Every one recognised Léger.
What had he done?
We inquired. They were two great criminals, who had intended blowing up the altar of the country, and those who might be on it.
Others said they were two National Guards, who were beheaded by the people for attempting to enforce the execution of the law.
The noise spread in the Assembly. Duport, who, with Charles Lameth, separated himself from the Republican Jacobins, was then President. He was not backward in accusing his late colleagues of the crime.
“Gentlemen,” said he, to the Assembly, “Two good citizens have just perished on the Champ de Mars for having said to a deluded mass that they must not break the laws of their country—they were hanged on the spot.”
“’Tis true!” cried Regnault de St. Jean d’Angely. “I confirm that news; they were two National Guards. Gentlemen, I demand martial law. It is the duty of this Assembly, gentlemen, to pronounce all persons attempting to exhort the people to resist, either by personal acts, or by collective or individual writings, guilty of treachery to the nation.”
This was just what the Assembly desired, composed, as it was, principally of Royalists and Constitutionalists, and in which the Republicans—that is to say, those who upheld the petition, and, consequently, wished for the dethronement of the King—were to be found in a very small number.
It was therefore decreed that the President of the Assembly, and the Mayor of Paris, should inquire into the real state of affairs, in order to take rigorous measures if events passed as were reported.
They did not give themselves the trouble to inquire into the truth, but took the measures. Robespierre then left the Assembly without saying a word, rushed to the Club of the Jacobins, to announce to them the news.