Socrates when dying, Leonidas at Thermopylae, the man truly great, the real hero, esteems himself too well, not to turn away from the idea of his own annihilation. The wretch who is despicable in his own eyes, who is horrible in the eyes of others, is aware that nature has for him no better present to bestow."

Such are the sentiments expressed by Robespierre. This report, as I have mentioned, embraced a variety of strange topics; "but all of it," says the editor, " that appeared to do homage to nature, and the virtues she inspires, received, at every turn, marks the most decided of general applause; and it was amidst such acclamations, that the decrees that followed were proclaimed: That the French people acknowledge the existence of the Supreme Being, and the immortality of the soul; that a fête should be celebrated in honour of the Supreme Being.'

Now I do not say that a fête of this kind from the people of Paris and the Convention, at this period, and Robespierre to be the high priest and orator, is an idea that can be at all congenial to our minds (it will be an offence to many), and such a festival would have better become, it may well be thought, a band of Swiss patriots, after the overthrow of one of their Austrian invaders, assembled in the simple innocence of their lives, and the unaffected piety of their hearts, humbly to acknowledge their gratitude to their Almighty protector. This is most true; but we must take men as we find them. Men or things, it is always our first philosophy to make the best of them; and on this occasion the nature of the French people, of this demagogue, of the existing circumstances of the Revolution, must be considered. We have just seen, with horror, the deification of reason, and the abolition of all religion, infamous processions, and the great national church profaned; we now, therefore, may be well pleased to see a recoil, which, however imperfect, is at least a disavowal, and departure from such impieties. A sort of reparation is here made to mankind; and there is, at least, an approach to a better order of things. Surely there is here a most extraordinary testimony, paid even by such men, at such a period, to truths so important to mankind. Certainly, these truths must be deeply implanted in the human heart, if they could

not be torn away by all the scenes of the Revolution, by all the overthrow of established opinions, and by all the efforts of the legislature of the country, publicly rejecting and abjuring them. Certainly they must have been intended by the Almighty Creator to form part of our belief; they must have come to us stamped with his authority; as such, they must be received. Whatever other evidences of belief, whatever other motives of duty we may have, certainly we have a right to avail ourselves of all such conclusions, as may be fairly deduced from so remarkable a provision in the economy of our intellectual nature.

I have adverted to this particular portion of the Reign of Terror, because, I confess, I have been struck with it myself, and think it both interesting and important. I may be allowed, I hope, even from the murky recesses of the mind of Robespierre, even from the public documents of this dreadful people (for such they had, at this time, been rendered by their guilty leaders), even from the midst of these scenes of bloodshed, licentiousness, and injustice, from which good and pious men at the time turned, with averted eyes and trembling hearts; even from this, the worst period of the Revolution, I may be allowed, I hope, to draw one unexpected testimony to those great and eternal truths on which the best interests and happiness of mankind, here and hereafter, so essentially depend. I may be allowed, I hope, at whatever humble distance, to look up to the example of the most eminent reasoners and defenders of our religion, none of whom would have supposed themselves otherwise than well employed, while they were endeavouring to show how strong were the feelings and principles with which the Creator had, from the first, in his mercy and goodness, bound his creatures to himself, and how distinct was the preparation, which he had thus made for the subsequent reception of the more perfect consolations, and promises, and instruction of revelation.

Τ

LECTURE XLIII.

REIGN OF TERROR.

IT may be doubted, whether the policy of Robespierre was good in breaking with Danton and his friends, and sending them to the guillotine. I speak not of any higher considerations, but as a question of policy, it may be doubted whether the decision of Robespierre was right, with a view merely to the continuance and enjoyment of his own power. Danton required only a sacrifice, which it would have been well for Robespierre if he had made. A relaxation of his system of terror, and on the whole, a sincere sympathy and union with these old revolutionists, would have reconciled them and the people of France to the rule of the triumvirate; while Danton, like a great barbarian conqueror, whose triumphs had been accomplished, would have been every day more and more within the influence of the common pleasures of life, and less and less disposed to interfere with his old associate in the management of public affairs. But "vaulting ambition that o'erleaps itself, and falls on the other side." And such was it now, in the instance of Robespierre. After the event, no doubt, it is easy to reason; but what, it may be asked, what happened on this occasion, that Robespierre might not have expected? Were not the friends of Danton many, and men of great energy and experience? Were they likely ever to forgive their leader's persecution and death? Would it not be necessary to extend still wider the system of terror and public executions? Would it not soon become a question, whether any man was safe? Would not resistance be at last made by every one, in and out of the Convention, as the best chance of life? What but ruin could be the result, sooner or later, of this every day more and more impracticable system of ruling by the guillotine? But Robespierre had been

so little accustomed to a moderate and generous policy, that no such considerations as these might possibly have occurred to him. The persecution, however, of Danton, was the great mistake of his political life, in the way we are now considering it; it was the great exciting cause of his own destruction. The mistake he was making was seen clearly by Danton himself. "I drag Robespierre after me," said he.

And now that we have been so long occupied with this most extraordinary subject, the Reign of Terror, as a conclusion of the whole, it may not perhaps be amiss to cast a parting glance at the life, character, and fate of this dreadful Robespierre, the great author and support of it.

I have already mentioned to you the papers of Robespierre. Among these papers may be seen a short account of him by Freron; and it may be amusing, in the first place, to trace in his earlier years the future Moloch of the French nation. He was brought up at the college of Louis Le Grand. Camille Desmoulins was his fellow student, as was Freron himself. "He was then," says Freron, " what we have since seen him, melancholy, bilious, morose, and jealous of the success of his comrades; he mixed not in their sports, he walked alone, always musing, and with the appearance of a person not in health. He had none of the qualities of youth, already had his flexible countenance contracted those convulsive grimaces which we have observed in him: never communicative, no frankness, no overflowing, no abandonment of the heart, exclusive selfishness, a stiffness in opinion totally insurmountable, no sincerity whatever: one never remembers to have seen him laugh. He guarded deeply the remembrance of any injury; was vindictive and treacherous; and even at that period knew how to dissemble his resentment. He succeeded in his studies, and bore away prizes; he owed them to great application. He embraced the profession of the law, which he practised at Arras, the place of his birth, but his ambition was to be a man of letters. Nothing more was heard of him until the Revolution. In the Constituent Assembly he was only remarkable for his extreme difficulty in speaking, though he often endeavoured to speak; he was always hooted down, and thus reduced to silence; diffusion of words, and incoherence of ideas, characterized his eloquence at that period. He

was always the most perfect poltroon on occasions of danger: he did not appear on the 10th of August; was quite terrified on the day of the massacre of the Champ de Mars. From his first arrival at Paris, to that day, he had been lodged, entertained, and accommodated at the house of Humbert, but no recompense did he ever think of returning him, not the slightest service; and during the last six months of his life, he shut his doors against him; the presence of a benefactor was annoying to him. Robespierre was quite choked with bile; his eyes and his yellow complexion showed this. Wine and liquors, which he was used to drink immoderately, must have made him commit some indiscretion, for latterly he drank but water. When he walked out he was always armed with pistols; a sort of garde du corps of his friends accompanied him; they were distributed at intervals, in the streets he passed through, to give him immediate succour, if attacked. Towards the end of his career he practised with pistols every day in his garden, and had become very dexterous. The pleasantries of Camille Desmoulins made him laugh to tears, but it was a laughter immoderate and convulsive, and he immediately after sunk into his former melancholy. When Charles Lameth was wounded in a duel, Robespierre made it a sort of religious duty to visit him twice a day; he called him his friend, as he did Barnave; but he guillotined the one, and would not have spared the other. He had squeezed the hand of Camille Desmoulins the very day that he signed his arrest."

Such is the description of Robespierre by one, who must have known him from his earliest youth. It may not be as easy as might be expected, to judge of the character of Robespierre, if we refer ourselves merely to the French writers and historians. He subdued the country for nearly two years together; and there was nothing grand or imposing in his character, sufficiently to gratify the national vanity. He had not splendid talents, and overpowering eloquence, like Mirabeau; he was not a great military conqueror, like Buonaparte; there was nothing in his character to admire, nothing to dazzle or astonish. He was not even a fierce and daring tribune of the people, like Danton. It was as disgraceful to the French nation, as calamitous, to have fallen before a