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.
“Messieurs,” she said softly but with some slight force.
They both nodded to her.
“I very much enjoyed Didon, Monsieur Marmontel. My father took me to see it at the Paris Opera,” Sophie said to the older gentleman.
Marmontel smiled at the beautiful young woman and the mention of his musical tragedy, in which he had supplied the words to Niccolo Piccinni’s music.
“Thank you, my dear,” Marmontel said, warming to Sophie. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
Madame Necker smiled as she saw the two men take a sudden interest in Sophie. They would soon see her intelligence and worth, as she had done. Though Madame Necker did not realize it, Jean Pierre had spoken to her husband on several occasions about his daughter. She had not attended a salon gathering before, but her father was extremely proud of her and wanted her to partake of whatever Paris society had to offer.
Madame Necker moved to sit across from the two gentlemen and Sophie sat beside her as the hostess smoothed the lime green silk of her skirt and glanced at the men. Sophie noticed that the woman was dressed exquisitely, with her hair delicately powdered and a small amount of rouge on her cheeks and her lips. She exuded a sophisticated aura of refinement.
“What were you discussing before we interrupted?” Suzanne asked them politely.
La Harpe shrugged his shoulders and spoke lightly. “We were speaking of a new pamphlet circulating. That is all.”
Madame Necker brightened up at once. “Oh, yes? A new pamphlet? What is the subject?”
Pamphlets were produced in great quantity across France and printing establishments were many in Paris. The pamphlets ranged in topic from finance to public administration to essays on political concerns; many were anonymous, libelous and sometimes pornographic.
A new pamphlet circulating the streets was typical fodder for the salons, and Madame Necker was curious about its content.
“It appears that we have another bluestocking in our midst,” Marmontel replied as he sipped his favorite red wine.
“Oh yes? How do you know it is a bluestocking? Is she named on the pamphlet?” Suzanne asked.
Marmontel shook his head and turned his head slightly as several people entered the salon. He watched Madame Necker’s adult daughter Germaine enter with several men, one whom he recognized as the Duke of Dorset and the English ambassador to France. Several other younger men, not known to him, had joined them as well.