tege was formed, and in the following order traversed
the great covered gallery which had been built along the right side of
the Cathedral:--

The metropolitan chapter; the King's foot-guards; the band; the
heralds-at-arms; the king-at-arms; the aides de ceremonies; the Grand
Master of Ceremonies, Marquis de Dreux-Breze; the four knights of the
Order of the Holy Spirit, who were to carry the offerings, viz. the
Duke de Vauguyon the wine in a golden vase, the Duke of Rochefoucauld
the pain d'argent, the Duke of Luxembourg the pain d'or, the Duke of
Gramont the ewers filled with silver medals; the King's pages on the
flanks; the Marshal Moncey, Duke of Conegliano, charged with the
functions of constable, holding in his hand his naked sword; the Duke
of Mortemart, captain-colonel of the foot-guards in ordinary to the
King; the Marshal Victor Duke of Bellune, major-general of the royal
guard; the Marshal Marquis de Lauriston, the Count de Cosse, and the
Duke de Polignac, named by the King to bear his train in the church;
then, with his two attendant cardinals, de Clermont-Tonnerre and de La
Fare, one at his right, the other at his left, the King.

There was a movement of curiosity, attention, and respect. Charles X.
had entered the Cathedral. The moment his foot crossed the threshold,
Cardinal de La Fare pronounced a prayer:--

"O God, who knowest that the human race cannot subsist by its own
virtue, grant Thy succor to Charles, Thy servant, whom Thou hast put at
the head of Thy people, that he may himself succor and protect those
subject to him."

Here, then, is Charles X. in that basilica where fifty years before,
Sunday, June 11, 1775, he assisted at the coronation of his brother
Louis XVI. Then he was seventeen. Ah! what would have been his surprise
had it been foretold to him by what strange and horrible series of
gloomy and bloody dramas he should himself come to be crowned in this
Cathedral of Rheims! What a contrast between the religious pomps of
June 11, 1775, and the sacrilegious scaffolds of January 21 and October
16, 1793! What a difference between the royal mantle of the sovereign
and the humble costume of the captive of the Temple, between the
resplendent toilet of the Queen of France and Navarre and the patched
gown of the prisoner of the Conciergerie! What a road travelled between
the hosannas of the priests and the insults of the Furies of the
Guillotine! What reflections might one make who had been pre