.

As in the Age of Gold.

Meanwhile to Paris, ever going and returning, day after day, and all day
long, towards that Field of Mars, it becomes painfully apparent that the
spadework there cannot be got done in time. There is such an area of it;
three hundred thousand square feet: for from the Ecole militaire (which
will need to be done up in wood with balconies and galleries) westward
to the Gate by the river (where also shall be wood, in triumphal
arches), we count same thousand yards of length; and for breadth,
from this umbrageous Avenue of eight rows, on the South side, to that
corresponding one on the North, some thousand feet, more or less. All
this to be scooped out, and wheeled up in slope along the sides; high
enough; for it must be rammed down there, and shaped stair-wise into
as many as 'thirty ranges of convenient seats,' firm-trimmed with
turf, covered with enduring timber;--and then our huge pyramidal
Fatherland's-Altar, Autel de la Patrie, in the centre, also to be
raised and stair-stepped! Force-work with a vengeance; it is a World's
Amphitheatre! There are but fifteen days good; and at this languid rate,
it might take half as many weeks. What is singular too, the spademen
seem to work lazily; they will not work double-tides, even for offer of
more wages, though their tide is but seven hours; they declare angrily
that the human tabernacle requires occasional rest!

Is it Aristocrats secretly bribing? Aristocrats were capable of that.
Only six months since, did not evidence get afloat that subterranean
Paris, for we stand over quarries and catacombs, dangerously, as it were
midway between Heaven and the Abyss, and are hollow underground,--was
charged with gunpowder, which should make us 'leap?' Till a Cordelier's
Deputation actually went to examine, and found it--carried off again!
(23rd December, 1789 (Newspapers in Hist. Parl. iv. 44).) An accursed,
incurable brood; all asking for 'passports,' in these sacred days.
Trouble, of rioting, chateau-burning, is in the Limousin and elsewhere;
for they are busy! Between the best of Peoples and the best of
Restorer-Kings, they would sow grudges; with what a fiend's-grin would
they see this Federation, looked for by the Universe, fail!

Fail for want of spadework, however, it shall not. He that has four
limbs, and a French heart, can do spadework; and will! On the first
July Monday, scarcely has the signal-cannon boomed; scarcely have the
languescent mercena