The royalists continued to applaud and to shout, "Vive la reine!"
Their opponents tried to silence them by their hisses and whistling.
Marat's face glowed with demoniacal pleasure. He turned to the boxes
of the second tier, and nodded smilingly to the men who sat there.
At once they began to cry, "The chorus, the chorus, let them sing,
'Chantons, celebrons notre reine!'"
"Very well," said Marat. "I am a good royalist, for I have trained the people to the cry."
"Sing, sing!" shouted the men to the performers on the stage—"sing the chorus, 'Chantons, celebrons notre reine!'"
And in the boxes, parquette, everywhere was the cry, "Sing the chorus, 'Chantons, celebrons notre reine!'"
"No," roared Santerre, "no, they shall not sing that!"
"No," cried Simon, "we will not hear the monkey-song!"
And hundreds of men in the parterre and the upper rows of boxes echoed the cry, "No, we will not hear the monkey-song!"
"The thing works well!" said Marat. "I hold my people by a thread, and make them gesticulate and spring up and down, like the concealed man in a Punch and Judy show."
The noise went on; the royalists would not cease their applause and their calls for the chorus, "Chantons, celebrons notre reine!" The enemies of the queen did not cease hissing and shouting, "We do not want to hear any thing about the queen; we will not hear the monkey- song!"
"Oh, would I had never come here!" whispered the queen, with tearful eyes, as she sank back in her armchair, and hid her face in her handkerchief.