Through the elections， the Jacobin advance-guard of fifty deputies is already posted there； while， owing to the fascination it has to excitable and despotic natures， to brutal temperaments， narrow， disjointed minds， weak imaginations， doubtful honesty， and old religious or social rancor， it succeeds in doubling this number at the end of six months.[14] On the benches of the extreme "Left，" around Robespierre， Danton and Marat， the original nucleus of the September faction， sit men of their stamp， first， the corrupt， like Chabot， Tallien and Barras， wretches like Fouché， Guffroy and Javogues， crazy enthusiasts like David， savage maniacs like Carrier， paltry simpletons like Joseph Lebon， common fanatics like Levasseur， Baubot， Jeanbon-Saint-André， Romme and Lebas. Add also， and especially， the future iron-handed representatives， uncouth， authoritarian， and narrow-minded， excellent troopers for a political militia， Bourbotte， Duquesnoy， Rewbell， and Bentabole， "a lot of ignorant bastards，" said Danton，[15] "without any common sense， and patriotic only when drunk.
Marat is nothing but a bawler. Legendre is fit for nothing but to cut up his meat. The rest are good for little else than voting by either sitting down or standing up， but they are cold blooded and have broad shoulders." From amongst these energetic nonentities we see ascending a young monster， with calm， handsome features， Saint-Just. He is a kind of precocious Sylla， 25 years old and a new-comer， who springs at once from the ranks and， by dint of atrocities， obtains a prominent position.[16] Six years before this he began life by a domestic robbery； on a visit to his mother， he left the house during the night， carrying off the plate and jewels， which he squandered while living in a lodging house in the Rue Fromenteau， in the center of Parisian prostitution；[17] on the strength of this， and at the demand of his friends， he is shut up in a house of correction for six months. On returning to his lodgings he occupied himself with writing an obscene poem in the style of La Pucelle and then， through a fit of rage resembling a spasm， he plunged headlong into the Revolution. He possessed a "blood calcified by study，" a colossal pride， an unhinged conscience， a pompous， gloomy imagination haunted with the bloody recollections of Rome and Sparta， an intelligence so warped and twisted as to be comfortable only among excessive paradoxes， shameless sophistry， and devastating lies.[18] All these dangerous ingredients which， mingled in the crucible of suppressed， concentrated ambition， long and silently boiling within him， have led to a constant defiance， a determined callousness， an automatic rigidity， and to the summary politics of the Utopian dictator and exterminator. -- It is plain that such a minority will not obey parliamentary rules， and， rather than yield to the majority that it will introduce into the debate boos and hisses， insults， threats， and scuffles with daggers， pistols， sabers and even the "blunder busses" of a veritable combat.
"Vile intriguers， calumniators， scoundrels， monsters， assassins， blackguards， fools and hogs，" such are the usual terms in which they address each other， and these form the least of their outrages.[19]
The president， at certain sessions， is obliged three times to put on his hat and， at last， breaks his bell. They insult him， force him to leave his seat and demand that "he be removed.' Bazire tries to snatch a declaration presented by him "out of his hands." Bourdon， from the department of Oise， cries out to him that if he "dares to read it he will assassinate him."[20] The chamber "has become an arena of gladiators."[21] Sometimes the entire "Mountain" darts from its benches on the left， while a similar human wave rolls down from those on the right； both clash in the center of the room amidst furious screams and shouts； in one of these hubbubs one of the "Mountain"having drawn a pistol the Girondist Duperret draws his sword.[22]
After the middle of December prominent members of the "Right，"constantly persecuted， threatened and outraged，" reduced to "being out every night， are compelled to carry arms in self-defense，"[23] and， after the King's execution， "almost all" bring them to the sessions of the Convention. Any day， indeed， they may look for the final attack， and they are not disposed to die unavenged： during the night of March 9， finding that they are only forty-three， they agree to launch themselves in a body "at the first hostile movement， against their adversaries and kill as many as possible" before perishing.[24]
It is a desperate resource， but the only one. For， besides the madmen belonging to the Convention， they have against them the madmen in the galleries， and these likewise are September murderers. The vilest Jacobin rabble purposely takes its stand near them， at first in the old Riding-school， and then in the new hall in the Tuileries. They see above and in a circle around them drilled adversaries， eight or nine hundred heads packed "in the great gallery at the bottom， under a deep and silent vault，" and， besides these， on the sides， a thousand or fifteen hundred more， two immense tribunes completely filled.[25] The galleries of the Constituent and Legislative Assemblies， compared with these， were calm. Nothing is more disgraceful to the Convention， writes a foreign spectator，[26] than the insolence of the audience.
One of the regulations prohibits， indeed， any mark of approval or disapproval， "but it is violated every day， and nobody is ever punished for this delinquency." The majority in vain expresses its indignation at this "gang of hired ruffians，" who beset and oppress it， while at the very time that it utters its complaints， it endures and tolerates it. "The struggle is frightful，" says a deputy，[27]
