APPENDIX

I NOTE ON THE CORDELIERS

The spot once occupied by the Cordeliers is among the most interesting in Paris, and it is of some importance to sketch its history and to reconstruct its appearance at greater length than was possible in the text.

All the land from St. Germains des Près up northwards along the hillside had belonged to that abbey since its foundation, when the first dynasty of Frankish kings had endowed the foundation with a great estate carved out of what had once been the Roman fiscal lands on the south bank. Round the abbey itself a few houses had gathered, forming the “Faubourg” (or suburb) of “St. Germains”; but the greater part of the estate was open field and meadow. When Philip Augustus built his great wall round Paris it cut through the estate, leaving the Church and Abbey of St. Germains outside the city, but enclosing a small part of the fields within its boundary.

You may trace the line of the wall at this day by noting the street “Rue de Monsieur le Prince,” once called “Rue des Fossés Monsieur le Prince,” and running on the line of the outer ditch. The wall ran not twenty yards east of the modern street and exactly parallel to it. A portion of it may yet be seen in that neighbourhood, a great hollow round built into the wall of one of the houses, a cobbler’s shop in the Cour du Commerce; it is one (the last, I believe) of the half-towers which flanked Philip Augustus’s wall.

In the beginning of the thirteenth century, very shortly after the death of St. Francis, the first preachers of the new Order which he had founded came to Paris. It was the moment when the University was climbing up the hill, building its colleges, having possessed its charter for some years, and already a strong, organised, wealthy, and therefore conservative body. This order of preachers, wandering, intensely new, and founded by a mystic whose place in Christendom was not yet finally determined, were bound to come into collision with the spirit of the place. It must be remembered that the thirteenth century was not transitional, but, on the contrary, a time of settled order. For a century it had known the Roman law; it had everywhere the Gothic architecture; it had systemised and made legal the rough accidents of feudal custom; it was wealthy, proud, and successful. On it there falls one of those creations which are only possible in a time of energy, and yet which almost invariably quarrel with the period that has produced them. An Order devoted to simplicity, making of holy poverty the foundation of the inner life, specially created for the poor (whom the growing differentiation of society was beginning to debase), the early Franciscans were essentially revolutionary, because they built on the great foundations of all active and permanent reform—I mean the appetite for primitive conditions, and the determination to break through the net of complexity which the long growths of time weave about a conservative society.

The rich Abbey of St. Germains gave them asylum. It was proud to possess dependants, it was great enough to afford benevolent experiments, and it took pleasure in offending the University, which was an upstart in its eyes, and was beginning to show as a powerful rival in the affairs of the south side of Paris. The Franciscans, therefore—whom the populace already called the “Cordeliers” from the girdle of rope about their habit—were permitted to settle in that little corner of their estate which had been cut off by the building of the town wall, and they occupied a triangle of which the wall formed the south-western, a lane (afterwards called “Rue des Cordeliers”) the northern, and an irregular line bounding one of the University estates the south-eastern side.

This was in 1230. St. Louis was still a boy of fifteen. The little foundation was, for the University, nothing but an unwelcome neighbour whom it could not oust, and for the Abbey of St. Germains nothing but a guest. Their provisional tenure did not permit them a peal of bells nor a public cemetery.

St. Louis, however, grew into a manhood which, for all its piety, had a wonderful grasp of the society around it. The saint who was never clerical, and the Capetian who in all things was rather for the spirit than the letter, became their principal support. The Papacy, having once (though reluctantly) recognised the Franciscan movement in the interview between Innocent III. and its founder, continued in the succeeding generation to protect it. From a distance, where the quarrels of the University affected it little, the Holy See decided more than one dispute in favour of the new-comers, and the Franciscans of Paris flourished exceedingly. By 1240 the full privileges of an independent foundation were granted. They have their public service, their cemetery, and their bells. St. Louis helps them to build a new chapel by giving them, in 1267, part of the great fine which he levied on Enguerrand de Coucy. They succeed at last in obtaining the recognition of the University; they are permitted to teach; they number among their lecturers Duns Scotus and St. Bonaventure; and they become one of the most famous of the colleges.

During the Middle Ages (apart from certain minor structures and a few private houses which had been permitted to rise on their land, and which were technically known as the “dépendances”), three principal groups of buildings marked the foundations. First, the monastery itself, a somewhat irregular mass, running (as a whole) north and south, and separated from the Rue des Cordeliers by a little court or garden. Secondly, running from the northern end of this convent, and forming, as it were, a letter L with the main building, was the chapel, lying, of course, east and west, and forming the southern side of the Rue des Cordeliers, upon which was the principal porch. Thirdly, running also east and west, but separated from the other buildings by a short space, was the hall.

This famous monument, the only part of the college that has been preserved, stood well back from the street, and in the middle of the convent grounds. It was on the eastern side of the monastery, and hence in the ground plan balanced (so to speak) the church, which lay to the west of that main building; this was so designed that its western end faced about the middle of the college.

I have called it a hall because its use exactly corresponded to that of our college halls in the English universities. I mean, it was at once a refectory and lecture-room. It was approached by a little lane running up through the grounds under the side of the convent, later hemmed in with houses.

Here not only were the voices of the great scholars heard and the subtleties of the fourteenth century, but also Etienne Marcel called the States General of 1357. From hence that Danton of the mediæval invasion sent out his messengers to the Feudality. Here the District gathered for the elections of 1789; here the Club met in 1791 and urged the debate that finally produced the Republic of the next year. It was here also that the three watchwords of the Republic were devised; here Hérbert veiled the Declaration; and here the last few words of 1794 were spoken. Here the century, which owes more perhaps to that site than to any place in France, has collected a museum of surgery, where you may see anomalies preserved in spirits, skeletons hung on wires, and other objects, interesting rather than sublime.

As for the college and its estate, they continued for some three hundred years—that is, during the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries—to increase in importance. It is a matter of common knowledge how soon the pure ideals of St. Francis had to compromise with the world. This Order, like all others, became wealthy, rooted, and traditional. The Cordeliers, as Paris grew, found themselves possessed of a most valuable plot, whose ground-value continually increased. They reserved the garden to the west, but for the rest—and especially around the buildings and along the lanes—houses were built. When the wall of Philip Augustus was first embedded by the growth of the city, and afterwards in part destroyed, the Cordeliers bought an extension to their estate, so that it stretched a little beyond the new street of “the Fossés,” which had been built on the site of the ditch. In 1580 their old thirteenth-century chapel (which must have been one of the best bits of early Gothic in Paris) was burnt down, and a larger one in the style of the time was put up by the piety of Henry IV. Throughout the seventeenth century the house seems to have suffered from a decay which continued throughout the succeeding hundred years, and culminated in the disasters of the Revolutionary period. They permitted the alienation of a strip to the west of their grounds, through which the municipality drove in 1673 the new street which, in compliment to the Order, they called “Rue de l’Observance,” after the name of their rule.

With this exception no important change occurred to change the aspect of the quarter until the Revolutionary period with which we have to deal.

We are, after this general description, in a position to recognise the site of the Cordeliers in modern Paris. As you go down the Boulevard St. Germains, just before you reach the Boulevard St. Michel (going east), you see a street leading off at a slight angle to the right. It is the Rue de l’École de Médecine, the college after which it is named facing both on this street and on the Boulevard. This street is merely the Rue des Cordeliers broadened and modernised. As you go a few yards up this street, you see on your left the great court of the college, and if you stand at its gate and look at the opposite side of the street, at the new buildings which are now the lecture-rooms and theatres of the Faculty, you are looking at the site of the old church, which has disappeared during this century. The street has been broadened by taking down the southern side, so that the church would actually have overlapped the modern street. Continuing, you pass on your right the open yard leading up to what was the hall of the Cordeliers, and is now the museum of surgery (the Musée Dupuytren), and a few yards farther brings you into the Boulevard St. Michel. Following this very broad avenue for twenty yards at the most, you may note a new street, the “Rue Racine,” turning off to the right. This did not exist in Danton’s time, but it lies nearly on the line that separated the Cordeliers from the Collège d’Harcourt (at present the Lycée St. Louis). As a fact, the line was a trifle to the south of the Rue Racine, and of course more irregular. The Rue Racine in its turn leads you into that old street the “Rue de Monsieur le Prince.” If you turn again to the right and go down this some hundred yards, you are still following the boundary of the Cordeliers, till you reach the “Rue Antoine Dubois.” This is identical with the old “Rue de l’Observance,” spoken of above, and a few steps down this short street leads you to the starting-point in the “Rue de l’École de Médecine.” Such a modern itinerary would describe as nearly as is now possible the circumference of the college and estate of the Cordeliers. The quadrilateral comprised by these four streets, the Rue de l’École de Médecine, the Rue Racine, the Rue M. de le Prince, and the Rue Antoine Dubois, is the site of the famous convent and its grounds.

To reproduce the quarter in 1788 we have to imagine the following changes:—The Rue de l’École de Médecine, very narrow, flanked for the greater part of its southern side with the church and old wall of the convent. It leads into a little narrow street called the “Rue de la Harpe,” which went right up the hill, and would correspond to a strip taken in the exact centre of the present Boulevard St. Michel. The first few buildings here, notably the Church of St. Come, were still on the Cordeliers’ estate. Just above them, however, began the grounds and buildings of the “College d’Harcourt.” As we have observed, the Rue Racine did not exist, nor anything corresponding to it. To follow the boundaries of the estate you would have had to let yourself in by a side-door, and then you might have followed a long, irregular wall which separated their land from the College d’Harcourt. This wall, after passing through a great garden, came out on the Rue Monsieur le Prince, and the rest of one’s circuit would be much what it is to-day.

Finally, to see the building as Danton saw it, you must imagine a half-deserted place, rich, but somewhat unfrequented, like certain old legal Inns that once stood in London, old walls appearing here and there from between houses of a century’s date; a mass of irregular buildings, of garden and of private house hopelessly intermingled; while up a narrow and dark passage stood the Hall, which was still the best preserved part of the college, and with which alone his name is associated.

II NOTE ON CERTAIN SITES MENTIONED IN THIS BOOK

It may be of interest to those who desire to study with some particularity the personal history of Danton to know where are to be found in modern Paris the places with which we have found him personally connected in this book.

His first offices were in the Rue des Mauvaises Paroles. This street has disappeared in the improvements which included the prolongation of the Rue de Rivoli. This office in the Rue des Mauvaises Paroles occupied almost exactly the same spot, which can be recognised to-day in the following manner. As you go along the northern side of the Rue de Rivoli going east, you come to a point 500 yards or so from the Louvre, from whence you begin to see the Tour St. Jacques just peering round the southern side of the street. The shops which are then upon your left hand and the pavement upon which you stand correspond to the position of the old mansard house in which Danton served his apprenticeship. It was here that he had his first offices; it was from this that he bought the business of Monsieur M. de Paisy in the Rue de la Tissanderie.

Concerning the position of these offices in the Rue de la Tissanderie, which he moved into, I have been able to learn nothing. There is a curious little record in the police archives of Paris—Danton complaining that he could not work on account of the noise that a saddle-maker made in the exercise of his trade in the same house. In this little document, which is quoted by Monsieur Clarétie in his “Life of Camille Desmoulins,” the house is mentioned as being “just opposite the Rue des Deux Portes”; but as an inference to be drawn from the same record is that he left immediately after for some other lodging in the same street, this does not help us much.

I have said in the text that Danton lived, during the six years which were those of his active political life, in a house of the Passage du Commerce. I have also mentioned in the text the fact that Dr. Robinet mentions a short residence in the Rue des Fossés Saint Germains. I have given, moreover, in the same passage my reasons for following M. Aulard in rejecting this first address. It seems proved that, after he left the Rue de la Tissanderie, he moved with his wife to the corner house of the Passage du Commerce. This was his home during the whole of the Revolution, and it is worth while to describe its position and character with some care.

In the first place, it has disappeared; the construction of the Boulevard St. Germains destroyed all that end of the Cour du Commerce. If you are going along the Boulevard St. Germains from the west towards the University, you pass on the right the statue of Danton. It is erected on an open triangle of ground, formed by the junction of the Boulevard and of the Rue de l’École de Médecine. The apex of this triangle, not twenty yards from the statue, marks the site of the old house in which Danton and Desmoulins lived, and in which they were arrested before their trial.

The old quarter was a network of narrow streets, and where the Boulevard St. Germain now stands, an intricate block of houses, with courtyards and passages, not unlike the similar intricate masses which you will find in the City of London, formed the northern side of the Rue des Cordeliers (that is to say, the modern Rue de l’École de Médecine). A narrow alley, known as the Cour de Commerce, joined this Rue des Cordeliers by a still narrower passage. Danton’s house was the corner house, as is proved by the mention in the inventory that some rooms looked upon this passage and some upon the Rue des Cordeliers.

Of course he did not occupy the whole of it, but, in the Parisian custom, which had already obtained for more than a century, he took a flat, and two rooms (used as a lumber and as a servant’s bedroom) were added from the entresole below. This flat was just such an apartment as a similar bourgeois householder would have in Paris to-day: a dining-room, two bedrooms, a study, a little library, a drawing-room, a kitchen, and offices, built round the staircase and courtyard or well of the house.

I have been unable to find any mention of the rental which was paid, but a guess at something like £150 a year in that quarter at that time for such a flat would, I think, not be extravagant. The corresponding flat above, Desmoulins took after his romantic marriage in December 1790, but he did not begin to occupy the house until the early part of 1791. It was here that his little Horace was born; it was here that his wife and Danton’s passed the terrible night of the 10th of August, and it was here, in the great bedroom overlooking the Rue des Cordeliers, that Danton’s wife died in February 1793.

As to the furniture of the little apartment, it may be described as follows:—The drawing-room was not very large, but there had been spent upon it the most considerable sum in the furnishing of the house. It figures for very nearly a third in the valuation, which may be read in Appendix VII. The white furniture, which was the mark of the eighteenth century, was its principal note; it is also worth observing that the household was sufficiently cramped for room to use the cupboards in the drawing-room as wardrobes. The principal bedroom was well furnished, but, as you will find to be the case in such houses in Paris, the study, the dining-room, and the spare room to the side of the study were very bare. It is also remarkable that the lumber-room held nothing but two trunks and an old double bedstead. It was the household of a man who made every effort to maintain his position before his wife’s friends, but who was not wealthy, and who had evidently arranged the scale of his expenditure considerably below the probable receipts which an office such as his would have brought in. I should much doubt whether as much as £500 a year would go out on such an establishment, though he was certainly receiving £1000. We know the reason of this; he had to pay off by every means in his power the debt which he had incurred in buying the practice. While he lived in this house, and until the office was suppressed in 1790, he continued to keep his business rooms in the Rue de la Tissanderie. It may be worthy of mention that he kept two servants, and that his apartment was on the first, whilst that of Desmoulins was on the second floor of the house.

As to the Cordeliers, on which the preceding note is written, the hall in which their meetings were first held still exists (as we have said in the text) under the title of Musée Dupuytren. The Church of the Cordeliers, into which they afterwards moved, has disappeared, but the last locale of the club (when the Municipality had turned them out of the church in 1791) still remains, and is to be discovered at No. 105 Rue Thionville. Danton’s father-in-law had been master of a café on the Quai de l’École. This house still remains. If I am not mistaken, it was altered slightly during the restorations of the Second Empire. It is the house which now stands at the south-western corner of the Place de l’École, and which faces the quai on one side and the square on the other. The street and quay outside M. Charpentier’s café was, however, somewhat oblique to the modern street, and ran less east than west, more south-east than north-west, than it does to-day.

The quay has been raised and the old fountain in the Place de l’École destroyed. Otherwise the quarter is much the same. The café became famous later for its draught players, a reputation that still continues.

III NOTE ON THE SUPPOSED VENALITY OF DANTON

I will not go in this note into any of the general considerations which have led the greater part of modern historians to reject the legend of Danton’s venality. These general considerations are by far the strongest arguments upon which we can rely in this matter, but I trust that the character which I have attempted to draw in the text of the book will furnish them in sufficiency.

Neither do I desire to insist in this note upon the unquestionable value of the two principal modern authorities in England and in France (Mr. Morse Stephens and M. Aulard), who both of them regard the question as finally settled in Danton’s favour. I have insisted sufficiently upon this in the text. What I shall attempt to do is to quote the contemporary accusations, to determine how much reliance can be placed upon them, to show their character, and to describe in what way and to what extent they are explained by documents which have since come to light.

First of all, a list of those contemporaries who took his venality for certain. It is very formidable.

Mirabeau (letter to Lamarck, Thursday, 10th March 1791).—... “Montmorin has told me ... of particular schemes ... for instance, that Beaumetz and ... D’Andrée dined yesterday alone and got Danton’s confidence ... and then proposed to demolish Vincennes in order to make themselves popular. Danton got 30,000 livres yesterday, and I have the proof that Danton inspired the last number of Desmoulins’ paper.... If it is possible I intend to risk 6000 livres, but at any rate they will be more innocently distributed than the 30,000 livres of Danton.” Here is a categorical statement in which a man says what the court had often said (and Mirabeau was then an agent of the court), “I have managed Danton at such and such a price,” and the passage gives us indirectly the name of Montmorin. The date should be noted.

Bertrand de Molleville, a far less practical and a far less careful man than Mirabeau, also a singularly untrustworthy authority, has the following:—Memoirs Particuliers, i. 354.—“By the hands of this man Durand, under the ministry of De Montmorin, Danton received more than 50,000 francs to propose certain motions of the Jacobins. He was fairly faithful in keeping this contract, but stipulated that he should be left free as to the means he employed.” ... Again ... “In the first debates upon the king’s trial the infamous Danton, whose services had been so dearly paid out of the Civil List, was one of those who displayed the greatest violence. I was the more alarmed as this scoundrel was at the moment (Autumn 1792) a most powerful and dangerous man in the Assembly. The ardent zeal which I felt for the safety of the king, and which would have made me think all means legitimate, suggested this means against Danton to neutralise the rage of the monster; and though the method I took required a lie, I did not hesitate to employ it without the least scruple. I wrote to him on the 11th December:—‘I must not leave you ignorant, Sir, of the fact that I have found in the papers of the late Monsieur Montmorin notes of the dates of the sums which have been paid out of the secret service money, including a receipt in your handwriting. Hitherto I have made no use of this document, but I warn you that I have enclosed them in a letter which I am writing to the President of the Convention, and I will have them printed and placarded on the corners of the streets if you do not conduct yourself well in the trial of the king.’ As a fact, Montmorin had shown me these papers a year before, though he had not given them to me. But Danton knew they existed, and knew how intimate had been my relations with Montmorin. He did not reply to the letter, but I saw in the published prints that he had got himself named deputy in a mission to the army of the North. He only returned at the end of the king’s trial, and contented himself with voting for death without giving any opinion.” (Particular Memoirs, ii. 288-291.) I would have the reader to specially mark this extract, to which I shall return at the end of my note, as it can be easily proved by internal evidence to be a falsehood. It is, indeed, of more value to any one who desires to write a life of Bertrand himself, than it is to one who is writing the life of Danton.

Thirdly, Lafayette says (Memoirs, iii. 83-85): “Danton, whose receipt for 100,000 francs was in the hands of Montmorin, asked for Lafayette’s head; that was running a great risk, but he depended on the discretion of Lafayette and on his keeping a secret. For Lafayette to have spoken would have been to have signed the death-warrant of Montmorin, who had paid Danton in order to moderate his anarchic fury.” And again (iv. 328-330), he says of Danton: “He was a vulgar tribune and incapable of turning the masses from evil by persuasion or by respect, but he knew how to flatter their passions, &c. &c.... I knew him from the first week of the Revolution in the district of Cordeliers, whither I had been attracted. After the 6th October he took money from Montmorin, whom he caused in consequence to be assassinated on the 2nd September. In connection with this secret he said to me once, ‘General, I know you do not know me, I am more of a Monarchist than you.’... I have learnt since from the person to whom Madame Elizabeth told it that he had received, about the 10th August, a considerable sum to give the movement a direction in the king’s favour, and, indeed, he got the royal family sent to the Temple. He said to a friend of the king, ‘It is I who will save him or kill him.’”

Fourthly, there is Brissot (iv. 193-194). “Among the stipendiaries of Orleans was ... Danton. I have seen the receipt for 500,000 francs which were paid him by Montmorin. He was sold to the court in order to thrust the Revolution into the excesses which would make it odious to the great bulk of Frenchmen.”

Fifthly, Madame Roland (who has so much to say against a character so profoundly antipathetic to her) has this special passage on his corruption (Dauban’s edition, 1864, pp. 254-255): “He went to Belgium to augment his wealth, and dared to admit a fortune of 1,400,000 francs, to assume luxury,” &c. &c.

Sixthly (if it is worth quoting), among the papers that Robespierre left, in the notes that formed the basis of St. Just’s report, are the words—“Danton owed an obligation to Mirabeau; it was Mirabeau who got him repaid the price of his practice. It has even been said that he was paid twice. I heard him admit to Fabre certain thefts of shoes belonging to the army.”

Such are the contemporary accusations. There are the following points to be noted with regard to them. No one says that he himself paid money; the sums of money are very various. They are paid, according to some, on a few definite occasions; according to others, upon all occasions. Finally, every accusation that has any definite basis at all pivots round the name of Montmorin. “Montmorin held the receipt,” “Montmorin told me,” and so forth. Now, if we remember that Montmorin held the receipt for a legitimate and open reimbursement (see Appendix VI.), and then compare the accusations with what we know of the men and of the time, if we then proceed to check these merely general conclusions by matters of absolute knowledge drawn from the valuations upon Danton’s estate at various moments of his life, we shall agree with the more modern authorities who have worked with the documents before them, that Danton is innocent of actions to the charge of which his uncertain temper and his lack of solid social surroundings laid him open.

In the first place, let us consider the words of the accusations which appear above, and which include all those of any importance.

That of Mirabeau is what you would expect from such a man; it is quiet, contemptuous, treating of Danton as something on the very last level of the time. But if we take the specific accusation and separate it from all general points of view, we find this much: that Montmorin has been talking to him with regard to what “those fellows” were doing. “In connection with this,” says Mirabeau, “Danton got 30,000 yesterday” to work such and such a political move. The grave feature in the quotation is the way in which Mirabeau, who understood men and who had a good grasp of Paris, treats Danton’s venality as being something well known, gives a particular example of it, and passes at once to other things. But the specific accusation is hearsay from Montmorin, and, as I have said, it is always Montmorin’s name which crops up when this gossip is on foot.

I would, therefore, sum up the value of Mirabeau’s accusation somewhat as follows:—If we could prove that Danton was a spendthrift, and that large sums of money passed through his hands for his personal pleasures, then Mirabeau’s chance remark, while it would be worthless in a court of law, ought to have some small weight before history. Mirabeau was (on a higher plane) a bon viveur such as Danton was reputed to be, and the circles in which the men moved touched each other especially in the point of their good living; but if we can find that Danton did not, as a fact, spend nor invest great sums of money, then the accusation is simply a common error based upon a remark of Montmorin’s, suited to the current impression of Danton’s character, but disproved by the known facts of Danton’s life.

Bertrand de Molleville’s accusation is of particular value to any one who is concerned, as I am, in attempting to get to the truth in this matter. It is the only one which is perfectly categorical and detailed. In proportion as it is categorical and detailed it is untrue. If you wish to know whether a man has committed a certain crime, and you hear a number of witnesses against him, one of whom only gives careful evidence with dates, details, and so forth, and if you can then prove that this witness has lied upon all the points which supported his principal accusation, you are in a fair way to winning your case.

De Molleville begins by making the sum 500,000 francs. It seems enormous. It is a sum which no man could receive and spend in a few days’ debauch without attracting the attention of the whole city, which no man could invest without leaving some obvious accession of property, and he puts the receipt of this sum as coming under Montmorin’s ministry—that is, at a time when public order was secured, when the course of the registries, the transmission of property and so forth, were in the fullest light.

He gives the name of the man who handed him the sum, and calls him Durand. On this point it is impossible to say yes or no, but we can say with absolute certitude that the incident of the letter upon which Bertrand de Molleville makes the whole matter turn, is an untruth added to an untruth. In the first place, he makes Danton “violent in his demands against the king.” This accusation is absolutely false.

When the trial of the king was mooted, Danton did speak (notably on the 6th of September), with some decision in favour of the king’s being brought to trial upon particular points. He expressed himself in that speech with very great energy upon this particular feature of the trial, that the king merited condemnation because he had obviously and openly betrayed the nation,—a thing which nobody doubted, which nobody denied, and which Louis himself and his advisers would simply have met by saying (at a later epoch of course), “We called in the foreigner as a necessary police in the time of anarchy; we desired to save France by its betrayal.” So far, however, from Danton being a leader of the attack on Louis or of the demand for his trial, that attack and that demand were as spontaneous as anything the Convention ever did; and Danton followed rather than led, as a glance at the Moniteur can prove.

In the much more important debates wherein the life of Louis was first implicitly and then explicitly at stake, Danton was absent, and in the days of November there is no question at all but that Danton’s one preoccupation was to reconcile the Mountain with the Girondins.

De Molleville goes on to give his letter a date—such things are done on purpose, as a rule, in order to give a special character of legal evidence to one’s accusations. He says that he wrote the letter on the 11th of December, that Danton on receiving the letter was frightened, and without replying to it got himself put upon the mission to the army of the North.

Now Danton left for the army of the North on the 1st of December, and if the letter was written at all (which I doubt), it was written at a time when Danton, being absent, could not possibly have acted as De Molleville said he did. He could not have “asked” to go on a mission (he did not ask, but was sent), and have started on the 1st in consequence of a letter written on the 11th.

Finally, De Molleville says he came back to vote on the punishment of the king, but had been coerced by the letter into merely voting for death without giving his opinion. This again is a lie. If there is anything remarkable to the historian in the vote Danton gave on the 16th January 1793, and in the speech which he made before his vote, it is that he, by nature so wary, should have discovered in this crisis a violent manifestation of opinion and motive. I have amply shown in the text that we could only reconcile those abnormal days in Danton’s life by some extreme shock to the emotions. Some represent him as suffering a violent rebuff from his political opponents; some consider the scene of misery and impending death which he found in his home on returning from his long journey. He demanded a simple majority vote; he spoke violently against the appeal to the people; and when he voted for the death of the king he turned to the Right and said, “I am not a statesman; I am not one of those who are ignorant of the duty of not compromising with tyrants, and who do not know that kings can only be struck on the head, who do not know that we can expect nothing from the kings of Europe save by force and by arms. I vote for the death of the tyrant.”

If these are the words, and if that is the action of a man terrorised by a letter into a silent and furtive vote, then evidence has no meaning.

De Molleville, I think, can in this, as in nearly all his historical evidence (with the exception of that which turns upon the personal habits of the king, where he has the details of a valet), be dismissed.

With Lafayette, again, we have that half-truth and half-lie which runs through all his accusations. “The receipt for 100,000 francs was in the hands of Montmorin.” This was true. The sum was not quite 100,000, it was 61,000 (Appendix VI.); but the receipt did exist, and to any one who did not know that all the men occupying positions on the Council had been reimbursed, it might look like a receipt for a bribe, or might be twisted into meaning such. It is impossible for us to discover whether Lafayette meant to tell an untruth, as we can prove De Molleville did; he may in this matter have been perfectly loyal, for there was a note found among his papers after his death (Memoirs, iii. 84-85), saying that “a position on the Councils was only worth 10,000, and had been reimbursed at 100,000 as a bribe.” We now know from the discovery of so many receipts that from 60,000 to 80,000 was the regular price of reimbursements, but Lafayette might easily have been ignorant of this, and have jumped to a false conclusion.

As to his mention of Madame Elizabeth’s having told the man who told him that Danton had been paid before the 10th August, the old man’s memory is certainly turning to the remark which many witnesses heard from the lips of that saintly woman just before the attack on the Tuilleries, when she said with simplicity (she knew nothing at all of the characters of the Revolution save what she might hear from the courtiers), “Well, we can count on Danton; he has been paid.” That is not evidence. If Danton was paid to make the 10th of August turn in favour of the monarchy, and if, as Lafayette hints, he had attempted to make it so turn, he certainly took the most extraordinary way of defending his employers. One might as well say that Lord Chatham’s principal object in the taking of Quebec was the defence of the French power in Canada. For the 10th of August was openly and directly an attack upon the ancient crown of France, to overthrow it and to substitute in its place a new regime, and Danton worked at it as indefatigably as a general before a battle would work.

The remark, “General, I am more monarchist than you,” reads to me like truth; it is exactly what Danton would have said. He despised Lafayette as much as any one man can despise another. He believed right up to the moment of the war that the existing fact of the monarchy was worth all the theories in the world as a nucleus for the new regime, and he saw the emptiness of Lafayette’s vanity. He may quite probably have met it upon some occasion as direct as that which Lafayette has given us, and Lafayette, in the abundance of his folly, may quite easily have misunderstood the meaning of his criticism.

Brissot is an admirable example of how the false rumours arose. He says: “I have myself seen the receipts which Montmorin held from Danton.”

Now, as we have seen, that receipt (to any one who did not know the details of the transaction) might quite honestly appear a damning piece of evidence, and it is without question the document round which the great mass of accusations have been built.

As to Madame Roland, I cannot imagine what flight of feminine inaccuracy made her put down a fortune of £60,000 to her enemy’s name. If a witness in any other circumstances than revolution should tell one that a young lawyer and politician had secretly and suddenly become possessed of this sum, he would be reputed mad. In such a time, however, anything seems possible to an enemy, and we must rely upon the simple fact that Danton can be definitely proved neither to have spent, invested, nor left a tenth of such a sum. It seems to me that this accusation of Madame Roland’s is on a par with that other extreme remark that she had known “the Dantons living on 16s. a week, which they borrowed regularly from their father-in-law,” and this “at the opening of the Revolution,” a time when we know him positively to have been defending cases involving half a million pounds in the issue of the trial, and when we know him to have had for clients some of the richest men in France.

Now, the papers that prove Danton’s financial position are quite simple. He was cut off suddenly; they were all seized, and they all remain. Unless he spent huge sums in debauch (sums like those of Orleans), or unless he buried the money, he cannot have received much more than what openly appears. He entered his married life with a debt of £2500 secured on his office. He enjoyed a good practice for four years; he was reimbursed to somewhat less than the value of his office, and on his death the sum sequestrated by the State, and later refunded to his sons, tallies with this small fortune.

IV NOTE ON DANTON’S RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE MASSACRES OF SEPTEMBER

The arguments for and against Danton’s responsibility in this matter must necessarily be of a more general order than those which can be advanced for and against his character in regard to money matters. There are but one or two really definite facts upon either side, and, as the purport of these notes is to deal with actualities, I will treat of these known facts only.

In the first place, it must be clearly understood that Danton did not shrink from, and was not unsympathetic with, the extreme measures of the Revolution. His position with regard to them is perfectly clear in history, and is simply this—his violence was persuaded that an exceptional time required, almost as a method of government, the most exceptional terrors.

But, on the other hand, Danton was a man to whom not only a useless massacre but a useless anything was detestable. Death in itself, the infliction of death on others, even the death to which he himself was led, never seemed to him a matter of vast moment. It is a common fault in courageous men to have this disregard for the life of others and of oneself, but I deny that you will ever discover Danton causing the death of a single human being unless it is in the furtherance of his policy.

In the second place, consider what is actually known to have proceeded from his mouth. (1) Quite early in the Revolution (in June 1791) he demanded the head of Lafayette, and he probably meant it; (2) he boasted of, or confessed to, being the author of Mandat’s death; (3) in the course of speeches which led up to the establishment of the Revolutionary tribunal he speaks in favour of the extreme penalties and of the terror that they would inspire, always as a means to an end, and as a means to be employed without hesitation. Let me quote but one sentence from the speech of the 10th March 1793 to illustrate what I mean:—“I feel to what a degree it is necessary to take judicial measures by which we may punish the counter-revolutionaries. This tribunal should be erected in order to replace for them the supreme tribunal of popular vengeance. It is very difficult to define a political crime, but if a man of the common people for his sort of misdeed gets punished at once, is it not necessary that extreme laws, something out of the common running of our social machinery, should be passed to terrify rebels and to strike the guilty? In this matter the safety of the people demands from you extreme methods and the measures of terror.”

Finally, we know that Danton was, on the whole, the guide of that earlier part of the Terror between May and August 1793, in which (as he thought) the system was doing necessary work without which the nation could not have been saved.

Now, let us set against these what we definitely know of Danton’s character which would lead us to a conclusion that he would not have countenanced massacre.

No one questions the fact that the leading motive in Danton’s mind was the establishment of a strong government around or in the place of a weak monarchy. He was a true descendant of the lawyers of the Code. The massacres of September took place at a moment when he was using the whole of his personal energy in trying as well as may be to supply that Government. He guides the ministry in Paris; he dominates Roland as a man might dominate a woman. It was of supreme importance to such a scheme that the thin ice between government and anarchy in the days that preceded Valmy should not be broken. The massacre of September broke it; there was a week of anarchy in Paris. There is the first great argument against Danton’s complicity with the massacres.

It must, however, be remembered that a theory exists, by no means untenable, which would make Danton argue something in this fashion: “Once let the popular fury have full rein against what it regards as the internal enemy, and I shall have the disappearance of that disturbing factor of royalist reaction in Paris, while on the part of the mob I shall have the lassitude and shame that follow excess; they are not difficult to govern.” It is only a personal opinion, but it seems to me that in a mind of Danton’s type, downright and practical to excess, such a far-reaching and subtle idea as the last would hardly occur, and that the massacres must have produced on him an especial annoyance, because they were the breakdown of a system the support of which occupied his every effort.

Secondly, Danton’s allusions to the massacres of September were always of a more definite and more reasonable nature than those of his colleagues. The attitude which he adopts with regard to them after their occurrence is this: “There was no public force, none of that disciplined government which I postulate as the first necessity of the Revolution; nothing on earth could prevent them, and they occurred in spite of every governing power.” So much for generalities.

Now let us turn to one or two points which have been made the basis of a definite accusation against Danton in this matter.

Firstly: that he knew that the massacres were coming, and withdrew from prison more than one of his friends on the eve of the uprising. This I take to be true, or rather I am certain of it; but one would have to be very ignorant of the time not to know that all Paris expected the massacres, and that those who were at all in touch with the Commune knew two or three days before that anything illegal might be done. To have worked to prevent them, in which Danton might have employed his energy, would, as I have said in the text, have been to risk that which he most desired, and to risk it for the sake of saving the prisoners. Certainly he did not desire to save them as passionately as he desired to remain at the helm and build up a government; he preferred to keep his influence over the city. That accusation is just.

Secondly, it is affirmed with justice that Danton, from the peculiar position of the ministry which he occupied, filled the prisons, which were afterwards gutted. It is true that on Danton, as Minister of Justice, and above all as a general power in the Cabinet, the responsibility of arresting the prisoners rests; but was this action taken with a knowledge of what the consequences would be nearly a month later? Certainly not. It would show a complete ignorance of what happened in the last fortnight of August to say that an action taken just after the 10th was taken with a view to something that would occur on the 2nd of September. The state of public feeling in those four weeks went through a most violent crisis, and one might say that the intensity of the feeling against the Royalists and the foreigners was not only a hundred-fold greater when Verdun was actually falling than it had been just after the success against the Tuilleries, but different in quality as well.

Thirdly, there is one detailed accusation—the circular which Marat sent out to the Departments. If it can be proved that this circular was approved of, that its distribution was aided by Danton, then we shall have a definite piece of evidence which cannot be overridden. Now let me describe what that circular was, and see how far we must blame circumstances, how far the carelessness, and how far the deliberate act of the minister. All the accounts are much the same. Madame Roland says, “Sent out above the signature of the Minister of Justice.” Bertrand de Molleville is also perfectly definite (Memoirs, ix. 310)—“Sent by the minister Danton.”

The examination of the documents seventy years later has given more accurate results to history than the memoirs of contemporaries, whether they are truthful and enthusiastic like Madame Roland, or frankly dishonest like Bertrand de Molleville. Bougeart was at the pains of looking up the original documents at the archives of the police. What appears in this document (Bougeart, pp. 121-122) is a series of signatures, Panis, Sergent, Marat, &c., that is, the Committee of Surveillance appointed by the Commune. There is no trace of any ministerial signature, and even the stamp which was used in the office by the clerks for everything that passed officially through the Ministry of Justice is not attached to the sheet. What did happen was this. The circulars were sent out in envelopes which bore the official mark of the Ministry. It is as though some act of a body in London, let us say, should be distributed to the provinces in the blue envelopes of Her Majesty’s Service. That is all, either for or against Danton, that remains of the incident of the circular.

Now it is certain that Danton had not at that time openly broken with Marat. Moreover, Danton had not actually quarrelled with the Commune, though he certainly treated it with contempt. But Danton had no conceivable object in helping Marat to distribute the circulars unless he himself was openly on Marat’s side. A man of his character would either have signed, or else, had he known that the circulars were going out, he would have forbidden their distribution; he would have taken some definite line. Why? Because the distribution of the circular was bound to condemn him to a very definite position—here is a man who has stood aloof from a very violent conspiracy, a conspiracy whose authors came out at last in the open day and gloried in what they had done. They wrote the most violent of all their manifestoes, containing such phrases as “the ferocious prisoners have been put to death by the people;” “it was an act of justice indispensable to our Committee,” and so forth. It would be quite impossible to send out unwittingly such a circular as that without knowing that one was compromising oneself and definitely entering the most extreme party of the Parisians. It is inconceivable, therefore, that he would have lent official envelopes for the purpose, and have said, “So far I will help you, but I will not help you more than that.” You might as well suppose an English official in India, of the stronger kind, saying, “I will allow you, an unofficial personage, to send out the order for an illegal execution from this office, but I will not put my name to it.”

Again, how comes it that this document alone, of all those sent from the Minister of Justice at the time, goes out in the official envelope, but bears in itself no mark whatsoever of the Ministry of Justice? How was it that the officials in the country towns, among the mass of papers that they received from the Ministry in Paris, should receive this single one without any stamp or signature, and should then discover that it had proceeded from a body which had nothing on earth to do with the Ministry of Justice? There are but two replies possible to this question—either that the envelopes were taken from the Ministry by one of the clerks (several of whom we know to have been intimately linked with the Commune), or that Danton timidly lent envelopes but refused to do anything further. Of these two replies, the second appears to me absolutely at variance not only with Danton’s own character but also with the general routine of a great office. I cannot conceive the Cabinet Minister offering, in the very gravest conditions, a few blue envelopes, when a whole political party desire from him a definite pronouncement on one side or the other.

Finally, it may be asked, could these envelopes go out without his knowledge? To that I answer that such a thing might be done from any government office to-day. It was, moreover, a time of revolution; the whole complicated organism had been shaken and partly transformed; there was confusion in every department of the building, and even under these conditions Danton was doing far more work than depended upon his office. I think, therefore, that it is eminently possible that the circulars should have been sent out by one of the clerks without his knowledge; and the fact that no signature was used, and that the documents did not even pass through one of the many hands whose duty it was to affix the formal stamp, still further corroborates the view that the circulation of the appeal was surreptitious.

As to the accusations such as that of Lafayette (Memoirs, iv. 139, 140), “He commanded the massacre of September and paid the murderers, who went all covered with blood to get their money from Roland,” I attach no importance to them at all. Even the phrase in which Danton is supposed to have saluted the return of the murderers from Versailles is very doubtful. It does not occur in any contemporary account; it is not in the Moniteur; it is not in the “Révolutions de Paris;” Madame Roland does not quote it, even on hearsay; it is not one of Peltier’s inventions, and I have some difficulty in tracing it to its origin.

I think, then, that the general position of Danton during the days of September may be summed up as follows. He did not regard the lives of the prisoners as being of the first importance; he did not use what would have been to his certain knowledge a useless energy in protesting; he did not (as he might conceivably have done) form a special and vigorous tribunal to replace that which was on the point of acquitting L. de Montmorin. By all those, therefore, who would regard public order and a security for life as being more important than the success of a political idea, or the integrity and defence of a nation, he can be accused of a criminal negligence in the matter of the massacres of September. He certainly cannot be accused of having designed them; he cannot be accused on any definite proof of having approved them, and he cannot be accused of having failed to share in the regret and misery which that terrible blunder caused. If we may judge the attitude of his mind by comparing it with that of contemporaries, rather than by comparing it with our own attitude in a time of security and order, we may say that the massacres taught him a more definite lesson than they taught to Roland, for they caused him to pursue a policy of conciliation and to strengthen the government; that, on the other hand, he did less to stop them than Manuel did; and that in a comparison with men whom we know to have been honest, such as Roland himself, or by a contrast with men whom we know to have been evil, such as Hébert, or whom we know to have been frenzied, such as Marat—judged in the midst of all this, Danton will appear responsible to history for having been guilty of indifference at a moment when he might have saved his reputation by protesting, though perhaps his protest would not have saved a single life.

The object of the remainder of this Appendix is to provide for the reader certain documents that illustrate the statements and the line of argument in the text. Of these documents but few have been translated, because only a few appeal to any one but a special student of the Revolution, or are necessary to the understanding of this book.

By far the most important of the documents here printed is the last, Barrère’s report of the 29th of May 1793. Hitherto unpublished, it furnishes (to my mind) the most complete explanation of the somewhat complicated manœuvres pursued by the Committee, manœuvres which permitted the revolution of May 31st and June 2nd.

To each document a short preface has been attached for the purpose of explaining its origin and of mentioning the authorities (if any) in which it can be found.

V SHORT MEMOIR by A. R. C. de St. ALBIN

This memoir was published for the first time as an article in the Critique Française of the 15th of March 1864. It was so published by the author himself, and, though appearing seventy years after Danton’s death, is not without importance. De St. Albin, who is better known by his first name of Rousselin, had some personal acquaintance with Danton (though he was but a boy at the time) and he lived to a great age. He had, moreover, an acquaintance with the family after the Revolutionary period. These circumstances make his testimony decisive on all non-controversial points and valuable on many others.

The criticisms to be made against his account are obvious. It is too florid; it errs also in giving an amiable and somewhat mediocre character to the statesman himself and to all his relatives and surroundings. We have in it but a poor expression of the energy that was Danton’s chief character, and which the writer’s own mind cannot reflect. It was, moreover, written so very long after the events which it describes that in more than one place an error of date or number has been committed; especially in the incident of Barentin at the close of the memoir, with which M. Aulard finds so much fault, and in the amount of his wife’s dowry, which was not 40,000 but only 20,000 livres. On the other hand, it is fresh, full of personal recollections, written by a trustworthy man, and gives many interesting details on the earlier and less known part of Danton’s life.

“La famille de Danton n’a point à se prévaloir d’une antique noblesse. Le nom de Danton est commun dans la contrée d’Arcis-sur-Aube, il est apparu avec un certain bruit, en 1740, dans les querelles du jansénisme. Parmi les pièces de théâtre destinées à populariser ces discussions théologiques, il en est une intitulée La Banqueroute des marchands de miracles, qui est signée du P. Danton. On a supposé, non sans raison, qui cet ecclésiastique était un grand-oncle du conventionnel.

“Georges-Jacques Danton naquit à Arcis-sur-Aube le 26 octobre 1759. Il était fils de Jacques Danton, procureur au bailliage d’Arcis, qui avait épousé, en 1754, Jeanne-Madeleine Camut. Le père mourut le 24 février 1762, âgé d’environ quarante ans, laissant sa femme enceinte et quatre enfants en bas âge, deux filles et deux garçons, Georges-Jacques Danton resta sous la tutelle de sa mère, femme douée de toutes les qualités qui commandent l’estime. C’est par la sensibilité et la douceur du caractère que la mère de Danton élevait et gouvernait sa jeune famille. Georges, celui de ses enfants dont l’extérieur indiquait le plus de force et de volonté, était le plus docile envers elle. Se jeune indépendance était bien vite soumise quand sa mère parlait à son cœur. La tendresse obtenait ce que la crainte aurait vainement tenté d’arracher. Madame veuve Danton eut un heureux auxiliaire pour le soutien de sa maison dans son père, entrepreneur des ponts et chaussées de la province de Champagne. Celui-ci donna les premières leçons à son petit-fils: il voyait avec joie ses mâles dispositions.

“Il est intéressant de noter quel fut le milieu dans lequel Danton passa ainsi ses premières années, et nous avons trouvé, dans un auteur contemporain, le passage suivant qui nous semble curieux:

“‘La ville d’Arcis-sur-Aube est composée d’hommes indépendants; l’air y est vif, les hommes sont robustes; la rivière de l’Aube, qui traverse le pays, est navigable en tout temps, le commerce maritime occupe les natifs; quand les marins ne sont pas occupés à l’eau, ils font des bas; ils sont laborieux, industrieux. Arcis n’est comparable à aucune partie de la Champagne; les lois y sont observées comme si elles n’existaient pas, par le seul sentiment de l’ordre; les seigneurs de l’ancien régime avaient toujours rencontré des opposants dans des hommes chez qui l’amour de la liberté est inné.’

“L’enfance de Danton n’eut rien de remarquable; il fut élevé, suivant l’usage du pays, à peu près comme un enfant de la nature.

“Il avait été nourri par une vache, ce qui est usité en Champagne, quand les mères ne sont pas assez fortes pour allaiter leurs enfants. La vache nourrice de Danton fut un jour aperçue par un taureau échappé, qui se précipita sur elle et donna au pauvre enfant un coup de corne qui lui arracha la lèvre. C’est à cette cicatrice que tenait la difformité de sa lèvre supérieure.

“En grandissant, Danton, comme tous les êtres doués d’une force extraordinaire, éprouvait le besoin de l’exercer. Il voulut un jour faire preuve de vigueur, prendre sa revanche et lutter contre un taureau. Il était difficile qu’il sortit vainqueur de la lutte. Un coup de corne lui écrasa le nez.

“Ces accidents auraient dû le rendre prudent, mais il n’y a guère de prudence là où il y a grande surabondance de vie. Un jour le robuste enfant croit pouvoir faire marcher devant lui les porcs de la ferme qui obstruaient l’entrée de la maison. Il les attaque à coups de fouet; mais son pied glisse, il tombe, et les porcs devenus furieux, se ruent sur lui et lui font une terrible blessure, assez semblable à celle dont Boileau fut victime dans son enfance, au dire d’Helvétius, qui attribuait à cette blessure la disette de sentiment qu’il prétendait remarquer dans les ouvrages du poète. Quel que soit le mérite de cette appréciation, elle ne serait pas applicable à Danton. Sa virilité avait été compromise, non perdue, et il conserva toute son énergie et toute sa hardiesse. Rien ne l’arrêtait: chaque jour il donnait de nouvelles preuves de témérité. A peine fut-il rétabli de ce malheureux accident, qu’entraîné par sa passion pour la natation, il faillit se noyer et fut atteint d’une fièvre maligne, à laquelle vint se joindre une petite vérole très grave, accompagnée du pourpre. Tout semblait ainsi se réunir pour le défigurer.

“Pour faire contracter à son enfant quelques habitudes de discipline, la mère de Danton le remit d’abord à la surveillance d’une maîtresse d’école; celle-ci n’avait pas le temps ou la volonté d’user avec lui d’indulgence. Danton trouva quelque différence dans la comparaison de ce nouveau régime avec les tendresses de sa mère et de son aïeul: non moins sévère que la demoiselle Lambercier de J.-J. Rousseau, la maîtresse d’école croyait ne pouvoir se passer de verges pour diriger les enfants, et Danton lui avait paru avoir les premiers droits à ses corrections. Tous ses contemporains se souvenaient de l’avoir vu faire trop souvent l’école buissonnière et employer les heures de classe à barboter dans l’Aube. Il préférait la liberté de vivre à l’ennui de répéter les caractères de l’alphabet. Il avait cependant d’heureuses aptitudes et apprenait rapidement; mais toute habitude réglée était antipathique à sa nature.

“A huit ans, il fut débarrassé de la rigoureuse maîtresse, et transvasé, comme il le dit lui-même, dans une institution supérieure. Le chef de cette institution croyait savoir assez de latin pour en enseigner les éléments. Quand les premiers principes de la grammaire ne sont pas montrés avec une habile méthode aux jeunes intelligences, elle leur offre peu d’attrait.

“Danton en avait peu-être un peu moins pour Lhomond que pour le jeu de cartes. A peine le devoir terminé, en hâte il courait avec quelques camarades dans un coin pour faire sa partie. Des billes ou des gâteaux étaient le bénéfice du gagnant. Souvent vainqueur, il partageait toujours avec le vaincu. Quand il se trouvait seul, il lisait ou allait se promener ans les bois ou dans les champs.

“Pour modifier cette humeur un peu sauvage, les parents de Danton crurent devoir le mettre dans une maison religieuse.

“Quoiqu’il ne fût point destiné à l’état ecclésiastique, on le plaça d’abord au petit séminaire de Troyes; mais la monotonie de cette maison lui devint bientôt pénible. Pendant tout le temps qu’il y resta, il observa la règle, mais il ne pouvait souffrir que sa récréation fût subitement interrompue par un coup de cloche. Cette cloche, disait-il, si je suis encore forcé de l’entendre longtemps, finira par sonner mon enterrement.

“Un reproche mal fondé et reçu publiquement du supérieur décida Danton à solliciter sa sortie du séminaire.

“Le fait suivant peut être raconté comme trait de caractère: La pension, dans cette maison, était modique. Les élèves n’avaient de vin qu’en le payant séparément à la fin de chaque année. Tous les dimanches on distribuait des cartes, qui étaient une espèce de billet au porteur. En présentant cette carte au distributeur, on recevait une mesure de vin appelée roquille. Danton était généreux, et un de ses grands plaisirs alors était de régaler ses camarades en leur passant des cartes de roquilles, surtout à ceux qu’il savait n’avoir pas la bourse bien garnie. Sa générosité alla si loin, que, lorsqu’on fit le compté général et la proclamation publique de tous ceux qui avaient bu du vin, il se trouva être celui qui avait fait une plus grande consommation de roquilles. La veille du départ pour les vacances, le supérieur du petit séminaire adressa ces paroles à Danton: Mon ami, vous pouvez vous flatter d’être le plus grand buveur de la communauté. A ces mots, tous les rires d’éclater sur lui; il ne répondit pas, mais il se promit bien de ne plus boire de roquilles au petit séminaire. Malgré une véritable bonté, Danton était peu endurant, et on l’avait surnommé l’anti-supérieur, et même le républicain.

“A peine revenu à Arcis-sur-Aube, il déclara à sa mère qu’il ne rentrerait plus au petit séminaire: “Il y a là, dit-il, des habitudes qui ne me vont pas, et que je ne pourrai jamais comprendre.” L’année suivante, on le mit dans une pension laïque. Ses études n’y perdirent rien, car il eut depuis des succès qu’il n’avait pas obtenus auparavant. Il fit ainsi sa seconde, et y remporta la presque totalité des prix....

“Nous arrivons au mois de juin 1775. On apprend que le sacre de Louis XVI. va s’accomplir à Reims. Danton avait déjà plus d’une fois entendu les imprécations dont toute la France couvrait la mémoire de Louis XV. A l’âge de seize ans il en savait assez pour abhorrer l’emploi des lettres de cachet, qui étaient si prodiguées sous ce règne scandaleux. Le professeur avait annoncé qu’il donnerait l’événement du sacre du nouveau monarque comme texte d’amplification: Pour bien se pénétrer de son sujet, dit Danton d’un ton décidé, il faut se servir de ses yeux. Je suis curieux de voir comment se fait un roi.

“Son projet n’est confié qu’à quelques fidèles camarades qui lui prêtent de l’argent pour sa route. Il part sans prévenir son maître; il traverse son pays d’Arcis sans voir ses parents, dans la crainte de les trouver opposés à son pèlerinage. Après avoir franchi vingt-huit lieues sans encombre, il arrive à Reims, se glisse partout; il suit attentivement toutes les cérémonies du sacre, et il entend le jeune monarque, la main sur l’Évangile, prononcer le serment de régner par les lois et pour le bonheur de la nation. Que des réflexions fait naître un pareil spectacle dans un cerveau ardent, déjà prompt à concevoir de rapprochements!

“A son retour de Reims, les amis de Danton étaient impatients de l’entendre raconter tout ce qu’il avait vu. Cet appareil ne l’avait pas émerveillé, la richesse des décors de la cathédrale ne l’avait pas séduit. Il raisonnait assez déjà pour sentir que ce n’était guère plus qu’une pompe vaine, encore dispendieuse pour la France déjà si obérée. Le jeune voyageur s’égayait en parlant de ce nombreux essaim d’oiseaux de toute espèce auxquels on avait donné la volée dans l’église: “Plaisante liberté, disait-il, que de voltiger entre quatre murs, sans avoir de quoi manger ni poser son nid!” Il comparait aussi les oiseaux babillards aux courtisans qui entouraient déjà le nouveau roi, par continuation de leur dévouement pour le défunt. A l’entendre débiter avec autant de simplicité que de malice ses réflexions sur le luxe, on peut entrevoir que l’écolier moraliste, devenu grand, ne sera pas sans quelque exigence envers la royauté, et sans quelque sévérité envers les agents qui vivent des abus.

“Danton, revenu à Troyes, éprouva des difficultés pour rentrer à sa pension. Sa sortie, à l’insu du maître, avait indisposé celui-ci. Le voyageur, soumis et repentant, proteste qu’il na été à Reims que pour se mettre en mesure de faire en connaissance de cause son devoir d’amplification sur le sacre. Il produit effectivement un morceau des plus brillants, mais où il se défend d’introduire les observations hardies échappées dans la familiarité de conversation, qui ne peuvent se présenter dans une narration écrite, dont les convenances sont la première règle. Le maître, satisfait et surpris du mérite de l’œuvre, en fait lecture à ses élèves. Il dit qu’il aurait donné la première place à l’auteur s’il n’avait fait l’école buissonnière. Les camarades de Danton s’unissent avec enthousiasme à l’appréciation du maître; ils admirent comment l’enfant prodigue, leur ayant fait un récit aussi piquant, aussi jovial de son voyage, avait pu en même temps mettre dans son style autant de réserve et de noblesse. C’est ainsi que Danton fait admettre ses excuses, et sa grâce est devenue une espèce de triomphe. Il reprend sa classe, dont les travaux allaient bientôt se terminer. L’époque des compositions pour les prix annuels approchait; se fiant à sa facilité, Danton ne semble pas se préparer au concours. Mais dès que les sujets de composition sont donnés, il rassemble tous les efforts de son intelligence et obtient toutes les couronnes. Il déploie d’admirables moyens dans le discours français, la narration latine et la poésie. Imagination, jugement, exactitude, saillie dans la pensée, force, élégance, originalité dans l’expression, rien ne lui manque, et le 18 août 1775 fut peut-être le plus beau jour de sa vie. Le nom de Danton-Camut (qui était celui de sa mère pour le distinguer d’un homonyme son condisciple) fut répété au bruit des fanfares. Si le lauréat fut heureux, ce fut surtout en apportant ses lauriers à sa mère, objet de son culte et de son amour; cette piété filiale, dès lors le plus vif de ses sentiments, demeurera la même dans son cœur pendant tout le cours de sa vie, quelles qu’en soient les violences ou les distractions; plus tard, il la montra mieux encore, et l’homme auquel il voua la haine la plus tenace fut un misérable soupçonné d’avoir manqué de respect à Madame Danton.

“Lorsqu’un écolier se distinguait au collège, on songeait à la carrière que lui ouvriraient ses talents. Il faut en faire un prêtre ou un procureur. Le curé de Barberey, près Troyes, désignait déjà Danton pour qu’il lui succédât dans son presbytère; mais le moment de séjour que Danton avait fait au séminaire ne lui avait pas inspiré la vocation ecclésiastique. Il avait besoin de liberté, il lui fallait les franches allures, l’indépendance. Il demandait une profession libérale, il désirait être avocat.... Démosthènes et Cicéron, qu’il venait de commencer à connaître n’étaient-ils pas des avocats? La famille réunie ayant déféré au vœu de Danton, il fut décidé qu’il irait à Paris et qu’il travaillerait chez un procureur pour y apprendre la procédure en même temps qu’il ferait ses études de droit, pour se préparer au barreau.

“Ici vient se placer une circonstance intéressante qui fait honneur à Danton et qui fournit une nouvelle preuve de sa tendresse pour ses parents. Madame veuve Danton, demeurée seule avec sa nombreuse famille, s’était remariée pour lui donner un soutien. Elle avait épousé M. Recordin, estimable négociant, dont la bonté est restée proverbiale dans le pays: bon et brave comme Recordin. Par suite de sa facilité dans ses relations, les affaires de la maison Recordin se trouvèrent embarrassées. Danton, loin d’exiger les comptes qu’il avait droit de demander de la fortune qui lui revenait de son père, fut le premier à offrir des secours à son beau-père; il mit à sa disposition tout ce qui lui appartenait; il alla jusqu’à engager la portion du bien de ses tantes qui devait lui échoir un jour, ne craignant pas d’aliéner son présent en son avenir. Il faut mettre ses affaires en règle, disait-il, quand on fait un grand voyage.

“Tels furent les préparatifs du départ.

“Tous les témoignages de ses camarades, parents et amis, déposent de la délicatesse de Danton sous tous les rapports; à l’exception du prêt de quelques écus qui lui furent offerts par ses camarades pour le voyage de Reims, il n’a jamais demandé d’argent à qui que ce soit, dans les moments où, soit comme écolier, soit comme clerc de procureur, il a pu éprouver de ces gênes de jeune homme qui rendent hardi aux emprunts.

“Danton arrive à Paris en 1780 dans la voiture du messager d’Arcis-sur-Aube, qui était l’ami de sa famille, et qui voulut lui faire la conduite gratuitement. Il se logea à l’auberge du Cheval noir, tenue rue Geoffroy-Lasnier par un nommé Layron, qui était l’hôte le plus fréquenté par les Champenois. Danton avait très peu de fonds, et il dut se mettre immédiatement au travail: il entra chez un procureur appelé Vinot. Ce procureur commença par lui demander un modèle de son écriture, qu’il ne trouva pas belle. Les procureurs de ce temps-là voulaient de ces écritures promptes et faciles, propres à produire de larges grosses, de longues requêtes. Le jeune Champenois déclara franchement qu’il n’était pas venu pour être copiste. Ce ton d’assurance imposa au procureur Vinot. Il dit: J’aime l’aplomb, il en faut dans notre état.

“Danton fut admis comme clerc, avec la nourriture et le logement. Il étudia la procédure non sans quelque dégoût; il fut chargé, comme on dit dans le métier, de faire le palais. C’est la première initiation des jeunes clercs aux affaires. Elle commence à les mettre en relation avec les choses et les personnes du monde judiciaire, et leur donne les éléments de la pratique par de petits plaidoyers sommaires et des explications contradictoires qui leur ouvrent les idées et leur apprennent à se conduire dans le labyrinthe où ils sont destinés à vivre.

“Danton remplissait sa fonction de clerc avec intelligence et exactitude; ses récréations les plus habituelles étaient toujours l’escrime, la paume et la natation, sa passion favorite! dont il usait fréquemment; c’était le besoin même de son tempérament. Il était assez habile à cet exercice pour être cité au premier rang; il y trouva un encouragement digne de son émulation. Il sauva plusieurs fois de la mort des camarades qui auraient péri s’il n’était venu au secours de leur imprudence et de leur faiblesse. Quelques-uns d’entre eux ont raconté les tours de force véritables que Danton exécutait dans les courants les plus difficiles de la rivière. De l’endroit même où ils prenaient leurs ébats, on voyait les tours de la Bastille, et plus d’une fois les baigneurs ont entendu Danton, dressant sa tête comme un triton, jeter une menace du côté de la prison d’État et s’écrier de sa voix vibrante: Ce chateau fort suspendu sur notre tête m’offusque et me gêne. Quand le verrons-nous abattu? Pour moi, ca jour là, j’y donnerais un fier coup de pioche!

“Les constitutions les plus robustes sont souvent les plus exposées, parce que cette exubérance de force donne plus de sécurité. Danton, à la suite d’une double partie de natation et d’escrime, fut encore atteint d’une grave maladie. Longtemps retenu au lit, alors que son corps était réduit à l’inaction, il ne pouvait se livrer à ses exercices habituels, mais son imagination ne restait point inactive. Avec son infatigable ardeur de lecture, il s’obstina à lire l’Encyclopédie tout entière, et il avait achevé ce labeur si considérable avant que la convalescence fût terminée. Il trouvait encore le temps de lire les grands publicistes dont les principes et la morale politique commençaient à devenir les guides du siècle. Montesquieu qu’il devait souvent citer, fut de sa part l’objet d’une étude tout particulière, et, après avoir lu l’Esprit des lois, il disait: Quel horizon nouveau s’ouvre devant moi! Je n’ai qu’un regret, c’est de retrouver dans l’écrivain qui vous porte si loin et si haut, le président d’un parlement. De Montesquieu, Danton passa bientôt à Voltaire, à J.-J. Rousseau, puis à Beccaria, qui apparaissait alors. Danton ne tarda pas à savoir par cœur l’admirable petit ouvrage de cet auteur, le traité Des délits et des peines, qui allait réformer la législation criminelle du monde; afin de se préparer des couleurs de style pour le jour où il aurait à parler aux foules, afin d’apprendre, à revêtir les questions sociales des belles images de la nature, Danton étudia particulièrement l’Histoire naturelle de Buffon: au moyen de sa puissante mémoire il en retenait et récitait des pages entières. Voilà d’amples provisions d’instruction qui pourront trouver un jour un utile emploi dans la carrière de l’homme public! Tout en dédaignant la littérature frivole et n’ayant jamais lu de romans que les chefs-d’œuvre consacrés qui sont des peintures de mœurs, Danton apprit en même temps la langue italienne assez pour lire le Tasse, l’Arioste et même le Dante. Il faisait aussi des vers avec facilité, quelques-uns même adressés, en tout bien et tout honneur, à une personne qui n’était pas indigne de les lui inspirer, à la femme de son procureur.

“Mais tous ces délassements littéraires étaient en dehors de la profession qu’il voulait exercer. Ils ne lui firent point négliger l’apprentissage de la procedure et du droit.

“Il lui restait maintenant à devenir de licencié avocat, et comme il avait gardé un bon souvenir de la ville de Reims, il alla se faire recevoir avocat dans cette ville. Champenois de cœur, il était heureux de contribuer de tous ses moyens à l’honneur de son pays natal. Il avait toujours de bonnes saillies à son service, et ne manquait pas une occasion de citer des hommes distingués dans les lettres et les arts de diverses époques qui appartenaient à la province de Champagne. Parmi les contemporains, Danton pouvait du reste trouver plus d’un exemple à l’appui de son patriotique enthousiasme: c’est ainsi qu’il parlait souvent de quelques notabilités qu’il connaissait, tels que le savant Grosley, l’avocat Linguet.

“De retour de Reims à Paris, Danton, après avoir achevé son stage, s’essaya au barreau de la capitale pendant quelque temps. Chargé d’une affaire, entre autres, pour un berger contre le seigneur de son village, il eut l’occasion de produire, en cette circonstance, quelques-uns des sentiments qu’il devait plus tard développer davantage sur un grand théâtre. Il réclama avec autant de vigueur que d’adresse les principes de l’égalité devant la loi. Il gagna sa cause devant la cour de parlement qui, comme on se le rappelle, n’était alors composée que de nobles et de privilégiés. Nous ne sommes encore qu’en 1785. Le factum de Danton fut imprimé: il était concis, substantiel, énergique—nous n’avons pu en retrouver la trace.—Cette première lutte soutenue par Danton fit sensation au palais et valut au jeune avocat des témoignages d’estime de Gerbier, Debonnière, Hardouin et toutes les sommités du barreau de cette époque. Linguet, qui se connaissait en style, et qui, nous l’avons vu, était de Reims, lui adressa à ce sujet de vifs encouragements.

“Mais les témoignages de ces hommes éminents, qui assuraient à Danton un succès d’honneur, ne le menaient point à la fortune; il s’en éloignait même à mesure que son talent aurait dû l’en rapprocher davantage, car il recherchait la clientèle du pauvre autant que d’autres recherchaient la clientèle du riche. Il pensait qu’en thèse générale le pauvre est le plus souvent l’opprimé, qu’ainsi il a le droit de priorité à la défense. D’après ce principe de conduite, ceux qui ont dit que Danton n’avait point fait fortune au barreau, pouvaient ajouter qu’il ne l’y aurait jamais faite....

“S’ennuyant peut-être un peu, comme on a pu l’entrevoir, dans sa profession d’avocat, Danton ne demandait point de distraction à des plaisirs qui auraient pu prendre sur les ressources nécessaires à son existence. Gagnant fort peu dans ses travaux de palais, il n’aurait pas voulu ajouter à la gêne de sa position en contractant des dettes; il était fort rangé, toujours avec une petite réserve d’économies qui lui permettait de rendre des services sans en demander lui-même. Après son frugal repas chez un traiteur, dont la maison était nommée l’Hôtel de la Modestie, il prenait une demi-tasse de café et jouait quelques parties de dominos. Ajoutez, de temps en temps, le spectacle d’une tragédie classique au Théâtre-Français, voilà toute la defense et tous les amusements du jeune avocat.

“Un café où se rendait le plus habituellement Danton s’appelait Café de l’École, parce qu’il était situé sur ce quai, presque au coin de la place qui a conservé ce nom. C’était un rendez-vous très fréquenté par les hommes de loi qui se trouvaient rapprochés du Châtelet et du Palais de Justice. La rigueur du costume et de la coiffure, espèce de signalement perpétuel, avait cet avantage qu’on n’était pas tenté de se commettre.

“Les maîtres des cafés, alors peu nombreux dans Paris, étaient eux-mêmes des bourgeois d’honnête allure. Ils maintenaient le bon ton de leur maison par leur civilité. Ils faisaient rarement fortune, à l’exception de deux ou trois qui étaient de premier rang. Le Café de l’École n’était pas précisément à ce niveau; mais il était l’un de ceux qui avaient la meilleure réputation. Nous croyons voir encore le maître de la maison avec sa petite perruque ronde, son habit gris et sa serviette sous le bras. Il était rempli de prévenances pour ses clients, et il en était traité avec une considération cordiale. Une femme des plus recommandables et fille de la maison, aussi douce que gracieuse, tenait le comptoir. Parmi les habitués, qui paraissaient s’arrêter avec un intérêt particulier à ce comptoir, on put remarquer un jeune avocat qui, d’abord fort gai et jovial, parut quelque temps après plus sérieux. Ce jeune avocat était Danton; il avait cru d’abord ne causer que généralement et sans conséquence avec les dames du comptoir; son cœur s’y était pris, et Danton était amoureux. Mademoiselle Gabrielle Charpentier n’avait pas songé à se défier des assiduités de Danton; elle se trouva bientôt, à son insu, préoccupée du même sentiment. Sans être dans le secret de cette inclination, le père et la mère Charpentier ne furent pas très surpris quand la main de leur fille leur fut demandée par le jeune avocat. La vivacité de son caractère leur fit craindre un moment de consentir à cette union; mais il avait su toucher le cœur de Gabrielle. Lorsqu’on disait: Qu’il est laid! elle répétait, presque comme l’avait dit une femme au sujet de Lekain: Qu’il est beau! Elle admirait son esprit, que l’on trouvait trop piquant; son âme, que l’on trouvait trop ardente; sa voix, que l’on trouvait forte et terrible, et qu’elle trouvait douce.

“Il fallait cependant prendre des renseignements sur ce prétendant. M. Charpentier visita particulièrement les procureurs chez qui Danton avait travaillé, et les avocats avec lesquels il avait été en rapport au barreau. Il n’y eut qu’une voix en sa faveur. D’après des renseignements aussi satisfaisants, les bons parents ne s’informèrent point de sa fortune; ils y tenaient peu, quoique en ayant eux-mêmes une assez modeste. Pourtant, ils donnaient en mariage à leur fille une somme de 40,000 francs, ce qui était pour l’époque une dot considérable. Ils imposaient à leur gendre une seule condition, c’est qu’il exerçât un état; c’est qu’il fût occupé. La profession d’avocat au parlement était sans doute une profession honorable et libre, mais trop libre peut-être, et qui ne commandait pas un travail assez assidu. Danton promit de remplir les vœux de son beau-père; il s’exprima dans des termes si chaleureux, que le père et la mère Charpentier se mirent à aimer Danton presque autant que leur fille.

“Des amis de Danton lui conseillèrent d’acheter une charge d’avocat aux conseils. M. et Madame Charpentier offrirent généreusement la dot de leur fille; mais ce n’était que 40,000 francs, et il en fallait 80,000! Des Champenois dévoués proposèrent de compléter ce qui manquait pour le payement de la charge.

“Ils s’en rapportaient tous à la délicatesse et à la probité de Danton; sa bonne conduite était sa caution. Le mariage n’ayant plus de cause de retard, les bans publiés, le consentement de sa mère arrivé d’Arcis-sur-Aube, Georges-Jacques Danton et Gabrielle Charpentier furent unis, et le même jour il entra, comme il le disait gaiement, en puissance de femme et en charge d’officier ministériel; le même jour, mari et avocat aux conseils.

“Les avocats aux conseils réunissaient les doubles fonctions d’avocats et de procureurs; ayant peu de procédure à faire, ils avaient l’avantage de rester maîtres de leurs affaires et de ne pas subir, comme les avocats des autres cours, la loi d’un procureur préoccupé du désir d’attirer à lui tous les bénéfices. Les fonctions des avocats aux conseils avaient aussi quelque chose d’éminemment propre à élever l’âme des jeunes gens; leur mission consistait souvent à redresser les torts du parlement et des cours supérieures. Ils communiquaient journellement avec les maîtres des requêtes, avec les conseillers d’État, avec les hommes du plus haut rang, qui étaient obligés de recourir à leur ministère pour lutter contre les usurpations dont ils avaient à se plaindre.

“Les avocats aux conseils avaient ainsi l’occasion, en discutant avec les ministres eux-mêmes, soit pour les attaquer, soit pour les défendre, d’apprendre à connaître les rapports des autorités entre elles, la vraie distinction des pouvoirs, l’organisation civile dans toute son étendue, l’ordre social dans son ensemble: c’était une excellente école pour créer des économistes, des politiques, des législateurs.

“En exposant le rôle et la mission des avocats aux conseils, nous aurions peut-être dû expliquer que tels étaient au moins la pensée et le droit de l’institution. Faut-il constater maintenant ce qu’était en fait l’institution? Sur le nombre de soixante membres composant l’honorable confrérie, on voyait plusieurs hommes distingués qui sentaient la dignité de leurs fonctions, traitaient leurs clients avec générosité et délicatesse, les affaires avec science, application et courage. Mais tous, il faut bien le dire, n’avaient pas un sentiment aussi élevé de leurs devoirs, et il en était quelques-uns dont l’émulation consistait à faire beaucoup de grosses.

“Au moment où Danton fut reçu avocat aux conseils, c’était en 1787; il avait vingt-huit ans, sa femme en avait vingt-cinq. Dans ce moment, l’Ordre était divisé en trois partis plus ou moins actifs.

“Les anciens voulaient créer un syndicat, à la tête duquel ils auraient été tout naturellement placés.

“Les jeunes arrivants appartenaient aux idées nouvelles, et ne voulaient être ni conduits ni éconduits.

“Un troisième parti se composait des hommes modérés et pacifiques qui, aimant le repos avant tout, et, comme on a dit depuis, la paix partout et toujours, ne voulaient se mêler à aucune action et préféraient laisser faire le mal à leur détriment plutôt que de se mouvoir en aucun sens et se laisser déranger même par un progrès qui leur eût été utile, mais qui aurait pu les désheurer.

“On a déjà pressenti à quel parti Danton avait dû se rallier. Il ne méconnaissait pas la discipline qui doit présider à la bonne organisation d’une compagnie judiciaire; mais il croyait que la force et la puissance réelles des compagnies sont dans leur indépendance, comme le talent même des membres de ces corporations ne peut se passer de la dignité du caractère.

“L’homme qui, en entrant dans une compagnie, dessine ses opinions avec une énergique rudesse, peut s’attendre à rencontrer bien des luttes et bien des hostilités.

“Voulant juger la valeur du nouvel arrivant, les avocats, sous prétexte de bienvenue, et sans l’avoir averti à l’avance, lui firent subir une épreuve en latin. On lui imposa pour sujet l’exposé de la situation morale et politique du pays dans ses rapports avec la justice. C’était, comme Danton l’a dit depuis, lui proposer de marcher sur des rasoirs.... Il ne recula point. Saisissant même comme une bonne fortune la difficulté inattendue dans laquelle on croyait l’enlacer, il s’en tira avec éclat, et laissa ses auditeurs dans l’étonnement de sa présence d’esprit et de la décision de son caractère. Il ne craignit point d’aborder la politique qui commençait a pénétrer en toute affaire, et qui était peut-être ici une cause secrète du piège qui lui était tendu. On espérait surprendre en défaut un jeune avocat qui levait la tête et annonçait des principes d’indépendance. Danton, en homme de talent habile à triompher des plus grandes difficultés, osa parler des choses les plus actuelles; il dit que, comme citoyen ami de son pays, autant que comme membre d’une corporation consacrée à la défense des intérêts privés et publics de la société, il désirait que le gouvernement sentît assez la gravité de la situation pour y porter remède par des moyens simples, naturels et tirés de son autorité; qu’en présence des besoins impérieux du pays, il fallait se résigner à se sacrifier; que la noblesse et le clergé, qui étaient en possession des richesses de la France, devaient donner l’exemple; que, quant a lui, il ne pouvait voir dans la lutte du parlement, qui éclatait alors, que l’intérêt de quelques particuliers puissants qui combattaient les ministres, mais sans rien stipuler au profit du peuple. Il déclarait qu’à ses yeux l’horizon apparaissait sinistre, et qu’il sentait venir une révolution terrible. Si seulement on pouvait la reculer de trente années, elle se ferait amiablement par la force des choses et le progrès des lumières. Il répéta dans ce discours, qui ressemblait au cri prophétique de Cassandre: Malheur à ceux qui provoquent les révolutions, malheur à ceux qui les font!

“Plusieurs fois les vieux avocats qui avaient tendu ce piège à Danton voulurent interrompre son improvisation. Ils avaient cru entendre des mots qui les effrayaient, tels que motus populorum, ira gentium, salus populi suprema lex.... Les jeunes gens qui, récemment sortis des collèges, avaient le droit de comprendre le latin mieux que les anciens, qui l’avaient oublié ou ne l’avaient jamais su, répondaient à leurs vieux confrères qu’ils avaient mal entendu, que le récipiendaire était resté dans une mesure parfaite, irréprochable.

“Espérant constater plus facilement dans le texte d’une rédaction écrite les pensées imprudentes qu’ils avaient cru saisir en écoutant ses paroles, les anciens demandèrent que Danton déposât son discours de réception sur la table de la chambre du conseil. Danton répondit qu’il n’avait rien écrit. Il avait déjà pour système d’écrire le moins possible. Ainsi qu’il l’a dit depuis, on n’écrit point en révolution. Il ajouta d’ailleurs que si l’on désirait porter un jugement sur les paroles qu’il avait prononcées, il ne prétendait pas s’y opposer. Il était assez certain de sa pensée et de sa mémoire pour répéter avec fidélité toute son improvisation.... Le reméde eût été pire que le mal. L’aréopage trouva que c’était déjà bien assez de ce qu’on avait entendu, et la majorité s’opposa avec vivacité à la récidive.

“Le cabinet acheté par Danton était loin, au moment où il en devint titulaire, de posséder une clientèle nombreuse. Il n’en fut pas moins toujours d’un grand désintéressement vis-à-vis de ses clients.

“Il se montrait peu exigeant dans la question des honoraires, même lorsqu’il avait gagné sa cause. Lorsque son client venait s’acquitter envers lui, il lui arrivait souvent de dire: c’est trop, et de rendre ce qu’il appelait le trop. Dans certaines affaires perdues, il refusait toute rémunération. ‘Je n’ai point de déboursés, disait-il, puisque je n’ai point fait d’écritures, et que j’ai laissé à la régie son papier timbré.’ Il lui arrivait, bien qu’il ne fût pas riche, de donner lui-même des secours d’argent à des clients malheureux.

“Une pareille conduite ne mène pas rapidement à la fortune. Cependant le cabinet de Danton s’améliora en très peu de temps. En dirigeant dignement ses affaires, il gagnait de vingt à vingt-cinq mille francs par an; son sort de père de famille était assuré.

“Dans ce temps où la France était encore divisée en provinces, les classes inférieures pouvaient se réclamer des grands seigneurs de leur pays, et ceux-ci aimaient souvent par vanité autant que par humanité à protéger leurs vassaux. La maison de Brienne était de Champagne, près Arcis-sur-Aube. Danton était connu du comte de Brienne, ancien ministre de la guerre, et de l’archevêque de Sens, alors premier ministre. Il comptait parmi ses clients M. de Barentin. Il avait des conférences avec lui pour ses affaires particulières, et plusieurs fois, après les avoir traitées, M. de Barentin s’entretenait avec son avocat des affaires publiques. La manière supérieure dont Danton voyait les choses avait frappé M. de Barentin et lui avait laissé une vive impression de sa capacité.

“Devenu garde des sceaux, M. de Barentin se souvint aussitôt de son avocat et lui fit demander s’il voulait être secrétaire de la chancellerie? Danton, dans un long entretien qu’il eut avec ce ministre, lui exposa avec détails un plan qu’il croyait pouvoir éloigner les déchirements que l’opposition des parlements allait enfanter. Quelques-uns de ces parlements venaient d’être exilés: Danton pensait que leur rappel n’était pas une chose de la plus grande urgence. Il fallait avant tout les enlacer dans la participation aux réformes; ils en étaient autant les adversaires que la noblesse et le clergé, dont ils faisaient en quelque sorte partie et dont ils avaient les privilèges. Tous les privilégiés enfin, quels que fussent leurs costumes, qu’ils eussent un manteau de noblesse, une soutane de prêtre ou une robe de palais, tous, selon l’opinion de Danton, devaient contribuer aux charges qui ne pesaient que sur le tiers État, c’est-à-dire sur l’immense majorité; la nation attendait l’allégement du fardeau intolérable qu’elle ne pouvait plus supporter, la résignation était épuisée....