Thus the emperor gibed the boy—­he was only fifteen or sixteen—­ and made fun of the exiled blue-stocking; but there was not a sign of malice in what he said, nor, indeed, of any serious feeling at all.  The legend about Napoleon and Mme. de Stael must, therefore, go into the waste-basket, except in so far as it is true that she succeeded in boring him.

For the rest, she was an earlier George Sand—­unattractive in person, yet able to attract; loving love for love’s sake, though seldom receiving it in return; throwing herself at the head of every distinguished man, and generally finding that he regarded her overtures with mockery.  To enumerate the men for whom she professed to care would be tedious, since the record of her passions has no reality about it, save, perhaps, with two exceptions.

She did care deeply and sincerely for Henri Benjamin Constant, the brilliant politician and novelist.  He was one of her coterie in Paris, and their common political sentiments formed a bond of friendship between them.  Constant was banished by Napoleon in 1802, and when Mme. de Stael followed him into exile a year later he joined her in Germany.

The story of their relations was told by Constant in Adolphe, while Mme. de Stael based Delphine on her experiences with him.  It seems that he was puzzled by her ardor; she was infatuated by his genius.  Together they went through all the phases of the tender passion; and yet, at intervals, they would tire of each other and separate for a while, and she would amuse herself with other men.  At last she really believed that her love for him was entirely worn out.

“I always loved my lovers more than they loved me,” she said once, and it was true.

Yet, on the other hand, she was frankly false to all of them, and hence arose these intervals.  In one of them she fell in with a young Italian named Rocca, and by way of a change she not only amused herself with him, but even married him.  At this time—­1811 —­she was forty-five, while Rocca was only twenty-three—­a young soldier who had fought in Spain, and who made eager love to the she-philosopher when he was invalided at Geneva.

The marriage was made on terms imposed by the middle-aged woman who became his bride.  In the first place, it was to be kept secret; and second, she would not take her husband’s name, but he must pass himself off as her lover, even though she bore him children.  The reason she gave for this extraordinary exhibition of her vanity was that a change of name on her part would put everybody out.

“In fact,” she said, “if Mme. de Stael were to change her name, it would unsettle the heads of all Europe!”

And so she married Rocca, who was faithful to her to the end, though she grew extremely plain and querulous, while he became deaf and soon lost his former charm.  Her life was the life of a woman who had, in her own phrase, “attempted everything”; and yet she had accomplished nothing that would last.  She was loved by a man of genius, but he did not love her to the end.  She was loved by a man of action, and she tired of him very soon.  She had a wonderful reputation for her knowledge of history and philosophy, and yet what she knew of those subjects is now seen to be merely the scraps and borrowings of others.