Consider this: Vanguard of National troops; with trains of artillery; of pikemen and pikewomen, mounted on cannons, on carts, hackney-coaches, or on foot;—tripudiating, in tricolor ribbons from head to heel; loaves stuck on the points of bayonets, green boughs stuck in gun barrels.[258] Next, as main-march, “fifty cartloads of corn,” which have been lent, for peace, from the stores of Versailles. Behind which follow stragglers of the Garde-du-Corps; all humiliated, in Grenadier bonnets. Close on these comes the Royal Carriage; come Royal Carriages: for there are an Hundred National Deputies too, among whom sits Mirabeau,—his remarks not given. Then finally, pellmell, as rearguard, Flandre, Swiss, Hundred Swiss, other Bodyguards, Brigands, whosoever cannot get before. Between and among all which masses, flows without limit Saint-Antoine, and the Menadic Cohort. Menadic especially about the Royal Carriage; tripudiating there, covered with tricolor; singing “allusive songs;” pointing with one hand to the Royal Carriage, which the illusions hit, and pointing to the Provision-wagons, with the other hand, and these words: ‘Courage, Friends! We shall not want bread now; we are bringing you the Baker, the Bakeress, and Baker’s Boy (_le Boulanger, la Boulangère, et le petit Mitron_).’[259] The wet day draggles the tricolor, but the joy is unextinguishable. Is not all well now? ‘_Ah, Madame, notre bonne Reine_,’ said some of these Strong-women some days hence, ‘Ah Madame, our good Queen, don’t be a traitor any more (_ne soyez plus traître_), and we will all love you!’ Poor Weber went splashing along, close by the Royal carriage, with the tear in his eye: “their Majesties did me the honour,” or I thought they did it, “to testify, from time to time, by shrugging of the shoulders, by looks directed to Heaven, the emotions they felt.” Thus, like frail cockle, floats the Royal Life-boat, helmless, on black deluges of Rascality. Mercier, in his loose way, estimates the Procession and assistants at two hundred thousand. He says it was one boundless inarticulate Haha;—_transcendent_ World-Laughter; comparable to the Saturnalia of the Ancients. Why not? Here too, as we said, is Human Nature once more human; shudder at it whoso is of shuddering humour: yet behold it is human. It has “swallowed all formulas;” it tripudiates even so. For which reason they that collect Vases and Antiques, with figures of Dancing Bacchantes “in wild and all but impossible positions,” may look with some interest on it.