anifestation of Gallic
effervescence came about in the following way. The Committee of Public
Safety having presented a report on the scarcity of corn and bread, the
Convention was electrified by the doleful recital. In the ensuing debate
stories are told of men disguised as women who practise insidious
devices among the _queues_ at the bakers' shops. At once the Convention
decrees that men acting thus while in disguise shall be deemed worthy of
death. A deputy named Garnier then suggests that as this is clearly a
device of the infamous Pitt to increase disorder, it shall be declared
lawful to murder him. Couthon, for once speaking the language of
moderation, objects to this proposal as unworthy of the Republic, and
moves that Pitt be declared an enemy of the human race. This is at once
approved as worthy of the humanity and dignity of the Convention. The
decree, then, was obviously a device for shelving the stupid and
bloodthirsty motion of Garnier. The whole discussion may be compared
with Pitt's declaration to the House of Commons on 12th February 1793,
that the war, though undoubtedly provoked by France, would never be
waged by England for motives of vengeance, but merely for the attainment
of security.

Why at this time the name of Pitt should have driven the Parisian
legislators half frantic is not easy to see. Up to that time the
exploits of the small British force at Famars and Valenciennes had been
no more than creditable; and it was not till the end of the month that
the news of the entry of Admiral Hood's fleet into Toulon threw Paris
into a frenzy. The decree of 9th August therefore has merely a
psychological interest. When tyrants thundered at the gates of the
Republic, France needed some names the mere sound of which sufficed to
drive her sons to arms. In 1792 it was Brunswick or Conde. When they
ceased to be effective, the populace found others first in Coburg and
finally in Pitt. Other names waxed and waned; but that of the son of
Chatham stood fixed in a dull haze of hatred. Thus, by a singular irony,
the very man who in 1786 had branded with folly those Englishmen who
declared France to be our natural enemy, was now by her banned as the
enemy of the human race. And such he remains for the great majority of
Frenchmen. The hasty and fortuitous phrase of Couthon, which was
designed to save him from the assassin's knife, will doubtless be the
permanent catchword, irremovable by research and explanation.