“Is this at all proper? A Parisian lady at a salon?” Eugenie gasped.
“Of course, Mère. It is entirely proper. Some of the great intellectuals of our time attend these salons,” he replied.
“I’m not at all sure that is a good thing. Those les bas-bleus started in a salon,” she sniffed.
Jean Pierre knew les bas-bleus—a group of intellectual women—had gathered in a seventeenth-century Paris salon to exchange ideas. It was not a positive example for his mother.
“Be that as it may, I want my daughter open to ideas as an educated woman. You cannot shun these things. She wants to learn,” he explained.
“Yes I know. She is as educated as most men. It is not a good thing, my son,” she said, shaking her head.
“How can you say that, Mère? Would you prefer she remain ignorant and silly?” he asked.
“Of course not. But she will marry and have children, and I do not understand what good her many languages and philosophy will do her then.”
“She will be an excellent mother and raise intelligent children.” Jean Pierre knew better than to engage with his mother. Though he had not been instrumental in the day-to-day education of his daughter, she had a quick mind and he had allowed it to grow. As she was now an adult, there was no going back. “Let’s leave at 7. Inform Sophie and have the carriage readied.”
Eugenie nodded but inwardly was vexed at her son. She did not agree with him. Though Sophie was an educated woman, she felt he need not encourage her. If her granddaughter had any true sense at all, she would accept Alphonse and marry, she thought. She climbed the stairs to tell Sophie, who—as she expected—was excited at the prospect.
Sophie pulled on her cotton shift, a simple outer garment that she also used for sleep. She rolled on her silk stockings and placed the two garters on each thigh to hold the stockings in place. She wore a gown in the popular polonaise-style.
The cream-colored silk gown had a scooped neckline and a fitted bodice with delicate lace along the elbow-length sleeves and neckline. Her tight corset ensured a defined waist while the full skirt was draped in front and then pulled back to reveal a delicately decorated petticoat with hand-embroidered floral designs. It was one of her favorite gowns. She decided to wear her ivory-colored silk shoes with the square heel.
She sat before her vanity table to prepare her toilette. She kept her face pale but applied rouge to her cheeks and left her eyes bare. She darkened her eyebrows and used a red pomade on her lips. She pinned her long hair back but kept one long curl to coil down her back.
As a French woman, Sophie enjoyed fashion and looking her best, but she was glad she had not lived during the time when fashion was excessive, with Queen Marie Antoinette’s extravagant wigs and gowns.
As time had passed, Marie Antoinette had become increasingly unpopular with the French people and by 1785, the style of dress was more subdued, except at court. After giving birth to three children, the queen began to dress in a simpler fashion and had abandoned her more flamboyant wigs.
***
Sophie joined her father and grandmother downstairs. Her father was elegantly attired in black breeches, a white waistcoat and hose, and a chocolate-colored coat over the waistcoat. His hair was powdered and clubbed.
Her grandmother was dressed in the same style as she, but Eugenie’s gown was a striking vibrant lapis blue with a revealed petticoat of white. She had a wig of the older style, a little large and powdered blue-grey.
They set off in the carriage and made the short journey to the salon. The French finance minister, Jacques Necker—a friend of Jean Pierre—was their host.
As the trio made their way into the salon, Jacques’ wife, Suzanne Curchod—Madame Necker—took Sophie under her wing while Eugenie was amazed when she spotted an old friend of hers and joined her.
Madame Necker hosted her own salon, where Parisian society gathered to discuss the arts and literature, as well as to gossip and flirt. She was well educated and fostered a love of the intellect and those who inspired it.
“My dear Sophie,” Madame Necker said with a smile as she clasped the younger woman around the shoulders and moved her to the great fireplace, where two men were deep in conversation.
“Madame Necker,” Sophie returned graciously.
“Please call me Suzanne, Sophie,” she asked gently.
“Suzanne.” Sophie accepted the informal name.
She knew of the older woman and was thrilled that her father had invited her come to the salon. She was inside the intellectual world of a Paris salon and it was thrilling.
Madame Necker introduced Sophie to the two gentlemen who sat before the grand fireplace: historian and writer Jean-François Marmontel, and playwright, writer and critic Jean-François de La Harpe.