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what a fund of Self-conceit there is in each of us,—do you wonder that the balance should so often dip the wrong way, and many a Blockhead cry: See there, w hat a payment; was ever worthy gentleman so used!—I tell thee, Blockhead, it all comes of thy Vanity; of what thou fanciest those same deserts of thine to be. Fancy that thou deservest to be hanged (as iB most likely), thou wilt feel it happiness to be only shot: fancy that thou deservest to be hanged in a hair-halter, it will be a luxury to die in hemp.

"So true it is, what I then said, that tinFraction of Life can be increased in value not so much by incrcaxiity your Numerator as by lessening your Denominator. Nay, unless my Algebra deceive me, Unity itself divided by Zero will give Infinity. Make thy claim of wages a zero, then; thou hast the world under thy feet. Well did the Wisest of our time3 write: 'It is only with Renunciation (Kntsaijen) that Life, properly speaking, can be said to )>egin.'

"I asked myself: What is this that, ever since earliest years, thou hast been fretting and fuming, and lamenting ami self-tormenting, on account of? Hay it in a word: is it not because thou art not Happy? Because the Thou (sweet gentleman) is not sufficiently honoured, nourished, soft-bedded, and lovingly cared-for? Foolish soul! What Act of Legislature was there that thou shouldst be TIappy/ A little while ago thou hadst no right to be at all. What if thou wert born and predestined not to be Happy, but to be Unhappy! Art thou nothing other than a Vulture, then, that fliest through the Universe seeking after somewhat to eat; and shrieking dolefully because carrion enough is not given thee? Close thy Byron;* open thy Goethe.''

"Ex leuchtet mir ein, I see a glimpse of it!" cries he elsewhere "there is in man a Higher than Love of Happiness: he can do without Happiness, and instead thereof find Blessedness! Was it not to preach-forth this same Higher that sages and martyrs, the Poet and the Priest, in all times, have spoken and suffered; bearing testimony, through life and through death, of the Godlike that is in Man, and how in the Oodlike only has he Strength and Freedom? Which God-inspired Doctrine art thou also honoured to be taught; O Heavens! and broken with manifold merciful Afflictions, even till thou become contrite, and learn it! O thank thy Destiny for these;

a Goethe.

* P.vroii's verse is full of his personal itricvances. Sci Kmi. Lit., p. SSI.

thankfully bear what yet remain: thou hadst need of them; the Self in thee needed to be annihilated. By benignant fever-paroxysms is Life rooting out the deep-seated chronic Disease, and triumphs over Death. On the roaring billows of Time, thou art not engulfed, but borne aloft into the azure of Kternity. Love not Pleasure; love God. This is the KvehI-a.stinu Yea, wherein all contradiction is solved; wherein whoso walks and works, it is well with him."

Natural Supernatukalism. From Book III, Chapter VIII

"But deepest of all illusory Appearances, for hilling Wonder, as for many other ends, are your two grand fundamental world enveloping Appearances, Space and Time. These, as spun ami woven for us from before Birth itself, to clothe our celestial Me for dwelling here, and yet to blind it,—lie all-embracing, as the universal canvas, or warp and woof, whereby all minor Illusions, in this Phantasm Existence, weave and paint themselves. In vain, while here on Earth, shall you endeavour to strip them off; you can, at best, but rend them asunder for moments, and look through. I "Fortunatus"' had a w ishing Hat, which when he put on, and wished himself Anywhere, behold he was There. By this means had Fortunmtua triumphed over Space, he had annihilated Space: for him there was no Where, but all was Here. Were a Hatter to establish himself, in the Wahngasse of Weissnichtwo." and make felts of this sort for all mankind, what a world we Miould have of it! Still stranger, should, on the opposite side of the street, another Hatter establish himself: and, as his fellow-craftsman made Space-annihilating Hats, make Time-annihilating! Of both would I purchase, were it with my last groschen"; but chiefly of this latter. To clap on your felt, and, simply by wishing that you were Anywhere, straightway to be There! Next to clap on your other felt, and simply by wishing that you were Anywfcen, straightway to be Then! This were indeed the grander: shooting at will from the Fire-Creation of the World to its Fire-Consummation; here historically present in the First Century, conversing face to face with Paul and Seneca:* there prophet

"The hero of a popular modern legend.

■i "Dream-lane of Know-not-where." See Introductory note.

7 A very small silver coin of Germany, now obsolete.

* Certain spurious letters have come down to us which were said to have pnsseil between Paul and Seneca.

ically ill the Thirty-first, conversing also face to face with other Pauls and Senecas, who as yet stand hidden in the depth of that late Time!

"Or thinkest thou, it were impossible, unimaginable! Is the Past annihilated, then, or only past; is the Future non-extant, or only future? Those mystic faculties of thine, Memory and Hope, already answer: already through those mystic avenues, thou the Earth-blinded summonest both Past and Future, and communest with them, though as yet darkly, and with mute beckonings. The curtains of Yesterday drop down, the curtains of To-morrow roll up; but Yesterday and To-morrow both are. Pierce through the Time-Element, glance into tho Eternal. Believe what thou fiudest written in the sanctuaries of Man's Soul, even as all Thinkers, in all ages, have devoutly read it there: that Time anil Space are not God, but creations of God; that with God as it is a universal Mere, Bo is it an everlasting Now.

"And seest thou therein any glimpse of ImJioktality?—O Heaven! Is the white Tomb of our Loved One, who died from our arms, and had to be left behind us there, which rises in the distance, like a pale, mournfully receding Milestone, to tell how many toilsome unchecred miles we have journeyed on alone,— but a pale spectral Illusion! Is the lost Friend still mysteriously Here, even as we are Here mysteriously with God!—Know of a truth that only the Time-shadows have perished, or are perishable; that the real Being of whatever was, and whatever is, and whatever will be, is even now and forever. This, should it unhappily seem new, thou mayst ponder at thy leisure; for the next twenty years, or the next twenty centuries: believe it thou must; understand it thou canst not.

"That the Thought-forms, Space and Time, wherein, once for all, we are sent into this Earth to live, should condition and determine our whole Practical reasonings, conceptions, and imagings or imaginings,—seems altogether fit, just, and unavoidable. But that they should, furthermore, usurp such sway over pure spiritual Meditation, and blind us to the wonder everywhere lying close on us, seems nowise so. Admit Space and Time to their due rank as Forms of Thought; nay, even, if thou wilt, to their quite undue rank of Realities: and consider, then, with thyself how their thin disguises hide from us the brightest God-effulgences! Thus, were it not miraculous, could T stretch forth my hand and clutch the Sun? Yet thou seest me daily stretch forth my hand, ami therewith clutch many a thing, and swing

it hither and thither. Art thou a grown baby, then, to fancy that the Miracle lies in miles of distance, or in pounds avoirdupois of weight; and not to see that the true inexplicable Godrevealing Miracle lies in this, that I can stretch forth my hand at all; that 1 have free Force to clutch aught therewith! Innumerable other of this sort are the deceptions, and wonder-hiding stupefactions, which Space practices on us.

"Still worse is it with regard to Time. Your grand anti-magician, and universal wonderhider, is this same lying Time. Had we but the Time annihilating Hat, to put on for once only, we should see ourselves in a World of Miracles, wherein all fabled or authentic Thaumaturgy, and feats of Magic, were outdone. But unhappily we have not such a Hat; and man, poor fool that he is, can seldom and scantily help himself without one.

"Were it not wonderful, for instance, had Orpheus, or Amphion, built the walls of Thebes by the mere sound of his Lyrefs Yet tell me, Who built these walls of Weissnichtwo; summoning out all the sandstone rocks, to dance along from the Stdn-brurho (now a huge Troglodyte Chasm, with frightful green-mantled pools); and shape themselves into Doric and Ionic pillars, squared ashlar houses, and noble streets? Was it not the still higher Orpheus, or Orpheuses, who, in past centuries, by the divine Music of Wisdom, succeeded in civilising man? Our highest Orpheus walked in Judea. eighteen hundred years ago: his sphere-melody,1" flowing in wild native tones, took captive the ravished souls of men; and, being of a truth sphere-melody, still flows and sounds, though now with thousandfold accomplishments, and rich symphonies, through all our hearts; and modulates, and divinely leads them. Is that a wonder, which happens in two hours; ami does it cease to be wonderful if happening in two million? Not only was Thebes built by the music of an Orpheus; but without the music of some inspired Orpheus was no city ever built, no work that man glories in ever done,

"Sweep away the Illusion of Time; glance.

if thou have eyes, from the near moving-cause.

to its far-distant Mover: The stroke that came

transmitted through a whole galaxy of elastic

balls, was it less a stroke than if the last ball

only had been struck, and sent flying? Oh,

could T (with the Time-annihilating Hat)

transport thee direct from the Beginnings to

the Endings, how were thy eyesight unsealed,

and thy heart set flaming in the Light-sea of

s An ancient tradition. Pp. p. 228. note "in,

:» stone-quarry

io See p. 321, note 8,

celestial wonder! Then suwest thou that this fair Universe, were it in the meanest province thereof, is in very deed the star-domed City of God; that through every star, through every grass-blade, and most through every Living Soul, the glory of a present God still beams. But Nature, which is the Time-vesture of God, anil reveals Him to the wise, hides Him from the foolish.

'' Again, could anything be more miraculous than an actual authentic Ghost? The English Johnson longed, all his life to sec one; but could not, though lie went to Cock Lane,1 and thence to the church-vaults, and tapped on coffins. Foolish Doctor! Did he never, with the mind's eye as well as with the body's, look round him into that full tide of human Life he so loved; did he never so much as look into Himself! The good Doctor was a Ghost, as actual and authentic as heart could wish; wellnigh a million of Ghosts were travelling the streets by his side. Once more I say, sweep away the illusion of Time; compress the threescore years into three minutes: what else was he, what else are we? Are we not Spirits, that are shap>Hl into a body, into an Appearance; and that fade away again into air, and Invisibility .' This is no metaphor, it is a simple scientific fact; we start out of Nothingness, take figure, and are Apparitions; round us, as round the veriest spectre, is Eternity; and to Eternity minutes are as years and a'ons. Come theie not tones of Love and Faith, as from celestial harp-strings, like the Song of beatified Souls? And again, do not we squeak and gibber'-' (in our discordant, screech-owlish debatings and recriminatings); and glide bodeful and feeble, and fearful; or uproar (poltern), and revel in our mad Dance of the Dead,—till the scent of the morning-air'1 summons us to our still Home; and dreamy Night becomes awake and Day? Where now is Alexander of Maeedon: does the steel Host, that yelled in fierce battle-shouts, at Issus and Arbela, remain behind him; or have they all vanished utterly, even as perturbed Goblins must? Napoleon too, ami his Moscow Retreats anil Austerlitz Campaigns! Was it all other than the veriest Spectre-hunt; which has now, with its howling tumult that made night hideous, flitted away?— Ghosts! There are nigh a thousand million walking the Earth openly at noontide; some half-hundred have vanished from it, some half

1 The "Cock Lane f?host" was n notorious Impos

ture perpetrated In London In 1761'.

2 Hamlet, t. I, 116.

3 Hamlet, I. v, 58.

hundred have arisen in it, ere thy watch ticks once.

"O Heaven, it is mysterious, it is awful to consider that we not only carry each a future Ghost within him; but are, in very deed, Ghosts! These Limbs, whence had we them; this stormy Force; this life-blood with its burning passion? They arc dust and shadow; a Shadow-system gathered round our Me; wherein through some moments or years, the Divine Essence is to be revealed in the Flesh. That warrior on his strong war-horse, fire dashes through his eyes; force dwells in his arm and heart; but warrior and war-horse are a vision; a revealed Force, nothing more. Stately they tread the Earth, as if it were a firm substance: fool! the Earth is but a film; it cracks in twain, and warrior and war-horse sink beyond plummet's sounding. Plummet's? Fantasy herself will not follow them. A little while ago they were not; a little while and they are not, their very ashes are not.

"So has it been from the beginning, so will it be to the end. Generation after generation takes to itself the Form of a Body; and forthissuing from Cimmerian Night,4 on Heaven's mission Appkars. What Force and I'ire is in each he ex|>ends: one grinding in the mill of Industry; one hunter-like climbing the giddy Alpine heights of Science; one madly dashed in pieces on the rocks of Strife, in war with his fellow:—and then the Heaven-sent is recalled; his earthly Vesture falls away, ami soon even to Sense becomes a Vanished Shadow. Thus, like some wild-flaming, wild-thundering train of Heaven's Artillery, does this mysterious Mankind thunder and flame, in long-drawn, quick-succeeding grandeur, through the unknown Deep. Thus, like a God-created, fire-breathing Spirit-host, we emerge from the Inane; haste stormf ully across the astonished Earth; then plunge again into the Inane. Earth's mountains are levelled, and her seas filled up, in our passage: can the Earth, which is but dead and a vision, resist Spirits which have reality and are alive? On the hardest adamant some footprint of us is stamped-in; the last Rear of the host will read traces of the earliest Van. But whence?—O Heaven, whither? Sense knows not; Faith knows not; only that it is through Mystery to Mvstery, from God and to God.

"We are aurh Bluff As Dronms are made on, and our little Life Is rounded with a sleep:"*

4 Cimmcria wns n fnhled country of perpetual

darkness.

5 The Tern/text, IV, t. 156.

From THE FRENCH REVOLUTION

Uprising Ok The Populace. Storming or The Bastille. From Volume I, Book V, Chapters IV-VI*

So lianas it, dubious, fateful, in tbe sultry days of July. It is the passionate printed advice of M. Marat.t to abstain, of all things, from violence. Nevertheless the hungry poor are already burning Town Barriers,' where Tribute on eatables is levied; getting clamorous for food.

The twelfth July morning is Sunday: the streets are all placarded with an enormoussized De par le Hoi,1 "inviting peaceable oitizens to remain within doors, "t to feel no alarm, to gather in no crowd. Why sol What mean these "placards of euormous size?" Above all, what means this clatter of military; dragoons, hussars, rattling in from all points of the compass towards the Place Louis Quinze:^ with a staid gravity of face, though saluted with mere nicknames, hootings and even mis-1 siles? Besenval* is with them. Swiss Guards j of his are already in the Champs Elysees,' with four pieces of artillery.

Have the destroyers descended on iis.J then? From the Bridge of Sevres to utmost Vincennes, from Saint-Denis to the Champ-de-Mars, we are begirt! Alarm, of the vague unknown, is in

1 City gates.

2 An order lie part le roi, "by the authority of the

king."

3 "Square of I/otiis XV.": a noted square west of

the Tulleries. or royal residence; now the Place de la Concorde. t Then Commandant of Paris.

s An avenue and public park extending westward from the Place de la Concorde.

• The immediate cause of the French Revolution was a deficiency of revenue and the oppressive taxation of the people—the Commonalty, or Third Estate—to the exemption of the two other Estates, the Nobility and the Clergy. Necker, a Genevese statesman, who was Director (ieneral of Finance, convened the States-General, or legislative assemblies, at Versailles in May. 178!>. As they failed to come to an agreement, the Third Estate resolved itself into a National Assembly with the object of forming a Constitution. Such In brief was the situation when this narrative opens, the King and bis court at Versailles. Just outside of Paris, hopelessly at odds with the National Assembly, and tbe starving populace in Paris and throughout France beginning to clamor for bread.

t .lean Paul Marat, at one time the Frlnce d'Artols's horse-leech (horse doctor!: one of the earliest Inciters to revolution, and a leader of the Jacobin party after It was formed.

t Words thus quoted by Carlyle are taken from various memoirs and contemporary documents.

I Carlyle speaks from the point of view of the Parisian populace or revolutionists, whom he later calls bv the collective name of "Patriotism,"

every heart. The Palais Royal* has become a place of awestruck interjections, silent shakings of the head: one can fancy with what dolorous sound the noontide cannon (which the Sun fires at crossing of his meridian) went off there; bodeful, like an inarticulate voice of doom. Are these troops verily come out '' against Brigands.'" Where are the Brigands? What mystery is in the wind?—Hark! a human voice reporting articulately the Job 's-news:« Necker, People '* Milliliter, Saviour of Franee, ut dismisned. Impossible, incredible! Treasonous to the public peace! Such a voice ought to be choked in the water-works;—had not the newsbringer quickly fled. Nevertheless, friends, make of it what ye will, the news is true. Necker is gone. Necker hies northward inces gantry, in obedient secrecy, since yesternight. We have a new Ministry: Broglie the War god;7 Aristocrat Breteuil; Foulon who said the people might eat grass!

Rumour, therefore, shall arise; in the Palais Royal, and in broad France. Paleness sits on every face: confused tremor and fremescence;s waxing into thunder-peals, of Fury stirred on by Fear.

But see Camille Desmoulins, from the Cafe de Foy, rushing out, sibylline" in face; his hair streaming, in each hand a pistol! He springs to a table: the Police satellites are eyeing him; alive they shall not take him, not they alive him alive. This time he speaks without stammering:—Friends! shall we die like hunted hares? Like sheep hounded into their pinfold; bleating for mercy, where is no mercy, but only a whetted knife? The hour is come; the supreme hour of Frenchman and Man; when Oppressors are to try conclusions with Oppressed; and the word is, swift Death, or Deliverance forever. Let such hour be veilcome! Us, meseems, one cry only befits: To Arms! Let universal Paris, universal France, as with the throat of the whirlwind, sound only: To arms!—"To arms! " yell responsive the innumerable voices; like one great voice, as of a Demon yelling from the air: for all faces wax fire-eyed, all hearts burn up into madness. In such, or fitter words, does Camille evoke the Elemental Powers, in this great moment.—

« disheartening news

7 I. p.. Minister of War

s From Latin frcmo. to growl.

o like the ancient Sibyl, or Inspired prophetess

* A palace, with galleries and gardens, built by Cardinal Richelieu in the heart of Paris. At this time It was occupied by the Due d'Orleans (Philippe figalite), one of the nobles who had Joined the Commons, and its caf#s were the resort of the more violent democrats. Friends, continues Camille, some rallying sign! Cockades; green ones;—the colour of Hope! — As with the flight of locusts, these green treeleaves; green ribands from the neighbouring shops; all green things are snatched, and made cockades of. Cainille descends from his table; "stifled with unbraces, wetted with tears;" has a bit of green ribbon handed him; sticks it in his hat. And now to Curtius' Imageshop there; to the Boulevards; to the four winds, and rest not till France be on fire!

France, so long shaken and wind-parched, is probably at the right inflammable point.—As for poor Curtius, who, one grieves to think, might be but imperfectly paid,—he cannot make two words about his Images. The Waxbust of Necker, the Wax-bust of D'Orleans, helpers of France: these, covered with crape, as in funeral procession, or after the manner of suppliants appealing to Heaven, to Earth, and Tartarus itself, a mixed multitude bears off. For a sign! As indeed man, with his singular imaginative faculties, can do little or nothing without signs; thus Turks look to their Prophet's Banner; also Osier JfonntjttM" have been burnt, and Xeeker's Portrait has erewhile figured, aloft on its perch.

In this manner march they, a mixed, continually increasing multitude; armed with axes, staves and miscellanea; grim, many-sounding, through the streets. Be all Theatres shut; let all dancing on planked floor, or on the natural greensward, cease! Instead of a Christian Sabbath, and feast of guingurttni tabernacles, it shall be a Sorcerer's Sabbath ;12 and Paris, gone rabid, dance,—with the Fiend for piper!

Raging multitudes surround the Hotel-deVille,1^ erying: Arms! Orders! The Six-andtwenty Town-Councillors, with their long gowns, have ducked under (into the raging chaos);— shall never emerge more. Besenval is painfully wriggling himself out, to the Champ-de-Mars ;n he must sit there "in the cruellest uncertainty!" courier after courier may dash off for Versailles; but will bring back no answer, can hardly bring himself back. For the roads are all blocked with batteries and pickets, with floods of carriages arrested for examination: such was Broglie's one sole order; the CEil-deHn'ul'.1 ' hearing in the distance such mad din, which sounded almost like invasion, will before

10 Images of Guy Kawkcs, for example, it tea-garden

11 assembly of witches or wizards

13 The Town Hall, which became the rallying place

of the democratic party. Ma military Held, south of the Seine, is The hall of the king's counsellors, at Versailles.

all things keep its own head whole. A new Ministry, with, as it were, but one foot in the stirrup, cannot take leaps. Mad Paris is abandoned altogether to itself.

What a Paris, when the darkness fell! A European metropolitan City hurled suddenly forth from its old combinations and arrangements; to crash tumultuously together, seeking new. Use and wont will now no longer direct any man; each man with what of originality he has, must begin thinking; or following those that think. Seven hundred thousand individuals, on the sudden, find all their old paths, old ways of acting, and deciding, vanish from under their feet. And so there go they, with clangour and terror, they know not as yet whether running, swimming, or flying,—headlong into the New Era. With clangour and terror: from above, Broglie, the war-god, impends, preternatural, with his redhot cannonballs; and from below a preternatural Brigandworld menaces with dirk and firebrand: madness rules the hour.

Happily, in place of the submerged Twentysix, the Electoral Club is gathering; has declared itself a '' Provisional Municipality.'' On the morrow, it will get Provost Flesselles, with an Echevin or two,'o to give help in many things. For the present it decrees one most essential thing: that forthwith a "Parisian Militia" shall be enrolled. Depart, ye heads of Districts, to labour in this great work; while we here, in Permanent Committee, sit alert. Let fencible17 men, each party in its own range of streets, keep watch and ward, all night. Let Paris court a little fever-sleep; confused by such fever-dreams, of '' violent motions at the Palais Royal;"—or from time to time start awake, and look out, palpitating, in its nightcap, at the clash of discordant mutually-unintelligible Patrols; on the gleam of distant Barriers, going up all-too ruddy towards the vault of Night.

On Monday, the huge City has awoke, not to its week-day industry: to what a different one! The working man has become a fighting man; has one want only: that of arms. The industry of all crafts has paused;—except it be the smith's, fiercely hammering pikes; and, in a faint degree, the kitchener's, cooking offhand victuals, for bouche va toujours.TM Women too are sewing cockades;—not now of green, which

id The Provost of Merchants, with his municipal

magistrates. 17 capable of defending is "Eating must go on."

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