of them
did, from the Crusades, having been swept away by the revolutionary
storm, their places were to be supplied, as supporters of the throne, by
a new race of men. During this period of transition and change, the
movement at the chateau was unceasing. Arrivals and departures were
taking place almost every hour, to which very different degrees of
importance were attached. One arrival, however, was spoken of as having
a more than ordinary interest: it was that of the dignitary who, as it
was then understood, was to place the imperial crown on the brow of the
new sovereign. "To recall," observes Alison, "as Napoleon was anxious to
do on every occasion, the memory of Charlemagne, the first French
Emperor of the West, the Pope had been invited, with an urgency which it
would not have been prudent to resist, to be present at the
consecration, and had accordingly crossed the Alps for the purpose."

Whatever may have been the views which originally prompted the
invitation--whether it was to play a mere secondary part in a court
pageant, or a leading one, as the public at first supposed--or whether
all such notions were swept away by some new deluge of ideas, as
Chateaubriand somewhere says--"It is now pretty clear that the presence
of the pontiff at the ceremony was a minor consideration, and that the
real motive was that which came out in their interview, as will appear
in the sequel." Be this as it may, it was evident to all that the
emperor awaited his coming with impatience; and when his approach was
announced--though preparations had been carefully made for their first
meeting--the arrangements were such as to give it the air of an
_imprevu_. It was on the road some distance from Fontainebleau that the
emperor met the Pope: the potentate alighted from his horse, the pontiff
from his traveling chaise, and a coach being at hand, as if
accidentally, they ascended its steps at the same moment from opposite
sides, so that precedence was neither taken nor given. How Italian the
artifice!

They had not ridden long together when Bonaparte, quitting the coach,
got on horseback, and returned to the chateau at a gallop, and with
scarcely an attendant. The drum beat to arms, the guard turned out, but
before they had time to fall in and salute, he had alighted, and was
mounting the steps of the vestibule.

It was always so with him; he gave such vivacity to all his movements,
such energy to all his actions, that speed seemed a n