For the rest, there is still no lack of stimulants, and stepdame maltreatments, to keep one’s resolution at the due pitch.  Factious disturbance ceases not:  as indeed how can they, unless authoritatively conjured, in a Revolt which is by nature bottomless?  If the ceasing of faction be the price of the King’s somnolence, he may awake when he will, and take wing.

Remark, in any case, what somersets and contortions a dead Catholicism is making,—­skilfully galvanised:  hideous, and even piteous, to behold!  Jurant and Dissident, with their shaved crowns, argue frothing everywhere; or are ceasing to argue, and stripping for battle.  In Paris was scourging while need continued:  contrariwise, in the Morbihan of Brittany, without scourging, armed Peasants are up, roused by pulpit-drum, they know not why.  General Dumouriez, who has got missioned thitherward, finds all in sour heat of darkness; finds also that explanation and conciliation will still do much. (Deux Amis, v. 410-21; Dumouriez, ii. c. 5.)

But again, consider this:  that his Holiness, Pius Sixth, has seen good to excommunicate Bishop Talleyrand!  Surely, we will say then, considering it, there is no living or dead Church in the Earth that has not the indubitablest right to excommunicate Talleyrand.  Pope Pius has right and might, in his way.  But truly so likewise has Father Adam, ci-devant Marquis Saint-Huruge, in his way.  Behold, therefore, on the Fourth of May, in the Palais-Royal, a mixed loud-sounding multitude; in the middle of whom, Father Adam, bull-voiced Saint-Huruge, in white hat, towers visible and audible.  With him, it is said, walks Journalist Gorsas, walk many others of the washed sort; for no authority will interfere.  Pius Sixth, with his plush and tiara, and power of the Keys, they bear aloft:  of natural size,—­made of lath and combustible gum.  Royou, the King’s Friend, is borne too in effigy; with a pile of Newspaper King’s-Friends, condemned numbers of the Ami-du-Roi; fit fuel of the sacrifice.  Speeches are spoken; a judgment is held, a doom proclaimed, audible in bull-voice, towards the four winds.  And thus, amid great shouting, the holocaust is consummated, under the summer sky; and our lath-and-gum Holiness, with the attendant victims, mounts up in flame, and sinks down in ashes; a decomposed Pope:  and right or might, among all the parties, has better or worse accomplished itself, as it could. (Hist.  Parl. x. 99-102.) But, on the whole, reckoning from Martin Luther in the Marketplace of Wittenberg to Marquis Saint-Huruge in this Palais-Royal of Paris, what a journey have we gone; into what strange territories has it carried us!  No Authority can now interfere.  Nay Religion herself, mourning for such things, may after all ask, What have I to do with them?