The tremendous vogue of the seventeenth century salons or drawing rooms naturally gave a stimulus to literature; but, as they were so numerous and as each one claimed its large coterie of literary men, they proved to be disastrous to some while helpful to others.  Two distinct classes of writers arose:  the one, serious, elevated, thoughtful, classical, and independent of the salon, is well represented by Moliere, Pascal, Boileau; the other, light, affected, gallant, superficial, was composed of the innumerable unimportant writers of the day.

The salon movement must not be confounded with two other social movements or forces—­those of court and society; while at the former all was formality, the latter was still gross and brutish.  The Marquis de Caze, at a supper seized a leg of mutton and struck his neighbor in the face with it, sprinkling her with gravy, whereupon she laughed heartily; the Count of Bregis, slapped by the lady with whom he was dancing, tore off her headdress before the whole company; Louis XIII., noticing in the crowd admitted to see him dine a lady dressed too decollete, filled his mouth with wine and squirted the liquid into the bosom of the unfortunate girl; the Prince of Conde, indulging in customary brutishness, ate dung and had the ladies follow his example; these are fair illustrations of social elegances.

As will be seen, nothing of this nature occurred in the salon of Mme. de Rambouillet, whose object was to charm her leisure hours, distract and amuse the husband whom she adored, and be agreeable to her friends.  Her amusements were most original—­concerts, mythological representations, suppers, fireworks, comedies, readings, always something new, often in the form of a surprise or a joke.  Of the latter, the best known is the one played on the Count of Guise whose fondness for mushrooms had become proverbial; on one occasion when he had consumed an immense number of them at table, his valet, who had been bribed, took in all his doublets; on trying to put them on again, he found them too narrow by fully four inches.  “What in the world is the matter—­am I all swollen—­could it be due to having eaten too many mushrooms?” “That is quite possible,” said Chaudebonne; “yesterday you ate enough of them to split.”  All the accomplices joined in ridiculing him, and he began to squirm and show a somewhat livid color.  Mass was rung, and he was compelled to attend in his chamber robe.  Laughing, he said:  “That would be a fine end—­to die at the age of twenty-one from having eaten too many mushrooms.”  In the meantime, Chaudebonne advised the use of an antidote which he wrote and handed to the count, who read:  “Take a good pair of scissors and cut your doublet.”  Only then did the victim comprehend the joke.

One day, Voiture, having met a bear trainer, took him with his animals to the room of the Marquise de Rambouillet; she, turning at the noise, saw four large paws resting upon her screen.  She readily forgave the author of the surprise.  Du Bled relates many more of these innocent jokes.