icient to show. He was still consulting with his ministers (even
they were not all his friends) on the morning of the 21st, in what
manner he ought to inform the Chambers of his great misfortune, and what
assistance he should demand, when the news reached the _Elysee_, that
both the assemblies had met as soon as the story of Waterloo transpired,
and passed a series of resolutions, one of which declared the state to
be in danger--and another, _their_ sittings _permanent_; in other words,
proclaimed his reign to be at an end. If anything could have been wanted
to complete Napoleon's conviction that the army had elevated him in
opposition to the nation--it must have been found in the fact that the
funds rose rapidly from the moment in which it was known in Paris that
the army was ruined. They went on to tell him that the Chambers were
debating on the means of defending Paris. "Ah," said he--deeply feeling
in what loss all had been lost to him--"Ah, could they but defend them
like my Old Guard!"

If Napoleon had listened to the advice of his brother Lucien, and the
few who really considered their own fortunes as irrevocably bound up
with his, he would have instantly put himself at the head of 6000 of the
Imperial Guard, who were then in the capital, and dissolved the
unfriendly senate of Paris, on the 21st of June, as unceremoniously as
he had that of St. Cloud on the 19th of Brumaire. Lucien said ever
after, that, "the smoke of Mont St. Jean had turned his brain." He
certainly gave what remained of the day to vacillation. Late in the
evening he held a council, to which the presidents and vice-presidents
of both Chambers were admitted. In their presence La Fayette signified
that nothing could be done until _a great sacrifice_ had been made.
Maret answered with fierceness; called for severe measures against the
royalists and the disaffected. "Had such been resorted to earlier,"
cried he, "one who hears me would not be smiling at the misfortunes of
France, and Wellington would not be marching on Paris." This strong
allusion to Fouche suited not the temper of the moment. Maret was
murmured down; and Carnot himself is said to have shed tears, when he
perceived that the abdication was judged necessary. That ancient
democrat had indeed just consented to be a count; but he enjoys
apparently the credit of having acted on this occasion as a good
Frenchman. He saw, say even the anti-Buonapartist historians, that
France was invaded, a