falls in which its possessors are precipitated
from the heights of heaven to the very depths of the earth? of that
path of pain along which they must forever bear the burden of their
responsibility? of that chain of decorums and ennuis which encompasses
every act of their lives, and leaves them so little liberty?

The partisans of despotism adhere with reason to forms and ceremonies.
If men wish to give unlimited power to their fellow-man, they must keep
him separated from ordinary humanity; they must surround him with a
continual worship, and, by a constant ceremonial, keep up for him
the superhuman part they have granted him. Our masters cannot remain
absolute, except on condition of being treated as idols.

But, after all, these idols are men, and, if the exclusive life they
must lead is an insult to the dignity of others, it is also a torment to
themselves. Everyone knows the law of the Spanish court, which used to
regulate, hour by hour, the actions of the king and queen; "so that,"
says Voltaire, "by reading it one can tell all that the sovereigns of
Spain have done, or will do, from Philip II to the day of judgment." It
was by this law that Philip III, when sick, was obliged to endure such
an excess of heat that he died in consequence, because the Duke of
Uzeda, who alone had the right to put out the fire in the royal chamber,
happened to be absent.

When the wife of Charles II was run away with on a spirited horse, she
was about to perish before anyone dared to save her, because etiquette
forbade them to touch the queen. Two young officers endangered their
lives for her by stopping the horse. The prayers and tears of her whom
they had just snatched from death were necessary to obtain pardon for
their crime. Every one knows the anecdote related by Madame Campan of
Marie Antoinette, wife of Louis XVI. One day, being at her toilet, when
the chemise was about to be presented to her by one of the assistants,
a lady of very ancient family entered and claimed the honor, as she had
the right by etiquette; but, at the moment she was about to fulfil her
duty, a lady of higher rank appeared, and in her turn took the garment
she was about to offer to the queen; when a third lady of still higher
title came in her turn, and was followed by a fourth, who was no other
than the king's sister. The chemise was in this manner passed from hand
to hand, with ceremonies, courtesies, and compliments, before it came
to the queen, who