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A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 

A FAVOURITE 
 OF NAPOLEON 
 
 MEMOIRS OF MADEMOISELLE GEORGE 
 
 EDITED, FROM THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT, BY 
 
 PAUL CHERAMY 
 
 New York 
 
 THE JOHN McBRIDE COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 
 
 1909 
 
^YJr/'. 
 
 ar 
 
 
PREFACE BY THE EDITOR 
 
 It is always tiresome to speak about oneself. I 
 am, however, obliged to do so at the beginning of 
 this preface. Some people will doubtless be aston- 
 ished to see the memoirs of an actress published 
 through the care of a man who for many years 
 has been invested with grave duties — solicitor to 
 the Civil Courts of the Seine, and even in 1893 
 president of the Society of Solicitors. Two words 
 of explanation are necessary to dissipate this 
 surprise, and palliate the seeming contradiction. 
 
 From my childhood I was received by Alexandre 
 Dumas, whose son became much later one of my 
 most intimate friends. Through the author of 
 Monte Crista I was enabled to either listen to or 
 know the greatest actors and actresses of that age : 
 Frederick Lemaitre, Rachel, GeofFroy, Melingue, 
 Laferriere, Rouviere, Augustine and Madeline 
 Brohan, and many others besides. My taste for 
 the theatre took date from that moment. 
 
 A little later a love of painting was awakened 
 within me. I had a friend, a young painter, a 
 pupil of Henri Lehmann. We used to pass all the 
 days of my leave together at the Louvre. Finally 
 music, which has become one of the passions of 
 
vi PREFACE 
 
 my life, called me to herself. I was not yet a 
 Wagnerian, for Richard Wagner was unknown in 
 Paris. I remember the interminable waits I im- 
 posed on myself at the Opera, in the rue Le Peletier, 
 to get a good place in the pit to listen to one of 
 Meyerbeer's works, which sufficed then for my 
 admiration. 
 
 With these artistic tastes and an insatiable need 
 of reading I reached the Law Courts. Chance — 
 a happy chance — made a solicitor of me in 1853. 
 That I was a little different to my strict confrh^es 
 it would be useless to deny. But I knew law, I 
 loved an action, and had a business sense and 
 instinct, a certain gift of observation, a great 
 memory, and a facility for work, which I have 
 preserved even in my old age. I believe, too, that 
 far from harming me, my artistic and psychological 
 faculties have helped me very much. Whatever 
 may be the reason of it, my continuous success 
 for forty years has surpassed my hopes and feeble 
 deserts. 
 
 To-day the hour for retirement has struck. I 
 return to my studies and tastes of former days, 
 though, to speak more strictly, they have never left 
 me. For my old age I have a last ambition : 
 certainly not the proud pretension of becoming a 
 writer. After sixty years one does not acquire the 
 talent of style. I should just like to tell my con- 
 temporaries, in the most simple way in the world, 
 a little of what I know, of what I have seen and of 
 what I think on certain subjects. I shall take a 
 
PREFACE vii 
 
 pleasure in obliging myself not to bore too much 
 those who are kind enough to read and listen 
 
 to me. 
 
 After this long preamble, I return to Mile. 
 George. When I bought her manuscripts my 
 friends made me promise to pubhsh them. Up to 
 now I have never had the leisure or opportunity 
 of doing so. Now I am going to keep my promise. 
 I begin with these amusing Memoirs the various 
 publications which I should like to leave behind 
 me, if nature, who has been clement to me, still 
 allows me for some time strength and health. 
 
 At the outset let us describe what these Memoirs 
 are, what is their origin and history. 
 
 It was on January 31, 1903, that I bought 
 the manuscript at a pubhc sale. This sale was 
 very curious. Together with the memoirs of 
 the actress, all sorts of tragic tinsel figured: 
 the crowns of Rodogune, Merope, Marguerite 
 de Bourgogne, Semiramis, IVIarie Tudor, which 
 M. Paul Meurice redeemed and presented to the 
 Comedie-Fran^aise. There was also the library, 
 or rather what remained of the hbrary of the 
 tragedienne. The original editions of the dramas 
 of Victor Hugo and Alexandre Dumas — Lucrece 
 Borgia, Marie Tudor, Christine, la Tour de Nesle, 
 which must have been given or sold during her life- 
 time. However, the manuscript of Vautrin was to 
 be found there, that of la Tour de Nesle, which was 
 bought by M. Henry Houssaye, the very curious 
 tragedies of Alexandre Soumet—Clytemnestre, 
 
viii PREFACE 
 
 Norma^ Une Fete sous Neron, and his beautiful 
 religious poem, la Divine Epopee, with laudatory- 
 dedications. 
 
 At first it was not very easy to sort the 
 scattered leaves, a little out of order, which con- 
 stituted the original manuscripts of the Memoirs. 
 After having read and re-read them, compressed 
 and classified them, this is how I was able to 
 establish their genesis. 
 
 They were written in 1857. Mile. George was 
 then seventy. She undertook the work to gain a 
 little money. At that time she was in terrible 
 want. She conceived the following plan. Having, 
 as she says and proves, neither style nor much 
 orthography, she noted on sHps of paper the most 
 interesting events of her life. She entrusted these 
 leaves to one of her friends, the husband of 
 Marceline Desbordes - Valmore, begging him to 
 revise them and put them into "good French," 
 as we used to say at school. Then to the slightly 
 colourless prose of her husband Mme. Desbordes- 
 Valmore was to add some of the graces, and a little 
 of the poesy of her own style. 
 
 Mile. George's first edition still exists, and we 
 possess as well Valmore's work, which is very terse 
 and tiresome in its monotony and conventional 
 quasi-elegance. Mile. George perceived this. In 
 the margin of this effort of the good rhetorician 
 she noted these reflections : " A little long," " To 
 be worked out," " I must speak to him about this 
 and that," etc. In short, she had the good idea of 
 
PREFACE ix 
 
 doing for herself what Valmore had been unable 
 to realise. She re-wrote her Memoirs and made a 
 cohesive work, which unfortunately ends at 1808, 
 that is to say, on her departure for Russia. 
 
 This is the curious autobiography, lively, 
 coloured and attractive, with its mass of repe- 
 titions and corrections, which we are publishing 
 to-day, and which forms the principal part of this 
 volume. 
 
 After 1808 Mile. George has only left us isolated 
 fragments, jotted down in haste, without much 
 sequence or method, where several interesting details 
 are still to be found, notably anecdotes about Mme. 
 de Stael, her own sojourn in Sweden, and of the 
 intervention of Charles X on the subject of the 
 privileges of the Odeon. These fragments form 
 the second part of this publication. 
 
 In a third part we give a letter from Mile. 
 Raucourt, and some letters from Mile. George, 
 which we have been unable to discover elsewhere. 
 
 In an Appendix we have incorporated a state- 
 ment of the services of the actress at the Comedie- 
 Fran9aise ; GeofFroy's article on her appearances ; 
 appreciations by Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, 
 Theophile Gautier, Jules Janin, fragments attri- 
 buted to Mme. de Remusat, to the confessions of 
 Arsene Houssaye, and a very curious unpublished 
 letter of Victorien Sardou. 
 
 To fix the essential dates and present the career 
 of Mile. George in its entirety, from her birth to 
 her death, we have compiled a biographical notice. 
 
X PREFACE 
 
 which will form a sort of introduction to the 
 memoirs of the actress. 
 
 We give a reproduction of two portraits ; the 
 one by Lagrenee represents her in the role of 
 Clytemnestra. This picture, which hung for a 
 long time in Mile. Mars' bedroom, was presented 
 by us to the Comedie-Fran9aise in 1905. It figures 
 in the gallery of artistes. The second portrait is 
 by Baron Gerard. It is a very charming work, 
 which formed part of the collection of the Countess 
 Edmond de Pourtales. Her kindness, which we 
 gratefully acknowledge, has allowed us to reproduce 
 this extremely characteristic portrait, which will re- 
 main for the future the slightly embellished and 
 definite likeness of Mile. George. 
 
 P. -A. Cheramy. 
 
 Riva f Tyrol J, 
 
 August 1906. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Preface .... 
 
 V 
 
 Introduction 
 
 13 
 
 Memoirs .... 
 
 . 35 
 
 Loose Leaves 
 
 . 224 
 
 Correspondence 
 
 . 263 
 
 Appendix .... 
 
 . 281 
 
 Index .... 
 
 . 318 
 
A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Eugene de Mirecourt, whose les Contemporains 
 recently excited so much scandal, has consecrated 
 a sympathetic and annotated little volume to 
 Mile. George.^ He has certainly read Valmore's 
 work, of which he reproduces whole passages. In 
 their Galerie historique de la Comedie-Fi^an^aisei' 
 MM. de Manne and Menetrier have written a less 
 benevolent biography of the tragedienne. With 
 these documents, the memoirs of Alexandre Dumas, 
 articles of the period, le Monde JDi^amatique, 
 Theophile Gautier's VHistoire de Vai^t dramatique, 
 his Roinantic Portraits and his work on les Belles 
 Femmes de Paris, it is easy to reconstruct the life 
 of the woman and artiste, and trace a faithful and 
 life-like portrait of her. 
 
 Mile. Marguerite-Josephine Weymer, called 
 
 ^ Eugene de Mirecourt, les Contemporains. Portraits el silhou- 
 ettes au dix-neuviane siecle, 3rd edition. Librairies des con- 
 temporains, Mademoiselle George, one vol. in 32, 1870. 
 
 "^ Galerie historique de la Comedie-Frangaise potir servir de comple- 
 ment a la troupe de Talma, by E.-D. de Manne and C. Menetrier. 
 Lyon, N. Scheuring, editeur, 1876. 
 
14 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 George, was born on February 23, 1787, at the 
 Theatre of Bayeux, during a performance of 
 Tarhiffe and La belle Fermiere. 
 
 Her father, George Weymer, of German origm, 
 had formed a httle nomad troupe, which went from 
 to'vvTi to town playing comedy, vaudeville, and 
 even tragedy. He was impixsario and chef 
 d'orchestre. His wife took the parts of soubrettes. 
 Her maiden name was Verteuil, and her nephew 
 was for a long time secretary of the Comedie- 
 Fran^aise. The father and mother of Mile. George 
 were modest, conscientious, honest artistes, full of 
 devotion and heart, and their daughter preserved a 
 gratitude and tenderness for them which did all 
 three credit. 
 
 At five years of age Georgette Weymer appeared 
 in les Deux chasseurs et la Laitih^e at the Amiens 
 Theatre, of which her father had become manager. 
 She soon played with the celebrated Dugazon ; 
 and finally INIlle. Raucourt, who was passing through 
 Amiens, was astonished at the beauty and excep- 
 tional abilities of the young Weymer. She per- 
 suaded her father to trust the girl to her keeping, 
 and took her to Paris to give her lessons and 
 prepare her for her debut at the Comedie- 
 Fran9aise. 
 
 Mile. George obtained her ordre de debut on 
 November 23, 1802. She was sixteen, and made 
 her debut in the part of Clytemnestra. 
 
 The choice of this part for the debut of such a 
 young girl would be inexplicable if one did not 
 
INTRODUCTION 15 
 
 recall the precocious and sculptural beauty of the 
 debutante. Further, Mile. Dumesnil and Mile. 
 Raucourt had recognised that her vocation destined 
 her for the great maternal roles of tragedy. 
 
 AU this first part of Mile. George's career, her 
 visits to INIlles. Clairon and Dumesnil, her debuts, 
 the appreciation of the public, of GeofFroy, whose 
 habitual severity had been disarmed by her beauty 
 and talent, the rivalry with IMlle. Duchesnois, the 
 good comradeship of Talma, the picture of the 
 Comedie-Francaise under the Consulate, her rela- 
 tions with Prince Sapieha, her amours with 
 Bonaparte, all this is related in the Memoirs with 
 a vivacity and a freshness of recollection which 
 we are unwilling to spoil. 
 
 Although their author makes no pretension to 
 judge the marvellous period of the Consulate, the 
 very simphcity of her narrative allows us to guess 
 the charm of those beautiful years from 1802 to 
 1804, the most beautiful perhaps which France has 
 ever known. She was at last freed from the 
 sectaries of the Revolution. Victorious abroad, 
 France was rising from her ruins, was organising 
 herself anew, and once more beginning to live and 
 to hope. An intelligent and practical policy, which 
 was not formed by Rousseau's school of sophisms, 
 was re-establishing security, confidence, and credit 
 in the interior. It was a magnificent reawakening 
 of all the social forces which the Terror had sup- 
 pressed and neutralised in blood and mire. How 
 understandable is the admiration which the First 
 
16 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Consul inspired ! " He is my hero ! " cried the 
 sexagenarian Sophie Arnould from her retreat at 
 Paraclet. 
 
 The enthusiasm experienced by George for the 
 incomparable, immense (that is her word) being 
 Bonaparte, was in accordance with the universal 
 sentiment which was expressed by frantic applause 
 whenever the First Consul entered his box at the 
 Theatre-Fran^ais. 
 
 On the other hand, these Memoirs are a docu- 
 ment of unappreciable value, which disclose in an 
 unexpected way an intimate and little-known side 
 of Napoleon's character. The question has often 
 been put, " What was the exact attitude of the 
 Emperor towards women ? What was his manner 
 of treating women ? " Rephes are contradictory ; 
 and, it must be confessed, mostly unfavourable. 
 Certainly he had for Josephine and IVIarie Louise 
 a tenderness which amounted almost to blindness. 
 But these two were Empresses : for him they were 
 above their sex and above humanity. Very many 
 other women passed in his life ; for, absorbed as he 
 was in his political and military duties, and in his 
 various labours, he was ardent and sensual. How 
 did he behave with regard to those other women ? 
 Stendhal has furnished us with terrible revelations. 
 "He made them writhe beneath the lash of his 
 contempt," he said, speaking of those "other 
 women." Poor victims ! They thought they were 
 marching to a triumph : they little dreamed of the 
 humiliations which were awaiting them. 
 
INTRODUCTION 17 
 
 " Oh, Monster ! Horrible tyrant ! " are the cries 
 after hard nights of trial, of Mme. Branchu, the 
 vestal of the Opera, Miles. Duchesnois, Therese 
 Bourgoin, Leverd, of the Theatre-Fran^ais, and 
 the ladies of the Court whom the Imperial caprice 
 had seemed to distinguish for an instant. 
 
 It must be confessed that, according to Stendhal 
 and other historians, the new Caesar's manners 
 were little less than those of a savage. Here we 
 are far from the old French gallantry. Where 
 have fled the graces of the eighteenth century? 
 One can quite understand the feminine hatred, 
 which, gathering secretly, burst out with fury in 
 1815. The women wished for the death of the 
 Emperor, not because of the conscription, as they 
 said, but because of the insulting disdain with 
 which he had chastised them during his reign. 
 
 Now a question presents itself: Was Napoleon 
 always so? Was this harshness towards women 
 founded in the very depths of his nature ? I do 
 not think so. The rudeness and violence was, to 
 my mind, the unconscious result of a formidable 
 tension of spirit, of superhuman toil. 
 
 In this regard the Memoirs of Mile. George 
 afford us a decisive light which will rejoice the 
 heart of friends of the great Emperor. After 
 having read them one can no longer doubt that 
 in his time Bonaparte was a tender, thoughtful 
 lover, full of juvenile ardour, as much in love as an 
 officer of twenty. It is in this sympathetic and 
 entirely new aspect that George reveals him — that 
 
18 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 immense man really loved his beautiful tragedienne, 
 and let himself be charmed by her fresh, loyal 
 nature. He amused himself with her artless 
 chatter ; in her company he experienced a relax- 
 ation of mind and a distraction which his nerves 
 and brain at fever-pitch were in need of. 
 
 He liked to frolic with George like a great child, 
 to tease the superb creature who at the beginning 
 of the liaison he felt was entirely his. He laughed 
 at her plebeian feet, as he placed a considerable 
 value on delicacy of extremities with women. 
 Happily George had admirable hands, the hands 
 of a queen and a child; they obtained pardon for 
 her feet, which were heavy and common. It is true 
 that they had no ordinary weight to support. 
 
 Perhaps it will be said that to raise the value of her 
 conquest it pleased George to exaggerate its charm ; 
 that she has shown us a Bonaparte of phantasy, 
 softened and embellished by the proud complais- 
 ance of her recollections ? I do not believe it. 
 Napoleon's tenderness for her, and consequently 
 the sensibility of which he was capable, seem to 
 me a point absolutely demonstrated. The liaison 
 continued from 1802 to 1808. Here it is not a 
 question of a simple caprice vanishing after pos- 
 session, nor of an attraction entirely sensual, where 
 sentiment has no part. It was a veritable affection. 
 It lasted till Napoleon's death. At St. Helena he 
 spoke of her whom he had formerly called his 
 beautiful Georgina, or his good Georgina. 
 
 In 1808, at the date where the Memoirs stop, 
 
INTRODUCTION 19 
 
 the triumphant existence of Mile. George became 
 suddenly clouded. The intrigues of MUe. Duches- 
 nois, her rival, protected by M. de Remusat, became 
 intolerable. The Emperor has changed ; he is no 
 longer the lover of the first year of the Consulate. 
 The unknown Bonaparte, who appears so full of 
 charm in the Memoirs, is a little transformed with 
 the grandeurs and cares of omnipotence. He is 
 not separated from her, but George imagines herself 
 to be nothing more than a habit to him. She 
 knows that she is surrounded by rivals, and is 
 humiliated at the thought of offering no more 
 to her imperial lover than an intermittent distraction 
 and a banal source of pleasure. 
 
 She listened then to the offers of the Russian 
 ambassador, Count Tolstoy. She was carried away 
 by the insistence of her lover. Count de Beckendorf 
 He had promised to marry her, but he wished first 
 of all to offer her to his master, Alexander I. In 
 short, yielding to a sudden caprice, which twenty- 
 four hours later she will regret, she sets off for St. 
 Petersburg, on the evening of the fourth perform- 
 ance of Debrieu's A7iaxe7^jces, in which she should 
 have played the part of Mandane (May 7, 1808). 
 The performance was waited for in vain, and there 
 was a great scandal at the Comedie. An order for 
 the arrest of the fugitive was given, but she had 
 already passed the frontier. 
 
 At St. Petersburg her success was immense. 
 She charmed the Emperor Alexander, the Dowager- 
 Empress and the Grand Duke Constantine. She 
 
20 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 made her debut at the Imperial Theatre in the part 
 of Semiramis. After the performance the Emperor 
 came to her dressing-room to congratulate her. 
 " Madame," he said, " you wear the crown better 
 han our great Catherine." 
 
 *' Sire, it is less heavy than that of All the 
 Russias. ' The Emperor sent her a splendid cro^\Ti 
 made from the model of that worn formerly by the 
 Empress Catherine II. 
 
 Another evening, after Mcrope, the Emperor, 
 wiping his eyes, said to her, " These are the first 
 tears I have ever shed in a theatre." 
 
 Still, if she became Alexander's mistress, it was 
 only a passing caprice. A certain party had hoped 
 that George would replace Mme. Nariskine with 
 the Tsar. The plan miscarried, but Alexander and 
 the whole Court did not cease from loading the 
 actress with attentions and presents. 
 
 If we can believe the memoirs of the Russian 
 General Lowenstein, she extended her conquests 
 even among the great ladies of the Russian Court. 
 That is doubtless but an ugly calumny. 
 
 In the midst of these raptures and festivities the 
 campaign of 1812 began. At St. Petersburg the 
 battle of Moskow was regarded as a victory. The 
 order to illuminate their windows was given to the 
 inhabitants. In spite of the order George's windows 
 remained closed without illuminations. " She is 
 right," said the Emperor. " I do not wish her to be 
 annoyed about it ; she is behaving like a good 
 Frenchwoman." 
 
INTRODUCTION 21 
 
 Sojourn in Russia became impossible for her. 
 She kept till death her passionate cult of Napoleon. 
 She could not remain in St. Petersburg to listen to 
 the tale of the terrible retreat of the great army. 
 Some notes tell us of her departure for Sweden and 
 her arrival at Stockholm. The Prince Royal, 
 Bernadotte, received her as a queen and a friend. 
 She rejoined the French Army at Dresden. Napo- 
 leon made her play with Talma, and the troupe of 
 the Comedie-Francaise had been sent for post-haste. 
 Every day she was received by the Emperor, who 
 discoursed with her and Talma about the Theatre- 
 Fran9ais, Corneille and Racine, on the eve of the 
 battle of Leipsig. 
 
 By Imperial decree George was restored to all 
 her rights as a member of the Society. Napoleon 
 even commanded that she should be paid for her 
 years of absence. It was a little excessive, and, as 
 M. Frederic Masson remarked, the members never 
 forgave her this favour, which savoured too much 
 of favouritism and arbitrariness. 
 
 "During the Hundred Days," the eminent 
 historian tells us, "she sent word to the Emperor 
 that she had some papers to restore to him which 
 singularly compromised the Duke of Otranto. 
 Napoleon sent a trusted servant to her, and on his 
 return he said : " She didn't tell you that she was 
 in low water, I suppose ? " 
 
 " No, sire ; she only spoke of her desire to restore 
 the papers herself to your Majesty." 
 
 " I know what that means. Caulaincourt spoke 
 
22 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 to me about it ; he told me, too, that she was in 
 difficulties. You will give her twenty thousand 
 francs from my purse." 
 
 Alexandre Dumas affirms that Mile. George 
 solicited the honour of accompanying the Emperor 
 to St. Helena. We do not know if this is a fact, 
 but it would greatly redound to the credit of the 
 lover of the First Consul. In the midst of 
 treasons and defections, this proof of gratitude on 
 the part of an actress would have been a beautiful 
 thing. 
 
 After the fall of the Emperor, confronted with 
 the Royalist hostilities of her comrades, George 
 felt cruelly out of place at the Comedie- 
 Fran9aise. She was dismissed by the Duke de 
 Duras, superintendent of theatres, for bravely 
 showing herself with a bouquet of violets in her 
 corsage. The Government punished thus that 
 innocent Bonapartist manifestation. 
 
 Mile. George went to play in the provinces. 
 Five years later, Louis XVIII, who was a sensible 
 man, recalled her to the Comedie, and gave her 
 a benefit at the Opera. She played Britannicus. 
 The reception was enormous. After this triumph 
 it seemed as if she ought to resume her place as a 
 member of the Society. But at the hands of Mile. 
 Duchesnois and her partisans she again suffered 
 from the intrigues and evil practices of former 
 times. She preferred to play at the Odeon Semi- 
 7YimiSi 3Ierope} Clyteninestre, VOrphelin de la 
 
 1 October 1,1822, 
 
INTRODUCTION 28 
 
 Chine, les Macchabees of Guiraud.^ She afterwards 
 appeared in Saul^^ Cleopdtre and Jeanne (TAfx ^ by 
 Soumet. But soon a new triumphal career began 
 to open out before her. 
 
 She became the admirable interpreter of the first 
 romantic dramas. She created Christine, by 
 Frederic Soulie ; ^ then the Christine of Dumas ; 
 line Fete sous Neron, by Soumet ; ^ la MarcchaJe 
 cCAncre, by Alfred de Vigny ; ^ Jeamie la Folle, 
 by Fontan.'' 
 
 This was but the prelude of more brilliant suc- 
 cesses. Under Harel's direction, at the Porte-Saint- 
 Martin, the great tragedienne became, with Frederick 
 liCmaitre, the highest incarnation of romantic 
 drama, and was successively Marguerite de Bour- 
 gogne in la Tour de Nesle (March 29, 1832), 
 Lucrece Borgia (February 12, 1833), Marie Tudor 
 (November 17, 1833), and the Marquise de Brin- 
 villiers. In the Appendix will be read some beau- 
 tiful pages by Victor Hugo dedicated to her. 
 
 1 June 14, 1822. 
 
 2 November 9, 1822, Mile. George played in le Comte Julien 
 of Guiraud, and de Liaidi^re's Jane Shore, Api*il 2, 1824. 
 
 3 Cleopdtre, July 2, 1824; Jeanne d'Arc, May 14, 1825. 
 * October 13, 1829. 
 
 •'• Une Fete sous Neron, October 29, 1829; Christine, by A. 
 Dumas, March 30, 1829. 
 
 ^ The first performance of la Marechale d'Ancre took place 
 on June 25, 1830. On June 21 the piece had to be interrupted 
 after the second act because of the indisposition of Mile. George. 
 The real premiere took place on June 25. The drama was 
 coldly received. 
 
 '■ Jeanne la Folle, August 28, 1829. 
 
24 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 In spite of this incomparable repertoire, little by 
 little the public abandoned the Porte-Saint-Martin. 
 The fusillades in the rue Transnonain and at 
 Cloitre-Saint-Merry absorbed all their attention. 
 Harel finally succumbed. The prohibition of 
 Balzac's Vautrin, on the morning of the first per- 
 formance, led to the closing of the theatre. 
 
 After a great tour in Italy, Austria, and 
 Russia, Mile. George gave at the Italiens some 
 performances of Biitannicus and JLucrece Boi^gia 
 (January 1843). They were a very great success. 
 
 At the Odeon, under the Lireux management, 
 George played Marie Tudor v^ith Mme. Marie 
 Dorval, for whom she had a great friendship,^ then 
 la Chambre Ai^dente at the Gaiety, and la Tour de 
 Nesle with Frederick Lemaitre, at the Porte- Saint- 
 Martin. ^ 
 
 It is known that Frederick Lemaitre, perhaps 
 the greatest comedian who ever existed, had a 
 detestable character. He was fond of tippling, 
 but played admirably even when he was drunk. 
 He was quite unbearable under the influence of 
 several bottles of champagne or Burgundy. One 
 evening he had to play with George ; he declared 
 that he would not appear on the stage unless 
 a certain sum due on his salary was paid to 
 him. All the protestations of the manager and 
 George's tears were useless. The hour for begin- 
 ning the performance arrived. In those days there 
 was never much money in a manager's chest. So 
 
 1 January 1844. ^ December 1844. 
 
INTRODUCTION 25 
 
 as not to lose the performance Marguerite de 
 Bourgogne sacrificed herself. She sent her jewel- 
 lery to the pawn-shop, and gave Frederick the sum 
 lent. Never was Buridan more magnificent, he 
 surpassed himself; but it is probable that George 
 never managed to redeem her diamonds so 
 generously pledged. 
 
 The moment was approaching when Mile. George 
 would be forced to retire. A stoutness which she had 
 never been able to check rendered her walk painful 
 and heavy. She had become enormous. Her 
 voice, which had formerly been so touching, was 
 cracked. Her gestures had little by little lost their 
 majesty. After a short appearance in historical 
 repertoire, and several unfortunate attempts in the 
 provinces, George was obliged to renounce the 
 theatre. 
 
 It was on May 27, 1849, that she gave her fare- 
 well performance. Mile. Rachel had consented to 
 appear with George. It was a memorable evening, 
 which provided the presence of Clytemnestra and 
 the creator of Lucrece Borgia, and Mile. Rachel, 
 who had immediately won since her initial appear- 
 ance the first place in the Theatre-Fran9ais. 
 
 Rachel, whom we saw in China and in the first 
 performance of Diane, has left us such great re- 
 collections ; she had been so admirably trained by 
 Eugene Delacroix, one of our dear and favourite 
 masters ; Rachel, in short, seemed to us such a 
 luminous and sculptural figure, that it is hard for us 
 to admit the malicious tales to which this meeting 
 
26 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 of the two tragedy actresses gave rise. Up till now 
 we have practically followed Mirecourt's brochure. 
 We Avill now borrow from him with due reserve 
 the actual text of this famous battle. 
 
 " The battle," he said, " took place at the Italiens. 
 Rachel played the part of Eriphyle, in Iphi- 
 genia in Aulis^ and George filled the part of 
 Clytemnestra. Mile. Felix was literally squashed. 
 Pale and trembling she followed, in the wings, 
 book in hand, the tirades of Clytemnestra, and 
 tore her hair in despair, exclaiming, ' Heavens ! 
 I shall never reach that ; what vigour ! ' 
 
 " At the moment when Mile. George appeared, 
 a furious hissing arose from a certain part of the 
 orchestra where young Felix was sitting. ' That 
 is not meant for me, surely ? ' said Clytemnestra 
 to the house majestically. 
 
 " All the spectators arose with a leap of angry 
 protestation. Two hundred bouquets fell at the 
 feet of the famous tragedienne, and for five 
 minutes the cheers hindered the continuance of her 
 part. When Rachel appeared after this ovation, 
 which had been provoked by the imprudence of 
 her partisans, her eye was burning with anger. 
 She ventured to say to some one behind the 
 scenes, letting escape a gesture of disdain, ' Remove 
 those flowers, one can't walk for them.' 
 
 " A burst of hissing, better supported than the 
 first, greeted this insolent whim. Nobody pro- 
 tested. 
 
 " ' The case is judged,' said Victor Hugo. ' We 
 
INTRODUCTION 27 
 
 have come to see the statuette alongside the statue. 
 What a reduction ! ' " 
 
 Mile. Felix, in virtue of promises on the bills, 
 ought to have played le Moinemi de Lesbie at the 
 end of the evening. Furious at the humiliation 
 which she had had to endure, she went up to her 
 dressing-room, resumed her ordinary costume, and 
 disappeared. Instead of the piece announced, the 
 public were begged to be kind enough to listen to 
 a grand air by Mme. Viardot. 
 
 " Certainly," was the cry from the house. 
 " We accept the nightingale in place of the 
 sparrow ! " 
 
 We do not forget that, for reasons perhaps easy 
 to guess, Mirecourt was an implacable enemy of 
 Rachel. There was bound to be in his account 
 not a little phantasy and exaggeration. Theophile 
 Gautier, in his pamphlet, relates none of the inci- 
 dents of which Mirecourt speaks. However, in an 
 article in Profils et Grimaces, which we reprint in 
 the Appendix, Auguste Vacquerie, who did not 
 love Rachel, is just as affirmative as the pam- 
 phleteer. In fact, a letter which will be found 
 further on in George's correspondence mentions 
 the refusal of Rachel to play le Moineau de Lesbie, 
 and an acrimonious dispute on the part of Her- 
 mione with regard to her illustrious predecessor. 
 
 After this performance Mile. George was ap- 
 pointed an inspectress of the Conservatoire. 
 
 On December 17, 1857, she had her real farewell 
 performance at the Comedie-Fran9aise. 
 
28 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 She played Rodogune, and was still able to 
 give an admirable rendering. A whole generation, 
 which had never had the chance of applauding her, 
 was profoundly moved by the nobility of her 
 diction and gestures, " and the sculptural and still 
 truly grandiose aspect of her person."^ 
 
 " She has more than the beauty of old age," 
 wrote M. Edouard Thierry, " she has the old age 
 of beauty." 
 
 After this performance, which had been a verit- 
 able triumph for her, she was never again to 
 appear before the public. Her last years were 
 hard. Very generous to all those around her, she 
 had kept nothing of her fortune of former times. 
 I believe the Government of the Second Empire 
 gave her a pension.^ 
 
 She spoke of Napoleon with a respectful and 
 catching emotion. " But," said M. Frederic 
 Masson excellently, " it was not the lover she 
 evoked, but the Emperor. And, cettejille (doesn't 
 the word seem a little hard ?), not from the 
 modesty of an old woman — for she spoke freely 
 
 1 Jour7ial intime de la Comedie-Frangaise, 1852-1871, by 
 George d'Heylli. 
 
 " I have been told — but I am not able to affirm the fact — that 
 for the Universal Exhibition of 1855 she obtained the conces- 
 sion of the little chalets de necessite. A sad compensation for a 
 queen of beauty and tragedy ! Alas^ poor Clytemnestra ! poor 
 Marie Tudor I 
 
 As is often the case with prodigals^ she had much material 
 order, her account books are admirably kept. Nearly every day 
 ten centimes figure for snuff, of which she consumed a great 
 quantity^ like all the people of her time. 
 
INTRODUCTION 29 
 
 and crudely of her other lovers — but from a sort 
 of respectfid fear, seemed no longer to recall the 
 fact that he had found her beautiful, and had told 
 her so. She no longer saw the man he had been 
 for her, but the man he had been for France, like 
 those nymphs who, honoured for an instant by 
 the caresses of a god, never regarded his visage, 
 dazzled as they were by the blinding light of his 
 glory." 
 
 M. Ludovic Halevy tells us that one day, at the 
 Tuileries, being at the ministry of the Imperial 
 household, he received a visit from George, who 
 came as a suppliant. 
 
 It was the hour of mounting guard. The drums 
 were beating. The Emperor Napoleon III ap- 
 peared on the terrace of the Tuileries to receive 
 the guard, which was about to go on duty. George 
 placed herself at the window, attracted by the 
 spectacle. She turned round quite moved, with 
 tears in her eyes. " Ah ! " she exclaimed, " I have 
 seen that very often — in former times— under the 
 other'' 
 
 " When I die," George had said, " I should like 
 to be buried in Rodogune's cloak." 
 
 She died at Passy, 3 rue de Ranelagh, on 
 January 11, 1867. She was eighty years old. 
 
 The Emperor took on himself the expenses of 
 her burial, which took place in the cemetery of 
 P^re-Lachaise. 
 
 Let us now try to form an impartial judgment of 
 her talent and character as woman and artiste. 
 
30 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 All her contemporaries are agreed in celebrating 
 her marvellous beauty. Before her debuts, when 
 she appeared on the balcony of the Comedie- 
 Fran^aise, the public applauded her entry. She 
 had to rise to thank the crowd of anonymous 
 admirers. 
 
 As the critic GeofFroy remarks, " One dreams 
 involuntarily of the enthusiasm of the old men of 
 Troy when Helen passed before them with the 
 radiant prestige of her irresistible charm." 
 
 In les Belles Femmes de Pa?is, Theophile Gautier 
 has dedicated to George one of his most admir- 
 able pages. He compares her to an Isis of the 
 bas-reliefs of iEgina. He speaks of her superbly 
 disdainful mouth like that of an avenging Nemesis, 
 waiting for the hour to unmuzzle her lion with 
 brazen claws. After having said that one of her 
 bracelets would make a girdle for a woman of less 
 stature, he adds that her arms were very white and 
 clear, terminated by wrists of an infantile delicacy 
 and by sweet little hands broken by dimples, 
 regular little royal hands, made to carry the sceptre 
 and gi'asp the sword-hilt of iEschylus and Euripides. 
 
 This marvellous portrait describes her better, per- 
 haps, than even the painters themselves inspired by 
 the tragedienne. 
 
 The portrait by Lagrenee, the date of which 
 we cannot fix with precision, shows us a Clytem- 
 nestra or an Emilia already very robust and very 
 imposing. The painter has not forgotten the lines 
 of the arms and the delicacy of the hands. It is 
 
INTRODUCTION 31 
 
 understood that the feet are not to be mentioned, 
 so as not to vex Napoleon. 
 
 In the portrait which he made of her,^ Gerard 
 has concealed the embonpoint of his model ; he 
 has reduced and refined her a little. The por- 
 trait is only a bust, but the head has the radiance, 
 the sweet majesty, and the smile of an ancient 
 goddess. 
 
 In his memoirs, Alexandre Dumas, who was for 
 a little George's lover, tells us that she did not 
 disdain to show herself without covering in taking 
 her bath, proud of offering to the glances of her 
 admirers the pure forms of her marble-like nudity. 
 
 Everything passes, alas ! and inflexible time 
 has no respect for masterpieces either of art or of 
 human beauty. A deplorable obesity invaded this 
 woman's body, which the perfection of its lines 
 should have protected. In the last years of her 
 life, the goddess seemed like a sort of mastodon. 
 Her face alone preserved some traces of majesty. 
 
 Now what was the artiste's talent ? Unfortun- 
 ately nothing remains of actor or actress. Some 
 recollections of contemporaries and nothing more. 
 Was George, as MM. de Manne and Menetrier say, 
 a mediocre artiste without great originality, more 
 adapted to play drama than tragedy ? Was she on 
 
 ^ Gerard's portrait belonged to Vivant-Denon, the witty 
 superintendent of museums of the First Empire^ and the author 
 of the adorable tale, Pas de lendema'm. At the sale which took 
 place after the decease of Denon, in 1826, the portrait of George 
 was purchased for a ridiculous price (2010 francs) by the painter 
 Perignon. It belongs now to the Countess de Pourtales. 
 
32 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 the contrary the inspired artiste, touching and sub- 
 lime, whom Victor Hugo and Alexandre Dumas 
 have celebrated ? She interpreted their works ; 
 unconsciously they may have slightly forced the 
 note of admiration. 
 
 I estimate that the truth can be found between 
 these two appreciations. 
 
 At sixteen George made the old Dumesnil weep, 
 in reciting the tirades of Clytemnestra. Her pro- 
 fessor, Mile. Raucourt, who was herself a great trage- 
 dienne and woman of ability, judged that her pupil's 
 talent called her to play the great maternal roles of 
 tragedy. Family affection was much stronger in 
 George than the sense of love. She was bound to 
 be a Clytemnestra, a Merope, a magnificent Idame, 
 if to her talent one adds the beauty of her 
 person, the vigour and power of her gestures and 
 her voice. When she approached the Romantic 
 drama, to which she had brought that firmness of 
 diction which the study of tragedy alone gives, she 
 must have been truly splendid in Marguerite de 
 Bourgogne, in Lucrece Borgia, in Marie Tudor. 
 But she could never have had the tragic acuteness, 
 nor that which I should call the ancient distinction, 
 the plastic sculptural lines of Rachel, nor the 
 unrivalled sovereign grace and artistic intelligence 
 of Sarah Bernhardt. 
 
 To define George's talent is to speak at the same 
 time of her character. She had never had a 
 child of her own, but maternity was her vocation. 
 She was thoroughly good and generous, incapable 
 
INTRODUCTION 33 
 
 of malice or rancour. There is not a bitter line or 
 cruel word in her Memoirs. I seem to see them 
 issuing from her with an amiable and sweet smile. 
 Victor Hugo said, in speaking of Queen Anne, 
 '' She was proud of being fat" ^ I believe that the 
 saying could be applied to George. Sardou's letter, 
 which will be found further on, states that in her 
 last years on the stage she preserved a great air and 
 great dignity. Once retired from the stage she 
 became negligent and more and more heavy. She 
 became the " fat mamma " of whom Sardou speaks 
 at the end of his letter. 
 
 In spite of the tales, perhaps a little embellished, 
 of her relations with Bonaparte, and in spite of her 
 long liaison with Harel, her lover and manager, I 
 do not believe that George was very amorous 
 and sensual. Among her admirers are mentioned 
 Talleyrand, Murat, the Prince of Wurtemberg, 
 Lucien Bonaparte, King Jerome, the Emperor 
 Alexander I, Coster de Saint- Victor, Count Beck- 
 endorf, Jules Janin, Alexandre Dumas, and others 
 besides. But these were only passing whims. 
 The liaison with Harel was lasting, perhaps, because 
 there was no promise on either side of absolute 
 fidelity. Whatever may be the reason of it, I 
 should be disposed to think that on account of 
 her buxom figure and lazy nature love was a 
 considerable fatigue to her. George must have 
 preferred to show herself off, to cause her charms 
 
 1 Victor Hugo, Vhomme qui rit. Paris, libraire Lacroix, 
 Verboeckhoren et Cie, 1869j vol. ii, p. 86. 
 
34 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 to be admired, to be complaisant in agreeable pre- 
 ludes rather than to give herself in fiery and passion- 
 ate transports. She had none of the temperament 
 of her friend Marie Dorval, the frenzied lover, 
 whose correspondence I shall one day publish. She 
 indeed was — 
 
 Venus tout entiere a sa proie attachee ! 
 
 and the amoureuse par excellence, and the Phedre 
 of the nineteenth century. 
 
 Quite otherwise was the calm, serene and abun- 
 dant Marie Tudor. With a rather mediocre intelli- 
 gence, good even to blindness, generous, scattering 
 around her all she had gained, enduring poverty 
 with gaiety, it was, I imagine, from her easy- 
 going nature, her sweetness of soul, her curiosity, 
 more than from passion, that she must have 
 abandoned herself to the caresses of a lover. 
 
 Her Memoirs, full of filial tenderness, of gratitude 
 to the Emperor and the Bonapartes, of mdulgence 
 for all, make us love her. This woman, whom 
 sovereign beauty and imperial conquests might have 
 made vain and haughty — never knew how to hate 
 nor hurt any one at all. This is an eulogy 
 which not all great artistes have known how to 
 deserve. There is very often a little ferocity among 
 gods, and above all in the souls of goddesses. 
 
 And now let us allow Mile. George to talk. 
 
FIRST PART 
 
 THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT 
 
 Her Birth and Family 
 
 The Journal de Bayeuoo suggests and gives details 
 about my somewhat original birth. Leaving 
 Bayeux at the age of ten months in the company of 
 a beautiful fresh Norman nurse called Marianne, 
 my father and mother came to Amiens — my father 
 as chef d'orchestre, my mother to play the part of 
 soubrette,^ and my brother Charles, who already 
 at five years old scraped the violin. 
 
 As quite a little one I was said to be very pretty. 
 My nurse, proud of her nursling, yielded easily to 
 tlje requests of the chief ladies of the town, who 
 wanted to have the little Mimi every day, and 
 
 1 George (Marguerite -Josephine Weimar^ called Mile.), born 
 at Bayeux, February 23, 1787 ; appeared on 8 Frimaire in the year 
 xi (November 28, 1802); Societaire, March 17, 1804; left, May 
 11, 1808 ; Russia, 1811 ; returned, September 29, 1813 ; retired. 
 May 8, 1817; Odeon, 1822; Porte-Saint-Marlin, 1831; dies at 
 Passy, 3 rue du Ranelagh, January 11, 1866; buried at the 
 cemetery of Pere-Lachaise (Georges Monval, Alphabetic List of 
 Members of the Comedie-Frangaise,from Moliere to the Present Day, 
 one vol. in 8vo, Chararay, 1900). 
 
 35 
 
36 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 loaded her with Httle bonnets, etc. The nurse was 
 not forgotten, which kept her very docile, so she 
 was never fatigued with having her big baby all day 
 in her arms ! On reaching the age of five, several 
 abilities were discovered in me : I had even 
 then a pretty voice, and I was a musician by 
 instinct. How could I have helped being one ? 
 My father was a German and a great musician, my 
 brother occupied himself only with his violin ; I 
 was always singing and strumming on a wretched 
 spinnet, which prepared me for the piano. 
 
 Little money was being made at the theatre, and 
 my father was in despair. The idea came to him 
 of teaching me to sing the part of Perrette in la 
 Petite Victoire, an opera in one act. He was happy 
 to see his Mimi would acquit herself well, and 
 set about preparing this opera ; rehearsals proved 
 that I should hold my own, and so there I was 
 set out and launched on the stage ! 
 
 A fortunate debut, which poured an ample 
 harvest into the coffer, restored courage to the 
 poor actors, because my quite infantile appearance 
 produced such a marvellous effect that forty con- 
 secutive performances were given to full houses. 
 
 Really I was a great personage ; in fact, it was 
 very curious to see the little five-year-old dairy- 
 maid, so small that, for the milk-can which I had 
 to carry on my head my mother was obliged to 
 give me a cup, and I had, which made the thing 
 completely farcical, a Guillot and a Colas as big as 
 Don Quixote. I have always kept my costume, 
 
MEMOIRS 37 
 
 so dear are all the recollections of my childhood to 
 me. Alas ! why are they so sweet and so sad at 
 the same time? 
 
 My brother, at the age of ten, took his place in 
 the orchestra as second fiddle. Ah, we were all at 
 work ! My father did not at all neglect our educa- 
 tion ; for me there was a music master, for my 
 brother and me language, drawing, history, and 
 even dancing masters. Nothing was spared to meet 
 all the expenses. My father dabbled a little in 
 business ; he was loved and esteemed, and he was 
 helped by every means to bring up his little family. 
 Poor father, how often he passed his nights in 
 copying music ! He was thus able to bring a 
 little comfort into the house ; and my dear little 
 mother, who was so proud of her children, kept us 
 with an exemplary care and cleanliness. 
 
 I was very accurate at my lessons. As managers 
 we had our own apartments, I mean to say rooms, 
 at the theatre, and all the time I was having my 
 lessons I heard the orchestra, and in spite of the 
 reprimands of my master I would run and stretch 
 myself in a box. My nurse, Marianne, came in a 
 fury to destroy my happiness, threatening to tell 
 my mother, of whom I was more afraid than my 
 father. It was all in vain for them to say that 
 they did not wish to place me on the stage, that it 
 was an atrocious livelihood, that they had only let 
 me play to amuse myself, and that I must not 
 dream of it : it was quite useless. I adored the 
 theatre — so there ! They saw very well that it 
 
38 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 was my vocation, and yielded. Then I was made 
 to play in opera, comedy and vaudeville. Often 
 stock companies came to Amiens. Mme. Dugazon, 
 of the Opera-Comique (then Feydeau), played Nina 
 ou la FoUe par amour, the part which brought her 
 such a great and well-deserved reputation ; it was 
 the most touching thing in the world. She had to 
 fight against her physique, because of embonpoint ; 
 her face was charming and full of expression, 
 while her eyes were ravishing. She was the sister 
 of our Dugazon ^ of the Theatre-Fran^ais. 
 
 She played Camille ou le Souterrain, while I took 
 the part of her son Adolph, dressed in a little coat 
 of white grogram and a pink sash, with my long 
 hair falling in corkscrews on my shoulders. I 
 looked very pretty and charmed Mme. Dugazon, 
 who was the most excellent and clever woman one 
 could wish to see — kind and simple, never speak- 
 ing of her immense talent. Great and true artistes 
 are really always modest, and you will remark that 
 they never talk of their successes. 
 
 Once my father said to me — I may have been ten 
 years old at the time — " My dear daughter Mimi " 
 (my poor dear German father ! Ah, we had the 
 misfortune to have a pure German father ! — other- 
 
 1 Dugazon (J. B. Henri-Gourgoud), born at Marseilles, Novem- 
 ber 15, 1746; made her debut, April 29, 1771; Societaire, 
 April 10, 1772; passed to the Theatre de la rue Richeleu in 
 April 1791 ; general reunion, 1709; died, still on the stage, at 
 Sandillon (Loiret), October 10, 1809 (Georges Monval, Liste 
 alphabetique des Societaires, etc.). 
 
MEMOIRS 39 
 
 wise, who knows ? we might have been hotel 
 proprietors), "just stay by the cash-box for an hour; 
 your mother is playing in the first piece. Take 
 your mother's muff, you might be cold. Notice 
 everything that goes on." 
 
 " Yes, papa ! " 
 
 So I am installed at the pay-box. Why ? — not 
 to receive money ! The weather was fearful before 
 the performance ; it was snowing horribly, and in 
 the country, where private carriages are very rare, 
 people go very seldom to the theatre. However, 
 some people arrive, and two or three miserable 
 supplements. I was bored and hungry. I placed 
 the fifteen pennies of supplement money in my 
 muff, and sent a certain Fanchonnette, who was 
 sitting beside me, to fetch six puffs, all warm, and I 
 regaled everybody. But as the public was absent, 
 my father arrived just as the puffs had been 
 devoured. And (oh dear !) he said to me, *' my 
 good Mimi, we shall not play ; the money must 
 be returned ! " 
 
 Return the money ! it would be easier to return 
 the puffs which we have just eaten ! " Ah, mon 
 Dieu ! that would be a very bad plan — you 
 would wrong yourself Don't do that, believe 
 your Mimi." 
 
 During this little dialogue, while I trembled 
 in all my limbs, fortunately the weather grew 
 calmer, and people began to arrive. There was a 
 performance. See how innocence was protected ! 
 The lesson was a good one ; however, I confessed 
 
40 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 my fault to my father, saying to him, " But I 
 had my httle purse, papa, and I would have 
 paid you back. It was very naughty and gi-eedy 
 of me." 
 
 I was very jealous for my little mother. I liked 
 to see her well turned out. But I scarcely ever 
 had to wish on that score ; she was very careful, 
 very tasteful, and even a little bit of a flirt, 
 was my little mother ! For the rest, she was 
 very nice-looking, though not actually pretty ; but 
 she had hair which nearly touched the ground, 
 and charming hands and arms, and a bosom and 
 shoulders of dazzling whiteness. One could say 
 of her, " That is a charming little woman." She 
 was also a proud little woman ; one could see 
 she had been born for a more brilliant lot, poor 
 little mother ! She had fallen to an excellent man, 
 who often laughed at her grand airs. "Will 
 madame la comtesse permit a plebeian to offer her a 
 simple bouquet of roses ? " Then to see my mother 
 very well turned out in a part (I no longer recall 
 which) where flowers and ribbons were necessary, 
 I purchased them. " I wiU pay you for them out 
 of my little economies. Say nothing to mamma ; 
 I am going to give her a surprise." 
 
 " Mamma, see, isn't that pretty ? I am going to 
 make you a present out of my savings." 
 
 Mamma appeared to believe me, saying to her- 
 self, " I will pay from my daughter's savings." 
 
 The piece once over, I said, " Bah ! let them 
 wait ; " and gradually I depleted my little purse 
 
MEMOIRS 41 
 
 to pay for puffs and macaroons. When I passed 
 the shopkeepers, they said : 
 
 " Well, Mimi, when are you coming ? " 
 
 " To-morrow, madame." 
 
 But to-morroAV never arrived. I no longer dared 
 go out. One day my father said to me, " Have 
 you had your lessons ? " 
 
 *'Yes, papa." 
 
 " Well, my daughter, take this letter quickly to 
 the post." 
 
 I had to pass those shopkeepers, and made un- 
 believable detours. I ended by confessing every- 
 thing to my father, saying, " Don't tell mamma 
 about it. Here is my beautiful copper chain ; sell 
 it and pay for me. I did it from pride in your 
 wife ; you will pardon me." My good father, was 
 I not his idol ? Besides, I made him as happy as 
 possible. " Did I not, dear papa ? You are up 
 above ; tell me that you never had to reproach 
 your Mimi." 
 
 This is by no means childish nonsense. I have 
 already told you that my father gave us all the 
 masters possible ; it was our fault, then, if we did 
 not profit by them. I was very good at the 
 piano, but I was so timid that when my father said 
 to me, " Sit down and play us something," I cut 
 the tips of my fingers to make them bleed. It 
 was not naughtiness, it was really fear, which was 
 stronger than I ; still it often happened that between 
 the acts my father made me execute sonatas, and 
 my brother accompanied me on his violin. I was 
 
42 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 surrounded and embraced. " You have been very 
 nice, Mimi." My mother, who was playing in 
 Paul et Virginie, said, " She is better in great 
 actions. She makes me weep on the stage ; in gay 
 things she is sad and boring." Away with the 
 pathetic, since in those days everything was sweet ! 
 Ah, how amusing all these details were ! What 
 happy times ! Charming joy of childhood, how 
 much I have regretted you ! We were not rich, 
 but we were so happy. All the family was busy — 
 how could we ever be bored ? My father and 
 mother had everybody's esteem, and we were ad- 
 mitted into the best society. There was not a ball 
 or a festival without Mme. George's children. It 
 was so jolly ; to dream of another existence would 
 have saddened our hearts. But I cry, " Alas — 
 yes, alas. Mile. Raucourt ! " My life of childhood, 
 which I believed eternal, is going to end ; now a 
 brilliant, ambitious, tormenting existence is about 
 to begin ! A Parisian actress in the first theatre in 
 the world ! That is grand, but often sad. Farewell, 
 my Amiens ; farewell, my little sails on the water, 
 my joyous dances with my madcap little com- 
 panions ! I shall return. You will see me again, 
 certainly, in my elegance. 1 shall arrive at the 
 theatre in a carriage ; you will, all of you, 
 crowd round to see your little Mimi. W^ell, be- 
 lieve me, my dear friends, your little Mimi will 
 never forget you, and will always love her cotton 
 dress and her beautiful blue stockings with orange 
 embroidery. 
 
MEMOIRS 43 
 
 Mile. Raucourt^ was beautiful, but very imposing; 
 she caused me dreadful fear. I fled whenever I saw 
 her. She certainly noticed me, for she said to 
 my father, " Tell your beautiful little savage to 
 come here." Then I could not avoid her, and I 
 was face to face. 
 
 Mile. Raucourt was very gracious when she 
 wanted to be so. So she assumed an amiable 
 manner, and asked me if I liked tragedy. 
 
 " I, madame ? No, I detest it." 
 
 " Ah, my dear, that is very little encouragement 
 for what I have to ask you." 
 
 " What, madame ? " 
 
 " You must play Aricie for me, my child, in 
 Phedre.'' 
 
 " 1 should like to, madame, if mamma allows 
 me. 
 
 Aricie, the little sailor, or Blaise and Babet, as 
 far as I was concerned I saw no great difference. 
 So I played Aricie ; the Greek costume suited 
 my face and figure very well. Mile. Raucourt 
 actually fouild some tragic ability in me. How 
 did I come by it ? I have no idea. 
 
 1 Raucourt (Fran9oise-Marie-Antoinette-Jos^phe Sancerotte), 
 bom at Paris^ rue de la Vielle-Boucherie^ Mai-ch S, 1756 ; pupil 
 of Brizard and Mile. Clairon ; made her debut, December 23, 
 1772; left, May 28, 1776 (for Russia); returned August 28, 
 1779; received, September 11 following; reunion generale. May 
 30, 1799 ; manager of a French troupe in Italy; died at Paris, 
 rue du Helder, January 15, 1815 ; her obsequies were a disgrace 
 to Saint-Roch ; interred in the cemetery of P^re-Lachaise 
 (Georges Monval, etc.). 
 
44 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 This first attempt was too much for my repose, 
 for she made me play again — EHse in JDidon. 
 My physique seemed sufficiently tragic to her to 
 wear the crown, perhaps, one day. In fact, Mile. 
 Raucourt was charged by the minister to find a 
 young girl whom she could bring up as pupil to 
 replace her, if possible. The minister offered a 
 pension of twelve hundred francs till the day of 
 her debut. 
 
 Thinking she had found in me this pupil, she 
 begged my father to go and see her, and told him 
 her projects concerning me. Everything was 
 arranged. My mother, as was right, would 
 accompany me, as well as my good nurse and 
 little sister. I was enrolled. What good-byes to 
 my good Amienois, and what tears ! AVhat a 
 personage I was ! I made my adieux by a special 
 performance : A dele ou la Chaumiere. There was 
 a great crowd at the theatre, and I ask you if the 
 little Mimi was feted ? At this period it was 
 scarcely the custom to encore or to throw bouquets 
 — I had all the honours ; flowers, encores, and 
 heaps of boxes of bonbons. What touched me 
 infinitely was that the ladies sent me very nice 
 little trinkets. After everything was over, we 
 were occupied with preparations for departure. 
 For the sake of her daughter's future happiness, 
 my little mother was giving up her profession ; 
 my father was separating from us for the first time 
 — a decision which caused him great pain. 
 
 Well, three days later, behold us starting for 
 
MEMOIRS 45 
 
 Paris in a large vehicle, which vanity tempts us 
 to style a coach. 
 
 Here we are — father, mother, nurse, and sister. 
 Two whole days to cover thirty leagues. We 
 stayed at a very modest little hotel, as you can well 
 imagine, Hotel Thionville, in the rue de Thionville, 
 now-a-days rue Dauphine. 
 
 II 
 
 Arrival at Paris — The Thedtre-Franqais under the Consulate — Studies 
 with Mile. Raucourt, Mile. Duchesnois, Mile. Clairon, Mile. 
 Dumesnil — Her debuts. 
 
 Next day, our first care was to call on Mile. 
 Raucourt, who then lived in the Champs-Elysees, at 
 the end of the allee des Veuves, at la Chaumiere, 
 which formerly had belonged to the celebrated and 
 beautiful Mme. Tallien. It was a house covered 
 with thatch, but delightfully attractive, with a very 
 tasteful elegance within. Mile. Raucourt gave us a 
 most maternal reception : there was a certain Mme. 
 de Ponty with her who never left her, a charming 
 little woman, whose mother, we learned afterwards, 
 had been a maid-of-honour to Marie Antoinette. 
 During the Revolution, JVIme. de Ponty was im- 
 prisoned at the same time as Mmes. Raucourt, 
 Contat, etc.^ It was in this sad abode that a 
 
 ^ Contat ainee (Louise-Fran9oise, wife of the Marquis de 
 Parny-Deforges), born at Paris^ June l6, 1760; made her debut. 
 
46 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 friendship was established between Mmes. de Ponty 
 and Raucourt, which only ended with the death of 
 Mile. Raucourt. 
 
 I was given the part of Emilie from China to 
 learn. Then the three of us came back (on foot, of 
 course), all very delighted, especially my parents. 
 
 As for me, I was not so full of wonder as all that. 
 I was always dreaming of Amiens and my operas. 
 And here I was to study that great figure Emilie. 
 
 Oh dear ! Mamma, whatever do all these long 
 speeches mean ? I don't understand a word. I 
 shall never be able to say my part. 
 
 Not being able to remain at the hotel, modest 
 as it was, we searched for apartments— pardon, I 
 should say a room. We found one. Hotel du 
 Perou (the title was attractive), in the rue Croix- 
 des-Petits- Champs. A large room, on my word, 
 looking out on to some fine gutters, with a small 
 chamber for my nurse and little sister. But my 
 good father was obliged to leave us, and then I 
 cursed my unhappy fate ! With my father far 
 from us, it seemed as if we were abandoned and 
 alone in the midst of an unknown and doubtless 
 indifferent world. 
 
 Good-bye, dear papa ! Do not leave us too long 
 without you ; you know that cannot be. Oh, the 
 family ! How can one form any other wish than 
 
 February 3, 1776 ; accepted on trials March 2Q, 1777 ; Societaire, 
 April 3, 1777 ; retired, March 6, 1809 ; died at Paris, 5Q rue de 
 Provence, March Q, 1813; interred at Pere-Lachaise (Georges 
 Monval, Lisle alpkabetique des Societaires, etc.). 
 
MEMOIRS 47 
 
 that of being always united. As for me, the family 
 sentiment has always prevailed. There have been 
 caprices and passions, if you like. When we are 
 carried away by passion we say, " Yes ; I will 
 sacrifice everything, I will leave everything." Lies ! 
 One leaves everything, one forgets everything, but 
 never one's family. 
 
 The day after this sad departure, my mother and 
 I took the road to la Chaumiere. A very long 
 way for her, who was as small as our charming 
 Anais. I was going to take my first lesson. The 
 way was along the rue Croix-des-Petits-Champs to 
 the allee des Veuves. It seemed very short to me, 
 so great was my fear. Mile. Raucourt made me 
 read Emilie, and afterwards she read it to me. She 
 was certainly a very clever artiste, but to me, a 
 young girl, her slightly rough and very unmusical 
 voice was not all attractive. I believed it was 
 necessary, if I wished to succeed, to assume that 
 voice, and I found it an impossibility which made 
 me despair. " Let us wait," I said to my mother, 
 " I shall improve, perhaps." 
 
 We were given our entree to the Comedie- 
 Fran9aise. Ah, how happy I was ! I was going 
 to see what voices the others had. There we were 
 both in the balcony. Andromaque was being 
 played— Larrive,! Saint Fal,^ Mile. Fleury,^ Mile. 
 
 1 La Rive (Jean Maudit), born at La Rochelle, August 6, 1747 ; 
 with the Montausier Company at Tours, Lyons ; made his debut, 
 December 3, 1770; received on trial, January 1, 1771; left 
 in October 1771; in provinces; re-entered, April 29, 1775; 
 
48 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Vanhove,* since Mme. Talma. Overcome and 
 ignorant as I was, I dare say that I was very little 
 struck with Larrive in the beautiful part of Orestes. 
 The public, always forgetful and ungrateful, treated 
 unkindly a talent which but recently was surrounded 
 with homage. Larrive, the pupil of the famous 
 Clairon,^ ended badly a career which had been 
 attended with such brilliant success. He had not 
 the sense to retire in time. Larrive, hissed without 
 
 Societaire, May 18 following; pensioned, June 13, 1788; re- 
 entered as a free actor in 1 790 ; died at Montilignon, near 
 Montmorency, April 30, 1827. 
 
 2 Saint-Fal (Etienne Meynier), born at Paris, rue Saint- 
 Severin, June 10, 1752; middle-class comedy, Montausier's 
 Company, Holland, Lyons, Brussels ; made his debut, July 8, 
 1782; Societaire, March 25, 1784; reunion generale. May 30, 
 1799; retired, April 1, 1824; died at Paris, November 22, 1835. 
 
 3 Fleury (Marie - Anne - Florence - Bernade - Nones, wife of 
 Dr. Chevetal), born at Antwerp, December 20, 1 766 ; debut, 
 March 23, 1784; fresh debut, October 23, 1786; Societaire, 
 April 5, 1791; reunion generale of 1799; retired, April 1, 
 1807; died at Orly, near Choisy-le-Roi, February 23, 1818. 
 
 * Talma (Charlotte, called Caroline Vanhove, femme Petit, 
 then wife of Talma (1802), and of Count de Chalot (1828)), 
 born at the Hague (Holland), September 10, 1771 ; children's 
 parts, 1777 ; general reunion, May 30, 1799 ; pensioned, April 1, 
 1811 ; died at Paris, April 11, I860; interred at the cemetery of 
 Monte Parnasess (Georges Monval, etc.). 
 
 ^ Clarion (Claire-Josephe-Hippolyte Leris de la Tude), born 
 at Cond^ sur Escaut, January 25, 1723 ; debut at the Theatre 
 Italien, January 8, 1736 ; Opera (March 1743) ; admitted^ 
 October 22, 1743; Societaire, November 29, 1743; retired, 
 March 31, 1766; died at Paris, rue de Lille, the 9 Pluvoise, 
 year ix (January 29, 1803); transferred from the cemetery of 
 Vaugirard to Pere-Lachaise in 1838 (Georges Monval, etc.). 
 
MEMOIRS 49 
 
 mercy, was a sad sight to see, it was useless to 
 recall his past triumphs. " The public wants no 
 more of you, be off with you, you, who have pro- 
 vided me with many happy evenings. I no longer 
 care to hear you, I remember you no more. Be 
 off with you, with your broken heart and humbled 
 pride. That no longer concerns us. Be off with 
 you." Ah, the hateful profession ! 
 
 There was Mile. Fleury as Hermione. She had 
 a poor physique, no abihty, carried herself badly, 
 and there was something poor in all her person, but 
 she had an agreeable voice, much heart and warmth, 
 and spoke admirably. With all these qualities she 
 had to struggle more than any one else : her first 
 appearance was unfavourable ; but owing to the 
 way she spoke one could not remain cold. She 
 carried one away. She did not merely pretend to 
 weep, for her tears were real. Hermione did not 
 harmonise with these qualities, there were too many 
 daring effects in that part for a talent more suave 
 than impetuous. She could be the victim, but she 
 could not make one. 
 
 I saw Mile. Vanhove in Andromaque. She had 
 a distinguished sentimental physique and a very 
 touching voice, though perhaps a little monotonous. 
 She certainly had talent and charm, but there were 
 never any great effects, especially in tragedy ; the 
 drama suited her melancholy talent better. 
 
 Saint-Phal, impassioned — very — perhaps too much 
 so, with a jerky diction which, young as 1 was, 
 seemed to me, forgive the word, a little rococo. 
 
50 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 So much for tragedy, which I saw for the first 
 time ; a new experience was to follow. Ah ! 
 Mademoiselle Mars, how I recognised you at once ! 
 What ingenuity ! How I was moved ! How 
 ravishing she seemed to me ! Her eyes were so 
 expressive and soft, her smiles so captivating. Hers 
 was the true ingenuousness which does not lower 
 the eyes nor assume modesty. She simply did 
 not understand ! She riveted the attention of the 
 whole house, and aroused universal laughter by her 
 honest and charming naivete. Ah ! my dear Mars, 
 Ave shall never hear that perfection again ; you 
 have carried the secret of it to the tomb, where 
 it Avill remain well sealed. You have had your 
 detractors, admirable actress, but on leaving this 
 earth you must have said, " Seek, and you will 
 not find." 
 
 I am wandering among my recollections : let us 
 return to my ignorance. 
 
 There was Michot as the peasant in L'Epreuve : 
 how natural he was ! He was a most remarkable 
 actor — nature taken in the act, such easy humour, 
 such animation ! Oh, adorable talent. How he 
 used to play Onus in les Deux freres, Koepp in 
 la Jeunesse d' Henri V, and the old servant in le 
 Philosophe sans le savoi?', a part which seems a 
 trifle, yet with him it became important ! Besides, 
 the man could make one laugh and cry at the same 
 time. Still, he has scarcely left a memory behind 
 him. What a strange profession it is ! 
 
 Dugazon in comedy. Ah ! he was a real 
 
MEMOIRS 51 
 
 comedian. It was impossible not to laugh frankly : 
 he was so amusing. Fleury^ played Lucidor, a 
 part which seemed a mere set-ofF to the other roles, 
 but with him it became quite important. This 
 piece was very well mounted, I thought. And 
 what a success the short act had ! It was a running 
 fire of applause. On leaving that evening I was 
 mad about comedy. Tragedy ! Bah ! I wanted 
 very little of it, I protest ! 
 
 The second time I saw VOrphelin de la Chine. 
 It was Larrive's last performance, for this time 
 he was frightfully treated, and even ridiculed. 
 He lost his memory, poor fellow ; he did not 
 know what he was doing. The spectacle made 
 one feel ill. 
 
 Mile. Raucourt took the part of Idame : that 
 is maternity at its height. But Mile. Raucourt 
 was more herself in intellectual parts : she had the 
 exact style. She acted well, but resembled Jasneti 
 too much ; one really did not distinguish the sex. 
 
 Finally, I saw the handsome Lafont, an actor 
 with a great vogue, whose debuts had been so 
 brilliant that even Talma ^ became uneasy. As 
 
 ^ Fleury (Abraham-Joseph Benard), born at Chartres, 
 October 27, 1750; Lyons Theatre (1765); made his debut, 
 March 7, 1774; returned to the Provinces; fresh debut, Mai-ch 
 20, 1778 ; Societaire, May 12 following ; reunion generale, 1799 ; 
 retired, April 1, 1818; died at Valen9ay (Loiret), March 3, 
 1822; interred in the cemetery of Orleans (Georges Monval, 
 Liste alphabetique des Societaires, etc.). 
 
 2 Talma (Fran9ois Joseph), husband of Julie Carreau (1790) 
 and of Caroline Vanhove (1802), born at Paris, rue des M^nes- 
 
52 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Orosmane he was much more the handsome man ; 
 his features were very dehcate, his nose somewhat 
 tilted, his eyes small and black, but bright and 
 piercing; in fact his whole person was elegant, 
 and his voice melodious and well-suited to love- 
 making. INIoreover, he gave us tears, enthusiasm, 
 fervours which carried us away — very brilliant act- 
 ing, but without depth and lacking in construction. 
 It was, as it were, a display of fireworks which 
 dazzled the eyes of the spectators, and called for 
 enthusiastic applause. 
 
 Lafont was very much liked by women, his style 
 of talent charmed them and with reason. He was 
 really ravishing in Tancred, The Cid, and Orosmane. 
 He was best in love scenes ; he had all the qualities, 
 and his success in chivalrous genre was just and 
 deserved. The emotional Mile. Volnais^ had 
 just ended her debuts, having had something of 
 a run as Palmira and Zaire. She was a pretty 
 
 trieres (parish of Saint-Nicolas-des-Champs), January 15, 176'3; 
 a pupil at the School of Declamation (1786); made his d(ibut, 
 November 24, 1787, as Seide in Mahomet; Societaire, April 1, 
 1789; theatre in the rue de Richelieu (April 1791); reunion 
 generale of May 30, 1 799 ; died at Paris, rue de la Tour-des- 
 Dames, October 19, 1826; interred in the cemetery of P^re- 
 Lachaise. 
 
 1 Volnais (Claudine-Placide Croizet-Fen'eire) married Philip 
 lloustan, of the Vaudeville (1822), born at Paris, rue Neuve- 
 Saint-Eustache, May 4, 1786 ; made her debut at Versailles, May 
 4, 1801; made her d^but at Paris, the seventh of the same month ; 
 Societaire in 1802; retii-ed, April 1, 1822; died at her chateau 
 of Ormes-le-Guignard, near Vendome, July l6, 1837 (Georges 
 Monval, Liste alphahetique des Societaires, etc.). 
 
MEMOIRS 53 
 
 person, with magnificent black eyes, a little short 
 in stature, and her figure was a trifle fat, but her 
 head was theatrical. Her voice was not the best 
 thing about her, being toneless and hollow. She 
 wept copiously. At that time all our leading 
 ladies were far too emotional. It drove Talma 
 to despair, and certainly he had right on his 
 side. 
 
 Finally we come to Talma. At that time he 
 was somewhat in the shade ; the brilliant Lafont 
 tormented him. The First Consul, who was very 
 fond of Talma — he knew how to be fond — said to 
 him : " I am not displeased, my dear fellow, about 
 the little annoyances which the handsome Lafont 
 causes you. It is a stimulus which you need. You 
 were going to sleep, and he will wake you up." 
 Talma himself told me this anecdote. 
 
 Talma in Iphigenie en Tauride ! I do not know 
 if he slept, but that day his awakening was terrible. 
 It was tragedy at its best ! What emotions ! and 
 Heavens, what an expression ! What a sense of 
 fataUty rested on that brow ! What a talent was 
 his, stirring one's emotions to the deepest depths ! 
 
 What terrors ! What melancholy, heart-rending 
 and genuine tears ! All his face is distorted, he 
 trembles in every fibre. He grows pale, and it is a 
 livid and sweating pallor. Where does he get his 
 terrible effects ? It is genius and it is realism. 
 To see Orestes is to identify oneself with him, to 
 experience all he experiences. Ah I it isn't diction. 
 Can passion have diction ? Can the hallucinations of 
 
54 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Orestes have diction ? No ; Talma is sublime. All 
 the poetical and human passions are incarnated in 
 this man. Ah, Talma, if you could leave your 
 winding-sheet people would come from the four 
 corners of the world to hear you, even from 
 America, where they say tragedy is not loved. 
 Poor tragedy, where art thou ? What has become 
 of thee ? 
 
 lie spoke tragedy : he did not talk it, which is 
 different. It was not the tragedy of Marivaux : 
 it was Corneille and Racine. 
 
 I was ill on leaving after that memorable even- 
 ing. Enthused and panting, I resumed my studies 
 with ardour, all the time saying to myself, " It is 
 impossible. How can one reach such heights ? Let 
 us try, though without hope. Courage, poor little 
 girl ; the whole family counts on you. If you 
 succeed you will make them happy. Courage, 
 then. Yes, I will be brave ; I will work." 
 
 At last I saw IVllle. Contat, the great court lady, 
 with her magnificent insolence, her grand manners, 
 her domineering tone, her unstudied ease, her easy- 
 going, unaffected ways, her sparkling comedy, the 
 enchanting smile, the frank gaiety of the great 
 world. Mile. Contat ! There are all my young 
 first impressions ! Let me tell you them, dear 
 actors, and do not suspect me : there is no preju- 
 dice. They are just my impressions and sensa- 
 tions, that is all ! Girl as I was, do not think 
 that I found everything magnificent : but I am 
 quite convinced that what was beautiful then 
 
MEMOIRS 55 
 
 would be so to-day, even to the present public, 
 and that what was bad then would be so now. 
 Certainly some of the actors were very ridiculous. 
 Mole 1 in le Vieux Celibataire, and IVIlle. Contat : it 
 was marvellous. Fleury so witty and so well bred 
 in his impertinences, his bantering ways and mock- 
 ing laugh. Then Dugazon, Dazincourt,^ and Mile. 
 Devienne,^ who was a soubrette to the life, the sly 
 cat, so familiar with her mistress, but always per- 
 fiimed and circumspect. The get-up for soubrettes 
 was in those days charming, simple and coquettish. 
 Always a pretty bonnet, sleeves to the elbow, 
 the bosom covered with a lace handkerchief, which 
 allowed everything to be guessed at but nothing 
 to be seen, an arrangement which was not lacking 
 in charm ; then there were embroidered aprons, and 
 
 1 Mole (Francois-Rene), born at Paris, in the City, rue Saint- 
 Louis, November 24, 1734; made his debut, October 7, 1754; 
 Lyons, Toulouse, Marseilles ; fresh debut, January 28, 1 760 ; 
 Societaire, March 30, I76l ; left, September 1, 1791 ; Member 
 of the Institute, 1795; reunion generale of 1799; died at Paris, 
 1 rue Corneille, the 20th Frimaire, year xi (December 11_, 1802); 
 interred on his property at Antony (Seine). 
 
 2 Dazincourt (Joseph-J.-B.-Albony), bom at Marseilles, 
 December 11, 1747; at Brussels, 1772; made his debut, 
 November 21, 1776; Societaire, March 23, 1778 ; died at Paris, 
 24 rue de Richelieu, March 28, 1809 ; buried in the cemetery of 
 Montmaitre. 
 
 ^ Devienne (Jeanne-Francoise-Sophie Therenin), wife of 
 Gerandau (1809), born at Lyons, June 21, 1763 ; made her debut, 
 April 7, 1785; received the 12th of November following; at 
 the Montansier and Feydeau theatres ; reunion generale of 
 1799; retired, April 1, 1813; died at FariS; November 20, 1841 
 (Georges Monval, etc.) 
 
56 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 always gloves. The whole get-up was most elegant, 
 I assure you. 
 
 I pursued my studies with zeal ; people began to 
 notice me. When I reached my modest place in 
 the balcony there was a slight movement in the 
 house which was quite disconcerting. "It is Mile. 
 Raucourt's pupil ; she is giving her lessons to replace 
 her." " Really she is very young." Then all glasses 
 were directed on me. I was as red as a cherry, and I 
 scarcely dared move. Later on they used to applaud 
 me. When I took my place the whole audience 
 stood up. At this period the theatre was much 
 to the fore, and especially the Thea,tre-Fran(;;ais, 
 which the Emperor liked so much, and visited so 
 often. Consequently the debut of a pupil of Mile. 
 Raucourt was an event. Hearing the applause I 
 thought I was being laughed at. I w^as ashamed, 
 and the tears stood in my eyes. " Mamma, is there 
 anything ridiculous about me ? " " No, no ; just 
 bow ! " Ah, really, I was on the rack. 
 
 Naturally I had to be present at Mile. Raucourt's 
 performances, and after the tragedy appear in her 
 dressing-room ; that was the etiquette of the period. 
 There was much respect and deference for great 
 talent. But it was neither respect nor deference 
 that guided me — it was more than that. Gratitude 
 imposed a duty on me which I joyfully performed. 
 There was always a good number in the dressing- 
 room. I had to be presented to each person. I 
 
MEMOIRS 57 
 
 was very timid. " Come, child, show yourself. 
 Take off that stupid hat that you may be seen." 
 
 Before my debuts I had had a severe illness, 
 which had caused the loss of my hair ; so my head 
 had to be shaved ! Mile. Raucourt conceived the 
 frightful fancy of showing me in that condition ; 
 she was amused at my shame, and thought short 
 hair suited me ... I was a fright. Ah, how I 
 cursed her admiration for my shaven pate ! 
 
 Good Mile. Raucourt was too lazy for lessons, 
 and later on I understood the reason. In Paris, it 
 was a very difficult thing to dedicate to me a 
 peacefril hour. Ten, twenty times interruptions 
 came : Monseigneur Prince d'Henin, Mme. de 
 Talleyrand, Mme. Talhen, and so on and so 
 forth, without end. " Prince, you must listen to 
 my pupil. My child, stand over there and recite 
 nicely." The child was in a very bad temper, 
 and trembled hke a leaf; but she had to 
 obey. 
 
 We were very, very poor. My father's affairs 
 were progressing badly at Amiens. ]My brother had 
 come to us in Paris to take lessons from Kreutzer. 
 He got the children of the Dutch Ambassador as 
 pupils. Poor brother, he gave us nearly all he 
 gained. My father could hardly send us any 
 money : he dispatched boxes of vegetables and 
 clothes. My nurse went to wash our linen at the 
 riverside. Ah, a charming yet cruel time ! My 
 studies proceeded slowly. Mile. Raucourt, occu- 
 pied with her theatre, her endless visits and other 
 
58 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 distractions, was little disposed to bore herself with 
 her pupil. Within two hours of Orleans she had 
 a charming abode, la Chapelle, which she had just 
 acquired. She was mad about it, and repaired 
 there too frequently for my studies. Mme. de 
 Ponty, who lived with her, was an excellent person, 
 who took a serious interest in me, and grumbled 
 and was displeased with my professor's laziness. 
 " Fanny, what can you be thinking of ? The poor 
 child will never make her debut in the way you are 
 going on. We must put an end to it. I don't 
 like the country, but out of friendship for Mme. 
 George and the little one I have decided to leave 
 for la Chapelle, and I shall bring them with me. 
 There, at least, we shall keep you, and we shall 
 accept no more of your bad excuses." The dear 
 little woman sacrificed herself for us. 
 
 Mme. de Ponty was a very distinguished person, 
 the daughter of a former maid-of-honour to Marie 
 Antoinette. The Revolution ruined her completely. 
 She was imprisoned, and made the acquaintance of 
 Mile. Raucourt in prison, where also were JNIUe. 
 Contat and Mile. Vanhove. An intimate friend- 
 ship arose between Mile. Raucourt and Mme. de 
 Ponty, who was a little lady of studied elegance, 
 witty and gracious, with a great ascendency over 
 Mile. Raucourt, who spoiled her like a child. 
 
 Mme. de Ponty had a very resolute character. 
 The frail little woman loved very much when she 
 loved at all, and defended her friends when they 
 were attacked. She had a noble and courageous 
 
MEMOIRS 59 
 
 character, and was a loyal and trustworthy woman. 
 Her tastes were little in agreement with the exist- 
 ence she had accepted ; she had lost everything 
 and — necessity knows no law. How could she 
 satisfy her tastes as a great lady without the 
 friendly hand which Mile. Raucourt had offered 
 her ? All this is sad and distressing. Let us 
 pass on. 
 
 At last we set out for Orleans. Mile. Raucourt 
 spent the whole day in the park with her flowers. 
 She grafted perfectly, but took too long about 
 it. Did the lessons come ? Not at all. The 
 grumbling began again. She was very angry, but 
 gave in. Several good lessons followed — Emilie 
 from Cinna, Amenaide from Tancrede, Idame from 
 rOrphelin de la Chine, Phedre, Didon. 
 
 A fortnight later, Lafont, the handsome Lafont, 
 came to Orleans to give some performances there 
 with Mile. Raucourt. Lafont, as you can well 
 imagine, came every day to dine at Mile. Raucourt 's 
 and spend all his free evenings. He was very 
 amiable and gay, and was very entertaining in com- 
 pany. The handsome Lafont made love to ine ; he 
 assumed the sentimental. There was a charming 
 wood, and he managed to separate me from the 
 company. I let myself be led, J frankly confess. 
 We stopped one day in front of a fine large stone 
 forming a kind of rock. There he made me an 
 honest proposal, swearing that he would do every- 
 thing to obtain me in marriage. " I will take 
 an oath," he said, as if he were speaking to 
 
60 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Zaire, " before this rock, which we will call the 
 rock of Ariadne." 
 
 " You frighten me. Monsieur Lafont, since it 
 was on a rock that Ariadne died of grief on being 
 abandoned by Theseus." 
 
 " My dear little friend, that is very different. 
 Theseus was a libertine, but Lafont is an honest 
 man." 
 
 That was a piece of buffoonery, and we laughed 
 together over it. We stayed a little too long, as 
 it proved : the company had regained the house, 
 the dinner-bell was ringing, and we started to 
 run. They were at table — just imagine ! 1 was 
 very silly and very red. My mother frowned 
 horribly. Mile. Raucourt was cold to Lafont, 
 and blamed him for making me late. " My dear 
 comrade, I hope this will not happen again." 
 It was a sad dinner. There were some excellent 
 dishes, but I ate nothing at all, so frightened was 
 I of finding myself alone with my mother, who 
 was very strict. Good little Madame de Ponty 
 laughed, doing all she could to restore a little 
 life into the conversation. In the evening, games 
 were played, and some visitors came : the mis- 
 adventure was forgotten in giving way to the 
 happiest laughter in the world. My little mother 
 was begged to forgi^^e my giddiness. Lafont pur- 
 sued his idea of marriage. But my charming 
 Gascon did not at all want to be precipitate, he 
 would wait for my debuts. A prudent fellow for a 
 son-in-law, " he wished to give me time," he said. 
 
MEMOIRS 61 
 
 " for reflection." He did well, my Orosmane of the 
 Midi : I reflected and became convinced that mar- 
 riage was not at all to my taste. Even then I had 
 an independent character. Poor Lafont, with his 
 bourgeois habits, what would he have done with 
 me, and, good Heavens ! what should I have made 
 of him ? " The knight with the long face," I 
 think. 
 
 We received visits from Paris, and time was 
 spent in making up water-parties, and in visiting 
 the beautiful properties, so famous on the banks 
 of the Loiret — La Source, La Fontaine— truly 
 admirable places. 
 
 We were present at Lafont 's and Raucourt's 
 performances at Orleans. On the days when 
 there were no performances, we played at puss-in- 
 the-corner in the courtyard. Mile. Raucourt de- 
 lighted in these frolics. She said good-bye to 
 ceremony, and was as merry and childish as I. 
 She entered into the game with delightful good- 
 nature and animation. She was an extremely witty 
 woman, she was so amusing when she imitated her 
 world. Sometimes she had fancies I did not care 
 for at all. For example, she loved shooting passion- 
 ately. She took her gun and dog and game-bag, 
 and set off" in a little white skirt, which reached 
 just to the knees. She was the classical Diana, 
 with limbs as beautiful as hers, and long, delicate 
 and charming feet. There she was, shooting in 
 her park under the full sun. Once, she said to me, 
 " Come with me : you will see how you will enjoy 
 
62 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 yourself." Never having had martial tastes (I had 
 put down " masculine " but the word seemed too 
 strong), I trembled all over. 
 
 " No, please don't take me. I should be dread- 
 fully afraid, I know quite well. I don't like 
 shooting." 
 
 " Coward ! " 
 
 " Madame, leave me with mamma and Madame 
 de Ponty : I will study ; I like that better." 
 
 " Come now, you inustn't be so cowardly. If 
 you are so frightened, how will you make your 
 debut before a full house ? " 
 
 "Madame, that house will not be composed of 
 rabbits, and I shall not be afraid of guns." 
 
 {All this is true though very childish, but you 
 asked me to put down all my little silly ways, and I 
 will not shirk it. ) 
 
 So I followed the implacable Diana. At each 
 shot I fell to the ground with the poor little rabbits. 
 For did not the beautiful huntress tell me, when 
 she thought she had taken good aim, to run after 
 the poor little beast and bring it back to her ? 
 
 " As for that, madame, no. I revolt ; I can't 
 obey you ; I shall not come back. You will 
 wait a long time for your rabbit. I shall be found 
 dead first." She burst into laughter. Mile. Rau- 
 court was really kind. All these recollections 
 cannot interest any one, I know quite well, but 
 my heart rejoices to recall them. How happy 
 one is at fourteen ! Everything seems true to 
 you, you see everything at its best ; you believe in 
 
MEMOIRS 63 
 
 friendship, in devotion, in love ! I believed in my 
 handsome Lafont's love, who seemed perfect to 
 me. When he spoke to me, when during our 
 evening game my hand met his, my blood rushed 
 back to my heart, I ceased to breathe. Later on 
 one sees that all is false and everything calcula- 
 tion ; friendship is very rare, devotion still rarer ; 
 oh, yes, very much rarer. Love, certainly, gives 
 you some illusions, makes you live ; it tortures 
 you, often bruises your heart, but it does animate 
 you. That is something ! It is impossible to 
 live in a dead calm, but I think there is some- 
 thing really genuine — that is maternal love. Dear 
 Lafont, no more walks, no more chats : after 
 glances and deep sighs, and then the hope which 
 gives life ! 
 
 To utilise the evenings, Mile. Raucourt thought 
 of making me rehearse in costume. She had several 
 faded costumes at the bottom of an old case, and a 
 foil diadem. So there I was disguised as Hermione, 
 Cornelia, whatever you like. I was very proud of all 
 those fine feathers. All the notabilities of Orleans 
 were invited, the clever people of the county, and 
 the poets of the neighbourhood. I have no need 
 to tell you of the kindness with which I was sur- 
 rounded. Out of courtesy to the professor and 
 indulgence to me, praises were lavished on me. 
 " What ! She is only fourteen, and she is going to 
 play Clytemnestra ! She is a prodigy ! " 
 
 My professor was flattered by the prediction of a 
 great success for her pupil. This prophecy aroused 
 
64 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Mile. Raucourt at last. She felt that she must 
 busy herself with me : her amour propre was at 
 stake, so lessons were not lacking. When I had 
 to recite I was terribly afraid ; I neither slept nor 
 ate, my mouth was dry, and I had all the evidences 
 of fear. " Bah," I was told, " you are not truthful, 
 when you tell us of your fears: beginners fear 
 nothing. They scarcely understand what they are 
 taught: they are little parrots." Thanks! Then 
 one must be stupid to dare! Well, madame, 
 mamma will tell you that at five years old I 
 trembled like a leaf, so much so that she was forced 
 to remain near me behind the scenes, moistening 
 my lips with sugared water. However, once before 
 the public I was a different girl ; the applause in- 
 toxicated me and I thought of nothing but my part. 
 Besides, I have always been very timid. How many 
 times, before coming on the stage, feeling myself 
 paralysed with fear, I have prayed God to send me 
 an accident which might prevent me going on. 
 
 An accident ! in truth, I longed for death. How 
 indulgent the public would be if it could guess 
 what was passing in the heart and head of an 
 artiste at the moment of battle. Yes, it is an 
 assault ; it needs courage and it is generally believed 
 to be an amusing calling. What a deep error ! It 
 is a profession which works upon the emotions, 
 breaking you, attacking your nerves and rending 
 you asunder. How could it be otherwise? The 
 existence of an actor is quite different to that of 
 the world; in our health most particularly. We 
 
MEMOIRS 65 
 
 cannot have habits. If you play you must dine 
 at three o'clock and pick your food ! Sup, then, 
 which you do not do when you are resting. Lunch, 
 then, at ten o'clock. How the stomach accommo- 
 dates itself to all these changes ! Do you wish to 
 take advantage of the beautiful sun and go for a 
 walk, like everybody else ? No ; you must dine, be 
 at your dressing-room at five o'clock, and in the 
 place of the sun be smothered by the heat of lamps. 
 Are you in a good temper ? Are you gay at heart ? 
 Do you wish to laugh? The three knocks are 
 heard. Quickly assume your visage of Lucrece 
 Borgia or Cleopatra, neither of which is more 
 amusing than the other. 
 
 And the artistes of the gay sort. They have 
 their troubles, too. I believe it is much harder to 
 make people laugh when the heart is wounded than 
 to make them cry when one desires to laugh. Dear 
 public ! Do not envy our lot; it is slavery. 
 
 Let us return to Orleans, to leave it. Lafont 
 left after the performances, and Mile. Raucourt, 
 to her great regret, was obliged to quit her adored 
 Chapelle. 
 
 So here we are at Paris ; we in the rue des 
 Colonnes, Mile. Raucourt, rue Thibaut, in the 
 same house where Mme. Dugazon hved. The 
 debuts were drawing near. Mile. Duchesnois,^ 
 a pupil of Legouve, a protegee of JNIme. de 
 
 1 Duchesnois (Catherine-Josephine Rafuin), bom at Siant- 
 Saulnes, near Valenciennes (Nord), June 5, 1777; made her 
 debut at Versailles, July 12 ; at Paris, August S, 1803; 
 
 E 
 
66 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Montesson and the General de Valence, who was 
 working to get her passed first ; but Mile. Rau- 
 court had been promised by the Minister of the 
 Interior that I slioiild pass before the otlier aspir- 
 ants. I worked every day. We were reaching the 
 end of our little miseries. A great deal of interest 
 was taken in us. IMy little sister was entered at 
 the dancing-school of the Opera, managed by 
 M. Lebel, under the supervision of M. Gardel. 
 My brother Charles was admitted as second 
 violin to the orchestra of the Theatre-Feydeau, 
 owing to the influence of his master, the good 
 Kreutzer. 
 
 All was bustle and excitement. ISille. Raucourt 
 herself felt that she must be up and doing. She w as 
 received very often by Mme. Bonaparte, the wife 
 of the First Consul. We set off for Saint-Cloud, 
 and Mile. Raucourt was instantly admitted. I 
 saw the beautiful and gracious Josephine for the 
 first time. She came towards us with that smile 
 which at once attaches you to her. Her eyes were 
 so sweet and attractive ; she was so kind. She 
 placed you at your ease, but with that distinction 
 and elegant simplicity which belonged only to 
 her. There was in all her person a suavity which 
 magnetised you. It was impossible not to bow 
 before that mysterious influence, that sweet charm. 
 
 Societaire, March 17,1804; pensioned, November 1829; died at 
 Paris, rue de la Rouchefoucauld, January 7 to 8, 1835 ; interred 
 at Pere-Laehaise, avenue des Acacias (monument Lemaire) 
 (Georges Monval, etc.). 
 
MEMOIRS 67 
 
 One loved her before she spoke; one felt that 
 she brought liappiness with her. 
 
 She asked Mile, llaucourt to allow me to 
 say some lines. I recited a scene from Idamc, 
 which caused Mme. Bonaparte to weep ; a mater- 
 nal scene could not fail of its effect on Josephine's 
 heart — for she was such a good mother. She 
 wished to embrace me, with large, beautiful tears 
 still in her eyes. " My child, your talent will be 
 maternity. You have moved my heart." We 
 left enchanted. " Good-bye, dear llaucourt ; I 
 hope to see you soon. Bring back this little 
 rogue who has made me weep." 
 
 {All that is Imtorical. Vou have the power of 
 dilating upon such things, but I am too stupid to 
 turn them to account.) 
 
 Mile. Raucourt profited by her delight to make 
 a little trip to la Chapelle. To visit her trees and 
 grafts is more important than to guard against 
 all that might be done in her absence. 1 shall 
 certainly never make my debut. That which 
 we feared actually happened. An order was 
 obtained for the debut of Mile. Duchesnois. " All 
 the better," I said to JNlme. de Ponty, " and quite 
 right, too. It is natural, they think, that Mile. 
 Raucourt doesn't care, since she goes away just 
 at the time when her presence is most necessary ! " 
 But what a fuss there was on Mile. Raucourt's 
 return. " You see, Fanny, what is happening, 
 thanks to your negligence and your love for your 
 trees. An injustice is being done you. It is an 
 
68 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 act of infamy and treachery, a personal insult 
 which is being flung in your face. You have 
 only got your deserts." JNIlle. Rau court was 
 piqued in her amour propi^e ; she who was so im- 
 perious. Her friends hasten to her. " Don't allow 
 this injustice, Fanny ; it is really an impertinence." 
 One would have thought that Paris was convulsed. 
 After all, I did not mind coming out second. I 
 laughed in my sleeve at all this chatter, and at 
 heart (it was naughty, if you like) I was not very 
 sorry to see Mile. Raucourt annoyed to this small 
 extent. For why does she go to la Chapelle ? All 
 these comings and goings, all this uproar and 
 continual hubbub finished by tiring me out ; and 
 at the end of those stormy days I was happy to 
 return with my little mother to the rue des 
 Colonnes, to my poor little room, where I could 
 play with my little sister. 
 
 Next day INIUe. Raucourt told me to make my 
 toilette ; that she would come to fetch me at mid- 
 day to go to Saint-Cloud. My toilette ! A white 
 muslin dress of girlish fashion ; my hair waved a la 
 Titus; bare arms, long grey gloves, a httle blue 
 sash : that was my best apparel ! The excellent and 
 charming Mme. Bonaparte listened to all that Mile. 
 Raucourt told her about her disappointment with 
 indulgent patience. " Well, my dear Fanny " (she, 
 too, called her by her Christian name), "don't disturb 
 yourself so; you will be ill, my dear. Come, let 
 us talk a little and be calm. What harm can the 
 debuts of Mile. Duchesnois do to this charming 
 
MEMOIRS 69 
 
 child ? The lady is twenty-eight, they say. She is 
 made ; she must already be all she ever will be. 
 What comparison can be established between a 
 woman of twenty-eight and a child of fourteen ? 
 None; be reasonable then. And you, dear child, 
 what do you think about it? You are not so 
 upset as your professor, are you ? " She embraced 
 me with such kindness that I began to cry like 
 a stupid. How kind she was. "Ah, see, she 
 is crying! There, since it is such a great morti- 
 fication, since you absolutely consider that she 
 should make her debut first, I will beg the First 
 Consul to come to me. He will decide." 
 
 You can tell the fear which ran away with me 
 to such an extent that I dared cry, "Oh no, 
 madame, please don't send for him. I much prefer 
 to remain with you quite alone, you are so kind, 
 and I am not afraid of you. Besides, madame, I 
 should bungle my business; I should be like 
 an idiot before him. Then, as a matter of fact, 
 it is all the same to me to make my debut after 
 that lady. That will make me work with more 
 ardour." 
 
 "Do you consent, madame?" T said to Mile. 
 Raucourt. " It is not necessary to bother him, nor 
 madame either, who is so kind." 
 
 Josephine began to laugh, but good-naturedly. 
 Taking me in her arms, she said — 
 
 " You see, Fanny, she is more reasonable than 
 we are. We must do as she says ; that will bring 
 her good luck." (It is you, madame, who will 
 
70 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 bring me good luck.) " Then we shall all be there 
 to applaud our little protegee." 
 
 {Historical. Not a word more, not a word less.) 
 
 At last I am in the carriage, opposite Mile. 
 Tlaucourt. 
 
 She made a sour face. " Little idiot, you've made 
 a mess of it ; the Consul would have given the order. 
 The good Josephine did not insist when she saw 
 you so stupid, and I yielded. Come, now, no more 
 reproaches, and take your courage in both hands." 
 
 And now all sorts of visits followed in quick 
 succession. 
 
 " Come, we are going to visit Mile. Clairon. She 
 brought me out, and although she has been very 
 nasty to me, I can't get out of taking you to her. 
 I owe her that deference." 
 
 ( We were very polite in those days !) 
 
 Mile. Clairon received us very coldly. She 
 was a small woman with glacial manners and not 
 a little impertinence. She was most disdainful ; 
 Mile. Raucourt kissed her hand, which she scarcely 
 held out ; her glance was very important, but there 
 was not the least good-nature in it. She was all 
 pride, that woman ! Seated in a great arm-chair a 
 la Voltaire, she did not in the least attempt to rise, 
 greeting us distantly. She made me feel quite 
 cold, and I wished myself far away. 
 
 " My dear Madame Clairon, permit me to present 
 my pupil." 
 
 " Ah, ah ! You are training a pupil ! For what 
 parts ? " 
 
MEMOIRS 71 
 
 " At first she is to play the parts of great prin- 
 cesses, and then of queens." 
 
 " Ah, you are aiming pretty high. So you are 
 training a pupil to succeed you. Well, I only 
 hope she will give you more satisfaction than you 
 ever gave me." 
 
 This apostrophe displeased MUe. Raucourt. 
 
 " But, madame, be so good as to consult your 
 recollection ; if I have ceased to pay my respects 
 to you, it is because you have wished it." 
 
 " Ah ! bah ! Pupils are always ungrateful, except, 
 however, the good Larrive, who has never ceased 
 to pay me homage." 
 
 Mile. Raucourt replied maliciously — 
 
 " You treated him so particularly well, that he 
 would have been doubly ungrateful to forget." 
 
 The Clairon almost blushed. I say almost, 
 for she was frightfully pale. 
 
 " Come, very well ! Child, recite something 
 to me." 
 
 A choking seized me. I could never say any- 
 thing before that face, which looked at me without 
 the least expression of good-nature. Mile. Rau- 
 court saw quite well the little desire I had to 
 please that cold face, and she herself made haste 
 to retire. 
 
 " She is very husky, dear Mademoiselle Clairon, 
 and to-day you could only judge her unfavour- 
 ably.' 
 
 " As you please." 
 
 " If you permit, I will bring her again." 
 
72 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 The great Mile. Clairon made no reply, and we 
 left. 
 
 "She is pleasant, that woman ! What do you 
 say? 
 
 " I say she makes me feel as if icicles were being 
 put down my back. I don't like that woman at 
 all." 
 
 " Let us go to the good Dumesnil."^ 
 
 Ah, she was different ! We entered a small 
 room on the ground floor in the courtyard of an 
 old convent, rue des Filles-Saint-Thomas. There 
 were some dwellings there belonging to the Govern- 
 ment, where artistes obtained lodgings for nothing. 
 This great artiste obtained this miserable favour. 
 An old servant announced us. La Dumesnil was 
 lying down (for several years she had been unable 
 to get up) surrounded by chickens. I still see her, 
 such an impression did she make on me, sitting up 
 in bed — in a nightdress of blue silk, with a little 
 cap surmounted with a knot of blue ribbon. 
 
 " Ah, dear Fanny, how glad I am to see you ! 
 Come and embrace your old Dumesnil. Who is 
 the pretty child you have brought ? Come, my 
 daughter, and embrace old Dumesnil as well." 
 
 I devoured her with my eyes with incredible 
 
 ^ Dumesnil (Marie-Fran^oise Marchand), born at Paris, rue 
 des Marais, January 2, 1713; Strasburg (1733); made her 
 debut, April 6, 1737 ; received, October 8 following ; Societaire, 
 February 2, 1738; retired, March 31, 1776; died at Paris, 24 
 rue et barri^re Blanche, 1 Ventose, year x (February 20, 1803) 
 (Georges Monval, Liste alphahetique, etc.). 
 
MEMOIRS 73 
 
 curiosity. She had such an expressive physiog- 
 nomy, and the eye and the glance of an eagle. I 
 was stupefied. 
 
 " Tell me, Fanny, is this your pupil you have 
 brought ? " 
 
 " Yes, good Dumesnil." 
 
 " And when is she going to make her d^but ? " 
 
 " Very soon, dear." 
 
 " Ah, that's good. In what part ? " 
 
 " Clytemnestra." 
 
 She turned to me as if she were gazing at 
 Eriphile. She was magnificent. 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! At her age ! That's bold, you know, 
 Famiy ! " 
 
 " No, dear friend ; this little madcap has quite a 
 maternal heart." 
 
 " So much the better ; it is sentiment which 
 attracts men as well as women. I will recite the 
 first scene. Would you like me to, Fanny ? " 
 
 " Would I like you to ? Are you laughing 
 at me? What I desire, dear Dumesnil, is that 
 she may be able to remember what she is going 
 to hear." 
 
 I heard a thunderous voice proceed from that 
 thin little body, with a terse utterance, a realism 
 almost familiar, but nevertheless dignified. At the 
 ^'erse — 
 
 '' Et de ne voir en lid que le dernier des hommes" — 
 
 Achilles appeared quite insignificant. Her glance 
 on Eriphile caused the woman to shrink. One saw 
 
74 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOT.EON 
 
 her bow herself ahnost to the ground beneatli the 
 penetrating ghmee. And in the line — 
 
 " El ce nesi pas (Jha/chax (jitc voux rJierchez" — 
 
 every monosyllable had its value. 1 was enthralled 
 and rooted in my place. I said in a low voice, " Ah, 
 the immense woman ! AVhat jcalism ! They are not 
 verses which she repeats ! No I it is an outraged 
 mother, humiliated in her cluld. It is a woman 
 who will very certjiinly avenge hersell' one day." 
 
 " Fanny, how did la Clairon receive you ? " 
 
 " You ask me ? V^ery badly." 
 
 She began to laugh. 
 
 " Ah, really ! So poor dear Clairon continues to 
 play the queen ? She is always stiff and pedantic, 
 isn't she ? That's all very well sometimes ; but 
 you know as well as I tliat such a high-Hown, 
 boml)astic style docs not appeal to the masses nor 
 reach the heart of the public. Do you say that 
 this child has feeling ? " 
 
 '* I told you so, especially in maternity." 
 
 '" Bravo ! bravo ! It is the most sympathetic 
 sentiment. Hecite to me, child, the scene from 
 Idame, where they wish to take away her child." 
 
 1 repeated it at once without fear, but witli the 
 emotion she had given me. 
 
 "■ V^ery good, \ery good, little one! Dear me! 
 See how my eyes are moist. You are right, the 
 little one has maternal heart-strings." 
 
 " But, Madame Dumesnil, 1 am just as fond of 
 love." 
 
MEMOIRS 75 
 
 " Heavens ! I believe so. She is riglit ! At 
 your age, eh I I too Hked love ! " 
 
 " Besides, niadame, for maternal love it is very 
 necessary to know the other a little. " 
 
 " Which love part do you like ? " 
 
 " Why, Amenaide." 
 
 " Yes, that is love, to be sure, but love unmixed 
 with any other feeling. It is Hermione that you 
 must study : that is love mingled with jealousy. 
 There we have passion at its best. 15ut it is almost 
 an impossible part to play — isn't it, Uaucourt? 
 First, IJermione in love witli all her heart ; then, 
 made fierce by wounded pride. The woman employs 
 every means, irony stifled by the tears which she 
 will not allow to How. It is not a cuttinjy and 
 passionate irony like Roxane's. No, they are tears 
 which she suppresses, and which fall back in her 
 throat. It is wrong to wish to express a dry 
 bitterness there. Clairon knew it, but she has no 
 feelings. Then there is declamation to produce 
 great effects. See, little one, you must know 
 what to sacrifice, to cut, so as to reach unexpected 
 effects. Above all, don't listen to authors ; tJiey 
 want to lose nothing." 
 
 " But, madame, is Hermione then so very 
 difHcult?" 
 
 " Ask your professor what is included in that great 
 character. Auger, love, coquetry, and a disdainful 
 coldness before the beautiful and touching Andro- 
 mache — that classic sorrow ; one only whines, but 
 never represents it. The uncertainty, outraged 
 
76 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 amour propi'e, the insults which she throws 
 in the face of the fatalist figure called Orestes ! 
 Two women are really needed to play that part. 
 You have the beauty, little one, which is needed 
 for Hermione, seek and find all the qualities. 
 If you can unite them in yourself alone, you will 
 become greater than we. If I am still alive, 
 Fanny, come with her to tell me about her debuts. 
 She interests me for herself and for you. Good- 
 bye, children ; I am tired. 'J'he wretched theatre 
 still upsets me when I speak of it ; it rouses me 
 in spite of myself from my bed of repose, where I 
 wish to end my days peacefully with my old 
 servant and my chickens. Embrace me, botli of 
 you, and good luck ! " 
 
 I retired with little desire for Hermione. 
 Dumesnil's talk about that personage would not 
 leave my thoughts. I was almost paralysed when 
 confronted with the part. I have played it often 
 with Talma, and have always found myself want- 
 ing in it, in spite of the applause of a too indulgent 
 public. La Dumesnil kept appearing like a ghost, 
 saying in my ear, " Ha ! I told you so, little one ! " 
 
 On leaving Mile. Dumesnil, Mile, llaucourt, who 
 liked to torment me witli a thousand questions, 
 often very embarrassing for my inexperience and 
 perfect ignorance of everything, tried to find out if 
 I had any intelligence or ideas. 
 
 " What do you think of the two women ? " 
 
 " I, madame ? I dare not say what I think ; 
 you would laugh at me." 
 
MEMOIRS 77 
 
 " No, not at all. Speak freely to me. I question 
 you for your good ; do a little by yourself" 
 
 '* Well, since you wish it. Mile. Clairon does not 
 appeal to me in the least. She seemed to me too 
 much on her dignity. She has, I believe, nothing 
 but dryness in her heart. Her insolent regard 
 did not even impose on me, a little girl. She has, 
 doubtless, much talent, but perhaps it is too deep 
 and calculated. Isn't it true, madame, that one 
 can be too deep ? Then there is no attraction, no 
 spontaneity, nothing natural. I am very bold to 
 express my opinion like this, I who know nothing. 
 But still, why did Dumesnil leave such emotion 
 in my heart ? Ah, how true and natural she was ! 
 She played Cleopatra and Merope ; those two parts 
 are so different ; JNIerope, all heart for her son ; 
 Cleopatra, cruel, killing him with her own royal 
 hands. \Vhat a subtle talent that immense actress 
 must have had ! You told me how ^^oltaire, lis- 
 tening to her performance of Merope, cried out in 
 his enthusiasm, ' I did not create anything as fine as 
 that. This sublime enchantress melts me to tears. 
 Ah, my dear Dumesnil, you are the real creator 
 of Merope. Wherever in the depth of your heart 
 do you find those effects which bewitch all who 
 hear you ? How beautiful, how pathetic you are ! ' 
 Then as Cleopatra, that mother so coldly cruel. 
 What a different tale ! You told me how in 
 the fifth act, at the moment when Antiochus is in 
 doubt, with a (Joubt too grievous for his tender 
 heart, as to which of the women he loves could 
 
78 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 have poured out the poison, one of the spectators, 
 penetrated by such a dramatic situation and having 
 followed all Cleopatra's movements, signals to 
 Antiochus, ' It is she, that one there,' giving her 
 a blow on the back in his great indignation. You 
 also told me how the house shook with applause, 
 and the Dumesnil remauied impassive. She did 
 not seem to perceive what was happening, nor to 
 have felt the blow which the soldier had given her. 
 Genius can go no further." 
 
 IMUe. Raucourt listened to me quite seriously. 
 
 " 1 see, dear child, you will do something. 
 You are a thorough child, and you love playing 
 pranks, but you do think and observe. That is 
 well." 
 
 I thought I should work without ceasing. The 
 moment of my debuts approached. But it was not 
 to be so. There were incessant visits ; the JNIinisters 
 came, then all the family of the First Consul ; 
 Lucien, who, like the First Consul, only loved 
 tragedy ; the eminent Mme. Bacciochi, a thin and 
 delicate woman, who was very much in the 
 Emperor's confidence. We often lunched at her 
 house with the Emperor's mother and Lucien. 
 Then afterwards I had to recite. Lucien used to 
 take part in the performance, giving me my cues 
 and frequently playing whole scenes by himself. 
 
 The Emperor's mother amused herself very 
 much with these recitations. She was severe 
 in appearance but noble and very beautiful, as 
 well as good and indulgent. I was the protegee 
 
MEMOIRS 79 
 
 of all that great family. Mme. Bacciochi had 
 a great affection for me, and sent for me nearly 
 every morning, and, although a great sufferer, 
 made me recite. \Vhen I was alone with her 
 she had fits of vomiting, which made her suffer, 
 and very often during one of these rehearsals 
 she was interrupted : " Pass me the basin quickly ; 
 it will be nothing." Then, as a matter of fact, 
 we started again with renewed ardour. What a 
 courageous and charming woman ! 
 
 Queen Hortense too, who liked Mile. Raucourt, 
 often received us at that time. She lived in a 
 mansion in the rue de la Victoire. Eugene Beau- 
 harnais, who was everything that is dehghtful, was 
 nearly always with his sister. Queen Hortense 
 was very beautiful : she had the most lovely eyes 
 in the world, and an angelic sweetness, charming 
 hair, the figure of a nymph, a magnificent colour- 
 ing, her complexion was fresh and smooth, and 
 white as a swan. {Dear Valmore, you know that 
 only you can paint her portrait, xvith the poetical 
 expressions which are yours alone.) She had the 
 exquisite kindness of allowing me to recite to her. 
 
 One day when I was really fatigued and the 
 perspiration was pouring from my forehead, she 
 cried, " Poor child, I don't want her to go away in 
 that state : she will be ill. Let us wrap her in this 
 shawl," and, in spite of myself and Mile. Raucourt, 
 she placed round me a large cashmere shawl which 
 she had on her own beautiful shoulders. 
 
 " I will return it to you to-day." 
 
80 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 " Not at all. She shall keep it in remembrance of 
 me. 
 
 Yes, I kept it, good and beautiful Queen 
 Hortense. I shall always keep it ; to me it is 
 a relic. 1 would sooner die of hunger than part 
 with it. 
 
 All these remembrances are very dear and 
 precious to me, and I have the sweet consolation 
 of having never varied in my affections. I am 
 poor : what does it matter ? I think I am rich 
 in heart and especially in my devotion for 
 that immense family which stretched out its 
 hand to me in my youth. I shall have the 
 honour of dying with my first sentiments. Perhaps 
 I shall not leave enough money to bury me. It is 
 quite possible ; such things have happened. I was 
 never made to be a landed proprietor. I shall have 
 a few spadefuls of earth and a few flowers from my 
 friends. AVhat more does one want ? 
 
 The excitement, the continual comings and 
 goings, the new world in which 1 moved, the 
 exhibition of my person in my own interest, for the 
 sake of gaining popularity, all these things caused 
 so many different emotions that I was thoroughly 
 exhausted. Every evening my heart beat so vio- 
 lently that it seemed to be bursting through my 
 bosom. I was only too glad to get home to my 
 little mother. 
 
 " Are you happy ? " 
 
 " Indeed, no ; all this bores me. I preferred play- 
 ing my Petite Laitiere and Paul et Virginie better. I 
 
MEMOIRS 81 
 
 was loved at Amiens. How do I know what will 
 become of me ? Perhaps I shall be stifled in those 
 great dresses. Then one wants so many things for 
 tragedy. Then there is that INIlle. Duchesnois who 
 is making her debut before me. Then there is 
 Mile. Raucourt who everlastingly makes me tear 
 about with her in her carriage. It is true that 
 does not fatigue my limbs, but the lessons are very 
 rare. See, little mother, I regret Amiens, our 
 room, my piano, my operas. I regret it even to 
 the little household duties which I was made to 
 do, when I laid the cloth and nurse scolded me. 
 ' Hurry, Mimi, M. George is coming and you will 
 be late.' Ah, how nice it was ! Then there was 
 my loto, when you let me play it with you. How 
 cross I was when I lost. And M. Baudry ! Do 
 you remember how furious he was when he called 
 the numbers. Scarcely were they in his fingers 
 when I named them. ' This little girl is intoler- 
 able. Forbid her, Madame George, to be so 
 dishonest. You are bringing her up very badly ! 
 You think mamma will scold me, but really you 
 see you are amusing her. Will she or papa scold 
 me ! They are too good for that, they love me 
 too much. Ah, yes, I weep to think that I shall 
 see no more of that. Stop, to-morrow we are 
 again going to pass the evening at M. Roederer 's, 
 at the Jardin des Plantes ; how amusing that will 
 be!" 
 
 {Dea?' friend Valmore, you must inquire what 
 Roederer was, and what his position was at that time.) 
 
82 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 " Why did Mile. Raucourt come to Amiens. 
 What possessed my father to want to see me 
 attired in a diadem. He would not give me to 
 Mole, or to Mme. Dugazon, and yet he has given 
 me to tragedy. That is odd ! " 
 
 " There, Mimi, stop. It was for your happiness 
 that we made the journey, that I separated from 
 your father and gave up my position at my age. 
 You have a good heart, you love us : don't forget. 
 Be reasonable and kiss your little mother." 
 
 The debuts of MUe. Duchesnois di'ew near, and 
 mine were in preparation. Prince d'Hcnin, who 
 was very fond of Mile. Raucourt and saw her very 
 often, had just made me a present of a most beauti- 
 ful tiger-skin for my part of Didon. At that time, 
 Didon was played in the costume of a huntress, 
 like the classic Diana with a bow and quiver, which 
 was really quite beautiful. I began to find the 
 details of attire very amusing. Trying on all the 
 beautiful dresses made me forget the little dairy- 
 maid and the loto. 
 
 However, the Chinese costume of Idame suited 
 me very badly. All my hair was dressed high on 
 the head, a great bird of paradise (very rare) which 
 the Empress-mother had given me, was perched 
 on the top of my coiffure, and the magnificent 
 feathers fell doA\ai my shoulders. The costume had 
 the appearance of a big sack. What a fright ! 
 Everybody said it suited me very well, and that I 
 was superb with a plain forehead. I was not of 
 that opinion. I thought myself very ugly and 
 
MEMOIRS 83 
 
 had a dispute with Dubhn, who was the designer 
 of the Theatre-Fran^ais, a man of wit, of talent 
 even, but very headstrong as to the exactness of 
 his costumes : " What ! you want to put me into 
 that sack thing, and hide my arms, neck and chest, 
 and you think I would dare to appear like that ! 
 Why, I should be a laughing-stock ! " 
 
 " And as for me," said the good Vanhove, who 
 was playing Yamti, " what do you think, my child, 
 he wants to do with me. He sews me all up, do 
 you understand ? Not even a poor little place to 
 put my snufF-box, and monsieur knows how fond I 
 am of my snufF: but he likes to annoy me. You 
 are a revolutionary. Monsieur Dublin." 
 
 You can imagine the shouts of laughter. There 
 was at that time a gaiety without pedantry. There 
 was good comradeship, and every one knew his 
 worth — a charming equality reigned. Talma and 
 Monvel^ "thou'd" Dublin, who "thou'd" them in 
 turn ; as did even a certain Marchand, famous for his 
 nose without end and for the smallest and meanest 
 figure in the world ; his whole wretched person dis- 
 appeared beneath his gigantic nose. The poor devil 
 only did the announcements, but he put an alto- 
 gether comic importance into it. It was he who 
 
 ^ Monvel (Jacques-Marie Boutet), born at Luneville, March 
 25, 1745 ; made his debut, April 28^ 1770 ; received, April 
 1, 1772; left, July 1, 1781 ; reader to the King of Sweden 
 and manager of the French troupe at Stockholm Theatre in the 
 rue Richelieu, 1791 ; member of the Institute, 1795 ; General 
 Congress, 1 799 ; retired, March 1 , 1 806 ; died at Paris, Febru- 
 ary 13, 1812 (Georges Monval, etc.). 
 
84 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 was charged with the duty of bringing the chairs on 
 to the stage in Trissotin's scene in Femmes Sava?Ues, 
 and of letting himself fall while carrying a chair. 
 He begged Talma, JNIichaud, and all who were there 
 to come and see him. When the effect had been 
 great he was generally congratulated. 
 
 " Really, Talma, aren't you flattering me ? 
 Were you pleased ? Tell the management, then. 
 You really see that it is an injustice to keep me 
 back in my career." 
 
 Talma was naive, and quite a big child, to amuse 
 himself with all these pleasantries. 
 
 This was the Talma whose glance caused trem- 
 bling and agitation in all the audience, but who in 
 private life was gentle, simple and peaceful. 
 
 We never bothered about money and only 
 dreamed of success. We were real artistes. 
 
 Among these simple artistes without pride there 
 was, however, one whose pride was often imperti- 
 nent. Monvel told me how one day, at a full meet- 
 ing, the very imperial Clairon, who regarded her 
 comrades as vassals, said — 
 
 " You must know, messieurs, that when I play 
 two or three times, I keep you for a whole month." 
 
 " Dear Mademoiselle Clairon," replied Mole, 
 making the bow of a marquis, " that is why I am 
 so thin." 
 
 Mile. Contat had her share of arrogance, but she 
 was very witty and charming when she wished to 
 be so, but it was a fancy she rarely had. One only 
 approached her if she allowed it. A great talent I 
 
MEMOIRS 85 
 
 A great woman ! She had an enchanting head and 
 the most beautiful black eyes you could imagine ; 
 her glance was piercing, her mouth smiling and 
 derisive. Her talent was large and free ; the grand 
 manners of the court, head high in the air. She 
 acted for pleasure. 
 
 One ought never to see her in sentimental parts, 
 for it was impossible to throw the least melan- 
 choly into that physiognomy. The guilty mother, 
 the jealous wife— ah, it was no longer Mile. Contat I 
 Her voice then became shrill, her tears were 
 repressed. It was enough to make one suffer. 
 But she made up for it when she reappeared by 
 making fun of every one. Once in the Comedie des 
 Femmes, where she was irresistibly furmy with 
 Fleury, who yielded nothing to her in persiflage, 
 in a certain scene with him in which she wished to 
 assume a sentimental tone, he said to her, " Let us 
 leave tragedy alone ; you liave too much charm in 
 playing comedy." 
 
 They were applauded ten times without the help 
 of claqueurs. The latter met with little favour ; 
 indeed, they were often shown the door. Perhaps 
 it was as well. 
 
 The theatre at that time was quite different. 
 There was a certain amount of petty intrigue to be 
 put up with, but that went on without too much 
 scandal. Theatrical jealousies existed and always 
 will exist, but the emulation had something more 
 noble about it : there was a desire to do better 
 than one's predecessor, and we worked seriously. 
 
86 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 The public then was very enthusiastic and very 
 strict, so one had to be always on one's guard. 
 Knowing that negligence would soon be punished, 
 we strove to become true artistes. It was an 
 art, and not a trade. It is nice to be a real 
 artiste, and not dream of the future. To be 
 preoccupied with the future is such a sad, parsimo- 
 nious business. Commercial ideas do not go with 
 the arts: we want exaltation and sublimity. With- 
 out that perpetual fever, how could one h'dve the 
 courage to appear before a public which is going to 
 watch you, wait on you, which magnetises you, and 
 must be magnetised to place you in sympathy with 
 it ? When you have obtained during your perform- 
 ance an enthusiastic success, you return to your 
 dressing-room quite panting and feverish, to be 
 surrounded with homage. Do you think of keep- 
 ing accounts ? In sooth, little does it matter to you. 
 You pay — when you can — your cook without 
 troubling yourself if he cheats you of a few carrots. 
 How can you be an artiste if you enter into such 
 details ? The famous comedian, Baron, once said, 
 " Actors should be reared on the laps of queens ! " 
 He was quite right, there is no sordid calculation 
 there. 
 
 And now we come to the debuts of Mile. 
 Duchesnois. She made her debut at Versailles. 
 It was the custom. The Theatre-Fran^ais was 
 not turned into a school of mutual instruction, 
 a grotesque exhibition of people, men and women, 
 saying to themselves on waking, ''I want to 
 
MEMOIRS 87 
 
 play tragedy ; that genre amuses me. I shall 
 make my debut at the 'rheatre-Fran9ais ; if I 
 do not succeed — well, I shall go on to Quimper- 
 Corentin." 
 
 ( Kalmore — / do not know in what part Duchesnois 
 appeared ; I think it was Didon.) 
 
 Her success was but moderate. People came to 
 tell Mile. Raucourt, who was delighted, together with 
 her numerous friends. There was a great alarm in 
 the enemy's camp at this lack of success. There 
 was an agitation. M. Legouve, the teacher of 
 Mile. Duchesnois, was naturally very disturbed. 
 Mme. Legouve, a woman of wit and intelligence, 
 neglected nothing, and employed every means to 
 obtain a brilliant revenge. JNIme. de Montesson, 
 General de Valence, all were under arms. In fact, 
 all forces were under arms not to fail in this second 
 attempt. It was only fair. Dear Mile. Duchesnois 
 was like me : she needed a success. Born of a very 
 poor family, what would have become of her ? She 
 was good, and wished, like me, to make them 
 happy. 
 
 Women were not wanting at this perform- 
 ance ; women are so kind and indulgent. When 
 they hear any one say, " How unfortunate that 
 the debutante should be so lacking in physical 
 charms." 
 
 " Not at all ; she is quite nice-looking, and has a 
 very good figure." 
 
 " Yes, but she is very thin and dark." 
 
 " Do you think so ? You are very hard to please. 
 
88 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 As for me, I find her quite pretty enough. For her 
 talent's sake it is lucky she is not beautiful : she will 
 attend more zealously to her art. Flatterers and 
 admirers will not come to disturb her studies ; 
 she will become a great artiste. We shall come 
 and listen to her often and take pleasure in seeing 
 her." 
 
 " I can quite believe you," replies the husband ; 
 " you will always gain by comparison. Ah ! the 
 women will go mad about the Duchesnois." 
 
 However that may be, JMUe. Duchesnois had 
 a very successful debut. She had some very nice 
 qualities : a melodious voice, great ardour, and a 
 beautiful pronunciation. 
 
 She has been reproached with chanting her lines, 
 with psalmodising ; that was Talma's opinion espe- 
 cially, and he spoke tragedy so well. As for 
 me, it is not my place to judge Mile. Duchesnois. 
 The rivalry, I will even say quarrel, which they 
 wanted to establish between us, imposes silence 
 on me, and I must keep my young opinion to 
 myself^ 
 
 Her debuts being ended, those of Raucourt's 
 
 ^ In 1803 there appeared a little work entitled "The con- 
 spiracy of Mile. Duchesnois against Mile. George Weymcr^, to rob 
 her of the crown, with evidence gathered by M. J. Boullault. 
 This work is dedicated to the Stalls, Orchestra, Boxes, Balcony, 
 Pit, and even the Gallery of the Thcatre-Fran9ais." Published 
 at Paris by Pillet jeune, place des Trois Marie, near Pont Neuf, 
 and by Martinet, rue du Coq Honore, n. 124, year xi, 1803. The 
 work contains no less than eighty pages ! What a passion there 
 was for the theatre in those days ! 
 
MEMOIRS 89 
 
 pupil were awaited with curiosity. It was very 
 piquant to see the pupil of fourteen in the presence 
 of la Duchesnois. 
 
 " What a draw for the public to see the two 
 debutantes struggling. It will be amusing." 
 
 Who would be the victor ? Attention was 
 divided : there was quite an excitement, and the 
 box-office was besieged. The theatre is a great 
 affair ; people would rush from all parts to get seats 
 with the same ardour that excites them to-day at 
 la porte de Mires to obtain shares. 
 
 At last here I am, though still a child, in the 
 arena ! I am announced : Clytemnestra in Iphigenie 
 en Aulide. My debut ! 
 
 {Here, friend Valmore, are the newspapers ; you 
 will see the date there.) 
 
 Mile. Raucourt presented me to the general 
 assembly ; all the Comedie-Fran^aise gave me a 
 maternal reception. I owed that to the friendship 
 and regard they had for Mile. Raucourt. {Respect 
 and good manners were the custom.) I was treated 
 like the child of the house. The next day there 
 was a rehearsal, and Mile. Raucourt presented her 
 pupil. I received all the encouragements so 
 necessary at this supreme moment. Mile. Raucourt 
 was more excited than I was. I was ignorant of 
 the danger, laughed, and amused myself with 
 everything to such a point that on the eve of my 
 debut, while returning from the rue Taitbout, I 
 had a lark in the rue des Colonnes, knocking and 
 ringing at every door. I only had a few hours 
 
90 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 more of that existence of joy and indifference 
 before plunging right into a life of excitement. 
 
 At midday the crowd thronged all the doors 
 of the theatre. {That is true, dear Madame 
 Vahnore ; I am. not lying.) At half-past four, to 
 enter at the stage-door, the guard had to be sent to 
 clear a passage, and poor Mile. Raucourt managed 
 to sprain her foot ; but the courageous woman would 
 not leave me. She had herself carried into my 
 dressing-room, and her doctor came to dress her 
 foot. She looked very touching, and I cried a 
 lot. 
 
 " There, my child, calm yourself. It is nothing, 
 and I am in no pain." 
 
 She was taken into a small proscenium-box which 
 looked on to the theatre. My entry was received 
 with favour. I had the good luck to obtain a great 
 success in my first scene. My fear was slight, 
 although the house was full ; the First Consul was 
 in his box, and the good and charming Josephine 
 and all the family were present at the debut. The 
 pit was filled with actors and people of distinction. 
 All Mile. Raucourt's friends were there : Mme. 
 Dugazon's son, Danty, Audinot's son, the manager 
 of the Ambigu-Comique, all devoted friends ; 
 Casteja, an old prefect ; the Duke of Fitz-James, 
 Prince d'Henin all were in the audience. On my 
 side, my brother in the pit, and my sister in the 
 stalls, put on all my mother's old gloves to make 
 the most noise possible in applauding. 
 
 After my first scene, my fear increased, but 
 
MEMOIRS 91 
 
 action came to my help. Mile. Vanhove played 
 Iphigenie ; Mile. Fleury, Eryphile ; Saint-Prix,^ 
 Agamemnon ; Talma, Achille. My dear Talma 
 was hissed as Achille, the partisans of the 
 handsome Lafont were irritated at not having their 
 Lafont. How Talma had his revenge in the same 
 part, which became one of his finest ! The feeling 
 of the public against Talma began to trouble me. 
 Every moment. Mile. Raucourt sent me a message. 
 " It is going well. Keep firm. There is a cabal. 
 Don't be afraid, but keep on trembling all the 
 same." 
 
 On reaching the fourth act, at the grand tirade — 
 
 " Votis ne demeniez pas une race funeste " — 
 
 I was several times interrupted by hearty applause. 
 Everything was certainly going too splendidly. The 
 malcontents vented their animosity on me at the 
 verse — 
 
 " Avant qu'nn noeud fatal Vunit a voire fir re." 
 
 There was a murmuring, the malevolence was too 
 cruel. Mile. Raucourt cried to me from her 
 box, "Begin again!" I began again. The same 
 murmurs. It came to clapping, and there was much 
 applause. The First Consul disowned the cabal by 
 
 1 Saint-Prix (Jean-Amable Foucault), born at Paris, rue de 
 Crenelle, Saint-Honore, June 9, 1758; bourgeois comedy, 
 la Montausier's Company at Versailles ; made his debut on trial, 
 November 9, 1782, and was received; Societaire, March 24, 
 1784 ; pensioned, April 1,1818; died, October 28, 1834 (Georges 
 Monval, Liste alphabeiiqve des Societaire, etc.). 
 
92 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 applauding. There were cries of, " Begin again." 
 And I began again with more ardour. Saint-Prix 
 said to me, " That's right, child. They want to 
 intimidate you, but don't give way." The third 
 attempt was carried at the point of the sword, and 
 my success was all the greater because it was a 
 protest against palpable malevolence. I was re- 
 called with frenzy. Mile. Raucourt could not 
 appear. Some one came forward to express her 
 thanks and explain the accident which prevented 
 her from responding to the honour which was being 
 done to her. It was a rough evening for professor 
 and debutante ; and indeed for friends as well, 
 for they came into the dressing-room quite in 
 perspiration, and some had torn clothes, since it had 
 come to fists. My poor brother, Charles, had his 
 hands covered with blood. The good Kreutzer was 
 also in the audience ; he was in rags, but he was 
 such an artiste, and so enthusiastic. There was 
 a general embracing. 
 
 " What a grand evening, Raucourt." 
 " Yes, indeed, it was pretty hot. The little 
 madcap never lost her head, though there was 
 reason for it." Monvel said to me — 
 
 " Good, little one ; did you know the line — 
 
 " ' A vaincre sans peril, on lrio7nphe sans gloire ' ? " 
 
 Mile. Contat did not ffiil, for the sake of her dear 
 Fanny, to be present at the debut. After the per- 
 formance she went at once to Mile. Raucourt 's box. 
 She embraced me repeatedly, a very rare thing for 
 
MEMOIRS 93 
 
 her. Even Mile. Raucourt said to me, " You 
 ought to be very proud." 
 
 The First Consul and Josephine sent to compli- 
 ment Mile. Raucourt and to inquire about her 
 sprain, and all the family of the First Consul did 
 the same. Ah ! can that evening ever be forgotten ? 
 No, never ! Those recollections are never effaced. 
 The crowd of fashionable people and of artistes who 
 were squeezed together in the dressing-room, which 
 could scarcely contain them all at once, was very 
 fine and imposing. There was the good Mme. 
 Dugazon,la Saint- Aubin, the artistes from the Grand 
 Op^ra, all had met to support Raucourt's pupil ; in 
 those days there was such fraternity among great 
 artistes. 
 
 We supped at Mme. Dugazon's. Oh, the advice 
 I had to listen to ! I was taken aside. 
 
 " You did very well, my child ; but at your 
 second debut avoid copying your professor." 
 
 Another said, "Always do as Mme. Raucourt tells 
 you. INIind your walk, and don't raise your arms 
 too much. Follow your inspiration, that is much 
 better ; give yourself up to nature, and don't play 
 away from it." 
 
 Still another said, " Don't be afraid. It is better 
 to overshoot the mark than not reach it." 
 
 There were too many suggestions for my experi- 
 ence to be able to distinguish the good from the 
 bad. As a matter of fact, my head was in a whirl. 
 It was a real Chinese puzzle. 
 
 I returned home worn out. JNIy father and 
 
94 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEOK 
 
 mother decided that henceforth we would return 
 home for our modest repast. 1 played Clytemnestra 
 again. I cannot speak of the crowd which came 
 to my debuts. Only it should be known that they 
 lasted for more than a year with a full house. My 
 second debut was more brilliant, and without 
 a hitch. Then I played Amenaide in Tancrede, 
 a part which I liked very much, and which was 
 very fortunate for me. What shall I say of 
 my early successes ? But you can peruse, dear 
 readers, if you like, the newspapers of that period. 
 The part of Idame from I'Orphelin de la Chhie 
 brought me fresh honours. I was credited with 
 depths of maternal tenderness, and, indeed, I loved 
 these mothers' parts. I felt more at ease while 
 playing them. Then followed Didon, Emilie, from 
 Cinna, and finally Phedre. Ah ! I found that so 
 frightfully difficult that I trembled like a leaf. 
 Mile. Raucourt made me play it, however. She 
 made me work at it more than all the others. 
 Then I said to her — 
 
 " It seems to me that for this woman who doesn't 
 eat I am far too healthy." 
 
 " Imbecile ! Am I thin, then ? INIust one look 
 like the beggar of Pere Lachaise to play Phedre 
 well ? She does not eat, true ; but it is only for 
 three days." 
 
 "Ah, yes, of course; that reassures me." I 
 played with more confidence. 
 
 Josephine had sent Mile. Duchesnois and me 
 our costumes for Phedre. They were very beau- 
 
MEMOIRS 95 
 
 tiful, trimmed with gold. That of the Duches- 
 nois was more elaborate — a red cloak spangled 
 with stars, a veil, etc. Mine was more simple — 
 a Marie-Louise blue cloak, with simple em- 
 broidery. The First Consul sent me a remittance 
 of three thousand francs, and the same sum to 
 Mile. Duchesnois. 
 
 We were very happy in our little family after 
 my first performance of Phedre. With what 
 appetite I ate my good lentil salad ! But my beau- 
 tiful mantle had quite torn my arms. My nurse 
 rubbed them with the oil from our excellent 
 lentils. 
 
 " Bah ! that's nothing, ma bonne. What do a 
 few scratches on the arms matter when one has 
 had such a beautiful evening ? The First Consul 
 was there again with his good Josephine. She 
 wanted to see me in her beautiful costume. It 
 suited me well, didn't it, father ? " 
 
 What good luck all at once ! The next day 
 Mile. Raucourt, who put fabulous sums into 
 lotteries, gained a trey^ and made me a present 
 of two little dresses. Of silk, you think ! 
 Not at all, if you please, but of cloth — which 
 was quite good enough for the poor debutante. 
 Poor, but happy. Charmed and dazed by my 
 successes. The crowd which surrounded me, and 
 everything was dazzling to me. When I went to 
 the play I was given a royal reception. What 
 illusions for a poor little strolling player from the 
 country ! 
 
96 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 {Here, dear friends, are the papers ivkich will 
 enable you to classify the paints of my ddbuts, and 
 perhaps you may reproduce some extracts : that ekes 
 out the sauce. ) 
 
 We thought of moving to settle in our furniture. 
 Yes, really, our furniture. A little flat was 
 found in the rue Sainte- Anne, at the corner of the 
 Clos-Georgeot — an entresol which looked on a 
 little bit of a street, right opposite a black- 
 smith. A charming neighbour, which charmed 
 my sleep, and did me the service of making me rise 
 two or three hours earlier. 
 
 Our fine furniture consisted of a black horsehair 
 suite for the drawing-room — yes, the drawing-room, 
 although my dear mother slept there. But it 
 had a recess curtained off, so it was a drawing- 
 room, and it had a little table in the centre. Then 
 there were chairs in the dining-room, and in my 
 bedroom a table and a chest of drawers, which I 
 still keep as a souvenir. There was, besides, a tiny 
 dressing-room, with a couch and table, which I was 
 pleased to call my boudoir. We were right at the 
 back of the courtyard, and, to complete our com- 
 fort, there were stables below us, with hvery 
 coaches kept for hire by Mme. Arsene. That 
 dear creature was long in my service. I never 
 pass along the rue Sainte- Anne without glancing 
 up at my four bow-windows, which are still there. 
 Heaven grant that they may not be demolished ! 
 
 Mme. Germont, Josephine's couturie7^e, occu- 
 pied the first floor in this house, and I often looked 
 
MEMOIRS 97 
 
 in. I used to amuse myself very much with the 
 work-girls, for — shocking, scandalous thing ! I say 
 it to my shame !— we would, in the evening, run and 
 play hide-and-seek in the road. That was a nice 
 thing to see the debutante (who, doubtless wrongly, 
 was causing all Paris to flock to her) playing in the 
 street like a naughty urchin ! So I was thoroughly 
 well scolded by my mother and Mile. Raucourt 
 when the crime was discovered. I was to behave 
 like an artiste, and be bored. 
 
 Lucien Bonaparte, whom I always saw at his 
 sister's, Mme. Bacciochi, where I repaired nearly 
 every morning, sent me a beautiful scarlet necessaire 
 and a hundred gold louis. That made me wild 
 with pleasure, and I danced all around my 
 necessaii^e. As for the money, I didn't know what 
 to do with it — that was for mamma. 
 
 But, alas ! the good Lucien left for Italy. He 
 had just married ; he, a widower, had married a 
 widow. One staunch protector the less for me, 
 and I was also deprived of his good advice in 
 tragedy, which he was passionately fond of. 1 be- 
 lieve that, in spite of his love for his new bride, he 
 had a little fancy for me ; he even spoke of his plans 
 to Mme. Raucourt with all the delicacy possible. 
 He wished to place me in a house of my own, giving 
 me all the masters possible ; my mother, my poor 
 little proud and distinguished mother, was even 
 spoken to about it — my future was assured. I was 
 even taken under a pretext to see the house, and they 
 ended by telling me that it should be mine. 
 
98 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 but that I must live in it alone. Ah ! very likely ; 
 but what is the good of your house to me without 
 my people ? Why, I should die there. I don't 
 want it, and refuse it with all my heart. But all 
 this happened a long time before his departure, 
 which one was far from foreseeing, but still the 
 day of departure came. 
 
 Ah, the men ! they love you and deceive you. 
 But perhaps in this case there was a perfectly 
 honourable and straightforward desire simply to 
 make me happy ! Such things are possible, such 
 things have actually been known. They are rare, 
 I grant, but still they have happened, as I am 
 about to prove. 
 
 Prince Sapieha 
 
 In the midst of all the noise and splendid success 
 one had to be on one's guard. You understand 
 that many overtures and proposals were made, 
 and how could it be otherwise ? On the stage one 
 always has admirers, handsome and ugly ; one 
 is assailed by them. My mother received and 
 refused these proposals, as was her duty. A sister 
 of my mother's came to stay with us ; she was my 
 sister Oribelle's godmother, a very good hearted 
 woman, but quite a coquette, giddy and incon- 
 sequent, and not in the least strict. I liked her 
 very much, and the reason is easy to find ; I told her 
 things I never would have dared to tell my mother. 
 Besides, she flattered me — decidedly one likes to be 
 
MEMOIRS 99 
 
 flattered. Whenever I played, my mother had a 
 thousand observations to make— and she was right. 
 My aunt always found me superb — she was wrong, 
 still she pleased me. Then she told me all that 
 she had heard. Alas ! she doubtless lied ; she did 
 me harm, but she gave me pleasure. My mother, 
 on the contrary, used to say to me, " I heard some 
 one say that you ought to pay more attention 
 to your walk ; that your exits were faulty, while 
 your delivery was sometimes too hurried, so that 
 the words lost their charm." 
 
 My mother was right, but it did not please 
 me. Treacherous flattery is our undoing, yet 
 we love it. We are always discarding the good 
 and choosing the evil. That which should have 
 drawn me to my mother estranged me, that which 
 should have estranged me from my aunt drew me 
 nearer to her ; by her exaggerated praises she 
 attracted my confidence. Oh ! how was one so 
 young to understand and distinguish between good 
 and evil ? 
 
 I lived very simply, and went on foot to the 
 theatre through the frightful passage Saint - 
 Guillaume. However, I had been given the 
 luxury of a dresser — an indispensable luxury. I 
 would never have consented to see my mother in 
 the wings holding my glass of water ; besides she 
 would not have done it. She never came behind 
 the scenes ; she had her box, and kept to it all the 
 evening. I find it so humiliating and out of place to 
 see a mother at her daughter's side ; that gives 
 
100 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 material for objectionable interpretations, at least 
 that is my way of looking at it. I had many 
 little worries to experience from my rivals, and 
 many vile anonymous letters, a despicable custom 
 which was indulged in too inuch. When I played 
 well I got them from soured people ; but that was 
 such a small matter that T bothered myself very 
 little about it : it animated me in fact. Opposi- 
 tion always suited me — it was a stimulus which 
 spurred me on. One day, however, an infamous 
 thing was done to me. I was to play Phedre 
 in the evening. At noon I received a wretched 
 little paper which said that at Abbeville, during 
 a performance, some rubbish had fallen from the 
 side of the theatre, and had hit the conductor of the 
 orchestra — the conductor was my father. You 
 may judge of my fright and despair. Heavens ! 
 What was I to do ? There was no railway and no 
 electric telegraph. I did not wish to play — I was 
 going to start at once ; I felt dead. At four o'clock 
 I received a letter from my father. Life returned 
 to me — what a shock I had been given ! T wrote 
 at once that I would play ; but the blow had been 
 so violent and lacerating that 1 arrived exhausted 
 at the theatre, and at the fourth act I fell on 
 the stage at the side of the good Mme. Guen, 
 who was playing Ql]none. She was such a frail little 
 woman that she was unable to lift me, so 1 had to be 
 carried off. The public, which was so kind to me, 
 asked for news, and Florence announced that it 
 was impossible for me to continue. There was not 
 
MEMOIRS 101 
 
 a murmur. The rumour of the cause of my fainting 
 soon spread through the house. The authors of 
 such an infamy were sought out and recognised. 
 I could have pursued the matter to make a scandal ; 
 but I have never cared about it. Rivalry often 
 makes you very cruel ; so much the worse for her 
 who has the evil instinct, she will be punished for 
 it. A few days afterwards I thought no more 
 about it, I only said in the person's ear, *' You 
 were very cruel ; but it's all the same — go on, 
 you will end by amusing me very much." 
 
 ( That is a fact. It was the good Duchesiiois who 
 had had the aiiicle inserted. ) 
 
 I was not without visitors, especially foreigners, 
 who are generally very fond of artistes and their 
 society. There was an old Marquis de Veuil, who 
 was always in observation, and who constituted 
 himself the cicerone of every stranger of distinction 
 who arrived. The marquis led a jolly life, and kept 
 a carriage. How did he manage to keep up such 
 an existence ? No one knows. But still he was 
 received everywhere. People are so indifferent and 
 easy in Paris. You come in a carriage, you wear a 
 ribbon in your lapel ; you are the man to do the 
 right thing: so, it is understood that you are 
 received everywhere. He came to visit me in my 
 dressing-room, nearly always accompanied by some 
 handsome gentleman covered with orders, and 
 always a foreigner ! The old marquis presented 
 them all to Count de Livry's set, a set where 
 play went on. Doubtless the old marquis got his 
 
102 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 commission from the introduction. He asked 
 permission to pay his respects to me at home (he 
 was very polite, the old marquis). 
 
 " Come, by all means, marquis, I will receive you." 
 
 He visited my modest retreat, and was very 
 surprised. 
 
 " Well, yes, marquis, you see how it is. T am 
 quite comfortable." 
 
 " Good gracious, what a noise ! One can scarcely 
 hear oneself speak." 
 
 " Don't get alarmed : it is my neighbour the smith, 
 who, unfortimately for your delicate ears, is very 
 busy to-day. It is very annoying, and I am very 
 sorry about it. As for me 1 am used to it." 
 
 " But you can't stay here." 
 
 " 1 am going to stay here unless you have a 
 palace to offer me. Till then T won't be separated 
 from my blacksmith : I am fond of him." 
 
 " Dear young lady, one needs to be young like 
 you to endure such a din." 
 
 " I endure it and laugh at it." 
 
 " I came to beg you to receive Prince Sapieha, 
 a distinguished man, who adores artistes and seeks 
 their society. He goes to your performances every 
 time, and he will be very happy if you will receive 
 him." 
 
 " Why not, if my mother allows it ? We receive 
 many people, as my neighbour the smith can tell 
 you ; so I can receive Prince Sapieha." 
 
 My aunt encouraged this reception a great deal ; 
 perhaps she liked Poles I 
 
MEMOIRS 108 
 
 The prince was presented to me. He was 
 certainly a very distinguished man, tall and slender, 
 with a refined and charming physiognomy. He was 
 elegant without affectation, very simple, which is 
 a sure sign of an aristocrat. He stayed but a short 
 time, and did not load me with compliments, which 
 is, again, very distinguished in a man of parts, and 
 obtained leave to come next day. He returned, 
 and asked permission for me to accept as homage 
 to my youthful talent a superb red cashmere shawl, 
 a lace veil, and a small trinket for the neck, with 
 a chain and a small medallion. My mother said to 
 him — 
 
 " Monsieur, if you offer these presents to the 
 artiste, she will receive them as an artiste." 
 
 Prince Sapieha, really a great noble, was smitten 
 with me, not with love to be sure, but he felt a real 
 attachment. He regarded me as a child who is 
 amused with everything. Prince I^ucien before his 
 departure sent me a magnificent scarlet necessaire ; 
 at the bottom of the silver-gilt teapot were a 
 hundred golden louis. 
 
 " Just look, mother, here are some gold pieces. 
 Take them quickly. Ah, how good M. Lucien is to 
 think of his little protegee ! I will go and thank 
 him." 
 
 I was received next day at noon ; he said to 
 me — 
 
 " Dear child, that is such a little matter. I 
 wanted to do more to make you independent 
 and happy." 
 
104 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 " But I am very happy." 
 
 " Yes, for the moment ; but consider how uncer- 
 tain everything is. You are young : think of 
 the future. The pubHc is capricious ; try to make 
 yourself independent before retiring, in case you 
 experience a reverse." 
 
 He had taken my arm, and was trotting me 
 about the garden, moraHsing. He was right. He 
 led me to my carriage, which he ordered to advance 
 to the grille which looked out on the rue de 
 rUniversite. There was, and is still, a pump at 
 the same place. I never pass there without giving 
 a glance at the great gate and thinking gratefully 
 of Prince Lucien. 
 
 He left next day. I promised to write to 
 him about everything which happened to me. I 
 did it for some time, and then no more ; I was an 
 ungrateful creature. I reproached myself about it, 
 but too late. The past one forgets too quickly, one 
 can never recall it : it is too late. Alas, those 
 words, too late ! It is frightful ! 
 
 I very much wanted a pair of bracelets made of 
 some one or other's hair, with two large roses for 
 clasps. I had seen these bracelets at a little one- 
 eyed jeweller's. They cost a fabulous sum : two 
 hundred francs. It was not to be dreamed of. Out 
 of Prince Lucien's hundred louis my mother bought 
 them for me, and placed them without telling me 
 in my iiecessaij^e, which I used to visit at least ten 
 times a day. I leave you to imagine how delighted 
 I was. What a long time I kept the two little 
 
MEMOIRS 105 
 
 bracelets ! They cost me a fabulous sum in cotton 
 wool. I changed it every day, which amused 
 Prince Sapieha very much. 
 
 " You can't remain in these little lodgings ; 
 you must look for others. Don't bother about 
 anything else." 
 
 My aunt went on the track, and in the rue Saint- 
 Honore, No. 334, opposite the mansion of M. 
 Lebrun, the Third Consul, I was taken to look at 
 some apartments on the first floor with a large 
 balcony. Ah, if only they do not pull down that 
 beautiful house and my dear balcony, my first 
 luxury ! Fancy, apartments at 2,400 francs, with 
 coach-houses and stables ! 
 
 " Ah, aunt, how beautiful it is ; but there is no 
 furniture, there are no horses." 
 
 "Reassure yourself; I am charged with all 
 that." 
 
 " By whom ? " 
 
 *' By Prince Sapieha." 
 
 " Indeed, by Prince Sapieha ! That is aU very 
 well ; but I don't like him, so I wish to accept 
 nothing." 
 
 " He knows that, but it makes no difference to 
 him ; he wants you to have a nice establishment 
 such as you deserve." 
 
 " He doesn't want anything else ? Well and 
 good." 
 
 After all my conditions had been properly fixed I 
 let the generous nobleman do all he desired. It 
 may appear very strange, perhaps, to meet with so 
 
106 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 much disinterested magnificence. It exists and has 
 existed for me, and doubtless for many others 
 besides. Have we not seen people who have left 
 legacies to artistes in their wills ? Prince Sapieha 
 gave his bequests during his lifetime, which is 
 much greater and more nobly generous. He 
 made people happy at once. It is much better 
 to be blessed in one's lifetime than after one's 
 death. It is less egotistical ; that which one gives 
 one has no more, so that only to give after one's 
 death is but miserly generosity. 
 
 I was consulted about my tastes. They were 
 very few ; on leaving my little retreat everything 
 seemed luxury to me. I had my bedroom in 
 lilac and embroidered muslin. As for the boudoir 
 which led into my room, I would let nothing be 
 placed there, keeping it for my maid ; I was too 
 big a coward not to have her near me. The 
 drawing-room was in pink silk, and black velvet. 
 The dining-room was entirely in white. In those 
 days luxury was very modest, the middle period 
 did not exist, and Boule furniture M'^as unknown. 
 It was a mistake ; it is really beautiful. There 
 is now such elegant taste in furniture. Besides 
 the springs are so good, the sofas so comfortable, 
 instead of our hard furniture. We had everything 
 classical, which was doubtless very elegant, but 
 very gloomy and severe. In the niidst of a 
 Grecian setting one could not put on the airs of 
 a Pompadour. One would have looked grotesque. 
 Tunics and coiffures a la Titus were worn ; it was 
 
MEMOIRS lor 
 
 a very pretty style, but sad to have to cut off one's 
 beautiful hair. One became half a man. The Indian 
 muslin tunics were very charming, and it was 
 really nice to have bare shoulders and arms. But 
 how wretched for the thin women ! One had to 
 be somewhat statuesque to carry the costume to 
 advantage. Statues show their shoulders, bosoms 
 and arms. I was very astonished when I saw 
 tragediennes covered right to the neck like men. 
 I said to myself : Perhaps everything has changed. 
 The statues of to-day are more modest ; they 
 wish to be dressed like vestal virgins. To be 
 sure it is more proper ! Morality demands it ! 
 People have become so chaste. Besides, it suits 
 thin women so well. Still Venus and Diana have 
 their admirers. But perhaps they, too, will soon 
 be veiled. Let us hope so : morality demands it ! 
 
 {Dear Valmoi'es, both of you please excuse my 
 nonsense.) 
 
 Let us return to human matters. Here I am, 
 then, in my apartments. There is nothing lack- 
 ing, but my head is not the least turned with 
 all the splendour. I walk on the magnificent 
 carpets. I see myself reflected in superb mirrors, 
 but I look no more frequently ! 
 
 My good prince was happy in the kindness he 
 was doing me. Every day there were pleasant 
 surprises. China was everywhere, even on the 
 little table in my bedroom ; the table was also 
 classical, with gilded fauns' feet and white marble. 
 While I was at the play my nurse came to dust ; 
 
108 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 she was very tidy and very clumsy. The table 
 was upset, and all the beautiful china smashed. 
 Poor Marianne, how she feared my return, or, 
 even more, my mother's. What was to be done ? 
 As for me I laughed. 
 
 " There, don't torment yourself. I would rather 
 that than be ill. Tell mamma, and, above all, 
 don't answer back, and go quickly to bed ; to- 
 morrow it won't be seen any more. Bah ! we 
 will get some others ; only it doesn't do to be so 
 tidy!" 
 
 We were pretty nearly " en famille." My 
 mother and my aunt were always very in- 
 dulgent. My brother Charles, who was first 
 violin at the Theatre de Feydeau, did not live 
 with us, but came to dine every day with his family. 
 My good father was still at Amiens, and travelled 
 frequently to Paris. We kept a carriage, and my 
 aunt had brought with her a little boy, the son of 
 her bonne, a poor woman who died at Amiens in a 
 frightful way. My aunt had just taken a foot- 
 bath in a china basin. She got back to bed and 
 rang for Jane to take away the basin. My aunt 
 lived on the second floor, with windows and a 
 balcony. Unfortunate woman ! The bath water 
 was soapy ; the basin slipped, and in trying to catch 
 it Jane fell on to the pavement, and her head was 
 smashed. A frightful sight ! My aunt was very 
 grieved to lose the woman in such a way, who had 
 been in her service for twelve years, so she looked 
 after her orphan son. It was the same little Joseph 
 
MEMOIRS 109 
 
 whom I dressed as a jockey, what we call a tiger 
 to-day, who stood behind the carriage in the day- 
 time. Joseph was very happy, but in the evening 
 he was terribly afraid, and we were obliged to take 
 him with us inside the carriage, much to our 
 amusement. Poor little fellow ! We were very 
 fond of him, and we did not wish to make him 
 unhappy and doubtless ill through fear. " Some one 
 will catch hold of my legs. Oh, do take me inside ; 
 I shall fall." 
 
 Life was full of gaiety. There were artistic 
 triumphs and passionate declarations. On reaching 
 home I was always sure of finding a good number of 
 the latter, and among them some very curious ones. 
 
 One day I had an appointment at the Catacombs. 
 Fie ! horror ! I could only be seen there, I was 
 told ; it was necessary to act with mystery ; the 
 considerations which had to be watched were so 
 great, but I need not be in the least afraid. My 
 position would be compromised in acting with less 
 prudence. " I know how you inspire an illustrious 
 personage ; it would be dangerous for me if the 
 passion you inspire me with were perceived. 
 Trust me, then, and come ; if I am fortunate enough 
 not to displease you, I swear that a visit in a place 
 which at first must seem gloomy to you shall not 
 be renewed. My ardent desire is to dedicate my 
 life to you, and place my fortune at your feet. If 
 you consent, stand this evening at midnight before 
 your window." 
 
 Very well, yes, I will stand at the window. 
 
110 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 but to laugh at you. You can wait for me, amiable 
 lover, in the midst of your charming retreat of 
 bones, and place your sighs and your fortune there. 
 Come then, Clementine (my maid) ; he is a fool or 
 an assassin. His proposal is a nice one ! If he makes 
 many such offers of his fortune, he will keep it for 
 a long while. That lover is nothing but a Jew, and 
 a Jew and a Gascon combined ! 
 
 This droll lover pursued me with three or four 
 letters ; then I heard no more mention of him. I 
 was wrong not to take the letters to the prefect of 
 police. To-day one would not fail to do so. The 
 imbecile fears to lose his position, he says, and 
 places his fortune at my feet ! Renounce your 
 position, impassioned man, and unmask yourself in 
 the open day ; then, perhaps, we will consent to 
 look at you. What soft pleasantry ! 
 
 Another, who was of a good family, said if I 
 would consent to receive him, he would disguise 
 himself as a woman. That would certainly have 
 been fun ! But I never admitted travesties. 
 
 Another announced himself under the name of 
 M. Papillottes {Mr. Curling Papers). This seemed 
 humorous ; my maid had seen him. He was a man 
 of about forty-five, nice, with good manners, but 
 very original. He slipped into the theatre, and 
 when I played chatted with the gentlemen and 
 ladies. With me he assumed the air of a dear 
 papa. One day he heard me cough. 
 
 " Allow me to send you some sir op des ties, it 
 is excellent for the chest." 
 
MEMOIRS 111 
 
 " Thank you, monsieur, I shall be very pleased." 
 
 Next day, I actually received boxes of sirops, 
 liqueurs des lies, and sugar-loaves. Ah, the good 
 man is a wholesale grocer ! He came to see me, 
 the dear fellow ! Ah, there was no danger in 
 receiving him. What a singular personage ! 
 
 " Ah ! you have a bad hair-dresser. He puts in 
 your curl-papers very badly. Let me arrange them 
 for you." 
 
 Heavens I perhaps he is a wig-maker ! I laughed 
 with Clementine till I was nearly ill. 
 
 " Come, give some paper to monsieur, since he 
 wants so much to do my hair." 
 
 " No, no, your paper is no good. I have mine 
 in my pocket." 
 
 " Doubtless, Clementine, he is an insolent hair- 
 dresser." 
 
 " Have you also your curling-irons ? " 
 
 " No, mademoiselle, there is no need to use heat 
 for my curling-papers. Just let them stop in two 
 hours, and your hair will curl wonderfully ; you 
 will see how pleased you will be." 
 
 I yielded my head to him, and he fixed I don't 
 know how many curl-papers for me, then he said — 
 
 " Will you let me visit you in a few days ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Clementine, never let that man enter again : 
 you understand ? Come quickly, remove all the 
 paper, and tidy my hair. The beast of a man has 
 pulled it and hurt me horribly. Come quickly, 
 and remove the dirty paper." 
 
112 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 "Good gracious, what queer paper! Look, 
 mademoiselle ! " 
 
 They were banknotes ! Why, of course, he was 
 a banker. There were at least twenty notes, each 
 for 500 francs. 
 
 {My good friend Valmore, it is time, I swear to 
 you.) 
 
 Ah, that fellow had no need of Catacombs ; but 
 " Papillottes " is a very pretty name, and I hope he 
 will stick to it. 
 
 I had enough of M. Papillottes, who had placed 
 his twenty 500-franc notes on my head. In spite of 
 monsieur's golden coiffure, he bored me, and very 
 often I refused him the door. That was a pity, for 
 the dear man was very much in love with his hair- 
 dressing profession, in which he acquitted himself 
 so well, only asking humbly to kiss my hand. 
 His was a courtesy extremely rare, but in spite of it 
 I had to put an end to it : all his curling-papers 
 could not rid me of the somnolence his presence 
 caused me. 
 
 The elegant Prince Sapieha was witty and very 
 amusing. I saw him rarely ; he had a frenzied 
 passion for play, which occupied him exclusively. 
 Besides, he did not care at all about love : I 
 interested him and that was all. He was really 
 my friend. Friendly conversations are apt to 
 languish. 
 
 " How are you, my dear child ? " 
 " Quite well; and you, prince ? " 
 " I am very tired, dear. I spent the night at 
 
MEMOIRS 113 
 
 play, and am done up this morning. Ah, you played 
 Amenaide yesterday. Had you many people ? " 
 
 *' A great many ; besides the First Consul was 
 there." 
 
 " Diable ! Is the First Consul, then, so fond of 
 tragedy ? He goes nearly every time." 
 
 "It is true, but Talma always plays with me, and 
 the First Consul is very fond of Talma. As for me, 
 I feel more animated when I see him in his box, 
 and he knows it. He must see himself some- 
 times among those great heroes ; I am sure he 
 talks with them. He is so great, too, is our 
 First Consul ; grandeur suits him so well, and 
 how handsome he is ! I should like to see him and 
 speak to him. I am told his voice and speech are 
 very soft. And what a pretty little hand ! it is 
 seen to perfection, for he places it in front 
 of his box. Very likely there is some amorous 
 intention in that. Why not ? Great men have 
 their weaknesses, too." 
 
 "My dear, you are mad about your First 
 Consul." 
 
 " No, I am not mad about him ; I like and admire 
 him, the same as everybody else. You see, when 
 he enters his box, the women rise and applaud him, 
 but still they are not mad about him. It is the 
 enthusiasm of delirium ; it is no use to keep order. 
 Really it is a regular outburst." 
 
 I believe the prince was not of my opinion. Ah ! 
 if he had said a word against my Consul, I should 
 very politely have shown him the door. I have 
 
114 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 always loved the name of Napoleon : it was my 
 cult, and I have never changed it. I have never 
 been so silly as to have opinions — I, a woman and 
 an actress ! But I have allowed myself to adore 
 his name, and my affections have always remained 
 faithful. I have never hidden them, and have 
 proclaimed them to whoever wished to listen to 
 me. It is of no consequence — still it comforted my 
 poor heart. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Bonaparte — Liaison with the First Consul — Talleyrand — Talma 
 
 My first interview with the First Consul. 
 
 I had just played Iphigenie en Aulide (Clytemnes- 
 tra). The First Consul was present at the per- 
 formance. On returning home I found the Consul's 
 chief valet. Constant, who came to beg me, on behalf 
 of the Consul, to allow myself to be taken next 
 evening, at eight o'clock, to Saint-Cloud, because 
 the Consul wished to congratulate me himself on 
 my success. 
 
 I was seized with a kind of fright, I who some 
 days before had manifested to the prince my 
 ambitious desire of speaking to the Consul. The 
 occasion was offered and I was petrified. Was 
 I content ? Indeed, no, and at that moment I 
 was very little desirous of grandeurs. What was I 
 to do ? How was I to answer Constant, who was 
 there with his jolly face seeming so astonished at 
 
MEMOIRS 115 
 
 the immobility of mine ? What a strange thing is 
 the human heart ! 
 
 I who had never thought of Prince Sapieha, 
 thought of him then ; of him who was so excellent, 
 such a great noble, who offered me everything I 
 could desire, who was so amusing, had such charm- 
 ing manners, asking nothing but to kiss the tips of 
 my fingers, leaving me in perfect liberty and in my 
 peaceful innocence, a thing agreed upon and 
 adhered to between us. What could I desire more ? 
 Nothing ! Well, if I had to be ungrateful I was 
 going to be so with a vengeance. I confess curiosity 
 settled it, or self-love : how do I know ? I replied 
 to Constant, '* Tell the First Consul, monsieur, 
 that I shall have the honour of repairing to Saint- 
 Cloud to-morrow. You can come and fetch me at 
 eight o'clock, but not at my home, at the theatre." 
 At the theatre ? Why ? I don't know at all. I 
 suppose to compromise myself at once. Foolish 
 vanity which took possession of a poor young girl ! 
 
 After dismissing Constant I was very sad. I 
 passed a quite restless night and was very discon- 
 tented with myself. What shall I say to the 
 Consul ? What does he want of me ? Besides, 
 he could quite well come to me. Certainly this 
 interview is worrying me, and I am very much 
 tempted not to go to Saint-Cloud. In spite of 
 these reflections I speculated how I ought to dress. 
 In white or pink ? An elaborate toilette or a 
 pretty neglige ? Bah ! I will see to that to-morrow. 
 I am going to sleep at last. Heavens ! why has the 
 
116 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Consul taken a fancy to see me ? He is master, 
 and one can't refuse. That is quite right : it is not 
 my fault, I couldn't refuse. So let us go to sleep. 
 
 At eight o'clock I rang for my maid. 
 
 " Well, Clementine, I haven't closed an eye. I 
 wanted badly to ring for you and chat. Come, let 
 us talk. AVhat am I to put on to go there ? " 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle, what a bad temper you are 
 in I How many others there are who would like to 
 be in your place ! " 
 
 " Do you think so ? That's nice." 
 
 " Yes, certainly, mademoiselle ; if the Volnais, 
 the Bourgoin,^ or even Mile. Mars herself could be 
 called in your place, they would be overjoyed. Just 
 imagine, it is the First Consul ! If you don't 
 understand, it is because you are quite a child." 
 
 Clementine was a shrewd, sharp maid, who 
 understood how to get the upper hand. She 
 pricked my amour propre through my vanity : she 
 made her point. Poor humanity ! 
 
 The day seemed to me immeasurably long. 
 I could not stay still ; I went to the bois de 
 Boulogne ; I visited my perfumer and milliner. 
 At the theatre I met Talma. 
 
 " What is the matter with you ? You look 
 
 ^ Bourgoin (Marie-Th^rese-fitiennette);, born in Paris, rue des 
 Deux-Anges, July 4, 1781 ; made her debut, September 13, 1799 ; 
 fresh debuts, November 28, 1801 ; Soci^taire in March 1802; 
 retired, April 1, 1829; died in Paris, April 11, 1833; interred 
 at Pere-Lachaise (Georges Monval, Lisle alphabetique des 
 SociHaires, etc.). 
 
MEMOIRS 117 
 
 quite distraught. I wish you good-day, and you 
 do not reply and push past me. Are j^ou ill ? or 
 are you angry with the manager ? " 
 
 " It is you, Talma, who are mad to say what you 
 do. There is nothing the matter with me." 
 
 Fleury took me by the hands, the old scoffer. 
 
 " Come, look at me. To-day you are as red as a 
 cherry, you who are generally as pale as the lily of 
 the valley. Are you angry ? Look, Contat : don't 
 you note a strange air about her, an air of conquest ! 
 Ha ! ha ! there is something up 1 " 
 
 Ah, mon Dieu ! is it known already ? What do 
 these people mean, then ? 
 
 " I have a headache. Can't I have a headache ? 
 You have the gout badly. Monsieur Fleury, and 
 you laugh at me. Well, are you in a good temper 
 when you have the gout ? " 
 
 " Oh, what a naughty girl ! Don't let us talk to 
 her any more, she is in the mood to treat us all 
 badly, even her well beloved Talma. Let us 
 embrace her as a punishment and be off." 
 
 Charming and amiable Fleury ! he was always 
 a marquis, even in his slippers and dressing-gown I 
 
 I returned home quickly. It seemed to me as if 
 I had a tablet on my back, on which was written 
 my appointment. Six o'clock at last. " Come, 
 Clementine, dress me ; a white muslin neglige, but 
 nothing on my head, a lace veil, a cashmere shawl — 
 that is all. I am going to the theatre to pass away 
 the two mortal hours. Come with me : you can 
 tell me when Constant comes." 
 
118 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 I installed myself in a box to be quite alone. 
 Volnais found me there. Heaven bless her ! 
 What a bore ! Misanthropie et repentir was being 
 played : I shall never forget. 
 
 " Are you going to see all the show, George ? " 
 
 " No ; and you ? " 
 
 " Neither am I ; I have something on at nine 
 o'clock." 
 
 (Good. She has, too.) 
 
 " Where are you going, then, in such a fine 
 toilette ? Is there a ball somewhere ? " 
 
 " No, I am going to a soiree. Your dress is splen- 
 did." (I confess I preferred mine ; it was simpler.) 
 
 Poor Volnais. She was going to our brave 
 Governor's, General Junot. The dress presaged 
 the bad taste of her admirer. The liaison had 
 lasted a long time. She planted on him children 
 he was not responsible for, but which Michelot had 
 taken the trouble to manufacture. 
 
 {That is f 07' you to see to, my dear Valmore.) 
 
 Clementine came. 
 " You are waited for." 
 
 "Ah, Clementine, how I should like to return 
 home ! " 
 
 I found Constant at the foot of the staircase at 
 the stage door. We got into the carriage driven 
 by the celebrated Cesar, who was rather too fond 
 of the bottle. This habit had its advantage ; on 
 the day the bomb was to be thrown in the rue 
 Nicaise it saved the Emperor and Empress, who 
 were on their way to the opera, for Cesar, being 
 
MEMOIRS 119 
 
 somewhat intoxicated, drove his horses with such 
 rapidity that the frightful attempt failed. 
 
 At last we are off. What passed within me on 
 the road it is impossible to describe. My heart 
 beat enough to burst through my bosom. I did not 
 talk. From time to time 1 said to Constant — 
 
 " I am dying of fear. You would do well to take 
 me back home, and to tell the First Consul that I am 
 indisposed. Do that, and I promise you to come 
 another time." 
 
 " Ah, very likely ! I should be well received ! " 
 
 " But when I tell you, monsieur, that my fear is 
 so great that I could not say a word, that I shall 
 be frozen, and your First Consul will consider 
 me the greatest stupid he has ever seen. Do you 
 know I shall be very humiliated ? " 
 
 Constant laughed quite heartily, which seemed 
 very rude to me. 
 
 " Reassure yourself. You will see how kind 
 the Consul is, you will very soon be rid of your 
 fright. Be calm, he is waiting for you with lively 
 impatience. Ah ! here we are ! Come, made- 
 moiselle, reassure yourself, but, of course, go on 
 trembling." 
 
 We crossed the orangery, then we reached 
 the bedroom window which looks out on the 
 terrace, where Roustan was waiting for us. He 
 hfted the curtain and closed the window after me 
 going to another room. Constant said to me : 
 " I am going to tell the First Consul." 
 
 There I was alone in that large room ; there 
 
120 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 was an immense bed in the background, opposite 
 the mndow, large green silk curtains, a big sofa 
 stretched before the fire. There were large can- 
 delabra filled with lighted candles ; and a big 
 chandelier. Heavens ! it is lit up as if for a ball. 
 It is frightful. Nothing can escape his glances ; 
 a spot of rouge would be seen. Everything is 
 large here. There is not even a little mysterious 
 corner where one can undress ; everything is open. 
 This is too fine for me ! Let me take that arm- 
 chair. There, between the bed and the fire-place, 
 I shall be a little hidden ; I shall not be noticed 
 immediately. Ah, that reassures me a little ; then, 
 with my veil well lowered, I shall be bolder. 
 
 I hear a little movement. Ah ! how my heart 
 beats ! It is he. The Consul enters by the door 
 which was at the side of the fire-place, which leads 
 into the library. 
 
 {All these details will seem futile to you, my dear 
 Marceli7ie ; I think, though, they ought to be given. ) 
 
 The Consul was in silk stockings, white satin 
 knee-breeches, green uniform, red facings and 
 collar, his hat under his arm. 
 
 I got up. He came towards me with that 
 charming smile which only belongs to him, took 
 me by the hand, and made me sit on the enormous 
 sofa. He lifted my veil, which he threw on the 
 ground without more ado. 
 
 My beautiful veil ! That is kind of him ; if 
 he walks on it he will tear it for me. How 
 disagreeable ! 
 

 i/g,7tanfiM)iy 
 
MEMOIRS 121 
 
 " How your hand trembles ! Are you then afraid 
 of me ? Do I seem terrible to you ? I found you 
 exceedingly beautiful yesterday, madame, and I 
 wished to compliment you. I am more amiable 
 and polite than you, as you see." 
 
 " How is that, monsieur ? " 
 
 " How ! I sent you a remittance of three 
 thousand francs after seeing you in Emilie, as a 
 proof of the pleasure you gave me. I hoped 
 you would ask permission to present yourself to 
 thank me. But the beautiful and haughty Emilie 
 did not come." 
 
 I stammered, and did not know what to say. 
 
 " But I did not know ; I did not dare to take 
 the hberty." 
 
 " Oh, a poor excuse ! Were you, then, afraid of 
 me ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And now ? " 
 
 "Still more." 
 
 The Consul laughed heartily. 
 
 " Tell me your name." 
 
 " Josephine-Marguerite." 
 
 *' Josephine pleases me, I like that name ; but I 
 would prefer to call you Georgina. Hein ! would 
 you like it ? I wish it." 
 
 {This was my name with all the Emperors 
 family. ) 
 
 "You do not speak, my dear Georgina. 
 Why?" 
 
 " Because all these lights fatigue me. Have 
 
122 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 them extinguished, I beg you ; it seems to me I 
 shall be more at my ease to listen to you and 
 reply." 
 
 " Give your own orders, dear Georgina." 
 
 He rang for Roustan. 
 
 "Extinguish the chandelier." 
 
 *' Is that enough ? " 
 
 " No, half these enormous candelabra besides." 
 
 " Very good. Extinguish them." 
 
 " Now does it seem too much ? " 
 
 " Not too much, just enough." 
 
 {Dear Madame Valmore, all these details will 
 seem very childish to you, but they are true, tJiough 
 badly told by me. In your haiids they will be 
 charming. Such taste and delicacy is needed ! You 
 possess all that.) 
 
 The Consul, sometimes fatigued by his glorious 
 and responsible duties, seemed to take some 
 pleasure in being with a young girl who spoke 
 simply to him. It was, I think, a new experience 
 for him. 
 
 " Come, Georgina, tell me all you have done. 
 Be simple and frank, and tell me." 
 
 He was so kind and simple that my fear 
 disappeared. 
 
 " I shall bore you. Then how can I tell you 
 everything who have no brains ? I shall be a very 
 bad story-teller." 
 
 " Never mind, tell me all the same." 
 
 I told the tale of my poor little existence ; how 
 I came to Paris, and all my troubles. 
 
MEMOIRS 128 
 
 " My dear child, you certainly were not rich ; 
 but what is your position now ? Who gave you 
 this beautiful shawl, veil, and all the other 
 things ? " 
 
 He knew everything. I told him the whole 
 truth about Prince Sapieha. 
 
 ** That is good ; you do not lie. You will come 
 and see me and will be very discreet. Promise 
 me." 
 
 He was very tender and delicate. He did not 
 wound my modesty by too much fervour, and was 
 glad to find a timid resistance. Heavens ! I do 
 not say he was in love, but quite certainly I 
 pleased him. I could not doubt it. Would he 
 have put up with all my childish whims ? Would 
 he have spent a night in his desire to convince 
 me ? Moreover, he was very excited and desirous 
 of pleasing me ; he yielded to my continuous 
 prayers for indulgence. 
 
 " Not to-day ; wait, and I will return, I promise 
 you." 
 
 He yielded — that man before whom every one 
 was pliant. Perhaps I charmed him ! We went 
 on so till five o'clock in the morning. And since 
 eight o'clock in the evening, that was time enough. 
 
 " I should like to go." 
 
 "You must be tired, dear Georgina. Good- 
 bye till to-morrow, then. You will come ? " 
 
 " Yes, gladly. You are too kind and gracious 
 for one not to love you, and I love you with all 
 my heart." 
 
124 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 He put on my shawl and veil. I was far from 
 guessing as to what was to happen to those poor 
 objects. In saying good-bye he kissed me on my 
 forehead. I was a silly ; I burst out laughing, and 
 said to him — 
 
 " Ah, that's splendid ! You have just kissed 
 Prince Sapieha's veil." 
 
 He took the veil and tore it into a thousand 
 pieces ; the shawl was thrown under his feet. I 
 was wearing, too, a little chain round my neck, 
 which carried a medallion of the most modest of 
 stones, the cornelian ; on my little finger a ring 
 even more modest in crystal, where Mme. Ponty 
 had placed some of Mile. Raucourt's white hairs. 
 The little ring was snatched from my finger, and 
 the Consul crushed it beneath his foot. Ah ! he 
 was then no longer gentle. I was afraid, and said 
 to myself, " It will be some time before you see me 
 again." I trembled. Then he became quite gentle 
 again with me. 
 
 " Dear Georgina, you mustn't have anything 
 except what comes fi'om me. Do not sulk with 
 me ; that would be wrong, and I should have a 
 poor opinion of your feelings if it were other^vise." 
 
 It was impossible to be angry with this man for 
 long ; there was so much sweetness and tenderness 
 in his voice that one was forced to say, " After all, 
 he acted quite rightly." 
 
 {Oil my life all this is true.) 
 
 " You are quite right. No, I am not angry, but 
 I shall be cold." 
 
MEMOIRS 125 
 
 He rang for Constant. 
 
 " Bring a white cashmere shawl and a large lace 
 veil." He accompanied me as far as the orangery. 
 " Till to-morrow, Georgina, till to-morrow." 
 
 That is literally my first interview with that 
 immense man. Constant said nothing to me ; he 
 did well. I was not disposed to converse with 
 him. He fell into a slumber, and did nothing but 
 snore on the journey. But I did not sleep. I 
 thought the Consul very charming but very violent. 
 It is nothing but an existence of slavery. I am going 
 to give myself, without the least hope of liberty, 
 and I am very fond of my independence. Shall I 
 return to-morrow as I promised him ? I am 
 undecided. He pleases me ; I find him so kind 
 and gentle with me. Then how do I know that it 
 is not a caprice ? It would be very sad and very 
 humiliated to be left. Night brings counsel ; let us 
 wait. On reaching home Constant said to me — 
 
 " This evening, at eight o'clock, I will come and 
 fetch you." 
 
 " No, I have not decided ; come at three o'clock, 
 and I wiU see. Tell the Consul that I am a little 
 tired, but I will do my utmost not to break the 
 promise I made him." 
 
 Talma came to see me. I told my good Talma 
 everything. 
 
 " AVhat ! you hesitate ? Are you mad ? See 
 what a position it is for you. You do not know, 
 child that you are, the First Consul. He is 
 quite a good sort. I do not know how long 
 
126 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 his taste for you will last, but I am certain that he 
 will always be kind. An honest young girl, who, 
 in spite of all the temptations which surround her 
 has not yet fallen, will not be abandoned. You 
 have told me, and I believe it." 
 
 " You are right to believe me, good Talma. Why 
 should I lie to you ? " 
 
 {My dear, yoit sec how delicate it is to say: not 
 yet ''■J'allen.'^ Still, it should be known that this 
 was my first step on account of the co?itinuity of 
 this illustrious connectio7i. To-day I am so stupid 
 that I should scarcely be suiyrised to find myself 
 eating hay. I despair of making anything out of 
 my nai'rative. Fortunately you have the ability 
 and the poetic sentime?it necessai^y to turn these 
 trifles ijito charming episodes. But my mind has 
 not the power, and my imagination is always at 
 fault.) 
 
 " But see. Talma, it is just because it is my first 
 step that I am very frightened. Thereon, you 
 understand, depends my fate. I reason ; so, there, 
 I am not such a child as you think. The Consul 
 is kind ; yes, 1 grant you ; I am sure of it. But 
 he is the First Consul and I am a strolling player I 
 He thinks of nothing but glory ; and do you think 
 that glory goes with love ? No ; I want some 
 one to be in love with me. Should I be happy 
 if I come to love the Consul, to be near him only 
 when he orders, when it pleases him ! See, Talma, 
 it is slavery. Am I right ? " 
 
 " Well, then, get married." 
 
MEMOIRS 127 
 
 " That's nice advice to give me. I fear slavery, 
 and you wish me to marry ! " 
 
 " Well, then, would you like me to tell you. You 
 will go this evening to Saint-Cloud. It is your 
 destiny ; follow it, therefore. If you don't go, you 
 will do something stupid which will be very serious 
 for you." 
 
 " That is true. I shall go, because I feel I love 
 him. Dine with me, Talma, if you have nothing 
 else better. We will speak of him ; you have 
 known him so well because you see him so often 
 with his wife, the charming Josephine." 
 
 " Yes, I have seen a good deal of him. I will 
 tell you about it another time. I can't dine with 
 you, my dear friend, to my great regret, because 
 my wife is waiting for me." 
 
 " Well, get married ; it is more honest, but 
 sometimes very boring ! One marries for love, I 
 think so at least. When one is no longer in 
 love one must remember what has been. You 
 have this recollection. Talma. That is still some- 
 thing. One is considerate to one's wife. It is not 
 passion, but it is honest." 
 
 " Where did you learn all this ? " 
 
 " In seeing married people. Come, dear Talma, 
 be off; it is late. My compliments to madame. 
 To-morrow we play Cinna. Do the performances 
 continue ? " 
 
 "Just at present." 
 
 " So much the worse, but one must do one's 
 duty." 
 
128 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 At eight o'clock Constant entered the courtyard. 
 He had been at three for orders. So here I am 
 again tete-a-tete with the kind, jolly servant. The 
 conversation during the journey was very laconic, 
 especially on my side. It was useless for Constant 
 to say, " The Consul is enchanted with you ; he finds 
 you charming ; he is expecting you with still greater 
 impatience." I remained very silent, saying to 
 myself, " Does the Consul talk with his valet ? 
 For the matter of that, why not ? I talk a great 
 deal with Clementine. The Consul's familiarity 
 with his valet is only a distraction, that is all. 
 Then he is devoted to him." 
 
 {Alas! time proved the wretch faithless !) 
 
 The Consul was waiting for me. 
 
 " Good-day, Georgina ; are we in a good 
 humour ? " 
 
 " Yes ; always for you." 
 
 It was true, he was really charming, his smile 
 celestial, his manners so gentle. He attracted and 
 fascinated you. 
 
 " Well, Georgina, you told me the truth. The 
 little ring which I ground beneath my heel did 
 really come from Mile. Raucourt, the other objects 
 from your handsome Prince Sapieha. You have 
 already, doubtless, told him to stop his visits and 
 presents." 
 
 " No ; I tell you frankly that I have not thought 
 of it." 
 
 '* Very good ; don't bother about it. He will 
 understand, you will see him no more." 
 
MEMOIRS 129 
 
 I said to myself, " Poor prince, see how well 
 you have been recompensed." He had no love for 
 me ; his heart will not be broken, but he will have 
 the right to think me very ungrateful. However, 
 it is not my fault, and I can't blame the Consul — 
 he is right. Every man of delicacy would act thus. 
 Alas ! will it be for my happiness ? Let us hope 
 on and follow the road blindly, wherever it may 
 lead. 
 
 The Consul was more tender than the evening 
 before, and more pressing. I was anxious and 
 quivering. I dare not say my modesty, since I 
 had come of my own accord. He loaded me with 
 tenderness, but with such delicacy, with such a 
 restrained ardour, always respecting the modest 
 emotions of a young girl whom he did not wish to 
 force, but to lead to him by a sweet and tender 
 sentiment without violence. My heart experienced 
 an unknown feeling ; it beat with force. I was 
 attracted in spite of myself. I loved the great man 
 who was surrounding me with such consideration, 
 who was not rough in his desires, who waited the 
 will of a child and bowed to her caprices. 
 
 " See, Georgina, let me love you altogether ; I 
 want you to have complete confidence. It is true 
 you scarcely know me, but it needs but a minute 
 to love ; one feels all at once the electric movement 
 which strikes you at the same time. Tell me, do 
 you love me a little ? " 
 
 " Certainly I love you, not only a Uttle ; I am 
 afraid of loving you too much, and therefore of 
 
130 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 being very unhappy. You have too much great- 
 ness within you for your heart to nurse a Hvely 
 affection for anything but glory. Poor women are 
 soon taken and very soon forgotten. For you they 
 are a plaything which amuses you a little more or 
 a little less. Although you may be the First Consul, 
 I do not intend to be a plaything." 
 
 " But if you are my favourite plaything, you 
 won't complain, I hope. No mistrust, Georgina ; 
 you would annoy me." 
 
 " Very well, I will come again to-morrow." 
 
 " You see how weak I am to allow you to leave 
 without having given me a proof of abandonment, 
 which leaves us no longer strangers to each other. 
 Go, then, Georgina, till to-morrow." 
 
 " Ah I I was forgetting ; 1 am playing Cinna." 
 
 " All the better ; I will be present at the per- 
 formance. Look your best. After Cinna the 
 carriage will wait for you." 
 
 " But I shall be tired." 
 
 " Come, Georgina, this time I will see you after 
 Cinna, and you will yield to my desire, or I will 
 never see you again." 
 
 " I will come." 
 
 Great tears were in my eyes. 
 
 " You are crying ; you see quite well that you 
 love me a little, you silly little thing ! " 
 
 He dried my great tears, embraced me, and said — 
 
 " Till to-morrow, my dear Georgina." 
 
 As a matter of fact Cinna was played : nothing 
 had been changed. At quarter-past seven I came 
 
MEMOIRS 131 
 
 on the stage, and the Consul had not arrived. 
 It is to punish me that he is absent. " Ah, well, 
 if he does not come I shall not go to-morrow to 
 Saint-Cloud. I am not a slave ; I belong to 
 myself. I am my own, my own alone. Heaven be 
 thanked. Ah, how well I did to resist ! It was a 
 caprice, and nothing more. My dear Consul, you 
 see that I have my will too, and that, although only 
 a mere girl, I know how not to bow my head 
 before power. All the better ; I am free, and breathe 
 more freely." But I felt I was choking while 
 uttering my monologue. " Uttering " is the word, 
 the only word suitable. I was detestable, absurd, 
 and the haughty Emilie was very humbled. It is 
 extraordinary all that can pass in the head of an 
 actress while playing, while she is the character, at 
 any rate in appearance ; for other thoughts assail 
 you, turning you into a machine ; one exaggerates 
 one's part, and sometimes deceives the public. 
 
 At the end of my monologue I heard a noise in 
 the house and frantic applause ; it was the Consul. 
 Ah ! how I breathed with happiness. There was a 
 cry of " Begin again," which always happened when 
 the First Consul was late. I began again, but this 
 time my heart was filled with joy and intoxication, 
 but quite in keeping with my part. The good 
 public must have said, " Halloa ! it seems that 
 the presence of our great man inspires her more 
 than this full house." 
 
 The Consul was very fond of the tragedy of 
 Ci?ina. 
 
132 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 The performance of this work was magnificently 
 played by Talma and Monvel ; Monvel was so 
 simple and noble as Augustus. Talk of diction ! 
 He knew the secret of putting emotion in his 
 diction. How that man recited Corneille ! 
 
 Without a powerful voice, and almost without 
 voice at all, he could be heard everywhere. Further, 
 what an admiring silence when he was on the 
 stage. How tragic and simple he was in his mono- 
 logue in the fourth act, when, I think, fivandre 
 had just acquainted him of Cinna's treachery, and 
 how in the monologue he recapitulated all his 
 actions and ended by saying — 
 
 " Renlrc en toi-tneme, Octave, el souffre des higrais, 
 Aprcs V avoir ete ! " 
 
 Aprcs lavoir ete was said with such indefinable 
 feeling. There was in those few words all his 
 remorse ; it produced a tragic effect. And again 
 in the same monologue, when he awakes, and at 
 last wishes to be avenged on the ingrate, he 
 philosophises, saying — 
 
 " Eh quoi, toujours du sang el toujours des supplices ! " 
 
 The word ''sang'' was said in a stifled voice, 
 with an expression of disgust about the lips. 
 He dropped into a chair in a tired, exhausted 
 way — 
 
 " Ma cruaide se lasse ! " 
 
 [Dear Valmore, I haven t " Cinna " by me. You 
 will have it in your artistic memor^y, and arrange it 
 
MEMOIRS 138 
 
 as a man of taste who understands beautiful tilings. 
 I think it a good idea to insej't these details before 
 my third visit to Saint-Cloud.) 
 
 And the scene which opens the fifth act between 
 Augustus and Cinna. He entered first, very 
 agitated. Cinna follows. Chairs are put ready. 
 Monvel took his with a trembling hand. 
 
 " Prends nn siege, Cinna." 
 
 And on Cinna's hesitation he begins again — 
 
 " Prends ..." 
 
 What a prodigious effect ! Ah I I was there, 
 palpitating, all ears like the public for that matter. 
 Then there are the lines which follow the famous 
 Prends — 
 
 " Sur toute chose, 
 Observe exactement la loi que je f impose." 
 
 From the beginning of this scene his utterance 
 was short, incisive, and even impetuous. When he 
 reminded Cinna of the favours with which he had 
 loaded him, and said — 
 
 " Cinna, tu t'en souviens, et veux massassiner." 
 
 Cinna, who then wishes to get up, was restrained 
 by Monvel — 
 
 " Tti tiens mal la parole. Sieds loi." 
 
 It is impossible to render the effect. When he 
 named all the conspirators he counted them on his 
 fingers, those magical fingers from which a flame 
 
134 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 issued from every joint ; to count on the fingers 
 without exciting laughter, but on the contrary to 
 make everybody shudder, is pushing art beyond 
 all imagination. Then when, after having shown 
 Cinna all his baseness and ingratitude, he finished 
 that exquisite dialogue by saying — 
 
 "Parle, pa?le, il est temps," — 
 
 I do not think it is possible for any other actor 
 to reach a like perfection, so true and intelli- 
 gent, and all without a cry or an exaggeration. 
 Ah ! sublime Monvel, your reputation is much 
 beneath your immense talent. Shall injustice 
 always rule ? 
 
 Talma, in this pusillanimous and wavering char- 
 acter, now brave now weak, moved under the 
 influence of his passion for Emilie, and acted 
 against the promptings of his heart. 
 
 What a fine first entry Talma had ! All the 
 beautiful and lengthy recital was made in a low 
 voice, and when he reached these lines — 
 
 " Le frere tout degoutta?it du meuire de son pere, 
 Et, sa tete a la main, demandant son salaire," — 
 
 what an expression ! He trembled in every fibre ! 
 He stretched forward his right hand, which actually 
 held a head, then bringing the other hand almost 
 beneath the bleeding head, demanded his reward. 
 There was an effect so terribly true that I have 
 often seen women shrink with fright. 
 
 That, 1 think, is talent ; but those who have not 
 
MEMOIRS 135 
 
 seen it will not believe so. They are right ; they 
 have not seen it and they will not. To-day the old 
 traditions are turned into ridicule, and no one 
 attempts the impossible. How is one to talk 
 colour to a blind man? 
 
 Tragedies were not then surrounded with elabo- 
 rate scenery. They were even gloomy and neglected. 
 People were wrong. The fault was certainly not 
 Talma's, as he appreciated and understood classicism 
 better than any one. How many times I have seen 
 him in righteous wrath against this bad taste and 
 stinginess. " You make us look like fools with 
 your paltry meanness ! " Poor Talma, he was so 
 much in love with classicism that he wanted to 
 re-establish the chorus in CEdipus. " Music elevates 
 the soul and poetises it ; but to speak of it to those 
 dunderheads is trouble lost." 
 
 " See," he said to me, " how they are encrusted 
 in their old habits. They think I am introducing 
 a red cap when I speak of innovations so necessary 
 to our art." 
 
 But if the 7nise en scene was neglected in such a 
 mean way, the distribution of works was not. 
 
 Dalmas was a brilliant actor, who met with great 
 applause, caused by an intrepid warmth, which 
 astonished and attracted a public carried away by 
 so much volubility, asking itself afterwards, " AVhy 
 did I applaud so much ? I do not know why, 
 but it is a fact I did not applaud Talma when he 
 said in such a simple and touching manner — 
 
 " 'C'esi Oreste, ma sueur . . .' 
 
136 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 I had tears in my eyes, and yet I did not applaud. 
 Do I like the drum better than the nightingale ? 
 lleally I am a brute." 
 
 Dalmas was not without talent, but — I repeat it 
 with regret — it was a careless talent. However, 
 he kept to his part of jeime pi'emie?^ and did not 
 disdain to play Maxime, a part of small effect, 
 almost completely effaced by Cinna and Augustus. 
 The secondary characters, although it must be 
 confessed they were very mediocre in those times, 
 would not have dared to get themselves replaced. 
 The works in this respect were mounted as well 
 as possible. 
 
 This evening — and the presence of the Consul 
 had much to do with it — the effect of the perform- 
 ance was magnificent. I do not speak of myself. 
 In the midst of the marvellous and immense talent 
 of those giants, I did my best not to cast a shadow 
 on the picture. So I had the flattering reward 
 of my efforts. But applause came to me at the 
 fifth act, which I was far from expecting, at the 
 line — 
 
 " Sijai sed2iit Cinna, fen seduirai Men d' mitres." 
 
 This line was applauded three times. I became 
 purple. Heavens ! what did it all mean ? Something 
 is presumed ! They can't know anything. The 
 First Consul comes very often, and perhaps they 
 think . . . That would be awful ! Are Court secrets 
 to be like stage ones ? What will the Consul 
 say to me ? He will be furious, and perhaps will 
 
MEMOIRS 137 
 
 accuse me of indiscretion, although I have confided 
 in no one but Tahna. He is too prudent and timid 
 to have opened his mouth about it, even to his wife. 
 
 Tahna followed me into my box quite disturbed. 
 
 " Well, you see ! Did you hear the applause ? " 
 
 "Yes, and I am confused and disturbed by it. 
 If only the Consul does not accuse me of indiscre- 
 tion ! After all, I don't care much ; the public 
 perhaps wanted to pay me a gracious compliment. 
 Be off with you, Talma ; I am waited for." 
 
 I got into the carriage, and here I am for the 
 third time on the way to Saint-Cloud. The Consul 
 was waiting for me. 
 
 " The performance was very good," he said. 
 " Talma was truly sublime. Monvel is quite a 
 profound actor ; unfortunately nature has been 
 grudging to him. It is impossible to have a 
 great reputation with such a defective voice and 
 miserable figure. The stage is ideality, and one 
 does not want to see badly-made heroes. Monvel 
 combats his defects by science, but the charm is 
 absent. He is an actor to study. You were very 
 good, too, Georgina." 
 
 " I did my best to deserve your approval, which 
 is most flattering to me," 
 
 "Eh, what ! Are you going to play the flatterer ? " 
 
 " I am trying to become a great lady." 
 
 " You are trying to become naughty. Be what 
 you are, I like you better as Georgina than a 
 countess." 
 
 He overwhelmed me with kindness. 
 
138 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 " Come and sit beside me. You are a little 
 fatigued. Come, rid yourself of the shawl and the 
 hat, that you may be seen." 
 
 He undressed me little by little. He acted the 
 lady's-maid with such gaiety, with such grace and 
 decency, that one had to yield in spite of oneself 
 How could one not be fascinated and attracted to 
 such a man ? He became small and childish to 
 please me. He was no longer the Consul ; he was, 
 perhaps, a man in love, but whose love had neither 
 violence nor roughness. He embraced you sweetly, 
 and his words were tender and modest. Beside 
 him it was impossible not to experience what he 
 experienced himself 
 
 I separated from the Consul at seven in the 
 morning ; but ashamed of the charming disorder 
 the night had caused, I quite showed my em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 " Let me make it tidy." 
 
 " Yes, my good Georgina, I will even help you." 
 
 And he had the kindness to pretend to arrange 
 the couch with me, that witness of so much 
 forgetfulness and tenderness. 
 
 {OuJ'f Really, good Madame Valmoi^e, it wants 
 a pen like yours to marshal these histo?ical and still 
 very ti'ue details. I have done what I can, hut 1 
 am powerless.) 
 
 The Consul said to me, " Good-bye till to- 
 morrow, Georgina." He said to-morrow doubtless 
 to calm my uneasiness — another proof of his 
 delicacy. No, those wlio will read xhese details 
 
MEMOIRS 189 
 
 will never believe them ; but they are real. To 
 know the great man thoroughly it was necessary 
 to see him in intimacy ; there, despoiled of his 
 immense thouglits, he pleased himselF witli all the 
 little details of simple and human life ; he rested 
 from fatigue and himself. 
 
 " No, not to-morrow, if you permit, but the day 
 after to-morrow." 
 
 " Yes, my dear Georgina, just as you wish ; the 
 day after to-morrow. Love me a little, and tell 
 me that you will come gladly." 
 
 " I love you with all my soul ; I am afraid of 
 loving you too much. You are not made for me, 
 I know, and I shall suffer ; that is written — you will 
 
 " Bah ! you prophesy badly ; I shall always be 
 good to you. I5ut we haven't got as far as that. 
 Kiss me and be happy." 
 
 Here I am launched into a lively existence, sweet 
 for the moment, but which will cause me plenty of 
 grief. I shall be always in doubt, and perhaps 
 jealous. Jealous of a man whom you can only see 
 when he consents ! Yes, one is envied the honour 
 — one calls that honour ! — of being noticed by the 
 Consul I It is grand ! It is splendid I But at 
 bottom it is sad. It would be much better to be 
 loved by one's equal ; one can agree and dispute at 
 one's ease, and there is no imperial door to forbid 
 one the entry without the order of the master. 
 Yes, it is sad, it is heartrending ; it is slavery 
 with golden chains. After the third and delinite 
 
140 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 interview was over — " Come the day after to- 
 morrow." It is gilded slavery. 
 
 Here I am in a new era. Keceive my farewells 
 young girl, without cares, without any other 
 passion but theatrical glory ; you return a woman 
 to the home which only last evening heard your 
 peals of childish laughter. You return with a 
 heart in love ; prepare yourself, then, for all the 
 torments of that feeling we call love, which nearly 
 always is the tomb of all our illusions and all our 
 dreams. 
 
 I returned home sad ; I felt I loved the Consul. 
 He sent Constant for news of me, and to remind 
 me of my promise for the morrow. I did not go 
 out that day ; my door was closed to everybody 
 except my ftiithful Talma, who did not fail to come 
 post-haste. 
 
 " Well, did he talk to you about tlie frightful 
 applause at the line— 
 
 "'Sij'ai st'dmt China, fen scduirai Men d'antres' ? " 
 
 " He never said a word to me about it ; but he 
 thought you sublime, my dear Talma. How well 
 the Consul talks about tragedy ! What good 
 advice he gives. He considers you a tragedian 
 from head to foot. As for me, I don't understand 
 it like he does ; but this I can say, that during your 
 speech in the first act I have shivers which run 
 down all my limbs, and if the public were not 
 entirely under the influence of your accents and 
 could turn its eyes away, it would see me grow 
 
MEMOIRS 141 
 
 pale, and would read in my face the profound 
 impression you were producing on me." 
 
 " You are giving me a great eulogy." 
 
 " My Talma, that is what I feel when I listen to 
 you. I am no more in the theatre, I assure you ; 
 you transport me to Rome." 
 
 "You ought to be happy after what you have 
 just told me ; one doesn't have for a woman for whom 
 one only experiences a fancy, all the tender and 
 delicate care and the patience he had. He spoils 
 you ; you will find no one like him." 
 
 " I only know too well. Talma, that I love him, 
 and you see that is very disturbing." 
 
 " When do you see him again ? " 
 
 " To-morrow. He wanted to see me to-day, but 
 at my prayer ..." 
 
 " What a lot of women would like to be in your 
 place. Be discreet, I beg you ; let there not be the 
 least reproach made against you. The Consul likes 
 decency in everything. It will be known, perhaps 
 it is already known ; I believe so, but it is not 
 through you." 
 
 Talma had a very prying glance ; I saw him look 
 at me. 
 
 " What have you got in your ears ? " 
 
 " Ah ! I forgot. They are two diamond earrings 
 which the Consul placed in my cars two days ago, 
 the day after my first interview. ' Take them, my 
 dear Georgina ; I have crushed everything of yours : 
 it is right I should replace all the damage I have 
 done.' " 
 
142 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 *' But those gems are superb." 
 
 " Certainly they are magnificent, but the manner 
 in which they were given was finer still. Another 
 would have had the bad taste to send them to 
 me ; but he — that is another matter. How can 
 one help him ? Decidedly, Talma, I am mad 
 over him." 
 
 " You do well : I even think it reasonable. Come 
 this evening to the theatre." 
 
 " I am not keen about it." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because I am very pale." 
 
 " You never have any colour, you flirt. You 
 know quite well that pallor suits you. You are 
 just as usual. Come, we will talk about him. 
 Ah ! I love him too, you see." 
 
 So I went to the Francais. Talma had not 
 yet arrived. I went down into the theatre. We 
 had a green-room there where we kept the 
 materials for our make-up, our pins, and glass 
 of water. There were several comfortable chairs 
 round the room, and there the women sat and 
 quizzed each other unsparingly. When one quitted 
 her place to go on the stage another filled it quickly. 
 Mars was playing that day in le Philosophe sans le 
 Savoir, She was certainly the most ravishing figure 
 one could possibly see ; she looked fifteen in her 
 little white dress and green apron. She was ad- 
 mirable in Victoirine, from beginning to end 
 displaying an ingenuity and dramatic style which 
 would put present dramas in the shade. Her 
 
MEMOIRS 143 
 
 triumphs were equal to her talents, so her charming 
 companions had some difficulty in discovering a 
 defect ; unable to criticise her talent, they already 
 dared to speak about her age. 
 
 " Ah, will she never leave off her green apron ? " 
 said Bourgoin. " I shall never be able to come up to 
 her. You will see she will play little girls till she 
 is sixty. As for me, I shall be at the hospital for 
 incurables." 
 
 Mile. Contat — Contat, the witty and great lady, 
 who did not disdain to play the aunt, and made 
 a complete role from the little part screamingly 
 funny — was listening to Bourgoin. The good 
 Contat had a mischievous wit. She had no very 
 tender affection for Mile. Mars, but was too perfect 
 a comedienne not to do her justice. 
 
 " You would do well, little one, to go into the 
 house to study closely, and take a lesson which 
 might, perhaps, be useful to you. Try to imitate 
 JNIars ; imitate, I say, because you could never, 
 never replace her. You will put yourself in her 
 place, and you will do so to a disadvantage. Her 
 proper and distinguished manners belong to her 
 alone, and you could not take them away. Appre- 
 ciate her parts ; that is permitted to you. But to 
 play them, little one ! — ah, renounce that folly ! 
 Neither you nor the others will ever replace Mars 
 in cleverness." 
 
 After this little dialogue Mile. Contat went on 
 the stage. 
 
 " Dear me, how rude the fat creature is ! All 
 
144 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 those old things hold their heads up. When I am 
 as old as you, you rude old thing, I shall have as 
 much talent as you, see ! If her dear INIars wanted 
 to play her part, the old stroller wouldn't think her 
 so wonderful. That person is thoroughly spoiled ; 
 she has so often been told that she has grand 
 manners, that she fancies herself JNIme. de Pompa- 
 dour. I must go, because it will be my scene. 
 
 " ' Achille, noble ^Is de vingt rois. Viens avec ta mereJ " 
 
 (All this, dear, is stupid and doubtless in bad taste ; 
 but I heard it all. Do what you like with it. 
 Besides, it is the second of January, and I am in a 
 very bad temper.) 
 
 Everybody laughed. 
 
 " Why didn't you answer her ? " said Mere 
 Thenard.^ " You hung back. You ought to have 
 told her what you thought of her." 
 
 " That's all very well, but I should have been 
 fined." 
 
 " True, but you would have had your consola- 
 tion." 
 
 " I should have had to pay a hundred francs ; 
 thanks, it is too dear. Believe me, I shall be even 
 with her yet without a fine. Ah, there's George, 
 
 1 Thenard, mere (Marie-Magdeluine-Claudine Chevalier-Perrin), 
 born at Voiron in Daupliine, December 11, 1757; made her 
 debut, October I, 1777; had a fresh debut. May 26, 1781; 
 received the first of June following ; reunion generale, May 30, 
 1799; retired, April 1, 1819; died in Paris, December 20, 1849 
 (Georges Monval, etc.). 
 
MEMOIRS 145 
 
 who is new here ; she says nothing. I suppose you 
 are afraid of the fat creature, George ? " 
 
 " I afraid ? Not at all ; but I like and admire 
 Mile. Mars, so I could not agree with what you 
 said. I held my tongue ; it seemed to be the best 
 thing to do. Besides, I don't care for arguments." 
 
 "Dear me, here's some one who is already 
 becoming politic ! " 
 
 The poor Bourgoin was wrong to call me a 
 politic. I understood very imperfectly what was 
 passing around me. I was far away from the little 
 green-room, where all the annoyances of the wings 
 and little feminine jealousies went on. I was 
 waiting for Talma. Mars, on leaving the stage, 
 came and sat right opposite me. 
 
 " Good-evening, George ; how are you ? " 
 
 " Very well, thanks ; and how are you ? " 
 
 " I ? Just so-so. I am not much in form, and 
 should be glad to be finished. Heavens ! George, 
 the brilliant rays your ears throw out hurt my 
 eyes." 
 
 " My ears hurt you ? You are joking." 
 
 "Not your ears, but your diamond earrings." 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 I put my hand to my ears ; I had forgotten to 
 remove them. I was troubled ; I felt that hints 
 and gossip were proceeding apace. 
 
 " Take them out and let me look at them 
 closer." 
 
 " I can't take them out ; you see them well 
 enough. Diamond earrings are not very curious." 
 
146 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 *' But those are so enormous ; you are wearing a 
 king's ransom in your ears." 
 
 " Neither king nor ransom. Some diamonds 
 were brought to me, and I Hked them, and I was 
 given time to pay for them. That is all ! You 
 would have done the same. You like nice things 
 when you can get them. Besides, everybody likes 
 them, and women especially." 
 
 " Yes, yes, my dear George ; but you will want a 
 great deal of time to pay for those enormous gems." 
 
 " Don't bother yourself about it. I swear I 
 won't charge you with the payment of the debt, 
 which perhaps you would undertake with pleasure. 
 You are such a good comrade ! " 
 
 {Good Valmore, this little scene passed as I tell it. 
 I gave 3Iars a little rap, but we have painted her 
 so favoui^ahly that it is not necessary to keep silence 
 about this anecdote.) 
 
 Mars had guessed everything. What was to be 
 done ? After all, rumours are to be expected. I 
 can do nothing, let come what may. Such a fearful 
 position would be intolerable. 
 
 " Ah ! Talma, here you are at last. Come, let 
 us get away as quickly as possible from all this 
 envious gossip." 
 
 " What's the matter, then ? " says Talma, taking 
 my arm. 
 
 " What's the matter ? The matter is, your 
 sharp Mars discovered beneath my hat the gems 
 which I had thoughtlessly left in my ears, and for 
 half-an-hour she placed me on the rack to learn 
 
MEMOIRS 147 
 
 where such a magnificent present could come 
 from." 
 
 " Well, what do you expect ? You ought to 
 understand that secrecy is impossible." 
 
 " You must see, Talma, that I was right to 
 dread this happiness. It is happiness to think 
 that one is loved by this man, but it is a happiness 
 which will always be troubled. I give myself no 
 illusions, good Talma ; it is a lost and tortuous 
 existence. Once separated from the Consul, 
 nothing and nobody will please me. He is the 
 First Consul, but to me he is nothing more 
 than a man, charming with his grace and his 
 thousand little attentions, which try to make you 
 forget his power and render you completely happy. 
 How can one help being proud and sad when one 
 thinks that everything ends ? I am going home. 
 My carriage is here ; take me to it. You will have 
 a cup of tea, and the carriage shall take you home." 
 
 "Gladly." 
 
 Dear Talma, he was really good-natured ; besides, 
 he knew quite well that I should not miss the 
 chance of talking of him. 
 
 " Do you know that women are very spiteftil ? 
 You men have none of these miserable petty jeal- 
 ousies. A new jewel brings all of them to their 
 feet. They devour you with their eyes. They 
 scrutinise right down into your heart, to try and 
 guess what is passing there. It is really a toil 
 which I think I shall never be able to stoop to. 
 What does it matter to me, if they have beautiful 
 
148 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 things ? All the better for the envious creatures. 
 No, dear Talma, I don't think this vice will come 
 to me." 
 
 "You will speak differently, perhaps, later on, 
 when you are no longer young." 
 
 " No. When I am no longer young, I shall 
 love youth, and I shall like to rest my eyes on beauti- 
 ful people. They will pass, like me, those young 
 girls so fresh and rosy ; they will resign themselves, 
 like me, to becoming old and even ugly. They 
 will hear people tell them, ' Ah I you were very, 
 very beautiful.' You were is frightful. That 
 shameless compliment should be erasedc Now-a- 
 days I often hear that compliment, and, as beauty 
 is rather rare, I reply, ' You are fortunate, my 
 dear ; you have never had that to regret. That 
 is a consolation.' " 
 
 The next day I saw the Consul, who received 
 me with the same eagerness and kindness. He 
 liked me to tell him all that had been said of me, 
 and all the little intrigues of behind the scenes. 
 
 " Come, Georgina, tell me everything." 
 
 " Well, yesterday I was very tormented by 
 Mile. Mars. I had your gems in my ears, and 
 curiosity and questions were not lacking. I fear 
 they guess where they come from, but I assure you 
 I am very discreet." 
 
 " Never mind ; let them talk, let them suppose ; 
 1 shall not blame you for it. Always be good- 
 natured, dear Georgina, that is the best quality a 
 woman can have." 
 
MEMOIRS 149 
 
 The Emperor has been given a reputation for 
 rudeness. It is a calumny joined to so many others, 
 and to so many hes, that shoulders will be shrugged, 
 and, as they read these memoirs, people will say, 
 " Bah, this is all incredible ; she embellishes ! " 
 Believe it or not, dear readers, as you like. I speak 
 the truths the very truth. I do not embellish or 
 invent at all. I say that the Emperor was, to me 
 at least, gentle and gay, and even childish. The 
 hours with him passed without our heeding, and 
 day came to astonish us. 
 
 On leaving I longed to return. And I did not 
 have long to wait. The days seemed mortally long. 
 Everybody knew what I was so desirous of hiding. 
 I received people who came to recommend them- 
 selves to me. 
 
 " I am unable to do what you desire ; I know no 
 Minister and have no influence." 
 
 "If you would only see the Minister of the 
 Interior, you would obtain what I solicit. I should 
 be grateful." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " In offering you what you might like." 
 
 " I want nothing. See, your proposition dis- 
 pleases me, and decides me to see the Minister. I 
 will try and obtain what you want, and you will 
 see if I sell the services I should be happy to 
 give. We artistes have not, thank God, venal 
 souls." 
 
 I was received by the Minister, who promised to 
 examine the request I presented to him. 
 
150 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 " Here is a card which will allow you to present 
 yourself without asking for an audience." 
 
 I left, charmed by such a gracious reception. 
 Was I received so kindly on my own account, or 
 because of the rumours which were running about ? 
 It doesn't matter. Let us turn it to account by doing 
 a little good, if it is possible. When one has been 
 poor, one must not forget or repel those whom one 
 can succour. There are so many people who make 
 fabulous fortunes and forget their origin, because 
 they possess laughable luxury ; yes, really laugh- 
 able ; in spite of their liveries, one soon recognises 
 their transformation. You may strut or smirk as 
 you like in your carriages, which you want to rival 
 those of the Court, you will always be recognised. 
 You are disguised, that is all. You are foolishly 
 proud; money troubles you, poor people; but 
 money will not give you the distinction you are 
 running after. Away with this stupid pretension, 
 You are intelligent men, men of money ; remain 
 men of money. Look after it well, for if you 
 should lose it, you will know your true merit. 
 
 If the rumours day by day took more consist- 
 ency, it was, it must be said, partly the Consul's 
 fault. It was well known that the performance 
 preferred by the Consul was tragedy ; the severe 
 style pleased him. He would not have let the 
 masterpieces be placed on one side, which now are 
 a little too despised. Alas ! they are right ; who 
 could play them ? Doubtless he came too often, 
 which gave rise to all the rumours. Great men 
 
MEMOIRS 151 
 
 have their weaknesses, too, but one does not wish 
 them to have them. People get angry and always 
 will with those who govern. The world is made so, 
 and will continue so. It is just like the actors, who 
 are ceaselessly enemies of their manager. Power is 
 a difficult and hard thing to control. 
 
 One day the Consul said to me — 
 
 " Georgina, if you like, Constant will come and 
 fetch you at* nine in the morning ; then we will 
 go together to Butard, a hunting-place a little way 
 from Saint-Cloud." 
 
 " That is pretty early." 
 
 '* Lazybones ! You will get up a little sooner 
 which will be good for you. Then at last I shall 
 see you in the beautiful sunshine." 
 
 " Yes, at the beginning of October there is very 
 little sun." 
 
 " There will be on that day." 
 
 " Very well, I will come, since you promise me 
 the sun." 
 
 During the first fortnight he had satisfied my 
 scrupulous delicacy, and I dare say my modesty, in 
 repairing the disorder of the nights and pretending 
 to re-make the bed. He dressed me, and put on my 
 stockings, and as I had garters with buckles, which 
 made him impatient, he had some round garters 
 made for me, to be passed over the foot. 
 
 {I give you these details crudely, because you told 
 me to put everything on paper, dear good Madame 
 Valmore. I obey. How will you select from it ? 
 You only are capable of making such thorny details 
 
152 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 jxiss. For instance, could you say that the Empei'oi-'s 
 sleep was as calm as a child's, and his breathing 
 soft ; that his awalxening was charming, with a sweet 
 smile on his lips; that he rested his noble and 
 handsome head on my bosom, and nearly always slept 
 so, and that I, young as I was, made some almost 
 philosophical reflections on seeing the man who 
 commanded the world thus abandon himself com- 
 pletely in the arms of a young girl. Oh ! he knew 
 quite well that I would let myself be killed for 
 him. 
 
 All these details are for you, dear Valmoi^e: I 
 should be confused ij your dear son were to read 
 them. The Emperor's love was sweet. There was 
 nothing shameless in the most intimate moments, and 
 no obscene words. He made charming remarks : " Z>o 
 you love me, Georgina ? Are you happy to be in my 
 arms? lam going to sleep, too." All this is true; 
 but how is it to be told ? You have the secret of 
 making people understand delicately ; as for me, 
 I am nothing but a brute, more particularly still 
 when I am mastered by the cdjsence of money, which 
 happens to me very often, and, above all, at this 
 moment, xvhen I am raging against those who have it 
 and keep it.) 
 
 I was fetched away, then, at nine o'clock m the 
 morning. It was fine, but cold. I put on a white 
 silk quilted wrap, such as was in fashion at the 
 time, and black satin shoes : boots were unknown, 
 which was a pity, for they are both pretty and 
 useful ; then I threw over my head a long veil. 
 
MEMOIRS 153 
 
 Was I going to be foolish enough to go out 
 without a hat in the month of October ? 
 
 " But, mademoiselle," said Clementine to me, 
 " do put on a hat. Here is one that suits you very 
 well." 
 
 " Do you think so ? I think I look like a 
 marchioness with her Sunday clothes on. I don't 
 care about it. Besides, the Consul wants to see me 
 in the sunlight. Well, he shall see me : I will 
 disguise none of my face." 
 
 Here we are at Saint-Cloud. The carriage was 
 stopped behind the wall which overlooks Sevres. 
 Constant got down and returned more than a 
 quarter of an hour afterwards to tell me — 
 
 " I made a mistake. The Consul was furious 
 with me and said, ' Idiot, I have been waiting for 
 an hour.' The Consul had a gun to make it be 
 beUeved he was going shooting. ' Go and wait 
 for me at Butard. I will return to change, and 
 shall be there as soon as you. Only I won't take 
 the road with her, silly idiot that you are.'" 
 
 {TJiis was told me word for xvord by Constant.) 
 
 As a matter of fact I arrived first, and entered 
 a pavilion in the midst of a garden more or less full 
 of little trees. First I found a good fire, and 
 then lunch ready spread. The Consul arrived ten 
 minutes afterwards on horseback, followed by 
 four aides-de-camp : General Caulaincourt, Junot, 
 Bessieres, and Lauriston, who has often talked to 
 me about that morning. 
 
 [It is for yon,, good Valmore, to find out if 
 
154 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Lauriston was there at that time. Could Laitris- 
 ton have lied ? I dont think so. Of Junot and 
 Caulaincourt, as well as Bessicres, I am certain^ 
 hut I am not so sure about him.) 
 
 The Consul entered alone, and said to me — 
 
 " Well ! you understand about that silly thing 
 Constant mistaking the place I had fixed upon, and 
 kept me waiting an hour with gun in hand. That's 
 the reason why I did not accompany you." 
 
 " Oh, don't scold him, I beg of you. Poor 
 Constant is so confused and unhappy : pardon him. 
 Warm yourself: you must be tired." 
 
 " Not at all : we came at a good gallop." 
 
 " Take something." 
 
 He rang for Constant, who entered with lowered 
 head and a very red face. 
 
 *' Some coffee, and, Georgina, won't you take 
 something ? " 
 
 " A httle coffee, too, if you please." 
 
 " Is that all ? " 
 
 " Yes, that is all." 
 
 " At last I see you in daylight ; it is not un- 
 favourable to you." 
 
 " You are very good to think so, but I think 
 I am horribly ugly." 
 
 " Come, come : no false modesty. You know 
 quite differently. Ah ! my dear, there are so 
 many women who deceive you by candlelight: 
 and you theatrical people with your rouge are 
 practically masked. But to rise at nine and drive 
 three leagues in the country is an ordeal, and 
 
MEMOIRS 155 
 
 you have sustained it victoriously. You are just as 
 I desired to see you." 
 
 " You look at me with indulgent eyes : I am 
 very grateful to you, and thank you again." 
 " Come, let us take a little walk in the wood." 
 He gave me his arm, and we passed before the 
 four aides-de-camp drawn up in a line in the 
 courtyard, with lowered helmets. The Consul 
 raised my veil, which caused me to lower my 
 head, because I was so flushed and confused. 
 Perhaps any one else would have been proud. It is 
 possible— and there was something to be proud 
 about— but I, whether it was modesty, or lack 
 of intelligence, or of boldness, was trembling and 
 ashamed. All this happened as I am relating. 
 I walked arm-in-arm with the first man in the 
 world. Yes, amour propre ought to be satis- 
 fied, and it was. How many times in the midst 
 of my tribulations and disappointments I recalled 
 that walk. It is all the same— they can't take away 
 that ; I have been for more than two hours arm- 
 in-arm with the master of the world. I have no 
 fortune, and am poor, but rich in recollections; 
 and no speculation can rob you of them and no 
 power can take them away. They are there before 
 me as fresh, and as young and palpitating as 
 if it was yesterday. In the midst of so much 
 suffering I consider myself happy to have preserved 
 my young impressions. One ages less quickly. 
 If I have trodden money beneath my feet, as 
 much as people say, it was because I have always 
 
150 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 despised it. I despise it still more now that it 
 has become a matter of such importance. Yes, 
 Mister Money, I despise yon. Think what you 
 like about that, it is of little consequence to 
 me. I tell you. Money, my opinion : I owe 
 you no obligation. I am free and upright before 
 you. Don't expect me ever to bow before your 
 ingots. 
 
 The dear Consul ! How charming and gay he 
 was during that walk ! He made me run, as it 
 was cold. The paths were covered with dead 
 leaves and dry branches, which got in my way 
 and caught in my feet. The Consul took care 
 to clear them away and give me a freer passage. 
 He gave himself that trouble ! 
 
 "Please don't stoop so ; I don't want you to, or 
 else I shall go in." 
 
 " I don't want you to hurt your feet. Let me 
 do it." 
 
 {This is kistorical.) 
 
 These details are true. Would any one believe 
 them ? There are so few men capable of these 
 delicate attentions. Oh ! yes, I have never met his 
 equal. Besides, in another it would seem simple 
 and natural. But in Jdm ! ah, that is quite another 
 thing ! 
 
 " I want to return. I am tired, and, in spite of 
 our race, a little cold." 
 
 So we returned. 
 
 " You must have some tea to warm you before 
 leaving." 
 
MEMOIRS 157 
 
 We remained another Kbur together, then the 
 carriage was ordered. The Consul accompanied 
 me to it and saw me in. 
 
 " We will meet soon, Georgina, at the Tuileries, 
 I am leaving Saint-Cloud to-morrow." 
 
 He mounted his horse and passed us quickly, 
 just coming to the door to say once more to me, 
 ''A bie?it6t" 
 
 {On that day an individual who had received 
 orders to attack the Einperor was arrested. I rely 
 on my dear Valmore to look up the details of this 
 incident.) 
 
 Constant left me at Saint-Cloud, and I returned 
 home about six. My life in the midst of all this 
 grandeur was not what I had imagined it. Yes, 
 certainly I am happy when I am with the Consul, 
 but will my illusion let me go as far as flattering 
 myself that it will last ? Every moment there is 
 uncertainty. I live under a will which will crush 
 me as soon as satiety comes, and I shall have no 
 right to complain. Well, let us live this frivolous 
 life, since I consented to do it. I am subjected to 
 the chances of happiness or unhappiness. Forward, 
 then, and let us learn not to stray too much : that 
 is all I can hope for myself. I am an actress and 
 independent. I could, if I liked, give up seeing 
 the Consul, and say to him, " I don't wish to 
 come." I have my will also, and he would 
 have no right to constrain it. I am free ! This 
 thought makes me happy, and I see everything 
 under another aspect. Now 1 feel happy ; if I 
 
158 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 go on it is because 1 wish to, because I like 
 to. 
 
 I saw very few people and made few visits. 
 When I went out there was always a wretched cab 
 behind my carriage, and when I thought it had 
 stopped following me, it still kept on. I amused 
 myself in letting it run smartly : it used to make 
 such comical halts. 
 
 M. de Talleyrand, whom I saw a good deal, and 
 who was very fond of me — how these great and 
 witty personages, bored with their gi-andeur, amuse 
 themselves with everything and interest themselves 
 in nothing, and how they take you up and drop 
 you without thinking of you ; you serve as a 
 plaything to them without your knowing it — kept 
 on tormenting me to consent to hold a reception 
 twice a week. 
 
 " Whom shall I receive then ? " I said to him, 
 " Your company, prince among men ? What an 
 honour to have said, ' Are you going to George's 
 this evening ? There is a good company of men 
 there!' No, my dear prince, I am very grateful for 
 the honour you wish to do me, but, let me tell you, 
 I find it a humiliating honour. I am an artiste, 
 and I want to live in my own world. You laugh, 
 prince ? Yes, my world. I think, and always have 
 thought, this pretension to receptions very ridiculous, 
 because it is written the ladies of high society cannot 
 call on actresses — and in that I approve ; let each 
 keep to her own — and let actresses have sufficient 
 self-respect to remain in their own sphere ! 
 
MEMOIRS 159 
 
 " Let them live among artistes and men of letters 
 who do not despise them, but, on the contrary, search 
 them out. You know, prince, that artistic society is 
 much more lively and instructive — I do not say 
 that for you, who are a prodigy of knowledge and 
 wit — and you know quite well that this world suits 
 us. The praises of Gerard, who has much wit, too ; 
 of Talma, who certainly has genius as well ; of our 
 great painter, David ; of Contat, the marvellous 
 actress ; of Mars, Fleury, Monvel ; their praises are 
 more precious than the courtly compliments of 
 great lords. In speaking of all these artistes, you see 
 I become animated and am not so much of a stupid. 
 In the midst of your society I should not find a 
 word to say. You see quite well I am right to refuse 
 you. You approve, I can see, and I am grateful 
 to you for it. Besides, society composed of men is 
 not amusing, and if some lady artistes were to be 
 admitted to your exclusively masculine circle, what 
 would be said ? I leave you to imagine. In fact, 
 that might indeed compromise you. At last you 
 laugh heartily ; you bear me no rancour. I will 
 come and see you whenever you allow it ; that will 
 always be an honour and a pleasure to me. If you 
 deign to honour me with a visit, I shall then be 
 proud of it." 
 
 " Yes ; I will come. I am glad to have heard 
 you speak thus ; it does you credit. Yes, my 
 beautiful Georgina, I will come and see you ; 
 count on it." 
 
 " Come with the good Giamboni, he is a friend 
 
160 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 of yours. He often visits me, and every evening he 
 is behind the scenes." 
 
 {All this is ti'ue.) 
 
 Next day I told the Emperor everything, and he 
 approved. 
 
 " That devil, Talleyrand, what is he interfering 
 for ? He wants everybody to limp like himself ; he 
 loves to upset all simple and quiet existences. He 
 is a jobber, my dear Georgina. You were right, I 
 should have scolded you if you had consented to 
 entertain." 
 
 " Yes, I was right, was I not ? I should have 
 been there to serve the refreshments, and I am not 
 sufficiently complaisant to hand cups of tea. Be- 
 sides, 1 would never consent to the least thing 
 without telling you, because you are so kind and 
 indulgent as to let me tell you everything. What 
 happens to me is very insignificant, but some- 
 times all these nothings can distract you, and I am 
 very happy when I see you smile. You laugh so 
 well that you make me forget that it is you. It is 
 charming to put oneself on a level with an ordinary 
 person. It is a transformation which ought to 
 make your life lighter for some minutes." 
 
 {Dear friend, I think a lot of these trifling 
 remarks and of this conversation which took place 
 between the Consul and me.) 
 
 When great men wish to make themselves 
 amiable, one has to confess that they succeed 
 better than the average individual, and so they 
 spoil one for the future. It is egotism, I am 
 
MEMOIRS 161 
 
 tempted to believe, intended to force you to 
 regrets ; comparison will always leave a recollec- 
 tion, and that will happen to me. And self-love, 
 whoever be the man, whatever be his rank, 
 dominates him before everything else. 
 
 The Consul was kindness itself to me, and 
 often condescended to speak about the manner in 
 which I had played, and his criticisms were always 
 perfect. 
 
 " Georgina, I don't find you sufficiently in love 
 in Amenaide. I know quite well that Voltaire 
 made the person a little too much of a virago, but 
 still she is passionate and almost madly in love, 
 and I consider you a little cold." 
 
 " Well, I assure you I do all I can. But what 
 can you expect ? I don't feel myself at ease as 
 I do in my maternal roles." 
 
 " Yes, you seem to feel maternity most pro- 
 foundly. Well, my dear Georgina, you must 
 become a mother." 
 
 " If that could be, how happy I should be. How 
 nice my little one would be. What beautiful 
 dresses and pretty httle bonnets he would have. 
 Oh, stop ! I mustn't think about it. I should 
 become mad with joy." 
 
 Alas ! I was wrong to give myself up to a 
 thought which did not engross me only, for I 
 remember having been sent by him, who desired to 
 see this wish accomplished, to a woman who lived 
 in the faubourg Saint- Antoine, who showed the 
 way to become a mother. An unfruitful way 
 
162 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 for me, alas ! What an existence was promised 
 me if I had not been smitten with barrenness ! 
 
 One evening the Emperor summoned me to 
 Saint-Cloud very early. It was rather cold, and 
 there was a fire in the library, where he received 
 me. I ought to remember that fire ! The Consul 
 began to play with me just like a real child. 
 We sat down on the carpet. Then he climbed 
 the small ladder to be found in libraries. He 
 wanted to take Phcdre and make me read her 
 declaration, which bored me horribly, so much so 
 that every time he was just going to take the 
 book, I wheeled the ladder into the middle of 
 the library. He laughed and climbed down, and 
 gave me some little smacks on the cheek, a very 
 tenderly made correction. 
 
 (/ do not know, dear friends, if I have ever told 
 you these simple details, which do not become less 
 charming on the part of that immense man.) 
 
 " Decidedly you don't want to recite Phedre for 
 me ? " 
 
 " No, I am not inclined to. Let us talk, please ; 
 I like that better." 
 
 *' Very well, feather-brain." 
 
 We sat down again on the carpet. 
 
 " Well, dear Georgina, I am going to leave you. 
 I set out at four o'clock in the morning." 
 
 " What, you are leaving ? " 
 
 " Yes, for several days. You see what confidence 
 I have in you, madcap ; nobody knows of it. Well, 
 you don't seem very afflicted at my departure." 
 
MEMOIRS 163 
 
 Really, I felt he was right. I would have given 
 anything to squeeze a tear, but 1 have never been 
 lachrymose. Besides, it is better to be frank, I 
 really did not want to cry. Ah ! I can never 
 efface from my memory or my heart the Consul's 
 gesture, as he placed his hand on my heart and 
 drew it back quickly. 
 
 " Ah ! there is nothing for me in that heart." 
 
 I was in torture. I turned my head to the fire 
 and said not a word ; my eyes were fixed stupidly 
 on the blazing fire and the fire-irons, which shone 
 like the sun. At last my staring eyes, doubtless 
 fatigued with the glare, grew moist, and squeezed 
 out some helpful tears. The Consul saw them, 
 and his charm equalled my confusion. He began 
 to drink them and kiss them away in his delight. 
 I left him in the error. It was very, very 
 wrong, I confess, but he was so joyful that 
 it would have been cruel to disabuse him. Be- 
 sides, I loved him, so I did not deceive him 
 really. 
 
 {Arrange all that, dear, but what I write is so 
 clear to me still that it seems to have happened 
 yesterday. May 27, 1857.) 
 
 The Consul, always kind and considerate, said to 
 me, " I don't want my Georgina to be without 
 money in my absence," and he filled my lap with 
 bank-notes. 
 
 ( Valrnore, look up the date he set out for the 
 camp at Boulogne. It is vei^y essential to see to the 
 dates to prove the truth of this tale. I have 
 
164 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 already told you : '' The Emperor never sent money 
 by anybody, he alwaijs gave it himself.'') 
 
 We took leave of each other at three m the 
 morning. I was very moved when he said to me— 
 
 "Good-bye, Georgina, be good, and we will 
 
 meet soon." 
 
 How strange it was. I hadn't wept at all before 
 him, but once in the carriage I burst into tears. 
 It was quite useless for Constant, the kind and 
 ungrateful Constant, to say— 
 
 " Don't cry ; it is only an absence of a few days. 
 I will tell the Consul how unreasonable you were, 
 and that you did nothing but cry all the way." 
 
 " Yes, tell him that, Constant, so that he may 
 know my devotion and how much I love him. But 
 shall I see him again ? " 
 
 Note by the Editor.— Mile. George has also 
 made rather a different tale of the scene which she 
 has just related. Here is the second version— 
 
 Before leaving Saint-Cloud I forgot an interview 
 which I am going to tell you just as it happened. 
 I was fetched at eight in the evening, and arrived 
 at Saint-Cloud, and in the evening went into the 
 apartment near the bedroom. It was the first tmie 
 I had seen that apartment, which was the hbrary. 
 The Consul came at once. 
 
 " I got you to come much earher, Georgina, as I 
 wanted to see you before my departure." 
 
 " Heavens ! are you leaving ? " 
 
 " Yes ; at eleven to-morrow morning, for Boulogne. 
 No one knows it yet." 
 
MEMOIRS 165 
 
 We were seated quite simply on the carpet. 
 
 " Well, aren't you sorry ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course I am sorry." 
 
 " Don't you experience any pain in seeing me go 
 away f 
 
 He placed his hand on my heart and pretended 
 to tear it out, saying to me in a half-angry, half- 
 tender tone — 
 
 " There is nothing for me in this heart.'' 
 
 Those were his very words. I was on the rack, 
 and would have given everything in the world to 
 cry ; but I did not even want to. We were on 
 the carpet near the fire. My eyes were fixed on 
 the fire and the shining fire-irons, and remained 
 fixed there like a mummy. Whether it was the 
 glow of the fire, of the irons, or of my feelings, if 
 you like that better, two great enormous tears fell on 
 my breast, and the Consul, with a tenderness I am 
 unable to express, kissed them and drank them. 
 
 {Alas / hoxv am I to tell that ? Yet, it is true.) 
 
 I was so touched to the heart with this proof of 
 love that I began to sob wdth real tears. How can 
 I teU you ? He was wild with happiness and joy. 
 He would have given me the Tuileries at that 
 moment if I had asked him. He laughed and 
 played with me, and made me run after him. To 
 avoid being caught, he climbed on a ladder which 
 was used for fetching books, and as the ladder was 
 very light and on wheels, I pushed it the whole 
 length of the room. He laughed and exclaimed, 
 " You will hurt yourself. Stop, or I shall be cross." 
 
166 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 {Dear friend, you can turn that to account ; it 
 will be so nice told by you, good Valmore. You will 
 know the date the Emperor set out for the camp at 
 Boulogne.) 
 
 That evening the Consul stuffed a great packet 
 of bank-notes in my mouth. 
 
 " Heavens ! why do you give me all that ? " 
 
 " I don't want my Georgina to be without money 
 in my absence." 
 
 {His own words !) 
 
 There were forty thousand francs. 
 
 The Emperor never sent money by any one. He 
 always gave it himself. 
 
 He was more tender that evening than I had ever 
 seen him. 
 
 I forgot to tell you that that evening he sent 
 away M. de Talleyrand, who had come to work with 
 him. The next day I was at Talleyrand's, where I 
 often went with the Emperor's knowledge. 
 
 "Ah, come here, my beauty, and let me scold 
 you. I was sent away yesterday on your 
 account." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean. What ! you 
 were refused admission to my dressing-room at the 
 Feydeau, where I was ? You astonish me greatly." 
 
 " You are too young for a diplomat ; you don't 
 yet know how to lie, but that will come. As a 
 matter of fact you are right ; I was not in the least 
 offended at being sent away ; I should have done 
 just the same. I hurried back to Paris to my cards. 
 But that is twice I have been dismissed for the same 
 
MEMOIRS 167 
 
 object. Be proud : that has never happened to me 
 before." 
 
 (/ can pi^ove to you that this is true. Besides^ 
 Talleyrand was always charming ; he was so witty. ) 
 
 I was free for several days ; for ever, perhaps. 
 An absence of several days will suffice for the 
 Consul to think no more of me ; he will want 
 another plaything, I am of such little consequence. 
 However, he was very tender. This evening will 
 count for something in my life. I felt ungrate- 
 ful and cold ; I don't deserve what he is to me 
 — I a nothing, who at the moment did not under- 
 stand all the grandeur of the sentiment which 
 made that glory fall before a few tears of a stupid 
 child. I am angry with myself and despise myself. 
 You will understand the value of the man when 
 he sees you no more ; you will have deserved his 
 forgetfulness. 
 
 During his absence 1 thought I should breathe 
 more freely and amuse myself by running about 
 everywhere ; but not at all. I was more isolated 
 and more bored. I had to play, and that was the 
 best distraction ; but, confronted with the crowded 
 house, I saw a desert. That box where the Consul 
 was so often present at our tragic performances, 
 that empty box seemed so sad. My good Talma 
 himself did not act with the same feelinff. That 
 evening I seemed to hear the carriage which should 
 take me to Saint-Cloud. Everything is a matter of 
 caprice in life ; we do not want what we possess, 
 and we desire that which we have no more. If the 
 
168 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Consul does not want to receive me on his return, 
 I shall go away. Ah, yes ; certainly I will not 
 remain in this frightful Paris if I may not see him 
 again. I do not know where I shall go, but I 
 shall set out perfectly happy. . . . Happy ! no, 
 1 could not be, in spite of my youth and flighti- 
 ness, if you like. I saw clearly that my envied 
 position was most unstable. From one moment to 
 another the beautiful edifice might crumble. How 
 could I flatter myself into thinking that this too 
 brilliant position would have no end ? One has to 
 live too uncertain a life. Let us not think of it. 
 Let us try not to see, and walk on. 
 
 1 had only Talma, who listened to all my woes 
 with the patience of an angel. I must have bored 
 him. 
 
 "You have a magnificent future as an actress, 
 which will always render you independent. Don't 
 dream of the impossible. Amuse yourself. I only 
 hope that this disappointment, if it comes, will not 
 drive you into becoining a Carmelite, like the 
 beautiful La Valliere. You would be too funny 
 behind the veil, and quite certainly you would not 
 complete the year of your novitiate." 
 
 " Yes, you are right ; I should cut a poor figure, 
 and no one would come to snatch the poor actress 
 from that holy asylum. I should certainly be left 
 there. Let me be frankly an actress ; without 
 false devotion, which is ridiculous. Let us adore 
 God ; I do adore Him and say my little prayer 
 every evening. I pray my own prayers, and 1 have 
 
MEMOIRS 169 
 
 never cared to learn written ones. I prefer to learn 
 Racine : that makes more effect." 
 
 " Come this evening : you will find David and 
 Gerard and others." 
 
 "All right ; count on me, dear friend." 
 
 I saw very few people at my own home. I 
 refused nearly every visit from fear. It was an 
 existence nearly always constrained : my position 
 demanded a great reserve of me. So, I did 
 not live, and bored myself horribly. My good 
 Talma was often with me, and always frightfully 
 nervous. 
 
 " Take care, dear friend. The women are angry 
 with you : they are spiteful. Don't lose the 
 attachment of the Consul through your own 
 fault. Don't do anythmg rash, avoid all the 
 horrible tittle-tattle." 
 
 "Yes, dear Talma, I have everything I can 
 desire, except intimate happiness, for, in fact, I 
 am like a machine. I do not belong to myself, 
 and I am waiting till my presence is desired. I 
 am nothing in the great man's existence, and I am, 
 whatever you may say, very isolated. In spite of 
 your friendly advice, I regret my liberty as a young 
 girl, going and coming without conditions, with a 
 will of my own ; receiving who ever wants me and 
 pleases me. What a charming existence ! Nothing 
 can compare with independence. I prefer my 
 humble freedom to a beautiful gilded cage. There 
 is unhappiness for whoever leaves the sphere where 
 God has placed him. I am nothing but a fool. 
 
170 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Self-love urges me on ; then, afterwards, I am left 
 to love a man whom I should only admire. Thus 
 J reason when I am away from the Consul ; with 
 him. I am the happiest woman in the world." 
 
 The Consul returned in about days. 
 
 {Dear Valmore, if you haven t all the dates, I have 
 begged a friend of mine. Saint- Ange, to procure 
 them for me. He is an old friend of HareTs, who 
 is even going to do me a biography, which will be 
 very 7iice.) 
 
 I saw the Consul the day after his arrival at 
 the Tuileries, in a room which I can still see : 
 the little windows above the state apartments, a 
 drawing- and bed-room with a sort of little boudoir. 
 My dear little windows, how often I look at you. 
 I liked them so much that I often used to take 
 my bath at Vigier's, because from the bathroom 
 I saw my dear little windows. I was foolishly 
 sentimental ! 
 
 " See, Clementine, look well at those little win- 
 dows with their shutters. That one, there, is my 
 room, where I am loved and where I love. I am 
 passionately in love with my good and handsome 
 Consul. I am always trembling lest it may end. I 
 am such an insignificant thing I know quite well, 
 and it is that which causes me despair. Think, 
 I am ridiculous enough to wish to be a great 
 lady 1 " 
 
 To reach the pretty little suite, there was a 
 horrible amount of climbing, and very dark passages 
 to pass. 
 
MEMOIRS 171 
 
 " Ah, Constant, how high up ! I can't go on 
 any more." 
 
 " Hush ! no noise." 
 
 '* Why, hush ? At Saint-Cloud you used not to 
 say ' hush ! ' You annoy me with your ' hush.' 
 Here, there are people everywhere." 
 
 At last we are there. I entered through a small 
 cabinet which led into the bedroom. The Consul 
 had not yet come up, and I rid myself of my 
 cashmere shawl. I was in the habit of putting on 
 two pairs of shoes, because at Saint-Cloud 1 had 
 to cross the orangery. I was just going to remove 
 the first pair of shoes, when I perceived that I had 
 lost one of them on those frightful stairs. 
 
 " Heavens ! Constant, I have lost a shoe. Run 
 and look for it. JVIy name is in all my shoes. 
 What will the Consul say ? Run quickly." 
 
 While he ran after the wretched shoe the Consul 
 arrived, kind and tender as usual ; but I was quite 
 troubled. 
 
 " What's the matter, Georgina ? Come, child, 
 tell me." 
 
 " I dare not tell you what has happened, but it 
 is annoying. 1 have lost my shoe in one of those 
 wretched staircases." 
 
 " That's a very small misfortune ! " 
 
 " Yes, but that is not all ; my name is written 
 in all my shoes. You see how annoying it is. 1 
 tremble to think about it." 
 
 " Well, dear Georgina, your name will be read, 
 and he who finds the pretty white shoe will keep 
 
172 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 it, the coxcomb, as having belonged to a beautiful 
 woman. Don't torment yourself, and be quite 
 happy to see me again." 
 
 " I am very happy to find you the same to me 
 as you have always been. But please ring for 
 Constant, who has gone after that frightful shoe ! " 
 
 Constant entered with the shoe. 
 
 " Ah, now I am all happiness and joy to see you 
 again." Questions were not lacking. He was a 
 proper child, the Emperor 1 I told him the truth. 
 
 '' I was very bored — I am often bored. See, 
 I should like to be always with you. I am very 
 silly, am I not? I know quite well that it is 
 impossible. I know very well, too, that I cannot 
 occupy your thoughts. I am a little distraction, 
 that is all ! Still it is sad, but so it must be." 
 
 The Consul was too good not to tell me the 
 contrary. It was kindness, nothing else, but that 
 benevolent kindness ought to satisfy me. I retired 
 almost in daylight. The Emperor did not mind, 
 but it was very embarrassing and disagreeable. 
 
 Constant, as stupid as a post, made the carriage 
 wait at the small door by the water-side. I told 
 the Emperor that that annoyed me, and henceforth 
 the carriage waited at the bottom of the lawn. 
 
 I saw the Emperor nearly always twice a week, 
 and sometimes three times. One day, when my 
 toilette was a little more stylish 
 
 {I forgot to tell you, I believe, that the Emperor 
 used to undress and dress me himself, and placed 
 everything in order just like a good ladys-maid. He 
 
MEMOIRS 173 
 
 took off my stockifigs and, as my garters had buckles, 
 he was impatient, and told me to have some round 
 garters made at once to pass over the feet. Since 
 that period, too far away for my charms, I have 
 worn nothing else. These details are insignificant 
 for the memoirs, but I want to tell you everything.) 
 
 I had a pretty wreath of white roses. The 
 Emperor, who that evening was charmingly gay, 
 decked himself with my wreath, and, looking at 
 himself in the glass, said to me — 
 
 " Ha, Georgina, how pretty I am with the 
 wreath ; I look like a fly in some milk " {those were 
 his childish words). Then he began to sing, and 
 forced me to sing with him the duet from la Fausse 
 Magie — 
 
 " Fous souvient-il de cette fete ou I'oii voidut nous voir danger ? " 
 
 There, that is how the Emperor behaved with 
 me. As I was always questioning Constant to 
 know if the Consul was always the same to me, 
 he replied — 
 
 " Heavens ! I don't know if the Consul is very 
 faithful, but I know this quite well that, the day 
 he gives me the order to come and fetch you, he 
 is very hght-hearted, and I seem to lift him from 
 the gi'ound as I help him with his breeches. Be- 
 sides, would you like me to tell you something ? 
 I believe the respect and reverence of great ladies 
 fatigue him and make him yawn ; while, with you, 
 he is always gay and jolly, and leaves the receptions 
 in very good time to rejoin you." 
 
174 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 {All that is true !) 
 
 But how stupid Constant is to tell me all 
 that ! He gives me joy and, by his stupid words, 
 leaves uneasiness in my heart. There are others, 
 but he prefers me. Why ? Because I am of no 
 consequence, and he is a child with a child. I 
 amuse him ; that is a good deal, but not enough, 
 and that can't last. Ah ! always my fixed idea. 
 When all is over I shall go away. Instead of 
 saying to myself, " How childish, my dear, you will 
 find something else ! " — and yet it xsoas very childish ! 
 
 I arrived. Constant said to me — 
 
 " The Consul has gone up and is waiting for 
 
 you." 
 
 I entered. No one was there, and I looked in 
 all the rooms. I called out. Nothing ! Nobody ! 
 Then I rang. 
 
 " Constant, has the Consul gone down again ? " 
 
 " No, madame, search well." 
 
 He winked at me and showed me the door of 
 the boudoir, which I had never thought of entering. 
 The Consul was there, hidden beneath cushions 
 and laughing like a school-boy. He had asked for 
 my portrait, and I had brought it him. It was a 
 miniature, which he did not consider very good, 
 and he was right. 
 
 " Well, return it to me, and I will have another 
 done." 
 
 " No, I will keep it ; you can always have 
 another done all the same." 
 
 " Yes, but on one condition." 
 
MEMOIRS 175 
 
 " Ah ! there are conditions, Mademoiselle 
 Georgina ! Let us hear the conditions." 
 
 " Listen, then. It is not very amusing to pose, 
 and especially for me, who have no patience, so 
 I make a great sacrifice for you. Well, I want 
 your portrait in exchange. Do you see, I want it. 
 No, I desire it, that is better." 
 
 " If you are nice and good I will give it 
 
 you." 
 
 But he did not propose giving me a gold coin 
 with his effigy, as has been suggested. I had, 
 and still have, his portrait, an adorable miniature, 
 properly given by him to me. 
 
 " As I haven't yet got your portrait, to-day I want 
 even something else. Don't refuse me, because 
 to-day I am in a very bad temper, and I shall be 
 cross." 
 
 He laughed till he cried. 
 
 '' I refuse ; I want to see you in a great rage. 
 There now, I refuse." 
 
 " We shall see. Ring for Constant." 
 
 "Ring yourself. I allow you." 
 
 " Constant, some scissors." 
 
 " Go and bring madame the scissors. Ah ! what 
 do you wish to do with the scissors ? What do you 
 want to cut off? Really, you are frightening me." 
 
 How the dear Consul laughed I 
 
 " I want to cut off a lock of your beautiful hair, 
 so soft and fine." 
 
 " No, no, my dear ; I have too little of it." 
 
 But I ran after him, holding my scissors. 
 
176 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 " I only want four hairs ; I promise you not to 
 cut any more. If you have no confidence in me, I 
 shall go away." 
 
 " Ah ! the obstinate little wretch. Come, then, 
 cut them ; but don't let it be seen." 
 
 I cut four or five hairs. 
 
 " See if I have kept my word. I have really too 
 few." 
 
 " Well, rascal, cut again, but only a few." 
 
 "Yes, rest assured." 
 
 And I cut off a nice little lock. 
 
 " Oh, the lying little wretch ! It is enormous." 
 
 " No, look carefully ; pardon me, it won't be 
 seen at all. I still want something else." 
 
 " Ah ! will you soon be finished ? " 
 
 " At once. Well, I want you when you come 
 into your little box — you know the little box where 
 I like to see you so much — to show me my portrait. 
 I don't know how you will do it, but you will make 
 me very happy." 
 
 {Dear fi^iejid, there is no one else in the world 
 who can turn all these details to account, which will 
 become charming in your hands.) 
 
 You see the Emperor's character, and how he 
 quite lent himself to the caprices of a mere chit. 
 Great men have their weak side, it is sweet for 
 them sometimes to descend and become small, to 
 know the simple and intimate side of life in its 
 details, and doubtless they are happy to forget 
 themselves sometimes. 
 
 Next day he came to listen to ks Horaces, and 
 
MEMOIRS 177 
 
 at a moment when I was standing at the side of the 
 stage near his box he raised his pretty httle hand 
 and made me a sign. Had he the portrait ? I do 
 not know. The intention was sufficiently amiable, 
 and I had to be content with that. 
 
 In spite of the rumours which were current con- 
 cerning my intimacy with the Consul, adorers (I 
 can't find another word, and that is a bad one) did 
 not fail to present themselves. Decidedly I did not 
 want to live altogether like a recluse. I received 
 in my dressing-room, after my performances, 
 Frenchmen and foreigners of high distinction. And 
 why not receive them now and again at home ? 
 
 One day the secretary of the Prince of Wiirtem- 
 berg {/iisto?ical) was announced. I received the 
 gentleman, who brought me, on behalf of the prince, 
 a magnificent diamond ring, which he begged me 
 to accept as a proof of the pleasure he had experi- 
 enced at the performances of ks Horaces. It was 
 simple homage, which he hoped I would accept; 
 and further,' an enormous red velvet purse embroi- 
 dered in gold, one of those purses of the shape 
 which are used as ofFertory-bags. This purse, of 
 colossal dimensions, was filled with louis. 
 
 " Sir, tell the prince that I accept with pleasure 
 and pride the ring he condescends to offer me. As 
 for the purse, I refuse it. He can make a better 
 use of the money, which will relieve many unfor- 
 tunates. But French artistes are not in the habit 
 of receiving offerings of money." 
 
 The gentleman was very confused. 
 
178 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 "Mademoiselle, the prince will make his own 
 excuses if you avUI receive him. He did not at all 
 wish to wound you in offering you this purse, and 
 he would have begged you — I have not the least 
 doubt about it — to distribute the money yourself." 
 
 " Thank the prince, sir, and be good enough to 
 tell him that I perform my very modest charities 
 with my own small purse. Yes, M. le prince can 
 come, and I shall have great pleasure in receiving 
 him and thanking him." 
 
 ( This happened to me. ) 
 
 The prince came the next day, and, judge of 
 my surprise, it was the soi-disant secretary ! 
 
 " Heavens ! prince, tell me why you disguised 
 yourself" 
 
 "Pardon, mademoiselle, but I dared not ..." 
 
 " Ah ! yes, because of that beautiful purse. 
 You don't know me, prince ; but gold is a 
 bad passport to reach me with. I don't like 
 money." 
 
 The prince was tall, very slender, and shy, which 
 gave him a very awkward appearance. He was 
 the father, I think {you ought to k?LOw, Valmore)^ 
 of the Empress of Russia, wife of Paul I. 
 
 The dear prince used to see me in my dressing- 
 room, where he found good and distinguished 
 company. Those reunions were charming. After 
 the performance of the tragedy. Talma, who re- 
 ceived the same visits, always came down to my 
 dressing-room, accompanied by his cortege of 
 artistes and notabilities. It often happened that 
 
MEMOIRS 179 
 
 Mongila, the call-boy at the theatre, came to tell 
 us that the performance was ended. Impossible ! 
 
 On next seeing the First Consul, he said — 
 
 " Well, Georgina, did you receive the Prince 
 of Wiirtemberg ? " 
 
 "Yes, and I will tell you what has happened 
 to me." 
 
 " In a week many things can happen." 
 
 " I see you so seldom, so listen. I get bored 
 myself. I received the prince, and I shall receive 
 many others. Besides, you know, all the visits we 
 receive in our dressing-rooms are public, so where's 
 the harm." 
 
 " You have a disposition for grandeur, dear 
 Georgina." 
 
 " You have given me the taste for them ; I 
 adapt myself to a very good school. As long as 
 I have the good fortune to inspire you with a little 
 interest, I shall do nothing which may cause your 
 favour to cool." 
 
 " But afterwards ? " 
 
 " I don't know what may happen." 
 
 " You are very foolish." 
 
 " Well, that is what I was going to tell you 
 about : here is the ring to begin with." 
 
 I told him the story of the purse. 
 
 "Fie!" said the Consul. "What bad taste! 
 You received that ring a little lightly. I expect 
 you not to receive presents again in so-called 
 homage of your talent ; that is not proper." 
 
 " However, there are actresses who have received 
 
180 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 presents abroad ; one sees it every day. It is not 
 their fault if the French only show their admiration 
 by beautiful phrases ; it is much cheaper." 
 
 " Georgina, you do not please me this evening. 
 I don't like that talk. I think I shall do well to 
 marry you off." 
 
 (/ do not remember if I told you of the proposition 
 he made me, and perhaps I am repeating it again. 
 What does it matter ?) 
 
 "I to be married ! I ! And to whom, then ? 
 Heavens ! " 
 
 " Be calm ; I will give you to a general. You 
 will leave the stage, of course, and live honourably." 
 
 " Is the proposition you are making serious ? " 
 
 " Very serious." 
 
 I was wounded to the bottom of my heart. Ah ! 
 Constant, you were stupid enough to tell me the 
 truth ! Ha ! ha ! Some great lady has passed his 
 way ! My mind was soon made up. 
 
 " I beg a thousand pardons for disobeying you, 
 but I won't and can't get married. When you had 
 the caprice to send for me ..." 
 
 " Caprice ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes, my God, caprice ! . . . I was an artiste, 
 and will remain an artiste. I to take a conventional 
 husband ! Ah ! if one can be found complaisant 
 enough to play the part, you may be sure I could 
 neither love nor esteem such a man ! " 
 
 " You are right, Georgina ; you are a fine 
 girl ! " 
 
 I spoke thus to the Emperor frankly and 
 
MEMOIRS 181 
 
 artlessly many times. As I wished to keep up a 
 worldly talk, which one learns like a part, the 
 Emperor stopped me, laughing, and saying — 
 
 '* Leave these silly phrases and speak to me as 
 you feel ; don't try your wit on me. Tell me 
 everything that comes to you naturally." 
 
 He never scolded me for my whims and stupidities, 
 you understand. That is why, I believe, in spite 
 of his absences, I always found him, even to the 
 last moment, kind and excellent to me ; so it has 
 become a cult, an adoration which nothing has been 
 able to change, and in which I glory. All these recol- 
 lections have consoled me for many disappointments 
 and miseries, and many betrayals. Poor Emperor ! 
 How the illustrious martyr had to suffer ! One has 
 no right to complain. 
 
 {Dear friend, put in those lines on my Emperor ; 
 I particularly want to put them in.) 
 
 The Emperor was not eight days without seeing 
 me again. I found him gay and still kind. A 
 singular adventure happened to me, which I will 
 relate. 
 
 A Captain Hill was announced — English or 
 American ? " Let the gentleman tell you what he 
 wants, Clementine. You know that I no longer 
 receive people who have not been introduced to 
 me and whom I don't know. Well, come then — 
 what does he want ? " 
 
 " He says he can only say to you what he has 
 been charged with." 
 
 " Well, let him wi*ite to me." 
 
182 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 " The gentleman pretends that he is unable to 
 write it ; he can only speak, and not write." 
 
 " Well, tell him to be off, and that I can't 
 receive him ; and don't you return, it annoys me." 
 
 In spite of my order, Clementine, who never 
 allowed herself to be intimidated, returned. 
 
 " What ! there again, insolent girl ! Leave me." 
 
 " But, mademoiselle, the gentleman is very 
 amusing, and your curiosity will be piqued when 
 you know him. What he has to say is a secret 
 he can only confide to you." 
 
 " A secret ! — that is pecuUar. Well, I will 
 receive him to-morrow at two o'clock. Who is 
 the man ? Has he come to ask help ? Is he a 
 poor beggar ? " 
 
 " Oh, not at all ! He is a very handsome man, 
 quite well groomed and very elegant." 
 
 " Well, perhaps he is a thief Your handsome 
 man frightens me, Clementine. You will remain 
 in the boudoir, and the valet will remain as sentinel 
 at the door of my room. You will be the cause 
 of whatever misfortune may happen, idiot that 
 you are, to come and excite my curiosity ! Your 
 handsome man has not yet been received." 
 
 At two o'clock next day Captain Hill was 
 announced. 
 
 " Come, the die is cast ! Let him come in, and 
 you stop there." 
 
 He was certainly quite a nice man, with excel- 
 lent manners. 
 
 " What do you want of me, monsieur ? " 
 
MEMOIRS 183 
 
 "Madame, I am charged with a very delicate 
 mission, which embarrasses me strangely. Madame, 
 pardon me at once the proposition which I am 
 going to make to you. I have to speak seriously 
 to you, but my words can only be heard in the 
 open air." 
 
 " What, sir, in the open air ? Really this strange 
 proposal cannot be accepted, nor do I accept it. 
 Excuse me, sir, if I leave you, but I can listen 
 to you no longer." 
 
 " But, madame, do not distrust me, please." 
 
 " Ah, that's it, monsieur ; do you want to elope 
 with me, then ? " 
 
 " Madame, not the least in the world. Let your 
 carriage follow me with your people in it to the 
 bois de Boulogne. Be so good as to accept a place 
 in my carriage, and once in the open air you shall 
 know all and learn the object of my mission, which 
 perhaps will not be without interest for you." 
 
 " Perhaps all this may be true ; but 1 refuse." 
 
 I was terribly frightened, 
 
 " Reflect, madame. What I have to offer does 
 not present itself twice in a lifetime. Reflect, and 
 perhaps you will be more confident." 
 
 I turned my head aside. 
 
 " Well, Clementine, what do you say about it ? 
 Isn't it terrifying ? " 
 
 " My word, no, mademoiselle ! The man is all 
 right. What harm do you suppose he could do 
 you ? If I were in your place I should go." 
 
 '* Well, you go with him. You will gain some- 
 
184 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 thing by it, doubtless. As for me, I shall not go. 
 Who is the man ? " 
 
 But suppositions kept on recurring. My imagin- 
 ation ran on at the same time. He returned next 
 day — I refused — and the day after. That man 
 fatigues me. I want to know who he is. 
 
 " Tell him to come to-morrow at two. I will 
 
 go!" 
 
 The next day saw me in a carriage beside this 
 mysterious personage, handsome and young, who 
 really would have done better to speak for 
 himself. I was very careless to expose myself 
 thus. Every instant I looked out of the door to 
 assure myself that I was being followed by my own 
 carriage and servants. 
 
 At last we reached the bois de Boulogne. 
 
 *' At last, sir, we are in the open air, I hope. 
 Explain yourself quickly, for I confess to you I am 
 in a hurry to leave you." 
 
 He gave me in the interview some half-confi- 
 dences : that I had inspired a violent passion in a 
 high and mighty English lord ; that he had had 
 my portrait done (some daub, doubtless) ; that he 
 was madly in love, and wished at any cost to make 
 me leave France. 
 
 I began to laugh. 
 
 " Don't laugh, madame, it is quite serious." (Yes, 
 if I wish it, I suppose.) 
 
 He gave me details about the house I should 
 occupy, and the brilliant existence I should lead ; 
 but they were always mysterious details. 
 
MEMOIRS 185 
 
 " Yes, monsieur, all that is truly magnificent. 
 But of whom are you speaking ? Supposing that, 
 for the first time in my life, riches tempt me to the 
 point of leaving everything, and exiling myself in a 
 country I do not love at all, and which I never shall 
 love, at least I wish to know the name of the 
 brilliant and luxurious lover. You will admit, 
 monsieur, that all this too much resembles a tale 
 from The Thousand and One Nights ; that it is as 
 strange as you, a young and handsome knight, who 
 charge yourself with such an embassy. It is not 
 at all understandable." 
 
 He was unwilling to tell me more about it. 
 
 " Then," I said, " good-day, sir. I am going 
 back to my carriage." 
 
 I did so, laughing heartily at the comical adven- 
 ture. He is an original, who wished to amuse 
 himself— that is all. I thought no more about it, 
 nor even mentioned it again. 
 
 But the man was always before me, seated in 
 the promenades or the theatres. 
 
 " Ah ! my dear sir, your perseverance in following 
 me is beginning to fatigue me strangely. I am 
 very much tempted to tell the Consul of your 
 inconceivable obstinacy." 
 
 But what's the good ? He is an original ; better 
 leave him alone. 
 
 He did not consider himself beaten, and returned 
 again and again. I would not receive him. He 
 waited for me at the foot of the staircase, and 
 at the moment I was getting into the carriage, 
 
186 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 implored me to listen to him for an instant. I had 
 to be poHte ; I could not mortify the man before 
 my servant. 
 
 " Madame, in mercy give me a second interview 
 in the Bois ! " 
 
 "My dear sir, this time you can go for your 
 drive quite alone. This joke is lasting too long, 
 and is annoying me to the last degree. Be so 
 good as not to insist. You will make me cross. 
 For goodness' sake write that to whoever sends you, 
 and give me peace. A thousand comphments, and,' 
 above all, good-bye." 
 
 " You order me to retire, madame. I obey ; but 
 before leaving you I ought not to leave you ignorant 
 that having received an authorisation to tell you 
 everything, I might perhaps hope that you would 
 accord me a second interview." 
 
 " Ah ! you have received authorisation to let me 
 know your mysterious mission ? " 
 
 A frightful curiosity was urging me. This was 
 coming to me from a country which inspired me 
 with little confidence. I decided at once; I 
 had no more fear for myself, I wished to know 
 everything. 
 
 "Come, then, monsieur, but at once. Your 
 carriage is there. I will get into it, and mine shall 
 foUow." 
 
 The man never said a word to me so long as we 
 were in Paris; but in the midst of the trees he 
 resumed his speech. He began by throwing 
 down diamond ornaments, really magnificent 
 
MEMOIRS 187 
 
 diamonds, you know — necklaces, bracelets, earrings, 
 all kept together by little Venetian chains. The 
 earrings especially were regal : huge stones hung 
 from large drops. It was dazzling. 
 
 " Ah ! monsieur, all that is very beautiful. And 
 then ? " 
 
 " Madame, all this is yours. You are begged 
 to accept them. Here, besides, is the portrait of 
 the prince." 
 
 " The gentleman is very handsome, and the 
 diamonds which surround his portrait are not less 
 beautiful. He is superb ! But I have not the 
 honour of knowing the face. His name, if you 
 please ? " 
 
 " Madame, it is the Prince of Wales ! " 
 
 " Ah ! sir, so it is the Prince of Wales. Ah, 
 indeed ! Take back all those objects. I am 
 leaving you, monsieur, and I wish you good- 
 bye." 
 
 I got back into my own carriage. 
 
 " You refuse, then, madame ? " 
 
 "I refuse, sir, with joy." 
 
 I had to see the Consul that evening, and hastened 
 to tell him everything. 
 
 " I was terrified, I swear to you, by the name of 
 the personage. I tell you so, and don't accuse 
 me of mere curiosity. No, I saw there were graver 
 matters." 
 
 " Dear Georgina, perhaps they wanted to bring 
 to life a second Judith." 
 
 " You will never be a Holofernes." 
 
188 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 "Reassure yourself; I knew all. You will never 
 see him again." 
 
 As a matter of fact I heard no more mention of 
 him. I never met that man again. 
 
 {Dear, all this adventure is true, very piquant and 
 quite true. The whole history of Captain Hill is 
 true.) 
 
 My theatrical life kept me from boredom. I was 
 playing continually. 
 
 ( Vei'teuil is going to send me the names of the new 
 tragedies that appeared at this time. JVo doubt you 
 remember them yourself, dear Valmore.) 
 
 All those works had little success. There was 
 one in 1806, I think, which caused all Paris to flock 
 to it : les Templiers, by Raynouard. I shall never 
 forget the first performance, which had gloomy 
 results for my heart. 
 
 Being unable to procure a box, either for gold 
 or silver, I placed my little mother behind the 
 scenes. She felt ill, and there was an anxious crowd 
 round her, and her cashmere shawl was stolen. That 
 was a little matter ; but, alas ! from that day my 
 mother was constantly ill. Poor mother, she was 
 touched by death ! 
 
 Lafont's and my parts were capital, especially 
 Lafont's. Mine was sown with some good Hnes, 
 which produced an excellent effect. Talma in 
 Marigny was admirable and as touching as possible. 
 Saint-Prix as the grand maitre was good. The 
 brilliant Dalmas caused much applause in his speech 
 as the Constable. {He recited splendidly, if you 
 
MEMOIRS 189 
 
 remember, V^almore.) Each performance filled the 
 house to the roof ; it was a long and fruitful success. 
 Our house was so badly constructed that I believe 
 it could scarcely reach the figure of four thousand 
 francs. 
 
 My part could scarcely excite jealousy, but of 
 course the poor Duchesnois was furious. 
 
 " They gave you the part on account of your 
 physique." 
 
 " Do you think so, my dear ? You are wrong. 
 I consider your part very original." 
 
 (/ will write to Fonta of the Comedie-Frarifaise 
 to ask Imri the number of tragical works which were 
 played from my debut to the day of my departure 
 for Russia, and since my return in 1813 to the day 
 when an order f^om M. de Duras 7^einstated me. I 
 think all that will be very useful.) 
 
 I had been nearly a fortnight without seeing the 
 Consul again. I let nothing be said to him. I 
 waited, but this time without impatience, and nearly 
 resolved to refuse my visit if it were asked of me ; 
 which was not long in happening. 
 
 Constant came to ask me in the name of the 
 Consul to repair that evening to the Tuileries. 
 
 " Impossible, my dear fellow I For a fortnight I 
 have been quite ready ; to-day I am indisposed, 
 and would not go out for anything in the world." 
 
 Constant insisted. 
 
 " The Consul will be cross." 
 
 " I am very sorry ; but I do not wish to go 
 out." 
 
190 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Was I a slave, then ? No, certainly not ; I too 
 had my caprices. 
 
 The day afterwards I was at the Fran9ais, in 
 my little proscenium box looking out on to the 
 theatre, right opposite the Consul's, who that day 
 was also there. Les Femmes Savantes was being 
 played, and some other little piece I do not re- 
 member. I did not look once at the box. I would 
 be very much on my guard ; I was too hurt for 
 that. 
 
 There was a knock at the door of the box, and 
 I saw the handsome, and kind Murat. 
 
 " What procures me the honour of your visit ? " 
 
 " Nothing in particular, my dear Georgina ; the 
 pleasure of a moment's talk with you, that's all. 
 How comfortable you look in this little box, it is 
 delightful and so cosy. Besides, you are opposite 
 the Consul." 
 
 " I have always had this box ; I do not care 
 to show myself. Here I can scarcely be seen, and 
 I can see everybody ; besides, one can talk at one's 
 ease." 
 
 " Cast your eyes on the Consul's box ; he looks 
 at you a lot, pretending to listen to les Femmes 
 Savantes^ 
 
 " Ah ! I am very flattered, I assure you ; but as 
 a matter of fact it doesn't interest me at all." 
 
 " Has there been a quarrel, then ? " 
 
 " Ah ! you are making fun ! One has not the 
 right to quarrel with the Consul, but one has to 
 remain one's own; that is what I am doing." 
 
MEMOIRS 191 
 
 " Come, wrong-headed one ; you refused yester- 
 day, did you not? You will consent to-morrow." 
 
 " No more than yesterday. There, be kind, and 
 don't talk to me any more about it. You see how 
 red 1 am ; well, that is because I am angry. How 
 hot it is here ; I am suffocating ! " 
 
 " Will you, dear Georgina, come and take a little 
 drive ? " 
 
 " Very gladly ; I should be charmed to go out." 
 
 " Give me a place in your caniage, Georgina. 
 Where is it waiting ? " 
 
 *' Over there, in the rue Montpensier." 
 
 '* I will go there." 
 
 At last we are seated. Prince Murat was ex- 
 cellent, and certainly he was not used to doing the 
 amiable. 
 
 " Let us go to the bois de Boulogne." 
 
 ''Let us go." 
 
 I was enchanted to have left my box before the 
 Consul's departure. A little self-love satisfied, and 
 a heart wounded. Ah, poor women I 
 
 " See, general, what do you expect from me ? 
 You know quite well that is all over. The Consul 
 has remained a fortnight without seeing me." 
 
 " Eh, well, what does that prove ? Do you 
 think then, my dear, that he is a man like any 
 other ? How silly you are ! " 
 
 " Did you say silly ? Say stupid instead ! You 
 say that he is not a man like other men. You 
 are right ; he is a fine great man, exalted above all. 
 But to a woman he is a man like any other." 
 
192 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 " You are worth all of them. In spite of your 
 charming anger, it doesn't do to be obstinate. You 
 must go there to-morrow : he desires it. I tell 
 you for your good. You would be wrong to be 
 obdurate ; be glad that he desires to see you. Ah, 
 my dear, other women would behave with more 
 alacrity ! If you follow your head it will very soon 
 make you commit plenty of follies, and much later 
 you will repent of them." 
 
 " You speak like a sage. That is splendid ; you 
 really edify me and make me laugh — you, the 
 handsome and brilliant Murat ! Thanks a thousand 
 times for your grave counsels ! I will learn to profit 
 by them, if I can. But then I should become 
 a dissembler. Am I understood ? I shall see the 
 Consul again, but with a mask. If I do not 
 disguise myself I am quite disgraced." 
 
 " Very well, put on your mask, but let it be of a 
 more tender colour." 
 
 " Changeable, you would say ? There, general, 
 you are all monsters ! " 
 
 The next day I was at the Tuileries, but with- 
 out any joy. I do not know why, but it seemed 
 to me that a misfortune was waiting for me. The 
 Consul was the same, still kind and loving ; but I 
 had a countenance which was not in keeping ; I 
 did not smile, and was cold and serious. The 
 Consul began to laugh. 
 
 " Ah ! see what a face you are making ! Leave 
 it off quickly, it doesn't suit you at all ; do not 
 spoil my Georgina. That sulkiness is without 
 
MEMOIRS 193 
 
 charm. Return to your nature quickly. Be as 
 you were yesterday in your box : a spoilt child, 
 and badly brought up, who does not like to be 
 thwarted." 
 
 " And you, sir, do not be so long away from me ; 
 it is that which displeases and annoys me horribly." 
 
 " One cannot do all one wishes, my dear 
 Georgina ; but, whatever happens, be assured that 
 I shall always have a tender attachment for you, 
 and that I shall not lose sight of you." 
 
 " But what you tell me is very sad. Shall I then 
 see you no more ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear, always ; I promise you. Don't 
 be afraid. There, that is enough ; no more 
 questions to-day. Be good-natured and natural, 
 and count on me." 
 
 {All this, my friends, passed as I have tiTitte?i, a 
 little time before his Coronation. I am not in good 
 trim ; all my poor spirit is tortured for money, you 
 understand. ) 
 
 I returned home sadly, in spite of all the Consul's 
 tenderness ; I felt that some misfortune was going 
 to happen to me. Then it was that I repeated — 
 
 " I will leave." 
 
 I saw the Consul again a few days afterwards ; on 
 entering he took my hands with unheard-of kindness, 
 and made me sit down. 
 
 " INIy dear Georgina, I have to tell you some- 
 thing which will grieve you ; I shall not be able 
 to see you for some time to come. A Veil, have 
 you nothing to say ? " 
 
194 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 " No ; I was expecting it. 1 should have been 
 mad to beUeve that I, who am nothing in the 
 world, could have occupied a place, I do not say 
 in your heart, but in your thoughts. I have been 
 a simple distraction, that is all." 
 
 "You are a child, and it is charming of you to 
 say that to me ; you prove your attachment, and 
 I love to know you love me. We are loved so 
 little ! But 1 will see you again, I promise 
 you." 
 
 " Thank you for your benevolent words, but 1 
 shall not profit by your kindness ; I shall go 
 away." 
 
 " I don't believe that. You will never make 
 that mistake ; you would lose your future." 
 
 " My future ; I have none. Besides, it matters 
 very little to me ; 1 shall go away." 
 
 The Consul was kinder than he had ever been ; 
 I was profoundly touched by all the sweet consoling 
 words he condescended to use. He was so good, 
 and kept me very late. 
 
 "Come, my good Georgina, good-bye for the 
 present." 
 
 " Oh, not good-bye for the present, but adieu for 
 ever." 
 
 It seemed as if the world around me had van- 
 ished. It seemed to me that everything was dead, 
 that nothing woidd live again. Ah ! it is when we 
 part that we feel all the happiness we are losing. 
 I was another woman, quite broken by sorrow. 
 
 "Well, Clementine, you will wait up no more 
 
MEMOIRS 195 
 
 for me at night. It seems that I shall never see 
 the Consul again." 
 
 " Is it possible ? " 
 
 " It is possible. For a time, he said." 
 
 " You must believe him, mademoiselle. A man 
 like him does not stand on ceremony, and if it was 
 quite broken off he would have told you." 
 
 We spent the rest of the night in making a 
 thousand conjectures. 
 
 (If was 7iea?'ly six o clock when I got back from 
 the Tuileries.) 
 
 At ten o'clock I sent for Talma, and he arrived 
 quite out of breath. 
 
 " Great Heavens ! What has happened, my dear 
 friend, to make you send for me so early ? " 
 
 " What has happened is that I shall never see 
 the Consul again." 
 
 " How is that, then ? It is not possible ! " 
 
 " Oh, for that matter, everything is possible, my 
 good friend. When one is thrown into too elevated 
 a position, the future does not exist. However, 
 the Consul was angelically tender and kind. He 
 said to me, ' My dear Georgina, for a time I shall 
 see you no more. A great event is going to 
 happen which will take up every moment. But 
 I will see you again, I promise you.' " 
 
 ( Those are his very words, dear Madame Valmore.) 
 
 " Well, my dear, we must believe it. But the 
 great event ! Ah ! I have it ! Don't you know ? 
 There is talk of crowning the Consul, who will be 
 declared Emperor. It is even said that the Pope 
 
196 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 will come to consecrate him at Notre Dame. 
 Those are the rumours which are going about, 
 but there is nothing official at the bottom of 
 them." 
 
 " Well, dear friend, when that will be, my 
 seeing the Consul will not prevent the Pope from 
 coming, or stop the coronation." 
 
 " No ; but he himself even needs to stop any 
 gossip." 
 
 " Say, my friend, that his fancy is over ; or does 
 he want to perform his devotions with humility, 
 without being disturbed by feelings ? As you like. 
 See, what has happened was to happen — 1 have 
 told you so a hundred times. I have nothing to 
 complain about. I only am to blame, thank God ; 
 I am the one to suffer, and it is quite right. Yes 
 dear friend, I suffer. My heart is not capital in- 
 vested at heavy interest. I have given loyally 
 without calculation. I have never thought for a 
 moment of making a fortune, and he knows it. 
 I have never desired anything. I was thoroughly 
 happy in seeing him. You can well believe, dear 
 friend, that I must suffer a great deal." 
 
 " Come, come, you are over-excited. You go 
 on and on without rhyme or reason. Could you 
 imagine that a man such as lie would transform 
 himself into the lover of Flori.an's FahlcH ? When 
 one has the good fortune to attract the attention 
 of such an immense man, you have, my dear, to 
 become great in your turn, and leave off all childish 
 ideas of romantic affection." 
 
MEMOTKS 197 
 
 " You are right. I will say no more about it, 
 and will not complain about a misfortune which 
 must yield to greatness. I will become the 
 Georgina of former times, and resume my gaiety 
 and cherished indifference. Let us lunch together, 
 Talma. Then, if you will be so kind, we will go 
 and take a walk in the country." 
 
 " But it is peri shingly cold, my dear." 
 
 " Bah ! the cold does good ; it calms one. Ice is 
 good when one has the fever. There, you will go 
 and tell them at home that you are dining with 
 me. Besides, I won't let you go ; I intend to 
 spend the whole day with you. This evening 
 we will go and hear our dear ingenuous Brunet ; 
 although you are such a great tragedian he knows 
 how to make you laugh — yes, and uproariously." 
 
 " How you dispose of me ! I had business to do 
 and calls to make." 
 
 " Bah ! you will do all that to-morrow. To- 
 morrow I shall have made up my mind what to 
 do, and will restore to you your liberty. Is it 
 agreed ? " 
 
 " Well, well, do as you like with me, you crazy 
 creature. I am your slave till to-night." 
 
 The rumour of the Coronation gained credit 
 from day to day, and at last became official. A 
 month afterwards it took place. 
 
 (December ? — the date ? — the day ? — the year ?) 
 
 I was overwhelmingly sad. Why ? I ought to 
 have rejoiced to see the great Napoleon elevated to 
 the rank which belonged to him and which he had 
 
198 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 won. But selfishness is ever present. It seemed 
 to me that, once upon the throne, the Emperor 
 would never see his poor Georgina again. I did 
 not care to see the ceremony. I had places for 
 Notre Dame, but nothing would have induced 
 me to go there. Besides, I have never had the 
 least curiosity for public festivals. Still, my family 
 wished to see, so I hired some windows in a house 
 opposite the Pont Neuf, and got them for three 
 hundred francs. But we had to go on foot. I 
 had some difficulty in making up my mind to go — 
 from the rue Saint-Honore it is a good step, and in 
 the month of December too ! We dressed by 
 candle-light, and when we set out it was scarcely 
 day. The streets were crowded and sanded ; it 
 was only possible to walk slowly, there were so 
 many people. In about two hours we were in 
 possession of our deai^ windoim. My footman had 
 ordered a good fire beforehand, and breakfast. We 
 were sheltered from cold and hunger — money is 
 good sometimes ! We had four windows, two 
 looking on to the square, and two on to the quay. 
 The drawing-room was pleasant ; some good easy- 
 chairs and arm-chairs — if they were good they were 
 hard. The furniture of that period was atrocious. 
 At the least movement there was a rush to the 
 windows. 
 
 " Come, sister, and look at the procession." 
 " All right ; I shall have plenty of time. You 
 open the windows every second ; I am freezing, so 
 leave me at the fire. Perhaps 1 shall have to 
 
MEMOIRS 199 
 
 play to-morrow, and I am not anxious to catch 
 cold." 
 
 Besides, I was bored to death. 
 
 " I am going to sleep. Wake me up when you 
 see the cavalry." 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! the procession ! " 
 
 This time it really was he. 
 
 (//* Valmore would undertake the de,wription of 
 this magnificent processio7i, it would be done zvith 
 a 7n.aster hand. As for me, I dont understand 
 anything about it, and the description is very 
 essential ; it will make a diversion from the little 
 insignificant details. The glass coaches, all the 
 family, the Emperor s sisters, and that beautiful and 
 gentle Hortense — / do not remember if she was 
 the?^e, Valmoi^e, but she ought to have been. The 
 carriage of Pope Pius VII, the cross-bearer, 
 mounted on his mule, which the naughty little urchins 
 teased, the coins which were thrown among the 
 crowd — all these details, Valmore, are for you.) 
 
 At last came the Emperor's carriage, richly 
 gilded. All the pages, some on the steps, some 
 behind, and everywhere, were admirable to behold. 
 We were on the first floor, and nothing escaped 
 us, our glances penetrated into the carriages. The 
 Emperor was calm and smiling ; but the Empress 
 Josephine was marvellous — she always had a 
 perfect taste in dress ; but she was ever noble, and 
 always had a benevolent glance which attracted 
 you to her. She was, even in her dress of State, 
 most simple and charming. She wore her diadem 
 
200 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 without apparently feeling its weight. She saluted 
 her people with so much kindness and encourage- 
 ment that every one's sympathy went out to her. 
 Still, she was imposing, but her smile attracted 
 you to her, and you could meet her glance with- 
 out fear, persuaded that she would not repel you. 
 Ah ! really, the adorable woman was thoroughly 
 kind-hearted. Grandeurs had not changed her. 
 She was a woman of ability and heart. What a 
 misfortune for France and the Emperor that he 
 divorced her ! 
 
 The procession over, I returned home with a 
 sad heart, saying to myself, " All is over." I heard 
 no mention of the Emperor, and did not try to 
 see him. I w^as in the habit of writing him a 
 small note when T did not see him, but I found 
 that I was to stand aside. I did so. Fetes, 
 illuminations and fireworks were not wanting, but 
 certainly 1 had no desire to run and see the 
 spectacle. Mars came with Armand, Thenard, 
 Bourgoin, and forced me to go with them to the 
 Tuileries. It would have been ungracious on my 
 part not to yield to them, for my sister burned 
 with desire to rush there, and as Mars's daughter 
 was my sister's little friend, I had to resign myself. 
 So we found ourselves at the Tuileries in the midst 
 of a crowd which was suffocating. The Emperor, 
 Empress and all the Court were on the balcony 
 and came forward to salute that enthusiastic 
 crowd. There was a really dangerous moment. 
 
MEMOIRS 201 
 
 Women cried, " I am suffocating ! " and my two 
 little ones cried louder than any one. 
 
 " Oh, my daughter ! " cried Mars, terrified. 
 
 " Oh, my sister ! Save my sister, Armand ! " 
 ' " My friends, let us get away from here ; it is 
 impossible for us to remain, we shall be crushed 
 underfoot." 
 
 And we hoisted the two children on poor 
 Armand's shoulders. 
 
 Then we saw I^afont, Talma and Fleury, coming 
 towards us — luckily, too, by Jove ! They made a 
 passage for us, and, thanks to them, we gained the 
 street. 
 
 " What a jolly evening ! We are nearly un- 
 dressed, and quite torn to pieces. My cashmere 
 shawl is a nice sight, if you like ! It is in shreds. 
 I shall keep it as a remembrance of the amusement 
 we have given ourselves." 
 
 Bourgoin was furious. 
 
 " I^ook, my girl, my beautiful lace veil has had 
 the same fate as your shawl." 
 
 " Heaven bless you, Armand ! You are the cause 
 of it all. Why did you come for me ? " 
 
 We ended by laughing at our disordered clothes. 
 The good Thenard said to us — 
 
 "The evening mustn't end thus. All of you 
 come home. We will dance and sup ; then, 
 children, every one to his own home." 
 
 " So be it," says Fleury, " let us go and dance." 
 
 I was gayer and in higher spirits than any of them 
 
202 A FAVOUKITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 — it was worth while. We danced and waltzed 
 like mad things. I had taken Lafont as a 
 partner. 
 
 "Ah, my dear, not so quickly. Heavens, my 
 head is swimming ! Do stop ! " 
 
 *' Well, friend, let us turn more quickly." 
 
 " T tell you, good woman, I am exhausted. I 
 shall fall." 
 
 And he actually did fall on purpose. 
 
 " Now, my dear, you will leave me in peace." 
 
 He was laughed at, and a penance was imposed. 
 
 " Very good, friends, I am suited splendidly in 
 my little corner where you have placed me. Only 
 give me something to drink." 
 
 " Th(5nard, a large glass of water. T^afont is 
 thirsty." 
 
 " Don't trouble, you people, T will help myself. 
 I know where the fountain is." 
 
 He passed into the dining-room, and helped him- 
 self to some A ery good wine. 
 
 " I^ook at the Gascon ! What fools he is 
 making of you all ! Let us hurry to the supper- 
 table or he will revenge himself by eating up 
 every tiling." 
 
 {All these details are very childish; but, as they 
 are true, you xiill do what you, like with them.) 
 
 We retired at six in the morning. Bourgoin kept 
 on falling asleep in every corner. 
 
 " Ah ! my girl, I am done up ; I shall never 
 have the courage to return home. ' 
 
 " I will drive you back ; be easy." 
 
MEMOIRS 203 
 
 " And me too, George," said Mars, " I must be 
 taken back as well." 
 
 " And so must we all." 
 
 " But where can I put you all ? It is impossible." 
 
 " We'll get on the dicky behind, with the man." 
 
 " And I'll keep dear Mezerai here for the night. 
 She shall have a bed on the sofa." 
 
 " Come, then, and arrange yourselves as best 
 you can." 
 
 Mars, Bourgoin and I, with the two children with 
 us, go inside the carriage, and the rest as best they 
 can — Armand and Talma on the box, Fleury 
 and Lafont behind ! 
 
 " Bourgoin, my girl, drive 1'alma to the rue de 
 Seine. And a nice drive we have ; the poor 
 horses have got their load." 
 
 Armand, Mars, rue de Richelieu ; the handsome 
 Lafont, rue de Villedo ; Pleury, rue Traversi^re. 
 
 " Good morning, dear comrades. We shall all 
 be very fresh to-day ; still we have amused our- 
 selves although we have tired ourselves. C'ourage, 
 you people of the Comcdie ; I don't despair of 
 the public hissing you to-night. You will sleep 
 standing." 
 
 {Your gay and jjouthjul mind will find some 
 drolleries in this shochingiy stupid account. What 
 can you eapect, dear ? It is stupid as I tell it, but 
 it will become witty and amusing under your pert.) 
 
 Ten days after the Coronation the Emperor 
 commanded Cinna. His appearance with the Em- 
 press caused an outburst of enthusiasm beyond 
 
204 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 description. All the ladies stood up and waved 
 their handkerchiefs. The cries of " Long live the 
 Emperor ! Long live the Empress ! " vi^ere enough 
 to split one's head. It was a proper and beautiful 
 homage of well-deserved enthusiasm. 
 
 Strangely enough, I remained cold and unfeeling, 
 like a marble statue ; an impassable barrier was 
 raised in my eyes between an Emperor and me. 
 The pleasing past was to be effaced from my 
 memory ; but could it be from my heart ? I had 
 to try, and the struggle was ^'ery painful. Let 
 me be simply an artiste, and forget. 
 
 I went on to the stage with a wish to be only 
 Emilie, and nothing more. I did not turn my eyes 
 once to that box which recently caused me so much 
 joy. I played my part, encouraged by Talma, who 
 kept on repeating — 
 
 " Don't give way, whatever you do. Look at 
 this house, crov/ded with notabilities of all sorts. 
 Dear friend, think of your future, and don't give 
 your critics any hold. Pride alone, on account 
 of the Emperor's presence, ought to make you 
 surpass yourself." 
 
 Dear friend ! It was quite right what he told me ; 
 my somewhat vivid imagination was kindled, and 
 I really forgot everything, and tried to place myself 
 to the level of my impersonation. My Talma was 
 happy at my success. In my scenes with him he 
 kept saying to me in a low voice — 
 
 " That's it ! You are doing capitally ; go on. 
 Speak out, but don't force your voice." 
 
MEMOIRS 205 
 
 Still I had cause to be disconcerted ; the Emperor 
 applauded me very much, and tlie good and 
 benevolent Josephine approved by inclinations of 
 her gracious head the applause which had been 
 given me. In the fifth act, at the famous line — 
 
 " Si fai seduil Cinna,j'en xeduirai bien d'autrcs," — 
 
 which I said in a very low voice ; 1 felt how im- 
 proper the application would be. The public — 
 the fine and appreciative Parisian public — felt it 
 too. There was a great silence ; I breathed freely 
 and raised my head. 
 
 The Emperor and Empress sent to compliment 
 us. That evening, for instance, our dressing-rooms 
 were filled with all the Ambassadors and several 
 Ministers, as was the custom. These gentlemen 
 liked to come among the actresses, and, without 
 disguising their rank, would proudly cross the 
 corridor which led to our dressing-rooms quite 
 publicly. They liked to be present at the little 
 disorder which was quite natural after a perform- 
 ance ; to see us in our wraps, despoiled of our 
 tinsel. The dresser would say to them — 
 
 " Pardon, gentlemen, let me get to madame ; 
 I must take down her hair." 
 
 "Allow me, gentlemen, to rid myself of these 
 ornaments, which tire my head." 
 
 " Certainly. We don't wish to disturb you." 
 
 And Talleyrand would say purposely from his 
 corner at the fire-place — 
 
 " You don't disturb her. Our beautiful Georgina 
 
206 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 is a woman and a flirt ; she wants to be seen in 
 all her simplicity. Look how this pink muslin 
 negUge suits her and affords a glimpse of her arms. 
 You agree, gentlemen, this costume is just as good 
 as Emilie's ? " 
 
 " Monseigneur, I beg you to hold your tongue. 
 You are always sarcastic with your railing com- 
 pliments. Ah ! you are a wretch, and you will see 
 I won't let you come into my dressing-room any 
 more ! 
 
 " You would be very sorry for it. My compli- 
 ments don't wound you as much as you pretend. 
 Am I not right, Talma, that she is a flirt ? " 
 
 That elegant circle, those great men, the poets 
 and painters, who held their places worthily and 
 to whom homage was rendered, flattered one's 
 vanity however much one may have wished not 
 to let it influence one. Such pleasures alleviate 
 boredom. 
 
 In the midst of all this I had heard no mention 
 of the Emperor since the ceremony. I made a 
 thousand plans. I was beginning to isolate myself 
 less, and received more people, though I was not 
 seeking for pleasures, but distractions and excite- 
 ments which should prevent me from thinking. 
 That was all I could hope. 
 
 At length, after more than five weeks, Constant 
 came. 
 
 " What chance brings you here after such a long 
 absence ? What do you want ? " 
 
 " The Emperor begs you to come this evening." 
 
MEMOIRS 207 
 
 "Ah ! he remembers me ? Tell the Emperor 
 that 1 will obey his orders. What time ? " 
 
 " Eight o'clock." 
 
 " 1 shall be ready." 
 
 This time I was impatient, and could hardly 
 keep still. My poor little slighted heart ! 
 
 I made a dazzling toilette. The Emperor 
 received me with his usual kindness. 
 
 " How beautiful you are, Georgina ! What 
 finery ! " 
 
 " Could one be too fine, sire, when one has the 
 honour to be received by your Majesty ? " 
 
 '* All ! my dear, what a demeanour and what 
 courtly language ! Come, Georgina, high-flown 
 manners don't suit you at all. Be what you were : 
 a good-hearted, frank and simple creature." 
 
 " Sire, one changes in five weeks ; you have 
 given me time to reflect and to forget my former 
 habits. No, I am no longer the same ; I feel it. 
 1 shall always be honoured when your Majesty 
 deigns to receive me, but that is all, I am dis- 
 couraged, and I must have a change of air." 
 
 How shall 1 tell you ? He was very indulgent, 
 in fact he was perfect, taking the trouble to dis- 
 abuse me of my fears. I accepted his kind words, 
 but I did not trust them. I returned with very 
 bad thoughts, almost paralysed. Ought I to be- 
 lieve him ? Ought I to doubt him ? Yes, I found 
 him just the same as in the past ; but I do not 
 know why the Emperor has driven away my First 
 Consul. Everything is much grander and more 
 
208 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 imposing ; happiness ought not to be there. Let 
 us look for happiness elsewhere if it exists at all. 
 
 1 saw the Emperor less frequently. A beauti- 
 ful woman (married, however) attached to the 
 Empress began to be talked about ; still lower it 
 was whispered tliat the Emperor was paying her 
 attention. Dear Josephine ! the simple actress was 
 to be preferred ; she remained in the background 
 and caused no offence ! 
 
 {Yo7i will see, dear, if you wish to put that in. It 
 was Madavie DnchdteL) 
 
 Not being at ease anywhere, I decided to leave 
 my apartments in the rue Saint- Honore. I had 
 really taken a violent dislike to them. 
 
 {Dear, good friend, I have such a poor head for 
 what I am doing that I really have forgotten if I 
 told you t/ie little anecdote of T>emidofj'—I was still 
 in the rue Saint- Honoi'c.) 
 
 Demidoff was pretentious enough, because of his 
 immense fortune, to call himself a count (he was 
 not one at all). He had iron mines in Siberia. 
 For the rest, he was a charming and witty man. 
 He, too, used to come and visit us in our dressing- 
 rooms ; he was made much of because of his mines. 
 He sent me by his secretary an insignificant little 
 diadem, with wretched little diamonds here and 
 there. 
 
 " ^L le Comte begs you, mademoiselle, to accept 
 this small remembrance as a homage to the artiste." 
 
 There was nothing to be said. 
 
 " Thank the count, monsieur, and tell him that, 
 
MEMOIRS 209 
 
 as an artiste, I am flattered and grateful for this 
 mark of his esteem." 
 
 " He asks, mademoiselle, permission to pay you 
 his respects ? " 
 
 I receive the count in my dressing-room, so why 
 should I refuse to receive him at home ? 
 
 " He can come, monsieur." 
 
 He did not wait long, the rich miser ! He came 
 next day. 
 
 " I very much appreciate your kind remem- 
 brance, count." 
 
 " I offer it to the artiste, and still more especially 
 to the woman." 
 
 " Ah, monsieur le comte, you spoil your present. 
 As an artiste I should receive it ; as a woman, 
 permit me to refuse it ! " 
 
 I returned him liis little casket. He was very 
 out of countenance. 
 
 " Well, but can I not hope for a little return of 
 the sentiments with which you inspire me ? " 
 
 "You set about it very strangely. Do you 
 never forget the shop, monsieur le comte ? That 
 is poor policy. No, monsieur le comte, I haven't 
 the least desire to reply to your noble sentiments. 
 Take away your present. Look at it, examine it ; 
 there is nothing missing there but good taste." 
 
 He disappeared with his box. Some days after- 
 wards the very tiny, modest diadem adorned the 
 forehead of my pretty comrade B 
 
 {There, dear, only you can turn these nothings 
 to account.) 
 
210 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 I removed then to take some very beautiful 
 apartments in the rue Louis-le-grand on the first 
 floor. I left from there for Russia. Each time 
 I pass along that street I am unable to stop 
 from raising my head to the great balcony. I 
 can still see the three shutters I had placed in 
 the drawing-room. What recollections and what 
 regrets at not having understood life such as it is, 
 practical and commercial. The ideas of those days 
 were not all money ; one did not torture the spirit 
 by speculations. Let us not regret having passed 
 a pleasanter life, of having only experienced the 
 ainbition of an artiste and the feelings of a woman ; 
 which, if they do not enrich you, they do not 
 degrade you — they make you happy. These re- 
 collections keep your emotions always young, and 
 that is better than gold. 
 
 I often saw Prince Metternich, the Austrian 
 Ambassador to the Court of France. This famous 
 diplomat was very gay and quite unconventional ; 
 very simple, witty and ironical ; the great diplomat 
 was fond of laughing. 
 
 " I have a box for the Palais-Royal. Be kind 
 and come there with me ; we will laugh." 
 
 " I don't laugh so much as all that at such non- 
 sense. I like Brunet's naivete every now and then ; 
 but as for you, you like to pass all your evenings 
 there. You must simply adore farces. When you 
 come to our tragedies you must bore yourself to 
 death ; acknowledge you come rather to talk in 
 our dressing-rooms. As you are a serious man, I 
 
MEMOIRS 211 
 
 have a strange opinion of you. My dear prince, 
 sooner or later 1 think you will do us great harm." 
 
 " Ah ! dear pretty one, you dabble in politics 
 and would like to read into the future. Who can 
 know what is reserved for us ? At the moment I 
 am most kindly disposed ; if I change, you shall 
 know about it, great diplomat ; it will not be my 
 fault, but that of events." 
 
 " Yes, you will be guided entirely by the interests 
 of your country, without forgetting your own. My 
 dear prince, you are too well acquainted with the 
 caprices of fate to sacrifice yourself entirely, are 
 you not ? " 
 
 " Come, let us talk of Brunet ; that is much 
 more pleasant." 
 
 The charming Metternich used to speak in this 
 strain, and the Emperor was wrong not to buy his 
 support at Dresden. He did us all the harm I had 
 predicted. 
 
 ( JVith }'egard to the ^natter, say xvliatever yo7i 
 please, my dear.) 
 
 He came to offer to take me a drive w4th him. 
 
 " I appreciate your kindness, but you make me 
 get into a detestable cabriolet, which you drive 
 yourself, and which frightens me horribly. Those 
 drives are very boring and I want no more of 
 them. I prefer to talk : it is more amusing. 
 When you take the reins of your nasty horse 
 not a word is said. That is too German ! I 
 enjoy myself much more at Raincy at Ouvrard's : 
 there are jolly parties there. We go there with 
 
212 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Talma, Fleuiy, Armand. It is a magnificent 
 place." 
 
 " Ah ! so you visit the great financier ? " 
 
 " Financier, if you like, who receives his friends 
 like a great lord. Lately we spent three days, 
 Miles. Devienne and Mars, and our three com- 
 panions Talma, Fleury and Armand. The time 
 passed quickly. How pretty the country is, and 
 there are some charming open carriages, but drawn 
 by two WTctched horses which resemble those of 
 M. Demasine. That man is odd : he loves un- 
 heard-of, striking contrasts. It is the magnificent 
 chateau which Junot inhabited for a long time, 
 where every luxury is displayed. There is a most 
 delightful bath-room there, with an enormous 
 basin completely of marble, where the water flows 
 from all directions, like the baths in the Pyrenees. 
 One can bathe in company with twenty or thirty 
 persons at once. There are charming decorations : 
 delightful paintings, ottomans, carpets — in fact 
 nothing is lacking. This charming and distin- 
 guished financier is a Lucullus. Delightful 
 dwellings are scattered here and there on this 
 magnificent estate. We always stay at the cottage, 
 which is thatched outside, but inside is the last 
 word in elegance and comfort. Then, to complete 
 the contrast, there are two raw-boned horses ; just 
 fancy ! " 
 
 " Do you often go to this beautiful country- 
 house ? " 
 
 "■ As often as possible." 
 
MEMOIRS 213 
 
 " Besides, M. Ouvrard is a delightful man with 
 most distinguished manners. He is intelligent, 
 shrewd, a man of few words, and self made. He 
 was of a humble origin ; they say he was the son 
 of a grocer. He does not boast much about 
 it. I once said to him, ' There, dear Monsieur 
 Ouvrard, you do things grandly, but you are a man 
 without heart since you left off your blue apron. 
 You had a heart then, though you wore it behind 
 your back, and you have never put it back in the 
 right place since.' 
 
 "He laughed good-naturedly and was not the 
 least offended at my pleasantry. But, dear prince, 
 the truth is that he has not a heart at all, but a 
 great deal of pride. In his person he is simple, 
 yet elegant ; somewhat affected, and anxious for 
 admiration, though he never appears so. He is 
 always wonderfully well shod, and he is right ; 
 his feet are very small. He is always dressed 
 in knee-breeches, silk stockings, buttoned coat, 
 waistcoat and white tie, and his linen is remark- 
 able for its quality. He is a good-looking man. 
 His eyes, perhaps, are small, but his mouth is 
 very pretty, with superb teeth and a charming 
 smile. Oh, he has had his love affairs and will 
 have them yet. The beautiful Mme. Tallien was 
 his slave for a long time, and a large progeny 
 resulted fi*om this union, yet he deceived her, 
 beautiful as she was. Poor dear Ouvrard was a 
 Lovelace. He fluttered from flower to flower. 
 He could be constant, but faithful never." 
 
214 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 (/ giiie you all these details. Ouin^ai^d is a man 
 who has made a considerable mm^k ; he is worth 
 speaking of.) 
 
 "But, dear Mademoiselle George, it seems to me, 
 from the way you speak, that you are likely to join 
 the ranks." 
 
 " No, I assure you ; not for the moment, at 
 least. Besides, talk to Mars about it, she will 
 tell the same tale. She will tell you that he is 
 very charming and tliat one has to be on one's 
 guard. At J^aris he had a mansion in the rue 
 de Mont-Blanc. He used to tell us that he had 
 a dining-room in which the table was worked by a 
 spring. It came up ready served, disappearing and 
 rising again with each course in turn, to avoid the 
 presence of servants. You see that he understands 
 how to do things in style. We did not see this 
 fairy dwelling — he had sold it ; but we dined with 
 him at his town-house in the boidevard de la 
 Madeline, an immense mansion of whicli he only 
 occupied one lioor, for the Comte de Kemusat had 
 all the rest of the house, together with the garden. 
 The entresol at Ouvrard's was scarcely furnished 
 at all ; his wife, who was never seen, lived in 
 another quarter. What a singular existence ! 
 We were served there, as at Raincy, in true 
 financier style. After dinner, his children came 
 to play with my sister and Mile. Mars's daughter. 
 He had a brother, an amiable, good-hearted youth. 
 Our friend Florence used to come with us, and 
 brightened up those dinners a little, which were 
 
MEMOIRS 215 
 
 sometimes very monotonous. He spoke a great 
 deal of the beautiful martyr, Marie Antoinette. 
 He related a thousand deeds of her kindness, 
 and, among others : One morning — the hour at 
 which the Queen had her hair dressed and 
 used to allow Florence, then manager of the 
 Comedie-Fran9aise, to come and take his orders 
 — the Queen was informed that a whole family 
 in tears had come to throw themselves at her 
 feet to ask a pardon for a father and a hus- 
 band. The Queen rose at once, and all in her 
 morning deshabille, and half-dressed hair, she sent 
 for the sorrowing family, and without losing an 
 instant obtained an entry to the King, and, 
 throwing the family at the King's feet, she did 
 likewise herself to demand pardon. She obtained 
 it, returned with her eyes still wet with tears, and 
 happy as a queen. A noble woman so slandered, 
 with a noble mother's heart, which was so bruised, 
 and such a courageous woman in that which was 
 most sacred in her motherly love. They say that 
 during her long and infamous imprisonment she 
 was continually consulting the cards to find out 
 whether her captors would be cruel enough to 
 execute her. The hideous result was always in 
 the affirmative. One gets superstitious in misfor- 
 tune. Ah, what sufferings that adorable woman 
 endured ! " 
 
 We were very moved at this tale. It was 
 certainly very fine and sublime to see the great 
 Queen going to the King with such disordered 
 
216 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 toilette. What abandonment of herself to do a 
 fine action. Enough of this topic, Florence, we 
 do not want to weep any more. How did you 
 bring about the success of the Misanthrope ? You 
 gained your spurs as a clever man by this triumph. 
 Come now, tell us all about it. 
 
 " Well, the first performance had doubtless pro- 
 duced a great effect, but the receipts were unsatis- 
 factory. Something had to be done. The second 
 performance was also rather tame, and we were 
 relying on tremendous receipts. At the third 
 performance I gave boxes to various gay ladies, 
 who were pretty but possessed no finery. To 
 these I sent gowns, hats and enormous bou- 
 quets on condition that they should burst into 
 tears, while some even received orders to faint. 
 What was said was done. The play had to be 
 interrupted several times, the unfortunate ladies 
 were carried into the lounge, doctors were called, 
 and so forth. The trick was resorted to on three 
 or four occasions and the success was tremendous. 
 It certainly cost the company a good sum, but the 
 result was fabulous." 
 
 " Florence, you are a great man. To Florence's 
 health ! " 
 
 " And Lekain, our admirable Lekain, Florence ? " 
 " Ah ! yes, admirable ! Not like Talma ! " 
 " Come, my dear fellow. Beside Talma your 
 Lekain would have been a trumpery numskull." 
 
 Then Florence took off his peruke, crushed it 
 beneath his feet, and posed before us all to imitate 
 
MEMOIRS 217 
 
 Lekain, who, as a matter of fact, was a great artiste. 
 It seems that in all lovers' parts he was sublime ; 
 no one could speak like him to a woman ; as 
 Tancrede, Orosmane, \^end6me in DugucscUn {is 
 it Vendonte, Fahnore ? I dont remeinher), he was 
 marvellous. He was fat, but passion improved his 
 appearance to such an extent that the women 
 were mad about him. Fleury was a great partisan 
 of Lekain. 
 
 " Certainly, gentlemen, he was a lover ; he shed 
 beautiful tears in Orosmane, most certainly, but 
 there, love is common. With us it is ordinary, 
 but the fatality placed on Talma's forehead, the 
 remorse, the deep melancholy, the delirium which 
 makes us all tremble ! All those palpitating 
 emotions, don't you believe they are greater than 
 your little love insipidities. Who is not a lover ? 
 The crown of laurels to Talma, the crown of 
 myrtle and roses to Lekain." 
 
 After Florence's furies, a true parody of the fury 
 of Orestes, there was much laughter, and I took 
 him back in my carriage to tease him again. I 
 was very fond of Florence. He had wit, and 
 had seen so much that he had always something 
 to tell you of his amours with the famous Sophie 
 Arnould ; stories we listened to with laughter, 
 which we took care to tell again — my poor 
 Florence ! 
 
 1 do what I can to distract myself, still, I bore 
 myself horribly ; even the theatre has no longer 
 the same attraction for me. As a matter of fact. 
 
218 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 it is a monotonous life. We always play the same 
 thing, there are no new works except les TempUei's, 
 which makes plenty of money, but which amuses 
 me very little. The Queen is a very bad part 
 which has not moved me in the least. What are 
 we to do ? 
 
 "See, old Florence, I am burning with desire to 
 leave Paris ; I am stifled here." 
 
 " Leave the Theatre-Franc^ais ? Do you really 
 think of doing so ? You would lose both yoin- 
 pension and your glory, which can only be acquired 
 at the Theatre-Fran^ais. Come, it is the thought 
 of a madwoman. Vou would lose all your pro- 
 fessional chances, and you would leave something 
 else besides the Theiitre-Fran^'ais." 
 
 " That is exactly why I wish to leave and why I 
 shall leave." 
 
 " What ! Are you no longer happy as well ? " 
 
 " Do not ask any questions. T am tired of the 
 void in my life, that is all." 
 
 " To any one as beautiful as you are, surrounded 
 by everything that is distinguished in ]^aris, every 
 distraction is offered." 
 
 " My dear Florence, there is a certain exalted 
 affection which cannot be replaced. Another 
 might be put in its place, but it would be distaste- 
 ful to me, and it would seem to me an unworthy 
 act. Foreign air, distance, that is what 1 need and 
 what I want. Still, we have not reached that point 
 yet, let us talk of something else. 
 
 '* 1 dined at Mile. Contat's two days ago, 
 
MEMOIRS 219 
 
 with Mme. Gay. She is an amiable and witty 
 woman, but. Heavens ! how tired she ought to 
 be ! She talks well, but she talks without ceasing. 
 Mile. Contat is very agreeable in her own home, 
 but in spite of everything there is always that 
 charming impertinence of which she has made such 
 an agreeable habit. M. de Parny is a gentleman 
 who is placed, doubtless through his attachment, 
 in a peculiar position. He could easily be taken, 
 in spite of liis excellent aristocratic manners, more 
 often for the housekeeper than the future husband 
 of the great artiste. Being very ignorant of their 
 private life, 1 was quite uncomfortable when Mile. 
 Contat said to him, ' J^lease ring, my dear, for 
 coffee,' and a thousand other insignificant details 
 — details to others, doubtless, accustomed to the 
 house, but very strange to me. Mile. Contat has 
 much wit, but confess, Florence, that she is want- 
 ing in tact. One can't have everything. What 
 a miserable pavilion she lives in ! A wretched 
 dining-room, no drawing-room, and a bedroom 
 where she receives. It is frightful ! Why does 
 she lodge there, Florence?" 
 
 " The pavilion touches the Odeon. It is deadly 
 gloomy, but she gets it from the Government. 
 There are many artistes who are lodged for nothing, 
 and quite the great lady though Mile. Contat is, 
 she accepted the pavilion." 
 
 " Isn't Mile. Contat rich ? Still, my dear fellow, 
 she has a carriage ? " 
 
 "Yes; she lodges for nothing, so as not to give it up." 
 
220 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 " She is not rich. No more is Talma, and Mars 
 has nothing. You see your Paris is poverty for 
 artistes. Quick : fresh air I Tell me, Florence, I 
 brought back in my carriage M. de Maupant, 
 Mile. Contat's son. He is a good young man 
 and very attached to Mars ; he should marry her." 
 
 " But his name, my dear ? " 
 
 " His name ! Away with you ! His name, do 
 you say ? That of Mars will help him. That is 
 another of those prejudices which are dying. In 
 England, you see, even great lords marry actresses, 
 and actors like Garrick are buried in the tombs of 
 kings. Talma, we would not like to bury you, 
 honour and glory of our stage ! Ah ! atrocious 
 prejudices, which dishonour what is beautiful and 
 great. Say, Florence, will you come to England ? 
 I will take you." 
 
 {My good friend, dont erase that which touches 
 on the prejudices ; we artistes want a little lifting 
 up. You will feel that more than any one, and 
 Vcdniore, too.) 
 
 " Ah ! it is you. Talma ; you see me blushing 
 for my profession ! I was speaking of the preju- 
 dices which only affect us. We are dishonoured, 
 but still, are we of less account than other people ? 
 Are we bad parents ? No, certainly not ; it is rare 
 to find bad hearts in our set ! What wounds us 
 women, far more than you men, is to hear it 
 said, ' A li ! well, she is an actress with whom such 
 and such a count is in love ; it won't last ! ' 
 Keally, Talma, that opinion must have hindered 
 
MEMOIRS 221 
 
 many poor creatures from entering the good way. 
 AVhat is the good when it is not expected of them ? 
 As for the dancers, that is another thing ! It has 
 been said, the ladies of the Theatre- Fran(,;ais and 
 the misses of the opera. We ought to be flattered 
 by this distinction. Were you at Charmeroy's 
 funeral ? She was said to be a charming dancer, 
 though I didn't know her ; I hadn't yet made my 
 debut, and I am not well grounded in that period, 
 so I can be mistaken. She died from consumption. 
 They would not receive her at the church of les 
 Filles-Saint-Tliomas (where the Exchange is now). 
 Vestris, who was her comrade and particular friend, 
 was in such a rage he started all over again, 
 followed by an immense crowd which accompanied 
 the mortal remains of the poor woman. The 
 coffin was taken again and replaced. AVasn't that 
 a shameful sight ? England is better than we are, 
 Talma. Let us leave for England. If you die, 
 perhaps you will be placed beside Garrick. It is 
 all the same, my friend, for you are certain of 
 your deserts, since you will have no successor, and 
 if it is said, ' The king is dead, long live the king ! ' 
 it could not be said, ' Talma is dead, long Uve 
 Talma ! ' Talma is dead, tragedy is dead ! That 
 is glorious. Talma ! " 
 
 " Your head is in the air, Georgina. AVhat an 
 exaltation you are in ! " 
 
 " Well, doesn't it affect you at all ? See, you are 
 only terrible on the stage ; you haven't the least 
 character." 
 
222 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 " But, my hohonne " — that is the name Tahna 
 gave me — " what am I to say to that ? Heavens ! 
 nothing." 
 
 " Ah ! Florence, was Lekain as cahn as Tahna ? 
 Must actors have the foothghts to be men ? " 
 
 " No, my dear, but they use up their nerves by 
 tragic emotions, and love domestic repose." 
 
 " There, you are nothing but disguised burgesses." 
 
 " Hohonne^ you are very bad-tempered." 
 
 " No ; I am sad and discontented with everything. 
 1 can't keep on my chair. Talma, I want post- 
 horses." 
 
 " Florence, you listen to her. She will be up to 
 some mischief, some piece of folly ; and she has no 
 sense at all. At any rate, don't take me into 
 your confidence ; I should denounce you. You 
 haven't the least common-sense." 
 
 *' That is possible. But I don't require the foot- 
 lights to have strength and will." 
 
 '* Say self-love, child. You are wounded to the 
 heart, and meditate a woman-like revenge. You 
 are too young to know that you can't be avenged 
 in your position. AVeep, rage, smash the china, if 
 you like ; we should like it very much ; we prefer 
 you like that. But otherwise a barrier has been 
 placed." 
 
 " It is true, but it is horrible ! After all, dear 
 friend, I have nothing to avenge myself. Of what ? 
 Of my — my rather less frequent interviews ? INIon 
 Dieu ! I had to expect it ; but is the heart always 
 prudent, especially at my age ? Alas ! one believes 
 
MEMOIRS 223 
 
 that everything is lasting ; one is a proper fool. 
 Still, one is happy for some moments, more or 
 less ; a first love decides all our existence. If 
 your young impressions experience deception, the 
 whole of your life is nothing more than a distrust 
 of happiness. Once smitten, one is quite cold at 
 heart. It is deserved. Why have I been mad 
 enough to love him whom I ought only to 
 admire ? " 
 
 "• Ah ! Georgina, how you do bore us ! " 
 
 " I think so too ; I bore myself I seem to 
 have pretensions of becoming a philosopher. How 
 stupid I am, dear friends ! I give myself all the 
 trouble in the world only to be ridiculous, and to 
 pass off a wit which I do not possess. Let us 
 spend the time talking ' shop ' ; it is more amusing, 
 and I like it. 
 
 " Florence, do you know that Mile. Contat pre- 
 fers Caumont to Grandmesnil in les Financiers ? " 
 
 " Why is that ? " 
 
 " Caumont is more fluent, and easy. Then 
 Grandmesnil has a squeaky voice, which attacks 
 Contat's nerves." 
 
 " Still, he is quite perfect in FAvare, les Femmes 
 Savantes, etc." 
 
 " Yes, but she thinks him too clever ; he analyses 
 too much. ' The nerve-shattering fellow,' she said, 
 * wants to know more about it than the ignorant 
 Moliere. Plenty of wit ? Far too much of it. 
 The good Caumont suits me better.'" 
 
SECOND PART 
 
 LOOSE LEAVES 
 
 To Monsieur and Madame Desbordes-Vahnorc 
 
 Deae good friends, here is a mass of letters which 
 I confide to your friendship, and still more to your 
 indulgence. 
 
 I count on Valmore's friendly patience to decipher 
 all this nonsense, and on the heart and wit of Mme. 
 
 D Valmore to enliven them. That is my 
 
 hope, and hope gives life. 
 
 The journal which you will find, and the details 
 about my birth, are quite nice. 
 
 Still you must think me very brazen to send you 
 all this nonsense. 
 
 I have neither style nor orthography (which is a 
 question of education). 
 
 My love and greetings to all three of you. 
 
 April 1 1 . 
 
 Madame Dugazon held me in such affection that 
 she wanted at all costs to take me away with her ; 
 but my father, of course, did not wish to be 
 separated from his idol. 
 
 After her came Mol^ with the same proposal, 
 
 224 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 225 
 
 and the same refusal. Monvel made me play 
 Muet, from the VAbbe de VEpee ; he did every- 
 thing to get me to leave Amiens. It was a 
 monomania to take away poor little Mimi. One 
 can't escape one's destiny ; one has to yield to it. 
 All these attempts affected me very little ; in fact, 
 they didn't interest me at all. I wanted to play 
 the great parts in opera, and I did not budge from 
 that. My ambition soared very high. I wanted a 
 beautiful spangled dress, like I had seen the best 
 singers wear. I wanted the great parts because I 
 liked clap-trap. " Oh, how I should have hked to 
 play Laura in Bluebeard, just for the sake of being 
 dragged along by my hair. ..." Once my dear 
 mother caught me [after rehearsing this part]. 
 She said — 
 
 " Good gracious ! Where have you been to get 
 your hair in that state ? " 
 
 " I have just been playing Bluebeard^ 
 
 I adored Paulet Virginie because I had dramatic 
 scenes in it. I was thrown to left and right, when 
 at last the lightning (composed of two or three 
 crackers) destroyed the little ship in which I stood 
 in a chemise and quite dishevelled, and Paul car- 
 ried me away expiring and dripping. Life was 
 restored to me. I threw myself into my mother's 
 arms, not forgetting my saviour, and the curtain 
 fell amidst general delight. 
 
 {Here is a little rather uninteresting anecdote which 
 perhaps yon will find room for.) 
 
 We had to play Andromaque at Saint-Cloud. 
 
22G A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 " How are you going, Talma ? Come with me, I 
 will take you." 
 
 " My dear friend, your carriage is too small to 
 take our lot. Will you come in mine ? " 
 
 " In your wretched chariot, with your two old 
 white horses — your noble fathers, as you call them ? 
 A nice equipage in which to play prince and 
 princess." 
 
 " My horses are very good ; we will go quickly, 
 you may be sure." 
 
 " Fetch your noble fathers, then ! But don't 
 dawdle. Talma. I want to dine at Saint- Cloud, and 
 if you are not at my door within two hours you 
 won't find me." 
 
 Talma was punctual. We went to dine at 
 Legriel's, and afterwards prepared for the per- 
 formance. The heat was oppressive. We were 
 ready before eight o'clock, and did not begin till 
 nine. 
 
 During the first act I noticed some bats flying 
 about behind the scenes. 
 
 " Bourgoin, have you seen those wretched animals 
 on the stage ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Heavens ! I have a mortal dread of them, and 
 1 shall save myself in spite of my respect for our 
 august spectators." 
 
 Behold me on the stage, still a little preoccupied 
 with the appearance of those animals. In my scene 
 with Orestes, an enormous beast passed under my 
 nose. Good-bye, Hermione ! Good-bye, respect ! 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 227 
 
 I shrieked and fled. The Consul and the whole 
 house laughed. Talma brought me back. 
 
 " Come, you are mad." 
 
 *' I am not mad ; I am afraid." 
 
 However, I took my courage in both hands 
 and bowed to the Consul and his gracious wife, to 
 make them see how 1 apologised. I went on 
 playing, or rather I did not, so much were my eyes 
 fixed on the spot where that wretched beast was in 
 evidence. But it changed its direction and actually 
 went to tease our beautiful Josephine, who was 
 amused at my fear. She repulsed the beast with 
 her fan, and all the ladies of honour did the same. 
 No more tragedy was possible. The Consul was 
 convulsed for several minutes. The lackeys started 
 in pursuit of the horrible beast, which finally dis- 
 appeared. Peace returned with its departure, and 
 we made every effort to have the misadventure 
 forgotten, which in the first place was caused by 
 me. We had a great success, and M. de Remusat 
 came to compliment us on behalf of the Consul and 
 Josephine. 
 
 v^N THE Emperor's Taste for Tragedy 
 
 The bulletin ! It didn't matter if it was in the 
 middle of a scene, there were loud cries demand- 
 ing that it should be read. The commissioner 
 of the police arrived at the theatre, with his 
 sash at his belt and carrying two candles. It 
 was read in the midst of an emotion, a patriotic 
 outburst and enthusiasm, which one could not 
 
228 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 have believed if one had not been a witness. And 
 when the Emperor, after one of his great victories, 
 was present at a performance of Corneille, children, 
 young people and old, broke into a cannonade 
 of applause. But he was always so simple, bow- 
 ing with such a charming smile, as he sat down 
 and listened with reflective attention to the master- 
 piece he had commanded. China was his favourite 
 work. 
 
 My Departure for St. Petersburg 
 
 Why have I departed ? Why have I left 
 Paris and the Theatre-Fran^ais ? Do I know ? 
 No, I do not. This departure, this whim, has 
 come about through a meeting with Count Tolstoy, 
 the Russian Ambassador. For some time 1 did 
 not see the Emperor— doubtless through my 
 own fault ! Yes, very certainly through my own 
 fault ! I was bored, I had debts, and I did not 
 want to ask for anything and made all sorts of 
 excuses for myself; but the truest excuse was 
 that I wanted a change of air, of foreign air. Ah ! 
 how mad a young artiste is ! To be disinterested — 
 what stupidity I One cannot change one's nature, 
 and mine was such. Money ! what is the good 
 of it ? I prefer success. It was stupid ! Finally 
 the Ambassador, who often paid me a visit, spoke 
 a great deal to me of Russia and the Emperor 
 Alexander. One of his aides-de-camp. Count 
 Beckendorf, engaged me on his behalf to set out. 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 229 
 
 1 said "yes," and the next day "no." It was at 
 a bal masque that the affair was concluded. Count 
 Tolstoy only left me when 1 gave him my word of 
 honour to sign in the morning. That same night 
 I met young TchernichefF. People came to tell 
 me of his little intrigues. I amused myself then 
 with his intrigues for a few moments. At this 
 time he was very naive. He said to me, " Don't 
 speak to me. I have a woman in tow who adores 
 me and is very jealous." 
 
 " Heavens ! jealous already, and you have only 
 been here two days ! I shall only believe you 
 if you tell me the name of the woman ; of course 
 she is Italian ? " 
 
 " No, she is not an Itahan ; she is Mile. George ! " 
 
 A burst of laughter disconcerts my presumptuous 
 Russian. I did not guess at that time that this 
 innocent would do so much harm to France in 
 betraying the plans of campaign. An infamy ! 
 
 Next day I signed. I had a friend who sold 
 me a passport for a hundred louis — a friend could 
 not do less. I made all my preparations in the 
 utmost secrecy. Florence, and my poor dear 
 Talma, were the only ones in my confidence. 
 I had a very ungrateful heart, and left my father 
 whom I adored, my young sister and brother, 
 and my sick mother. Youth is truly selfish : I left 
 everything I loved, and why ? My mother, whom 
 I should never see again, was ill ; if I had been 
 able to think I should have remained without 
 hesitation : one never wishes to believe in eternal 
 
230 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 separation. Then I was never told of my mother's 
 danger ; I always thought that eveiything reached 
 me. The first misfortune was waiting for me: 
 my mother dead at forty- three ! At this news 
 all my youth disappeared ! I have experienced 
 nothing but disappointment and remorse. 
 
 I am anticipating, and I am allowing myself 
 to ramble. That is my life, my character and 
 my nature. 
 
 Everything was ready. T was about to leave, 
 and I took with me what I fancied. I had just 
 created Mandane in Debrieu's Artaxerxes. I 
 played it three times, and set out on May 7, 1808. 
 I embraced my mother without saying good-bye to 
 her, and at noon I was in the cab to join at 
 the first stage the caUche which was waiting 
 for me. I did not rest a minute till Strasburg, 
 hoping to arrive there in good time to cross the 
 Rhine. Unfortunately it was too late, and we 
 were forced to sleep in Strasburg. I was all 
 anxiety at the opening of doors, which we listened 
 for impatiently. We crossed the bridge ... we 
 were on foreign soil. A little later on I should 
 have been brought back to Paris : the telegraph 
 would have played its part! 
 
 On arriving in Vienna I was at once summoned 
 to Princess Bagratian's, a young, pretty, witty 
 woman, filled with that charming grace which 
 places you at your ease at once. I found there 
 all the high aristocracy of Vienna : the Prince 
 de Ligne, with the distinction and grand airs of 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 231 
 
 his high birth, but without pride, and Cobentzel, 
 who is quite well known. 
 
 I was with the princess when I heard a woman's 
 voice crying, " Where is she ? I want to see 
 her." 
 
 " Heavens ! " I said to the princess, " who is she, 
 then ? " 
 
 I always thought that they were coming to 
 take me back to Paris. I hid behind a screen, 
 and she began to laugh. 
 
 " Calm yourself, my dear ; it is Mme. de Stael." 
 
 Mme. de Stael was very enthusiastic and very 
 noisy. I passed some time with her and was 
 loaded with compliments which I shall certainly 
 not repeat, but said by such a charming and witty 
 woman they were very gratifying. You find your- 
 self more than flattered by the praises she throws at 
 you, doubtless with exaggeration, but at any rate 
 you receive them, and at bottom you are put at 
 your ease by them. 
 
 I remained in Vienna eight days in the midst 
 of that great world and that great ease, which 
 gives so much charm to really good manners, when 
 at last the French Ambassador sent me word 
 that it was time to place myself en route again. 
 
 Vienna 
 
 Ihives — The magnificent Prater — Descjiption to 
 be made of the town : small, narrow st?^eets, lofty 
 houses — Superb St. Joseplistadt — Entry thi'ough the 
 
232 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 lanes — Beautiful houses, narr^ow streets — Black 
 Town — Make some researches thereon. 
 
 lletilly great lords arc a type it is impossible 
 to imitate. They have such a perfect tone with 
 them, so much easiness and grace without side ; 
 they can never be mistaken. Watch men and 
 women entering a drawing-room, liy the way in 
 which they enter and approach you you are im- 
 pressed. On that side the true nobility, on the other 
 the parvenus. But still there are the same sur- 
 roundings and the same taste. Well, no ; all that 
 is subordinated and used in a way which indicates 
 the habit of luxury. 
 
 {You ivill have to say something chaj^ming.) 
 I left Vienna with regret ; Princess Bagratian 
 was so charming and her conversation so witty. I 
 thought I should never meet such a person again. 
 This time I left with a German servant who spoke 
 French. Heavens ! before reaching Vienna what 
 amusing and exasperating scenes there were I Know- 
 ing no German it was only possible to live by signs ; 
 if you wanted an egg you were obliged to imitate 
 a fowl ; some milk, a cow, and to make the gestures 
 of a woman who is patting butter. And for meat ? 
 My imcle was charged with the duty of imitating 
 an ox, or a sheep. I laughed till I was ill I And 
 to pay we held out our hands filled with ducats : 
 they could take as inany of them as they wanted. 
 And they wanted very much ! Post travelling is a 
 mockery. It was quite useless for me to say to the 
 postilions, " Quicker, 1 am in a hurry." I used to 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 233 
 
 make signs to them that I was hungry or was 
 indisposed. But it was no good ; just a gentle 
 trot, and no more and no less. Ah, the obstinate 
 wretches, 1 could have beaten them I 
 
 At this time the inns were detestable. My poor 
 Paris, how I regretted you, and how I cursed the 
 Ambassador ! But still we were travelling in a 
 magnificent country. 
 
 {Speak about Grerniany and give some nice desciip- 
 tions of that beautiful counti^y.) 
 
 We arrived in Poland at Vilna. My arrival was 
 known. The governor paid me a visit and begged 
 me to dine with him the next day. He held a re- 
 ception, and there was a large gathering of charm- 
 ing women. Polish women are so gracious ! 1 had 
 to recite some verses, and their politeness accorded 
 me a great success. I'heir thanks would have been 
 quite enough for my complacency ; but they sur- 
 rounded me with a thousand attentions and fussings, 
 and gave me unheard-of praises. I took it all as I 
 should. Quite tired, I had accepted that invitation, 
 and they had thanked me for it. In spite of their 
 polite enthusiasm I was very glad to return to my 
 hotel, to get some hours of repose there, and start 
 ofi* again. I was in a hurry to reach St, Petersburg. 
 
 {Speak here of Filna.) 
 
 St. Petersburg 
 
 Reception at the Grand Duchess Catharine's, 
 sister of tlie Emperor Alexander, and married to 
 the Duke of Oldenburg. 
 
234 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Fete at Count StrogonofF's, a charming old man, 
 very fond of artistes and manifesting his enthusiasm 
 by bursts of laughter. Amelie, the Empress's 
 sister, was present at the fete and crowned me her- 
 self. Next day I received from Count Strogonoff 
 a strmg of fine pearls, attached to a crown offered 
 to Melpomene — George. 
 
 The Prince of Wtirtemberg, brother of the 
 Dowager-Empress, presented himself as his own 
 valet, and begged me to accept a ring of magnifi- 
 cent diamonds and a purse like a collection-bag in 
 red velvet, filled with louis. 
 
 Departure from St. Petersburg 
 
 January 28, 1813. Finland — Viborg. 
 
 After all these disasters, I would not have re- 
 mained away from my dear country for anything 
 in the world. In spite of the most brilliant offers, 
 nothing could keep me. I lost my pension-— that 
 was too small a consideration to keep me one day 
 more. I was wrong. I suffered so much during 
 the time of the war. I ought to say, however, in 
 the midst of the disaster which must have delighted 
 the Russians, I was treated with really unheard-of 
 indulgence. The French were obliged to illuminate 
 when the Russian army returned with its climatic 
 victory. I, who Hved on the most frequented pro- 
 menade, shut everything up to make my window 
 as black and sad as my poor heart. It was re- 
 ported to the Emperor, who had the generosity, 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 235 
 
 far from making a crime of it, to reply, " She is a 
 good Frenchwoman. Let her do it ; I will not 
 have her visit Siberia for that." We set off then : 
 I say "we." I wished to pass through Sweden 
 and stop at Stockholm, and was followed by a part 
 of the company, Duparcy, Varenne, Vedel, Main- 
 vielle and his wife, etc. What a journey ! We had 
 two poor, thin beasts, who had the greatest difficulty 
 to drag us. You pass two or three hours in this 
 comfortable position, then, to give you a chance of 
 recovery, you arrive and find there is nothing to 
 eat or drink. Then we had to take to a little 
 sledge, only on wheels. I always set out with 
 my sister and a little postilion of eight or ten 
 years. We left in the presence of every one, as 
 usual. We were so brave ; but at the sound of 
 some gun-shots in the midst of granite rocks which 
 were really admirable : immense rocks on each side 
 to an enormous height {to you, dear Vahnore, the 
 desaiption), we saw some nice wolves issue, mani- 
 festing the amiable intention of coming to greet us. 
 Ah ! this time fear gains the mastery over us. We 
 cry to the postilion, " Return ! " Bah ! he keeps 
 on ! My sister catches hold of the obstinate little 
 brute's belt. She jumps down and struggles with 
 the little fellow. 
 
 We had to travel, when the ice still existed, in 
 the little, very low sledges, which held two with 
 difficulty. Sometimes we made two leagues on the 
 ice. We could see the water running beneath the 
 ice, it was so clear. 1 was always with my sister. 
 
236 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 We braved the dangers {and they were gi^eat, I beg 
 you to believe, dear readei's) amidst the shouts of 
 laughter which made our company indignant. We 
 burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter when we 
 looked at each other. We were dressed so funnily, 
 with large woollen boots, fur caps, and dresses 
 padded to such an extent that we looked as if we 
 were tied up like large Bayonne sausages, and for 
 our convenience we always had with us the tre- 
 mendous bag in which I had put all my jewels and 
 my money. 
 
 I had fixed that bag on my sister's arm. She 
 could never separate herself from it and, as she was 
 and is much smaller than I am, she was really 
 grotesque. Looking at her I had to die with 
 laughter, and she, in her fury, threatened to throw 
 the bag on the road if I continued! Ah, those 
 happy times of joy, and youth, and absence from 
 care ! How you are regretted and how quickly 
 you pass away ! And then to say that all is over 
 and that they can never return ! 
 
 {All that is very badly expressed and arranged.) 
 
 But when everjrthing is reckoned, we do not live 
 ten years of that beautiful existence which is called 
 youth. How very sad! The women will agree 
 with me. If they do not say so they are not truth- 
 ful. What woman is there, even the wisest, who 
 does not regret the homages which were paid her, 
 even without encouragement ? Let us pass on. 
 
 At every relay there was a change of carriages. 
 You arrive and it is raining; it pours faster and 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 237 
 
 faster, an equipage is fetched for you, an atrocious 
 charrette; two or three mattresses are placed inside. 
 You spread them in the open for it to rain on them, 
 for the wind to blow, for it tc snow — it doesn't 
 matter. My sister fell on to the road into the 
 mire, with her big bag and her big boots, but I was 
 unable to help her, but my laughter was enough to 
 remove the danger. Happily, our caravan arrived 
 at full gallop, armed with guns to face the danger 
 from wolves. 
 
 ROCHER DE ChINCKEBER 
 
 Only three houses. We were put into a large 
 square room higgledy-piggledy. Ah, what a 
 horror ! I shall never stay there. I discovered 
 a cabinet in the frightful room, and obtained per- 
 mission, on paying plenty of money — indispensable 
 passport — to settle myself there with my father and 
 sister. JNIy bed was made on a gi'eat plank, and there 
 I was installed with all my little toilette utensils, 
 which never left me. I made good use of all my 
 perfumes, I assure you. My father slept on the 
 ground. We discovered a small hut, where we 
 had our meals. We had bought some provisions 
 in Finland. Two days afterwards a lady who 
 occupied a cabinet rather like mine, but much 
 more comfortable, as it was lit by a window, and 
 had a good chair and a bed, left for St, Petersburg. 
 Money opened the door of this enchanted palace, 
 and we were settled in at last. 
 
 My comrades slept on the ground. In that 
 
238 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 frightful room there was a woman with us, who was 
 very ridiculous and small, and much younger than 
 her husband. Duparcy, who was always comical 
 with his sang-froid, amused himself with all that. 
 This little Mme. Bonacine was very greedy and dis- 
 trustful. Duparcy led her to believe that we were 
 not quite safe ; so she passed her nights in count- 
 ing her money, to the amusement of every one. 
 Duparcy used to say to her, " ISIy dear Bonacine, 
 have you counted up ? See you count well ; I 
 mistrust all these half-savages." 
 
 I used to go to sleep very late, according to my 
 custom. I had some cards, and told fortunes. The 
 weather did not permit us to cross the gulf. To- 
 morrow we always waited for. The provisions 
 were diminishing. I was very eager to get on the 
 way again, to pass through Lapland and see 
 Tornea. The capital is curious. I was completely 
 decided when I saw the Count de Lowers enter, 
 who had just passed the gulf to return to St. 
 Petersburg. He came and consoled me, first by 
 giving and then by fetching some victuals ; there 
 was a great scarcity of food. 
 
 Duparcy, who was very good at cooking, had 
 the frightful thought of cooking a dog in the 
 ragout. The dish was voted excellent, but we 
 did not take our share. I would sooner have 
 remained on the rock. Tliey should have buried 
 me as they could, not as poetically as Chateau- 
 briand in the middle of the ocean, but in a modest 
 corner with a little earth and a wooden cross. Our 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 239 
 
 excellent Count de Lowers, who constituted himself 
 my adviser, came to bring me the hope that without 
 doubt we could leave on the morrow. The next 
 day, however, the weather did not seem so favour- 
 able. Some wished to make the attempt. Vedel, for 
 
 example, Charles, JNIlle. X . They embarked, 
 
 and we were very disturbed when at nightfall 
 we saw our unhappy companions return worn out 
 with fatigue and fright. Charles, to give himself 
 courage (and to impart it to the others, he said), had 
 indulged a little in brandy. He had fallen into 
 the water between two blocks of ice, whence they 
 had all the trouble in the world to extract him. 
 In the midst of the terror and of the danger which 
 kept heaping up we could not prevent ourselves 
 roaring with laughter on seeing them wrapped up 
 in such a grotesque manner. Charles especially, 
 carried by two sailors, dripping wet and drenched 
 and swollen, looked as if he had been stuffed. 
 Nevertheless it was very sad, and I began to worry. 
 At daybreak we rose to see if the weather would at 
 last permit us to quit this terrible abode. The 
 longed-for day arrived. Just after daybreak we 
 were told that the boats were ready. The best 
 and largest was selected for me out of courtesy. 
 On entering that perilous abode my father embraced 
 us both. '*Now, my children, God keep us." 
 
 It was really a beautiful sight ; in the midst of an 
 imminent danger we were so glad to have left our 
 rock that we all of us sang at frequent intervals. 
 Hooks had to be used to push aside the blocks of 
 
240 A FAVOURITE OF T^APOLEON 
 
 ice which encumbered our passage, sometimes at 
 intervals and then continuously. The men who 
 brought us had long faces, I beg you to believe. 
 The rain which fell on us, for we were quite 
 unprotected, added to the general discomfort. At 
 last we reached the land ! All of us began to thank 
 God. We knew the danger we had just run 
 through in looking back. What ! we have just 
 passed that gulf covered with ice ! We have been 
 able to free that space and pass across and have not 
 been crushed. Ah, thanks, my God ; thanks be 
 rendered to Thee ! 
 
 Bah ! twenty minutes afterwards we think no 
 more about it ! We crossed to a pretty little town. 
 There was quite a clean inn with little white dimity 
 beds which charmed us. Quick to our toilette in 
 these charming rooms, and then let us sup. 
 ( The name of this first town must be looked up.) 
 Now where are we to lodge ? Francois runs and 
 keeps us waiting in our carriage at each door where 
 he supposes a lodging could be found. I was 
 ashamed, I confess. We stopped before a house 
 where Mme. de Stael was staying, who, seeing from 
 her window all the carriages, had the politeness to 
 recognise me (to recognise me in that costume ! ). 
 She makes M. de Rocca come down quickly, and beg 
 me to come up. 1 decided to, and INIme. de Stael, 
 all amiability, waits on me and runs through all her 
 house to find me quarters. The others waited in 
 the road, and excited the curiosity of the passers-by. 
 Rooms were found at last. INIy father and my 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 241 
 
 sister tell me that they are rather good. Rather 
 good ! All the apartments are frightful. Mme. de 
 Stael brought me in her carriage, accompanied by 
 M. de Rocca and her charming daughter Albertine. 
 
 At Chiwekle, on the pretty rock, two German 
 travellers were waiting like us, and made the cross- 
 ing in our company to this first httle Swedish 
 town, which seemed a Paris to me {the name of 
 which must be looked up). 
 
 They were very useful to us in procuring what 
 we were in need of, and we invited them to supper. 
 One of these brave Germans began to sing with his 
 mouth full — 
 
 " Quon est heicretix de trouver en voyage, 
 Un hon souper et surloul un hon lit !" 
 
 That, by the way, was true and appropriate, but 
 he sang in such a comical way that we could not 
 contain our hilarity. It was not very polite, I 
 agree ; the poor singer was a little disconcerted. 
 However, that did not hinder him from helping us 
 to resume our journey, after the two days' rest we 
 took in this town. 
 
 Here we are in Sweden ! Still more impossible 
 to make ourselves understood. Where could we 
 get some provisions? We had one German servant 
 whom I had brought with me, rran9ois, who spoke 
 a little Swedish. He went on the search, and from 
 time to time discovered country houses. Their 
 masters pressed me to pay a visit, but there was 
 not a word of French spoken. 
 
242 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 When Francois was not there we could do 
 nothmg at all. These gentlemen brought us eggs, 
 grouse, bread and wme. Ah, bread is a feast in that 
 country ! Their bread is made of shavings. The 
 loaves, which are made in the shape of a crown, are 
 usually passed through a sort of pole hanging from 
 the ceiling (how toothsome they must be ! ) ; and 
 for a light they use resin applied to a torch, which 
 is hung on the wall. How gay! At that time 
 all such things were very wretched, mean and 
 cheerless. 
 
 ( The names of the towns through which we had to 
 pass befo7'e reacJdng Stockholm must be looked tip.) 
 
 As we drew nearer resources came to us — at 
 least, what was necessary was to be found. We 
 travelled every night by starlight, in such haste 
 were we to deliver ourselves from that incessant 
 torture. We got down at the last town which 
 preceded Stockholm. We tried to make ourselves 
 less ugly ; it is no use to deny it, we looked fright- 
 ful with our bonnets trimmed with swansdown, 
 which were filled with mud. Ah, we made pretty 
 Parisiennes ! From this town to Stockholm we at 
 last began to meet people : peasants coming and 
 going, their carts filled with provisions they were 
 taking to market. Life was beginning again. At 
 last we are in the capital ! Heavens ! what a turn- 
 out ! In our open carts we looked like a herd 
 of oxen coming from Pontoise ! Everybody looked 
 at us. " Eh ! what ! Is that the Demoiselle George 
 and her troupe in such a state ? " No one thought 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 243 
 
 of taking out our thin beasts. At that time to 
 drag a carriage in triumph was never thought of, 
 or, to speak more correctly, we did not arrange 
 for it — ovations cost too dear ! 
 
 We got apartments on the first floor in a good 
 street. The houses are nearly all black through 
 the use of granite. There was a bedroom, a kind 
 of bed-sitting-room for my sister, and one for Mile. 
 Ursule(?), who had travelled with the Varennes 
 family, and who had attached herself to us and 
 served us for friendship. A clever woman with a 
 charming character. Poor woman ! 
 
 Francois, my footman, who was quite good in the 
 kitchen, served as cook and footman. What was 
 necessary for the table was provided, a servant was 
 procured, and here we are installed. That same 
 evening, Prince Bernadotte sent his first aide-de- 
 camp, M. Camps, who came on behalf of the prince 
 to place a carriage at my disposal, saying, " Do 
 not disturb yourself. Everything is let for the 
 eight performances which have been announced, 
 even the pit. The box office will not be opened." 
 
 I sent for the artistes who had accompanied me. 
 I gave them half the receipts, and the other 
 half to myself, reserving for myself a whole 
 performance for my benefit. Everything was 
 concluded to the satisfaction of everybody, and 
 the parts were distributed, etc. 
 
 French plays were a great event for the in- 
 habitants, who were delightfully hospitable and 
 charming. Before the tragedy we began with a 
 
244 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 comedy, which made a complete performance. As 
 an artiste, I was sought out by all the first families. 
 I shall not become the least vain about it ; curiosity 
 existed, and that was all. I refused a good many 
 of these invitations : I have never had a taste for 
 those brilliant gatherings where you appear to go 
 on show. 
 
 Without doubt it is flattering to be admitted 
 into high society when it has the good taste to 
 receive you for yourself, without begging you to 
 pay for your welcome by the recitation of a scene, 
 and then, perhaps, two or three more. Thanks ! I 
 have paid quite well for your kind reception. 
 
 The Ministers came and visited me. I put off 
 all their invitations after my first performances. 
 I gained time, which I wanted. All my visits 
 I returned immediately, and met some charming 
 families. Everywhere the receptions were full of 
 charm ; but with what happiness I returned to 
 my own circle. No more discomfort ! No more 
 dressing up, which I have always detested. Gaiety 
 was re-established. Visitors three-quarters of the 
 time were present at my dinner : the Count Ostoya, 
 Count Spar, and M. Camps. 
 
 As for Mme. de Stael, she never left me at all : 
 she was so fond of me. 
 
 Two days after my arrival I had to pay my 
 visit to Prince Bernadotte, and prove to him my 
 respectful gratitude for the protection he was so 
 kind as to give me. Besides, he was a Frenchman. 
 Our interview, too, was long. What a lot of 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 245 
 
 French recollections ! What question did he not 
 put to me ? He was really happy to recall his 
 fatherland. He told me that the Queen wished 
 to see me, and that I must come next day at noon. 
 " I will obey, prince." Camps, also French, waited 
 for me to take me back ; then Fliger, also French, 
 and a colonel. 
 
 "It is no use having a great rank in foreign 
 countries, that is not France ; confess it. With 
 the prince, of what have we been talking ? Of 
 France. With you, of what have we been talk- 
 ing ? Of France. You see quite well that, under 
 your Swedish uniform, your heart is French. You 
 must be ill at ease." 
 
 Prince Oscar's tutor, M. le Moine, is French 
 as well. We formed a reunion every evening, 
 because I could not resist their invitations. These 
 gentlemen waited for me to take tea, and remained 
 there to chatter till two in the morning. 
 
 I was frequently invited to visit the Queen, for 
 she was very fond of hearing me recite, and she 
 herself used to give me my cue. It was a great 
 honour, doubtless ; but I was far from feeling that 
 there was any flattery in this royal desire, which 
 became, as a matter of fact, a command. But what 
 can one do ? Obey. I had a very independent 
 character, and to force me to do anything was to 
 give me the fancy to resist. I have been very 
 often wrong, and this perverseness of character has 
 made me do many silly things. But what is the 
 good of going back to the past ? It is done, and I 
 
246 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 have been a very spoiled child. Bah ! I have had 
 my moments of happiness, too, which would never 
 have existed if 1 had thought of money. I re- 
 turned, as always happened after these visits of 
 ceremony, with lively joy to the company of my 
 intimates. 
 
 I made my debut eight days after my arrival, in 
 Mcrope. The house was crowded. There were 
 there the King and Queen, Prince Bernadotte, 
 Prince Oscar. The toilettes were most beautiful, 
 the house fine, and the boxes all uncovered, which 
 produced a magnificent effect for the dresses. The 
 curtain rose, the lights were raised, which gives a very 
 gloomy effect, but makes the theatre enormously 
 brilliant. At each act the curtain is lowered, and 
 the lights. I will not speak of the success : it was 
 equal to the welcome of the public. I was very 
 happy and proud. They do not recall one after 
 each act or after a scene, but right after the tragedy, 
 which is much more rational. It was the Italians 
 Avho introduced these ridiculous ovations, which are 
 often very disconcerting for the actors on the stage 
 whose presence is ignored, and who are obliged to 
 stand and watch while the favourites are recalled 
 before the end of the act. It cuts the action ; but 
 no matter, those who applaud think they have 
 done their duty. Little human vanities ! This 
 will not make you any greater, but you go home 
 counting the number of times you have been 
 recalled, and you deceive yourself to the extent 
 of wishing to forget hoAV all these ovations 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 247 
 
 are brought about. But your purse knows all 
 about it ! 
 
 {Dear 3Ia7^celi7ie, do with that, like everything else, 
 as you wish.) 
 
 I could not avoid invitations, and dined too 
 much in the town. I was so tired of it that one 
 day, at the Prime Minister's, where the young 
 Prince Oscar was, and where there were at least 
 forty persons, I said to myself, " Ah ! after the 
 repast I am going to be smothered with requests, 
 to aid my digestion, to recite half-a-dozen tragic 
 scenes." Not at all. I am feeling very indisposed, 
 I am obliged to retire. Offerings of orange and lime 
 blossoms. Ah, very likely ! As a matter of fact I 
 was dying of hunger. They are forced to put the 
 horses to and drive me back. Ouf ! at last I am 
 rid of that wretched crowd. I reached home to 
 find them at supper ; my father made a thousand 
 remonstrances. 
 
 " What ! do you want me, then, to give up my 
 free evenings ? Am I to go on enduring as an 
 amusement kilhng myself with fatigue and bore- 
 dom ? No, certainly not. Quick ! replace what 
 you have left on the table, and let us have a 
 hearty laugh. Father, dear, leave me my gaiety ; 
 it will pass away soon enough." So I have got 
 a nice evening's liberty. 1 will rid myself of 
 this heavy dress and wait for our good visitors 
 without formality or inconvenience. What 
 happiness ! 
 
 Mme. de Stael, on her side, tired me; I had 
 
248 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 been twice already to her, to a dinner and a 
 reception. The third time I promised myself to 
 be ill. I wrote to her to tell her not to count on 
 me. I was quite peaceful with my people, and my 
 footman announces Mme. de Stael. Confound 
 the woman ! the passion she has for me is too 
 inconvenient. 
 
 ** Show her into the other room." 
 
 I sent my sister, who made a grimace at the 
 commission I gave her. 
 
 " Whatever am I to say to that lady ? " 
 
 " Tell her that I am sleeping." 
 
 *' But you are all of you laughing ! " 
 
 " Tell her that I am in a fever, and raving. She 
 can believe what she likes of it." 
 
 Really her enthusiasm is nothing but an inquisi- 
 tion. I was sorry for it on Prince Oscar's account, 
 who was really charmingly good-natured, and 
 rarely missed Mme. de Stael's receptions. And of 
 course Albertine was charming as well. Mme. 
 de Stael, it was said, who was clever and adroit, 
 saw in the prince's visits an object she would 
 have liked to have attained. I say " it was said," 
 hut all the same they made her leave. 
 
 I paid my respects to the Queen precisely at 
 noon, who received me at once with extreme kind- 
 ness. She was in morning neglige, a great muslin 
 dressing-gown a la Croissy, trimmed with lace, her 
 head uncovered and dressed quite carelessly. I 
 had not yet played. She spoke to me about all 
 my parts ; she preferred tragedy. She asked me a 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 249 
 
 thousand questions about Paris, the Emperor, about 
 the Court, and my stay at St. Petersburg. She 
 spoke enormously, and with far too much curiosity. 
 I rephed very shortly with discretion, because for 
 a queen she asked me some very indiscreet 
 questions. I got out of it as best I could. She 
 must have said to herself, " Heavens ! what a 
 stupid ! " Well, I preferred that ; or better, " She 
 is very timid ! " She said to me — 
 
 " My dear, the King wants to see you, but he 
 wishes to receive you in full uniform. Wait a 
 Httle." 
 
 " Madame, I am too much honoured in waiting 
 with your Majesty." 
 
 Moreover, I was more than an hour with her. 
 The King was announced ; he was indeed in full 
 uniform, with sword at his side. He was a man of 
 middle height, thin and suffering, walking with 
 difficulty. Two officers supported him, which did 
 not prevent him from leaning on his stick. He 
 came towards me and said the most gracious things 
 imaginable. He was not such a good talker as 
 the Queen : the French language was less familiar 
 to him. I remained nearly twenty minutes, and 
 took leave of those noble personages. 
 
 I went very often in the morning to the Queen, 
 and in fact she gave me my cues. She was very 
 fond of Me?'ope, and did not recite at all badly. 
 Before leaving I made my farewell visit. She 
 took from her neck a quite tiny, very heavy 
 enamelled watch, begging me to wear it as a 
 
250 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 remembrance. " It is very modest," she said ; 
 " but what can one offer you, my dear, who have 
 such beautiful jewellery ? " 
 
 It was a royal parsimony at which I smiled 
 very graciously, promising myself, however, to 
 keep the souvenir carefully, but never to wear 
 that ugly little watch. 
 
 The evening of my departure I supped at M. 
 Camp's with Prince Bernadotte, who clasped on 
 my arms two beautiful bracelets of fine pearls, with 
 two very lovely diamond solitaires which formed 
 the clasps. On returning, I found M. Le Moine, 
 who brought me on behalf of the prince a diamond 
 ring and a pin of the same stone for my sister. The 
 prince sent me, as well, a lovely, good travelling 
 carriage with four seats. I took with me a maid 
 who was attached to me, and a certain Jules who 
 belonged to the company, and a son of his, a child 
 of eight or ten years. To return to France the 
 journey was costly, and the poor youth was 
 not rich. After eight performances I wanted to 
 leave. It was impossible to remain longer : the 
 war terrified me. 
 
 I separated from the other artistes, some of whom 
 remained at Stockholm and others left after us, 
 returning to their dear fiitherland. 
 
 I set off in the excellent carriage and two carts, 
 one for my luggage the other for Jules, his son, 
 and my valet. 
 
 {Dear Vahnore, make some researches on Stock- 
 holm : to knoiv, if possible, what should be insited. 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 251 
 
 There is a statue there of Crustave Vasa in a square. 
 But I do not know if it is the Palace Square : I 
 think so.) 
 
 Return to Paris (1815) 
 
 In passing through the place Vendome I see an 
 immense crowd. Heavens ! What do I see ? A 
 rope round the Emperor's neck, and those wretches 
 dragging that rope to make the great man fall to 
 the ground. But their united forces will not lower 
 him : he remains on his column, regarding them 
 with a smile of pity. He must be saying that 
 which he has said since : " So those are men ! " 
 
 But I, when I see this terrible spectacle, become 
 pale and cold. I was just going to throw myself 
 out of the carriage, mad with anger as I was, to 
 oppose — I, a feeble woman — this act of ferocity, 
 when a friend who was with me catches hold of me 
 and hides me in the depths of the carriage, and takes 
 me back to my home, in the rue de RivoU. It was 
 time : I felt I was dying. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Lucien, Queen Hortense, Prince Eugene, Mme. 
 Bacciochi, the white flag, which I saw hoisted with- 
 out knowing that I saw it. 
 
 ***** 
 
 My visit to the Duke of Vicense, Caulaincourt, 
 on the night when the Emperor lost the empire. 
 M. de Talleyrand had most people around him. 
 The Duke of Vicense walked home with me, and, 
 crossing the place du Carrousel, which was filled 
 
252 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 with Cossacks, Austrians and Prussians. Caulain- 
 court said to me, " It is a nice walk for Frenchmen, 
 isn't it, my dear Georgina ? " 
 
 Monsieur Lemercier, I still see you on a day of 
 a performance of Pinto at the Porte-Saint-Martin, 
 visiting me, quite excited with what you had just 
 listened to. Bocage was reciting Pinto , created in 
 such a remarkable manner by Talma, the great 
 actor. 
 
 M. Lemercier made an observation to M. Bocage 
 
 o 
 
 on some scene, I forget which, saying — 
 
 " Stop, Talma did it so, and he got a great success 
 by that means." 
 
 " My dear fellow, papa Talma did it as he under- 
 stood it." 
 
 At papa Talma, Lemercier naturally became 
 very indignant. He had to shrug his shoulders and 
 laugh in M. Bocage's face. 
 
 Yes, Talma did it as he understood, and he 
 understood everything with genius ; Nicomede, 
 for instance, which M. Bocage played as Bocage 
 understood it, it must be remembered. 
 
 Bocage pretended that it was necessary to be 
 stupid to play tragedy. Some time after this 
 delicious mot, he was playing Nicomede at the 
 Odeon. 
 
 Some one who was present at the famous per- 
 formance, and who knew of this mot of Bocage, 
 exclaimed after the tragedy — 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 253 
 
 " I never knew Bocage had so much cleverness. 
 He is the cleverest man of our age." 
 
 {Dear Caroline^ not kiiowmg where I am in all 
 the scribbling you have, I pass on and will begin the 
 romantic. ) 
 
 After a tour in the provinces of a year, with a 
 company of mine which played tragedies and 
 comedies, I returned to Paris in 1829. M. Harel 
 got the rights of the Odeon. The antecedents 
 of dear Harel did not sound good to the ears of 
 the Government of Charles X. Harel, an old 
 magistrate, naturally dismissed for his well-known 
 opinions ! Harel, five years an exile with Boulay 
 de la Meurthe, General Exelmans ! Harel, who had 
 founded the newspaper le Nain jaune, le Mij^oir ! 
 
 All this was very dangerous, and in no way 
 could it be presumed that he would obtain the 
 management of a royal theatre. M. dela Bouillerie, 
 who liked him, and knew him very well, spoke of it 
 to Charles X, who only asked one question — 
 
 ** Is he an honest man ? " 
 
 "Yes, sire. The proof: five years of exile for 
 having remained attached to the Emperor ; and if 
 he is accorded this privilege he will behave with 
 loyalty." 
 
 " I ask nothing better. I grant it him, and I 
 consider his fidelity and devotion right and praise- 
 worthy. I should like to have around my person 
 many subjects such as he. They are rare, dear M. 
 de la Bouillerie, are they not ? " 
 
254 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 # 
 * * 
 
 Mile. Contat, the great court lady, with her 
 magnificent insolence, her grand manner, her free 
 tone, her unstudied pretension, her unaffected 
 easiness, her witty comedy, her enchanting smile, 
 her frank gaiety of the great world of Louis XV 
 —Mile. Contat ! 
 
 * 
 
 To Mme. Valmo7'e. 
 
 Here I have given you all my impressions. Let 
 me tell you them, and do not blame me. There 
 are no details, just my impressions, my feehngs : 
 that's all. 
 
 At that time, for instance, our confidants were 
 detestable, they listened treacherously to all the 
 secrets of their princes and princesses. Ah ! the 
 wretches, to make their king and people suffer. 
 
 I heard Mme. de Stael tell, " I found myself 
 placed at table beside a good talker, who, sitting 
 between Mme. Recamier and myself, thought he 
 was obliged to be witty, and after ripe reflection he 
 delivered the stupidest impertinence I ever have 
 heard : ' I am sure to find myself placed between 
 beauty and genius.' 'Yes,' said I to him, 'without 
 having either the one or the other.'" 
 
 ^ tK tP ^ * 
 
 Josephine was very fond of flowers, and ^Ille. 
 Raucourt was a great lover of them. They used 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 255 
 
 to make exchanges. You must remember, dear 
 Valmore, that Mile. Raucourt had a conservatory 
 made at la Chapelle, in which she shut up her 
 rarest plants. During a journey, Josephine stopped 
 at la Chapelle ; she came to visit the conservatory 
 and bring some plants. This little detail is to 
 establish the intimacy of Josephine with Mile. 
 Raucourt, and the familiarity which made her call 
 her Fanny. 
 
 Here is the book of which I was speaking to 
 you, dear Valmore, which speaks of Josephine's 
 love for flowers, and especially for jasmine, which 
 reminded her of her own beautiful country. 
 * * * * * 
 
 In speaking of La Fontaine, some one said, " He 
 has the genius of simplicity." 
 
 " No ; La Fontaine had the simplicity of genius." 
 {hi Georges writing: " Put this mot to the credit 
 of M. Taylerant" (Talleyrand).) 
 
 Jules Janin 
 
 .Tanin's witty indifference. His fictitious en- 
 thusiasm. He loved to destroy what he had 
 made ; contradiction of himself amused him. 
 
 On the Actor's Art 
 
 Lessons in declamation ! How ridiculous this 
 has always seemed to me ! 
 
 How can a master think of changing the nature 
 of a pupil ? He can be guided ; but can a soul and 
 
256 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 a heart which he has not be given to him ? No. 
 Can nobiUty be given ? No. If you are awkward, 
 will you learn to walk ? And will an awkward 
 gait be given to you ? No. As to passion ? Are 
 gestures learnt — what nonsense ! As to appear- 
 ance ? Gestures, appearance are all derived 
 from what you experience, from the sentiments 
 which pass within you. How is that to be learnt ? 
 Can one learn gestures in the world ? You begin a 
 conversation, the subject interests you, gradually 
 you become animated, you gesticulate correctly, 
 your countenance reflects what you experience. At 
 your side you have some one who is impressed 
 with nothing, and listens coldly. Tell her, then, to 
 have an appearance ; she will be grotesque, and that 
 is all. No, lessons are ridiculous. There may be 
 advice, and examples of experience of what you are 
 demonstrating to develop a nature. It is possible 
 to learn how to speak, but to play — No ! Give a 
 lesson in acting, then ! Are you earnest about it ? 
 You must dedicate yourself to the work, bring to 
 it all your care and all your patience ; do not be 
 content with giving a sentence or a verse as a cue ; 
 recite whole scenes. You will judge the intelli- 
 gence of the pupil, you will see how he attends, 
 you will judge the impression of his physiognomy, 
 how he enters into the action of his impersonation ; 
 but if the duties are guided by interest, if you count 
 the minutes of your clock, you are pursuing a trade. 
 As for the art, it does not exist ! A prize really 
 ought to be given to him who should present an 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 257 
 
 educated artiste. I shall be told that my idea is 
 absurd ; I don't think so at all. Talent is recom- 
 pensed everywhere in all the arts ; why, then, should 
 not the dramatic art occupy its place ? Why 
 should not the actor who perfects his art receiv^e a 
 prize, like the perfumer who has perfected a soap ? 
 The reason is that the theatre is no longer a serious 
 art ; that women are admitted too easily who only 
 use it as a stepping-stone ; that managers are often 
 allowed, even commissioned, to receive with salaries, 
 'or merely nominal ones, pretty women, who, of 
 course, are forced to occupy themselves in another 
 way. Farewell, then, to every artistic future — 
 farewell to art ! Pleasure and apparel before 
 everything ! Unhappy actors ! Unhappy theatre ! 
 What, indeed, is the use of studying for the purpose 
 of hearing it said that you have talent ? Pshaw ! 
 you know very w^ell that it will be said anyhow. 
 Does criticism exist at all for you, Mademoiselles ? 
 
 You all have a great deal of talent ; never has 
 so much grace and distinction been seen. You 
 read your paper ; you are convinced, except him 
 who wrote it, a man of brains and taste, who 
 knows quite well that he is deceiving you, but who 
 does not care to hurt you. After all, it is of very 
 little importance ! 
 
 Criticism for true talent, of course ! but for these 
 little hussies praises without restriction. Of course, 
 it mustn't be allowed to go too far : my article will 
 be read. To-day the pretty w^omen; to-morrow 
 the artistes. 
 
258 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Oh speculation, you will break into all classes of 
 society ! 
 
 Money, always money ! Money will kill every- 
 thing ! 
 
 London 
 
 The second journey of the company to London. 
 Manager, Pelissier. 
 
 Obtained from the Duke of Devonshire permis- 
 sion for two tragical performances at the Grand 
 Theatre of the opera (Covent Garden), a thing 
 which had never been obtained before. Semwamis, 
 Merope. The Duke is very charming to artistes. 
 
 He received me at his country residence, which 
 I wanted to visit in his absence. A great crowd 
 was there to receive us ; a splendid lunch. Am 
 given the key of his box for all performances. 
 
 Invited to a charming reception at his house, 
 where I recited some verses before the most illus- 
 trious people in the land. The Duke himself 
 clasped a bracelet on my arm, which had no value 
 except for the way in which it was offered. Now- 
 a-days, Pactolus does not flow so broadly for us 
 artistes, or we tell less lies. 
 
 Plan of the Memoirs 
 
 My childhood, many details of which are written. 
 My father, manager of the theatre. Actors from 
 Paris perform, such as Mol^, Monvel. IMlle. Rau- 
 court, commissioned to get a pupil for tragedy. 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 2.59 
 
 begs my father to let me come to Paris for 
 tragical studies at the Theatre-Fran9ais, the 
 Government giving 1200 francs pension. 
 
 My visits before my debuts, under the segis of 
 Mile. Raucourt, to Ministers and the family of 
 Napoleon. 
 
 My debuts; the Comedie-Fran^aise ; visits to 
 Dumesnil, Clairon, etc. 
 
 My impressions on Talma, Monvel ; Mmes. Con- 
 tat, Mars, Devienne, the last appearances of Larrive. 
 
 The Consulate, Talleyrand. Lucien. The First 
 Consul's mother. His sister Bacciochi. Josephine. 
 Queen Hortense. Prince Eugene. 
 
 My relations with the First Consul. The 
 Empire. JVIany very intimate details about this 
 liaison. 
 
 My departure for Russia; stay at Vienna. 
 Society (Viennese) ; Princess Bagratian, Mme. de 
 Stael, Prince de Ligne, Cobentzel. Crossing the 
 Vibia. 
 
 My arrival at St. Petersburg. My debut. The 
 Queen-mother, the Emperor Alexander, his brother 
 Constantine, old Count StrogonofF, the young 
 Empress, and many other people. 
 
 My stay of five years, and departure after the 
 sad war. Journey to Stockholm, the Queen, the 
 old King, Prince Bernadotte. My performances. 
 Mme. de Stael again. 
 
 Departure for France. Pass the armies to reach 
 Hamburg. General Vandamme. 
 
 Dispatches announce my arrival in Dresden. 
 
260 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Twenty-four hours in Brunswick. The King of 
 WestphaUa. llemitting him letters on behalf of 
 
 Bernadotte. 
 
 My arrival at Dresden. The same evening I 
 saw the Emperor, who summons the Comedie- 
 Fran9aise; commands Talma and Saint-Prix for 
 
 tragedy. 
 
 Return to the Thdatre-Fran^ais, and restitution 
 
 of all my rights. 
 
 General Lauriston. 
 
 Departure of the Emperor for the Isle of Elba. 
 Return of the Bourbons. The Duke de Berry 
 summons me to the Tuileries for a denunciation. 
 Very witty of the Duke to call me a beautiful 
 Bonapartist ! 
 
 "Yes, prince, it is my flag, and will be 
 
 always ! " 
 
 Interview with Louis XVIII about the Theatre- 
 
 Fran9ais. 
 
 Two journeys to London : one alone, the other 
 with Talma. Reception at the French Ambassa- 
 dor's. Osmond. King George present. 
 
 Because I had exceeded my month's leave, the 
 Duke de Duras profits by it to exclude me 
 from the Theatre-Fran9ais. I am delighted; 
 my Bonapartist sentiments procured me this 
 benefit. 
 
 I make a tour in the provinces. On my return 
 the committee of the Thdatre-Fran^ais come to 
 ask me to return. I have very little desire to. Find- 
 
LOOSE LEAVES 261 
 
 ing myself in the midst of intrigues, Duchesnois 
 threatening to leave, it all decided me to ask an 
 audience of Louis XVIII to obtain my liberty, 
 and pass to the Odeon. The comptroller of the 
 King's household, General Lauriston, obtained a 
 performance for me at the Opera. Talma, Lafont 
 not being able to appear there, was commanded. 
 I played Biitannicus. 
 
 The second act of Mariage de Figaro, played 
 by Firmin, Gonthier, Jemmy, Vertpre, Bourgoin 
 and myself. We were very bad. 
 
 A benefit of thirty-two thousand francs. 
 
 I began my touring again in the provinces with 
 a small company. 
 
 There is a cabal at the Od^on ; I remained. 
 
 There is some talk of the Odcon under the 
 management of M. Harel, under Charles X. A 
 company there composed of Lockroy, Ligier. 
 Bernard, Duparcy, Vizentini, JMmes. Moreau, 
 Noblet, Delatre. 
 
 Romanticism : First night of Christine, by 
 Frdd(3ric Soulie ; la Marechale d'Ancre, by Vigny ; 
 Christine, by Dumas. 
 
 Tragedy : No7^ma, Fete de Ndron, Revolution of 
 1830. 
 
 Porte-Saint-Martin. 
 
 Victor Hugo. 
 
 Alexandre Dumas. 
 
 Well, there are plenty of things to say. Now 
 
262 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 there is quite enough for you to know if it is 
 suitable. Yes or no ! 
 
 Note by the Editor — How regi-ettable it is that this fine 
 programme should not have been pursued to its goal ! How 
 interesting George's notes on the debuts of romanticism would 
 have been ! How curious it would have been to have had her 
 recollections and appreciations of Victor Hugo^ Alfred de Vigny, 
 Alexandre Dumas, on Marie Dorval and Frederick Lemaitre I 
 But, unfoi'tunately, she stopped at what she has left us. 
 
THIRD PART 
 
 CORRESPONDENCE OF MLLE. GEORGE 
 
 Letter from Mile. Ravx^ourt on the subject of the debuts 
 of Mile. George. 
 
 La Chapelle Saint-Mesmin, the 4> . . . 
 
 (The corner of the letter is to7m.) 
 
 1 am very grateful, my young friend, for the 
 kind letter you write me and the details which 
 it contains. Very certainly one of the first things 
 I shall do on reaching Paris will be to profit by 
 the entry which you have procured for me to your 
 honourable protectors. Incapable of requesting the 
 favour for myself, I shall ask it with fervour for 
 her whose lot I am anxious to determine. At this 
 moment she is a little indisposed, which annoys me 
 very much, because it hinders her work. I have 
 only received news of Paris through you, but 
 I still count on being there within eight or 
 ten days at the latest. JNIme. George and her 
 daughter will leave before me. There is some 
 marauding game going on for Mile. Duchesnois. 
 It is not natural that she has stopped her debuts 
 not to resume them. The perfidious Florence, 
 who has so ingeniously made Mile. George fail 
 
 263 
 
264 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 here, is working dourly to make her really fail 
 in Paris ; I am inclined to believe it, at least, after 
 what you send me. 
 
 Come, courage ! With good dispositions, physi- 
 cal attractions, powerful friends, we shall carry off 
 the victory. I say we because you have always 
 shown such real interest that I am pleased to 
 believe we make a common cause. 
 
 Everybody at little la Chapelle is very anxious 
 to be remembered to you, and sends a thousand 
 kind greetings. My friends from Paris leave to- 
 day. We have often talked of you and that jolly 
 evening. 
 
 Poor Mme. Suzy is dangerously ill. 
 
 Adieu, young friend. My heartiest greetings. 
 
 Raucoukt. 
 
 To Monxienr Lnfonf, artiste of the TItedtre-Frangais of the 
 Republic, rue Vdledo, Paris, 
 
 To Monsieur Lemercier of the Academie-Frangaise. 
 
 B , whom I have seen, dear Monsieur 
 
 Lemercier, and who ought to have given you an 
 account both of our intentions and his last visit to 
 Picard, should have acquainted you with all that 
 has passed. 
 
 I am convinced that your opinion will be mine, 
 and that you will not share the views of your 
 colleague, whose conduct I fail to understand. 
 
 Why do you wish to engage me for three 
 years ? Why don't you wish to attach me as a 
 member at the Odcon ? Why not receive my 
 
CORRESPONDENCE 265 
 
 sister ? In fact, why don't you hasten to make 
 an end of it, and break the ice with the First 
 Theatre, with regard to which I am negotiating? 
 
 I understand with real regret that Victor is no 
 longer taking part with the Second Theatre. We 
 are deprived of a young man whom we shall not 
 replace any more, who was promising for the 
 future. 
 
 That causes me fear, and makes me guess at 
 a near dissolution. 
 
 I am not the less sensible, dear Monsieur 
 Lemercier, of the interest of which you have 
 given me proof in this circumstance. 
 
 I know that busybodies, without any claim or 
 mission, and without any approval on my part, have 
 madly interfered between Picard and me. I have 
 left the letters which were written to me without a 
 reply, and have replied to you only, because I must 
 recognise in you an estimable man and a necessary 
 friend. 
 
 However, the papers have spoken, and it can 
 only have been M. Picard who dictated, and who 
 will no doubt have thought that I was burning to 
 place myself under his power, in which he is very 
 much wrong, for, but for you, I should have waited 
 before taking any steps. 
 
 See, then, my dear Monsieur Lemercier, things 
 seem in the same state, and I presume they will 
 remain there for a long time, if M. Picard waits 
 for fresh overtures on my part. 
 
 Fortunately I am not in need of either theatre ; 
 
266 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 if either wants me (which I do not pretend), I do 
 not desire to be in the position of being unable to 
 accept. But you understand quite well that I 
 must pursue the plans which I have confided to 
 you. 
 
 Accept, dear Monsieur Lemercier, with the 
 expression of my gratitude, all the good wishes 
 possible for yourself, and believe in the value I 
 attach to a friendship which I shall force myself 
 to deserve in all the occasions of life. 
 
 George Weymer. 
 
 Caen, January 6, 1820. 
 
 Paris, September 14, 1821. 
 MiNISTERE DE LA MaISON DU RoI, 
 
 I hasten to inform you, sir, that the 
 King, by an ordinance of to-day, has consented to 
 authorise Mademoiselle George Weymer to play 
 at the Second Theatre-Fran^ais. Will you then 
 in consequence inform her of this decision, as 
 well as the members of the theatre, so that the 
 conditions of the engagement contracted between 
 them and Mademoiselle George may be carried 
 out. 
 
 I am, sir, your very humble and obedient servant, 
 Secretary of State to the King's Household, 
 
 (Signed) M. de Lauriston. 
 
 Mofisieur Gentil, manager of the Second Theatre, 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 I am sorry not to have seen you this 
 morning. That which you came to propose to me 
 
CORRESPONDENCE 267 
 
 is quite possible, but the figure is a little too 
 economical. If you can come to-morrow morning I 
 will wait for you. There is no time to lose if I am 
 wanted to play on Sunday. If you were free this 
 evening I would not go out. Suit yourself between 
 this evening and to-morrow morning. 
 
 George. 
 My regards to madame, please. 
 
 Monsieur Porcher, 10 rue de Lancry. 
 
 My dear Mademoiselle Tilly, 
 
 I ought to come myself and thank you 
 for all your gracious kindness ; but for three days 
 I have been a little indisposed. On Monday I 
 propose to see you. If it is not indiscreet to ask 
 you for a small box for myself in the evening, you 
 would oblige me. However, I would not like to 
 upset your arrangements ; I know what a first 
 performance costs. 
 
 Heartily yours, 
 
 George W. 
 My thanks and greetings to M. Tilly. 
 
 My dear Mademoiselle Tilly, 
 
 You must, you and M. Tilly, consider 
 me not very polite, not having yet been to thank 
 you both for your great favour ; but when you 
 know that I have been ill since Friday you will 
 not accuse me longer. Now I am going to ask 
 you to take no engagement for la Tour de Nesle, 
 
268 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 should any one come and ask your consent to such 
 a proposal. 
 
 I shall have to talk to you on that subject. If 
 it is possible, don't give your word before I have 
 the pleasure of seeing you, which will be in a few 
 days. 
 
 Please accept, you and M. Tilly, my kindest 
 regards. 
 
 George. 
 
 On April 30, 1906, M. Noel Charavay sold one 
 of George's autograph letters to Harel (le Havre, 
 September 20, 1839 ; a page and a half quarto). 
 
 In this curious letter she gives him an account 
 of the results of her tour. She ends thus — 
 
 " Good-bye, friend of my life. I love you with 
 all my heart and soul. I am yours till my last 
 breath." 
 
 To Theopkile Gauiier. 
 
 Sunday (April 1845). 
 
 Sir, 
 
 You have always shown me an interest 
 I have never dared to solicit. Permit me to tell 
 you that has been a source of no little pride and 
 then confidence to me, and I am giving you a 
 proof of it to-day in asking all your support for 
 les Phm^aons and Nephtys} 
 
 The success begins to be very great ; you will 
 render it immense by writing about it and protect- 
 
 ^ See the article by Th. Gautier in la Presse of April 14, 1845. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE 269 
 
 ing it. As for me, I shall be very happy and very 
 grateful for the kindness with which you welcome 
 my efforts. 
 
 Accept, sir, my kindest regards. 
 
 George. 
 
 {Collection of M. le vicomte de Spoelberch de Lovenjoul.) 
 
 My dear Friend, 
 
 Mile. Melingue is to-day playing Merope. 
 Will you, if you give a notice of this perform- 
 ance, recall in a few words the success which 
 JMUe. George has so many times obtained in this 
 part ? Nothing will prevent the justice rendered to 
 Mile. Melingue being interfered with in any way by 
 the useful recollection you would be good enough 
 to give Mile. George. She is travelling at the 
 moment, and perhaps for some time. A cheer 
 of recognition on the occasion of the performance 
 of M&ope will only be very natural and very 
 favourable to the commercial result of Mile. George's 
 peregrinations. 
 
 Two words only I repeat — Multa paucis. 
 
 You know all my old friendship for you. 
 
 Harel. 
 
 July 26, 1848. 
 
 Monsieur Janin, 20 rue de Vaugirard. 
 
 To Theophile Gautier. 
 
 August 28. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 You are always overflowing with an amiable 
 and useful kindness for me. 
 
270 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Your article of last Monday, which was sent me 
 to read yesterday, is a new and very obliging proof 
 of the interest you have shown for me for a long 
 time, of which I am very sensible. 
 
 Accept, sir, I beg, the expression of my lively 
 gratitude and the sincerest regards of your devoted 
 servant, 
 
 George. 
 
 (Collection of M. le vicomte de Spoelherch de Loven/'oul.) 
 
 To Theophile Gautier, 2 7-ue Navarin. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 I should be very charmed if you would 
 give me some hours of your time at the performance 
 this evening. 
 
 Permit me to count on your presence, and 
 accept, please, the assurance of my sincere regards. 
 
 George W. 
 
 {Collection de feii M. le vico7nte de Spoelherch de Lovenjoul.) 
 
 Letter of a plat/goer to Jules Janin on Mile. George s performances 
 in the jjrovinces. 
 
 Monsieur, 
 
 She who was formerly one of the glories 
 of the French stage, the most beautiful, and 
 one of the most brilliant women of this centurj^, 
 Mile. George, in fact, has come to the point, after 
 a career so long and so active — in fact already 
 far too prolonged — of dragging along her miserable 
 existence in the gloomiest villages, and of appearing 
 
CORRESPONDENCE 271 
 
 on stages where the most obscure actors from Paris 
 would blush to perform. 
 
 We were at Saumur some time ago. George 
 was performing in the town, escorted by some poor 
 wretches she had gathered round her. 3Ie7'ope was 
 given, and the bill amiounced, if there were no more 
 'people than last time the money would be returned. 
 This piqued our curiosity, and we went to the 
 theatre ; we counted some forty people in the 
 house. - There was a performance, so Mile. George 
 apparently found the receipts sufficient. 
 
 We were then a witness of the most lamentable 
 spectacle which could be unrolled before us. The 
 actress appeared, almost beautiful still ; but in a 
 hall half as large as at the Palais Royal. Illusion 
 is impossible, and the wrinkles, white hair and 
 monstrous figure, the hoarseness, unsteady gait, 
 the cracked voice, the hesitating utterance of the 
 poor actress, stupefied the spectators to such an 
 extent that a unanimous feeling of pity and disgust 
 took possession of them, so that they fled from 
 what they saw before their eyes, and the play 
 finished to an empty house. At each of the 
 performances given in this town practically the 
 same thing happens. 
 
 From this town the unfortunate actress went 
 on to Chinon and Azay, towns of four thousand 
 and two thousand souls, where she played before 
 peasants who kept on their hats in her presence ! 
 
 We confine ourselves to this picture. Would 
 it not be possible, sir, to extract this new Hecuba 
 
272 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 of the dramatic art from this unexampled position, 
 whom only complete ruin forces to adopt this 
 wandering life, either by obtaining help for her in 
 whatever way possible, or by organising a farewell 
 performance in the Salle de I'Opera, in which all the 
 most celebrated actresses in Paris would be happy 
 to appear, the proceeds of which would serve to 
 assure her of an annuity of at least two thousand 
 francs, if the receipts were twenty thousand francs, 
 the prices being doubled ? 
 
 In submitting this proposition to one of her 
 comrades, and there are so many of them animated 
 by the most ardent zeal and the most charitable 
 minds, there is no doubt that the suggestion will 
 promptly come to a head. 
 
 Mile. George would readily give her assistance, 
 and the scandal at which we were present, which is 
 prolonging itself and will be prolonged too long, 
 will no longer be renewed everywhere she goes. 
 
 You will pardon, sir, the liberty we have taken 
 in addressing you for this purpose, but we thought 
 that for you, who are at the head of dramatic 
 literature, it would be easier than another to realise 
 this project. 
 
 Even if Mile. George was not living in poverty, 
 and was continuing to act in tragedy for her plea- 
 sure, it would still be your duty to write to her, 
 in order to open her eyes and make her understand 
 that she is doing herself a great wrong by immolat- 
 ing the name which she has made so famous. 
 
 But alas ! this supposition is not likely : and we 
 
CORRESPONDENCE 273 
 
 believe that necessity alone forces a woman of more 
 than sixty to mount the vilest boards in France. 
 
 Realise our project, sir, and you will have done 
 a kind action. 
 
 Accept the sincere regards of your very humble 
 servant. 
 
 (Signed) A. Moreau. 
 
 May 20, 1847. 
 
 P.S. — The Dramatic Association, M. Henri, of 
 the Opera-Comique, or any other person interested 
 in such matters, might place themselves at the 
 head of this committee. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 M. Harel has told me of all the obliging 
 promptitude you have shown in according me one of 
 your pieces and several of your artistes for a perform- 
 ance which I shall give on Saturday at the Odeon. 
 
 I beg you to accept my expressions of lively 
 gratitude. You are doing me a real service, which 
 has still more value in my eyes that I have no 
 other title than the friendship you keep for M. 
 Harel, who for a long time has vowed you all his. 
 
 Accept, sir, I beg, all my devotion. 
 
 George. 
 
 May 27. 
 
 Letter from Mile. George to Tkeopkile Gautier, on the subject of 
 her farewell performance in 1849. 
 
 My dear Monsieur Th^ophile, 
 
 You are unfindable, so I am obliged to 
 write to you, and beg you to do me the immense 
 
274 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 service of dedicating your article on Monday to 
 me. My farewell performance takes place on 
 Sunday, the 27th prox. Iphigenie en Aulide ; le 
 Moineau de Lesbie ; Mme. Viardot, Lavassor in 
 a vaudeville, dances, etc. Do you want me to 
 have a fuU house ? You can manage it, if you like. 
 The public will go where you tell it to go. The 
 last performance of Mile. Rachel before her farewell 
 appearance, which unfortunately will last three whole 
 months. Reunion for one occasion only of these 
 two phenomena. My retirement, which is not with- 
 out advantages. Mme. Viardot ! Only say all the 
 good of me which, perhaps, you do not think. 
 Make me blush by your praises ! But bring me an 
 enormous pubhc. As for Rachel, say all the good 
 of her which she deserves, and which you think. 
 Give a rendezvous to the elite of society in that 
 elegant hall. If you can find room to speak of 
 some of my creations you will give me pleasure. 
 
 You see, monsieur, how I count on the sym- 
 pathy you have so often shown to me, to dare to 
 bore you so long with my long scrawl. 
 
 Permit me to hope that on Monday your article 
 will not find fault with me. You understand of 
 what importance this performance is to me. 
 
 Accept my kind regards and deep gi-atitude. 
 
 George W. 
 
 Friday. 
 
 Monsieur Theophile Gautier, rue Rougemont. Urgent. 
 
CORRESPONDENCE 275 
 
 Letter from Mile. George to Jules Janin, on the farewell per- 
 formance in 1849, and on Mile. Rachel. 
 
 To-day I am ill ; to-morrow I shall be with you, 
 at your feet, lender your feet. 
 
 Now I am going to tell you how atrociously 
 insolent the great tragedienne has been. She 
 has refused to appear with me ! She did not 
 wish to play le Moiueau (the Sparrow) and still 
 she sent her claquer to me, to whom we had 
 given free passes and four boxes and some stalls 
 she had asked of me, which I hastened to let her 
 have. Still the old fellow managed to find some- 
 thing to grumble at. Now is the moment to write 
 on the benefit ; it would be very droll. Ah ! Mile. 
 Rachel, you have indeed been kind ! A few days 
 more and I could become as thin as she. That 
 was her pretension. 
 
 My respects to Mme. Janin. 
 
 G. 
 
 My dear Monsieur Theophile, 
 
 As I do not know precisely the hour at 
 which I can meet you (and I am not a very early 
 person) I am going to ask you to be so kind as to 
 indicate to me as near as possible your day and 
 hour. I have a service to ask of you, and as you 
 have always been prompt to be helpful and kind 
 to me, I count once more on your interest to re- 
 ceive me shortly. I await, dear Monsieur Gautier, 
 your prompt and kind reply as usual. 
 
276 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Accept the assurance of my kindest regards as 
 well as of my gratitude. 
 
 George W. 
 
 My compliments to madame, if you please. 
 
 Mademoiselle George, 44 rue Basse-du Rempart. 
 
 {Collection of M. le vicomte de Spoelboxk de Lovenjoul.) 
 
 Evreux, Monday 6. 
 
 My darling, I will give you my news. I 
 know that will please you. I believe, adored 
 friend, that our little business will go well. 
 This evening I am playing Merope, to-morrow 
 Semiramis, and doubtless Wednesday at Louviers, 
 which is only six leagues from here ; Thursday, 
 perhaps here ; that will depend on the receipts. 
 I am told that Bernay and Elbeuf are better. 
 We follow your itinerary thoroughly. Your 
 indisposition will have no consequences, friend. 
 At home, you should not forget the care necessary 
 to yourself. A little patience and all will be 
 well. I leave you, my adored man ; Seriiiramis is 
 just to be rehearsed. To our prompt meeting, my 
 darling, whom I love with all the strength of my 
 soul. 
 
 Yours always, yours for my life. Till to-morrow. 
 
 (Signed) George, 
 
 Kiss my sister for me. 
 
 {Letter to Harel.) 
 
 On an envelope these words written by George are 
 to be read — 
 
CORRESPONDENCE 277 
 
 " Last letter of my (word illegible, perhaps ' old ' ) 
 lover 
 
 One word, my darling, my heart always beats 
 for you. And here we are, alas ! separated for 
 some time. Your image will be ever before me. 
 
 Bebelle lavishes her attentions on me. 
 
 Our dear Tom is with you ; he does his best for 
 you in your exploitation. Your sister will always 
 give me news of you ; you yourself will remember 
 my eternal tenderness ; and your letters will do 
 me much good. 
 
 Embrace my son for me. 
 
 Yours for ever, 
 
 (Signed) Harel. 
 
 Paris, June 1846. 
 
 Madame George, first tragedy actress of the Parisian Theatre, at 
 Audclys {Registered^ 
 
 The letter contained the following quatrain — 
 
 De mon visage, en ce portrait, 
 
 Avec justesse a-t-on saisi I'ensemble ? 
 
 Moi, je n'en puis juger ; mais enfin, s'il te plaitj 
 Vite, dis moi qu'il me ressemble. 
 
 Harel. 
 
 A letter from M. Fictorien Sardou. 
 
 Marly-le-roi, Sunday. 
 
 Dear Friend, 
 
 I saw Mile. George at the Od^on, in 
 1842 or '43, in Rodogime and Lucretia Borgia. 
 Rodogune has only left me the recollection of a 
 
278 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 truly royal face. The tragedy bored me. But 
 Lucrece Borgia was an enchantment for my 
 nascent romanticism ! Mile. George was then 
 bordering on sixty. She was ridiculously fat. After 
 having crouched at the feet of Gennaro, she could 
 only rise with his assistance. I remember her 
 childish hands attached to arms as thick as thighs, 
 and on her massive shoulders the neck and head of 
 a very matured Juno, with cruel rolls of fat. But 
 nevertheless she was so tragic by habit, in her walk 
 and gestures, in her slightly emphatic delivery and 
 the beautiful sonorousness of her voice, that the even- 
 ing is always present in my memory. I can still see 
 Lucretia, masked and all in white — which was not 
 conducive to making her thinner — walking on the 
 stage with Monrose's son, who was playing Subetta. 
 I can see her fall under the invectives of the 
 friends of Gennaro. The scenery was odious, the 
 first especially : an old curtain much used, peeling 
 and torn, without visible trace of either design or 
 colour, which the same evening did for Thames 
 fogs in V Anglais ou lefou raisonable, and in Lucrece 
 for the Grand Canal at Venice. The costumes 
 were ridiculous, the mise en scene childish. The 
 monks in the last act, with their badly fixed false 
 beards, were the joy of the pit. George triumphed 
 over all that, so much was she, for the public, the 
 very incarnation of Victor Hugo's heroine — abso- 
 lutely false, by the way ! 
 
 About 1860, one evening at the Folies-Drama- 
 tiques, I installed myself in a corner-box with 
 
CORRESPONDENCE 279 
 
 Dejazet, when behind us a door opened before 
 a fat lady who, in a raucous voice, cried, " Ah ! 
 Deujazet ! " (sic). 
 
 It was Mile. George. 
 
 While the two great actresses exchanged some 
 pleasant commonplaces I looked with stupor at the 
 Duchess of Ferrara. She had taken a snuff-box 
 from her muff, and helped herself to enormous 
 pinches of snuff, with which she stuffed her nose 
 fiercely. . . . 
 
 A remembrance of Napoleon ! 
 
 I only saw her that once. 
 
 A thousand greetings. 
 
 V. Sardou. 
 
 Monsieur Cheramy, 1 1 his, rue Arsene-Houssaye, Paris. 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 Note from the C0MEDIE-rRAN(;?AISE ON THE 
 
 Parts filled by Mlle. George 
 
 The 8 Frimaire, year xi (November 29, 1802), 
 George Weymer made her debut at the Com^die- 
 Fran^aise in Clytemnestra in Iphigenie en Aulide. 
 She played successively : the 17 Frimaire, Amenaide 
 {Tancrede) ; the 25 Frimaire, Idam^ {Orphelin de la 
 Chine) ; the 30 Frimaire, Emilie {China) ; the 14 
 Nivose {Didon) ; the 3, 4, 25 Pluviose, Semiramis 
 and Phedre. 
 
 A quarter Societaire in March 1804, in young 
 princesses, grand princesses, queens and mothers. 
 
 On May 11, 1808, the fifth performance of 
 Debrieu's Artaxerxes was to be given, in which 
 Mlle. George was to play the part of Mandane. 
 In the morning at eleven o'clock the Superintendent 
 received a letter from Mile. George, informing him 
 that an affair of the greatest importance obliged her 
 to leave Paris for some days. The theatre was closed. 
 
 On May 13, a decree of the Superintendent of 
 Performances condemns Mlle. George to a fine of 
 three thousand francs, a sum which it was estimated 
 the performance which she had missed would have 
 
 realised. 
 
 281 
 
282 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 On May 30, Mile. George's share is provisionally 
 sequestered. 
 
 On June 17, in virtue of a new decree, her name 
 is erased from the books of members of the Thdatre- 
 Fran^ais. 
 
 Mile. George, who had gone to St. Petersburg, 
 remained there six years, and reappeared at the 
 Comedie-Fran^aise in the part of her ddbut as 
 Clytemnestra. She re-entered at a five-eighths share, 
 with the promise of a whole share, which she obtained 
 in the following year. A decree of October 25, 1813, 
 gives her the second place for leading parts, held in 
 chief by Mile. Duchesnois ; she had to understudy 
 immediately Mile. Raucourt in the parts of queens 
 which had never been played by Mile. Duchesnois, 
 and play the others alternately with Mile. 
 Duchesnois. 
 
 In 1816 Mile. George, who had, under the 
 pretext of illness, prolonged by fifty days a leave 
 of two months, was refused her share for that 
 period. Offended, she gave in her resignation, which 
 was not accepted. In 1817 she refuses successively 
 to act the parts which had been given her in 
 Germanicus by A.-V. Arnault, and in la Mort 
 dAbel by Legouve. 
 
 Considering that Mile. George Weymer has 
 nearly entirely, and, without valid excuse, left the 
 theatre, abandoned her profession, and refused to 
 appear and play in new parts, the Due de Duras 
 decrees. May 6, 1817, that *'to date from the 
 8th of the present month the demoiselle George 
 
APPENDIX 283 
 
 Weymer will cease to share in the company of the 
 Theatre-Fran^ais." 
 
 On December 17, 1853, Mile. George reap- 
 peared at the Theatre-Fran ^ais in a performance 
 for her benefit ; she played Cleopatre in Rodogime. 
 
 Journal des Debuts 
 From 10 to 11 Frimahx (December 1, 1802) 
 
 ARTICLE BY GEOFFROY ON THE DEBUT OF MLLE. 
 GEORGE WEIMER, PUPIL OF MLLE. RAUCOURT 
 
 Not sufficient measures were taken to restrain 
 the extraordinary crowd which such a famous debut 
 was bound to attract. All the guard was engaged 
 at the office where the tickets were distributed, 
 while the entrance door, almost without defenders, 
 sustained the most terrible siege ; there assaults 
 were made, which I only could make a tragical 
 description of, for I was a spectator and even a very 
 involuntary actor. Chance had thrown me into 
 the melee before I could be aware of the danger. 
 
 Qitaeque ipse miserrima vidi, et quorum pars magna 
 fui, the assailants were animated by the desire to see 
 a new actress, and by the enthusiasm which a cele- 
 brated beauty inspires. It is on these occasions 
 that curiosity is nothing more than an insensate 
 and brutal passion ; it is then that the taste for 
 shows and arts resembles ferocity and barbarism. 
 Stifled women emit piercing cries, while the men in 
 
284 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 savage silence, forgetting politeness and gallantry, 
 think only of opening a passage for themselves at 
 the expense of everything which surrounds them. 
 
 The councillors of Priam, on seeing Helen pass, 
 cried, "A princess so beautiful deserves to be battled 
 for ; but however marvellous be her beauty, peace 
 is still preferable." And I said on seeing Mile. 
 George, " Need one be surprised if people are 
 suffocated for such a superb woman ? But were 
 she, if possible, more beautiful still, it is far better 
 not to be suffocated, even in her own interests, for 
 spectators are more severe with regard to a debutante, 
 when their sight costs them so dear." 
 
 Preceded on the stage by an extraordinary repu- 
 tation for beauty, Mile. George has not appeared 
 beneath her reputation ; her face unites to French 
 graces the regularity and nobility of Grecian forms ; 
 her figure is that of the sister of Apollo when she 
 advances on the banks of Eurotas, surrounded by 
 her nymphs, and raising her head above them. Her 
 whole person is made to be offered as a model to 
 Guerin's chisel. When she caused the first lines 
 of her part to be heard, the ear was not as favour- 
 able to her as the eyes ; the inseparable trouble 
 of such a moment had altered her voice, naturally 
 flexible, wide of compass and sonorous ; some 
 defects which could be remarked in the acting and 
 diction must be attributed to the same cause, all 
 of which, though, can be easily corrected. A girl of 
 sixteen who appeared for the first time before such 
 a large and imposing assembly could not have the 
 
APPENDIX 285 
 
 full use of her faculties ; it is sufficient that in the 
 first appearance she showed the happiest dis- 
 positions and the germ of a great actress. One 
 must wait and not extinguish by carping severity a 
 good talent ready to develop itself. Her very 
 faults have a noble origin ; they belong to an im- 
 petuosity and an ardour which she does not yet 
 know how to regulate, which precipitates her 
 delivery and movements ; for in that beautiful body 
 there is a soul impatient to pour itself out. She 
 is not a statue of Parian marble ; she is Pygmalion's 
 Galatea, full of warmth and life, and in some way 
 oppressed by the crowd of new sensations which 
 are rising in her bosom. 
 
 The manner of the teacher was to be recognised 
 in the pupil. That could not be otherwise ; 
 pupils nearly always imitate defects, but when 
 they have talent they soon acquire a manner. If 
 IMlle. George were only a faithful copy of Mile. 
 Raucourt, our theatre would not be unfortunate, 
 and the audience would have nothing to complain 
 about in seeing Mile. Raucourt at eighteen. The 
 debutante seems destined for the part of queens. 
 Her extreme beauty will perhaps be superfluous for 
 those parts, but her figure, her dignity and grace, 
 the clearness and firmness of her voice, are of the 
 fii'st necessity. 
 
 Memoires de Mme. de Remusat (Published by 
 Cahiann-Levy, Vol. I, p. 202) 
 
 It is known that M. de Remusat protected Mile. 
 
286 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Duchesnois, doubtless perfectly honourably. Mme. 
 de Remusat, in her Memoirs, is less charitable to 
 Mile. George. It is interesting to read the lines 
 which she has dedicated to her, and an apprecia- 
 tion by her stepson, Paul de Remusat, who gives 
 us the opinion of the whole family of de Remusat. 
 "Two remarkable actresses (Miles. Duchesnois 
 and George) made their debuts in tragedy almost 
 at the same time. The one was ugly, but dis- 
 tinguished by a talent which won approval ; the 
 other was mediocre, but of extraordinary beauty.^ 
 
 1 Here is a recollection my father has preserved of the rivalry 
 and talent of these two celebrated actresses. The liaison of the 
 Emperor with Mile. George made some noise. Society (I have a 
 recollection of it myself) was very excited over the controversy 
 touching the respective merits of the two ti-agediennes. There 
 was a lively dispute after each performance of either. The 
 connoisseurs and the salons in general were for Mile. Duches- 
 nois. She had, however, very little talent, and played with- 
 out intelligence ; but she had passion, sensibility, and a 
 touching voice which made people weep. For her was invented, 
 I think, the theatrical expression, " to have tears in the voice." 
 My mother and my aunt (Mme. de Nansonty) were very pro- 
 nounced for Mile. Duchesnois to the point of breaking lances 
 with my father himself, who for administrative reasons was 
 obliged to impartiality. It was these discussions on dramatic 
 art, together with the facility which my father's duties gave us 
 of following all the events of the theatrical world, which very 
 early awoke within me a certain taste and appreciation of litera- 
 ture and conversation which were scarcely to be expected at my 
 age. I was taken very early to tragedy, and I saw these two 
 Melpomenes in nearly all their debuts. It was said that the one 
 was so good that she was beautiful in them, and that the other 
 was so beautiful that she was good in them. The latter, then 
 very young, trusted to the fascination of her charms, but she 
 
APPENDIX 287 
 
 The Paris public grew warm for the one or the 
 other, but, in general, success of talent over- 
 came her with the beauty. Bonaparte, on the 
 contrary, was charmed by the latter, and Mme. 
 Bonaparte very soon learnt by the spying of her 
 valets that Mile. George had been, for several 
 evenings, introduced secretly into a small remote 
 set of apartments in the chateau. This discovery 
 inspired her with real uneasiness ; she told me about 
 it with extreme emotion, and began to shed a great 
 many tears, which seemed to me more abundant 
 than that passing occasion deserved. 
 
 * * # # * 
 
 " One evening Mme. Bonaparte, more overcome 
 than usual by her jealous uneasiness, kept me with 
 her, and conversed livelily about her troubles. It 
 was one o'clock in the morning, and we were alone 
 in the salon. The most profound silence reigned 
 at the Tuileries. All of a sudden she got up. 
 * I can't stand it any longer,' she exclaimed. 
 *Mlle. George is certainly up there, and I am 
 going to surprise them.' Rather troubled by this 
 sudden resolution, I did what I could to deter her 
 from it, but without success. * Follow me,' she 
 
 had not a sufficiently flexible voice, a certain heaviness in pro- 
 nunciation did not allow her to reach easily to the effects of 
 cultivated diction, I believe, however, that at bottom she had 
 more genius than her rival, and, in being pi-odigal of her talent 
 in other kinds of dramatic genres, she at the same time com- 
 promised and developed it, and she deserved a portion of the 
 reputation it was endeavoured to make for her in her old age. 
 
288 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 said; 'we will go up together.' Then I repre- 
 sented to her that such espionage, being scarcely 
 suitable on her part, would be intolerable on mine, 
 and in the event of the discovery she expected 
 to make I should certainly be very much in the way 
 during the scene which would follow. She would 
 listen to nothing, and pressed me so much that, 
 in spite of my repugnance, I yielded to her will, 
 saying, however, to myself that our expedition 
 would amount to nothing, that doubtless their 
 precautions had been taken on the first floor against 
 every surprise. 
 
 "So there we were, both marching silently — 
 Mme. Bonaparte first, very excited, I behind, slowly 
 climbing the carpetless staircase which led to Bona- 
 parte's rooms, and very ashamed of the part which 
 I had been made to play. In the middle of our 
 journey a light noise was to be heard. Mme. 
 Bonaparte turned back. ' Perhaps it is Roustan,' 
 she said, ' Bonaparte's mameluke, who is guarding 
 the door. The wretch is capable of throttling 
 both of us.' At that word I was seized with a 
 fright which, ridiculous as it doubtless was, pre- 
 vented me from listening any more ; so, without 
 thinking that I was leaving Mme. Bonaparte in 
 cruel obscurity, I descended with the candle which 
 I was holding in my hand, and returned as quickly 
 as I could to the salon. She followed me a few 
 minutes afterwards, astonished at my sudden flight. 
 When she saw my frightened face she began to laugh, 
 and so did I ; but we renounced our undertaking. 
 
APPENDIX 289 
 
 I left her, saying that the strange fright she had 
 given me had been useful to her, and that I had 
 been very wise to yield to it." 
 
 Alexandre Dumas 
 Note by the Editor 
 
 Alexandre Dumas, who had been one of George's 
 lovers, often speaks of her in his Memoirs. She 
 told him the most curious events of her life, and 
 Dumas in his turn tells them with that eloquence, 
 brilliancy, and good nature which only belong to 
 him. We have not hesitated to make large selec- 
 tions from the Memoirs of the author of 3Io7ite 
 Christo. These extracts wittily complete George's 
 Memoirs, and permit us to form an exact and 
 complete idea of her appearance. 
 
 It is a pity that Dumas' Memoirs are not more 
 read, which, unfortunately, stop too soon, and are 
 as curious as the most entertaining of his novels. 
 
 Mes memoires. Third series. Calmann-Levy, 
 1898-1899. 
 
 A word on the way in which JVIUe. George 
 was entered at the theatre and in which she was 
 maintained there. Loved by Bonaparte, and having 
 remained in favour with him, JMlle. George, idio 
 asked the privilege of accompcuujing Napoleon to 
 St. Helena, is nearly an historic personage. 
 
290 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Towards the end of 1800 and the beginning 
 of 1801, Mile. Raucourt, who played leading 
 tragedy parts at the Theatre-Fran9ais, was giving 
 some performances in the provinces. This was the 
 period when the Government, although it had much 
 to do, was not in its free moments ashamed to oc- 
 cupy itself with art. Consequently, Mile. Raucourt 
 had received from the Government an order, if 
 she met with, on her tour, any pupil not unworthy 
 of her lessons, to bring her back with her to Paris. 
 This pupil should be considered as a pupil of the 
 Government, and would receive 1200 francs pension. 
 
 Mile. Raucourt stopped at Amiens. 
 
 There she found a beautiful young girl of fifteen, 
 who looked like eighteen : one would have said it 
 was the Venus of Milo descended from her pedestal. 
 Mile. Raucourt, nearly as Grecian as Lesbian Sapho, 
 was very fond of living statues. On seeing this 
 young girl walking, and the steps of the goddess 
 revealed in her, as Virgil says, the actress makes 
 inquiries, and learns that she was called George 
 Weymer, that she was the daughter of a German 
 musician called George Weymer, manager of the 
 theatre, and of Mile. Verteuil, who played the 
 parts of soubrettes. 
 
 The young girl was destined for tragedy. 
 
 Mile. Raucourt made her play Elise in JDidon 
 with her, and Aricie in Plicdre. The experiment 
 succeeded, and on the same evening as the per- 
 formance of Phedre she demanded the young 
 tragedienne from her parents. 
 
APPENDIX 291 
 
 The prospect of being the pupil of the Govern- 
 ment, and, above all, the pupil of Mile. Raucourt, 
 had, apart from some small objections, from which, 
 strictly speaking, the young girl could protect 
 herself, too many attractions in the eyes of the 
 parents for them to refuse. 
 
 The request was granted, and Mile. George left, 
 accompanied by her mother. 
 
 The lessons lasted eighteen months. During the 
 eighteen months the young pupil lived in a poor 
 mansion in rue Croix-des-Petits-Champs, which, 
 probably by antiphrasis, was called V Hotel du Perou. 
 
 As for Mile. Raucourt, she lived in a magnificent 
 house at the end of the allee des Veuves, which 
 had belonged to Mme. Tallien, which, also doubt- 
 less by antiphrasis, was called la Chaumiere. We 
 said " a magnificent house " ; we should have said 
 "a little house," because this mansion of Mile. 
 Raucourt was really quite a small house in the 
 Louis XV style. 
 
 Towards the end of the eighteenth century, a 
 strange century in which things were called quite 
 loudly by their proper name, Sapho Raucourt 
 enjoyed a reputation the originality of which she 
 did not in the least try to weaken. 
 
 The sentiment Mile. Raucourt bore for men was 
 more than indifference, it was hate. The writer of 
 these lines has under his eyes a manifesto signed 
 by the illustrious actress, which is actually a war 
 cry raised by JMlle. Raucourt against the masculine 
 sex, in which the new Queen of the Amazons 
 
292 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 summons all the beautiful warriors enrolled under 
 her command to an open rupture with men. 
 
 Nothing is more curious for its form, and, above 
 all, for its depth, than this manifesto. However, it 
 is a singular thing that, in spite of her disdain for 
 us, Mile. Raucourt, in all circumstances where the 
 costume of her sex was dispensable, had adopted 
 that of ours. 
 
 So very often in the morning Mile. Raucourt 
 gave lessons to her beautiful pupil in trousers and a 
 dressing-gown, just as M. JNIole or M. Fleury did, and 
 with her was a beautiful woman who called her ^'mon 
 cnni,'' and a charming child who called her ^^papa." 
 
 We did not know Mile. Raucourt, who died in 
 1814, and whose burial made such a prodigious 
 scandal ; but we knew the mother, who died in 
 1832 or 1833 ; moreover, we still know the c/iild, 
 who to-day is a man of fifty-five. 
 
 We know another artiste whose whole career was 
 hindered by IMUe. Raucourt, through jealousy he 
 had the misfortune to inspire in this terrible woman. 
 MWe. Raucourt appeared before the committee of 
 the Theatre-Fran^ais, exposed her rights of pos- 
 session and priority over the person whom the 
 impudent comedian wished to take away from her, 
 and, the authority and possession being recognised, 
 the impudent comedian, who still lives and is 
 one of the best-hearted fellows in the world, was 
 chased from the theatre, the members fearing 
 that, like Achilles, JNIUe. Raucourt, because of this 
 new Briseis, might retire to her tent. 
 
APPENDIX 293 
 
 Let us return to the young girl, whose mother 
 never left her for a single instant during the 
 visits she paid her professor, and who three times 
 a week tramped the long way from la rue Croix- 
 des-Petits-Champs to the allee des Veuves to take 
 her lessons. 
 
 The debuts were fixed for the end of November. 
 
 They had to take place in Clytemnestrei in Emilie, 
 in Amendide, Idame, JDidon and in Semiramis. 
 
 A great affair, both for the artiste and the 
 public, was a d^but at the Theatre-Fran9ais in 
 1802. It was certainly a still gi-eater affair to be 
 received as a member. If one was received as a 
 member, as a man one became the colleague of 
 INIonvel, of Saint-Prix, of Baptiste the elder, of 
 Talma, of Lafont, of Saint-Phal, of ^lole, of Fleury, 
 of Armand, of Michot, of Grandmenil, of Dugazon, 
 of Dazincourt, of Baptiste the younger, of La 
 Rochelle ; and as a woman, of Mile. Raucourt, 
 Mile. Contat, of INIlle. Devienne, of Mme. Talma, 
 of Mile. Fleury, of Mile. Duchesnois, of INllle. 
 IVJezeray, and of Mile. INIars. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Talma was one of the familiars of the little 
 bourgeois court of the First Consul. He spoke of 
 the debutante Mile. George ; he told of her beauty 
 and the promise she was giving. Lucien's head is 
 fired by it, and, as a regular John the Precursor, he 
 had managed to see through a hole in some curtain, 
 perhaps, indeed, through a wide-open door she who 
 was the topic of conversation for the moment, and 
 
294 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 he came to Malmaison to say, with a slightly sus- 
 picious enthusiasm, that, at any rate in physical 
 bearing, she was well above the praises which had 
 been given her. 
 
 The great day arrived. It was the 8 Frimaire 
 in the year xi (November 29, 1802). There had 
 been a queue at the theatre of the Republic since 
 eleven o'clock in the morning. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Dumas then reproduces Geoffroys article on the 
 debuts of 3IIle. George. 
 
 He quotes the famous line — 
 
 " Vous savez, et Calchas mille fois vous I'a dit," 
 
 and continues thus — 
 
 " Vous savez, et Calchas mille fois vous I'a dit." 
 
 Pardon ! I must again interrupt myself, or 
 rather I must interrupt GeofFroy. 
 
 The reader knows that there was a custom 
 which was expected of debutantes at this Hne. 
 
 " Why this line ? " the reader will ask. 
 
 Ah ! that is true, one only knows things, when 
 one is obliged to know them. I will tell you. 
 Because this line is too simple, and unworthy of 
 the tragedy. 
 
 You will not doubt it, monsieur, nor you, madame, 
 who do me the honour of chatting with me ? For 
 your servant knows it : he who is obliged to read 
 everything, even GeofFroy. Listen carefully, 
 because we are not at the end. That line being, 
 
APPENDIX 295 
 
 by its simplicity, unworthy of tragedy, there was an 
 expectation to see how the actress, correcting the 
 poet, would manage to set it off. 
 
 Mile. George did not aspire to more genius than 
 Racine. She said the line, written with the simpli- 
 city of passion, simply and with the most natural 
 intonation possible. There were murmurs. She 
 resumed with the same accent: there were still 
 more murmurs. 
 
 Fortunately, Raucourt, in spite of a sprain she 
 had met with, was present at the performance, 
 and had been carried to the theatre, and from 
 one of the small boxes, in the mantle of Harlequin, 
 encourages her pupil. 
 
 " Be firm, Georgina," she cried ; " be firm." 
 
 And Georgina — it seems strange to you, does 
 it not, that there was a time when Mile. George 
 was called Georgina ? — repeated the verse with the 
 same simple and natural accent for the third 
 time. 
 
 There was applause. 
 
 From this moment her success was assured, to 
 speak in theatrical terms. 
 
 Mile. George played the part of Clytemnestra 
 three times consecutively. It was an enormous suc- 
 cess. Then she passed on to the part of Amenaide, 
 that girl seized with hysterical vapours, as GeofFroy 
 insisted, and her success kept on increasing. 
 Finally, from the part of Amenaide she passed to 
 that of Idame in TOiyhelin de la Chine. If the 
 men waited for the debutantes in the part of 
 
296 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Clytemnestra, to know how they would say the 
 famous Hue unworthy of Racine — 
 
 " Vous savez, et Calchas miUe fois vous I'a (lit " — 
 
 the women waited with no less impatience for 
 them in the part of Idame, to see how they would 
 dress their hair. 
 
 Mile. George dressed hers quite simply in Chinese 
 fashion, that is to say, raising the hair from the 
 head and tying it with a gold ribbon. 
 
 She was admirable thus, with her hair dressed 
 in the Chinese fashion, as I was told, not by 
 Lucien but King Jerome, his brother, a great 
 appreciator of all beauty, and who, like Raucourt, 
 kept up the habit of calling George Georgina. 
 
 3Iemoirs—^fom^th series, p. 10 and following. 
 
 The French actors learnt at St. Petersburg of the 
 entrance of the Emperor into Moscow. They could 
 not remain in a hostile city, and set out for Stock- 
 holm, where, after a journey of three weeks, they 
 arrived in sledges. 
 
 There a Frenchman still reigned, or rather he 
 supported the crown on the head of the old Duke 
 of Sudermania, who was acting as interim king. 
 
 Bernadotte received the fugitives like his com- 
 patriot, Henri IV, would have received them. 
 
 A dramatic stay of three months took place 
 in Sweden, our ancient ally, which was, under a 
 
APPENDIX 297 
 
 French King, to become our enemy. Then they 
 set out for Stralsund, where a stay of fifteen 
 days was made. 
 
 On the evening of the departure, INI. de Camps, 
 one of Bernadotte's officers, came to fetch Mile. 
 George. Hermione was to be used as an ambassa- 
 dor's messenger. JNI. de Camps brought a letter from 
 Bernadotte ; it was addressed to Jerome-Napoleon, 
 King of Westphalia. This letter was of the highest 
 importance : they did not know where to hide it. 
 
 Women are never at a difficulty in hiding a letter. 
 Hermione hides Bernadotte's letter in the sheath 
 of her corsets. The sheath of her corsets is the 
 scabbard for a woman's sword. 
 
 JNI. de Camps retired moderately assured : swords 
 were drawn so easily from their scabbards at that 
 period. 
 
 The ambassadress set off in a carriage given her by 
 the Prince Royal. She carried on her knees a case 
 filled with three hundred thousand francs' worth of 
 diamonds ; three crowns are not shaken without 
 something falling from them. 
 
 Diamonds in case and letter in corsets arrive 
 without accident to within two days of Cassel, the 
 capital of the new kingdom of Westphalia. The am- 
 bassadress travelled night and day. The letter was 
 so important, the diamonds such a great anxiety I 
 
 All of a sudden, in the middle of the night, a 
 great noise of horses was heard and a forest of 
 lances was seen. A gigantic cheer resounded — they 
 had fallen into the midst of a company of Cossacks. 
 
298 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Many hands were stretched to the door, when 
 a young Russian officer appeared. 
 
 Never had Hippolyte seemed more beautiful to 
 the eyes of Phedre ! George calls him by name. 
 
 You remember the story of Ariosto, and that 
 engraving which represents the robbers on their 
 knees. The genuflexion this time was different, 
 being more natural before a young actress than 
 before a poet of forty years. 
 
 The hostile horde becomes a friendly escort, 
 which only abandon the beautiful traveller to 
 yield her to the French outposts. Once confided 
 to the outposts, George, her letter and her diamonds, 
 were saved. 
 
 She arrives at Cassel : King Jerome was at 
 Brunswick. He was a very gallant king, very 
 young and very handsome was King Jerome : he 
 was scarcely twenty-eight years old. He shows 
 himself to be as impressed as possible at receiving a 
 letter from the Prince Royal of Sweden. 
 
 I do not exactly know if he received it or she 
 took it ; but this I know, that the ambassadress 
 remained a day and a night in Brunswick. Not 
 less than forty-eight hours, it will be agreed, are 
 necessary to recover from such a journey. 
 
 A ^ ^ j|& Jl& 
 
 Volume V, page 306. 
 
 My recitations of Christine opened Mile. George's 
 door for me, as my recitations of Henry III opened 
 Mile. Mars' house for me. 
 
APPENDIX 299 
 
 It was a house of very original style which my 
 good dear George lived in, No. 12 rue Madame, 
 as far as I remember. At the back, in the garrets, 
 Jules Janin was the second tenant ; on the first 
 and ground floors, George, her sister and two 
 
 nephews. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Aunt George was then an admirable creature, 
 aged nearly forty-one. We have already given her 
 portrait, written, or rather designed, by the cunning 
 pen of Theophile Gautier. She had, especially, 
 hands, arms, shoulders, neck and eyes of an unheard- 
 of richness and magnificence ; but, like the beautiful 
 fairy Melusine, she showed in her walk a certain 
 awkwardness — I don't know why, for George had 
 feet worthy of her hands ^ — which dresses of an un- 
 usual length added still more to. 
 
 Apart from theatrical matters, for which she was 
 always ready, George was incredibly lazy. Grand, 
 majestic, aware of her beauty which had had for 
 admirers two emperors and three or four kings, 
 George liked to remain lying on a large couch, in 
 winter in velvet robes, fur mantles and Indian 
 shawls, and in summer in dressing-gowns of cambric 
 or muslin. Stretched thus in a careless and gracious 
 pose, George received the visits of strangers, some- 
 times with the majesty of a Roman matron, some- 
 times with the smile of a Greek courtesan, whilst 
 from the folds of her dress, the openings of her 
 shawls, and the half-openings of her dressing-gowns 
 ^ Dumas is less severe than Napoleon. — The Editor, 
 
800 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 appeared, like the necks of serpents, the heads of 
 two or three greyhounds of the finest breed. 
 
 George's cleanhness was proverbial. She made 
 a first toilette before entering the bath, so as not 
 to soil the water in which she would remain for an 
 hour. There she received her familiar friends, 
 fastening from time to time with gold pins her hair, 
 which kept coming undone, and which gave her as 
 it came undone the opportunity to allow her splen- 
 did arms to come out of the water, and sometimes 
 even the base of her throat, which one would have 
 said had been carved in Parian marble. 
 
 And, a strange thing ! these movements, which 
 with another woman would have been provocative 
 and lascivious, were simple and natural with George, 
 and like those of a Greek in the times of Homer 
 and Phidias. Beautiful as a statue, she resembled 
 nothing more than a statue astonished at its nudity, 
 and she would have been, I am sure, very surprised 
 if a jealous lover had forbidden her to let herself to 
 be seen thus in her bathroom, raising the water, like 
 a sea-nymph, with her shoulders and white bosom. 
 
 George made everybody around her clean except 
 
 Harel. 
 
 ***** 
 
 At this period, George still possessed magnificent 
 diamonds, and, among others, the gems which 
 Napoleon had given her, which were each w^orth 
 very nearly twelve thousand francs. She had them 
 made into earrings, and wore them in preference to 
 everything else. These gems were so large that very 
 
APPENDIX 301 
 
 often George, on returning at night after having 
 played, removed them, complaining that they were 
 making her ears long. 
 
 One evening we returned and sat down to supper. 
 The supper ended, some almonds were eaten. 
 George ate a good many of them, and all the time 
 she was eating she complained of the weight of the 
 gems, and took them from her ears and placed 
 them on the cloth. 
 
 Five minutes afterwards the servant came with 
 her brush, cleared the table, and swept the gems 
 into a basket with the almond shells, and threw 
 almonds and gems out of the window into the street. 
 
 George went to bed without thinking of her 
 ear-rings, and slept soundly, which she would not 
 have done, philosopher though she was, if she had 
 known that her servant had thrown twenty-four 
 thousand francs' worth of diamonds into the street. 
 
 The next day, the young George entered her 
 sister's room and awakes her. 
 
 " Well," she said, " you can boast about your 
 luck. Look what I have just found." 
 
 " What's that ? " 
 
 " One of your ear-rings." 
 
 " Where did you find it ? " 
 
 " In the street." 
 
 " In the street ? " 
 
 " As I tell you, my dear. In the street, at the 
 door. You lost it on returning from the theatre." 
 
 " No, I had them at supper." 
 
 " Are you sure of it ? " 
 
302 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 " As a proof, they were bothering me, and I took 
 them out and placed them by me. What did I do 
 with them afterwards ? Where did I put them ? " 
 
 " Heavens ! " cried the young George ; " I re- 
 member. We were eating almonds, and the 
 servant cleared the table with her brush." 
 
 " Ah, my poor gems ! " cried George in her turn. 
 " Go down quickly, Bebelle." 
 
 Bebelle was already at the foot of the stairs. 
 Five minutes afterwards she returned with the 
 second gem. She had found it in the gutter. 
 
 "Dear friend," she said to her sister, "we are 
 too lucky. Have a Mass said, or else some great 
 misfortune will happen to us." 
 
 Les Belles Femmes de Paris, by 3Ien of Letters 
 and Men of the World, Paris, 1839. 
 
 Mlle. George 
 
 Mile. George has been beautiful for a very long 
 time, and one could say of her what the peasant 
 said to Aristides : "I banish you because I am 
 tired of hearing you called just." We will not do 
 like the Greek clown, since it is obviously more 
 difficult to be always beautiful than to be always 
 just. However, Mlle. George seems to have 
 solved this important problem. The years glide 
 over her marble face without altering any of the 
 purity of its profile of a Greek Melpomene. 
 
 Her preservation is miraculous and quite different 
 from that of Mlle. INlars, who is not in the least 
 
APPENDIX 303 
 
 preserved, and can no longer produce an illusion 
 in the parts of leading juvenile than the trades- 
 men of the Republic can to the generals of the 
 Empire. 
 
 In spite of the exaggerated number of jewels 
 she wears, Mile. George is really beautiful, and 
 very beautiful. She resembles closely a Syracusan 
 medal, or an Isis from the bas-reliefs of Mgina.. 
 
 The arc of her eyebrows, traced with incom- 
 parable purity and fineness, stretches over two 
 black eyes full of fire and tragic brilliance ; the 
 nose is narrow and straight, cut by oblique nostrils 
 passionately dilated, and joins the forehead with 
 a line of magnificent simplicity. The mouth is 
 powerful, bent at the corners, and superbly dis- 
 dainful, like that of an avenging Nemesis waiting 
 the hour to unmuzzle her lion with his brazen 
 talons. However, this mouth has charming smiles, 
 expanding with quite imperial grace, and one 
 would not remark, when she wishes to express 
 tender passions, that she had just launched an 
 ancient imprecation or a modern anathema. 
 
 The chin, full of strength and resolution, rises 
 firmly, and by a majestic contour terminates the pro- 
 file, which is more that of a goddess than a woman. 
 
 Like all the beautiful women of the pagan age. 
 Mile. George has a full, broad forehead, swelling 
 at the temples, but not at all lofty, very similar to 
 that of the Venus de Milo — a free, voluptuous, 
 powerful forehead, which is equally suitable for 
 Clytemnestra and for INIessalina. 
 
304 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 A remarkable singularity of Mile. George's neck 
 is that, instead of rounding inside the nape, it forms 
 a swollen contour which leaves the shoulders at the 
 bottom of the head without any sinuousness, a 
 diagnosis of athletic temperament developed at its 
 highest point in the Farnesian Hercules. 
 
 The attachment of the arms is somewhat 
 formidable for vigour of muscle and violence of 
 contour. One of their bracelets would form a 
 belt for a woman of slight figure ; but they are 
 very white and pure, terminated by a wrist of 
 childish delicacy and tiny hands covered with 
 dimples — true royal hands, made to bear the 
 sceptre and clasp the sword-hilt of iEschylus and 
 Euripides. 
 
 Mile. George seems to belong to a prodigious 
 and vanished race. She astonishes you as much 
 as she charms you. One would call her a wife 
 of Titan, a Cybele, mother of gods and men, 
 with her crown of embattled towers. Her con- 
 struction has something Cyclopean and Pelasgian. 
 One feels on seeing her that she remains above 
 like a column of granite, to bear witness to an 
 amiihilated generation, and that she is the last 
 representative of the epic and superhuman type. 
 
 She is an admirable statue to place on the tomb 
 of tragedy, buried for ever. 
 
 Theophile Gautier. 
 
 {This article is rep?^oduced in the volume of 
 " Portraits Contemporains,'' by Theophile Gautier^ 
 one voLy 187 A.) 
 
APPENDIX 305 
 
 Theophile Gautier 
 
 Italiens. — Farewell 'performance of Mile. 
 George, May 21, 1849. 
 
 Never was a dramatic career better filled than 
 that of INllle. George. Endowed with a beauty 
 which appears to belong to a vanished race, and 
 to have transformed the hardness of marble into 
 a thing usually so fragile and fugitive that its 
 natural comparison is a flower, ]\Ille. George has 
 rendered equal services to both schools. No one 
 has played drama better ; the classicist and 
 romanticist acclaim her exclusively. " What a 
 Clytemnestra ! " cries the one. " What a Lucretia 
 Borgia ! " exclaims the other. Racine and Hugo 
 avow her for their priestess, and confide their 
 greatest characters to her. 
 
 By the sculptural purity of her features, by that 
 
 natural majesty which has consecrated her Queen 
 
 of the Theatre in the age of the ingenues, by 
 
 that imposing aspect of which the ^lelpomene of 
 
 A^elletri gives an idea, she was the most complete 
 
 realisation of the dream of the tragic IVIuse ; as much 
 
 by her sonorous and profound voice, her imperious 
 
 air, her natural and haughty gestures, her glance full 
 
 of black threats or enervating charms, as through 
 
 something violent and bold, familiarly haughty 
 
 and simply terrible, she would have seemed to 
 
 Shakespeare the heroine expressly formed for his 
 
 vast dramas. 
 
 u 
 
306 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 For a long time a like Agrippina and a similar 
 Clytemnestra will not be seen ; neither will Lu- 
 cretia Borgia nor INIary Tudor find an interpreter 
 of that strength. The memory of Mile. George 
 will always be associated with those two formid- 
 able parts, where she has really collaborated with 
 the poet, and those who have not seen the 
 two pieces played by the great actress will not 
 understand as well their irresistible, immense 
 effect. 
 
 Let us return to this curious and triumphant 
 performance, where a rare phenomenon was pro- 
 duced — that of a rising sun and a setting sun 
 confronting each other ; that is to say, Mile. 
 Rachel and Mile. George, the flower w^hich waxes, 
 the splendour which is being enveloped in shadows ; 
 hope and memory, yesterday and to-morrow, good- 
 day and good-night. It was a fine tussle, that of 
 the two women. Both were the glory of the 
 theatre. The one was admired by our fathers, the 
 other our sons will admire. It was an interesting 
 spectacle, this battle of tragedy, with great blows 
 of Alexandrines, where no one was conquered. 
 
 The breaks of song and dance, and an air by 
 Mme. Pauline Viardot-Garcia, added still more to 
 the powerful attraction of those names, Rachel and 
 George — Rachel, who is playing for the last time 
 before going on leave ; George, who will never play 
 again. 
 
APPENDIX 307 
 
 AuGUSTE Vacquerie {Profils et Grimaces, 4th 
 edition, one vol. 8vo. Paris : Pagne7ie, 1864, 
 pp. 270 seq.) 
 
 THE WRONG SIDE OF TRAGEDY 
 
 A singular fact took place yesterday. Mile. 
 George and Mile. Rachel were both hissed. 
 
 It was the farewell performance of Mile. George. 
 On Wednesday Mme. Dorval was buried, in the 
 same week Mile. George retires — another death. 
 Retirement is the first tomb of actresses. When 
 they are not every evening under the regard of 
 the crowd they adore, moved, applauded and 
 illuminated by the footlights and poesy, mixing 
 in their swelling souls genius and the people, they 
 are nothing but a shadow of themselves — they no 
 longer exist, they languish. Their real world is 
 the world of dream, their ideal region is where the 
 immortal ghosts of poets pass ; this they breathe 
 with full lungs. Nothingness begins for them in 
 reality, in the street, in the home, in trees and 
 springs. Their night is the sun. Life is their 
 death. 
 
 Mile. Rachel had not been to Mme. Dorval's 
 funeral. She had not deigned to accompany 
 that Bohemian, that dishevelled, inspired, insolent 
 creature ! But Mile. George before playing drama 
 had played tragedy. Athalie obtained the favour 
 of Mary Tudor. 
 
308 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 The two remaining tragediennes were going to 
 find themselves together for the first and last time 
 — sunset and noon, the complete tragedy, past and 
 present. The future was wanting, but tragedy has 
 none. 
 
 Everything she has she was giving — Mile. 
 George, Mile. Rachel and Racine ! For the 
 feast would not have been complete with Corneille. 
 The conjunction of the two tragic constellations 
 took place in Ipliigenie. The ancients of the stalls 
 of the Theatre-Fran^ais were to be seen weeping 
 in the street before the notice, drying a tear 
 with their handkerchiefs, and smearing their eyes 
 with snufF. 
 
 The prodigious day arrived. The theatre has 
 not been overwhelmed by an earthquake. The 
 doors are opened, and the curtain has been 
 raised. 
 
 Mile. Rachel, who was playing Eriphyles, appeared 
 first, and was properly applauded on her entrance. 
 She spoke with much fairness the recital of the 
 taking of Lesbos, her hatred of Achilles before 
 having seen him, and the melting of her anger at 
 the first glance of the " amiable hero." Here and 
 there there was clapping. 
 
 When JNIUe. George entered the tumult was 
 quite different. A triple salvo made the house 
 tremble, then during the whole scene the transports 
 continued, and all the verses were punctuated with 
 cheers. 
 
 The friends of ^Ille. Rachel were piqued at this 
 
APPENDIX 309 
 
 inequality in the distribution of applause. They 
 said that in a way Mile. George was in her own 
 home, that the performance, being for her benefit, 
 the public must be principally composed of her 
 friends, and that such a moderate reception given 
 to a stranger, in face of the triumph awarded to the 
 mistress of the house, above all when the stranger 
 had come to do her a service, offended altogether 
 hospitality and gratitude. 
 
 Exasperation seized them, so much so, that at 
 the third act, when Mile. George reappeared, a 
 violent outbreak of hissing was to be heard. 
 
 There was a tumult, cries of anger, a tempest of 
 acclamation, and a shower of bouquets. A wily 
 friend could not have imagined a better plan to 
 obtain an ovation for Mile. George. 
 
 If this stupid hissing had only produced an 
 increased success for the regretted actress to 
 whom such a splendid good-bye was being said, 
 unfortunately the reply was not far off. 
 
 Mile. George's party made reprisals at the second 
 entry of Mile. Rachel, and Eriphyle received 
 full in the face a hissing no less sharp than 
 Clytemnestra. 
 
 There was some applause in protest, but the 
 tribe of Mile. Rachel was not in number, conse- 
 quently JMlle. Rachel lost countenance a little, and 
 no longer played the end of her part as at the 
 beginning. Meanwhile, Mile. George, escorted by 
 the general sympathy, expanded more and more in 
 the amplification of her beauty and talent ; Mile. 
 
310 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Rachel, abandoned, deserted and alone, retired 
 and disappeared. 
 
 Thus the mot was realised which Mile. Rachel 
 said herself, when Victor Hugo was giving les 
 Hurgraves at the Theatre-Francais, and for a 
 moment there was a question of engaging Mile. 
 George to play Guanhumara. Mile. Rachel opposed 
 the engagement, and on that occasion made this 
 intelligent remark : " The day on which Mile. 
 George is at the Theatre-Fran9ais I shall be 
 nothing more than a statuette." 
 
 The ancients of tragedy v/ept under their 
 spectacles. As for me, I was very happy. 
 
 Everything ends, even tragedies. The curtain is 
 lowered, and the two actresses are called. Mile. 
 Rachel refused to appear. 
 
 Then Mme. Viardot lent her powerful and subtle 
 voice to some Spanish airs full of originality; 
 then Mile. Plunked recited intelligently a charming 
 little poem ; then h Moineau de Lesbie (Lesbia's 
 Sparrow) was expected, which was to end the bill. 
 But instead of the mistress of CatuUus, a black 
 gentleman presented himself, advanced to the 
 footlights, and after the customary three bows 
 announced that Mile. Rachel was too fatigued to 
 play. 
 
 Mile. Rachel must have been scarcely flattered 
 by the effect produced at this breaking of her word. 
 Nobody called her back. The black gentleman 
 having added that Mme. Viardot offered to sing 
 another air to replace le Moineau de Lesbie, cheers 
 
APPENDIX 311 
 
 broke out, as if there had been a gain from the 
 change, and some one even said, " They only 
 owed us a sparrow, and now they are giving us a 
 nightingale ! " 
 
 So thus it is that Comedy must always take a 
 part. Tragedy says to her, " Away with you ! " 
 but Comedy does not go. Chased from the stage 
 she comes into the house, and the pit supplements 
 the author. 
 
 There is the piece, but there is the performance ; 
 there is the heroine, but there is the actress. O 
 Clytemnestra of the terrible profile ! O sinister 
 Eriphyle ! O strolling players ! 
 
 May 1849. 
 
 Arsene Houssaye, Confessions of Half-a-century 
 {les Confessions dun Demi-siecle), 1830-1899. 
 Vol. Vi, p. 29. 
 
 During a complete period beauty was de rigueur 
 at the Theatre-Fran9ais. All actresses of talent 
 had to be beautiful. That was my programme. 
 I can still recall that radiant decameron which 
 succeeded the two incomparable beauties. Mile. 
 Mars and Mile. George. Those two great actresses, 
 worthy of history, are not forgotten. One can say 
 that one lives again more or less with posterity 
 according to the place conquered in the memory of 
 one's contemporaries ; or it is better to say that if 
 the future does not always accept the enthusiasms 
 of the past, it always takes stock of them. 
 
312 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 Mile. George had been given a last farewell per- 
 formance. She wanted to return to the stage ; I 
 begged her to remain behind the scenes. She said 
 to me, with a bitter smile, " Ah, if I were ten years 
 younger you wouldn't sing that song to me, because 
 I would give you one of those talkings-to a man 
 always remembers." 
 
 She was then eighty ! 
 
 Very fortunate are those who die under the 
 theatrical sky. As soon as actresses are no longer 
 in the smiling circle, as soon as lovers leave them, 
 fortune goes back. 
 
 Mile. Guimard, who refused the hand of a 
 prince in the splendid times when she had an 
 entertainment hall and a winter garden in her 
 mansion, was glad in the end to marry a professor 
 of the graces, that is to say, a dancing-master. 
 Sophie Arnauld, after having passed through all 
 the splendours of an unparalleled luxury, goes 
 without complaining to ask shelter and bread from 
 her hairdresser. Mile. Clairon, who lived like a 
 queen and a sultana, found herself at sixty-five 
 reduced to patching her tattered dresses — she who 
 had never condescended to keep a needle ! Insolent 
 in good fortune, she had also the pluck to be proud 
 in her poverty. When an old friend went to see 
 her she still spoke of her high relations, and in- 
 stead of saying, " I am poor," she said, " I am a 
 philosopher." 
 
 If this had been the real performance on retiring 
 
APPENDIX 313 
 
 of Mile. George, it was, so to speak, another retire- 
 ment into another world ! 
 
 She owed it to herself, in memory of her beauty 
 and glittering renown, no more to show her ruins 
 on the stage — it is unlucky to look at night- 
 birds ! 
 
 Jules Janin, Queens of the World (les Reines du 
 Monde), 1 vol. in 4to. Ch. Lahune & Co., 
 1862. Mile. George, pp. 1 seg. 
 
 Jules Janin had been a lover of Geoige's, and 
 has dedicated some beautiful pages to her. From 
 these pages we detach the following extracts. 
 
 For her Alexandre Dumas wrote that story of 
 horror and gloom entitled la Tour de JVesle, one of 
 the shocks of the century. Ah, how terrible and 
 desperate she was in it ! With what ardour she 
 precipitated herself into that fierce fray, and into 
 the crimes and abominable stories where chance 
 is a god and the impossible a force. Moreover, a 
 strange thing, she found the gestures and the 
 accent for all those works so different to everything 
 which had been the object of her cult and studies. 
 A daughter of tradition through classical works, she 
 had, in turn, the living tradition of the new drama, 
 and by her example and the recollections she 
 left, she still shows to-day the way which leads to 
 the romantic realms. She left her traces as much 
 as Boccaccio amidst the bloody shadows and 
 
314 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 stories of the Middle Ages. Before creating Mar- 
 guerite de Bourgogne she had performed, in all the 
 varied and diverse phases of her life abandoned to 
 every chance, the Qiieen Christine of Sweden, still 
 a strange and new drama by Alexandre Dumas, a 
 young man intoxicated with every fever of style 
 and innovation. 
 
 As this Christine, at twenty and at sixty, passing 
 through every phase of authority, of abdication, of 
 murder and vengeance, of youth and love. Mile. 
 George displayed infinite resources ; she smiled and 
 raged, she was queen and woman, she was power 
 and abdication. 
 
 These new dramas, which were of a style which 
 did not know how to stop, and which demanded not 
 less than four or five hours of infinite zeal, found 
 Mile. George equal to such painful and grievous 
 labour. Nothing could lessen her courage ; she was 
 always ready, and with indefatigable step she passed 
 through the outbreaks, passions, sorrows, despairs 
 and great battles which held her audience attentive. 
 
 Certainly it was no more the times of the parts 
 of a moment, of tragedies in which two or three 
 scenes sufficed for the popularity of an actor. 
 Rodogune, Athalie, Clytemnestre, all three of them 
 did not represent the trouble and work of a single 
 Marie Tudor. 
 
 In the implacable part of Marie Tudor, Mile. 
 George mastered triumphantly the genius and 
 intention of M. Victor Hugo, the absolute master 
 of minds and souls. M. Victor Hugo had given 
 
APPENDIX 315 
 
 the part of dona Sol and la Thisbe to Mile. Mars, 
 and had created for Mme. Dorval the part of Cata- 
 rina. He wrote for Mile. George those crimes, 
 those miseries, those sorrows, Marie Tudoi^ and 
 JLucrece Borgia — two imperishable memories ! 
 
 She it was who was so terrible under the blows 
 of bloody Mary ! She it was who was so pardonable 
 at the moment when Lucretia Borgia remembers 
 that she is a mother ! Certainly she was the 
 woman " clever at enthusing the crowd for the 
 great and the true," such as the poet had dreamed 
 about. 
 
 ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 The praise is superb, and especially issuing from 
 such a mouth. " Ah, then you take him ! Ah, 
 your lover ! What does your, lover matter to me ? 
 Are all the girls in England going to demand 
 account from you of their lovers at this hour? 
 Pardieu ! I protect mine as I can, and at any 
 cost ! " Speaking thus she was fierce and touching 
 at the same time. 
 
 The poet has the same admiration and the same 
 gratitude for Lucretia Borgia. M. Victor Hugo 
 was himself alone the absolute judge of the way in 
 which his great dreams were to be accomplished, 
 and the day after the great battles, better than 
 criticism itself, he took stock of the effect produced 
 by his actors. 
 
 ^iK ^ ^ TIP 
 
 She was admirable too, but it was a difficult 
 
316 A FAVOURITE OF NAPOLEON 
 
 piece to give life to, in that Marechale d'Ancre 
 which M. Alfred ^^igny conceived in one of his 
 days of rage. At the same time she accepted 
 gallantly, with joy and pride, all the dramas of the 
 new school. One day she was la Brinvilliers, and 
 the next Queen Caroline of England, or maybe 
 she stopped in those paths of brambles and poetical 
 laurels, and we see her become Lady Macbeth, 
 Agrippina, Athalie and Rodogune. She played 
 the Clytemnestra and Agrippina of Soumet, and 
 did not disdain M. Arnault's dramas. Hers was 
 a subtle and abundant talent, and a fruitful imagin- 
 ation ; moreover, such bravery united to such 
 imagination ; never tired and always ready ! 
 
 One evening she defied, on her own closed field, 
 Mile. Rachel, then in all the renown of life and 
 the ardent apogee of her talent. She was playing 
 Clytemnestra ; Mile. Rachel, Eriphyle. After the 
 first courtesies, when the two rivals of a moment, 
 Mile. Rachel in her apogee, IMlle. George in her 
 decline, studied each other well, one saw them by 
 tacit agreement each summon to her side all her 
 forces and fight freely as to who should triumph in 
 the admiration of that attentive audience. Then 
 the pupil of Mile. Raucourt was to be seen recalling 
 to herself all her superb beauty, and with her grand 
 gestures and sovereign voice crush the frail Eri- 
 phyle, who fights in vain against that strength and 
 irresistible power. It was a great fight, and a 
 memorable one for all ! But Clytemnestra was 
 reaching the end of her path ; she could say, like 
 
APPENDIX 317 
 
 the old wrestler in Virgil, " Here are my cestus and 
 my disc, and all the weapons of my past bouts." 
 
 To disappear after this great triumph, after 
 having forced her young and unhappy rival to 
 applaud her publicly, here was an unexpected 
 fifth act, unhoped for in this famous work which 
 comprises more than half-a-century of combats, of 
 successes and of labours. 
 
 J. Janin. 
 
INDEX 
 
 Actor's art, Mile. George on, 49, 64-5, 
 
 255-8. 
 Alexander I, Tsar of Russia, admirer of 
 
 Mile. George, 19, 33, 228, 233, 259. 
 Arnould, Sophie Mme., 16, 217, 312. 
 
 Bacciochi, Mme., 78, 79, 97, 251, 259. 
 
 Bagratian, Princess, 230, 259. 
 
 Beauharnaia, Eugene, 79, 251. 
 
 Bernadotte (Prince Royal of Sweden), 21. 243, 
 244-5, 246, 250, 260, 296-7. 
 
 Bernhardt, Sarah, 32. 
 
 Bessieres, General, aide-de-camp to Napo- 
 leon, 153-4. 
 
 Bonaparte, Lucion, 33, 78, 97, 103-4, 251, 
 293, 296. 
 
 Bonaparte, Napoleon. See Napoleon Bona- 
 parte. 
 
 Bonaparte, Mme. (Napoleon's mother), 78. 
 
 Bourgoin, Ther^se Mile., 17, 116, 143-5, 
 200-3, 261. 
 
 Branchu, Mme., favoured by Napoleon, 17. 
 
 Catharine, Grand Duchess, of Russia, 
 
 receives Mile. George, 233. 
 Caulaincourt, General Duke of Vicense), 
 
 21, 153-4, 251. 
 Charles X, 253, 261. 
 Clairon, Mile., 15, 48, 70-2, 77, 312. 
 Cobentzel, 230, 269. 
 
 Constantino, Grand Duke, of Russia, 19. 
 Contat, Mme., 45, 84, 92, 143, 218-23, 254, 
 
 293. 
 
 Dalmas, 135-6. 
 
 Daziucourt, Joseph, 55, 293. 
 
 de Beckendorf, Count, aide-de-camp to 
 
 Emperor Alexander, lover of Mile. George, 
 
 19, 33, 228. 
 de Berry, Duke, 260. 
 de Camps, M., 243-4, 250; entrusts letter 
 
 from Bernadotte to Jerome to Mile. 
 
 George, 297. 
 de Duras, Duke, dismisses Mile. George 
 
 from Com6die-Fran(;aise on account of her 
 
 Bonapartist sentiments, 22, 189, 260, 282. 
 de la Bouillerie, M., procures rights of 
 
 Odeon for Harel, 253. 
 Delacroix, Eugene, 25. 
 de Ligne, Prince, 230, 259. 
 de Livry, Count, 101. 
 de Manne, on Mile. George as artiste, 31. 
 de Moutesson, Mme., 87. 
 de Parny, M., 219. 
 de Ponty, Mme., 45, 68, 67, 124. 
 
 de Rerausat, Mme., her reminiscences of 
 
 Mile. George, 286-9. 
 de Stael, Mme., her meetings with Mile. 
 
 George, 231, 240-1, 244, 247-8, 254, 259. 
 de Talleyrand, 33, 158-60, 16G-7, 251, 255. 
 de Talleyrand, Mme., 57. 
 de Valence, General, 87. 
 de Veuil, Marquis, visits Mile. George, 
 
 101-2. 
 de Vigny, Alfred, 262 note, 316. 
 Devienne, Mile., 65, 212. 
 Devonshire, Duke of, welcomes Mile. George 
 
 to London, 268. 
 d'H6nin, Prince, 57, 90. 
 Dorval, Mme., 262 note, 307. 
 Dublin, M., designer at the Theatre- Fran- 
 
 Qais, 83. 
 Duchesnois, Mile., 15, 17, 65, 67, 86-9, 94, 
 
 101, 189, 261, 282, 293. 
 Dugazon, Mme., 14, 38, 50, 65, 65, 82, 93, 
 
 224, 203. 
 Dumas, Alexandre, v ; his reminiscences of 
 
 Mile. George, 22, 23, 31, 32, 261, 289-302, 
 
 313. 
 Dumesnil, Mile., 72-8. 
 
 Fitz-Jamks, Duke of, 90. 
 
 Pleury, Abraham-Joseph, 61, 117, 201-3, 
 
 212, 292-3. 
 Pleury, Marie Anne, 47-9. 
 
 Garrick, David, 220-1. 
 
 Gautier, Theophile, 27 ; letters of Mile. 
 George to, 268-70, 273-4, 275 ; description 
 of Mile. George, 299, 302-7. 
 
 Gay, Mme., 219. 
 
 Gentil, M., letter from Mile. George to, 
 266-7. 
 
 Geoffroy, his criticisms of Mile. George, 15, 
 30, 283-5, 294. 
 
 George, Mile. (Marguerite-Josephine Wey- 
 mer) : birtli, 14, 35 ; parents, 14, 36-41 ; 
 debut at five, 14, 36 ; childhood days, 
 3S-42 ; to Paris with Mile. Raucoui-t, 14, 
 44, 290 ; theatrical life in Paris, 47-57, 84- 
 6 ; proposal from actor Lafont, 59-63 ; 
 visits to Josephine, 66-9 ; d^but at 
 Comedie-Francaise, 14, 90, 263-4, 281-5 ; 
 rivalry with Mile. Duchesnois, 88 note, 
 100-1 ; relations with Prince Sapieha, 
 102-6 ; first interview with Napoleon, 
 114-25 ; second and third visits to Saint- 
 Cloud, 128-40 ; with Napoleon at hunting- 
 lodge at Butard, 153-7 ; progress of liaison 
 with Napoleon, 157-77 ; visit from Prince 
 
 818 
 
INDEX 
 
 319 
 
 of Wiirtemberg, 177-9 ; Captain Hill ap- 
 proaolies her on behalf of Prince of Wales, 
 181-8 ; last interviews with Napoleon, 
 189-208 ; she tires of Coniedie-Frangaisc, 
 208-23; visits Austria, Russia and Sweden, 
 19-21, 228-50 ; returns to Paris, 251 ; 
 visits London, 258 ; her career under the 
 Bourbons, 260-1 ; summary of her 
 Memoirs, 2oS-&2 ; her correspondence, 
 264-76 ; reminiscences of Mile, de Re- 
 musat, Dumas, Gautier and others, 285- 
 317 ; her personal appearance, 30-2, 299- 
 300, 302-5 ; her generous character, 24-5, 
 26, 28, 32, 34 ; portraits of, x, 31 ; on the 
 actor's art, 255-8. 
 Guimard, Mile., 312. 
 
 Halevy, Ludovic, his anecdote of Mile. 
 
 George and Najioleon III, 29. 
 Harel, Mile. George's manager and lover, 
 
 23, 33, 253, 261 ; correspondence with 
 
 Mile. George, 268-9, 273, 276-7, 300. 
 Hill, Captain, approaches Mile. George on 
 
 behalf of Prince of Wales, ISl-S. 
 Hortense, Queen, her beauty and kindness, 
 
 79, 199, 251. 
 Houssaye, Arsene, on Mile. George, 311-13. 
 Hugo, Victor, his great tragic characters 
 
 created by Mile. George, 23, 32, 33, 261, 
 
 262 note, 306, 310, 314-15. 
 
 Janin, Jules, 33, 255 ; letters of Mile. George 
 to, 269, 270, 275, 299 ; on Mile. George, 
 313-17. 
 
 Jerome, King of Westphalia, admirer of 
 Mile. George, 33, 296 ; she carries letter 
 from Bernadotte to him at Brunswick, 
 297-8. 
 
 Josepliine, Empress, Napoleon's feeling for, 
 16 ; lier first reception of Mile. George, 
 66 ; at debut of Mile. George, 90-4 ; Mile. 
 George's estimate of her appearance and 
 character, 199-200 ; with Napoleon at 
 command performance of Cinna after their 
 Coronation, 203-5, 227 ; her rivals in the 
 affections of Napoleon, 208 ; her intimacy 
 with Mile. Raucourt, 254-5 ; her jealousy 
 of Mlle.George's interviews withNapoleon, 
 286-9. 
 
 Junot, General, 118, 153-4. 
 
 Lafont, 51, 52, 59-60, 63, 91, 188, 201-3, 
 261, 264. 
 
 La Rive, Jean Maudit, 47, 51, 71. 
 
 Lauriston, General, aide-de-camp to Napo- 
 leon, 153-4, 260, 261, 266. 
 
 LeipsiL', Battle of, 21. 
 
 Lekuin, 216-17, 222. 
 
 Lemaltre, Frederick, v, 24. 
 
 Lemercier, letter from Mile. George to, 
 264-6. 
 
 Leverd, Mile., favoured by Napoleon, 17. 
 
 London, Mile. George's visits to, 258, 260. 
 
 Louis XVIII, Mile. George's audiences with, 
 260, 261. 
 
 Lowenstein, General, his memoirs concern- 
 ing Mile. George at the Russian Court, 20. 
 
 Marie Antoikette, reminiscences of, by 
 Florence, manager of Coniedie-Francaise, 
 214-16. 
 
 Marie Louise, Napoleon's feeling for, 16. 
 
 Mars, Mile., x, 50, 116, 142-8, 200-3, 212i 
 
 214, 220, 293, 298, 303, 315. 
 Masson, Frederic, on Napoleon's favouritism 
 
 towards Mile. George, 21-2. 
 Men6trier, on Mile. George as artiste, 31. 
 Metternich, Prince, Austrian Ambassador, 
 
 his unconventional conversations with 
 
 MUo. George, 210-10. 
 Michot, 50. 
 
 Mirecourt, Eugene de, 13, 26-7. 
 Mole, Frangois-Reni, 55, 82, 224, 292-3. 
 Monvel, Jacques-Marie, S3, 224, 293. 
 Moscow, Battle of, 20. 
 Murat, an admirer of Mile. George, 33 ; his 
 
 visit to MUe.George on behalf of Napoleon, 
 
 190-2. 
 
 Napoleon Bonapartb, his attitude towards 
 women, 15-18 ; his tender, playful ways, 
 18, 129, 149, 156, 173, 181 ; Mile. George's 
 passionate cult of, 21-2, 113-14, 179-81 ; 
 Josephine offers to interest him in Mile. 
 George, 69 ; at Mile. George's debut, 
 90-3 ; sends her a remittance, 95 ; his 
 taste for tragedy, 113, 226-7; his first 
 interview with Mile. George, 114-25 ; 
 second and third interviews, 128-40 ; his 
 reputation for rudeness not borne out by 
 Mile. George, 149 ; with Mile. George at 
 hunting lodge at Butard, 153-7 ; progress 
 of liaison with Mile. George, 157-77 ; his 
 criticism of her acting, 161 ; his visit to 
 camp at Boulogne, 166-70 ; last interviews 
 with Mile. George, 189-208 ; his Corona- 
 tion, 193, 197; at Dresden, 21, 259-60; 
 departure for Elba, 260 ; in 1815, 22, 251 ; 
 departure for St. Helena, 22, 289; relations 
 with Mile. George, i-eminiscences of Mile, 
 do Renmsat, 286-9. 
 
 Napoleon III, Mile. George and, 29. 
 
 Nariskine, Mme., mistress of Tsar Alex- 
 ander, 20. 
 
 Oscar, Prince, of Sweden, admirer of Mile. 
 
 George, 245-50. 
 Otranto, Duke of, 21. 
 Onvrard, M. , Mile. George's visits to, at 
 
 Raincy, 211-14. 
 
 Rachel, Mile., v, 25-7, 32, 274-5, 306-11, 
 316. 
 
 Raucourt, Mile., her appearance and 
 character, 42-3 ; takes Mile. George to 
 Paris as her pupil, 14, 44, 290 ; her judg- 
 ment of her pupil, 32 ; performances 
 and lessons at the Comedie-Frangaise, 45, 
 51, 56-7 ; takes Mile. George to Orleans, 
 59-65 ; bustle and excitement in Paris, 
 65-87 ; she presents Mile. George at 
 Comedie - Frangaise, 89-93, 124, 128; 
 her intimacy with Empress Josephine, 
 254-5, 25S-9 ; letter from, concerning 
 debuts of Mile. George, 263-4, 285 ; 
 Dumas' reminiscences of, 290-6. 
 
 R^camier, Mme., Mme. de Stael's anecdote 
 of, 254. 
 
 Roederer, M., 81. 
 
 Rousseau, 15. 
 
 St. PETEKSBURn, Mllo. George's stay at, 
 
 19-21, 233-4, 282, 296. 
 Saint-Phal, Etienne Meynier, 47-9, 293. 
 
320 
 
 INDEX 
 
 S|aint-Prix, Jean, 01. 
 
 Sapielia, Prince, his relations with Mile. 
 
 George, 15, 102-0, 115, 121, 124, 128. 
 Sardou, Victorian, reminiscences of Mile. 
 
 George, 33, 277-0. 
 Stael, Mme. de. See de Statil. 
 Stenilhal, 16, 17. 
 Stockholm, Mile. George's visit to, 242-50, 
 
 250. 
 Sweden, King and Queen of, 249-50, 259, 
 
 296-7. 
 
 Talleyeand. So: de Talleyrand. 
 
 Tallien, Mnie., 57, 291. 
 
 Talma, Frangois Joseph, 15, 51, 53, 83-4, 
 91, 113, 116, 125-7, 132-7, 140-8, 107-70, 
 188, 105-7, 201-6, 212, 216, 220-3, 228, 
 252, 250-60, 293. 
 
 Talma, Mme. (Caroline Vanhove), 48, 49, 
 83, 91. 
 
 Tcherulche9',his intrigues with Mile. George, 
 229. 
 
 Tlieuard, mere, 144, 200-3. 
 
 Thierry, Edouard,on Mile. George in old age, 
 28. 
 
 Tilly, Mile., letters of Mile. George to, 
 267-8. 
 
 Tolstoy, Count, Russian Ambassador, per- 
 suades Mile. George to visit Eussia, 19, 
 228. 
 
 Vacquerie, Auguste, on Mile. George, 27, 
 
 307-11. 
 Valmore, M., asides addressed to, by Mile. 
 
 George in the course of the Memoirs, viii- 
 ix, 62, 67, 79, 81, 87, 80, 96, 107, 112, 118, 
 132, 146, 157, 160, 162-3, 166-7, 170, 178, 
 180-1, 18S-9, 193, 109, 217, 220, 224, 232-3, 
 235, 250-1. 
 
 Valmore, Mme. Marceline Desbordes-, asides 
 addressed to, vlii, 62, 67, 90, 06, 107, 120, 
 122, 126, 138, 144, 151-2, 153, 160, 162-3, 
 172-3, 176, 180-1, 188, 193, 195, 202-3, 208- 
 0, 211, 220, 224, 247, 253-4. 
 
 Vanhove, Mile. See Talma, Mme. 
 
 Veuil, Marquis de. See de Veuil, Marquis. 
 
 Vienna, Mile. George's visit to, 230-2. 
 
 Volnais, Mile., 52, 116, 118. 
 
 Voltaire, 77. 
 
 Wales, Prince of (George I V),seeks relations 
 
 witli Mile. George, 181-8. 
 Weymer, Charles, brother of Mile. George, 
 
 35, 37, 57, 66, 90, 02, 108. 
 Weymer, George, father of Mile. George : 
 
 origin and character, 14, 36-7, 38, 42; 
 
 trains Mile. George for stage, 36-41 ; 
 
 leaves his family in Paris, 46 ; his affairs 
 
 at Amiens, 57, 82, 93 ; his death reported 
 
 by his daughter's stage rival, 100-1, 108 ; 
 
 accompanies Mile. George to Russia and 
 
 Sweden, 2:-i7-0 ; Dumas on, 200. 
 Weymer, Mme. (Mile. Verteuil), mother of 
 
 Mile. George : character, 35-7 ; 40, 42, 
 
 80, 94, 96, 98-9, 225 ; death, 229-30 ; 
 
 Dumas on, 292-3. 
 Wtirtemherg, Prince of. Mile. George's 
 
 receptions of, 33, 177-9, 234. 
 
 Richard Clay <Si Soru, Limited, London and Bungay. 
 
NOV 2 2 1909 
 
KKNTANO'S 
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