sit in the Legislative Assembly; a {444}preposterous and mischievous
regulation, to which the disasters which followed must in part be
ascribed. In England, what would be thought of a Parliament which did
not contain one single person who had ever sat in parliament before?
Yet it may safely be affirmed that the number of Englishmen who, never
having taken any share in public affairs, are yet well qualified, by
knowledge and observation, to be members of the legislature, is at
least a hundred times as great as the number of Frenchmen who were
so qualified in 1791. How, indeed, should it have been otherwise? In
England, centuries of representative government have made all educated
people in some measure statesmen. In France the National Assembly had
probably been composed of as good materials as were then to be found. It
had undoubtedly removed a vast mass of abuses; some of its members had
read and thought much about theories of government; and others had shown
great oratorical talents. But that kind of skill which is required for
the constructing, launching, and steering of a polity was lamentably
wanting; for it is a kind of skill to which practice contributes more
than books. Books are indeed useful to the politician, as they are
useful to the navigator and to the surgeon. But the real navigator is
formed on the waves; the real surgeon is formed at bedsides; and
the conflicts of free states are the real school of constitutional
statesmen. The National Assembly had, however, now served an
apprenticeship of two laborious and eventful years. It had, indeed, by
no means finished its education; but it was no longer, as on the
day when it met, altogether rude to political functions. Its later
proceedings contain abundant proof that the members had profited by
their experience. Beyond all doubt, there was not in France {445}any
equal number of persons possessing in an equal degree the qualities
necessary for the judicious direction of public affairs; and, just at
this moment, these legislators, misled by a childish wish to display
their own disinterestedness, deserted the duties which they had half
learned, and which nobody else had learned at all, and left their
hall to a second crowd of novices, who had still to master the first
rudiments of political business. When Barère wrote his Memoirs, the
absurdity of this self-denying ordinance had been proved by events, and
was, we believe, acknowledged by all parties. He accordingly, with his
usual mendacity, speaks of it in terms implying that he had opposed it.
There was, he tells us, no good citizen who did not regret this fatal
vote. Nay, all wise men, he says, wished the National Assembly to
continue its sittings as the first Legislative Assembly. But no
attention was paid to the wishes of the enlightened friends of liberty;
and the generous but fatal suicide was perpetrated. Now the fact is,
that Barère, far from opposing this ill-advised measure, was one of
those who most eagerly supported it; that he described it from the
tribune as wise and magnanimous; that he assigned, as his reasons for
taking this view, some of those phrases in which orators of his class
delight, and which, on all men who have the smallest insight into
politics, produce an effect very similar to that of ipecacuanha.
“Those,” he said, “who have framed a constitution for their country are,
so to speak, out of the pale of that social state of which they are the
authors; for creative power is not in the same sphere with that which it
has created.”
M. Hippolyte Carnot has noticed this untruth, and attributes it to
mere forgetfulness. We leave it to him to reconcile his very charitable
supposition with what {446}He elsewhere says of the remarkable
excellence of Barère’s memory.
Many members of the National Assembly were indemnified for the sacrifice
of legislative power, by appointments in various departments of the
public service. Of these fortunate persons Barère was one. A high Court
of Appeal had just been instituted. This court was to sit at Paris: but
its jurisdiction was to extend over the whole realm; and the departments
were to choose the judges. Barère was nominated by the department of the
Upper Pyrenees, and took his seat in the Palace of Justice. He asserts,
and our readers may, if they choose, believe, that it was about this
time in contemplation to make him Minister of the Interior, and that, in
order to avoid so grave a responsibility, he obtained permission to pay
a visit to his native place. It is certain that he left Paris early in
the year 1792, and passed some months in the south of France.
In the mean time, it became clear that the constitution of 1791 would
not work. It was, indeed, not to be expected that a constitution new
both in its principles and its details would at first work easily. Had
the chief magistrate enjoyed the entire confidence of the people, had he
performed his part with the utmost zeal, fidelity, and ability, had the
representative body included all the wisest statesmen of France, the
difficulties might still have been found insuperable. But, in fact, the
experiment was made under every disadvantage. The King, very naturally,
hated the constitution. In the Legislative Assembly were men of
genius and men of good intentions, but not a single man of experience.
Nevertheless, if France had been suffered to settle her own affairs
without foreign interference, it is possible {447}that the calamities
which followed might have been averted. The King, who, with many good
qualities, was sluggish and sensual, might have found compensation for
his lost prerogatives in his immense civil list, in his palaces and
hunting grounds, in soups, Périgord pies, and Champagne. The people,
finding themselves secure in the enjoyment of the valuable reforms which
the National Assembly had, in the midst of all its errors, effected,
would not have been easily excited by demagogues to acts of atrocity;
or, if acts of atrocity had been committed, those acts would probably
have produced a speedy and violent reaction. Had tolerable quiet been
preserved during a few years, the constitution of 1791 might perhaps
have taken root, might have gradually acquired the strength which
time alone can give, and might, with some modifications which were
undoubtedly needed, have lasted down to the present time. The European
coalition against the Revolution extinguished all hope of such a result.
The deposition of Louis was, in our opinion, the necessary consequence
of that coalition. The question was now no longer, whether the King
should have an absolute Veto or a suspensive Veto, whether there
should be one chamber or two chambers, whether the members of the
representative body should be re-eligible or not; but whether France
should belong to the French. The independence of the nation, the
integrity of the territory, were at stake; and we must say plainly that
we cordially approve of the conduct of those Frenchmen who, at that
conjuncture, resolved, like our own Blake, to play the men for their
country, under whatever form of government their country might fall.
It seems to us clear that the war with the Continental coalition was, on
the side of France, at first a {448}defensive war, and therefore a just
war. It was not a war for small objects, or against despicable enemies.
On the event were staked all the dearest interests of the French people.
Foremost among the threatening powers appeared two great and martial
monarchies, either of which, situated as France then was, might be
regarded as a formidable assailant. It is evident that, under such
circumstances, the French could not, without extreme imprudence,
entrust the supreme administration of their affairs to any person
whose attachment to the national cause admitted of doubt. Now, it is no
reproach to the memory of Louis to say that he was not attached to the
national cause. Had he been so, he would have been something more than
man. He had held absolute power, not by usurpation, but by the accident
of birth and by the ancient polity of the kingdom. That power he had,
on the whole, used with lenity. He had meant well by his people. He had
been willing to make to them, of his own mere motion, concessions such
as scarcely any other sovereign has ever made except under duress.
He had paid the penalty of faults not his own, of the haughtiness and
ambition of some of his predecessors, of the dissoluteness and baseness
of others. He had been vanquished, taken captive, led in triumph, put in
ward. He had escaped; he had been caught; He had been dragged back like
a runaway galley-slave to the oar. He was still a state prisoner. His
quiet was broken by daily affronts and lampoons. Accustomed from the
cradle to be treated with profound reverence, he was now forced to
command his feelings, while men who, a few months before, had been
hackney writers or country attorneys sat in his presence with covered
heads, and addressed him in the easy tone of equality. Conscions {449}of
fair intentions, sensible of hard usage, he doubtless detested the
Revolution; and, while charged with the conduct of the war against the
confederates, pined in secret for the sight of the German eagles and
the sound of the German drums. We do not blame him for this. But can
we blame those who, being resolved to defend the work of the National
Assembly against the interference of strangers, were not disposed to
have him at their head in the fearful struggle which was approaching?
We have nothing to say in defence or extenuation of the insolence,
injustice, and cruelty with which, after the victory of the republicans,
he and his family were treated. But this we say, that the French had
only one alternative, to deprive him of the powers of first magistrate,
or to ground their arms and submit patiently to foreign dictation.
The events of the tenth of August sprang inevitably from the league of
Pilnitz. The King’s palace was stormed; his guards were slaughtered.
He was suspended from his regal functions; and the Legislative Assembly
invited the nation to elect an extraordinary Convention, with the full
powers which the conjuncture required. To this Convention the members
of the National Assembly were eligible; and Barère was chosen by his own
department.
The Convention met on the twenty-first of September 1792. The first
proceedings were unanimous. Royalty was abolished by acclamation. No
objections were made to this great change; and no reasons were assigned
for it. For certainly we cannot honour with the name of reasons such
apothegms, as that kings are in the moral world what monsters are in
the physical world; and that the history of kings is the martyrology
of nations. But, though the discussion was {450}worthy only of a
debating-club of schoolboys, the resolution to which the Convention came
seems to have been that which sound policy dictated. In saying this,
we do not mean to express an opinion that a republic is, either in
the abstract the best form of government, or is, under ordinary
circumstances, the form of government best suited to the French people.
Our own opinion is, that the best governments which have ever existed in
the world have been limited monarchies; and that France, in particular,
has never enjoyed so much prosperity and freedom as under a limited
monarchy. Nevertheless, we approve of the vote of the Convention which
abolished kingly government. The interference of foreign powers had
brought on a crisis which made extraordinary measures necessary.
Hereditary monarchy may be, and we believe that it is, a very useful
institution in a country like France. And masts are very useful parts of
a ship. But, if the ship is on her beam-ends, it may be necessary to cut
the masts away. When once she has righted, she may come safe into port
under jury rigging, and there be completely repaired. But, in the mean
time, she must be hacked with unsparing hand, lest that which, under
ordinary circumstances, is an essential part of her fabric should,
in her extreme distress, sink her to the bottom. Even so there are
political emergencies in which it is necessary that governments should
be mutilated of their fair proportions for a time, lest they be cast
away for ever; and with such an emergency the Convention had to deal.’
The first object of a good Frenchman should have been to save France
from the fate of Poland. The first requisite of a government was entire
devotion to the national cause. That requisite was wanting in Louis; and
such a want, at {451}such a moment, could not be supplied by any
public or private virtues. If the King were set aside, the abolition
of kingship necessarily followed. In the state in which the public mind
then was, it would have been idle to think of doing what our ancestors
did in 1688, and what the French Chamber of Deputies did in 1830. Such
an attempt would have failed amidst universal derision and execration.
It would have disgusted all zealous men of all opinions; and there were
then few men who were not zealous. Parties fatigued by long conflict,
and instructed by the severe discipline of that school in which alone
mankind will learn, are disposed to listen to the voice of a mediator.
But when they are in their first heady youth, devoid of experience,
fresh for exertion, flushed with hope, burning with animosity, they
agree only in spurning out of their way the daysman who strives to take
his stand between them and to lay his hand upon them both. Such was in
1792 the state of France. On one side was the great name of the heir of
Hugh Capet, the thirty-third king of the third race; on the other side
was the great name of the republic. There was no rallying point save
these two. It was necessary to make a choice; and those, in our opinion,
judged well who, waving for the moulent all subordinate questions,
preferred independence to subjugation, and the natal soil to the
emigrant camp.
As to the abolition of royalty, and as to the vigorous prosecution of
the war, the whole Convention seemed to be united as one man. But a deep
and broad gulf separated the representative body into two great parties.
On one side were those statesmen who are called, from the name of the
department which some of them {452}represented, the Girondists, and,
from the name of one of their most conspicuous leaders, the Brissotines.
In activity and practical ability, Brissot and Gensonné were the most
conspicuous among them. In parliamentary eloquence, no Frenchman of that
time can be considered as equal to Vergniaud. In a foreign country, and
after the lapse of half a century, some parts of his speeches are still
read with mournful admiration. No man, we are inclined to believe, ever
rose so rapidly to such a height of oratorical excellence. His whole
public life lasted barely two years. This is a circumstance which
distinguishes him from our own greatest speakers, Fox, Burke, Pitt,
Sheridan, Windham, Canning. Which of these celebrated men would now be
remembered as an orator, if he had died two years after he first took
his seat in the House of Commons? Condorcet brought to the Girondist
party a different kind of strength. The public regarded him with justice
as an eminent mathematician, and, with less reason, as a great master of
ethical and political science; the philosophers considered him as their
chief, as the rightful heir, by intellectual descent and by solemn
adoption, of their deceased sovereign D’Alembert. In the same ranks were
found Gaudet, Isnard, Barbaroux, Buzot, Louvet, too well known as
the author of a very ingenious and very licentious romance, and more
honourably distinguished by the generosity with which he pleaded for the
unfortunate, and by the intrepidity with which he defied the wicked and
powerful. Two persons whose talents were not brilliant, but who enjoyed
a high reputation for probity and public spirit, Petion and Roland, lent
the whole weight of their names to the Girondist connection. The wife of
Roland brought to the deliberations of her husband’s friends masculine
courage and {453}force of thought, tempered by womanly grace and
vivacity. Nor was the splendour of a great military reputation wanting
to this celebrated party. Dumourier, then victorious over the foreign
invaders, and at the height of popular favour, must be reckoned among
the allies of the Gironde.
The errors of the Brissotines were undoubtedly neither few nor small;
but, when we fairly compare their conduct with the conduct of any other
party which acted or suffered during the French Revolution, we are
forced to admit their superiority in every quality except that single
quality which in such times prevails over every other, decision. They
were zealous for the great social reform which had been effected by the
National Assembly; and they were right. For, though that reform was, in
some respects, carried too far, it was a blessing well worth even the
fearful price which has been paid for it. They were resolved to maintain
the independence of their country against foreign invaders; and they
were right. For the heaviest of all yokes is the yoke of the stranger.
They thought that, if Louis remained at their head, they could not
carry on with the requisite energy the conflict against the European
coalition. They therefore concurred in establishing a republican
government; and here, again, they were right. For, in that struggle for
life and death, it would have been madness to trust a hostile or even a
halfhearted leader.
Thus far they went along with the revolutionary movement. At this point
they stopped; and, in our judgment, they were right in stopping, as
they had been right in moving. For great ends, and under extraordinary
circumstances, they had concurred in measures which, together with much
good, had necessarily produced {454}much evil; which had unsettled
the public mind; which had taken away from government the sanction of
prescription; which had loosened the very foundations of property
and law. They thought that it was now their duty to prop what it had
recently been their duty to batter. They loved liberty, but liberty
associated with order, with justice, with mercy, and with civilisation.
They were republicans; but they were desirous to adorn their republic
with all that had given grace and dignity to the fallen monarchy. They
hoped that the humanity, the courtesy, the taste, which had done much in
old times to mitigate the slavery of France, would now lend additional
charms to her freedom. They saw with horror crimes, exceeding in
atrocity those which had disgraced the infuriated religious factions
of the sixteenth century, perpetrated in the name of reason and
philanthropy. They demanded, with eloquent vehemence, that the
authors of the lawless massacre, which, just before the meeting of
the Convention, had been committed in the prisons of Paris, should be
brought, to condign punishment. They treated with just contempt the
pleas which have been set up for that great crime. They admitted that
the public danger was pressing; but they denied that it justified a
violation of those principles of morality on which all society rests.
The independence and honour of France were indeed to be vindicated, but
to be vindicated by triumphs and not by murders.
Opposed to the Girondists was a party which, having been long execrated
throughout the civilised world, has of late--such is the ebb and flow
of opinion--found not only apologists, but even eulogists. We are not
disposed to deny that some members of the Mountain were sincere and
public-spirited men. But even {455}the best of them, Carnot for example
and Cambon, were far too unscrupulous as to the means which they
employed for the purpose of attaining great ends. In the train of these
enthusiasts followed a crowd, composed of all who, from sensual, sordid,
or malignant motives, wished for a period of boundless license.
When the Convention met, the majority was with the Girondists, and
Barère was with the majority. On the King’s trial, indeed, he quitted
the party with which he ordinarily acted, voted with the Mountain, and
spoke against the prisoner with a violence such as few members even of
the Mountain showed.
The conduct of the leading Girondists on that occasion was little
to their honour. Of cruelty, indeed, we fully acquit them; but it is
impossible to acquit them of criminal irresolution and disingenuousness.
They were far, indeed, from thirsting for the blood of Louis; on the
contrary, they were most desirous to protect him. But, they were afraid
that, if they went straight forward to their object, the sincerity of
their attachment to republican institutions would be suspected. They
wished to save the King’s life, and yet to obtain all the credit of
having been regicides. Accordingly, they traced out for themselves a
crooked course, by which they hoped to attain both their objects. They
first voted the King guilty. They then voted for referring the question
respecting his fate to the whole body of the people. Defeated in this
attempt to rescue him, they reluctantly, and with ill suppressed shame
and concern, voted for the capital sentence. Then they made a last
attempt in his favour, and voted for respiting the execution. These
zigzag politics produced the effect which any man conversant with public
affairs might have foreseen. The Girondists, instead of attaining both
{456}their ends, failed of both. The Mountain justly charged them
with having attempted to save the King by underhand means. Their own
consciences told them, with equal justice, that their hands had been
dipped in the blood of the most inoffensive and most unfortunate of men.
The direct path was here, as usual, the path not only of honour but of
safety. The principle on which the Girondists stood as a party was, that
the season for revolutionary violence was over, and that the reign of
law and order ought now to commence. But the proceeding against the King
was clearly revolutionary in its nature. It was not in conformity
with the laws. The only plea for it was, that all ordinary rules of
jurisprudence and morality were suspended by the extreme public danger.
This was the very plea which the Mountain urged in defence of the
massacre of September, and to which, when so urged, the Girondists
refused to listen. They therefore, by voting for the death of the
King, conceded to the Mountain the chief point at issue between the two
parties. Had they given a manful vote against the capital sentence, the
regicides would have been in a minority. It is probable that there would
have been an immediate appeal to force. The Girondists might have been
victorious. In the worst event, they would have fallen with unblemished
honour. Thus much is certain, that their boldness and honesty could
not possibly have produced a worse effect than was actually produced by
their timidity and their stratagems.