Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, No. 341, March, 1844, Vol. 55 by Various

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But my reveries were suddenly broken up by the return of the little
captain, more angry than ever. He had missed the opportunity of seeing the
"great man," who had gone to the Salpetriere. And some of the small men
who performed as his jackals, having discovered that the captain was
looking for a share in their plunder, had thought proper to treat him, his
commission, and even his civism, with extreme contempt. In short, as he
avowed to me, the very first use which he was determined to make of that
supreme power to which his ascent was inevitable, would be to clear the
_bureaux_ of France, beginning with Paris, of all those insolent and idle
hangers-on, who lived only to purloin the profits, and libel the services,
of "good citizens."

"_A la Salpetriere_." There again disappointment met us. The great man had
been there "but a few minutes before," and we dragged our slow way through
mire and ruts that would have been formidable to an artillery waggon with
all its team. My heart, buoyant as it had been, sank within me as I looked
up at the frowning battlements, the huge towers, more resembling those of
a fortress than of even a prison, the gloomy gates, and the general grim
aspect of the whole vast circumference, giving so emphatic a resemblance
of the dreariness and the despair within.

"_Aux Carmes_!" was now the direction; for my conductor's resolve to earn
his reward before daybreak, was rendered more pungent by this interview
with the _gens de bureau_ at the Abbaye. He was sure that they would be
instantly on the scent; and if they once took me out of his hands, adieu
to dreams, of which Alnaschar, the glassman's, were only a type. He grew
nervous with the thought, and poured out his whole vision of hopes and
fears with a volubility which I should have set down for frenzy, if in any
man but a wretch in the fever of a time when gold and blood were the
universal and combined idolatries of the land.

"You may think yourself fortunate," he exclaimed, "in having been in my
charge! That brute of a country gendarme could have shown you nothing. Now,
_I_ know every jail in Paris. I have studied them. They form the true
knowledge of a citizen. To crush tyrants, to extinguish nobles, to avenge
the cause of reason on priests, and to raise the people to a knowledge of
their rights--these are the triumphs of a patriot. Yet, what teacher is
equal to the jail for them all? _Mais voila les Carmes_!"

I saw a low range of blank wall, beyond which rose an ancient tower.

"Here," said he, "liberty had a splendid triumph. A hundred and fifty
tonsured apostles of incivism here fell in one day beneath the two-handed
sword of freedom. A cardinal, two archbishops, dignitaries, monks, hoary
with prejudices, antiquated with abuses, extinguishers of the new light of
liberty, here were offered on the national shrine! _Chantons la
Carmagnole_."

But he was destined to be disappointed once more. Danton had been there,
but was suddenly called away by a messenger from the Jacobins. Our
direction was now changed again. "Now we shall be disappointed no longer.
Once engaged in debate, he will be fixed for the night. _Allons_, you
shall see the 'grand patriote,' 'the regenerator,' 'the first man in the
world.' _Aux Jacobins_!"

Our unfortunate postilion falling with fatigue on his horses' neck,
attempted to propose going to an inn, and renewing our search in the
morning; but the captain had made up his mind for the night, and, drawing
a pistol from his breast, exhibited this significant sign pointed at his
head. The horses, as tired as their driver, were lashed on. I had for some
time been considering, as we passed through the deserted streets, whether
it was altogether consistent with the feelings of my country, to suffer
myself to be dragged round the capital at the mercy of this lover of lucre;
but an apathy had come over my whole frame, which made me contemptuous of
life. The sight of his pistol rather excited me to make the attempt, from
the very insolence of his carrying it. But we still rolled on. At length,
in one of the streets, which seemed darker and more miserable than all the
rest, we were brought to a full stop by the march of a strong body of the
National Guard, which halted in front of an enormous old building,
furnished with battlement and bartizan. "_Le Temple_!" exclaimed my
companion, with almost a shriek of exultation. I glanced upward, and saw a
light with the pale glimmer which, in my boyish days, I had heard always
attributed to spectres passing along the dim casements of a gallery. I
cannot express how deeply this image sank upon me. I saw there only a huge
tomb--the tomb of living royalty, of a line of monarchs, of all the
feelings that still bound the heart of man to the cause of France. All now
spectral. But, whatever might be the work of my imagination, there was
terrible truth; enough before me to depress, and sting, and wring the mind.
Within a step of the spot where I sat, were the noblest and the most
unhappy beings in existence--the whole family of the throne caught in the
snare of treason. Father, mother, sister, children! Not one rescued, not
one safe, to relieve the wretchedness of their ruin by the hope that there
was an individual of their circle beyond their prison bars--all consigned
to the grave together--all alike conscious that every day which sent its
light through their melancholy casements, only brought them nearer to a
death of misery! But I must say no more of this. My heart withered within
me as I looked at the towers of the Temple. It almost withers within me,
at this moment, when I think of them. They are leveled long since; but
while I write I see them before me again, a sepulchre; I see the mustering
of that crowd of more than savages before the grim gate; and I see the
pale glimmer of that floating lamp, which was then, perhaps, lighting the
steps of Marie Antoinette to her solitary cell.

Of all the sights of that melancholy traverse, this the most disheartened
me, whatever had been my carelessness of life before. It was now almost
scorn. The thoughts fell heavy on my mind. What was I, when such victims
were prepared for sacrifice? What was the crush of my obscure hopes, when
the sitters on thrones were thus leveled with the earth? If I perished in
the next moment, no chasm would be left in society; perhaps but one or two
human beings, if even they, would give a recollection to my grave. But
here the objects of national homage and gallant loyalty, beings whose
rising radiance had filled the eye of nations, and whose sudden fall was
felt as an eclipse of European light, were exposed to the deepest
sufferings of the captive. What, then, was I, that I should murmur; or,
still more, that I should resist; or, most of all, that I should desire to
protract an existence which, to this hour, had been one of a vexed spirit,
and which, to the last hour of my career, looked but cloud on cloud?

Some of this depression may have been the physical result of fatigue, for
I had been now four-and-twenty hours without rest; and the dismal streets,
the dashing rain, and the utter absence of human movement as we dragged
our dreary way along, would have made even the floor of a dungeon welcome.
I was as cold as its stone.

At length our postilion, after nearly relieving us of all the troubles of
this world, by running on the verge of the moat which once surrounded the
Bastile, and where nothing but the screams of my companion prevented him
from plunging in, wholly lost his way. The few lamps in this intricate and
miserable quarter of the city had been blown out by the tempest, and our
only resource appeared to be patience, until the tardy break of winter's
morn should guide us through the labyrinth of the Faubourg St Antoine.
However, this my companion's patriotism would not suffer. "The Club would
be adjourned! Danton would be gone!" In short, he should not hear the
Jacobin lion roar, nor have the reward on which he reckoned for flinging
me into his jaws. The postilion was again ordered to move, and the turn of
a street showing a light at a distance, he lashed his unfortunate horses
towards it. Utterly indifferent as to where I was to be deposited, I saw
and heard nothing, until I was roused by the postilion's cry of "Place de
Greve."

A large fire was burning in the midst of the gloomy square, round which a
party of the National Guard were standing, with their muskets piled, and
wrapped in their cloaks, against the inclemency of the night. Further off,
and in the centre, feebly seen by the low blaze, was a wooden structure,
on whose corners torches were flaring in the wind. "_Voila, la
guillotine_!" exclaimed my captor with the sort of ecstasy which might
issue from the lips of a worshipper. As I raised my eyes, an accidental
flash of the fire showed the whole outline of the horrid machine. I saw
the glitter of the very axe that was to drop upon my head. My first
sensation was that of deadly faintless. Ghastly as was the purpose of that
axe, my imagination saw even new ghastliness in the shape of its huge
awkward scythe-like steel; it seemed made for massacre. The faintness went
off in the next moment, and I was another man. In the whole course of a
life of excitement, I have never experienced so total a change. All my
apathy was gone. The horrors of public execution stood in a visible shape
before me at once. I might have fallen in the field with fortitude; I
might have submitted to the deathbed, as the course of nature; I might
have even died with exultation in some great public cause. But to perish
by the frightful thing which shot up its spectral height before me; to be
dragged as a spectacle to scoffing and scorning crowds--dragged, perhaps,
in the feebleness and squalid helplessness of a confinement which might
have exhibited me to the world in imbecility or cowardice; to be grasped
by the ruffian executioner, and flung, stigmatized as a felon, into the
common grave of felons--the thought darted through my mind like a jet of
fire; but it gave me the strength of fire. I determined to die by the
bayonets of the guard, or by any other death than this. My captor
perceived my agitation, and my eye glanced on his withered and malignant
visage, as with a smile he was cocking his pistol. I sprang on him like a
tiger. In our struggle the pistol went off, and a gush of blood from his
cheek showed that it had inflicted a severe wound. I was now his master,
and, grasping him by the throat with one hand, with the other I threw open
the door and leaped upon the pavement. For the moment, I looked round
bewildered; but the report of the pistol had caught the ears of the guard,
whom I saw hurrying to unpile their muskets. But this was a work of
confusion, and, before they could snatch up their arms, I had made my
choice of the darkest and narrowest of the wretched lanes which issue into
the square. A shot or two fired after me sent me at my full speed, and I
darted forward, leaving them as they might, to follow.

How long I scrambled, or how often I felt sinking from mere weariness in
that flight, I knew not. In the fever of my mind, I only knew that I
twined my way through numberless streets, most of which have been since
swept away; but, on turning the corner of a street which led into the
Boulevard, and when I had some hope of taking refuge in my old hotel, I
found that I had plunged into the heart of a considerable crowd of persons
hurrying along, apparently on some business which strongly excited them.
Some carried lanterns, some pikes, and there was a general appearance of
more than republican enthusiasm, even savage ferocity, among them, that
gave sufficient evidence of my having fallen into no good company. I
attempted to draw back, but this would not be permitted; the words, "Spy,
traitor, slave of the Monarchiques!" and, apparently as the blackest
charge of all, "Cordelier!" were heaped upon me, and I ran the closest
possible chance of being put to death on the spot. It may naturally be
supposed that I made all kinds of protestations to escape being piked or
pistoled. But they had no time to wait for apologies. The cry of "Death to
the traitor!" was followed by the brandishing of half a dozen knives in
the circle round me. At that moment, when I must have fallen helplessly, a
figure stepped forward, and opening the slide of his dark lantern directly
on his own face, whispered the word Mordecai. I recognised, I shall not
say with what feelings, the police agent who had formerly conveyed me out
of the city. He was dressed, like the majority of the crowd, in the
republican costume; and certainly there never was a more extraordinary
costume. He wore a red cap, like the cap of the butchers of the Faubourgs;
an enormous beard covered his breast, a short Spanish mantle hung from his
shoulders, a short leathern doublet, with a belt like an armoury, stuck
with knives and pistols, a sabre, and huge trousers striped with red, in
imitation of streams of gore, completed the patriot uniform. Some wore
broad bands of linen round their waists, inscribed, "2d, 3d and 4th
September,"--the days of massacre. These were its heros. I was in the
midst of the _elite_ of murder.

"Citizens," exclaimed the Jew in a voice of thunder, driving back the
foremost, "hold your hands up; are you about to destroy a friend of
freedom? Your knives have drunk the blood of aristocrats; but they are the
defence of liberty. This citizen, against whom they are now unsheathed, is
one of ourselves. He has returned from the frontier, to join the brave men
of Paris, in their march to the downfall of tyrants. But out friends await
us in the glorious club of the Jacobins. This is the hour of victory.
Advance, regenerated sons of freedom! Forward, Frenchmen!"

His speech had the effect. The rapid executors of public vengeance fell
back; and the Jew, whispering to me, "You must follow us, or be
killed,"--I chose the easier alternative at once, and stepped forward like
a good citizen. As my protector pushed the crowd before him, in which he
seemed to be a leader, he said to me from time to time, "Show no
resistance. A word from you would be the signal for your death--we are
going to the hall of the Jacobins. This is a great night among them, and
the heads of the party will either be ruined to-night, or by morning will
be masters of every thing. I pledge myself, if not for your safety, at
least for doing all that I can to save you." I remained silent, as I was
ordered; and we hurried on, until there was a halt in front of a huge old
building. "The hall of the Jacobins," whispered the Jew, and again
cautioned me against saying or doing any thing in the shape of reluctance.

We now plunged into the darkness of a vast pile, evidently once a convent,
and where the chill of the massive walls struck to the marrow. I felt as
if walking through a charnel-house. We hurried on; a trembling light,
towards the end of an immense and lofty aisle, was our guide; and the
crowd, long familiar with the way, rushed through the intricacies where so
many feet of monks had trod before them, and where, perhaps, many a deed
that shunned the day had been perpetrated. At length a spiral stair
brought us to a large gallery, where our entrance was marked with a shout
of congratulation; and tumbling over the benches and each other, we at
length took our seats in the highest part, which, in both the club and the
National Assembly, was called, from its height, the Mountain, and from the
characters which generally held it, was a mountain of flame. In the area
below, once the nave of the church, sat the Jacobin club. I now, for the
first time, saw that memorable and terrible assemblage. And nothing could
be more suited than its aspect to its deeds. The hall was of such extent
that a large portion of it was scarcely visible, and few lights which hung
from the walls scarcely displayed even the remainder. The French love of
decoration had no place here; neither statues nor pictures, neither
gilding nor sculpture, relieved the heaviness of the building. Nothing of
the arts was visible but their rudest specimens; the grim effigies of
monks and martyrs, or the coarse and blackened carvings of a barbarous age.
The hall was full; for the club contained nearly two thousand members, and
on this night all were present. Yet, except for the occasional cries of
approval or anger when any speaker had concluded, and the habitual murmur
of every huge assembly, they might have been taken for a host of spectres;
the area had so entirely the aspect of a huge vault, the air felt so thick,
and the gloom was so feebly dispersed by the chandeliers. All was
sepulchral. The chair of the president even stood on a tomb, an antique
structure of black marble. The elevated stand, from which the speakers
generally addressed the assembly, had the strongest resemblance to a
scaffold, and behind it, covering the wall, were suspended chains, and
instruments of torture of every horrid kind, used in the dungeons of old
times; and though placed there for the sake of contrast with the mercies
of a more enlightened age, yet enhancing the general idea of a scene of
death. It required no addition to render the hall of the Jacobins fearful;
but the meetings were always held at night, often prolonged through the
whole night. Always stormy, and often sanguinary, daggers were drawn and
pistols fired--assassination in the streets sometimes followed bitter
attacks on the benches; and at this period, the mutual wrath and terror of
the factions had risen to such height, that every meeting might be only a
prelude to exile or the axe; and the deliberation of this especial night
must settle the question, whether the Monarchy or the Jacobin club was to
ascend the scaffold. It was the debate on the execution of the unhappy
Louis XVI.

The arrival of the crowd, among whom I had taken my unwilling seat,
evidently gave new spirits to the regicides; the moment was critical. Even
in Jacobinism all were not equally black, and the fear of the national
revulsion at so desperate a deed startled many, who might not have been
withheld by feelings of humanity. The leaders had held a secret
consultation while the debate was drawing on its slow length, and Danton's
old expedient of "terror" was resolved on. His emissaries had been sent
round Paris to summon all his banditti; and the low _cafes_, the Faubourg
taverns, and every haunt of violence, and the very drunkenness of crime,
had poured forth. The remnant of the Marseillois--a gang of actual
galley-slaves, who had led the late massacres--the paid assassins of the
Marais, and the _sabreurs_ of the Royal Guard, who after treason to their
king, had found profitable trade in living on the robbery and blood of the
nobles and priests, formed this reinforcement; and their entrance into the
gallery was recognised by a clapping of hands from below, which they
answered by a roar, accompanied with the significant sign of clashing
their knives and sabres.

Danton immediately rushed into the Tribune. I had seen him before, on the
fearful night which prepared the attack on the palace; but he was then in
the haste and affected savageness of the rabble. He now played the part of
leader of a political sect; and the commencement of his address adopted
something of the decorum of public council. In this there was an artifice;
for, resistless as the club was, it still retained a jealousy of the
superior legislative rank of the assembly of national representatives, the
Convention. The forms of the Convention were strictly imitated; and even
those Jacobins who usually led the debate, scrupulously wore the dress of
the better orders. Robespierre was elaborately dressed whenever he
appeared in the Tribune, and even Danton abandoned the _canaille_ costume
for the time. I was struck with his showy stature, his bold forehead, and
his commanding attitude, as he stood waving his hand over the multitude
below, as if he waved a sceptre. His appearance was received with a
general shout from the gallery, which he returned by one profound bow, and
then stood erect, till all sounds had sunk. His powerful voice then rang
through the extent of the hall. He began with congratulating the people on
their having relieved the Republic from its external dangers. His language
at first was moderate, and his recapitulation of the perils which must
have befallen a conquered country, was sufficiently true and even touching;
but his tone soon changed, and I saw the true democrat. "What!" he cried,
"are those perils to the horrors of domestic perfidy? What are the ravages
on the frontier to poison and the dagger at our firesides? What is the
gallant death in the field to assassination in cold blood? Listen,
fellow-citizens, there is at this hour a plot deeper laid for your
destruction than ever existed in the shallow heads of, or could ever be
executed by the coward hearts of, their soldiery. Where is that plot? In
the streets? No. The courage of our brave patriots is as proof against
corruption as against fear." This was followed by a shout from the gallery.
"Is it in the Tuileries? No; there the national sabre has cut down the
tree which cast its deadly fruits among the nation. Where then is the
focus of the plot--where the gathering of the storm that is to shake the
battlements of the Republic--where that terrible deposit of combustibles
which the noble has gathered, the priest has piled, and the king has
prepared to kindle? Brave citizens, that spot is ----," he paused, looking
mysteriously round, while a silence deep as death pervaded the multitude;
then, as if suddenly recovering himself, he thundered out--"The Temple!"
No language can describe the shout or the scene that followed. The daring
word was now spoken which all anticipated; but which Danton alone had the
desperate audacity to utter. The gallery screamed, howled, roared,
embraced each other, danced, flourished their weapons, and sang the
Marseillaise and the Carmagnole. The club below were scarcely less violent
in their demonstrations of furious joy. Danton had now accomplished his
task; but his vanity thirsted for additional applause, and he entered into
a catalogue of his services to Republicanism. In the midst of the detail,
a low but singularly clear voice was heard, from the extremity of the hall.

"Descend, man of massacre!"

I saw Danton start back as if he had been shot. At length, recovering his
breath, he said feebly--

"Citizens, of what am I accused?"

"Of the three days of September," uttered the voice again, in a tone so
strongly sepulchral, that it palpably awed the whole assemblage.

"Who is it that insults me? who dares to malign me? What spy of the
Girondists, what traitor of the Bourbons, what hireling of the gold of
Pitt, is among us?" exclaimed the bold ruffian, yet with a visage which,
even at the distance, I could observe had lost its usual fiery hue, and
turned clay-colour. "Who accuses me?"

"I!" replied the voice, and I saw a thin tall figure stalk up the length
of the hall, and stand at the foot of the tribune. "Descend!" was the only
word which he spoke; and Danton, as if under a spell, to my astonishment,
obeyed without a word, and came down. The stranger took his place, none
knew his name; and the rapidity and boldness of his assault suspended all
in wonder like my own. I can give but a most incomplete conception of the
extraordinary eloquence of this mysterious intruder. He openly charged
Danton with having constructed the whole conspiracy against the
unfortunate prisoners of September; with having deceived the people by
imaginary alarms of the approach of the enemy; with having plundered the
national treasury to pay the assassins; and, last and most deadly charge
of all, with having formed a plan for a National Dictatorship, of which he
himself was to be the first possessor. The charge was sufficiently
probable, and was not now heard for the first time. But the keenness and
fiery promptitude with which the speaker poured the charge upon him, gave
it a new aspect; and I could see in the changing physiognomies round me,
that the great democrat was already in danger. He obviously felt this
himself; for starting up from the bench to which he had returned, he cried
out, or rather yelled--

"Citizens, this man thirsts for my blood. Am I to be sacrificed? Am I to
be exposed to the daggers of assassins!" But no answering shout now arose;
a dead silence reigned: all eyes were still turned on the tribune. I saw
Danton, after a gaze of total helplessness on all sides, throw up his
hands like a drowning man, and stagger back to his seat. Nothing could be
more unfortunate than his interruption; for the speaker now poured the
renewed invective, like a stream of molten iron, full on his personal
character and career.

"Born a beggar, your only hope of bread was crime. Adopting the profession
of an advocate, your only conception of law was chicanery. Coming to Paris,
you took up patriotism as a trade, and turned the trade into an imposture.
Trained to dependence, you always hung on some one till he spurned you.
You licked the dust before Mirabeau; you betrayed him, and he trampled on
you; you took refuge in the cavern of Marat, until he found you too base
even for his base companionship, and he, too, spurned you; you then clung
to the skirts of Robespierre, and clung only to ruin. Viper! known only by
your coils and your poison; like the original serpent, degraded even from
the brute into the reptile, you already feel your sentence. I pronounce it
before all. The man to whom you now cling will crush you. Maximilien
Robespierre, is not your heel already lifted up to tread out the life of
this traitor? Maximilien Robespierre," he repeated with a still more
piercing sound, "do I not speak the truth?" "Have I not stripped the veil
from your thoughts? Am I not looking on your heart?" He then addressed
each of the Jacobin leaders in a brief appeal. "Billaud Varennes, stand
forth--do you not long to drive your dagger into the bosom of this new
tyrant? Collot d'Herbois, are you not sworn to destroy him? Couthon, have
you not pronounced him perjured, perfidious, and unfit to live? St Just,
have you not in your bosom the list of those who have pledged themselves
that Danton shall never be Dictator; that his grave shall be dug before he
shall tread on the first step of the throne; that his ashes shall be
scattered to the four winds of heaven; that he shall never gorge on
France?"

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