“This short pause before the revolution, which might be compared to the breathing time allowed to combatants, or rather to the cold shiver which precedes the raging fever, has been described by the prince as the most intoxicating period of his life. In this unprecedented mixture of society, he was viewed with favour by each and all. Whether as the nobleman of aristocratic descent, or the man of wit and talent, he was admitted into every circle, and perhaps was thus singular in his perfect acquaintance with them all. He, who has so little enthusiasm in his character, will sometimes grow quite enthusiastic when speaking of that time; and I have heard him exclaim with melancholy pride, ‘Could I, by forfeiting the memory of that brief space of light and glory, add thrice the number of years so spent to my existence now, I would not do it. I hold too dear even the privilege which I possess of exclaiming with Ovid, “Vidi tantùm,” and often mourn those days in the very words of old Brantôme: “Nothing is left of all that wit and gallantry, that vast expenditure (folle dépense) of bravery and chivalry. What good remains to me of all this pomp? None—save that I have seen it!”’
“The greatest of all the regrets expressed by the prince is for the art of conversation, ‘l’art de causer,’ which, he declares, never flourished in any country save France, and has been lost even there ever since the revolution. He himself is perhaps the only individual left to tell us in what that ‘art’ consisted. Like every gift of the Muses, it seemed to shun the circles of the great, and to flourish best where reigned equality. The réunions of Madame Necker in Paris, when her husband was minister, were always stiff and embarrassed; her charming déjeuners at St. Ouen, where all state and ceremony were laid aside, will be for ever celebrated in the annals of letters. The proper cultivation of the ‘art of conversation’ was dependent on the union of many circumstances, and success could not be relied on even by those who appeared in every way best qualified for the attempt. None could tell why it was that some succeeded thus while others failed—why the same wit which shone so brightly in one salon was dull and frigid in another. D’Alembert declared that he could find conversation but in one single salon in Paris, that of Madame Suard, the wife of the celebrated translator and commentator of Hume and Robertson, of whom Boufflers said to M. de Talleyrand one day, ‘She is the only pretty woman of my acquaintance with whom I have never been in love; and yet she is the woman I love best on earth.’ A more delicate compliment to virtue than this was, perhaps, never paid. Diderot was most animated in the house of Madame Helvetius, and nursed his powers for her reception-days.
“Madame Geoffrin herself presided over her own salon after the death of Fontenelle, who, for many years, deaf, purblind, and almost centenary, had thrown such lustre on her meetings, that foreigners of rank, and wealth, and talent, had crowded to Paris merely to be presented there; and such was the charm of the society into which they found themselves ushered, that many of them renounced their country to enjoy it without molestation. Buffon, who in ordinary intercourse was vulgar in the extreme (so at least says M. de Talleyrand, who knew him well), became sublime at Moulin-Joli, where Watelet the painter had the good luck to assemble all the wit and talent of the capital. Here it was that Buffon one day grew inspired, and recited whole chapters of his work without missing a single word, much to the astonishment of many of the strangers there, who thought that it was all improvisation. These intellectual soirées of the roture had succeeded in the guidance and government of ‘conversation’ to the petits soupers of the ancien régime, but differed from them, inasmuch as the intellect alone was fed. The principle of equality had gone so far, that it was agreed among the literati to avoid the tables of the rich, lest he who gave a good dinner should feel a right to direct the conversation.
“At most of these literary meetings, therefore, no set repast was to be found; the refreshments provided were but scanty and of the simplest kind. One single cup of coffee for each guest at Madame Suard’s, one single glass of punch (sometimes prepared by Franklin, though) at Madame Helvetius’s, formed the whole of the menu. Sobriety was considered indispensable to the clearness and steadiness of debate, and the intellect remained unthickened by eating and drinking. The Abbé Morellet alone had chosen to add music and feasting to the attraction of the conversation held at his house, and had done so with success. But the déjeuners were exquisite, although slight. ‘Eat a little and of little’ was the abbé’s recommendation to his guests, and the music, that of Glück, was presided over by himself and executed by Mellico. The first representation of ‘Orphée’ took place at one of these déjeuners, the romance of which had such an effect on Rousseau, that he almost fainted on hearing it, declaring that ‘It was music never to be heard at all, or listened to for ever.’
“There was but little jealousy at these different réunions; each came prepared to contribute to the general amusement, and to listen to the contributions of others. Every one was openly criticised and honestly applauded according to his merit. The barren fecundity of Parny could find admirers as well as the noble poetry of Delille. There was scarcely, indeed, a distinction of coterie, so nicely were the elements of this society blended. The only dissidence which existed was between Madame Geoffrin and the Abbé Morellet, in consequence of the preference of Jean Jacques Rousseau for the house of the latter. Madame Geoffrin had sought by every means in her power to conciliate the good-will and favour of Jean Jacques, but she was too fond of patronage. And to all her advances he had answered, in his surly language, ‘that he hated both benefits and benefactors.’
“The well-known mot piquant of Madame Geoffrin upon the abbé’s guests, which she declared were composed of ‘trompeurs, trompés, trompettes,’ amply revenged her disappointment, but widened the breach between the rival camps.
“‘The chief delight of the abbé’s réunions,’ says M. de Talleyrand, ‘was the perfect equality which reigned there. The terror of any encroachment or assumption of superiority was so great, that Madame Suard, on being accused of allowing D’Alembert to act as president of the society gathered at her house, by placing him on a higher fauteuil than those occupied by the other guests, was obliged to apologize for so doing, and to plead the ill health and weakened digestion of the philosopher, which compelled him to remain continually in an almost upright position.’
“‘Good Heavens! what a quantity of pattens!’ exclaimed, in a sneering tone, M. de Creutz, the Swedish ambassador, as he entered the ante-room at Madame du Deffand’s, where Madame Necker had undertaken to present him.
“‘So much the better,’ answered the lady, ‘they give us promise of good company.’
“It was in the frank reception of talent, no matter whence it emanated, wherein lay the secret charm of these conversaziones. No individual was excluded as a matter of course, none admitted as a matter of right.