the chair for his
coronation, entered the tomb. Barbarossa was an illustrious prince and a
valiant soldier; and it must, therefore, have been a moment singularly
strange when this crowned man stood before the crowned corpse of
Charlemagne--the one in all the majesty of empire, the other in all the
majesty of death. The soldier overcame the shades of greatness; the
living became the despoliator of inanimate worth. The chapel claimed the
skeleton, and Barbarossa the marble chair, which afterward became the
throne where thirty-six emperors were crowned. Ferdinand the First was
the last; Charles the Fifth preceded him.

In 1804, when Bonaparte became known as Napoleon, he visited
Aix-la-Chapelle. Josephine, who accompanied him, had the caprice to sit
down on this chair; but Napoleon, out of respect for Charlemagne, took
off his hat, and remained for some time standing, and in silence. The
following fact is somewhat remarkable, and struck me forcibly. In 814
Charlemagne died; a thousand years afterward, most probably about the
same hour, Napoleon fell.

In that fatal year, 1814, the allied sovereigns visited the tomb of the
great "Carolus." Alexander of Russia, like Napoleon, took off his hat
and uniform; Frederick William of Prussia kept on his "casquette de
petite tenue;" Francis retained his surtout and round bonnet. The King
of Prussia stood upon the marble steps, receiving information from the
provost of the chapter respecting the coronation of the emperors of
Germany; the two emperors remained silent. Napoleon, Josephine,
Alexander, Frederick William, and Francis, are now no more.

A few minutes afterward I was on my way to the Hotel-de-Ville, the
supposed birthplace of Charlemagne, which, like the chapel, is an
edifice made of five or six others. In the middle of the court there is
a fountain of great antiquity, with a bronze statue of Charlemagne. To
the left and right are two others--both surmounted with eagles, their
heads half turned toward the grave and tranquil emperor.

The evening was approaching. I had passed the whole of the day among
these grand and austere "souvenirs;" and, therefore, deemed it essential
to take a walk in the open fields, to breathe the fresh air, and to
watch the rays of the declining sun. I wandered along some dilapidated
walls, entered a field, then some beautiful alleys, in one of which I
seated myself. Aix-la-Chapelle lay extended before me, partly hid by the
shades of evening, wh