The work progressed as if under the wave of an enchanter’s rod. There was no doubt but that all would be ready for the morrow, so that in seven days the gigantic undertaking would have been completed. The middle of the place was entirely clear. Here they erected the altar of the country, and in front of the Ecole Militaire, built up seats for the King and the Assembly.
At the end of a wooden bridge thrown over the river, near Chaillot, they erected a triumphal arch.
It was impossible not to become maddened amid this confusion. We could resist no longer, but seizing the nearest implements that lay nearest at hand, we, with a shout of “Vive la nation!” set ourselves to work with the rest.
At six o’clock we ceased, heated with our exertions. We were hungry. It was useless to look for a restaurant.
At eight o’clock we left the Champ de Mars, and passing through the Boulevards des Invalides, and the Rue Plumet, we shaped our course to the Cordeliers.
An immense crowd of people—some fifty or sixty thousand, perhaps—filled the place and the adjacent streets.
Those who had been unable to find lodgings had encamped there, or on the Boulevards.
Being anxious to see historical localities, I asked M. Drouet to take me to the Hotel de Ville. We went up to the Rue St. Antoine, M. Drouet showing me the steps on which they had slain De Launay, the lantern on which they had hung Foulon, and the corner of the quay where they had killed Flesselles.
Everywhere—on the boulevards, in the places, in the churches, on the bridges—all was gaiety; every one was shaking hands with everybody; strangers in a moment became old friends. A shout of “Vive le Roi!” surrounded you with friends—a shout of “Vive la nation!” with brothers.
After dinner, we proceeded to the Jacobin Club. It was crowded, like all the rest—if possible, more so.