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girls of the amphitheatre descended into the street, now strewed with flowers, and walked before the car. The Théâtre Français, then situated in the Faubourg St. Germain, had erected a triumphal arch on its peristyle. On each pillar a medallion was fixed, bearing in letters of gilt bronze the title of the principal dramas of the poet; on the pedestal of the statue erected before the door of the theatre was written, 'He wrote Irène at eighty-three years ; at seventeen he wrote Edipus.'

“ The immense procession did not arrive at the Pantheon until ten o'clock at night, for the day had not been sufficiently long for this triumph. .

“ If we judge of men by what they have done, then Voltaire is incontestably the greatest writer of modern Europe. No one has caused, through the powerful influence of his genius alone, and the perseverance of his will, so great a commotion in the minds of men; his pen aroused a world, and has shaken a far mightier empire than that of Charlemagne, the European empire of a theocracy. His genius was not force, but light. Heaven had destined him, not to destroy, but to illuminate, and wherever he trod, light followed him, for reason (which is light) had destined him to be first her poet, then her apostle, and lastly her idol.” – Vol. 1. pp. 149 – 152.

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“ The five hundred and seventy-five carcasses of the Châtelet and the Conciergerie were piled up in heaps on the Pont-duChange. At night, troops of children, revelling in these three days' murders, and with whom dead carcasses had become things of sport, lighted up small lamps by these heaps of slain, and danced the Carmagnole, whilst the Marseillaise was sung all over the city. Lamps, lanterns, pitch torches, mingled their pale lights with that of the moon, which beamed on these heaps of victims these hacked trunks these severed heads — these pools of blood. The same night, Henriot, spy and swindler under the monarchy, assassin and executioner under the people, at the head of a band of twenty or thirty men, directed and executed the massacre of ninety-two priests of the seminary of Saint Fir. min. Henriot's satellites, pursuing the priests through corridors and into cells, flung them, still alive, out of the windows on to a forest of pikes, spits, and bayonets, which transfixed them when they fell. Women, to whom the butchers then resigned them, finished the bloody work with billets of wood, and then dragged the mangled bodies through the kennels. The same scenes polluted the cloisters of the Bernardins.

" Yet already in Paris victims were not in sufficient quantity to satisfy the thirst excited by these ninety-two hours of massacre. “ The prisons were empty. Henriot and the butchers, more than two hundred in number, reinforced by the wretches recruited in the prisons, went to the Bicêtre with seven pieces of cannon, which the Commune allowed them to take with impunity.

Bicêtre, a vast sewer, wherein flowed all the refuse in the kingdom, in order to purify the population of lunatics, mendicants, or incorrigible criminals, contained three thousand five hundred prisoners. Their blood contained nothing of political taint ; but, pure or impure, it was still more blood! The ruffians forced in the gates of the Bicêtre, drove in the dungeon doors with cannon, dragged out the prisoners, and began a slaughter, which endured five nights and five days. Vainly did the Commune send commissaries, – vainly did Pétion himself harangue the assassins. They hardly ceased from their work to listen to the admonitions of the mayor. To words without force the people only lend a respect without obedience. The cutthroats only paused before a want of occupation. Next day, the same band, of about two hundred and fifty men, armed with guns, pikes, axes, clubs, attacked the hospital of the Salpêtrière, at the same time a hospital and a prison, which contained only prostitutes, – a place of correction for the old, reformation for the young, and asylum for those still bordering on infancy. After having massacred thirty-five of the most aged women, they forced the dormitories of the others, whom they made the victims of their brutality, killing those who resisted, and carrying off with them in triumph young girls, from ten to fourteen years of age, the foul prey of debauchery saturated with blood.

" Whilst these proscriptions created consternation throughout Paris, the Assembly in vain sent commissaries to harangue the people at the doors of the prisons. The assassins would not even suspend their work to lend an ear to the official harangues. Vainly did the minister of the interior, Roland, groaning over his own impotency, write to Santerre to use force, in order to assure the safety of the prisons. It was three days before Santerre appeared to demand of the council-general of the Commune authority to repress the bloodhounds, now become dangerous to those who had let them loose on their enemies. The ruffians, reeking in gore, came insolently to claim of the municipal authorities payment for their murders. Tallien and his colleagues dared not refuse the price of these days' work, and entered on the registers of the Commune of Paris these salaries, scarcely concealed under the most evident titles and pretexts. Santerre and his detachments had the utmost difficulty in driving back to their foul dens these hordes, greedy for carnage, men who, living on crime for seven days, drinking quantities of wine mingled with gunpowder, intoxicated with the fumes of blood; had become excited to such a pitch of physical insanity, that they were unable to take repose. The fever of extermination wholly absorbed them. Some of them, marked down with disgust by their neighbours, left their abodes and enrolled as volunteers, or, insatiable for crime, joined bands of assassins going to Orleans, Lyons, Meaux, Rheims, Versailles, to continue the proscriptions of Paris. Amongst these were Charlot, Grizon, Hamin, the weaver Rodi, Henriot, the journeyman butcher Alaigre, and a negro named Delorme, brought to Paris by Fournier l'Américain. This black, untiring in murder, killed with his own hands more than two hundred prisoners during the three days and three nights of this fearful slaughter, with no cessation beyond the brief space he allowed himself to recruit his strength with wine. His shirt fastened round his waist, leaving his trunk bare, his hideous features, his black skin red with splashes of blood, his bursts of savage laughter, displaying his large white teeth at every death-blow he dealt, made this man the symbol of murder and the avenger of his race.

It was one blood exhausting another; extermination punishing the European for his attempts on Africa. This negro, who was invariably seen with a head recently cut off in his hand, during all the popular convulsions of the Revolution, was two years afterwards arrested during

the days of Prairial, carrying at the end of a pike the head of Féraud, the deputy, and died at last the death he had so frequently inflicted upon others.

“ Such were the days of September. The ditches of Clamart, the catacombs of the Barrière St. Jacques, alone knew the number of the victims. Some said ten thousand, others only two or three thousand.” Vol. 11. pp. 139 – 141.

Among the portraitures of character, none, perhaps, exceed in interest those of Robespierre and Louis Philippe. The former is particularly curious, as showing what reversed decisions history is sometimes called upon to give ; and the latter from the strange contrast between the early career of Louis Philippe, and the influence he is now exerting upon the institutions of Europe.

“ The life of Robespierre bore witness to the disinterestedness of his ideas his life was the most eloquent of his speeches; and if his master, Jean Jacques Rousseau, had quitted his cottage of the Chaumettes or Ernonville to become the legislator of humani. ty, he could not have led a more retired or more simple existence; and this poverty was the more meritorious as it was voluntary. Every day the object of attempts at corruption from the Court, the party of Mirabeau, the Lameths, and the Girondists, during the two Assemblies, he had fortune within his reach, and disdained to open his hand ; summoned by the election to fill the post of public accuser and judge at Paris, he had resigned and refused every thing to live in honest and proud indigence. All his fortune, and that of his brother and sister, consisted in a few small farms in Artois ; the farmers of which, related to his family, and very poor, paid their rents but irregularly. His salary as deputy, during the Constituent Assembly and the Convention, supported three persons, and he was sometimes forced to borrow from his landlord or his friends. His debts, which, after six years' residence in Paris, only amounted to 4000 francs (£160) at his death, attest his frugality.

“ His life was that of an honest artisan ; he lodged in the Rue St. Honoré, at the house now No. 396, opposite the Church of the Assumption. This house, low, and in a court, surrounded by sheds filled with timber and plants, had an almost rustic appear. ance. It consisted of a parlour opening on to the court, and communicating with a salon that looked into a small garden. From this salon a door led into a small study in which was a piano. There was a winding staircase to the first floor, on which the master of the house lived, and thence to the apartment of Robes. pierre.

“ This house belonged to a cabinet-maker, named Duplay.....

" Love also attached his heart, where toil, poverty, and retire. ment had fixed his life. Eléonore Duplay, the eldest daughter of his host, inspired Robespierre with a more serious attachment than her sisters. This feeling, rather predilection than passion, was more reasonable on the part of Robespierre, more ardent and simple on the part of the young girl. This affection afforded him tenderness without torment, happiness without distraction; it was the love that filled a man plunged all day in the agitation of public life repose of the heart after mental weariness. • A noble soul,' said Robespierre of her ; "she would know equally how to die as how to love. She had been surnamed Cornelia. This mutual affection, approved of by the family, commanded universal respect from its purity. They lived in the same house as betrothed, not as lovers. Robespierre had demanded the young girl's hand from her parents, and they had promised it to him.

66. The total want of fortune, and the uncertainty of the morrow, prevented him from marrying her until the destiny of France was determined on,' he said ; but he only awaited the moment when the Revolution should be determined and wholly concluded, in order to retire from the turmoil and strife, and marry her whom he loved, retiring to live in Artois, in one of the farms which he had saved from amongst the possessions of his family, there to mingle his obscure happiness in the common lot of his family.'

“Of all Éléonore's sisters, Robespierre preferred Elizabeth, the youngest of the three, whom his fellow-townsman and colleague, Lebas, sought in marriage, and subsequently espoused. This young lady, to whom the friendship of Robespierre cost the life of her husband eleven months after their union, has survived for more than half a century since that period, without having once recanted her entire devotion to Robespierre, and without having comprehended the maledictions of the world against this brother of her youth, who appears still to her memory so pure, so virtuous, so gentle!

“The chamber of the deputy of Arras contained only a wooden bedstead covered with blue damask ornamented with white flow. ers, a table, and four straw-bottomed chairs. This apartment served him at once for a study and dormitory. His papers, his reports, the manuscripts of his discourses, written by himself, in a regular but laborious handwriting, with many marks of erasure, were placed carefully on deal shelves against the wall. A few chosen books were also ranged thereon. A volume of Jean Jacques Rousseau or of Racine was generally open upon his table, and attested his philosophical and literary predilection for these two writers.

“ It was there Robespierre passed the greater part of his day, occupied in preparing his discourses. He only went out in the morning to attend the meetings of the Assembly, and at seven in the evening those of the Jacobins. His costume, even at the period when the demagogues affected the slovenliness and disorder of indigence, in order to flatter the people, was clean, decent, and precise, as that of a man who respects himself in the eyes of others. His white powdered hair, turned up in clusters over his temples, a bright blue coat, buttoned over his hips, open over the breast to display a white vest, short yellow-colored breeches, white stockings, and shoes with silver buckles, formed his invariable costume during the whole of his public life.

“ It was said that he desired, by thus never varying the style or color of his garments, to make the same impression of himself in the sight and imagination of the people, as a medal of his face would have caused.” – Vol. 11. pp. 194 - 197.

“ The Duc de Chartres (Louis Philippe) was the eldest son of the Duc d'Orléans. Born in the cradle of liberty, nurtured in patriotism by his father, he had not even a choice in his opinions

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