Still more indubitable, visible to the mere bodily sight, is this:  that the Cordeliers Club sits pale, with anger and terror; and has ’veiled the Rights of Man,’—­without effect.  Likewise that the Jacobins are in considerable confusion; busy ’purging themselves, ‘s’epurant,’ as, in times of Plot and public Calamity, they have repeatedly had to do.  Not even Camille Desmoulins but has given offence:  nay there have risen murmurs against Danton himself; though he bellowed them down, and Robespierre finished the matter by ‘embracing him in the Tribune.’

Whom shall the Republic and a jealous Mother Society trust?  In these times of temptation, of Preternatural Insight!  For there are Factions of the Stranger, ‘de l’etranger,’ Factions of Moderates, of Enraged; all manner of Factions:  we walk in a world of Plots; strings, universally spread, of deadly gins and falltraps, baited by the gold of Pitt!  Clootz, Speaker of Mankind so-called, with his Evidences of Mahometan Religion, and babble of Universal Republic, him an incorruptible Robespierre has purged away.  Baron Clootz, and Paine rebellious Needleman lie, these two months, in the Luxembourg; limbs of the Faction de l’etranger.  Representative Phelippeaux is purged out:  he came back from La Vendee with an ill report in his mouth against rogue Rossignol, and our method of warfare there.  Recant it, O Phelippeaux, we entreat thee!  Phelippeaux will not recant; and is purged out.  Representative Fabre d’Eglantine, famed Nomenclator of Romme’s Calendar, is purged out; nay, is cast into the Luxembourg:  accused of Legislative Swindling ’in regard to monies of the India Company.’  There with his Chabots, Bazires, guilty of the like, let Fabre wait his destiny.  And Westermann friend of Danton, he who led the Marseillese on the Tenth of August, and fought well in La Vendee, but spoke not well of rogue Rossignol, is purged out.  Lucky, if he too go not to the Luxembourg.  And your Prolys, Guzmans, of the Faction of the Stranger, they have gone; Peyreyra, though he fled is gone, ‘taken in the disguise of a Tavern Cook.’  I am suspect, thou art suspect, he is suspect!—­

The great heart of Danton is weary of it.  Danton is gone to native Arcis, for a little breathing time of peace:  Away, black Arachne-webs, thou world of Fury, Terror, and Suspicion; welcome, thou everlasting Mother, with thy spring greenness, thy kind household loves and memories; true art thou, were all else untrue!  The great Titan walks silent, by the banks of the murmuring Aube, in young native haunts that knew him when a boy; wonders what the end of these things may be.