riage put an end
to these sad warnings, which, thanks to my dear painting, had little
effect on my usual good spirits. I could not meet the orders for
portraits that were showered upon me from every side. M. Lebrun soon
got into the habit of pocketing my fees. He also hit upon the idea of
making me give lessons in order to increase our revenues. I acceded to
his wishes without a moment's thought.

The number of portraits I painted at this time was really prodigious.
As I detested the female style of dress then in fashion, I bent all my
efforts upon rendering it a little more picturesque, and was delighted
when, after getting the confidence of my models, I was able to drape
them according to my fancy. Shawls were not yet worn, but I made an
arrangement with broad scarfs lightly intertwined round the body and
on the arms, which was an attempt to imitate the beautiful drapings of
Raphael and Domenichino. The picture of my daughter playing the guitar
is an example. Besides, I could not endure powder. I persuaded the
handsome Duchess de Grammont-Caderousse to put none on for her
sittings. Her hair was ebony black, and I divided it on the forehead,
disposing it in irregular curls. After the sitting, which ended at the
dinner hour, the Duchess would not change her head-dress, but go to
the theatre as she was. A woman of such good looks would, of course,
set a fashion: indeed, this mode of doing the hair soon found
imitators, and then gradually became general. This reminds me that in
1786, when I was painting the Queen, I begged her to use no powder,
and to part her hair on the forehead. "I should be the last to follow
that fashion," said the Queen, laughing; "I do not want people to say
that I adopted it to hide my large forehead."

As I said, I was overwhelmed with orders and was very much in vogue.
Soon after my marriage I was present at a meeting of the French
Academy at which La Harpe read his discourse on the talents of women.
When he arrived at certain lines of exaggerated praise, which I was
hearing for the first time, and in which he extolled my art and
likened my smile to that of Venus, the author of "Warwick" threw a
glance at me. At once the whole assembly, without excepting the
Duchess de Chartres and the King of Sweden--who both were witnessing
the ceremonies--rose up, turned in my direction, and applauded with
such enthusiasm that I almost fainted from confusion.

But these pleasures of gratified vanity were f