For France was desirous to pay her homage to the hero of Arcola, and to celebrate his genius—­to wish him prosperity, and to applaud him.  The Directory had to adapt themselves to the universal sentiment; to pay their respects to the general with a cheerful mien and with friendly alacrity, while at heart they looked on him with vexation and envy.  Bonaparte’s popularity filled them with anxiety and fearful misgivings.

But it was necessary to submit to this; the public sentiment required those festivities in honor of the general of the republic, and the five directors in the Luxemburg had no longer the power to guillotine the public sentiment, the true king of Paris, as once they had guillotined King Louis.

The directors, therefore, inaugurated brilliant festivities; they received the conqueror of Italy in the Luxemburg with great demonstrations of solemnity, in which the Parisians took a part.  In the immense court in front of the residence of the directors this celebration took place.  In the midst of the open place a lofty platform was erected; it was the country’s altar, on which the gigantic statues of Freedom, Equality, and of Peace, were lifted up.  Around this altar was a second platform, with seats for the five hundred, the deputies, and the authorities; the standards conquered in the Italian war formed over the seats of the five directors a sort of canopy:  they were, however, to them as the sword of Damocles, ready to fall upon them at any moment and destroy them.

The directors, dressed in brilliant antique robes, created no impression, notwithstanding their theatrical splendor, in comparison with the sensation produced by the simple, unaffected appearance of General Bonaparte.  He wore the plain green uniform which he had worn at Arcola and Lodi; his suite was limited to a few officers only, who, like himself, appeared in their ordinary uniforms, which they had worn on the battle-field.  The two generals, Andreossy and Joubert, carried the standards which the Legislative Assembly, two years before, had presented to the army of Italy, and upon which could now be read the names of sixty-seven battles won.

At one of the windows of the palace of the Luxemburg, Josephine watched this strange celebration, the splendors of which made her heart beat with delight, and filled her eyes with tears of joy.  Near her was her daughter Hortense, lately withdrawn from Madame Campan’s institution, to be with her mother, who, full of ecstasy and pride, gazed at the charming maiden at her side, just blooming into a young lady; and then beyond, at that pale young man with pensive eyes standing near yonder altar, and before whom all the authorities of Paris bowed—­who was her husband, her Bonaparte, everywhere conqueror!  Before her only was he the conquered!  She listened with a happy smile to the long speech with which Talleyrand saluted Bonaparte in the name of his country; she heard how Barras, concealing within himself his jealousy and his envy, welcomed him; how with admiration he praised him; how he said that Nature, in one of her most exalted and greatest moments, had resolved to produce a masterpiece, and had given to the wondering world Bonaparte!