ting thoughts, that often he did not notice the arrival of persons
whom he had summoned, looked at them, so to speak, without seeing them,
and sometimes remained nearly half an hour without addressing them; then,
as if awaking from this state of stupefaction, asked them questions
without seeming to hear the reply; and even the presence of the Duke of
Bassano and the Duke of Vicenza, whom he summoned more frequently, did
not interrupt this condition of preoccupation or lethargy, so to speak.
The hours for meals were the same, and they were served as usual; but all
took place amid complete silence, broken only by the necessary noise of
the service. At the Emperor's toilet the same silence; not a word issued
from his lips; and if in the morning I suggested to him one of the drinks
that he usually took, he not only did not reply, but nothing in his
countenance which I attentively observed could make me believe that he
had heard me. This situation was terrible for all the persons attached
to his Majesty.

Was the Emperor really so overwhelmed by his evil fortune? Was his
genius as benumbed as his body? I must admit, in all candor, that seeing
him so different from what he appeared after the disasters of Moscow, and
even when I had left him at Troyes a few days before, I strongly believed
it. But this was by no means the case; his soul was a prey to one fixed
idea that of taking the offensive and marching on Paris. And though,
indeed, he remained overwhelmed with consternation in his intimate
intercourse with his most faithful ministers and most skillful generals,
he revived at sight of his soldiers, thinking, doubtless, that the one
would suggest only prudent counsels while the others would never reply
aught but in shouts of "Vive l'Empereur!" to the most daring orders he
might give. For instance, on the 2d of April he momentarily, so to
speak, shook off his dejection, and in the court of the palace held a
review of his guard, who had just rejoined him at Fontainebleau. He
addressed his soldiers in a firm voice, saying:

"Soldiers! the enemy has stolen three marches on us, and has taken
possession of Paris; we must drive them out. Unworthy Frenchmen,
emigres to whom we have extended pardon, have donned the white
cockade, and gone over to our enemies. The cowards! They will reap
the reward of this new treason. Let us swear to conquer or to die,
and to have respect shown to this tricolored cockade, which for