Chapter 3.4.VIII.

The Twenty-two.

Whom next, O Tinville?  The next are of a different colour:  our poor Arrested Girondin Deputies.  What of them could still be laid hold of; our Vergniaud, Brissot, Fauchet, Valaze, Gensonne; the once flower of French Patriotism, Twenty-two by the tale:  hither, at Tinville’s Bar, onward from ‘safeguard of the French People,’ from confinement in the Luxembourg, imprisonment in the Conciergerie, have they now, by the course of things, arrived.  Fouquier Tinville must give what account of them he can.

Undoubtedly this Trial of the Girondins is the greatest that Fouquier has yet had to do.  Twenty-two, all chief Republicans, ranged in a line there; the most eloquent in France; Lawyers too; not without friends in the auditory.  How will Tinville prove these men guilty of Royalism, Federalism, Conspiracy against the Republic?  Vergniaud’s eloquence awakes once more; ‘draws tears,’ they say.  And Journalists report, and the Trial lengthens itself out day after day; ’threatens to become eternal,’ murmur many.  Jacobinism and Municipality rise to the aid of Fouquier.  On the 28th of the month, Hebert and others come in deputation to inform a Patriot Convention that the Revolutionary Tribunal is quite ‘shackled by forms of Law;’ that a Patriot Jury ought to have ’the power of cutting short, of terminer les debats, when they feel themselves convinced.’  Which pregnant suggestion, of cutting short, passes itself, with all despatch, into a Decree.

Accordingly, at ten o’clock on the night of the 30th of October, the Twenty-two, summoned back once more, receive this information, That the Jury feeling themselves convinced have cut short, have brought in their verdict; that the Accused are found guilty, and the Sentence on one and all of them is Death with confiscation of goods.

Loud natural clamour rises among the poor Girondins; tumult; which can only be repressed by the gendarmes.  Valaze stabs himself; falls down dead on the spot.  The rest, amid loud clamour and confusion, are driven back to their Conciergerie; Lasource exclaiming, “I die on the day when the People have lost their reason; ye will die when they recover it.”  (Greek,—­Plut.  Opp. t. iv. p. 310. ed.  Reiske, 1776.) No help!  Yielding to violence, the Doomed uplift the Hymn of the Marseillese; return singing to their dungeon.

Riouffe, who was their Prison-mate in these last days, has lovingly recorded what death they made.  To our notions, it is not an edifying death.  Gay satirical Pot-pourri by Ducos; rhymed Scenes of Tragedy, wherein Barrere and Robespierre discourse with Satan; death’s eve spent in ‘singing’ and ‘sallies of gaiety,’ with ’discourses on the happiness of peoples:’  these things, and the like of these, we have to accept for what they are worth.  It is the manner in which the Girondins make their Last Supper.  Valaze, with