embassy, who carried on a flirtation with her all winter.  All this was displeasing to Napoleon, more from wounded pride than fear of treason.  In the midst of her social triumphs, after having on one occasion received uncommon honor, Napoleon, now emperor, bitterly exclaimed that more honor could not be shown to the wife of a marshal of France,—­a remark very indicative of his character, showing that in his estimation there was no possible rank or fame to be compared with the laurels of a military hero.  A great literary genius, or woman of transcendent beauty, was no more to him than a great scholar or philosopher is to a vulgar rich man in making up his parties.

It was in the midst of these social successes that the husband of Madame Recamier lost his fortune.  He would not have failed had he been able to secure a loan from the Bank of France of a million of francs; but this loan the Government peremptorily refused,—­doubtless from the hostility of Napoleon; so that the banker was ruined because his wife chose to ally herself with the old aristocracy and refuse the favors of the Emperor.  In having pursued such a course, Madame Recamier must have known that she was the indirect cause of her husband’s failure.  But she bore the reverse of fortune with that equanimity which seems to be peculiar to the French, and which only lofty characters, or people of considerable mental resources, are able to assume or feel.  Most rich men, when they lose their money, give way to despondency and grief, conscious that they have nothing to fall back upon; that without money they are nothing.  Madame Recamier at once sold her jewels and plate, and her fine hotel was offered for sale.  Neither she nor her husband sought to retain anything amid the wreck, and they cheerfully took up their abode in a small apartment,—­which conduct won universal sympathy and respect, so that her friends were rather increased than diminished, and she did not lose her social prestige and influence, which she would have lost in cities where money is the highest, and sometimes the only, test of social position.  Madame de Stael wrote letters of impassioned friendship, and nobles and generals paid unwonted attention.  The death of her mother soon followed, so that she spent the summer of 1807 in extreme privacy, until persuaded by her constant friend Madame de Stael to pay her a visit at her country-seat near Geneva, where she met Prince Frederick of Prussia, nephew of the great Frederic, who became so enamored of her that he sought her hand in marriage.  Princes, in those days, had such a lofty idea of their rank that they deemed it an honor to be conferred on a woman, even if married, to take her away from her husband.  For a time Madame Recamier seemed dazzled with this splendid proposal, and she even wrote to the old banker, her husband, asking for a divorce from him.  I think I never read of a request so preposterous or more disgraceful,—­the greatest flaw I know in her character,—­showing the extreme worldliness