There was a movement of curiosity, attention, and respect. Charles
X. had entered the Cathedral. The moment his foot crossed the
threshold, Cardinal de La Fare pronounced a prayer:--
"O God, who knowest that the human race cannot subsist by its own
virtue, grant Thy succor to Charles, Thy servant, whom Thou hast
put at the head of Thy people, that he may himself succor and
protect those subject to him."
Here, then, is Charles X. in that basilica where fifty years
before, Sunday, June 11, 1775, he assisted at the coronation of
his brother Louis XVI. Then he was seventeen. Ah! what would have
been his surprise had it been foretold to him by what strange and
horrible series of gloomy and bloody dramas he should himself come
to be crowned in this Cathedral of Rheims! What a contrast between
the religious pomps of June 11, 1775, and the sacrilegious
scaffolds of January 21 and October 16, 1793! What a difference
between the royal mantle of the sovereign and the humble costume
of the captive of the Temple, between the resplendent toilet of
the Queen of France and Navarre and the patched gown of the
prisoner of the Conciergerie! What a road travelled between the
hosannas of the priests and the insults of the Furies of the
Guillotine! What reflections might one make who had been present
at both the ceremonies! How much must such an one have been moved
were he the King himself, the brother of Louis XVI.
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