The most remarkable, though by no means the only, precedent we have for
a social organization planned by women on a basis of the intellect, was
the French literary salon of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
These women had relatively as much intelligence as we have, and
possibly more power. It must be taken into consideration that they were
remote from us by race, religion, and political régime, as well as by
several generations of time, and that their spirit, aims, and methods
were as unlike ours as their points of view. But that which they did
on traditional lines and a small scale we are doing on new lines and
a very large scale. Their intellectual life found its outlet in the
salon, as ours does in the club. These equally represent the active
influence of women in their respective ages. Both have resulted in a
mania for knowledge, a change of ideals, a radical revolution in social
life, and an unprecedented increase in the authority of women. As they
have certain tendencies and dangers in common, it may be of interest to
trace a few points of resemblance and contrast between them; also to
glance at the elements which have gone into the club and are making it
so considerable a factor in American life.
The salon, like the club, was founded and led by clever women in
the interests of culture, both literary and social; but, unlike the
club, it was devoted to bringing into relief the talents of men. The
difference, so far as manners are concerned, is a fundamental one. It
would never have occurred to the women of that age to band together
for self-improvement. If they had given the matter a thought, it would
not have seemed to them likely to come in that way; still less would
it have occurred to them that this mode of doing things could be of
any service in bettering the world or their own position. Rousseau,
who wrote so many fine phrases about liberty, and left women none at
all, not even the small privilege of protesting against injustice,
said that they were “made to please men”; and it is safe to say that
the Frenchwomen had no scheme of life apart from men, until they were
ready to go into seclusion for prayer and penance and preparation for
the next world. They accepted the fact that men had the ordering of
affairs, and that they could make their own influence felt only by
acting through them. “What is the difference whether women rule, or
the rulers are guided by women?” said Aristotle. “If the power is in
their hands, the result is the same.” It was simply a question of the
best way of ruling the rulers. In this case the rulers were of a race
that has not only a great liking for women in the concrete, but a
great admiration for woman in the abstract. So long as her gifts are
consecrated to his interest and pleasure, the Frenchman never objects
to them--indeed, he is disposed to pay much homage to them. In the
interest of some one else, or even in her own, it is another matter.
They might be inconvenient. But in this new kingdom of the salon he was
quite willing to accord her the supremacy, since she gave him the place
of honor and furnished an effective background for his talents without
too much parading her own. He had only to shine and be applauded. What
more could he desire?
Naturally, under such conditions, among the first of her arts was
that of making things agreeable. If she had any fine moral lessons
to inculcate, she gave them in the form of sugared pills that were
pleasant to take. In her category of virtues the social ones were
uppermost; but they were the means to an end, and this end must not
be lost sight of. Her special mission was to correct coarse manners
and bad morals, as well as to secure due recognition for talent; but
she went about it in her own way. It may be said that, as a rule, the
Frenchwoman is much less interested in _what_ is done than in
_how_ it is done. In the early days of the salons she concerned
herself little, if at all, with theories and grave social problems;
but she did concern herself very much with questions of taste and
manners, the refinements of language and literature, the subtleties
of sentiment, the dignity of converse between men and women. Nor did
she bring to these questions an untrained mind. If she did not make
so much of a business of improving it as we do, she did not neglect
private study and the reading of the best books, which, though few,
were undiluted. “It gives dull colors to the mind to have no taste
for solid reading,” said Mme. de Sévigné, who delighted in Montaigne
and Pascal, Tacitus and Vergil, with various other classics which are
not exactly the food for frivolity. These women did not always spell
correctly, and would have declined altogether to write a paper on the
“Science of Government” or the “Philosophy of Confucius,”--subjects
which the school-girls of to-day feel quite competent to treat,--but
they showed surprising clearness and penetration in their criticisms
of literature and manners. The coteries which formed an audience for
Corneille, sympathized with the exalted thought of Pascal and Arnauld,
helped to modify and polish the maxims of La Rochefoucauld,--as those
which, a century or so later, discussed the tragedies of Voltaire
or the philosophy of Rousseau with men of genius who would have had
small patience with platitudes,--needed no lowering of levels to suit
their taste or comprehension. They were held firmly to fine literary
ideals. All they asked was simplicity of statement, and this was made a
fashion, to the lasting benefit of French literature.
It is true that the movement of the salon was in the direction of a
brilliant social as well as a brilliant intellectual life; but to fuse
such varied materials, to unite men of action and men of letters,
nobles and philosophers, statesmen and poets, people within the pale
and people outside of it, in a harmonious society, presided over by
women who set up new standards and new codes of manners, meant more
than intelligence, more than social charm. It involved diplomacy of a
high order, which implies flexibility, penetration, and the subtler
qualities of the intellect, as well as tact, sympathy, and knowledge
of men. This was notably an outgrowth of the salon, where women owed
much of their influence to a quick perception of the fine shades of
temperament, genius, interest, and passion through which the world is
swayed. The result of such training was a mind singularly lucid, great
administrative ability, and a character full of the intangible quality
that we call charm. If it was a trifle weak as to moral fiber, this
may be largely laid to the standards of the time, which were not ours.
Mme. du Deffand put the philosophy of her age and race into an epigram
when she said that “the virtues are superior to the sentiments, but not
so agreeable.” Both temperament and education led these women toward
Hellenic ideals. The latter-day woman is inclined to look upon their
methods as trivial and their attitude as humiliating; but, whatever we
may think of their point of view, we must admit their masterly ability
in making vital changes for the better, and attaining a position of
influence which we have hardly yet secured for ourselves. They did much
more than form society, create a code of manners, and set the fashions,
which we are apt to look upon as their special province. They refined
the language, stimulated talent, gave fresh life to literature, exacted
a new respect for women, and held political as well as social and
academic honors in their hands.
If they sometimes dipped into affairs of state in support of their
friends, and with a too incidental reference to the interests of the
State, I am not sure that even the men of our own time are absolutely
free from a personal tinge of the same sort, without the saving grace
of altruism. At all events, in the pursuit of a better order of things,
they took the pleasant path around the mountain rather than the
doubtful and untrodden path over it, which, since they could not go
over it if they tried, was, to my thinking, the wiser way.