possesses a patent for admission everywhere. An Englishman[4318]
remarks that one of the first expressions employed in praise of a man
is, "he has a very graceful address." The Marechale de Luxembourg,
so high-spirited, always selects Laharpe as her cavalier, because "he
offers his arm so well."--The commoner not only enters the drawing-room,
if he is fitted for it, but he stands foremost in it if he has
any talent. The first place in conversation, and even in public
consideration, is for Voltaire, the son of a notary, for Diderot, the
son of a cutler, for Rousseau, the son of a watchmaker, for d'Alembert,
a foundling brought up by a glazier; and, after the great men have
disappeared, and no writers of the second grade are left, the leading
duchesses are still content to have the seats at their tables occupied
by Champfort, another foundling, Beaumarchais, the son of another
watchmaker, Laharpe, supported and raised on charity, Marmontel, the
son of a village tailor, and may others of less note, in short, every
parvenu possessing wit.

The nobility, to perfect their own accomplishments, borrow their pens
and aspire to their successes. "We have recovered from those old Gothic
and absurd prejudices against literary culture," says the Prince de
Henin;[4319] "as for myself I would compose a comedy to-morrow if I had
the talent, and if I happened to be made a little angry, I would perform
in it." And, in fact, "the Vicomte de Segur, son of the minister of war,
plays the part of the lover in 'Nina' on Mlle. de Guimard's stage
with the actors of the Italian Comedy."[4320] One of Mme. de Genlis's
personages, returning to Paris after five years' absence, says that "he
left men wholly devoted to play, hunting, and their small houses, and he
finds them all turned authors."[4321] They hawk about their tragedies,
comedies, novels, eclogues, dissertations and treatises of all kinds
from one drawing room to another. They strive to get their pieces
played; they previously submit them to the judgment of actors; they
solicit a word of praise from the Mercure; they read fables at the
sittings of the Academy. They become involved in the bickering, in the
vainglory, in the pettiness of literary life, and still worse, of the
life of the stage, inasmuch as they are themselves performers and play
in company with real actors in hundreds of private theaters. Add to
this, if you please, other petty amateur talents such as sketching
in water-colo