was dead; the woman who remained
was dear to him as a mere relic of that dead ideal.

Such is the story of Mme. d'Albany's friendship for two of the noblest
spirits, Sismondi and Foscolo, of their day; the noblest, the one in his
pure austerity, the other in his magnanimous passionateness, that ever
crossed the path of the beloved of Alfieri.

CHAPTER XX.

SANTA CROCE.

With her other friends, who gave less of their own heart and asked less
of hers, Mme. d'Albany was more fortunate. She contrived to connect
herself by correspondence with the most eminent men and women of the
most different views and tempers; she made her salon in Florence, as M.
St. Rene Taillandier has observed, a sort of adjunct to the cosmopolitan
salon of Mme. de Stael at Coppet. Her efforts in so doing were crowned
with the very highest success. In 1809 Napoleon requested Mme. d'Albany
to leave Florence for Paris, where, he added with a mixture of brutality
and sarcasm, she might indulge her love of art in the new galleries of
the Louvre, and where her social talents could no longer spread
dissatisfaction with his government, as was the case in Italy.

The one year's residence in Paris, which Napoleon's jealous meddlesomeness
forced upon her, was, in itself, a very enjoyable time, spent with the
friends whom she had left in '93, and with a whole host of new ones whom
she had made since. She returned to Florence with a larger number of
devoted correspondents than ever; her salon became more and more brilliant;
and when, after Waterloo, the whole English world of politics, fashion,
and letters poured on to the Continent, her house became, as Sismondi
said, the wall on which all the most brilliant figures of the great
magic lantern were projected.

Thus, seeing crowds of the most distinguished and delightful people,
receiving piles of the most interesting and adoring letters, happy,
self-satisfied, Mme. d'Albany grew into an old woman. Every evening
until ten, the rooms of the Casa Alfieri were thrown open; the servants
in the Stuart liveries ushered in the guests, the tea was served in
those famous services emblazoned with the royal arms of England. The
Countess had not yet abandoned her regal pretensions; for all her
condescending cordiality towards the elect, she could assume airs of
social superiority which some folk scarcely brooked, and she was
evidently pleased when, half in earnest, Mme. de Stael addressed her as
"My dear Sovere