Excerpts from Ann Coulter's Demonic Part 3
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The French Revolution Part Deux: Come For the Beheadings, Stay for the Rapes!


    By June of 1793, the radical Jacobins had seized total control of the Convention and begun institut-ing left-wing government policies, such as price controls and a general draft. Yet another constitution was adopted by the Convention and then immediately suspended by the Convention. Instead a revolution-ary government was decreed “until the peace.” Robe-spierre dominated the tyrannical—and ironically named—Committee of Public Safety. (Similarly, in 2003, Libya was made chairman of the U.N.’s Commission of Human Rights.) Thus began the “Reign of Terror,” purging all “enemies of the revolution.”

    The enforcers, Robespierre and his allies, demanded death to traitors, spies, moderates, and anyone who disagreed with Robespierre. Saint-Just, Robespierre’s ally on the Committee of Public Safety, called for “un-limited war,” saying the Republic “owes the good citi-zens its protection. To the bad ones  it owes only death.”[lix]

    There were up to fifty executions a day, by a guillotine set up next to the statue of Liberty in the “Place de la Revolution,” formerly “Place Louis XV.” More than three thousand aristocrats were sent to the guillotine, with huge crowds on hand to cheer the carnage. The victims often had to be dragged up the stairs of the scaffold. Programs called “menus” were distrib-uted, listing the names of the condemned, the better to heckle them. Street jugglers entertained the crowds by staging mock executions with puppets.[lx]

    With the Jacobins in control, the “de-Christianization” campaign kicked into high gear in 1793. Inspired by Rousseau’s idea of the religion civile, the revolution sought to completely destroy Christian-ity and replace it with a religion of the state. To honor “reason” and fulfill the promise of the Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen that “no one may be questioned about his opinions, including his religious views,” Catholic priests were forced to stand before revolutionary clubs and take oaths to France’s new hu-manocentric religion, the Cult of Reason (which is French for “people of the American Way”).

    Only a bare majority of clergy, called “nonjurors,” refused to take oaths to the republic. About 20,000 priests did so and another 20,000 left the country.  Many ex-priests publicly denounced their religion, swearing they had never believed it, and “vied with each other in ribaldry and blasphemy.”[lxi] Vicar Patin stood in front of a revolutionary club and said the “ear-marks” of a priest were: “To bestialize humans in order to better enslave them, to make them believe that two plus one is one and a thousand other absurdities, to enter into a compact with our former tyrants to share with them spoils taken from the people.”[lxii]

    Revolutionaries smashed church art and statues.[lxiii] One explained that he had a broken the noses off church statues because they were “hideous apes” that deserved to be crushed and used for pavement.[lxiv] At the Cathedral of Notre Dame, hundreds of medieval sculp-tures of prophets, priests, and kings were yanked from their pedestals and decapitated or hurled in the Seine.[lxv] The cathedral’s priceless thirteenth- and fourteenth-century stained glass windows were smashed.

    Notre Dame fared better than the Third Abbey Church at Cluny, once the most magnificent monas-tery in the world. Revolutionaries torched the archives and sacked the Romanesque building, leaving behind nothing but a pile of rubble.[lxvi]

    The word “vandalism” had to be invented to describe the wanton destruction of the abbey church of Saint Denis.[lxvii] French mobs defaced the prized Gothic architecture, trashing archaeological treasures dating from the seventh century. They ripped open the tombs and threw skeletons of kings and queens into lime pits.[lxviii]

    Deeming any gold and silver held by the churches “an insult to reason,” the revolutionaries stole it, either for the “national melting pot” or for their personal use.[lxix] Churches that were not burned to the ground were turned into headquarters for some of the revolu-tionary clubs,[lxx] much as would happen years later to the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City, where they now worship a giant whale. The revolution-aries shredded sacred books, using the paper as wadding for their cartridges, and burned confessional boxes for fuel. The relics of martyrs were ripped from their sacred resting places and thrown in a common pit, with one revolutionary leering about the bones of a male and a female martyr “making out together.”[lxxi]

    Sacred vessels of the sacristy were thrown to the ground by the French mobs. Church bells, deemed a “relic of fanaticism,” were forbidden from being rung, and were sometimes forcibly removed and melted down for armaments.[lxxii] Altars were destroyed or re-named “altars of Reason.” The cross, deemed counter-revolutionary, was forbidden from display, with women being required to remove cross necklaces.[lxxiii] Street signs, parks, and even cemeteries were stripped of crosses. One revolutionary club proposed outlawing celibacy.[lxxiv]

    Joseph Fouché had been the headmaster at a Catholic school, but during the Revolution, he switched sides and became a leader of the de-Chris-tianization campaign. Denouncing religion as “super-stitious and hypocritical,” he proclaimed a new “reli-gion of the republic.”[lxxv] He traveled from town to town to snuff out any remnants of Christianity, publicly dressing down priests as “impostors who persist in continuing to perform their religious comedy.”[lxxvi] In September 1793, Fouché actually did outlaw celibacy and gave priests one month to get married.[lxxvii]

    In the town of Nevers, Fouché ordered that religious imagery on cemetery gates be replaced with the phrase “Death is an eternal sleep”—a proposal enthusiastically adopted in Paris.[lxxviii] In Lyon, the archbishop re-fused to swear allegiance to the republic and so he was removed, replaced by revolutionary bishop Antoine Lamourette.

    The people of Lyon responded to the de-Christianization campaign by clinging to their guns and religion. On account of the resistance, Convention deputy Bertrand Barere moved that Lyon, the second-largest city in France, be destroyed, and a monument erected on the ashes that would proclaim: “Lyon waged war against liberty; Lyon is no more.”[lxxix]

    Fouché happily accommodated him, working day and night for months to annihilate the entire city, say-ing he was doing it “for humanity’s sake.” Fouché fa-mously proclaimed, “Terror, salutary terror, is now the order of the day here.” He arranged for “batch after batch of bankers, scholars, aristocrats, priests, nuns, and wealthy merchants and their wives, mistresses, and children” to be dragged from their homes and killed by firing squad.[lxxx]

    Fouché personally stripped even the revolutionary bishop, Lamourette, of his fake vestments and rode him through town on a donkey with a miter on its head and a Bible and crucifix tied to its tail, so the rabble could spit at and kick Lamourette. When Fouché was done, he proudly wrote to the Convention that Chris-tianity in the provinces had “been struck down once and for all.”[lxxxi]

    Just a year earlier, at the beginning of the new Republic, Lamourette’s idea had been to fuse revolu-tionary principles with Catholicism, much like today’s pro-life Democrats. Even in the earliest days of the rev-olution, church property had been confiscated by the state, priests expelled from their posts, and the priest-hood put up to popular vote.

    But Lamourette thought they could all still get along. And so, prattling about “men of goodwill,” in July 1792 Lamourette had asked members of the Assembly to embrace one another. There was hugging and kissing all around … and one year later, Lamourette was be-ing ridden through town, like a clown, on the back of an ass. So in addition to “counterrevolutionary” and “vandalism,” the French Revolution gave us the ex-pression of  a false truce: “the kiss of Lamourette.”

    Fouché’s siege of Lyon became the revolution’s standard operating procedure in the rest of France.

    In October 1793, the powerful Paris Commune decreed that ministers were not allowed to perform re-ligious services or wear religious garb in public, for-bade the sale or display of rosaries and other “objects of superstition,” and overturned the blue laws.[lxxxii] That same month, the Committee of Public Instruction banned priests from being teachers[lxxxiii]--nearly two hundred years before our own Supreme Court did.

    In lieu of religious holidays—which were banned—the revolutionaries put on “Fetes of Reason” with parades, dances, and public burnings of the symbols of nobility “on a scale as never before.”[lxxxiv] The first and most spectacular of these pagan rituals was held in November 1793, in the Notre Dame Cathedral or, as it was renamed, “The Temple of Reason.” The words “To Philosophy” were carved into the façade of the mag-nificent Gothic cathedral. Stripped of crucifixes and other religious insignia, its altar was renamed the “Al-tar of reason,” decorated with broken crowns and a shredded Bible. It was an ACLU fantasy come true!

    As a special highlight, Madame Momoro, a nun turned prostitute, portrayed the “Goddess of Reason” at the pagan festival of reason and paraded through all the cathedral for all to worship.[lxxxv] Four months later, the Goddess of Reason was guillotined.[lxxxvi] Fouché, Saint-Just, Barrere—the very revolutionaries who had propelled Momoro’s ascent as a “goddess” to celebrate an end to religion—were on hand to applaud her be-heading.[lxxxvii]

    At the fetes of reason being held throughout France, mannequins of priests were tied backwards on don-keys and ridden through the street. There were also obscene parodies of the clergy, with perfomers dressed as priests delivering mock sermons and dispensing scatological communions. “Come receive your God,” they taunted, wiping their behinds with paper “hosts” and throwing the host in a chamber pot. “Here is your divinity. Come adore him for nothing. Here is a present of him.”[lxxxviii]

    Religious marriages and funerals were discouraged and in some places banned entirely, replaced with civic vesions of the same. The already-married were en-couraged to remarry in revolutionary ceremonies. One club proposed that eulogies at the civic funerals in-clude attacks of the recently departed, to distinguish them from religious funerals.[lxxxix]

    This was not the American Revolution. This was the revolution of a mob.

    France’s new leaders—fishmongers, cobblers, and butchers, and lots of lawyers and journalists—also set out to invent a new, nonreligious calendar. Created by the Committee of Public Instruction, the “revolution-ary calendar” is exactly what one would expect from a government commission.

    It began with “Year 1,” which, for simplicity, was the previous year 1792. Based on “reason” and “nature,” the revolutionary calendar had twelve 30-day months, divided into three 10-day weeks. Inasmuch as this didn’t account for all the days in a year, the leftovers were tacked on as complimentary days: Virtue Day, Genius Day, Labor Day, Reason Day, Rewards Day, and, on leap years, Revolution Day. George Orwell had it easy in some ways.

    The years were further divided into four-year spans called “Franciades.”

    Each month was given a crackpot name that was supposed to sound like a Greek or Latin word for sea-sonal attributes: Vendémiaire (harvest); Brumaire (mist); Frimaire (cold); Nivôse (snow); Pluviôse (rain); Ventôse (wind); Germinal (seeding); Floréal (flowering); Prairial (meadow); Messidor (summer harvest); Thermidor (heat); and Fructidor (fruit). (The new calendar also included an observance known as “Kwanzaa,” which to this day no one has ever been able to explain.)

    The British recast the new French months as “Slippy, Nippy, Drippy; Freezy, Wheezy, Sneezy; Showery, Flowery, Bowery; Heaty, Wheaty, and Sweety.”

    Napoleon mercifully abolished the French Revolutionary Calendar on January 1, 1806, twelve years after its creation. Only the strong arm of a mili-tary dictatorship could save the French from them-selves.

    Even clocks and personal names weren’t spared in this out-with-the-old insanity. Clocks were redesigned in decimal time, with a second being equal to 0.864 nor-mal seconds, 100 seconds making one minute (which was now 86.4 seconds) , and 100 minutes making an hour (144 minutes to the rest of the world). This is why freedom lovers everywhere detest the metric system.

    Citizens were forced to drop their Christian names, which were deemed tyrannical and superstitious. One revolutionary proposed that the Convention issue a decree abolishing all Christian names at once.[xc] The clubs urged the people to adopt “civic” names, such as Bru-tus—the Roman who assisted in the knifing of his friend Caesar, prompting the dying Caesar to ask (in Shakespeare’s words), “Et tu, Brute?” But then in an-other instant the adopted Roman names fell out of fashion, were duly renounced, and were replaced with names from the preposterous French calendar, lead-ing to such names as “Fig-Pumpkin Ligeret.”[xci] You know Figgy? He’s my cousin! I’m Brie Surrender-Vomit.

    Yes, the French Revolution as just like the American Revolution.

    The mob’s consuming hatred of Marie Antoinette would finally be satiated with her public execution during the Reign of Terror. The revolutionaries had al-ready come for the queen’s eight-year old son, Louis XVII, in July 1793. (In other important business that summer, the Convention decreed that William Pitt, prime minister of the United Kingdom, was “the en-emy of the human race.”)[xcii] Antoinette put up a fight, but refusing to relinquish her son, but young Louis was literally torn from her arms. Six months earlier, the morning after the king had guillotined, Antoi-nette had wiped away her son’s tears, instructing him that a king should not cry. She then set him down, stood, and saluted him as the new king.

    What awaited her young son was worse than the guillotine. He was turned over to an illiterate cobbler, Simone, who was instructed to reeducate the boy into hating his parents and loving the revolution. Young Louis was dressed in revolutionary clothes and made to curse his mother and sing revolutionary songs. Under the influence of the extreme left-wing journalist Jacques Hébert, Simone beat and brainwashed the boy into saying his mother had committed incest with him.[xciii]

    By the fall, Marie Antoinette was ill, hemorrhaging constantly, and possibly dying from tuberculosis. She was only thirty-seven, but her hair had turned nearly white and she appeared a much older woman. On August 1, 1793, she had been moved to a filthy prison called the Conciergerie, where she was “prisoner 280.” The former queen was put on display like an animal for “inhuman wretches” to stand outside her cell “con-tinually vomiting forth” insults against her.[xciv]

    Antoinette had found out her husband had been guillotined when a guard mockingly called her “the widow Capet.” She found out her best friend, the Princess Lamballe, had been executed when the princess’s head was bounced on a pike outside her prison win-dow. Her son had been torn away from her. Now she sat trapped in a prison cell with riffraff hurling invec-tive at her, in the liberal style.

    But the mob still saw Marie Antoinette as a threat to their “liberty.” This is how liberals would treat Sarah Palin.

    On October 13, Antoinette was informed that her trial before the Revolutionary Tribunal would begin the next day. Her written request for time to prepare was ignored. And so the trial of Marie Antoinette com-menced on October 14, 1793, before a jury of eleven men, chosen from the lowest classes.

    To the delight of the spectators, Antoinette was accused of presiding over plots, conspiracies, and “midnight orgies,” and of being the “scourge and the blood-sucker of the French.”[xcv] In the words of Scottish historian Thomas Carlyle, the witnesses against her were “Patriot Washerwomen,” with “much to say of Plots [and] Treasons.”[xcvi]

    Antoinette answered each accusation with politeness, calmly revealing the emptiness of the charges against her. As Carlyle reports, “her answers are prompt, clear, often of laconic brevity; resolution, which has grown contemptuous without ceasing to be dignified, veils itself in calm words. ‘You persist in denial?’—‘My plan is not denial: it is the truth I have said, and I persist in that.’ “[xcvii] Among the charges was the accusation by Hébert that she kept a religious book containing a “counterrevolutionary” image of Jesus inscribed with the words “Heart of Jesus! Have pity on us!”[xcviii]

    Then came Hébert’s monstrous allegation that Antoinette’s son had accused his mother and aunt of having sex with him—an idea Hébert had himself implanted in the boy through his vile underling, Simone. Hébert testified:

Simone said to me, “ I am surprised at young Capet committing so many indecencies”—(too gross to mention). Astonished at seeing this child so initiated in wickedness, I asked him who were his instructors. He replied, with all ingenuousness and candour of his age, that he had learnt all these abominations from his mother and aunt. I shall not offend your ears with recounting the impurities which this child re-lated; I shall content myself with saying, that he has had an incestuous intercourse with his mother and his aunt and that young Capet has been ill of a disorder which was brought on by these debaucheries.[xcix]

                Antoinette ignored this vile accusation, until a juror demanded that she answer it. Antoinette famously re-plied, “I remain silent on that subject because nature holds all such crimes an abhorrence. I appeal to all mothers who are present in this Auditory—is such a crime possible?”[c]

                According to Carlyle, at that moment, Robespierre cursed the stupidity of Hébert for making such a de-spicable charge and risking a sympathetic response from the jurors.[ci] Robespierre underestimated the inhumanity of a mob. For having passionately denied the charge, one spectator compained of Antoinette’s arrogance, another of her pride, while one of the jurors sneered, “a mother like you …”[cii]

                When Antoinette said nothing, the jury was enraged by her silence and demanded an answer. When she an-swered, denying the grotesque accusation, the jury de-nounced her as arrogant. It’s almost as if the mob would accept no answer she gave. As Le Bon says, a crowd “accepts as reall the images evoked in its mind, though they most oten have only a very distant relation with the observed fact.”[ciii]

                The proceedings against Antoinette were irrelevant in any event. The verdict was preordained. After two days of the mock trial, Antoinette was declared guilty of treason and given a sentence of death for the next day. Asked if she had anything to say, Antoi-nette simply shook her head.

                Hours before her execution, the former queen wrote a letter to her sister-in-law, Princess Elisabeth, stained with tears. An excerpt gives the lie to portrayals of Antoinette as a frivolous airhead. She begins:

                16th OCTOBER, 4:30 A.M.

It is to you, my sister, that I write for the last time. I have just been condemned, not to a shameful death, for such is only for criminals, but to go and rejoin your brother. Innocent like him, I hope to show the same firmness in my last moments. I am calm, as when one’s conscience re-proches one with nothing.

                Antoinette raises the incest charge at her trial, asking Elisabeth to forgive her son:

    I have to speak to you of one thing which is very painful to my heart, I know how much pain the child must have caused you. Forgive him, my dear sister; think of his age, and how easy it is to make a child say whatever one wish-es, especially when he does not understand it. It will come to pass one day, I hope that he will better feel the value of your kindness and of your tender affection for both of [my children].

                She concludes by reaffirming her faith and forgiving her enemies:

    I die in the Catholic Apostolic and Roman religion, that of my fathers, that in which I was brought up, and which I have always professed. Having no spiritual consolation to look for, not even knowing whether there are still in this place any priests of that religion (and indeed the place where I am would expose them to too much danger if they were to enter it but once), I sincerely implore pardon of God for all the faults which I may have committed during my life. I trust that, in His goodness, He will mercifully accept my last prayers, as well as those which I have for a long time addressed to Him, to receive my soul into His mercy. I beg pardon of all whom I know, and especially of you, my sis-ter for all the vexations which, without intending it, I may have caused you. I pardon all my enemies the evils that they have done me. I bid farewell to my aunts and to my all my broth-ers and sisters. I had friends. The idea of being forever separated from them and from all their troubles is one of the greatest sorrows that I suffer in dying. Let them at least know that to my latest moment I thought of them.

    Farewell, my good and tender sister. May this letter reach you. Think always of me; I embrace you with all my heart, as I do my poor dear children. My God, how heart-rending it is to leave them forever! Farewell! farewell![civ]

                The mob had intended to extinguish the idea of the divine right of kings and queens, but Marie Antoi-nette’s preternatural grace in the face of their barba-rism might have caused some Frenchmen to recon-sider whether God had a role in choosing their queen.

                The humiliations heaped on Antoinette continued to her last breath. To suppress sympathy from the crowd,she was stripped of her mourning clothes and ordered to wear a white smock. Bleeding badly, Antoinette needed to change her undergarments before leaving for the guillotine, but the gendarme guarding her re-fused to let her out of his sight even for this.

    To protect France against a beaten, half-starved, prematurely gray, tuberculosis-ridden, hemorrhaging widow, the full cavalry was called out and the streets and bridges throughout Paris were lined with cannon and bayonet-toting soldiers. Shackled to a rope held by the executioner and surrounded by armed guards, Antoinette rode to the guillotine on a rough cart used to transport hardened criminals. The drive was long and slow, the better to allow the mob to taunt her. Her face was placid, as she continued to pray quietly, showing neither fear nor defiance. On the scaffold, Marie Antoinette uttered her last words after accidentally stepping on the executioner’s foot: “Monsieur, I beg your pardon.”[cv]

    After the guillotine fell, the executioner lifted Antoinette’s head from the basket and the crowd cheered, “Vive la Repblique!”

    Hébert, the revolutionary who had accused her of incest, said, “The whore, for the rest, was bold and im-pudent to the very end.”[cvi] It’s impossible to win with a mob. The queen was accused of frivolity, stupidity, licentiousness—every possible base quality. For exhib-iting serenity in the face of a ravenous mob, she was deemed “impudent.”

    Hébert would later be executed himself, as was Antoinette’s prosecutor, Antoine-Quentin Fouquier de Tinville. Both showed far less dignity in their final moments than Antoinette. Hébert fainted repeatedly on the way to the guillotine, and Fouquier-Tinville cried out, “I’m the axe, you don’t kill the axe!”[cvii]

    The killings went on, mercilessly, day after day, without reason. Saint-Just demanded that people be guillotind not just for being traitors but for being “in-different as well.”[cviii] (This roving indictment was un-knowingly adopted by key Obama advisers William Ayers and Bernadine Dohrn in the SDS’s anti-war pamphlet titled The Opposite of Moral is Indifferent.)[cix]

    Politicians, unsuccessful generals, writers, nuns, the old, the young, the poor, and the well-to-do were sent to the national razor. Great scientists and math-ematicians were sent to the guillotine, too, on the grounds that the republic “does not need scientists.”

    Before the end of the year, the mayor of Paris was guillotines; 90 priests were drowned; and, in Dunkirk, 150 citizens guillotined. Entire families were guillotined. Girls overheard remarking that the killing was going overboard were sent to the guillotine.[cx] When one of the accused explained to the Revolutionary Tribunal that they had confused him with his brother, he was ordered executed because “we’ve got him—we haven’t gotten his brother.” A woman proved to the court that she had been arrested in a case of mistaken iden-tity, but was executed because “since she’s already here we might as well execute her too.”[cxi] In the first few months of 1794, more than 5,000 citizens of Lyon were executed.[cxii]

    The revolutionaries began executing one another to avoid execution themselves. Consider the cases of Jacques Pierre Brissot, Camille esmoulins, and Robespierre.

    Brissot was a leading philosopher of the revolution—he had even been imprisoned by the king for his incen-diary speeches to the Jacobin Club, he belonged to the more moderate faction in the Convention, the Girondists—the Blue Dog Democrats of the day. He had opposed, for example, executing the king, voting to keep him under house arrest instead. For that coun-terrevolutionary vote, the Montagnards—the Nancy Pelosi Democrats—issued a warrant for his arrest on June 2, 1793. Brissot was promptly guillotined, at the age of thirty-nine.[cxiii]

    Brissot’s principal accuser had been Desmoulins, a fellow writer and habitué of the Jacobin Club. Although Brissot had repeatedly leapt to the defense of Desmoulins and his crazed and often libelous writings, in 1793, Desmoulins turned his acid pen on his former mentor and friend. In a pamphlet titled Jacques Pierre Brissot Unmasked, Desmoulins accused Brissot of being a spy and enemy of the revo-lution, resulting in Brissot’s beheading.[cxiv]

    Desmoulin’s next tract, Fragment of the Secret History of the Revolution, had helped incite the Reign of Terror, but when he proposed a clemency committee for some of the accused, his high school classmate, Robespierre, denounced Desmoulins. Robespierre re-ferred to Desmoulins and his associates as “les indul-gents” and demanded that Desmoulin’s newspaper be burned. Desmoulins was sentenced to death on April 5, 1794, and executed the very same day. He was thirty-four years old. A few days later, Desmoulins’s wife was guillotined.

    Robespierre was godfather to the Desmoulinses’ son. Both Robespierre and Brissot had been witnesses to their wedding.[cxv]

    To speed things along, on June 10, 1794, the Committee on Public Safety issued its infamous “22 Prairial” decree, which dispensed with even the pre-tense of a trial before execution. No longer would the accused be entitled to lawyers or be asked any questions—unless it was for the purpose of uncovering co-conspirators. Juries were instructed to decide cases on “moral proof,” not “positive proof.” Basically, an accusation was proof of guilt. And there was only one pen-alty: death.[cxvi]

    The prosecutor, Fouquier-Tinville, was delighted with these legal reforms, cheerfully reporing that heads were falling “like tiles.”[cxvii] (Soon, one of those heads would be his own.) Within the first two months of 22 Paririal, 1,500 people were guillotined. Having already run through the clergy and nobility, by now, most of the executed were peasants.[cxviii]

    Robespierre’s own execution wasprompted by a rumor planted by Joseph Fouché. Fouché knew Robe-spierre was about to condemn him as an enemy to the revolution, so he told all the other members of the Con-vention that they were on Robespierre’s list. When Robespierre began to give his speech, denouncing all trai-tors and calling for the arrest of “all conspirators,” the entire Convention rose up to demand Robespierre’s execution before he could mention any names. And that is how the worm Fouché survived to serve Napo-leon.[cxix]

    Robespierre had counted on the mob to save him. His allies at the Jacobin Club were so devoted to him, they vowed to drink hemlock should he be condemned to die.[cxx] But when the time for action came and Robe-spierre needed the mob to rally and prevent his arrest, it rained. The rabble ran indoors and dank spirits instead of hemlock, inspiring Tallyrand’s remark “Rain is counterrevolutionary.”[cxxi]

    Robespierre, Saint-Just, and the rest of the leaders of the Reign of Terror were cornered and captured at City Hall. By virtue of the speedy procedures of 22 Parial, they were sent to the guillotine the next day, July 28, 1794. At Robespierre’s execution, the mob was cursing him as if he were an Austrian queen. That was the end of the Reign of Terror, the Jacobin Club, and the French “Republic.”

    But it wasn’t the end of the French Revolution, whose influence would spread across the globe, inspiring catastrophes from Russia and Germany to China and Venzuela. Though it was the inverse of the American Revolution, the ideas of the French Revolution would even take hold in some quarters of America.


[lix] Erik Durschmied,The Bllood of Revolution: From the Reign of Terror to the Rise of Khomeini (Arcade Publishing, 2002), 44-45.

[lx] Ibid., 46.

[lxi] Lewis Goldsmith Stewarton, The Female Revolutionary Plutarch, Containing Biographical, Historical and Revolutionary Sketches, Characters and Anecdotes (J. & W. Smith,1808), at 225, available at books.google.com/books?id=95bz….

[lxii] Michael L. Kennedy, The Jacobin Clubs in the French Revolution (1793-1795) (Berghahn, 2000).

[lxiii] Ibid., 176.

[lxiv]Ibid., 166.

[lxv] T. Jeremy Gunn, “Religious Freedom and Laicite: A Comparison of the United States and France,” Brigham Young University Law Review, January 1, 2004.

[lxvi] Ibid.

[lxvii] Janet T. Marquardt, From Martyr to Monument: The Abbey of Cluny as Cultural Patrimony (Cambridge Scholars Pub-lishing, 2008), 14.

[lxviii] Gunn.

[lxix] Kennedy, 176.

[lxx] Ibid., 176.

[lxxi] Ibid., 166-67.

[lxxii] Ibid., 176.

[lxxiii] Ibid., 165.

[lxxiv] Ibid., 162.

[lxxv] Ibid., 154.

[lxxvi] Schom, 253.

[lxxvii] See, e.g., Kennedy, 153-54.

[lxxviii] Stewarton, 236.

[lxxix] Henry Goudemetz, Historical Epochs of the French Revolution (Hard Press, 2006) [No page numbers] available at www.scribd.com/doc/2379520/His….

[lxxx] Schom, 253-54.

[lxxxi] Ibid., 253.

[lxxxii] Kennedy, 154.

[lxxxiii] Ibid., 155

[lxxxiv] Kennedy, 189-90.

[lxxxv] See, e.g., Stewarton 240-42; Michael Burleigh, Earthly Powers: The Clash of Religion and Politics in Europe, from the French Revolution to the Great War (HarperCollins, 2006), 79; Gunn; Kennedy, 177.

[lxxxvi] Stewarton, 243; Goudemetz.

[lxxxvii] Stewarton, 244.

[lxxxviii] Kennedy, 192.

[lxxxix] Ibid., 167, 168.

[xc] Ibid., 169.

[xci] Ibid., 169.

[xcii] Goudemetz.

[xciii] Charles Duke Yonge, The Life of Marie Antoinette, Queen of France (Duke, Project Gutenberg, 2004), available at infomotions.com/etexts/gutenbe….

[xciv] Yonge.

[xcv] Trial of Marie Antoinette, late Queen of France (compiled from a manuscript sent from Paris, and from the journals of the Moniteur) (Logographic Press 1794), passim, 52.

[xcvi] Thomas Carlyle, The French Revolution (Modern Library, 2002), 669.

[xcvii] Carlyle, 669.

[xcviii] Trial of Marie Antoinette, 30.

[xcix] Ibid. 30-31.

[c] Ibid., 32

[ci] Carlyle, 669 (citing Vilate, Causes secretes de la Révolution de Thermidor) (Paris, 1825), 179.

[cii] Antonia Fraser, Marie Antoinette (Anchor Books, 2001), 431-32.

[ciii] Le Bon, 15.

[civ] Yonge.

[cv] See, e.g., Stefan Zweig, Marie Antoinette: The Portrait of an Average Woman (New York: Grove Press, 2002), 450-51.

[cvi] See, e.g., Zweig, 451.

[cvii] See Christopher Hibbert, The Days of the French Revolution (Harper Perennial, 1996), 236; Pamela Grant, Marie Antoi-nette Story, ParisMarais.com, available at ww-w.parismarais.com/marie-ant….

[cviii] Hibbert, 225.

[cix] William Ayers, Fugitive Days: Memoirs of an Anti-War Activist (Boston: Beacon Press, 2009), 130.

[cx] Durschmied, 53.

[cxi] Hibbert, 225-27.

[cxii] Durschmied, 53.

[cxiii] Goudemetz

[cxiv] Andres, 229.

[cxv] See Andres, 168, 229.

[cxvi] See Hibbert, 243-45.

[cxvii] Ibid., 245-46.

[cxviii] Ibid., 246.

[cxix] Ibid., 248

[cxx] Durschmied, 58-59.

[cxxi] Hibbert, 261.


Durschmied, 64.

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