From Thermidor 9, 1794, to the summer of 1795, the radical Mountain, in its turn, underwent the destiny it had imposed on others—­for in times when the passions are called into play parties know not how to come to terms, and seek only to conquer.  From that period the middle class resumed the management of the revolution, and the experiment of pure democracy had failed.

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THOMAS CARLYLE

History of the French Revolution

Carlyle’s “History of the French Revolution” appeared in 1837, some three years after the author had established himself in London.  Never has the individuality of a historian so completely permeated his work; it is inconceivable that any other man should have written a single paragraph, almost a single sentence, of the history.  To Carlyle, the story presents itself as an upheaval of elemental forces, vast elemental personalities storming titanically in their midst, vividly picturesque as a primeval mountain landscape illumined by the blaze of lightning, in a night of storms, with momentary glimpses of moon and stars.  Although it was impossible for Carlyle to assimilate all the wealth of material even then extant, the “History,” considered as a prose epic, has a permanent and unique value.  His convictions, whatever their worth, came, as he himself put it, “flamingly from the heart.” (Carlyle, biography:  see vol. ix.)

I.—–­The End of an Era

On May 10, 1774, “with a sound absolutely like thunder,” has the horologe of time struck, and an old era passed away.  Is it the healthy peace or the ominous unhealthy, that rests on France for the next ten years?  Dubarrydom and its D’Aiguillons are gone for ever.  There is a young, still docile, well-intentioned king; a young, beautiful and bountiful, well-intentioned queen; and with them all France, as it were, become young.  For controller-general, a virtuous, philosophic Turgot.  Philosophism sits joyful in her glittering salons; “the age of revolutions approaches” (as Jean Jacques wrote), but then of happy, blessed ones.

But with the working people it is not so well, whom we lump together into a kind of dim, compendious unity, monstrous but dim, far off, as the canaille.  Singular how long the rotten will hold together, provided you do not handle it roughly.  Visible in France is no such thing as a government.  But beyond the Atlantic democracy is born; a sympathetic France rejoices over the rights of man.  Rochambeaus, Lameths, Lafayettes have drawn their swords in this sacred quarrel; return, to be the missionaries of freedom.  But, what to do with the finances, having no Fortunatus purse?

For there is the palpablest discrepancy between revenue and expenditure.  Are we breaking down, then, into the horrors of national bankruptcy?  Turgot, Necker, and others have failed.  What apparition, then, could be welcomer than that of M. de Calonne?  A man of indisputable genius, even fiscal genius, more or less; of intrinsically rich qualities!  For all straits he has present remedy.  Calonne also shall have trial!  With a genius for persuading—­before all things for borrowing; after three years of which, expedient heaped on expedient, the pile topples perilous.