hen also the
force of public opinion, grows so dangerous, confused! Philosophedom
sneers aloud, as if its Necker already triumphed. The gaping populace
gapes over Wood-cuts or Copper-cuts; where, for example, a Rustic is
represented convoking the poultry of his barnyard, with this opening
address: "Dear animals, I have assembled you to advise me what sauce I
shall dress you with;" to which a Cock responding, "We don't want to be
eaten," is checked by "You wander from the point (Vous vous ecartez
de la question)." (Republished in the Musee de la Caricature (Paris,
1834).) Laughter and logic; ballad-singer, pamphleteer; epigram and
caricature: what wind of public opinion is this,--as if the Cave of the
Winds were bursting loose! At nightfall, President Lamoignon steals
over to the Controller's; finds him 'walking with large strides in his
chamber, like one out of himself.' (Besenval, iii. 209.) With rapid
confused speech the Controller begs M. de Lamoignon to give him 'an
advice.' Lamoignon candidly answers that, except in regard to his own
anticipated Keepership, unless that would prove remedial, he really
cannot take upon him to advise.

'On the Monday after Easter,' the 9th of April 1787, a date one rejoices
to verify, for nothing can excel the indolent falsehood of these
Histoires and Memoires,--'On the Monday after Easter, as I, Besenval,
was riding towards Romainville to the Marechal de Segur's, I met a
friend on the Boulevards, who told me that M. de Calonne was out. A
little further on came M. the Duke d'Orleans, dashing towards me, head
to the wind' (trotting a l'Anglaise), 'and confirmed the news.' (Ib.
iii. 211.) It is true news. Treacherous Garde-des-Sceaux Miromenil is
gone, and Lamoignon is appointed in his room: but appointed for his own
profit only, not for the Controller's: 'next day' the Controller also
has had to move. A little longer he may linger near; be seen among the
money changers, and even 'working in the Controller's office,' where
much lies unfinished: but neither will that hold. Too strong blows and
beats this tempest of public opinion, of private intrigue, as from the
Cave of all the Winds; and blows him (higher Authority giving sign)
out of Paris and France,--over the horizon, into Invisibility, or uuter
(utter, outer?) Darkness.

Such destiny the magic of genius could not forever avert. Ungrateful
Oeil-de-Boeuf! did he not miraculously rain gold manna on you; so that,
as a Courtier said,