Feeling keenly the need of a guiding principle, the need of a more substantial foundation in education, the women of the century thought and wrote much on that subject; such was, for the most part, the work of the great salons, but in them the philosophical tenets of the age were also discussed. The spirit of criticism thus created and cultivated, which finally spread through all classes of society, gradually conquered the new power in the state—public opinion which, at the end of the century, ruled supreme in all its strength and vehemence, defying every effort of the government to stifle it. The highest form of agreeable and intellectual society which the world has ever seen attained to its most complete development in these salons.

Every century has had its specialty: the twelfth had its crusades, the sixteenth its religious struggles, the seventeenth its grand gout, the eighteenth its conversation and love of reason, the nineteenth its political struggles; and each one displayed the French passion for esprit; the eighteenth, however, was, par excellence, the century of esprit, and it was most remarkably developed in woman.

"Such astonishingly loquacious people as lived in Paris in the eighteenth century! ineffective, sardonic, verbose, sociable, intellectual, elegant, immoral—grand gentlemen and ladies, with tears for mimic woes and none for actual ones, praise for wit, rewards for cleverness, and absolute ignorance of the destinies they were preparing for themselves;" such is the story of women and society of the eighteenth century. Among these women the salon leaders will be found the most attractive, and the most influential in literature, theory of government, and social and moral development; to the mistresses belongs the title of "politicians."

La Menagerie de Mme. de Tencin was one of the earliest of the eighteenth-century salons, although, in the strict sense of the word, Mme. de Tencin's salon was of a political rather than a literary nature. Successively nun, mistress, mother, she was one of the shrewdest women of the century. Born in 1681, she early became a nun; but such was the character of her life at the convent that it was not long before she became a mother. In 1714 she abandoned her conventual life and went to Paris, where she rose to influence as the mistress of Cardinal Dubois and of the regent, the Duke of Orleans. At Paris her real activity began; she arrived at that gay capital with no other collateral than a pretty face and an extraordinary cunning, which soon brought her a fortune. Fertile in resources of all kinds, she succeeded immediately, and gained for her nephew the cardinal's hat. In 1717 was born to her the afterward famous d'Alembert, whom she left upon the steps of the church Saint-Jean-le-Rond; afterward, when he had become eminent and her power was waning, she unsuccessfully used every means at her command to gain his favor and recognition; the father of that child was the Chevalier Destouches.

About 1726, when lovers were numerous and friends plentiful, the death of Lafresnaye occurred at her salon. In his testament he stated that his death was caused by Mme. de Tencin; however, she was too shrewd, cunning, and careful to be guilty of permitting any weak points to appear in her plots, and it was not difficult for her to clear herself of that charge by the verdict of the judges, who considered the accusation a posthumous vengeance.

The great literary men whom Mme. de Tencin gathered about her, Fontenelle, Montesquieu, Mairan, Marivaux, Helvetius, Marmontel, were called her menagerie, or her betes. Among them, Marivaux received a pension of one thousand ecus from her, besides drawing at will upon the exchequer of an old maid by the name of Saint-Jean. Marmontel, desirous of writing tragedies, took lessons from the famous Mlle. Clairon—at his friend's expense. To give a correct idea of the character of woman's influence upon the literary style of that century, the words of Marmontel may be quoted: "He who wishes to write with precision, energy, and vigor, may live with man only; but he who in his style wishes to have subtleness, amenity, charm, flexibility, will do well, I think, to live with woman."

Mme. de Tencin exerted an immense influence upon the men of her circle, especially socially; for example, she married the wealthy M. de La Popeliniere to Mlle. Dancourt. She was one of the few really consummate diplomats; later on, she became less associated with intrigues, and gave lessons in current diplomacy, with which she was perfectly familiar. Her counsel to her pupils was to gain friends among women rather than among men. "For," she would say, "we do whatever we wish with men; they are so dissipated, or so preoccupied with their personal interests, that to give attention to them would be to neglect your own interests."

Every New Year's Day the betes of her menagerie received two yards of velvet, to make knickerbockers to be worn at her receptions; this custom was observed up to the last year of the existence of her salon. Her receptions were among the first of the kind in France. Like the majority of salon leaders, she was an authoress of no mean ability. Her novels were widely read at the time—Le Siege de Calais and Les Malheurs de l'Amour. Her memoirs, throwing light upon the intrigues and plots, social animosities, and general state of the society of the time, are historically valuable. She died in Paris, in 1749.

Among all the great salons, that of Mme. de Tencin was the only one in which gambling was indulged in on a wholesale scale; fortunes changed hands every evening, a large part of the gains always falling to the lot of the hostess, as a sort of "rake off." She herself was a professional at the business, and by receiving private information from headquarters, through her famous friend Law, the controleur-general, and her lover Dubois, she was able to acquire an immense fortune which she distributed freely among her friends and favorites. Her place among the literary salon leaders depends mainly upon her endeavors to advance the interests of the aspiring young authors who were willing to place themselves under her protection.

After the death of Mme. de Tencin and that of Mme. de Chatelet, who had received many of the celebrities of the time, there remained but two distinguished, purely literary and philosophical salons open in Paris. By right of precedence, the betes should have gone over to the salon of Mme. du Deffand, as she had been established some years when Mme. Geoffrin began to receive at her residence, which gained its first renown through the exquisite dinners served there. But the betes all flocked to the salon bourgeois, and consequently a more brilliant gathering never assembled in a salon; here sat, enjoying the liberal hospitalities, Fontenelle, Montesquieu, Mairan, Marmontel, Helvetius, Diderot, D'Alembert, Thomas, D'Holbach, Hume, Morellet, Mlle. de Lespinasse, the Marquis de Duras, Comtesses d'Egmont and de Brionne. Here, conversation—which, in the eighteenth century, was not only a discussion or a dissertation, but an art—reached its highest development; the members did not need to be eloquent, to expatiate upon some theory or science; the conversation moved about the members, and they had to be a part of it.

Mme. Geoffrin was born in Paris in 1699, and was the daughter of M. Rodet, valet de chambre of the dauphiness, Duchesse de Bourgogne, mother of Louis XV. When barely fifteen she was married to the wealthy M. Geoffrin, the so-called founder of the celebrated Manufacture des Glaces de Gobelins. Through his wealth and his associations with people of nobility who bought his ware, she was soon encouraged in her desire to entertain the nobility; and her esprit, tact, intelligence, and admirable taste in dress were all effective in bringing about the desired results.

Her career was one of continual successes. When she opened her salon, in 1741, she instituted the custom of receiving her friends at table, not only men of letters, but artists, architects, builders, painters, sculptors, all men of genius and prominence. Monday was the day reserved for artists exclusively; Marmontel, who lived with Mme. Geoffrin for ten years "as her tenant," and the indispensable Abbe Morellet were the exceptions who might be present upon that day. From the very beginning she formed the habit of permitting conversation to go just so far, then cutting it off with her famous: Voil qui est bien!

Her husband was the maitre d'hotel, of whom many interesting anecdotes are told; the best and one that illustrates well the appreciation of individuals in those days is the following, which is so admirably told by Lady Jackson that we quote from her: "For some years, there sat at the bottom of Mme. Geoffrin's dinner and supper table a dignified-looking, white-haired old gentleman, bland in manner, but very modest and retiring, speaking only when spoken to, but looking very happy when the guests seemed to enjoy the good cheer set before them. When, at last, his customary place became vacant, and some brilliant butterfly of madame's circle of visiteurs flottants, who, perhaps, had smiled patronizingly upon the silent old gentleman, becoming aware of his absence, would, perchance, carelessly inquire what had become of her constant dinner guest, madame would reply: Mais, c'etait mon mari. Helas! il est mort, le bon homme. [Why, that was my husband! alas, he is dead, poor man!] Just so little was the consideration shown this worthy creature in his own house! Yet it both pleased and amused him to sit there silently and gaze at the throng of rank, fashion, and learning, assembled in his wife's salon, and to witness her social success."

After the death of Mme. Geoffrin's husband, the immense fortune passed under her own management, whereupon began her real career as a social arbitress, during which she is said to have tempered both opinions and characters. Thomas said of her that "she was, in morals, like that divinity of the ancients which maintained or reestablished limits." She was a great patroness of arts and her rooms were decorated with pictures by Vanloo, Greuze, Vernet, Robert, etc. She and her salon became, in time, the acknowledged judge and dictator of matters literary and artistic. Whenever a financier wished to purchase a certain work of art, it was taken to her Monday dinner, where the artists determined its artistic value and fixed the price. Her house was a real museum; there the precious Mariette collection was on permanent exhibition.

Besides her Monday dinners to artists and her Wednesday dinners to the literary world, she gave private luncheons to a select few who were especially congenial. At those functions, such celebrities as the Comtesses d'Egmont and de Brionne, the Marquise de Duras, and the Prince de Rohan were frequent guests.

Mme. Geoffrin was shrewd and tactful enough to avoid politics and not to permit discussions of a political nature at her salon—precautions which she observed to keep the government from interfering with her fortune and mode of living. Her salon and dinners became so famous that every foreigner going to Paris had the ambition to be received at Mme. Geoffrin's; when any aspirant was successful in this, she would say to her friends: Soyons aimables [Let us be kind]. She spent freely of her immense fortune constantly seeking and aiding the poor. Persons who refused to accept her charity found little favor with her; Rousseau was one of these. It was her habit to go frequently to see friends, merely to ascertain their wants and to satisfy them. The Abbe Morellet, Thomas, D'Alembert, and Mlle. de Lespinasse (the only lady admitted to her Wednesdays) were given liberal pensions. Upon each New Year's Day, in commemoration of Mme. de Tencin, she sent each Wednesday guest a velvet cap. Her motto was: Donner et pardonner [Give and forgive].

Stanislas, King of Poland, her protege, whom she had rescued from the debtor's prison in Paris, and to whom she had shown many favors, upon being elected King of Poland in 1764, said to her: Maman, votre fils est roi [Mamma, your son is king]. Two years later, when she paid him a visit, the leading members of the Polish nobility met her on the road, and the king had a special residence prepared for her. As she passed through Vienna, Joseph II. received her, and the Empress Maria entertained her at dinner. Upon her return to Paris, after this triumphal tour through Europe, the members of the world of literature and art, and even the ministers and the nobility, flocked to see her; this demonstration was the more remarkable from the fact that she wielded no political influence, her only desire and pleasure seeming to lie in aiding her friends.

Mme. Geoffrin was too practical and had too much good common sense to be vain. The majority of men were influenced by and favored her, and, which seemed strange, she had few enemies among her own sex. Mme. Necker said: "The old age of Mme. Geoffrin is like that of old trees, whose age we know by the space they cover and the quantity of roots they spread. She has seen all the illustrious men of the century; she has discovered, with sagacity, their peculiarities and their defects. She judges them by their conduct, never by their talents."

In her best years, she was intimately associated with the Encyclopaedists, to whom she paid over one hundred thousand francs for the publication of their work. Of all the great women of that century, she was the closest friend of the philosophers and free-thinkers, being called La Fontenelle des Femmes. She was always ready with an answer; one day a friend pointed out to her the house of the farmer-general Bouvet, and asked her: "Have you ever seen anything as magnificent and in better taste?" She replied: "I would have nothing to say if Bouvet were the frotteur [floor polisher] of it."

Mme. Geoffrin, more than any other woman of the salons, possessed the three essential qualifications of a salon leader,—good sense, tact, and intelligence. She had also esprit, perfect simplicity, precision, and faultless taste; though a sceptic, she was a diplomat who perfectly understood the art of manoeuvring. In short, Mme. Geoffrin was an intellectual authority, a sort of minister to society, and her salon was the great centre and rendezvous, a veritable institution of the eighteenth century. This seems the more remarkable when we consider that she belonged to the bourgeoisie, and that by dint of her exquisite tact, her almost infallible judgment, her admirable taste in dress, and her keen intelligence, she created for herself a position which was the envy of all Europe. Such women are rare. During the last eighteen months of her life, though suffering from paralysis and rheumatism, which she contracted at a religious fete at Notre-Dame, she was unremitting in her attention to her friends and the poor; and up to her death, in 1777, her friends were faithful to her.

That spirit, or malady, which penetrated and ruled almost every creature in the eighteenth century found its most notable victim in Marie de Vichy-Chamrond—Mme. du Deffand. She, so to speak, yawned out her life in a blase society without faith or ideal. That horrible affliction, with all its painful symptoms, ennui, whose origin was seen to lie in an excess and abuse of esprit in a society that based all its pleasures and happiness upon the mind without any higher interest than the self, infected a whole century with an "irremediable disenchantment of others and one's self." This self-cult, or life in and for the mind, developed sagacity, justness of views, and an incomparable penetration, but it neglected all the elements necessary to contentment and those other pleasures, of which the first is love for one's fellow beings. Mme. du Deffand exemplified this stage of mental unbalance; and when she wrote of her former friend and companion: "Mlle. de Lespinasse died to-day at two o'clock; formerly, that would have been an event for me; to-day, it is nothing at all," she gave an idea of the indifference which was characteristic of the society of the time—an indifference which developed into an incurable malady and an all-consuming egoism, stifling the heart-beat of that world which was weary of everything and yet was unwilling to close its eyes.

Marie de Vichy-Chamrond was born in 1697, of a noble family. She began the same manner of life as that followed by most French women, being reared in the Convent of Madeleine de Frenel, where, when quite young, she evinced a strong spirit of impiety, giving expression to the most sceptical opinions upon religious subjects, to the great dismay of her superiors and parents. At the age of twenty she was married to the Marquis du Deffand, who had but his brevet of colonel of a regiment of dragoons, and whose intelligence and fortune were of a nullite rare. However, her marriage was a sort of emancipation which enabled her to enter society; and it is asserted that she soon became the mistress of Philippe of Orleans, the regent, from whom she received six thousand francs life income.

As the result of a disagreement, she separated from her husband, and then began a life of pleasure among the gayest of the most fashionable world, where, through the power of her brilliancy, wit, charm, and fascinating beauty, she immediately became a leader. After passing through all the phases of social life and its varied experiences—from the society of Mme. de Prie, the type of the dissolute woman of the Regency, from the famous suppers of the regent, whose ingenious inventions of lewd and wanton pleasures made him notorious, from an association with the intriguing Duchesse de Maine, to all the great and influential social centres of Paris—in short, after pursuing a career of fashionable dissipation, she became reconciled to her husband, and lived with him in peace and happiness for a short time; but six months of regular life affected her behavior toward the poor marquis to such a degree that he thought it best to leave her. After that episode, she returned to her lover; and, rejected by him and her friends, and becoming the subject of the gossip of the entire city, she sought consolation from one acquaintance after another, and was miserable all the time.

At the age of about thirty-four, Mme. du Deffand returned to a kind of regular life, and, in time, won a reputation for esprit, regained her honorable friends and established for herself a kind of accepted authority. Thus, when she opened a salon in 1742, she was able to attract a brilliant company, which became famous after 1749, when she took apartments in the Convent Saint-Joseph. Here wit and polished manners, taste, vivacity, and good sense were the requisites; literature, politics, and philosophy were not tolerated, but "sparkling bons mots, glancing epigrams, witty verses, were the avenues to social success."

Until her dotage this woman, who, from a natural selfishness and lack of sympathy, was incapable of loving with the characteristic ardor of the women of her time, by knowing how to inspire love in others, controlled and held near her the famous men and women of her age. When she began to realize the calamity of her failing sight, which was probably due to her general state of restlessness and the resultant physical decay, she received, as companion, a relative, Mlle. de Lespinasse, who undertook the most difficult, disagreeable, and ungrateful task of waiting on the marquise. As Mme. du Deffand arose in time to receive at six, mademoiselle soon announced to the friends that she herself would be visible at an earlier hour. Thus, it happened that Marmontel, Turgot, Condorcet, and d'Alembert regularly assembled in mademoiselle's room—a proceeding which soon led to a rupture between the two women and a breach between Mme. du Deffand and d'Alembert. The marquise was therefore left alone, blind, but too proud to tolerate pity, yet by her conversation retaining her power of fascination. It was about this time that Horace Walpole became connected with her life. Upon the death of Mme. Geoffrin, she, hearing of the imposing ceremonies and funeral orations, exclaimed: Voila bien du bruit pour une omelette au lard. [A great ado about a lard omelet!] Her latter years were dragged out most miserably, being marked by a singular feverishness and unavailing efforts toward the acceptance of some faith. Her death, in 1780, finally brought her relief.

The career of Mme. du Deffand actually began as early as 1730, when she opened her establishment on the Rue de Beaune, at the time that she became attached to the president Henault, who presided over her salon for more than thirty years. The famous salon Du Deffand at the Convent Saint-Joseph was not opened until 1749; there she was very particular as to those whom she received, and access to her salon was a matter of difficulty. Grimm was never received, and Diderot was present but once. The conversation was always intellectual, and whenever she tired of French vivacity, she would spend an evening with Mme. Necker.

A letter of Walpole to Montagu leaves, on the whole, a splendid picture of her: "I have heard her dispute with all sorts of people, upon all sorts of subjects, and never knew her to be in the wrong. She humbles the learned, sets right their disciples, and finds conversation for everybody. As affectionate as Mme. de Sevigne, she has none of her prejudices, but a more universal taste; and with the most delicate frame, her spirits hurry her through a life of fatigue that would kill me were I to remain here."

The simple furnishings of her apartments, which were very spacious and had been occupied by the famous Mme. de Montespan, stood out in striking contrast to the elegance of her visitors. Here she gathered about her her two lovers, le President Henault and Pont de Veyle, besides D'Alembert, Turgot, Voltaire, Montesquieu, Necker, Walpole, the Abbes Barthelemy and Pernetty, the Chevalier de Lisle, de Formant, le Docteur Gatti, Hume, Gibbon, Baron de Gleichen, and many other celebrities, including the Princesses de Beauvau, de Poix, de Talmont, the Duchesses de Choiseul, d'Aiguillon, de Gramont, the Marechale de Luxembourg, the Marquises de Boufflers and du Chatelet, the Comtesses de Rochefort, de Broglie, de Forcalquier, Mme. Necker, Lady Pembroke, De Lauzun, and many others, all of whom were society leaders. Whenever Mme. du Deffand had a special supper, it was said that Paris was at Mme. du Deffand's.

Her salon, above all others, was the centre of cosmopolitanism, where all great men, foreigners and natives, found means of social intercourse, and where, more than in any other salon, were assembled the great beauties of the day, represented especially by the Countesses de Forcalquier and Choiseul-Beaupre, Duchesse de La Valliere. Gallantry and beauty were found in the Marechale de Luxembourg and the Comtesse de Boufflers. The philosophical movement of the Encyclopaedists and Economists was not encouraged at all. Thus, in Mme. du Deffand's salon, we find neither pure philosophy nor religion, nor the air of pedants and declamateurs; it was a royalist salon without illusion, hence indifferent to all questions. It represented the perfect type of the French model of esprit de finesse,—that is, precision,—and its leader possessed a keen insight into human character.

This wonderful woman, who, during a period of over forty years, had held at her feet the elite of the French world, at the age of about threescore and ten, fell desperately in love with a man of fifty—Horace Walpole. She who had never loved with her heart, but only with her mind, then declared it better to be dead than not to love someone. Although her actions and letters were pitiful in the extreme, her epistles are invaluable for their incomparable portraitures and keen reflections upon persons and events of the time. She attracted Walpole by the possibilities that were opened up to him by her position in society, and by her brilliant conversation, in which she scoffed at the clergy and the philosophers, showing a profound insight into human nature and the society of the time as well as into politics. Their correspondence shows one of the most pitiful, pathetic, and lamentable love tales in the history of society. He looked upon her friendship as a most valuable acquisition by which he was kept in touch with all the scandals and stories of society, of which he was so fond, and she mistook that friendship for love. He felt himself flattered in being the one preferred by such a distinguished old lady of high society.

All critics are at a loss for the explanation of such a love in a woman of seventy. Was it the result of the lifetime of disappointment of a woman who had constantly sought love but had never found it? Was it, thus, the hallucination of the childish old age of the woman who was physically consumed by incessant social functions and all-night reading? Mme. du Deffand sees in Walpole her ideal, and she gives expression to her feelings, regardless of propriety; for she is childish and irresponsible. To a certain extent, the same was true of Mme. de Stael, but she was still physically healthy and young enough to enjoy life and the realization of that which she had so long desired—an ideal affection. In the case of Mme. du Deffand, the soul was willing, but the body failed. Her emotion can scarcely be termed love, but is rather to be designated as a mental hallucination, an exaggerated intellectual affection bordering upon sentimentality—the outgrowth of that morbid imagination developed from her long suffering from ennui.

She was a woman destined to pass by the side of happiness without ever reaching it. She hardly had enjoyed what may be called friendship; she was always either suspicious of it and of her friends' sentiments, or she herself broke off relations for some trivial reason. This woman, however, always longed to believe her friends sincere, but never succeeded. "Her friends either leave her, they die, or they are far away; or, if present, faithful and attached to her, she cannot believe in their affection; her cursed scepticism deceived her heart."

Mme. du Deffand was one of the few women of the eighteenth century who saw reality and nothing but reality, and admitted what she saw; she was gifted with such quick penetration and such mental facility that she stands out prominently as one of the brightest and most intellectual of the spiritual women of her time. This quickness of perception and tendency to follow a mere impression made it difficult for her to examine closely, to be patient of details; too sure of herself, too emotional, too passionate, she displayed injustice, vehemence, over-enthusiasm; easily bored and disgusted, she was, at the same time, susceptible to infatuation. Scherer said: "She is a superior man in a body of a nervous and weak woman."

She was a woman dominated by her reason—a characteristic which led to an incurable ennui, thus causing her terrible suffering, but equipping her with a penetration which saw through the world and knew man, whom she divided into three classes: les trompeurs, les trompes, les trompettes. According to her judgment, man is either fatiguing or, if brilliantly endowed, usually false or jealous; but she realized, also, her own shortcomings, the incompleteness of her faculties. "The force of her thought does not reach talent; her intelligence is active and responsive, but fails to respond. She often shows a sovereign disdain for herself, everybody, and everything. She arrives at a point in life when she no longer has passion, desire, or even curiosity; she detests life, and dreads death because she does not know that there is another world. She is not happy enough to do without those whom she scorns, and must therefore seek diversion in the conversation of stupid people, preferring anything to solitude; this refers to the time when her best friends are no more and when she herself is out of her former milieu); she was too old, or lived too long; she belongs to another age."

By her friends she was called the feminine Voltaire, and the celebrated philosopher and she were drawn together by a very similar habit of mind, although, to her intimates, she scorched Voltaire; but in writing to him she would overwhelm him with compliments, calling him the only orthodox representative of good taste. In general, she detested philosophers, because their hearts were cold and their minds preoccupied with themselves.

Mme. du Deffand had an inherent passion for simplicity, frankness, justice, and a hatred for deceit and affectation; but, strange as it may seem, her nature required variety in her pleasure—new people, new pursuits, new amusements, new agitations for her hungry mind; she was too critical to be contented and to put implicit trust in her friends. An agnostic, always endeavoring to probe into the nature of things, the possession of a personal, living faith was yet the strongest desire of her heart; all her life she longed for the peace that religion affords, but this was denied her, although she had the spiritual assistance of the most famous of the clergy, attended church, had her oratory, her confessor, and faithfully studied the Bible; all was vain—belief would not come to her. The marriage tie was not sacred to her, which was the case with many of the French women of the day, but she went further in lacking all reverence for religious ceremony, though she respected the beliefs of others.

She was all wit and intellectuality. In order to keep her friends from falling under the spell of ennui, she devoted herself to the culinary art, and her suppers became famous for their rare dishes. "She is an example of the type that was predominant in the time—one that had lived too much and was dying from excess of knowledge and pleasure; but she sought that which did not exist in that age,—serenity, peace, faith. She was passionate, sensitive, and sympathetic, in a cold, heartless, and unfeeling world. She needed variety; being bored with society, solitude, husband, lovers, herself, nothing remained for her but to await deliverance by death." This came to her in 1780.

In matters literary, Mme. du Deffand preserved an absolute liberty and independence of opinion. She refused to accept the verdicts of the most competent judges; with instinctive attractions and repulsions, she found but few writers that pleased her. Boileau, Lesage, Chamfort, were her favorites. She said that Buffon was of an unendurable monotony. "He knows well what he knows, but he is occupied with beasts only; one must be something of a beast one's self in order to devote one's self to such an occupation."

As a writer, she showed remarkable good sense, admirable sincerity, rare judgment, justness, and precision; depth and charm were present in a less degree than were other desirable qualities, but she exhibited excellent esprit. She was probably the most subtile, and at the same time the most fastidious person of the century. The best portraits of her were written by her own pen; two of them we give, one written at the beginning of her career in 1728, the other at its end in 1774.

"Mme. la Marquise du Deffand is an enemy of all falseness and affectation. Her talk and countenance are always the faithful interpreters of the sentiment of her soul. Her form is not fine nor bad. She has esprit, is reasonable and has a correct taste. If vivacity at times leads her off, truth soon brings her back. After she falls into an ennui which extinguishes all the light of her mind, she finds that state insupportable and the cause of such unhappiness, that she blindly embraces all that presents itself, without deliberation."

(1774.) "They believe Mme. du Deffand to possess more esprit than she really has; they praise and fear her, but she merits neither the one nor the other. As far as her esprit is concerned, she is what she is; in regard to her form, to her birth and fortune—nothing extraordinary, nothing distinguished. Born without great talent, incapable of great application, she is very susceptible to ennui, and, not finding any resource within herself, she resorts to those that surround her and this search is often without success."

Mme. du Deffand arouses our curiosity because she was such an exceptional character, led such a strange life, made and retained friends in ways so different from those of the noted heroines of the salons. In her youth, she was beautiful and fascinating, with numerous lovers and numberless suitors, but she grew even more famous as her age increased; when infirm and blind, and living in a convent, she ruled by virtue of her acknowledged authority and was still able to cope with the greatest philosophers, the chief and dean of whom, Voltaire, wrote the following four lines:

"Qui vous voit et qui vous entend Perd bientot sa philosophie; Et tout sage avec Du Deffand Voudrait en fou passer sa vie."

[He who sees and hears you, Soon loses his philosophy. Wise he who with Du Deffand Insane would pass his life.]

Living long enough to witness the reigns of three kings and one regent, she was brilliant enough to reign over the intellectual and social world for over fifty years, by virtue of her intellectuality, keenness, and wit; yet, among all the great women of France, she is truly the one who deserves genuine pity and sympathy.

The salon of Mlle. de Lespinasse, her rival, was of a different type, being exclusively intellectual, but permitting absolute liberty of expression of opinions. Born in 1732, at the house of a surgeon of Lyons, she was the illegitimate daughter of the Comtesse d'Albon and was baptized as the child of a man supposed to be named Claude Lespinasse. From 1753 she was the constant attendant to Mme. du Deffand, her mother's sister-in-law, for a period of ten years, until she became completely worn out physically, morally, and mentally by incessant care and endless all-night readings. An attempt to end her existence with sixty grains of opium failed. Owing to the jealousy of Mme. du Deffand, a separation ensued in 1764, when she retired some distance from the Convent Saint-Joseph to very modest apartments, where, by means of her friends, she was able to receive in a dignified way. The Marechale de Luxembourg completely fitted up her apartment, the Duc de Choiseul succeeded in getting her an annual pension from the king, and Mme. Geoffrin allowed her three thousand francs.

The majority of the members of her salon were from that of Mme. du Deffand, having followed Mlle. de Lespinasse after the rupture of the two women; besides these, there were Condorcet, Helvetius, Grimm, Marmontel, Condillac, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, and many others. As her hours for receiving were after five o'clock, her friends were made to understand that her means were not such as to warrant suppers or dinners, four o'clock being the dinner hour in those days.

Her salon immediately became known as the official encyclopaedia resort, Mme. du Deffand dubbing it La Muse de l'Encyclopedie. D'Alembert was the high priest, and it was not long before he was comfortably lodged in the third story of her house, Mlle. de Lespinasse having nursed him through a malignant fever which the poor man had contracted in the wretched place where he lodged. A strange gathering, those salons! Mlle. de Lespinasse, one of the leaders in the social world, with a prominent salon, was the illegitimate daughter of a Comtesse d'Albon, and her presiding genius was the illegitimate son of Mme. de Tencin; here we find the wealthiest and most elegant of the aristocracy coming from their palaces to meet, in friendly social and intellectual intercourse, men who lived on a mere pittance, dressed on almost nothing, lodged in the most wretched of dens, boarding wherever a salon or palace was opened to them. Surely, intellect was highly valued in those days, and moral etiquette was at a low ebb!

Mlle. de Lespinasse possessed two characteristics which were prominent in a remarkable degree—love and friendship. She appeared to interest herself in everybody in such a way as to make him believe that he was the preferred of her heart; loving everybody sincerely and affectionately, she "lacked altogether the sentimental equilibrium." Especially pathetic was her love for two men—the Count de Mora, a Spanish nobleman, and a Colonel Guibert, who was celebrated for his relations with Frederick the Great; although this wore terribly on her, consuming her physical force, she always received her friends with the same good grace, but often, after their departure, she would fall into a frightful nervous fit from which she could find relief only by the use of opium.

Her love for Guibert was known to her friends, but was a secret from her platonic lover, D'Alembert. When, after a number of years of untold sufferings which even opium could not relieve, she died in 1776, having been cared for to the last by D'Alembert, the Duke de La Rochefoucauld, and her cousin, the Marquis d'Enlezy, it was with these words on her dying lips, addressed to Guibert: "Adieu, my friend! If ever I return to life, I should like to use it in loving you; but there is no longer any time." When D'Alembert read in her correspondence that she had been the mistress of Guibert for sixteen years, he was disconsolate, and retired to the Louvre, which was his privilege as Secretary of the Academy. He left there only to go walking in the evening with Marmontel, who tried to console him by recalling the changeableness of humor of Mlle. de Lespinasse. "Yes," he would reply, "she has changed, but not I; she no longer lived for me, but I always lived for her. Since she is no longer, I don't know why I am living. Ah, that I must still suffer these moments of bitterness which she knew so well how to soothe and make me forget! Do you remember the happy evenings we used to pass? What is there now? Instead of her, when coming home, I find only her shadow! This Louvre lodging is itself a tomb, which I enter only with fright."

Mlle. de Lespinasse died of grief for a lover's death, but she left a group of lovers to lament her loss. In many respects she was not unlike Mlle. de Scudery; exceptionally plain, her face was much marked with smallpox, a disfigurement not uncommon in those days; her exceedingly piercing and fine eyes, beautiful hair, tall and elegant figure, excellent taste in dress, pleasing voice and a most brilliant talent for conversation, combined to make her one of the most attractive and popular women of her time. As previously stated, she was the only female admitted to the dinners given by Mme. Geoffrin to her men of letters.

Mme. du Deffand's friend, le President Henault, left the following portrait of Mlle. de Lespinasse: "You are cosmopolitan—you are suitable to all occasions. You like company—you like solitude. Pleasures amuse, but do not seduce you. You have very strong passions, and of the best kind, for they do not return often. Nature, in endowing you with an ordinary state, gave you something with which to rise above it. You are distinguished, and, without being beautiful, you attract attention. There is something piquant in you; one might obstinately endeavor to turn your head, but it would be at one's own expense. Your will must be awaited, because you cannot be made to come. Your cheerfulness embellishes you, and relaxes your nerves, which are too highly strung. You have your own opinion, and you leave others their own. You are extremely polite. You have divined le monde. In vain one would transplant you—you would take root anywhere. In short, you are not an ordinary person."

The salon of Mlle. de Lespinasse was unique. Everyone was at perfect liberty to express and sustain his own opinions upon any subject, without danger of offending the hostess, which, as has been seen, was not the case in the salon of Mme. Geoffrin. Her high and sane intellectual culture permitted her to listen to all discussions and to take part in all. She had no strong prejudices, having read—for Mme. du Deffand—nearly everything that was read at that time; also, she had the talent of preserving harmony among her members by drawing from each one his best qualities.

A woman who played a prominent part in society during the Regency, but who had no salon in the proper sense of that word, was Mme. du Chatelet, commonly called Voltaire's Emilie. She was especially interested in sciences, mathematics, geometry, and astronomy, and did more than any other woman of that time to encourage nature study. It was at her Chateau de Cirey that Voltaire found protection when threatened with a second visit to the Bastille; and there, from time to time for sixteen years, he did some of the best work of his life. It was Mme. du Chatelet who encouraged him, sympathized with him, and appreciated his mobile humor as well as his talent. During these years, while he was under the influence of madame, appeared Merope, Alzire, the Siecle de Louis XIV, etc.

Mme. du Chatelet was the one great femme savante of that century. In the preface to her Traduction des Principes Mathematiques de Newton, Voltaire wrote: "Never was a woman so savante as she, and never did a woman merit less the saying, she is a femme savante. She did not select her friends from those circles where there was a war of esprit, where a sort of tribunal was established, where they judged their century, by which, in recompense, they were severely judged. She lived for a long time in societies which were ignorant of what she was, and she took no notice of this ignorance. The words precision, justness, and force are those which correctly describe her elegance. She would have written as Pascal and Nicole did rather than like Mme. de Sevigne; but this severe firmness and this tendency of her esprit did not make her inaccessible to the beauties of sentiment."

Maupertuis, the astronomer, wrote: "What a marvel, moreover, to have been able to combine the fine qualities of her sex with the sublime knowledge which we believe uniquely made for us! This enterprising phenomenon will make her memory eternally respected."



Chapter IX

Salon Leaders—(Continued)

Mme. Necker, Mme. d'Epinay, Mme. de Genlis: Minor Salons

It seems strange indeed that in a century in which the universal impulse was toward pleasure, and sameness of personality was visible everywhere, the types of great women showed such an absolute dissimilarity. The contrast between the natural inclinations of Mme. Necker, the wife of the great minister of finance, and the atmosphere in which she lived, makes the study of her a most interesting one. Born in Switzerland, the daughter of Curchod, a poor Protestant minister, "with patriarchal morals, solid education, and strong good sense," this moral and stern woman was thrown into the midst of depraved elegance, refined licentiousness, and physical debauchery. Sincere, chaste, enthusiastic, and essentially religious, she remained so amidst all the corruption and physical and mental degeneracy of the age.

Critics have made much ado over her marriage, a union of pure love and mutual inclinations, amidst the marriages of mere convenience and the gallant liaisons, such as those of Mme. du Deffand and le President Henault, and Mme. d'Epinay and Grimm. The matrimonial selection of Susanne Curchod was natural in a girl of her serious make-up, her moral education and her pure ancestry of the strict Protestant type. As a girl of sixteen, she had given evidence of remarkable mental ability and had acquired a wide knowledge—physics, Latin, philosophy, metaphysics—when she was sent to Lausanne, possibly with the idea of meeting a future husband with whom she could become thoroughly acquainted before giving up her independence. There she became the centre of a group or academy of young people, who, under her leadership, discussed subjects of every nature. At first she showed a tendency toward preciosite and the spirit of the blue-stocking rather than toward the seriousness and dignity which marked her later career.

It was at Lausanne that she met and fell in love with Gibbon, the English historian; this love affair met with opposition from Gibbon's father, and, after the death of the father of his fiancee, a calamity which left her poor and necessitated her teaching for a living, the Englishman, by his actions and manner toward her, compelled the breaking of their engagement. When, later in life, he went to her salon, they became intimate friends, enjoying "the intellectual union which had been impossible for them in their earlier days."

Thus, at the age of twenty-four, Mlle. Curchod, beautiful, virtuous, and accomplished, and at the height of her reputation in a small town in Switzerland, was left an orphan. She was taken to Paris by Mme. de Vermenoux, a wealthy widow, who was sought in marriage by M. Necker, banker and capitalist; but, as she was unable to make up her mind to a definite answer, his attention was attracted to her young companion. The result was that, after a few months' sojourn in Paris, Mlle. Curchod became the wife of M. Necker, an event which caused rejoicing from Lausanne to Geneva. Their characters are well portrayed in two letters, written by them to their friends after their marriage. M. Necker wrote, in reply to a letter of congratulation:

"Yes, sir; your friend (Mlle. Curchod) was indeed willing to have me, and I believe myself as happy as one can be. I cannot understand how it can be you whom they congratulate, unless it is as my friend. Will money always be the measure of opinion? That is pitiable! He who wins a virtuous, kind, and sensible woman—has he not made a good transaction, whether or not she be seated on sacks of money? Humanity, what a poor judge you are!"

Shortly after her marriage, Mme. Necker wrote to one of her friends: "My dear, I have married a man who, according to my ideas, is the kindest of mortals, and I am not the only one to judge thus. I had had a liking for him ever since I learned to know him. At present, I see, in all nature, only my husband. I take notice of other men only in so far as they come more or less up to the standard of my husband, and I compare them only for the pleasure of seeing the difference." The marital relations of this loving pair lasted throughout life; and among great women of the eighteenth century, Mme. Necker is one of the few examples of ideal marriage relations.

Soon after their marriage, the Neckers took up their quarters at the Rue Michel-le-Comte, where they began to receive friends. As at that time every day in the week was reserved by other salons,—Monday and Wednesday at Mme. Geoffrin's, Tuesday at Helvetius's, Thursday and Sunday at the Baron d'Holbach's,—Mme. Necker was compelled to appoint Friday as her reception day. She soon succeeded in attracting to her hotel the best esprit of Paris: Diderot, Suard, Grimm, Comte de Schomberg, Marmontel, D'Alembert, Thomas, Saint-Lambert, Helvetius, Ducis, Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, the Abbes Raynal, Armand, and Morellet, Mme. Geoffrin, Mme. du Deffand, Mme. de Marchais, Mme. Suard, the Marechale de Luxembourg, the Duchesse de Lauzun, the Marquise de La Ferte-Imbault, Mme. de Boufflers.

Among these visitors, most of whom were atheists, Mme. Necker preserved her own religious opinions and piety, although her friends at Geneva never ceased to be concerned about her. Her admirers were many, but they were kept within the bounds of propriety and never attempted any gallant liberties with the hostess—except her ardent admirer Thomas, the intensity of whose eulogies upon her she was forced to check occasionally. It was not long before she became very influential in filling the vacant seats of the Academy. In this and many other respects, her salon may be compared with that of Mme. de Lambert.

Mme. Necker's idea of conducting a salon and its conversation was much the same as the management of a state; she believed that the hostess must never join in the conversation as long as it goes on by itself, but, ever watchful, must never permit disturbances, disagreements, improprieties, or obstacles; she must animate it if it languish; she must see that conversation never takes a dangerous, disagreeable, or tiresome turn, and that it never brings into undue prominence one man especially, as this makes others jealous and displeases the entire society; it must always interest and include all members. The discussions at Mme. Necker's were literary and philosophical; and to prevent even the possibility of tedium, frequent readings were given in their place.

It was at the salon of Mme. Necker that Bernardin de Saint-Pierre first read his Paul et Virginie, which received such a cold and indifferent welcome that the author, utterly discouraged, was on the point of burning his manuscript, when he was prevailed upon by his friend Vernet, the great artist, to preserve all his works. Mme. Necker was always quite frank and outspoken, often showing a cutting harshness and a rigor which, as was said, was little in harmony with her bare neck and arms—a style then in vogue at court. She never judged persons by their reputations, but by their esprit; thus, it was possible for her to receive people of the most diverse tendencies. When the Marquise de La Ferte-Imbault, one of the few virtuous women of the time, and of the highest aristocracy, was invited to attend the salon of Mme. Necker and was told that the Marechale de Luxembourg, Mme. du Deffand, Mme. de Boufflers, and Mme. Marchais were frequenters, she said: "These four women are so discredited by manners, and the first two are so dangerous, that for thirty years they have been the horror of society."

The two portraits by Marmontel and Galiani are interesting, as throwing light upon the doings of her salon. Marmontel wrote: "Mme. Necker is very virtuous and instructed, but emphatic and stiff. She does not know Mme. de Sevigne, whom she praises, and only esteems Buffon and Thomas. She calculates all things; she sought men of letters only as trumpets to blow in honor of her husband. He never said a word; that was not very recreating."

Galiani leaves a different impression: "There is not a Friday that I do not go to your house en esprit. I arrive, I find you now busy with your headdress, now busy with this duchess. I seat myself at your feet. Thomas quietly suffers, Morellet shows his anger aloud. Grimm and Suard laugh heartily about it, and my dear Comte de Greuze does not notice it. Marmontel finds the example worthy to be imitated, and you, madame, make two of your most beautiful virtues do battle, bashfulness and politeness, and in this suffering you find me a little monster more embarrassing than odious. Dinner is announced. They leave the table and in the cafe all speak at the same time. M. Necker thinks everything well, bows his head and goes away."

In summer her receptions were first held at the Chateau de Madrid, and, later on, in a chateau at Saint-Ouen; the guests were always called for and returned in carriages supplied by the hostess. It was in her salon, in 1770, that the plan originated to erect the statue of Voltaire, which is to-day the famous statue of the Palais de l'Institute.

When, during the stirring times before the Revolution, her salon took on a purely political nature, Mme. Necker played a very secondary role. In 1788 she and her husband were compelled to leave Paris; but being recalled by Louis XVI., Necker managed affairs for thirteen months, after which he retired with Mme. Necker to Coppet, where, in 1794, the latter died.

Mme. Necker never became a thorough Frenchwoman; she always lacked the grace and charm which are the necessary qualifications of a salon leader; intelligence was her most meritorious quality. Her dinners were apt to become tiresome and to drag. A very interesting story is told of her by the Marquis de Chastellux, which was reported by Mme. Genlis, one of her intimate friends:

"Dining at Mme. Necker's, the marquis was first to arrive, and so early that the hostess was not yet in the salon. In walking up and down the room, he noticed a small book under Mme. Necker's chair. He picked it up and opened it. It was a blank book, a few of the pages of which had been written upon by Mme. Necker. Certainly, he would not have read a letter, but, believing to find only a few spiritual thoughts, he read without any scruples. It contained the plan for the dinner of that day, to which he had been invited, and had been written by Mme. Necker on the previous evening. It told what she would say to the most prominent of the invited guests. She wrote: 'I shall speak to the Chevalier de Chastellux about public felicity and Agatha; to M. d'Angeviller, I shall speak of love; between Marmontel and Guibert I shall raise some literary discussion.' After reading the note, he hurriedly replaced the book under the chair. A moment later, a valet entered, saying that madame had left her notebook in the salon. The dinner was charming for M. de Chastellux, because he had the pleasure of hearing Mme. Necker say, word for word, what she had written in her notebook."

This woman was ever preoccupied with style, and, throughout her life, retained the solemn, studied, and academic air, as well as the simple, rural, innocent manner and spirit of her early surroundings. A mere bourgeoise, unaccustomed to elegance or to the manners of French social life, upon entering Parisian society she set her mind to observing, and immediately began to change her provincial ways and to make over her esprit for conversation, for circumstances, and for characters; she adjusted her provincial spirit to that of Paris, thus making of it an entirely new product. Later on, her salon became the first of the modern political salons, but it was far from reaching the prominence of that of Mme. Geoffrin, whose characteristics were social prudence and strict propriety, while those of Mme. Necker were virtue and goodness.

Mme. Necker was never in perfect sympathy with her visitors, the philosophers, the common basis of ideas and sentiments never existing between her and her friends as it did between Mme. Geoffrin and her frequenters; her tie was always artificial. "She represented the Swiss spirit in Parisian society; those serious and educated souls, virtuous and sentimental, somewhat sad and strictly moral, were rather tiresome to the Parisian world." Marmontel well describes her in another of his famous portraits:

"A stranger to the customs of Paris, Mme. Necker had none of the charms and accomplishments of the young French woman. In her manner and language she had neither the air nor the tone of a woman reared in the school of arts, formed at the school of high society. Without taste in her headdress, without ease in her bearing, without fascination in her politeness, her mind—as was her countenance—was too properly adjusted to show grace. But a charm more worthy of her was that of propriety, of candor, of goodness. A virtuous education and solitary studies had given to her all that culture can add to an excellent nature. In her, sentiment was perfect, but her thought was often confused and vague; instead of clearing her ideas, meditation disturbed them; in exaggerating them, she believed to enlarge them; in order to extend them, she wandered off into abstractions and hyperboles. She seemed to see certain objects only through a fog, which augmented their importance in her eyes; and then her expression became so inflated that the pomposity of it would have been laughable if one had not known her to be entirely ingenuous."

"In summing up the character of Mme. Necker, we find," says Sainte-Beuve, "first of all, a genuine individuality and a personality with defects which at first impression are shocking, but which only helped to render the woman and all her aspirations the more admirable. Entering a Parisian society with the firm decision of becoming a woman of esprit and of being in relation with the beaux esprits, she was able to preserve the moral conscience of her Protestant training, to protest against the false doctrines about her, to give herself up to duties in the midst of society, to found institutions for the sick and needy,—and to leave a memory without a stain."

While, among the famous salon leaders of the eighteenth century, Mme. Necker stands out preeminently for her strict moral integrity and fidelity to her marriage relations, Mme. d'Epinay is unique for the constancy of her affections for the men to whom she owes her celebrity, Rousseau and Grimm. Born in 1725, the record of her life runs like that of most French women. At the age of twenty she was married to her cousin, La Live, who later took the name of d'Epinay, from an estate his father, the wealthy M. de Bellegarde, had bought—a man who was really in love with her for a whole month after their marriage, but who, tiring of the pure affections of a loving wife, soon began to lavish his time and fortune upon a danseuse. The poor young wife was between two fires, the extravagance and wild dissipations of her husband and the rigid discipline and orthodoxy of her mother. Never was a woman treated so outrageously and insultingly as was this woman by a man who contrived in every manner to corrupt her morals by throwing her among his dissolute companions, Mme. d'Artz, the mistress of the Prince de Conti, and Mlle. d'Ette, an intriguing woman of the time; to the latter, Mme. d'Epinay confided her troubles, and, as the result of her counsels, fell into the hands of a M. de Francueil, handsome, clever, accomplished, but as morally depraved as was her husband.

When Mme. d'Epinay was finally convinced that her husband was untrue to her, she felt nothing but disdain and contempt for him, and decided to live a virtuous life; after holding for a short time to her resolution "that a woman may have the most profound and tender sentiment for a man and yet remain faithful to her duties," she lost herself under the influence of the professional seducer Francueil, and, completely carried away by that passion, she cries out, in her memoirs: Francueil, Francueil, tu m'as perdue, et tu disais que tu m'aimais [You have undone me—and you said you loved me]! Such was the lot, as was seen, of most women of those days, who had noble intentions, but a woman's weakness. The century did not demand faithfulness to the marital vows; but when a woman had once abandoned herself to love, it required that the attachment be to a man of honor and standing. Marriage was simply a preliminary step to freedom; after that ceremony came the natural election of the heart and mutual tenderness of the beings who could be mated only through the freedom which married life afforded. A superior illegitimate liaison was nothing unnatural—on the contrary, it was but a natural human selection; such was the nature of the affection of Mme. d'Epinay for this debauche Francueil.

As she enjoyed absolute liberty, her lover paid his respects to her at Epinay; there he inaugurated amusements and took his friends. It was he who suggested the erection of a theatre at which her friends' productions might be offered to the world of critics. Through his efforts, the great men who made her salon famous were gathered at "La Chevrette," where the actors and players soon drew the attention of literary Paris. After a year or two of attachment, Francueil became indifferent to Mme. d'Epinay and transferred his affections to an actress—the sister of M. d'Epinay's mistress. Thus runs the story of the life of the average married woman. If she remained virtuous, she usually became resigned to her fate and lived happily; if she undertook to imitate her husband's tactics, she fell from the good graces of one lover to those of another, ending her life in absolute wretchedness.

These two men—the lover and the husband—carried on with two sisters their licentious living and extravagances to such an extent that the injured wife demanded a separation of her fortune from that of her husband, in which project her father-in-law aided her and gave her thirteen thousand francs income. Mme. d'Epinay, in the midst of success, became acquainted with Mlle. Quinault, the daughter of the famous actor of the time, and herself a great actress. This woman invited Mme. d'Epinay to her so-called salon, which was, possibly, the most licentious and irreligious of the salons then in vogue, where she met Duclos, with whom she immediately formed a strong friendship.

After the death of M. de Bellegarde, her wealth was considerably increased, a piece of good fortune which enabled her to carry out all her plans. It was at this time, 1755, that she induced Rousseau to live in her cottage, "l'Hermitage;" and for about two years she enjoyed perfect happiness with him. By a peculiar freak of fate she fell in with Grimm, who was introduced to her by Rousseau and who had, for some time, been on the hunt for a "faithful mistress." This German by birth, but Frenchman in spirit, had championed her at a dinner, where she was the object of the severest reproach. She had burned the papers of her sister, Mme. de Jully, who had betrayed an honest husband. Stricken with smallpox, just before dying, she confessed all to Mme. d'Epinay. The latter owed Mme. de Jully fifty ecus and the note was among the papers of Mme. de Jully. Mme. d'Epinay was accused of having burned the note to which it was asserted she had access; and Grimm undertook to plead her cause, an act which so elated madame that she turned all her affection upon her defender, whereupon Rousseau departed. Later on, the note having been found, Mme. d'Epinay was completely vindicated. Grimm then became her third lover.

This third marriage, so to speak, was one of reason; the first was one of mere emancipation; the second, one of passion and genuine love. In 1755, worn out physically, she took a trip to Switzerland, to be treated by the famous Dr. Tronchin; there she became so ill that Grimm was summoned. They remained together for about two years, and after her return to Paris she reopened her salon of "La Chevrette." Her reunions partook more of the nature of our house parties; the salon was an immense room, in which the members would pair off and divert themselves as they pleased; in that respect "La Chevrette" was unique. After her fortune, which at one time was quite large, became diminished, partly through her own extravagance and partly through that of her son, who was the very counterpart of his father, she was forced to rent "La Chevrette" and, later on, "La Briche," where she had opened her second salon.

The last years of her life she spent in Paris with Grimm. She had reached such a physical condition that her sufferings could be relieved only by the use of opium. Financial relief came to her in 1783, when the Academy awarded her the Montyon prize, then given for the first time, for her Conversations d'Emilie. She died in the same year, surrounded by her dearest friends—Grimm, M. and Mme. Belgunce, and Mme. d'Houdetot.

Mme. d'Epinay, in many respects, was a remarkable woman. Amid all her social duties, with all her physical and mental troubles, she found time to help others and to manage her own business affairs and those of her children, took an active interest in art, music, and literature, raised, with the utmost care, her granddaughter, produced one of the best works of the time for children, made tapestry, and wrote innumerable letters. Her fortune was lost through the reforms of Necker.

She was not a beautiful woman; but she was distinguished by a small, thin figure, an abundance of rich dark hair, which brought out in striking relief the peculiar whiteness of her skin, and large brown eyes. Her five lovers she called her five bears: Rousseau, Grimm, Desmoulin, Saint-Lambert, Gauffecourt. An epistle to Grimm begins thus;

"Moi, de cinq ours la souveraine, Qui leur donne et present des lois, Faut-il que je sois a la fois Et votre esclave et votre reine, O des tyrans le plus tyran?"

[I, sovereign over five bears, Who give and prescribe laws for them— Must I be your slave and queen at the same time, O among tyrants, the greatest?]

As far as the care of the education of her children is concerned, with its sacrifice and real application to duty, she was sometimes called—and not unadvisedly—the type of the ideal mother. From 1757 on her ideas and thoughts ran to education. Her friends were all of the philosophical trend, and intellectual labor was their chief pleasure. After having passed through a career of excitement and love's caprices, she longed for a peaceful, quiet existence; at that point, however, her health gave way, and she entered upon a new territory at Geneva. There she conquered Voltaire, who was profuse with his compliments and kindnesses. Upon her return she became the recognized leader or champion of the philosophic and foreign group and the Encyclopaedists, and was regarded as the central figure of the philosophical movement in general.

The ideas of the philosophers had been gaining ground, and were disseminated through all classes. The mere love of pleasure and luxury at first found under Louis XV. gave way to more serious reflections when society was confronted with those all-important questions which finally culminated in the Revolution. The salon of Mme. d'Epinay grew to be the most important and, intellectually, the most brilliant of the time. Rousseau, Diderot, Helvetius, Duclos, Suard, the Abbes Galiani, Raynal, the Florentine physician Gatti, Comte de Schomberg, Chevalier de Chastellux, Saint-Lambert, Marquis de Croixmare, the different ambassadors, counts and princes, were frequent visitors In this brilliant circle her letters from Voltaire, read aloud, were always eagerly awaited. Such dramas as Voltaire's Tancred, Diderot's Le Pere de Famille, were given under her patronage and discussed in her salon; after the performance she entertained all the friends at supper.

Upon the departure of Abbe Galiani from Paris, Mme. d'Epinay and Diderot were intrusted with the revision and printing of his famous Dialogues sur les Bles; Grimm left to them the continuance of his Correspondance Litteraire. She was known for her wonderful analytical ability and her keen power of observation—faculties which won the esteem and respect of such men and caused her collaboration to be anxiously sought by them; however, she never attempted to rival them in their particular sphere. In her writings she displayed a reactionary tendency against the educational methods of the day, her chief work of real literary worth being mostly in the form of sound advice to a child. Being a reasonable, careful, and sensible woman,—in spite of the defects in her moral life,—she desired to show the possibilities of a moral revolution against the habits and customs of the time, of which she herself had been a most unfortunate victim. She was relieved of actual want by means of this work, which gained for her a pension from Catherine II. of Russia, who adopted her methods for her own children, and the award of the Montyon prize, which was given her in a competition with a large number of aspirants, the most famous of whom was Mme. de Genlis. It was her ability to gain and retain the respect of great men which won that honor for her.

The memoirs of Mme. d'Epinay leave one of the most accurate and faithful pictures of the polished society of the France of about 1750. "Her salon was the centre about which circled the greatest activity; it was filled with men who ordered events, thinkers whose minds were bent upon untangling the knotty problems of the age; it was her salon, more than any other, that quickened the philosophical movement of the day. Mme. d'Epinay made her reputation not so much through her esprit, intelligence, or beauty, possibly, as through the strength of her affection. Timid, irresolute, and highly impressionable, and amiable in disposition, she was constantly influenced by circumstances—a quality which led her on to the two principal occupations of her later life, education and philosophy. To-day, her name is recalled principally for its association with that of Rousseau, whose mistress and benefactress she was; it is to her that the world owes his famous Nouvelle Heloise.

The last of the great literary and social leaders of the eighteenth century was Mme. de Genlis, a prodigy in every respect, an amateur performer upon nearly every instrument, an authority on intellectual matters as well, a fine story teller, a consummate artist, entertainer, and general charmer. Authoress, governess of Louis-Philippe, councillor of Bonaparte, her success as a social leader established her reputation and places her in the file of great women, although she was not a salon leader such as Mme. Geoffrin or Mme. du Deffand.

She was born in 1746, and at a very early age showed a remarkable talent for music, but her general education was much neglected. At the age of about seventeen she was married to a Comte de Genlis, who had fallen in love with her on seeing her portrait. As his relatives refused to welcome the young girl, she was placed in the convent of Origny, where she remained until 1764, after which her husband took her to his brother's estate, where they lived happily for a short time. When, in 1765, she became a mother, her husband's family became reconciled to his union, and, later on, took her to court.

Before her marriage, upon the departure of her father to San Domingo to retrieve his fortunes, her mother had found an asylum for her at the elegant home of the farmer-general M. de La Popeliniere. This occurred at the time that Paris was theatre mad, and when great actors and actresses were the heroes and heroines of society. At this house the young girl became the central figure in the theatrical and musical entertainments. After passing through this schooling, she stood the test of the court without any difficulty, and completely won the favor of her husband's family, as well as that of the court ladies and the members of the other distinguished households where she was introduced. With an insatiable appetite for frolics, quite in keeping with the customs of the time, she plunged into social life with a vigor and an aptitude which soon attracted attention. She played all sorts of roles at the most fashionable houses, "through her consummate acting and bons mots drawing tears of vexation from her less gifted sisters. She plays nine instruments, writes dramas, recasts others, organizes and drills amateurs, besides attending to a thousand and one other things."

Through the influence of her aunt, Mme. de Montesson, who was secretly married to the Duke of Orleans, Mme. de Genlis was appointed lady-in-waiting in the household of the Duchesse de Chartres, the duke's daughter-in-law, whose salon was celebrated in Paris. She soon won the confidence of the duchess, and became her confessor, secretary, guide, and oracle, but did not abandon in the least her pursuit of pleasure. She even took possession of the heart of the duke himself, and in 1782 was made "gouverneur" to his children, the Duc de Valois, later Louis-Philippe, the Duc de Montpensier, the Comte de Beaujolais, and Mlle. Adelaide; for the education of her pupils she had the use of several chateaux. Many a piquant epigram and chanson were composed for the edification of the "gouverneur." It is said that she acted as panderer for the princes, especially Louis-Philippe, of a "legitimate means of satisfying these ardent desires of which I am being devoured," by leading them to the nuns in the convents by means of a subterranean passage. The following passages from the journal of Louis-Philippe show the nature of his relations with her:

(December, 1790.) "I went to dine with my mother and grandfather. Although I am delighted to dine often with my mother, I am deeply sorry to give only three days out of the seven to my dear Bellechasse [that is, to Mme. de Genlis]."

(January, 1791.) "Last evening, returned to my friend [Mme. de Genlis]; remained there until after midnight; I was the first one to have the good fortune of wishing her a 'Happy New Year.' Nothing can make me happier; I don't know what will become of me when I am no longer with her."

(January, 1791.) "Yesterday, I was at the Tuileries. The queen spoke to my father, to my brother, and said nothing to me—neither did the king nor Monsieur, in fact, no one. I remained at my friend's until half-past twelve. No one in the world is so agreeable to me as is she." (February, 1791.) "I was at the assembly at Bellechasse, dined at the Palais-Royal, I was at the Jacobins, returned to Bellechasse, after supper went to my friend's. I remained with her alone; she treated me with an infinite kindness; I left, the happiest man in the world." Such language speaks for itself.

No sons of a nobleman ever received a finer, more typically modern education than did her pupils. She was, possibly, the first teacher to use the natural method system, teaching German, English, and Italian by conversation. The boys were compelled to act, in the park, the voyages of Vasco da Gama; in the dining room the great historical tableaux were presented; in the theatre, built especially for them, they acted all the dramas of the Theatre d'Education. She taught them how to make portfolios, ribbons, wigs, pasteboard work, to gild, to turn, and to do carpentering. They visited museums and manufactories, during which expeditions they were taught to observe, criticise, and find defects. This was the first step taken in France in the eighteenth century toward a modern education. Although it was superficial, in consequence of its great breadth, yet this education inculcated manliness and courage.

In 1778 Mme. de Genlis published her moral teachings in Adele et Theodore, a work which created quite a little talk at the time, but which eventually brought upon her the condemnation of the philosophers and Encyclopaedists, because in it she opposed liberty of conscience. When, on the occasion of the first communion of the Duc de Valois, she wrote her Religion Considered as the Only True Foundation of Happiness and of True Philosophy, all the Palais-Royal place hunters, philosophers, and her political enemies, in a mass, opposed and ridiculed her. Rivarol declared that she had no sex, that heaven had refused the magic of talent to her productions, as it had refused the charm of innocence to her childhood.

One of the best portraits of her is in the memoirs of the Baroness d'Oberkirch (it was she who disturbed Mme. de Genlis and the Duc d'Orleans while they were walking in the gardens one night):

"I did not like her, in spite of her accomplishments and the charm of her conversation; she was too systematic. She is a woman who has laid aside the flowing robes of her sex for the costume of a pedagogue. Besides, nothing about her is natural; she is constantly in an attitude, as it were, thinking that her portrait—physical or moral—is being taken by someone. One of the great follies of this masculine woman is her harp, which she carries about with her; she speaks about it when she hasn't it—she plays on a crust of bread and practises with a thread. When she perceives that someone is looking at her, she rounds her arm, purses up her mouth, assumes a sentimental expression and air, and begins to move her fingers. Gracious! what a fine thing naturalness is!... I spent a delightful evening at the Comtesse de La Massais's; she had hired musicians whom she paid dear; but Mme. de Genlis sat in the centre of the assembly, commanded, talked, commented, sang, and would have put the entire concert in confusion, had not the Marquise de Livry very drolly picked a quarrel with her about her harp, which she had brought to her. Decidedly, this young D'Orleans has a singular governor. She holds too closely to her role, and never forgets her jupons [skirts] except when she ought most to remember them."

During her visit to England she was petted by everyone; but even in England there was a widespread prejudice against her—a feeling which the mere sight of her immediately dissipated. An English lady wrote about her:

"I saw her at first with a prejudice in her disfavor, from the cruel reports I had heard; but the moment I looked at her it was removed. There was a dignity with her sweetness and a frankness with her modesty, that convinced me, beyond all power of contrary report, of her real worth and innocence."

During the Revolution Mme. de Genlis travelled about Switzerland, Germany, and England. At Berlin, owing to her poverty, she supported herself by writing, making trinkets, and teaching, until she was recalled to France, under the Consulate. In Paris she produced some of her best works—although they were written to order. Napoleon gave her a pension of six thousand francs and handsome apartments at the Arsenal. To this liberal pension, the wife of his brother, Joseph Bonaparte, added three thousand francs.

From Mme. de Genlis, Napoleon received a letter fortnightly, in which epistle she communicated to him her opinions and observations upon politics and current events. Upon the return to power of the Orleans family, she was put off with a meagre pension. Like many other French women, she became more and more melancholy and misanthropic. She was unable to control her wrath against the philosophers and some of the contemporary writers, such as Lamartine, Mme. de Stael, Scott, and Byron. Her death, in 1830, was announced in these words: "Mme. de Genlis has ceased to write—which is to announce her death."

Throughout life she was so generous that as soon as she received her pensions, presents, or earnings from her work, the money was distributed among the poor. When she died, she left nothing but a few worn and homely dresses and articles of furniture. The diversity of her works and her conduct, the politics in which she was steeped, the satires, the perfidious accusations that have pursued her, have contributed to leave of her a rather doubtful portrait; however, those who have written bitterly against her have done so mostly from personal or political animosity. She was so many-sided—a reformer, teacher, pietist, politician, actress—that a true estimate of her character is difficult. A woman of all tastes and of various talents, she was a living encyclopaedia and mistress of all arts of pleasing. She had studied medicine, and took special delight in the art of bleeding, which she practised upon the peasants, each one of whom she would present with thirty sous (thirty cents), after the bleeding—and she never lacked patients. Mme. de Genlis was an expert rider and huntress; also, she was graceful, with an elegant figure, great affability, and a talent for quickly and accurately reading character; and these gifts were stepping-stones to popularity.

She wrote incessantly, on all things, essaying every style, every subject. "She has discoursed for the education of princes and of lackeys; prepared maxims for the throne and precepts for the pantry; you might say she possessed the gift of universality. She was gifted with a singular confidence in her own abilities, infinite curiosity, untiring industry, and never-ending and inexhaustible energy. She wrote nearly as much as Voltaire, and barely excelled him in the amount of unreadable work, which, if printed, would fill over one hundred volumes."

"Let us remember," says Mr. Dobson, "her indefatigable industry and untiring energy, her kindness to her relatives and admirers, her courage and patience when in exile and poverty, her great talent, perseverance, and rare facility." In protesting vigorously against the universal neglect of physical development, against the absence of the gymnasium and the lack of practical knowledge in the education of her time, in advocating the study of modern languages as a means of culture and discipline, in applying to her pupils the principles of the modern experimental and observational education, Mme. de Genlis will retain a place as one of the great female educators—as a woman pedagogue, par excellence, of the eighteenth century.

A great number of minor salons existed, which were partly literary, partly social. From about 1750 to 1780 the amusements varied constantly, from all-day parties in the country to cafes served by the great women themselves, from playing proverbs to playing synonyms, from impromptu compositions to questionable stories, from laughter to tears, from Blind-man's-buff to Lotto. Some of the proverbs were quite ingenious and required elaborate preparations; for example, at one place Mme. de Lauzun dances with M. de Belgunce, in the simplest kind of a costume, which represented the proverb: Bonne renommee vaut mieux que ceinture doree [A good name is rather to be chosen than great riches]. Mme. de Marigny danced with M. de Saint-Julien as a negro, passing her handkerchief over her face in the various figures of the dance, meaning A laver la tete d'un More on perd sa lessive [To wash a blackamoor white].

Among the social salons, the finest was the Temple of the Prince de Conti and his mistress, the Countess de Boufflers. It was a salon of pleasure, liberty, and unceremonious intimacy; his thes a l'anglaise were served by the great ladies themselves, attired in white aprons. The exclusive and elite of the social world made up his company. The most elegant assembly was that of the Marechale de Luxembourg; it will be considered later on. The salon of Mme. de Beauvau rivalled that of the Marechale de Luxembourg; she was mistress of elegance and propriety, an authority on and model of the usages of society. A manner perhaps superior to that of any other woman, gave Mme. de Beauvau a particular politesse and constituted her one of the women who contributed most to the acceptance of Paris as the capital of Europe, by well-bred people of all countries. Her politesse was kind and without sarcasm, and, by her own naturalness, she communicated ease. She was not beautiful, but had a frank and open expression and a marvellous gift of conversation, which was her delight and in which she gloried. Her salon was conspicuous for its untarnished honor and for the example it set of a pure conjugal love.

The salon of Mme. de Grammont, at Versailles, was visited at all hours of the day and night by the highest officials, princes, lords, and ladies. It had activity, authority, the secret doors, veiled and redoubtable depths of a salon of the mistress of a king. Everybody went there for counsel, submitted plans, and confided projects to this lady who had willingly exiled herself from Paris.

The house of M. de La Popeliniere, at Passy, was noted for its unique entertainment; there the celebrated Gossec and Gaiffre conducted the concerts, Deshayes, master of the ballet at the Comedie-Italienne, managed the amusements. It was a house like a theatre and with all the requisites of the latter; there artists and men of letters, virtuosos and danseuses, ate, slept, and lodged as in a hotel. With Mme. de Blot, mistress of the Duke of Orleans, as hostess, the Palais-Royal ranked next to the Temple of the Prince de Conti; it was open only to those who were presented; after that ceremony, all those who were thus introduced could, without invitation, dine there on all days of the Grand Opera. On the petits jours a select twenty gathered, who, when once invited, were so for all time. The "Salon de Pomone," of Mme. de Marchais, received its name from Mme. du Deffand on account of the exquisite fruits and magnificent flowers which the hostess cultivated and distributed among her friends.

"La Paroisse," of Mme. Doublet de Persan, was the salon of the sceptics and was under the constant surveillance of the police. All the members arrived at the same time and each took possession of the armchair reserved for him, above which hung his portrait. On a large stand were two registers, in which the rumors of the day were noted—in one the doubtful, in the other the accredited. On Saturday, a selection was made, which went to the Grand Livre, which became a journal entitled Nouvelles a la Main, kept by the valet-de-chambre of Mme. Doublet. This book furnished the substance of the six volumes of the Memoires Secrets, which began to appear in 1770.

Besides these salons of the nobility, there were those of the financiers, a profession which had risen into prominence within the last half century, after the death of Louis XIV. According to the Goncourt brothers, the greatest of these salons was that of Mme. de Grimrod de La Reyniere, who, by dint of shrewd manoeuvring, by unheard-of extravagances, excessive opulence in the furnishings of her salon, and by the most gorgeous and rare fetes and suppers, had succeeded in attracting to her establishment a number of the court and nobility.

The salon of M. de La Popeliniere belonged to this class, although he was ranked, more or less, among the nobility. There were the weekly suppers of Mme. Suard, Mme. Saurin, the Abbe Raynal, and the luncheons of the Abbe Morellet on the first Sunday of the month; to the latter functions were invited all the celebrities of the other salons, as well as artists and musicians—it was there that the famous quarrel of the Gluck and Piccini parties originated. The Tuesday dinners of Helvetius became famous; it was at them that Franklin was one of the favorites; after the death of Helvetius, he attempted in vain to put an end to the widowhood of madame. No man at that time was more popular than Franklin or had as much public attention shown him.