The revolution which Bonaparte effected is called the 18th Brumaire, yet in fact the 18th Brumaire was a mere prelude; the decisive day was the 19th. On the 18th respect was paid to the law; on the 19th the law was violated, and for that reason the conqueror, desiring to excuse himself before history, chose the 18th as the official date of the revolution.

The night passed quietly; the faubourgs did not dare to rise. The people of Paris looked on what was happening as if it were an interesting play which aroused no emotion or wrath.

The morning of the 19th saw the road from Paris to Saint Cloud crowded with troops, carriages, and a throng full of curiosity. Bonaparte's success as predicted, but the issue was not yet certain, and thus the public interest was all the more excited. It had been decided that both Councils should meet at noon. The Representatives were punctual, and a little before twelve o'clock Bonaparte was on horseback, opposite the palace of Saint Cloud, at the head of his troops. The Ancients were to meet on the first floor in the Gallery of Apollo, full of Mignard's decorations, and the Five Hundred in the orange house; but the preparations were not completed at the appointed hour, and it was not till two that the sessions began. While waiting, the deputies strolled in the park. It was evident that the Five Hundred were distinctly unfavorable to Bonaparte. He, much annoyed by the delay, kept going and coming, giving repeated orders, betraying the utmost impatience.

At two, the sessions of the Councils were opened. That of the Ancients began with unimportant preliminaries; that of the Five Hundred, with an outbreak of passion. Lucien Bonaparte presided. Gardin proposed that a committee of seven be appointed to make a report on the measures to be taken in behalf of the public safety. Hostile murmurs made themselves heard. Delbel called out from his seat: "The Constitution before everything! The Constitution or death! Bayonets do not frighten us; we are free here!"

A formidable clamor arose: "No dictatorship! Down with dictators!" Grandmaison moved that all the members of the Council of Five Hundred should be at once compelled to renew their oath of fidelity to the Constitution of the Year III. The motion was carried amid great enthusiasm. The roll was called for each member to swear in turn. Lucien Bonaparte himself swore fidelity to the Constitution which he was about to destroy.

A letter was brought from Barras. Amid general excitement, the secretary read aloud this letter, in which the Director announced his resignation; it ended thus: "The glory which accompanies the return of the illustrious warrior, for whom I had the honor of opening the way, the distinct marks of the confidence accorded him by the Legislative Body, and the decree of the National Representatives, have convinced me that whatever may be the part to which the public interests henceforth may summon me, the dangers to liberty are surmounted and the interests of the army guaranteed. I return with joy to the ranks of private citizens, happy, after so many storms, to restore, uninjured and more deserving of respect than ever, the destinies of the Republic of which I have had in part the care."

This letter produced a feeling of angry surprise. Of the five Directors, three had resigned. The government was dissolved. Resistance to Bonaparte had nothing to stand on.

Grandmaison said from the tribune: "First of all, we must know whether the resignation of Barras is not the result of the extraordinary circumstances in which we are placed. I think that among the members present there are some who know where we came from and whither we are going."

While the session of the Five Hundred began thus, what had been taking place among the Ancients? Bonaparte had just made his appearance there and had spoken as a master. "Citizen Representatives," he had said, "you are not now in ordinary conditions, but on the edge of a volcano. Already I and my fellow-soldiers are overwhelmed with abuse. People are talking of a new Cromwell, a new Caesar. If I had desired to play such a part, I could easily have taken it when I returned from Italy....Let us save the two things for which we have made so many sacrifices -- liberty and equality."

And when a deputy interrupted with, "Speak about the Constitution," he answered: "The Constitution? you no longer have one. It is you who destroyed it by attacking, on the 18th Fructidor, the national representation; by annulling, on the 22d Floreal, the popular elections ; by assaulting the independence of the government. All parties have striven to destroy this constitution of which you speak. They have all come to me to confide their plans and to induce me to aid them. I have refused; but if it is necessary, I will name the parties and the men."

Then he mentioned Barras; then the name of Moulins escaped him, but stormy contradictions followed this inexact statement.

Bonaparte, who was rather a man of action than a debater, was for a moment disconcerted. The tumult was growing; but he, abandoning persuasion, resorted to threats. Assuming the air of a protector who makes himself feared by those he guards, he said: "Surrounded by my companions in arms, I shall know how to aid you. I call to witness these brave grenadiers whose bayonets I see, and whom I have so often led against the enemy. If any orator, in the pay of foreigners, should speak of outlawing me, I shall summon my companions in arms. Remember that I march in the company of the God of fortune and of war." The Council of Ancients replied to this stormy outbreak by respectfully according to Bonaparte the honors of the meeting, and he left the hall and returned to his soldiers: he had a note taken to Josephine in which he told her to be calm, that all was going on well.

At the same time he heard of the outburst of passion in the Council of Five Hundred. Thereupon he ordered a company of grenadiers to follow him, and leaving it at the door of the Chamber, he crossed the threshold and stepped forward alone, hat in hand. It was just when Grandmaison was in the tribune speaking about Barras's letter.

It was five in the afternoon; the lamps were lit. At the sight of Bonaparte the Five Hundred uttered a long cry of indignation: "Down with the Dictator! Down with the tyrant!"

They all rushed to meet the general, crowding him and denouncing him; they forced him several steps back. Many brandished daggers and threatened his life. It was, he said later, the most perilous moment of his life. He was saved by Beanvais, a Norman deputy of enormous strength, who drove back his assailants and brought him to his soldiers, who were hastening to his aid. One of the soldiers, Grenadier Thome, had his clothes cut by a dagger. The tumult was indescribable; the orange house was like a battle-field.

It was in vain that Lucien tried to support his brother. Cries arose: "Outlaw him. Down with Bonaparte and his accomplices! "His desk was overrun. "March, President," said a deputy; "put to vote the proposition to outlaw him."

Lucien descended the steps, denounced on every side. "Go back to your place! Don't make us lose time! Put to vote the outlawry of the dictator!"

"Tell my brother," he said "that I have been driven from my chair. Ask him for an armed force to protect my departure." Fregeville ran to inform General Bonaparte, who had just left the orange house, under the guard of his soldiers, and had got on his horse, telling the soldiers that he narrowly escaped assassination. The troops cheered their general and brandished their weapons. He had but a word to say, and the Five Hundred would be dispersed, but this word he hesitated to utter. He, who knew no fear, became confused, like Caesar, as Lucan describes him, undecided at the Rubicon.

Meanwhile the tumult in the orange house was becoming more intense. After two speeches, one from Bertrand of Calvados, the other from Talet, both hostile to Bonaparte, Lucien began to speak: "I do not rise," he said, "to make direct opposition to the motion [of outlawing Bonaparte]; but it is a proper moment to remind the Council that the suspicions which have been brought up so lightly have produced lamentable excesses. Can even an illegal step make us forget such noble deeds and important service in behalf of the country!"

Lucien was interrupted by continual murmurs. There were cries, "Time is flying; put the motion!"

" No," resumed Lucien, "you cannot vote such a measure without hearing the General; I ask that he be called to the bar. . . . These unseasonable interruptions which drown the voice of your colleagues are indecent. They continue and become more violent. Then I shall not insist. When order is once more established, and your extraordinary indecorum has ceased, you will yourselves render justice where it is due, without passion."

The uproar became so violent that Lucien could not face the storm; so taking off his toga, and laying it on the tribune, he said: "Liberty no longer exists here. Since I have no means of making myself heard, you will at least see your President, in token of public grief, placing here the insignia of the public magistracy."

"It is a lamentable thing," says Edgar Quinet, in his Revolution, "that this last Assembly, already threatened, surrounded, denounced, with swords at its throat, should have no other defence against the soldiers' arms than such blunt weapons, a conscience, new oaths, a roll-call, promises to die, uproar, and the vain protests with which an Assembly, deserted by the nation at the hour of peril, deceives despair and amuses its last hour. Then were there moments of indescribable anxiety, when history lay in the balance between two opposing destinies, liberty knowing no way in which to save itself, and the general, averse to putting an end to the complications, not daring to make a violent usurpation."

After he had placed his toga on the edge of the tribune, Lucien ceased speaking. He saw the company of grenadiers which he had asked of his brother. To the officer in command, who said, "Citizen President, we are here by the General's orders," he replied in a loud voice, "We will follow you; open a passage."

Then turning to the Vice-President, he made a sign to him to close the meeting. Leaving the orange house, he hastened to the courtyard, where he found his brother motionless and silent, on horseback, surrounded by his soldiers. "Give me a horse," he shouted, "and sound the drums!" In a moment he was on the horse of one of the dragoons, and after a roll of the drums, which was followed by profound silence:

"Citizen soldiers," he said angrily, "I announce to you that the vast majority of this Council is at this moment intimidated by a few representatives armed with daggers. The brigands, doubtless in English pay, desire to outlaw your general! Being entrusted with the execution of the vote of the Ancients, against which they are in revolt, I appeal to the military. Citizen soldiers, save the representatives of the people from the representatives of daggers, and let the majority of the Council be delivered from the stiletto by bayonets! Long live the Republic!"

To this cry the soldiers answered with "Long live Bonaparte!" And Lucien, waving a sword, cried out, "I swear with this sword to stab my own brother, if he ever does violence to the liberty of the French!" The general hesitated no longer. He ordered the grenadiers commanded by Murat and Leclerc to enter the Chamber of the Five Hundred. The drums were beaten; their roar drowned the voices of the representatives of the people, as they had drowned the voice of Louis XVI.

In a moment the hall was empty, the deputies having fled through the windows of the orange house into the garden. Only one clung to his seat, saying he wished to die there. They laughed at him, and at last he took flight like the rest.

In Paris news was impatiently awaited. At one moment the rumor ran that Bonaparte was proscribed and outlawed; the next, that he was victorious and had expelled the Five Hundred.

It is thus that Madame de Stael describes her different impressions during this agitated day: "One of my friends who was present at the sitting in Saint Cloud sent me bulletins every hour. Once he told me the Jacobins were going to carry everything before them, and I made ready to leave France again; the next moment I heard that Bonaparte had triumphed, the soldiers having expelied the National Representatives, and I wept, not over liberty, which never existed in France, but over the hope of that liberty without which a country knows only shame and misery."

All day Madame Bonaparte, the general's mother, had been very anxious, though outwardly calm. Three of her children were engaged in the struggle, and in case of Napoleon's failure, all three would be severely punished. Nevertheless, with her usual energy, she concealed her emotions. In the evening, when the definite result was still unknown, she was yet courageous enough to go with her daughters to the Theatre Feydeau, the fashionable theatre, where the Auteur dans son menage was given. In the course of the play some one stepped forward on the stage, and shouted out, "Citizens, General Bonaparte has just escaped being assassinated at Saint Cloud by traitors to this country!"

Madame Leclerc, screamed with terror. It was half-past nine o'clock.

Then Madame Bonaparte and her daughters left the theatre and hastened to the rue de la Victoire, where they found Josephine, who reassured them.

The Bonaparte family had nothing more to fear. All resistance was impossible at Paris or at Saint Cloud. The soldiers of the man who was about to be the First Consul camped that night on the battlefield. At eleven o'clock he summoned his secretary: "I want the whole town, when it wakes up to-morrow, to think of nothing but me. Write!" And he dictated one of those showy proclamations which he knew so well how to compose for an effect upon the masses. He gave to the coup e'tat a false appealance of legality. The two Councils had just met for a night session. Most of the Five Hundred were absent. But it made no difference; the minority was to be taken for a majority. Bonaparte, Sieyes, and Roger-Ducos were appointed consuls and were entrusted with the preparations of a new constitution, aided by two legislative commissions. Sixty-one deputies of the Five Hundred, guilty of having wished to make the law respected, were declared incapable for the future of serving as representatives.

Lucien ended the night session with this speech: "French liberty was born in the tennis-court of Versailles. Since that immortal meeting it has dragged itself along till our time, the prey in turn of the inconsistency, the weakness, and the convulsive ailments of infancy. To-day it has assumed its manly robes. No sooner have you established it on the love and confidence of the French than the smile of peace and abundance shine on its lips. Representatives of the people, listen to the blessing of the people and of its armies, long the plaything of factions, and may their shouts reach the depths of your hearts! Listen also to the sublime voice of posterity! If liberty was born at the tennis-court of Versailles, it has been consolidated in the orange house of Saint Cloud. The Constituents of '89 were the fathers of the Revolution, but the legislators of the Year VIII will be the fathers and peacemakers of the country."

There is nothing in the world easier than to set what has succeeded in brilliant colors. In Brumaire, as in Fructidor, might had overcome right, and might never lacks worshippers. All was over; the game had been won. At three in the morning Bonaparte got into his carriage and drove back from Saint Cloud to Paris, where the inhabitants had illuminated their houses, in celebration of his, illegal victory.