sonnets written upon her. Unfortunately, her Dix Années d'Exil does not speak of this Italian journey, and so, for the impression she received, one has to turn to Corinne, where, of course, everything reappears more or less transfigured. One would have liked to know the genesis of that work, on what occasion it took root, and how it grew, in Madame de Staël's mind. How much did she really know of that poor, lampooned, insulted, and squint-eyed Corilla who was the origin of her enchanting Sibyl? How far below the surface did she really see of that strange Roman world, so cosmopolitan, so chaotic after the French invasion, so thrilled with fugitive novel ideas, so steeped in time-worn apathy? It would be delightful to know what was the impression which Madame de Staël herself produced in the few salons where a little culture prevailed, and what was the true notion concerning her in that motley and decaying society of belated Arcadians, exhausted cicisbei and abatini lapsed for ever from the genial circles where their youth had passed in gossiping and sonneteering.
Hers must have seemed a curious and forcible figure among all those frivolous "survivals"; and great and strange, mad and merry as were the many foreigners who found their way at various times to Rome, probably no more striking couple ever appeared there than Madame de Staël and Auguste Schlegel.
As soon as she returned to Switzerland she began Corinne. At Coppet some of her old circle immediately gathered round her again: Madame Necker de Saussure, of course, and Madame Rilliet-Hüber, Schlegel, Constant, and Sismondi, assembled to enjoy her society once more. The private theatricals in which she delighted were again resumed, and such
