this huge
circuit, where all is out of measure, gigantic, the mind cannot repress
some movement of terror and wonder; the imagination recals those dread
temples which Poetry, of old, had consecrated to the Avenging Deities.'
(Toulongeon, ii. 124.)

Scenes too are in this Jacobin Amphitheatre,--had History time for them.
Flags of the 'Three free Peoples of the Universe,' trinal brotherly
flags of England, America, France, have been waved here in concert; by
London Deputation, of Whigs or Wighs and their Club, on this hand, and
by young French Citizenesses on that; beautiful sweet-tongued Female
Citizens, who solemnly send over salutation and brotherhood, also
Tricolor stitched by their own needle, and finally Ears of Wheat;
while the dome rebellows with Vivent les trois peuples libres! from all
throats:--a most dramatic scene. Demoiselle Theroigne recites, from that
Tribune in mid air, her persecutions in Austria; comes leaning on the
arm of Joseph Chenier, Poet Chenier, to demand Liberty for the hapless
Swiss of Chateau-Vieux. (Debats des Jacobins (Hist. Parl. xiii. 259,
&c.).) Be of hope, ye Forty Swiss; tugging there, in the Brest waters;
not forgotten!

Deputy Brissot perorates from that Tribune; Desmoulins, our wicked
Camille, interjecting audibly from below, "Coquin!" Here, though
oftener in the Cordeliers, reverberates the lion-voice of Danton; grim
Billaud-Varennes is here; Collot d'Herbois, pleading for the Forty
Swiss; tearing a passion to rags. Apophthegmatic Manuel winds up in
this pithy way: "A Minister must perish!"--to which the Amphitheatre
responds: "Tous, Tous, All, All!" But the Chief Priest and Speaker of
this place, as we said, is Robespierre, the long-winded incorruptible
man. What spirit of Patriotism dwelt in men in those times, this one
fact, it seems to us, will evince: that fifteen hundred human creatures,
not bound to it, sat quiet under the oratory of Robespierre; nay,
listened nightly, hour after hour, applausive; and gaped as for the word
of life. More insupportable individual, one would say, seldom opened his
mouth in any Tribune. Acrid, implacable-impotent; dull-drawling, barren
as the Harmattan-wind! He pleads, in endless earnest-shallow speech,
against immediate War, against Woollen Caps or Bonnets Rouges, against
many things; and is the Trismegistus and Dalai-Lama of Patriot men. Whom
nevertheless a shrill-voiced little man, yet with fine eyes, and a broad
beautifully sloping brow,