sar alluded to this as
an illustration of his policy. "In conformity with my system," observed
he, "of amalgamating all kinds of merit, and of rendering one and the
same reward universal, I had an idea of presenting the Cross of
the Legion of Honor to Talma; but I refrained from doing this, in
consideration of our capricious manners and absurd prejudices. I
wished to make a first experiment in an affair that was out of date and
unimportant, and I accordingly gave the Iron Crown to Crescentini.
The decoration was foreign, and so was the individual on whom it was
conferred. This circumstance was less likely to attract public notice or
to render my conduct the subject of discussion; at worst, it could only
give rise to a few malicious jokes. Such," continued the Emperor, "is
the influence of public opinion. I distributed scepters at will, and
thousands readily bowed beneath their sway; and yet I could not give
away a ribbon without the chance of incurring disapprobation, for I
believe my experiment with regard to Crescentini proved unsuccessful."
"It did, sire," observed some one present. "The circumstance occasioned
a great outcry in Paris; it drew forth a general anathema in all
the drawing-rooms of the metropolis, and afforded full scope for the
expression of malignant feeling. However, at one of the evening parties
of the Faubourg St. Germain, a _bon mot_ had the effect of completely
stemming the current of indignation. A pompous orator was holding
forth in an eloquent strain on the subject of the honor that had been
conferred on Crescentini. He declared it to be a disgrace, a horror, a
perfect profanation, and inquired by what right Crescentini was entitled
to such a distinction. Mme. Grassini, who was present, rose majestically
from her chair, with a theatrical tone and gesture exclaiming, 'Et sa
blessure, monsieur?' This produced a general burst of laughter, amid
which Grassini sat down, embarrassed by her own success."

Mme. Grassini remained on the stage till about 1823 when, having lost
the beauty of her voice, she retired to private life with a comfortable
fortune, spending her last years in Paris. She died in 1850, in her
eighty-fifth year, preserving her beauty and freshness in a marvelous
degree. The effect of Grassini's singing on people of refined taste was
even greater than the impression made on regular musicians. Thomas De
Quincey speaks of her in his "Autobiographical Sketches" as having a
voice delight