DANTON, GEORGES-JACQUES, was b. at Areis-sur-Aube, 28th Oct., 1759. At the out break of the French revolution, he was practicing as an advocate in Paris, but did not enjoy much reputation, on account of his dissolute' habits. The fierce half-savage nature of the man, however, immediately found a fitting sphere for its action in the chaos into which France then fell. Mirabeau quickly detected his genius, and hastened to attach D. to himself. President of the district of the Cordeliers, D. ruled it at his will. Along with Marat and Camille Desmoulins, he instituted the Cordeliers' club, an exaggerated copy of that of the Jacobins. It soon became the rallying-point of all the hotter revolutionists. There the tall brawny man, with harsh and daring counte nance, terrible black brows, and a voice of enormous power, thundered against the aristocrats, till the passions of the populace rose into ungovernable fury. It was not, however, till after the flight of Louis that the political ride of D. commenced. On the 17th July, 1791, he and others assembled the people of Paris in the Champ-de-Mars. and goaded them on by furious declamation to sign a petition for the deposition of the king. Some time after, he became procureur-substitut for the city of Paris. The court, which found that it could not frighten D., now attempted to bribe him. It is not certain that he proved venal, but the evidence undoubtedly leaves a strong suspicion of his venality on the mind. Be that as it may. be soon broke off his secret intercourse with the royal ist agents, and became more the implacable enemy of the monarchy than before. It was D. who excited to action the wild sanguinary rabble that, on the 10th of Aug., 1792, stormed the Tuileries, and butchered the faithful Swiss. The reward of his fatal elo quence was the office of minister of justice, and here the gigantic personality of the man seemed to overshadow all the surrounding figures. He stood forth as the incarnate spirit of the revolution, manifesting alike its heroic audacity in the presence of danger from without, and its maniacal terror in the presence of danger from within. The advance of the Prussians seemed for a moment to inspire France with a panic. On the 2d of Sept., D. mounted the tribune, and addressed the legislative assembly in a speech of tremendous power, probably the most effective delivered during the whole of the revolution. It closed with these words regarding the enemies of France: "Pour les vainere, pour les attcrrer, vue faut-il? De l'audace, encore de l'andace et toujours de l'audace." France quivered to its-core with enthusiasm. " In a few weeks, 14 repub lican armies stood upon the field of battle, and repelled with unexampled bravery the aggressions of the allied forces." But unhappily that "audacity" by which alone D. thought it possible for France to save herself, required for its perfection the immola tion of the imprisoned royalists. On the very evening when D. spoke, the frightful Sept. massacres began. D. publicly thanked the assassins, " not as the minister of justice, but as the minister of the revolution." Elected by the city of Paris one of its deputies to the national convention, lie resigned his judicial function, and zealously hurried on the trial of the king. As a proof of his ferocious decision of character when pressed by difficulties, it is recorded that one of his friends having pointed out that the convention could not legally try the king, " You are right," instantly replied Danton. " So, we will
not try him; we will kill kin6 !" In the mean time, D. was sent on a mission to the army of the north, commanded by Dumourier, with whom he was soon on very close terms of intimacy—too much so, indeed, for the suspicious soul of his old friend Marat. The defection of Dumourier was the signal for Marat to give vent to his suspicions. It therefore became necessary for D. to throw himself again into the van of the revolution ary movement. On the 10th Mar., 1793, he established the "extraordinary criminal tribunal," which was at liberty to make what arrests it pleased, and from whose deadly decisions there was no appeal. He also became president of the '• committee of public safety." D. now set himself to crush the Girondists, or moderate party, alleging, with singular candor, that "in a revolution the authority ought to belong to the greatest scoundrels." In this he was supported by Robespierre, now gliding into power swiftly and silently like a serpent. After he had effected his purpose, however, a species of remorse seems to have seized him. He objected to the institution of the guillotine. This trait of moderation lost him the favor of the Jacobins or mountain party, whose murderous instincts led them to select Robespierre as a chief, on the permanence of whose cruelty mare reliance might be placed. Several other indications of returning humanity lessened his influence still more, and at the close of 1793, D. felt that a crisis was approaching. A fruitless attempt was made to reconcile Robespierre and him. They had an interview, but parted on worse terms than ever. It was now a struggle for life between them; but D., sick of the revolution, and conscious that it was rapidly becoming a sham, (a thing which D., with all his faults, could not abide), gave himself un to a sort of reckless apathy, which enabled the sleepless Robespierre to ruin him. His friends endeavored to rouse him. " I would rather be guillotined than guillotine," lie answered. Blinded by the consciousness of his own inherent power, he also declared that his enemies "would not dare" to lift their finger against him. But men of the stamp of Robespierre—though essentially cowards, and incapable of facing danger with honest straightforwardness—have a certain furtive audacity that emboldens them to attack a greater than themselves, if circumstances are favorable. So Robespierre sprang at D., and so the great anarch perished. On the night of the 30th Mar., 1794, lie was :Arrested, and brought before that revolutionary tribunal which he himself had established. summarily condemned, and, along with Desmoulins and others, was guillotined on the 5th of April. He predicted the fate of Robespierre, calling him " au infamous poltroon," and immediately added, " I was the only man who saved him." D, was an atheist•-not a calm, thoughtful dispassionate disbeliever in the existence of God, but one who, by his own vices, and the general godlessness of the times in which lie lived, had been robbed of the spirit and power of faith in the Unseen. When formally interrogated regarding his name and dwelling, he replied: "My dwelling-place will soon be annihilated, and my name will live in the pantheon of history."