Extinct.
Accordingly, on Friday, the Thirty-first of May 1793, there comes
forth into the summer sunlight one of the strangest scenes. Mayor
Pache with Municipality arrives at the Tuileries Hall of
Convention; sent for, Paris being in visible ferment; and gives
the strangest news.
How, in the grey of this morning, while we sat Permanent in
Townhall, watchful for the commonweal, there entered, precisely
as on a Tenth of August, some Ninety-six extraneous persons; who
declared themselves to be in a state of Insurrection; to be
plenipotentiary Commissioners from the Forty-eight Sections,
sections or members of the Sovereign People, all in a state of
Insurrection; and further that we, in the name of said Sovereign
in Insurrection, were dismissed from office. How we thereupon
laid off our sashes, and withdrew into the adjacent Saloon of
Liberty. How in a moment or two, we were called back; and
reinstated; the Sovereign pleasing to think us still worthy of
confidence. Whereby, having taken new oath of office, we on a
sudden find ourselves Insurrectionary Magistrates, with
extraneous Committee of Ninety-six sitting by us; and a Citoyen
Henriot, one whom some accuse of Septemberism, is made
Generalissimo of the National Guard; and, since six o’clock, the
tocsins ring and the drums beat:—Under which peculiar
circumstances, what would an august National Convention please to
direct us to do?[651]
Yes, there is the question! ‘Break the Insurrectionary
Authorities,’ answers some with vehemence. Vergniaud at least
will have ‘the National Representatives all die at their post;’
this is sworn to, with ready loud acclaim. But as to breaking the
Insurrectionary Authorities,—alas, while we yet debate, what
sound is that? Sound of the Alarm-Cannon on the Pont Neuf; which
it is death by the Law to fire without order from us!
It does boom off there, nevertheless; sending a sound through all
hearts. And the tocsins discourse stern music; and Henriot with
his Armed Force has enveloped us! And Section succeeds Section,
the livelong day; demanding with Cambyses’-oratory, with the
rattle of muskets, That traitors, Twenty-two or more, be
punished; that the Commission of Twelve be irrecoverably broken.
The heart of the Gironde dies within it; distant are the
Seventy-two respectable Departments, this fiery Municipality is
near! Barrère is for a middle course; granting something. The
Commission of Twelve declares that, not waiting to be broken, it
hereby breaks itself, and is no more. Fain would Reporter Rabaut
speak his and its last-words; but he is bellowed off. Too happy
that the Twenty-two are still left unviolated!—Vergniaud,
carrying the laws of refinement to a great length, moves, to the
amazement of some, that “the Sections of Paris have deserved well
of their country.” Whereupon, at a late hour of the evening, the
deserving Sections retire to their respective places of abode.
Barrère shall report on it. With busy quill and brain he sits,
secluded; for him no sleep tonight. Friday the last of May has
ended in this manner.
The Sections have deserved well: but ought they not to deserve
better? Faction and Girondism is struck down for the moment, and
consents to be a nullity; but will it not, at another favourabler
moment rise, still feller; and the Republic have to be saved in
spite of it? So reasons Patriotism, still Permanent; so reasons
the Figure of Marat, visible in the dim Section-world, on the
morrow. To the conviction of men!—And so at eventide of Saturday,
when Barrère had just got it all varnished in the course of the
day, and his Report was setting off in the evening mail-bags,
tocsin peals out _again! Générale_ is beating; armed men taking
station in the Place Vendôme and elsewhere for the night;
supplied with provisions and liquor. There under the summer stars
will they wait, this night, what is to be seen and to be done,
Henriot and Townhall giving due signal.
The Convention, at sound of _générale_, hastens back to its Hall;
but to the number only of a Hundred; and does little business,
puts off business till the morrow. The Girondins do not stir out
thither, the Girondins are abroad seeking beds. Poor Rabaut, on
the morrow morning, returning to his post, with Louvet and some
others, through streets all in ferment, wrings his hands,
ejaculating, ‘_Illa suprema dies!_’[652] It has become Sunday,
the second day of June, year 1793, by the old style; by the new
style, year One of Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. We have got to
the last scene of all, that ends this history of the Girondin
Senatorship.
It seems doubtful whether any terrestrial Convention had ever met
in such circumstances as this National one now does. Tocsin is
pealing; Barriers shut; all Paris is on the gaze, or under arms.
As many as a Hundred Thousand under arms they count: National
Force; and the Armed Volunteers, who should have flown to the
Frontiers and La Vendée; but would not, treason being unpunished;
and only flew hither and thither! So many, steady under arms,
environ the National Tuileries and Garden. There are horse, foot,
artillery, sappers with beards: the artillery one can see with
their camp-furnaces in this National Garden, heating bullets red,
and their match is lighted. Henriot in plumes rides, amid a
plumed Staff: all posts and issues are safe; reserves lie out, as
far as the Wood of Boulogne; the choicest Patriots nearest the
scene. One other circumstance we will note: that a careful
Municipality, liberal of camp-furnaces, has not forgotten
provision-carts. No member of the Sovereign need now go home to
dinner; but can keep rank,—plentiful victual circulating
unsought. Does not this People understand Insurrection? Ye, _not_
uninventive, _Gualches!_—
Therefore let a National Representation, “mandatories of the
Sovereign,” take thought of it. Expulsion of your Twenty-two, and
your Commission of Twelve: we stand here till it be done!
Deputation after Deputation, in ever stronger language, comes
with that message. Barrère proposes a middle course:—Will not
perhaps the inculpated Deputies consent to withdraw voluntarily;
to make a generous demission, and self-sacrifice for the sake of
one’s country? Isnard, repentant of that search on which
river-bank Paris stood, declares himself ready to demit. Ready
also is _Te-Deum_ Fauchet; old Dusaulx of the Bastille, “_vieux
radoteur_, old dotard,” as Marat calls him, is still readier. On
the contrary, Lanjuinais the Breton declares that there is one
man who never will demit voluntarily; but will protest to the
uttermost, while a voice is left him. And he accordingly goes on
protesting; amid rage and clangor; Legendre crying at last:
‘Lanjuinais, come down from the Tribune, or I will fling thee
down, _ou je te jette en bas!_’ For matters are come to
extremity. Nay they do clutch hold of Lanjuinais, certain zealous
Mountain-men; but cannot fling him down, for he “cramps himself
on the railing;” and “his clothes get torn.” Brave Senator,
worthy of pity! Neither will Barbaroux demit; he ‘has sworn to
die at his post, and will keep that oath.’ Whereupon the
Galleries all rise with explosion; brandishing weapons, some of
them; and rush out saying: ‘_Allons_, then; we must save our
country!’ Such a Session is this of Sunday the second of June.
Churches fill, over Christian Europe, and then empty themselves;
but this Convention empties not, the while: a day of shrieking
contention, of agony, humiliation and tearing of coatskirts;
_illa suprema dies!_ Round stand Henriot and his Hundred
Thousand, copiously refreshed from tray and basket: nay he is
“distributing five francs a-piece;” we Girondins saw it with our
eyes; five francs to keep them in heart! And distraction of armed
riot encumbers our borders, jangles at our Bar; we are prisoners
in our own Hall: Bishop Grégoire could not get out for a _besoin
actuel_ without four gendarmes to wait on him! What is the
character of a National Representative become? And now the
sunlight falls yellower on western windows, and the chimney-tops
are flinging longer shadows; the refreshed Hundred Thousand, nor
their shadows, stir not! What to resolve on? Motion rises,
superfluous one would think, That the Convention go forth in a
body; ascertain with its own eyes whether it is free or not. Lo,
therefore, from the Eastern Gate of the Tuileries, a distressed
Convention issuing; handsome Hérault Séchelles at their head; he
with hat on, in sign of public calamity, the rest
bareheaded,—towards the Gate of the Carrousel; wondrous to see:
towards Henriot and his plumed staff. ‘In the name of the
National Convention, make way!’ Not an inch of the way does
Henriot make: ‘I receive no orders, till the Sovereign, yours and
mine, has been obeyed.’ The Convention presses on; Henriot
prances back, with his staff, some fifteen paces, ‘To arms!
Cannoneers to your guns!’—flashes out his puissant sword, as the
Staff all do, and the Hussars all do. Cannoneers brandish the lit
match; Infantry present arms,—alas, in the level way, as if for
firing! Hatted Herault leads his distressed flock, through their
pinfold of a Tuileries again; across the Garden, to the Gate on
the opposite side. Here is Feuillans Terrace, alas, there is our
old Salle de Manége; but neither at this Gate of the Pont
Tournant is there egress. Try the other; and the other: no
egress! We wander disconsolate through armed ranks; who indeed
salute with _Live the Republic_, but also with _Die the Gironde_.
Other such sight, in the year One of Liberty, the westering sun
never saw.
And now behold Marat meets us; for he lagged in this Suppliant
Procession of ours: he has got some hundred elect Patriots at his
heels: he orders us in the Sovereign’s name to return to our
place, and do as we are bidden and bound. The Convention returns.
‘Does not the Convention,’ says Couthon with a singular power of
face, ‘see that it is free?’—none but friends round it? The
Convention, overflowing with friends and armed Sectioners,
proceeds to vote as bidden. Many will not vote, but remain
silent; some one or two protest, in words: the Mountain has a
clear unanimity. Commission of Twelve, and the denounced
Twenty-two, to whom we add Ex-Ministers Clavière and Lebrun:
these, with some slight extempore alterations (this or that
orator proposing, but Marat disposing), are voted to be under
“Arrestment in their own houses.” Brissot, Buzot, Vergniaud,
Guadet, Louvet, Gensonné, Barbaroux, Lasource, Lanjuinais,
Rabaut,—Thirty-two, by the tale; all that we have known as
Girondins, and more than we have known. They, “under the
safeguard of the French People;” by and by, under the safeguard
of two Gendarmes each, shall dwell peaceably in their own houses;
as Non-Senators; till further order. Herewith ends _Séance_ of
Sunday the second of June 1793.
At ten o’clock, under mild stars, the Hundred Thousand, their
work well finished, turn homewards. This same day, Central
Insurrection Committee has arrested Madame Roland; imprisoned her
in the Abbaye. Roland has fled, no one knows whither.
Thus fell the Girondins, by Insurrection; and became extinct as a
Party: not without a sigh from most Historians. The men were men
of parts, of Philosophic culture, decent behaviour; not
condemnable in that they were Pedants and had not better parts;
not condemnable, but most unfortunate. They wanted a Republic of
the Virtues, wherein themselves should be head; and they could
only get a Republic of the Strengths, wherein others than they
were head.
For the rest, Barrère shall make Report of it. The night
concludes with a “civic promenade by torchlight:”[653] surely the
true reign of Fraternity is now not far?