Whatever her faults and weaknesses may have been, the woman who could retain the devoted affection of so brilliant and versatile a man as Grimm for twenty-seven years, who was the lifelong friend and correspondent of Galiani and Voltaire, and the valued confidante of Diderot, must have had some rare attractions of mind, heart, or character.
CHAPTER XIV. SALONS OF THE NOBLESSE—MADAME DU DEFFAND
La Marechale de Luxembourg—The Temple—Comtesse de Boufflers— Mme. du Deffand—Her Convent Salon—Rupture with Mlle. de Lespinasse—Her Friendship with Horace Walpole—Her brilliancy and Her Ennui
While the group of iconoclasts who formed the nucleus of the philosophical salons was airing its theories and enjoying its increasing vogue, there was another circle which played with the new ideas more or less as a sort of intellectual pastime, but was aristocratic au fond, and carefully preserved all the traditions of the old noblesse. One met here the philosophers and men of letters, but they did not dominate; they simply flavored these coteries of rank and fashion. In this age of esprit no salon was complete without its sprinkling of literary men. We meet the shy and awkward Rousseau even in the exclusive drawing room of the clever and witty but critical Marechale de Luxembourg, who presides over a world in which the graces rule—a world of elegant manners, of etiquette, and of forms. This model of the amenities, whose gay and faulty youth ripened into a pious and charitable age, was at the head of that tribunal which pronounced judgment upon all matters relating to society. She was learned in genealogy, analyzed and traced to their source the laws of etiquette, possessed a remarkable memory, and without profound education, had learned much from conversation with the savants and illustrious men who frequented her house. Her wit was proverbial, and she was never at a loss for a ready repartee or a spicy anecdote. She gave two grand suppers a week. Mme. de Genlis, who was often there, took notes, according to her custom, and has left an interesting record of conversations that were remarkable not only for brilliancy, but for the thoughtful wisdom of the comments upon men and things. La Harpe read a great part of his works in this salon. Rousseau entertained the princely guests at Montmorency with "La Nouvelle Heloise" and "Emile," and though never quite at ease, his democratic theories did not prevent him from feeling greatly honored by their friendly courtesies; indeed, he loses his usual bitterness when speaking of this noble patroness. He says that her conversation was marked by an exquisite delicacy that always pleased, and her flatteries were intoxicating because they were simple and seemed to escape without intention.
Mme. de Luxembourg was an autocrat, and did not hesitate to punish errors in taste by social ostracism. "Erase the name of Monsieur — — from my list," she said, as a gentleman left after relating a scandalous story reflecting upon some one's honor. It was one of her theories that "society should punish what the law cannot attack." She maintained that good manners are based upon noble and delicate sentiments, that mutual consideration, deference, politeness, gentleness, and respect to age are essential to civilization. The disloyal, the ungrateful bad sons, bad brothers, bad husbands, and bad wives, whose offenses were serious enough to be made public, she banished from that circle which called itself la bonne compagnie. It must be admitted, however, that it was les convenances rather than morality which she guarded.
A rival of this brilliant salon, and among the most celebrated of its day, was the one at the Temple. The animating spirit here was the amiable and vivacious Comtesse de Boufflers, celebrated in youth for her charms, and later for her talent. She was dame d'honneur to the Princesse de Conti, wife of the Duc d'Orleans, who was noted for her caustic wit, as well as for her beauty. It was in the salon of his clever and rather capricious sister that the learned Prince de Conti met her and formed the intimacy that ended only with his life. She was called the idole of the Temple, and her taste for letters gave her also the title of Minerve savante. She wrote a tragedy which was said to be good, though she would never let it go out of her hands, and has been immortalized by Rousseau, with whom she corresponded for sixteen years. Hume also exchanged frequent letters with her, and she tried in vain to reconcile these two friends after their quarrel. President Henault said he had never met a woman of so much esprit, adding that "outside all her charms she had character." For society she had a veritable passion. She said that when she loved England the best she could not think of staying there without "taking twenty-four or twenty-five intimate friends, and sixty or eighty others who were absolutely necessary to her." Her conversation was full of fire and brilliancy, and her gaiety of heart, her gracious manners, and her frank appreciation of the talent of others added greatly to her piquant fascination. She delighted in original turns of expression, which were sometimes far-fetched and artificial. One of her friends said that "she made herself the victim of consideration, and lost it by running after it." Her rule of life may be offered as a model. "In conduct, simplicity and reason; in manners, propriety and decorum; in actions, justice and generosity; in the use of wealth, economy and liberality; in conversation, clearness, truth, precision; in adversity, courage and pride; in prosperity, modesty and moderation." Unfortunately she did not put all this wisdom into practice, if we judge her by present standards. We have a glimpse of the famous circle over which she presided in an interesting picture formerly at Versailles, now at the Louvre. The figures are supposed to be portraits. Among others are Mme. de Luxembourg, the Comtesse de Boufflers, and the lovely but ill-fated young stepdaughter, Amelie, Comtesse de Lauzun, to whom she is so devoted; the beautiful Comtesse d'Egmont, Mme. de Beauvan, President Henault, the witty Pont de Veyle, Mairan, the versatile scientist, and the Prince de Conti. In the midst of this group the little Mozart, whose genius was then delighting Europe, sits at the harpsichord. The chronicles of the time give us pleasant descriptions of the literary diversions of this society, which met by turns at the Temple and Ile-Adam. But the Prince as well as the clever Comtesse had a strong leaning towards philosophy, and the amusements were interspersed with much conversation of a serious character that has a peculiar interest today when read by the light of after events.
Among the numerous salons of the noblesse there was one which calls for more than a passing word, both on account of its world-wide fame and the exceptional brilliancy of its hostess. Though far less democratic and cosmopolitan than that of Mme. Geoffrin, with which it was contemporary, its character was equally distinct and original. Linked by birth with the oldest of the nobility, allied by intellect with the most distinguished in the world of letters, Mme. du Deffand appropriated the best in thought, while retaining the spirit of an elegant and refined social life. She was exclusive by nature and instinct, as well as by tradition, and could not dispense with the arts and amenities which are the fruit of generations of ease; but the energy and force of her intellect could as little tolerate shallowness and pretension, however disguised beneath the graceful tyranny of forms. Her salon offers a sort of compromise between the freedom of the philosophical coteries and the frivolities of the purely fashionable ones. It included the most noted of the men of letters—those who belonged to the old aristocracy and a few to whom nature had given a prescriptive title of nobility—as well as the flower of the great world. Her sarcastic wit, her clear intelligence, and her rare conversational gifts added a tone of individuality that placed her salon at the head of the social centers of the time in brilliancy and in esprit. In this group of wits, LITTERATEURS, philosophers, statesmen, churchmen, diplomats, and men of rank, Mme. du Deffand herself is always the most striking figure. The art of self-suppression she clearly did not possess. But the art of so blending a choice society that her own vivid personality was a pervading note of harmony she had to an eminent degree. She could easily have made a mark upon her time through her intellectual gifts without the factitious aid of the men with whom her name is associated. But society was her passion society animated by intellect, sparkling with wit, and expressing in all its forms the art instincts of her race. She never aspired to authorship, but she has left a voluminous correspondence in which one reads the varying phases of a singularly capricious character. In her old age she found refuge from a devouring ennui in writing her own memoirs. Merciless to herself as to others, she veils nothing, revealing her frailties with a freedom that reminds one of Rousseau.
It is not the portrait of an estimable woman that we can paint from these records; but in her intellectual force, her social gifts, and her moral weakness she is one of the best exponents of an age that trampled upon the finest flowers of the soul in the blind pursuit of pleasure and the cynical worship of a hard and unpitying realism. Living from 1697 to 1780, she saw the train laid for the Revolution, and died in time to escape its horrors. She traversed the whole experience of the women of her world with the independence and abandon of a nature that was moderate in nothing. It is true she felt the emptiness of this arid existence, and had an intellectual perception of its errors, but she saw nothing better. "All conditions appear to me equally unhappy, from the angel to the oyster," is the burden of her hopeless refrain.
She reveals herself to us as two distinct characters. The one best known is hard, bitter, coldly analytic, and mocks at everything bordering upon sentiment or feeling. The other, which underlies this, and of which we have rare glimpses, is frank, tender, loving even to weakness, and forever at war with the barrenness of a period whose worst faults she seems to have embodied, and whose keenest penalties she certainly suffered.