power!” What Bonaparte had never experienced on the battle-field, in the thickest of the fight, he now felt.  He became bewildered by this violent strife of words, by this hailstorm of accusations which whizzed around his ears.  He tried to speak; he tried to address the audience, but he could not—­he could merely give utterance to a few broken sentences; he made charges against the Directory, with assurances of his own loyalty and devotedness, which the audience received with loud murmurs, and then with wild shouts.  Bonaparte became more embarrassed and bewildered.  Suddenly turning toward the door of the hall, he exclaimed, “Who loves me, let him follow me!” and he walked out hastily.

The soldiers outside received him with great cheers, and this brought back Bonaparte’s presence of mind.  “General,” whispered Augereau, as they mounted their horses, “you are in a critical position.”

“Think of Arcola,” replied Bonaparte, calmly.  “There the position seemed still more critical.  Have patience for half an hour, and you will see how things change.”

Bonaparte made good use of this half hour.  At its expiration he re-entered the hall of deliberation of the Five Hundred, surrounded by his officers, at the very moment when, on a motion of a member, they were renewing their oaths to the constitution.  Again they received him with shouts:  “Down with the tyrant!—­down with the dictator!  The sanctity of the law is violated!  Death to the tyrant who brings soldiers here to do us violence!”

One of the deputies rushed upon Bonaparte and seized him, but at that instant the grenadiers also entered the room, delivered their general, and carried him in triumph out of the hall.

After his departure, the waves of wrath and political frenzy rose higher and higher.  Shouts and imprecations filled the room with confusion; reproaches fell on all sides upon the president, Lucien Bonaparte, for not having immediately ordered the arrest of the traitor, who by his appearance, as well as by his armed escort, had insulted the assembly.  When Lucien endeavored to defend Napoleon’s conduct, he was interrupted by the cries:  “He is a stain on the republic!  He has tarnished his reputation!” Louder and wilder rose the cry to declare Napoleon an outlaw. [Footnote:  “Memoires du Roi Joseph.”]

Lucien refused, and, as they urged their demand with increasing violence, he left the presidential chair, and with deep emotion put off the insignia of his office—­his mantle and his sash—­and was at the point of making for himself an outlet through the wild crowd pressing in frenzy around him, when the doors opened, and a company of grenadiers rushed in, who by main force carried him away out of the hall.

Lucien, whom Napoleon awaited outside with his troops, immediately mounted his horse, and in this moment of deepest danger kept his presence of mind, being fully aware that he must now be decided to save himself and his brother or perish with him.  He turned to the troops, and ordered them to protect the president of the Five Hundred, to defend the constitution attacked by a few fanatics, and to obey General Bonaparte, who was empowered by the Council of the Elders to arrest the seditious, and to protect the republic and its laws.