n
the 23d of January, when the Emperor took leave of the National Guard
previously to his departure from Paris to join the army.

Napoleon entered with the Empress. He advanced with a dignified step,
leading by the hand his son, who was not yet three years old. It was
long since I had seen him. He had grown very corpulent, and I remarked
on his pale countenance an expression of melancholy and irritability.

The habitual movement of the muscles of his neck was more decided and
more frequent than formerly. I shall not attempt to describe what were
my feelings during this ceremony, when I again saw, after a long
separation, the friend of my youth, who had become master of Europe,
and was now on the point of sinking beneath the efforts of his enemies.
There was something melancholy in this solemn and impressive ceremony.
I have rarely witnessed such profound silence in so numerous an assembly.
At length Napoleon, in a voice as firm and sonorous as when he used to
harangue his troops in Italy or in Egypt, but without that air of
confidence which then beamed on his countenance, delivered to the
assembled officers an address which was published in all the journals of
the time. At the commencement of this address he said, "I set out this
night to take the command of the army. On quitting the capital I
confidently leave behind me my wife and my son, in whom so many hopes are
centred." I listened attentively to Napoleon's address, and, though he
delivered it firmly, he either felt or feigned emotion. Whether or not
the emotion was sincere on his part, it was shared by many present; and
for my own part I confess that my feelings were deeply moved when he
uttered the words, "I leave you my wife and my son." At that moment my
eyes were fixed on the young Prince, and the interest with which he
inspired me was equally unconnected with the splendour which surrounded
and the misfortunes which threatened him. I beheld in the interesting
child not the King of Rome but the son of my old friend. All day long
afterwards I could not help feeling depressed while comparing the
farewell scene of the morning with the day on which we took possession of
the Tuileries. How many centuries seemed the fourteen years which
separated the two events.

It may be worth while to remind those who are curious in comparing dates
that Napoleon, the successor of Louis XVI., and who had become the nephew
of that monarch by his marriage with the niece of Marie An