men are, suddenly, by the wide thunder of the Mountain Avalanche, awakened not by them, awakened far off by others!  When the Chateau Clock last struck, they two were pacing languid, with poised musketoon; anxious mainly that the next hour would strike.  It has struck; to them inaudible.  Their trunks lie mangled:  their heads parade, ‘on pikes twelve feet long,’ through the streets of Versailles; and shall, about noon reach the Barriers of Paris,—­a too ghastly contradiction to the large comfortable Placards that have been posted there!

The other captive Bodyguard is still circling the corpse of Jerome, amid Indian war-whooping; bloody Tilebeard, with tucked sleeves, brandishing his bloody axe; when Gondran and the Grenadiers come in sight.  “Comrades, will you see a man massacred in cold blood?”—­“Off, butchers!” answer they; and the poor Bodyguard is free.  Busy runs Gondran, busy run Guards and Captains; scouring at all corridors; dispersing Rascality and Robbery; sweeping the Palace clear.  The mangled carnage is removed; Jerome’s body to the Townhall, for inquest:  the fire of Insurrection gets damped, more and more, into measurable, manageable heat.

Transcendent things of all sorts, as in the general outburst of multitudinous Passion, are huddled together; the ludicrous, nay the ridiculous, with the horrible.  Far over the billowy sea of heads, may be seen Rascality, caprioling on horses from the Royal Stud.  The Spoilers these; for Patriotism is always infected so, with a proportion of mere thieves and scoundrels.  Gondran snatched their prey from them in the Chateau; whereupon they hurried to the Stables, and took horse there.  But the generous Diomedes’ steeds, according to Weber, disdained such scoundrel-burden; and, flinging up their royal heels, did soon project most of it, in parabolic curves, to a distance, amid peals of laughter:  and were caught.  Mounted National Guards secured the rest.

Now too is witnessed the touching last-flicker of Etiquette; which sinks not here, in the Cimmerian World-wreckage, without a sign, as the house-cricket might still chirp in the pealing of a Trump of Doom.  “Monsieur,” said some Master of Ceremonies (one hopes it might be de Breze), as Lafayette, in these fearful moments, was rushing towards the inner Royal Apartments, “Monsieur, le Roi vous accorde les grandes entrees, Monsieur, the King grants you the Grand Entries,”—­not finding it convenient to refuse them! (Toulongeon, 1 App. 120.)

Chapter 1.7.XI.

From Versailles.

However, the Paris National Guard, wholly under arms, has cleared the Palace, and even occupies the nearer external spaces; extruding miscellaneous Patriotism, for most part, into the Grand Court, or even into the Forecourt.

The Bodyguards, you can observe, have now of a verity, ’hoisted the National Cockade:’  for they step forward to the windows or balconies, hat aloft in hand, on each hat a huge tricolor; and fling over their bandoleers in sign of surrender; and shout Vive la Nation.  To which how can the generous heart respond but with, Vive le Roi; vivent les Gardes-du-Corps?  His Majesty himself has appeared with Lafayette on the balcony, and again appears:  Vive le Roi greets him from all throats; but also from some one throat is heard “Le Roi a Paris, The King to Paris!”