Let us look at the case of M. de la Rochefoucauld. A philanthropist since he was young， a liberal on entering the Constituent Assembly， elected president of the Paris department， one of the most persistent， most generous， and most respected patriots from first to last， -- who better deserved to be spared than？ Arrested at Gisors[68] by order of the Paris Commune， he left the inn， escorted by the Parisian commissary， surrounded by the municipal council， twelve gendarmes and one hundred National Guards； behind him walked his mother， eighty years of age， his wife following in a carriage； there could be no fear of an escape. But， for a suspected person， death is more certain than a prison； three hundred volunteers of the Orne and the Sarthe departments， on their way through Gisors， collect and cry out： "We must have his head -- nothing shall stop us！" A stone hits M. de la Rochefoucauld on the temple； he falters， his escort is broken up， and they finish him with clubs and sabers， while the municipal council "have barely time to drive off the carriage containing the ladies." --Accordingly， national justice， in the hands of the volunteers， has its sudden outbursts， its excesses， its reactions， the effect of which it is not advisable to wait for. For example， at Cambray，[69] a division of foot-gendarmerie had just left the town， and it occurs to them that they had forgotten "to purge the prison". It returns， seizes the keeper， takes him to the H？tel-de-ville， examines the prison register， sets at liberty those whose crimes seem to it excusable， and provides them with passports. On the other hand， it kills a former royal procureur， on whom addresses are found tainted with "aristocratic principles，" an unpopular lieutenant-colonel， and a suspected captain.
-- However slight or ill-founded a suspicion， so much the worse for the officer on whom it falls！ At Charleville，[70] two loads of arms having passed through one gate instead of another， to avoid a bad road， M. Juchereau， inspector of the manufacture of arms and commander of the place， is declared a traitor by the volunteers and the crowd， torn from the hands of the municipal officers， clubbed to the ground， stamped on， and stabbed. His head， fixed to a pike， is paraded through Charleville， then into Mézières， where it is thrown into the river running between the two towns. The body remains， and this the municipality orders to be interred； but it is not worthy of burial；the murderers get hold of it， and cast it into the water that it may join the head. In the meantime the lives of the municipal officers hang by a single thread. One is seized by the throat； another is knocked out of his chair and threatened with hanging， a gun is aimed at him and he is beaten and kicked； subsequently a plot is devised "to cut off their heads and plunder their houses."He who disposes of lives， indeed， also disposes of property. Roland has only to flick through two or three reports to see how patriotism furnishes a cloak for brutal license and greed. At Coucy， in the department of Aisne，[71] the peasantry of seventeen parishes， assembled for the purpose of furnishing their military quota， rush with a loud clamor to two houses， the property of M. des Fossés， a former deputy to the Constituent Assembly， and the two finest in the town； one of them had been occupied by Henry IV. Some of the municipal officers who try to interfere are nearly cut to pieces， and the entire municipal body takes to flight. M. des Fossés， with his two daughters， succeed in hiding themselves in an obscure corner in the vicinity， and afterwards in a small tenement offered to them by a humane gardener， and finally， after great difficulty， they reach Soissons. Of his two houses， "nothing remains but the walls. Windows， casings， doors， and wainscoting， all are shattered"； twenty thousand francs of assignats in a portfolio are destroyed or carried off； the title-deeds of the property are not to be found， and the damage is estimated at 200，000 francs. The pillage lasted from seven o'clock in the morning to seven o'clock in the evening， and， as is always the case， ended in a fête. The plunderers， entering the cellars， drank "two hogsheads of wine and two casks of brandy； thirty or forty remained dead drunk， and were taken away with considerable difficulty." There is no prosecution， no investigation； the new mayor， who， one month after， makes up his mind to denounce the act， begs the Minister not to give his name， for， he says， "the agitators in the council-general of the Commune threaten， with fearful consequences， whoever is discovered to have written to you."[72] -- Such is the ever-present menace under which the gentry live， even when veterans in the service of freedom； Roland， foremost in his files， finds heartrending letters addressed directly to him， as a last recourse.
