der and exalted souls, finding little solace in the domestic
affections which played so small a role in their lives, they turned the
whole force of their clear and flexible minds to this new species of
sovereignty. Their keenness of vision, their consummate skill in
the adaptation of means to ends, their knowledge of the world, their
practical intelligence, their instinct of pleasing, all fitted them for
the part they assumed. They distinctly illustrated the truth that "our
ideal is not out of ourselves, but in ourselves wisely modified." The
intellect of these women was rarely the dupe of the emotions. Their
clearness was not befogged by sentiment, nor, it may be added, were
their characters enriched by it. "The women of the eighteenth century
loved with their minds and not with their hearts," said the Abbe
Galiani. The very absence of the qualities so essential to the highest
womanly character, according to the old poetic types, added to their
success. To be simple and true is to forget often to consider effects.
Spontaneity is not apt to be discriminating, and the emotions are not
safe guides to worldly distinction. It is not the artist who feels the
most keenly, who sways men the most powerfully; it is the one who has
most perfectly mastered the art of swaying men. Self-sacrifice and a
lofty sense of duty find their rewards in the intangible realm of
the spirit, but they do not find them in a brilliant society whose
foundations are laid in vanity and sensualism. "The virtues, though
superior to the sentiments, are not so agreeable," said Mme. du Deffand;
and she echoed the spirit of an age of which she was one of the most
striking representatives. To be agreeable was the cardinal aim in the
lives of these women. To this end they knew how to use their talents,
and they studied, to the minutest shade, their own limitations. They
had the gift of the general who marshals his forces with a swift eye
for combination and availability. To this quality was added more or less
mental brilliancy, or, what is equally essential, the faculty of calling
out the brilliancy of others; but their education was rarely profound
or even accurate. To an abbe who wished to dedicate a grammar to Mme.
Geoffrin she replied: "To me? Dedicate a grammar to me? Why, I do not
even know how to spell." Even Mme. du Deffand, whom Sainte Beuve ranks
next to Voltaire as the purest classic of the epoch in prose, says
of herself, "I do not know a word of gr