Seeing which course of things, Messeigneurs of the Court Triumvirate, Messieurs of the dead-born Broglie-Ministry, and others such, consider that their part also is clear:  to mount and ride.  Off, ye too-loyal Broglies, Polignacs, and Princes of the Blood; off while it is yet time!  Did not the Palais-Royal in its late nocturnal ‘violent motions,’ set a specific price (place of payment not mentioned) on each of your heads?—­With precautions, with the aid of pieces of cannon and regiments that can be depended on, Messeigneurs, between the 16th night and the 17th morning, get to their several roads.  Not without risk!  Prince Conde has (or seems to have) ‘men galloping at full speed;’ with a view, it is thought, to fling him into the river Oise, at Pont-Sainte-Mayence.  (Weber, ii. 126.) The Polignacs travel disguised; friends, not servants, on their coach-box.  Broglie has his own difficulties at Versailles, runs his own risks at Metz and Verdun; does nevertheless get safe to Luxemburg, and there rests.

This is what they call the First Emigration; determined on, as appears, in full Court-conclave; his Majesty assisting; prompt he, for his share of it, to follow any counsel whatsoever.  ’Three Sons of France, and four Princes of the blood of Saint Louis,’ says Weber, ’could not more effectually humble the Burghers of Paris ’than by appearing to withdraw in fear of their life.’  Alas, the Burghers of Paris bear it with unexpected Stoicism!  The Man d’Artois indeed is gone; but has he carried, for example, the Land D’Artois with him?  Not even Bagatelle the Country-house (which shall be useful as a Tavern); hardly the four-valet Breeches, leaving the Breeches-maker!—­As for old Foulon, one learns that he is dead; at least a ‘sumptuous funeral’ is going on; the undertakers honouring him, if no other will.  Intendant Berthier, his son-in-law, is still living; lurking:  he joined Besenval, on that Eumenides’ Sunday; appearing to treat it with levity; and is now fled no man knows whither.

The Emigration is not gone many miles, Prince Conde hardly across the Oise, when his Majesty, according to arrangement, for the Emigration also thought it might do good,—­undertakes a rather daring enterprise:  that of visiting Paris in person.  With a Hundred Members of Assembly; with small or no military escort, which indeed he dismissed at the Bridge of Sevres, poor Louis sets out; leaving a desolate Palace; a Queen weeping, the Present, the Past, and the Future all so unfriendly for her.

At the Barrier of Passy, Mayor Bailly, in grand gala, presents him with the keys; harangues him, in Academic style; mentions that it is a great day; that in Henri Quatre’s case, the King had to make conquest of his People, but in this happier case, the People makes conquest of its King (a conquis son Roi).  The King, so happily conquered, drives forward, slowly, through a steel people, all silent, or shouting only Vive la Nation; is harangued at the Townhall, by Moreau