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CHAPTER I PARIS : 1793

was not even a reaction.

On! ever on! in that wild, surging torrent; sowing the wind of anarchy, of terrorism, of lust of blood and hate, and reaping a hurricane of destruction and of horror.

On! ever on! France, with Paris and all her children still rushes blindly, madly on; defies the powerful coalition, Austria, England, Spain, Prussia, all joined together to stem the flow of carnage, defies the Universe and defies God!

Paris this September, 1793! — or shall we call it Vendémliaire, Year I of the Republic? Call it what we will! Paris! a city of bloodshed, of humanity in its lowest, most degraded, aspect, France herself a gigantic self-devouring monster, her fairest cities destroyed, Lyons razed to the ground, Toulon, Marseilles, masses of blackened ruins, her bravest sons turned to lustful brutes or to abject cowards seeking safety at the cost of any humiliation.

That is thy reward, mighty, holy Revolution! apotheosis of equality and fraternity! grand rival of decadent Christianity.

Five weeks now since Marat, the bloodthirsty Friend of the People, succumbed beneath the