self-controlled. But let there be no mistake: there was no peace; they
were simply awaiting a declaration of war. When the calm was broken, it
was from Marseilles that the provocation came. We shall efface ourselves
for a time and let an eye-witness speak, who being a Catholic cannot be
suspected of partiality for the Protestants.

"I was living in Marseilles at the time of Napoleon's landing, and I was
a witness of the impression which the news produced upon everyone. There
was one great cry; the enthusiasm was universal; the National Guard
wanted to join him to the last man, but Marshal Massena did not give his
consent until it was too late, for Napoleon had already reached the
mountains, and was moving with such swiftness that it would have been
impossible to overtake him. Next we heard of his triumphal entry into
Lyons, and of his arrival in Paris during the night. Marseilles
submitted like the rest of France; Prince d'Essling was recalled to the
capital, and Marshal Brune, who commanded the 6th corps of observation,
fixed his headquarters at Marseilles.

"With quite incomprehensible fickleness, Marseilles, whose name during
the Terror had been, as one may say, the symbol of the most advanced
opinions, had become almost entirely Royalist in 1815. Nevertheless, its
inhabitants saw without a murmur the tricolour flag after a year's
absence floating once more above the walls. No arbitrary interference on
the part of the authorities, no threats, and no brawling between the
citizens and the soldiers, troubled the peace of old Phocea; no
revolution ever took place with such quietness and facility.

"It must, however, be said, that Marshal Brune was just the man to
accomplish such a transformation without friction; in him the frankness
and loyalty of an old soldier were combined with other qualities more
solid than brilliant. Tacitus in hand, he looked on at modern
revolutions as they passed, and only interfered when the, voice of his
country called him to her defence. The conqueror of Harlem and Bakkun
had been for four years forgotten in retirement, or rather in exile, when
the same voice which sent him away recalled him, and at the summons
Cincinnatus left his plough and grasped his weapons. Physically he was
at this period a man of about fifty-five, with a frank and open face
framed by large whiskers; his head was bald except for a little grizzled
hair at the temples; he was tall and active, and had a remark