No one yet in the audience knew the appalling event.  The thundering noise had been heard, but it was presumed to have been an artillery salute, and no evil was suspected, for Bonaparte, with his usual guards, had entered his box, and, advancing to its very edge, had saluted the public in a friendly way.  This act of the first consul had its ordinary effect:  the audience, indifferent to the music, rose and saluted their hero with loud acclamation and applause.  Not till Josephine entered the loge had the acclamations subsided, and the music begun again.  A few minutes after, the news of the fearful event spread all over the house:  a murmur arose, and the music was interrupted anew.

The Duchess d’Abrantes, who was present at this scene, gives a faithful, eloquent, and graphic picture of it: 

“A vague noise,” says she, “began to spread from the parterre to the orchestra, and from the amphitheatre to the boxes.  Soon the news of the occurrence was known all over the house, when, like a sudden clap of thunder, an acclamation burst forth, and the whole audience, with a single undivided look of love, seemed to desire to embrace Bonaparte.  What I am narrating I have seen, and I am not the only one who saw it. ...  What excitement followed this first explosion of national anger, which at this moment was represented by the audience, whose horror at the dark plot cannot be described with words!  Women were seen weeping and sobbing; men, pale as death, trembled with vengeance and anger, whatever might have been the political standard which they followed; all hearts and hands were united to prove that difference of opinion creates no difference in the interpretation of the code of honor.  During the whole scene my eyes were fixed on the loge of the consul.  He was quiet, and only seemed moved when public sentiment gave utterance to strong expressive words about the conspiracy, and these reached him.  Madame Bonaparte was not fully composed.  Her countenance was disturbed; even her attitude, generally so very graceful, was no longer under her control.  She seemed to tremble under her shawl as under a protecting canopy, and in fact it was this shawl which had saved her from destruction.  She was weeping; however much she endeavored to compose herself, she could not repress her tears; they would flow, against her will, down her pale cheeks, and, whenever Josephine fixed her eyes upon her husband, she trembled again.  Even her daughter seemed extremely agitated, and Madame Murat alone preserved the family character, and seemed entirely herself.” [Footnote:  Duchess d’Abrantes, “Memoires,” vol. ii., p. 66.]

At last, when the public excitement was somewhat abated, and the music was again resumed, the audience turned its attention to Hadyn’s masterpiece.  But Josephine had not the strength to bear this effort, and to submit to it quietly.  She entreated her husband to retire with her and the ladies; and when at last he acceded to her request, and had quietly left the loge with her, Josephine sat by him in the carriage, opposite Caroline and Hortense, and, sobbing, threw herself on Bonaparte’s breast, and cried out in her anguish: