“The Constitution!” continued Napoleon, “it has been thrice violated already—­all parties have invoked it—­each in turn has trampled on it:  since that can be preserved no longer, let us, at least, save its foundations—­Liberty and Equality.  It is on you only that I rely.  The Council of Five Hundred would restore the Convention, the popular tumults, the scaffolds, the reign of terror.  I will save you from such horrors—­I and my brave comrades, whose swords and caps I see at the door of this hall; and if any hireling prater talks of outlawry, to those swords shall I appeal.”  The great majority were with him, and he left them amidst loud cries of “Vive Buonaparte!”

A far different scene was passing in the hostile assembly of the Five Hundred.  When its members at length found their way into the Orangery, the apartment allotted for them, a tumultuous clamour arose on every side. Live the Constitution!  The Constitution or death!  Down with the Dictator!—­such were the ominous cries.  Lucien Buonaparte, the president, in vain attempted to restore order:  the moderate orators of the council, with equal ill success, endeavoured to gain a hearing.  A democrat member at length obtained a moment’s silence, and proposed that the council should renew, man by man, the oath of fidelity to the Constitution of the year three.  This was assented to, and a vain ceremony, for it was no more, occupied time which might have been turned to far different account.  Overpowered, however, by the clamour, the best friends of Napoleon, even his brother Lucien, took the oath.  The resignatory letter of Barras was then handed in, and received with a shout of scorn.  The moment was come; Napoleon, himself, accompanied by four grenadiers, walked into the chamber—­the doors remained open, and plumes and swords were visible in dense array behind him.  His grenadiers halted near the door, and he advanced alone towards the centre of the gallery.  Then arose a fierce outcry—­Drawn swords in the sanctuary of the laws!  Outlawry!  Outlawry!  Let him be proclaimed a traitor!  Was it for this you gained so many victories? Many members rushed upon the intruder, and, if we may place confidence in his own tale, a Corsican deputy, by name, Arena, aimed a dagger at his throat.  At all events there was such an appearance of personal danger as fired the grenadiers behind him.  They rushed forwards, and extricated him almost breathless; and one of their number (Thome) was at least rewarded on the score of his having received a wound meant for the General.

It seems to be admitted that at this moment the iron nerves of Buonaparte were, for once, shaken.  With the dangers of the field he was familiar—­in order to depict the perfect coolness of his demeanour during the greater part of this very day, his secretary says—­“he was as calm as at the opening of a great battle;” but he had not been prepared for the manifestations of this civil rage.  He came out, staggering and stammering, among the soldiery, and said, “I offered them victory and fame, and they have answered me with daggers.”