Marseillese.—You fancy us, then, to be without resources: Is it then possible, that it can be the destiny of a town who resisted the Romans, and preserved a portion of its laws under the despots who succeeded them, to become the prey of a handful of brigands? What! the Allobroge, laden with the spoils of Lisle, shall he give law to Marseilles? What! Dubois du Crancé, and Albitte, shall they rule over us uncontrolled? Those men, steeped in blood, whom the miseries of the times have placed at the head of affairs, shall they be our absolute masters? Sad, indeed, is the prospect you set before us! Our property, under different pretences, would be invaded; at every instant we should be the victims of a soldiery, whom plunder unites under the same banner: our best citizens would be imprisoned, and perish by violence. The Club would again rear its monstrous head to execute its infernal projects! Nothing can be worse than this; better to expose ourselves to the chance of warfare, than become victims without alternative!
Militaire.—Such is civil war! men revile one another—detest one another—kill one another, without knowing one another! The Allobroges! what do you suppose them to be? Africans? inhabitants of Siberia? Oh, not at all! They are your countrymen,—the men of Provence, of Dauphiny, of Savoy. Some people fancy them to be barbarians, because the name they have taken sounds oddly. If your own troops were to be called the Phocœan phalanx, every species of fable would be accredited respecting them.
You have reminded me of one fact, the assault of Lisle. I do not justify it, but will explain to you how it happened. The inhabitants killed the trumpeter who was sent to them; they resisted without the slightest chance of success; the town was taken by assault; the soldiers entered it amidst fire and slaughter: it was impossible to restrain them, and fury did the rest.
Those soldiers whom you call brigands, are our best troops, and most disciplined battalions: their reputation is above calumny.
Dubois-Crancé and Albitte, constant friends of the people, have never deviated from the right line. Certainly they are "wicked men" in the eyes of the bad: but Condorcet, Brissot, Barbaroux, were also "wicked men," so long as they remained uncontaminated. It will ever be the fate of the good to be ill-spoken of by the worthless. You imagine they show you no mercy; on the contrary, they are treating you like wayward children. Do you think, if they had been otherwise disposed, that the merchants of Marseilles would have been suffered to withdraw the goods which they had at Beaucaire? They could have sequestered them till the war was over. They were unwilling to do so; and, thanks to them, you can now return quietly to your homes.
You call Cartaux an assassin. Well! let me tell you, that that general takes the greatest pains to preserve order and discipline; witness his conduct at St. Esprit and at Avignon. He ordered a sergeant to prison because he had violated the asylum of a citizen who concealed one of your soldiers. In the eyes of the general, this sergeant was culpable for having entered, without direct orders, a private dwelling. Some people of Avignon were punished for pointing out a house as belonging to an aristocrat. A prosecution is now going on against a soldier, on a charge of theft. On the contrary, your army killed, assassinated more than thirty persons, violated the asylums of families, and filled the prisons with citizens, on the vague pretence that they were brigands.
Do not be in alarm about the army. It esteems Marseilles, because it knows that no town has made so many sacrifices for the public good. You have eighteen thousand men on the frontier; and you have not spared yourselves under any circumstances. Shake off, then, the yoke of the few aristocrats who govern you; return to sounder principles, and you will have no truer friend than the army.
Marseillese.—Ah! your army! It has greatly degenerated from the army of 1789. That army would not take up arms against the nation. Yours should imitate so worthy an example, and not turn their arms against their fellow-citizens.
Militaire.—With such principles, La Vendée would now have planted the white flag on the again reared walls of the Bastile, and the Camp of Jalès been dominant at Marseilles.
Marseillese.—La Vendée is anxious for a king—a counter-revolution: the war of La Vendée, of the camp of Jalès, is that of fanaticism, of despotism. Ours, on the contrary, is that of true Republicans, friends of the laws, of order; enemies of anarchy and of bad men. Is not ours the tri-coloured flag? and what interest could we have in wishing for slavery?