Holy Virgin, silent so long, has not gone dumb;—and truly now, if ever more in this world, were the time for her to speak. One Prophetess, though careless Historians have omitted her name, condition and whereabout, becomes audible to the general ear; credible to not a few; credible to Friar Gerle, poor Patriot Chartreux, in the National Assembly itself! She, in Pythoness recitative, with wild-staring eye, sings that there shall be a Sign; that the heavenly Sun himself will hang out a Sign, or Mock Sun,—which, many say, shall be stamped with the Head of hanged Favras. List, Dom Gerle, with that poor addled poll of thine; list, O list;—and hear nothing.[1]
Notable, however, was that 'magnetic vellum, vélin magnétique,' of the Sieurs d'Hozier and Petit-Jean, Parlementeers of Rouen. Sweet young D'Hozier, 'bred in the faith of his Missal, and of parchment genealogies,' and of parchment generally; adust, melancholic, middle-aged Petit-Jean: why came these two to Saint-Cloud, where his Majesty was hunting, on the festival of St. Peter and St. Paul; and waited there, in antechambers, a wonder to whispering Swiss, the livelong day; and even waited without the Grates, when turned out; and had dismissed their valets to Paris, as with purpose of endless waiting? They have a magnetic vellum, these two; whereon the Virgin, wonderfully clothing herself in Mesmerean Cagliostric Occult-Philosophy, has inspired them to jot down instructions and predictions for a much-straitened King. To whom, by Higher Order, they will this day present it; and save the Monarchy and World. Unaccountable pair of visual-objects! Ye should be men, and of the Eighteenth Century; but your magnetic vellum forbids us so to interpret. Say, are ye aught? Thus ask the Guard-house Captains, the Mayor of Saint-Cloud; nay, at great length, thus asks the Committee of Researches, and not the Municipal, but the National Assembly one. No distinct answer, for weeks. At last it becomes plain that the right answer is negative. Go, ye
- ↑ Deux Amis, v. 7.
