Magdelaine aime ma gaîté
Et moi sa tournure m’enchante,
Elle fait ma félicité
Elle est en verité, charmante!
Elle prouve depuis vingt ans
Par sa grâce qui m’est si chère,
Qu’on a l’art d’arrêter le temps,
Quand on a l’art de plaire (bis).”
In 1807, Despréaux was appointed inspector of the theatres of the Opera and the Tuileries. Having religiously preserved the traditions of the ancient Court, he was often consulted in regard to the ceremonial to be observed at the fêtes of the new Court of Napoleon. He became, in fact, a kind of unofficial master of the ceremonies, and, in this capacity, assisted at all the solemn functions of the Empire, notably at the marriage of Napoleon and Marie Louise, of which event he has left an interesting account in his Souvenirs. When the Empire fell, he found himself out of employment; but in 1815 received the appointments of inspector-general of Court entertainments and professor of dancing and deportment at the École Royale de Musique.
The ménage Despréaux-Guimard resided, in these last years, in the Rue de Ménars, where the ex-danseuse surrounded herself with a large circle of friends. Often the conversation turned on the past triumphs of Mlle. Guimard, when the younger members of the company would express their regret that it was impossible for them to form an idea of that marvellous talent which, for a whole generation, had so enchanted the patrons of the Opera, and would beg their hostess to give them a few steps of the ballets in which she had achieved her greatest successes. At first, the ballerina refused, on the score of her age and the decline of her physical powers. But the ingenious Despréaux erected in the salon a theatre, the curtain of which was so arranged as to reveal only the knee and the legs of the actors. And here he and his wife, concealing thus all the ravages that time had wrought upon face and figure, danced with legs and feet which seemed to the delighted spectators to have preserved all the grace and suppleness of youth.
Later, when increasing years and feeble health had caused her to retire altogether from society, if one of the few intimate friends who were still admitted to the house happened to refer to her glorious past at the Opera, the old artiste would sometimes offer to amuse her visitors with what she called her theatre. With that, she would draw from under her fauteuil a little drum, which she would place between her feet on a foot-stool. Then she would join two of her fingers, bow, lift the curtain, announce some ballet, and, by a marvel of memory and agility of hand, dance with her two fingers all the steps of this ballet—her own steps, and the steps of those who preceded, and of those who had doubled her—with such correctness as to make her audience appreciate the superiority of her own dancing.[97]
On May 4, 1816, Madeleine Guimard—or rather Madame Despréaux—died at the age of seventy-three; the death of the famous danseuse of the eighteenth century passing almost unnoticed in this Paris of the Restoration, which seemed to have already forgotten her dazzling triumphs of yesterday.