woman named Catherine Théot, half maniac, half impostor, was protected
by him, and exercised a strange influence over his mind; for he was
naturally prone to superstition, and, having abjured the faith in which
he had been brought up, was looking about for something to believe.
Barère drew up a report against Catherine, which contained many
facetious conceits, and ended, as might be expected, with a motion
for sending her and some other wretched creatures of both sexes to
the Revolutionary Tribunal, or, in other words, to death. This report,
however, he did not dare to read to the Convention himself. Another
member, less timid, was induced to father the cruel buffoonery; and the
real author enjoyed in security the dismay and vexation of Robespierre.
Barère now thought that he had done enough on one side, and that it was
time to make his peace with the other. On the seventh of Thermidor,
he pronounced {499}in the Convention a panegyric on Robespierre.
“That representative of the people,” he said, “enjoys a reputation
for patriotism, earned by five years of exertion, and by unalterable
fidelity to the principles of independence and liberty.” On the eighth
of Thermidor, it became clear that a decisive struggle was at hand.
Robespierre struck the first blow. He mounted the tribune and uttered a
long invective on his opponents. It was moved that his discourse
should be printed; and Barère spoke for the printing. The sense of the
Convention soon appeared to be the other way; and Barère apologised for
his former speech, and implored his colleagues to abstain from disputes
which could be agreeable only to Pitt and York. On the next day, the
ever-memorable ninth of Thermidor, came the real tug of war. Tallien,
bravely taking his life in his hand, led the onset. Billaud followed;
and then all that infinite hatred which had long been kept down by
terror burst forth and swept every barrier before it. When at length the
voice of Robespierre, drowned by the president’s bell, and by shouts of
“Down with the tyrant!” had died away in hoarse gasping, Barère rose. He
began with timid and doubtful phrases, watched the effect of every word
he uttered, and, when the feeling of the Assembly had been unequivocally
manifested, declared against Robespierre. But it was not till the people
ont of doors, and especially the gunners of Paris, had espoused the
cause of the Convention that Barère felt quite at ease. Then he
sprang to the tribune, poured forth a Carmagnole about Pisistratus and
Catiline, and concluded by moving that the heads of Robespierre and
Robespierre’s accomplices should be cut off without a trial. The motion
was carried. On the following morning the vanquished members of the
Committee {500}of Public Safety and their principal adherents suffered
death. It was exactly one year since Barère had commenced his career of
slaughter by moving the proscription of his old allies the Girondists.
We greatly doubt whether any human being has ever succeeded in packing
more wickedness into the space of three Hundred and sixty-five days.
The ninth of Thermidor is one of the great epochs in the history of
Europe. It is true that the three members of the Committee of Public
Safety who triumphed were by no means better men than the three who
fell. Indeed, we are inclined to think that of these six statesmen the
least bad were Robespierre and Saint Just, whose cruelty was the effect
of sincere fanaticism operating on narrow understandings and acrimonious
tempers. The worst of the six was, beyond all doubt, Barcre, who had
no faith in any part of the system which he upheld by persecution; who,
while he sent his fellow-creatures to death for being the third cousins
of royalists, had not in the least made up his mind that a republic
was better than a monarchy; who, while he slew his old friends for
federalism, was himself far more a federalist than any of them; who
had become a murderer merely for his safety, and who continued to be a
murderer merely for his pleasure.
The tendency of the vulgar is to embody every thing. Some individual is
selected, and often selected very injudiciously, as the representative
of every great movement of the public mind, of every great revolution in
human affairs; and on this individual are concentrated all the love and
all the hatred, all the admiration and all the contempt which he ought
rightfully to share with a whole party, a whole sect, a whole nation, a
whole generation. Perhaps no human being has suffered {501}so much from
this propensity of the multitude as Robespierre. He is regarded,
not merely as what he was, an envious, malevolent zealot, but as the
incarnation of Terror, as Jacobinism personified. The truth is, that
it was not by him that the system of terror was carried to the last
extreme. The most horrible days in the history of the revolutionary
tribunal of Paris were those which immediately preceded the ninth of
Thermidor. Robespierre had then ceased to attend the meetings of the
sovereign Committee: and the direction of affairs was really in the
hands of Billaud, of Collot, and of Barère.
It had never occurred to those three tyrants that, in overthrowing
Robespierre, they were overthrowing that system of Terror to which they
were more attached than he had ever been. Their object was to go on
slaying even more mercilessly than before. But they had misunderstood
the nature of the great crisis which had at last arrived. The yoke
of the Committee way broken for ever. The Convention had regained
its liberty, had tried its strength, had vanquished and punished
its enemies. A great reaction had commenced. Twenty-four hours after
Robespierre had ceased to live, it was moved and carried, amidst loud
bursts of applause, that the sittings of the Revolutionary Tribunal
should be suspended. Billaud was not at that moment present. He entered
the hall soon after, learned with indignation what had passed, and moved
that the vote should be rescinded. But loud cries of “No, no!” rose
from those benches which had lately paid mute obedience to his commands.
Barère came forward on the same day, and adjured the Convention not to
relax the system of terror. “Beware, above all things,” he cried, “of
that fatal moderation which talks of peace {502}and of clemency. Let
aristocracy know, that here she will find only enemies sternly bent on
vengeance, and judges who have no pity.” But the day of the Carmagnoles
was over: the restraint of fear had been relaxed; and the hatred
with which the nation regarded the Jacobin dominion broke forth with
ungovernable violence. Not more strongly did the tide of public opinion
run against the old monarchy and aristocracy, at the time of the taking
of the Bastile, than it now ran against the tyranny of the Mountain.
From every dungeon the prisoners came forth, as they had gone in, by
hundreds. The decree which forbade the soldiers of the republic to give
quarter to the English was repealed by an unanimous vote, amidst loud
acclamations; nor, passed as it was, disobeyed as it was, and rescinded
as it was, can it be with justice considered as a blemish on the fame
of the French nation. The Jacobin Club was refractory. It was suppressed
without resistance. The surviving Girondist deputies, who had concealed
themselves from the vengeance of their enemies in caverns and garrets,
were readmitted to their seats in the Convention. No day passed without
some signal reparation of injustice; no street in Paris was without some
trace of the recent change. In the theatre, the bust of Marat was pulled
down from its pedestal and broken in pieces, amidst the applause of
the audience. His carcass was ejected from the Pantheon. The celebrated
picture of his death, which had hung in the hall of the Convention, was
removed. The savage inscriptions with which the walls of the city had
been covered disappeared; and, in place of death and terror, humanity,
the watchword of the new rulers, was everywhere to be seen. In the
mean time, the gay spirit of France recently subdued by oppression,
and {503}now elated by the joy of a great deliverance, wantoned in a
thousand forms. Art, taste, luxury, revived. Female beauty regained its
empire--an empire strengthened by the remembrance of all the tender
and all the sublime virtues which women, delicately bred and reputed
frivolous, had displayed during the evil days. Refined manners,
chivalrous sentiments, followed in the train of love. The dawn of the
Arctic summer day after the Arctic winter night, the great unsealing
of the waters, the awakening of animal and vegetable life, the sudden
softening of the air, the sudden blooming of the flowers, the sudden
bursting of old forests into verdure, is but a feeble type of that
happiest and most genial of revolutions, the revolution of the ninth of
Thermidor.
But, in the midst of the revival of all kind and generous sentiments,
there was one portion of the community against which mercy itself seemed
to cry out for vengeance. The chiefs of the late government and their
tools were now never named but as the men of blood, the drinkers of
blood, the cannibals. In some parts of France, where the creatures of
the Mountain had acted with peculiar barbarity, the populace took the
law into its own hands and meted out justice to the Jacobins with the
true Jacobin measure; but at Paris the punishments were inflicted with
order and decency, and were few when compared with the number, and
lenient when compared with the enormity, of the crimes. Soon after the
ninth of Thermidor, two of the vilest of mankind, Fouquier Tinville,
whom Barère had placed at the Revolutionary Tribunal, and Lebon, whom
Barère had defended in the Convention, were placed under arrest. A third
miscreant soon shared their fate, Carrier, the tyrant of Nantes. The
trials of these men brought to light horrors surpassing {504}any thing
that Suetonius and Lampridius have related of the worst Cæsars. But it
was impossible to punish subordinate agents, who, had as they were, had
only acted in accordance with the spirit of the government which they
served, and, at the same time, to grant impunity to the heads of the
wicked administration. A cay was raised, both within and without the
Convention, for justice on Collot, Billaud, and Barère.
Collot and Billaud, with all their vices, appear to have been men of
resolute natures. They made no submission; but opposed to the hatred of
mankind, at first a force resistance, and afterwards a dogged and sullen
endurance. Barère, on the other hand, as soon as he began to understand
the real nature of the revolution of Thermidor, attempted to abandon the
Mountain, and to obtain admission among his old friends of the moderate
party. He declared everywhere that he had never been in favour of severe
measures; that he was a Girondist; that he had always condemned and
lamented the manner in which the Brissotine deputies had been treated.
He now preached mercy from that tribune from which he had recently
preached extermination. “The time,” he said, “has come at which our
clemency may be indulged without danger. We may now safely consider
temporary imprisonment as an adequate punishment for political
misdemeanours.” It was only a fortnight since, from the same place,
he had declaimed against the moderation which dared even to talk of
clemency; it was only a fortnight since he had ceased to send men and
women to the guillotine of Paris, at the rate of three hundred a week.
He now wished to make his peace with the moderate party at the expense
of the Terrorists, as he had, a year before, made his peace with the
Terrorists, at the expense of {505}the moderate party. But he was
disappointed. He had left himself no retreat. His face, his voice, his
rants, his jokes, had become hateful to the Convention. When he spoke
he was interrupted by murmurs. Bitter reflections were daily cast on his
cowardice and perfidy. On one occasion Carnot rose to give an account of
a victory, and so far forgot the gravity of his character as to indulge
in the sort of oratory which Barère had affected on similar occasions.
He was interrupted by cries of “No more Carmagnoles!” “No more of
Barère’s puns!”
At length, five months after the revolution of Thermidor, the Convention
resolved that a committee of twenty-one members should be appointed to
examine into the conduct of Billaud, Collot, and Barère. In some weeks
the report was made. From that report we learn that a paper had been
discovered, signed by Barère, and containing a proposition for adding
the last improvement to the system of terror. France was to be divided
into circuits; itinerant revolutionary tribunals, composed of trusty
Jacobins, were to move from department to department; and the guillotine
was to travel in their train.
Barère, in his defence, insisted that no speech or motion which he had
made in the Convention could, without a violation of the freedom of
debate, be treated as a crime. He was asked how he could resort to such
a mode of defence, after putting to death so many deputies on account of
opinions expressed in the Convention. He had nothing to say, but that
it was much to be regretted that the sound principle had ever been
violated.
He arrogated to himself a large share of the merit of the revolution
in Thermidor. The men who had {506}risked their lives to effect that
revolution, and who knew that, if they had failed, Barère would, in all
probability, have moved the decree for beheading them without a trial,
and have drawn up a proclamation announcing their guilt and their
punishment to all France, were by no means disposed to acquiesce in his
claims. He was reminded that, only forty-eight hours before the
decisive conflict, he had, in the tribune, been profuse of adulation to
Robespierre. His answer to this reproach is worthy of himself. “It
was necessary,” he said, “to dissemble.” It was necessary to flatter
Robespierre’s vanity, and, by panegyric, to impel him to the attack.
This was the motive which induced me to load him with those praises of
which you complain. Who ever blamed Brutus for dissembling with Tarquin?
The accused triumvirs had only one chance of escaping punishment. There
was severe distress at that moment among the working people of the
capital. This distress the Jacobins attributed to the reaction of
Thermidor, to the lenity with which the aristocrats were now treated,
and to the measures which had been adopted against the chiefs of the
late administration. Nothing is too absurd to be believed by a populace
which has not breakfasted, and which does not know how it is to dine.
The rabble of the Faubourg St. Antoine rose, menaced the deputies, and
demanded with loud cries the liberation of the persecuted patriots. But
the Convention was no longer such as it had been, when similar means
were employed too successfully against the Girondists. Its spirit
was roused. Its strength had been proved. Military means were at its
command. The tumult was suppressed: and it was decreed that same evening
that Collot, Billaud, {507}and Barère should instantly he removed to a
distant place of confinement.
The next day the order of the Convention was executed. The account which
Barère has given of his journey is the most interesting and the most
trustworthy part of these Memoirs. There is no witness so infamous that
a court of justice will not take his word against himself; and even
Barère may be believed when he tells us how much he was hated and
despised.
The carriage in which he was to travel passed, surrounded by armed
men, along the street of St. Honoré. A crowd soon gathered round it and
increased every moment. On the long flight of steps before the church of
St. Roch stood rows of eager spectators. It was with difficulty that
the coach could make its way through those who hung upon it, hooting,
cursing, and striving to burst the doors. Barère thought his life in
danger, and was conducted at his own request to a public office, where
he hoped that he might find shelter till the crowd should disperse.
In the mean time, another discussion on his fate took place in the
Convention. It was proposed to deal with him as he had dealt with better
men, to put him out of the pale of the law, and to deliver him at once
without any trial to the headsman. But the humanity which, since
the ninth of Thermidor, had generally directed the public counsels,
restrained the deputies from taking this course.
It was now night; and the streets gradually became quiet. The clock
struck twelve; and Barère, under a strong guard, again set forth on his
journey. He was conducted over the river to the place where the Orleans
road branches off from the southern boulevard. Two travelling carriages
stood there. In one of them was {508}Billaud, attended by two officers:
in the other two more officers were waiting to receive Barère. Collot
was already on the road.
At Orleans, a city which had suffered cruelly from the Jacobin tyranny,
the three deputies were surrounded by a mob bent on tearing them to
pieces. All the national guards of the neighbourhood were assembled;
and this force was not greater than the emergency required; for the
multitude pursued the carriages far on the road to Blois.
At Amboise the prisoners learned that Tours was ready to receive them.
The stately bridge was occupied by a throng of people, who swore that
the men under whose rule the Loire had been choked with corpses
should have full personal experience of the nature of a _noyade_. In
consequence of this news, the officers who had charge of the criminals
made such arrangements that the carriages reached Tours at two in
the morning, and drove straight to the post-house. Fresh horses were
instantly ordered; and the travellers started again at full gallop. They
had in truth not a moment to lose; for the alarm had been given; lights
were seen in motion; and the yells of a great multitude, disappointed of
its revenge, mingled with the sound of the departing wheels.
At Poitiers there was another narrow escape. As the prisoners quitted
the post-house, they saw the whole population pouring in fury down the
steep declivity on which the city is built. They passed near Niort,
but could not venture to enter it. The inhabitants came forth with
threatening aspect, and vehemently cried to the postillions to stop; but
the postillions urged the horses to full speed, and soon left the town
behind. Through such dangers the men of blood were brought in safety
to Rochelle. {509}Oléron was the place of their destination, a dreary
island beaten by the raging waves of the Bay of Biscay. The prisoners
were confined in the castle; each had a single chamber, at the door of
which a guard was placed; and each was allowed the ration of a single
soldier. They were not allowed to communicate either with the garrison
or with the population of the island; and soon after their arrival they
were denied the indulgence of walking on the ramparts. The only place
where they were suffered to take exercise was the esplanade where the
troops were drilled.
They had not been long in this situation when news came that the
Jacobins of Paris had made a last attempt to regain ascendency in the
state, that the hall of the Convention had been forced by a furious
crowd, that one of the deputies had been murdered and his head fixed on
a pike, that the life of the President had been for a time in imminent
danger, and that some members of the legislature had not been ashamed to
join the rioters. But troops had arrived in time to prevent a
massacre. The insurgents had been put to flight; the inhabitants of
the disaffected quarters of the capital had been disarmed; the guilty
deputies had suffered the just punishment of their treason; and the
power of the Mountain was broken for ever. These events strengthened the
aversion with which the system of Terror and the authors of that system
were regarded. One member of the Convention had moved that the three
prisoners of Oléron should be put to death; another, that they should be
brought back to Paris, and tried by a council of war. These propositions
were rejected. But something was conceded to the party which called for
severity. A vessel which had been fitted out with great expedition at
Rochefort touched at Oléron; and {510}it was announced to Collot and
Billaud that they must instantly go on board. They were forthwith
conveyed to Guiana, where Collot soon drank himself to death with
brandy. Billaud lived many years, shunning his fellow-creatures and
shunned by them; and diverted his lonely hours by teaching parrots to
talk. Why a distinction was made between Barère and his companions
in guilt, neither he nor any other writer, as far as we know, has
explained. It does not appear that the distinction was meant to be at
all in his favour; for orders soon arrived from Paris, that he should
be brought to trial for his crimes before the criminal court of the
department of the Upper Charente. He was accordingly brought back to the
continent, and confined during some months at Saintes, in an old convent
which had lately been turned into a jail.
While he lingered here the reaction which had followed the great crisis
of Thermidor met with a temporary check. The friends of the house of
Bourbon presuming on the indulgence with which they had been treated
after the fall of Robespierre, not only ventured to avow their opinions
with little disguise, but at length took arms against the Convention,
and were not put down till much blood had been shed in the streets
of Paris. The vigilance of the public authorities was therefore now
directed chiefly against the Royalists; and the rigour with which the
Jacobins had lately been treated was somewhat relaxed. The Convention,
indeed, again resolved that Barère should be sent to Guiana. But this
decree was not carried into effect. The prisoner, probably with the
connivance of some powerful persons, made his escape from Saintes and
fled to Bordeaux, where he remained in concealment during some years.
There seems to have been a kind of understanding {511}between him and
the government, that, as long as he hid himself, He should not be found,
but that, if he obtruded himself on the public eye, he must take the
consequences of his rashness.
While the constitution of 1795, with its Executive Directory, its
Council of Elders, and its Council of Five Hundred was in operation,
he continued to live under the ban of the law. It was in vain that he
solicited, even at moments when the politics of the Mountain seemed to
be again in the ascendant, a remission of the sentence pronounced by the
Convention. Even his fellow-regicides, even the authors of the slaughter
of Vendémiaire and of the arrests of Fructidor, were ashamed of him.
About eighteen months after his escape from prison, his name was again
brought before the world. In his own province He still retained some of
his early popularity. He had, indeed, never been in that province since
the downfall of the monarchy. The mountaineers of Gascony were far
removed from the seat of government, and were but imperfectly informed
of what passed there. They knew that their countryman had played an
important part, and that he had on some occasions promoted their local
interests; and they stood by him in his adversity and in his disgrace
with a constancy which presents a singular contrast to his own abject
fickleness. All France was amazed to learn that the department of the
Upper Pyrenees had chosen the proscribed tyrant a member of the Council
of Five Hundred. The council, which, like our House of Commons, was the
judge of the election of its own members, refused to admit him. When his
name was read from the roll, a cry of indignation rose from the benches.
“Which of you,” exclaimed one of the members, “would {512}sit by the
side of such a monster?”
“Not I, not I!” answered a crowd of voices. One deputy declared that he
would vacate his seat if the hall were polluted by the presence of such
a wretch. The election was declared null on the ground that the
person elected was a criminal skulking from justice; and many severe
reflections were thrown on the lenity which suffered him to be still at
large.