ng the
graces which were at that time so essential to brilliant success; the
eloquent Abbe Raynal; and the Chevalier de Chastellux, so genial, so
sympathetic, and so animated. To these we may add Galiani, the smallest,
the wittiest, and the most delightful of abbes, whose piercing insight
and Machiavellian subtlety lent a piquant charm to the stories with
which for hours he used to enliven this choice company; Caraccioli,
gay, simple, ingenuous, full of Neapolitan humor, rich in knowledge and
observation, luminous with intelligence and sparkling with wit; and the
Comte de Crentz, the learned and versatile Swedish minister, to whom
nature had "granted the gift of expressing and painting in touches of
fire all that had struck his imagination or vividly seized his soul."
Hume, Gibbon, Walpole, indeed every foreigner of distinction who visited
Paris, lent to this salon the eclat of their fame, the charm of their
wit, or the prestige of their rank. It was such men as these who gave it
so rare a fascination and so lasting a fame.

A strong vein of philosophy was inevitable, though in this circle of
diplomats and litterateurs there were many counter-currents of opinion.
It was her consummate skill in blending these diverse but powerful
elements, and holding them within harmonious limits, that made the
reputation of the autocratic hostess. The friend of savants and
philosophers, she had neither read nor studied books, but she had
studied life to good purpose. Though superficial herself, she had the
delicate art of putting every one in the most advantageous light by a
few simple questions or words. It was one of her maxims that "the way
not to get tired of people is to talk to them of themselves; at the same
time, it is the best way to prevent them from getting tired of you."
Perhaps Mme. Necker was thinking of her when she compared certain women
in conversation to "light layers of cotton wool in a box packed with
porcelain; we do not pay much attention to them, but if they were taken
away everything would be broken."

Mme. Geoffrin was always at home in the evening, and there were simple
little suppers to which a few women were invited. The fare was usually
little more than "a chicken, some spinach, and omelet." Among the most
frequent guests were the charming, witty, and spirituelle Comtesse
d'Egmont, daughter of the Duc de Richelieu, who added to the vivacious
and elegant manners of her father an indefinable grace of her own