The worthy Duke found no interests except in works of philanthropy. He laboured ardently to secure new constitutional forms to the kingdom. As a representative peer in the National Assembly he took his seat in the ranks of those admirers of English liberty who were styled monarchical, by the side of Malouet and Stanislas de Clermont-Tonnerre. And although his party appeared even then defeated, he awaited with all the fervour of indomitable hope the oncoming of revolution in its most humane aspect. We shared his aspirations. Despite numerous causes for uneasiness, we continued during the following year to be upheld by this enthusiasm. I accompanied Monsieur Mille to the Champ de Mars at the beginning of July. On this spot two hundred thousand persons of all ranks—men, women, children—were erecting with their own hands the altar upon which all were to swear that they would live free, or, if needs must, die free. Wig-makers in bluejackets, water-carriers, abbés, coal-heavers, capuchins, opera-singers in brocaded dresses with ribbons and feathers in their hair, all these side by side delved the sacred soil of their country. What an object-lesson in fraternity! We saw Monsieur Sieyès and Monsieur de Beauharnais trundling the same cart; we saw Father Gérard, passing like an ancient Roman from the Senate to the plough, wielding the spade and preparing the ground; we saw an entire family at work in the same spot—the father digging, the mother filling the wheelbarrow, and the children pushing it turn and turn about, whilst the youngest, only four years of age, borne in the arms of his grandfather aged ninety-three, lisped out: “_Ah! ça ira! ça ira!_” We saw the Society of Journeymen Gardeners marching in procession with lettuces and daisies attached to the ends of their spades. Several other corporations followed them, preceded by a band: the Printers, whose banner bore this inscription: _Printing, foremost ensign of Liberty._ Then the Butchers: upon their standard was painted a large knife, with these words: _Tremble, aristocrats! Behold the Journeymen Butchers._ And even this took on the appearance for us of fraternity. “Aubier, my friend, my brother,” exclaimed Monsieur Mille, “I am fired with poetical enthusiasm. I am about to compose an ode which shall be dedicated to you. Listen:— Friend, behold the concourse grand, From far and wide assembled there, The mainstays of our own loved land, Whose banners proudly take the air: Love it is directs their path Toward the patriot altar-fires, Each his bounden service hath Vowed, till Life’s last flame expires.”[8] ----- Footnote 8: