Produced by Adam Buchbinder and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
Memoirs of Madame Vigee Lebrun
Uniform with this volume:
MEMOIRS OF COUNTESS POTOCKA
_Illustrated._ Translated by Lionel Strachey
MEMOIRS OF A CONTEMPORARY
_Illustrated._ Translated by Lionel Strachey
[Illustration: MME. VIGEE LEBRUN AND HER DAUGHTER.]
Memoirs of Madame Vigee Lebrun
Translated by Lionel Strachey
With Numerous Reproductions of Paintings by the Authoress
London
Grant Richards
1904
Copyright, 1903, by
Doubleday, Page & Company
Printed by Manhattan Press
New York. N. Y., U. S. A.
PREFATORY NOTE
Madame Lebrun brought out her Memoirs at the suggestion of her friend,
the Princess Dolgoruki, in 1835. The authoress was born in 1756, at
Paris, where she died in 1842. She was the daughter of Louis Vigee, an
obscure portrait painter. Her baptismal name was Marie Louise
Elisabeth. In 1776 Mademoiselle Vigee was married to Jean Baptiste
Pierre Lebrun, a notable picture dealer and critic, known also to his
contemporaries as an inveterate gambler.
This book forms a rendering of Madame Carette's edition of the Lebrun
Memoirs, slightly abridged for the sake of uniformity with the
"Memoirs of the Countess Potocka" and the "Memoirs of a Contemporary,"
issuing from the same hands as the present volume.
CONTENTS
Page
CHAPTER I. YOUTH.
Precocious Talents Manifested -- Mlle. Vigee's Father and
Mother -- Death of Her Father -- A Friend of Her Girlhood --
Her Mother Remarries -- Mlle. Vigee's First Portrait of Note
(Count Schouvaloff) -- Acquaintance with Mme. Geoffrin --
The Authoress's Puritanical Bringing-up -- Male Sitters
Attempt Flirtation -- Public Resorts of Paris Before the
Revolution 3
CHAPTER II. UP THE LADDER OF FAME.
Tedious Sojourn in the Country -- Social Amenities in Paris
-- Mlle. Vigee Becomes Mme. Lebrun -- Prognostications of
Unhappy Wedlock -- On the Ladder of Fame -- Singularities of
Oriental Taste -- Marie Antoinette as a Model -- Painting
the Royal Family -- How Louis XVIII. Sang -- The Princess de
Lamballe 16
CHAPTER III. WORK AND PLEASURE.
Impressions of Flanders -- The Authoress's Election to the
French Royal Academy of Painting -- Her Devotion to Work --
Social Pleasures -- A Tale of an Artist's Extravagance --
Calonne and Calumny -- M. Lebrun Allows His Wife Naught Per
Cent. of Her Earnings -- A Dramatic Constellation -- The
Incomparable Mme. Dugazon 32
CHAPTER IV. EXILE.
A Gallic Maecenas -- Anecdote Concerning Beaumarchais -- The
Duke de Nivernais -- Mme. Du Barry Sketched in Words -- And
Painted in Oils -- Rumblings of the Revolution -- Mme.
Lebrun's Fearsome Journey to Italy -- Renewed Artistic
Activity at Rome -- Easter Sunday at St. Peter's --
Fascination of the Eternal City -- Vanities and Violences of
Its People 47
CHAPTER V. NEAPOLITAN DAYS.
Naples -- A Sleepy Ambassadress -- The Remarkable Life of
Lady Hamilton -- Being the Story of a Frivolous Flirt Fond
of Beer -- More Royal Models -- Excursions to Posilippo --
Mlle. Lebrun Writes a Novel at the Age of Nine -- The Queen
of Naples Sits to the Authoress -- The Wedding of the Doge
of Venice with the Sea 63
CHAPTER VI. TURIN AND VIENNA.
A Queen Who Refused to Be Painted -- A Four-Course Dinner of
Frogs, Frogs, Frogs and Frogs -- Villeggiatura -- French
Refugees at Turin -- Their Heartrending Plight -- Vienna --
News of the "Awful Murder" of Louis XVI. and Marie
Antoinette -- Barefoot Princess Lichtenstein -- Inducements
to Visit Russia -- Journey Thither via Dresden -- The
Sistine Madonna 74
CHAPTER VII. SAINT PETERSBURG.
Arrival at St. Petersburg -- The Beautiful Grandduchess
Elisabeth -- Catherine II. Receives Mme. Lebrun -- And Is
Most Gracious -- Petty Court Intrigues -- A Visit to Count
Strogonoff -- Hospitality of the Russians -- An Ambassador
as Gardener -- Princess Dolgoruki and Her Hideous Admirer --
The Extravagances of Potemkin -- His End 83
CHAPTER VIII. LIFE IN RUSSIA.
Painting Russian Royalties -- Festivities at Court -- The
Pangs of Waiting for Dinner -- "To Keep Warm, Spend the
Winter in Russia" -- The Hardiness of Its Common People --
Who Are Well Suited with Serfdom -- And Remarkably Honest --
The Quaint Ceremonial of Blessing the Neva -- Various Social
Customs 96
CHAPTER IX. CATHERINE II.
Surroundings of St. Petersburg -- Patriarchal
Unconventionalities -- An Artillery Repast -- The Greatness
of the Second Catherine -- Who Lit Her Own Fire and Made Her
Own Coffee -- And Was Sworn at by a Chimney Sweeper -- Other
Domestic Amenities in the Career of an Empress -- The Suit
of Gustavus IV. -- Catherine's Death -- Humiliating Funeral
Incidents 109
CHAPTER X. THE EMPEROR PAUL.
Accession of the Emperor Paul -- His Arbitrary Rule -- His
Civility to the Authoress -- A Man Who Did Not Know the
Emperor's Address -- Paul's Kindness to Foreigners -- His
Fear of Assassination -- His Personal Appearance -- The
Empress Maria -- Vagaries of a Half-Mad Emperor -- A Noble
Prelate 119
CHAPTER XI. FAMILY AFFAIRS.
Poniatowski, Last King of Poland -- His Amiable Character --
The Authoress's Faculty of Presaging Death -- Poniatowski
the Nephew -- Mme. Lebrun Received as a Member of the St.
Petersburg Academy -- Her Daughter's Untoward Marriage --
Resulting in Estrangement Between Mother and Child 131
CHAPTER XII. MOSCOW.
Journey to Moscow -- A Bad Smell and Its Origin -- First
Impression of Moscow -- Another Impression, Oral and
Unpleasing -- The Kremlin -- Steam-and-Snow Bathing --
Society -- Luxurious Prince Kurakin -- An Impossible
Duologue -- Examples of Russian Cleverness -- Determination
to Return to France 142
CHAPTER XIII. GOOD-BY TO RUSSIA.
Departure from Moscow -- News of the Death of Paul --
Particulars of His Assassination -- Et tu Brute? -- Paul's
Presentiments of Peril -- His Successor Not an Accomplice in
the Crime -- Alexander I. a Popular Monarch -- An Order
from an Imperial Customer and Model -- Farewells to Friends
-- Among Them Czar and Czarina 154
CHAPTER XIV. HOMEWARD BOUND.
First Station, Narva -- The Cataract -- Riga -- Hardships of
Travel a Hundred Years Ago -- Obdurate Custom-House
Officials -- A Summons to Potsdam -- The Loveliest and
Sweetest of Queens -- Her Ugly Children -- An Ambitious Cook
-- The Journey Continued -- "Remember Your Jewel-Case" --
Modelling in Dirt for a Pastime -- Likewise Sewing -- Home
Again 164
CHAPTER XV. OLD FRIENDS AND NEW.
Paris After the Revolution -- Renewing Old Acquaintances and
Forming New Ties -- Rival Beauties: Mme. Recamier and Mme.
Tallien -- Mme. Campan -- An Englishwoman's Slip of the
Tongue -- Some Distinguished Foreigners 173
CHAPTER XVI. UNMERRY ENGLAND.
London -- Its Historic Piles -- And Dull Sundays -- And
Taciturn People -- Pictures by Sir Joshua Reynolds -- His
Modesty -- How to Dry Pictures in a Damp Climate -- The
Artistic View of a Certain Popular Beauty -- The Prince of
Wales -- His Alleged Attentions to Mme. Lebrun -- The
Authoress Lectures an Unfriendly Critic -- News of One of
Napoleon's "Atrocious Crimes" 182
CHAPTER XVII. PERSONS AND PLACES IN BRITAIN.
English Palaces -- And Scenery -- Suburban Princes --
Richmond Terrace -- An Eccentric Margravine -- The Charm of
the Isle of Wight -- The Britons a Stolid Nation -- Their
Indifference to Rain 192
CHAPTER XVIII. BONAPARTES AND BOURBONS.
Back in Paris -- The Devotion of Mme. Grassini --
Capricious, Exacting Mme. Murat -- Aspects of Christian
Warfare -- "Kill All Those People!" -- Louis XVIII. Enters
the Capital -- The Barrenness of Napoleon's Victories --
His Successor's Attainments -- Bourbon Characteristics --
The Authoress Loses Her Husband, Daughter and Brother --
Conclusion 200
APPENDIX
List of Madame Vigee Lebrun's Paintings 215
INDEX 229
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
MADAME VIGEE LEBRUN AND HER DAUGHTER _Frontispiece_
Facing Page
THE DUCHESS D'ANGOULEME AND HER BROTHER, THE DAUPHIN 10
MADAME VIGEE LEBRUN 16
Marked: "Virginia Lebrun, St. Luke's Gallery, Rome"
PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHORESS 20
MARIE ANTOINETTE, DONE IN 1779 24
Madame Lebrun's First Portrait of the Queen, Destined for
Presentation to the Emperor Joseph II. Marie Antoinette
Ordered Two Copies, One for the Emperor of Russia and
One for Herself
PORTRAIT OF MARIE ANTOINETTE AND HER CHILDREN 28
Known as "The Royal Family," Exhibited at the Paris Salon
of 1788, the Year Before the Outbreak of the Revolution
MADAME ELISABETH, SISTER OF LOUIS XVI 30
THE DAUPHIN 32
Son of Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette
MADAME LEBRUN, THE AUTHORESS, NEE ELISABETH VIGEE 34
PEACE BRINGING BACK PLENTY 36
Exhibited by Madame Lebrun at the French Royal Academy
of Painting, on Her Election as a Member of That
Institution
MADAME VIGEE LEBRUN AND HER DAUGHTER 42
THE DAUPHIN OF FRANCE 50
THE BARONESS DE CRUSSOL 58
MARIE CAROLINE, WIFE OF FERDINAND IV. OF NAPLES 64
PRINCESS CHRISTINE, DAUGHTER OF FERDINAND IV. OF NAPLES 70
MARIE ANTOINETTE, QUEEN OF FRANCE 76
QUEEN MARIE ANTOINETTE 80
THE PRINCESS DE TALLEYRAND 90
ISABEL CZARTORYSKA 100
A Polish Noblewoman
THE DUCHESS DE POLIGNAC 112
QUEEN MARIE ANTOINETTE 126
PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHORESS 132
Painted for the Uffizi Gallery at Florence, Where the Picture
Now Hangs
PORTRAIT OF MME. LEBRUN'S DAUGHTER 138
In the Bologna Gallery
MADAME VIGEE LEBRUN 146
HUBERT ROBERT 154
A French Painter of Repute, Born 1733, Died 1808. One
of Madame Lebrun's Contemporaries
A MOTHER AND HER DAUGHTER 162
"WOMAN PAINTING" 170
(Identity of sitter uncertain)
MADAME COURCELLES 176
"THE WOMAN WITH THE MUFF" 184
Madame Mole-Raymond, of the Comedie-Francaise
MADAME VIGEE LEBRUN 190
GENEVIEVE ADELAIDE HELVETIUS, COUNTESS D'ANDLOU 202
LOUISE MARIE ADELAIDE DE BOURBON 210
CHAPTER I
YOUTH
PRECOCIOUS TALENTS MANIFESTED -- MLLE. VIGEE'S FATHER AND MOTHER
-- DEATH OF HER FATHER -- A FRIEND OF HER GIRLHOOD -- HER MOTHER
REMARRIES -- MLLE. VIGEE'S FIRST PORTRAIT OF NOTE (COUNT
SCHOUVALOFF) -- ACQUAINTANCE WITH MME. GEOFFRIN -- THE
AUTHORESS'S PURITANICAL BRINGING-UP -- MALE SITTERS ATTEMPT
FLIRTATION -- PUBLIC RESORTS OF PARIS BEFORE THE REVOLUTION.
I will begin by speaking of my childhood, which is the symbol, so to
say, of my whole life, since my love for painting declared itself in
my earliest youth. I was sent to a boarding-school at the age of six,
and remained there until I was eleven. During that time I scrawled on
everything at all seasons; my copy-books, and even my schoolmates', I
decorated with marginal drawings of heads, some full-face, others in
profile; on the walls of the dormitory I drew faces and landscapes
with coloured chalks. So it may easily be imagined how often I was
condemned to bread and water. I made use of my leisure moments
outdoors in tracing any figures on the ground that happened to come
into my head. At seven or eight, I remember, I made a picture by
lamplight of a man with a beard, which I have kept until this very
day. When my father saw it he went into transports of joy, exclaiming,
"You will be a painter, child, if ever there was one!"
I mention these facts to show what an inborn passion for the art I
possessed. Nor has that passion ever diminished; it seems to me that
it has even gone on growing with time, for to-day I feel under the
spell of it as much as ever, and shall, I hope, until the hour of
death. It is, indeed, to this divine passion that I owe, not only my
fortune, but my felicity, because it has always been the means of
bringing me together with the most delightful and most distinguished
men and women in Europe. The recollection of all the notable people I
have known often cheers me in times of solitude.
As a schoolgirl my health was frail, and therefore my parents would
frequently come for me to take me to spend a few days with them. This,
of course, suited my taste exactly. My father, Louis Vigee, made very
good pastel drawings; he did some which would have been worthy of the
famous Latour. My father allowed me to do some heads in that style,
and, in fact, let me mess with his crayons all day. He was so wrapt up
in his art that he occasionally did queer things from sheer
absent-mindedness. I remember how, one day, after dressing for a
dinner in town, he went out and almost immediately came back, it
having occurred to him that he would like to touch up a picture
recently begun. He removed his wig, put on a nightcap, and went out
again in this headgear, with his gilt-frogged coat, his sword, etc.
Had not one of his neighbours stopped him, he would have exhibited
himself in this costume all through the town.
He was a very witty man. His natural good spirits infected every one,
and some came to be painted by him for the sake of his amusing
conversation. Once, when he was making a portrait of a rather pretty
woman, my father observed, while he worked at her mouth, that she made
all manner of grimaces in order to make that organ look smaller.
Falling out of patience with all this maneuvering, my father quietly
remarked:
"Please don't let me give you so much trouble. You have only to say
the word and I will paint you without a mouth."
My mother was an extremely handsome woman. This may be judged from the
pastel portrait made of her by my father, as well as from my own oil
painting of a much later date. She carried her goodness to austerity,
and my father worshipped her as though she had been divine. She was
very pious, and, in heart, I was so, too. We always heard high mass
together, and were regular attendants at the other church services.
Especially in Lent did we never omit any of the prescribed devotions,
evening prayer not excepted. I have always liked sacred singing, and
in those days organ music would often move me to tears.
My father was in the habit of inviting various artists and men of
letters to his house of an evening. At the head of them I must place
Doyen, the historical painter, my father's most intimate and my first
friend. Doyen was the nicest man in the world, so clever and so good;
his views on persons and things were always exceedingly just, and
moreover he talked about painting with such fervent enthusiasm that it
made my heart beat fast to listen to him. Poinsinet was very clever,
too, and gay. Perhaps his extraordinary credulity is generally known.
As a consequence of it he was continually made game of in the most
unheard-of ways. Some friends once told him that there was an office
called the King's Screen, and persuaded him to stand before a blazing
fire so hot that it nearly roasted his calves. When he attempted to
move away, he was told he must not stir, but that he must accustom
himself to intense heat or he would not get the post. Poinsinet was,
however, far from being a fool. Many of his works are still in favour,
and he is the only author who ever gained three dramatic successes in
one night: "Ermeline," at the Grand Opera; "The Circle," at the
Theatre Francaise; "Tom Jones," at the Opera Comique. Some one put it
into his head that he had a taste for travel, so he began with Spain,
and was drowned while crossing the Guadalquivir.
I may also mention Davesne, painter and poet. He was rather mediocre
in both arts, but was bidden to my father's suppers because of his
witty conversation.
Though nothing more than a child, the jollity of these suppers was a
great source of pleasure to me. I was obliged to leave the table
before dessert, but from my room I heard the laughter and the joking
and the songs. These, I confess, I did not understand; nevertheless,
they helped to make my holidays delightful. At eleven I left the
boarding-school for good, after my first communion. Davesne, who
painted in oils, sent his wife for me to teach me how to mix colours.
Their poverty grieved me deeply. One day, when I wanted to finish a
head I had begun, they made me remain to dinner. The dinner consisted
of soup and baked apples.
I was overjoyed at not having to leave my parents again. My brother,
three years younger than I, was as lovely as an angel. I was not
nearly so lively as he, and far from being so clever or so pretty. In
fact, at that time of my life I was very plain. I had an enormous
forehead, and eyes far too deep-set; my nose was the only good feature
of my pale, skinny face. Besides, I was growing so fast that I could
not hold myself up straight, and I bent like a willow. These defects
were the despair of my mother. I fancy she had a weakness for my
brother. At any rate, she spoiled him and forgave him his youthful
sins, whereas she was very severe toward myself. To make up for it, my
father overwhelmed me with kindness and indulgence. His tender love
endeared him more and more to my heart; and so my good father is ever
present to me, and I believe I have not forgotten a word he uttered
in my hearing. How often, during 1789, did I think of something in
sort prophetic which he said. He had come home from a philosophers'
dinner where he had met Diderot, Helvetius and d'Alembert. He was so
thoroughly dejected that my mother asked him what the matter was. "All
I have heard to-night, my dear," he replied, "makes me believe that
the world will soon be turned upside down."
I had spent one happy year at home when my father fell ill. After two
months of suffering all hope of his recovery was abandoned. When he
felt his last moments approaching, he declared a wish to see my
brother and myself. We went close to his bedside, weeping bitterly.
His face was terribly altered; his eyes and his features, usually so
full of animation, were quite without expression, for the pallor and
the chill of death were already upon him. We took his icy hand and
covered it with kisses and tears. He made a last effort and sat up to
give us his blessing. "Be happy, my children," was all he said. An
hour later our poor father had ceased to live.
So heartbroken was I that it was long before I felt able to take to my
crayons again. Doyen came to see us sometimes, and as he had been my
father's best friend his visits were a great consolation. He it was
who urged me to resume the occupation I loved, and in which, to speak
truth, I found the only solace for my woe. It was then that I began to
paint from nature. I accomplished several portraits--pastels and oils.
I also drew from nature and from casts, often working by lamplight
with Mlle. Boquet, with whom I was closely acquainted. I went to her
house in the evenings; she lived in the Rue Saint Denis, where her
father had a bric-a-brac shop. It was a long way off, since we lodged
in the Rue de Clery, opposite the Lubert mansion. My mother,
therefore, insisted on my being escorted whenever I went. We likewise
frequently repaired, Mlle. Boquet and I, to Briard's, a painter, who
lent us his etchings and his classical busts. Briard was but a
moderate painter, although he did some ceilings of rather unusual
conception. On the other hand, he could draw admirably, which was the
reason why several young people went to him for lessons. His rooms
were in the Louvre, and each of us brought her little dinner, carried
in a basket by a nurse, in order that we might make a long day of it.
Mlle. Boquet was fifteen years old and I fourteen. We were rival
beauties. I had changed completely and had become good looking. Her
artistic abilities were considerable; as for mine, I made such speedy
progress that I soon was talked about, and this resulted in my making
the gratifying acquaintance of Joseph Vernet. That famous painter gave
me cordial encouragement and much invaluable advice. I also got to
know the Abbe Arnault, of the French Academy. He was a man of strong
imaginative gifts, with a passion for literature and the arts. His
conversation enriched me with ideas, if I may thus express myself. He
would talk of music and painting with the most inspiring ardour. The
Abbe was a warm partisan of Gluck, and at a later date brought the
great composer to see me, for I, too, was passionately fond of music.
My mother was now proud of my face and figure; I was growing stouter,
and presented the fresh appearance proper to youth. On Sundays she
took me to the Tuileries. She was still handsome herself, and after
the lapse of all these years I am free to confess that the manner in
which we were so often followed by men embarrassed more than it
flattered me. Seeing me so irremediably affected by our cruel loss, my
mother deemed it best to take me out of myself by showing me pictures.
Thus we went to the Luxembourg Palace, the gallery of which then
contained some of Rubens's masterpieces, as well as numerous works by
the greatest painters. At present nothing is to be seen there but
pictures of the modern French school. I am the only painter of that
class not represented. The old masters have since been removed to the
Louvre. Rubens has lost much by the change: the difference between
well or badly lighted pictures is the same as between well or badly
played pieces of music.
We also saw some rich private collections, none of which, however,
equalled that of the Palais Royal, made by the Regent and containing a
conspicuous number of old Italian masters. As soon as I entered one of
these galleries I at once became exactly like a bee, so much useful
knowledge did I eagerly gather while intoxicated with bliss in the
contemplation of the great masters. Besides, in order to improve
myself, I copied some of the pictures of Rubens, some of Rembrandt's
and Van Dyck's heads, as well as several heads of girls by Greuze,
because these last were a good lesson to me in the demi-tints to be
found in delicate flesh colouring. Van Dyck shows them also, but more
finely. It is to these studies that I owe my improvement in the very
important science of degradation of light on the salient parts of a
head, so admirably done by Raphael, whose heads, it is true, combine
all the perfections. But it is only in Rome, under the bright Italian
sky, that Raphael can be properly judged. When, after years, I was
enabled to see some of his masterpieces, which had never left their
native home, I recognised Raphael to be above his high renown.
My father had left us penniless. But I was earning a deal of money, as
I was already painting many portraits. This, however, was insufficient
for household expenses, seeing that in addition I had to pay for my
brother's schooling, his clothes, his books, and so on. My mother,
therefore, saw herself obliged to remarry. She took a rich jeweller,
whom we never had suspected of avarice, but who directly after the
marriage displayed his stinginess by limiting us to the absolute
necessities of life, although I was good-natured enough to hand him
over everything I earned. Joseph Vernet was greatly enraged; he
counselled me to grant an annuity and to keep the rest for myself. But
I did not comply with this advice. I was afraid my mother might suffer
in consequence, with such a skinflint. I detested the man, the more as
he had appropriated my father's wardrobe and wore all the clothes just
as they were, without having them altered to fit him.
My young reputation attracted a number of strangers to our house.
Several distinguished personages came to see me, among them the
notorious Count Orloff, one of Peter the Third's assassins. Count
Orloff was a giant in stature, and I remember his wearing a diamond of
enormous size in a ring.
About this time I painted a portrait of Count Schouvaloff, Grand
Chamberlain, then, I believe, about sixty years old. He combined
amiability with perfect manners, and, as he was an excellent man, was
sought after by the best company.
One of my visitors of eminence was Mme. Geoffrin, the woman so famous
for her brilliant social life. Mme. Geoffrin gathered at her house all
the known men of talent in literature and the arts, all foreigners of
note and the grandest gentlemen attached to the court. Being neither
of good family nor endowed with unusual abilities, nor even possessing
much money, she had nevertheless made a position for herself in Paris
unique of its kind, and one that no woman could nowadays hope to
achieve. Having heard me spoken of, she came to see me one morning and
said the most flattering things about my person and my gifts. Although
she was not very old, I should have put her down for a hundred, for
not only was she rather bent, but her dress gave her an aged
appearance. She was clad in an iron-gray gown, and on her head wore
a large, winged cap, over which was a black shawl knotted under her
chin. At present, on the other hand, women of her years succeed in
making themselves look much younger by the care they bestow on their
toilet.
[Illustration: THE DUCHESS D'ANGOULEME AND HER BROTHER, THE DAUPHIN.]
Immediately after my mother's marriage we went to live at my
stepfather's in the Rue Saint Honore, opposite the terrace of the
Palais Royal, which terrace our windows overlooked. I often saw the
Duchess de Chartres walking in the garden with her ladies-in-waiting,
and soon observed that she noticed me with kindly interest. I had
recently finished a portrait of my mother which evoked a great deal of
discussion at the time. The Duchess sent for me to come and paint her.
She most obligingly commended my young talents to her friends, so that
it was not long before I received a visit from the stately, handsome
Countess de Brionne and her lovely daughter, the Princess de Lorraine,
who were followed by all the great ladies of the court and the
Faubourg Saint Germain.
Since I have acknowledged that I was stared at in the streets--the
same is true of the theatres and other public places--and that I was
the object of many attentions, it may readily be guessed that some
admirers of my face gave me commissions to paint theirs. They hoped to
get into my good graces in this way. But I was so absorbed in my art
that nothing could take me away from it. Then, besides, the moral and
religious principles my mother had instilled me with were a strong
protection against the seductions surrounding me. Happily I never as
yet had read a single novel. The first I read, "Clarissa Harlowe," was
only after my marriage, and it interested me prodigiously. Before my
marriage I read nothing but sacred literature, such as the moral
precepts of the Holy Fathers, which contained everything one needs to
know, and some of my brother's class-books.
To return to those gentlemen. As soon as I observed any intention on
their part of making sheep's eyes at me, I would paint them looking in
another direction than mine, and then, at the least movement of the
pupilla, would say, "I am doing the eyes now." This vexed them a
little, of course, but my mother, who was always present, and whom I
had taken into my confidence, was secretly amused.
On Sundays and saints' days, after hearing high mass, my mother and my
stepfather took me to the Palais Royal for a walk. The gardens were
then far more spacious and beautiful than they are now, strangled and
straightened by the houses enclosing them. There was a very broad and
long avenue on the left arched by gigantic trees, which formed a vault
impenetrable to the rays of the sun. There good society assembled in
its best clothes. The opera house was hard by the palace. In summer
the performance ended at half-past eight, and all elegant people left
even before it was over, in order to ramble in the garden. It was the
fashion for the women to wear huge nosegays, which, added to the
perfumed powder sprinkled in everybody's hair, really made the air one
breathed quite fragrant. Later, yet still before the Revolution, I
have known these assemblies to last until two in the morning. There
was music by moonlight, out in the open; artists and amateurs sang
songs; there was playing on the harp and the guitar; the celebrated
Saint Georges often executed pieces on his violin. Crowds flocked to
the spot.
We never entered this avenue, Mlle. Boquet and I, without attracting
lively attention. We both were then between sixteen and seventeen
years old, Mlle. Boquet being a great beauty. At nineteen she was
taken with the smallpox, which called forth such general interest that
numbers from all classes of society made anxious inquiries, and a
string of carriages was constantly drawn up outside her door.
She had a remarkable talent for painting, but she gave up the pursuit
almost immediately after her marriage with M. Filleul, when the Queen
made her Gatekeeper of the Castle of La Muette. Would that I could
speak of the dear creature without calling her dreadful end to mind.
Alas! how well I remember Mme. Filleul saying to me, on the eve of my
departure from France, when I was to escape from the horrors I
foresaw: "You are wrong to go. I intend to stay, because I believe in
the happiness the Revolution is to bring us." And that Revolution took
her to the scaffold! Before she quitted La Muette the Terror had
begun. Mme. Chalgrin, a daughter of Joseph Vernet, and Mme. Filleul's
bosom friend, came to the castle to celebrate her daughter's
wedding--quietly, as a matter of course. However, the next day the
Jacobins none the less proceeded to arrest Mme. Filleul and Mme.
Chalgrin, who, they said, had wasted the candles of the nation. A few
days later they were both guillotined.
Among the favourite walks were the Temple boulevards. Every day,
though especially on Thursdays, hundreds of vehicles drove or stood in
the roads where the cafes and shows still are. The young men on
horseback caracoled about the carriages, as they did at Longchamps,
for Longchamps was already in existence and even very brilliant. The
side paths were full of immense throngs of pedestrians, enjoying the
pastime of admiring or criticising all the lovely ladies, dressed in
their best, who passed in fine carriages. At a certain spot, where the
Cafe Turc now stands, a spectacle was to be seen which many a time
made me burst into loud laughter. It was a long row of old women
belonging to the Marais quarter, sitting gravely on chairs, their
faces so thickly rouged that they looked precisely like dolls. As at
that date the right to wear rouge was only conceded to women of high
rank, these worthy ladies thought they must take advantage of the
privilege to its full limit. One of our friends, who knew most of
them, told us that their only employment at home was to play lotto
from morning till night. He also said that one day, after he had
returned from Versailles, some of them had asked him the news, that he
had replied M. de La Perouse was to make a journey round the world,
and that the hostess had thereupon exclaimed: "Gracious! What a lot of
time the man must have on his hands!"
Years later, long after my marriage, I saw various little shows on
this very boulevard. At one only did I attend often; that was Carlo
Perico's "Fantoccini," which amused me vastly. These marionettes were
so cleverly made, and their gestures were so natural, that the
delusion sometimes succeeded. My little girl, six years old almost,
did not at first suspect that the figures were not alive. I informed
her as to the truth, and when, soon after, I took her to the Comedie
Francaise, where my box was rather far from the stage, she asked me,
"And those, mamma, are they alive?"
The Coliseum was another highly fashionable resort. It was established
in one of the large squares of the Champs Elysees, in the form of a
vast rotunda. In the middle was a lake of clear water, on which
boatmen's races were held. You strolled round about in broad,
gravelled avenues lined with benches. At nightfall every one left the
garden to meet in a great hall where a full orchestra dispensed
excellent music. At this period there also was on the Temple boulevard
a place called the Summer Vauxhall, whose garden was simply a big
space for walking in, bordered by covered tiers of seats for the
convenience of good society. People gathered there before dark in warm
weather, and the diversions of the day closed with a grand display of
fireworks.
All these places were frequented much more than Tivoli is to-day. It
is surprising, too, that the Parisians, who have nothing but the
Tuileries and the Luxembourg, should have renounced those other
resorts, which were half urban and half rural, where you went in the
evening to get a breath of air and eat ices.