rdon, she showed me Bonaparte's
portrait, saying in French, "There is my zero." As she pronounced
French very badly, I understood that she meant "hero," and we both
laughed heartily over my explanation of "zero."

The large number of strangers I knew in Paris, and the desire to
dispel an unconquerable melancholy, prompted me to give some evening
parties. Princess Dolgoruki was anxious to meet the Abbe Delille. So I
requested his presence at supper with several other people worthy of
listening to him. Though this charming poet had gone blind, he had
nevertheless kept his cheerfulness of disposition. He recited some of
his beautiful lines to us, and we were all enchanted by them. On
another occasion I arranged a supper at which all the great personages
of the day were present, and among the ambassadors was M. de
Metternich. Then I gave a ball, to which Mme. Hamelin, M. de Trenis,
and other renowned dancers came. Mme. Hamelin was regarded as the best
dancer in Paris society. Certainly she was exquisitely graceful and
fleet of foot. I remember how, at this ball, Mme. Dimidoff danced the
Russian waltz so entrancingly that we stood on our chairs to watch
her.

Having a suitable room in my house on the Rue Gros Chenet, I conceived
the idea of putting in a stage and giving plays. The spectators
included all persons of distinction.

In all these gatherings I aimed at paying back the Russians and
Germans in Paris a few of the favours they had so thoughtfully and
amiably rendered me in their own country. Almost every day I saw
Princess Dolgoruki, who had been such an angel to me in St.
Petersburg. She enjoyed being in Paris very well. One evening I found
the Viscount de Segur at her house. I had often seen him before the
Revolution; he was then young and fashionable, and made a thousand
conquests through his personal graces. When I saw him again at the
Princess's his face was expressionless and wrinkled; he wore a wig
with symmetrical curls at each side, leaving his forehead bald.
Another twelve years and the wig aged him so that I could barely
recognise him excepting by his voice. Princess Dolgoruki came to see
me the day of her presentation to Bonaparte. I asked her what she
thought of the First Consul's court. "It is not a court," she replied,
"but a power." The thing must of course have appeared to her in that
light, being accustomed to the court of St. Petersburg, which is so
large and brilliant, whereas at the Tuileries