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Vivent les Bourbons! and we soon had proofs of the exasperation and fury of a part of the people against Napoleon; for we witnessed the arrival in our midst, in a most pitiable condition, of a superior officer who had imprudently donned too soon the tricolored cockade, and consequently had been pursued by the mob from the Rue Saint-Denis.
The Feast of the Federation, as it was called, passed off quietly. The king again recognized the Constitution before the altar erected in the Champ de Mars, and, as he drove back to the palace, the populace accompanied him the whole way, never ceasing their acclamations of "Vivent le roi et la reine! " till they had dismounted and returned to their apartments.
As to the cries of "Vivent les gueux" at the tables of Orange, of the Abbot of Saint Bernard, and at other places, those words had been uttered by simple, harmless fellows; and as he considered, the table a place of freedom, he had not felt himself justified in rebuking the manners of his associates, particularly, in houses where he was himself but a guest.
Napoleon was now no longer escorted by the Guards, who were succeeded by a corps of Cossacks: the cries of "Vive l'Empereur!" accordingly ceased, and he had the mortification to hear in its stead, "Vivent les Allies!"
This was done; they even went so far as to exchange their grenadiers' caps for the hats of the Body Guards; those who were on guard took off their shoulder-belts; embraces and transports of fraternisation instantly succeeded to the savage eagerness to murder the band which had shown so much fidelity to its sovereign. The cry was now "Vivent le Roi, la Nation, et les Gardes-du-corps!"
On the slightest new impulse, they change their thoughts, their oaths, their love, their hatred. In this particular, a French mob is the most remarkable thing in the world; they cannot exist without some favourite yell, some particular watch-word of the day, or rather of the hour. One day it is, "A bas le tyran! A bas les soldats!" the next it is "Vive l'Empereur! Vivent les Marchaux!
He had never permitted the cry of "Vivent les gueux" at his own table, nor encouraged it in his presence any where else. Such were the leading features in these memorable cases of what was called high treason. Trial there was none.
Gloomy and morose, he went to bed, while the men who were called his fellow-conspirators were dining and making merry in the same house with himself: He had as little sympathy with the cry of "Vivent les gueux" as for that of "Vive le Roy."
Belmont rushed onwards to meet his wife, but Fardet stopped to grasp the Colonel's hand. "Vive la France! Vivent les Anglais!" he was yelling. "Tout va bien, n'est ce pas, Colonel? Ah, canaille! Vivent la croix et les Chretiens!" He was incoherent in his delight. The Colonel, too, was as enthusiastic as his Anglo-Saxon standard would permit.
Brederode immediately hung the wallet around his neck, filled the bowl with wine, lifted it with both hands, and drained it at a draught. "Long live the beggars!" he cried, as he wiped his beard and set the bowl down. "Vivent les gueulx."
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