As soon as the peace of my country seemed assured, I abandoned all thoughts of leaving it again, and divided my time between Paris and the country. My liking for my pretty house at Louveciennes was undiminished. I spent eight months of the year there, and in those surroundings my life flowed as smoothly as possible. I painted, I busied myself about my garden, I took long, solitary walks, and on Sundays I received my friends. So fond was I of Louveciennes that, wishing to bequeath the place something to remember me by, I painted a picture of Saint Genoveva for the church. Mme. de Genlis was good enough to dedicate a poem to me in acknowledgment. If I gave away pictures, some were given me, and that in the heartiest manner. I had frequently expressed a desire that my friends should commemorate themselves on the panels of my drawing-room at Louveciennes. One fine summer's morning, at four o'clock, while I was asleep, the Prince de Crespy, the Baron de Feisthamel, M. de Rivière, and my niece, Eugenia Lebrun, set silently to work. By ten o'clock each frame was filled. My surprise may be imagined when, upon coming down to breakfast, I entered the room and found it adorned with these delightful paintings as well as with garlands of flowers. It was my birthday. Tears came into my eyes—the only thanks I was able to offer.
In 1819 His Highness the Duke de Berri signified his wish to buy my "Sibyl," which he had seen in my studio at London, and although I perhaps prized this most of all my works, I speedily complied with his request. Some years later I painted Her Highness the Duchess de Berri, who gave me sittings at the Tuileries with the politest punctuality, and besides showed me a friendliness than which none could have been greater. I shall never forget how, while I was painting her one day, she said, "Wait a moment." Then, getting up, she went to her library for a book containing an article in my praise, which she was obliging enough to read aloud from beginning to end. During one of these sittings the Duke de Bordeaux brought his mother a copybook in which his master had written "Very good." The Duchess gave the boy two louis. The little Prince, who might have been about six, began to jump for joy, shouting, "This will do for my poor—and for my old woman first of all!" When he was gone the Duchess told me that her son referred to a poor soul he often met when he went out and of whom he was particularly fond.
While the Duchess sat for me I would become irritated at the number of people who came to make calls. She took note of this and was so considerate as to say, "Why did you not ask me to pose at your house?" Which she did for the two final sittings. I confess that I never could think of such affecting warmth of heart without comparing the time I devoted to this genial Princess with the melancholy hours Mme. Murat had made me spend. I painted two portraits of the Duchess de Berri. In the first she is wearing a red velvet dress, and in the other one of blue velvet. I have no idea what has become of these pictures.
I must now speak of the sad years of my life during which, in a brief space, I saw the beings dearest to me depart this world. First, I lost M. Lebrun. True that for a long time I had entertained no relations whatever with him, yet I was none the less mournfully affected by his death. You cannot without regret be separated forever from one to whom so close a tie as marriage has bound you. This blow, however, was far less than the cruel grief I experienced at the death of my daughter. I hastened to her as soon as I heard of her illness, but the disease progressed rapidly, and I cannot tell what I felt when all hope of saving her was gone. When, going to see her the last day, my eyes fell upon that dreadfully sunken face, I fainted away. My old friend Mme. de Noisville rescued me from that bed of sorrow; she supported me, for my legs would not carry me, and took me home. The next day I was childless! Mme. de Verdun came with the news, and vainly tried to soften my despair. All the wrongdoing of the poor little one vanished—I saw her again, I still see her, in the days of her childhood. Alas! she was so young! Why did she not survive me?
It was in 1819 that I was bereft of my daughter, and in 1820 I lost my brother. So many successive shocks plunged me into such deep dejection that my friends, grieving for my state, urged me to try the distraction of a journey. I therefore decided to visit Bordeaux. I did not know that town, and hence the anticipation changed the current of my thoughts. Nor was I disappointed. My health benefited by the journey, and I returned to Paris less dark in spirit.
From that day to this I have travelled no more. After my return from Bordeaux I resumed my daily habits and my work, which of all distractions I have always found the best. Although having had the misfortune to lose so many dear ones, I did not remain forsaken. I have mentioned Mme. de Rivière, my niece, who, through her affection and her ministrations, is the blessing of my life. I must also speak of my other niece, Eugenia Lebrun, now Mme. Tripier Le Franc. Her studies at first prevented me from seeing her as often as I should have liked to, for since her earliest youth her disposition, her mental qualities, and her great gift for painting had promised to be a joy to me. I took pleasure in guiding her, in lavishing my counsels upon her, and in watching her progress. I am well rewarded to-day, when she has realised all my hopes by her lovely character and her very remarkable talent for painting. She has followed the same course as myself in the adoption of portrait painting, and is earning success merited by fine colouring, by great sincerity, and, particularly, by perfect resemblance. Still young, she can but add to a reputation which in her diffidence and modesty she has scarcely ventured to foresee. Mme. Tripier Le Franc and Mme. de Rivière have become my daughters. They bring back all of a mother's feelings to me, and their tender devotion spreads a beautiful charm over my existence. It is among these two dear creatures and the friends who have been spared me that I hope to end peacefully a wandering and even a laborious but honest life.
The End
APPENDIX
List of Mme. Vigée Lebrun's Paintings
[This list is as complete and accurate as the material available for its compilation allowed. The authoress's own catalogue of her works, which necessarily formed the principal source of information, is itself conspicuous for errors and omissions. To rectify all of these beyond doubt and make an absolutely perfect list would have been impossible.]