very heart. The Palais Royal has
become a place of awestruck interjections, silent shakings of the head:
one can fancy with what dolorous sound the noon-tide cannon (which the
Sun fires at the crossing of his meridian) went off there; bodeful, like
an inarticulate voice of doom. (Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 81.) Are
these troops verily come out 'against Brigands'? Where are the Brigands?
What mystery is in the wind?--Hark! a human voice reporting articulately
the Job's-news: Necker, People's Minister, Saviour of France, is
dismissed. Impossible; incredible! Treasonous to the public peace! Such
a voice ought to be choked in the water-works; (Ibid.)--had not the
news-bringer quickly fled. Nevertheless, friends, make of it what
you will, the news is true. Necker is gone. Necker hies northward
incessantly, in obedient secrecy, since yesternight. We have a new
Ministry: Broglie the War-god; Aristocrat Breteuil; Foulon who said the
people might eat grass!

Rumour, therefore, shall arise; in the Palais Royal, and in broad
France. Paleness sits on every face; confused tremor and fremescence;
waxing into thunder-peals, of Fury stirred on by Fear.

But see Camille Desmoulins, from the Cafe de Foy, rushing out, sibylline
in face; his hair streaming, in each hand a pistol! He springs to a
table: the Police satellites are eyeing him; alive they shall not
take him, not they alive him alive. This time he speaks without
stammering:--Friends, shall we die like hunted hares? Like sheep hounded
into their pinfold; bleating for mercy, where is no mercy, but only a
whetted knife? The hour is come; the supreme hour of Frenchman and Man;
when Oppressors are to try conclusions with Oppressed; and the word is,
swift Death, or Deliverance forever. Let such hour be well-come! Us,
meseems, one cry only befits: To Arms! Let universal Paris, universal
France, as with the throat of the whirlwind, sound only: To arms!--"To
arms!" yell responsive the innumerable voices: like one great voice, as
of a Demon yelling from the air: for all faces wax fire-eyed, all hearts
burn up into madness. In such, or fitter words, (Ibid.) does Camille
evoke the Elemental Powers, in this great moment.--Friends, continues
Camille, some rallying sign! Cockades; green ones;--the colour of
hope!--As with the flight of locusts, these green tree leaves; green
ribands from the neighbouring shops; all green things are snatched,
and made cockades of. Camille descends from his ta