Nation; perfecting one's Theory of Irregular Verbs!



Chapter 1.6.III.

The General Overturn.

Of the King's Court, for the present, there is almost nothing whatever
to be said. Silent, deserted are these halls; Royalty languishes
forsaken of its war-god and all its hopes, till once the Oeil-de-Boeuf
rally again. The sceptre is departed from King Louis; is gone over to
the Salles des Menus, to the Paris Townhall, or one knows not whither.
In the July days, while all ears were yet deafened by the crash of the
Bastille, and Ministers and Princes were scattered to the four winds, it
seemed as if the very Valets had grown heavy of hearing. Besenval, also
in flight towards Infinite Space, but hovering a little at Versailles,
was addressing his Majesty personally for an Order about post-horses;
when, lo, 'the Valet in waiting places himself familiarly between his
Majesty and me,' stretching out his rascal neck to learn what it was!
His Majesty, in sudden choler, whirled round; made a clutch at the
tongs: 'I gently prevented him; he grasped my hand in thankfulness; and
I noticed tears in his eyes.' (Besenval, iii. 419.)

Poor King; for French Kings also are men! Louis Fourteenth himself
once clutched the tongs, and even smote with them; but then it was at
Louvois, and Dame Maintenon ran up.--The Queen sits weeping in her
inner apartments, surrounded by weak women: she is 'at the height of
unpopularity;' universally regarded as the evil genius of France. Her
friends and familiar counsellors have all fled; and fled, surely, on the