of those solemn and perilous situations, in which a man becomes
responsible in the eyes of a whole nation, in the eyes of posterity, for
the inconsiderate or even culpable actions of the passionate multitude
that surrounds him, but which he scarcely knows, and over which he has
little or no influence.
The National Guard, in that early epoch of the revolution, was very
troublesome to lead and to rule. Insubordination appeared to be the rule
in its ranks; and hierarchical obedience a very rare exception. My
remark may perhaps appear severe: well, Gentlemen, read the contemporary
writings, Grimm's Correspondence, for example, and you will see, under
date of November 1790, a dismissed captain replying to the regrets of
his company in the following style: "Console yourselves, my companions,
I shall not quit you; only, henceforward I shall be a simple fusilier;
if you see me resolved to be no longer your chief, it is because I am
content to command in my turn."
It is allowable besides to suppose that the National Guard of 1791 was
deficient, in the presence of such crowds, of that patience, that
clemency, of which the French troops of the line have often given such
perfect examples. It was not aware that, in a large city, crowds are
chiefly composed of the unemployed and the idly curious.
It was half-past seven o'clock when the municipal body arrived at the
Champ de Mars. Immediately some individuals placed on the glacis
exclaimed: "Down with the red flag! down with the bayonettes!" and threw
some stones. There was even a gun fired. A volley was fired in the air
to frighten them; but the cries soon recommenced; again some stones were
thrown; then only the fatal fusillade of the National Guard began!
These, Gentlemen, are the deplorable events of the Champ de Mars,
faithfully analyzed from the relation that Bailly himself gave of the
18th July to the Constituent Assembly. This recital, the truth of which
no one assuredly will question any more than myself, labours under some
involuntary but very serious omissions. I will indicate them, when the
march of events leads us, in following our unfortunate colleague, to the
revolutionary tribunal.
BAILLY QUITS THE MAYORALTY THE 12TH OF NOVEMBER, 1791.--THE
ESCHEVINS.--EXAMINATION OF THE REPROACHES THAT MIGHT BE ADDRESSED TO THE
MAYOR.
I resume the biography of Bailly at the time when he quitted the Hôtel
de Ville after a magistracy of about two years.
On the 12th November, 1791, Bailly convoked the Council of the Commune,
rendered an account of his administration, solemnly entreated those who
thought themselves entitled to complain of him, to say so without
reserve; so resolved was he to bow to any legitimate complaints;
installed his successor Pétion, and retired. This separation did not
lead to any of those heartfelt demonstrations from the co-labourers of
the late Mayor, which are the true and the sweetest recompense to a good
man.
I have sought for the hidden cause of such a constant and undisguised
hostility towards the first Mayor of Paris. I asked myself first,
whether the magistrate's manners had possibly excited the
susceptibilities of the Eschevins.[14] The answer is decidedly in the
negative. Bailly showed in all the relations of life a degree of
patience, a suavity, a deference to the opinions of others, that would
have soothed the most irascible self-love.
Must we suspect jealousy to have been at work? No, no; the persons who
constituted the town-council were too obscure, unless they were mad, to
attempt to vie in public consideration and glory with the illustrious
author of _the History of Astronomy_, with the philosopher, the writer,
the erudite scholar who belonged to our three principal academies, an
honour that Fontenelle alone had enjoyed before him.
Let us say it aloud, for such is our conviction, nothing personal
excited the evil proceedings, the acts of insubordination with which
Bailly had daily to reproach his numerous assistants. It is even
presumable, that in his position, any one else would have had to
register more numerous and more serious complaints. Let us be truthful:
when the _aristocracy of the ground-floor_, according to the expression
of one of the most illustrious members of the French Academy, was called
by the revolutionary movements to replace the _aristocracy of the
first-floor_, it became giddy. Have I not, it said, conducted the
business of the warehouse, the workshop, the counting-house, &c., with
probity and success; why then should I not equally succeed in the
management of public affairs? And this swarm of new statesmen were in a
hurry to commence work; hence all control was irksome to them, and each
wished to be able to say on returning home, "I have framed such or such
an act that will tie the hands of faction for ever; I have repressed
this or that riot; I have, in short, saved the country by proposing such
or such a measure for the public good, and by having it adopted." The
pronoun _I_ so agreeably tickles the ear of a man lately risen from
obscurity.
What the thorough-bred Eschevin, whether new or old, dreads above every
thing else, is specialties. He has an insurmountable antipathy towards
men, who have in the face of the world gained the honourable titles of
historian, geometer, mechanician, astronomer, physician, chemist, or
geologist, &c.... His desire, his will, is to speak on every thing. He
requires, therefore, colleagues who cannot contradict him.
If the town constructs an edifice, the Eschevin, losing sight of the
question, talks away on the aspect of the façades. He declares with the
imperturbable assurance inspired by a fact that he had heard speak of
whilst on the knees of his nurse, that on a particular side of the
future building, the moon, an active agent of destruction, will
incessantly corrode the stones of the frontage, the shafts of the
columns, and that it will efface in a few years all the projecting
ornaments; and hence the fear of the moon's voracity will lead to the
upsetting of all the views, the studies, and the well-digested plans of
several architects. Place a meteorologist on the council, and, despite
the authority of the nurses, a whole scaffolding of gratuitous
suppositions will be crumbled to dust by these few categorical and
strict words of science; the moon does not exert the action that is
attributed to it.
At another time, the Eschevin hurls his anathema at the system of
warming by steam. According to him, this diabolical invention is an
incessant cause of damp to the wood-work, the furniture, the papers, and
the books. The Eschevin fancies, in short, that in this way of warming,
torrents of watery vapour enter into the atmosphere of the apartments.
Can he love a colleague, I ask, who after having had the cunning
patience to let him come to the conclusion of his discourse, informs him
that, although vapour, the vehicle of an enormous quantity of latent
heat, rapidly conveys this caloric to every floor of the largest
edifice, it has never occasion therefore to escape from those
impermeable tubes through which the circulation is effected!
Amidst the various labours that are required by every large town, the
Eschevin thinks, some one day, that he has discovered an infallible way
of revenging himself of specialties. Guided by the light of modern
geology, it has been proposed to go with an immense sounding line in
hand, to seek in the bowels of the earth the incalculable quantities of
water, that from all eternity circulate there without benefiting human
nature, to make them spout up to the surface, to distribute them in
various directions, in large cities, until then parched, to take
advantage of their high temperature, to warm economically the
magnificent conservatories of the public gardens, the halls of refuge,
the wards of the sick in hospitals, the cells of madmen. But according
to the old geology of the Eschevin, promulgated perhaps by his nurse,
there is no circulation in subterranean water; at all events,
subterranean water cannot be submitted to an ascending force and rise to
the surface; its temperature would not differ from that of common
well-water. The Eschevin, however, agrees to the expensive works
proposed. Those works, he says, will afford no material result; but once
for all, such fantastic projects will receive a solemn and rough
contradiction, and we shall then be liberated for ever from the odious
yoke under which science wants to enslave us.
However, the subterranean water appears. It is true that a clever
engineer had to bore down 548 mètres (or 600 yards) to find it; but
thence it comes transparent as crystal, pure as if the product of
distillation, warmed as physical laws had shown that it would be, more
abundant indeed than they had dared to foresee, it shot up thirty-three
mètres above the ground.
Do not suppose, Gentlemen, that putting aside wretched views of
self-love, the Eschevin would applaud such a result. He shows himself,
on the contrary, deeply humiliated. And he will not fail in future to
oppose every undertaking that might turn out to the honour of science.
Crowds of such incidents occur to the mind. Are we to infer thence, that
we ought to be afraid of seeing the administration of a town given up to
the stationary, and exclusive spirit of the old Eschevinage--to people
who have learnt nothing and studied nothing? Such is not the result of
these long reflections. I wished to enable people to foresee the
struggle, not the defeat. I even hasten to add, that by the side of the
surly, harsh, rude, positive Eschevin, the type of whom, to say the
truth, is fortunately becoming rare, an honourable class of citizens
exists, who, content with a moderate fortune laboriously acquired, live
retired, charm their leisure with study, and magnanimously place
themselves, without any interested views, at the service of the
community. Everywhere similar auxiliaries fight courageously for truth
as soon as they perceive it. Bailly constantly obtained their
concurrence; as is proved by some touching testimonies of gratitude and
sympathy. As to the counsellors who so often occasioned trouble,
confusion, and anarchy in the Hôtel de Ville in the years '89 and '90, I
am inclined to blame the virtuous magistrate for having so patiently, so
diffidently endured their ridiculous pretensions, their unbearable
assumption of power.
From the earliest steps in the important study of nature, it becomes
evident that facts unveiled to us in the lapse of centuries, are but a
very small fraction, if we compare them with those that still remain to
be discovered. Placing ourselves in that point of view, deficiency in
diffidence would just be the same as deficiency in judgment. But, by the
side of positive diffidence, if I may be allowed the expression,
relative diffidence comes in. This is often a delusion; it deceives no
one, yet occasions a thousand difficulties. Bailly often confounded
them. We may regret, I think, that in many instances, the learned
academician disdained to throw in the face of his vain fellow-labourers
these words of an ancient philosopher: "When I examine myself, I find I
am but a pigmy; when I compare myself, I think I am a giant."
If I were to cover with a veil that which appeared to me susceptible of
criticism in the character of Bailly, I should voluntarily weaken the
praises that I have bestowed on several acts of his administration. I
will not commit this fault, no more than I have done already in alluding
to the communications of the mayor with the presuming Eschevins.
I will therefore acknowledge that on several occasions, Bailly, in my
opinion, showed himself influenced by a petty susceptibility, if not
about his personal prerogatives, yet about those of his station.
I think also that Bailly might be accused of an occasional want of
foresight.
Imaginative and sensitive, the philosopher allowed his thoughts to
centre too exclusively on the difficulties of the moment. He persuaded
himself, from an excess of good-will, that no new storm would follow the
one that he had just overcome. After every success, whether great or
small, against the intrigues of the court, or prejudices, or anarchy,
whether President of the National Assembly or Mayor of Paris, our
colleague thought the country saved. Then his joy overflowed; he would
have wished to spread it over all the world. It was thus that on the day
of the definite reunion of the nobility with the other two orders, the
27th of June, 1789, Bailly going from Versailles to Chaillot, after the
close of the session, leaned half his body out of his carriage door, and
announced the happy tidings with loud exclamations to all whom he met on
the road. At Sèvres, it is from himself that I borrow the anecdote, he
did not see without painful surprise that his communication was received
with the most complete indifference by a group of soldiers assembled
before the barrack door; Bailly laughed much on afterwards learning that
this was a party of Swiss soldiers, who did not understand a word he
said.
Happy the actors in a great revolution, in whose conduct we find nothing
to reprehend until after having entered into so minute an analysis of
their public and private conduct.
FOOTNOTE:
[14] _Eschevin_ was a sort of town-councilman, peculiar to
Paris and to Rotterdam, acting under a mayor.
BAILLY'S JOURNEY FROM PARIS TO NANTES, AND THEN FROM NANTES TO
MÉLUN.--HIS ARREST IN THE LAST TOWN.--HE IS TRANSFERRED TO PARIS.
After having quitted the Mayorality of Paris, Bailly retired to
Chaillot, where he hoped again to find happiness in study; but upwards
of two years passed amidst the storms of public life had deeply injured
his health; it was therefore requisite to obey the advice of physicians,
and undertake a journey. About the middle of June, 1792, Bailly quitted
the capital, made some excursions in the neighbouring departments, went
to Niort to visit his old colleague and friend, M. de Lapparent, and
soon after went on far as Nantes, where the due influence of another
friend, M. Gelée de Prémion, seemed to promise him protection and
tranquillity. Determined to establish himself in this last town, Bailly
and his wife took a small lodging in the house of some distinguished
people, who could understand and appreciate them. They hoped to live
there in peace; but news from Paris soon dissipated this illusion. The
Council of the Commune decreed, that the house previously occupied, in
consequence of a formal decision, by the Mayor of Paris, and by the
public offices of the town, ought to have paid a tax of 6,000 livres,
and strange enough, that Bailly was responsible for it. The pretended
debt was claimed with harshness. They demanded the payment of it without
delay. To free himself Bailly was obliged to sell his library, to
abandon to the chances of an auction that multitude of valuable books,
from which he had sought out, in the silence of his study, and with such
remarkable perseverance, the most recondite secrets of the firmament.
This painful separation was followed by two acts that did not afflict
him less.
The central government (then directed, it must be allowed, by the
Gironde party) placed Bailly under surveillance. Every eight days the
venerable academician was obliged to present himself at the house of the
Syndic Procurator of the Departmental Administration of the Lower-Loire,
like a vile malefactor, whose every footstep it would be to the interest
of society to watch. What was the true motive for such a strange
measure? This secret has been buried in a tomb where I shall not allow
myself to dig for it.
Though painful to me to say so, the odious assimilation of Bailly to a
dangerous criminal had not exhausted the rancour of his enemies. A
letter from Roland, the Minister of the Interior, announced very dryly
to the unfortunate proscribed man, that the apartments in the Louvre,
which his family had occupied for upwards of half a century, had been
withdrawn from him. They had even proceeded so far as to furnish a
tipstaff with the order to clear the rooms.
A short time before this epoch, Bailly had found himself obliged to sell
his house at Chaillot. The old Mayor of Paris then had no longer a
hearth or a home in the great city which had been the late scene of his
devotion, his solicitude, and his sacrifices. When this reflection
occurred to his mind, his eyes filled with tears.
But the grief that Bailly experienced on seeing himself the daily object
of odious persecutions, left his patriotic convictions intact. Vainly
did they endeavour several times to transform a legitimate hatred
towards individuals into an antipathy towards principles. They still
remember in Brittany the debate raised, by one of these attempts,
between our colleague and a Vendéan physician, Dr. Blin. Never, in the
season of his greatest popularity, did the president of the National
Assembly express himself with more vivacity; never had he defended our
first revolution with more eloquence. Not long since, in the same place,
I pointed out to public attention another of our colleagues (Condorcet),
who already under the blow of a capital condemnation, devoted his last
moments to restore to the light of day the principles of eternal
justice, which the fashions and the follies of men had but too much
obscured. At a time of weak or interested convictions, and disgraceful
capitulations of conscience, those two examples of unchangeable
convictions deserved to be remarked. I am happy in having found them in
the bosom of the Academy of Sciences.
Tranquillity of mind is not less requisite than vigour of intellect, to
those who undertake great works. Thus during his residence at Nantes,
Bailly did not even try to add to his numerous scientific or literary
productions. This celebrated astronomer passed his time in reading
novels. He sometimes said with a bitter smile: "My day has been well
occupied; since I got up, I have put myself in a position to give an
analysis of the two, or of the three first volumes of the new novel that
the reading-room has just received." From time to time these
abstractions were of a more elevated tone; he owed them to two young
persons, who having reached an advanced age may now be listening to my
words. Bailly discoursed with them of Homer, of Plato, of Aristotle, of
the principal works in our literature, of the rapid progress of the
sciences, and chiefly of those of astronomy. What our colleague chiefly
appreciated in these two young friends, was a true sensibility, and
great warmth of feeling. I know that years have not effaced or weakened
these rare qualities in the bosoms of those two Brétons. M. Pariset, our
colleague, and M. Villenave, will therefore think it natural in me to
thank them here, in the name of science and literature, in the name of
humanity, for the few moments of sweet peace and happiness that they
afforded to our learned colleague, at a time when the inconstancy and
ingratitude of men were lacerating his heart.
Louis XVI. had perished; dark clouds hung over the horizon; some acts of
odious brutality showed our proscribed philosopher how little he must
thenceforward depend on public sympathy; how much times had changed
since the memorable meeting (of the 7th of October, 1791), at which the
National Assembly decided that the bust of Bailly should be placed in
the hall of their meetings! The storm appeared near and very menacing;
even persons usually of little foresight were meditating where to find
shelter.
During these transactions, Charles Marquis de Casaux, known by various
productions on literature and on economical politics, went and requested
our colleague, together with his wife, to take a passage on board a ship
that he had freighted for himself and his family. "We will first go to
England," said M. Casaux; "we will then, if you prefer it, pass our
exile in America. Have no anxiety, I have property; I can, without
inconvenience to myself, undertake all the expenses. Pythagoras said:
'In solitude the wise man worships echo;' but this no longer suffices in
France; the wise man must fly from a land that threatens to devour its
children."
These warm solicitations, and the prayers of his weeping companion,
could not shake the firm resolution of Bailly. "From the day that I
became a public character," he said, "my fate has become irrevocably
united with that of France; never will I quit my post in the moment of
danger. Under any circumstances my country may depend on my devotion.
Whatever may happen, I shall remain."
By regulating his conduct on such fine generous maxims, a citizen does
himself honour, but he exposes himself to fall under the blows of
faction.
Bailly was still at Nantes on the 30th of June, 1793, when eighty
thousand Vendéans, commanded by Cathelineau and Charette, went to
besiege that city.
Let us imagine to ourselves the position of the President of the sitting
of the "Jeu de Paume," of the first Mayor of Paris, in a city besieged
by the Vendéans! We cannot presume that the unfavourable opinion of the
Convention under which he was labouring, and the rigorous surveillance
to which he was subjected, would have saved him from harsh treatment if
the town had been taken. No one can therefore be surprised that after
the victory of Nanteans, our colleague hastened to follow out his
project, formed a short time before, of withdrawing from the insurgent
provinces.
Up to the beginning of July 1793, Mélun had enjoyed perfect
tranquillity. Bailly knew it through M. de Laplace, who, living retired
in that chief town of the department, was there composing the immortal
work in which the wonders of the heavens are studied with so much depth
and genius. He also knew that the great geometer, hoping to be still
more retired in a cottage on the banks of the Seine, and out of the
town, was going to dispose of his house in Mélun. It is easy to guess
that Bailly would be charmed with the prospect of residing far away from
political agitation, and near to his illustrious friend!
The arrangements were promptly made, and on the 6th of July, M. and
Madame Bailly quitted Nantes in company with M. and Madame Villenave,
who were going to Rennes.
At this same time, a division of the revolutionary army was marching to
Mélun. As soon as the terrible news was known, Madame Laplace wrote to
Bailly, persuading him, under covert expressions, to give up the
intended project. The house, she said, is at the water's edge: there is
extreme dampness in the rooms: Madame Bailly would die there. A letter
so different from those that had preceded it, could not fail of its
effect; such at least was the hope with which M. and Madame Laplace
flattered themselves, when about the end of July they perceived, with
inexpressible alarm, Bailly crossing the garden path. "Great God, you
did not then understand our last letter!" exclaimed at the same instant
our colleague's two friends. "I understood perfectly," Bailly replied
with the greatest calm; "but on the one hand, the two servants who
followed me to Nantes, having heard that I was going to be imprisoned,
quitted me; on the other hand, if I am to be arrested, I wish it to be
in a house that I have occupied some time. I will not be described in
any act as an individual without a domicile!" Can it be said, after
this, that great men are not subject to strange weaknesses?
These minute details will be my only answer to some culpable expressions
that I have met with in a work very widely spread: "M. Laplace," says
the anonymous writer "knew all the secrets of geometry; but he had not
the least notion of the state France was in, he therefore imprudently
advised Bailly to go and join him."
What is to be here deplored as regards imprudence, is, that a writer,
without exactly knowing the facts, should authoritatively pronounce such
severe sentences against one of the most illustrious ornaments of our
country.
Bailly did not even enjoy the puerile satisfaction of taking rank among
the domiciled citizens of Mélun. For two days after his arrival in that
town, a soldier of the revolutionary army having recognized him,
brutally ordered him to accompany him to the municipality: "I am going
there," coolly replied Bailly; "you may follow me there."