11
Like all Cassandras, she was unheeded. Bonaparte had as little of the self-tormenting metaphysics and cold relentings of Macbeth, as Josephine of the masculine spirit of his spouse. The day came which was to realize the dream which had haunted her from her youth. Dr. Memes's picture of her coronation is one of his most fortunate efforts:-
“At eleven precisely, the cavalcade moved from the Tuilleries, towards Notre Dame. The imperial carriage, drawn by eight bays, attracted general attention: it had been constructed for the occasion, in a very ingenious manner, the entire panelling being of glass, a circumstance which accounts for the mistake of their majesty's having seated themselves like criminals, with their backs to the horses; but where so many omens and predictions have figured, it is surprising that the facts has been omitted. The procession advanced, attended by ten thousand horsemen, the flower of 'Gallic chivalry,' who detailed between two double lines of infantry, while more than four hundred thousand spectators filled up every space where a glance could be obtained. The thunders of innumerable artillery, the acclamations of the assembled multitude, expressed the general enthusiasm; and as if to light up the gorgeous spectacle, the sun suddenly broke through the mists which till then had hung heavily over the the city. The cortege stopped at the archiepiscoped palace, whence a temporarily covered gallery, hung with the banners of the sixteen cohorts of the legion of honour, conducted into the interior of the cathedral and to the throne. To this latter was an ascent of twenty-two semicircular steps covered with blue cloth, gemmed with golden bees, and crowded with the grand officers of the empire. On the throne, itself lung with the finest crimson velvet, under a canopy of the same, appeared
