Constitution will not march.
To all which our poor Legislative, tied up by an unmarching
Constitution, can oppose nothing, by way of remedy, but mere
bursts of parliamentary eloquence! They go on, debating,
denouncing, objurgating: loud weltering Chaos, which devours
_itself._
But their two thousand and odd Decrees? Reader, these happily
concern not thee, nor me. Mere Occasional Decrees, foolish and
not foolish; sufficient for _that_ day was its own evil! Of the
whole two thousand there are not, now half a score, and these
mostly blighted in the bud by royal _Veto_, that will profit or
disprofit us. On the 17th of January, the Legislative, for one
thing, got its High Court, its _Haute Cour_, set up at Orléans.
The theory had been given by the Constituent, in May last, but
this is the reality: a Court for the trial of Political Offences;
a Court which cannot want work. To this it was decreed that there
needed no royal Acceptance, therefore that there could be no
_Veto_. Also Priests can now be married; ever since last October.
A patriotic adventurous Priest had made bold to marry himself
then; and not thinking this enough, came to the bar with his new
spouse; that the whole world might hold honey-moon with him, and
a Law be obtained.
Less joyful are the Laws against Refractory Priests; and yet no
less needful! Decrees on Priests and Decrees on Emigrants: these
are the two brief Series of Decrees, worked out with endless
debate, and then cancelled by _Veto_, which mainly concern us
here. For an august National Assembly must needs conquer these
Refractories, Clerical or Laic, and thumbscrew them into
obedience; yet, behold, always as you turn your legislative
thumbscrew, and will press and even crush till Refractories give
way,—King’s _Veto_ steps in, with magical paralysis; and your
thumbscrew, hardly squeezing, much less crushing, does not act!
Truly a melancholy Set of Decrees, a pair of Sets; paralysed by
_Veto!_ First, under date the 28th of October 1791, we have
Legislative Proclamation, issued by herald and bill-sticker;
inviting Monsieur, the King’s Brother to return within two
months, under penalties. To which invitation Monsieur replies
nothing; or indeed replies by Newspaper Parody, inviting the
august Legislative “to return to common sense within two months,”
under penalties. Whereupon the Legislative must take stronger
measures. So, on the 9th of November, we declare all Emigrants to
be “suspect of conspiracy;” and, in brief, to be “outlawed,” if
they have not returned at Newyear’s-day:—Will the King say
_Veto?_ That “triple impost” shall be levied on these men’s
Properties, or even their Properties be “put in sequestration,”
one can understand. But further, on Newyear’s-day itself, not an
individual having “returned,” we declare, and with fresh emphasis
some fortnight later again declare, That Monsieur is _déchu_,
forfeited of his eventual Heirship to the Crown; nay more that
Condé, Calonne, and a considerable List of others are accused of
high treason; and shall be judged by our High Court of Orléans:
_Veto!_—Then again as to Nonjurant Priests: it was decreed, in
November last, that they should forfeit what Pensions they had;
be “put under inspection, under _surveillance_,” and, if need
were, be banished: _Veto!_ A still sharper turn is coming; but to
this also the answer will be, _Veto_.
_Veto_ after _Veto;_ your thumbscrew paralysed! Gods and men may
see that the Legislative is in a false position. As, alas, who is
in a true one? Voices already murmur for a “National
Convention.”[446] This poor Legislative, spurred and stung into
action by a whole France and a whole Europe, cannot act; can only
objurgate and perorate; with stormy “motions,” and motion in
which is no _way;_ with effervescence, with noise and fuliginous
fury!
What scenes in that National Hall! President jingling his
inaudible bell; or, as utmost signal of distress, clapping on his
hat; “the tumult subsiding in twenty minutes,” and this or the
other indiscreet Member sent to the Abbaye Prison for three days!
Suspected Persons must be summoned and questioned; old M. de
Sombreuil of the _Invalides_ has to give account of himself, and
why he leaves his Gates open. Unusual smoke rose from the Sèvres
Pottery, indicating conspiracy; the Potters explained that it was
Necklace-Lamotte’s _Mémoires_, bought up by her Majesty, which
they were endeavouring to suppress by fire,[447]—which
nevertheless he that runs may still read.
Again, it would seem, Duke de Brissac and the King’s
Constitutional-Guard are “making cartridges secretly in the
cellars;” a set of Royalists, pure and impure; black cut-throats
many of them, picked out of gaming houses and sinks; in all Six
thousand instead of Eighteen hundred; who evidently gloom on us
every time we enter the Château.[448] Wherefore, with infinite
debate, let Brissac and King’s Guard be _disbanded_. Disbanded
accordingly they are; after only two months of existence, for
they did not get on foot till March of this same year. So ends
briefly the King’s new Constitutional _Maison Militaire;_ he must
now be guarded by mere Swiss and blue Nationals again. It seems
the lot of Constitutional things. New Constitutional _Maison
Civile_ he would never even establish, much as Barnave urged it;
old resident Duchesses sniffed at it, and held aloof; on the
whole her Majesty thought it not worth while, the Noblesse would
so soon be back triumphant.[449]
Or, looking still into this National Hall and its scenes, behold
Bishop Torné, a Constitutional Prelate, not of severe morals,
demanding that “religious costumes and such caricatures” be
abolished. Bishop Torné warms, catches fire; finishes by untying,
and indignantly flinging on the table, as if for gage or bet, his
own pontifical cross. Which cross, at any rate, is instantly
covered by the cross of _Te-Deum_ Fauchet, then by other crosses,
and insignia, till all are stripped; this clerical Senator
clutching off his skull-cap, that other his frill-collar,—lest
Fanaticism return on us.[450]
Quick is the movement here! And then so confused, unsubstantial,
you might call it almost _spectral;_ pallid, dim, inane, like the
Kingdoms of Dis! Unruly Liguet, shrunk to a kind of spectre for
us, pleads here, some cause that he has: amid rumour and
interruption, which excel human patience; he “tears his papers,
and withdraws,” the irascible adust little man. Nay honourable
members will tear their papers, being effervescent: Merlin of
Thionville tears his papers, crying: ‘So, the People cannot be
saved by _you!_’ Nor are Deputations wanting: Deputations of
Sections; generally with complaint and denouncement, always with
Patriot fervour of sentiment: Deputation of Women, pleading that
they also may be allowed to take Pikes, and exercise in the
Champ-de-Mars. Why not, ye Amazons, if it be in you? Then
occasionally, having done our message and got answer, we “defile
through the Hall, singing _ça-ira;_” or rather roll and whirl
through it, “dancing our _ronde patriotique_ the while,”—our new
_Carmagnole_, or Pyrrhic war-dance and liberty-dance. Patriot
Huguenin, Ex-Advocate, Ex-Carabineer, Ex-Clerk of the Barriers,
comes deputed, with Saint-Antoine at his heels; denouncing
Anti-patriotism, Famine, Forstalment and Man-eaters; asks an
august Legislative: ‘Is there not a _tocsin in your hearts_
against these _mangeurs d’hommes!_’[451]
But above all things, for this is a continual business, the
Legislative has to reprimand the King’s Ministers. Of His
Majesty’s Ministers we have said hitherto, and say, next to
nothing. Still more spectral these! Sorrowful; of no permanency
any of them, none at least since Montmorin vanished: the “eldest
of the King’s Council” is occasionally not ten days old![452]
Feuillant-Constitutional, as your respectable Cahier de Gerville,
as your respectable unfortunate Delessarts; or
Royalist-Constitutional, as Montmorin last Friend of Necker; or
Aristocrat as Bertrand-Moleville: they flit there phantom-like,
in the huge simmering confusion; poor shadows, dashed in the
racking winds; powerless, without meaning;—whom the human memory
need not charge itself with.
But how often, we say, are these poor Majesty’s Ministers
summoned over; to be questioned, tutored; nay, threatened, almost
bullied! They answer what, with adroitest simulation and
casuistry, they can: of which a poor Legislative knows not what
to make. One thing only is clear, That Cimmerian Europe is
girdling us in; that France (not actually dead, surely?) cannot
march. Have a care, ye Ministers! Sharp Guadet transfixes you
with cross-questions, with sudden Advocate-conclusions; the
sleeping tempest that is in Vergniaud can be awakened. Restless
Brissot brings up Reports, Accusations, endless thin Logic; it is
the man’s highday even now. Condorcet redacts, with his firm pen,
our “Address of the Legislative Assembly to the French
Nation.”[453] Fiery Max Isnard, who, for the rest, will ‘carry
not Fire and Sword’ on those Cimmerian Enemies ‘but Liberty,’—is
for declaring ‘that we hold Ministers responsible; and that by
responsibility we mean death, _nous entendons la mort_.’
For verily it grows serious: the time presses, and traitors there
are. Bertrand-Moleville has a smooth tongue, the known
Aristocrat; gall in his heart. How his answers and explanations
flow ready; jesuitic, plausible to the ear! But perhaps the
notablest is this, which befell once when Bertrand had done
answering and was withdrawn. Scarcely had the august Assembly
begun considering what was to be done with him, when the Hall
fills with _smoke_. Thick sour smoke: no oratory, only wheezing
and barking;—irremediable; so that the august Assembly has to
adjourn![454] A miracle? Typical miracle? One knows not: only
this one seems to know, that “the Keeper of the Stoves _was
appointed_ by Bertrand” or by some underling of his!—O fuliginous
confused Kingdom of Dis, with thy Tantalus-Ixion toils, with thy
angry Fire-floods, and Streams named of Lamentation, why hast
thou not thy Lethe too, that so one might _finish?_