travel now their last road. No help. They too must
'look through the little window;' they too 'must sneeze into the sack,'
eternuer dans le sac; as they have done to others so is it done to
them. Sainte-Guillotine, meseems, is worse than the old Saints of
Superstition; a man-devouring Saint? Clootz, still with an air of
polished sarcasm, endeavours to jest, to offer cheering 'arguments of
Materialism;' he requested to be executed last, 'in order to establish
certain principles,'--which Philosophy has not retained. General Ronsin
too, he still looks forth with some air of defiance, eye of command: the
rest are sunk in a stony paleness of despair. Momoro, poor Bibliopolist,
no Agrarian Law yet realised,--they might as well have hanged thee at
Evreux, twenty months ago, when Girondin Buzot hindered them. Hebert
Pere Duchene shall never in this world rise in sacred right of
insurrection; he sits there low enough, head sunk on breast; Red
Nightcaps shouting round him, in frightful parody of his Newspaper
Articles, "Grand choler of the Pere Duchene!" Thus perish they; the
sack receives all their heads. Through some section of History, Nineteen
spectre-chimeras shall flit, speaking and gibbering; till Oblivion
swallow them.

In the course of a week, the Revolutionary Army itself is disbanded; the
General having become spectral. This Faction of Rabids, therefore, is
also purged from the Republican soil; here also the baited falltraps of
that Pitt have been wrenched up harmless; and anew there is joy over
a Plot Discovered. The Revolution then is verily devouring its own
children. All Anarchy, by the nature of it, is not only destructive but
self-destructive.

Chapter 3.6.II.

Danton, No weakness.

Danton, meanwhile, has been pressingly sent for from Arcis: he must
return instantly, cried Camille, cried Phelippeaux and Friends, who
scented danger in the wind. Danger enough! A Danton, a Robespierre,
chief-products of a victorious Revolution, are now arrived in immediate
front of one another; must ascertain how they will live together, rule
together. One conceives easily the deep mutual incompatibility that
divided these two: with what terror of feminine hatred the poor seagreen
Formula looked at the monstrous colossal Reality, and grew greener
to behold him;--the Reality, again, struggling to think no ill of
a chief-product of the Revolution; yet feeling at bottom that such
chief-product was little other than a chief win