Chapter 3: 4.ii

In Civil War.

But during these same hours, another guillotine is at work, on
another: Charlotte, for the Girondins, dies at Paris today;
Chalier, by the Girondins, dies at Lyons tomorrow.

From rumbling of cannon along the streets of that City, it has
come to firing of them, to rabid fighting: Nièvre-Chol and the
Girondins triumph;—behind whom there is, as everywhere, a
Royalist Faction waiting to strike in. Trouble enough at Lyons;
and the dominant party carrying it with a high hand! For indeed,
the whole South is astir; incarcerating Jacobins; arming for
Girondins: wherefore we have got a “Congress of Lyons;” also a
“Revolutionary Tribunal of Lyons,” and Anarchists shall tremble.
So Chalier was soon found guilty, of Jacobinism, of murderous
Plot, “address with drawn dagger on the sixth of February last;”
and, on the morrow, he also travels his final road, along the
streets of Lyons, “by the side of an ecclesiastic, with whom he
seems to speak earnestly,”—the axe now glittering high. He could
weep, in old years, this man, and “fall on his knees on the
pavement,” blessing Heaven at sight of Federation Programs or
like; then he pilgrimed to Paris, to worship Marat and the
Mountain: now Marat and he are both gone;—we said he could not
end well. Jacobinism groans inwardly, at Lyons; but dare not
outwardly. Chalier, when the Tribunal sentenced him, made answer:
‘My death will cost this City dear.’

Montélimart Town is not buried under its ruins; yet Marseilles is
actually marching, under order of a “Lyons Congress;” is
incarcerating Patriots; the very Royalists now shewing face.
Against which a General Cartaux fights, though in small force;
and with him an Artillery Major, of the name of—Napoleon
Buonaparte. This Napoleon, to prove that the Marseillese have no
chance ultimately, not only fights but writes; publishes his
_Supper of Beaucaire_, a Dialogue which has become curious.[663]
Unfortunate Cities, with their actions and their reactions!
Violence to be paid with violence in geometrical ratio; Royalism
and Anarchism both striking in;—the final net-amount of which
geometrical series, what man shall sum?

The Bar of Iron has never yet floated in Marseilles Harbour; but
the Body of Rebecqui was found floating, self-drowned there. Hot
Rebecqui seeing how confusion deepened, and Respectability grew
poisoned with Royalism, felt that there was no refuge for a
Republican but death. Rebecqui disappeared: no one knew whither;
till, one morning, they found the empty case or body of him risen
to the top, tumbling on the salt waves;[664] and perceived that
Rebecqui had withdrawn forever.—Toulon likewise is incarcerating
Patriots; sending delegates to Congress; intriguing, in case of
necessity, with the Royalists and English. Montpellier,
Bourdeaux, Nantes: all France, that is not under the swoop of
Austria and Cimmeria, seems rushing into madness, and suicidal
ruin. The Mountain labours; like a volcano in a burning volcanic
Land. Convention Committees, of Surety, of Salvation, are busy
night and day: Convention Commissioners whirl on all highways;
bearing olive-branch and sword, or now perhaps sword only.
Chaumette and Municipals come daily to the Tuileries demanding a
Constitution: it is some weeks now since he resolved, in
Townhall, that a Deputation “should go every day” and demand a
Constitution, till one were got;[665] whereby suicidal France
might rally and pacify itself; a thing inexpressibly desirable.

This then is the fruit your Anti-anarchic Girondins have got from
that Levying of War in Calvados? This fruit, we may say; and no
other whatsoever. For indeed, before either Charlotte’s or
Chalier’s head had fallen, the Calvados War itself had, as it
were, vanished, dreamlike, in a shriek! With “seventy-two
Departments” on one’s side, one might have hoped better things.
But it turns out that Respectabilities, though they will vote,
will not fight. Possession is always nine points in Law; but in
Lawsuits of _this_ kind, one may say, it is ninety-and-nine
points. Men do what they were wont to do; and have immense
irresolution and inertia: they obey him who has the symbols that
claim obedience. Consider what, in modern society, this one fact
means: the Metropolis is with our enemies! Metropolis,
_Mother-city;_ rightly so named: all the rest are but as her
children, her nurselings. Why, there is not a leathern Diligence,
with its post-bags and luggage-boots, that lumbers out from her,
but is as a huge life-pulse; she is the heart of all. Cut short
that one leathern Diligence, how much is cut short!—General
Wimpfen, looking practically into the matter, can see nothing for
it but that one should fall back on Royalism; get into
communication with Pitt! Dark innuendoes he flings out, to that
effect: whereat we Girondins start, horrorstruck. He produces as
his Second in command a certain “_Ci-devant_,” one Comte Puisaye;
entirely unknown to Louvet; greatly suspected by him.

Few wars, accordingly, were ever levied of a more insufficient
character than this of Calvados. He that is curious in such
things may read the details of it in the Memoirs of that same
_Ci-devant_ Puisaye, the much-enduring man and Royalist: How our
Girondin National Forces, marching off with plenty of wind-music,
were drawn out about the old Château of Brecourt, in the
wood-country near Vernon, to meet the Mountain National forces
advancing from Paris. How on the fifteenth afternoon of July,
they did meet,—and, as it were, shrieked mutually, and took
mutually to flight without loss. How Puisaye thereafter, for the
Mountain Nationals fled first, and we thought ourselves the
victors,—was roused from his warm bed in the Castle of Brecourt;
and had to gallop without boots; our Nationals, in the
night-watches, having fallen unexpectedly into _sauve qui
peut:_—and in brief the Calvados War had burnt priming; and the
only question now was, Whitherward to vanish, in what hole to
hide oneself![666]

The National Volunteers rush homewards, faster than they came.
The Seventy-two Respectable Departments, says Meillan, “all
turned round, and forsook us, in the space of four-and-twenty
hours.” Unhappy those who, as at Lyons for instance, have gone
too far for turning! “One morning,” we find placarded on our
Intendance Mansion, the Decree of Convention which casts us _Hors
la loi_, into Outlawry: placarded by our Caen Magistrates;—clear
hint that we also are to vanish. Vanish, indeed: but whitherward?
Gorsas has friends in Rennes; he will hide there,—unhappily will
not lie hid. Guadet, Lanjuinais are on cross roads; making for
Bourdeaux. To Bourdeaux! cries the general voice, of Valour alike
and of Despair. Some flag of Respectability still floats there,
or is thought to float.

Thitherward therefore; each as he can! Eleven of these ill-fated
Deputies, among whom we may count, as twelfth, Friend Riouffe the
Man of Letters, do an original thing. Take the uniform of
National Volunteers, and retreat southward with the Breton
Battalion, as private soldiers of that corps. These brave Bretons
had stood truer by us than any other. Nevertheless, at the end of
a day or two, they also do now get dubious, self-divided; we must
part from them; and, with some half-dozen as convoy or guide,
retreat by ourselves,—a solitary marching detachment, through
waste regions of the West.[667]