And yet, alas, what to do? Lafayette, with his Patrols prohibits every
thing, even complaint. Saint-Huruge and other heroes of the Veto lie
in durance. People's-Friend Marat was seized; Printers of Patriotic
Journals are fettered and forbidden; the very Hawkers cannot cry, till
they get license, and leaden badges. Blue National Guards ruthlessly
dissipate all groups; scour, with levelled bayonets, the Palais Royal
itself. Pass, on your affairs, along the Rue Taranne, the Patrol,
presenting his bayonet, cries, To the left! Turn into the Rue
Saint-Benoit, he cries, To the right! A judicious Patriot (like Camille
Desmoulins, in this instance) is driven, for quietness's sake, to take
the gutter.

O much-suffering People, our glorious Revolution is evaporating in
tricolor ceremonies, and complimentary harangues! Of which latter,
as Loustalot acridly calculates, 'upwards of two thousand have been
delivered within the last month, at the Townhall alone.' (Revolutions
de Paris Newspaper (cited in Histoire Parlementaire, ii. 357).) And
our mouths, unfilled with bread, are to be shut, under penalties? The
Caricaturist promulgates his emblematic Tablature: Le Patrouillotisme
chassant le Patriotisme, Patriotism driven out by Patrollotism. Ruthless
Patrols; long superfine harangues; and scanty ill-baked loaves, more
like baked Bath bricks,--which produce an effect on the intestines!
Where will this end? In consolidation?



Chapter 1.7.II.

O Richard, O my King.