Madame de Staël.
The letters of Corinne to her friend Madame Récamier began at the period here recalled by Benjamin Constant: they have a charm which is almost akin to love; I will set forth a few:
"Coppet, 9 September.
"Do you recollect, fair Juliet, a person whom you loaded with marks of interest last winter and who is bold enough to invite you to do twice as much in the winter to come? How do you govern the empire of beauty? One awards it you with pleasure, that empire, because you are eminently good, and it seems natural that so gentle a soul should have a charming face to express it. Of all your admirers you know that I prefer Adrien de Montmorency[349]. I have received letters from him, remarkable for wit and grace, and I believe in the solidity of his affections, notwithstanding the charm of his manners. For the rest, that word 'solidity' suits me, who claim to play but a very secondary part in his heart. But you, who are the heroine of every sentiment, are exposed to the great events out of which tragedies and novels are made. Mine[350] is progressing at the foot of the Alps. I hope you will read it with interest. I like this occupation. . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . ."Amid all those successes, what you are and what you will remain is an angel of purity and beauty, and you will have the worship of the devout as well as of the worldly.... Have you seen the author of Atala again? Are you still at Clichy? In short, I ask for details of yourself. I love to know what you are doing, to represent to myself the places in which you dwell. Is not all a picture in the memories which one retains of you? I add to this natural enthusiasm for your rare advantages a great inclination for your company. Pray accept kindly all that I offer you, and promise me that we shall meet often in the coming winter."
"Coppet, 30 April.
"Do you know, fair Juliet, that my friends have been flattering me somewhat with the notion that you might come here? Could you not give me that great pleasure? It is some time since happiness spoilt me, and your arrival would be a return of luck and would give me hopes for all that I desire. Adrien and Mathieu say they will come. If you came with them, a month's stay here would serve to show you our splendid nature. My father says that you ought to choose Coppet for your residence and that we should make our excursions from there. My father is very eager in his desire to see you. You know what they said of Homer:
"Par la voix des vieillards tu louais la beauté[351].
"And independently of that beauty you are charming."
During the short Peace of Amiens[352], Madame Récamier took a journey to London with her mother. She had letters of introduction from the old Duc de Guignes, who had been Ambassador to England thirty years before. He had kept up a correspondence with the most brilliant women of the time: the Duchess of Devonshire[353], Lady Melbourne[354], the Marchioness of Salisbury[355], the Margravine of Anspach, with whom he had been in love. His embassy was still celebrated, his memory green among those respectable ladies.
Madame Récamier in London.
Such is the power of novelty in England that, on the morning after her arrival, the newspapers were full of the foreign beauty. Madame Récamier received visits from nearly all the persons to whom she had sent letters. Among these persons, the most remarkable was the Duchess of Devonshire, then between forty-five and fifty years of age. She was still in vogue and beautiful, although she had lost one eye, which she concealed behind a lock of her hair. The first time that Madame Récamier appeared in public, it was in her company. The duchess took her to the Opera in her box, in which were the Prince of Wales, the Duc d'Orléans and his brothers the Duc de Montpensier[356] and the Comte de Beaujolais[357]: the first two were to become kings; one was on the verge of the throne, the other was still separated from it by an abyss[358].
Eyes and opera-glasses were turned on the duchess' box. The Prince of Wales said to Madame Récamier that, if she did not want to be suffocated, she must leave before the end of the performance. Scarcely was she on her feet, before the doors of the boxes opened precipitously; she escaped nothing, and was carried by the tide of the crowd to her carriage.
The next day, Madame Récamier went to Kensington Gardens, accompanied by the Marquess of Douglas, later Duke of Hamilton[359], who has since received Charles X. at Holyrood[360], and by his sister the Duchess of Somerset[361]. The crowd flung itself on the fair foreigner's footsteps. This effect was repeated each time she showed herself in public; the newspapers resounded with her name; her portrait, engraved by Bartolozzi[362], was spread broadcast through England. The author of Antigone, M. Ballanche, adds that ships carried it as far as the isles of Greece: beauty returned to the spots where its image had been invented. We have a sketch of Madame Récamier by David, a full-length portrait by Gérard, a bust by Canova. The portrait is Gérard's master-piece; but it does not please me, because I recognise the model's features in it without recognising the expression.