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 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, 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 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."

Including both revolutionists and reactionists in the same accusation, Lafayette makes this reflection: "What a remarkable conformity of language exists, gentlemen, between those seditious persons acknowledged by the aristocracy, and those who usurp the name of patriots! All are alike ready to repeal our laws, to rejoice in disorders, to rebel against the authorities granted by the people, to detest the National Guard, to preach indiscipline to the army, and almost to disseminate distrust and discouragement." Lafayette concludes in these words: "Let the royal power be intact, for it is guaranteed by the Constitution; let it be independent, for this independence is one of the forces of our liberty; let the King be revered, for he is invested with the national majesty; let him choose a ministry unhampered by the yoke of any faction; if conspirators exist, let them perish only by the sword of law; finally, let the reign of clubs, brought to nothing by you, give place to the reign of law; their disorganizing maxims to the true principles of liberty; their delirious fury to the calm courage of a nation which knows its rights and which defends them!"

Lafayette's letter was read to the Assembly at the session of June 18. The noble thoughts it expresses produced at first a favorable impression, and it was greeted with much applause. For an instant the Girondins were disconcerted; but, feeling themselves supported by the Jacobins who lined the galleries, they soon resumed the offensive. "What does the advice of the general of the army amount to," said Vergniaud, "if it is not law?" Guadet maintained that the letter must be apocryphal. "When Cromwell used such language," said he, "liberty was at an end in England, and I cannot persuade myself that the emulator of Washington desires to imitate the conduct of the Protector. We no longer have a constitution if a general can give us laws." The allusion to Cromwell produced its effect. The letter, instead of being published and copies sent to the eighty-three departments, was merely referred to a committee.

Nevertheless, public opinion was aroused. A reactionary sentiment against the Jacobins began to show itself. The King might have profited by it, and found his account in relying upon Lafayette, the army, and the National Guard. But Louis XVI. was in too much haste. His resistance, like his concessions, was maladroit and inopportune. Without having combined his means of defence, consulted with Lafayette, or having any troops at his disposal, he vetoed the two famous decrees, June 19, and thus threw himself headlong into the snare. The Revolution, which had lain in wait for him, would not let its prey escape. It gave Lafayette no time to arrive, but, without losing a minute, organized an insurrection for the next day. The royal tree had been so violently shaken, that it needed, or so they thought, but one more shock to lay it low and root it out.

On June 16, a request had been presented to the Council-General of the Commune, asking them to authorize the citizens of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine to assemble in arms on June 20, the anniversary of the oath of the Jeu de Paume, and present a petition to the Assembly and the King. The Council had passed to the order of the day, but the petitioners declared that they would assemble notwithstanding. On the 19th, the Directory of the department, which on all occasions had shown itself inimical to agitators, and which was presided over by the Duke de La Rochefoucauld, issued an order forbidding all armed gatherings, and enjoining the commandant-general and the mayor to take all necessary measures for dispersing them. This order was communicated to the National Assembly by the Minister of the Interior at the evening session.

"It is important," said a deputy, "that the Assembly should know the decrees of the administrative bodies when they tend to assure public tranquillity. Nobody is ignorant that at this moment the people are greatly agitated. Nobody is ignorant that to-morrow threatens to be a day of violence." Vergniaud replied: "I do not know whether or not to-morrow is to be a day of troubles, but I cannot understand how M. Becquet, who is always so constitutional" (here there was laughter and applause), "how M. Becquet, by an inversion of law and order, desires the National Assembly to occupy itself with police regulations." The decree of the Directory was read, nevertheless. But the Assembly, far from supporting it, passed to the order of the day. The rioters had nothing to fear.

During the same session, a deputation of citizens from Marseilles had been presented at the bar of the Assembly. The orator of this deputation thus expressed himself: "French liberty is in danger. The free men of the South are ready to march in its defence. The day of the people's wrath has come at last. The people, whom they have always sought to ruin or enslave, are tired of parrying blows. They want to inflict them, and to annihilate conspiracies. It is time for the people to rise. This lion, generous but enraged, is about to quit his repose, and spring upon the pack of conspirators." Here the galleries applauded furiously. The orator continued: "The popular force is your force; employ it. No quarter, since you can expect none." The applause and enthusiastic cries of the galleries redoubled. Somebody demanded that the speech should be sent to the eighty-three departments of France. A deputy, M. Rouher, was courageous enough to exclaim: "It is not by the harangues of seditious persons that the departments should be instructed!" Another deputy, M. Lecointre-Puyravaux, responded: "Is it surprising that men born under a burning sun should have a more ardent imagination and a patriotism more energetic than ours?" The question whether the discourse should be sent to the departments was put to vote, and the president and secretaries declared that the Assembly had decided against it. This did not suit the public in the galleries. They howled, they vociferated. They claimed that the result was doubtful. They demanded a viva voce count. This demand alarmed those deputies who never dared to look the Revolution in the face. A new vote was taken, and this time, the sending of the address to the eighty-three departments was decreed. With such an Assembly, why should the insurrectionists have hesitated?

The rioters of the next day did not hesitate a moment. The order of the Directory had somewhat intimidated them. But Chabot, the deputy so celebrated for his violence at the Jacobin Club, hastened to reassure them. "To-morrow," said he, "you will be received with open arms by the National Assembly. People count on you." The Faubourg Saint-Antoine was in commotion. Condorcet said, in speaking of the anxieties expressed by the ministers: "Is it not fine to see the Executive asking legislators to provide means of action! Let them save themselves; that is their business!"

The Most Christian King is treated like the Divine Master. Pétion, mayor of Paris, is to play the rôle of Pontius Pilate. He washes his hands of all that is to happen. He orders the battalions of National Guards under arms for the following day, not in order to oppose the march of the columns of the people, but to fraternize with the petitioners, and act as escort to the insurrection. This equivocal measure, he thinks, will set him right with both the Directory and the populace. To one he says: "I am watching," and to the other, "I am with you." The rioters count on Pétion as anarchy counts on weakness. He is precisely the magistrate that suits the faubourgs when they resort to violent measures. A last conventicle was held at the house of Santerre the brewer, chief of battalion of the National Guard of the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, on the night of June 19-20. It broke up at midnight. All was ready. The leaders of the insurrection repaired each to his post. They summoned their loyal adherents, and sent them about in small detachments to assemble and mass together the working classes, as soon as they should leave their houses in the morning. Santerre had declared that the National Guard could offer no opposition to the rioters. "Rest easy," said he to the conspirators; "Pétion will be there." Louis XVI. no longer feigned not to notice the danger. "Who knows," said he during the night to M. de Malesherbes, with a melancholy smile, "who knows if I shall see the sun set to-morrow?"