ration, in several hearts.
There is the pale, grinning Shadow of Death, ceremoniously ushered along
by another grinning Shadow, of Etiquette; at intervals the growl of
Chapel Organs, like prayer by machinery; proclaiming, as in a kind of
horrid diabolic horse-laughter, _Vanity of vanities, all is Vanity!_'

At every stage in the narrative, the reader is impressed with the
dramatic texture of Carlyle's mind. No dramatic writer surpasses him in
the art of producing effects by contrasts. In the midst of a vigorous
description of the storming of the Bastille, he rings down the curtain
for a moment in order to introduce the following scene of idyllic
beauty: 'O evening sun of July, how, at this hour, thy beams fall slant
on reapers amid peaceful woody fields; on old women spinning in
cottages; on ships far out in the silent main; on Balls at the Orangerie
of Versailles, where high-rouged Dames of the Palace are even now
dancing with double-jacketed Hussar officers;--and also on this roaring
Hell-porch of a Hotel-de-Ville!'

Equally effective is Carlyle in rendering vivid the doings of the
individual actors in the drama. For photographic minuteness and
startling realism what can equal the following:--'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 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 snatche