3rd.—­We took a boat and rowed on the lake for about two hours.  Our boatman, a fine handsome athletic figure, was very talkative and intelligent.  He had been in the service of Lord Byron, and was with him in that storm between La Meillerie and St. Gingough, which is described in the third canto of Childe Harold.  He pointed out among the beautiful villas, which adorn the banks on either side, that in which the empress Josephine had resided for six months, not long before her death.  When he spoke of her, he rested upon his oars to descant upon her virtues, her generosity, her affability, her goodness to the poor, and his countenance became quite animated with enthusiasm.  Here, in France, wherever the name of Josephine is mentioned, there seems to exist but one feeling, one opinion of her beneficence and amabilite of character.  Our boatman had also rowed Marie Louise across the lake, on her way to Paris:  he gave us no very captivating picture of her.  He described her as “grande, blonde, bien faite et extremement fiere:”  and told us how she tormented her ladies in waiting; “comme elle tracassait ses dames d’honneur.”  The day being rainy and gloomy, her attendants begged of her to defer the passage for a short time, till the fogs had cleared away, and discovered all the beauty of the surrounding shores.  She replied haughtily and angrily, “Je veux faire ce que je veux—­allez toujours.”

M. le Baron M——­n, whom we knew at Paris, told me several delightful anecdotes of Josephine:  he was attached to her household, and high in her confidence.  Napoleon sent him on the very morning of his second nuptials, with a message and billet to the ex-empress.  On hearing that the ceremony was performed which had passed her sceptre into the hands of the proud, cold-hearted Austrian, the feelings of the woman overcame every other.  She burst into tears, and wringing her hands, exclaimed “Ah! au moins, qu’il soit heureux!” Napoleon resigned this estimable and amiable creature to narrow views of selfish policy, and with her his good genius fled:  he deserved it, and verily he hath had his reward.

We drove after dinner to Copet; and the Duchesse de Broglie being absent, had an opportunity of seeing the chateau.  All things “were there of her”—­of her, whose genuine worth excused, whose all-commanding talents threw into shade, those failings which belonged to the weakness of her sex, and her warm feelings and imagination.  The servant girl who showed us the apartments, had been fifteen years in Madame de Stael’s service.  All the servants had remained long in the family, “elle etait si bonne et si charmante maitresse!” A picture of Madame de Stael when young, gave me the idea of a fine countenance and figure, though the features were irregular.  In the bust, the expression is not so prepossessing:—­there the colour and brilliance of her splendid dark eyes, the finest feature of her face, are of course quite lost.