Mark, again, how the extreme tip of the Left is mounting in favour, if not in its own National Hall, yet with the Nation, especially with Paris.  For in such universal panic of doubt, the opinion that is sure of itself, as the meagrest opinion may the soonest be, is the one to which all men will rally.  Great is Belief, were it never so meagre; and leads captive the doubting heart!  Incorruptible Robespierre has been elected Public Accuser in our new Courts of Judicature; virtuous Petion, it is thought, may rise to be Mayor.  Cordelier Danton, called also by triumphant majorities, sits at the Departmental Council-table; colleague there of Mirabeau.  Of incorruptible Robespierre it was long ago predicted that he might go far, mean meagre mortal though he was; for Doubt dwelt not in him.

Under which circumstances ought not Royalty likewise to cease doubting, and begin deciding and acting?  Royalty has always that sure trump-card in its hand:  Flight out of Paris.  Which sure trump-card, Royalty, as we see, keeps ever and anon clutching at, grasping; and swashes it forth tentatively; yet never tables it, still puts it back again.  Play it, O Royalty!  If there be a chance left, this seems it, and verily the last chance; and now every hour is rendering this a doubtfuller.  Alas, one would so fain both fly and not fly; play one’s card and have it to play.  Royalty, in all human likelihood, will not play its trump-card till the honours, one after one, be mainly lost; and such trumping of it prove to be the sudden finish of the game!

Here accordingly a question always arises; of the prophetic sort; which cannot now be answered.  Suppose Mirabeau, with whom Royalty takes deep counsel, as with a Prime Minister that cannot yet legally avow himself as such, had got his arrangements completed?  Arrangements he has; far-stretching plans that dawn fitfully on us, by fragments, in the confused darkness.  Thirty Departments ready to sign loyal Addresses, of prescribed tenor:  King carried out of Paris, but only to Compiegne and Rouen, hardly to Metz, since, once for all, no Emigrant rabble shall take the lead in it:  National Assembly consenting, by dint of loyal Addresses, by management, by force of Bouille, to hear reason, and follow thither! (See Fils Adoptif, vii. 1. 6; Dumont, c. 11, 12, 14.) Was it so, on these terms, that Jacobinism and Mirabeau were then to grapple, in their Hercules-and-Typhon duel; death inevitable for the one or the other?  The duel itself is determined on, and sure:  but on what terms; much more, with what issue, we in vain guess.  It is vague darkness all:  unknown what is to be; unknown even what has already been.  The giant Mirabeau walks in darkness, as we said; companionless, on wild ways:  what his thoughts during these months were, no record of Biographer, not vague Fils Adoptif, will now ever disclose.