Chapter 2.5.V.

Kings and Emigrants.

Extremely rheumatic Constitutions have been known to march, and keep on their feet, though in a staggering sprawling manner, for long periods, in virtue of one thing only:  that the Head were healthy.  But this Head of the French Constitution!  What King Louis is and cannot help being, Readers already know.  A King who cannot take the Constitution, nor reject the Constitution:  nor do anything at all, but miserably ask, What shall I do?  A King environed with endless confusions; in whose own mind is no germ of order.  Haughty implacable remnants of Noblesse struggling with humiliated repentant Barnave-Lameths:  struggling in that obscure element of fetchers and carriers, of Half-pay braggarts from the Cafe Valois, of Chambermaids, whisperers, and subaltern officious persons; fierce Patriotism looking on all the while, more and more suspicious, from without:  what, in such struggle, can they do?  At best, cancel one another, and produce zero.  Poor King!  Barnave and your Senatorial Jaucourts speak earnestly into this ear; Bertrand-Moleville, and Messengers from Coblentz, speak earnestly into that:  the poor Royal head turns to the one side and to the other side; can turn itself fixedly to no side.  Let Decency drop a veil over it:  sorrier misery was seldom enacted in the world.  This one small fact, does it not throw the saddest light on much?  The Queen is lamenting to Madam Campan:  “What am I to do?  When they, these Barnaves, get us advised to any step which the Noblesse do not like, then I am pouted at; nobody comes to my card table; the King’s Couchee is solitary.” (Campan, ii. 177-202.) In such a case of dubiety, what is one to do?  Go inevitably to the ground!

The King has accepted this Constitution, knowing beforehand that it will not serve:  he studies it, and executes it in the hope mainly that it will be found inexecutable.  King’s Ships lie rotting in harbour, their officers gone; the Armies disorganised; robbers scour the highways, which wear down unrepaired; all Public Service lies slack and waste:  the Executive makes no effort, or an effort only to throw the blame on the Constitution.  Shamming death, ‘faisant le mort!’ What Constitution, use it in this manner, can march?  ‘Grow to disgust the Nation’ it will truly, (Bertrand-Moleville, i. c. 4.)—­unless you first grow to disgust the Nation!  It is Bertrand de Moleville’s plan, and his Majesty’s; the best they can form.

Or if, after all, this best-plan proved too slow; proved a failure?  Provident of that too, the Queen, shrouded in deepest mystery, ’writes all day, in cipher, day after day, to Coblentz;’ Engineer Goguelat, he of the Night of Spurs, whom the Lafayette Amnesty has delivered from Prison, rides and runs.  Now and then, on fit occasion, a Royal familiar visit can be paid to that Salle de Manege, an affecting encouraging Royal Speech (sincere, doubt it not, for the moment) can be delivered there, and the Senators all cheer and almost weep;—­at the same time Mallet du Pan has visibly ceased editing, and invisibly bears abroad a King’s Autograph, soliciting help from the Foreign Potentates.  (Moleville, i. 370.) Unhappy Louis, do this thing or else that other,—­if thou couldst!