Previously lost fragments from Edith Wharton's memoires

Of all the salons of those times, however, the least opened and hence most coveted was that of le Duc d'Internet. It wasn't a salon in the proper sense of the word, since there was no regularity to it. Once every season or two, the word would go out that le Duc was opening up his new mansion to visitors, and, each time in a new location, we would congregate once again.

Le Duc was not by nature a socialite, preferring his conversation in the more intimate surroundings of a dining table set for two. But on the occasions of his salons, his strangely melancholy eyes would light up with laughter, and, for an evening he'd gracefully suffer our presence en masse.

I remember one such evening, before the war. I was the first to arrive, and caught him by surprise taking the sun on le balcone. It was a warm, glowing late afternoon, and le Duc had somehow arranged for the usual cold winds to pause from their travails for the day.

Le Duc, wearing the strangest cullotes I've ever seen on a man

But other guests were not slow to arrive, and long before sunset, the drawing room was filled with happy, excited conversation, as acquaintances renewed their yearly conversations, pausing only long enough to tactfully deposit between their lips a cube or two of one of the many cheeses that were always offered at these events.

Unhappily, Henry James was not present on this occasion, but many other luminaries of the world of letters were present.

The anecdotes of Sir John Blythe-Smithereen kept us all amused - what a raconteur. Here he is to the right of his friend, Keith of Austria.

D'Avis, the reclusive artist, would be seen at no other salons save those of le Duc, but thus far would his social powers extend, and no further, the soulful D'Avis preferring to slow down and smell the flowers.

I think that one of le Duc's qualities which I most appreciated was his generosity of spirit. Even his regular servants were allowed an evening of leisure for the duration of his salons. Here we see his social secretary, the lovely and efficient Cecilia, with her assistant Mark and the head gardener, Debrett, a thoroughly charming fellow with a ready laugh, when he's not staring at the camera with suspicion.

Le Duc's dear aunt, la Duchesse Rosalie with her son and heir le Comte Tristan, helping themselves to petits-fours. By their side, Professor Heike pauses from her long explanation of the synthesis of mercury from gold, while Sister Theresa of the Three Veils demurely avoids the camera's glare.

Le Duc generously portioned out a good deal of his time, that evening, in conversation with old members of his staff. To the left, his former equerry, Mark. In the center, Wendy, midwife to three of le Duc's children. And to the right, his former surveyor, James, recently appointed Mathematician to the Court. It was delightful to see the easy manner in which their conversations with le Duc were conducted - no hauteur from the great man, and little in the way of unnecessary servility from his former servants.

No evening with le Duc is considered complete without a performance from the great singing troupe, Les Invalides. Their well lubricated voices kept us enthralled throughout the evening. They are known only by their stage names - Jimmy Strongvoice, Hunter Fullfellow and Donna Perimetera.

Here, the lovely Cecilia stares out at the view, perhaps reflecting on her luck at being in the service of le Duc. Perhaps not.

The infectious smiles of Sir Peter and Anthony Bountiful-Blowfish, with Professor Heike looking on.

I include this image only as an indication of how tall le Duc truly is!