The second thing we have to note is historical:  that the Mother-Society, even in this its effulgent period, cannot content all Patriots.  Already it must throw off, so to speak, two dissatisfied swarms; a swarm to the right, a swarm to the left.  One party, which thinks the Jacobins lukewarm, constitutes itself into Club of the Cordeliers; a hotter Club:  it is Danton’s element:  with whom goes Desmoulins.  The other party, again, which thinks the Jacobins scalding-hot, flies off to the right, and becomes ‘Club of 1789, Friends of the Monarchic Constitution.’  They are afterwards named ‘Feuillans Club;’ their place of meeting being the Feuillans Convent.  Lafayette is, or becomes, their chief-man; supported by the respectable Patriot everywhere, by the mass of Property and Intelligence,—­with the most flourishing prospects.  They, in these June days of 1790, do, in the Palais Royal, dine solemnly with open windows; to the cheers of the people; with toasts, with inspiriting songs,—­with one song at least, among the feeblest ever sung. (Hist.  Parl. vi. 334.) They shall, in due time be hooted forth, over the borders, into Cimmerian Night.

Another expressly Monarchic or Royalist Club, ‘Club des Monarchiens,’ though a Club of ample funds, and all sitting in damask sofas, cannot realise the smallest momentary cheer; realises only scoffs and groans;—­till, ere long, certain Patriots in disorderly sufficient number, proceed thither, for a night or for nights, and groan it out of pain.  Vivacious alone shall the Mother-Society and her family be.  The very Cordeliers may, as it were, return into her bosom, which will have grown warm enough.

Fatal-looking!  Are not such Societies an incipient New Order of Society itself?  The Aggregative Principle anew at work in a Society grown obsolete, cracked asunder, dissolving into rubbish and primary atoms?

Chapter 2.1.VI.

Je le jure.

With these signs of the times, is it not surprising that the dominant feeling all over France was still continually Hope?  O blessed Hope, sole boon of man; whereby, on his strait prison walls, are painted beautiful far-stretching landscapes; and into the night of very Death is shed holiest dawn!  Thou art to all an indefeasible possession in this God’s-world:  to the wise a sacred Constantine’s-banner, written on the eternal skies; under which they shall conquer, for the battle itself is victory:  to the foolish some secular mirage, or shadow of still waters, painted on the parched Earth; whereby at least their dusty pilgrimage, if devious, becomes cheerfuller, becomes possible.

In the death-tumults of a sinking Society, French Hope sees only the birth-struggles of a new unspeakably better Society; and sings, with full assurance of faith, her brisk Melody, which some inspired fiddler has in these very days composed for her,—­the world-famous ca-ira.  Yes; ‘that will go:’  and then there will come—?  All men hope:  even Marat hopes—­that Patriotism will take muff and dirk.  King Louis is not without hope:  in the chapter of chances; in a flight to some Bouille; in getting popularized at Paris.  But what a hoping People he had, judge by the fact, and series of facts, now to be noted.