Le lendemain, 8 Thermidor, Robespierre se decida a prononcer son
fameux discours.
--Thiers, “Hist. de la Revolution.”
(The next day, 8th Thermidor, Robespierre resolved to deliver his
celebrated discourse.)
The morning rose,--the 8th of Thermidor (July 26). Robespierre has gone
to the Convention. He has gone with his laboured speech; he has gone
with his phrases of philanthropy and virtue; he has gone to single out
his prey. All his agents are prepared for his reception; the fierce St.
Just has arrived from the armies to second his courage and inflame his
wrath. His ominous apparition prepares the audience for the crisis.
“Citizens!” screeched the shrill voice of Robespierre “others have
placed before you flattering pictures; I come to announce to you useful
truths.
....
“And they attribute to me,--to me alone!--whatever of harsh or evil
is committed: it is Robespierre who wishes it; it is Robespierre who
ordains it. Is there a new tax?--it is Robespierre who ruins you. They
call me tyrant!--and why? Because I have acquired some influence; but
how?--in speaking truth; and who pretends that truth is to be without
force in the mouths of the Representatives of the French people?
Doubtless, truth has its power, its rage, its despotism, its accents,
touching, terrible, which resound in the pure heart as in the guilty
conscience; and which Falsehood can no more imitate than Salmoneus could
forge the thunderbolts of Heaven. What am I whom they accuse? A slave
of liberty,--a living martyr of the Republic; the victim as the enemy of
crime! All ruffianism affronts me, and actions legitimate in others are
crimes in me. It is enough to know me to be calumniated. It is in my
very zeal that they discover my guilt. Take from me my conscience, and I
should be the most miserable of men!”
He paused; and Couthon wiped his eyes, and St. Just murmured applause
as with stern looks he gazed on the rebellious Mountain; and there was a
dead, mournful, and chilling silence through the audience. The touching
sentiment woke no echo.
The orator cast his eyes around. Ho! he will soon arouse that apathy.
He proceeds, he praises, he pities himself no more. He denounces,--he
accuses. Overflooded with his venom, he vomits it forth on all. At home,
abroad, finances, war,--on all! Shriller and sharper rose his voice,--
“A conspiracy exists against the public liberty. It owes its strength
to a criminal coalition in the very bosom of the Convention; it has
accomplices in the bosom of the Committee of Public Safety...What is the
remedy to this evil? To punish the traitors; to purify this committee;
to crush all factions by the weight of the National Authority; to
raise upon their ruins the power of Liberty and Justice. Such are the
principles of that Reform. Must I be ambitious to profess them?--then
the principles are proscribed, and Tyranny reigns amongst us! For what
can you object to a man who is in the right, and has at least this
knowledge,--he knows how to die for his native land! I am made to combat
crime, and not to govern it. The time, alas! is not yet arrived when men
of worth can serve with impunity their country. So long as the knaves
rule, the defenders of liberty will be only the proscribed.”
For two hours, through that cold and gloomy audience, shrilled the
Death-speech. In silence it began, in silence closed. The enemies of the
orator were afraid to express resentment; they knew not yet the exact
balance of power. His partisans were afraid to approve; they knew not
whom of their own friends and relations the accusations were designed to
single forth. “Take care!” whispered each to each; “it is thou whom
he threatens.” But silent though the audience, it was, at the first,
wellnigh subdued. There was still about this terrible man the spell
of an overmastering will. Always--though not what is called a great
orator--resolute, and sovereign in the use of words; words seemed as
things when uttered by one who with a nod moved the troops of Henriot,
and influenced the judgment of Rene Dumas, grim President of the
Tribunal. Lecointre of Versailles rose, and there was an anxious
movement of attention; for Lecointre was one of the fiercest foes of the
tyrant. What was the dismay of the Tallien faction; what the complacent
smile of Couthon,--when Lecointre demanded only that the oration should
be printed! All seemed paralyzed. At length Bourdon de l’Oise, whose
name was doubly marked in the black list of the Dictator, stalked to the
tribune, and moved the bold counter-resolution, that the speech should
be referred to the two committees whom that very speech accused. Still
no applause from the conspirators; they sat torpid as frozen men. The
shrinking Barrere, ever on the prudent side, looked round before he
rose. He rises, and sides with Lecointre! Then Couthon seized the
occasion, and from his seat (a privilege permitted only to the paralytic
philanthropist) (M. Thiers in his History, volume iv. page 79, makes
a curious blunder: he says, “Couthon s’elance a la tribune.” (Couthon
darted towards the tribune.) Poor Couthon! whose half body was dead,
and who was always wheeled in his chair into the Convention, and spoke
sitting.), and with his melodious voice sought to convert the crisis
into a triumph.
He demanded, not only that the harangue should be printed, but sent
to all the communes and all the armies. It was necessary to soothe
a wronged and ulcerated heart. Deputies, the most faithful, had been
accused of shedding blood. “Ah! if HE had contributed to the death of
one innocent man, he should immolate himself with grief.” Beautiful
tenderness!--and while he spoke, he fondled the spaniel in his bosom.
Bravo, Couthon! Robespierre triumphs! The reign of Terror shall endure!
The old submission settles dovelike back in the assembly! They vote
the printing of the Death-speech, and its transmission to all the
municipalities. From the benches of the Mountain, Tallien, alarmed,
dismayed, impatient, and indignant, cast his gaze where sat the
strangers admitted to hear the debates; and suddenly he met the eyes of
the Unknown who had brought to him the letter from Teresa de Fontenai
the preceding day. The eyes fascinated him as he gazed. In aftertimes he
often said that their regard, fixed, earnest, half-reproachful, and
yet cheering and triumphant, filled him with new life and courage. They
spoke to his heart as the trumpet speaks to the war-horse. He moved from
his seat; he whispered with his allies: the spirit he had drawn in was
contagious; the men whom Robespierre especially had denounced, and who
saw the sword over their heads, woke from their torpid trance. Vadier,
Cambon, Billaud-Varennes, Panis, Amar, rose at once,--all at once
demanded speech. Vadier is first heard, the rest succeed. It burst
forth, the Mountain, with its fires and consuming lava; flood upon flood
they rush, a legion of Ciceros upon the startled Catiline! Robespierre
falters, hesitates,--would qualify, retract. They gather new courage
from his new fears; they interrupt him; they drown his voice; they
demand the reversal of the motion. Amar moves again that the speech
be referred to the Committees, to the Committees,--to his enemies!
Confusion and noise and clamour! Robespierre wraps himself in silent
and superb disdain. Pale, defeated, but not yet destroyed, he
stands,--a storm in the midst of storm!
The motion is carried. All men foresee in that defeat the Dictator’s
downfall. A solitary cry rose from the galleries; it was caught up;
it circled through the hall, the audience: “A bas le tyrant! Vive la
republique!” (Down with the tyrant! Hurrah for the republic!)