Scenes too are in this Jacobin Amphitheatre,—­had History time for them.  Flags of the ‘Three free Peoples of the Universe,’ trinal brotherly flags of England, America, France, have been waved here in concert; by London Deputation, of Whigs or Wighs and their Club, on this hand, and by young French Citizenesses on that; beautiful sweet-tongued Female Citizens, who solemnly send over salutation and brotherhood, also Tricolor stitched by their own needle, and finally Ears of Wheat; while the dome rebellows with Vivent les trois peuples libres! from all throats:—­a most dramatic scene.  Demoiselle Theroigne recites, from that Tribune in mid air, her persecutions in Austria; comes leaning on the arm of Joseph Chenier, Poet Chenier, to demand Liberty for the hapless Swiss of Chateau-Vieux. (Debats des Jacobins (Hist.  Parl. xiii. 259, &c.).) Be of hope, ye Forty Swiss; tugging there, in the Brest waters; not forgotten!

Deputy Brissot perorates from that Tribune; Desmoulins, our wicked Camille, interjecting audibly from below, “Coquin!” Here, though oftener in the Cordeliers, reverberates the lion-voice of Danton; grim Billaud-Varennes is here; Collot d’Herbois, pleading for the Forty Swiss; tearing a passion to rags.  Apophthegmatic Manuel winds up in this pithy way:  “A Minister must perish!”—­to which the Amphitheatre responds:  “Tous, Tous, All, All!” But the Chief Priest and Speaker of this place, as we said, is Robespierre, the long-winded incorruptible man.  What spirit of Patriotism dwelt in men in those times, this one fact, it seems to us, will evince:  that fifteen hundred human creatures, not bound to it, sat quiet under the oratory of Robespierre; nay, listened nightly, hour after hour, applausive; and gaped as for the word of life.  More insupportable individual, one would say, seldom opened his mouth in any Tribune.  Acrid, implacable-impotent; dull-drawling, barren as the Harmattan-wind!  He pleads, in endless earnest-shallow speech, against immediate War, against Woollen Caps or Bonnets Rouges, against many things; and is the Trismegistus and Dalai-Lama of Patriot men.  Whom nevertheless a shrill-voiced little man, yet with fine eyes, and a broad beautifully sloping brow, rises respectfully to controvert:  he is, say the Newspaper Reporters, ’M.  Louvet, Author of the charming Romance of Faublas.’  Steady, ye Patriots!  Pull not yet two ways; with a France rushing panic-stricken in the rural districts, and a Cimmerian Europe storming in on you!

Chapter 2.5.IX.

Minister Roland.

About the vernal equinox, however, one unexpected gleam of hope does burst forth on Patriotism:  the appointment of a thoroughly Patriot Ministry.  This also his Majesty, among his innumerable experiments of wedding fire to water, will try.  Quod bonum sit.  Madame d’Udon’s Breakfasts have jingled with a new significance; not even Genevese Dumont but had a word in it.  Finally, on the 15th and onwards to the 23d day of March, 1792, when all is negociated,—­this is the blessed issue; this Patriot Ministry that we see.