may see some image of himself, and of his own state and ways.  So it runs its hundred nights, and all France runs with it; laughing applause.  If the soliloquising Barber ask:  “What has your Lordship done to earn all this?” and can only answer:  “You took the trouble to be born (Vous vous etes donne la peine de naitre),” all men must laugh:  and a gay horse-racing Anglomaniac Noblesse loudest of all.  For how can small books have a great danger in them? asks the Sieur Caron; and fancies his thin epigram may be a kind of reason.  Conqueror of a golden fleece, by giant smuggling; tamer of hell-dogs, in the Parlement Maupeou; and finally crowned Orpheus in the Theatre Francais, Beaumarchais has now culminated, and unites the attributes of several demigods.  We shall meet him once again, in the course of his decline.

Still more significant are two Books produced on the eve of the ever-memorable Explosion itself, and read eagerly by all the world:  Saint-Pierre’s Paul et Virginie, and Louvet’s Chevalier de Faublas.  Noteworthy Books; which may be considered as the last speech of old Feudal France.  In the first there rises melodiously, as it were, the wail of a moribund world:  everywhere wholesome Nature in unequal conflict with diseased perfidious Art; cannot escape from it in the lowest hut, in the remotest island of the sea.  Ruin and death must strike down the loved one; and, what is most significant of all, death even here not by necessity, but by etiquette.  What a world of prurient corruption lies visible in that super-sublime of modesty!  Yet, on the whole, our good Saint-Pierre is musical, poetical though most morbid:  we will call his Book the swan-song of old dying France.

Louvet’s again, let no man account musical.  Truly, if this wretched Faublas is a death-speech, it is one under the gallows, and by a felon that does not repent.  Wretched cloaca of a Book; without depth even as a cloaca!  What ‘picture of French society’ is here?  Picture properly of nothing, if not of the mind that gave it out as some sort of picture.  Yet symptom of much; above all, of the world that could nourish itself thereon.

BOOK 1.III.

THE PARLEMENT OF PARIS

Chapter 1.3.I.

Dishonoured Bills.

While the unspeakable confusion is everywhere weltering within, and through so many cracks in the surface sulphur-smoke is issuing, the question arises:  Through what crevice will the main Explosion carry itself?  Through which of the old craters or chimneys; or must it, at once, form a new crater for itself?  In every Society are such chimneys, are Institutions serving as such:  even Constantinople is not without its safety-valves; there too Discontent can vent itself,—­in material fire; by the number of nocturnal conflagrations, or of hanged bakers, the Reigning Power can read the signs of the times, and change course according to these.