“Napoleon found her to be a good deal of a nuisance,” observes a third.  “She knew too much, and was always trying to force her knowledge upon others.”

The legend has sprung up that Mme. de Stael was too wise and witty to be acceptable to Napoleon; and many women repeated with unction that the conqueror of Europe was no match for this frowsy little woman.  It is, perhaps, worth while to look into the facts, and to decide whether Napoleon was really of so petty a nature as to feel himself inferior to this rather comic creature, even though at the time many people thought her a remarkable genius.

In the first place, knowing Napoleon, as we have come to know him through the pages of Mme. de Remusat, Frederic Masson, and others, we can readily imagine the impatience with which the great soldier would sit at dinner, hastening to finish his meal, crowding the whole ceremony into twenty minutes, gulping a glass or two of wine and a cup of coffee, and then being interrupted by a fussy little female who wanted to talk about the ethics of history, or the possibility of a new form of government.  Napoleon, himself, was making history, and writing it in fire and flame; and as for governments, he invented governments all over Europe as suited his imperial will.  What patience could he have with one whom an English writer has rather unkindly described as “an ugly coquette, an old woman who made a ridiculous marriage, a blue-stocking, who spent much of her time in pestering men of genius, and drawing from them sarcastic comment behind their backs?”

Napoleon was not the sort of a man to be routed in discussion, but he was most decidedly the sort of man to be bored and irritated by pedantry.  Consequently, he found Mme. de Stael a good deal of a nuisance in the salons of Paris and its vicinity.  He cared not the least for her epigrams.  She might go somewhere else and write all the epigrams she pleased.  When he banished her, in 1803, she merely crossed the Rhine into Germany, and established herself at Weimar.

The emperor received her son, Auguste de Stael-Holstein, with much good humor, though he refused the boy’s appeal on behalf of his mother.

“My dear baron,” said Napoleon, “if your mother were to be in Paris for two months, I should really be obliged to lock her up in one of the castles, which would be most unpleasant treatment for me to show a lady.  No, let her go anywhere else and we can get along perfectly.  All Europe is open to her—­Rome, Vienna, St. Petersburg; and if she wishes to write libels on me, England is a convenient and inexpensive place.  Only Paris is just a little too near!”

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.