irtuous Petion, it
is thought, may rise to be Mayor. Cordelier Danton, called also by
triumphant majorities, sits at the Departmental Council-table; colleague
there of Mirabeau. Of incorruptible Robespierre it was long ago
predicted that he might go far, mean meagre mortal though he was; for
Doubt dwelt not in him.

Under which circumstances ought not Royalty likewise to cease doubting,
and begin deciding and acting? Royalty has always that sure trump-card
in its hand: Flight out of Paris. Which sure trump-card, Royalty, as we
see, keeps ever and anon clutching at, grasping; and swashes it forth
tentatively; yet never tables it, still puts it back again. Play it, O
Royalty! If there be a chance left, this seems it, and verily the last
chance; and now every hour is rendering this a doubtfuller. Alas, one
would so fain both fly and not fly; play one's card and have it to play.
Royalty, in all human likelihood, will not play its trump-card till the
honours, one after one, be mainly lost; and such trumping of it prove to
be the sudden finish of the game!

Here accordingly a question always arises; of the prophetic sort; which
cannot now be answered. Suppose Mirabeau, with whom Royalty takes deep
counsel, as with a Prime Minister that cannot yet legally avow himself
as such, had got his arrangements completed? Arrangements he has;
far-stretching plans that dawn fitfully on us, by fragments, in the
confused darkness. Thirty Departments ready to sign loyal Addresses, of
prescribed tenor: King carried out of Paris, but only to Compiegne and
Rouen, hardly to Metz, since, once for all, no Emigrant rabble shall
take the lead in it: National Assembly consenting, by dint of loyal
Addresses, by management, by force of Bouille, to hear reason, and
follow thither! (See Fils Adoptif, vii. 1. 6; Dumont, c. 11, 12, 14.)
Was it so, on these terms, that Jacobinism and Mirabeau were then to
grapple, in their Hercules-and-Typhon duel; death inevitable for the one
or the other? The duel itself is determined on, and sure: but on
what terms; much more, with what issue, we in vain guess. It is vague
darkness all: unknown what is to be; unknown even what has already been.
The giant Mirabeau walks in darkness, as we said; companionless, on
wild ways: what his thoughts during these months were, no record of
Biographer, not vague Fils Adoptif, will now ever disclose.

To us, endeavouring to cast his horoscope, it of course remains doubly
vague. Th