"See," wrote Desmoulins, "see how the furious satellites of La Fayette rush from their barracks, or rather from their taverns,--see, they assemble and load their arms with ball, in the presence of the people, whilst the battalions of _aristocrates_ mutually excite each other to the massacre. It is chiefly in the eyes of the cavalry that you behold the love of blood aroused by the double influence of wine and vengeance. It was against women and babes that this army of butchers chiefly directed their fury. The altar of the country is strewn with dead bodies,--it is thus that La Fayette has dyed his hands in the gore of citizens: those hands which, in my eyes, will ever appear to reek with this innocent blood--this very spot where he had raised them to heaven to swear to defend them. From this moment, the most worthy citizens are proscribed; they are arrested in their beds, their papers are seized, their presses broken, and lists of the names of those proscribed are signed; the _moderes_ sign these lists, and then display them. 'Society must be purged,' is their cry, 'of such men as _Brissot_, _Carra_, _Petion_, _Bonneville_, _Freron_, _Danton_, and _Camille_.' Danton and I found safety in flight alone from our assassins. The patriots are timid factions." "And," added _Freron_, "there are men to be found, who venture to justify these cowardly murders--these informations--these _lettres de cachet_--these seizures of papers--these confiscations of presses. The red flag floats for a week from the balcony of the Hotel-de-Ville, like as in times of old, the banners torn from the grasp of the dying foeman floated from the arched roof of our temples." In another part he says, "Marat's presses have been seized--the name of the author should have sufficed to protect the typographer. The press is sacred, as sacred as the cradle of the first-born, which even the officers of the law have orders to respect. The silence of the tomb reigns in the city, the public places are deserted, and the theatres re-echo alone with servile applause of royalism, that triumphs alike on the stage and in our streets. You were impatient, Bailly, and you treacherous, La Fayette, to employ that terrible weapon, martial law, so dangerous, so difficult to be wielded. No, no, nought can ever efface the indelible stain of the blood of your brethren, that has spurted over your scarfs and your uniforms. It has sunk even to your heart--it is a slow poison that will consume ye all."