“What a picture, that circle of bright-dyed life, spread up there on its thirty-seated slope, leaning, one would say, on the thick umbrage of those avenue trees, for the stems of them are hidden by the height; and all beyond it mere greenness of the summer earth, with the gleam of waters, or white sparklings of stone edifices. On remotest steeple and invisible village belfry stand men with spy-glasses. On the heights of Chaillot are many-colored, undulating groups. Round, and far on, over all the circling heights that embosom Paris it is as one more or less peopled amphitheatre, which the eye grows dim with measuring. Nay; heights have cannon, and a floating battery of cannon is on the Seine. When eye fails, ear shall serve. And all France, properly, is but one amphitheatre; for in paved town and unpaved hamlet men walk, listening, till the muffled thunder sounds audibly on their horizon, that they, too, may begin swearing and firing.
“But now to streams of music come confederates enough, for they have assembled on the Boulevard St. Antoine, and come marching through the city with their eighty-three department banners and blessings, not loud but deep; comes National Assembly, and takes seat under its canopy; comes Royalty, and takes seat on a throne beside it; and La Fayette, on a white charger, is here, and all the civic functionaries; and the confederates form dances till their strictly military evolutions and manœuvres can begin.
“Task not the pen of mortal to describe them; truant imagination droops, declares that it is not worth while. There is wheeling and sweeping to slow, to quick, to double-quick time. Sieur Motier, or Generalissimo La Fayette—for they are one and the same, and he, as general of France in the king’s stead, for twenty-four hours—must step forth with that sublime, chivalrous gait of his, solemnly ascend the steps of Fatherland’s altar, in sight of heaven and of scarcely breathing earth, and pronounce the oath: to king, to law, to nation, in his own name and that of armed France; whereat there is waving of banners and sufficient acclaim.
GRAND FESTIVAL IN THE CHAMPS DE MARS.
“The National Assembly must swear, standing in its place; the king himself, audibly. The king swears; and now be the welkin split with vivats; let citizens, enfranchised, embrace; armed confederates clang their arms; and, above all, let that floating battery speak. It has spoken, to the four corners of France! From eminence to eminence bursts the thunder, faint heard, loud repeated. From Arras to Avignon, from Metz to Bayonne, over Orleans and Blois, it rolls in cannon recitative. Puy bellows of it amid his granite mountains; Pau, where is the shell cradle of great Henri. At far Marseilles, one can think the ruddy evening witnesses it; over the deep blue Mediterranean waters, the castle of If, ruddy-tinted, darts forth from every cannon’s mouth its tongue of fire; and all the people shout, ‘Yes, France is free!’ Glorious France, that has burst out so into universal sound and smoke, and attained the Phrygian cap of Liberty.”
It is not king, or queen, but La Fayette, who is this day the cynosure of all eyes, as he ascends the altar and takes the prescribed oath. His noble nature is neither paralyzed by difficulties nor weakened by popular applause. For the people’s love he is grateful, but to gain that approbation he would not relinquish one iota of his principle. Neither does any rank or power tempt him to seek his personal aggrandizement. When urged by the deputation at this time, that he should accept the permanent command of the military force of the realm he unselfishly refused, accompanying his declination with these disinterested words:—
“Let not ambition take possession of you; love the friends of the people, but reserve blind submission for the law, and enthusiasm for liberty. Pardon this advice, gentlemen; you have given me the glorious right to offer it, when, by loading me with every species of favor which one of your brothers could receive from you, my heart, amidst its delightful emotions, cannot repress a feeling of fear.”
That the confederates fully appreciated the noble motives which actuated his decision in this matter is revealed by their farewell words to him:—
“The deputies of the National Guard of France retire with the regret of not being able to nominate you their chief. They respect the constitutional law, though it checks, at this moment, the impulse of their hearts. A circumstance which must cover you with immortal glory is, that you, yourself, promoted the law; that you, yourself, prescribed bounds to our gratitude.”