At the mere sight of Danton,
with his porter's vocabulary, his voice like an alarm bell of
insurrection, his cyclopean features and air of an exterminator,
humanity takes alarm; one does not surrender oneself to a political
butcher without repugnance. The Revolution demands another
interpreter, like itself captivatingly fitted out, and Robespierre
fits the bill,[81] with his irreproachable attire, well-powdered hair,
carefully brushed coat,[82] strict habits, dogmatic tone, and formal,
studied manner of speaking. No mind, in its mediocrity and
incompetence, so well harmonizes with the spirit of the epoch. The
reverse of the statesman, he soars in empty space, amongst
abstractions, always mounted on a principle and incapable of
dismounting so as to see things practically.
"That bastard there," exclaims Danton, "is not even able to boil an
egg!"
"The vague generalities of his preaching," writes another
contemporary,[83] "rarely culminated in any specific measure or legal
provision. He combated everything and proposed nothing; the secret of
his policy happily accorded with his intellectual impotence and with
the nullity of his legislative conceptions.
Pages:
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314