have come to Paris to concert measures with my government and with the Chambers; and that I am at this moment occupied with those measures of public safety which circumstances demand."

When Joseph Bonaparte, with Quinette, visited the veteran John Adams, the patriotic patriarch of Quincy, Lafayette was wrong," said the clear-sighted American republican. The Emperor was the true rallying point. The Deputies and the country should have stuck to him after the defeat of Waterloo."*

It is not strange, however, that any mind should have been bewildered in the midst of events so perilous, so tremendous, so unparalleled. As Napoleon read these unfriendly resolutions he turned pale, and said, "I ought to have dismissed these men before I left Paris. I foresaw this. These factious firebrands will ruin France. I can measure the full extent of the evil. I must reflect upon what is now to be done. If necessary I will abdicate." He then dissolved the sitting of the Council. That he might not act hastily, and without a knowledge of all the circumstances, he decided to send a brief communication to each of the Chambers. Regnault was the messenger to the Deputies, and Carnot to the Peers. "Tell them," said the Emperor, "that I am here, in deliberation with my marshals; that my army is rallying; that I *History of the Second War, by Charles J. Ingersoll.

Vel. ii. p. 346.

The Chamber of Deputies was in such a tumult that Regnault could not even obtain a hearing. The Peers, though in a state of similar commotion, listened respectfully to the message from the Emperor. In stormy debate the hours of the day passed, and night again spread its gloom over the streets of agitated Paris.

The great mass of the population of Paris, and the people of the faubourgs, in numbers which could not be counted, crowded around the Elysée, and filled the air with shouts of "Vive l'Empereur !" The trees, the walls, the railings of the palace, and the roofs of the surrounding houses, were covered with the living mass, all eager to catch a glimpse of their beloved Emperor. In the darkness, and as these enthusiastic acclamations were filling the air, Lucien, that stern republican who had refused thrones, walked with the Emperor beneath the trees of the garden, and endeavored to rouse him to bid defiance to the Chambers, and to grasp that dictatorial power by which alone France could now be saved. "Look at these people," said he, "hurrying to you under the impulse of a disinterested instinct. They see in you alone, at this moment, their country and their independence. Listen to those cries. They call upon you for arms. They supplicate you to give a chief to this multitude. It is the same throughout all the empire. Will you then aban

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His position at the Elysée," says Caulaincourt, "is unexampled in history. He might, had he been so inclined, have annihilated the traitors by a single word. The crowds who surrounded him would, at the slightest signal, have overthrown any obstacle which stood between Napoleon and the nation. But the Emperor would not consent to excite scenes of carnage. He well knew the terrific nature of popular justice."

The emissaries of Fouché were audacious, violent, and sanguine in the Chamber of Deputies. They endeavored to overwhelm Lucien with clamor and insult, as he conveyed to them the proposition of the Emperor. Caulaincourt, who had followed Lucien, hastened from the Chamber to inform the Emperor of what was passing. The crowd was so dense which surrounded the Elysée, that it was with great difficulty that the carriage of the minister could pass along. As he entered the palace, and was conversing with the Emperor, the shouts of the populace rose awfully on the midnight air, penetrating, as with appalling thunder, the cabinet of the Elysée.

"This is dreadful," said Napoleon. "The mob may be led to the commission of some excess, and I shall be accused of being the cause. These mistaken people wish to serve me, and yet they are doing all they can to injure me."

The judicious and lofty spirit of the Emperor revolted at the idea of arming the lower classes against the magistracy of the empire. He had been the revered Emperor of the French nation, and he would not stoop, even for an hour, to be the leader of a faction. Moreover his eagle glance penetrated futurity with far more unerring vision than any one around him enjoyed. He distinctly saw all the tremendous peril of the crisis, and that France could only be saved by the cordial cooperation of the whole nation. Napoleon alone, with the opposition of the powerful Chambers, could only extort better terms for himself from the Allies. He could not save France. He might protract a civil war for months, and cause a great amount of blood to be shed; but with a million of exultant enemies crossing the frontiers, France unarmed and exhausted, royalists and Jacobins combining against him, the Legislative Bodies pronouncing him an usurper, and the Allies offering

they were fighting not against France, but against Napoleon alone. When Caulaincourt informed the Emperor of the tumultuary scene in the Chambers, and of the demand that he should abdicate, Napoleon exclaimed:

"All is lost. They seem not to be aware that by declaring the throne to be vacant they surrender it to the first claimant. The Allies now will not treat. They will dictate their terms, and they must be accepted. The majority of the Chambers is hostile to the Bourbons; and yet there is no doubt that the Bourbons will be again forced upon France. The nation is at the mercy of her foreign enemies. She will pay dearly for the incapacity of her representatives."

This conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Benjamin Constant, who had urged the Emperor to arm the masses, and thus put down domestic clamor and repel the foreign foe. He now came in to inform the Emperor, with sadness, that the Chamber of Deputies was about to demand his abdication. Napoleon had not been elected Emperor by the Chambers but by the people.

"By what right," said Napoleon mildly, “does the Chamber demand of me my abdication? Where is its authority?" Then, directing attention to the tumultuous acclamations which were continually bursting in thunder peals from the multitude who crowded around the Elysée, he added:

"These poor people who now come to condole with me in my reverses, I have not loaded with honors and riches. I leave them poor, as I found them. But the instinct of country enlightens them. The voice of the nation speaks through their mouths. I have but to say one word, and in an hour the Chamber of Deputies would no longer exist. But no! not a single life shall be sacrificed for me. I have not returned from Elba to inundate Paris with blood."

Even the most hostile pens have been compelled to record the singular humanity and magnanimity which the Emperor manifested through the whole of this fearful trial. Never was there exhibited more perfect oblivion of self, never more entire devotion to the interests of one's country. Even Lamartine could not refuse his tribute of respect.

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History," he says, "owes this justice to Napoleon, that, whether from a natural horror of popular excesses, the sanguinary spectacle of which had left a sinister impression in his soul since the 10th of August, the massacres of September, and the reeking guillotine; whether from a soldier-like repugnance to all undisciplined forces, or respect for his future fame, he constantly, both on his return and on his fall, since the 20th of

Thus passed the 21st of June. The Chamber of Deputies continued its agitated and stormy session through the night. Napoleon, at a late hour, sick, exhausted, and woe-stricken, in view of the calamities which were overwhelming his country, retired to his pillow. There was but little sleep in Paris that awful night. Vast masses of men were surging through the streets, clamoring for weapons to protect their Emperor and France. The myriad armies of the Allies had encamped one day nearer the doomed metropolis. There was distraction in council, antagonism in action, and all was confusion and dismay. Had the Chamber of Deputies but said the word, the mighty genius of Napoleon would instantly have evolved order from this chaos; the people would have risen all over the empire against their invaders as one man, and France might perhaps have been saved. Instead of this the deputies, during the night, insanely discarding the energies of the most gigantic mind on earth, passed a resolve virtually requesting the Emperor to abdicate. Thus was France delivered over in utter helplessness to the derision and the insults of its foes.

The morning of the 22d dawned. Stormy as had been the events of the night, still more tempestuous were the scenes which the new day introduced. The Emperor sat in his cabinet, absorbed in painful thought, with his hand spread over his eyes, when a child entered the room, presenting before him, on a tray, coffee and refreshments. For a moment Napoleon did not per

The Emperor raised his eyes, looked kindly upon his youthful attendant, and said, "You come from the village Gonesse, do you not?"

"No, Sire," the child replied, "I come from Pierrefite."

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"Where your parents," Napoleon added, "have a cottage and some acres of land?" Yes, Sire," the child replied. "There," exclaimed the world-weary Emperor, "is true happiness."

At eight o'clock the two Chambers, in intense excitement, were reassembled, and the enemies of Napoleon, all combining in a majority, were clamorous for his abdication. At an early hour the Emperor convoked the Council of Ministers at the Elysée. News had arrived during the night which added greatly to his embarrassment. Marshal Grouchy had escaped from both Wellington and Blucher, and with forty thousand troops had returned to France. Ney and Jerome Bonaparte had rallied, near the frontier, from the rout of Waterloo, nearly forty thousand more. Ten thousand well-trained soldiers, from the environs, had marched during the night into the city, burning with enthusiasm, and ready to die in defense of the empire and of the Emperor. From the countless throng surrounding the Elysée an army of fifty thousand men could in a few hours be arrayed in martial bands, prepared with desperation to beat back the invading foe. Napoleon was entreated by many of his friends to grasp these powerful resources for the preservation of France. Never was a mortal placed before in so torturing a dilemma. A refusal to seize the dictatorship handed France over, in helplessness and humiliation, to the Allies. On the other hand, the bold

mediately dissolving the two Chambers by violence, of imprisoning those whose opposition was to be dreaded, and of exposing France to all the horrible calamities of war, in which cities must be bombarded, vast regions of country ravaged by hostile armies, and the lives of tens of thousands of Frenchmen sacrificed.

The Emperor, though perfectly calm, was serious and sad. He weighed every thing in the balance of judgment and humanity. He decided that, with the co-operation of the Chambers, the chances were still strongly in favor of France. Without that co-operation, he deemed it unjustifiable to appeal to the awful decisions of the sword. With this object in view, he sent to the Chambers a statement of the resources at hand, and of his willingness to wield them, to the utmost of his power, for the preservation of the independence of France.

The Chamber of Deputies bewildered, excited, and irrational-conscious of the power which the Emperor still held-after a stormy debate, sent back a reply couched in what was intended as respectful terms.

"The war," said the deputation, "in which France is again involved, affects the nation much less than the Emperor. The Allies have proclaimed peace to France, and war against Napoleon alone. Peace can consequently be immediately secured for France, if the Emperor will once more sacrifice himself to save his country." ." This appeal to the Emperor's devotion to France was deciding the question. The Emperor received the deputation graciously, and promised an immediate reply. As they withdrew, he said to his friends:

The aged and noble Carnot, as he heard this abdication read, which surrendered France to the mercy of her enemies, overwhelmed with anguish, buried his face in his hands, and burst into a flood of tears. Napoleon was deeply affected. He immediately went to the grief-stricken statesman, soothingly placed his hand upon his shoulder, and said, "My friend, I have not known you till too late!"*

The reading of this dignified act created a profound sensation in the Chamber of Deputies. Regnault, inspired by the grandeur of the occasion and the theme, ascended the tribune and drew a picture so affecting and pathetic of the benefits Napoleon had already conferred upon France, and of the moral sublimity of the act which he had now performed, in sacrificing himself, without condition and without reserve, to the happiness of his country, to wander an exile he knew not where, and to suffer he knew not what, that the whole assembly was plunged into tears, and even his most obdurate enemies were melted. There was after this glowing speech a moment of profound silence, interrupted only by the inarticulate murmurs of emotion. The Chamber then, with entire unanimity, decreed a solemn deputation to wait upon Napoleon, and express, in the name of the nation, "the respect and gratitude with which it accepted the noble sacrifice he had made to the independence and happiness of the French people." In this act the Chamber of Peers also united.

It was now night. The unthroned Emperor had retired alone to the solitude of his cabinet. It was dimly lighted by a few wax candles. Napoleon received the delegation with great courte

Then, requesting Lucien to take the pen, he paced the floor, and slowly dictated the following act of abdication :

"Frenchmen! In commencing the war for the upholding of national independence, I relied on the union of all efforts and all wills, and upon the concurrence of all the national authorities. I had every reason to expect success; and I braved the declamations of the Allies against my person. Circumstances appear to me changed. I offer myself in sacrifice to the hatred of the enemies of France. May they prove sincere in their declamations, and hate only my person!

My political life is ended; and I proclaim my son, under the title of Napoleon II., Emperor of the French. The present ministers will provi; sionally form the Council of Government. The interest I feel in my son prompts me to request the Chambers to organize, without delay, the

"I thank you for the sentiments you express toward me. I hope that my abdication may prove for the happiness of France; but I do not expect it. It leaves the State without a head, and without political existence. The time wasted in overturning the monarchy might have been employed in placing France in a condition to crush the enemy. I recommend to the Chambers speedily to reinforce the armies. Whoever wishes for peace should make preparation for war. Do not leave this great nation at the mercy of foreigners. Beware of being deceived in your hopes. There lies * “I had the grief," said the Duke of Gaete," of being present at the second abdication of Napoleon. He dictated it in the midst of his council, with the same composure with which we had heard him, a hundred times, dictate his orders when he was in the plenitude of power. Only he was more careful in the choice of his phrases and

in the construction of his sentences. He read the document over several times, each time making some slight corrections. When he was satisfied with it he sent it to the Chamber of Deputies. He then retired to his cabinet. found him as calm as we had seen him in the morning. Count Mollien and I saw him again in the evening. We His last adieus were affectionate and touching."