instantaneous Sessions; let the
Parlement, and the Earth, and the Heavens know it.

Chapter 1.3.VIII.

Lomenie's Death-throes.

On the morrow, which is the 3rd of May, 1788, an astonished Parlement
sits convoked; listens speechless to the speech of D'Espremenil,
unfolding the infinite misdeed. Deed of treachery; of unhallowed
darkness, such as Despotism loves! Denounce it, O Parlement of Paris;
awaken France and the Universe; roll what thunder-barrels of forensic
eloquence thou hast: with thee too it is verily Now or never!

The Parlement is not wanting, at such juncture. In the hour of his
extreme jeopardy, the lion first incites himself by roaring, by
lashing his sides. So here the Parlement of Paris. On the motion of
D'Espremenil, a most patriotic Oath, of the One-and-all sort, is sworn,
with united throat;--an excellent new-idea, which, in these coming
years, shall not remain unimitated. Next comes indomitable Declaration,
almost of the rights of man, at least of the rights of Parlement;
Invocation to the friends of French Freedom, in this and in subsequent
time. All which, or the essence of all which, is brought to paper; in a
tone wherein something of plaintiveness blends with, and tempers, heroic
valour. And thus, having sounded the storm-bell,--which Paris hears,
which all France will hear; and hurled such defiance in the teeth of
Lomenie and Despotism, the Parlement retires as from a tolerable first
day's work.

But how Lomenie felt to see his cockatrice-egg (so essential to the
salvation of France) broken in this premature manner, let readers fancy!
Indignant he clutches at his thunderbolts (de Cachet, of the Seal);
and launches two of them: a bolt for D'Espremenil; a bolt for that busy
Goeslard, whose service in the Second Twentieth and 'strict valuation'
is not forgotten. Such bolts clutched promptly overnight, and launched
with the early new morning, shall strike agitated Paris if not into
requiescence, yet into wholesome astonishment.

Ministerial thunderbolts may be launched; but if they do not hit?
D'Espremenil and Goeslard, warned, both of them, as is thought, by
the singing of some friendly bird, elude the Lomenie Tipstaves; escape
disguised through skywindows, over roofs, to their own Palais de
Justice: the thunderbolts have missed. Paris (for the buzz flies abroad)
is struck into astonishment not wholesome. The two martyrs of Liberty
doff their disguises; don their long gowns; behold, in