Some Consolation to Mankind.

Of the Federation Feast itself we shall say almost nothing.  There are Tents pitched in the Champ-de-Mars; tent for National Assembly; tent for Hereditary Representative,—­who indeed is there too early, and has to wait long in it.  There are Eighty-three symbolical Departmental Trees-of-Liberty; trees and mais enough:  beautifullest of all these is one huge mai, hung round with effete Scutcheons, Emblazonries and Genealogy-books; nay better still, with Lawyers’-bags, ’sacs de procedure:’  which shall be burnt.  The Thirty seat-rows of that famed Slope are again full; we have a bright Sun; and all is marching, streamering and blaring:  but what avails it?  Virtuous Mayor Petion, whom Feuillantism had suspended, was reinstated only last night, by Decree of the Assembly.  Men’s humour is of the sourest.  Men’s hats have on them, written in chalk, ‘Vive Petion;’ and even, ’Petion or Death, Petion ou la Mort.’

Poor Louis, who has waited till five o’clock before the Assembly would arrive, swears the National Oath this time, with a quilted cuirass under his waistcoat which will turn pistol-bullets. (Campan, ii. c. 20; De Stael, ii. c. 7.) Madame de Stael, from that Royal Tent, stretches out the neck in a kind of agony, lest the waving multitudes which receive him may not render him back alive.  No cry of Vive le Roi salutes the ear; cries only of Vive Petion; Petion ou la Mort.  The National Solemnity is as it were huddled by; each cowering off almost before the evolutions are gone through.  The very Mai with its Scutcheons and Lawyers’-bags is forgotten, stands unburnt; till ’certain Patriot Deputies,’ called by the people, set a torch to it, by way of voluntary after-piece.  Sadder Feast of Pikes no man ever saw.

Mayor Petion, named on hats, is at his zenith in this Federation; Lafayette again is close upon his nadir.  Why does the stormbell of Saint-Roch speak out, next Saturday; why do the citizens shut their shops? (Moniteur, Seance du 21 Juillet 1792.) It is Sections defiling, it is fear of effervescence.  Legislative Committee, long deliberating on Lafayette and that Anti-jacobin Visit of his, reports, this day, that there is ‘not ground for Accusation!’ Peace, ye Patriots, nevertheless; and let that tocsin cease:  the Debate is not finished, nor the Report accepted; but Brissot, Isnard and the Mountain will sift it, and resift it, perhaps for some three weeks longer.

So many bells, stormbells and noises do ring;—­scarcely audible; one drowning the other.  For example:  in this same Lafayette tocsin, of Saturday, was there not withal some faint bob-minor, and Deputation of Legislative, ringing the Chevalier Paul Jones to his long rest; tocsin or dirge now all one to him!  Not ten days hence Patriot Brissot, beshouted this day by the Patriot Galleries, shall find himself begroaned by them, on account of his limited Patriotism; nay pelted at while perorating, and ‘hit with two prunes.’ (Hist.  Parl. xvi. 185.) It is a distracted empty-sounding world; of bob-minors and bob-majors, of triumph and terror, of rise and fall!