in a state of
disorganization almost inconceivable. The King--poor creature--has been
reinstated, after a fashion, since his flight, but with most unkingly
limitations. All political parties are broken up--Lafayette and Bailly
and the Lameths find themselves in an impossible position and have
seceded from the Jacobins. For two years now they have been preaching
the pure democracy of Rousseau, the rights of man, the sovereignty of
the people. They have done everything to deprive the King of his power,
they have hurled abuse at the throne, at the whole Old Order of things.
And now, when they see to what chaos things are coming, when they wish
to stop at moderation, at order, at a monarchy based on solid principles
and supported by the solid middle class, they are suddenly made to
realize how little their theories correspond with their real desires.
Incapacity, misrule, is everywhere. Narbonne has been made War Minister!
At this crisis, when the allied armies are gathering on the frontier,
when war is imminent against two hundred and fifty thousand of the
finest soldiers in Europe, a trifler like Narbonne is placed in power!
But if others were no worse than he! 'Tis incredible the villains who
have pushed themselves into the high places. Can you believe it,
boy?--your servant, that scoundrel Bertrand, that soldier of the ranks,
that waiter of the Cafe de l'Ecole, is a great man in Paris these days.
He is listened to by thousands when he rants in the garden of the Palais
Royal; he is hand in glove with Danton; he divides attention with
Robespierre; he is a power in himself. Heaven knows how he has become
so--but these creatures spring up like mushrooms in a night. I saw much
of Danton and not a little of Bertrand, for I frequented the Cordelliers
Club a good deal. 'Tis well to stand in with all parties, especially if
there is even a remote chance of my being placed as minister at the
French court. 'Tis so rumored in Paris, and the elections are now taking
place in America," so Mr. Short informs me. "I heard of St. Aulaire,"
went on Mr. Morris. "Beaufort told me that he had got into Paris
secretly on the Due d'Orleans's business, but that he had spent much of
his time in the rue St. Honore, pressing his suit with Madame de St.
Andre. She would have none of him, however, and seems to have conceived
a sort of horror of him--as, indeed, well she might. He went away,
raging, Beaufort said, and vowing some mysterious vengeance. He