kissed
him. Next morning began a series of personal conferences lasting five
days. What happened or what was said was never divulged by either
participant, but on January twenty-third the terms of a new concordat
were settled. Pius VII was to reside at Avignon with his cardinals in
the enjoyment of an ample revenue, and institute in due form the
bishops selected by the council. There was to be amnesty for all
prelates in disgrace, the sees of the Roman bishops were to be
reestablished, and the Pope was to have the nominations for ten
bishoprics either in France or in Italy at his choice; his sequestered
Roman domains were likewise to be restored. The document was not to be
published without the consent of the cardinals, and Napoleon was
actively to promote the innumerable interests of the Church. The
Emperor and the Pope had scarcely separated before the former began to
profess chagrin that he had gained so little, and the latter became a
victim to real remorse. The cardinals were no sooner informed of the
new treaty than they displayed bitter resentment, and Napoleon,
foreseeing trouble, violated his promise, publishing the text of the
Fontainebleau Concordat on February fourteenth as an imperial decree.
On March twenty-fourth the Pope retracted even his qualified assent.
The Emperor had gained a temporary advantage, and had asserted a sound
position in antagonism to the temporal sovereignty of the Pope; but he
had won no permanent support either from France or from the Roman see,
with which he had dealt either too severely or too leniently.

In the previous July a treaty between the Czar and the Spanish nation,
as represented by the Cortes, had been negotiated through the
intermediation of Great Britain. The recent conduct of York was
sufficient indication of how the Prussian people felt. Napoleon
therefore knew that he was face to face with a virtual coalition
comprising Great Britain, Russia, Sweden, Turkey, Spain, and Prussia.
Since his return from Russia he had displayed in private life the
utmost good sense. But in public life he seemed incapable of accepting
the situation in which he must have known himself to be, holding the
loftiest and most pretentious language both to the French nation and
to the world. In his address on the opening of the legislature he
dwelt on Wellington's reverses in the peninsula, and offered peace to
Great Britain on the old terms of "uti possidetis" in Spain. In a less
public way he