Her travels in Germany, Russia, and Italy were one great succession of triumphs; by her brilliancy, her wonderful gift of conversation, and her quickness of comprehension, she everywhere baffled and astounded those with whom she conversed.  Schiller declared that when she left he felt as though he were just convalescing after a long spell of illness.  One day she abruptly asked the staid old philosopher Fichte:  “M.  Fichte, can you give me, in a short time, an apercu of your system of philosophy, and tell me what you mean by your ego?  I find it very obscure.”  He began by translating his thoughts into French, very deliberately.  After talking for some ten minutes, in the midst of a deep argument she interrupted him, crying out:  “Enough, M. Fichte, quite enough!  I understand you perfectly; I have seen your system in illustration—­it is an adventure of Baron Muenchhausen.”  The philosopher assumed a tragic attitude, and a spell of silence fell upon the audience.

The result of her visit to Italy was her novel Corinne, in which the problems of the destiny of women of genius—­the relative joys of love and glory—­are discussed.  This work remained for a whole generation the standard of love and ideals, and at the same time revealed Italy to the French, After a second visit to Germany, she began to labor seriously on her work on that country, in 1810 going incognito to Paris to have it printed.  Ten thousand copies, ready for sale, were destroyed before reaching the public.  This work opened the German world to the French; it applied, to a great nation, the doctrine of progress, defending the independence and originality of nations, while endeavoring to show that the future lay in the reciprocal respect of the rights of people, declaring that nations are not at all the arbitrary work of men or the fatal work of circumstances, and that the submission of one people to another is contrary to nature.  She wished to make “poor and noble Germany” conscious of its intellectual riches, and to prove that Europe could obtain peace only through the liberation of that country.  The censors accused her of lack of patriotism in provoking the Germans to independence, and of questionable taste in praising their literature; consequently, the book was denounced, all the copies obtainable were destroyed, and a vigorous search for the manuscript was undertaken.  After this episode, her friends were not permitted to visit her at Coppet.

In 1811 she was secretly married to a young Italian officer, Albert de Rocca, a handsome man of twenty-three—­she was then forty-five.  In him she realized the conditions which she described in Delphine, namely, a man who braved an opinion and prejudices; and she was ready to submit herself to him, Coppet became the centre for endless pleasures and fetes; Mme. de Stael began to write comedies and to forget Paris entirely.  This blissful happiness was suddenly checked by the emperor, who determined to show his displeasure and also to give evidence of his power by banishing Schlegel and exiling Mme. Recamier and De Montmorency, who continued to visit Mme. de Stael.  Fear for the safety of her husband and children influenced her to leave for Russia, where the czar ordered all Russians to honor her as the enemy of Napoleon.  Indeed, she was everywhere received like a visiting queen.