rds and
otherwise. The French explosion, not anticipated by the cunningest men
there on the spot scrutinizing it, burst up unlimited, complete, defying
computation or control.

Close following which, as if by sympathetic subterranean electricities,
all Europe exploded, boundless, uncontrollable; and we had the year
1848, one of the most singular, disastrous, amazing, and, on the whole,
humiliating years the European world ever saw. Not since the irruption
of the Northern Barbarians has there been the like. Everywhere
immeasurable Democracy rose monstrous, loud, blatant, inarticulate
as the voice of Chaos. Everywhere the Official holy-of-holies was
scandalously laid bare to dogs and the profane:--Enter, all the world,
see what kind of Official holy it is. Kings everywhere, and reigning
persons, stared in sudden horror, the voice of the whole world bellowing
in their ear, "Begone, ye imbecile hypocrites, histrios not heroes! Off
with you, off!" and, what was peculiar and notable in this year for the
first time, the Kings all made haste to go, as if exclaiming, "We _are_
poor histrios, we sure enough;--did you want heroes? Don't kill us;
we couldn't help it!" Not one of them turned round, and stood upon his
Kingship, as upon a right he could afford to die for, or to risk
his skin upon; by no manner of means. That, I say, is the alarming
peculiarity at present. Democracy, on this new occasion, finds all Kings
conscious that they are but Play-actors. The miserable mortals, enacting
their High Life Below Stairs, with faith only that this Universe may
perhaps be all a phantasm and hypocrisis,--the truculent Constable of
the Destinies suddenly enters: "Scandalous Phantasms, what do _you_
here? Are 'solemnly constituted Impostors' the proper Kings of men?
Did you think the Life of Man was a grimacing dance of apes? To be led
always by the squeak of your paltry fiddle? Ye miserable, this Universe
is not an upholstery Puppet-play, but a terrible God's Fact; and you,
I think,--had not you better begone!" They fled precipitately, some
of them with what we may call an exquisite ignominy,--in terror of the
treadmill or worse. And everywhere the people, or the populace, take
their own government upon themselves; and open "kinglessness," what
we call _anarchy_,--how happy if it be anarchy _plus_ a
street-constable!--is everywhere the order of the day. Such was the
history, from Baltic to Mediterranean, in Italy, France, Prussia,
Austri