The French Revolution

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Chapter 1.6.IV.

In Queue.

If we look now at Paris, one thing is too evident: that the Baker's
shops have got their Queues, or Tails; their long strings of purchasers,
arranged in tail, so that the first come be the first served,--were the
shop once open! This waiting in tail, not seen since the early days of
July, again makes its appearance in August. In time, we shall see it
perfected by practice to the rank almost of an art; and the art, or
quasi-art, of standing in tail become one of the characteristics of the
Parisian People, distinguishing them from all other Peoples whatsoever.

But consider, while work itself is so scarce, how a man must not only
realise money; but stand waiting (if his wife is too weak to wait and
struggle) for half days in the Tail, till he get it changed for dear
bad bread! Controversies, to the length, sometimes of blood and battery,
must arise in these exasperated Queues. Or if no controversy, then it is
but one accordant Pange Lingua of complaint against the Powers that
be. France has begun her long Curriculum of Hungering, instructive and
productive beyond Academic Curriculums; which extends over some seven
most strenuous years. As Jean Paul says, of his own Life, 'to a great
height shall the business of Hungering go.'

Or consider, in strange contrast, the jubilee Ceremonies; for, in
general, the aspect of Paris presents these two features: jubilee
ceremonials and scarcity of victual. Processions enough walk in jubilee;
of Young Women, decked and dizened, their ribands all tricolor; moving
with song and tabor, to the Shrine of Sainte Genevieve, to thank her
that the Bastille is down. The Strong Men of the Market, and the Strong
Women, fail not with their bouquets and speeches. Abbe Fauchet, famed
in such work (for Abbe Lefevre could only distribute powder) blesses
tricolor cloth for the National Guard; and makes it a National Tricolor
Flag; victorious, or to be victorious, in the cause of civil and
religious liberty all over the world. Fauchet, we say, is the man for
Te-Deums, and public Consecrations;--to which, as in this instance of
the Flag, our National Guard will 'reply with volleys of musketry,'
Church and Cathedral though it be; (See Hist. Parl. iii. 20; Mercier,
Nouveau Paris, &c.) filling Notre Dame with such noisiest fuliginous
Amen, significant of several things.

On the whole, we will say our new Mayor Bailly; our new Commander
Lafayette, named also 'Scipio-Americanus,' have bought their preferment
dear. Bailly rides in gilt state-coach, with beefeaters and sumptuosity;
Camille Desmoulins, and others, sniffing at him for it: Scipio bestrides
the 'white charger,' and waves with civic plumes in sight of all France.
Neither of them, however, does it for nothing; but, in truth, at an
exorbitant rate. At this rate, namely: of feeding Paris, and keeping
it from fighting. Out of the City-funds, some seventeen thousand of the
utterly destitute are employed digging on Montmartre, at tenpence a day,
which buys them, at market price, almost two pounds of bad bread;--they
look very yellow, when Lafayette goes to harangue them. The Townhall
is in travail, night and day; it must bring forth Bread, a Municipal
Constitution, regulations of all kinds, curbs on the Sansculottic Press;
above all, Bread, Bread.

Purveyors prowl the country far and wide, with the appetite of lions;
detect hidden grain, purchase open grain; by gentle means or forcible,
must and will find grain. A most thankless task; and so difficult,
so dangerous,--even if a man did gain some trifle by it! On the 19th
August, there is food for one day. (See Bailly, Memoires, ii. 137-409.)
Complaints there are that the food is spoiled, and produces an effect
on the intestines: not corn but plaster-of-Paris! Which effect on the
intestines, as well as that 'smarting in the throat and palate,' a
Townhall Proclamation warns you to disregard, or even to consider as
drastic-beneficial. The Mayor of Saint-Denis, so black was his bread,
has, by a dyspeptic populace, been hanged on the Lanterne there.
National Guards protect the Paris Corn-Market: first ten suffice; then
six hundred. (Hist. Parl. ii. 421.) Busy are ye, Bailly, Brissot de
Warville, Condorcet, and ye others!

For, as just hinted, there is a Municipal Constitution to be made too.
The old Bastille Electors, after some ten days of psalmodying over their
glorious victory, began to hear it asked, in a splenetic tone, Who put
you there? They accordingly had to give place, not without moanings, and
audible growlings on both sides, to a new larger Body, specially elected
for that post. Which new Body, augmented, altered, then fixed finally
at the number of Three Hundred, with the title of Town Representatives
(Representans de la Commune), now sits there; rightly portioned into
Committees; assiduous making a Constitution; at all moments when not
seeking flour.

And such a Constitution; little short of miraculous: one that shall
'consolidate the Revolution'! The Revolution is finished, then? Mayor
Bailly and all respectable friends of Freedom would fain think so. Your
Revolution, like jelly sufficiently boiled, needs only to be poured into
shapes, of Constitution, and 'consolidated' therein? Could it, indeed,
contrive to cool; which last, however, is precisely the doubtful thing,
or even the not doubtful!

Unhappy friends of Freedom; consolidating a Revolution! They must sit
at work there, their pavilion spread on very Chaos; between two hostile
worlds, the Upper Court-world, the Nether Sansculottic one; and, beaten
on by both, toil painfully, perilously,--doing, in sad literal earnest,
'the impossible.'



Chapter 1.6.V.

The Fourth Estate.

Pamphleteering opens its abysmal throat wider and wider: never to close
more. Our Philosophes, indeed, rather withdraw; after the manner of
Marmontel, 'retiring in disgust the first day.' Abbe Raynal, grown gray
and quiet in his Marseilles domicile, is little content with this work;
the last literary act of the man will again be an act of rebellion: an
indignant Letter to the Constituent Assembly; answered by 'the order
of the day.' Thus also Philosophe Morellet puckers discontented brows;
being indeed threatened in his benefices by that Fourth of August: it
is clearly going too far. How astonishing that those 'haggard figures
in woollen jupes' would not rest as satisfied with Speculation, and
victorious Analysis, as we!

Alas, yes: Speculation, Philosophism, once the ornament and wealth of
the saloon, will now coin itself into mere Practical Propositions, and
circulate on street and highway, universally; with results! A Fourth
Estate, of Able Editors, springs up; increases and multiplies;
irrepressible, incalculable. New Printers, new Journals, and ever new
(so prurient is the world), let our Three Hundred curb and consolidate
as they can! Loustalot, under the wing of Prudhomme dull-blustering
Printer, edits weekly his Revolutions de Paris; in an acrid, emphatic
manner. Acrid, corrosive, as the spirit of sloes and copperas, is Marat,
Friend of the People; struck already with the fact that the National
Assembly, so full of Aristocrats, 'can do nothing,' except dissolve
itself, and make way for a better; that the Townhall Representatives are
little other than babblers and imbeciles, if not even knaves. Poor is
this man; squalid, and dwells in garrets; a man unlovely to the sense,
outward and inward; a man forbid;--and is becoming fanatical, possessed
with fixed-idea. Cruel lusus of Nature! Did Nature, O poor Marat, as
in cruel sport, knead thee out of her leavings, and miscellaneous
waste clay; and fling thee forth stepdamelike, a Distraction into this
distracted Eighteenth Century? Work is appointed thee there; which thou
shalt do. The Three Hundred have summoned and will again summon Marat:
but always he croaks forth answer sufficient; always he will defy them,
or elude them; and endure no gag.

Carra, 'Ex-secretary of a decapitated Hospodar,' and then of a
Necklace-Cardinal; likewise pamphleteer, Adventurer in many scenes and
lands,--draws nigh to Mercier, of the Tableau de Paris; and, with foam
on his lips, proposes an Annales Patriotiques. The Moniteur goes its
prosperous way; Barrere 'weeps,' on Paper as yet loyal; Rivarol, Royou
are not idle. Deep calls to deep: your Domine Salvum Fac Regem shall
awaken Pange Lingua; with an Ami-du-Peuple there is a King's-Friend
Newspaper, Ami-du-Roi. Camille Desmoulins has appointed himself
Procureur-General de la Lanterne, Attorney-General of the Lamp-iron; and
pleads, not with atrocity, under an atrocious title; editing weekly his
brilliant Revolutions of Paris and Brabant. Brilliant, we say: for if,
in that thick murk of Journalism, with its dull blustering, with
its fixed or loose fury, any ray of genius greet thee, be sure it is
Camille's. The thing that Camille teaches he, with his light finger,
adorns: brightness plays, gentle, unexpected, amid horrible confusions;
often is the word of Camille worth reading, when no other's is.
Questionable Camille, how thou glitterest with a fallen, rebellious, yet
still semi-celestial light; as is the star-light on the brow of Lucifer!
Son of the Morning, into what times and what lands, art thou fallen!

But in all things is good;--though not good for 'consolidating
Revolutions.' Thousand wagon-loads of this Pamphleteering and Newspaper
matter, lie rotting slowly in the Public Libraries of our Europe.
Snatched from the great gulf, like oysters by bibliomaniac pearl-divers,
there must they first rot, then what was pearl, in Camille or others,
may be seen as such, and continue as such.

Nor has public speaking declined, though Lafayette and his Patrols look
sour on it. Loud always is the Palais Royal, loudest the Cafe de Foy;
such a miscellany of Citizens and Citizenesses circulating there. 'Now
and then,' according to Camille, 'some Citizens employ the liberty of
the press for a private purpose; so that this or the other Patriot finds
himself short of his watch or pocket-handkerchief!' But, for the rest,
in Camille's opinion, nothing can be a livelier image of the Roman
Forum. 'A Patriot proposes his motion; if it finds any supporters, they
make him mount on a chair, and speak. If he is applauded, he prospers
and redacts; if he is hissed, he goes his ways.' Thus they, circulating
and perorating. Tall shaggy Marquis Saint-Huruge, a man that has
had losses, and has deserved them, is seen eminent, and also heard.
'Bellowing' is the character of his voice, like that of a Bull of
Bashan; voice which drowns all voices, which causes frequently the
hearts of men to leap. Cracked or half-cracked is this tall Marquis's
head; uncracked are his lungs; the cracked and the uncracked shall alike
avail him.

Consider further that each of the Forty-eight Districts has its own
Committee; speaking and motioning continually; aiding in the search for
grain, in the search for a Constitution; checking and spurring the poor
Three Hundred of the Townhall. That Danton, with a 'voice reverberating
from the domes,' is President of the Cordeliers District; which has
already become a Goshen of Patriotism. That apart from the 'seventeen
thousand utterly necessitous, digging on Montmartre,' most of whom,
indeed, have got passes, and been dismissed into Space 'with four
shillings,'--there is a strike, or union, of Domestics out of place; who
assemble for public speaking: next, a strike of Tailors, for even they
will strike and speak; further, a strike of Journeymen Cordwainers; a
strike of Apothecaries: so dear is bread. (Histoire Parlementaire, ii.
359, 417, 423.) All these, having struck, must speak; generally under
the open canopy; and pass resolutions;--Lafayette and his Patrols
watching them suspiciously from the distance.

Unhappy mortals: such tugging and lugging, and throttling of one
another, to divide, in some not intolerable way, the joint Felicity of
man in this Earth; when the whole lot to be divided is such a 'feast of
shells!'--Diligent are the Three Hundred; none equals Scipio Americanus
in dealing with mobs. But surely all these things bode ill for the
consolidating of a Revolution.




BOOK VII.

THE INSURRECTION OF WOMEN


Chapter 1.7.I.

Patrollotism.

No, Friends, this Revolution is not of the consolidating kind. Do
not fires, fevers, sown seeds, chemical mixtures, men, events; all
embodiments of Force that work in this miraculous Complex of Forces,
named Universe,--go on growing, through their natural phases and
developments, each according to its kind; reach their height, reach
their visible decline; finally sink under, vanishing, and what we call
die? They all grow; there is nothing but what grows, and shoots forth
into its special expansion,--once give it leave to spring. Observe too
that each grows with a rapidity proportioned, in general, to the madness
and unhealthiness there is in it: slow regular growth, though this also
ends in death, is what we name health and sanity.

A Sansculottism, which has prostrated Bastilles, which has got pike
and musket, and now goes burning Chateaus, passing resolutions and
haranguing under roof and sky, may be said to have sprung; and, by law
of Nature, must grow. To judge by the madness and diseasedness both
of itself, and of the soil and element it is in, one might expect the
rapidity and monstrosity would be extreme.

Many things too, especially all diseased things, grow by shoots and
fits. The first grand fit and shooting forth of Sansculottism with
that of Paris conquering its King; for Bailly's figure of rhetoric was
all-too sad a reality. The King is conquered; going at large on his
parole; on condition, say, of absolutely good behaviour,--which, in
these circumstances, will unhappily mean no behaviour whatever. A quite
untenable position, that of Majesty put on its good behaviour! Alas, is
it not natural that whatever lives try to keep itself living? Whereupon
his Majesty's behaviour will soon become exceptionable; and so the
Second grand Fit of Sansculottism, that of putting him in durance,
cannot be distant.

Necker, in the National Assembly, is making moan, as usual about his
Deficit: Barriers and Customhouses burnt; the Tax-gatherer hunted, not
hunting; his Majesty's Exchequer all but empty. The remedy is a Loan of
thirty millions; then, on still more enticing terms, a Loan of eighty
millions: neither of which Loans, unhappily, will the Stockjobbers
venture to lend. The Stockjobber has no country, except his own black
pool of Agio.

And yet, in those days, for men that have a country, what a glow of
patriotism burns in many a heart; penetrating inwards to the very purse!
So early as the 7th of August, a Don Patriotique, 'a Patriotic Gift
of jewels to a considerable extent,' has been solemnly made by certain
Parisian women; and solemnly accepted, with honourable mention. Whom
forthwith all the world takes to imitating and emulating. Patriotic
Gifts, always with some heroic eloquence, which the President must
answer and the Assembly listen to, flow in from far and near: in such
number that the honourable mention can only be performed in 'lists
published at stated epochs.' Each gives what he can: the very
cordwainers have behaved munificently; one landed proprietor gives a
forest; fashionable society gives its shoebuckles, takes cheerfully to
shoe-ties. Unfortunate females give what they 'have amassed in loving.'
(Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 427.) The smell of all cash, as Vespasian
thought, is good.

Beautiful, and yet inadequate! The Clergy must be 'invited' to melt
their superfluous Church-plate,--in the Royal Mint. Nay finally, a
Patriotic Contribution, of the forcible sort, must be determined on,
though unwillingly: let the fourth part of your declared yearly revenue,
for this once only, be paid down; so shall a National Assembly make the
Constitution, undistracted at least by insolvency. Their own wages, as
settled on the 17th of August, are but Eighteen Francs a day, each man;
but the Public Service must have sinews, must have money. To appease the
Deficit; not to 'combler, or choke the Deficit,' if you or mortal could!
For withal, as Mirabeau was heard saying, "it is the Deficit that saves
us."

Towards the end of August, our National Assembly in its constitutional
labours, has got so far as the question of Veto: shall Majesty have a
Veto on the National Enactments; or not have a Veto? What speeches were
spoken, within doors and without; clear, and also passionate logic;
imprecations, comminations; gone happily, for most part, to Limbo!
Through the cracked brain, and uncracked lungs of Saint-Huruge, the
Palais Royal rebellows with Veto. Journalism is busy, France rings with
Veto. 'I shall never forget,' says Dumont, 'my going to Paris, one of
these days, with Mirabeau; and the crowd of people we found waiting for
his carriage, about Le Jay the Bookseller's shop. They flung themselves
before him; conjuring him with tears in their eyes not to suffer the
Veto Absolu. They were in a frenzy: "Monsieur le Comte, you are the
people's father; you must save us; you must defend us against those
villains who are bringing back Despotism. If the King get this Veto,
what is the use of National Assembly? We are slaves, all is done."'
(Souvenirs sur Mirabeau, p. 156.) Friends, if the sky fall, there
will be catching of larks! Mirabeau, adds Dumont, was eminent on such
occasions: he answered vaguely, with a Patrician imperturbability, and
bound himself to nothing.

Deputations go to the Hotel-de-Ville; anonymous Letters to Aristocrats
in the National Assembly, threatening that fifteen thousand, or
sometimes that sixty thousand, 'will march to illuminate you.' The Paris
Districts are astir; Petitions signing: Saint-Huruge sets forth from the
Palais Royal, with an escort of fifteen hundred individuals, to petition
in person. Resolute, or seemingly so, is the tall shaggy Marquis, is
the Cafe de Foy: but resolute also is Commandant-General Lafayette.
The streets are all beset by Patrols: Saint-Huruge is stopped at the
Barriere des Bon Hommes; he may bellow like the bulls of Bashan; but
absolutely must return. The brethren of the Palais Royal 'circulate all
night,' and make motions, under the open canopy; all Coffee-houses being
shut. Nevertheless Lafayette and the Townhall do prevail: Saint-Huruge
is thrown into prison; Veto Absolu adjusts itself into Suspensive Veto,
prohibition not forever, but for a term of time; and this doom's-clamour
will grow silent, as the others have done.

So far has Consolidation prospered, though with difficulty; repressing
the Nether Sansculottic world; and the Constitution shall be made. With
difficulty: amid jubilee and scarcity; Patriotic Gifts, Bakers'-queues;
Abbe-Fauchet Harangues, with their Amen of platoon-musketry! Scipio
Americanus has deserved thanks from the National Assembly and France.
They offer him stipends and emoluments, to a handsome extent; all which
stipends and emoluments he, covetous of far other blessedness than mere
money, does, in his chivalrous way, without scruple, refuse.

To the Parisian common man, meanwhile, one thing remains inconceivable:
that now when the Bastille is down, and French Liberty restored, grain
should continue so dear. Our Rights of Man are voted, Feudalism and
all Tyranny abolished; yet behold we stand in queue! Is it Aristocrat
forestallers; a Court still bent on intrigues? Something is rotten,
somewhere.

And yet, alas, what to do? Lafayette, with his Patrols prohibits every
thing, even complaint. Saint-Huruge and other heroes of the Veto lie
in durance. People's-Friend Marat was seized; Printers of Patriotic
Journals are fettered and forbidden; the very Hawkers cannot cry, till
they get license, and leaden badges. Blue National Guards ruthlessly
dissipate all groups; scour, with levelled bayonets, the Palais Royal
itself. Pass, on your affairs, along the Rue Taranne, the Patrol,
presenting his bayonet, cries, To the left! Turn into the Rue
Saint-Benoit, he cries, To the right! A judicious Patriot (like Camille
Desmoulins, in this instance) is driven, for quietness's sake, to take
the gutter.

O much-suffering People, our glorious Revolution is evaporating in
tricolor ceremonies, and complimentary harangues! Of which latter,
as Loustalot acridly calculates, 'upwards of two thousand have been
delivered within the last month, at the Townhall alone.' (Revolutions
de Paris Newspaper (cited in Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 357).) And
our mouths, unfilled with bread, are to be shut, under penalties? The
Caricaturist promulgates his emblematic Tablature: Le Patrouillotisme
chassant le Patriotisme, Patriotism driven out by Patrollotism. Ruthless
Patrols; long superfine harangues; and scanty ill-baked loaves, more
like baked Bath bricks,--which produce an effect on the intestines!
Where will this end? In consolidation?



Chapter 1.7.II.

O Richard, O my King.

For, alas, neither is the Townhall itself without misgivings. The Nether
Sansculottic world has been suppressed hitherto: but then the Upper
Court-world! Symptoms there are that the Oeil-de-Boeuf is rallying.

More than once in the Townhall Sanhedrim; often enough, from those
outspoken Bakers'-queues, has the wish uttered itself: O that our
Restorer of French Liberty were here; that he could see with his own
eyes, not with the false eyes of Queens and Cabals, and his really good
heart be enlightened! For falsehood still environs him; intriguing
Dukes de Guiche, with Bodyguards; scouts of Bouille; a new flight of
intriguers, now that the old is flown. What else means this advent of
the Regiment de Flandre; entering Versailles, as we hear, on the 23rd
of September, with two pieces of cannon? Did not the Versailles National
Guard do duty at the Chateau? Had they not Swiss; Hundred Swiss;
Gardes-du-Corps, Bodyguards so-called? Nay, it would seem, the number of
Bodyguards on duty has, by a manoeuvre, been doubled: the new relieving
Battalion of them arrived at its time; but the old relieved one does not
depart!

Actually, there runs a whisper through the best informed Upper-Circles,
or a nod still more potentous than whispering, of his Majesty's flying
to Metz; of a Bond (to stand by him therein) which has been signed by
Noblesse and Clergy, to the incredible amount of thirty, or even of
sixty thousand. Lafayette coldly whispers it, and coldly asseverates
it, to Count d'Estaing at the Dinner-table; and d'Estaing, one of
the bravest men, quakes to the core lest some lackey overhear it; and
tumbles thoughtful, without sleep, all night. (Brouillon de Lettre de
M. d'Estaing a la Reine in Histoire Parlementaire, iii. 24.) Regiment
Flandre, as we said, is clearly arrived. His Majesty, they say,
hesitates about sanctioning the Fourth of August; makes observations,
of chilling tenor, on the very Rights of Man! Likewise, may not all
persons, the Bakers'-queues themselves discern on the streets of Paris,
the most astonishing number of Officers on furlough, Crosses of St.
Louis, and such like? Some reckon 'from a thousand to twelve hundred.'
Officers of all uniforms; nay one uniform never before seen by eye:
green faced with red! The tricolor cockade is not always visible: but
what, in the name of Heaven, may these black cockades, which some wear,
foreshadow?

Hunger whets everything, especially Suspicion and Indignation. Realities
themselves, in this Paris, have grown unreal: preternatural. Phantasms
once more stalk through the brain of hungry France. O ye laggards and
dastards, cry shrill voices from the Queues, if ye had the hearts of
men, ye would take your pikes and secondhand firelocks, and look into
it; not leave your wives and daughters to be starved, murdered, and
worse!--Peace, women! The heart of man is bitter and heavy; Patriotism,
driven out by Patrollotism, knows not what to resolve on.

The truth is, the Oeil-de-Boeuf has rallied; to a certain unknown
extent. A changed Oeil-de-Boeuf; with Versailles National Guards, in
their tricolor cockades, doing duty there; a Court all flaring with
tricolor! Yet even to a tricolor Court men will rally. Ye loyal hearts,
burnt-out Seigneurs, rally round your Queen! With wishes; which will
produce hopes; which will produce attempts!

For indeed self-preservation being such a law of Nature, what can a
rallied Court do, but attempt and endeavour, or call it plot,--with such
wisdom and unwisdom as it has? They will fly, escorted, to Metz,
where brave Bouille commands; they will raise the Royal Standard: the
Bond-signatures shall become armed men. Were not the King so
languid! Their Bond, if at all signed, must be signed without his
privity.--Unhappy King, he has but one resolution: not to have a civil
war. For the rest, he still hunts, having ceased lockmaking; he still
dozes, and digests; is clay in the hands of the potter. Ill will it fare
with him, in a world where all is helping itself; where, as has been
written, 'whosoever is not hammer must be stithy;' and 'the very hyssop
on the wall grows there, in that chink, because the whole Universe could
not prevent its growing!'