Twice only in her life did she meet Bonaparte, and to most persons in her position and at that period those moments would have proved fatal. His eye was as keen for female charms as for weak points in the enemy's line. He saw her first in 1797, during a triumphal fête given at the Luxembourg palace in his honor. He had just returned from his marvellous campaign in Italy and genius was reaping the laurels too seldom bestowed on solid worth. Madame Récamier was not insensible to his military prowess. She stood up to observe his features more plainly, and a long murmur of admiration filled the hall. The young conqueror turned his head impatiently. Who dared to divide public attention with the hero of Castiglione and Rivoli? He darted a harsh glance at his rival, and she sank into her seat. But the beautiful vision rested in his memory. He saw her once again, about two years later, and spoke with her. It was at a banquet given by his brother Lucien, then minister of the interior. Madame Récamier as usual was all in white, with a necklace and bracelets of pearls. The First Consul paid her marked attention, and his words, though insignificant in themselves, meant more than met the ear. His manners, however, were simple and pleasing, and he held a little girl of four years old, his niece, by the hand. He chid Madame Récamier for not sitting next him at dinner, fixed his gaze on her during the music, sent Fouché to express to her his admiring regard, and told her himself that he {82} should like to visit her at Clichy. But Juliette, though respectful, was discreet. Time flowed on; Napoleon became emperor, and from the giddy height of the imperial throne bethought him of the incomparable lady in white. He had a double conquest to make. Her château was the resort of emigrant nobles who had returned to France, and whose sympathies were all with the past. To break up her circle, to gain her over to his interests, to enhance by her presence the splendor of his dissolute court, were objects well worthy of his plotting, ambitious, and unscrupulous nature. Fouché was again employed as tempter. He remonstrated with her on the species of opposition to the emperor's policy which was fostered in her salons, but found her little disposed to make concessions, or avow any liking for the despot. His genius and exploits, she admitted, had dazzled her at first, but her sentiments had entirely changed since her friends had been persecuted, the Duc d'Enghein put to death, and Madame de Staël driven into exile. In spite of these frank avowals, which were equally respectful and fearless, Fouché persisted in his design, and in the park around Madame Récamier's elegant retreat, urged her, in the emperor's name, to accept the post of _dame du palais_ to the empress. His majesty had never yet found a woman worthy of him, and it was impossible to say how deep might be his affection for one like her; how wholesome an