My stupid vanity had wounded one who meant no harm, and this incident has always left in me a feeling of remorse and chagrin.
I left Copenhagen amidst applause and the repeated cries of “Vive la France!” From all the windows hung the French flag, fluttering in the breeze, and I felt that this was not only for me, but against Germany—I was sure of it.
Since then the Germans and the Danes are solidly united, and I am not certain that several Danes do not still bear me ill-will because of this incident of the Baron Magnus.
I came back to Paris to make final preparations for my journey to America. I was to set sail on October 15.
One day in August I was having a reception of all my friends, who came to see me in full force, because I was about to set out for a long journey.
Among the number were Girardin, Count Kapenist, Marshal Canrobert, Georges Clairin, Arthur Meyer, Duquesnel, the beautiful Augusta Holmes, Raymond de Montbel, Nordenskjold, O’Connor, and other friends. I chatted gaily, happy to be surrounded by so many kind and intellectual friends.
Girardin did all he could to persuade me not to undertake this journey to America. He had been the friend of Rachel, and told me the sad end of her journey.
Arthur Meyer was of opinion that I ought always to do what I thought best. The other friends discussed the subject. That admirable man, whom France will always worship, Canrobert, said how much he should miss and regret those intimate causeries at our five o’clock teas.
“But,” said he, “we have not the right to try, in our affectionate selfishness, to hinder our young friend from doing all she can in the strife. She is of a combative nature.”
“Ah yes!” I cried. “Yes, I am born for strife, I feel it. Nothing pleases me like having to master a public, perhaps hostile, who have read and heard all that the Press has said against me. But I am sorry that I cannot play, not only in Paris but in all France, my two big successes, Adrienne and Froufrou.”