“‘Good Heavens! what a quantity of pattens!’ exclaimed, in a sneering tone, M. de Creutz, the Swedish ambassador, as he entered the ante-room at Madame du Deffand’s, where Madame Necker had undertaken to present him.
“‘So much the better,’ answered the lady, ‘they give us promise of good company.’
“It was in the frank reception of talent, no matter whence it emanated, wherein lay the secret charm of these _conversaziones_. No individual was excluded as a matter of course, none admitted as a matter of right.
“I remember being once much delighted with an argument which took place upon this very subject between the prince and one of the best writers of our own day, who has since risen to greatness and power by the assistance of his pen alone. The latter maintained that a greater knowledge of mankind was to be obtained by the study of well-written books, than could be acquired even by personal experience. The prince, in reply, gave utterance to some of the most beautiful and original thoughts which I have ever heard him express.
“‘Tell me not of books,’ said he, good-humouredly, ‘they never can contain the _natural_ impressions of the writer. They can express neither surprise nor fear—the very anger which they convey has been all premeditated. Tell me not of books—they are “composed” by men, and are even greater hypocrites than they. The history of every age would be found with far greater truth in the history of its conversations (_causeries_) than in the most brilliant of its literary productions. Few men write, all converse; authors have copied each other both in style and sentiment ever since the world began, but the _causeur_ is himself, and speaks as he feels and thinks. The old axiom, _verba volant_, is a great evil, but the addition to the proverb, _scripta manent_, is a greater still. You, who are preparing to write the history of one of the greatest struggles which ever took place in the annals of the universe, would do well to study the history of the conversations of the generations preceding; you will find there the preconception of many an event which falsely seems to have occurred spontaneously, and which overwhelms us with wonder at its apparent rashness. Even Louis Quatorze, whose Bastille yawned so greedily for those who dared to _write_ a syllable against the justice of his measures, was known to wince beneath the lash of the witty _causeurs_ of his day; he felt that he was powerless against their attacks, and was compelled to flatter and to pardon, as Richelieu, that greater tyrant still, had been forced to do before him. He was too clever to affect to despise their ridicule, and trembled, lest resenting it might expose him to further stings.’