d
superiority as an external thing, and says very wisely, "It is merit
which should separate you from people, not dignity or pride." By
"people" she indicates all those who think meanly and commonly. "The
court is full of them," she adds. Her standards of honor are high, and
her sentiments of humanity quite in the vein of the coming age. She
urges her daughter to treat her servants with kindness. "One of the
ancients says they should be regarded as unfortunate friends. Think that
humanity and Christianity equalize all."

Her criticisms on the education of women are of especial interest.
Behind her conventional tastes and her love of consideration she has a
clear perception of facts and an appreciation of unfashionable truths.
She recognizes the superiority of her sex in matters of taste and in the
enjoyment of "serious pleasures which make only the MIND LAUGH and
do not trouble the heart" She reproaches men with "spoiling the
dispositions nature has given to women, neglecting their education,
filling their minds with nothing solid, and destining them solely to
please, and to please only by their graces or their vices." But she had
not always the courage of her convictions, and it was doubtless quite as
much her dislike of giving voice to unpopular opinions as her aversion
to the publicity of authorship, that led her to buy the entire edition
of her "Reflexions sur les Femmes," which was published without her
consent.

One of her marked traits was moderation. "The taste is spoiled by
amusements," she writes. "One becomes so accustomed to ardent pleasures
that one cannot fall back upon simple ones. We should fear great
commotions of the soul, which prepare ennui and disgust." This wise
thought suggests the influence of Fontenelle, who impressed himself
strongly upon the salons of the first half of the century. His calm
philosophy is distinctly reflected in the character of Mme. de Lambert,
also in that of Mme. Geoffrin, with whom he was on very intimate terms.
It is said that this poet, critic, bel esprit, and courtly favorite,
whom Rousseau calls "the daintiest pedant in the world," was never
swayed by any emotion whatever. He never laughed, only smiled; never
wept; never praised warmly, though he did say pretty things to women;
never hurried; was never angry; never suffered, and was never moved by
suffering. "He had the gout," says one of his critics, "but no pain;
only a foot wrapped in cotton. He put it on a footsto