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Updated: June 10, 2025
No volley came the men had mutinied. Then the Convention declared Henriot beyond the protection of the law, and Henriot fled to the City Hall. The Convention chose Barras to command their armed force, but save a few police they had no force. The night was wearing away and Fleuriot had not been able to persuade Robespierre to take any decisive step.
It is an incontestable fact that had either Coffinhal or Henriot imitated the conduct of Cromwell in regard to the Levellers, and marched at the head of their troops into the hall of the Convention, he might have carried all before him, and Robespierre's tyranny would have been henceforth established on a basis not to be shaken.
None of the devices were too obviously used, but at length Henriot picked up so many forgotten articles, and heard so many significant phrases, casually let fall, that he began to feel like the villain in a machine-made play, where the hero for ever drops clues his enemy is intended to discover. Introduction followed inevitably. "My aunt can tell you; she knows Arabic perfectly."
Those eyes, he felt, had looked upon unusual things; "dreaminess" was not an adequate description; "searching" conveyed it better. The true source of the queer impression remained elusive. And hence, perhaps, the incongruous marriage in the face mobility laid upon a matter-of-fact foundation underneath. The face showed conflict. And Henriot, watching him, felt decidedly intrigued.
Henriot, in his youth, had searched and dived among what material he could find, believing once or half believing that the ceremonial of that ancient system veiled a weight of symbol that was reflected from genuine supersensual knowledge. The rituals, now taken literally, and so pityingly explained away, had once been genuine pathways of approach.
"Ah!" murmured the old man, drawing up his twelve sons in double military rank, "I fought under good King Henriot, and can play at sword and pistol as well as the worthy 'ligueurs';" and shaking his head he leaned against a post, his knotty staff between his crossed legs, his hands clasped on its thick butt-end, and his white, bearded chin resting on his hands.
The other, whom we have also met before, and who is already known by his acts, general in Paris of the entire armed force, commander-in-chief of one hundred and ten thousand men, is that former servant or under-clerk of the procureur Formey, who, dismissed by his employer for robbery, shut up in Bicetre, by turns a runner and announcer for a traveling show, barrier-clerk and September assassin, has purged the Convention on the 2nd of June in short, the famous Henriot, and now simply a brute and a sot.
Then, making a sideways movement, his feet kicked against something soft and yielding that lay heaped upon the Desert floor, and Henriot discovered the rugs the Arab boy had carefully set down before he made full speed for the friendly lights of Helouan. The sound of his departing footsteps had long since died away. He was alone.
A priest of this old-world worship performed a genuine evocation; a Great One of Vision revived the cosmic Powers. Henriot watched the small figures far below him with a sense of dramatic splendour that only this association of far-off Memory could account for.
Robespierre, the chief actor of the bloody tragedy, Dumas, the president of the Revolutionary Tribunal, Henriot, the commander of the National Guard, Couthon and St. Just, the tools of the tyrant, were denounced, condemned, and executed. The last hours of Robespierre were horrible beyond description.
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