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Updated: July 3, 2025
The King, without consulting any one, now said to the people: "You wish, my children, that I should follow you to Paris: I consent, but on condition that I shall not be separated from my wife and family." The King added that he required safety also for his Guards; he was answered by shouts of "Vivo le Roi! Vivent les Gardes-du-corps!"
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.
Venette supports this view when he says: "Nous avons l'expérience en France que ceux qui ne vivent presque que de coquillages et de poissons qui ne sont que de l'eau rassemblée, sont plus ardents
On the right of the Londoners the French still stayed in their trenches their own attack was postponed until midday and they cheered the London men, as they went forward, with cries of, "Vivent les Angdais!" "A mort les Boches!" It was they who saw one man kicking a football in advance of the others. "He is mad!" they said. "The poor boy is a lunatic!"
People of substance were wary of him, for they had no confidence in his capacity, and were afraid of his frequent demands for contributions to the patriotic cause. He spent his time in the pleasure gardens, shooting at the mark with arquebuss or crossbow, drinking with his comrades, and shrieking "Vivent les gueux."
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."
Merci, mon lieutenant, vivent les Belges!" A few yards further on we passed a group of refugees who were stumbling aimlessly along in the dark there were men and women, trying to console each other, and whimpering children, sick with hunger, clinging to their mothers' skirts. Their plaintive cry was like a knife through the heart.
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!"
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."
He gazed at me with those black, burning eyes of his, and then as if speaking to himself, repeated those lines of Ronsard's about Mary Stuart: Elle était de ce monde où les plus belles choses Ont le pire destin; Et, rose, elle a vécu ce que vivent les roses, L'espace d'un matin. His voice was music when he spoke these words, for he felt them.
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