Legislators, when our country is in danger, all her children should hurry to her defense. Never has so great a peril threatened our country. We have been sent to this sanctuary of law by the commune of Paris to present the wishes of an immense nation. Imbued with respect for the nation's representatives and fully confident in their courageous patriotism, Paris has not despaired of the salvation of the people, but believes that for France's ills to be healed, they must be attacked at the source without waiting another minute. It is with sadness that Paris must hereby denounce the chief of the executive power. . . .
We shall not retrace all of Louis XVI's misdeeds since the first days of the revolution: his bloody policies against the city of Paris, his predilection for nobles and priests, his aversion for the National Constituent Assembly, that body of the people has been outraged by court valets and besieged by armed men, as they wandered in the middle of a royal city, and found asylum only in a tennis court. We shall not retrace the oaths that have been broken so many times, protests ceaselessly renewed and ceaselessly belied by actions, until the moment when a perfidious flight opened the eyes of even those citizens who had been most blinded by the fanaticism of slavery. We shall put aside all that which is covered by the people's pardon, but to pardon is not to forget. Besides, it would be in vain to try to forget all these misdeeds. They will soil the pages of history, and will be remembered by posterity.
Royal inviolability and perpetual changes in the ministry allowed the agents of the executive power to elude their responsibilities. A conspiratorial guard appears to have been dissolved, but it still exists; it is still funded by Louis XVI and sows the seeds of trouble which will yield a harvest of civil war. Priests, as agitators, abusing their power over timid consciences, turn sons against fathers and, from the sacred land of liberty, send new soldiers to march under the banners of servitude. These enemies of the people are protected by the appeal to the people, and Louis XVI upholds their right to conspire. . . .
From without, enemy armies threaten our territory. A manifesto against the French nation, as insolent as it is absurd has been published by two despots. Treasonous Frenchmen, led by the King's brothers, relatives, and allies, are preparing to strike at the heart of the country. Already the enemy, at our frontiers is sending butchers against our warriors. . . .
The chief of the executive power is the key link in the counterrevolutionary chain. He seems to participate in the plots of Pillnitz, which he has so tardily made known. Every day his name is in conflict with that of the nation, and has become a signal for discord between the people and its magistrates, between the soldiers and their generals. He has separated his interests from those of the nation. We, too, separate them. Far from having opposed the enemies without and within by any formal act, his conduct is a perpetual and formal act of disobedience to the constitution. As long as we have such a king, freedom cannot grow strong and we want to remain free. Out of the remnant of indulgence, we would have wanted to be able to ask you to suspend Louis XVI for as long as the danger to our country exists, but that would be unconstitutional. Louis XVI ceaselessly invokes the constitution; we invoke it in turn, and ask that he be deposed.
As it is very doubtful that the nation can have confidence in the present dynasty, once this great motion is carried, we ask that the ministers named by the National Assembly from those outside its membership wield collective responsibility. They, in accordance with constitutional law and named by free men in voice vote, will wield executive power provisionally while waiting for the will of the people, our sovereign and yours, to be legally pronounced in a national convention as soon as the security of the State permits. Meanwhile, let all our enemies, whoever they may be, form ranks beyond our frontiers. Let the cowards and the perjurers abandon freedom's soil. Let three-hundred thousand slaves come forward for they will find before them ten million free men, as ready for death as for victory, fighting for equality, for their homes, their wives, their children, and their parents. Let each of us be a soldier in turn and if we are to have the honor of dying for our country, let each of us, before breathing his last, make his memory illustrious for the death of a tyrant or a slave.
Paris
10 August, midnight, in session
The 4th year of liberty, 1792
The indignation was so general that it was breaking out with no fear or restraint; everyone was expecting a terrible explosion; day and night, brave and valorous knights filled the chateau, which bristled with bayonets and cannon. Yesterday the fears intensified; nevertheless, there was no real threat to justify all this excitement, so just after midnight we went to bed. . . .
Upon entering the Assembly hall, I was greatly surprised to find the King, the Queen, the Prince, the King's oldest sister, Madame Elisabeth, and others [of the royal entourage] all very carefully dressed, with heads lowered like wet hens; they had all taken refuge in the Legislative Assembly to seek there the safety which could no longer be found in the palace. The cannoneers, having been ordered to do their duty if the people were to force its way into the palace, had instead simply unloaded their cannon; knowing this, the King's closest advisers had advised him to flee the palace and come amongst the nation's representatives.
The Legislative Assembly was not deliberating; [under the Constitution] it could not do so in the King's presence, although it urgently needed to. The King and the royal family could not be sent out, because they were done for if they left their asylum. After great and tumultuous debate, the King moved from the president's rostrum and his family moved from inside the rail, taking up places in the little box behind the rostrum, ordinarily used by journalists.
Someone came to announce that the cannon filling the Place du Carrousel were aimed against the Tuileries Palace, which the people wanted to break down like the Bastille. After a short discussion, because time was pressing, the Assembly sent a deputation consisting of twenty of its members to speak to the people in the name of the law and to appease it by persuasion. . . . This deputation left at once, preceded by an usher and surrounded by a guard. I had the honor to be in it; although this was also nearly a misfortune, because we had barely reached the door of the Tuileries Palace when our eyes were dazzled by furious musket fire at the bottom of the stairway; at once, a second round; then a cannonade knocked down part of the façade. By God, we saw our death right before us! As we did not yet feel worthy to allow it to pass behind us, we stopped in our tracks and proposed a discussion, but a well-aimed cannon rejected our proposition. We then thought we had found a safe alternative of going to the other side of the Carrousel, preferring the cannon tails to the mouths; but scarcely had we emerged from the riding-school [in which the Assembly met] when a mass of sabers, pikes, and bayonets rushed from all sides, with indescribable rage, on our brave guards, who, angered by our obstinacy in advancing into the fire instead of retreating, finally grabbed us and swooped us back into the Legislative Assembly. . . .
[In the assembly hall,] brave sans-culottes had appeared at the rail and were promptly heard from. They explained to us that the sovereign people, making use of that sovereignty, had charged them to assure us of its respect, to affirm obedience to our decrees . . . and that we were the only constituted authority and there was no other in existence.
They concluded by asking us to "Swear in the Nation's name to maintain liberty and equality with all your power or to die at your post." Seeing this declaration to be our only means of our salvation, all the deputies shouted eagerly and in a single voice: "I so swear!" The roll was called at once, and on the rostrum each deputy in turn pronounced the words indicated by the sans-culottes and the proposal was considered to be adopted. Our co-deputies, who had fled the hall earlier fearing for their lives, were now reassured by a declaration so easily pronounced . . . they returned to join us in session and showed the utmost courage in taking this charming oath, which they uttered with the greatest firmness, without troubling over the difficulty and even the impossibility for them of carrying it out.
In the interim, a great brawl had broken out in the palace, in the Tuileries [gardens], and on the Champs Élysées. The Swiss guards, who had been deceived by the aristocratic instigators in the palace and had fired on the people . . . were now being hotly pursued and were defending themselves in the same way . . . so that corpses covered the ground.
The royal palace had been pillaged, although everything of value had been carried scrupulously to the Assembly, which had in turn sent it to the Commune [i.e., city hall]; the people themselves did justice to those who concealed or stole the smallest thing . . . all the jewels, money, and other valuables found on the dead Swiss guards were carefully gathered up and returned; for instance, a true sans-culotte faithfully deposited 173 gold louis [equivalent to 3,460 livres] that he had discovered on the body of an abbot in the basement of the palace. Our sovereign people, truly French, respected the ladies of honor, or non-honor, of the court; they inflicted not the least scratch on them, ugly as certain of them may be; but they showed no mercy to the obsequious nobles of the court. . . .
The King has been suspended from all his functions and powers; we have driven out his counterrevolutionary ministers and have named others worthy of public confidence. Louis, Antoinette, their children and hangers-on are still in their cell, the stenographer's box, from which they have not budged . . . and where their fare as this has consisted, deliberately, of scarcely more than bread, wine, and water. Good God, what a sight! It is really true that opinion is often all-important and that without opinion on their side the great, however great they may be, are nothing; these gods on earth, stripped and deprived of their masks . . . are now not even men, and in the end they have the same fate that false divinities have always had when the blindfolds of error fall away. Our assembly-hall commissioners are taking steps to prepare apartments for them in the former Capuchins' convent [next to the assembly-hall on the west]; for their majesties would run the risk of not being respected as they deserve if they were to go and stay in the Luxembourg Palace, which one of our decrees assigned to them today instead of the Tuileries Palace.
Roster of Membership in the Society of Friends of Blacks, 1789
Officers:
The Marquis of Condorcet, President
Mr. de Gramagnac, Secretary
Mr. Dufossey de Bréban, Treasurer
Members of the Committee
Misters:
Brissot de Warville
E. Claviere
Brack
Duchesnay
Dufossey de Bréban
De Bourge
De Montcloux
De Blaire
De Petitval
The Duke of la Rochefoucault
The Duke of Charost
The Marquis of Condorcet
De Gramagnac
Cuchet
De Pastoret
Gallois
Roster of Membership in the Society of Friends of Blacks, by order of their entry:
Misters:
Brissot de Warville, rue d'Amboise, nº. 10.
E. Claviere, Administrator of the Royal Life Insurance Company, rue d'Amboise, nº. 10.
The Marquis of Beaupoil Saint-Aulaire, at the Temple.
Brack, General Director for Trade, rue de Grammont, nº. 2.
Cerisier, Bourbonnois.
Duchesnay, Royal Censor, rue des Bernardins, nº. 37.
Nicholas Bergasse, rue de Carême-prenant.
The Marquis of Valady, London.
Dufossey de Bréban, Director of Government Oversight, rue de Grammont, nº. 19.
De Bourge, rue des Filles du Calvaire, nº. 16.
The Marquise of Baussans, Place Royale.
The Marquis of la Fayette, rue de Bourbon, nº. 81.
J. J. Clavière, Merchant, rue Coq-héron, Parliament of England.
Roman, Merchant, rue Coq-héron, Parliament of England.
De Montcloux, son, Farmer General, rue S. Honorée, nº. 341.
De Montcloux de la Villeneuve, Councilor to the Cour des Aides, rue S. Honoré, nº. 341.
De Blaire, Councilor to the Cour des Aides, rue Buffaut, near the Barrière Cadet.
Madame Poivre, rue Feydeau, nº. 22.
De Trudaine, Councilor to the Parlement of Paris, rue des Francs-Bourgeois, nº. 39.
De Trudaine de la Sablière, Councilor to the Parlement of Paris, rue des France-Bourgeois, nº. 39.
Malartic de Fonda, Petition Judge, Passage des Petits-Pères, nº. 7.
Le Roi de Petitval, General Manager, Passage des Petits-Pères, nº. 7.
The Abbot Colin, Presbetary of Saint-Eustache.
Du Rouvray, Ireland.
The Duke of la Rochefoucault, rue de Seine Faubourg Saint-Germain, nº. 42.
The Duke of Charost, rue de Bourbon, nº. 70.
Short, First Secretary of the Embassy of the United States, near the Grille de Chaillot.
De Pilles, former Tax Collector, rue de Grammont, nº. 19.
The Marquis of Condorcet, Permanent Secretary to the Academy of Science, Member of the Academie Française, Hôtel de la Monnoie.
Charton de la Terrière, America.
Kornman, rue Carême-prenant.
Blot, Gold inspector, Lyon.
Esmangard, son, Counselor to the Parlement of Paris, rue des Capucines, nº. 22.
Dieres, Counselor to the Cour des Aides, rue Jacob.
Des Faucherets, rue de Paradis.
Gramagnac, M.D., Hôtel de Lussan, rue de Croix des Petits-Champs.
Lanthenas, M.D., rue Thevenot, nº. 31.
Bérand, rue Mêlée, nº. 12.
The Count of Coustard Saint-Lô, rue Nôtre-Dame des Victoires, nº. 31.
Du Vaucel, Farmer General, rue neuve des Mathurins, nº. 1.
The Duke of Llavré, rue de Bourbon, nº. 72.
The Bishop of Chartres, Chartres.
Cuchet, Bookseller, rue Serpente.
Gallois, Attorney to Parlement, rue des petits-Augustins, nº. 24.
The Marquis of Mons, rue neuve des Petits-Champs, nº. 26.
The Abbot Guyot, Provost of Saint Martin of Tours, rue Traversière, nº. 35.
Pigot, Geneva.
The Baron Dietrick, rue Poissonière.
Lavoisier, Farmer General, at the Arsenal.
Bergerot, Director of Farms, hôtel des Fermes.
Biderman, Merchant, Brussels.
De Pastoret, Petition Judge, rue des Capucines, nº. 74.
Cottin son, Banker, Chaussée d'Antin, nº. 6.
The Count of Avaux, rue S. Dominique, nº. 49.
D'Audignac, Director of Public Services, rue de Choiseul.
The Count of la Cépede, Jardin du Roi.
Munier de Montengis, Hôtel Royal des Invalides.
Madame Clavière, rue d'Amboise, nº. 10.
The Chevalier of Boussiers, hôtel de Rohan, rue de Varenne.
Gougenot, General Collector for Public Services, rue de Choiseul.
Petry, Director of Fermes, hôtel de Longueville, rue S. Niçaise.
De Saint-Alphonse, General Farmer, rue S. Honoré, nº. 423.
Fortin, rue de Choiseul.
Henry, Attorney to Parlement, rue S. Jean-de-Beauvais.
The Count of Crillon, Place de Louis XV.
The Prince Emmanuel de Salm, rue de Grenelle, faubourg S. Germain, nº. 231.
The Duchess of la Rochefoucault, rue de Seine, faubourg S. Germain.
Duport, Counselor to Parlement, rue du Grand-Chantier, nº. 2.
Segretier.
The Marquise of La Fayette, rue de Bourbon, nº. 81.
Soufflot, Building Inspector of Sainte Géneviève, Saint Géneviève.
Agasse de Cresne, rue Pavée S. André-des-Arts, nº. 12.
Servat, Official of the City of Bordeaux, Boulevard Montmorency, across from the Pavilion.
Croharé, rue de la Comédie Française, at the corner of the rue des Cordeliers.
The Count of Valence, rue Chaussée d'Antin, nº. 70.
Hocquart de Tremilly, Attorney General of the Cour des Aides, rue Neuve des Petits-Champs, nº. 71.
The Count Charles de Lameth, cul-de-sac Nôtre-Dame-des-Champs.
The Chevalier Alexandre de Lameth, same address.
The Chevalier Théodore de Lameth, same address.
The Marquis of le Chatelet, hôtel de Brissac, quai des Théatins.
The Prince of Leon, hôtel de la Rochefoucault, rue de Seine.
The Count of Rochechouart, rue de Grenelle, faubourg S. Germain, nº. 99.
Molliens, First Assistant of Finance, rue de la Michaudière.
Bergon, First Assistant of Finance, rue de la Michaudière.
De Sannois, Farmer General, hôtel des Fermes.
The Viscount of Ricey.
The Count of Gouvernet, rue de Verneuil, nº. 50.
Benoît de Lamothe, Deputy Chief of Accounting for Public Services, rue neuve Saint Eustache, nº. 21.
The Chevalier of Léaumur, rue Thérèse, nº. 1.
Leroy de Camilly, Paymaster of Annuities, rue S. Marc, nº. 23.
Dupleix de Mezy, Attorney to Parlement, rue des petites Ecuries du Roi.
Vallou de Villeneuve, Deputy Chief of Public Services, rue S. Joseph.
The Marquis of la Feuillade, rue des Marais.
De Meulan, General Collector of Finance, rue de Clichy.
Associated Foreigners
The Abbot Piatoli, boulevard de Richelieu, care of Princess Lubormiska.
In Paris and the large cities of France, there is a class of citizens that did not receive much attention during the Revolution. Holed up because of cowardice or by lack of emulation, only unwillingly did they take part in what was happening around them. They made their little calculations, resigned to their fate, yet [were] happy because they would not be the ones who would lose the most. Occupied with details, they could almost never see the big picture. They only live in the present and are too shortsighted to see into the depths of the future. Most of them have integrity, but being deeply concerned with their financial situation, they cannot always refrain from hoping that they might somehow make even a modest profit. Great passions, heightened feelings, anything that takes energy, strength, and a certain pride of spirit, is alien to them. They can be seen shrugging their shoulders, or looking stupidly at you. When being told about some patriotic sacrifice, they act as if they are hearing a foreign language. For the rest, they are egotistical, but this is not systemic. Rather, it is due to the fact that their hearts, compressed in the narrow scope of their education and their habits, could never find the room to grow.
This is how the Paris bourgeois were before the Revolution, and how they are still, or very nearly.
The bourgeois is not a democrat, or barely. He is a royalist by instinct. Sheep also look to a single leader. Nothing can make them stop following their shepherd, even though he shaves them so closely they bleed, sells them to the butcher when they're fattened up, or slits their throats for his own dinner. But sheep all alone, without a sheepdog or shepherd, would be confused and wouldn't know what to do with their freedom. The bourgeois is the same way. In the order of species he would be situated halfway between man and mule, and serve as the link between the two. He often has the straightforwardness of the latter and sometimes tries to think like the former . . . but at this he often doesn't succeed.
Before the Revolution, several different types of bourgeois could be identified in Paris: the low, the high, and the moral [bonne.] Sometimes these last two are confused, and it might seem that they were one and the same. But that would be a big mistake.
The high bourgeois is an aristocrat in the full sense of the word, but he does not have the energy or loyalty of the nobles. He is, however, proud to walk immediately behind them. This was the class from which municipal magistrates and other city officials were normally chosen.
The good bourgeois was a lot healthier. This fairly large class included several families of strict magistrates and laudable attorneys, several businesses that deserved to be proud of themselves for never having failed to meet a commitment, even in the most difficult of times. There are also several influential men of letters, a few talented artists, several doctors, and a few good priests that belong to this class. Among the good bourgeois we find Voltaire, Hélvetius, Buffon, de Troyes, Coypel, Boulogne, etc.
The petite bourgeoisie are in the middle, between the two previous kinds and the People. There were many of them, among whom were the lower clergy and retail merchants, bosses of small workshops, well-off artisans, clerks, and, especially lately, many writers. The Revolution has the biggest obligations to the small bourgeoisie, who were constantly and everywhere in evidence. It was they who contributed most effectively to containing the hordes of brigands that the Minister had let loose on us in the capital to try to make us abort the upcoming birth of French Freedom. One-third of the guard regiment was made up of small bourgeois.
They have always sided with the people, who have not always treated them fairly. The high bourgeois never missed a chance to back the nobles, and every day they whisper how sorry they are that they are now extinct.
The "real" National Assembly does not always hold its sessions on the merry-go-round. Divided into more or less numerous groups, they often sit along the Feuillants terrace [the former convent of the Cistercian order, located near the Tuileries], and along the flower beds adjacent to the Tuileries gardens. They also often deliberate around the pond at the Palais Royale. It is in these roving clubs that the pure flame of patriotism burns the brightest. It is there that the public conscience and the majority opinion are elaborated. It is there that the fruit of these ongoing lectures is harvested. It is there that one has to go for the clear thoughts of the People, this People outrageously slandered by those who had always held them at the greatest possible distance.
For the philosopher who has not given up on the long-debased human race, Paris offers the most satisfying view of man's emulation. Almost all of the National Assembly's decrees that have a large element of common sense are basically those that echoed motions from the people. On the other hand, the constitutional decisions, or the other decisions that left something to be desired, were precisely those that were farthest from what the people, in their wisdom, had decided. The decree on the silver coin, that on the law of war and peace, that on the royal veto, that on the Nancy scandal which was badly presented, the firing of the ministers which was not deliberated, etc., etc.: all these denials given to public opinion were disowned in advance by the People passing motions in the street.
The three great days of our Revolution bore witness to more than the three preceding centuries had ever seen. That sudden insurrection of Sunday, July 12th, continued over to Monday, was then taken to its apex on the 14th. . . . [F]or which causes is France indebted to this salutary effort? For the motions of the Palais Royale that had taken place for a month between the bayonets; for the stunning satisfaction that the people of Paris went to demand from the chateau of Versailles; for the sacrilegious scandal brought down upon the national sovereignty; and for that memorable night of 5–6 October, which was the night of the final judgment for a number of people who had raised themselves above the law and based their small strange pleasures on general disaster? This generous movement, that etched terror into the souls of the cowards at court who were considering a civil war is due to the People's sense of righteousness.
Good people of France! You can become the premier country in the world. You have started the most beautiful revolution in the history of mankind, and it is up to you to take it to its end. Continue to go to public places, assemble often, unburden yourselves of your boring and monotonous drudgery, and consecrate your leisure time and your days of rest to the discussion of the nation's interests and the examination of your leaders' conduct. Let none of the political currents that take place around you go unnoticed. Be strangers to nothing. Let your dignity enfold you, know the extent of your power, and multiply the light of your wisdom by stringing together the sparks of genius of each and every individual that makes up your imposing mass. Of all your weapons, there is not one with a caliber equal to that of education. Education is the refuge of your independence.
Good people of France! Cultivate your own reasoning. Set up patriotic lectures at the heart of every town and in the countryside. If the local priest refuses to turn over the pulpit, or if he mixes the wheat and the chaff, let the most able father assemble his children and his neighbors under the church porch or on the threshold of his cottage and read the decrees from the National Assembly so that they may be discussed by those present. Let each person improvise in his own way, without any other aim but that of the public good. And soon the simplest of men, guided by that moral instinct with which nature has blessed all thinking beings, will be in a position to appreciate things and people for their true worth.
Over time, these small committees will become a type of country court where you can summon your leaders to appear to face natural reason. Then it will not be so easy to be fooled by the questionable character of the many ambitious but clever people, nor to be dragged into situations that are against your most vital interests. Then you will be truly worthy of this national sovereignty that a handful of ministerial brigands has shamelessly taken from you. Then, you will renounce the worship of cult figures.
Good People, it is only then that it will be superfluous to tell you what now requires a little repeating.
It really gets under my skin to see a bunch of rascals build castles in the air, sacrifice honor and country, and risk the guillotine in order to become rich. Who is served by this wealth? He who has a lot of gold and houses, does he dine twice? Hell! If we could only read the minds of all the poor devils who have piled sous upon sous to fill their coffers; if we understood the stupors of all these misers who skin fleas in order to get their hides, if you could see them always on their guard, always sleeping with one eye open, scared down to the marrow of their bones by the slightest noise, screaming for mercy when they hear judgments being shouted out against some crooks, tearing their hair out when the rich are forced to loosen the purse strings to help their country, burying their gold, dying of fright at the mere sound of the name of the revolutionary army!
Is there, in the whole world, a worse torture than this? What a damn difference there is between the fate of this pathetic character and that of the honest sans-culotte, who lives from day to day by the sweat of his brow. As long as he has a four-pound loaf in his bread box and a glass of red wine, he's content. As soon as he wakes up, he's as happy as a lark, and at the end of the day, he takes up his tools and sings his revolutionary song, "La Carmagnole." In the evening, after he has worked hard all day, he goes to his section. When he appears there among his brothers, they don't look at him as if he were a monster, and he doesn't see everyone whispering to each other and pointing their fingers at him like a nobleman or a moderate would.
They shake his hand, pat him on the shoulder, and ask him how he's doing. He doesn't worry about being denounced; he is never threatened with raids on his house. He holds his head high everywhere he goes.
In the evening, when he enters his hovel, his wife rushes to greet him, his small children hug him, his dog bounds up and licks him. He recounts the news that he heard at the section. He's as happy as a clam when telling about a victory over the Prussians, the Austrians, or the English. He tells how a traitorous general, a follower of Brissot, was guillotined. While telling his children about these scoundrels, he makes them promise to always be good citizens and to love the Republic above all else. Then he eats dinner with a hearty appetite, and after his meal, he entertains his family by reading to them from Le Grande colère du Père Duchesne [The Great Wrath of Father Duchesne] or La Grande joie du Père Duchesne [The Great Joy of Father Duchesne].
His wife laughs till she's hoarse when listening to him tell about the arguments between his neighbor Jacqueline and the religious zealots whining to the patron saints of the rich. The little rug-rats erupt with joy on hearing the four-letter words I use.
Blood has just flowed on the field of the federation, staining the altar of the fatherland. Men and women have had their throats slashed and the citizens are at a loss. What shall become of liberty? Some say that it has been destroyed, and that the counterrevolution has won. Others are certain that liberty has been avenged, and that the Revolution has been unshakably consolidated. Let us impartially examine these two such strangely differing views. . . .
The majority of the National Assembly, the department, the Paris municipality, and many of the writers say that the capital is overrun by brigands, that these brigands are paid by agents of foreign courts, and that they are in alliance with the factions that secretly conspire against France. They say that at ten o'clock on Sunday morning, two citizens were sacrificed to their fury. They say these citizens insulted, molested and provoked the National Guard, assassinated several of the citizen soldiers; that they went so far as to try to kill the Commandant-General. And finally they say that they gathered at the Champ de Mars for the sole purpose of disturbing public peace and order, getting so carried away that perhaps it was hard to restrain themselves two hours later. From this point of view, it is certain that the Paris municipality could have and should have taken the severe measures that it did. It is better to sacrifice some thirty wretched vagabonds than to risk the safety of 25 million citizens.
However, if the victims of Champ de Mars were not brigands, if these victims were peaceful citizens with their wives and children, and if that terrible scene is but the result of a formidable coalition against the progress of the Revolution, then liberty is truly in danger, and the declaration of martial law is a horrible crime, and the sure precursor of counterrevolution . . . . The field of the federation . . . is a vast plain, at the center of which the altar of the fatherland is located, and where the slopes surrounding the plain are cut at intervals to facilitate entry and exit. One section of the troops entered at the far side of the military school, another came through the entrance somewhat lower down, and a third by the gate that opens on to the Grande Rue de Chaillot, where the red flag was placed. The people at the altar, more than fifteen thousand strong, had hardly noticed the flag when shots were heard. "Do not move, they are firing blanks. They must come here to post the law." The troops advanced a second time. The composure of the faces of those who surrounded the altar did not change. But when a third volley mowed many of them down, the crowd fled, leaving only a group of a hundred people at the altar itself. Alas! they paid dearly for their courage and blind trust in the law. Men, women, even a child were massacred there. Massacred on the altar of the fatherland. . . .
The Society of Friends of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen [Cordeliers Club] to the Representatives of the Nation (21 June 1791)
Petition of the Cordelier Club (14 July 1791)
We were slaves in 1789, we believed ourselves free in 1790, we are free at the end of June 1791. Legislators! You had allocated the powers of the nation you represent. You had invested Louis XVI with excessive authority. You had consecrated tyranny in establishing him as an irremovable, inviolable and hereditary king. You had sanctioned the enslavement of the French in declaring that France was a monarchy.
Good citizens lamented and opinions clashed vehemently. But the law existed and we obeyed it, waiting for the progress of enlightenment and philosophy to bring us our salvation.
It seemed that this so-called contract between a nation that gives everything, and an individual who gives nothing, had to maintained. Until that time when Louis XVI had become an ungrateful traitor, we believed that we had only ourselves to blame for our ruined work.
But times have changed. This so-called convention between a people and its king no longer exists. Louis has abdicated the throne. From now on Louis is nothing to us, unless he become our enemy. . . .
The Society of Friends of the Rights of Man considers that a nation must do everything, either by itself or through removable officers chosen by it. It [the Society] considers that no single individual in the state should reasonably possess enough wealth and prerogatives to be able to corrupt the agents of the political administration. It believes that there should be no employment in the state that is not accessible to all the members of that state. And finally, it believes that the more important a job is, the shorter and more transitory its duration should be. Convinced of this truth and of the greatness of these principles, it can no longer close its eyes to the fact that monarchy, above all hereditary monarchy, is incompatible with liberty. Such is its opinion, for which it stands accountable to all Frenchmen.
It anticipates that such a proposition shall give rise to a host of opponents. But did not the Declaration of Rights itself encounter opposition? Nevertheless, this question is important to deserve serious debate by the legislators. They have already botched the revolution once because of lingering deference for the phantom of monarchy . . . let us therefore act without fear and without terror, and try not to bring it back to life. . . .
Legislators, you have a great lesson before your eyes. Consider well that, after what has happened, it is impossible for you to inspire in the people any degree of confidence in an official called "king." We therefore call upon you, in the name of the fatherland, to declare immediately that France is no longer a monarchy, but rather that it is a republic. Or at a minimum, wait until all the departments and all of the primary assemblies have expressed their opinion on this important question before you consider casting the fairest empire in the world into the chains and shackles of monarchism for a second time.
The society has decided that the present petition shall be printed, posted, and then sent to all the departments and patriotic societies of the French empire.
Petition of the Jacobin Club (16 July 1791)
The Frenchmen undersigned, members of the sovereign;
Considering that in matters affecting the safety of the people, it has the right to express its desire in order to enlighten and direct the representatives who have received its mandate; that there has never been a more important question than that concerning the king's desertion; that the decree passed on 15 July contains no provision regarding Louis XVI; that while obeying this decree, it is important to decide promptly the matter of this individual's fate; that this decision must be based on his conduct; that Louis XVI, after having accepted the duties of kingship and sworn to defend the constitution, has deserted the post entrusted to him, has protested against this constitution by a declaration written and signed by his own hand, has sought to paralyze the executive power by his flight and orders, and to overthrow the constitution by his complicity with the men today accused of attacking it; that his betrayal, his desertion, protestation (to say nothing of all the other criminal acts preceding, accompanying, and following these) entail a formal abdication of the constitutional crown entrusted to him; that the National Assembly has judged him to this effect in taking over the executive authority, suspending the king's powers, and holding him under arrest; that new promises to observe the constitution on Louis XVI's part could not offer a sufficient guarantee to the nation against a new betrayal and a new conspiracy;
Considering, finally, that it would be as contrary to the majesty of the outraged nation as to its interests to entrust the reins of the empire to a perfidious, traitorous fugitive;
Formally and expressly demands that the National Assembly accept, in the nation's name, Louis XVI's abdication on 21 June of the crown delegated to him, and provide for his replacement by all constitutional means.
The undersigned declare that they will never recognize Louis XVI as their king, unless the majority of the nation expresses a desire contrary to that contained in the present nation.
At half-past two (in the morning) I received the somewhat reassuring news that it had been difficult to get the crowds to assemble, that the citizens of the faubourgs were growing tired, and that it looked as if they would not march.
Soon afterwards (between three and four) it was reported to the ministers that Monsieur Manuel, the public prosecutor of the Commune had just given orders to withdraw the guns on the Pont-Neuf placed there by the Commandant-General in order to prevent the Faubourg Saint-Antoine from linking up with the Faubourg Saint-Marceau. The report added that Manuel had said to the Commune, "These cannon interfere with communications between the citizens of the two faubourgs. Together, they have to finish an important task today." The ministers discussed whether to replace the guns on the bridge despite Manuel's orders.
At about four o'clock, I was summoned, I do not know by whom or how, to a room where the Queen was seated near the fireplace with her back to the window. I believe the room was that of Thierry, the King's valet. The King was not there. As far as I can remember, I went in by the door of the small room where the ministers, the commissioners of the department, and I had held our meeting. I assume she sent for me after one of the ministers had communicated the results of our conference. . . . She asked me what should be done in the present circumstances. I replied that in my opinion, it was necessary for the King and the Royal Family to go to the National [Legislative] Assembly. Monsieur Dobouchage (a minister) said, "What, you propose to deliver the King to his enemies?" "Not so much his enemies," I said. "You forget that they voted 400 to 200 in favor of Monsieur de La Fayette. In any case I propose this action as being the least dangerous." Then, in a very positive tone, the Queen said, "Monsieur, there are forces at work here, and it is finally time to know who shall prevail—the King and the constitution, or the rebels." "In that case, Madame, let us see what measures have been taken for the defense."
Considering the circumstances, the Queen's remarks made me think that there was within the Palace a strong determination to fight and a faction that had promised the Queen a victory. I suspected that such a victory was needed to impress the National [Legislative] Assembly. All this filled me with confused fears of a resistance that would be both bloody and futile, and of a venture against the legislative body after the troops had withdrawn or been defeated. These anticipations added an unbearable burden to my responsibility. I insisted that the King should at least write to the National [Legislative] Assembly and ask for help.
In these circumstances, seeing that the group seemed resolved to wait out events in the Palace itself, I proposed to the departmental council that we should go to the Assembly, communicate the most recent reports, and entrust the decision to their wisdom. This proposal met with their liking and we started to walk to the Assembly. When we had come to a point opposite the café on the terrace of the Feuillants, we met the two ministers coming back. "Where are you going, gentlemen?" they said. "To the Assembly." "To do what?" "Ask for help, beg them to send a deputation or to summon the King and his family to the Chamber." "That is just what we have been doing—quite unsuccessfully. The Assembly scarcely listened to us. They are not in sufficient numbers to issue a decree: there are only sixty or eighty members present." These considerations caused us to stop. Moreover, we saw a crowd of unarmed people running along the terrace who would reach the Gate of the Feuillants at the same time as us, and several members feared that we should be cut off. So we turned about and walked back to the Tuileries.
The ministers went back up to the apartments. In the entrance my colleagues and I were stopped by some gunners who were posted with their cannons at the gate opening on the garden from the entrance-hall. In distressed tones a gunner said to us, "Gentlemen, will we have to fire on our brothers?" I replied, "You are here to guard this gate and prevent anyone from coming in. You will not have to fire at them unless they fire at you. And if they fire on you, they are not your brothers." Then my colleagues said to me, "You ought to go into the courtyard and tell that to the National Guards who are there. They all think they are going to be forced to attack and are tormented by the idea." Since I was tormented by the same thought after all that I had seen, I was very glad to do what they proposed. We walked through the hall and out into the courtyard. There were four or five pieces of artillery right in front of the Palace gate, as well as on the garden side. On the right there was a battalion of National Guards, grenadiers I believe, whose positions stretched from the Palace to the wall that closed the courtyard near the Carrousel. Parallel to them on the left was a battalion of Swiss Guards, and in the middle, at an equal distance from the Palace and the Royal Gate, were five or six artillery pieces facing the Carrousel.
. . . "We must hesitate no longer," I said to my colleagues. . . . "If you agree, I shall go up now and explain to the King the necessity for him and the Royal Family to go and submit themselves to the Legislative Assembly." They said, "Let us all go." I ran to the palace followed by the others. . . . Sire," I said, "the department wishes to speak with your Majesty without any witnesses other than your family." The King gave a sign for people to leave, which they did. Monsieur de Joly said, "The King's ministers should remain at His Majesty's side." "If the King so wishes, I see no objection, Sire," I continued in an urgent tone. "Your Majesty has not five minutes to lose. There is no safety for you except in the National [Legislative] Assembly. The opinion of the department is that you should proceed there without delay. You do not have enough men in the courtyards of the palace to defend the building and their will [to fight] is in question. As soon as they were told to remain on the defensive, they unloaded their cannons." "But," said the King, "I did not see many people at the Carrousel." "Sire, there are twelve cannons, and a huge crowd is streaming in from the faubourgs."
When we were under the trees opposite the café located on the terrace of the Feuillants, we walked through the leaves which had fallen during the night and which the gardeners had piled up in heaps. As they were in the King's path, we sank in them up to our knees. "What a lot of leaves!" said the King. "They have begun to fall very early this year." Several days before Manuel had written in a newspaper that the King would not last beyond the fall of the leaves. One of my colleagues told me that the Dauphin amused himself here by kicking the leaves into the legs of the persons walking in front of him.
Since we progressed very slowly, a deputation from the Legislative Assembly met us in the garden, some twenty-five paces from the terrace. As far as I can remember, the President said, "The Assembly is anxious to contribute to your safety and offers to you and your family refuge within." At that point I stopped walking in front of the King.
The King and his family reached the Assembly without hindrance. When they arrived at the gate of the passage leading into the building, there were several guards standing there and among them a National Guardsman from Provence, who placed himself on the King's left and said to him in his native accent: "Sire, don't be afraid. We are decent people, but we don't want to be betrayed any longer. Be a good citizen, Sire, and don't forget to sack those holy rollers out of the Palace. Don't forget. It's high time to do it." The King's reply was not lighthearted. He was the first to enter the Assembly. I followed him. There was a backup in the hallway which prevented the Queen and her son, whom she would not leave, from moving forward and following the King. I asked the Assembly if the National Guards who were obstructing the entrance, but could not go backwards because of the crowd behind them, could come into the chamber for a moment. Almost all of them were part of the Assembly's Guard. This caused a sharp hostile reaction in that part of the chamber called "the Mountain."
I arose, distressed by the horror. The night had not refreshed me at all, rather it had caused my blood to boil. . . . I go out and listen. I follow groups of people running to see the "disasters"—their word for it. Passing in front of the Conciergerie, I see a killer who I'm told is a sailor from Marseilles. His wrist is swollen from use. I pass by. Dead bodies are piled high in front of the Châtelet. I start to flee, but I follow the people instead. I come to the rue St.-Antoine, at the end of the rue des Ballets, just as a poor wretch came through the gate. He had seen how they killed his predecessor, but instead of stopping in amazement, he took to his heels to escape. A man who was not one of the killers, just one of those unthinking machines who are so common, stopped him with a pike in the stomach. The poor soul was caught by his pursuers and slaughtered. The man with the pike coldly said to us, "Well, I didn't know they wanted to kill him. . . ."
There had been a pause in the murders. Something was going on inside. . . . I told myself that it was over at last. Finally, I saw a woman appear, as white as a sheet, being helped by a turnkey. They said to her harshly: "Shout 'Vive la nation!'" "No! No!" she said. They made her climb up on a pile of corpses. One of the killers grabbed the turnkey and pushed him away. "Oh!" exclaimed the ill-fated woman, "do not harm him!" They repeated that she must shout "Vive la nation!" With disdain, she refused. Then one of the killers grabbed her, tore away her dress, and ripped open her stomach. She fell, and was finished off by the others. Never could I have imagined such horror. I wanted to run, but my legs gave way. I fainted. When I came to, I saw the bloody head. Someone told me they were going to wash it, curl its hair, stick it on the end of a pike, and carry it past the windows of the Temple. What pointless cruelty! . . .
The number of active killers who took part in the September massacres was only about one hundred and fifty. The rest of Paris looked on in fear or approval, or stayed behind closed shutters.