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.
Providence, Aug. 13, 1794.
Amour, tu perdis Troye [Love! thou occaſionedſt the deſtruction of Troy.]:—yet, among the various miſchiefs aſcribed to the influence of this capricious Sovereign, amidſt the wrecks of ſieges, and the ſlaughter of battles, perhaps we may not unjuſtly record in his praiſe, that he waſ inſtrumental to the ſolace of humanity, by contributing to the overthrow of Robeſpierre. It is at leaſt pleaſing to turn from the general horrorſ of the revolution, and ſuppoſe, for a moment, that the ſocial affectionſ were not yet entirely baniſhed, and that gallantry ſtill retained ſome empire, when every other veſtige of civilization was almoſt annihilated.
After ſuch an exordium, I feel a little aſhamed of my hero, and could wiſh, for the credit of my tale, it were not more neceſſary to invoke the hiſtoric muſe of Fielding, than that of Homer or Taſſo; but imperiouſ Truth obliges me to confeſs, that Tallien, who is to be the ſubject of this letter, was firſt introduced to celebrity by circumſtances not favourable for the comment of my poetical text.
At the beginning of the revolution he was known only as an eminent orator en plain vent; that is, as a preacher of ſedition to the mob, whom he uſed to harangue with great applauſe at the Palais Royal. Having no profeſſion or means of ſubſiſtence, he, as Dr. Johnſon obſerves of one of our poets, neceſſarily became an author. He was, however, no farther entitled to this appellation, than as a periodical ſcribbler in the cauſe of inſurrection; but in this he was ſo ſucceſſful, that it recommended him to the care of Petion and the municipality, to whom his talents and principles were ſo acceptable, that they made him Secretary to the Committee.
On the ſecond and third of September 1792, he ſuperintended the maſſacre of the priſons, and is alledged to have paid the aſſaſſins according to the number of victims they diſpatched with great regularity; and he himſelf ſeems to have little to ſay in his defence, except that he acted officially. Yet even the imputation of ſuch a claim could not be overlooked by the citizens of Paris; and at the election of the Convention he was diſtinguiſhed by being choſen one of their repreſentatives.