may be as well founded
as the other, yet not sufficient to burn her for a witch." Now, Miss
Berry--called the black-Berry, in contradistinction to her duller
sister, the goose-Berry--was jaundiced in her estimation of both
beauties, and Mme. Bonaparte bears tribute to "that rare loveliness of
temper and tact in displaying the good qualities even of rivals that
were potent weapons in Recamier's quiver of charms." Miss Berry's dictum
is also outweighed by the homage of Mme. de Stael's envying sigh, that
she "would willingly exchange her genius for Recamier's beauty." Mme.
Recamier was anxious that Mme. Bonaparte should know "Corinne." "No,
no," she replied: "De Stael est une colosse qui m'ecraserait; elle me
trouverait une jolie bete et je ne veux pas etre tuee a Paris par ce
mot-la."

The duke of Wellington succeeded Napoleon in his residence at the
Elysee-Bourbon, since then fitted up as the dower-palace of Eugenie, and
now the head-quarters of President MacMahon. Gay, fickle Paris,
oblivious of disaster, was shouting hosannas to the victor of its
erewhile idol, and in this carnival of _fetes_ those of the duke were
surpassingly magnificent. Mme. Bonaparte describes Wellington as "short,
erect, spare of figure, with long pale face, thin-lipped, obstinate
mouth, small light eyes, high, sharp, angular nose, the head
disproportionately large, and as squarely flat as an Indian's, reverence
and benevolence being undeveloped. Coldly quiet in voice and greeting,
simple and high-bred in manner, there was in this reticence a suggestion
of reserved force exceedingly attractive." At one of these balls Mme.
Bonaparte was seated in conversation with the handsome and fascinating
Lord Castlereagh, when Mme. de Stael approached, and stopping in front
of her gazed steadily for a moment, then turning to her son, Baron de
Stael-Holstein, on whose arm she leaned, an intimate friend of Mme.
Bonaparte, she said, "Oui, elle est bien, bien jolie," and walked off
without another word. Near by sat Lady Morgan, whose success, literary
and social, was phenomenal. As Sidney Owenson, soon after her _Wild
Irish Girl_ made her famous, she sat awestruck opposite to Dr. Johnson
at a large London dinner, when suddenly, to the terror of the child,
untamed as her own heroine, burly Samuel called across in severe tones,
"Little girl! little girl! where did you get so many hard
words?"--"Please, sir, in your dictionary," was the naive reply that
disarmed th