etended beaux esprits." Grimm, too, was a central figure here, and
Grimm was his friend. But over his genius, as over that of Rousseau,
there was the trail of the serpent. The breadth of his thought, the
brilliancy of his criticisms, the eloquence of his style were clouded
with sensualism. "When you see on his forehead the reflection of a ray
from Plato," says Sainte-Beuve, "do not trust it; look well, there is
always the foot of a satyr."

It was to the clear and penetrating intellect of Grimm, with its vein
of German romanticism, that Mme. d'Epinay was indebted for the finest
appreciation and the most genuine sympathy. "Bon Dieu," he writes to
Diderot, "how this woman is to be pitied! I should not be troubled
about her if she were as strong as she is courageous. She is sweet and
trusting; she is peaceful, and loves repose above all; but her situation
exacts unceasingly a conduct forced and out of her character; nothing
so wears and destroys a machine naturally frail." She aided him in his
correspondance litteraire; wrote a treatise on education, which had the
honor of being crowned by the Academy; and, among other things of more
or less value, a novel, which was not published until long after her
death. With many gifts and attractions, kind, amiable, forgiving, and
essentially emotional, Mme. d'Epinay seems to have been a woman of weak
and undecided character, without sufficient strength of moral fiber to
sustain herself with dignity under the unfortunate circumstances which
surrounded her. "It depends only upon yourself," said Grimm, "to be the
happiest and most adorable creature in the world, provided that you do
not put the opinions of others before your own, and that you know how to
suffice for yourself." Her education had not given her the worldly tact
and address of Mme. Geoffrin, and her salon never had a wide celebrity;
but it was a meeting place of brilliant and radical thinkers, of the men
who have perhaps done the most to change the face of the modern world.
In a quiet and intimate way, it was one among the numberless forces
which were gathering and gaining momentum to culminate in the
great tragedy of the century. Mme. d'Epinay did not live to see the
catastrophe. Worn out by a life of suffering and ill health, she died in
1783.

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 th