The metropolitan chapter; the King’s foot-guards; the band; the heralds-at-arms; the king-at-arms; the aides de ceremonies; the Grand Master of Ceremonies, Marquis de Dreux-Breze; the four knights of the Order of the Holy Spirit, who were to carry the offerings, viz. the Duke de Vauguyon the wine in a golden vase, the Duke of Rochefoucauld the pain d’argent, the Duke of Luxembourg the pain d’or, the Duke of Gramont the ewers filled with silver medals; the King’s pages on the flanks; the Marshal Moncey, Duke of Conegliano, charged with the functions of constable, holding in his hand his naked sword; the Duke of Mortemart, captain-colonel of the foot-guards in ordinary to the King; the Marshal Victor Duke of Bellune, major-general of the royal guard; the Marshal Marquis de Lauriston, the Count de Cosse, and the Duke de Polignac, named by the King to bear his train in the church; then, with his two attendant cardinals, de Clermont-Tonnerre and de La Fare, one at his right, the other at his left, the King.

There was a movement of curiosity, attention, and respect.  Charles X. had entered the Cathedral.  The moment his foot crossed the threshold, Cardinal de La Fare pronounced a prayer:—­

“O God, who knowest that the human race cannot subsist by its own virtue, grant Thy succor to Charles, Thy servant, whom Thou hast put at the head of Thy people, that he may himself succor and protect those subject to him.”

Here, then, is Charles X. in that basilica where fifty years before, Sunday, June 11, 1775, he assisted at the coronation of his brother Louis XVI.  Then he was seventeen.  Ah! what would have been his surprise had it been foretold to him by what strange and horrible series of gloomy and bloody dramas he should himself come to be crowned in this Cathedral of Rheims!  What a contrast between the religious pomps of June 11, 1775, and the sacrilegious scaffolds of January 21 and October 16, 1793!  What a difference between the royal mantle of the sovereign and the humble costume of the captive of the Temple, between the resplendent toilet of the Queen of France and Navarre and the patched gown of the prisoner of the Conciergerie!  What a road travelled between the hosannas of the priests and the insults of the Furies of the Guillotine!  What reflections might one make who had been present at both the ceremonies!  How much must such an one have been moved were he the King himself, the brother of Louis XVI., Charles X.!  But the 29th of May, 1825, all hearts inclined to confidence and joy.  Peoples forget quickly, and there were but few to call up sinister memories.  The sovereign appeared in his first costume, a camisole of white satin, with a cap rich with diamonds, surmounted by black and white plumes.  Despite his sixty-seven years, Charles X. had a fine presence, a slender form, a manner almost youthful.  State costumes became him perfectly.  He wore them with the elegance of the men of the old court.