Marat now advocated the pillage of every store-house in the land, and the hanging of some of the owners in their own gateways, as an example to the rest.
And now that which was most feared occurred—civil war. La Vendée, in the north-west of France—the Brittany of to-day—rose almost to a man, and defied the republic.
Spain now began to pour her soldiers upon the south, while Austrians and Prussians were gaining victory after victory in the north and east.
So north, south, east, and west, enemies’ faces were turned upon France, while England was preparing to sweep her navy around the whole of the coasts of the now devoted land.
The Convention commanded that a black flag should float from the towers of the Cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris.
The theatres were closed.
Only one cry was heard in the streets—“To arms—to arms!”
Danton and Robespierre now quarrelled. One Legendre undertook to reconcile them, and they met without previous warning. Danton, a bull-dog in ferocity, and with the bull-dog’s generosity advanced, and held out his hand. Robespierre, with the silent stealth of the tiger, which waits and pounces, affected not to see it, ate his dinner in silence, and went away, after the utterance of a few words, which were the first that openly indicated his intention of betraying Danton.
Danton was beginning to repent. His remorse was natural. He had lost his wife, whose death had been accelerated by terror. Unable to endure his loneliness, he sought another wife; her parents rejected him with loathing. But, after a little, they pitied his misery, and gave their daughter to this strangely compounded man.