gave me her hand to kiss.

At that moment I perceived a party of the National Assembly, who had
rallied with the National Guards, and a vast procession of fishwomen,
advancing against me. I deposited their Majesties in a place of
safety, and with my drawn sword advanced against my foes. Three hundred
fishwomen, with bushes dressed with ribbons in their hands, came
hallooing and roaring against me like so many furies. I scorned to
defile my sword with their blood, but seized the first that came up, and
making her kneel down I knighted her with my sword, which so terrified
the rest that they all set up a frightful yell and ran away as fast as
they could for fear of being aristocrated by knighthood.

As to the National Guards and the rest of the Assembly, I soon put them
to flight; and having made prisoners of some of them, compelled them to
take down their national, and put the old royal cockade in its place.

I then pursued the enemy to the top of a hill, where a most noble
edifice dazzled my sight; noble and sacred it was but now converted
to the vilest purposes, their monument _de grands hommes_, a Christian
church that these Saracens had perverted into abomination. I burst open
the doors, and entered sword in hand. Here I observed all the National
Assembly marching round a great altar erected to Voltaire; there was
his statue in triumph, and the fishwomen with garlands decking it, and
singing "Ca ira!" I could bear the sight no longer; but rushed upon
these pagans, and sacrificed them by dozens on the spot. The members
of the Assembly, and the fishwomen, continued to invoke their great
Voltaire, and all their masters in this monument _de grands hommes_,
imploring them to come down and succour them against the Aristocrats and
the sword of Munchausen. Their cries were horrible, like the shrieks
of witches and enchanters versed in magic and the black art, while
the thunder growled, and storms shook the battlements, and Rousseau,
Voltaire, and Beelzebub appeared, three horrible spectres; one all
meagre, mere skin and bone, and cadaverous, seemed death, that hideous
skeleton; it was Voltaire, and in his hand were a lyre and a dagger. On
the other side was Rousseau, with a chalice of sweet poison in his hand,
and between them was their father Beelzebub!

I shuddered at the sight, and with all the enthusiasm of rage, horror,
and piety, rushed in among them. I seized that cursed skeleton Voltaire,
and soon compelled him t