soldier and carry with them the people. At that instant to win back an

army of a hundred thousand men, to withdraw the balls from the cannons'

mouths, to find beneath the wine poured out to the Praetorians the true

soul of the French soldier half drowned and nearly dead, to tear the flag

from the coup d'état and restore it to the Law, to surround the

Assembly with thunders and lightnings, it would have needed one of those

men who exist no longer; it would have needed the firm hand, the calm

oratory, the cold and searching glance of Desaix, that French Phocion; it

would have needed the huge shoulders, the commanding stature, the

thundering voice, the abusive, insolent, cynical, gay, and sublime

eloquence of Kléber, that military Mirabeau. Desaix, the countenance of a

just man, or Kléber, the face of the lion! General Oudinot, little,

awkward, embarrassed, with an indecisive and dull gaze, red cheeks, low

forehead, with grizzled and lank hair, polite tone of voice, a humble

smile, without oratory, without gesture, without power, brave before the

enemy, timid before the first comer, having assuredly the bearing of a

soldier, but having also the bearing of a priest; he caused the mind to

hesitate between the sword and the taper; he had in his eyes a sort of

"Amen!"

He had the best intentions in the world, but what could he do? Alone,

without prestige, without true glory, without personal authority, and

dragging Rome after him! He felt all this himself, and he was as it were

paralyzed by it. As soon as they had appointed him he got upon a chair

and thanked the Assembly, doubtless with a firm heart, but with

hesitating speech. When the little fair-haired officer dared to look him

in the face and insult him, he, holding the sword of the people, he,

General of the sovereign Assembly, he only knew how to stammer out such

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The History of a Crime