; writing, with pay, but notwith honourable recognition, innumerable Despatches for hisGovernment,--scents or descries richer quarry from afar. He, likean eagle or vulture, or mixture of both, preens his wings forflight homewards. (Fils Adoptif, Memoires de Mirabeau, t. iv. livv.4 et 5.)
M. de Calonne has stretched out an Aaron's Rod over France;miraculous; and is summoning quite unexpected things. Audacity andhope alternate in him with misgivings; though the sanguine-valiantside carries it. Anon he writes to an intimate friend, "Here mefais pitie a moimeme (I am an object of pity to myself);" anon,invites some dedicating Poet or Poetaster to sing 'this Assembly ofthe Notables and the Revolution that is preparing.' (BiographieUniverselle, para Calonne (by Guizot).) Preparing indeed; and amatter to be sung,--only not till we have seen it, and what theissue of it is. In deep obscure unrest, all things have so longgone rocking and swaying: will M. de Calonne, with this his alchemyof the Notables, fasten all together again, and get new revenues?Or wrench all asunder; so that it go no longer rocking and swaying,but clashing and colliding? Be this as it may, in the bleak short days, we behold men ofweight and influence threading the great vortex of FrenchLocomotion, each on his several line, from all sides of Francetowards the Chateau of Versailles: summoned thither de par le roi.There, on the 22d day of February 1787, they have met, and gotinstalled: Notables to the number of a Hundred and Thirty-seven, aswe count them name by name: (Lacretelle, iii. 286. Montgaillard, i.347.) add Seven Princes of the Blood, it makes the round Gross ofNotables. Men of the sword, men of the robe; Peers, dignifiedClergy, Parlementary Presidents: divided into Seven Boards(Bureaux); under our Seven Princes of the Blood, Monsieur,D'Artois, Penthievre, and the rest; among whom let not our new Duked'Orleans (for, since 1785, he is Chartres no longer) be forgotten.Never yet made Admiral, and now turning the corner of his fortiethyear, with spoiled blood and prospects; half- weary of a worldwhich is more than half-weary of him, Monseigneur's future is mostquestionable. Not in illumination and insight, not even inconflagration; but, as was said, 'in dull smoke and ashes ofoutburnt sensualities,' does he live and digest. Sumptuosity andsordidness; revenge, lifeweariness, ambition, darkness,putrescence; and, say, in sterling money, three hundred thousand ayear,--were this poor Prince once to burst loose from hisCourt-moorings, to what regions, with what phenomena, might he notsail and drift! Happily as yet he 'affects to hunt daily;' sitsthere, since he must sit, presiding that Bureau of his, with dullmoon-visage, dull glassy eyes, as if it were a mere tedium tohim. We observe finally, that Count Mirabeau has actually arrived. Hedescends from Berlin, on the scene of action; glares into it withflashing sun- glance; discerns that it will do nothing for him. Hehad hoped these Notables might need a Secretary. They do need one;but have fixed on Dupont de Nemours; a man of smaller fame, butthen of better;--who indeed, as his friends often hear, laboursunder this complaint, surely not a universal one, of having 'fivekings to correspond with.' (Dumont, Souvenirs sur Mirabeau (Paris,1832), p. 20.) The pen of a Mirabeau cannot become an official one;nevertheless it remains a pen. In defect of Secretaryship, he setsto denouncing Stockbrokerage (Denonciation de l'Agiotage);testifying, as his wont is, by loud bruit, that he is present andbusy;--till, warned by friend Talleyrand, and even by Calonnehimself underhand, that 'a seventeenth Lettre-de-Cachet may belaunched against him,' he timefully flits over the marches. And now, in stately royal apartments, as Pictures of that timestill represent them, our hundred and forty-four Notables sitorganised; ready to hear and consider. Controller Calonne isdreadfully behindhand with his speeches, his preparatives; however,the man's 'facility of work' is known to us. For freshness ofstyle, lucidity, ingenuity, largeness of view, that openingHarangue of his was unsurpassable:--had not the subject-matter beenso appalling. A Deficit, concerning which
accounts vary, and theController's own account is not unquestioned; but which allaccounts agree in representing as 'enormous.' This is the epitomeof our Controller's difficulties: and then his means? MereTurgotism; for thither, it seems, we must come at last: ProvincialAssemblies; new Taxation; nay, strangest of all, new Land-tax, whathe calls Subvention Territoriale, from which neither Privileged norUnprivileged, Noblemen, Clergy, nor Parlementeers, shall beexempt! Foolish enough! These Privileged Classes have been used to tax;levying toll, tribute and custom, at all hands, while a penny wasleft: but to be themselves taxed? Of such Privileged persons,meanwhile, do these Notables, all but the merest fraction, consist.Headlong Calonne had given no heed to the 'composition,' orjudicious packing of them; but chosen such Notables as were reallynotable; trusting for the issue to off-hand ingenuity, goodfortune, and eloquence that never yet failed. HeadlongController-General! Eloquence can do much, but not all. Orpheus,with eloquence grown rhythmic, musical (what we call Poetry), drewiron tears from the cheek of Pluto: but by what witchery of rhymeor prose wilt thou from the pocket of Plutus draw gold? Accordingly, the storm that now rose and began to whistle roundCalonne, first in these Seven Bureaus, and then on the outside ofthem, awakened by them, spreading wider and wider over all France,threatens to become unappeasable. A Deficit so enormous!Mismanagement, profusion is too clear. Peculation itself is hintedat; nay, Lafayette and others go so far as to speak it out, withattempts at proof. The blame of his Deficit our brave Calonne, aswas natural, had endeavoured to shift from himself on hispredecessors; not excepting even Necker. But now Necker vehementlydenies; whereupon an 'angry Correspondence,' which also finds itsway into print. In the Oeil-de-Boeuf, and her Majesty's private Apartments, aneloquent Controller, with his "Madame, if it is but difficult," hadbeen persuasive: but, alas, the cause is now carried elsewhither.Behold him, one of these sad days, in Monsieur's Bureau; to whichall the other Bureaus have sent deputies. He is standing at bay:alone; exposed to an incessant fire of questions, interpellations,objurgations, from those 'hundred and thirty- seven' pieces oflogicordnance,--what we may well call bouches a feu, fire-mouthsliterally! Never, according to Besenval, or hardly ever, had suchdisplay of intellect, dexterity, coolness, suasive eloquence, beenmade by man. To the raging play of so many fire-mouths he opposesnothing angrier than light-beams, self-possession and fatherlysmiles. With the imperturbablest bland clearness, he, for fivehours long, keeps answering the incessant volley of fiery captiousquestions, reproachful interpellations; in words prompt aslightning, quiet as light. Nay, the cross-fire too: such sidequestions and incidental interpellations as, in the heat of themain-battle, he (having only one tongue) could not get answered;these also he takes up at the first slake; answers even these.(Besenval, iii. 196.) Could blandest suasive eloquence have savedFrance, she were saved. Heavy-laden Controller! In the Seven Bureaus seems nothing buthindrance: in Monsieur's Bureau, a Lomenie de Brienne, Archbishopof Toulouse, with an eye himself to the Controllership, stirs upthe Clergy; there are meetings, underground intrigues. Neither fromwithout anywhere comes sign of help or hope. For the Nation (whereMirabeau is now, with stentor-lungs, 'denouncing Agio') theController has hitherto done nothing, or less. For Philosophedom hehas done as good as nothing,--sent out some scientific Laperouse,or the like: and is he not in 'angry correspondence' with itsNecker? The very Oeil-de-Boeuf looks
questionable; a fallingController has no friends. Solid M. de Vergennes, who with hisphlegmatic judicious punctuality might have kept down many things,died the very week before these sorrowful Notables met. And now aSeal-keeper, Garde-des-Sceaux Miromenil is thought to be playingthe traitor: spinning plots for Lomenie-Brienne! Queen's-ReaderAbbe de Vermond, unloved individual, was Brienne's creature, thework of his hands from the first: it may be feared the backstairspassage is open, ground getting mined under our feet. TreacherousGarde-desSceaux Miromenil, at least, should be dismissed;Lamoignon, the eloquent Notable, a stanch man, with connections,and even ideas, Parlement-President yet intent on reformingParlements, were not he the right Keeper? So, for one, thinks busyBesenval; and, at dinner-table, rounds the same into theController's ear,--who always, in the intervals of landlord-duties,listens to him as with charmed look, but answers nothing positive.(Besenval, iii. 203.) Alas, what to answer? The force of private intrigue, and thenalso the force of public opinion, grows so dangerous, confused!Philosophedom sneers aloud, as if its Necker already triumphed. Thegaping populace gapes over Wood-cuts or Copper-cuts; where, forexample, a Rustic is represented convoking the poultry of hisbarnyard, with this opening address: "Dear animals, I haveassembled you to advise me what sauce I shall dress you with;" towhich a Cock responding, "We don't want to be eaten," is checked by"You wander from the point (Vous vous ecartez de la question)."(Republished in the Musee de la Caricature (Paris, 1834).) Laughterand logic; balladsinger, pamphleteer; epigram and caricature: whatwind of public opinion is this,--as if the Cave of the Winds werebursting loose! At nightfall, President Lamoignon steals over tothe Controller's; finds him 'walking with large strides in hischamber, like one out of himself.' (Besenval, iii. 209.) With rapidconfused speech the Controller begs M. de Lamoignon to give him 'anadvice.' Lamoignon candidly answers that, except in regard to hisown anticipated Keepership, unless that would prove remedial, hereally cannot take upon him to advise. 'On the Monday after Easter,' the 9th of April 1787, a date onerejoices to verify, for nothing can excel the indolent falsehood ofthese Histoires and Memoires,--'On the Monday after Easter, as I,Besenval, was riding towards Romainville to the Marechal deSegur's, I met a friend on the Boulevards, who told me that M. deCalonne was out. A little further on came M. the Duke d'Orleans,dashing towards me, head to the wind' (trotting a l'Anglaise), 'andconfirmed the news.' (Ib. iii. 211.) It is true news. TreacherousGarde-des-Sceaux Miromenil is gone, and Lamoignon is appointed inhis room: but appointed for his own profit only, not for theController's: 'next day' the Controller also has had to move. Alittle longer he may linger near; be seen among the money changers,and even 'working in the Controller's office,' where much liesunfinished: but neither will that hold. Too strong blows and beatsthis tempest of public opinion, of private intrigue, as from theCave of all the Winds; and blows him (higher Authority giving sign)out of Paris and France,--over the horizon, into Invisibility, oruuter (utter, outer?) Darkness. Such destiny the magic of genius could not forever avert.Ungrateful Oeil- de-Boeuf! did he not miraculously rain gold mannaon you; so that, as a Courtier said, "All the world held out itshand, and I held out my hat,"-- for a time? Himself is poor;penniless, had not a 'Financier's widow in Lorraine' offered him,though he was turned of fifty, her hand and the rich purse it held.Dim henceforth shall be his activity, though unwearied: Letters tothe King, Appeals, Prognostications; Pamphlets (from London),written with the old suasive facility; which however do notpersuade. Luckily his widow's purse fails not. Once, in a year ortwo, some shadow of him shall be seen
hovering on the NorthernBorder, seeking election as National Deputy; but be sternlybeckoned away. Dimmer then, far-borne over utmost European lands,in uncertain twilight of diplomacy, he shall hover, intriguing for'Exiled Princes,' and have adventures; be overset into the Rhinestream and half-drowned, nevertheless save his papers dry.Unwearied, but in vain! In France he works miracles no more; shallhardly return thither to find a grave. Farewell, thou facilesanguine Controller- General, with thy light rash hand, thy suasivemouth of gold: worse men there have been, and better; but to theealso was allotted a task,--of raising the wind, and the winds; andthou hast done it. But now, while Ex-Controller Calonne flies storm-driven over thehorizon, in this singular way, what has become of theControllership? It hangs vacant, one may say; extinct, like theMoon in her vacant interlunar cave. Two preliminary shadows, poorM. Fourqueux, poor M. Villedeuil, do hold in quick succession somesimulacrum of it, (Besenval, iii. 225.)--as the new Moon willsometimes shine out with a dim preliminary old one in her arms. Bepatient, ye Notables! An actual new Controller is certain, and evenready; were the indispensable manoeuvres but gone through.Long-headed Lamoignon, with Home Secretary Breteuil, and ForeignSecretary Montmorin have exchanged looks; let these three once meetand speak. Who is it that is strong in the Queen's favour, and theAbbe de Vermond's? That is a man of great capacity? Or at leastthat has struggled, these fifty years, to have it thought great;now, in the Clergy's name, demanding to have Protestantdeath-penalties 'put in execution;' no flaunting it in the Oeil-de-Boeuf, as the gayest man-pleaser and woman-pleaser; gleaningeven a good word from Philosophedom and your Voltaires andD'Alemberts? With a party ready-made for him in theNotables?--Lomenie de Brienne, Archbishop of Toulouse! answer allthe three, with the clearest instantaneous concord; and rush off topropose him to the King; 'in such haste,' says Besenval, 'that M.de Lamoignon had to borrow a simarre,' seemingly some kind of clothapparatus necessary for that. (Ib. iii. 224.) Lomenie-Brienne, who had all his life 'felt a kind ofpredestination for the highest offices,' has now therefore obtainedthem. He presides over the Finances; he shall have the title ofPrime Minister itself, and the effort of his long life be realised.Unhappy only that it took such talent and industry to gain theplace; that to qualify for it hardly any talent or industry wasleft disposable! Looking now into his inner man, what qualificationhe may have, Lomenie beholds, not without astonishment, next tonothing but vacuity and possibility. Principles or methods,acquirement outward or inward (for his very body is wasted, by hardtear and wear) he finds none; not so much as a plan, even an unwiseone. Lucky, in these circumstances, that Calonne has had a plan!Calonne's plan was gathered from Turgot's and Necker's bycompilation; shall become Lomenie's by adoption. Not in vain hasLomenie studied the working of the British Constitution; for heprofesses to have some Anglomania, of a sort. Why, in that freecountry, does one Minister, driven out by Parliament, vanish fromhis King's presence, and another enter, borne in by Parliament?(Montgaillard, Histoire de France, i. 410-17.) Surely not for merechange (which is ever wasteful); but that all men may have share ofwhat is going; and so the strife of Freedom indefinitely prolongitself, and no harm be done. The Notables, mollified by Easter festivities, by the sacrificeof Calonne, are not in the worst humour. Already his Majesty, whilethe 'interlunar shadows' were in office, had held session ofNotables; and from his throne delivered promissory conciliatoryeloquence: 'The Queen stood waiting at a window, till his carriagecame back; and Monsieur from afar clapped hands to her,' in
signthat all was well. (Besenval, iii. 220.) It has had the besteffect; if such do but last. Leading Notables meanwhile can be'caressed;' Brienne's new gloss, Lamoignon's long head will profitsomewhat; conciliatory eloquence shall not be wanting. On thewhole, however, is it not undeniable that this of ousting Calonneand adopting the plans of Calonne, is a measure which, to produceits best effect, should be looked at from a certain distance,cursorily; not dwelt on with minute near scrutiny. In a word, thatno service the Notables could now do were so obliging as, in somehandsome manner, to--take themselves away! Their 'Six Propositions'about Provisional Assemblies, suppression of Corvees and suchlike,can be accepted without criticism. The Subvention on Land-tax, andmuch else, one must glide hastily over; safe nowhere but inflourishes of conciliatory eloquence. Till at length, on this 25thof May, year 1787, in solemn final session, there bursts forth whatwe can call an explosion of eloquence; King, Lomenie, Lamoignon andretinue taking up the successive strain; in harrangues to thenumber of ten, besides his Majesty's, which last the livelongday;--whereby, as in a kind of choral anthem, or bravura peal, ofthanks, praises, promises, the Notables are, so to speak, organedout, and dismissed to their respective places of abode. They hadsat, and talked, some nine weeks: they were the first Notablessince Richelieu's, in the year 1626. By some Historians, sitting much at their ease, in the safedistance, Lomenie has been blamed for this dismissal of hisNotables: nevertheless it was clearly time. There are things, as wesaid, which should not be dwelt on with minute close scrutiny: overhot coals you cannot glide too fast. In these Seven Bureaus, whereno work could be done, unless talk were work, the questionablestmatters were coming up. Lafayette, for example, in Monseigneurd'Artois' Bureau, took upon him to set forth more than onedeprecatory oration about Lettres-de-Cachet, Liberty of theSubject, Agio, and suchlike; which Monseigneur endeavouring torepress, was answered that a Notable being summoned to speak hisopinion must speak it. (Montgaillard, i. 360.) Thus too his Grace the Archbishop of Aix perorating once, with aplaintive pulpit tone, in these words? "Tithe, that free-willoffering of the piety of Christians"--"Tithe," interrupted Duke laRochefoucault, with the cold business-manner he has learned fromthe English, "that free-will offering of the piety of Christians;on which there are now forty-thousand lawsuits in this realm."(Dumont, Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, p. 21.) Nay, Lafayette, bound tospeak his opinion, went the length, one day, of proposing toconvoke a 'National Assembly.' "You demand StatesGeneral?" askedMonseigneur with an air of minatory surprise.--"Yes, Monseigneur;and even better than that."--Write it," said Monseigneur to theClerks. (Toulongeon, Histoire de France depuis la Revolution de1789 (Paris, 1803), i. app. 4.)--Written accordingly it is; andwhat is more, will be acted by and by.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.III. The Parlement of ParisChapter 1.3.IV. Lomenie's Edicts
Thus, then, have the Notables returned home; carrying to allquarters of France, such notions of deficit, decrepitude,distraction; and that States- General will cure it, or will notcure it but kill it. Each Notable, we may fancy, is as a funeraltorch; disclosing hideous abysses, better left hid! The unquietesthumour possesses all men; ferments, seeks issue, in pamphleteering,caricaturing, projecting, declaiming; vain jangling of thought,word and deed.
It is Spiritual Bankruptcy, long tolerated; verging now towardsEconomical Bankruptcy, and become intolerable. For from the lowestdumb rank, the inevitable misery, as was predicted, has spreadupwards. In every man is some obscure feeling that his position,oppressive or else oppressed, is a false one: all men, in one orthe other acrid dialect, as assaulters or as defenders, must givevent to the unrest that is in them. Of such stuff nationalwell-being, and the glory of rulers, is not made. O Lomenie, what awild-heaving, waste-looking, hungry and angry world hast thou,after lifelong effort, got promoted to take charge of! Lomenie's first Edicts are mere soothing ones: creation ofProvincial Assemblies, 'for apportioning the imposts,' when we getany; suppression of Corvees or statute-labour; alleviation ofGabelle. Soothing measures, recommended by the Notables; longclamoured for by all liberal men. Oil cast on the waters has beenknown to produce a good effect. Before venturing with greatessential measures, Lomenie will see this singular 'swell of thepublic mind' abate somewhat. Most proper, surely. But what if it were not a swell of theabating kind? There are swells that come of upper tempest andwind-gust. But again there are swells that come of subterraneanpent wind, some say; and even of inward decomposion, of decay thathas become self-combustion:--as when, according to Neptuno-PlutonicGeology, the World is all decayed down into due attritus of thissort; and shall now be exploded, and new-made! These latter abatenot by oil.--The fool says in his heart, How shall not tomorrow beas yesterday; as all days,--which were once tomorrows? The wiseman, looking on this France, moral, intellectual, economical, sees,'in short, all the symptoms he has ever met with inhistory,'--unabatable by soothing Edicts. Meanwhile, abate or not, cash must be had; and for that quiteanother sort of Edicts, namely 'bursal' or fiscal ones. How easywere fiscal Edicts, did you know for certain that the Parlement ofParis would what they call 'register' them! Such right ofregistering, properly of mere writing down, the Parlement has gotby old wont; and, though but a Law-Court, can remonstrate, andhiggle considerably about the same. Hence many quarrels; desperateMaupeou devices, and victory and defeat;--a quarrel now near fortyyears long. Hence fiscal Edicts, which otherwise were easy enough,become such problems. For example, is there not Calonne'sSubvention Territoriale, universal, unexempting Land-tax; thesheet-anchor of Finance? Or, to show, so far as possible, that oneis not without original finance talent, Lomenie himself can devisean Edit du Timbre or Stamp-tax,-- borrowed also, it is true; butthen from America: may it prove luckier in France than there! France has her resources: nevertheless, it cannot be denied, theaspect of that Parlement is questionable. Already among theNotables, in that final symphony of dismissal, the Paris Presidenthad an ominous tone. Adrien Duport, quitting magnetic sleep, inthis agitation of the world, threatens to rouse himself intopreternatural wakefulness. Shallower but also louder, there ismagnetic D'Espremenil, with his tropical heat (he was born atMadras); with his dusky confused violence; holding of Illumination,Animal Magnetism, Public Opinion, Adam Weisshaupt, Harmodius andAristogiton, and all manner of confused violent things: of whom cancome no good. The very Peerage is infected with the leaven. OurPeers have, in too many cases, laid aside their frogs, laces,bagwigs; and go about in English costume, or ride rising in theirstirrups,--in the most headlong manner; nothing butinsubordination, eleutheromania, confused unlimited opposition intheir heads. Questionable: not to be ventured upon, if we had aFortunatus' Purse!
But Lomenie has waited all June, casting on thewaters what oil he had; and now, betide as it may, the two FinanceEdicts must out. On the 6th of July, he forwards his proposedStamp-tax and Land- tax to the Parlement of Paris; and, as ifputting his own leg foremost, not his borrowed Calonne's-leg,places the Stamp-tax first in order. Alas, the Parlement will not register: the Parlement demandsinstead a 'state of the expenditure,' a 'state of the contemplatedreductions;' 'states' enough; which his Majesty must decline tofurnish! Discussions arise; patriotic eloquence: the Peers aresummoned. Does the Nemean Lion begin to bristle? Here surely is aduel, which France and the Universe may look upon: with prayers; atlowest, with curiosity and bets. Paris stirs with new animation.The outer courts of the Palais de Justice roll with unusual crowds,coming and going; their huge outer hum mingles with the clang ofpatriotic eloquence within, and gives vigour to it. Poor Lomeniegazes from the distance, little comforted; has his invisibleemissaries flying to and fro, assiduous, without result. So pass the sultry dog-days, in the most electric manner; andthe whole month of July. And still, in the Sanctuary of Justice,sounds nothing but Harmodius-Aristogiton eloquence, environed withthe hum of crowding Paris; and no registering accomplished, and no'states' furnished. "States?" said a lively Parlementeer:"Messieurs, the states that should be furnished us, in my opinionare the States-General." On which timely joke there followcachinnatory buzzes of approval. What a word to be spoken in thePalais de Justice! Old D'Ormesson (the Ex-Controller's uncle)shakes his judicious head; far enough from laughing. But the outercourts, and Paris and France, catch the glad sound, and repeat it;shall repeat it, and re-echo and reverberate it, till it grow adeafening peal. Clearly enough here is no registering to be thoughtof. The pious Proverb says, 'There are remedies for all things butdeath.' When a Parlement refuses registering, the remedy, by longpractice, has become familiar to the simplest: a Bed of Justice.One complete month this Parlement has spent in mere idle jargoning,and sound and fury; the Timbre Edict not registered, or like to be;the Subvention not yet so much as spoken of. On the 6th of Augustlet the whole refractory Body roll out, in wheeled vehicles, as faras the King's Chateau of Versailles; there shall the King, holdinghis Bed of Justice, order them, by his own royal lips, to register.They may remonstrate, in an under tone; but they must obey, lest aworse unknown thing befall them. It is done: the Parlement has rolled out, on royal summons; hasheard the express royal order to register. Whereupon it has rolledback again, amid the hushed expectancy of men. And now, behold, onthe morrow, this Parlement, seated once more in its own Palais,with 'crowds inundating the outer courts,' not only does notregister, but (O portent!) declares all that was done on the priorday to be null, and the Bed of Justice as good as a futility! Inthe history of France here verily is a new feature. Nay betterstill, our heroic Parlement, getting suddenly enlightened onseveral things, declares that, for its part, it is incompetent toregister Tax- edicts at all,--having done it by mistake, duringthese late centuries; that for such act one authority only iscompetent: the assembled Three Estates of the Realm! To such length can the universal spirit of a Nation penetratethe most isolated Body-corporate: say rather, with such weapons,homicidal and suicidal, in exasperated political duel, willBodiescorporate fight! But, in any case, is not this the realdeath-grapple of war and internecine duel,
Greek meeting Greek;whereon men, had they even no interest in it, might look withinterest unspeakable? Crowds, as was said, inundate the outercourts: inundation of young eleutheromaniac Noblemen in Englishcostume, uttering audacious speeches; of Procureurs,Basoche-Clerks, who are idle in these days: of Loungers,Newsmongers and other nondescript classes,--rolls tumultuous there.'From three to four thousand persons,' waiting eagerly to hear theArretes (Resolutions) you arrive at within; applauding with bravos,with the clapping of from six to eight thousand hands! Sweet alsois the meed of patriotic eloquence, when your D'Espremenil, yourFreteau, or Sabatier, issuing from his Demosthenic Olympus, thethunder being hushed for the day, is welcomed, in the outer courts,with a shout from four thousand throats; is borne home shoulder-high 'with benedictions,' and strikes the stars with his sublimehead.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.III. The Parlement of ParisChapter 1.3.V. Lomenie's Thunderbolts
Arise, Lomenie-Brienne: here is no case for 'Letters ofJussion;' for faltering or compromise. Thou seest the whole loosefluent population of Paris (whatsoever is not solid, and fixed towork) inundating these outer courts, like a loud destructivedeluge; the very Basoche of Lawyers' Clerks talks sedition. Thelower classes, in this duel of Authority with Authority, Greekthrottling Greek, have ceased to respect the City-Watch:Police-satellites are marked on the back with chalk (the Msignifies mouchard, spy); they are hustled, hunted like feraenaturae. Subordinate rural Tribunals send messengers ofcongratulation, of adherence. Their Fountain of Justice is becominga Fountain of Revolt. The Provincial Parlements look on, withintent eye, with breathless wishes, while their elder sister ofParis does battle: the whole Twelve are of one blood and temper;the victory of one is that of all. Ever worse it grows: on the 10th of August, there is 'Plainte'emitted touching the 'prodigalities of Calonne,' and permission to'proceed' against him. No registering, but instead of it,denouncing: of dilapidation, peculation; and ever the burden of thesong, States-General! Have the royal armories no thunderbolt, thatthou couldst, O Lomenie, with red right-hand, launch it among theseDemosthenic theatrical thunder- barrels, mere resin and noise formost part;--and shatter, and smite them silent? On the night of the14th of August, Lomenie launches his thunderbolt, or handful ofthem. Letters named of the Seal (de Cachet), as many as needful,some sixscore and odd, are delivered overnight. And so, next daybetimes, the whole Parlement, once more set on wheels, is rollingincessantly towards Troyes in Champagne; 'escorted,' says History,'with the blessings of all people;' the very innkeepers andpostillions looking gratuitously reverent. (A. Lameth, Histoire del'Assemblee Constituante (Int. 73).) This is the 15th of August1787. What will not people bless; in their extreme need? Seldom hadthe Parlement of Paris deserved much blessing, or received much. Anisolated Body-corporate, which, out of old confusions (while theSceptre of the Sword was confusedly struggling to become a Sceptreof the Pen), had got itself together, better and worse, asBodies-corporate do, to satisfy some dim desire of the world, andmany clear desires of individuals; and so had grown, in the courseof centuries, on concession, on acquirement and usurpation, to bewhat we see it: a prosperous social Anomaly, deciding Lawsuits,sanctioning or rejecting Laws; and withal disposing of its placesand offices by
sale for ready money,--which method sleek PresidentHenault, after meditation, will demonstrate to be theindifferent-best. (Abrege Chronologique, p. 975.) In such a Body, existing by purchase for ready-money, therecould not be excess of public spirit; there might well be excess ofeagerness to divide the public spoil. Men in helmets have dividedthat, with swords; men in wigs, with quill and inkhorn, do divideit: and even more hatefully these latter, if more peaceably; forthe wig-method is at once irresistibler and baser. By longexperience, says Besenval, it has been found useless to sue aParlementeer at law; no Officer of Justice will serve a writ onone; his wig and gown are his Vulcan's-panoply, his enchantedcloak-of-darkness. The Parlement of Paris may count itself an unloved body; mean,not magnanimous, on the political side. Were the King weak, always(as now) has his Parlement barked, cur-like at his heels; with whatpopular cry there might be. Were he strong, it barked before hisface; hunting for him as his alert beagle. An unjust Body; wherefoul influences have more than once worked shameful perversion ofjudgment. Does not, in these very days, the blood of murdered Lallycry aloud for vengeance? Baited, circumvented, driven mad like thesnared lion, Valour had to sink extinguished under vindictiveChicane. Behold him, that hapless Lally, his wild dark soul lookingthrough his wild dark face; trailed on the ignominious death-hurdle; the voice of his despair choked by a wooden gag! The wildfire- soul that has known only peril and toil; and, for threescoreyears, has buffeted against Fate's obstruction and men's perfidy,like genius and courage amid poltroonery, dishonesty andcommonplace; faithfully enduring and endeavouring,-O Parlement ofParis, dost thou reward it with a gibbet and a gag? (9th May, 1766:Biographie Universelle, para Lally.) The dying Lally bequeathed hismemory to his boy; a young Lally has arisen, demanding redress inthe name of God and man. The Parlement of Paris does its utmost todefend the indefensible, abominable; nay, what is singular,dusky-glowing Aristogiton d'Espremenil is the man chosen to be itsspokesman in that. Such Social Anomaly is it that France now blesses. An uncleanSocial Anomaly; but in duel against another worse! The exiledParlement is felt to have 'covered itself with glory.' There arequarrels in which even Satan, bringing help, were not unwelcome;even Satan, fighting stiffly, might cover himself with glory,--of atemporary sort. But what a stir in the outer courts of the Palais, when Parisfinds its Parlement trundled off to Troyes in Champagne; andnothing left but a few mute Keepers of records; the Demosthenicthunder become extinct, the martyrs of liberty clean gone! Confusedwail and menace rises from the four thousand throats of Procureurs,Basoche-Clerks, Nondescripts, and Anglomaniac Noblesse; ever newidlers crowd to see and hear; Rascality, with increasing numbersand vigour, hunts mouchards. Loud whirlpool rolls through thesespaces; the rest of the City, fixed to its work, cannot yet gorolling. Audacious placards are legible, in and about the Palais,the speeches are as good as seditious. Surely the temper of Parisis much changed. On the third day of this business (18th ofAugust), Monsieur and Monseigneur d'Artois, coming instatecarriages, according to use and wont, to have these lateobnoxious Arretes and protests 'expunged' from the Records, arereceived in the most marked manner. Monsieur, who is thought to bein opposition, is met with vivats and strewed flowers; Monseigneur,on the other hand, with silence; with murmurs, which rise to hissesand groans; nay, an irreverent Rascality presses towards him
infloods, with such hissing vehemence, that the Captain of the Guardshas to give order, "Haut les armes (Handle arms)!"--at whichthunder-word, indeed, and the flash of the clear iron, theRascalflood recoils, through all avenues, fast enough.(Montgaillard, i. 369. Besenval, &c.) New features these.Indeed, as good M. de Malesherbes pertinently remarks, "it is aquite new kind of contest this with the Parlement:" no transitorysputter, as from collision of hard bodies; but more like "the firstsparks of what, if not quenched, may become a great conflagration."(Montgaillard, i. 373.) This good Malesherbes sees himself now again in the King'sCouncil, after an absence of ten years: Lomenie would profit if notby the faculties of the man, yet by the name he has. As for theman's opinion, it is not listened to;--wherefore he will soonwithdraw, a second time; back to his books and his trees. In suchKing's Council what can a good man profit? Turgot tries it not asecond time: Turgot has quitted France and this Earth, some yearsago; and now cares for none of these things. Singular enough:Turgot, this same Lomenie, and the Abbe Morellet were once a trioof young friends; fellow-scholars in the Sorbonne. Forty new yearshave carried them severally thus far. Meanwhile the Parlement sits daily at Troyes, calling cases; anddaily adjourns, no Procureur making his appearance to plead. Troyesis as hospitable as could be looked for: nevertheless one hascomparatively a dull life. No crowds now to carry you,shoulder-high, to the immortal gods; scarcely a Patriot or two willdrive out so far, and bid you be of firm courage. You are infurnished lodgings, far from home and domestic comfort: little todo, but wander over the unlovely Champagne fields; seeing thegrapes ripen; taking counsel about the thousand-times consulted: aprey to tedium; in danger even that Paris may forget you.Messengers come and go: pacific Lomenie is not slack innegotiating, promising; D'Ormesson and the prudent elder Memberssee no good in strife. After a dull month, the Parlement, yielding and retaining, makestruce, as all Parlements must. The Stamp-tax is withdrawn: theSubvention Land-tax is also withdrawn; but, in its stead, there isgranted, what they call a 'Prorogation of the SecondTwentieth,'--itself a kind of Land-tax, but not so oppressive tothe Influential classes; which lies mainly on the Dumb class.Moreover, secret promises exist (on the part of the Elders), thatfinances may be raised by Loan. Of the ugly word States-Generalthere shall be no mention. And so, on the 20th of September, our exiled Parlement returns:D'Espremenil said, 'it went out covered with glory, but had comeback covered with mud (de boue).' Not so, Aristogiton; or if so,thou surely art the man to clean it.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.III. The Parlement of ParisChapter 1.3.VI. Lomenie's Plots
Was ever unfortunate Chief Minister so bested asLomenie-Brienne? The reins of the State fairly in his hand thesesix months; and not the smallest motive-power (of Finance) to stirfrom the spot with, this way or that! He flourishes his whip, butadvances not. Instead of ready-money, there is nothing butrebellious debating and recalcitrating.
Far is the public mind from having calmed; it goes chafing andfuming ever worse: and in the royal coffers, with such yearlyDeficit running on, there is hardly the colour of coin. Ominousprognostics! Malesherbes, seeing an exhausted, exasperated Francegrow hotter and hotter, talks of 'conflagration:' Mirabeau, withouttalk, has, as we perceive, descended on Paris again, close on therear of the Parlement, (Fils Adoptif, Mirabeau, iv. l. 5.)--not toquit his native soil any more. Over the Frontiers, behold Holland invaded by Prussia; (October,1787. Montgaillard, i. 374. Besenval, iii. 283.) the French partyoppressed, England and the Stadtholder triumphing: to the sorrow ofWar-Secretary Montmorin and all men. But without money, sinews ofwar, as of work, and of existence itself, what can a Chief Ministerdo? Taxes profit little: this of the Second Twentieth falls not duetill next year; and will then, with its 'strict valuation,' producemore controversy than cash. Taxes on the Privileged Classes cannotbe got registered; are intolerable to our supporters themselves:taxes on the Unprivileged yield nothing,--as from a thing draineddry more cannot be drawn. Hope is nowhere, if not in the old refugeof Loans. To Lomenie, aided by the long head of Lamoignon, deeplypondering this sea of troubles, the thought suggested itself: Whynot have a Successive Loan (Emprunt Successif), or Loan that wenton lending, year after year, as much as needful; say, till 1792?The trouble of registering such Loan were the same: we had thenbreathing time; money to work with, at least to subsist on. Edictof a Successive Loan must be proposed. To conciliate thePhilosophes, let a liberal Edict walk in front of it, foremancipation of Protestants; let a liberal Promise guard the rearof it, that when our Loan ends, in that final 1792, theStates-General shall be convoked. Such liberal Edict of Protestant Emancipation, the time havingcome for it, shall cost a Lomenie as little as the 'Death-penaltiesto be put in execution' did. As for the liberal Promise, ofStatesGeneral, it can be fulfilled or not: the fulfilment is fivegood years off; in five years much intervenes. But the registering?Ah, truly, there is the difficulty!--However, we have that promiseof the Elders, given secretly at Troyes. Judicious gratuities,cajoleries, underground intrigues, with old Foulon, named 'Amedamnee, Familiar-demon, of the Parlement,' may perhaps do the rest.At worst and lowest, the Royal Authority has resources,-- whichought it not to put forth? If it cannot realise money, the RoyalAuthority is as good as dead; dead of that surest and miserablestdeath, inanition. Risk and win; without risk all is already lost!For the rest, as in enterprises of pith, a touch of stratagem oftenproves furthersome, his Majesty announces a Royal Hunt, for the19th of November next; and all whom it concerns are joyfullygetting their gear ready. Royal Hunt indeed; but of two-legged unfeathered game! At elevenin the morning of that RoyalHunt day, 19th of November 1787,unexpected blare of trumpetting, tumult of charioteering andcavalcading disturbs the Seat of Justice: his Majesty is come, withGarde-des-Sceaux Lamoignon, and Peers and retinue, to hold RoyalSession and have Edicts registered. What a change, since Louis XIV.entered here, in boots; and, whip in hand, ordered his registeringto be done,--with an Olympian look which none durst gainsay; anddid, without stratagem, in such unceremonious fashion, hunt as wellas register! (Dulaure, vi. 306.) For Louis XVI., on this day, theRegistering will be enough; if indeed he and the day suffice forit.
Meanwhile, with fit ceremonial words, the purpose of the royalbreast is signified:--Two Edicts, for Protestant Emancipation, forSuccessive Loan: of both which Edicts our trusty Garde-desSceauxLamoignon will explain the purport; on both which a trustyParlement is requested to deliver its opinion, each member havingfree privilege of speech. And so, Lamoignon too having peroratednot amiss, and wound up with that Promise of States- General,--theSphere-music of Parlementary eloquence begins. Explosive,responsive, sphere answering sphere, it waxes louder and louder.The Peers sit attentive; of diverse sentiment: unfriendly toStates-General; unfriendly to Despotism, which cannot reward merit,and is suppressing places. But what agitates his Highnessd'Orleans? The rubicund moon-head goes wagging; darker beams thecopper visage, like unscoured copper; in the glazed eye isdisquietude; he rolls uneasy in his seat, as if he meant something.Amid unutterable satiety, has sudden new appetite, for newforbidden fruit, been vouchsafed him? Disgust and edacity; lazinessthat cannot rest; futile ambition, revenge, nonadmiralship:--O,within that carbuncled skin what a confusion of confusions sitsbottled! 'Eight Couriers,' in course of the day, gallop from Versailles,where Lomenie waits palpitating; and gallop back again, not withthe best news. In the outer Courts of the Palais, huge buzz ofexpectation reigns; it is whispered the Chief Minister has lost sixvotes overnight. And from within, resounds nothing but forensiceloquence, pathetic and even indignant; heartrending appeals to theroyal clemency, that his Majesty would please to summonStates-General forthwith, and be the Saviour of France:--whereindusky-glowing D'Espremenil, but still more Sabatier de Cabre, andFreteau, since named Commere Freteau (Goody Freteau), are among theloudest. For six mortal hours it lasts, in this manner; theinfinite hubbub unslackened. And so now, when brown dusk is falling through the windows, andno end visible, his Majesty, on hint of Garde-des-Sceaux,Lamoignon, opens his royal lips once more to say, in brief That hemust have his Loan-Edict registered.--Momentary deep pause!--See!Monseigneur d'Orleans rises; with moon-visage turned towards theroyal platform, he asks, with a delicate graciosity of mannercovering unutterable things: "Whether it is a Bed of Justice, then;or a Royal Session?" Fire flashes on him from the throne andneighbourhood: surly answer that "it is a Session." In that case,Monseigneur will crave leave to remark that Edicts cannot beregistered by order in a Session; and indeed to enter, against suchregistry, his individual humble Protest. "Vous etes bien le maitre(You will do your pleasure)", answers the King; and thereupon, inhigh state, marches out, escorted by his Court-retinue; D'Orleanshimself, as in duty bound, escorting him, but only to the gate.Which duty done, D'Orleans returns in from the gate; redacts hisProtest, in the face of an applauding Parlement, an applaudingFrance; and so--has cut his Court-moorings, shall we say? And willnow sail and drift, fast enough, towards Chaos? Thou foolish D'Orleans; Equality that art to be! Is Royaltygrown a mere wooden Scarecrow; whereon thou, pert scald-headedcrow, mayest alight at pleasure, and peck? Not yet wholly. Next day, a Lettre-de-Cachet sends D'Orleans to bethink himselfin his Chateau of VillersCotterets, where, alas, is no Paris withits joyous necessaries of life; no fascinating indispensable Madamede Buffon,--light wife of a great Naturalist much too old for her.Monseigneur, it is said, does nothing but walk distractedly, atVillers-Cotterets; cursing his stars. Versailles itself shall hearpenitent wail from him, so hard is his doom. By a second,simultaneous Lettre-de-Cachet, Goody Freteau is hurled into theStronghold of Ham, amid the Norman marshes; by a third,
Sabatier deCabre into Mont St. Michel, amid the Norman quicksands. As for theParlement, it must, on summons, travel out to Versailles, with itsRegister-Book under its arm, to have the Protest biffe (expunged);not without admonition, and even rebuke. A stroke of authoritywhich, one might have hoped, would quiet matters. Unhappily, no; it is a mere taste of the whip to rearingcoursers, which makes them rear worse! When a team of Twenty-fiveMillions begins rearing, what is Lomenie's whip? The Parlement willnowise acquiesce meekly; and set to register the Protestant Edict,and do its other work, in salutary fear of these threeLettres-de-Cachet. Far from that, it begins questioningLettres-deCachet generally, their legality, endurability; emitsdolorous objurgation, petition on petition to have its threeMartyrs delivered; cannot, till that be complied with, so much asthink of examining the Protestant Edict, but puts it off always'till this day week.' (Besenval, iii. 309.) In which objurgatory strain Paris and France joins it, or ratherhas preceded it; making fearful chorus. And now also the otherParlements, at length opening their mouths, begin to join; some ofthem, as at Grenoble and at Rennes, with portentousemphasis,--threatening, by way of reprisal, to interdict the veryTax-gatherer. (Weber, i. 266.) "In all former contests," asMalesherbes remarks, "it was the Parlement that excited the Public;but here it is the Public that excites the Parlement."
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.III. The Parlement of ParisChapter 1.3.VII. Internecine
What a France, through these winter months of the year 1787! Thevery Oeil-de-Boeuf is doleful, uncertain; with a general feelingamong the Suppressed, that it were better to be in Turkey. TheWolf-hounds are suppressed, the Bear-hounds, Duke de Coigny, Dukede Polignac: in the Trianon little-heaven, her Majesty, oneevening, takes Besenval's arm; asks his candid opinion. Theintrepid Besenval,--having, as he hopes, nothing of the sycophantin him,--plainly signifies that, with a Parlement in rebellion, andan Oeil-de-Boeuf in suppression, the King's Crown is indanger;--whereupon, singular to say, her Majesty, as if hurt,changed the subject, et ne me parla plus de rien! (Besenval, iii.264.) To whom, indeed, can this poor Queen speak? In need of wisecounsel, if ever mortal was; yet beset here only by the hubbub ofchaos! Her dwelling- place is so bright to the eye, and confusionand black care darkens it all. Sorrows of the Sovereign, sorrows ofthe woman, thinkcoming sorrows environ her more and more. Lamotte,the Necklace-Countess, has in these late months escaped, perhapsbeen suffered to escape, from the Salpetriere. Vain was the hopethat Paris might thereby forget her; and this ever- widening-lie,and heap of lies, subside. The Lamotte, with a V (for Voleuse,Thief) branded on both shoulders, has got to England; and willtherefrom emit lie on lie; defiling the highest queenly name: meredistracted lies; (Memoires justificatifs de la Comtesse de Lamotte(London, 1788). Vie de Jeanne de St. Remi, Comtesse de Lamotte,&c. &c. See Diamond Necklace (ut supra).) which, in itspresent humour, France will greedily believe.
For the rest, it is too clear our Successive Loan is notfilling. As indeed, in such circumstances, a Loan registered byexpunging of Protests was not the likeliest to fill. Denunciationof Lettres-deCachet, of Despotism generally, abates not: theTwelve Parlements are busy; the Twelve hundred Placarders,Balladsingers, Pamphleteers. Paris is what, in figurative speech,they call 'flooded with pamphlets (regorge de brochures);' floodedand eddying again. Hot deluge,--from so many Patriot ready-writers,all at the fervid or boiling point; each ready-writer, now in thehour of eruption, going like an Iceland Geyser! Against which whatcan a judicious friend Morellet do; a Rivarol, an unruly Linguet(well paid for it),--spouting cold! Now also, at length, does come discussion of the ProtestantEdict: but only for new embroilment; in pamphlet andcounter-pamphlet, increasing the madness of men. Not evenOrthodoxy, bedrid as she seemed, but will have a hand in thisconfusion. She, once again in the shape of Abbe Lenfant, 'whomPrelates drive to visit and congratulate,'--raises audible soundfrom her pulpit-drum. (Lacretelle, iii. 343. Montgaillard, &c.)Or mark how D'Espremenil, who has his own confused way in allthings, produces at the right moment in Parlementary harangue, apocket Crucifix, with the apostrophe: "Will ye crucify him afresh?"Him, O D'Espremenil, without scruple;-considering what poor stuff,of ivory and filigree, he is made of! To all which add only that poor Brienne has fallen sick; so hardwas the tear and wear of his sinful youth, so violent, incessant isthis agitation of his foolish old age. Baited, bayed at through somany throats, his Grace, growing consumptive, inflammatory (withhumeur de dartre), lies reduced to milk diet; in exasperation,almost in desperation; with 'repose,' precisely the impossiblerecipe, prescribed as the indispensable. (Besenval, iii. 317.) On the whole, what can a poor Government do, but once morerecoil ineffectual? The King's Treasury is running towards thelees; and Paris 'eddies with a flood of pamphlets.' At all rates,let the latter subside a little! "D'Orleans gets back to Raincy,which is nearer Paris and the fair frail Buffon; finally to Parisitself: neither are Freteau and Sabatier banished forever. TheProtestant Edict is registered; to the joy of Boissy d'Anglas andgood Malesherbes: Successive Loan, all protests expunged or elsewithdrawn, remains open,--the rather as few or none come to fillit. States-General, for which the Parlement has clamoured, and nowthe whole Nation clamours, will follow 'in five years,'--if indeednot sooner. O Parlement of Paris, what a clamour was that!"Messieurs," said old d'Ormesson, "you will get States-General, andyou will repent it." Like the Horse in the Fable, who, to beavenged of his enemy, applied to the Man. The Man mounted; didswift execution on the enemy; but, unhappily, would not dismount!Instead of five years, let three years pass, and this clamorousParlement shall have both seen its enemy hurled prostrate, and beenitself ridden to foundering (say rather, jugulated for hide andshoes), and lie dead in the ditch. Under such omens, however, we have reached the spring of 1788.By no path can the King's Government find passage for itself, butis everywhere shamefully flung back. Beleaguered by Twelverebellious Parlements, which are grown to be the organs of an angryNation, it can advance nowhither; can accomplish nothing, obtainnothing, not so much as money to subsist on; but must sit there,seemingly, to be eaten up of Deficit.
The measure of the Iniquity, then, of the Falsehood which hasbeen gathering through long centuries, is nearly full? At least,that of the misery is! For the hovels of the Twenty-five Millions,the misery, permeating upwards and forwards, as its law is, has gotso far,--to the very Oeil-de-Boeuf of Versailles. Man's hand, inthis blind pain, is set against man: not only the low against thehigher, but the higher against each other; Provincial Noblesse isbitter against Court Noblesse; Robe against Sword; Rochet againstPen. But against the King's Government who is not bitter? Not evenBesenval, in these days. To it all men and bodies of men are becomeas enemies; it is the centre whereon infinite contentions unite andclash. What new universal vertiginous movement is this; ofInstitution, social Arrangements, individual Minds, which onceworked cooperative; now rolling and grinding in distractedcollision? Inevitable: it is the breaking-up of a World-Solecism,worn out at last, down even to bankruptcy of money! And so thispoor Versailles Court, as the chief or central Solecism, finds allthe other Solecisms arrayed against it. Most natural! For yourhuman Solecism, be it Person or Combination of Persons, is ever, bylaw of Nature, uneasy; if verging towards bankruptcy, it is evenmiserable:--and when would the meanest Solecism consent to blame oramend itself, while there remained another to amend? These threatening signs do not terrify Lomenie, much less teachhim. Lomenie, though of light nature, is not without courage, of asort. Nay, have we not read of lightest creatures, trainedCanary-birds, that could fly cheerfully with lighted matches, andfire cannon; fire whole powder- magazines? To sit and die ofdeficit is no part of Lomenie's plan. The evil is considerable; butcan he not remove it, can he not attack it? At lowest, he canattack the symptom of it: these rebellious Parlements he canattack, and perhaps remove. Much is dim to Lomenie, but two thingsare clear: that such Parlementary duel with Royalty is growingperilous, nay internecine; above all, that money must be had. Takethought, brave Lomenie; thou Garde-desSceaux Lamoignon, who hastideas! So often defeated, balked cruelly when the golden fruitseemed within clutch, rally for one other struggle. To tame theParlement, to fill the King's coffers: these are now life-and-deathquestions. Parlements have been tamed, more than once. Set to perch 'on thepeaks of rocks in accessible except by litters,' a Parlement growsreasonable. O Maupeou, thou bold man, had we left thy work where itwas!--But apart from exile, or other violent methods, is there notone method, whereby all things are tamed, even lions? The method ofhunger! What if the Parlement's supplies were cut off; namely itsLawsuits! Minor Courts, for the trying of innumerable minor causes, mightbe instituted: these we could call Grand Bailliages. Whereon theParlement, shortened of its prey, would look with yellow despair;but the Public, fond of cheap justice, with favour and hope. Thenfor Finance, for registering of Edicts, why not, from our ownOeil-de-Boeuf Dignitaries, our Princes, Dukes, Marshals, make athing we could call Plenary Court; and there, so to speak, do ourregistering ourselves? St. Louis had his Plenary Court, of GreatBarons; (Montgaillard, i. 405.) most useful to him: our GreatBarons are still here (at least the Name of them is still here);our necessity is greater than his. Such is the Lomenie-Lamoignon device; welcome to the King'sCouncil, as a light-beam in great darkness. The device seemsfeasible, it is eminently needful: be it once well executed,
greatdeliverance is wrought. Silent, then, and steady; now ornever!--the World shall see one other Historical Scene; and sosingular a man as Lomenie de Brienne still the Stagemanagerthere. Behold, accordingly, a Home-Secretary Breteuil 'beautifyingParis,' in the peaceablest manner, in this hopeful spring weatherof 1788; the old hovels and hutches disappearing from our Bridges:as if for the State too there were halcyon weather, and nothing todo but beautify. Parlement seems to sit acknowledged victor.Brienne says nothing of Finance; or even says, and prints, that itis all well. How is this; such halcyon quiet; though the SuccessiveLoan did not fill? In a victorious Parlement, Counsellor Goeslardde Monsabert even denounces that 'levying of the Second Twentiethon strict valuation;' and gets decree that the valuation shall notbe strict,--not on the privileged classes. Nevertheless Brienneendures it, launches no Lettre-de-Cachet against it. How isthis? Smiling is such vernal weather; but treacherous, sudden! For onething, we hear it whispered, 'the Intendants of Provinces 'have allgot order to be at their posts on a certain day.' Still moresingular, what incessant Printing is this that goes on at theKing's Chateau, under lock and key? Sentries occupy all gates andwindows; the Printers come not out; they sleep in their workrooms;their very food is handed in to them! (Weber, i. 276.) A victoriousParlement smells new danger. D'Espremenil has ordered horses toVersailles; prowls round that guarded Printing-Office; prying,snuffing, if so be the sagacity and ingenuity of man may penetrateit. To a shower of gold most things are penetrable. D'Espremenildescends on the lap of a Printer's Danae, in the shape of 'fivehundred louis d'or:' the Danae's Husband smuggles a ball of clay toher; which she delivers to the golden Counsellor of Parlement.Kneaded within it, their stick printed proof-sheets;--by Heaven!the royal Edict of that same self-registering Plenary Court; ofthose Grand Bailliages that shall cut short our Lawsuits! It is tobe promulgated over all France on one and the same day. This, then, is what the Intendants were bid wait for at theirposts: this is what the Court sat hatching, as its accursedcockatrice-egg; and would not stir, though provoked, till the broodwere out! Hie with it, D'Espremenil, home to Paris; convokeinstantaneous Sessions; let the Parlement, and the Earth, and theHeavens know it.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.III. The Parlement of ParisChapter 1.3.VIII. Lomenie's Death-throes
On the morrow, which is the 3rd of May, 1788, an astonishedParlement sits convoked; listens speechless to the speech ofD'Espremenil, unfolding the infinite misdeed. Deed of treachery; ofunhallowed darkness, such as Despotism loves! Denounce it, OParlement of Paris; awaken France and the Universe; roll whatthunder-barrels of forensic eloquence thou hast: with thee too itis verily Now or never! The Parlement is not wanting, at such juncture. In the hour ofhis extreme jeopardy, the lion first incites himself by roaring, bylashing his sides. So here the Parlement of Paris. On the motion
ofD'Espremenil, a most patriotic Oath, of the One-and-all sort, issworn, with united throat;--an excellent new-idea, which, in thesecoming years, shall not remain unimitated. Next comes indomitableDeclaration, almost of the rights of man, at least of the rights ofParlement; Invocation to the friends of French Freedom, in this andin subsequent time. All which, or the essence of all which, isbrought to paper; in a tone wherein something of plaintivenessblends with, and tempers, heroic valour. And thus, having soundedthe storm-bell,--which Paris hears, which all France will hear; andhurled such defiance in the teeth of Lomenie and Despotism, theParlement retires as from a tolerable first day's work. But how Lomenie felt to see his cockatrice-egg (so essential tothe salvation of France) broken in this premature manner, letreaders fancy! Indignant he clutches at his thunderbolts (deCachet, of the Seal); and launches two of them: a bolt forD'Espremenil; a bolt for that busy Goeslard, whose service in theSecond Twentieth and 'strict valuation' is not forgotten. Suchbolts clutched promptly overnight, and launched with the early newmorning, shall strike agitated Paris if not into requiescence, yetinto wholesome astonishment. Ministerial thunderbolts may be launched; but if they do nothit? D'Espremenil and Goeslard, warned, both of them, as isthought, by the singing of some friendly bird, elude the LomenieTipstaves; escape disguised through skywindows, over roofs, totheir own Palais de Justice: the thunderbolts have missed. Paris(for the buzz flies abroad) is struck into astonishment notwholesome. The two martyrs of Liberty doff their disguises; dontheir long gowns; behold, in the space of an hour, by aid of ushersand swift runners, the Parlement, with its Counsellors, Presidents,even Peers, sits anew assembled. The assembled Parlement declaresthat these its two martyrs cannot be given up, to any sublunaryauthority; moreover that the 'session is permanent,' admitting ofno adjournment, till pursuit of them has been relinquished. And so, with forensic eloquence, denunciation and protest, withcouriers going and returning, the Parlement, in this state ofcontinual explosion that shall cease neither night nor day, waitsthe issue. Awakened Paris once more inundates those outer courts;boils, in floods wilder than ever, through all avenues. Dissonanthubbub there is; jargon as of Babel, in the hour when they werefirst smitten (as here) with mutual unintelligibilty, and thepeople had not yet dispersed! Paris City goes through its diurnal epochs, of working andslumbering; and now, for the second time, most European and Africanmortals are asleep. But here, in this Whirlpool of Words, sleepfalls not; the Night spreads her coverlid of Darkness over it invain. Within is the sound of mere martyr invincibility; temperedwith the due tone of plaintiveness. Without is the infiniteexpectant hum,--growing drowsier a little. So has it lasted forsix-and-thirty hours. But hark, through the dead of midnight, what tramp is this?Tramp as of armed men, foot and horse; Gardes Francaises, GardesSuisses: marching hither; in silent regularity; in the flare oftorchlight! There are Sappers, too, with axes and crowbars:apparently, if the doors open not, they will be forced!--It isCaptain D'Agoust, missioned from Versailles. D'Agoust, a man ofknown firmness;--who once forced Prince Conde himself, by mereincessant looking at him, to give satisfaction and fight; (Weber,i. 283.) he now, with axes and torches is advancing on the verysanctuary of Justice. Sacrilegious; yet what help? The man is asoldier; looks merely at his orders; impassive, moves forward likean inanimate engine.
The doors open on summons, there need no axes; door after door.And now the innermost door opens; discloses the long-gownedSenators of France: a hundred and sixty-seven by tale, seventeen ofthem Peers; sitting there, majestic, 'in permanent session.' Werenot the men military, and of cast- iron, this sight, this silencereechoing the clank of his own boots, might stagger him! For thehundred and sixty-seven receive him in perfect silence; which someliken to that of the Roman Senate overfallen by Brennus; some tothat of a nest of coiners surprised by officers of the Police.(Besenval, iii. 355.) Messieurs, said D'Agoust, De par le Roi!Express order has charged D'Agoust with the sad duty of arrestingtwo individuals: M. Duval d'Espremenil and M. Goeslard deMonsabert. Which respectable individuals, as he has not the honourof knowing them, are hereby invited, in the King's name, tosurrender themselves.--Profound silence! Buzz, which grows amurmur: "We are all D'Espremenils!" ventures a voice; which othervoices repeat. The President inquires, Whether he will employviolence? Captain D'Agoust, honoured with his Majesty's commission,has to execute his Majesty's order; would so gladly do it withoutviolence, will in any case do it; grants an august Senate space todeliberate which method they prefer. And thereupon D'Agoust, withgrave military courtesy, has withdrawn for the moment. What boots it, august Senators? All avenues are closed withfixed bayonets. Your Courier gallops to Versailles, through thedewy Night; but also gallops back again, with tidings that theorder is authentic, that it is irrevocable. The outer courts simmerwith idle population; but D'Agoust's grenadier-ranks stand there asimmovable floodgates: there will be no revolting to deliver you."Messieurs!" thus spoke D'Espremenil, "when the victorious Gaulsentered Rome, which they had carried by assault, the RomanSenators, clothed in their purple, sat there, in their curulechairs, with a proud and tranquil countenance, awaiting slavery ordeath. Such too is the lofty spectacle, which you, in this hour,offer to the universe (a l'univers), after having generously"--withmuch more of the like, as can still be read. (Toulongeon, i. App.20.) In vain, O D'Espremenil! Here is this cast-iron CaptainD'Agoust, with his cast-iron military air, come back. Despotism,constraint, destruction sit waving in his plumes. D'Espremenil mustfall silent; heroically give himself up, lest worst befall. HimGoeslard heroically imitates. With spoken and speechless emotion,they fling themselves into the arms of their Parlementary brethren,for a last embrace: and so amid plaudits and plaints, from ahundred and sixty-five throats; amid wavings, sobbings, a wholeforest-sigh of Parlementary pathos,--they are led through windingpassages, to the rear-gate; where, in the gray of the morning, twoCoaches with Exempts stand waiting. There must the victims mount;bayonets menacing behind. D'Espremenil's stern question to thepopulace, 'Whether they have courage?' is answered by silence. Theymount, and roll; and neither the rising of the May sun (it is the6th morning), nor its setting shall lighten their heart: but theyfare forward continually; D'Espremenil towards the utmost Isles ofSainte Marguerite, or Hieres (supposed by some, if that is anycomfort, to be Calypso's Island); Goeslard towards the land-fortress of Pierre-en-Cize, extant then, near the City ofLyons. Captain D'Agoust may now therefore look forward to Majorship, toCommandantship of the Tuilleries; (Montgaillard, i. 404.)--andwithal vanish from History; where nevertheless he has been fated todo a notable thing. For not only are D'Espremenil and Goeslard safewhirling southward, but the Parlement itself has straightway tomarch out: to that also his inexorable order reaches. Gathering uptheir long skirts, they file out, the whole Hundred and Sixty-fiveof them,
through two rows of unsympathetic grenadiers: a spectacleto gods and men. The people revolt not; they only wonder andgrumble: also, we remark, these unsympathetic grenadiers are GardesFrancaises,--who, one day, will sympathise! In a word, the Palaisde Justice is swept clear, the doors of it are locked; and D'Agoustreturns to Versailles with the key in his pocket,--having, as wassaid, merited preferment. As for this Parlement of Paris, now turned out to the street, wewill without reluctance leave it there. The Beds of Justice it hadto undergo, in the coming fortnight, at Versailles, in registering,or rather refusing to register, those new-hatched Edicts; and howit assembled in taverns and tap-rooms there, for the purpose ofProtesting, (Weber, i. 299-303.) or hovered disconsolate, withoutspread skirts, not knowing where to assemble; and was reduced tolodge Protest 'with a Notary;' and in the end, to sit still (in astate of forced 'vacation'), and do nothing; all this, natural now,as the burying of the dead after battle, shall not concern us. TheParlement of Paris has as good as performed its part; doing andmisdoing, so far, but hardly further, could it stir the world. Lomenie has removed the evil then? Not at all: not so much asthe symptom of the evil; scarcely the twelfth part of the symptom,and exasperated the other eleven! The Intendants of Provinces, theMilitary Commandants are at their posts, on the appointed 8th ofMay: but in no Parlement, if not in the single one of Douai, canthese new Edicts get registered. Not peaceable signing with ink;but browbeating, bloodshedding, appeal to primary club-law! Againstthese Bailliages, against this Plenary Court, exasperated Themiseverywhere shows face of battle; the Provincial Noblesse are of herparty, and whoever hates Lomenie and the evil time; with herattorneys and Tipstaves, she enlists and operates down even to thepopulace. At Rennes in Brittany, where the historical Bertrand deMoleville is Intendant, it has passed from fatal continualduelling, between the military and gentry, to street-fighting; tostone-volleys and musket-shot: and still the Edicts remainedunregistered. The afflicted Bretons send remonstrance to Lomenie,by a Deputation of Twelve; whom, however, Lomenie, having heardthem, shuts up in the Bastille. A second larger deputation hemeets, by his scouts, on the road, and persuades or frightens back.But now a third largest Deputation is indignantly sent by manyroads: refused audience on arriving, it meets to take council;invites Lafayette and all Patriot Bretons in Paris to assist;agitates itself; becomes the Breton Club, first germ of--theJacobins' Society. (A. F. de Bertrand-Moleville, MemoiresParticuliers (Paris, 1816), I. ch. i. Marmontel, Memoires, iv.27.) So many as eight Parlements get exiled: (Montgaillard, i. 308.)others might need that remedy, but it is one not always easy ofappliance. At Grenoble, for instance, where a Mounier, a Barnavehave not been idle, the Parlement had due order (byLettres-de-Cachet) to depart, and exile itself: but on the morrow,instead of coaches getting yoked, the alarm-bell bursts forth,ominous; and peals and booms all day: crowds of mountaineers rushdown, with axes, even with firelocks,--whom (most ominous of all!)the soldiery shows no eagerness to deal with. 'Axe over head,' thepoor General has to sign capitulation; to engage that theLettres-de-Cachet shall remain unexecuted, and a beloved Parlementstay where it is. Besancon, Dijon, Rouen, Bourdeaux, are not whatthey should be! At Pau in Bearn, where the old Commandant hadfailed, the new one (a Grammont, native to them) is met by aProcession of townsmen with the Cradle of Henri Quatre, thePalladium of their Town; is conjured as he venerates this oldTortoise-shell, in which the great Henri was rocked, not to trampleon Bearnese liberty; is informed, withal, that his
Majesty's cannonare all safe--in the keeping of his Majesty's faithful Burghers ofPau, and do now lie pointed on the walls there; ready for action!(Besenval, iii. 348.) At this rate, your Grand Bailliages are like to have a stormyinfancy. As for the Plenary Court, it has literally expired in thebirth. The very Courtiers looked shy at it; old Marshal Brogliedeclined the honour of sitting therein. Assaulted by a universalstorm of mingled ridicule and execration, (La Cour Pleniere,heroi-tragi-comedie en trois actes et en prose; jouee le 14 Juillet1788, par une societe d'amateurs dans un Chateau aux environs deVersailles; par M. l'Abbe de Vermond, Lecteur de la Reine: ABaville (Lamoignon's Country-house), et se trouve a Paris, chez laVeuve Liberte, a l'enseigne de la Revolution, 1788.--La Passion, laMort et la Resurrection du Peuple: Imprime a Jerusalem, &c.&c.--See Montgaillard, i. 407.) this poor Plenary Court metonce, and never any second time. Distracted country! Contentionhisses up, with forked hydra-tongues, wheresoever poor Lomenie setshis foot. 'Let a Commandant, a Commissioner of the King,' saysWeber, 'enter one of these Parlements to have an Edict registered,the whole Tribunal will disappear, and leave the Commandant alonewith the Clerk and First President. The Edict registered and theCommandant gone, the whole Tribunal hastens back, to declare suchregistration null. The highways are covered with Grand Deputationsof Parlements, proceeding to Versailles, to have their registersexpunged by the King's hand; or returning home, to cover a new pagewith a new resolution still more audacious.' (Weber, i. 275.) Such is the France of this year 1788. Not now a Golden or PaperAge of Hope; with its horseracings, balloon-flyings, and finersensibilities of the heart: ah, gone is that; its golden effulgencepaled, bedarkened in this singular manner,--brewing towardspreternatural weather! For, as in that wreck-storm of Paul etVirginie and Saint-Pierre,--'One huge motionless cloud' (say, ofSorrow and Indignation) 'girdles our whole horizon; streams up,hairy, copper-edged, over a sky of the colour of lead.' Motionlessitself; but 'small clouds' (as exiled Parlements and suchlike),'parting from it, fly over the zenith, with the velocity ofbirds:'--till at last, with one loud howl, the whole Four Winds bedashed together, and all the world exclaim, There is the tornado!Tout le monde s'ecria, Voila l'ouragan! For the rest, in such circumstances, the Successive Loan, verynaturally, remains unfilled; neither, indeed, can that impost ofthe Second Twentieth, at least not on 'strict valuation,' be leviedto good purpose: 'Lenders,' says Weber, in his hysterical vehementmanner, 'are afraid of ruin; taxgatherers of hanging.' The veryClergy turn away their face: convoked in Extraordinary Assembly,they afford no gratuitous gift (don gratuit),--if it be not that ofadvice; here too instead of cash is clamour for States- General.(Lameth, Assemb. Const. (Introd.) p. 87.) O Lomenie-Brienne, with thy poor flimsy mind all bewildered, andnow 'three actual cauteries' on thy worn-out body; who art like todie of inflamation, provocation, milk-diet, dartres vives andmaladie--(best untranslated); (Montgaillard, i. 424.) and presidestover a France with innumerable actual cauteries, which also isdying of inflammation and the rest! Was it wise to quit the boskyverdures of Brienne, and thy new ashlar Chateau there, and what itheld, for this? Soft were those shades and lawns; sweet the hymnsof Poetasters, the blandishments of highrouged Graces: (SeeMemoires de Morellet.) and always this and the other PhilosopheMorellet (nothing deeming himself or thee a questionableSham-Priest) could be so happy in making happy:--and also (hadstthou known it), in the Military School hard by there sat,
studyingmathematics, a dusky-complexioned taciturn Boy, under the name of:Napoleon Bonaparte!--With fifty years of effort, and onefinal dead-lift struggle, thou hast made an exchange! Thou hast gotthy robe of office,--as Hercules had his Nessus'-shirt. On the 13th of July of this 1788, there fell, on the very edgeof harvest, the most frightful hailstorm; scattering into wildwaste the Fruits of the Year; which had otherwise sufferedgrievously by drought. For sixty leagues round Paris especially,the ruin was almost total. (Marmontel, iv. 30.) To so many otherevils, then, there is to be added, that of dearth, perhaps offamine. Some days before this hailstorm, on the 5th of July; and stillmore decisively some days after it, on the 8th of August,--Lomenieannounces that the States-General are actually to meet in thefollowing month of May. Till after which period, this of thePlenary Court, and the rest, shall remain postponed. Further, as inLomenie there is no plan of forming or holding these most desirableStates-General, 'thinkers are invited' to furnish him withone,--through the medium of discussion by the public press! What could a poor Minister do? There are still ten months ofrespite reserved: a sinking pilot will fling out all things, hisvery biscuit- bags, lead, log, compass and quadrant, beforeflinging out himself. It is on this principle, of sinking, and theincipient delirium of despair, that we explain likewise the almostmiraculous 'invitation to thinkers.' Invitation to Chaos to be sokind as build, out of its tumultuous drift- wood, an Ark of Escapefor him! In these cases, not invitation but command has usuallyproved serviceable.--The Queen stood, that evening, pensive, in awindow, with her face turned towards the Garden. The Chef deGobelet had followed her with an obsequious cup of coffee; and thenretired till it were sipped. Her Majesty beckoned Dame Campan toapproach: "Grand Dieu!" murmured she, with the cup in her hand,"what a piece of news will be made public to-day! The King grantsStates-General." Then raising her eyes to Heaven (if Campan werenot mistaken), she added: "'Tis a first beat of the drum, ofill-omen for France. This Noblesse will ruin us." (Campan, iii.104, 111.) During all that hatching of the Plenary Court, while Lamoignonlooked so mysterious, Besenval had kept asking him one question:Whether they had cash? To which as Lamoignon always answered (onthe faith of Lomenie) that the cash was safe, judicious Besenvalrejoined that then all was safe. Nevertheless, the melancholy factis, that the royal coffers are almost getting literally void ofcoin. Indeed, apart from all other things this 'invitation tothinkers,' and the great change now at hand are enough to 'arrestthe circulation of capital,' and forward only that of pamphlets. Afew thousand gold louis are now all of money or money's worth thatremains in the King's Treasury. With another movement as ofdesperation, Lomenie invites Necker to come and be Controller ofFinances! Necker has other work in view than controlling Financesfor Lomenie: with a dry refusal he stands taciturn; awaiting histime. What shall a desperate Prime Minister do? He has grasped at thestrongbox of the King's Theatre: some Lottery had been set on footfor those sufferers by the hailstorm; in his extreme necessity,Lomenie lays hands even on this. (Besenval, iii. 360.) To makeprovision for the passing day, on any terms, will soon beimpossible.--On the 16th of August, poor Weber heard, at Paris andVersailles, hawkers, 'with a hoarse stifled tone of voice (voixetouffee, sourde)' drawling
and snuffling, through the streets, anEdict concerning Payments (such was the soft title Rivarol hadcontrived for it): all payments at the Royal Treasury shall be madehenceforth, three-fifths in Cash, and the remaining two-fifths--inPaper bearing interest! Poor Weber almost swooned at the sound ofthese cracked voices, with their bodeful raven-note; and will neverforget the effect it had on him. (Weber, i. 339.) But the effect on Paris, on the world generally? From the densof Stock- brokerage, from the heights of Political Economy, ofNeckerism and Philosophism; from all articulate and inarticulatethroats, rise hootings and howlings, such as ear had not yet heard.Sedition itself may be imminent! Monseigneur d'Artois, moved byDuchess Polignac, feels called to wait upon her Majesty; andexplain frankly what crisis matters stand in. 'The Queen wept;'Brienne himself wept;--for it is now visible and palpable that hemust go. Remains only that the Court, to whom his manners and garrulitieswere always agreeable, shall make his fall soft. The grasping oldman has already got his Archbishopship of Toulouse exchanged forthe richer one of Sens: and now, in this hour of pity, he shallhave the Coadjutorship for his nephew (hardly yet of due age); aDameship of the Palace for his niece; a Regiment for her husband;for himself a red Cardinal's-hat, a Coupe de Bois (cutting from theroyal forests), and on the whole 'from five to six hundred thousandlivres of revenue:' (Weber, i. 341.) finally, his Brother, theComte de Brienne, shall still continue War-minister. Buckledroundwith such bolsters and huge featherbeds of Promotion, let him nowfall as soft as he can! And so Lomenie departs: rich if Court-titles and Money-bonds canenrich him; but if these cannot, perhaps the poorest of all extantmen. 'Hissed at by the people of Versailles,' he drives forth toJardi; southward to Brienne,--for recovery of health. Then to Nice,to Italy; but shall return; shall glide to and fro, tremulous,faint-twinkling, fallen on awful times: till the Guillotine-snuffout his weak existence? Alas, worse: for it is blown out, or chokedout, foully, pitiably, on the way to the Guillotine! In his Palaceof Sens, rude Jacobin Bailiffs made him drink with them from hisown wine-cellars, feast with them from his own larder; and on themorrow morning, the miserable old man lies dead. This is the end ofPrime Minister, Cardinal Archbishop Lomenie de Brienne. Flimsiermortal was seldom fated to do as weighty a mischief; to have a lifeas despicable-envied, an exit as frightful. Fired, as the phraseis, with ambition: blown, like a kindled rag, the sport of winds,not this way, not that way, but of all ways, straight towards sucha powder-mine,--which he kindled! Let us pity the hapless Lomenie;and forgive him; and, as soon as possible, forget him.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.III. The Parlement of PariChapter 1.3.IX. Burial with Bonfire
Besenval, during these extraordinary operations, of Paymenttwo-fifths in Paper, and change of Prime Minister, had been out ona tour through his District of Command; and indeed, for the lastmonths, peacefully drinking the waters of Contrexeville. Returningnow, in the end of August, towards Moulins, and 'knowing nothing,'he arrives one evening at Langres; finds the whole Town in a stateof uproar (grande rumeur). Doubtless some sedition; a thing toocommon in these days! He alights nevertheless; inquires of a 'mantolerably dressed,' what the matter is?--"How?"
answers the man,"you have not heard the news? The Archbishop is thrown out, and M.Necker is recalled; and all is going to go well!" (Besenval, iii.366.) Such rumeur and vociferous acclaim has risen round M. Necker,ever from 'that day when he issued from the Queen's Apartments,' anominated Minister. It was on the 24th of August: 'the galleries ofthe Chateau, the courts, the streets of Versailles; in few hours,the Capital; and, as the news flew, all France, resounded with thecry of Vive le Roi! Vive M. Necker! (Weber, i. 342.) In Parisindeed it unfortunately got the length of turbulence.' Petards,rockets go off, in the Place Dauphine, more than enough. A 'wickerFigure (Mannequin d'osier),' in Archbishop's stole, madeemblematically, three-fifths of it satin, two-fifths of it paper,is promenaded, not in silence, to the popular judgment-bar; isdoomed; shriven by a mock Abbe de Vermond; then solemnly consumedby fire, at the foot of Henri's Statue on the Pont Neuf;--with suchpetarding and huzzaing that Chevalier Dubois and his City-watch seegood finally to make a charge (more or less ineffectual); and therewanted not burning of sentry-boxes, forcing of guard-houses, andalso 'dead bodies thrown into the Seine over-night,' to avoid neweffervescence. (Histoire Parlementaire de la Revolution Francaise;ou Journal des Assemblees Nationales depuis 1789 (Paris, 1833 etseqq.), i. 253. Lameth, Assemblee Constituante, i. (Introd.) p.89.) Parlements therefore shall return from exile: Plenary Court,Payment two- fifths in Paper have vanished; gone off in smoke, atthe foot of Henri's Statue. States-General (with a PoliticalMillennium) are now certain; nay, it shall be announced, in ourfond haste, for January next: and all, as the Langres man said, is'going to go.' To the prophetic glance of Besenval, one other thing is tooapparent: that Friend Lamoignon cannot keep his Keepership. Neitherhe nor War-minister Comte de Brienne! Already old Foulon, with aneye to be war-minister himself, is making underground movements.This is that same Foulon named ame damnee du Parlement; a man growngray in treachery, in griping, projecting, intriguing and iniquity:who once when it was objected, to some finance-scheme of his, "Whatwill the people do?"--made answer, in the fire of discussion, "Thepeople may eat grass:" hasty words, which fly abroadirrevocable,--and will send back tidings! Foulon, to the relief of the world, fails on this occasion; andwill always fail. Nevertheless it steads not M. de Lamoignon. Itsteads not the doomed man that he have interviews with the King;and be 'seen to return radieux,' emitting rays. Lamoignon is thehated of Parlements: Comte de Brienne is Brother to the CardinalArchbishop. The 24th of August has been; and the 14th September isnot yet, when they two, as their great Principal had done,descend,--made to fall soft, like him. And now, as if the last burden had been rolled from its heart,and assurance were at length perfect, Paris bursts forth anew intoextreme jubilee. The Basoche rejoices aloud, that the foe ofParlements is fallen; Nobility, Gentry, Commonalty have rejoiced;and rejoice. Nay now, with new emphasis, Rascality itself, startingsuddenly from its dim depths, will arise and do it,--for down eventhither the new Political Evangel, in some rude version or other,has penetrated. It is Monday, the 14th of September 1788: Rascalityassembles anew, in great force, in the Place Dauphine; lets offpetards, fires blunderbusses, to an incredible extent, withoutinterval, for eighteen hours. There is again a wicker Figure,'Mannequin of osier:' the centre of endless
howlings. Also Necker'sPortrait snatched, or purchased, from some Printshop, is borneprocessionally, aloft on a perch, with huzzas;--an example to beremembered. But chiefly on the Pont Neuf, where the Great Henri, in bronze,rides sublime; there do the crowds gather. All passengers muststop, till they have bowed to the People's King, and said audibly:Vive Henri Quatre; au diable Lamoignon! No carriage but must stop;not even that of his Highness d'Orleans. Your coach-doors areopened: Monsieur will please to put forth his head and bow; oreven, if refractory, to alight altogether, and kneel: from Madame awave of her plumes, a smile of her fair face, there where she sits,shall suffice;--and surely a coin or two (to buy fusees) were notunreasonable from the Upper Classes, friends of Liberty? In thismanner it proceeds for days; in such rude horse-play,--not withoutkicks. The City- watch can do nothing; hardly save its own skin:for the last twelve-month, as we have sometimes seen, it has been akind of pastime to hunt the Watch. Besenval indeed is at hand withsoldiers; but they have orders to avoid firing, and are not promptto stir. On Monday morning the explosion of petards began: and now it isnear midnight of Wednesday; and the 'wicker Mannequin' is to beburied,-- apparently in the Antique fashion. Long rows of torches,following it, move towards the Hotel Lamoignon; but 'a servant ofmine' (Besenval's) has run to give warning, and there are soldierscome. Gloomy Lamoignon is not to die by conflagration, or thisnight; not yet for a year, and then by gunshot (suicidal oraccidental is unknown). (Histoire de la Revolution, par Deux Amisde la Liberte, i. 50.) Foiled Rascality burns its 'Mannikin ofosier,' under his windows; 'tears up the sentry-box,' and rollsoff: to try Brienne; to try Dubois Captain of the Watch. Now,however, all is bestirring itself; Gardes Francaises, Invalides,Horse-patrol: the Torch Procession is met with sharp shot, with thethrusting of bayonets, the slashing of sabres. Even Dubois makes acharge, with that Cavalry of his, and the cruelest charge of all:'there are a great many killed and wounded.' Not without clangour,complaint; subsequent criminal trials, and official persons dyingof heartbreak! (Histoire de la Revolution, par Deux Amis de laLiberte, i. 58.) So, however, with steel-besom, Rascality isbrushed back into its dim depths, and the streets are sweptclear. Not for a century and half had Rascality ventured to step forthin this fashion; not for so long, showed its huge rude lineamentsin the light of day. A Wonder and new Thing: as yet gambolingmerely, in awkward Brobdingnag sport, not without quaintness;hardly in anger: yet in its huge half-vacant laugh lurks a shade ofgrimness,--which could unfold itself! However, the thinkers invited by Lomenie are now far on withtheir pamphlets: States-General, on one plan or another, willinfallibly meet; if not in January, as was once hoped, yet atlatest in May. Old Duke de Richelieu, moribund in these autumndays, opens his eyes once more, murmuring, "What would LouisFourteenth" (whom he remembers) "have said!"-- then closes themagain, forever, before the evil time.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.IV. States-GeneralChapter 1.4.I. The Notables Again
The universal prayer, therefore, is to be fulfilled! Always indays of national perplexity, when wrong abounded and help was not,this remedy of States-General was called for; by a Malesherbes, nayby a Fenelon; (Montgaillard, i. 461.) even Parlements calling forit were 'escorted with blessings.' And now behold it is vouchsafedus; States-General shall verily be! To say, let States-General be, was easy; to say in what mannerthey shall be, is not so easy. Since the year of 1614, there haveno States-General met in France, all trace of them has vanishedfrom the living habits of men. Their structure, powers, methods ofprocedure, which were never in any measure fixed, have now becomewholly a vague possibility. Clay which the potter may shape, thisway or that:--say rather, the twenty-five millions of potters; forso many have now, more or less, a vote in it! How to shape theStates-General? There is a problem. Each Body-corporate, eachprivileged, each organised Class has secret hopes of its own inthat matter; and also secret misgivings of its own,--for, behold,this monstrous twenty-million Class, hitherto the dumb sheep whichthese others had to agree about the manner of shearing, is now alsoarising with hopes! It has ceased or is ceasing to be dumb; itspeaks through Pamphlets, or at least brays and growls behind them,in unison,--increasing wonderfully their volume of sound. As for the Parlement of Paris, it has at once declared for the'old form of 1614.' Which form had this advantage, that the TiersEtat, Third Estate, or Commons, figured there as a show mainly:whereby the Noblesse and Clergy had but to avoid quarrel betweenthemselves, and decide unobstructed what they thought best. Suchwas the clearly declared opinion of the Paris Parlement. But, beingmet by a storm of mere hooting and howling from all men, suchopinion was blown straightway to the winds; and the popularity ofthe Parlement along with it,--never to return. The Parlements part,we said above, was as good as played. Concerning which, however,there is this further to be noted: the proximity of dates. It wason the 22nd of September that the Parlement returned from'vacation' or 'exile in its estates;' to be reinstalled amidboundless jubilee from all Paris. Precisely next day it was, thatthis same Parlement came to its 'clearly declared opinion:' andthen on the morrow after that, you behold it covered withoutrages;' its outer court, one vast sibilation, and the glorydeparted from it for evermore. (Weber, i. 347.) A popularity oftwenty- four hours was, in those times, no uncommon allowance. On the other hand, how superfluous was that invitation ofLomenie's: the invitation to thinkers! Thinkers and unthinkers, bythe million, are spontaneously at their post, doing what is inthem. Clubs labour: Societe Publicole; Breton Club; Enraged Club,Club des Enrages. Likewise Dinnerparties in the Palais Royal;your Mirabeaus, Talleyrands dining there, in company withChamforts, Morellets, with Duponts and hot Parlementeers, notwithout object! For a certain Neckerean Lion's-provider, whom onecould name, assembles them there; (Ibid. i. 360.)--or even theirown private determination to have dinner does it. And then as toPamphlets--in figurative language; 'it is a sheer snowing ofpamphlets; like to snow up the Government thoroughfares!' Now isthe time for Friends of Freedom; sane, and even insane. Count, or self-styled Count, d'Aintrigues, 'the youngLanguedocian gentleman,' with perhaps Chamfort the Cynic to helphim, rises into furor almost Pythic; highest, where many are high.(Memoire sur les Etats- Generaux. See Montgaillard, i. 457-9.)Foolish young Languedocian gentleman; who himself so soon,'emigrating among the foremost,' must fly indignant over themarches, with the Contrat Social in his pocket,--towards outerdarkness, thankless intriguings,
ignis-fatuus hoverings, and deathby the stiletto! Abbe Sieyes has left Chartres Cathedral, andcanonry and book-shelves there; has let his tonsure grow, and cometo Paris with a secular head, of the most irrefragable sort, to askthree questions, and answer them: What is the Third Estate?All.--What has it hitherto been in our form of government?Nothing.--What does it want? To become Something. D'Orleans,--for be sure he, on his way to Chaos, is in the thickof this,-- promulgates his Deliberations; (Deliberations a prendrepour les Assemblees des Bailliages.) fathered by him, written byLaclos of the Liaisons Dangereuses. The result of which comes outsimply: 'The Third Estate is the Nation.' On the other hand,Monseigneur d'Artois, with other Princes of the Blood, publishes,in solemn Memorial to the King, that if such things be listened to,Privilege, Nobility, Monarchy, Church, State and Strongbox are indanger. (Memoire presente au Roi, par Monseigneur Comte d'Artois,M. le Prince de Conde, M. le Duc de Bourbon, M. le Duc d'Enghien,et M. le Prince de Conti. (Given in Hist. Parl. i. 256.)) In dangertruly: and yet if you do not listen, are they out of danger? It isthe voice of all France, this sound that rises. Immeasurable,manifold; as the sound of outbreaking waters: wise were he who knewwhat to do in it,--if not to fly to the mountains, and hidehimself? How an ideal, all-seeing Versailles Government, sitting there onsuch principles, in such an environment, would have determined todemean itself at this new juncture, may even yet be a question.Such a Government would have felt too well that its long task wasnow drawing to a close; that, under the guise of theseStates-General, at length inevitable, a new omnipotent Unknown ofDemocracy was coming into being; in presence of which no VersaillesGovernment either could or should, except in a provisory character,continue extant. To enact which provisory character, so unspeakablyimportant, might its whole faculties but have sufficed; and so apeaceable, gradual, well-conducted Abdication and Domine-dimittashave been the issue! This for our ideal, all-seeing Versailles Government. But forthe actual irrational Versailles Government? Alas, that is aGovernment existing there only for its own behoof: without right,except possession; and now also without might. It foresees nothing,sees nothing; has not so much as a purpose, but has onlypurposes,--and the instinct whereby all that exists will struggleto keep existing. Wholly a vortex; in which vain counsels,hallucinations, falsehoods, intrigues, and imbecilities whirl; likewithered rubbish in the meeting of winds! The Oeil-de-Boeuf has itsirrational hopes, if also its fears. Since hitherto allStates-General have done as good as nothing, why should these domore? The Commons, indeed, look dangerous; but on the whole is notrevolt, unknown now for five generations, an impossibility? TheThree Estates can, by management, be set against each other; theThird will, as heretofore, join with the King; will, out of merespite and self-interest, be eager to tax and vex the other two. Theother two are thus delivered bound into our hands, that we mayfleece them likewise. Whereupon, money being got, and the ThreeEstates all in quarrel, dismiss them, and let the future go as itcan! As good Archbishop Lomenie was wont to say: "There are so manyaccidents; and it needs but one to save us."--How many to destroyus? Poor Necker in the midst of such an anarchy does what ispossible for him. He looks into it with obstinately hopeful face;lauds the known rectitude of the kingly mind; listensindulgent-like to the known perverseness of the queenly andcourtly;--emits if any proclamation or regulation, one
favouringthe Tiers Etat; but settling nothing; hovering afar off rather, andadvising all things to settle themselves. The grand questions, forthe present, have got reduced to two: the Double Representation,and the Vote by Head. Shall the Commons have a 'doublerepresentation,' that is to say, have as many members as theNoblesse and Clergy united? Shall the States- General, when onceassembled, vote and deliberate, in one body, or in three separatebodies; 'vote by head, or vote by class,'--ordre as they call it?These are the moot-points now filling all France with jargon, logicand eleutheromania. To terminate which, Necker bethinks him, Mightnot a second Convocation of the Notables be fittest? Such secondConvocation is resolved on. On the 6th of November of this year 1788, these Notablesaccordingly have reassembled; after an interval of some eighteenmonths. They are Calonne's old Notables, the same Hundred andFortyfour,--to show one's impartiality; likewise to save time.They sit there once again, in their Seven Bureaus, in the hardwinter weather: it is the hardest winter seen since 1709;thermometer below zero of Fahrenheit, Seine River frozen over.(Marmontel, Memoires (London, 1805), iv. 33. Hist. Parl, &c.)Cold, scarcity and eleutheromaniac clamour: a changed world sincethese Notables were 'organed out,' in May gone a year! They shallsee now whether, under their Seven Princes of the Blood, in theirSeven Bureaus, they can settle the moot-points. To the surprise of Patriotism, these Notables, once sopatriotic, seem to incline the wrong way; towards theanti-patriotic side. They stagger at the Double Representation, atthe Vote by Head: there is not affirmative decision; there is meredebating, and that not with the best aspects. For, indeed, were notthese Notables themselves mostly of the Privileged Classes? Theyclamoured once; now they have their misgivings; make their dolorousrepresentations. Let them vanish, ineffectual; and return no more!They vanish after a month's session, on this 12th of December, year1788: the last terrestrial Notables, not to reappear any othertime, in the History of the World. And so, the clamour still continuing, and the Pamphlets; andnothing but patriotic Addresses, louder and louder, pouting in onus from all corners of France,--Necker himself some fortnightafter, before the year is yet done, has to present his Report,(Rapport fait au Roi dans son Conseil, le 27 Decembre 1788.)recommending at his own risk that same Double Representation; nayalmost enjoining it, so loud is the jargon and eleutheromania. Whatdubitating, what circumambulating! These whole six noisy months(for it began with Brienne in July,) has not Report followedReport, and one Proclamation flown in the teeth of the other? (5thJuly; 8th August; 23rd September, &c. &c.) However, that first moot-point, as we see, is now settled. Asfor the second, that of voting by Head or by Order, itunfortunately is still left hanging. It hangs there, we may say,between the Privileged Orders and the Unprivileged; as a ready-madebattle-prize, and necessity of war, from the very first: whichbattle-prize whosoever seizes it--may thenceforth bear asbattle-flag, with the best omens! But so, at least, by Royal Edict of the 24th of January,(Reglement du Roi pour la Convocation des Etats-Generaux aVersailles. (Reprinted, wrong dated, in Histoire Parlementaire, i.262.)) does it finally, to impatient expectant France, become notonly indubitable that National Deputies are to meet, but possible(so far and hardly farther has the royal Regulation gone) to beginelecting them.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.IV. States-GeneralChapter 1.4.II. The Election
Up, then, and be doing! The royal signal-word flies throughFrance, as through vast forests the rushing of a mighty wind. AtParish Churches, in Townhalls, and every House of Convocation; byBailliages, by Seneschalsies, in whatsoever form men convene;there, with confusion enough, are Primary Assemblies forming. Toelect your Electors; such is the form prescribed: then to draw upyour 'Writ of Plaints and Grievances (Cahier de plaintes etdoleances),' of which latter there is no lack. With such virtue works this Royal January Edict; as it rollsrapidly, in its leathern mails, along these frostbound highways,towards all the four winds. Like some fiat, or magicspell-word;-which such things do resemble! For always, as itsounds out 'at the market-cross,' accompanied with trumpet-blast;presided by Bailli, Seneschal, or other minor Functionary, withbeef-eaters; or, in country churches is droned forth after sermon,'au prone des messes paroissales;' and is registered, posted andlet fly over all the world,--you behold how this multitudinousFrench People, so long simmering and buzzing in eager expectancy,begins heaping and shaping itself into organic groups. Whichorganic groups, again, hold smaller organic grouplets: theinarticulate buzzing becomes articulate speaking and acting. ByPrimary Assembly, and then by Secondary; by 'successive elections,'and infinite elaboration and scrutiny, according to prescribedprocess-shall the genuine 'Plaints and Grievances' be at lengthgot to paper; shall the fit National Representative be at lengthlaid hold of. How the whole People shakes itself, as if it had one life; and,in thousand-voiced rumour, announces that it is awake, suddenly outof long death-sleep, and will thenceforth sleep no more! The longlooked-for has come at last; wondrous news, of Victory,Deliverance, Enfranchisement, sounds magical through every heart.To the proud strong man it has come; whose strong hands shall nomore be gyved; to whom boundless unconquered continents liedisclosed. The weary daydrudge has heard of it; the beggar withhis crusts moistened in tears. What! To us also has hope reached;down even to us? Hunger and hardship are not to be eternal? Thebread we extorted from the rugged glebe, and, with the toil of oursinews, reaped and ground, and kneaded into loaves, was not whollyfor another, then; but we also shall eat of it, and be filled?Glorious news (answer the prudent elders), but all-toounlikely!--Thus, at any rate, may the lower people, who pay nomoney-taxes and have no right to vote, (Reglement du Roi (inHistoire Parlementaire, as above, i. 267-307.) assiduously crowdround those that do; and most Halls of Assembly, within doors andwithout, seem animated enough. Paris, alone of Towns, is to have Representatives; the number ofthem twenty. Paris is divided into Sixty Districts; each of which(assembled in some church, or the like) is choosing two Electors.Official deputations pass from District to District, for all isinexperience as yet, and there is endless consulting. The streetsswarm strangely with busy crowds, pacific yet restless andloquacious; at intervals, is seen the gleam of military muskets;especially about the Palais, where Parlement, once more on duty,sits querulous, almost tremulous.
Busy is the French world! In those great days, what poorestspeculative craftsman but will leave his workshop; if not to vote,yet to assist in voting? On all highways is a rustling andbustling. Over the wide surface of France, ever and anon, throughthe spring months, as the Sower casts his corn abroad upon thefurrows, sounds of congregating and dispersing; of crowds indeliberation, acclamation, voting by ballot and by voice,--risediscrepant towards the ear of Heaven. To which political phenomenaadd this economical one, that Trade is stagnant, and also Breadgetting dear; for before the rigorous winter there was, as we said,a rigorous summer, with drought, and on the 13th of July withdestructive hail. What a fearful day! all cried while that tempestfell. Alas, the next anniversary of it will be a worse. (Bailly,Memoires, i. 336.) Under such aspects is France electing NationalRepresentatives. The incidents and specialties of these Elections belong not toUniversal, but to Local or Parish History: for which reason let notthe new troubles of Grenoble or Besancon; the bloodshed on thestreets of Rennes, and consequent march thither of the Breton'Young Men' with Manifesto by their 'Mothers, Sisters andSweethearts;' (Protestation et Arrete des Jeunes Gens de la Villede Nantes, du 28 Janvier 1789, avant leur depart pour Rennes.Arrete des Jeunes Gens de la Ville d'Angers, du 4 Fevrier 1789.Arrete des Meres, Soeurs, Epouses et Amantes des Jeunes Citoyensd'Angers, du 6 Fevrier 1789. (Reprinted in Histoire Parlementaire,i. 290-3.)) nor suchlike, detain us here. It is the same sadhistory everywhere; with superficial variations. A reinstatedParlement (as at Besancon), which stands astonished at thisBehemoth of a StatesGeneral it had itself evoked, starts forward,with more or less audacity, to fix a thorn in its nose; and, alas,is instantaneously struck down, and hurled quite out,--for the newpopular force can use not only arguments but brickbats! Or else,and perhaps combined with this, it is an order of Noblesse (as inBrittany), which will beforehand tie up the Third Estate, that itharm not the old privileges. In which act of tying up, never soskilfully set about, there is likewise no possibility ofprospering; but the Behemoth- Briareus snaps your cords like greenrushes. Tie up? Alas, Messieurs! And then, as for your chivalryrapiers, valour and wager-of-battle, think one moment, how can thatanswer? The plebeian heart too has red life in it, which changesnot to paleness at glance even of you; and 'the six hundred Bretongentlemen assembled in arms, for seventy-two hours, in theCordeliers' Cloister, at Rennes,'--have to come out again, wiserthan they entered. For the Nantes Youth, the Angers Youth, allBrittany was astir; 'mothers, sisters and sweethearts' shriekingafter them, March! The Breton Noblesse must even let the mad worldhave its way. (Hist. Parl. i. 287. Deux Amis de la Liberte, i.105-128.) In other Provinces, the Noblesse, with equal goodwill, finds itbetter to stick to Protests, to wellredacted 'Cahiers ofgrievances,' and satirical writings and speeches. Such is partiallytheir course in Provence; whither indeed Gabriel Honore RiquettiComte de Mirabeau has rushed down from Paris, to speak a word inseason. In Provence, the Privileged, backed by their Aix Parlement,discover that such novelties, enjoined though they be by RoyalEdict, tend to National detriment; and what is still moreindisputable, 'to impair the dignity of the Noblesse.' WhereuponMirabeau protesting aloud, this same Noblesse, amid huge tumultwithin doors and without, flatly determines to expel him from theirAssembly. No other method, not even that of successive duels, wouldanswer with him, the obstreperous fierce-glaring man. Expelled heaccordingly is.
'In all countries, in all times,' exclaims he departing, 'theAristocrats have implacably pursued every friend of the People; andwith tenfold implacability, if such a one were himself born of theAristocracy. It was thus that the last of the Gracchi perished, bythe hands of the Patricians. But he, being struck with the mortalstab, flung dust towards heaven, and called on the AvengingDeities; and from this dust there was born Marius,-- Marius not soillustrious for exterminating the Cimbri, as for overturning inRome the tyranny of the Nobles.' (Fils Adoptif, v. 256.) Casting upwhich new curious handful of dust (through the Printing-press), tobreed what it can and may, Mirabeau stalks forth into the ThirdEstate. That he now, to ingratiate himself with this Third Estate,'opened a cloth- shop in Marseilles,' and for moments became afurnishing tailor, or even the fable that he did so, is to usalways among the pleasant memorabilities of this era. StrangerClothier never wielded the ell-wand, and rent webs for men, orfractional parts of men. The Fils Adoptif is indignant at suchdisparaging fable, (Memoires de Mirabeau, v. 307.)--whichnevertheless was widely believed in those days. (Marat,Ami-du-Peuple Newspaper (in Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 103),&c.) But indeed, if Achilles, in the heroic ages, killedmutton, why should not Mirabeau, in the unheroic ones, measurebroadcloth? More authentic are his triumph-progresses through that disturbeddistrict, with mob jubilee, flaming torches, 'windows hired for twolouis,' and voluntary guard of a hundred men. He is Deputy Elect,both of Aix and of Marseilles; but will prefer Aix. He has openedhis far-sounding voice, the depths of his far-sounding soul; he canquell (such virtue is in a spoken word) the pride-tumults of therich, the hunger-tumults of the poor; and wild multitudes moveunder him, as under the moon do billows of the sea: he has become aworld compeller, and ruler over men. One other incident and specialty we note; with how different aninterest! It is of the Parlement of Paris; which starts forward,like the others (only with less audacity, seeing better how itlay), to nose-ring that Behemoth of a States-General. Worthy DoctorGuillotin, respectable practitioner in Paris, has drawn up hislittle 'Plan of a Cahier of doleances;'--as had he not, having thewish and gift, the clearest liberty to do? He is getting the peopleto sign it; whereupon the surly Parlement summons him to give anaccount of himself. He goes; but with all Paris at his heels; whichfloods the outer courts, and copiously signs the Cahier even there,while the Doctor is giving account of himself within! The Parlementcannot too soon dismiss Guillotin, with compliments; to be bornehome shoulder-high. (Deux Amis de la Liberte, i. 141.) Thisrespectable Guillotin we hope to behold once more, and perhaps onlyonce; the Parlement not even once, but let it be engulphed unseenby us. Meanwhile such things, cheering as they are, tend little tocheer the national creditor, or indeed the creditor of any kind. Inthe midst of universal portentous doubt, what certainty can seem socertain as money in the purse, and the wisdom of keeping it there?Trading Speculation, Commerce of all kinds, has as far as possiblecome to a dead pause; and the hand of the industrious lies idle inhis bosom. Frightful enough, when now the rigour of seasons hasalso done its part, and to scarcity of work is added scarcity offood! In the opening spring, there come rumours of forestalment,there come King's Edicts, Petitions of bakers against millers; andat length, in the month of April--troops of ragged Lackalls, andfierce cries of starvation! These are the thrice-famed Brigands: anactual existing quotity of persons: who, long reflected
andreverberated through so many millions of heads, as in concavemultiplying mirrors, become a whole Brigand World; and, like a kindof Supernatural Machinery wondrously move the Epos of theRevolution. The Brigands are here: the Brigands are there; theBrigands are coming! Not otherwise sounded the clang of PhoebusApollos's silver bow, scattering pestilence and pale terror; forthis clang too was of the imagination; preternatural; and it toowalked in formless immeasurability, having made itself like to theNight (Greek.)! But remark at least, for the first time, the singular empire ofSuspicion, in those lands, in those days. If poor famishing menshall, prior to death, gather in groups and crowds, as the poorfieldfares and plovers do in bitter weather, were it but that theymay chirp mournfully together, and misery look in the eyes ofmisery; if famishing men (what famishing fieldfares cannot do)should discover, once congregated, that they need not die whilefood is in the land, since they are many, and with empty walletshave right hands: in all this, what need were there ofPreternatural Machinery? To most people none; but not to Frenchpeople, in a time of Revolution. These Brigands (as Turgot's alsowere, fourteen years ago) have all been set on; enlisted, thoughwithout tuck of drum,--by Aristocrats, by Democrats, by D'Orleans,D'Artois, and enemies of the public weal. Nay Historians, to thisday, will prove it by one argument: these Brigands pretending tohave no victual, nevertheless contrive to drink, nay, have beenseen drunk. (Lacretelle, 18me Siecle, ii. 155.) An unexampled fact!But on the whole, may we not predict that a people, with such awidth of Credulity and of Incredulity (the proper union of whichmakes Suspicion, and indeed unreason generally), will see Shapesenough of Immortals fighting in its battle-ranks, and never wantfor Epical Machinery? Be this as it may, the Brigands are clearly got to Paris, inconsiderable multitudes: (Besenval, iii. 385, &c.) with sallowfaces, lank hair (the true enthusiast complexion), with sooty rags;and also with large clubs, which they smite angrily against thepavement! These mingle in the Election tumult; would fain signGuillotin's Cahier, or any Cahier or Petition whatsoever, couldthey but write. Their enthusiast complexion, the smiting of theirsticks bodes little good to any one; least of all to richmaster-manufacturers of the Suburb Saint-Antoine, with whoseworkmen they consort.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.IV. States-GeneralChapter 1.4.III. Grown Electric
But now also National Deputies from all ends of France are inParis, with their commissions, what they call pouvoirs, or powers,in their pockets; inquiring, consulting; looking out for lodgingsat Versailles. The States- General shall open there, if not on theFirst, then surely on the Fourth of May, in grand procession andgala. The Salle des Menus is all new- carpentered, bedizened forthem; their very costume has been fixed; a grand controversy whichthere was, as to 'slouch-hats or slouched-hats,' for the CommonsDeputies, has got as good as adjusted. Ever new strangers arrive;loungers, miscellaneous persons, officers on furlough,--as theworthy Captain Dampmartin, whom we hope to be acquainted with:these also, from all regions, have repaired hither, to see what istoward. Our Paris Committees, of the Sixty Districts, are busierthan ever; it is now too clear, the Paris Elections will belate.
On Monday, the 27th of April, Astronomer Bailly notices that theSieur Reveillon is not at his post. The Sieur Reveillon, 'extensivePaper Manufacturer of the Rue St. Antoine;' he, commonly sopunctual, is absent from the Electoral Committee;--and even willnever reappear there. In those 'immense Magazines of velvet paper'has aught befallen? Alas, yes! Alas, it is no Montgolfier risingthere to-day; but Drudgery, Rascality and the Suburb that isrising! Was the Sieur Reveillon, himself once a journeyman, heardto say that 'a journeyman might live handsomely on fifteen sousa-day?' Some sevenpence halfpenny: 'tis a slender sum! Or was heonly thought, and believed, to be heard saying it? By this longchafing and friction it would appear the National temper has gotelectric. Down in those dark dens, in those dark heads and hungry hearts,who knows in what strange figure the new Political Evangel may haveshaped itself; what miraculous 'Communion of Drudges' may begetting formed! Enough: grim individuals, soon waxing to grimmultitudes, and other multitudes crowding to see, beset thatPaper-Warehouse; demonstrate, in loud ungrammatical language(addressed to the passions too), the insufficiency of sevenpencehalfpenny a-day. The City-watch cannot dissipate them; broils ariseand bellowings; Reveillon, at his wits' end, entreats the Populace,entreats the authorities. Besenval, now in active command,Commandant of Paris, does, towards evening, to Reveillon's earnestprayer, send some thirty Gardes Francaises. These clear the street,happily without firing; and take post there for the night in hopethat it may be all over. (Besenval, iii. 385-8.) Not so: on the morrow it is far worse. Saint-Antoine has arisenanew, grimmer than ever;-reinforced by the unknown TatterdemalionFigures, with their enthusiast complexion and large sticks. TheCity, through all streets, is flowing thitherward to see: 'twocartloads of paving-stones, that happened to pass that way' havebeen seized as a visible godsend. Another detachment of GardesFrancaises must be sent; Besenval and the Colonel taking earnestcounsel. Then still another; they hardly, with bayonets and menaceof bullets, penetrate to the spot. What a sight! A street chokedup, with lumber, tumult and the endless press of men. APaper-Warehouse eviscerated by axe and fire: mad din of Revolt;musket- volleys responded to by yells, by miscellaneous missiles;by tiles raining from roof and window,--tiles, execrations andslain men! The Gardes Francaises like it not, but have to persevere. Allday it continues, slackening and rallying; the sun is sinking, andSaint-Antoine has not yielded. The City flies hither and thither:alas, the sound of that musket-volleying booms into the fardining-rooms of the Chaussee d'Antin; alters the tone of thedinner-gossip there. Captain Dampmartin leaves his wine; goes outwith a friend or two, to see the fighting. Unwashed men growl onhim, with murmurs of "A bas les Aristocrates (Down with theAristocrats);" and insult the cross of St. Louis? They elbow him,and hustle him; but do not pick his pocket;--as indeed atReveillon's too there was not the slightest stealing. (Evenemensqui se sont passes sous mes yeux pendant la Revolution Francaise,par A. H. Dampmartin (Berlin, 1799), i. 25-27.) At fall of night, as the thing will not end, Besenval takes hisresolution: orders out the Gardes Suisses with two pieces ofartillery. The Swiss Guards shall proceed thither; summon thatrabble to depart, in the King's name. If disobeyed, they shall loadtheir artillery with grape-shot, visibly to the general eye; shallagain summon; if again disobeyed, fire,-- and keep firing 'till thelast man' be in this manner blasted off, and the street clear. Withwhich spirited resolution, as might have
been hoped, the businessis got ended. At sight of the lit matches, of the foreignred-coated Switzers, Saint-Antoine dissipates; hastily, in theshades of dusk. There is an encumbered street; there are 'from fourto five hundred' dead men. Unfortunate Reveillon has found shelterin the Bastille; does therefrom, safe behind stone bulwarks, issue,plaint, protestation, explanation, for the next month. BoldBesenval has thanks from all the respectable Parisian classes; butfinds no special notice taken of him at Versailles,--a thing theman of true worth is used to. (Besenval, iii. 389.) But how it originated, this fierce electric sputter andexplosion? From D'Orleans! cries the Courtparty: he, with hisgold, enlisted these Brigands,--surely in some surprising manner,without sound of drum: he raked them in hither, from all corners;to ferment and take fire; evil is his good. From the Court! criesenlightened Patriotism: it is the cursed gold and wiles ofAristocrats that enlisted them; set them upon ruining an innocentSieur Reveillon; to frighten the faint, and disgust men with thecareer of Freedom. Besenval, with reluctance, concludes that it came from 'theEnglish, our natural enemies.' Or, alas, might not one ratherattribute it to Diana in the shape of Hunger? To some twinDioscuri, Oppression and Revenge; so often seen inthe battles of men? Poor Lackalls, all betoiled, besoiled,encrusted into dim defacement; into whom nevertheless the breath ofthe Almighty has breathed a living soul! To them it is clear onlythat eleutheromaniac Philosophism has yet baked no bread; thatPatrioti Committee-men will level down to their own level, and nolower. Brigands, or whatever they might be, it was bitter earnestwith them. They bury their dead with the title of Defenseurs de laPatrie, Martyrs of the good Cause. Or shall we say: Insurrection has now served its Apprenticeship;and this was its proof-stroke, and no inconclusive one? Its nextwill be a master- stroke; announcing indisputable Mastership to awhole astonished world. Let that rock-fortress, Tyranny'sstronghold, which they name Bastille, or Building, as if there wereno other building,--look to its guns! But, in such wise, with primary and secondary Assemblies, andCahiers of Grievances; with motions, congregations of all kinds;with much thunder of froth-eloquence, and at last with thunder ofplatoon-musquetry,--does agitated France accomplish its Elections.With confused winnowing and sifting, in this rather tumultuousmanner, it has now (all except some remnants of Paris) sifted outthe true wheat-grains of National Deputies, Twelve Hundred andFourteen in number; and will forthwith open its States-General.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.IV. States-GeneralChapter 1.4.IV. The Procession
On the first Saturday of May, it is gala at Versailles; andMonday, fourth of the month, is to be a still greater day. TheDeputies have mostly got thither, and sought out lodgings; and arenow successively, in long well- ushered files, kissing the hand ofMajesty in the Chateau. Supreme Usher de Breze does not give thehighest satisfaction: we cannot but observe that in usheringNoblesse or Clergy into the anointed Presence, he liberally opensboth his folding-doors;
and on the other hand, for members of theThird Estate opens only one! However, there is room to enter;Majesty has smiles for all. The good Louis welcomes his Honourable Members, with smiles ofhope. He has prepared for them the Hall of Menus, the largest nearhim; and often surveyed the workmen as they went on. A spaciousHall: with raised platform for Throne, Court and Blood-royal; spacefor six hundred Commons Deputies in front; for half as many Clergyon this hand, and half as many Noblesse on that. It has loftygalleries; wherefrom dames of honour, splendent in gaze d'or;foreign Diplomacies, and other gilt-edged white- frilledindividuals to the number of two thousand,--may sit and look. Broadpassages flow through it; and, outside the inner wall, all roundit. There are committee-rooms, guard-rooms, robing-rooms: really anoble Hall; where upholstery, aided by the subject fine-arts, hasdone its best; and crimson tasseled cloths, and emblematicfleurs-de-lys are not wanting. The Hall is ready: the very costume, as we said, has beensettled; and the Commons are not to wear that hated slouch-hat(chapeau clabaud), but one not quite so slouched (chapeau rabattu).As for their manner of working, when all dressed: for their 'votingby head or by order' and the rest,-this, which it were perhapsstill time to settle, and in few hours will be no longer time,remains unsettled; hangs dubious in the breast of Twelve Hundredmen. But now finally the Sun, on Monday the 4th of May, hasrisen;--unconcerned, as if it were no special day. And yet, as hisfirst rays could strike music from the Memnon's Statue on the Nile,what tones were these, so thrilling, tremulous of preparation andforeboding, which he awoke in every bosom at Versailles! HugeParis, in all conceivable and inconceivable vehicles, is pouringitself forth; from each Town and Village come subsidiary rills;Versailles is a very sea of men. But above all, from the Church ofSt. Louis to the Church of Notre-Dame: one vast suspended-billow ofLife,--with spray scattered even to the chimney-pots! For onchimney- tops too, as over the roofs, and up thitherwards on everylamp-iron, sign- post, breakneck coign of vantage, sits patrioticCourage; and every window bursts with patriotic Beauty: for theDeputies are gathering at St. Louis Church; to march in processionto Notre-Dame, and hear sermon. Yes, friends, ye may sit and look: boldly or in thought, allFrance, and all Europe, may sit and look; for it is a day like fewothers. Oh, one might weep like Xerxes:--So many serried rows sitperched there; like winged creatures, alighted out of Heaven: allthese, and so many more that follow them, shall have wholly fledaloft again, vanishing into the blue Deep; and the memory of thisday still be fresh. It is the baptism-day of Democracy; sick Timehas given it birth, the numbered months being run. Theextreme-unction day of Feudalism! A superannuated System ofSociety, decrepit with toils (for has it not done much; producedyou, and what ye have and know!)--and with thefts and brawls, namedglorious-victories; and with profligacies, sensualities, and on thewhole with dotage and senility,--is now to die: and so, withdeath-throes and birththroes, a new one is to be born. What awork, O Earth and Heavens, what a work! Battles and bloodshed,September Massacres, Bridges of Lodi, retreats of Moscow,Waterloos, Peterloos, Tenpound Franchises, Tarbarrels andGuillotines;--and from this present date, if one might prophesy,some two centuries of it still to fight! Two centuries; hardlyless; before Democracy go through its due, most baleful, stages ofQuackocracy; and a pestilential World be burnt up, and have begunto grow green and young again.
Rejoice nevertheless, ye Versailles multitudes; to you, fromwhom all this is hid, and glorious end of it is visible. This day,sentence of death is pronounced on Shams; judgment ofresuscitation, were it but far off, is pronounced on Realities.This day it is declared aloud, as with a Doomtrumpet, that a Lieis unbelievable. Believe that, stand by that, if more there be not;and let what thing or things soever will follow it follow. 'Ye canno other; God be your help!' So spake a greater than any of you;opening his Chapter of World-History. Behold, however! The doors of St. Louis Church flung wide; andthe Procession of Processions advancing towards Notre-Dame! Shoutsrend the air; one shout, at which Grecian birds might drop dead. Itis indeed a stately, solemn sight. The Elected of France, and thenthe Court of France; they are marshalled and march there, all inprescribed place and costume. Our Commons 'in plain black mantleand white cravat;' Noblesse, in gold-worked, bright-dyed cloaks ofvelvet, resplendent, rustling with laces, waving with plumes; theClergy in rochet, alb, or other best pontificalibus: lastly comesthe King himself, and King's Household, also in their brightestblaze of pomp,--their brightest and final one. Some FourteenHundred Men blown together from all winds, on the deepesterrand. Yes, in that silent marching mass there lies Futurity enough. Nosymbolic Ark, like the old Hebrews, do these men bear: yet withthem too is a Covenant; they too preside at a new Era in theHistory of Men. The whole Future is there, and Destiny dim-broodingover it; in the hearts and unshaped thoughts of these men, it liesillegible, inevitable. Singular to think: they have it in them; yetnot they, not mortal, only the Eye above can read it,--as it shallunfold itself, in fire and thunder, of siege, and field-artillery;in the rustling of battle-banners, the tramp of hosts, in the glowof burning cities, the shriek of strangled nations! Such things liehidden, safe-wrapt in this Fourth day of May;--say rather, had lainin some other unknown day, of which this latter is the public fruitand outcome. As indeed what wonders lie in every Day,--had we thesight, as happily we have not, to decipher it: for is not everymeanest Day 'the conflux of two Eternities!' Meanwhile, suppose we too, good Reader, should, as now withoutmiracle Muse Clio enables us-take our station also on some coignof vantage; and glance momentarily over this Procession, and thisLife-sea; with far other eyes than the rest do, namely withprophetic? We can mount, and stand there, without fear offalling. As for the Life-sea, or onlooking unnumbered Multitude, it isunfortunately all-too dim. Yet as we gaze fixedly, do not namelessFigures not a few, which shall not always be nameless, disclosethemselves; visible or presumable there! Young Baroness deStael--she evidently looks from a window; among older honourablewomen. (Madame de Stael, Considerations sur la Revolution Francaise(London, 1818), i. 114-191.) Her father is Minister, and one of thegala personages; to his own eyes the chief one. Young spiritualAmazon, thy rest is not there; nor thy loved Father's: 'asMalebranche saw all things in God, so M. Necker sees all things inNecker,'--a theorem that will not hold. But where is the brown-locked, light-behaved, fire-heartedDemoiselle Theroigne? Brown eloquent Beauty; who, with thy wingedwords and glances, shalt thrill rough bosoms, whole steelbattalions, and persuade an Austrian Kaiser,--pike and helm lieprovided for thee in due season; and, alas, also strait-waistcoatand long lodging in the Salpetriere! Better hadst thou staid
innative Luxemburg, and been the mother of some brave man's children:but it was not thy task, it was not thy lot. Of the rougher sex how, without tongue, or hundred tongues, ofiron, enumerate the notabilities! Has not Marquis Valadi hastilyquitted his quaker broadbrim; his Pythagorean Greek in Wapping, andthe city of Glasgow? (Founders of the French Republic (London,1798), para Valadi.) De Morande from his Courrier de l'Europe;Linguet from his Annales, they looked eager through the London fog,and became Ex-Editors,--that they might feed the guillotine, andhave their due. Does Louvet (of Faublas) stand a-tiptoe? AndBrissot, hight De Warville, friend of the Blacks? He, with MarquisCondorcet, and Claviere the Genevese 'have created the MoniteurNewspaper,' or are about creating it. Able Editors must giveaccount of such a day. Or seest thou with any distinctness, low down probably, not inplaces of honour, a Stanislas Maillard, riding-tipstaff (huissier acheval) of the Chatelet; one of the shiftiest of men? A CaptainHulin of Geneva, Captain Elie of the Queen's Regiment; both with anair of half-pay? Jourdan, with tile-coloured whiskers, not yet withtile-beard; an unjust dealer in mules? He shall be, in a fewmonths, Jourdan the Headsman, and have other work. Surely also, in some place not of honour, stands or sprawls upquerulous, that he too, though short, may see,--one squalidestbleared mortal, redolent of soot and horse-drugs: Jean Paul Maratof Neuchatel! O Marat, Renovator of Human Science, Lecturer onOptics; O thou remarkablest Horseleech, once in D'Artois'Stables,--as thy bleared soul looks forth, through thy bleared,dull-acrid, wo-stricken face, what sees it in all this? Anyfaintest light of hope; like dayspring after Nova-Zembla night? Oris it but blue sulphur-light, and spectres; woe, suspicion, revengewithout end? Of Draper Lecointre, how he shut his cloth-shop hard by, andstepped forth, one need hardly speak. Nor of Santerre, the sonorousBrewer from the Faubourg St. Antoine. Two other Figures, and onlytwo, we signalise there. The huge, brawny, Figure; through whoseblack brows, and rude flattened face (figure ecrasee), there looksa waste energy as of Hercules not yet furibund,--he is an esurient,unprovided Advocate; Danton by name: him mark. Then that other, hisslight-built comrade and craft-brother; he with the long curlinglocks; with the face of dingy blackguardism, wondrously irradiatedwith genius, as if a naphtha-lamp burnt within it: that Figure isCamille Desmoulins. A fellow of infinite shrewdness, wit, nayhumour; one of the sprightliest clearest souls in all thesemillions. Thou poor Camille, say of thee what they may, it were butfalsehood to pretend one did not almost love thee, thou headlonglightly-sparkling man! But the brawny, not yet furibund Figure, wesay, is Jacques Danton; a name that shall be 'tolerably known inthe Revolution.' He is President of the electoral CordeliersDistrict at Paris, or about to be it; and shall open his lungs ofbrass. We dwell no longer on the mixed shouting Multitude: for now,behold, the Commons Deputies are at hand! Which of these Six Hundred individuals, in plain white cravat,that have come up to regenerate France, might one guess wouldbecome their king? For a king or leader they, as all bodies of men,must have: be their work what it may, there is one man there who,by character, faculty,
position, is fittest of all to do it; thatman, as future not yet elected king, walks there among the rest. Hewith the thick black locks, will it be? With the hure, as himselfcalls it, or black boar'shead, fit to be 'shaken' as a senatorialportent? Through whose shaggy beetle-brows, and roughhewn, seamed,carbuncled face, there look natural ugliness, small-pox,incontinence, bankruptcy,-and burning fire of genius; likecomet-fire glaring fuliginous through murkiest confusions? It isGabriel Honore Riquetti de Mirabeau, the world-compeller;man-ruling Deputy of Aix! According to the Baroness de Stael, hesteps proudly along, though looked at askance here, and shakes hisblack chevelure, or lion's-mane; as if prophetic of greatdeeds. Yes, Reader, that is the Type-Frenchman of this epoch; asVoltaire was of the last. He is French in his aspirations,acquisitions, in his virtues, in his vices; perhaps more Frenchthan any other man;--and intrinsically such a mass of manhood too.Mark him well. The National Assembly were all different withoutthat one; nay, he might say with the old Despot: "The NationalAssembly? I am that." Of a southern climate, of wild southern blood: for theRiquettis, or Arighettis, had to fly from Florence and the Guelfs,long centuries ago, and settled in Provence; where from generationto generation they have ever approved themselves a peculiarkindred: irascible, indomitable, sharpcutting, true, like thesteel they wore; of an intensity and activity that sometimes vergedtowards madness, yet did not reach it. One ancient Riquetti, in madfulfilment of a mad vow, chains two Mountains together; and thechain, with its 'iron star of five rays,' is still to be seen. Maynot a modern Riquetti unchain so much, and set it drifting,--whichalso shall be seen? Destiny has work for that swart burly-headed Mirabeau; Destinyhas watched over him, prepared him from afar. Did not hisGrandfather, stout Col. d'Argent (Silver-Stock, so they named him),shattered and slashed by seven- and-twenty wounds in one fell daylie sunk together on the Bridge at Casano; while Prince Eugene'scavalry galloped and regalloped over him,-- only the flyingsergeant had thrown a camp-kettle over that loved head; andVendome, dropping his spyglass, moaned out, 'Mirabeau is dead,then!' Nevertheless he was not dead: he awoke to breathe, andmiraculous surgery;--for Gabriel was yet to be. With his silverstock he kept his scarred head erect, through long years; andwedded; and produced tough Marquis Victor, the Friend of Men.Whereby at last in the appointed year 1749, this long-expectedrough-hewn Gabriel Honore did likewise see the light: roughestlion's-whelp ever littered of that rough breed. How the old lion(for our old Marquis too was lion-like, most unconquerable,kingly-genial, most perverse) gazed wonderingly on his offspring;and determined to train him as no lion had yet been! It is in vain,O Marquis! This cub, though thou slay him and flay him, will notlearn to draw in dogcart of Political Economy, and be a Friend ofMen; he will not be Thou, must and will be Himself, another thanThou. Divorce lawsuits, 'whole family save one in prison, andthree-score Lettres-de-Cachet' for thy own sole use, do butastonish the world. Our Luckless Gabriel, sinned against and sinning, has been inthe Isle of Rhe, and heard the Atlantic from his tower; in theCastle of If, and heard the Mediterranean at Marseilles. He hasbeen in the Fortress of Joux; and forty-two months, with hardlyclothing to his back, in the Dungeon of Vincennes;--all byLettre-de-Cachet, from his lion father. He has been in PontarlierJails (self-constituted prisoner); was noticed fording estuaries ofthe sea (at low water), in flight from the face of men. He haspleaded before Aix Parlements (to get back his wife); the
publicgathering on roofs, to see since they could not hear: "theclatter-teeth (claque- dents)!" snarles singular old Mirabeau;discerning in such admired forensic eloquence nothing but twoclattering jaw-bones, and a head vacant, sonorous, of the drumspecies. But as for Gabriel Honore, in these strange wayfarings, what hashe not seen and tried! From drill-sergeants, to prime-ministers, toforeign and domestic booksellers, all manner of men he has seen.All manner of men he has gained; for at bottom it is a social,loving heart, that wild unconquerable one:--more especially allmanner of women. From the Archer's Daughter at Saintes to that fairyoung Sophie Madame Monnier, whom he could not but 'steal,' and bebeheaded for--in effigy! For indeed hardly since the ArabianProphet lay dead to Ali's admiration, was there seen such aLove-hero, with the strength of thirty men. In War, again, he hashelped to conquer Corsica; fought duels, irregular brawls;horsewhipped calumnious barons. In Literature, he has written onDespotism, on Lettres-de-Cachet; Erotics SapphicWerterean,Obscenities, Profanities; Books on the Prussian Monarchy, onCagliostro, on Calonne, on the Water Companies of Paris:--each bookcomparable, we will say, to a bituminous alarumfire; huge, smoky,sudden! The firepan, the kindling, the bitumen were his own; butthe lumber, of rags, old wood and nameless combustible rubbish (forall is fuel to him), was gathered from huckster, and ass-panniers,of every description under heaven. Whereby, indeed, huckstersenough have been heard to exclaim: Out upon it, the fire ismine! Nay, consider it more generally, seldom had man such a talentfor borrowing. The idea, the faculty of another man he can makehis; the man himself he can make his. "All reflex and echo (tout dereflet et de reverbere)!" snarls old Mirabeau, who can see, butwill not. Crabbed old Friend of Men! it is his sociality, hisaggregative nature; and will now be the quality of all for him. Inthat forty-years 'struggle against despotism,' he has gained theglorious faculty of selfhelp, and yet not lost the gloriousnatural gift of fellowship, of being helped. Rare union! This mancan live self-sufficing--yet lives also in the life of other men;can make men love him, work with him: a born king of men! But consider further how, as the old Marquis still snarls, hehas "made away with (hume, swallowed) all Formulas;"--a fact which,if we meditate it, will in these days mean much. This is no man ofsystem, then; he is only a man of instincts and insights. A mannevertheless who will glare fiercely on any object; and see throughit, and conquer it: for he has intellect, he has will, force beyondother men. A man not with logic- spectacles; but with an eye!Unhappily without Decalogue, moral Code or Theorem of any fixedsort; yet not without a strong living Soul in him, and Sinceritythere: a Reality, not an Artificiality, not a Sham! And so he,having struggled 'forty years against despotism,' and 'made awaywith all formulas,' shall now become the spokesman of a Nation bentto do the same. For is it not precisely the struggle of France alsoto cast off despotism; to make away with her old formulas,--havingfound them naught, worn out, far from the reality? She will makeaway with such formulas;--and even go bare, if need be, till shehave found new ones. Towards such work, in such manner, marches he, this singularRiquetti Mirabeau. In fiery rough figure, with black Samson-locksunder the slouch- hat, he steps along there. A fiery fuliginousmass, which could not be choked and smothered, but would fill allFrance with smoke. And now it has got air; it will burn its wholesubstance, its whole smoke-atmosphere too, and fill
all France withflame. Strange lot! Forty years of that smouldering, with foulfire-damp and vapour enough, then victory over that;--and like aburning mountain he blazes heaven-high; and, for twenty- threeresplendent months, pours out, in flame and molten fire-torrents,all that is in him, the Pharos and Wonder-sign of an amazedEurope;--and then lies hollow, cold forever! Pass on, thouquestionable Gabriel Honore, the greatest of them all: in the wholeNational Deputies, in the whole Nation, there is none like and nonesecond to thee. But now if Mirabeau is the greatest, who of these Six Hundredmay be the meanest? Shall we say, that anxious, slight,ineffectual-looking man, under thirty, in spectacles; his eyes(were the glasses off) troubled, careful; with upturned face,snuffing dimly the uncertain future-time; complexion of a multiplexatrabiliar colour, the final shade of which may be the palesea-green. (See De Stael, Considerations (ii. 142); Barbaroux,Memoires, &c.) That greenish-coloured (verdatre) individual isan Advocate of Arras; his name is Maximilien Robespierre. The sonof an Advocate; his father founded mason-lodges under CharlesEdward, the English Prince or Pretender. Maximilien the first-bornwas thriftily educated; he had brisk Camille Desmoulins forschoolmate in the College of Louis le Grand, at Paris. But hebegged our famed Necklace-Cardinal, Rohan, the patron, to let himdepart thence, and resign in favour of a younger brother. Thestrict-minded Max departed; home to paternal Arras; and even had aLaw-case there and pleaded, not unsuccessfully, 'in favour of thefirst Franklin thunder-rod.' With a strict painful mind, anunderstanding small but clear and ready, he grew in favour withofficial persons, who could foresee in him an excellent man ofbusiness, happily quite free from genius. The Bishop, therefore,taking counsel, appoints him Judge of his diocese; and hefaithfully does justice to the people: till behold, one day, aculprit comes whose crime merits hanging; and the strict-minded Maxmust abdicate, for his conscience will not permit the dooming ofany son of Adam to die. A strict-minded, strait-laced man! A manunfit for Revolutions? Whose small soul, transparentwholesome-looking as small ale, could by no chance ferment intovirulent alegar,--the mother of ever new alegar; till all Francewere grown acetous virulent? We shall see. Between which two extremes of grandest and meanest, so manygrand and mean roll on, towards their several destinies, in thatProcession! There is Cazales, the learned young soldier; who shallbecome the eloquent orator of Royalism, and earn the shadow of aname. Experienced Mounier, experienced Malouet; whose PresidentialParlementary experience the stream of things shall soon leavestranded. A Petion has left his gown and briefs at Chartres for astormier sort of pleading; has not forgotten his violin, being fondof music. His hair is grizzled, though he is still young:convictions, beliefs, placid-unalterable are in that man; nothindmost of them, belief in himself. A Protestant-clericalRabaut-St.-Etienne, a slender young eloquent and vehement Barnave,will help to regenerate France. There are so many of them young.Till thirty the Spartans did not suffer a man to marry: but howmany men here under thirty; coming to produce not one sufficientcitizen, but a nation and a world of such! The old to heal uprents; the young to remove rubbish:--which latter, is it not,indeed, the task here? Dim, formless from this distance, yet authentically there, thounoticest the Deputies from Nantes? To us mere clothes-screens, withslouch-hat and cloak, but bearing in their pocket a Cahier ofdoleances with this singular clause, and more such in it: 'That themaster wigmakers of Nantes be not troubled with new gild-brethren,the actually existing number of ninety-two being more thansufficient!' (Histoire Parlementaire, i. 335.) The Rennes peoplehave elected Farmer Gerard,
'a man of natural sense and rectitude,without any learning.' He walks there, with solid step; unique, 'inhis rustic farmer-clothes;' which he will wear always; careless ofshort-cloaks and costumes. The name Gerard, or 'Pere Gerard, FatherGerard,' as they please to call him, will fly far; borne about inendless banter; in Royalist satires, in Republican didacticAlmanacks. (Actes des Apotres (by Peltier and others); Almanach duPere Gerard (by Collot d'Herbois) &c. &c.) As for the manGerard, being asked once, what he did, after trial of it, candidlythink of this Parlementary work,--"I think," answered he, "thatthere are a good many scoundrels among us." so walks Father Gerard;solid in his thick shoes, whithersoever bound. And worthy Doctor Guillotin, whom we hoped to behold one othertime? If not here, the Doctor should be here, and we see him withthe eye of prophecy: for indeed the Parisian Deputies are all alittle late. Singular Guillotin, respectable practitioner: doomedby a satiric destiny to the strangest immortal glory that ever keptobscure mortal from his resting-place, the bosom of oblivion!Guillotin can improve the ventilation of the Hall; in all cases ofmedical police and hygiene be a present aid: but, greater far, hecan produce his 'Report on the Penal Code;' and reveal therein acunningly devised Beheading Machine, which shall become famous andworldfamous. This is the product of Guillotin's endeavours, gainednot without meditation and reading; which product popular gratitudeor levity christens by a feminine derivative name, as if it werehis daughter: La Guillotine! "With my machine, Messieurs, I whiskoff your head (vous fais sauter la tete) in a twinkling, and youhave no pain;"--whereat they all laugh. (Moniteur Newspaper, ofDecember 1st, 1789 (in Histoire Parlementaire).) UnfortunateDoctor! For two-and-twenty years he, unguillotined, shall nearnothing but guillotine, see nothing but guillotine; then dying,shall through long centuries wander, as it were, a disconsolateghost, on the wrong side of Styx and Lethe; his name like tooutlive Caesar's. See Bailly, likewise of Paris, time-honoured Historian ofAstronomy Ancient and Modern. Poor Bailly, how thy serenelybeautiful Philosophising, with its soft moonshiny clearness andthinness, ends in foul thick confusion--of Presidency, Mayorship,diplomatic Officiality, rabid Triviality, and the throat ofeverlasting Darkness! Far was it to descend from the heavenlyGalaxy to the Drapeau Rouge: beside that fatal dung-heap, on thatlast hell-day, thou must 'tremble,' though only with cold, 'defroid.' Speculation is not practice: to be weak is not somiserable; but to be weaker than our task. Wo the day when theymounted thee, a peaceable pedestrian, on that wild Hippogriff of aDemocracy; which, spurning the firm earth, nay lashing at the verystars, no yet known Astolpho could have ridden! In the Commons Deputies there are Merchants, Artists, Men ofLetters; three hundred and seventy-four Lawyers; (Bouille, Memoiressur la Revolution Francaise (London, 1797), i. 68.) and at leastone Clergyman: the Abbe Sieyes. Him also Paris sends, among itstwenty. Behold him, the light thin man; cold, but elastic, wiry;instinct with the pride of Logic; passionless, or with but onepassion, that of self-conceit. If indeed that can be called apassion, which, in its independent concentrated greatness, seems tohave soared into transcendentalism; and to sit there with a kind ofgodlike indifference, and look down on passion! He is the man, andwisdom shall die with him. This is the Sieyes who shall beSystem-builder, Constitution-builder General; and buildConstitutions (as many as wanted) skyhigh,--which shall allunfortunately fall before he get the scaffolding away. "LaPolitique," said he to Dumont, "Polity is a science I think I havecompleted (achevee)." (Dumont, Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, p. 64.) Whatthings, O Sieyes,
with thy clear assiduous eyes, art thou to see!But were it not curious to know how Sieyes, now in these days (forhe is said to be still alive) (A.D. 1834.) looks out on all thatConstitution masonry, through the rheumy soberness of extreme age?Might we hope, still with the old irrefragable transcendentalism?The victorious cause pleased the gods, the vanquished one pleasedSieyes (victa Catoni). Thus, however, amid skyrending vivats, and blessings from everyheart, has the Procession of the Commons Deputies rolled by. Next follow the Noblesse, and next the Clergy; concerning bothof whom it might be asked, What they specially have come for?Specially, little as they dream of it, to answer this question, putin a voice of thunder: What are you doing in God's fair Earth andTask-garden; where whosoever is not working is begging or stealing?Wo, wo to themselves and to all, if they can only answer:Collecting tithes, Preserving game!--Remark, meanwhile, howD'Orleans affects to step before his own Order, and mingle with theCommons. For him are vivats: few for the rest, though all wave inplumed 'hats of a feudal cut,' and have sword on thigh; thoughamong them is D'Antraigues, the young Languedocian gentleman,--andindeed many a Peer more or less noteworthy. There are Liancourt, and La Rochefoucault; the liberalAnglomaniac Dukes. There is a filially pious Lally; a couple ofliberal Lameths. Above all, there is a Lafayette; whose name shallbe Cromwell-Grandison, and fill the world. Many a 'formula' hasthis Lafayette too made away with; yet not all formulas. He sticksby the Washington-formula; and by that he will stick;- -and hang byit, as by sure bower-anchor hangs and swings the tight war- ship,which, after all changes of wildest weather and water, is foundstill hanging. Happy for him; be it glorious or not! Alone of allFrenchmen he has a theory of the world, and right mind to conformthereto; he can become a hero and perfect character, were it butthe hero of one idea. Note further our old Parlementary friend,Crispin-Catiline d'Espremenil. He is returned from theMediterranean Islands, a redhot royalist, repentant to thefinger-ends;--unsettled-looking; whose light, dusky-glowing atbest, now flickers foul in the socket; whom the National Assemblywill by and by, to save time, 'regard as in a state ofdistraction.' Note lastly that globular Younger Mirabeau; indignantthat his elder Brother is among the Commons: it is ViscomteMirabeau; named oftener Mirabeau Tonneau (Barrel Mirabeau), onaccount of his rotundity, and the quantities of strong liquor hecontains. There then walks our French Noblesse. All in the old pomp ofchivalry: and yet, alas, how changed from the old position; driftedfar down from their native latitude, like Arctic icebergs got intothe Equatorial sea, and fast thawing there! Once these ChivalryDuces (Dukes, as they are still named) did actually lead theworld,--were it only towards battle- spoil, where lay the world'sbest wages then: moreover, being the ablest Leaders going, they hadtheir lion's share, those Duces; which none could grudge them. Butnow, when so many Looms, improved Ploughshares, SteamEngines andBills of Exchange have been invented; and, for battle-brawlingitself, men hire DrillSergeants at eighteen-pence a-day,--whatmean these goldmantled Chivalry Figures, walking there 'inblack-velvet cloaks,' in high-plumed 'hats of a feudal cut'? Reedsshaken in the wind! The Clergy have got up; with Cahiers for abolishing pluralities,enforcing residence of bishops, better payment of tithes. (Hist.Parl. i. 322-27.) The Dignitaries, we can observe, walk
stately,apart from the numerous Undignified,--who indeed are properlylittle other than Commons disguised in Curate-frocks. Here,however, though by strange ways, shall the Precept be fulfilled,and they that are greatest (much to their astonishment) becomeleast. For one example, out of many, mark that plausible Gregoire:one day Cure Gregoire shall be a Bishop, when the now stately arewandering distracted, as Bishops in partibus. With other thought,mark also the Abbe Maury: his broad bold face; mouth accuratelyprimmed; full eyes, that ray out intelligence, falsehood,--the sortof sophistry which is astonished you should find it sophistical.Skilfulest vamper-up of old rotten leather, to make it look likenew; always a rising man; he used to tell Mercier, "You will see; Ishall be in the Academy before you." (Mercier, Nouveau Paris.)Likely indeed, thou skilfullest Maury; nay thou shalt have aCardinal's Hat, and plush and glory; but alas, also, in thelongrun--mere oblivion, like the rest of us; and six feet of earth!What boots it, vamping rotten leather on these terms? Glorious incomparison is the livelihood thy good old Father earns, by makingshoes,--one may hope, in a sufficient manner. Maury does not wantfor audacity. He shall wear pistols, by and by; and at death-criesof "The Lamp-iron;" answer coolly, "Friends, will you see betterthere?" But yonder, halting lamely along, thou noticest next BishopTalleyrand- Perigord, his Reverence of Autun. A sardonic grimnesslies in that irreverent Reverence of Autun. He will do and sufferstrange things; and will become surely one of the strangest thingsever seen, or like to be seen. A man living in falsehood, and onfalsehood; yet not what you can call a false man: there is thespecialty! It will be an enigma for future ages, one may hope:hitherto such a product of Nature and Art was possible only forthis age of ours,--Age of Paper, and of the Burning of Paper.Consider Bishop Talleyrand and Marquis Lafayette as the topmost oftheir two kinds; and say once more, looking at what they did andwhat they were, O Tempus ferax rerum! On the whole, however, has not this unfortunate Clergy alsodrifted in the Time-stream, far from its native latitude? Ananomalous mass of men; of whom the whole world has already a dimunderstanding that it can understand nothing. They were once aPriesthood, interpreters of Wisdom, revealers of the Holy that isin Man: a true Clerus (or Inheritance of God on Earth): butnow?--They pass silently, with such Cahiers as they have been ableto redact; and none cries, God bless them. King Louis with his Court brings up the rear: he cheerful, inthis day of hope, is saluted with plaudits; still more Necker hisMinister. Not so the Queen; on whom hope shines not steadily anymore. Ill-fated Queen! Her hair is already gray with many cares andcrosses; her first-born son is dying in these weeks: blackfalsehood has ineffaceably soiled her name; ineffaceably while thisgeneration lasts. Instead of Vive la Reine, voices insult her withVive d'Orleans. Of her queenly beauty little remains except itsstateliness; not now gracious, but haughty, rigid, silentlyenduring. With a most mixed feeling, wherein joy has no part, sheresigns herself to a day she hoped never to have seen. Poor MarieAntoinette; with thy quick noble instincts; vehement glancings,vision all-too fitful narrow for the work thou hast to do! O thereare tears in store for thee; bitterest wailings, soft womanlymeltings, though thou hast the heart of an imperial Theresa'sDaughter. Thou doomed one, shut thy eyes on the future!-And so, in stately Procession, have passed the Elected ofFrance. Some towards honour and quick fire-consummation; mosttowards dishonour; not a few towards massacre, confusion,emigration,
desperation: all towards Eternity!--So manyheterogeneities cast together into the fermenting-vat; there, withincalculable action, counteraction, elective affinities, explosivedevelopments, to work out healing for a sick moribund System ofSociety! Probably the strangest Body of Men, if we consider well,that ever met together on our Planet on such an errand. Sothousandfold complex a Society, ready to burst-up from its infinitedepths; and these men, its rulers and healers, without life-rulefor themselves,--other life-rule than a Gospel according to JeanJacques! To the wisest of them, what we must call the wisest, manis properly an Accident under the sky. Man is without Duty roundhim; except it be 'to make the Constitution.' He is without Heavenabove him, or Hell beneath him; he has no God in the world. What further or better belief can be said to exist in theseTwelve Hundred? Belief in high-plumed hats of a feudal cut; inheraldic scutcheons; in the divine right of Kings, in the divineright of Game-destroyers. Belief, or what is still worse, cantinghalf-belief; or worst of all, mere Macchiavellicpretence-of-belief,--in consecrated dough-wafers, and the godhoodof a poor old Italian Man! Nevertheless in that immeasurableConfusion and Corruption, which struggles there so blindly tobecome less confused and corrupt, there is, as we said, this onesalient point of a New Life discernible: the deep fixedDetermination to have done with Shams. A determination, which,consciously or unconsciously, is fixed; which waxes ever morefixed, into very madness and fixed-idea; which in such embodimentas lies provided there, shall now unfold itself rapidly: monstrous,stupendous, unspeakable; new for long thousands of years!--How hasthe Heaven's light, oftentimes in this Earth, to clothe itself inthunder and electric murkiness; and descend as molten lightning,blasting, if purifying! Nay is it not rather the very murkiness,and atmospheric suffocation, that brings the lightning and thelight? The new Evangel, as the old had been, was it to be born inthe Destruction of a World? But how the Deputies assisted at High Mass, and heard sermon,and applauded the preacher, church as it was, when he preachedpolitics; how, next day, with sustained pomp, they are, for thefirst time, installed in their Salles des Menus (Hall no longer ofAmusements), and become a States- General,--readers can fancy forthemselves. The King from his estrade, gorgeous as Solomon in allhis glory, runs his eye over that majestic Hall; many-plumed,many-glancing; bright-tinted as rainbow, in the galleries and nearside spaces, where Beauty sits raining bright influence.Satisfaction, as of one that after long voyaging had got to port,plays over his broad simple face: the innocent King! He rises andspeaks, with sonorous tone, a conceivable speech. With which, stillmore with the succeeding one-hour and two-hour speeches ofGarde-des-Sceaux and M. Necker, full of nothing but patriotism,hope, faith, and deficiency of the revenue,--no reader of thesepages shall be tried. We remark only that, as his Majesty, on finishing the speech,put on his plumed hat, and the Noblesse according to customimitated him, our Tiers- Etat Deputies did mostly, not without ashade of fierceness, in like manner clap-on, and even crush ontheir slouched hats; and stand there awaiting the issue. (HistoireParlementaire (i. 356). Mercier, Nouveau Paris, &c.) Thick buzzamong them, between majority and minority of Couvrezvous,Decrouvrez-vous (Hats off, Hats on)! To which his Majesty puts end,by taking off his own royal hat again. The session terminates without further accident or omen thanthis; with which, significantly enough, France has opened herStates-General.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.V. The Third EstateChapter 1.5.I. Inertia
That exasperated France, in this same National Assembly of hers,has got something, nay something great, momentous, indispensable,cannot be doubted; yet still the question were: Specially what? Aquestion hard to solve, even for calm onlookers at this distance;wholly insoluble to actors in the middle of it. The States-General,created and conflated by the passionate effort of the whole nation,is there as a thing high and lifted up. Hope, jubilating, criesaloud that it will prove a miraculous Brazen Serpent in theWilderness; whereon whosoever looks, with faith and obedience,shall be healed of all woes and serpent-bites. We may answer, it will at least prove a symbolic Banner; roundwhich the exasperating complaining Twenty-Five Millions, otherwiseisolated and without power, may rally, and work-what it is in themto work. If battle must be the work, as one cannot help expecting,then shall it be a battle- banner (say, an Italian Gonfalon, in itsold Republican Carroccio); and shall tower up, car-borne, shiningin the wind: and with iron tongue peal forth many a signal. A thingof prime necessity; which whether in the van or in the centre,whether leading or led and driven, must do the fighting multitudeincalculable services. For a season, while it floats in the veryfront, nay as it were stands solitary there, waiting whether forcewill gather round it, this same National Carroccio, and thesignal-peals it rings, are a main object with us. The omen of the 'slouch-hats clapt on' shows the CommonsDeputies to have made up their minds on one thing: that neitherNoblesse nor Clergy shall have precedence of them; hardly evenMajesty itself. To such length has the Contrat Social, and force ofpublic opinion, carried us. For what is Majesty but the Delegate ofthe Nation; delegated, and bargained with (even rathertightly),--in some very singular posture of affairs, which JeanJacques has not fixed the date of? Coming therefore into their Hall, on the morrow, an inorganicmass of Six Hundred individuals, these Commons Deputies perceive,without terror, that they have it all to themselves. Their Hall isalso the Grand or general Hall for all the Three Orders. But theNoblesse and Clergy, it would seem, have retired to their twoseparate Apartments, or Halls; and are there 'verifying theirpowers,' not in a conjoint but in a separate capacity. They are toconstitute two separate, perhaps separately-voting Orders, then? Itis as if both Noblesse and Clergy had silently taken for grantedthat they already were such! Two Orders against one; and so theThird Order to be left in a perpetual minority? Much may remain unfixed; but the negative of that is a thingfixed: in the Slouch-hatted heads, in the French Nation's head.Double representation, and all else hitherto gained, were otherwisefutile, null. Doubtless, the 'powers must be verified;'--doubtless,the Commission, the electoral Documents of your Deputy must beinspected by his brother Deputies, and found valid: it is thepreliminary of all. Neither is this question, of doing itseparately or doing it conjointly, a vital one: but if it lead tosuch? It must be resisted; wise was that maxim, Resist thebeginnings! Nay were resistance unadvisable, even dangerous, yetsurely pause is very natural: pause, with Twenty-five Millionsbehind you, may become resistance enough.--The inorganic mass
ofCommons Deputies will restrict itself to a 'system of inertia,' andfor the present remain inorganic. Such method, recommendable alike to sagacity and to timidity, dothe Commons Deputies adopt; and, not without adroitness, and withever more tenacity, they persist in it, day after day, week afterweek. For six weeks their history is of the kind named barren;which indeed, as Philosophy knows, is often the fruitfulest of all.These were their still creation-days; wherein they sat incubating!In fact, what they did was to do nothing, in a judicious manner.Daily the inorganic body reassembles; regrets that they cannot getorganisation, 'verification of powers in common, and beginregenerating France. Headlong motions may be made, but let such berepressed; inertia alone is at once unpunishable andunconquerable. Cunning must be met by cunning; proud pretension by inertia, bya low tone of patriotic sorrow; low, but incurable, unalterable.Wise as serpents; harmless as doves: what a spectacle for France!Six Hundred inorganic individuals, essential for its regenerationand salvation, sit there, on their elliptic benches, longingpassionately towards life; in painful durance; like souls waitingto be born. Speeches are spoken; eloquent; audible within doors andwithout. Mind agitates itself against mind; the Nation looks onwith ever deeper interest. Thus do the Commons Deputies sitincubating. There are private conclaves, supper-parties, consultations;Breton Club, Club of Viroflay; germs of many Clubs. Wholly anelement of confused noise, dimness, angry heat;--wherein, however,the Eros-egg, kept at the fit temperature, may hover safe, unbrokentill it be hatched. In your Mouniers, Malouets, Lechapeliers inscience sufficient for that; fervour in your Barnaves, Rabauts. Attimes shall come an inspiration from royal Mirabeau: he is nowiseyet recognised as royal; nay he was 'groaned at,' when his name wasfirst mentioned: but he is struggling towards recognition. In the course of the week, the Commons having called theirEldest to the chair, and furnished him with young stronger-lungedassistants,--can speak articulately; and, in audible lamentablewords, declare, as we said, that they are an inorganic body,longing to become organic. Letters arrive; but an inorganic bodycannot open letters; they lie on the table unopened. The Eldest mayat most procure for himself some kind of List or Muster-roll, totake the votes by, and wait what will betide. Noblesse and Clergyare all elsewhere: however, an eager public crowds all galleriesand vacancies; which is some comfort. With effort, it isdetermined, not that a Deputation shall be sent,--for how can aninorganic body send deputations?- -but that certain individualCommons Members shall, in an accidental way, stroll into the ClergyChamber, and then into the Noblesse one; and mention there, as athing they have happened to observe, that the Commons seem to besitting waiting for them, in order to verify their powers. That isthe wiser method! The Clergy, among whom are such a multitude of Undignified, ofmere Commons in Curates' frocks, depute instant respectful answerthat they are, and will now more than ever be, in deepest study asto that very matter. Contrariwise the Noblesse, in cavalierattitude, reply, after four days, that they, for their part, areall verified and constituted; which, they had trusted, the Commonsalso were; such separate verification being clearly the properconstitutional wisdom-of-ancestors method;--as they the Noblessewill have much pleasure in demonstrating by a Commission of
theirnumber, if the Commons will meet them, Commission againstCommission! Directly in the rear of which comes a deputation ofClergy, reiterating, in their insidious conciliatory way, the sameproposal. Here, then, is a complexity: what will wise Commons sayto this? Warily, inertly, the wise Commons, considering that they are, ifnot a French Third Estate, at least an Aggregate of individualspretending to some title of that kind, determine, after talking onit five days, to name such a Commission,--though, as it were, withproviso not to be convinced: a sixth day is taken up in naming it;a seventh and an eighth day in getting the forms of meeting, place,hour and the like, settled: so that it is not till the evening ofthe 23rd of May that Noblesse Commission first meets CommonsCommission, Clergy acting as Conciliators; and begins theimpossible task of convincing it. One other meeting, on the 25th,will suffice: the Commons are inconvincible, the Noblesse andClergy irrefragably convincing; the Commissions retire; each Orderpersisting in its first pretensions. (Reported Debates, 6th May to1st June, 1789 (in Histoire Parlementaire, i. 379-422.) Thus have three weeks passed. For three weeks, the Third-EstateCarroccio, with far-seen Gonfalon, has stood stockstill, floutingthe wind; waiting what force would gather round it. Fancy can conceive the feeling of the Court; and how counsel metcounsel, the loud-sounding inanity whirled in that distractedvortex, where wisdom could not dwell. Your cunningly devisedTaxing-Machine has been got together; set up with incrediblelabour; and stands there, its three pieces in contact; its twofly-wheels of Noblesse and Clergy, its huge working- wheel ofTiers-Etat. The two fly-wheels whirl in the softest manner; but,prodigious to look upon, the huge working-wheel hangs motionless,refuses to stir! The cunningest engineers are at fault. How will itwork, when it does begin? Fearfully, my Friends; and to manypurposes; but to gather taxes, or grind court-meal, one mayapprehend, never. Could we but have continued gathering taxes byhand! Messeigneurs d'Artois, Conti, Conde (named CourtTriumvirate), they of the antidemocratic Memoire au Roi, has nottheir foreboding proved true? They may wave reproachfully theirhigh heads; they may beat their poor brains; but the cunningestengineers can do nothing. Necker himself, were he even listened to,begins to look blue. The only thing one sees advisable is to bringup soldiers. New regiments, two, and a battalion of a third, havealready reached Paris; others shall get in march. Good were it, inall circumstances, to have troops within reach; good that thecommand were in sure hands. Let Broglie be appointed; old MarshalDuke de Broglie; veteran disciplinarian, of a firm drill- sergeantmorality, such as may be depended on. For, alas, neither are the Clergy, or the very Noblesse whatthey should be; and might be, when so menaced from without: entire,undivided within. The Noblesse, indeed, have their Catiline orCrispin D'Espremenil, dusky- glowing, all in renegade heat; theirboisterous Barrel-Mirabeau; but also they have their Lafayettes,Liancourts, Lameths; above all, their D'Orleans, now cut foreverfrom his Court-moorings, and musing drowsily of high and highestsea-prizes (for is not he too a son of Henri Quatre, and partialpotential Heir-Apparent?)--on his voyage towards Chaos. From theClergy again, so numerous are the Cures, actual deserters have runover: two small parties; in the second party Cure Gregoire. Naythere is talk of a whole Hundred and Fortynine of them about todesert in mass, and only restrained by an Archbishop of Paris. Itseems a losing game.
But judge if France, if Paris sat idle, all this while!Addresses from far and near flow in: for our Commons have now grownorganic enough to open letters. Or indeed to cavil at them! Thuspoor Marquis de Breze, Supreme Usher, Master of Ceremonies, orwhatever his title was, writing about this time on some ceremonialmatter, sees no harm in winding up with a 'Monsieur, yours withsincere attachment.'--"To whom does it address itself, this sincereattachment?" inquires Mirabeau. "To the Dean of theTiers-Etat."--"There is no man in France entitled to write that,"rejoins he; whereat the Galleries and the World will not be keptfrom applauding. (Moniteur (in Histoire Parlementaire, i. 405).)Poor De Breze! These Commons have a still older grudge at him; norhas he yet done with them. In another way, Mirabeau has had to protest against the quicksuppression of his Newspaper, Journal of the States-General;--andto continue it under a new name. In which act of valour, the ParisElectors, still busy redacting their Cahier, could not but supporthim, by Address to his Majesty: they claim utmost 'provisoryfreedom of the press;' they have spoken even about demolishing theBastille, and erecting a Bronze Patriot King on the site!--Theseare the rich Burghers: but now consider how it went, for example,with such loose miscellany, now all grown eleutheromaniac, ofLoungers, Prowlers, social Nondescripts (and the distilledRascality of our Planet), as whirls forever in the Palais Royal;--or what low infinite groan, first changing into a growl, comesfrom Saint- Antoine, and the Twenty-five Millions in danger ofstarvation! There is the indisputablest scarcity of corn;--be itAristocrat-plot, D'Orleans-plot, of this year; or drought and hailof last year: in city and province, the poor man looks desolatelytowards a nameless lot. And this States-General, that could make usan age of gold, is forced to stand motionless; cannot get itspowers verified! All industry necessarily languishes, if it be notthat of making motions. In the Palais Royal there has been erected, apparently bysubscription, a kind of Wooden Tent (en planches de bois);(Histoire Parlementaire, i. 429.)-- most convenient; where selectPatriotism can now redact resolutions, deliver harangues, withcomfort, let the weather but as it will. Lively is thatSatan-at-Home! On his table, on his chair, in every cafe, stands apatriotic orator; a crowd round him within; a crowd listening fromwithout, open-mouthed, through open door and window; with 'thundersof applause for every sentiment of more than common hardiness.' InMonsieur Dessein's Pamphlet-shop, close by, you cannot withoutstrong elbowing get to the counter: every hour produces itspamphlet, or litter of pamphlets; 'there were thirteen today,sixteen yesterday, nine-two last week.' (Arthur Young, Travels, i.104.) Think of Tyranny and Scarcity; Fervid-eloquence, Rumour,Pamphleteering; Societe Publicole, Breton Club, Enraged Club;--andwhether every tap-room, coffee-room, social reunion, accidentalstreet-group, over wide France, was not an Enraged Club! To all which the Commons Deputies can only listen with a sublimeinertia of sorrow; reduced to busy themselves 'with their internalpolice.' Surer position no Deputies ever occupied; if they keep itwith skill. Let not the temperature rise too high; break not theEros-egg till it be hatched, till it break itself! An eager publiccrowds all Galleries and vacancies! 'cannot be restrained fromapplauding.' The two Privileged Orders, the Noblesse all verifiedand constituted, may look on with what face they will; not withouta secret tremor of heart. The Clergy, always acting the part ofconciliators, make a clutch at the Galleries, and the popularitythere; and miss it.
Deputation of them arrives, with dolorousmessage about the 'dearth of grains,' and the necessity there is ofcasting aside vain formalities, and deliberating on this. Aninsidious proposal; which, however, the Commons (moved thereto byseagreen Robespierre) dexterously accept as a sort of hint, or evenpledge, that the Clergy will forthwith come over to them,constitute the StatesGeneral, and so cheapen grains! (Bailly,Memoires, i. 114.)--Finally, on the 27th day of May, Mirabeau,judging the time now nearly come, proposes that 'the inertiacease;' that, leaving the Noblesse to their own stiff ways, theClergy be summoned, 'in the name of the God of Peace,' to join theCommons, and begin. (Histoire Parlementaire, i. 413.) To whichsummons if they turn a deaf ear,--we shall see! Are not one Hundredand Forty-nine of them ready to desert? O Triumvirate of Princes, new Garde-des-Sceaux Barentin, thouHome- Secretary Breteuil, Duchess Polignac, and Queen eager tolisten,--what is now to be done? This Third Estate will get inmotion, with the force of all France in it; Clergy-machinery withNoblesse-machinery, which were to serve as beautifulcounter-balances and drags, will be shamefully dragged afterit,--and take fire along with it. What is to be done? The Oeil-de-Boeuf waxes more confused than ever. Whisper and counter-whisper; avery tempest of whispers! Leading men from all the Three Orders arenightly spirited thither; conjurors many of them; but can theyconjure this? Necker himself were now welcome, could he interfereto purpose. Let Necker interfere, then; and in the King's name! Happily thatincendiary 'God-of-Peace' message is not yet answered. The ThreeOrders shall again have conferences; under this Patriot Minister oftheirs, somewhat may be healed, clouted up;--we meanwhile gettingforward Swiss Regiments, and a 'hundred pieces of field-artillery.'This is what the Oeil-de-Boeuf, for its part, resolves on. But as for Necker--Alas, poor Necker, thy obstinate Third Estatehas one first-last word, verification in common, as the pledge ofvoting and deliberating in common! Half-way proposals, from such atried friend, they answer with a stare. The tardy conferencesspeedily break up; the Third Estate, now ready and resolute, thewhole world backing it, returns to its Hall of the Three Orders;and Necker to the Oeil-de-Boeuf, with the character of adisconjured conjuror there--fit only for dismissal. (Debates, 1stto 17th June 1789 (in Histoire Parlementaire, i. 422-478).) And so the Commons Deputies are at last on their own strengthgetting under way? Instead of Chairman, or Dean, they have now gota President: Astronomer Bailly. Under way, with a vengeance! Withendless vociferous and temperate eloquence, borne on Newspaperwings to all lands, they have now, on this 17th day of June,determined that their name is not Third Estate, but--NationalAssembly! They, then, are the Nation? Triumvirate of Princes,Queen, refractory Noblesse and Clergy, what, then, are you? A mostdeep question;--scarcely answerable in living politicaldialects. All regardless of which, our new National Assembly proceeds toappoint a 'committee of subsistences;' dear to France, though itcan find little or no grain. Next, as if our National Assemblystood quite firm on its legs,- -to appoint 'four other standingcommittees;' then to settle the security of the National Debt; thenthat of the Annual Taxation: all within eight- and-forty hours. Atsuch rate of velocity it is going: the conjurors of theOeil-de-Boeuf may well ask themselves, Whither?
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.V. The Third EstateChapter 1.5.II. Mercury de Breze
Now surely were the time for a 'god from the machine;' there isa nodus worthy of one. The only question is, Which god? Shall it beMars de Broglie, with his hundred pieces of cannon?--Not yet,answers prudence; so soft, irresolute is King Louis. Let it beMessenger Mercury, our Supreme Usher de Breze. On the morrow, which is the 20th of June, these Hundred andForty-nine false Curates, no longer restrainable by his Grace ofParis, will desert in a body: let De Breze intervene, andproduce-closed doors! Not only shall there be Royal Session, inthat Salle des Menus; but no meeting, nor working (except bycarpenters), till then. Your Third Estate, self-styled 'NationalAssembly,' shall suddenly see itself extruded from its Hall, bycarpenters, in this dexterous way; and reduced to do nothing, noteven to meet, or articulately lament,--till Majesty, with SeanceRoyale and new miracles, be ready! In this manner shall De Breze,as Mercury ex machina, intervene; and, if the Oeil-de-Boeuf mistakenot, work deliverance from the nodus. Of poor De Breze we can remark that he has yet prospered in noneof his dealings with these Commons. Five weeks ago, when theykissed the hand of Majesty, the mode he took got nothing butcensure; and then his 'sincere attachment,' how was it scornfullywhiffed aside! Before supper, this night, he writes to PresidentBailly, a new Letter, to be delivered shortly after dawn tomorrow,in the King's name. Which Letter, however, Bailly in the pride ofoffice, will merely crush together into his pocket, like a bill hedoes not mean to pay. Accordingly on Saturday morning the 20th of June,shrill-sounding heralds proclaim through the streets of Versailles,that there is to be a Seance Royale next Monday; and no meeting ofthe States-General till then. And yet, we observe, President Baillyin sound of this, and with De Breze's Letter in his pocket, isproceeding, with National Assembly at his heels, to the accustomedSalles des Menus; as if De Breze and heralds were mere wind. It isshut, this Salle; occupied by Gardes Francaises. "Where is yourCaptain?" The Captain shows his royal order: workmen, he is grievedto say, are all busy setting up the platform for his Majesty'sSeance; most unfortunately, no admission; admission, at furthest,for President and Secretaries to bring away papers, which thejoiners might destroy!-- President Bailly enters with Secretaries;and returns bearing papers: alas, within doors, instead ofpatriotic eloquence, there is now no noise but hammering, sawing,and operative screeching and rumbling! A profanation withoutparallel. The Deputies stand grouped on the Paris Road, on this umbrageousAvenue de Versailles; complaining aloud of the indignity done them.Courtiers, it is supposed, look from their windows, and giggle. Themorning is none of the comfortablest: raw; it is even drizzling alittle. (Bailly, Memoires, i. 185-206.) But all travellers pause;patriot gallery-men, miscellaneous spectators increase the groups.Wild counsels alternate. Some desperate Deputies propose to go andhold session on the great outer Staircase at Marly, under theKing's windows; for his Majesty, it seems, has driven over thither.Others talk of making the Chateau Forecourt, what they call Placed'Armes, a Runnymede and new Champ de Mai of free Frenchmen: nay ofawakening, to sounds of indignant Patriotism, the echoes of theOeil-de- boeuf itself.--Notice is given that
President Bailly,aided by judicious Guillotin and others, has found place in theTennis-Court of the Rue St. Francois. Thither, in long-drawn files,hoarse-jingling, like cranes on wing, the Commons Deputies angrilywend. Strange sight was this in the Rue St. Francois, VieuxVersailles! A naked Tennis-Court, as the pictures of that timestill give it: four walls; naked, except aloft some poor woodenpenthouse, or roofed spectators'- gallery, hanging round them:--onthe floor not now an idle teeheeing, a snapping of balls andrackets; but the bellowing din of an indignant NationalRepresentation, scandalously exiled hither! However, a cloud ofwitnesses looks down on them, from wooden penthouse, from wall-top,from adjoining roof and chimney; rolls towards them from allquarters, with passionate spoken blessings. Some table can beprocured to write on; some chair, if not to sit on, then to standon. The Secretaries undo their tapes; Bailly has constituted theAssembly. Experienced Mounier, not wholly new to such things, inParlementary revolts, which he has seen or heard of, thinks that itwere well, in these lamentable threatening circumstances, to unitethemselves by an Oath.-- Universal acclamation, as from smoulderingbosoms getting vent! The Oath is redacted; pronounced aloud byPresident Bailly,--and indeed in such a sonorous tone, that thecloud of witnesses, even outdoors, hear it, and bellow response toit. Six hundred righthands rise with President Bailly's, to takeGod above to witness that they will not separate for man below, butwill meet in all places, under all circumstances, wheresoever twoor three can get together, till they have made the Constitution.Made the Constitution, Friends! That is a long task. Six hundredhands, meanwhile, will sign as they have sworn: six hundred saveone; one Loyalist Abdiel, still visible by this sole light-point,and nameable, poor 'M. Martin d'Auch, from Castelnaudary, inLanguedoc.' Him they permit to sign or signify refusal; they evensave him from the cloud of witnesses, by declaring 'his headderanged.' At four o'clock, the signatures are all appended; newmeeting is fixed for Monday morning, earlier than the hour of theRoyal Session; that our Hundred and Forty-nine Clerical desertersbe not balked: we shall meet 'at the Recollets Church orelsewhere,' in hope that our Hundred and Forty-nine will joinus;--and now it is time to go to dinner. This, then, is the Session of the Tennis-Court, famed Seance duJeu de Paume; the fame of which has gone forth to all lands. Thisis Mercurius de Breze's appearance as Deus ex machina; this is thefruit it brings! The giggle of Courtiers in the Versailles Avenuehas already died into gaunt silence. Did the distracted Court, withGardes-des-Sceaux Barentin, Triumvirate and Company, imagine thatthey could scatter six hundred National Deputies, big with aNational Constitution, like as much barndoor poultry, big with nextto nothing,--by the white or black rod of a Supreme Usher? Barndoorpoultry fly cackling: but National Deputies turn round, lion-faced;and, with uplifted right-hand, swear an Oath that makes the fourcorners of France tremble. President Bailly has covered himself with honour; which shallbecome rewards. The National Assembly is now doubly and trebly theNation's Assembly; not militant, martyred only, but triumphant;insulted, and which could not be insulted. Paris disembogues itselfonce more, to witness, 'with grim looks,' the Seance Royale: (SeeArthur Young (Travels, i. 115- 118); A. Lameth, &c.) which, bya new felicity, is postponed till Tuesday. The Hundred andForty-nine, and even with Bishops among them, all in processionalmass, have had free leisure to march off, and solemnly join theCommons sitting waiting in their Church. The Commons welcomed
themwith shouts, with embracings, nay with tears; (Dumont, Souvenirssur Mirabeau, c. 4.) for it is growing a life-and-death matternow. As for the Seance itself, the Carpenters seem to haveaccomplished their platform; but all else remains unaccomplished.Futile, we may say fatal, was the whole matter. King Louis enters,through seas of people, all grim- silent, angry with manythings,--for it is a bitter rain too. Enters, to a Third Estate,likewise grim-silent; which has been wetted waiting under meanporches, at back-doors, while Court and Privileged were entering bythe front. King and Garde-des-Sceaux (there is no Necker visible)make known, not without longwindedness, the determinations of theroyal breast. The Three Orders shall vote separately. On the otherhand, France may look for considerable constitutional blessings; asspecified in these Five-and- thirty Articles, (HistoireParlementaire, i. 13.) which Garde-des-Sceaux is waxing hoarse withreading. Which Five-and-Thirty Articles, adds his Majesty againrising, if the Three Orders most unfortunately cannot agreetogether to effect them, I myself will effect: "seul je ferai lebien de mes peuples,"--which being interpreted may signify, You,contentious Deputies of the StatesGeneral, have probably not longto be here! But, in fine, all shall now withdraw for this day; andmeet again, each Order in its separate place, to-morrow morning,for despatch of business. This is the determination of the royalbreast: pithy and clear. And herewith King, retinue, Noblesse,majority of Clergy file out, as if the whole matter weresatisfactorily completed. These file out; through grim-silent seas of people. Only theCommons Deputies file not out; but stand there in gloomy silence,uncertain what they shall do. One man of them is certain; one manof them discerns and dares! It is now that King Mirabeau starts tothe Tribune, and lifts up his lion-voice. Verily a word in season;for, in such scenes, the moment is the mother of ages! Had notGabriel Honore been there,--one can well fancy, how the CommonsDeputies, affrighted at the perils which now yawned dim all roundthem, and waxing ever paler in each other's paleness, might verynaturally, one after one, have glided off; and the whole course ofEuropean History have been different! But he is there. List to the brool of that royal forest-voice;sorrowful, low; fast swelling to a roar! Eyes kindle at the glanceof his eye:-- National Deputies were missioned by a Nation; theyhave sworn an Oath; they--but lo! while the lion's voice roarsloudest, what Apparition is this? Apparition of Mercurius de Breze,muttering somewhat!--"Speak out," cry several.-"Messieurs,"shrills De Breze, repeating himself, "You have heard the King'sorders!"--Mirabeau glares on him with fire-flashing face; shakesthe black lion's mane: "Yes, Monsieur, we have heard what the Kingwas advised to say: and you who cannot be the interpreter of hisorders to the States-General; you, who have neither place nor rightof speech here; you are not the man to remind us of it. Go,Monsieur, tell these who sent you that we are here by the will ofthe People, and that nothing shall send us hence but the force ofbayonets!" (Moniteur (Hist. Parl. ii. 22.).) And poor De Brezeshivers forth from the National Assembly;--and also (if it be notin one faintest glimmer, months later) finally from the page ofHistory!-Hapless De Breze; doomed to survive long ages, in men's memory,in this faint way, with tremulent white rod! He was true toEtiquette, which was his Faith here below; a martyr to respect ofpersons. Short woollen cloaks could not kiss Majesty's hand as longvelvet ones did. Nay lately, when the poor little Dauphin lay dead,and some ceremonial Visitation came, was he
not punctual toannounce it even to the Dauphin's dead body: "Monseigneur, aDeputation of the States-General!" (Montgaillard, ii. 38.) Suntlachrymae rerum. But what does the Oeil-de-Boeuf, now when De Breze shivers backthither? Despatch that same force of bayonets? Not so: the seas ofpeople still hang multitudinous, intent on what is passing; nayrush and roll, loud- billowing, into the Courts of the Chateauitself; for a report has risen that Necker is to be dismissed.Worst of all, the Gardes Francaises seem indisposed to act: 'twoCompanies of them do not fire when ordered!' (HistoireParlementaire, ii. 26.) Necker, for not being at the Seance, shallbe shouted for, carried home in triumph; and must not be dismissed.His Grace of Paris, on the other hand, has to fly with brokencoach-panels, and owe his life to furious driving. TheGardes-du-Corps (Body-Guards), which you were drawing out, hadbetter be drawn in again. (Bailly, i. 217.) There is no sending ofbayonets to be thought of. Instead of soldiers, the Oeil-de-Boeuf sends--carpenters, totake down the platform. Ineffectual shift! In few instants, thevery carpenters cease wrenching and knocking at their platform;stand on it, hammer in hand, and listen open-mouthed. (HistoireParlementaire, ii. 23.) The Third Estate is decreeing that it is,was, and will be, nothing but a National Assembly; and now,moreover, an inviolable one, all members of it inviolable:'infamous, traitorous, towards the Nation, and guilty of capitalcrime, is any person, body-corporate, tribunal, court or commissionthat now or henceforth, during the present session or after it,shall dare to pursue, interrogate, arrest, or cause to be arrested,detain or cause to be detained, any,' &c. &c. 'on whosepart soever the same be commanded.' (Montgaillard, ii. 47.) Whichdone, one can wind up with this comfortable reflection from AbbeSieyes: "Messieurs, you are today what you were yesterday." Courtiers may shriek; but it is, and remains, even so. Theirwell-charged explosion has exploded through the touch-hole;covering themselves with scorches, confusion, and unseemly soot!Poor Triumvirate, poor Queen; and above all, poor Queen's Husband,who means well, had he any fixed meaning! Folly is that wisdomwhich is wise only behindhand. Few months ago these Thirty-fiveConcessions had filled France with a rejoicing, which might havelasted for several years. Now it is unavailing, the very mention ofit slighted; Majesty's express orders set at nought. All France is in a roar; a sea of persons, estimated at 'tenthousand,' whirls 'all this day in the Palais Royal.' (ArthurYoung, i. 119.) The remaining Clergy, and likewise some FortyeightNoblesse, D'Orleans among them, have now forthwith gone over to thevictorious Commons; by whom, as is natural, they are received 'withacclamation.' The Third Estate triumphs; Versailles Town shouting round it;ten thousand whirling all day in the Palais Royal; and all Francestanding a-tiptoe, not unlike whirling! Let the Oeil-de-Boeuf lookto it. As for King Louis, he will swallow his injuries; willtemporise, keep silence; will at all costs have present peace. Itwas Tuesday the 23d of June, when he spoke that peremptory royalmandate; and the week is not done till he has written to theremaining obstinate Noblesse, that they also must oblige him, andgive in. D'Espremenil rages his last; Barrel Mirabeau 'breaks hissword,' making a vow,--which he might as well have kept. The'Triple Family' is now therefore complete; the third erringbrother, the Noblesse, having joined it;--erring but pardonable;soothed, so far as possible, by sweet eloquence from PresidentBailly.
So triumphs the Third Estate; and States-General are becomeNational Assembly; and all France may sing Te Deum. By wiseinertia, and wise cessation of inertia, great victory has beengained. It is the last night of June: all night you meet nothing onthe streets of Versailles but 'men running with torches' withshouts of jubilation. From the 2nd of May when they kissed the handof Majesty, to this 30th of June when men run with torches, wecount seven weeks complete. For seven weeks the National Carrocciohas stood far-seen, ringing many a signal; and, so much having nowgathered round it, may hope to stand.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.V. The Third EstateChapter 1.5.III. Broglie the War-God
The Court feels indignant that it is conquered; but what then?Another time it will do better. Mercury descended in vain; now hasthe time come for Mars.--The gods of the Oeil-de-Boeuf havewithdrawn into the darkness of their cloudy Ida; and sit there,shaping and forging what may be needful, be it 'billets of a newNational Bank,' munitions of war, or things forever inscrutable tomen. Accordingly, what means this 'apparatus of troops'? The NationalAssembly can get no furtherance for its Committee of Subsistences;can hear only that, at Paris, the Bakers' shops are besieged; that,in the Provinces, people are living on 'meal-husks and boiledgrass.' But on all highways there hover dust-clouds, with the marchof regiments, with the trailing of cannon: foreign Pandours, offierce aspect; Salis-Samade, Esterhazy, Royal-Allemand; so many ofthem foreign, to the number of thirty thousand,- -which fear canmagnify to fifty: all wending towards Paris and Versailles!Already, on the heights of Montmartre, is a digging and delving;too like a scarping and trenching. The effluence of Paris isarrested Versailles-ward by a barrier of cannon at Sevres Bridge.From the Queen's Mews, cannon stand pointed on the NationalAssembly Hall itself. The National Assembly has its very slumbersbroken by the tramp of soldiery, swarming and defiling, endless, orseemingly endless, all round those spaces, at dead of night,'without drum-music, without audible word of command.' (A. Lameth,Assemblee Constituante, i. 41.) What means it? Shall eight, or even shall twelve Deputies, our Mirabeaus,Barnaves at the head of them, be whirled suddenly to the Castle ofHam; the rest ignominiously dispersed to the winds? No NationalAssembly can make the Constitution with cannon levelled on it fromthe Queen's Mews! What means this reticence of the Oeil-de-Boeuf,broken only by nods and shrugs? In the mystery of that cloudy Ida,what is it that they forge and shape?--Such questions mustdistracted Patriotism keep asking, and receive no answer but anecho. Enough of themselves! But now, above all, while the hungryfood-year, which runs from August to August, is getting older;becoming more and more a famine-year? With 'meal-husks and boiledgrass,' Brigands may actually collect; and, in crowds, at farm andmansion, howl angrily, Food! Food! It is in vain to send soldiersagainst them: at sight of soldiers they disperse, they vanish asunder ground; then directly reassemble elsewhere for new tumult andplunder. Frightful enough to look upon; but what to hear of,reverberated through Twenty-five Millions of
suspicious minds!Brigands and Broglie, open Conflagration, preternatural Rumour aredriving mad most hearts in France. What will the issue of thesethings be? At Marseilles, many weeks ago, the Townsmen have taken arms; for'suppressing of Brigands,' and other purposes: the militarycommandant may make of it what he will. Elsewhere, everywhere,could not the like be done? Dubious, on the distracted Patriotimagination, wavers, as a last deliverance, some foreshadow of aNational Guard. But conceive, above all, the Wooden Tent in thePalais Royal! A universal hubbub there, as of dissolving worlds:their loudest bellows the mad, mad-making voice of Rumour; theirsharpest gazes Suspicion into the pale dim WorldWhirlpool;discerning shapes and phantasms; imminent bloodthirsty Regimentscamped on the Champ-de-Mars; dispersed National Assembly; redhotcannon-balls (to burn Paris);--the mad War-god and Bellona'ssounding thongs. To the calmest man it is becoming too plain thatbattle is inevitable. Inevitable, silently nod Messeigneurs and Broglie: Inevitableand brief! Your National Assembly, stopped short in itsConstitutional labours, may fatigue the royal ear with addressesand remonstrances: those cannon of ours stand duly levelled; thosetroops are here. The King's Declaration, with its Thirty-five toogenerous Articles, was spoken, was not listened to; but remains yetunrevoked: he himself shall effect it, seul il fera! As for Broglie, he has his headquarters at Versailles, all as ina seat of war: clerks writing; significant staff-officers, inclinedto taciturnity; plumed aides-de-camp, scouts, orderlies flying orhovering. He himself looks forth, important, impenetrable; listensto Besenval Commandant of Paris, and his warning and earnestcounsels (for he has come out repeatedly on purpose), with a silentsmile. (Besenval, iii. 398.) The Parisians resist? scornfully cryMesseigneurs. As a mealmob may! They have sat quiet, these fivegenerations, submitting to all. Their Mercier declared, in thesevery years, that a Parisian revolt was henceforth 'impossible.'(Mercier, Tableau de Paris, vi. 22.) Stand by the royalDeclaration, of the Twenty-third of June. The Nobles of France,valorous, chivalrous as of old, will rally round us with oneheart;--and as for this which you call Third Estate, and which wecall canaille of unwashed Sansculottes, of Patelins, Scribblers,factious Spouters,--brave Broglie, 'with a whiff of grapeshot(salve de canons), if need be, will give quick account of it. Thusreason they: on their cloudy Ida; hidden from men,--men also hiddenfrom them. Good is grapeshot, Messeigneurs, on one condition: that theshooter also were made of metal! But unfortunately he is made offlesh; under his buffs and bandoleers your hired shooter hasinstincts, feelings, even a kind of thought. It is his kindred,bone of his bone, this same canaille that shall be whiffed; he hasbrothers in it, a father and mother,--living on meal-husks andboiled grass. His very doxy, not yet 'dead i' the spital,' driveshim into military heterodoxy; declares that if he shed Patriotblood, he shall be accursed among men. The soldier, who has seenhis pay stolen by rapacious Foulons, his blood wasted by Soubises,Pompadours, and the gates of promotion shut inexorably on him if hewere not born noble,-- is himself not without griefs against you.Your cause is not the soldier's cause; but, as would seem, your ownonly, and no other god's nor man's. For example, the world may have heard how, at Bethune lately,when there rose some 'riot about grains,' of which sort there areso many, and the soldiers stood drawn out, and the word 'Fire!;
wasgiven,--not a trigger stirred; only the butts of all musketsrattled angrily against the ground; and the soldiers stoodglooming, with a mixed expression of countenance;-- till clutched'each under the arm of a patriot householder,' they were allhurried off, in this manner, to be treated and caressed, and havetheir pay increased by subscription! (Histoire Parlementaire.) Neither have the Gardes Francaises, the best regiment of theline, shown any promptitude for street-firing lately. They returnedgrumbling from Reveillon's; and have not burnt a single cartridgesince; nay, as we saw, not even when bid. A dangerous humour dwellsin these Gardes. Notable men too, in their way! Valadi thePythagorean was, at one time, an officer of theirs. Nay, in theranks, under the three-cornered felt and cockade, what hard headsmay there not be, and reflections going on,--unknown to the public!One head of the hardest we do now discern there: on the shouldersof a certain Sergeant Hoche. Lazare Hoche, that is the name of him;he used to be about the Versailles Royal Stables, nephew of a poorherbwoman; a handy lad; exceedingly addicted to reading. He is nowSergeant Hoche, and can rise no farther: he lays out his pay inrushlights, and cheap editions of books. (Dictionnaire des HommesMarquans, Londres (Paris), 1800, ii. 198.) On the whole, the best seems to be: Consign these GardesFrancaises to their Barracks. So Besenval thinks, and orders.Consigned to their barracks, the Gardes Francaises do but form a'Secret Association,' an Engagement not to act against the NationalAssembly. Debauched by Valadi the Pythagorean; debauched by moneyand women! cry Besenval and innumerable others. Debauched by whatyou will, or in need of no debauching, behold them, long files ofthem, their consignment broken, arrive, headed by their Sergeants,on the 26th day of June, at the Palais Royal! Welcomed with vivats,with presents, and a pledge of patriot liquor; embracing andembraced; declaring in words that the cause of France is theircause! Next day and the following days the like. What is singulartoo, except this patriot humour, and breaking of their consignment,they behave otherwise with 'the most rigorous accuracy.' (Besenval,iii. 394-6.) They are growing questionable, these Gardes! Eleven ring-leadersof them are put in the Abbaye Prison. It boots not in the least.The imprisoned Eleven have only, 'by the hand of an individual,' todrop, towards nightfall, a line in the Cafe de Foy; wherePatriotism harangues loudest on its table. 'Two hundred youngpersons, soon waxing to four thousand,' with fit crowbars, rolltowards the Abbaye; smite asunder the needful doors; and bear outtheir Eleven, with other military victims:--to supper in the PalaisRoyal Garden; to board, and lodging 'in campbeds, in the Theatredes Varietes;' other national Prytaneum as yet not being inreadiness. Most deliberate! Nay so punctual were these youngpersons, that finding one military victim to have been imprisonedfor real civil crime, they returned him to his cell, withprotest. Why new military force was not called out? New military forcewas called out. New military force did arrive, full gallop, withdrawn sabre: but the people gently 'laid hold of their bridles;'the dragoons sheathed their swords; lifted their caps by way ofsalute, and sat like mere statues of dragoons,--except indeed thata drop of liquor being brought them, they 'drank to the King andNation with the greatest cordiality.' (Histoire Parlementaire, ii.32.) And now, ask in return, why Messeigneurs and Broglie the greatgod of war, on seeing these things, did not pause, and take someother course, any other course? Unhappily, as we said, they
couldsee nothing. Pride, which goes before a fall; wrath, if notreasonable, yet pardonable, most natural, had hardened their heartsand heated their heads; so, with imbecility and violence(illmatched pair), they rush to seek their hour. All Regiments arenot Gardes Francaises, or debauched by Valadi the Pythagorean: letfresh undebauched Regiments come up; let RoyalAllemand,Salais-Samade, Swiss Chateau-Vieux come up,--which can fight, butcan hardly speak except in German gutturals; let soldiers march,and highways thunder with artillery-waggons: Majesty has a newRoyal Session to hold,--and miracles to work there! The whiff ofgrapeshot can, if needful, become a blast and tempest. In which circumstances, before the redhot balls begin raining,may not the Hundred-and-twenty Paris Electors, though their Cahieris long since finished, see good to meet again daily, as an'Electoral Club'? They meet first 'in a Tavern;'--where 'thelargest wedding-party' cheerfully give place to them. (Dusaulx,Prise de la Bastille (Collection des Memoires, par Berville etBarriere, Paris, 1821), p. 269.) But latterly they meet in theHotel-de-Ville, in the Townhall itself. Flesselles, Provost ofMerchants, with his Four Echevins (Scabins, Assessors), could notprevent it; such was the force of public opinion. He, with hisEchevins, and the Six-andTwenty Town-Councillors, all appointedfrom Above, may well sit silent there, in their long gowns; andconsider, with awed eye, what prelude this is of convulsion comingfrom Below, and how themselves shall fare in that!
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.V. The Third EstateChapter 1.5.IV. To Arms!
So hangs it, dubious, fateful, in the sultry days of July. It isthe passionate printed advice of M. Marat, to abstain, of allthings, from violence. (Avis au Peuple, ou les Ministres devoiles,1st July, 1789 (in Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 37.) Neverthelessthe hungry poor are already burning Town Barriers, where Tribute oneatables is levied; getting clamorous for food. The twelfth July morning is Sunday; the streets are allplacarded with an enormous-sized De par le Roi, 'inviting peaceablecitizens to remain within doors,' to feel no alarm, to gather in nocrowd. Why so? What mean these 'placards of enormous size'? Aboveall, what means this clatter of military; dragoons, hussars,rattling in from all points of the compass towards the Place LouisQuinze; with a staid gravity of face, though saluted with merenicknames, hootings and even missiles? (Besenval, iii. 411.)Besenval is with them. Swiss Guards of his are already in theChamps Elysees, with four pieces of artillery. Have the destroyers descended on us, then? From the Bridge ofSevres to utmost Vincennes, from Saint-Denis to the Champ-de-Mars,we are begirt! Alarm, of the vague unknown, is in every heart. ThePalais Royal has become a place of awestruck interjections, silentshakings of the head: one can fancy with what dolorous sound thenoon-tide cannon (which the Sun fires at the crossing of hismeridian) went off there; bodeful, like an inarticulate voice ofdoom. (Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 81.) Are these troops verilycome out 'against Brigands'? Where are the Brigands? What mysteryis in the wind?--Hark! a human voice reporting articulately theJob'snews: Necker, People's Minister, Saviour of France, isdismissed. Impossible; incredible! Treasonous to the public peace!Such a voice ought to be choked in the water-works; (Ibid.)--
hadnot the news-bringer quickly fled. Nevertheless, friends, make ofit what you will, the news is true. Necker is gone. Necker hiesnorthward incessantly, in obedient secrecy, since yesternight. Wehave a new Ministry: Broglie the War-god; Aristocrat Breteuil;Foulon who said the people might eat grass! Rumour, therefore, shall arise; in the Palais Royal, and inbroad France. Paleness sits on every face; confused tremor andfremescence; waxing into thunder-peals, of Fury stirred on byFear. But see Camille Desmoulins, from the Cafe de Foy, rushing out,sibylline in face; his hair streaming, in each hand a pistol! Hesprings to a table: the Police satellites are eyeing him; alivethey shall not take him, not they alive him alive. This time hespeaks without stammering:-Friends, shall we die like huntedhares? Like sheep hounded into their pinfold; bleating for mercy,where is no mercy, but only a whetted knife? The hour is come; thesupreme hour of Frenchman and Man; when Oppressors are to tryconclusions with Oppressed; and the word is, swift Death, orDeliverance forever. Let such hour be well-come! Us, meseems, onecry only befits: To Arms! Let universal Paris, universal France, aswith the throat of the whirlwind, sound only: To arms!--"To arms!"yell responsive the innumerable voices: like one great voice, as ofa Demon yelling from the air: for all faces wax fire-eyed, allhearts burn up into madness. In such, or fitter words, (Ibid.) doesCamille evoke the Elemental Powers, in this great moment.-Friends,continues Camille, some rallying sign! Cockades; green ones;--thecolour of hope!--As with the flight of locusts, these green treeleaves; green ribands from the neighbouring shops; all green thingsare snatched, and made cockades of. Camille descends from histable, 'stifled with embraces, wetted with tears;' has a bit ofgreen riband handed him; sticks it in his hat. And now to Curtius'Image-shop there; to the Boulevards; to the four winds; and restnot till France be on fire! (Vieux Cordelier, par CamilleDesmoulins, No. 5 (reprinted in Collection des Memoires, parBaudouin Freres, Paris, 1825), p. 81.) France, so long shaken and wind-parched, is probably at theright inflammable point.--As for poor Curtius, who, one grieves tothink, might be but imperfectly paid,--he cannot make two wordsabout his Images. The Wax-bust of Necker, the Wax-bust ofD'Orleans, helpers of France: these, covered with crape, as infuneral procession, or after the manner of suppliants appealing toHeaven, to Earth, and Tartarus itself, a mixed multitude bears off.For a sign! As indeed man, with his singular imaginative faculties,can do little or nothing without signs: thus Turks look to theirProphet's banner; also Osier Mannikins have been burnt, andNecker's Portrait has erewhile figured, aloft on its perch. In this manner march they, a mixed, continually increasingmultitude; armed with axes, staves and miscellanea; grim,many-sounding, through the streets. Be all Theatres shut; let alldancing, on planked floor, or on the natural greensward, cease!Instead of a Christian Sabbath, and feast of guinguettetabernacles, it shall be a Sorcerer's Sabbath; and Paris, gonerabid, dance,--with the Fiend for piper! However, Besenval, with horse and foot, is in the Place LouisQuinze. Mortals promenading homewards, in the fall of the day,saunter by, from Chaillot or Passy, from flirtation and a littlethin wine; with sadder step than usual. Will the Bust-Processionpass that way! Behold it; behold also Prince Lambesc dash forth onit, with his Royal-Allemands! Shots fall, and sabre-
strokes; Bustsare hewn asunder; and, alas, also heads of men. A sabred Processionhas nothing for it but to explode, along what streets, alleys,Tuileries Avenues it finds; and disappear. One unarmed man lieshewed down; a Garde Francaise by his uniform: bear him (or beareven the report of him) dead and gory to his Barracks;--where hehas comrades still alive! But why not now, victorious Lambesc, charge through thatTuileries Garden itself, where the fugitives are vanishing? Notshow the Sunday promenaders too, how steel glitters, besprent withblood; that it be told of, and men's ears tingle?--Tingle, alas,they did; but the wrong way. Victorious Lambesc, in this his secondor Tuileries charge, succeeds but in overturning (call it notslashing, for he struck with the flat of his sword) one man, a poorold schoolmaster, most pacifically tottering there; and is drivenout, by barricade of chairs, by flights of 'bottles and glasses,'by execrations in bass voice and treble. Most delicate is themob-queller's vocation; wherein Too-much may be as bad asNot-enough. For each of these bass voices, and more each treblevoice, borne to all points of the City, rings now nothing butdistracted indignation; will ring all another. The cry, To arms!roars tenfold; steeples with their metal storm- voice boom out, asthe sun sinks; armorer's shops are broken open, plundered; thestreets are a living foam-sea, chafed by all the winds. Such issue came of Lambesc's charge on the Tuileries Garden: nostriking of salutary terror into Chaillot promenaders; a strikinginto broad wakefulness of Frenzy and the three Furies,-whichotherwise were not asleep! For they lie always, those subterraneanEumenides (fabulous and yet so true), in the dullest existence ofman;--and can dance, brandishing their dusky torches, shaking theirserpent-hair. Lambesc with Royal- Allemand may ride to hisbarracks, with curses for his marching-music; then ride back again,like one troubled in mind: vengeful Gardes Francaises, sacreing,with knit brows, start out on him, from their barracks in theChaussee d'Antin; pour a volley into him (killing and wounding);which he must not answer, but ride on. (Weber, ii. 75-91.) Counsel dwells not under the plumed hat. If the Eumenidesawaken, and Broglie has given no orders, what can a Besenval do?When the Gardes Francaises, with Palais-Royal volunteers, rolldown, greedy of more vengeance, to the Place Louis Quinze itself,they find neither Besenval, Lambesc, Royal-Allemand, nor anysoldier now there. Gone is military order. On the far EasternBoulevard, of Saint-Antoine, the Chasseurs Normandie arrive, dusty,thirsty, after a hard day's ride; but can find no billet-master,see no course in this City of confusions; cannot get to Besenval,cannot so much as discover where he is: Normandie must even bivouacthere, in its dust and thirst,--unless some patriot will treat itto a cup of liquor, with advices. Raging multitudes surround the Hotel-de-Ville, crying: Arms!Orders! The Six-and-twenty Town-Councillors, with their long gowns,have ducked under (into the raging chaos);--shall never emergemore. Besenval is painfully wriggling himself out, to theChamp-de-Mars; he must sit there 'in the cruelest uncertainty:'courier after courier may dash off for Versailles; but will bringback no answer, can hardly bring himself back. For the roads areall blocked with batteries and pickets, with floods of carriagesarrested for examination: such was Broglie's one sole order; theOeil-de- Boeuf, hearing in the distance such mad din, which soundedalmost like invasion, will before all things keep its own headwhole. A new Ministry, with, as it were, but one foot in thestirrup, cannot take leaps. Mad Paris is abandoned altogether toitself.
What a Paris, when the darkness fell! A European metropolitanCity hurled suddenly forth from its old combinations andarrangements; to crash tumultuously together, seeking new. Use andwont will now no longer direct any man; each man, with what oforiginality he has, must begin thinking; or following those thatthink. Seven hundred thousand individuals, on the sudden, find alltheir old paths, old ways of acting and deciding, vanish from undertheir feet. And so there go they, with clangour and terror, theyknow not as yet whether running, swimming or flying,-headlong intothe New Era. With clangour and terror: from above, Broglie thewar-god impends, preternatural, with his redhot cannon-balls; andfrom below, a preternatural Brigand-world menaces with dirk andfirebrand: madness rules the hour. Happily, in place of the submerged Twenty-six, the ElectoralClub is gathering; has declared itself a 'ProvisionalMunicipality.' On the morrow it will get Provost Flesselles, withan Echevin or two, to give help in many things. For the present itdecrees one most essential thing: that forthwith a 'ParisianMilitia' shall be enrolled. Depart, ye heads of Districts, tolabour in this great work; while we here, in Permanent Committee,sit alert. Let fencible men, each party in its own range ofstreets, keep watch and ward, all night. Let Paris court a littlefever- sleep; confused by such fever-dreams, of 'violent motions atthe Palais Royal;'--or from time to time start awake, and look out,palpitating, in its nightcap, at the clash of discordantmutually-unintelligible Patrols; on the gleam of distant Barriers,going up all-too ruddy towards the vault of Night. (Deux Amis, i.267-306.)
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.V. The Third EstateChapter 1.5.V. Give us Arms
On Monday the huge City has awoke, not to its week-day industry:to what a different one! The working man has become a fighting man;has one want only: that of arms. The industry of all crafts haspaused;--except it be the smith's, fiercely hammering pikes; and,in a faint degree, the kitchener's, cooking off-hand victuals; forbouche va toujours. Women too are sewing cockades;-not now ofgreen, which being D'Artois colour, the Hotel-de-Ville has had tointerfere in it; but of red and blue, our old Paris colours: these,once based on a ground of constitutional white, are the famedTricolor,--which (if Prophecy err not) 'will go round theworld.' All shops, unless it be the Bakers' and Vintners', are shut:Paris is in the streets;--rushing, foaming like some Venicewine-glass into which you had dropped poison. The tocsin, by order,is pealing madly from all steeples. Arms, ye Elector Municipals;thou Flesselles with thy Echevins, give us arms! Flesselles giveswhat he can: fallacious, perhaps insidious promises of arms fromCharleville; order to seek arms here, order to seek them there. Thenew Municipals give what they can; some three hundred and sixtyindifferent firelocks, the equipment of the CityWatch: 'a man inwooden shoes, and without coat, directly clutches one of them, andmounts guard.' Also as hinted, an order to all Smiths to make pikeswith their whole soul. Heads of Districts are in fervent consultation; subordinatePatriotism roams distracted, ravenous for arms. Hitherto at theHotel-de-Ville was only such modicum of indifferent firelocks as wehave seen. At the so- called Arsenal, there lies nothing but rust,rubbish and saltpetre,-overlooked too by the guns of theBastille. His Majesty's Repository, what they call Garde-
Meuble, isforced and ransacked: tapestries enough, and gauderies; but ofserviceable fightinggear small stock! Two silver- mounted cannonsthere are; an ancient gift from his Majesty of Siam to LouisFourteenth: gilt sword of the Good Henri; antique Chivalry arms andarmour. These, and such as these, a necessitous Patriotism snatchesgreedily, for want of better. The Siamese cannons go trundling, onan errand they were not meant for. Among the indifferent firelocksare seen tourney-lances; the princely helm and hauberk glitteringamid ill-hatted heads,-as in a time when all times and theirpossessions are suddenly sent jumbling! At the Maison de Saint-Lazare, Lazar-House once, now aCorrection-House with Priests, there was no trace of arms; but, onthe other hand, corn, plainly to a culpable extent. Out with it, tomarket; in this scarcity of grains!--Heavens, will 'fifty-twocarts,' in long row, hardly carry it to the Halle aux Bleds? Well,truly, ye reverend Fathers, was your pantry filled; fat are yourlarders; over-generous your wine-bins, ye plotting exasperators ofthe Poor; traitorous forestallers of bread! Vain is protesting, entreaty on bare knees: the House ofSaint-Lazarus has that in it which comes not out by protesting.Behold, how, from every window, it vomits: mere torrents offurniture, of bellowing and hurlyburly;--the cellars also leakingwine. Till, as was natural, smoke rose,-kindled, some say, by thedesperate Saint-Lazaristes themselves, desperate of other riddance;and the Establishment vanished from this world in flame. Remarknevertheless that 'a thief' (set on or not by Aristocrats), beingdetected there, is 'instantly hanged.' Look also at the Chatelet Prison. The Debtors' Prison of LaForce is broken from without; and they that sat in bondage toAristocrats go free: hearing of which the Felons at the Chatelet dolikewise 'dig up their pavements,' and stand on the offensive; withthe best prospects,--had not Patriotism, passing that way, 'fired avolley' into the Felon world; and crushed it down again underhatches. Patriotism consorts not with thieving and felony: surelyalso Punishment, this day, hitches (if she still hitch) afterCrime, with frightful shoes-of-swiftness! 'Some score or two' ofwretched persons, found prostrate with drink in the cellars of thatSaint- Lazare, are indignantly haled to prison; the Jailor has noroom; whereupon, other place of security not suggesting itself, itis written, 'on les pendit, they hanged them.' (HistoireParlementaire, ii. 96.) Brief is the word; not withoutsignificance, be it true or untrue! In such circumstances, the Aristocrat, the unpatriotic rich manis packing- up for departure. But he shall not get departed. Awooden-shod force has seized all Barriers, burnt or not: all thatenters, all that seeks to issue, is stopped there, and dragged tothe Hotel-de-Ville: coaches, tumbrils, plate, furniture, 'manymeal-sacks,' in time even 'flocks and herds' encumber the Place deGreve. (Dusaulx, Prise de la Bastille, p. 20.) And so it roars, and rages, and brays; drums beating, steeplespealing; criers rushing with handbells: "Oyez, oyez. All men totheir Districts to be enrolled!" The Districts have met in gardens,open squares; are getting marshalled into volunteer troops. Noredhot ball has yet fallen from Besenval's Camp; on the contrary,Deserters with their arms are continually dropping in: nay now, joyof joys, at two in the afternoon, the Gardes Francaises, beingordered to Saint-Denis, and flatly declining, have come over in abody! It is a fact worth many. Three thousand six hundred of thebest fighting men, with complete accoutrement; with cannoneerseven, and
cannon! Their officers are left standing alone; could notso much as succeed in 'spiking the guns.' The very Swiss, it maynow be hoped, Chateau-Vieux and the others, will have doubts aboutfighting. Our Parisian Militia,--which some think it were better to nameNational Guard,--is prospering as heart could wish. It promised tobe forty-eight thousand; but will in few hours double and quadruplethat number: invincible, if we had only arms! But see, the promised Charleville Boxes, marked Artillerie!Here, then, are arms enough?-Conceive the blank face ofPatriotism, when it found them filled with rags, foul linen,candleends, and bits of wood! Provost of the Merchants, how isthis? Neither at the Chartreux Convent, whither we were sent withsigned order, is there or ever was there any weapon of war. Nayhere, in this Seine Boat, safe under tarpaulings (had not the noseof Patriotism been of the finest), are 'five thousand-weight ofgunpowder;' not coming in, but surreptitiously going out! Whatmeanest thou, Flesselles? 'Tis a ticklish game, that of 'amusing'us. Cat plays with captive mouse: but mouse with enraged cat, withenraged National Tiger? Meanwhile, the faster, O ye black-aproned Smiths, smite; withstrong arm and willing heart. This man and that, all stroke fromhead to heel, shall thunder alternating, and ply the greatforgehammer, till stithy reel and ring again; while ever and anon,overhead, booms the alarm-cannon,-for the City has now gotgunpowder. Pikes are fabricated; fifty thousand of them, insix-and-thirty hours: judge whether the Black-aproned have beenidle. Dig trenches, unpave the streets, ye others, assiduous, manand maid; cram the earth in barrel-barricades, at each of them avolunteer sentry; pile the whinstones in window-sills and upperrooms. Have scalding pitch, at least boiling water ready, ye weakold women, to pour it and dash it on Royal-Allemand, with your oldskinny arms: your shrill curses along with it will not bewanting!--Patrols of the newborn National Guard, bearing torches,scour the streets, all that night; which otherwise are vacant, yetilluminated in every window by order. Strange-looking; like somenaphtha- lighted City of the Dead, with here and there a flight ofperturbed Ghosts. O poor mortals, how ye make this Earth bitter for each other;this fearful and wonderful Life fearful and horrible; and Satan hashis place in all hearts! Such agonies and ragings and wailings yehave, and have had, in all times:--to be buried all, in so deepsilence; and the salt sea is not swoln with your tears. Great meanwhile is the moment, when tidings of Freedom reach us;when the long-enthralled soul, from amid its chains and squalidstagnancy, arises, were it still only in blindness andbewilderment, and swears by Him that made it, that it will be free!Free? Understand that well, it is the deep commandment, dimmer orclearer, of our whole being, to be free. Freedom is the onepurport, wisely aimed at, or unwisely, of all man's struggles,toilings and sufferings, in this Earth. Yes, supreme is such amoment (if thou have known it): first vision as of a flame-girtSinai, in this our waste Pilgrimage,--which thenceforth wants notits pillar of cloud by day, and pillar of fire by night! Somethingit is even,--nay, something considerable, when the chains havegrown corrosive, poisonous, to be free 'from oppression by ourfellow-man.' Forward, ye maddened sons of France; be it towardsthis destiny or towards that! Around you is but starvation,falsehood, corruption and the clam of death. Where ye are is noabiding.
Imagination may, imperfectly, figure how Commandant Besenval, inthe Champ- de-Mars, has worn out these sorrowful hours Insurrectionall round; his men melting away! From Versailles, to the mostpressing messages, comes no answer; or once only some vague word ofanswer which is worse than none. A Council of Officers can decidemerely that there is no decision: Colonels inform him, 'weeping,'that they do not think their men will fight. Cruel uncertainty ishere: wargod Broglie sits yonder, inaccessible in his Olympus;does not descend terror-clad, does not produce his whiff ofgrapeshot; sends no orders. Truly, in the Chateau of Versailles all seems mystery: in theTown of Versailles, were we there, all is rumour, alarm andindignation. An august National Assembly sits, to appearance,menaced with death; endeavouring to defy death. It has resolved'that Necker carries with him the regrets of the Nation.' It hassent solemn Deputation over to the Chateau, with entreaty to havethese troops withdrawn. In vain: his Majesty, with a singularcomposure, invites us to be busy rather with our own duty, makingthe Constitution! Foreign Pandours, and suchlike, go pricking andprancing, with a swashbuckler air; with an eye too probably to theSalle des Menus,--were it not for the 'grim-looking countenances'that crowd all avenues there. (See Lameth; Ferrieres, &c.) Befirm, ye National Senators; the cynosure of a firm, grim-lookingpeople! The august National Senators determine that there shall, atleast, be Permanent Session till this thing end. Wherein, however,consider that worthy Lafranc de Pompignan, our new President, whomwe have named Bailly's successor, is an old man, wearied with manythings. He is the Brother of that Pompignan who meditatedlamentably on the Book of Lamentations: Saves-voux pourquoi Jeremie Se lamentait toute sa vie? C'est qu'il prevoyait Que Pompignan le traduirait! Poor Bishop Pompignan withdraws; having got Lafayette for helperor substitute: this latter, as nocturnal Vice-President, with athin house in disconsolate humour, sits sleepless, with lightsunsnuffed;--waiting what the hours will bring. So at Versailles. But at Paris, agitated Besenval, beforeretiring for the night, has stept over to old M. de Sombreuil, ofthe Hotel des Invalides hard by. M. de Sombreuil has, what is agreat secret, some eight-and- twenty thousand stand of musketsdeposited in his cellars there; but no trust in the temper of hisInvalides. This day, for example, he sent twenty of the fellowsdown to unscrew those muskets; lest Sedition might snatch at them;but scarcely, in six hours, had the twenty unscrewed twentygun-locks, or dogsheads (chiens) of locks,--each Invalide hisdogshead! If ordered to fire, they would, he imagines, turn theircannon against himself. Unfortunate old military gentlemen, it is your hour, not ofglory! Old Marquis de Launay too, of the Bastille, has pulled uphis drawbridges long since, 'and retired into his interior;' withsentries walking on his battlements, under the midnight sky, aloftover the glare of illuminated Paris;-whom a National Patrol,passing that way, takes the liberty of firing at; 'seven shotstowards twelve at night,' which do not take effect. (Deux Amis dela Liberte, i. 312.) This was the 13th day of July, 1789; a worseday, many said, than the last 13th was, when only hail fell out ofHeaven, not madness rose out of Tophet, ruining worse thancrops!
In these same days, as Chronology will teach us, hot old MarquisMirabeau lies stricken down, at Argenteuil,--not within sound ofthese alarm-guns; for he properly is not there, and only the bodyof him now lies, deaf and cold forever. It was on Saturday nightthat he, drawing his last lifebreaths, gave up the ghostthere;--leaving a world, which would never go to his mind, nowbroken out, seemingly, into deliration and the culbute generale.What is it to him, departing elsewhither, on his long journey? Theold Chateau Mirabeau stands silent, far off, on its scarped rock,in that 'gorge of two windy valleys;' the pale-fading spectre nowof a Chateau: this huge World-riot, and France, and the Worlditself, fades also, like a shadow on the great still mirror-sea;and all shall be as God wills. Young Mirabeau, sad of heart, for he loved this crabbed braveold Father, sad of heart, and occupied with sad cares,--iswithdrawn from Public History. The great crisis transacts itselfwithout him. (Fils Adoptif, Mirabeau, vi. l. 1.)
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.V. The Third EstateChapter 1.5.VI. Storm and Victory
But, to the living and the struggling, a new, Fourteenth morningdawns. Under all roofs of this distracted City, is the nodus of adrama, not untragical, crowding towards solution. The bustlings andpreparings, the tremors and menaces; the tears that fell from oldeyes! This day, my sons, ye shall quit you like men. By the memoryof your fathers' wrongs, by the hope of your children's rights!Tyranny impends in red wrath: help for you is none if not in yourown right hands. This day ye must do or die. From earliest light, a sleepless Permanent Committee has heardthe old cry, now waxing almost frantic, mutinous: Arms! Arms!Provost Flesselles, or what traitors there are among you, may thinkof those Charleville Boxes. A hundred-and-fifty thousand of us; andbut the third man furnished with so much as a pike! Arms are theone thing needful: with arms we are an unconquerable man-defyingNational Guard; without arms, a rabble to be whiffed withgrapeshot. Happily the word has arisen, for no secret can be kept,--thatthere lie muskets at the Hotel des Invalides. Thither will we:King's Procureur M. Ethys de Corny, and whatsoever of authority aPermanent Committee can lend, shall go with us. Besenval's Camp isthere; perhaps he will not fire on us; if he kill us we shall butdie. Alas, poor Besenval, with his troops melting away in thatmanner, has not the smallest humour to fire! At five o'clock thismorning, as he lay dreaming, oblivious in the Ecole Militaire, a'figure' stood suddenly at his bedside: 'with face rather handsome;eyes inflamed, speech rapid and curt, air audacious:' such a figuredrew Priam's curtains! The message and monition of the figure was,that resistance would be hopeless; that if blood flowed, wo to himwho shed it. Thus spoke the figure; and vanished. 'Withal there wasa kind of eloquence that struck one.' Besenval admits that heshould have arrested him, but did not. (Besenval, iii. 414.) Whothis figure, with inflamed eyes, with speech rapid and curt, mightbe? Besenval knows but mentions not. Camille Desmoulins?Pythagorean Marquis Valadi, inflamed with 'violent motions allnight at the Palais Royal?' Fame names him, 'Young M. Meillar';(Tableaux de la Revolution, Prise de la Bastille (a
folioCollection of Pictures and Portraits, with letter-press, not alwaysuninstructive,--part of it said to be by Chamfort).) Then shuts herlips about him for ever. In any case, behold about nine in the morning, our NationalVolunteers rolling in long wide flood, south-westward to the Hoteldes Invalides; in search of the one thing needful. King's procureurM. Ethys de Corny and officials are there; the Cure ofSaint-Etienne du Mont marches unpacific, at the head of hismilitant Parish; the Clerks of the Bazoche in red coats we seemarching, now Volunteers of the Bazoche; the Volunteers of thePalais Royal:--National Volunteers, numerable by tens of thousands;of one heart and mind. The King's muskets are the Nation's; think,old M. de Sombreuil, how, in this extremity, thou wilt refuse them!Old M. de Sombreuil would fain hold parley, send Couriers; but itskills not: the walls are scaled, no Invalide firing a shot; thegates must be flung open. Patriotism rushes in, tumultuous, fromgrundsel up to ridge-tile, through all rooms and passages;rummaging distractedly for arms. What cellar, or what cranny canescape it? The arms are found; all safe there; lying packed instraw,--apparently with a view to being burnt! More ravenous thanfamishing lions over dead prey, the multitude, with clangour andvociferation, pounces on them; struggling, dashing, clutching:--tothe jamming-up, to the pressure, fracture and probable extinction,of the weaker Patriot. (Deux Amis, i. 302.) And so, with suchprotracted crash of deafening, most discordant Orchestra-music, theScene is changed: and eight-and-twenty thousand sufficientfirelocks are on the shoulders of so many National Guards, liftedthereby out of darkness into fiery light. Let Besenval look at the glitter of these muskets, as they flashby! Gardes Francaises, it is said, have cannon levelled on him;ready to open, if need were, from the other side of the River.(Besenval, iii. 416.) Motionless sits he; 'astonished,' one mayflatter oneself, 'at the proud bearing (fiere contenance) of theParisians.'--And now, to the Bastille, ye intrepid Parisians! Theregrapeshot still threatens; thither all men's thoughts and steps arenow tending. Old de Launay, as we hinted, withdrew 'into his interior' soonafter midnight of Sunday. He remains there ever since, hampered, asall military gentlemen now are, in the saddest conflict ofuncertainties. The Hotel-de- Ville 'invites' him to admit NationalSoldiers, which is a soft name for surrendering. On the other hand,His Majesty's orders were precise. His garrison is but eightytwoold Invalides, reinforced by thirty-two young Swiss; his wallsindeed are nine feet thick, he has cannon and powder; but, alas,only one day's provision of victuals. The city too is French, thepoor garrison mostly French. Rigorous old de Launay, think whatthou wilt do! All morning, since nine, there has been a cry everywhere: To theBastille! Repeated 'deputations of citizens' have been here,passionate for arms; whom de Launay has got dismissed by softspeeches through portholes. Towards noon, Elector Thuriot de laRosiere gains admittance; finds de Launay indisposed for surrender;nay disposed for blowing up the place rather. Thuriot mounts withhim to the battlements: heaps of paving- stones, old iron andmissiles lie piled; cannon all duly levelled; in every embrasure acannon,--only drawn back a little! But outwards behold, O Thuriot,how the multitude flows on, welling through every street; tocsinfuriously pealing, all drums beating the generale: the SuburbSaint- Antoine rolling hitherward wholly, as one man! Such vision(spectral yet real) thou, O Thuriot, as from thy Mount of Vision,beholdest in this moment: prophetic of what other Phantasmagories,and loud-gibbering Spectral Realities, which, thou yet beholdestnot, but shalt! "Que voulez vous?" said de Launay, turning pale atthe
sight, with an air of reproach, almost of menace. "Monsieur,"said Thuriot, rising into the moralsublime, "What mean you?Consider if I could not precipitate both of us from thisheight,"--say only a hundred feet, exclusive of the walled ditch!Whereupon de Launay fell silent. Thuriot shews himself from somepinnacle, to comfort the multitude becoming suspicious, fremescent:then descends; departs with protest; with warning addressed also tothe Invalides,--on whom, however, it produces but a mixedindistinct impression. The old heads are none of the clearest;besides, it is said, de Launay has been profuse of beverages(prodigua des buissons). They think, they will not fire,--if notfired on, if they can help it; but must, on the whole, be ruledconsiderably by circumstances. Wo to thee, de Launay, in such an hour, if thou canst not,taking some one firm decision, rule circumstances! Soft speecheswill not serve; hard grape-shot is questionable; but hoveringbetween the two is unquestionable. Ever wilder swells the tide ofmen; their infinite hum waxing ever louder, into imprecations,perhaps into crackle of stray musketry,--which latter, on wallsnine feet thick, cannot do execution. The Outer Drawbridge has beenlowered for Thuriot; new deputation of citizens (it is the third,and noisiest of all) penetrates that way into the Outer Court: softspeeches producing no clearance of these, de Launay gives fire;pulls up his Drawbridge. A slight sputter;--which has kindled thetoo combustible chaos; made it a roaring fire-chaos! Bursts forthinsurrection, at sight of its own blood (for there were deaths bythat sputter of fire), into endless rolling explosion of musketry,distraction, execration;--and overhead, from the Fortress, let onegreat gun, with its grape-shot, go booming, to shew what we coulddo. The Bastille is besieged! On, then, all Frenchmen that have hearts in their bodies! Roarwith all your throats, of cartilage and metal, ye Sons of Liberty;stir spasmodically whatsoever of utmost faculty is in you, soul,body or spirit; for it is the hour! Smite, thou Louis Tournay,cartwright of the Marais, oldsoldier of the Regiment Dauphine;smite at that Outer Drawbridge chain, though the fiery hailwhistles round thee! Never, over nave or felloe, did thy axe strikesuch a stroke. Down with it, man; down with it to Orcus: let thewhole accursed Edifice sink thither, and Tyranny be swallowed upfor ever! Mounted, some say on the roof of the guard-room, some 'onbayonets stuck into joints of the wall,' Louis Tournay smites,brave Aubin Bonnemere (also an old soldier) seconding him: thechain yields, breaks; the huge Drawbridge slams down, thundering(avec fracas). Glorious: and yet, alas, it is still but theoutworks. The Eight grim Towers, with their Invalides' musketry,their paving stones and cannon-mouths, still soar aloftintact;--Ditch yawning impassable, stone-faced; the innerDrawbridge with its back towards us: the Bastille is still totake! To describe this Siege of the Bastille (thought to be one of themost important in history) perhaps transcends the talent ofmortals. Could one but, after infinite reading, get to understandso much as the plan of the building! But there is open Esplanade,at the end of the Rue Saint- Antoine; there are such Forecourts,Cour Avance, Cour de l'Orme, arched Gateway (where Louis Tournaynow fights); then new drawbridges, dormant- bridges,rampart-bastions, and the grim Eight Towers: a labyrinthic Mass,high-frowning there, of all ages from twenty years to four hundredand twenty;-beleaguered, in this its last hour, as we said, bymere Chaos come again! Ordnance of all calibres; throats of allcapacities; men of all plans, every man his own engineer: seldomsince the war of Pygmies and Cranes was there seen so anomalous athing. Half-pay Elie is home for a suit of
regimentals; no onewould heed him in coloured clothes: half-pay Hulin is haranguingGardes Francaises in the Place de Greve. Frantic Patriots pick upthe grape-shots; bear them, still hot (or seemingly so), to theHotel-de-Ville:--Paris, you perceive, is to be burnt! Flesselles is'pale to the very lips' for the roar of the multitude grows deep.Paris wholly has got to the acme of its frenzy; whirled, all ways,by panic madness. At every street-barricade, there whirlssimmering, a minor whirlpool,--strengthening the barricade, sinceGod knows what is coming; and all minor whirlpools playdistractedly into that grand Fire-Mahlstrom which is lashing roundthe Bastille. And so it lashes and it roars. Cholat the wine-merchant hasbecome an impromptu cannoneer. See Georget, of the Marine Service,fresh from Brest, ply the King of Siam's cannon. Singular (if wewere not used to the like): Georget lay, last night, taking hisease at his inn; the King of Siam's cannon also lay, knowingnothing of him, for a hundred years. Yet now, at the right instant,they have got together, and discourse eloquent music. For, hearingwhat was toward, Georget sprang from the Brest Diligence, and ran.Gardes Francaises also will be here, with real artillery: were notthe walls so thick!--Upwards from the Esplanade, horizontally fromall neighbouring roofs and windows, flashes one irregular deluge ofmusketry,-- without effect. The Invalides lie flat, firingcomparatively at their ease from behind stone; hardly throughportholes, shew the tip of a nose. We fall, shot; and make noimpression! Let conflagration rage; of whatsoever is combustible!Guard-rooms are burnt, Invalides messrooms. A distracted'Peruke-maker with two fiery torches' is for burning 'thesaltpetres of the Arsenal;'--had not a woman run screaming; had nota Patriot, with some tincture of Natural Philosophy, instantlystruck the wind out of him (butt of musket on pit of stomach),overturned barrels, and stayed the devouring element. A youngbeautiful lady, seized escaping in these Outer Courts, and thoughtfalsely to be de Launay's daughter, shall be burnt in de Launay'ssight; she lies swooned on a paillasse: but again a Patriot, it isbrave Aubin Bonnemere the old soldier, dashes in, and rescues her.Straw is burnt; three cartloads of it, hauled thither, go up inwhite smoke: almost to the choking of Patriotism itself; so thatElie had, with singed brows, to drag back one cart; and Reole the'gigantic haberdasher' another. Smoke as of Tophet; confusion as ofBabel; noise as of the Crack of Doom! Blood flows, the aliment of new madness. The wounded are carriedinto houses of the Rue Cerisaie; the dying leave their last mandatenot to yield till the accursed Stronghold fall. And yet, alas, howfall? The walls are so thick! Deputations, three in number, arrivefrom the Hotel-deVille; Abbe Fouchet (who was of one) can say,with what almost superhuman courage of benevolence. (Fauchet'sNarrative (Deux Amis, i. 324.).) These wave their Town-flag in thearched Gateway; and stand, rolling their drum; but to no purpose.In such Crack of Doom, de Launay cannot hear them, dare not believethem: they return, with justified rage, the whew of lead stillsinging in their ears. What to do? The Firemen are here, squirtingwith their fire-pumps on the Invalides' cannon, to wet thetouchholes; they unfortunately cannot squirt so high; but produceonly clouds of spray. Individuals of classical knowledge proposecatapults. Santerre, the sonorous Brewer of the SuburbSaint-Antoine, advises rather that the place be fired, by a'mixture of phosphorous and oil-of-turpentine spouted up throughforcing pumps:' O Spinola-Santerre, hast thou the mixture ready?Every man his own engineer! And still the fire-deluge abates not;even women are firing, and Turks; at least one woman (with hersweetheart), and one Turk.
(Deux Amis (i. 319); Dusaulx, &c.)Gardes Francaises have come: real cannon, real cannoneers. UsherMaillard is busy; half-pay Elie, half- pay Hulin rage in the midstof thousands. How the great Bastille Clock ticks (inaudible) in its InnerCourt there, at its ease, hour after hour; as if nothing special,for it or the world, were passing! It tolled One when the firingbegan; and is now pointing towards Five, and still the firingslakes not.--Far down, in their vaults, the seven Prisoners hearmuffled din as of earthquakes; their Turnkeys answer vaguely. Wo to thee, de Launay, with thy poor hundred Invalides! Broglieis distant, and his ears heavy: Besenval hears, but can send nohelp. One poor troop of Hussars has crept, reconnoitring,cautiously along the Quais, as far as the Pont Neuf. "We are cometo join you," said the Captain; for the crowd seems shoreless. Alarge-headed dwarfish individual, of smokebleared aspect,shambles forward, opening his blue lips, for there is sense in him;and croaks: "Alight then, and give up your arms!" the Hussar-Captain is too happy to be escorted to the Barriers, and dismissedon parole. Who the squat individual was? Men answer, it is M.Marat, author of the excellent pacific Avis au Peuple! Great truly,O thou remarkable Dogleech, is this thy day of emergence and newbirth: and yet this same day come four years--!--But let thecurtains of the future hang. What shall de Launay do? One thing only de Launay could havedone: what he said he would do. Fancy him sitting, from the first,with lighted taper, within arm's length of the PowderMagazine;motionless, like old Roman Senator, or bronze Lamp-holder; coldlyapprising Thuriot, and all men, by a slight motion of his eye, whathis resolution was:--Harmless he sat there, while unharmed; but theKing's Fortress, meanwhile, could, might, would, or should, innowise, be surrendered, save to the King's Messenger: one old man'slife worthless, so it be lost with honour; but think, ye brawlingcanaille, how will it be when a whole Bastille springs skyward!--Insuch statuesque, taper-holding attitude, one fancies de Launaymight have left Thuriot, the red Clerks of the Bazoche, Cure ofSaint- Stephen and all the tagrag-and-bobtail of the world, to worktheir will. And yet, withal, he could not do it. Hast thou considered howeach man's heart is so tremulously responsive to the hearts of allmen; hast thou noted how omnipotent is the very sound of many men?How their shriek of indignation palsies the strong soul; their howlof contumely withers with unfelt pangs? The Ritter Gluck confessedthat the ground-tone of the noblest passage, in one of his noblestOperas, was the voice of the Populace he had heard at Vienna,crying to their Kaiser: Bread! Bread! Great is the combined voiceof men; the utterance of their instincts, which are truer thantheir thoughts: it is the greatest a man encounters, among thesounds and shadows, which make up this World of Time. He who canresist that, has his footing some where beyond Time. De Launaycould not do it. Distracted, he hovers between the two; hopes inthe middle of despair; surrenders not his Fortress; declares thathe will blow it up, seizes torches to blow it up, and does not blowit. Unhappy old de Launay, it is the death-agony of thy Bastilleand thee! Jail, Jailoring and Jailor, all three, such as they mayhave been, must finish. For four hours now has the World-Bedlam roared: call it theWorld- Chimaera, blowing fire! The poor Invalides have sunk undertheir battlements, or rise only with reversed muskets: they havemade a white flag of napkins; go beating the chamade, or seeming tobeat, for one can hear
nothing. The very Swiss at the Portcullislook weary of firing; disheartened in the fire-deluge: a portholeat the drawbridge is opened, as by one that would speak. SeeHuissier Maillard, the shifty man! On his plank, swinging over theabyss of that stone-Ditch; plank resting on parapet, balanced byweight of Patriots,--he hovers perilous: such a Dove towards suchan Ark! Deftly, thou shifty Usher: one man already fell; and liessmashed, far down there, against the masonry! Usher Maillard fallsnot: deftly, unerring he walks, with outspread palm. The Swissholds a paper through his porthole; the shifty Usher snatches it,and returns. Terms of surrender: Pardon, immunity to all! Are theyaccepted?--"Foi d'officier, On the word of an officer," answershalf-pay Hulin,--or half- pay Elie, for men do not agree on it,"they are!" Sinks the drawbridge,-- Usher Maillard bolting it whendown; rushes-in the living deluge: the Bastille is fallen!Victoire! La Bastille est prise! (Histoire de la Revolution, parDeux Amis de la Liberte, i. 267-306; Besenval, iii. 410- 434;Dusaulx, Prise de la Bastille, 291-301. Bailly, Memoires(Collection de Berville et Barriere), i. 322 et seqq.)
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.V. The Third EstateChapter 1.5.VII. Not a Revolt
Why dwell on what follows? Hulin's foi d'officer should havebeen kept, but could not. The Swiss stand drawn up; disguised inwhite canvas smocks; the Invalides without disguise; their arms allpiled against the wall. The first rush of victors, in ecstacy thatthe death-peril is passed, 'leaps joyfully on their necks;' but newvictors rush, and ever new, also in ecstacy not wholly of joy. Aswe said, it was a living deluge, plunging headlong; had not theGardes Francaises, in their cool military way, 'wheeled round witharms levelled,' it would have plunged suicidally, by the hundred orthe thousand, into the Bastille-ditch. And so it goes plunging through court and corridor; billowinguncontrollable, firing from windows--on itself: in hot frenzy oftriumph, of grief and vengeance for its slain. The poor Invalideswill fare ill; one Swiss, running off in his white smock, is drivenback, with a deaththrust. Let all prisoners be marched to theTownhall, to be judged!--Alas, already one poor Invalide has hisright hand slashed off him; his maimed body dragged to the Place deGreve, and hanged there. This same right hand, it is said, turnedback de Launay from the Powder-Magazine, and saved Paris. De Launay, 'discovered in gray frock with poppy-colouredriband,' is for killing himself with the sword of his cane. Heshall to the Hotel-de- Ville; Hulin Maillard and others escortinghim; Elie marching foremost 'with the capitulation-paper on hissword's point.' Through roarings and cursings; through hustlings,clutchings, and at last through strokes! Your escort is hustledaside, felled down; Hulin sinks exhausted on a heap of stones.Miserable de Launay! He shall never enter the Hotel de Ville: onlyhis 'bloody hair-queue, held up in a bloody hand;' that shallenter, for a sign. The bleeding trunk lies on the steps there; thehead is off through the streets; ghastly, aloft on a pike. Rigorous de Launay has died; crying out, "O friends, kill mefast!" Merciful de Losme must die; though Gratitude embraces him,in this fearful hour, and will die for him; it avails not.Brothers, your wrath is cruel! Your Place de Greve is become aThroat of the Tiger; full of mere fierce
bellowings, and thirst ofblood. One other officer is massacred; one other Invalide is hangedon the Lamp-iron: with difficulty, with generous perseverance, theGardes Francaises will save the rest. Provost Flesselles strickenlong since with the paleness of death, must descend from his seat,'to be judged at the Palais Royal:'--alas, to be shot dead, by anunknown hand, at the turning of the first street!-O evening sun of July, how, at this hour, thy beams fall slanton reapers amid peaceful woody fields; on old women spinning incottages; on ships far out in the silent main; on Balls at theOrangerie of Versailles, where high-rouged Dames of the Palace areeven now dancing with double-jacketted Hussar-Officers;--and alsoon this roaring Hell porch of a Hotel-de-Ville! Babel Tower, withthe confusion of tongues, were not Bedlam added with theconflagration of thoughts, was no type of it. One forest ofdistracted steel bristles, endless, in front of an ElectoralCommittee; points itself, in horrid radii, against this and theother accused breast. It was the Titans warring with Olympus; andthey scarcely crediting it, have conquered: prodigy of prodigies;delirious,--as it could not but be. Denunciation, vengeance; blazeof triumph on a dark ground of terror: all outward, all inwardthings fallen into one general wreck of madness! Electoral Committee? Had it a thousand throats of brass, itwould not suffice. Abbe Lefevre, in the Vaults down below, is blackas Vulcan, distributing that 'five thousand weight of Powder;' withwhat perils, these eight-and-forty hours! Last night, a Patriot, inliquor, insisted on sitting to smoke on the edge of one of thePowder-barrels; there smoked he, independent of the world,-tillthe Abbe 'purchased his pipe for three francs,' and pitched itfar. Elie, in the grand Hall, Electoral Committee looking on, sits'with drawn sword bent in three places;' with battered helm, for hewas of the Queen's Regiment, Cavalry; with torn regimentals, facesinged and soiled; comparable, some think, to 'an antiquewarrior;'--judging the people; forming a list of Bastille Heroes. OFriends, stain not with blood the greenest laurels ever gained inthis world: such is the burden of Elie's song; could it but belistened to. Courage, Elie! Courage, ye Municipal Electors! Adeclining sun; the need of victuals, and of telling news, willbring assuagement, dispersion: all earthly things must end. Along the streets of Paris circulate Seven Bastille Prisoners,borne shoulder-high: seven Heads on pikes; the Keys of theBastille; and much else. See also the Garde Francaises, in theirsteadfast military way, marching home to their barracks, with theInvalides and Swiss kindly enclosed in hollow square. It is oneyear and two months since these same men stood unparticipating,with Brennus d'Agoust at the Palais de Justice, when Fate overtookd'Espremenil; and now they have participated; and will participate.Not Gardes Francaises henceforth, but Centre Grenadiers of theNational Guard: men of iron discipline and humour,--not without akind of thought in them! Likewise ashlar stones of the Bastille continue thunderingthrough the dusk; its paper-archives shall fly white. Old secretscome to view; and long-buried Despair finds voice. Read thisportion of an old Letter: (Dated, a la Bastille, 7 Octobre, 1752;signed Queret-Demery. Bastille Devoilee, in Linguet, Memoires surla Bastille (Paris, 1821), p. 199.) 'If for my consolationMonseigneur would grant me for the sake of God and the Most BlessedTrinity, that I could have news of my dear wife; were it only hername on card to shew that she is alive! It were the greatestconsolation I could receive; and I should for ever bless thegreatness of Monseigneur.' Poor Prisoner, who
namest thyself QueretDemery, and hast no other history,--she is dead, that dear wife ofthine, and thou art dead! 'Tis fifty years since thy breaking heartput this question; to be heard now first, and long heard, in thehearts of men. But so does the July twilight thicken; so must Paris, as sickchildren, and all distracted creatures do, brawl itself finallyinto a kind of sleep. Municipal Electors, astonished to find theirheads still uppermost, are home: only Moreau de Saint-Mery oftropical birth and heart, of coolest judgment; he, with two others,shall sit permanent at the Townhall. Paris sleeps; gleams upwardthe illuminated City: patrols go clashing, without commonwatchword; there go rumours; alarms of war, to the extent of'fifteen thousand men marching through the SuburbSaintAntoine,'--who never got it marched through. Of the day'sdistraction judge by this of the night: Moreau de Saint-Mery,'before rising from his seat, gave upwards of three thousandorders.' (Dusaulx.) What a head; comparable to Friar Bacon's BrassHead! Within it lies all Paris. Prompt must the answer be, right orwrong; in Paris is no other Authority extant. Seriously, a mostcool clear head;--for which also thou O brave Saint-Mery, in manycapacities, from august Senator to Merchant's-Clerk, Book-dealer,Vice-King; in many places, from Virginia to Sardinia, shalt, everas a brave man, find employment. (Biographie Universelle, paraMoreau Saint- Mery (by Fournier-Pescay).) Besenval has decamped, under cloud of dusk, 'amid a greataffluence of people,' who did not harm him; he marches, withfaint-growing tread, down the left bank of the Seine, allnight,-towards infinite space. Resummoned shall Besenval himselfbe; for trial, for difficult acquittal. His King's- troops, hisRoyal Allemand, are gone hence for ever. The Versailles Ball and lemonade is done; the Orangery is silentexcept for nightbirds. Over in the Salle des Menus, Vice-presidentLafayette, with unsnuffed lights, 'with some hundred of members,stretched on tables round him,' sits erect; outwatching the Bear.This day, a second solemn Deputation went to his Majesty; a second,and then a third: with no effect. What will the end of these thingsbe? In the Court, all is mystery, not without whisperings of terror;though ye dream of lemonade and epaulettes, ye foolish women! HisMajesty, kept in happy ignorance, perhaps dreams of doublebarrelsand the Woods of Meudon. Late at night, the Duke de Liancourt,having official right of entrance, gains access to the RoyalApartments; unfolds, with earnest clearness, in his constitutionalway, the Job's-news. "Mais," said poor Louis, "c'est une revolte,Why, that is a revolt!"--"Sire," answered Liancourt, "It is not arevolt, it is a revolution."
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.V. The Third EstateChapter 1.5.VIII. Conquering your King
On the morrow a fourth Deputation to the Chateau is on foot: ofa more solemn, not to say awful character, for, besides 'orgies inthe Orangery,' it seems, 'the grain convoys are all stopped;' norhas Mirabeau's thunder been silent. Such Deputation is on the pointof setting out--when lo, his Majesty himself attended only by histwo Brothers, step in; quite in the paternal manner; announces thatthe troops, and all causes of offence, are gone, and henceforththere shall be
nothing but trust, reconcilement, good- will;whereof he 'permits and even requests,' a National Assembly toassure Paris in his name! Acclamation, as of men suddenly deliveredfrom death, gives answer. The whole Assembly spontaneously rises toescort his Majesty back; 'interlacing their arms to keep off theexcessive pressure from him;' for all Versailles is crowding andshouting. The Chateau Musicians, with a felicitous promptitude,strike up the Sein de sa Famille (Bosom of one's Family): the Queenappears at the balcony with her little boy and girl, 'kissing themseveral times;' infinite Vivats spread far and wide;--and suddenlythere has come, as it were, a new Heaven-on-Earth. Eighty-eight august Senators, Bailly, Lafayette, and ourrepentant Archbishop among them, take coach for Paris, with thegreat intelligence; benedictions without end on their heads. Fromthe Place Louis Quinze, where they alight, all the way to theHotel-de-Ville, it is one sea of Tricolor cockades, of clearNational muskets; one tempest of huzzaings, hand-clappings, aidedby 'occasional rollings' of drum-music. Harangues of due fervourare delivered; especially by Lally Tollendal, pious son of theill-fated murdered Lally; on whose head, in consequence, a civiccrown (of oak or parsley) is forced,--which he forcibly transfersto Bailly's. But surely, for one thing, the National Guard must have aGeneral! Moreau de Saint-Mery, he of the 'three thousand orders,'casts one of his significant glances on the Bust of Lafayette,which has stood there ever since the American War of Liberty.Whereupon, by acclamation, Lafayette is nominated. Again, in roomof the slain traitor or quasi-traitor Flesselles, President Baillyshall be-Provost of the Merchants? No: Mayor of Paris! So be it.Maire de Paris! Mayor Bailly, General Lafayette; vive Bailly, viveLafayette--the universal out-of-doors multitude rends the welkin inconfirmation.--And now, finally, let us to Notre-Dame for a TeDeum. Towards Notre-Dame Cathedral, in glad procession, theseRegenerators of the Country walk, through a jubilant people; infraternal manner; Abbe Lefevre, still black with his gunpowderservices, walking arm in arm with the white- stoled Archbishop.Poor Bailly comes upon the Foundling Children, sent to kneel tohim; and 'weeps.' Te Deum, our Archbishop officiating, is not onlysung, but shot--with blank cartridges. Our joy is boundless as ourwo threatened to be. Paris, by her own pike and musket, and thevalour of her own heart, has conquered the very wargods,--to thesatisfaction now of Majesty itself. A courier is, this night,getting under way for Necker: the People's Minister, invited backby King, by National Assembly, and Nation, shall traverse Franceamid shoutings, and the sound of trumpet and timbrel. Seeing which course of things, Messeigneurs of the CourtTriumvirate, Messieurs of the deadborn Broglie-Ministry, andothers such, consider that their part also is clear: to mount andride. Off, ye too-loyal Broglies, Polignacs, and Princes of theBlood; off while it is yet time! Did not the Palais-Royal in itslate nocturnal 'violent motions,' set a specific price (place ofpayment not mentioned) on each of your heads?--With precautions,with the aid of pieces of cannon and regiments that can be dependedon, Messeigneurs, between the 16th night and the 17th morning, getto their several roads. Not without risk! Prince Conde has (orseems to have) 'men galloping at full speed;' with a view, it isthought, to fling him into the river Oise, at Pont-SainteMayence.(Weber, ii. 126.) The Polignacs travel disguised; friends, notservants, on their coach-
box. Broglie has his own difficulties atVersailles, runs his own risks at Metz and Verdun; doesnevertheless get safe to Luxemburg, and there rests. This is what they call the First Emigration; determined on, asappears, in full Court-conclave; his Majesty assisting; prompt he,for his share of it, to follow any counsel whatsoever. 'Three Sonsof France, and four Princes of the blood of Saint Louis,' saysWeber, 'could not more effectually humble the Burghers of Paris'than by appearing to withdraw in fear of their life.' Alas, theBurghers of Paris bear it with unexpected Stoicism! The Mand'Artois indeed is gone; but has he carried, for example, the LandD'Artois with him? Not even Bagatelle the Country-house (whichshall be useful as a Tavern); hardly the four-valet Breeches,leaving the Breeches- maker!-As for old Foulon, one learns that heis dead; at least a 'sumptuous funeral' is going on; theundertakers honouring him, if no other will. Intendant Berthier,his son-in-law, is still living; lurking: he joined Besenval, onthat Eumenides' Sunday; appearing to treat it with levity; and isnow fled no man knows whither. The Emigration is not gone many miles, Prince Conde hardlyacross the Oise, when his Majesty, according to arrangement, forthe Emigration also thought it might do good,--undertakes a ratherdaring enterprise: that of visiting Paris in person. With a HundredMembers of Assembly; with small or no military escort, which indeedhe dismissed at the Bridge of Sevres, poor Louis sets out; leavinga desolate Palace; a Queen weeping, the Present, the Past, and theFuture all so unfriendly for her. At the Barrier of Passy, Mayor Bailly, in grand gala, presentshim with the keys; harangues him, in Academic style; mentions thatit is a great day; that in Henri Quatre's case, the King had tomake conquest of his People, but in this happier case, the Peoplemakes conquest of its King (a conquis son Roi). The King, sohappily conquered, drives forward, slowly, through a steel people,all silent, or shouting only Vive la Nation; is harangued at theTownhall, by Moreau of the three-thousand orders, by King'sProcureur M. Ethys de Corny, by Lally Tollendal, and others; knowsnot what to think of it, or say of it; learns that he is 'Restorerof French Liberty,'--as a Statue of him, to be raised on the siteof the Bastille, shall testify to all men. Finally, he is shewn atthe Balcony, with a Tricolor cockade in his hat; is greeted now,with vehement acclamation, from Square and Street, from all windowsand roofs:--and so drives home again amid glad mingled and, as itwere, intermarried shouts, of Vive le Roi and Vive la Nation;wearied but safe. It was Sunday when the red-hot balls hung over us, in mid air:it is now but Friday, and 'the Revolution is sanctioned.' An AugustNational Assembly shall make the Constitution; and neither foreignPandour, domestic Triumvirate, with levelled Cannon, Guy-Fauxpowder-plots (for that too was spoken of); nor any tyrannic Poweron the Earth, or under the Earth, shall say to it, What dostthou?--So jubilates the people; sure now of a Constitution. CrackedMarquis Saint-Huruge is heard under the windows of the Chateau;murmuring sheer speculative-treason. (Campan, ii. 4664.)
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.V. The Third EstateChapter 1.5.IX. The Lanterne
The Fall of the Bastille may be said to have shaken all Franceto the deepest foundations of its existence. The rumour of thesewonders flies every where: with the natural speed of Rumour; withan effect thought to be preternatural, produced by plots. Didd'Orleans or Laclos, nay did Mirabeau (not overburdened with moneyat this time) send riding Couriers out from Paris; to gallop 'onall radii,' or highways, towards all points of France? It is amiracle, which no penetrating man will call in question.(Toulongeon, (i. 95); Weber, &c. &c.) Already in most Towns, Electoral Committees were met; to regretNecker, in harangue and resolution. In many a Town, as Rennes,Caen, Lyons, an ebullient people was already regretting him inbrickbats and musketry. But now, at every Town's-end in France,there do arrive, in these days of terror,--'men,' as men willarrive; nay, 'men on horseback,' since Rumour oftenest travelsriding. These men declare, with alarmed countenance, TheBrigands to be coming, to be just at hand; and do then--rideon, about their further business, be what it might! Whereupon thewhole population of such Town, defensively flies to arms. Petitionis soon thereafter forwarded to National Assembly; in such periland terror of peril, leave to organise yourself cannot be withheld:the armed population becomes everywhere an enrolled National Guard.Thus rides Rumour, careering along all radii, from Paris outwards,to such purpose: in few days, some say in not many hours, allFrance to the utmost borders bristles with bayonets. Singular, butundeniable,--miraculous or not!--But thus may any chemical liquid;though cooled to the freezing-point, or far lower, still continueliquid; and then, on the slightest stroke or shake, it at oncerushes wholly into ice. Thus has France, for long months and evenyears, been chemically dealt with; brought below zero; and now,shaken by the Fall of a Bastille, it instantaneously congeals: intoone crystallised mass, of sharp-cutting steel! Guai a chi la tocca;'Ware who touches it! In Paris, an Electoral Committee, with a new Mayor and General,is urgent with belligerent workmen to resume their handicrafts.Strong Dames of the Market (Dames de la Halle) delivercongratulatory harangues; present 'bouquets to the Shrine of SainteGenevieve.' Unenrolled men deposit their arms,--not so readily ascould be wished; and receive 'nine francs.' With Te Deums, RoyalVisits, and sanctioned Revolution, there is halcyon weather;weather even of preternatural brightness; the hurricane beingoverblown. Nevertheless, as is natural, the waves still run high, hollowrocks retaining their murmur. We are but at the 22nd of the month,hardly above a week since the Bastille fell, when it suddenlyappears that old Foulon is alive; nay, that he is here, in earlymorning, in the streets of Paris; the extortioner, the plotter, whowould make the people eat grass, and was a liar from thebeginning!-It is even so. The deceptive 'sumptuous funeral' (ofsome domestic that died); the hiding-place at Vitry towardsFontainbleau, have not availed that wretched old man. Some livingdomestic or dependant, for none loves Foulon, has betrayed him tothe Village. Merciless boors of Vitry unearth him; pounce on him,like hell-hounds: Westward, old Infamy; to Paris, to be judged atthe Hotel-de-Ville! His old head, which seventy-four years havebleached, is bare; they have tied an emblematic bundle of grass onhis back; a garland of nettles and thistles is round his neck: inthis manner; led with ropes; goaded on with curses and menaces,must he, with his old limbs, sprawl forward; the pitiablest, mostunpitied of all old men.
Sooty Saint-Antoine, and every street, mustering its crowds ashe passes,-- the Place de Greve, the Hall of the Hotel-de-Villewill scarcely hold his escort and him. Foulon must not only bejudged righteously; but judged there where he stands, without anydelay. Appoint seven judges, ye Municipals, or seventy-and-seven;name them yourselves, or we will name them: but judge him!(Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 146-9.) Electoral rhetoric, eloquenceof Mayor Bailly, is wasted explaining the beauty of the Law'sdelay. Delay, and still delay! Behold, O Mayor of the People, themorning has worn itself into noon; and he is stillunjudged!--Lafayette, pressingly sent for, arrives; gives voice:This Foulon, a known man, is guilty almost beyond doubt; but may henot have accomplices? Ought not the truth to be cunningly pumpedout of him,--in the Abbaye Prison? It is a new light! Sansculottismclaps hands;--at which hand-clapping, Foulon (in his fainness, ashis Destiny would have it) also claps. "See! they understand oneanother!" cries dark Sansculottism, blazing into fury ofsuspicion.--"Friends," said 'a person in good clothes,' steppingforward, "what is the use of judging this man? Has he not beenjudged these thirty years?" With wild yells, Sansculottism clutcheshim, in its hundred hands: he is whirled across the Place de Greve,to the 'Lanterne,' Lamp-iron which there is at the corner of theRue de la Vannerie; pleading bitterly for life,--to the deaf winds.Only with the third rope (for two ropes broke, and the quaveringvoice still pleaded), can he be so much as got hanged! His Body isdragged through the streets; his Head goes aloft on a pike, themouth filled with grass: amid sounds as of Tophet, from agrass-eating people. (Deux Amis de la Liberte, ii. 60-6.) Surely if Revenge is a 'kind of Justice,' it is a 'wild' kind! Omad Sansculottism hast thou risen, in thy mad darkness, in thy sootand rags; unexpectedly, like an Enceladus, living-buried, fromunder his Trinacria? They that would make grass be eaten do now eatgrass, in this manner? After long dumb-groaning generations, hasthe turn suddenly become thine?-- To such abysmal overturns, andfrightful instantaneous inversions of the centre-of-gravity, arehuman Solecisms all liable, if they but knew it; the more liable,the falser (and topheavier) they are!-To add to the horror of Mayor Bailly and his Municipals, wordcomes that Berthier has also been arrested; that he is on his wayhither from Compiegne. Berthier, Intendant (say, Tax-levier) ofParis; sycophant and tyrant; forestaller of Corn; contriver ofCamps against the people;-accused of many things: is he notFoulon's son-in-law; and, in that one point, guilty of all? Inthese hours too, when Sansculottism has its blood up! Theshuddering Municipals send one of their number to escort him, withmounted National Guards. At the fall of day, the wretched Berthier, still wearing a faceof courage, arrives at the Barrier; in an open carriage; with theMunicipal beside him; five hundred horsemen with drawn sabres;unarmed footmen enough, not without noise! Placards go brandishedround him; bearing legibly his indictment, as Sansculottism, withunlegal brevity, 'in huge letters,' draws it up. ('Il a vole le Roiet la France (He robbed the King and France).' 'He devoured thesubstance of the People.' 'He was the slave of the rich, and thetyrant of the poor.' 'He drank the blood of the widow and orphan.''He betrayed his country.' See Deux Amis, ii. 67-73.) Paris is comeforth to meet him: with hand-clappings, with windows flung up; withdances, triumph-songs, as of the Furies! Lastly the Head of Foulon:this also meets him on a pike. Well might his 'look become glazed,'and sense fail him, at such sight!--Nevertheless, be the man'sconscience what it may, his nerves are of iron. At theHotel-de-Ville, he will answer nothing. He says, he obeyed superiororder; they have his papers; they may judge and determine: as forhimself, not having
closed an eye these two nights, he demands,before all things, to have sleep. Leaden sleep, thou miserableBerthier! Guards rise with him, in motion towards the Abbaye. Atthe very door of the Hotel-de-Ville, they are clutched; flungasunder, as by a vortex of mad arms; Berthier whirls towards theLanterne. He snatches a musket; fells and strikes, defendinghimself like a mad lion; is borne down, trampled, hanged, mangled:his Head too, and even his Heart, flies over the City on apike. Horrible, in Lands that had known equal justice! Not sounnatural in Lands that had never known it. Le sang qui couleest-il donc si pure? asks Barnave; intimating that the Gallows,though by irregular methods, has its own.--Thou thyself, O Reader,when thou turnest that corner of the Rue de la Vannerie, anddiscernest still that same grim Bracket of old Iron, wilt not wantfor reflections. 'Over a grocer's shop,' or otherwise; with 'a bustof Louis XIV. in the niche under it,' or now no longer in theniche,-- it still sticks there: still holding out an ineffectuallight, of fishoil; and has seen worlds wrecked, and saysnothing. But to the eye of enlightened Patriotism, what a thunder-cloudwas this; suddenly shaping itself in the radiance of the halcyonweather! Cloud of Erebus blackness: betokening latent electricitywithout limit. Mayor Bailly, General Lafayette throw up theircommissions, in an indignant manner;--need to be flattered backagain. The cloud disappears, as thunder-clouds do. The halcyonweather returns, though of a grayer complexion; of a character moreand more evidently not supernatural. Thus, in any case, with what rubs soever, shall the Bastille beabolished from our Earth; and with it, Feudalism, Despotism; and,one hopes, Scoundrelism generally, and all hard usage of man by hisbrother man. Alas, the Scoundrelism and hard usage are not so easyof abolition! But as for the Bastille, it sinks day after day, andmonth after month; its ashlars and boulders tumbling downcontinually, by express order of our Municipals. Crowds of thecurious roam through its caverns; gaze on the skeletons foundwalled up, on the oubliettes, iron cages, monstrous stoneblockswith padlock chains. One day we discern Mirabeau there; along withthe Genevese Dumont. (Dumont, Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, p. 305.)Workers and onlookers make reverent way for him; fling verses,flowers on his path, Bastille-papers and curiosities into hiscarriage, with vivats. Able Editors compile Books from the Bastille Archives; from whatof them remain unburnt. The Key of that Robber-Den shall cross theAtlantic; shall lie on Washington's hall-table. The great Clockticks now in a private patriotic Clockmaker's apartment; no longermeasuring hours of mere heaviness. Vanished is the Bastille, whatwe call vanished: the body, or sandstones, of it hanging, in benignmetamorphosis, for centuries to come, over the Seine waters, asPont Louis Seize; (Dulaure: Histoire de Paris, viii. 434.) the soulof it living, perhaps still longer, in the memories of men. So far, ye august Senators, with your Tennis-Court Oaths, yourinertia and impetus, your sagacity and pertinacity, have ye broughtus. "And yet think, Messieurs," as the Petitioner justly urged,"you who were our saviours, did yourselves need saviours,"--thebrave Bastillers, namely; workmen of Paris; many of them instraightened pecuniary circumstances! (Moniteur: Seance du Samedi18 Juillet 1789 (in Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 137.) Subscriptionsare opened; Lists are
formed, more accurate than Elie's; haranguesare delivered. A Body of Bastille Heroes, tolerably complete, didget together;--comparable to the Argonauts; hoping to endure likethem. But in little more than a year, the whirlpool of things threwthem asunder again, and they sank. So many highest superlativesachieved by man are followed by new higher; and dwindle intocomparatives and positives! The Siege of the Bastille, weighed withwhich, in the Historical balance, most other sieges, including thatof Troy Town, are gossamer, cost, as we find, in killed andmortally wounded, on the part of the Besiegers, some Eighty-threepersons: on the part of the Besieged, after all that straw-burning,fire-pumping, and deluge of musketry, One poor solitary invalid,shot stone-dead (roide-mort) on the battlements; (Dusaulx: Prise dela Bastille, p. 447, &c.) The Bastille Fortress, like the Cityof Jericho, was overturned by miraculous sound.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.VI. ConsolidationChapter 1.6.I. Make the Constitution
Here perhaps is the place to fix, a little more precisely, whatthese two words, French Revolution, shall mean; for, strictlyconsidered, they may have as many meanings as there are speakers ofthem. All things are in revolution; in change from moment tomoment, which becomes sensible from epoch to epoch: in thisTime-World of ours there is properly nothing else but revolutionand mutation, and even nothing else conceivable. Revolution, youanswer, means speedier change. Whereupon one has still to ask: Howspeedy? At what degree of speed; in what particular points of thisvariable course, which varies in velocity, but can never stop tillTime itself stops, does revolution begin and end; cease to beordinary mutation, and again become such? It is a thing that willdepend on definition more or less arbitrary. For ourselves we answer that French Revolution means here theopen violent Rebellion, and Victory, of disimprisoned Anarchyagainst corrupt worn-out Authority: how Anarchy breaks prison;bursts up from the infinite Deep, and rages uncontrollable,immeasurable, enveloping a world; in phasis after phasis offever-frenzy;--'till the frenzy burning itself out, and whatelements of new Order it held (since all Force holds such)developing themselves, the Uncontrollable be got, if notreimprisoned, yet harnessed, and its mad forces made to worktowards their object as sane regulated ones. For as Hierarchies andDynasties of all kinds, Theocracies, Aristocracies, Autocracies,Strumpetocracies, have ruled over the world; so it was appointed,in the decrees of Providence, that this same Victorious Anarchy,Jacobinism, Sansculottism, French Revolution, Horrors of FrenchRevolution, or what else mortals name it, should have its turn. The'destructive wrath' of Sansculottism: this is what we speak, havingunhappily no voice for singing. Surely a great Phenomenon: nay it is a transcendental one,overstepping all rules and experience; the crowning Phenomenon ofour Modern Time. For here again, most unexpectedly, comes antiqueFanaticism in new and newest vesture; miraculous, as all Fanaticismis. Call it the Fanaticism of 'making away with formulas, de humerles formulas.' The world of formulas, the formed regulated world,which all habitable world is,--must needs hate such Fanaticism likedeath; and be at deadly variance with it. The world of formulasmust conquer it; or failing that, must die execrating it,anathematising it;--can nevertheless in nowise prevent its beingand its having been. The Anathemas are there, and the miraculousThing is there.
Whence it cometh? Whither it goeth? These are questions! Whenthe age of Miracles lay faded into the distance as an incredibletradition, and even the age of Conventionalities was now old; andMan's Existence had for long generations rested on mere formulaswhich were grown hollow by course of time; and it seemed as if noReality any longer existed but only Phantasms of realities, andGod's Universe were the work of the Tailor and Upholsterer mainly,and men were buckram masks that went about becking and grimacingthere,--on a sudden, the Earth yawns asunder, and amid Tartareansmoke, and glare of fierce brightness, rises Sansculottism,manyheaded, fire-breathing, and asks: What think ye of me? Wellmay the buckram masks start together, terror-struck; 'intoexpressive well-concerted groups!' It is indeed, Friends, a mostsingular, most fatal thing. Let whosoever is but buckram and aphantasm look to it: ill verily may it fare with him; here methinkshe cannot much longer be. Wo also to many a one who is not whollybuckram, but partially real and human! The age of Miracles has comeback! 'Behold the World-Phoenix, in fire-consummation andfire-creation; wide are her fanning wings; loud is herdeath-melody, of battle-thunders and falling towns; skyward lashesthe funeral flame, enveloping all things: it is the Death-Birth ofa World!' Whereby, however, as we often say, shall one unspeakableblessing seem attainable. This, namely: that Man and his Life restno more on hollowness and a Lie, but on solidity and some kind ofTruth. Welcome, the beggarliest truth, so it be one, in exchangefor the royallest sham! Truth of any kind breeds ever new andbetter truth; thus hard granite rock will crumble down into soil,under the blessed skyey influences; and cover itself with verdure,with fruitage and umbrage. But as for Falsehood, which in likecontrary manner, grows ever falser,--what can it, or what should itdo but decease, being ripe; decompose itself, gently or evenviolently, and return to the Father of it,--too probably in flamesof fire? Sansculottism will burn much; but what is incombustible it willnot burn. Fear not Sansculottism; recognise it for what it is, theportentous, inevitable end of much, the miraculous beginning ofmuch. One other thing thou mayest understand of it: that it toocame from God; for has it not been? From of old, as it is written,are His goings forth; in the great Deep of things; fearful andwonderful now as in the beginning: in the whirlwind also He speaks!and the wrath of men is made to praise Him.--But to gauge andmeasure this immeasurable Thing, and what is called account for it,and reduce it to a dead logic-formula, attempt not! Much less shaltthou shriek thyself hoarse, cursing it; for that, to all needfullengths, has been already done. As an actually existing Son ofTime, look, with unspeakable manifold interest, oftenest insilence, at what the Time did bring: therewith edify, instruct,nourish thyself, or were it but to amuse and gratify thyself, as itis given thee. Another question which at every new turn will rise on us,requiring ever new reply is this: Where the French Revolutionspecially is? In the King's Palace, in his Majesty's or herMajesty's managements, and maltreatments, cabals, imbecilities andwoes, answer some few:--whom we do not answer. In the NationalAssembly, answer a large mixed multitude: who accordingly seatthemselves in the Reporter's Chair; and therefrom noting whatProclamations, Acts, Reports, passages of logic-fence, bursts ofparliamentary eloquence seem notable within doors, and what tumultsand rumours of tumult become audible from without,--produce volumeon volume; and, naming it History of the French Revolution,contentedly publish the same. To do the like, to almost any extent,with so many Filed Newspapers, Choix des Rapports, HistoiresParlementaires
as there are, amounting to many horseloads, wereeasy for us. Easy but unprofitable. The National Assembly, namednow Constituent Assembly, goes its course; making the Constitution;but the French Revolution also goes its course. In general, may we not say that the French Revolution lies inthe heart and head of every violentspeaking, of everyviolent-thinking French Man? How the Twenty-five Millions of such,in their perplexed combination, acting and counter-acting may givebirth to events; which event successively is the cardinal one; andfrom what point of vision it may best be surveyed: this is aproblem. Which problem the best insight, seeking light from allpossible sources, shifting its point of vision whithersoever visionor glimpse of vision can be had, may employ itself in solving; andbe well content to solve in some tolerably approximate way. As to the National Assembly, in so far as it still towerseminent over France, after the manner of a car-borne Carroccio,though now no longer in the van; and rings signals for retreat orfor advance,--it is and continues a reality among other realities.But in so far as it sits making the Constitution, on the otherhand, it is a fatuity and chimera mainly. Alas, in the never soheroic building of Montesquieu-Mably card-castles, though shoutedover by the world, what interest is there? Occupied in that way, anaugust National Assembly becomes for us little other than aSanhedrim of pedants, not of the gerund-grinding, yet of nofruitfuller sort; and its loud debatings and recriminations aboutRights of Man, Right of Peace and War, Veto suspensif, Veto absolu,what are they but so many Pedant's- curses, 'May God confound youfor your Theory of Irregular Verbs!' A Constitution can be built, Constitutions enough a la Sieyes:but the frightful difficulty is that of getting men to come andlive in them! Could Sieyes have drawn thunder and lightning out ofHeaven to sanction his Constitution, it had been well: but withoutany thunder? Nay, strictly considered, is it not still true thatwithout some such celestial sanction, given visibly in thunder orinvisibly otherwise, no Constitution can in the long run be worthmuch more than the wastepaper it is written on? The Constitution,the set of Laws, or prescribed Habits of Acting, that men will liveunder, is the one which images their Convictions,--their Faith asto this wondrous Universe, and what rights, duties, capabilitiesthey have there; which stands sanctioned therefore, by Necessityitself, if not by a seen Deity, then by an unseen one. Other laws,whereof there are always enough ready-made, are usurpations; whichmen do not obey, but rebel against, and abolish, by their earliestconvenience. The question of questions accordingly were, Who is it thatespecially for rebellers and abolishers, can make a Constitution?He that can image forth the general Belief when there is one; thatcan impart one when, as here, there is none. A most rare man; everas of old a god-missioned man! Here, however, in defect of suchtranscendent supreme man, Time with its infinite succession ofmerely superior men, each yielding his little contribution, doesmuch. Force likewise (for, as Antiquarian Philosophers teach, theroyal Sceptre was from the first something of a Hammer, to cracksuch heads as could not be convinced) will all along find somewhatto do. And thus in perpetual abolition and reparation, rending andmending, with struggle and strife, with present evil and the hopeand effort towards future good, must the Constitution, as all humanthings do, build itself forward; or unbuild itself, and sink, as itcan and may. O Sieyes, and ye other Committeemen, and TwelveHundred miscellaneous individuals from all parts of France! What
isthe Belief of France, and yours, if ye knew it? Properly that thereshall be no Belief; that all formulas be swallowed. TheConstitution which will suit that? Alas, too clearly, aNoConstitution, an Anarchy;-- which also, in due season, shall bevouchsafed you. But, after all, what can an unfortunate National Assembly do?Consider only this, that there are Twelve Hundred miscellaneousindividuals; not a unit of whom but has his own thinkingapparatus,his own speaking- apparatus! In every unit of them is some beliefand wish, different for each, both that France should beregenerated, and also that he individually should do it. TwelveHundred separate Forces, yoked miscellaneously to any object,miscellaneously to all sides of it; and bid pull for life! Or is it the nature of National Assemblies generally to do, withendless labour and clangour, Nothing? Are RepresentativeGovernments mostly at bottom Tyrannies too! Shall we say, theTyrants, the ambitious contentious Persons, from all corners of thecountry do, in this manner, get gathered into one place; and there,with motion and counter-motion, with jargon and hubbub, cancel oneanother, like the fabulous Kilkenny Cats; and produce, fornet-result, zero;--the country meanwhile governing or guidingitself, by such wisdom, recognised or for most part unrecognised,as may exist in individual heads here and there?--Nay, even thatwere a great improvement: for, of old, with their Guelf Factionsand Ghibelline Factions, with their Red Roses and White Roses, theywere wont to cancel the whole country as well. Besides they do itnow in a much narrower cockpit; within the four walls of theirAssembly House, and here and there an outpost of Hustings andBarrel-heads; do it with tongues too, not with swords:--all whichimprovements, in the art of producing zero, are they not great?Nay, best of all, some happy Continents (as the Western one, withits Savannahs, where whosoever has four willing limbs finds foodunder his feet, and an infinite sky over his head) can do withoutgoverning.--What Sphinx- questions; which the distracted world, inthese very generations, must answer or die!
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.VI. ConsolidationChapter 1.6.II. The Constituent Assembly
One thing an elected Assembly of Twelve Hundred is fit for:Destroying. Which indeed is but a more decided exercise of itsnatural talent for Doing Nothing. Do nothing, only keep agitating,debating; and things will destroy themselves. So and not otherwise proved it with an august National Assembly.It took the name, Constituent, as if its mission and function hadbeen to construct or build; which also, with its whole soul, itendeavoured to do: yet, in the fates, in the nature of things,there lay for it precisely of all functions the most opposite tothat. Singular, what Gospels men will believe; even Gospelsaccording to Jean Jacques! It was the fixed Faith of these NationalDeputies, as of all thinking Frenchmen, that the Constitution couldbe made; that they, there and then, were called to make it. How,with the toughness of Old Hebrews or Ishmaelite Moslem, did theotherwise light unbelieving People persist in this their Credo quiaimpossibile ; and front the armed world with it; and grow fanatic,and even heroic, and do exploits by it! The Constituent Assembly'sConstitution, and several others, will, being printed and notmanuscript, survive to future generations, as an
instructivewell-nigh incredible document of the Time: the most significantPicture of the then existing France; or at lowest, Picture of thesemen's Picture of it. But in truth and seriousness, what could the National Assemblyhave done? The thing to be done was, actually as they said, toregenerate France; to abolish the old France, and make a new one;quietly or forcibly, by concession or by violence, this, by the Lawof Nature, has become inevitable. With what degree of violence,depends on the wisdom of those that preside over it. With perfectwisdom on the part of the National Assembly, it had all beenotherwise; but whether, in any wise, it could have been pacific,nay other than bloody and convulsive, may still be a question. Grant, meanwhile, that this Constituent Assembly does to thelast continue to be something. With a sigh, it sees itselfincessantly forced away from its infinite divine task, ofperfecting 'the Theory of Irregular Verbs,'-- to finite terrestrialtasks, which latter have still a significance for us. It is thecynosure of revolutionary France, this National Assembly. All workof Government has fallen into its hands, or under its control; allmen look to it for guidance. In the middle of that huge Revolt ofTwenty-five millions, it hovers always aloft as Carroccio orBattle-Standard, impelling and impelled, in the most confused way;if it cannot give much guidance, it will still seem to give some.It emits pacificatory Proclamations, not a few; with more or withless result. It authorises the enrolment of National Guards,--lestBrigands come to devour us, and reap the unripe crops. It sendsmissions to quell 'effervescences;' to deliver men from theLanterne. It can listen to congratulatory Addresses, which arrivedaily by the sackful; mostly in King Cambyses' vein: also toPetitions and complaints from all mortals; so that every mortal'scomplaint, if it cannot get redressed, may at least hear itselfcomplain. For the rest, an august National Assembly can produceParliamentary Eloquence; and appoint Committees. Committees of theConstitution, of Reports, of Researches; and of much else: whichagain yield mountains of Printed Paper; the theme of newParliamentary Eloquence, in bursts, or in plenteous smooth-flowingfloods. And so, from the waste vortex whereon all things gowhirling and grinding, Organic Laws, or the similitude of such,slowly emerge. With endless debating, we get the Rights of Man written down andpromulgated: true paper basis of all paper Constitutions.Neglecting, cry the opponents, to declare the Duties of Man!Forgetting, answer we, to ascertain the Mights of Man;--one of thefatalest omissions!--Nay, sometimes, as on the Fourth of August,our National Assembly, fired suddenly by an almost preternaturalenthusiasm, will get through whole masses of work in one night. Amemorable night, this Fourth of August: Dignitaries temporal andspiritual; Peers, Archbishops, ParlementPresidents, each outdoingthe other in patriotic devotedness, come successively to throwtheir (untenable) possessions on the 'altar of the fatherland.'With louder and louder vivats, for indeed it is 'after dinner'too,--they abolish Tithes, Seignorial Dues, Gabelle, excessivePreservation of Game; nay Privilege, Immunity, Feudalism root andbranch; then appoint a Te Deum for it; and so, finally, disperseabout three in the morning, striking the stars with their sublimeheads. Such night, unforeseen but for ever memorable, was this ofthe Fourth of August 1789. Miraculous, or semi-miraculous, someseem to think it. A new Night of Pentecost, shall we say, shapedaccording to the new Time, and new Church of Jean Jacques Rousseau?It had its causes; also its effects.
In such manner labour the National Deputies; perfecting theirTheory of Irregular Verbs; governing France, and being governed byit; with toil and noise;--cutting asunder ancient intolerablebonds; and, for new ones, assiduously spinning ropes of sand. Weretheir labours a nothing or a something, yet the eyes of all Francebeing reverently fixed on them, History can never very long leavethem altogether out of sight. For the present, if we glance into that Assembly Hall of theirs,it will be found, as is natural, 'most irregular.' As many as 'ahundred members are on their feet at once;' no rule in makingmotions, or only commencements of a rule; Spectators' Galleryallowed to applaud, and even to hiss; (Arthur Young, i. 111.)President, appointed once a fortnight, raising many times no serenehead above the waves. Nevertheless, as in all human Assemblages,like does begin arranging itself to like; the perennial rule, Ubihomines sunt modi sunt, proves valid. Rudiments of Methods disclosethemselves; rudiments of Parties. There is a Right Side (CoteDroit), a Left Side (Cote Gauche); sitting on M. le President'sright hand, or on his left: the Cote Droit conservative; the CoteGauche destructive. Intermediate is Anglomaniac Constitutionalism,or Two-Chamber Royalism; with its Mouniers, its Lallys,--fastverging towards nonentity. Preeminent, on the Right Side, pleadsand perorates Cazales, the Dragoon-captain, eloquent, mildlyfervent; earning for himself the shadow of a name. There alsoblusters Barrel-Mirabeau, the Younger Mirabeau, not without wit:dusky d'Espremenil does nothing but sniff and ejaculate; might, itis fondly thought, lay prostrate the Elder Mirabeau himself, wouldhe but try, (Biographie Universelle, para D'Espremenil (byBeaulieu).)--which he does not. Last and greatest, see, for onemoment, the Abbe Maury; with his jesuitic eyes, his impassive brassface, 'image of all the cardinal sins.' Indomitable, unquenchable,he fights jesuitico-rhetorically; with toughest lungs and heart;for Throne, especially for Altar and Tithes. So that a shrill voiceexclaims once, from the Gallery: "Messieurs of the Clergy, you haveto be shaved; if you wriggle too much, you will get cut."(Dictionnaire des Hommes Marquans, ii. 519.) The Left side is also called the d'Orleans side; and sometimesderisively, the Palais Royal. And yet, so confused, real-imaginaryseems everything, 'it is doubtful,' as Mirabeau said, 'whetherd'Orleans himself belong to that same d'Orleans Party.' What can beknown and seen is, that his moon- visage does beam forth from thatpoint of space. There likewise sits seagreen Robespierre; throwingin his light weight, with decision, not yet with effect. A thinlean Puritan and Precisian; he would make away with formulas; yetlives, moves, and has his being, wholly in formulas, of anothersort. 'Peuple,' such according to Robespierre ought to be the Royalmethod of promulgating laws, 'Peuple, this is the Law I have framedfor thee; dost thou accept it?'-answered from Right Side, fromCentre and Left, by inextinguishable laughter. (Moniteur, No. 67(in Hist.Parl.).) Yet men of insight discern that the Seagreen mayby chance go far: "this man," observes Mirabeau, "will do somewhat;he believes every word he says." Abbe Sieyes is busy with mere Constitutional work: wherein,unluckily, fellow-workmen are less pliable than, with one who hascompleted the Science of Polity, they ought to be. Courage, Sieyesnevertheless! Some twenty months of heroic travail, ofcontradiction from the stupid, and the Constitution shall be built;the top-stone of it brought out with shouting,--say rather, thetoppaper, for it is all Paper; and thou hast done in it what theEarth or the Heaven could require, thy utmost. Note likewise thisTrio; memorable for several things; memorable were it only thattheir
history is written in an epigram: 'whatsoever these Threehave in hand,' it is said, 'Duport thinks it, Barnave speaks it,Lameth does it.' (See Toulongeon, i. c. 3.) But royal Mirabeau? Conspicuous among all parties, raised aboveand beyond them all, this man rises more and more. As we often say,he has an eye, he is a reality; while others are formulas andeye-glasses. In the Transient he will detect the Perennial, findsome firm footing even among Paper- vortexes. His fame is goneforth to all lands; it gladdened the heart of the crabbed oldFriend of Men himself before he died. The very Postilions of innshave heard of Mirabeau: when an impatient Traveller complains thatthe team is insufficient, his Postilion answers, "Yes, Monsieur,the wheelers are weak; but my mirabeau (main horse), you see, is aright one, mais mon mirabeau est excellent." (Dumont, Souvenirs surMirabeau, p. 255.) And now, Reader, thou shalt quit this noisy Discrepancy of aNational Assembly; not (if thou be of humane mind) without pity.Twelve Hundred brother men are there, in the centre of TwentyfiveMillions; fighting so fiercely with Fate and with one another;struggling their lives out, as most sons of Adam do, for that whichprofiteth not. Nay, on the whole, it is admitted further to be verydull. "Dull as this day's Assembly," said some one. "Why date,Pourquoi dater?" answered Mirabeau. Consider that they are Twelve Hundred; that they not only speak,but read their speeches; and even borrow and steal speeches toread! With Twelve Hundred fluent speakers, and their Noah's Delugeof vociferous commonplace, unattainable silence may well seem theone blessing of Life. But figure Twelve Hundred pamphleteers;droning forth perpetual pamphlets: and no man to gag them! Neither,as in the American Congress, do the arrangements seem perfect. ASenator has not his own Desk and Newspaper here; of Tobacco (muchless of Pipes) there is not the slightest provision. Conversationitself must be transacted in a low tone, with continualinterruption: only 'pencil Notes' circulate freely; 'in incrediblenumbers to the foot of the very tribune.' (See Dumont (pp. 159-67);Arthur Young, &c.)--Such work is it, regenerating a Nation;perfecting one's Theory of Irregular Verbs!
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.VI. ConsolidationChapter 1.6.III. The General Overturn
Of the King's Court, for the present, there is almost nothingwhatever to be said. Silent, deserted are these halls; Royaltylanguishes forsaken of its war-god and all its hopes, till once theOeil-deBoeuf rally again. The sceptre is departed from King Louis;is gone over to the Salles des Menus, to the Paris Townhall, or oneknows not whither. In the July days, while all ears were yetdeafened by the crash of the Bastille, and Ministers and Princeswere scattered to the four winds, it seemed as if the very Valetshad grown heavy of hearing. Besenval, also in flight towardsInfinite Space, but hovering a little at Versailles, was addressinghis Majesty personally for an Order about posthorses; when, lo,'the Valet in waiting places himself familiarly between his Majestyand me,' stretching out his rascal neck to learn what it was! HisMajesty, in sudden choler, whirled round; made a clutch at thetongs: 'I gently prevented him; he grasped my hand in thankfulness;and I noticed tears in his eyes.' (Besenval, iii. 419.)
Poor King; for French Kings also are men! Louis Fourteenthhimself once clutched the tongs, and even smote with them; but thenit was at Louvois, and Dame Maintenon ran up.--The Queen sitsweeping in her inner apartments, surrounded by weak women: she is'at the height of unpopularity;' universally regarded as the evilgenius of France. Her friends and familiar counsellors have allfled; and fled, surely, on the foolishest errand. The ChateauPolignac still frowns aloft, on its 'bold and enormous' cubicalrock, amid the blooming champaigns, amid the blue girdlingmountains of Auvergne: (Arthur Young, i. 165.) but no Duke andDuchess Polignac look forth from it; they have fled, they have 'metNecker at Bale;' they shall not return. That France should see herNobles resist the Irresistible, Inevitable, with the face of angrymen, was unhappy, not unexpected: but with the face and sense ofpettish children? This was her peculiarity. They understoodnothing; would understand nothing. Does not, at this hour, a newPolignac, first-born of these Two, sit reflective in the Castle ofHam; (A.D. 1835.) in an astonishment he will never recover from;the most confused of existing mortals? King Louis has his new Ministry: mere Popularities;Old-President Pompignan; Necker, coming back in triumph; and othersuch. (Montgaillard, ii. 108.) But what will it avail him? As wassaid, the sceptre, all but the wooden gilt sceptre, has departedelsewhither. Volition, determination is not in this man: onlyinnocence, indolence; dependence on all persons but himself, on allcircumstances but the circumstances he were lord of. So troublousinternally is our Versailles and its work. Beautiful, if seen fromafar, resplendent like a Sun; seen near at hand, a mere Sun'sAtmosphere, hiding darkness, confused ferment of ruin! But over France, there goes on the indisputablest 'destructionof formulas;' transaction of realities that follow therefrom. Somany millions of persons, all gyved, and nigh strangled, withformulas; whose Life nevertheless, at least the digestion andhunger of it, was real enough! Heaven has at length sent anabundant harvest; but what profits it the poor man, when Earth withher formulas interposes? Industry, in these times of Insurrection,must needs lie dormant; capital, as usual, not circulating, butstagnating timorously in nooks. The poor man is short of work, istherefore short of money; nay even had he money, bread is not to bebought for it. Were it plotting of Aristocrats, plotting ofd'Orleans; were it Brigands, preternatural terror, and the clang ofPhoebus Apollo's silver bow,--enough, the markets are scarce ofgrain, plentiful only in tumult. Farmers seem lazy tothresh;--being either 'bribed;' or needing no bribe, with pricesever rising, with perhaps rent itself no longer so pressing.Neither, what is singular, do municipal enactments, 'That alongwith so many measures of wheat you shall sell so many of rye,' andother the like, much mend the matter. Dragoons with drawn swordsstand ranked among the corn-sacks, often more dragoons than sacks.(Arthur Young, i. 129, &c.) Meal-mobs abound; growing into mobsof a still darker quality. Starvation has been known among the French Commonalty beforethis; known and familiar. Did we not see them, in the year 1775,presenting, in sallow faces, in wretchedness and raggedness, theirPetition of Grievances; and, for answer, getting a brand-newGallows forty feet high? Hunger and Darkness, through long years!For look back on that earlier Paris Riot, when a Great Personage,worn out by debauchery, was believed to be in want of Blood-baths;and Mothers, in worn raiment, yet with living hearts under it,'filled the public places' with their wild Rachelcries,--stilledalso by the Gallows. Twenty years ago, the Friend of Men (preachingto the deaf) described the Limousin Peasants as wearing apain-stricken (souffre- douleur) look, a look past
complaint, 'asif the oppression of the great were like the hail and the thunder,a thing irremediable, the ordinance of Nature.' (Fils Adoptif:Memoires de Mirabeau, i. 364-394.) And now, if in some great hour,the shock of a falling Bastille should awaken you; and it werefound to be the ordinance of Art merely; and remediable,reversible! Or has the Reader forgotten that 'flood of savages,' which, insight of the same Friend of Men, descended from the mountains atMont d'Or? Lank-haired haggard faces; shapes rawboned, in highsabots; in woollen jupes, with leather girdles studded withcopper-nails! They rocked from foot to foot, and beat time withtheir elbows too, as the quarrel and battle which was not long inbeginning went on; shouting fiercely; the lank faces distorted intothe similitude of a cruel laugh. For they were darkened andhardened: long had they been the prey of excise-men and taxmen; of'clerks with the cold spurt of their pen.' It was the fixedprophecy of our old Marquis, which no man would listen to, that'such Government by Blind-man's-buff, stumbling along too far,would end by the General Overturn, the Culbute Generale!' No man would listen, each went his thoughtless way;--and Timeand Destiny also travelled on. The Government by Blind-man's-buff,stumbling along, has reached the precipice inevitable for it. DullDrudgery, driven on, by clerks with the cold dastard spurt of theirpen, has been driven-into a Communion of Drudges! For now,moreover, there have come the strangest confused tidings; by ParisJournals with their paper wings; or still more portentous, where noJournals are, (See Arthur Young, i. 137, 150, &c.) by rumourand conjecture: Oppression not inevitable; a Bastille prostrate,and the Constitution fast getting ready! Which Constitution, if itbe something and not nothing, what can it be but bread to eat? The Traveller, 'walking up hill bridle in hand,' overtakes 'apoor woman;' the image, as such commonly are, of drudgery andscarcity; 'looking sixty years of age, though she is not yettwentyeight.' They have seven children, her poor drudge and she: afarm, with one cow, which helps to make the children soup; also onelittle horse, or garron. They have rents and quit-rents, Hens topay to this Seigneur, Oat-sacks to that; King's taxes,Statute-labour, Church-taxes, taxes enough;--and think the timesinexpressible. She has heard that somewhere, in some manner,something is to be done for the poor: "God send it soon; for thedues and taxes crush us down (nous ecrasent)!" (Ibid. i. 134.) Fair prophecies are spoken, but they are not fulfilled. Therehave been Notables, Assemblages, turnings out and comings in.Intriguing and manoeuvring; Parliamentary eloquence and arguing,Greek meeting Greek in high places, has long gone on; yet stillbread comes not. The harvest is reaped and garnered; yet still wehave no bread. Urged by despair and by hope, what can Drudgery do,but rise, as predicted, and produce the General Overturn? Fancy, then, some Five full-grown Millions of such gauntfigures, with their haggard faces (figures haves); in woollenjupes, with copper-studded leather girths, and highsabots,--starting up to ask, as in forest- roarings, their washedUpper-Classes, after long unreviewed centuries, virtually thisquestion: How have ye treated us; how have ye taught us, fed us,and led us, while we toiled for you? The answer can be read inflames, over the nightly summer sky. This is the feeding andleading we have had of you: emptiness,--of pocket, ofstomach, of head, and of heart. Behold there is nothing in us;nothing but what Nature gives her wild children of the
desert:Ferocity and Appetite; Strength grounded on Hunger. Did ye markamong your Rights of Man, that man was not to die of starvation,while there was bread reaped by him? It is among the Mights ofMan. Seventy-two Chateaus have flamed aloft in the Maconnais andBeaujolais alone: this seems the centre of the conflagration; butit has spread over Dauphine, Alsace, the Lyonnais; the wholeSouth-East is in a blaze. All over the North, from Rouen to Metz,disorder is abroad: smugglers of salt go openly in armed bands: thebarriers of towns are burnt; toll-gatherers, taxgatherers,official persons put to flight. 'It was thought,' says Young, 'thepeople, from hunger, would revolt;' and we see they have done it.Desperate Lackalls, long prowling aimless, now finding hope indesperation itself, everywhere form a nucleus. They ring the Churchbell by way of tocsin: and the Parish turns out to the work. (SeeHist. Parl. ii. 243-6.) Ferocity, atrocity; hunger and revenge:such work as we can imagine! Ill stands it now with the Seigneur, who, for example, 'haswalled up the only Fountain of the Township;' who has ridden highon his chartier and parchments; who has preserved Game not wiselybut too well. Churches also, and Canonries, are sacked, withoutmercy; which have shorn the flock too close, forgetting to feed it.Wo to the land over which Sansculottism, in its day of vengeance,tramps roughshod,--shod in sabots! Highbred Seigneurs, with theirdelicate women and little ones, had to 'fly half- naked,' undercloud of night; glad to escape the flames, and even worse. You meetthem at the tables-d'hote of inns; making wise reflections orfoolish that 'rank is destroyed;' uncertain whither they shall nowwend. (See Young, i. 149, &c.) The metayer will find itconvenient to be slack in paying rent. As for the Tax-gatherer, he,long hunting as a biped of prey, may now get hunted as one; hisMajesty's Exchequer will not 'fill up the Deficit,' this season: itis the notion of many that a Patriot Majesty, being the Restorer ofFrench Liberty, has abolished most taxes, though, for their privateends, some men make a secret of it. Where this will end? In the Abyss, one may prophecy; whither allDelusions are, at all moments, travelling; where this Delusion hasnow arrived. For if there be a Faith, from of old, it is this, aswe often repeat, that no Lie can live for ever. The very Truth hasto change its vesture, from time to time; and be born again. Butall Lies have sentence of death written down against them, andHeaven's Chancery itself; and, slowly or fast, advance incessantlytowards their hour. 'The sign of a Grand Seigneur being landlord,'says the vehement plain-spoken Arthur Young, 'are wastes, landes,deserts, ling: go to his residence, you will find it in the middleof a forest, peopled with deer, wild boars and wolves. The fieldsare scenes of pitiable management, as the houses are of misery. Tosee so many millions of hands, that would be industrious, all idleand starving: Oh, if I were legislator of France, for one day, Iwould make these great lords skip again!' (Arthur Young, i. 12, 48,84, &c.) O Arthur, thou now actually beholdest them skip:--wiltthou grow to grumble at that too? For long years and generations it lasted, but the time came.Featherbrain, whom no reasoning and no pleading could touch, theglare of the firebrand had to illuminate: there remained but thatmethod. Consider it, look at it! The widow is gathering nettles forher children's dinner; a perfumed Seigneur, delicately lounging inthe Oeil-de-Boeuf, has an alchemy whereby he will extract from herthe third nettle, and name it Rent and Law: such an arrangementmust end. Ought
it? But, O most fearful is such an ending! Letthose, to whom God, in His great mercy, has granted time and space,prepare another and milder one. To women it is a matter of wonder that the Seigneurs did not dosomething to help themselves; say, combine, and arm: for there werea 'hundred and fifty thousand of them,' all violent enough.Unhappily, a hundred and fifty thousand, scattered over wideProvinces, divided by mutual ill-will, cannot combine. The highestSeigneurs, as we have seen, had already emigrated,-with a view ofputting France to the blush. Neither are arms now the peculiarproperty of Seigneurs; but of every mortal who has ten shillings,wherewith to buy a secondhand firelock. Besides, those starving Peasants, after all, have not four feetand claws, that you could keep them down permanently in thatmanner. They are not even of black colour; they are mere UnwashedSeigneurs; and a Seigneur too has human bowels!--The Seigneurs didwhat they could; enrolled in National Guards; fled, with shrieks,complaining to Heaven and Earth. One Seigneur, famed Memmay ofQuincey, near Vesoul, invited all the rustics of his neighbourhoodto a banquet; blew up his Chateau and them with gunpowder; andinstantaneously vanished, no man yet knows whither. (Hist. Parl.ii. 161.) Some half dozen years after, he came back; anddemonstrated that it was by accident. Nor are the authorities idle: though unluckily, all Authorities,Municipalities and such like, are in the uncertain transitionarystate; getting regenerated from old Monarchic to new Democratic; noOfficial yet knows clearly what he is. Nevertheless, Mayors old ornew do gather Marechaussees, National Guards, Troops of the line;justice, of the most summary sort, is not wanting. The ElectoralCommittee of Macon, though but a Committee, goes the length ofhanging, for its own behoof, as many as twenty. The Prevot ofDauphine traverses the country 'with a movable column,' withtipstaves, gallows-ropes; for gallows any tree will serve, andsuspend its culprit, or 'thirteen' culprits. Unhappy country! How is the fair gold-and-green of the ripebright Year defaced with horrid blackness: black ashes of Chateaus,black bodies of gibetted Men! Industry has ceased in it; not soundsof the hammer and saw, but of the tocsin and alarm-drum. Thesceptre has departed, whither one knows not;--breaking itself inpieces: here impotent, there tyrannous. National Guards areunskilful, and of doubtful purpose; Soldiers are inclined tomutiny: there is danger that they two may quarrel, danger that theymay agree. Strasburg has seen riots: a Townhall torn to shreds, itsarchives scattered white on the winds; drunk soldiers embracingdrunk citizens for three days, and Mayor Dietrich and MarshalRochambeau reduced nigh to desperation. (Arthur Young, i.141.--Dampmartin: Evenemens qui se sont passes sous mes yeux, i.105-127.) Through the middle of all which phenomena, is seen, on histriumphant transit, 'escorted,' through Befort for instance, 'byfifty National Horsemen and all the military music of theplace,'--M. Necker, returning from Bale! Glorious as the meridian;though poor Necker himself partly guesses whither it is leading.(Biographie Universelle, para Necker (by Lally-Tollendal).) Onehighest culminating day, at the Paris Townhall; with immortalvivats, with wife and daughter kneeling publicly to kiss his hand;with Besenval's pardon granted,--but indeed revoked before sunset:one highest day, but then lower days, and ever lower, down even tolowest! Such magic is in a name; and in the want of a name. Likesome enchanted Mambrino's Helmet, essential to
victory, comes this'Saviour of France;' beshouted, becymballed by the world:--alas, sosoon, to be disenchanted, to be pitched shamefully over the listsas a Barber's Bason! Gibbon 'could wish to shew him' (in thisejected, Barber's-Bason state) to any man of solidity, who wereminded to have the soul burnt out of him, and become a caputmortuum, by Ambition, unsuccessful or successful. (Gibbon'sLetters.) Another small phasis we add, and no more: how, in the Autumnmonths, our sharp-tempered Arthur has been 'pestered for some dayspast,' by shot, lead-drops and slugs, 'rattling five or six timesinto my chaise and about my ears;' all the mob of the country goneout to kill game! (Young, i. 176.) It is even so. On the Cliffs ofDover, over all the Marches of France, there appear, this autumn,two Signs on the Earth: emigrant flights of French Seigneurs;emigrant winged flights of French Game! Finished, one may say, oras good as finished, is the Preservation of Game on this Earth;completed for endless Time. What part it had to play in the Historyof Civilisation is played plaudite; exeat! In this manner does Sansculottism blaze up, illustrating manythings;-- producing, among the rest, as we saw, on the Fourth ofAugust, that semi- miraculous Night of Pentecost in the NationalAssembly; semi miraculous, which had its causes, and its effects.Feudalism is struck dead; not on parchment only, and by ink; but invery fact, by fire; say, by self- combustion. This conflagration ofthe South-East will abate; will be got scattered, to the West, orelsewhither: extinguish it will not, till the fuel be all done.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.VI. ConsolidationChapter 1.6.IV. In Queue
If we look now at Paris, one thing is too evident: that theBaker's shops have got their Queues, or Tails; their long stringsof purchasers, arranged in tail, so that the first come be thefirst served,-were the shop once open! This waiting in tail, notseen since the early days of July, again makes its appearance inAugust. In time, we shall see it perfected by practice to the rankalmost of an art; and the art, or quasi-art, of standing in tailbecome one of the characteristics of the Parisian People,distinguishing them from all other Peoples whatsoever. But consider, while work itself is so scarce, how a man must notonly realise money; but stand waiting (if his wife is too weak towait and struggle) for half days in the Tail, till he get itchanged for dear bad bread! Controversies, to the length, sometimesof blood and battery, must arise in these exasperated Queues. Or ifno controversy, then it is but one accordant Pange Lingua ofcomplaint against the Powers that be. France has begun her longCurriculum of Hungering, instructive and productive beyond AcademicCurriculums; which extends over some seven most strenuous years. AsJean Paul says, of his own Life, 'to a great height shall thebusiness of Hungering go.' Or consider, in strange contrast, the jubilee Ceremonies; for,in general, the aspect of Paris presents these two features:jubilee ceremonials and scarcity of victual. Processions enoughwalk in jubilee; of Young Women, decked and dizened, their ribandsall tricolor; moving with song and tabor, to the Shrine of SainteGenevieve, to thank her that the Bastille is down. The Strong
Menof the Market, and the Strong Women, fail not with their bouquetsand speeches. Abbe Fauchet, famed in such work (for Abbe Lefevrecould only distribute powder) blesses tricolor cloth for theNational Guard; and makes it a National Tricolor Flag; victorious,or to be victorious, in the cause of civil and religious libertyall over the world. Fauchet, we say, is the man for TeDeums, andpublic Consecrations;--to which, as in this instance of the Flag,our National Guard will 'reply with volleys of musketry,' Churchand Cathedral though it be; (See Hist. Parl. iii. 20; Mercier,Nouveau Paris, &c.) filling Notre Dame with such noisiestfuliginous Amen, significant of several things. On the whole, we will say our new Mayor Bailly; our newCommander Lafayette, named also 'Scipio-Americanus,' have boughttheir preferment dear. Bailly rides in gilt state-coach, withbeefeaters and sumptuosity; Camille Desmoulins, and others,sniffing at him for it: Scipio bestrides the 'white charger,' andwaves with civic plumes in sight of all France. Neither of them,however, does it for nothing; but, in truth, at an exorbitant rate.At this rate, namely: of feeding Paris, and keeping it fromfighting. Out of the City-funds, some seventeen thousand of theutterly destitute are employed digging on Montmartre, at tenpence aday, which buys them, at market price, almost two pounds of badbread;--they look very yellow, when Lafayette goes to haranguethem. The Townhall is in travail, night and day; it must bringforth Bread, a Municipal Constitution, regulations of all kinds,curbs on the Sansculottic Press; above all, Bread, Bread. Purveyors prowl the country far and wide, with the appetite oflions; detect hidden grain, purchase open grain; by gentle means orforcible, must and will find grain. A most thankless task; and sodifficult, so dangerous,--even if a man did gain some trifle by it!On the 19th August, there is food for one day. (See Bailly,Memoires, ii. 137-409.) Complaints there are that the food isspoiled, and produces an effect on the intestines: not corn butplaster-of-Paris! Which effect on the intestines, as well as that'smarting in the throat and palate,' a Townhall Proclamation warnsyou to disregard, or even to consider as drastic- beneficial. TheMayor of Saint-Denis, so black was his bread, has, by a dyspepticpopulace, been hanged on the Lanterne there. National Guardsprotect the Paris Corn-Market: first ten suffice; then six hundred.(Hist. Parl. ii. 421.) Busy are ye, Bailly, Brissot de Warville,Condorcet, and ye others! For, as just hinted, there is a Municipal Constitution to bemade too. The old Bastille Electors, after some ten days ofpsalmodying over their glorious victory, began to hear it asked, ina splenetic tone, Who put you there? They accordingly had to giveplace, not without moanings, and audible growlings on both sides,to a new larger Body, specially elected for that post. Which newBody, augmented, altered, then fixed finally at the number of ThreeHundred, with the title of Town Representatives (Representans de laCommune), now sits there; rightly portioned into Committees;assiduous making a Constitution; at all moments when not seekingflour. And such a Constitution; little short of miraculous: one thatshall 'consolidate the Revolution'! The Revolution is finished,then? Mayor Bailly and all respectable friends of Freedom wouldfain think so. Your Revolution, like jelly sufficiently boiled,needs only to be poured into shapes, of Constitution, and'consolidated' therein? Could it, indeed, contrive to cool; whichlast, however, is precisely the doubtful thing, or even the notdoubtful!
Unhappy friends of Freedom; consolidating a Revolution! Theymust sit at work there, their pavilion spread on very Chaos;between two hostile worlds, the Upper Court-world, the NetherSansculottic one; and, beaten on by both, toil painfully,perilously,--doing, in sad literal earnest, 'the impossible.'
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Pamphleteering opens its abysmal throat wider and wider: neverto close more. Our Philosophes, indeed, rather withdraw; after themanner of Marmontel, 'retiring in disgust the first day.' AbbeRaynal, grown gray and quiet in his Marseilles domicile, is littlecontent with this work; the last literary act of the man will againbe an act of rebellion: an indignant Letter to the ConstituentAssembly; answered by 'the order of the day.' Thus also PhilosopheMorellet puckers discontented brows; being indeed threatened in hisbenefices by that Fourth of August: it is clearly going too far.How astonishing that those 'haggard figures in woollen jupes' wouldnot rest as satisfied with Speculation, and victorious Analysis, aswe! Alas, yes: Speculation, Philosophism, once the ornament andwealth of the saloon, will now coin itself into mere PracticalPropositions, and circulate on street and highway, universally;with results! A Fourth Estate, of Able Editors, springs up;increases and multiplies; irrepressible, incalculable. NewPrinters, new Journals, and ever new (so prurient is the world),let our Three Hundred curb and consolidate as they can! Loustalot,under the wing of Prudhomme dullblustering Printer, edits weeklyhis Revolutions de Paris; in an acrid, emphatic manner. Acrid,corrosive, as the spirit of sloes and copperas, is Marat, Friend ofthe People; struck already with the fact that the NationalAssembly, so full of Aristocrats, 'can do nothing,' except dissolveitself, and make way for a better; that the TownhallRepresentatives are little other than babblers and imbeciles, ifnot even knaves. Poor is this man; squalid, and dwells in garrets;a man unlovely to the sense, outward and inward; a man forbid;--and is becoming fanatical, possessed with fixed-idea. Cruel lususof Nature! Did Nature, O poor Marat, as in cruel sport, knead theeout of her leavings, and miscellaneous waste clay; and fling theeforth stepdamelike, a Distraction into this distracted EighteenthCentury? Work is appointed thee there; which thou shalt do. TheThree Hundred have summoned and will again summon Marat: but alwayshe croaks forth answer sufficient; always he will defy them, orelude them; and endure no gag. Carra, 'Ex-secretary of a decapitated Hospodar,' and then of aNecklace- Cardinal; likewise pamphleteer, Adventurer in many scenesand lands,--draws nigh to Mercier, of the Tableau de Paris; and,with foam on his lips, proposes an Annales Patriotiques. TheMoniteur goes its prosperous way; Barrere 'weeps,' on Paper as yetloyal; Rivarol, Royou are not idle. Deep calls to deep: your DomineSalvum Fac Regem shall awaken Pange Lingua; with an Ami-du-Peuplethere is a King's-Friend Newspaper, Ami-du-Roi. Camille Desmoulinshas appointed himself Procureur-General de la Lanterne,Attorney-General of the Lamp-iron; and pleads, not with atrocity,under an atrocious title; editing weekly his brilliant Revolutionsof Paris and Brabant. Brilliant, we say: for if, in that thick murkof Journalism, with its dull blustering, with its fixed or loosefury, any ray of genius greet thee, be sure it is Camille's. Thething that Camille teaches he, with his light finger, adorns:brightness plays, gentle, unexpected, amid horrible confusions;often
is the word of Camille worth reading, when no other's is.Questionable Camille, how thou glitterest with a fallen,rebellious, yet still semi-celestial light; as is the star-light onthe brow of Lucifer! Son of the Morning, into what times and whatlands, art thou fallen! But in all things is good;--though not good for 'consolidatingRevolutions.' Thousand wagonloads of this Pamphleteering andNewspaper matter, lie rotting slowly in the Public Libraries of ourEurope. Snatched from the great gulf, like oysters by bibliomaniacpearl-divers, there must they first rot, then what was pearl, inCamille or others, may be seen as such, and continue as such. Nor has public speaking declined, though Lafayette and hisPatrols look sour on it. Loud always is the Palais Royal, loudestthe Cafe de Foy; such a miscellany of Citizens and Citizenessescirculating there. 'Now and then,' according to Camille, 'someCitizens employ the liberty of the press for a private purpose; sothat this or the other Patriot finds himself short of his watch orpocket-handkerchief!' But, for the rest, in Camille's opinion,nothing can be a livelier image of the Roman Forum. 'A Patriotproposes his motion; if it finds any supporters, they make himmount on a chair, and speak. If he is applauded, he prospers andredacts; if he is hissed, he goes his ways.' Thus they, circulatingand perorating. Tall shaggy Marquis Saint-Huruge, a man that hashad losses, and has deserved them, is seen eminent, and also heard.'Bellowing' is the character of his voice, like that of a Bull ofBashan; voice which drowns all voices, which causes frequently thehearts of men to leap. Cracked or half-cracked is this tallMarquis's head; uncracked are his lungs; the cracked and theuncracked shall alike avail him. Consider further that each of the Forty-eight Districts has itsown Committee; speaking and motioning continually; aiding in thesearch for grain, in the search for a Constitution; checking andspurring the poor Three Hundred of the Townhall. That Danton, witha 'voice reverberating from the domes,' is President of theCordeliers District; which has already become a Goshen ofPatriotism. That apart from the 'seventeen thousand utterlynecessitous, digging on Montmartre,' most of whom, indeed, have gotpasses, and been dismissed into Space 'with four shillings,'--thereis a strike, or union, of Domestics out of place; who assemble forpublic speaking: next, a strike of Tailors, for even they willstrike and speak; further, a strike of Journeymen Cordwainers; astrike of Apothecaries: so dear is bread. (Histoire Parlementaire,ii. 359, 417, 423.) All these, having struck, must speak; generallyunder the open canopy; and pass resolutions;--Lafayette and hisPatrols watching them suspiciously from the distance. Unhappy mortals: such tugging and lugging, and throttling of oneanother, to divide, in some not intolerable way, the joint Felicityof man in this Earth; when the whole lot to be divided is such a'feast of shells!'-- Diligent are the Three Hundred; none equalsScipio Americanus in dealing with mobs. But surely all these thingsbode ill for the consolidating of a Revolution.
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No, Friends, this Revolution is not of the consolidating kind.Do not fires, fevers, sown seeds, chemical mixtures, men, events;all embodiments of Force that work in this miraculous Complex
ofForces, named Universe,-- go on growing, through their naturalphases and developments, each according to its kind; reach theirheight, reach their visible decline; finally sink under, vanishing,and what we call die? They all grow; there is nothing but whatgrows, and shoots forth into its special expansion,-- once give itleave to spring. Observe too that each grows with a rapidityproportioned, in general, to the madness and unhealthiness there isin it: slow regular growth, though this also ends in death, is whatwe name health and sanity. A Sansculottism, which has prostrated Bastilles, which has gotpike and musket, and now goes burning Chateaus, passing resolutionsand haranguing under roof and sky, may be said to have sprung; and,by law of Nature, must grow. To judge by the madness anddiseasedness both of itself, and of the soil and element it is in,one might expect the rapidity and monstrosity would be extreme. Many things too, especially all diseased things, grow by shootsand fits. The first grand fit and shooting forth of Sansculottismwith that of Paris conquering its King; for Bailly's figure ofrhetoric was all-too sad a reality. The King is conquered; going atlarge on his parole; on condition, say, of absolutely goodbehaviour,--which, in these circumstances, will unhappily mean nobehaviour whatever. A quite untenable position, that of Majesty puton its good behaviour! Alas, is it not natural that whatever livestry to keep itself living? Whereupon his Majesty's behaviour willsoon become exceptionable; and so the Second grand Fit ofSansculottism, that of putting him in durance, cannot bedistant. Necker, in the National Assembly, is making moan, as usual abouthis Deficit: Barriers and Customhouses burnt; the Tax-gathererhunted, not hunting; his Majesty's Exchequer all but empty. Theremedy is a Loan of thirty millions; then, on still more enticingterms, a Loan of eighty millions: neither of which Loans,unhappily, will the Stockjobbers venture to lend. The Stockjobberhas no country, except his own black pool of Agio. And yet, in those days, for men that have a country, what a glowof patriotism burns in many a heart; penetrating inwards to thevery purse! So early as the 7th of August, a Don Patriotique, 'aPatriotic Gift of jewels to a considerable extent,' has beensolemnly made by certain Parisian women; and solemnly accepted,with honourable mention. Whom forthwith all the world takes toimitating and emulating. Patriotic Gifts, always with some heroiceloquence, which the President must answer and the Assembly listento, flow in from far and near: in such number that the honourablemention can only be performed in 'lists published at statedepochs.' Each gives what he can: the very cordwainers have behavedmunificently; one landed proprietor gives a forest; fashionablesociety gives its shoebuckles, takes cheerfully to shoe-ties.Unfortunate females give what they 'have amassed in loving.'(Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 427.) The smell of all cash, asVespasian thought, is good. Beautiful, and yet inadequate! The Clergy must be 'invited' tomelt their superfluous Churchplate,--in the Royal Mint. Nayfinally, a Patriotic Contribution, of the forcible sort, must bedetermined on, though unwillingly: let the fourth part of yourdeclared yearly revenue, for this once only, be paid down; so shalla National Assembly make the Constitution, undistracted at least byinsolvency. Their own wages, as settled on the 17th of August, arebut Eighteen Francs a day, each man; but the Public Service musthave sinews, must have money. To appease the
Deficit; not to'combler, or choke the Deficit,' if you or mortal could! Forwithal, as Mirabeau was heard saying, "it is the Deficit that savesus." Towards the end of August, our National Assembly in itsconstitutional labours, has got so far as the question of Veto:shall Majesty have a Veto on the National Enactments; or not have aVeto? What speeches were spoken, within doors and without; clear,and also passionate logic; imprecations, comminations; gonehappily, for most part, to Limbo! Through the cracked brain, anduncracked lungs of Saint-Huruge, the Palais Royal rebellows withVeto. Journalism is busy, France rings with Veto. 'I shall neverforget,' says Dumont, 'my going to Paris, one of these days, withMirabeau; and the crowd of people we found waiting for hiscarriage, about Le Jay the Bookseller's shop. They flung themselvesbefore him; conjuring him with tears in their eyes not to sufferthe Veto Absolu. They were in a frenzy: "Monsieur le Comte, you arethe people's father; you must save us; you must defend us againstthose villains who are bringing back Despotism. If the King getthis Veto, what is the use of National Assembly? We are slaves, allis done."' (Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, p. 156.) Friends, if the skyfall, there will be catching of larks! Mirabeau, adds Dumont, waseminent on such occasions: he answered vaguely, with a Patricianimperturbability, and bound himself to nothing. Deputations go to the Hotel-de-Ville; anonymous Letters toAristocrats in the National Assembly, threatening that fifteenthousand, or sometimes that sixty thousand, 'will march toilluminate you.' The Paris Districts are astir; Petitions signing:Saint-Huruge sets forth from the Palais Royal, with an escort offifteen hundred individuals, to petition in person. Resolute, orseemingly so, is the tall shaggy Marquis, is the Cafe de Foy: butresolute also is Commandant-General Lafayette. The streets are allbeset by Patrols: Saint-Huruge is stopped at the Barriere des BonHommes; he may bellow like the bulls of Bashan; but absolutely mustreturn. The brethren of the Palais Royal 'circulate all night,' andmake motions, under the open canopy; all Coffee-houses being shut.Nevertheless Lafayette and the Townhall do prevail: Saint-Huruge isthrown into prison; Veto Absolu adjusts itself into SuspensiveVeto, prohibition not forever, but for a term of time; and thisdoom's-clamour will grow silent, as the others have done. So far has Consolidation prospered, though with difficulty;repressing the Nether Sansculottic world; and the Constitutionshall be made. With difficulty: amid jubilee and scarcity;Patriotic Gifts, Bakers'-queues; Abbe-Fauchet Harangues, with theirAmen of platoon-musketry! Scipio Americanus has deserved thanksfrom the National Assembly and France. They offer him stipends andemoluments, to a handsome extent; all which stipends and emolumentshe, covetous of far other blessedness than mere money, does, in hischivalrous way, without scruple, refuse. To the Parisian common man, meanwhile, one thing remainsinconceivable: that now when the Bastille is down, and FrenchLiberty restored, grain should continue so dear. Our Rights of Manare voted, Feudalism and all Tyranny abolished; yet behold we standin queue! Is it Aristocrat forestallers; a Court still bent onintrigues? Something is rotten, somewhere. And yet, alas, what to do? Lafayette, with his Patrols prohibitsevery thing, even complaint. Saint-Huruge and other heroes of theVeto lie in durance. People's-Friend Marat was seized; Printers ofPatriotic Journals are fettered and forbidden; the very Hawkerscannot cry, till they get license, and leaden badges. Blue NationalGuards ruthlessly dissipate all groups; scour, with
levelledbayonets, the Palais Royal itself. Pass, on your affairs, along theRue Taranne, the Patrol, presenting his bayonet, cries, To theleft! Turn into the Rue Saint-Benoit, he cries, To the right! Ajudicious Patriot (like Camille Desmoulins, in this instance) isdriven, for quietness's sake, to take the gutter. O much-suffering People, our glorious Revolution is evaporatingin tricolor ceremonies, and complimentary harangues! Of whichlatter, as Loustalot acridly calculates, 'upwards of two thousandhave been delivered within the last month, at the Townhall alone.'(Revolutions de Paris Newspaper (cited in Histoire Parlementaire,ii. 357).) And our mouths, unfilled with bread, are to be shut,under penalties? The Caricaturist promulgates his emblematicTablature: Le Patrouillotisme chassant le Patriotisme, Patriotismdriven out by Patrollotism. Ruthless Patrols; long superfineharangues; and scanty ill-baked loaves, more like baked Bathbricks,--which produce an effect on the intestines! Where will thisend? In consolidation?
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For, alas, neither is the Townhall itself without misgivings.The Nether Sansculottic world has been suppressed hitherto: butthen the Upper Court- world! Symptoms there are that theOeil-deBoeuf is rallying. More than once in the Townhall Sanhedrim; often enough, fromthose outspoken Bakers'-queues, has the wish uttered itself: O thatour Restorer of French Liberty were here; that he could see withhis own eyes, not with the false eyes of Queens and Cabals, and hisreally good heart be enlightened! For falsehood still environs him;intriguing Dukes de Guiche, with Bodyguards; scouts of Bouille; anew flight of intriguers, now that the old is flown. What elsemeans this advent of the Regiment de Flandre; entering Versailles,as we hear, on the 23rd of September, with two pieces of cannon?Did not the Versailles National Guard do duty at the Chateau? Hadthey not Swiss; Hundred Swiss; Gardes-du-Corps, Bodyguardsso-called? Nay, it would seem, the number of Bodyguards on dutyhas, by a manoeuvre, been doubled: the new relieving Battalion ofthem arrived at its time; but the old relieved one does notdepart! Actually, there runs a whisper through the best informedUpper-Circles, or a nod still more potentous than whispering, ofhis Majesty's flying to Metz; of a Bond (to stand by him therein)which has been signed by Noblesse and Clergy, to the incredibleamount of thirty, or even of sixty thousand. Lafayette coldlywhispers it, and coldly asseverates it, to Count d'Estaing at theDinner-table; and d'Estaing, one of the bravest men, quakes to thecore lest some lackey overhear it; and tumbles thoughtful, withoutsleep, all night. (Brouillon de Lettre de M. d'Estaing a la Reine(in Histoire Parlementaire, iii. 24.) Regiment Flandre, as we said,is clearly arrived. His Majesty, they say, hesitates aboutsanctioning the Fourth of August; makes observations, of chillingtenor, on the very Rights of Man! Likewise, may not all persons,the Bakers'-queues themselves discern on the streets of Paris, themost astonishing number of Officers on furlough, Crosses of St.Louis, and such like? Some reckon 'from a thousand to twelvehundred.' Officers of all uniforms; nay one uniform never beforeseen by eye: green faced with red! The tricolor
cockade is notalways visible: but what, in the name of Heaven, may these blackcockades, which some wear, foreshadow? Hunger whets everything, especially Suspicion and Indignation.Realities themselves, in this Paris, have grown unreal:preternatural. Phantasms once more stalk through the brain ofhungry France. O ye laggards and dastards, cry shrill voices fromthe Queues, if ye had the hearts of men, ye would take your pikesand secondhand firelocks, and look into it; not leave your wivesand daughters to be starved, murdered, and worse!--Peace, women!The heart of man is bitter and heavy; Patriotism, driven out byPatrollotism, knows not what to resolve on. The truth is, the Oeil-de-Boeuf has rallied; to a certainunknown extent. A changed Oeil-deBoeuf; with Versailles NationalGuards, in their tricolor cockades, doing duty there; a Court allflaring with tricolor! Yet even to a tricolor Court men will rally.Ye loyal hearts, burnt-out Seigneurs, rally round your Queen! Withwishes; which will produce hopes; which will produce attempts! For indeed self-preservation being such a law of Nature, whatcan a rallied Court do, but attempt and endeavour, or call itplot,--with such wisdom and unwisdom as it has? They will fly,escorted, to Metz, where brave Bouille commands; they will raisethe Royal Standard: the Bond-signatures shall become armed men.Were not the King so languid! Their Bond, if at all signed, must besigned without his privity.--Unhappy King, he has but oneresolution: not to have a civil war. For the rest, he still hunts,having ceased lockmaking; he still dozes, and digests; is clay inthe hands of the potter. Ill will it fare with him, in a worldwhere all is helping itself; where, as has been written, 'whosoeveris not hammer must be stithy;' and 'the very hyssop on the wallgrows there, in that chink, because the whole Universe could notprevent its growing!' But as for the coming up of this Regiment de Flandre, may it notbe urged that there were SaintHuruge Petitions, and continualmeal-mobs? Undebauched Soldiers, be there plot, or only dimelements of a plot, are always good. Did not the VersaillesMunicipality (an old Monarchic one, not yet refounded into aDemocratic) instantly second the proposal? Nay the very VersaillesNational Guard, wearied with continual duty at the Chateau, did notobject; only Draper Lecointre, who is now Major Lecointre, shookhis head.--Yes, Friends, surely it was natural this Regiment deFlandre should be sent for, since it could be got. It was naturalthat, at sight of military bandoleers, the heart of the ralliedOeil-de-Boeuf should revive; and Maids of Honour, and gentlemen ofhonour, speak comfortable words to epauletted defenders, and to oneanother. Natural also, and mere common civility, that theBodyguards, a Regiment of Gentlemen, should invite their Flandrebrethren to a Dinner of welcome!--Such invitation, in the last daysof September, is given and accepted. Dinners are defined as 'the ultimate act of communion;' men thatcan have communion in nothing else, can sympathetically eattogether, can still rise into some glow of brotherhood over foodand wine. The dinner is fixed on, for Thursday the First ofOctober; and ought to have a fine effect. Further, as such Dinnermay be rather extensive, and even the Noncommissioned and theCommon man be introduced, to see and to hear, could not HisMajesty's Opera Apartment, which has lain quite silent ever sinceKaiser Joseph was here, be obtained for the purpose?--The Hall ofthe Opera is granted; the Salon d'Hercule shall be drawingroom. Notonly the Officers of
Flandre, but of the Swiss, of the HundredSwiss, nay of the Versailles National Guard, such of them as haveany loyalty, shall feast: it will be a Repast like few. And now suppose this Repast, the solid part of it, transacted;and the first bottle over. Suppose the customary loyal toastsdrunk; the King's health, the Queen's with deafening vivats;--thatof the Nation 'omitted,' or even 'rejected.' Suppose champagneflowing; with pot-valorous speech, with instrumental music; emptyfeathered heads growing ever the noisier, in their own emptiness,in each other's noise! Her Majesty, who looks unusually sadto-night (his Majesty sitting dulled with the day's hunting), istold that the sight of it would cheer her. Behold! She entersthere, issuing from her State-rooms, like the Moon from the clouds,this fairest unhappy Queen of Hearts; royal Husband by her side,young Dauphin in her arms! She descends from the Boxes, amidsplendour and acclaim; walks queen-like, round the Tables;gracefully escorted, gracefully nodding; her looks full of sorrow,yet of gratitude and daring, with the hope of France on hermother-bosom! And now, the band striking up, O Richard, O mon Roi,l'univers t'abandonne (O Richard, O my King, and world is allforsaking thee)--could man do other than rise to height of pity, ofloyal valour? Could featherheaded young ensigns do other than, bywhite Bourbon Cockades, handed them from fair fingers; by waving ofswords, drawn to pledge the Queen's health; by trampling ofNational Cockades; by scaling the Boxes, whence intrusive murmursmay come; by vociferation, tripudiation, sound, fury anddistraction, within doors and without,--testify what tempest-toststate of vacuity they are in? Till champagne and tripudiation dotheir work; and all lie silent, horizontal; passively slumbering,with meed-of- battle dreams!-A natural Repast, in ordinary times, a harmless one: now fatal,as that of Thyestes; as that of Job's Sons, when a strong windsmote the four corners of their banquet-house! Poor ill-advisedMarieAntoinette; with a woman's vehemence, not with a sovereign'sforesight! It was so natural, yet so unwise. Next day, in publicspeech of ceremony, her Majesty declares herself 'delighted withthe Thursday.' The heart of the Oeil-de-Boeuf glows into hope; into daring,which is premature. Rallied Maids of Honour, waited on by Abbes,sew 'white cockades;' distribute them, with words, with glances, toepauletted youths; who in return, may kiss, not without fervour,the fair sewing fingers. Captains of horse and foot go swashingwith 'enormous white cockades;' nay one Versailles National Captainhad mounted the like, so witching were the words and glances; andlaid aside his tricolor! Well may Major Lecointre shake his headwith a look of severity; and speak audible resentful words. But nowa swashbuckler, with enormous white cockade, overhearing the Major,invites him insolently, once and then again elsewhere, to recant;and failing that, to duel. Which latter feat Major Lecointredeclares that he will not perform, not at least by any known lawsof fence; that he nevertheless will, according to mere law ofNature, by dirk and blade, 'exterminate' any 'vile gladiator,' whomay insult him or the Nation;-- whereupon (for the Major isactually drawing his implement) 'they are parted,' and no weasandsslit. (Moniteur (in Histoire Parlementaire, iii. 59); Deux Amis(iii. 128-141); Campan (ii. 70-85), &c. &c.)
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.VII. The Insurrection of WomenChapter 1.7.III. Black Cockades
But fancy what effect this Thyestes Repast and trampling on theNational Cockade, must have had in the Salle des Menus; in thefamishing Bakers'- queues at Paris! Nay such Thyestes Repasts, itwould seem, continue. Flandre has given its Counter-Dinner to theSwiss and Hundred Swiss; then on Saturday there has beenanother. Yes, here with us is famine; but yonder at Versailles is food;enough and to spare! Patriotism stands in queue, shiveringhungerstruck, insulted by Patrollotism; while bloodymindedAristocrats, heated with excess of high living, trample on theNational Cockade. Can the atrocity be true? Nay, look: greenuniforms faced with red; black cockades,--the colour of Night! Arewe to have military onfall; and death also by starvation? Forbehold the Corbeil Cornboat, which used to come twice a-day, withits Plaster-of- Paris meal, now comes only once. And the Townhallis deaf; and the men are laggard and dastard!--At the Cafe de Foy,this Saturday evening, a new thing is seen, not the last of itskind: a woman engaged in public speaking. Her poor man, she says,was put to silence by his District; their Presidents and Officialswould not let him speak. Wherefore she here with her shrill tonguewill speak; denouncing, while her breath endures, the Corbeil-Boat,the Plaster-of-Paris bread, sacrilegious Opera-dinners, greenuniforms, Pirate Aristocrats, and those black cockades oftheirs!-Truly, it is time for the black cockades at least, to vanish.Them Patrollotism itself will not protect. Nay, sharp-tempered 'M.Tassin,' at the Tuileries parade on Sunday morning, forgets allNational military rule; starts from the ranks, wrenches down oneblack cockade which is swashing ominous there; and tramples itfiercely into the soil of France. Patrollotism itself is notwithout suppressed fury. Also the Districts begin to stir; thevoice of President Danton reverberates in the Cordeliers:People's-Friend Marat has flown to Versailles and back again;-swart bird, not of the halcyon kind! (Camille's Newspaper,Revolutions de Paris et de Brabant (in Histoire Parlementaire, iii.108.) And so Patriot meets promenading Patriot, this Sunday; and seeshis own grim care reflected on the face of another. Groups, inspite of Patrollotism, which is not so alert as usual, fluctuatedeliberative: groups on the Bridges, on the Quais, at the patrioticCafes. And ever as any black cockade may emerge, rises themany-voiced growl and bark: A bas, Down! All black cockades areruthlessly plucked off: one individual picks his up again; kissesit, attempts to refix it; but a 'hundred canes start into the air,'and he desists. Still worse went it with another individual;doomed, by extempore Plebiscitum, to the Lanterne; saved, withdifficulty, by some active Corps-de-Garde.--Lafayette sees signs ofan effervescence; which he doubles his Patrols, doubles hisdiligence, to prevent. So passes Sunday, the 4th of October1789. Sullen is the male heart, repressed by Patrollotism; vehement isthe female, irrepressible. The public-speaking woman at the PalaisRoyal was not the only speaking one:--Men know not what the pantryis, when it grows empty, only house-mothers know. O women, wives ofmen that will only calculate and not act! Patrollotism is strong;but Death, by starvation and military onfall, is stronger.Patrollotism represses male Patriotism: but female Patriotism? WillGuards named National thrust their bayonets into the bosoms ofwomen? Such thought, or rather such dim unshaped raw- material of athought, ferments universally under the female night-cap; and, byearliest daybreak, on slight hint, will explode.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.VII. The Insurrection of WomenChapter 1.7.IV. The Menads
If Voltaire once, in splenetic humour, asked his countrymen:"But you, Gualches, what have you invented?" they can now answer:The Art of Insurrection. It was an art needed in these lastsingular times: an art, for which the French nature, so full ofvehemence, so free from depth, was perhaps of all others thefittest. Accordingly, to what a height, one may well say of perfection,has this branch of human industry been carried by France, withinthe last half- century! Insurrection, which, Lafayette thought,might be 'the most sacred of duties,' ranks now, for the Frenchpeople, among the duties which they can perform. Other mobs aredull masses; which roll onwards with a dull fierce tenacity, a dullfierce heat, but emit no light-flashes of genius as they go. TheFrench mob, again, is among the liveliest phenomena of our world.So rapid, audacious; so clear-sighted, inventive, prompt to seizethe moment; instinct with life to its finger-ends! That talent,were there no other, of spontaneously standing in queue,distinguishes, as we said, the French People from all Peoples,ancient and modern. Let the Reader confess too that, taking one thing with another,perhaps few terrestrial Appearances are better worth consideringthan mobs. Your mob is a genuine outburst of Nature; issuing from,or communicating with, the deepest deep of Nature. When so muchgoes grinning and grimacing as a lifeless Formality, and under thestiff buckram no heart can be felt beating, here once more, ifnowhere else, is a Sincerity and Reality. Shudder at it; or evenshriek over it, if thou must; nevertheless consider it. Such aComplex of human Forces and Individualities hurled forth, in theirtranscendental mood, to act and react, on circumstances and on oneanother; to work out what it is in them to work. The thing theywill do is known to no man; least of all to themselves. It is theinflammablest immeasurable Fire-work, generating, consuming itself.With what phases, to what extent, with what results it will burnoff, Philosophy and Perspicacity conjecture in vain. 'Man,' as has been written, 'is for ever interesting to man; nayproperly there is nothing else interesting.' In which light also,may we not discern why most Battles have become so wearisome?Battles, in these ages, are transacted by mechanism; with theslightest possible developement of human individuality orspontaneity: men now even die, and kill one another, in anartificial manner. Battles ever since Homer's time, when they wereFighting Mobs, have mostly ceased to be worth looking at, worthreading of, or remembering. How many wearisome bloody Battles doesHistory strive to represent; or even, in a husky way, to sing:--andshe would omit or carelessly slur-over this one Insurrection ofWomen? A thought, or dim raw-material of a thought, was fermenting allnight, universally in the female head, and might explode. Insqualid garret, on Monday morning, Maternity awakes, to hearchildren weeping for bread. Maternity must forth to the streets, tothe herb-markets and Bakers'-- queues; meets there withhunger-stricken Maternity, sympathetic, exasperative. O we unhappywomen! But, instead of Bakers'-queues, why not to Aristocrats'palaces, the root of the matter? Allons! Let us assemble. To theHotel-de-Ville; to Versailles; to the Lanterne!
In one of the Guardhouses of the Quartier Saint-Eustache, 'ayoung woman' seizes a drum,--for how shall National Guards givefire on women, on a young woman? The young woman seizes the drum;sets forth, beating it, 'uttering cries relative to the dearth ofgrains.' Descend, O mothers; descend, ye Judiths, to food andrevenge!--All women gather and go; crowds storm all stairs, forceout all women: the female Insurrectionary Force, according toCamille, resembles the English Naval one; there is a universal'Press of women.' Robust Dames of the Halle, slim Mantua-makers,assiduous, risen with the dawn; ancient Virginity tripping tomatins; the Housemaid, with early broom; all must go. Rouse ye, Owomen; the laggard men will not act; they say, we ourselves mayact! And so, like snowbreak from the mountains, for every staircaseis a melted brook, it storms; tumultuous, wild-shrilling, towardsthe Hotel-de-Ville. Tumultuous, with or without drum-music: for theFaubourg Saint-Antoine also has tucked up its gown; and, withbesom-staves, fire-irons, and even rusty pistols (void ofammunition), is flowing on. Sound of it flies, with a velocity ofsound, to the outmost Barriers. By seven o'clock, on this rawOctober morning, fifth of the month, the Townhall will see wonders.Nay, as chance would have it, a male party are already there;clustering tumultuously round some National Patrol, and a Baker whohas been seized with short weights. They are there; and have evenlowered the rope of the Lanterne. So that the official persons haveto smuggle forth the short- weighing Baker by back doors, and evensend 'to all the Districts' for more force. Grand it was, says Camille, to see so many Judiths, from eightto ten thousand of them in all, rushing out to search into the rootof the matter! Not unfrightful it must have been; ludicroterrific,and most unmanageable. At such hour the overwatched Three Hundredare not yet stirring: none but some Clerks, a company of NationalGuards; and M. de Gouvion, the Majorgeneral. Gouvion has foughtin America for the cause of civil Liberty; a man of noinconsiderable heart, but deficient in head. He is, for the moment,in his back apartment; assuaging Usher Maillard, the Bastille-serjeant, who has come, as too many do, with 'representations.' Theassuagement is still incomplete when our Judiths arrive. The National Guards form on the outer stairs, with levelledbayonets; the ten thousand Judiths press up, resistless; withobtestations, with outspread hands,--merely to speak to the Mayor.The rear forces them; nay, from male hands in the rear, stonesalready fly: the National Guards must do one of two things; sweepthe Place de Greve with cannon, or else open to right and left.They open; the living deluge rushes in. Through all rooms andcabinets, upwards to the topmost belfry: ravenous; seeking arms,seeking Mayors, seeking justice;--while, again, the bettercressed(dressed?) speak kindly to the Clerks; point out the misery ofthese poor women; also their ailments, some even of an interestingsort. (Deux Amis, iii. 141-166.) Poor M. de Gouvion is shiftless in this extremity;--a manshiftless, perturbed; who will one day commit suicide. How happyfor him that Usher Maillard, the shifty, was there, at the moment,though making representations! Fly back, thou shifty Maillard; seekthe Bastille Company; and O return fast with it; above all, withthy own shifty head! For, behold, the Judiths can find no Mayor orMunicipal; scarcely, in the topmost belfry, can they find poor AbbeLefevre the Powder-distributor. Him, for want of a better, theysuspend there; in the pale morning light; over the top of allParis, which swims in one's failing eyes:--a horrible end? Nay, therope broke,
as French ropes often did; or else an Amazon cut it.Abbe Lefevre falls, some twenty feet, rattling among the leads; andlives long years after, though always with 'a tremblement in thelimbs.' (Dusaulx, Prise de la Bastille (note, p. 281.).) And now doors fly under hatchets; the Judiths have broken theArmoury; have seized guns and cannons, three money-bags,paper-heaps; torches flare: in few minutes, our braveHotel-de-Ville which dates from the Fourth Henry, will, with allthat it holds, be in flames!
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.VII. The Insurrection of WomenChapter 1.7.V. Usher Maillard
In flames, truly,--were it not that Usher Maillard, swift offoot, shifty of head, has returned! Maillard, of his own motion, for Gouvion or the rest would noteven sanction him,--snatches a drum; descends the Porch-stairs,ran-tan, beating sharp, with loud rolls, his Rogues'-march: ToVersailles! Allons; a Versailles! As men beat on kettle orwarmingpan, when angry she-bees, or say, flying desperate wasps,are to be hived; and the desperate insects hear it, and clusterround it,--simply as round a guidance, where there was none: so nowthese Menads round shifty Maillard, Riding-Usher of the Chatelet.The axe pauses uplifted; Abbe Lefevre is left halfhanged; from thebelfry downwards all vomits itself. What rub-a-dub is that?Stanislas Maillard, Bastille-hero, will lead us to Versailles? Joyto thee, Maillard; blessed art thou above RidingUshers! Away then,away! The seized cannon are yoked with seized cart-horses:brown-locked Demoiselle Theroigne, with pike and helmet, sits thereas gunneress, 'with haughty eye and serene fair countenance;'comparable, some think, to the Maid of Orleans, or even recalling'the idea of Pallas Athene.' (Deux Amis, iii. 157.) Maillard (forhis drum still rolls) is, by heaven-rending acclamation, admittedGeneral. Maillard hastens the languid march. Maillard, beatingrhythmic, with sharp ran-tan, all along the Quais, leads forward,with difficulty his Menadic host. Such a host--marched not insilence! The bargeman pauses on the River; all wagoners andcoachdrivers fly; men peer from windows,--not women, lest they bepressed. Sight of sights: Bacchantes, in these ultimate FormalizedAges! Bronze Henri looks on, from his Pont-Neuf; the MonarchicLouvre, Medicean Tuileries see a day not theretofore seen. And now Maillard has his Menads in the Champs Elysees (FieldsTartarean rather); and the Hotel-de-Ville has sufferedcomparatively nothing. Broken doors; an Abbe Lefevre, who shallnever more distribute powder; three sacks of money, most part ofwhich (for Sansculottism, though famishing, is not without honour)shall be returned: (Hist. Parl. iii. 310.) this is all the damage.Great Maillard! A small nucleus of Order is round his drum; but hisoutskirts fluctuate like the mad Ocean: for Rascality male andfemale is flowing in on him, from the four winds; guidance there isnone but in his single head and two drumsticks. O Maillard, when, since War first was, had General of Force sucha task before him, as thou this day? Walter the Penniless stilltouches the feeling heart: but then Walter had sanction; had spaceto turn in; and also his Crusaders were of the male sex. Thou, thisday, disowned of Heaven
and Earth, art General of Menads. Theirinarticulate frenzy thou must on the spur of the instant, renderinto articulate words, into actions that are not frantic. Fail init, this way or that! Pragmatical Officiality, with its penaltiesand law-books, waits before thee; Menads storm behind. If suchhewed off the melodious head of Orpheus, and hurled it into thePeneus waters, what may they not make of thee,--thee rhythmicmerely, with no music but a sheepskin drum!-Maillard did not fail.Remarkable Maillard, if fame were not an accident, and History adistillation of Rumour, how remarkable wert thou! On the Elysian Fields, there is pause and fluctuation; but, forMaillard, no return. He persuades his Menads, clamorous for armsand the Arsenal, that no arms are in the Arsenal; that an unarmedattitude, and petition to a National Assembly, will be the best: hehastily nominates or sanctions generalesses, captains of tens andfifties;--and so, in loosest-flowing order, to the rhythm of some'eight drums' (having laid aside his own), with the BastilleVolunteers bringing up his rear, once more takes the road. Chaillot, which will promptly yield baked loaves, is notplundered; nor are the Sevres Potteries broken. The old arches ofSevres Bridge echo under Menadic feet; Seine River gushes on withhis perpetual murmur; and Paris flings after us the boom of tocsinand alarm-drum,--inaudible, for the present, amid shrill-soundinghosts, and the splash of rainy weather. To Meudon, to Saint Cloud,on both hands, the report of them is gone abroad; and hearths, thisevening, will have a topic. The press of women still continues, forit is the cause of all Eve's Daughters, mothers that are, or thathope to be. No carriage-lady, were it with never such hysterics,but must dismount, in the mud roads, in her silk shoes, and walk.(Deux Amis, iii. 159.) In this manner, amid wild October weather,they a wild unwinged stork-flight, through the astonished country,wend their way. Travellers of all sorts they stop; especiallytravellers or couriers from Paris. Deputy Lechapelier, in hiselegant vesture, from his elegant vehicle, looks forth amazedthrough his spectacles; apprehensive for life;--states eagerly thathe is Patriot-Deputy Lechapelier, and even Old-PresidentLechapelier, who presided on the Night of Pentecost, and isoriginal member of the Breton Club. Thereupon 'rises huge shout ofVive Lechapelier, and several armed persons spring up behind andbefore to escort him.' (Ibid. iii. 177; Dictionnaire des HommesMarquans, ii. 379.) Nevertheless, news, despatches from Lafayette, or vague noise ofrumour, have pierced through, by side roads. In the NationalAssembly, while all is busy discussing the order of the day;regretting that there should be Anti-national Repasts inOpera-Halls; that his Majesty should still hesitate about acceptingthe Rights of Man, and hang conditions and peradventures onthem,-Mirabeau steps up to the President, experienced Mounier asit chanced to be; and articulates, in bass under-tone: "Mounier,Paris marche sur nous (Paris is marching on us)."--"May be (Je n'ensais rien)!"--"Believe it or disbelieve it, that is not my concern;but Paris, I say, is marching on us. Fall suddenly unwell; go overto the Chateau; tell them this. There is not a moment tolose.'--"Paris marching on us?" responds Mounier, with anatrabiliar accent" "Well, so much the better! We shall the soonerbe a Republic." Mirabeau quits him, as one quits an experiencedPresident getting blindfold into deep waters; and the order of theday continues as before. Yes, Paris is marching on us; and more than the women of Paris!Scarcely was Maillard gone, when M. de Gouvion's message to all theDistricts, and such tocsin and drumming of the
generale, began totake effect. Armed National Guards from every District; especiallythe Grenadiers of the Centre, who are our old Gardes Francaises,arrive, in quick sequence, on the Place de Greve. An 'immensepeople' is there; Saint-Antoine, with pike and rusty firelock, isall crowding thither, be it welcome or unwelcome. The CentreGrenadiers are received with cheering: "it is not cheers that wewant," answer they gloomily; "the nation has been insulted; toarms, and come with us for orders!" Ha, sits the wind so?Patriotism and Patrollotism are now one! The Three Hundred have assembled; 'all the Committees are inactivity;' Lafayette is dictating despatches for Versailles, when aDeputation of the Centre Grenadiers introduces itself to him. TheDeputation makes military obeisance; and thus speaks, not without akind of thought in it: "Mon General, we are deputed by the SixCompanies of Grenadiers. We do not think you a traitor, but wethink the Government betrays you; it is time that this end. Wecannot turn our bayonets against women crying to us for bread. Thepeople are miserable, the source of the mischief is at Versailles:we must go seek the King, and bring him to Paris. We mustexterminate (exterminer) the Regiment de Flandre and theGardes-du-Corps, who have dared to trample on the National Cockade.If the King be too weak to wear his crown, let him lay it down. Youwill crown his Son, you will name a Council of Regency; and allwill go better." (Deux Amis, iii. 161.) Reproachful astonishmentpaints itself on the face of Lafayette; speaks itself from hiseloquent chivalrous lips: in vain. "My General, we would shed thelast drop of our blood for you; but the root of the mischief is atVersailles; we must go and bring the King to Paris; all the peoplewish it, tout le peuple le veut." My General descends to the outer staircase; and harangues: oncemore in vain. "To Versailles! To Versailles!" Mayor Bailly, sentfor through floods of Sansculottism, attempts academic oratory fromhis gilt state- coach; realizes nothing but infinite hoarse criesof: "Bread! To Versailles!"-and gladly shrinks within doors.Lafayette mounts the white charger; and again harangues andreharangues: with eloquence, with firmness, indignantdemonstration; with all things but persuasion. "To Versailles! ToVersailles!" So lasts it, hour after hour; for the space of half aday. The great Scipio Americanus can do nothing; not so much asescape. "Morbleu, mon General," cry the Grenadiers serrying theirranks as the white charger makes a motion that way, "You will notleave us, you will abide with us!" A perilous juncture: MayorBailly and the Municipals sit quaking within doors; My General isprisoner without: the Place de Greve, with its thirty thousandRegulars, its whole irregular Saint-Antoine and Saint-Marceau, isone minatory mass of clear or rusty steel; all hearts set, with amoody fixedness, on one object. Moody, fixed are all hearts:tranquil is no heart,--if it be not that of the white charger, whopaws there, with arched neck, composedly champing his bit; as if noworld, with its Dynasties and Eras, were now rushing down. Thedrizzly day tends westward; the cry is still: "To Versailles!" Nay now, borne from afar, come quite sinister cries; hoarse,reverberating in longdrawn hollow murmurs, with syllables too likethose of Lanterne! Or else, irregular Sansculottism may be marchingoff, of itself; with pikes, nay with cannon. The inflexible Scipiodoes at length, by aidede-camp, ask of the Municipals: Whether ornot he may go? A Letter is handed out to him, over armed heads;sixty thousand faces flash fixedly on his, there is stillness andno bosom breathes, till he have read. By Heaven, he grows suddenlypale! Do the Municipals permit? 'Permit and
even order,'--since hecan no other. Clangour of approval rends the welkin. To your ranks,then; let us march! It is, as we compute, towards three in the afternoon. IndignantNational Guards may dine for once from their haversack: dined orundined, they march with one heart. Paris flings up her windows,claps hands, as the Avengers, with their shrilling drums and shalmstramp by; she will then sit pensive, apprehensive, and pass rathera sleepless night. (Deux Amis, iii. 165.) On the white charger,Lafayette, in the slowest possible manner, going and coming, andeloquently haranguing among the ranks, rolls onward with his thirtythousand. Saint-Antoine, with pike and cannon, has preceded him; amixed multitude, of all and of no arms, hovers on his flanks andskirts; the country once more pauses agape: Paris marche surnous.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.VII. The Insurrection of WomenChapter 1.7.VI. To Versailles
For, indeed, about this same moment, Maillard has halted hisdraggled Menads on the last hilltop; and now Versailles, and theChateau of Versailles, and far and wide the inheritance of Royaltyopens to the wondering eye. From far on the right, over Marly andSaint-Germains-enLaye; round towards Rambouillet, on the left:beautiful all; softly embosomed; as if in sadness, in the dim moistweather! And near before us is Versailles, New and Old; with thatbroad frondent Avenue de Versailles between,--stately-frondent,broad, three hundred feet as men reckon, with four Rows of Elms;and then the Chateau de Versailles, ending in royal Parks andPleasances, gleaming lakelets, arbours, Labyrinths, the Menagerie,and Great and Little Trianon. Hightowered dwellings, leafypleasant places; where the gods of this lower world abide: whence,nevertheless, black Care cannot be excluded; whither Menadic Hungeris even now advancing, armed with pike-thyrsi! Yes, yonder, Mesdames, where our straight frondent Avenue,joined, as you note, by Two frondent brother Avenues from this handand from that, spreads out into Place Royale and Palace Forecourt;yonder is the Salle des Menus. Yonder an august Assembly sitsregenerating France. Forecourt, Grand Court, Court of Marble, Courtnarrowing into Court you may discern next, or fancy: on the extremeverge of which that glass-dome, visibly glittering like a star ofhope, is the-Oeil-de-Boeuf! Yonder, or nowhere in the world, isbread baked for us. But, O Mesdames, were not one thing good: Thatour cannons, with Demoiselle Theroigne and all show of war, be putto the rear? Submission beseems petitioners of a National Assembly;we are strangers in Versailles,-whence, too audibly, there comeseven now sound as of tocsin and generale! Also to put on, ifpossible, a cheerful countenance, hiding our sorrows; and even tosing? Sorrow, pitied of the Heavens, is hateful, suspicious to theEarth.--So counsels shifty Maillard; haranguing his Menads, on theheights near Versailles. (See Hist. Parl. iii. 70-117; Deux Amis,iii. 166-177, &c.) Cunning Maillard's dispositions are obeyed. The draggledInsurrectionists advance up the Avenue, 'in three columns, amongthe four Elm-rows; 'singing Henri Quatre,' with what melody theycan; and shouting Vive le Roi. Versailles, though the Elm-rows aredripping wet, crowds from both sides, with: "Vivent nosParisiennes, Our Paris ones for ever!"
Prickers, scouts have been out towards Paris, as the rumourdeepened: whereby his Majesty, gone to shoot in the Woods ofMeudon, has been happily discovered, and got home; and the generaleand tocsin set a-sounding. The Bodyguards are already drawn up infront of the Palace Grates; and look down the Avenue de Versailles;sulky, in wet buckskins. Flandre too is there, repentant of theOpera-Repast. Also Dragoons dismounted are there. Finally MajorLecointre, and what he can gather of the Versailles National Guard;though, it is to be observed, our Colonel, that same sleeplessCount d'Estaing, giving neither order nor ammunition, has vanishedmost improperly; one supposes, into the Oeil-de-Boeuf. Red-coatedSwiss stand within the Grates, under arms. There likewise, in theirinner room, 'all the Ministers,' Saint-Priest, LamentationPompignan and the rest, are assembled with M. Necker: they sit withhim there; blank, expecting what the hour will bring. President Mounier, though he answered Mirabeau with a tantmieux, and affected to slight the matter, had his own forebodings.Surely, for these four weary hours, he has reclined not on roses!The order of the day is getting forward: a Deputation to hisMajesty seems proper, that it might please him to grant 'Acceptancepure and simple' to those Constitution- Articles of ours; the'mixed qualified Acceptance,' with its peradventures, issatisfactory to neither gods nor men. So much is clear. And yet there is more, which no man speaks,which all men now vaguely understand. Disquietude, absence of mindis on every face; Members whisper, uneasily come and go: the orderof the day is evidently not the day's want. Till at length, fromthe outer gates, is heard a rustling and justling, shrill uproarand squabbling, muffled by walls; which testifies that the hour iscome! Rushing and crushing one hears now; then enter UsherMaillard, with a Deputation of Fifteen muddy drippingWomen,--having by incredible industry, and aid of all the macers,persuaded the rest to wait out of doors. National Assembly shallnow, therefore, look its august task directly in the face:regenerative Constitutionalism has an unregenerate Sansculottismbodily in front of it; crying, "Bread! Bread!" Shifty Maillard, translating frenzy into articulation;repressive with the one hand, expostulative with the other, doeshis best; and really, though not bred to public speaking, managesrather well:-In the present dreadful rarity of grains, aDeputation of Female Citizens has, as the august Assembly candiscern, come out from Paris to petition. Plots of Aristocrats aretoo evident in the matter; for example, one miller has been bribed'by a banknote of 200 livres' not to grind,--name unknown to theUsher, but fact provable, at least indubitable. Further, it seems,the National Cockade has been trampled on; also there are BlackCockades, or were. All which things will not an august NationalAssembly, the hope of France, take into its wise immediateconsideration? And Menadic Hunger, impressible, crying "Black Cockades," cryingBread, Bread," adds, after such fashion: Will it not?--Yes,Messieurs, if a Deputation to his Majesty, for the 'Acceptance pureand simple,' seemed proper,--how much more now, for 'the afflictingsituation of Paris;' for the calming of this effervescence!President Mounier, with a speedy Deputation, among whom we noticethe respectable figure of Doctor Guillotin, gets himself forthwithon march. VicePresident shall continue the order of the day; UsherMaillard shall stay by him to repress the women. It is fouro'clock, of the miserablest afternoon, when Mounier steps out.
O experienced Mounier, what an afternoon; the last of thypolitical existence! Better had it been to 'fall suddenly unwell,'while it was yet time. For, behold, the Esplanade, over all itsspacious expanse, is covered with groups of squalid dripping Women;of lankhaired male Rascality, armed with axes, rusty pikes, oldmuskets, ironshod clubs (baton ferres, which end in knives orswordblades, a kind of extempore billhook);--looking nothing buthungry revolt. The rain pours: Gardes-du- Corps go caracolingthrough the groups 'amid hisses;' irritating and agitating what isbut dispersed here to reunite there. Innumerable squalid women beleaguer the President andDeputation; insist on going with him: has not his Majesty himself,looking from the window, sent out to ask, What we wanted? "Breadand speech with the King (Du pain, et parler au Roi)," that was theanswer. Twelve women are clamorously added to the Deputation; andmarch with it, across the Esplanade; through dissipated groups,caracoling Bodyguards, and the pouring rain. President Mounier, unexpectedly augmented by Twelve Women,copiously escorted by Hunger and Rascality, is himself mistaken fora group: himself and his Women are dispersed by caracolers; rallyagain with difficulty, among the mud. (Mounier, Expose Justificatif(cited in Deux Amis, iii. 185).) Finally the Grates are opened: theDeputation gets access, with the Twelve Women too in it; of whichlatter, Five shall even see the face of his Majesty. Let wetMenadism, in the best spirits it can expect their return.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.VII. The Insurrection of WomenChapter 1.7.VII. At Versailles
But already Pallas Athene (in the shape of Demoiselle Theroigne)is busy with Flandre and the dismounted Dragoons. She, and suchwomen as are fittest, go through the ranks; speak with an earnestjocosity; clasp rough troopers to their patriot bosom, crush downspontoons and musketoons with soft arms: can a man, that wereworthy of the name of man, attack famishing patriot women? One reads that Theroigne had bags of money, which shedistributed over Flandre:--furnished by whom? Alas, with money-bagsone seldom sits on insurrectionary cannon. Calumnious Royalism!Theroigne had only the limited earnings of her profession ofunfortunate-female; money she had not, but brown locks, the figureof a heathen Goddess, and an eloquent tongue and heart. Meanwhile, Saint-Antoine, in groups and troops, is continuallyarriving; wetted, sulky; with pikes and impromptu billhooks: driventhus far by popular fixed-idea. So many hirsute figures drivenhither, in that manner: figures that have come to do they know notwhat; figures that have come to see it done! Distinguished amongall figures, who is this, of gaunt stature, with leadenbreastplate, though a small one; (See Weber, ii. 185- 231.) bushyin red grizzled locks; nay, with long tile-beard? It is Jourdan,unjust dealer in mules; a dealer no longer, but a Painter'sLayfigure, playing truant this day. From the necessities of Artcomes his long tile-beard; whence his leaden breastplate (unlessindeed he were some Hawker licensed by leaden badge) may havecome,--will perhaps remain for ever a Historical Problem. AnotherSaul among the
people we discern: 'Pere Adam, Father Adam,' as thegroups name him; to us better known as bull-voiced MarquisSaint-Huruge; hero of the Veto; a man that has had losses, anddeserved them. The tall Marquis, emitted some days ago from limbo,looks peripatetically on this scene, from under his umbrella, notwithout interest. All which persons and things, hurled together aswe see; Pallas Athene, busy with Flandre; patriotic VersaillesNational Guards, short of ammunition, and deserted by d'Estaingtheir Colonel, and commanded by Lecointre their Major; thencaracoling Bodyguards, sour, dispirited, with their buckskins wet;and finally this flowing sea of indignant Squalor,--may they notgive rise to occurrences? Behold, however, the Twelve She-deputies return from theChateau. Without President Mounier, indeed; but radiant with joy,shouting "Life to the King and his House." Apparently the news aregood, Mesdames? News of the best! Five of us were admitted to theinternal splendours, to the Royal Presence. This slim damsel,'Louison Chabray, worker in sculpture, aged only seventeen,' asbeing of the best looks and address, her we appointed speaker. Onwhom, and indeed on all of us, his Majesty looked nothing butgraciousness. Nay, when Louison, addressing him, was like to faint,he took her in his royal arms; and said gallantly, "It was wellworth while (Elle en valut bien la peine)." Consider, O women, whata King! His words were of comfort, and that only: there shall beprovision sent to Paris, if provision is in the world; grains shallcirculate free as air; millers shall grind, or do worse, whiletheir millstones endure; and nothing be left wrong which a Restorerof French Liberty can right. Good news these; but, to wet Menads, all too incredible! Thereseems no proof, then? Words of comfort are words only; which willfeed nothing. O miserable people, betrayed by Aristocrats, whocorrupt thy very messengers! In his royal arms, MademoiselleLouison? In his arms? Thou shameless minx, worthy of a name--thatshall be nameless! Yes, thy skin is soft: ours is rough withhardship; and well wetted, waiting here in the rain. No childrenhast thou hungry at home; only alabaster dolls, that weep not! Thetraitress! To the Lanterne!--And so poor Louison Chabray, noasseveration or shrieks availing her, fair slim damsel, late in thearms of Royalty, has a garter round her neck, and furibund Amazonsat each end; is about to perish so,--when two Bodyguards gallop up,indignantly dissipating; and rescue her. The miscredited Twelvehasten back to the Chateau, for an 'answer in writing.' Nay, behold, a new flight of Menads, with 'M. Brunout BastilleVolunteer,' as impressedcommandant, at the head of it. These alsowill advance to the Grate of the Grand Court, and see what istoward. Human patience, in wet buckskins, has its limits. BodyguardLieutenant, M. de Savonnieres, for one moment, lets his temper,long provoked, long pent, give way. He not only dissipates theselatter Menads; but caracoles and cuts, or indignantly flourishes,at M. Brunout, the impressed-commandant; and, finding great reliefin it, even chases him; Brunout flying nimbly, though in apirouette manner, and now with sword also drawn. At which sight ofwrath and victory two other Bodyguards (for wrath is contagious,and to pent Bodyguards is so solacing) do likewise give way; givechase, with brandished sabre, and in the air make horrid circles.So that poor Brunout has nothing for it but to retreat withaccelerated nimbleness, through rank after rank; Parthian- like,fencing as he flies; above all, shouting lustily, "On nous laisseassassiner, They are getting us assassinated?"
Shameful! Three against one! Growls come from the Lecointrianranks; bellowings,--lastly shots. Savonnieres' arm is raised tostrike: the bullet of a Lecointrian musket shatters it; thebrandished sabre jingles down harmless. Brunout has escaped, thisduel well ended: but the wild howl of war is everywhere beginningto pipe! The Amazons recoil; Saint-Antoine has its cannon pointed (fullof grapeshot); thrice applies the lit flambeau; which thricerefuses to catch,--the touchholes are so wetted; and voices cry:"Arretez, il n'est pas temps encore, Stop, it is not yet time!"(Deux Amis, iii. 192-201.) Messieurs of the Garde-du-Corps, ye hadorders not to fire; nevertheless two of you limp dismounted, andone war-horse lies slain. Were it not well to draw back out ofshot-range; finally to file off,--into the interior? If in sofiling off, there did a musketoon or two discharge itself, at thesearmed shopkeepers, hooting and crowing, could man wonder? Draggledare your white cockades of an enormous size; would to Heaven theywere got exchanged for tricolor ones! Your buckskins are wet, yourhearts heavy. Go, and return not! The Bodyguards file off, as we hint; giving and receiving shots;drawing no life-blood; leaving boundless indignation. Some threetimes in the thickening dusk, a glimpse of them is seen, at this orthe other Portal: saluted always with execrations, with the whew oflead. Let but a Bodyguard shew face, he is hunted byRascality;--for instance, poor 'M. de Moucheton of the ScotchCompany,' owner of the slain war-horse; and has to be smuggled offby Versailles Captains. Or rusty firelocks belch after him,shivering asunder his--hat. In the end, by superior Order, theBodyguards, all but the few on immediate duty, disappear; or as itwere abscond; and march, under cloud of night, to Rambouillet.(Weber, ubi supra.) We remark also that the Versaillese have now got ammunition: allafternoon, the official Person could find none; till, in these socritical moments, a patriotic Sublieutenant set a pistol to hisear, and would thank him to find some,--which he thereuponsucceeded in doing. Likewise that Flandre, disarmed by PallasAthene, says openly, it will not fight with citizens; and for tokenof peace, has exchanged cartridges with the Versaillese. Sansculottism is now among mere friends; and can 'circulatefreely;' indignant at Bodyguards;-complaining also considerably ofhunger.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.VII. The Insurrection of WomenChapter 1.7.VIII. The Equal Diet
But why lingers Mounier; returns not with his Deputation? It issix, it is seven o'clock; and still no Mounier, no Acceptance pureand simple. And, behold, the dripping Menads, not now in deputation but inmass, have penetrated into the Assembly: to the shamefullestinterruption of public speaking and order of the day. NeitherMaillard nor Vice-President can restrain them, except within widelimits; not even, except for minutes, can the lion-voice ofMirabeau, though they applaud it: but ever and anon they break inupon the regeneration of France with cries of: "Bread; not so muchdiscoursing! Du pain; pas
tant de longs discours!"--So insensiblewere these poor creatures to bursts of Parliamentary eloquence! One learns also that the royal Carriages are getting yoked, asif for Metz. Carriages, royal or not, have verily showed themselvesat the back Gates. They even produced, or quoted, a written orderfrom our Versailles Municipality,--which is a Monarchic not aDemocratic one. However, Versailles Patroles drove them in again;as the vigilant Lecointre had strictly charged them to do. A busy man, truly, is Major Lecointre, in these hours. ForColonel d'Estaing loiters invisible in the Oeil-de-Boeuf;invisible, or still more questionably visible, for instants: thenalso a too loyal Municipality requires supervision: no order, civilor military, taken about any of these thousand things! Lecointre isat the Versailles Townhall: he is at the Grate of the Grand Court;communing with Swiss and Bodyguards. He is in the ranks of Flandre;he is here, he is there: studious to prevent bloodshed; to preventthe Royal Family from flying to Metz; the Menads from plunderingVersailles. At the fall of night, we behold him advance to those armedgroups of Saint- Antoine, hovering all-too grim near the Salle desMenus. They receive him in a half-circle; twelve speakers behindcannons, with lighted torches in hand, the cannon-mouths towardsLecointre: a picture for Salvator! He asks, in temperate butcourageous language: What they, by this their journey toVersailles, do specially want? The twelve speakers reply, in fewwords inclusive of much: "Bread, and the end of these brabbles, Dupain, et la fin des affaires." When the affairs will end, no MajorLecointre, nor no mortal, can say; but as to bread, he inquires,How many are you?-learns that they are six hundred, that a loafeach will suffice; and rides off to the Municipality to get sixhundred loaves. Which loaves, however, a Municipality of Monarchic temper willnot give. It will give two tons of rice rather,--could you but knowwhether it should be boiled or raw. Nay when this too is accepted,the Municipals have disappeared;--ducked under, as theSix-and-Twenty Long-gowned of Paris did; and, leaving not thesmallest vestage of rice, in the boiled or raw state, they therevanish from History! Rice comes not; one's hope of food is baulked; even one's hopeof vengeance: is not M. de Moucheton of the Scotch Company, as wesaid, deceitfully smuggled off? Failing all which, behold only M.de Moucheton's slain warhorse, lying on the Esplanade there!Saint-Antoine, baulked, esurient, pounces on the slain warhorse;flays it; roasts it, with such fuel, of paling, gates, portabletimber as can be come at,--not without shouting: and, after themanner of ancient Greek Heroes, they lifted their hands to thedaintily readied repast; such as it might be. (Weber, Deux Amis,&c.) Other Rascality prowls discursive; seeking what it maydevour. Flandre will retire to its barracks; Lecointre also withhis Versaillese,-- all but the vigilant Patrols, charged to bedoubly vigilant. So sink the shadows of Night, blustering, rainy; and all pathsgrow dark. Strangest Night ever seen in these regions,--perhapssince the Bartholomew Night, when Versailles, as Bassompierrewrites of it, was a chetif chateau. O for the Lyre of some Orpheus,to constrain, with touch of melodious strings, these mad massesinto Order! For here all seems fallen asunder, in
wide-yawningdislocation. The highest, as in down-rushing of a World, is come incontact with the lowest: the Rascality of France beleaguering theRoyalty of France; 'ironshod batons' lifted round the diadem, notto guard it! With denunciations of bloodthirsty Anti-nationalBodyguards, are heard dark growlings against a Queenly Name. The Court sits tremulous, powerless; varies with the varyingtemper of the Esplanade, with the varying colour of the rumoursfrom Paris. Thick-coming rumours; now of peace, now of war. Neckerand all the Ministers consult; with a blank issue. TheOeil-de-Boeuf is one tempest of whispers:--We will fly to Metz; wewill not fly. The royal Carriages again attempt egress;-thoughfor trial merely; they are again driven in by Lecointre's Patrols.In six hours, nothing has been resolved on; not even the Acceptancepure and simple. In six hours? Alas, he who, in such circumstances, cannotresolve in six minutes, may give up the enterprise: him Fate hasalready resolved for. And Menadism, meanwhile, and Sansculottismtakes counsel with the National Assembly; grows more and moretumultuous there. Mounier returns not; Authority nowhere shewsitself: the Authority of France lies, for the present, withLecointre and Usher Maillard.--This then is the abomination ofdesolation; come suddenly, though long foreshadowed as inevitable!For, to the blind, all things are sudden. Misery which, throughlong ages, had no spokesman, no helper, will now be its own helperand speak for itself. The dialect, one of the rudest, is, what itcould be, this. At eight o'clock there returns to our Assembly not theDeputation; but Doctor Guillotin announcing that it will return;also that there is hope of the Acceptance pure and simple. Hehimself has brought a Royal Letter, authorising and commanding thefreest 'circulation of grains.' Which Royal Letter Menadism withits whole heart applauds. Conformably to which the Assemblyforthwith passes a Decree; also received with rapturous Menadicplaudits:--Only could not an august Assembly contrive further to"fix the price of bread at eight sous the halfquartern;butchers'-meat at six sous the pound;" which seem fair rates? Suchmotion do 'a multitude of men and women,' irrepressible by UsherMaillard, now make; does an august Assembly hear made. UsherMaillard himself is not always perfectly measured in speech; but ifrebuked, he can justly excuse himself by the peculiarity of thecircumstances. (Moniteur (in Hist. Parl. ii. 105).) But finally, this Decree well passed, and the disordercontinuing; and Members melting away, and no President Mounierreturning,--what can the Vice-President do but also melt away? TheAssembly melts, under such pressure, into deliquium; or, as it isofficially called, adjourns. Maillard is despatched to Paris, withthe 'Decree concerning Grains' in his pocket; he and some women, incarriages belonging to the King. Thitherward slim Louison Chabrayhas already set forth, with that 'written answer,' which the TwelveShe-deputies returned in to seek. Slim sylph, she has set forth,through the black muddy country: she has much to tell, her poornerves so flurried; and travels, as indeed to-day on this road allpersons do, with extreme slowness. President Mounier has not come,nor the Acceptance pure and simple; though six hours with theirevents have come; though courier on courier reports that Lafayetteis coming. Coming, with war or with peace? It is time that theChateau also should determine on one thing or another; that theChateau also should show itself alive, if it would continueliving!
Victorious, joyful after such delay, Mounier does arrive atlast, and the hard-earned Acceptance with him; which now, alas, isof small value. Fancy Mounier's surprise to find his Senate, whomhe hoped to charm by the Acceptance pure and simple,--all gone; andin its stead a Senate of Menads! For as Erasmus's Ape mimicked, saywith wooden splint, Erasmus shaving, so do these Amazons hold, inmock majesty, some confused parody of National Assembly. They makemotions; deliver speeches; pass enactments; productive at least ofloud laughter. All galleries and benches are filled; a strong Dameof the Market is in Mounier's Chair. Not without difficulty,Mounier, by aid of macers, and persuasive speaking, makes his wayto the FemalePresident: the Strong Dame before abdicatingsignifies that, for one thing, she and indeed her whole senate maleand female (for what was one roasted warhorse among so many?) aresuffering very considerably from hunger. Experienced Mounier, in these circumstances, takes a twofoldresolution: To reconvoke his Assembly Members by sound of drum;also to procure a supply of food. Swift messengers fly, to allbakers, cooks, pastrycooks, vintners, restorers; drums beat,accompanied with shrill vocal proclamation, through all streets.They come: the Assembly Members come; what is still better, theprovisions come. On tray and barrow come these latter; loaves,wine, great store of sausages. The nourishing baskets circulateharmoniously along the benches; nor, according to the Father ofEpics, did any soul lack a fair share of victual ((Greek), an equaldiet); highly desirable, at the moment. (Deux Amis, iii. 208.) Gradually some hundred or so of Assembly members get edged in,Menadism making way a little, round Mounier's Chair; listen to theAcceptance pure and simple; and begin, what is the order of thenight, 'discussion of the Penal Code.' All benches are crowded; inthe dusky galleries, duskier with unwashed heads, is a strange'coruscation,'--of impromptu billhooks. (Courier de Provence(Mirabeau's Newspaper), No. 50, p. 19.) It is exactly five monthsthis day since these same galleries were filled with high- plumedjewelled Beauty, raining bright influences; and now? To such lengthhave we got in regenerating France. Methinks the travail-throes areof the sharpest!--Menadism will not be restrained from occasionalremarks; asks, "What is use of the Penal Code? The thing we want isBread." Mirabeau turns round with lion-voiced rebuke; Menadismapplauds him; but recommences. Thus they, chewing tough sausages, discussing the Penal Code,make night hideous. What the issue will be? Lafayette with histhirty thousand must arrive first: him, who cannot now be distant,all men expect, as the messenger of Destiny.
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.VII. The Insurrection of WomenChapter 1.7.IX. Lafayette
Towards midnight lights flare on the hill; Lafayette's lights!The roll of his drums comes up the Avenue de Versailles. Withpeace, or with war? Patience, friends! With neither. Lafayette iscome, but not yet the catastrophe. He has halted and harangued so often, on the march; spent ninehours on four leagues of road. At Montreuil, close on Versailles,the whole Host had to pause; and, with uplifted right hand, in
themurk of Night, to these pouring skies, swear solemnly to respectthe King's Dwelling; to be faithful to King and National Assembly.Rage is driven down out of sight, by the laggard march; the thirstof vengeance slaked in weariness and soaking clothes. Flandre isagain drawn out under arms: but Flandre, grown so patriotic, nowneeds no 'exterminating.' The wayworn Batallions halt in theAvenue: they have, for the present, no wish so pressing as that ofshelter and rest. Anxious sits President Mounier; anxious the Chateau. There is amessage coming from the Chateau, that M. Mounier would pleasereturn thither with a fresh Deputation, swiftly; and so at leastunite our two anxieties. Anxious Mounier does of himself send,meanwhile, to apprise the General that his Majesty has been sogracious as to grant us the Acceptance pure and simple. TheGeneral, with a small advance column, makes answer in passing;speaks vaguely some smooth words to the National President,--glances, only with the eye, at that so mixtiform National Assembly;then fares forward towards the Chateau. There are with him twoParis Municipals; they were chosen from the Three Hundred for thaterrand. He gets admittance through the locked and padlocked Grates,through sentries and ushers, to the Royal Halls. The Court, male and female, crowds on his passage, to read theirdoom on his face; which exhibits, say Historians, a mixture 'ofsorrow, of fervour and valour,' singular to behold. (Memoire de M.le Comte de Lally- Tollendal (Janvier 1790), p. 161-165.) The King,with Monsieur, with Ministers and Marshals, is waiting to receivehim: He "is come," in his highflown chivalrous way, "to offer hishead for the safety of his Majesty's." The two Municipals state thewish of Paris: four things, of quite pacific tenor. First, that thehonour of Guarding his sacred person be conferred on patriotNational Guards;--say, the Centre Grenadiers, who as GardesFrancaises were wont to have that privilege. Second, thatprovisions be got, if possible. Third, that the Prisons, allcrowded with political delinquents, may have judges sent them.Fourth, that it would please his Majesty to come and live in Paris.To all which four wishes, except the fourth, his Majesty answersreadily, Yes; or indeed may almost say that he has already answeredit. To the fourth he can answer only, Yes or No; would so gladlyanswer, Yes and No!-But, in any case, are not their dispositions,thank Heaven, so entirely pacific? There is time for deliberation.The brunt of the danger seems past! Lafayette and d'Estaing settle the watches; Centre Grenadiersare to take the Guard-room they of old occupied as GardesFrancaises;--for indeed the Gardes du Corps, its late ill-advisedoccupants, are gone mostly to Rambouillet. That is the order ofthis night; sufficient for the night is the evil thereof. WhereuponLafayette and the two Municipals, with highflown chivalry, taketheir leave. So brief has the interview been, Mounier and his Deputation werenot yet got up. So brief and satisfactory. A stone is rolled fromevery heart. The fair Palace Dames publicly declare that thisLafayette, detestable though he be, is their saviour for once. Eventhe ancient vinaigrous Tantes admit it; the King's Aunts, ancientGraille and Sisterhood, known to us of old. Queen Marie-Antoinettehas been heard often say the like. She alone, among all women andall men, wore a face of courage, of lofty calmness and resolve,this day. She alone saw clearly what she meant to do; and Theresa'sDaughter dares do what she means, were all France threatening her:abide where her children are, where her husband is.
Towards three in the morning all things are settled: the watchesset, the Centre Grenadiers put into their old Guard-room, andharangued; the Swiss, and few remaining Bodyguards harangued. Thewayworn Paris Batallions, consigned to 'the hospitality ofVersailles,' lie dormant in sparebeds, spare-barracks,coffeehouses, empty churches. A troop of them, on their way to theChurch of Saint-Louis, awoke poor Weber, dreaming troublous, in theRue Sartory. Weber has had his waistcoat-pocket full of balls allday; 'two hundred balls, and two pears of powder!' For waistcoatswere waistcoats then, and had flaps down to mid-thigh. So manyballs he has had all day; but no opportunity of using them: heturns over now, execrating disloyal bandits; swears a prayer ortwo, and straight to sleep again. Finally, the National Assembly is harangued; which thereupon, onmotion of Mirabeau, discontinues the Penal Code, and dismisses forthis night. Menadism, Sansculottism has cowered into guard-houses,barracks of Flandre, to the light of cheerful fire; failing that,to churches, office-houses, sentry-boxes, wheresoever wretchednesscan find a lair. The troublous Day has brawled itself to rest: nolives yet lost but that of one warhorse. Insurrectionary Chaos liesslumbering round the Palace, like Ocean round a Diving-bell,--nocrevice yet disclosing itself. Deep sleep has fallen promiscuously on the high and on the low;suspending most things, even wrath and famine. Darkness covers theEarth. But, far on the North-east, Paris flings up her great yellowgleam; far into the wet black Night. For all is illuminated there,as in the old July Nights; the streets deserted, for alarm of war;the Municipals all wakeful; Patrols hailing, with their hoarseWho-goes. There, as we discover, our poor slim Louison Chabray, herpoor nerves all fluttered, is arriving about this very hour. ThereUsher Maillard will arrive, about an hour hence, 'towards four inthe morning.' They report, successively, to a wakefulHotel-de-Ville what comfort they can report; which again, withearly dawn, large comfortable Placards, shall impart to allmen. Lafayette, in the Hotel de Noailles, not far from the Chateau,having now finished haranguing, sits with his Officers consulting:at five o'clock the unanimous best counsel is, that a man so tostand toiled for twenty- four hours and more, fling himself on a bed,and seek some rest. Thus, then, has ended the First Act of the Insurrection ofWomen. How it will turn on the morrow? The morrow, as always, iswith the Fates! But his Majesty, one may hope, will consent to comehonourably to Paris; at all events, he can visit Paris.Anti-national Bodyguards, here and elsewhere, must take theNational Oath; make reparation to the Tricolor; Flandre will swear.There may be much swearing; much public speaking there willinfallibly be: and so, with harangues and vows, may the matter insome handsome way, wind itself up. Or, alas, may it not be all otherwise, unhandsome: the consentnot honourable, but extorted, ignominious? Boundless Chaos ofInsurrection presses slumbering round the Palace, like Ocean rounda Diving-bell; and may penetrate at any crevice. Let but thataccumulated insurrectionary mass find entrance! Like the infiniteinburst of water; or say rather, of inflammable, selfignitingfluid; for example, 'turpentine-and-phosphorus oil,'--fluid knownto Spinola Santerre!
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.VII. The Insurrection of WomenChapter 1.7.X. The Grand Entries
The dull dawn of a new morning, drizzly and chill, had butbroken over Versailles, when it pleased Destiny that a Bodyguardshould look out of window, on the right wing of the Chateau, to seewhat prospect there was in Heaven and in Earth. Rascality male andfemale is prowling in view of him. His fasting stomach is, withgood cause, sour; he perhaps cannot forbear a passing malison onthem; least of all can he forbear answering such. Ill words breed worse: till the worst word came; and then theill deed. Did the maledicent Bodyguard, getting (as was tooinevitable) better malediction than he gave, load his musketoon,and threaten to fire; and actually fire? Were wise who wist! Itstands asserted; to us not credibly. Be this as it may, menacedRascality, in whinnying scorn, is shaking at all Grates: thefastening of one (some write, it was a chain merely) gives way;Rascality is in the Grand Court, whinnying louder still. The maledicent Bodyguard, more Bodyguards than he do now givefire; a man's arm is shattered. Lecointre will depose (Depositionde Lecointre (in Hist. Parl. iii. 111-115.) that 'the SieurCardaine, a National Guard without arms, was stabbed.' But see,sure enough, poor Jerome l'Heritier, an unarmed National Guard hetoo, 'cabinet-maker, a saddler's son, of Paris,' with the down ofyouthhood still on his chin,--he reels death-stricken; rushes tothe pavement, scattering it with his blood and brains!--Allelew!Wilder than Irish wakes, rises the howl: of pity; of infiniterevenge. In few moments, the Grate of the inner and inmost Court,which they name Court of Marble, this too is forced, or surprised,and burst open: the Court of Marble too is overflowed: up the GrandStaircase, up all stairs and entrances rushes the living Deluge!Deshuttes and Varigny, the two sentry Bodyguards, are trodden down,are massacred with a hundred pikes. Women snatch their cutlasses,or any weapon, and storm-in Menadic:--other women lift the corpseof shot Jerome; lay it down on the Marble steps; there shall thelivid face and smashed head, dumb for ever, speak. Wo now to all Bodyguards, mercy is none for them! Miomandre deSainte- Marie pleads with soft words, on the Grand Staircase,'descending four steps:'--to the roaring tornado. His comradessnatch him up, by the skirts and belts; literally, from the jaws ofDestruction; and slamto their Door. This also will stand fewinstants; the panels shivering in, like potsherds. Barricadingserves not: fly fast, ye Bodyguards; rabid Insurrection, like thehellhound Chase, uproaring at your heels! The terrorstruck Bodyguards fly, bolting and barricading; itfollows. Whitherward? Through hall on hall: wo, now! towards theQueen's Suite of Rooms, in the furtherest room of which the Queenis now asleep. Five sentinels rush through that long Suite; theyare in the Anteroom knocking loud: "Save the Queen!" Tremblingwomen fall at their feet with tears; are answered: "Yes, we willdie; save ye the Queen!" Tremble not, women, but haste: for, lo, another voice shouts farthrough the outermost door, "Save the Queen!" and the door shut. Itis brave Miomandre's voice that shouts this second warning. He hasstormed across imminent death to do it; fronts imminent death,having done it. Brave Tardivet du Repaire, bent on the samedesperate service, was borne down with pikes; his comrades hardlysnatched him in again alive. Miomandre and Tardivet: let the namesof these two Bodyguards, as the names of brave men should, livelong.
Trembling Maids of Honour, one of whom from afar caught glimpseof Miomandre as well as heard him, hastily wrap the Queen; not inrobes of State. She flies for her life, across the Oeil-deBoeuf;against the main door of which too Insurrection batters. She is inthe King's Apartment, in the King's arms; she clasps her childrenamid a faithful few. The Imperial-hearted bursts into mother'stears: "O my friends, save me and my children, O mes amis, sauvezmoi et mes enfans!" The battering of Insurrectionary axes clangsaudible across the Oeil-de-Boeuf. What an hour! Yes, Friends: a hideous fearful hour; shameful alike to Governedand Governor; wherein Governed and Governor ignominiously testifythat their relation is at an end. Rage, which had brewed itself intwenty thousand hearts, for the last four-and-twenty hours, hastaken fire: Jerome's brained corpse lies there as live-coal. It is,as we said, the infinite Element bursting in: wild-surging throughall corridors and conduits. Meanwhile, the poor Bodyguards have got hunted mostly into theOeil-de- Boeuf. They may die there, at the King's threshhold; theycan do little to defend it. They are heaping tabourets (stools ofhonour), benches and all moveables, against the door; at which theaxe of Insurrection thunders.-- But did brave Miomandre perish,then, at the Queen's door? No, he was fractured, slashed,lacerated, left for dead; he has nevertheless crawled hither; andshall live, honoured of loyal France. Remark also, in flatcontradiction to much which has been said and sung, thatInsurrection did not burst that door he had defended; but hurriedelsewhither, seeking new bodyguards. (Campan, ii. 75-87.) Poor Bodyguards, with their Thyestes' Opera-Repast! Well forthem, that Insurrection has only pikes and axes; no right siegingtools! It shakes and thunders. Must they all perish miserably, andRoyalty with them? Deshuttes and Varigny, massacred at the firstinbreak, have been beheaded in the Marble Court: a sacrifice toJerome's manes: Jourdan with the tile-beard did that dutywillingly; and asked, If there were no more? Another captive theyare leading round the corpse, with howl-chauntings: may not Jourdanagain tuck up his sleeves? And louder and louder rages Insurrection within, plundering ifit cannot kill; louder and louder it thunders at the Oeil-de-Boeuf:what can now hinder its bursting in?--On a sudden it ceases; thebattering has ceased! Wild rushing: the cries grow fainter: thereis silence, or the tramp of regular steps; then a friendlyknocking: "We are the Centre Grenadiers, old Gardes Francaises:Open to us, Messieurs of the Garde-du-Corps; we have not forgottenhow you saved us at Fontenoy!" (Toulongeon, i. 144.) The door isopened; enter Captain Gondran and the Centre Grenadiers: there aremilitary embracings; there is sudden deliverance from death intolife. Strange Sons of Adam! It was to 'exterminate' theseGardes-du-Corps that the Centre Grenadiers left home: and now theyhave rushed to save them from extermination. The memory of commonperil, of old help, melts the rough heart; bosom is clasped tobosom, not in war. The King shews himself, one moment, through thedoor of his Apartment, with: "Do not hurt my Guards!"--"Soyonsfreres, Let us be brothers!" cries Captain Gondran; and againdashes off, with levelled bayonets, to sweep the Palace clear. Now too Lafayette, suddenly roused, not from sleep (for his eyeshad not yet closed), arrives; with passionate popular eloquence,with prompt military word of command. National Guards,
suddenlyroused, by sound of trumpet and alarm-drum, are all arriving. Thedeath-melly ceases: the first sky-lambent blaze of Insurrection isgot damped down; it burns now, if unextinguished, yet flameless, ascharred coals do, and not inextinguishable. The King's Apartmentsare safe. Ministers, Officials, and even some loyal Nationaldeputies are assembling round their Majesties. The consternationwill, with sobs and confusion, settle down gradually, into plan andcounsel, better or worse. But glance now, for a moment, from the royal windows! A roaringsea of human heads, inundating both Courts; billowing against allpassages: Menadic women; infuriated men, mad with revenge, withlove of mischief, love of plunder! Rascality has slipped itsmuzzle; and now bays, three- throated, like the Dog of Erebus.Fourteen Bodyguards are wounded; two massacred, and as we saw,beheaded; Jourdan asking, "Was it worth while to come so far fortwo?" Hapless Deshuttes and Varigny! Their fate surely was sad.Whirled down so suddenly to the abyss; as men are, suddenly, by thewide thunder of the Mountain Avalanche, awakened not by them,awakened far off by others! When the Chateau Clock last struck,they two were pacing languid, with poised musketoon; anxious mainlythat the next hour would strike. It has struck; to them inaudible.Their trunks lie mangled: their heads parade, 'on pikes twelve feetlong,' through the streets of Versailles; and shall, about noonreach the Barriers of Paris,--a too ghastly contradiction to thelarge comfortable Placards that have been posted there! The other captive Bodyguard is still circling the corpse ofJerome, amid Indian war-whooping; bloody Tilebeard, with tuckedsleeves, brandishing his bloody axe; when Gondran and theGrenadiers come in sight. "Comrades, will you see a man massacredin cold blood?"--"Off, butchers!" answer they; and the poorBodyguard is free. Busy runs Gondran, busy run Guards and Captains;scouring at all corridors; dispersing Rascality and Robbery;sweeping the Palace clear. The mangled carnage is removed; Jerome'sbody to the Townhall, for inquest: the fire of Insurrection getsdamped, more and more, into measurable, manageable heat. Transcendent things of all sorts, as in the general outburst ofmultitudinous Passion, are huddled together; the ludicrous, nay theridiculous, with the horrible. Far over the billowy sea of heads,may be seen Rascality, caprioling on horses from the Royal Stud.The Spoilers these; for Patriotism is always infected so, with aproportion of mere thieves and scoundrels. Gondran snatched theirprey from them in the Chateau; whereupon they hurried to theStables, and took horse there. But the generous Diomedes' steeds,according to Weber, disdained such scoundrelburden; and, flingingup their royal heels, did soon project most of it, in paraboliccurves, to a distance, amid peals of laughter: and were caught.Mounted National Guards secured the rest. Now too is witnessed the touching last-flicker of Etiquette;which sinks not here, in the Cimmerian World-wreckage, without asign, as the house- cricket might still chirp in the pealing of aTrump of Doom. "Monsieur," said some Master of Ceremonies (onehopes it might be de Breze), as Lafayette, in these fearfulmoments, was rushing towards the inner Royal Apartments, "Monsieur,le Roi vous accorde les grandes entrees, Monsieur, the King grantsyou the Grand Entries,"--not finding it convenient to refuse them!"(Toulongeon, 1 App. 120.)
Volume I. The BastilleBook 1.VII. The Insurrection of WomenChapter 1.7.XI. From Versailles
However, the Paris National Guard, wholly under arms, hascleared the Palace, and even occupies the nearer external spaces;extruding miscellaneous Patriotism, for most part, into the GrandCourt, or even into the Forecourt. The Bodyguards, you can observe, have now of a verity, 'hoistedthe National Cockade:' for they step forward to the windows orbalconies, hat aloft in hand, on each hat a huge tricolor; andfling over their bandoleers in sign of surrender; and shout Vive laNation. To which how can the generous heart respond but with, Vivele Roi; vivent les Gardes-du-Corps? His Majesty himself hasappeared with Lafayette on the balcony, and again appears: Vive leRoi greets him from all throats; but also from some one throat isheard "Le Roi a Paris, The King to Paris!" Her Majesty too, on demand, shows herself, though there is perilin it: she steps out on the balcony, with her little boy and girl."No children, Point d'enfans!" cry the voices. She gently pushesback her children; and stands alone, her hands serenely crossed onher breast: "should I die," she had said, "I will do it." Suchserenity of heroism has its effect. Lafayette, with ready wit, inhis highflown chivalrous way, takes that fair queenly hand; andreverently kneeling, kisses it: thereupon the people do shout Vivela Reine. Nevertheless, poor Weber 'saw' (or even thought he saw;for hardly the third part of poor Weber's experiences, in suchhysterical days, will stand scrutiny) 'one of these brigands levelhis musket at her Majesty,'--with or without intention to shoot;for another of the brigands 'angrily struck it down.' So that all, and the Queen herself, nay the very Captain of theBodyguards, have grown National! The very Captain of the Bodyguardssteps out now with Lafayette. On the hat of the repentant man is anenormous tricolor; large as a soup-platter, or sun-flower; visibleto the utmost Forecourt. He takes the National Oath with a loudvoice, elevating his hat; at which sight all the army raise theirbonnets on their bayonets, with shouts. Sweet is reconcilement tothe heart of man. Lafayette has sworn Flandre; he swears theremaining Bodyguards, down in the Marble Court; the people claspthem in their arms:--O, my brothers, why would ye force us to slayyou? Behold there is joy over you, as over returning prodigalsons!--The poor Bodyguards, now National and tricolor, exchangebonnets, exchange arms; there shall be peace and fraternity. Andstill "Vive le Roi;" and also "Le Roi a Paris," not now from onethroat, but from all throats as one, for it is the heart's wish ofall mortals. Yes, The King to Paris: what else? Ministers may consult, andNational Deputies wag their heads: but there is now no otherpossibility. You have forced him to go willingly. "At one o'clock!"Lafayette gives audible assurance to that purpose; and universalInsurrection, with immeasurable shout, and a discharge of all thefirearms, clear and rusty, great and small, that it has, returnshim acceptance. What a sound; heard for leagues: a doom peal!--Thatsound too rolls away, into the Silence of Ages. And the Chateau ofVersailles stands ever since vacant, hushed still; its spaciousCourts grassgrown, responsive to the hoe of the weeder. Times andgenerations roll on, in their confused Gulf-current; and buildingslike builders have their destiny.
Till one o'clock, then, there will be three parties, NationalAssembly, National Rascality, National Royalty, all busy enough.Rascality rejoices; women trim themselves with tricolor. Naymotherly Paris has sent her Avengers sufficient 'cartloads ofloaves;' which are shouted over, which are gratefully consumed. TheAvengers, in return, are searching for grain- stores; loading themin fifty waggons; that so a National King, probable harbinger ofall blessings, may be the evident bringer of plenty, for one. And thus has Sansculottism made prisoner its King; revoking hisparole. The Monarchy has fallen; and not so much as honourably: no,ignominiously; with struggle, indeed, oft repeated; but then withunwise struggle; wasting its strength in fits and paroxysms; atevery new paroxysm, foiled more pitifully than before. ThusBroglie's whiff of grapeshot, which might have been something, hasdwindled to the pot-valour of an Opera Repast, and O Richard, O monRoi. Which again we shall see dwindle to a Favras' Conspiracy, athing to be settled by the hanging of one Chevalier. Poor Monarchy! But what save foulest defeat can await that man,who wills, and yet wills not? Apparently the King either has aright, assertible as such to the death, before God and man; or elsehe has no right. Apparently, the one or the other; could he butknow which! May Heaven pity him! Were Louis wise he would this dayabdicate.--Is it not strange so few Kings abdicate; and none yetheard of has been known to commit suicide? Fritz the First, ofPrussia, alone tried it; and they cut the rope. As for the National Assembly, which decrees this morning that it'is inseparable from his Majesty,' and will follow him to Paris,there may one thing be noted: its extreme want of bodily health.After the Fourteenth of July there was a certain sicklinessobservable among honourable Members; so many demanding passports,on account of infirm health. But now, for these following days,there is a perfect murrian: President Mounier, Lally Tollendal,Clermont Tonnere, and all Constitutional Two-Chamber Royalistsneeding change of air; as most No-Chamber Royalists had formerlydone. For, in truth, it is the second Emigration this that has nowcome; most extensive among Commons Deputies, Noblesse, Clergy: sothat 'to Switzerland alone there go sixty thousand.' They willreturn in the day of accounts! Yes, and have hot welcome.--ButEmigration on Emigration is the peculiarity of France. OneEmigration follows another; grounded on reasonable fear,unreasonable hope, largely also on childish pet. The highflyershave gone first, now the lower flyers; and ever the lower will godown to the crawlers. Whereby, however, cannot our NationalAssembly so much the more commodiously make the Constitution; yourTwo-Chamber Anglomaniacs being all safe, distant on foreign shores?Abbe Maury is seized, and sent back again: he, tough as tannedleather, with eloquent Captain Cazales and some others, will standit out for another year. But here, meanwhile, the question arises: Was Philippe d'Orleansseen, this day, 'in the Bois de Boulogne, in grey surtout;' waitingunder the wet sere foliage, what the day might bring forth? Alas,yes, the Eidolon of him was,--in Weber's and other such brains. TheChatelet shall make large inquisition into the matter, examining ahundred and seventy witnesses, and Deputy Chabroud publish hisReport; but disclose nothing further. (Rapport de Chabroud(Moniteur, du
31 December, 1789).) What then has caused these twounparalleled October Days? For surely such dramatic exhibitionnever yet enacted itself without Dramatist and Machinist. WoodenPunch emerges not, with his domestic sorrows, into the light ofday, unless the wire be pulled: how can human mobs? Was it notd'Orleans then, and Laclos, Marquis Sillery, Mirabeau and the sonsof confusion, hoping to drive the King to Metz, and gather thespoil? Nay was it not, quite contrariwise, the Oeil-de-Boeuf,Bodyguard Colonel de Guiche, Minister Saint-Priest and highflyingLoyalists; hoping also to drive him to Metz; and try it by thesword of civil war? Good Marquis Toulongeon, the Historian andDeputy, feels constrained to admit that it was both. (Toulongeon,i. 150.) Alas, my Friends, credulous incredulity is a strange matter. Butwhen a whole Nation is smitten with Suspicion, and sees a dramaticmiracle in the very operation of the gastric juices, what help isthere? Such Nation is already a mere hypochondriac bundle ofdiseases; as good as changed into glass; atrabiliar, decadent; andwill suffer crises. Is not Suspicion itself the one thing to besuspected, as Montaigne feared only fear? Now, however, the short hour has struck. His Majesty is in hiscarriage, with his Queen, sister Elizabeth, and two royal children.Not for another hour can the infinite Procession get marshalled,and under way. The weather is dim drizzling; the mind confused; andnoise great. Processional marches not a few our world has seen; Romantriumphs and ovations, Cabiric cymbal-beatings, Royal progresses,Irish funerals: but this of the French Monarchy marching to its bedremained to be seen. Miles long, and of breadth losing itself invagueness, for all the neighbouring country crowds to see. Slow;stagnating along, like shoreless Lake, yet with a noise likeNiagara, like Babel and Bedlam. A splashing and a tramping; ahurrahing, uproaring, musketvolleying;--the truest segment ofChaos seen in these latter Ages! Till slowly it disembogue itself,in the thickening dusk, into expectant Paris, through a double rowof faces all the way from Passy to the Hotel-de-Ville. Consider this: Vanguard of National troops; with trains ofartillery; of pikemen and pikewomen, mounted on cannons, on carts,hackney-coaches, or on foot;--tripudiating, in tricolor ribbonsfrom head to heel; loaves stuck on the points of bayonets, greenboughs stuck in gun barrels. (Mercier, Nouveau Paris, iii. 21.)Next, as main-march, 'fifty cartloads of corn,' which have beenlent, for peace, from the stores of Versailles. Behind which followstragglers of the Garde-du-Corps; all humiliated, in Grenadierbonnets. Close on these comes the Royal Carriage; come RoyalCarriages: for there are an Hundred National Deputies too, amongwhom sits Mirabeau,-his remarks not given. Then finally,pellmell, as rearguard, Flandre, Swiss, Hundred Swiss, otherBodyguards, Brigands, whosoever cannot get before. Between andamong all which masses, flows without limit Saint- Antoine, and theMenadic Cohort. Menadic especially about the Royal Carriage;tripudiating there, covered with tricolor; singing 'allusivesongs;' pointing with one hand to the Royal Carriage, which theillusions hit, and pointing to the Provision-wagons, with the otherhand, and these words: "Courage, Friends! We shall not want breadnow; we are bringing you the Baker, the Bakeress, and Baker's Boy(le Boulanger, la Boulangere, et le petit Mitron)." (Toulongeon, i.134-161; Deux Amis (iii. c. 9); &c. &c.)
The wet day draggles the tricolor, but the joy isunextinguishable. Is not all well now? "Ah, Madame, notre bonneReine," said some of these Strong- women some days hence, "AhMadame, our good Queen, don't be a traitor any more (ne soyez plustraitre), and we will all love you!" Poor Weber went splashingalong, close by the Royal carriage, with the tear in his eye:'their Majesties did me the honour,' or I thought they did it, 'totestify, from time to time, by shrugging of the shoulders, by looksdirected to Heaven, the emotions they felt.' Thus, like frailcockle, floats the Royal Life-boat, helmless, on black deluges ofRascality. Mercier, in his loose way, estimates the Procession andassistants at two hundred thousand. He says it was one boundlessinarticulate Haha;-- transcendent World-Laughter; comparable to theSaturnalia of the Ancients. Why not? Here too, as we said, is HumanNature once more human; shudder at it whoso is of shudderinghumour: yet behold it is human. It has 'swallowed all formulas;' ittripudiates even so. For which reason they that collect Vases andAntiques, with figures of Dancing Bacchantes 'in wild and all butimpossible positions,' may look with some interest on it. Thus, however, has the slow-moving Chaos or modern Saturnalia ofthe Ancients, reached the Barrier; and must halt, to be haranguedby Mayor Bailly. Thereafter it has to lumber along, between thedouble row of faces, in the transcendent heaven-lashing Haha; twohours longer, towards the Hotel-de-Ville. Then again to beharangued there, by several persons; by Moreau de Saint-Mery, amongothers; Moreau of the Three-thousand orders, now National Deputyfor St. Domingo. To all which poor Louis, who seemed to 'experiencea slight emotion' on entering this Townhall, can answer only thathe "comes with pleasure, with confidence among his people." MayorBailly, in reporting it, forgets 'confidence;' and the poor Queensays eagerly: "Add, with confidence."--"Messieurs," rejoins Bailly,"You are happier than if I had not forgot." Finally, the King is shewn on an upper balcony, by torchlight,with a huge tricolor in his hat: 'And all the "people," says Weber,grasped one another's hands;--thinking now surely the New Era wasborn.' Hardly till eleven at night can Royalty get to its vacant,long-deserted Palace of the Tuileries: to lodge there, somewhat instrolling-player fashion. It is Tuesday, the sixth of October,1789. Poor Louis has Two other Paris Processions to make: oneludicrous- ignominious like this; the other not ludicrous norignominious, but serious, nay sublime.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.I. The Feast of PikesChapter 2.1.I. In the Tuileries
The victim having once got his stroke-of-grace, the catastrophecan be considered as almost come. There is small interest now inwatching his long low moans: notable only are his sharper agonies,what convulsive struggles he may take to cast the torture off fromhim; and then finally the last departure of life itself, and how helies extinct and ended, either wrapt like Caesar in decorousmantle-folds, or unseemly sunk together, like one that had not theforce even to die.
Was French Royalty, when wrenched forth from its tapestries inthat fashion, on that Sixth of October 1789, such a victim?Universal France, and Royal Proclamation to all the Provinces,answers anxiously, No; nevertheless one may fear the worst. Royaltywas beforehand so decrepit, moribund, there is little life in it toheal an injury. How much of its strength, which was of theimagination merely, has fled; Rascality having looked plainly inthe King's face, and not died! When the assembled crows can pluckup their scarecrow, and say to it, Here shalt thou stand and notthere; and can treat with it, and make it, from an infinite, aquite finite Constitutional scarecrow,--what is to be looked for?Not in the finite Constitutional scarecrow, but in what stillunmeasured, infinite-seeming force may rally round it, is therethenceforth any hope. For it is most true that all availableAuthority is mystic in its conditions, and comes 'by the grace ofGod.' Cheerfuller than watching the death-struggles of Royalism willit be to watch the growth and gambollings of Sansculottism; for, inhuman things, especially in human society, all death is but adeath-birth: thus if the sceptre is departing from Louis, it isonly that, in other forms, other sceptres, were it evenpike-sceptres, may bear sway. In a prurient element, rich withnutritive influences, we shall find that Sansculottism growslustily, and even frisks in not ungraceful sport: as indeed mostyoung creatures are sportful; nay, may it not be noted further,that as the grown cat, and cat-species generally, is the cruellestthing known, so the merriest is precisely the kitten, or growingcat? But fancy the Royal Family risen from its truckle-beds on themorrow of that mad day: fancy the Municipal inquiry, "How wouldyour Majesty please to lodge?"--and then that the King's roughanswer, "Each may lodge as he can, I am well enough," is congeedand bowed away, in expressive grins, by the Townhall Functionaries,with obsequious upholsterers at their back; and how the Chateau ofthe Tuileries is repainted, regarnished into a golden RoyalResidence; and Lafayette with his blue National Guards liesencompassing it, as blue Neptune (in the language of poets) does anisland, wooingly. Thither may the wrecks of rehabilitated Loyaltygather; if it will become Constitutional; for Constitutionalismthinks no evil; Sansculottism itself rejoices in the King'scountenance. The rubbish of a Menadic Insurrection, as in thisever-kindly world all rubbish can and must be, is swept aside; andso again, on clear arena, under new conditions, with something evenof a new stateliness, we begin a new course of action. Arthur Young has witnessed the strangest scene: Majesty walkingunattended in the Tuileries Gardens; and miscellaneous tricolorcrowds, who cheer it, and reverently make way for it: the veryQueen commands at lowest respectful silence, regretful avoidance.(Arthur Young's Travels, i. 264- 280.) Simple ducks, in those royalwaters, quackle for crumbs from young royal fingers: the littleDauphin has a little railed garden, where he is seen delving, withruddy cheeks and flaxen curled hair; also a little hutch to put histools in, and screen himself against showers. What peaceablesimplicity! Is it peace of a Father restored to his children? Or ofa Taskmaster who has lost his whip? Lafayette and the Municipalityand universal Constitutionalism assert the former, and do what isin them to realise it. Such Patriotism as snarls dangerously, andshows teeth, Patrollotism shall suppress; or far better, Royaltyshall soothe down the angry hair of it, by gentle pattings; and,most effectual of all, by fuller diet. Yes, not only shall Paris befed, but the King's hand be seen in that work. The household goodsof the Poor shall, up to a certain amount, by royal bounty, bedisengaged from pawn, and that insatiable Mont de Piete disgorge:rides in the
city with their vive-le-roi need not fail; and so bysubstance and show, shall Royalty, if man's art can popularise it,be popularised. (Deux Amis, iii. c. 10.) Or, alas, is it neither restored Father nor diswhippedTaskmaster that walks there; but an anomalous complex of boththese, and of innumerable other heterogeneities; reducible to norubric, if not to this newly devised one: King Louis Restorer ofFrench Liberty? Man indeed, and King Louis like other men, lives inthis world to make rule out of the ruleless; by his living energy,he shall force the absurd itself to become less absurd. But then ifthere be no living energy; living passivity only? King Serpent,hurled into his unexpected watery dominion, did at least bite, andassert credibly that he was there: but as for the poor King Log,tumbled hither and thither as thousandfold chance and other willthan his might direct, how happy for him that he was indeed wooden;and, doing nothing, could also see and suffer nothing! It is adistracted business. For his French Majesty, meanwhile, one of the worst things isthat he can get no hunting. Alas, no hunting henceforth; only afatal being-hunted! Scarcely, in the next June weeks, shall hetaste again the joys of the game-destroyer; in next June, and nevermore. He sends for his smith- tools; gives, in the course of theday, official or ceremonial business being ended, 'a few strokes ofthe file, quelques coups de lime. (Le Chateau des Tuileries, ourecit, &c., par Roussel (in Hist. Parl. iv. 195- 219).)Innocent brother mortal, why wert thou not an obscure substantialmaker of locks; but doomed in that other far-seen craft, to be amaker only of world-follies, unrealities; things self destructive,which no mortal hammering could rivet into coherence! Poor Louis is not without insight, nor even without the elementsof will; some sharpness of temper, spurting at times from astagnating character. If harmless inertness could save him, it werewell; but he will slumber and painfully dream, and to do aught isnot given him. Royalist Antiquarians still shew the rooms whereMajesty and suite, in these extraordinary circumstances, had theirlodging. Here sat the Queen; reading,--for she had her librarybrought hither, though the King refused his; taking vehementcounsel of the vehement uncounselled; sorrowing over altered times;yet with sure hope of better: in her young rosy Boy, has she notthe living emblem of hope! It is a murky, working sky; yet withgolden gleams--of dawn, or of deeper meteoric night? Here againthis chamber, on the other side of the main entrance, was theKing's: here his Majesty breakfasted, and did official work; heredaily after breakfast he received the Queen; sometimes in patheticfriendliness; sometimes in human sulkiness, for flesh is weak; and,when questioned about business would answer: "Madame, your businessis with the children." Nay, Sire, were it not better you, yourMajesty's self, took the children? So asks impartial History;scornful that the thicker vessel was not also the stronger; pity-struck for the porcelain-clay of humanity rather than for thetile-clay,-- though indeed both were broken! So, however, in this Medicean Tuileries, shall the French Kingand Queen now sit, for one-andforty months; and see awild-fermenting France work out its own destiny, and theirs. Monthsbleak, ungenial, of rapid vicissitude; yet with a mild palesplendour, here and there: as of an April that were leading toleafiest Summer; as of an October that led only to everlastingFrost. Medicean Tuileries, how changed since it was a peaceful Tilefield! Or is the ground itself fatestricken, accursed: an Atreus'Palace; for that Louvre window is still nigh, out of which a
Capet,whipt of the Furies, fired his signal of the Saint Bartholomew!Dark is the way of the Eternal as mirrored in this world of Time:God's way is in the sea, and His path in the great deep.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.I. The Feast of PikesChapter 2.1.II. In the Salle de Manege
To believing Patriots, however, it is now clear, that theConstitution will march, marcher,--had it once legs to stand on.Quick, then, ye Patriots, bestir yourselves, and make it; shapelegs for it! In the Archeveche, or Archbishop's Palace, his Gracehimself having fled; and afterwards in the Riding-hall, namedManege, close on the Tuileries: there does a National Assemblyapply itself to the miraculous work. Successfully, had there beenany heaven-scaling Prometheus among them; not successfully sincethere was none! There, in noisy debate, for the sessions areoccasionally 'scandalous,' and as many as three speakers have beenseen in the Tribune at once,--let us continue to fancy it wearingthe slow months. Tough, dogmatic, long of wind is Abbe Maury; Ciceronian patheticis Cazales. Keen-trenchant, on the other side, glitters a youngBarnave; abhorrent of sophistry; sheering, like keen Damascussabre, all sophistry asunder,--reckless what else he sheer with it.Simple seemest thou, O solid Dutch-built Petion; if solid, surelydull. Nor lifegiving in that tone of thine, livelier polemicalRabaut. With ineffable serenity sniffs great Sieyes, aloft, alone;his Constitution ye may babble over, ye may mar, but can by nopossibility mend: is not Polity a science he has exhausted? Cool,slow, two military Lameths are visible, with their quality sneer,or demi-sneer; they shall gallantly refund their Mother's Pension,when the Red Book is produced; gallantly be wounded in duels. AMarquis Toulongeon, whose Pen we yet thank, sits there; in stoicalmeditative humour, oftenest silent, accepts what destiny will send.Thouret and Parlementary Duport produce mountains of Reformed Law;liberal, Anglomaniac, available and unavailable. Mortals rise andfall. Shall goose Gobel, for example,--or Go(with an umlaut)bel,for he is of Strasburg German breed, be a ConstitutionalArchbishop? Alone of all men there, Mirabeau may begin to discern clearlywhither all this is tending. Patriotism, accordingly, regrets thathis zeal seems to be getting cool. In that famed PentecostNight ofthe Fourth of August, when new Faith rose suddenly into miraculousfire, and old Feudality was burnt up, men remarked that Mirabeautook no hand in it; that, in fact, he luckily happened to beabsent. But did he not defend the Veto, nay Veto Absolu; and tellvehement Barnave that six hundred irresponsible senators would makeof all tyrannies the insupportablest? Again, how anxious was hethat the King's Ministers should have seat and voice in theNational Assembly;--doubtless with an eye to being Ministerhimself! Whereupon the National Assembly decides, what is verymomentous, that no Deputy shall be Minister; he, in his haughtystormful manner, advising us to make it, 'no Deputy calledMirabeau.' (Moniteur, Nos. 65, 86 (29th September, 7th November,1789).) A man of perhaps inveterate Feudalisms; of stratagems; toooften visible leanings towards the Royalist side: a man suspect;whom Patriotism will unmask! Thus, in these June days, when thequestion Who shall have right to declare war? comes on, you hearhoarse Hawkers sound dolefully through the streets, "Grand Treasonof Count Mirabeau, price only one sou;"--because he pleads that itshall be not the Assembly but the King! Pleads; nay prevails: forin spite of the hoarse Hawkers, and an endless Populace raised bythem to the
pitch even of 'Lanterne,' he mounts the Tribune nextday; grim-resolute; murmuring aside to his friends that speak ofdanger: "I know it: I must come hence either in triumph, or elsetorn in fragments;" and it was in triumph that he came. A man of stout heart; whose popularity is not of the populace,'pas populaciere;' whom no clamour of unwashed mobs without doors,or of washed mobs within, can scarce from his way! Dumont remembershearing him deliver a Report on Marseilles; 'every word wasinterrupted on the part of the Cote Droit by abusive epithets;calumniator, liar, assassin, scoundrel (scelerat): Mirabeau pausesa moment, and, in a honeyed tone, addressing the most furious,says: "I wait, Messieurs, till these amenities be exhausted."'(Dumont, Souvenirs, p. 278.) A man enigmatic, difficult to unmask!For example, whence comes his money? Can the profit of a Newspaper,sorely eaten into by Dame Le Jay; can this, and the eighteen francsa-day your National Deputy has, be supposed equal to thisexpenditure? House in the Chaussee d'Antin; Country-house atArgenteuil; splendours, sumptuosities, orgies;--living as if he hada mint! All saloons barred against Adventurer Mirabeau, are flungwide open to King Mirabeau, the cynosure of Europe, whom femaleFrance flutters to behold,-- though the Man Mirabeau is one and thesame. As for money, one may conjecture that Royalism furnishes it;which if Royalism do, will not the same be welcome, as money alwaysis to him? 'Sold,' whatever Patriotism thinks, he cannot readily be: thespiritual fire which is in that man; which shining through suchconfusions is nevertheless Conviction, and makes him strong, andwithout which he had no strength,--is not buyable nor saleable; insuch transference of barter, it would vanish and not be. Perhaps'paid and not sold, paye pas vendu:' as poor Rivarol, in theunhappier converse way, calls himself 'sold and not paid!' A mantravelling, comet-like, in splendour and nebulosity, his wild way;whom telescopic Patriotism may long watch, but, without highermathematics, will not make out. A questionable most blameable man;yet to us the far notablest of all. With rich munificence, as weoften say, in a most blinkard, bespectacled, logic-choppinggeneration, Nature has gifted this man with an eye. Welcome is hisword, there where he speaks and works; and growing ever welcomer;for it alone goes to the heart of the business: logical cobwebberyshrinks itself together; and thou seest a thing, how it is, how ismay be worked with. Unhappily our National Assembly has much to do: a France toregenerate; and France is short of so many requisites; short evenof cash! These same Finances give trouble enough; no choking of theDeficit; which gapes ever, Give, give! To appease the Deficit weventure on a hazardous step, sale of the Clergy's Lands andsuperfluous Edifices; most hazardous. Nay, given the sale, who isto buy them, ready-money having fled? Wherefore, on the 19th day ofDecember, a papermoney of 'Assignats,' of Bonds secured, orassigned, on that Clerico-National Property, and unquestionable atleast in payment of that,--is decreed: the first of a long seriesof like financial performances, which shall astonish mankind. Sothat now, while old rags last, there shall be no lack ofcirculating medium; whether of commodities to circulate thereon isanother question. But, after all, does not this Assignat businessspeak volumes for modern science? Bankruptcy, we may say, was come,as the end of all Delusions needs must come: yet how gently, insoftening diffusion, in mild succession, was it hereby made tofall;--like no all-destroying avalanche; like gentle showers of apowdery impalpable snow, shower after shower, till all was indeedburied, and
yet little was destroyed that could not be replaced ,be dispensed with! To such length has modern machinery reached.Bankruptcy, we said, was great; but indeed Money itself is astanding miracle. On the whole, it is a matter of endless difficulty, that of theClergy. Clerical property may be made the Nation's, and the Clergyhired servants of the State; but if so, is it not an alteredChurch? Adjustment enough, of the most confused sort, has becomeunavoidable. Old landmarks, in any sense, avail not in a newFrance. Nay literally, the very Ground is new divided; your oldpartycoloured Provinces become new uniform Departments,Eighty-three in number;--whereby, as in some sudden shifting of theEarth's axis, no mortal knows his new latitude at once. The Twelveold Parlements too, what is to be done with them? The oldParlements are declared to be all 'in permanent vacation,'--tillonce the new equal-justice, of Departmental Courts, NationalAppeal-Court, of elective Justices, Justices of Peace, and otherThouret-and-Duport apparatus be got ready. They have to sit there,these old Parlements, uneasily waiting; as it were, with the roperound their neck; crying as they can, Is there none to deliver us?But happily the answer being, None, none, they are a manageableclass, these Parlements. They can be bullied, even into silence;the Paris Parliament, wiser than most, has never whimpered. Theywill and must sit there; in such vacation as is fit; their Chamberof Vacation distributes in the interim what little justice isgoing. With the rope round their neck, their destiny may besuccinct! On the 13th of November 1790, Mayor Bailly shall walk tothe Palais de Justice, few even heeding him; and with municipalseal-stamp and a little hot wax, seal up the Parlementary Paper-rooms,--and the dread Parlement of Paris pass away, into Chaos,gently as does a Dream! So shall the Parlements perish, succinctly;and innumerable eyes be dry. Not so the Clergy. For granting even that Religion were dead;that it had died, half-centuries ago, with unutterable Dubois; oremigrated lately, to Alsace, with Necklace-Cardinal Rohan; or thatit now walked as goblin revenant with Bishop Talleyrand of Autun;yet does not the Shadow of Religion, the Cant of Religion, stilllinger? The Clergy have means and material: means, of number,organization, social weight; a material, at lowest, of publicignorance, known to be the mother of devotion. Nay, withal, is itincredible that there might, in simple hearts, latent here andthere like gold grains in the mud-beach, still dwell some realFaith in God, of so singular and tenacious a sort that even a Mauryor a Talleyrand, could still be the symbol for it?--Enough, andClergy has strength, the Clergy has craft and indignation. It is amost fatal business this of the Clergy. A weltering hydra-coil,which the National Assembly has stirred up about its ears; hissing,stinging; which cannot be appeased, alive; which cannot be trampleddead! Fatal, from first to last! Scarcely after fifteen months'debating, can a Civil Constitution of the Clergy be so much as gotto paper; and then for getting it into reality? Alas, such CivilConstitution is but an agreement to disagree. It divides Francefrom end to end, with a new split, infinitely complicating all theother splits;-- Catholicism, what of it there is left, with theCant of Catholicism, raging on the one side, and sceptic Heathenismon the other; both, by contradiction , waxing fanatic. What endlessjarring, of Refractory hated Priests, and Constitutional despisedones; of tender consciences, like the King's, and conscienceshot-seared, like certain of his People's: the whole to end inFeasts of Reason and a War of La Vendee! So deep-seated is Religionin the heart of man, and holds of all infinite passions. If thedead echo of it still did so much, what could not the living voiceof it once do?
Finance and Constitution, Law and Gospel: this surely were workenough; yet this is not all. In fact, the Ministry, and Neckerhimself whom a brass inscription 'fastened by the people over hisdoor-lintel' testifies to be the 'Ministre adore,' are dwindlinginto clearer and clearer nullity. Execution or legislation,arrangement or detail, from their nerveless fingers all dropsundone; all lights at last on the toiled shoulders of an augustRepresentative Body. Heavy-laden National Assembly! It has to hearof innumerable fresh revolts, Brigand expeditions; of Chateaus inthe West, especially of Charter-chests, Chartiers, set on fire; forthere too the overloaded Ass frightfully recalcitrates. Of Citiesin the South full of heats and jealousies; which will end incrossed sabres, Marseilles against Toulon, and Carpentrasbeleaguered by Avignon;--such Royalist collision in a career ofFreedom; nay Patriot collision, which a mere difference of velocitywill bring about! Of a Jourdan Coup-tete, who has skulkedthitherward, from the claws of the Chatelet; and will raise wholescoundrel-regiments. Also it has to hear of Royalist Camp of Jales: Jalesmountain-girdled Plain, amid the rocks of the Cevennes; whenceRoyalism, as is feared and hoped, may dash down like a mountaindeluge, and submerge France! A singular thing this camp of Jales;existing mostly on paper. For the Soldiers at Jales, being peasantsor National Guards, were in heart sworn Sansculottes; and all thatthe Royalist Captains could do was, with false words, to keep them,or rather keep the report of them, drawn up there, visible to allimaginations, for a terror and a sign,--if peradventure Francemight be reconquered by theatrical machinery, by the picture of aRoyalist Army done to the life! (Dampmartin, Evenemens, i. 208.)Not till the third summer was this portent, burning out by fits andthen fading, got finally extinguished; was the old Castle of Jales,no Camp being visible to the bodily eye, got blown asunder by someNational Guards. Also it has to hear not only of Brissot and his Friends of theBlacks, but by and by of a whole St. Domingo blazing skyward;blazing in literal fire, and in far worse metaphorical; beaconingthe nightly main. Also of the shipping interest, and thelanded-interest, and all manner of interests, reduced to distress.Of Industry every where manacled, bewildered; and only Rebellionthriving. Of sub-officers, soldiers and sailors in mutiny by landand water. Of soldiers, at Nanci, as we shall see, needing to becannonaded by a brave Bouille. Of sailors, nay the verygalley-slaves, at Brest, needing also to be cannonaded; but with noBouille to do it. For indeed, to say it in a word, in those daysthere was no King in Israel, and every man did that which was rightin his own eyes. (See Deux Amis, iii. c. 14; iv. c. 2, 3, 4, 7, 9,14. Expedition des Volontaires de Brest sur Lannion; Les LyonnaisSauveurs des Dauphinois; Massacre au Mans; Troubles du Maine(Pamphlets and Excerpts, in Hist. Parl. iii. 251; iv. 162-168),&c.) Such things has an august National Assembly to hear of, as itgoes on regenerating France. Sad and stern: but what remedy? Getthe Constitution ready; and all men will swear to it: for do not'Addresses of adhesion' arrive by the cartload? In this manner, byHeaven's blessing, and a Constitution got ready, shall thebottomless fire-gulf be vaulted in, with rag-paper; and Order willwed Freedom, and live with her there,--till it grow too hot forthem. O Cote Gauche, worthy are ye, as the adhesive Addressesgenerally say, to 'fix the regards of the Universe;' the regards ofthis one poor Planet, at lowest!-Nay, it must be owned, the Cote Droit makes a still madderfigure. An irrational generation; irrational, imbecile, and withthe vehement obstinacy characteristic of that; a generation
whichwill not learn. Falling Bastilles, Insurrections of Women,thousands of smoking Manorhouses, a country bristling with no cropbut that of Sansculottic steel: these were tolerably didacticlessons; but them they have not taught. There are still men, ofwhom it was of old written, Bray them in a mortar! Or, in milderlanguage, They have wedded their delusions: fire nor steel, nor anysharpness of Experience, shall sever the bond; till death do uspart! Of such may the Heavens have mercy; for the Earth, with herrigorous Necessity, will have none. Admit, at the same time, that it was most natural. Man lives byHope: Pandora when her box of gods'-gifts flew all out, and becamegods'-curses, still retained Hope. How shall an irrational mortal,when his high-place is never so evidently pulled down, and he,being irrational, is left resourceless,--part with the belief thatit will be rebuilt? It would make all so straight again; it seemsso unspeakably desirable; so reasonable,-- would you but look at itaright! For, must not the thing which was continue to be; or elsethe solid World dissolve? Yes, persist, O infatuated Sansculottesof France! Revolt against constituted Authorities; hunt out yourrightful Seigneurs, who at bottom so loved you, and readily shedtheir blood for you,--in country's battles as at Rossbach andelsewhere; and, even in preserving game, were preserving you, couldye but have understood it: hunt them out, as if they were wildwolves; set fire to their Chateaus and Chartiers as to wolf-dens;and what then? Why, then turn every man his hand against hisfellow! In confusion, famine, desolation, regret the days that aregone; rueful recall them, recall us with them. To repentant prayerswe will not be deaf. So, with dimmer or clearer consciousness, must the Right Sidereason and act. An inevitable position perhaps; but a most falseone for them. Evil, be thou our good: this henceforth mustvirtually be their prayer. The fiercer the effervescence grows, thesooner will it pass; for after all it is but some madeffervescence; the World is solid, and cannot dissolve. For the rest, if they have any positive industry, it is that ofplots, and backstairs conclaves. Plots which cannot be executed;which are mostly theoretic on their part;--for which neverthelessthis and the other practical Sieur Augeard, Sieur Maillebois, SieurBonne Savardin, gets into trouble, gets imprisoned, and escapeswith difficulty. Nay there is a poor practical Chevalier Favraswho, not without some passing reflex on Monsieur himself, getshanged for them, amid loud uproar of the world. Poor Favras, hekeeps dictating his last will at the 'Hotel-de-Ville, through thewhole remainder of the day,' a weary February day; offers to revealsecrets, if they will save him; handsomely declines since they willnot; then dies, in the flare of torchlight, with politestcomposure; remarking, rather than exclaiming, with outspread hands:"People, I die innocent; pray for me." (See Deux Amis, iv. c. 14,7; Hist. Parl. vi. 384.) Poor Favras;--type of so much that hasprowled indefatigable over France, in days now ending; and, infreer field, might have earned instead of prowling,--to thee it isno theory! In the Senate-house again, the attitude of the Right Side isthat of calm unbelief. Let an august National Assembly make aFourth-of-August Abolition of Feudality; declare the ClergyStateservants who shall have wages; vote Suspensive Vetos, newLaw-Courts; vote or decree what contested thing it will; have itresponded to from the four corners of France, nay get King'sSanction, and what other Acceptance were conceivable,--the RightSide, as we find, persists, with imperturbablest tenacity, inconsidering, and ever and anon shews that it still considers, allthese so-called Decrees as mere temporary whims, which indeed standon paper, but
in practice and fact are not, and cannot be. Figurethe brass head of an Abbe Maury flooding forth Jesuitic eloquencein this strain; dusky d'Espremenil, Barrel Mirabeau (probably inliquor), and enough of others, cheering him from the Right; and,for example, with what visage a seagreen Robespierre eyes him fromthe Left. And how Sieyes ineffably sniffs on him, or does not deignto sniff; and how the Galleries groan in spirit, or bark rabid onhim: so that to escape the Lanterne, on stepping forth, he needspresence of mind, and a pair of pistols in his girdle! For he isone of the toughest of men. Here indeed becomes notable one great difference between our twokinds of civil war; between the modern lingual orParliamentary-logical kind, and the ancient, or manual kind, in thesteel battle-field;--much to the disadvantage of the former. In themanual kind, where you front your foe with drawn weapon, one rightstroke is final; for, physically speaking, when the brains are outthe man does honestly die, and trouble you no more. But howdifferent when it is with arguments you fight! Here no victory yetdefinable can be considered as final. Beat him down, withParliamentary invective, till sense be fled; cut him in two,hanging one half in this dilemmahorn, the other on that; blow thebrains or thinking-faculty quite out of him for the time: it skillsnot; he rallies and revives on the morrow; to-morrow he repairs hisgolden fires! The think that will logically extinguish him isperhaps still a desideratum in Constitutional civilisation. Forhow, till a man know, in some measure, at what point he becomeslogically defunct, can Parliamentary Business be carried on, andTalk cease or slake? Doubtless it was some feeling of this difficulty; and the clearinsight how little such knowledge yet existed in the French Nation,new in the Constitutional career, and how defunct Aristocrats wouldcontinue to walk for unlimited periods, as Partridge theAlamanack-maker did,--that had sunk into the deep mind ofPeople's-friend Marat, an eminently practical mind; and had grownthere, in that richest putrescent soil, into the most original planof action ever submitted to a People. Not yet has it grown; but ithas germinated, it is growing; rooting itself into Tartarus,branching towards Heaven: the second season hence, we shall see itrisen out of the bottomless Darkness, full-grown, into disastrousTwilight,--a Hemlock-tree, great as the world; on or under whoseboughs all the People's-friends of the world may lodge. 'Twohundred and sixty thousand Aristocrat heads:' that is the precisestcalculation, though one would not stand on a few hundreds; yet wenever rise as high as the round three hundred thousand. Shudder atit, O People; but it is as true as that ye yourselves, and yourPeople's-friend, are alive. These prating Senators of yours hoverineffectual on the barren letter, and will never save theRevolution. A CassandraMarat cannot do it, with his single shrunkarm; but with a few determined men it were possible. "Give me,"said the People's-friend, in his cold way, when young Barbaroux,once his pupil in a course of what was called Optics, went to seehim, "Give me two hundred Naples Bravoes, armed each with a gooddirk, and a muff on his left arm by way of shield: with them I willtraverse France, and accomplish the Revolution." (Memoires deBarbaroux (Paris, 1822), p. 57.) Nay, be brave, young Barbaroux;for thou seest, there is no jesting in those rheumy eyes; in thatsootbleared figure, most earnest of created things; neither indeedis there madness, of the straitwaistcoat sort. Such produce shall the Time ripen in cavernous Marat, the manforbid; living in Paris cellars, lone as fanatic Anchorite in hisThebaid; say, as far-seen Simon on his Pillar,--taking peculiarviews therefrom. Patriots may smile; and, using him as bandog nowto be muzzled, now
to be let bark, name him, as Desmoulins does,'Maximum of Patriotism' and 'Cassandra- Marat:' but were it notsingular if this dirk-and-muff plan of his (with superficialmodifications) proved to be precisely the plan adopted? After this manner, in these circumstances, do august Senatorsregenerate France. Nay, they are, in very deed, believed to beregenerating it; on account of which great fact, main fact of theirhistory, the wearied eye can never be permitted wholly to ignorethem. But looking away now from these precincts of the Tuileries,where Constitutional Royalty, let Lafayette water it as he will,languishes too like a cut branch; and august Senators are perhapsat bottom only perfecting their 'theory of defective verbs,'--howdoes the young Reality, young Sansculottism thrive? The attentiveobserver can answer: It thrives bravely; putting forth new buds;expanding the old buds into leaves, into boughs. Is not FrenchExistence, as before, most prurient, all loosened, most nutrientfor it? Sansculottism has the property of growing by what otherthings die of: by agitation, contention, disarrangement; nay in aword, by what is the symbol and fruit of all these: Hunger. In such a France as this, Hunger, as we have remarked, canhardly fail. The Provinces, the Southern Cities feel it in theirturn; and what it brings: Exasperation, preternatural Suspicion. InParis some halcyon days of abundance followed the MenadicInsurrection, with its Versailles grain- carts, and recoveredRestorer of Liberty; but they could not continue. The month isstill October when famishing Saint-Antoine, in a moment of passion,seizes a poor Baker, innocent 'Francois the Baker;' (21st October,1789 (Moniteur, No. 76).) and hangs him, in Constantinoplewise;--but even this, singular as it my seem, does not cheapenbread! Too clear it is, no Royal bounty, no Municipal dexterity canadequately feed a Bastille- destroying Paris. Wherefore, on view ofthe hanged Baker, Constitutionalism in sorrow and anger demands'Loi Martiale,' a kind of Riot Act;--and indeed gets it, mostreadily, almost before the sun goes down. This is that famed Martial law, with its Red Flag, its 'DrapeauRouge:' in virtue of which Mayor Bailly, or any Mayor, has buthenceforth to hang out that new Oriflamme of his; then to read ormumble something about the King's peace; and, after certain pauses,serve any undispersing Assemblage with musket-shot, or whatevershot will disperse it. A decisive Law; and most just on oneproviso: that all Patrollotism be of God, and all mob- assemblingbe of the Devil;--otherwise not so just. Mayor Bailly be unwillingto use it! Hang not out that new Oriflamme, flame not of gold butof the want of gold! The thrice-blessed Revolution is done, thouthinkest? If so it will be well with thee. But now let no mortal say henceforth that an august NationalAssembly wants riot: all it ever wanted was riot enough to balanceCourt-plotting; all it now wants, of Heaven or of Earth, is to getits theory of defective verbs perfected.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.I. The Feast of PikesChapter 2.1.III. The Muster
With famine and a Constitutional theory of defective verbs goingon, all other excitement is conceivable. A universal shaking andsifting of French Existence this is: in the course of which, forone thing, what a multitude of low-lying figures are sifted to thetop, and set busily to work there! Dogleech Marat, now for-seen as Simon Stylites, we already know;him and others, raised aloft. The mere sample, these, of what iscoming, of what continues coming, upwards from the realm ofNight!--Chaumette, by and by Anaxagoras Chaumette, one alreadydescries: mellifluous in street-groups; not now a sea-boy on thehigh and giddy mast: a mellifluous tribune of the common people,with long curling locks, on bourne-stone of the thoroughfares; ablesub-editor too; who shall rise--to the very gallows. Clerk Tallien,he also is become sub-editor; shall become able editor; and more.Bibliopolic Momoro, Typographic Pruhomme see new trades opening.Collot d'Herbois, tearing a passion to rags, pauses on the Thespianboards; listens, with that black bushy head, to the sound of theworld's drama: shall the Mimetic become Real? Did ye hiss him, Omen of Lyons? (Buzot, Memoires (Paris, 1823), p. 90.) Better had yeclapped! Happy now, indeed, for all manner of mimetic, half-original men!Tumid blustering, with more or less of sincerity, which need not beentirely sincere, yet the sincerer the better, is like to go far.Shall we say, the Revolution-element works itself rarer and rarer;so that only lighter and lighter bodies will float in it; till atlast the mere blown-bladder is your only swimmer? Limitation ofmind, then vehemence, promptitude, audacity, shall all beavailable; to which add only these two: cunning and good lungs.Good fortune must be presupposed. Accordingly, of all classes therising one, we observe, is now the Attorney class: witness Bazires,Carriers, FouquierTinvilles, Bazoche-Captain Bourdons: more thanenough. Such figures shall Night, from her wonder-bearing bosom,emit; swarm after swarm. Of another deeper and deepest swarm, notyet dawned on the astonished eye; of pilfering Candle-snuffers,Thief-valets, disfrocked Capuchins, and so many Heberts, Henriots,Ronsins, Rossignols, let us, as long as possible, forbearspeaking. Thus, over France, all stirs that has what the Physiologistscall irritability in it: how much more all wherein irritability hasperfected itself into vitality; into actual vision, and force thatcan will! All stirs; and if not in Paris, flocks thither. Great andgreater waxes President Danton in his Cordeliers Section; hisrhetorical tropes are all 'gigantic:' energy flashes from his blackbrows, menaces in his athletic figure, rolls in the sound of hisvoice 'reverberating from the domes;' this man also, like Mirabeau,has a natural eye, and begins to see whither Constitutionalism istending, though with a wish in it different from Mirabeau's. Remark, on the other hand, how General Dumouriez has quittedNormandy and the Cherbourg Breakwater, to come--whither we mayguess. It is his second or even third trial at Paris, since thisNew Era began; but now it is in right earnest, for he has quittedall else. Wiry, elastic unwearied man; whose life was but a battleand a march! No, not a creature of Choiseul's; "the creature of Godand of my sword,"--he fiercely answered in old days. OverfallingCorsican batteries, in the deadly fire-hail; wriggling invinciblefrom under his horse, at Closterkamp of the Netherlands, thoughtethered with 'crushed stirrup-iron and nineteen wounds;' tough,minatory, standing at bay, as forlorn hope, on the skirts ofPoland; intriguing, battling in cabinet and field; roaming far out,obscure, as King's spial, or sitting sealed up, enchanted inBastille; fencing, pamphleteering, scheming and struggling from thevery birth of him, (Dumouriez, Memoires, i.
28, &c.)--the manhas come thus far. How repressed, how irrepressible! Like someincarnate spirit in prison, which indeed he was; hewing on granitewalls for deliverance; striking fire flashes from them. And now hasthe general earthquake rent his cavern too? Twenty years younger,what might he not have done! But his hair has a shade of gray: hisway of thought is all fixed, military. He can grow no further, andthe new world is in such growth. We will name him, on the whole,one of Heaven's Swiss; without faith; wanting above all thingswork, work on any side. Work also is appointed him; and he will doit. Not from over France only are the unrestful flocking towardsParis; but from all sides of Europe. Where the carcase is, thitherwill the eagles gather. Think how many a Spanish Guzman, MartinicoFournier named 'Fournier l'Americain,' Engineer Miranda from thevery Andes, were flocking or had flocked! Walloon Pereyra mightboast of the strangest parentage: him, they say, Prince Kaunitz theDiplomatist heedlessly dropped;' like ostrich-egg, to be hatched ofChance-into an ostrich-eater! Jewish or German Freys do businessin the great Cesspool of Agio; which Cesspool this Assignat-fiathas quickened, into a Mother of dead dogs. Swiss Claviere couldfound no Socinian Genevese Colony in Ireland; but he paused, yearsago, prophetic before the Minister's Hotel at Paris; and said, itwas borne on his mind that he one day was to be Minister, andlaughed. (Dumont, Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, p. 399.) Swiss Pachc, onthe other hand, sits sleekheaded, frugal; the wonder of his ownalley, and even of neighbouring ones, for humility of mind, and athought deeper than most men's: sit there, Tartuffe, till wanted!Ye Italian Dufournys, Flemish Prolys, flit hither all ye bipeds ofprey! Come whosesoever head is hot; thou of mind ungoverned, be itchaos as of undevelopment or chaos as of ruin; the man who cannotget known, the man who is too well known; if thou have any vendiblefaculty, nay if thou have but edacity and loquacity, come! Theycome; with hot unutterabilities in their heart; as Pilgrims towardsa miraculous shrine. Nay how many come as vacant Strollers,aimless, of whom Europe is full merely towards something! Forbenighted fowls, when you beat their bushes, rush towards anylight. Thus Frederick Baron Trenck too is here; mazed, purblind,from the cells of Magdeburg; Minotauric cells, and his Ariadnelost! Singular to say, Trenck, in these years, sells wine; notindeed in bottle, but in wood. Nor is our England without her missionaries. She has herlive-saving Needham; to whom was solemnly presented a 'civicsword,'--long since rusted into nothingness. Her Paine: rebelliousStaymaker; unkempt; who feels that he, a single Needleman, did byhis 'Common Sense' Pamphlet, free America;--that he can and willfree all this World; perhaps even the other. Price-StanhopeConstitutional Association sends over to congratulate; (Moniteur,10 Novembre, 7 Decembre, 1789.) welcomed by National Assembly,though they are but a London Club; whom Burke and Toryism eyeaskance. On thee too, for country's sake, O Chevalier John Paul, be aword spent, or misspent! In faded naval uniform, Paul Jones lingersvisible here; like a wine-skin from which the wine is all drawn.Like the ghost of himself! Low is his once loud bruit; scarcelyaudible, save, with extreme tedium in ministerial ante-chambers; inthis or the other charitable dining-room, mindful of the past. Whatchanges; culminatings and declinings! Not now, poor Paul, thoulookest wistful over the Solway brine, by the foot of nativeCriffel, into blue mountainous Cumberland, into blue Infinitude;environed with thrift, with humble friendliness; thyself, youngfool, longing to be aloft from it, or even to be away from it. Yes,beyond that sapphire Promontory, which men name St.
Bees, which isnot sapphire either, but dull sandstone, when one gets close to it,there is a world. Which world thou too shalt taste of!--From yonderWhite Haven rise his smoke- clouds; ominous though ineffectual.Proud Forth quakes at his bellying sails; had not the wind suddenlyshifted. Flamborough reapers, homegoing, pause on the hill-side:for what sulphur-cloud is that that defaces the sleek sea;sulphur-cloud spitting streaks of fire? A sea cockfight it is, andof the hottest; where British Serapis and French-American Bon HommeRichard do lash and throttle each other, in their fashion; and lothe desperate valour has suffocated the deliberate, and Paul Jonestoo is of the Kings of the Sea! The Euxine, the Meotian waters felt thee next, and long-skirtedTurks, O Paul; and thy fiery soul has wasted itself in thousandcontradictions;--to no purpose. For, in far lands, with scarletNassauSiegens, with sinful Imperial Catherines, is not theheart-broken, even as at home with the mean? Poor Paul! hunger anddispiritment track thy sinking footsteps: once or at most twice, inthis Revolution-tumult the figure of thee emerges; mute,ghost-like, as 'with stars dim-twinkling through.' And then, whenthe light is gone quite out, a National Legislature grants'ceremonial funeral!' As good had been the natural PresbyterianKirk-bell, and six feet of Scottish earth, among the dust of thyloved ones.--Such world lay beyond the Promontory of St. Bees. Suchis the life of sinful mankind here below. But of all strangers, far the notablest for us is Baron JeanBaptiste de Clootz;--or, dropping baptisms and feudalisms,World-Citizen Anacharsis Clootz, from Cleves. Him mark, judiciousReader. Thou hast known his Uncle, sharp-sighted thorough-goingCornelius de Pauw, who mercilessly cuts down cherished illusions;and of the finest antique Spartans, will make mere modern cutthroatMainots. (De Pauw, Recherches sur les Grecs, &c.) The likestuff is in Anacharsis: hot metal; full of scoriae, which shouldand could have been smelted out, but which will not. He haswandered over this terraqueous Planet; seeking, one may say, theParadise we lost long ago. He has seen English Burke; has been seenof the Portugal Inquisition; has roamed, and fought, and written;is writing, among other things, 'Evidences of the MahometanReligion.' But now, like his Scythian adoptive godfather, he findshimself in the Paris Athens; surely, at last, the haven of hissoul. A dashing man, beloved at Patriotic dinner-tables; withgaiety, nay with humour; headlong, trenchant, of free purse; insuitable costume; though what mortal ever more despised costumes?Under all costumes Anacharsis seeks the man; not Stylites Maratwill more freely trample costumes, if they hold no man. This is thefaith of Anacharsis: That there is a Paradise discoverable; thatall costumes ought to hold men. O Anacharsis, it is a headlong,swiftgoing faith. Mounted thereon, meseems, thou art bound hastilyfor the City of Nowhere; and wilt arrive! At best, we may say,arrive in good riding attitude; which indeed is something. So many new persons, and new things, have come to occupy thisFrance. Her old Speech and Thought, and Activity which springs fromthose, are all changing; fermenting towards unknown issues. To thedullest peasant, as he sits sluggish, overtoiled, by his eveninghearth, one idea has come: that of Chateaus burnt; of Chateauscombustible. How altered all Coffeehouses, in Province or Capital!The Antre de Procope has now other questions than the ThreeStagyrite Unities to settle; not theatre-controversies, but aworld-controversy: there, in the ancient pigtail mode, or withmodern Brutus' heads, do well-frizzed logicians hold hubbub, andChaos umpire sits. The ever-enduring Melody of Paris Saloons hasgot a new ground-tone: ever-enduring;
which has been heard, and bythe listening Heaven too, since Julian the Apostate's time andearlier; mad now as formerly. Ex-Censor Suard, Ex-Censor, for we have freedom of the Press; hemay be seen there; impartial, even neutral. Tyrant Grimm rollslarge eyes, over a questionable coming Time. Atheist Naigeon,beloved disciple of Diderot, crows, in his small difficult way,heralding glad dawn. (Naigeon: Addresse a l'Assemblee Nationale(Paris, 1790) sur la liberte des opinions.) But, on the other hand,how many Morellets, Marmontels, who had sat all their life hatchingPhilosophe eggs, cackle now, in a state bordering on distraction,at the brood they have brought out! (See Marmontel, Memoires,passim; Morellet, Memoires, &c.) It was so delightful to haveone's Philosophe Theorem demonstrated, crowned in the saloons: andnow an infatuated people will not continue speculative, but havePractice? There also observe Preceptress Genlis, or Sillery, orSillery-Genlis,--for our husband is both Count and Marquis, and wehave more than one title. Pretentious, frothy; a puritan yetcreedless; darkening counsel by words without wisdom! For, it is inthat thin element of the Sentimentalist and Distinguished-Femalethat Sillery-Genlis works; she would gladly be sincere, yet cangrow no sincerer than sincere-cant: sincere-cant of many forms,ending in the devotional form. For the present, on a neck still ofmoderate whiteness, she wears as jewel a miniature Bastille, cut onmere sandstone, but then actual Bastille sandstone. M. le Marquisis one of d'Orleans's errandmen; in National Assembly, andelsewhere. Madame, for her part, trains up a youthful d'Orleansgeneration in what superfinest morality one can; gives meanwhilerather enigmatic account of fair Mademoiselle Pamela, the Daughterwhom she has adopted. Thus she, in Palais Royal saloon;--whither,we remark, d'Orleans himself, spite of Lafayette, has returned fromthat English 'mission' of his: surely no pleasant mission: for theEnglish would not speak to him; and Saint Hannah More of England,so unlike Saint Sillery-Genlis of France, saw him shunned, inVauxhall Gardens, like one pest-struck, (Hannah More's Life andCorrespondence, ii. c. 5.) and his red-blue impassive visage waxinghardly a shade bluer.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.I. The Feast of PikesChapter 2.1.IV. Journalism
As for Constitutionalism, with its National Guards, it is doingwhat it can; and has enough to do: it must, as ever, with one handwave persuasively, repressing Patriotism; and keep the otherclenched to menace Royalty plotters. A most delicate task;requiring tact. Thus, if People's-friend Marat has to-day his writ of 'prise decorps, or seizure of body,' served on him, and dives out of sight,tomorrow he is left at large; or is even encouraged, as a sort ofbandog whose baying may be useful. President Danton, in open Hall,with reverberating voice, declares that, in a case like Marat's,"force may be resisted by force." Whereupon the Chatelet servesDanton also with a writ;--which, however, as the whole CordeliersDistrict responds to it, what Constable will be prompt to execute?Twice more, on new occasions, does the Chatelet launch its writ;and twice more in vain: the body of Danton cannot be seized byChatelet; he unseized, should he even fly for a season, shallbehold the Chatelet itself flung into limbo.
Municipality and Brissot, meanwhile, are far on with theirMunicipal Constitution. The Sixty Districts shall becomeForty-eight Sections; much shall be adjusted, and Paris have itsConstitution. A Constitution wholly Elective; as indeed all FrenchGovernment shall and must be. And yet, one fatal element has beenintroduced: that of citoyen actif. No man who does not pay the marcd'argent, or yearly tax equal to three days' labour, shall be otherthan a passive citizen: not the slightest vote for him; were heacting, all the year round, with sledge hammer, withforest-levelling axe! Unheard of! cry Patriot Journals. Yes truly,my Patriot Friends, if Liberty, the passion and prayer of all men'ssouls, means Liberty to send your fifty-thousandth part of a newTongue-fencer into National Debating- club, then, be the godswitness, ye are hardly entreated. Oh, if in National Palaver (asthe Africans name it), such blessedness is verily found, whattyrant would deny it to Son of Adam! Nay, might there not be aFemale Parliament too, with 'screams from the Opposition benches,'and 'the honourable Member borne out in hysterics?' To a Children'sParliament would I gladly consent; or even lower if ye wished it.Beloved Brothers! Liberty, one might fear, is actually, as theancient wise men said, of Heaven. On this Earth, where, thinks theenlightened public, did a brave little Dame de Staal (not Necker'sDaughter, but a far shrewder than she) find the nearest approach toLiberty? After mature computation, cool as Dilworth's, her answeris, In the Bastille. (See De Staal: Memoires (Paris, 1821), i.169-280.) "Of Heaven?" answer many, asking. Wo that they shouldask; for that is the very misery! "Of Heaven" means much; share inthe National Palaver it may, or may as probably not mean. One Sansculottic bough that cannot fail to flourish isJournalism. The voice of the People being the voice of God, shallnot such divine voice make itself heard? To the ends of France; andin as many dialects as when the first great Babel was to be built!Some loud as the lion; some small as the sucking dove. Mirabeauhimself has his instructive Journal or Journals, with Geneva hodmenworking in them; and withal has quarrels enough with Dame le Jay,his Female Bookseller, so ultra-compliant otherwise. (See Dumont:Souvenirs, 6.) King's-friend Royou still prints himself. Barrere sheds tears ofloyal sensibility in Break of Day Journal, though with decliningsale. But why is Freron so hot, democratic; Freron, theKing'sfriend's Nephew? He has it by kind, that heat of his: waspFreron begot him; Voltaire's Frelon; who fought stinging, whilesting and poison-bag were left, were it only as Reviewer, and overPrinted Waste-paper. Constant, illuminative, as the nightlylamplighter, issues the useful Moniteur, for it is now becomediurnal: with facts and few commentaries; official, safe in themiddle:-- its able Editors sunk long since, recoverably orirrecoverably, in deep darkness. Acid Loustalot, with his 'vigour,'as of young sloes, shall never ripen, but die untimely: hisPrudhomme, however, will not let that Revolutions de Paris die; butedit it himself, with much else,--dullblustering Printer thoughhe be. Of Cassandra-Marat we have spoken often; yet the most surprisingtruth remains to be spoken: that he actually does not want sense;but, with croaking gelid throat, croaks out masses of the truth, onseveral things. Nay sometimes, one might almost fancy he had aperception of humour, and were laughing a little, far down in hisinner man. Camille is wittier than ever, and more outspoken,cynical; yet sunny as ever. A light melodious creature; 'born,' ashe shall yet say with bitter tears, 'to write verses;' lightApollo, so clear, soft-lucent, in this war of the Titans, whereinhe shall not conquer!
Folded and hawked Newspapers exist in all countries; but, insuch a Journalistic element as this of France, other and strangersorts are to be anticipated. What says the English reader to aJournalAffiche, Placard Journal; legible to him that has nohalfpenny; in bright prismatic colours, calling the eye from afar?Such, in the coming months, as Patriot Associations, public andprivate, advance, and can subscribe funds, shall plenteously hangthemselves out: leaves, limed leaves, to catch what they can! Thevery Government shall have its Pasted Journal; Louvet, busy yetwith a new 'charming romance,' shall write Sentinelles, and postthem with effect; nay Bertrand de Moleville, in his extremity,shall still more cunningly try it. (See Bertrand-Moleville:Memoires, ii. 100, &c.) Great is Journalism. Is not every AbleEditor a Ruler of the World, being a persuader of it; thoughself-elected, yet sanctioned, by the sale of his Numbers? Whomindeed the world has the readiest method of deposing, should needbe: that of merely doing nothing to him; which ends instarvation! Nor esteem it small what those Bill-stickers had to do in Paris:above Three Score of them: all with their crosspoles, haversacks,pastepots; nay with leaden badges, for the Municipality licensesthem. A Sacred College, properly of World-rulers' Heralds, thoughnot respected as such, in an Era still incipient and raw. They madethe walls of Paris didactic, suasive, with an ever fresh PeriodicalLiterature, wherein he that ran might read: Placard Journals,Placard Lampoons, Municipal Ordinances, Royal Proclamations; thewhole other or vulgar Placard-department superadded,-- or omittedfrom contempt! What unutterable things the stone-walls spoke,during these five years! But it is all gone; To-day swallowingYesterday, and then being in its turn swallowed of To-morrow, evenas Speech ever is. Nay what, O thou immortal Man of Letters, isWriting itself but Speech conserved for a time? The Placard Journalconserved it for one day; some Books conserve it for the matter often years; nay some for three thousand: but what then? Why, then,the years being all run, it also dies, and the world is rid of it.Oh, were there not a spirit in the word of man, as in man himself,that survived the audible bodied word, and tended either Godward,or else Devilward for evermore, why should he trouble himself muchwith the truth of it, or the falsehood of it, except for commercialpurposes? His immortality indeed, and whether it shall last half alifetime, or a lifetime and half; is not that a very considerablething? As mortality, was to the runaway, whom Great Fritz bulliedback into the battle with a: "R--, wollt ihr ewig leben,Unprintable Off-scouring of Scoundrels, would ye live forever!" This is the Communication of Thought: how happy when there isany Thought to communicate! Neither let the simpler old methods beneglected, in their sphere. The Palais-Royal Tent, a tyrannousPatrollotism has removed; but can it remove the lungs of man?Anaxagoras Chaumette we saw mounted on bourne-stones, while Tallienworked sedentary at the subeditorial desk. In any corner of thecivilised world, a tub can be inverted, and an articulate-speakingbiped mount thereon. Nay, with contrivance, a portable trestle, orfolding-stool, can be procured, for love or money; this theperipatetic Orator can take in his hand, and, driven out here, setit up again there; saying mildly, with a Sage Bias, Omnia mea mecumporto. Such is Journalism, hawked, pasted, spoken. How changed sinceOne old Metra walked this same Tuileries Garden, in gilt cockedhat, with Journal at his nose, or held loose-folded behind hisback; and was a notability of Paris, 'Metra the Newsman;' (Dulaure,Histoire de Paris, viii. 483; Mercier, Nouveau Paris, &c.) andLouis himself was wont to say: Qu'en dit Metra? Since the
firstVenetian News-sheet was sold for a gazza, or farthing, and namedGazette! We live in a fertile world.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.I. The Feast of PikesChapter 2.1.V. Clubbism
Where the heart is full, it seeks, for a thousand reasons, in athousand ways, to impart itself. How sweet, indispensable, in suchcases, is fellowship; soul mystically strengthening soul! Themeditative Germans, some think, have been of opinion thatEnthusiasm in the general means simply excessiveCongregating--Schwarmerey, or Swarming. At any rate, do we not seeglimmering half-red embers, if laid together, get into thebrightest white glow? In such a France, gregarious Reunions will needs multiply,intensify; French Life will step out of doors, and, from domestic,become a public Club Life. Old Clubs, which already germinated,grow and flourish; new every where bud forth. It is the suresymptom of Social Unrest: in such way, most infallibly of all, doesSocial Unrest exhibit itself; find solacement, and also nutriment.In every French head there hangs now, whether for terror or forhope, some prophetic picture of a New France: prophecy whichbrings, nay which almost is, its own fulfilment; and in all ways,consciously and unconsciously, works towards that. Observe, moreover, how the Aggregative Principle, let it be butdeep enough, goes on aggregating, and this even in a geometricalprogression: how when the whole world, in such a plastic time, isforming itself into Clubs, some One Club, the strongest orluckiest, shall, by friendly attracting, by victorious compelling,grow ever stronger, till it become immeasurably strong; and all theothers, with their strength, be either lovingly absorbed into it,or hostilely abolished by it! This if the Club- spirit isuniversal; if the time is plastic. Plastic enough is the time,universal the Club-spirit: such an all absorbing, paramount OneClub cannot be wanting. What a progress, since the first salient-point of the BretonCommittee! It worked long in secret, not languidly; it has comewith the National Assembly to Paris; calls itself Club; callsitself in imitation, as is thought, of those generousPrice-Stanhope English, French Revolution Club; but soon, with moreoriginality, Club of Friends of the Constitution. Moreover it hasleased, for itself, at a fair rent, the Hall of the Jacobin'sConvent, one of our 'superfluous edifices;' and does therefrom now,in these spring months, begin shining out on an admiring Paris. Andso, by degrees, under the shorter popular title of Jacobins' Club,it shall become memorable to all times and lands. Glance into theinterior: strongly yet modestly benched and seated; as many asThirteen Hundred chosen Patriots; Assembly Members not a few.Barnave, the two Lameths are seen there; occasionally Mirabeau,perpetually Robespierre; also the ferret-visage ofFouquier-Tinville with other attorneys; Anacharsis of PrussianScythia, and miscellaneous Patriots,--though all is yet in the mostperfectly clean-washed state; decent, nay dignified. President onplatform, President's bell are not wanting; oratorical Tribunehigh-raised; nor strangers' galleries, wherein also sit women. Hasany French Antiquarian Society preserved that written Lease of theJacobins Convent Hall? Or was it, unluckier even than Magna Charta,clipt by sacrilegious Tailors? Universal History is not indifferentto it.
These Friends of the Constitution have met mainly, as their namemay foreshadow, to look after Elections when an Election comes, andprocure fit men; but likewise to consult generally that theCommonweal take no damage; one as yet sees not how. For indeed lettwo or three gather together any where, if it be not in Church,where all are bound to the passive state; no mortal can sayaccurately, themselves as little as any, for what they aregathered. How often has the broached barrel proved not to be forjoy and heart effusion, but for duel and head-breakage; and thepromised feast become a Feast of the Lapithae! This Jacobins Club,which at first shone resplendent, and was thought to be a newcelestial Sun for enlightening the Nations, had, as things allhave, to work through its appointed phases: it burned unfortunatelymore and more lurid, more sulphurous, distracted;--and swam atlast, through the astonished Heaven, like a Tartarean Portent, andlurid-burning Prison of Spirits in Pain. Its style of eloquence? Rejoice, Reader, that thou knowest itnot, that thou canst never perfectly know. The Jacobins published aJournal of Debates, where they that have the heart may examine:Impassioned, full- droning Patriotic-eloquence; implacable,unfertile--save for Destruction, which was indeed its work: mostwearisome, though most deadly. Be thankful that Oblivion covers somuch; that all carrion is by and by buried in the green Earth'sbosom, and even makes her grow the greener. The Jacobins areburied; but their work is not; it continues 'making the tour of theworld,' as it can. It might be seen lately, for instance, withbared bosom and deathdefiant eye, as far on as Greek Missolonghi;and, strange enough, old slumbering Hellas was resuscitated, intosomnambulism which will become clear wakefulness, by a voice fromthe Rue St. Honore! All dies, as we often say; except the spirit ofman, of what man does. Thus has not the very House of the Jacobinsvanished; scarcely lingering in a few old men's memories? The St.Honore Market has brushed it away, and now where dull- droningeloquence, like a Trump of Doom, once shook the world, there ispacific chaffering for poultry and greens. The sacred NationalAssembly Hall itself has become common ground; President's platformpermeable to wain and dustcart; for the Rue de Rivoli runs there.Verily, at Cockcrow (of this Cock or the other), all Apparitions domelt and dissolve in space. The Paris Jacobins became 'the Mother-Society, Societe-Mere;'and had as many as 'three hundred' shrill-tongued daughters in'direct correspondence' with her. Of indirectly corresponding, whatwe may call grand-daughters and minute progeny, she counted'forty-four thousand!'--But for the present we note only twothings: the first of them a mere anecdote. One night, a couple ofbrother Jacobins are doorkeepers; for the members take this post ofduty and honour in rotation, and admit none that have not tickets:one doorkeeper was the worthy Sieur Lais, a patriotic Opera-singer,stricken in years, whose windpipe is long since closed withoutresult; the other, young, and named Louis Philippe, d'Orleans'sfirstborn, has in this latter time, after unheard-of destinies,become Citizen-King, and struggles to rule for a season. Allfleshis grass; higher reedgrass or creeping herb. The second thing we have to note is historical: that theMother-Society, even in this its effulgent period, cannot contentall Patriots. Already it must throw off, so to speak, twodissatisfied swarms; a swarm to the right, a swarm to the left. Oneparty, which thinks the Jacobins lukewarm, constitutes itself intoClub of the Cordeliers; a hotter Club: it is Danton's element: withwhom goes Desmoulins. The other party, again, which thinks theJacobins scalding-hot, flies off to the right, and becomes 'Club of1789, Friends of the Monarchic Constitution.' They are
afterwardsnamed 'Feuillans Club;' their place of meeting being the FeuillansConvent. Lafayette is, or becomes, their chief-man; supported bythe respectable Patriot everywhere, by the mass of Property andIntelligence,--with the most flourishing prospects. They, in theseJune days of 1790, do, in the Palais Royal, dine solemnly with openwindows; to the cheers of the people; with toasts, with inspiritingsongs,--with one song at least, among the feeblest ever sung.(Hist. Parl. vi. 334.) They shall, in due time be hooted forth,over the borders, into Cimmerian Night. Another expressly Monarchic or Royalist Club, 'Club desMonarchiens,' though a Club of ample funds, and all sitting indamask sofas, cannot realise the smallest momentary cheer; realisesonly scoffs and groans;-- till, ere long, certain Patriots indisorderly sufficient number, proceed thither, for a night or fornights, and groan it out of pain. Vivacious alone shall theMother-Society and her family be. The very Cordeliers may, as itwere, return into her bosom, which will have grown warm enough. Fatal-looking! Are not such Societies an incipient New Order ofSociety itself? The Aggregative Principle anew at work in a Societygrown obsolete, cracked asunder, dissolving into rubbish andprimary atoms?
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.I. The Feast of PikesChapter 2.1.VI. Je le jure
With these signs of the times, is it not surprising that thedominant feeling all over France was still continually Hope? Oblessed Hope, sole boon of man; whereby, on his strait prisonwalls, are painted beautiful far-stretching landscapes; and intothe night of very Death is shed holiest dawn! Thou art to all anindefeasible possession in this God's-world: to the wise a sacredConstantine'sbanner, written on the eternal skies; under whichthey shall conquer, for the battle itself is victory: to thefoolish some secular mirage, or shadow of still waters, painted onthe parched Earth; whereby at least their dusty pilgrimage, ifdevious, becomes cheerfuller, becomes possible. In the death-tumults of a sinking Society, French Hope sees onlythe birth- struggles of a new unspeakably better Society; andsings, with full assurance of faith, her brisk Melody, which someinspired fiddler has in these very days composed for her,--theworld-famous ca-ira. Yes; 'that will go:' and then there willcome--? All men hope: even Marat hopes-- that Patriotism will takemuff and dirk. King Louis is not without hope: in the chapter ofchances; in a flight to some Bouille; in getting popularized atParis. But what a hoping People he had, judge by the fact, andseries of facts, now to be noted. Poor Louis, meaning the best, with little insight and even lessdetermination of his own, has to follow, in that dim wayfaring ofhis, such signal as may be given him; by backstairs Royalism, byofficial or backstairs Constitutionalism, whichever for the monthmay have convinced the royal mind. If flight to Bouille, and(horrible to think!) a drawing of the civil sword do hang astheory, portentous in the background, much nearer is this fact ofthese Twelve Hundred Kings, who sit in the Salle de Manege. Kingsuncontrollable by him, not yet irreverent to him. Could kindmanagement of these but prosper, how much better were it than armedEmigrants, Turinintrigues, and the help of Austria! Nay, are thetwo hopes inconsistent? Rides in the suburbs, we
have found, costlittle; yet they always brought vivats. (See Bertrand-Moleville, i.241, &c.) Still cheaper is a soft word; such as has many timesturned away wrath. In these rapid days, while France is all gettingdivided into Departments, Clergy about to be remodelled, PopularSocieties rising, and Feudalism and so much ever is ready to behurled into the melting-pot,--might one not try? On the 4th of February, accordingly, M. le President reads tohis National Assembly a short autograph, announcing that hisMajesty will step over, quite in an unceremonious way, probablyabout noon. Think, therefore, Messieurs, what it may mean;especially, how ye will get the Hall decorated a little. TheSecretaries' Bureau can be shifted down from the platform; on thePresident's chair be slipped this cover of velvet, 'of a violetcolour sprigged with gold fleur-delys;'--for indeed M. lePresident has had previous notice underhand, and taken counsel withDoctor Guillotin. Then some fraction of 'velvet carpet,' of liketexture and colour, cannot that be spread in front of the chair,where the Secretaries usually sit? So has judicious Guillotinadvised: and the effect is found satisfactory. Moreover, as it isprobable that his Majesty, in spite of the fleur-de-lys- velvet,will stand and not sit at all, the President himself, in theinterim, presides standing. And so, while some honourable Member isdiscussing, say, the division of a Department, Ushers announce:"His Majesty!" In person, with small suite, enter Majesty: thehonourable Member stops short; the Assembly starts to its feet; theTwelve Hundred Kings 'almost all,' and the Galleries no less, dowelcome the Restorer of French Liberty with loyal shouts. HisMajesty's Speech, in diluted conventional phraseology, expressesthis mainly: That he, most of all Frenchmen, rejoices to see Francegetting regenerated; is sure, at the same time, that they will dealgently with her in the process, and not regenerate her roughly.Such was his Majesty's Speech: the feat he performed was coming tospeak it, and going back again. Surely, except to a very hoping People, there was not much hereto build upon. Yet what did they not build! The fact that the Kinghas spoken, that he has voluntarily come to speak, howinexpressibly encouraging! Did not the glance of his royalcountenance, like concentrated sunbeams, kindle all hearts in anaugust Assembly; nay thereby in an inflammable enthusiastic France?To move 'Deputation of thanks' can be the happy lot of but one man;to go in such Deputation the lot of not many. The Deputed havegone, and returned with what highest-flown compliment they could;whom also the Queen met, Dauphin in hand. And still do not ourhearts burn with insatiable gratitude; and to one other man a stillhigher blessedness suggests itself: To move that we all renew theNational Oath. Happiest honourable Member, with his word so in season as wordseldom was; magic Fugleman of a whole National Assembly, which satthere bursting to do somewhat; Fugleman of a whole onlookingFrance! The President swears; declares that every one shall swear,in distinct je le jure. Nay the very Gallery sends him down awritten slip signed, with their Oath on it; and as the Assembly nowcasts an eye that way, the Gallery all stands up and swears again.And then out of doors, consider at the Hotel-de-Ville how Bailly,the great Tennis-Court swearer, again swears, towards nightful,with all the Municipals, and Heads of Districts assembled there.And 'M. Danton suggests that the public would like to partake:'whereupon Bailly, with escort of Twelve, steps forth to the greatouter staircase; sways the ebullient multitude with stretched hand:takes their oath, with a thunder of 'rolling drums,' with shoutsthat rend the welkin. And on all streets the glad people, withmoisture and fire in their eyes, 'spontaneously formed groups, andswore one
another,' (Newspapers (in Hist. Parl. iv. 445.)--and thewhole City was illuminated. This was the Fourth of February 1790: aday to be marked white in Constitutional annals. Nor is the illumination for a night only, but partially ortotally it lasts a series of nights. For each District, theElectors of each District, will swear specially; and always as theDistrict swears; it illuminates itself. Behold them, District afterDistrict, in some open square, where the NonElecting People canall see and join: with their uplifted right hands, and je le jure:with rolling drums, with embracings, and that infinite hurrah ofthe enfranchised,--which any tyrant that there may be can consider!Faithful to the King, to the Law, to the Constitution which theNational Assembly shall make. Fancy, for example, the Professors of Universities parading thestreets with their young France, and swearing, in an enthusiasticmanner, not without tumult. By a larger exercise of fancy, expandduly this little word: The like was repeated in every Town andDistrict of France! Nay one Patriot Mother, in Lagnon of Brittany,assembles her ten children; and, with her own aged hand, swearsthem all herself, the highsouled venerable woman. Of all which,moreover, a National Assembly must be eloquently apprised. Suchthree weeks of swearing! Saw the sun ever such a swearing people?Have they been bit by a swearing tarantula? No: but they are menand Frenchmen; they have Hope; and, singular to say, they haveFaith, were it only in the Gospel according to Jean Jacques. O myBrothers! would to Heaven it were even as ye think and have sworn!But there are Lovers' Oaths, which, had they been true as loveitself, cannot be kept; not to speak of Dicers' Oaths, also a knownsort.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.I. The Feast of PikesChapter 2.1.VII. Prodigies
To such length had the Contrat Social brought it, in believinghearts. Man, as is well said, lives by faith; each generation hasits own faith, more or less; and laughs at the faith of itspredecessor,-most unwisely. Grant indeed that this faith in theSocial Contract belongs to the stranger sorts; that an unborngeneration may very wisely, if not laugh, yet stare at it, andpiously consider. For, alas, what is Contrat? If all men were suchthat a mere spoken or sworn Contract would bind them, all men werethen true men, and Government a superfluity. Not what thou and Ihave promised to each other, but what the balance of our forces canmake us perform to each other: that, in so sinful a world as ours,is the thing to be counted on. But above all, a People and aSovereign promising to one another; as if a whole People, changingfrom generation to generation, nay from hour to hour, could ever byany method be made to speak or promise; and to speak meresolecisms: "We, be the Heavens witness, which Heavens however do nomiracles now; we, ever-changing Millions, will allow thee,changeful Unit, to force us or govern us!" The world has perhapsseen few faiths comparable to that. So nevertheless had the world then construed the matter. Hadthey not so construed it, how different had their hopes been, theirattempts, their results! But so and not otherwise did the UpperPowers will it to be. Freedom by Social Contract: such was verilythe Gospel of that Era. And all men had believed in it, as in aHeaven's Glad-tidings men should; and with overflowing heart anduplifted voice clave to it, and stood fronting Time and Eternity onit. Nay smile not; or
only with a smile sadder than tears! This toowas a better faith than the one it had replaced : than faith merelyin the Everlasting Nothing and man's Digestive Power; lower thanwhich no faith can go. Not that such universally prevalent, universally jurant, feelingof Hope, could be a unanimous one. Far from that! The time wasominous: social dissolution near and certain; social renovationstill a problem, difficult and distant even though sure. But ifominous to some clearest onlooker, whose faith stood not with oneside or with the other, nor in the ever- vexed jarring of Greekwith Greek at all,--how unspeakably ominous to dim Royalistparticipators; for whom Royalism was Mankind's palladium; for whom,with the abolition of Most-Christian Kingship and Most-TalleyrandBishopship, all loyal obedience, all religious faith was to expire,and final Night envelope the Destinies of Man! On serious hearts,of that persuasion, the matter sinks down deep; prompting, as wehave seen, to backstairs Plots, to Emigration with pledge of war,to Monarchic Clubs; nay to still madder things. The Spirit of Prophecy, for instance, had been consideredextinct for some centuries: nevertheless these last-times, asindeed is the tendency of last-times, do revive it; that so, ofFrench mad things, we might have sample also of the maddest. Inremote rural districts, whither Philosophism has not yet radiated,where a heterodox Constitution of the Clergy is bringing striferound the altar itself, and the very Church-bells are gettingmelted into small money-coin, it appears probable that the End ofthe World cannot be far off. Deep-musing atrabiliar old men,especially old women, hint in an obscure way that they know whatthey know. The Holy Virgin, silent so long, has not gone dumb;--andtruly now, if ever more in this world, were the time for her tospeak. One Prophetess, though careless Historians have omitted hername, condition, and whereabout, becomes audible to the generalear; credible to not a few: credible to Friar Gerle, poor PatriotChartreux, in the National Assembly itself! She, in Pythoness'recitative, with wildstaring eye, sings that there shall be a Sign;that the heavenly Sun himself will hang out a Sign, or Mock-Sun,--which, many say, shall be stamped with the Head of hanged Favras.List, Dom Gerle, with that poor addled poll of thine; list, Olist;--and hear nothing. (Deux Amis, v. c. 7.) Notable however was that 'magnetic vellum, velin magnetique,' ofthe Sieurs d'Hozier and PetitJean, Parlementeers of Rouen. Sweetyoung d'Hozier, 'bred in the faith of his Missal, and of parchmentgenealogies,' and of parchment generally: adust, melancholic,middle-aged Petit-Jean: why came these two to Saint-Cloud, wherehis Majesty was hunting, on the festival of St. Peter and St. Paul;and waited there, in antechambers, a wonder to whispering Swiss,the livelong day; and even waited without the Grates, when turnedout; and had dismissed their valets to Paris, as with purpose ofendless waiting? They have a magnetic vellum, these two; whereonthe Virgin, wonderfully clothing herself in Mesmerean CagliostricOccult- Philosophy, has inspired them to jot down instructions andpredictions for a much-straitened King. To whom, by Higher Order,they will this day present it; and save the Monarchy and World.Unaccountable pair of visual- objects! Ye should be men, and of theEighteenth Century; but your magnetic vellum forbids us so tointerpret. Say, are ye aught? Thus ask the Guardhouse Captains, theMayor of St. Cloud; nay, at great length, thus asks the Committeeof Researches, and not the Municipal, but the National Assemblyone. No distinct answer, for weeks. At last it becomes plain thatthe right answer is negative. Go, ye Chimeras, with your magneticvellum; sweet young Chimera, adust
middle-aged one! ThePrison-doors are open. Hardly again shall ye preside the RouenChamber of Accounts; but vanish obscurely into Limbo. (See DeuxAmis, v. 199.)
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.I. The Feast of PikesChapter 2.1.VIII. Solemn League and Covenant
Such dim masses, and specks of even deepest black, work in thatwhite-hot glow of the French mind, now wholly in fusion, andconfusion. Old women here swearing their ten children on the newEvangel of Jean Jacques; old women there looking up for Favras'Heads in the celestial Luminary: these are preternatural signs,prefiguring somewhat. In fact, to the Patriot children of Hope themselves, it isundeniable that difficulties exist: emigrating Seigneurs;Parlements in sneaking but most malicious mutiny (though the ropeis round their neck); above all, the most decided 'deficiency ofgrains.' Sorrowful: but, to a Nation that hopes, not irremediable.To a Nation which is in fusion and ardent communion of thought;which, for example, on signal of one Fugleman, will lift its righthand like a drilled regiment, and swear and illuminate, till everyvillage from Ardennes to the Pyrenees has rolled its village-drum,and sent up its little oath, and glimmer of tallow-illuminationsome fathoms into the reign of Night! If grains are defective, the fault is not of Nature or NationalAssembly, but of Art and Antinational Intriguers. Such malignindividuals, of the scoundrel species, have power to vex us, whilethe Constitution is a- making. Endure it, ye heroic Patriots: nayrather, why not cure it? Grains do grow, they lie extant there insheaf or sack; only that regraters and Royalist plotters, toprovoke the people into illegality, obstruct the transport ofgrains. Quick, ye organised Patriot Authorities, armed NationalGuards, meet together; unite your goodwill; in union is tenfoldstrength: let the concentred flash of your Patriotism strikestealthy Scoundrelism blind, paralytic, as with a coup desoleil. Under which hat or nightcap of the Twenty-five millions, thispregnant Idea first rose, for in some one head it did rise, no mancan now say. A most small idea, near at hand for the whole world:but a living one, fit; and which waxed, whether into greatness ornot, into immeasurable size. When a Nation is in this state thatthe Fugleman can operate on it, what will the word in season, theact in season, not do! It will grow verily, like the Boy's Bean inthe Fairy-Tale, heaven-high, with habitations and adventures on it,in one night. It is nevertheless unfortunately still a Bean (foryour long-lived Oak grows not so); and, the next night, it may liefelled, horizontal, trodden into common mud.--But remark, at least,how natural to any agitated Nation, which has Faith, this businessof Covenanting is. The Scotch, believing in a righteous Heavenabove them, and also in a Gospel, far other than the Jean-Jacquesone, swore, in their extreme need, a Solemn League andCovenant,--as Brothers on the forlorn-hope, and imminence ofbattle, who embrace looking Godward; and got the whole Isle toswear it; and even, in their tough Old-Saxon HebrewPresbyterianway, to keep it more or less;--for the thing, as such things are,was heard in Heaven, and partially ratified there; neither is ityet dead, if thou wilt look, nor like to die. The French too, withtheir Gallic-Ethnic excitability and effervescence, have, as wehave seen, real Faith, of a sort; they are hard bestead, though inthe middle of Hope: a National Solemn League and Covenant
there maybe in France too; under how different conditions; with howdifferent developement and issue! Note, accordingly, the small commencement; first spark of amighty firework: for if the particular hat cannot be fixed upon,the particular District can. On the 29th day of last November, wereNational Guards by the thousand seen filing, from far and near,with military music, with Municipal officers in tricolor sashes,towards and along the Rhone-stream, to the little town of Etoile.There with ceremonial evolution and manoeuvre, with fanfaronading,musketry-salvoes, and what else the Patriot genius could devise,they made oath and obtestation to stand faithfully by one another,under Law and King; in particular, to have all manner of grains,while grains there were, freely circulated, in spite both of robberand regrater. This was the meeting of Etoile, in the mild end ofNovember 1789. But now, if a mere empty Review, followed by Review-dinner,ball, and such gesticulation and flirtation as there may be,interests the happy County- town, and makes it the envy ofsurrounding County-towns, how much more might this! In a fortnight,larger Montelimart, half ashamed of itself, will do as good, andbetter. On the Plain of Montelimart, or what is equally sonorous,'under the Walls of Montelimart,' the thirteenth of December seesnew gathering and obtestation; six thousand strong; and now indeed,with these three remarkable improvements, as unanimously resolvedon there. First that the men of Montelimart do federate with thealready federated men of Etoile. Second, that, implying notexpressing the circulation of grain, they 'swear in the face of Godand their Country' with much more emphasis and comprehensiveness,'to obey all decrees of the National Assembly, and see them obeyed,till death, jusqu'a la mort.' Third, and most important, thatofficial record of all this be solemnly delivered in to theNational Assembly, to M. de Lafayette, and 'to the Restorer ofFrench Liberty;' who shall all take what comfort from it they can.Thus does larger Montelimart vindicate its Patriot importance, andmaintain its rank in the municipal scale. (Hist. Parl. vii. 4.) And so, with the New-year, the signal is hoisted; for is not aNational Assembly, and solemn deliverance there, at lowest aNational Telegraph? Not only grain shall circulate, while there isgrain, on highways or the Rhone-waters, over all that South-Easternregion,--where also if Monseigneur d'Artois saw good to break infrom Turin, hot welcome might wait him; but whatsoever Province ofFrance is straitened for grain, or vexed with a mutinous Parlement,unconstitutional plotters, Monarchic Clubs, or any other Patriotailment,--can go and do likewise, or even do better. And now,especially, when the February swearing has set them all agog! FromBrittany to Burgundy, on most plains of France, under mostCity-walls, it is a blaring of trumpets, waving of banners, aconstitutional manoeuvring: under the vernal skies, while Naturetoo is putting forth her green Hopes, under bright sunshine defacedby the stormful East; like Patriotism victorious, though withdifficulty, over Aristocracy and defect of grain! There march andconstitutionally wheel, to the ca-ira-ing mood of fife and drum,under their tricolor Municipals, our clear-gleaming Phalanxes; orhalt, with uplifted right-hand, and artillery-salvoes that imitateJove's thunder; and all the Country, and metaphorically all 'theUniverse,' is looking on. Wholly, in their best apparel, brave men,and beautifully dizened women, most of whom have lovers there;swearing, by the eternal Heavens and this green-growing all-nutritive Earth, that France is free!
Sweetest days, when (astonishing to say) mortals have actuallymet together in communion and fellowship; and man, were it onlyonce through long despicable centuries, is for moments verily thebrother of man!--And then the Deputations to the National Assembly,with highflown descriptive harangue; to M. de Lafayette, and theRestorer; very frequently moreover to the Mother of Patriotismsitting on her stout benches in that Hall of the Jacobins! Thegeneral ear is filled with Federation. New names of Patriotsemerge, which shall one day become familiar: Boyer-Fonfredeeloquent denunciator of a rebellious Bourdeaux Parlement; MaxIsnard eloquent reporter of the Federation of Draguignan; eloquentpair, separated by the whole breadth of France, who arenevertheless to meet. Ever wider burns the flame of Federation;ever wider and also brighter. Thus the Brittany and Anjou brethrenmention a Fraternity of all true Frenchmen; and go the length ofinvoking 'perdition and death' on any renegade: moreover, if intheir National-Assembly harangue, they glance plaintively at themarc d'argent which makes so many citizens passive, they, over inthe Mother- Society, ask, being henceforth themselves 'neitherBretons nor Angevins but French,' Why all France has not oneFederation, and universal Oath of Brotherhood, once for all?(Reports, &c. (in Hist. Parl. ix. 122-147).) A most pertinentsuggestion; dating from the end of March. Which pertinentsuggestion the whole Patriot world cannot but catch, andreverberate and agitate till it become loud;--which, in that case,the Townhall Municipals had better take up, and meditate. Some universal Federation seems inevitable: the Where is given;clearly Paris: only the When, the How? These also productive Timewill give; is already giving. For always as the Federative workgoes on, it perfects itself, and Patriot genius adds contributionafter contribution. Thus, at Lyons, in the end of the May month, webehold as many as fifty, or some say sixty thousand, met tofederate; and a multitude looking on, which it would be difficultto number. From dawn to dusk! For our Lyons Guardsmen took rank, atfive in the bright dewy morning; came pouring in, bright-gleaming,to the Quai de Rhone, to march thence to the Federation-field; amidwavings of hats and lady-handkerchiefs; glad shoutings of some twohundred thousand Patriot voices and hearts; the beautiful andbrave! Among whom, courting no notice, and yet the notablest ofall, what queenlike Figure is this; with her escort ofhouse-friends and Champagneux the Patriot Editor; come abroad withthe earliest? Radiant with enthusiasm are those dark eyes, is thatstrong Minerva-face, looking dignity and earnest joy; joyfullestshe where all are joyful. It is Roland de la Platriere's Wife!(Madame Roland, Memoires, i. (Discours Preliminaire, p. 23).)Strict elderly Roland, King's Inspector of Manufactures here; andnow likewise, by popular choice, the strictest of our new LyonsMunicipals: a man who has gained much, if worth and faculty begain; but above all things, has gained to wife Phlipon the ParisEngraver's daughter. Reader, mark that queenlike burgher-woman:beautiful, Amazonian-graceful to the eye; more so to the mind.Unconscious of her worth (as all worth is), of her greatness, ofher crystal clearness; genuine, the creature of Sincerity andNature, in an age of Artificiality, Pollution and Cant; there, inher still completeness, in her still invincibility, she, if thouknew it, is the noblest of all living Frenchwomen,--and will beseen, one day. O blessed rather while unseen, even of herself! Forthe present she gazes, nothing doubting, into this grandtheatricality; and thinks her young dreams are to be fulfilled. From dawn to dusk, as we said, it lasts; and truly a sight likefew. Flourishes of drums and trumpets are something: but think ofan 'artificial Rock fifty feet high,' all cut into crag-steps, notwithout the similitude of 'shrubs!' The interior cavity, for insooth it is made of deal,--stands
solemn, a 'Temple of Concord:' onthe outer summit rises 'a Statue of Liberty,' colossal, seen formiles, with her Pike and Phrygian Cap, and civic column; at herfeet a Country's Altar, 'Autel de la Patrie:'--on all which neitherdeal-timber nor lath and plaster, with paint of various colours,have been spared. But fancy then the banners all placed on thesteps of the Rock; highmass chaunted; and the civic oath of fiftythousand: with what volcanic outburst of sound from iron and otherthroats, enough to frighten back the very Saone and Rhone; and howthe brightest fireworks, and balls, and even repasts closed in thatnight of the gods! (Hist. Parl. xii. 274.) And so the LyonsFederation vanishes too, swallowed of darkness;--and yet notwholly, for our brave fair Roland was there; also she, though inthe deepest privacy, writes her Narrative of it in Champagneux'sCourier de Lyons; a piece which 'circulates to the extent of sixtythousand;' which one would like now to read. But on the whole, Paris, we may see, will have little to devise;will only have to borrow and apply. And then as to the day, whatday of all the calendar is fit, if the Bastille Anniversary be not?The particular spot too, it is easy to see, must be theChamp-de-Mars; where many a Julian the Apostate has been lifted onbucklers, to France's or the world's sovereignty; and iron Franks,loud-clanging, have responded to the voice of a Charlemagne; andfrom of old mere sublimities have been familiar.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.I. The Feast of PikesChapter 2.1.IX. Symbolic
How natural, in all decisive circumstances, is SymbolicRepresentation to all kinds of men! Nay, what is man's wholeterrestrial Life but a Symbolic Representation, and making visible,of the Celestial invisible Force that is in him? By act and worldhe strives to do it; with sincerity, if possible; failing that,with theatricality, which latter also may have its meaning. AnAlmack's Masquerade is not nothing; in more genial ages, yourChristmas Guisings, Feasts of the Ass, Abbots of Unreason, were aconsiderable something: since sport they were; as Almacks may stillbe sincere wish for sport. But what, on the other hand, must notsincere earnest have been: say, a Hebrew Feast of Tabernacles havebeen! A whole Nation gathered, in the name of the Highest, underthe eye of the Highest; imagination herself flagging under thereality; and all noblest Ceremony as yet not grown ceremonial, butsolemn, significant to the outmost fringe! Neither, in modernprivate life, are theatrical scenes, of tearful women wetting wholeells of cambric in concert, of impassioned bushy-whiskered youththreatening suicide, and such like, to be so entirely detested:drop thou a tear over them thyself rather. At any rate, one can remark that no Nation will throw-by itswork, and deliberately go out to make a scene, without meaningsomething thereby. For indeed no scenic individual, with knavishhypocritical views, will take the trouble to soliloquise a scene:and now consider, is not a scenic Nation placed precisely in thatpredicament of soliloquising; for its own behoof alone; to solaceits own sensibilities, maudlin or other?--Yet in this respect, ofreadiness for scenes, the difference of Nations, as of men, is verygreat. If our Saxon-Puritanic friends, for example, swore andsigned their National Covenant, without discharge of gunpowder, orthe beating of any drum, in a dingy Covenant-Close of the EdinburghHigh- street, in a mean room, where men now drink mean liquor, itwas consistent with their ways so to swear it. OurGallic-Encyclopedic friends,
again, must have a Champ-de-Mars, seenof all the world, or universe; and such a Scenic Exhibition, towhich the Coliseum Amphitheatre was but a stroller's barn, as thisold Globe of ours had never or hardly ever beheld. Which methodalso we reckon natural, then and there. Nor perhaps was therespective keeping of these two Oaths far out of due proportion tosuch respective display in taking them: inverse proportion, namely.For the theatricality of a People goes in a compound-ratio: ratioindeed of their trustfulness, sociability, fervency; but then alsoof their excitability, of their porosity, not continent; or say, oftheir explosiveness, hot- flashing, but which does not last. How true also, once more, is it that no man or Nation of men,conscious of doing a great thing, was ever, in that thing, doingother than a small one! O Champ-de-Mars Federation, with threehundred drummers, twelve hundred wind-musicians, and artilleryplanted on height after height to boom the tidings of it all overFrance, in few minutes! Could no Atheist-Naigeon contrive todiscern, eighteen centuries off, those Thirteen most poor mean-dressed men, at frugal Supper, in a mean Jewish dwelling, with nosymbol but hearts god-initiated into the 'Divine depth of Sorrow,'and a Do this in remembrance of me;--and so cease that smalldifficult crowing of his, if he were not doomed to it?
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.I. The Feast of PikesChapter 2.1.X. Mankind
Pardonable are human theatricalities; nay perhaps touching, likethe passionate utterance of a tongue which with sincerity stammers;of a head which with insincerity babbles,--having gone distracted.Yet, in comparison with unpremeditated outbursts of Nature, such asan Insurrection of Women, how foisonless, unedifying, undelightful;like small ale palled, like an effervescence that has effervesced!Such scenes, coming of forethought, were they world-great, andnever so cunningly devised, are at bottom mainly pasteboard andpaint. But the others are original; emitted from the greateverliving heart of Nature herself: what figure they will assume isunspeakably significant. To us, therefore, let the French NationalSolemn League, and Federation, be the highest recorded triumph ofthe Thespian Art; triumphant surely, since the whole Pit, which wasof Twenty-five Millions, not only claps hands, but does itselfspring on the boards and passionately set to playing there. Andbeing such, be it treated as such: with sincere cursory admiration;with wonder from afar. A whole Nation gone mumming deserves somuch; but deserves not that loving minuteness a MenadicInsurrection did. Much more let prior, and as it were, rehearsalscenes of Federation come and go, henceforward, as they list; and,on Plains and under City-walls, innumerable regimental bands blareoff into the Inane, without note from us. One scene, however, the hastiest reader will momentarily pauseon: that of Anacharsis Clootz and the Collective sinful Posterityof Adam.--For a Patriot Municipality has now, on the 4th of June,got its plan concocted, and got it sanctioned by National Assembly;a Patriot King assenting; to whom, were he even free to dissent,Federative harangues, overflowing with loyalty, have doubtless atransient sweetness. There shall come Deputed National Guards, somany in the hundred, from each of the Eighty-three Departments ofFrance. Likewise from all Naval and Military King's Forces, shallDeputed quotas come; such Federation of National with Royal Soldierhas, taking place spontaneously, been already seen and sanctioned.For the rest, it is
hoped, as many as forty thousand may arrive:expenses to be borne by the Deputing District; of all which letDistrict and Department take thought, and elect fit men,--whom theParis brethren will fly to meet and welcome. Now, therefore, judge if our Patriot Artists are busy; takingdeep counsel how to make the Scene worthy of a look from theUniverse! As many as fifteen thousand men, spade-men, barrowmen,stone-builders, rammers, with their engineers, are at work on theChamp-de-Mars; hollowing it out into a natural Amphitheatre, fitfor such solemnity. For one may hope it will be annual andperennial; a 'Feast of Pikes, Fete des Piques,' notablest among thehigh-tides of the year: in any case ought not a Scenic free Nationto have some permanent National Amphitheatre? The Champ-de-Mars isgetting hollowed out; and the daily talk and the nightly dream inmost Parisian heads is of Federation, and that only. FederateDeputies are already under way. National Assembly, what with itsnatural work, what with hearing and answering harangues ofFederates, of this Federation, will have enough to do! Harangue of'American Committee,' among whom is that faint figure of Paul Jones'as with the stars dim-twinkling through it,'--come to congratulateus on the prospect of such auspicious day. Harangue of BastilleConquerors, come to 'renounce' any special recompense, any peculiarplace at the solemnity;--since the Centre Grenadiers rathergrumble. Harangue of 'Tennis-Court Club,' who enter withfar-gleaming Brass-plate, aloft on a pole, and the Tennis-CourtOath engraved thereon; which far gleaming Brass-plate they purposeto affix solemnly in the Versailles original locality, on the 20thof this month, which is the anniversary, as a deathless memorial,for some years: they will then dine, as they come back, in the Boisde Boulogne; (See Deux Amis, v. 122; Hist. Parl. &c.)--cannot,however, do it without apprising the world. To such things does theaugust National Assembly ever and anon cheerfully listen,suspending its regenerative labours; and with some touch ofimpromptu eloquence, make friendly reply;--as indeed the wont haslong been; for it is a gesticulating, sympathetic People, and has aheart, and wears it on its sleeve. In which circumstances, it occurred to the mind of AnacharsisClootz that while so much was embodying itself into Club orCommittee, and perorating applauded, there yet remained a greaterand greatest; of which, if it also took body and perorated, whatmight not the effect be: Humankind namely, le Genre Humain itself!In what rapt creative moment the Thought rose in Anacharsis's soul;all his throes, while he went about giving shape and birth to it;how he was sneered at by cold worldlings; but did sneer again,being a man of polished sarcasm; and moved to and fro persuasive incoffeehouse and soiree, and dived down assiduous-obscure in thegreat deep of Paris, making his Thought a Fact: of all this thespiritual biographies of that period say nothing. Enough that onthe 19th evening of June 1790, the Sun's slant rays lighted aspectacle such as our foolish little Planet has not often had toshow: Anacharsis Clootz entering the august Salle de Manege, withthe Human Species at his heels. Swedes, Spaniards, Polacks; Turks,Chaldeans, Greeks, dwellers in Mesopotamia: behold them all; theyhave come to claim place in the grand Federation, having anundoubted interest in it. "Our ambassador titles," said the fervid Clootz, "are notwritten on parchment, but on the living hearts of all men." Thesewhiskered Polacks, long-flowing turbaned Ishmaelites, astrologicalChaldeans, who stand so mute here, let them plead with you, augustSenators, more eloquently than eloquence could. They are the muterepresentatives of their tongue-tied, befettered, heavy-ladenNations; who from out of that dark bewilderment gaze wistful,amazed,
with half-incredulous hope, towards you, and this yourbright light of a French Federation: bright particular day-star,the herald of universal day. We claim to stand there, as mutemonuments, pathetically adumbrative of much.--From bench andgallery comes 'repeated applause;' for what august Senator but isflattered even by the very shadow of Human Species depending onhim? From President Sieyes, who presides this remarkable fortnight,in spite of his small voice, there comes eloquent though shrillreply. Anacharsis and the 'Foreigners Committee' shall have placeat the Federation; on condition of telling their respective Peopleswhat they see there. In the mean time, we invite them to the'honours of the sitting, honneur de la seance.' A long-flowingTurk, for rejoinder, bows with Eastern solemnity, and uttersarticulate sounds: but owing to his imperfect knowledge of theFrench dialect, (Moniteur, &c. (in Hist. Parl. xii. 283).) hiswords are like spilt water; the thought he had in him remainsconjectural to this day. Anacharsis and Mankind accept the honours of the sitting; andhave forthwith, as the old Newspapers still testify, thesatisfaction to see several things. First and chief, on the motionof Lameth, Lafayette, Saint-Fargeau and other Patriot Nobles, letthe others repugn as they will: all Titles of Nobility, from Duketo Esquire, or lower, are henceforth abolished. Then, in likemanner, Livery Servants, or rather the Livery of Servants. Neither,for the future, shall any man or woman, self-styled noble, be'incensed,'--foolishly fumigated with incense, in Church; as thewont has been. In a word, Feudalism being dead these ten months,why should her empty trappings and scutcheons survive? The veryCoats-of-arms will require to be obliterated;--and yet CassandraMarat on this and the other coach-panel notices that they 'are butpainted-over,' and threaten to peer through again. So that henceforth de Lafayette is but the Sieur Motier, andSaint-Fargeau is plain Michel Lepelletier; and Mirabeau soon afterhas to say huffingly, "With your Riquetti you have set Europe atcross-purposes for three days." For his Counthood is notindifferent to this man; which indeed the admiring People treat himwith to the last. But let extreme Patriotism rejoice, and chieflyAnacharsis and Mankind; for now it seems to be taken for grantedthat one Adam is Father of us all!-Such was, in historical accuracy, the famed feat of Anacharsis.Thus did the most extensive of Public Bodies find a sort ofspokesman. Whereby at least we may judge of one thing: what ahumour the once sniffing mocking City of Paris and Baron Clootz hadgot into; when such exhibition could appear a propriety, next doorto a sublimity. It is true, Envy did in after times, pervert thissuccess of Anacharsis; making him, from incidental 'Speaker of theForeign-Nations Committee,' claim to be official permanent'Speaker, Orateur, of the Human Species,' which he only deserved tobe; and alleging, calumniously, that his astrological Chaldeans,and the rest, were a mere French tag-rag-and-bobtail disguised forthe nonce; and, in short, sneering and fleering at him in her coldbarren way; all which, however, he, the man he was, could receiveon thick enough panoply, or even rebound therefrom, and also go hisway. Most extensive of Public Bodies, we may call it; and also themost unexpected: for who could have thought to see All Nations inthe Tuileries Riding-Hall? But so it is; and truly as strangethings may happen when a whole People goes mumming and miming. Hastnot thou thyself perchance seen diademed Cleopatra, daughter of thePtolemies, pleading, almost with bended knee, in unheroictea-parlour, or dimlit retail-shop, to inflexible gross BurghalDignitary,
for leave to reign and die; being dressed for it, andmoneyless, with small children;--while suddenly Constables haveshut the Thespian barn, and her Antony pleaded in vain? Such visualspectra flit across this Earth, if the Thespian Stage be rudelyinterfered with: but much more, when, as was said, Pit jumps onStage, then is it verily, as in Herr Tieck's Drama, a VerkehrteWelt, of World Topsyturvied! Having seen the Human Species itself, to have seen the 'Dean ofthe Human Species,' ceased now to be a miracle. Such 'Doyen duGenre Humain, Eldest of Men,' had shewn himself there, in theseweeks: Jean Claude Jacob, a born Serf, deputed from his native JuraMountains to thank the National Assembly for enfranchising them. Onhis bleached worn face are ploughed the furrowings of one hundredand twenty years. He has heard dim patois- talk, of immortalGrandMonarch victories; of a burnt Palatinate, as he toiled andmoiled to make a little speck of this Earth greener; of CevennesDragoonings; of Marlborough going to the war. Four generations havebloomed out, and loved and hated, and rustled off: he was forty-sixwhen Louis Fourteenth died. The Assembly, as one man, spontaneouslyrose, and did reverence to the Eldest of the World; old Jean is totake seance among them, honourably, with covered head. He gazesfeebly there, with his old eyes, on that new wonder-scene;dreamlike to him, and uncertain, wavering amid fragments of oldmemories and dreams. For Time is all growing unsubstantial,dreamlike; Jean's eyes and mind are weary, and about to close,--andopen on a far other wonder-scene, which shall be real. PatriotSubscription, Royal Pension was got for him, and he returned homeglad; but in two months more he left it all, and went on hisunknown way. (Deux Amis, iv. iii.)
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.I. The Feast of PikesChapter 2.1.XI. As in the Age of Gold
Meanwhile to Paris, ever going and returning, day after day, andall day long, towards that Field of Mars, it becomes painfullyapparent that the spadework there cannot be got done in time. Thereis such an area of it; three hundred thousand square feet: for fromthe Ecole militaire (which will need to be done up in wood withbalconies and galleries) westward to the Gate by the river (wherealso shall be wood, in triumphal arches), we count same thousandyards of length; and for breadth, from this umbrageous Avenue ofeight rows, on the South side, to that corresponding one on theNorth, some thousand feet, more or less. All this to be scoopedout, and wheeled up in slope along the sides; high enough; for itmust be rammed down there, and shaped stair-wise into as many as'thirty ranges of convenient seats,' firm-trimmed with turf,covered with enduring timber;-- and then our huge pyramidalFatherland's-Altar, Autel de la Patrie, in the centre, also to beraised and stair-stepped! Force-work with a vengeance; it is aWorld's Amphitheatre! There are but fifteen days good; and at thislanguid rate, it might take half as many weeks. What is singulartoo, the spademen seem to work lazily; they will not workdouble-tides, even for offer of more wages, though their tide isbut seven hours; they declare angrily that the human tabernaclerequires occasional rest! Is it Aristocrats secretly bribing? Aristocrats were capable ofthat. Only six months since, did not evidence get afloat thatsubterranean Paris, for we stand over quarries and catacombs,dangerously, as it were midway between Heaven and the Abyss, andare hollow underground,--was charged with gunpowder, which shouldmake us 'leap?' Till a Cordelier's
Deputation actually went toexamine, and found it--carried off again! (23rd December, 1789(Newspapers in Hist. Parl. iv. 44).) An accursed, incurable brood;all asking for 'passports,' in these sacred days. Trouble, ofrioting, chateau-burning, is in the Limousin and elsewhere; forthey are busy! Between the best of Peoples and the best ofRestorer-Kings, they would sow grudges; with what a fiend's-grinwould they see this Federation, looked for by the Universe,fail! Fail for want of spadework, however, it shall not. He that hasfour limbs, and a French heart, can do spadework; and will! On thefirst July Monday, scarcely has the signal-cannon boomed; scarcelyhave the languescent mercenary Fifteen Thousand laid down theirtools, and the eyes of onlookers turned sorrowfully of the stillhigh Sun; when this and the other Patriot, fire in his eye,snatches barrow and mattock, and himself begins indignantlywheeling. Whom scores and then hundreds follow; and soon avolunteer Fifteen Thousand are shovelling and trundling; with theheart of giants; and all in right order, with that extemporaneousadroitness of theirs: whereby such a lift has been given, worththree mercenary ones;-- which may end when the late twilightthickens, in triumph shouts, heard or heard of beyondMontmartre! A sympathetic population will wait, next day, with eagerness,till the tools are free. Or why wait? Spades elsewhere exist! Andso now bursts forth that effulgence of Parisian enthusiasm,goodheartedness and brotherly love; such, if Chroniclers aretrustworthy, as was not witnessed since the Age of Gold. Paris,male and female, precipitates itself towards its South-westextremity, spade on shoulder. Streams of men, without order; or inorder, as ranked fellow-craftsmen, as natural or accidentalreunions, march towards the Field of Mars. Three-deep these march;to the sound of stringed music; preceded by young girls with greenboughs, and tricolor streamers: they have shouldered, soldier-wise,their shovels and picks; and with one throat are singing ca-ira.Yes, pardieu ca-ira, cry the passengers on the streets. Allcorporate Guilds, and public and private Bodies of Citizens, fromthe highest to the lowest, march; the very Hawkers, one finds, haveceased bawling for one day. The neighbouring Villages turn out:their able men come marching, to village fiddle or tambourine andtriangle, under their Mayor, or Mayor and Curate, who also walkbespaded, and in tricolor sash. As many as one hundred and fiftythousand workers: nay at certain seasons, as some count, twohundred and fifty thousand; for, in the afternoon especially, whatmortal but, finishing his hasty day's work, would run! A stirringcity: from the time you reach the Place Louis Quinze, southwardover the River, by all Avenues, it is one living throng. So manyworkers; and no mercenary mock-workers, but real ones that liefreely to it: each Patriot stretches himself against the stubbornglebe; hews and wheels with the whole weight that is in him. Amiable infants, aimables enfans! They do the 'police desl'atelier' too, the guidance and governance, themselves; with thatready will of theirs, with that extemporaneous adroitness. It is atrue brethren's work; all distinctions confounded, abolished; as itwas in the beginning, when Adam himself delved. Longfrockedtonsured Monks, with short-skirted Water- carriers, withswallow-tailed well-frizzled Incroyables of a Patriot turn; darkCharcoalmen, meal-white Peruke-makers; or Peruke-wearers, forAdvocate and Judge are there, and all Heads of Districts: soberNuns sisterlike with flaunting Nymphs of the Opera, and females incommon circumstances named unfortunate: the patriot Rag-picker, andperfumed dweller in palaces; for Patriotism like New-birth, andalso like Death, levels all. The Printers have come marching,Prudhomme's all in Paper-caps with Revolutions de Paris printed onthem; as Camille notes; wishing that in these
great days thereshould be a Pacte des Ecrivains too, or Federation of Able Editors.(See Newspapers, &c. (in Hist. Parl. vi. 381-406).) Beautifulto see! The snowy linen and delicate pantaloon alternates with thesoiled check-shirt and bushel-breeches; for both have cast theircoats, and under both are four limbs and a set of Patriot muscles.There do they pick and shovel; or bend forward, yoked in longstrings to box-barrow or overloaded tumbril; joyous, with one mind.Abbe Sieyes is seen pulling, wiry, vehement, if too light fordraught; by the side of Beauharnais, who shall get Kings though hebe none. Abbe Maury did not pull; but the Charcoalmen brought amummer guised like him, so he had to pull in effigy. Let no augustSenator disdain the work: Mayor Bailly, Generalissimo Lafayette arethere;--and, alas, shall be there again another day! The Kinghimself comes to see: sky-rending Vive-le-Roi; 'and suddenly withshouldered spades they form a guard of honour round him.' Whosoevercan come comes, to work, or to look, and bless the work. Whole families have come. One whole family we see clearly, ofthree generations: the father picking, the mother shovelling, theyoung ones wheeling assiduous; old grandfather, hoary withninety-three years, holds in his arms the youngest of all:(Mercier. ii. 76, &c.) frisky, not helpful this one; whonevertheless may tell it to his grandchildren; and how the Futureand the Past alike looked on, and with failing or with half-formedvoice, faltered their ca-ira. A vintner has wheeled in, on Patriottruck, beverage of wine: "Drink not, my brothers, if ye are notdry; that your cask may last the longer;" neither did any drink,but men 'evidently exhausted.' A dapper Abbe looks on, sneering."To the barrow!" cry several; whom he, lest a worse thing befalhim, obeys: nevertheless one wiser Patriot barrowman, arriving now,interposes his "arretez;" setting down his own barrow, he snatchesthe Abbe's; trundles it fast, like an infected thing; forth of theChamp-de-Mars circuit, and discharges it there. Thus too a certainperson (of some quality, or private capital, to appearance),entering hastily, flings down his coat, waistcoat and two watches,and is rushing to the thick of the work: "But your watches?" criesthe general voice.-"Does one distrust his brothers?" answers he;nor were the watches stolen. How beautiful is noble-sentiment: likegossamer gauze, beautiful and cheap; which will stand no tear andwear! Beautiful cheap gossamer gauze, thou film-shadow of araw-material of Virtue, which art not woven, nor likely to be, intoDuty; thou art better than nothing, and also worse! Young Boarding-school Boys, College Students, shout Vive laNation, and regret that they have yet 'only their sweat to give.'What say we of Boys? Beautifullest Hebes; the loveliest of Paris,in their light air-robes, with riband-girdle of tricolor, arethere; shovelling and wheeling with the rest; their Hebe eyesbrighter with enthusiasm, and long hair in beautiful dishevelment:hardpressed are their small fingers; but they make the patriotbarrow go, and even force it to the summit of the slope (with alittle tracing, which what man's arm were not too happy tolend?)-then bound down with it again, and go for more; with theirlong locks and tricolors blown back: graceful as the rosy Hours. O,as that evening Sun fell over the Champ-de-Mars, and tinted withfire the thick umbrageous boscage that shelters it on this hand andon that, and struck direct on those Domes and two-and-forty Windowsof the Ecole Militaire, and made them all of burnished gold,--sawhe on his wide zodiac road other such sight? A living gardenspotted and dotted with such flowerage; all colours of the prism;the beautifullest blent friendly with the usefullest; all growingand working brotherlike there, under one warm feeling, were it butfor days; once and no second time! But Night is sinking; theseNights too, into Eternity. The hastiest
Traveller Versailles-wardhas drawn bridle on the heights of Chaillot: and looked for momentsover the River; reporting at Versailles what he saw, not withouttears. (Mercier, ii. 81.) Meanwhile, from all points of the compass, Federates arearriving: fervid children of the South, 'who glory in theirMirabeau;' considerate North- blooded Mountaineers of Jura; sharpBretons, with their Gaelic suddenness; Normans not to beoverreached in bargain: all now animated with one noblest fire ofPatriotism. Whom the Paris brethren march forth to receive; withmilitary solemnities, with fraternal embracing, and a hospitalityworthy of the heroic ages. They assist at the Assembly's Debates,these Federates: the Galleries are reserved for them. They assistin the toils of the Champ-de-Mars; each new troop will put its handto the spade; lift a hod of earth on the Altar of the Fatherland.But the flourishes of rhetoric, for it is a gesticulating People;the moral-sublime of those Addresses to an august Assembly, to aPatriot Restorer! Our Breton Captain of Federates kneels even, in afit of enthusiasm, and gives up his sword; he wet-eyed to a Kingwet-eyed. Poor Louis! These, as he said afterwards, were among thebright days of his life. Reviews also there must be; royal Federate-reviews, with King,Queen and tricolor Court looking on: at lowest, if, as is toocommon, it rains, our Federate Volunteers will file through theinner gateways, Royalty standing dry. Nay there, should some stopoccur, the beautifullest fingers in France may take you softly bythe lapelle, and, in mild flute-voice, ask: "Monsieur, of whatProvince are you?" Happy he who can reply, chivalrously loweringhis sword's point, "Madame, from the Province your ancestorsreigned over." He that happy 'Provincial Advocate,' now ProvincialFederate, shall be rewarded by a sun-smile, and such melodious gladwords addressed to a King: "Sire, these are your faithfulLorrainers." Cheerier verily, in these holidays, is this 'skybluefaced with red' of a National Guardsman, than the dull black andgray of a Provincial Advocate, which in workdays one was used to.For the same thrice-blessed Lorrainer shall, this evening, standsentry at a Queen's door; and feel that he could die a thousanddeaths for her: then again, at the outer gate, and even a thirdtime, she shall see him; nay he will make her do it; presentingarms with emphasis, 'making his musket jingle again': and in hersalute there shall again be a sun-smile, and that littleblonde-locked too hasty Dauphin shall be admonished, "Salute then,Monsieur, don't be unpolite;" and therewith she, like a brightSky-wanderer or Planet with her little Moon, issues forth peculiar.(Narrative by a Lorraine Federate (given in Hist. Parl. vi.389-91).) But at night, when Patriot spadework is over, figure the sacredrights of hospitality! Lepelletier Saint-Fargeau, a mere privatesenator, but with great possessions, has daily his 'hundreddinnerguests;' the table of Generalissimo Lafayette may doublethat number. In lowly parlour, as in lofty saloon, the wine-cuppasses round; crowned by the smiles of Beauty; be it oflightly-tripping Grisette, or of high-sailing Dame, for bothequally have beauty, and smiles precious to the brave.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.I. The Feast of PikesChapter 2.1.XII. Sound and Smoke
And so now, in spite of plotting Aristocrats, lazy hiredspademen, and almost of Destiny itself (for there has been muchrain), the Champ-de-Mars, on the 13th of the month is fairly ready;trimmed, rammed, buttressed with firm masonry; and Patriotism canstroll over it admiring;
and as it were rehearsing, for in everyhead is some unutterable image of the morrow. Pray Heaven there benot clouds. Nay what far worse cloud is this, of a misguidedMunicipality that talks of admitting Patriotism, to the solemnity,by tickets! Was it by tickets we were admitted to the work; and towhat brought the work? Did we take the Bastille by tickets? Amisguided Municipality sees the error; at late midnight, rollingdrums announce to Patriotism starting half out of its bed-clothes,that it is to be ticketless. Pull down thy night-cap therefore;and, with demiarticulate grumble, significant of several things,go pacified to sleep again. Tomorrow is Wednesday morning;unforgetable among the fasti of the world. The morning comes, cold for a July one; but such a festivitywould make Greenland smile. Through every inlet of that NationalAmphitheatre (for it is a league in circuit, cut with openings atdue intervals), floods-in the living throng; covers without tumultspace after space. The Ecole Militaire has galleries andovervaulting canopies, where Carpentry and Painting have vied, forthe upper Authorities; triumphal arches, at the Gate by the River,bear inscriptions, if weak, yet wellmeant, and orthodox. Faraloft, over the Altar of the Fatherland, on their tall cranestandards of iron, swing pensile our antique Cassolettes or pans ofincense; dispensing sweet incense-fumes,-unless for the HeathenMythology, one sees not for whom. Two hundred thousand PatrioticMen; and, twice as good, one hundred thousand Patriotic Women, alldecked and glorified as one can fancy, sit waiting in thisChamp-de-Mars. What a picture: that circle of bright-eyed Life, spread upthere, on its thirty-seated Slope; leaning, one would say, on thethick umbrage of those Avenue-Trees, for the stems of them arehidden by the height; and all beyond it mere greenness of SummerEarth, with the gleams of waters, or white sparklings ofstone-edifices: little circular enamel-picture in the centre ofsuch a vase--of emerald! A vase not empty: the Invalides Cupolaswant not their population, nor the distant Windmills of Montmartre;on remotest steeple and invisible village belfry, stand men withspyglasses. On the heights of Chaillot are many-colouredundulating groups; round and far on, over all the circling heightsthat embosom Paris, it is as one more or less peopled Amphitheatre;which the eye grows dim with measuring. Nay heights, as was beforehinted, have cannon; and a floating- battery of cannon is on theSeine. When eye fails, ear shall serve; and all France properly isbut one Amphitheatre: for in paved town and unpaved hamlet, menwalk listening; till the muffled thunder sound audible on theirhorizon, that they too may begin swearing and firing! (Deux Amis,v. 168.) But now, to streams of music, come Federates enough,--forthey have assembled on the Boulevard Saint-Antoine or thereby, andcome marching through the City, with their Eighty-three DepartmentBanners, and blessings not loud but deep; comes National Assembly,and takes seat under its Canopy; comes Royalty, and takes seat on athrone beside it. And Lafayette, on white charger, is here, and allthe civic Functionaries; and the Federates form dances, till theirstrictly military evolutions and manoeuvres can begin. Evolutions and manoeuvres? Task not the pen of mortal todescribe them: truant imagination droops;--declares that it is notworth while. There is wheeling and sweeping, to slow, to quick, anddouble quick-time: Sieur Motier, or Generalissimo Lafayette, forthey are one and the same, and he is General of France, in theKing's stead, for four-and-twenty hours; Sieur Motier must stepforth, with that sublime chivalrous gait of his; solemnly ascendthe steps of the Fatherland's Altar, in sight of Heaven and of thescarcely breathing Earth; and, under the creak of those swingingCassolettes, 'pressing his sword's point firmly there,' pronouncethe Oath, To King, to
Law, and Nation (not to mention 'grains' withtheir circulating), in his own name and that of armed France.Whereat there is waving of banners and acclaim sufficient. TheNational Assembly must swear, standing in its place; the Kinghimself audibly. The King swears; and now be the welkin split withvivats; let citizens enfranchised embrace, each smiting heartilyhis palm into his fellow's; and armed Federates clang their arms;above all, that floating battery speak! It has spoken,--to the fourcorners of France. From eminence to eminence, bursts the thunder;faintheard, loud-repeated. What a stone, cast into what a lake; incircles that do not grow fainter. From Arras to Avignon; from Metzto Bayonne! Over Orleans and Blois it rolls, in cannonrecitative;Puy bellows of it amid his granite mountains; Pau where is theshell-cradle of Great Henri. At far Marseilles, one can think, theruddy evening witnesses it; over the deep-blue Mediterraneanwaters, the Castle of If ruddy-tinted darts forth, from everycannon's mouth, its tongue of fire; and all the people shout: Yes,France is free. O glorious France that has burst out so; intouniversal sound and smoke; and attained--the Phrygian Cap ofLiberty! In all Towns, Trees of Liberty also may be planted; withor without advantage. Said we not, it is the highest stretchattained by the Thespian Art on this Planet, or perhapsattainable? The Thespian Art, unfortunately, one must still call it; forbehold there, on this Field of Mars, the National Banners, beforethere could be any swearing, were to be all blessed. A most properoperation; since surely without Heaven's blessing bestowed, sayeven, audibly or inaudibly sought, no Earthly banner or contrivancecan prove victorious: but now the means of doing it? By whatthrice-divine Franklin thunder-rod shall miraculous fire be drawnout of Heaven; and descend gently, life-giving, with health to thesouls of men? Alas, by the simplest: by Two Hundred shaven-crownedIndividuals, 'in snow-white albs, with tricolor girdles,' arrangedon the steps of Fatherland's Altar; and, at their head forspokesman, Soul's Overseer TalleyrandPerigord! These shall act asmiraculous thunder-rod,-- to such length as they can. O ye deepazure Heavens, and thou green all- nursing Earth; ye Streamsever-flowing; deciduous Forests that die and are born again,continually, like the sons of men; stone Mountains that die dailywith every rain-shower, yet are not dead and levelled for ages ofages, nor born again (it seems) but with new world-explosions, andsuch tumultuous seething and tumbling, steam half way to the Moon;O thou unfathomable mystic All, garment and dwellingplace of theunnamed; O spirit, lastly, of Man, who mouldest andmodellest that Unfathomable Unnameable even as we see,--is notthere a miracle: That some French mortal should, we say not havebelieved, but pretended to imagine that he believed that Talleyrandand Two Hundred pieces of white Calico could do it! Here, however, we are to remark with the sorrowing Historians ofthat day, that suddenly, while Episcopus Talleyrand, long-stoled,with mitre and tricolor belt, was yet but hitching up theAltarsteps, to do his miracle, the material Heaven grew black; anorth-wind, moaning cold moisture, began to sing; and theredescended a very deluge of rain. Sad to see! The thirty-stairedSeats, all round our Amphitheatre, get instantaneously slated withmere umbrellas, fallacious when so thick set: our antiqueCassolettes become Water-pots; their incense-smoke gone hissing, ina whiff of muddy vapour. Alas, instead of vivats, there is nothingnow but the furious peppering and rattling. From three to fourhundred thousand human individuals feel that they have a skin;happily impervious. The General's sash runs water: how all militarybanners droop; and will not wave, but lazily flap, as ifmetamorphosed into painted tin-banners! Worse, far worse, thesehundred thousand, such is the Historian's testimony, of the fairestof France! Their snowy muslins all splashed and draggled; theostrich feather shrunk shamefully to the backbone of a
feather: allcaps are ruined; innermost pasteboard molten into its original pap:Beauty no longer swims decorated in her garniture, likeLove-goddess hidden-revealed in her Paphian clouds, but strugglesin disastrous imprisonment in it, for 'the shape was noticeable;'and now only sympathetic interjections, titterings, teeheeings, andresolute good-humour will avail. A deluge; an incessant sheet orfluid-column of rain;--such that our Overseer's very mitre must befilled; not a mitre, but a filled and leaky fire-bucket on hisreverend head!--Regardless of which, Overseer Talleyrand performshis miracle: the Blessing of Talleyrand, another than that ofJacob, is on all the Eighty-three departmental flags of France;which wave or flap, with such thankfulness as needs. Towards threeo'clock, the sun beams out again: the remaining evolutions can betransacted under bright heavens, though with decorations muchdamaged. (Deux Amis, v. 143-179.) On Wednesday our Federation is consummated: but the festivitieslast out the week, and over into the next. Festivities such as noBagdad Caliph, or Aladdin with the Lamp, could have equalled. Thereis a Jousting on the River; with its water-somersets, splashing andhaha-ing: Abbe Fauchet, Te- Deum Fauchet, preaches, for his part,in 'the rotunda of the Corn-market,' a Harangue on Franklin; forwhom the National Assembly has lately gone three days in black. TheMotier and Lepelletier tables still groan with viands; roofsringing with patriotic toasts. On the fifth evening, which is theChristian Sabbath, there is a universal Ball. Paris, out of doorsand in, man, woman and child, is jigging it, to the sound of harpand four- stringed fiddle. The hoariest-headed man will tread oneother measure, under this nether Moon; speechless nurselings,infants as we call them, (Greek), crow in arms; and sprawl outnumb-plump little limbs,--impatient for muscularity, they know notwhy. The stiffest balk bends more or less; all joists creak. Or out, on the Earth's breast itself, behold the Ruins of theBastille. All lamplit, allegorically decorated: a Tree of Libertysixty feet high; and Phrygian Cap on it, of size enormous, underwhich King Arthur and his round-table might have dined! In thedepths of the background, is a single lugubrious lamp, renderingdim-visible one of your iron cages, half-buried, and some Prisonstones,--Tyranny vanishing downwards, all gone but the skirt: therest wholly lampfestoons, trees real or of pasteboard; in thesimilitude of a fairy grove; with this inscription, readable torunner: 'Ici l'on danse, Dancing Here.' As indeed had beenobscurely foreshadowed by Cagliostro (See his Lettre au PeupleFrancais (London, 1786.) prophetic Quack of Quacks, when he, fouryears ago, quitted the grim durance;--to fall into a grimmer, ofthe Roman Inquisition, and not quit it. But, after all, what is this Bastille business to that of theChamps Elysees! Thither, to these Fields well named Elysian, allfeet tend. It is radiant as day with festooned lamps; littleoil-cups, like variegated fire-flies, daintily illumine the highestleaves: trees there are all sheeted with variegated fire, sheddingfar a glimmer into the dubious wood. There, under the free sky, dotightlimbed Federates, with fairest newfound sweethearts, elasticas Diana, and not of that coyness and tart humour of Diana, threadtheir jocund mazes, all through the ambrosial night; and heartswere touched and fired; and seldom surely had our old Planet, inthat huge conic Shadow of hers 'which goes beyond the Moon, and isnamed Night,' curtained such a Ball-room. O if, according toSeneca, the very gods look down on a good man struggling withadversity, and smile; what must they think of Five-and-twentymillion indifferent ones victorious over it,--for eight days andmore?
In this way, and in such ways, however, has the Feast of Pikesdanced itself off; gallant Federates wending homewards, towardsevery point of the compass, with feverish nerves, heart and headmuch heated; some of them, indeed, as Dampmartin's elderlyrespectable friend, from Strasbourg, quite 'burnt out withliquors,' and flickering towards extinction. (Dampmartin,Evenemens, i. 144-184.) The Feast of Pikes has danced itself off,and become defunct, and the ghost of a Feast;--nothing of it nowremaining but this vision in men's memory; and the place that knewit (for the slope of that Champ-de-Mars is crumbled to half theoriginal height (Dulaure, Histoire de Paris, viii. 25).) nowknowing it no more. Undoubtedly one of the memorablest NationalHightides. Never or hardly ever, as we said, was Oath sworn withsuch heart-effusion, emphasis and expenditure of joyance; and thenit was broken irremediably within year and day. Ah, why? When theswearing of it was so heavenly-joyful, bosom clasped to bosom, andFive-and-twenty million hearts all burning together: O yeinexorable Destinies, why?-Partly because it was sworn with suchover-joyance; but chiefly, indeed, for an older reason: that Sinhad come into the world and Misery by Sin! These Five-and-twentymillions, if we will consider it, have now henceforth, with thatPhrygian Cap of theirs, no force over them, to bind and guide;neither in them, more than heretofore, is guiding force, or rule ofjust living: how then, while they all go rushing at such a pace, onunknown ways, with no bridle, towards no aim, can hurlyburlyunutterable fail? For verily not Federation-rosepink is the colourof this Earth and her work: not by outbursts of noble-sentiment,but with far other ammunition, shall a man front the world. But how wise, in all cases, to 'husband your fire;' to keep itdeep down, rather, as genial radicalheat! Explosions, theforciblest, and never so well directed, are questionable; faroftenest futile, always frightfully wasteful: but think of a man,of a Nation of men, spending its whole stock of fire in oneartificial Firework! So have we seen fond weddings (forindividuals, like Nations, have their Hightides) celebrated with anoutburst of triumph and deray, at which the elderly shook theirheads. Better had a serious cheerfulness been; for the enterprisewas great. Fond pair! the more triumphant ye feel, and victoriousover terrestrial evil, which seems all abolished, the widereyedwill your disappointment be to find terrestrial evil still extant."And why extant?" will each of you cry: "Because my false mate hasplayed the traitor: evil was abolished; I meant faithfully, anddid, or would have done." Whereby the oversweet moon of honeychanges itself into long years of vinegar; perhaps divulsivevinegar, like Hannibal's. Shall we say then, the French Nation has led Royalty, or wooedand teased poor Royalty to lead her, to the hymeneal Fatherland'sAltar, in such oversweet manner; and has, most thoughtlessly, tocelebrate the nuptials with due shine and demonstration,--burnt herbed?
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.II. NanciChapter 2.2.I. Bouille
Dimly visible, at Metz on the North-Eastern frontier, a certainbrave Bouille, last refuge of Royalty in all straits andmeditations of flight, has for many months hovered occasionally inour eye; some name or shadow of a brave Bouille: let us now, for alittle, look fixedly at him, till he become a substance and personfor us. The man himself is worth a glance; his position andprocedure there, in these days, will throw light on manythings.
For it is with Bouille as with all French Commanding Officers;only in a more emphatic degree. The grand National Federation, wealready guess, was but empty sound, or worse: a last loudestuniversal Hep-hep-hurrah, with full bumpers, in that NationalLapithae-feast of Constitution-making; as in loud denial of thepalpably existing; as if, with hurrahings, you would shut outnotice of the inevitable already knocking at the gates! Which newNational bumper, one may say, can but deepen the drunkenness; andso, the louder it swears Brotherhood, will the sooner and the moresurely lead to Cannibalism. Ah, under that fraternal shine andclangour, what a deep world of irreconcileable discords liemomentarily assuaged, damped down for one moment! Respectablemilitary Federates have barely got home to their quarters; and theinflammablest, 'dying, burnt up with liquors, and kindness,' hasnot yet got extinct; the shine is hardly out of men's eyes, andstill blazes filling all men's memories,--when your discords burstforth again very considerably darker than ever. Let us look atBouille, and see how. Bouille for the present commands in the Garrison of Metz, andfar and wide over the East and North; being indeed, by a late actof Government with sanction of National Assembly, appointed one ofour Four supreme Generals. Rochambeau and Mailly, men and Marshalsof note in these days, though to us of small moment, are two of hiscolleagues; tough old babbling Luckner, also of small moment forus, will probably be the third. Marquis de Bouille is a determinedLoyalist; not indeed disinclined to moderate reform, but resoluteagainst immoderate. A man long suspect to Patriotism; who has morethan once given the august Assembly trouble; who would not, forexample, take the National Oath, as he was bound to do, but alwaysput it off on this or the other pretext, till an autograph ofMajesty requested him to do it as a favour. There, in this post ifnot of honour, yet of eminence and danger, he waits, in a silentconcentered manner; very dubious of the future. 'Alone,' as hesays, or almost alone, of all the old military Notabilities, he hasnot emigrated; but thinks always, in atrabiliar moments, that therewill be nothing for him too but to cross the marches. He mightcross, say, to Treves or Coblentz where Exiled Princes will be oneday ranking; or say, over into Luxemburg where old Broglie loitersand languishes. Or is there not the great dim Deep of EuropeanDiplomacy; where your Calonnes, your Breteuils are beginning tohover, dimly discernible? With immeasurable confused outlooks and purposes, with no clearpurpose but this of still trying to do His Majesty a service,Bouille waits; struggling what he can to keep his district loyal,his troops faithful, his garrisons furnished. He maintains, as yet,with his Cousin Lafayette, some thin diplomatic correspondence, byletter and messenger; chivalrous constitutional professions on theone side, military gravity and brevity on the other; which thincorrespondence one can see growing ever the thinner and hollower,towards the verge of entire vacuity. (Bouille, Memoires (London,1797), i. c. 8.) A quick, choleric, sharply discerning, stubbornlyendeavouring man; with suppressed-explosive resolution, withvalour, nay headlong audacity: a man who was more in his place,lionlike defending those Windward Isles, or, as with militarytiger-spring, clutching Nevis and Montserrat from theEnglish,--than here in this suppressed condition, muzzled andfettered by diplomatic packthreads; looking out for a civil war,which may never arrive. Few years ago Bouille was to have led aFrench East-Indian Expedition, and reconquered or conqueredPondicherri and the Kingdoms of the Sun: but the whole world issuddenly changed, and he with it; Destiny willed it not in that waybut in this.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.II. NanciChapter 2.2.II. Arrears and Aristocrats
Indeed, as to the general outlook of things, Bouille himselfaugurs not well of it. The French Army, ever since those oldBastille days, and earlier, has been universally in thequestionablest state, and growing daily worse. Discipline, which isat all times a kind of miracle, and works by faith, broke downthen; one sees not with that near prospect of recovering itself.The Gardes Francaises played a deadly game; but how they won it,and wear the prizes of it, all men know. In that general overturn,we saw the Hired Fighters refuse to fight. The very Swiss ofChateau-Vieux, which indeed is a kind of French Swiss, from Genevaand the Pays de Vaud, are understood to have declined. Desertersglided over; Royal-Allemand itself looked disconsolate, thoughstanch of purpose. In a word, we there saw Military Rule, in theshape of poor Besenval with that convulsive unmanageable Camp ofhis, pass two martyr days on the Champ-de- Mars; and then, veilingitself, so to speak, 'under the cloud of night,' depart 'down theleft bank of the Seine,' to seek refuge elsewhere; this groundhaving clearly become too hot for it. But what new ground to seek, what remedy to try? Quarters thatwere 'uninfected:' this doubtless, with judicious strictness ofdrilling, were the plan. Alas, in all quarters and places, fromParis onward to the remotest hamlet, is infection, is seditiouscontagion: inhaled, propagated by contact and converse, till thedullest soldier catch it! There is speech of men in uniform withmen not in uniform; men in uniform read journals, and even write inthem. (See Newspapers of July, 1789 (in Hist. Parl. ii. 35),&c.) There are public petitions or remonstrances, privateemissaries and associations; there is discontent, jealousy,uncertainty, sullen suspicious humour. The whole French Army,fermenting in dark heat, glooms ominous, boding good to no one. So that, in the general social dissolution and revolt, we are tohave this deepest and dismallest kind of it, a revolting soldiery?Barren, desolate to look upon is this same business of revolt underall its aspects; but how infinitely more so, when it takes theaspect of military mutiny! The very implement of rule andrestraint, whereby all the rest was managed and held in order, hasbecome precisely the frightfullest immeasurable implement ofmisrule; like the element of Fire, our indispensableall-ministering servant, when it gets the mastery, and becomesconflagration. Discipline we called a kind of miracle: in fact, isit not miraculous how one man moves hundreds of thousands; eachunit of whom it may be loves him not, and singly fears him not, yethas to obey him, to go hither or go thither, to march and halt, togive death, and even to receive it, as if a Fate had spoken; andthe word-of-command becomes, almost in the literal sense, amagic-word? Which magic-word, again, if it be once forgotten; the spell ofit once broken! The legions of assiduous ministering spirits riseon you now as menacing fiends; your free orderly arena becomes atumult-place of the Nether Pit, and the hapless magician is rentlimb from limb. Military mobs are mobs with muskets in their hands;and also with death hanging over their heads, for death is thepenalty of disobedience and they have disobeyed. And now if allmobs are properly frenzies, and work frenetically with mad fits ofhot and of cold, fierce rage alternating so incoherently with panicterror, consider what your military mob will be, with such aconflict of duties and penalties, whirled between remorse and fury,and, for the hot fit, loaded fire-arms in its
hand! To the soldierhimself, revolt is frightful, and oftenest perhaps pitiable; andyet so dangerous, it can only be hated, cannot be pitied. Ananomalous class of mortals these poor Hired Killers! With afrankness, which to the Moralist in these times seems surprising,they have sworn to become machines; and nevertheless they are stillpartly men. Let no prudent person in authority remind them of thislatter fact; but always let force, let injustice above all, stopshort clearly on this side of the rebounding-point! Soldiers, as weoften say, do revolt: were it not so, several things which aretransient in this world might be perennial. Over and above the general quarrel which all sons of Adammaintain with their lot here below, the grievances of the Frenchsoldiery reduce themselves to two, First that their Officers areAristocrats; secondly that they cheat them of their Pay. Twogrievances; or rather we might say one, capable of becoming ahundred; for in that single first proposition, that the Officersare Aristocrats, what a multitude of corollaries lie ready! It is abottomless ever-flowing fountain of grievances this; what you maycall a general raw-material of grievance, wherefrom individualgrievance after grievance will daily body itself forth. Nay therewill even be a kind of comfort in getting it, from time to time, soembodied. Peculation of one's Pay! It is embodied; made tangible,made denounceable; exhalable, if only in angry words. For unluckily that grand fountain of grievances does exist:Aristocrats almost all our Officers necessarily are; they have itin the blood and bone. By the law of the case, no man can pretendto be the pitifullest lieutenant of militia, till he have firstverified, to the satisfaction of the LionKing, a Nobility of fourgenerations. Not Nobility only, but four generations of it: thislatter is the improvement hit upon, in comparatively late years, bya certain War-minister much pressed for commissions. (Dampmartin,Evenemens, i. 89.) An improvement which did relieve theoverpressed War-minister, but which split France still furtherinto yawning contrasts of Commonalty and Nobility, nay of newNobility and old; as if already with your new and old, and thenwith your old, older and oldest, there were not contrasts anddiscrepancies enough;--the general clash whereof men now see andhear, and in the singular whirlpool, all contrasts gone together tothe bottom! Gone to the bottom or going; with uproar, withoutreturn; going every where save in the Military section of things;and there, it may be asked, can they hope to continue always at thetop? Apparently, not. It is true, in a time of external Peace, when there is nofighting but only drilling, this question, How you rise from theranks, may seem theoretical rather. But in reference to the Rightsof Man it is continually practical. The soldier has sworn to befaithful not to the King only, but to the Law and the Nation. Doour commanders love the Revolution? ask all soldiers. Unhappily no,they hate it, and love the Counter-Revolution. Young epaulettedmen, with quality-blood in them, poisoned with quality-pride, dosniff openly, with indignation struggling to become contempt, atour Rights of Man, as at some newfangled cobweb, which shall bebrushed down again. Old officers, more cautious, keep silent, withclosed uncurled lips; but one guesses what is passing within. Naywho knows, how, under the plausiblest word of command, might lieCounter-Revolution itself, sale to Exiled Princes and the AustrianKaiser: treacherous Aristocrats hoodwinking the small insight of uscommon men?--In such manner works that general raw-material ofgrievance; disastrous; instead of trust and reverence, breedinghate, endless suspicion, the impossibility of commanding andobeying. And now when this second more tangible grievance hasarticulated itself universally in the mind of the common man:Peculation of his Pay! Peculation of the despicablest sort
doesexist, and has long existed; but, unless the new-declared Rights ofMan, and all rights whatsoever, be a cobweb, it shall no longerexist. The French Military System seems dying a sorrowful suicidaldeath. Nay more, citizen, as is natural, ranks himself againstcitizen in this cause. The soldier finds audience, of numbers andsympathy unlimited, among the Patriot lower-classes. Nor are thehigher wanting to the officer. The officer still dresses andperfumes himself for such sad unemigrated soiree as there may stillbe; and speaks his woes,--which woes, are they not Majesty's andNature's? Speaks, at the same time, his gay defiance, his firm-setresolution. Citizens, still more Citizenesses, see the right andthe wrong; not the Military System alone will die by suicide, butmuch along with it. As was said, there is yet possible a deepestoverturn than any yet witnessed: that deepest upturn of theblack-burning sulphurous stratum whereon all rests and grows! But how these things may act on the rude soldier-mind, with itsmilitary pedantries, its inexperience of all that lies off theparade-ground; inexperience as of a child, yet fierceness of a manand vehemence of a Frenchman! It is long that secret communings inmess-room and guardroom, sour looks, thousandfold petty vexationsbetween commander and commanded, measure every where the wearymilitary day. Ask Captain Dampmartin; an authentic, ingeniousliterary officer of horse; who loves the Reign of Liberty, after asort; yet has had his heart grieved to the quick many times, in thehot South-Western region and elsewhere; and has seen riot, civilbattle by daylight and by torchlight, and anarchy hatefuller thandeath. How insubordinate Troopers, with drink in their heads, meetCaptain Dampmartin and another on the ramparts, where there is noescape or side- path; and make military salute punctually, for welook calm on them; yet make it in a snappish, almost insultingmanner: how one morning they 'leave all their chamois shirts' andsuperfluous buffs, which they are tired of, laid in piles at theCaptain's doors; whereat 'we laugh,' as the ass does, eatingthistles: nay how they 'knot two forage-cords together,' withuniversal noisy cursing, with evident intent to hang the Quarter-master:--all this the worthy Captain, looking on it through theruddy-and- sable of fond regretful memory, has flowingly writtendown. (Dampmartin, Evenemens, i. 122-146.) Men growl in vaguediscontent; officers fling up their commissions, and emigrate indisgust. Or let us ask another literary Officer; not yet Captain;Sublieutenant only, in the Artillery Regiment La Fere: a young manof twenty-one; not unentitled to speak; the name of him is NapoleonBuonaparte. To such height of Sublieutenancy has he now gotpromoted, from Brienne School, five years ago; 'being foundqualified in mathematics by La Place.' He is lying at Auxonne, inthe West, in these months; not sumptuously lodged--'in the house ofa Barber, to whose wife he did not pay the customary degree ofrespect;' or even over at the Pavilion, in a chamber with barewalls; the only furniture an indifferent 'bed without curtains, twochairs, and in the recess of a window a table covered with booksand papers: his Brother Louis sleeps on a coarse mattrass in anadjoining room.' However, he is doing something great: writing hisfirst Book or Pamphlet,--eloquent vehement Letter to M. MatteoButtafuoco, our Corsican Deputy, who is not a Patriot but anAristocrat, unworthy of Deputyship. Joly of Dole is Publisher. Theliterary Sublieutenant corrects the proofs; 'sets out on foot fromAuxonne, every morning at four o'clock, for Dole: after lookingover the proofs, he partakes of an extremely frugal breakfast withJoly, and immediately prepares for returning to his Garrison; wherehe arrives before noon, having thus walked above twenty miles inthe course of the morning.'
This Sublieutenant can remark that, in drawing-rooms, onstreets, on highways, at inns, every where men's minds are ready tokindle into a flame. That a Patriot, if he appear in thedrawingroom, or amid a group of officers, is liable enough to bediscouraged, so great is the majority against him: but no soonerdoes he get into the street, or among the soldiers, than he feelsagain as if the whole Nation were with him. That after the famousOath, To the King, to the Nation and Law, there was a great change;that before this, if ordered to fire on the people, he for onewould have done it in the King's name; but that after this, in theNation's name, he would not have done it. Likewise that the Patriotofficers, more numerous too in the Artillery and Engineers thanelsewhere, were few in number; yet that having the soldiers ontheir side, they ruled the regiment; and did often deliver theAristocrat brother officer out of peril and strait. One day, forexample, 'a member of our own mess roused the mob, by singing, fromthe windows of our dining-room, O Richard, O my King; and I had tosnatch him from their fury.' (Norvins, Histoire de Napoleon, i. 47;Las Cases, Memoires (translated into Hazlitt's Life of Napoleon, i.23-31.) All which let the reader multiply by ten thousand; and spread itwith slight variations over all the camps and garrisons of France.The French Army seems on the verge of universal mutiny. Universal mutiny! There is in that what may well make PatriotConstitutionalism and an august Assembly shudder. Something behovesto be done; yet what to do no man can tell. Mirabeau proposes eventhat the Soldiery, having come to such a pass, be forthwithdisbanded, the whole Two Hundred and Eighty Thousands of them; andorganised anew. (Moniteur, 1790. No. 233.) Impossible this, in sosudden a manner! cry all men. And yet literally, answer we, it isinevitable, in one manner or another. Such an Army, with itsfour-generation Nobles, its Peculated Pay, and men knotting foragecords to hang their quartermaster, cannot subsist beside such aRevolution. Your alternative is a slow-pining chronic dissolutionand new organization; or a swift decisive one; the agonies spreadover years, or concentrated into an hour. With a Mirabeau forMinister or Governor the latter had been the choice; with noMirabeau for Governor it will naturally be the former.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.II. NanciChapter 2.2.III. Bouille at Metz
To Bouille, in his North-Eastern circle, none of these thingsare altogether hid. Many times flight over the marches gleams outon him as a last guidance in such bewilderment: nevertheless hecontinues here: struggling always to hope the best, not from neworganisation but from happy Counter-Revolution and return to theold. For the rest it is clear to him that this same NationalFederation, and universal swearing and fraternising of People andSoldiers, has done 'incalculable mischief.' So much that fermentedsecretly has hereby got vent and become open: National Guards andSoldiers of the line, solemnly embracing one another on allparade-fields, drinking, swearing patriotic oaths, fall intodisorderly street-processions, constitutional unmilitaryexclamations and hurrahings. On which account the RegimentPicardie, for one, has to be drawn out in the square of thebarracks, here at Metz, and sharply harangued by the Generalhimself; but expresses penitence. (Bouille, Memoires, i. 113.)
Far and near, as accounts testify, insubordination has begungrumbling louder and louder. Officers have been seen shut up intheir mess-rooms; assaulted with clamorous demands, not withoutmenaces. The insubordinate ringleader is dismissed with 'yellowfurlough,' yellow infamous thing they call cartouche jaune: but tennew ringleaders rise in his stead, and the yellow cartouche ceasesto be thought disgraceful. 'Within a fortnight,' or at furthest amonth, of that sublime Feast of Pikes, the whole French Army,demanding Arrears, forming Reading Clubs, frequenting PopularSocieties, is in a state which Bouille can call by no name but thatof mutiny. Bouille knows it as few do; and speaks by direexperience. Take one instance instead of many. It is still an early day of August, the precise date nowundiscoverable, when Bouille, about to set out for the waters ofAix la Chapelle, is once more suddenly summoned to the barracks ofMetz. The soldiers stand ranked in fighting order, muskets loaded,the officers all there on compulsion; and require, with many-voicedemphasis, to have their arrears paid. Picardie was penitent; but wesee it has relapsed: the wide space bristles and lours with meremutinous armed men. Brave Bouille advances to the nearest Regiment,opens his commanding lips to harangue; obtains nothing butquerulous-indignant discordance, and the sound of so many thousandlivres legally due. The moment is trying; there are some tenthousand soldiers now in Metz, and one spirit seems to have spreadamong them. Bouille is firm as the adamant; but what shall he do? A GermanRegiment, named of Salm, is thought to be of better temper:nevertheless Salm too may have heard of the precept, Thou shalt notsteal; Salm too may know that money is money. Bouille walkstrustfully towards the Regiment de Salm, speaks trustful words; buthere again is answered by the cry of forty-four thousand livres oddsous. A cry waxing more and more vociferous, as Salm's humourmounts; which cry, as it will produce no cash or promise of cash,ends in the wide simultaneous whirr of shouldered muskets, and adetermined quick-time march on the part of Salm--towards itsColonel's house, in the next street, there to seize the colours andmilitary chest. Thus does Salm, for its part; strong in the faiththat meum is not tuum, that fair speeches are not forty-fourthousand livres odd sous. Unrestrainable! Salm tramps to military time, quick consumingthe way. Bouille and the officers, drawing sword, have to dash intodouble quick pas-de-charge, or unmilitary running; to get thestart; to station themselves on the outer staircase, and standthere with what of death- defiance and sharp steel they have; Salmtruculently coiling itself up, rank after rank, opposite them, insuch humour as we can fancy, which happily has not yet mounted tothe murder-pitch. There will Bouille stand, certain at least of oneman's purpose; in grim calmness, awaiting the issue. What theintrepidest of men and generals can do is done. Bouille, thoughthere is a barricading picket at each end of the street, and deathunder his eyes, contrives to send for a Dragoon Regiment withorders to charge: the dragoon officers mount; the dragoon men willnot: hope is none there for him. The street, as we say, barricaded;the Earth all shut out, only the indifferent heavenly Vaultoverhead: perhaps here or there a timorous householder peering outof window, with prayer for Bouille; copious Rascality, on thepavement, with prayer for Salm: there do the two partiesstand;--like chariots locked in a narrow thoroughfare; like lockedwrestlers at a deadgrip! For two hours they stand; Bouille's swordglittering in his hand, adamantine resolution clouding his brows:for two hours by the clocks of Metz. Moody-silent stands Salm, withoccasional clangour; but does not fire. Rascality from time to timeurges some grenadier to
level his musket at the General; who lookson it as a bronze General would; and always some corporal or otherstrikes it up. In such remarkable attitude, standing on that staircase for twohours, does brave Bouille, long a shadow, dawn on us visibly out ofthe dimness, and become a person. For the rest, since Salm has notshot him at the first instant, and since in himself there is novariableness, the danger will diminish. The Mayor, 'a maninfinitely respectable,' with his Municipals and tricolor sashes,finally gains entrance; remonstrates, perorates, promises; getsSalm persuaded home to its barracks. Next day, our respectableMayor lending the money, the officers pay down the half of thedemand in ready cash. With which liquidation Salm pacifies itself,and for the present all is hushed up, as much as may be. (Bouille,i. 140-5.) Such scenes as this of Metz, or preparations and demonstrationstowards such, are universal over France: Dampmartin, with hisknotted forage-cords and piled chamois jackets, is at Strasburg inthe South-East; in these same days or rather nights, RoyalChampagne is 'shouting Vive la Nation, au diable les Aristocrates,with some thirty lit candles,' at Hesdin, on the far NorthWest."The garrison of Bitche," Deputy Rewbell is sorry to state, "wentout of the town, with drums beating; deposed its officers; and thenreturned into the town, sabre in hand." (Moniteur (in Hist. Parl.vii. 29).) Ought not a National Assembly to occupy itself withthese objects? Military France is everywhere full of sourinflammatory humour, which exhales itself fuliginously, this way orthat: a whole continent of smoking flax; which, blown on here orthere by any angry wind, might so easily start into a blaze, into acontinent of fire! Constitutional Patriotism is in deep natural alarm at thesethings. The august Assembly sits diligently deliberating; darenowise resolve, with Mirabeau, on an instantaneous disbandment andextinction; finds that a course of palliatives is easier. But atleast and lowest, this grievance of the Arrears shall be rectified.A plan, much noised of in those days, under the name 'Decree of theSixth of August,' has been devised for that. Inspectors shall visitall armies; and, with certain elected corporals and 'soldiers ableto write,' verify what arrears and peculations do lie due, and makethem good. Well, if in this way the smoky heat be cooled down; ifit be not, as we say, ventilated over-much, or, by sparks andcollision somewhere, sent up!
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.II. NanciChapter 2.2.IV. Arrears at Nanci
We are to remark, however, that of all districts, this ofBouille's seems the inflammablest. It was always to Bouille andMetz that Royalty would fly: Austria lies near; here more thanelsewhere must the disunited People look over the borders, into adim sea of Foreign Politics and Diplomacies, with hope orapprehension, with mutual exasperation. It was but in these days that certain Austrian troops, marchingpeaceably across an angle of this region, seemed an Invasionrealised; and there rushed towards Stenai, with musket on shoulder,from all the winds, some thirty thousand National Guards, toinquire what the matter was. (Moniteur, Seance du 9 Aout 1790.) Amatter of mere diplomacy it proved; the Austrian Kaiser, in hasteto get to Belgium, had bargained for this short cut. The infinitedim movement of
European Politics waved a skirt over these spaces,passing on its way; like the passing shadow of a condor; and such awinged flight of thirty thousand, with mixed cackling and crowing,rose in consequence! For, in addition to all, this people, as wesaid, is much divided: Aristocrats abound; Patriotism has bothAristocrats and Austrians to watch. It is Lorraine, this region;not so illuminated as old France: it remembers ancient Feudalisms;nay, within man's memory, it had a Court and King of its own, orindeed the splendour of a Court and King, without the burden. Then,contrariwise, the Mother Society, which sits in the Jacobins Churchat Paris, has Daughters in the Towns here; shrill-tongued, drivenacrid: consider how the memory of good King Stanislaus, and ages ofImperial Feudalism, may comport with this New acrid Evangel, andwhat a virulence of discord there may be! In all which, theSoldiery, officers on one side, private men on the other, takespart, and now indeed principal part; a Soldiery, moreover, all thehotter here as it lies the denser, the frontier Province requiringmore of it. So stands Lorraine: but the capital City, more especially so.The pleasant City of Nanci, which faded Feudalism loves, where KingStanislaus personally dwelt and shone, has an AristocratMunicipality, and then also a Daughter Society: it has some fortythousand divided souls of population; and three large Regiments,one of which is Swiss Chateau-Vieux, dear to Patriotism ever sinceit refused fighting, or was thought to refuse, in the Bastilledays. Here unhappily all evil influences seem to meet concentered;here, of all places, may jealousy and heat evolve itself. Thesemany months, accordingly, man has been set against man, Washedagainst Unwashed; Patriot Soldier against Aristocrat Captain, everthe more bitterly; and a long score of grudges has been runningup. Nameable grudges, and likewise unnameable: for there is apunctual nature in Wrath; and daily, were there but glances of theeye, tones of the voice, and minutest commissions or omissions, itwill jot down somewhat, to account, under the head of sundries,which always swells the sumtotal. For example, in April last, inthose times of preliminary Federation, when National Guards andSoldiers were every where swearing brotherhood, and all France waslocally federating, preparing for the grand National Feast ofPikes, it was observed that these Nanci Officers threw cold wateron the whole brotherly business; that they first hung back fromappearing at the Nanci Federation; then did appear, but in mereredingote and undress, with scarcely a clean shirt on; nay that oneof them, as the National Colours flaunted by in that solemn moment,did, without visible necessity, take occasion to spit. (Deux Amis,v. 217.) Small 'sundries as per journal,' but then incessant ones! TheAristocrat Municipality, pretending to be Constitutional, keepsmostly quiet; not so the Daughter Society, the five thousand adultmale Patriots of the place, still less the five thousand female:not so the young, whiskered or whiskerless, four-generationNoblesse in epaulettes; the grim Patriot Swiss of ChateauVieux,effervescent infantry of Regiment du Roi, hot troopers ofMestre-de-Camp! Walled Nanci, which stands so bright and trim, withits straight streets, spacious squares, and Stanislaus'Architecture, on the fruitful alluvium of the Meurthe; so bright,amid the yellow cornfields in these Reaper-Months,--is inwardly buta den of discord, anxiety, inflammability, not far from exploding.Let Bouille look to it. If that universal military heat, which weliken to a vast continent of smoking flax, do any where take fire,his beard, here in Lorraine and Nanci, may the most readily of allget singed by it.
Bouille, for his part, is busy enough, but only with the generalsuperintendence; getting his pacified Salm, and all other stilltolerable Regiments, marched out of Metz, to southward towns andvillages; to rural Cantonments as at Vic, Marsal and thereabout, bythe still waters; where is plenty of horse-forage, sequesteredparade-ground, and the soldier's speculative faculty can be stilledby drilling. Salm, as we said, received only half payment ofarrears; naturally not without grumbling. Nevertheless that sceneof the drawn sword may, after all, have raised Bouille in the mindof Salm; for men and soldiers love intrepidity and swift inflexibledecision, even when they suffer by it. As indeed is not thisfundamentally the quality of qualities for a man? A quality whichby itself is next to nothing, since inferior animals, asses, dogs,even mules have it; yet, in due combination, it is theindispensable basis of all. Of Nanci and its heats, Bouille, commander of the whole, knowsnothing special; understands generally that the troops in that Cityare perhaps the worst. (Bouille, i. c. 9.) The Officers there haveit all, as they have long had it, to themselves; and unhappily seemto manage it ill. 'Fifty yellow furloughs,' given out in one batch,do surely betoken difficulties. But what was Patriotism to think ofcertain light-fencing Fusileers 'set on,' or supposed to be set on,'to insult the Grenadier-club,' considerate speculative Grenadiers,and that reading-room of theirs? With shoutings, with hootings;till the speculative Grenadier drew his side-arms too; and thereensued battery and duels! Nay more, are not swashbucklers of thesame stamp 'sent out' visibly, or sent out presumably, now in thedress of Soldiers to pick quarrels with the Citizens; now,disguised as Citizens, to pick quarrels with the Soldiers? For acertain Roussiere, expert in fence, was taken in the very fact;four Officers (presumably of tender years) hounding him on, whothereupon fled precipitately! Fence-master Roussiere, haled to theguardhouse, had sentence of three months' imprisonment: but hiscomrades demanded 'yellow furlough' for him of all persons; nay,thereafter they produced him on parade; capped him in paper-helmetinscribed, Iscariot; marched him to the gate of City; and theresternly commanded him to vanish for evermore. On all which suspicions, accusations and noisy procedure, and onenough of the like continually accumulating, the Officer could notbut look with disdainful indignation; perhaps disdainfully expressthe same in words, and 'soon after fly over to the Austrians.' So that when it here as elsewhere comes to the question ofArrears, the humour and procedure is of the bitterest: RegimentMestre-de-Camp getting, amid loud clamour, some three gold louisaman,--which have, as usual, to be borrowed from the Municipality;Swiss Chateau-Vieux applying for the like, but getting insteadinstantaneous courrois, or cat-o'-nine-tails, with subsequentunsufferable hisses from the women and children; Regiment du Roi,sick of hope deferred, at length seizing its military chest, andmarching it to quarters, but next day marching it back again,through streets all struck silent:--unordered paradings andclamours, not without strong liquor; objurgation, insubordination;your military ranked Arrangement going all (as the Typographers sayof set types, in a similar case) rapidly to pie! (Deux Amis, v. c.8.) Such is Nanci in these early days of August; the sublime Feastof Pikes not yet a month old. Constitutional Patriotism, at Paris and elsewhere, may wellquake at the news. War-Minister Latour du Pin runs breathless tothe National Assembly, with a written message that 'all is burning,tout brule, tout presse.' The National Assembly, on spur of theinstant, renders such Decret, and 'order to submit and repent,' ashe requires; if it will avail any thing. On the other
hand,Journalism, through all its throats, gives hoarse outcry,condemnatory, elegiac-applausive. The Forty-eight Sections, lift upvoices; sonorous Brewer, or call him now Colonel Santerre, is notsilent, in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. For, meanwhile, the NanciSoldiers have sent a Deputation of Ten, furnished with documentsand proofs; who will tell another story than the 'allis-burning'one. Which deputed Ten, before ever they reach the Assembly Hall,assiduous Latour du Pin picks up, and on warrant of Mayor Bailly,claps in prison! Most unconstitutionally; for they had officers'furloughs. Whereupon Saint-Antoine, in indignant uncertainty of thefuture, closes its shops. Is Bouille a traitor then, sold toAustria? In that case, these poor private sentinels have revoltedmainly out of Patriotism? New Deputation, Deputation of National Guardsmen now, sets forthfrom Nanci to enlighten the Assembly. It meets the old deputed Tenreturning, quite unexpectedly unhanged; and proceeds thereupon withbetter prospects; but effects nothing. Deputations, GovernmentMessengers, Orderlies at hand- gallops, Alarms, thousand-voicedRumours, go vibrating continually; backwards andforwards,--scattering distraction. Not till the last week of Augustdoes M. de Malseigne, selected as Inspector, get down to the sceneof mutiny; with Authority, with cash, and 'Decree of the Sixth ofAugust.' He now shall see these Arrears liquidated, justice done,or at least tumult quashed.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.II. NanciChapter 2.2.V. Inspector Malseigne
Of Inspector Malseigne we discern, by direct light, that he is'of Herculean stature;' and infer, with probability, that he is oftruculent moustachioed aspect,--for Royalist Officers now leave theupper lip unshaven; that he is of indomitable bull-heart; and also,unfortunately, of thick bullhead. On Tuesday the 24th of August, 1790, he opens session asInspecting Commissioner; meets those 'elected corporals, andsoldiers that can write.' He finds the accounts of Chateau-Vieux tobe complex; to require delay and reference: he takes to haranguing,to reprimanding; ends amid audible grumbling. Next morning, heresumes session, not at the Townhall as prudent Municipalscounselled, but once more at the barracks. UnfortunatelyChateau-Vieux, grumbling all night, will now hear of no delay orreference; from reprimanding on his part, it goes tobullying,--answered with continual cries of "Jugez tout de suite,Judge it at once;" whereupon M. de Malseigne will off in a huff.But lo, Chateau Vieux, swarming all about the barrack-court, hassentries at every gate; M. de Malseigne, demanding egress, cannotget it, though Commandant Denoue backs him; can get only "Jugeztout de suite." Here is a nodus! Bull-hearted M. de Malseigne draws his sword; and will forceegress. Confused splutter. M. de Malseigne's sword breaks; hesnatches Commandant Denoue's: the sentry is wounded. M. deMalseigne, whom one is loath to kill, does force egress,--followedby Chateau-Vieux all in disarray; a spectacle to Nanci. M. deMalseigne walks at a sharp pace, yet never runs; wheeling from timeto time, with menaces and movements of fence; and so reachesDenoue's house, unhurt; which house Chateau-Vieux, in an agitatedmanner, invests,--hindered as yet from entering, by a crowd ofofficers formed on the staircase. M. de Malseigne retreats by backways to the Townhall,
flustered though undaunted; amid an escort ofNational Guards. From the Townhall he, on the morrow, emits freshorders, fresh plans of settlement with Chateau-Vieux; to none ofwhich will Chateau-Vieux listen: whereupon finally he, amid noiseenough, emits order that Chateau-Vieux shall march on the morrowmorning, and quarter at Sarre Louis. Chateau- Vieux flatly refusesmarching; M. de Malseigne 'takes act,' due notarial protest, ofsuch refusal,--if happily that may avail him. This is end of Thursday; and, indeed, of M. de Malseigne'sInspectorship, which has lasted some fifty hours. To such length,in fifty hours, has he unfortunately brought it. Mestre-de-Camp andRegiment du Roi hang, as it were, fluttering: Chateau-Vieux isclean gone, in what way we see. Over night, an Aide-de-Camp ofLafayette's, stationed here for such emergency, sends swiftemissaries far and wide, to summon National Guards. The slumber ofthe country is broken by clattering hoofs, by loud fraternalknockings; every where the Constitutional Patriot must clutch hisfighting- gear, and take the road for Nanci. And thus the Herculean Inspector has sat all Thursday, amongterror-struck Municipals, a centre of confused noise: all Thursday,Friday, and till Saturday towards noon. Chateau-Vieux, in spite ofthe notarial protest, will not march a step. As many as fourthousand National Guards are dropping or pouring in; uncertain whatis expected of them, still more uncertain what will be obtained ofthem. For all is uncertainty, commotion, and suspicion: there goesa word that Bouille, beginning to bestir himself in the ruralCantonments eastward, is but a Royalist traitor; that Chateau-Vieuxand Patriotism are sold to Austria, of which latter M. de Malseigneis probably some agent. Mestre-de-Camp and Roi flutter still morequestionably: Chateau-Vieux, far from marching, 'waves red flagsout of two carriages,' in a passionate manner, along the streets;and next morning answers its Officers: "Pay us, then; and we willmarch with you to the world's end!" Under which circumstances, towards noon on Saturday, M. deMalseigne thinks it were good perhaps to inspect the ramparts,--onhorseback. He mounts, accordingly, with escort of three troopers.At the gate of the city, he bids two of them wait for his return;and with the third, a trooper to be depended upon, he--gallops offfor Luneville; where lies a certain Carabineer Regiment not yet ina mutinous state! The two left troopers soon get uneasy; discoverhow it is, and give the alarm. Mestre-de-Camp, to the number of ahundred, saddles in frantic haste, as if sold to Austria; gallopsout pellmell in chase of its Inspector. And so they spur, and theInspector spurs; careering, with noise and jingle, up the valley ofthe River Meurthe, towards Luneville and the midday sun: through anastonished country; indeed almost their own astonishment. What a hunt, Actaeon-like;--which Actaeon de Malseigne happilygains! To arms, ye Carabineers of Luneville: to chastise mutinousmen, insulting your General Officer, insulting your ownquarters;--above all things, fire soon, lest there be parleying andye refuse to fire! The Carabineers fire soon, exploding upon thefirst stragglers of Mestre-de-Camp; who shrink at the very flash,and fall back hastily on Nanci, in a state not far fromdistraction. Panic and fury: sold to Austria without an if; so muchper regiment, the very sums can be specified; and traitorousMalseigne is fled! Help, O Heaven; help, thou Earth,--ye unwashedPatriots; ye too are sold like us!
Effervescent Regiment du Roi primes its firelocks,Mestre-de-Camp saddles wholly: Commandant Denoue is seized, isflung in prison with a 'canvass shirt' (sarreau de toile) abouthim; Chateau-Vieux bursts up the magazines; distributes 'threethousand fusils' to a Patriot people: Austria shall have a hotbargain. Alas, the unhappy hunting-dogs, as we said, have huntedaway their huntsman; and do now run howling and baying, on whattrail they know not; nigh rabid! And so there is tumultuous march of men, through the night; withhalt on the heights of Flinval, whence Luneville can be seen allilluminated. Then there is parley, at four in the morning; andreparley; finally there is agreement: the Carabineers give in;Malseigne is surrendered, with apologies on all sides. After wearyconfused hours, he is even got under way; the Lunevillers allturning out, in the idle Sunday, to see such departure: home-goingof mutinous Mestre-deCamp with its Inspector captive.Mestre-de-Camp accordingly marches; the Lunevillers look. See! atthe corner of the first street, our Inspector bounds off again,bull- hearted as he is; amid the slash of sabres, the crackle ofmusketry; and escapes, full gallop, with only a ball lodged in hisbuff-jerkin. The Herculean man! And yet it is an escape to nopurpose. For the Carabineers, to whom after the hardest Sunday'sride on record, he has come circling back, 'stand deliberating bytheir nocturnal watch-fires;' deliberating of Austria, of traitors,and the rage of Mestre-deCamp. So that, on the whole, the nextsight we have is that of M. de Malseigne, on the Monday afternoon,faring bull-hearted through the streets of Nanci; in open carriage,a soldier standing over him with drawn sword; amid the 'furies ofthe women,' hedges of National Guards, and confusion of Babel: tothe Prison beside Commandant Denoue! That finally is the lodging ofInspector Malseigne. (Deux Amis, v. 206-251; Newspapers andDocuments (in Hist. Parl. vii. 59-162.) Surely it is time Bouille were drawing near. The Country allround, alarmed with watchfires, illuminated towns, and marching androut, has been sleepless these several nights. Nanci, with itsuncertain National Guards, with its distributed fusils, mutinoussoldiers, black panic and redhot ire, is not a City but aBedlam.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.II. NanciChapter 2.2.VI. Bouille at Nanci
Haste with help, thou brave Bouille: if swift help come not, allis now verily 'burning;' and may burn,--to what lengths andbreadths! Much, in these hours, depends on Bouille; as it shall nowfare with him, the whole Future may be this way or be that. If, forexample, he were to loiter dubitating, and not come: if he were tocome, and fail: the whole Soldiery of France to blaze into mutiny,National Guards going some this way, some that; and Royalism todraw its rapier, and Sansculottism to snatch its pike; and theSpirit if Jacobinism, as yet young, girt with sun- rays, to growinstantaneously mature, girt with hell-fire,--as mortals, in onenight of deadly crisis, have had their heads turned gray! Brave Bouille is advancing fast, with the old inflexibility;gathering himself, unhappily 'in small affluences,' from East, fromWest and North; and now on Tuesday morning, the last day of themonth, he stands all concentred, unhappily still in small force, atthe village of Frouarde,
within some few miles. Son of Adam with amore dubious task before him is not in the world this Tuesdaymorning. A weltering inflammable sea of doubt and peril, andBouille sure of simply one thing, his own determination. Which onething, indeed, may be worth many. He puts a most firm face on thematter: 'Submission, or unsparing battle and destruction;twenty-four hours to make your choice:' this was the tenor of hisProclamation; thirty copies of which he sent yesterday toNanci:--all which, we find, were intercepted and not posted.(Compare Bouille, Memoires, i. 153-176; Deux Amis, v. 251-271;Hist. Parl. ubi supra.) Nevertheless, at half-past eleven, this morning, seemingly byway of answer, there does wait on him at Frouarde, some Deputationfrom the mutinous Regiments, from the Nanci Municipals, to see whatcan be done. Bouille receives this Deputation, 'in a large opencourt adjoining his lodging:' pacified Salm, and the rest, attendalso, being invited to do it,--all happily still in the righthumour. The Mutineers pronounce themselves with a decisiveness,which to Bouille seems insolence; and happily to Salm also. Salm,forgetful of the Metz staircase and sabre, demands that thescoundrels 'be hanged' there and then. Bouille represses thehanging; but answers that mutinous Soldiers have one course, andnot more than one: To liberate, with heartfelt contrition,Messieurs Denoue and de Malseigne; to get ready forthwith formarching off, whither he shall order; and 'submit and repent,' asthe National Assembly has decreed, as he yesterday did in thirtyprinted Placards proclaim. These are his terms, unalterable as thedecrees of Destiny. Which terms as they, the Mutineer deputies,seemingly do not accept, it were good for them to vanish from thisspot, and even promptly; with him too, in few instants, the wordwill be, Forward! The Mutineer deputies vanish, not unpromptly; theMunicipal ones, anxious beyond right for their own individualities,prefer abiding with Bouille. Brave Bouille, though he puts a most firm face on the matter,knows his position full well: how at Nanci, what with rebellioussoldiers, with uncertain National Guards, and so many distributedfusils, there rage and roar some ten thousand fighting men; whilewith himself is scarcely the third part of that number, in NationalGuards also uncertain, in mere pacified Regiments,--for the presentfull of rage, and clamour to march; but whose rage and clamour maynext moment take such a fatal new figure. On the top of oneuncertain billow, therewith to calm billows! Bouille must 'abandonhimself to Fortune;' who is said sometimes to favour the brave. Athalf-past twelve, the Mutineer deputies having vanished, our drumsbeat; we march: for Nanci! Let Nanci bethink itself, then; forBouille has thought and determined. And yet how shall Nanci think: not a City but a Bedlam! GrimChateau- Vieux is for defence to the death; forces the Municipalityto order, by tap of drum, all citizens acquainted with artillery toturn out, and assist in managing the cannon. On the other hand,effervescent Regiment du Roi, is drawn up in its barracks; quitedisconsolate, hearing the humour Salm is in; and ejaculatesdolefully from its thousand throats: "La loi, la loi, Law, law!"Mestre-de-Camp blusters, with profane swearing, in mixed terror andfuror; National Guards look this way and that, not knowing what todo. What a Bedlam-City: as many plans as heads; all ordering, noneobeying: quiet none,--except the Dead, who sleep underground,having done their fighting! And, behold, Bouille proves as good as his word: 'at half-pasttwo' scouts report that he is within half a league of the gates;rattling along, with cannon, and array; breathing nothing butdestruction. A new Deputation, Municipals, Mutineers, Officers,goes out to meet him; with
passionate entreaty for yet one otherhour. Bouille grants an hour. Then, at the end thereof, no Denoueor Malseigne appearing as promised, he rolls his drums, and againtakes the road. Towards four o'clock, the terror-struck Townsmenmay see him face to face. His cannons rattle there, in theircarriages; his vanguard is within thirty paces of the GateStanislaus. Onward like a Planet, by appointed times, by law ofNature! What next? Lo, flag of truce and chamade; conjuration tohalt: Malseigne and Denoue are on the street, coming hither; thesoldiers all repentant, ready to submit and march! AdamantineBouille's look alters not; yet the word Halt is given: gladdermoment he never saw. Joy of joys! Malseigne and Denoue do verilyissue; escorted by National Guards; from streets all frantic, withsale to Austria and so forth: they salute Bouille, unscathed.Bouille steps aside to speak with them, and with other heads of theTown there; having already ordered by what Gates and Routes themutineer Regiments shall file out. Such colloquy with these two General Officers and otherprincipal Townsmen, was natural enough; nevertheless one wishesBouille had postponed it, and not stepped aside. Such tumultuousinflammable masses, tumbling along, making way for each other; thisof keen nitrous oxide, that of sulphurous fire-damp,--were it notwell to stand between them, keeping them well separate, till thespace be cleared? Numerous stragglers of Chateau-Vieux and the resthave not marched with their main columns, which are filing out bythe appointed Gates, taking station in the open meadows. NationalGuards are in a state of nearly distracted uncertainty; thepopulace, armed and unharmed, roll openly delirious,--betrayed,sold to the Austrians, sold to the Aristocrats. There are loadedcannon with lit matches among them, and Bouille's vanguard ishalted within thirty paces of the Gate. Command dwells not in thatmad inflammable mass; which smoulders and tumbles there, in blindsmoky rage; which will not open the Gate when summoned; says itwill open the cannon's throat sooner!--Cannonade not, O Friends, orbe it through my body! cries heroic young Desilles, young Captainof Roi, clasping the murderous engine in his arms, and holding it.Chateau-Vieux Swiss, by main force, with oaths and menaces, wrenchoff the heroic youth; who undaunted, amid still louder oaths seatshimself on the touchhole. Amid still louder oaths; with everlouder clangour,--and, alas, with the loud crackle of first one,and then three other muskets; which explode into his body; whichroll it in the dust,--and do also, in the loud madness of suchmoment, bring lit cannon-match to ready priming; and so, with onethunderous belch of grapeshot, blast some fifty of Bouille'svanguard into air! Fatal! That sputter of the first musket-shot has kindled such acannon- shot, such a death-blaze; and all is now redhot madness,conflagration as of Tophet. With demoniac rage, the Bouillevanguard storms through that Gate Stanislaus; with fiery sweep,sweeps Mutiny clear away, to death, or into shelters and cellars;from which latter, again, Mutiny continues firing. The rankedRegiments hear it in their meadow; they rush back again through thenearest Gates; Bouille gallops in, distracted, inaudible;--and nowhas begun, in Nanci, as in that doomed Hall of the Nibelungen, 'amurder grim and great.' Miserable: such scene of dismal aimless madness as the anger ofHeaven but rarely permits among men! From cellar or from garret,from open street in front, from successive corners of cross-streetson each hand, Chateau-Vieux and Patriotism keep up the murderousrolling-fire, on murderous not Unpatriotic fires. Your blueNational Captain, riddled with balls, one hardly knows on whoseside fighting, requests to be laid on the colours to die: thepatriotic Woman (name not given, deed surviving) screams toChateau-Vieux that it must not fire the other cannon;
and evenflings a pail of water on it, since screaming avails not. (DeuxAmis, v. 268.) Thou shalt fight; thou shalt not fight; and withwhom shalt thou fight! Could tumult awaken the old Dead, BurgundianCharles the Bold might stir from under that Rotunda of his: neversince he, raging, sank in the ditches, and lost Life and Diamond,was such a noise heard here. Three thousand, as some count, lie mangled, gory; the half ofChateau-Vieux has been shot, without need of Court Martial.Cavalry, of Mestre-de-Camp or their foes, can do little. Regimentdu Roi was persuaded to its barracks; stands there palpitating.Bouille, armed with the terrors of the Law, and favoured ofFortune, finally triumphs. In two murderous hours he has penetratedto the grand Squares, dauntless, though with loss of forty officersand five hundred men: the shattered remnants of Chateau-Vieux areseeking covert. Regiment du Roi, not effervescent now, alas no, buthaving effervesced, will offer to ground its arms; will 'march in aquarter of an hour.' Nay these poor effervesced require 'escort' tomarch with, and get it; though they are thousands strong, and havethirty ball-cartridges a man! The Sun is not yet down, when Peace,which might have come bloodless, has come bloody: the mutinousRegiments are on march, doleful, on their three Routes; and fromNanci rises wail of women and men, the voice of weeping anddesolation; the City weeping for its slain who awaken not. Thesestreets are empty but for victorious patrols. Thus has Fortune, favouring the brave, dragged Bouille, ashimself says, out of such a frightful peril, 'by the hair of thehead.' An intrepid adamantine man this Bouille:--had he stood inold Broglie's place, in those Bastille days, it might have been alldifferent! He has extinguished mutiny, and immeasurable civil war.Not for nothing, as we see; yet at a rate which he andConstitutional Patriotism considers cheap. Nay, as for Bouille, he,urged by subsequent contradiction which arose, declares coldly, itwas rather against his own private mind, and more by publicmilitary rule of duty, that he did extinguish it, (Bouille, i.175.)-- immeasurable civil war being now the only chance. Urged, wesay, by subsequent contradiction! Civil war, indeed, is Chaos; andin all vital Chaos, there is new Order shaping itself free: butwhat a faith this, that of all new Orders out of Chaos andPossibility of Man and his Universe, Louis Sixteenth andTwoChamber Monarchy were precisely the one that would shapeitself! It is like undertaking to throw deuce-ace, say only fivehundred successive times, and any other throw to be fatal--forBouille. Rather thank Fortune, and Heaven, always, thou intrepidBouille; and let contradiction of its way! Civil war, conflagratinguniversally over France at this moment, might have led to one thingor to another thing: meanwhile, to quench conflagration,wheresoever one finds it, wheresoever one can; this, in all times,is the rule for man and General Officer. But at Paris, so agitated and divided, fancy how it went, whenthe continually vibrating Orderlies vibrated thither at handgallop, with such questionable news! High is the gratulation; andalso deep the indignation. An august Assembly, by overwhelmingmajorities, passionately thanks Bouille; a King's autograph, thevoices of all Loyal, all Constitutional men run to the same tenor.A solemn National funeral-service, for the Law- defenders slain atNanci; is said and sung in the Champ de Mars; Bailly, Lafayette andNational Guards, all except the few that protested, assist. Withpomp and circumstance, with episcopal Calicoes in tricolor girdles,Altar of Fatherland smoking with cassolettes, or incense-kettles;the vast Champ-de-Mars wholly hung round with blackmortcloth,--which mortcloth and expenditure Marat thinks had betterhave been laid out in bread, in these dear days, and given to thehungry living Patriot. (Ami du Peuple (in
Hist. Parl., ubi supra.)On the other hand, living Patriotism, and Saint- Antoine, which wehave seen noisily closing its shops and such like, assembles now'to the number of forty thousand;' and, with loud cries, under thevery windows of the thanking National Assembly, demands revenge formurdered Brothers, judgment on Bouille, and instant dismissal ofWar- Minister Latour du Pin. At sound and sight of which things, if not War-Minister Latour,yet 'Adored Minister' Necker, sees good on the 3d of September1790, to withdraw softly almost privily,--with an eye to the'recovery of his health.' Home to native Switzerland; not as helast came; lucky to reach it alive! Fifteen months ago, we saw himcoming, with escort of horse, with sound of clarion and trumpet:and now at Arcis-sur-Aube, while he departs unescorted soundless,the Populace and Municipals stop him as a fugitive, are not unlikemassacring him as a traitor; the National Assembly, consulted onthe matter, gives him free egress as a nullity. Such an unstable'driftmould of Accident' is the substance of this lower world, forthem that dwell in houses of clay; so, especially in hot regionsand times, do the proudest palaces we build of it take wings, andbecome Sahara sand-palaces, spinning many pillared in thewhirlwind, and bury us under their sand!-In spite of the forty thousand, the National Assembly persistsin its thanks; and Royalist Latour du Pin continues Minister. Theforty thousand assemble next day, as loud as ever; roll towardsLatour's Hotel; find cannon on the porch-steps with flambeau lit;and have to retire elsewhither, and digest their spleen, orre-absorb it into the blood. Over in Lorraine, meanwhile, they of the distributed fusils,ringleaders of Mestre-de-Camp, of Roi, have got marked out forjudgment;--yet shall never get judged. Briefer is the doom ofChateau-Vieux. Chateau-Vieux is, by Swiss law, given up for instanttrial in Court-Martial of its own officers. Which Court-Martial,with all brevity (in not many hours), has hanged some Twenty-three,on conspicuous gibbets; marched some Three-score in chains to theGalleys; and so, to appearance, finished the matter off. Hanged mendo cease for ever from this Earth; but out of chains and theGalleys there may be resuscitation in triumph. Resuscitation forthe chained Hero; and even for the chained Scoundrel, orSemi-scoundrel! Scottish John Knox, such WorldHero, as we know,sat once nevertheless pulling grim-taciturn at the oar of FrenchGalley, 'in the Water of Lore;' and even flung their Virgin- Maryover, instead of kissing her,--as 'a pented bredd,' or timberVirgin, who could naturally swim. (Knox's History of theReformation, b. i.) So, ye of Chateau-Vieux, tug patiently, notwithout hope! But indeed at Nanci generally, Aristocracy rides triumphant,rough. Bouille is gone again, the second day; an AristocratMunicipality, with free course, is as cruel as it had before beencowardly. The Daughter Society, as the mother of the wholemischief, lies ignominiously suppressed; the Prisons can hold nomore; bereaved down-beaten Patriotism murmurs, not loud but deep.Here and in the neighbouring Towns, 'flattened balls' picked fromthe streets of Nanci are worn at buttonholes: balls flattened incarrying death to Patriotism; men wear them there, in perpetualmemento of revenge. Mutineer Deserters roam the woods; have todemand charity at the musket's end. All is dissolution, mutualrancour, gloom and despair:--till National-Assembly Commissionersarrive, with a steady gentle flame of Constitutionalism in theirhearts; who gently lift up the down-trodden, gently pull down thetoo uplifted; reinstate the Daughter Society, recall the MutineerDeserter; gradually levelling, strive in all wise ways to smoothand soothe. With
such gradual mild levelling on the one side; aswith solemn funeral-service, Cassolettes, CourtsMartial, Nationalthanks,--all that Officiality can do is done. The buttonhole willdrop its flat ball; the black ashes, so far as may be, get greenagain. This is the 'Affair of Nanci;' by some called the 'Massacre ofNanci;'-- properly speaking, the unsightly wrong-side of thatthrice glorious Feast of Pikes, the right-side of which formed aspectacle for the very gods. Right-side and wrong lie always sonear: the one was in July, in August the other! Theatres, thetheatres over in London, are bright with their pasteboardsimulacrum of that 'Federation of the French People,' brought outas Drama: this of Nanci, we may say, though not played in anypasteboard Theatre, did for many months enact itself, and even walkspectrally--in all French heads. For the news of it fly pealingthrough all France; awakening, in town and village, in clubroom,messroom, to the utmost borders, some mimic reflex or imaginativerepetition of the business; always with the angry questionableassertion: It was right; It was wrong. Whereby come controversies,duels, embitterment, vain jargon; the hastening forward, theaugmenting and intensifying of whatever new explosions lie in storefor us. Meanwhile, at this cost or at that, the mutiny, as we say, isstilled. The French Army has neither burst up in universalsimultaneous delirium; nor been at once disbanded, put an end to,and made new again. It must die in the chronic manner, throughyears, by inches; with partial revolts, as of Brest Sailors or thelike, which dare not spread; with men unhappy, insubordinate;officers unhappier, in Royalist moustachioes, taking horse, singlyor in bodies, across the Rhine: (See Dampmartin, i. 249, &c.&c.) sick dissatisfaction, sick disgust on both sides; the Armymoribund, fit for no duty:--till it do, in that unexpected manner,Phoenix-like, with long throes, get both dead and newborn; thenstart forth strong, nay stronger and even strongest. Thus much was the brave Bouille hitherto fated to do. Wherewithlet him again fade into dimness; and at Metz or the ruralCantonments, assiduously drilling, mysteriously diplomatising, inscheme within scheme, hover as formerly a faint shadow, the hope ofRoyalty.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.III. The TuileriesChapter 2.3.I. Epimenides
How true that there is nothing dead in this Universe; that whatwe call dead is only changed, its forces working in inverse order!'The leaf that lies rotting in moist winds,' says one, 'has stillforce; else how could it rot?' Our whole Universe is but aninfinite Complex of Forces; thousandfold, from Gravitation up toThought and Will; man's Freedom environed with Necessity of Nature:in all which nothing at any moment slumbers, but all is for everawake and busy. The thing that lies isolated inactive thou shaltnowhere discover; seek every where from the granite mountain,slow-mouldering since Creation, to the passing cloud-vapour, to theliving man; to the action, to the spoken word of man. The word thatis spoken, as we know, flies-irrevocable: not less, but more, theaction that is done. 'The gods themselves,' sings Pindar, 'cannotannihilate the action that is done.' No: this, once done, is donealways; cast forth into endless Time; and, long conspicuous or soonhidden, must verily work and grow for ever there, an indestructiblenew element in the Infinite of Things. Or, indeed, what is thisInfinite of Things itself, which men
name Universe, but an action,a sum-total of Actions and Activities? The living ready-madesumtotal of these three,--which Calculation cannot add, cannotbring on its tablets; yet the sum, we say, is written visible: Allthat has been done, All that is doing, All that will be done!Understand it well, the Thing thou beholdest, that Thing is anAction, the product and expression of exerted Force: the All ofThings is an infinite conjugation of the verb To do. ShorelessFountain-Ocean of Force, of power to do; wherein Force rolls andcircles, billowing, many-streamed, harmonious; wide as Immensity,deep as Eternity; beautiful and terrible, not to be comprehended:this is what man names Existence and Universe; this thousand-tintedFlame-image, at once veil and revelation, reflex such as he, in hispoor brain and heart, can paint, of One Unnameable dwelling ininaccessible light! From beyond the Star-galaxies, from before theBeginning of Days, it billows and rolls,--round thee, nay thyselfart of it, in this point of Space where thou now standest, in thismoment which thy clock measures. Or apart from all Transcendentalism, is it not a plain truth ofsense, which the duller mind can even consider as a truism, thathuman things wholly are in continual movement, and action andreaction; working continually forward, phasis after phasis, byunalterable laws, towards prescribed issues? How often must we say,and yet not rightly lay to heart: The seed that is sown, it willspring! Given the summer's blossoming, then there is also given theautumnal withering: so is it ordered not with seedfields only, butwith transactions, arrangements, philosophies, societies, FrenchRevolutions, whatsoever man works with in this lower world. TheBeginning holds in it the End, and all that leads thereto; as theacorn does the oak and its fortunes. Solemn enough, did we think ofit,--which unhappily and also happily we do not very much! Thouthere canst begin; the Beginning is for thee, and there: but where,and of what sort, and for whom will the End be? All grows, andseeks and endures its destinies: consider likewise how much grows,as the trees do, whether we think of it or not. So that when yourEpimenides, your somnolent Peter Klaus, since named Rip van Winkle,awakens again, he finds it a changed world. In that seven-years'sleep of his, so much has changed! All that is without us willchange while we think not of it; much even that is within us. Thetruth that was yesterday a restless Problem, has to-day grown aBelief burning to be uttered: on the morrow, contradiction hasexasperated it into mad Fanaticism; obstruction has dulled it intosick Inertness; it is sinking towards silence, of satisfaction orof resignation. To-day is not Yesterday, for man or for thing.Yesterday there was the oath of Love; today has come the curse ofHate. Not willingly: ah, no; but it could not help coming. Thegolden radiance of youth, would it willingly have tarnished itselfinto the dimness of old age?--Fearful: how we stand enveloped,deep-sunk, in that Mystery of Time; and are Sons of Time;fashioned and woven out of Time; and on us, and on all that wehave, or see, or do, is written: Rest not, Continue not, Forward tothy doom! But in seasons of Revolution, which indeed distinguishthemselves from common seasons by their velocity mainly, yourmiraculous Seven-sleeper might, with miracle enough, wake sooner:not by the century, or seven years, need he sleep; often not by theseven months. Fancy, for example, some new Peter Klaus, sated withthe jubilee of that Federation day, had lain down, say directlyafter the Blessing of Talleyrand; and, reckoning it all safe now,had fallen composedly asleep under the timber-work of theFatherland's Altar; to sleep there, not twenty-one years, but as itwere year and day. The cannonading of Nanci, so far off, does notdisturb him; nor does the black mortcloth, close at hand, nor therequiems chanted, and minute guns, incense-pans and concourse rightover his head: none of these; but Peter sleeps through them all.Through one
circling year, as we say; from July 14th of 1790, tillJuly the 17th of 1791: but on that latter day, no Klaus, nor mostleaden Epimenides, only the Dead could continue sleeping; and soour miraculous Peter Klaus awakens. With what eyes, O Peter! Earthand sky have still their joyous July look, and the Champ-de-Mars ismultitudinous with men: but the jubilee-huzzahing has becomeBedlam-shrieking, of terror and revenge; not blessing ofTalleyrand, or any blessing, but cursing, imprecation and shrillwail; our cannon- salvoes are turned to sharp shot; for swinging ofincense-pans and Eighty- three Departmental Banners, we have wavingof the one sanguinous Drapeau- Rouge.--Thou foolish Klaus! The onelay in the other, the one was the other minus Time; even asHannibal's rock-rending vinegar lay in the sweet new wine. Thatsweet Federation was of last year; this sour Divulsion is theself-same substance, only older by the appointed days. No miraculous Klaus or Epimenides sleeps in these times: andyet, may not many a man, if of due opacity and levity, act the samemiracle in a natural way; we mean, with his eyes open? Eyes has he,but he sees not, except what is under his nose. With a sparklingbriskness of glance, as if he not only saw but saw through, such aone goes whisking, assiduous, in his circle of officialities; notdreaming but that it is the whole world: as, indeed, where yourvision terminates, does not inanity begin there, and the world'send clearly declares itself--to you? Whereby our brisk sparklingassiduous official person (call him, for instance, Lafayette),suddenly startled, after year and day, by huge grape-shot tumult,stares not less astonished at it than Peter Klaus would have done.Such natural-miracle Lafayette can perform; and indeed not he onlybut most other officials, non-officials, and generally the wholeFrench People can perform it; and do bounce up, ever and anon, likeamazed Seven-sleepers awakening; awakening amazed at the noise theythemselves make. So strangely is Freedom, as we say, environed inNecessity; such a singular Somnambulism, of Conscious andUnconscious, of Voluntary and Involuntary, is this life of man. Ifany where in the world there was astonishment that the FederationOath went into grape-shot, surely of all persons the French, firstswearers and then shooters, felt astonished the most. Alas, offences must come. The sublime Feast of Pikes, with itseffulgence of brotherly love, unknown since the Age of Gold, haschanged nothing. That prurient heat in Twenty-five millions ofhearts is not cooled thereby; but is still hot, nay hotter. Liftoff the pressure of command from so many millions; all pressure orbinding rule, except such melodramatic Federation Oath as they havebound themselves with! For 'Thou shalt' was from of old thecondition of man's being, and his weal and blessedness was inobeying that. Wo for him when, were it on hest of the clearestnecessity, rebellion, disloyal isolation, and mere 'I will',becomes his rule! But the Gospel of Jean-Jacques has come, and thefirst Sacrament of it has been celebrated: all things, as we say,are got into hot and hotter prurience; and must go on prurientlyfermenting, in continual change noted or unnoted. 'Worn out with disgusts,' Captain after Captain, in Royalistmoustachioes, mounts his warhorse, or his Rozinante war-garron, andrides minatory across the Rhine; till all have ridden. Neither doescivic Emigration cease: Seigneur after Seigneur must, in likemanner, ride or roll; impelled to it, and even compelled. For thevery Peasants despise him in that he dare not join his order andfight. (Dampmartin, passim.) Can he bear to have a Distaff, aQuenouille sent to him; say in copper-plate shadow, by post; orfixed up in wooden reality over his gate-lintel: as if he were noHercules but an Omphale? Such scutcheon they forward to himdiligently from behind the Rhine; till he too bestir himself andmarch, and in sour humour, another Lord of Land is gone, not
takingthe Land with him. Nay, what of Captains and emigrating Seigneurs?There is not an angry word on any of those Twenty-five millionFrench tongues, and indeed not an angry thought in their hearts,but is some fraction of the great Battle. Add many successions ofangry words together, you have the manual brawl; add brawlstogether, with the festering sorrows they leave, and they rise toriots and revolts. One reverend thing after another ceases to meetreverence: in visible material combustion, chateau after chateaumounts up; in spiritual invisible combustion, one authority afteranother. With noise and glare, or noisily and unnoted, a whole OldSystem of things is vanishing piecemeal: on the morrow thou shaltlook and it is not.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.III. The TuileriesChapter 2.3.II. The Wakeful
Sleep who will, cradled in hope and short vision, likeLafayette, 'who always in the danger done sees the last danger thatwill threaten him,'-- Time is not sleeping, nor Time'sseedfield. That sacred Herald's-College of a new Dynasty; we mean the Sixtyand odd Billstickers with their leaden badges, are not sleeping.Daily they, with pastepot and cross-staff, new clothe the walls ofParis in colours of the rainbow: authoritative heraldic, as we say,or indeed almost magical thaumaturgic; for no Placard-Journal thatthey paste but will convince some soul or souls of man. The Hawkersbawl; and the Balladsingers: great Journalism blows and blusters,through all its throats, forth from Paris towards all corners ofFrance, like an Aeolus' Cave; keeping alive all manner offires. Throats or Journals there are, as men count, (Mercier, iii.163.) to the number of some hundred and thirty-three. Of variouscalibre; from your Cheniers, Gorsases, Camilles, down to yourMarat, down now to your incipient Hebert of the Pere Duchesne;these blow, with fierce weight of argument or quick light banter,for the Rights of man: Durosoys, Royous, Peltiers, Sulleaus,equally with mixed tactics, inclusive, singular to say, of muchprofane Parody, (See Hist. Parl. vii. 51.) are blowing for Altarand Throne. As for Marat the People's-Friend, his voice is as thatof the bullfrog, or bittern by the solitary pools; he, unseen ofmen, croaks harsh thunder, and that alone continually,--ofindignation, suspicion, incurable sorrow. The People are sinkingtowards ruin, near starvation itself: 'My dear friends,' cries he,'your indigence is not the fruit of vices nor of idleness, you havea right to life, as good as Louis XVI., or the happiest of thecentury. What man can say he has a right to dine, when you have nobread?' (Ami du Peuple, No. 306. See other Excerpts in Hist. Parl.viii. 139-149, 428-433; ix. 85-93, &c.) The People sinking onthe one hand: on the other hand, nothing but wretched SieurMotiers, treasonous Riquetti Mirabeaus; traitors, or else shadows,and simulacra of Quacks, to be seen in high places, look where youwill! Men that go mincing, grimacing, with plausible speech andbrushed raiment; hollow within: Quacks Political; Quacksscientific, Academical; all with a fellow-feeling for each other,and kind of Quack public-spirit! Not great Lavoisier himself, orany of the Forty can escape this rough tongue; which wants notfanatic sincerity, nor, strangest of all, a certain rough causticsense. And then the 'three thousand gaming-houses' that are inParis; cesspools for the scoundrelism of the world; sinks ofiniquity and debauchery,--whereas without good morals Liberty isimpossible! There, in these Dens of Satan, which one knows, andperseveringly denounces, do Sieur Motier's mouchards consort andcolleague; battening vampyre-like on a
People next-door tostarvation. 'O Peuple!' cries he oftimes, with heart-rendingaccent. Treason, delusion, vampyrism, scoundrelism, from Dan toBeersheba! The soul of Marat is sick with the sight: but whatremedy? To erect 'Eight Hundred gibbets,' in convenient rows, andproceed to hoisting; 'Riquetti on the first of them!' Such is thebrief recipe of Marat, Friend of the People. So blow and bluster the Hundred and thirty-three: nor, as wouldseem, are these sufficient; for there are benighted nooks inFrance, to which Newspapers do not reach; and every where is 'suchan appetite for news as was never seen in any country.' Let anexpeditious Dampmartin, on furlough, set out to return home fromParis, (Dampmartin, i. 184.) he cannot get along for 'peasantsstopping him on the highway; overwhelming him with questions:' theMaitre de Poste will not send out the horses till you have wellnigh quarrelled with him, but asks always, What news? At Autun, 'inspite of the rigorous frost' for it is now January, 1791, nothingwill serve but you must gather your wayworn limbs, and thoughts,and 'speak to the multitudes from a window opening into themarket-place.' It is the shortest method: This, good Christianpeople, is verily what an August Assembly seemed to me to be doing;this and no other is the news; 'Now my weary lips I close; Leave me, leave me to repose.' The good Dampmartin!--But, on the whole, are not Nationsastonishingly true to their National character; which indeed runsin the blood? Nineteen hundred years ago, Julius Caesar, with hisquick sure eye, took note how the Gauls waylaid men. 'It is a habitof theirs,' says he, 'to stop travellers, were it even byconstraint, and inquire whatsoever each of them may have heard orknown about any sort of matter: in their towns, the common peoplebeset the passing trader; demanding to hear from what regions hecame, what things he got acquainted with there. Excited by whichrumours and hearsays they will decide about the weightiest matters;and necessarily repent next moment that they did it, on suchguidance of uncertain reports, and many a traveller answering withmere fictions to please them, and get off.' (De Bello Gallico, iv.5.) Nineteen hundred years; and good Dampmartin, wayworn, in winterfrost, probably with scant light of stars and fish-oil, stillperorates from the Inn-window! This People is no longer calledGaulish; and it has wholly become braccatus, has got breeches, andsuffered change enough: certain fierce German Franken came stormingover; and, so to speak, vaulted on the back of it; and alwaysafter, in their grim tenacious way, have ridden it bridled; forGerman is, by his very name, Guerre-man, or man that wars and gars.And so the People, as we say, is now called French or Frankish:nevertheless, does not the old Gaulish and Gaelic Celthood, withits vehemence, effervescent promptitude, and what good and ill ithad, still vindicate itself little adulterated?-For the rest, that in such prurient confusion, Clubbism thrivesand spreads, need not be said. Already the Mother of Patriotism,sitting in the Jacobins, shines supreme over all; and has paled thepoor lunar light of that Monarchic Club near to final extinction.She, we say, shines supreme, girt with sun-light, not yet withinfernal lightning; reverenced, not without fear, by MunicipalAuthorities; counting her Barnaves, Lameths, Petions, of a NationalAssembly; most gladly of all, her Robespierre. Cordeliers, again,your Hebert, Vincent, Bibliopolist Momoro, groan audibly that atyrannous Mayor and Sieur Motier harrow them with the sharp tribulaof Law, intent apparently to suppress them by tribulation. How theJacobin Mother-Society, as hinted formerly, sheds forth Cordelierson this hand, and then Feuillans on that; the Cordeliers on thishand, and then Feuillans on that; the Cordeliers 'an elixir ordouble-distillation of Jacobin
Patriotism;' the other a wide-spreadweak dilution thereof; how she will re-absorb the former into herMother-bosom, and stormfully dissipate the latter into Nonentity:how she breeds and brings forth Three Hundred Daughter-Societies;her rearing of them, her correspondence, her endeavourings andcontinual travail: how, under an old figure, Jacobinism shootsforth organic filaments to the utmost corners of confused dissolvedFrance; organising it anew:--this properly is the grand fact of theTime. To passionate Constitutionalism, still more to Royalism, whichsee all their own Clubs fail and die, Clubbism will naturally growto seem the root of all evil. Nevertheless Clubbism is not death,but rather new organisation, and life out of death: destructive,indeed, of the remnants of the Old; but to the New important,indispensable. That man can co- operate and hold communion withman, herein lies his miraculous strength. In hut or hamlet,Patriotism mourns not now like voice in the desert: it can walk tothe nearest Town; and there, in the Daughter-Society, make itsejaculation into an articulate oration, into an action, guidedforward by the Mother of Patriotism herself. All Clubs ofConstitutionalists, and such like, fail, one after another, asshallow fountains: Jacobinism alone has gone down to the deepsubterranean lake of waters; and may, unless filled in, flow there,copious, continual, like an Artesian well. Till the Great Deep havedrained itself up: and all be flooded and submerged, and Noah'sDeluge out-deluged! On the other hand, Claude Fauchet, preparing mankind for aGolden Age now apparently just at hand, has opened his CercleSocial, with clerks, corresponding boards, and so forth; in theprecincts of the Palais Royal. It is Te-Deum Fauchet; the same whopreached on Franklin's Death, in that huge Medicean rotunda of theHalle aux bleds. He here, this winter, by Printingpress andmelodious Colloquy, spreads bruit of himself to the utmostCity-barriers. 'Ten thousand persons' of respectability attendthere; and listen to this 'Procureur-General de la Verite,AttorneyGeneral of Truth,' so has he dubbed himself; to his sageCondorcet, or other eloquent coadjutor. Eloquent Attorney-General!He blows out from him, better or worse, what crude or ripe thing heholds: not without result to himself; for it leads to a Bishoprick,though only a Constitutional one. Fauchet approves himself aglib-tongued, strong-lunged, whole-hearted human individual: muchflowing matter there is, and really of the better sort, aboutRight, Nature, Benevolence, Progress; which flowing matter, whether'it is pantheistic,' or is pot-theistic, only the greener mind, inthese days, need read. Busy Brissot was long ago of purpose toestablish precisely some such regenerative Social Circle: nay hehad tried it, in 'Newman-street Oxford-street,' of the Fog Babylon;and failed,--as some say, surreptitiously pocketing the cash.Fauchet, not Brissot, was fated to be the happy man; whereat,however, generous Brissot will with sincere heart sing atimber-toned Nunc Domine. (See Brissot, Patriote-FrancaisNewspaper; Fauchet, Bouche-deFer, &c. (excerpted in Hist.Parl. viii., ix., et seqq.).) But 'ten thousand persons ofrespectability:' what a bulk have many things in proportion totheir magnitude! This Cercle Social, for which Brissot chants insincere timber-tones such Nunc Domine, what is it? Unfortunatelywind and shadow. The main reality one finds in it now, is perhapsthis: that an 'Attorney-General of Truth' did once take shape of abody, as Son of Adam, on our Earth, though but for months ormoments; and ten thousand persons of respectability attended, ereyet Chaos and Nox had reabsorbed him. Hundred and thirty-three Paris Journals; regenerative SocialCircle; oratory, in Mother and Daughter Societies, from thebalconies of Inns, by chimney-nook, at dinner-table,-polemical,ending many times in duel! Add ever, like a constant growlingaccompaniment of bass
Discord: scarcity of work, scarcity of food.The winter is hard and cold; ragged Bakers'- queues, like a blacktattered flag-of-distress, wave out ever and anon. It is the thirdof our Hunger-years this new year of a glorious Revolution. Therich man when invited to dinner, in such distressseasons, feelsbound in politeness to carry his own bread in his pocket: how thepoor dine? And your glorious Revolution has done it, cries one. Andour glorious Revolution is subtilety, by black traitors worthy ofthe Lamp-iron, perverted to do it, cries another! Who will paintthe huge whirlpool wherein France, all shivered into wildincoherence, whirls? The jarring that went on under every Frenchroof, in every French heart; the diseased things that were spoken,done, the sum-total whereof is the French Revolution, tongue of mancannot tell. Nor the laws of action that work unseen in the depthsof that huge blind Incoherence! With amazement, not withmeasurement, men look on the Immeasurable; not knowing its laws;seeing, with all different degrees of knowledge, what new phases,and results of event, its laws bring forth. France is as amonstrous Galvanic Mass, wherein all sorts of far stranger thanchemical galvanic or electric forces and substances are at work;electrifying one another, positive and negative; filling withelectricity your Leyden-jars,--Twenty-five millions in number! Asthe jars get full, there will, from time to time, be, on slighthint, an explosion.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.III. The TuileriesChapter 2.3.III. Sword in Hand
On such wonderful basis, however, has Law, Royalty, Authority,and whatever yet exists of visible Order, to maintain itself, whileit can. Here, as in that Commixture of the Four Elements did theAnarch Old, has an august Assembly spread its pavilion; curtainedby the dark infinite of discords; founded on the waveringbottomless of the Abyss; and keeps continual hubbub. Time is aroundit, and Eternity, and the Inane; and it does what it can, what isgiven it to do. Glancing reluctantly in, once more, we discern little that isedifying: a Constitutional Theory of Defective Verbs strugglingforward, with perseverance, amid endless interruptions: Mirabeau,from his tribune, with the weight of his name and genius, awingdown much Jacobin violence; which in return vents itself the louderover in its Jacobins Hall, and even reads him sharp lectures there.(Camille's Journal (in Hist. Parl. ix. 366-85).) This man's path ismysterious, questionable; difficult, and he walks without companionin it. Pure Patriotism does not now count him among her chosen;pure Royalism abhors him: yet his weight with the world isoverwhelming. Let him travel on, companionless, unwavering, whitherhe is bound,--while it is yet day with him, and the night has notcome. But the chosen band of pure Patriot brothers is small; countingonly some Thirty, seated now on the extreme tip of the Left,separate from the world. A virtuous Petion; an incorruptibleRobespierre, most consistent, incorruptible of thin acrid men;Triumvirs Barnave, Duport, Lameth, great in speech, thought,action, each according to his kind; a lean old Goupil de Prefeln:on these and what will follow them has pure Patriotism todepend. There too, conspicuous among the Thirty, if seldom audible,Philippe d'Orleans may be seen sitting: in dim fuliginousbewilderment; having, one might say, arrived at Chaos! Gleams thereare, at once of a Lieutenancy and Regency; debates in the Assemblyitself, of succession to
the Throne 'in case the present Branchshould fail;' and Philippe, they say, walked anxiously, in silence,through the corridors, till such high argument were done: but itcame all to nothing; Mirabeau, glaring into the man, and throughhim, had to ejaculate in strong untranslatable language: Ce j--f--ne vaut pas la peine qu'on se donne pour lui. It came all tonothing; and in the meanwhile Philippe's money, they say, is gone!Could he refuse a little cash to the gifted Patriot, in want onlyof that; he himself in want of all but that? Not a pamphlet can beprinted without cash; or indeed written, without food purchasableby cash. Without cash your hopefullest Projector cannot stir fromthe spot: individual patriotic or other Projects require cash: howmuch more do wide-spread Intrigues, which live and exist by cash;lying widespread, with dragonappetite for cash; fit to swallowPrincedoms! And so Prince Philippe, amid his Sillerys, Lacloses,and confused Sons of Night, has rolled along: the centre of thestrangest cloudy coil; out of which has visibly come, as we oftensay, an Epic Preternatural Machinery of Suspicion; andwithin which there has dwelt and worked,--what specialties oftreason, stratagem, aimed or aimless endeavour towards mischief, noparty living (if it be not the Presiding Genius of it, Prince ofthe Power of the Air) has now any chance to know. Camille'sconjecture is the likeliest: that poor Philippe did mount up, alittle way, in treasonable speculation, as he mounted formerly inone of the earliest Balloons; but, frightened at the new positionhe was getting into, had soon turned the cock again, and come down.More fool than he rose! To create Preternatural Suspicion, this washis function in the Revolutionary Epos. But now if he have lost hiscornucopia of readymoney, what else had he to lose? In thickdarkness, inward and outward, he must welter and flounder on, inthat piteous death-element, the hapless man. Once, or even twice,we shall still behold him emerged; struggling out of the thickdeath-element: in vain. For one moment, it is the last moment, hestarts aloft, or is flung aloft, even into clearness and a kind ofmemorability,-- to sink then for evermore! The Cote Droit persists no less; nay with more animation thanever, though hope has now well nigh fled. Tough Abbe Maury, whenthe obscure country Royalist grasps his hand with transport ofthanks, answers, rolling his indomitable brazen head: "Helas,Monsieur, all that I do here is as good as simply nothing." GallantFaussigny, visible this one time in History, advances frantic, intothe middle of the Hall, exclaiming: "There is but one way ofdealing with it, and that is to fall sword in hand on those gentrythere, sabre a la main sur ces gaillards la," (Moniteur, Seance du21 Aout, 1790.) franticly indicating our chosen Thirty on theextreme tip of the Left! Whereupon is clangour and clamour, debate,repentance,-- evaporation. Things ripen towards downrightincompatibility, and what is called 'scission:' that fiercetheoretic onslaught of Faussigny's was in August, 1790; next Augustwill not have come, till a famed Two Hundred and Ninety-two, thechosen of Royalism, make solemn final 'scission' from an Assemblygiven up to faction; and depart, shaking the dust off theirfeet. Connected with this matter of sword in hand, there is yetanother thing to be noted. Of duels we have sometimes spoken: how,in all parts of France, innumerable duels were fought; andargumentative men and messmates, flinging down the wine-cup andweapons of reason and repartee, met in the measured field; to partbleeding; or perhaps not to part, but to fall mutually skeweredthrough with iron, their wrath and life alike ending,-- and die asfools die. Long has this lasted, and still lasts. But now it wouldseem as if in an august Assembly itself, traitorous Royalism, inits despair, had taken to a new course: that of cutting offPatriotism by systematic duel! Bully-swordsmen, 'Spadassins' ofthat party, go swaggering; or indeed they can be had for a
trifleof money. 'Twelve Spadassins' were seen, by the yellow eye ofJournalism, 'arriving recently out of Switzerland;' also 'aconsiderable number of Assassins, nombre considerable d'assassins,exercising in fencing-schools and at pistol- targets.' Any PatriotDeputy of mark can be called out; let him escape one time, or tentimes, a time there necessarily is when he must fall, and Francemourn. How many cartels has Mirabeau had; especially while he wasthe People's champion! Cartels by the hundred: which he, since theConstitution must be made first, and his time is precious, answersnow always with a kind of stereotype formula: "Monsieur, you areput upon my List; but I warn you that it is long, and I grant nopreferences." Then, in Autumn, had we not the Duel of Cazales and Barnave; thetwo chief masters of tongueshot meeting now to exchangepistol-shot? For Cazales, chief of the Royalists, whom we call'Blacks or Noirs,' said, in a moment of passion, "the Patriots weresheer Brigands," nay in so speaking, he darted or seemed to dart, afire-glance specially at Barnave; who thereupon could not but replyby fire-glances,--by adjournment to the Bois-de- Boulogne.Barnave's second shot took effect: on Cazales's hat. The 'frontnook' of a triangular Felt, such as mortals then wore, deadened theball; and saved that fine brow from more than temporary injury. Buthow easily might the lot have fallen the other way, and Barnave'shat not been so good! Patriotism raises its loud denunciation ofDuelling in general; petitions an august Assembly to stop suchFeudal barbarism by law. Barbarism and solecism: for will itconvince or convict any man to blow half an ounce of lead throughthe head of him? Surely not.--Barnave was received at the Jacobinswith embraces, yet with rebukes. Mindful of which, and also that his repetition in America wasthat of headlong foolhardiness rather, and want of brain not ofheart, Charles Lameth does, on the eleventh day of November, withlittle emotion, decline attending some hot young Gentleman fromArtois, come expressly to challenge him: nay indeed he first coldlyengages to attend; then coldly permits two Friends to attendinstead of him, and shame the young Gentleman out of it, which theysuccessfully do. A cold procedure; satisfactory to the two Friends,to Lameth and the hot young Gentleman; whereby, one might havefancied, the whole matter was cooled down. Not so, however: Lameth, proceeding to his senatorial duties, inthe decline of the day, is met in those Assembly corridors bynothing but Royalist brocards; sniffs, huffs, and open insults.Human patience has its limits: "Monsieur," said Lameth, breakingsilence to one Lautrec, a man with hunchback, or natural deformity,but sharp of tongue, and a Black of the deepest tint, "Monsieur, ifyou were a man to be fought with!"--"I am one," cries the youngDuke de Castries. Fast as fireflash Lameth replies, "Tout al'heure, On the instant, then!" And so, as the shades of duskthicken in that Bois-de-Boulogne, we behold two men with lion-look,with alert attitude, side foremost, right foot advanced;flourishing and thrusting, stoccado and passado, in tierce andquart; intent to skewer one another. See, with most skeweringpurpose, headlong Lameth, with his whole weight, makes a furiouslunge; but deft Castries whisks aside: Lameth skewers only theair,--and slits deep and far, on Castries' sword's-point, his ownextended left arm! Whereupon with bleeding, pallor, surgeon's-lint, and formalities, the Duel is considered satisfactorilydone. But will there be no end, then? Beloved Lameth lies deep-slit,not out of danger. Black traitorous Aristocrats kill the People'sdefenders, cut up not with arguments, but with rapier-slits. Andthe Twelve Spadassins out of Switzerland, and the considerablenumber of Assassins exercising at
the pistol-target? So meditatesand ejaculates hurt Patriotism, with ever- deepening everwideningfervour, for the space of six and thirty hours. The thirty-six hours past, on Saturday the 13th, one beholds anew spectacle: The Rue de Varennes, and neighbouring Boulevard desInvalides, covered with a mixed flowing multitude: the CastriesHotel gone distracted, devil-ridden, belching from every window,'beds with clothes and curtains,' plate of silver and gold withfiligree, mirrors, pictures, images, commodes, chiffoniers, andendless crockery and jingle: amid steady popular cheers, absolutelywithout theft; for there goes a cry, "He shall be hanged thatsteals a nail!" It is a Plebiscitum, or informal iconoclasticDecree of the Common People, in the course of being executed!- -TheMunicipality sit tremulous; deliberating whether they will hang outthe Drapeau Rouge and Martial Law: National Assembly, part in loudwail, part in hardly suppressed applause: Abbe Maury unable todecide whether the iconoclastic Plebs amount to forty thousand orto two hundred thousand. Deputations, swift messengers, for it is at a distance over theRiver, come and go. Lafayette and National Guardes, though withoutDrapeau Rouge, get under way; apparently in no hot haste. Nay,arrived on the scene, Lafayette salutes with doffed hat, beforeordering to fix bayonets. What avails it? The Plebeian "Court ofCassation,' as Camille might punningly name it, has done its work;steps forth, with unbuttoned vest, with pockets turned inside out:sack, and just ravage, not plunder! With inexhaustible patience,the Hero of two Worlds remonstrates; persuasively, with a kind ofsweet constraint, though also with fixed bayonets, dissipates,hushes down: on the morrow it is once more all as usual. Considering which things, however, Duke Castries may justly'write to the President,' justly transport himself across theMarches; to raise a corps, or do what else is in him. Royalismtotally abandons that Bobadilian method of contest, and the TwelveSpadassins return to Switzerland,-or even to Dreamland through theHorn-gate, whichsoever their home is. Nay Editor Prudhomme isauthorised to publish a curious thing: 'We are authorised topublish,' says he, dull-blustering Publisher, that M. Boyer,champion of good Patriots, is at the head of Fifty Spadassinicidesor Bully-killers. His address is: Passage du Bois-de-Boulonge,Faubourg St. Denis.' (Revolutions de Paris (in Hist. Parl. viii.440).) One of the strangest Institutes, this of Champion Boyer andthe Bully-killers! Whose services, however, are not wanted;Royalism having abandoned the rapiermethod as plainlyimpracticable.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.III. The TuileriesChapter 2.3.IV. To fly or not to fly
The truth is Royalism sees itself verging towards sadextremities; nearer and nearer daily. From over the Rhine it comesasserted that the King in his Tuileries is not free: this the poorKing may contradict, with the official mouth, but in his heartfeels often to be undeniable. Civil Constitution of the Clergy;Decree of ejectment against Dissidents from it: not even to thislatter, though almost his conscience rebels, can he say 'Nay; but,after two months' hesitating, signs this also. It was on January21st,' of this 1790, that he signed it; to the sorrow of his poorheart yet, on another Twenty-first of January! Whereby comeDissident ejected Priests; unconquerable Martyrs according to some,incurable chicaning Traitors according to others. And so there hasarrived what
we once foreshadowed: with Religion, or with the Cantand Echo of Religion, all France is rent asunder in a new ruptureof continuity; complicating, embittering all the older;--to becured only, by stern surgery, in La Vendee! Unhappy Royalty, unhappy Majesty, Hereditary (Representative),Representant Hereditaire, or however they can name him; of whommuch is expected, to whom little is given! Blue National Guardsencircle that Tuileries; a Lafayette, thin constitutional Pedant;clear, thin, inflexible, as water, turned to thin ice; whom noQueen's heart can love. National Assembly, its pavilion spreadwhere we know, sits near by, keeping continual hubbub. From withoutnothing but Nanci Revolts, sack of Castries Hotels, riots andseditions; riots, North and South, at Aix, at Douai, at Befort,Usez, Perpignan, at Nismes, and that incurable Avignon of thePope's: a continual crackling and sputtering of riots from thewhole face of France;- -testifying how electric it grows. Add onlythe hard winter, the famished strikes of operatives; that continualrunning-bass of Scarcity, ground-tone and basis of all otherDiscords! The plan of Royalty, so far as it can be said to have any fixedplan, is still, as ever, that of flying towards the frontiers. Invery truth, the only plan of the smallest promise for it! Fly toBouille; bristle yourself round with cannon, served by your'forty-thousand undebauched Germans:' summon the National Assemblyto follow you, summon what of it is Royalist, Constitutional,gainable by money; dissolve the rest, by grapeshot if need be. LetJacobinism and Revolt, with one wild wail, fly into Infinite Space;driven by grapeshot. Thunder over France with the cannon's mouth;commanding, not entreating, that this riot cease. And then to ruleafterwards with utmost possible Constitutionality; doing justice,loving mercy; being Shepherd of this indigent People, not Shearermerely, and Shepherd's-similitude! All this, if ye dare. If ye darenot, then in Heaven's name go to sleep: other handsome alternativeseems none. Nay, it were perhaps possible; with a man to do it. For if suchinexpressible whirlpool of Babylonish confusions (which our Era is)cannot be stilled by man, but only by Time and men, a man maymoderate its paroxysms, may balance and sway, and keep himselfunswallowed on the top of it,--as several men and Kings in thesedays do. Much is possible for a man; men will obey a man that kensand cans, and name him reverently their Ken-ning or King. Did notCharlemagne rule? Consider too whether he had smooth times of it;hanging 'thirty-thousand Saxons over the Weser-Bridge,' at onedread swoop! So likewise, who knows but, in this same distractedfanatic France, the right man may verily exist? Anolive-complexioned taciturn man; for the present, Lieutenant in theArtillery-service, who once sat studying Mathematics at Brienne?The same who walked in the morning to correct proof-sheets at Dole,and enjoyed a frugal breakfast with M. Joly? Such a one is gone,whither also famed General Paoli his friend is gone, in these verydays, to see old scenes in native Corsica, and what Democratic goodcan be done there. Royalty never executes the evasion-plan, yet never abandons it;living in variable hope; undecisive, till fortune shall decide. Inutmost secresy, a brisk Correspondence goes on with Bouille; thereis also a plot, which emerges more than once, for carrying the Kingto Rouen: (See Hist. Parl. vii. 316; Bertrand-Moleville, &c.)plot after plot, emerging and submerging, like 'ignes fatui in foulweather, which lead no whither. About 'ten o'clock at night,' theHereditary Representative, in partie quarree, with the Queen, withBrother Monsieur, and Madame, sits playing 'wisk,' or whist. UsherCampan enters mysteriously, with a message he only
halfcomprehends: How a certain Compte d'Inisdal waits anxious in theouter antechamber; National Colonel, Captain of the watch for thisnight, is gained over; post-horses ready all the way; party ofNoblesse sitting armed, determined; will His Majesty, beforemidnight, consent to go? Profound silence; Campan waiting withupturned ear. "Did your Majesty hear what Campan said?" asks theQueen. "Yes, I heard," answers Majesty, and plays on. "'Twas apretty couplet, that of Campan's," hints Monsieur, who at timesshowed a pleasant wit: Majesty, still unresponsive, plays wisk."After all, one must say something to Campan," remarks the Queen."Tell M. d'Inisdal," said the King, and the Queen puts an emphasison it, "that the King cannot consent to be forced away."--"I see!"said d'Inisdal, whisking round, peaking himself into flame ofirritancy: "we have the risk; we are to have all the blame if itfail," (Campan, ii. 105.)--and vanishes, he and his plot, aswill-o'-wisps do. The Queen sat till far in the night, packingjewels: but it came to nothing; in that peaked frame of irritancythe Will-o'-wisp had gone out. Little hope there is in all this. Alas, with whom to fly? Ourloyal Gardes-du-Corps, ever since the Insurrection of Women, aredisbanded; gone to their homes; gone, many of them, across theRhine towards Coblentz and Exiled Princes: brave Miomandre andbrave Tardivet, these faithful Two, have received, in nocturnalinterview with both Majesties, their viaticum of gold louis, ofheartfelt thanks from a Queen's lips, though unluckily 'his Majestystood, back to fire, not speaking;' (Campan, ii. 109-11.) and donow dine through the Provinces; recounting hairsbreadth escapes,insurrectionary horrors. Great horrors; to be swallowed yet ofgreater. But on the whole what a falling off from the old splendourof Versailles! Here in this poor Tuileries, a NationalBrewer-Colonel, sonorous Santerre, parades officially behind herMajesty's chair. Our high dignitaries, all fled over the Rhine:nothing now to be gained at Court; but hopes, for which life itselfmust be risked! Obscure busy men frequent the back stairs; withhearsays, wind projects, un fruitful fanfaronades. Young Royalists,at the Theatre de Vaudeville, 'sing couplets;' if that could do anything. Royalists enough, Captains on furlough, burnt-out Seigneurs,may likewise be met with, 'in the Cafe de Valois, and at Meot theRestaurateur's.' There they fan one another into high loyal glow;drink, in such wine as can be procured, confusion to Sansculottism;shew purchased dirks, of an improved structure, made to order; and,greatly daring, dine. (Dampmartin, ii. 129.) It is in these places,in these months, that the epithet Sansculotte first gets applied toindigent Patriotism; in the last age we had Gilbert Sansculotte,the indigent Poet. (Mercier, Nouveau Paris, iii. 204.)Destitute-of-Breeches: a mournful Destitution; which however, ifTwenty millions share it, may become more effective than mostPossessions! Meanwhile, amid this vague dim whirl of fanfaronades,wind-projects, poniards made to order, there does disclose itselfone punctum-saliens of life and feasibility: the finger ofMirabeau! Mirabeau and the Queen of France have met; have partedwith mutual trust! It is strange; secret as the Mysteries; but itis indubitable. Mirabeau took horse, one evening; and rodewestward, unattended,--to see Friend Claviere in that country houseof his? Before getting to Claviere's, the much-musing horsemanstruck aside to a back gate of the Garden of Saint-Cloud: some Duked'Aremberg, or the like, was there to introduce him; the Queen wasnot far: on a 'round knoll, rond point, the highest of the Gardenof Saint-Cloud,' he beheld the Queen's face; spake with her, alone,under the void canopy of Night. What an interview; fateful secretfor us, after all searching; like the colloquies of the gods!(Campan, ii. c. 17.) She called him 'a Mirabeau:' elsewhere we readthat she 'was charmed with him,' the wild submitted Titan; asindeed it is among the honourable tokens of this high ill-fatedheart that no mind of any endowment, no
Mirabeau, nay no Barnave,no Dumouriez, ever came face to face with her but, in spite of allprepossessions, she was forced to recognise it, to draw nigh to it,with trust. High imperial heart; with the instinctive attractiontowards all that had any height! "You know not the Queen," saidMirabeau once in confidence; "her force of mind is prodigious; sheis a man for courage." (Dumont, p. 211.)--And so, under the voidNight, on the crown of that knoll, she has spoken with a Mirabeau:he has kissed loyally the queenly hand, and said with enthusiasm:"Madame, the Monarchy is saved!"-- Possible? The Foreign Powers,mysteriously sounded, gave favourable guarded response;(Correspondence Secrete (in Hist. Parl. viii. 169-73).) Bouille isat Metz, and could find forty-thousand sure Germans. With aMirabeau for head, and a Bouille for hand, something verily ispossible,-- if Fate intervene not. But figure under what thousandfold wrappages, and cloaks ofdarkness, Royalty, meditating these things, must involve itself.There are men with 'Tickets of Entrance;' there are chivalrousconsultings, mysterious plottings. Consider also whether, involveas it like, plotting Royalty can escape the glance of Patriotism;lynx-eyes, by the ten thousand fixed on it, which see in the dark!Patriotism knows much: know the dirks made to order, and canspecify the shops; knows Sieur Motier's legions of mouchards; theTickets of Entree, and men in black; and how plan of evasionsucceeds plan,--or may be supposed to succeed it. Then conceive thecouplets chanted at the Theatre de Vaudeville; or worse, thewhispers, significant nods of traitors in moustaches. Conceive, onthe other hand, the loud cry of alarm that came through theHundredand-Thirty Journals; the Dionysius'-Ear of each of theForty-eight Sections, wakeful night and day. Patriotism is patient of much; not patient of all. The Cafe deProcope has sent, visibly along the streets, a Deputation ofPatriots, 'to expostulate with bad Editors,' by trustful word ofmouth: singular to see and hear. The bad Editors promise to amend,but do not. Deputations for change of Ministry were many; MayorBailly joining even with Cordelier Danton in such: and they haveprevailed. With what profit? Of Quacks, willing or constrained tobe Quacks, the race is everlasting: Ministers Duportail andDutertre will have to manage much as Ministers Latour-duPin andCice did. So welters the confused world. But now, beaten on for ever by such inextricable contradictoryinfluences and evidences, what is the indigent French Patriot, inthese unhappy days, to believe, and walk by? Uncertainty all;except that he is wretched, indigent; that a glorious Revolution,the wonder of the Universe, has hitherto brought neither Bread norPeace; being marred by traitors, difficult to discover. Traitorsthat dwell in the dark, invisible there;-- or seen for moments, inpallid dubious twilight, stealthily vanishing thither!Preternatural Suspicion once more rules the minds of men. 'Nobody here,' writes Carra of the Annales Patriotiques, soearly as the first of February, 'can entertain a doubt of theconstant obstinate project these people have on foot to get theKing away; or of the perpetual succession of manoeuvres they employfor that.' Nobody: the watchful Mother of Patriotism deputed twoMembers to her Daughter at Versailles, to examine how the matterlooked there. Well, and there? Patriotic Carra continues: 'TheReport of these two deputies we all heard with our own ears lastSaturday. They went with others of Versailles, to inspect theKing's Stables, also the stables of the whilom Gardes du Corps;they found there from seven to eight hundred horses standing alwayssaddled and bridled, ready for the road at a moment's
notice. Thesame deputies, moreover, saw with their own two eyes several RoyalCarriages, which men were even then busy loading with largewell-stuffed luggage-bags,' leather cows, as we call them, 'vachesde cuir; the Royal Arms on the panels almost entirely effaced.'Momentous enough! Also, 'on the same day the whole Marechaussee, orCavalry Police, did assemble with arms, horses and baggage,'--anddisperse again. They want the King over the marches, that soEmperor Leopold and the German Princes, whose troops are ready, mayhave a pretext for beginning: 'this,' adds Carra, 'is the word ofthe riddle: this is the reason why our fugitive Aristocrats are nowmaking levies of men on the frontiers; expecting that, one of thesemornings, the Executive Chief Magistrate will be brought over tothem, and the civil war commence.' (Carra's Newspaper, 1st Feb.1791 (in Hist. Parl. ix. 39).) If indeed the Executive Chief Magistrate, bagged, say in one ofthese leather cows, were once brought safe over to them! But thestrangest thing of all is that Patriotism, whether barking at aventure, or guided by some instinct of preternatural sagacity, isactually barking aright this time; at something, not at nothing.Bouille's Secret Correspondence, since made public, testifies asmuch. Nay, it is undeniable, visible to all, that Mesdames the King'sAunts are taking steps for departure: asking passports of theMinistry, safe- conducts of the Municipality; which Marat warns allmen to beware of. They will carry gold with them, 'these oldBeguines;' nay they will carry the little Dauphin, 'having nursed achangeling, for some time, to leave in his stead!' Besides, theyare as some light substance flung up, to shew how the wind sits; akind of proof-kite you fly off to ascertain whether the grandpaper-kite, Evasion of the King, may mount! In these alarming circumstances, Patriotism is not wanting toitself. Municipality deputes to the King; Sections depute to theMunicipality; a National Assembly will soon stir. Meanwhile,behold, on the 19th of February 1791, Mesdames, quitting Bellevueand Versailles with all privacy, are off! Towards Rome, seemingly;or one knows not whither. They are not without King's passports,countersigned; and what is more to the purpose, a serviceableEscort. The Patriotic Mayor or Mayorlet of the Village of Morettried to detain them; but brisk Louis de Narbonne, of the Escort,dashed off at hand-gallop; returned soon with thirty dragoons, andvictoriously cut them out. And so the poor ancient women go theirway; to the terror of France and Paris, whose nervous excitabilityis become extreme. Who else would hinder poor Loque and Graille,now grown so old, and fallen into such unexpected circumstances,when gossip itself turning only on terrors and horrors is no longerpleasant to the mind, and you cannot get so much as an orthodoxconfessor in peace,--from going what way soever the hope of anysolacement might lead them? They go, poor ancient dames,--whom the heart were hard that doesnot pity: they go; with palpitations, with unmelodious suppressedscreechings; all France, screeching and cackling, in loudunsuppressed terror, behind and on both hands of them: such mutualsuspicion is among men. At Arnay le Duc, above halfway to thefrontiers, a Patriotic Municipality and Populace again takescourage to stop them: Louis Narbonne must now back to Paris, mustconsult the National Assembly. National Assembly answers, notwithout an effort, that Mesdames may go. Whereupon Paris risesworse than ever, screeching half-distracted. Tuileries andprecincts are filled with women and men, while the NationalAssembly debates this question of questions;
Lafayette is needed atnight for dispersing them, and the streets are to be illuminated.Commandant Berthier, a Berthier before whom are great thingsunknown, lies for the present under blockade at Bellevue inVersailles. By no tactics could he get Mesdames' Luggage stirredfrom the Courts there; frantic Versaillese women came screamingabout him; his very troops cut the waggon-traces; he retired to theinterior, waiting better times. (Campan, ii. 132.) Nay, in these same hours, while Mesdames hardly cut out fromMoret by the sabre's edge, are driving rapidly, to foreign parts,and not yet stopped at Arnay, their august nephew poor Monsieur, atParis has dived deep into his cellars of the Luxembourg forshelter; and according to Montgaillard can hardly be persuaded upagain. Screeching multitudes environ that Luxembourg of his: drawnthither by report of his departure: but, at sight and sound ofMonsieur, they become crowing multitudes; and escort Madame and himto the Tuileries with vivats. (Montgaillard, ii. 282; Deux Amis,vi. c. 1.) It is a state of nervous excitability such as fewNations know.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.III. The TuileriesChapter 2.3.V. The Day of Poniards
Or, again, what means this visible reparation of the Castle ofVincennes? Other Jails being all crowded with prisoners, new spaceis wanted here: that is the Municipal account. For in such changingof Judicatures, Parlements being abolished, and New Courts but justset up, prisoners have accumulated. Not to say that in these timesof discord and club-law, offences and committals are, at any rate,more numerous. Which Municipal account, does it not sufficientlyexplain the phenomenon? Surely, to repair the Castle of Vincenneswas of all enterprises that an enlightened Municipality couldundertake, the most innocent. Not so however does neighbouring Saint-Antoine look on it:Saint-Antoine to whom these peaked turrets and grim donjons,all-too near her own dark dwelling, are of themselves an offence.Was not Vincennes a kind of minor Bastille? Great Diderot andPhilosophes have lain in durance here; great Mirabeau, indisastrous eclipse, for forty-two months. And now when the oldBastille has become a dancing-ground (had any one the mirth todance), and its stones are getting built into the Pont Louis-Seize,does this minor, comparative insignificance of a Bastille flankitself with fresh- hewn mullions, spread out tyrannous wings;menacing Patriotism? New space for prisoners: and what prisoners? Ad'Orleans, with the chief Patriots on the tip of the Left? It issaid, there runs 'a subterranean passage' all the way from theTuileries hither. Who knows? Paris, mined with quarries andcatacombs, does hang wondrous over the abyss; Paris was once to beblown up,--though the powder, when we went to look, had gotwithdrawn. A Tuileries, sold to Austria and Coblentz, should haveno subterranean passage. Out of which might not Coblentz or Austriaissue, some morning; and, with cannon of long range, 'foudroyer,'bethunder a patriotic Saint- Antoine into smoulder and ruin! So meditates the benighted soul of Saint-Antoine, as it sees theaproned workmen, in early spring, busy on these towers. Anofficial-speaking Municipality, a Sieur Motier with his legions ofmouchards, deserve no trust at all. Were Patriot Santerre, indeed,Commander! But the sonorous Brewer commands only our own Battalion:of such secrets he can explain nothing,
knows nothing, perhapssuspects much. And so the work goes on; and afflicted benightedSaintAntoine hears rattle of hammers, sees stones suspended inair. (Montgaillard, ii. 285.) Saint-Antoine prostrated the first great Bastille: will itfalter over this comparative insignificance of a Bastille? Friends,what if we took pikes, firelocks, sledgehammers; and helpedourselves!-Speedier is no remedy; nor so certain. On the 28th dayof February, Saint-Antoine turns out, as it has now often done;and, apparently with little superfluous tumult, moves eastward tothat eyesorrow of Vincennes. With grave voice of authority, noneed of bullying and shouting, SaintAntoine signifies to partiesconcerned there that its purpose is, To have this suspiciousStronghold razed level with the general soil of the country.Remonstrance may be proffered, with zeal: but it avails not. Theouter gate goes up, drawbridges tumble; iron window-stanchions,smitten out with sledgehammers, become iron-crowbars: it rainsfurniture, stone-masses, slates: with chaotic clatter and rattle,Demolition clatters down. And now hasty expresses rush through theagitated streets, to warn Lafayette, and the Municipal andDepartmental Authorities; Rumour warns a National Assembly, a RoyalTuileries, and all men who care to hear it: That Saint-Antoine isup; that Vincennes, and probably the last remaining Institution ofthe Country, is coming down. (Deux Amis, vi. 11-15; Newspapers (inHist. Parl. ix. 111-17).) Quick, then! Let Lafayette roll his drums and fly eastward; forto all Constitutional Patriots this is again bad news. And you, yeFriends of Royalty, snatch your poniards of improved structure,made to order; your sword-canes, secret arms, and tickets of entry;quick, by backstairs passages, rally round the Son of Sixty Kings.An effervescence probably got up by d'Orleans and Company, for theoverthrow of Throne and Altar: it is said her Majesty shall be putin prison, put out of the way; what then will his Majesty be? Clayfor the Sansculottic Potter! Or were it impossible to fly this day;a brave Noblesse suddenly all rallying? Peril threatens, hopeinvites: Dukes de Villequier, de Duras, Gentlemen of the Chambergive tickets and admittance; a brave Noblesse is suddenly allrallying. Now were the time to 'fall sword in hand on those gentrythere,' could it be done with effect. The Hero of two Worlds is on his white charger; blue Nationals,horse and foot, hurrying eastward: Santerre, with the Saint-AntoineBattalion, is already there,--apparently indisposed to act.Heavy-laden Hero of two Worlds, what tasks are these! The jeerings,provocative gambollings of that Patriot Suburb, which is all out onthe streets now, are hard to endure; unwashed Patriots jeering insulky sport; one unwashed Patriot 'seizing the General by the boot'to unhorse him. Santerre, ordered to fire, makes answer obliquely,"These are the men that took the Bastille;" and not a triggerstirs! Neither dare the Vincennes Magistracy give warrant ofarrestment, or the smallest countenance: wherefore the General'will take it on himself' to arrest. By promptitude, by cheerfuladroitness, patience and brisk valour without limits, the riot maybe again bloodlessly appeased. Meanwhile, the rest of Paris, with more or less unconcern, maymind the rest of its business: for what is this but aneffervescence, of which there are now so many? The NationalAssembly, in one of its stormiest moods, is debating a Law againstEmigration; Mirabeau declaring aloud, "I swear beforehand that Iwill not obey it." Mirabeau is often at the Tribune this day; withendless impediments from without; with the old unabated energy fromwithin. What can murmurs and clamours, from Left or from Right, doto this man; like Teneriffe or Atlas unremoved? With clear
thought;with strong bass-voice, though at first low, uncertain, he claimsaudience, sways the storm of men: anon the sound of him waxes,softens; he rises into far-sounding melody of strength, triumphant,which subdues all hearts; his rude-seamed face, desolatefire-scathed, becomes fire-lit, and radiates: once again men feel,in these beggarly ages, what is the potency and omnipotency ofman's word on the souls of men. "I will triumph or be torn infragments," he was once heard to say. "Silence," he cries now, instrong word of command, in imperial consciousness of strength,"Silence, the thirty voices, Silence aux trente voix!"--andRobespierre and the Thirty Voices die into mutterings; and the Lawis once more as Mirabeau would have it. How different, at the same instant, is General Lafayette'sstreet eloquence; wrangling with sonorous Brewers, with anungrammatical Saint- Antoine! Most different, again, from both isthe Cafe-de-Valois eloquence, and suppressed fanfaronade, of thismultitude of men with Tickets of Entry; who are now inundating theCorridors of the Tuileries. Such things can go on simultaneously inone City. How much more in one Country; in one Planet with itsdiscrepancies, every Day a mere crackling infinitude ofdiscrepancies--which nevertheless do yield some coherentnet-product, though an infinitesimally small one! Be this as it may. Lafayette has saved Vincennes; and ismarching homewards with some dozen of arrested demolitionists.Royalty is not yet saved;--nor indeed specially endangered. But tothe King's Constitutional Guard, to these old Gardes Francaises, orCentre Grenadiers, as it chanced to be, this affluence of men withTickets of Entry is becoming more and more unintelligible. Is hisMajesty verily for Metz, then; to be carried off by these men, onthe spur of the instant? That revolt of Saint-Antoine got up bytraitor Royalists for a stalking-horse? Keep a sharp outlook, yeCentre Grenadiers on duty here: good never came from the 'men inblack.' Nay they have cloaks, redingotes; some of themleather-breeches, boots,--as if for instant riding! Or what is thisthat sticks visible from the lapelle of Chevalier de Court? (Weber,ii. 286.) Too like the handle of some cutting or stabbinginstrument! He glides and goes; and still the dudgeon sticks fromhis left lapelle. "Hold, Monsieur!"--a Centre Grenadier clutcheshim; clutches the protrusive dudgeon, whisks it out in the face ofthe world: by Heaven, a very dagger; hunting-knife, or whatsoeveryou call it; fit to drink the life of Patriotism! So fared it with Chevalier de Court, early in the day; notwithout noise; not without commentaries. And now this continuallyincreasing multitude at nightfall? Have they daggers too? Alas,with them too, after angry parleyings, there has begun a gropingand a rummaging; all men in black, spite of their Tickets of Entry,are clutched by the collar, and groped. Scandalous to think of; foralways, as the dirk, sword-cane, pistol, or were it but tailor'sbodkin, is found on him, and with loud scorn drawn forth from him,he, the hapless man in black, is flung all too rapidly down stairs.Flung; and ignominiously descends, head foremost; accelerated byignominious shovings from sentry after sentry; nay, as is written,by smitings, twitchings,--spurnings, a posteriori, not to be named.In this accelerated way, emerges, uncertain which end uppermost,man after man in black, through all issues, into the TuileriesGarden. Emerges, alas, into the arms of an indignant multitude, nowgathered and gathering there, in the hour of dusk, to see what istoward, and whether the Hereditary Representative is carried off ornot. Hapless men in black; at last convicted of poniards made toorder; convicted 'Chevaliers of the Poniard!' Within is as theburning ship; without is as the deep sea. Within is no help; hisMajesty, looking forth, one moment, from his interior sanctuaries,coldly bids all visitors 'give up their weapons;'
and shuts thedoor again. The weapons given up form a heap: the convictedChevaliers of the poniard keep descending pellmell, with impetuousvelocity; and at the bottom of all staircases, the mixed multitudereceives them, hustles, buffets, chases and disperses them. (Hist.Parl. ix. 139- 48.) Such sight meets Lafayette, in the dusk of the evening, as hereturns, successful with difficulty at Vincennes: SansculotteScylla hardly weathered, here is Aristocrat Charybdis gurglingunder his lee! The patient Hero of two Worlds almost loses temper.He accelerates, does not retard, the flying Chevaliers; delivers,indeed, this or the other hunted Loyalist of quality, but rates himin bitter words, such as the hour suggested; such as no salooncould pardon. Hero ill-bested; hanging, so to speak, in mid-air;hateful to Rich divinities above; hateful to Indigent mortalsbelow! Duke de Villequier, Gentleman of the Chamber, gets suchcontumelious rating, in presence of all people there, that he maysee good first to exculpate himself in the Newspapers; then, thatnot prospering, to retire over the Frontiers, and begin plotting atBrussels. (Montgaillard, ii. 286.) His Apartment will stand vacant;usefuller, as we may find, than when it stood occupied. So fly the Chevaliers of the Poniard; hunted of Patriotic men,shamefully in the thickening dusk. A dim miserable business; bornof darkness; dying away there in the thickening dusk and dimness!In the midst of which, however, let the reader discern clearly onefigure running for its life: Crispin-Cataline d'Espremenil,--forthe last time, or the last but one. It is not yet three years sincethese same Centre Grenadiers, Gardes Francaises then, marched himtowards the Calypso Isles, in the gray of the May morning; and heand they have got thus far. Buffeted, beaten down, delivered bypopular Petion, he might well answer bitterly: "And I too,Monsieur, have been carried on the People's shoulders." (SeeMercier, ii. 40, 202.) A fact which popular Petion, if he like, canmeditate. But happily, one way and another, the speedy night covers upthis ignominious Day of Poniards; and the Chevaliers escape, thoughmaltreated, with torn coat-skirts and heavy hearts, to theirrespective dwelling- houses. Riot twofold is quelled; and littleblood shed, if it be not insignificant blood from the nose:Vincennes stands undemolished, reparable; and the HereditaryRepresentative has not been stolen, nor the Queen smuggled intoPrison. A Day long remembered: commented on with loud hahas anddeep grumblings; with bitter scornfulness of triumph, bitterrancour of defeat. Royalism, as usual, imputes it to d'Orleans andthe Anarchists intent on insulting Majesty: Patriotism, as usual,to Royalists, and even Constitutionalists, intent on stealingMajesty to Metz: we, also as usual, to Preternatural Suspicion, andPhoebus Apollo having made himself like the Night. Thus however has the reader seen, in an unexpected arena, onthis last day of February 1791, the Three long-contending elementsof French Society, dashed forth into singular comicotragicalcollision; acting and reacting openly to the eye.Constitutionalism, at once quelling Sansculottic riot at Vincennes,and Royalist treachery from the Tuileries, is great, this day, andprevails. As for poor Royalism, tossed to and fro in that manner,its daggers all left in a heap, what can one think of it? Everydog, the Adage says, has its day: has it; has had it; or will haveit. For the present, the day is Lafayette's and the Constitution's.Nevertheless Hunger and Jacobinism, fast growing fanatical, stillwork; their-day, were they once fanatical, will come. Hitherto, inall tempests, Lafayette, like some divine Sea-ruler, raises hisserene head: the upper
Aeolus's blasts fly back to their caves,like foolish unbidden winds: the under sea- billows they had vexedinto froth allay themselves. But if, as we often write, thesubmarine Titanic Fire-powers came into play, the Ocean bed frombeneath being burst? If they hurled Poseidon Lafayette and hisConstitution out of Space; and, in the Titanic melee, sea weremixed with sky?
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.III. The TuileriesChapter 2.3.VI. Mirabeau
The spirit of France waxes ever more acrid, fever-sick: towardsthe final outburst of dissolution and delirium. Suspicion rules allminds: contending parties cannot now commingle; stand separatedsheer asunder, eying one another, in most aguish mood, of coldterror or hot rage. Counter-Revolution, Days of Poniards, CastriesDuels; Flight of Mesdames, of Monsieur and Royalty! Journalismshrills ever louder its cry of alarm. The sleepless Dionysius's Earof the Forty-eight Sections, how feverishly quick has it grown;convulsing with strange pangs the whole sick Body, as in suchsleeplessness and sickness, the ear will do! Since Royalists get Poniards made to order, and a Sieur Motieris no better than he should be, shall not Patriotism too, even ofthe indigent sort, have Pikes, secondhand Firelocks, in readinessfor the worst? The anvils ring, during this March month, withhammering of Pikes. A Constitutional Municipality promulgated itsPlacard, that no citizen except the 'active or cashcitizen' wasentitled to have arms; but there rose, instantly responsive, such atempest of astonishment from Club and Section, that theConstitutional Placard, almost next morning, had to cover itselfup, and die away into inanity, in a second improved edition.(Ordonnance du 17 Mars 1791 (Hist. Parl. ix. 257).) So thehammering continues; as all that it betokens does. Mark, again, how the extreme tip of the Left is mounting infavour, if not in its own National Hall, yet with the Nation,especially with Paris. For in such universal panic of doubt, theopinion that is sure of itself, as the meagrest opinion may thesoonest be, is the one to which all men will rally. Great isBelief, were it never so meagre; and leads captive the doubtingheart! Incorruptible Robespierre has been elected Public Accuser inour new Courts of Judicature; virtuous Petion, it is thought, mayrise to be Mayor. Cordelier Danton, called also by triumphantmajorities, sits at the Departmental Council-table; colleague thereof Mirabeau. Of incorruptible Robespierre it was long ago predictedthat he might go far, mean meagre mortal though he was; for Doubtdwelt not in him. Under which circumstances ought not Royalty likewise to ceasedoubting, and begin deciding and acting? Royalty has always thatsure trump-card in its hand: Flight out of Paris. Which suretrump-card, Royalty, as we see, keeps ever and anon clutching at,grasping; and swashes it forth tentatively; yet never tables it,still puts it back again. Play it, O Royalty! If there be a chanceleft, this seems it, and verily the last chance; and now every houris rendering this a doubtfuller. Alas, one would so fain both flyand not fly; play one's card and have it to play. Royalty, in allhuman likelihood, will not play its trump-card till the honours,one after one, be mainly lost; and such trumping of it prove to bethe sudden finish of the game!
Here accordingly a question always arises; of the propheticsort; which cannot now be answered. Suppose Mirabeau, with whomRoyalty takes deep counsel, as with a Prime Minister that cannotyet legally avow himself as such, had got his arrangementscompleted? Arrangements he has; far- stretching plans that dawnfitfully on us, by fragments, in the confused darkness. ThirtyDepartments ready to sign loyal Addresses, of prescribed tenor:King carried out of Paris, but only to Compiegne and Rouen, hardlyto Metz, since, once for all, no Emigrant rabble shall take thelead in it: National Assembly consenting, by dint of loyalAddresses, by management, by force of Bouille, to hear reason, andfollow thither! (See Fils Adoptif, vii. 1. 6; Dumont, c. 11, 12,14.) Was it so, on these terms, that Jacobinism and Mirabeau werethen to grapple, in their Hercules-and-Typhon duel; deathinevitable for the one or the other? The duel itself is determinedon, and sure: but on what terms; much more, with what issue, we invain guess. It is vague darkness all: unknown what is to be;unknown even what has already been. The giant Mirabeau walks indarkness, as we said; companionless, on wild ways: what histhoughts during these months were, no record of Biographer, notvague Fils Adoptif, will now ever disclose. To us, endeavouring to cast his horoscope, it of course remainsdoubly vague. There is one Herculean man, in internecine duel withhim, there is Monster after Monster. Emigrant Noblesse return,sword on thigh, vaunting of their Loyalty never sullied; descendingfrom the air, like Harpy-swarms with ferocity, with obscene greed.Earthward there is the Typhon of Anarchy, Political, Religious;sprawling hundred-headed, say with Twenty- five million heads; wideas the area of France; fierce as Frenzy; strong in very Hunger.With these shall the Serpent-queller do battle continually, andexpect no rest. As for the King, he as usual will go wavering chameleonlike;changing colour and purpose with the colour of hisenvironment;--good for no Kingly use. On one royal person, on theQueen only, can Mirabeau perhaps place dependance. It is possible,the greatness of this man, not unskilled too in blandishments,courtiership, and graceful adroitness, might, with most legitimatesorcery, fascinate the volatile Queen, and fix her to him. She hascourage for all noble daring; an eye and a heart: the soul ofTheresa's Daughter. 'Faut il-donc, Is it fated then,' shepassionately writes to her Brother, 'that I with the blood I amcome of, with the sentiments I have, must live and die among suchmortals?' (Fils Adoptif, ubi supra.) Alas, poor Princess, Yes. 'Sheis the only man,' as Mirabeau observes, 'whom his Majesty has abouthim.' Of one other man Mirabeau is still surer: of himself. Therelies his resources; sufficient or insufficient. Dim and great to the eye of Prophecy looks the future! Aperpetual life- and-death battle; confusion from above and frombelow;--mere confused darkness for us; with here and there somestreak of faint lurid light. We see King perhaps laid aside; nottonsured, tonsuring is out of fashion now; but say, sent away anywhither, with handsome annual allowance, and stock of smith-tools.We see a Queen and Dauphin, Regent and Minor; a Queen 'mounted onhorseback,' in the din of battles, with Moriamur pro rege nostro!'Such a day,' Mirabeau writes, 'may come.' Din of battles, wars more than civil, confusion from above andfrom below: in such environment the eye of Prophecy sees Comte deMirabeau, like some Cardinal de Retz, stormfully maintain himself;with head all-devising, heart all-daring, if not victorious, yetunvanquished, while life is left him. The specialties and issues ofit, no eye of Prophecy can guess at: it is clouds, we repeat, andtempestuous night; and in the middle of it, now visible, fardarting, now labouring in eclipse,
is Mirabeau indomitablystruggling to be Cloud-Compeller!--One can say that, had Mirabeaulived, the History of France and of the World had been different.Further, that the man would have needed, as few men ever did, thewhole compass of that same 'Art of Daring, Art d'Oser,' which he soprized; and likewise that he, above all men then living, would havepractised and manifested it. Finally, that some substantiality, andno empty simulacrum of a formula, would have been the resultrealised by him: a result you could have loved, a result you couldhave hated; by no likelihood, a result you could only have rejectedwith closed lips, and swept into quick forgetfulness for ever. HadMirabeau lived one other year!
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.III. The TuileriesChapter 2.3.VII. Death of Mirabeau
But Mirabeau could not live another year, any more than he couldlive another thousand years. Men's years are numbered, and the taleof Mirabeau's was now complete. Important, or unimportant; to bementioned in World-History for some centuries, or not to bementioned there beyond a day or two,--it matters not to peremptoryFate. From amid the press of ruddy busy Life, the Pale Messengerbeckons silently: wide-spreading interests, projects, salvation ofFrench Monarchies, what thing soever man has on hand, he mustsuddenly quit it all, and go. Wert thou saving French Monarchies;wert thou blacking shoes on the Pont Neuf! The most important ofmen cannot stay; did the World's History depend on an hour, thathour is not to be given. Whereby, indeed, it comes that these samewould-have- beens are mostly a vanity; and the World's Historycould never in the least be what it would, or might, or should, byany manner of potentiality, but simply and altogether what itis. The fierce wear and tear of such an existence has wasted out thegiant oaken strength of Mirabeau. A fret and fever that keeps heartand brain on fire: excess of effort, of excitement; excess of allkinds: labour incessant, almost beyond credibility! 'If I had notlived with him,' says Dumont, 'I should never have known what a mancan make of one day; what things may be placed within the intervalof twelve hours. A day for this man was more than a week or a monthis for others: the mass of things he guided on together wasprodigious; from the scheming to the executing not a moment lost.'"Monsieur le Comte," said his Secretary to him once, "what yourequire is impossible."--"Impossible!" answered he starting fromhis chair, Ne me dites jamais ce bete de mot, Never name to me thatblockhead of a word." (Dumont, p. 311.) And then the socialrepasts; the dinner which he gives as Commandant of NationalGuards, which 'costs five hundred pounds;' alas, and 'the Sirens ofthe Opera;' and all the ginger that is hot in the mouth:-down whata course is this man hurled! Cannot Mirabeau stop; cannot he fly,and save himself alive? No! There is a Nessus' Shirt on thisHercules; he must storm and burn there, without rest, till he beconsumed. Human strength, never so Herculean, has its measure.Herald shadows flit pale across the fire-brain of Mirabeau; heraldsof the pale repose. While he tosses and storms, straining everynerve, in that sea of ambition and confusion, there comes, sombreand still, a monition that for him the issue of it will be swiftdeath. In January last, you might see him as President of the Assembly;'his neck wrapt in linen cloths, at the evening session:' there wassick heat of the blood, alternate darkening and flashing in theeye-sight; he had to apply leeches, after the morning labour, andpreside bandaged. 'At parting
he embraced me,' says Dumont, 'withan emotion I had never seen in him: "I am dying, my friend; dyingas by slow fire; we shall perhaps not meet again. When I am gone,they will know what the value of me was. The miseries I have heldback will burst from all sides on France."' (Dumont, p. 267.)Sickness gives louder warning; but cannot be listened to. On the27th day of March, proceeding towards the Assembly, he had to seekrest and help in Friend de Lamarck's, by the road; and lay there,for an hour, half-fainted, stretched on a sofa. To the Assemblynevertheless he went, as if in spite of Destiny itself; spoke, loudand eager, five several times; then quitted the Tribune--for ever.He steps out, utterly exhausted, into the Tuileries Gardens; manypeople press round him, as usual, with applications, memorials; hesays to the Friend who was with him: Take me out of this! And so, on the last day of March 1791, endless anxiousmultitudes beset the Rue de la Chaussee d'Antin; incessantlyinquiring: within doors there, in that House numbered in our time'42,' the over wearied giant has fallen down, to die. (FilsAdoptif, viii. 420-79.) Crowds, of all parties and kinds; of allranks from the King to the meanest man! The King sends publiclytwice a-day to inquire; privately besides: from the world at largethere is no end of inquiring. 'A written bulletin is handed outevery three hours,' is copied and circulated; in the end, it isprinted. The People spontaneously keep silence; no carriage shallenter with its noise: there is crowding pressure; but the Sister ofMirabeau is reverently recognised, and has free way made for her.The People stand mute, heart-stricken; to all it seems as if agreat calamity were nigh: as if the last man of France, who couldhave swayed these coming troubles, lay there at hand-grips with theunearthly Power. The silence of a whole People, the wakeful toil of Cabanis,Friend and Physician, skills not: on Saturday, the second day ofApril, Mirabeau feels that the last of the Days has risen for him;that, on this day, he has to depart and be no more. His death isTitanic, as his life has been. Lit up, for the last time, in theglare of coming dissolution, the mind of the man is all glowing andburning; utters itself in sayings, such as men long remember. Helongs to live, yet acquiesces in death, argues not with theinexorable. His speech is wild and wondrous: unearthly Phantasmsdancing now their torch-dance round his soul; the soul itselflooking out, fire-radiant, motionless, girt together for that greathour! At times comes a beam of light from him on the world he isquitting. "I carry in my heart the death-dirge of the FrenchMonarchy; the dead remains of it will now be the spoil of thefactious." Or again, when he heard the cannon fire, what ischaracteristic too: "Have we the Achilles' Funeral already?" Solikewise, while some friend is supporting him: "Yes, support thathead; would I could bequeath it thee!" For the man dies as he haslived; selfconscious, conscious of a world looking on. He gazesforth on the young Spring, which for him will never be Summer. TheSun has risen; he says: "Si ce n'est pas la Dieu, c'est du moinsson cousin germain." (Fils Adoptif, viii. 450; Journal de lamaladie et de la mort de Mirabeau, par P.J.G. Cabanis (Paris,1803).)--Death has mastered the outworks; power of speech is gone;the citadel of the heart still holding out: the moribund giant,passionately, by sign, demands paper and pen; writes his passionatedemand for opium, to end these agonies. The sorrowful Doctor shakeshis head: Dormir 'To sleep,' writes the other, passionatelypointing at it! So dies a gigantic Heathen and Titan; stumblingblindly, undismayed, down to his rest. At half-past eight in themorning, Dr. Petit, standing at the foot of the bed, says "Il nesouffre plus." His suffering and his working are now ended.
Even so, ye silent Patriot multitudes, all ye men of France;this man is rapt away from you. He has fallen suddenly, withoutbending till he broke; as a tower falls, smitten by suddenlightning. His word ye shall hear no more, his guidance follow nomore.--The multitudes depart, heartstruck; spread the sad tidings.How touching is the loyalty of men to their Sovereign Man! Alltheatres, public amusements close; no joyful meeting can be held inthese nights, joy is not for them: the People break in upon privatedancing-parties, and sullenly command that they cease. Of suchdancing-parties apparently but two came to light; and these alsohave gone out. The gloom is universal: never in this City was suchsorrow for one death; never since that old night when Louis XII.departed, 'and the Crieurs des Corps went sounding their bells, andcrying along the streets: Le bon roi Louis, pere du peuple, estmort, The good King Louis, Father of the People, is dead!'(Henault, Abrege Chronologique, p. 429.) King Mirabeau is now thelost King; and one may say with little exaggeration, all the Peoplemourns for him. For three days there is low wide moan: weeping in the NationalAssembly itself. The streets are all mournful; orators mounted onthe bournes, with large silent audience, preaching the funeralsermon of the dead. Let no coachman whip fast, distractively withhis rolling wheels, or almost at all, through these groups! Histraces may be cut; himself and his fare, as incurable Aristocrats,hurled sulkily into the kennels. The bourne-stone orators speak asit is given them; the Sansculottic People, with its rude soul,listens eager,--as men will to any Sermon, or Sermo, when it is aspoken Word meaning a Thing, and not a Babblement meaning No-thing.In the Restaurateur's of the Palais Royal, the waiter remarks,"Fine weather, Monsieur:"--"Yes, my friend," answers the ancientMan of Letters, "very fine; but Mirabeau is dead." Hoarse rhythmicthrenodies comes also from the throats of balladsingers; are soldon gray-white paper at a sou each. (Fils Adoptif, viii. l. 19;Newspapers and Excerpts (in Hist. Parl. ix. 366-402).) But ofPortraits, engraved, painted, hewn, and written; of Eulogies,Reminiscences, Biographies, nay Vaudevilles, Dramas and Melodramas,in all Provinces of France, there will, through these comingmonths, be the due immeasurable crop; thick as the leaves ofSpring. Nor, that a tincture of burlesque might be in it, isGobel's Episcopal Mandement wanting; goose Gobel, who has just beenmade Constitutional Bishop of Paris. A Mandement wherein ca iraalternates very strangely with Nomine Domini, and you are, with agrave countenance, invited to 'rejoice at possessing in the midstof you a body of Prelates created by Mirabeau, zealous followers ofhis doctrine, faithful imitators of his virtues.' (Hist. Parl. ix.405.) So speaks, and cackles manifold, the Sorrow of France;wailing articulately, inarticulately, as it can, that a SovereignMan is snatched away. In the National Assembly, when difficultquestions are astir, all eyes will 'turn mechanically to the placewhere Mirabeau sat,'--and Mirabeau is absent now. On the third evening of the lamentation, the fourth of April,there is solemn Public Funeral; such as deceased mortal seldom had.Procession of a league in length; of mourners reckoned loosely at ahundred thousand! All roofs are thronged with onlookers, allwindows, lamp-irons, branches of trees. 'Sadness is painted onevery countenance; many persons weep.' There is double hedge ofNational Guards; there is National Assembly in a body; JacobinSociety, and Societies; King's Ministers, Municipals, and allNotabilities, Patriot or Aristocrat. Bouille is noticeable there,'with his hat on;' say, hat drawn over his brow, hiding manythoughts! Slow- wending, in religious silence, the Procession of aleague in length, under the level sun-rays, for it is five o'clock,moves and marches: with its sable plumes; itself in a religioussilence; but, by fits, with the muffled roll of drums, by fits withsome long-drawn wail of music, and strange new clangour oftrombones,
and metallic dirge-voice; amid the infinite hum of men.In the Church of Saint-Eustache, there is funeral oration byCerutti; and discharge of fire-arms, which 'brings down pieces ofthe plaster.' Thence, forward again to the Church ofSainte-Genevieve; which has been consecrated, by supreme decree, onthe spur of this time, into a Pantheon for the Great Men of theFatherland, Aux Grands Hommes la Patrie reconnaissante. Hardly atmidnight is the business done; and Mirabeau left in his darkdwelling: first tenant of that Fatherland's Pantheon. Tenant, alas, with inhabits but at will, and shall be cast out!For, in these days of convulsion and disjection, not even the dustof the dead is permitted to rest. Voltaire's bones are, by and by,to be carried from their stolen grave in the Abbey of Scellieres,to an eager stealing grave, in Paris his birth-city: all mortalsprocessioning and perorating there; cars drawn by eight whitehorses, goadsters in classical costume, with fillets and wheat-earsenough;--though the weather is of the wettest. (Moniteur, du 13Juillet 1791.) Evangelist Jean Jacques, too, as is most proper,must be dug up from Ermenonville, and processioned, with pomp, withsensibility, to the Pantheon of the Fatherland. (Ibid. du 18Septembre, 1794. See also du 30 Aout, &c. 1791.) He and others:while again Mirabeau, we say, is cast forth from it, happilyincapable of being replaced; and rests now, irrecognisable,reburied hastily at dead of night, in the central 'part of theChurchyard SainteCatherine, in the Suburb Saint-Marceau,' to bedisturbed no further. So blazes out, farseen, a Man's Life, and becomes ashes and acaput mortuum, in this WorldPyre, which we name French Revolution:not the first that consumed itself there; nor, by thousands andmany millions, the last! A man who 'had swallowed all formulas;'who, in these strange times and circumstances, felt called to liveTitanically, and also to die so. As he, for his part had swallowedall formulas, what Formula is there, never so comprehensive, thatwill express truly the plus and the minus, give us the accuratenet-result of him? There is hitherto none such. Moralities not afew must shriek condemnatory over this Mirabeau; the Morality bywhich he could be judged has not yet got uttered in the speech ofmen. We shall say this of him, again: That he is a Reality, and noSimulacrum: a living son of Nature our general Mother; not a hollowArtfice, and mechanism of Conventionalities, son of nothing,brother to nothing. In which little word, let the earnest man,walking sorrowful in a world mostly of 'Stuffed Clothes-suits,'that chatter and grin meaningless on him, quite ghastly to theearnest soul,--think what significance there is! Of men who, in such sense, are alive, and see with eyes, thenumber is now not great: it may be well, if in this huge FrenchRevolution itself, with its all-developing fury, we find someThree. Mortals driven rabid we find; sputtering the acridest logic;baring their breast to the battle-hail, their neck to theguillotine; of whom it is so painful to say that they too arestill, in good part, manufactured Formalities, not Facts butHearsays! Honour to the strong man, in these ages, who has shaken himselfloose of shams, and is something. For in the way of being worthy,the first condition surely is that one be. Let Cant cease, at allrisks and at all costs: till Cant cease, nothing else can begin. Ofhuman Criminals, in these centuries, writes the Moralist, I findbut one unforgivable: the Quack. 'Hateful to God,' as divine Dantesings, 'and to the Enemies of God, 'A Dio spiacente ed a' nemici sui!'
But whoever will, with sympathy, which is the first essentialtowards insight, look at this questionable Mirabeau, may find thatthere lay verily in him, as the basis of all, a Sincerity, a greatfree Earnestness; nay call it Honesty, for the man did before allthings see, with that clear flashing vision, into what was, intowhat existed as fact; and did, with his wild heart, follow that andno other. Whereby on what ways soever he travels and struggles,often enough falling, he is still a brother man. Hate him not; thoucanst not hate him! Shining through such soil and tarnish, and nowvictorious effulgent, and oftenest struggling eclipsed, the lightof genius itself is in this man; which was never yet base andhateful: but at worst was lamentable, loveable with pity. They saythat he was ambitious, that he wanted to be Minister. It is mosttrue; and was he not simply the one man in France who could havedone any good as Minister? Not vanity alone, not pride alone; farfrom that! Wild burstings of affection were in this great heart; offierce lightning, and soft dew of pity. So sunk, bemired inwretchedest defacements, it may be said of him, like the Magdalenof old, that he loved much: his Father the harshest of old crabbedmen he loved with warmth, with veneration. Be it that his falls and follies are manifold,--as himself oftenlamented even with tears. (Dumont, p. 287.) Alas, is not the Lifeof every such man already a poetic Tragedy; made up 'of Fate and ofone's own Deservings,' of Schicksal und eigene Schuld; full of theelements of Pity and Fear? This brother man, if not Epic for us, isTragic; if not great, is large; large in his qualities, worldlargein his destinies. Whom other men, recognising him as such, may,through long times, remember, and draw nigh to examine andconsider: these, in their several dialects, will say of him andsing of him,--till the right thing be said; and so the Formula thatcan judge him be no longer an undiscovered one. Here then the wild Gabriel Honore drops from the tissue of ourHistory; not without a tragic farewell. He is gone: the flower ofthe wild Riquetti or Arrighetti kindred; which seems as if in him,with one last effort, it had done its best, and then expired, orsunk down to the undistinguished level. Crabbed old MarquisMirabeau, the Friend of Men, sleeps sound. The Bailli Mirabeau,worthy uncle, will soon die forlorn, alone. Barrel-Mirabeau,already gone across the Rhine, his Regiment of Emigrants will drivenigh desperate. 'Barrel-Mirabeau,' says a biographer of his, 'wentindignantly across the Rhine, and drilled Emigrant Regiments. Butas he sat one morning in his tent, sour of stomach doubtless and ofheart, meditating in Tartarean humour on the turn things took, acertain Captain or Subaltern demanded admittance on business. SuchCaptain is refused; he again demands, with refusal; and then again,till Colonel Viscount Barrel- Mirabeau, blazing up into a mereburning brandy barrel, clutches his sword, and tumbles out on thiscanaille of an intruder,--alas, on the canaille of an intruder'ssword's point, who had drawn with swift dexterity; and dies, andthe Newspapers name it apoplexy and alarming accident.' So die theMirabeaus. New Mirabeaus one hears not of: the wild kindred, as we said, isgone out with this its greatest. As families and kindreds sometimesdo; producing, after long ages of unnoted notability, some livingquintescence of all the qualities they had, to flame forth as a manworld-noted; after whom they rest as if exhausted; the sceptrepassing to others. The chosen Last of the Mirabeaus is gone; thechosen man of France is gone. It was he who shook old France fromits basis; and, as if with his single hand, has held it topplingthere, still unfallen. What things depended on that one man! He isas a ship suddenly shivered on sunk rocks: much swims on the wastewaters, far from help.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.IV. VarennesChapter 2.4.I. Easter at Saint-Cloud
The French Monarchy may now therefore be considered as, in allhuman probability, lost; as struggling henceforth in blindness aswell as weakness, the last light of reasonable guidance having goneout. What remains of resources their poor Majesties will wastestill further, in uncertain loitering and wavering. Mirabeauhimself had to complain that they only gave him half confidence,and always had some plan within his plan. Had they fled franklywith him, to Rouen or anywhither, long ago! They may fly now withchance immeasurably lessened; which will go on lessening towardsabsolute zero. Decide, O Queen; poor Louis can decide nothing:execute this Flight-project, or at least abandon it. Correspondencewith Bouille there has been enough; what profits consulting, andhypothesis, while all around is in fierce activity of practice? TheRustic sits waiting till the river run dry: alas with you it is nota common river, but a Nile Inundation; snow melting in the unseenmountains; till all, and you where you sit, be submerged. Many things invite to flight. The voice Journals invites;Royalist Journals proudly hinting it as a threat, Patriot Journalsrabidly denouncing it as a terror. Mother Society, waxing more andmore emphatic, invites;--so emphatic that, as was prophesied,Lafayette and your limited Patriots have ere long to branch offfrom her, and form themselves into Feuillans; with infinite publiccontroversy; the victory in which, doubtful though it look, willremain with the unlimited Mother. Moreover, ever since the Day ofPoniards, we have seen unlimited Patriotism openly equipping itselfwith arms. Citizens denied 'activity,' which is facetiously made tosignify a certain weight of purse, cannot buy blue uniforms, and beGuardsmen; but man is greater than blue cloth; man can fight, ifneed be, in multiform cloth, or even almost without cloth--asSansculotte. So Pikes continued to be hammered, whether those Dirksof improved structure with barbs be 'meant for the West-Indiamarket,' or not meant. Men beat, the wrong way, their ploughsharesinto swords. Is there not what we may call an 'Austrian Committee,'Comite Autrichein, sitting daily and nightly in the Tuileries?Patriotism, by vision and suspicion, knows it too well! If the Kingfly, will there not be Aristocrat-Austrian Invasion; butchery,replacement of Feudalism; wars more than civil? The hearts of menare saddened and maddened. Dissident Priests likewise give trouble enough. Expelled fromtheir Parish Churches, where Constitutional Priests, elected by thePublic, have replaced them, these unhappy persons resort toConvents of Nuns, or other such receptacles; and there, on Sabbath,collecting assemblages of Anti- Constitutional individuals, whohave grown devout all on a sudden, (Toulongeon, i. 262.) theyworship or pretend to worship in their strait- laced contumaciousmanner; to the scandal of Patriotism. Dissident Priests, passingalong with their sacred wafer for the dying, seem wishful to bemassacred in the streets; wherein Patriotism will not gratify them.Slighter palm of martyrdom, however, shall not be denied: martyrdomnot of massacre, yet of fustigation. At the refractory places ofworship, Patriot men appear; Patriot women with strong hazel wands,which they apply. Shut thy eyes, O Reader; see not this misery,peculiar to these later times,--of martyrdom without sincerity,with only cant and contumacy! A dead Catholic Church is not allowedto lie dead; no, it is galvanised into the detestablest death-life;whereat Humanity, we say, shuts its eyes. For the Patriot womentake their hazel wands, and fustigate, amid laughter of bystanders,with alacrity: broad bottom of Priests; alas, Nuns too reversed,and cotillons retrousses! The National Guard
does what it can:Municipality 'invokes the Principles of Toleration;' grantsDissident worshippers the Church of the Theatins; promisingprotection. But it is to no purpose: at the door of that TheatinsChurch, appears a Placard, and suspended atop, like PlebeianConsular fasces,--a Bundle of Rods! The Principles of Tolerationmust do the best they may: but no Dissident man shall worshipcontumaciously; there is a Plebiscitum to that effect; which,though unspoken, is like the laws of the Medes and Persians.Dissident contumacious Priests ought not to be harboured, even inprivate, by any man: the Club of the Cordeliers openly denouncesMajesty himself as doing it. (Newspapers of April and June, 1791(in Hist. Parl. ix. 449; x, 217).) Many things invite to flight: but probably this thing above allothers, that it has become impossible! On the 15th of April, noticeis given that his Majesty, who has suffered much from catarrhlately, will enjoy the Spring weather, for a few days, atSaint-Cloud. Out at Saint-Cloud? Wishing to celebrate his Easter,his Paques, or Pasch, there; with refractory AntiConstitutionalDissidents?--Wishing rather to make off for Compiegne, and thenceto the Frontiers? As were, in good sooth, perhaps feasible, orwould once have been; nothing but some two chasseurs attending you;chasseurs easily corrupted! It is a pleasant possibility, executeit or not. Men say there are thirty thousand Chevaliers of thePoniard lurking in the woods there: lurking in the woods, andthirty thousand,-- for the human Imagination is not fettered. Butnow, how easily might these, dashing out on Lafayette, snatch offthe Hereditary Representative; and roll away with him, after themanner of a whirlblast, whither they listed!--Enough, it were wellthe King did not go. Lafayette is forewarned and forearmed: but,indeed, is the risk his only; or his and all France's? Monday the eighteenth of April is come; the Easter Journey toSaint-Cloud shall take effect. National Guard has got its orders; aFirst Division, as Advanced Guard, has even marched, and probablyarrived. His Majesty's Maison-bouche, they say, is all busy stewingand frying at SaintCloud; the King's Dinner not far from readythere. About one o'clock, the Royal Carriage, with its eight royalblacks, shoots stately into the Place du Carrousel; draws up toreceive its royal burden. But hark! From the neighbouring Church ofSaint-Roch, the tocsin begins ding-donging. Is the King stolenthen; he is going; gone? Multitudes of persons crowd the Carrousel:the Royal Carriage still stands there;--and, by Heaven's strength,shall stand! Lafayette comes up, with aide-de-camps and oratory; pervadingthe groups: "Taisez vous," answer the groups, "the King shall notgo." Monsieur appears, at an upper window: ten thousand voices brayand shriek, "Nous ne voulons pas que le Roi parte." Their Majestieshave mounted. Crack go the whips; but twenty Patriot arms haveseized each of the eight bridles: there is rearing, rocking,vociferation; not the smallest headway. In vain does Lafayettefret, indignant; and perorate and strive: Patriots in the passionof terror, bellow round the Royal Carriage; it is one bellowing seaof Patriot terror run frantic. Will Royalty fly off towardsAustria; like a lit rocket, towards endless Conflagration of CivilWar? Stop it, ye Patriots, in the name of Heaven! Rude voicespassionately apostrophise Royalty itself. Usher Campan, and otherthe like official persons, pressing forward with help or advice,are clutched by the sashes, and hurled and whirled, in a confusedperilous manner; so that her Majesty has to plead passionately fromthe carriagewindow.
Order cannot be heard, cannot be followed; National Guards knownot how to act. Centre Grenadiers, of the Observatoire Battalion,are there; not on duty; alas, in quasi-mutiny; speaking rudedisobedient words; threatening the mounted Guards with sharp shotif they hurt the people. Lafayette mounts and dismounts; runsharanguing, panting; on the verge of despair. For an hour andthree-quarters; 'seven quarters of an hour,' by the TuileriesClock! Desperate Lafayette will open a passage, were it by thecannon's mouth, if his Majesty will order. Their Majesties,counselled to it by Royalist friends, by Patriot foes, dismount;and retire in, with heavy indignant heart; giving up theenterprise. Maison-bouche may eat that cooked dinner themselves;his Majesty shall not see Saint-Cloud this day,--or any day. (DeuxAmis, vi. c. 1; Hist. Parl. ix. 407-14.) The pathetic fable of imprisonment in one's own Palace hasbecome a sad fact, then? Majesty complains to Assembly;Municipality deliberates, proposes to petition or address; Sectionsrespond with sullen brevity of negation. Lafayette flings down hisCommission; appears in civic pepper- and-salt frock; and cannot beflattered back again;--not in less than three days; and byunheard-of entreaty; National Guards kneeling to him, and declaringthat it is not sycophancy, that they are free men kneeling here tothe Statue of Liberty. For the rest, those Centre Grenadiers of theObservatoire are disbanded,--yet indeed are reinlisted, all butfourteen, under a new name, and with new quarters. The King mustkeep his Easter in Paris: meditating much on this singular postureof things: but as good as determined now to fly from it, desirebeing whetted by difficulty.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.IV. VarennesChapter 2.4.II. Easter at Paris
For above a year, ever since March 1790, it would seem, therehas hovered a project of Flight before the royal mind; and ever andanon has been condensing itself into something like a purpose; butthis or the other difficulty always vaporised it again. It seems sofull of risks, perhaps of civil war itself; above all, it cannot bedone without effort. Somnolent laziness will not serve: to fly, ifnot in a leather vache, one must verily stir himself. Better toadopt that Constitution of theirs; execute it so as to shew all menthat it is inexecutable? Better or not so good; surely it iseasier. To all difficulties you need only say, There is a lion inthe path, behold your Constitution will not act! For a somnolentperson it requires no effort to counterfeit death,--as Dame deStael and Friends of Liberty can see the King's Government longdoing, faisant le mort. Nay now, when desire whetted by difficulty has brought thematter to a head, and the royal mind no longer halts between two,what can come of it? Grant that poor Louis were safe with Bouille,what on the whole could he look for there? Exasperated Tickets ofEntry answer, Much, all. But cold Reason answers, Little almostnothing. Is not loyalty a law of Nature? ask the Tickets of Entry.Is not love of your King, and even death for him, the glory of allFrenchmen,-except these few Democrats? Let DemocratConstitution-builders see what they will do without their Keystone;and France rend its hair, having lost the HereditaryRepresentative! Thus will King Louis fly; one sees not reasonably towards what.As a maltreated Boy, shall we say, who, having a Stepmother, rushessulky into the wide world; and will wring the paternal
heart?--PoorLouis escapes from known unsupportable evils, to an unknown mixtureof good and evil, coloured by Hope. He goes, as Rabelais did whendying, to seek a great May-be: je vais chercher un grand Peut-etre!As not only the sulky Boy but the wise grown Man is obliged to do,so often, in emergencies. For the rest, there is still no lack of stimulants, and stepdamemaltreatments, to keep one's resolution at the due pitch. Factiousdisturbance ceases not: as indeed how can they, unlessauthoritatively conjured, in a Revolt which is by naturebottomless? If the ceasing of faction be the price of the King'ssomnolence, he may awake when he will, and take wing. Remark, in any case, what somersets and contortions a deadCatholicism is making,--skilfully galvanised: hideous, and evenpiteous, to behold! Jurant and Dissident, with their shaved crowns,argue frothing everywhere; or are ceasing to argue, and strippingfor battle. In Paris was scourging while need continued:contrariwise, in the Morbihan of Brittany, without scourging, armedPeasants are up, roused by pulpit-drum, they know not why. GeneralDumouriez, who has got missioned thitherward, finds all in sourheat of darkness; finds also that explanation and conciliation willstill do much. (Deux Amis, v. 410-21; Dumouriez, ii. c. 5.) But again, consider this: that his Holiness, Pius Sixth, hasseen good to excommunicate Bishop Talleyrand! Surely, we will saythen, considering it, there is no living or dead Church in theEarth that has not the indubitablest right to excommunicateTalleyrand. Pope Pius has right and might, in his way. But truly solikewise has Father Adam, ci-devant Marquis Saint-Huruge, in hisway. Behold, therefore, on the Fourth of May, in the Palais-Royal,a mixed loud-sounding multitude; in the middle of whom, FatherAdam, bull-voiced Saint-Huruge, in white hat, towers visible andaudible. With him, it is said, walks Journalist Gorsas, walk manyothers of the washed sort; for no authority will interfere. PiusSixth, with his plush and tiara, and power of the Keys, they bearaloft: of natural size,--made of lath and combustible gum. Royou,the King's Friend, is borne too in effigy; with a pile of NewspaperKing's-Friends, condemned numbers of the Ami-du-Roi; fit fuel ofthe sacrifice. Speeches are spoken; a judgment is held, a doomproclaimed, audible in bull-voice, towards the four winds. Andthus, amid great shouting, the holocaust is consummated, under thesummer sky; and our lath-and-gum Holiness, with the attendantvictims, mounts up in flame, and sinks down in ashes; a decomposedPope: and right or might, among all the parties, has better orworse accomplished itself, as it could. (Hist. Parl. x. 99-102.)But, on the whole, reckoning from Martin Luther in the Marketplaceof Wittenberg to Marquis Saint-Huruge in this Palais-Royal ofParis, what a journey have we gone; into what strange territorieshas it carried us! No Authority can now interfere. Nay Religionherself, mourning for such things, may after all ask, What have Ito do with them? In such extraordinary manner does dead Catholicism somerset andcaper, skilfully galvanised. For, does the reader inquire into thesubject-matter of controversy in this case; what the differencebetween Orthodoxy or My- doxy and Heterodoxy or Thy-doxy might herebe? Mydoxy is that an august National Assembly can equalize theextent of Bishopricks; that an equalized Bishop, his Creed andFormularies being left quite as they were, can swear Fidelity toKing, Law and Nation, and so become a Constitutional Bishop.Thy-doxy, if thou be Dissident, is that he cannot; but that he mustbecome an accursed thing. Human ill-nature needs but
someHomoiousian iota, or even the pretence of one; and will flowcopiously through the eye of a needle: thus always must mortals gojargoning and fuming, And, like the ancient Stoics in their porches With fierce dispute maintain their churches. This Auto-da-fe of Saint-Huruge's was on the Fourth of May,1791. Royalty sees it; but says nothing.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.IV. VarennesChapter 2.4.III. Count Fersen
Royalty, in fact, should, by this time, be far on with itspreparations. Unhappily much preparation is needful: could aHereditary Representative be carried in leather vache, how easywere it! But it is not so. New clothes are needed, as usual, in all Epic transactions, wereit in the grimmest iron ages; consider 'Queen Chrimhilde, with hersixty semstresses,' in that iron Nibelungen Song! No Queen can stirwithout new clothes. Therefore, now, Dame Campan whisks assiduousto this mantuamaker and to that: and there is clipping of frocksand gowns, upper clothes and under, great and small; such aclipping and sewing, as might have been dispensed with. Moreover,her Majesty cannot go a step anywhither without her Necessaire;dear Necessaire, of inlaid ivory and rosewood; cunningly devised;which holds perfumes, toilet-implements, infinite small queenlikefurnitures: Necessary to terrestrial life. Not without a cost ofsome five hundred louis, of much precious time, and difficulthoodwinking which does not blind, can this same Necessary of lifebe forwarded by the Flanders Carriers,--never to get to hand.(Campan, ii. c. 18.) All which, you would say, augurs ill for theprospering of the enterprise. But the whims of women and queensmust be humoured. Bouille, on his side, is making a fortified Camp at Montmedi;gathering Royal-Allemand, and all manner of other German and trueFrench Troops thither, 'to watch the Austrians.' His Majesty willnot cross the Frontiers, unless on compulsion. Neither shall theEmigrants be much employed, hateful as they are to all people.(Bouille, Memoires, ii. c. 10.) Nor shall old war-god Broglie haveany hand in the business; but solely our brave Bouille; to whom, onthe day of meeting, a Marshal's Baton shall be delivered, by arescued King, amid the shouting of all the troops. In themeanwhile, Paris being so suspicious, were it not perhaps good towrite your Foreign Ambassadors an ostensible Constitutional Letter;desiring all Kings and men to take heed that King Louis loves theConstitution, that he has voluntarily sworn, and does again swear,to maintain the same, and will reckon those his enemies who affectto say otherwise? Such a Constitutional circular is despatched byCouriers, is communicated confidentially to the Assembly, andprinted in all Newspapers; with the finest effect. (Moniteur,Seance du 23 Avril, 1791.) Simulation and dissimulation mingleextensively in human affairs. We observe, however, that Count Fersen is often using his Ticketof Entry; which surely he has clear right to do. A gallant Soldierand Swede, devoted to this fair Queen;--as indeed the Highest Swedenow is. Has not King Gustav, famed fiery Chevalier du Nord, swornhimself, by the old
laws of chivalry, her Knight? He will descendon fire-wings, of Swedish musketry, and deliver her from these fouldragons,--if, alas, the assassin's pistol intervene not! But, in fact, Count Fersen does seem a likely young soldier, ofalert decisive ways: he circulates widely, seen, unseen; and hasbusiness on hand. Also Colonel the Duke de Choiseul, nephew ofChoiseul the great, of Choiseul the now deceased; he and EngineerGoguelat are passing and repassing between Metz and the Tuileries;and Letters go in cipher,--one of them, a most important one, hardto decipher; Fersen having ciphered it in haste. (Choiseul,Relation du Depart de Louis XVI. (Paris, 1822), p. 39.) As for Dukede Villequier, he is gone ever since the Day of Poniards; but hisApartment is useful for her Majesty. On the other side, poor Commandment Gouvion, watching at theTuileries, second in National Command, sees several things hard tointerpret. It is the same Gouvion who sat, long months ago, at theTownhall, gazing helpless into that Insurrection of Women;motionless, as the brave stabled steed when conflagration rises,till Usher Maillard snatched his drum. Sincerer Patriot there isnot; but many a shiftier. He, if Dame Campan gossip credibly, ispaying some similitude of love-court to a certain false Chambermaidof the Palace, who betrays much to him: the Necessaire, theclothes, the packing of the jewels, (Campan, ii. 141.)--could heunderstand it when betrayed. Helpless Gouvion gazes with sincereglassy eyes into it; stirs up his sentries to vigilence; walksrestless to and fro; and hopes the best. But, on the whole, one finds that, in the second week of June,Colonel de Choiseul is privately in Paris; having come 'to see hischildren.' Also that Fersen has got a stupendous new Coach built,of the kind named Berline; done by the first artists; according toa model: they bring it home to him, in Choiseul's presence; the twofriends take a proof-drive in it, along the streets; in meditativemood; then send it up to 'Madame Sullivan's, in the Rue de Clichy,'far North, to wait there till wanted. Apparently a certain RussianBaroness de Korff, with Waiting-woman, Valet, and two Children,will travel homewards with some state: in whom these young militarygentlemen take interest? A Passport has been procured for her; andmuch assistance shewn, with Coach-builders and such like;--sohelpful polite are young military men. Fersen has likewisepurchased a Chaise fit for two, at least for two waiting-maids;further, certain necessary horses: one would say, he is himselfquitting France, not without outlay? We observe finally that theirMajesties, Heaven willing, will assist at Corpus-Christi Day, thisblessed Summer Solstice, in Assumption Church, here at Paris, tothe joy of all the world. For which same day, moreover, braveBouille, at Metz, as we find, has invited a party of friends todinner; but indeed is gone from home, in the interim, over toMontmedi. These are of the Phenomena, or visual Appearances, of thiswide-working terrestrial world: which truly is all phenomenal, whatthey call spectral; and never rests at any moment; one never at anymoment can know why. On Monday night, the Twentieth of June 1791, about eleveno'clock, there is many a hackneycoach, and glass-coach (carrossede remise), still rumbling, or at rest, on the streets of Paris.But of all Glass-coaches, we recommend this to thee, O Reader,which stands drawn up, in the Rue de l'Echelle, hard by theCarrousel and outgate of the Tuileries; in the Rue de l'Echellethat then was; 'opposite Ronsin the saddler's door,' as if waitingfor a fare there! Not long does it wait: a hooded
Dame, with twohooded Children has issued from Villequier's door, where no sentrywalks, into the Tuileries Court-of-Princes; into the Carrousel;into the Rue de l'Echelle; where the Glasscoachman readily admitsthem; and again waits. Not long; another Dame, likewise hooded orshrouded, leaning on a servant, issues in the same manner, by theGlass-coachman, cheerfully admitted. Whither go, so many Dames?'Tis His Majesty's Couchee, Majesty just gone to bed, and all thePalace-world is retiring home. But the Glass-coachman still waits;his fare seemingly incomplete. By and by, we note a thickset Individual, in round hat andperuke, arm-and- arm with some servant, seemingly of the Runner orCourier sort; he also issues through Villequier's door; starts ashoebuckle as he passes one of the sentries, stoops down to claspit again; is however, by the Glass- coachman, still more cheerfullyadmitted. And now, is his fare complete? Not yet; theGlass-coachman still waits.--Alas! and the false Chambermaid haswarned Gouvion that she thinks the Royal Family will fly this verynight; and Gouvion distrusting his own glazed eyes, has sentexpress for Lafayette; and Lafayette's Carriage, flaring withlights, rolls this moment through the inner Arch of theCarrousel,--where a Lady shaded in broad gypsy-hat, and leaning onthe arm of a servant, also of the Runner or Courier sort, standsaside to let it pass, and has even the whim to touch a spoke of itwith her badine,--light little magic rod which she calls badine,such as the Beautiful then wore. The flare of Lafayette's Carriage,rolls past: all is found quiet in the Courtof-Princes; sentries attheir post; Majesties' Apartments closed in smooth rest. Your falseChambermaid must have been mistaken? Watch thou, Gouvion, withArgus' vigilance; for, of a truth, treachery is within thesewalls. But where is the Lady that stood aside in gypsy hat, and touchedthe wheel- spoke with her badine? O Reader, that Lady that touchedthe wheel-spoke was the Queen of France! She has issued safethrough that inner Arch, into the Carrousel itself; but not intothe Rue de l'Echelle. Flurried by the rattle and rencounter, shetook the right hand not the left; neither she nor her Courier knowsParis; he indeed is no Courier, but a loyal stupid ci-devantBodyguard disguised as one. They are off, quite wrong, over thePont Royal and River; roaming disconsolate in the Rue du Bac; farfrom the Glass-coachman, who still waits. Waits, with flutter ofheart; with thoughts-which he must button close up, under hisjarvie surtout! Midnight clangs from all the City-steeples; one precious hourhas been spent so; most mortals are asleep. The Glass-coachmanwaits; and what mood! A brother jarvie drives up, enters intoconversation; is answered cheerfully in jarvie dialect: thebrothers of the whip exchange a pinch of snuff; (Weber, ii. 340-2;Choiseul, p. 44-56.) decline drinking together; and part with goodnight. Be the Heavens blest! here at length is the Queen-lady, ingypsy-hat; safe after perils; who has had to inquire her way. Shetoo is admitted; her Courier jumps aloft, as the other, who is alsoa disguised Bodyguard, has done: and now, O Glass-coachman of athousand,--Count Fersen, for the Reader sees it isthou,--drive! Dust shall not stick to the hoofs of Fersen: crack! crack! theGlass-coach rattles, and every soul breathes lighter. But is Fersenon the right road? Northeastward, to the Barrier of Saint-Martinand Metz Highway, thither were we bound: and lo, he drives rightNorthward! The royal Individual, in round hat and peruke, sitsastonished; but right or wrong, there is no remedy. Crack, crack,we go incessant, through the slumbering City. Seldom, since Parisrose out of mud, or the
Longhaired Kings went in Bullock-carts, wasthere such a drive. Mortals on each hand of you, close by,stretched out horizontal, dormant; and we alive and quaking! Crack,crack, through the Rue de Grammont; across the Boulevard; up theRue de la Chaussee d'Antin,--these windows, all silent, of Number42, were Mirabeau's. Towards the Barrier not of Saint-Martin, butof Clichy on the utmost North! Patience, ye royal Individuals;Fersen understands what he is about. Passing up the Rue de Clichy,he alights for one moment at Madame Sullivan's: "Did Count Fersen'sCoachman get the Baroness de Korff's new Berline?"--"Gone with itan hour-and-half ago," grumbles responsive the drowsyPorter.--"C'est bien." Yes, it is well;--though had not suchhour-and half been lost, it were still better. Forth therefore, OFersen, fast, by the Barrier de Clichy; then Eastward along theOutward Boulevard, what horses and whipcord can do! Thus Fersen drives, through the ambrosial night. Sleeping Parisis now all on the right hand of him; silent except for some snoringhum; and now he is Eastward as far as the Barrier de SaintMartin;looking earnestly for Baroness de Korff's Berline. This Heaven'sBerline he at length does descry, drawn up with its six horses, hisown German Coachman waiting on the box. Right, thou good German:now haste, whither thou knowest!--And as for us of the Glass-coach,haste too, O haste; much time is already lost! The augustGlass-coach fare, six Insides, hastily packs itself into the newBerline; two Bodyguard Couriers behind. The Glass-coach itself isturned adrift, its head towards the City; to wander whither itlists,--and be found next morning tumbled in a ditch. But Fersen ison the new box, with its brave new hammer-cloths; flourishing hiswhip; he bolts forward towards Bondy. There a third and finalBodyguard Courier of ours ought surely to be, with post-horsesready-ordered. There likewise ought that purchased Chaise, with thetwo Waiting-maids and their bandboxes to be; whom also her Majestycould not travel without. Swift, thou deft Fersen, and may theHeavens turn it well! Once more, by Heaven's blessing, it is all well. Here is thesleeping Hamlet of Bondy; Chaise with Waiting-women; horses allready, and postillions with their churn-boots, impatient in thedewy dawn. Brief harnessing done, the postillions with theirchurn-boots vault into the saddles; brandish circularly theirlittle noisy whips. Fersen, under his jarvie-surtout, bends inlowly silent reverence of adieu; royal hands wave speechless inexpressible response; Baroness de Korff's Berline, with the Royaltyof France, bounds off: for ever, as it proved. Deft Fersen dashesobliquely Northward, through the country, towards Bougret; gainsBougret, finds his German Coachman and chariot waiting there;cracks off, and drives undiscovered into unknown space. A deftactive man, we say; what he undertook to do is nimbly andsuccessfully done. A so the Royalty of France is actually fled? This preciousnight, the shortest of the year, it flies and drives! Baroness deKorff is, at bottom, Dame de Tourzel, Governess of the RoyalChildren: she who came hooded with the two hooded little ones;little Dauphin; little Madame Royale, known long afterwards asDuchess d'Angouleme. Baroness de Korff's Waiting-maid is the Queenin gypsy-hat. The royal Individual in round hat and peruke, he isValet, for the time being. That other hooded Dame, styledTravelling-companion, is kind Sister Elizabeth; she had sworn, longsince, when the Insurrection of Women was, that only death shouldpart her and them. And so they rush there, not too impetuously,through the Wood of Bondy:--over a Rubicon in their own andFrance's History.
Great; though the future is all vague! If we reach Bouille? Ifwe do not reach him? O Louis! and this all round thee is the greatslumbering Earth (and overhead, the great watchful Heaven); theslumbering Wood of Bondy,-- where Longhaired Childeric Donothingwas struck through with iron; (Henault, Abrege Chronologique, p.36.) not unreasonably. These peaked stone-towers are Raincy; towersof wicked d'Orleans. All slumbers save the multiplex rustle of ournew Berline. Loose-skirted scarecrow of an Herb- merchant, with hisass and early greens, toilsomely plodding, seems the only creaturewe meet. But right ahead the great North-East sends up evermore hisgray brindled dawn: from dewy branch, birds here and there, withshort deep warble, salute the coming Sun. Stars fade out, andGalaxies; Street-lamps of the City of God. The Universe, O mybrothers, is flinging wide its portals for the Levee of theGreat High King. Thou, poor King Louis, farest nevertheless,as mortals do, towards Orient lands of Hope; and the Tuileries withits Levees, and France and the Earth itself, is but a larger kindof doghutch,-occasionally going rabid.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.IV. VarennesChapter 2.4.IV. Attitude
But in Paris, at six in the morning; when some Patriot Deputy,warned by a billet, awoke Lafayette, and they went to theTuileries?--Imagination may paint, but words cannot, the surpriseof Lafayette; or with what bewilderment helpless Gouvion rolledglassy Argus's eyes, discerning now that his false Chambermaid toldtrue! However, it is to be recorded that Paris, thanks to an augustNational Assembly, did, on this seeming doomsday, surpass itself.Never, according to Historian eye-witnesses, was there seen such an'imposing attitude.' (Deux Amis, vi. 67-178; Toulongeon, ii. 1-38;Camille, Prudhomme and Editors (in Hist. Parl. x. 240-4.) Sectionsall 'in permanence;' our Townhall, too, having first, about teno'clock, fired three solemn alarm- cannons: above all, our NationalAssembly! National Assembly, likewise permanent, decides what isneedful; with unanimous consent, for the Cote Droit sits dumb,afraid of the Lanterne. Decides with a calm promptitude, whichrises towards the sublime. One must needs vote, for the thing isself-evident, that his Majesty has been abducted, or spirited away,'enleve,' by some person or persons unknown: in which case, whatwill the Constitution have us do? Let us return to firstprinciples, as we always say; "revenons aux principes." By first or by second principles, much is promptly decided:Ministers are sent for, instructed how to continue their functions;Lafayette is examined; and Gouvion, who gives a most helplessaccount, the best he can. Letters are found written: one Letter, ofimmense magnitude; all in his Majesty's hand, and evidently of hisMajesty's own composition; addressed to the National Assembly. Itdetails, with earnestness, with a childlike simplicity, what woeshis Majesty has suffered. Woes great and small: A Necker seenapplauded, a Majesty not; then insurrection; want of due cash inCivil List; general want of cash, furniture and order; anarchyeverywhere; Deficit never yet, in the smallest, 'choked orcomble:'-- wherefore in brief His Majesty has retired towards aPlace of Liberty; and, leaving Sanctions, Federation, and whatOaths there may be, to shift for themselves, does now refer--towhat, thinks an august Assembly? To that 'Declaration of theTwenty-third of June,' with its "Seul il fera, He alone will makehis People happy." As if that
were not buried, deep enough, undertwo irrevocable Twelvemonths, and the wreck and rubbish of a wholeFeudal World! This strange autograph Letter the National Assemblydecides on printing; on transmitting to the Eighty-threeDepartments, with exegetic commentary, short but pithy.Commissioners also shall go forth on all sides; the People beexhorted; the Armies be increased; care taken that the Commonwealsuffer no damage.--And now, with a sublime air of calmness, nay ofindifference, we 'pass to the order of the day!' By such sublime calmness, the terror of the People is calmed.These gleaming Pike forests, which bristled fateful in the earlysun, disappear again; the far-sounding Street-orators cease, orspout milder. We are to have a civil war; let us have it then. TheKing is gone; but National Assembly, but France and we remain. ThePeople also takes a great attitude; the People also is calm;motionless as a couchant lion. With but a few broolings, somewaggings of the tail; to shew what it will do! Cazales, forinstance, was beset by street-groups, and cries of Lanterne; butNational Patrols easily delivered him. Likewise all King's effigiesand statues, at least stucco ones, get abolished. Even King'snames; the word Roi fades suddenly out of all shop-signs; the RoyalBengal Tiger itself, on the Boulevards, becomes the National Bengalone, Tigre National. (Walpoliana.) How great is a calm couchant People! On the morrow, men will sayto one another: "We have no King, yet we slept sound enough." Onthe morrow, fervent Achille de Chatelet, and Thomas Paine therebellious Needleman, shall have the walls of Paris profuselyplastered with their Placard; announcing that there must be aRepublic! (Dumont,c. 16.)--Need we add that Lafayette too, thoughat first menaced by Pikes, has taken a great attitude, or indeedthe greatest of all? Scouts and Aides-de-camp fly forth, vague, inquest and pursuit; young Romoeuf towards Valenciennes, though withsmall hope. Thus Paris; sublimely calmed, in its bereavement. But from theMessageries Royales, in all Mailbags, radiates forth far-dartingthe electric news: Our Hereditary Representative is flown. Laugh,black Royalists: yet be it in your sleeve only; lest Patriotismnotice, and waxing frantic, lower the Lanterne! In Paris alone is asublime National Assembly with its calmness; truly, other placesmust take it as they can: with open mouth and eyes; with paniccackling, with wrath, with conjecture. How each one of those dullleathern Diligences, with its leathern bag and 'The King is fled,'furrows up smooth France as it goes; through town and hamlet,ruffles the smooth public mind into quivering agitation ofdeath-terror; then lumbers on, as if nothing had happened! Alongall highways; towards the utmost borders; till all France isruffled,--roughened up (metaphorically speaking) into one enormous,desperate-minded, red-guggling Turkey Cock! For example, it is under cloud of night that the leathernMonster reaches Nantes; deep sunk in sleep. The word spoken rousesall Patriot men: General Dumouriez, enveloped in roquelaures, hasto descend from his bedroom; finds the street covered with 'four orfive thousand citizens in their shirts.' (Dumouriez, Memoires, ii.109.) Here and there a faint farthing rushlight, hastily kindled;and so many swart-featured haggard faces, with nightcaps pushedback; and the more or less flowing drapery of night-shirt:open-mouthed till the General say his word! And overhead, asalways, the Great Bear is turning so quiet round Bootes; steady,indifferent as the leathern Diligence itself. Take comfort, ye menof Nantes: Bootes and the steady Bear are turning; ancient Atlanticstill sends his brine, loud-billowing, up your Loire-stream; brandyshall be hot in the
stomach: this is not the Last of the Days, butone before the Last.--The fools! If they knew what was doing, inthese very instants, also by candle-light, in the farNorth-East! Perhaps we may say the most terrified man in Paris or Franceis--who thinks the Reader?-seagreen Robespierre. Double paleness,with the shadow of gibbets and halters, overcasts the seagreenfeatures: it is too clear to him that there is to be 'aSaint-Bartholomew of Patriots,' that in four- and-twenty hours hewill not be in life. These horrid anticipations of the soul he isheard uttering at Petion's; by a notable witness. By Madame Roland,namely; her whom we saw, last year, radiant at the LyonsFederation! These four months, the Rolands have been in Paris;arranging with Assembly Committees the Municipal affairs of Lyons,affairs all sunk in debt;--communing, the while, as was mostnatural, with the best Patriots to be found here, with ourBrissots, Petions, Buzots, Robespierres; who were wont to come tous, says the fair Hostess, four evenings in the week. They, runningabout, busier than ever this day, would fain have comforted theseagreen man: spake of Achille du Chatelet's Placard; of a Journalto be called The Republican; of preparing men's minds for aRepublic. "A Republic?" said the Seagreen, with one of his dryhusky unsportful laughs, "What is that?" (Madame Roland, ii. 70.) Oseagreen Incorruptible, thou shalt see!
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.IV. VarennesChapter 2.4.V. The New Berline
But scouts all this while and aide-de-camps, have flown forthfaster than the leathern Diligences. Young Romoeuf, as we said, wasoff early towards Valenciennes: distracted Villagers seize him, asa traitor with a finger of his own in the plot; drag him back tothe Townhall; to the National Assembly, which speedily grants a newpassport. Nay now, that same scarecrow of an Herbmerchant with hisass has bethought him of the grand new Berline seen in the Wood ofBondy; and delivered evidence of it: (Moniteur, &c. (in Hist.Parl. x. 244-313.) Romoeuf, furnished with new passport, is sentforth with double speed on a hopefuller track; by Bondy, Claye, andChalons, towards Metz, to track the new Berline; and gallops afranc etrier. Miserable new Berline! Why could not Royalty go in some oldBerline similar to that of other men? Flying for life, one does notstickle about his vehicle. Monsieur, in a commonplacetravelling-carriage is off Northwards; Madame, his Princess, inanother, with variation of route: they cross one another whilechanging horses, without look of recognition; and reach Flanders,no man questioning them. Precisely in the same manner, beautifulPrincess de Lamballe set off, about the same hour; and will reachEngland safe:--would she had continued there! The beautiful, thegood, but the unfortunate; reserved for a frightful end! All runs along, unmolested, speedy, except only the new Berline.Huge leathern vehicle;--huge Argosy, let us say, or Acapulco-ship;with its heavy stern-boat of Chaise-and-pair; with its three yellowPilot-boats of mounted Bodyguard Couriers, rocking aimless round itand ahead of it, to bewilder, not to guide! It lumbers along,lurchingly with stress, at a snail's pace; noted of all the world.The Bodyguard Couriers, in their yellow liveries, go prancing andclattering; loyal but stupid; unacquainted with all things.Stoppages occur; and breakages to be repaired at Etoges. King Louistoo will dismount, will walk up hills, and enjoy the blessedsunshine:--with eleven
horses and double drink money, and allfurtherances of Nature and Art, it will be found that Royalty,flying for life, accomplishes Sixty-nine miles in Twenty-twoincessant hours. Slow Royalty! And yet not a minute of these hoursbut is precious: on minutes hang the destinies of Royalty now. Readers, therefore, can judge in what humour Duke de Choiseulmight stand waiting, in the Village of Pont-de-Sommevelle, someleagues beyond Chalons, hour after hour, now when the day bendsvisibly westward. Choiseul drove out of Paris, in all privity, tenhours before their Majesties' fixed time; his Hussars, led byEngineer Goguelat, are here duly, come 'to escort a Treasure thatis expected:' but, hour after hour, is no Baroness de Korff'sBerline. Indeed, over all that North-east Region, on the skirts ofChampagne and of Lorraine, where the Great Road runs, the agitationis considerable. For all along, from this Pont-de-SommevelleNortheastward as far as Montmedi, at Post-villages and Towns,escorts of Hussars and Dragoons do lounge waiting: a train or chainof Military Escorts; at the Montmedi end of it our brave Bouille:an electric thunderchain; which the invisible Bouille, like aFather Jove, holds in his hand--for wise purposes! Brave Bouillehas done what man could; has spread out his electric thunder-chainof Military Escorts, onwards to the threshold of Chalons: it waitsbut for the new Korff Berline; to receive it, escort it, and, ifneed be, bear it off in whirlwind of military fire. They lie andlounge there, we say, these fierce Troopers; from Montmedi andStenai, through Clermont, Sainte-Menehould to utmostPontde-Sommevelle, in all Post-villages; for the route shall avoidVerdun and great Towns: they loiter impatient 'till the Treasurearrive.' Judge what a day this is for brave Bouille: perhaps the firstday of a new glorious life; surely the last day of the old! Also,and indeed still more, what a day, beautiful and terrible, for youryoung full-blooded Captains: your Dandoins, Comte de Damas, Duke deChoiseul, Engineer Goguelat, and the like; entrusted with thesecret!--Alas, the day bends ever more westward; and no KorffBerline comes to sight. It is four hours beyond the time, and stillno Berline. In all Villagestreets, Royalist Captains go lounging,looking often Paris-ward; with face of unconcern, with heart fullof black care: rigorous Quartermasters can hardly keep the privatedragoons from cafes and dramshops. (Declaration du Sieur La Gachedu Regiment Royal-Dragoons (in Choiseul, pp. 125-39.) Dawn on ourbewilderment, thou new Berline; dawn on us, thou Sun-chariot of anew Berline, with the destinies of France! It was of His Majesty's ordering, this military array ofEscorts: a thing solacing the Royal imagination with a look ofsecurity and rescue; yet, in reality, creating only alarm, andwhere there was otherwise no danger, danger without end. For eachPatriot, in these Post-villages, asks naturally: This clatter ofcavalry, and marching and lounging of troops, what means it? Toescort a Treasure? Why escort, when no Patriot will steal from theNation; or where is your Treasure?-There has been such marchingand counter-marching: for it is another fatality, that certain ofthese Military Escorts came out so early as yesterday; theNineteenth not the Twentieth of the month being the day firstappointed, which her Majesty, for some necessity or other, saw goodto alter. And now consider the suspicious nature of Patriotism;suspicious, above all, of Bouille the Aristocrat; and how the sourdoubting humour has had leave to accumulate and exacerbate forfour-and-twenty hours!
At Pont-de-Sommevelle, these Forty foreign Hussars of Goguelatand Duke Choiseul are becoming an unspeakable mystery to all men.They lounged long enough, already, at SainteMenehould; lounged andloitered till our National Volunteers there, all risen into hotwrath of doubt, 'demanded three hundred fusils of their Townhall,'and got them. At which same moment too, as it chanced, our CaptainDandoins was just coming in, from Clermont with his troop, at theother end of the Village. A fresh troop; alarming enough; thoughhappily they are only Dragoons and French! So that Goguelat withhis Hussars had to ride, and even to do it fast; till here atPont-de-Sommevelle, where Choiseul lay waiting, he foundresting-place. Resting-place, as on burning marle. For the rumourof him flies abroad; and men run to and fro in fright and anger:Chalons sends forth exploratory pickets, coming fromSainte-Menehould, on that. What is it, ye whiskered Hussars, men offoreign guttural speech; in the name of Heaven, what is it thatbrings you? A Treasure?--exploratory pickets shake their heads. Thehungry Peasants, however, know too well what Treasure it is:Military seizure for rents, feudalities; which no Bailiff couldmake us pay! This they know;--and set to jingling their Parish-bellby way of tocsin; with rapid effect! Choiseul and Goguelat, if thewhole country is not to take fire, must needs, be there Berline, bethere no Berline, saddle and ride. They mount; and this Parish tocsin happily ceases. They rideslowly Eastward, towards SainteMenehould; still hoping theSun-Chariot of a Berline may overtake them. Ah me, no Berline! Andnear now is that Sainte-Menehould, which expelled us in themorning, with its 'three hundred National fusils;' which looks,belike, not too lovingly on Captain Dandoins and his freshDragoons, though only French;--which, in a word, one dare not enterthe second time, under pain of explosion! With rather heavy heart,our Hussar Party strikes off to the left; through byways, throughpathless hills and woods, they, avoiding Sainte-Menehould and allplaces which have seen them heretofore, will make direct for thedistant Village of Varennes. It is probable they will have a roughevening-ride. This first military post, therefore, in the long thunder-chain,has gone off with no effect; or with worse, and your chainthreatens to entangle itself!--The Great Road, however, is gothushed again into a kind of quietude, though one of thewakefullest. Indolent Dragoons cannot, by any Quartermaster, bekept altogether from the dramshop; where Patriots drink, and willeven treat, eager enough for news. Captains, in a state neardistraction, beat the dusky highway, with a face of indifference;and no Sun-Chariot appears. Why lingers it? Incredible, that witheleven horses and such yellow Couriers and furtherances, its rateshould be under the weightiest dray-rate, some three miles an hour!Alas, one knows not whether it ever even got out of Paris;--and yetalso one knows not whether, this very moment, it is not at theVillage-end! One's heart flutters on the verge ofunutterabilities.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.IV. VarennesChapter 2.4.VI. Old-Dragoon Drouet
In this manner, however, has the Day bent downwards. Weariedmortals are creeping home from their field-labour; thevillage-artisan eats with relish his supper of herbs, or hasstrolled forth to the village-street for a sweet mouthful of airand human news. Still summer-eventide everywhere! The great Sunhangs flaming on the utmost North-West; for it is his longest daythis year. The
hill-tops rejoicing will ere long be at theirruddiest, and blush Good-night. The thrush, in green dells, onlong-shadowed leafy spray, pours gushing his glad serenade, to thebabble of brooks grown audibler; silence is stealing over theEarth. Your dusty Mill of Valmy, as all other mills and drudgeries,may furl its canvass, and cease swashing and circling. The swenktgrinders in this Treadmill of an Earth have ground out another Day;and lounge there, as we say, in villagegroups; movable, or rankedon social stone-seats; (Rapport de M. Remy (in Choiseul, p. 143.)their children, mischievous imps, sporting about their feet.Unnotable hum of sweet human gossip rises from this Village ofSainte- Menehould, as from all other villages. Gossip mostly sweet,unnotable; for the very Dragoons are French and gallant; nor as yethas the Paris-andVerdun Diligence, with its leathern bag, rumbledin, to terrify the minds of men. One figure nevertheless we do note at the last door of theVillage: that figure in loose-flowing nightgown, of Jean BaptisteDrouet, Master of the Post here. An acrid choleric man, ratherdangerous-looking; still in the prime of life, though he hasserved, in his time as a Conde Dragoon. This day from an earlyhour, Drouet got his choler stirred, and has been kept fretting.Hussar Goguelat in the morning saw good, by way of thrift, tobargain with his own Innkeeper, not with Drouet regular Maitre dePoste, about some gig-horse for the sending back of his gig; whichthing Drouet perceiving came over in red ire, menacing theInn-keeper, and would not be appeased. Wholly an unsatisfactoryday. For Drouet is an acrid Patriot too, was at the Paris Feast ofPikes: and what do these Bouille Soldiers mean? Hussars, with theirgig, and a vengeance to it!--have hardly been thrust out, whenDandoins and his fresh Dragoons arrive from Clermont, and stroll.For what purpose? Choleric Drouet steps out and steps in, withlong-flowing nightgown; looking abroad, with that sharpness offaculty which stirred choler gives to man. On the other hand, mark Captain Dandoins on the street of thatsame Village; sauntering with a face of indifference, a heart eatenof black care! For no Korff Berline makes its appearance. The greatSun flames broader towards setting: one's heart flutters on theverge of dread unutterabilities. By Heaven! Here is the yellow Bodyguard Courier; spurring fast,in the ruddy evening light! Steady, O Dandoins, stand withinscrutable indifferent face; though the yellow blockhead spurspast the Post-house; inquires to find it; and stirs the Village,all delighted with his fine livery.--Lumbering along with itsmountains of bandboxes, and Chaise behind, the Korff Berline rollsin; huge Acapulco-ship with its Cockboat, having got thus far. Theeyes of the Villagers look enlightened, as such eyes do when acoach-transit, which is an event, occurs for them. StrollingDragoons respectfully, so fine are the yellow liveries, bring handto helmet; and a lady in gipsy-hat responds with a grace peculiarto her. (Declaration de la Gache (in Choiseul ubi supra.) Dandoinsstands with folded arms, and what look of indifference anddisdainful garrison-air a man can, while the heart is like leapingout of him. Curled disdainful moustachio; careless glance,-whichhowever surveys the Village-groups, and does not like them. Withhis eye he bespeaks the yellow Courier. Be quick, be quick!Thick-headed Yellow cannot understand the eye; comes up mumbling,to ask in words: seen of the Village! Nor is Post-master Drouet unobservant, all this while; but stepsout and steps in, with his longflowing nightgown, in the levelsunlight; prying into several things. When a man's faculties, atthe right time, are sharpened by choler, it may lead to much. ThatLady in slouched gypsy-hat, though sitting back in the Carriage,does she not resemble some one we have seen, some time;--at
theFeast of Pikes, or elsewhere? And this Grosse- Tete in round hatand peruke, which, looking rearward, pokes itself out from time totime, methinks there are features in it--? Quick, Sieur Guillaume,Clerk of the Directoire, bring me a new Assignat! Drouet scans thenew Assignat; compares the Paper-money Picture with the Gross-Headin round hat there: by Day and Night! you might say the one was anattempted Engraving of the other. And this march of Troops; thissauntering and whispering,--I see it! Drouet Post-master of this Village, hot Patriot, Old Dragoon ofConde, consider, therefore, what thou wilt do. And fast: for beholdthe new Berline, expeditiously yoked, cracks whipcord, and rollsaway!--Drouet dare not, on the spur of the instant, clutch thebridles in his own two hands; Dandoins, with broadsword, might hewyou off. Our poor Nationals, not one of them here, have threehundred fusils but then no powder; besides one is not sure, onlymorally-certain. Drouet, as an adroit Old-Dragoon of Conde doeswhat is advisablest: privily bespeaks Clerk Guillaume, Old-Dragoonof Conde he too; privily, while Clerk Guillaume is saddling two ofthe fleetest horses, slips over to the Townhall to whisper a word;then mounts with Clerk Guillaume; and the two bound eastward inpursuit, to see what can be done. They bound eastward, in sharp trot; their moral-certaintypermeating the Village, from the Townhall outwards, in busywhispers. Alas! Captain Dandoins orders his Dragoons to mount; butthey, complaining of long fast, demand bread-and-cheesefirst;--before which brief repast can be eaten, the whole Villageis permeated; not whispering now, but blustering and shrieking!National Volunteers, in hurried muster, shriek for gunpowder;Dragoons halt between Patriotism and Rule of the Service, betweenbread and cheese and fixed bayonets: Dandoins hands secretly hisPocket-book, with its secret despatches, to the rigorousQuartermaster: the very Ostlers have stable-forks and flails. Therigorous Quartermaster, half-saddled, cuts out his way with thesword's edge, amid levelled bayonets, amid Patriot vociferations,adjurations, flailstrokes; and rides frantic; (Declaration de LaGache (in Choiseul), p. 134.)--few or even none following him; therest, so sweetly constrained consenting to stay there. And thus the new Berline rolls; and Drouet and Guillaume gallopafter it, and Dandoins's Troopers or Trooper gallops after them;and Sainte- Menehould, with some leagues of the King's Highway, isin explosion;--and your Military thunder-chain has gone off in aself-destructive manner; one may fear with the frightfullestissues!
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.IV. VarennesChapter 2.4.VII. The Night of Spurs
This comes of mysterious Escorts, and a new Berline with elevenhorses: 'he that has a secret should not only hide it, but hidethat he has it to hide.' Your first Military Escort has explodedself-destructive; and all Military Escorts, and a suspiciousCountry will now be up, explosive; comparable not to victoriousthunder. Comparable, say rather, to the first stirring of an AlpineAvalanche; which, once stir it, as here at Sainte- Menehould, willspread,--all round, and on and on, as far as Stenai; thunderingwith wild ruin, till Patriot Villagers, Peasantry, MilitaryEscorts, new Berline and Royalty are down,--jumbling in theAbyss!
The thick shades of Night are falling. Postillions crack thewhip: the Royal Berline is through Clermont, where Colonel Comte deDamas got a word whispered to it; is safe through, towardsVarennes; rushing at the rate of double drink-money: an Unknown'Inconnu on horseback' shrieks earnestly some hoarse whisper, notaudible, into the rushing Carriage-window, and vanishes, left inthe night. (Campan, ii. 159.) August Travellers palpitate;nevertheless overwearied Nature sinks every one of them into a kindof sleep. Alas, and Drouet and Clerk Guillaume spur; taking side-roads, for shortness, for safety; scattering abroad thatmoral-certainty of theirs; which flies, a bird of the air carryingit! And your rigorous Quartermaster spurs; awakening hoarsetrumpet-tone, as here at Clermont, calling out Dragoons gone tobed. Brave Colonel de Damas has them mounted, in part, theseClermont men; young Cornet Remy dashes off with a few. But thePatriot Magistracy is out here at Clermont too; National Guardsshrieking for ball-cartridges; and the Village 'illuminatesitself;'--deft Patriots springing out of bed; alertly, in shirt orshift, striking a light; sticking up each his farthing candle, orpenurious oil- cruise, till all glitters and glimmers; so deft arethey! A camisado, or shirt-tumult, every where: stormbell seta-ringing; village-drum beating furious generale, as here atClermont, under illumination; distracted Patriots pleading andmenacing! Brave young Colonel de Damas, in that uproar ofdistracted Patriotism, speaks some fire-sentences to what Troopershe has: "Comrades insulted at Sainte-Menehould; King and Countrycalling on the brave;" then gives the fire-word, Draw swords.Whereupon, alas, the Troopers only smite their sword-handles,driving them further home! "To me, whoever is for the King!" criesDamas in despair; and gallops, he with some poor loyal Two, of thesubaltern sort, into the bosom of the Night. (Proces-verbal duDirectoire de Clermont (in Choiseul, p. 189-95).) Night unexampled in the Clermontais; shortest of the year;remarkablest of the century: Night deserving to be named of Spurs!Cornet Remy, and those Few he dashed off with, has missed his road;is galloping for hours towards Verdun; then, for hours, acrosshedged country, through roused hamlets, towards Varennes. UnluckyCornet Remy; unluckier Colonel Damas, with whom there ridedesperate only some loyal Two! More ride not of that ClermontEscort: of other Escorts, in other Villages, not even Two may ride;but only all curvet and prance,--impeded by stormbell and yourVillage illuminating itself. And Drouet rides and Clerk Guillaume; and the Countryruns.--Goguelat and Duke Choiseul are plunging through morasses,over cliffs, over stock and stone, in the shaggy woods of theClermontais; by tracks; or trackless, with guides; Hussars tumblinginto pitfalls, and lying 'swooned three quarters of an hour,' therest refusing to march without them. What an eveningride fromPont-de-Sommerville; what a thirty hours, since Choiseul quittedParis, with Queen'svalet Leonard in the chaise by him! Black Caresits behind the rider. Thus go they plunging; rustle the owlet fromhis branchy nest; champ the sweet-scented forest-herb,queen-of-themeadows spilling her spikenard; and frighten the earof Night. But hark! towards twelve o'clock, as one guesses, for thevery stars are gone out: sound of the tocsin from Varennes?Checking bridle, the Hussar Officer listens: "Some fireundoubtedly!"--yet rides on, with double breathlessness, toverify. Yes, gallant friends that do your utmost, it is a certain sortof fire: difficult to quench.--The Korff Berline, fairly ahead ofall this riding Avalanche, reached the little paltry Village ofVarennes
about eleven o'clock; hopeful, in spite of thathorse-whispering Unknown. Do not all towns now lie behind us;Verdun avoided, on our right? Within wind of Bouille himself, in amanner; and the darkest of midsummer nights favouring us! And so wehalt on the hill-top at the South end of the Village; expecting ourrelay; which young Bouille, Bouille's own son, with his Escort ofHussars, was to have ready; for in this Village is no Post.Distracting to think of: neither horse nor Hussar is here! Ah, andstout horses, a proper relay belonging to Duke Choiseul, do standat hay, but in the Upper Village over the Bridge; and we know notof them. Hussars likewise do wait, but drinking in the taverns. Forindeed it is six hours beyond the time; young Bouille, sillystripling, thinking the matter over for this night, has retired tobed. And so our yellow Couriers, inexperienced, must rove, groping,bungling, through a Village mostly asleep: Postillions will not,for any money, go on with the tired horses; not at least withoutrefreshment; not they, let the Valet in round hat argue as helikes. Miserable! 'For five-and-thirty minutes' by the King's watch,the Berline is at a dead stand; Round-hat arguing with Churnboots;tired horses slobbering their meal-and-water; yellow Couriersgroping, bungling;--young Bouille asleep, all the while, in theUpper Village, and Choiseul's fine team standing there at hay. Nohelp for it; not with a King's ransom: the horses deliberatelyslobber, Round-hat argues, Bouille sleeps. And mark now, in thethick night, do not two Horsemen, with jaded trot, come clank-clanking; and start with half-pause, if one noticed them, at sightof this dim mass of a Berline, and its dull slobbering and arguing;then prick off faster, into the Village? It is Drouet, he and ClerkGuillaume! Still ahead, they two, of the whole riding hurlyburly;unshot, though some brag of having chased them. Perilous isDrouet's errand also; but he is an Old- Dragoon, with his witsshaken thoroughly awake. The Village of Varennes lies dark and slumberous; a most unlevelVillage, of inverse saddleshape, as men write. It sleeps; therushing of the River Aire singing lullaby to it. Nevertheless fromthe Golden Arms, Bras d'Or Tavern, across that sloping marketplace,there still comes shine of social light; comes voice of rudedrovers, or the like, who have not yet taken the stirrupcup;Boniface Le Blanc, in white apron, serving them: cheerful tobehold. To this Bras d'Or, Drouet enters, alacrity looking throughhis eyes: he nudges Boniface, in all privacy, "Camarade, es tu bonPatriote, Art thou a good Patriot?"--"Si je suis!" answersBoniface.--"In that case," eagerly whispers Drouet--what whisper isneedful, heard of Boniface alone. (Deux Amis, vi. 13978.) And now see Boniface Le Blanc bustling, as he never did for thejolliest toper. See Drouet and Guillaume, dexterous Old-Dragoons,instantly down blocking the Bridge, with a 'furniture waggon theyfind there,' with whatever waggons, tumbrils, barrels, barrowstheir hands can lay hold of;-- till no carriage can pass. Thenswiftly, the Bridge once blocked, see them take station hard by,under Varennes Archway: joined by Le Blanc, Le Blanc's Brother, andone or two alert Patriots he has roused. Some half- dozen in all,with National Muskets, they stand close, waiting under the Archway,till that same Korff Berline rumble up. It rumbles up: Alte la! lanterns flash out from undercoat-skirts, bridles chuck in strong fists, two National Musketslevel themselves fore and aft through the two Coach-doors:"Mesdames, your Passports?"--Alas! Alas! Sieur Sausse, Procureur ofthe Township, Tallow-chandler also and Grocer is there, withofficial grocer-politeness; Drouet with fierce logic and readywit:--The
respected Travelling Party, be it Baroness de Korff's, orpersons of still higher consequence, will perhaps please to restitself in M. Sausse's till the dawn strike up! O Louis; O hapless Marie-Antoinette, fated to pass thy life withsuch men! Phlegmatic Louis, art thou but lazy semi-animate phlegmthen, to the centre of thee? King, Captain-General, SovereignFrank! If thy heart ever formed, since it began beating under thename of heart, any resolution at all, be it now then, or never inthis world: "Violent nocturnal individuals, and if it were personsof high consequence? And if it were the King himself? Has the Kingnot the power, which all beggars have, of travelling unmolested onhis own Highway? Yes: it is the King; and tremble ye to know it!The King has said, in this one small matter; and in France, orunder God's Throne, is no power that shall gainsay. Not the Kingshall ye stop here under this your miserable Archway; but his deadbody only, and answer it to Heaven and Earth. To me, Bodyguards:Postillions, en avant!"--One fancies in that case the paleparalysis of these two Le Blanc musketeers; the drooping ofDrouet's under-jaw; and how Procureur Sausse had melted like tallowin furnace-heat: Louis faring on; in some few steps awakening YoungBouille, awakening relays and hussars: triumphant entry, withcavalcading high-brandishing Escort, and Escorts, into Montmedi;and the whole course of French History different! Alas, it was not in the poor phlegmatic man. Had it been in him,French History had never come under this Varennes Archway to decideitself.--He steps out; all step out. Procureur Sausse gives hisgrocer-arms to the Queen and Sister Elizabeth; Majesty taking thetwo children by the hand. And thus they walk, coolly back, over theMarketplace, to Procureur Sausse's; mount into his small upperstory; where straightway his Majesty 'demands refreshments.'Demands refreshments, as is written; gets bread- and-cheese with abottle of Burgundy; and remarks, that it is the best Burgundy heever drank! Meanwhile, the Varennes Notables, and all men, official, andnon-official, are hastily drawing on their breeches; getting theirfighting-gear. Mortals half-dressed tumble out barrels, lay felledtrees; scouts dart off to all the four winds,--the tocsin beginsclanging, 'the Village illuminates itself.' Very singular: howthese little Villages do manage, so adroit are they, when startledin midnight alarm of war. Like little adroit municipalrattle-snakes, suddenly awakened: for their stormbell rattles andrings; their eyes glisten luminous (with tallow-light), as inrattle-snake ire; and the Village will sting! Old-Dragoon Drouet isour engineer and generalissimo; valiant as a Ruy Diaz:--Now ornever, ye Patriots, for the Soldiery is coming; massacre byAustrians, by Aristocrats, wars more than civil, it all depends onyou and the hour!-- National Guards rank themselves, half-buttoned:mortals, we say, still only in breeches, in under-petticoat, tumbleout barrels and lumber, lay felled trees for barricades: theVillage will sting. Rabid Democracy, it would seem, is not confinedto Paris, then? Ah no, whatsoever Courtiers might talk; too clearlyno. This of dying for one's King is grown into a dying for one'sself, against the King, if need be. And so our riding and running Avalanche and Hurlyburly hasreached the Abyss, Korff Berline foremost; and may pour itselfthither, and jumble: endless! For the next six hours, need we askif there was a clattering far and wide? Clattering and tocsiningand hot tumult, over all the Clermontais, spreading through theThree Bishopricks: Dragoon and Hussar Troops galloping on roads andno-roads; National Guards arming and starting in the dead of night;tocsin after tocsin
transmitting the alarm. In some forty minutes,Goguelat and Choiseul, with their wearied Hussars, reach Varennes.Ah, it is no fire then; or a fire difficult to quench! They leapthe tree-barricades, in spite of National serjeant; they enter thevillage, Choiseul instructing his Troopers how the matter reallyis; who respond interjectionally, in their guttural dialect, "DerKonig; die Koniginn!" and seem stanch. These now, in their stanchhumour, will, for one thing, beset Procureur Sausse's house. Mostbeneficial: had not Drouet stormfully ordered otherwise; and evenbellowed, in his extremity, "Cannoneers to your guns!"--two oldhoney-combed Field-pieces, empty of all but cobwebs; the rattlewhereof, as the Cannoneers with assured countenance trundled themup, did nevertheless abate the Hussar ardour, and produce arespectfuller ranking further back. Jugs of wine, handed over theranks, for the German throat too has sensibility, will complete thebusiness. When Engineer Goguelat, some hour or so afterwards, stepsforth, the response to him is--a hiccuping Vive la Nation! What boots it? Goguelat, Choiseul, now also Count Damas, and allthe Varennes Officiality are with the King; and the King can giveno order, form no opinion; but sits there, as he has ever done,like clay on potter's wheel; perhaps the absurdest of all pitiableand pardonable clay-figures that now circle under the Moon. He willgo on, next morning, and take the National Guard with him; Saussepermitting! Hapless Queen: with her two children laid there on themean bed, old Mother Sausse kneeling to Heaven, with tears and anaudible prayer, to bless them; imperial Marie-Antoinette nearkneeling to Son Sausse and Wife Sausse, amid candle-boxes andtreaclebarrels,--in vain! There are Three-thousand NationalGuards got in; before long they will count Ten-thousand; tocsinsspreading like fire on dry heath, or far faster. Young Bouille, roused by this Varennes tocsin, has taken horse,and--fled towards his Father. Thitherward also rides, in an almosthysterically desperate manner, a certain Sieur Aubriot, Choiseul'sOrderly; swimming dark rivers, our Bridge being blocked; spurringas if the Hell-hunt were at his heels. (Rapport de M. Aubriot(Choiseul, p. 150-7.) Through the village of Dun, he, gallopingstill on, scatters the alarm; at Dun, brave Captain Deslons and hisEscort of a Hundred, saddle and ride. Deslons too gets intoVarennes; leaving his Hundred outside, at the treebarricade;offers to cut King Louis out, if he will order it: butunfortunately "the work will prove hot;" whereupon King Louis has"no orders to give." (Extrait d'un Rapport de M. Deslons (Choiseul,p. 164-7.) And so the tocsin clangs, and Dragoons gallop; and can donothing, having gallopped: National Guards stream in like thegathering of ravens: your exploding Thunder-chain, fallingAvalanche, or what else we liken it to, does play, with avengeance,--up now as far as Stenai and Bouille himself. (Bouille,ii. 74-6.) Brave Bouille, son of the whirlwind, he saddles RoyalAllemand; speaks fire-words, kindling heart and eyes; distributestwenty- five gold-louis a company:--Ride, Royal-Allemand,long-famed: no Tuileries Charge and Necker-Orleans Bust-Procession;a very King made captive, and world all to win!--Such is the Nightdeserving to be named of Spurs. At six o'clock two things have happened. Lafayette'sAide-de-camp, Romoeuf, riding a franc etrier, on that oldHerb-merchant's route, quickened during the last stages, has got toVarennes; where the Ten thousand now furiously demand, with fury ofpanic terror, that Royalty shall forthwith return Paris-ward, thatthere be not infinite bloodshed. Also, on the other side, 'EnglishTom,' Choiseul's jokei, flying with that Choiseul relay, has metBouille on the heights of
Dun; the adamantine brow flushed withdark thunder; thunderous rattle of Royal Allemand at his heels.English Tom answers as he can the brief question, How it is atVarennes?--then asks in turn what he, English Tom, with M. deChoiseul's horses, is to do, and whither to ride?--To theBottomless Pool! answers a thunder-voice; then again speaking andspurring, orders Royal Allemand to the gallop; and vanishes,swearing (en jurant). (Declaration du Sieur Thomas (in Choiseul, p.188).) 'Tis the last of our brave Bouille. Within sight ofVarennes, he having drawn bridle, calls a council of officers;finds that it is in vain. King Louis has departed, consenting: amidthe clangour of universal stormbell; amid the tramp of Ten thousandarmed men, already arrived; and say, of Sixty thousand flockingthither. Brave Deslons, even without 'orders,' darted at the RiverAire with his Hundred! (Weber, ii. 386.) swam one branch of it,could not the other; and stood there, dripping and panting, withinflated nostril; the Ten thousand answering him with a shout ofmockery, the new Berline lumbering Paris-ward its weary inevitableway. No help, then in Earth; nor in an age, not of miracles, inHeaven! That night, 'Marquis de Bouille and twenty-one more of us rodeover the Frontiers; the Bernardine monks at Orval in Luxemburg gaveus supper and lodging.' (Aubriot, ut supra, p. 158.) With little ofspeech, Bouille rides; with thoughts that do not brook speech.Northward, towards uncertainty, and the Cimmerian Night: towardsWest-Indian Isles, for with thin Emigrant delirium the son of thewhirlwind cannot act; towards England, towards premature Stoicaldeath; not towards France any more. Honour to the Brave; who, be itin this quarrel or in that, is a substance and articulate-speakingpiece of Human Valour, not a fanfaronading hollow Spectrum andsqueaking and gibbering Shadow! One of the few RoyalistChief-actors this Bouille, of whom so much can be said. The brave Bouille too, then, vanishes from the tissue of ourStory. Story and tissue, faint ineffectual Emblem of that grandMiraculous Tissue, and Living Tapestry named French Revolution,which did weave itself then in very fact, 'on the loud-sounding'Loom of Time!' The old Brave drop out from it, with theirstrivings; and new acrid Drouets, of new strivings and colour, comein:--as is the manner of that weaving.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.IV. VarennesChapter 2.4.VIII. The Return
So then our grand Royalist Plot, of Flight to Metz, has executeditself. Long hovering in the background, as a dread royalultimatum, it has rushed forward in its terrors: verily to somepurpose. How many Royalist Plots and Projects, one after another,cunningly-devised, that were to explode like powder-mines andthunderclaps; not one solitary Plot of which has issued otherwise!Powder-mine of a Seance Royale on the Twenty-third of June 1789,which exploded as we then said, 'through the touchhole;' whichnext, your wargod Broglie having reloaded it, brought a Bastilleabout your ears. Then came fervent Opera-Repast, with flourishingof sabres, and O Richard, O my King; which, aided by Hunger,produces Insurrection of Women, and Pallas Athene in the shape ofDemoiselle Theroigne. Valour profits not; neither has fortunesmiled on Fanfaronade. The Bouille Armament ends as the Broglie onehad done. Man after man spends himself in this cause, only to workit quicker ruin; it seems a cause doomed, forsaken of Earth andHeaven.
On the Sixth of October gone a year, King Louis, escorted byDemoiselle Theroigne and some two hundred thousand, made a RoyalProgress and Entrance into Paris, such as man had never witnessed:we prophesied him Two more such; and accordingly another of them,after this Flight to Metz, is now coming to pass. Theroigne willnot escort here, neither does Mirabeau now 'sit in one of theaccompanying carriages.' Mirabeau lies dead, in the Pantheon ofGreat Men. Theroigne lies living, in dark Austrian Prison; havinggone to Liege, professionally, and been seized there. Bemurmurednow by the hoarse-flowing Danube; the light of her PatriotSupper-Parties gone quite out; so lies Theroigne: she shall speakwith the Kaiser face to face, and return. And France lies how!Fleeting Time shears down the great and the little; and in twoyears alters many things. But at all events, here, we say, is a second Ignominious RoyalProcession, though much altered; to be witnessed also by itshundreds of thousands. Patience, ye Paris Patriots; the RoyalBerline is returning. Not till Saturday: for the Royal Berlinetravels by slow stages; amid such loud- voiced confluent sea ofNational Guards, sixty thousand as they count; amid such tumult ofall people. Three National-Assembly Commissioners, famed Barnave,famed Petion, generally-respectable Latour-Maubourg, have gone tomeet it; of whom the two former ride in the Berline itself besideMajesty, day after day. Latour, as a mere respectability, and manof whom all men speak well, can ride in the rear, with Dame Tourzeland the Soubrettes. So on Saturday evening, about seven o'clock, Paris by hundredsof thousands is again drawn up: not now dancing the tricolorjoy-dance of hope; nor as yet dancing in fury-dance of hate andrevenge; but in silence, with vague look of conjecture andcuriosity mostly scientific. A Sainte-Antoine Placard has givennotice this morning that 'whosoever insults Louis shall be caned,whosoever applauds him shall be hanged.' Behold then, at last, thatwonderful New Berline; encircled by blue National sea with fixedbayonets, which flows slowly, floating it on, through the silentassembled hundreds of thousands. Three yellow Couriers sit atopbound with ropes; Petion, Barnave, their Majesties, with SisterElizabeth, and the Children of France, are within. Smile of embarrassment, or cloud of dull sourness, is on thebroad phlegmatic face of his Majesty: who keeps declaring to thesuccessive Official-persons, what is evident, "Eh bien, me voila,Well, here you have me;" and what is not evident, "I do assure youI did not mean to pass the frontiers;" and so forth: speechesnatural for that poor Royal man; which Decency would veil. Silentis her Majesty, with a look of grief and scorn; natural for thatRoyal Woman. Thus lumbers and creeps the ignominious RoyalProcession, through many streets, amid a silent-gazing people:comparable, Mercier thinks, (Nouveau Paris, iii. 22.) to someProcession de Roi de Bazoche; or say, Procession of King Crispin,with his Dukes of Sutor-mania and royal blazonry of Cordwainery.Except indeed that this is not comic; ah no, it is comico-tragic;with bound Couriers, and a Doom hanging over it; most fantastic,yet most miserably real. Miserablest flebile ludibrium of aPickleherring Tragedy! It sweeps along there, in most ungorgeouspall, through many streets, in the dusty summer evening; getsitself at length wriggled out of sight; vanishing in the TuileriesPalace--towards its doom, of slow torture, peine forte et dure. Populace, it is true, seizes the three rope-bound yellowCouriers; will at least massacre them. But our august Assembly,which is sitting at this great moment, sends out Deputation ofrescue; and the whole is got huddled up. Barnave, 'all dusty,' isalready there, in the National Hall; making
brief discreet addressand report. As indeed, through the whole journey, this Barnave hasbeen most discreet, sympathetic; and has gained the Queen's trust,whose noble instinct teaches her always who is to be trusted. Verydifferent from heavy Petion; who, if Campan speak truth, ate hisluncheon, comfortably filled his wine-glass, in the Royal Berline;flung out his chicken-bones past the nose of Royalty itself; and,on the King's saying "France cannot be a Republic," answered "No,it is not ripe yet." Barnave is henceforth a Queen's adviser, ifadvice could profit: and her Majesty astonishes Dame Campan bysignifying almost a regard for Barnave: and that, in a day ofretribution and Royal triumph, Barnave shall not be executed.(Campan, ii. c. 18.) On Monday night Royalty went; on Saturday evening it returns: somuch, within one short week, has Royalty accomplished for itself.The Pickleherring Tragedy has vanished in the Tuileries Palace,towards 'pain strong and hard.' Watched, fettered, and humbled, asRoyalty never was. Watched even in its sleeping-apartments andinmost recesses: for it has to sleep with door set ajar, blueNational Argus watching, his eye fixed on the Queen's curtains;nay, on one occasion, as the Queen cannot sleep, he offers to sitby her pillow, and converse a little! (Ibid. ii. 149.)
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.IV. VarennesChapter 2.4.IX. Sharp Shot
In regard to all which, this most pressing question arises: Whatis to be done with it? "Depose it!" resolutely answer Robespierreand the thoroughgoing few. For truly, with a King who runs away,and needs to be watched in his very bedroom that he may stay andgovern you, what other reasonable thing can be done? Had Philipped'Orleans not been a caput mortuum! But of him, known as onedefunct, no man now dreams. "Depose it not; say that it isinviolable, that it was spirited away, was enleve; at any cost ofsophistry and solecism, reestablish it!" so answer with loudvehemence all manner of Constitutional Royalists; as all your PureRoyalists do naturally likewise, with low vehemence, and ragecompressed by fear, still more passionately answer. Nay Barnave andthe two Lameths, and what will follow them, do likewise answer so.Answer, with their whole might: terror-struck at the unknownAbysses on the verge of which, driven thither by themselves mainly,all now reels, ready to plunge. By mighty effort and combination this latter course, ofreestablish it, is the course fixed on; and it shall by the strongarm, if not by the clearest logic, be made good. With the sacrificeof all their hard-earned popularity, this notable Triumvirate, saysToulongeon, 'set the Throne up again, which they had so toiled tooverturn: as one might set up an overturned pyramid, on its vertex;to stand so long as it is held.' Unhappy France; unhappy in King, Queen, and Constitution; oneknows not in which unhappiest! Was the meaning of our so gloriousFrench Revolution this, and no other, That when Shams andDelusions, long soul-killing, had become body-killing, and got thelength of Bankruptcy and Inanition, a great People rose and, withone voice, said, in the Name of the Highest: Shams shall be nomore? So many sorrows and bloody horrors, endured, and to be yetendured through dismal coming centuries, were they not the heavyprice paid and payable for this same: Total Destruction of Shamsfrom among men? And now, O Barnave Triumvirate! is it in suchdouble-distilled Delusion, and Sham even of a Sham, that an Effortof this kind will rest acquiescent? Messieurs
of the popularTriumvirate: Never! But, after all, what can poor popularTriumvirates and fallible august Senators do? They can, when theTruth is all too-horrible, stick their heads ostrich- like intowhat sheltering Fallacy is nearest: and wait there, aposteriori! Readers who saw the Clermontais and Three-Bishopricks gallop, inthe Night of Spurs; Diligences ruffling up all France into oneterrific terrified Cock of India; and the Town of Nantes in itsshirt,--may fancy what an affair to settle this was. Robespierre,on the extreme Left, with perhaps Petion and lean old Goupil, forthe very Triumvirate has defalcated, are shrieking hoarse; drownedin Constitutional clamour. But the debate and arguing of a wholeNation; the bellowings through all Journals, for and against; thereverberant voice of Danton; the Hyperion-shafts of Camille; theporcupine-quills of implacable Marat:--conceive all this. Constitutionalists in a body, as we often predicted, do nowrecede from the Mother Society, and become Feuillans; threateningher with inanition, the rank and respectability being mostly gone.Petition after Petition, forwarded by Post, or borne in Deputation,comes praying for Judgment and Decheance, which is our name forDeposition; praying, at lowest, for Reference to the Eighty-threeDepartments of France. Hot Marseillese Deputation comes declaring,among other things: "Our Phocean Ancestors flung a Bar of Iron intothe Bay at their first landing; this Bar will float again on theMediterranean brine before we consent to be slaves." All this forfour weeks or more, while the matter still hangs doubtful;Emigration streaming with double violence over the frontiers;(Bouille, ii. 101.) France seething in fierce agitation of thisquestion and prizequestion: What is to be done with the fugitiveHereditary Representative? Finally, on Friday the 15th of July 1791, the National Assemblydecides; in what negatory manner we know. Whereupon the Theatresall close, the Bourne-stones and Portable-chairs begin spouting,Municipal Placards flaming on the walls, and Proclamationspublished by sound of trumpet, 'invite to repose;' with smalleffect. And so, on Sunday the 17th, there shall be a thing seen,worthy of remembering. Scroll of a Petition, drawn up by Brissots,Dantons, by Cordeliers, Jacobins; for the thing was infinitelyshaken and manipulated, and many had a hand in it: such Scroll liesnow visible, on the wooden framework of the Fatherland's Altar, forsignature. Unworking Paris, male and female, is crowding thither,all day, to sign or to see. Our fair Roland herself the eye ofHistory can discern there, 'in the morning;' (Madame Roland, ii.74.) not without interest. In few weeks the fair Patriot will quitParis; yet perhaps only to return. But, what with sorrow of baulked Patriotism, what with closedtheatres, and Proclamations still publishing themselves by sound oftrumpet, the fervour of men's minds, this day, is great. Nay, overand above, there has fallen out an incident, of the nature ofFarce-Tragedy and Riddle; enough to stimulate all creatures. Earlyin the day, a Patriot (or some say, it was a Patriotess, and indeedTruth is undiscoverable), while standing on the firm deal-board ofFatherland's Altar, feels suddenly, with indescribabletorpedo-shock of amazement, his bootsole pricked through frombelow; he clutches up suddenly this electrified bootsole and foot;discerns next instant--the point of a gimlet or brad-awl playingup, through the firm deal-board, and now hastily drawing itselfback! Mystery, perhaps Treason? The wooden frame-work isimpetuously broken up; and behold, verily a mystery; neverexplicable fully to the end of the world! Two human individuals, ofmean aspect, one of them with a wooden leg, lie ensconced there,gimlet in hand: they must have come in overnight; they have asupply of provisions,--no 'barrel of gunpowder' that one can
see;they affect to be asleep; look blank enough, and give the lamestaccount of themselves. "Mere curiosity; they were boring up to getan eye-hole; to see, perhaps 'with lubricity,' whatsoever, fromthat new point of vision, could be seen:"--little that wasedifying, one would think! But indeed what stupidest thing may nothuman Dulness, Pruriency, Lubricity, Chance and the Devil, choosingTwo out of Half-a-million idle human heads, tempt them to? (Hist.Parl. xi. 104-7.) Sure enough, the two human individuals with their gimlet arethere. Ill- starred pair of individuals! For the result of it allis that Patriotism, fretting itself, in this state of nervousexcitability, with hypotheses, suspicions and reports, keepsquestioning these two distracted human individuals, and againquestioning them; claps them into the nearest Guardhouse, clutchesthem out again; one hypothetic group snatching them from another:till finally, in such extreme state of nervous excitability,Patriotism hangs them as spies of Sieur Motier; and the life andsecret is choked out of them forevermore. Forevermore, alas! Or isa day to be looked for when these two evidently mean individuals,who are human nevertheless, will become Historical Riddles; and,like him of the Iron Mask (also a human individual, and evidentlynothing more),--have their Dissertations? To us this only iscertain, that they had a gimlet, provisions and a wooden leg; andhave died there on the Lanterne, as the unluckiest fools mightdie. And so the signature goes on, in a still more excited manner.And Chaumette, for Antiquarians possess the very Paper to thishour, (Ibid. xi. 113, &c.)--has signed himself 'in a flowingsaucy hand slightly leaned;' and Hebert, detestable Pere Duchene,as if 'an inked spider had dropped on the paper;' Usher Maillardalso has signed, and many Crosses, which cannot write. And Paris,through its thousand avenues, is welling to the Champ- de-Mars andfrom it, in the utmost excitability of humour; central Fatherland'sAltar quite heaped with signing Patriots and Patriotesses; theThirty-benches and whole internal Space crowded with onlookers,with comers and goers; one regurgitating whirlpool of men and womenin their Sunday clothes. All which a Constitutional Sieur Motiersees; and Bailly, looking into it with his long visage made stilllonger. Auguring no good; perhaps Decheance and Deposition afterall! Stop it, ye Constitutional Patriots; fire itself isquenchable, yet only quenchable at first! Stop it, truly: but how stop it? Have not the first Free Peopleof the Universe a right to petition?-Happily, if also unhappily,here is one proof of riot: these two human individuals, hanged atthe Lanterne. Proof, O treacherous Sieur Motier? Were they not twohuman individuals sent thither by thee to be hanged; to be apretext for thy bloody Drapeau Rouge? This question shall many aPatriot, one day, ask; and answer affirmatively, strong inPreternatural Suspicion. Enough, towards half past seven in the evening, the mere naturaleye can behold this thing: Sieur Motier, with Municipals in scarf,with blue National Patrollotism, rank after rank, to the clang ofdrums; wending resolutely to the Champ-de-Mars; Mayor Bailly, withelongated visage, bearing, as in sad duty bound, the Drapeau Rouge!Howl of angry derision rises in treble and bass from a hundredthousand throats, at the sight of Martial Law; which neverthelesswaving its Red sanguinary Flag, advances there, from theGros-Caillou Entrance; advances, drumming and waving, towards Altarof Fatherland. Amid still wilder howls, with objurgation,obtestation; with flights of pebbles and mud, saxa et faeces; withcrackle of a pistol-shot;--finally with volley-fire
ofPatrollotism; levelled muskets; roll of volley on volley! Preciselyafter one year and three days, our sublime Federation Field iswetted, in this manner, with French blood. Some 'Twelve unfortunately shot,' reports Bailly, counting byunits; but Patriotism counts by tens and even by hundreds. Not tobe forgotten, nor forgiven! Patriotism flies, shrieking,execrating. Camille ceases Journalising, this day; great Dantonwith Camille and Freron have taken wing, for their life; Maratburrows deep in the Earth, and is silent. Once more Patrollotismhas triumphed: one other time; but it is the last. This was the Royal Flight to Varennes. Thus was the Throneoverturned thereby; but thus also was it victoriously set upagain--on its vertex; and will stand while it can be held.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.V. Parliament FirstChapter 2.5.I. Grande Acceptation
In the last nights of September, when the autumnal equinox ispast, and grey September fades into brown October, why are theChamps Elysees illuminated; why is Paris dancing, and flingingfire-works? They are gala- nights, these last of September; Parismay well dance, and the Universe: the Edifice of the Constitutionis completed! Completed; nay revised, to see that there was nothinginsufficient in it; solemnly proferred to his Majesty; solemnlyaccepted by him, to the sound of cannon-salvoes, on the fourteenthof the month. And now by such illumination, jubilee, dancing andfire-working, do we joyously handsel the new Social Edifice, andfirst raise heat and reek there, in the name of Hope. The Revision, especially with a throne standing on its vertex,has been a work of difficulty, of delicacy. In the way of proppingand buttressing, so indispensable now, something could be done; andyet, as is feared, not enough. A repentant Barnave Triumvirate, ourRabauts, Duports, Thourets, and indeed all Constitutional Deputiesdid strain every nerve: but the Extreme Left was so noisy; thePeople were so suspicious, clamorous to have the work ended: andthen the loyal Right Side sat feeble petulant all the while, and asit were, pouting and petting; unable to help, had they even beenwilling; the two Hundred and Ninety had solemnly made scission,before that: and departed, shaking the dust off their feet. To suchtranscendency of fret, and desperate hope that worsening of the badmight the sooner end it and bring back the good, had ourunfortunate loyal Right Side now come! (Toulongeon, ii. 56,59.) However, one finds that this and the other little prop has beenadded, where possibility allowed. Civil-list and Privy-purse werefrom of old well cared for. King's Constitutional Guard, Eighteenhundred loyal men from the Eighty-three Departments, under a loyalDuke de Brissac; this, with trustworthy Swiss besides, is of itselfsomething. The old loyal Bodyguards are indeed dissolved, in nameas well as in fact; and gone mostly towards Coblentz. But now alsothose Sansculottic violent Gardes Francaises, or Centre Grenadiers,shall have their mittimus: they do ere long, in the Journals, notwithout a hoarse pathos, publish their Farewell; 'wishing allAristocrats the graves in Paris which to us are denied.' (Hist.Parl. xiii. 73.) They depart, these first Soldiers of theRevolution; they hover very dimly in the distance for about anotheryear; till they can be remodelled, new-named, and sent to fight theAustrians; and then History beholds
them no more. A most notableCorps of men; which has its place in World-History;--though to us,so is History written, they remain mere rubrics of men; nameless; ashaggy Grenadier Mass, crossed with buff-belts. And yet might wenot ask: What Argonauts, what Leonidas' Spartans had done such awork? Think of their destiny: since that May morning, some threeyears ago, when they, unparticipating, trundled off d'Espremenil tothe Calypso Isles; since that July evening, some two years ago,when they, participating and sacreing with knit brows, poured avolley into Besenval's Prince de Lambesc! History waves them hermute adieu. So that the Sovereign Power, these Sansculottic Watchdogs, morelike wolves, being leashed and led away from his Tuileries,breathes freer. The Sovereign Power is guarded henceforth by aloyal Eighteen hundred,--whom Contrivance, under various pretexts,may gradually swell to Six thousand; who will hinder no Journey toSaint-Cloud. The sad Varennes business has been soldered up;cemented, even in the blood of the Champ-de-Mars, these two monthsand more; and indeed ever since, as formerly, Majesty has had itsprivileges, its 'choice of residence,' though, for good reasons,the royal mind 'prefers continuing in Paris.' Poor royal mind, poorParis; that have to go mumming; enveloped in speciosities, infalsehood which knows itself false; and to enact mutually yoursorrowful farce-tragedy, being bound to it; and on the whole, tohope always, in spite of hope! Nay, now that his Majesty has accepted the Constitution, to thesound of cannon-salvoes, who would not hope? Our good King wasmisguided but he meant well. Lafayette has moved for an Amnesty,for universal forgiving and forgetting of Revolutionary faults; andnow surely the glorious Revolution cleared of its rubbish, iscomplete! Strange enough, and touching in several ways, the old cryof Vive le Roi once more rises round King Louis the HereditaryRepresentative. Their Majesties went to the Opera; gave money tothe Poor: the Queen herself, now when the Constitution is accepted,hears voice of cheering. Bygone shall be bygone; the New Era shallbegin! To and fro, amid those lamp-galaxies of the Elysian Fields,the Royal Carriage slowly wends and rolls; every where with vivats,from a multitude striving to be glad. Louis looks out, mainly onthe variegated lamps and gay human groups, with satisfaction enoughfor the hour. In her Majesty's face, 'under that kind gracefulsmile a deep sadness is legible.' (De Stael, Considerations, i. c.23.) Brilliancies, of valour and of wit, stroll here observant: aDame de Stael, leaning most probably on the arm of her Narbonne.She meets Deputies; who have built this Constitution; who saunterhere with vague communings,--not without thoughts whether it willstand. But as yet melodious fiddlestrings twang and warble everywhere, with the rhythm of light fantastic feet; long lamp- galaxiesfling their coloured radiance; and brass-lunged Hawkers elbow andbawl, "Grande Acceptation, Constitution Monarchique:" it behovesthe Son of Adam to hope. Have not Lafayette, Barnave, and allConstitutionalists set their shoulders handsomely to the invertedpyramid of a throne? Feuillans, including almost the wholeConstitutional Respectability of France, perorate nightly fromtheir tribune; correspond through all Post- offices; denouncingunquiet Jacobinism; trusting well that its time is nigh done. Muchis uncertain, questionable: but if the Hereditary Representative bewise and lucky, may one not, with a sanguine Gaelic temper, hopethat he will get in motion better or worse; that what is wanting tohim will gradually be gained and added? For the rest, as we must repeat, in this building of theConstitutional Fabric, especially in this Revision of it, nothingthat one could think of to give it new strength, especially tosteady it, to
give it permanence, and even eternity, has beenforgotten. Biennial Parliament, to be called Legislative, AssembleeLegislative; with Seven Hundred and Forty-five Members, chosen in ajudicious manner by the 'active citizens' alone, and even byelecting of electors still more active: this, with privileges ofParliament shall meet, self-authorized if need be, andself-dissolved; shall grant money-supplies and talk; watch over theadministration and authorities; discharge for ever the functions ofa Constitutional Great Council, Collective Wisdom, and NationalPalaver,--as the Heavens will enable. Our First biennialParliament, which indeed has been a-choosing since early in August,is now as good as chosen. Nay it has mostly got to Paris: itarrived gradually;--not without pathetic greeting to its venerableParent, the now moribund Constituent; and sat there in theGalleries, reverently listening; ready to begin, the instant theground were clear. Then as to changes in the Constitution itself? This, impossiblefor any Legislative, or common biennial Parliament, and possiblesolely for some resuscitated Constituent or NationalConvention,--is evidently one of the most ticklish points. Theaugust moribund Assembly debated it for four entire days. Somethought a change, or at least reviewal and new approval, might beadmissible in thirty years; some even went lower, down to twenty,nay to fifteen. The august Assembly had once decided for thirtyyears; but it revoked that, on better thoughts; and did not fix anydate of time, but merely some vague outline of a posture ofcircumstances, and on the whole left the matter hanging. (Choix deRapports, &c. (Paris, 1825), vi. 239- 317.) Doubtless aNational Convention can be assembled even within the thirty years:yet one may hope, not; but that Legislatives, biennial Parliamentsof the common kind, with their limited faculty, and perhaps quietsuccessive additions thereto, may suffice, for generations, orindeed while computed Time runs. Furthermore, be it noted that no member of this Constituent hasbeen, or could be, elected to the new Legislative. So noble-mindedwere these Law- makers! cry some: and Solon-like would banishthemselves. So splenetic! cry more: each grudging the other, nonedaring to be outdone in self- denial by the other. So unwise ineither case! answer all practical men. But consider this otherself-denying ordinance, That none of us can be King's Minister, oraccept the smallest Court Appointment, for the space of four, or atlowest (and on long debate and Revision), for the space of twoyears! So moves the incorruptible seagreen Robespierre; with cheapmagnanimity he; and none dare be outdone by him. It was such a law,not so superfluous then, that sent Mirabeau to the Gardens ofSaint-Cloud, under cloak of darkness, to that colloquy of the gods;and thwarted many things. Happily and unhappily there is noMirabeau now to thwart. Welcomer meanwhile, welcome surely to all right hearts, isLafayette's chivalrous Amnesty. Welcome too is that hard-wrungUnion of Avignon; which has cost us, first and last, 'thirtysessions of debate,' and so much else: may it at length provelucky! Rousseau's statue is decreed: virtuous Jean-Jacques,Evangelist of the Contrat Social. Not Drouet of Varennes; norworthy Lataille, master of the old world-famous Tennis Court inVersailles, is forgotten; but each has his honourable mention, anddue reward in money. (Moniteur (in Hist. Parl. xi. 473.) Whereupon,things being all so neatly winded up, and the Deputations, andMessages, and royal and other Ceremonials having rustled by; andthe King having now affectionately perorated about peace andtranquilisation, and members having answered "Oui! oui!" witheffusion, even with tears,--President Thouret, he of the LawReforms, rises, and, with a strong voice, utters these memorablelast-words: "The National Constituent Assembly declares that it hasfinished its
mission; and that its sittings are all ended."Incorruptible Robespierre, virtuous Petion are borne home on theshoulders of the people; with vivats heaven-high. The rest glidequietly to their respective places of abode. It is the lastafternoon of September, 1791; on the morrow morning the newLegislative will begin. So, amid glitter of illuminated streets and Champs Elysees, andcrackle of fireworks and glad deray, has the first NationalAssembly vanished; dissolving, as they well say, into blank Time;and is no more. National Assembly is gone, its work remaining; asall Bodies of men go, and as man himself goes: it had itsbeginning, and must likewise have its end. A Phantasm-Reality bornof Time, as the rest of us are; flitting ever backwards now on thetide of Time: to be long remembered of men. Very strangeAssemblages, Sanhedrims, Amphictyonics, Trades Unions, EcumenicCouncils, Parliaments and Congresses, have met together on thisPlanet, and dispersed again; but a stranger Assemblage than thisaugust Constituent, or with a stranger mission, perhaps never metthere. Seen from the distance, this also will be a miracle. TwelveHundred human individuals, with the Gospel of Jean-Jacques Rousseauin their pocket, congregating in the name of Twenty-five Millions,with full assurance of faith, to 'make the Constitution:' suchsight, the acme and main product of the Eighteenth Century, ourWorld can witness once only. For Time is rich in wonders, inmonstrosities most rich; and is observed never to repeat himself,or any of his Gospels:--surely least of all, this Gospel accordingto Jean-Jacques. Once it was right and indispensable, since suchhad become the Belief of men; but once also is enough. They have made the Constitution, these Twelve HundredJean-Jacques Evangelists; not without result. Near twenty-ninemonths they sat, with various fortune; in variouscapacity;--always, we may say, in that capacity of carborneCaroccio, and miraculous Standard of the Revolt of Men, as a Thinghigh and lifted up; whereon whosoever looked might hope healing.They have seen much: cannons levelled on them; then suddenly, byinterposition of the Powers, the cannons drawn back; and a war-godBroglie vanishing, in thunder not his own, amid the dust anddownrushing of a Bastille and Old Feudal France. They have sufferedsomewhat: Royal Session, with rain and Oath of the Tennis-Court;Nights of Pentecost; Insurrections of Women. Also have they notdone somewhat? Made the Constitution, and managed all things thewhile; passed, in these twentynine months, 'twenty-five hundredDecrees,' which on the average is some three for each day,including Sundays! Brevity, one finds, is possible, at times: hadnot Moreau de St. Mery to give three thousand orders before risingfrom his seat?--There was valour (or value) in these men; and akind of faith,--were it only faith in this, That cobwebs are notcloth; that a Constitution could be made. Cobwebs and chimerasought verily to disappear; for a Reality there is. Let formulas,soul-killing, and now grown body-killing, insupportable, begone, inthe name of Heaven and Earth!--Time, as we say, brought forth theseTwelve Hundred; Eternity was before them, Eternity behind: theyworked, as we all do, in the confluence of Two Eternities; whatwork was given them. Say not that it was nothing they did.Consciously they did somewhat; unconsciously how much! They hadtheir giants and their dwarfs, they accomplished their good andtheir evil; they are gone, and return no more. Shall they not gowith our blessing, in these circumstances; with our mildfarewell? By post, by diligence, on saddle or sole; they are gone: towardsthe four winds! Not a few over the marches, to rank at Coblentz.Thither wended Maury, among others; but in the end towardsRome,--to be clothed there in red Cardinal plush; in falsehood asin a garment; pet son
(her last-born?) of the Scarlet Woman.Talleyrand-Perigord, excommunicated Constitutional Bishop, willmake his way to London; to be Ambassador, spite of the Self-denying Law; brisk young Marquis Chauvelin acting asAmbassador's-Cloak. In London too, one finds Petion the virtuous;harangued and haranguing, pledging the wine-cup with ConstitutionalReform Clubs, in solemn tavern- dinner. Incorruptible Robespierreretires for a little to native Arras: seven short weeks of quiet;the last appointed him in this world. Public Accuser in the ParisDepartment, acknowledged highpriest of the Jacobins; the glass ofincorruptible thin Patriotism, for his narrow emphasis is loved ofall the narrow,--this man seems to be rising, somewhither? He sellshis small heritage at Arras; accompanied by a Brother and a Sister,he returns, scheming out with resolute timidity a small suredestiny for himself and them, to his old lodging, at theCabinet-maker's, in the Rue St. Honore:--O resolute-tremulousincorruptible seagreen man, towards what a destiny! Lafayette, for his part, will lay down the command. He retiresCincinnatus-like to his hearth and farm; but soon leaves themagain. Our National Guard, however, shall henceforth have no oneCommandant; but all Colonels shall command in succession, monthabout. Other Deputies we have met, or Dame de Stael has met,'sauntering in a thoughtful manner;' perhaps uncertain what to do.Some, as Barnave, the Lameths, and their Duport, will continue herein Paris: watching the new biennial Legislative, Parliament theFirst; teaching it to walk, if so might be; and the Court to leadit. Thus these: sauntering in a thoughtful manner; travelling bypost or diligence,--whither Fate beckons. Giant Mirabeau slumbersin the Pantheon of Great Men: and France? and Europe?-Thebrass-lunged Hawkers sing "Grand Acceptation, MonarchicConstitution" through these gay crowds: the Morrow, grandson ofYesterday, must be what it can, as To-day its father is. Our newbiennial Legislative begins to constitute itself on the first ofOctober, 1791.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.V. Parliament FirstChapter 2.5.II. The Book of the Law
If the august Constituent Assembly itself, fixing the regards ofthe Universe, could, at the present distance of time and place,gain comparatively small attention from us, how much less can thispoor Legislative! It has its Right Side and its Left; the lessPatriotic and the more, for Aristocrats exist not here or now: itspouts and speaks: listens to Reports, reads Bills and Laws; worksin its vocation, for a season: but the history of France, onefinds, is seldom or never there. Unhappy Legislative, what canHistory do with it; if not drop a tear over it, almost in silence?First of the two-year Parliaments of France, which, if PaperConstitution and oft-repeated National Oath could avail aught, wereto follow in softly-strong indissoluble sequence while Timeran,--it had to vanish dolefully within one year; and there came nosecond like it. Alas! your biennial Parliaments in endlessindissoluble sequence; they, and all that Constitutional Fabric,built with such explosive Federation Oaths, and its top-stonebrought out with dancing and variegated radiance, went to pieces,like frail crockery, in the crash of things; and already, in elevenshort months, were in that Limbo near the Moon, with the ghosts ofother Chimeras. There, except for rare specific purposes, let themrest, in melancholy peace.
On the whole, how unknown is a man to himself; or a public Bodyof men to itself! Aesop's fly sat on the chariot-wheel, exclaiming,What a dust I do raise! Great Governors, clad in purple with fascesand insignia, are governed by their valets, by the pouting of theirwomen and children; or, in Constitutional countries, by theparagraphs of their Able Editors. Say not, I am this or that; I amdoing this or that! For thou knowest it not, thou knowest only thename it as yet goes by. A purple Nebuchadnezzar rejoices to feelhimself now verily Emperor of this great Babylon which he hasbuilded; and is a nondescript biped-quadruped, on the eve of aseven- years course of grazing! These Seven Hundred and Forty-fiveelected individuals doubt not but they are the First biennialParliament, come to govern France by parliamentary eloquence: andthey are what? And they have come to do what? Things foolish andnot wise! It is much lamented by many that this First Biennial had nomembers of the old Constituent in it, with their experience ofparties and parliamentary tactics; that such was their foolishSelf-denying Law. Most surely, old members of the Constituent hadbeen welcome to us here. But, on the other hand, what old or whatnew members of any Constituent under the Sun could have effectuallyprofited? There are First biennial Parliaments so postured as tobe, in a sense, beyond wisdom; where wisdom and folly differ onlyin degree, and wreckage and dissolution are the appointed issue forboth. Old-Constituents, your Barnaves, Lameths and the like, for whoma special Gallery has been set apart, where they may sit in honourand listen, are in the habit of sneering at these new Legislators;(Dumouriez, ii. 150, &c.) but let not us! The poor SevenHundred and Forty-five, sent together by the active citizens ofFrance, are what they could be; do what is fated them. That theyare of Patriot temper we can well understand. Aristocrat Noblessehad fled over the marches, or sat brooding silent in their unburntChateaus; small prospect had they in Primary Electoral Assemblies.What with Flights to Varennes, what with Days of Poniards, withplot after plot, the People are left to themselves; the People mustneeds choose Defenders of the People, such as can be had. Choosing,as they also will ever do, 'if not the ablest man, yet the manablest to be chosen!' Fervour of character, decidedPatriot-Constitutional feeling; these are qualities: but freeutterance, mastership in tongue-fence; this is the quality ofqualities. Accordingly one finds, with little astonishment, in thisFirst Biennial, that as many as Four hundred Members are of theAdvocate or Attorney species. Men who can speak, if there be aughtto speak: nay here are men also who can think, and even act.Candour will say of this ill- fated First French Parliament that itwanted not its modicum of talent, its modicum of honesty; that it,neither in the one respect nor in the other, sank below the averageof Parliaments, but rose above the average. Let averageParliaments, whom the world does not guillotine, and cast forth tolong infamy, be thankful not to themselves but to their stars! France, as we say, has once more done what it could: fervid menhave come together from wide separation; for strange issues. FieryMax Isnard is come, from the utmost South-East; fiery ClaudeFauchet, Te-Deum Fauchet Bishop of Calvados, from the utmostNorth-West. No Mirabeau now sits here, who had swallowed formulas:our only Mirabeau now is Danton, working as yet out of doors; whomsome call 'Mirabeau of the Sansculottes.' Nevertheless we have our gifts,--especially of speech and logic.An eloquent Vergniaud we have; most mellifluous yet most impetuousof public speakers; from the region named Gironde, of the
Garonne:a man unfortunately of indolent habits; who will sit playing withyour children, when he ought to be scheming and perorating. Sharpbustling Guadet; considerate grave Censonne; kindsparklingmirthful young Ducos; Valaze doomed to a sad end: all theselikewise are of that Gironde, or Bourdeaux region: men of fervidConstitutional principles; of quick talent, irrefragable logic,clear respectability; who will have the Reign of Liberty establishitself, but only by respectable methods. Round whom others of liketemper will gather; known by and by as Girondins, to the sorrowingwonder of the world. Of which sort note Condorcet, Marquis andPhilosopher; who has worked at much, at Paris MunicipalConstitution, Differential Calculus, Newspaper Chronique de Paris,Biography, Philosophy; and now sits here as two-years Senator: anotable Condorcet, with stoical Roman face, and fiery heart;'volcano hid under snow;' styled likewise, in irreverent language,'mouton enrage,' peaceablest of creatures bitten rabid! Or note,lastly, Jean-Pierre Brissot; whom Destiny, long working noisilywith him, has hurled hither, say, to have done with him. A biennialSenator he too; nay, for the present, the king of such. Restless,scheming, scribbling Brissot; who took to himself the style deWarville, heralds know not in the least why;--unless it were thatthe father of him did, in an unexceptionable manner, performCookery and Vintnery in the Village of Ouarville? A man of thewindmill species, that grinds always, turning towards all winds;not in the steadiest manner. In all these men there is talent, faculty to work; and they willdo it: working and shaping, not without effect, though alas not inmarble, only in quicksand!--But the highest faculty of them allremains yet to be mentioned; or indeed has yet to unfold itself formention: Captain Hippolyte Carnot, sent hither from the Pas deCalais; with his cold mathematical head, and silent stubbornness ofwill: iron Carnot, far- planning, imperturbable, unconquerable;who, in the hour of need, shall not be found wanting. His hair isyet black; and it shall grow grey, under many kinds of fortune,bright and troublous; and with iron aspect this man shall face themall. Nor is Cote Droit, and band of King's friends, wanting:Vaublanc, Dumas, Jaucourt the honoured Chevalier; who love Liberty,yet with Monarchy over it; and speak fearlessly according to thatfaith;--whom the thick-coming hurricanes will sweep away. Withthem, let a new military Theodore Lameth be named;--were it onlyfor his two Brothers' sake, who look down on him, approvinglythere, from the Old-Constituents' Gallery. Frothy professingPastorets, honeymouthed conciliatory Lamourettes, and speechlessnameless individuals sit plentiful, as Moderates, in the middle.Still less is a Cote Gauche wanting: extreme Left; sitting on thetopmost benches, as if aloft on its speculatory Height or Mountain,which will become a practical fulminatory Height, and make the nameof Mountain famous-infamous to all times and lands. Honour waits not on this Mountain; nor as yet even louddishonour. Gifts it boasts not, nor graces, of speaking or ofthinking; solely this one gift of assured faith, of audacity thatwill defy the Earth and the Heavens. Foremost here are theCordelier Trio: hot Merlin from Thionville, hot Bazire, Attorneysboth; Chabot, disfrocked Capuchin, skilful in agio. Lawyer Lacroix,who wore once as subaltern the single epaulette, has loud lungs anda hungry heart. There too is Couthon, little dreaming what heis;--whom a sad chance has paralysed in the lower extremities. For,it seems, he sat once a whole night, not warm in his true love'sbower (who indeed was by law another's), but sunken to the middlein a cold peat-bog, being hunted out; quaking for his life, in thecold quaking morass; (Dumouriez, ii. 370.) and goes now on crutchesto the end. Cambon likewise, in whom slumbers undeveloped such afinance-talent for printing of Assignats; Father
of Paper-money;who, in the hour of menace, shall utter this stern sentence, 'Warto the Manorhouse, peace to the Hut, Guerre aux Chateaux, paix auxChaumieres!' (Choix de Rapports, xi. 25.) Lecointre, the intrepidDraper of Versailles, is welcome here; known since the OperaRepastand Insurrection of Women. Thuriot too; Elector Thuriot, who stoodin the embrasures of the Bastille, and saw Saint-Antoine rising inmass; who has many other things to see. Last and grimmest of allnote old Ruhl, with his brown dusky face and long white hair; ofAlsatian Lutheran breed; a man whom age and book-learning have nottaught; who, haranguing the old men of Rheims, shall hold up theSacred Ampulla (Heaven- sent, wherefrom Clovis and all Kings havebeen anointed) as a mere worthless oil-bottle, and dash it tosherds on the pavement there; who, alas, shall dash much to sherds,and finally his own wild head, by pistol- shot, and so end it. Such lava welters redhot in the bowels of this Mountain; unknownto the world and to itself! A mere commonplace Mountain hitherto;distinguished from the Plain chiefly by its superior barrenness,its baldness of look: at the utmost it may, to the most observant,perceptibly smoke. For as yet all lies so solid, peaceable; anddoubts not, as was said, that it will endure while Time runs. Donot all love Liberty and the Constitution? All heartily;--and yetwith degrees. Some, as Chevalier Jaucourt and his Right Side, maylove Liberty less than Royalty, were the trial made; others, asBrissot and his Left Side, may love it more than Royalty. Nay againof these latter some may love Liberty more than Law itself; othersnot more. Parties will unfold themselves; no mortal as yet knowshow. Forces work within these men and without: dissidence growsopposition; ever widening; waxing into incompatibility andinternecine feud: till the strong is abolished by a stronger;himself in his turn by a strongest! Who can help it? Jaucourt andhis Monarchists, Feuillans, or Moderates; Brissot and hisBrissotins, Jacobins, or Girondins; these, with the Cordelier Trio,and all men, must work what is appointed them, and in the wayappointed them. And to think what fate these poor Seven Hundred and Forty-fiveare assembled, most unwittingly, to meet! Let no heart be so hardas not to pity them. Their soul's wish was to live and work as theFirst of the French Parliaments: and make the Constitution march.Did they not, at their very instalment, go through the mostaffecting Constitutional ceremony, almost with tears? The TwelveEldest are sent solemnly to fetch the Constitution itself, theprinted book of the Law. Archivist Camus, an Old-Constituentappointed Archivist, he and the Ancient Twelve, amid blare ofmilitary pomp and clangour, enter, bearing the divine Book: andPresident and all Legislative Senators, laying their hand on thesame, successively take the Oath, with cheers and hearteffusion,universal three-times-three. (Moniteur, Seance du 4 Octobre 1791.)In this manner they begin their Session. Unhappy mortals! For, thatsame day, his Majesty having received their Deputation of welcome,as seemed, rather drily, the Deputation cannot but feel slighted,cannot but lament such slight: and thereupon our cheering swearingFirst Parliament sees itself, on the morrow, obliged to explodeinto fierce retaliatory sputter, of anti- royal Enactment as to howthey, for their part, will receive Majesty; and how Majesty shallnot be called Sire any more, except they please: and then, on thefollowing day, to recal this Enactment of theirs, as too hasty, anda mere sputter though not unprovoked. An effervescent well-intentioned set of Senators; toocombustible, where continual sparks are flying! Their History is aseries of sputters and quarrels; true desire to do their function,fatal impossibility to do it. Denunciations, reprimandings ofKing's Ministers, of traitors supposed and real; hot rage andfulmination against fulminating Emigrants; terror of AustrianKaiser, of
'Austrian Committee' in the Tuileries itself: rage andhaunting terror, haste and dim desperate bewilderment!--Haste, wesay; and yet the Constitution had provided against haste. No Billcan be passed till it have been printed, till it have been thriceread, with intervals of eight days;--'unless the Assembly shallbeforehand decree that there is urgency.' Which, accordingly, theAssembly, scrupulous of the Constitution, never omits to do:Considering this, and also considering that, and then that other,the Assembly decrees always 'qu'il y a urgence;' and thereupon 'theAssembly, having decreed that there is urgence,' is free todecree--what indispensable distracted thing seems best to it. Twothousand and odd decrees, as men reckon, within Eleven months!(Montgaillard, iii. 1. 237.) The haste of the Constituent seemedgreat; but this is treble-quick. For the time itself is rushingtreble-quick; and they have to keep pace with that. Unhappy SevenHundred and Fortyfive: true-patriotic, but so combustible; beingfired, they must needs fling fire: Senate of touchwood and rockets,in a world of smoke-storm, with sparks wind-driven continuallyflying! Or think, on the other hand, looking forward some months, ofthat scene they call Baiser de Lamourette! The dangers of thecountry are now grown imminent, immeasurable; National Assembly,hope of France, is divided against itself. In such extremecircumstances, honeymouthed Abbe Lamourette, new Bishop of Lyons,rises, whose name, l'amourette, signifies the sweetheart, orDelilah doxy,--he rises, and, with pathetic honied eloquence, callson all august Senators to forget mutual griefs and grudges, toswear a new oath, and unite as brothers. Whereupon they all, withvivats, embrace and swear; Left Side confounding itself with Right;barren Mountain rushing down to fruitful Plain, Pastoret into thearms of Condorcet, injured to the breast of injurer, with tears;and all swearing that whosoever wishes either Feuillant Two-ChamberMonarchy or Extreme- Jacobin Republic, or any thing but theConstitution and that only, shall be anathema marantha. (Moniteur,Seance du 6 Juillet 1792.) Touching to behold! For, literally onthe morrow morning, they must again quarrel, driven by Fate; andtheir sublime reconcilement is called derisively Baiser deL'amourette, or Delilah Kiss. Like fated Eteocles-Polynices Brothers, embracing, though invain; weeping that they must not love, that they must hate only,and die by each other's hands! Or say, like doomed FamiliarSpirits; ordered, by Art Magic under penalties, to do a harder thantwist ropes of sand: 'to make the Constitution march.' If theConstitution would but march! Alas, the Constitution will not stir.It falls on its face; they tremblingly lift it on end again: march,thou gold Constitution! The Constitution will not march.--"He shallmarch, by--!" said kind Uncle Toby, and even swore. The Corporalanswered mournfully: "He will never march in this world." A constitution, as we often say, will march when it images, ifnot the old Habits and Beliefs of the Constituted; then accuratelytheir Rights, or better indeed, their Mights;--for these two,wellunderstood, are they not one and the same? The old Habits ofFrance are gone: her new Rights and Mights are not yet ascertained,except in Paper-theorem; nor can be, in any sort, till she havetried. Till she have measured herself, in fell death- grip, andwere it in utmost preternatural spasm of madness, withPrincipalities and Powers, with the upper and the under, internaland external; with the Earth and Tophet and the very Heaven! Thenwill she know.--Three things bode ill for the marching of thisFrench Constitution: the French People; the French King; thirdlythe French Noblesse and an assembled European World.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.V. Parliament FirstChapter 2.5.III. Avignon
But quitting generalities, what strange Fact is this, in the farSouth- West, towards which the eyes of all men do now, in the endof October, bend themselves? A tragical combustion, long smokingand smouldering unluminous, has now burst into flame there. Hot is that Southern Provencal blood: alas, collisions, as wasonce said, must occur in a career of Freedom; different directionswill produce such; nay different velocities in the same directionwill! To much that went on there History, busied elsewhere, wouldnot specially give heed: to troubles of Uzez, troubles of Nismes,Protestant and Catholic, Patriot and Aristocrat; to troubles ofMarseilles, Montpelier, Arles; to Aristocrat Camp of Jales, thatwondrous realimaginary Entity, now fading pale-dim, then alwaysagain glowing forth deep-hued (in the Imagination mainly);--ominous magical, 'an Aristocrat picture of war done naturally!' Allthis was a tragical deadly combustion, with plot and riot, tumultby night and by day; but a dark combustion, not luminous, notnoticed; which now, however, one cannot help noticing. Above all places, the unluminous combustion in Avignon and theComtat Venaissin was fierce. Papal Avignon, with its Castle risingsheer over the Rhone-stream; beautifullest Town, with its purplevines and gold-orange groves: why must foolish old rhyming Rene,the last Sovereign of Provence, bequeath it to the Pope and GoldTiara, not rather to Louis Eleventh with the Leaden Virgin in hishatband? For good and for evil! Popes, Anti- popes, with theirpomp, have dwelt in that Castle of Avignon rising sheer over theRhone-stream: there Laura de Sade went to hear mass; her Petrarchtwanging and singing by the Fountain of Vaucluse hard by, surely ina most melancholy manner. This was in the old days. And now in these new days, such issues do come from a squirt ofthe pen by some foolish rhyming Rene, after centuries, this is whatwe have: Jourdan Coupe-tete, leading to siege and warfare an Army,from three to fifteen thousand strong, called the Brigands ofAvignon; which title they themselves accept, with the addition ofan epithet, 'The brave Brigands of Avignon!' It is even so. Jourdanthe Headsman fled hither from that Chatelet Inquest, from thatInsurrection of Women; and began dealing in madder; but the scenewas rife in other than dye-stuffs; so Jourdan shut his madder shop,and has risen, for he was the man to do it. The tile- beard ofJourdan is shaven off; his fat visage has got coppered and studdedwith black carbuncles; the Silenus trunk is swollen with drink andhigh living: he wears blue National uniform with epaulettes, 'anenormous sabre, two horse-pistols crossed in his belt, and othertwo smaller, sticking from his pockets;' styles himself General,and is the tyrant of men. (Dampmartin, Evenemens, i. 267.) Considerthis one fact, O Reader; and what sort of facts must have precededit, must accompany it! Such things come of old Rene; and of thequestion which has risen, Whether Avignon cannot now cease whollyto be Papal and become French and free? For some twenty-five months the confusion has lasted. Say threemonths of arguing; then seven of raging; then finally some fifteenmonths now of fighting, and even of hanging. For already inFebruary 1790, the Papal Aristocrats had set up four gibbets, for asign; but the People rose in June, in retributive frenzy; and,forcing the public Hangman to act, hanged four Aristocrats, on
eachPapal gibbet a Papal Haman. Then were Avignon Emigrations, PapalAristocrats emigrating over the Rhone River; demission of PapalConsul, flight, victory: re-entrance of Papal Legate, truce, andnew onslaught; and the various turns of war. Petitions there wereto National Assembly; Congresses of Townships; three-score and oddTownships voting for French Reunion, and the blessings of Liberty;while some twelve of the smaller, manipulated by Aristocrats, gavevote the other way: with shrieks and discord! Township againstTownship, Town against Town: Carpentras, long jealous of Avignon,is now turned out in open war with it;--and Jourdan Coupetete,your first General being killed in mutiny, closes his dye-shop; anddoes there visibly, with siege-artillery, above all with blusterand tumult, with the 'brave Brigands of Avignon,' beleaguer therival Town, for two months, in the face of the world! Feats were done, doubt it not, far-famed in Parish History; butto Universal History unknown. Gibbets we see rise, on the one sideand on the other; and wretched carcasses swinging there, a dozen inthe row; wretched Mayor of Vaison buried before dead. (Barbaroux,Memoires, p. 26.) The fruitful seedfield, lie unreaped, thevineyards trampled down; there is red cruelty, madness of universalcholer and gall. Havoc and anarchy everywhere; a combustion mostfierce, but unlucent, not to be noticed here!--Finally, as we saw,on the 14th of September last, the National Constituent Assembly,having sent Commissioners and heard them; (Lescene Desmaisons:Compte rendu a l'Assemblee Nationale, 10 Septembre 1791 (Choix desRapports, vii. 273-93).) having heard Petitions, held Debates,month after month ever since August 1789; and on the whole 'spentthirty sittings' on this matter, did solemnly decree that Avignonand the Comtat were incorporated with France, and His Holiness thePope should have what indemnity was reasonable. And so hereby all is amnestied and finished? Alas, when madnessof choler has gone through the blood of men, and gibbets have swungon this side and on that, what will a parchment Decree andLafayette Amnesty do? Oblivious Lethe flows not above ground! PapalAristocrats and Patriot Brigands are still an eye-sorrow to eachother; suspected, suspicious, in what they do and forbear. Theaugust Constituent Assembly is gone but a fortnight, when, onSunday the Sixteenth morning of October 1791, the unquenchedcombustion suddenly becomes luminous! For AnticonstitutionalPlacards are up, and the Statue of the Virgin is said to have shedtears, and grown red. (Proces-verbal de la Commune d'Avignon,&c. (in Hist. Parl. xii. 419-23.) Wherefore, on that morning,Patriot l'Escuyer, one of our 'six leading Patriots,' having takencounsel with his brethren and General Jourdan, determines on goingto Church, in company with a friend or two: not to hear mass, whichhe values little; but to meet all the Papalists there in a body,nay to meet that same weeping Virgin, for it is the CordeliersChurch; and give them a word of admonition. Adventurous errand;which has the fatallest issue! What L'Escuyer's word of admonitionmight be no History records; but the answer to it was a shriekinghowl from the Aristocrat Papal worshippers, many of them women. Athousand-voiced shriek and menace; which as L'Escuyer did not fly,became a thousand-handed hustle and jostle; a thousand-footed kick,with tumblings and tramplings, with the pricking of semstressesstilettos, scissors, and female pointed instruments. Horrible tobehold; the ancient Dead, and Petrarchan Laura, sleeping round itthere; (Ugo Foscolo, Essay on Petrarch, p. 35.) high Altar andburning tapers looking down on it; the Virgin quite tearless, andof the natural stone-colour!--L'Escuyer's friend or two rush off,like Job's Messengers, for Jourdan and the National Force. Butheavy Jourdan will seize the TownGates first; does not runtreble-fast, as he might: on arriving at the Cordeliers Church, theChurch
is silent, vacant; L'Escuyer, all alone, lies there,swimming in his blood, at the foot of the high Altar; pricked withscissors; trodden, massacred;--gives one dumb sob, and gasps outhis miserable life for evermore. Sight to stir the heart of any man; much more of many men,self-styled Brigands of Avignon! The corpse of L'Escuyer, stretchedon a bier, the ghastly head girt with laurel, is borne through thestreets; with many- voiced unmelodious Nenia; funeral-wail stilldeeper than it is loud! The copper-face of Jourdan, of bereftPatriotism, has grown black. Patriot Municipality despatchesofficial Narrative and tidings to Paris; orders numerous orinnumerable arrestments for inquest and perquisition. Aristocratsmale and female are haled to the Castle; lie crowded insubterranean dungeons there, bemoaned by the hoarse rushing of theRhone; cut out from help. So lie they; waiting inquest and perquisition. Alas! with aJourdan Headsman for Generalissimo, with his copper-face grownblack, and armed Brigand Patriots chanting their Nenia, the inquestis likely to be brief. On the next day and the next, letMunicipality consent or not, a Brigand CourtMartial establishesitself in the subterranean stories of the Castle of Avignon;Brigand Executioners, with naked sabre, waiting at the door, for aBrigand verdict. Short judgment, no appeal! There is Brigand wrathand vengeance; not unrefreshed by brandy. Close by is the Dungeonof the Glaciere, or Ice-Tower: there may be deeds done--? For whichlanguage has no name!--Darkness and the shadow of horrid crueltyenvelopes these Castle Dungeons, that Glaciere Tower: clear onlythat many have entered, that few have returned. Jourdan and theBrigands, supreme now over Municipals, over all Authorities Patriotor Papal, reign in Avignon, waited on by Terror and Silence. The result of all which is that, on the 15th of November 1791,we behold Friend Dampmartin, and subalterns beneath him, andGeneral Choisi above him, with Infantry and Cavalry, and propercannon-carriages rattling in front, with spread banners, to thesound of fife and drum, wend, in a deliberate formidable manner,towards that sheer Castle Rock, towards those broad Gates ofAvignon; three new National-Assembly Commissioners following atsafe distance in the rear. (Dampmartin, i. 251-94.) Avignon,summoned in the name of Assembly and Law, flings its Gates wideopen; Choisi with the rest, Dampmartin and the Bons Enfans, 'GoodBoys of Baufremont,' so they name these brave ConstitutionalDragoons, known to them of old,--do enter, amid shouts andscattered flowers. To the joy of all honest persons; to the terroronly of Jourdan Headsman and the Brigands. Nay next we beholdcarbuncled swollen Jourdan himself shew copper-face, with sabre andfour pistols; affecting to talk high: engaging, meanwhile, tosurrender the Castle that instant. So the Choisi Grenadiers enterwith him there. They start and stop, passing that Glaciere,snuffing its horrible breath; with wild yell, with cries of "Cutthe Butcher down!"-and Jourdan has to whisk himself through secretpassages, and instantaneously vanish. Be the mystery of iniquity laid bare then! A Hundred and ThirtyCorpses, of men, nay of women and even children (for the tremblingmother, hastily seized, could not leave her infant), lie heaped inthat Glaciere; putrid, under putridities: the horror of the world.For three days there is mournful lifting out, and recognition; amidthe cries and movements of a passionate Southern people, nowkneeling in prayer, now storming in wild pity and rage: lastlythere is solemn sepulture, with muffled drums, religious requiem,and all the people's wail and tears. Their Massacred rest now inholy ground; buried in one grave.
And Jourdan Coupe-tete? Him also we behold again, after a day ortwo: in flight, through the most romantic Petrarchan hill-country;vehemently spurring his nag; young Ligonnet, a brisk youth ofAvignon, with Choisi Dragoons, close in his rear! With such swollenmass of a rider no nag can run to advantage. The tired nag,spur-driven, does take the River Sorgue; but sticks in the middleof it; firm on that chiaro fondo di Sorga; and will proceed nofurther for spurring! Young Ligonnet dashes up; the Copper-facemenaces and bellows, draws pistol, perhaps even snaps it; isnevertheless seized by the collar; is tied firm, ancles underhorse's belly, and ridden back to Avignon, hardly to be saved frommassacre on the streets there. (Dampmartin, ubi supra.) Such is the combustion of Avignon and the South-West, when itbecomes luminous! Long loud debate is in the august Legislative, inthe Mother- Society as to what now shall be done with it. Amnesty,cry eloquent Vergniaud and all Patriots: let there be mutual pardonand repentance, restoration, pacification, and if so might any howbe, an end! Which vote ultimately prevails. So the South-Westsmoulders and welters again in an 'Amnesty,' or Non-remembrance,which alas cannot but remember, no Lethe flowing above ground!Jourdan himself remains unchanged; gets loose again as one not yetgallows-ripe; nay, as we transciently discern from the distance, is'carried in triumph through the cities of the South.' (Deux Amisvii. (Paris, 1797), pp. 59-71.) What things men carry! With which transient glimpse, of a Copper-faced Portent faringin this manner through the cities of the South, we must quit theseregions;--and let them smoulder. They want not their Aristocrats;proud old Nobles, not yet emigrated. Arles has its 'Chiffonne,' so,in symbolical cant, they name that Aristocrat Secret-Association;Arles has its pavements piled up, by and by, into Aristocratbarricades. Against which Rebecqui, the hot- clear Patriot, mustlead Marseilles with cannon. The Bar of Iron has not yet risen tothe top in the Bay of Marseilles; neither have these hot Sons ofthe Phoceans submitted to be slaves. By clear management and hotinstance, Rebecqui dissipates that Chiffonne, without bloodshed;restores the pavement of Arles. He sails in Coastbarks, thisRebecqui, scrutinising suspicious Martello-towers, with the keeneye of Patriotism; marches overland with despatch, singly, or inforce; to City after City; dim scouring far and wide; (Barbaroux,p. 21; Hist. Parl. xiii. 421-4.)-- argues, and if it must be,fights. For there is much to do; Jales itself is lookingsuspicious. So that Legislator Fauchet, after debate on it, has topropose Commissioners and a Camp on the Plain of Beaucaire: with orwithout result. Of all which, and much else, let us note only this smallconsequence, that young Barbaroux, Advocate, Town-Clerk ofMarseilles, being charged to have these things remedied, arrived atParis in the month of February 1792. The beautiful and brave: youngSpartan, ripe in energy, not ripe in wisdom; over whose black doomthere shall flit nevertheless a certain ruddy fervour, streaks ofbright Southern tint, not wholly swallowed of Death! Note also thatthe Rolands of Lyons are again in Paris; for the second and finaltime. King's Inspectorship is abrogated at Lyons, as elsewhere:Roland has his retiring-pension to claim, if attainable; hasPatriot friends to commune with; at lowest, has a book to publish.That young Barbaroux and the Rolands came together; that elderlySpartan Roland liked, or even loved the young Spartan, and wasloved by him, one can fancy: and Madame--? Breathe not, thoupoison-breath, Evil-speech! That soul is taintless, clear, as themirror-sea. And yet if they too did look into each other's eyes,and each, in silence, in tragical renunciance, did find that theother was all too lovely? Honi soit! She calls him 'beautiful asAntinous:' he 'will speak elsewhere of that astonishing woman.'--AMadame d'Udon
(or some such name, for Dumont does not recollectquite clearly) gives copious Breakfast to the Brissotin Deputiesand us Friends of Freedom, at her house in the Place Vendome; withtemporary celebrity, with graces and wreathed smiles; not withoutcost. There, amid wide babble and jingle, our plan of LegislativeDebate is settled for the day, and much counselling held. StrictRoland is seen there, but does not go often. (Dumont, Souvenirs, p.374.)
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.V. Parliament FirstChapter 2.5.IV. No Sugar
Such are our inward troubles; seen in the Cities of the South;extant, seen or unseen, in all cities and districts, North as wellas South. For in all are Aristocrats, more or less malignant;watched by Patriotism; which again, being of various shades, fromlight Fayettist-Feuillant down to deepsombre Jacobin, has to watchitself! Directories of Departments, what we call County Magistracies,being chosen by Citizens of a too 'active' class, are found to pullone way; Municipalities, Town Magistracies, to pull the other way.In all places too are Dissident Priests; whom the Legislative willhave to deal with: contumacious individuals, working on thatangriest of passions; plotting, enlisting for Coblentz; orsuspected of plotting: fuel of a universal unconstitutional heat.What to do with them? They may be conscientious as well ascontumacious: gently they should be dealt with, and yet it must bespeedily. In unilluminated La Vendee the simple are like to beseduced by them; many a simple peasant, a Cathelineau thewool-dealer wayfaring meditative with his wool-packs, in thesehamlets, dubiously shakes his head! Two Assembly Commissioners wentthither last Autumn; considerate Gensonne, not yet called to be aSenator; Gallois, an editorial man. These Two, consulting withGeneral Dumouriez, spake and worked, softly, with judgment; theyhave hushed down the irritation, and produced a soft Report,--forthe time. The General himself doubts not in the least but he can keeppeace there; being an able man. He passes these frosty months amongthe pleasant people of Niort, occupies 'tolerably handsomeapartments in the Castle of Niort,' and tempers the minds of men.(Dumouriez, ii. 129.) Why is there but one Dumouriez? Elsewhere youfind South or North, nothing but untempered obscure jarring; whichbreaks forth ever and anon into open clangour of riot. SouthernPerpignan has its tocsin, by torch light; with rushing andonslaught: Northern Caen not less, by daylight; with Aristocratsranged in arms at Places of Worship; Departmental compromiseproving impossible; breaking into musketry and a Plot discovered!(Hist. Parl. xii. 131, 141; xiii. 114, 417.) Add Hunger too: forBread, always dear, is getting dearer: not so much as Sugar can behad; for good reasons. Poor Simoneau, Mayor of Etampes, in thisNorthern region, hanging out his Red Flag in some riot of grains,is trampled to death by a hungry exasperated People. What a tradethis of Mayor, in these times! Mayor of Saint-Denis hung at theLanterne, by Suspicion and Dyspepsia, as we saw long since; Mayorof Vaison, as we saw lately, buried before dead; and now this poorSimoneau, the Tanner, of Etampes,--whom legal Constitutionalismwill not forget. With factions, suspicions, want of bread and sugar, it is verilywhat they call dechire, torn asunder this poor country: France andall that is French. For, over seas too come bad news. In blackSaint-Domingo, before that variegated Glitter in the Champs Elyseeswas lit for an
Accepted Constitution, there had risen, and wasburning contemporary with it, quite another variegated Glitter andnocturnal Fulgor, had we known it: of molasses and ardent-spirits;of sugarboileries, plantations, furniture, cattle and men:skyhigh; the Plain of Cap Francais one huge whirl of smoke andflame! What a change here, in these two years; since that first 'Box ofTricolor Cockades' got through the Custom-house, and atrabiliarCreoles too rejoiced that there was a levelling of Bastilles!Levelling is comfortable, as we often say: levelling, yet only downto oneself. Your pale-white Creoles, have their grievances:--andyour yellow Quarteroons? And your dark-yellow Mulattoes? And yourSlaves soot-black? Quarteroon Oge, Friend of our Parisian BrissotinFriends of the Blacks, felt, for his share too, that Insurrectionwas the most sacred of duties. So the tricolor Cockades hadfluttered and swashed only some three months on the Creole hat,when Oge's signalconflagrations went aloft; with the voice of rageand terror. Repressed, doomed to die, he took black powder orseedgrains in the hollow of his hand, this Oge; sprinkled a film ofwhite ones on the top, and said to his Judges, "Behold they arewhite;"--then shook his hand, and said "Where are the Whites, Ousont les Blancs?" So now, in the Autumn of 1791, looking from the sky-windows ofCap Francais, thick clouds of smoke girdle our horizon, smoke inthe day, in the night fire; preceded by fugitive shrieking whitewomen, by Terror and Rumour. Black demonised squadrons aremassacring and harrying, with nameless cruelty. They fight and fire'from behind thickets and coverts,' for the Black man loves theBush; they rush to the attack, thousands strong, with brandishedcutlasses and fusils, with caperings, shoutings andvociferation,--which, if the White Volunteer Company stands firm,dwindle into staggerings, into quick gabblement, into panic flightat the first volley, perhaps before it. (Deux Amis, x. 157.) PoorOge could be broken on the wheel; this fire-whirlwind too can beabated, driven up into the Mountains: but Saint-Domingo is shaken,as Oge's seedgrains were; shaking, writhing in long horriddeath-throes, it is Black without remedy; and remains, as AfricanHaiti, a monition to the world. O my Parisian Friends, is not this, as well as Regraters andFeuillant Plotters, one cause of the astonishing dearth of Sugar!The Grocer, palpitant, with drooping lip, sees his Sugar taxe;weighed out by Female Patriotism, in instant retail, at theinadequate rate of twenty-five sous, or thirteen pence a pound."Abstain from it?" yes, ye Patriot Sections, all ye Jacobins,abstain! Louvet and Collot-d'Herbois so advise; resolute to makethe sacrifice: though "how shall literary men do without coffee?"Abstain, with an oath; that is the surest! (Debats des Jacobins,&c. (Hist. Parl. xiii. 171, 92-98.) Also, for like reason, must not Brest and the Shipping Interestlanguish? Poor Brest languishes, sorrowing, not without spleen;denounces an Aristocrat Bertrand-Moleville traitorous AristocratMarine-Minister. Do not her Ships and King's Ships lie rottingpiecemeal in harbour; Naval Officers mostly fled, and on furloughtoo, with pay? Little stirring there; if it be not the BrestGallies, whip-driven, with their Galley- Slaves,--alas, with someForty of our hapless Swiss Soldiers of Chateau- Vieux, amongothers! These Forty Swiss, too mindful of Nanci, do now, in theirred wool caps, tug sorrowfully at the oar; looking into theAtlantic brine, which reflects only their own sorrowful shaggyfaces; and seem forgotten of Hope.
But, on the whole, may we not say, in fugitive language, thatthe French Constitution which shall march is very rheumatic, fullof shooting internal pains, in joint and muscle; and will not marchwithout difficulty?
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.V. Parliament FirstChapter 2.5.V. Kings and Emigrants
Extremely rheumatic Constitutions have been known to march, andkeep on their feet, though in a staggering sprawling manner, forlong periods, in virtue of one thing only: that the Head werehealthy. But this Head of the French Constitution! What King Louisis and cannot help being, Readers already know. A King who cannottake the Constitution, nor reject the Constitution: nor do anythingat all, but miserably ask, What shall I do? A King environed withendless confusions; in whose own mind is no germ of order. Haughtyimplacable remnants of Noblesse struggling with humiliatedrepentant Barnave-Lameths: struggling in that obscure element offetchers and carriers, of Half-pay braggarts from the Cafe Valois,of Chambermaids, whisperers, and subaltern officious persons;fierce Patriotism looking on all the while, more and moresuspicious, from without: what, in such struggle, can they do? Atbest, cancel one another, and produce zero. Poor King! Barnave andyour Senatorial Jaucourts speak earnestly into this ear;Bertrand-Moleville, and Messengers from Coblentz, speak earnestlyinto that: the poor Royal head turns to the one side and to theother side; can turn itself fixedly to no side. Let Decency drop aveil over it: sorrier misery was seldom enacted in the world. Thisone small fact, does it not throw the saddest light on much? TheQueen is lamenting to Madam Campan: "What am I to do? When they,these Barnaves, get us advised to any step which the Noblesse donot like, then I am pouted at; nobody comes to my card table; theKing's Couchee is solitary." (Campan, ii. 177202.) In such a caseof dubiety, what is one to do? Go inevitably to the ground! The King has accepted this Constitution, knowing beforehand thatit will not serve: he studies it, and executes it in the hopemainly that it will be found inexecutable. King's Ships lie rottingin harbour, their officers gone; the Armies disorganised; robbersscour the highways, which wear down unrepaired; all Public Servicelies slack and waste: the Executive makes no effort, or an effortonly to throw the blame on the Constitution. Shamming death,'faisant le mort!' What Constitution, use it in this manner, canmarch? 'Grow to disgust the Nation' it will truly, (Bertrand-Moleville, i. c. 4.)--unless you first grow to disgust the Nation!It is Bertrand de Moleville's plan, and his Majesty's; the bestthey can form. Or if, after all, this best-plan proved too slow; proved afailure? Provident of that too, the Queen, shrouded in deepestmystery, 'writes all day, in cipher, day after day, to Coblentz;'Engineer Goguelat, he of the Night of Spurs, whom the LafayetteAmnesty has delivered from Prison, rides and runs. Now and then, onfit occasion, a Royal familiar visit can be paid to that Salle deManege, an affecting encouraging Royal Speech (sincere, doubt itnot, for the moment) can be delivered there, and the Senators allcheer and almost weep;--at the same time Mallet du Pan has visiblyceased editing, and invisibly bears abroad a King's Autograph,soliciting help from the Foreign Potentates. (Moleville, i. 370.)Unhappy Louis, do this thing or else that other,--if thoucouldst!
The thing which the King's Government did do was to staggerdistractedly from contradiction to contradiction; and wedding Fireto Water, envelope itself in hissing, and ashy steam! Danton andneedy corruptible Patriots are sopped with presents of cash: theyaccept the sop: they rise refreshed by it, and travel their ownway. (Ibid. i. c. 17.) Nay, the King's Government did likewise hireHand-clappers, or claqueurs, persons to applaud. SubterraneanRivarol has Fifteen Hundred men in King's pay, at the rate of someten thousand pounds sterling, per month; what he calls 'a staff ofgenius:' Paragraph-writers, Placard-Journalists; 'two hundred andeighty Applauders, at three shillings a day:' one of the strangestStaffs ever commanded by man. The muster-rolls and account-books ofwhich still exist. (Montgaillard, iii. 41.) BertrandMolevillehimself, in a way he thinks very dexterous, contrives to pack theGalleries of the Legislative; gets Sansculottes hired to gothither, and applaud at a signal given, they fancying it was Petionthat bid them: a device which was not detected for almost a week.Dexterous enough; as if a man finding the Day fast decline shoulddetermine on altering the Clockhands: that is a thing possible forhim. Here too let us note an unexpected apparition of Philipped'Orleans at Court: his last at the Levee of any King. D'Orleans,sometime in the winter months seemingly, has been appointed to thatold first-coveted rank of Admiral,--though only over ships rottingin port. The wished-for comes too late! However, he waits onBertrand-Moleville to give thanks: nay to state that he wouldwillingly thank his Majesty in person; that, in spite of all thehorrible things men have said and sung, he is far from being hisMajesty's enemy; at bottom, how far! Bertrand delivers the message,brings about the royal Interview, which does pass to thesatisfaction of his Majesty; d'Orleans seeming clearly repentant,determined to turn over a new leaf. And yet, next Sunday, what dowe see? 'Next Sunday,' says Bertrand, 'he came to the King's Levee;but the Courtiers ignorant of what had passed, the crowd ofRoyalists who were accustomed to resort thither on that dayspecially to pay their court, gave him the most humiliatingreception. They came pressing round him; managing, as if bymistake, to tread on his toes, to elbow him towards the door, andnot let him enter again. He went downstairs to her Majesty'sApartments, where cover was laid; so soon as he shewed face, soundsrose on all sides, "Messieurs, take care of the dishes," as if hehad carried poison in his pockets. The insults which his presenceevery where excited forced him to retire without having seen theRoyal Family: the crowd followed him to the Queen's Staircase; indescending, he received a spitting (crachat) on the head, and someothers, on his clothes. Rage and spite were seen visibly painted onhis face:' (Bertrand-Moleville, i. 177.) as indeed how could theymiss to be? He imputes it all to the King and Queen, who knownothing of it, who are even much grieved at it; and so descends, tohis Chaos again. Bertrand was there at the Chateau that dayhimself, and an eye-witness to these things. For the rest, Non-jurant Priests, and the repression of them,will distract the King's conscience; Emigrant Princes and Noblessewill force him to double-dealing: there must be veto on veto; amidthe ever-waxing indignation of men. For Patriotism, as we said,looks on from without, more and more suspicious. Waxing tempest,blast after blast, of Patriot indignation, from without; diminorganic whirl of Intrigues, Fatuities, within! Inorganic,fatuous; from which the eye turns away. De Stael intrigues for herso gallant Narbonne, to get him made War-Minister; and ceases not,having got him made. The King shall fly to Rouen; shall there, withthe gallant Narbonne, properly 'modify the Constitution.' This isthe same brisk Narbonne, who, last year, cut out from theirentanglement, by force of dragoons, those poor fugitive RoyalAunts: men say he is at
bottom their Brother, or even more, soscandalous is scandal. He drives now, with his de Stael, rapidly tothe Armies, to the Frontier Towns; produces rose-coloured Reports,not too credible; perorates, gesticulates; wavers poising himselfon the top, for a moment, seen of men; then tumbles, dismissed,washed away by the Time-flood. Also the fair Princess de Lamballe intrigues, bosom friend ofher Majesty: to the angering of Patriotism. Beautiful Unfortunate,why did she ever return from England? Her small silver-voice, whatcan it profit in that piping of the black World-tornado? Which willwhirl her, poor fragile Bird of Paradise, against grim rocks.Lamballe and de Stael intrigue visibly, apart or together: but whoshall reckon how many others, and in what infinite ways, invisibly!Is there not what one may call an 'Austrian Committee,' sittinginvisible in the Tuileries; centre of an invisible AntiNationalSpiderweb, which, for we sleep among mysteries, stretches itsthreads to the ends of the Earth? Journalist Carra has now theclearest certainty of it: to Brissotin Patriotism, and Francegenerally, it is growing more and more probable. O Reader, hast thou no pity for this Constitution? Rheumaticshooting pains in its members; pressure of hydrocephale andhysteric vapours on its Brain: a Constitution divided againstitself; which will never march, hardly even stagger? Why were notDrouet and Procureur Sausse in their beds, that unblessed VarennesNight! Why did they not, in the name of Heaven, let the KorffBerline go whither it listed! Nameless incoherency,incompatibility, perhaps prodigies at which the world stillshudders, had been spared. But now comes the third thing that bodes ill for the marching ofthis French Constitution: besides the French People, and the FrenchKing, there is thirdly--the assembled European world? it has becomenecessary now to look at that also. Fair France is so luminous: andround and round it, is troublous Cimmerian Night. Calonnes,Breteuils hover dim, far-flown; overnetting Europe with intrigues.From Turin to Vienna; to Berlin, and utmost Petersburg in thefrozen North! Great Burke has raised his great voice long ago;eloquently demonstrating that the end of an Epoch is come, to allappearance the end of Civilised Time. Him many answer: CamilleDesmoulins, Clootz Speaker of Mankind, Paine the rebelliousNeedleman, and honourable Gallic Vindicators in that country and inthis: but the great Burke remains unanswerable; 'The Age ofChivalry is gone,' and could not but go, having now produced thestill more indomitable Age of Hunger. Altars enough, of theDubois-Rohan sort, changing to the Gobel-and- Talleyrand sort, arefaring by rapid transmutation to, shall we say, the rightProprietor of them? French Game and French Game-Preservers didalight on the Cliffs of Dover, with cries of distress. Who will saythat the end of much is not come? A set of mortals has risen, whobelieve that Truth is not a printed Speculation, but a practicalFact; that Freedom and Brotherhood are possible in this Earth,supposed always to be Belial's, which 'the Supreme Quack' was toinherit! Who will say that Church, State, Throne, Altar are not indanger; that the sacred Strong-box itself, last Palladium of effeteHumanity, may not be blasphemously blown upon, and its padlocksundone? The poor Constituent Assembly might act with what delicacy anddiplomacy it would; declare that it abjured meddling with itsneighbours, foreign conquest, and so forth; but from the first thisthing was to be predicted: that old Europe and new France could notsubsist together. A Glorious Revolution, oversetting State-Prisonsand Feudalism; publishing, with outburst of Federative Cannon, inface of all the Earth, that Appearance is not Reality, how shall itsubsist
amid Governments which, if Appearance is not Reality,are--one knows not what? In death feud, and internecine wrestle andbattle, it shall subsist with them; not otherwise. Rights of Man, printed on Cotton Handkerchiefs, in variousdialects of human speech, pass over to the Frankfort Fair.(Toulongeon, i. 256.) What say we, Frankfort Fair? They havecrossed Euphrates and the fabulous Hydaspes; wafted themselvesbeyond the Ural, Altai, Himmalayah: struck off from woodstereotypes, in angular Picture-writing, they are jabbered andjingled of in China and Japan. Where will it stop? Kien-Lung smellsmischief; not the remotest Dalai-Lama shall now knead hisdough-pills in peace.--Hateful to us; as is the Night! Bestiryourselves, ye Defenders of Order! They do bestir themselves: allKings and Kinglets, with their spiritual temporal array, are astir;their brows clouded with menace. Diplomatic emissaries fly swift;Conventions, privy Conclaves assemble; and wise wigs wag, takingwhat counsel they can. Also, as we said, the Pamphleteer draws pen, on this side andthat: zealous fists beat the Pulpitdrum. Not without issue! Didnot iron Birmingham, shouting 'Church and King,' itself knew notwhy, burst out, last July, into rage, drunkenness, and fire; andyour Priestleys, and the like, dining there on that Bastille day,get the maddest singeing: scandalous to consider! In which samedays, as we can remark, high Potentates, Austrian and Prussian,with Emigrants, were faring towards Pilnitz in Saxony; there, onthe 27th of August, they, keeping to themselves what further'secret Treaty' there might or might not be, did publish theirhopes and their threatenings, their Declaration that it was 'thecommon cause of Kings.' Where a will to quarrel is, there is a way. Our readers rememberthat Pentecost-Night, Fourth of August 1789, when Feudalism fell ina few hours? The National Assembly, in abolishing Feudalism,promised that 'compensation' should be given; and did endeavour togive it. Nevertheless the Austrian Kaiser answers that his GermanPrinces, for their part, cannot be unfeudalised; that they havePossessions in French Alsace, and Feudal Rights secured to them,for which no conceivable compensation will suffice. So this of thePossessioned Princes, 'Princes Possessiones' is bandied from Courtto Court; covers acres of diplomatic paper at this day: a wearinessto the world. Kaunitz argues from Vienna; Delessart responds fromParis, though perhaps not sharply enough. The Kaiser and hisPossessioned Princes will too evidently come and takecompensation--so much as they can get. Nay might one not partitionFrance, as we have done Poland, and are doing; and so pacify itwith a vengeance? From South to North! For actually it is 'the common cause ofKings.' Swedish Gustav, sworn Knight of the Queen of France, willlead Coalised Armies;--had not Ankarstrom treasonously shot him;for, indeed, there were griefs nearer home. (30th March 1792(Annual Register, p. 11). Austria and Prussia speak at Pilnitz; allmen intensely listening: Imperial Rescripts have gone out fromTurin; there will be secret Convention at Vienna. Catherine ofRussia beckons approvingly; will help, were she ready. SpanishBourbon stirs amid his pillows; from him too, even from him, shallthere come help. Lean Pitt, 'the Minister of Preparatives,' looksout from his watch-tower in Saint-James's, in a suspicious manner.Councillors plotting, Calonnes dim-hovering;--alas, Serjeantsrub-a-dubbing openly through all manner of German market-towns,collecting ragged valour! (Toulongeon, ii. 100-117.) Look where youwill, immeasurable Obscurantism is girdling this fair France;which, again, will not be girdled by it. Europe is in travail; pangafter pang; what a shriek was that of Pilnitz! The birth will be:WAR.
Nay the worst feature of the business is this last, still to benamed; the Emigrants at Coblentz, so many thousands ranking there,in bitter hate and menace: King's Brothers, all Princes of theBlood except wicked d'Orleans; your duelling de Castries, youreloquent Cazales; bull-headed Malseignes, a wargod Broglie; DistaffSeigneurs, insulted Officers, all that have ridden across theRhine-stream;--d'Artois welcoming Abbe Maury with a kiss, andclasping him publicly to his own royal heart! Emigration, flowingover the Frontiers, now in drops, now in streams, in varioushumours of fear, of petulance, rage and hope, ever since thosefirst Bastille days when d'Artois went, 'to shame the citizens ofParis,'--has swollen to the size of a Phenomenon of the world.Coblentz is become a small extra-national Versailles; a Versaillesin partibus: briguing, intriguing, favouritism, strumpetocracyitself, they say, goes on there; all the old activities, on a smallscale, quickened by hungry Revenge. Enthusiasm, of loyalty, of hatred and hope, has risen to a highpitch; as, in any Coblentz tavern, you may hear, in speech, and insinging. Maury assists in the interior Council; much is decided on;for one thing, they keep lists of the dates of your emigrating; amonth sooner, or a month later determines your greater or your lessright to the coming Division of the Spoil. Cazales himself, becausehe had occasionally spoken with a Constitutional tone, was lookedon coldly at first: so pure are our principles. (Montgaillard, iii.517; Toulongeon, (ubi supra).) And arms are ahammering at Liege;'three thousand horses' ambling hitherward from the Fairs ofGermany: Cavalry enrolling; likewise Foot-soldiers, 'in blue coat,red waistcoat, and nankeen trousers!' (See Hist. Parl. xiii. 11-38,41-61, 358, &c.) They have their secret domesticcorrespondences, as their open foreign: with disaffectedCrypto-Aristocrats, with contumacious Priests, with AustrianCommittee in the Tuileries. Deserters are spirited over byassiduous crimps; RoyalAllemand is gone almost wholly. Their routeof march, towards France and the Division of the Spoil, is markedout, were the Kaiser once ready. "It is said, they mean to poisonthe sources; but," adds Patriotism making Report of it, "they willnot poison the source of Liberty," whereat 'on applaudit,' wecannot but applaud. Also they have manufactories of FalseAssignats; and men that circulate in the interior distributing anddisbursing the same; one of these we denounce now to LegislativePatriotism: 'A man Lebrun by name; about thirty years of age, withblonde hair and in quantity; has,' only for the time being surely,'a black-eye, oeil poche; goes in a wiski with a black horse,'(Moniteur, Seance du 2 Novembre 1791 (Hist. Parl. xii.212).)--always keeping his Gig! Unhappy Emigrants, it was their lot, and the lot of France! Theyare ignorant of much that they should know: of themselves, of whatis around them. A Political Party that knows not when it is beaten,may become one of the fatallist of things, to itself, and to all.Nothing will convince these men that they cannot scatter the FrenchRevolution at the first blast of their war-trumpet; that the FrenchRevolution is other than a blustering Effervescence, of brawlersand spouters, which, at the flash of chivalrous broadswords, at therustle of gallows-ropes, will burrow itself, in dens the deeper thewelcomer. But, alas, what man does know and measure himself, andthe things that are round him;--else where were the need ofphysical fighting at all? Never, till they are cleft asunder, canthese heads believe that a Sansculottic arm has any vigour in it:cleft asunder, it will be too late to believe. One may say, without spleen against his poor erring brothers ofany side, that above all other mischiefs, this of the EmigrantNobles acted fatally on France. Could they have known, could
theyhave understood! In the beginning of 1789, a splendour and a terrorstill surrounded them: the Conflagration of their Chateaus, kindledby months of obstinacy, went out after the Fourth of August; andmight have continued out, had they at all known what to defend,what to relinquish as indefensible. They were still a graduatedHierarchy of Authorities, or the accredited Similitude of such:they sat there, uniting King with Commonalty; transmitting andtranslating gradually, from degree to degree, the command of theone into the obedience of the other; rendering command andobedience still possible. Had they understood their place, and whatto do in it, this French Revolution, which went forth explosivelyin years and in months, might have spread itself over generations;and not a torture-death but a quiet euthanasia have been providedfor many things. But they were proud and high, these men; they were not wise toconsider. They spurned all from them; in disdainful hate, they drewthe sword and flung away the scabbard. France has not only noHierarchy of Authorities, to translate command into obedience; itsHierarchy of Authorities has fled to the enemies of France; callsloudly on the enemies of France to interfere armed, who want but apretext to do that. Jealous Kings and Kaisers might have looked onlong, meditating interference, yet afraid and ashamed to interfere:but now do not the King's Brothers, and all French Nobles,Dignitaries and Authorities that are free to speak, which the Kinghimself is not,-passionately invite us, in the name of Right andof Might? Ranked at Coblentz, from Fifteen to Twenty thousand standnow brandishing their weapons, with the cry: On, on! Yes,Messieurs, you shall on;--and divide the spoil according to yourdates of emigrating. Of all which things a poor Legislative Assembly, and PatriotFrance, is informed: by denunciant friend, by triumphant foe.Sulleau's Pamphlets, of the Rivarol Staff of Genius, circulate;heralding supreme hope. Durosoy's Placards tapestry the walls;Chant du Coq crows day, pecked at by Tallien's Ami des Citoyens.King's-Friend, Royou, Ami du Roi, can name, in exact arithmeticalciphers, the contingents of the various Invading Potentates; inall, Four hundred and nineteen thousand Foreign fighting men, withFifteen thousand Emigrants. Not to reckon these your daily andhourly desertions, which an Editor must daily record, of wholeCompanies, and even Regiments, crying Vive le Roi, vive la Reine,and marching over with banners spread: (Ami du Roi Newspaper (inHist. Parl. xiii. 175).)-- lies all, and wind; yet to Patriotismnot wind; nor, alas, one day, to Royou! Patriotism, therefore, maybrawl and babble yet a little while: but its hours are numbered:Europe is coming with Four hundred and nineteen thousand and theChivalry of France; the gallows, one may hope, will get itsown.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.V. Parliament FirstChapter 2.5.VI. Brigands and Jales
We shall have War, then; and on what terms! With an Executive'pretending,' really with less and less deceptiveness now, 'to bedead;' casting even a wishful eye towards the enemy: on such termswe shall have War. Public Functionary in vigorous action there is none; if it benot Rivarol with his Staff of Genius and Two hundred and eightyApplauders. The Public Service lies waste: the very tax-gathererhas forgotten his cunning: in this and the other Provincial Boardof Management (Directoire de Departmente) it is found advisable toretain what Taxes you can gather, to pay your own
inevitableexpenditures. Our Revenue is Assignats; emission on emission ofPaper-money. And the Army; our Three grand Armies, of Rochambeau,of Luckner, of Lafayette? Lean, disconsolate hover these Threegrand Armies, watching the Frontiers there; three Flights oflong-necked Cranes in moulting time;--wretched, disobedient,disorganised; who never saw fire; the old Generals and Officersgone across the Rhine. War- minister Narbonne, he of therose-coloured Reports, solicits recruitments, equipments, money,always money; threatens, since he can get none,- to 'take hissword,' which belongs to himself, and go serve his country withthat. (Moniteur, Seance du 23 Janvier, 1792; Biographie desMinistres para Narbonne.) The question of questions is: What shall be done? Shall we, witha desperate defiance which Fortune sometimes favours, draw thesword at once, in the face of this in-rushing world of Emigrationand Obscurantism; or wait, and temporise and diplomatise, till, ifpossible, our resources mature themselves a little? And yet againare our resources growing towards maturity; or growing the otherway? Dubious: the ablest Patriots are divided; Brissot and hisBrissotins, or Girondins, in the Legislative, cry aloud for theformer defiant plan; Robespierre, in the Jacobins, pleads as loudfor the latter dilatory one: with responses, even with mutualreprimands; distracting the Mother of Patriotism. Consider alsowhat agitated Breakfasts there may be at Madame d'Udon's in thePlace Vendome! The alarm of all men is great. Help, ye Patriots;and O at least agree; for the hour presses. Frost was not yet gone,when in that 'tolerably handsome apartment of the Castle of Niort,'there arrived a Letter: General Dumouriez must to Paris. It isWar-minister Narbonne that writes; the General shall give counselabout many things. (Dumouriez, ii. c. 6.) In the month of February1792, Brissotin friends welcome their DumouriezPolymetis,--comparable really to an antique Ulysses in moderncostume; quick, elastic, shifty, insuppressible, a 'manycounselledman.' Let the Reader fancy this fair France with a whole CimmerianEurope girdling her, rolling in on her; black, to burst in redthunder of War; fair France herself hand-shackled and foot-shackledin the weltering complexities of this Social Clothing, orConstitution, which they have made for her; a France that, in suchConstitution, cannot march! And Hunger too; and plottingAristocrats, and excommunicating Dissident Priests: 'The man Lebrunby name' urging his black wiski, visible to the eye: and, stillmore terrible in his invisibility, Engineer Goguelat, with Queen'scipher, riding and running! The excommunicatory Priests give new trouble in the Maine andLoire; La Vendee, nor Cathelineau the wool-dealer, has not ceasedgrumbling and rumbling. Nay behold Jales itself once more: howoften does that real- imaginary Camp of the Fiend require to beextinguished! For near two years now, it has waned faint and againwaxed bright, in the bewildered soul of Patriotism: actually, ifPatriotism knew it, one of the most surprising products of Natureworking with Art. Royalist Seigneurs, under this or the otherpretext, assemble the simple people of these Cevennes Mountains;men not unused to revolt, and with heart for fighting, could theirpoor heads be got persuaded. The Royalist Seigneur harangues;harping mainly on the religious string: "True Priests maltreated,false Priests intruded, Protestants (once dragooned) nowtriumphing, things sacred given to the dogs;" and so produces, fromthe pious Mountaineer throat, rough growlings. "Shall we nottestify, then, ye brave hearts of the Cevennes; march to therescue? Holy Religion; duty to God and King?" "Si fait, si fait,Just so, just so," answer the brave hearts always: "Mais il y a debien bonnes choses dans la Revolution, But there are many goodthings in the Revolution
too!"--And so the matter, cajole as wemay, will only turn on its axis, not stir from the spot, andremains theatrical merely. (Dampmartin, i. 201.) Nevertheless deepen your cajolery, harp quick and quicker, yeRoyalist Seigneurs; with a deadlift effort you may bring it tothat. In the month of June next, this Camp of Jales will step forthas a theatricality suddenly become real; Two thousand strong, andwith the boast that it is Seventy thousand: most strange to see;with flags flying, bayonets fixed; with Proclamation, and d'ArtoisCommission of civil war! Let some Rebecqui, or other the likehot-clear Patriot; let some 'Lieutenant-Colonel Aubry,' if Rebecquiis busy elsewhere, raise instantaneous National Guards, anddisperse and dissolve it; and blow the Old Castle asunder,(Moniteur, Seance du 15 Juillet 1792.) that so, if possible, wehear of it no more! In the Months of February and March, it is recorded, the terror,especially of rural France, had risen even to the transcendentalpitch: not far from madness. In Town and Hamlet is rumour; of war,massacre: that Austrians, Aristocrats, above all, that The Brigandsare close by. Men quit their houses and huts; rush fugitive,shrieking, with wife and child, they know not whither. Such aterror, the eye-witnesses say, never fell on a Nation; nor shallagain fall, even in Reigns of Terror expressly so-called. TheCountries of the Loire, all the Central and South-East regions,start up distracted, 'simultaneously as by an electric shock;'--forindeed grain too gets scarcer and scarcer. 'The people barricadethe entrances of Towns, pile stones in the upper stories, the womenprepare boiling water; from moment to moment, expecting the attack.In the Country, the alarm-bell rings incessant: troops of peasants,gathered by it, scour the highways, seeking an imaginary enemy.They are armed mostly with scythes stuck in wood; and, arriving inwild troops at the barricaded Towns, are themselves sometimes takenfor Brigands.' (Newspapers, &c. (in Hist. Parl. xiii.325).) So rushes old France: old France is rushing down. What the endwill be is known to no mortal; that the end is near all mortals mayknow.
Volume II. The ConstitutionBook 2.V. Parliament FirstChapter 2.5.VII. Constitution will not march
To all which our poor Legislative, tied up by an unmarchingConstitution, can oppose nothing, by way of remedy, but mere burstsof parliamentary eloquence! They go on, debating, denouncing,objurgating: loud weltering Chaos, which devours itself. But their two thousand and odd Decrees? Reader, these happilyconcern not thee, nor me. Mere Occasional Decrees, foolish and notfoolish; sufficient for that day was its own evil! Of the whole twothousand there are not, now half a score, and these mostly blightedin the bud by royal Veto, that will profit or disprofit us. On the17th of January, the Legislative, for one thing, got its HighCourt, its Haute Cour, set up at Orleans. The theory had been givenby the Constituent, in May last, but this is the reality: a Courtfor the trial of Political Offences; a Court which cannot wantwork. To this it was decreed that there needed no royal Acceptance,therefore that there could be no Veto. Also Priests can now bemarried; ever since last October. A patriotic adventurous Priesthad made bold to marry himself then; and not thinking this enough,came to
the bar with his new spouse; that the whole world mighthold honey-moon with him, and a Law be obtained. Less joyful are the Laws against Refractory Priests; and yet noless needful! Decrees on Priests and Decrees on Emigrants: theseare the two brief Series of Decrees, worked out with endlessdebate, and then cancelled by Veto, which mainly concern us here.For an august National Assembly must needs conquer theseRefractories, Clerical or Laic, and thumbscrew them into obedience;yet, behold, always as you turn your legislative thumbscrew, andwill press and even crush till Refractories give way,-- King's Vetosteps in, with magical paralysis; and your thumbscrew, hardlysqueezing, much less crushing, does not act! Truly a melancholy Set of Decrees, a pair of Sets; paralysed byVeto! First, under date the 28th of October 1791, we haveLegislative Proclamation, issued by herald and bill-sticker;inviting Monsieur, the King's Brother to return within two months,under penalties. To which invitation Monsieur replies nothing; orindeed replies by Newspaper Parody, inviting the august Legislative'to return to common sense within two months,' under penalties.Whereupon the Legislative must take stronger measures. So, on the9th of November, we declare all Emigrants to be 'suspect ofconspiracy;' and, in brief, to be 'outlawed,' if they have notreturned at Newyear'sday:--Will the King say Veto? That 'tripleimpost' shall be levied on these men's Properties, or even theirProperties be 'put in sequestration,' one can understand. Butfurther, on Newyear's-day itself, not an individual having'returned,' we declare, and with fresh emphasis some fortnightlater again declare, That Monsieur is dechu, forfeited of hiseventual Heirship to the Crown; nay more that Conde, Calonne, and aconsiderable List of others are accused of high treason; and shallbe judged by our High Court of Orleans: Veto!--Then again as toNonjurant Priests: it was decreed, in November last, that theyshould forfeit what Pensions they had; be 'put under inspection,under surveillance,' and, if need were, be banished: Veto! A stillsharper turn is coming; but to this also the answer will be,Veto. Veto after Veto; your thumbscrew paralysed! Gods and men may seethat the Legislative is in a false position. As, alas, who is in atrue one? Voices already murmur for a 'National Convention.'(December 1791 (Hist. Parl. xii. 257).) This poor Legislative,spurred and stung into action by a whole France and a whole Europe,cannot act; can only objurgate and perorate; with stormy 'motions,'and motion in which is no way: with effervescence, with noise andfuliginous fury! What scenes in that National Hall! President jingling hisinaudible bell; or, as utmost signal of distress, clapping on hishat; 'the tumult subsiding in twenty minutes,' and this or theother indiscreet Member sent to the Abbaye Prison for three days!Suspected Persons must be summoned and questioned; old M. deSombreuil of the Invalides has to give account of himself, and whyhe leaves his Gates open. Unusual smoke rose from the SevresPottery, indicating conspiracy; the Potters explained that it wasNecklace-Lamotte's Memoirs, bought up by her Majesty, which theywere endeavouring to suppress by fire, (Moniteur, Seance du 28 Mai1792; Campan, ii. 196.)--which nevertheless he that runs may stillread. Again, it would seem, Duke de Brissac and the King'sConstitutional-Guard are 'making cartridges secretly in thecellars;' a set of Royalists, pure and impure; black cut-throatsmany of
them, picked out of gaming houses and sinks; in all Sixthousand instead of Eighteen hundred; who evidently gloom on usevery time we enter the Chateau. (Dumouriez, ii. 168.) Wherefore,with infinite debate, let Brissac and King's Guard be disbanded.Disbanded accordingly they are; after only two months of existence,for they did not get on foot till March of this same year. So endsbriefly the King's new Constitutional Maison Militaire; he must nowbe guarded by mere Swiss and blue Nationals again. It seems the lotof Constitutional things. New Constitutional Maison Civile he wouldnever even establish, much as Barnave urged it; old residentDuchesses sniffed at it, and held aloof; on the whole her Majestythought it not worth while, the Noblesse would so soon be backtriumphant. (Campan, ii. c. 19.) Or, looking still into this National Hall and its scenes, beholdBishop Torne, a Constitutional Prelate, not of severe morals,demanding that 'religious costumes and such caricatures' beabolished. Bishop Torne warms, catches fire; finishes by untying,and indignantly flinging on the table, as if for gage or bet, hisown pontifical cross. Which cross, at any rate, is instantlycovered by the cross of Te-Deum Fauchet, then by other crosses, andin