very arrangement
for the day was discussed in a spirit of the bitterest disloyalty. When
the question was raised, which in any other Assembly that ever met in the
world would have been thought needless, what attitude the members were to
preserve while the king was taking the prescribed oath to observe the
Constitution, a hundred voices shouted out that they should all keep their
seats, and that the king should swear, standing and bare-headed; and when
one deputy of high reputation, M. Malouet, remonstrated against such a
vote, arguing that so to treat the chief of the State would be a greater
insult to the nation than even to himself, a deputy from Brittany cried
out that M. Malouet and those who thought with him might receive Louis on
their knees, if they liked, but that the rest of the Assembly should be
seated.

And, in accordance with the feeling thus shown, every mark of respect was
studiously withheld from the unhappy monarch, and every care was taken to
show him that every deputy considered himself his equal. Two chairs
exactly similar were provided for him and for the president; and when,
after taking the oath and affixing his signature to the act, the king
resumed his seat, the president, who, having to reply to him in a short
address, had at first risen for that purpose, on seeing that Louis
retained his seat, sat down beside him, and finished his speech in that
position. Louis felt the affront. He contained himself while in the hall,
and while the members were conducting him back to the palace, which they
presently did amidst the music of military bands and the salutes of
artillery. But when his escort had left him, and he reached his own
apartments, his pride gave way. The queen with the dauphin had been
present in a box hastily fitted up for her, and had followed him back. He
felt for her more than for himself. Bursting into tears, he said, "It is
all over. You have seen my humiliation. Why did I ever bring you into
France for such degradation?" And the queen, while endeavoring to console
him, turned to Madame de Campan, who has recorded the scene, and dismissed
her from her attendance.[17] "Leave us," she said, "leave us to
ourselves." She could not bear that even that faithful servant should
remain to be a witness to the despair and prostration of her sovereign.

The very rejoicings were turned by the agents of the Jacobins into
occasions for further outrages. The whole city was illuminated, and the
sove