The Traitor.
But Dumouriez, with his fugitive Host, with his King _Ludovicus_
or King _Philippus?_ There lies the crisis; there hangs the
question: Revolution Prodigy, or Counter-Revolution?—One wide
shriek covers that North-East region. Soldiers, full of rage,
suspicion and terror, flock hither and thither; Dumouriez the
many-counselled, never off horseback, knows now no counsel that
were not worse than none: the counsel, namely, of joining himself
with Cobourg; marching to Paris, extinguishing Jacobinism, and,
with some new King Ludovicus or King Philippus, resting the
Constitution of 1791![633]
Is Wisdom quitting Dumouriez; the herald of Fortune quitting him?
Principle, faith political or other, beyond a certain faith of
mess-rooms, and honour of an officer, had him not to quit. At any
rate, his quarters in the Burgh of Saint-Amand; his headquarters
in the Village of Saint-Amand des Boues, a short way off,—have
become a Bedlam. National Representatives, Jacobin Missionaries
are riding and running: of the “three Towns,” Lille, Valenciennes
or even Condé, which Dumouriez wanted to snatch for himself, not
one can be snatched: your Captain is admitted, but the Town-gate
is closed on him, and then the Prison gate, and “his men wander
about the ramparts.” Couriers gallop breathless; men wait, or
seem waiting, to assassinate, to be assassinated; Battalions nigh
frantic with such suspicion and uncertainty, with
_Vive-la-République_ and _Sauve-qui-peut_, rush this way and
that;—Ruin and Desperation in the shape of Cobourg lying
entrenched close by.
Dame Genlis and her fair Princess d’Orléans find this Burgh of
Saint-Amand no fit place for them; Dumouriez’s protection is
grown worse than none. Tough Genlis one of the toughest women; a
woman, as it were, with nine lives in her; whom nothing will
beat: she packs her bandboxes; clear for flight in a private
manner. Her beloved Princess she will—leave here, with the Prince
Chartres Egalité her Brother. In the cold grey of the April
morning, we find her accordingly established in her hired
vehicle, on the street of Saint-Amand; postilions just cracking
their whips to go,—when behold the young Princely Brother,
struggling hitherward, hastily calling; bearing the Princess in
his arms! Hastily he has clutched the poor young lady up, in her
very night-gown, nothing saved of her goods except the watch from
the pillow: with brotherly despair he flings her in, among the
bandboxes, into Genlis’s chaise, into Genlis’s arms: Leave her
not, in the name of Mercy and Heaven! A shrill scene, but a brief
one:—the postilions crack and go. Ah, whither? Through by-roads
and broken hill-passes: seeking their way with lanterns after
nightfall; through perils, and Cobourg Austrians, and suspicious
French Nationals; finally, into Switzerland; safe though nigh
moneyless.[634] The brave young Egalité has a most wild Morrow to
look for; but now only himself to carry through it.
For indeed over at that Village named _of the Mudbaths_,
Saint-Amand des Boues, matters are still worse. About four
o’clock on Tuesday afternoon, the 2d of April 1793, two Couriers
come galloping as if for life: _Mon Général!_ Four National
Representatives, War-Minister at their head, are posting
hitherward, from Valenciennes: are close at hand,—with what
intents one may guess! While the Couriers are yet speaking,
War-Minister and National Representatives, old Camus the
Archivist for chief speaker of them, arrive. Hardly has _Mon
Général_ had time to order out the Huzzar Regiment de Berchigny;
that it take rank and wait near by, in case of accident. And so,
enter War-Minister Beurnonville, with an embrace of friendship,
for he is an old friend; enter Archivist Camus and the other
three, following him.
They produce Papers, invite the General to the bar of the
Convention: merely to give an explanation or two. The General
finds it unsuitable, not to say impossible, and that ‘the service
will suffer.’ Then comes reasoning; the voice of the old
Archivist getting loud. Vain to reason loud with this Dumouriez;
he answers mere angry irreverences. And so, amid plumed
staff-officers, very gloomy-looking; in jeopardy and uncertainty,
these poor National messengers debate and consult, retire and
re-enter, for the space of some two hours: without effect.
Whereupon Archivist Camus, getting quite loud, proclaims, in the
name of the National Convention, for he has the power to do it,
That General Dumouriez is _arrested:_ ‘Will you obey the National
Mandate, General!’ ‘_Pas dans ce moment-ci_, Not at this
particular moment,’ answers the General also aloud; then glancing
the other way, utters certain unknown vocables, in a mandatory
manner; seemingly a German word-of-command.[635] Hussars clutch
the Four National Representatives, and Beurnonville the
War-minister; pack them out of the apartment; out of the Village,
over the lines to Cobourg, in two chaises that very night,—as
hostages, prisoners; to lie long in Maestricht and Austrian
strongholds![636] J_acta est alea_.
This night Dumouriez prints his “Proclamation;” this night and
the morrow the Dumouriez Army, in such darkness visible, and rage
of semi-desperation as there is, shall meditate what the General
is doing, what they themselves will do in it. Judge whether this
Wednesday was of halcyon nature, for any one! But, on the
Thursday morning, we discern Dumouriez with small escort, with
Chartres Egalité and a few staff-officers, ambling along the
Condé Highway: perhaps they are for Condé, and trying to persuade
the Garrison there; at all events, they are for an interview with
Cobourg, who waits in the woods by appointment, in that quarter.
Nigh the Village of Doumet, three National Battalions, a set of
men always full of Jacobinism, sweep past us; marching rather
swiftly,—seemingly in mistake, by a way we had not ordered. The
General dismounts, steps into a cottage, a little from the
wayside; will give them right order in writing. Hark! what
strange growling is heard: what barkings are heard, loud yells of
‘_Traitors_,’ of ‘_Arrest:_’ the National Battalions have wheeled
round, are emitting shot! Mount, Dumouriez, and spring for life!
Dumouriez and Staff strike the spurs in, deep; vault over
ditches, into the fields, which prove to be morasses; sprawl and
plunge for life; bewhistled with curses and lead. Sunk to the
middle, with or without horses, several servants killed, they
escape out of shot-range, to General Mack the Austrian’s
quarters. Nay they return on the morrow, to Saint-Amand and
faithful foreign Berchigny; but what boots it? The Artillery has
all revolted, is jingling off to Valenciennes: all have revolted,
are revolting; except only foreign Berchigny, to the extent of
some poor fifteen hundred, none will follow Dumouriez against
France and Indivisible Republic: Dumouriez’s occupation’s
gone.[637]
Such an instinct of Frenehhood and Sansculottism dwells in these
men: they will follow no Dumouriez nor Lafayette, nor any mortal
on such errand. Shriek may be of _Sauve-qui-peut_, but will also
be of _Vive-la-République_. New National Representatives arrive;
new General Dampierre, soon killed in battle; new General
Custine; the agitated Hosts draw back to some Camp of Famars;
make head against Cobourg as they can.
And so Dumouriez is in the Austrian quarters; his drama ended, in
this rather sorry manner. A most shifty, wiry man; one of
Heaven’s Swiss that wanted only work. Fifty years of unnoticed
toil and valour; one year of toil and valour, not unnoticed, but
seen of all countries and centuries; then thirty other years
again unnoticed, of Memoir-writing, English Pension, scheming and
projecting to no purpose: Adieu thou Swiss of Heaven, worthy to
have been something else!
His Staff go different ways. Brave young Egalité reaches
Switzerland and the Genlis Cottage; with a strong crabstick in
his hand, a strong heart in his body: his Princedom in now
reduced to that. Egalité the Father sat playing whist, in his
Palais Egalité, at Paris, on the 6th day of this same month of
April, when a catchpole entered: Citoyen Egalité is wanted at the
Convention Committee![638] Examination, requiring Arrestment;
finally requiring Imprisonment, transference to Marseilles and
the Castle of If! Orléansdom has sunk in the black waters; Palais
Egalité, which was Palais Royal, is like to become Palais
National.