h；　came　there　no　more。
  In　later　years　she　confessed　that　the　three　men　she　had　most　loved　were　Narbonne；　Talleyrand；　and　Mathieu　de　Montmorency。　　Her　friendship　for　the　first　of　these　reached　a　passionate　exaltation；　which　had　a　profound　and　not　altogether　wholesome　influence　upon　her　life。　　How　completely　she　was　disenchanted　is　shown　in　a　remark　she　made　long　afterward　of　a　loyal　and　distinguished　man：　〃He　has　the　manners　of　Narbonne　and　a　heart。〃　　It　is　a　character　in　a　sentence。　　Mathieu　de　Montmorency　was　a　man　of　pure　motives；　who　proved　a　refuge　of　consolation　in　many　storms；　but　her　regard　for　him　was　evidently　a　gentler　flame　that　never　burned　to　extinction。　　Whatever　illusions　she　may　have　had　as　to　Talleyrandand　they　seem　to　have　been　little　more　than　an　enthusiastic　appreciation　of　his　talentwere　certainly　broken　by　his　treacherous　desertion　in　her　hour　of　need。　　Not　the　least　among　her　many　sorrows　was　the　bitter　taste　of　ingratitude。
  But　Napoleon；　who；　like　Louis　XIV；　sought　to　draw　all　influences　and　merge　all　power　in　himself；　could　not　tolerate　a　woman　whom　he　felt　to　be　in　some　sense　a　rival。　　He　thought　he　detected　her　hand　in　the　address　of　Benjamin　Constant　which　lost　her　so　many　friends。　　He　feared　the　wit　that　flashed　in　her　salon；　the　satire　that　wounded　the　criticism　that　measured　his　motives　and　his　actions。　　He　recognized　the　power　of　a　coterie　of　brilliant　intellects　led　by　a　genius　so　inspiring。　　His　brothers；　knowing　her　vulnerable　point　and　the　will　with　which　she　had　to　deal；　gave　her　a　word　of　caution。　　But　the　advice　and　intercession　of　her　friends　were　alike　without　avail。　　The　blow　which　she　so　much　feared　fell　at　last；　and　she　found　herself　an　exile　and　a　wanderer　from　the　scenes　she　most　loved。
  We　have　many　pleasant　glimpses　of　her　life　at　Coppet；　but　a　shadow　always　rests　upon　it。　　A　few　friends　still　cling　to　her　through　the　bitter　and　relentless　persecutions　that　form　one　of　the　most　singular　chapters　in　history；　and　offer　the　most　remarkable　tribute　to　her　genius　and　her　power。　　We　find　here　Schlegel；　Sismondi；　Mathieu　de　Montmorency；　Prince　Augustus；　Monti；　Mme。　Recamier；　and　many　other　distinguished　visitors　of　various　nationalities。　　The　most　prominent　figure　perhaps　was　Benjamin　Constant；　brilliant；　gifted；　eloquent；　passionate；　vain；　and　capricious；　the　torturing　consolation　and　the　stormy　problem　of　her　saddest　years。　　She　revived　the　old　literary　diversions。　　At　eleven　o'clock；　we　are　told；　the　guests　assembled　at　breakfast；　and　the　conversations　took　a　high　literary　tone。　　They　were　resumed　at　dinner；　and　continued　often　until　midnight。　　Here；　as　elsewhere；　Mme。　de　Stael　was　queen；　holding　her　guests　entranced　by　the　magic　of　her　words。　〃Life　is　for　me　like　a　ball　after　the　music　has　ceased；〃　said　Sismondi　when　her　voice　was　silent。　　She　was　a　veritable　Corinne　in　her　esprit；　her　sentiment；　her　gift　of　improvisation；　and　her　underlying　melancholy。　　But　in　this　choice　company　hers　was　not　the　only　voice；　though　it　was　heard　above　all　the　others。　　Thought　and　wit　flashed　and　sparkled。　　Dramas　were　playedthe　〃Zaire〃　and　〃Tancred〃　of　Voltaire；　and　tragedies　written　by　herself。　　Mme。　Recamier　acted　the　Aricie　to　Mme。　de　Stael's　Phedre。　　This　life　that　seems　to　us　so　fascinating；　has　been　described　too　often　to　need　repetition。　　It　had　its　tumultuous　elements；　its　passionate　undercurrents；　its　romantic　episodes。　　But　in　spite　of　its　attractions　Mme。　de　Stael　fretted　under　the　peaceful　shades　of　Coppet。　　Its　limited　horizon　pressed　upon　her。　　The　silence　of　the　snowcapped　mountains　chilled　her。　　She　looked　upon　their　solitary　grandeur　with　〃magnificent　horror。〃　　The　repose　of　nature　was　an　〃infernal　peace〃　which　plunged　her　into　gloomier　depths　of　ennui　and　despair。　　To　some　one　who　was　admiring　the　beauties　of　Lake　Leman　she　replied；　〃I　should　like　better　the　gutters　of　the　Rue　du　Bac。〃　　It　was　people；　always　people；　who　interested　her。　　〃French　conversation　exists　only　in　Paris；〃　she　said；　〃and　conversation　has　been　from　infancy　my　greatest　pleasure。〃　　Restlessly　she　sought　distraction　in　travel；　but　wherever　she　went　the　iron　hand　pressed　upon　her　still。　　Italy　fostered　her　melancholy。　　She　loved　its　ruins；　which　her　imagination　draped　with　the　fading　colors　of　the　past　and　associated　with　the　desolation　of　a　living　soul。　　But　its　exquisite　variety　of　landscape　and　color　does　not　seem　to　have　touched　her。　　〃If　it　were　not　for　the　world's　opinion；〃　she　said；　〃I　would　not　open　my　window　to　see　the　Bay　of　Naples　for　the　first　time；　but　I　would　travel　five　hundred　leagues　to　talk　with　a　clever　man　whom　I　have　not　met。〃　　Germany　gave　her　infinite　food　for　thought；　but　her　〃astonishing　volubility；〃　her　〃incessant　movement；〃　her　constant　desire　to　know；　to　discuss；　to　penetrate　all　things　wearied　the　moderate　Germans；　as　it　had　already　wearied　the　serious　English。　　〃Tell　me；　Monsieur　Fichte；〃　she　said　one　day；　〃could　you　in　a　short　time；　a　quarter　of　an　hour　for　example；　give　me　a　glimpse　of　your　system　and　explain　what　you　understand　by　your　ME；　I　find　it　very　obscure。〃　The　philosopher　was　amazed　at　what　he　thought　her　impertinence；　but　made　the　attempt　through　an　interpreter。　　At　the　end　of　ten　minutes　she　exclaimed；　〃That　is　sufficient；　Monsieur　Fichte。　　That　is　quite　sufficient。　　I　comprehend　you　perfectly。　　I　have　seen　your　system　in　illustration。　　It　is　one　of　the　adventures　of　Baron　Munchhausen。〃　〃We　are　in　perpetual　mental　tension；〃　said　the　wife　of　Schiller。　　Even　Schiller　himself　grew　tired。　　〃It　seems　as　if　I　were　relieved　of　a　malady；〃　he　said；　when　she　left。
  It　was　this　excess　of　vivacity　and　her　abounding　sensibility　that　constituted　at　once　her　fascination　and　her　misfortune。　　Her　beliefs　were　enthusiasms。　　Her　friendships　were　passions。　　〃No　one　has　carried　the　religion　of　friendship　so　far　as　myself；〃　she　said。　　To　love；　to　be　loved　was　the　supreme　need　of　her　soul；　but　her　love　was　a　flame　that　irradiated　her　intellect　and　added　brilliancy　to　the　life　it　consumed。　　She　paints　in　〃Corinne〃　the　passions；　the　struggles；　the　penalties；　and　the　sorrows　of　a　woman　of　genius。　　It　is　a　life　she　had　known；　a　life　of　which　she　had　tasted　the　sweetest　delights　and　experienced　the　most　cruel　disenchantments。　　〃Corinne〃　at　the　Capitol；　〃Corinne〃　thinking；　analyzing；　loving；　suffering；　triumphing；　wearing　a　crown　of　laurel　upon　her　head　and　an　invisible　crown　of　thorns　upon　her　heartit　is　Mme。　de　Stael　self…revealed　by　the　light　of　her　own　imagination。
  It　was　in　a　moment　of　weakness　and　weariness；　when　her　idols　had　one　after　another　been　shattered；　and　all　the　pleasant　vistas　of　her　youth　seemed　shut　out　forever；　that　she　met　M。　de　Rocca；　a　wounded　officer　of　good　family；　but　of　little　more　than　half　her　years；　whose　gentle；　chivalric　character　commanded　her　admiration；　whose　suffering　touched　her　pity；　and　whose　devotion　won　her　affection。　　〃I　will　love　her　so　much　that　she　will　end　by　marrying　me；〃　he　said；　and　the　result　proved　his　penetration。　　This　marriage；　which　was　a　secret　one；　has　shadowed　a　little　the　brilliancy　of　her　fame；　but　if　it　was　a　weakness　to　bend　from　her　high　altitude；　it　was　not　a　sin；　though　more　creditable　to　her　heart　than　to　her　worldly　wisdom。　　At　all　events　it　brought　into　her　life　a　new　element　of　repose；　and　gave　her　a　tender　consolation　in　her　closing　years。
  When　at　last　the　relentless　autocrat　of　France　found　his　rock…　bound　limits；　and　she　was　free　to　return　to　the　spot　which　had　been　the　goal　of　all　her　dreams；　it　was　too　late。　　Her　health　was　broken。　　It　is　true　her　friends　rallied　around　her；　and　her　salon；　opened　once　more；　retook　a　little　of　its　ancient　glory。　　Few　celebrities　who　came　to　Paris　failed　to　seek　the　drawing　room　of　Mme。　de　Stael；　which　was　still　illuminated　with　the　brilliancy　of　her　genius　and　the　splendor　of　her　fame。　　But　her　triumphs　were　past；　and　life　was　receding。　　Her　few　remaining　days　of　weakness　and　suffering；　darkened　by　vain　regrets；　were　passed　more　and　more　in　the　warmth　and　tenderness　of　her　devoted　family；　in　the　noble　and　elevated　thought　that　rose　above　the　strife　of　politics　into　the　serene　atmosphere　of　a　Christian　faith。　　At　her　death　bed　Chateaubriand　did　her　tardy　justice。　　〃Bon　jour；　my　dear　Francis；　I　suffer；　but　that　does　not　prevent　me　from　loving　you；〃　she　said　to　one　who　had　been　her　critic；　but　never　her　friend。　　Her　magnanimity　was　as　unfailing　as　her　generosity；　and　it　may　be　truly　said　that　she　never　cherished　a　hatred。
  The　life　of　Mme。　de　Stael　was　in　the　world。　　She　embodied　the　French　spirit；　she　could　not　conceive　of　happiness　in　a　secluded　existence；　a　theater　and　an　audience　were　needed　to　call　out　her　best　talents。　　She　could　not　even　bear　her　griefs　alone。　　The　world　was　taken　into　her　confidence。　　She　demanded　its　sympathy。　　She　chanted　exquisite　requiems　over　her　dead　hopes　and　her　lost　illusions；　but　she　chanted　them　in　costume；　never　quite　forgetting　that　her　role　was　a　heroic　one。　　She　added；　however；　to　the　gifts　of　an　improvisatrice　something　infinitely　higher　and　deeper。　　There　was　no　problem　with　which　she　was　not　ready　to　deal。　　She　felt　the　pulse　beats　in　the　great　heart　of　humanity；　and　her　tongue；　her　pen；　her　purse；　and　her　influence　were　ever　at　the　bidding　of　the　u