Book: Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, October, 1864

V >> Various >> Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 84, October, 1864




It is hard to conceive of a more brilliant career, or of one more
calculated from its singularity to give rise to contradictory
impressions. This natural perplexity is much increased by the character
of Madame Recamier's memoirs, published in 1859, ten years after her
death. They are from the pen of Madame Lenormant, the niece of Monsieur
Recamier, and the adopted daughter of his wife. To her Madame Recamier
bequeathed her papers, with the request that she should write the
narrative of her life. Madame Lenormant had a delicate and difficult
task to execute. The life she was to portray was strictly a social one.
It was closely interwoven with the lives of other persons still living
or lately dead. She owed heavy obligations to both. It is, therefore,
not surprising, if her narrative is at times broken and obscure, and she
a too partial biographer. Not that Madame Lenormant can be called
untrustworthy. She cannot be accused of misrepresenting facts, but she
does what is almost as bad,--she partially states them. Her vague
allusions and half-and-half statements excite curiosity without
gratifying it. We also crave to know more than she tells us of the
heart-history of this woman who so captivated the world,--to see her
sometimes in the silence of solitude, alone with her own thoughts,--to
gain an insight into the inner, that we may more perfectly comprehend
the outward life which so perplexes and confounds. Instead of all this,
we have drawing-room interviews with the object of our interest. We see
her chiefly as she appeared in society. We have to be content with what
others say of her, in lieu of what she might say for herself. We hear of
her conquests, her social triumphs, we listen to panegyrics, but are
seldom admitted behind the scenes to judge for ourselves of what is gold
and what is tinsel. We, moreover, seek in vain for those unconscious
revelations so precious in divining character. The few letters of Madame
Recamier that are published have little or no significance. She was not
fond of writing, still she corresponded regularly with several of her
friends; but her correspondence, it seems, has not been obtained by her
biographer. The best insight we get, therefore, into the emotional part
of her nature is from indirect allusions in letters addressed to her,
and from conclusions drawn from her course of conduct in particular
cases. Some of the incidents of her life are so dramatic, that, if fully
and faithfully told, they would of themselves reveal the true character
of the woman, but as it is we have but little help from them. It is
impossible to resist the conviction that Madame Lenormant would not
hesitate to suppress any circumstances that might cast a shadow on the
memory of her aunt. It is true that she occasionally relates facts
tending to injure Madame Recamier, but it is plain to be seen that she
herself is totally unconscious of the nature and tendency of these
disclosures. Upon the publication of her book, these indiscretions
excited the displeasure of Madame Recamier's warm personal friends. One
of them, Madame Moehl, by birth an Englishwoman, undertook her defence.
This lady corrects a few slight inaccuracies of the "Souvenirs," and
since she cannot controvert its more important facts, she attempts to
explain them. Her sketch[A] of Madame Recamier is pleasant, from its
personal recollections, but far inferior to one by Sainte-Beuve,[B]
which is eminently significant. Neither, as sources of information, can
supply the place of the more voluminous and explicit "Souvenirs." It is
a little singular that this work has not been translated into English,
for, in spite of its lack of method, its diffuseness and
disproportionate developments, it is very attractive and interesting. It
is also highly valuable for its large collection of letters from
distinguished people. In the sketch we propose to make of Madame
Recamier's life, we shall rely mainly upon it for our facts, giving in
connection our own view of her character and career.

The beauty which first won celebrity for Madame Recamier was hers by
inheritance. Her father was a remarkably handsome man, but a person of
narrow capacity, who owed his advancement in life solely to the
exertions of his more capable wife. Madame Bernard was a beautiful
blonde. She was lively and _spirituelle_, coquettish and designing.
Through her influence with Calonne, minister under Louis XVI., Monsieur
Bernard was made _Receveur des Finances_. Upon this appointment, in
1784, they came to Paris, leaving their only child, Juliette, then seven
years old, at Lyons, in the care of an aunt, though she was soon
afterward placed in a convent, where she remained three years. Monsieur
and Madame Bernard's style of living in Paris was both elegant and
generous. Their house became the resort of the Lyonnese, and also of
literary men,--the latter being especially courted by Madame Bernard.
But, though seemingly given up to a life of gayety and pleasure, she did
not neglect her own interests. Her cleverness was of the Becky-Sharp
order. She knew how to turn the admiration she excited to her own
advantage. Having a faculty for business, she engaged in successful
speculations and amassed a fortune, which she carried safely through the
Reign of Terror. This is the more remarkable as Monsieur Bernard was a
known Royalist. He and his family and his wife's friends escaped not
only death, but also persecution; and Madame Lenormant attributes this
rare good-fortune to the agency of the infamous Barrere. Barrere's
cruelty was equalled only by his profligacy, his cunning by his
selfishness. Macaulay said of him, that "he approached nearer than any
person mentioned in history or fiction, whether man or devil, to the
idea of consummate and total depravity"; and everybody must remember the
famous comparison by which he illustrated Barrere's faculty of lying.
But even taking a much milder view of Barrere's character, it is a
matter of history by what terms the unfortunate victims of the
Revolution purchased of him their own lives and those of their friends,
and it is certain that his friendship and protection were no honor to
any woman. This view of their intimacy is confirmed by Madame Moehl. In
speaking of a rumor current in Madame Recamier's lifetime, which
reflected severely upon her mother, she says that Madame Bernard's
reputation had nothing to lose by this story, and mentions the favors
she received at the hands both of Calonne and Barrere.

Juliette Bernard was ten years old when she joined her parents in Paris,
where she was placed under the care of masters. She played with skill on
the harp and piano, and being passionately fond of music, it became her
solace and amusement at an advanced age. In her youth dancing was
equally a passion with her. The grace with which she executed the
shawl-dance suggested to Madame de Stael the dance-scene in "Corinne."
It is said that great care was bestowed upon her education; but as it is
also stated that long hours were passed at the toilette, that she was
the pet of all her mother's friends, who, as proud of her daughter's
beauty as she was of her own, took her constantly to the theatre and
public assemblies, little time could have been devoted to systematic
instruction. There is no mention made throughout her life of any
favorite studies or favorite books, and she was, moreover, married at
fifteen.

Monsieur Recamier was forty-four years old when he proposed for the hand
of Juliette Bernard. She accepted him without either reluctance or
distrust. Much sympathy has been lavished upon Madame Recamier on
account of this marriage, and her extreme youth is urged as an excuse
for this false step of her life. Still she did not take it blindly. Her
mother thought it her duty to lay before her all the objections to a
union where there existed such a disparity of age. No undue influence
was exerted, therefore, in favor of the marriage. Nor was Mademoiselle
Bernard as unsophisticated as French girls usually are at that age. Her
childhood had not been passed in seclusion. Since she was ten years old
she had been constantly in the society of men of letters and men of the
world. Under such influences girls ripen early, and in marrying Monsieur
Recamier she at least realized all her expectations. She did not look
for mutual affection; she expected to find in him a generous and
indulgent protector, and this anticipation was not disappointed. If she
discovered too late that she had other and greater needs, she was deeply
to be pitied, but the responsibility of the step must remain with her.
Madame Lenormant says of the union,--"It was simply an apparent one.
Madame Recamier was a wife only in name. This fact is astonishing. But I
am not bound to explain it, only to attest its truth, which all of
Madame Recamier's friends can confirm. Monsieur Recamier's relations to
his wife were strictly of a paternal character. He treated the young and
innocent child who bore his name as a daughter whose beauty charmed him
and whose celebrity flattered his vanity."

As an explanation of these singular relations, Madame Moehl states that
it was the general belief of Madame Recamier's contemporaries that she
was the own daughter of Monsieur Recamier, whom the unsettled state of
the times had induced him to marry; but there is not a shadow of
evidence in support of this hypothesis,--though, to make it more
probable, Madame Moehl adds, that "Madame Lenormant rather confirms than
contradicts this rumor." In this she is strangely mistaken. Madame
Lenormant does not allude to the report at all. Still she tacitly
contradicts it. Her account of Monsieur Recamier's course with regard to
the divorce proposed between him and his wife is of itself a sufficient
refutation of this idle story.

Monsieur Recamier was a tall, vigorous, handsome man, of easy, agreeable
manners. Perfectly polite, he was deficient in dignity, and preferred
the society of his inferiors to that of his equals. He wrote and spoke
Spanish with fluency, had some knowledge of Latin, and was fond of
quoting Horace and Virgil. "It would be difficult to find," says his
niece, "a heart more generous than his, more easily moved, and yet more
volatile. Let a friend need his time, his money, his advice, it was
immediately at his service; but let that same friend be taken away by
death, he would scarcely give two days to regret: '_Encore un tiroir
ferme'_, he would say, and there would end his sensibility. Always ready
to give and willing to serve, he was a good companion, and benevolent
and gay in his temper. He carried his optimism to excess, and was always
content with everybody and everything. He had fine natural abilities,
and the gift of expression, being a good story-teller." He was married
in 1793, the most gloomy period of the Reign of Terror, and went every
day to see the executions, wishing, he said, to familiarize himself with
the fate he had every reason to fear would be his own.

The first four years of her marriage were passed by Madame Recamier in
retirement, but when the government was settled under the Consulate she
mingled freely and gayly in society. This was probably the happiest
period of her life. Her husband was at the height of financial
prosperity, and lavished every luxury upon his beautiful wife. Both
their country-seat at Clichy and their town-house in the Rue Mont Blanc
were models of elegant taste. Large dinner-parties and balls were given
at the latter, but all the intimate friends went to Clichy, where Madame
Recamier chiefly resided with her mother. Her husband only dined there,
driving in to Paris every night. She was very fond of flowers, and
filled her rooms with them. At that time floral decorations were a
novelty, and another attraction was added to the charms of Clichy. Not
only there, but in society, Madame Recamier reigned a queen. She had
been pronounced by acclamation "the most beautiful," and she enjoyed her
triumphs with all the gayety and freshness of youth. Madame Lenormant
asserts that she was unconscious of her beauty, and yet, with an amusing
inconsistency, she adds that Madame Recamier always dressed in white and
wore pearls in preference to other jewels, that the dazzling whiteness
of her skin might eclipse their softness and purity. It was, in fact,
impossible to be unconscious of a beauty so ravishing that it
intoxicated all beholders. At the theatre, at the promenade, at public
assemblies, she was followed by admiring throngs.

"She was sensible," writes one who knew her well, "of every look, every
word of admiration,--the exclamation of a child or a woman of the
people, equally with the declaration of a prince. In crowds from the
side of her elegant carriage, which advanced slowly, she thanked each
for his admiration by a motion of the head and a smile."

As an instance of the effect she produced, Madame Lenormant gives the
testimony of a contemporary, Madame Regnauld de Saint-Jean d'Angely,
who, talking over her own beauty and that of other women of her youth,
named Madame Recamier. "Others," she said, "were more truly beautiful,
but none produced so much effect. I was in a drawing-room where I
charmed and captivated all eyes. Madame Recamier entered. The brilliancy
of her eyes, which were not, however, very large, the inconceivable
whiteness of her shoulders, crushed and eclipsed everybody. She was
resplendent. At the end of a moment, however, the true amateurs returned
to me."

It was not her own countrymen alone who raved about her beauty. The
sober-minded English people were quite as much impressed. When she
visited England during the short peace of Amiens, she created intense
excitement. The journals recorded her movements, and on one occasion in
Kensington Gardens the crowd was so great that she narrowly escaped
being crushed. At the Opera she was obliged to steal away early to avoid
a similar annoyance, and then barely succeeded in reaching her carriage.
Chateaubriand tells us that her portrait, engraved by Bartolozzi, and
spread throughout England, was carried thence to the isles of Greece.
Ballanche, remarking on this circumstance, said that it was "beauty
returning to the land of its birth."

Years after, when the allied sovereigns were in Paris, and Madame
Recamier thirty-eight years old, the effect of her beauty was just as
striking. Madame de Kruedener, celebrated for her mysticism and the power
she exerted over the Emperor Alexander, then held nightly reunions,
beginning with prayer and ending in a more worldly fashion. Madame
Recamier's entrance always caused distraction, and Madame de Kruedener
commissioned Benjamin Constant to write and beseech her to be less
charming. As this piquant note will lose its flavor by translation, we
give it in the original.

"Je m'acquitte avec un peu d'embarras d'une commission que Mme. de
Kruedener vient de me donner. Elle vous supplie de venir la moins belle
que vous pourrez. Elle dit que vous eblouissez tout le monde, et que par
la toutes les ames sont troublees, et toutes les attentions impossibles.
Vous ne pouvez pas deposer votre charme, mais ne le rehaussez pas."

Madame Recamier's personal appearance at eighteen is thus described by
her niece:--

"A figure flexible and elegant; neck and shoulders admirably formed and
proportioned; a well-poised head; a small, rosy mouth, pearly teeth,
charming arms, though a little small, and black hair that curled
naturally. A nose delicate and regular, but _bien francais_, and an
incomparable brilliancy of complexion. A countenance full of candor, and
sometimes beaming with mischief, which the expression of goodness
rendered irresistibly lovely. There was a shade of indolence and pride
in her gestures, and what Saint Simon said of the Duchess of Burgundy is
equally applicable to her: 'Her step was that of a goddess on the
clouds.'"

Madame Recamier retained her beauty longer than is usual even with
Frenchwomen, nor did she seek to repair it by any artificial means. "She
did not struggle," says Sainte-Beuve, "she resigned herself gracefully
to the first touch of Time. She understood, that, for one who had
enjoyed such success as a beauty, to seem yet beautiful was to make no
pretensions. A friend who had not seen her for many years complimented
her upon her looks. 'Ah, my dear friend,' she replied, 'it is useless
for me to deceive myself. From the moment I noticed that the little
Savoyards in the street no longer turned to look at me, I comprehended
that all was over.'" There is pathos in this simple acknowledgment, this
quiet renunciation. Was it the result of secret struggles which taught
her that all regret was vain, and that to contrast the present with the
past was but a useless and torturing thing for a woman?

But at the time of which we write Madame Recamier had no sad realities
to ponder. She was surrounded by admirers, with the liberty which French
society accords to married women, and the freedom of heart of a young
girl. She was still content to be simply admired. She understood neither
the world nor her own heart. Her life was too gay for reflection, nor
had the time arrived for it: "all analysis comes late." It is not until
we have in a measure ceased to be actors, and have accepted the more
passive _role_ of spectators, that we begin to reflect upon ourselves
and upon life. And Madame Recamier had not tired of herself, or of the
world. She was too young to be heart-weary, and she knew nothing yet of
the burdens and perplexities of life. All her wishes were gratified
before they were fairly expressed, and she had neither anxieties nor
cares.

Her first vexation came with her first lover. It was in the spring of
1799 that Madame Recamier met Lucien Bonaparte at a dinner. He was then
twenty-four, and she twenty-two. He asked permission to visit her at
Clichy, and made his appearance there the next day. He first wrote to
her, declaring his love, under the name of Romeo, and she, taking
advantage of the subterfuge, returned his letter in the presence of
other friends, with a compliment on its cleverness, while she advised
him not to waste his ability on works of imagination, when it could be
so much better employed in politics. Lucien was not thus to be repulsed.
He then addressed her in his own name, and she showed the letters to her
husband, and asked his advice. Monsieur Recamier was more politic than
indignant. His wife wished to forbid Lucien the house, but he feared
that such extreme measures toward the brother of the First Consul might
compromise, if not ruin, his bank. He therefore advised her neither to
encourage nor repulse him. Lucien continued his attentions for a
year,--the absurd emphasis of his manners at times amusing Madame
Recamier, while at others his violence excited her fears. At last,
becoming conscious that he was making himself ridiculous, he gave up the
pursuit in despair. Some time after he had discontinued his visits he
sent a friend to demand his letters; but Madame Recamier refused to give
them up. He sent a second time, adding menace to persuasion; but she was
firm in her refusal. It was rumored that Lucien was a favored lover, and
he was anxious to be so considered. His own letters were the strongest
proof to the contrary, and as such they were kept and guarded by Madame
Recamier. But the unpleasant gossip to which his attentions gave rise
was a source of great annoyance to her. If it was her first vexation, it
was not the only one of the same kind. Madame Lenormant makes no
allusion, to any other, but in the lately published correspondence of
Madame de Stael[C] we find among the letters to Madame Recamier one
which consoles her under what was probably a somewhat similar trouble.
"I hear from Monsieur Hochet that you have a chagrin. I hope by the time
you have read this letter it will have passed away.... There is nothing
to dread but truth and material persecution; beyond these two things
enemies can do absolutely nothing. And what an enemy! only a
contemptible woman who is jealous of your beauty and purity united."

It was at a _fete_ given by Lucien that Madame Recamier had her first
and only interview with the First Consul. On entering the drawing-room,
she mistook him for his brother Joseph, and bowed to him. He returned
her salutation with _empressement_ mingled with surprise. Looking at her
closely, he spoke to Fouche, who leaned over her chair and whispered,
"The First Consul finds you charming." When Lucien approached, Napoleon,
who was no stranger to his brother's passion, said aloud, "And I, too,
would like to go to Clichy!" When dinner was announced, he rose and left
the room alone, without offering his arm to any lady. As Madame Recamier
passed out, Eliza (Madame Bacciocchi), who did the honors in the absence
of Madame Lucien, who was indisposed, requested her to take the seat
next to the First Consul. Madame Recamier did not understand her, and
seated herself at a little distance, and on Cambaceres, the Second
Consul, occupying the seat by her side, Napoleon exclaimed, "_Ah, ah,
citoyen consul, aupres de la plus belle_!" He ate very little and very
fast, and at the end of half an hour left the table abruptly, and
returned to the drawing-room. He afterward asked Madame Recamier why she
had not sat next to him at dinner. "I should not have presumed," she
said. "It was your place," he replied; and his sister added, "That was
what I said to you before dinner." A concert following, Napoleon stood
alone by the piano, but, not fancying the instrumental part of the
performance, at the end of a piece by Jadin, he struck on the piano and
cried, "Garat! Garat!" who then sang a scene from "Orpheus." Music
always profoundly moved Madame Recamier, but whenever she raised her
eyes she found those of the Consul fixed upon her with so much intensity
that she became uncomfortable. After the concert, he came to her and
said, "You are very fond of music, Madame," and would probably have
continued the conversation, had not Lucien interrupted. Madame Recamier
confessed that she was prepossessed by Napoleon at this interview. She
was evidently gratified by his attentions, scanty and slight as they
seem to us. Indeed, his whole conduct during the dinner and concert was
decidedly discourteous, if not positively rude. Madame Lenormant
attributes Napoleon's subsequent attempt to attach Madame Recamier to
his court to the strong impression she made upon him at this interview,
and gives Fouche as her authority. Still, if this were the case, it is
rather strange that Napoleon did not follow up the acquaintance more
speedily. It was not until five years afterwards that he made the
overtures to which Madame Lenormant refers,--and then Madame Recamier
had long been in the ranks of the Opposition. It was Napoleon's policy
to conciliate, if possible, his political opponents. He had succeeded in
gaining over Bernadotte, of whose intrigues against him Madame Recamier
had been the _confidante_, and he concluded that she also could be as
easily won. He accordingly sent Fouche to her, who, after several
preliminary visits, proposed that she should apply for a position at
court. As Madame Recamier did not heed his suggestions, he spoke more
openly. "He protested that the place would give her entire liberty, and
then, seizing with finesse upon the inducements most powerful with a
generous spirit, he dwelt upon the eminent services she might render to
the oppressed of all classes, and also the good influence so attractive
a woman would exert over the mind of the Emperor. 'He has not yet,' he
added, 'found a woman worthy of him, and no one knows what the love of
Napoleon would be, if he attached himself to a pure person,--assuredly
she would obtain a power over him which would be entirely beneficent.'"
If Madame Recamier listened with politic calmness to these disgraceful
overtures, she gave Fouche no encouragement. But he was not easily
discouraged. He planned another interview with her at the house of the
Princess Caroline, who added her persuasions to his. The conversation
turning on Talma, who was then performing at the French theatre, the
Princess put her box, which was opposite the Emperor's, at Madame
Recamier's disposal; she used it twice, and each time the Emperor was
present, and kept his glass so constantly in her direction that it was
generally remarked, and it was reported that she was on the eve of high
favor. Upon further persistence on the part of Fouche, Madame Recamier
gave him a decided refusal. He was vehemently indignant, and left Clichy
never to return thither. In the St. Helena Memorial, Napoleon attributes
Madame Recamier's rejection of his overtures to personal resentment on
account of her father. In 1800 Monsieur Bernard had been appointed
_Administrateur des Postes_; being implicated in a Royalist conspiracy,
he was imprisoned, but finally set at liberty through the intercession
of Bernadotte. Napoleon believed that Madame Recamier resented her
father's removal from office, but she was too thankful at his release
from prison to expect any further favors. Her dislike of the Emperor
was caused by his treatment of her friends, more particularly of the one
dearest to her, Madame de Stael.

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