Gerard was not entirely French; born in Rome in 1770, his father only was a native of France, his mother was an Italian; and from her he inherited a certain combination of qualities and peculiarities that at once distinguished him from the majority of his countrymen.  Full of poetic fire and inspiration, there was in Gerard at the same time a strong critical propensity, that showed itself in his caustic wit and, sometimes, not unmalicious remarks.  There was also a perpetual struggle in his character between reflection and the first impulse, and sometimes the etourderie of the French nature was suddenly checked by the caution of the Italian; but, take him as he was, he was a man in a thousand, and those who were in the habit of constantly frequenting his house affirm loudly and with the deepest regret, that they shall never “look upon his like again.”

Gerard had built for himself a house in the Rue des Augustins, near the ancient church of St. Germain des Pres; and there, every Wednesday evening, summer and winter, he received whatever was in any way illustrious in France, or whatever the other capitals of Europe sent to Paris, en passant.  “Four small rooms,” says Mme. Ancelot, “and a very small antechamber, composed the whole apartment.  At twelve o’clock tea was served, with eternally the same cakes, over which a pupil of Gerard’s, Mlle. Godefroy, presided.  Gerard himself talked; his wife remained nailed to a whist-table, attending to nothing and to nobody.  Evening once closed in, cards were the only occupation of Mme. Gerard.”

From Mme. de Stael down to Mlle. Mars, from Talleyrand and Pozzo di Borgo down to M. Thiers, there were no celebrities, male or female, that, during thirty years, (from 1805 to 1835,) did not flock to Gerard’s house, and all, how different soever might be their character or position, agreed in the same opinion of their host; and those who survive say of him to this day,—­“Nothing in his salons announced that you were received by a great Artist, but before half an hour had elapsed you felt you were the guest of a distinguished Man; you had seen by a glance at Gerard’s whole person and air that he was something apart from others,—­that the sacred fire burned there!”

The regret felt for Gerard’s loss by all who ever knew him is not to be told, and speaks as highly for those who cherished as for him who inspired it.  His, again, was one of the salons (impossible now in France) where genius and social superiority, whether of birth or position, met together on equal terms.  Without having, perhaps, as large a proportion of the old noblesse de cour at his house as had Mme. Lebrun, Gerard received full as many of those eminent personages whose political occupations would have seemed to estrange them from the world of mixed society and the Arts.  This is a nuance to be observed.  Under the Empire, hard and despotic