sun of Austerlitz,” at the dawn of many a decisive day, and they felt that it rose to look on their eagles victorious.  If the criterion of eloquence be its power over the passions, that of Napoleon Bonaparte has been rarely equalled.  It was always the right thing at the right time, and produced precisely the effect it aimed at.  It was never more apparent than in the address in question.  There were passages which thrilled the martial spirit of the land, and quickened into life the old associations connected with days of glory.  Marshal Ney said, at his trial, that there was one sentence[A] in it which no French soldier could resist, and which drew the whole of his army over to the Emperor.

[Footnote A:  “La victoire marchera au pas de charge.”]

Such was the paper, which was read amidst the mad demonstrations of my schoolfellows.  Their extravagance knew no limits; studies were neglected; and the recitations, next morning, demonstrated to our discomforted teachers that the minds of their pupils had passed the night on the march from Cannes to Paris.

The court journals spoke lightly of the whole matter, pronounced the “usurper” crazy, and predicted that he would be brought to the capital in chains.  There were sometimes rumors that he was defeated and slain, and again that he was a prisoner at the mercy of the king.  The telegraphic despatches were not made public, and the utmost care was practised by the government to conceal the fact that his continually increasing columns were rapidly approaching.  There appeared to be no alteration in the usual routine of the royal family, and there was no outward sign of the mortal consternation that was shaking them to the centre of their souls.  The day before the entrance of the Emperor, I happened to be passing through the court-yard of the Tuileries, when an array of carriages indicated that the inmates of the palace were about to take their daily drive.  As my position was favorable, I stopped to look at the display of fine equipages, and soon saw part of the family come down and go out, as I supposed, for their morning recreation.  It was, however, no party of pleasure, and they did not stop to take breath until they had passed the frontiers of France.  They had information which was unknown to the public, and they thought it advisable to quit the premises before the new lessee took possession.

The next afternoon, my father, who was at that time in Paris, called for me, told me that a change was evidently about to take place, and wished me to accompany him.  As we passed through the streets, the noise of our carriage was the only sound heard.  Most of the shops were closed; few persons were abroad, and we scarcely met or passed a single vehicle.  As we drew near the Tuileries the evidences of life increased, and when we drove into the Place du Carrousel, the quadrangle formed by the palace and the Louvre, the whole immense area was filled with people; yet the stillness was awful.  Men talked in an undertone, as they stood grouped together, apparently unwilling to communicate their thoughts beyond their particular circle.  The sound of wheels and the appearance of the carriage caused many to rush towards us; but, seeing strangers, they let us pursue our way until we drew up near the Arch of Triumph.