But also what a moment was that other, few minutes later, when the three Marseillese cannon went off, and the Swiss rolling-fire and universal thunder, like the Crack of Doom, began to rattle!  Honourable Members start to their feet; stray bullets singing epicedium even here, shivering in with window-glass and jingle.  “No, this is our post; let us die here!” They sit therefore, like stone Legislators.  But may not the Lodge of the Logographe be forced from behind?  Tear down the railing that divides it from the enchanted Constitutional Circuit!  Ushers tear and tug; his Majesty himself aiding from within:  the railing gives way; Majesty and Legislative are united in place, unknown Destiny hovering over both.

Rattle, and again rattle, went the thunder; one breathless wide-eyed messenger rushing in after another:  King’s orders to the Swiss went out.  It was a fearful thunder; but, as we know, it ended.  Breathless messengers, fugitive Swiss, denunciatory Patriots, trepidation; finally tripudiation!—­Before four o’clock much has come and gone.

The New Municipals have come and gone; with Three Flags, Liberte, Egalite, Patrie, and the clang of vivats.  Vergniaud, he who as President few hours ago talked of Dying for Constituted Authorities, has moved, as Committee-Reporter, that the Hereditary Representative be suspended; that a national convention do forthwith assemble to say what further!  An able Report:  which the President must have had ready in his pocket?  A President, in such cases, must have much ready, and yet not ready; and Janus-like look before and after.

King Louis listens to all; retires about midnight ’to three little rooms on the upper floor;’ till the Luxembourg be prepared for him, and ’the safeguard of the Nation.’  Safer if Brunswick were once here!  Or, alas, not so safe?  Ye hapless discrowned heads!  Crowds came, next morning, to catch a climpse of them, in their three upper rooms.  Montgaillard says the august Captives wore an air of cheerfulness, even of gaiety; that the Queen and Princess Lamballe, who had joined her over night, looked out of the open window, ’shook powder from their hair on the people below, and laughed.’ (Montgaillard. ii. 135-167.) He is an acrid distorted man.

For the rest, one may guess that the Legislative, above all that the New Municipality continues busy.  Messengers, Municipal or Legislative, and swift despatches rush off to all corners of France; full of triumph, blended with indignant wail, for Twelve hundred have fallen.  France sends up its blended shout responsive; the Tenth of August shall be as the Fourteenth of July, only bloodier and greater.  The Court has conspired?  Poor Court:  the Court has been vanquished; and will have both the scath to bear and the scorn.  How the Statues of Kings do now all fall!  Bronze Henri himself, though he wore a cockade once, jingles down from the Pont Neuf, where Patrie floats in Danger.  Much more does Louis Fourteenth, from the Place Vendome, jingle down, and even breaks in falling.  The curious can remark, written on his horse’s shoe:  ’12 Aout 1692;’ a Century and a Day.