make the shadow: enough, the blackbrowed
Marseillese, and Saint-Marceau following them, do cross without let;
do cross, in sure hope now of Saint-Antoine and the rest; do billow on,
towards the Tuileries, where their errand is. The Tuileries, at sound of
them, rustles responsive: the red Swiss look to their priming; Courtiers
in black draw their blunderbusses, rapiers, poniards, some have even
fire-shovels; every man his weapon of war.

Judge if, in these circumstances, Syndic Roederer felt easy! Will the
kind Heavens open no middle-course of refuge for a poor Syndic who
halts between two? If indeed his Majesty would consent to go over to the
Assembly! His Majesty, above all her Majesty, cannot agree to that. Did
her Majesty answer the proposal with a "Fi donc;" did she say even, she
would be nailed to the walls sooner? Apparently not. It is written also
that she offered the King a pistol; saying, Now or else never was the
time to shew himself. Close eye-witnesses did not see it, nor do we.
That saw only that she was queenlike, quiet; that she argued not,
upbraided not, with the Inexorable; but, like Caesar in the Capitol,
wrapped her mantle, as it beseems Queens and Sons of Adam to do. But
thou, O Louis! of what stuff art thou at all? Is there no stroke in
thee, then, for Life and Crown? The silliest hunted deer dies not so.
Art thou the languidest of all mortals; or the mildest-minded? Thou art
the worst-starred.

The tide advances; Syndic Roederer's and all men's straits grow straiter
and straiter. Fremescent clangor comes from the armed Nationals in the
Court; far and wide is the infinite hubbub of tongues. What counsel? And
the tide is now nigh! Messengers, forerunners speak hastily through the
outer Grates; hold parley sitting astride the walls. Syndic Roederer
goes out and comes in. Cannoneers ask him: Are we to fire against the
people? King's Ministers ask him: Shall the King's House be forced?
Syndic Roederer has a hard game to play. He speaks to the Cannoneers
with eloquence, with fervour; such fervour as a man can, who has to blow
hot and cold in one breath. Hot and cold, O Roederer? We, for our part,
cannot live and die! The Cannoneers, by way of answer, fling down their
linstocks.--Think of this answer, O King Louis, and King's Ministers:
and take a poor Syndic's safe middle-course, towards the Salle de
Manege. King Louis sits, his hands leant on knees, body bent forward;
gazes for a space fixedly on Syndi