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GIFT OF
FREDERICK SHELDON PARKER B.A.LLB.
YALE 1873
TO THE
YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
1916

CHARLES F. WARWICK.

Charles F. Warwick, author of " Mirabeau and the French Revolu
tion," just published by J. B. Lippincott Company, is one of the best
known members of the Philadelphia bar, and as a speaker is scarcely
less distinguished. He has been Mayor of Philadelphia and is a promi
nent member of the Union League and of other organizations in his
city. He was born in Philadelphia in 1852, and after an education at
the High School entered a law office and later took a law course at
the University of Pennsylvania. He was admitted to the bar in 1873
and shortly afterward took a position in the City Solicitor's office. He
was yet in his early twenties when he began to speak for his party in
the field, and during the Blaine campaign he was frequently heard in
Ohio and Indiana on the issues of that campaign. In 1884 he was
elected City Solicitor and was re-elected to the same office in 1887 by a
very large majority. In 1895 he was elected Mayor of Philadelphia.
He is a man of bookish tastes and has written considerable in the field
of history. The present volume is the fruit of many years' study of the
period involved, and is a dramatic portrayal of the life and character of
Mirabeau and of the events of that part of the Revolution with which
he was immediately concerned.
Publishers, J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia.

MIRABEAU

AND

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION

BY ARTHUR F. DAVIDSON
Alexandre Dumas (pere) His Life and Works
Illustrated. Cloth, #3.75, net
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The Diamond Necklace (L* Affaire du Collier)
Translated by h. Sutherland edwards
Illustrated. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.50
BY PAUL GAULOT
A Conspiracy under the Terror
Loves and Lovers of the Past
Each. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25, net
BY GORDON GOODWIN
Memoirs of Count Grammont
Illustrated. 2 vols. Cloth, gilt top, $4.00, net
BY C. A. SAINT-BEUVE
Essays : On Men and Women
Illustrated. 3 vols. Cloth, $3.75
BY EDITH SICHEL
Women and Men of the French Renaissance
Illustrated. Cloth, $3.50, net
BY LOUIS ADOLPHB THIERS
History of the Consulate and Empire of France under
Napoleon Illustrated. 12 vols. Cloth, $36.00
The History of the French Revolution
Illustrated. 5 vols. Cloth, $15.00
BY CHARLEMAGNE TOWER, JR., LL.D.
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2 vols. Cloth, gilt top, $8.00

MIRABEAU
Engraved by Brea after a bust modelled from life by Desseine

MIRABEAU AND THE
FRENCH REVOLUTION

BY CHARLES F. WARWICK

ILLUSTRATED BY
JOHN R. NEILL

PHILADELPHIA AND LONDON
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
i 9 ° 5

Copyright, ipoj
By J. B. Lippincott Company
Published April, 1905

obZ-m, 197

Electrotyped and Printed by
J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U. S. A.

PREFACE r
When I began these pages it was with ' the
intention of preparing a course of lectures; but
as the work progressed I, at last, decided to put
the material gathered into book form. My orig
inal design was to trace briefly the causes of
the French Revolution, and to group its prin
cipal events around Mirabeau, then Danton, and,
lastly, Robespierre, — the men who were the mani
festation of the Revolution in its three distinctive
periods. This purpose is not wholly abandoned,
for I hope to find time in the moments stolen from
the duties of an exacting profession to carry out
the plan as first conceived. My present purpose is
to follow this book with the biographies of Dan
ton and Robespierre.
Charles F. Warwick.
Philadelphia, April, 1905.

CONTENTS r
CHAPTER I PAG1
The French Revolution — Its Causes Remote and Imme
diate—The State— The Church— Henry IV.— Edict of
Nantes  ii
CHAPTER II
Jesuits and Jansenists — The Clergy— The People— The
Nobles — The Manorial Lords-'-Courtiers — Game Laws
— Corvees — Feudal Burdens — The Gabelle — Farmers
General — Military Service — Administration of Justice
— Paris  32
CHAPTER III
Louis XIV. — His Power — Etiquette — Extravagance of
the Court — The Glory of the King  55
CHAPTER IV
Louis XV. — Louis XVI. — Marie Antoinette  72
CHAPTER V
The American Revolution — Benjamin Franklin — Beau-
marchais  94
CHAPTER VI
Financial Condition Immediate Cause of French Revolu
tion — Turgot — Necker — Calonne — The Notables —
Lomenie de Brienne — States General Summoned —
Necker Recalled  104

CONTENTS
CHAPTER VII pagh
Meeting of the States General— Mirabeau  US

CHAPTER VIII
Comte de Mirabeau— The Mirabeaus— Bruno — Jean An-
toine — Victor  I31

CHAPTER IX
Mirabeau's Birth— His Youth— School Days— Early
Manhood — Marriage  149

CHAPTER X
Sophie de Monnier — Seduction of Sophie — Mirabeau in
Prison at Vincennes — Letters to Sophie — Lettres de
Cachet — Trial at Pontarlier — Suit at Aix  160

CHAPTER XI
Madame de Nehra — Mirabeau's Wanderings — His Ex
travagance — Mirabeau's Energy — His Manner • of
Work — His Biographers  180

CHAPTER XII
Necker and Calonne — Meeting of Necker and Mirabeau
— Mirabeau Seeks Secretaryship of the Notables —
Stands as Deputy of Third Estate — Campaign in Aix
and Marseilles  191

CHAPTER XIII
Double Representation for Third Estate — Mirabeau De
cides to Stand for Aix — Paris  203

CONTENTS
CHAPTER XIV PAGB
States General in Session — The King's Speech — The
Orders — Attempted Suppression of Mirabeau's Paper
— Mirabeau's First Triumph — Commons Steadfast —
Robespierre  212
CHAPTER XV
Death of the Dauphin — Third Estate Calls on Nobles and
Clergy to Submit to Common Verification — Name of
Convention — Spirited Debate — Sieyes — Oath of the
Tennis Court — Royal Sitting — Assembly Refuses to
Adjourn — Mirabeau Defies the Order of the King . . 235
CHAPTER XVI
Dismissal of Necker — Breteuil Named, Minister —
Camille Desmoulins — Fall of the Bastile — Versailles
— Louis Visits the Assembly — Louis goes to Paris —
Desertion and Emigration of the Nobles — Talleyrand 259
CHAPTER XVII
Necker Recalled — His Return a Triumph — Amnesty —
Mirabeau Excuses Violence of the Mob — The Consti
tution — Declaration of Rights — Abolition of Privileges
— August the Fourth  280
CHAPTER XVIII
Progress of the Revolution — Mirabeau's Part in the
Events — Maury — Cazales — Assembly's Address to the
People— Address to the King  290
CHAPTER XIX
Necker Proposes Income Tax of Twenty-five Per Cent.
— Mirabeau Supports Necker — Mirabeau Seeks Popu
larity in the Districts — His Ambition to be a Minister 301
ix

CONTENTS
CHAPTER XX Paob
Banquet of the Guards — Fifth and Sixth of October-
Royal Family go to Paris — They Occupy the Tuileries
—The Assembly Follows the King to Paris — The
Duke of Orleans  311
CHAPTER XXI
Murder of Frangois the Baker — Mirabeau Intrigues for
a Portfolio — Motion of Petion — Mirabeau's Speech
against the Amendment Proposed by Blin — Mirabeau's
Negotiations with the Court — Mirabeau Pensioned —
His Interview with the Queen  328
CHAPTER XXII
Mirabeau Makes Overtures to Necker and La Fayette —
Mirabeau and the Court — Mirabeau's Manner of
Living — Was Mirabeau Venal? — The King and the
Revolution  345
CHAPTER XXIII
Marquis de Favras — Confiscation of Church Property —
Assignats  361
CHAPTER XXIV
Court Party Endeavors to Secure New Elections in the
Districts — Festival of the Federation — Massacre at
Nancy  372
CHAPTER XXV
Necker Resigns — Rabaut St. Etienne's Motion — Mira
beau Elected President of the National Assembly —
His Address to the Quakers — Emigration of the King's
Aunts — Mirabeau at the Club of the Jacobins  391
CHAPTER XXVI
Mirabeau's Closing Days — His Death — His Funeral —
Was He Poisoned ?  410

CONTENTS
CHAPTER XXVII Pagb
Mirabeau Compared with his Colleagues — Orator — Au
thor — Statesman — Politician — Religious Views — Slave
Trade  422
CHAPTER XXVIII
Mirabeau's Vices and Virtues — Manner of Dress — His
Extravagance — His Vanity — Could He have Saved the
Monarchy ? — Conclusion  453

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE
Mirabeau. Engraved by Br6a after a bust modelled
from life by Desseine  Frontispiece
The Sporting Barons. Drawn by Jno. R. Neill  32
Only a peasant
The Tax Gatherer. Drawn by Jno. R. Neill  44
" These blood-suckers never relaxed their efforts" •
The Toilet of the Queen. Drawn by Jno. R. Neill . 60
" What importunity !"
Franklin at the Court of Louis XVI. Drawn by
Jno. R. Neill  94
" As the Ambassador of the young; Republic he was most
warmly and enthusiastically received"
Robespierre. Drawn by Jno. R. Neill  122
** Watching with his squinting, snake-like eyes, the king-
who, in time, was to be his victim"
Mirabeau and Sophie in Amsterdam. Drawn by
Jno. R. Neill  160
" He worked for Dutch publishers, and toiled far into
the night. . . . But they were happy, and love made
their burdens light"
Streets of Paris. Drawn by Jno. R. Neill  206
"Beggars were on every hand, pickpockets and petty
thieves mingled with the throng and industriously plied
their trade"
Mirabeau addressing the Messenger of the King.
Engraved by E. Bocourt. The original engraving is in
the possession of Wm. J. Latta, Esq., of Philadelphia,
through whose courtesy the print is here reproduced. . 252
xiii

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
The Bastile. Drawn by Jno. R. Neill  272
" Its dark, deep dungeons, where the prisoners, on a level
with the common sewers, lived besieged and menaced
by rats, toads, and every kind of vermin"
Mirabeau defying the Order of the King. Drawn
by Jno. R. Neill  292
" Go tell your master we are here by the will of the
people"
The Head of Foulon with a Wisp of Hay in its
Mouth. Drawn by Jno. R. Neill  328
"Satan himself first invented the placing of a human
head at the 'end of a lance"
Mirabeau and Marie Antoinette. Drawn by Jno. R.
Neil!  342
" Madame, when your august mother admitted one of
her subjects to the honor of her presence, she never dis
missed him without allowing him to kiss her hand"
Preparing the Field of Mars for the Festival of
the Federation. Drawn by Jno. R. Neill  380
"A Duchess may have removed her glove to shake
hands with a soiled laborer"
Mirabeau at the Jacobins. Drawn by Jno. R. Neill. . 408
" One brave man, assailed from all sides, fighting his
battle alone"
Fac-simile of a Letter written by Mirabeau. The
original is in the possession of Wm. J. Latta, Esq., of
Philadelphia, by whom it was kindly loaned for this
work  438

MIRABEAU AND
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
r
CHAPTER I
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION  ITS CAUSES REMOTE
AND IMMEDIATE  THE STATE  THE CHURCH 
HENRY IV.  EDICT OF NANTES
The most interesting and fascinating period in
the history of modern times is that in France ex
tending from the reign of Louis XIV. to the battle
of Waterloo. In fact, there are but few, if any,
epochs in the world's history in which more useful
lessons are taught to the philosopher, the states
man, and the student of human nature. The con
trasts are strongly marked. There is offered for
our study and contemplation every phase of life
from the highest to the lowest stratum of society.
We witness the dazzling splendor of a corrupt
court, the suffering and the degradation of an op
pressed people, a Revolution without a parallel in
the history of man, followed by a succession of the
most glorious military victories the world has ever
seen. The period began with the reign of a proud,
pompous, and voluptuous prince, the lineal succes-
11

MIRABEAU
sor of a long line of kings, who claimed to rule by
divine right, and ended in an imperialism estab
lished by an audacious usurper, who was socially
a plebeian, by birth a foreigner, and so far as royal
hereditary blood was concerned, had not a drop
of it in his veins.
Into this period are crowded events and incidents
of the most exciting and instructive character. We
have absolutism in its most pronounced form, lead
ing to anarchy of the most radical type, the one as
lawless as the other; the overturning of the mon
archy was but a change from misrule to no rule.
The brilliant and corrupt court, with its stilted
etiquette and formal ceremony, was expensive,
luxurious, and useless; the people, taxed to main
tain this display and waste, were hungry, almost
naked, and impoverished.
The injustice, the tyranny, the accumulated
wrongs and miseries of centuries produced a Revo
lution that was one of the most violent upheavals
recorded in the history of governments among
men. When it broke upon the nation it was like
opening the dykes of an angry flood that, escaping
from its confinement, carried everything before it
to destruction. Feudalism, Bourbonism, the
church, dynasties, king, queen, princes of the blood,
nobles, laws, customs, traditions, prerogatives,
privileges, pensions, exemptions, were swept away
to ruin upon its raging torrent.
It was only in France that so terrific a convul
sion could have taken place. It was distinctively
a revolution of an impulsive, emotional people that
had suffered long under tyranny, vassalage, and

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
serfdom. It was of gradual growth, but as in
evitable as fate. Under the melancholy conditions
that existed it was imperative ; delay only increased
and aggravated the causes and strengthened the
argument and reasons for its necessity. The in
difference, extravagance, insolence, and inhu
manity of the nobles had created the conditions
that provoked this unrestrained violence.
The mob came from their faubourgs like a swarm
of naked demons vomited out of the mouth of
hell, " vagabonds, ragged fellows, — many almost
naked with appalling faces, beings one does not
remember to have seen by daylight, — a frightful
physiognomy, a hideous attire."
There is no sight more terrifying than an excited
and enraged mob in motion ; its raucous voice, the
anger depicted in its aspect, its power for de
struction, the very uncertainty of its action, which
creates the additional dread of suspense, strike ter
ror into the heart of the bravest. The individual
faces may not be repulsive nor forbidding, but in a
mass they assume a different aspect, and every
head seems to be that of a Gorgon.
The government was in the streets ; ' the women
of the market were the prime ministers ; the crea
tors and censors of public opinion were the rabble.
It was a wild orgy of hate, a revelry of crime. Re
ligion and authority were defied and overthrown.
Atheism set up the god of self, undermined re
ligious faith, which is the strongest foundation of
society, and made the mistake of judging the vir
tue of the church by the vice of the prelate.
The lamp-post and, later, the guillotine, became
13

MIRABEAU
the altars upon which were immolated the victims
of anarchy. The mob actually delighted in the
shedding of human blood, it developed the instinct
of the cannibal, its appetite grew by what it fed on,
and after slaughtering its enemies it turned like a
Saturn to devour its own children.
It exulted over the cruel and cowardly murder
of the Princess Lamballe, and, in fiendish demoni
acal glee, combed the locks and washed the face
of the gory head and triumphantly carried it on
a pike, to shake it before the windows of the Tem
ple, where was imprisoned the fallen and humili
ated queen.
It shouted with delight when the king, Marie
Antoinette, and the lovely Princess Elizabeth went
to execution.
It covered with flowers the dying Mirabeau,
followed him with tears in solemn and respect
ful procession to the Pantheon, and then after
wards, in hate, exhumed his body and scattered
his ashes to the four winds of heaven. Incon
stant in its loyalty, like all mobs, fickle, variable
as the wind, it sacrificed its idols one after the
other in this deluge of blood. It followed, with
shouts of derision, the tumbril that carried the
Duke of Orleans to the scaffold. It 'yelled itself
hoarse with joy when the Girondists, the hope of
the Revolution, mounted the guillotine. It had no
pity for poor Camille Desmoulins, who had so
often charmed it with his eloquence. It applauded
when the monster, Hebert, the mighty titanic Dan
ton, and, at last, the " incorruptible" Robespierre,
paid the penalty of relying on its support and trust-
14

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
ing to its whimsical loyalty. Unreasonable, im
pressionable, impulsive, a word aptly spoken could
turn it from its purpose, or send it on a new errand
of crime. Its idol of to-day became the victim
of its wrath to-morrow.
The temper of the mob was fiendish when the
opportunity came for revenge. Could anything
else have been expected ? The fault lay at the door
of the rich, powerful, and privileged classes; the
people were not to blame, they were not respon
sible for the existing conditions, nor had they
created the causes that induced the Revolution.
The nobles had laughed at their distresses, sneered
at their complaints, scoffed at their petitions, and
forced them to submit to their cruel exactions.
When in the days of famine the starving peasants
cried for bread they were told to eat grass, and
yet it was upon the money wrung by taxation from
these poor creatures that the nobles were enabled
to live their lives of pleasure and debauchery.
They scorned, humiliated, and tortured, the poor;
they seemed to. take special delight in venting their
spite upon the victims of their injustice. The
young nobles, in their wild escapades, were, at
times, wanton and ingenious in their cruelty.
They set at defiance every law of God and man
and committed acts so atrocious, so inhuman in
their character, that they cannot be described
without offending decency. They inflicted torture
upon their victims — men and women — in mere
sport; they were controlled by a lustful, fiendish
disposition that outraged every sentiment of hu
manity. The fury of the wild and savage pikemen
IS

MIRABEAU
in the days of " The Red Terror" may, in a meas
ure, be excused when we recall the deeds of these
unworthy scions of ancient and distinguished
names. The bleeding heads of the aristocrats on
the pikes of the sans-culottes were but the revenge
of the agonized and bleeding hearts of the long-
suffering poor.
When we study the events that preceded the
Revolution we marvel that it so long delayed its
coming. Even Rome made some reparation for
her spoliation and tyranny by amusing her people
with the games of the circus, by providing them
with the luxury of public baths, and by feeding
them with bread paid for out of the public treas
ury; but France taxed, robbed, and starved her
poor to furnish amusement, pomp, and splendor to
her frivolous and luxurious court.
To trace the causes of the French Revolution
necessitates a study of the history of France from
the beginning of the feudal system as well as a
careful study of the qualities, the characteristics,
the laws, the moral, social, political, physical, and
racial features of the French.
After the fall of the Roman Empire the Gauls,
who had been in possession of France, were con
quered by the Franks under Clovis, and the latter
laid the foundations of the French monarchy and
established the most severe and rigorous system
of feudalism known throughout Europe. The
Franks exacted from the conquered people all the
dues of feudal superiors, and built up a system of
separate states that took centuries to weld into one
realm. 16

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Democracy in France was of much later growth
than in Switzerland and the Netherlands. While
Italy was dotted with free cities and republics,
while popular rights were being secured and con
stitutional liberty was being fostered, the feudalism
of France was crushing the people under the rule
of king and lords.
The friction between the crown and its vassals
was constant and irritating. A combination of a
few powerful barons would often interfere with
the purposes of an ambitious king and in many
ways curtail his power and influence. Allegiance
to the crown sat lightly upon these haughty lords,
who were absolute in their own manors or domains
and brooked no insolence from any superior, in
fact, often defying in open rebellion even the king
himself. In times of foreign invasion they had
frequently to be won over to the aid of the crown,
and at such times, in consideration of their services,
exacted concessions that strengthened their power
and independence.
France was a great kingdom of many little
kingdoms, and the struggle was a long and
bitter one to consolidate and cement these sepa
rate and distinct parts into one whole and to
centralize the supreme authority in one head, the
monarch. The civil wars of the Fronde helped to break the
independence of the barons and, at last, under the
vigorous administration of Richelieu, the crown
was made absolute. " In a word," says Mignet,
" power had become more and more concentrated,
K and as it had passed from the many to the few, it
2 17

MIRABEAU
came, at last, from the few to be invested in one
alone." No longer did the king have to depend upon
the feudal lords for his army, for now he had
means to support his own and was able to wage
war against a foreign enemy or compel obedience
from a rebellious vassal.
The church was another enemy to the absolu
tism of the crown, it was an " imperium in im-
perio," and its first allegiance was due to Rome.
Its power was not confined within the limits of
any state, it was world wide. It was ever jealous
of its rights, and always ready to resent any at
tempt made by the state to encroach upon its juris
diction. It had built up a system that was based
upon divine creation and authority. Its wealth, its
vast possessions and privileges, its influence over
the minds and consciences of men gave it an im
mense power in temporal as well as in spiritual
matters. It had no standing army, but it had, in
stead, that terrible weapon of excommunication
that made the most defiant monarch tremble and
do penance. When it fulmined its decree from
Rome, the king who defied its authority became an
outcast, a social pariah ; he was shorn of his power
and his people absolved from their allegiance.
The organization of the Roman Church com
mands the admiration of the world. It is one of
the greatest creations ever conceived and devised
by the wit and intellect of man. The church is an
army waging a persistent and relentless warfare
in the cause of religion. Its campaign lasts not for
a season, but for all time. The army never sleeps,
18

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
never camps over night; it is ever on the march,
following the standard of the cross beyond the
seas, over the deserts, into benighted regions, com
bating heresy and converting the heathen. It
brooks no opposition within its fold, it deals sum
marily with the rebellious. It commands obedi
ence to its teachings, implicit faith in its doctrines,
and promises to the faithful eternal life. Its only
purpose is to proselyte the world and to enlarge
the scope of its influence and power.
It is one great empire. Its domain is the uni
verse, its capital is Rome, its subjects owe an
allegiance to one head; they speak every known
tongue, but have only one creed, one law. Its
policies are catholic; its influence and purposes
are eternal. It brings to its service the prince and
the beggar; it is democratic in its methods of
salvation, imperialistic in its organization and
power. Its altars are found in every clime, in every
zone. Its domain extends into those far remote
lands whose shores are washed by the waters of
the polar seas. It reaches from the east coast of
America to the furthermost island in Polynesia,
from the west coast of Africa to New Guinea, from
Patagonia to Greenland, from Kamtchatka to
Tasmania. Its followers are found in the lands
of Confucius, Buddha, and Mahomet; every
where in the known world its cross glitters and its
doctrines are taught. It has lasted for centuries,
at times shaken by schism, heresy, and dissension,
but through all its perils and vicissitudes it has re
tained its entity, its faith, and its integrity, and will
19

MIRABEAU
exist until the world dissolves, until the last second
of recorded time.
A struggle for supremacy with so mighty a
power as this required all the intelligence, cour
age, and force the state could bring to bear.
The contest in France continued uninterruptedly
for centuries; it was long and bitter and was
waged with all the arts and methods of intrigue
and subtle diplomacy known to crafty churchmen
and resourceful politicians, but gradually the state
gained the ascendancy, and the pope in the reign of
Francis I. granted to the crown the power of nomi
nation to ecclesiastical dignities.
There was at no time a struggle for mastery
between the king and a stubborn churchman, such
as that witnessed in England in the days of Henry
II. and Thomas a'Becket, nor did a French king
ever have to go to Canossa as the result of a conflict
with the pope. The French clergy did not produce
such a character as Becket, nor did a French king
provoke so savagely the wrath of Rome as did
Henry IV., of Germany.
The encroachment, however, upon the power of
the church was gradual but sure; her wealth was
not diminished, nor were her estates confiscated,
nor her privileges and exemption from taxation
abolished, but she was deprived of her temporal
power, and her right of appointment to ecclesias
tical offices was greatly curtailed.
This long conflict between the state and the
church, however, had not estranged the loyalty
of the people from the latter. No people were ever
more devoted or more closely wedded to their re-
20

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
ligious faith than the French, and yet no nation
was ever so overwhelmed, at last, by irreligion and
infidelity. It was in France that the first example is offered
of the inclination of the Roman Church to use
methods of extreme violence against dissenters.
The Albigenses, in the south of France, were re
formers who separated from the communion of
Rome in the thirteenth century. A crusade was
preached against them by Pope Innocent III., and
an army of half a million men, under the leader
ship of Simon de Montfort, the Earl of Leicester,
invaded the rebellious territory and, after many
years of bitter and persistent warfare, eradicated
the heresy until not a vestige of it was left. The
land was swept as by a fire.
It was during this period that the tribunal of the
Inquisition was first set up, — about the year 1210,
— and began that cruel system of coercion by tor
ture that endeavored to control the faith and the
reason of men. Spinoza, philosophizing on this
subject, says : " Men are so made as to resent noth
ing more impatiently than to be treated as criminal
on account of opinions which they deem true, and
charged as guilty for simply what wakes their
affection to God and men. Hence, laws about
opinions are aimed not at the base, but at the noble,
and tend not to restrain the evil-minded, but rather
to irritate the good, and cannot be enforced with
out great peril to the government. . . . What evil
can be imagined greater for a state than that
honorable men, because they have thoughts of
their own and cannot act a lie, are sent as culprits

MIRABEAU
into exile ! What more baneful than that men, for
no guilt or wrong-doing, but for the generous
largeness of their mind, should be taken for ene
mies and led off to death, and that the torture bed,
the terror of the bad, should become, to the signal
shame of authority, the finest stage for the public
spectacle of endurance and virtue!"
Does it not seem strange, in the light of the
present civilization, that it was ever considered
possible to change an opinion of the mind by the
torture of the body? Is a recantation of a belief
to be depended upon if made under such circum
stances? Did the opinion of Galileo undergo a
change because he was threatened with the rack?
No more than did the earth stop its motion.
But intolerance was the spirit of the age; men's
minds had not been enlightened, they were blinded
by bigotry and superstition — the twin daughters of
ignorance. The church but reflected the thought
of the times, for this system which appears so cruel
and unreasonable to all of us to day received the
unqualified endorsement and support of the wisest
and best men among the laity as well as the clergy.
The judges who sat in the tribunal of the Inqui
sition were, to be sure, religious fanatics, but out
side of this, no doubt, they were devout, honest,
God-fearing and exemplary in their lives. They
were not naturally cruel, they would not have tor
tured anything except a heretic. They were simply
influenced and dominated by that spirit of religious
intolerance that blinds men to the truth and has, in
every age, halted the world in its progress.
It is hard to believe that any act could be more
22

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
intolerant in its character than that known as the
edict of 1550 against heretics, enacted at the in
stance of Philip II. Under its provisions no citizen
was allowed " to print, copy, keep, conceal, sell,
buy, or give any book or writing made by Luther,
Calvin, Zwingli, or any other heretic, nor break or
injure the images of the Virgin or the Saints, nor
to hold or attend any meeting where heretics
teach." The punishment prescribed for its viola
tion was death by sword, by fire, or by burial alive.
A like punishment was provided for those who
would dare to lodge, shelter, entertain, nurse, feed,
or clothe a suspected heretic. Even failure to be
tray a heretic, though he were a friend, was pun
ished by death.
Intolerance and bigotry were not confined to one
sect nor to one state. They controlled all classes
of Christians, and, unfortunately, their spirit has
not entirely disappeared even in this age of boasted
civilization and enlightenment.
In the reign of Elizabeth of England, in retalia
tion of the bull of Pope Pius V., a law was passed
which provided that if any Catholic shall convert
a Protestant to the Romish church they shall both
suffer death for high treason ; and this was not an
exceptional act, it was characteristic of the cruel
bigotry of the times. There were hundreds like it,
but this is cited simply to give an idea of the in
tolerance that prevailed throughout all Christen
dom. The act was carefully considered, passed Par
liament, received the sanction of the queen and
the approval of the people. The Anglican and the
23

MIRABEAU
Calvinist were just as intolerant as the Romanist.
After Calvin had escaped martyrdom at Paris he
returned to Geneva to send Servetus to the stake.
The world had not reached the point where
the church and the state were willing to concede
to the people the right to enjoy religious and politi
cal liberty. Perhaps, too, the times and the condi
tions were not ripe for these blessings. It was
not an age when anyone could, with impunity,
have uttered the truth that " for their religious
opinions men are responsible to God alone." It
took centuries of tears and blood and strife, in the
efforts that were made, to reconcile the world to
the acceptance of this great truth, and after all this
sacrifice, even to-day, in many lands, the light has
not yet penetrated the darkness.
The stake, the rack, and the thumbscrew were
used to control the consciences of men. Religious
sectarian contention plunged nations into wars that
were cruelly and relentlessly waged in the name
of the gentle teacher of Nazareth, who taught
men to love one another.
It was an age when men believed in coercion
rather than persuasion, force rather than argu
ment. Freedom of inquiry was out of the ques
tion. What right had the people to think for them
selves ? The civic duty of the citizen was to submit
patiently and willingly to the tyranny and abso
lutism of the crown and his religious duty to accept
without question the dogmas of the church.
The advocate Barbier, in the eighteenth century,
shows the subservient disposition of that age when
he writes: "I believe that one has to fulfil his
24

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
duties honorably without concerning one's self
with state affairs in which one has no mission and
exercises no power." On the other hand, it was
the duty of the faithful to accept the doctrines of
the church with implicit belief. To question, was
to doubt; to doubt, was to sin, and there was no
sin blacker nor more deadly than heresy.
It was believed and argued that so important
was the matter of faith in the scheme of the sal
vation of men's souls, that no method was too
severe that would save the people from heresy and
its dire and dreadful consequences. To be sure, the
spirit of religious intolerance has been modified by
time, but until it entirely disappears the difference
between the past ages and our own, in this matter
of intolerance, is after all only one of degree.
Men can argue upon almost any question with
out acrimony except that of religion. Contention
between political parties has never been so violent,
so rancorous as that between Christian sects. Re
ligious belief is considered the most vital and im
portant question that relates to man's welfare here
and hereafter, and yet, strange to say, nothing so
arouses the anger and the passions of the human
heart, and creates a hatred so bitter and so relent
less as religious differences. They separate parent
from child, husband from wife, brother from sister,
lover from maid. So sensitive are men on the
subject of their religion that the slightest reflection
on their faith arouses all the opposition in their
souls. There is no question that should be more moder
ately discussed without bias or prejudice in order
25

MIRABEAU
that the truth may be ascertained and the merits
of both sides understood, and yet it seems to be
the one question that cannot be debated fairly
by ardent partisans. They misjudge each other,
quarrel over mere terms, differ on non-essentials,
and in many instances end the controversy in
violent language and a broken friendship. " If
men would once consider one another reasonably,
they would either reconcile their differences, or
maintain them more amicably," is the wise say
ing of William Penn. Even conservative and
reasonable men seem to lose their usual good judg
ment in religious discussion.
The bitter and bloody struggles, the hate engen
dered by the intolerance and the persecutions of the
past, seem to have left wounds that still rankle and
fester in the soul, but the broadening spirit and the
refining influences of education and general en
lightenment will, in time, heal the wounds until
there will be left not even the vestige of a scar.
After all, in the vast majority of instances, re
ligious belief is a matter that depends on birth,
early associations, and education. The intolerant
bigot of one sect would be just as intolerant if he
had been born and bred under other conditions or
in the fold of another creed. Men inherit their re
ligion as they do their racial features and charac
teristics. Some men show their loyalty to their church by
being bigoted and intolerant in their support of its
doctrines. They think they prove their fidelity
by an unadulterated prejudice. Even men whose
conduct of life is in direct contradiction to the
26

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
teachings and the tenets of their church, show a
bitter hostility to any and all opposition to their
religion, whose creed they do not understand and
whose precepts they habitually disobey. They, no
doubt, display an ardent loyalty to their faith, in
the hope of receiving the favor of the church,
which they really so little merit.
The Reformation had awakened thought
throughout Europe, but the Roman church deter
minedly opposed free inquiry and exerted its power
to prevent the spread of the new doctrines. But
for the efforts of Philip II. of Spain and Ignatius
Loyola the Reformation would have made much
greater headway. To Louis XIV. must be given
the credit of staying its progress in France.
The Edict of Nantes was an epoch-making event
in the reign of a liberal prince. It guaranteed to
every Christian worshipper the unfettered exercise
of his religion.
Henry IV. was a born leader, a man of action
and ambition. In council he was wise and judi
cious, as a statesman he was able, and as a poli
tician, tactful, diplomatic, and unscrupulous. A
braver soldier never led an army to battle ; he had
those qualities of heart and mind that inspired con
fidence and courage in his followers. " If you
lose sight of your ensigns, rally around my plume ;
you will always find it on the high road to honor"
were the eloquent words he addressed to his
troops at Ivry. With so brave a leader, victory is
half won before the battle begins.
He was liberal and tolerant in his views and the
only popular king in the Bourbon line. He
27

MIRABEAU
earnestly desired to promote the public welfare.
His wish that every peasant might have a fowl in
his pot on Sunday was a new sentiment in the
heart of a French king and endeared him to the
people. His reign was the only rift in the dark
clouds of Bourbonism, that for more than two
centuries overshadowed France.
He was without strong religious convictions,
and he easily abjured his creed when it stood be
tween him and the throne, jauntily remarking that
" the crown was worth a mass."
He had one great quality that was sadly lacking
in the kings of France, and that was a tolerant
spirit. He was not a bigot, and his edict of tolera
tion was a blessing to his country.
Louis XIV. subdued the nobility and the church,
restrained Parliament, and made them all de
pendent upon his royal will. He quelled opposi
tion whenever and in whatever form it manifested
itself, and revoked the Edict of Nantes because it
allowed a religious freedom not in consonance with
his royal desire. Its revocation was both a crime and
a blunder. It revived the old spirit of intolerance
and persecution. It was turning back the hands of
the clock; it was out of time, out of step with the
advancing and expanding thought of the day.
An illiberal and unjust act done in the name of
religion must in due season cause a reaction and
weaken the influence of the church. This may
not happen at the moment when bigotry inflames
and brutalizes the minds of men, but if time be
given for reflection, reason will show the error and
point the injustice. 28

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
The Edict of Nantes was for the protection of
the Huguenots and to call home from exile the
descendants of those who had fled from the hor
rors of the massacre of the St. Bartholomew. Its
revocation revived intolerance and persecution and
assured the dominancy of one creed, one church.
In France the Huguenots were among the most
industrious, prosperous, and enlightened of all the
king's subjects. They were devoutly religious,
were loyal to government, peace-loving, and toler
ant of the opinions of others.
The massacre of these useful citizens on St.
Bartholomew's Eve was a crime of the most hein
ous character; it shocked all Europe and made a
deep impression upon the thought of the age. " No
example of equal barbarity," says De Thou, " is to
be found in all antiquity or in the annals of the
world." It was so wicked in its conception, so
unjust in its purpose, and so cruel in its execution
that, in time, it created a sympathy for its victims,
estranged the minds of men from the faith of their
fathers, and begat an opposition not only to the
church, but to the principles of Christianity. It
no doubt, to a considerable degree, aided in the de
velopment and advancement of the infidelity that
subsequently swept over France, destroying nearly
every trace of the old faith, until, at last, in the
noble Cathedral of Notre Dame, the altars of
Christ were overturned, the worship of the living
God dispensed with, and the Goddess of Reason set
up in the person of a beautiful harlot.
The persecution entirely failed of its purpose;
instead of strengthening the church in France, it
29

MIRABEAU
arrayed thoughtful men against its methods, it
aroused discussion, criticism, and denunciation,
and men, failing to distinguish the true faith from
the acts of its disciples, lost confidence in religion
and embraced a cold and heartless infidelity. The
persecution, instead of making men good Chris
tians, made them bigots, hypocrites, or infidels.
The loss to France, by the exile of these useful
citizens, the Huguenots, was irreparable ; many of
them were the flower of their race and they were
scattered by a brutal bigotry to the four corners of
the earth, carrying with them, however, all their
skill and talents to enrich the peoples among whom
they settled. In the language of Voltaire, "the
French were as widely dispersed as the Jews."
The massacre resulted not only in depriving France
of many of her best citizens, but left in the mind
and heart of the nation the memory of a great
wrong done in the name of religion. Men were
breaking away from the restraints of the church
and were beginning, without bigotry, to criticise
and denounce injustice wherever and by whomever
practised. In the National Assembly, during the Revolu
tion, the frequent references made by the orators
in their debates to the massacre of the St. Bartholo
mew show how the injustice and the cruelty of
that dire event had impressed the minds of men
and had lessened their reverence for the church.
" It was at that time," says Victor Hugo, " an
oratorical custom to interject into every discourse
some imprecation, or other, on the massacre of the
Saint Bartholomew." Vergniaud, in one of his
30

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
wild flights, saw " spectres of the Medici gliding
along the corridors of the Tuileries preparing an
other St. Bartholomew of patriots."
Upon one occasion, in the Constituent Assembly,
a resolution was offered by a representative of the
clergy, declaring " the Catholic religion is and
shall ever be the religion of the nation and its wor
ship the only one authorized." One of the depu
ties of the Noblesse, in an argument supporting
this intolerant measure, referred to a decree in
point that had received the sanction of Louis XIV.
In an instant, Mirabeau was on his feet and de
nounced the measure as unjust and illiberal.
" And how should not every act of intolerance,"
he thundered, " have been consecrated in a reign
signalized by the revocation of the Edict of
Nantes? Do you appeal to history? Forget hot
that from this very tribune I behold the window
whence a king of France, armed against his people
by a hateful faction, which disguised personal in
terest under the cloak of religion, fired his musket
and gave the signal for the massacre of the St.
Bartholomew!" The hall resounded with cheers
and applause and the intolerant resolution was
voted down. A few days later, Roederer, a deputy
who must have had a Scotch strain in his make
up, solemnly stated that having carefully exam
ined into the matter, he was prepared to prove that
the window alluded to by Mirabeau could not be
seen from the tribune. Mirabeau bent his head to
the blow and gravely replied : " I suspect that you
are half right, but at the time I was speaking, I
certainly saw it." 31

CHAPTER II
JESUITS AND JANSENISTS — THE CLERGV" — THE
^PEOPLE' — THE NOBLES  THE MANORIAL LORDS
/  COURTIERS  GAME LAWS  CORVEES  FEUDAL
BURDENS  THE GABELLE  FARMERS GENERAL 
MILITARY SERVICE  ADMINISTRATION OF JUS
TICE  PARIS
The controversy between the Jesuits and the
Jansenists was an important event in the history
of the emancipation of the minds of men from the
severe and uncompromising rule of mere doctrine.
All France was inflamed by the angry discussion.
Bulls and denunciations thundered from the Vati
can, but they only surcharged the already heated
air and increased the bitterness of the contention.
Both sides struggled to gain the favor of the court,
but at la:t the Jansenists were proscribed by the
king, and their cloister at Port Royal was levelled
to the ground. The influence of their liberalism,
however, spread in every direction and planted the
seeds of revolution. It was the working of the
democratic leaven in the church, and " the embers,"
says Taine, " smouldering in the ashes are to be
of use in 1791 when the ecclesiastical edifice comes
to be attacked," — in those dreadful days when the
mob having 'lost all respect for the church, all
reverence for sacred things, will cry out in its wild
rage: " Tous les eveques, a la lanterne."
When the court decided upon the destruction of
32

"X-

the sporting barons
Only a peasant

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Jansenism, it revealed the spirit of the old order,
and the cruel act resulted in further strengthening
the sentiment of toleration among the people.
" The good city of Paris," wrote Barbier in
*733> " is Jansenist from top to bottom ... the
mass of the Parisians, — men, women, and children,
— all upholding that doctrine, without comprehend
ing it or understanding any of its distinctions and
interpretations, out of hatred to Rome and the
Jesuits. Women, the silliest, and even chamber
maids would be hacked to pieces for it."
Little did they understand the nice theological
distinctions that were drawn in relation to the deli
cate subject of the grace of God and man's salva
tion thereby. The questions in controversy were
too subtle and abstruse for the common mind to
comprehend, but the people were beginning to op
pose injustice and persecution in every form, and,
irrespective of the questions involved, they saw
only a great power arbitrarily exercised in the sup
pression of free inquiry. The church of Rome had
lost much of her influence because of her deter
mination, at all hazards, to stifle freedom of
thought; and yet she claimed to be honest in her
purpose for she contended that in her keeping
alone were the means of salvation, and she deemed
it to the ultimate advantage of man that he should
not err in a matter so important as his religious
faith. Her reasoning in this matter did not differ
from that of other sects at that time, for, unfor
tunately, they were nearly all intolerant. Her
methods of coercion were more drastic and her per
secutions more severe than those of other sects, and
33 3

MIRABEAU
she put forth every effort to prevent the spread
of heresy, and the withdrawal of dissenters from
her fold. Her life, her integrity were in peril and
she resorted to unjust and cruel methods to save
her existence. It was a period of religious fanati
cism, strife, and persecution. The spirit of bigotry
and intolerance controlled the minds and the con
duct of men ; it was born not of Christ, but of the
devil. The history of Christianity is written in blood.
It is a story of contention, schism, intolerance, hate,
war, persecution, and massacre. The founder of
Christianity proclaimed the gospel of peace. His
disciples forgot the example and the teachings of
their Master, and for centuries the world was
plunged into despair and groped its way through
darkness. There was too much religion and not
enough Christianity; too much dogma and not
enough humanity; too much man and not enough
Christ. Another reason for the declining influence of
the church, in France, was the conduct and the
manner of living of many of the higher clergy,
who, following the example of the court, indulged
in extravagance and luxury at the expense of the
poor. The lives of some of the princes of the
church reflected on the cause they represented, and
their conduct became so scandalous as to bring
reproach upon religion itself, for the world will
measure the truth of the church by the acts of its
teachers. The infamous Dubois and the yet more
infamous Rohan were not the only examples of
profligate churchmen. 34

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
The church became as rapacious as the state,
and exacted every sou due under its seignorial
rights. The two classes, the nobility and the upper
clergy, selfishly and unjustly appropriated to them
selves all the advantages of society. " These
enemies of the happiness of the poor," writes the
Breton philosopher, " pay nothing to the state ;
although they possess the greatest amount of
goods and wealth, all is for them, nothing for us,
and with this nothing we are obliged to provide all
the needs of government." But while the upper
clergy were enjoying their privileges, the poor
cures, " les vrais pasteurs des ames," the real
workers in the ministry, had hardly a subsistence.
Meanly housed and poorly fed, they labored in
their humble calling without encouragement and
with no hope of advancement or preferment. They
were the only earthly comforters to whom the poor
could go; they Sympathized with them in their
sorrows, suffered with them in their distresses,
advised with them in their troubles, and com
forted them when they were sick in body and
in soul. It was because of their experience and
personal knowledge of the miseries of the poor,
that so many of the lower clergy espoused the cause
of the Revolution.
While these contests were going on between the
king and the lords, between the state and the
church, the condition of the people grew worse and
worse, for the burdens of feudalism made their ex
istence akin to slavery. They, in truth, differed not
a whit from the slaves in America, who, in a later
age, by the supreme law of the land, were declared
35

MIRABEAU
to have no rights which their masters were bound
to respect. The nobles had all the privileges. The
common people bore all the burdens, and were ex
cluded from every chance of preferment.
Offices, mere sinecures, were created for the
maintenance of the favored and privileged classes.
Pensions were lavished on courtiers and mistresses.
Louis XIV. squandered upon Madame de Fontan-
ges the revenues of a province and Louis XV. spent
thirty-six million francs, worth at least seventy-
two million francs of our money to-day, upon
Madame de Pompadour.
Public offices were created merely to be sold.
To such an extent had this abuse grown under
prior reigns that Richelieu suppressed upwards of
one hundred thousand of them during his ministry.
Louis XIV. in 1692 abolished all municipal elec
tions, in order to increase the revenues of the
crown by selling the right of governing the towns
to those rich citizens who were willing to pay for
the empty honor. These offices were sold and re
sold and became sources of great revenue to the
state. The holding of office was deemed to confer dis
tinction upon the incumbent and it became the rage
among the well-to-do middle classes to secure
the honor by influence or purchase. The wit and
the ingenuity of the government officials were
severely taxed in their efforts to invent all sorts of
offices to supply the public demand. Upon one
occasion, the minister Demarest proposed to Louis
XIV. the creation of some new ones. The king,
failing to see why they should be created, asked,
36

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
" Who is it that will buy them ?" The minister
replied, " Your Majesty is ignorant of one of the
finest prerogatives of the kings of France, which is
that when a king creates an office, God at the same
moment creates a fool to buy it."
The condition of the peasants was intolerable;
it is almost impossible to describe it so as fully to
depict the real misery that existed. Taine says,
" The most part resembled the fellahs of Egypt or
the laborers of Hindoostan."
La Bruyere, in the latter part of the seventeenth
century, wrote: "Certain savage-looking beings,
male and female, are seen in the country, black,
livid, and sunburnt, and belonging to the soil.
They dig and grub with invincible stubbornness, —
they are, in fact, men. They live in dens and fare
on black bread, water, and roots; they perish of
hunger and destitution, the prey of the tax
gatherer." Massillon, in the middle of the eighteenth cen
tury, commenting on this matter, said : " The peo
ple of our country live in misery ; they have neither
furniture nor beds ; during part of the year most
of them have no food except oaten bread. The
negroes of our islands are happier." The peasants
ate pulse and nettles and the bark of trees. In
many instances they had no beds but slept in boxes
filled with straw. Ignorant and debased as they
were, reduced to the most wretched condition by
cruelty and tyranny, they excited, strange to say,
not the pity but the contempt of the nobles, who
were really responsible for their degradation. It
is generally the case that those who degrade or
37

MIRABEAU
enslave their fellow-men look with scorn on the
victims of their injustice.
When the lords lived on the manors and gave
attention to the interests of their tenants, the needs
and wants of the latter received some consideration ;
but when the crown centred in itself the glory and
the splendor of the monarchy, the nobles flocked
to Paris and Versailles, there to bask in the sun
shine of royal favor, and they drew the substance
from their manors to maintain their extravagant
and luxurious mode of living at the court. The tie
between the lord and the vassal was severed and
all that was left of feudalism was its burdens.
Absenteeism was the curse of France as it has
been a curse in more recent times in another land.
No wonder the peasants when they passed the de
serted chateaux clenched their fists, muttered deep
oaths, vowed vengeance, and remembered the days
of the Jacquerie.
Before the nobles were drawn to the court, they
were identified with the social life of their neigh
bors and dependents; and although the feudal
duties were oppressive, the people looked upon the
lords as those to whom the services were justly due.
The lords kept open house and their hospitality,
charity, and friendly offices endeared them to the
people. They were kings in little kingdoms. They
were regarded with respect and it was greatly to
their interest and safety to inspire and secure the
love and devotion of their tenants. Brave, manly,
chivalrous and generous, they lived like princes in
their provinces, but at Versailles they became mere
flunkeys to the king, mere servants in attendance
38

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
upon the ceremonies and functions of the court.
Men who should have given valuable service to the
state lost all sense of public duty and civic respon
sibility. Proud of their connection with the court,
they looked down with disdain upon the common
people, and even upon those persons of their own
class who were not so fortunate as to be favored
with royal recognition.
At home, they lived as country gentlemen; at
court they became mere gallants. They lost all
spirit of independence in that they were beggars for
royal favors and dependents on the king's bounty.
They lived on pensions and for pleasure, and these
were the considerations that induced them to sur
render their independence,— a poor bargain, one
would say, and without sufficient consideration.
" In the enjoyment of plenty they soon lost the
memory of freedom."
They were adepts in all the fine features of
polite society. They were keen and witty and
would rather be the makers of famous epigrams
than useful to the state. The French language,
vivacious and expressive as it is, was never more
adroitly used in lively conversation and " in turn
ing the phrases of flattery" than by those frivolous
and irresponsible courtiers, who lived the lives of
butterflies. All high positions in the army and the church
were secured through royal favor. The commons
had no hope of preferment ; even to be a captain in
the army, the applicant had to prove that he had
four degrees of nobility.
If revenue were needed for the government or
39

MIRABEAU
for the support of the throne, it was wrung from
the poor. The privileged classes that ought to
have borne the burden and that alone were able to
bear it, were exempt by law. The prince and the
bishop revelled in luxury, the peasant and the cure
were ill housed and ill fed.
Game laws were cruel and oppressive. The
peasant was forbidden to enclose his land, his
crops were ruthlessly destroyed, and he had no
adequate remedy at law to recover damages for
any injury done or loss sustained. He could keep
neither dog nor gun, nor in the hatching season
did he dare to disturb the game by the cultivation
of his soil or the reaping of his crops.
" There were numerous edicts for preserving the
game which prohibited weeding and hoeing lest the
young partridges should be disturbed; steeping
seed, lest it should injure the game; manuring
with night soil lest the flavor of the partridges
should be injured by feeding on the corn so pro
duced; mowing hay before a certain time, so late
as to spoil many crops ; and taking away the stub
ble which would deprive the birds of shelter." We
should note that it was not only small game that
was preserved, for the same writer further states
that " by game it must be understood whole
droves of wild boars and herds of deer not con
fined by any wall or pole, but wandering, at pleas
ure, over the whole country, to the destruction of
crops; and to the peopling of the galleys by the
wretched peasants who presumed to kill them in
order to save that food which was to support their
helpless children." 40

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
In the bailiwick of Evreux " the game had de
stroyed everything up to the very houses. The
rabbits became a pest and the peasants were not
allowed to pull up the weeds in summer, which in
jured the seed sown, lest the partridges should be
interfered with." Heavy penalties were imposed
for the slightest violation of these inhuman stat
utes. Taine says, " The game wardens protected
the beasts as if they were men and hunted the men
as if they were beasts."
The capitaineries were grants by the king of all.
the game of a certain district to the princes of
the blood, even on lands which did not belong to
them. This grant carried. with it the right to hunt
at pleasure over the ground belonging perhaps to
a hundred or more different proprietors, tenants or
small farmers. The right was paramount. No
prior claims, manorial or otherwise, could inter
fere with this royal grant. It was distinct from
the soil. It was simply a right of property in the
game with the privilege of hunting, which right,
under the English law, would be in the nature of
an incorporeal hereditament. No matter how much
damage the game and the hunters did to the land
and the crops, the owner had no redress. It is
strange the peasants themselves did not go hunt
ing occasionally, and not after partridges nor wild
boar nor deer.
The growing crops were trampled and crushed
under the hoofs of the horses of the sporting
barons who in the open season daily followed the
chase. No interests were allowed to interfere with
the amusement of the nobles. The peasant who
41

MIRABEAU
had the temerity to remonstrate against the tres
pass would have been dealt with summarily for his
insolence. There is nothing in the whole history of this
vicious period that so clearly illustrates the utter
disregard, the supreme indifference the nobles had
for the rights of the common people, as the cruel
exercise and enjoyment of these hunting privi
leges. The peasant was compelled, under the corvee or
statute labor, to do a certain amount of work
annually in keeping the bridges and the public
roads in repair. Arthur Young says : " These
corvees, or police of the roads, were annually the
ruin of many hundreds of farmers; more than
three hundred were reduced to beggary in filling
up one vale in Lorraine; all these oppressions fell
on the tiers Hat only, the nobility and the clergy-
having been equally exempted from tallies, militia,
and corvees."
The peasant paid excessive tolls to travel on the
highways, to be ferried across the rivers. He paid
dues at the fairs and markets. He paid a tax
called " the dove-cote right" for the privilege of
keeping pigeons. He paid fees exorbitant in
amount for the transfer of land. He was com
pelled to grind his corn at the lord's mill, press his
grapes in the lord's wine press, bake his bread in
the lord's oven, and kill his cattle in the lord's
slaughter-house, and woe to the poor wretch who
had the temerity to grind his own corn, press his
own grapes, bake his own bread, or kill his own
ox. 42

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
" Feudal tyranny, armed with judicial power,
has not blushed at breaking hand mills, and at
selling, annually, to the miserable, the faculty of
bruising between two stones a measure of buck
wheat or barley."
A very curious and humiliating service imposed
upon the peasants was called " silence des gren-
ouilles corvee a misericorde," which, when the wife
of the lord of the manor was in travail, required
the people to swish or beat the waters in marshy
districts to keep the frogs silent, lest my lady
should be disturbed. But even this was overtopped
by the horrible privilege of la Marquette, or " baiser
de Mariees," which allowed the lord to borrow
the peasant's fiancee the night before the nuptials.
We have not the time nor the space to enumerate
the many degrading services to which the peasant
was subjected. He paid tithes to the church and
a multitude of local taxes, feudal dues and services
of every conceivable character to the lord and to the
state. He was hunted until he paid the last sou
in his purse. He was often induced to resort to
perjury to save his little, for if he told the truth,
he ran the risk of being reduced to abject poverty.
There was no encouragement given to him to im
prove his condition, for the first faint signs of pros
perity were followed by further impositions. " The
more the peasant acquires and produces," says
Taine, " the heavier his burdens become."
The tax gatherer haunted him like a shadow,
stood at the door of his home, followed him to
church and interrupted him at his prayers. Taxes !
taxes! taxes! of every kind and character were
43

MIRABEAU
levied upon the peasant and collected by severe
and cruel processes. " The clothes of the poor are
seized, their last measure of flour, even the latches
on their doors." " The garret and the hut as well
as the farm and the farm-house know the collector,
the constable, and the bailiff ; no hovel escapes the
detestable brood." These blood-suckers never re
laxed their efforts. If one showed any signs of
sympathy for the suffering poor, he was removed,
or else goaded by his rapacious and insatiable
masters, under the threat of dismissal, to put forth
fresh exertions. There was no avoiding the tax-
gatherer, but by the way of death. The peasant
paid a tribute to the state for the privilege of
living; and,. Oh, God! what a living!
The gabelle, or salt tax, was one of the most
odious and oppressive in the whole system of
vicious taxation. It varied in amount in the dif
ferent provinces. It was unequally imposed and
levied. Some districts were wholly exempt, while
in others, it was a heavy burden. Each person,
over seven years of age, had to buy seven pounds
of salt a year, and this quantity he was compelled
to purchase whether he wanted it or not. A neglect
to comply with this law subjected the offender to
the payment of a fine. This salt could be used only
for cooking and for seasoning food for the table.
It could not be used for curing meat and fish. If
salt were needed for this purpose, an additional
quantity had to be purchased and a certificate given.
The inhabitants on the coast were forbidden to let
their cattle drink the sea water.
The penalties and punishments for the violation
44

the tax gatherer
'These blood-suckers never relaxed their efforts"

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
of the laws governing the purchase and use of
this indispensable article were fines, imprison
ments, flogging, the galleys, and death. An army
of officials were employed to see that the salt was
used for the purposes for which it was bought
and to arrest smugglers or those persons who
sold it without authority. The agents had the
right to enter the houses of even the privileged
orders to make inspections.
" Calonne," says Von Hoist, " two years before
the Revolution, reported that because of the viola
tion of the laws relating to the gabelle, there had
been four thousand seizures, three thousand four
hundred imprisonments, five hundred sentences to
whipping, exiles, and the galleys, annually." The
Farmers General, those vampires that purchased
from the government the exclusive right of col
lecting the taxes, were merciless in the prosecution
of those persons who attempted to avoid payment.
Smuggling that reduced the returns was pun
ished to the full extent of the law, and the sen
tences imposed in many instances on women and
children, as well as on men, were inhuman and
entirely out of proportion to the offence.
In Dauphine, smugglers of salt, for the second
offence, were sent to the galleys for life. Smug
glers armed, who assembled in number under five,
for the second offence, were punished by death.
Soldiers with arms, smuggling salt, were hanged;
without arms, were sent to the galleys for life.
Women smugglers, married and single, for first
and second offences, were fined ; for third offence,
were flogged and banished from the kingdom for
45

MIRABEAU
life. Husbands were responsible for their wives,
and if they made default in payment of the fines,
were flogged. Children smugglers were punished
the same as the women. Fathers and mothers were
responsible for their children, and, failing to pay
the fines, were flogged.
This will give some idea of how far tyranny
can go. The cruel and inhuman punishments were
inflicted for the commission of offences that were
nothing more than misdemeanors. These atrocious
laws were passed only for the purpose of enriching
the sordid and rapacious Farmers General. Could
a more inhuman system of taxation and criminal
procedure be conceived?
" Tax gathering was nothing but an organized
warfare. It caused an army of two hundred thou
sand drones to oppress the soil. Those locusts
devoured — wasted — everything. To drain sub
stance out of a people thus devoured it was neces
sary to have cruel laws, terrible penalties — the
galleys, gibbets, racks."
If the peasant succeeded in avoiding the tax
gatherer, the recruiting officer pressed him into
military service, dragged him from his friends,
home, and family to serve a state that was not
worth serving nor saving.
The noble officers were proud, insolent, and
cruel. They looked upon the common soldiers as
hardly human beings. The former lived in com
fortable quarters, the latter were half-fed, badly
lodged and ill-treated. The military service was
so odious to the peasants that they often fled into
the woods, where they were hunted like wild beasts
46

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
until they were captured and impressed into the
army. There was no remedy by process of law that gave
relief to poor suitors. " The administration of
justice," says Arthur Young, " was partial, venal,
infamous. They speak of the dispensation of
justice in the manorial courts as comprising every
species of despotism, appeals endless, augmenting
litigation, favoring every species of chicane, ruin
ing the parties, not only by enormous expenses
but by a dreadful loss of time. The judges,
commonly ignorant pretenders, hold their courts in
cabarets, and are absolutely dependent on the
seigneurs." And again he says : " Upon the
question of expecting justice to be really and fairly
administered, every one confessed there was no
such thing to be looked for. The conduct of the
parliaments was profligate and atrocious. Upon
almost every cause that came before them, interest
was openly made with the judges, and woe be-
tided the man, who, with a cause to support, had
no means of conciliating favor, either by the beauty
of a handsome wife or by other methods."
No government in the history of the world was
ever more oppressive and corrupt than that of
France. No people ever bore heavier burdens and
received so little in return. The exactions were
cruel, heartless, and rapacious ; the people had but
few rights and the state acted as if she owed them
no duty. If she did owe a duty, she surely never
paid it.
There seemed to be no reciprocal relations be
tween the state and the peasants. The latter were
47

MIRABEAU
mere beasts of burden whose toil and labor main
tained the pomp and splendor of the throne, the
luxury and debauchery of the court. So hard and
severe was the lot of the peasants that many of
them abandoned their miserable farms and took
refuge in Paris and the provincial towns, where
they lived lives of vagabondage, and, in time,
helped to compose the mobs that directed the course
of the Revolution.
" Under the ancien regime," says Von Hoist, in
his most interesting lectures on the French Revolu
tion, " the immigrant proletariat from the country
was by the law barred out from all ways of earning
a livelihood, except as common day laborers, and
the wages of these were, in 1788, on an average
twenty-six cents for men arid fifteen for women,
while the price of bread was higher than in our
times." He further _ says that "in 1791, long
before the inauguration of the- Reign of Terror,
there were in Paris, in a population of six hundred
and fifty thousand, one hundred and eighteen thou
sand paupers."
As early as March, 1790, Bailly, at that time
Mayor of Paris, told the National Assembly that
" for six months the people of Paris have lived
only on alms."
There was no middle agricultural class such as
was growing in England and adding strength and
stability to the state. The distinguishing differ
ence between the governments of England and
France was that in the former the king had duties
and the peasant had rights ; while in the latter the
king had rights and the peasants had duties.
48

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
There was, however, a class known as peasant
proprietors. Nobles who had been impoverished
by extravagance were compelled to dispose of
portions of their estates and sold them to small
farmers, but this ownership of land subjected the
owners to the payment of heavy taxes and to exac
tions of every description.
Another class, known as metayers, paid for the
use of the land in kind, but they secured only a
bare subsistence and made a scanty return. Their
implements were rude, their cattle thin, their crops
meagre, and their homes mere hovels.
Mirabeau's father, the old marquis, who was
somewhat of an authority on this subject of agri
culture, wrote : "As practised by our peasants, it is
a veritable galley slavery ; from their infancy they
die by thousands and in their youth they try to find
a place anywhere but where they ought to be."
Famine often stalked through the land, and
while the peasants starved, the nobles feasted and
caroused, making a contrast that was not forgot
ten when the tocsin of the Revolution sounded.
Beggars crowded the roads. Fifteen thousand
were arrested by the authorities in one year during
the reign of the great Louis.
In the towns, the conditions were somewhat bet
ter than in the country, but the sale of monopolies
crippled every branch of commerce and manufac
ture and centred trade in the hands of the few.
Mechanics, too, were subjected to severe and vexa
tious restraints upon their industry. The only
purpose of the government seemed to be to find
something to tax.
4 49

MIRABEAU
In most of the towns, the municipal expenses
were greater than the revenues and, consequently,
everything was falling into decay. Public im
provements were out of the .question, — repairs were
not made on the highways, and in wet weather
they were almost impassable. At every town-gate
tolls were levied upon the necessaries of life; pro
duce was taxed so heavily that the poor were not
able to pay the price for substantial food. The
searching and avaricious eyes of the tax officers
allowed nothing to escape their scrutiny. The
hated octroi stifled trade and ate up the substance
of the people until they were reduced to the verge
of starvation.
" I sought the stately city of Paris," says the
hero in Louvet's Faublas, " and I found high and
squalid tenements, long and ludicrously narrow
streets, poor wretches everywhere clothed in rags,
a crowd of well-nigh naked children. I beheld a
dense population and appalling poverty."
" In Paris," says Mercier, " the people are weak,
pallid, diminutive, stunted. The rich and the great
who possess equipages enjoy the privilege of
crushing them or of mutilating them in the streets.
. . . There is no convenience for foot passengers,
no sidewalks. Hundreds of victims die annually
under the carriage wheels."
" People were run over almost every day by the
fashionable vehicles, it being the habit of the great
to ride very fast."
" I saw," writes Arthur Young, " a poor child
run over and probably killed, and have been myself
many times blackened with the mud of the ken-
50

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
nels," and then adds : " If young noblemen at
London were to drive their chaises in streets with
out footways, as their brethren do at Paris, they
would speedily and justly get very well threshed
or rolled in the kennel."
The Duke of Bethune, in 1 788, driving furiously
through the narrow streets, ran over and killed a
child ; the mother, frantic with grief, held the little
one to her bosom, kissed its cheeks and called aloud
for it to come back to life; but alas! its spirit
had been crushed out under the wheels of the ducal
coach. People gathered around to comfort the
distracted mother, but the proud duke, looking out
of the window of his carriage, not even deigning
to dismount, coolly said : " Send the woman to
my palace, I will pay her in gold for her loss."
The driver whipped up the horses, and, no doubt,
the callous and inhuman nobleman soon forgot the
accident, or recalled it but as a mere incident ia
the day's events. It was only a woman of the
people that had suffered, it was only a child of the
poor that had been killed.
The nobles looked down upon the people with
contempt and treated them as if they were not
worthy the slightest consideration; even a just
complaint was deemed insolence. It was the in
sufferable arrogance, the supreme indifference of
the nobles that planted the seeds of hatred in the
hearts of the people.
Professional beggars crowded the streets and the
canaille was ever ready for a riot. The public peace
was preserved and order was maintained by a
large force of municipal militia.
51

MIRABEAU
In the face of these depressing, menacing, and
melancholy conditions, the extravagance of the
court continued and was rapidly exhausting the
estates of the nobles. To so great an extent was
this the case that, during the Revolution, when an
effort was made to pay the creditors of the emi
grants out of the proceeds resulting from the sale
of their possessions, it was found that most of the
estates were mortgaged almost to their full value.
It was an expensive luxury to bask in the rays
of the Sun King, and while Louis was bankrupting
the state the courtiers were ruining themselves by
their extravagance.
But while the nobles were wasting their incomes,
money-changers, note-shavers, bankers, and finan
ciers were growing rich, and many of them, as soon
as they amassed wealth, had the mean ambition to
become ennobled, and they paid large sums for an
office to secure a title.
Like all upstarts, vain and contemptible, they
looked down on the common people. They were
ashamed of their humble birth and turned their
backs on their old friends. They were willing to
be tolerated by the nobility, and they fawned and
flattered to secure the slightest sign of recognition
from the old noblesse. They formed a class that
added neither dignity to itself nor strength to the
state. They schemed to secure advantageous alli
ances for their daughters by marrying them to the
sons of needy nobles, who, in turn, drained the
purses of their fathers-in-law to pay for their
amusements at the gaming tables and in places of
evil resort. The husband gave a title to his wife
52

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
in consideration of the payment of a sum pf money
as great as the father of the wife was willing to
give for the empty honor. It was a marriage in
that it had the sanction of law, but it was without
the sentiment of the heart. It was the trading of
a daughter for a title, a custom that has not yet
grown stale.
The old noblesse held aloof from these par-
venues unless they were compelled by stress of
financial want to borrow money or to form an
alliance by selling a son. "The noblesse," says
De Tocqueville, " is become a caste whose distinct
mark is birth," and they looked down upon these
" roturiers" of vulgar and plebeian blood with
disdain. The new nobility, however, built splendid pal
aces, lived luxuriously, painted their escutcheons
or their newly acquired family crests in flaming
colors on the panels of their coaches, and occa
sionally entertained at a most sumptuous dinner
a stray or needy nobleman with an ancient name,
which fact was duly announced next day in the
society columns of the papers.
They practised the vices, assumed the preten
sions, and aped the manners of their models.
Amidst all these conditions there was not a
strong, patriotic, intelligent middle class that stood
for constitutional rights, that proudly and willingly
bore the responsibilities of citizenship and that,
when the crisis came, exerted a wholesome in
fluence in protecting the interests of the state and
in maintaining the public peace and liberty against
violence and anarchy. 53

MIRABEAU
The bourgeoisie was seeking distinctions and
was drawing away from the proletariat. During
the Revolution, after the nobility was overthrown,
the rabble turned on the bourgeoisie as if it were a
public enemy.

54

CHAPTER III
LOUIS XIV.  HIS POWER — ETIQUETTE — EXTRAVA
GANCE OF THE COURT  THE GLORY OF THE
KINGThe French monarchy reached the culmination
of its power and glory in the reign of Louis XIV.
and from this period we may trace the immediate
causes of the Revolution, for in this reign, espe
cially towards its close, we find increased and
intensified all the vices and extravagance of the
past, together with a depleted treasury, disordered
finances, and a state hastening to bankruptcy.
The court at Versailles was the most magnifi
cent in Europe. The king was the source of all
light and power. He was the central orb in this
planetary system and the great men of the realm
revolved about and around him as mere satellites.
No potentate ever sat on a throne who received
more reverence. Time was consumed in subser
vient, ceremonial adulation, in paying devotion to
a Christian king with greater pomp than was ever
witnessed in the most luxurious court of the Orient.
Churchmen, statesmen, philosophers, men of letters,
generals of unrivalled skill, vied with each other
in paying obsequious, sycophantic homage, until
personal dignity and independence were lost in a
silly theatrical devotion to a painted king.
" Sire, the rain of Versailles does not make wet,"
55

MIRABEAU
said a simpering courtier, when the king gave him
permission to cover in a shower, and the monarch
was greatly pleased. He, no doubt, thought the
bon mot was worth a pension. Even the great
Racine, in a spirit of fulsome flattery, declared that
the greatest incentive to perfect the French tongue
was that it might express praises worthy so wise
and so good a man as Louis XIV. Flunkeyism
was the fashion of the day, flattery was the pass
port to the king's favor.
An irksome, oppressive etiquette was the only
occupation of the court. The daily life of Louis,
from the hour of rising to that of retiring, was a
public spectacle. In reading his life, we wonder
when he found time to study or think or give atten
tion to the affairs of state. He seems never to have
had a chance to enjoy seclusion or privacy. An
Austrian ambassador, in referring to him, wrote:
" So constantly was he on the go, his time taken
up in following a course of amusements, that his
mode of living left him not an hour in the day for
attention to important matters."
No one could have sustained the strain and the
monotony of such a life unless he had a good di
gestion, a sound constitution, and a love for adula
tion and flattery, as well as an utter indifference to
the public welfare.
When someone described to Frederick II. the
etiquette and ceremony of the French Court, he said
if he were monarch of France, his first edict would
be to name a substitute who would hold court in
his stead.
The king's religious devotions, his morning
56

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
ablutions and toilet were made daily in the gaze
of the public. " All Versailles," says Macaulay,
" came to see Louis dine and sup. He was put to
bed at night in the midst of a crowd as great as
that which had met to see him rise in the morning.
He took his very emetics in state and vomited
majestically in the presence of all the grandes and
petites entrees."
Taine, in his " Ancien Regime," has fully de
scribed the making of the king's morning toilet, —
a daily task, too, let the reader bear in mind. It
was not an occasional exhibition. It was a time-
honored, well-observed Bourbon custom, for even
up to the reign of Louis XVI. a page remarked :
" Every evening for six years I have seen the king
get into bed in public. It was not omitted ten
times to my knowledge, and then accidentally
or through indisposition."
At an hour that was made known in advance,
the first valet of the bed-chamber awoke his ma
jesty, the king. Five grades, or classes, of privi
leged persons entered the chamber, one class after
the other, in orderly succession and at prescribed
intervals, and although the waiting-rooms were
large and commodious, there were days when they
could hardly hold the crowd of courtiers in at
tendance. The first class to enter consisted of the king's
children, the princes and the princesses of the blood,
the chief doctors, the principal surgeon, and other
useful persons. Then followed in turn what was
called the " grande entree," which included the
great chamberlain, the grand master, the master of
57

MIRABEAU
the robes, the first gentleman of the bed-chamber,
the Dukes of Orleans and Penthievre, the latter a
natural son of the king, some specially favored
lords, ladies of honor of the queen's bed-chamber,
with a host of barbers, tailors, and valets.
Wine is then poured on the hands of the king.
A bowl of holy water is presented, he makes the
sign of the cross, and says his prayers. In the pres
ence of this crowd of courtiers and flunkeys, he gets
out of bed and puts on his socks, — a most common
place performance, but with the king it is a matter
of grace, every movement governed and guided
by the strictest rules of etiquette. The chamberlain
and the first gentleman of the bed-chamber, im
portant personages, too, present to the king his
robe de chambre. He slips it on and then gravely
takes a seat on a chair at the side of his bed. At
this moment the door is opened and the " brevets"
enter, while at the same time arrive a squad of
serving men, doctors and surgeons in ordinary,
" intendants des memts-plaisirs," and a number of
other persons of less consequence. When the offi
cers of the robe approach the king to dress him,
the first gentleman of the bed-chamber announces
the names of the grandees who wait at the door.
This is the fourth entree called " de la chambre"
greater in number than all the preceding entrees,
for now arrive the grand almoner, the master of
the chapel, the master of the oratory, the captain
and the major of the " garde de corps," officers of
the French guard, colonel of the regiment of the
king, masters of ceremony, foreign ambassadors,
ministers of state, marshals of France and a host of
58

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
attendants. Tipstaffs command silence and the
crowd stands in reverential awe, for the king is
about to wash his hands. Two pages put on his
slippers and the grand master and the first valet
of the robe draw off his majesty's robe de nuit,
which they hand to an officer, while a valet carries
the king's shirt in a surtout of white taffeta. At
this point, the fifth entree is announced and another
crowd flocks into the bed-chamber and, when
silence is restored, the king prepares to put on his
shirt. The honor of presenting this garment is
reserved to his sons and grandsons, or, in their
absence, to princes of the blood royal. Three valets
of important station slip it on the body of the
king, while two valets hold the king's robe de
chambre before him as a screen or curtain.
Now begin the final touches. A mirror is
brought and tapers illumine the scene. The grand
master passes to the king his vest and coat, the
latter adorned with the cordon bleu. A sword
is fastened at his side. A valet brings a basket
filled with cravats, a selection is solemnly made,
and the master of the gard robe fastens it around
his majesty's neck. A salver is then presented
upon which are three dainty lace handkerchiefs
and the king makes choice of one. At last the
master of the robe hands him his hat, his gloves,
and his cane, and the toilet is completed. The king
kneels on a cushion and says his prayers while an
almoner in a low voice pronounces the " Oraison,"
" Quas-sumus deus omnipotens." Such is the daily
morning rising of the sun king.
The queen goes through a like ceremony in her
59

MIRABEAU
own bed-chamber. Madame Campan, in her inter
esting memoirs, describes Marie Antoinette as im
patiently waiting on a winter's morning while the
infinite details of etiquette occupied a number of
ladies of high degree, who slowly and solemnly
handed the royal chemise from one to another, in
the order of rank, until at last it covered the
shivering body of the queen, who angrily ex
claimed : " What importunity !"
We have given a description of this remarkable
ceremony of the king's " lever" without attempting
to follow it in all its details as described by Taine.
Louis the Great must have been a man of ex
ceptional qualities to have played this farce with
out loss of dignity. There is a serio-comic side
to all this opera-bouffe performance which in this
practical age provokes a smile of derision, even
contempt, and yet Louis, constantly in the public
eye, engaged in all sorts of ceremonies, always
retained the reverence of his court and of his people.
He had the faculty of doing small things well. His
walk, his strut, his postures, if we may believe his
contemporaries, were most impressive. The writers
of that period even refer to his stature as majestic,
and yet, in truth, he was below rather than above
the medium size. Chateaubriand, commenting on
this subject, says he was not tall. " A cuirass of
his which remains to us, as well as the exhumations
at St. Deny's, leaves us in no doubt on this point."
And yet this king, five feet eight inches in height,
stalking and strutting on high heels, created such
an illusion, that, in the eyes of his worshippers, he
had the majestic stature of a giant. He had the
60

THE TOILET OP THE QUEEN
" What importunity !"

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
art of making little things look great. Perhaps this
is a useful talent, for he played his part with con
summate skill and success and produced the effect
desired. If he had only endeavored to be what he
desired to appear, he would have been a great king
in the broadest sense. " He was little in every
thing but the art of simulating greatness."
How useless, how frivolous, all this ceremony
seems ! What a waste of time and effort ! It was
a daily rehearsal, a brilliant mise en scene in which
the king played the leading role.
In the East, the monarch conceals himself as
much as possible from the eyes of the vulgar; he
keeps aloof from the public and appears only on
feast and holy days, believing that familiarity not
only breeds contempt, but robs him of that rever
ence and awe which his sacred person should always
inspire in the hearts of his loyal subjects; but
Louis was not controlled by any such ideas. He
lived always in the public gaze. No monarch ever
filled a larger space in the world's eye, and yet he
was not a general, nor a statesman, nor a man of
letters; he was nothing but a theatrical king. In
the language of Bolingbroke : " He was the best
actor of majesty that ever filled a throne." " There
never was," says Macaulay, " so consummate a
master of what our James the First would have
called kingcraft, of all those arts which most ad
vantageously display the merits of a prince and
most completely hide his defects."
He stood neither for political liberty nor ad
vanced civilization. His supreme egotism centred
in himself all the power and glory of the state.
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MIRABEAU
His policies were selfish, his principles despotic.
His absolutism had been created and strengthened
by the genius of Richelieu and Mazarin in the prior
reign, but in his over-weening vanity and egotism,
it is questionable whether or not it ever occurred to
him that he was under any obligations to them.
When he assumed absolute control of the king
dom, he summoned his minister and addressed him
thus : " Sir : It has pleased me hitherto to permit
my affairs to be governed by the late cardinal; I
will in future be my own prime minister and you
shall aid me with your counsels when I ask you for
them." His chancellor was to seal no decree except
by his orders, and his secretaries of state and
superintendent of finance were to sign nothing
without his command. He looked upon the king
dom as his own, — he was the state. He regarded
France as his private, personal property. He in
herited it from his ancestors as a man would a
farm stocked with horses and sheep and cattle.
He built palaces, squandered gold on his mis
tresses, and showered honors on his favorites. If a
friendly nobleman was in debt, he directed a pen
sion, and all this extravagance was paid for out of
money raised under the most unjust and pernicious
system of taxation the world has ever known.
" L'etat c'est moi," says Michelet, " was but the
simple enunciation of a fact." It was not a mere
phrase, but the actual truth when uttered by Louis.
All authority centred in him, " O, kings," cried
the Bishop of Meaux, in his enthusiastic loyalty,
"exercise your power boldly, for it is divine — ye
are gods !" Even the great Bossuet, in the presence
62

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
of Louis XIV. and all his court, preached that
"kings were divine, were as gods on earth." Roy
alty and loyalty run mad.
The Duke de Villeroi, addressing Louis XV.
while, he was yet a child, said: " See, my master,
this great kingdom, Oh ! well, all this is for you, all
this belongs to you, you are the master." A whole
some idea to instil into the heart and mind of a
child destined to rule a nation. The boy was im
pressed by the teachings, for, in after years, when
on the throne, he addressed the following remarka
ble language to the Parliament of Paris : " The
sovereign authority is vested in my person ; legisla
tive power, without dependence and without divi
sion, exists in me alone, public security emanates
wholly from me, — I am its supreme custodian."
Strange as this appears to us, it was the truth, the
king was but stating a fact. The wish of the ,king
was the law of the land. " Le roi le veut" had the
force of a statute. " Car tel est mon plaisir" was
a sufficient reason or excuse for an act of tyranny.
There were no constitutional barriers that pro
tected the people from his despotic absolutism ; he
could imprison his subjects by lettres de cachet, he
could banish them by lettres d'exil, he could silence
Parliament by a lit de justice, he could confiscate
private property and tax almost without restraint.
Quesnay, physician to Louis XV., once remarked
to Madame du Hausset, a witty and celebrated
femme de chambre: " Whenever -I see the king, I
say to myself, ' There is a man who can cut my
head off.' ' Oh !' said she, ' the king is too good.' "
" The lady's maid," says Michelet, " summed up in
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MIRABEAU
one word the guarantees of the monarchy. The
king was too good to cut his head off ; that was no
longer agreeable to custom. But he could, with
one word, send him to the Bastile and there forget
him." In spiritual as well as in temporal matters, he ex
ercised his unrestricted authority, and yet a distin
guished French historian has said that " Louis was
more arbitrary than despotic, for he did not exer
cise all the power he possessed."
War, pomp, glittering pageants, favorites and
mistresses ate up the substance of the state. The
king's concubines made draughts upon the public
treasury, enriched favorites, pensioned pimps, dis
pensed the honors of the kingdom, appointed and
dismissed ministers, elevated churchmen, promoted
officers in the army, exiled and imprisoned personal
enemies and coolly banished the queen to the quiet
ude of the domestic circle. From the days of Diana
of Poitiers to the Du Barry, the king's favorite
mistress was supreme. The proudest men in the
realm followed meekly in her train, and stood like
suppliants at the door of her chamber, for this
was the main avenue to the favor of the king.
There were few monarchs among the Bourbons
more completely under the influence of their mis
tresses than Louis XIV., notwithstanding his
exalted opinion of his own self-importance. He
was absolutely under petticoat rule, and was most
contemptible in his subserviency to it, even forget
ting the respect due to his queen in public. He did
not have the first instincts of the gentleman, for he
paid court to his concubines in the presence of his
64

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
wife, even upon public occasions. When he went
to the wars in Flanders he travelled with two mis
tresses and his wife in the same carriage, — the pa
tient, gentle queen, Maria Theresa, submitting to
the outrage no doubt because she had been taught
that her royal spouse the king could do no wrong.
Poor woman, she suffered without complaint this
shame and humiliation because she had been
brought up under the iniquitous system of govern
ment which teaches that God and the king rule
jointly, and that loyalty to one means devotion to
the other. She was taught to believe that the con
duct of the king is not the subject of criticism any
more than are the decrees of Providence.
The harem of Louis was always well stocked.
Marie di Mancini, La Valliere, Madame de Monte-
span, succeeded each other in his royal affection.
The last one indulged in such extravagance and
licentiousness that her conduct actually shocked the
moral sentiment of even France. The open and di
rect censures of the great Bossuet fell upon her ears
without having the slightest effect. She bore the
king seven bastards, and was housed in the royal
palace during her confinements as if she were the
lawful queen of the realm. Her children were
legitimized by the king, made princes of the blood,
and enriched at the public expense.
Madame de Maintenon, another mistress, was
one of the most remarkable women of her day.
She obtained a complete ascendency over her royal
lover. He advised with her on the most important
affairs of state and was in the habit of addressing
her as " Madame Solidite." Her society is de-
65 5

MIRABEAU
scribed by Madame de Sevigne as " truly deli
cious." It must be said to her credit that her in
fluence over the king was, in some ways, beneficial
to France, and in this particular she was an excep
tion, and rose somewhat above the women of her
class. It is believed that she was married to the
king secretly. She was born a Protestant, but hav
ing renounced her faith, she became, after her apos
tasy, one of the most intolerant bigots of that most
intolerant reign.
Every time Louis XIV. made war, it was out of
pique, in the interest of his family, for mere per
sonal glory, or out of consideration for a woman.
He consumed the revenues of the state in warlike
enterprises, and a million men were sacrificed to
his vainglorious ambition. His attempted con
quest of the Low Countries was without reason or
excuse. The courageous and simple-hearted Dutch
had offered no provocation. The war was under
taken in defiance of every principle of justice and
humanity and in contravention of every principle of
international law.
Under the old feudal system, heavy as it was, the
nobles bravely and honorably, in council and in the
field, served the king; now they simply formed a
class to wait upon his majesty and to add color and
beauty to the court. They possessed all the graces
and refinements of polite society, but they lacked
every quality that fitted them to serve the real in
terests of the state.
The old barons, brave, valorous, chivalrous,
trained to war, furnished soldiers for the king's
service. Now the king, to maintain the dignity and
66

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
splendor of his court, must have his personal guard
of infantry and cavalry, consisting of nine thou
sand and fifty men, costing each year for their
maintenance seven million six hundred and eighty-
one thousand livres.
He had a dozen residences besides his palace at
Versailles and all were maintained in the most lux
urious manner. There were four thousand persons
for the king's civil household. He had one thou
sand eight hundred and fifty-seven horses for his
own use and two hundred and seventeen vehicles.
He clothed in livery at a cost of five hundred and
forty thousand livres, annually, one thousand four
hundred and fifty-eight servants and lackeys ; and
all this extravagance was paid for by the people,
many of whom had hardly the bare necessaries of
life. His stables and kennels were most luxuriously
appointed. While the wintry blasts howled through
and around the dilapidated huts of his poor sub
jects, his hounds and horses were well fed, well
housed, and well groomed. A dog of the royal
kennels received more consideration and far better
fare than a peasant.
Balls, banquets, receptions, operas, occupied the
time of the king and his legion of courtiers. It
was a constant round of pleasure, with no time to
be spared for the consideration of important state
matters. " When society becomes so attractive,
people live for it alone."
The artificiality of a social life such as we have
described weakens the intellect of those who devote
their lives to its purposes, and who breathe and live
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MIRABEAU
in its tainted, poisonous atmosphere. It robs men
of their independence and saps the virtue of women.
It creates a class of flunkeys, toadies, and silken
courtiers who, living in this constant whirl and
glare, look upon all people outside of their exclusive
circle as of little consequence. Those who live
under these conditions develop the meanest qualities
of heart and soul, and they become both slaves and
tyrants ; slaves to the king and tyrants to the peo
ple. It is invariably the case that the men who are
the most subservient in disposition make the most
despotic masters.
" The court was the sepulchre of the nation" ;
in it were buried all the honor, independence, pub
lic spirit, and civic responsibility of the nobles, as
well as the rights and the liberties of the people. In
the face of all the grandeur and display of the court,
the country was hastening to destruction. The body
politic was in a morbid state, — it had the hectic
flush that gave color to the features, but which
really was the sign of disease, of consuming fever.
The financial condition was alarming, and the
misery of the people increased from day to day.
Appeals were made to the King and his ministers
for relief, but as the nobles and the clergy would
not surrender their privileges nor moderate and
temper their exactions, nothing could be done to
ameliorate the distressing condition of the people.
" Men ate grass like sheep and died like so many
flies." What is more touching than the appeal addressed
to the king by the villagers of Champagne : " Sire,
the only command we hear from you is for money.
68

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
We did hope that this would end, but every year the
demand is for more. We do not hold you respon
sible for this, because we love you, but those whom
you employ. They know better how to look after
their own affairs than yours. We believed that
they deceived you, and we said in our chagrin : If
our good king only knew this. We are burdened
with taxes of every kind. To you we have given,
up to the present time, a part of our bread, and if
this continues we shall be in want. If you could
see the poor huts in which we live, the poor food
that we eat, your heart would be touched. . . .
That which grieves us is, that those who have the
most pay the least. We pay the tallies, but the
ecclesiastics and the nobles, who own the best land,
pay nothing. Why is it that those who are rich
pay the least and those who are poor pay the
most?" The complaint goes on to state that the peasants
would plant their vines on the sunny slopes, were
it not that they are so persecuted by the excisemen
that they would rather pull up the vines already
growing than plant new ones. " The wine we
would make would go to them, scarcely any of it
to us. Sire: we would demand much more, but
you cannot do all at once."
Still no relief came, and the court in no jot or
tittle abated its extravagance. Does it not seem
strange that so tender an appeal would not find a
response in the heart and sympathy of any ruler,
even though he were a Louis?
But the days of this monarch were fast draw
ing to a close. Ceremonial had become a habit,
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MIRABEAU
and he played his part to the last. His appetite
for power increased with his years, and his love
for pomp and splendor never left him. He lived
beyond his time and became a miserable old man,
lingering on the scene long after death ought to
have claimed him, reluctant to surrender the
power he had so coveted and the splendor he
had so fostered. He had to be amused and flat
tered to the last, and so the courtiers played on
the credulity and the vanity of the decrepit old
king by presenting to him sham embassies repre
sented as coming from foreign states. Only a few
days before his death, seated upon his throne, his
weak, emaciated body burdened with his royal
robes, he received with great solemnity an embassy
made up of his own courtiers disguised as Persian
ambassadors. It was his last great reception before
he himself appeared at the foot of the throne of the
King of kings.
After all his glory, he was borne to the grave in
a manner that was in sad contrast to the splendor
of his prior estate. The ceremony was pompous
enough, but it was without regret and tears and
reverence. It was indeed a sorry affair, and the
people hissed and threw stones at the hearse on its
way to the tomb.
He left France almost impoverished, over
whelmed with debt, with her credit destroyed, her
maritime power prostrate, and poverty and famine
stalking through the land in every direction. All
this was the result of his pride, ambition and ex
travagance. " The government of Louis XIV. was a great, a
. 70

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
powerful fact," writes Guizot, " but it was built
upon sand." The results of his rule were but the
inevitable effects of the inherent, the incorrigible
vices of absolute power. In the language of Mig-
net, " Louis XIV. wore out the main-spring of ab
solute monarchy by too protracted tension and too
violent use."
His reign had been made most brilliant by sol
diers, statesmen, orators, and men of letters. The
literature was affected by the theatrical character
of the age. The oratory was most florid in style.
The drama especially was stilted, and lacked that
natural simplicity which is the characteristic feature
of the English school. The characters of Racine
do not talk nor converse, they declaim. It is im
possible to believe that they could have an exist
ence anywhere but on the stage.
Corneille, Racine, Moliere, Fenelon, Bossuet,
Flechier, Massillon, Boileau, Pascal, Conde, Tu-
renne, Luxembourg, Colbert, and Luvois marked
the era as the golden age of France. But all this
fame and glory covered a state that was unstable
and corrupt at heart. The glory was but the mask
covering the hideous features of disease.

7i

CHAPTER IV
LOUIS XV.  LOUIS XVI.  MARIE ANTOINETTE
Louis XV. was a misery, a calamity, to his coun
try. He began his reign with the title of the " Well
Beloved," a title with which he soon parted.
Since the days of the most debauched of the
Csesars, profligacy had never been conducted in so
open a manner. The boudoirs of his mistresses
were the council chambers of the state. France
was a government of harlots. The king spent
much of his time dawdling with his courtesans in
the safely guarded and scandalous precincts of the
" Pare aux Cerfs" or else in that famous, or rather
infamous, room at Petit Trianon, where his com
panions, men and women, debauched and lost to
every sense of shame, sat at the tables as naked as
when they were born. Wines and viands were
served on dumb-waiters, lest the presence of ser
vants should interfere with their lustful pleasures.
The prostitutes who joined with the " Lord's
Anointed" in his revels were not women of the
town, but ladies of the court of noble and titled lin
eage. The whole social system of the higher classes
was honey-combed with vice and sensuality. The
nobles were openly, scandalously immoral in their
lives and they did not pay to virtue even the tribute
of hypocrisy. There was no attempt made to con
ceal their immoralities, — decency was mocked, ridi
culed, upbraided. 72

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Louis was a libertine, bestial in his appetites. He
cared only for his pleasures, and they were such as
would have disgraced a Nero, a Heliogabalus. He
was cold, heartless, cynical, indifferent, a mere vo
luptuary, who centred his confidence and affection
in nobody. His contemporary, Charles II. of Eng
land, who resembled him in many ways, redeemed
in a measure his character when, in his last mo
ments, he begged those about his death-bed not to
let poor Nell starve. Louis had no emotions so gen
erous in his low, mean soul. His mistresses who
appealed to his passions never aroused the affections
of his heart; he seemed to have no generous im
pulse. Patriotism was, with him, not even a sentiment.
"After me, the deluge," reveals the character of the
man. The future of his country gave him no anx
ious concern. " The kingdom will last as long as I
do," was to him a complacent and satisfying
thought. His extravagance, notwithstanding a depleted
public treasury, and in the face of a starving peas
antry, showed an utter disregard of the instincts of
humanity. And worse than all, he speculated in
grain while grim famine was stalking through his
kingdom. According to Argenson, he had in his stables, in
the year 1751, four thousand horses, and his person
and palace cost that year sixty-eight million francs,
almost one-fourth of the public revenue.
The Pompadour, daughter of an exiled roue, and
the Du Barry, natural child of Anne Bequs, both
from the common people, were installed at Ver-
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MIRABEAU
sailles as the mistresses of the kjng, and he offended
the old order by breaking down the barrier of
seclusion. With these haughty nobles it was not a question
of morals but of blood. No one objected to the
king's installing his mistresses in the royal house
hold, but they should, under all considerations and
from motives of decency and propriety, be taken
from the ranks of the nobility and not from the
bourgeoisie or the Third Estate. There was no spe
cial objection to a noble woman selling her virtue
to the king, but to elevate one of the daughters of
the common people to the exalted position of royal
mistress was out of all reason. How base, how
ignoble must that society have been in which the
nobility considered it an honor for the king to de
bauch their daughters ! In one case the king raised
in succession, one after the other, all the daughters
of an ancient and distinguished family to the sta
tion of royal favorite.
During the Revolution, many years after the
ancient regime had passed away, the story goes
that upon one occasion the Du Barry, mistress of
Louis XV., met one of the old-time court ladies
and, in the course of a conversation, she said to
her: " How you all must have hated me." " Oh,
no," was the reply ; " we did not hate, we envied
you." At this period the successful men of the middle
class who had acquired wealth were gradually
coming to the front, and they began to mingle with
the nobility. As the wealth of the latter dimin
ished, the importance of the former increased.
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Having in many instances accumulated enormous
wealth, they built magnificent palaces, entertained
lavishly and sumptuously, and patronized artists
and men of letters. They had all the qualities of no
blemen, except the distinction of birth, and when
mingling in aristocratic circles they conversed upon
every subject but that of ancestry. They carefully
avoided all reference to the past, for fear they
might run against an honest publican or a humble
shoemaker, and this taint in the blood or lineage
would have been a blot on the 'scutcheon. There
were very few among them who were " neither
-ashamed of their origin nor vain of their eleva
tion." There was another class of men that, at this
time, was exerting a great influence among the
people and helping materially to mould public opin
ion. The lawyers were, as a rule, fairly well edu
cated, and in this respect were superior to all but the
highest classes and the men of letters. They were
students, orators, and writers, and representing the
people, in the defense of their rights, they had every
opportunity to become familiar with the miseries
of the poor and the unjust exactions of the state.
They were disciples of the new philosophy. In
religion, they were liberal in their views, and in
politics, as a rule, they were ardent republicans.
They were of humble birth and, consequently, ex
cluded from the society of the privileged classes.
As men of intelligence and spirit, they smarted
under the insolence of the nobles and chafed under
the social and political distinctions that were so
severely and unjustly drawn. They were fully in-
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MIRABEAU
formed on current matters and events, kept abreast
of the times, and led the way to the coming Revolu
tion, in which, when it arrived, they took a most
prominent and influential part.
The subtle influence of the writings of philoso
phers and free-thinkers was sapping the religious
faith of the people. The coarse materialism of Hel-
vetius, the sneers and satirical sallies of Voltaire,
the cant and sentimental rhapsodies of Rousseau,
the atheistical doctrines and the wild, fierce democ
racy of Diderot, were undermining the foundations
of both church and state.
Michelet calls Voltaire and Rousseau the two
apostles of humanity, and further adds, " When
these two men have passed,' the Revolution is ac
complished in the intellectual world. Now it
becomes the duty of their sons, legitimate and
illegitimate, to expound and diffuse it in a hun
dred ways. . . . Mirabeau, Beaumarchais, Ray
nal, Mably and Sieyes are now to do their work."
Even the courtiers, affected by the spirit and the
temper of the times, aided unconsciously in the
diffusion of the ideas of popular rights. With
them it was a mere fashion to espouse the liberal
cause, but a most dangerous one for themselves, in
view of existing conditions. On the other hand,
churchmen affected a cynical and sceptical spirit
and smiled at the credulity of the people who ac
cepted with implicit faith the doctrines of the
church. "A simple priest, a parson, must believe
something or he would be considered a hypocrite,
but at the same time he must not be quite sure of
what he believed or else he would be considered
76

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
intolerant. A grand-vicar may, however, smile a
little over a sally against religion, a bishop laugh
quite openly, and a cardinal even add, himself,
some taunt."
Everything was a-ripening for the harvest.
Louis XV., stricken by a loathsome, contagious,
and fatal disease, died in an upper chamber of the
palace, abandoned to his fate and deserted by those
time-serving creatures who had lived on his favors
and fattened on his bounty. At a safe distance they
watched for the appearance of the lighted candle in
the window that was to be the signal announcing
the moment of his death, and when it appeared,
the palace immediately resounded with the shouts
of the courtiers hailing the new king.
The remains of the dead monarch were uncere
moniously huddled into a grave by his immuned
attendants, — a fitting end to so contemptible a
career. The story that as Louis XV. was dying he ex
claimed : " I feel the torments of the damned,"
and the remark of his clerical attendant, " Not yet,
Sire," cannot be vouched for.
The people welcomed Louis XVI. when he came
to the throne just as noisily and eagerly as they
had welcomed Louis XV. They let one die in his
bed, the other they butchered on the scaffold. The
nephew had to suffer for the sins of his uncle.
" What a glorious time !" said Talleyrand, refer
ring to the coronation of Louis XVI., " a young
king scrupulously moral and uncommonly modest,
ministers well known for their ability and upright
ness, a queen whose affableness, grace and kindness
77

MIRABEAU
tempered the austere virtues of her consort; every
body filled with respect, the heart of every subject
overflowing with affection for the young sover
eigns; joy was everywhere. Never did so bright
a spring precede so stormy an autumn, a winter so
dismal." In the sky of France was the bow of
promise, but the clouds soon gathered and the tem
pest broke.
It was on May n, 1774, that Louis XVI. as
cended the throne. A person more unsuited to
meet and cope with the conditions could hardly
have been found in the kingdom. He was amiable
and virtuous, qualities in this instance that were of
no practical use, for he was without genius, ability,
or capacity, and yet when we survey the king
dom and consider the prevailing conditions, it is
a question whether or not the strongest man could
have done more than delay the coming of the Revo
lution. Louis was a well-meaning prince, fairly decent
in his conduct, and utterly incapable in his rule. In
a court of vice and immorality he was an example
of probity and chastity, but he was just the sort
of a prince whose weakness and vacillation, in
those stirring times, gave impetus and strength to
the motives of revolution.
When an effort was made in his reign to amel
iorate the misery and the sufferings of the poor,
to effect financial economy in the administration of
the government, it only intensified the hatred of
the oppressed. The feeble attempt to relieve only
revealed the weakness and the incapacity of the
state, and its inability to accomplish the needed re-
78

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
forms. " Comment on souleva le peuple en voulant
le soulager." "What do you suppose that carriage cost me?"
inquired Louis XV. of Choiseul. " About six thou
sand livres, Sire." " It cost me thirty thousand,"
replied the king. " Then it is robbery and we must
have an investigation." " No, no, no," cried Louis,
in alarm, " let it be, let it be. We must have no re
forms. There are too many people interested in
keeping things as they are."
This king knew the danger in innovation; he
was suggesting no changes nor reforms. He
was only anxious not to have his saturnalia dis
turbed. Louis was right; he understood that the state,
rotten as it was, would not be able to stand any
repairs. " However rotten a house may be," writes
Von Hoist, " it stands astonishingly long, if it but
be left to itself. In a certain stage of decay, its
power of resistance is increased by its being equally
rotten in all its parts. Finally it must fall in any
case, but the catastrophe is hastened on by tearing
down a part here and there and rebuilding it with
new and sound material. The rotten rest is not
capable of sustaining the weight of the new pieces.
Just because the new is sound, it causes the old to
break down sooner than it otherwise would have
done." The whole system was so rotten that it required
complete demolition before it could be restored. A
mere patching here and there, as Von Hoist so
wisely states, would have only weakened the struc
ture and hastened its fall. It would have revealed
79

MIRABEAU
the weakness of the whole system and the necessity
for a complete restoration.
In the year 1780, during the reign of Louis
XVI., there was an effort made to reduce the ex
penditures of the court. It was called " the reform
of the mouth," and yet, under the reduction, the
three old spinster aunts of Louis XVI. received
annually six hundred thousand livres for their table
expenses, the queen four million livres, and the
king's two brothers eight million three hundred
thousand. Is it any wonder that Lazarus was lying
at the door of the rich ? A further reduction was
made in the king's household expenses in 1788;
but the reduction was so slight that it seemed ridic
ulous to call it a reform.
These feeble attempts to economize in no way
prevented the growth of the annual deficit.
Louis XV. had exhausted the public revenues in
frivolous and extravagant living, and relief could
be had only under a system of rigid and genuine
retrenchment. The reign of Louis XVI. was wel
comed because it was thought the reforms he would
inaugurate would relieve the financial distress.
His character was taken as a guarantee against the
continuance of the abuses and the extravagance of
the prior reign. But Louis had no just conception
of what was required.
For some years commerce and manufactures
had been improving. The government receipts had
been increasing. In other words, conditions were
not any worse than they had been, and in many re
spects they were somewhat better. In spite of
Bourbonism, feudal burdens, unjust restrictions on
80

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
trade and commerce, the wealth of the country had
been actually increasing. Taine is of the opinion
that " the aristocracy was never so worthy of
power as at the moment it was going to lose it."
But it was too late to save the ancient regime. The
people had no faith in those who had so long
squandered the public moneys and burdened the
state with abuses.
France needed a strong man at the helm, one in
whom the people had confidence. Revolution was
impending, was ineyitable; the distresses had to
be relieved, real economy in the administration
of the government practised, class distinctions,
exemptions and privileges abolished, a system of
equal and just taxation adopted, the refunding of
the public debt at a lower rate of interest effected,
and the rights of the people secured by constitu
tional forms. But all these changes might have
been accomplished without the terror, blood, and
factional strife that marked the Revolution's devas
tating course.
The king, the nobles, the clergy, and the Third
Estate, should, at all odds and at all hazards, have
kept together and jointly advised on matters relat
ing to the public weal. If a strong prince had con
trolled the nobility and the clergy, he could easily
have secured the confidence and support of the peo
ple, and the needed reforms could have been ef
fected without having to pass through the tragedy
of the Reign of Terror. There is no question but
that Louis sympathized with the sufferings of the
people, but he had no decision of character and he
lacked sense and judgment to suggest remedies,
6 81

MIRABEAU
and the ability to cope with conditions. He was
conservative and moderate in his views, but to
tally unfitted to guide the current of events or direct
the policies of the nation. He could not read the
lessons of the past, appreciate the conditions of the
present, nor prognosticate the dangers of the future.
He was neither a philosopher, a seer, nor a prophet.
His inanity provokes pity rather than contempt.
Louis was plain, unostentatious in manner, and
simple in his habits and amusements. He was
awkward, slovenly, and dull. He was passionately
fond of hunting, was a great glutton, and would
frequently get tipsy. All day long in his workshop
he would study the intricacies of a lock, a door-
lock, and apparently took more pleasure in this
task than in studying the questions of constitutional
reform. Louis XVI., of all the kings of his line, if we
consider him personally, is the one who should not
have gone to the scaffold, for in his heart he really
did desire the people's welfare. It was the weak
ness of his character that gave strength to the ene
mies of the throne. If he had been a man of firm
ness and decision, he might have changed or di
rected the course of the Revolution. Had he been
a politician he could have won to his cause the
strong men in the Assembly, but he was always
half-hearted in his counsel and hesitated to carry
out his half-formed plans.
By his weakness and vacillation he gave cour
age, daring, and audacity to the demagogues, agi
tators and leaders of the mob. His friends lost
confidence, honest men grew timid, and his ene-
82

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
mies became insolent. Half a dozen times had he
acted with decision he could have turned the tide
in his favor, but at the critical moment he surren
dered to his fears.
Instead of being born to the purple he ought to
have been the son of a well-to-do bourgeoise. Be
hind the counter in his father's shop his industry,
honesty, and thrift would have been useful and re
munerative, and, in time, he might have made quite
a successful tradesman.
He had aroused a sense of despair even in the
heart of Louis XV., who, in one of his sardonic
moods, when the weak amiability of the dauphin
induced his contempt, said, with a sneer : " When
I am gone I should like very much to know how
Berry will pull through with it."
Berry is no longer dauphin, he is now king, and
a sorry pull he will make of it.
Marie Antoinette played her part in provoking
the resentment of the people and in hastening the
Revolution. She had been trained by her mother,
Maria Theresa, to occupy the throne of France, and
was fourteen years of age when she left the Aus
trian capital to become the wife of the dauphin.
Louis XV. had debauched the court and it was a
nest of lust, vice, and intrigue. Gallantry and friv
olity were its chief occupations, — a poor school for
the training of a beautiful, light-hearted, capricious
girl, who loved admiration and who was dominated
by a desire to charm and captivate.
The man chosen for her husband, heavy, awk
ward, retiring, uninteresting, passionless, was
about the last man in that gay and gallant court
83

MIRABEAU
who was fitted by nature to be the mate of this mad
cap of a girl. Even while all France was ringing
with the fame of her beauty and her personal
charm, he was without enthusiasm and apparently
without desire. His conduct was so peculiar after
his marriage that she asked her mother if it was
not customary for a husband to visit the bed-cham
ber of his wife.
She must have been a woman of indescribable
charm of manner, but the portraits that have come
down to us do not warrant the rapturous descrip
tions some of her admirers give of her personal
beauty. Arthur Young refers to her as " a most
beautiful woman." Goethe saw her on her way to
Paris and described her as of " beauteous and lofty
mien, cheerful as it was imposing." Madame
Campan calls her " that enchanting being," while
Edmund Burke, in one of his eloquent flights, ex
claims : " And surely never lighted on this orb,
which she seemed hardly to touch, a more de
lightful vision." And quoting again from a high
authority : " In short, it is extremely difficult to
convey to any one who has not seen the queen any
idea of all the grace and all the dignity that were
combined in her." It, no doubt, was this grace and
dignity and charm of manner that specially im
pressed, rather than the beauty of her face.
Madame Le Brun, who painted her portrait, de
scribes her as " tall, exquisitely well made, suffi
ciently plump without being too much so. Her arms
were superb, her hands small, perfect in form, and
her feet charming. Her gait was more graceful
than any woman in France; she held her head
84

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
very erect with a majesty which distinguished the
sovereign amidst all her court. Her features were
not regular, — she derived from her family that
long, narrow oval, peculiar to the Austrian nation.
Her eyes were not large, their color was nearly blue,
her nose was thin and handsome, her mouth not too
large, though her lips were rather thick. But the
most remarkable thing about her face was the bril
liancy of her complexion."
She was self-willed, thoughtless, impulsive,
haughty and imperious. She made a grave mis
take in setting at defiance the strict rules of eti
quette and, we may add, the laws of propriety. Her
careless and capricious conduct disturbed and
shocked the stately, dignified, and ceremonious
court of Louis XV. Depraved and corrupt as it
was, the women endeavored to conceal their in
trigues and love affairs under the mask of mere
coquetry. They assumed a virtue if they had it
not. But Marie Antoinette, by her careless, free
and open manner, gave every opportunity to the
court gossips to shake their heads and wag their
venomous tongues. No women are more severe in
their denunciation of others than those who have
sins of their own to hide. Sin, like misery, loves
company, and the wicked excuse their own vices by
pointing to those of others, — especially when they
can point to a queen whose lofty position makes her
a shining example.
Her conduct was surely not free from suspicion
and censure, and the scandal of the court made her
follies and indiscretions appear as vices. The ugly
Countess of Provence, whom: she had snubbed and
85

MIRABEAU
ridiculed, took every opportunity to circulate re
ports that reflected even on her virtue, while the
homely daughters of Louis XV., whom in one of
his moments of raillery he had nicknamed Loque,
Coche, and Graille, added flavor to every vicious
story. These reports soon reached the ears of the
people, who were eager to believe every piece of
juicy gossip that escaped from the precincts of the
court. Her decree at Trianon, that the king should not
be allowed to enter that domain without her special
permission, subjected her to all sorts of criticism.
When she was attacked by measles, she chose
four dandies of the court as gentlemen of the bed
chamber to wait upon her by night and by day.
After this peculiar conduct, there was, in the opin
ion of her enemies, no longer any reason to believe
in her honor. The courtiers chosen by the queen to
nurse her through her illness were, to be sure, men
of the world, but she may have thought there was
safety in numbers. If she had chosen only one, she
would have had no excuse for her conduct.
Before condemning the queen too severely for
what appears to us to be more than an impropriety,
we must bear in mind that it was customary in
those days for ladies in the highest circles of so
ciety to receive male visitors while in bed or even
while in a bath. In the latter case, the water was
made opaque by pouring two or three quarts of milk
into the tub. Ladies, without any hesitation what
ever, would dress and undress in the presence of
their male servants and even admit to their bou-
86

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
doirs, while making their toilets, their gentlemen
callers. " O tempora ! O mores !"
The conduct of Marie Antoinette, in choosing
her nurses, did not specially disturb nor shock the
court, nor did it call forth a remonstrance, so far
as is known, from her confiding husband. Some
envious old dowagers, however, soon sent the news
abroad. The people were a little more particular
in their notions of propriety than the court, and
consequently the queen's reputation greatly suf
fered. It had been said by those who were in a position
to know that she had been found in compromising
situations; that she had encouraged the attention
of handsome young fellows like the dashing Lord
Strathavon, Counts Fersen and Esterhazy, and
even the worthless rake, Lauzun; and when the
story of the diamond necklace was told, the people
readily believed that the old roue, De Rohan, could
have induced the queen to yield to his solicitations
for so precious a gift. Every fair-minded per
son, however, who has studied the facts in that cel
ebrated case must, at least, admit that there is no
reliable testimony, nor is there any conclusive evi
dence that proves the queen had anything whatever
to do with the transaction. The parties concerned
in the affair were absolutely unworthy of belief,
and the silly, ambitious, lecherous Rohan was but
a victim of the wiles of the intriguing Lamottes,
who played upon the passions and the ambitions of
that old rake to their hearts' content. But the story
was one that readily found a lodgment in the pub
lic mind, for the people were already suspicious
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MIRABEAU
and even anxious to believe anything that reflected
upon her honor and her virtue. The unwholesome
affair deprived her 6f the little respect that was left
in the hearts of the people for their queen, and
marked her as doomed forever. Her reputation was
soiled, and in the opinion of the public she was a
common intriguer who had surrendered her body
for a bauble.
The statement that Count Fersen was the father
of the dauphin is based upon the merest rumor, and
is one of those stories that readily find circulation,
but rest upon evidence that even in the court of a
Dogberry would find neither consideration nor cre
dence. It is the kind of a story that unfairly injures
the reputation of a woman, for she cannot answer
it nor set up a plea in defence without subjecting
herself to further slander and detraction. It was
vicious in its origin, unfair and contemptible in its
statement, without proof in its support, and a mere
guess in its conclusions.
Dancing, gambling, dressing, and fetes were her
principal diversions, but it was fashionable for all
women in her class to indulge in these amusements.
Her passion for gambling, however, became a pub
lic scandal ; upon the turn of a card she would risk
a fortune. In dress, her taste was most extrava
gant. " Fashion at Versailles," says Watson in his
charming " Story of France," " was as giddy a
wanton as ever frisked from fad to fancy, and no
body could keep pace with it unless he lived in
the palace or on the national treasury."
Within the covers of her prayer-book she
had carefully concealed an obscene novel, which at
88

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
mass she read instead of her prayers. This was
neither moral nor orthodox, and throws a strong
light upon her real character.
The rumor that she had named Trianon " Petit
Vienne" and " Petit Schonbrunn" made her a for
eigner and a stranger in the eyes of the jealous
French. In the belief of many she was but "a
foreign spy in high position." She was dubbed the
" hated Austrian," and to her influence, intrigues,
schemes, and extravagance were attributed the woes
and miseries of the state.
Michelet says that " when the papers of Louis
XVI. were found on the ioth of August, in the
iron chest, people read with astonishment that dur
ing the first years of her marriage he had looked
upon his youthful bride as a mere agent of Aus
tria." Brissot, in his memoirs, quotes a letter
dated October 17, 1774, which states that "the
king caused her correspondence with Vienna to be
watched by Thugut, in whom she confided."
Her proud mother, Maria Theresa, with that
German characteristic, love of the fatherland, had
instilled the sentiment of patriotism into the hearts
of all her children. She had many daughters occu
pying the thrones of Europe, and every union had
been made with the single purpose of supporting
the Austrian alliance. Marie Caroline was Queen of
Naples; Marie Amelia, Queen of Sardinia; Marie
Charlotte, Duchess of Parma; while Marie Chris
tine, the eldest daughter, governed with her hus
band the Austrian Netherlands. They were con
stantly in correspondence with the Austrian court,
retained a love for their native land, and were ever
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MIRABEAU
alert to advance its interests and protect its alli
ances. Marie Antoinette was always Austrian at heart.
In vain did she describe herself as " La Jeune Fran-
coise," and that she was French even to the points
of her nails. This assumed enthusiasm was to force
herself to believe what she felt was not true, and
to impress the people with her loyalty to France.
Especially must her home love have been intensi
fied when she knew that she was hated and de
nounced by the French people because of her for
eign birth, but she had herself much to blame for
this hatred.
Her character has been the subject of adulation
and abuse. On one side her partisans laud her as
a saint; on the other, her enemies denounce her
as a demon, a fiend incarnate whose spirit was cold
and haughty and whose disposition was selfish and
cruel. Not only in the opinion of her detractors did
she lack the loyalty and fidelity of a wife, but also
the love and devotion of a mother. The crimes
imputed to her were unnatural in their wickedness
and were such as would have disgraced a Messalina.
She was charged, among other things, with having
debauched her own son. Many of these charges
were without foundation ; in fact, there was noth
ing upon which to base them but the cruel rumors
of a suspicious and jealous court and the hatred of
an enraged and a prejudiced people. No queen in
history was ever more cordially hated by her sub
jects than Marie Antoinette. No wonder when
the States General met she dreaded the issue, for
with a woman's clear perception she saw, through
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
the mist, the dark horizon beyond which threatened
the coming storm; she could distinctly hear the
mutterings of the distant thunder, while to wiser
eyes and ears the future seemed full of hope and
promise. During the Revolution she was accused of the
vilest crimes. Fishwomen in the market place,
with arms akimbo, regaled the gaping crowd with
stories of her vice and amours ; the theatres nightly
rang with ribald songs and the coarsest jokes at her
expense; lewd and suggestive pictures of her were
sold by hawkers at the street corners; even sol
diers on guard, as she passed, would whisper, so
that their indecent comments could be heard; the
table in her boudoir was covered with anonymous
'letters. Her ears were constantly assailed with the
hateful cry : " Long live the Duke of Orleans !"
If she walked in the gardens of Versailles or the
Tuileries, even the children jeered and hissed her.
Her name was bandied in the salons, in the clubs, in
the taverns, and in the gossipy precincts of the
Palais Royal.
In truth, she was neither a saint nor a fiend. She,
perhaps, was not much worse than any young
woman with beauty, health and vivacious spirit
would have been who was thrown into a gay and
voluptuous court, where every courtier was a gal
lant and where almost every woman secretly had
her affaire d 'amour.
The only man who seemed to be deaf, blind and
indifferent to the rumors was her simple, confiding,
unsuspicious husband, who, if he had possessed
half her spirit, would have defended her name from
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MIRABEAU
attack and would have protected her from insult
and suspicion; but he was never more than amia
ble, and he could neither mould the character of a
woman nor direct the policies of a state. He was as
blind and as gullible as Belisarius, although it is
not intended for a moment to intimate that his
wife was an Antonina.
She was, to say the least, a very foolish woman.
She lived in the light that beats upon the throne,
and she ought to have known that her every folly
would be discovered and magnified. She lacked tact
and made the mistake of disregarding the duties she
owed to the public, and to her exalted and sacred
office of queen. She neglected to observe the pro
prieties of life, and yet this utter disregard of pub
lic opinion and indifference to it may be taken as
proof of her honesty.
A little care and a few concessions would have
saved her from the contempt and hatred of the
fickle Parisians, who were ready to exaggerate
every rumor that escaped from the exclusive circle
of the court.
She lived in an age of immorality, in the most
corrupt court of Europe, and was surrounded every
day of her life by men whose whole purpose was to
bring women under the sway of their gallantry.
She was wedded to an indifferent husband, a
dolt, a dullard, whose blood was sluggish and who
seemed to have no sentiment nor courage nor en
thusiasm, a man who would have been unattractive
to any woman of spirit. His indifference con
stantly put his wife in the way of temptation, and
then when her character was assailed, because of
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
her foolish indiscretions, he had neither nerve nor
temper to defend or correct her. He must have
heard the rumors ; he must have known how light
and frivolous she was, how devoted to pleasure,
how imprudent in her conduct and in the choice of
her friends, both men and women.
It is unfair, however, to judge her by a rule we
would apply to-day; we must consider her sur
roundings, her temptations, the corruption and
frivolity of the court into which, at an early age,
she was thrown. She had no strong hand to guide
and control her, and she was married to a man
whose amiability under the circumstances was
worse than a vice.
But we must draw a veil over her vanity and her
follies, for the time is coming when she will pay a
dreadful penalty for all her indiscretions. The
queen of the proudest court in Europe is destined
soon to meet an untimely fate, and all her sins will
be forgiven and forgotten when we see her mount
the guillotine and go to her death with a spirit
undaunted, but with a heart softened by adversity.
No matter what her extravagance had cost
France, the account, at last, was balanced, when
the amount paid for her burial was the beggarly
sum of six dollars and twenty cents, — a small draft,
indeed, on the treasury that she had helped to im
poverish.

93

CHAPTER V
THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION  BENJAMIN FRANK
LIN  BEAUMARCHAIS
The American Revolution exerted an influence
that can hardly be estimated in effecting the dif
fusion of liberal political ideas throughout all
France. There was something that specially ap
pealed to the imagination of a Frenchman in the
struggle of a brave people for their liberties against
the tyranny and the oppression of a great empire,
an empire, too, that was the natural enemy of
France. " The American War," says Alison in his His
tory of the French Revolution, " was the great
change which blew into a flame the embers of in
novation. Such was the universal enthusiasm
which seized upon France at its commencement that
nobles of the highest rank, princes, dukes and mar
quises solicited with impatient zeal commissions in
the regiments destined to aid the insurgents. The
passion for republican institutions increased with
the successes of the American war, and at length
rose to such a height as to infect even the courtiers
of the palace."
Another distinguished writer says : " The rulers
of France, as if smitten with judicial blindness,
plunged headlong into the American war. They
encouraged the spirit of revolution. The event of
94

franklin at the court of LOUIS XVI.
' ' As the Ambassador of the young Republic he was most warmly
and enthusiastically received"

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
the war carried to its height the enthusiasm of
speculative democrats."
It is impossible, of course, to estimate the influ
ence exerted in the matter of the diffusion of pop
ular ideas, by the presence of Franklin in France
on the eve of the coming Revolution, but it must
have been considerable. His arrival created the
greatest enthusiasm among that sensation-loving
people, and he inspired the greatest admiration for
the ideal republic, which, they believed, had been
established by him, across the seas, in the wilds of
America. As the ambassador of the young repub
lic he was most warmly and enthusiastically re
ceived. The door of every fashionable and literary
salon was thrown open and his reception at court
was most cordial. He was made a member of the
learned and scientific societies of the kingdom. He
was feted, feasted, and toasted, and his name be
came a household word throughout all France.
" His name," says John Adams, " was familiar to
government and people, to king and courtiers, no
bility, clergy, and philosophers, as well as plebeians,
to such a degree that there was scarcely a peasant
or a citizen, a valet de chambre, a coachman, a foot
man, a lady's chambermaid, or a scullion in a
kitchen, who was not familiar with it, and who did
not consider him as a friend to humankind."
An admiration so generous must have increased
the desire of the people for the establishment in
France of such a republic as he represented and for
the application to government of such principles as
he stood for. He appealed to the lively imagina
tion of an emotional people who were beginning
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MIRABEAU
to feel the impulse of a change. He seemed like an
old philosopher who had stepped out of the past
possessed of the wisdom of Solon and the humanity
of Socrates.
His writings were translated and found in the
palace of the prince and in the hut of the plough
man, in the boudoir of the lady of fashion and in
the garret of the seamstress. " Poor Richard's"
sayings were as current as the coin of the realm.
Franklin's features betokened thought and his
countenance was benign and kindly and spoke of
his love for man. His fur cap, his heavy shoes,
his iron-rimmed spectacles, his homely, rustic-
brown suit, his long hair falling upon his shoulders,
made his appearance striking and picturesque. He
was a familiar figure on the streets of Paris, and
wherever he went he received assurances of regard
and respect. The great philosopher, Auguste
Comte, in his enthusiastic admiration, declared that
" if he had been living when Franklin was in Paris
he would have followed him through the streets and
kissed the hem of his homespun overcoat made by
Deborah." He stood in the eyes of the French people as the
personification of liberty. They had all heard that
he had not only snatched the lightning from heaven
but the sceptre from tyrants. His presence in
France unquestionably aided in the diffusion of lib
eral views and intensified the longings for equal
rights under the law.
The whole nation espoused the cause of the young
republic. Courtiers flocked to her standard and
drew their swords in her defence ; young men, am-
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
bitious of military glory, appealed to Franklin to
secure them positions in the American army, that
they might battle in the cause of a people's liberty.
No American ever exerted so great an influence
in France, or was ever held in so affectionate a
regard by the French people as Benjamin Frank
lin. When he died in 1790, and the sad news
was announced in the Assembly, Mirabeau as
cended the tribune and pronounced the following
beautiful eulogium:
" Franklin is dead ! Returned unto the bosom
of the divinity is that genius which freed America
and rayed forth upon Europe torrents of light.
" The sage whom the two worlds alike claim —
the man for whom the history of science and the
history of empires are disputing — held, beyond
doubt, an elevated rank in the human species. For
long enough have political cabinets notified the
death of those who were only great in their funeral
orations, for long enough has court etiquette pro
claimed hypocritical mourning. Nations should
only wear mourning for their benefactors. The
representatives of nations ought only to recommend
to their homage the heroes of humanity.
" The Congress has ordained in the fourteen
states of the confederation a mourning of two
months for the death of Franklin, and America is
acquitting, at this very moment, that tribute of
veneration for one of the fathers of her constitu
tion. Would it not be worthy of us to join in
that religious act, to participate in that homage
rendered before the face of the universe, both to
the rights of man and to the philosopher who has
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MIRABEAU
the most contributed to extend their acknowledg
ment over all the world? Antiquity would have
raised altars to that vast and powerful genius, who,
for the advantage of mortals embracing in his as
pirations heaven and the earth, knew how to tame
tyrants and their thunderbolts. France, enlight
ened and free, owes at the least an expression of
remembrance and regret for one of the greatest men
that have ever aided philosophy and liberty.
" I propose that it be decreed that the National
Assembly wears mourning during three days for
Benjamin Franklin."
France never paid a greater honor to one not
born within her borders.
The discussion of political rights, in the abstract,
had long engaged the thinkers and philosophers,
but at last the king himself had espoused the cause
of a people battling against their sovereign for the
establishment of a democracy. The French gov
ernment furnished money, men, and munitions of
war to aid rebellion in America ; further than that
it morally supported the efforts of a people who
had defied their king, renounced their allegiance,
and declared their independence. The republican
enthusiasm inspired by the American war gave
strength to revolutionary ideas and doctrines in
France. One revolution, in a measure, was the
sequence of the other.
France had aided in the creation of a free
nation, why should she herself not be free? All
classes of citizens were enthusiastic in their sup
port of the American Revolution, and it became
a fashion even among the silken courtiers to advo-
98

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
eate the rights of man and political equality. The
dullest mind could easily see that if there was a
reason for a revolution in America, there were a
thousand reasons why there should be one in
France. The French Revolution was the breaking away
from all moral, religious, and political restraint. It
was a surrender to the hatred and passions of men,
resulting from the tyranny of both church and -state,
from the insolence and exactions of the crown, the
higher clergy, and the upper or privileged classes.
It was personal in its opposition and vented its rage
and spleen on individuals. It was not always con
trolled by the principles of humanity and civil lib
erty ; for in its delirium it was a dethroning of God
as well as king, an abandonment of faith and an
opposition to authority of every kind and character/
On the other hand, the American Revolution was
a battle for principles, for the securing of political
freedom. It was a struggle waged with a clearly
defined purpose to acquire liberty under the law
and political equality. It appealed to the reason
and the consciences of men and firmly relied on the
protection of Divine Providence. It was not a con
test of a wild and frenzied people urged by hate;
it was not against men, but for principles. A rev
olution led and directed by Washington, Lee,
Adams, Franklin, and Witherspoon, must neces
sarily have differed in its purposes and characteris
tics from one led and directed by Desmoulins, Dan
ton, Marat, Hebert, and Robespierre.
We must admit, however, that the causes and
conditions that provoked the struggles were not the
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MIRABEAU
same in the two countries. It would have been im
possible for any government to have imposed upon
the Anglo-Saxon race a tyranny so insolent as
that borne by the French nation.
France was ripe for a change. There never was
a condition so favorable for a revolution or a land
in which a revolution was a greater necessity, and
when it gained momentum, it swept in its fury
everything before it to destruction. In the language
of a distinguished English essayist : " We deplore
the outrages which accompany revolutions, but the
more violent the outrages the more assured we feel
that a revolution was necessary."
Beaumarchais played no unimportant part in
hurrying along the events that were to focus in the
Revolution. He was the son of a reputable watchmaker of
Paris and was early apprenticed to his father's
trade. Through the invention of an improved
watch escapement, he brought himself into public
notice. His invention was pirated; he instituted
proceedings to secure his claim, and the Academy
of Sciences, to which the question was referred,
decided in his favor.
He was given permission to try his invention on
the watch of Madame de Pompadour, and soon
afterwards succeeded in securing the honor of being
designated " Watchmaker to the King."
He was a handsome young fellow, witty, clever,
courageous, and ambitious. He was impudent and
brooked no insolence from the curled and pampered
darlings of the court. The story is told that a
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
young nobleman stopped him one day and asked
him to examine his watch that seemed out of repair.
Beaumarchais coolly remarked that he had been so
long out of practice that he feared he would be
unable to discover the cause of the trouble, and then
taking the watch from the hands of the courtier,
he let it slip through his fingers to the floor, where
it was dashed to pieces. Turning on his heel, he
said to the astonished courtier : " I told you I was
out of practice."
He was an accomplished musician and charmed
with his art the daughters of the king. He was
requested to give them lessons on the harp, and
through their influence he was given recognition
in the society of the court.
He made a fortunate stroke by marrying a rich
widow; her money enabled him to purchase an
office which carried with it a title of nobility. He
was taken into the confidence of the king, who
sent him on a delicate mission to hunt and destroy
pamphlets that lampooned the precious Du Barry,
and sad to say even reflected upon her virtue. He
was in after years employed in a like capacity by
Louis XVI. to hunt up and burn up a scandalous
publication that libeled Marie Antoinette. It was
rumored that the book he was sent out to suppress,
in this instance, had been written by himself.
When thirty-five years of age he became a dram
atist, and his two comedies, " The Barber of Se
ville" and " The Marriage of Figaro," met with
unprecedented success. He satirized the vices of
the aristocracy, mercilessly ridiculed and exposed
their follies. Nothing sacred in religion, politics

MIRABEAU
or social life was safe from his wit and satire. His
plays were seditious and irreverent. He displayed
in their true colors the hypocrisy and immorality of
churchmen, the wickedness of polite society, and
the corruption of the state.
Liaisons and seduction were represented as mere
amusements in which the man who did not succeed
in his purpose was a bungling fool. He sneered at
marriage and laughed at the innocent modesty of
pure womanhood. Deceived husbands were made
a butt and faithless wives, if successful in their
amours, were heroines. He held the mirror up, and
polite society saw its true reflection. The outside
world likewise failed not to see the deformed
image. If the purpose of satire be to reform, its real
object, in this instance, was reached, in time. The
satire did not work an immediate reformation, but
sowed the seed that was to bring forth fruit in
season. Louis XVI., imagining that he saw something in
" The Marriage of Figaro" that was unwholesome
and dangerous, forbade its presentation. But
Beaumarchais gave private readings of the play in
select circles, and whetted the appetite of the cour
tiers for its presentation on the stage. The queen
coaxed and wheedled the complacent Louis, until
he gave his consent, both little dreaming that they
were aiding in the final destruction of the monarchy
and of their own throne.
On the first night of its presentation the crowd
was so great that the doors of the theatre were
forced, and in the scuffle and struggle for seats three

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
persons were smothered and crushed to death. It
was as much as the guards could do to prevent a
riot. The king was informed that some lines of the
play reflected upon him personally, and he had
Beaumarchais consigned to prison; but the public
clamored for the release of the author, and Louis,
five days after the arrest, gave an order for his
discharge. If the aristocracy had had any respect
for itself it would have winced under the stripes of
the satirist, but strange to say, instead of objecting,
they encouraged the production of the plays, —
Marie Antoinette herself, in the theatre at Trianon,
assumed the character of Roslna in the " Barber
of Seville." The cast was made up of nobles, men
and women. An aristocratic audience laughed and
jeered the monarchy to its ruin. The play brought
contempt on the rotten system and aided in its final
destruction. The laughter that the wit and the
keen satire provoked was the death-knell of the
anclen regime.

103

CHAPTER VI
FINANCIAL CONDITION IMMEDIATE CAUSE OF
FRENCH REVOLUTION  TURGOT  NECKER 
CALONNE  THE NOTABLES  LOMENIE DE BRI
ENNE — STATES GENERAL SUMMONED — NECKER
RECALLED The immediate causes of the Revolution were
the disordered state of the finances, the misery, and
the discontent of the people. A national bank
ruptcy was threatened, the classes were antagonis
tic to each other, the public mind was inflamed, the
people were restless, dissatisfied, and bent upon
having a change.
The king was willing, no doubt was anxious, to
make reforms; in fact, in his own weak, charac
teristic way, he endeavored to act upon the sugges
tions made by his able minister; but he had not
the moral courage to carry them out to a conclu
sion. He was fortunate in having so able and so pa
triotic a minister as Turgot, but unfortunately
Louis Had neither sense nor wisdom enough to be
always guided by his advice.
Malesherbes, in speaking of Turgot, said " he
had the head of Bacon and the heart of L'Hopital."
If this were so, it was truly a great combination of
heart and mind.
The king often remarked : " I and Turgot are
the only friends of the people." Who can estimate
104

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
the effect on the public mind of such a confession ?
It revealed in all its truth the opposition of the no
bility to the interests and the welfare of the com
mon people. The king unconsciously was arraying
class against class. In his desire to show how he
loved the people he taught them that the nobility
were their enemies, and then he served the enemies
of the people by removing Turgot, whom he had
declared was the friend of the people.
The king should have more carefully measured
the meaning and the effect of his words. There
was, however, not much truth in what he said, for
when the reforms were attempted and the privi
leged classes clamored for the dismissal of the
minister, Louis, the self-styled friend of the peo
ple, soon yielded to their demands. He himself
declared that the policy of Turgot was too radical,
— to use his own language, " almost revolution
ary." Even the mobs in Paris were aroused by
the agents and the emissaries of the court to re
sist the reforms. Ignorant and debased, they were
not able to understand and appreciate the purposes
of a minister who was anxious to promote the pub
lic welfare and to do all in his power to relieve
the disastrous and demoralized conditions that pre
vailed everywhere throughout the realm.
Among the reforms recommended and attempted
by Turgot were the abolition of the iniquitous cor
vee; the removal of restraints upon industry; the
wresting of trade from the monopolistic control of
the guilds; the reduction and the equalization of
taxation by compelling the clergy and the nobles to
pay their proportionate share. He even suggested
105

MIRABEAU
the giving to the people a representation in the pro
vincial assemblies and the calling of the States Gen
eral. He was about the only Frenchman in official
life of that period who advocated the doctrine of
the American colonists, that there should be " no
taxation without representation." His reform pol
icy met with such a determined opposition that his
fall could not be averted, and after his deposition a
reaction set in immediately.
The privileged classes and the Farmers General
rejoiced when Turgot was dismissed, but the
thoughtful men of the nation stood aghast. Con-
dorcet declared that all nature seemed changed in
his eyes, and Voltaire wrote in a letter to La
Harpe : " I see nothing but death before me. I
cannot understand the purpose of the king in part
ing with so valuable a minister. It is a thunder
bolt which has struck my brain and heart." Tur
got was one of the wisest, one of the greatest, one
of the most patriotic ministers that ever guided the
destinies of France. His gradual reforms, if they
could have been continued, might have saved the
state from bankruptcy and averted the Revolution.
De Tocqueville says : " Experience teaches that
the most dangerous moment for a bad government,
ordinarily, is that when it begins to reform itself."
This may not be true in all instances, but it was
unquestionably so in the case of France. The evils
to be corrected were so many and so grievous that
an attempt to remedy any of them only revealed in
a stronger light the wrongs that had so long been
endured. This attempt by the government to re
form created and aroused a determination in the
1 06

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
hearts of those who had suffered to effect a change
in every direction. Once open the dykes and a
deluge follows. A people, especially an ignorant
people, until an intelligent effort be made to effect
reforms, submits, endures and suffers, as if a change
were out of the question, but when the government
itself undertakes to correct abuses, for which abuses
it is and has been responsible, it admits or concedes
its errors and the people are thus taught that relief
should be given. If the government fails to give
the needed relief, its failure points the way to rev
olution. Necker succeeded Turgot. He was a vain, self-
confident man and greatly overrated as a financier.
He was more of a banker than a statesman. He
has been well defined as a high-typed charlatan.
He had been a very capable and successful banker,
but the conditions he was called upon to meet as
minister were far beyond his power to direct or
control. The task would have put to a severe test
the ability of a much stronger man. He traced all
the woes of France to the financial disorders rather
than to the existing social and political conditions.
He did not know the causes of the impending
crisis; it appeared to him that the solution of the
problem was only a matter of bookkeeping and
economy in administration.
His principal reform was his " Compte Rendu,"
which was an account published showing the re
ceipts and expenditures of the state. It revealed a
condition of things that startled the people, ex
posed the monstrous extravagance of the court, and
showed an enormous deficit which had been in-
107

MIRABEAU
creasing for years. The idea of the king taking
an account of stock like a common tradesman and
submitting his books to the public showing his per
sonal expenses was, in the opinion of the nobility,
a scandalous proceeding. The suggestion of such a
plan, by a minister, was considered almost an act
of treason, and Necker's deposition was but a mat
ter of time.
This showing was made by Necker to induce
capital to take the loans of the state, but the finan
cial condition of the country was so much worse
than it had been thought to be that the revelation
of the truth produced a feeling of timidity and dis
trust. It aroused public opinion, and from every
quarter came a demand for economy and reform.
His attempt to reduce the expenses of the court
aroused the anger of the nobility, who believed that
the kingdom existed alone for their pleasure and
advantage. They had influence enough with the
king to cause his dismissal.
Necker was succeeded by Calonne, " the en
chanter." He was also called " the model finan
cier," and the " ladies' minister." He was witty
and sanguine. His supreme assurance inspired for
a time universal confidence. He fascinated and
seduced the court ; he smiled away their fears and
with promises dispelled their doubts. How could
there be anything wrong when the minister assured
the country that there was no trouble? The court '
no longer dreaded the future, — it was safe under
the directing wisdom of such a wizard. It is said
that to all requests of Marie Antoinette he would
reply : " Madame, if what your Majesty asks is
108

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
possible, it is already done; if impossible, it shall
be done."
Under his administration prodigality again be
came a fashion. " Waste is the true alms-giving
of kings." It was contended that the extravagance
of the state put money into circulation, gave em
ployment to the poor and aided in the prosperity
of the country ; but such a policy is as reckless and
fallacious as its maxim is faulty.
Von Hoist says " Calonne' s maxim was : 'If
you are in distress for money, do not noise it about,
but spend lavishly; the public, believing that you
have much, will readily lend you all you want.' It
worked excellently well." One of the courtiers
said : " I knew that Calonne would save the state,
but I did not expect he would do it in the twinkling
of an eye."
The deficit increased from year to year. In
Necker's day it was well over fifty million francs.
The best estimate Calonne could make in 1787
showed a deficit of one hundred and twenty-five
million francs.
When Necker went into office he found twenty-
eight millions of pensions. After his dismissal pub
lic money was again showered upon the favorites of
the court. Calonne built palaces and inaugurated
an era of public improvements. France, already
bankrupted, assumed a business and a prosperous
air. But such a policy was only adding woes to
the state and increasing the miseries of the people.
It was simply prolonging the agony without pro
viding any efficient remedy to relieve the distress.
The outgo was more than the income, and the
109

MIRABEAU
deficit was annually increasing. The final result
was inevitable, — it could have been foretold by a
child. The Parliament of Paris differed in its organi
zation not a whit from the Parliaments of other
towns, but it claimed the right and exercised the
power of taxing the nation. In 1786 Calonne
asked the Parliament of Paris to register a loan.
It complied with the request of the minister, but
imposed restrictions as to the appropriations under
the loan. The king waxed wroth and with his own
royal right hand scratched out the restrictions.
The minister, put to his wits' ends, now urged
that a meeting of the Notables should be called.
This was a body composed of the representatives
of the privileged orders, which body had not been
convened for one hundred and sixty years. It
numbered one hundred and forty- four members,
all named by the king. Princes of the blood,
nobles, archbishops, bishops, councillors of state,
the municipal officers of the large towns, and
magistrates, composed this august assembly. It
was not reasonable to suppose that such a body of
men would enter enthusiastically upon a task that
required a sacrifice of time-honored privileges. A
few nobles like La Fayette favored reform, but
they were overwhelmed by the majority.
The Notables, without providing any substantial
relief, succeeded, however, in revealing to the na
tion the vicious mismanagement that characterized
the financial administration of the country Ca
lonne was now awake to the conditions, and to
provide for immediate relief he boldly advised the
no

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
taxing of the lands of the nobility and the church ;
and to relieve the people from the burdens that
were crushing them he suggested the reduction of
the salt tax ; and to encourage and revive trade he
advocated the abolition of the interior custom
houses. " Why, you are returning to the policy of
Turgot," cried the king. " Yes, Sire," replied Ca
lonne, "it is the only policy to adopt in such a
crisis." The nobility, however, as usual, evinced
no spirit of concession. In the face of the fact that
the state was plunging into bankruptcy, the nobles
would not agree to surrender any of their privi
leges, but turned with all their bitterness upon Ca
lonne, demanding his dismissal. The king was
easily persuaded to comply with their request, and
Calonne stepped out of office into obscurity.
A public demand was made for the convening of
the States General, an assembly in which not only
the privileged classes would be represented but the
entire body of the common people as well. This
legislative body of the realm had not been convoked
since 1640. It was an ancient body, Philip the
Fair in the fourteenth century having first brought
it into existence.
A few events, however, had to transpire first
before Louis could be persuaded to summon it.
Mirabeau declared that " when a king allows his
subjects to perish from hunger or forces them to it,
which is more atrocious still, it is to avow that he
is not capable of governing them — it is to renounce
the rights he exercises over them." What is to be
done under such conditions, said Mirabeau, but to
call upon and advise with the wisdom of the whole

MIRABEAU
nation by convoking the States General forthwith ?
Necker's recall was suggested, but the queen ar
gued against such a move and persuaded Louis to
name M. de Fonqueux, whose short administration
was a blank failure. He was succeeded by Lomenie
de Brienne, a churchman, whose ambition had long
tempted him to intrigue for a place he had not the
ability to fill.
Matters were growing worse from day to day.
The nation was on the verge of revolution. For
centuries France had been preparing for it and the
point had been reached when there was a favorable
concurrence of all circumstances and conditions in
ternal and external. Misrule, unjust immunities,
cruel exactions, famine, poverty, infidelity, class
distinctions and privileges, together, combined to
produce a convulsion that shook all Europe to its
very centre. Even nature gave a helping hand to
add to the general distress. A devastating hail
storm in the mid-summer of 1788 destroyed the
crops ripe for the harvest in all the best corn-grow
ing districts of the kingdom. This disaster was
followed by a winter of unusual bitterness and the
country folk swarmed to Paris, which was already
over-crowded with her starving poor. She re
ceived this army of vagabonds and swallowed them
up in her vaults, her cellars, her garrets, and in the
recesses of her dingy, filthy tenements. Unable to
obtain employment, they prowled through the
streets, hungry and without hope, ready for any
desperate enterprise. They were the advance
guard. It was the beginning of the mobilization
of the army of the Revolution. Events were has-
112

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
tening to a crisis. We now begin to sniff the
smoke and the blood of the Revolution.
Matters had reached such a pass that immediate
relief was a necessity, and the king was urged to
call a meeting of the States General. The king
consented. The calamity was general, and it was
but proper that all interests should be considered,
and the representatives of all classes advised with
in order to provide for the public welfare.
De Brienne resigned and Necker was recalled.
In 1789, at the time of the convocation of the
States General, the privileged classes numbered
about two hundred and seventy thousand persons.
Of these the nobility were one hundred and forty
thousand, the clergy one hundred and thirty thou
sand, and from the latter must be taken sixty thou
sand cures and vicars, who are aptly described by
Carlyle as "commons disguised in curate frocks;"
two hundred and ten thousand persons out of a
population of twenty-five million enjoyed all the
immunities, privileges, and advantages that the
state was able to provide and bestow. These fig
ures show the disproportion that existed between
the privileged few and the great body of the people,
— a disproportion that was unfair, iniquitous, and
dangerous. " The disproportion is so great, we cannot but
Expect a fatal consequence."
The meeting of the States General marked the
beginning of the end of the conditions that had so
long existed and that had burdened France so
8 113

MIRABEAU
heavily. The absolutism of the crown and the
privileges of the. upper classes were to be swallowed
up in the coming cataclysm.
The total number of deputies to the States Gen
eral was twelve hundred and fourteen; one-half
of this number came from the Third Estate, and of
this half three hundred and seventy-four were
lawyers. All interest centred in this body of representa
tive men of the people. All the hopes and fears of
France were in the keeping of these deputies of the
Third Estate.
Strange to say, it was the general belief that
there were no questions that could not be easily
solved, no troubles that could not be settled. To
use the language of a writer of that period : " The
body of the nation saw nothing more in the assem
bling of the States General than a means of dimin
ishing the taxes, and the creditors of the state, so
often deprived of their dividends by a violation of
public faith, considered the States General as
nothing more than a rampart against government
bankruptcy." The selection of Versailles as the place of meet
ing was not endorsed by popular approval. The
people and their representatives preferred Paris,
for it was contended that the congress, if it met in
this city, would be further removed from the direct
influences of the court.

114

CHAPTER VII
MEETING OF THE STATES GENERAL  MIRABEAU
On May 4, 1789, the States General paraded
through Versailles, from the Church of Our Lady
to the Church of St. Louis, where solemn high mass
was celebrated, after which a sermon was preached
by the Bishop of Nancy, who strongly denounced
the unjust system of taxation and eloquently and
pathetically described the miseries of the poor,
among other things, saying : " They are martyrs
in whom life is prolonged simply that their suffer
ing may be longer endured." He ended his dis
course by declaring that " all the wrongs were
done in the name of the best of kings." The hall
rang with enthusiastic applause, notwithstanding
the sacred character of the place and /the presence
of the king and the queen.
" They were drunk with the desire to applaud,"
said Mirabeau, " and they applauded unto satiety."
The spirit of revolution was beginning to show
itself in little things. Mere time-honored rules no
longer controlled the actions of men. We shall
soon see the deputies of the Third Estate defiantly
remain covered in the presence of the king and
thus assert their dignity and independence.
It was an ideal day in the sweetest month of all
the year when the States General met at Versailles ;
the air was cool and the sky clear and deeply blue,
the sun's rays warmed the atmosphere just enough
"5

MIRABEAU
to make it delightful and invigorating. The
flowers were blooming and fragrant and the
gfasses and foliage were freshly green. All na
ture was gloriously fair and vied with man in
adding beauty and harmony to the occasion. But
this harmony was in sheer mockery of what was
yet to come. It gave no suggestion of the terrors
that were to follow in its wake; it was the calm
before the breaking of the storm.
Flags were flying from every window; the
streets were hung with tapestries of inestimable
value; inspiring music resounded on all sides and
bells were ringing joyfully from every tower.
Soldiers in gay and brilliant uniforms lined both
sides of the avenue through which the procession
passed. Every inch of available space was occu
pied ; even the roofs were crowded with on-lookers.
The windows and balconies were filled with fair
women and brave men; all the beauty, wit and
chivalry of France had gathered at Versailles,
every eye sparkled with joy. It was a rapturous,
an enchanting scene that beggars description; it
was one of the most magnificent pageants that the
world records.
Flowers and banners and music and pomp and
glitter were on all sides. Enthusiasm was in the
air, for all yet were loyal to the king; cheers and
applause greeted the procession every step of its
way. Behind this mask, however, were the ghastly
features of death. Royalty, unawares, was march
ing to its grave ; amidst all this sunshine and splen
dor, it was unconsciously hurrying to its doom.
The day following the scenes just described, the
116

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
States General met for the purpose of organization
in the Salle des Menus at Versailles. It was a
large hall capable of holding more than five thou
sand people. It had been specially adapted to the
purposes of the meeting and no care nor expense
had been spared in the matter of preparation. The
preliminaries had been most carefully arranged,
and the records of a prior meeting of the States
General that was held in the reign of Philip le
Bel were brought out of their dust and cobwebs
and studied for the purpose of guiding and in
structing in the all-important matters of form and
etiquette; in fact, the questions of etiquette, for
mality, and precedence occupied the minds of the
court and the masters of ceremony to the exclu
sion of more important matters. Those in charge
of the arrangements totally forgot that the inter
vening centuries had wrought great changes, and,
blind to existing conditions, they preferred to ad
here strictly to ancient and time-honored precedent
rather than yield to reason, concession and policy.
At a time when the popular mind should have
been appeased and calmed, the court insisted that
the members of the Third Estate should kneel when
they presented their cahlers or petitions to the king,
that they were to uncover in the presence of his
Majesty, and that they were to enter the hall by
a side door, while the nobles were to enter by the
main gate-way. All these matters were thus de
cided upon, in the opinion of the Third Estate, for
no purpose other than to remind the representatives
of the people of their social and political inferiority,
and, of course, this only further irritated the public
117

MIRABEAU
temper. There is a story told that illustrates this
ruling passion for form and ceremony. It shows
how strictly it was adhered to even when the Revo
lution threatened destruction to all class distinc
tions, to the throne itself. Roland, when Minister
of the Interior, the first time he appeared at the
chateau, had strings in his shoes and wore a round
hat; his attire did not conform to the rules of eti
quette. The master of ceremonies, M. Breze, re
fused to admit him. Obliged, however, to yield,
he said, despairingly, to Dumouriez, pointing to
Roland, "Ah, sir, no buckles in his shoes!" "Ah,
sir," replied Dumouriez, with a mock sympathetic
air, "all is lost!" Such were the trifles that still
occupied the attention of the court and its lackeys.
A like story is told of the same Breze when he was
master of ceremonies during the Restoration, at
the Court of Louis XVIII. The courtier had
grown much older, but time in no wise had weak
ened his love of precise etiquette. One day a gen
eral was summoned hastily to the apartments of the
king. He came to the palace wearing a colored
cravat, which was considered entirely " out of
form." Breze, not knowing the general, refused
to let him go in unless he made the necessary
change, and to relieve the situation, Breze sug
gested that he should borrow a white cravat from
one of the soldiers of the guard near at hand. The
affair was reaching a crisis when, fortunately, a
court official, recognizing the general and soon un
derstanding the trouble, took him by the arm and
led him in to the king. Breze, turning to a lady
standing by, exclaimed : " Oh, Madame ! that is
118

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
the way revolutions are made." This royal
flunkey, from his point of view, no doubt thought
the worst features of the great Revolution were the
abolition of titles and the destruction of etiquette
and ceremony.
And now everything was ready for the great
event, greater by far than any one, even among
the knowing ones, in all France, imagined.
The States General, at last, was in session. On
a lofty dais, under a purple velvet canopy, spangled
with golden Hews de lis, stood the throne of the
king. Louis was surrounded by his court, resplen
dent in their gorgeous robes; at his side sat his
queen, supported by a retinue of princesses and
ladies of the royal household, all superbly gowned
and jewelled, while in the background stood the
king's guard in dazzling uniforms.
In front of the dais, but lower down, were
Necker and the ministers of the realm. On the
right were the nobles of the church, who were no
less magnificent in their surplices, mantles, and
robes than royalty itself. On the left were the
nobility in their court costumes of black cloth, silk
and gold cloaks, and wearing picturesque hats,
turned up a, la Henry IV., adorned with waving
white plumes.
In front of the dais and further back in the
hall sat the Third Estate in its plain garb. Its sim
ple attire consisted of black cloth coat, waist-coat,
and knee-breeches, a shoulder mantle of silk, white
muslin cravat, and a hat cocked at three sides,
which hat was yet to play a prominent part in
setting at defiance, for the first time, an ancient rule
119

MIRABEAU
of etiquette, and thus giving notice, when the Third
Estate stood covered in the presence of the king,
that the old order of things was no longer in vogue.
It was the first sign of real rebellion, for it was a
step towards the settlement of the question of
political equality. It revealed the true spirit of the
people's deputies. At a time such as this, little
things were of great consequence.
The galleries were crowded with the beauty and
the intellect of France. Ladies attended by their
gallants, men of letters and distinction, ambassa
dors from foreign states, and representatives from
every quarter of the globe looked down upon this
scene of dazzling splendor. It was a scheme of
color that perhaps has never been equalled in the
world's history, — all the hues on the palette of a
Rubens could not depict on canvas its marvellous
beauty. The Third Estate, like a black cloud on the ho
rizon, seemed amidst all this show and splendor to
forebode disaster; it was suggestive, threatening,
ominous. Its plain garb was in so marked a con
trast to the resplendent costumes of the court, the
nobility, and the hierarchy, that it seemed a badge
of meanness, and the very contrast irritated the
spirit of the proud deputies. At a time when the
passions of the people should have been allayed
by every possible means, the court appeared more
determined than ever to impose upon the represen
tatives of the people a distinguishing badge, to re
mind them of their social and political inferiority.
"What is the Third Estate? Nothing. What
should it be? Everything."

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
In the care of the six hundred deputies of the
people rested the hopes and the liberties of France.
In this sombre group were men who were destined
to play an important and a most influential part in
the coming drama.'
Barnave, of philosophical temperament, of lofty,
proud, and courageous spirit, watched with interest
the passing events. No doubt, once in awhile, his
eyes rested on the queen, but little could he read
the future or guess what it had in store for both
of them.
Bailly, the kind-hearted, pedantic astronomer,
who had all his life been watching the stars, was
not able to read the fate and destiny of his country.
Little did he anticipate that the time would come
when, as Mayor of Paris, he would chide the king.
Buzot, hopeful, sincere, patriotic, devoted to the
popular cause, beloved of Madame Roland, was yet
to be proscribed as a royalist and to be found stiff
and stark in a field near Bordeaux, a victim of
faction and anarchy, and food for famished dogs.
Rabaut Sainte Etienne was yet to arouse with
his surpassing eloquence the National Assembly,
and, in the end, pay the penalty for opposing the
bloody triumvirate by ascending the scaffold.
Malouet, confident of the future, liberal in his
views, in love with France, was to do battle for
constitutional government and avoid death by flee
ing to England.
Mounier, distinguished by his moderation and
conservatism, saw, as the result of this Assembly,
an end of the woes of the people and a future
prosperity for his country, but, alas, his hopes were

MIRABEAU
destined to be only hopes, for, in time, he was to
be hunted into exile and driven beyond the borders
of the land he so dearly loved.
Robespierre, a young man about thirty, if so
canting, so bilious a creature could ever be called
young, was there as a deputy from Arras ; a lawyer
by profession, a theorist and a morbid sentimental
ist by nature; an enigma, a demon of death, who
could mourn, actually weep, over the loss of a pet
pigeon; and yet, when the time came, could keep
the guillotine busy chopping off the heads of
friends as well as foes. He sat in the Assembly,
watching with his squinting, snake-like eyes, the
king, who in time was to be his victim.
The Abbe Sieyes, trained for the church, but
better fitted for political intrigue, who had given
a powerful impulse to the public mind ' when he
asked, "What is the Third Estate?" was here to
get an answer to his question.
Somewhere, no doubt, hidden away in the crowd,
stood Marat, restless, eager, sinister, already scent
ing the blood of the aristocrats. Perhaps, too,
could be seen the scarred face of Danton, as also
the swarthy features of Camille Desmoulins, who
was watching with interest the proceedings, little
anticipating the part he was to play as " the first
apostle of liberty" and " the attorney-general of
the lamp-post."
Madame de Stael looked down from the gallery
and affectionately watched her father while he
tediously read a paper on the financial distresses of
France, in which he showed a deficit of fifty-six
million francs. Perhaps she was the only listener

ROBESPIERRE

' Watching with his squinting, snake-like eyes, the king,
who, in time, was to be his victim"

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
in that vast audience that attentively followed him,
and she was controlled more by affection than in
terest, for, as Theirs says, " He wearied by his
prolixity those whom he did not offend by his
lessons." Not once did Necker refer to the needs of con
stitutional reform. The whole tenor of his paper
was the suggestion of methods by which more
revenues could be secured for the payment or re
duction of the public debt. This, of course, meant
further taxation. It was the same old cry : " The
king loves his starving people, but he needs and
demands more tribute."
" Two ladies of rank, from a gallery, with very
different feelings beheld the spectacle," writes Ali
son in his history of the French Revolution. " The
one was Madame de Montmorin, wife of the minis
ter of foreign affairs; the other the illustrious
daughter of M. Necker, Madame de Stael. The
latter exulted in the boundless prospect of national
felicity, which seemed to be opening under the
auspices of her father. ' You are wrong to rejoice,'
said Madame de Montmorin ; ' this event fore
bodes much misery to France and to ourselves.'
Her presentiment turned out too well founded;
she herself perished on the scaffold, with one of
her sons ; another was drowned ; her husband was
massacred in the prisons on September 2d; her
eldest daughter was cut off in gaol; her youngest
died of a broken heart before she had attained the
age of thirty years."
All the actors in that great drama have passed
away, a century of years has intervened, but the
123

MIRABEAU
interest in the proceedings and the deliberations of
that meeting is unabated. It seems as fresh as ever.
Versailles presented a magnificent spectacle of
a dying monarchy. The nobles and the courtiers,
still fawning upon and flattering the king, were in
time, in a short time, to abandon him to his fate,
turn their backs on France, and ignominously fly
across the border to find refuge in foreign courts
and in strange lands.
All this glittering pageant was to vanish like a
dream, and leave but a memory behind. King and
queen, so resplendent in their robes and glory, were
to be shorn of their power, deprived of their
crowns, stripped of their titles, and abandoned by
all their friends. Louis and Marie Capet were to
ascend the scaffold to pay the penalty for the crimes
of their ancestors and the wrongs of centuries.
There was one deputy to the States General
whose coming was anxiously looked for. Mira
beau was patrician by birth, but, excluded from
the ranks of the nobility, he found refuge among
the deputies of the Third Estate. He towered in
intellectual stature above all his colleagues. In that
gathering there was not so great a man. His spirit
was proud and lofty, his talents in some directions
were sublime. When he entered the hall, all eyes
were turned upon him, " but his look, his step
awed the assembly. A bitter smile played on his
lips, which were habitually contracted by an ironical
and a scornful expression." His features, scarred
by the ravages of disease, detracted nothing from
his unique and commanding personality. His
heavy shock of black hair resembled the mane of a
124

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
lion, while his piercing eyes flashed fire as he looked
contemptuously, disdainfully towards the space
occupied by the nobles. His air of defiance seemed
to hurl a challenge at the foot of the throne. A
friend of Mirabeau said it would be to his per
sonal interest and advantage to assume a more
conciliatory manner and added : " If you wish to
be pardoned, you must ask pardon." Mirabeau,
in a loud and an excited tone, replied : "lam come
hither to be asked, not to ask pardon."
He was the most picturesque figure in the Assem
bly. His reputation, his wild career, his escapades,
his vices, his imprisonments, his love affairs, hia
extravagance, his writings, his eloquence, his
ability, were known throughout all France. The
story of his life was an epic.
Madame de Stael, who saw him in the procession
of Deputies on the way to say mass in the Church
of St. Louis on the memorable 4th of May, writes :
" Among these nobles who had been deputed to the
Third Estate, above all others was the Comte de
Mirabeau. The opinion men had of his genius was
singularly augmented by the fear entertained of his
immorality; and yet it was this very immorality
which straitened the influence his astonishing
faculties were to secure to him. You could not
but look long at this man when once you had no
ticed him; his immense black head of hair dis
tinguished him among them all; you would have
said his force depended on it like that of Samson;
his face borrowed new expression from its very
ugliness; his whole person gave you the idea of
an irregular power, but a power such as you would
125

MIRABEAU
figure in a Tribune of the people." She also saw
him as he entered the hall of the States General on
the 5th of May. " He was greeted," she says,
" with a low murmur. He understood its meaning,
but stepping along to his seat with lofty air, he
seemed as if he were preparing thus to produce
sufficient trouble in the kingdom to confound the
distinctions of esteem as well as all others."
Another writer says : " Mirabeau attracted
everybody's attention. His immense mass of
hair, his lion-like head stamped with extreme
ugliness, were astounding, almost frightful. No
body could take his eyes off him. He indeed was
visibly a man, and the others were but shadows.
Scandalous, noisy, and courageous in vice, the
world was full of the romance of his adventures,
amours, and passions. He was about to grow
young with France and throw aside his old stained
cloak. He had seriously injured his constitution,
but he still bore his enormous head erect, and his
looks were full of audacity. Everybody seemed to
forebode in him the loud, appalling voice of
France." It is remarkable the impression Mirabeau cre
ated upon all who saw him. His personality was
so striking that the strongest men dwindled in
comparison; in any assemblage he would have
been the central figure. All the descriptions given
of the man picture him as the very embodiment of
force. He commanded attention because of the in
nate power that was in him. His spirit was defiant,
his manner was authoritative, he stood ready to
meet conditions and to hazard even life and liberty
126

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
in his opposition to tyranny. He had the courage
and the audacity of the real revolutionist. It would
have been immeasurably to the advantage of the
royal cause if he had stood in the ranks of the
nobles, but his talents would not have shone so con
spicuously in defending the crown as in assailing
it, and in advocating the rights of the people.
As he stood up and looked over the Assembly,
his eyes fell upon the king burdened with robes and
covered with the crown jewels, and turning to
those near him, he said : " Behold the victim
already adorned." Could any phrase have more
aptly suited the occasion and have been more pro
phetic in its sense? " Mirabeau," says Madame de
Stael, " knew everything and foresaw everything."
And Malouet declared that " He (Mirabeau), per
haps alone, had from the beginning a clear con
ception of the course the revolution would run."
Years before it came, he declared that " unless.
some very decisive change take place, Louis XVI.
will be the last monarch who will sway the fate of
France." At another time, he wrote : " Should a
revolution or civil war break out in France, I
tremble for the aristocratic portion of the realm;
their chateaux will be reduced to ashes and their
blood shed in torrents."
Did this man of prescience look out into the
future and see the coming events, when he pointed
to the king as the victim, or was he simply coining
a phrase to pass current among the people, and to
suggest to them what should be done if reforms
were not effected? Even the king must be sacri
ficed, if necessary, to secure the rights of the people.
127

MIRABEAU
When we read the story of the French Revolu
tion, we find it was a logical sequence of the events
and conditions that preceded it. It was not the
work of men, who, as leaders of thought, had de
vised a scheme to reform government, or to build
a free state. It was not so much the result of men's
efforts as of things, of conditions. We too are
impressed with the fact that the actors, who at
tempted to direct it when it broke upon the nation,
were, in the vast majority of instances, men of
small capacity, with but little experience in public
affairs, and who, as a rule, were mere dreamers,
theorists, and sentimentalists, or else men whose
only purpose was to destroy every vestige of the
old order, without having the slightest idea of
what they would or should put in its place. They
had no real conception of what they wanted to
establish, but, regardless of consequences, were
bent on destroying and tearing down that which
existed. In the forceful language of Burke:
" They were the ablest architects of ruin that ever
the world saw."
After the Revolution started, it swept on its way
resistlessly and they were unable to control the
creature of their own creation. The touch of a
child may start an avalanche, but only God can
direct its course.
" Each member of the Assembly," said Dumont,
" thought himself equal to any undertaking ; never
were seen so many men congregated together who
fancied themselves legislators, capable of repairing
the faults of the past, finding a remedy for all the
errors of the human mind, and securing the happi-
128

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
ness of future generations. Doubt of their powers
never once found its way into their bosoms, and
infallibility always presided over their decisions."
What the delegates lacked in experience they
made up in sincerity. They were earnestly and
patriotically devoted to the popular cause. They
were imbued with the principles of the new philoso
phy and had the courage of their convictions.
They were, however, like sailors afloat on an un
known sea without compass, helm, astrolabe, or
quadrant, unable to take their bearings or their
soundings. It is marvellous, however, when we
contemplate the conditions that confronted them,
what a remarkable voyage these reckless and inex
perienced navigators made.
The meeting of the States General proved that
the new doctrines of political equality taught by
the philosophers had taken root. If such a meet
ing of the realm had been called in the reign of
Louis XIV., its counsels would have been perfunc
tory and its conduct subservient; it would have
been awed into subjection by force.
France was ready, in 1 789, for revolution ; con
ditions were ripe ; all the causes and reasons culmi
nated at that moment; its coming was inevitable,
but now its force was irresistible.
Louis the Great died in 1 71 5 ; the States General
was convoked in 1789. Three-quarters of a cen
tury had been preparing for the event. It would
have been impossible to have gathered such a class
of men, so earnest and independent in spirit as the
deputies of the Third Estate, twenty-five years
before the States General of 1789 was convened.
9 129

MIRABEAU
The Revolution did produce many able men, but
there were two of surpassing genius who rose, in
magnificent intellectual proportions, above all their
fellows. These were Mirabeau and Napoleon.
" Both were of the kin of the demi-gods." They
were born leaders of commanding force and in
tellect, but totally different in their characteristics
and qualities of mind and heart. Mirabeau was
about twenty years older than Napoleon; the for
mer died too soon and the latter came on the scene
too late to have their careers touch at any point.
They never met, probably never saw each other,
but a meeting between them would have been most
interesting to have observed and recorded.

130

CHAPTER VIII
comte de mirabeau  the mirabeaus — bruno
 jean antoine  victor
Gabriel Honore Riquetti, Comte de Mira
beau, was born at Bignon, near Nemours, on
March 9, 1749. " Never since the world began was
a stranger child born into it." The light of day
welcomed him just forty years before the convoca
tion of the States General. But in that period of
time his life was so varied and checkered with
events that it had every feature and phase of a
thrilling romance. Love, passion, poverty, misery,
1 crime, exile, imprisonment, and, at last, a glorious
opportunity for the exercise of his great talents,
made up the incidents of his wonderful and exciting
career. We are almost induced to say that it was
worth while to have a revolution if for no other
reason than to furnish a theatre for the display of
an intellectual power so magnificent, an oratory so
commanding. " Of a genius," says Carlyle, " equal
in strength to Napoleon's; but a much humaner
genius, almost a poetic one. With wider sym
pathies of his own, he appeals far more persuasively
to the sympathies of men."
" He was a man," writes Mignet, " who only
waited the occasion to become great. At Rome, in
the best days of the republic, he would have been a
Gracchus; in its decline, a Catiline; under the
Fronde, a Cardinal de Retz ; and in the decrepitude
131

MIRABEAU
of a monarchy, when such a being could only find
scope for his immense faculties in agitation, he
became remarkable for the vehemence of his pas
sions, and for their punishment, — a life passed in
committing disorders, and suffering for them.
This prodigious activity required employment ; the
Revolution provided it. Accustomed to the struggle
against despotism, irritated by the contempt of a
nobility who were inferior to him, and who ex
cluded him from their body; clever, daring, elo
quent, Mirabeau felt that the Revolution would be
his work, and his life. He exactly corresponded
to the chief wants of his time. His thought, his
voice, his action, were those of a tribune. In peril
ous circumstances, his was the earnestness which
carries away an assembly; in difficult discussions,
the unanswerable sally which at once puts an end to
them ; with a word he prostrated ambition, silenced
enmities, disconcerted rivalries. This powerful
being, perfectly at his ease in the midst of agita
tion, now giving himself up to impetuosity, now
to the familiarities of conscious strength, exercised
a sort of sovereignty in the Assembly. He soon
obtained immense popularity, which he retained to
the last ; and he whom, at his first entrance into the
legislature, every eye shunned, was, at his death,
received into the Pantheon, amidst the tears of the
Assembly and of all France. Had it not been for
the Revolution, Mirabeau would have failed in
realizing his destiny, for it is not enough to be
great ; one must live at the fitting period."
The Mirabeaus were a wild, untamable race,
proud, audacious, and imperious, but they did not
132

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
have the blood in their veins that they claimed.
Lamartine, in his history of the Girondists, writes :
" The family was one of those which Florence had
cast from her bosom in the stormy excesses of her
liberty, and for which Dante reproaches his country
in such bitter strains for her exiles and persecutions.
The blood of Machiavel and the earthquake genius
of the Italian republics were characteristics of all
the individuals of this race. The proportions of
their souls exceed the height of their destiny : vices,
passions, virtues are all in excess." This language
is eloquent and accurately descriptive of the charac
teristics of the family and, no doubt, would have
suited the proud boast of the Riquettis, but it is not
based on fact, in so far as their origin is concerned.
" They came from Florence," says Carlyle, " cast
out of it in some Guelph-Ghibelline quarrel." Jus
tin H. McCarthy, in commenting upon this last
statement, says in his interesting history of the
French Revolution : " Of the great house of Mira
beau, he (Carlyle) seems to have accepted im
plicitly the astonishing statements of the family
and their yet more astonishing pretensions."
The story that they descended from the Arrighet-
tis, noble exiles from Florence, who settled in Pro
vence in the thirteenth century, is an idle boast, a
mere fabrication, invented by an ingenious master
in heraldry, who could most adroitly twist genea
logical roots out of their natural courses and skil
fully intertwine them one with another. He could
graft a plebeian branch on a patrician trunk, for
a sufficient consideration, and conceal from the eyes
of the uninitiated all traces of the cutting and
133

MIRABEAU
jointure. The name of this swindling herald was
Jean Baptiste l'Hermite de Soliers, and his ser
vices were secured by Thomas de Riquetti to trace
the family line, that his son might be admitted into
the order of the Knights of Malta.
The Arrighettis of Florence, though far re
moved from the Riquettis of Provence, in the' mat
ter of relationship and blood, were close enough
phonetically, so far as their names were concerned,
to serve the purposes of this rogue of a herald,
and the fiction, pleasing the pride of the Mirabeaus,
it was accepted by them as a verity, and one may
well imagine how their anger would have been
aroused if the slightest intimation had been made
that the story was not true. No family had greater
pride of birth and were more, presumptuous and
pretentious upon so small a claim and so dim an
origin. It is the vice of monarchies that birth
counts for so much in the measure of merit.
The boast of Victor, the father of the great
tribune, that the world had been learning during
five hundred years to tolerate the Mirabeaus, who
were not as other men, was without any substan
tial foundation, so far as the length of the family
line was concerned. The statement was made to
show the antiquity of the lineage rather than to
regret the vices or excuse the eccentricities of the
Mirabeaus. In a letter to the king from the dungeon of Vin
cennes, Mirabeau wrote : " I bear a distinguished
name. It is almost five centuries since my family,
driven from Italy by the fury of factions, were
welcomed by your ancestors." The saying of the
134

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
great tribune, that the one blot on the family
'scutcheon was an intermarriage with the Medici,
was in the same vein, but the records do not prove
that there was any such cross in his line, nor any
such corruption of the family blood. Bad as the
Medici blood was, it would not have done much
damage if it had mingled with that of the Mira
beaus. At the time the Medici were marrying into
the families of kings and princes, the Riquettis
were merchants and traders classed among the
bourgeoisie in the south of France.
" Mirabeau," says Dumont, " frequently boasted
of the exceptional qualities of his race, was proud
even of their vices, and seemed to take pleasure in
exaggerating them. He had a son five or six years
old, whose mother I never knew. This poor boy
was loved and neglected by his father. ' That child,'
said Mirabeau by way of praise, ' has a very fero
cious heart.' He thought that everything con
nected with the blood of a Mirabeau would needs
be extraordinary. Finding the poor child very
much neglected, I caressed and fondled him and
was much surprised at seeing this ferocious little
animal take my hands, not to bite, but to kiss them.
He appeared to be of an amiable disposition, and
might easily have been managed with a little affec
tionate care."
MM. Louis and Charles de Lomenie, in their
most interesting work, " Les Mirabeau," make Jean
Riquetti, who bought in 1570 the estate and castle
of Mirabeau, a fief of the old Provencal family of
Barras, the founder of the house. He was an en
terprising merchant of Marseilles, who accumulated
135

MIRABEAU
a fortune trading in coral and in the manufacture
of fine cloths or " scarlet stuffs." He made an
advantageous alliance by marrying into an aristo
cratic family, and rose in the estimation of his
fellow-citizens because of the capable manner in
which he discharged the duties of a municipal
ofiice. He appears to have been a reputable, con
servative, well-to-do citizen, whose success in life
and elevation to public place did not turn his head.
In 1660 Thomas Riquetti had the honor and
special distinction of entertaining in his house, at
' Marseilles, Louis XIV. His son, Honore, was
created in 1685 Marquis de Mirabeau. From this
point, the family history is interesting to study be
cause it reveals, generation after generation, the
predominant characteristics of the race, passion
and intellect, which ultimately found their culmina
tion and full development in the subject of this
sketch. Some were of wild, of untamed blood,
who offended against all forms ; others were affec
tionate, tender, and gentle. Notably among the lat
ter was the one known as the bailli, the uncle of the
great Mirabeau. " In his character," says Von
Hoist, " is much less base alloy than in that of any
other member of the family. He is by far the most
estimable and sympathetic of them all." The
marquis, in writing to the Comte du Saillant in
1 770, said : " I know my tempestuous race. I have
seen the youth of the bailli who, during a period of
four or five years, passed not more than four days
of the year outside of a gaol, and so soon as re
leased, he would indulge in brandy and assault all
those whom he found in his way, till he was beaten
136

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
and carried to prison. But with all this, he had
honor to excess, and those who knew him, promised
my mother that some day he would be an excellent
man. Notwithstanding this, nobody could arrest
him in his wild career, but suddenly he reformed
himself," and the whole tenor of his life was
changed. " A more gallant, honest, amiable, and,
indeed, sensible man," says Brougham, " it would
be hard to find in any circle or in any situation of
life, — brave to a fault, so as even to signalize him
self in a country, an age, and a profession where
the highest valor was epidemical."
The daughters of the house, in some instances,
were as mad as the men and had all the vicious
characteristics of the race. " The women," says
Lamartine, " are all angelic or perverse, — the men
sublime or depraved."
The first one of the family who attracted public
attention was Bruno de Riquetti. He commanded
a company of musketeers in the reign of Louis
XIV. He was a hot-blooded, tempestuous sort of
fellow, a very madcap. He was said by a relative
" to have had as much wit as courage, but was mad,
insolent, and vicious." Upon one occasion, he
chastised an usher of the royal household and
chased him into the very cabinet of the king.
When his arrest in consequence was directed, he
defied the order and swaggered into the royal pres
ence to explain the trifling incident. His audacity
pleased Louis, who forgave him, no doubt be
lieving that such a madman had the spirit of a
valiant soldier and that the clemency and gener
osity of the monarch would increase the loyalty and
i37

MIRABEAU
devotion of the subject. The leniency, however,
did not seem to be appreciated, for at another time
when the court, in a spirit of flattery and adulation,
was dedicating an equestrian statue to Louis in the
Place des Victoires, Bruno, with supreme audacity
and almost in a spirit of contempt, evidently not
relishing the silly and pompous ceremony, and not
having much regard for the soldierly qualities of
Louis, saluted the statue of Henry IV., and then
cried out : " Friends, we will salute this one, — he
deserves it as well as another." A bold spirit had
this wild Bruno.
Jean Antoine, Marquis de Mirabeau, he of " the
silver stock," was one of the most interesting char
acters of his period. He was tall, as straight as
a pine, and every inch a soldier. He was a choleric,
a splenetic, an outspoken martinet, who quailed
neither before man, devil, nor danger. He served
with great distinction in many campaigns and was
known as " the right arm" of the Duke of Ven
dome. He was a soldier of reckless valor and
fought, at times, with almost unexampled bravery,
if we are to believe the history of his life as written
by his son. Although receiving special mention for
conspicuous skill and courage on many a field, he
for some reason or other failed of promotion. Per
haps, as one would say in the vulgar parlance of
to-day, it was owing to the fact that he did not
have " a pull at the front."
Vendome, upon one occasion, presented him to
Louis XIV. and spoke of his valor in terms most
complimentary, but the old soldier, with his usual
candor and spleen and want of tact, cut off all
138

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
chance of promotion by telling the king that had
he left his flag, come up to court and bribed some
scarlet woman, he might have had his promotion
and fewer wounds, for, in truth, it is said that
this old colonel of " the silver stock" had between
thirty and forty of such decorations, twenty-seven
of which he had received in one battle in one hour.
After this remarkable interview, Vendome told
his friend that hereafter he would present him to
the enemy, but never to the king. The old colonel
was wanting in the arts of the courtier and the
politician, but he had all the sterling qualities of
the soldier.
At Cassano, he was left on the field supposed to
be dead, but as a last precaution, a faithful and
devoted follower threw over his head a camp ket
tle, — a curious helmet or morion for an old war
rior, but it bravely answered its purpose. Soldiers
charged and horses galloped over his body, but,
fortunately, after the battle he was found alive,
and restored to health by what his biographer calls
a miraculous operation. He had been shot in the
neck, " a bullet struck him in the throat and cut
asunder the jugular vein," but the hemorrhage
was stopped in time and his life spared. The
tendons and cords, however, were so weak that
he was ever afterwards compelled to wear a silver
stock to hold his proud and haughty head in posi
tion. " This Col d' Argent," in the language of
Carlyle, " came alive again and holding his head
up by means of a silver stock, walked this earth
many long days with respectability, with fiery in
trepidity and spleen, and did many other things;
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MIRABEAU
among others, produced in dignified wedlock, Mira
beau, the Friend of Men, who again produced
Mirabeau, the Swallower of Formulas."
John Anthony, after his many battles, while rest
ing at Digne, met, wooed, and won a beautiful
woman, Mademoiselle Francoise de Castellane
Norante. She was rich and well born. He was
forty-two, she was half his age. He evidently had
a dread of mothers-in-law, for he insisted upon
the stipulation, that after his marriage the grand
old dame, the mother of his wife, should never
cross the threshold of his home. The marriage
turned out to be a happy one ; whether or not it was
owing to the special stipulation can only be guessed.
It was not only a happy marriage, but a fruitful
one. His wife bore him six children, five sons and
one daughter; but three sons survived him.
The eldest of these sons was Victor Riquetti,
Marquis de Mirabeau, the father of the Great Tri
bune, born at Perthius in 171 5. He was educated
under the severest regime. John Anthony con
trolled his children by fear. He kept them at a dis
tance, familiarity was out of the question. There
was never shown a sentiment of love, for that, in
the opinion of " old silver stock," would have been
a sign of weakness. He was determined his boys
should not be milksops, and he trained them as if
they were whelps. " Honor thy father," was the
precept that governed in his household, but it never
occurred to the parent that he should honor the
child. He thought he owed to his offspring no
duties other than maintenance and education, and
in return required grave respect and implicit obedi-
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
ence. He was most severe in his judgment, and
in holding a child to an accountability he neglected
to take into account the fact that he had transmitted
to him his bad as well as his good traits. He
failed, like many other fathers, to remember that
he was responsible for the child's creation, and that
his passions were inherited by the child, perhaps
to an intensified degree and with less power of
resistance to temptation.
Victor received his early education at a Jesuit
College either in Aix or Marseilles. At thirteen
he entered the army and was attached to the regi
ment which his father had formerly commanded.
In 1 73 1 he was withdrawn from his regiment and
sent to a military academy in Paris. Here he led
a wild and riotous sort of life and secured a degree
of liberty, somewhat unusual for a boy of his years,
by suppressing a letter of instruction to the school
authorities, addressed to them by his father.
He enjoyed a freedom that allowed him to in
dulge in all kinds of excesses, and apparently with
out the slightest restraint or discipline. The pleas
ures of the gay capital specially appealed to him
and his wild nature led him into all sorts of esca
pades, but what he' liked best of all was to visit
the playhouse with his companions and interrupt
the actors and irritate the audience.
"In the winter of 1731," says Willert, "a
strange figure was often to be seen in the pit of
Parisian theatres, — a boy of remarkable beauty,
with clear-cut features, bold eyes, and hair stream
ing in long elf locks below his shoulders, the cross
of a knight of Malta hanging over his tattered
141

MIRABEAU
clothes, who, with his wild companions, disturbed
actors and audience by noisy disapprobation and
tumultuous applause."
Leaving the footlights, where he mocked the
players, we next find him at the stage door waiting,
night after night, for a pretty actress, whose bright
eyes had set fire to his boyish heart. " Of all the
pretty women," says McCarthy, " whose names are
preserved for us in the amorous chronicles of the
day, few were prettier than the little Dangeville,"
and she it was that caught in her meshes the
young rogue Victor, but alas ! the old Colonel of
" the silver stock" heard of the affair and straight
way the ardent lover was ordered to join his regi
ment. The parting was full of tears and vows, but
time and absence soon healed the broken, bleeding
hearts. The actress was shortly afterwards won by
a wealthy nobleman, whom, in time, she ruined,
and Victor, hearing of her infidelity, declared he
had dismissed all thought of her. Perhaps !
His army life did not improve his morals. He
was exceptionally dissolute, even in that immoral
age. In writing to a friend, he says : "Sensuality
is the bane of my imagination. I shall dearly rue
my follies and that licentiousness which has become
my second nature." Is it not strange that he did
not, in after years, forgive the hereditary vices of
his son, or at least make some allowance for them ?
In 1743, while he was in Paris, he made up his
mind that he ought to marry an heiress, and his
choice fell upon a woman whom he had never seen.
He immediately opened negotiations for her hand,
and, unfortunately for both of them, was success-
142

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
ful. Their married life was most unhappy. He
described the twenty years he spent with her as
twenty years of nephritic colic.
Marie Genevieve de Vassan, for that was the
name of the lady, was, at the time of her marriage,
an ignorant, half-educated, self-willed girl, with
violent passions. She was vulgar in language and
immodest in her conduct. Her father was a weak,
silly man. Her mother had the taint of hereditary
insanity, and had been confined in a madhouse
before the birth of her daughter, and, in the lan
guage of her son-in-law, " she was the most irri
table and irritating woman in the world." We
must, however, take with a grain of salt all the
statements made by him in reference to his wife's
family. He was at all times in such matters a
severe and often an unfair critic.
The marquis, at last, suggested a separation, but
to this the marchioness gave a decided refusal.
She was induced, however, to go to her mother,
whose health was failing, and, during her absence,
her husband discovered evidences of her (dishonor
and shame " over which an honorable man," to
use his own language, " could not throw his cloak."
When confronted with indisputable and over
whelming proofs of her guilt, she agreed to a sepa
ration, and promised, in consideration of the pay
ment of an annual allowance, not to come to Paris.
But her extravagance and passion for gambling
soon exhausted her income and her creditors began
to dun the husband. In settling her debts, he paid
them out of her stipulated allowance. In conse
quence, he was charged with neglecting to provide
143

MIRABEAU
sufficient support for his wife and was threatened
by her relatives with a suit at law for breach of
contract. A scandal was imminent, and to avoid
all further annoyance, he summarily settled the
matter by securing a lettre de cachet, under which
his wife was confined in a convent at Limoges.
Failing to find happiness in the companionship
of his wife, he formed a connection, such as was
common in those days, with a Madame de Pailly,
a Swiss lady of wit, cleverness, and intelligence,
and although the forms of propriety were observed,
the example was none the less injurious and mis
chievous to his children, in the matter of their
home-training and education.
These were the influences and conditions that
surrounded the early years of Gabriel and which
affected a nature that, though passionate and in
temperate, was naturally affectionate, generous,
and sympathetic, and specially susceptible to kind
and tender treatment. Even his harsh and crabbed
father, in referring to his disposition, said : " You
cannot speak to him reproachfully, but his eyes, his
lips, his color testify that all is giving way; on
the other hand, the smallest word of tenderness will
make him burst into tears, and he would fling
himself into the fire for you."
The marquis was a man of fine intellect and a
political economist of distinction. He was a dis
ciple of Francois de Quesnay, one of the most
eminent economists of the eighteenth century, and
was the author of a famous work entitled, " L'Ami
des Hommes ; or, Traite de la Population," which
appeared about 1755. It created a decided sensa-
144

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
tion, although its style has been described as
" rugged, quaint, and tortuous." Brougham, in
referring to the literary style of the marquis, says :
" It is nearly the dullest and most formal and least
readable in which a Frenchman's thoughts were
ever conveyed," and yet when he left his pedantic,
so-called philosophical form and indulged in letter-
writing " his style is about the very best, the most
lively, the most entertaining, which, for origi
nality, raciness, force, felicity of diction, has
scarcely a rival." He was the author of twenty-
two works. Most of them were ephemeral in
character and are not found to-day even as curi
osities on the book-shelves of antiquaries. His
principal works were : " The Friend of Men," to
which we have already alluded ; " Theory of Tax
ation," " Rural Philosophy," and the " Civil Edu
cation of a Prince." He was a constant contribu
tor to journals and periodicals on the subject of
agriculture, although his son at one time intimated
that his father's practical knowledge on this im
portant subject was so limited that he could not
distinguish rye from wheat. " The Friend of
Men" was a strange title for one so heartless and
so unsympathetic as this old ruffian. He was the
professed friend of men as well as women, but
the enemy of his family. In theory he was a
philanthropist, in practice a tyrant. A self-styled
friend of humanity, he was a cruel master to those
whom he should have loved. He championed the
•world and abused his own family. He professed
an affection for mankind and vented his hatred on
his own flesh and blood.
IO 145

MIRABEAU
He wrote a paper on " Lettres de Cachet," in his
earlier years, in which he denounced in scathing
terms an arbitrary power which imprisoned, with
out hearing or form of trial, innocent men and
women, who, in many instances, knew neither the
accusers nor the offences for which they were im
prisoned. His inconsistency is shown in that he
obtained from the ministry, after the publication of
this work, about fifty-four such letters for the im
prisonment of his children and others against
whom he had personal grievances.
In referring to this matter in a letter written to
his brother, the bailli, he says : " Four days ago I
met Monpezat, whom I have not seen for twenty
years, and who, like an ass, drew upon himself a
regular set-down. ' Is your action with Madame
la Marquise finished ?' he said to me. ' I have
gained it,' I replied. ' And where is she?' 'In a
convent' 'And your son, where is he?' 'In
a convent.' ' And your daughter in Provence?'
' In a convent.' ' Have you then contracted to
people convents ?' ' Yes, sir, and had you been
my son, you should have been in one long enough
since.' "
The reputation of the old marquis for securing
lettres de cachet was known throughout all France,
and his use of these royal warrants became a public
scandal. Gabriel Honore, at the instance of his
father, after his release from the dungeon of Vin
cennes, requested Maurepas, the minister, to give
him a lettre against his sister, Madame de Cha-
bris, whose wild and shameful conduct had, in the
opinion of her father, disgraced the name of Mira-
146

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
beau. Maurepas, out of all patience, replied : " It
is intolerable that there should be no end to the
scandals in your family. The king will hear no
more of them."
In 1760 the Marquis published his " Theorie de
l'lmpot," in which he attacked with all the vehe
mence of his nature the Farmers General, and the
unjust and cruel system of taxation that prevailed
throughout France. Because of this publication,
he was arrested for libel and confined for about a
week in the prison at Vincennes and then exiled
to his estate at Bignon.
Carlyle describes him as " on^ of the most singu
lar, sublime pedants that ever stepped the soil of
France. For, withal, there is such genius in him,
rich depth of character, indestructible cheerfulness
and health, breaking out in spite of these divorce
papers, like strong sunlight in thundery weather."
It took a man of Carlyle's disposition to appreciate
and admire the qualities of such a character.
Vauvenargues, in a letter to the marquis, told
him that he was " fiery, spiteful, stormier, prouder,
and more changeable than the sea, thirsting above
all for pleasure, knowledge, and honors."
He was a man of irascible temper, unreasonable
and inconsistent in his conduct, vain, eccentric, im
perious, resentful, cruel, and tyrannical. To his
eldest son, the subject of this sketch, he trans
mitted all his passion and his intellect, and the
conceited old pedant, failing to admire his own
qualities or excuse his own vices in another, took
vengeance upon his own creation.
We have, at some length, described the father
147

MIRABEAU
and the mother of Gabriel Honore Riquetti, Comte
de Mirabeau, because to understand him, it is neces
sary to know something of his parents. We can
not fairly judge him unless we study his antece
dents, early education, and surroundings.

148

CHAPTER IX
MIRABEAU'S BIRTH  HIS YOUTH  SCHOOL DAYS
 EARLY MANHOOD  HIS MARRIAGE
The Mirabeau house at Bignon on the 9th of
March in the year of our Lord 1749 was excited in
expectation of the coming of an heir. The Mar
quis for the time being had ceased his fuming and
fretting and was quietly but anxiously awaiting
the happening of the event. There had been a
son previously born, but he had died when he
was three years of age; his death had resulted
from drinking the contents of an inkhorn. The
father's wish was for a male heir to sustain the
honor of the family name. The news at last came
out of the bed-chamber that a son had been born.
His appearance had startled the nurse, and the doc
tor pronounced him a monster. His birth was pro
digious; the child's head was so large that his
mother's life was put in peril. The gossips whis
pered that he was born with a mouthful of teeth,
and stranger still, he is said to have been tongue-
tied. His father called him " enormous" and
boasted of his size and " seemed to take a kind of
pleasure in his great proportions." " Cluck, cluck,
— in the name of all the gods, what prodigy is this
I have hatched? Web- footed, broad-billed, which
will run and drown itself if Mercy and the parent
fowl prevent not !" is the language Carlyle puts into
the mouth of the old marquis at the moment of the
child's birth. This misshapen little monster that
149

MIRABEAU
so startled the nurse, amazed the doctor, frightened
his father, and imperilled his mother's life, was yet
to terrorize tyrants and aid in the regeneration of
France. When about three years of age, he was attacked
by smallpox, and his mother, under the advice of
some wiseacre in the neighborhood, applied a salve
to his features which scarred his face and left
marks deep and ugly which time and care and
numerous remedies could never efface.
The Mirabeaus had been a race of handsome
men, but the greatest of the line was to be " swart,
prodigious, patched with foul moles and eye-offend
ing marks." In after years, when as deputy in the
National Assembly his fame had spread through
out France, a woman who was an enthusiastic ad
mirer wrote to him and requested in her letter a de
scription of his appearance. Seizing his quill, he
wrote : " Dear Madame, imagine a tiger that has
had the smallpox."
The father, because of the disfigurement of the
boy's face, was inconsolable; he stormed and
fumed in his own wild fashion, and instead of pity
ing the child, turned away from him with aver
sion. The mother, too, no doubt received her
share of abuse and denunciation, for the old mar
quis spared no one in his unreasonable anger.
At the age of five Gabriel, while under the care
of his tutor, M. Poisson, was told to write on what
ever came into his head. The little fellow, his
father said, in a letter written to the bailli dated
November 29, 1754, wrote literally as follows:
" Monsieur Me, I beg that you will pay atten-
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
tion to your writing and not make blots in your
copy. Pay attention to what you are doing ; obey
your father, your tutor and your mother; never
contradict ; no double dealing on the point of honor
above all. Attack no one, except you are attacked
yourself. Defend your country. Do not be unkind
to the servants. Do not be familiar with them.
Hide the faults of your neighbors, because you may
want them to do the same for you." Rather a re
markable paper for a child so young.
The boy made marvellous progress in his
studies, notwithstanding the harsh treatment he
received. His father's moods were as variable as
April weather. At one moment the child was en
couraged, and the next moment denounced and
scorned. As time ran on the father's dislike grew
into a bitter, an implacable hatred that followed the
boy through life like the curse of fate. He had the
unyielding, indomitable spirit and the savage nature
of his race and he stubbornly resented his father's
cruelty, and yet it must be said to his credit that
he always retained respect, if not love, for his stern
and unreasonable parent.
At twelve, his father said of him : " There is
a noble heart under the jacket of that bantling.' He
has a strange instinct of pride, but of a generous
character. This little bit of a man is a bully in a
flurry and would swallow the whole world before
he is twelve years old."
At the age of fifteen he was sent to a school, or
what we should rather call a corrective or reforma
tory institution. It was located in Paris and was
under the direction of a taskmaster named Cho-
151

MIRABEAU
quard, " a stern man and one who knew when need
ful to punish severely." He was an abbe and had
the reputation of maintaining an educational sys
tem so harsh in its methods and administration that
the most insubordinate spirit could be broken to
obedience under its discipline.
The boy was not allowed to bear his family
name, but was registered in the institution, at his
father's request, as Pierre Buffiere, a slight, an ig
nominy put upon him, that must have irritated his
proud nature.
During this period he had such a haughty air
that the Prince de Conti asked : " What would you
do if I slapped your face?" He answered: " That
question might have been embarrassing before the
invention of pistols for two."
We may get some idea of the impression Mira
beau made upon his school-fellows by reading a
letter sent by one of them, Lord Minto, to his
brother Hugh, after meeting Mirabeau in London
many years after their school-days had ended : " I
was agreeably surprised by a visit from our old
and persecuted school-fellow, Mirabeau. I found
him as ardent a friend as I left him and as little
altered as possible by twenty years of life, of which
six have been consumed in prison and the rest in
personal and domestic trouble. He is as overbear
ing in his conversation, as awkward in his graces,
as ugly and as misshapen in face and person, as
dirty in his dress, and withal as perfectly suMsant
as we remember him twenty years ago at school.
I loved him, however, then and so did you, though,
as he confesses, you sometimes quarrelled with him,
152

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
being always somewhat less patient in admitting
extreme pretensions than me."
While at Choquard's Academy the boy, because
of his cheerfulness, aptitude, and intelligence, soft
ened the heart of his merciless master. He acquired
the use of four languages, danced gracefully, and
rode a horse like a Cossack. A brighter pupil never
sat at a desk. But the regimen of the school, severe
as it was, did not tame his wild spirit, and so his
father secured for him a commission in the army.
Here he got into all sorts of scrapes and any num
ber of quarrels ; his temper was hot and hasty, and
he kept his scabbard empty. Upon the slightest
provocation he would draw his sword and he was
most skilful in the use of it. Quarrels, duels, bouts,
and orgies were daily and nightly incidents in his
life. To make matters worse, he fell in love with
a young lady, a policeman's daughter, whom his
superior officer had endeavored to woo and win.
The cowardly rival quietly conveyed the in
formation to the father of Mirabeau, and the old
man, as usual, without looking into the facts, waxed
wroth and threatened vengeance. The result was
a quarrel, a flight to Paris, an arrest under a lettre
de cachet and confinement in a dungeon on the Isle
of Rhe. The father's letter of introduction to the
governor of the prison described his son as " hot
headed, utterly perverse and a liar by instinct."
Handicapped in this way, he, nevertheless, in a
short time, won the heart of his gaoler, who, be
coming interested in his welfare, personally inter
ceded for his pardon. After much entreaty and
many promises, he was released and again joined a
153

MIRABEAU
regiment, which straightway sailed to Corsica to
aid in the reduction of that insurgent island. For
his brilliant and distinguished services in this cam
paign he was commissioned captain of dragoons, al
though not assigned to any particular command.
His superior officer declared that he never saw a
man who evinced a greater aptitude for the science
of war.
Upon his return to France his father's heart, for
a time, seemed softened and he welcomed his boy
home with some show of affection and allowed him
to resume the family name, for he had borne the
pseudonym, Pierre Buffiere, ever since the day he
had entered Choquard's Academy.
About this time his father, who was put to his
wits' ends to restrain him, said : " He is a bottle
that has been corked and corded for twenty-one
years. If he is ever uncorked suddenly and without
great care there will be a fine evaporation." His
father called him " Whirlwind," and his uncle, the
bailli, addressed him as " Monsieur le Comte de la
Bourrasque" (Squall). "Rummage in his head,
and you will find a library topsy turvy, a talent for
dazzling by superficialities; he has swallowed all
formulas and cannot substantiate."
While on a visit to his father in Provence, he
met his uncle, the bailli de Mirabeau, who, though
strongly prejudiced against his nephew, was singu
larly impressed with his power and talents, and
emphatically declared to his brother, the marquis,.
that " If not worse than Nero, he will be better than
Marcus Aurelius. ... If he is not the cleverest
imposter in the world, he will be the best material
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
to be found for pope, commander by sea and land,
lord chancellor, or even agriculturist. You were
something at twenty-two, but not half what he is."
This was pretty positive language for the conceited
old pedant to hear, especially from so worthy a
critic, but it in no wise changed his conduct to
wards his son. In reply, he told the bailli that he
must be on g-uard against the wiles of the rascal
who, while winning his heart, would, if the oppor
tunity occurred, steal his purse.
About this time, Gabriel went to Paris, where for
two years he enjoyed the life of a man of the world
and indulged in every species of dissipation. His
prodigality, his extravagance surpassed all limits,
for in the language of the old marquis, " he would
squander in a week all the treasures of our Lady of
Loretto." He formed there the friendship of the
Duke of Chartres, and was the companion of a
group of wild revellers.
When presented at court, the young Mirabeau
bore himself haughtily. " He is as insinuating as
I was shy," said his father; and when the marquis
was told of his son's escapades in Paris, he re
marked that " he was a wild bird that nested be
tween four turrets." I wonder if the father re
called his own days of dissipation in the capital?
" The colt is hard to manage," exclaimed in de
spair the old marquis, and so to bridle him he de
cided that he should marry, and straightway he
was directed to sue for the hand of Marie Emilie
de Covet, an heiress. There was some opposition
upon the part of the young man, but he soon felt
the force of his father's will, and yielded. She was
i55

MIRABEAU
the only daughter of the Marquis de Marignane,
and was described in a letter written by Mira
beau's sister as " hideous and very short." This
description, however, was not doing the young
woman full justice, for although her face was
rather ordinary she had fine eyes, fine hair, a pleas
ing smile, figure small but agreeable. She showed
great sprightliness of mind, was delicate, lively,
sportful. Her temper, when aroused, was violent.
Her language, at times, was coarse, and her stories
broad. She had a taste for music, was given to ex
travagance, and had a passion for gambling. This
was a fine pair to yoke together vinder a stingy
allowance !
Mirabeau wooed and, as usual, won. He was
disappointed in the amount of the dowry she
brought him, for her penurious father gave her a
very small dot. Immediately, because of his ex
travagant habits, Mirabeau became involved in
debt, which so enraged his father that the prodigal,
under a lettre de cachet, was confined within the
limits of the little drowsy town of Manosque. Here
he lived with his wife and child upon an annual
stipend of two hundred and fifty pounds. During
this period of poverty and privation he wrote his
essay on Despotism, a work " full of fire, rough
vigor, and still worth reading."
Chafing under the yoke of his marriage as well
as the restraint imposed by the order of exile, Mira
beau longed for change and excitement. Two little
adventures add spice to the story. His wife was
given to coquetry. She was one of those silly women
who live on admiration and who accept attention
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
whenever, wherever, and by whomever given. She
flirts with a Provencal dandy named Gassaud.
The correspondence is discovered, Mirabeau flies
into a rage, demands satisfaction, a duel is threat
ened, but is avoided by the earnest appeals of the
dandy's father. Peace is restored, and Mirabeau
even goes so far in his generosity as to beg the fam
ily of the young lady to whom Gassaud was affi
anced to forgive the derelict, and once more restore
him to favor. All the country-side had heard of
Chevalier Gassaud's peril, and because of his con
duct his fiancee's family had decided to break off
the engagement, upon which was depending a fine
marriage settlement.
While Mirabeau was returning from his errand
of mercy, he met on the king's highway a certain
Baron de Villeneuve-Moans. An old score had to
be settled, for the baron, upon a certain occasion
in a public promenade, had insulted sister Chabris.
The baron refused to fight, whereupon Mirabeau
seized the whip out of the socket of the baron's gig
and took satisfaction to the full. A complaint was
lodged against Mirabeau and a lettre de cachet hur
ried him away to the Chateau d'lf. A year later he
was transferred by his father's orders to the Fort
ress of Joux in the mountains of the Jura. Here
he met at Pontarlier, a small town a short distance
from the castle, Sophie de Monnier, and at first
sight it was love in earnest. It would have been
far better for both Sophie and Gabriel if he had
been confined more closely in the donjon, or if the
limit of his parole had fallen about a mile short of
the town of Pontarlier. 157

MIRABEAU
To a man with passions as strong and as con
suming as Mirabeau's, it is difficult to distinguish
between love and lust. Of course, love is not all
reason, nor is it all emotion and passion, for if it
be the latter it disappears as soon as emotion van
ishes and passion subsides. There is no question,
however, but that during this period Mirabeau's
affection for Sophie was sincere and deep.
Mirabeau was constantly in love, but he could
not truthfully be called a constant lover. Sophie
de Monnier, for whom he suffered and to whom he
ardently protested his undying love and poured out
the affection of his soul, faded almost completely
out of his mind and recollection in, comparatively,
a very short time.
He loved the sex rather than a woman. As we
read the story of his love affairs,' we are convinced
that he delighted in the excitement of the chase.
He rejoiced in the pursuit rather than in the posses
sion. His passion or, if you prefer to designate it,
his love increased proportionately as its object was
difficult to reach or attain. Rivals and stone walls
only intensified the ardor of his desire. Perhaps,
however, among men, this is not an exception to the
general rule. " L'amour rendait la victoire plus
difficile pour en augmenter le prix," writes Mira
beau in one of his letters to Sophie.
Mirabeau was conscious of the influence he had
over women and he often wantonly exerted it in
the sheer pride of his strength. He delighted to
have the world hear of his amours and his con
quests, for they added to his reputation and re
vealed an innate power in a man who, though ugly
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
and scarred in visage, could fascinate the loveliest
woman. He was proud of his reputation in these
matters, and he could afford to be, for it was an
age when commendation followed success; men
were ridiculed for their blunders rather than de
nounced for their vices.

i59

CHAPTER X
SOPHIE DE MONNIER — SEDUCTION OF SOPHIE —
MIRABEAU IN PRISON AT VINCENNES  LETTERS
TO SOPHIE  LETTRES DE CACHET  TRIAL AT
PONTARLIER  SUIT AT AIX
Sophie de Monnier was just out of her teens
when she married a man seventy-five years of age,
" gray, old and sapless." He was a president of the
Parliament of Besancon, a man of affluence, posi
tion and quality. The wealth of the aged suitor
was too much of a temptation for the family of
Sophie to resist, and she had to choose between a
marriage and a convent. How much happier she
would have been had she chosen the latter the story
of her life will tell.
Mirabeau when at Joux had leave to extend
his walk as far as the town of Pontarlier, and he
was welcomed as a guest in the household of M.
Monnier. It is unnecessary to say that he charmed
all the inmates and specially fascinated the young
and beautiful wife. But he had a rival more ob
servant and jealous than the blind, confiding hus
band. The commandant of the fortress of Joux,
almost as old as M. Monnier, whose love for women
and attention to them had become a habit, and
whose gallantry had outlived his passion, had more
than once cast his eyes on Sophie, and the vain,
conceited old soldier believed, before the arrival of
Mirabeau, that the outer fortress had been taken.
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MIRABEAU AND SOPHIE IN AMSTERDAM
' He worked for Dutch publishers, and toiled far into the night.
But they were happy, and love made their burdens light"

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
He quietly wrote a complaining letter to Mira
beau's father, who, always ready to believe any ill
report spoken of his son, gave "rders to confine
him more strictly and under closer guard. No
plan could have been adopted that would have so
inflamed the passions of the lovers and increased
their longings.
Mirabeau, watching his opportunity, escaped the
prison and fled to Switzerland. Hunted by the
police and the emissaries of his implacable father,
he managed to elude their vigilance. He succeeded
in communicating with Sophie and arranged the
plans for an elopement. In the darkness of a sultry
August night she, in male attire, scaled the garden
walls that surrounded her husband's home and hur
ried away to meet her lover at the nearest place on
the Swiss frontier. Together they fled to Holland.
Here in the city of Amsterdam they lived in a
humble tenement, a garret, some say, and suffered
the stings of hunger and misery. He worked for
Dutch publishers and toiled far into the night to
earn a pittance for the bare necessaries of life.
" Sophie sews and scours beside him with her
soft fingers, not grudging it." But they were
happy, and love made their burdens light. In
referring to this period in one of his letters to
Sophie, he says : " Study occupied nearly all my
time, and a man who was double my age might
have been less sedentary,' — this thy love remembers.
I had, at times, involuntary outbursts of vivacity
and impatience, which thou mightst have taken for
ill humor; but one of thy kisses ever restored
serenity to my countenance and peace to my spirit.
ii 161

MIRABEAU
... An hour of music delighted me, and my ador
able companion, though nourished and bred in opu
lence, was never so gay, so courageous, so atten
tive, so affable, so tender, as in poverty, — her un
changeable warm-heartedness displayed itself to its
utmost. We did not appear like an insensate couple
whom a passing madness had driven from their
country and indeed we were not such."
And Sophie writes, in answer : " Thou didst re
fuse my caresses for fear that they might make thee
forget thy books ; but with what rapture didst thou
not return shortly, — with what transport did I not
hold thee in my arms! How often didst thou not
tear thyself from these arms to fly to thy labor, to
thy tedious occupations; but nothing was weari
some to thee if it brought comfort to thy Sophie.
Ah, dearest, truly thou wast the model of true
lovers." For eight months their happiness continued,
and it might have lasted longer had it not been for
the fact that Mirabeau, while divorce proceedings
were pending between his parents, wrote a scath
ing, scurrilous pamphlet against his father, in which
he held the vain old pedant up to public ridicule and
contempt by describing him as a humbug, a hypo
crite, and a tyrant. The lawsuit pending between
the marquis and his wife was a wretched scandal
and their impetuous son must needs take part in it,
and having once before denounced his mother, he
thought it his duty to balance the account by abus
ing his father. The pamphlets were shipped into
France and the person to whom they were con
signed kindly sent a copy to the marquis who, of
162

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
course, fumed and boiled with rage and straight
way started in pursuit of his son.
The obdurate, implacable, relentless old man
never gave up the hunt until his bloodhounds
scented and ran down the quarry. It was all over
with the lovers; they were discovered just as they
were making preparations to escape to America.
What would have been the trend of the French
Revolution had Mirabeau been out of it ?
Gabriel and Sophie were parted, vowing eternal
love and fidelity. Tears and lamentations expressed
the anguish of their hearts, for the future held no
hope for them, — all was darkness and despair.
Mirabeau was sent to the dungeon at Vincennes,
and Sophie to an asylum for women in Paris.
After the abduction of Sophie her husband, M.
Monnier, instituted formal proceedings against her
and Mirabeau, and on the ioth of May, 1777, the
tribunal of the bailiwick of Pontarlier decreed
Mirabeau " guilty of abduction and seduction" and
condemned him to be beheaded in effigy, to pay a
fine of five livres to the state and forty thousand
livres to the injured husband. Sophie was found
guilty of being abducted and seduced and was sen
tenced to perpetual imprisonment in the House of
Correction at Besancon, to be shaved and to forfeit
all her rights and privileges of every kind, her mar
riage portion going to M. Monnier. St. Pelagie, a
house for common prostitutes, had been selected
for Sophie, but through the intercession of friends
she was confined in a house of correction for re
spectable but " erratic ladies," kept by Mademoi
selle Douay in the Rue de Charonne in Paris ; she
163

MIRABEAU
was registered under the name of Madame de
Courviere. While in this institution she won the
affection of every one with whom she came in
contact. Mirabeau remained in the prison at Vincennes
for forty-one months, from August, 1777, to De
cember, 1780. It was in this dungeon that the
seeds of death were sown in his body, for during
his imprisonment he was frequently attacked by
disease. His confinement at first was very severe.
His cell was but ten feet square and was without a
fireplace. He was allowed only one hour a day for
exercise and fresh air. He was half fed and with
out a change of clothes for months at a time. In
the meanwhile his child by his wife had died and
also his daughter by Sophie. The old marquis,
fearing that the name of Mirabeau might become
extinct, consented to his son's release.
" Oh ! there you are again," said the bailli to
his brother the marquis, " with your posteromania
(a longing for posterity), hard at- work tutoring
a game-cock of thirty-three! A nice task it is to
undertake the rounding of a character that is only
a hedgehog, all points and all too little body."
If it had not been for fear of the extinction of his
line it is questionable whether or not " The Friend
of Men" would ever have allowed his son to have
emerged from the dungeon.
Mirabeau surely gave no promise at this time of
his future greatness. He emerged from the prison
broken in body and with his sight greatly impaired.
Notwithstanding the enormous strength of his con
stitution, further confinement, he said, would have
164

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
completely wrecked his health. " So, what Mira
beau was for his family in 1781," says Victor
Hugo, " was an abortive man, a hackled creature,
a fellow with whom nothing could be done, a head
good to get broken by the insurgents and a scourge
besides." His imprisonment, however, was not without its
benefits, for during its continuance he devoted his
time to study; he was an omnivorous reader and
devoured everything that fell into his hands. He
was, unconsciously, preparing himself for the
events that were coming on. Disgraced, impris
oned, his name a by-word, no one at this moment
would have thought that in a decade of years he
would direct the destinies of France, and that his
death would be mourned by a sorrowing nation.
His death in 1781 would have received hardly a
passing notice, but " ten years later an immense
crowd, gloomy, silent, profoundly sad, thronged the
approaches of his house where he lay in his last
agony." After Mirabeau was released from his imprison
ment at Vincennes, Sophie was given a greater de
gree of liberty and she was permitted to receive vis
itors in the convent. Among those whom she met
was a certain M. de Rancourt, who perhaps was
more attentive than he should have been under the
circumstances. Mirabeau heard of these visits,
and Sophie, in her correspondence, not making any
reference to them, he became suspicious and jealous
and wrote some severe letters complaining of her
conduct. Instead of explaining matters she, in an
swer, upbraided him for his inattention and dere-
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MIRABEAU
fictions, and thus only increased the anger of her
old lover.
Mirabeau and Sophie met but once after their
arrest in Holland, and the interview was had some
time after his release from Vincennes. Rumor, in
the meanwhile, had been at work, and Mirabeau,
jealous and unreasonable, would listen to no ex
planation, and for all time they parted, never again
to meet on this earth, with anger in his heart and
remorse in hers.
There were two principal reasons for this
breach. In the first place, no doubt, Mirabeau's
ardor had cooled. Time, absence, and baseless
rumors had played havoc with his affections. In
the second place, he was more anxious to secure
kindly recognition from his father than to hold the
love of his mistress.
He who had written in his dungeon that " time
ought not to diminish love," he who had appealed
to his mistress to be ever constant to her faithful
Gabriel, declaring that he adored and would ever
adore her, — forgot the meaning of those burning
words. His treatment of Sophie was cruel, heart
less, without excuse. For him she had sacrificed
all that is dear to woman; her reputation, her
honor, her virtue. She had abandoned home,
friends and country; she had suffered poverty,
exile and imprisonment, and her reward was the
scorn and indifference of a lover whose ardor had
cooled. Sophie, after the final separation from Mirabeau,
lived in a convent for several years. Her old hus
band, M. Monnier, died. With him she had never
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
been reconciled. For a long time she brooded over
the rupture with Mirabeau, for in him all her real
affection was centred. She afterwards, unfortu
nately, fell in love with a gentleman named de Pote-
rat, who had suffered a disappointment in a love
affair, and just on the eve of their marriage he
died. In 1789, in September of that year, the year in
which the States General met and when Mirabeau's
name was resounding throughout France, poor So
phie, tired of life, ended it by inhaling the fumes
of a charcoal fire. She paid the full penalty of her
sin. She had eaten her bitter bread in sorrow sea
soned only with the salt of her tears. Pity and
charity drew a veil over her one great indiscretion
and left her alone to God's tender mercy.
The news of her death was brought to Mirabeau
while he was in the Assembly. He rose and imme
diately left the hall; the shock, perhaps, revived
for a time the spark that was concealed in the cold
ashes of an almost forgotten love.
While at Vincennes, Mirabeau wrote his cele
brated letters to Sophie. The superintendent of po
lice, Lenoir, pitied the lovers and permitted them
to write to each other under the condition that he
should see their correspondence. The letters re
mained in the archives of the police until they were
stolen by Manuel, Procureur of the Commune of
Paris, and were published after Mirabeau's death
in 1792, under the direction of the thief, who stated
in the preface that " II se felicite d'avoir ete l'un
des administrateurs de la police pour venger la me-
moire d'un grand homme. Sans moi ces lettres se
167

MIRABEAU
seraient separees et perdues sous la main dedaig-
neuse des geoliers et des commis."
Mirabeau, fearing that they would be published,
wrote in December, 1778: " Some monsters who
infest the streets of Paris, whilst many honest men
are groaning at Bicetre and in the galleys, threaten
that they will print my correspondence and that of
the unhappy victim of my love. This is dreadful to
contemplate and if I survive it, it will be to avenge
it." Besides the letters that passed through the hands
of Lenoir there was also a secret correspondence
carried on between the lovers, the letters being con
veyed by the turnkeys of the prison, whose hearts
had been touched by Mirabeau's distress and whose
palms had been tickled with his coin. Many of
these letters came into the possession of Montigny,
the adopted son of Mirabeau, who, after destroy
ing a number of them, placed the remainder in the
hands of M. de Lomenie. It is surprising that he
did not see the propriety of consigning them all to
the flames.
The mother and the creditors of Mirabeau en
deavored to prevent the publication of the letters by
Manuel, but lost the suit. They had an enormous
sale. Garat paid them the homage of a serious, sol
emn criticism in his chair at the Lycee, and charged
Mirabeau with gross plagiarism, declaring that
he had copied whole passages from the novels and
the periodicals of the day. " This correspondence,"
says Dumont, " evinced more of sensuality than
sentiment. Many of his letters are so repugnant
to modesty that they degrade the person to whom
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
they are addressed, for no man would presume
to adopt so licentious a style in writing to a
woman for whom he had the least esteem."
La Harpe declared they revealed the real life
of Mirabeau, and further added : " They are not
memoirs written for the public, nor are they con
fessions ; they are written in a dungeon to a mis
tress, and, passing through the hands of a judge,
ought never to have been seen by others ; and with
out the hazard of the Revolution, it is probable they
would never have reached the light of day." Victor
Hugo calls them " eloquent letters in which Mira
beau's real self is speaking, rather than writing."
Carlyle says, " They are good letters of their kind,
notwithstanding." The letters were the outpourings of a heart
amorous and sensuous; they expressed the long
ings of a lover who had been suddenly torn from
his mistress and immured in a dungeon. In de
spair, at times without hope, he allows his passion
to blind his reason. "It seems impossible that he
could have written, for instance, the letter dated in
August, 1777, referring to a meeting in the house
of Dame Barbaud at Pontarlier, especially in view
of the fact that it was to pass under the eyes of a
stranger. The letter of August 27, 1777, has very
much the flavor of a celebrated letter written by
Abelard to Heloise, and burns with passionate
desire. The correspondence becomes monotonous and at
times nauseating. It is wanting in the expression
of true esteem and lofty regard for pure woman
hood. It displays no philosophical fortitude under
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MIRABEAU
adversity. At times, like a wild beast, Mirabeau
chafes against the bars of his cage and longs more
for the body of his mistress than for her sympathy
and companionship.
It was while lying in the dungeon at Vincennes
that Mirabeau wrote his celebrated work, entitled
" Inquiries concerning Lettres de Cachet and State
Prisons," subjects with which he was very familiar
because of his personal experiences. The work ex
hibited an accurate and a profound knowledge of
the constitutional history of France. It proved,
from the legal point of view, that the practice of
issuing these letters was unwarranted, that the
abuse had grown up without any authority of law,
that it was an exercise of mere arbitrary power,
and that from every humane and philosophical con
sideration, it was unjust and iniquitous. The work
was characterized by his style, which was often dif
fuse, at times declamatory, but always eloquent.
He wrote as one who had suffered and was suffer
ing ; he argued with the zeal and the enthusiasm of
an advocate, but reasoned with the wisdom of a
judge. The book created a great sensation through
out France, had an immense circulation, and was
translated into English, with a dedication to the
Duke of Norfolk, in the year 1788. It revealed the
odious practice in its most hideous features and
aroused among all classes the most violent opposi
tion to its further continuance. It was not, how
ever, until January, 1790, that the evil was formally
abolished. In March of that year all prisoners con
fined under these summary processes were given
their liberty. One can hardly imagine anything
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
more odious and unjust in the exercise of tyranny
than the use of these sealed royal letters, by which
men were arrested and committed without any
form of trial or hearing, and without knowing their
accusers, and without being informed of the nature
and character of the charges.
Richelieu and Mazarin, during their administra
tions, frequently used these letters to suppress oppo
sition and to dispose of their enemies. Parliaments
protested, but in vain. It was too useful a method
in the policy of tyrants to be abandoned.
Louis XIV. claimed the right to their use, as he
declared, " for the public good and the interests of
families." It was his custom to sign a number of
these letters in blank and his ministers gave them
to those persons who had sufficient influence to se
cure them. They were used, in many instances, to
satisfy private hate and personal grievances. Fath
ers obtained them for the confinement of wayward
and spendthrift sons; jealous lovers who wanted
rivals out of the way found them very useful ; faith
less wives, that their amours might, not be inter
fered with, disposed of their suspicious and inquisi
tive husbands by means of these infamous war
rants. The husband of a pretty wife, who stood in
the way of a courtier's desire, would suddenly be
missed from his accustomed haunts, and the places
that had known him would know him no more
forever. Arthur Young, in his interesting and thoughtful
observations on the French Revolution, says :
" They (lettres de cachet) were certainly carried
to an excess hardly credible ; to the length of being
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MIRABEAU
sold, with blanks, to be filled up with names at the
pleasure of the purchaser." To this statement he
subjoins the following in a footnote : " An anec
dote which I have from an authority to be de
pended on will explain the profligacy of govern
ment, in respect to these arbitrary imprisonments.
Lord Albemarle, when ambassador to France,
about the year 1753, calling one day on the minister
for foreign affairs, was introduced for a few min
utes into his cabinet while he finished a short con
versation in the apartment in which he usually re
ceived those who conferred with him. As his lord
ship walked backwards and forwards in a very
small room (a French cabinet is never a large one),
he could not help seeing a paper lying on the table,
written in a large, legible hand, and containing a
list of the prisoners in the Bastile, in which the first
name was Gordon. When the minister entered
Lord Albemarle apologized for his involuntarily
remarking the paper; the other replied that it was
not of the least consequence, for they made no
secret of the names. Lord A. then said that he
had seen the name of Gordon first in the list, and
he begged to know, as in all probability the person
of this name was a British subject, on what account
he had been put into the Bastile. The minister told
him that he knew nothing of the matter, but would
make the proper inquiries. The next time he saw
Lord Albemarle he informed him that, on inquiring
into the case of Gordon, he could find no person who
could give him the least information ; on which he
had Gordon himself interrogated, who solemnly
affirmed that he had not the smallest knowledge nor
172

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
even suspicion of the cause of his imprisonment,
but that he had been confined thirty years; how
ever, added the minister, I ordered him to be imme
diately released, and he is now at large. Such a
case wants no comment."
To so great an extent had the evil grown that
the virtuous Turgot and Malesherbes refused to
take office under Louis XVI. unless it was agreed
that they should not be required to countersign any
letter without first being informed of its contents
and purpose and the name of the person against
whom it was directed.
After Mirabeau's release from Vincennes, he
was controlled by an overweening desire to please
and pacify his father, and this desire, strange to
say, influenced his every thought and action. His
affectionate regard for his father, under the cir
cumstances, was most remarkable. In all his cor
respondence and publications at this time, there is
not one harsh phrase recorded, with the exception
of the remark made after his release from Vin
cennes, when he complained bitterly that his father
hoped to starve him to death since he could not
hope to make him rob on the highway.
And yet, from his very childhood, his father had
slighted and tormented him, despised and de
nounced him, hunted and imprisoned him. He
saw a younger brother caressed, favored, and re
warded, — a brother, too, whose qualities were mean
in comparison with his, and yet, marvellous to re
late, notwithstanding this treatment and these con
ditions, .Mirabeau held his father in high regard and
respect. He was honest enough to admit that his
173

MIRABEAU
father's treatment of him was justified by his wild
conduct. After his release from Vincennes, while he was
visiting his brother-in-law, he saw hanging on the
wall a portrait of his father. He stopped before
it, and looking at it intently for a long time, tears
came to his eyes, and he exclaimed, his voice chok
ing with emotion : " My poor father !" and then
passed on. Such an affection ought to have been
early nurtured.
While Mirabeau was in the dungeon at Vin
cennes and when he had evidently given up all hope
of release, he placed in the hands of his friend, M.
Boucher, a sealed package containing letters, with
out date, addressed to Sophie, to his mother, his
father, his brother, and to M. Lenoir. The destina
tion of these letters was known to M. Boucher, but
he was requested not to open the package until
after Mirabeau's death. The letter to his father
is couched in the most affectionate terms and re
veals a forgiving disposition and a most contrite
spirit :
" My father, when you receive this letter I shall
be no more. The Supreme Judge will have either
absolved or condemned me, but before appearing
at His tribunal I feel it my duty to ask of you par
don for my faults, and it is from the depth of my
heart that I bitterly regret the anxiety that they
have given you. Efface from your memory these
many errors of youth for which I have made some
expiation by so many years of continual misfor
tune and of the most terrible captivity. But deign
to believe that my sufferings have never driven
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
from my heart the sentiments of tenderness and re
spect which I owe to you. Yes, my father, although
convinced that you have oppressed me, I swear to
you, I have never thought, as you have published,
nor complained against you, nor made myself a
party in the divorce proceedings of my mother.
The frankness with which I desire to express to
you my thought at a time when I have no need of
the assistance of any one, but only for the satisfac
tion of my conscience, ought to convince you of
the truth of my protestations. I am far from wish
ing to recriminate, O, my father ! against any one,
whoever he may be. I write to you, on the con
trary, with the conscience of a guilty man who ac-
causes himself and demands mercy from his judge.
Refuse me not then this last request, and if there
remain a sentiment of pity for me, bear in mind
that I leave in the world an unfortunate child, who
in no wise is responsible for my faults, who carries
your blood in her veins, and who has, I believe, no
other support nor succor than that of your commis
eration. Alas! I have caused the ruin of the
mother, — is it necessary to reproach me with the
misery of the daughter to whom the misfortune
of her birth will count for so much, something for
which she herself is in no way responsible? O, my
father ! I have no son, can you not have some regard
for the little one that I leave behind? I dare to
conceive a hope and it softens my regrets and my
fears. These are the ardent aspirations of your
son." Surely here may be discovered a spirit of contri
tion ; a heart without bitterness, rancor or hate.
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MIRABEAU
Mirabeau, through the intercession of friends,
was at last accorded an interview with his father,
and a partial reconciliation was effected. In a let
ter to his brother, the bailli, the marquis gives the
following description of the meeting : " Boucher
and the family suddenly brought me Honore, and
as he knelt upon the ground, the chevalier (de
Scepeaux) embraced me, saying, ' This is the
prodigal son.' I said to Honore, giving him my
hand, that I had long since pardoned the enemy,
that I was giving my hand to a friend, and that one
day I hoped to be able to bless the son." He then
described his son, whom he had not seen for years,
as follows : " I have found him much stouter,
especially about the shoulders, neck and head. He
has our figure, construction and manner, except
his own mercurial temperament; his locks are
very beautiful, his eyes also, his forehead is open;
he is much less studied in accent than formerly,
but rather so yet, of a natural air otherwise and
much less ruddy; beyond this, he is as you have
seen him."
After Mirabeau's release from the castle of Vin
cennes he stood trial at Pontarlier under the charge
of rape and seduction of Madame de Monnier and
was acquitted in 1782.
The argument he made in his own defence was
pronounced one of the ablest ever heard in the
courts of France. By sheer force of intellect " he
made the worse appear the better reason." He
bore down all opposition before him. The very
audacity, the sublime assurance and insolence of the
advocate startled but dominated and persuaded the
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
minds of his judges. Having once been beheaded
in effigy for his crime he secured, when he stood
before his accusers in the flesh, not only an ac
quittal, but a marvellous personal triumph.
Turning from this great success, he hurried to
Aix to plead for the return of his wife, but in this
effort he was foiled. His ardor, his pathos, his
fiery demands and tender appeals availed not, " his
cause was untenable." Four out of the eight judges
were near relatives of the Marquis of Marignane.
" On the day of the great spectacle the intoxi
cated crowd, although the guard had been trebled,
occupied and smashed doors, barriers, windows,
everything, — even on the roofs they sat, to see him,
at least, if they could not hear him, and it is a pity
that they did not all hear him, for he has spoken so
much, howled so much, roared so much, that the
mane of the lion was white with froth and the per
spiration dripped from it."
Although defeated in his suit, he succeeded in
establishing his reputation as the first orator of
France. He was pitted against the leading advo
cates of the bar of Provence, a bar that stood ex
ceptionally high. The ablest counsel had been re
tained by the Marignane family, and yet Mirabeau,
not a trained lawyer, did not hesitate to enter the
lists in advocacy of his own cause. During the
trial he and his father were unjustly and most sav
agely assailed by Portafis, a leading advocate on
the other side, and one of the most brilliant law
yers in France ; but so intense, so impassioned was
the language of Mirabeau in reply, so withering
in its scorn, so vehement in denunciation, that
12 177

MIRABEAU
Portalis was carried " fainting and shattered" from
the court-room. It is said, too, that Mirabeau's
appeals, at times, were so pathetic that the Marquis
de Marignane, the father of his wife, was over
come with emotion and wept.
Mirabeau's uncle, the bailli, was present at the
trial, and in giving an account of the eloquence of
his nephew, said: " The count pleaded yesterday;
there was, as you would imagine, a crowd. Marig
nane was there; at the commencement he tittered,
at the middle he bent his .head, — they even assured
me he finished by weeping, as did the greater half
of the audience. Marignane, in going out, said,
' He has pleaded with much gentleness and moder
ation' ; and in reality this man, made for desperate
things, found the secret of administering lots of
soft sawder to his father-in-law, to his wife, and
to praise them much, although at the same time
making them appear absurd."
The father of Mirabeau, with his usual acridity,
referred to the magnificent effort of his son as the
speech of "a chatterbox and a noodle" ("un
claque-dents et un fol").
But all this eloquence and effort went for naught.
Mirabeau lost his cause, his wife, and, worse than
all for him, the control of her estate.
The story of the life of Mirabeau's wife is worth
a passing notice. After the court decided in her
favor at Aix, several attempts were made by
friends to bring about a meeting and a reconcilia
tion between her and her husband, but these efforts
met with no success. After the death of Mirabeau
she emigrated with her father to avoid the violence
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
of the Revolution and spent several years abroad
in great poverty and distress. She married the
Count of Rocca, an officer in the Sardinian army,
and, in 1796, returned to France. The following
year her husband died and she opened a corre
spondence with Mirabeau's sister, Madame du
Saillant, whom she subsequently visited at Paris,
and with whom she took up her residence in the
Hotel Mirabeau. The remainder of her life she
consecrated to the memory of her illustrious hus
band. She occupied his chamber, which she deco
rated with busts, portraits, and souvenirs of the
great tribune, whom, in life, she had deceived and
neglected. A silly woman, she doted on the mem
ory of a man whose days she had embittered. She
was proud of his marvellous career, and thought
it reflected upon her, as his wife, some little glory.
Her repentence was late, — it was not induced by
love, but vanity.

179

CHAPTER XI
MADAME DE NEHRA  MIRABEAU'S WANDERINGS! 
HIS EXTRAVAGANCE  HIS ENERGY  HIS MAN
NER OF WORK — HIS BIOGRAPHERS
When Mirabeau's fortunes were at their lowest
ebb he met a beautiful young woman who came
into his life unexpectedly. She was the natural
daughter of a Dutch gentleman and was living
upon an annuity that had been left to her by her
father. She had been educated in France, and was
a woman of refinement and culture, and of a most
philosophic turn of mind. Henriette Van Haren,
or, as she was called, Madame de Nehra, — the
latter name formed by a transposition of the let
ters in Haren, — had no relatives, and no con
scientious scruples about forming an alliance with
a man whom she could not take as husband. She
says, in a feeble attempt to excuse her conduct,
that she felt it her duty to sacrifice herself in
order to save him. " I vowed to live for him
alone, to follow him everywhere, to brave all, if I
could be of use to him in good fortune or in bad.
I sacrificed my quiet life to share the storms of
his adventurous existence." She asserts that she
was not blinded by passion, but was controlled by
lofty sentiment. " When I first met him," she
writes, " I thought his appearance most unpleasing ;
I started back with repulsion. But, like many
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
others, I not only by degrees became accustomed
to his features, I even came to think them well
suited to his genius. His countenance was expres
sive, his mouth charming, his smile very attrac
tive." For five years the companionship continued, and
during that period she exerted a remarkable in
fluence over him. His letters to her are such as a
man would have written to a woman for whom he
had the highest regard. They are very unlike the
correspondence with Sophie de Monnier.
" Dear love," he says, " I have had only one
really happy day in my life, that on which I learned
to know you, that on which you gave me your
friendship. No happiness is possible away from
you. . . . Were you to abandon me I might seek
forgetfulness in dissipation, not to find pleasure,
but death." After this solemn protestation he de
serted her for the voluptuous, rascally Madame
Le Jay.
Henriette de Nehra evidently was a woman who
appealed more to his heart and mind than Sophie
ever did, and yet from her own confession we are
led to believe that their attachment was of a high
type of friendship rather than love. She was won
and fascinated by the intellectual power of Mira
beau, and she sacrificed herself out of mere senti
ment. His infidelity gave her no special anxiety;
her jealousy seems never to have been aroused so
long as she had his confidence and esteem.
From this time forth he wandered through
Europe, leading the life of a Bohemian, scarce find
ing a resting-place nor a fitting theatre for the dis-
181

MIRABEAU
play of his great talents and power. Occasionally
he was plunged into gloom, as is evidenced by the
following letter to his sister, in which he vividly
describes his situation : " Behold me free ! but what
boots my liberty? Disavowed by my father; for
gotten, and perhaps hated, by my mother, for
having desired to serve her ; dreaded by my uncle ;
haunted by my creditors, of whom not one has
been paid, although they deprived me of every
thing, under the pretext of satisfying them ; men
aced by my wife, or by those who govern her;
stripped of all things, — of revenue, of occupation,
of .credit." But out of this mood he, no doubt,
soon emerged for he was sanguine in temperament
and ever had the courage to face despair.
His extravagance plunged him into debt over
head and heels. At times he was almost penniless
and had to depend upon his wits for shelter and
daily bread, but his spirit was unconquerable.
What energy! what industry! what prodigious
activity! What mighty projects filled his brain!
He wrote, he argued, he thundered on every public
question, and all France, — aye, the whole world, —
listened. He wrote a letter to the king of Prussia,
published an address to the Batavians, and even
contemplated a translation of Homer. He pub
lished pamphlets on " The Prussian Monarchy,"
on " The Opening of the Scheldt," on " The Bank
of St. Charles," on " The Order of Cincinnatus,"
on " The Diamond Necklace," on " The Water
Company of Paris," on " Stock Jobbing," on Fi
nance, Taxes, Constitutional Reform, the Adminis
tration of Justice. " He was a very thunderbolt of
182

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
labor and activity." Nothing escaped his disputa
tious ardor. " He was," using the language
Macaulay applies to Johnson, " intellectually of
the stuff of which controversialists are made." He
was ever ready and always fully armed to enter the
lists against all challengers.
He could write upon any subject at the shortest
notice, and had the faculty of easily gathering his
information from many sources. In his animated
style, he could make the dryest subject interesting
and absorbing.
Dumont, in his personal " Recollections of Mira
beau," says : " He had the art of finding out men
of talent, and of successfully flattering those who
could be of use to him. His interesting and ani
mated conversation was like a hone which he used
to sharpen his tools. Nothing was lost to him.
. . . He appropriated to his own benefit the fruits
of the reading and study of his friends, knew how
tp use the information thus acquired, so as to ap
pear always to have possessed it, and when he had
begun a work in earnest, it was seen to make a
rapid and daily progress." Quoting from the same
writer : " Had anyone offered him the elements
of Chinese grammar he would, no doubt, have at
tempted a treatise on the Chinese language. He
studied a subject whilst he was writing upon it, and
he only required an assistant, who furnished matter.
He could contrive to get notes and additions from
twenty different hands ; and had he been offered a
good price, I am confident he would have under
taken to write even an encyclopaedia." M. Etienne
Dumont, who wrote the " Recollections of Mira-
183

MIRABEAU
beau," gives us more information that enables us
to appreciate and better understand the real char
acter of Mirabeau than any other author of that
period. He met Mirabeau in Paris in 1788, on the eve
of the Revolution, in the house of Mr. Romilly, a
gentleman whom Dumont describes as a " descend
ant of a French family, that took refuge in Eng
land after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes;
an event of which Romilly never spoke without
blessing the memory of Louis XIV., to whom he
thus owed the obligation of being an Englishman.
During Mirabeau's visit to London, in 1784, he
had become very intimate with Romilly."
It was at this time that Mirabeau became fa
miliar with the strong features of the English con
stitution. He was specially impressed by the fact
that the personal liberty of the humblest citizen
was secured by law. " In general acts," he wrote,
" the regal power seems boundless ; in individual
cases, as limited as any in Europe. Thus, it would
be easier for the king to destroy the liberty of the
press at one blow, or to load the entire country
with an enormous impost, than to take a simple
cottage from its rightful owner. The king can
raise twenty millions of money, but he cannot cut
off the head of John Wilkes."
Dumont was a citizen of Geneva. He had been
educated for the church, but devoted much of his
life to diplomacy and literature. He was in very
close personal relations with Mirabeau, and assisted
him in preparing his speeches and reports during
the years 1789 and 1790.- He went to England in
184

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
1792, and was secretary to Jeremy Bentham, and
is said to have materially aided in compiling that
author's great work " On Legislation." He had
an abundance of conceit, and often writes in a vein
that is most egotistical, but in so far as the facts
relating to Mirabeau are concerned, he evidently
did not draw upon his imagination. He had a
great admiration for Mirabeau's talents and power,
but his egotism would not permit him to over-
paint any character but his own. Dumont took
much credit to himself in the matter of the prepa
ration of Mirabeau's speeches and at times speaks
as if the great orator were merely his mouth-piece.
He thought himself the little Vulcan who forged
the thunderbolts for Zeus to hurl.
He, no doubt, gathered facts and put them into
form and arrangement, but it required the genius
of Mirabeau to give them life. Dumont's mere
bald suggestions became under .the eloquence of the
master living things.
When the question was under discussion as to
the name that should be taken by the Assembly,
Dumont claims to have written a speech urging the
adoption of the title, suggested by Mirabeau, —
the " Assembly of the French People." He states
that after the speech was written he gave it to
Mirabeau who delivered it at a meeting of the
Assembly. " The exordium which I had written,"
says Dumont, " excited a tolerable degree of atten
tion, — the argumentative part passed off with alter
nate murmurs and applause, — but the peroration
which he delivered in a voice of thunder, and which
was heard with a species of terror, produced an
185

MIRABEAU
extraordinary effect. It was succeeded not by cries
but by convulsions of rage." From reading this
we might imagine that Mirabeau committed the
speech to memory, but is it not more reasonable to
believe that he merely took the suggestions of his
secretary and clothed them in his own language?
Would Dumont have us think that the great orator
was but a declaimer? Further on in his book
Dumont, in fact, answers the question by saying
that "he (Mirabeau) imparted splendor to what
ever he touched, by introducing here and there
luminous thoughts, original expressions, and apos
trophes full of fire and eloquence." Dumont was
only a hodman and he thought in his conceit that
he was the architect.
Carlyle, in speaking of this vanity of Dumont,
says : " It is true the whim he had of looking at
the great Mirabeau as a thing set in motion mainly
by him, and such as he, was one of the most won
derful met with in psychology. . . That in fact,
figuratively speaking, this enormous Mirabeau, the
sound of whom went forth to all lands, was no
other than an enormous trumpet, or coach-horn of
japanned tin, through which a dexterous little
M. Dumont was blowing all the while and making
the noise." Still, notwithstanding his personal
weaknesses, his " Recollections of Mirabeau" is a
most useful and interesting work. It was written
in 1799, ten years after the meeting of the States
General, at a time when the excitement of the Revo
lution had in a great measure subsided, and when
thoughtful men were beginning to count the cost
and weigh the results. It was written eight years
186

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
after the death of Mirabeau, when the incidents of
his life, and when his power, influence, and per
sonal traits and characteristics could be fairly
judged, without personal prejudice or an over
weening admiration. The interval was long
enough to give a safe perspective.
Dumont was greatly impressed by the talents of
Mirabeau, but his friendship was not so strong nor
his admiration so great as to bias his judgment in
the delineation of Mirabeau's character. The book
is rather conservatively written, and the author was
neither a sycophant nor a flatterer.
" His Mirabeau,," writes Macaulay, " is incom
parable. All the former Mirabeaus were daubs in
comparison. Some were merely painted from the
imagination, others were gross caricatures; this
is the very individual, neither god nor demon, but
a man, a Frenchman, — a Frenchman of the eigh
teenth century, with great talents, with strong pas
sions, depraved by bad education, surrounded by
temptations of every kind, made desperate at one
time by disgrace and then again intoxicated by
fame. . . . Till now, Mirabeau was to us, and we
believe to most readers of history, not a man, but
a string of antitheses. Henceforth he will be a
real human being, a remarkable and eccentric being
indeed, but perfectly conceivable." High praise
from such an authority, some will say, but it must
be borne in mind that Macaulay was, in his criti
cisms and historical writings, apt to be controlled
by his prejudices and emotions.
But even if we do not concede that the work is
entitled to the high praise bestowed on it by Macau-
187

MIRABEAU
lay, we must admit that it faithfully portrays the
great Mirabeau, and in the reading of it we get a
fair and just conception of Mirabeau as he was.
Without it we would have to depend upon stray
sketches written by his contemporaries and the
many histories of the Revolution, which, rather
than delineating his character, connect him only
with the events of that period.
To be sure the Biography written by M. Lucas
Montigny, who styles himself " Adopted Son," is
full of all sorts of information gathered from every
conceivable source, but it gives no valuable personal
recollections and impressions, for the author was
not born until 1782, or thereabouts, and was only
ten or eleven years of age when his father pre
sumptive died. The work is heavy, uninteresting,
and lengthy. The style is commonplace and the
arrangement of the facts disordered. Montigny is
so wanting in genius or talent that Carlyle says
Mirabeau might have denied all responsibility of
parentage upon this ground alone. Although not
born in wedlock, he was, nevertheless, very proud
of his father, and he played the part of a dutiful son
in defending at every point, so far as was possible,
the reputation of his sire.
I have gone to some length in commenting upon
the works of Dumont and Montigny, because it is
from these two authors, who personally knew him,
that we gather much of our information as to the
real character and the details of the life of Mira
beau. MM. Louis and Charles de Lomenie have written
the most exhaustive biography of the great tribune,
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
and have brought many new and interesting facts
to light. The work was begun by Louis, who died
before its completion. " It threatened to be one
of the gravest losses in modern literature," says
McCarthy, " that De Lomenb's book, like the un
finished window in Aladdin's Lamp, ' unfinished
must remain.' ' Fortunately, however, the ma
terials left by Louis were subsequently put together
by his son Charles and the work completed.
Von Hoist admits that, taken altogether, this is
the best biography of Mirabeau that has been writ
ten, but at the same time complains, and justly,
that M. dc Lomenie did not fully understand the
character of Mirabeau, whom he calls " the inex
plicable man." Von Hoist says that the contra
dictions in the character of Mirabeau seem to per
plex the biographer to such a degree that he fails
to understand him in his true light; that men
should be judged by taking into consideration the
conditions of the period in which they live, that
" they never can be really understood if they are
not judged as children of their times ;" that " if
men and times are really understood, the moral
guilt of their follies and crimes almost always ap
pears diminished by one half." He further adds
that he is far from charging M. de Lomenie with
having overlooked this, but thinks he has not
allowed it the weight that must be accorded to
it. " Some historians might have hesitated to
write and publish several stout volumes on a man
so long as they had to confess to themselves that
they failed to understand him."
" Das Leben Mirabeaus," published in 1889 by
189

MIRABEAU
Alfred Stern, a German professor, is pronounced
by a competent authority as " the most complete,
impartial, and interesting biography of the orator
existing." Von Hoist is his latest biographer, and his work,
says McCarthy, " The French Revolution tested by
Mirabeau's Career," " is America's greatest contri
bution to the subject."

190

CHAPTER XII
NECKER AND CALONNE  MEETING OF NECKER AND
MIRABEAU  MIRABEAU SEEKS SECRETARYSHIP
OF THE NOTABLES  STANDS AS DEPUTY OF
THIRD ESTATE  CAMPAIGN IN AIX AND MAR
SEILLESEvents were following each other in rapid suc
cession. The clouds were scudding before the
storm. The Revolution was coming on apace, it
was drawing close.
The acrimonious controversies between Calonne
and Necker in relation to the deficit revealed a
most startling condition of affairs. Mirabeau,
who had been employed by Calonne in a diplomatic
mission to Berlin, attacked Necker with all the fury
of his nature. He threatened to expose the " char
latan" and lay him at Calonne's feet convicted of
falsehood and incapacity.
Calonne had accused Necker of having imposed
upon the nation by a statement that when he,
Necker, retired from office, instead of leaving a de
ficiency there was a surplus of ten millions of
livres. By calculations and specious arguments,
Calonne created a doubt in the public mind which,
for a time, seriously reflected upon the integrity
of Necker. The latter, however, who seldom made
a mistake in his figures or arithmetical calcula
tions, soon refuted his enemies by a public con
tradiction. Mirabeau's shafts, this time, had gone
wide of the mark. 191

MIRABEAU
Necker was nothing of a politician. He was
loath to use the services of men in public affairs
whom he would not invite to his home. He looked
upon Mirabeau as an adventurer and a roue, whose
confidence he could not secure, and whose services
were not worth having. In this particular he was
neither wise nor diplomatic, for Mirabeau could
have rendered him great, invaluable service.
Malouet, at the opening of the States General,
thought it would be a wise move to bring Necker
and Mirabeau together and, accordingly, he ar
ranged an interview. " I am told, sir," said
Necker, when they met, " that you have some
propositions to make to me ; what are they ?" The
stiff and cold reception so nettled Mirabeau that he
hotly replied : " My proposition, sir, is to wish you
good-day." Hurrying back to the Assembly he
told Malouet that Necker was an ass and that the
minister would hear from him yet.
If a man wants to win in the game of politics,
he must not be too particular about the private
character of the men with whom he forms his
combinations; he might as well consider the color
of the hair or the cut of the coat. His purpose is
to reach the end in view, and to do this he must
use the material at hand. Necker was a dilettante
in politics. He was not a good judge of human
nature. He had an exalted opinion of his adminis
trative and financial ability and an overweening
supreme confidence in himself. Mirabeau sarcas
tically said that " Mallebranche saw everything in
God, but Necker sees everything in Necker."
At this period, just on the eve of the Revolution,
192

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
" the character of Mirabeau," says Dumont, " was
in the lowest possible state of degradation. He was
considered as a dangerous enemy and a slippery
friend. His lawsuits with his family, his elope
ments, his imprisonments, and his morals could
not be overlooked, even in a city so lax as Paris ;
and his name was pronounced with detestation at
the houses of some of our most intimate friends."
No one could have imagined that this adventurer,
living by his wits and reduced almost to beggary,
to " a state of degradation," as Dumont puts it,
was in a short " time to be the foremost man in
France, the most important political character of
his period, and, as the leader of the National As
sembly, was to direct the course of the Revolution.
How opportunities are taken for destinies !
Prior to the calling of the meeting of the No
tables, Mirabeau was in Berlin, but he hastened
home to France to take part in the coming events.
He clearly saw that the meeting of the Notables
must, in turn, be followed almost immediately by
the States General. "A convocation of the States
General," he declared, " is so much required by
necessity, so inevitable, that with or without a
prime minister under Achilles or Thersites, it as
suredly must take place." When the Notables met,
in 1788, Mirabeau announced himself as a candi
date for the secretaryship of the body, but the
nobles refused to even consider his name in any
connection. On the 27th of December, 1 788, the royal procla
mation calls for a convocation of the States General
to be held in May of the following year. The
13 193

MIRABEAU
whole nation is aroused ; much is expected of this
meeting; all classes are to be represented, and all
the interests of the realm are to be considered. It
is the ardent hope of every heart that relief will
speedily come to an impoverished people, and a
bankrupted state, as the result of the deliberations
of the wise men of the kingdom. But alas ! it was
to provoke contention, strife, and terror ; it was to
open the flood-gates of passion and let in a sea of
blood that was to lap at the foot of the throne, and
at last swallow up all law and order and precedent,
and in its fury sweep away, for a time at least, all
landmarks and barriers of authority and govern
ment! Mirabeau threw himself into the campaign with
all the ardor of his nature. Here, at last, was an
opportunity for the display of his great power and
commanding talents.
He had been expecting the event and it arrived
on time. " Assuredly," he writes in 1787, " I do
not conceal from myself that I am attracted, that I
am excited by circumstances which promise a glori
ous day for my country. Leave me then in my
obscurity, — I say in my obscurity, because my de
sign is to remain there invariably, until there fol
lows, to the tumult wherein we now are, a regular
order of things ; and until some great revolution —
be it good, or be it evil — commands a good citizen,
always accountable for his vote, and even for his
talents, to elevate his voice. That revolution cannot
tarry." At another time he declared : " I think Louis
XV. was well-nigh correct when he stated that the
194

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
monarchy would endure his time and not much
longer. Unless some very decisive change take
place — which I will endeavor to bring about by
writing and in every other practicable manner —
Louis XVI. will be the last monarch who will
sway the fate of France." When the States Gen
eral was summoned in 1789, Mirabeau sought, as
his father's proxy, to be elected a representative of
the nobles, but they cast him out of their midst with
imprecations. This aroused the lion in his nature
and he swore to take revenge.
Rejected by the Noblesse, he appealed to the
people and stood as deputy for the Third Estate in
two towns, Marseilles and Aix. He harangued Lis
constituents on the hustings and in pamphlets. He
issued bulletins hourly. He travelled from place
to place pleading his cause, and that of the people,
with that fiery impassioned eloquence that was
soon, in the National Assembly, to inflame all
France. No political campaign of this kind had
ever been seen. He made the first stump speeches
that were ever heard in France, — " Provence
crowding by the ten thousand round his chariot
wheels ; explosions of rejoicing musketry, heaven-
rending acclamations; people paying two louis for
a place at the window."
Every eye was on his district. All France turned
to watch his battle. He was eager, restless, sleep
less. Receptions were never more heartily given
to any man than those to Mirabeau in the towns he
visited during his campaign. Men, women, and
children welcomed him. Their enthusiasm was so
great that he exclaimed : " I see how men become
195

MIRABEAU
slaves, — tyranny is begun by gratitude." The
crowd wished to draw his carriage but he objected,
saying : " Men were not made to bear a man, and
you already bear too much." Bonfires and illumi
nations reddened the skies night after night, and
his progress through Provence was a march of
triumph. Bread-riots are threatening Marseilles ; the gov
ernor requests him to address the people. He con
sents ; he faces an angry, hungry mob, on the 25th
of March, 1789, and in a speech, full of eloquence
and logic, he explains to starving men why the
government is powerless to aid them, and why they
should not molest the baker and the butcher.
" Listen to me, my good friends : I desire to be
useful to you ; I wish not to deceive you. Each of
you wishes only that which is for the common
good, because you are all honest men, but everyone
does not know what he ought to do. We deceive
ourselves, often even in the matter of our own in
terests; and it is because I have considered the
interests of all, that I am going to tell you what I
think." He then goes on to say that he knows
they have just cause for many complaints, and it
is to correct the things of which they complain that
the good king has called a meeting at Versailles the
27th of next month, but they must not expect too
much at once. " We cannot change immediately
all that which should be changed; if we could we
would not be men, we would be angels."
Having thus gained their confidence, he moves
forward in his argument, step by step, explaining
to them why wheat is dear, and, in consequence,

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
why bread is dear. He informs them that several
of the countries that supply France with wheat are
at war, and that the seasons had generally been
very bad in all wheat-growing districts ; that- hail
and storms had destroyed the harvests. " Else
where people suffer more than in Marseilles, and
yet they suffer patiently and complain not. God
has willed it; He will give us an abundance in
another year." Patiently, adroitly, persuasively,
the orator appealed to their minds and hearts ; he
aroused their local pride; he calmed their fears,
allayed their suspicions, and, at last, softened their
anger. Artillery would have provoked a riot; the
eloquence of Mirabeau controlled the passions, ap
peased the hunger of men, and preserved the public
peace. The speech, from beginning to end, was a simple,
gentle plea ; it was not in his usual impetuous man
ner, and it proved that Mirabeau was a master in
every style of oratory. In its class, the speech is a
model to be carefully studied by every public
speaker. The story that Mirabeau, in order to find favor
with the people, opened a cloth shop in Marseilles,
is without the slightest foundation in truth. I have
not been able to find where or how the story origi
nated. In the " Biographie Moderne," however,
it is seriously stated as a fact that, " being rejected
at the time of the elections by the nobility of
Provence, he hired a warehouse, put up this inscrip
tion, ' Mirabeau, woolen draper,' and was elected
deputy from the Tiers Etat of Aix." He, no doubt,
would have adopted any method to have reached a
197

MIRABEAU
desired result, for, as a politician, he was not
scrupulous in the choice of means to attain an end,
but he did not have to gain the support of the
Third Estate by such a plan. He was known in
Provence as a patrician, and such a play would
have simply subjected him to ridicule and would,
in no way, have aided him in his ambition. When
he espoused the popular cause, he was dubbed by
the court the " Plebeian Count," and that suffi
ciently identified him with the Third Estate.
The opposition of the nobility to him was most
bitter for what they termed the desertion of his
class. He was most savagely attacked by all the
royalist journals. A Paris paper called him " a
mad dog." " If I am a mad dog," he replied, " that
is an excellent reason to elect me, for despotism and
privileges will die of my bite." How true!
Mirabeau was a practical politician, with all the
arts and tricks of the modern school. He had great
organizing ability, the faculty of winning men,
versatility in the adaptation of means to an end,
and a tireless spirit. No one could make more
effective and picturesque plays to the gallery, no
one could so thunder on the hustings, no one could
write and publish more telling campaign
" dodgers," or circulars, and in epigram frame
more appropriate party shibboleths.
Over the signature of a " Citizen of Marseilles,"
letters were distributed during his campaign which
extolled the talents and the virtues of the candi
date. They strongly smack of Mirabeau's style,
as will be seen in the following : " For fifteen
years he has graven the principles of liberty and
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
equality, — the most sacred rights of man, — in
monumental works destined to outlive bronze and
copper. Provence was enslaved ; the Count of Mi
rabeau appears, and she is free. He is the most
eloquent man of the age. Public assemblies are
swayed by his voice as the waves are hushed by
the crash of the thunder. His courage is even more
astounding than his ability. No power on earth
could make him belie a single one of his principles.
His public life has been a series of struggles and
triumphs in the cause of truth." In the main, there
is really no exaggeration in these statements.
His arraignment and defiance of the nobility,
after he was driven from their ranks, was a piece
of surpassing eloquence, and it alone would have
placed him in the ranks of the people and among
the leaders of the popular cause.
" What have I done that was so criminal ? I
have desired that my order were wise enough to
give to-day what will unquestionably be wrested
from it to-morrow ; that it should receive the merit
and the glory of sanctioning the assemblage of the
Three Orders, which all Provence loudly demands.
This is the crime of your ' enemy of peace !' Or,
beyond that, I have ventured to believe that the
people might be right after all. Ah, doubtless, a
patrician soiled with such a thought deserves per
secution! But I am still guiltier than you think;
for it is my belief that the people when they com
plain are always right; that their indefatigable
.patience invariably waits the uttermost excesses of
oppression before they can determine on resisting;
that they never resist long enough to obtain com-
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MIRABEAU
plete redress ; and do not sufficiently know that to
strike their enemies into terror and submission, they
have only to stand still ; that the most innocent as
the most invincible of all powers is the power of
refusing to act.
" But you, ministers of a God of peace, who are
ordained to bless and not to curse, have launched
your anathema on me without even the attempt
at enlightening me, at reasoning with me !
" And you, ' friends of peace,' who denounce to
the people, with all the vehemence of hatred, the
one defender they yet have found, out of their own
ranks; — who, to bring about concord, are filling
capital and province with placards calculated to
arm the rural districts against the towns, if your
deeds did not refute your writings; who, to pre
pare ways of conciliation, protest against the royal
regulation for convoking the States General, be
cause it grants the people as many deputies as both
the other orders, and against all that the coming
National Assembly shall do, unless its laws secure
the triumph of your pretensions, the eternity of
your privileges ! Disinterested ' friends of peace !'
I have appealed to your honor, and summon you
to state what expressions of mine have offended
against either the respect we owe to the royal
authority or to the nation's right. Nobles of
Provence, Europe is attentive; weigh well your
answer. Priests of the living God, beware; God
hears you ! And if you do not answer, but keep
silence, shutting yourselves up in the vague decla
mations you have hurled at me, then allow me to
add one word.

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
" In all countries, in all ages, aristocrats have
implacably persecuted the friends of the people;
and if, by some singular combination of fortune,
there chanced to arise such a one in their own circle,
it was he above all whom they struck at, eager to
inspire wider terror by the choice of their victim.
Thus perished the last of the Gracchi by the hands
of the patricians ; but, being struck with the mortal
stab, he flung dust towards Heaven, and called on
the avenging gods to witness ; and from this dust
sprang Marius, — Marius not so illustrious for ex
terminating the Cimbri as for overturning in Rome
the tyranny of the Noblesse !
" But you, commons, listen to one who cher
ishes your plaudits in his heart, without being
seduced by them. Man is only strong by union —
he is only happy by peace. Be firm, but be not
obstinate; courageous, but not tumultuous; free,
but not undisciplined ; sensitive, but not wildly en
thusiastic; only stayed by insurmountable ob
stacles; and be always inflexible, but disdain the
contentions of self-love, and never hesitate between
your selfish interests and your country.
" As for me, in my public career I have only
feared to be wrong, — begirt with an approving
conscience and armed with principles I would brave
the universe, if so be that my labors and my voice
support you in the National Assembly. . . . What !
should I now arrest my civic career? I who, the
first of Frenchmen, have proudly proclaimed my
opinions on the national affairs in a time when cir
cumstances were less urgent and the task far more
perilous ! No ; outrages will not influence my con-
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stancy. I have been, I am, I will be to the tomb,
the man of the public liberty, — the man of the
constitution. Woe to the privileged orders! . . .
for privileges shall perish; but the people is
eternal."

202

CHAPTER XIII
DOUBLE REPRESENTATION FOR THIRD ESTATE) 
MIRABEAU DECIDES TO STAND FOR AIX  PARIS
France was awakening to a new life. The body
politic was rotten and diseased. So long had the
corruption lasted that it had become malignant and
chronic. Further delay to apply remedies would
have resulted in death. Hope now took the place
of despair, the vital forces were quickened, and the
people rose in their might to correct existing abuses.
The right of franchise was accorded to every man
who paid a tax, irrespective of the amount. It was
a dangerous experiment to thus suddenly enfran
chise an enslaved people, but the times required con
cessions and the people were not in the mood to
submit to any restrictions of their rights.
The double representation, by which the Third
Estate was entitled to as many deputies in the
States General as the other two orders combined,
was not so much a concession as a necessity. The
times, public sentiment, the importance of the
Third Estate, demanded an equal representation.
It was on account of this representation that the
privileged orders were afraid to meet in joint con
vention, especially in view of the fact that the
Third Estate insisted upon voting by poll, upon
all questions, instead of by order.
One of the reasons for Necker's popularity was
that he had from the very beginning favored double
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representation for the commons. He always, how
ever, approached his conclusions by slow and cau
tious stages, and he endeavored first, in the Assem
bly of the Notables, to induce them to agree to his
plan, but failing to secure their endorsement he
afterwards declared for it openly.
Out of a population of twenty-five millions, five
millions of men, it is said, voted at the elections.
The court thought that the people would be tract
able and that they would support those deputies
who were favorable to the crown, but the court as
usual was wrong. It is remarkable how unfamiliar
the nobles were with the prevailing public senti
ment. The Revolution seemed to creep upon them
by degrees and they appeared never ready to resist
it. They lacked leaders of foresight, resource, and
courage. They failed to appreciate the impulse
back of the people. They forgot that for genera
tions the people had groaned under the weight of
almost intolerable abuses, and that they were now
in a temper, if the opportunity should occur, to
wreak vengeance on their lords and masters in
both church and state.
To return to the elections in Provence. Mira
beau was successful both in Marseilles and Aix,
and he hesitated in deciding which district he
would stand for. He finally selected the latter con
stituency. Many of the rich and influential citizens
of Marseilles had opposed him, and in his effort to
gain their favor, he lost in a considerable measure,
because of his moderation, the support of the mob.
The election returns from Marseilles showed a
small majority and for this reason he decided to
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
stand for Aix, whose constituency had evinced
greater confidence and had returned a far greater
majority. In relation to this matter, Dumont ascribes a
different reason for his selection of the less im
portant district. " Mirabeau," he says, " had em
ployed manoeuvres at Aix and at Marseilles which
were to be brought forward against the legality
of his return ; and he himself felt so convinced that
his election at Marseilles could never be maintained,
that he gave the preference to Aix, although he
would have been much more flattered at represent
ing one of the largest and most important cities in
the kingdom."
Deputies from all the districts in France were
wending their way to the capital. At this period
Paris was France. It was the capital of the State.
The king held court here, or else at Versailles, a
short distance away. It was the leading and most
important city on the continent. No city of Eu
rope presented such marked contrasts. Here were
to be found, side by side, all classes of society,
every phase of life, from the splendor of the prince
to the misery of the beggar, from the luxury of
the palace to the squalor of the hut.
The ambitious and distinguished men of the
nation flocked to the city. Lawyers, journalists,
financiers, statesmen, artists, and men of letters
were attracted by the advantages and opportunities
that the great metropolis offered and afforded. It
was one of the most attractive cities in Europe ; it
was devoted to fashion and pleasure, and was the
acknowledged literary and art centre of the world.
20s

MIRABEAU
It was then, as it is to-day, the resort of travellers
from all quarters of the globe.
In 1789 the population was the largest of all the
cities of the continent. It was the centre of excite
ment and gaiety. Its principal thoroughfares were
crowded with people — for Paris lived out of doors
— going and coming in every direction, and not
governed by any rule of locomotion, such as keep
ing to the right or to the left. Blind beggars were
on every hand, pick-pockets and petty thieves
mingled with the throng, and industriously plied
their trade. Hawkers shrieked their wares in
chorus, a discordant medley, making a din that
deadened every other sound. There were no side
walks for pedestrians. The highways were not
paved, and in rainy weather they became thick with
mud and black slime. Carriages, carts, fiacres, and
vehicles of all kinds dashed rapidly through the
streets, — for they travelled at a fast pace in Paris,
— the drivers were regardless of any duty they
owed to the life and limb of pedestrians.
Cafes were numerous ; they were well patronized,
and many of them were famous for their delicate
dishes and fine service. The salons were a special
feature of Parisian social life. They were literary,
political, and fashionable. Necker's house was a
centre of attraction. Here gathered men of letters,
financiers, and distinguished politicians. La Fayette
also kept open house, as did Madame Sabran and
Madame Broglie; Barnave and the two Lameths
were frequently at the latter's receptions. Madame
de Beauharnais and Madame Talma won distinc
tion as entertainers. The salon of Mademoiselle
206

7_---7£

;^'«s^. sf

THE STREETS OF PARIS

"Beggars were on every hand, pickpockets and petty thieves mingled with the throng
and industriously plied their trade"

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Theroigne de Mericourt, a beautiful courtesan, the
leader of the demi-monde, was frequented by men
of. the world, and there were to be found late at
night, or rather early in the morning, many of the
gentlemen who, in the early part of the evening, had
spent their time in more respectable company.
Mirabeau, when he could escape from the jealous
scrutiny of Madame Le Jay, was an occasional
visitor at this house of pleasure, and it is said that
Robespierre dropped in at intervals.
Louvet, in describing Paris in 1783, wrote:
" Arriving at the Place Louis XV., the spectacle
which struck my eyes dazzled them with its mag
nificence. Upon the right bank of the Seine were
extensive mansions, upon the left magnificent
palaces, delightful walks behind me, and in front
a noble garden. As we advanced I beheld the
dwellings of kings. . . . My attention was at
tracted by new objects at every step. I admired
the richness of the fashions, the gayety of the
dress, and the elegance of the manners of those by
whom it was surrounded." Upon his arrival in the
city he had entered through the suburb of Saint
Marceau, the twin district of Saint Antoine, in
which districts lived the poor. Here he saw high
but ugly cottages, filthy narrow streets, wretched
men, women, and children, half naked, and on
every hand dreadful misery. Having drawn a
comparison between the rich and the poor districts,
he said : " I could not understand how objects so
different could be contained within the same cir
cumference. Experience had not taught me that
everywhere the palaces concealed the cottages ; that
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MIRABEAU
luxury produced misery; that the great opulence
of a single person always implies the extreme
poverty of many."
" Paris," wrote Morris, during the Revolution,
" is perhaps as wicked a spot as exists. Incest,
murder, bestiality, fraud, rapine, oppression, base
ness, cruelty, and yet this is the city that has stepped
forward in the sacred cause of liberty. The press
ure of despotism being removed, every bad passion
exerts its peculiar energy."
It was " the workshop of the Revolution." Here
were forged the implements of that great conflict,
here every effort focused, and from this throbbing
centre was distributed throughout all France the
force that gave impetus, thought, and direction to
that mighty convulsion.
The centre of attraction in Paris was the Palais
Royal. It had been thrown open to the public by
the Duke of Orleans, and became the favorite
resort for all classes of citizens. The palace sur
rounded an open court-yard. The ground floor
was occupied with shops, cafes, and gambling hells.
The newspaper offices were located here, and bulle
tins were posted hourly during the meetings of the
States General. It was the ear, eye, and tongue
of the city. Rumor and scandal from this point
were given circulation. The gossip was never
idle. It was crowded from morning until late
at night with a noisy, an excited throng. Ora
tors and demagogues harangued the dear people;
the rostrum was seldom empty. Any man who
had news to impart or desired to express his views
on public questions was always given an attentive,
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
and, if he touched the popular chord, an enthu
siastic audience. On the other hand, however, if
his views were not in accord with the new order
of things he would, most likely, be ducked un
ceremoniously in the fountain.
Saint Antoine was a quarter abandoned to the
poor. It was frowned on by the Bastile, a dread
ful gloomy fortress that stood like some great
monitor posted to keep watch over that restless,
turbulent population.
This whole section was a seething cauldron of
revolution. Poverty, misery, destitution, and deg
radation were on every hand; employment was
hard to find, food was scarce, garments were
ragged. The mob, hungry and desperate, was kept
in restraint by an armed force; but, at last, the
barriers were broken down, and out of the depths
of Saint Antoine poured the rabble with pike and
scythe and torch to wreak vengeance on the au
thors of their misery, and the mob, when their
turn came, were as deaf to the cries of mercy as
the nobility had been to the appeals of the people
for relief.
Saint Germaine was the aristocratic quarter, one
of the most brilliant in Europe. Its life was
fashionable and devoted to pleasure. Its salons
were renowned the world over, but after the emi
gration of the nobles, who, like a pack of cowards,
fled from the wrath of the people, it became a
desert. Its palaces were abandoned and the quar
ter resembled the wealthy residential sections of our
great cities during the summer exodus. Doors and
windows were barred and grass grew in the streets.
14 209

MIRABEAU
A death-like stillness prevailed where all had been
gaiety and splendor.
Even during the Reign of Terror there was no
apparent change in the life of Paris. Business
went on as usual ; twenty-three theatres were open
every night, and sixty dancing-saloons. The
streets were thronged, the public gardens were
crowded with merry-makers, the cafes and wine
shops were open, but, strange to relate, the
churches were closed.
Children daily went to school, and while playing
in the streets would often stop their games to
watch the passing tumbrils, or death carts, and
mock the victims on their way to the scaffold. So
common, so constant were the processions that the
shop-keepers, if they were busy, did not take time
to come to the doors to look at the condemned
going to their doom.
The guillotine was surrounded day after day by
an idle crowd of sightseers who laughed at the
fears of the timid and howled down with derision
the dying words of their one-time favorites. Chil
dren played around the scaffold and dabbled in the
blood of its victims. Old women, knitting socks,
sat in the shadow of the guillotine and kept score
by dropping a stitch every time a head fell into
the basket.
At the execution of the king, the crowd dipped
their handkerchiefs in his blood, and one wretch
threw a handful of the clots over the heads of the
people. The king's coat and hat were torn to
shreds, and distributed as relics, and when the
basket fell from the cart, after the burial, people

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
rubbed their handkerchiefs over the bottom of it
to preserve a smear of the royal blood.
At night the theatres and cafes were open.
Howling maniacs and ferocious women danced in
the roadways, and drunken, maddened sans-culottes
reeled through the streets, celebrating the event in
a public debauch ; fierce Jacobins exulted ; the radi
cal clubs rang with the eloquence of the orators,
and Danton cried out in his defiant, impassioned
rage : " The allied kings of Europe threaten us !
We hurl at their feet, as gage of battle, the head
of a king."

211

CHAPTER XIV
STATES GENERAL IN SESSION  THE KING'S SPEECH
 THE ORDERS  ATTEMPTED SUPPRESSION OF
MIRABEAU'S PAPER  MIRABEAU'S FIRST TRI
UMPH  COMMONS STEADFAST  ROBESPIERRE
The States General faced a future, foreboding,
threatening disaster. No legislative assembly from
the beginning of time ever met to consider more
momentous questions, and it would be hard to find,
in all history, a body of men called together to
deliberate on public questions so lacking in political
experience and training.
We have already described, somewhat in detail,
upon another page, the ceremony and scenes inci
dent to the opening of this historic congress.
The real business of the session began with the
reading of the king's speech, which was character
ized by a tender solicitude for the interests of the
people and the welfare of the kingdom. It was
conciliatory in tone and tender and affectionate in
sentiment, but it defined no policy nor was it in any
way suggestive of remedy for the existing evils.
It was carefully prepared, so as not to offend the
commons; but, on the other hand, it was careful
not to intimate the surrender of any right or privi
lege of absolutism. There was to be no limitation
of arbitrary power. It was just such a speech as
was to be expected from such a monarch, who had
not the slightest idea of the dangers that were im
minent, nor any just conception of the conduct and

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
policy that were required by the necessities of the
hour. " Gentlemen," he said, " the day I have so
anxiously expected has at last arrived, and I see
around me the representatives of the nation which
I glory in governing. A long interval has elapsed
since the last session of the States General, and
although the convocation of these assemblies
seemed to have fallen into disuse, I did not hesi
tate to restore a custom from which the kingdom
might derive new force, and which might open
to the nation a new source of happiness. . . . That
a happy spirit of union may pervade this assembly,
and that this may be an ever-memorable epoch
for the happiness and prosperity of the kingdom,
is the wish of my heart, the most ardent of my
desires, — it is, in a word, the reward which I expect
for the uprightness of my intentions and the love I
have for my subjects."
You will see that the king expects the thanks and
congratulations of the people for having deigned
to convoke the States General, and for having re
stored a wise custom that had fallen into disuse.
He had placed the commons under obligations for
having so kindly favored them. His pressing need
was money, his dread was innovations.
The hall rang with applause at the conclusion of
the king's address, and then Necker followed with
his empty periods in a written speech that took him
three long hours to deliver, wearing out the pa
tience of his audience, and evading, at every point,
the real issues other than the question of the
budget. 213

MIRABEAU
Mirabeau, who had supreme contempt for the
abilities of Necker, was disgusted with what he
considered a lost opportunity, for from the very
beginning to the end of an almost interminable
speech there were no suggestions that gave hope,
nor remedies that promised relief. " If the man
had a vestige of talent," wrote Mirabeau, in a letter
to a friend, " he could in a week obtain from us
new taxes to the amount of sixty million livres, a
loan of one hundred and fifty million, and dismiss
us the next day. If he had any strength of char
acter, he could play the part of Richelieu. If there
was a spark of capacity among his advisers the
king would declare himself on the side of the
commons." If a far-sighted statesman, instead of a mere
financier, could have taken the helm at this time,
the disasters that threatened to engulf the state, no
doubt, could have been avoided. Concessions
could have been made, the commons conciliated,
reforms effected, and a constitution established.
The Revolution might have been bloodless. Mira
beau felt he had the power within him to effect
these results, and he chafed as he listened to the
weary calculations of a book-keeper who usurped
the place of a politician and statesman.
During the applause that followed Necker's ad
dress, for it was applauded notwithstanding its
prolixity, the king hastily withdrew from the hall,
having been warned that Mirabeau was to make
himself " the mouthpiece of the nation's wishes."
The nobility and the clergy immediately followed
the king, and the deputies of the Third Estate were
214

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
left alone in that vast hall, which, before the de
parture of the king and the privileged orders, had
been a scene of magnificence and splendor. With
out leadership or organization, the deputies lingered
around for awhile and then gradually melted
away. The first day's session of the States General
was over.
Mirabeau afterwards, in describing the five hun
dred deputies who were left in the hall after the
adjournment of the session, said : " They were un
known to each other, they had gathered from all
parts of the kingdom, all free, all equal, none with
any authority, none feeling himself under any obli
gation to obey, and all, like Frenchmen, wishing
to be heard before they would listen."
They were given, however, in the early sessions
when they met alone an opportunity to measure
the qualities of those -men who were to lead them,
to become acquainted with each other, to learn
each other's names, and to interchange views upon
the important questions of the day. They, at this
time, were united in sentiment if not in purpose.
They had not yet broken into clubs, factions, and
parties. A common misery had brought them to
gether; a common danger had united them, and
in defence of individual safety they were depen
dent upon each other, and felt that sentiment of
affection that the necessity of mutual protection
creates. The days of ceremony were over, and at once
began the real business of the session. The sixth
of May dawned clear and bright. It was auspicious
of harmony, but it was a fruitless promise. The
215

MIRABEAU
nobility and the clergy repaired to their respective
chambers. The deputies of the Third Estate gath
ered in the Salle des Menus and there awaited the
arrival of the other orders. The conflict was begun
in earnest. It was a contest of obstinacy. If the
king at this juncture had insisted upon the union
of the orders, the history of the Revolution might
have been a different story. It would have been
a wise move on the part of Louis, but with him
wisdom came always too late. The deputies at this
time were tractable, they were loyal to the king and
desired the public welfare. They had no clearly
defined purpose of campaign, but they would have
insisted upon constitutional reform, a restriction
of the king's veto, the removal of unjust exactions,
the abolition of feudal burdens, and an equal distri
bution of taxation, and surely under the prevailing
conditions they were entitled to these benefits. If
these concessions had been made they undoubtedly
would have favored a loan, under a just system of
taxation, that would have relieved the public exi
gencies. But tyranny long entrenched is loath to
yield any of its privileges, no matter how unjust
or oppressive they may be. " It is rare to find a
prince willing to share his power, or sufficiently en
lightened to yield what he will be reduced to lose."
If Louis, at this juncture, had selected Mirabeau
as his minister, he would, perhaps, not have lost his
crown. Of course, under the circumstances, it
would hardly be reasonable to suppose that the
king could have placed, at that time, his confidence
in a man with such a reputation, nor would such a
choice have met with public approbation, for Mira-
216

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
beau's character was at a low ebb, and his real
power had not yet been tested, — it was an unknown
quantity; but if the king could have chosen him,
it would have been a wise selection, for it goes
without saying that Mirabeau was the one man
above all others in the kingdom who possessed
great statesmanship, united with marvellous politi
cal insight. He was a patrician by birth and senti
ment, and believed in the monarchy, but, on the
other hand, he appreciated the fact that the time
had come when its power had to be tempered, and
when concessions had to be made to popular de
mands. The deputies of the people patiently waited in
their place of meeting for the representatives of the
privileged classes to join them. The latter, however,
insisted that the three orders must advise separately,
while the commons urged that they should meet
and act together. It was further contended by
the nobility that the voting should be by order,
whereas the Third Estate insisted upon voting by
poll. These were important questions, and upon
their proper decision depended the future influence
of the Third Estate in moulding legislation and in
effecting the needed reforms. It was a wise policy
that the Third Estate adopted and it was one to
which they persistently adhered. Its adoption by
all the orders would have given the commons a
preponderance in the Assembly, and it was this that
the crown, the nobility and the bishops feared. The
commons did not object to meet with the nobility;
the nobility absolutely refused to meet with the
commons, which refusal, on the part of the privi-
217

MIRABEAU
leged orders, cast upon them the imputation of un
reasonable obstinacy; and, besides, it was gener
ally believed among the people that the refusal of
the nobles to sit in the same hall with the commons
was more a matter of social than political considera
tion. This belief did not tend to allay the public
temper. The friends of the crown should have seen
that the safety of the monarchy depended upon the
bringing of the sessions of the States General to a
conclusion at the earliest possible moment. De
lay at this time made the Revolution a certainty.
The king could have formed the constitution in
the early sessions of the States General, when he
had the confidence of the people, if he had had a
clearly defined policy and a minister of force and
ability to execute it. He should have insisted upon
the orders meeting in one body, for it was of vital
importance to him to have the public business dis
patched and the congress dismissed at the earliest
practicable moment, — just so soon as the needed
relief was secured. The separation of the orders
only delayed the consideration of those questions
that sooner or later had to be settled. These foolish
divisions caused delay and delay worked an irrep
arable injury to the royal cause. The king, by
failing to act promptly and decisively, lost his
opportunity, and he was never able afterwards to
recover the lost ground. Incapable of acting wisely,
of his own motion, he was led astray by weak,
time-serving, short-sighted advisers, and every day
the breach between the orders grew wider. On the
13th of May the bishops offered to mediate, but
the parley resulted fruitlessly. The nobles still in-
218

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
sisted upon separate chambers and under all circum
stances voting by order.
During this period, while a policy of inaction and
waiting was adopted by the commons as the only
proper and safe one for them, under the conditions,
to pursue, several incidents of importance occurred.
The king's council, on the 6th of May, decided
to repress certain publications that were disseminat
ing views entirely too liberal in the opinion of the
crown for the public good. The special publica
tion that the order desired to reach was a periodi
cal entitled Etats Generaux, and was edited by
Mirabeau, a most dangerous foe, under prevailing
conditions, for the court to attack. The publication
was designated " as injurious and bearing under
the appearance of liberty all the characteristics of
license." Its immediate suppression was ordered.
The shaft fell short of the mark, for Mirabeau,
straightway taking advantage of his position as a
deputy to the States General, announced that here
after he would issue the paper as an address to his
constituents, Lettres a mes Commettants. In .re
ferring to the edict of the royal council, he said:
" It is true, then, that instead of enfranchising the
nation they seek only to rivet its chains ; it is in the
face of the assembled nation that they dare to issue
these Aulic decrees." He adroitly avoided any crit
icism of the king by placing the blame wholly upon
the audacious ministers, as he styled them, who, he
further said, were using their power to prevent a
deputy of the people communicating with his con
stituents and informing them of the proceedings of
the States General. The Assembly took cognizance
' 219

MIRABEAU
of the matter and entered a solemn protest against
the council's decree. It was a signal and most im
portant victory in the struggle for the freedom of
the press. The decree was absolutely disregarded,
the council openly defied, and the king failing, be
cause of his timidity, to enforce his own royal re
script, gave new courage and impulse to every lib
eral writer in the land.
Another incident that occurred in the Assembly
during this period of waiting is worth noting. A
discussion was on, and Mounier, in speaking of
Mirabeau, referred to him as Count. An obscure
deputy, whose name is not even remembered, in
dignantly protested against the use of such a title
in addressing any member of the Assembly. Mira
beau stoutly replied that he mocked himself of his
title, — that any one might take it and wear it who
so desired, but as for himself, he only cared to be
known as a representative of a great province and
of a great constituency.
Monsieur le Comte de Mirabeau was playing to
the galleries, for in this connection it is worth while
to recall that at a later date, on returning home
from the Assembly, after having voted for the
abolition of all titles and insignia of nobility, he
took his servant by the ear and bawled in stentorian
tones : " Look here, drole, I trust that to you, at
least, I shall always be Monsieur le Comte."
Oh ! this patrician of the Third Estate was very
proud of his title, notwithstanding his dramatic dec
larations in the face of the multitude. It was a
game in which only trumps counted, and Mira
beau, in his plays to the gallery, seldom lost a trick.

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
The following letter, which he wrote while in
England, seems to regard with contempt " the
absurd pretence to family which," he said, " is
so general in this land"; but, in truth, no man
was ever prouder of his blood and title than
Mirabeau. " The first of a noble house should be a man
whose fame immortalizes him, without any addi
tion which princes can bestow ; from such men all
ought to be3 and are, proud of descending, whether
they flourished yesterday or ten years agone. The
immortality which transcendent merit or great
genius gives, is higher than all nobility. The names
of Bacon, Shakespeare, Milton, and Newton will
increase in splendor when the whole House of
Lords, their ancestors, and descendants are buried
in oblivion. Long after all the traces of family
pedigrees, descents, and all the humbug of heraldry
are ended, their names will go down to distant and
enlightened ages, and be pronounced with delight
by every tongue."
The commons determined, on the 14th of May,
to declare themselves the National Assembly, and
invited the clergy to join them in the name of the
God of Peace and the common weal. The clergy
took the matter under advisement, and it required
the most urgent appeals on the part of the bishops
to hold the inferior members of the order in re
straint. The cures were anxious to break away and
unite with the deputies of the people.
The commons had the advantage during this
period over the nobility and clergy, in that they
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were united in sentiment and purpose and had no
dissentients in their ranks, in so far as the question
of the union of the orders was concerned. On the
other hand, the councils of the nobility were di
vided, — many of their members favored the union,
while among the clergy, outside of the bishops, the
sentiment was strongly with the people's deputies.
The Third Estate, from the beginning, believing
that it was important that each order of the States
General should be satisfied of the legitimacy of the
other orders, insisted upon the verification of the
powers of all the orders in common. The clergy
favored separate verification by a vote of 133 to
114, and the nobility by a vote of 188 to 114, — a
joint majority of only ninety-three.
On the 27th of May the nobility sent to the
commons their final decision, in which they de
clared that they would adhere to separate verifica
tion. Mirabeau replied to this with increasing au
dacity; he was becoming bolder in speech as time
progressed ; his influence was beginning to dominate
the convention. He gave courage to his colleagues,
enthusiasm to the people, and impetus to the Revo
lution. He measured every inch of ground he cov
ered, and he never failed to step on solid footing.
It is difficult to imagine what the course of the
Revolution would have been without his influence
and direction. Malouet and Mounier, from whom
at first so much was expected, were always tem
porizing, trusting not in present decision and action,
but hoping that delay would produce a remedy, and
the future evolve a solution. Procrastination, with
them, was not only the thief of time, but also of

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
opportunity. When they halted, Mirabeau ad
vanced ; when they hesitated, he decided. He had
a prophetic vision and seemed to see further into
the future than other men; he could accurately
forecast events and consequences. Often he spoke
with the voice of Cassandra, for the people would
not believe the truth of his prophecies. They were
blind and would not see, they were deaf and would
not hear.
When he first appeared in the States General, his
presence, as we have seen, provoked murmurs of
disapprobation, even hisses. He had the confidence
of no one ; the nobility scorned him, the clergy de
spised him, and the Third Estate feared and mis
trusted him; and yet this man, whose life had
been a scandal, became the foremost statesman in
France. In a few months, with his commanding
talents and power, he so impressed himself upon his
colleagues and the country at large that he stood
forth boldly as the leader of the Liberal cause and
became the genius and the impulse of the Revolu
tion. Even the king, in time, sought his aid to
save the monarchy from plunging to total destruc
tion. The first triumph of Mirabeau in the Assembly
was when he defended his friend, M. Duroverai,
under the following circumstances : Duroverai was
seated in the hall among the deputies and was ob
served passing notes written in pencil to Mirabeau.
One of the members, ascertaining that he was a
stranger, rose to object, and stated that a foreigner,
banished from his native country and pensioned by
the English government, was interfering with the
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MIRABEAU
proceedings by assisting at the debates and passing
notes to a certain deputy.
" Who is he?" " Where is he?" were the ques
tions asked, and the session was thrown into great
disorder. Mirabeau rose and, addressing the Chamber,
said : " I think, with the gentleman who spoke
last, that no individual, not a deputy, whether he
be a foreigner or a native, ought to be seated
among us.
" But the sacred ties of friendship, the still more
holy claims of humanity, and the respect I have for
this Assembly of patriots and friends, render it an
imperative duty on my part to separate from the
simple question of order the odious accusation
which he has had the assurance to couple with it.
" He has dared to assert that, among the numer
ous strangers who are assisting at our proceedings,
there is an exile, one who has taken refuge in Eng
land and is in the pay of the king of Great Britain.
Now this stranger, this exile, this refugee, is M.
Duroverai, of Geneva, one of the most respectable
citizens in the world. Never had freedom a more
enlightened, a more laborious, nor a more disin
terested advocate !
" From his youth, he was appointed by his coun
trymen to assist in the framing of a code of laws
intended to place the constitution of his country on
a permanent basis. Nothing was more beautiful,
nothing more philosophically political, than the law
in favor of the natives. He was one of its framers.
This law, so little known, yet so deserving of gen
eral attention, establishes the following principle:
224

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
'That all republics have perished, nay, more, de
served to perish, for having oppressed the people,
and not having known that they who governed, can
preserve their own liberty only by respecting that
of their brethren.'
" Elected attorney-general of Geneva by the
unanimous voice of his fellow-citizens, M. Durov
erai incurred, from that moment, the hatred of the
aristocrats. They swore his ruin ; and, certain that
this intrepid magistrate would never cease to em
ploy the authority of his office in defence of the in
dependence of his country, they succeeded in ob
taining his dismissal through the interference of a
despotic minister.
" But, even in the midst of party hatred and the
intrigues of base factions, M. Duroverai's charac
ter was respected even by calumny itself, whose foul
breath never sullied a single -action of his life.
" Included in the proscription which the aristo
crats obtained from the destroyers of Genevese in
dependence, he retired to England, and will, doubt
less, never abdicate the honors of exile until free
dom shall once more resume her sway at Geneva.
" A large number of the most respectable citizens
of Great Britain took up the cause of the proscribed
republican, procured him the most flattering recep
tion in their country, and induced their government
to grant him a pension. This was in the nature of
a civic crown, awarded by that modern people
whom the tutelar genius of the human race seems
especially to have appointed to guard and officiate
at the altars of freedom. . . .
" Behold, then, the stranger, the exile, the ref-
15 225

MIRABEAU
ugee, who has been denounced to you ! Heretofore
the persecuted man sought refuge at the altar where
he found an inviolable asylum, and escaped from
the rage of the wicked. The hall in which we are
now assembled is the temple which, in the name of
Frenchmen, you are raising to liberty, and will you
suffer it to be polluted by an outrage committed
upon a martyr of liberty?"
" The impression produced by the speech," says
Dumont, " was electrical. It was succeeded by a
universal burst of applause. Nothing that resem
bled this force and dignity of elocution had ever
been heard before in this tumultuous Assembly of
the Tiers Etat. Duroverai was immediately sur
rounded by deputies who, by their kind attentions,
endeavored to atone for the insult they had offered
him." It was at this period that Mirabeau's firmness
and boldness gave courage to the halting and the
timid. The slightest yielding or surrender by the
Third Estate to the other orders would have
changed the direction of the Revolution, and it re
quired the energy, the audacity, the prescience, and
the wisdom of such a leader to direct its course.
It was in this early period of the Revolution that
the seeds of its success were sown.
When the nobility sent their final decision to the
commons that they would not sit with the Third
Estate, Mirabeau indignantly denounced such con
duct. He held them up to scorn for assuming that
they constituted " a legislative and sovereign cham
ber." Insolently, defiantly, he assailed them for
their stubborn, unreasonable, and unpatriotic
226

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
course, and he closed by calling on the Third Estate
to name at once a deputation to wait upon the
clergy and appeal to them, in the cause of peace,
to join the commons; but the bishops, when the
appeal was made, urged further consideration and
pleaded for delay.
The clergy thought to gain a point by calling on
the commons to organize at once and to co-operate
with the clergy, as a separate order, that the press
ing miseries of the poor might be relieved. It was
a clever ruse, and it required delicate handling. To
carry out the plan, a prince of the church, the Arch
bishop of Aix, was delegated to visit the hall of the
Third Estate. He eloquently and pathetically urged
the deputies to no longer delay needed legislation
by quibbling over unimportant and non-essential
matters, and drawing from under his purple robe a
lump of black bread, he exclaimed : " Such is the
food of the peasant." The commons hesitated, for
it might be dangerous to reject so seemingly fair,
so apparently charitable a proposition. Even Mira
beau was puzzled; but at this moment an obscure
deputy arose and, turning to the archbishop, said :
" Go and tell your colleagues that if they are so im
patient to assist the suffering poor, they had better
come here and join the friends of the people. It is
vain to employ stratagem like this to induce us to
change our firm resolution. Tell them to embarrass
no longer our proceedings with affected delays, but
as ministers of religion, let them forego that luxury
which surrounds them, and that splendor which
puts indigence to the blush. We refer the clergy to
the principles of the primitive church. The ancient
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MIRABEAU
canons authorized them to sell even the sacred vases
for the relief of the poor. Let them resume the
modesty of their origin, discharge the insolent lack
eys by whom they are attended, sell their superb
equipages, and convert their superfluous wealth into
food for the indigent." The speech fully answered
the proposition, and the archbishop withdrew.
" Who is the speaker ?" was the question asked,
but he was known only to a few, and it was some
time before his name was circulated. He was
Robespierre. Mirabeau, who was a good judge
of character, remarked : " That man will go far,
for he believes what he says."
Maximilien Marie Isidor Robespierre was the
son of a village lawyer at Arras, in the Province
of Artois. There is no character among all the
leaders of the Revolution so difficult to understand,
none whose motives have been so unfathomable, be
cause his conduct stood in such contrast to his seem
ingly natural disposition. This man who wept over
the death of a pet bird, who recoiled from imposing
sentence of death on a desperate assassin, became
the bloodthirsty leader of the Revolution and,
under his inhuman proscriptions, satisfied to the full
the voracious appetite of the guillotine, by sending
daily to execution both friend and foe.
He was timid, secretive, reticent, and reserved.
He had those qualities that reveal themselves in
deeds, not in words. He was vain, conceited and
ambitious. He was neither sordid nor avaricious.
He could be neither cajoled, bribed, nor driven. He
neither fawned upon his friends nor flattered his
enemies. He asked no favors from the mighty.
228

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
He was absolutely wanting in that magnetism
that attracts men, and that open candor that wins
friends; and yet he developed, in time, a won
derful power of impressing and influencing men.
He had the genius of application and persistency.
He pursued the even tenor of his way with a pur
pose well defined, and he followed the object of his
ambition without deviation and with an indefati
gable industry. One by one his enemies fell, before
him and, at last, he became the dictator of the Rev
olution. He was the master mind that directed and
controlled it. This timid, insignificant creature
pushed his way through a crowd of mighty revolu
tionary leaders, forged to the front and wielded
a power greater than any of them had ever ex
ercised. He was the uncrowned plebeian king,
tyrant, if you will, of France, the incarnation of the
Reign of Terror. We may sneer and scoff at him
as much as we please; our prejudices, because of
his brutal and bloody policy, may influence our
judgment of his character, but there was in him an
innate force, a persistent energy, an intellectual
power, a relentless, a remorseless, an inflexible
determination that can be appreciated only when
we weigh his natural disadvantages, the obstacles
he had to overcome, and consider the position he
attained, the influence he exerted, and the results
he reached. Simply to describe him in the lan
guage of Carlyle as "sea green, incorruptible,"
conveys no idea of his mental and moral qualities.
Such a character cannot be dismissed by so feeble
a description. When he was seven years of age, his mother died
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MIRABEAU
and his father abandoned him. He was virtually a
waif. By the kind intercession of the Bishop of
Arras, he secured a scholarship in the College of
Louis le Grand, at Paris. In this institution he re
mained for ten years. So correct was he in his con
duct, so attentive to his studies, that the council of
the college, at the time of his graduation, rewarded
him with a special commendation and accorded him
a gratification of 600 livres.
Returning to his native town, he was, in due
time, registered as an attorney and soon acquired
the reputation of being a reliable, painstaking mem
ber of his profession, but in no sense a brilliant ad
vocate. Some time after his admission to the bar, several
peasants who complained of being oppressed by the
Bishop of Arras, retained Robespierre to represent
them. He fought the case earnestly, and, in conse
quence, brought down upon himself the bitter re
sentment of the clergy. They charged him with
ingratitude to the bishop, who had protected him
when he needed a patron. The criticism was just,
— Robespierre should have declined the case. He
owed a duty to his benefactor, and no public neces
sity required him to oppose his friend and former
patron. During his early days while at the bar, he was
neat and fastidious in the matter of his dress. He
was somewhat of a dandy, he affected poetry, loved
birds and flowers, and delighted to wander alone in
the fields. His favorite author was Rousseau. Al
though shy and melancholy, he was fond of femi
nine society, but never had the courage to marry.
230

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
He was appointed to the bench, as a judge in the
criminal court, and was called upon to sentence a
murderer to capital punishment, which duty so af
fected him, that he shortly afterwards sent in his
resignation. When the States General was summoned, he was
elected a deputy of the Third Estate. He went to
Paris, unknown, poor in purse and without influ
ence. In the Assembly, at first, he made a most
unfavorable impression. " His mean countenance,
his stiffness and timidity, the constant tension of
his muscles and his voice, his straining utterance
and his short-sighted look, left a painful, tiresome
impression which people tried to get rid of by
laughing at him."
" I had twice occasion to converse with Robes
pierre," says Dumont. " He had a sinister expres
sion of countenance, never looked you in the face
and had a continual and unpleasant winking of the
eyes . . . He told me that he was a prey to the
most childish timidity, that he never approached
the tribune without trembling, and that when he
began to speak, his faculties were entirely absorbed
by fear."
Whenever he addressed the Assembly, his col
leagues contemptuously smiled and scoffed at his
labored effort. These insults galled his vanity and
his sensitive nature. Mirabeau was the one man
in the Assembly who, discerning his real sincerity,
took no part in these indignities.
It seemed audacious for such a man to speak in
a body so crowded with brilliant orators. Failure,
however, did not crush him, it only spurred him to
231

MIRABEAU
renewed effort. He had the temper of the puritan
and the spirit of the fanatic. He believed he had a
mission to perform, and he could not be dissuaded
by defeat nor confounded by ridicule. He carried
his mortification home to his humble lodging and
brooded over it.
Interrupted and howled down by the deputies,
he turned to the Club of the Jacobins, and there he
obtained a hearing, for the members recognized
him as one who was sincere in his professions and
earnest in his advocacy of the popular cause.
When, in the Assembly, if his colleagues would
not listen, he could always appeal to the galleries.
It hardly seemed possible that the time would come
when the deputies would not only listen when he
spoke, but tremble. He surely, at this period, gave
no intimation of his future powers, except, perhaps,
to the far-seeing, vision of Mirabeau.
Robespierre, while in Paris, lived frugally on
the salary he received as deputy, one-fourth of
which he sent to his sister at Arras, one-fourth to a
mistress who loved him passionately, but whom he
seldom saw. His lodgings, cold and cheerless,
were located in a dismal and deserted quarter of
the city. His dinners cost thirty sous and he had
hardly enough money to pay for his clothes.
" When the Assembly," says Michelet, " decreed a
general mourning for the death of Franklin, Robes
pierre was extremely embarrassed. He borrowed
a black stuff coat of a man much taller than him
self, and the coat dragged four inches on the
ground. ' Nihil habet paupertas durius in se quam
quod ridiculos homines facit.' "
232

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
His energy never flagged. He was in constant
attendance upon the daily sessions of the Assem
bly, and at night was a regular visitor at his club,
where he argued those questions that the Assem
bly would not let him discuss. He displayed the
greatest prudence in not attempting to outstrip the
Revolution. He kept pace with it. " He was,"
says Lamartine, " of no party, but of all parties
which in their turn served his ideal of .the Revolu
tion. . . . The Revolution, decimated in its pro
gress, must one day or other inevitably arrive at a
last stage, and he desired it should end in himself."
It did end in himself, but at a time and in a manner
that he did not expect.
" He was," said Napoleon, " the true scapegoat
of the Revolution." Perhaps he was made a sacri
fice for the sins of others, but, heaven knows, he
had enough of his own to answer for.
George Henry Lewes believes that he honestly
tried " to arrest anarchy and to shape society in
order according to his convictions." Watson says :
" However chimerical, Robespierre's ideals were
lofty and he lived by them and died for them." Dr.
Jan Ten Brink, in his careful study of " Robes
pierre and the Red Terror," declares that : " Still,
in spite of all, he was an honorable character, a
spirit fired with the noblest ideals, but a statesman
without political ability, an obstinate fanatic desti
tute of genius."
He may have had high ideals, he may have
mapped out in his mind a great future for France,
but his past had given no guarantee that he could be
depended upon to add to her glory or her security.
233

MIRABEAU
When the crisis came, he had not the courage to
" dare." In his last struggle, he displayed a weak
ness that by some of his admirers is taken for vir
tue. It is hard to believe that any man with such a
trail of blood as that which marked the career of
Robespierre would have hesitated to have shed
more blood because of any moral compunctions or
patriotic considerations.
He became spiritless, suddenly supine, and was
overthrown by men no more worthy of confidence
than he was. His continued power would have
resulted in further bloodshed; his death was a
blessing to France, for it caused a reaction against
" The Terror."

234

CHAPTER XV
DEATH OF THE DAUPHIN  THIRD ESTATE CALLS
ON NOBLES AND CLERGY TO SUBMIT TO A COM
MON VERIFICATION  NAME OF CONVENTION 
SPIRITED DEBATE  SIEYES  OATH OF THE TEN
NIS COURT  ROYAL SITTING  ASSEMBLY RE
FUSES TO ADJOURN'  MIRABEAU DEFIES THE
ORDER OF THE KING.
In June the king had a sorrow in his household,
— the dauphin was dying. A year before this, all
France would have been hushed in grief. The na
tion, loyal to the crown, would have sorrowed for
the death of its little king in embryo; but now,
amidst storm and strife, the feeble life went out,
and the people, engrossed in more important mat
ters, hardly noted the event. Princes had lost their
charm. Royalty and loyalty were getting far
apart. Fortunate boy! He died just in time to
escape the bitter days in store for him, to escape
the trouble that would have been too heavy for
such a weakling to have borne.
Five weeks had elapsed since the first meeting of
the States General, and during this time the many
parleys between the orders had come to naught.
The people were growing more impatient day by
day and it became necessary, in order to quiet the
public mind, that something decisive should be
done. Mirabeau declared that " any plan of con
ciliation rejected by one party can no longer be ex-
235

MIRABEAU
amined by the other. A month is past; it is time to
take a decisive step ; a deputy of Paris has an im
portant motion to make, — let us hear him." He
then introduced to the tribune Abbe Sieyes, who
moved that the nobility and the clergy should be
invited to meet with the Third Estate to verify the
powers, which verification would take place whether
they were absent or present.
The call to the higher orders to join the Third Es
tate reads as follows : " We are commissioned by
the deputies of the Commons of France to apprize
you that they can no longer delay the fulfilment of
the obligation imposed on all the representatives of
the nation. It is assuredly time that those that
claim this quality should make themselves known
by a common verification of their powers, and begin
at once to attend to the national interest. From the
necessity which the representatives of the nation are
under to proceed to business, the deputies of the
Commons entreat you, and their duty enjoins them
to address you, as well individually as collectively, a
last summons to come to the Hall of the States to
attend, concur in and submit, like themselves, to the
common verification of powers. We are, at the
same time, directed to inform you that the general
call of all the bailliages convoked will take place in
an hour, that the Assembly will immediately pro
ceed to the verification and that such as do not ap
pear will be declared defaulters."
There was no misunderstanding the language
and the purpose of this call. " This was the first
revolutionary act," says Thiers.
The invitation not having been accepted, the
236

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
commons constituted themselves the national legis
lative body of France. This was a bold but a wise
move, for the convention of delegates, representing
the people, was now the only legally constituted
legislative assembly in the kingdom. They formed
not an order, but a congress of popular representa
tives created by a legitimate authority.
On the first day of the calling of the roll and the
presentation of the credentials, three cures entered
the Assembly; on the second day, six, and on the
third and fourth days, ten. It goes without ysaying
that they were greeted with most enthusiastic ac
claim. The next important move was to give a name to
the convention, and the debate on this question,
strange to say, was most acrimonious and produced
a very bitter feeling among the delegates.
Mirabeau proposed as a title " Representatives of
the French People" ; Legrand, that of " National
Assembly"; Mounier, that of "Deliberative Ma
jority in the absence of the Minority." It would
have been surprising if the last designation had
been adopted, for the very title suggested a doubt
as to the legal and reasonable existence of the body
as a national legislative assembly.
Mirabeau's speech on this question aroused the
most bitter antagonism. He was boldly assailed
and hissed, and was absent when the final vote was
taken. He contended that the commons had no
right to usurp the entire legislative power, although
he favored separate and independent organization
of the Third Estate.
" To call themselves," he said, " a National As-
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MIRABEAU
sembly would be to depreciate to the lowest de
gree, the king, the nobles and the clergy, — it would,
if the government displayed any vigor, prove the
beginning of civil war. To vote themselves simply
an Assembly of the Commons, would, on the other
hand, be only expressing an undoubted fact and
would not force the nobles and the clergy to join
them ; it merely maintained the sub-divisions of the
Assembly then existing."
As he proceeded further, his warmth increased
and he declared the deputies failed to understand in
its full meaning the term " people" in his suggested
or proposed title, — " Assembly of the French Peo
ple." " I persevere," he said (this peroration Dumont
claims to have written), " in my motion and in its
only expression that has called forth animadver
sion, — I mean the denomination of French people.
I adopt it, defend it, and I proclaim it for the very
reason urged in objection to it. Yes! it is because
the term ' people' is not sufficiently respected in
France that it is cast into the shade and covered
with the rust of prejudice, because it presents an
idea alarming to our pride and revolting to our
vanity, — and is pronounced with contempt in the
chamber of the aristocrats . . . Do you not per
ceive that you require the word ' people,' because
it shows the people that you have united your fate
to theirs. And it will teach them to centre in you
all their thoughts and all their hopes! The Bata-
vian heroes, who founded the liberties of their coun
try, were more able tacticians than we are. They
adopted the denomination ' gueux,' or beggarly
238

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
fellows; they chose this title because their tyrants
had endeavored to cast it upon them as a term of
opprobrium, and this designation, by attaching to
their party that numerous and powerful class, so
degraded by the despotism of the aristocracy, was,
at the same time, their glory, their strength, and the
pledge of their success. The friends of freedom
select the name which is most useful to them, and
not that by which they are most flattered. They
are called ' remonstrators' in America ; ' shepherds'
in Switzerland and ' gueux' — beggars — in the Low
Countries." Mirabeau, after he finished his speech, stood in a
defiant attitude, but calm and self-possessed. The
deputies assailed him with shouts and imprecations.
It was in the course of his remarks that he declared
himself in favor of the royal veto, saying that in his
view, the king's veto was so essential a part of the
constitution, that without it, he would rather live in
Constantinople than in France, and that he could
conceive nothing more alarming than the despotic
oligarchy of six hundred individuals. This bold
declaration specially aroused the anger of the radi
cals. Dumont, who witnessed the scene, says that
Mirabeau delivered the peroration in " a voice of
thunder which was heard with a species of terror,
and produced an extraordinary effect. It was suc
ceeded not by cries, but by convulsions of rage.
The agitation was general and a storm of invec
tives burst upon the speaker from all parts of the
hall." Dumont further says that an hour after the deliv-
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MIRABEAU
ery of the speech he called on Mirabeau, and found
him triumphant. " He compared the Assembly to
wild asses, who had obtained from nature no other
faculty than that of kicking and biting. They did
not frighten me, my dear friend, and in a week you
shall see me more powerful than ever. . . . The
thinkers will see something very profound in my
motion. As for the fools, I despise them too much
to hate them, and will save them in spite of them
selves." Dumont adds : " With all this excess of pride
and temporary courage, he had not sufficient firm
ness to attend at the call of the house. He did
not, therefore, vote upon the question, and thus
it was that his name did not appear upon the
list of deputies held up to the people as traitors.
Even his popularity did not suffer at the Palais
Royal, whilst Malouet, Mounier, and several
others who had maintained the same opinions
less openly, were delivered over to public cen
sure." " Outside the Assembly," says Arthur Young,
" the motion of Mirabeau was better relished than
that of the Abbe Sieyes. But his character is a
dead weight upon him. There is a suspicion that
he has received 100,000 livres from the queen."
The Abbe Sieyes carried the convention with
him, when, he argued and clearly demonstrated that
the deputies of the Third Estate represented ninety-
six one-hundredths of the nation; that conse
quently they were entitled to be called " The Na
tional Assembly" ; that certain duties had been im
posed upon them by the nation, and that the will of
240

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
the people would be annulled if the privileged or
ders persisted in their obstinate, unreasonable and
unpatriotic policy. The convention, when organ
ized, will be ready at all times to welcome the other
orders, the doors will be left open, but they cannot
and should not any longer, by their refusal to co
operate with the Third Estate, defeat the purpose
of the calling of the States General. It is alleged
that this plan of action was advised by Thomas
Jefferson, whose whole spirit was in touch with
the purposes and the principles of the Revolution.
There was much in common between Jefferson and
Sieyes; they were both subtle, ingenious, clear
headed and intriguing politicians. They encom
passed their ends by quiet, persistent work; they
were masters in the art of scheming. They were
not orators, but, possessing facile pens, they ex
pressed their thoughts, in writing, clearly and suc
cinctly. They were close students of public ques
tions, and their taste and thoughts ran in the same
channel. They were patriotic, but not always con
sistent in their policies and actions. They both be
longed to the same school of politics and philoso
phy; they were avaricious of place and power;
believed in the equality of men before the law, and
affected to despise the distinctions of class in social
as well as in political life. Although writing in
different torfgues, it is remarkable what a close re
semblance there is in their literary styles. If there
ever was a Frenchman who could have written the
American Declaration of Independence, it was the
Abbe Sieyes.
Most of the delegates were anxious to have the
16 241

MIRABEAU
convention settle the question of designation at
once, and they urged immediate consideration and
action. A small number of deputies, however, for
some reason or other, desiring to delay the matter,
excitedly called for adjournment. The session was
thrown into an uproar, for the minority, though
small, made up in noise what they lacked in num
bers. The weather was stormy and tempestuous
and the wind howled around and through the build
ing, greatly adding to the confusion. During all
this contention, Bailly, the president, sat unmoved
and refused to put the motions. The minority, at
last, withdrew, and when quiet was restored, the
president suggested that further consideration of
the matter should be postponed until daylight, for
it was then about three o'clock in the morning.
The convention, acting upon his advice, adjourned,
and on the 17th of May, the title "The National
Assembly" was adopted by a vote of 491 to 90.
The duty of explaining the motives of the con
vention in organizing and designating itself " The
National Assembly" was intrusted to Sieyes, and
he acquitted himself with great honor and success.
Sieyes was leading the commons, for he, unques
tionably, at this time, was one of the master minds
of the convention.
Emmanuel Joseph Sieyes, commonly called
Abbe Sieyes, was forty-one years of age when the
States General convened. He had been educated
for the church, but early turned his attention to the
study of social and political questions, and was
more of a philosopher than a priest. While at
Saint Sulpice, completing his theological studies, he
242

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
wrote much, and in his writings proved that he be
longed to the school of advanced thought; it was
consequently intimated to him that he might find
more congenial quarters elsewhere, and upon this
hint he departed and took refuge in a more friendly
seminary, where he prepared for his degree at the
Sorbonne. From philosophy and theology he
turned to practical politics, and in 1788, just on
the eve of the Revolution, published a pamphlet
which attracted public attention and had a remark
able success. He asked : " What is the Third Es
tate?" And then answered his own question by
saying, " Everything !" " What has it been till
now ?" " Nothing." " What does it desire to be ?"
"Something!" The clerical order neglected to send him as a
delegate to the States General, but at the last mo
ment he was taken up by the Third Estate and
elected as one of its representatives.
In the early stages of the Revolution, he materi
ally aided the popular cause, but was not responsi
ble for its subsequent excesses. His victory over
Mirabeau on the motion to designate the conven
tion as the National Assembly, was notable, and it
required courage of heart and soul to take so bold a
stand. Sieyes favored the assumption of the legislative
power by the deputies of the Third Estate to the
exclusion of the other orders, which view, in the
opinion of the privileged classes, was paramount
to treason, and if the Revolution at that time had
been stayed the Abbe, perhaps, would have had to
answer as a traitor. He was prudent enough, how-
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MIRABEAU
ever, to have Legrand put the original motion. He
was not an orator, and in the stormy days of the
Revolution he withdrew from active participation
in leadership.
He survived the Revolution and schemed with
Napoleon and Ducos to establish the Directorate, by
which he became one of the rulers of France. He
could not, of course, cope with Napoleon, and at
last retired to private life to enjoy his wealth, his
books, and the delights of a well-earned leisure.
Bourrienne, in his Memoirs of Napoleon, says:
" In the intercourse, not very frequent, certainly,
which I had with him he appeared to be very far
beneath the reputation which he had acquired.
Sieyes had written in his countenance, ' Give me
money.' I recollect that I one day alluded to this
expression in the anxious face of Sieyes to the first
consul. ' You are right,' observed he to me, smiling,
' when money is in question, Sieyes is quite a mat
ter of fact man. He sends his ideology to the right
about, and thus becomes easily manageable. He
readily abandons his constitutional dreams for a
good round sum, and that is very convenient.' One
day when Talleyrand was conversing with the
second consul, Cambaceres said, ' Sieyes is a very
profound man.' ' Profound !' said Talleyrand,
' yes, he is a cavity, a perfect cavity.' "
Criticisms coming from this source must be taken
with considerable reservation. Sieyes may not
have been a very profound man, but he unquestion
ably displayed great wisdom in the early years of
the Revolution, and under circumstances that re
quired the exercise of sound and safe judgment.
244

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Mirabeau described him as " a metaphysician trav
elling on a map."
The National Assembly through Sieyes, who
was deputed to speak for it, declared that " the
denomination of National Assembly is the only
one suitable to the Assembly in the present state of
things, as well because the members who compose
it are the only representatives legitimately and pub
licly known and verified, as because they are sent by
nearly the whole of the nation ; and lastly because
the representation being one and indivisible, none
of the deputies, for whatever order or class he has
been elected, has a right to exercise those functions
separately from this Assembly."
The paper further declared that the Assembly
would never cease to hope that the absent deputies
would, in time, be gathered in its bosom, nor will
it cease to ever call upon them to fulfil the obliga
tions the nation had imposed upon them when the
decree was entered for the holding of the States
General. In the exercise of its power the Assembly legal
ized the levy of taxes though imposed without the
national consent. This wise resolution was passed
simply to show the court and the nation that it was
not the purpose of the Assembly to impede the
course of the administration of the constituted au
thorities. This assumption of legislative power on the part
of the Assembly, composed of the deputies of the
Third Estate, caused the greatest excitement and
enthusiasm throughout France. The representa
tives had shown not only courage, but great wis-
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MIRABEAU
dom. Every step had been deliberately taken, and
the reasons given were logical, just, wise, and
patriotic. The clergy could no longer restrain the liberal
cures, and a vote being taken, the poll showed 149
votes to 1 1 5 in favor of the union of the orders.
The nobility and the hierarchy, aroused and
startled by the action of the Assembly, determined
to act promptly and decisively, for further delay
meant danger. To stem the tide, the king was be
sought by the nobility and the higher clergy to in
terfere with his royal authority lest all should be
lost. But poor Louis was between two fires;
Necker on one side, and the queen and the higher
orders on the other.
Necker's plan was a compromise providing for
a union of all the orders, but restricting the powers
of the Assembly. It was a temporary, half-hearted
measure that came too late. Mirabeau said of
Necker, " He is like a clock that always goes too
slow." Even this plan was not agreed to by the
nobility, and a royal sitting was ordered to take
place on the 22d of June. A subsequent procla
mation postponed the sitting from Monday, the
22d, to Tuesday, the 23d.
Necker's plan having been rejected, he decided
not to attend the royal sitting, and tendered his res
ignation as minister, but the Count of Artois an
grily exclaimed : " No, we will not accept the resig
nation, but will keep you as a hostage, for you
have aroused all this trouble."
On the 20th the hall of the Assembly was closed,
under the pretext that it was necessary to prepare it
246

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
for the king's presence. The Assembly had ad
journed on the 19th to meet on the following day,
and Bailly, its president, believing it his duty to
attend, in compliance with the resolution, repaired
to the hall, but found it surrounded by soldiers of
the French Guards. The deputies, gathering in
numbers, protested against this outrage and clam
ored for admittance, but Bailly, with his usual pru
dence and good judgment, appealed to them to act
wisely and not to injure the popular cause by allow
ing their temper to blind their wisdom and direct
their conduct. Finding it impossible to enter the
hall, a deputy proposed that they should go to
Marly and hold a session under the windows of
the king's palace, a royal sitting in earnest, but
not in accordance with the wishes of the king, and
two days before the date assigned by Louis for the
august meeting at which he was personally to pre
side. A wiser head suggested that they should ad
journ to the Tennis Court, and the suggestion was
immediately acted upon.
" The Tennis Court," says Michelet, " was a mis
erable, ugly, poor, and unfurnished building, but
the better on that account. The Assembly also was
poor and represented the people . . . They re
mained standing all day long, having scarcely a
wooden bench. It was like the manger of the new
religion — its stable of Bethlehem!"
It is a shrine, a venerated spot sacred to the holy
cause of liberty. It was here that the voices of
humble but brave men were heard, vowing in sol
emn oath to release their land from tyranny. Like
Faneuil Hall, in Boston, and the State House, in
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MIRABEAU
Philadelphia, it is one of the world's cradles of
liberty. To this cheerless, dreary hall the deputies
marched in procession with Bailly at their head, fol
lowed by a crowd of enthusiastic people. The hall
was spacious, without seating accommodations. An
arm-chair was provided for the president, but he
declined its use, declaring that he would rather
stand with his colleagues.
Indignant protests were made against the unjust
and unwarranted suspension of the sittings, and
plans were suggested to prevent a repetition of such
interference. Some of the ardent spirits proposed
that the Assembly should march to Paris, but Bailly
persuaded them against this, fearing that the depu
ties might subject themselves to insult and violence.
Mounier then moved they should bind themselves
by an oath not to separate until they had framed
and established a constitution for France. This
motion was received with acclaim. The multitude
that had crowded into the hall joined in the ap
plause, and amidst the greatest enthusiasm the dele
gates, with upraised hands and uncovered heads,
entered into a solemn league and covenant. In
unison, their voices rang out in clear tones : " We
take a solemn oath never to separate, and to assem
ble wherever circumstances shall require, till the
constitution of the kingdom is established and
founded on a solid basis." Only one deputy, Mar
tin d'Auch, when the declaration was signed by the
delegates, wrote opposite his name, " opposer."
After this act he passed into oblivion.
This oath was an earnest of the purpose of the
248

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Assembly and gave notice that the days of arbitrary
rule were numbered. It was an event that marked
an epoch in the world's civilization as well as in
the regeneration of France.
After the taking of the oath the Assembly ad
journed to meet on the following day at the same
place, but when the deputies gathered at the ap
pointed hour they were refused admission because
the princes had leased the hall for a game of ten
nis, — as usual, the amusements of the court were
of first and paramount importance. What a dan
gerous game these foolish courtiers were playing!
How little did they read and heed the future!
On the 22d, when the deputies found the tennis
court closed against them, they knew not where to
go. Some one suggested the monastery of the Rec-
ollets, but when the deputies requested admission
the frightened monks shut the door in their faces.
The Church of St. Louis was named and thither
they repaired. The Third Estate, houseless and
homeless, found refuge at last in the sanctuary of
God. The majority of the clergy, with the Arch
bishop of Vienne at their head, joined the As
sembly and submitted to the common verification.
The union was greeted with transports of joy.
The memorable 23d of June at last arrived. The
Salle des Menus had been made ready for the
royal sitting. Court painters, carpenters, uphol
sterers, decorators, and designers had been ac
tively employed preparing the great hall for the
reception of the king. The masters of ceremony,
too, were again at work. Fresh humiliations were
249

MIRABEAU
put upon the people's representatives. They were
to enter at a side door, the nobility and the clergy
through a more imposing entrance. " Weakness
was playing at the dangerous game of humili
ating the strong for the last time," says Michelet.
It was a like discrimination that had offended the
commons at the first meeting of the States Gen
eral. The Bourbons, in the meanwhile, had
learned nothing by experience. These prefer
ences and class distinctions further irritated the
temper of the Third Estate.
When Bailly arrived at the hall, he found the
door through which the commons were to enter
locked. He knocked repeatedly, but the answer
always came, " It is not yet time." The deputies,
standing in the rain, " humiliated, wet, and dirty,"
had about decided to depart, when the door opened.
Upon entering the hall, they found the higher or
ders comfortably seated in the choice locations.
The nobles were amused at the bedraggled and dis
consolate appearance of the people's representatives.
The king, the nobility, the clergy, and the Third
Estate had not met in joint convention since the
fifth of May, but the meeting now presented a to
tally different appearance from that splendid and
memorable occasion. Then all was joy and prom
ise, now all was gloom and apprehension. The
sentiments and hopes of the first session of the
States General had vanished, and now a feeling of
sullenness and mistrust possessed the commons.
The king had been keyed for the occasion ; he as
sumed a dictatorial air, a commanding tone, which
were not in any sense impressive, for he was too
250

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
weak in character and disposition to be earnest in
manner or determined in purpose. He had been ad
vised that this was the only safe plan to pursue, but
he was a poor player to enact such a role. Instead
of intimidating the commons, he only irritated
them ; instead of enforcing obedience, he aroused a
rebellious spirit. So flimsy was the guise, that he
provoked a feeling of pity rather than contempt.
The deputies knew that he was speaking for others,
not for himself.
He had not been welcomed with applause. No
cries of " Vive le Roi !" rang through the hall, for
the commons had decided to remain silent, Mira
beau declaring that " the silence of the people is
the lesson of kings." It was a grave and solemn
meeting, that foreboded trouble.
Since the commons had last seen the king, seven
weeks had intervened, but in that interval of time
the Third Estate had organized a National Assem
bly, had passed laws, and had taken an oath not to
separate until they had established a constitution.
Louis, in his speech, enjoined the separation of
the orders, he annulled the resolutions and declara
tions of the National Assembly, and stated that the
feudal rights were property, and as such, were in
violable. His speech was a discordant note from
beginning to end. When the king finished his re
marks, the nobility applauded, but it is said that
during the applause a loud, stern voice proceeding
from the commons' deputies cried out, "Silence!
there." This sounded like the roar of the lion. In
the absence of anything to the contrary, we may
presume it was Mirabeau who spoke.
251

MIRABEAU
The king, after concluding his ill-timed speech,
ordered the Assembly to separate at once and to
meet the following day in the chambers assigned to
the several orders. Without further ado, his Maj
esty retired from the hall, followed by the nobility
and part of the clergy.
The commons, again deserted by the other or
ders, sat for a time in silence, which silence at last
was broken by Mirabeau, who said : " I admit that
what you have just heard might be for the welfare
of the country, were it not that the presents of des
potism are always dangerous. « What is this insult
ing dictatorship ? The pomp of arms, the violation
of the national temple are resorted to, to command
you to be happy! Who gives these commands?
Your mandatory, he who should rather receive
them from you, gentlemen, from us, who are in
vested with a political and an inviolable priesthood ;
from us, in a word, to whom alone twenty-five mil
lions of men are looking for certain happiness. But
the liberty of your discussions is enchained, a mili
tary force surrounds the Assembly ! Is Catiline at
our gates? I demand investing yourselves with
your dignity, with your legislative power ; you en
close yourselves within the religion of your oath. It
does not permit you to separate till you have formed
a constitution." His speech was timely and was warmly ap
plauded. It aroused the greatest enthusiasm in the
hearts of all and gave courage to the timid and
faltering deputies.
Breze, Marquis de Dreux, Master of Ceremonies,
he whom we have met before, was sent to the hall to
252

MIRABEAU ADDRESSING THE MESSENGER OF THE KING
From au original engraving by E. Bocourt in the possession of Wm. J. Latta, Esq., of Philadelphia
through whose courtesy the print is here reproduced

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
remind the deputies of the king's command. " You
have heard," he said, addressing the president, " the
orders of the king," to which Bailly replied : " I
am going to take those of the Assembly, which can
adjourn only by its own act." Breze then wanted
to know if that was the answer he was to carry
back. Bailly, turning to those deputies who were
near him, remarked : " I think that the nation when
assembled can receive no orders." Here was the
opportunity for Mirabeau. In his dramatic man
ner, addressing himself directly to the royal mes
senger, he exclaimed : " We have heard the inten
tions suggested to the king ; and you, who can never
be his organ to the National Assembly, you who
have neither place, voice nor right to speak, you
are not the man to remind us of his discourse. Go
tell those who sent you that we are here by the
will of the people and nothing but the power of the
bayonet shall drive us hence." " Only great men
pronounce the decisive words of the epochs."
Breze then withdrew, backing himself out of the
hall with all the ceremony that could distinguish
the manner and conduct of a finished courtier of
France. It was, no doubt, the first time in his life
that he had ever paid such respect and homage to
the Third Estate.
Immediately upon the withdrawal of the king's
messenger, Sieyes quietly remarked : " We are to
day what we were yesterday, — let us deliberate."
Upon motion of Mirabeau, the Assembly decreed
the inviolability of every deputy and declared that
any one who should offer them violence would be
guilty of treason. 253

MIRABEAU
The royal seance had come to naught. The king's
authority had been defied by the commons. From
this day may be dated the loss of the king's power.
The Revolution was a fact. The court party was
vanquished. Their weapon had been turned upon
themselves. Necker had been dismissed in the morning, but in
the evening the king and the queen earnestly ap
pealed to him to remain. In refusing to attend the
royal sitting his popularity had increased to such
an extent that his dismissal would have aroused the
greatest indignation and would have been attended
with the most serious consequences.
The ranks of the nobility were broken. After a
heated debate, forty-seven members joined the Na
tional Assembly and gave their allegiance to it.
They were welcomed with the warmest greetings by
the commons, but they parted from their colleagues
with the greatest reluctance. " We yield to our con
science," said Clermont Tonnerre ; " it is with pain
that we separate from our brothers, but we come to
aid in the regeneration of France."
The bold defiance and disobedience of the king's
order, after the royal seance, assured the success of
the Revolution. Had the Assembly submitted to
the dictation of the king, its power and influence
would have been lost. It was the turning point in
the memorable conflict between the people and the
court. Any monarch, with a fair degree of courage,
would have applied all the means at hand to com
pel obedience, but Louis surrendered uncondi
tionally. When his messenger returned with the
254

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
answer of the commons, he simply said : " Oh ! let
them alone," thus showing that he was tired of the
whole business. He had not sense enough to prom
ise reforms, nor sufficient courage to resort to force.
He evidently had made no preparation, in the
event of disobedience, to enforce his commands.
He ought to have decided upon a course of action
before he undertook to direct the commons. If
he were not in a position to compel obedience, he
ought not to have given orders, for disobedience
was rebellion, and his failure to enforce obedience
destroyed his authority.
Poor Louis, controlled by his sympathy and
fears, became a mere shuttlecock between contend
ing parties. His mind was inert, paralyzed ; he had
no conception of what the conditions required. He
blew hot and cold; he scolded one minute and
smiled the next ; if he took a position one day, he
abandoned it on the morrow. His weakness was
the despair of his friends, the hope of his enemies.
A Cromwell or a Napoleon would have exerted his
authority long before the acute stage had been
reached, but Louis never had any decision nor a
definite policy ; his character was pusillanimous. If
he had made one strong effort to have saved his
crown and throne, he would, in some degree, have
merited the respect of history. If he had shown
some energy he could have rallied to his standard
ardent and devoted friends, for the people, even
yet, were loyal to their king. No one, at this time,
thought of deposing the monarch ; the most enthu
siastic republican hoped only to restrict his power
and correct abuses. 255

MIRABEAU
It is said that Louis had familiarized himself
with the events that had marked the career of
Charles I., and in the feeble light of his intellect he
thought he saw and understood the causes and rea
sons that had led to the deposition and the execu
tion of England's king. He sought to avoid the
mistakes of that monarch by evincing a yielding
and a conciliatory, rather than a stubborn and a
haughty, disposition. If Louis had possessed some
of the stubbornness of Charles, and Charles had
possessed some of the yielding spirit of Louis, the
crowns of both might have been saved.
" We may reason ad infinitum," says Dumont,
" upon the causes of the Revolution, but in my
mind there is only one dominant and efficient cause,
— the weakness of the king's character. Had a
firm and decided prince been in the place of Louis
XVI., the Revolution would not have happened."
When he says " the Revolution would not have
happened" he means such a revolution. He further
declares : " There is not a single period during the
existence of the first Assembly when the king could
not have re-established his authority and framed a
mixed constitution much stronger and more solid
than the old parliamentary and nobiliary monarchy
of France. His weakness, his indecision, his half
measures and half councils, and more particularly
his want of foresight, led to the catastrophe."
The language of Mirabeau to the king's messen
ger : " Go tell your master that we will not dis
perse, that we are here by the will of the people,
and that only bayonets can drive us hence," was
a bold and defiant answer to the king's command.
256

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Such language had never before been addressed to
the monarch. Heretofore, it had always been sup
plicatory in character. This was in no humble
vein. It was a defiance to his authority, no longer
an appeal to his clemency.
There were two things at this juncture for the
king to have done ; either to apply the bayonet, or
to surrender. He quickly did the latter.
The nobility, baffled and beaten, their ranks
broken, their leaders disconcerted and divided in
council, endeavored, as a last resort, to make the
king believe that his only safety lay in the force of
his army. In this particular they were right, for it
was the only remedy left unless they should repair
their mistakes by uniting with the Assembly, and
perhaps it was not too late, if- they had acted with
candor, sincerity, and prudence, to have recovered
the lost ground.
Mirabeau was now the undisputed leader of the
Assembly, and the idol of the people. The very
mention of his name set the enthusiasm of the
Palais Royal aglow.
" He talks much," said his envious brother dur
ing the early sessions of the Assembly, " but is not
heard." But now his words rang throughout
France, yea, throughout all Europe. There was
much truth in his brother's statement, for he had
spoken from the tribune incessantly and often
without avail. He suffered a scathing defeat on
the resolution' of June 17, when Sieyes carried the
convention against his motion. He, too, had fallen
under the popular censure because of his advocacy
of the king's veto. He often had been hissed and
17 257

MIRABEAU
was even suspected of negotiating with the court
party; but now all this was changed, his timely
boldness had retrieved his losses and entrenched
him in popular confidence and favor. At one leap
he became the foremost man of the nation.
Four days after the king had commanded the or
ders to separate, he invited them to meet in joint
convention. " We are now one family," said the
exultant and hopeful Bailly. But alas! for king
and state, the harmony was only apparent, not real.
Before the rejoicings of the people were over, the
court party began to plot and counter-plot, and
they persuaded Louis, after appealing to his fears,
to once more change his policy of conciliation. He
was now to resort to force and by means of his
army bring the people to a realizing sense of what
they owed their king. Troops began to arrive in
great numbers at Versailles, and their presence dis
turbed the repose of the Assembly and aroused the
fears of the people. So sudden and vast were the
preparations that the purpose of the court was
easily understood. At Mirabeau's suggestion, on
the 9th of July, a firm, but respectful address was
presented to the king, requesting the dismissal of
the troops, but Louis replied that he alone was the
judge of the necessity of assembling or dismissing
troops. He at the same time, however, assured the
Assembly that his only purpose was to prevent pub
lic disturbances and to protect the deputies.

258

CHAPTER XVI
DISMISSAL OF NECKER  BRETEUIL NAMED MINIS
TER  CAMILLE DESMOULINS  FALL OF THE BAS
TILE  VERSAILLES  LOUIS VISITS THE ASSEM
BLY  HE GOES TO PARIS  DESERTION AND EMI
GRATION OF THE NOBLES  TALLEYRAND
Necker was dismissed on July i ith. The queen
even suggested his arrest. This would have been
better than the course that was adopted, for it, at
least, would have kept Necker in the country.
While the minister was at dinner, a messenger
brought him word that he must quit France and
without delay. Necker quietly informed his wife,
and together they made preparations to imme
diately depart. In a few hours they were on their
way to Brussels, long before the news of the ban
ishment reached Paris.
A ministry was formed with Breteuil at its head,
a blustering braggart, who by his boastfulness had
impressed the queen with his assumed importance.
" His big, manly voice sounded like energy ; he
used to step heavily and stamp with his foot, as if
he would conjure an army out of the earth." Gen
eral de Broglie, an aristocrat of the deepest dye,
and a general of the old order, was in the saddle
directing the movements of the troops and using all
the foreign regiments to protect Versailles and to
threaten Paris. Foulon had also been named a
minister, and the king could not have chosen one
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so distasteful to the people. The mere mention of
his name aroused the greatest indignation, for it
was he that had said, " If the people are hungry,
let them eat hay, — my horses eat it." He was
credited with having recently declared that
" France needs to be mowed."
The court had lost its head, it was plunging to
destruction. So far as the king was concerned, his
conduct was a clear breach of faith. There was no
excuse for his treachery ; but Louis never had any
real honor, he was too weak to be honest. If he
had asserted his authority when the commons defied
his order to separate, there might have been ad
vanced some reason for his action ; but he allowed
that opportunity to pass, and after inviting the
orders to meet, and giving assurances to the coun
try of his desire to aid in effecting the needed re
forms, he immediately began to plot to reduce the
Assembly to submission.
It was not until noon of Sunday, July 12, that
the news in relation to the changed policy of the
court reached Paris. The Palais Royal was
crowded when the messenger arrived from Ver
sailles. At first he was howled down and charged
with circulating a baseless rumor, but when his
earnestness convinced the people of his truthfulness
and when further confirmation of his report was
given, the crowd was thrown into the wildest ex
citement. In the midst of this confusion a young
man suddenly leaped upon a table and commanded
attention. The crowd grew silent and listened.
"The dismissal of Necker," shouted the orator,
" is the signal of massacre; it is the knell of a St.
260

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Bartholomew of patriots. The Swiss and German
troops encamped in the Field of Mars will march
upon us to-night to butcher us. We must arm our
selves. Let us hoist a cockade! We must have a
rallying sign, a badge, — what shall it be? Red, the
color of the free order of the Cincinnati, or green,
the color of hope?" " Green," shouted the crowd,
and snatching a leaf from the tree overhead, the
speaker fastened it to his coat. In an instant every
one followed his example, and the trees were
stripped of their foliage, as if smitten by a storm
of hail.
The orator, still commanding attention, drew
from his pocket two pistols, and brandishing them
over his head, cried out, " I call my brethren to lib
erty. To arms ! to arms !" The crowd, by this
time maddened with excitement under the whirring
words of the speaker, took up the refrain until it
rang throughout the garden and aroused all Paris.
" To arms ! To arms !" was the cry. It was a
public declaration of civil war. There was to be no
further parleying.
Who was this young orator that so thrilled the
crowd — this Patrick Henry of the Revolution?
Camille Desmoulins was twenty-nine years of age
when the States General met. At that time he was
wandering about Paris as a briefless barrister re
duced to the extremes of poverty. He had enjoyed
the advantages of a liberal education and chose the
bar as his profession, which, soon after the Revolu
tion began, he abandoned for a literary career. He
was light and frivolous and easily controlled by his
emotions. He was witty, sarcastic, and had a most
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caustic pen, which he never hesitated to use in any
cause he espoused. During certain periods of the
Revolution he wielded a considerable influence. At
times he was eloquent, notwithstanding a slight im
pediment in his speech. " His lively sallies," writes
Michelet, " playing about his embarrassed lips, es
caped like darts."
He followed, with zeal, the movements of the
Revolution and took an active part in its ex
cesses. The crimes to which he gave his approval
and support were, in his opinion, necessary for the
safety of the republic. Although of a tender, an
affectionate disposition, he often turned a deaf ear
to the appeals of mercy and justice. He was con
trolled by that rabid radical party spirit that blinds
the reason and silences the conscience of men.
Having been employed by Robespierre to assail
the Girondins, he wrote a pamphlet that aroused a
strong public sentiment against them and caused
their arrest and condemnation. He was foolish
enough to satisfy his curiosity by witnessing their
execution. The horror of the injustice was too
much for his emotional nature ; it aroused remorse
in his heart and he fled from the dreadful scene,
crying aloud in his agony, "O, my God! it is I
that killed them ! Let me pass, I will not see them
die!" After this sad and harrowing experience, he be
came more moderate in his views and consequently
aroused the suspicions of his colleagues..
He incurred the mortal enmity of St. Just by
saying that "one may see by his gait and in his
deportment that he looks upon his head as the cor-
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
ner-stone of the republic, and that he carries it with
reverence upon his shoulders like the Holy Sacra
ment." " I will make him carry his in his hand
like Saint Denis," snarled St. Just. It was a dan
gerous game to joke at the expense of your adver
saries, if they were in power, in those days of the
Red Terror.
He was expelled from the Jacobins, brought be
fore the revolutionary tribunal, and condemned to
death. When asked his age, he answered, " I am
thirty-three, the age of the sans-culotte Jesus, a
critical age for every patriot."
After his arrest, his courage failed him. He had
to be dragged by force from before the tribunal.
When thrust into the cart to be carried to his exe
cution, he fought like a madman, struggling with
the attendants until his shirt was torn from his
shoulders. Frantic with rage and fear, he wildly
called upon the people to save him. " Do you not
remember me ? I am Camille ! I sounded the toc
sin of the Revolution ! Do you not know me ? Five
years ago in the Palais Royal I called the people
to liberty." His appeals only provoked shouts of
derision. He was showing the white feather, -nd
the crowd had no sympathy in those days of terror
for the coward. Danton, the mighty Danton, sat
beside him in the tumbril, undismayed. He joked
and smiled on his way to death. " Many a revel I
have had in my day," he said, " now we will go to
sleep." Bitter tears welled up from his heart, but
he laughed them down. Courage, Danton ! Cour
age! All Paris is watching you! All the world
will mock you if you show the coward ! You will
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yet have your revenge, for your blood will rise in
the throat of Robespierre and choke his utterance.
Danton neither wailed nor begged for mercy;
he met his fate and went to his doom like a hero,
while Camille, in sad contrast, wild with fear and
rage, alternately blubbered like a baby and fumed
and raved like a maniac.
Camille Desmoulins, excitable, emotional, pas
sionate, was, however, just the kind of an orator to
arouse the people, and he made his debut in the gar
dens of the Palais Royal at a time and under cir
cumstances that made him, at once, the popular
idol as well as the leader of the mob.
Forming in procession, the crowd marched
through Paris, shrieking, " To arms ! To arms !"
Even the French guards fraternized with the peo
ple and joined in the cry, " Long live the nation !"
" We will defend the king," they declared, " but
we will not cut the throats of our fellow-citizens."
The mob, having secured the busts of Necker
and the Duke of Orleans from the studio of a stat
uary named Curtius, paraded through the streets
singing their war-cries. Some Swiss and German
troops, under the command of the Prince de Lam-
besc, ran down the crowd and put it to rout, but it
only re-formed in greater numbers and with in
creased courage and defiance.
A squad of German cavalry dashed through the
gardens of the Tuileries, which were thronged
with citizens quietly enjoying their Sunday even
ing promenade. Men, women, and children fled
for safety in every direction. One old man was
knocked down and seriously wounded. Of course,
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
in the excitement stories were greatly exaggerated,
and the city was filled with rumors that increased
the bitterness and the anger of the people. Mutiny
added to the general disorder. A conflict took
place between a detachment of the French Guards
and a squad of Lambesc's German troops. The
latter were scattered after the first volley.
The day closed and darkness fell upon the city.
It was a night of terror and dismay. Respectable
citizens early sought their homes, blinds were
drawn and doors were barred. The palaces of the
great were sacked. Bands of desperate men
prowled through the aristocratic quarters applying
the torch, and soon the sky was reddened by the
glare from the burning buildings. Robber ruf
fians, taking advantage of the general confusion,
perpetrated all kinds of excesses. Rapine, arson,
and murder held high carnival. The municipal au
thorities were powerless to preserve order. Morn
ing at last dawned. The lawless ceased their dep
redations and, like wolves, sneaked out of sight to
their caves and tenements, impatiently awaiting the
return of darkness.
Daylight brought temporary relief.
When the news reached Versailles of the disturb
ances in Paris, the court became indignant and
threatening in its attitude, and the Assembly anx
ious. But when the deputies recovered from their
astonishment, they were none the less determined
than they had been. They petitioned the king to
recall the dismissed ministers and to abandon the
employment of troops.
" Let us make the constitution," cried the Count
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MIRABEAU
de Virieu, " let us renew, confirm, and consecrate
the glorious decrees of the 17th of June, let us
unite ourselves in sentiment and swear to be faith
ful to the vows we have taken." The Duke de
Rochefoucauld emphatically declared, " The consti
tution shall be made, or we shall cease to be." In
the presence of impending dangers, the deputies
evinced a spirit of determination that encouraged
the whole nation. They faced the future with he
roic resolve. " All recollection of their divisions
was effaced, all their efforts were united for the
salvation of the country."
A deputation that waited on the king respect
fully requested the recall of Necker, the dismissal
of the troops, and the establishment of a militia of
citizens, but the king, still under the influence and
control of the queen's party, gave no satisfactory
answer, and the committee returned empty-handed.
The deputies of the Assembly, fearing that if
they adjourned, the hall might, in their absence, be
seized by the royal troops, resolved to hold a con
tinuous session. By lot, it was decided which dep
uties should sit during the day and which by night.
To relieve the president, the Archbishop of Vienne,
whose years were many and whose health was
feeble, it was agreed that a vice-president should
be selected, and to this position La Fayette was
chosen to preside over the night sessions.
The deputies calmly occupied their seats, pre
served a serene demeanor, conducted the proceed
ings with regularity, and by their inflexible con
duct gained the approbation of the people and even
the respect of the court. Their courage instilled a
266

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
wholesome fear into the minds of the queen's blus
tering ministers, one of whom had made the idle
boast that he would bridle the Assembly and subdue
Paris in three days. At no period of the Revolu
tion did the Assembly display greater fortitude and
wisdom and maintain so high a degree of dignity.
On Monday, the 13th, Paris was awake at an
early hour after a night of anxiety and terror.
About six o'clock the bells began ringing from
all the steeples, sounding an alarm, for Paris ex
pected an attack from the royal troops. Citizens
poured out of their houses, gathered in crowds, lis
tened to inflammatory orators, and then scattered
in every direction to find arms and ammunition.
Tramps and beggars came from the surrounding
country, crowding through the gates and barriers
of the city, eager to take part in the pillage. Jails
were broken open, unfortunate debtors released, but
criminals found no sympathy with the crowd and
were returned to their cells. In one instance, when
the prisoners had overpowered the guards and were
battering down the doors of the dungeon, the pa
triots having been appealed to for help, turned their
guns upon the rogues and quickly quelled the mu
tiny. " The mob itself," says Mignet, " disarmed
suspected characters."
The monastery of St. Lazare, which contained a
great quantity of grain, was sacked by the mobs,
and crowds of famished wretches gorged them
selves with food and wine which they had found in
the pantry and cellars. The grain, however, about
fifty wagon loads, was hauled away to be sold for
the benefit of the poor. 267

MIRABEAU
" It would be difficult," writes Bertrand de
Molleville, " to paint the disorder, fermentation,
and alarm that prevailed in the capital during this
dreadful day. Imagine detachments of cavalry and
dragoons making their way through different parts
of the town at full gallop, to the posts assigned
them; trains of artillery rolling over the pave
ment with monstrous noise ; bands of ill-armed ruf
fians and women drunk with brandy, running
through the streets like furies, breaking the shops
open and spreading terror everywhere by their
howlings, mingled with frequent reports from guns
or pistols fired in the air; all the barriers on fire;
thousands of smugglers taking advantage of the
tumult, to hurry in their goods; the alarm bells
ringing in almost all the churches ; a great part of
the citizens shutting themselves up at home, loading
their guns and burying their money, papers, and
valuable effects in cellars and gardens ; and during
the night the town paraded by numerous patrols of
citizens of every class and of both sexes, — for many
women were seen with muskets or pikes on their
shoulders." In the midst of this excitement, the patriots were
at work organizing the Parisian Guard. All citi
zens were notified to enroll their names. Every
district had its battalion, every battalion had its
leader, and the supreme command of this body of
citizen soldiery was offered to the Duke d'Aumont.
He requested to be given twenty-four hours for
consideration, but finally declining the honor, the
Marquis de la Fayette was unanimously chosen.
Evening approached, and as the darkness in-
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
creased, the tumult of the city gradually subsided
to a low murmur like unto the growl of a tired but
angry beast.
The terrifying scenes of the previous night were
not to be repeated, for the streets were patrolled by
sentinels, and in every direction torches, enveloped
in gloom, shed a lurid light, bright enough, how
ever, to reveal the presence of sneaking marauders,
and to prevent their depredations. Paris was awake
and feverish and through that long summer night
was waiting anxiously and impatiently for the com
ing dawn. It came at last, and the day was ushered
in by the ringing of alarm bells from every church-
tower and steeple.
There was a feeling of relief when it was known
that the army of the great Broglie had not yet ap
peared at the gates, of the city. The watchers
through the night had been listening to hear the
beat of the drums and the steady tramp of the ap
proaching armies of the king. Shops were closed,
business was suspended and multitudes of people
thronged the streets ready for any enterprise. '
The cry " to arms" was still ringing in the air.
The people had appealed to Flesselles, the Mayor of
the old municipality, the Provost of the Merchants,
to aid them in their search for arms, but he was
loyal to the king and started the people on false
trails. For this deception he ultimately paid for
feit with his head. He had delayed the people by
excuses, he had deceived them by promises, hoping
that time would soothe their fury, but at last, in
the very presence of the king's troops, stationed in
the Champ de Mars, the mob broke into the Hotel
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MIRABEAU
des Invalides, and in spite of the earnest entreaties
of the governor, secured and carried away twenty-
eight thousand guns, a number of pieces of artil
lery, and great quantities of swords, sabres, and
halberds. The people, having succeeded in pro
curing arms, next desired a place or something to
attack. On the 13th, the day before, there had
frequently been heard the cry : " To the Bastile !"
De Launay, a brave old soldier, who had served
his king with honor, having been warned by the
cries of the mob, made every preparation to repel
an attack, and put his fortress in a complete state
of defence. At midnight, just as the bells from the
steeples were tolling the hour, De Launay climbed
the staircase leading to the tower, and looked down
upon the fretful city. Finding no cause for alarm,
he bade the sentinels on guard " good night," and
descended to his quarters to take his last sleep on
earth, never dreaming of danger, for he knew his
castle could withstand the siege and the assaults
of armies.
In a few hours De Launay, the sentinels, and the
gloomy fortress will be only memories.
Had the old soldier gone to the tower in the early
part of the afternoon of the 14th he would have
seen all Paris, as if actuated by one impulse, rush
ing to the Bastile. He would have witnessed a
scene that would have appalled his heart, stout as
it was. Behold that black mass rolling out of Saint An
toine like a mighty ocean, its waves already lap
ping the foundation stones of that impregnable
fortress! And not only from Saint Antoine, but
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
out of every district, from every quarter the tide
surges on, gathering force and volume as it moves,
its multitudinous voices shrieking in desperate re
solve to level to the ground this " old cavern of
kings!" But the sea beats against the rock and,
for a time, is stayed.
The governor declined to surrender. This de
cision, under the circumstances, was clearly in the
line of his duty, but having made up his mind to
defend the castle committed to his care he should
have fought to the death. He, unquestionably,
could have held out until reinforcements came, for
he had ammunition and stores sufficient to with
stand a lengthy siege. He was, however, fighting
not an army, not a public enemy, but his fellow-
citizens, and that created a doubt in his mind as to
what course of action he should pursue. The old
soldier wavered, he parleyed when he should have
fought. The defence was only half-hearted ; when
sorely pressed, he opened fire but once, just enough
to enrage the mob without repulsing it. Angered
at the sight of blood, it returned to the attack,
scaled the outer wall, battered down the draw
bridges and entered into the inner court-yard. De
Launay, with lighted torch, ran to the magazine to
blow up the fortress, but his soldiers seized him
and prevented this catastrophe. It would have
been better for all of them if he had succeeded in his
purpose. The mob kept pushing on ; the white flag
was hoisted, but before surrender an agreement was
made with the leaders that the governor and garri
son should not be molested, but alas! this agree
ment was broken almost before the words were
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MIRABEAU
spoken. Unfortunately, the Swiss opened fire after
the flag of truce was hoisted, and the crowd, fren
zied with rage, gave no quarter.
" The Bastile has fallen !" was the glorious news
that greeted the ear of humanity the world over.
" Bastile and tyranny," says Michelet, " were in
every language synonymous terms. Every nation,
at the news of its destruction, believed it had recov
ered its liberty."
" In Russia, that empire of mystery and silence,
that monster Bastile between Europe and Asia,
scarcely had the news arrived, when you might have
seen men of every nation shouting and weeping for
joy in the open streets." The fact that this excess
of joy occurred in St. Petersburg is vouched for by
a witness above suspicion, the Count de Segur, who
at that time was ambassador to the Court of the
Czar, and who, being a royalist, in no wise shared
in the general enthusiasm. " No other event," says
Willert, " was ever hailed with a tithe of the en
thusiasm which the fall of the Bastile excited, from
the banks of the Neva to those of the Mississippi."
That prison, whose fetid dungeons had confined
such wretchedness and despair, " so many broken
hearts, so many tears of rage and heads dashed
against the stones," had at last fallen under the as
saults of the people whose liberty and lives it had
ever menaced. No longer would its " dark, deep
dungeons, where the prisoners, on a level with the
common sewers, lived besieged and menaced by
rats, toads, and every kind of foul vermin," hold
and hide the secrets and mysteries of tyranny.
There is force, tremendous force, in the shout
272

THE BASTILE

" Its dark, deep dungeons, where the prisoners, on a level with
the common sewers, lived, besieged and menaced by rats, toads,
and every kind of vermin"

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
of an incensed and infuriated mob. It struck ter
ror into the hearts of the governor and the garri
son, so that the gloomy dungeon was shaken to its
base. The Grecian hosts upon one occasion, so his
tory states, set up such a shout that the birds fell
dead out of the heavens.
Who would have thought that this mighty fort
ress, bristling with cannon, rock-ribbed from turret
to foundation stone, fortified, garrisoned, supplied
with stores and ammunition sufficient to have with
stood the siege and assault of an army, would have
fallen so quickly before the shout of the multitude.
It was not besieged by an army of disciplined sol
diers, but by a mob without order, organization or
leadership. " And it shall come to pass . . . that
the people shall shout with a great shout and the
walls of the city shall fall down flat." As before
the walls of Jericho, so it was before the walls of
the Bastile.
While these events were transpiring in Paris,
what was going on at Versailles ? Couriers had not
yet brought to the court the news from the capital.
The ministers were making out a list of deputies
who were to be proscribed. Some were to be seized
and tried as traitors to their king; others were to
be banished, and, in fine, the Assembly was to be
coerced, and if it refused to yield, was to be scat
tered to the four corners of the earth.
In the orangerie the royal troops are drink
ing, carousing, singing roundelays, and dancing to
their own wild music. The queen must needs en
courage her loyal troops, and so with her friend,
Madame de Polignac, she pays them a visit. Her
18 273

MIRABEAU
presence arouses their loyalty and enthusiasm, and
they toast their queen with wine poured into their
goblets by her own fair hands. She conducts the
officers to her apartments and excites them with
liquor till they vow to lay down their lives in her
defence and her honor.
The king has gone to bed.
Suddenly a body of cavalry with the Prince de
Lambesc at their head, fleeing before the fury of
the people, dash into the town, having galloped in
hot haste all the way from Paris. Some couriers
arrive bringing the details of the day's occurrences.
The bluster and brag of Breteuil and Broglie sud
denly subside. The queen's party is thrown into a
panic. The king was asleep, sound asleep, when the
news came announcing the fall of the Bastile. The
Duke de Liancourt, who had the entree to the
king's apartments at all hours, day or night, awoke
Louis out of his heavy slumber and detailed to him
the thrilling events of that momentous day. Louis,
rubbing his eyes, exclaimed, " It is a revolt." " No,
Sire," said Liancourt, "it is not a revolt; it is a
revolution." The duke, who loved the king, gave
him some wholesome advice and then left him to
slumber until daylight.
When the news reached the Assembly, it was
proposed to send another deputation to the king.
" No," said Clermont Tonnerre, " leave him the
night to consult in, — kings must buy experience as
well as other men."
The Assembly, on the 15th, appointed a depuat-
tion to again wait on the king, and as the twenty-
274

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
four deputies were about to depart on their errand,
Mirabeau in his most dramatic and impassioned
manner exclaimed: "Tell him that the hordes of
strangers who invest us received yesterday visits,
caresses, exhortations, and presents from the
princes, princesses, and favorites; tell him that,
during the night, these foreign satellites, gorged
with gold and wine, predicted in their impious
songs the subjection of France and invoked the
destruction of the National Assembly ; tell him that
in his own palace courtiers danced to the sound of
that barbarous music, and that such was the pre
lude to the massacre of St. Bartholomew ! Tell him
that the Henry whose memory is known through
out the universe, him whom of all his ancestors he
said he would make his model, sent provisions into
rebellious Paris when besieging it in person, while
the savage advisers of Louis send away the corn
which trade brings into his loyal and starving
city." Just at that moment, Louis, attended only by his
brothers, entered the outer hall of the Assembly.
The news of his coming was received by the de
lighted deputies with every evidence of joy. " Let
not your applause be premature," said Mirabeau to
his enthusiastic colleagues. " Let us wait till his
Majesty makes known the good intentions we are
led to expect from him. The blood of our brethren
flows in Paris. Let a sad respect be the first recep
tion given to the king by the representatives of an
unfortunate people* The silence of the people is
the lesson of kings."
The deputies received his Majesty respectfully
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MIRABEAU
but without demonstration. In a few moments,
however, he gained the confidence and won the ap
plause of the Assembly, when he declared that he
was one with the nation, and that he had ordered
the troops to leave Paris and Versailles; that he
would recall Necker, and that on the morrow he
would visit his capital.
A committee of one hundred members was at
once appointed to precede the king to Paris and an
nounce his coming. The king set out on the 17th;
he reached the city about three o'clock in the after
noon. He was met at the gates by Bailly, who had
been chosen Mayor. " Sire," said Bailly, " I bring
your Majesty the keys of your good town of Paris ;
they are the same that were presented to Henry
IV. ; he had reconquered his people ; now the peo
ple have reconquered their king."
He was received at first in a sullen mood, but
when he entered the Hotel de Ville, unattended by
his guard and submitted to being decorated with
the cockade of the Revolution, the enthusiasm of
the people knew no bounds. The king uncondi
tionally surrendered to the rebels.
Louis was weak in character, but he was not a
timid man. It required great courage to enter the
capital at this time, in view of public sentiment and
the temper of the populace. He took his life in his
hands. It seems strange that a man who could* on
occasion, display such courage, had so little decision
of character.
Louis, glad to escape from the affectionate atten
tion of his loyal subjects, — some of whom stopped
his horses and drank his health out of bottles, one
276

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
jolly fat fish-woman going so far as to hug his Maj
esty, — journeyed back to Versailles and reached the
palace about nine o'clock in the evening, a sadder
but not a wiser man.
The queen, who had never expected to see him
return alive, welcomed him with every manifesta
tion of joy, but when she saw the tri-color pinned to
his coat, which Louis had forgotten to remove, she
exclaimed in bitterness and with scorn in every
word she uttered : " I did not know until this
moment I had married a plebeian." Oh! proud
queen, if the veil of the future had been lifted,
you would have seen that the time was coming
when your Louis, in his own palace, surrounded
by a jeering and an insolent rabble, would wear
for hours a sweaty, dirty red cap of a smutty
Jacobin. The fall of the Bastile and the revolt of Paris
shattered the hopes of the royalists. The violent
measures agreed upon by the court party, that had
already given enthusiastic courage to the queen,
were immediately abandoned.
On the day Louis returned from Paris, the first
exodus of the nobles took place, — Madame de Po
lignac, the dear and devoted friend of the queen ;
the Count of Artois, the brother of the king ; Bre-
teuil, he of the heavy voice and step; Broglie, the
blusterer who threatened to burn Paris ; Lambesc,
the roysterer who charged through the gardens of
the Tuileries on that memorable Sunday evening,
the twelfth, — all fled ignominiously across the bor
der to find a sanctuary in Turin, leaving Louis and
Marie Antoinette to bear the burden alone.
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MIRABEAU
" Hollow men, like horses hot at hand,
Make gallant show and promise of their mettle;
But when they should endure the bloody spur,
They fall their crests, and like deceitful jades,
Sink in the trial."
" Noblesse oblige" was a motto that they mocked
in their mad desire to escape from danger. Their
dastardly conduct was, perhaps, the origin of the
phrase, " taking French leave."
At the first sign of danger, at a time when the
king and the queen specially needed their advice,
sympathy, and assistance, these faithful ( ?) friends
deserted them like a pack of poltroons. " Sauve
qui peut" was the cry at Waterloo, but not until the
Emperor's fortunes were lost; even then, the old
guard refused to surrender.
The desertion was so cowardly that it disgusted
even Talleyrand. He pleaded with the Count of
Artois to reconsider his determination, and not to
abandon the king at this critical moment ; but it was
of no avail. The noble count feared the loss of his
head more than the loss of his honor. It must have
been an edifying spectacle to have seen Talleyrand
pleading with a craven in so just a cause. It was
seldom the adroit and cunning churchman ever dis
played any trait or spirit beyond that of a mere
intriguing, deceiving schemer.
Talleyrand, Bishop of Autun, elevated to that
exalted station by Louis XVI. , was one of the most
selfish and perfidious creatures that ever basked in
the sunshine of royal favor. He never espoused a
cause he did not desert or betray. No moral con
sideration was ever weighed by him, when it stood
278

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
between him and his interest. He brought intrigue
and deception to an art, to a science. He had
the instincts of a spy and the principles of a traitor.
Feared by those who trusted him, he yet became the
custodian of their secrets ; despised by his masters,
he nevertheless enjoyed their favors. His chosen
rule of conduct was " Treat your friends as if they
would one day be your enemies, and your enemies
as if they would one day be your friends." In his
code, friendship, loyalty, and patriotism were mere
terms to conjure with, but not sentiments to live by.
His manner was polished, he was at all times
charming and fascinating. Napoleon described
him as " a silk stocking filled with excrement."
Mirabeau at one time regretted that he was obliged
to keep on terms with " a being so vile as Talley
rand, sordid, greedy, and designing, who delighted
only in filth and gold, who had sold his honor and
his friend, and who would sell his soul if a pur
chaser could be found for trash so vile."
Immediately after the departure of the noble
emigrants, Talleyrand lost no time in going over
to the revolutionists, declaring that " everyone
must now look out for himself." He had no com
punction nor special regret in abandoning the king
and the queen, for he always believed that Marie
Antoinette had stood between him and a cardinal's
hat. If this be true, then she rendered a notable
service to the church.

279

CHAPTER XVII
NECKER RECALLED — HIS RETURN A TRIUMPH —
AMNESTY  MIRABEAU EXCUSES VIOLENCE OF
THE MOB  THE CONSTITUTION  DECLARATION
OF RIGHTS  ABOLITION OF PRIVILEGES  AUGUST
THE FOURTH
Necker's return was a triumph. This was the
heyday of his glory, but he immediately weakened
his influence and popularity by demanding of the
electors of Paris a general amnesty. This was at
a time wnen the mob had assassinated Foulon, and
carried his head on a pike, with a wisp of hay in its
mouth, through the streets of Paris — the cruel,
cold-hearted Foulon who said in the days of fam
ine that glass was food good enough for the starv
ing poor. One is almost induced to call his mur
der a just retribution.
Necker, no doubt, was actuated by humane and
charitable motives, but his conduct was imprudent
and impolitic. At a time when the public mind
was inflamed against all those that had taken part
in opposition to the people, in the events of the
fourteenth of July, he further irritated the public
temper by requesting clemency for the enemies of
the people. Mirabeau assailed Necker, denounced
the action of the town council and induced the As
sembly to annul the order, contending that it was
a question alone for the Assembly's consideration,
280

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
and that the municipal authorities had no jurisdic
tion in the matter.
Instead of demanding an amnesty, Necker
should have favored a fair trial for the accused.
His request simply turned public sentiment against
him and he fell into disfavor at once. " Necker did
not know the people ; he was not aware how easily
they suspect their chiefs and destroy their idols."
He heeded not the wise saying of Mirabeau that
" It is but a short distance from the Capitol to the
Tarpeian Rock."
" What ruined Louis XVI.," says Froment,
" was his having philosophers for ministers."
Necker was endowed neither with political sense
nor worldly sagacity. His great popularity in
duced him to believe he was a leader, but he really
did not possess the first quality of political leader
ship. His popularity was due to the opposition of
the court, and his vanity led him to believe that it
was due to his great talents.
After the fall of the Bastile, Mirabeau in his
journal apologized for the popular excesses:
" How great," he said, " must be the virtue and
moderation of the people, since even when the dun
geons of the Bastile disclosed the secret atrocities of
despotism, they were not provoked to greater blood
shed! The oppressors of the people denounce it
and affect to fear it, in order that they may excuse
their tyranny and deaden their consciences ! If these
events had taken place at Constantinople, we
should say that this was an act of popular justice ;
that the punishment of one vizier would be a lesson
to others." Mirabeau argued against the facts and
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MIRABEAU
his honest convictions. He encouraged anarchy in
his attempt to excuse the massacre of the garrison.
The attack by the people on the Bastile was en
tirely justified by existing conditions. The king
and the nobles were preparing to control the Assem
bly by force, to intimidate its members by the pres
ence of the military. It was the legislative body of
the kingdom, and had been so recognized by the
king himself. It had committed no overt act ; it had
insisted upon exercising those rights and powers
that were lawfully delegated to it. Paris was men
aced and threatened by the army for no other rea
son than that it loyally supported the Assembly and
favored needed reforms. The people had a right
to arm in defence of their city, and to strengthen
their defence it was necessary to destroy or secure
possession of the fortress that was the stronghold of
the enemy and a menace to the public liberty.
On the other hand, the murder of De Launay
and the garrison was absolutely without excuse. It
was cruel and cowardly and without any justifica
tion whatever. They had surrendered and were
unarmed. Their only offence was that they had de
fended property placed in their charge by the exist
ing government. They were assigned to its de
fence and it was their duty to repel attack so long
as they wore the livery of the king or had not given
their allegiance to the popular cause. Their assas
sination was the act of a lawless mob, for no longer
were the people engaged in a commendable or
justifiable enterprise when they turned from the
taking of the fortress to the slaughter of defence
less men. The people had obtained possession of
282

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
the Bastile and they owed protection to its de
fenders who had surrendered. The killing of
these men by an infuriated mob was anarchy in
its worst form, and was the beginning of the
terrors that were to follow.
When leading men and law-abiding citizens ex
cuse crime they simply put a premium on its repeti
tion. No life is safe in that community where the
vilest man can be executed without forms of law.
It is ever a dangerous policy to dispense with law in
the desire to vent a momentary rage or to sum
marily avenge a public wrong, no matter how
heinous in character.
The tiger had tasted blood, and his appetite was
whetted for more prey. The mob grew insolent;
its spirit increased daily ; its ear was deaf ; its heart
was dead to all appeals for mercy. The authori
ties, having excused its excesses, forfeited control
and even influence over its conduct. In truth, the
mob was sovereign, and made so because the au
thorities had temporized with its violence and
excused its crimes.
The Assembly had solemnly sworn to give a con
stitution to France and not to separate until the
task was accomplished. It was a task that called
for the exercise of the greatest powers of the
intellect, and required a familiarity with the
history of states and peoples, and an experience
based upon a knowledge of the past. It had to
be a constitution that would suit the tempera
ment of the French people and one that would
not destroy every trace of the existing government.
283

MIRABEAU
It had to preserve the forms, if not the principles,
that had long obtained in France. " We are not
savages," said Mirabeau, " coming naked from the
shores of the Orinoco to form a society. We are an
old nation and undoubtedly too old for our epoch.
We have a pre-existing government, a pre-existing
king, pre-existing prejudices. As far as possible
one must adapt the things to the Revolution and
avoid abruptness of transition."
There were only a few radical spirits that fa
vored the destruction of the monarchy, and so a
form of government had to be framed that would
guarantee the equality of all men before the law and
at the same time preserve intact the features of a
monarchy. In other words, the principles of dem
ocracy had to be reconciled to a government at the
head of which was a king entitled to his crown by
the right of hereditary succession.
Divergent interests of the monarchy, the aristoc
racy, and the commonalty, made the task a perplex
ing one. " The founding of an entire constitution,"
says Thiers, " amid the rubbish of an ancient legis
lation, in spite of all opposition and the wild flight
of many minds, was a great and difficult work."
On July 27, 1 789, the committee reported to the
Assembly the basis of a constitution. France was
to remain a monarchy, the king was to be the depos
itory of executive power, his agents were to be re
sponsible to the people. His sanction was necessary
to the laws. No loans could be created and taxes
imposed without the consent of the nation. Taxes
were to continue only from one States General to
another. All property and personal liberty were

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
sacred. In view of what the conditions had been,
this was a great stride in the direction of popular
government. The report of the committee was
submitted to the Assembly and, straightway, Mou-
nier read the celebrated paper known as " The Dec
laration of Rights."
" The idea," says Dumont, " was American, and
there was scarcely a member who did not consider
such a declaration an indispensable preliminary. I
well remember the long debate on the subject, which
lasted several weeks, as a period of mortal ennui.
There were silly disputes about words, much meta
physical trash, and dreadfully tedious posing. The
Assembly had converted itself into a Sorbonne, and
each apprentice in the art of legislation was trying
his yet unfledged wings upon such puerilities."
Mirabeau was appointed a member of the Com
mittee of Five to prepare the Declaration, and Du
mont, with his usual modesty, states that Mirabeau,
Duroverai, Claviere and he began " writing, dis
puting, and wasting time and patience on this ridic
ulous subject." He terms it a " puerile fiction,"
and, with a great show of wisdom, says that " A
declaration of rights could be made only after the
framing of the" constitution, for rights exist in vir
tue of laws, and therefore do not precede them."
This is a mere quibble. The Declaration was sim
ply to announce what the political rights of the peo
ple were or ought to be. He divides words " twixt
south and southwest side" when he sneers at the
maxim that all men are born free and equal. He
says this is not true. Of course not, in many
senses, but the Declaration stated that " men are
28s

MIRABEAU
born equal in respect to their rights," their political
rights. No one should gainsay this proposition.
The Revolution had for its object the securing to
the people, to all the people, this guarantee.
Morally, mentally, and physically, men are not born
equal, and no one is foolish enough to argue that
they are. When Jefferson wrote in the American
Declaration of Independence that " all men are cre
ated equal," he meant to say that they are created
equal under the law, or, as the French Declaration
puts it, " in respect to their rights."
Mirabeau proposed to defer consideration on the
Declaration until the constitution should be
adopted; perhaps in this contention, he had been
influenced by Dumont's reasoning, for it is a fact
that when the matter was originally discussed he
had strongly urged the necessity of a Declaration.
He threw the Assembly into confusion when he pre
dicted that "any declaration of rights anterior to
the constitution will prove but the almanac of a
single year." He was blowing hot and cold, and he
called down upon himself the censure of the very
men who had favored his selection as a member of
the committee.
The Declaration of Rights, however, was pro
mulgated, and in some quarters was most enthusi
astically approved, and in others most bitterly de
nounced. Marat and Robespierre were among its
most ardent supporters, and pronounced it the one
good piece of work of the Assembly.
In some particulars, it was vapory, of course, as
all such papers are, but it contained much of the
substance of truth and justice. It was a reiteration
286

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
of the ideas of the philosophers who had been
dreaming of a Utopia, and who had been instilling
revolutionary principles for a century into the
minds of the people.
At a time when tyranny and intolerance were
rank among the nations of Europe, the Assembly
of the French people declared that men are born
equal in respect to their rights ; that the people are
sovereign; that no individual nor body of men
may exercise any authority save that delegated by
the people; that no person should be molested on
account of his opinions — political or religious —
provided he does not disturb the public order ; that
all persons are privileged to write, speak, and pub
lish, being responsible only for the abuse of the
privilege. France was unbourbonized.
The next step in the Revolution was the abolition
of privileges, which abolition took place on the
night of the 4th of August, a night which an enemy
of the Revolution designated, at the time, as " The
Saint Bartholomew of property." " It was, how
ever," said Mignet, " only the Saint Bartholomew
of abuses." Feudal rights, game laws, tithes,
seignorial courts, pensions, exemptions, — all were
abolished by decree of the Assembly. In a spirit of
patriotism, individual sacrifices were made for the
sake of the public welfare, while provinces and
towns surrendered their franchises and solemnly re
nounced their privileges. " The rich clergy gave
nothing; the poor cures offered to renounce their
fees. The Assembly, deeply affected, refused to ac
cept the sacrifice." A wave of enthusiasm swept
through the convention that carried with it the abo-
287

MIRABEAU
lition of abuses and the destruction of systems that
for generations had burdened France and had made
her government a by-word and a reproach. It was
hailed as the dawning of a new eta, the realiza
tion of the hopes of centuries.
The generosity was occasioned by a report de
tailing the excesses in the provinces, the burning
of chateaux and the robbery and murder perpe
trated by bands of marauding peasants or banditti.
A liberal nobleman began the work, declaring that
sacrifices must be made to secure safety and tran
quillity in the provinces and immunity from the
depredations of a furious peasantry.
Dumont, in referring to that extraordinary ses
sion which he attended and which he calls " the
nocturnal sitting of the 4th of August," says:
" Never was so much work done in so short a space
of time. ... I know not how many laws were de
creed, — the abolition of feudal rights, tithes and
provincial privileges, three questions embracing a
whole system of jurisprudence and politics, were,
with ten or twelve others, disposed of in less time
than the English Parliament would decide upon the
first reading of any bill of consequence. The Assem
bly resembled a dying man who had made his will
in a hurry, or to speak more plainly, each member
gave away what did not belong to him and prided
himself on his generosity at the expense of others."
Rivarol, in referring to that memorable night, said :
" The representatives of the nobility and the clergy
sought, like Japanese, their honor in public suicide."
You may describe the scene as an orgy, as Mira
beau did, but feudalism in France died that night.

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Although Dumont rather sneeringly refers to the
proceedings of that memorable session, it marked,
nevertheless, the beginning of a new era. Mira
beau described the enthusiasm as " madness," and
said : " This is just the character of our French
men, — they are three months disputing about syl
lables (alluding to the weary discussion on the
Declaration of Rights), and in a single night they
overturn the whole venerable edifice of the mon
archy." He left the Assembly before it was seized
with the delirium, and took no part in the proceed
ings, and although he did not approve of all that
had been done, he wrote : "I have good hope for
the future, because the Revolution, whether we ap
prove it or not, is now an accomplished fact. In
telligent men must now see that further resistance
is useless and disastrous."
Sieyes, in a notable speech, violently opposed the
abolition of tithes, but he made no impression on
the Assembly. He concluded with a sentence that
became famous : " They would be free, and know
not how to be just." In conversation with Mira
beau, he spoke most warmly on the matter and de
nounced the whole proceeding. Mirabeau in reply,
said : " My dear abbe, you have let loose the bull,
and you now complain that he gores you."
But the generosity had gone too far, and it was
too late to retrace the steps. It only created in the
public mind a desire for further concessions. Du
mont wisely and tersely says that " what is granted
through fear never satisfies, and they whom you
think your concessions will disarm, acquire ten
fold confidence and audacity."
19 289

CHAPTER XVIII
PROGRESS OF THE REVOLUTION  MIRABEAU'S PART
IN THE EVENTS  MAURY — CAZALES  ASSEM
BLY'S ADDRESS TO THE PEOPLE — ADDRESS TO
THE KING
The Revolution had been making wonderful
progress. Intrigue and force had both been em
ployed against it, but the leaders of the royal cause
had, in every instance, been circumvented and de
feated. Who would have been bold enough to have
predicted, at the time of the first meeting of the
States General, that in three months such results
could have been reached, such reforms effected ?
On the 17th of June the three orders had disap
peared and the States General had merged into the
National Assembly. The royal authority had been
defied on the 23d of June and the king surrendered
to the popular will. The moral influence of his
royal power was destroyed. His absolutism was a
thing of the past. The fall of the Bastile on the
14th of July deprived the king of all physical force,
and, surrendering first to the Assembly, he has
tened to Paris to make his peace with the people
who had conquered him.
On August 4 the abuses and burdens that had
grown and developed for centuries into a system of
tyranny were abolished in a few hours of enthusi
astic and patriotic sacrifice.
" What do you complain of, Jacques ?" was the
250

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
question asked the peasant in 1 789. " Of monks,
pigeons, and taxes," was the answer. The monks
had been deprived of their tithes, pigeons could be
shot, and the feudal taxes and burdens had been
abolished. The Revolution had successfully accomplished its
purposes, and if it had stopped here, after securing
and firmly establishing the reforms, it would have
more than met the hopes and the expectations of the
most ardent reformers who clamored for a change
at the time of the first meeting of the States Gen
eral. These ends had been attained because of the
weak and vacillating course of Louis, and on the
other hand, it must be admitted that they were se
cured because of the determined and decisive atti
tude and policy of the Assembly.
The king had insisted upon a separation of the
orders when he could not nor dared not enforce his
commands. The privileged orders had united with
the commons at a time when their influence was lost.
The court party decided to resort to force when
the people were ready and able to resist. The king
and the privileged orders, when they did the right
thing, always did it at the wrong time. Even when
they surrendered, it was not only a surrender on
their part, but they made it an overwhelming vic
tory on the part of the commons.
During this period, Mirabeau had played a lead
ing role. He was the boldest and most intrepid
leader in the Assembly. Adam Duquesnoy, a dele
gate to the States General, in describing Mirabeau
during the early sessions of that body, said : " The
man is a wild beast, a madman. He has the expres-
2gi

MIRABEAU
sions of a tiger. When he speaks it is in par
oxysms ; his face is distorted, his voice hisses with
passion, — moreover, he speaks ill; his French is
detestable ; his arguments are sophistical, full of in
consistencies and fallacies. All men of intelligence
believe that he wishes to bring about the dissolution
of the estates and the fall of the ministry because
Necker would not pay him his price." But this
madman was gradually impressing himself upon
the Assembly, for the same Duquesnoy later on
said : " Mirabeau excels all his colleagues in tal
ents, genius, and knowledge," and still later on, he
declared that " Mirabeau alone has the genius, the
talents and the strength of character to extricate us
from the fearful chaos into which we are plunged.
The circumstances are such that he must be minis
ter. Yet perhaps a short delay is necessary in order
that the public may recognize that private immor
ality is no obstacle to public virtue."
This shows a remarkable change of opinion, and,
no doubt, Duquesnoy fairly represented the feelings
of a large majority of the delegates. The opinion
entertained by him of Mirabeau was that entertained
not only by the members of the Assembly, but also
by the people. Mirabeau had the spirit and the
power of the born leader. The public, from the very
beginning, had recognized his ability, but it took
some little time to compel a just recognition upon
the part of his colleagues. The latter did not doubt
his talents in some directions, but they had no confi
dence in his honor and intentions, nor did they
comprehend how great was his genius as a states
man. Mistrusted from the beginning, it required
292

Oo. tell .your master
we are Here by tlie
will oj the people.

MIRABEAU DEFYING THE ORDER OF THE KING

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
time and opportunity to remove this mistrust and to
reveal his real purpose as a representative of the
liberal cause. He soon had a chance to display his
superior talents and to prove his loyalty to the prin:
ciples he had espoused. Bold, intrepid, and auda
cious, he commanded admiration even where he
could not secure respect, and with his strong per
sonality he, in time, dominated the convention.
When an emergency arose and sudden action was
required, he was always equal to the occasion. No
one can measure the effect produced upon the pub
lic mind when he told the messenger of the king
that the representatives of the people would not
obey his Majesty's order. He put in apt and force
ful phrase the decision of the Assembly, and his
words rang through the realm like the blast of a
trumpet. Without that defiance and disobedience
of the royal command, the privileged orders could
have joined the commons without humiliation, but
this made their acquiescence a complete surrender.
The royalists displayed no political wisdom.
Even when the orders were united the aristocratic
party was deficient in leadership. They had no one
in their ranks who could, for an instant, cope with
Mirabeau in energy, resources, or debate. In poli
tics and statesmanship he could outweigh a dozen
of their strongest men. Maury, representing the
clergy, and Cazales, the nobility, were the ablest
and bravest defenders of the privileged orders.
Abbe Maury, the son of a shoemaker, won his
seat in the States General by professing liberal
ideas, and after being returned as a deputy he op
posed the union of the orders and became the most
293

MIRABEAU
pronounced advocate of the exemptions and priv
ileges of the church. He was a subtle, close de
bater, but no match for Mirabeau. " When he is
right," said Mirabeau, " we argue : when he is
wrong, I crush him." So bitter and persistent was
he in his opposition to reform that he was detested
by the people, and several times was close to a lamp
post execution. His ready wit saved him upon one
occasion when he was threatened with death a la
lanterne. Turning to the mob, he said : " Well, and
when you have put me in the place of the lamp,
shall you see any clearer for that, do you think?"
A general laugh followed this remark, and he was
left unmolested. He had courage and was cool-
headed under all circumstances, whether in danger
or in debate, in the presence of an angry mob or in
an excited assembly. He departed the country in
time to save his head, espoused the cause of Na
poleon, and spent his last days in the dungeon of
St. Angelo, having been imprisoned by order of the
pope. Cazales won his seat as a deputy after a stub
born fight. He was a cavalry officer and the son of
a judge of the Parliament of Toulouse. Although
a devoted royalist, he had some peculiar notions
about the divinity of the king which did not suit the
views of the nobility of the old order, and he did
not always possess their confidence. He was, how
ever, an orator of a high degree, and if he had not
been cursed by indolence and weakened by dissipa
tion, he would, by reason of his talents, have been
a worthy opponent of the strongest men in the
Assembly. 294

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
The court party made no effort to win the peo
ple. Their only purpose was to save the king, the
monarchy, the old order. They evinced no spirit of
concession or conciliation. There were many lib
eral nobles who fully realized what the conditions
meant, but they seemed to exert no influence upon
the court. The first sign of liberalism on the part
of a nobleman put him outside the pale of the'royal
circle and placed him under suspicion. On the
other hand the commons, at this time, were politic
in their conduct, were patient under insult and in
solence, and won to their cause the conservatives of
all classes by the display of a temperate, loyal, and
patriotic spirit.
What greater wisdom, for instance, could have
been shown, after the union of the orders on the
27th, than the adoption of a resolution proposed by
Mirabeau that the Assembly should issue an address
to the people, counseling moderation and political
tolerance. " Fellow-citizens, whose aim, like ours,
is the public good, but who seek it in another direc
tion; men who, under the sway of the prejudices
of education and of the habits of childhood, have
not the strength to turn against the stream, who
tremble for their property, who fear that liberty
may be the pretext of license, all such men deserve
that we should treat them with consideration. . . .
Our fate depends on our wisdom. Nothing but our
violence can imperil that liberty which reason se
cures to us."
Another wise and politic move was the appeal by
the Assembly to the king to withdraw the troops
after their mobilization at Versailles, and when the
29s

MIRABEAU
bridge had been seized between that city and Paris.
Mirabeau moved the address to the king, describ
ing to his Majesty " the vivid alarm which has been
felt in the Assembly because of the abuse which has
been made of the king's name, in order to permit
the approach to the capital and to this city of Ver
sailles of an artillery train and of enormous bodies
of troops, foreign and national, which troops are
quartered in neighboring villages and in fixed
camps in the neighborhood of these two cities."
Mirabeau in his speech upon this question clearly
proved that from every point of view the court
party was making a mistake in placing the army in
sight of the disturbances of Paris ; that the soldiers,
men of the people, would soon become affected by
the popular spirit and the discipline and loyalty of
the army would be ruined by party influence, dif
ferences, and controversy.
The address to the king was humble and respect
ful in its tone, clear in its meaning, and earnest in
its purpose. In substance it said : " Sire, you have
asked the National Assembly to repose in you its
confidence; this surpasses their fondest hopes.. We
therefore come to confide in your Majesty our great
fears. But, Sire, we do not crave your protection,
— that would be offending your sense of justice.
We have our fears, and they arise from the purest
patriotism; they are connected with the interests
of our constituents, with the public peace, and with
the happiness of our beloved monarch.
" In the generous feelings of your heart, Sire,
may be found the real salvation of the French peo
ple. When the troops, marching from all quarters,
296

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
camped around us investing the capital, we asked
ourselves with astonishment, ' Does the king doubt
the fidelity of his people ? What is the meaning of
this threatening display? Where are the enemies
of the state and the throne who are to be subdued ?
Where are the rebels and plotters that have to be
kept down? A unanimous cry comes up from the
capital, yea, from the whole kingdom, ' We love our
king and we thank God for the gift of his love.'
" How is it possible, Sire, to make you doubt the
love and attachment of your subjects? Have you
ever spilled their blood ? Are you cruel or implaca
ble? Have you betrayed the cause of justice? Do
the people blame you for their misfortunes, or name
you as the cause of their calamities ? Has any one
ever told you that the people chafe under the yoke
of Bourbon sway? No, no, they cannot have
done so.
" Your majesty has recently seen how your sub
jects quieted down after the recent agitations and
how the public peace was restored by one word
from you. If the peace had been broken by the em
ployment of force the blood of your subjects would
have been shed in torrents.
" But the kindly word of peace came straight
from your heart and your subjects are proud that
they have never opposed your rule. It is noble to
govern by such means; this was the empire pos
sessed by Louis IX., Louis XIL, and Henry IV.,
and is the only one which is worthy of you. This
is the only empire that it will be possible to estab
lish in France. We should deceive you if we were
not bold enough to tell you this.
297

MIRABEAU
" Our opponents will say, ' In what manner does
the presence of the troops constitute a danger?
Why should the Assembly complain? They should
be incapable of cowardice.
" Sire, the danger is pressing, is universal. The
danger threatens the provinces. If they become
alarmed as to our freedom, we know of no curb that
will hold them. Distance exaggerates everything;
it doubles all anxieties, embitters and envenoms
them. " The danger threatens the capital. How will a
people, hungry and impoverished, be willing to di
vide their subsistence with a threatening soldiery?
The presence of the troops will irritate the temper
of the people and the first act of violence committed
under the pretext of keeping order may be the be
ginning of a series of horrible misfortunes.
" We of the Assembly are but men. There is con
tagion in excitement ; we may be governed by vio
lent and unreasoning counsels ; calm and cool wis
dom do not deliver their oracles in the midst of
tumult, disorders, and quarrels.
" Sire, we are always ready to obey you because
you rule us in the name of Justice ; our fidelity is
beyond all limit, as it is without suspicion.
" Sire, we implore you in the name of the nation,
in the name of your happiness and of your glory,
send back your soldiers to their posts from whence
your counsellors have dragged them. Send back
the artillery, which is only intended to defend the
frontiers against invasion, and which is never to be
used to intimidate your loyal subjects; above all
things, Sire, send away those foreign troops, those
298

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
mercenaries, whom we pay to protect but not to
trouble our hearths. Your majesty does not need
them. How can a monarch who is adored by
twenty millions of Frenchmen surround his throne
at great cost with a few thousand foreigners ?
" Sire, in the midst of your children be guarded
by their love."
Alas ! it was not this manly, patriotic appeal that
caused the dispersion of the troops. The uprising
of the people, not their kind words, nor affectionate
appeals, commanded the attention of the king.
" Have the reckless men that counsel Louis,"
said Mirabeau, " studied the causes and the course
of revolutions in the past ? Do they not know that
the wisest are often carried beyond the limits of
moderation and that a frenzied people are hurried
towards excesses by a dreadful impulse from which
at first thought they would have shrunk in horror?"
If the king had had a wise adviser and a strong
leader at his side at this period the Revolution could
have been directed into a peaceful channel. Even
after the fall of the Bastile, the loyalty of the peo
ple was most marked. If the king had been politic,
if he had said the right word at the right time, if
he had shown some spirit, some sincerity, some pre
cision and decision of character, he could have won
the people, and saved his crown as well as his head,
but he was like a mere log floating on the waters ;
he was helpless. The reforms that he would have
guaranteed would have been secured to the people
only a little earlier and he would be honored in his
tory as the reformer instead of being pitied as the
victim of the Revolution. 299

MIRABEAU
Immediately after the fall of the Bastile was the
time for the king to have won his people. His roy
alist friends had abandoned him at the first sign of
real danger; they had scattered like rats from a
sinking ship, and there was no longer any reason
why he should not, regardless of their views and in
terests, have made an honorable peace with his
people.

300

CHAPTER XIX
NECKER PROPOSES INCOME TAX OF TWENTY-FIVE
PER CENT.  MIRABEAU SUPPORTS NECKER 
MIRABEAU SEEKS POPULARITY IN THE DISTRICTS
 HIS AMBITION TO BE A MINISTER
Necker, who had been endeavoring to devise
some scheme that would relieve the financial condi
tion of the country, brought forward on September
24, 1789, a measure providing for an income tax of
twenty-five per cent. Several of his former pro
posals had met with disaster, but this time he had
the support of Mirabeau, who summoned all his
energy to urge the adoption of the measure, and
never did the great tribune, in all his career, rise
to grander heights of eloquence. Three times he
spoke in the debate, and the last time he swept
away all opposition. So deep an impression did he
make on the Assembly that no one even attempted
to reply. He predicted a national bankruptcy if
this plan were rejected and appealed to the Assem
bly to pass it as it came from the hands of the
minister, without the slightest alteration or modifi
cation. Dumont, in describing the scene, says : " The
triumph was complete. The Assembly were sub
jugated by the power of a superior and an ener
getic mind, which acts upon the multitude as if it
were only a single individual, and the project was
301

MIRABEAU
adopted without a dissenting voice." Dumont says
further : " The force with which he presented so
commonplace a subject was miraculous; he ele
vated it to sublimity. Those who heard this speech
will never forget it; it excited every gradation of
terror, and a devouring gulf with the groans of the
victims it swallowed, of which the orator gave a
very appalling description, seemed pictured to the
senses of the audience."
The fournal de Paris, in describing the effect
produced by the dramatic eloquence of the orator
upon the Assembly, quotes the compliment paid by
^Eschines to his great rival, Demosthenes : " What
would you have felt had you been present and
heard the beast!" It was the greatest oratorical
effort ever made in the National Assembly, from
the beginning to the close of that congress of re
markable orators.
Dumont writes : " From that day Mirabeau was
considered as a being superior to other men. He
had no rival ; there were, indeed, other orators, but
he alone was eloquent; and this impression was
stronger because in his speech on this question he
was obliged to depend entirely upon his own re
sources, for it was an unexpected reply, and could
not, therefore, have been prepared."
This was the reason of its success. Had he care
fully written his speech and committed it to mem
ory, it would have been mere declamation. But
his mood, the occasion, the theme, were ripe for the
effort, and he spoke living, burning words that
came red-hot from his soul. No care that had pol
ished his words, adjusted his phrases and sentences,
302

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
and regulated his gestures, could have produced
such an effect.
Mole, the celebrated actor at the Theatre Fran-
gals, was present, and was wrought up to great
enthusiasm and admiration. He came forward to
offer his compliments. " Ah ! Monsieur le Comte,"
said he, visibly affected and in a pathetic tone of
voice, " what a speech ! and with what an accent
did you deliver it! You have surely missed your
vocation." The poor actor had mistaken real elo
quence for declamation, and strange to say, Mira
beau was much flattered by the compliment.
Such a speech, when read in cold type, conveys
but a faint idea of the fiery impetuosity of the
orator. His voice, his manner, his ardor, the
spirit of the occasion, the listening, excited audi
ence, eager to catch every word, are all wanting.
In a translation the original, of course, loses much
of its native force and meaning, but nevertheless
we will give the peroration which produced upon
the audience so remarkable an impression. It is
as follows :
" Oh, if less solemn declarations did not insure
our respect for public faith and our horror of the
infamous word bankruptcy, I would search into the
secret motives, unknown perhaps to ourselves,
which make us draw back at the very instant we
are called upon to consummate a great sacrifice;
inefficacious, it is true, unless it be sincere; and I
would say to those who, from the fear of sacrifices
and the dread of taxes, are, perhaps, familiarizing
their minds with the idea of not keeping faith with
the public creditor : what is such bankruptcy itself
303

MIRABEAU
but the most cruel, the most iniquitous, the most
unequal, the most ruinous of taxes?
" My friends, listen to a word, a single word !
Two centuries of depredations and robbery have
dug the gulf into which the kingdom is about to
fall. This horrible gulf must be filled up! But
how ? There is but one way. Here is a list of rich
men in France. Choose from among them the rich
est, in order that you may sacrifice fewer citizens ;
but choose, at all events, for must not tlie smaller
number perish to save the great mass of the peo
ple? Well, these two thousand rich men are pos
sessed of sufficient wealth to make up the defi
ciency. Restore order to your finances, peace and
prosperity to the country, — strike, immolate your
victims without pity, throw them into the abyss
and it will close. . . . What, do you draw back
horror-stricken, ye inconsistent, ye pusillanimous
men ! Well, then, do you not perceive that in pro
claiming a bankruptcy, or, what is yet more odious,
in rendering it inevitable without proclaiming it,
you will be soiled by an act ten thousand times
more criminal, a thing inconceivable, gratuitously
criminal? For, after all, that horrible sacrifice
would at least wipe off the deficit. And do you
imagine, because you will not have paid, you will
then owe nothing ? Do you imagine that the thou
sands, the millions of men who will lose in an in
stant, by that terrible explosion or by its reaction,
all that constituted the consolation of their life, and
perchance, their only means of sustenance, that
they will leave you peaceably to fatten on your
crime? Stoical contemplators of the incalculable
304

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
evils which that catastrophe will vomit upon
France! Stupid egotists! who fancy the convul
sions of despair and of misery will pass away as
all others and so much the more rapidly, because
they are violent ! Are ye certain that so many men
without food will leave you tranquil to devour
those dishes of which you have desired to diminish
neither the number nor the delicacy ? No ! you will
perish ; and in the universal conflagration you have
not shuddered to enkindle, the loss of your honor
will not preserve one of your detestable enjoy
ments! Vote, then, this extraordinary subsidy:
may it be sufficient ! Vote it, because, if you have
any doubts upon the methods (doubts vague and
not enlightened), you have none upon the neces
sity. Vote it, because the public circumstances will
suffer no delay, and we are responsible for all
delay. Refrain from demanding time — misfortune
cannot grant it.
" Gentlemen, I remember, concerning a ridicu
lous motion of the Palais Royal concerning a
laughable insurrection which had no importance
save in feeble imagination, or in the perverse de
signs of some men of evil intentions, you heard
these furious words, ' Catiline is at the gates of
Rome; and they deliberate.' And truly, there was
then around us neither Catiline, nor perils, nor fac
tions, nor Rome. But to-day, bankruptcy, hideous
bankruptcy, is there : it threatens to consume your
selves, your properties and your honor, and yet you
deliberate !"
So eloquent, so fiery an appeal silenced all oppo
sition — Necker's measure was passed.
20 30s

MIRABEAU
At this time, Mirabeau, whose popularity was
greater with the people than it was with the depu
ties, was constantly in Paris attending meetings in
the districts and courting the friendship and influ
ence of the mob's leaders. He absented himself so
frequently from Versailles and the sessions of the
Assembly that his conduct aroused suspicion among
his colleagues, who could not altogether divine his
purpose. When Regnault de St. Jean d'Angely made a
motion to prohibit the members of the Assembly
from attending the district meetings, Mirabeau felt
that the motion was aimed directly at him, and as
he mounted the tribune to oppose it, he whispered
into the ear of d'Angely, " I will wring tears of
blood from you." He kept his word.
Mirabeau was visiting the district meetings for
the purpose of strengthening his popularity, hoping
thereby to secure that aid which would enable
him ultimately to carry out his projects, if he were
ever successful in forming an alliance with the
court. Mirabeau saw that he could be most useful to the
monarchy if he could secure a position that would
bring him into close or official connection with the
king. He had the greatest confidence in his abil
ity, if he had the power of the throne back of him,
to stay the Revolution and to establish permanently
a constitutional monarchy. If he had had the sup
port of the king and the loyalty of the people, he
could have controlled the Assembly. It was neces
sary, in order to save the crown, to have the moral
and political influence and support of the monarch.
306

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
He could not accomplish his project by organiz
ing a strong party among the deputies. Mirabeau
was, in no sense of the word, a party man. He had
supreme confidence in himself, depended upon his
own resources, and made no permanent alliances
with the different factional leaders of the Assembly.
He was at no time identified with any clique. He
was a free lance, and was ever bold and independ
ent in the expression of his views. He was too
proud to serve in second place and perhaps too au
tocratic and dictatorial to secure as chief of a fac
tion the support of men of spirit. He was too out
spoken in his criticism of men and methods to be a
mere party leader. He was not a man who would
trim his views to suit the declarations of a party
convention, nor would he have his political princi
ples circumscribed by platform resolutions. He
held an absolutely unique position in the Assembly.
Louis Blanc, after describing the three principal
party groups in the Assembly, closes his description
by saying : " The fourth party consisted of one
man, Mirabeau."
As early as May, 1789, he wrote: "It is to
undertake a proud and difficult task to minister to
the public welfare without sparing any party, with
out worshipping the idol of the day, without other
arms than reason and truth, respecting them every
where, respecting nothing but them, having no
other friends than them, no other enemies than
their adversaries, not recognizing another monarch
than one's conscience, no other judge than time.
Well, I shall perhaps succumb in this enterprise,
but I will persist in it." 307

MIRABEAU
In a letter to Mauvillon, he writes : "In truth,
in a certain sense, everything is good to me; the
events, the men, the things, the opinions all have
their uses. I am too old to waste my strength in
warfare. I wish to aid him who aids me; let us
excommunicate nobody and associate ourselves
with everybody. Mai est ce qui nuit, bien est ce
qui sert. We ought to guard ourselves against
being enemies of other classes; it is posterity that
will distinguish the ranks."
He saw the growing influence of Robespierre
and courted his society; he cajoled and flattered
Camille Desmoulins, the idol of the Palais Royal,
but he did not identify himself with their party.
He had his own views and he used these men to
reach his own ends.
He declared boldly to his friend, La Marck, that
if it had not been for his father's death, which
caused his absence from Paris on the 1 5th of July,
he would have secured the mayoralty instead of
Bailly. Perhaps it was this office he was seeking
and plotting for, at the time his absence was com
plained of in the Assembly. This, no doubt, was
the ambition that called him so often to Paris to
harangue the multitude. His whole purpose was
to be in a position where he could secure the confi
dence of the king, or where it would be necessary
to be consulted by the court.
His alliance with the Duke of Orleans was with
the intention of having the duke made sub-lieuten
ant of the kingdom, so that in case the king died,
fled, or was deposed, he would be close to the man
in the line of succession. When he discovered
308

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
what a craven the duke was, he dismissed him,
without further delay, from all consideration.
Mirabeau, from the very beginning, felt that if
he could only become a minister, he would save the
monarchy, and his foresight enabled him to clearly
see that if there was not a strong guiding hand,
the throne, in a short time, would be overturned
and the state surrendered to party and faction. He
saw the weakness of the king and the shortcom
ings and incapacity of Necker, and he longed for a
chance to advise one and supplant the other. To
his friend, La Marck, he said : " The vessel of
state is being driven before the tempest and there
is no one at the helm." He longed to lay his hand
upon the helm and pilot the vessel through the
stormy seas. His desire was to reach the ministry,
not only for the gratification of his personal ambi
tion, but for the safety of France.
" Give him money," cried the queen, " money
till he is gorged, but Mirabeau in the ministry, —
never!" It took a long while and imminent dan
gers to induce her to believe that Mirabeau could
materially aid in re-establishing the tottering
throne, and when they did come to an understand
ing it was perhaps too late for any human power
to have changed the course of the Revolution.
Mirabeau was what might be termed a " liberal
royalist." He opposed an absolute monarchy, but
believed in a strong executive, an hereditary aris
tocracy, and a ministry responsible to the people,
with seats in the States General. He strongly fa
vored a suspensive veto vested in the king. He
believed in the monarchy, but he knew the time had
309

MIRABEAU
come when concessions had to be made to the peo
ple's demands. Reform in government was an ab
solute necessity. The administration of public
affairs had been corrrupt and tyrannical; church
and state had oppressed and tyrannized the people,
had enjoyed all the privileges and had imposed the
most cruel exactions. The whole system was un
just, rotten, and corrupt to the core, and had been
built up by centuries of absolutism, injustice and
extravagance, until the miseries of the people could
be endured no longer. It was a structure that was
top-heavy and resting upon a foundation of weak
and insecure material. We may compare the sys
tem of abuses and tyranny built up by the ancien
regime to a reversed pyramid spinning on its point ;
so long as the original impetus keeps the pyramid
in motion its balance is preserved, but a blow or a
shock makes it wobble and destroys its equilibrium.
Mirabeau saw the true conditions and knew that
the time had come when the old order could not be
saved, but he was anxious to save the throne and to
make secure the needed reforms. " Let them know
in the palace," said Mirabeau to La Marck, " that
I am more their friend than their enemy." La
Marck was specially impressed with the anxiety of
Mirabeau as to the future. " What are these peo
ple thinking about?" said Mirabeau to his friend.
" Can they not see the gulf yawning before their
feet? Yes, all is lost, the king and the queen will
perish and the mob will spurn their corpses. Even
you do not realize how dangerous their position is,
and yet they ought to be made to understand it."

310

CHAPTER XX
BANQUET OF THE GUARDS — FIFTH AND SIXTH OF
OCTOBER  ROYAL FAMILY GO TO PARIS  THEY
OCCUPY THE TUILERIES  THE ASSEMBLY FOL
LOWS THE KING TO PARIS  THE DUKE OF
ORLEANS
The court, after the emotional legislation of the
4th of August, 1789, began to unite their forces for
one more desperate effort to resist the Revolution
and to save the monarchy. The plan was to carry
the king to Metz, where was stationed the loyal
army of Bouille, there raise the royal standard and
call to the king's side all the valiant spirits of
France devoted to the interests of the' kingdom and
the old noblesse. This meant civil war. The se
crets of the court reached the ears of the people.
The news only increased the revolutionary spirit.
The Palais Royal echoed day after day with the
rantings of demagogues. The district meetings
were crowded, and the orators grew bolder and
bolder. Pamphlets were distributed broadcast sow
ing the seeds of sedition.
An incident occurred, at this time, which mo
mentarily gave hope to the royalists, but in the
end gave fiesh impulse and impetus to the Rev
olution. The troops of the king were mobilized at Ver
sailles. The Body Guard tendered a banquet to the
officers of the Flanders regiment. The supper was
3"

MIRABEAU
served in the royal theatre. It was a scene of
splendor. The boxes were filled with beautiful
women who were not chary in dispensing their
smiles and applause. Heated with wine, inspired
by the strains of ravishing music, the enthusiasm of
the diners grew in fervor every minute. At the
second course the grenadiers and dragoons were
admitted to witness the spectacle. " The charge of
the Hullans" aroused the fire in the hearts of the
soldiers. Suddenly the king was announced. He
entered the hall, the queen leaning on his arm, and
carrying the dauphin. The crowd went mad with
delight. Shouts and cheers greeted the royal fam
ily. Their health was drunk, swords were drawn,
and oaths of allegiance given. The nation was in
sulted, the king exalted.
As Louis withdrew, the band played " O Rich
ard! O mon roi! l'univers t'abandonne." Yes,
Louis, all the world abandons thee ! Such a senti
ment appealed to every heart. Tears started to the
eyes of fair women and vows to the lips of brave
men. Who could help being loyal? Who, under
these conditions, could be wise ? The guests threw
off all restraint and the palace that had been so dark
and gloomy since the nobles fled, resounded once
more with mirth and gladness. Old memories were
revived of happy days long since departed and the
future was radiant with hope. Court ladies pinned
on the breasts of loyal soldiers the white ribbon of
the Bourbons, while the tri-color of the Revolution
was trampled under foot. It was far into the
morning hours before the revelry ceased, before the
fights of the palace were extinguished.
312

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
While the feast was on " all went merry as a
marriage bell," but in the distance could be heard
the dreadful tocsin ringing. Paris had its ear to
the ground. It was listening to the merry-making ;
it was starving while Versailles was feasting. Ru
mors, exaggerated and distorted, flew thick and
fast on their way to the Palais Royal. The dema
gogues and the popular orators shrieked in wild
and furious accents : " An orgy in the court while
in the capital the people cry for bread ! The cockade
is crushed under the feet of royalists and foreign
soldiers ; the nation is in danger, your peace is as
sailed and your liberty menaced." " J'ai ete en-
chantee de la journee de Jeudi," said the queen,
and her words flew like wildfire through the capi
tal. It was an unlucky Thursday for her, but she
could not read the handwriting on the wall nor see
far enough into the future to measure the conse
quences of that untimely feast. The royalists never
could see far enough ahead to keep them out of
danger. Petion, in a fiery speech, denounced the banquet
that had aroused all the envy and hatred of the
starving populace. A royalist called on him to ex
plain his denunciation. Mirabeau exclaimed : " Let
it be expressly declared that whospever is not king
is a subject and responsible, and I will furnish
proof as to the guilty parties." This was intended
for the queen, for as he left the tribune he re
marked in a stage whisper : " I will denounce the
queen and the Duke of Guiche" (one of the cap
tains of the guard) . This was intended to deter the
Right from further pushing the inquiry. Let it be
313

MIRABEAU
decreed that she is a subject and her conduct then
will be investigated and criticised. An investiga
tion might have touched the danger-line, and so
her friends pressed the matter no further.
Oh ! it was cruel that while money was so scarce
and food so dear, the court should have flaunted
its extravagance in the face of a starving people.
Paris was maddened with the thought.
On the morning of October 5, 1789, a young
woman, beating a drum, gathers a crowd of women
and without a definite purpose they march, and at
every step their ranks increase. They reach the
Town Hall and take possession of it. In the belfry
they find a priest, the Abbe Lefevre, whom they
straightway hang to a rafter. He, fortunately,
after the women disappear, is cut down by a kindly
hand before life is extinct. They dance and sing
and laugh, but without any reason for their merri
ment. Some one starts the cry for bread, then they
become more serious and show some temper. A
popular orator addresses them and says Paris has
no bread, but at Versailles there is enough and to
spare ; that there may be some crumbs and wine left
over from the feast and the revelry of the guards.
" To Versailles," is now the cry, and the crowd that
has grown to the size of a grand army, begins its
march. On it flows like a mighty torrent, this mul
titude of amazons led by a strumpet ; but there are
good and honest women in that crowd, hundreds
of them, who, in the mad excitement of the hour,
jostle with frail sisters and elbow the scuff and
scum of Paris; but they turn not back from their
errand ; they are hungry and need bread, and who
314

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
can give it them if not the king, the father of his
people ?
The rain begins to fall, but it does not dampen
their ardor. Cheered by songs and encouraged by
their leaders, they soon reach Versailles. Hungry,
ragged, tired, covered with mud, they present a
woeful spectacle; a sorrier sight has never been
witnessed in this courtly city of Versailles, where
only a few months before the States General
marched through its streets amidst a dazzling
splendor. Couriers had preceded the mob and the palace
was thrown into excitement ; messengers were sent
out to Meudon, where the king was hunting, and to
Trianon, where the queen was feasting. Prepara
tions were made for the king and the queen to flee,
but Louis, with that indecision that always marked
his conduct, at last decided to remain. Surely there
can be no danger in facing a rabble of women; a
few words of flattery and some bread to appease
their hunger will end the affair, — but Louis knew
not how to deliver the words, and made no prep
arations to distribute the bread.
The news that this motley army was on its way
to Versailles reached the Assembly while Mirabeau
was denouncing the banquet of the guards, and the
insult that had been offered to the national cockade.
Immediately after he ceased speaking he went be
hind the president's chair and whispered in the ear
of Mounier : " Paris is marching on us ! Make an
excuse, vacate the chair and go over to the palace
and give them warning ; say that I told you, if you
like. Time presses, there is not a moment to lose."
315

MIRABEAU
"So much the better," said Mounier; "they have
only to kill us all ; the affairs of the republic would
only gain." " Sir, the phrase is neat and well
spoken," said Mirabeau, and at once he left the
hall. He went to the lodgings of his friend, La
Marck, where he dined. Mounier, however, acting
on the advice of Mirabeau, went over to the palace,
but at that time the king had not returned from his
hunting. When Louis reached Versailles the presi
dent of the Assembly, with a deputation of five
women, waited upon him and told him of the dis
tress in Paris and begged him to supply the city
with grain and food. He promised, put his promise
in writing, and a committee of women were sent
to Paris in the king's carriages to inform Bailly,
the Mayor, that the misery of the people would be
relieved. The crowd, however, remained in Versailles.
The rain continued to pour in torrents. A cold Oc
tober wind was blowing and the night closed in,
dark and cheerless. A crowd of women took shelter
in the Assembly and listened to the debates, often
interrupting the speakers and frequently calling for
Mirabeau. " We want to hear our dear little
mother Mirabeau," was the cry from the galleries.
Outside the hall, bivouac fires were burning, and
around these gathered shivering men and women ;
many of them slept during the night on the cold,
wet ground without cover or shelter from the
storm. About midnight the drums of the army of La-
Fayette were heard; the National Guard was on
its way to Versailles. Its presence was necessary,
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
for already a scuffle had taken place between the
mob and the household troops. It was two o'clock
in the morning before tranquillity was restored.
The mob, the troops, the court, were fatigued and
exhausted after a day of such excitement, and the
city was hushed. The Assembly, however, re
mained in session until four o'clock, when, as Du
mont says, " Mirabeau returned, rebuked the noisy
women and moved an adjournment."
Early in the morning some men of the mob,
prowling around the palace, find a gate of the cha
teau open. They enter, and are fired on by a soldier
of the household guard. The anger of the mob is
aroused and they press on, having a hand-to-hand
conflict with the troops ; thousands rush to the res
cue, doors are battered down, the palace is entered,
the sentinels flee, and the cry resounds : " Save the
queen !" " Save the queen !" She hears the alarm,
and in terror, half dressed, she rushes into the
apartments of the king. The crowd press on and
clamor for the heart and the blood of the " Aus-
trienne." " We want her head on a pike," shriek
the men. " We want to carry her entrails in our
aprons," cry the angry, maddened women. Brave
soldiers stand in defence and offer their lives in sac
rifice and fight with all the courage of desperation,
their courage inspired and intensified by the fact
that they are defending not only a beautiful queen,
but an unfortunate, a defenceless woman. Indi
vidual bravery, however, cannot withstand the
ferocious onslaught of a wild and frenzied mob.
The crowd surge on, door after door is broken
down, until, at last, they reach the apartments of
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MIRABEAU
the queen; she has escaped, her bed is still warm
and marked with the impression of her body; ruf
fians slash the bedclothes in disappointed rage, furi
ous at the loss of their quarry.
It would have been fortunate for Marie An
toinette had she been murdered at this time; it
would have saved her much woe, bitter humiliation
and the dreadful suffering through which she had
yet to pass. It might, too, perhaps, have been for
tunate for France and might have secured a consti
tution without further bloodshed and terror. It
would have removed the queen from every consid
eration, would have created a sympathy for the
royal family, and would have induced a determined
effort upon the part of all conservative citizens to
restore order and to secure the needed reforms by
moderate means.
While the crowd, thwarted in their purpose, are
considering what next to do, the French Guards
arrive, turn their bayonets on the mob and drive
them out of the palace.
La Fayette, who, unfortunately, overslept him
self, hastens to the king to assure him of his loyalty
and to promise him protection.
The rabble outside call for Louis, and he is per
suaded by La Fayette to appear upon a balcony. At
the sight of the king a shout goes up from the mul
titude, for, strange to say, he still has their loyalty.
They demand the queen, and leading the dauphin
by the hand, she comes out to face that angry mob.
" Put away the child," they cry. Instantly she
obeys the cruel request, and she stands alone in all
the courage and dignity of her womanhood. A
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
contemporary in describing her appearance says:
" She was dressed in white, her head was bare and
adorned with beautiful fair locks. Motionless and
in a modest and noble attitude she appeared like a
victim on the block." If there ever was a moment
in the life of Marie Antoinette when she played the
role of queen, it was on that balcony when she faced
a mob of angry men and infuriated women, who, a
few minutes before, had hunted her with murder in
their hearts. Her beauty was resplendent, her cour
age was sublime. It was a sight that aroused a
sentiment even in the hearts of her bitter enemies.
The growls and murmurs subsided. At first the
cheers were faint, but gradually they swelled into
a chorus of " Long live the queen." It was too late
to win the affection of the crowd, but she com
manded for a time, at least, their admiration and
respect. La Fayette, with all the gallantry of his
nature, knelt at her side and kissed her hand. The
crowd that would have murdered her a minute be
fore turned to applaud her. This was her hour to
die. Would that some fiend or friend had sent a
bullet through her heart !
The king must go to Paris. The mob demanded
it, and La Fayette also favored this course. It was
a sad and sorry moment for Louis and his queen
when they turned their backs on Versailles. The
people had conquered their king and they carried
him back to Paris as their captive. He might as
well have been in chains. It was the triumph of
the people. Once before he had been escorted
by the mob to his capital, but the scene that was
now presented was grotesque, melancholy, terrible.
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MIRABEAU
Louis, of course, took it all complacently, for he
was not capable of feeling any deep emotion, nor
apprehending the full meaning of any event. But
what must have been the sensations of the queen?
What must have been the thoughts that controlled
her imperious mind? There were moments, no
doubt, when she desired less to be saved than to
be avenged. How she longed for the coming of
that day when she could take vengeance on those
who were responsible for her humiliation; how
she marked her enemies for destruction ; but alas !
for her, there was to be no change in her fortunes ;
this was only the beginning of her sorrows.
She understood, with its full significance, what
the return of the king to the capital meant, under
such circumstances. She felt keenly the disgrace,
and her proud spirit rebelled within her, though she
dared not reveal in her face the thoughts that
stirred her soul. She was dependent for her safety
upon those whom she feared and hated, and it is a
difficult part to play when a haughty woman has to
smile and accept favors from those whom she, in
her heart, despises.
La Fayette did all in his power to protect her
from insult, but his kindly offices only chafed her
proud spirit and placed her under seeming obliga
tion. To him, in a great measure, she attributed
her disgrace and humiliation, and while she smiled
upon him, she hated him.
The procession from the van to the rear was a
wild and crazy mob. The National Guard in front
marched without military order or discipline, carry
ing loaves of bread upon the points of their bayon-
320

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
ets ; behind them came a crowd of men and women
from the slums of Paris, dancing and singing like
bacchanals, flaunting in the face of the queen their
insults and derision. It is said by some that the
heads of the two murdered men of the Body Guard,
who had sacrificed their lives in defence of the
queen, were borne aloft on pikes ; but this has been
denied ; the proofs of the denial, however, are not
altogether conclusive. It is to be hoped that some
men had influence enough in that crowd to have
prevented such a spectacle. It is almost impos
sible to believe that La Fayette would have per
mitted such an insult to the king. In referring
to this matter, Gouverneur Morris wrote a letter
on October 6, in which he said " two heads of the
Body Guards are brought to town, and the royal
family are to come this afternoon." There are
many contradictory statements on this subject, and
it is hard to reach the truth through such a mass
of conflicting testimony.
In the procession marched the Body Guard, dis
armed and bareheaded, captives of war. Could a
greater ignominy have been placed upon the king
and the queen than that their defenders should have
been thus disgraced, only because they had fought
bravely in their efforts to protect and save the royal
family ?
The king's carriage was surrounded by the depu
tation of one hundred members, appointed by the
Assembly, to escort his Majesty to Paris. Soldiers,
under the immediate command of La Fayette,
guarded the royal family and the deputies, and be
hind them came another crowd of men and women
21 321

MIRABEAU
marching in disorder and confusion, assailing the
ears of the queen with their ribald and indecent
songs. " I still see, I still hear," wrote a contemporary
witness, " those bedraggled women, rendered yet
more hideous by two days of barbarous fatigue. I
see the Regiment of Flanders, those chasseurs of
the Trois Eveches, ashamed of their too ready de
fection and seeming now to envy the men of the
Body Guard those perils which they had the cow
ardice not to share. I see again the General La-
Fayette, pale from weariness, yet more pale from
the results of his fatal sleep."
Another contemporary witness writes : " Mad
men dancing in the mire and covered with mud,
surrounded the king's coach. The groups that
marched foremost carried on long pikes the bloody
heads of the life-guardsmen butchered in the morn
ing. ... A troop of women, ugly as crime itself,
swarming like insects and wearing grenadiers'
hairy caps, went continually to and fro, howling
barbarous songs, embracing and insulting the life
guards." This distressing, melancholy procession wended
its way slowly to Paris, carrying the king a prisoner
to his capital. _
It was Saint Priest who told Louis, " Sire, if you
allow yourself to be taken to Paris, your crown is
lost." From this moment the power of the monarchy
passes into the hands of the mob. " The riff-raff
of Paris is become the despot of all France." In
his own capital, the king is held as hostage.
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
At first the struggle had been between the nobil
ity and the Third Estate; then between the king
and the Assembly; and at last, between the king
and the people, and in every contest Louis and his
friends had suffered ignoble defeat. Even the
Assembly was now dominated by the clubs, and
the mob. The rabble was in supreme control.
The king established his court in the Tuileries.
The Assembly voted him, at his request, 25,000,-
000 francs ($5,000,000) for his household ex
penses, and to the queen an allowance of 4,000,000
francs ($800,000). In view of the prevailing con
ditions and the poverty of the treasury, these
amounts were most generous.
The king settled down and seemed as well con
tented at Paris as at Versailles. He ate heartily,
slept soundly and, with renewed energy, devoted
himself to the construction of locks; rumor states
they were most clumsily made. He was about as
good a mechanic as he was a king.
After Louis came to Paris, the Assembly made
arrangements to follow him. There was some diffi
culty in finding a suitable meeting-place or conven
tion-hall, but at last a riding-school in the neigh
borhood of the Tuileries was selected, and the As
sembly lost no time in taking possession. It was a
coincidence that the change was from a tennis-court
to a riding-school. Both places had been devoted
to the amusements of the nobles. The selections
seemed to be the irony of fate.
The events of the 5th and 6th of October were
said to have been inspired by Mirabeau and the
Duke of Orleans. It was contended that the upris-
323

MIRABEAU
ing of the people was not spontaneous, but that the
leaders of the mob, many of them disguised as
women, were supplied with money by Mirabeau,
and instructed as to the plan of action.
Mounier firmly believed that Mirabeau was re
sponsible for the disorders of October 5 and 6, and
for that reason refused to name him a member of
the deputation appointed to accompany the king
from Versailles to Paris. Mirabeau felt much cha
grined over this slight, for his appointment as a
member of this delegation would have given him
a great opportunity to have impressed the king and
the queen with his importance. Mounier and La-
Fayette were determined to give no such chance
to Mirabeau. Let it be said to the credit of Mira
beau, however, that there was no proof discovered
of his connection with such a plot as intimated by
Mounier. After a most careful investigation of
the charge at the Chatelet, he was acquitted and
even his bitterest enemies were convinced of his
innocence. The result of the inquiry caused a
most favorable reaction in his favor.
The insurrection of the 14th of July began in the
garden of the Palais Royal under the windows of
the palace of the Duke of Orleans. His retainers
and partisans had encouraged the disorder and had
incited the mob to riot. Mirabeau, Talleyrand and
others had urged the duke to take advantage of the
opportunity offered, and to insist upon the king
naming him lord-lieutenant of the kingdom, but
when the duke saw the king his courage failed
him, and instead of insisting upon the appoint
ment, he intimated that he would willingly go to
324.

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
England if his presence in France annoyed his
royal cousin.
He displayed so craven a spirit at this time that
Mirabeau turned away from him with contempt, de
claring that he would not have him for his foot
man, and further adding "he is an eunuch for
crime; he would, but cannot."
While the mob was on its way to Versailles on
October 5th, urged on by the duke's agents dressed
in the garb of women, he again proved himself the
poltroon. Despicable, cowardly in heart, he was
frightened to such a degree that his red and bloated
face turned white. He sought the king's council
and stood waiting at the door of the chamber, like
a penitent, to assure them that he was in no way
responsible for the disorder, and that he was his
cousin's loyal subject. The wretched liar ! he knew
that his paid agents had been at work inciting the
people to violence.
He would willingly have abandoned all his
accomplices and betrayed their secrets to have
saved himself from the displeasure of the king
and the vengeance of the law. La Fayette threat
ened him with arrest, and he quietly hurried away
to England, where he remained for eight months.
Upon his return he was received with transport
by the Jacobins.
The Duke of Orleans, surnamed Egalite, was a
corrupt, sensuous creature, celebrated for his de
pravity. He was below the middle stature; "his
features were regular and pleasing, till libertinism
and debauchery covered them with red, inflamed
pustules." He was not actuated by any lofty desire
325

MIRABEAU
to ameliorate the conditions of the people, but he
courted their favor simply to show his contempt for
the nobility, which, bad as it was, would not rec
ognize him nor tolerate his society.
In 1778 he was charged with cowardice, in that
he concealed himself in the hold of a vessel during
a naval engagement off Ushant. He was to have
succeeded to the position of High Admiral, but the
king, in order to humiliate him, appointed him
Colonel-General of the Hussars. This slight was
the cause of the intense hatred he had for Louis.
To gain popularity, he bribed and feasted the
journalists of Paris. He spread public tables and
lighted fires for the poor of the city ; he even dis
tributed money among them. In consequence, he
became the idol of the mob.
Through the resignation of M. Thevenard, in
1 79 1, he was appointed High Admiral of France.
To thank the king for the honor conferred, he at
tended a royal levee, but the nobles jostled and
grossly insulted him, even going so far, it is said, as
to spit in his face.
When the king's trial took place he voted for his
death in so cool and heartless a manner that even
the Jacobins frowned upon him and the Assembly
murmured its disapproval. He attended, in an open
carriage, the execution of the king, and after the
body was removed, drove to the Palais Royal, and
from there in a coach drawn by six horses went to
Raincy to revel with his foul companions.
When his son fled to the camp of Dumouriez, he
declared that if his son were guilty of treason, the
image of Brutus before his eyes would teach him
326

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
his duty as a father and a patriot. Shortly after this
he was marked for execution by Robespierre, and
sent to the guillotine. On his way to the scaffold,
when the people hissed and cursed him, he shrugged
his shoulders and cried out : " Those creatures
used to applaud me."

327

CHAPTER XXI
MURDER OF FRANCOIS THE BAKER  MIRABEAU IN-
TRIGUES FOR A PORTFOLIO  MOTION OF PETION
 MIRABEAU'S SPEECH AGAINST THE AMEND
MENT PROPOSED BY BLIN — -MIRABEAU'S NEGO
TIATIONS WITH THE COURT  MIRABEAU PEN
SIONED  HIS INTERVIEW WITH THE QUEEN
The events of the 5th and 6th of October had
sobered the conservatives and had brought them to
a realizing sense of the universal peril. The mob
quieted down temporarily, after the king took up
his residence in the capital, but it had felt its power
and was ready for an outbreak at any moment. It
had tasted blood and its appetite was only half sat
isfied. Bailly and La Fayette put forth strenuous efforts
to restore order. They soon had an opportunity to
exercise their power and to enforce the law. The
mob seized a baker named Francois, who was sus
pected of concealing bread for favored customers
and evading the municipal regulations. He was
rescued by the authorities, but on the way to the
Town Hall the prisoner was taken from the offi
cers by the mob, and his body, in the twinkling of
an eye, was dangling at a lamp-post ; his head was
carried on a pike, followed by an exultant, a
drunken and disorderly rabble. The elevation of
heads upon pikes was one of the characteristic feat
ures of the French Revolution. It was a horrible
328

THE HEAD OF FOULON WITH A WISP OF HAY IN ITS MOUTH
"Satan himself first invented the placing of a human head
at the end of a lance' '

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
practice, a hideous spectacle, and early revealed the
ugly brutality of the mob. " Surely," says Lava-
lette, " Satan himself first invented the placing of a
human head at the end of a lance ! The disfigured
and pale features, the gory locks, the half-open
mouth, the closed eyes, images of death, added to
the gestures and salutations which the executioners
made them perform in horrible mockery of life, pre
sented the most frightful spectacle that rage could
have imagined."
La Fayette, at the head of a detachment of the
National Guard, dispersed the mob and captured
the pole-bearer. The murderer was indicted, tried,
convicted, sentenced, and put to death the follow
ing day.
The Assembly also took a hand and passed an
act providing for the suppression of riots and the
conviction of the rioters. On the 21st of October
a martial law was proclaimed which authorized the
municipal authorities to employ force in dispersing
mobs after the citizens were ordered to retire.
Every thoughtful man in France must have known
at this time that the only escape from civil war was
the strengthening of the executive and the discour
agement of mob rule. A reaction set in, and the
conservative forces of the nation united their efforts
to preserve the forms of the monarchy and to re
strain the violence of the rabble. But the move
ment lacked energy and enthusiasm, and it was too
late to be effective.
Mirabeau's ambition was to secure a portfolio,
and he was laboring earnestly to effect the forma-
329

MIRABEAU
tion of a ministry in which the Assembly would
have a representation, and of course in his plan he
was to hold an important place, but his enemies, on
all sides, were at work and watching his every
move. In the Assembly on October 27, 1789, Petion
proposed that ministers should be declared ineligi
ble as representatives, intending thereby to thwart
the plans of Mirabeau, for it was generally under
stood that Mirabeau was bidding and scheming for
a place in the royal cabinet. Mirabeau succeeded
in having the debate on this question continued by
forcing an adjournment. On November 6, 1789,
he proposed that the ministers should henceforth
be invited to attend the meetings of the Assembly.
This proposition would strike a reasonable man as
wise and desirable, but it met with a most deter
mined opposition, no doubt because the enemies of
Mirabeau thought they discovered the purpose of
his motion. Lanjuinais, in a fervid speech, ex
claimed that the Assembly was " dominated and
carried away by a man of genius! What would
he not be able to effect were he a minister!" and
then proposed that " the representatives of the na
tion should be declared incapable of receiving place,
pension or favor of any kind from the executive
power during the session of the legislature to which
they had been elected, and for three years follow
ing." An amendment was offered by a deputy
named Blin " that henceforth no member of the
Assembly might accept office."
The radicals, fearing the intrigues of Mirabeau,
and desirous of blocking the ambition of the great
330

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
tribune, united their forces with Necker, but before
the vote was taken Mirabeau ascended the tribune,
knowing full well that he could not, even with all
the power of his eloquence, snatch victory from de
feat. He did not, however, ask favor, beg for
quarter nor meekly bend his head to the storm. But
ever defiant and dramatic in manner, even in the
face of certain defeat, which meant the crushing of
his hope and ambition, he delivered a speech that
for sarcasm and irony can hardly find its parallel
in the oratory of deliberative assemblies. " It could
not be," he said, " that the member who brought
forward the motion, thought that a good minister
could not be found among the chosen men of the
nation, nor could he mean that because a citizen
had been able to win the confidence of the people,
he therefore must be unworthy of the confidence of
the monarch. After the Assembly had solemnly
declared all citizens equally eligible to all employ
ments and offices, were they to except from this
equality the twelve hundred deputies who had been
honored by the suffrages of a great people? Or
was the mover convinced that the ministry and the
Assembly ought to be divided and opposed to each
other, that every measure likely to establish a closer
connection, greater harmony and unity between
them, ought to be avoided ; or was it thought that
the king in the selection of his ministers ought to
prefer his courtiers or those perhaps who had
vainly sought the suffrages of the electors to the
chosen representatives of his people ? If the minis
ter in whom the nation had placed all its hopes,
who had been recalled to power by an almost unan-
331

MIRABEAU
imous outburst of popular feeling, had sat among
them, was it maintained that this should have in
capacitated him from accepting office? I cannot
believe it, for I cannot bring myself to believe that
which is palpably absurd. Clearly, then, the in
tention of the mover must be something different.
It might perhaps be expedient to prevent some in
dividual member from becoming minister; but
great principles ought not to be sacrificed to obtain
a particular end. I, therefore, propose, as an
amendment, that the members of the Assembly,
whom the mover must have in view, shall be ex
cluded from the ministry. These can be only two.
The other representatives haye given too many
proofs of independence, courage and public spirit
for it to be possible to suppose that they can be the
object of his apprehension. But there are two rep
resentatives about whom he and I may speak our
minds more freely, and certainly it would seem
that his motion must be aimed at one or the other
of these two. You must already, gentlemen, have
guessed who they are, the mover himself and I. I
mention him because it is possible that his diffident
modesty or irresolute courage fears that some great
mark of confidence may be thrust upon him, and
that he trusts to secure a pretext for refusing it by
this general disability. And next I say myself, be
cause certain rumors which have been spread about
me may have excited the hopes of some and the
fears of others, and it is possible that the mover
may have believed these reports and that his esti
mate of me may be the same as my own ; in which
case I am not surprised that he should think me
332

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
little fitted to discharge the duties of an office which
is indeed far above, not my zeal nor my courage,
but my talents and my attainments ; especially if I
am to be deprived of the instruction and the coun
sels which I have received in this Assembly. This,
then, gentlemen, is the amendment I beg leave to
move, that the proposed incapacity to hold office
should apply only to Monsieur de Mirabeau, mem
ber for the Commons of Aix."
This remarkable speech, or rather its outlines,
we have taken from the pages of Willert, in his
" Life of Mirabeau," and although not in full, it
is choice English and gives a clear conception of
the delicate irony and cutting sarcasm of the orig
inal. To enjoy the speech to its full measure, how
ever, one must read it in the mother tongue of the
orator. The amendment of M. Blin to the motion of
Lanjuinais was carried amid applause. The
friends of the court rejoiced, little thinking that
they had put an obstacle in the way of the salvation
of the monarchy, and the commons exulted be
cause they thought they had cut short the ambition
of Mirabeau. Necker and La Fayette, no doubt,
were specially pleased for the reason that a rival,
whom they would not trust, could no longer vex
them with his intrigues and projects. How little
things may turn the whole course of a nation's
history !
Mirabeau, defeated but not dismayed, still hoped
he could be the means of saving the monarchy. It
was not alone his ambition that controlled him in
his efforts to reach the ministry, for Mirabeau
333

MIRABEAU
loved France, loved her with all the devotion of his
soul. He believed, too, that a monarchy was essen
tial to her existence and welfare. He had favored
the Revolution because he knew that reforms in
the government were a necessity, but the reforms
having been accomplished, his purpose was now to
secure them under a constitution that would re
strict the absolute and arbitrary power of the mon
arch, fix responsibility upon the ministers, and at
the same time guarantee to the people liberty under
the law and give them a voice in the imposition of
taxes and the creation of loans. " I should regret,"
he said to the queen, " to have been instrumental
only in effecting a vast destruction."
La Marck was still his friend, and used all his in
fluence in trying to persuade the king and the queen
to put their trust in Mirabeau.
Rumors that the court was negotiating with
Mirabeau were put in circulation in the early days
of the Revolution. According to the Duchess
d'Abrantes, the negotiations began shortly after the
assembling of the States General. The following
is related in her memoirs : " On the 7th of May,
1789, the queen was informed of Mirabeau's hos
tile intentions. M. Necker was consulted about
the expediency of entering into a negotiation with
him, and his opinion was, that Mirabeau was pos
sessed of extraordinary talent, but wanted judg
ment, and M. Necker considered him not very
formidable. He therefore declined to have any
thing to do with the matter, and merely yielded to
the queen's wish to place at her disposal a sum of
money to assist the execution of her designs. Fur-
334

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
nished with his instructions and a well-stocked
purse, the Count de Reb went one morning to
Mirabeau, plied him with much art, and finally
made him offers which he felt confident he would
not hesitate to accept. But fate ordained that the
man who had always been needy and tormented by
creditors should be at that moment well supplied
with money. What was the result? He rejected
the Count de Reb's offer, and asked him for
whom he took him. He thus dismisses the count
with all the dignity of an ancient Greek, telling
him that offers of money could not be listened to by
him. The count, though chagrined, did not lose
hope. He knew Mirabeau well enough, and was
sure he would not remain long in his present frame
of mind. Shortly afterwards a certain M. Jouvelet
called on the Count de Reb, and announced to
him that Mirabeau consented to place all his influ
ence at the disposal of the court, but required an
honorable treaty and not a paltry bargain ; that he
did not wish to supersede M. Necker, but that any
other part of the ministry would suit him. On these
terms he would devote himself to the court. The
count, on hearing this, went to Mirabeau, was well
received, and heard all the reasons he gave for his
readiness to sacrifice himself by entering the minis
try at such a moment. The same day the count
saw the individual who was to speak to the queen,
and he, on the first intelligence of the capitulation
of Mirabeau, for he was really a tower of strength,
ran immediately to acquaint her Majesty with the
news. The Count de Reb followed, and when
he entered the royal cabinet the queen advanced
335

MIRABEAU
towards him, her countenance beaming with pleas
ure. ' The king will be gratified by your zeal,
Monsieur,' said she to the plenipotentiary : ' well,
had you a good bargain of this man ? How much
has he cost?' He replied that Mirabeau, with true
magnanimity, had rejected all propositions of a pe
cuniary nature. He then mentioned the appoint
ment to the ministry. At this the queen reddened
and then turned deadly pale. She closed her eyes,
and striking her forehead with her hand, ex
claimed, ' A minister ! Make Riquetti Mirabeau a
minister! Never, never will I allow the threshold
of the king's council to be sullied by the footsteps
of such a man !' She trembled with rage. ' Let
him have money, grant him all he asks for, but to
make him a minister ! Is it possible that my friends
can give me this advice ?' She then paced the room
with every mark of agitation, repeating the words,
' A minister, forsooth ! a minister '.' The negotia
tion was consequently broken off for a season, for
Mirabeau would not accept money, and the queen
would not, till long afterwards, consent to grant
him an interview."
When La Marck first suggested to the queen that
Mirabeau might render efficient aid to the court,
she replied, " We shall never, I hope, be reduced to
such extremities as to be obliged to have recourse
to Mirabeau." Although the queen was bitterly
opposed to Mirabeau there were some persons near
the throne who appreciated his worth and knew
what his support would mean if his loyalty could
be secured. They looked upon him as a Samson
who could either pull down the pillars of the tem-
336

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
pie or sustain them. The dealings of Mirabeau
with the court are, of course, not clearly under
stood. The facts are involved in much doubt and
uncertainty. From the very nature of things this
must be so, for the negotiations were carried on
secretly and with every precaution against discov
ery. It is stated that under the first agreement he
made with the court he received a pension which
was paid to him by Monsieur. He received an
other pension from Louis d'Aremberg, who was
devoted to the queen. His friend La Marck also
kept him well supplied with funds.
The pension paid by Monsieur was soon with
drawn. Mirabeau would not act upon the advice
of men who knew so little of the real temper of
the people. " If the court," he said, " desire to
profit by my aid, they must depend upon my ad
vice." If their suggestions had been followed, his
popularity would have been destroyed in a fort
night. It was this popularity " which was the very
instrument of his success and which alone could
render his services available."
La Marck says that the day after Louis was set
tled in the Tuileries, Mirabeau urged him to tell
the king and the queen that they would be ruined
if they remained in Paris. " I am busy," said
Mirabeau, " devising a plan to enable them to
escape; could you convey to them the assurance
that they can depend upon me?" With his usual
foresight, he saw the terrors that were approach
ing, for he told La Marck that " given up to itself,
Paris will, in three months, probably be a hos
pital and certainly a theatre of horrors." La
22 337

MIRABEAU
Marck told him to prepare his plan and that when
it was completed, he would find some means of
placing it in the hands of the king ; because of his
rebuff in September, when he urged the queen to
accept the services of Mirabeau, he did not think
it prudent at this time to suggest the matter di
rectly to her. He told Mirabeau that he thought
he could reach her in another way.
The plan submitted by Mirabeau to La Marck
was that the king must leave Paris, but he must
not repair to Metz, nor any other town on the
frontiers with the hope of re-establishing his
authority by the aid of any foreign alliance. He
should not ally himself with the nobles and stand
in opposition to the people, nor should he oppose
the Assembly and appeal to the country, for this
would provoke a civil war. He declared that the
Revolution was a necessity and that many of the
laws passed by the Assembly must be accepted, and
that the people must be assured that the king would
favor the reforms already established and practise
economy in the administration of the government.
After the plan was submitted to Monsieur, La
Marck spent hours in trying to prove to him that
Mirabeau was not responsible for the events of
the 5th and 6th of October. La Marck came away
"with a sad heart, convinced that decision and
firmness were not to be found in a quarter where
they were indispensable."
Count Mercy-d'Argenteau, who was the repre
sentative of the Austrian Court at Paris, was con
vinced that Mirabeau was the only man in France
who could save the monarchy, and he strongly ad-
338

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
vised taking him into the pay of the court, and, in
time, placing him in the ministry. He, no doubt,
imparted his views to the queen and aided ma
terially in inducing her ultimately to give Mira
beau an audience.
Mirabeau had but little, if any, respect for the
king, but he had great admiration for the queen.
" You do not know her," he said to Dumont; " she
has prodigious strength of mind; she is the only
man his Majesty has about him." He felt that if
he could break down the barrier that separated
them, he could gain her support and confidence,
and his brain fairly seethed with plans for the sal
vation of France and the monarchy. But he had
to overcome a woman's personal dislike and preju
dice; a proud woman, a queen who had been de
nounced, and, in her opinion, maligned by him in
public. It requires great confidence and audacity
in any man to attempt to win a woman whom he
has insulted, and Mirabeau knew that to gain the
queen's faith in his plans he must first induce her
to believe that he was necessary to secure the safety
of her throne. The Count Mercy-d'Argenteau
and the Count de la Marck were the instruments
he used in this connection.
There was every reason why the queen should
have feared to trust Mirabeau, for, from the very
beginning, he had taken a most prominent part in
opposing the court and defying the power of the
crown. She believed that he was responsible, in
a great measure, for the violence of the mob and
the disorders that prevailed throughout the king
dom. Who, among all the revolutionists, had so
339

MIRABEAU
insolently defied the king? Who had so relent
lessly persecuted her friend Besenval, and who had
so cruelly held her up to public execration because
of her malign influence over the king? She re
garded him as a traitor to his order, for he was
patrician by birth and yet the most pronounced re
former in his principles and utterances. From her
position, she looked upon him as a mere dema
gogue and the most dangerous agitator among all
her enemies; but if she had been able to have
controlled her prejudices, to have smothered her
personal antipathy, she would have found him
to have been the only man in the kingdom who
had the power to stay the Revolution and to estab
lish the throne on a substantial basis. To be
sure, it would have been shorn of its absolutism
and restricted by constitutional limitations, but as
these reforms were inevitable, it would have been
better to have accepted them than to have lost both
crown and life. If Mirabeau, as minister, could
not have controlled events, then there was no man
in France who could have saved the monarchy.
According to the best information to be ob
tained on the subject, it was in May, 1790, that
Mirabeau entered into a definite treaty with the
court. He was to receive a pension of six thou
sand francs per month, his debts were to be dis
charged, and promissory notes were to be given to
him for one million francs. In consideration, he
promised the King " loyalty, zeal, activity, energy,
and a courage surpassing all that is probably ex
pected of him." He promised " everything except
success, which one man cannot command when so
340

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
terrible a fever undermines the state and en
dangers the monarch."
It was a delicate undertaking he had in hand,
and it required patience and wisdom to reach the
desired results. The court wanted the matter to
be speedily brought to a consummation and grew
impatient at delay. Their impatience, no doubt,
was due to the fact that they lacked confidence in
his loyalty and integrity. And, admittedly, there
were many reasons for this want of faith. Mira
beau had been most unscrupulous in many of his
transactions in the past, especially in the matter of
the publication of his Berlin letters, in which he
showed an utter want of honor. Montmorin had
been one of the parties to that negotiation and had
been victimized by the treachery.
On the 3d of July, 1790, Mirabeau had his first
and only interview with the queen. Michelet says
it was the end of May. It took place at St. Cloud,
" in a very solitary spot at the highest point in the
private park, in a kiosk that crowned that fairy
garden." Mirabeau was wrought up to a high
state of excitement in expectation of the meeting,
for its importance and its consequences appealed to
his imagination. " He found some happiness in feel
ing himself the supporter, the defender, perhaps
the deliverer, of a handsome and captive queen."
On the other hand, however, he feared the court
might not play fair, and he took his nephew with
him in his carriage, to stand on guard, with in
structions that if he remained, beyond a certain
time, in the garden, the nephew was to hasten to
Paris and give the alarm. What a tempest would
341

MIRABEAU
have been stirred up if the nephew, growing im
patient and fearing mischief, had, by mistake, sped
to Paris and given the alarm! How could Mira
beau have explained to the people the reasons for
the interview? No excuse could have saved his
popularity. Mirabeau feared assassination or kidnapping ;
he did not put implicit confidence in the queen's
friends and he was too wise not to guard against
surprise. He may have feared that the court would
play a game that would ruin him in the estimation
of the people. His fears, however, were merely
imaginary. The queen was willing to meet him,
although she had no idea of giving him her trust
or confidence. The interview was short. She
flattered him with a pleasing phrase and he vowed
his loyalty. She expected to meet a monster and
she was not disappointed, for she afterwards said
that " the interview inspired her with horror and
made her sick." She played her part, however,
with consummate skill, for Mirabeau was greatly
exalted and believed that he had made a deep
impression. Her fair words deceived him and his
vanity blinded him.
The interview was vague and inconclusive. It
was impossible for two such persons at the first
meeting to do more than play for points. How
could they understand each other? She was
anxious to use him without giving him her confi
dence, and he was willing to serve her if he could
thereby secure advancement. They were not only
strangers, but had been bitter enemies. There was
nothing to inspire confidence and create a recipro-
342

MIRABEAU AND MARIE ANTOINETTE

' Madame, when your august mother admitted one of her subjects to the honor of her presence,
she never dismissed him without allowing him to kiss her hand"

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
cal loyalty. Their language was only well-turned
phrases and gracious compliments. " With a foe
of ordinary capacity," said the queen, " with an
every-day enemy, I should now be guilty of a very
foolish, a very injudicious step; but with a Mira
beau  !" "Madame," he said, "when your
august mother admitted one of her subjects to the
honor of her presence, she never dismissed him
without allowing him to kiss her hand." The
queen extended hers. Mirabeau, having touched
it with -his lips, exclaimed, " Madame, the mon
archy is saved." " He withdrew affected, de
lighted, and deceived."
Mirabeau was entirely sincere in his desire to
help sustain the tottering throne, but the queen,
while professing friendship, was quietly assuring
her friends that although the court had consented
to use Mirabeau, there was nothing serious in their
connection with him. The queen's repulsion to
Mirabeau could not be overcome, and when she
took a dislike to any person she could not help but
show her aversion.
If the king and the queen had trusted to able
counsellors, or if they themselves had been more
politic, they could have called to their aid men
who were not only able but who were willing to
serve and save them.
La Fayette, Bailly, and Mirabeau wero all vain
men, impressed with their own importance, and
they could have been won by tact and good judg
ment to the cause of the crown. La Fayette, as the
General of the National Guard ; Bailly, as the Chief
Magistrate of Paris, and Mirabeau, as the leader of
343

MIRABEAU
the Assembly, — if they had been united in effort, —
could, without question, have saved the monarchy.
They were all royalists at heart, that is, they
favored a constitutional monarchy, and they were
earnestly opposed to the growing spirit and in
creasing violence of the Revolution. But the per
sonal dislike of Louis for these men, and their
distrust of each other, made it impossible to form
a combination and needless even to attempt to use
them jointly in an effort to save the crown; and
yet these were the men, above all others, who
could have saved it. The king had no wise ad
viser, no keen, shrewd political manager at his
side; he trusted only the men of his own circle,
whose suggestions were as weak or as unwise as
his own.
If the court later on in the Revolution had united
La Fayette, Mirabeau, and Bouille, this, too, would
have been an effective combination, for through
them they would have had the National Guard, the
Assembly, and the army. The union of these
forces, if properly directed, could have mastered
the situation. The court ought to have seen that
the days of an absolute monarchy in France were
numbered, and to save the throne it was necessary
to concede, approve, and accept the reforms and
unite all the conservative forces in favor of a con
stitutional monarchy, to firmly establish it on the
new basis, and to restore public order at the earli
est possible moment. Every hour of delay only
made it more difficult to recover lost ground.

344

CHAPTER XXII
MIRABEAU MAKES OVERTURES TO NECKER AND LA
FAYETTE  MIRABEAU AND THE COURT  MIRA-
BEAU'S MANNER OF LIVING  WAS MIRABEAU
VENAL?  THE KING AND THE REVOLUTION
Mirabeau, who in every effort he made evinced
a sincerity to restore order and strengthen the mon
archy, began making overtures to Necker and to
La Fayette, hoping through them to aid the court,
but he signally failed in these endeavors.
Necker's vanity and conceit led him to believe
that he alone could save France, and yet he failed
to discover the real causes of the Revolution, and
consequently had no idea what remedies should be
applied. He never got beyond the question of dis
ordered finances. He and La Fayette failed to see
how Mirabeau could be of use to the throne ; they
did not appreciate how great his talents were ; they
feared him, and they measured him by his immoral
ity and not by his real worth as a statesman and a
patriot. La Fayette loathed Mirabeau, and vauntingly
exclaimed : "I have vanquished the king of Eng
land in his power, the king of France in his
authority; I will certainly not yield the place to
Mirabeau." And yet these two men, by skilful
¦ manipulation, notwithstanding their dislike for
each other, could have been brought into confidence
with the king, and no doubt could have succeeded
34S

MIRABEAU
in firmly establishing the monarchy ; but they were
working at cross purposes. The clay was at hand,
but there was no potter to mould it.
Mirabeau, in his efforts to aid the king, endeav
ored in every way to interest La Fayette, but in all
the attempts he made he could never secure his
confidence. At last, in utter despair, he wrote to
him : " We live in a time of great events but little
men. I am less able than ever to discover any one
with whom I should care closely to associate my
self. ... I have always told you that the giddi
ness of your elevation and your fatal indecision in
what concerns yourself blind you to the impossi
bility of perpetuating a state of things only to be
justified by success. . . . Your liking for medioc
rities and your weakness when your inclinations are
concerned will cause a career which might have
been brilliant to end in failure and endanger the
commonwealth by your ruin."
" Mirabeau knew," says McCarthy, " that the
chief obstacle to all his schemes lay in La Fayette,
with whom he had tried, again and again, to come
to an understanding, but always without success.
He declared that La Fayette, all powerful for doing
harm, must become more and more powerless to
prevent harm." He tried flattery on the General,
but it failed to win. " Your great qualities," said
Mirabeau, " need to be animated by my energy, and
my energy requires the support of your great quali
ties." La Fayette's dislike and fear of Mirabeau
made him proof against all his appeals, cajolery,
flattery, and schemes. Mirabeau's analysis of La-
Fayette's qualities was that " he is not so great as
346

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
singular; his character more fussy than actually
strong: a generous man, but romantic and chi
meric, living in illusions."
" Mirabeau, by airing his contempt," says Von
Hoist, " of the general's political capacities, and by
indulging in regard to him, too, in his dangerous
taste for inventing nettling sobriquets, made it im
possible for La Fayette to accept in thorough good
faith the proffered alliance." " Upon La Fayette,
however, rests by far the greater half of the respon
sibility that this alliance was not concluded, which
might have changed the fate of France."
Mirabeau always felt that if the state had a
pilot, the storm could be weathered ; and he firmly
believed if he were at the helm he could guide the
vessel. " The monarchy," he said, " is imperilled.
If no pilot is found, it is likely enough that the
vessel may drive on to the rocks ; but if, in spite of
prejudice and jealousy, a man of capacity were
called to the helm, you can have little idea how
easy it would be to steer into deep water."
It seemed strange and unaccountable to Mira
beau that these men to whom he appealed would
not partake of his enthusiasm, adopt his plans, and
join with him in an effort to save that which they
themselves were anxious to save. To him the
project was so plain and so easy of accomplish
ment that he marvelled at their density. He had
the vision and the intellect of the statesman and
saw clearly what should be done; he had the abil
ity of the politician and knew how to accomplish
his ends.
The court also bitterly opposed Mirabeau and
347

MIRABEAU
did all in its power to prevent an alliance with the
king ; so he had to fight his battle alone, and found
his worst enemies among those whose cause he was
really serving.
Mirabeau advised the king and the queen from
time to time, but it was useless, under all the con
ditions, to even hope that anything could be accom
plished from such a union. There was at all times
a distrust where there should have been an im
plicit confidence. In a business so delicate, if
success were desired, there should have been unity
of faith, of action, and of purpose.
Mirabeau had also tried to reach the court
through the Count of Provence, but his efforts in
this direction were a blank failure. The count was
almost as weak in character as his brother, the
king. " He has," wrote Mirabeau, " the timidity
as well as the innocence of a child." It was a
game that required stout players, and the court
furnished only mannikins. " What blind groping,
what pusillanimous acquiescence on the part of the
court, what a grotesque mixture of old ideas and
new projects, of petty repugnances and childish
longings, of willing and nilling, of abortive likes
and dislikes! . . . But the lowest depth of all is
Monsieur." The court paid Mirabeau to secure him, without
ever intending to depend upon him or take his
advice. They acted at times as if they would
rather be lost than saved by him. In fact, at a
later period in the Revolution, when La Fayette
could have quelled the rioters, terrorized the Jaco
bins, and strengthened the throne, Marie Antoi-
348

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
nette indignantly refused the General's aid and
declared with emphasis that she would rather
perish than be rescued by him. She, no doubt,
was controlled by this same spirit in the case of
Mirabeau. She could not, even in the presence of
imminent danger, overcome her prejudices.
The king drifted along on the current of events,
had no real appreciation of the dangers that beset
him, and trusted blindly to the future to bring
relief ; hoping that time would evolve, without any
effort upon his part, a condition or reaction that
would once more firmly establish his throne. He
believed that the Revolution was but a passing
frenzy, that it would necessarily wear itself out,
and that the country would return to its normal
condition, and he simply sat with his arms folded
waiting for the change. He was always dreading
a civil war, and yet he was in the midst of a revo
lution that was worse and more dangerous to him
than any civil war could possibly have been.
Giving advice to such a man was sheer waste of
time, and Mirabeau, whose knowledge of men was
profound, abandoned all hope in that direction.
When he turned to the queen, however, he firmly
believed that with her assistance and influence the
monarchy could be saved, but we have seen with
what mistrust and repugnance she received him.
Mirabeau had a delicate task to perform; he
was under pay to serve the court, and in order to
be useful to it he had to maintain his popularity.
He was serving royalty and revolution at the same
time. " More honesty and less cleverness, Mira
beau, or beware of the lantern," wrote' Freron in
349

MIRABEAU
his Friend of the People. It was a most diffi
cult and at the same time a most dangerous role
to play for a man so impulsive, independent, and
positive as Mirabeau. He was serving two masters,
and he had to preserve most carefully his equilib
rium. He was anxious to save both royalty and
liberty. Madame de Stael, who personally disliked Mira
beau, but who had a great admiration for his
talents, wrote : " One could not help having pity
with the constraint imposed upon his natural
superiority. Constantly he was compelled in the
same speech to act as partisan of popularity and
reason. He tried to wrest from the Assembly with
demagogical phrases a monarchial decree, and he
often let the Royalists feel his bitterness, even when
he wanted to carry one of their points; in one
word, it was evident that he had constantly to
combat between his judgment and the necessity of
success." " He is compelled," said Count Fersen,
" to hide himself under the forms of democracy in
order not to lose all his influence."
It was generally believed that Mirabeau was the
pensioner of the king, and he really took no pains
to divert the suspicions ; in fact, so great a change
in his manner of living had taken place that it
aroused comment in every quarter, and his enemies
lost no opportunity to injure him by circulating
reports of his sumptuous living. He kept open
house in the Chaussee d'Autin, and was in touch
with the most distinguished men of the nation, not
forgetting to caress at the same time the leaders of
the mob. 350

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
" Are you sold to the court ?" asks Desmoulins.
" Come dine with me," says Mirabeau, " and we
shall talk about it." It is not hard to imagine how
easily the great tribune removed all suspicion from
the mind of his young friend. Desmoulins admits
that he is corrupted by Mirabeau's table, which is
too profuse and too dainty. " His Bordeaux wine
and maraschino have merits which I vainly try to
disguise from myself, and I find it very difficult to
resume my republican austerity and to detest aris
tocrats whose crime is to set store by these excellent
dinners." Mirabeau's entertainments were on a most lavish
scale, and he was most ostentatious in the display
of his newly acquired wealth. " A tribune of the
people becoming a Lucullus could not fail to render
him an object of distrust." He squandered money
in the purchase of costly plate, gems, books, rare
engravings, and the choicest brands of wine. His
library sold, after his death, for 140,000 livres
$28,000). At the beginning of the Revolution he was a
poor man, but now he indulged in every luxury.
His blue carriage, driven rapidly through the
streets, was one of the noticeable features of the
capital and attracted as much attention as the
white horse of La Fayette.
He insisted upon further royal contributions, as
he was desirous of purchasing La Marais, a sump
tuous country-seat located a short distance from
Paris. La Marck protested against such foolish
prodigality, and at the same time urged Mirabeau
not to advertise in this way his venality. " It
351

MIRABEAU
would be wiser," he said, " for you to buy Ver
sailles a year hence than a cottage now." But
Mirabeau's desires were greater than his fears and
he insisted upon a further allowance. La Marck
pleaded earnestly with him to moderate his style of
living so as not to attract attention, but Mirabeau
only smiled at his friend's fears and admonitions.
The queen's almoner, M. de Fontanges, Arch
bishop of Narbonne and a member of the Assembly,
was the medium of communication between the
court and Mirabeau. The Bishop was careful to
take every precaution to prevent discovery, and
Mirabeau's imprudence caused him much annoy
ance. The court, too, lost confidence in a man who
displayed an indiscretion so foolish and dangerous.
It was as early as May, 1790, that rumors of his
venality were published, and while on his way to
the Assembly, hawkers were inducing the sale of a
pamphlet in the streets by shouting : " The dis
closure of the great treason of the Count of Mira
beau !" But his presence of mind never left him ;
he thundered as usual from the tribune, and in no
word he ever uttered did he give his enemies an
opportunity to doubt or impugn his loyalty to the
Revolution. Nor did he at any time change his
views ; he was consistent in advocating with all his
might, and under all circumstances, the principles
for which he had contended from the very begin
ning. He was anxious to save the monarchy, but
only under condition that the reforms of the Revo
lution should be secured.
" A few days ago," he said in his speech favoring
the. right of the king to declare war, " the people
352

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
sought to carry me in triumph, now they charge
me with treason. It needed not this lesson to teach
me how short the distance is from the Capitol to
the Tarpeian Rock. But he who fights for reason
and for his country is not so easily intimidated.
Such blows aimed at me from below cannot stop
me. To such assailants, I reply : ' First answer
me, if you can, then calumniate me as much as you
please.' "
It was, no doubt, owing to the fact that he
had not deserted nor betrayed his principles that
he was willing to become the pensioner of the
court; from his point of view, he was not guilty
of treason nor venality, for he was only aiding
that cause which, at the beginning, he had so
ardently espoused. He was employed by the court
to do that which he himself desired to see accom
plished. " It may be admitted," says Dumont, " that he
was not over-scrupulous in money matters, but he
was too proud to be dishonest, and he would have
thrown out of the window any one who dared to
make him a humiliating proposal."
" He cared no more for money," says Von
Hoist, " than the dirt under his feet. He never
even felt so much as tempted to stoop to means, by
which he would have lowered himself in his own
eyes." If it were money he wanted, and was will
ing to take it at any cost to himself, " it needed but
a word," says McCarthy, " to win the unscrupulous
stock-jobbers who had held aloof while Necker
was making despairing appeals to the nation.
They would have bought up the orator at well-nigh
23 353

MIRABEAU
any price that it might please his vanity to set upon
his periods, his phrases, and his passion."
La Marck said that when Mirabeau was in
financial distress, " he would only have needed to
let the gold come to him, which the factions scat
tered about in profusion," but not a sou of it ever
soiled his fingers. " Mirabeau would not be
bought." " I am sold, but not paid," said Rivarol.
" I am paid, but not sold," responded Mirabeau.
La Fayette, who surely was no friend of Mira
beau, was fair and just enough to declare that
" he was not inaccessible to money, but for no
sum would he have sustained an opinion destruc
tive to liberty or dishonorable to his mind." Tt
was known to his bitterest enemies, to all France,
that he favored the monarchy, but with constitu
tional restrictions. From this position he never
retreated for a moment, nor was he ever paid nor
bribed to abandon those principles which he had so
consistently advocated and defended.
He received a pension from Monsieur, and sub
sequently one from the king, " but he considered
himself an agent entrusted with their affairs and he
accepted these pensions, not to be governed by,
but to govern those who granted them."
The fact that Mirabeau, for a long time, was the
secret adviser of the court goes without saying.
The documentary evidence on this point is conclu
sive. That he received money from the king is also
admitted, but that he was bribed to betray his
cause or desert his principles was denied by those
contemporaries who knew him well, and an intima-
3S4

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
tion of such a thing would have been vehemently
resented by Mirabeau himself.
He was so bitterly assailed on charges of
venality, that he wrote in a vein of felicitous irony :
" Since I have been in the habit of selling myself
I ought to have acquired sufficient gold to have
purchased a kingdom, but I know not how it hap
pens that I have always been poor, having at my
command so many kings and all their treasures."
In passing an opinion upon this matter we must
be guided in our judgment by the standard of his
period and the conditions under which he was
paid. In his day it was not considered beneath the
dignity of any one to accept a gift or pension from
the king. The proudest in the land, for the
lightest service, did not hesitate to accept such
a bounty. " Mirabeau took money of the king,"
says McCarthy, " because he was a loyal and
avowed supporter of the monarchy. No serious
student of the career of Mirabeau, putting himself
with any vitality into the place of the man, and
the time of the man, need feel in any degree called
upon to avow shame for him." Mirabeau did not
surrender his principles, he did not betray his
cause. He thought the Revolution had gone far
enough and he feared its violence. He did not
submit to be governed by those who paid the
money, — in truth, they were to be directed, advised
and controlled by him. He was anxious and at all
times had been willing to save the monarchy. He
had favored the abolition of its abuses, but never
its destruction. " It was no new thought of Mira-
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MIRABEAU
beau's to turn to the king." He was convinced,
using his own language, that " the restoration of
the legitimate authority of the king was the first
need of France, and the only means to save her."
" He declared his principles," says Thiers, " in
a kind of profession of faith; he engaged not to
swerve from them and to support the court so long
as it should follow the same line. But was this
selling himself? A weak man would, no doubt,
have sold himself by sacrificing his principles ; but
the mighty Mirabeau, so far from sacrificing his,
brought power over to the court and received from
it that aid which his urgent necessities and his
licentious passions rendered indispensable to him.
Mirabeau, inflexible in his principles, combated
by turns his own party and the court, as if he had
not expected popularity from the former or the
means of existence from the latter."
" Mercy-d'Argenteau, the Austrian Ambassador,
and La Marck," writes Von Hoist, in considering
this question of Mirabeau's venality, " were men
not only of spotless, but of most scrupulous honor,
and while they were perfectly familiar with the
laxity of Mirabeau's moral principles in money
and other questions, the thought never entered
their heads that the fact of his taking money from
Louis XVI. could, in the opinion of any one, throw
the slightest reflection upon him. Nor were they
altogether wrong, even if he be weighed on the
more sensitive scales of our times, for he was paid
for work done and services rendered."
He received money to aid a cause which he
had espoused, long before the payment of money
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
or the giving of a pension had been suggested.
He was employed to help save that kingdom which
he had never desired to destroy.
" To abandon them (the king and the kingdom)
to their fate," writes Von Hoist, " would certainly
not have been patriotic, and I suppose that the
moralists who, with the zest of holy monks burn
ing a heretic, have nailed his memory to the pillory
for taking this money, will admit that patriotism
ought also to be an article in a statesman's code of
morals." " If Mirabeau consented to be the secret adviser
of the court, for the sake of earning the money, his
vindication can, of course, not be based upon the
plea of patriotism. It can, however, be proved
beyond the possibility of, contradiction that the
salary he received was but an incident and not his
end." One of the questions that gave him an oppor
tunity to prove his loyalty to the crown was that
concerning the right of declaring war.
He argued in favor of the resolution, placing
the power in the hands of the executive. Barnave,
Lameth, and Robespierre insisted upon leaving it
to the Assembly. The final decree conferred the
right upon the Assembly, but only on the initiative
of the king and subject to his sanction. It was
this compromise that Mirabeau, after a stubborn
fight, secured. It proved his fidelity to the crown,
but it, on the other hand, laid him open to the
censure of the radicals.
Mirabeau, during the summer of 1790, con
stantly, day after day, urged the king to adopt a
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MIRABEAU
plan that would release him from his imprison
ment in the Tuileries. He suggested that Louis
should go to Fontainebleau, that he should demand
from La Fayette assistance and protection, if neces
sary, to enable him to make the visit, and if the
general should refuse, it would prove that he was
the gaoler of the king.
Mirabeau, upon one occasion, said to the queen
that " if La Fayette is ever head of the army, he
will hold the king a prisoner in his tent." Mira
beau did not believe that La Fayette at this time
would be willing to have the provinces know that
Louis was virtually held in custody. But Louis
would not act. He feared violence and persisted in
a policy of inaction, or what was worse, a course
of vacillation. Mirabeau wanted the country to
see that the king was either independent or a
prisoner. It seemed impossible, however, to get
the king to agree to anything. He had no cour
age of decision. " He encouraged every anti-revo
lutionary enterprise, but avowed none."
The truth was, if we may judge from his con
duct, that Louis never did intend to accept the
results of the Revolution any more than did the
queen. To them it was a monster that had stripped
them of their power, and despoiled both church
and state. It kept them in captivity and subjected
them to insult and derision. It had sat uncovered
in the presence of the king. It had insolently
defied him when he ordered the Assembly to dis
perse. It had made him play the craven when he
submitted to the pinning of the tri-color on his hat.
It had stormed the royal palace, chased the queen
358

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
from her bed-chamber, and compelled her to bow
in humiliation before the rabble that a moment
before had sought her life. It had carried the
king from Versailles to Paris, to grace the . tri
umphal procession of the mob, and lodged him as
a prisoner within the walls of the Tuileries. It
held him as a hostage for the good behavior of the
emigrants. It stationed sentinels at the door of
his chamber lest he might escape. It had shot
down his guards, captured his fortress, looted his
palace, and dispersed his friends. It had hum
bled his pride in the face of all the courts of
Europe and made him, because of his weakness,
an object not of sympathy, but of ridicule and
contempt. The pride of a haughty queen and the
spirit of a weak king had been humbled, and they
longed for the day when they could avenge the
wrongs they had suffered.
Louis believed in his divine right to govern, and
the rabble had usurped his power. " Kings," said
Catharine II. of Russia, " ought to proceed in
their career undisturbed by the cries of the people,
as the moon pursues her course unimpeded by the
howling of dogs."
The education of Louis, his early surroundings,
and associations had taught him that he was abso
lute, and how could he reconcile himself to exist
ing conditions which were in direct contradiction
to the experience and teachings of his house? He
was a Bourbon with a good memory, and he did
not acquire knowledge readily. He could not for
get the past and he could not adapt himself to
the present. He never was sincere in any promise
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MIRABEAU
he made, nor oath he took, to accept or support
the principles of the Revolution. Even when he
voluntarily accepted the constitution, he was plot
ting to escape. His only hope of safety was to
flee from the kingdom, or else be rescued by a
foreign army. He was anxious to save his crown,
but he wanted to save it without putting himself
under obligations to those who had threatened its
loss. That was wholly natural, but under the cir
cumstances not wise, for a combination with his
enemies was the only method of salvation left to
him. As time ran on, the Revolution was making
steady progress and there were no signs of any
reaction setting in.
While Mirabeau was struggling hard to recon
struct the monarchy, busy hands were laying the
foundation stones of the republic. Civil rights
were secured, religious tolerance was decreed, dis
tinctions were removed, titles were abolished, tax
ation was equalized, trial by jury was introduced,
and inhuman penal statutes were repealed. It was
hard to induce a French monarch to accept such
reforms and reconcile himself to such conditions.

360

CHAPTER XXIII
MARQUIS DE FAVRAS — CONFISCATION OF CHURCH
PROPERTY — ASSIGNATS
During the period, in which negotiations were
pending between Mirabeau and the court, an in
cident happened that for a time put an end to all
their plans and agreements.
The Marquis de Favras was a light-headed,
light-hearted courtier, and a devoted royalist. On
the 5th of October, 1789, at Versailles, he was the
bold spirit that urged the nobles to mount the
horses in the royal stables and charge the mob.
He had conceived a counter-revolutionary project
and, with more courage than prudence, boasted of
his plans. Spies were sent to watch his move
ments and listen to his " vaporings." His ex
travagance having reduced him to indigence, he
was just the sort of a man, in those stirring times,
that was ready for a desperate enterprise, and one
whom the people could readily suspect of being
concerned in anti-revolutionary designs. He was
arrested, charged with having plotted to raise a
royalist army, to murder La Fayette, Necker, and
Bailly, abduct the king, and place the Count of
Provence on the throne. It seems almost incredi
ble that a project so important and so far reach
ing in its consequences would have been left to
the skill and management of so wild a rhapsodist.
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MIRABEAU
It was currently reported that the conspirators
were numerous; that their plans were well laid,
and that the blow was ready to be struck. Paris
was thrown into a whirl of excitement in expecta
tion of startling disclosures and developments.
The case came on for trial in the Court of the
Chatelet and De Favras was convicted of treason
and sentenced to death on the 18th of February,
1790. He was given short shrift, for the people
clamored for his speedy execution, lest delay might
give an opportunity to the conspirators to consum
mate the plot. He was hanged in the Place de
Greve after nightfall, under the glare of torches.
It was a grewsome sight. " Bon !" grimly re
marked the Count de Rochechouart, " voila un
noble pendu ! pendez-en cinq ou six par mois, mais
laissez les autres tranquilles."
If Favras had any accomplices, he died without
revealing their names. He protested his innocence
to the last. The facts in the case will never be
fully known. It was admitted that he had some
secret correspondence with the Count of Provence,
but that it was of a personal character, and had
no political significance whatever. The count, it
was intimated, was in need of two millions and
had retained the services of Favras to negotiate the
loan. It does seem hard to believe that a man
like Favras, whose entire wealth consisted of a
hundred roubles, and whom the count said he
had never seen, should have been engaged in such
employment. Mirabeau was accused of having been a party to
the plot, but treated the accusation with his usual
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
disdain. He was called as a witness in the trial
and denied any acquaintance with Favras. He
admitted that he had met him several times, but
always in the presence of others. When Favras
asked him if they had not discussed a proposed
plan to aid the Revolution in Brabant, Mirabeau
answered that he could not recall any such con
versation. Favras urged the question and begged
Mirabeau to sift his memory, but the latter em
phatically stated that he had no recollection of
such an interview. Favras did not in any way,
however, attempt to implicate Mirabeau in the
alleged conspiracy of assassination and abduction.
There is now in existence a letter written by
Provence that gives the details of such a con
spiracy, but whether Favras had anything to do
with it cannot be proved. If he were concerned
in such a plot, he was faithful to his friends and
displayed a courage of the highest type. He went
to his death like a gentleman, " with politest com
posure." A messenger hurried from the scaffold,
after the execution, to the palace of the Count of
Provence to inform him that it was all over and
that no confessions had been made. " That is all
right," said Provence, " let us now sit down to
supper." If there really was such a conspiracy afoot the
facts were most successfully suppressed, but the
episode cast a suspicion on many men and among
them was Mirabeau, although, strange to say, he
soon recovered his unbounded popularity. He
treated the whole matter with so supreme an in
difference that even his enemies were convinced
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MIRABEAU
of his innocence, — " de l'audace ! Encore de l'au-
dace ! et toujours, de l'audace !"
That Mirabeau was in the pay of Provence was
confirmed by Dumont. Talleyrand, many years
afterwards, while at a dinner party in London,
told Lord Greville that he had seen a receipt given
by Mirabeau to Provence for one million francs,
but the bishop was such an habitual liar that no
confidence can be placed in any uncorroborated
statement he ever made.
Dumont says " the secret of this intrigue was
never known, but I have no doubt Favras was
one of those men who, when employed as instru
ments, are led by vanity much further than their
principles intend, . . . and spurred on by the
fatal ambition of embracing objects beyond their
reach, are at last betrayed by their own activity.
... As for Mirabeau, he bestowed a thousand
curses upon the shuffling courtiers, — those moun
tebank conspirators who confided the restoration
of the monarchy to the exertions of a ruined
gamester; but the praises he bestowed upon the
intrepidity of Favras made me shrewdly suspect
that the death of the latter was not less consola
tory to his friends than to his enemies."
Necker's plans, schemes, and dreams had come to
naught. Neither loans nor patriotic contributions
were sufficient to meet the expenses of the govern
ment and decrease the deficit. Taxes had been re
duced and equalized, — the odious taxes, such as the
gabelle, had been abolished. In consequence, the
revenue had fallen off to such a degree that it was
364

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
insufficient to meet current expenses and to pay the
interest on the loans; the public debt was increas
ing annually. Something had to be done to relieve
the financial distress and stringency. The state
was facing bankruptcy. Specie was scarce; much
of it had been carried out of the kingdom by the
emigrants and much of it was being hoarded by
the timid and by those persons who dreaded the
future of the Revolution. The money in circula
tion was not sufficient for the purposes of trade
and commerce. Capital, too, had grown timid and
had withdrawn from enterprise as it always will
in times of confusion and uncertainty.
The clergy had accumulated immense wealth;
they owned one-fifth of all the lands of the king
dom, and it was proposed that this property should
be seized by the state and appropriated to the pub
lic use. The confiscation of the church property
was one of the most important acts of the Assem
bly, and it resulted in arraying the clergy with all
their power and influence against the further
progress of the Revolution. Religious toleration
had been proclaimed by the Assembly, and now
that same body had confiscated the property of the
church. The faithful were up in arms. The
throne had been deprived of its privileges arid
the church despoiled of its wealth. There was
nothing left to do but to unite the forces of both
to save both.
Louis was set up as the Defender of the Faith
and " nothing was easier to the priests," says
Michelet, " than to make Louis XVI. appear in
the light of a saint or a martyr. His sanctified,
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MIRABEAU
paternal, and heavy-looking countenance was that
of a cathedral saint, ready-made for a church
porch." Fromont, in his memoirs, says : " I repaired
secretly to Turin (January, 1790) to the French
princes to solicit their approbation and support.
In a council, which was held on my arrival, I
demonstrated to them that if they would arm the
partisans of the altar and the throne, and make
the interests of religion go hand in hand with
those of royalty, it would be easy to save both.
Though strongly attached to the faith of my fore
fathers, it was not upon the non-Catholics that I
proposed to make war, but upon the declared foes
of Catholicism and royalty ; upon those who loudly
asserted that Jesus Christ and the Bourbons had
been talked of too long; upon those who wished
to strangle the last of kings with the intestines of
the last of priests.
"The real arguments of the Revolution being
force, I felt that the answer must be force. Then,
as at present, I was convinced of this great truth, —
that religious zeal alone can stifle the republican
mania." After the confiscation of the church property, a
crusade was begun at once, and ardent appeals
were made to the faithful from the pulpit and in
the confessional, to rally to the standard of the
cross and the crown, and to stay the hands of the
impious from despoiling and destroying the church
and the throne. So bitter was the hostility that
the worst passions of the human heart were
aroused and, in time, religious wars were waged
366

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
in Avignon, La Vendee, and Brittany, until the
streets of the towns ran blood. The butcheries of
the "White Terror" rivalled those of the dread
ful days yet' to come when the " Red Terror" was
to outrage every sentiment of humanity.
The original motion to confiscate the property
of the church was made in the Assembly by Talley
rand, the Archbishop of Autun, who, for his " im
pious act," was subsequently excommunicated by
the pope. Talleyrand was ably seconded and sup- '
ported by Mirabeau. They proposed the confisca
tion and sale of the church property for the pay
ment of the public debt, and out of the proceeds of
the sale, the clergy were to be paid a fixed amount
for their salaries, the support of the church, and
the relief of the poor. The cures were to be
allowed not less than twelve hundred livres, not
including therein a dwelling and a garden. This
was a cunning device to win the support of the
humble clergy. The measure was carried by a
majority of one hundred and twenty-two on a total
vote of nine hundred and fourteen.
The Assembly, after the act of confiscation, had
a difficult task to decide what disposition should
be made of the property to relieve the public exi
gencies. To offer it all for sale at once would
greatly depreciate its value; to put so great a
quantity of land on the market at one time would
be to sacrifice it. Bailly suggested that it should
be sold to the municipalities, and that they should
be given time to gradually dispose of it. The
municipalities, not having ready funds to pay for
the property, were to give bills payable at a certain
367

MIRABEAU
date. The credit given these notes would insure
their circulation as money. This was the first idea
of the assignat.
Crown and church property was put upon the
market to the value of nearly four hundred and
fifty million francs (ninety million dollars), and
paper money was issued to the same amount.
This paper money was called assignats, and the
notes at first ranged in amount from one thousand
to two thousand livres. The confiscated lands were
to be held and sold for the redemption of said paper
money and it was the original intention that the
amount of issue should never be beyond the actual
market value of the land. In fact, Mirabeau
favored a decree that there should never be more
than twelve hundred million livres (two hundred
and forty million dollars) of assignats in circula
tion at one time. The notes were to bear interest
and the holders could purchase with them the lands
that had been confiscated by the state; when so
converted, the notes were to be destroyed. They
were also made a legal tender for all purposes. It
was thought that the church property would yield
seventy million livres (fourteen million dollars)
annually and this at thirty-three years' purchase
would produce a total sum of two billion three
hundred and ten millions of livres (four hundred
and sixty-two million dollars).
The church property was not all land, — much of
it was state paper, debts, mortgages, and assets of
like character.
The lands did not sell readily; people delayed
buying them, hoping they would fall in value.
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
The first instalment gave possession and the specu
lative owners straightway cut the timber and har
vested the crops, and when the second payment fell
due, made default.
Mirabeau at first opposed the issuance of paper
money, which, in his characteristic way, he desig
nated " a walking pestilence." He was subse
quently, however, won over to the scheme by the
argument and reasons of his friend Claviere, in
whose judgment and financial ability he had great
confidence. At the time of the debate on the
second issuance of assignats, he made a most elo
quent argument, claiming that the exigencies of
the state demanded immediate relief, and that this
was the only practicable plan ; and if the plan had
followed his suggestions, it would not have ended
so disastrously.
The Abbe Maury, in his reply to Mirabeau,
dramatically held up two notes of the John Law
issue, " stained with the tears and the blood of
an earlier generation," and eloquently pictured the
dreadful distress in the reign of Louis XV. that
followed the period of paper money and frenzied
speculation. He eloquently urged the Assembly
to carefully consider the step they were about to
take. But his appeal was of no avail ; he was inter
rupted by the jeers and the laughter of the depu
ties and the gallery. Vainly he argued that the
assignats were but paper promises ; that they were
based on the value of land which had to be sold
before the notes could be redeemed ; that the value
of these notes, in consequence, was uncertain and
that the doubt as to their real value would cause
24 369

MIRABEAU
them to depreciate; that the issuance of this paper
money, in large quantities, would dangerously ex
pand the volume of currency, lead to extravagance,
speculation, over-production, and ultimately to re
pudiation and bankruptcy; that the lessons of
history should warn the Assembly against the adop
tion of a financial system that, in time, would im
poverish France.
The principle of the assignats was all right, pro
vided the government had a value in the lands or
the property confiscated that was sufficient to re
deem the notes, but, of course, if the government
issued more notes than it could redeem, or made
promises that it could not keep, public confidence
would be lost, and the whole scheme would fall
to pieces.
The exigencies of the government had to be re
lieved, its credit had to be saved, and this was the
only plan that was in any way practicable. It
warded off impending bankruptcy and, indeed,
might have afforded permanent relief, if its original
design had been adhered to and carried out. But
the issues from time to time were so vast that at
last the amount reached the enormous sum of
forty-five billion francs (nine billion dollars).
The notes were easily counterfeited, and the gov
ernment took no stringent measures to prosecute
the counterfeiters. Gradually every limitation was
withdrawn from the issuance of new series and,
whenever the government needs were urgent, the
printing press was put to work as if there never
was to be a day of reckoning. The assignat, which
was to be redeemed by the funds resulting from
370

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
the public sale of the state lands, was subsequently
supplanted by the mandat, which empowered the
holder to take immediate possession of the land
in payment of his note, if he so desired. In other
words, the mandat was a direct lien on the real
estate of the Republic. But over-issues soon again
flooded the market with a fluctuating paper cur
rency. The notes in time became almost worth
less, and in 1796 they were withdrawn from
circulation.

37i

CHAPTER XXIV
COURT PARTY ENDEAVORS TO SECURE NEW ELEC
TIONS IN THE DISTRICTS  FESTIVAL OF THE
FEDERATION  MASSACRE AT NANCY
In order to stay the Revolution, the clergy and
the nobility endeavored to secure new elections in
the districts, contending that the period allotted to
the deputies of the States General had expired,
their power having been limited to one year accord
ing to the desire of the districts. On the other
hand, it was argued that the sessions of the Assem
bly could not come to an end at this time, in view
of the fact that the deputies had taken an oath in
the Tennis Court on the 20th of June, 1789, not
to separate until they had given a constitution to
the nation. " The court was expecting and watch
ing for the moment of dissolution, — the inter
regnum, — the ever-perilous moment between the
Assembly that exists no longer and the one not yet
formed. Who was to reign in the interval but
the king? And having once resumed his power
and seized the sword, it would be his business to
keep it."
Chapelier argued for the commons in an eloquent
speech, in which he declared that " all sovereignty
rests with the people, but this principle has no
application to the present case ; it would be destroy
ing constitution and liberty to renew the Assembly
before the constitution is completed. This is in-
372

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
deed the hope of those who wish to see liberty
and the constitution perish, and to witness the re
turn of the distinction of orders, of prodigality in
the public expenditures, and of the abuses that
spring from despotism. The constitution can only
be made by one Assembly. Besides, the former
electors no longer exist; the bailiwicks are used
in the departments, the orders are no longer sepa
rate. The clause respecting the limitation of power
is consequently without value; it will, therefore,
be contrary to the constitution if the deputies do
not retain their seats in this Assembly; their oath
commands them to continue there, and public in
terest requires it.", This argument was a clear
example of begging the question and was based
on expediency rather than on principle, and the
real facts and the law of the case.
" You entagle us in sophisms," replied the Abbe
Maury. " How long have we been a National
Convention ? You talk of the oath we took on the
20th of June without considering that it cannot
weaken that which we made to our constituents.
Besides, gentlemen, the constitution is completed.
You have only now to declare that the king enjoys
the plentitude of the executive power. We are here
for the sole purpose of securing to the French na
tion the right of influencing its legislation, of
establishing the principle that taxation shall be
consented to by the people, and of securing our
liberty. Yes, the constitution is made, and I will
oppose every decree calculated to limit the rights
of the people over their representatives. The
founders of liberty ought to respect the liberty of
373

MIRABEAU
the nation; the nation is above us all and we
destroy our authority by limiting the national
authority." To this clear, logical, and unanswer
able argument, Mirabeau ascended the tribune to
make reply. The facts were against him, but the
commons were with him.
" It is asked," he said in his most dramatic
manner, " how long the deputies of the people have
been a National Convention? I answer, from the
day when, finding the door of their session-house
surrounded by soldiers, their place of meeting
bristling and defiled with bayonets, they went and
assembled where they could, and swore to perish
rather than betray or abandon the rights of the
nation. Whatever our powers were that day, their
nature was changed, and whatever powers we may
have exercised, our efforts and labors have ren
dered them legitimate, and the adhesion of the
nation has sanctioned them. Let them now go and
hunt out of the useless nomenclature of civilians
the definition of the words National Convention!
You all remember the saying of the great man
of antiquity, who had neglected legal forms to save
his country. Summoned by a captious tribune to
confess that he had violated the laws, he replied:
' I swear I have saved my country !' Gentlemen,"
he exclaimed, turning to the commons, " I swear
that you have saved France." This was mere
declamation. It was neither logical nor pertinent.
If the deputies were elected for a year, how could
the fact that they had taken an oath not to separate
until they had accomplished a certain result extend
their term of office? Their conduct was a clear
374

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
usurpation of authority. How could the powers
of the delegates be changed by an act of their own
not authorized by their constituents, an act not
sanctioned by the people ? — for the latter had been
given no opportunity to be heard upon the question.
How could the labors and the efforts of the depu
ties, no matter how beneficial to the country, ren
der the exercise of unauthorized powers legiti
mate? The concluding sentences in the speech of Mira
beau admit the usurpation and the reason of it.
The Roman general excused himself for violating
the laws because he had saved the republic. The
deputies were to continue in office in violation of
law, because, in their opinion, they had saved
France. " Let not the citizens allow themselves
to be persuaded that the laws can be defended by
being broken," exclaimed Mirabeau, upon a
memorable occasion.
Politicians were the same then as they are to
day, — loath to surrender their power; but in this
instance there was a potent reason for the deputies
of the commons to retain it at all hazards, for its
surrender would, perhaps, have resulted in the loss
of much, if not all, that had been gained. If the
court party had won their point and elections had
been decreed, the Revolution might have been a
different story. The commons believed that the
exigencies of the situation required the continu
ance of the Assembly until France was redeemed,
and they consequently ignored the law. They
acted upon the assumption that the end justified the
means. 375

MIRABEAU
Almost a year had passed since the fall of the
Bastile. The fourteenth of July was approaching.
It was an anniversary that called for national re
joicing. It was a red-letter day in the calendar of
the Revolution, and marked a glorious epoch in the
record of man's struggles for liberty and political
regeneration. It was to be signalized as the dawn
of an era of brotherly love.
The Field of Mars was selected as the place for
the holding of a National Festival. It seemed a
mockery that a plain, dedicated to the god of war,
was to be the meeting-place of the representatives
of all the nations, where, in fraternal greeting,
they were to welcome in an era of universal peace.
As a preliminary to this patriotic fete, it was
proposed in the Assembly the abolition of titles,
armorial bearings, liveries, and orders of knight
hood. Scenes such as were witnessed during the
delirium of the session of August 4, 1789, were
repeated on June 20, 1790, when noblemen, in a
spirit of emotional patriotism, joined with the
popular members of the Assembly in destroying
" the pompous paraphernalia of other times" and
stripping themselves of the proud titles of ancestry
and the distinction of honored names. Maury,
the son of a shoemaker, opposed the motion, — a
motion which had been seconded by a Montmor
ency, a representative of one of the oldest and
proudest houses of France. Under the decree, the
Marquis de la Fayette became simply M. Mottier;
the Due de Montmorency, M. Laval; and the
Comte de Mirabeau, M. Riquetti. This was break
ing down with a vengeance the barriers of caste
376

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
and ushering in an era of social, as well as political,
equality. In the wild enthusiasm of the hour, a motion was
made by one of the Lameths that the equestrian
statue of Louis XIV. on the Place des Victoires,
representing him trampling on conquered provinces,
should be removed. " In the days of liberty," the
orator exclaimed, " these monuments of slavery
ought not to be endured. It is not fit that the
people of Franche-Comte, when they come to Paris
to attend the National Festival, should see their
image thus enchained." The motion was carried.
Jean Baptiste Clootz, known as " Anacharsis
Clootz," who, in his sublime vanity, styled himself
orator of the human race, and who declared that
his heart was French and his soul sans-culotte, came
forward with a proposition that the representatives
of all the nations should be presented to the
Assembly and be assigned a location in the Great
Federation. He was a Prussian baron, a half-witted creature,
who had travelled much, had written some, and
whose mind had been upset by the excitement of the
Revolution. He claimed to have enjoyed the
friendship of Edmund Burke, and boasted that he
was the personal enemy of Jesus Christ. He gath
ered a delegation of men representing many na
tions; most of them, no doubt, had been picked
up in Paris in out-of-the-way places. Some of his
delegates, perhaps, had never seen the lands they
represented, but they answered the purpose, and
their real nationality was sufficiently disguised
under the costumes they wore. At a time when
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MIRABEAU
men's minds were affected by a universal enthusi
asm, it was easy for them to accept as true any
thing they were anxious to believe. It appealed to
the vanity of Frenchmen when they saw all the
world seeking to pay devotion at the shrine of their
liberty. And why should they question the nation
ality of the members of so imposing and so digni
fied an embassy? The Assembly received them
with respect and a fair show of dignity. Clootz
made a high-flown speech about universal brother
hood, and the President made a suitable response,
in which he granted permission to the delegates to
be present at the Feast of the Federation, pro
vided, when they returned to their homes, they
would tell what they had seen in France, the land
of liberty and equality. Many of them, it is safe
to say, never got beyond the borders of France,
perhaps not outside the limits of Paris. They
quietly returned to their humble occupations, proud
of having taken part as representatives of foreign
lands and empires in the great Jubilee of the
world's freedom. The nation was intoxicated, and
in its inebriety saw truth in fiction; fiction in
truth. In its sober moments such a scene would
have appeared silly, ridiculous, without meaning or
purpose ; but the minds of men, under the spell of
the hour, affected to see in this travesty that which
they hoped for, — the universal brotherhood of
man. The whole thing was merely symbolical. It
was a sham ; for what right had these men, chosen
by the crack-brained Clootz, to represent the coun
tries they stood for? They were merely actors in
a farce and had as much authority to speak for
378

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
the lands they represented as an actor has to speak
for a king whom he personates in a play upon
the stage.
All France enthusiastically prepared for the
National Federation; delegates were chosen to
represent every village, town, district, and province
in the kingdom, and as the happy day came on
apace, every road leading to Paris was crowded
with pilgrims on their way to the national shrine.
They had the ardor and the enthusiasm of the
crusaders of old, and they enlivened their march
to the capital by song and music. Every house on
the road, no matter how humble, had its doors wide
open to welcome the travellers. Every town
through which they passed gave them hearty greet
ing, food, and shelter. Flags and banners were
flying, people cheering, bands playing, cannon
booming, and all France seemed to be quickened
by a new impulse, the impulse of a people just
emancipated from the thraldom of tyranny, and
feeling the ecstasy of a new-born liberty.
Michelet, in referring to this period, says that
he received a letter from an octogenarian who,
many years after the celebration, described it with
fervent and affecting enthusiasm, and the historian
adds, " Oh ! what must the flame have been since
the ashes are so warm."
It was feared by many that Paris, during the
celebration, while crowded with strangers, would
be the scene of riot and tumult, but these immense
crowds that had gathered in the capital were not
bent on pillage nor bloodshed. They were affected
by the sentiment that inspired all hearts with a
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common purpose, — which purpose was the union
of all interests, the peace of all France, and the
universal brotherhood of man. The Revolution
was never so passive and Paris never so safe from
violence as during this period of jubilation.
To get ready for the event, twelve thousand to
fifteen thousand men were put to work on the
Field of Mars to dig out the centre and use
the earth in erecting an amphitheatre for the
accommodation of an audience of half a million
people. The field was a mile long and half a mile wide.
The time was short, and it was soon discovered
that the work could not be accomplished without
an additional force of workmen. Patriotic citizens,
men, women, and even children, volunteered their
services, and by night and by day, amidst laughter
and song, the toilers worked. Paris was in a de
lirium; all classes strove to make the event a suc
cess. The festival was the promise of a new era.
Equality and fraternity were the watchwords.
Liberty had come to stay, and in ecstasy all hearts
exclaimed : If liberty cannot find a resting-place in
France, in the name of God where will it abide?
Surely this glorious hope of freedom will not take
the place of the happiness it promises.
In unison, the thousands of willing workers
joined their voices in singing in chorus, " Ca ira !
Ca ira !" Yes, it will come. The law of the great
legislator will be fulfilled. " He that exalteth him
self shall be humbled, and he that humbleth him
self shall be exalted." It was not the wild fren
zied " Ca ira !" of '93 that became the cry of mad-
380

PREPARING THE FIELD OF MARS FOR THE FESTIVAL OF THE FEDERATION
"A Duchess may have removed her glove to shake hands with a soiled laborer"

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
ness and murder and made the human heart
despair. So vast a work was never done under contract
in so short a time. It was a labor of love. It was
begun on the 7th of the month and finished on the
14th. Willing hands made heavy work light.
Class distinctions were ignored, the barriers of
caste were leveled. The cobbler and the chevalier
chatted pleasantly; plebeian and patrician, phi
losopher and fool, nun and harlot, prince and
vagrant, high born lady and market dame, worked
side by side. Madame du Barry may have smiled
on St. Just, and a duchess may have removed her
glove to shake hands with a soiled laborer. The
legends may be very close to the truth. The day of
universal peace and love had come; all hearts
joined to welcome the rising of the sun of freedom
that bathed the whole world in the splendor and
the glory of its regenerating light.
The inns and hotels of Paris were overflowing.
Private houses were opened and accommodations
furnished for visitors ; there were no strangers, —
all were friends and brothers. A common joy and
hope had made them one in affection and had
united them in sentiment. There was one day at
least, be it said to the glory of the Revolution,
when France felt the impulse that springs from the
love of humanity and the sentiment of a common
brotherhood. Ridiculous as this celebration was in some of its
features, emotional almost to the degree of hys
teria, its sentimentality at times artificial and
morbid, still it must be admitted that it inspired
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a love for France and all mankind, and created a
wish and a hope in.the hearts of the people for
the whole world's peace and regeneration. To be
sure, these sentiments did not last long; but while
they did, they were sincere, and France had a re
spite from hate.
The 14th of July, in due course of time, arrived ;
the morning dawned dark and gloomy; nature
frowned upon the occasion, for the clouds were
heavy and black and the rain came down in tor
rents. Gay banners, rich costumes, brilliant uni
forms were drenched ; flags clung like wet rags to
their staffs and would not greet the breeze ; plumes
and feathers and flowers drooped under the steady
downpour. The vast amphitheatre was turned
into a muddy ditch, but the people, notwithstand
ing the fact that they were wet to the skin, and
that their garments were bedraggled, rejoiced in
their hearts, and defied the elements.
Citizen La Fayette pranced around and across
the field on his white charger, his name ringing in
acclamation from the generous multitude that rose
time and again to greet him. He was the central
figure of the fete, outshining the glory of the king.
It was one of La Fayette's great days. To him it
was rich in meaning and in promise. To no one
in all that vast throng did the sentiments of the
occasion appeal more strongly than to this plebeian
marquis, with the love of man in his heart and
with a devoted loyalty to France.
Louis was seated upon a throne under a canopy
spangled with golden fleurs-de-lis; the queen and
her suite sat behind him. The President of the
382

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Assembly, representing the sovereignty of the na
tion, occupied a seat, not a throne, surrounded by
the deputies. Mirabeau had made every effort to
secure the Presidency for the period covering the
days of the festival, but he had been thwarted in
his ambition by La Fayette. The Marquis de Bon-
nay, a mere figurehead, had secured the honor.
In the centre of the amphitheatre stood the altar,
at which Talleyrand officiated as the hierarch of
the fete. To assist him were one hundred choris
ters, swinging censers, and three hundred priests
in white surplices and broad tri-color sashes. The
church, clothed in the symbol of the Revolution,
paid homage to the monster that was to destroy
her. In the field, in serried ranks, were one hun
dred thousand of the National Guard.
" Don't make me laugh," said the cynical Tal
leyrand to La Fayette, as he rose to celebrate the
solemn high mass of the Roman Church. To this
cold-hearted priest the celebration was a pageant
without meaning. His soul did not respond to the
sentiment and emotion of the occasion. To him it
was a mere show — insignificant, silly, ridiculous.
The music of the Te Deum was executed by twelve
hundred musicians, and the religious exercises
were solemn and impressive.
The bishop blessed the banners, and they were
unfurled and fluttered in the breeze like myriads
of wings till the air was full of color.
La Fayette took the oath to the nation. The
king solemnly swore to defend the constitution.
The queen held up the dauphin and consecrated
him to France amidst the plaudits and cheers of
383

MIRABEAU
that great concourse of people. " Long live the
king!" " Long live the queen!" " Long live tlie
dauphin!" cried the exultant multitude in the
ecstasy of patriotic emotion. Cheers and music
filled the air, swords flashed, banners waved, can
non boomed, and France, to the very centre, felt
the thrill of a new life.
The weather changed, the rain ceased, and the
sun came out from behind the clouds as if to give
assurance that all nature rejoiced with France in
her regeneration. If it were an augury, the con
ditions should have been reversed. The celebra
tion should have begun with sunshine and ended in
a storm. The festivities continued for several days.
There was dancing on the streets, in the public
squares, and on the very spot where a year before
had stood the Bastile, that hated dungeon of
agony and despair. Citizens, strangers to each
other, would stop on the highways and exchange
greetings and congratulations.
So long as the visiting Federates remained, the
festivities continued, but gradually the throng of
strangers dispersed, the delegates returned to their
homes, dancing ceased, merriment subsided, joy
and smiles left the faces of men, and Paris settled
down again to the stern and bitter work of the
Revolution. Alas! the great Federation, after all, was only
a pageant, — it was but the expression, the em
phasis of a fleeting emotion. It was one of the
many ironies of the Revolution.
Under all this fervid avowal of human brother-
384

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
hood and loyalty to the king were smouldering the
fires that were soon. to be blown into a devouring
flame by passion and hate. The Revolution
halted on its way only for a week. It stopped to
watch a play, a comedy that was to be followed
by a tragedy, dire and dreadful.
Peace! Peace! there was no peace. Violence
and disorder soon prevailed. The mob grew rest
less and turbulent. The struggle had been only
half fought out and worse was yet to follow.
Radical revolutionary ideas at this time were
spreading rapidly in every direction and especially
were they taking deep root in the minds of the
soldiers of the line. Political agitators were
reaching the soldiers by distributing pamphlets and
journals that taught the new doctrines. The
propaganda was well organized and effective.
The officers, in the vast majority of instances,
were pronounced royalists and they adopted most
stringent measures to prevent the distribution of
this inflammatory literature, the teachings of
which, they believed, were demoralizing the morale
and discipline of the army, destroying the senti
ment of loyalty to the king and fostering a spirit
of mutiny. But an incident took place in the' lat
ter part of August, 1790, that for a time caused
a reaction, delayed the progress of the Revolution,
and gave the court party new hope. It was called
by the radicals the " Massacre," but by the royal
ists, merely the " Affair of Nancy."
The National Assembly, early in the year 1790,
had decreed an increase in the pay of the soldiers,
25 385

MIRABEAU
but the officers at Nancy having charge of the
accounts delayed in every possible way the pay
ment of the money due. The French soldiers ap
pointed a committee to wait upon the officers, and
the committee insisted upon an inspection of the
accounts. They succeeded in compelling the pay
ment of a large sum that had been for months in
arrears. The Swiss soldiers, hearing of the success
of their brothers in arms, appointed a committee
of two to wait on the French soldiers and ascer
tain from them the details of the plan they had
adopted, and which had resulted so successfully.
The officers commanding the Swiss regiment
were so incensed at the audacity of subordinates,
who would dare to ask for information which
would enable them to secure their rights, that the
arrest of the ringleaders was ordered, and, after a
hearing, they were publicly scourged in the presence
of the troops and of the inhabitants of the town.
It was an unjust punishment, a cruel humiliation.
Their only crime was in endeavoring to secure
that which rightfully belonged to them. The
anger of the French soldiers was aroused by such
injustice and cruelty, and they took under their
protection the soldiers that had been punished,
escorted them through the town in honor, and
compelled the officers to pay the men damages for
the whipping. Here was mutiny indeed, and in its
most flagrant form.
The Swiss Regiment was the famous Chateau-
Vieux that had been ordered on the 14th of July
to fire upon the citizens, but had refused to obey
the command. This conduct had endeared them
386

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
to the people and there was no regiment more
popular in all France.
It was rumored that the French officers were
about to carry the regimental chest across the
frontier. The soldiers thereupon seized the chest
and afterwards sent a delegation to Paris to lay
the facts before the Assembly and to explain their
conduct. The ambassadors, upon reaching the
capital, were arrested by La Fayette and thrown
into prison. The Assembly took the matter, at
once, under consideration, decreed that the soldiers
were mutineers, guilty of treason, and ordered the
punishment of the ringleaders.
Chevalier Guiot de Malseigne, a brave and reck
less officer, was directed to proceed at once to
Nancy and see that the decree was enforced.
Malseigne entered upon the discharge of his
duty with all the ardor of his nature, and with the
determination of a trained soldier who believed
that disobedience and mutiny were crimes that
merited the severest punishment, and he was de
termined, so far as he was concerned, that no
time should be lost in carrying into execution the
decree of the Assembly.
Malseigne was not the wisest man who could
have been chosen for the task; he was wanting
in judicial temperament; he had the roystering
spirit of the barracks, but his courage was beyond
all question; he had proved it on the field of
battle and in personal encounter. Many stories
are told of his wonderful prowess; he was a veri
table d'Artagnan. Upon one occasion, believing
that his honor had been wounded by a fellow-
387

MIRABEAU
officer, he coolly closed the door of the room in
which they were quarreling and challenged the
offender. In the struggle that ensued, the officer
drove his sword through Malseigne's body and
pinned him to the wall. The Chevalier, however,
did not surrender nor ask for quarter, but waited
his opportunity, and when the sword was with
drawn, rushed upon his antagonist and made short
work of him, stretching him out a corpse upon
the floor. He then opened the door, wounded
and bleeding as he was, handed his sword to
an officer, and surrendered himself to the law. He
was tried in a military court and acquitted.
At another time, while in a church in one of
the provinces where a riot was threatened, he drew
his sword and solemnly prayed God to pardon him
for the blood he was about to shed. The peasants
heard his supplication. There was no riot, no
further tumult.
When this bold-spirited, hot-tempered fellow
reached Nancy, and made known his errand of
vengeance, the troops, who were in an angry mood,
threatened to arrest him; he straightway plucked
out his sword, cut his way through their ranks,
put spurs to his horse, and rode with the speed of
light to Luneville. Here he was seized by soldiers
supposed to be loyal, surrendered to his pursuers,
carried back to Nancy, and thrown into prison. It
was a case of the biter bitten.
General Bouille, a soldier of the old school and
of the old order, who was not in sympathy with the
Revolution, and who had refused to take the oath
to the constitution, was at Metz. He was the last
388

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
man in the kingdom to dally with insubordination.
Soldiers could have no grievances, no matter how
great, that could, in his eyes, excuse mutiny.
With seven hundred men of the National Guard
and three thousand six hundred German mercena
ries, he marched in quick time to Nancy. He
ordered the immediate release of Malseigne. His
order was obeyed, and the doughty Chevalier was
set at liberty.
The French troops that had mutinied marched
out of the town, but the Swiss guarding one of
the gates, either misunderstanding the matter or
deciding to persist in rebellion, prepared for an
attack. They unlimbered their cannon as the regi
ments of Bouille advanced, and prepared for
action. A heroic young officer named Desilles
threw himself in front of the cannon and begged
the Swiss not to act rashly. He was blown to
pieces. They then opened fire on the advancing
column, killing at the first discharge fifty men.
The conflict was now on in earnest; it lasted for
upwards of three hours. Bouille lost three hun
dred men. All the Swiss were killed, wounded,
or taken prisoners. Of those who survived the
battle, twenty-one were hanged, one was broken
on the wheel, and the others sent to the galleys.
The Assembly, on motion of Mirabeau, honored
Bouille with a vote of thanks ; the king gave him
special recognition, and added additional territory
to his command. A public funeral was decreed
for the dead of his army.
The Parisian mob went mad over the massacre
and, aroused by the blatant and fiery appeals of
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MIRABEAU
the demagogues, they marched through the streets
threatening to hang the ministers. The ears of
even Necker were assailed by the curses of the
rabble. The fury was of short duration. La-
Fayette dispersed the crowd and quiet was re
stored. Marat and Desmoulins shrieked in despair,
believing that all was lost. Loustallot, editor of
the Revolutions de Paris, died of a broken heart.
The Royalists were jubilant; a reaction set in at
once; the tri-color was trampled under foot, and
the white cockade of the Bourbons was, for a time,
in the ascendancy.

390

CHAPTER XXV
NECKER RESIGNS  RABAUT ST. ETIENNE'S MO
TION  MIRABEAU ELECTED PRESIDENT OF THE
NATIONAL ASSEMBLY  HIS ADDRESS TO THE
QUAKERS  EMIGRATION OF THE KING'S AUNTS
 MIRABEAU AT THE CLUB OF THE JACOBINS
Necker, fiddling and figuring away, while
Rome was burning, was lost sight of in the excite
ment of the times, and sending in his resignation
on September 3, 1790, quietly slipped across the
frontier and nestled snugly in Switzerland. Swept
away in the whirl, he was thrown upon a foreign
shore like wreckage. " Little man, vain man,
your laurels are withered, they will grow green
no more," screamed Marat, the vulture of the
Revolution, as a parting salutation.
Vainly did Necker employ his time writing and
distributing pamphlets in an effort to show all
Europe that the monarchy was lost because his
plans had not been adopted and his advice had
not been followed. He was neither listened to nor
believed. A politician out of power or place has
but few hearers when he undertakes to explain his
mistakes or to excuse his failures. He is as tire
some as the man who nurses and airs a personal
grievance; Necker's qualities of mind never fitted him for
the turmoil of a.' revolution. His puritanical
morality and prudish respectability never allowed
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MIRABEAU
him to make combinations with men whose code
of morals he could not reconcile with his own
ideas of propriety. Guizot says : " The great
financial talents of M. Necker, his probity, his
courage, had caused illusions as to his political
talents; useful in his day and in his degree, he
was no longer equal to the task." " Finance,"
says Stephens, " cannot be separated from politics,
and for Necker to carry on his little plans without
regard to broad considerations of political expedi
ency, was utterly ridiculous."
The same writer says that " Mirabeau was not
only the greatest statesman of the Revolution, but
he was also its greatest financier, and many of the
measures by which, in after years, Claviere and
Cambon gained credit, are suggested in Mirabeau's
notes to the court."
If Necker had only advised with Mirabeau, his
administration would have been strengthened and
France greatly benefited. It was the idea of his
own self-sufficiency that wrought his ruin. " A.xd
what kind qi a man is this M. Necker," exclaimed
Mirabeau, "that he should be so treated? You
might as well make an issue in a wooden leg as to
give him advice, for he certainly would not follow
it. It is thus that kings are led to the scaffold.
He looks upon me as a madman with lucid in
tervals." Bourrienne, in his Memoirs of Napoleon, says:
" The concessions of Necker were those of a man
ignorant of the first principles of the government
of mankind. It was he that Overturned the mon
archy and brought Louis XVI. to the scaffold.
392

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Marat, Danton, Robespierre himself, did less mis
chief to France. Necker was the author of all the
evils which desolated France during the Revolu
tion, and all the blood that was shed rests upon
his head." This is too severe ; it is sheer exaggera
tion and not worthy of consideration, for it passes
beyond the limits of just criticism. Even to inti
mate that he was responsible for all the evils that
desolated France, is doing him a grave injustice;
a statement so sweeping is without any foundation
in truth. He was an academic, a theoretic financier,
who, under normal conditions, would have carried
his portfolio with dignity, and would have borne
his office with honor. He was a man of high
ideals, of sterling integrity, of purity of life, and
of fervent partriotism, but totally unfitted for a
storm and stress period, and without the ability
to cope with the men and the conditions of the
Revolution. He was wofully wanting in the essen
tial qualities of the politician, and his personal
vanity and self-confidence stood in the way of the
successful administration of his office.
In November, 1790, Rabaut St. Etienne pro
posed in the Assembly that the National Guard
should be composed only of citizens who were
taxpayers. The motion had for its object the dis
qualification of the canaille. Mirabeau, with all
his might, argued in favor of the motion.
At the evening session of the Jacobins, on the
following day, Robespierre, in an earnest speech,
urged the members to do all in their power to
defeat the obnoxious measure, describing it as dis
criminating in character and aristocratic in pur-
393

MIRABEAU
pose. Mirabeau, who at that time was president
of the Club, fearing the effect of Robespierre's elo
quence, endeavored to cut off further debate by
ruling the speaker out of order, but Robespierre,
insisting upon his right to continue without inter
ruption, called upon his friends to secure him fair
play. His supporters at once rallied to his aid;
they shouted to him to go on, and encouraged
him to defy the president. The meeting was
thrown into an uproar. Mirabeau, perceiving that
the battle was going against him, rang his bell to
restore order, but, by this action, instead of quiet
ing the tumult, only added to the din and disorder.
At last, in his most imperious manner, he com
manded silence, but failing to quiet the tumult he
cried out : " Let my friends surround me," but
only a few answered his call. Mirabeau suffered
a stinging defeat. He was losing his hold on the
ultra-radicals ; they were beginning to array them
selves against his leadership.
About this time, in order to get rid of the popu
lar leaders of the Assembly, a number of skilled
swordsmen among the royalists entered into a plot
to personally challenge those deputies who offended
the king by their disloyal and treasonable utter
ances, — the purpose of the royalists being to hu
miliate or brand with cowardice those who declined
the challenges, or to disable, with their superior
skill, those who were foolish enough to fight. All
sorts of excuses were trumped up and challenges
flew thick and fast. Mirabeau had a list as long
as his arm, but seeing through the purpose of his
enemies, he publicly stated that he would accom-
394

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
modate them in regular order after he got through
his work in the Assembly ; that he owed a duty to
his constituents, and that he would not run the
risk of losing his life by meeting, under the code,
men whose only purpose was to injure the popular
cause by disabling or killing its leaders and repre
sentatives. Mirabeau, in February, 1791, was elected presi
dent of the Assembly. This was an honor that he
had longed for and, after patient waiting, although
late, it came to him after it had been conferred
upon forty-three other members. (The term of
office was only a fortnight). Mirabeau had suf
fered several prior defeats. He was at last elected
by a large majority. He bore the office with great
dignity, and won the admiration of his bitterest
enemies by his impartial judgment. He controlled
the convention, his rulings were clear, fair, and,
apt. He dispatched the business and kept the de
bates within limits. He was ever at his post, and
physical suffering could not keep him away. His
body, at times, was racked with pain. He had
acute inflammation of the eyes, and frequently
came to the Assembly with his head swathed in
bandages, the blood trickling down his cheeks from
leech-bites. " He was frightful," says Malouet,
" but never more active, more eloquent."
It was no easy task to preside over a body so
stormy in its deliberations as the National Assem
bly. Mirabeau seems to have been the only pre
siding officer who kept the members well in hand.
Parliamentary rules have never been as closely
observed in deliberative assemblies in France as
395

MIRABEAU
in England and ih America. During the Revo
lution they were almost totally disregarded.
" There was as much difference," says Dumont,
" between the debates of the National Assembly
and those of the English Parliament as between
the scientific sieges and marches of the Austrians
and the irregular combats and skirmishes of the
Croats." On the floor, epithets were bandied from one
speaker to another ; personalities were indulged in,
and noisy interruptions were of constant occur
rence. The galleries were generally crowded with
an unruly audience that applauded and hissed, in
turn, the speakers, and loudly passed comments
upon questions under consideration; at times, so
seriously interrupting the proceedings that it be
came impossible to continue the discussions. A
big bell instead of a gavel, in the hands of the
president, for the purpose of calling the body to
order, greatly added, in times of excitement, to
the noise and confusion. Peddlers sold fruit and
news-boys cried out the latest editions of the Revo
lutionary journals.
" Happily," wrote Camille Desmoulins in the
Lanterne, " the incorruptible galleries are there
which always stand on the side of the patriots.
They represent the tribunes who assisted the dis
cussions of the Senate on a bench, and had the
veto right. They represent the capital, and, for
tunately, the constitution is framed under the bat
teries of the capital."
One day an attempt was made to silence the
galleries, but Volney, one of the deputies, rose and
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
exclaimed: " Why should we do that? The men
who sit there are our masters; we are only their
workmen; they have the right to censure or ap
plaud us as they like !" So craven a spirit as this
simply encouraged the mob and increased the dis
order. During the Reign of Terror, the legislation
was virtually directed by the rabble in the galleries ;
even the floor of the hall, at times,' was invaded
by the crowd that openly insulted and threatened
those members whose utterances they did not
approve. Lally Tollendal, after the scenes of the 5th and
6th of October, withdrew from this " Cavern of
Cannibals," as he called the National Assembly,
and retired to a foreign land, declaring " it was
beyond his strength to endure any longer the
bloodshed, the assassinations, the insulted sover
eign, the menaced queen, . . . the composure of
Bailly, the audacity of Mirabeau, and the laughter
of Barnave."
Mirabeau was most happy in the addresses he
made to visiting deputations during his incum
bency of the office of president. Especially was this
so upon the occasion of the visit of a committee of
Quakers that applied to the Assembly to be
allowed to practise their religion in France and to
enjoy immunity from military service, and from
the taking of oaths in legal proceedings. He was
to have made answer, at the morning session, on
the 10th of February, 1791, but having had a
severe attack of ophthalmia, he was not able to
speak until the evening, and, although suffering
intensely, he insisted upon delivering an address to
397

MIRABEAU
the delegation. The following are his remarks;
they are thoughtful, reasonable, and display a
most tolerant spirit:
" The Quakers who have fled from tyrants and
persecutors could but address themselves with
confidence to those legislators who have been the
first to reduce into laws the Rights of Man; and
it is possible that regenerated France — France in
the bosom of peace, for which she always will
recommend the most inviolable respect, and which
she desires for all other nations — may, perhaps,
become a happy Pennsylvania.
" As a philanthropic system, your principles com
mand our admiration ; they call to our recollection
that the first cradle of each society was a family,
united by its manners, by its affections, and by its
wants. " The examination of your doctrines, considered
as opinions, do not concern us. The movements
and the transports of a man's thought are property
which he would not enjoy in common. That
sacred domain places man in a hierarchy more
elevated than civil society. As a citizen, he adopts
only one form of government ; as a thinking man,
he has no country save the universe. As a religious
system your doctrines will not, therefore, be die
object of our deliberations, for the intercourse of
each individual with the Almighty is independent
of all political institutions. Between God and the
heart of each man, what government shall dare to
interpose? "As social maxims, your claims must be sub
mitted to the discussion of the legislative body. It
398

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
will examine whether the form you observe to
notify births and marriages gives sufficient authen
ticity to that filiation of the human race which the
distinction of property renders necessary, indepen
dent of good morals.
" It will discuss if a declaration, — the falsity
whereof would incur the penalties established
against false witnesses and perjuries, — would not
be in reality a false oath. Estimable citizens ! you
deceive yourselves; you have already taken that
civic oath which every man worthy of being free
regards rather as a pleasure than a duty. You
have not called God to witness, but you have at
tested your conscience; and a pure conscience, is
it not as a cloudless sky? Is it not a ray of the
divinity ?
" You say, further, that an article of your re
ligion forbids you to take arms and to kill, under
any pretext whatsoever. That, without doubt, is
a beautiful, philosophical principle which offers
such a worship to humanity. But take care that
the defence of yourselves and of your fellow-men
be not equally a religious duty. Would you have
stooped to tyrants, rather than have broken that
principle? Since we have acquired and won
liberty for you and for ourselves, why would' you
refuse to preserve it? Would your brethren of
Pennsylvania have suffered the savages to have
devoured their wives, their children, and their old
men rather than repulse them with violence ? And
the stupid tyrants, the ferocious conquerors, — what
are they but savages ?
" The Assembly, in its wisdom, will discuss all
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MIRABEAU
your requests, and if ever I meet a Quaker, I will
say to him : My brother, if thou hast the right to
be free, thou hast a right to oppose any who would
make thee a slave.
" Since thou lovest thy fellow-creature, let him
not be devoured by tyranny ; that would be to slay
him thyself. Thou desirest peace; well then, is it
not weakness that causes war? A universal resist
ance would be a universal peace."
"Towards the end of 1790," writes Michelet,
" there was for a moment an apparent halt, little
or nothing stirring; nothing but a great number
of vehicles crowding at the barriers, and the roads
thronged with emigrants." The rich were hurry
ing away from the kingdom in great numbers ; six
thousand passports were issued in five days.
More and more the people were being convinced
that the nobles were quitting France only to invade
it. The king, accordingly, was held as hostage to
insure the good behavior of his friends. It was
the common belief that if the king should escape,
he would return at the head of an invading army,
not only to recover his throne, but to destroy the
constitution. How much better it would have been
for France if the king had escaped! He was not
the man who could have led the armies of the
allies in an endeavor to recover his crown. He
would not have inspired enthusiasm and courage
among his followers in a foreign land any more
than he did in his own country, nor would he have
advised any more wisely among strangers than he
did at home among his friends. He was in no
400

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
sense heroic; he had no quality of leadership; he
induced pity and sympathy in the hearts of men,
but he was the last one on earth to have drawn
his sword, rallied his followers, and led an army
or a crusade to recover his kingdom. The de
sertion of his country and the abandonment of
his throne would have made him a weak, a con
temptible, figure in the eyes of all Europe. He
would have been but a royal refugee seeking shel
ter in a foreign court, after having made no de
termined effort to save his throne while he was
in his own land. In exile he would have been
without influence. On the other hand, detained as
a captive in his own capital, he aroused the anger
and the sympathy of every monarch and court
party in Europe, and consequently all the powers
of Europe allied themselves against France. Had
he escaped, the Revolution would not have been
disgraced by his cruel and unwarranted execution,
and the republic might have been sooner and more
firmly established. But at this time, Frenchmen
could not imagine a government without a head,
and that head not a king. Public sentiment was
not yet in favor of a republic.
In February of 1791, the King's aunts were
making preparation to emigrate. Easter was ap
proaching and they were anxious to observe the
festival in a land more orthodox than France, and
where priests were not bound by oath to revolu
tionary doctrines. They were two old maiden
ladies, the daughters of Louis XV. They had
long since passed out of the public eye. They
belonged to a past age and had nothing in com-
26 401

MIRABEAU
mon with the conditions that surrounded them, but
when it was known that they intended to depart,
and that they had applied for passports, the whole
country was thrown into excitement and appre
hension; for their departure, it was thought, was
preparatory to the flight of the king. The pass
ports were refused, and Louis was urged by the
municipal council to prevent the journey. Mira
beau's advice was to quietly persuade the prin
cesses to abandon their project; he contended that
their departure would excite suspicion and arouse
the anger of the people, but the king would not
heed the advice. Louis sent word to his aunts to
come at once to Paris, and, disguised as servants,
they hastened to the Tuileries. Here they con
tinued their preparations, and when arrangements
were completed, quietly set out upon their journey
to Rome. The news of their departure having
been sent abroad, the mob quickly gathered and
swirled around the palace of the king. The gates
of the garden had been closed but a few minutes
before the mob arrived, otherwise the scenes of the
6th of October, in the palace of Versailles, might
have been re-enacted at the Tuileries.
The carriages of the princesses continued as far
as Moret, where they were stopped by the authori
ties, but at once released under the demand of
one hundred chasseurs. The royal ladies then
sped to Arnay-le-duc, where they were again de
tained. The Assembly seriously took up the question
for discussion and it was hotly debated. " Is there
any law against travelling," inquired Mirabeau.
402

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
" The" safety of the people," replied the radicals.
" Obedience to the law is the true safety of the
people," retorted Mirabeau.
While the discussion of this most important mat
ter was going on, the two old maiden aunts of
the king were waiting impatiently at Arnay-le-duc
to be released, that they might continue their
journey. Robespierre and some other radicals in
sisted upon the return of the ladies, but finally
Menou laughed the case out of court by saying:
" Europe will be astonished to learn that a great
Assembly has spent several days in deciding
whether two old women shall hear mass at Paris
or at Rome." They were allowed to proceed on
their way.
Mirabeau advocated the liberty of emigration as
one of the most sacred rights of man, who, " not
being attached by roots to the soil, ought not to
be attached to it by anything but by happiness."
Chapelier then read a proposed law reported from
the committee which would provide for the ap
pointment of a commission of three members,
which should appoint by name, and at their pleas
ure, those who were to be at liberty to leave the
kingdom. Chapelier admitted that such a law
would violate all principles. Murmurs arose and
Mirabeau exclaimed : " Your murmurs have
soothed me, your hearts respond to mine and
oppose this absurd tyranny. It is a law worthy
of being placed in the code of Draco and cannot
find place among the decrees of the National
Assembly of France. As for me, I hold myself
released from every oath towards those who shall
4°3

MIRABEAU
be infamous enough to admit of a dictatorial com
mission." The Left hooted him, and, turning to the depu
ties on that side, he said : " Yes, I swear that
popularity to which I have aspired and which I
have enjoyed as well as others, is not a feeble reed.
I will thrust it deep into the earth and I will make
it take root in the soil of justice and reason. I
swear if a law against emigration is voted, I swear
to disobey you." The Assembly, though aston
ished and overawed, rang with applause, for never
before had Mirabeau shown greater force nor more
completely dominated the body.
" What right of dictatorship is it," cried M.
Goupil, "that M. Mirabeau exercises here?"
Some proposed an adjournment. Mirabeau
again mounted the tribune. " I have not given you
permission to speak," said the President, but Mira
beau, disdaining to notice the remark, and com
manding the attention of the house, exclaimed : " I
beg my interrupters to remember that I have all
my life combated tyranny and that I will combat
it wherever I find it. I beg M. Goupil to recollect
that he was under a mistake sometime since in
regard to a Catiline whose dictatorship he this
day attacks. I beg the Assembly to remark that
the question of adjournment, though ^apparently
simple, involves others; for example, it presup
poses that a law is to be made."
Shouts of disapproval came from the Left.
Then it was that Mirabeau rose in the pride of all
his strength, — it was almost the last grand effort
of his life, in the Assembly, — and turning to the
404

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
benches whence came the interruption, where sat
Barnave, Duport, the Lameths, and their followers,
he cried out in tones of thunder : " Silence ! aux
trente voix" (Silence! the thirty voices).
Mirabeau's motion was not carried, but he suc
ceeded in preventing the passage of a law against
emigration. At the same time, however, he had
aroused the fury of the radicals on the Left. His
imperious command to the coterie of " thirty" had
mortally wounded their pride, for not only had
they been silenced, but humbled, and they eagerly
longed to avenge the insult and the humiliation.
Their anger consumed them and they plotted to
overthrow and destroy him.
Mirabeau had been invited, with others, to dine
that evening at d'Aiguillon's, but when he called
at the door, he was refused admission. It was
thought this rebuff might deter him from attend
ing the night session at the Jacobins. It was de
cided, however, that if he did put in an appear
ance a severe attack should be made upon him.
He was ready to meet men so mean and oppose
methods so contemptible. "The vast expansive-
ness," says Lamartine, " of his mighty soul had
no resemblance with the paltry impulses of dema
gogues." Those who thus sought to intimidate
him, little knew the mettle of the man. He saw
through the game and at once accepted the chal
lenge. He would not submit to be assailed and
sacrificed in his absence and he did not hesitate to
renew the contest single-handed with those men,
whom, in the afternoon, he had silenced in the
presence of all France. He knew, too, the bitter-
405

MIRABEAU
ness with which men fight, whose pride has been
stung and humbled.
No sooner had he reached the Club than the
struggle began. Duport assailed him bitterly,
accusing him and La Fayette of plotting to steal
the king from Paris. Lameth followed in an
attack even more savage, denouncing him person
ally in a speech filled with abuse and calumny, and
closed amid the wildest demonstrations of approval.
The tide had turned against Mirabeau, and it
looked as if he must be overwhelmed. Deserted,
friendless, and alone in the camp of his enemies,
it seemed impossible to repel attacks so bitter, but
when he rose to reply, his dauntless courage and
his lofty composure compelled the attention, even
the respect, of his audience. His personality was
so overpowering, his eloquence so transcendent,
his indignation so fierce, and his defiance so cour
ageous, that he aroused, even in the hearts of his
enemies, admiration for a power so commanding.
He began his speech, interrupted by hisses, and he
closed it amid plaudits and cheers. As he left the
hall, he remarked, " You cannot drive me from
the Club; only ostracism shall separate me from
you." There are several accounts given of this remark
able meeting at the Jacobins on the evening of
February 28, 1791. Camille Desmoulins, whose
love and admiration for Mirabeau had turned to
bitter hatred, describes the great orator as a piti
able and contemptible figure, impotent in his rage,
writhing under the lash of Duport and Lameth.
He pictures him as a Christ on Calvary, the per-
406

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
spiration dripping from under his mane, pressed
out by agony. He declares that his shallow
sophistries and pompous oratory availed not to de
ceive the clear-sighted, patriotic Jacobins. It is
true, he adds, that he was not ejected from the
Club, and when he left there was some applause.
His description of the Jacobin Club as the new
Calvary and Mirabeau as the Christ, was not only
sacrilegious, but was susceptible of a meaning en-
tiely different from what his heated and disordered
imagination intended.
Desmoulins was a blind partisan, influenced at all
times by his prejudices and hatred, and, above all,
controlled by his emotions. When he admits that
Mirabeau was not ejected from the Club and that
he retired with applause, it may be taken for
granted that Mirabeau's triumph was complete.
When he describes him as writhing under the lash
of his enemies, it may be assumed that this was
before he had a chance to reply.
McCarthy refers to a letter written by Mr. A.
W. Miles to Lord Rodney on April i, 1791, in
which the scene is described. The writer says he
was present at " this extraordinary denunciation,"
that he sat next to Charles Lameth, who, while
Mirabeau, trembling and pale, was defending him
self in the tribune, frequently interrupted him by
calling him vile names ; that the Marquis de Saint
Huruge also indulged in like conduct. " You
would have been astonished," he further writes,
" at the miserable answer Mirabeau made to an
accusation in which justice, humanity, and policy
must have furnished him with abundant matter for
"407

MIRABEAU
defence." The writer closes his account by saying
that " amid plaudits he descended from the same
tribune which amid groans, reproaches, and hisses,
he had mounted in a panic, and in which he was
some time before he could obtain a hearing." The
argument of Mirabeau did not specially impress
Mr. Miles, but Mirabeau, on this matter, was, no
doubt, a better judge of what should be said than
his English critic. Like Camille, Mr. Miles admits
that although Mirabeau was greeted with hisses
when he ascended the tribune, at the end of his
reply, he won the applause of his hearers.
Another account, and a most interesting one, is
given by an eye-witness named Oelsner. He was
a foreigner, a Swiss. He was in no sense preju
diced, and took no part in the Revolution. He only
saw one brave man assailed from all sides, val
iantly fighting his battle alone. He was greatly im
pressed by the scene and describes it most vividly.
His nervous system was so affected by the wild
tumult and confusion incident to the debate, that
he was ill for several days afterwards. The at
tacks on Mirabeau were so fierce that Oelsner
feared for Mirabeau's personal safety. In the re
ply to Duport, Mirabeau had not reached to his
full power, but when he rose to answer Lameth,
who had referred to all the follies and vices of
Mirabeau's early life, his vehemence was terrific.
An attempt had been made by the president, after
Lameth's speech, to force an adjournment and thus
prevent Mirabeau's replying to his opponent; but
against all opposition, he mounted the tribune and
demanded to be heard. " It was a hot combat,"
408

MIRABEAU AT THE JACOBINS
' One brave man, assailed from all sides, fighting his battle alone"

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
says Oelsner. " He put forth all the resources of
his genius to vanquish his young and agile adver
sary. He clutched him and his companions with
a hand of iron and of fire. He wrenched from
them their false arms and struck incurable blows.
His boiling wrath gushed over all who had im
pugned him. Truths which no one had ever dared
to breathe in the Club, crashed like claps of thun
der through the hall. His boldness, his noble bear
ing, petrified the audience with astonishment.
Thus he put down the furious, and there was not
one from whom he did not force, if not applause,
at least, high admiration. Even in the National
Assembly, Mirabeau had never been more master
ful." After this, there was open war between Mira
beau and the Jacobins. He appreciated and under
stood what it all meant, for he told his sister that
he had signed his death warrant. In the Assembly
and in the Clubs, he was most bitterly assailed, and
the revolutionary journals attacked him on all sides
in a mad desire and endeavor to destroy his popu
larity. " I shall die," he said, " before anything is ac
complished. The members of the Assembly wish
to govern the king instead of to govern through
him, but soon, neither he nor they will govern. A
vile faction will impose its yoke on both alike and
cover France with its atrocities."

409

CHAPTER XXVI
MIRABEAU'S CLOSING DAYS  HIS DEATH  HIS
FUNERAL  WAS HE POISONED?
" How weary and tired I am !" wrote Mirabeau,
in December, 1790. He was yielding to the exces
sive strain. " I am dying as by slow fire," he re
marked to Dumont. Work and dissipation had
sapped his vigor, and the giant was reeling to his
death. On March 27, 1791, as he left the Assembly, he
said to La Marck, a large proprietor of mines,
whose property was endangered by proposed legis
lation, and whose fortune, in consequence, was at
stake : " Your case is won, but as for me, I am
a dead man." On that day he had summoned all
his strength for a last effort, and the last effort was
made in behalf of his friend. He had spoken five
times, and, at the close of the day's session, was
greatly exhausted. He spent the night at Argen-
teuil and succeeded in obtaining some rest, but in
the morning, his sufferings increased. He took a
hot bath which, in a measure, revived him. In
the evening he attended the Italian Opera, but was
compelled to leave before the performance was
over, and was driven home rapidly. The hand of
death was upon him. Doctors and medicine cannot
save him now. To his friend, Cabanis, he said:
" Thou art a great physician, but the author of the
wind that overthrows all things; of the water
410

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
that penetrates and fructifies all things ; of the fire
that vivifies all things, — He is a greater physician
still than thou."
All Paris hears the news and is hushed. The
people raise their hats and step lightly as they
pass the door of his home. Carriages are turned
aside at the street corners, and no sound is allowed
to disturb the rest and slumber of the patient.
Crowds gather at nightfall and stand until the
morning dawns, waiting to hear the reports from
the sick man's chamber. The king sends twice a
day to inquire about him. Desmoulins fears that
Louis will call in person, and thus secure the
idolatry of the people. The Assembly is hourly in
formed of his condition. Barnave heads a delega
tion to convey the sympathy of his colleagues.
The contemptible Lameth refuses to serve on the
committee. " I knew him to be a knave," said
Mirabeau, " but I did not think him a fool."
He is informed of the debates in the Conven
tion and specially in relation to foreign diplomatic
questions. " Pitt," he says, " is the minister of
preparations. He governs by what he menaces
rather than by what he actually does, — if I live, I
will give him some trouble."
The fever consumes him, but his intellect is still
clear. " Come and shave me," he says to his valet,
" and bathe me and dress me carefully and com
pletely. Open the windows and let me gaze once
more on the flowers and the sky." Looking at
the sun, he exclaims, " If it be not God, it is His
cousin-german." When they tell him of the silent, sympathizing
411

MIRABEAU
throng in the street below, he remarks : " Oh ! it is
well to devote one's life to the people. It is well
that I should have given them my whole life."
" I shall die to-day," he says, turning to his physi
cian, Cabanis. "All that can now be done is to
envelop one's self in perfumes, to crown one's self
with flowers, to surround one's self with music, that
one may sink quietly into everlasting sleep."
The priest of the parish calls to offer his minis
trations, but Mirabeau smilingly says that he
would gladly admit him if it were not that he
has in his house his ecclesiastical superior, the
Archbishop of Autun. Talleyrand giving absolu
tion, — God save the mark !
His aged mother calls, but is turne i from the
door. This is without his knowledge, but, in truth,
she deserves but little better treatment.
" Hold this head," he says to Frochot, " the
greatest in France, — I wish I could bequeath it to
you." He hands to Talleyrand a manuscript speech on
wills, to be read in the Assembly after his death.
" It will be rather a joke," he says, " to hear a
speech against wills from a man who is dead and
who has made his own."
Turning to his friend, La Marck, he exclaims :
" I carry in my heart the dirge of the monarchy.
After my death, its remains will be the spoil of the
factions." " Well, my dear connoisseur of courageous
deaths," he says, again addressing his friend,
"are you satisfied with me?" The answer given
is not recorded. Falling into a sleep, he is sud-
412

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
denly aroused by the booming of cannon.
" What !" he exclaims ; " have we already the
funeral of Achilles?"
"You have promised to spare me needless suf
fering," he says to his friends, " and you must
keep your word and give me opium." They put a
cup of water to his lips; he seems satisfied.
" Dormir," he mutters, and the mighty spirit
sinks to sleep, to rest. The doctor feels his pulse
and, in a whisper, says, lest he should disturb the
sleeper : " II ne souffre plus," — his agony is over.
" He dramatized his death," was the apt ex
pression of Talleyrand. The scene was set, as -f
upon a stage; it was theatrical to a degree. The
actor forgot no detail, he played his part impres
sively, he had all France for an audience. Mira
beau, in his death, tried to win the applause of
mankind rather than to secure the forgiveness of
heaven. It was the death of a pagan without
hope, without remorse, without a prayer for
pardon. He died in the forty-second year of his age,
in a period that should have been the very vigor
of his life, — " in bold manhood's hardy prime."
" But he lived," says Brougham, " in times when
each week staggered under the load of events that
had formerly made centuries to bend, and he thus
lived long enough to show all that he could have
attained if his life had been prolonged to the usual
period." When the news of his death was announced, all
classes were affected. The city was hushed. Men
spoke in whispers : " Mirabeau is dead !"
413

MIRABEAU
The Assembly adjourned its sittings after de
ciding that the delegates should attend the funeral
in a body. The municipality ordered an eight
days' mourning. The Jacobins passed commenda
tory resolutions; directed that his bust in marble
should be erected, and that the second of April
should ever be observed in commemoration of the
anniversary of his death.
Preparations were made for a magnificent
funeral, and one more imposing was never wit
nessed. A man to have been so honored in death
must have won the honor by his deeds in life. It
was a public recognition of his greatness.
All theatres and places of amusement were
closed. Balls, parties, and receptions were dis
continued, or, if given, the revellers were dispersed
by the people, who considered all festivities as an
insult to the national sorrow. On the day of the
funeral, business was suspended throughout the
city. There were some, however, who did not join
in this almost universal grief, for genius inspires
envy. Marat, in his scurrilous journal, called
upon the people to return thanks unto the gods
because their most redoubtable enemy had fallen.
" Riquetti is no more !" Robespierre exultingly
exclaimed : " Achilles is dead ! Then Troy shall
not be taken." Lameth, vindictive, envious, and
contemptible, sneered at the people's, grief . Petion
refused to attend the funeral, declaring he had read
a paper showing Mirabeau's connection with the
court. Camille Desmoulins denounced, in his
journal, the public career and political principles
414

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
of Mirabeau, but between the lines could be read
the kindly words that revealed the tender sympathy
of Camille's heart. Strange to say, even the court
felt a sense of relief, and the queen specially was
gratified. It was decreed by the Assembly that the new
edifice of St. Genevieve should be devoted to the
reception of the ashes of great men ; that Honore
Riquetti Mirabeau is judged worthy of receiving
that honor; that upon the front of the edifice of
St. Genevieve shall be engraven the words: "Aux
Grands Hommes La Patrie Reconnaisante."
Towards the close of the afternoon of the 14th
of April, the funeral procession started on its way
to the Pantheon. The discharge of cannon, the
tolling of bells, the blare of trombones, and the
low rumbling of muffled drums, announced the
moving of the column. It was nearly four miles
in length. One hundred thousand men were in
line. Slowly and solemnly the procession wended
its way through the streets. Half a million people
were spectators ; every foot of available space was
crowded with uncovered, silent mourners. "All
roofs were thronged with on-lookers, all windows,
lamp-irons, branches of trees."
It was eight o'clock in the evening before the
Church of St. Eustache was reached. Here a
solemn high mass was celebrated, with all the
pomp and solemnity of the Roman ritual. The
music for the occasion was composed by the cele
brated Gossec, and was most touching in its pathos.
Cerutti delivered a weary eulogium on the dead
statesman, after which the procession re-formed
415

MIRABEAU
and proceeded to the Pantheon. It was not until
midnight, under the glare of torches, and with
the wailing of a dirge, that the cortege reached the
Church of St. Genevieve, where the body was
placed alongside that of the great Descartes. A
salute was fired with twenty thousand muskets, and
the report shook the city to its very centre.
The remains were not allowed to rest long
where a sorrowing people had placed them.
When the iron chest of Louis XVI. was dis
covered on the ibth of August, 1792, it revealed
some of Mirabeau's transactions with the court.
The Assembly veiled the bust of the great tri
bune, and "put his memory under arrest," pend
ing a further examination of the papers.
The National Assembly, in November, 1793,
after the report of the committee of public inquiry
was submitted, decreed that " The body should be
withdrawn from the Pantheon. . . . The same
day that the body of Mirabeau shall be withdrawn,
that of Marat shall be there transferred." It was
meet that the body of the great tribune should be
removed rather than lie as a neighbor to the in
famous Marat. It was not until September 21,
1794, that the decree was executed. In the dead
of night, the leaden coffin that contained the ashes
of Mirabeau was deposited in the cemetery of St.
Catharine, a graveyard set apart for criminals, in
the Faubourg of St. Marcel, without any stone or
tablet to mark the spot.
The remains of the monster Marat did not abide
long in the Pantheon, dedicated to the memory of
great men, for the people in their rage, in 1795,
416

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
dragged the body from the tomb and cast it to the
dogs. At the time of Mirabeau's death, it was rumored
that he died of slow poison. The public accuser
for the first Arondissement of Paris demanded
that a post-mortem examination be made. " The
violence of the illness, its rapid progress, the sud
denness of the dissolution, seem to justify, to a
certain extent, the supposition that the death of
M. Riquetti could not be natural. It is deemed
necessary to proceed to open and examine the
body and to give all the publicity and authenticity
possible to that examination." The examination
was accordingly made and it is said that there
were forty-four physicians present at the autopsy.
The finding was that there were no traces of
poisoning. The story runs that two young physi
cians were of opinion that Mirabeau had been
poisoned, and so expressed themselves, but Pro
fessor Sue, one of the doctors present, took them
aside and whispered : " He was not poisoned, he
cannot be poisoned, do you understand that, you
imprudent boys! Would you have them devour
the king, the queen, the Assembly, and all of us?"
Of course, at such a time, the public mind had
to be satisfied, and the temper of the people
calmed. " He was subject," says Thiers, " to frequent
and sudden fainting fits. Baths containing a solu
tion of sublimate had produced that greenish tint
which was attributed to poison."
Dumont declares "there- was not the slightest
appearance of poison, and that idea was, therefore,
27 417

MIRABEAU
deemed totally unfounded. The complaint was
acute enteritis, brought on by excesses."
To Dumont he said, some time before his death :
" If I believed in slow poison, I should think my
self poisoned ; for I feel that I am dying by inches,
that I am being consumed in a slow fire." To his
sister, Madame du Saillant, when she intimated
that he should be cautious about his eating and
drinking, he said : " You are right, I feel it, they
hold me, they will have me."
In November, 1790, he passed a cup of coffee,
that had been prepared for him, to his friend
Pellenc, and that gentleman suffered great pain
after drinking it. It is said that the same thing
happened upon another occasion with Frochot,
who was taken ill after eating food that had been
prepared for Mirabeau. The author of the " Me
mories d'un Pair de France" asserts that Mira
beau was poisoned. He says that Robespierre, in
1793, at a moment when he was off his guard,
openly boasted of the part he had taken in the
crime. " Two parties," he says, " were then labor
ing to accomplish the ruin of the king; a third
party wished it without declaring itself : all of them
were concerned to see that ' Louis XVI. inclined
to a cordial reconciliation with the constitution,
and all dreaded the sound advice which Mirabeau
had it in his power to give' him. It was well
known that this man was the only person capable
of directing affairs in such a manner as to keep
the factions within the limits which they hoped to
pass. As the issue of any attempt to strip him
of his popularity was uncertain, it was thought
418

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
better to despatch him; but as no assassin was to
be found, it was necessary to have recourse to
poison. Marat furnished the recipe; it was pre
pared under his supervision, and he answered for
its effect. How to administer it was the next
question. At last it was resolved to choose the
opportunity of a dinner, at which the poisonous
ingredients should be introduced into the bread or
wine, or certain dishes of which Mirabeau was
known to be very fond. Robespierre and Petion
undertook to see to the execution of this atrocious
scheme, and were assisted by Fabre d'Eglantine
and two or three other subordinate Orleanists.
Mirabeau had no suspicion of this perfidy; but
effects were manifested immediately after a party
of pleasure, at which he had indulged in great in
temperance. He was soon, aware that he was
poisoned, and told his intimate friends so, and
especially Cabanis, to whom he said : ' You seek
the cause of my death in my physical excesses;
you will find it rather in the hatred borne me by
those who wish for the overthrow of France, or
those who are afraid of my ascendancy over the
minds of the king and the queen.' It was impos
sible to drive it out of his head, that his death was
not natural, but great pains were taken to prevent
this opinion from getting abroad."
This story is given in detail and with careful
exactness as to the facts, but it is hardly probable
that Robespierre, secretive and reticent as he was,
would have been so far off his guard as to have
revealed his personal connection with the crime, as
well as the names of his cb-conspiratdrs. There
419

MIRABEAU
seems to be no authority for this story but the
memoirs referred to. It is strange that, if it be
true, it is not known nor vouched for in other
quarters. There were many wretches in France in that
day who would willingly have made way with
the great tribune, and no doubt his life was con
stantly in peril. There is no question but that
there were many men who were on intimate terms
with him who would not have hesitated a moment
to have committed the crime if, in their opinion,
their interests had required it.
He frequently received warnings to avoid the
companionship of certain men, but he totally dis
regarded all such injunctions. It is an admitted
fact that he attended a banquet, given by thirty
members of the Assembly, at the suggestion of
Talleyrand, and it is believed by many that at this
banquet he was poisoned. Prince George of
Hesse-Cassel heard that an attempt to poison
Mirabeau was to be made at the banquet and he
hurried to the house where it was held to warn
his friend, but he was not allowed to enter nor
was he permitted to get word to Mirabeau. He
waited, however, until the banquet was over, when
he told Mirabeau of his fears. Mirabeau an
swered : " It is too late ; the scoundrels are quite
capable of it, however." Instead of going to a
doctor, he went to keep an engagement at the
house of Mademoiselle Coulon, an actress of the
opera. The next day, March 26, began his fatal
illness. On the other hand, his utter disregard of every
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
rule of health, his prodigality of life, his prodig
ious labors, his incontinence, his licentiousness, his
frequent devotion of the twenty-four hours of the
day to business and dissipation, were gradually
destroying him. He challenged death and reck
lessly provoked its darts. No constitution, no mat
ter how robust, could withstand such constant
abuse. He made draughts upon its strength by
night as well as by day. He unquestionably did
enough to hasten his dissolution without the aid
of poison. " Had I not lived with Mirabeau,"
said Dumont, " I never should have known all that
can be done in one day, or rather in an interval of
twelve hours. A day to him was of more value
than a week or a month to others. The business
which he carried on simultaneously was immense,
frorri the conception of a project to its execution
there was no time lost. To-morrow was not to
him the same imposter as to most other men."
And then, "after the long day's work was done,"
dissipation followed until dawn.
The whole matter of the poisoning is involved,
the testimony is very conflicting, and in reading it
one can never get beyond a reasonable doubt. To
decide is simply, to guess.

421

CHAPTER XXVII
MIRABEAU COMPARED WITH HIS COLLEAGUES —
ORATOR  AUTHOR  STATESMAN  POLITI
CIAN  RELIGIOUS VIEWS  SLAVE TRADE
How are we to draw the portrait of this man
of immoderate genius and uncontrollable passions ?
"I am not to be judged by ordinary rules,"
said Napoleon. This apparently impudent but
really truthful assertion is equally appropriate in
the case of Mirabeau. He was an exceptional, an
extraordinary man. His talents, his powers, his
passions, were gigantic. His genius fitted him for
great events, for stirring, exciting times. His
character was dominating, he rose in magnificent
proportions above all his colleagues; the only
member of the convention who, in any wise, could
have approached him, was Danton, and yet the
latter dwindles when a close comparison is drawn.
If he had met Danton in debate, he would have
overwhelmed him; in statesmanship, breadth of
learning, and mental power, he was far away his
superior. Barnave in no particular compares with
him, except as an orator, and yet he had not that
sublime eloquence born of intense feeling and emo
tion that characterized Mirabeau. Maury, keen,
clever, witty, and sarcastic, was but a gadfly that
irritated or aroused the anger of the lion.
In real statesmanship, in comprehension and
grasp of intellect, Mirabeau stood alone. " He
422

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
was far the strongest best practical intellect of
that time," declares Carlyle. " He was essen
tially," says Stephens, " a practical statesman, and
that is the reason why his character is so little
appreciated by Frenchmen."
In his effort to effect an alliance with La Fayette,
he urged the queen to tell the General, that " he
(Mirabeau) is the only statesman of this country;
no one else has his ensemble, his courage, and his
character." This egotism may be called rather
blunt, but the statement was, unquestionably, true.
He had the qualities that fitted him for public
life. In a letter to Mauvillon, iri his own charac
teristic style, referring to himself, he says: "Be
hold at last a Frenchman who is born with the
soul, the head, and the character of a public man !"
Audacious, daring, imperious, he was a mas
ter among his fellows. In exigencies, his self-
possession never deserted him, and in short debate
he was invincible. Under attack and when aroused
the whole force and vigor of his intellect came into
play; the resources upon which he drew seemed
to be almost inexhaustible, and he never rose to
greater heights than when spurred by opposition.
When assailed, and apparently discomfited, he
returned to the attack with renewed vigor and
astounded and dismayed his opponents by the
logic and force of his argument. He had the
faculty of clearly expressing the truth in a simple
phrase and answering his adversary by a clever
sally. His knowledge of human nature was profound ;
his prescience was the vision of prophecy.
423

MIRABEAU
Impulsive and impetuous, he was yet controlled
by a sound, an intelligent judgment.
As statesman, politician, author, orator, and
lover, he was ever the same. He wooed a woman
as he won a cause. His intellect, his heart, and
sympathies were his only means in any contest.
Such a man but needed an opportunity to become
great, and the Revolution gave him that oppor
tunity. He was a born tribune of the people. Ever con
scious of his strength, he inspired enthusiasm in
his followers.
If he could have secured the confidence of the
king and had been placed in the ministry, before
he was suspected of venality, the Revolution might
have avoided its excesses and have secured its
reforms without destroying the monarchy.
To understand the character of such a man,
we must take his life as a whole. We must judge
him by considering his early education, associa
tions, and surroundings, his opportunities, tempta
tions, and struggles, as well as his natural faculties,
temperament, and passions. That which is no
temptation to one man, may require a bitter, an
heroic struggle for another to resist. We must,
too, bear in mind the morals and the sentiments of
the age in which he lived. Without forgiving his
vices, we may then find, at least, some excuse or
extenuation for them.
The father of Mirabeau was a tyrant, and his
example was most pernicious. Acrid, unforgiving
in disposition, the marquis made the early years of
his son's life most unhappy, most miserable.
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
Mirabeau saw his mother depart from her home
charged with infidelity, and then saw his father
put another woman in her place, a woman, too,
who was the wife of another man. He had wit
nessed the daily, constant bickerings between his
parents, who fought like wild-cats, and he had not
the love of either; an impulsive, a spirited boy,
whose character should have been most carefully
moulded, had neither the care of a father nor the
tender affection of a mother. He saw a younger
brother caressed while he was pushed aside, and
was disgraced by being compelled to bear a name
other than his lawful title. He was induced, from
the most sordid motives on the part of his father,
to marry an heiress whom he did not and could
not love. He had been taught to maintain the
pride of a nobleman, and was compelled to live on
an amount that was little more than the salary of
a coachman. His wife, silly and homely, made
him a cuckold, and for an offence that should
have been reprimanded and forgiven, he was
arrested under a lettre de cachet, obtained by his
father, and thrown into a dungeon. Naturally
affectionate and sympathetic, he had found no one,
up to this time, to respond to his heart's desires.
Is it a wonder that, under these wretched condi
tions, his morals became lax? The age in which
he lived was sceptical, immoral, and vicious. Most
of the young men in his class were roues and
proud of their vices. The court, with the excep
tion of the king, who had a reason for his virtue,
was luxurious and voluptuous. The honor of
women was held in low esteem; the example set
425

MIRABEAU
by the nobility, and even by many of the higher
clergy, lowered the moral tone of the whole nation.
In view of all this, it is but fair to measure
Mirabeau by a rule not too exacting. We must
consider the early influences that controlled his
life and the prevailing conditions of society if we
desire to do him justice. He knew what his vices
had cost France ; he knew how much they lessened
his influence, and time and again he bitterly re
pented, once remarking : " If I only had the vir
tues of Malesherbes, how useful I could be to my
country !" To La Marck he said : " Oh ! what
harm the immorality of my youth does to the
popular cause." Dumont says : " He was so fully
aware that if he had enjoyed personal considera
tion, all France would have been at his feet, that
there were moments when he would have con
sented to pass ' seven times through the heated
furnace' to purify the name of Mirabeau. I have
seen him weep with grief and heard him say,
almost suffocated with sobs, ' I am cruelly ex
piating the errors of my youth.' " Only the man
who has sinned knows how bitter is the agony of
remorse. His passions, his vices, were inherited ; " his sins
were only half his," one of his biographers has
said. That the sins of the parents shall be visited
upon the heads of the children unto the third and
fourth generations never found a clearer exempli
fication of that natural law.
Gabriel was not the only one in the family who
was tainted with heredity. In referring to his sis
ter, Madame de Chabris, he said the most venial
426

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
of her vices was that she was a wanton. This may
not have been a kindly remark for a brother to
have made, but it was not far from the truth.
His brother, Barrel Mirabeau, so named because
of his intemperance, was a coarse and vulgar
debauchee, who was continually in his cups. When
reproached by his elder brother for his habitual
drunkenness, he answered : " It is the only vice
you have left me." This was a weak excuse, for
he had all the vices of his brother in addition to
intemperance, and was without his brother's great
talents and good traits.
Mirabeau's life, from his birth until his release
from the castle of Vincennes, was almost one
continual torture. His early training, his army
experience, his unhappy marriage, the hatred of
his father, his troubles resulting from the unfortu
nate seduction of Sophie Monnier, his struggles,
poverty, and cruel, harrowing imprisonments, were
enough to break the spirit of even a Mirabeau.
He was about thirty-two years of age when
released from Vincennes, and he had but ten years
of life remaining; and it was only in the period
extending from May, 1789, to April, 1791, that
he secured the theatre in which he was to play a
leading role and prove himself one of the greatest
men that France ever produced.
He had had no training at the bar, and yet he
managed his case at Pontarlier with so consum
mate a skill that he baffled and defeated the ablest
lawyers in Provence, and made one of the greatest
arguments ever heard in the, courts of France.
And, strange to say, prior to this, he had never
427

MIRABEAU
attempted to try a case nor argue a cause, nor did
he ever before have an opportunity to cultivate
the art of forensic speaking.
When the States General was called, he threw
himself with all the ardor of his nature into the
canvass and he displayed superior ability as a
shrewd politician and as a skilful campaign
organizer. As an orator on the hustings, his fame
spread throughout all France. To be sure, he had
been familiar with public questions, for he had
deluged the country with his pamphlets upon every
current topic, and he had had some little experience
in diplomacy, but as a practical politician and a
public speaker, he never had any special training
nor opportunity. He sprang into the arena, how
ever, full armed when the tocsin of the Revolu
tion sounded. In the Assembly he took a leading
position from the very start.
He had studied the English Constitution and
had familiarized himself with the features and the
principles of the governments of many European
states. He knew wherein the government of
France was defective, and how great were the
abuses. He could be fairly ranked in the class of
statesmen before he entered the Assembly, but it
is marvellous how he so suddenly acquired a power
as an orator, so commanding, — never, so far as I
can ascertain, making a public address of any
character until he spoke in the Parliament of
Provence, when he was thirty-two years of age,
and never making a political speech until his cam
paign in Aix in 1^88-89, less than three years
before his death. Perhaps, as an orator, France
428

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
never produced his equal. He possessed an im
passioned eloquence, an eloquence that was easily
excited, and his manner at all times was most
dramatic. "His voice," says Dumont, "was full, manly,
and sonorous; it filled and pleased the ear. Al
ways powerful, yet flexible, it could be heard as
distinctly when he lowered as when he raised it.
He could go through all its notes with equal ease
and distinctness, and he pronounced his finals with
so much care that the last syllable was never lost."
" His oratory," says Madame de Stael, " had
a power of life." Another writer says : " His elo
quence, imperative as law, is only the gift of im
passioned reasoning." " All his contemporaries,"
says Victor Hugo, " are unanimous on this point,
— he was something magnificent." " It was by
Mirabeau," says Brougham, " that the people were
first made to feel the force of the orator; first
taught what it was to hear spoken reason and
spoken passion; and the silence of ages in those
halls was first broken by the thunder of his voice
echoing through the lofty vaults now covering
multitudes of excited men."
Mirabeau did not disdain the artificial, for there
was much of it about him, but when in the torrent
and tempest of his passion he lost all self-con
sciousness, he then rose to the heights of sublime
eloquence. His imagination was fertile, his fancy
lively, his wit nimble, his perception clear, and his
memory extensive. His fiery eloquence threw off
his thoughts like sparks from an anvil. His sar
casm was cutting and he used it without economy.
429

MIRABEAU
His scorn was withering. In denunciation he was
terrific, and his anger, when aroused, was con
suming, and bore down all opposition before it.
"Anger suited this man as the tempest does the
ocean." When in heated debate he had the head
of Medusa, and petrified his assailants. His
eloquence was like his visage, rough-hewn but
terrible. His personal appearance had its advantages.
" You know not," said he, "all the power of my
ugliness; when I shake my terrible locks, no one
dares interrupt me." " When he talked of con
fronting his opponents in the Assembly," says
Walter Scott, " his favorite phrase was, ' I will
show them La Hure,' that is the boar's head,
meaning his own tusked and shaggy countenance."
" His ugliness was so great as almost to be
come proverbial, and features naturally harsh and
even distorted were rendered still more repulsive
by the deep furrows of the confluent smallpox. . . .
The power of his eye, however, was undeniable,
and the spirit and expression which his mind threw
into all his countenance made it how plain soever
anything rather than uninteresting or disgusting."
Such a man, when he mounted the tribune, — tall,
broad-shouldered, with the neck of a bull, the mane
of a lion, his head tossed back, his strong features
lively, and animated in expression, — would at
once command attention.
Dumont says " his ordinary manner of speak
ing was ve^y slow. He began with the appearance
of a little embarrassment, often hesitated but in a
way to excite interest, and until he became ani-
43°

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
mated, he seemed as if he were selecting the most
agreeable expressions."
It is difficult to judge of the real merits of an
orator of a past age. What would suit one period,
might be out of fashion in another. Mirabeau
was essentially the orator of a revolution. His
earnest and impassioned eloquence was specially
adapted to a convention swayed by emotions and
controlled by excitement, in a time of great politi
cal convulsions. Mirabeau's inflammatory oratory
would have been as much out of fashion in the
English parliament of the time of Peel, as Peel's
oratory would have been out of place in the
National Assembly of France.
There is no one, of his period, in France, with
whom we can compare him. The French Revolu
tion was an age of eloquence, for the minds of men
were afire, their enthusiasm was aflame, and the
Assembly was filled with orators; but Mirabeau,
in his lofty eagle-flights, soared far above them all.
" As a political orator, Mirabeau was, in certain
points, superior to all other men. No other orator
did so much with a single word, nor hit the mark
with so sure an aim. In the tribune he was im
movable. He remained master of his temper even
under the severest personal attacks."
Dumont says : " Mirabeau, as an orator, is be
low Demosthenes, Cicero, Pitt, and Fox." There
is often a little envy lurking in the criticisms of
Dumont, and perhaps a man is never great to his
valet. But if these four great world-orators had
to be chosen by Dumont as the only orators be
neath whom Mirabeau stands, it is honor enough
431

MIRABEAU
for the proudest man. And yet it is a question
whether or not any one of them could have exerted
by his eloquence such an influence as Mirabeau
did exert in the National Assembly.
Demosthenes, who is said to have had almost
superhuman force, stands in a class by himself.
It seems almost sacrilege to compare anybody with
him. There must be one great master of the art
to whom the world accords first honor. Demos
thenes, in his class, like Angelo and Shakespeare in
their respective classes, is far beyond all criticism,
and is removed from the challenge of comparison.
To say seriously that an orator is not as great as
Demosthenes, is almost to admit that, with but
one exception, he is the greatest.
Cicero's style was more polished, more scholarly,
than Mirabeau's, but he was wanting in those per
sonal qualities that made Mirabeau one of the
greatest, one of the most impressive, of the world's
popular orators. They are in different schools and
cannot be compared, but not for the reason given in
the case of Demosthenes. There may be the same
difference between Cicero and Mirabeau that the
ancients said there was between Demosthenes and
Cicero. When Cicero finished speaking, every one
exclaimed: "What a great orator!" When
Demosthenes ceased, the people shouted : " Let us
make war on Philip."
If Dumont refers to the younger Pitt, it is safe
to say that his easy flowing, monotonous " state-
paper style," without fire, would hardly have been
heeded in the stormy debates of the Revolution.
He did not, in any sense, possess the emotional
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
eloquence of the great tribune. He was an orator
of the head alone, not of the heart.
Fox was perhaps stronger in logical reasoning
than Mirabeau. In argument, especially in reply,
the English orator was subtle and unanswerable.
His voice was husky, his manner awkward, and his
gestures graceless, but as he warmed to his theme,
he became impassioned to such a degree that often
his words choked his utterance. But he did not
possess the tumultuous eloquence of Mirabeau, nor
his impressive, dramatic manner. They had much
in common in their lives. Fox was a spend
thrift, a gambler, and wasted his nights in dissipa
tion. His prodigality ran beyond all bounds, and,
like Mirabeau, he burned the candle at both ends.
They had many qualities in common.
Macaulay, in drawing a comparison between
Mirabeau and Chatham, says : " His eloquence, so
far as we can judge of it, bore no inconsiderable
resemblance to that of the great English minister.
He was not eminently successful in long set
speeches. He was not, on the other hand, a close
and ready debater. Sudden bursts, which seemed
to be the effect of inspiration; short sentences,
which came like lightning, dazzling, burning,
striking down everything before them; sentences
which, spoken at critical moments, decided the fate
of great questions; sentences which at once be
came proverbs, — in these chiefly lay the oratorical
power both of Chatham and of Mirabeau. There
have been far greater speakers and far greater
statesmen than either of them, but we doubt
whether any men have, in modern times, exercised
28 433

MIRABEAU
such vast personal influence over stormy and
divided assemblies."
In considering the qualities of Mirabeau, is it
not closer to the truth to say that although he had
the sudden bursts of inspiration, the withering,
burning sentences that characterized the oratory of
Chatham, he had to a more marked degree the
power and eloquence of the " Great Agitator."
Daniel O'Connell? The Irish orator was like
Mirabeau, tall, broad-shouldered, herculean in
frame. "His early sins and excesses had beeri
royal in their extravagances." He thought and
spoke in epigrams. His words came red-hot from
his emotions. His soul was volcanic. Tumult and
whirlwind and earthquake suited his temperament.
He was dramatic in manner ; he possessed declam
atory energy and defiant courage. His voice, equal
to every demand made upon it, was flexible and
powerful, capable of expressing every emotion,
and was terrible in denunciation. He was fear
less, audacious, and ever conscious of his strength.
Easily aroused' by opposition, all his talents came
into play at once. He was a born agitator, a revo
lutionist. He would have been a power in the
National Assembly of France. He was equally
at home on the hustings or in the Senate. He had,
to a superlative degree, the qualities of a popular
orator, and he declaimed, with all the ardor of his
nature, against oppression and denounced injustice
of every form.
In nicknames, Mirabeau was most happy. In
two words he could describe a man in stronger
light than could a page of labored detail. O'Con-
434

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
nell also had this faculty to a remarkable degree.
Mirabeau called d'Espremenil, " Crispin-Catilina,"
and designated La Fayette, " Grandison-Crom-
well." He accused the latter, because of his love
of popularity, of desiring only " the glory of
gazettes." These remind us of O'Connell's " Scor
pion-Stanley" and " Spinning- Jenny Peel." In re
ferring to the cold smile of the latter statesman,
he said it was like " the silver plate on a coffin."
In many particulars, so far as the style or
character of his oratory is concerned, the " Great
Agitator" of Ireland resembled the " Great Tri
bune" of France, perhaps more closely than any
of the English orators. It will, however, I am
sure, be admitted without speaking invidiously,
that Mirabeau had a much finer intellect than
O'Connell,' and far greater qualities as a statesman.
It is a difficult task to compare orators, for elo
quence comes in so many different forms. Elo
quence is not circumscribed by rules, nor does it
depend upon the tone of voice, nor the grace of
gesture. It may be like the sound of a trumpet or
the screech of an owl. It is the earnest expression
of emotion, it is the highest expression of sincerity,
it is the heart's desire revealed in words. It per
suades, convinces, fascinates. It may arouse the
passions or allay them. It is in the vigorous, force
ful style of a Demosthenes, or the graceful sen
tences of a Cicero; in the wild frenzy of a Peter
the Hermit, or the polished diction of a Bossuet;
in the screaming, stuttering utterances of a Des
moulins, or the impassioned, winged words of a
Mirabeau. It may lie dormant in every soul, only
435

MIRABEAU
waiting to be awakened when a great truth is to
be told or a cause defended.
The real eloquence of a speech is to be judged by
the effect produced at the time of its delivery,
and if this be the test, then Mirabeau must stand
in the very front rank of the world's greatest
orators. Not only was Mirabeau great in the tribune, but
his interruptions while in his seat or 6ri the floor
went straight to the point. M. Valfond charged
him with running through the streets on the 6th
of October, swinging a sabre and inciting the mob
to riot. The testimony, however, pointed to
M. Gamaches as the man who had waved the
sabre. Mirabeau immediately remarked that
" Gamaches must be an exceptionally ugly man in
view of the fact that he was taken for me."
Upon one occasion the National Assembly pro
posed an address to the king in these words : " The
Assembly brings to the feet of your Majesty an
offering," etc. " Majesty has no feet," grumbled
Mirabeau. At another time, the National Assem
bly, in an address, said : " It is intoxicated with
the glory of its king." " Really," said Mirabeau,
" people who make laws should not admit that they
are intoxicated." " Dull as to-day's debate," cried
a speaker. " Why specify to-day ? — Pourquoi
dater?" — responded Mirabeau.
" Speak not to me of your Duke of Savoy, a
bad neighbor to all liberty," he growled, address
ing the ministers. When some one suggested that
La Fayette had his army, " Yes," spoke up Mira
beau, " but I have my head." 436

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
"The court is starving the people. Treason,"
he cried ; " the people will sell it the constitution
for bread."
On October 22, 1789, the king made an offer of
his gold and silver plate to help relieve the wants
of the people. The Right applauded such gener
osity on the part of his Majesty, and some mem
bers, in expressing their admiration, wept. " As
for me," Mirabeau muttered, "I do not become
tearful over the family plate of the great."
Mirabeau, when in his seat in the Assembly, was
restless and deeply interested in all that was going
on. He wrote and passed notes to fellow depu
ties, made points on the debates, applauded the
speakers, for no one was more generous than he
in recognizing merit; he was so big himself that
it never occurred to him to be chary in his appre
ciation and recognition of real worth.
Upon one occasion, the Archbishop of Aix was
so eloquently defending his order that he com
manded the applause of even his opponents. Mira
beau most heartily applauded, but cried out that he
could applaud his talent without adopting his
opinions. He had a contempt for mediocrity that was vain
or boastful; he despised sham and he never hesi
tated to interrupt an orator who was simply
" vaporizing." As a writer, his works abound in thought, but
the style is at times commonplace and confused.
He appears to write as if thinking too fast for
his pen, and the thought often seems only half ex
pressed. His works have no labored polish, they
437

MIRABEAU
are rough-hewn; nor do they suggest, as a rule,
any trace of careful revision. " His ideas are ever
grand and lofty," says Victor Hugo, " but to get
out of his brain, they have to stoop and shrink as
if under a door too low."
At the beginning of the Revolution, he unques
tionably stood high in the world of letters. Arthur
Young, in referring to him, says : "In every com
pany of every rank, you hear of the Count of
Mirabeau's talents, — that he is one of the first pens
of France."
He had written upon current topics of interest.
He was a political writer, a pamphleteer ; he wrote
for the occasion. Hence, his writings have but
little interest for the reader of to-day. In our
times, he would have found his calling in journal
ism. There is nothing he wrote that would sug
gest his candidacy for admission to the French
Academy, but we" must remember in judging his
work that he wrote to replenish his purse, or in the
midst of political excitement, and only upon cur
rent questions. His work on the Bank of St.
Charles, a book of three hundred pages, was writ
ten in eight days. To be sure, he borrowed much
of his material from his friends, Claviere and
Brissot, but he wrought the matter into shape and
made it his own in a little more than a week.
Another point not to be lost sight of is the fact
that his oratory was of so high an order that we
are tempted, in judging one talent, to measure it
by the standard of the other, and his literary work,
necessarily, falls below his reputation as an orator.
The following letter to the king of Prussia is
438

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FAC-SIMILE OF A LETTER WRITTEN BY MIRABEAU
The original is in the possession of Wm. J. Latta, Esq., of Philadelphia, by whom it was
kindly loaned for this work

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
full of practical, worldly, and political wisdom, and
is a fair sample of his style. It is written with
more than his usual care. It could safely and
wisely be adopted as the text-book of kings :
" You have reached the throne at a fortunate
period. The age is becoming daily more en
lightened. It has labored for your benefit in col
lecting sound notions for you. It extends its in
fluence over your nation, which so many circum
stances have kept behind others. Everything is
now tested by a severe logic. The men who see
only a fellow-creature under the royal mantle, and
require that he should possess some virtue, are
more numerous than ever. Their suffrages cannot
be dispensed with. In their opinion, one kind of
glory alone remains, every other is exhausted.
Military success, political talents, wonders in art,
improvements in science, have all appeared in turn,
and their light has blazed forth from one extremity
of Europe to the other. That enlightened benevo
lence which gives form and life to empires has not
yet appeared, pure and unmixed, upon a throne.
To you it belongs to place it there, — this sublime
glory is reserved for you. Your predecessor gained
battles enough, perhaps too many ; he has too much
fatigued Fame's hundred tongues and exhausted
military glory for several reigns, — nay, for several
centuries. . . . With much greater facility, you
may create a glory more pure and not less brilliant,
which shall be wholly your own. Frederick con
quered the admiration of mankind, but he never
won their love. This love you may entirely possess.
" Do not, ah ! do not neglect the treasure which
439

MIRABEAU
Providence has spread in your path. Deserve the
blessings of the poor, the love of your people, the
respect of Europe, and the good wishes of wise
men. Be just, be good, and you will be great
and happy.
" You wish to obtain, dread sir, the title of
Great, but you wish to receive it from the mouth
of history and from the suffrage of ages to come, —
you would despise it from the mouths of your
courtiers. If you do that which the son of your
slave could do ten times a day better than yourself
they will tell you that you have performed an ex
traordinary action ! If you suffer your passions to
mislead you, they will say that you are right! If
you are as lavish of the blood of your subjects
as of the waters of your rivers, again will they
tell you that you are right ! If you barter for gold
the air that preserves life, they will say that you
are right ! If you revenge yourself, — you who are
so powerful, — they will continue to tell you that
you are right ! . . . They said the same thing when
Alexander, in a drunken fit, plunged his dagger
into the bosom of his friend; they said the same
thing when Nero murdered his mother. . . .
" If you indefatigably perform your duties, with
out putting off till the following day the burden of
the present day ; if by great and fruitful principles
you can simplify these duties and reduce them
within the capacity of a single man; if you give
your subjects all the freedom they can bear;
if you can protect every kind of property and
facilitate useful labor ; if you terrify petty oppres
sors, who, in your name, would prevent men from
440

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
doing, for their own advantage, that which injures
not their fellows, — a unanimous shout will bless
your authority and render it more sacred and more
powerful. Everything will then be easy for you,
because the will and the strength of all will be
united to your own strength and your own" will,
and your labor will become every day less severe.
Nature has made labor necessary to man. It gives
him also this precious advantage, that change of
labor is to him not only a relaxation, but a source
of pleasure. Who, more easily than a king, can
live in strict accordance with this order of nature?
A philosopher has said ' no man feels such lassi
tude of spirit as a king.' He should have said,
' a slothful king.' How could lassitude of mind
fall upon a sovereign who did his duty? Could
he ever keep up his vigor of intellect and preserve
his health so well as by shielding himself, under
the pursuit of labor, from the disgust which every
man of sense must feel among those idle talkers,
those inventors of fulsome praises, who study their
prince for no other purpose than to corrupt, blind,
and rob him? Their sole art is to render him in
different and feeble, or else impatient, rude, and
idle. . . . Your subjects will enjoy your virtues,
which alone can preserve and improve their patri
mony. Your courtiers will cultivate your defects,
by which alone they can support their influence
and their expectations. ... It is worthy of you
not to govern too much. . . .
" I recommend the immediate abolition of mili
tary slavery, that is to say, the obligation imposed
upon every Prussian to serve as a soldier from
441

MIRABEAU
the age of eighteen years to sixty and more; that
dreadful law arising from the necessities of an
iron age and a semi-barbarous country; that law
dishonoring a nation without whom your ancestors
would have been nothing but slaves, more or less
decorated with empty honors. This law does not
produce you a single soldier more than you would
obtain by a wiser system, which may enable you to
recruit the Prussian army in a manner that shall
elevate men's hearts, add to the public spirit, and
possess the forms of freedom, instead of those
of brutishness and slavery. Throughout Europe,
more especially in your Majesty's dominions, one
of the most useful instincts upon which patriot
ism could be founded is stupidly lost. Men are
forced to go to the battle-field like cattle to the
slaughter-house; whilst nothing is easier than to
make the public service an object of emulation and
glory. " Be also the first sovereign in whose dominions
every man, willing to work, shall find employment.
Everything that breathes must obtain its nourish
ment by labor. This is the first law of nature,
anterior to all human convention; it is the con
necting bond of all society, for every man who
finds nothing but a refusal to his offer to work
in exchange for his subsistence, becomes the natural
and lawful enemy of other men and has a right
to private war against society. In the country, as
in cities, let workshops be everywhere opened at
your Majesty's cost; let all men, of what nation
soever, find their maintenance in the price of their
labor; let your subjects there learn the value of
442

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
time and activity. Instruction, you are aware, is
one of the most important of a sovereign's duties,
and, likewise, one of his richest treasures. Entire
liberty of the press ought to be one of your first
acts, not only because any restraint upon this
liberty is a hindrance to the employment of natural
rights, but because every obstacle to the advance
ment of knowledge is an evil, a great evil, espe
cially for you who are debarred thereby from
obtaining, through the medium of printing, a
knowledge of the truth and of public opinion, —
that prime minister of good kings.
"Let information be circulated through your
dominions. Read and let others read. If light
were rising on all sides towards the throne, would
you invoke darkness ? Oh, no ; for it would be in
vain. You would lose too much, without even ob
taining the fatal success of extinguishing it. You
will read, you will begin a noble association with
books. They have destroyed cruel and disgraceful
prejudices, they have smoothed the road before
you, they have served you even before you were
born. You will not be ungrateful towards the
accumulated works of beneficent genius.
" You will read and protect those who write ;
for without them what becomes of the human
species, ano. what would it be ? They will instruct,
they will assist, they will talk to you without seeing
you. Without approaching your throne, they will
introduce there the august truth. This truth will
enter your palace alone, without escort and without
affected dignity; it will bear neither title nor
ribands, but will be invisible and disinterested.
443

MIRABEAU
" You will read, but you will be desirous that
your subjects should also read. You will not think
you have done all by recruiting your academies
from foreign countries: you will found schools,
you will multiply them, especially in country
places, and you will endow them. You would not
reign in darkness, and you will say, ' Let there
be light !' The light will burst forth at your voice ;
and its halo, playing round your brow, will form a
more glorious ornament than all the laurels won
by conquerors. . . .
" I trust, dread sir, that my candor will not dis
please you. Meditate on these respectful lines and
say: This is what will never be admitted to me
as true, and is the very reverse of what I shall be
told every day. The boldest offer to kings nothing
but veiled truths, whilst here I see truth quite
naked. . . . This is far preferable to that venal
incense with which I am suffocated by versifiers
and panegyrists of the Academy, who seized upon
me in my cradle and will scarcely leave me when
I am in my coffin. I am a man before I am a
king. Why should I be offended at being treated
as a man? Why should I be offended with a
foreigner, who wants nothing of me, and will soon
quit my court never more to see me, for speaking
to me without disguise? He points out to me that
which his eyes, his experience, his studies, and his
understanding have collected; he gives me, with
out expectation of reward, those true and free coun
sels of which no condition of man is so much in
want as kings. He has no interest in deceiving me,
and can have none but good intentions. . . . Let
444

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
me examine attentively what he proposes ; for the
mere common sense and the candor of a man who
has no other pursuit than the cultivation of his
reason and his intellect, may, perhaps, be as good
as the old routine and trickery and forms and
diplomatic illusions and the ridiculous dogmas of
statesmen by profession."
Mirabeau possessed the talents that would have
enabled him to have secured a high position among
the literary characters of his country, but he had
not the opportunity, nor perhaps had he the inclina
tion, to retire from the excitements of the world to
devote himself to an extended work. He wrote
for an immediate purpose, to accomplish an im
mediate result, and generally wrote under the in
spiration or the necessities of the moment.
Lord Brougham, in commenting on the literary
ability of Mirabeau, writes : " The Essal sur le
Despotisme, his earliest political production, is a
work of extraordinary merit; and the Consider
ations sur V Agiotage, and the essay on Lettres
de Cachet, may probably be esteemed his best
tracts. But we are here speaking of those writings
which partake not of the oratorical character ; for
to estimate his genius we must look at the sudden
and occasional productions of his pen which re
semble speeches more than books, and which, in
deed, though never spoken, belong far more to the
rhetorical than the literary or scientific class of
writings. Among these the celebrated Reponse
aux Protestations des Possedant Fiefs, published
in February, 1788, and written, as it were, off
hand, justly deserves the highest place; and it
445.

MIRABEAU
would be difficult to match it in the history of
French eloquence."
As a statesman, he stood unrivalled in all France,
in his day and generation. He was well informed
on current public questions and familiar with the
forms, the theories, and the principles of govern
ment. He had a constructive intellect and was a
good administrator. He had the qualities that go
to make a successful politician. He had a genius
for politics, for public life. He had a marked
capacity for detail and possessed great organizing
and executive ability. He had those shining,
brilliant talents that win popularity, and that power
that inspires confidence. He had a profound
knowledge of human nature. He was a good
judge of men and could fathom the motives that
controlled them. He could soon discover their
weak points and knew how to reach them through
their vanity, greed, or ambitions. He was not par
ticular in his choice of means in obtaining his ends.
He was crafty and unscrupulous in political nego
tiations. He was, however, not always tactful, for,
at times, he was too outspoken in his denunciation
of men. His criticisms, though accurate, were
frequently very severe, and he often made enemies
where he might have made friends.
He was intensely patriotic, — he loved France de
votedly. He was always a monarchist; although
a revolutionist, he was not a republican. If it had
been in his power he would have created and
strongly established upon an enduring foundation
of justice and humanity a government in which
the people would have enjoyed liberty, and whose
446

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
ruler, a king, would have been restrained in the
exercise of his authority by constitutional limita
tions. Mirabeau had risked all in his desire and
efforts to destroy tyranny, to correct abuses, to
abolish privileges, to equalize taxes, to define
duties, to secure rights, and to promote the welfare
of the common people. He boldly encouraged
revolution until revolution accomplished its pur
pose, which purpose was the liberty of the people,
— not the destruction of the state, but its preserva
tion under the forms of law. He died at a time
when the people, escaping from despotism, were
beginning to taste the sweets of liberty and to
think only of avenging past wrongs. Not accus
tomed to freedom, nor appreciating its uses and
blessings, they ran into the most violent excesses.
They mistook liberty for license. All restraint ap
peared to them to have the semblance of tyranny.
So long had they suffered under a system of rapine
and fraud that when the restraints were removed
they went too far in the other direction, which con
duct, under all the circumstances, was natural,
and, in view of what they had endured, we may
say, was almost excusable. Had Mirabeau lived
he would have done all in his power to have
secured peace and order, and to have applied to
government those principles he had so ably and
so bravely advocated.
The religious opinions of Mirabeau are not
hard to define. He, no doubt, if we may judge
from his speeches, had respect for religion as an
institution, but it is very certain he had no faith
in its creeds. It is said that he at one time did
447

MIRABEAU
express a belief in the immortality of the soul. He
was unquestionably influenced by the philosophic
tendencies of the age. His remark on his death
bed, when looking at the sun, that " if it be not
God, it is His cousin-german," may rank him
among the deists or the materialists, but there is
no reason to enroll him as a Christian, for he gave
no sign of his faith. He died like a Roman stoic.
Death to him was sleep, eternal sleep. Mirabeau,
however, was always tolerant in his views on
religion. He was an enemy to injustice and tyranny. He
bitterly opposed the African slave trade, and in a
most eloquent letter to Wilberforce, written in
April, 1790, he clearly expresses his views on the
subject : " I had formed for a long time, Monsieur,
the intention of addressing you with the confidence
which two sincere friends of liberty owe to each
other; but an accident having temporarily de
prived me of the use of my eyes, I have been com
pelled to postpone from day to day the overture,
which the invaluable services you have rendered
to the cause of the negro have encouraged me to
make. . . .
" I know the resistance, and even the machina
tions, which the rage of the planters will excite
against my motion and against me individually. I
know also that I shall incur the censure of many
honest men in whom the deceptions of interest
blind humanity. Beyond all this, however, I have
but one fear and that is the influence of that
despicable argument, — if we abolish the slave
trade, the English will profit thereby. In vain shall
448

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
I tell them that if I were influenced by those preju
dices between nations which have caused the in
vention of the odious expression, natural enemies,
I could not desire for England a privilege more
fatally exclusive than that of the traffic in negroes.
In vain shall I demonstrate to them that the sys
tem of reciprocity is absurd on its face, because,
according to the principle thereof, no one should
trade save with himself.
" Unhappily, enlightenment has not yet suffi
ciently advanced to allow a universal prejudice to
be combated by the unaided force of reason, and I
shall lose the greater portion of the well-inten
tioned members of the Assembly if I fail to con
vince them that England will follow our example,
or rather concur in the execution of our law, the
day that we abolish the infamous practice."
After referring to the position taken by Mr. Pitt
on the question, the letter continues : " You are
the friend of Mr. Pitt and that is not one of the
least rewards of his life. I have not the honor
of knowing you personally, but you are, if I may
so speak, the author of the revolution relative to
the African slave trade I would accomplish in
France. " The indefatigable constancy of your labors,
the efforts and the sacrifices you have made in this
cause, are the guarantees of your sentiments and
of your principles. I believe in virtue, Monsieur,
and I believe beyond everything in yours.
" I hope that a man who can have no interest
in this beyond the mere good he would fain accom
plish, and who for so many years has been known
29 449

MIRABEAU
by his passion for liberty, by his perseverance in
opposition to oppression; I hope, I say, that that
man will inspire you with some confidence. All
he asks is that you should be useful to the pious
end which seems your first ambition. Deign to
secure from Mr. Pitt some assurance that you
may give me, not for myself, but for my allies, and
kindly tell me to what extent I may use it. I
shall be .most punctilious, even religious, in the
observation of whatever shall be prescribed me.
" I offer also, Monsieur, to submit to you the
project of the law I intend to propose to the
National Assembly. Independent of the observa
tions your experience and wisdom could enrich me
with, you will find me ready to adapt my plan to
your localities, whether in the New World or in
Africa, in order to make a law corresponding with
yours. " To conclude, there is nothing which the benefi
cent Wilberforce has not a right to expect from
my deference, from my zeal, and from the respect
wherewith I remain, Yours, etc."
This letter was never answered by Wilberforce.
The explanation for the silence is that Mirabeau,
having asked that some assurance be given as to
Pitt's sincerity in his advocacy of the abolition of
the slave trade, rendered it impossible for Wilber
force to reply.
After sending this letter, Mirabeau prepared
with great care an oration on the Slave Trade, but,
unfortunately, never had an opportunity to deliver
it. It is singularly bold and most eloquent.
" I am now undertaking," he wrote, " to plead
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THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
before you the cause of a race of men who, en
dowed with a fatal pre-eminence among the un
fortunate, live, suffer, and die slaves of the most
detestable tyranny of which history has transmitted
us accounts. You already know that I speak of
the slaves of America.
" I will neither degrade this Assembly nor my
self by seeking to prove that the negroes have a
right to their liberty. You have already decided
that question, because you have declared that all
men are born and die equal and free in respect to
their rights, and it is not on this side of the Atlantic
that corrupted sophists will dare to assert that the
negroes are not men."
Utterances so vigorous in denunciation of slavery
were not heard even in America at that early date.
In answer to the statement that the slave trade is
not an inhuman commerce, he grows warm in his
wrath, and his eloquence is vivid as he describes its
inhumanity. " Count for nothing the desolations,
the incendiaries, the pillages to which it is neces
sary to devote the African coast in order to obtain
the poor creatures at all. Count for nothing those
who, during the voyage, die or perish in the agony
of despair."
He describes the vessel, that " long floating bier,"
as it rolls and lurches on the stormy waves of
the sea; he pictures the wretches in the ship's
hold, crowding one against the other, the chains
galling and tearing their flesh and limbs. Imagine,
too, what manner of voyage that is of two thou
sand, often three thousand, leagues. Insensate
cupidity has so crowded the space between decks
45i

MIRABEAU
that there is no room for passage, and it is neces
sary to tread under foot the bodies of the living
victims in order to remove the dead and the dying.
" The poor wretches ! I see them, I hear them
gasping for breath ! Their parched and protruded
tongues paint their anguish and cannot further ex
press it. How they gather around the grates, how
they endeavor to catch a breath of air, even a ray
of light, in the vain hope of cheering and cooling
themselves, if only for a moment! The horrible
dungeon, as it moves, depopulates itself more and
more day by day; room is given to the victims
only by the death of half the captives. The most
revolting plagues accumulating one upon another,
frustrate, by their ravages, the avarice of the
dealers in human flesh and blood." How like a
flame of fire such an orator would have gone
through America in ante-bellum days! How his
eloquence would have scorched, would have
burned, the conscience of the nation!

452

CHAPTER XXVIII
MIRABEAU'S VICES AND VIRTUES — MANNER OF
DRESS  HIS EXTRAVAGANCE  HIS VANITY - —
COULD HE HAVE SAVED THE MONARCHY? —
CONCLUSIONMirabeau was a remarkable character, as ex
traordinary in his vices as in his virtues. There is
no need to throw a veil over his crimes, they stand
out so prominently that they cannot be hidden. He
seems, at times, to be half man, half satyr ; " but
the Caesars, the Mirabeaus, the Napoleons, seldom
obey the morals of the porch or the creeds of the
cloister." If he had possessed, as he wished, the
virtues of Malesherbes, he would not have been a
Mirabeau. Gouverneur Morris wrote : " Vices
both degrading and detestable marked this ex
traordinary creature, — venal, shameless, and yet
greatly virtuous when pushed by a prevailing im
pulse." Another writer says : " When the state of
affairs was urgent, the vicious and corrupt poli
tician instantly disappeared, the god of eloquence
took possession of him, his native land acted by
him, and thundered by his voice." Romilly, an
English gentleman of culture and of eminent re
spectability, had for Mirabeau the highest regard.
The Count de la Marck was closely attached to
him, and between them there existed the warmest
kind of friendship. La Marck, in referring to his
friend, said that "the Count of Mirabeau had
453

MIRABEAU
great faults in common with many other men, but
we rarely find qualities so great and so noble
united in one individual. ... It is only after con
tinuous and intimate intercourse with such a man
that it is possible to realize of what elevated
thoughts and of what deep affections we are
capable." " I never knew a man," said Dumont, " who,
when he chose, could make himself so agreeable.
He was a delightful companion in every sense of
the word, — obliging, attentive, full of spirit, and
possessed of great powers of mind and imagination.
It was impossible to maintain reserve with him;
you were forced into familiarity, obliged to forego
etiquette and the ordinary forms of society, and
call him simply by his name."
He charmed Camille Desmoulins, and fascinated
Danton. In fact, it seemed impossible to come
under the wand of the magician without being
impressed and won. He was a monster only to
those who did not know him.
He was most forgiving in disposition and nursed
no resentments. He was constantly assailed by the
orators of the Assembly on the Left as well as on
the Right. He was called a " scoundrel," a " ras
cal," an " assassin," an " enemy of peace," a " mon
strous babbler," a " shabby fellow." Vile epithets
were hurled at him in debate. His rising to speak
was nearly always the signal for a storm. Out
side of the Assembly, the journals and the pam
phlets tore him to pieces. M. de Champcenetz said
that " he had the smallpox in his soul." It was
suggested by M. de Lambesc that " twenty horse-
454

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
men should take him to the galleys." Marat ap
pealed to the citizens " to raise eight hundred gib
bets, hang all the traitors on them, and at their
head the infamous Riquetti, the elder." Mirabeau
took these insults with composure; he was in no
sense vindictive. When it was proposed in the
Assembly to prosecute Marat, he refused to con
sent, simply saying, " There seems to be a great
deal of extravagant nonsense published. The man
who wrote that must have been drunk." But, not
withstanding the many bitter attacks made upon
him by his enemies, " the people which is not envi
ous because it is great; the people which knows
men, although itself a child, — the people was for
Mirabeau." He was greatly beloved by his servants. Du
mont says they were much attached to him. Upon
the occasion of the visit of Mirabeau to the Bas
tile after its capture, one of his servants who
accompanied him was told to wait outside while
Mirabeau went on a tour of inspection into some
of the gloomy dungeons. " The poor fellow burst
into tears and conjured me," says Dumont, " to
keep an eye upon his master" lest some dread
ful catastrophe might befall him in that hated
prison. "The idea of the Bastile was associated
in the minds of the people with the most sinister
ideas, and the dead body of the monster still threw
them into an agony of fear."
Mirabeau had a valet de chambre named Teutch
who was devoted to him. He had been a smug
gler, and was a man of extraordinary courage.
Mirabeau, sometimes impatient or in an irritable
455

MIRABEAU
mood, would kick and thump his valet, " who con
sidered these rough caresses as marks of friend
ship," and would grow sad and melancholy if he
were long neglected in the matter of these atten
tions. " The despair of this man at Mirabeau's
death was inconceivable."
Mirabeau's taste in dress was somewhat vulgar;
its style was what we would call to-day " flashy,"
but he gave it particular attention. " He was,"
says Dumont, " very recherche in his toilet."
His friend De la Marck, in describing him, says :
" He was tall, but at the same -time stout and
heavily built. His unusually large head was made
to appear larger by a mass of curled and powered
hair. His coat buttons were of some brightly
colored stone, and the buckles of his shoes enor
mous. His dress was an exaggeration of the
fashion of the day and in bad taste. In his eager
ness to be polite, he made absurdly low bows and
began the conversation with pretentious and rather
vulgar compliments. His manner wanted the ease
of good society, and this awkwardness was most
conspicuous when he addressed the ladies. It was
only when the conversation turned upon politics
that his eloquence poured forth and his brilliant
ideas fascinated his audience."
It must be borne in mind, in this connection,
that the foregoing description was given by a man
of the most dignified bearing and accustomed to
the etiquette and ceremonials of the most polite
courts of Europe.
Mirabeau's exaggerations may have been out of
form according to the rules of etiquette of a cold
456

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
and polished court, but in the exciting and noisy
sessions of a revolutionary Assembly they found
their usefulness.
To convey a further idea of his manner, the fol
lowing description by Lord Minto, who had taken
Mirabeau to visit his family at Bath, will fully
answer the purpose. He says that " Mirabeau
frightened his sister-in-law by his vehement, and,
as he imagined, irresistible attentions; engrossed
his host from morning to night; wore out Lady
Elliot's patience by his constant and self-satisfied
loquacity; terrified her little boy by his caresses,
and, in fact, made himself so unendurable in a
fortnight that she insisted that if he visited Minto
he must lodge with the game-keeper."
He was essentially a man of the world, a high-
liver. He loved the pleasures of the table, but he
was a gourmet rather than a gourmand. He was
not intemperate in drinking.
His prodigality was on a magnificent scale. He
had no appreciation of the value of money. If he
had only a franc, he spent it like a king, or if he
had a fortune, he squandered it like a beggar. He
was as generous as a Timon.
He was fond of music and loved flowers. He
spent his Sundays in his gardens at Argenteuil and
enjoyed the calm of rural solitude.
His vanity and egotism were inordinate. It is,
perhaps, impossible that a Mirabeau should not
know his power and feel his superiority. Egotism
and conceit are contemptible in a weakling, but
they are mere incidents in the character of a Mira
beau. " He was fond of standing before a large
457

MIRABEAU
pier glass," says Dumont, " to see himself speak,
squaring his shoulders and throwing back his head.
He had also the manner of vain men who are fond
of hearing the sound of their own name and derive
pleasure from pronouncing it themselves. Thus,
he would suppose dialogues and introduce himself
as one of the speakers ; as, for instance, ' The Count
de Mirabeau will answer that."
The question as to whether or not Mirabeau, if
he had lived, could have delayed, changed, or
directed the course of the Revolution, has been by
many authors most curiously considered. There
is no stronger proof of the belief in the great
ness of Mirabeau than that it is a mooted ques
tion whether or not, if he had lived, he could have
saved the monarchy. The fact that the question
is considered by thoughtful men shows how great
is the world's estimate of the power of Mirabeau.
Over no other leader of the Revolution could such
a controversy rage. It is one of the highest
tributes that can be paid to the talents, the in
tellect, the genius of the man.
One writer positively asserts that " had his life
been spared there is no doubt that the French
Revolution would have taken another direction,
and the horrible excesses of the Reign of Terror
never have blackened the page of French regenera
tion. His death was the knell of the French mon
archy ; the glory of a long line of kings was buried
in the grave of Mirabeau."
" If he had lived," says Dumont, " he might have
held the Jacobins in check, even if he had not
crushed them. . . . Mirabeau is the only man of
458

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
whom it might be said that if he had lived the
destiny of France would have taken a different
course." Lord Brougham believed Mirabeau had reached
that point in the Revolution when it would have
been impossible for him to have carried out the pro
posed plans for the restoration of the monarchy.
That his venality was known to the people, and any
attempt on his part to have stayed the Revolution
would have marked him as a traitor to the popular
cause and would have brought down upon his head
the execrations of a deceived people.
Sir Walter Scott believed that Mirabeau would
have had to change the course of the Revolution
in a short time, in view of his suspected bargain
with the court, or pay the penalty of treason, — a
victim to the vengeance of an infuriated people, to
the vengeance of the very people who had followed
him to the grave with sorrow and lamentations.
Another writer, Willert, declares : " Had Mira
beau never existed, the French Revolution would
probably have run the same course; had his life
been protracted, the event would have been the
same, the ruin of the monarchy not less tragic and
complete." " Not the least of Mirabeau's talents," wrote a
Parisian journalist on the day of his funeral, " was
the gift of doing everything in season. He has
given proof of this at last; he could not have
chosen a better time to die."
Hazlitt and Von Hoist are of opinion that he
died just in the nick of time to save his popularity.
Victor Hugo says : " He died at the right mo-
459

MIRABEAU
ment. His was a sovereign and sublime head ; '91
crowned it; '93 would have cut it off."
Hilaire Beloc writes : " Would he have saved,
re-created, and restored that declining power which
had once been the framework of the nation? We
cannot tell. Had he lived, '92 would have shown
us." These are all surmises or guesses, of course. No
one can, with any certainty, tell what would have
happened had Mirabeau lived, but it is really an
interesting question to discuss. It must be remem
bered in the discussion, however, that the Revolu
tion was not the work of one man, it was the result
of causes, of centuries of causes, of deep-seated
wrongs, and it is not reasonable to suppose that
any one man alone could have controlled, directed,
or diverted its course. But there was a time when,
if Mirabeau had been properly supported, his plans
could have saved the throne.
Mirabeau had proposed plan after plan to the
king, but every one had been rejected. Mistrust,
timidity, and indecision stood in the way of con
certed action. The queen feared him and the king
failed him. He had to fight his battle alone, single-
handed. He had tried to form an alliance with
Necker, La Fayette, and Bailly, but without avail ;
he had consulted with Monsieur and Montmorin,
but with no favorable, nor even definite, result. He
had courted the Duke of Orleans, but that con
temptible creature proved too weak for any pur
pose. He had even made overtures to Bouille.
Mirabeau had never formed a party, and had no
party back of him, nor was he at the head of any
460

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
faction; he was too independent in spirit to be a
mere party man, and too broad to be a factionist.
His popularity apparently had not diminished, but
that is a very weak staff to lean upon, and the
moment his conduct induced the people to believe
that he was serving the court in return for the pen
sion conferred, he would have fallen under public
censure, and the days were coming when the dis
tance was to be short between the mob's censure
and the scaffold.
To have saved the monarchy it would have re
quired more than intrigue, — it would have required
force, not only of intellect, but of arms.
After all, perhaps, it is really not a question
whether Mirabeau could have saved the monarchy,
but rather a question whether Louis would have let
him. If any one of Mirabeau's plans had been
adopted, the throne could have been saved long
before his death, but every day that was lost in
vacillation made the matter more difficult of solu
tion. There is hardly an instance in all history
where indecision was directly responsible for so
great a loss.
Mirabeau had believed in Revolution for the sake
of regenerating France, and when he saw the
throne tottering, he fain would have saved it, but
it is a grave question whether or not, at the period
of his death, his cry to " Halt !" could have been
heard above the noise of the tumult and confusion
that he himself had helped to create. Perhaps no
human power at that time could have stayed the
Revolution, or even directed it into a peaceful
channel. It may have been too late to have checked
461

MIRABEAU
its course. The many pygmies might have pulled
the giant down if he had attempted to restore the
throne. Had he lived, however, and gone to the
scaffold he would have met his fate like a hero,
— like the rest of those men of that eventful period
whose dauntless courage in the face of death was
exalted, was sublime. Patrician and plebeian met
their doom without flinching, — in fact, practised
the amenities of life on the platform of the guillo
tine and had the coolness of mind and the loftiness
of soul to be polite and thoughtful of others even
on the verge of eternity. Of all of them none
went to his death more gloriously than Mirabeau
would have gone.
At the time of Mirabeau's death, the revolution
ary spirit was increasing as well as an opposition
to the monarchy. The Jacobins were becoming
more violent in their radicalism, and republicans
were growing in numbers and influence. The un
restrained license of the journals was sowing in
every direction the seeds of anarchy, and the
ravings of the demagogues in the clubs, in the
faubourgs, and at the Palais Royal, were daily
arousing the bitter passions of the mob; even the
discipline of the National Guard was gradually be
coming demoralized. Perhaps conditions were at
such a pass that they were beyond all human
control. On the other hand, it may be contended that the
immense popularity of Mirabeau was so firmly
established, his eloquence so overpowering, his
energy so prodigious, his resources were so vast,
that if he had received the proper support, he might
462

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
still have saved the throne and have prevented the
excesses of the Reign of Terror.
Robespierre and the little men who came into
power after the death of Mirabeau might have
been kept in awe and subjection, or if worse had
to come, civil war could have been resorted to and
the king could have fought for his crown and
throne, which, because of his indecision and pro
crastination, he lost, together with his life, without
a struggle. Had Mirabeau lived, he might have saved the
people from themselves. " That criminal faction
that trembled before him had no longer a bridle" to
restrain them.
If Mirabeau, however, could not have succeeded
in saving the monarchy, no man, — no, not twenty
men, — in all France could have accomplished it. It
was not his fault that he had failed, it was the fault
of Louis and his friends.
" When Mirabeau was dead, all the ulterior
anarchic projects broke loose." After his death, the
Revolution was directed by " impotent and perverse
men," who, when the Titan was overthrown, rose
into prominence and importance. They had been
overshadowed by the master, but now they sneaked
out of their obscurity and, gazing round, not
finding aught else to do, laid their hands on de
struction. The fate of the monarchy was sealed.
The empire of the Bourbons was doomed; "its
ruins," as Mirabeau predicted, " soon became the
prey of the factions;" the lion was dead and the
jackals crept out of their caves to snarl and snap
and fight over its decaying carcass.
463

MIRABEAU
There were some men who essayed to take the
place of Mirabeau, but they signally failed. Wat
son says they tried to wear his mantle, but they
were smothered in it.
There were many men able to destroy the
throne, but not one now in all France able to
save it. The power and the influence of the
great tribune were gone. His death left a gap
that was never filled.
The Revolution swept on its way resistless, en
gulfing in its vortex crown, throne, law, and order,
and evolving in its own time, out of its excesses,
that peace which results from the exhaustion of
passion and violence, and, at last, it succeeded in
establishing upon the ruins of the monarchy and
the chaos of anarchy a proud and dauntless empire
with its own plebeian king. if
The Revolution effected a great reformation in
political conditions throughout the civilized world.
Its terrible excesses were temporary, its benefits
were lasting, were durable. The privileged classes
had endeavored to prevent it; all Europe made a
combined effort to subdue it, but it was irresistible,
so long as its enthusiasm continued. The power
that had created and controlled it was the only
power that could halt its excesses. It was from
within, not from without, that the Revolution was
stayed. The history of the first two years of the Revo
lution is the history of Mirabeau. We may show
that, in the early sessions of the Assembly, he was
not listened to; that many of his measures were
unsuccessful ; but the spirit of the man dominated,
464

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
nevertheless, the whole convention; he was the
centre around which the storm raged.
He was predestined. Nature endowed him with
greatness of mind and, at the same time, planted
in his body the germs of its dissolution. It was
a struggle of the mental and the physical; with
him it was a constant conflict between mind and
matter, between right and wrong. " In a word, he
was a colossus in every respect and there was in
him a great deal of good, and a great deal of evil."
His virtues and his vices fed upon each other. His
intellect and passions were abnormal; they had to
be to form such a creature. Energy was his pas
sion; his passion was energy. Judged by the
standard of other times, he was a monster, but in
his own day he was the reformer of political abuses.
His life was in defiance of every moral law, and
yet he became the support of authority and order
in government. " He is," writes Von Hoist, " a
genuine son of his times. Not only their charac
teristic, brilliant traits, but their follies and vices,
have in him a pre-eminent representative."
Against all obstacles, he rose to the height of
power, but his reputation, in a great measure, de
stroyed his usefulness. If his moral qualities had
been such as to have inspired confidence, he could
have accomplished anything. " Impossible !" he
cried ; " say not that beast of a word to me."
His vices, shameful as they were, are almost for
gotten in our admiration of those marvelous facul
ties, that god-like power, that made him one of the
greatest of the world's great men. " Moralities
not a few," writes McCarthy, "may shriek out
30 465

MIRABEAU
against him — did shriek out against him in his
day — have shrieked out against him since. But
what is memorable in Mirabeau is the work he
dreamed and the work he did; not his paganism,
but his patriotism; not the nights he gave to his
dancing women, but the days he gave to France."
" Only two things loved him," says Victor
Hugo, " a mistress and a revolution ; for the one,
he broke all domestic ties, for the other, all social
bonds." He was not the Revolution, for he was a man, —
that was an event. But he was its manifestation,
its incarnation, while he lived.
He was the orator of a storm and stress period.
He was the wild sea-bird that heralded the storm
and, when it broke, he uttered its wild cry.
He was eloquent because he had suffered. Ex
iled, hunted, bastiled, tortured, starved,- — he had
become familiar with every phase of human pain
and anguish. He had felt the pangs of poverty,
the galling of the prison chain ; he had languished
in the fetid dampness of the dungeon, and had been
oppressed by the tyranny of parent and state. A
spirit less courageous than his would have been
broken. His sufferings soured him against injus
tice, but not against mankind. He was ever cheer
ful, ever hopeful. He opposed tyranny in its every
form. His voice was ever eloquent in advocacy of
the liberty of man.
His courage was boundless, — he knew not the
sense of fear. " The sight of the scaffold opposite
my window," he exclaimed, " would not induce me
to accept propositions in prison." Obstacles that
466

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
would have made other men despair gave him new
courage. He strode the earth like a giant, — he
exerted the strength of a giant, and, at last, this
Hercules reeled and plunged to his death, carrying
with him the last support, the last hope of the
monarchy. The world to-day recognizes his greatness, and
time will only add to its bulk and stature. The
perspective brings out into bolder relief those great
virtues that, in his lifetime, were assailed by envy
or overshadowed by his vices.
He helped in the regeneration of France and in
securing to mankind liberty under constitutional
forms. His ashes having been buried with pomp and
ceremony, with the -honor and the reverence of a
grateful people, were afterwards exhumed and
scattered to the winds, but the fame of the great
tribune is embalmed forever in the memory of
men, — the world's greatest Pantheon for its
heroes !

INDEX r

Abolition of privileges on August 4, 287
Abrantes, Duchess d', 334
Absenteeism, 38
^schines, 302
Affair of Nancy, 385
Aiguillon, Duke d', 405
Aix, 195, 203
Albigenses, 21
American Revolution, 94; its effects in France, 94; com
pared with French Revolution, 99
Angelo, 432
Angely, Regnault de St. Jean d', 306
Aremberg, Louis d\ 337
Argenteau, Count Mercy d', 338, 339, 356
Argenteuil, 457
Army, The, 39
Artois, Count A', 246, 277, 278.
Assignats, 368
Auch, Martin d', the only deputy of Third Estate to enter
protest against Tennis-Caurt oath, 248
August 4, 1789, 376
Aumont, Duke d', 268 B
Bacon, 104
Bailly, 121, 242, 247, 248, 250, 253, 258, 308, 328, 343. 361, 460
Banquet of the Guards, 311
Barbier, Advocate, believes one should not concern one's
self with state affairs, 24 ; says Paris is Jansenist from top
to bottom, 33
Barnave, 121, 207, 405, 422 469

INDEX
Bastile, attack on the, 270 ; its capture, 271 ; 376, 455
Beaumarchais, 76, 100 ; his comedies, " The Barber of Se
ville" and " The Marriage of Figaro," 101, 102, 103
Becket, Thomas a', 20
Beloc, Hilaire, 460
Bethune, Duke of, 51
Blanc, Louis, 307
Blin, 330, 331
Bolingbroke on Louis XIV., 61
Bouille, 344, 460
Bourrienne, 244, 392
Breteuil made minister, 259; 274, 277
Brienne, Lomenie de, named minister, 112; resigns, 113
Brink, Jan Ten, on character of Robespierre, 233
Broglie, General de, given command of the troops at Ver
sailles, 259; 274, 277
Broglie, Madame, 207
Brougham, Lord, 429, 44s, 459
Buffiere, Pierre, name of Mirabeau while at Choquard's
Academy, 152
Bull of Pope Pius V., 23
Burke, Edmund, description of Marie Antoinette, 84; his
friendship claimed by Anacharsis Clootz, 377
Buzot, 121 C
Cabanis, 410, 412, 419
" (^a ira ! Ca ira !" 380
Calonne appointed minister, 108 ; called " the enchanter,"
" the model financier," " the ladies' minister," 108 ; his
maxim, 109; the deficit, 109; asks Parliament of Paris to
register a loan, no; urges calling of a meeting of the
Notables, no; joins in public demand for calling of a
meeting of the States General, in; resigns, in; con
troversy with Necker, 191
Calvin, 23
Cambaceres, 244
Cambon, 392
Capitaineries, 41
Carlyle describes Marquis de Mirabeau, 147 ; 423
470

INDEX
Catharine IL, 359
" Cavern of Cannibals," 397
Cazales, 293
Cerutti delivers eulogy at funeral of Mirabeau, 415
Chabris, Madame de, 426
Champcenetz, M. de, 454
Chapelier, 372, 403
Charles I. of England, 256
Chatham, 433
Choiseul suggests reform to Louis XV., 79
Choquard, master of school to which Mirabeau was sent,
151. 153. 154
Church, rapacity of the, 35
Cicero, 431, 432, 435
Claviere, 285, 369, 392
Clootz, Jean Baptiste, 377
Clovis, 16
Compte Rendu, 107
Condition of peasants, 37
Condorcet, 106
Confiscation of church property, 367
Conflict between Church and State, 18, 19, 20
Conti, Prince de, 152
Corvee, or statute labor, 42
Coulon, Mademoiselle, 420
Covet, Marie Amelie de, 155
Cromwell, 255 D
D'Alembert, 76
Dante, 133
Danton, 14, 122, 263, 393, 422, 454
Dauphin, death of the, 235
Declaration of Rights, 285
De Launay, governor of the Bastile, 270, 271
Demarest, minister to Louis XIV., proposes creation of new
offices, 36
Demosthenes, 302, 431, 432, 435
Descartes, 416
Desmoulins, Camille, 14, 122, 260, 308, 35L 390, 396, 406, 407,
411, 414, 454 471

INDEX
De Thou on massacre of the St. Bartholomew, 29
Diderot, 76
Double representation for Third Estate, 203, 417, 418, 421,
426, 429. 430, 43L 432, 454. 455, 458
DuBarry, mistress of Louis XV., 73, 74
Dubois, Cardinal, 34
Ducos, 244
Dumont, 184, 226, 238, 239, 240, 256, 288, 301, 302, 353,. 396
Dumouriez, General, 326
Duport, 405, 406
Duquesnoy, Adam, opinions of Mirabeau, 291
Duroverai, M., 224, 226, 285 E
Edict of Nantes, 27
Eglantine, Fabre d', 419
Elizabeth, Princess, 14
Elizabeth, Queen of England, law in retaliation of papal bull,
23
Elliot, Lady, 457
Emigration of King's aunts, 401
Etats Generaux, published by Mirabeau, 219
F
Favras, Marquis de, 361
Fersen, Count, 350
Festival of the Federation, 376
Feudalism, burdens of, 35
Flesselles, 269
Fonqueux, M. de, named minister, 112
Fontanges, Madame de, extravagance of, 36
Fontanges, M. de, Archbishop of Narbonne, 352
Foulon, 259
Fox, 431, 433
France, kingdom of many little kingdoms, 17
Francois, murder of, 328
Franklin, Benjamin, 95 ; his writings translated into French,
96; his influence in France, 97; his death in 1790, 97;
Mirabeau pronounces eulogy in the National Assembly,
97; 232 472

INDEX
Franks, under Clovis, lay foundations of French monarchy,
16
Frochot, 412
Froment, 281
Fronde, civil wars of the, 17 G
Gabelle, or salt tax, 44, 45, 46, 364
Galileo, 22
Gamaches, M., 436
Game laws, 40
Gauls conquered by the Franks, 16
George of Hesse-Cassel, Prince, 420
Girondins, 14, 262
Gossec, composer of the music for the mass at the funeral
of Mirabeau, 415
Greville, Lord, 364
Guizot, 392 H
Hazlitt, 459
Hebert, 14
Helvetius, 76
Henry IV., 27, 297
Henry IV. of Germany, 20
Henry II. of England, 20
Hugo, Victor, 30, 165, 429. 438, 466
Huguenots, 29

Innocent III. preaches crusade against Albigenses, 21
Inquisition, Tribunal of, 21 J
Jacobins, 407, 414, 458, 462
Jacquerie, The, 38
Jefferson, Thomas, 241, 286
Jesuits and Jansenists, controversy between, 32
Johnson, 183 473

INDEX
Judges of the Inquisition, 22
June 20, 1790, 376
July 14, 1789, 270, 271 L
La Bruyere, description of peasants by, 37
La Fayette, Marquis de, 266, 268, 316, 318, 320, 321, 328, 329,
333, 343, 345, 346, 348, 351, 361, 376, 382, 383, 387, 406,
423, 460
La Marck, 308, 309, 310, 334, 336, 338, .344, 351, 354, 356, 410,
412, 426, 453, 456
Lamartine, 133, 233
Lamballe, Princess, 14
Lambesc, Madame, 454
Lambesc, Prince de, 264, 274, 277
Lameth, Charles, 407, 411, 414
Lameths, The, 207, 407
Lanjuinais, 330
Law Courts, " partial, venal, infamous," 47
Law, John, 369
Lawyers, 75
Lavalette, 329
La Valliere, 65
Le Fevre. Abbe, 314
Legrand, 237
Leicester, Earl of, leads crusade against the Albigenses, 21
Le Jay, Madame, 181
Lenoir, M., 167, 174, 207
Lettres de Cachet, 170, 171, 172
Lewes, George Henry, 233
L'Hopital, 104
Liancourt, Duke de, 274
Lomenie, Charles de, 188
Lomenie, Louis de, 168, 188
Lords, kings in little kingdoms, 38
Louis IX., 297
Louis XII., 297
Louis XIV. stays progress of reformation in France, 27;
subdues nobility and clergy, 28; abolished municipal elec
tions in 1692, 36 ; power and glory of his reign, 55 ; flunkey-
474

INDEX
ism, 56; etiquette of the court, 56; making of the king's
toilet, 57, 58, 59; absolutism, 62; extravagance, 62; his
mistresses, 65 ; makes war against the Netherlands, 66 ;
amusements of the court, 67 ; political and financial condi
tion of the country, 68; appeal of the villagers of Cham
pagne, 68, 69, 70; death and burial of the king, 70
Louis XV., his pleasures, 72 ; his extravagance, 73 ; his
mistresses, 74; his death, 194
Louis XVI., ascends the throne, 78; Talleyrand on his cor
onation, 77, 78 ; " reform of the mouth," 80 ; condition of
commerce and manufactures, 80; manner, habits, and
amusements of the king, 82; his weakness and vacillation,
82; arouses despair in the heart of Louis XV., 83; names
Turgot minister, 104 ; reforms, 105 ; dismisses Turgot,
105; meeting of the States General, 115; orders the Third
Estate to disperse, 253; Mirabeau defies the king through
his messenger, 253; mobilizes troops at Versailles, 258;
appoints a new ministry, 259 ; hears of the capture of the
Bastile, 274 ; enters the Assembly, 276 ; promises to dismiss
the ministers and recall Necker, 276; promises to visit
Paris, 276 ; goes to Paris on the 17th of July, 276 ; met at
the gates of the city by Bailly, the Mayor, 276 ; returns to
Versailles, 277; first exodus of the nobles, 277; Necker
returns, 280; banquet of the guards, 311 ; events of the 5th
and 6th of October, 319; goes with his family to Paris,
319; establishes his court in the Tuileries, 323
Loustallot, editor of the Revolutions de Paris, 390
Louvet on Paris, 50, 207
Luther, 23 M
Mably, 76
Macaulay on Louis XIV., 61 ; 183 ; on Dumont, 187
Maintenon, Madame de, 65
Malesherbes on Turgot, 104
Mallebranche, 192
Malouet, 121, 192, 240
-Malseigne, Chevalier Guiot de, 387
Mancini, Marie di, 65
Mandat, The, 371
Manuel, M., 167 475

INDEX
Marat, 122, 390, 391, 393, 414, 416, 419, 454, 455
Marie Antoinette, 14 ; making of toilet, 61 ; her part in
bringing on the Revolution, 83; her charm and beauty,
84; Arthur Young, Goethe, Madame Campan, Edmund
Burke, and Madame le Brun describe her, 84 ; her manner,
character, and conduct, 85; given to coquetry, 87; dia
mond necklace, 87; her amusements and diversions, 88;
dubbed the "hated Austrian," 89; accused of the vilest
crimes, 91 ; must be judged by her times, temptations, and
surroundings, 93 ; pays a visit with her friend, Madame de
Polignac, to the troops carousing in the Orangerie, 273;
opposes Mirabeau in his ambition to reach the ministry,
309; banquet of the Guards, 312; enters the supper-room
with the king carrying in her arms the dauphin, 312;
the mob of women reaches Versailles on the 5th of Octo
ber, 315, 316; mob attacks the palace, 317; queen flees
to the apartments of the king, 318; La Fayette arrives,
the troops drive the mob out of the palace, 318; she ap
pears on the balcony and faces the mob, 318, 319; goes
with the king to Paris, 319; the royal family take up
their abode at the Tuileries, 323 ; queen has an interview
with Mirabeau at St. Cloud, 341
Maria Theresa, 89; her daughters, 89
Marseilles, 195, 196
Massillon, description of peasants, 37
Maury, Abbe, 293, 369, 373, 422
Mauvillon, 308, 423
Mazarin, 171
Men of wealth of the middle class, 52, 53, 74
Mercier on Paris, 50
Mericourt, Theroigne de, 207
Michelet on Voltaire and Rousseau, 76; 232, 247, 250; on
Desmoulins, 262; 379, 400
Mignet, 131, 267
Miles, A. W., 407, 408, 409
Minto, Lord, 152, 457
Mirabeau, Barrel, 427
Mirabeaus, The, 132, 133 ; their origin, 133, 134, 135
Mirabeau, Bruno di Riquetti, chastises usher of the royal
household, 137; salutes statue of Henry IV., 138
476

INDEX
Mirabeau, Jean Antoine, 138; "right arm of the Duke of
Vendome," 138; his character, 138; presented by Ven
dome to Louis XIV., 138 ; wounded at Cassano, left on the
field supposed to be dead, 139; marries Franchise Castel-
lane Norante, 140
Mirabeau, Chevalier de (le bailli), 136; letter from Victor,
146; 154, 164; describes eloquence of Mirabeau at trial at
Aix, 178
Mirabeau, Victor Riquetti, Marquis de, father of the great
tribune, 140 ; at thirteen enters the army, 141 ; sent to a
military school in Paris, 141; falls in love with an ac
tress, 142; his father sends him forthwith to the army,
142 ; marries Genevieve de Vassan, 143 ; separates from
his wife, 144 ; installs a mistress in his home, 144 ; author
of distinction on social and political subjects, 144; quar
rels with his son Honore, 153; sends him to the Isle of
Rhe under a lettre de cachet, 153 ; imprisons his son in the
Chateau d'lf, 157; has him transferred to the fortress of
Joux, 157 ; after Honore escapes from this prison, follows
him to Holland, has him arrested and sent to Vincennes,
163; reconciliation, 176
Mirabeau, Marquise de, her marriage, 143 ; separation, 144
Mirabeau, Honore Gabriel Riquetti, Comte de, his reply to
Roederer, 31 ; pronounces eulogy on Benjamin Franklin in
National Assembly, 97 ; urges the calling of the States Gen
eral, 124 ; his appearance, 125 ; Madame de Stael describes
him, 125 ; impression he created, 126 ; " Behold the victim
already adorned," 127 ; Carlyle on his genius, 131 ; Mignet's
description, 131, 132; his birth, 149; attacked by small
pox, 150; placed under care of a tutor, M. Poisson, 150;
sent to school in Paris, 151 ; not allowed to bear his family
name, 152; secured commission in the army, 153; love
affair, 153; flees to Paris, 153; arrested under a lettre de
cachet and imprisoned on the Isle de Rhe, 153; sails to
Corsica, 154 ; wild life in Paris, 155 ; marries daughter of
Marquis de Marignane, 156; his extravagance involves
him in debt and he is confined under a lettre de cachet
within the limits of Manosque, 156; his wife corresponds
with Chevalier Gassaud, 157; duel threatened, 157; quar
rel with Baron Villeneuve Moans, 157; arrested under
477

INDEX
lettre de cachet and imprisoned in the Chateau d'lf, 157;
transferred to the fortress of Joux, 157; meets Sophie de
Monnier at Pontarlier, 157; seduction of Sophie, 160;
flight of the lovers to Holland, 161 ; they are arrested and
separated, 162; Mirabeau sent to Vincennes and Sophie
to a house of correction in Paris, 163 ; he is released, 164 ;
his work on lettres de cachet, 170; reconciliation with his
father, 176; stands trial at Pontarlier for seduction of
Sophie, 176; argues his own case and is successful, 177;
meets Madame de Nehra, 180; his industry, 182; meets
Romilly, 184; his relations with Dumont, 184; seeks to
be elected by the Noblesse a deputy to the States General,
195 ; rejected by the Noblesse, 195 ; stands as deputy for
Third Estate in towns of Marseilles and Aix, 195; his
campaign, 195, 196; addresses rioters at Marseilles, 196;
arraigns the nobility, 199, 200, 201, 202; decides to stand
for Aix, 204; first sessions of the States General, 212;
king's council attempts to suppress Mirabeau's paper, 219;
defends Duroverai in the Assembly, 223 ; advocates " Rep
resentatives of the French People" as the title for the
Assembly, 237; defies the king's command to the Assem
bly to separate, 253; denounces the feasting in the
Orangerie, 275; appointed on committee to draft Declara
tion of Rights, 285; moves that the Assembly issue an
address to the people counseling moderation, 295 ; sup
ports measure of Necker in favor of 25 per cent, income
tax, 301 ; schemes for portfolio, 309 ; suspected of incit
ing mob on the 5th and 6th of October, 324; fully exon
erated after investigation, 324; speaks against amendment
of M. Blin, 330; pensioned, 337; interview with the
queen, 341 ; makes overtures to Necker and La Fayette,
345 ; advises king and queen, 348 ; serves two masters,
Royalty and Revolution, 349 ; lives extravagantly, 351 ; was
he venal ? 353 ; the Favras affair, 362 ; his connection with
it, 363 ; confiscation of church property, 367 ; opposes new
elections in the district, 374; favors motion of St. Etienne,
393 ; Robespierre opposes motion at the Jacobins, 394 ;
elected president of the National Assembly, 395 ; address
to Quakers, 397; opposes law against emigration, 403;
assails Barnave, Duport, the Lameths, and their followers,
478

INDEX
405 ; attacked at the evening meeting of the Jacobins, 406 ;
closing days, 410; his death, 413; his funeral, 415; poi
soning suspected, 417; post-mortem, 417; compared with
his contemporaries, 422 ; statesman, politician, author, 424 ;
his character to be judged by his surroundings, 426; ora
tor, 428; his voice, 429; personal appearance, 430; com
pared with the world's great orators, 432 ; his repartee,
436; man of letters, 437; letter to King of Prussia, 439;
his literary works, 445 ; religious views, 447 ; letter to
Wilberforce, 448 ; his vices and virtues, 453 ; forgiving in
disposition, 454; beloved by his servants, 455; style of
dress, 456; his prodigality, 457; love of music and flow
ers, 457; his vanity and egotism, 457; could he have
stayed the Revolution? 458
Mole, 303
Molleville, Bertrand de, paints disorder in Paris, 268
Monnier, M. de, 160, 166, 427
Monnier, Sophie de, 157, 160, 165, 166; her death, 167; 168,
169, 170
Monpezat, 146
Monsieur, 338, 354
Montespan, Madame de, 65
Montigny, M. Lucas, 188
Montmorency, Duke de, 376
Montmorin, Madame de, 123
Morris, Gouverneur, 208, 321, 453
Mounier, 121, 220, 237, 240, 285, 315, 316, 324
Mc
McCarthy, Justin H., 189, 190, 346, 353, 355. 407, 465
N
Napoleon, 131, 233, 244, 255, 279, 422
National Assembly, commons declare themselves the, 221
Necker appointed minister, 107 ; compte rendu, 107 ; his dep
osition, 108; his recall, 113; 191, 203, 246, 254; is sum
marily dismissed, quits France, 259, 260, 266; returns in
triumph, 280; demands universal amnesty, 281; proposes
479

INDEX
income tax of 25 per cent., 301 ; his measure supported by
Mirabeau, 301; 333, 334, 335, 345, 361, 364, 390, 391, 392,
393, 460
Nobility, The new, 52, 53 O
O'Connell, Daniel, 434
October 5th and 6th, 314, 315, 316, 317, 323, 324, 325
Oelsner, 408
Offices, creation of public, 36
Orangerie, festival in the, 273
Orleans, Duke d', 14, '208, 264, 308, 323, 325, 460
P
Palais Royal, 257, 260, 311, 313, 426
Paris, Jansenism in, 33; Louvet's description, 50; Mercier's
description, 50; Arthur Young describes scenes, 50; 205,
211, 267, 313
Paupers, 48
Peasants, burdens imposed upon the, 42 ; humiliating feudal
services, 43
Penn, William, 26
Peter the Hermit, 435
Petion, 313, 330, 419
" Petit Schonbrunn," nickname for Trianon, 8g
" Petit Vienne,'' nickname for Trianon, 89
Philip II. of Spain, edict against heretics, 23
Philosophers, their infiuence, 76
Pitt, William, 431, 449
Polignac, Madame de, 273 ; abandons the queen, 277
Pompadour, Madame de, her extravagance, 36; mistress of
Louis XV., 73
Pontarlier, 157, 176
Portalis, 177
Provence, Count of, 348, 361, 364
Q
Quesnay, physician to Louis XV., his remark to Madame du
Hausset, 63
Quesnay, Francois de, 144 480

INDEX R
Rancourt, M. de, 165
Raynal, 76
Reb, Count de, 335
Reformation, The, 27
Richelieu made crown absolute, 17; suppressed public
offices, 36; 171, 214
Riquetti, Thomas, entertains Louis XIV. in his house at
Marseilles, 136 ; his son Honore created Marquis de Mira
beau in 1685, 136
Rivarol, 288, 354
Robespierre, 14, 122; replies to Archbishop of Aix, 227;
character, 228; 262, 308, 393, 394, 414, 418, 419
Rocca, Count of, 179
Rochechouart, Count of, 362
Rochefoucauld, Duke de, 266
Roederer, 31
Rohan, Cardinal de, 34; connection with the affair of the
diamond necklace, 87
Roman Church, its organization and power, 18
Romilly, 453
Rousseau, 76
Royal sitting, 246, 250 S
Salle des Menus, 249
Saint Priest, 322
Savoy, Duke of, 436
Scott, Sir Walter, 430, 459
Segur, Count de, 272
Servetus, 24
Shakespeare, 432
Sieyes, 76, 122, 236, 240, 241; sketch of, 242; 253, 257; op
poses abolition of tithes, 289
Slave trade, 448 ; oration by Mirabeau on, 450
Soliers, Jean Baptiste l'Hermite de, 134
Sophie, letters to, 167, 168, 169, 170
Spinoza, 21
Stael, Madame de, 122, 350, 429
States General, 113; Versailles chosen as place of meeting,
114; opening ceremonies, May 4, 1789, 115
31 481

INDEX
Sermon by Bishop of Nancy, 115; first session in the Salle
des Menus, 117
Stein, Alfred, 189
Stephens, 392, 423
St. Bartholomew, massacre of, 275
St. Etienne, Rabaut, 121, 393
St. Huruge, Marquis de, 407
St. Just, 262
St. Lazare, monastery of, 267
St. Petersburg, rejoicing over fall of Bastile, 272

Talleyrand on the coronation of Louis XVI., 77; 244, 278,
279, 364, 367, 383, 412, 413
Talma, Madame, 207
Tennis Court, 247, 372
Tennis-Court oath, 248
Teutch, Mirabeau's valet, 455
Thevenard, M., 326
Thiers on Necker's speech, 123; 236, 284, 356, 417
Tocqueville on the old noblesse, 53
Tollendal, Lally, 397
Tonnerre, Clermont, 254, 274
Towns, conditions prevailing in, 49
Turgot, minister of Louis XVI., 104; his reforms, 105; his
dismissal, 105; Condorcet and Voltaire regret dismissal,
106; succeeded by Necker, 107

V
Valfond, M., 436
Vauvenargues on Marquis Mirabeau, 147
Vergniaud, 31
Versailles, 67, 88; meeting of States General at, 1 15, 124,
258, 259, 265, 273, 295, 311, 313
Vienne, Archbishop of, 249, 266
Villeroi, Duke de, addresses Louis XV., 63
Vincennes, castle of, 427
Virieu, Count de, 266 482

INDEX
Volney, 396
Voltaire, 30, 76, 105
Von Hoist, 79, 189, 190, 347, 353, 356, 459

W
Waterloo, I, 278
Watson, 88 ; on Robespierre, 233
White Terror, 367
Wilberforce, 448
Wilkes, John, 184
Willert, 332, 459 Y
Young, Arthur, 47, 50, 240 Z
Zwingli, 23

THE END.

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