e for them; his royal war-standard, with
what of divinity it has, unrolls itself, summoning the world. Put him to
death? A cruel questionable extremity that too: and yet the likeliest in
these extreme circumstances, of insurrectionary men, whose own life and
death lies staked: accordingly it is said, from the last step of the
throne to the first of the scaffold there is short distance.

But, on the whole, we will remark here that this business of Louis
looks altogether different now, as seen over Seas and at the distance
of forty-four years, than it looked then, in France, and struggling,
confused all round one! For indeed it is a most lying thing that same
Past Tense always: so beautiful, sad, almost Elysian-sacred, 'in the
moonlight of Memory,' it seems; and seems only. For observe: always, one
most important element is surreptitiously (we not noticing it) withdrawn
from the Past Time: the haggard element of Fear! Not there does Fear
dwell, nor Uncertainty, nor Anxiety; but it dwells here; haunting us,
tracking us; running like an accursed ground-discord through all the
music-tones of our Existence;--making the Tense a mere Present one! Just
so is it with this of Louis. Why smite the fallen? asks Magnanimity, out
of danger now. He is fallen so low this once-high man; no criminal nor
traitor, how far from it; but the unhappiest of Human Solecisms: whom if
abstract Justice had to pronounce upon, she might well become concrete
Pity, and pronounce only sobs and dismissal!

So argues retrospective Magnanimity: but Pusillanimity, present,
prospective? Reader, thou hast never lived, for months, under the
rustle of Prussian gallows-ropes; never wert thou portion of a
National Sahara-waltz, Twenty-five millions running distracted to
fight Brunswick! Knights Errant themselves, when they conquered Giants,
usually slew the Giants: quarter was only for other Knights Errant,
who knew courtesy and the laws of battle. The French Nation, in
simultaneous, desperate dead-pull, and as if by miracle of madness,
has pulled down the most dread Goliath, huge with the growth of ten
centuries; and cannot believe, though his giant bulk, covering acres,
lies prostrate, bound with peg and packthread, that he will not rise
again, man-devouring; that the victory is not partly a dream. Terror
has its scepticism; miraculous victory its rage of vengeance. Then as to
criminalty, is the prostrated Giant, who will devour us if he rise, an
innocent Giant