At Caen it is most animated; and, as one hopes, more or less animated in the ‘Seventy-two Departments that adhere to us.’  And in a France begirt with Cimmerian invading Coalitions, and torn with an internal La Vendee, this is the conclusion we have arrived at:  to put down Anarchy by Civil War!  Durum et durum, the Proverb says, non faciunt murum.  La Vendee burns:  Santerre can do nothing there; he may return home and brew beer.  Cimmerian bombshells fly all along the North.  That Siege of Mentz is become famed;—­lovers of the Picturesque (as Goethe will testify), washed country-people of both sexes, stroll thither on Sundays, to see the artillery work and counterwork; ’you only duck a little while the shot whizzes past.’ (Belagerung von Mainz, Goethe’s Werke, xxx. 278-334.) Conde is capitulating to the Austrians; Royal Highness of York, these several weeks, fiercely batters Valenciennes.  For, alas, our fortified Camp of Famars was stormed; General Dampierre was killed; General Custine was blamed,—­and indeed is now come to Paris to give ‘explanations.’

Against all which the Mountain and atrocious Marat must even make head as they can.  They, anarchic Convention as they are, publish Decrees, expostulatory, explanatory, yet not without severity; they ray forth Commissioners, singly or in pairs, the olive-branch in one hand, yet the sword in the other.  Commissioners come even to Caen; but without effect.  Mathematical Romme, and Prieur named of the Cote d’Or, venturing thither, with their olive and sword, are packed into prison:  there may Romme lie, under lock and key, ‘for fifty days;’ and meditate his New Calendar, if he please.  Cimmeria and Civil War!  Never was Republic One and Indivisible at a lower ebb.—­

Amid which dim ferment of Caen and the World, History specially notices one thing:  in the lobby of the Mansion de l’Intendance, where busy Deputies are coming and going, a young Lady with an aged valet, taking grave graceful leave of Deputy Barbaroux. (Meillan, p.75; Louvet, p. 114.) She is of stately Norman figure; in her twenty-fifth year; of beautiful still countenance:  her name is Charlotte Corday, heretofore styled d’Armans, while Nobility still was.  Barbaroux has given her a Note to Deputy Duperret,—­him who once drew his sword in the effervescence.  Apparently she will to Paris on some errand?  ’She was a Republican before the Revolution, and never wanted energy.’  A completeness, a decision is in this fair female Figure:  ’by energy she means the spirit that will prompt one to sacrifice himself for his country.’  What if she, this fair young Charlotte, had emerged from her secluded stillness, suddenly like a Star; cruel-lovely, with half-angelic, half-demonic splendour; to gleam for a moment, and in a moment be extinguished:  to be held in memory, so bright complete was she, through long centuries!—­Quitting Cimmerian Coalitions without, and the dim-simmering Twenty-five millions within, History will look fixedly at this one fair Apparition of a Charlotte Corday; will note whither Charlotte moves, how the little Life burns forth so radiant, then vanishes swallowed of the Night.