courage, arrives at the Barrier; in an open carriage; with the Municipal
beside him; five hundred horsemen with drawn sabres; unarmed footmen
enough, not without noise! Placards go brandished round him; bearing
legibly his indictment, as Sansculottism, with unlegal brevity, 'in huge
letters,' draws it up. ('Il a vole le Roi et la France (He robbed the
King and France).' 'He devoured the substance of the People.' 'He was
the slave of the rich, and the tyrant of the poor.' 'He drank the blood
of the widow and orphan.' 'He betrayed his country.' See Deux Amis,
ii. 67-73.) Paris is come forth to meet him: with hand-clappings, with
windows flung up; with dances, triumph-songs, as of the Furies! Lastly
the Head of Foulon: this also meets him on a pike. Well might his 'look
become glazed,' and sense fail him, at such sight!--Nevertheless, be
the man's conscience what it may, his nerves are of iron. At the
Hotel-de-Ville, he will answer nothing. He says, he obeyed superior
order; they have his papers; they may judge and determine: as for
himself, not having closed an eye these two nights, he demands, before
all things, to have sleep. Leaden sleep, thou miserable Berthier! Guards
rise with him, in motion towards the Abbaye. At the very door of the
Hotel-de-Ville, they are clutched; flung asunder, as by a vortex of mad
arms; Berthier whirls towards the Lanterne. He snatches a musket; fells
and strikes, defending himself like a mad lion; is borne down, trampled,
hanged, mangled: his Head too, and even his Heart, flies over the City
on a pike.

Horrible, in Lands that had known equal justice! Not so unnatural in
Lands that had never known it. Le sang qui coule est-il donc si pure?
asks Barnave; intimating that the Gallows, though by irregular methods,
has its own.--Thou thyself, O Reader, when thou turnest that corner of
the Rue de la Vannerie, and discernest still that same grim Bracket
of old Iron, wilt not want for reflections. 'Over a grocer's shop,' or