but in the point of view which was then dominant among republicans, in ferocious imitation of antiquity, she ought to strike the public enemy as if it was her own. A commissary, mounted on a trestle, tried to calm the crowd; Théroigne overthrew him, took his place, and spoke against Suleau. Two hundred men of the National Guard defended their prisoners; an order was obtained from the section to cease all resistance. They were called out one by one, and killed by the crowd. Suleau, it is said, showed a great deal of courage-snatching a sabre from one of the murderers, he strove to make his way through them. In order to adorn this recital, it is supposed that the virago (small and very delicate, in spite of her great energy), with her own sabre, struck at this tall man, whose vigor and strength were increased tenfold by despair. Others said that the French guard, on whose arm Théroigne was leaning, struck the first blow.

Her participation in the events of the 10th August, and the crown which the Marseillaise conquerors had awarded her, drew her into a closer connection with the Girondists, friends of the Marseillaise, and who had brought them forward.

She became still more attached to them for the horror they expressed at the massacre of September, and which she herself was most vehement against. Since April, '92, she had quarrelled with Robespierre, proudly saying, in a café, that, if he calumniated her without proof, "she would withdraw her esteem from him." This speech, ironically related in the evening by Collot d'Herbois to the Jacobins, threw the amazon into a ridiculous excess of rage. She was in a tribune in the midst of those devoted to Robespierre. In spite of the efforts made to restrain her, she jumped on the barrier which separated the tribune from the hall, made her way through the crowd of enemies, in vain demanding to be heard; they stopped their ears, fearing to hear some blasphemy against the god of the temple. Poor Théroigne was brutally driven out without being listened to.

She was still very popular, loved, and admired by the crowd for her courage and beauty; and means were thought of to deprive her of this charm, to disgrace her by one of the most cowardly outrages which a man could exercise on a She was walking alone on the terrace of the Feuillants; they formed a group around her,

woman.

closing on her suddenly, and seizing her, drew up her petticoats, and naked, amid the derision of the crowd, whipped her as a child. Her prayers, her cries, her shrieks of despair, only augmented the laughter of the cynical and cruel mob. At last, released, the unfortunate creature continued her shrieks; her dignity and courage both being wounded by this outrage: she had lost her mind. From 1795 to 1817, during the long period of twenty-four years (the half of her life), she remained stark mad, shrieking as at the first day. It was heart-rending to see this heroic and charming woman, fallen lower than the beasts, dashing herself against the bars, tearing herself, and eating her excrements. The royalists are satisfied, as they see the vengeance of God on one whose fatal beauty intoxicated the Revolution in its first days.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE VENDEAN WOMEN IN 1790 AND 1791.

AT the moment when the emigrants, on the anniversary of Saint Bartholomew, the 24th and 25th August, were taking the enemy by the hand, and opening to them the eastern frontiers, the Vendean war burst out in the west.

It was a singular thing, that on the 25th August, the day when the Vendean peasantry assailed the Revolution, that the Revolution, in its generous partiality, was deciding for the peasant the prolonged lawsuit of centuries, in abolishing the feudal right without any indemnity. At this time, all nations, Savoy, Italy, Germany, and Belgium, and the cities which are their gates, Nice, Chamberg, Mayence, Liege, Brussels, and Anvers, were all wearing the tri-color cockade; all were ambitious of becoming Frenchmen. And there was found a people blind enough to arm them

selves against France, their mother, against a people who were themselves. These poor, ignorant creatures, led astray, cried out: "Death to the nation!"

This Vendean war was a most mysterious thing. It was a war of errors and enigmas, a war of phantoms and unseen spirits. The most contradictory reports were circulated; but none of the inquirers learnt anything. After some tragical occurrence, commissioners were sent, and arrived in the parish unattended; but everything was peaceful; the peasant at his work; the woman seated at the door, spinning, among her children, her large rosary around her neck. The lord? He was seated at dinner, to which he invited the commissioners, who retired charmed with everything. The next day, murders and incendiaries recommenced.

Where then can we seize the flying genius of the civil war? Let us look around. I do not see anything except, far off on the heath, a gray nun, who is walking with her head lowered in a very humble manner.

I do not see anything except, between two forests, a lady on horseback, followed by a domes