The End Of The Terror
No period of equal length in the whole era of history yields us such a
succession of exciting and startling events as those few years between
the convening of the States-General in France and the rise of Napoleon
to power, and particularly that portion of the Revolution known as the
Reign of Terror. A volume of thrilling stories might have been made from
its incidents alone; but it would have been a volume so full of tales of
blood and woe, of misery and massacre, of the dominance of those
wild-beast passions which civilization seeks to subdue in man, that we
may well be spared the telling. As with the fall of the Bastille began
the long dominion of the populace, so with the fall of Robespierre it
ended, and civil order returned to unhappy France. We have told the
story of the one; we shall conclude with that of the other.
Three men dominated the Terror,--Danton, Marat, and Robespierre; the
first named best deserving the title of man, for he possessed certain
qualities of manliness not shown by his brutal colleagues. As Lamartine
says, "Nothing was wanting to make Danton a great man except virtue." He
had too much manliness, as it seems, for the purposes of Robespierre,
and was brought by him to the guillotine on April 5, 1794.
The triumvirate of the Reign of Terror was broken by his death and that
of Marat, who had fallen under the avenging knife of Charlotte Corday in
July, 1793. Robespierre was left sole director of the Revolution, being
president of the Committee of Public Safety, leader of the Jacobin Club,
favorite of the extreme terrorists, and lord and master of the
Convention, whose members were held in subjection by his violence and
their fears.
His dominion was not to be of long continuance. It was signalized by
such a frightful activity of the guillotine, in which multitudes of
innocent persons daily perished, that the terror which he produced was
quickly followed by indignation, and a combination of many of the
leading spirits of the Convention was formed against him. One after
another he had vanquished all his enemies, and stood alone. But he stood
on such a ghastly pyramid of the dead that he could not hope to maintain
his dangerous elevation. The voice of vengeance, long choked by terror,
at length began to rise against this wholesale executioner.
The outbreak was precipitated by a demand of Saint-Just, the most
prominent supporter of Robespierre, that a dictatorship should be
established in France, and that the "virtuous and inflexible, as well as
incorruptible citizen," Robespierre, should be made Dictator. It was a
declaration of war. Many of the members of the Convention knew that it
meant their death. Once give their terrible foe the extreme power which
this demand indicated, and every known enemy of Robespierre in France
would be doomed. Yet to oppose it was to oppose the Jacobins and the
revolutionary sections, the controlling powers in Paris. The boldest
members of the Convention might well pause and tremble before assailing
their seemingly impregnable foe. But the rule of Robespierre had been
opposed in committee; it had ceased to be a secret that he had enemies
in the Convention; as yet the sentiment against him had spoken only in
the dark, but the time was rapidly approaching when an open struggle
could no longer be avoided.
Robespierre himself began the battle. He said to a deputation from
Aisne, "In the situation in which it now is, gangrened by corruption,
and without power to remedy it, the Convention can no longer save the
republic; both will perish together."
He repeated this accusation before the Convention itself, in a
threatening speech, in which he declared that there was in its midst a
conspiracy against public liberty; there were traitors in the national
councils; the Convention must be purged and purified; the conspirators
must be punished. His words were listened to in sullen silence. When he
had ceased no word was spoken, except in whispers from member to member.
The glove of defiance had been cast into their midst; were there none
among them with the courage to take it up, or must they all yield
themselves as the slaves or the victims of this merciless autocrat? No;
there were men of courage and patriotism left. Three delegates rose
simultaneously, three voices struggled for precedence in the right to
attack the tyrant and dare the worst.
"The man who has made himself master of everything, the man who
paralyzes our will, is he who has just spoken--Robespierre!" cried
Cambon, in ringing tones of defiance.
"It is Robespierre! It is Robespierre," came from other unsealed voices.
"Let him give an account of the crimes of the members whose death he
demanded from the Jacobins."
The attack was so unexpected and so vehement that Robespierre hesitated
to reply.
"You who pretend to have the courage of virtue, have the courage of
truth," cried Charlier; "name the individuals you accuse."
Tumult and confusion followed these daring words. Robespierre, unable to
gain the ear of the assembly, which now seemed filled with his enemies,
and finding the feeling against him rapidly spreading, left the hall and
took refuge with the Jacobins, where he repeated his address, this time
to applauding hearers. Violent councils followed. Henriot, commandant of
the troops, proposed to march on the Convention and put an end to its
existence. "Name thy enemies," shouted the members to Robespierre; "we
will deliver them to thee." Yet there was hesitation and doubt among the
leaders; they feared the result of violent measures, and felt inclined
to temporize and wait.
The Convention met the next day. It met inspired with a new spirit.
Courage animated the members. They had crossed the Rubicon, and felt
that there was no return. During the interval since the last session
their forces had been organized, their plans considered. Saint-Just
appeared and sought to speak. He was interrupted and his words drowned
by the voices of indignant members.
"I see here," cried Billaud-Varennes, who stood beside him, "one of the
men who yesterday, at the Jacobins, promised the massacre of the
National Convention; let him be arrested."
The officers obeyed this order. Saint-Just was in custody. Billaud
continued his remarks, declaring that the members were in danger of
massacre, denouncing Robespierre and his supporters, bidding them to be
firm and resolute. His boldness infected the assembly; the deputies
stood up and waved their hats, shouting their approval. In the midst of
this scene Robespierre appeared, livid with rage, his eyes flashing with
the fury which inspired him.
"I demand liberty to speak," he exclaimed.
"Down with the tyrant!" rose in a roar from a hundred voices.
Tallien, the leader of the opposition, sprang into the tribune.
"I demand that the veil be torn away instantly," he exclaimed. "The work
is done, the conspirators are unmasked. Yesterday, at the Jacobins, I
saw the army of the new Cromwell formed, and I have come here armed with
a dagger to pierce his heart if the Assembly dares not decree his
accusation. I demand the arrest of Henriot and his staff."
The debate went on, growing more violent minute by minute. Several times
Robespierre strove to speak, but each time his voice was drowned in
cries of "Down with the tyrant!" Pale with rage and fear, he turned from
his opponents towards his former supporters, both hands nervously
clutching the tribune.
"It is to you, pure and virtuous men," he said, "that I address myself.
I do not talk with scoundrels."
"Down with the tyrant!" was the response of the members addressed.
Evidently the whole assembly had turned against him.
Henriot, the president, rang his bell for order.
"President of assassins," cried Robespierre, in a voice that grew
feebler, "I once more demand liberty to speak."
"The blood of Danton is choking him!" cried Garnier de l'Aude.
"Shall this man longer remain master of the Convention?" asked Charles
Duval.
"Let us make an end! A decree! a decree!" shouted Lasseau.
"A tyrant is hard to strike down!" exclaimed Freron.
Robespierre stood in the midst of his circle of enemies, assailed on all
sides, nervously turning in his hands an open knife.
"Send me to death!" he ejaculated.
"You have merited it a thousand times," cried his foes. "Down with the
tyrant!"
In the midst of the tumult a decree for his arrest was offered and
carried. In it were included the names of his brother, of Couthon, and
of Saint-Just. Henriot proclaimed the decree, while wild acclamations of
triumph shook the room.
"Long live liberty! Long live the republic! Down with the tyrants! To
the bar with the accused!" came from the lips of those who the day
before had not dared to speak. The floodgates were down and the torrent
of long repressed fury was rushing on the accused. The exciting scene
ended in the removal of the prisoners, who were taken to separate
prisons.
Tidings of what had taken place in the Convention ran like wildfire
through Paris. Thousands of households were inspired with hope. The
terrorists were filled with fury and dismay. The Commune and the
Jacobins swore to support Robespierre. The tocsin peal rang out; the
people gathered; the gates of Paris were closed; Henriot, half drunk,
galloped along the streets, crying out that the representatives of the
people were being massacred; an insurrection against the Convention was
rapidly organized, headed by desperate men, among them Robespierre
himself, who was again free, having been taken from the hands of the
officers.
All was in peril. The Convention had assembled again, but had taken no
steps in self-defence. Startling tidings were brought to the members in
quick succession. It was said that the National Guard was coming with
artillery, to direct it against the hall. The roar of the insurrection
filled street and building. For the time it looked as if Robespierre had
conquered, and all was at an end.
"I propose," cried Elie Lacoste, "that Henriot be outlawed."
As he spoke these words, the man named stood in the street without,
ordering the artillerists, whose cannon were trained upon the Convention
hall, to fire. The gunners hesitated. It was a critical moment. The fate
of France hung in the balance. A group of the deputies came hastily from
the hall and faced Henriot and his men.
"What are you doing, soldiers?" they exclaimed. "That man is a rebel,
who has just been outlawed."
The gunners lowered their matches. The Convention was saved. The
National Guard had deserted Robespierre. Henriot put spurs to his horse,
and fled at full gallop.
"Outlaw all who shall take arms against the Convention, or who shall
oppose its decrees," said Barere; "as well as those who have defied it
by eluding arrest."
This decree, repeated to the insurgents, completed their discomfiture.
Rapidly they dispersed. Public opinion had changed; the Convention had
triumphed. The gunners who had marched with the insurrection deserted
their pieces; and a few hours afterwards returned to them, to protect
the Convention.
The members of the Convention had run a serious risk in not taking
active steps to assemble their friends, and in thus giving so perilous
an opportunity to their enemies. This error was now retrieved; a section
of their supporters came together, commanded by Leonard Bourdon and a
gendarme named Meda. They reached the Hotel de Ville without opposition.
Meda entered it, crying, probably as a strategem, "Long live
Robespierre!" He reached the hall where the Jacobin leaders were
gathered in silent dismay around the fallen dictator. Robespierre sat at
a table, his head resting on his hand. Meda stepped towards him, pistols
in hand.
"Surrender, traitor!" he exclaimed.
"It is you who are a traitor," retorted Robespierre, "and I will have
you shot."
His words were barely spoken when Meda fired, his bullet shattering
Robespierre's lower jaw. It is well to state here, however, that in the
belief of many Robespierre shot himself.
This decided action created consternation in the room. The younger
Robespierre leaped from a window, receiving mortal injury from the fall.
Saint-Just turned towards Lebas and said to him, "Kill me."
"I have something better to do," answered Lebas, shooting himself
through the head.
A report from the stairway quickly followed. Meda with his second pistol
had shot Couthon and badly wounded him. The hall had suddenly become a
place of blood and death. The Jacobin chiefs, lately all-powerful, now
condemned, dead, or dying, presented a frightful spectacle. Two days
had changed the course of events in France. The Reign of Terror was at
an end.
Robespierre lay on a table, his head supported by a small deal box. The
blood flowed slowly from his mouth. He was silent, giving no sign of
pain or feeling. He was taken to the Conciergerie, whither other
prisoners of his faction were being brought. Saint-Just and Couthon were
already there.
Five o'clock came. The carts had drawn up as usual at the gate of the
prison, waiting for the condemned. This time there was a new spectacle
for the people, who had become wearied with executions, but were on the
alert for the fresh sensation promised them. It was no time to
temporize. The Convention had ordered the immediate execution of its
foes. As Robespierre, with a blood-stained cloth round his face, entered
the cart, there was a shout of joy and triumph from the assembled crowd.
The late all-powerful man had not a friend left.
On the scaffold the executioner tore the cloth from Robespierre's
wounded face. A terrible cry of pain followed, the first sign of
suffering he had given. In a minute more his head had fallen into the
gory basket, and France was avenged. It was the 28th of July, 1794, less
than four months after the death of Danton had left all the power in his
hands. In that and the following days one hundred and three executions
sealed the fate of the defeated enemies of the Convention. Justice had
been done; the Terror was at an end.