The
very princes of the Confederation of the Rhine, hitherto the most
sycophantic flatterers of the emperor, had likewise turned away from
him; all the allies, adulators, and friends of his days of
prosperity had left him, as rats desert the sinking ship. No one was
in the throne-hall except the dignitaries and officers of France,
and one-half of these came, perhaps, because the duties of their
offices rendered it incumbent on them--because the events of the
future could not be positively foreseen, and the emperor, thanks to
his lucky star, might finally conquer his enemies.
The emperor entered with his usual proud and careless indifference.
His quick glance swept past the ranks of the assembly, and rested
for a moment on the place where the ambassadors of the foreign
governments formerly stood beside the throne, and where no one was
to be seen to-day. But not a feature changed; he was still calm and
grave. With a gentle nod he turned toward the ministers who were on
the left, and addressed each of them a few kind words; he then
quickly ascended the steps of the throne. Under the canopy, he
turned his eyes toward the side where were the members of the senate
and the legislature.
Napoleon's eyes flashed down the silent assembly with an expression
of terrible anger. When he spoke, his voice rolled like thunder
through the hall, and echoed in the trembling hearts of those who
were conscious of their guilt, and who hung their heads under the
outburst of their sovereign's wrath.
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