Immense as the direct and immediate consequences of the battle of Waterloo certainly were, being the total loss of the campaign, and the entire destruction of Napoleon's fine army, the more remote contingencies to which it gave rise were so much more important, that it may be doubted whether there was ever in the civilized world a great battle followed by so many and such extraordinary results.

That part of the French army which escaped from the field of Waterloo, fled in the most terrible disorder towards the frontiers of France. Napoleon himself continued his flight from Charleroi, in the neighbourhood of which was his first place of halting, and hurried on to Philippeville. From this point, he designed, it was said, to have marched to place himself at the head of Grouchy's army. But no troops of any kind having been rallied, and Charleroi having been almost instantly occupied by the Prussian pursuers, a report became current that the division was destroyed, and Grouchy himself made prisoner. Napoleon, therefore, pursued his own retreat, leaving orders, which were not attended to, that the relics of the army should be rallied at Avesnes. Soult could only succeed in gathering together a few thousands, as far within the French territory as Laon. Meanwhile, Buonaparte, travelling post, had reached Paris, and brought thither the news of his own defeat.

On the 19th of June the public ear of the capital had been stunned by the report of a hundred pieces of cannon, which announced the victory at Ligny, and the public prints had contained the most gasconading accounts of that action; of the forcing the passage of the Sambre, the action at Charleroi, and the battle of Quatre-bras. The Imperialists were in the highest state of exultation, the Republicans doubtful, and the Royalists dejected. On the morning of the 21st, the third day after the fatal action, it was at first whispered, and then openly said, that Napoleon had returned alone from the army on the preceding night, and was now in the palace of Bourbon-ElysÉe. The fatal truth was not long in transpiring—he had lost a dreadful and decisive pitched battle, and the French army, which had left the capital so confident, so full of hope, pride, and determination, was totally destroyed.

Many reasons have been given for Napoleon's not remaining with his army on this occasion, and endeavouring at least to bring it into a state of reorganisation; but the secret seems to be explained by his apprehension of the faction of Republicans and Constitutionalists in Paris. He must have remembered that FouchÉ, and others of that party, had advised him to end the distresses of France by his abdication of the crown, even before he placed himself at the head of his army. He was aware, that what they had ventured to suggest in his moment of strength, they would not hesitate to demand and extort from him in the hour of his weakness, and that the Chamber of Representatives would endeavour to obtain peace for themselves by sacrificing him. "He is known," says an author already quoted, friendly to his fame, "to have said, after the disasters of the Russian campaign, that he would confound the Parisians by his presence, and fall among them like a thunderbolt. But there are things which succeed only because they have never been done before, and for that reason ought never to be attempted again. His fifth flight from his army occasioned the entire abandonment of himself and his cause by all who might have forgiven him his misfortune, but required that he should be the first to arise from the blow."[158]

It was a curious indication of public spirit in Paris, that, upon the news of this appalling misfortune, the national funds rose, immediately after the first shock of the tidings was past; so soon, that is, as men had time to consider the probable consequence of the success of the allies. It seemed as if public credit revived upon any intelligence, however disastrous otherwise, which promised to abridge the reign of Buonaparte.

The anticipations of Napoleon did not deceive him. It was plain, that, whatever deference the Jacobins had for him in his hour of strength, they had no compassion for his period of weakness. They felt the opportunity favourable to get rid of him, and did not disguise their purpose to do so.

The two Chambers hastily assembled. La Fayette addressed that of the Representatives in the character of an old friend of freedom, spoke of the sinister reports that were spread abroad, and invited the members to rally under the three-coloured banner of liberty, equality, and public order, by adopting five resolutions. The first declared, that the independence of the nation was menaced; the second declared the sittings of the Chambers permanent, and denounced the pains of treason against whomever should attempt to dissolve them; the third announced that the troops had deserved well of their country; the fourth called out the national guard; the fifth invited the ministers to repair to the Assembly.[159]

These propositions intimated the apprehensions of the Chamber of Representatives, that they might be a second time dissolved by an armed force, and, at the same time, announced their purpose to place themselves at the head of affairs, without farther respect to the Emperor. They were adopted, all but the fourth concerning the national guard, which was considered as premature. Regnault de St. Jean d'Angely attempted to read a bulletin, giving an imperfect and inconsistent account of what had passed on the frontiers; but the representatives became clamorous, and demanded the attendance of the ministers. At length, after a delay of three or four hours, Carnot, Caulaincourt, Davoust, and FouchÉ, entered the hall with Lucien Buonaparte.

The Chamber formed itself into a secret committee, before which the ministers laid the full extent of the disaster, and announced that the Emperor had named Caulaincourt, FouchÉ, and Carnot, as commissioners to treat of peace with the allies. The ministers were bluntly reminded by the Republican members, and particularly by Henry Lacoste, that they had no basis for any negotiations which could be proposed in the Emperor's name, since the allied powers had declared war against Napoleon, who was now in plain terms pronounced, by more than one member, the sole obstacle betwixt the nation and peace. Universal applause followed from all parts of the hall, and left Lucien no longer in doubt, that the representatives intended to separate their cause from that of his brother. He omitted no art of conciliation or entreaty, and—more eloquent probably in prose than in poetry—appealed to their love of glory, their generosity, their fidelity, and the oaths which they had so lately sworn. "We have been faithful," replied Fayette; "we have followed your brother to the sands of Egypt—to the snows of Russia. The bones of Frenchmen, scattered in every region, attest our fidelity."[160] All seemed to unite in one sentiment, that the abdication of Buonaparte was a measure absolutely necessary. Davoust, the minister at war, arose, and disclaimed, with protestations, any intention of acting against the freedom or independence of the Chamber. This was, in fact, to espouse their cause. A committee of five members was appointed to concert measures with Ministers. Even the latter official persons, though named by the Emperor, were not supposed to be warmly attached to him. Carnot and FouchÉ were the natural leaders of the popular party, and Caulaincourt was supposed to be on indifferent terms with Napoleon, whose Ministers, therefore, seemed to adopt the interest of the Chamber in preference to his. Lucien saw that his brother's authority was ended, unless it could be maintained by violence. The Chamber of Peers might have been more friendly to the Imperial cause, but their constitution gave them as little confidence in themselves as weight with the public. They adopted the three first resolutions of the Lower Chamber, and named a committee of public safety.

The line of conduct which the Representatives meant to pursue was now obvious; they had spoken out, and named the sacrifice which they exacted from Buonaparte, being nothing less than abdication. It remained to be known whether the Emperor would adopt measures of resistance, or submit to this encroachment. If there could be a point of right, where both were so far wrong, it certainly lay with Napoleon. These very Representatives were, by voluntary consent, as far as oaths and engagements can bind men, his subjects, convoked in his name, and having no political existence excepting as a part of his new constitutional government. However great his faults to the people of France, he had committed none towards these accomplices of his usurpation, nor were they legislators otherwise than as he was their Emperor. Their right to discard and trample upon him in his adversity, consisted only in their having the power to do so; and the readiness which they showed to exercise that power, spoke as little for their faith as for their generosity. At the same time, our commiseration for fallen greatness is lost in our sense of that justice, which makes the associates and tools of a usurper the readiest implements of his ruin.

When Buonaparte returned to Paris, his first interview was with Carnot, of whom he demanded, in his usual tone of authority, an instant supply of treasure, and a levy of 300,000 men. The minister replied, that he could have neither the one nor the other. Napoleon then summoned Maret, Duke of Bassano, and other confidential persons of his court. But when his civil counsellors talked of defence, the word wrung from him the bitter ejaculation, "Ah, my old guard, could they but defend themselves like you!" A sad confession, that the military truncheon, his best emblem of command, was broken in his gripe. Lucien urged his brother to maintain his authority, and dissolve the Chambers by force; but Napoleon, aware that the national guard might take the part of the representatives, declined an action so full of hazard. Davoust, was, however, sounded concerning his willingness to act against the Chambers, but he positively refused to do so. Some idea was held out by FouchÉ to Napoleon, of his being admitted to the powers of a dictator; but this could be only thrown out as a proposal for the purpose of amusing him. In the meantime, arrived the news of the result of the meeting of the Representatives in secret committee.

The gauntlet was now thrown down, and it was necessary that Napoleon should resist or yield; declare himself absolute, and dissolve the Chambers by violence; or abdicate the authority he had so lately resumed. Lucien finding him still undetermined, hesitated not to say, that the smoke of the battle of Mont Saint Jean had turned his brain.[161] In fact, his conduct at this crisis was not that of a great man. He dared neither venture on the desperate measures which might, for a short time, have preserved his power, nor could he bring himself to the dignified step of an apparently voluntary resignation. He clung to what could no longer avail him, like the distracted criminal, who, wanting resolution to meet his fate by a voluntary effort, must be pushed from the scaffold by the hand of the executioner.

Buonaparte held, upon the night of the 21st, a sort of general council, comprehending the ministers of every description; the president and four members of the Chamber of Peers, the president, and four vice-presidents, of the Representatives, with other official persons and counsellors of state. The Emperor laid before this assembly the state of the nation, and required their advice. Regnault (who was the Imperial orator in ordinary) seconded the statement with a proposal, that measures be taken to recruit with heroes the heroic army, and bring succours to what, by a happily selected phrase, he termed the "astonished eagle." He opined, therefore, that the Chambers should make an appeal to French valour, while the Emperor was treating of peace "in the most steady and dignified manner." Fayette stated, that resistance would but aggravate the calamities of France. The allies stood pledged to demand a particular sacrifice when they first engaged in the war; they were not likely to recede from it after this decisive victory. One measure alone he saw betwixt the country and a bloody and ruinous conflict, and he referred to the great and generous spirit of the Emperor to discover its nature. Maret, Duke of Bassano, long Buonaparte's most confidential friend, and fatally so, because (more a courtier than a statesman) he attended rather to soothe his humour than to guide his councils, took fire at this suggestion. He called for severe measures against the Royalists and the disaffected; a revolutionary police, and revolutionary punishments. "Had such," he said, "been earlier resorted to, a person" (meaning probably FouchÉ) "who now hears me, would not be now smiling at the misfortunes of his country, and Wellington would not be marching upon Paris." This speech was received with a burst of disapprobation, which even the presence of the Emperor, in whose cause Maret was thus vehement, proved unable to restrain; hisses and clamour drowned the voice of the speaker. Carnot, who had juster views of the military strength, or rather weakness of France at the moment, was desirous, democrat as he was, to retain the advantage of Napoleon's talents. He is said to have wept when the abdication was insisted upon. Lanjuinais and Constant supported the sentiments of Fayette. But the Emperor appeared gloomy, dissatisfied, and uncertain, and the council broke up without coming to any determination.[162]

For another anxious night the decision of Buonaparte was suspended. Had the nation, or even the ministers, been unanimous in a resolution to defend themselves, unquestionably France might have been exposed to the final chance of war, with some prospect of a struggle on Napoleon's part; though, when it is considered within how short a time the allies introduced, within the limits of France, an armed force amounting to 800,000 effective men, it does not appear how his resistance could have eventually proved successful. It would be injustice to deny Napoleon a natural feeling of the evils which must have been endured by the nation in such a protracted contest, and we readily suppose him unwilling to have effected a brief continuation of his reign, by becoming the cause of so much misery to the fine country which he had so long ruled. Like most men in difficulties, he received much more advice than offers of assistance. The best counsel was, perhaps, that of an American gentleman, who advised him instantly to retreat to the North American States, where he could not indeed enjoy the royal privileges and ceremonial, to which he was more attached than philosophy warrants, but where that general respect would have been paid to him, which his splendid talents, and wonderful career of adventure, were so well calculated to enforce. But now, as at Moscow, he lingered too long in forming a decided opinion; for, though the importunity of friends and opponents wrung from him the resignation which was demanded at all hands, yet it was clogged by conditions which could only be made in the hope of retaining a predominant interest in the government by which his own was to be succeeded.

On the morning of the 22d June, only four days after the defeat at Waterloo, the Chamber of Representatives assembled at nine in the morning, and expressed the utmost impatience to receive the Act of Abdication. A motion was made by Duchesne, that it should be peremptorily demanded from the Emperor, when this degree of violence was rendered unnecessary by his compliance.[163] It was presented by FouchÉ, whose intrigues were thus far crowned with success, and was couched in the following terms:—

The Republican party having thus obtained a victory, proposed instantly several new models for settling the form of a constitution, in the room of that, which, exactly three weeks before, they had sworn to in the Champ de Mai. This was judged somewhat premature; and they resolved for the present to content themselves with nominating a Provisional Government, vesting the executive powers of the state in five persons—two to be chosen from Buonaparte's House of Peers, and three from that of the Representatives.

In the meanwhile, to preserve the decency due to the late Emperor, the Chamber named a committee to wait on him with an address of thanks, in which they carefully avoided all mention and recognition of his son. Napoleon, for the last time, received the committee delegated to present the address, in the imperial habit, and surrounded by his state-officers and guards. He seemed pale and pensive, but firm and collected, and heard with a steady indifference the praises which they bestowed on his patriotic sacrifice. His answer recommended unanimity, and the speedy preparation of means of defence; but at the conclusion he reminded them, that his abdication was conditional, and comprehended the interests of his son.

Lanjuinais, President of the Chamber, replied, with profound respect, that the Chamber had given him no directions respecting the subject which Napoleon pressed upon. "I told you," said he, turning to his brother Lucien, "they would not, could not do it.—Tell the Assembly," he said, again addressing the President, "that I recommend my son to their protection. It is in his favour I have abdicated."

Thus the succession of Napoleon II. came to be now the point of debate between the abdicated Emperor and the Legislative Bodies. It is certain the appointment could not have been rendered acceptable to the allies; and the influence which Buonaparte and his friends were likely to have in a regency, were strong arguments for all in France who had opposed him in the struggle, uniting to set aside his family and dynasty.

Upon the same 22d June, a strange scene took place in the Chamber of Peers. The government had received intelligence that MarÉchal Grouchy, whom we left on the banks of the Dyle, near Wavre, and who continued his action with Thielman, to whom he was opposed, till deep in the night, had, on hearing the loss of the battle at Waterloo, effected a most able retreat through Namur, defended himself against several attacks, and finally made his way to Laon. This good news encouraged Carnot to render a brilliant account to the Chamber, of Grouchy being at the head of an untouched army of upwards of 60,000 men (Grouchy's whole force at Wavre having been only 32,000); of Soult collecting 20,000 of the old guard at MeziÈres; of 10,000 new levies despatched from the interior to join the rallied forces, with 200 pieces of cannon. Ney, half frantic at hearing these exaggerated statements, and his mind galled with the sense of Napoleon's injustice towards him, as expressed in the bulletins, started up, and spoke like a possessed person under the power of the exorcist. There was a reckless desperation in the manner of his contradicting the minister. It seemed as if he wished the state of the world undone in his own undoing. "The report," he said, "was false—false in every respect. Dare they tell eyewitnesses of the disastrous day of the 18th, that we have yet 60,000 soldiers embodied? Grouchy cannot have under him 20,000, or 25,000 soldiers, at the utmost. Had he possessed a greater force, he might have covered the retreat, and the Emperor would have been still in command of an army on the frontiers. Not a man of the guard," he said, "will ever rally more. I myself commanded them—I myself witnessed their total extermination, ere I left the field of battle. They are annihilated.—The enemy are at Nivelles with 80,000 men; they may, if they please, be at Paris in six days. There is no safety for France but in instant propositions of peace." On being contradicted by General Flahault, Ney resumed his sinister statement with even more vehemence; and at length striking at once into the topic which all felt, but none had ventured yet to name, he said in a low, but distinct voice—"Yes! I repeat it—your only course is by negotiation—you must recall the Bourbons;—and, for me, I will retire to the United States."

The most bitter reproaches were heaped on Ney for this last expression. Lavalette and Carnot especially appeared incensed against him. Ney replied with sullen contempt to those who blamed his conduct, "I am not one of those to whom their interest is every thing; what should I gain by the restoration of Louis, except being shot for desertion? but I must speak the truth, for the sake of the country." This strange scene sunk deep into the minds of thinking men, who were thenceforward induced to view the subsequent sounding resolutions, and bustling debates of the Chambers, as empty noise, unsupported by the state of the national resources.

After this debate on the state of the means of defence, there followed one scarce less stormy, in the House of Peers, upon the reading of the Act of Abdication. Lucien Buonaparte took up the question of the succession, and insisted upon the instant recognition of his nephew, according to the rules of the constitution. The Count de Pontecoulant interrupted the orator, demanding by what right Lucien, an Italian prince, and an alien, presumed to name a sovereign to the French empire, where he himself had not even the privileges of a denizen? To this objection—a strange one, certainly, coming from lips which had sworn faith but twenty-two days before to a constitution, recognising Lucien not only as a denizen, but as one of the blood-royal of France, the prince answered, that he was a Frenchman by his sentiments, and by virtue of the laws. Pontecoulant then objected to accept as sovereign a child residing in a different kingdom; and LabÉdoyÈre, observing the hesitation of the assembly, started up, and demeaning himself with unrestrained fury, exhibited the same blind and devoted attachment to Napoleon, which had prompted him to show the example of defection at Grenoble.

"The Emperor," he said, "had abdicated solely in behalf of his son. His resignation was null, if his son was not instantly proclaimed. And who were they who opposed this generous resolution? Those whose voices had been always at the sovereign's devotion while in prosperity; who had fled from him in adversity, and who were already hastening to receive the yoke of foreigners. Yes," continued this impetuous young man, aiding his speech with the most violent gestures, and overpowering, by the loudness of his tone, the murmurs of the assembly, "if you refuse to acknowledge the Imperial prince, I declare that Napoleon must again draw his sword—again shed blood. At the head of the brave Frenchmen who have bled in his cause, we will rally around him; and woe to the base generals who are perhaps even now meditating new treasons! I demand that they be impeached, and punished as deserters of the national standard—that their names be given to infamy, their houses razed, their families proscribed and exiled. We will endure no traitors amongst us. Napoleon, in resigning his power to save the nation, has done his duty to himself, but the nation is not worthy of him, since she has a second time compelled him to abdicate; she who vowed to abide by him in prosperity and reverses." The ravings of this daring enthusiast, who was, in fact, giving language to the feelings of a great part of the French army, were at length drowned in a general cry of order. "You forget yourself," exclaimed Massena. "You believe yourself still in the corps de garde," said Lameth. LabÉdoyÈre strove to go on, but was silenced by the general clamour, which at length put an end to this scandalous scene.[165]

The peers, like the deputies of the Lower Chamber, having eluded the express recognition of Napoleon II., the two chambers proceeded to name the members of the provisional government. These were Carnot, FouchÉ, Caulaincourt, Grenier, and Quinette.[166] In their proclamation they stated that Napoleon had resigned, and that his son had been proclaimed, (which, by the way, was not true;) calling on the nation for exertions, sacrifices, and unanimity, and promising, if not an actually new constitution, as had been usual on such occasions, yet such a complete revision and repair of that which was now three weeks old, as should make it in every respect as good as new.[167]

This address had little effect either on the troops or the Federates, who, like LabÉdoyÈre, were of opinion that Napoleon's abdication could only be received on his own terms. These men assembled in armed parties, and paraded under Buonaparte's windows, at the palace of Bourbon-ElysÉe. Money and liquor were delivered to them, which increased their cries of Vive Napoleon! Vive l'Empereur! They insulted the national guards, and seemed disposed to attack the residence of FouchÉ. On the other hand, the national guards were 30,000 men in number, disposed in general to support order, and many of them leaning to the side of Louis XVIII. A moment of internal convulsion seemed inevitable; for it was said, that if Napoleon II. was not instantly acknowledged, Buonaparte would come down and dissolve the Chamber with an armed force.

On the meeting of the 24th June, the important question of succession was decided, or rather evaded, as follows:—Manuel, generally understood to be the organ of FouchÉ in the House of Representatives, made a long speech to show that there was no occasion for a formal recognition of the succession of Napoleon II., since he was, by the terms of the constitution, already in possession of the throne. When the orator had given this deep reason that their sovereign should neither be acknowledged nor proclaimed, purely because he was their sovereign, all arose and shouted, Vive Napoleon II.! But when there was a proposal to swear allegiance to the new Emperor, there was a general cry of "No oaths! No oaths!" as if there existed a consciousness in the Chamber of having been too lavish of these ill-redeemed pledges, and a general disgust at commencing a new course of perjury.

The Chamber of Representatives thus silenced, if they did not satisfy, the Imperialist party, by a sort of incidental and ostensible acknowledgment of the young Napoleon's right to the crown; while at the same time, by declaring the Provisional Government to be a necessary guarantee for the liberties of the subject, they prevented the interference either of Napoleon himself, or any of his friends, in the administration of the country. Yet, notwithstanding the simulated nature of their compliance with the special condition of Napoleon's resignation, the Chambers and Provisional Government were as strict in exacting from the abdicated sovereign the terms of his bargain, as if they had paid him the stipulated value in sterling, instead of counterfeit coin. Thus they exacted from him a proclamation, addressed in his own name to the soldiers, in order to confirm the fact of his abdication, which the troops were unwilling to believe on any authority inferior to his own. In this address, there are, however, expressions which show his sense of the compulsion under which he acted. After an exhortation to the soldiers to continue in their career of honour, and an assurance of the interest which he should always take in their exploits, follows this passage:—"Both you and I have been calumniated. Men, very unfit to appreciate our labours, have seen in the marks of attachment which you have given me, a zeal of which I was the sole object. Let your future successes tell them, that it was the country, above all things, which you served in obeying me; and that, if I had any share in your affections, I owed it to my ardent love for France, our common mother."[168]

These expressions were highly disagreeable to the Chamber of Representatives, who at the same time regarded the presence of Napoleon in the capital as dangerous to their own power, and to the public tranquillity. The suburbs, with their fierce inmates, continued to be agitated, and soldiers, the straggling relics of the field of Waterloo, were daily gathering under the walls of Paris, furious at their recent defeat, and calling on their Emperor to lead them to vengeance. There seems to have been little to prevent Napoleon from still placing himself at the head of a small but formidable army. To remove him from this temptation, the Provisional Government required him to retire to the palace of Malmaison, near St. Germains, so long the favourite abode of the discarded Josephine. Napoleon had not been within its walls a single day, before, surrounded by FouchÉ's police, he found that he, who, not a month since, had disposed of the fate of myriads, was no longer the free master of his own actions. He was watched and controlled, though without the use of actual force, and now, for the first time, felt what it was to lose that free agency, of which his despotism had for so many years deprived so large a portion of mankind. Yet he seemed to submit to his fate with indifference, or only expressed impatience when beset by his personal creditors, who, understanding that he was not likely to remain long in France, attempted to extort from him a settlement of their claims. This petty persecution was given way to by the government, as one of several expedients to abridge his residence in France; and they had the means of using force, if all should fail.

Short as was the time he lingered at Malmaison, incredible as it may be thought, Napoleon was almost forgotten in Paris. "No one," says a well-informed author, living in that city during the crisis, "except the immediate friends of government, pretends to know whether he is still at Malmaison, or seems to think it a question of importance to ask. On Saturday last, Count M—— saw him there; he was tranquil, but quite lost. His friends now pretend, that, since his return from Elba, he has never been quite the man he was."[169] There was, however, a reason for his protracting his residence at Malmaison, more honourable than mere human reluctance to submit to inevitable calamity.

The English and Prussian forces were now approaching Paris by rapid marches; every town falling before them which could have been reckoned upon as a bar to their progress. When Paris was again to be girt round with hostile armies, honourable as well as political feelings might lead Napoleon to hope that the Representatives might be inclined to wave all personal animosity, and, having recourse to his extraordinary talents and his influence over the minds of the army and federates, by which alone the capital could be defended, might permit him once more to assume the sword for protection of Paris. He offered to command the army as general in chief, in behalf of his son. He offered to take share in the defence, as an ordinary citizen. But the internal discord had gone too far. The popular party which then prevailed, saw more danger in the success of Napoleon, than in the superiority of the allies. The latter they hoped to conciliate by treaty. They doubted, with good reason, the power of resisting them by force; and if such resistance was, or could be maintained by Napoleon, they feared his supremacy, in a military command, at least as much as the predominance of the allies. His services were therefore declined by them.

Like skilful anglers, the Provisional Government had been gradually drawing their nets around Napoleon, and it was now time, as they thought, to drag him upon the shallows. They proceeded to place him under a sort of arrest, by directing General Beker, an officer with whom Napoleon had been on indifferent terms, to watch over, and, if necessary, to restrain his movements in such a manner, that it should be impossible for him to make his escape, and to use measures to induce him to leave Malmaison for Rochefort, where the means were provided for his departure out of France. Orders were at the same time given for two frigates to transport him to the United States of America; and the surveillance of General Beker and the police was to continue until the late Emperor was on board the vessels. This order was qualified by directions that all possible care should be taken to ensure the safety of Napoleon's person. A corresponding order was transmitted by Davoust, who, giving way to one of those equivocal bursts of feeling, by which men compromise a conflict between their sentiments and their duty or their interest, refused to sign it himself, but ordered his secretary to do so, which, as he observed, would be quite the same.[170]

Napoleon submitted to his destiny with resignation and dignity. He received General Beker with ease, and even cheerfulness; and the latter, with feelings which did him honour, felt the task committed to him the more painful, that he had experienced the personal enmity of the individual who was now intrusted to his custody.[171] About forty persons, of different ranks and degrees, honourably dedicated their services to the adversity of the Emperor, whom they had served in prosperity.

Yet, amid all these preparations for departure, a longing hope remained, that his exile might be dispensed with. He heard the distant cannonade as the war-horse hears the trumpet. Again he offered his services to march against Blucher as a simple volunteer, undertaking that, when he had repulsed the invaders, he would then proceed on his journey of expatriation.[172] He had such hopes of his request being granted as to have his horses brought out and in readiness to enable him to join the army. But the Provisional Government anew declined an offer, the acceptance of which would indeed have ruined all hopes of treating with the allies. FouchÉ, on hearing Napoleon's proposal, is said to have exclaimed, "Is he laughing at us!" Indeed, his joining the troops would have soon made him master of the destiny of the Provisional Government, whatever might have been the final result.

On the 29th of June, Napoleon departed from Malmaison; on the 3d of July he arrived at Rochefort. General Beker accompanied him, nor does his journey seem to have been marked by any circumstances worthy of remark. Wherever he came, the troops received him with acclamation; the citizens respected the misfortunes of one who had been wellnigh master of the world, and were silent where they could not applaud.

Thus, the reign of the Emperor Napoleon was completely ended. But, before adverting to his future fate, we must complete, in a few words, the consequences of his abdication, and offer some remarks on the circumstances by which it was extorted and enforced.

The Provisional Government had sent commissioners to the Duke of Wellington, to request passports for Napoleon to the States of America. The duke had no instructions from his government to grant them. The Prussian and English generals alike declined all overtures made for the establishment, or acknowledgment, either of the present Provisional Administration, or any plan which they endeavoured to suggest, short of the restoration of the Bourbons to the seat of government. The Provisional Commissioners endeavoured, with as little success, to awaken the spirit of national defence. They had lost the road to the soldiers' hearts. The thoughts of patriotism had in the army become indissolubly united with the person and the qualities of Napoleon. It was in vain that deputies, with scarfs, and proclamations of public right, and invocation of the ancient watchwords of the Revolution, endeavoured to awaken the spirit of 1794. The soldiers and federates answered sullenly, "Why should we fight any more? we have no longer an Emperor."

Meanwhile, the Royalist party assumed courage, and showed themselves in arms in several of the departments, directed the public opinion in many others, and gained great accessions from the Constitutionalists. Indeed, if any of the latter still continued to dread the restoration of the Bourbons, it was partly from the fear of reaction and retaliation on the side of the successful Royalists, and partly because it was apprehended that the late events might have made on the mind of Louis an impression unfavourable to constitutional limitations, a disgust to those by whom they were recommended and supported, and a propensity to resume the arbitrary measures by which his ancestors had governed their kingdom. Those who nourished those apprehensions could not but allow, that they were founded on the fickleness and ingratitude of the people, who had shown themselves unworthy of, and easily induced to conspire against, the mild and easy rule of a limited monarchy. But they involved, nevertheless, tremendous consequences, if the King should be disposed to act upon rigorous and vindictive principles; and it was such an apprehension on the part of some, joined to the fears of others for personal consequences, the sullen shame of a third party, and the hatred of the army to the princes whom they had betrayed, which procured for the Provisional Government a show of obedience.

It was thus that the Chambers continued their resistance to receiving their legitimate monarch, though unable to excite any enthusiasm save that expressed in the momentary explosions discharged within their own place of meeting, which gratified no ears, and heated no brains but their own. In the meanwhile, the armies of Soult and Grouchy were driven under the walls of Paris, where they were speedily followed by the English and the Prussians. The natural gallantry of the French then dictated a resistance, which was honourable to their arms, though totally unsuccessful. The allies, instead of renewing the doubtful attack on Montmartre, crossed the Seine, and attacked Paris on the undefended side. There was not, as in 1814, a hostile army to endanger the communications on their rear. The French, however, showed great bravery, both by an attempt to defend Versailles, and in a coup-de-main of General Excelmans, by which he attempted to recover that town. But at length, in consequence of the result of a council of war held in Paris, on the night betwixt the 2d and 3d of July, an armistice was concluded, by which the capital was surrendered to the allies, and the French army was drawn off behind the Loire.

The allies suspended their operations until the French troops should be brought to submit to their destined movement in retreat, against which they struggled with vain enthusiasm. Permitting their violence to subside, they delayed their own occupation of Paris until the 7th of July, when it had been completely evacuated. The British and Prussians then took military possession, in a manner strictly regular, but arguing a different state of feelings on both parts, from those exhibited in the joyous procession of the allies along the Boulevards in 1814. The Provisional Government continued their sittings, though FouchÉ, the chief among them, had been long intriguing (and ever since the battle of Waterloo, with apparent sincerity) for the second restoration of the Bourbon family, on such terms as should secure the liberties of France. They received, on the 6th of July, the final resolution of the allied sovereigns, that they considered all authority emanating from the usurped power of Napoleon Buonaparte as null, and of no effect; and that Louis XVIII., who was presently at Saint Denis, would on the next day, or day after at farthest, enter his capital, and resume his regal authority.

On the 7th of July, the Provisional Commission dissolved itself. The Chamber of Peers, when they heard the act of surrender, dispersed in silence; but that of the Representatives continued to sit, vote, and debate, for several hours. The president then prorogued the meeting till eight the next morning, in defiance of the cries of several members, who called on him to maintain the literal permanence of the sitting. The next morning, the members who attended found the hall sentinelled by the national guard, who refused them admittance, and heard the exclamations and complaints of the deputies with great disregard. Nay, the disappointed and indignant legislators were subjected to the ridicule of the idle spectators, who accompanied the arrival and retreat of each individual with laughter and acclamation, loud in proportion to the apparent excess of his mortification.

On the 8th of July, Louis re-entered his capital, attended by a very large body of the national guards and royal volunteers, as well as by his household troops. In the rear of these soldiers came a numerous État-major, among whom were distinguished the MarÉchals Victor, Marmont, Macdonald, Oudinot, Gouvion, St. Cyr, Moncey, and Lefebvre. An immense concourse of citizens received, with acclamations, the legitimate monarch; and the females were observed to be particularly eager in their expressions of joy. Thus was Louis again installed in the palace of his ancestors, over which the white banner once more floated. Here, therefore, ended that short space, filled with so much that is wonderful, that period of an Hundred Days, in which the events of a century seemed to be contained. Before we proceed with the narrative, which must in future be the history of an individual, it may not be improper to cast a look back upon the events comprised within that extraordinary period, and offer a few remarks on their political nature and tendency.

It is unnecessary to remind the reader, that Napoleon's restoration to the throne was the combined work of two factions. One comprehended the army, who desired the recovery of their own honour, sullied by recent defeats, and the recalling of the Emperor to their head, that he might save them from being disbanded, and lead them to new victories. The other party was that which not only desired that the kingdom should possess a large share of practical freedom, but felt interested that the doctrines of the Revolution should be recognised, and particularly that which was held to entitle the people, or those who might contrive to assume the right of representing them, to alter the constitution of the government at pleasure, and to be, as was said of the great Earl of Warwick, the setters up and pullers down of kings. This party, availing themselves of some real errors of the reigning family, imagining more, and exciting a cloud of dark suspicions, had instigated a general feeling of dissatisfaction against the Bourbons. But though they probably might have had recourse to violence, nothing appears less probable than their success in totally overturning royalty, had they been unsupported by the soldiers. The army, which rose so readily at Buonaparte's summons, had no community of feeling with the Jacobins, as they were called; and but for his arrival upon the scene, would have acted, there can be little doubt, at the command of the marÉchals, who were almost all attached to the royal family. It was, therefore, the attachment of the army to their ancient commander which gave success to the joint enterprise, which the Jacobinical party alone would have attempted in vain.

The Republican, or Jacobin party, closed with their powerful ally; their leaders accepted titles at his hands; undertook offices, and became members of a Chamber of Peers and of Representatives, summoned by his authority. They acknowledged him as their Emperor; received as his boon a new constitution; and swore in the face of all France the oath of fealty to it, and to him as their sovereign. On such terms the Emperor and his Legislative Body parted on the 7th of June. Suspicion there existed between them certainly, but, in all outward appearance, he departed a contented prince from a contented people. Eleven days brought the battle of Waterloo, with all its consequences. Policy of a sound and rational sort should have induced the Chambers to stand by the Emperor whom they had made, to arm him with the power which the occasion required, and avail themselves of his extraordinary military talent, to try some chance of arresting the invaders in their progress. Even shame might have prevented them from lending their shoulders to overthrow the tottering throne before which they had so lately kneeled. They determined otherwise. The instant he became unfortunate, Napoleon ceased to be their Emperor, the source of their power and authority. They could see nothing in him but the hurt deer, who is to be butted from the herd; the Jonas in the vessel, who is to be flung overboard. When Napoleon, therefore, talked to them of men and arms, they answered him, with "equality and the rights of man;" every chance of redeeming the consequences of Waterloo was lost, and the Emperor of their choice, if not ostensibly, was in effect at least arrested, and sent to the sea-coast, like a felon for deportation. Their conduct, however, went clearly to show, that Napoleon was not the free choice of the French people, and especially that he was not the choice of those who termed themselves exclusively the friends of freedom.

Having thus shown how easily they could get rid of the monarch who had called them into political existence, the Chambers applied to the allies, inviting them to give their concurrence to the election of another sovereign, and assist them to build another throne on the quicksand which had just swallowed that of Napoleon. In one respect they were not unreasonably tenacious. They cared little who the sovereign should be, whether Orleans or Orange, the Englishman Wellington or the Cossack Platoff, providing only he should derive no right from any one but themselves; and that they should be at liberty to recall that right when it might please them to do so. And there can be little doubt, that any new sovereign and constitution which could have been made by the assistance of such men, would have again occasioned the commencement of the wild dance of revolution, till like so many mad Dervises, dizzy with the whirl, the French nation would once more have sunk to rest under the iron sway of despotism.

The allied sovereigns viewed these proposals with an evil eye, both in respect to their nature, and to those by whom they were proposed. Of the authorities, the most prudent was the Duke of Otranto, and he had been FouchÉ of Nantes. Carnot's name was to be found at all the bloody rescripts of Robespierre, in which the conscience of the old decemvir and young count had never found any thing to boggle at. There were many others, distinguished in the Revolutionary days. The language which they held was already assuming the cant of democracy, and though there was among them a large proportion of good and able men, it was not to be forgotten how many of such existed in the first Assembly, for no purpose but to seal the moderation and rationality of their political opinions with their blood. It was a matter of imperious necessity to avoid whatever might give occasion to renew those scenes of shameful recollections, and the sovereigns saw a guarantee against their return, in insisting that Louis XVIII. should remount the throne as its legitimate owner.

The right of legitimacy, or the right of succession, a regulation adopted into the common law of most monarchical constitutions, is borrowed from the analogy of private life, where the eldest son becomes naturally the head and protector of the family upon the decease of the father. While states, indeed, are small—before laws are settled—and when much depends on the personal ability and talents of the monarch—the power, which, for aught we know, may exist among the abstract rights of man, of choosing each chief magistrate after the death of his predecessor, or perhaps more frequently, may be exercised without much inconvenience. But as states become extended, and their constitutions circumscribed and bounded by laws, which leaves less scope and less necessity for the exercise of the sovereign's magisterial functions, men become glad to exchange the licentious privilege of a Tartarian couroultai, or a Polish diet, for the principle of legitimacy; because the chance of a hereditary successor's proving adequate to the duties of his situation, is at least equal to that of a popular election lighting upon a worthy candidate; and because, in the former case, the nation is spared the convulsions occasioned by previous competition and solicitation, and succeeding heart-burnings, factions, civil war, and ruin, uniformly found at last to attend elective monarchies.

The doctrine of legitimacy is peculiarly valuable in a limited monarchy, because it affords a degree of stability otherwise unattainable. The principle of hereditary monarchy, joined to that which declares that the King can do no wrong, provides for the permanence of the executive government, and represses that ambition which would animate so many bosoms, were there a prospect of the supreme sway becoming vacant, or subject to election from time to time. The King's ministers, on the other hand, being responsible for his actions, remain a check, for their own sakes, upon the exercise of his power; and thus provision is made for the correction of all ordinary evils of administration, since, to use an expressive, though vulgar simile, it is better to rectify any occasional deviation from the regular course by changing the driver, than by overturning the carriage.

Such is the principle of legitimacy which was invoked by Louis XVIII., and recognised by the allied sovereigns. But it must not be confounded with the slavish doctrine, that the right thus vested is, by divine origin, indefeasible. The heir-at-law in private life may dissipate by his folly, or forfeit by his crimes, the patrimony which the law conveys to him; and the legitimate monarch may most unquestionably, by departing from the principles of the constitution under which he is called to reign, forfeit for himself, and for his heirs if the legislature shall judge it proper, that crown, which the principle of legitimacy bestowed on him as his birth-right. The penalty of forfeiture is an extreme case, provided, not in virtue of the constitution, which recognises no possible delinquency in the sovereign, but because the constitution has been attacked and infringed upon by the monarch, and therefore can no longer be permitted to afford him shelter. The crimes by which this high punishment is justly incurred, must therefore be of an extraordinary nature, and beyond the reach of those correctives for which the constitution provides, by the punishment of ministers and counsellors. The constitutional buckler of impeccability covers the monarch (personally) for all blameworthy use of his power, providing it is exercised within the limits of the constitution; it is when he stirs beyond it, and not sooner, that it affords no defence for the bosom of a tyrant. A King of Britain, for example, may wage a rash war, or make a disgraceful peace, in the lawful, though injudicious and blameworthy exercise of the power vested in him by the constitution. His advisers, not he himself, shall be called in such a case, to their responsibility. But if, like James II., the sovereign infringes upon, or endeavours to destroy, the constitution itself, it is then that resistance becomes lawful and honourable; and the King is justly held to have forfeited the right which descended to him from his forefathers, by his attempt to encroach on the rights of the subjects.

The principles of hereditary monarchy, of the inviolability of the person of the King, and of the responsibility of ministers, were recognised by the constitutional charter of France. Louis XVIII. was therefore, during the year previous to Buonaparte's return, the lawful sovereign of France, and it remains to be shown by what act of treason to the constitution he had forfeited his right of legitimacy. If the reader will turn back to vol. iv., p. 86, (and we are not conscious of having spared the conduct of the Bourbons,) he will probably be of opinion with us, that the errors of the restored King's government were not only fewer than might have been expected in circumstances so new and difficult, but were of such a nature as an honest, well-meaning, and upright Opposition would soon have checked; he will find that not one of them could be personally attributed to Louis XVIII., and that, far from having incurred the forfeiture of his legitimate rights, he had, during these few months, laid a strong claim to the love, veneration, and gratitude of his subjects. He had fallen a sacrifice, in some degree, to the humours and rashness of persons connected with his family and household—still more to causeless jealousies and unproved doubts, the water-colours which insurrection never lacks to paint her cause with; to the fickleness of the French people, who became tired of his simple, orderly, and peaceful government; but, above all, to the dissatisfaction of a licentious and licensed soldiery, and of clubs of moody banditti, panting for a time of pell-mell havoc and confusion. The forcible expulsion of Louis XVIII., arising from such motives, could not break the solemn compact entered into by France with all Europe, when she received her legitimate monarch from the hand of her clement conquerors, and with him, and for his sake, obtained such conditions of peace as she was in no condition to demand, and would never otherwise have been granted. The King's misfortune, as it arose from no fault of his own, could infer no forfeiture of his vested right. Europe, the virtual guarantee of the treaty of Paris, had also a title, leading back the lawful King in her armed and victorious hand, to require of France his reinstatement in his rights; and the termination which she thus offered to the war was as just and equitable as the conduct of the sovereigns during this brief campaign had been honourable and successful.

To these arguments, an unprejudiced eye could scarcely see any answer; yet the popular party endeavoured to found a pleading against the second restoration of Louis, upon the declaration of the allies. This manifesto had announced, they said, that the purpose of the war was directed against Buonaparte personally, and that it was the intention of the allied sovereigns, when he should be dethroned, to leave the French the free exercise of choice respecting their own internal government.[173] The Prince Regent's declaration, in particular, was referred to, as announcing that the treaty of Vienna, which resolved on the dethronement of Napoleon, should not bind the British government to insist upon the restoration of the Bourbon family as an indispensable condition of peace.[174] Those who urged this objection did not, or would not consider the nature of the treaty which this explanatory clause referred to. That treaty of Vienna had for its express object the restoration of Louis XVIII., and the Prince Regent adhered to it with the same purpose of making every exertion for bringing about that event. The restrictive clause was only introduced, because his Royal Highness did not intend to bind himself to make that restoration alone the cause of continuing the war to extremity. Many things might have happened to render an absolute engagement of this nature highly inexpedient; but, since none of these did happen, and since the re-establishment of the throne of the Bourbons was, in consequence of the victory of Waterloo, a measure which could be easily accomplished, it necessarily followed, that it was to be accomplished according to the tenor of the treaty of Vienna.

But, even had the sovereigns positively announced in their manifestoes, that the will of the French people should be consulted exclusively, what right had the Legislative Body, assembled by Buonaparte, to assume the character of the French people? They had neither weight nor influence with any party in the state, except by the momentary possession of an authority, which was hardly acknowledged on any side. The fact, that Napoleon's power had ceased to exist, did not legitimate them. On the contrary, flowing from his commission, it must be held as having fallen with his authority. They were either the Chambers summoned by Napoleon, and bound to him as far as oaths and professions could bind them, or they were a body without any pretension whatever to a political character.

La Fayette, indeed, contended that the present representatives of France stood in the same situation as the convention parliaments of England, and the army encamped in Hounslow-heath, at the time of the English Revolution. To have rendered this parallel apt, it required all the peculiar circumstances of justice which attended the great event of 1688. The French should have been able to vindicate the reason of their proceedings by the aggressions of their exiled monarch, and by the will of the nation generally, nay, almost unanimously, expressed in consequence thereof. This, we need not say, they were wholly unable to do. But the English history did afford one example of an assembly, exactly resembling their own, in absence of right, and exuberance of pretension; and that precedent existed when the Rump Parliament contrived to shuffle the cards out of the hands of Richard Cromwell, as the Provisional Commissioners at Paris were endeavouring by legerdemain to convey the authority from Napoleon II. This Rump Parliament also sat for a little time as a government, and endeavoured to settle the constitution upon their own plan, in despite of the whole people of England, who were longing for the restoration of their lawful monarch, as speedily was shown to be the case, when Monk, with an armed force, appeared to protect them in the declaration of their real sentiments. This was the most exact parallel afforded by English history to the situation of the Provisional Commissioners of France; and both they and the Rump Parliament being equally intrusive occupants of the supreme authority, were alike justly deprived of it by the return of the legitimate monarch.

While the allied powers were thus desirous that the King of France should obtain possession of a throne which he had never forfeited, they, and England in particular, saw at once the justice and the policy of securing to France every accession of well-regulated freedom, which she had obtained by and through the Revolution, as well as such additional improvements upon her constitution as experience had shown to be desirable. These were pointed out and stipulated for by the celebrated FouchÉ, who, on this occasion, did much service to his country. Yet he struggled hard, that while the King acknowledged, which he was ready to do, the several benefits, both in point of public feeling and public advantage, which France had derived from the Revolution, the sovereign should make some steps to acknowledge the Revolution itself.[175] He contended for the three-coloured banners being adopted, as a matter of the last importance;—in that, somewhat resembling the archfiend in the legends of necromancy, who, when the unhappy persons with whom he deals decline to make over their souls and bodies according to his first request, is humble enough to ask and accept the most petty sacrifices—the paring of the nails, or a single lock of hair, providing it is offered in symbol of homage and devotion. But Louis XVIII. was not thus to be drawn into an incidental and equivocal homologation, as civilians term it, of all the wild work of a period so horrible, which must have been by implication a species of ratification even of the death of his innocent and murdered brother. To preserve and cherish the good which had flowed from the Revolution, was a very different thing from a ratification of the Revolution itself. A tempest may cast rich treasures upon the beach, a tornado may clear the air; but while these benefits are suitably prized and enjoyed, it is surely not requisite that, like ignorant Indians, we should worship the wild surge, and erect altars to the howling of the wind.

The King of France having steadily refused all proposals which went to assign to the government an authority founded on the Revolution, the constitution of France is to be recognised as that of a hereditary monarchy, limited by the Royal Charter, and by the principles of freedom. It thus affords to the other existing monarchies of Europe a guarantee against sudden and dangerous commotion; while in favour of the subject, it extends all the necessary checks against arbitrary sway, and all the suitable provisions for ameliorating and extending the advantages of liberal institutions, as opportunity shall offer, and the expanding light of information shall recommend.

The allies, though their treaty with France was not made in the same humour of romantic generosity which dictated that of 1814, insisted upon no articles which could be considered as dishonourable to that nation. The disjoining from her empire three or four border fortresses was stipulated, in order to render a rapid and successful invasion of Germany or the Netherlands more difficult in future. Large sums of money were also exacted in recompense of the heavy expenses of the allies; but they were not beyond what the wealth of France could readily discharge. A part of her fortresses were also detained by the allies as a species of pledge for the peaceable behaviour of the kingdom; but these were to be restored after a season, and the armies of Europe, which for a time remained within the French territories, were at the same time to be withdrawn. Finally, that splendid Museum, which the right of conquest had collected by the stripping of so many states, was transferred by the same right of conquest, not to those of the allies who had great armies in the field, but to the poor and small states, who had resigned their property to the French under the influence of terror, and received it back from the confederates with wonder and gratitude.

These circumstances were indeed galling to France for the moment; but they were the necessary consequence of the position in which, perhaps rather passively than actively, she had been placed by the Revolution of the Hundred Days. All the prophecies which had been circulated to animate the people against the allies, of their seeking selfish and vindictive objects, or endeavouring to destroy the high national rank which that fair kingdom ought to hold in Europe, were proved to be utterly fallacious. The conquered provinces, as they are called, the acquisitions of Louis XIV., were not rent from the French empire—their colonies were left as at the peace of Paris. The English did not impose on them an unfavourable treaty of commerce, which Napoleon affirmed was their design, and the omission to insist on which he afterwards considered as a culpable neglect of British interests by the English ministers. France was left, as she ought to be, altogether independent, and splendidly powerful.

Neither were the predictions concerning the stability of the new royal government less false than had been the vaticinations respecting the purposes of the allies. Numbers prophesied the downfall of the Bourbon dynasty. It was with difficulty that the political augurs would allow that it might last as long as the life of Louis XVIII. He now sleeps with his fathers; and his successor, generally beloved for his courteous manners, and respected for his integrity and honour, reigns over a free and flourishing people. Time, that grand pacificator, is daily abating the rancour of party, and removing from the scene those of all sides, who, unaccustomed to the general and impartial exercise of the laws, were ready to improve every advantage, and debate every political question, sword in hand, or, as they themselves express it, par voie du fait. The guarantee for the permanence of their freedom, is the only subject on which reasonable Frenchmen of the present day are anxious. We trust there is no occasion for their solicitude. Fatal indeed would be the advice which should induce the French Government to give the slightest subject for just complaints. The ultra Royalist, the Jacobin enragÉ, are gradually cooled by age, or fate has removed them from the scene. Those who succeed, having never seen the sword drawn, will be less apt to hurry into civil strife; and the able and well-intentioned on either side, while they find room in the Chambers for expressing their difference of opinion, will acquire the habit of enduring contradiction with candour and good-humour, and be led to entertain the wholesome doubt, whether, in the imperfect state of the human intellect, it is possible for one class of statesmen to be absolutely and uniformly right, and their opponents, in all instances, decidedly wrong. The French will learn, that it is from freedom of debate—from an appeal, not to the arms, but to the understandings of the people—by the collision of intellect, not the strife of brutal violence, that the political institutions of this ingenious people are in future to be improved.

The aspirations of France after glory in the field had been indulged, during the period of which we have treated, dreadfully for other countries, and the requital to herself was sufficiently fearful. A sentiment friendly to peace and good order has of late years distinguished even those two nations, which, by a rash and wicked expression, have been sometimes termed natural enemies. The enlarged ideas of commerce, as they spread wider, and become better understood, will afford, perhaps, the strongest and most irresistible motive for amicable intercourse—that, namely, which arises from mutual advantage; for commerce keeps pace with civilisation, and a nation, as it becomes wealthy from its own industry, acquires more and more a taste for the conveniences and luxuries, which are the produce of the soil, or of the industry, of other countries. Britain, of whom all that was selfish was expected and predicated by Napoleon and his friends—Britain, who was said to meditate enchaining France by a commercial treaty (which would have ruined her own manufactures,) has, by opening her ports to the manufactures of her neighbour, had the honour to lead the way in a new and more honourable species of traffic, which has in some degree the property ascribed by the poet to Mercy—

To the eye of a stranger, the number of new buildings established in Paris, and indeed throughout France, are indications of capital and enterprise, of a nature much more satisfactory than the splendid but half-finished public edifices which Napoleon so hastily undertook, and so often left in an incomplete state. The general improvement of ideas may be also distinctly remarked, on comparing the French people of 1815 and 1826, and observing the gradual extinction of long-cherished prejudices and the no less gradual improvement and enlargement of ideas. This state of advancement cannot, indeed, be regular—it must have its ebbs and flows. But on the whole, there seems more reason than at any former period of the world, for hoping that there will be a general peace of some lengthened endurance; and that Britain and France, in particular, will satisfy themselves with enjoying in recollection the laurels each country has won in the field, and be contented to struggle for the palm of national superiority by the arts of peaceful and civilized industry.