And now, instead of the coronation the pillory; instead of the crown the hideous red cap; instead of hymns and murmurs of admiration and respect,--insults, the buffoonery of the fish-market, shouts of contempt and hatred, threats of murder. Ah! the time is not far distant when a Conventionist will break the vial containing the sacred oil on the pavement of the Abbey of Saint Remi. How slippery is the swift descent, the fatal descent by which a { 205} sovereign who disarms himself glides down from the heights of power and glory to the depths of opprobrium and sorrow! There he is! Not content with putting the red bonnet on his head, he keeps it there, and mumming in the Jacobin coiffure, he cries: "Long live the nation!" The crowd find the spectacle amusing. A National Guard, to whom some one has passed a bottle of wine, offers the complaisant King a drink. Perhaps the wine is poisoned. No matter; Louis XVI. takes a glass of it.
While all this is going on, two deputies, Isnard and Vergniaud, present themselves. "Citizens," says the first, "I am Isnard, a deputy. If what you demand were at once granted, it might be thought you extorted it by force. In the name of the law and the National Assembly, I ask you to respect the constituted authorities and retire. The National Assembly will do justice; I will aid thereto with all my power. You shall obtain satisfaction; I answer for it with my head; but go away." Vergniaud follows him with similar remarks. Neither is listened to. Nobody departs.
It is six in the evening. For two hours, one man, exposed to every insult, has held his own against a multitude. At last Pétion arrives wearing his mayor's scarf. The crowd draws back. "Sire," says he, "I have just this instant learned the situation you were in."--"That is very astonishing," returns Louis XVI.; "for it has lasted two hours."--"Sire, truly, I was ignorant that there was trouble at the palace. { 206} As soon as I was informed, I hastened to your side. But you have nothing to fear; I answer for it that the people will respect you."--"I fear nothing," replies the King. "Moreover, I have not been in any danger, since I was surrounded by the National Guard."
Pétion, like Pontius Pilate, pretends indifference. A municipal officer, M. Champion, reminds him of his duties, and says with firmness: "Order the people to retire; order them in the name of the law; we are threatened with great danger, and you must speak." At last Pétion decides to intervene. "Citizens," he says, "all you who are listening to me, came to present legally your petition to the hereditary representative of the nation, and you have done so with the dignity and majesty of a free people; return now to your homes, for you can desire nothing further. Your demand will doubtless be reiterated by all the eighty-three departments, and the King will grant your prayer. Retire, and do not, by remaining longer, give occasion to the public enemies to impugn your worthy intentions."