Mankind.
Pardonable are human theatricalities; nay perhaps touching, like
the passionate utterance of a tongue which with sincerity
_stammers;_ of a head which with insincerity _babbles_,—having
gone distracted. Yet, in comparison with unpremeditated outbursts
of Nature, such as an Insurrection of Women, how foisonless,
unedifying, undelightful; like small ale palled, like an
effervescence that has effervesced! Such scenes, coming of
forethought, were they world-great, and never so cunningly
devised, are at bottom mainly pasteboard and paint. But the
others are original; emitted from the great everliving heart of
Nature herself: what figure _they_ will assume is unspeakably
significant. To us, therefore, let the French National Solemn
League, and Federation, be the highest recorded triumph of the
Thespian Art; triumphant surely, since the whole Pit, which was
of Twenty-five Millions, not only claps hands, but does itself
spring on the boards and passionately set to playing there. And
being such, be it treated as such: with sincere cursory
admiration; with wonder from afar. A whole Nation gone mumming
deserves so much; but deserves not that loving minuteness a
Menadic Insurrection did. Much more let prior, and as it were,
rehearsal scenes of Federation come and go, henceforward, as they
list; and, on Plains and under City-walls, innumerable regimental
bands blare off into the Inane, without note from us.
One scene, however, the hastiest reader will momentarily pause
on: that of Anacharsis Clootz and the Collective sinful Posterity
of Adam.—For a Patriot Municipality has now, on the 4th of June,
got its plan concocted, and got it sanctioned by National
Assembly; a Patriot King assenting; to whom, were he even free to
dissent, Federative harangues, overflowing with loyalty, have
doubtless a transient sweetness. There shall come Deputed
National Guards, so many in the hundred, from each of the
Eighty-three Departments of France. Likewise from all Naval and
Military King’s Forces, shall Deputed quotas come; such
Federation of National with Royal Soldier has, taking place
spontaneously, been already seen and sanctioned. For the rest, it
is hoped, as many as forty thousand may arrive: expenses to be
borne by the Deputing District; of all which let District and
Department take thought, and elect fit men,—whom the Paris
brethren will fly to meet and welcome.
Now, therefore, judge if our Patriot Artists are busy; taking
deep counsel how to make the Scene worthy of a look from the
Universe! As many as fifteen thousand men, spade-men, barrow-men,
stone-builders, rammers, with their engineers, are at work on the
Champ-de-Mars; hollowing it out into a natural Amphitheatre, fit
for such solemnity. For one may hope it will be annual and
perennial; a “Feast of Pikes, _Fête des Piques_,” notablest among
the high-tides of the year: in any case ought not a Scenic free
Nation to have some permanent National Amphitheatre? The
Champ-de-Mars is getting hollowed out; and the daily talk and the
nightly dream in most Parisian heads is of Federation, and that
only. Federate Deputies are already under way. National Assembly,
what with its natural work, what with hearing and answering
harangues of Federates, of this Federation, will have enough to
do! Harangue of “American Committee,” among whom is that faint
figure of Paul Jones “as with the stars dim-twinkling through
it,”—come to congratulate us on the prospect of such auspicious
day. Harangue of Bastille Conquerors, come to “renounce” any
special recompense, any peculiar place at the solemnity;—since
the Centre Grenadiers rather grumble. Harangue of “Tennis-Court
Club,” who enter with far-gleaming Brass-plate, aloft on a pole,
and the Tennis-Court Oath engraved thereon; which far gleaming
Brass-plate they purpose to affix solemnly in the Versailles
original locality, on the 20th of this month, which is the
anniversary, as a deathless memorial, for some years: they will
then dine, as they come back, in the Bois de
Boulogne;[292]—cannot, however, do it without apprising the
world. To such things does the august National Assembly ever and
anon cheerfully listen, suspending its regenerative labours; and
with some touch of impromptu eloquence, make friendly reply;—as
indeed the wont has long been; for it is a gesticulating,
sympathetic People, and has a heart, and wears it on its sleeve.
In which circumstances, it occurred to the mind of Anacharsis
Clootz that while so much was embodying itself into Club or
Committee, and perorating applauded, there yet remained a greater
and greatest; of which, if _it_ also took body and perorated,
what might not the effect be: Humankind namely, _le Genre Humain_
itself! In what rapt creative moment the Thought rose in
Anacharsis’s soul; all his throes, while he went about giving
shape and birth to it; how he was sneered at by cold worldlings;
but did sneer again, being a man of polished sarcasm; and moved
to and fro persuasive in coffeehouse and soirée, and dived down
assiduous-obscure in the great deep of Paris, making his Thought
a Fact: of all this the spiritual biographies of that period say
nothing. Enough that on the 19th evening of June 1790, the Sun’s
slant rays lighted a spectacle such as our foolish little Planet
has not often had to show: Anacharsis Clootz entering the august
Salle de Manége, with the Human Species at his heels. Swedes,
Spaniards, Polacks; Turks, Chaldeans, Greeks, dwellers in
Mesopotamia: behold them all; they have come to claim place in
the grand Federation, having an undoubted interest in it.
‘Our ambassador titles,’ said the fervid Clootz, ‘are not written
on parchment, but on the living hearts of all men.’ These
whiskered Polacks, long-flowing turbaned Ishmaelites,
astrological Chaldeans, who stand so mute here, let them plead
with you, august Senators, more eloquently than eloquence could.
They are the mute representatives of their tongue-tied,
befettered, heavy-laden Nations; who from out of that dark
bewilderment gaze wistful, amazed, with half-incredulous hope,
towards you, and this your bright light of a French Federation:
bright particular day-star, the herald of universal day. We claim
to stand there, as mute monuments, pathetically adumbrative of
much.—From bench and gallery comes “repeated applause;” for what
august Senator but is flattered even by the very shadow of Human
Species depending on him? From President Sieyes, who presides
this remarkable fortnight, in spite of his small voice, there
comes eloquent though shrill reply. Anacharsis and the
“Foreigners Committee” shall have place at the Federation; on
condition of telling their respective Peoples what they see
there. In the mean time, we invite them to the “honours of the
sitting, _honneur de la séance_.” A long-flowing Turk, for
rejoinder, bows with Eastern solemnity, and utters articulate
sounds: but owing to his imperfect knowledge of the French
dialect,[293] his words are like spilt water; the thought he had
in him remains conjectural to this day.
Anacharsis and Mankind accept the honours of the sitting; and
have forthwith, as the old Newspapers still testify, the
satisfaction to see several things. First and chief, on the
motion of Lameth, Lafayette, Saint-Fargeau and other Patriot
Nobles, let the others repugn as they will: all Titles of
Nobility, from Duke to Esquire, or lower, are henceforth
_abolished_. Then, in like manner, Livery Servants, or rather the
Livery of Servants. Neither, for the future, shall any man or
woman, self-styled noble, be “incensed,”—foolishly fumigated with
incense, in Church; as the wont has been. In a word, Feudalism
being dead these ten months, why should her empty trappings and
scutcheons survive? The very Coats-of-arms will require to be
obliterated;—and yet Cassandra Marat on this and the other
coach-panel notices that they “are but painted-over,” and
threaten to peer through again.
So that henceforth de Lafayette is but the Sieur Motier, and
Saint-Fargeau is plain Michel Lepelletier; and Mirabeau soon
after has to say huffingly, ‘With your _Riquetti_ you have set
Europe at cross-purposes for three days.’ For his Counthood is
not indifferent to this man; which indeed the admiring People
treat him with to the last. But let extreme Patriotism rejoice,
and chiefly Anacharsis and Mankind; for now it seems to be taken
for granted that one Adam is Father of us all!—
Such was, in historical accuracy, the famed feat of Anacharsis.
Thus did the most extensive of Public Bodies find a sort of
spokesman. Whereby at least we may judge of one thing: what a
humour the once sniffing mocking City of Paris and Baron Clootz
had got into; when such exhibition could appear a propriety, next
door to a sublimity. It is true, Envy did in after times, pervert
this success of Anacharsis; making him, from incidental “Speaker
of the Foreign-Nations Committee,” claim to be official permanent
“Speaker, _Orateur_, of the Human Species,” which he only
deserved to be; and alleging, calumniously, that his astrological
Chaldeans, and the rest, were a mere French tag-rag-and-bobtail
disguised for the nonce; and, in short, sneering and fleering at
him in _her_ cold barren way; all which, however, he, the man he
was, could receive on thick enough panoply, or even rebound
therefrom, and also go _his_ way.
Most extensive of Public Bodies, we may call it; and also the
most unexpected: for who could have thought to see All Nations in
the Tuileries Riding-Hall? But so it is; and truly as strange
things may happen when a whole People goes mumming and miming.
Hast not thou thyself perchance seen diademed Cleopatra, daughter
of the Ptolemies, pleading, almost with bended knee, in unheroic
tea-parlour, or dimlit retail-shop, to inflexible gross Burghal
Dignitary, for leave to reign and die; being dressed for it, and
moneyless, with small children;—while suddenly Constables have
shut the Thespian barn, and her Antony pleaded in vain? Such
visual spectra flit across this Earth, if the Thespian Stage be
rudely interfered with: but much more, when, as was said, Pit
jumps on Stage, then is it verily, as in Herr Tieck’s Drama, a
_Verkehrte Welt_, of World Topsy-turvied!
Having seen the Human Species itself, to have seen the “_Dean_ of
the Human Species,” ceased now to be a miracle. Such “_Doyen du
Genre Humain_, Eldest of Men,” had shewn himself there, in these
weeks: Jean Claude Jacob, a born Serf, deputed from his native
Jura Mountains to thank the National Assembly for enfranchising
them. On his bleached worn face are ploughed the furrowings of
one hundred and twenty years. He has heard dim _patois_-talk, of
immortal Grand-Monarch victories; of a burnt Palatinate, as _he_
toiled and moiled to make a little speck of this Earth greener;
of Cevennes Dragoonings; of Marlborough going to the war. Four
generations have bloomed out, and loved and hated, and rustled
off: he was forty-six when Louis Fourteenth died. The Assembly,
as one man, spontaneously rose, and did reverence to the Eldest
of the World; old Jean is to take _séance_ among them,
honourably, with covered head. He gazes feebly there, with his
old eyes, on that new wonder-scene; dreamlike to him, and
uncertain, wavering amid fragments of old memories and dreams.
For Time is all growing unsubstantial, dreamlike; Jean’s eyes and
mind are weary, and about to close,—and open on a far other
wonder-scene, which shall be real. Patriot Subscription, Royal
Pension was got for him, and he returned home glad; but in two
months more he left it all, and went on his unknown way.[294]