Part 11

At first Roland sent this letter to the King, with a promise that it should always remain a secret between them. But, incited by the vanity of his wife, who was incessantly urging him on to notoriety and display, Roland did not keep this promise. He read {164} the letter at the next meeting of the Council, June 11. "The King," says Dumouriez, "listened to this impudent diatribe with admirable patience, and said with the greatest coolness: 'M. Roland, you had already sent me your letter; it was unnecessary to read it to the Council, as it was to remain a secret between ourselves.'" Dumouriez was summoned to the palace the following morning, June 12. He found the King in his own room, accompanied by the Queen. "Do you think, Monsieur," said Marie Antoinette, "that the King ought to submit any longer to the threats and insolence of Roland and the knavery of Servan and Clavière?"--"No, Madame," he replied; "I am indignant at them; I admire the King's patience, and I venture to ask him to make an entire change in his ministry. Let him dismiss us on the spot, and appoint men belonging to neither party."--"That is not my intention," said Louis XVI. "I wish you to remain, as well as Lacoste and that good man, Duranton. Do me the service of ridding me of these three factious and insolent persons, for my patience is exhausted."--"It is a dangerous matter, Sire, but I will do it." As a condition of remaining in the ministry, Dumouriez exacted the sanction of the two decrees. There was another ministerial council the same evening. Roland, Servan, and Clavière were more insolent and acrimonious than usual. Louis XVI. closed the session with mingled dissatisfaction and dignity.

At eight o'clock that evening (June 12), Servan, {165} the Minister of War, went to Madame Roland and said: "Congratulate me! I have been turned out."--"I am much piqued," replied she, "that you should be the first to receive that honor, but I hope it will not be long before it will be decreed to my husband also." Madame Roland's prayer was granted. The virtuous Minister of the Interior received his letters of dismissal the next morning. As Duranton, who delivered it at the Ministry of Justice, was slowly drawing it from his pocket,--

"You make us wait for our liberty," said Roland; and, taking the letter, he added, "In reality that is what it is." Then he went home to his wife to announce to her that he was no longer minister.

Madame Roland, with the instinct of hatred, saw at once how to obtain revenge. "One thing remains to be done," she cried; "we must be the first to communicate the news to the Assembly, sending them at the same time a copy of the letter to the King which must have caused it." This idea pleased the ex-minister highly, and he put it instantly into execution. "I was conscious," says the irascible Egeria of the Girondins in her Memoirs, "of all the effects this might produce, and I was not deceived; my double object was attained, and both utility and glory attended the retirement of my husband. I had not been proud of his entering the ministry, but I was of his leaving it." Thenceforward Madame Roland was to be the most indefatigable cause of the Revolution, and Louis XVI. was to learn by experience what the vengeance of a woman can accomplish.

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XVI.

A THREE DAYS' MINISTRY.

Dumouriez had taken the portfolio of war. He kept it three days only. But during those three days what activity! what excitement! More than fifteen hundred signatures affixed, instructions sent to all the generals, a most tumultuous session of the National Assembly, a last effort to induce Louis XVI. to make further concessions, a resignation which was to be the signal for catastrophes. How the scenes of the drama multiply! How the dénouement is accelerated!

The session at which Dumouriez was to appear for the first time as Minister of War could not fail to be singular. It took place June 13, 1792, and from ten o'clock in the morning all the galleries had been crowded. The Jacobins had filled them with their satellites. The Girondins had prepared a dramatic surprise. The three ex-ministers were to be brought into the chamber under pretext of explaining the causes of their dismissal. It was agreed that they should be received as victims of the aristocracy and martyrs of the Revolution. Roland's letter--say, rather, his wife's letter--to Louis XVI. was read to {167} the Assembly and frequently interrupted by loud bursts of applause. Just as it was finished, and some one was demanding that it should be sent to all the eighty-three departments, Dumouriez entered the hall. Murmurs and hisses arose on all sides. The Assembly voted the despatch of the letter to the departments. A deputy exclaimed: "It will be a famous document in the history of the Revolution and of the ministers." The Assembly went on to declare that Roland was followed by the regrets of the nation. Then Dumouriez ascended the tribune and read a message in which M. Lafayette announced the death of M. de Gouvion. He had been major-general of the National Guard, and, having quitted the Assembly rather than be present at the triumph of the Swiss of Chateauvieux, had met his death bravely in the Army of the North. "A cannon-ball," said the message, "has terminated a virtuous life." The Assembly was affected, and voted complimentary condolences to the father of the heroic officer.

Afterwards, Dumouriez read his report on military affairs. It was a long criticism on the legislators who had ordered a new levy of troops before providing the existing corps with their full complements; on the muster-masters, the standing committees, and the market-contractors, who were piling up abuses. Dumouriez complained of everything; he reproached the factions, and insisted on the consideration due to ministers. Guadet thundered out: "Do you hear him? He already thinks himself so {168} sure of power that he takes it on him to give us advice."--"And why not?" resumed the minister, turning toward the side of the Mountain.[1] This bold response astonished the most furious. Some one said: "The document is not signed. Let him sign it! Let him sign it!" Dumouriez called for pen and ink, signed his memoir, and went to lay it on the desk. Then he slowly crossed the hall and went quietly out by the door beneath the Mountain, with a haughty glance at his adversaries. His martial attitude disconcerted them. The shouts and hootings ceased, and complete silence ensued. On leaving the Assembly, Dumouriez was surrounded by a group of persons before the door of the Feuillants, but their faces displayed no signs of anger toward him. As soon as he quitted the Assembly, his enemies, no longer intimidated by his presence, redoubled their attacks. Three or four deputies left the Chamber, and making their way to him through the crowd, said: "They are raising the devil inside; they would like to send you to Orleans." (It was there the Duke de Brissac was imprisoned and the Superior Court held its sessions.) "So much the better," replied Dumouriez; "I would take the baths, drink butter-milk, and rest myself." This sally amused the crowd, and the minister as he entered the Tuileries garden, said to the deputies who followed him: "It will be a mistake for my enemies to have {169} my memoir printed, for it will bring all good citizens back to me. At present, being drunk and crazy, you have just extolled Roland's infamous perfidy to the skies." Then he went to the palace. Louis XVI. complimented him on his firmness, but absolutely refused to sanction the decree against the priests.

Far from ameliorating, the situation continued to grow worse. Pétion's emissaries stirred up the inhabitants of the faubourgs. That evening Dumouriez sent a letter to the King announcing that a riot was apprehended. Louis XVI. suspected that the minister was lying, and wrote to him: "Do not believe, Monsieur, that any one can succeed in frightening me by threats; my resolution is taken." Dumouriez had based his entire scheme on the hypothesis that the decree concerning the priests would be accepted by the King. From the moment that Louis XVI. rejected it, Dumouriez no longer hoped to remain in the ministry. He wrote again, imploring the sovereign to give it his sanction, and announcing that, in case of his refusal, the ministers would all feel obliged to retire. The next day, June 15, the King received them in his chamber. "Are you still," said he to Dumouriez, "in the same sentiments expressed in your letter last evening?"--"Yes, Sire, if Your Majesty will not permit yourself to be moved by our fidelity and attachment."--"Very well," replied Louis XVI., with a gloomy air, "since your decision is made, I accept your resignation and will provide for it." Dumouriez was no {170} longer a minister. In his Memoirs he describes himself as much affected, "not on account of quitting a dangerous post, which simply made his existence disturbed and painful, but because he saw all his trouble thrown away, and the King handed over to the fury of cruel enemies and the criminal indiscretion of false friends."

At bottom, Dumouriez inspired nobody with confidence. He belonged to no party, and no one knew his opinions. He had leaned on both Jacobins and Girondins, while at the same time he was inspiring certain hopes in the Feuillants, and flattering the King, to whom he promised signs and wonders. Too revolutionary for the conservatives and too conservative for the revolutionists, he had tried a see-saw policy which would no longer answer. It became indispensable to make a choice. It was impossible to please both the Jacobins and the court.

And yet Dumouriez was a man of resources, and it is much to be regretted, on the King's account, that no better understanding could be arrived at between them. More successfully than any one else, Dumouriez might have resorted to bold measures and called in at this time the intervention of the army, as he did several years later. He loved money and rank; royalty still excited a great prestige over him, and he had used the Revolution as a means, not as an end.

Could Louis XVI. have pretended patience for a few days longer, perhaps he might have extricated {171} himself from difficulties which, though grave, were still not insoluble. He did not choose his hour for resistance wisely. It was either too late or too soon. The dismission of Dumouriez was a blunder. At what moment did Louis XVI. elect to deprive himself of his minister's aid? That very one when, attacked by the Girondins, exasperated by Roland's conduct, and disgusted with the progress of anarchy, the force of circumstances was about to toss Dumouriez back to the side of the reactionists. The camp of twenty thousand men, if confided to safe hands, and secret service money judiciously employed, might have become the nucleus of a monarchical resistance. Lafayette and his partisans were becoming conservative, and between him and Dumouriez agreement was not impossible. Louis XVI. was in too great a hurry. His conscience revolted at an unfortunate moment. Why, if he was bent on this veto, so just, so honest, but so ill-timed, had he freely made so many concessions which thus became inexplicable? In rejecting the offers of Dumouriez, the Queen possibly deprived herself of her only remaining support. He who saved France in the Passes of Argonne might, had he gained the entire confidence of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette, have saved the King and royalty.

Dumouriez had a final interview with Louis XVI., June 18. The King received him in his chamber. He had resumed his kindly air, and when the ex-minister had shown him the accounts of the last {172} fortnight, he complimented him on their clearness. Afterwards, the following conversation took place: "Then you are going to join Luckner's army?"--"Yes, Sire, I leave this frightful city with delight; I have but one regret; you are in danger here."--"Yes, that is certain."--"Well, Sire, you can no longer fancy that I have any personal interest to consult in talking with you; once having left your Council, I shall never again approach you; it is through fidelity and the purest attachment that I dare once more entreat you, by your love for your country, your safety and that of your crown, by your august spouse and your interesting children, not to persist in the fatal resolution of vetoing the two decrees. This persistence will do no good, and you will ruin yourself by it."--"Don't say any more about it; my decision is made."--"Ah! Sire, you said the same thing when, in this very room, and in presence of the Queen, you gave me your word to sanction them."--"I was wrong, and I repent of it."--"Sire, I shall never see you again; pardon my frankness; I am fifty-three, and I have some experience. It was not then that you were wrong, but now. Your conscience is abused concerning this decree against the priests; you are being forced into civil war; you are helpless, and you will be overthrown, and history, though it may pity you, will reproach you with having caused all the misfortunes of France. On your account, I fear your friends still more than your enemies."--"God is my witness {173} that I wish for nothing but the welfare of France."--"I do not doubt it, Sire; but you will have to account to God, not solely for the purity but also for the enlightened execution of your intentions. You expect to save religion, and you destroy it. The priests will be massacred and your crown torn from you. Perhaps even your wife, your children..." Emotion prevented Dumouriez from going on. Tears stood in his eyes. He kissed the hand of Louis XVI. respectfully. The King wept also, and for a moment both were silent. "Sire," resumed Dumouriez, "if all Frenchmen knew you as well as I do, our woes would soon be ended. Do you desire the welfare of France? Very well! That demands the sacrifice of your scruples ... You are still master of your fate. Your soul is guiltless; believe a man exempt from passion and prejudice, and who has always told you the truth."--"I expect my death," replied Louis XVI. sadly, "and I forgive them for it in advance. I thank you for your sensibility. You have served me well; I esteem you, and if a happier time shall ever come, I will prove it to you." With these words the King rose sadly, and went to a window at the end of the apartment. Dumouriez gathered up his papers slowly, in order to gain time to compose his features; he was unwilling to let his emotion become evident to the persons at the door as he went out. "Adieu," said the King kindly, "and be happy!"

As he was leaving, he met his friend Laporte, intendant of the civil list. The two, who were meeting {174} for the last time, went into another room and closed the door. "You advised me to resign," said Laporte, "and I meant to do so, but I have changed my mind. My master is in danger, and I will share his fate."--"If I were in the personal service of the King, as you are," replied Dumouriez, "I would think and act the same; I esteem your devotion, and love you the more for it; each of us is faithful in his own way; you, to Louis; I, to the King of the French. May both of us felicitate him some day on his happiness!" Then the two friends separated, after embracing each other with tears.

The sole thought of Dumouriez now was to escape from the city where he had witnessed so many intrigues and been so often deceived. He was very sorrowful at heart. Ordinarily so gay, so brilliant, so full of Gallic and _Rabelaisian_ wit, power had made him melancholy. His ministerial life left on him an abiding impression of bitterness and repugnance. "One needs," he has said, "either a patriotism equal to any test, or else an insatiable ambition, to aspire in any way whatever after those difficult positions where one is surrounded with snares and calumnies. One learns only too soon that men are not worth the trouble one takes to govern them." June 19, he wrote to the Assembly, asking an authorization to repair to the Army of the North. "I have spent thirty-six years in military and diplomatic service, and have twenty-two wounds," said he in this letter; "I envy the fate of the virtuous Gouvion, and should {175} esteem myself happy if a cannon-ball could put an end to all differences concerning me." He never again returned either to the palace, the Assembly, or any other place where he might encounter either ministers, deputies, or persons belonging to the court. He started for the army, June 26, regarding it as "the only asylum where an honest man might still be safe. At least, death presents itself there under the attractive aspect of glory." He left in the capital "consternation, suspicion, hatred, which pierced through the frivolity of the wretched Parisians." With an intuition worthy of a man of genius, he foresaw the vicious circle about to be described by French history, and divined that by plunging into license men return inevitably to servitude, because "it is impossible to sustain liberty with an absurd government, founded on barbarity, terror, and the subversion of every principle necessary to the maintenance of human society." Two years later, in 1794, he wrote in his Memoirs: "The serpent will recoil upon itself. His tail, which is anarchy, will re-enter his throat, which is despotism."

[1] The advanced republican party in the Assembly.

{176}

XVII.

THE PROLOGUE TO JUNE TWENTIETH.

On retiring from the ministry, Dumouriez left his successors a burden far too heavy for their shoulders, and under which they were to succumb. The new ministers, Lajard, Terrier de Montciel, and Chambonas, were almost unknown men who had no definite, decided opinions, and offered no resistance to disorder: for that matter, they had no means of doing so. The political system then in power had left Paris a helpless prey to sedition. By the new laws, the executive power could take no direct action looking to the preservation of public order in any French commune. Any minister or departmental administration that should adopt a police regulation or give a commander to armed forces, would be guilty of betraying a trust. The power to prevent or repress disorder belonged exclusively to the municipal authority, which, in Paris, was composed of a mayor, sixteen administrators, thirty-two municipal councillors, a council-general of ninety-six notables, an attorney-general and his two substitutes. This body of 148 members was the redoubtable power known as the Commune of Paris. It was not {177} composed entirely of seditious persons, and in the National Guard, also, there were still battalions fervently devoted to the constitutional monarchy. But Pétion was mayor of Paris; Manuel, the attorney-general, and Danton his substitute. Seditious movements were sure to find instigators and accomplices in these three men.

Moreover, the insurrection was regularly organized. It had its muster-rolls, its officers, sergeants, soldiers; its strategy and plans of battle. It utilized wineshops as guard-houses, the faubourgs as barracks, the red bonnet and the _carmagnole_, or revolutionary jacket, as a uniform. Its agitators distributed wine, beer, and brandy gratuitously. The Jacobins or the Cordeliers had but to give the signal for a riot, and a riot sprang out of the ground. The mine was loaded; the only question was when to fire the train. The Girondins were of one mind with the Jacobins. Exasperated by the dismissal of three ministers who shared their opinions, they wanted to intimidate the court by means of a popular tumult, and thus force the unhappy sovereign to sanction the two decrees, concerning the deportation of priests and the camp of twenty thousand men. The populace already manifested their restlessness by threats and strange rumors. At the Jacobin Club the most violent propositions were mooted. Some wanted to establish a minority, on the ground of the King's mental alienation; some, to send the Queen back to Austria; the more moderate talked of suppressing the army, {178} dismissing the staff-officers of the National Guard, depriving the King of the right of veto, and electing a Constituent Assembly. Revolutionary conventicles multiplied beyond all measure. The division of Paris into forty-eight sections became an exhaustless source of confusion. The assembly of each section transformed itself into a club.

Meanwhile, the moderate party rested all its hopes on Lafayette, who was friendly not only to liberty, but to order. He considered himself the founder of the new monarchy, of constitutional royalty; but, for that very reason, he felt that he had duties toward the King. Despising the reactionists, whose hopes were more or less enlisted on behalf of the foreign armies, he also detested the Jacobins who were dishonoring and compromising the new order of things. He expresses both sentiments in a letter addressed to the National Assembly, and written from the intrenched camp of Maubeuge, June 16, 1792, the Fourth Year of Liberty: "Can you conceal from yourselves," he says in it, "that a faction, and to use plain terms, the Jacobin faction, has caused all these disorders? I make the accusation boldly. Organized like a separate empire, with its capital and its affiliations blindly directed by certain ambitious chiefs, this sect forms a distinct body in the midst of the French people, whose powers it usurps by subjugating its representatives and agents. In its public meetings, attachment to the laws is named aristocracy, and disobedience to them patriotism; there the {179} assassins of Desilles are received in triumph, and Jourdan's insensate clamor finds panegyrists; there the story of the assassinations which defiled the city of Metz is still greeted with infernal applause."

Lafayette puts himself courageously forward in his letter: "As to me, gentlemen, who espoused the American cause at the very time when the ambassadors assured me it was lost; who, from that period, devoted myself to a persistent defence of the liberty and sovereignty of peoples; who, on June 11, 1789, in presenting a declaration of rights to my country, dared to say, 'For a nation to be free, all that is necessary is that it shall will to be so,' I come to-day, full of confidence in the justice of our cause, of scorn for the cowards who desert it, and of indignation against the traitors who would sully it; I come to declare that the French nation, if it be not the vilest in the universe, can and ought to resist the conspiracy of kings which has been leagued against it." At the same time, the general enthusiastically praised his soldiers: "Doubtless it is not within the bosom of my brave army that sentiments of timidity are permissible. Patriotism, energy, discipline, patience, mutual confidence, all civic and military virtues, I find here. Here the principles of liberty and equality are cherished, the laws respected, and property held sacred; here, neither calumnies nor seditions are known."