Auguſt 12.
My letters, previous to the time when I judged it neceſſary to deſiſt from writing, will have given you ſome faint ſketch of the ſituation of the country, and the ſufferings of its inhabitantſ—I ſay a faint ſketch, becauſe a thouſand horrors and iniquities, which are now daily diſcloſing, were then confined to the ſcenes where they were perpetrated; and we knew little more of them than what we collected from the reportſ of the Convention, where they excited a laugh as pleaſantries, or applauſe as acts of patriotiſm.
France had become one vaſt priſon, executions were daily multiplied, and a minute and comprehenſive oppreſſion ſeemed to have placed the lives, liberty, and fortune of all within the graſp of the ſingle Committee. Deſpair itſelf was ſubdued, and the people were gradually ſinking into a gloomy and ſtupid obedience.
* The words deſpotiſm and tyranny are ſufficiently expreſſive of the nature of the government to which they are applied; yet ſtill they are words rendered familiar to us only by hiſtory, and convey no preciſe idea, except that of a bad political ſyſtem. The condition of the French at this time, beſides its wretchedneſs, had ſomething ſo ſtrange, ſo original in it, that even thoſe who beheld it with attention muſt be content to wonder, without pretending to offer any deſcription as adequate.
—The following extract from a ſpeech of Bailleul, a member of the Convention, exhibits a picture nearer the original than I have yet ſeen—
"La terreur dominait tous les eſprits, comprimait tous les couerſ— elle etait la force du gouvernement, et ce gouvernement etait tel, que les nombreux habitans d'un vaſte territoire ſemblaient avoir perdu les qualites qui diſtinguent l'homme de l'animal domeſtique: ils ſemblaient meme n'avoir de vie que ce que le gouvernement voulait bien leur en accorder.—Le moi humain n'exiſtoit plus; chaque individu n'etait qu'une machine, allant, venant, penſant ou ne penſant pas, felon que la tyrannie le preſſait ou l'animait." Diſcours de Bailleul, 19 March 1795. "The minds of all were ſubdued by terror, and every heart waſ compreſſed beneath its influence.—In this conſiſted the ſtrength of the government; and that government was ſuch, that the immenſe population of a vaſt territory, ſeemed to have loſt all the qualities which diſtinguiſh man from the animals attached to him.— They appeared to exhibit no ſigns of life but ſuch as their rulerſ condeſcended to permit—the very ſenſe of exiſtence ſeemed doubtful or extinct, and each individual was reduced to a mere machine, going or coming, thinking or not thinking, according as the impulſe of tyranny gave him force or animation." Speech of Bailleul, 19 March 1795.
On the twenty-ſecond of Prairial, (June 10,) a law, conſiſting of a variety of articles for the regulation of the Revolutionary Tribunal, waſ introduced to the convention by Couthon, a member of the government; and, as uſual adopted with very little previous diſcuſſion.—Though there waſ no clauſe of this act but ought to have given the alarm to humanity, "knocked at the heart, and bid it not be quiet;" yet the whole appeared perfectly unexceptionable to the Aſſembly in general: till, on farther examination, they found it contained an implied repeal of the law hitherto obſerved, according to which, no repreſentative could be arreſted without a preliminary decree for that purpoſe.—This diſcovery awakened their ſuſpicions, and the next day Bourdon de l'Oiſe, a man of unſteady principles, (even as a revolutioniſt,) was ſpirited up to demand an explicit renunciation of any power in the Committee to attack the legiſlative inviolability except in the accuſtomed forms.—The clauſeſ which elected a jury of murderers, that bereft all but guilt of hope, and offered no proſpect to innocence but death, were paſſed with no other comment than the uſual one of applauſe.*—
* The baſeneſs, cruelty, and cowardice of the Convention are neither to be denied, nor palliated. For ſeveral months they not only paſſed decrees of proſcription and murder which might reach every individual in France except themſelves, but they even ſacrificed numbers of their own body; and if, inſtead of propoſing an article affecting the whole Convention, the Committee had demanded the headſ of as many Deputies as they had occaſion for by name, I am perſuaded they would have met no reſiſtance.—This ſingle example of oppoſition only renders the convention ſtill more an object of abhorrence, becauſe it marks that they could ſubdue their puſillanimity when their own ſafety was menaced, and that their previous acquieſcence was voluntary.
—This, and this only, by involving their perſonal ſafety, excited their courage through their fears.—Merlin de Douay, originally a worthleſſ character, and become yet more ſo by way of obviating the imputation of bribery from the court, ſeconded Bourdon's motion, and the obnoxiouſ article was repealed inſtantaneouſly.
This firſt and only inſtance of oppoſition was highly diſpleaſing to the Committee, and, on the twenty-fourth, Robeſpierre, Barrere, Couthon, and Billaud, animadverted with ſuch ſeverity on the promoters of it, that the terrified Bourdon* declared, the repeal he had ſolicited was unneceſſary, and that he believed the Committee were deſtined to be the ſaviours of the country; while Merlin de Douay diſclaimed all ſhare in the buſineſſ— and, in fine, it was determined, that the law of the twenty-ſecond of Prairial ſhould remain as firſt preſented to the Convention, and that the qualification of the ſucceeding day was void.
* It was on this occaſion that the "intrepid" Bourdon kept his bed a whole month with fear.
So dangerous an infringement on the privileges of the repreſentative body, dwelt on minds inſenſible to every other conſideration; the principal members caballed ſecretly on the perils by which they were ſurrounded; and the ſullen concord which now marked their deliberations, was beheld by the Committee rather as the prelude to revolt, than the indication of continued obedience. In the mean while it was openly propoſed to concentrate ſtill more the functions of government. The circulation of newſpapers was inſinuated to be uſeleſs; and Robeſpierre gave ſome hints of ſuppreſſing all but one, which ſhould be under particular and official controul.*
* This intended reſtriction was unneceſſary; for the newſpapers were all, not indeed paid by government, but ſo much ſubject to the cenſure of the guillotine, that they had become, under an "unlimited freedom of the preſs," more cautious and inſipid than the gazetteſ of the proſcribed court. Poor Duplain, editor of the "Petit Courier," and ſubſequently of the "Echo," whom I remember one of the firſt partizans of the revolution, narrowly eſcaped the maſſacre of Auguſt 1792, and was afterwards guillotined for publiſhing the ſurrender of Landrecy three days before it was announced officially.
A rumour prevailed, that the refractory members who had excited the late rebellion were to be ſacrificed, a general purification of the Aſſembly to take place, and that the committee and a few ſelect adherents were to be inveſted with the whole national authority. Liſts of proſcription were ſaid to be made; and one of them was ſecretly communicated as having been found among the papers of a juryman of the Revolutionary Tribunal lately arreſted.—Theſe apprehenſions left the members implicated no alternative but to anticipate hoſtilities, or fall a ſacrifice; for they knew the inſtant of attack would be that of deſtruction, and that the people were too indifferent to take any part in the conteſt.
Things were in this ſtate, when two circumſtances of a very different nature aſſiſted in promoting the final exploſion, which ſo much aſtoniſhed, not only the reſt of Europe, but France itſelf.
It is rare that a number of men, however well meaning, perfectly agree in the exerciſe of power; and the combinations of the ſelfiſh and wicked muſt be peculiarly ſubject to diſcord and diſſolution. The Committee of Public Welfare, while it enſlaved the convention and the people, was torn by feuds, and undermined by the jealouſies of its members. Robeſpierre, Couthon, and St. Juſt, were oppoſed by Collot and Billaud Varennes; while Barrere endeavoured to deceive both parties; and Carnot, Lindet, the two Prieurs, and St. Andre, laboured in the cauſe of the common tyranny, in the hope of ſtill dividing it with the conquerors.
For ſome months this enmity was reſtrained, by the neceſſity of preſerving appearances, and conciliated, by a general agreement in the principles of adminiſtration, till Robeſpierre, relying on his ſuperior popularity, began to take an aſcendant, which alarmed ſuch of hiſ colleagues as were not his partiſans, both for their power and their ſafety. Animoſities daily increaſed, and their debates at length became ſo violent and noiſy, that it was found neceſſary to remove the buſineſſ of the Committee to an upper room, leſt people paſſing under the windowſ ſhould overhear theſe ſcandalous ſcenes. Every means were taken to keep theſe diſputes a profound ſecret—the revilings which accompanied their private conferences were turned into ſmooth panegyrics of each other when they aſcended the tribune, and their unanimity was a favourite theme in all their reports to the Convention.*
* So late as on the ſeventh of Thermidor, (25th July,) Barrere made a pompous eulogium on the virtues of Robeſpierre; and, in a long account of the ſtate of the country, he acknowledges "ſome little clouds hang over the political horizon, but they will ſoon be diſperſed, by the union which ſubſiſts in the Committees;—above all, by a more ſpeedy trial and execution of revolutionary criminals." It is difficult to imagine what new means of diſpatch this airy barbarian had contrived, for in the ſix weeks preceding this harangue, twelve hundred and fifty had been guillotined in Paris only.
The impatience of Robeſpierre to be releaſed from aſſociates whoſe viewſ too much reſembled his own to leave him an undivided authority, at length overcame his prudence; and, after abſenting himſelf for ſix weeks from the Committee, on the 8th of Thermidor, (26th July,) he threw off the maſk, and in a ſpeech full of myſtery and implications, but containing no direct charges, proclaimed the diviſions which exiſted in the government.—On the ſame evening he repeated this harangue at the Jacobins, while St. Juſt, by his orders, menaced the obnoxious part of the Committee with a formal denunciation to the Convention.—From thiſ moment Billaud Varennes and Collot d'Herbois concluded their deſtruction to be certain. In vain they ſoothed, expoſtulated with, and endeavoured to mollify St. Juſt, ſo as to avert an open rupture. The latter, who probably knew it was not Robeſpierre's intention to accede to any arrangement, left them to make his report.
On the morning of the ninth the Convention met, and with internal dread and affected compoſure proceeded to their ordinary buſineſs.—St. Juſt then aſcended the tribune, and the curioſity or indeciſion of the greater number permitted him to expatiate at large on the intrigues and guilt of every kind which he imputed to a "part" of the Committee.—At the concluſion of this ſpeech, Tallien, one of the devoted members, and Billaud Varennes, the leader of the rival party, opened the trenches, by ſome ſevere remarks on the oration of St. Juſt, and the conduct of thoſe with whom he was leagued. This attack encouraged others: the whole Convention joined in accuſing Robeſpierre of tyranny; and Barrere, who perceived the buſineſs now deciding, ranged himſelf on the ſide of the ſtrongeſt, though the remaining members of the Committee ſtill appeared to preſerve their neutrality. Robeſpierre was, for the firſt time, refuſed a hearing, yet, the influence he ſo lately poſſeſſed ſtill ſeemed to protect him. The Aſſembly launched decrees againſt various of hiſ ſubordinate agents, without daring to proceed againſt himſelf; and had not the indignant fury with which he was ſeized, at the deſertion of thoſe by whom he had been moſt flattered, urged him to call for arreſt and death, it is probable the whole would have ended in the puniſhment of his enemies, and a greater acceſſion of power to himſelf.
But at this criſis all Robeſpierre's circumſpection abandoned him. Having provoked the decree for arreſting his perſon, inſtead of ſubmitting to it until his party ſhould be able to rally, he reſiſted; and by ſo doing gave the Convention a pretext for putting him out of the law; or, in other words, to deſtroy him, without the delay or hazard of a previous trial.
Having been reſcued from the Gens d'Armes, and taken in triumph to the municipality, the news ſpread, the Jacobins aſſembled, and Henriot, the commander of the National Guard, (who had likewiſe been arreſted, and again ſet at liberty by force,) all prepared to act in his defence. But while they ſhould have ſecured the Convention, they employed themſelveſ at the Hotel de Ville in paſſing frivolous reſolutions; and Henriot, with all the cannoneers decidedly in his favour, exhibited an uſeleſſ defiance, by ſtalking before the windows of the Committee of General Safety, when he ſhould have been engaged in arreſting its members.
All theſe imprudences gave the Convention time to proclaim that Robeſpierre, the municipality, and their adherents, were decreed out of the protection of the laws, and in circumſtances of this nature ſuch a ſtep has uſually been deciſive—for however odious a government, if it does but ſeem to act on a preſumption of its own ſtrength, it has alwayſ an advantage over its enemies; and the timid, the doubtful, or indifferent, for the moſt part, determine in favour of whatever wears the appearance of eſtabliſhed authority. The people, indeed, remained perfectly neuter; but the Jacobins, the Committees of the Sections, and their dependents, might have compoſed a force more than ſufficient to oppoſe the few guards which ſurrounded the National Palace, had not the publication of this ſummary outlawry at once paralyzed all their hopeſ and efforts.—They had ſeen multitudes hurried to the Guillotine, becauſe they were "hors de la loi;" and this impreſſion now operated ſo forcibly, that the cannoneers, the national guard, and thoſe who before were moſt devoted to the cauſe, laid down their arms, and precipitately abandoned their chiefs to the fate which awaited them. Robeſpierre was taken at the Hotel de Ville, after being ſeverely wounded in the face; his brother broke his thigh, in attempting to eſcape from a window; Henriot waſ dragged from concealment, deprived of an eye; and Couthon, whom nature had before rendered a cripple, now exhibited a moſt hideous ſpectacle, from an ineffectual effort to ſhoot himſelf.—Their wounds were dreſſed to prolong their ſuffering, and their ſentence being contained in the decree that outlawed them, their perſons were identified by the ſame tribunal which had been the inſtrument of their crimes. —On the night of the tenth they were conveyed to the ſcaffold, amidſt the inſults and execrations of a mob, which a few hours before beheld them with trembling and adoration.—Lebas, alſo a member of the convention, and a principal agent of Robeſpierre, fell by his own hand; and Couthon, St. Juſt, and ſeventeen others, ſuffered with the two Robeſpierres.—The municipality of Paris, &c. to the number of ſeventy-two, were guillotined the ſucceeding day, and about twelve more the day after.
The fate of theſe men may be ranked as one of the moſt dreadful of thoſe examples which hiſtory vainly tranſmits to diſcourage the purſuits of ambition. The tyrant who periſhes amidſt the impoſing fallaciouſneſs of military glory, mingles admiration with abhorrence, and reſcues hiſ memory from contempt, if not from hatred. Even he who expiates hiſ crimes on the ſcaffold, if he die with fortitude, becomes the object of involuntary compaſſion, and the award of juſtice is not often rendered more terrible by popular outrage. But the fall of Robeſpierre and hiſ accomplices was accompanied by every circumſtance that could add poignancy to ſuffering, or dread to death. The ambitious ſpirit which had impelled them to tyrannize over a ſubmiſſive and defenceleſs people, abandoned them in their laſt moments. Depreſſed by anguiſh, exhauſted by fatigue, and without courage, religion, or virtue, to ſupport them, they were dragged through the ſavage multitude, wounded and helpleſs, to receive that ſtroke, from which even the pious and the brave ſometimeſ ſhrink with diſmay.
Robeſpierre poſſeſſed neither the talents nor merits of Nicolas Riezi; but they are both conſpicuous inſtances of the mutability of popular ſupport, and there is a ſtriking ſimilitude in the laſt events of their hiſtory. They both degraded their ambition by cowardice—they were both deſerted by the populace, whom they began by flattering, and ended by oppreſſing; and the death of both was painful and ignominiouſ—borne without dignity, and embittered by reproach and inſult.*
* Robeſpierre lay for ſome hours in one of the committee-rooms, writhing with the pain of his wound, and abandoned to deſpair; while many of his colleagues, perhaps thoſe who had been the particular agents and applauders of his crimes, paſſed and repaſſed him, glorying and jeſting at his ſufferings. The reader may compare the death of Robeſpierre with that of Rienzi; but if the people of Rome revenged the tyranny of the Tribune, they were neither ſo mean nor ſo ferocious as the Pariſians.
You will perceive by this ſummary that the overthrow of Robeſpierre waſ chiefly occaſioned by the rivalſhip of his colleagues in the Committee, aſſiſted by the fears of the Convention at large for themſelves.—Another circumſtance, at which I have already hinted, as having ſome ſhare in this event, ſhall be the ſubject of my next letter.