Je le jure.
With these signs of the times, is it not surprising that the
dominant feeling all over France was still continually Hope? O
blessed Hope, sole boon of man; whereby, on his strait prison
walls, are painted beautiful far-stretching landscapes; and into
the night of very Death is shed holiest dawn! Thou art to all an
indefeasible possession in this God’s-world: to the wise a sacred
Constantine’s-banner, written on the eternal skies; under which
they _shall_ conquer, for the battle itself is victory: to the
foolish some secular _mirage_, or shadow of still waters, painted
on the parched Earth; whereby at least their dusty pilgrimage, if
devious, becomes cheerfuller, becomes possible.
In the death-tumults of a sinking Society, French Hope sees only
the birth-struggles of a new unspeakably better Society; and
sings, with full assurance of faith, her brisk Melody, which some
inspired fiddler has in these very days composed for her,—the
world-famous _Ça-ira_. Yes; “that will go:” and then there will
_come—?_ All men hope: even Marat hopes—that Patriotism will take
muff and dirk. King Louis is not without hope: in the chapter of
chances; in a flight to some Bouillé; in getting popularized at
Paris. But what a hoping People he had, judge by the fact, and
series of facts, now to be noted.
Poor Louis, meaning the best, with little insight and even less
determination of his own, has to follow, in that dim wayfaring of
his, such signal as may be given him; by backstairs Royalism, by
official or backstairs Constitutionalism, whichever for the month
may have convinced the royal mind. If flight to Bouillé, and
(horrible to think!) a drawing of the civil sword do hang as
theory, portentous in the background, much nearer is this fact of
these Twelve Hundred Kings, who sit in the _Salle de Manége_.
Kings uncontrollable by him, not yet irreverent to him. Could
kind management of these but prosper, how much better were it
than armed Emigrants, Turin-intrigues, and the help of Austria!
Nay, are the _two_ hopes inconsistent? Rides in the suburbs, we
have found, cost little; yet they always brought _vivats_.[284]
Still cheaper is a soft word; such as has many times turned away
wrath. In these rapid days, while France is all getting divided
into Departments, Clergy about to be remodelled, Popular
Societies rising, and Feudalism and so much ever is ready to be
hurled into the melting-pot,—might one not try?
On the 4th of February, accordingly, M. le Président reads to his
National Assembly a short autograph, announcing that his Majesty
will step over, quite in an unceremonious way, probably about
noon. Think, therefore, Messieurs, what it may mean; especially,
how ye will get the Hall decorated a little. The Secretaries’
Bureau can be shifted down from the platform; on the President’s
chair be slipped this cover of velvet, “of a violet colour
sprigged with gold fleur-de-lys;”—for indeed M. le Président has
had previous notice underhand, and taken counsel with Doctor
Guillotin. Then some fraction of “velvet carpet,” of like texture
and colour, cannot that be spread in front of the chair, where
the Secretaries usually sit? So has judicious Guillotin advised:
and the effect is found satisfactory. Moreover, as it is probable
that his Majesty, in spite of the fleur-de-lys-velvet, will stand
and not sit at all, the President himself, in the interim,
presides standing. And so, while some honourable Member is
discussing, say, the division of a Department, Ushers announce:
‘His Majesty!’ In person, with small suite, enter Majesty: the
honourable Member stops short; the Assembly starts to its feet;
the Twelve Hundred Kings “almost all,” and the Galleries no less,
do welcome the Restorer of French Liberty with loyal shouts. His
Majesty’s Speech, in diluted conventional phraseology, expresses
this mainly: That he, most of all Frenchmen, rejoices to see
France getting regenerated; is sure, at the same time, that they
will deal gently with her in the process, and not regenerate her
_roughly_. Such was his Majesty’s Speech: the feat he performed
was coming to speak it, and going back again.
Surely, except to a very hoping People, there was not much here
to build upon. Yet what did they not build! The fact that the
King has spoken, that he has voluntarily come to speak, how
inexpressibly encouraging! Did not the glance of his royal
countenance, like concentrated sunbeams, kindle all hearts in an
august Assembly; nay thereby in an inflammable enthusiastic
France? To move “Deputation of thanks” can be the happy lot of
but one man; to go in such Deputation the lot of not many. The
Deputed have gone, and returned with what highest-flown
compliment they could; whom also the Queen met, Dauphin in hand.
And still do not our hearts burn with insatiable gratitude; and
to one other man a still higher blessedness suggests itself: To
move that we all renew the National Oath.
Happiest honourable Member, with his word so in season as word
seldom was; magic Fugleman of a whole National Assembly, which
sat there bursting to do somewhat; Fugleman of a whole onlooking
France! The President swears; declares that every one shall
swear, in distinct _je le jure_. Nay the very Gallery sends him
down a written slip signed, with their Oath on it; and as the
Assembly now casts an eye that way, the Gallery all stands up and
swears again. And then out of doors, consider at the
Hôtel-de-Ville how Bailly, the great Tennis-Court swearer, again
swears, towards nightful, with all the Municipals, and Heads of
Districts assembled there. And “M. Danton suggests that the
public would like to partake:” whereupon Bailly, with escort of
Twelve, steps forth to the great outer staircase; sways the
ebullient multitude with stretched hand: takes their oath, with a
thunder of “rolling drums,” with shouts that rend the welkin. And
on all streets the glad people, with moisture and fire in their
eyes, “spontaneously formed groups, and swore one
another,”[285]—and the whole City was illuminated. This was the
Fourth of February 1790: a day to be marked white in
Constitutional annals.
Nor is the illumination for a night only, but partially or
totally it lasts a series of nights. For each District, the
Electors of each District, will swear specially; and always as
the District swears; it illuminates itself. Behold them, District
after District, in some open square, where the Non-Electing
People can all see and join: with their uplifted right hands, and
_je le jure:_ with rolling drums, with embracings, and that
infinite hurrah of the enfranchised,—which any tyrant that there
may be can consider! Faithful to the King, to the Law, to the
Constitution which the National Assembly _shall_ make.
Fancy, for example, the Professors of Universities parading the
streets with their young France, and swearing, in an enthusiastic
manner, not without tumult. By a larger exercise of fancy, expand
duly this little word: The like was repeated in every Town and
District of France! Nay one Patriot Mother, in Lagnon of
Brittany, assembles her ten children; and, with her own aged
hand, swears them all herself, the highsouled venerable woman. Of
all which, moreover, a National Assembly must be eloquently
apprised. Such three weeks of swearing! Saw the sun ever such a
swearing people? Have they been bit by a swearing tarantula? No:
but they are men and Frenchmen; they have Hope; and, singular to
say, they have Faith, were it only in the Gospel according to
Jean Jacques. O my Brothers! would to Heaven it were even as ye
think and have sworn! But there are Lovers’ Oaths, which, had
they been true as love itself, _cannot_ be kept; not to speak of
Dicers’ Oaths, also a known sort.