Calais is one of the very few French towns which escaped the horrors of
the Revolution. This circumstance is the more remarkable because from
its vicinity to England and the attachment borne by its inhabitants to
our countrymen, it became an object of suspicion to the Committee of
Public Safety.
To the firmness and humanity of one man who filled the office of
mayor, and to the unblemished character of the persons who composed the
Municipality, do the citizens of Calais owe the preservation of their
lives and properties.
The Committee of Public Safety accused the inhabitants of Anglomania,
and ordered the ferocious Joseph Le Bon[1] to _visit_ this
guiltless town and re-organise the constituted authorities. During
those cruel days the _visit_ of a constitutional deputy was really
the visit of a public executioner, and in the dismal catalogue of men
who were distinguished by unfeeling severity, Le Bon was foremost.
He had just perpetrated the most horrible cruelties at Arras before
proceeding to Calais. The following anecdote will delineate the
fierceness and brutality of his character.
Two young ladies of Arras, neither of whom had attained the age of
twenty, practising on the pianoforte the same morning that the news of
the surrender of Valenciennes reached their city, Le Bon happened to
pass their window and paused to listen. They were playing the tune, “Ça
Ira,” a most revolutionary air, which one would have imagined was a
proof of their civism.
Nevertheless, by Le Bon’s orders, these beautiful girls were arrested,
tried, and condemned the next day, and, notwithstanding their youth and
innocence, were executed for “playing on the piano on the day the news
of a Republican defeat had arrived, a defeat at which they evidently
rejoiced.”
[Sidenote: THE CITIZENS OF CALAIS]
This atrocious action struck even Jacobins with horror. In the defence
of the accused it was stated to the Revolutionary Tribune that “Ça Ira”
was a Republican march, written to animate armies on the day of battle.
To this Le Bon replied that this popular air had been converted into a
vehicle of mischief, and that the _time_ these young people had
selected for playing “Ça Ira” proved their evil dispositions. “They
played ‘Ça Ira,’” said he, “for the Austrian army, they had doubtless
heard of the surrender of Valenciennes, and they meant by Ça Ira,
that they desired the Austrian advance and the capture of other French
fortresses. Why did they not, if they were true patriots, play ‘Le
Réveil du Peuple?’”
This argument induced the jurors to condemn the unfortunate young
persons to death. Thin, indeed, was the thread upon which human
existence was suspended in these days of wretchedness and terror.
The effect upon the minds of the people was to make the very name of
liberty odious, and the vast majority sighed for a return of that
ancient despotism in which they lived secure. Tormented by those who
had abused their confidence and exasperated at the accumulation of
public wrongs, they were prepared by degrees for those astonishing
events which I shall relate in my future letters.
But to return from this digression. The instant Le Bon received his
orders, he departed for Calais, where he found prevailing the utmost
order, good conduct and tranquillity. This condition of affairs
appeared to the Revolutionary emissary a strong symptom of aristocracy.
Accordingly, he deposed the mayor, dissolved the Municipality, convoked
an assembly of the people in the market-place, when he desired them to
elect true sans culottes in place of their former magistrates.
To his surprise he found not a single person would accept of a
situation in the Municipality while their former magistrates were
destituted. He attempted in vain to form a Jacobin Club or to establish
a Revolutionary Tribunal. In vain he threatened individuals with arrest.
There were not a dozen Jacobins in the whole town.
The mayor boldly remonstrated, and by his prudence and the loyalty of
his fellow citizens, Le Bon, muttering vows of vengeance, was driven
from the town.
Immediately after his departure the former magistrates resumed their
functions. In cases where a peremptory mandate from Paris obliged them
to arrest any individual, the order was executed with the utmost
humanity. The victim was not sent to prison, but allowed to remain in
his own house, and even to walk out attended by gendarmes of his own
choice.
Thus the citizens of Calais never saw the blood of their countrymen
flow upon the scaffold, nor were any delivered to the homicidal rage
of inquisitors, whose sense of freedom consisted in privileged misrule
and promises of fraternity, terminated in slaughter. Had the municipal
officers of other great towns in France displayed the same courage and
determination as those of Calais, many thousands of lives would have
been saved, and France avoided much dishonour, misery, and shame.
The humane and uncorrupted character of the people of Calais proves
that they have not degenerated from the high repute of their ancient
burghers.