and exile to submission, was not likely to increase the popularity of the concordat with the more devout part of the nation.  Meantime, the self-called philosophers looked on with scorn; and the republicans, of every sect, regarded with anger and indignation a course of policy which, as they justly apprehended, provided for the re-establishment of the church, solely because that was considered as the likeliest means of re-establishing the monarchy—­in a new dynasty indeed, but with all, or more than all, the old powers.

In moments of spleen Napoleon is known to have sometimes expressed his regret that he should ever have had recourse to this concordat:  but at St. Helena, when looking back calmly, he said that it was so needful a measure that had there been no Pope, one ought to have been created for the occasion.

The name of the First Consul was now introduced into the church service at least as often as that of the king had used to be.  The cathedral of Notre Dame was prepared for the solemn reception of the concordat.  Napoleon appeared there with the state and retinue of a monarch; and in every part of the ceremonial the ancient rules were studiously attended to.  The prelate who presided was the same Archbishop of Aix who had preached the coronation sermon of Louis XVI.

It was not easy, however, to procure the attendance of some of the revolutionary generals of the true republican race.  Berthier had invited a large party of them long beforehand to breakfast:  he carried them from thence to the levee of the Chief Consul, and they found it impossible not to join in the procession.  Buonaparte asked one of these persons, after the ceremony was over, what he thought of it?  “It was a true Capucinade” was the answer.  To another of these, whom he thought less sincere, he said with a smile, “Things, you see, are returning to the old order.”  “Yes,” the veteran replied, “all returns—­all but the two millions of Frenchmen who have died for the sake of destroying the very system which you are now rebuilding.”  These officers are said to have paid dearly for their uncourtly language.  Moreau was not to be tampered with by Berthier.  The Chief Consul personally invited him to be present at the Te Deum in Notre Dame, to attend afterwards at the consecration of some colours, and, lastly, to dine at the Tuileries.  Moreau answered, “I accept the last part of your invitation.”

A third great measure, adopted about the same period, was received with unqualified applause.  This was the establishment of a national system of education, the necessity of which had been much felt, since the old universities and schools under the management of the clergy had been broken up amidst the first violence of the Revolution.  The Polytechnic School, established under the direction of Monge, dates from this epoch; and furnished France, in the sequel, with a long train of eminent men for every department of the public service.