The next morning I went alone to the palace. He has seen nothing who has not seen the pomp of Versailles, even after the disbanding of the old Royal Household: Louis XIV. still lingered there. All went well so long as I had only to pass through the guard-room: military display has always pleased and never awed me. But when I entered the Œil-de-bœuf and found myself among the courtiers, my distress commenced. I was scrutinized; I heard them ask who I was. One must remember the former prestige of royalty to realize the importance of a presentation in those days. A mysterious destiny clung to the _débutant_; he was spared the contemptuous air of protection which, coupled with extreme politeness, composed the inimitable manners of the grandee. Who was to tell that that _débutant_ would not become the master's favourite? In him was respected the future familiarity with which he might be honoured. Nowadays we rush to the palace with even greater eagerness than before, and, strangely enough, with no illusions: a courtier reduced to living on truths is very near to dying of hunger. When the King's levee was announced, the persons not presented withdrew; I felt an impulse of vanity: I was not proud of remaining, but I should have felt humiliated at leaving. The door of the King's bed-chamber opened; I saw the King, according to custom, complete his toilet, in other words take his hat from the hand of the first lord-in-waiting. The King came towards me on his way to Mass; I bowed; the Marshal de Duras mentioned my name: "Sire, the Chevalier de Chateaubriand." The King looked at me, returned my bow, hesitated, appeared to wish to address me. I should have replied boldly: my shyness had vanished. To speak to the general of the army, to the head of the State, seemed quite simple to me, though I could not account for what I felt The King's embarrassment was greater than mine; he could think of nothing to say to me, and passed on. The vanity of human destinies: this sovereign whom I saw for the first time, this powerful monarch was Louis XVI., but six years removed from the scaffold! And the new courtier at whom he scarcely looked, charged with separating dead bones from dead bones, after having been presented, upon proof of nobility, to the majesty of the son of St. Louis, was one day to be presented to his dust upon proof of fidelity! A two-fold tribute of respect to the two-fold royalty of the sceptre and the palm. Louis XVI. might have answered his judges as Christ answered the Jews: "Many good works I have showed you ... for which of those works do you stone me[208]?"