death of her father, was to publish
his writings, accompanied by a biographical memoir. Her passion for
him took a new turn. Every old man recalled his image; and she watched
over their comforts, and wept over their sufferings. It mingled with
her devotions. She believed that her soul communed with his in prayer,
and that it was to his intercession that she owed all the good that
befell her. Whenever she met with any piece of good fortune, she would
say, "It is my father who has obtained this for me."

In happier days, this passion sometimes was the occasion of scenes not
a little amusing to the bystanders. Her cousin and biographer, Madame
de Necker Saussure relates the following anecdote: She had come to
Coppet from Geneva in Necker's carriage, and had been overturned on
the way, but received no injury. On relating the incident to Madame de
Stael, she inquired, with great vehemence, who had driven; and, on
being told that it was Richel, her father's coachman, she exclaimed,
in an agony, "Mon Dieu! he may one day overturn my father!" and
ordered him into her presence. While waiting his coming, she paced the
room, crying out, "My father, my poor father, _he_ might have been
overturned;" and, turning to her cousin, "At your age, and with your
slight person, the danger is nothing; but with his bulk and age--I
cannot bear to think of it!" The coachman now came in; and the lady,
usually so mild and indulgent with her servants, in a sort of frenzy,
and in a voice of solemnity, but choked with emotion, said, "Richel,
do you know that I am a woman of genius?" The poor man stared at her
in astonishment, and she went on, yet louder, "Have you not heard, I
say, that I am a woman of genius?" The man was still mute. "Well,
then, I tell you that I _am_ a woman of genius--of great genius--of
prodigious genius! and I tell you more--that all the genius I have
shall be exerted to secure your rotting out your days in a dungeon, if
ever you overturn my father!"

To recruit her health, which was wasting with grief, she next
undertook a journey into Italy. Hitherto she had appeared totally
insensible to the beauties of nature, and when her guests at Coppet
were in ecstasies with the Lake of Geneva, and the enchanting scenery
about it, she would exclaim, "Give me a garret in Paris, with a
hundred Louis a year." But in Italy she seems to have had a glimpse
of the glories of the universe, for which enjoyment she always said
she was indebted