I have never read of any one who has refused an unselfish idolatry, the incense of a worshipper who has no outward advantage to seek or gain,—­not even a king.  If it be the privilege of a divinity to receive the homage of worshippers, why should a beautiful and kind-hearted woman reject the respectful adoration of a man contented with worship alone?  What could be more flattering even to a woman of the world, especially if this man had noble traits and great cultivation?  Such was Ballanche, who viewed the mistress of his heart as Dante did his Beatrice, though not with the same sublime elevation, for the object of Dante’s devotion was on the whole imaginary,—­the worship of qualities which existed in his own mind alone,—­whereas the admiration of Ballanche was based on the real presence of flesh and blood animated by a lovely soul.

Soon after this friendship had begun, Madame Recamier made a visit to Italy, travelling in a voiture, not a private carriage, and arrived at Rome in Passion Week, 1812, when the Pope was a prisoner of Napoleon at Fontainebleau, and hence when his capital was in mourning,—­sad and dull, guarded and occupied by French soldiers.  The only society at Rome in that eventful year which preceded the declining fortunes of Napoleon, was at the palace of Prince Torlonia the banker; but the modest apartment of Madame Recamier on the Corso was soon filled with those who detested the rule of Napoleon.  Soon after, Ballanche came all the way from Lyons to see his star of worship, and she kindly took him everywhere, for even in desolation the Eternal City is the most interesting spot on the face of the globe.  From Rome she went to Naples (December, 1813), when the King Murat was forced into the coalition against his brother-in-law.  In spite of the hatred of Napoleon, his sister the Queen of Naples was devoted to the Queen of Beauty, who was received at court as an ambassadress rather than as an exile.  On the fall of Napoleon the next year the Pope returned from his thraldom; and Madame Recamier, being again in Rome, witnessed one of the most touching scenes of those eventful days, when all the nobles and gentry went out to meet their spiritual and temporal sovereign, and amid the exultant shouts and rapture of the crowd, dragged his gilded carriage to St. Peter’s Church, where was celebrated a solemn Te Deum.

But Madame Recamier did not tarry long in Italy, She hastened back to Paris, for the tyrant was fallen.  She was now no longer beaming in youthful charms, with groups of lovers at her feet, but a woman of middle age, yet still handsome,—­for such a woman does not lose her beauty at thirty-five,—­with fresh sources of enjoyment, and a keen desire for the society of intellectual and gifted friends.  She now gave up miscellaneous society,—­that is, fashionable and dissipated crowds of men and women in noisy receptions and ceremonious parties,—­and drew around her the lines of a more exclusive circle.