The Election.

Up, then, and be doing!  The royal signal-word flies through France, as through vast forests the rushing of a mighty wind.  At Parish Churches, in Townhalls, and every House of Convocation; by Bailliages, by Seneschalsies, in whatsoever form men convene; there, with confusion enough, are Primary Assemblies forming.  To elect your Electors; such is the form prescribed:  then to draw up your ’Writ of Plaints and Grievances (Cahier de plaintes et doleances),’ of which latter there is no lack.

With such virtue works this Royal January Edict; as it rolls rapidly, in its leathern mails, along these frostbound highways, towards all the four winds.  Like some fiat, or magic spell-word;—­which such things do resemble!  For always, as it sounds out ‘at the market-cross,’ accompanied with trumpet-blast; presided by Bailli, Seneschal, or other minor Functionary, with beef-eaters; or, in country churches is droned forth after sermon, ‘au prone des messes paroissales;’ and is registered, posted and let fly over all the world,—­you behold how this multitudinous French People, so long simmering and buzzing in eager expectancy, begins heaping and shaping itself into organic groups.  Which organic groups, again, hold smaller organic grouplets:  the inarticulate buzzing becomes articulate speaking and acting.  By Primary Assembly, and then by Secondary; by ‘successive elections,’ and infinite elaboration and scrutiny, according to prescribed process—­shall the genuine ‘Plaints and Grievances’ be at length got to paper; shall the fit National Representative be at length laid hold of.

How the whole People shakes itself, as if it had one life; and, in thousand-voiced rumour, announces that it is awake, suddenly out of long death-sleep, and will thenceforth sleep no more!  The long looked-for has come at last; wondrous news, of Victory, Deliverance, Enfranchisement, sounds magical through every heart.  To the proud strong man it has come; whose strong hands shall no more be gyved; to whom boundless unconquered continents lie disclosed.  The weary day-drudge has heard of it; the beggar with his crusts moistened in tears.  What!  To us also has hope reached; down even to us?  Hunger and hardship are not to be eternal?  The bread we extorted from the rugged glebe, and, with the toil of our sinews, reaped and ground, and kneaded into loaves, was not wholly for another, then; but we also shall eat of it, and be filled?  Glorious news (answer the prudent elders), but all-too unlikely!—­Thus, at any rate, may the lower people, who pay no money-taxes and have no right to vote, (Reglement du Roi in Histoire Parlementaire, as above, i. 267-307.) assiduously crowd round those that do; and most Halls of Assembly, within doors and without, seem animated enough.

Paris, alone of Towns, is to have Representatives; the number of them twenty.  Paris is divided into Sixty Districts; each of which (assembled in some church, or the like) is choosing two Electors.  Official deputations pass from District to District, for all is inexperience as yet, and there is endless consulting.  The streets swarm strangely with busy crowds, pacific yet restless and loquacious; at intervals, is seen the gleam of military muskets; especially about the Palais, where Parlement, once more on duty, sits querulous, almost tremulous.