The multitude was treated first to the spectacle of a grand procession streaming through the three openings of the triumphal arch. Deputies from the provinces, members of the National Assembly, and [Pg 211]representatives of the Paris Commune, with Mayor Bailly at their head, marched slowly and gravely to their places. After them came the visiting military delegations, the Paris guards, and regular troops who had been called to Paris from all parts of the kingdom, to the number of forty thousand or more, each with its distinctive banner. These marched around the altar and broke into strange dances and mock combats, undeterred by heavy showers. When the rain fell the ranks of spectators blossomed into a mass of red and green umbrellas, no longer the novelty they once had been. When a shower passed umbrellas were furled and the crowd took on another color. At three o'clock the queen appeared with the Dauphin beside her. Then the king, in magnificent robes of state, took his seat on a purple chair sown with fleurs-de-lis, which had been placed on an exact line and level with a similar chair upholstered in blue for the president of the National Assembly. The king had been named for that one day Supreme Commander of all the National Guards of France. He had delegated his powers, whatever they may have been, to Lafayette; and it was Lafayette on a white horse such as Washington rode who was here, there, and everywhere, the central figure of the pageant as he moved about fulfilling the duties of his office. General Thiébault wrote in his _Memoirs_ that the young buoyant figure on the shining horse, riding through that great mass of men, seemed to be commanding all France. "Look at him!" cried an enthusiast. "He is galloping through the centuries!" And it was upon Lafayette, [Pg 212]at the crowning moment of the ceremony, that all eyes rested. After the two hundred priests had solemnly marched to the altar and placed ahead of all other banners their sacred oriflamme of St.-Denis, Lafayette dismounted and approached the king to receive his orders. Then, slowly ascending the many steps to the altar, he laid his sword before it and, turning, faced the soldiers. Every arm was raised and every voice cried, "I swear!" as he led them in their oath of loyalty; and as if in answer to the mighty shout, the sun burst at that instant through the stormclouds. Music and artillery crashed in jubilant sound; other cannon at a distance took up the tale; and in this way news of the oath was borne to the utmost limits of France. The day ended with fireworks, dancing, and a great feast. Lafayette was the center of the cheers and adulation, admirers pressing upon him from all sides. He was even in danger of bodily harm from the embraces, "perfidious or sincere," of a group of unknown men who had to be forcibly driven away by his aides-de-camp. That night somebody hung his portrait upon the railing surrounding the statue of France's hero-king, Henri IV; an