1We were engulfed, so to speak, M. Drouet and I, in the cave of the Cordeliers.

2The hall was deep and broad, and lighted with smoky lamps; a cloud formed by their smoke, and the breath of the audience, floated over our heads, and seemed to weigh heavily upon our chests.

3There were no cards of admission—any one might come who liked; the consequence was that the hall was crowded to excess, and every one ran a chance of suffocation. At the end of a minute, by means of vigorous pressure, we managed to force a passage into the body of the hall.

4At first, we were obliged to keep our eyes shut, on account of the smoky atmosphere; but when we got accustomed to it, we could see objects, as it were, through a dense fog.

5I raised myself up on tip-toe, to see the popular man, par excellence. All cried out, “Vive Lafayette!”

6We passed the Tuileries, and the door of the clock-tower, and gained a bridge. A sort of sympathy drew us to the Champ de Mars.

7There was the same amount of bustle as on the day before. A hundred thousand workmen were throwing up the earth, and forming a valley between two hills.

8The work progressed as if under the wave of an enchanter’s rod. There was no doubt but that all would be ready for the morrow, so that in seven days the gigantic undertaking would have been completed. The middle of the place was entirely clear. Here they erected the altar of the country, and in front of the Ecole Militaire, built up seats for the King and the Assembly.

9At the end of a wooden bridge thrown over the river, near Chaillot, they erected a triumphal arch.

10It was impossible not to become maddened amid this confusion. We could resist no longer, but seizing the nearest implements that lay nearest at hand, we, with a shout of “Vive la nation!” set ourselves to work with the rest.

11At six o’clock we ceased, heated with our exertions. We were hungry. It was useless to look for a restaurant.

12At eight o’clock we left the Champ de Mars, and passing through the Boulevards des Invalides, and the Rue Plumet, we shaped our course to the Cordeliers.

13An immense crowd of people—some fifty or sixty thousand, perhaps—filled the place and the adjacent streets.

14Those who had been unable to find lodgings had encamped there, or on the Boulevards.

15Being anxious to see historical localities, I asked M. Drouet to take me to the Hotel de Ville. We went up to the Rue St. Antoine, M. Drouet showing me the steps on which they had slain De Launay, the lantern on which they had hung Foulon, and the corner of the quay where they had killed Flesselles.

16Everywhere—on the boulevards, in the places, in the churches, on the bridges—all was gaiety; every one was shaking hands with everybody; strangers in a moment became old friends. A shout of “Vive le Roi!” surrounded you with friends—a shout of “Vive la nation!” with brothers.

17After dinner, we proceeded to the Jacobin Club. It was crowded, like all the rest—if possible, more so.

18“Look, look!” said M. Jean Baptiste, the moment it was possible to see.

19“Look! Where?” said I.

20“There—on the President’s chair, between two candles! Do you see any one?”

21“Oh, M. Drouet!” said I, trembling.

22“Well, what do you say?” asked he.

23“I say that it is not a man whom you point out to me.”

24“What is he, then?”

25“A monster!”

26“Good! Look at him for some length of time, and you will get accustomed to his face, all hideous as it is.”

27That man was M. Danton.

28He rang the bell, and shook with a fury that seemed to animate all he did.

29In a moment all was silence.

30His mouth, like the top of a cyclops, opened, and a voice, which could have thundered down the noise had it continued, pronounced these words, “It is Marat’s turn to speak!”

31Let us say a word or two about Marat before we proceed any further.

32Marat was born in 1744, at Neuchatêl. He was, at the period of which I speak, forty-six years of age. His mother, nervous and romantic, was ambitious enough to try and make her son a second Rousseau. His father, a Protestant clergyman, well read and hard-working, taught his son the elements of science, and all the other branches of knowledge that he was acquainted with, so that the young man resembled a dictionary full of errors, and without even method or form.

33His grandfather nicknamed him Mara—the “t” is an addition of his father’s, or his own. He had been a teacher of languages in England, and understood English pretty well. He also dabbled a little in physiology and chemistry, but in a slight degree. In ’89 he became veterinary surgeon to the Comte D’Artois.

34On the 14th of July, the day of the taking the Bastille, he found himself on the Pont Neuf, and escaping being crushed to death by a detachment of hussars. Marat ordered them, in the name of the people, to throw down their arms—so he said, at least, but no one believed it.

35Marat was not brave. He hid himself all day for the flight. He said that the satellites of Lafayette and De Bailly were looking for him, whereas, in fact, they never thought of him. In the evening, he crept out like a beast of prey; his eye, yellow as that of an owl, seemed better adapted for seeing in the dark than in the daylight. He lived, creeping from hiding-place to hiding-place, never seeing the light of day, and writing continually, imparting to his compositions all the bitterness and acerbity of his forced mode of life. From time to time he would exalt and provoke himself to blood. They say that blood was his ordinary drink—that he imbibed it when he was thirsty. His physician shook his head, and said, “Marat writes red.” His friends the journalists lifted him up to laugh at him. They called him the divine Marat. The people took a leaf out of their book, and called him a god. Let Marat do what he liked, the people applauded. Marat did more than lead them—he gave them room for amusement.

36Amid the murmur of applause which greeted him—applause which had been, in conjunction with silence, denied to Robespierre the evening before—Danton, opening the door of the rostrum, said, “It is Marat’s turn to speak!”

37Scarcely had the words been pronounced, when Marat was seen mounting the steps leading to the rostrum, in which he appeared, with a lurid smile on his coarse mouth, seeming to embody, at one, and the same time, three distinct genera: the man, the frog, and the serpent.

38That Thing, dressed in almost rags, with dishevelled hair, squinting eyes, broad nose, and hideous appearance, was the Friend of the People! They had concluded by giving Marat the name of his journal.

39At last, his hideous head appearing over the ledge of the rostrum, radiant with pride, and held, as it were, defiantly back to hide a neck covered with ulcers, all cried out, “Speak, Marat, speak!”

40“Yes,” replied Marat, with a deep voice, “I am going to.”

41All was hushed, as if by magic. Danton covered his face with his hands, and listened with a smile of scorn, while a young man placed himself in front of the rostrum, his arms crossed over his breast, in the attitude of a gladiator, defying his enemy.

42“Look—look!” said Drouet.

43“At whom? Marat? I can see him.”

44“No, no! that young man in front of the rostrum.”

45“Who is he?”

46“Camille Desmoulins, the man of the thirteenth of July; the man of the Café de Foy; the man of the green cockade!”

47“Silence! silence!” cried out several voices.

48Marat, hearing a whisper, had turned his evil eyes on us.

49We became as still as mice.

50“Great treason!” cried Marat; “but that is not wonderful—they would not follow my advice; and I tell you that until the heads of some of the National Assembly ornament pikestaffs, things will go wrong. Do as I tell you, and the Constitution will be perfect.”

51“Why—why—why—don’t you send a mod-mod-model to the Assembly?” said the young man, in front of the rostrum, with a terrible and painful stutter in his speech.

52“I am framing it,” said Marat, “while you make love, Camille, I think.”

53“Dream, you mean!” said the same satirical voice.

54“Silence! silence!” cried the audience.

55“Yes; I am preparing a scheme for our Constitution.”

56“Tell—tell it us, great—great legislator!” said Camille, totally disregarding the cries for silence.

57“I say that the form of government should be monarchical,” continued Marat; “that Monarchy is the guiding-star of France, and that the person of the King should be sacred, only to be approached through the medium of his ministers.”

58“Ah, aristocrat!” cried Camille.

59“M. Danton,” cried Marat, furiously, “it is my turn to speak, and I demand silence!”

60“Silence! silence!” again cried the crowd.

61“Citizen Camille,” said Danton, in a voice as satirical as that of the man whom he reproved, “I call you to order!”

62“Then ask the speaker,” said the imperturbable Camille, “to give us part of his plans for the legislation.”

63“Firstly,” cried Marat, “I demand that the blasphemer’s tongue be cut out!”

64“Well, cut my to-to-to-tongue out! I blas-blas-blaspheme! I say Marat is a fool!”

65And, suiting the action to the words, he protruded his tongue at Marat, and made a grimace.

66Some of the audience could not avoid laughing.

67Marat was mad with rage.

68“I again say,” said he, “in my project for our Constitution, that the city is burdened with two hundred thousand poor people. I argue the right of the poor to share.”

69“Good!” said Camille. “We are ready; let us plun-plun-plunder!”

70“Yes, plunder!” cried Marat, rapidly becoming more and more excited. “When one has nothing, he has a right to take the superfluities of the rich—rather than starve, he has the right to take and devour their palpitating flesh! Let man commit what outrage he likes on his fellow-men—it is no worse than a wolf killing a sheep!”

71“Marat has asked for me to be called to order: I ask that he may be called to reason.”

72“Why should I have pity on men?” yelled Marat. “Firstly, pity is only a folly, acquired in society. In nature, neither man nor inferior animals know pity. Does Bailly, who tracks me, or Lafayette, who hunts me down, or the National Guards, who seek to slay me, know pity?”

73“Who prevents your eating them?” said Camille.

74“No, no!” said Marat, sneering at Camille in his turn. “No, I will not eat them; I will leave Lafayette to the women, and will cry unto them, ‘Make him an Abelard!’ I will leave Bailly to the people, and will cry unto them, ‘Hang him, as you have hanged Foulon, as you have hanged Flesselles!’ I will ask for the heads of the National Guards—I will ask for the heads of the aristocrats—I will ask, not for six hundred heads as I did yesterday, but for nineteen thousand four hundred!”

75“Make it twen-twenty thousand, round numbers!”

76The admirers of Marat chafed. Marat’s mouth shut, his eyes darted fire, his head was drawn back; he looked as if he could have swallowed his adversary at one mouthful.

77The friends of Camille, Frérone, and Danton, the enemies of Marat, took the part of Camille Desmoulins.

78They would have come to blows, despite Danton’s continuously ringing the bell for order, and his terrible voice sounding far above the din, and crying, “Silence! silence!”

79I passed with M. Drouet to the side of Camille Desmoulins, for whom I felt a sympathy as strong as my hatred of Marat. The attention of all, however, was now drawn to the entrance of a new personage, on whom all eyes were fixed.