Bells rung, cannon thundered,
bonfires and illuminations blazed, rockets and fire-works,
in meteoric splendor filled the air, bands of music poured forth
their exuberant strains, and united Paris, thronging the garden of
the Tuileries and flooding back into the Elysian Fields, rent the
heavens with deafening shouts of exultation. As Napoleon stood at
the window of his palace, witnessing this spectacle of a nation's
gratitude, he said, "The sound of these acclamations is as sweet
to me, as the voice of Josephine. How happy I am to be beloved by
such a people." Preparations were immediately made for a brilliant
and imposing solemnity in commemoration of the victory. "Let
no triumphal arch be raised to me," said Napoleon. "I wish for no
triumphal arch but the public satisfaction."
It is not strange that enthusiasm and gratitude should have glowed
in the ardent bosoms of the French. In four months Napoleon had
raised France from an abyss of ruin to the highest pinnacle of
prosperity and renown. For anarchy he had substituted law, for bankruptcy
a well-replenished treasury, for ignominious defeat resplendent
victory, for universal discontent as universal satisfaction.
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