Nor are Peace-makers wanting; of whom likewise we mention two; one fast on the crown of the Mountain, the other not yet alighted anywhere:  Danton and Barrere.  Ingenious Barrere, Old-Constituent and Editor from the slopes of the Pyrenees, is one of the usefullest men of this Convention, in his way.  Truth may lie on both sides, on either side, or on neither side; my friends, ye must give and take:  for the rest, success to the winning side!  This is the motto of Barrere.  Ingenious, almost genial; quick-sighted, supple, graceful; a man that will prosper.  Scarcely Belial in the assembled Pandemonium was plausibler to ear and eye.  An indispensable man:  in the great Art of Varnish he may be said to seek his fellow.  Has there an explosion arisen, as many do arise, a confusion, unsightliness, which no tongue can speak of, nor eye look on; give it to Barrere; Barrere shall be Committee-Reporter of it; you shall see it transmute itself into a regularity, into the very beauty and improvement that was needed.  Without one such man, we say, how were this Convention bested?  Call him not, as exaggerative Mercier does, ’the greatest liar in France:’  nay it may be argued there is not truth enough in him to make a real lie of.  Call him, with Burke, Anacreon of the Guillotine, and a man serviceable to this Convention.

The other Peace-maker whom we name is Danton.  Peace, O peace with one another! cries Danton often enough:  Are we not alone against the world; a little band of brothers?  Broad Danton is loved by all the Mountain; but they think him too easy-tempered, deficient in suspicion:  he has stood between Dumouriez and much censure, anxious not to exasperate our only General:  in the shrill tumult Danton’s strong voice reverberates, for union and pacification.  Meetings there are; dinings with the Girondins:  it is so pressingly essential that there be union.  But the Girondins are haughty and respectable; this Titan Danton is not a man of Formulas, and there rests on him a shadow of September.  “Your Girondins have no confidence in me:”  this is the answer a conciliatory Meillan gets from him; to all the arguments and pleadings this conciliatory Meillan can bring, the repeated answer is, “Ils n’ont point de confiance.” (Memoires de Meillan, Representant du Peuple (Paris, 1823), p. 51.)—­The tumult will get ever shriller; rage is growing pale.

In fact, what a pang is it to the heart of a Girondin, this first withering probability that the despicable unphilosophic anarchic Mountain, after all, may triumph!  Brutal Septemberers, a fifth-floor Tallien, ‘a Robespierre without an idea in his head,’ as Condorcet says, ‘or a feeling in his heart:’  and yet we, the flower of France, cannot stand against them; behold the sceptre departs from us; from us and goes to them!  Eloquence, Philosophism, Respectability avail not:  ’against Stupidity the very gods fight to no purpose,

‘Mit der Dummheit kampfen Gotter selbst vergebens!’