Chapter X: Part 10

Madame de Sévigné's retreat was not of long continuance. It took place when Fouquet was first arrested, and she returned to court long before his trial. Her daughter was presented in 1663. [Sidenote: 1664. Ætat. 38.] The following year was rendered remarkable by the brilliancy of the _fêtes_ given at Versailles.[65] The carousals or tournaments were splendid, from the number of combatants and the magnificence of the dresses and accoutrements. The personages that composed the tournament passed in review before the assembled court. [Sidenote: 1665. Ætat. 39.] The king represented Roger. All the diamonds of the crown were lavished on his dress and the harness of his horse: his page bore his shield, whose device was composed by Benserade, who had a happy talent for composing these slight commemorations of the feelings and situation of the real person, mingled with an apt allusion to the person represented. The queen, attended by three hundred ladies, witnessed the review from under triumphal arches. Amidst this crowd of ladies, lost in it to all but the heart of Louis, and shrinking from observation, was mademoiselle de la Vallière, the real object of the monarch's magnificent display. The cavalcade was followed by an immense gilt car, representing the chariot of the sun. It was surrounded by the four Ages, the Seasons, and the Hours. Shepherds arranged the lists, and other characters recited verses written for the occasion. The tournament over, the feast succeeded, and, darkness being come, the place was illuminated by 4000 flambeaux. Two hundred persons, dressed as fauns, sylvans, and dryads, together with shepherds, reapers, and vine-dressers, served at the numerous tables; a theatre arose, as if by magic, behind the tables; the arcades that surrounded the whole circuit were ornamented with 500 girandoles of green and silver, and a gilt balustrade shut in the whole. Molière's play of the "Princesse d'Elide," agreeable at the time from the allusions it contained, his comedy of the "Marriage Forcée," and three acts of the "Tartuffe," added the enduring stamp of genius to mere outward show and splendour. Mademoiselle de Sévigné appeared in these _fêtes_. In 1663 she represented a shepherdess in a ballet; and the verses which Benserade wrote for her to repeat show that she was held in consideration as one of the most charming beauties of the court, and as the daughter of one of its loveliest and most respected ornaments. In 1664 she appeared as Cupid disguised, as a Nereid[66]; and as Omphale in 1665. We must not forget that at this very time, while enjoying her daughter's success, madame de Sévigné was interesting herself warmly for Fouquet. The favour of a court could not make her forget her friends. Her chief object of interest, as personally regarded herself at this time, was the marriage of her daughter. Her son was in the army. When only nineteen he joined the expedition undertaken by the dukes of Noailles and Beaufort for the succour of Candia. On this, madame de Sévigné writes to the comte de Bussy,--"I suppose you know that my son is gone to Candia with M. de Roannes and the comte de Saint Paul. He mentioned it to M. de Turenne, to cardinal de Retz, and to M. de la Rochefoucauld. These gentlemen so approved his design that it was resolved on and made public before I knew any thing of it. He is gone. I wept his departure bitterly, and am deeply afflicted. I shall not have a moment's repose during this expedition. I see all the dangers, and they destroy me; but I am not the mistress. On such occasions mothers have no voice." She had foundation for anxiety, for few among the officers that accompanied this expedition ever returned. The baron de Sévigné was, however, among these: he had distinguished himself; and, as the foundation for his military career, his mother bought for him, at a large pecuniary sacrifice, the commission of _guidon_, or ensign, in the regiment of the dauphin. The marriage of her daughter was a still more important object. _La plus jolie fille de France_ she delights in naming her; yet it was long before she was satisfied with any of those who pretended to her hand. At length the count de Grignan offered himself. [Sidenote: 1669. Ætat. 43.] He was a widower of two marriages: he was not young, yet his offer pleased the young lady, and possessed many advantages in the eyes of the mother, on account of the excellent character which he bore, his rank, and his wealth. "I must tell you a piece of news," madame de Sévigné writes to the count de Bussy, "which will doubtless delight you. At length, the prettiest woman in Fiance is about to marry, not the handsomest youth, but the most excellent man in the kingdom. You have long known M. de Grignan. All his wives are dead to make room for your cousin, as well as, through wonderful luck, his father and his son; so that, being richer than he ever was, and being, through his birth, his position, and his good qualities, such as we desire, we conclude at once. The public appears satisfied, and that is much, for one is silly enough to be greatly influenced by it."

Soon after this period the correspondence began which contains the history of the life of madame de Sévigné,--a life whose migrations were not much more important than those of the Vicar of Wakefield, "from the blue bed to the brown;" her residence in Paris being varied only by journeys to her estate in Britany, or by visits to her daughter in Provence. But such was the vivacity of her mind, and the sensibility of her heart, that these changes, including separations from and meetings with her daughter, assume the guise of important events, bringing in their train heart-breaking grief, or abundant felicity.

When she accepted M. de Grignan as her son-in-law, she fancied that, by marrying her daughter to a courtier, they would pass their lives together. But, soon after, M. de Grignan, who was lieutenant-general to the duke de Vendôme, governor of Provence, received an order to repair to the government, where he commanded during the almost uninterrupted absence of the duke. This was a severe blow. Her child torn from her, she was as widowed a second time: her only consolation was in the hope of reunion, and in a constant and voluminous correspondence. Mother and daughter interchanged letters twice a week. As their lives are undiversified by events, we wonder what interest can be thrown over so long a series, which is often a mere reiteration of the same feelings and the same thoughts. Here lie the charm and talent of madame de Sévigné. Her warm heart and vivacious intellect exalted every emotion, vivified every slight event, and gave the interest of talent and affection to every thought and every act. Her letters are the very reverse of prosy; and though she writes of persons known to her daughter and unknown to us, and in such hints as often leave much unexplained, yet her pen is so graphic, her style so easy and clear, pointed and finished, even in its sketchiness, that we become acquainted with her friends, and take interest in the monotonous course of her life. To give an idea of her existence, as well as of her correspondence, we will touch on the principal topics.

In the first place, we must give some account of the person to whom they were addressed. Madame la comtesse de Grignan was a very different person from her mother. From some devotional scruples she destroyed all her own letters, so that we cannot judge of their excellence; but there can be no doubt that she was a very clever woman. She studied and loved the philosophy of Descartes; and it is even suspected that she was, in her youth, something of an esprit fort in her opinions. She conducted herself admirably as a wife; she was an anxious but not a tender mother. Here was the grand difference between her and her mother. The heart of madame de Sévigné overflowed with sympathy and tenderness; her daughter, endowed with extreme good sense, wit, and a heart bent on the fulfilment of her duties, had no tenderness of disposition. She left her eldest child, a little girl, behind her, in Paris, almost from the date of its birth. Apparently this poor child had some defect which determined her destiny in a convent from her birth; for her mother seems afraid of showing kindness, and shut her up at the age of nine in the religious house where afterwards she assumed the veil; her vocation to the state being very problematical. It was through the continual remonstrances and representations of madame de Sévigné that she kept her youngest daughter at home. She was more alive to maternal affection towards her son; but this was mixed with the common feeling of interest in the heir of her house. There was something hard in her character that sometimes made her mother's intense affection a burden. Madame de Sévigné's distinctive quality was amiability: we should say that her daughter was decidedly unamiable. These were, to a great degree, the faults of a young person, probably of temper: they disappeared afterwards, when experience taught her feeling, and time softened the impatience of youth. We find a perfect harmony between mother and daughter subsist during the latter years of the life of the former, and repose succeed to the more stormy early intercourse. Madame de Grignan, prudent and anxious by nature, spent a life of considerable care. The expenses of her husband's high situation, and his own extravagant tastes, caused him to spend largely. Her son entered life early, and his career was the object of great solicitude. Her health was precarious. All this was excitement for her mother's sympathy; and her letters are full of earnest discussion, intense anxiety, or lively congratulation on the objects of her daughter's interest, and her well-being.

The next object of her affection, and subject of her pen, was her son. He was a man of wit and talent; but the thoughtlessness, the what the French call _légèreté_ of his character, caused his mother much anxiety, at the same time that his good spirits, his confidence in her, and his amiable temper, contributed to her happiness. She often calls him the best company in the world; and laments, at the same time, his pursuits and ill luck. He was a favourite of the best society in Paris, and, among others, of the famous Ninon de l'Enclos. Ninon had many great and good qualities; but madame de Sévigné's dislike to her dated far back, and was justifiably founded on the conduct of her husband. At the age of thirty-five Ninon had been the successful rival of a young and blooming wife; at that of fifty-five the son wore her chains.[67] Madame de Sévigné could never reconcile herself to this intimacy. "She spoiled your father," she writes to madame de Grignan, while she relates the methods used to attach her son. Sometimes this son, who was brave, and eager to distinguish himself, was exposed to the dangers of war; sometimes he spent his time at court, where he waited on the dauphin, squandering time and money among the courtiers, charming the circle by his vanity and wit, but gaining no advancement; sometimes he accompanied his mother to Britany; and we find him enlivening her solitude, and bestowing on her the tenderest filial attentions. He was an unlucky man. He got no promotion in the army, and, being too impatient for a courtier, soon got wearied of waiting for advancement. He perplexed his mother by his earnest wish to sell his commission; and the failure in her projects of marriage for him annoyed her still more. At length he chose for himself: renouncing his military employments, retiring from the court, and even from Paris, he married a lady of his own province, and fixed himself entirely in Britany. His wife was an amiable, quiet, unambitious person, with a turn for devotion, which increased through the circumstance of their having no children. Madame de Sévigné was too pious to lament this, now that the destiny of her son was decided as obscure, and that she saw him happy: on the contrary, she rejoiced in finding him adopt religious principles, which rendered his life peaceful, and his character virtuous.

The principal friends of madame de Sévigné were united in what she termed the Fauxbourg, where the house of madame de la Fayette, then the resort of the persons most distinguished in Paris for talent, wit, refinement, and good moral conduct, was situated. Madame de la Fayette, and her friend the duke de la Rochefoucauld, have already been introduced to the reader in the memoir of the latter. It would seem that the lady was not a favourite with madame de Grignan, and that, with all her talents, she was not popular; but she had admirable qualities; the use of the French term vraie was invented as applicable to her; for Rochefoucauld abridged into this single word Segrais' description, that "she loved the true in all things." This excess of frankness gave her, with some, an air of dryness; and madame de Sévigné's children did not share her affection, which even did not blind her to her friend's defects. Speaking of the Fauxbourg, she says, "I am loved as much as she can love." In an age when there was so much disquisition on character and motive, and in a mind like madame de Sévigné's, so open to impression, and so penetrating, it is no wonder that slight defects were readily discerned, nor that they should be mentioned in so open-hearted an intercourse as that between mother and daughter. All human beings have blots and slurs in their character, or they would not be human. We judge by the better part--by that which raises a circle or an individual superior to the common run, not by those failings which stamp all our fellow-creatures as sons of Adam. Thus, we may pronounce on madame de la Fayette as being one of the most remarkable women of the age, for talent, for wit, and for the sincerity, strength, and uprightness of her character. She suffered much from ill health. Her society was confined to that which she assembled at her own house; but that circumstance only rendered it the more chosen and agreeable.

M. and madame de Coulanges formed its ornaments. He was madame de Sévigné's cousin, and brought up with her, though several years younger. His lively thoughtless disposition made him the charm of society. He was educated for the bar, but was far too vivacious to make his way. He was pleading a suit concerning a marsh disputed by two peasants, one of whom was called Grappin:--perceiving that he was getting confused in the details, and in the points of law, he suddenly broke off his speech, exclaiming, "Excuse me, gentlemen, but I am drowning myself in Grappin's marsh: I am your most obedient;" and so threw up his brief, and, it is said, never took another.[68] He was, in youth, and continued to the end of his life, a man of pleasure, singing with spirit songs which he made impromptu, and which, afterwards, every one learnt as _à propos_ of the events of the day; a teller of good stories, a lover of good dinners, an enjoyer of good wine; charming every one by the exuberance of his spirits; amusing others, because he himself was amused. He loved books, he cultivated his taste, and collected pictures, joining the refinements and tastes of a gentleman to the hilarity and recklessness of a boy.

His wife, a relation of le Tellier and Louvois, enjoyed the reputation of a wit, as well as of being the most charming woman in Paris. She had good sense, and was often annoyed by her husband's thoughtlessness, which caused him to degenerate at times into buffoonery; while her repartees and letters caused her to be universally cited and esteemed[69]; and her easy agreeable conversation made her the delight of every one who knew her. The airiness of her mind is well expressed in the names madame de Sévigné gives her in her correspondence: la Mouche, la Feuille, la Sylphide all denote a mixture of lightness, gaiety, and grace, with a touch of coquetry, and the _piquancé_ of wit, whose point was sharp, but free from venom. When madame de Maintenon became the chief lady in the kingdom, she was charmed to have near her this early friend and amusing companion. Madame de Coulanges frequented court assiduously, but she enjoyed no place. Her species of intellect was characteristic of the times. The conceits, mystifications, and metaphysical flights of the Hôtel de Rambouillet had given place to wit, and to sententious and pointed, yet perspicuous and natural, turns of expression. Truth and clearness, and a certain sort of art, that shrouded itself in an appearance of simplicity, was the tone aimed at by those who wished to shine. Equivokes, _sous-entendres_, metaphors, and antithesis, all kinds of trifles, sarcastic or laudatory, were lightly touched on, coloured for a moment with rainbow-hues, and vanished as fast: these were the fashion; and no conversation was more replete with these, and yet freer from obvious pretension, than that of madame de Coulanges. It is true that there must always be a sort of pedantry in an adherence to a fashion; but, when the manner is graceful, smiling, unaffected, and original, the pretension is lost in the pleasure derived. All this was natural to madame de Coulanges. Her confessor said of her. "Each of this lady's sins is an epigram." When recovering from a severe illness, madame de Sévigné announced, as the sign of her convalescence, "Epigrams are beginning to be pointed;" not that by epigrams sarcasms were meant, but merely novel turns of expression, words wittily applied, ideas full of finesse, that pleased by their originality. She and her husband were, perhaps, too much alike to accord well: she was annoyed at his want of dignity, and the heedlessness that, joined to her extravagance, left them poor and himself unconsidered. He liked to be where he was more at his ease than in his wife's company. Her faults, however, diminished as she grew old. She learnt to appreciate the court at its true value. She ceased her attendance on madame de Maintenon; but her intimacy with Ninon de l'Enclos continued to the end of her life. The ingratitude of her court friends, the smallness of her fortune, her advancing age, and consequent loss of beauty, and her weak health, rendered her neither crabbed nor sad: on the contrary, she became indulgent, gentle, and contented.

Her husband preserved his characteristics to the end. When exhorted by a preacher to more serious habits, he replied by an impromptu:--

"Je voudrois, à mon âge,
Il en seroit le temps,
Etre moins volage
Que les jeunes gens,
Et mettre en usage
D'un vieillard bien sage
Tous les sentimens.

"Je voudrois du viel homme
Etre séparé;
Le morceau de pomme
N'est pas digéré."[70]

He died at the advanced age of eighty.

During the earlier portion of the correspondence, madame Scarron figures as one of the favourite guests of the Fauxbourg. Her husband was dead, and she was living at the Hôtel d'Albret, among her earliest friends. The latter correspondence is full of anecdotes about her, as madame de Maintenon, and indicate her gradual advancement; but those which speak of her early days, when she was the char&i and ornament of her circle, merely through her talents, and agreeable and excellent qualities, are the most interesting.

Corbinelli was another chief friend of madame de Sévigné. He was descended from an Italian, who came into France on the marriage of Catherine de Medici and Henry II. His father was attached to marshal d'Ancre, and was enveloped in his ruin. We have no details of his actual circumstances, except that, although he was poor, his position in society was brilliant. A stranger, without employment, without fortune or rank, he was sought, esteemed, and loved by the first society; while his character presents many contradictions. Studious and accomplished, a man of learning and science, he only wrote compilations. Something of a sceptic, he studied religion, and became a quietist. Pitied by his friends, as neither rich nor great, he passed a happy life; and, though always in ill health, his life was prolonged to more than a century. He was one of madame de Sévigné's most familiar friends. In early life he had had employments under cardinal Mazarin. He was a friend of the marquis de Vardes, and shared the disgrace he incurred, together with Bussy-Rabutin and others, on account of certain letters fabricated, pretending to be written by the king of Spain, for the purpose of informing his sister, the queen of France, of Louis XIV.'s attachment for mademoiselle de la Vallière. This event was fatal to his fortunes; but it developed his talents, since he made use of the leisure afforded by his retreat for the purpose of study. He applied himself to the theories of Descartes, and became deeply versed in classic literature. At one time he turned his attention to the study of law, but soon threw it aside with disgust: his clear and comprehensive understanding was utterly alien to the contradictions, subterfuges, and confusion of old French law. In religion, he sided with the mystics and quietists; but was more of a philosopher than a religionist; and chose his party for its being more allied to protestant tenets, and because, M. de Sévigné says, his mysticism freed him from the necessity of going to mass. He was a mixture of Stoic and Epicurean. He would not go half a league on horseback, he said, to seek a throne. And thus he harmonised his temper with his fortunes, for he was an unlucky man. "His merit brings him ill luck," madame de la Fayette said. It may be added that it brought also a contented mind, a friendly disposition, and calm studious habits. An amusing anecdote is told of his presence of mind in extricating himself from a dilemma in which he was placed.

Louis XIV. learnt that the prince of Conti, and other young and heedless nobles of high rank, had, at a certain supper, uttered various sarcasms against, and told stories to the discredit of, himself and madame de Maintenon. The king wished to learn the details, and sent D'Argenson to inquire of Corbinelli, who was supposed to have been at the supper. Corbinelli was by this time grown old and deaf. "Where did you sup on such an evening?" asked D'Argenson. "I do not remember," the other replied. "Are you acquainted with such and such princes?" "I forget." "Did you not sup with them?" "I do not in the least remember?" "It seems to me that a man like you ought to recollect these things." "True, sir, but before a man like you, I am not a man like myself." Madame de Sévigné's correspondence with this accomplished and valued friend is lost, but her letters to her daughter are full of expressions of esteem and friendship towards him.

Thus, in her letters, we find all the events of the day alluded to in the tone used by this distinguished society. Some of the observations are witty and amusing; others remarkable for their truth, founded on a just and delicate knowledge of the human heart.[71] These are mingled with details of the events of the day. We may mention, among others, the letters that regard the death of Turenne. The glory that lighted up that name shines with peculiar brilliancy in her pages. His heroism, gentleness, and generosity are all recorded with enthusiasm.[72] Sometimes her letters record the gossip, sometimes the _bon mots_, of the day; and each finds its place, and is told with grace, simplicity, and ease.

From this scene, full of life and interest, at the call of duty, she visited Britany; and, when her uncle desired, or motives of economy urged, buried herself in the solitude of her country seat of Les Rochers, a _château_ belonging to the family of Sévigné, one league from Vitré, and still further from Rennes. As far as the character and person of the writer are concerned, we prefer the letters written from this retirement to those that record the changes and chances of her Parisian life. They breathe affection and peace, the natural sentiments of a kind heart, an enlightened taste, and an active mind. "At length, my child," she writes, on her first visit to her solitude after her daughter's marriage (May 31. 1671), "here I am at these poor Rochers. Can I see these avenues, these devices, my cabinet and books, and this room, without dying of sorrow? There are many agreeable memories, but so many that are tender and lively, that I can scarcely support them: those that are associated with you are of this number. Can you not understand their effect on my heart? My young trees are surprisingly beautiful. Pilois (her gardener) raises them to the sky with an admirable straightness. Really, nothing can be more beautiful than the avenues you saw planted. You remember that I gave you an appropriate device: here is one I carved on a tree for my son, who has returned from Candia: _Vago di fama._ Is it not pretty to say so much in a single word? Yesterday I had carved, in honour of the indolent, _Bella cosa far niente._ Alas, dear child, how rustic my letters are! Where is the time when I could speak, as others do, of Paris? You will receive only news of myself; and such is my confidence, that I am persuaded that you will like these letters as well as my others. The society I have here pleases me much. Our abbé (the abbé de Coulanges, her uncle, who resided constantly with her) is always delightful. My son and La Mousse (a relation of M. de Coulanges) suit me extremely, and I suit them. We are always together; and, when business takes me from them, they are in despair, and think me very silly to prefer a farmer's account to a tale of La Fontaine."--"Your brother is a treasure of folly, and is delightful here. We have sometimes serious conversations, by which he may profit; but there is something of whipped cream in his character: with all that, he is amiable."--"We are reading Tasso with pleasure. I find myself an adept, through the good masters I had. My son reads "Cleopatra" (a romance of Calprenède) to La Mousse; and, in spite of myself, I listen, and find amusement. My son is setting off for Lorraine: his absence will give me much _ennui_. You know how sorry I am to see agreeable company depart; and you have been witness, also, to my transports of joy when I see a carriage drive away with that which restrained and annoyed me; and how this caused us to decide that bad company was better than good. I remember all the follies we committed here, and every thing you did or said: the recollection never quits me. All the young plantations you saw are delicious. I delight in raising this young generation; and often, without thinking of the injury to my profit, I cut down great trees, because they overshadow and inconvenience my young children. My son looks on; but I do not suffer him to make the application my conduct might inspire." It was not, however, always solitude at the Rochers. The duke of Chaulnes was lieutenant-governor of Britany; and he and the duchess were too happy to visit madame de Sévigné, and to persuade her to join them when they visited the province, to hold the assembly of the states. From such a busy scene she gladly plunges again into her avenues and old halls, her moonlight walks, and darling reveries. [Sidenote: 1672. Ætat. 46.] She returned to Paris in December; and, in July of the following year, visited her daughter in Provence, where she spent fifteen months. These periods, so full of happiness to her, are blanks to us; and when, with tears and sighs, she tears herself away from Grignan, and the letters begin again, our amusement and delight recommences. [Sidenote: 1674. Ætat. 48.] In 1674, madame de Grignan visited Paris, and remained fourteen months. Parisian society was invested for the tender mother with a charm and an interest, which became mingled with sadness on her daughter's departure.

[Sidenote: 1675. Ætat. 49.]

The letters on this separation are rendered interesting by the circumstance of her intimacy with cardinal de Retz, who was then projecting abdicating his cardinal's hat, which the pope forbade, and his retreat, for the sake of paying his debts. This last was a measure founded on motives of honour and integrity, whatever his adversary, M. de la Rochefoucauld, may say to the contrary. The esteem, amounting to respect, which madame de Sévigné expresses for him, raises them both. The death of Turenne happened also during this spring, and the letters are redeemed from the only fault which a certain sort of minds might find with them, that of frivolity. If they are frivolous, what are our own lives? Let us turn our eyes towards ourselves, and ask, if we daily put down our occupations, the subjects of our conversation, our pleasures and our serious thoughts, would they not be more empty of solid information than madame de Sévigné's letters; or, if more learned, will they not be less wise, and, above all, deficient in the warmth of heart that burns in hers? In the summer of this year, she would fain have visited her daughter; but her uncle insisted that a journey to Britany was necessary for the final settlement of their mutual affairs, as he was grown old, and might die any day. She arrived at the Rochers at the end of September. Her life was more lonely than during the previous visit, for her only companion was her uncle. She had felt deeply disappointed at giving up her journey to Provence, and the additional distance between her and her daughter, when in Britany, was hard to bear. "We were far enough off," she writes; "another hundred leagues added pains my heart; and I cannot dwell upon the thought without having great need of your sermons. What you say of the little profit you often derive from them yourself displays a tenderness that greatly pleases me. You wish me, then, to speak of my woods. The sterility of my letters does not disgust you. Well, dear child! I may tell you, that I do honour to the moon, which I love, as you know. The good abbé fears the dew: I never suffer from it, and I remain, with Beaulieu (her dog) and my servants in attendance, till eight o'clock. Indeed, these avenues are of a beauty, and breathe a tranquillity, a peace, and a silence, of which I can never have too much. When I think of you, it is with tenderness; and I must leave it to you to imagine whether I feel this deeply--I cannot express it. I am glad to feel alone, and fear the arrival of some ladies, that is, of constraint." Her residence in the province was painfully disturbed, on account of the riots which had taken place at Rennes, on account of the taxes; and the governor had brought down 4000 soldiers to punish the inhabitants. Ever fearful that her letters might be read at the post, madame de Sévigné never directly blames any act of government, but her disapprobation and regret are plainly expressed. "I went to see the duchess de Chaulnes, at Vitré, yesterday," she writes, "and dined there: she received me with joy, and conversed with me for two hours, with affection and eagerness; relating their conduct for the last six months, and all she suffered, and the dangers she ran. I thanked her for her confidence. In a word, this province has been much to blame; but it is cruelly punished, so that it will never recover. There are 5000 soldiers at Rennes, of which one half will pass the winter. They have taken, at hazard, five-and-twenty or thirty men, whom they are about to hang. Parliament is transferred--this is the great blow--for, without that, Rennes is not a better town than Vitré. The misfortunes of the province delay all business, and complete our ruin."--"They have laid tax of 100,000 crowns on the citizens; and, if this sum be not forthcoming in twenty-four hours, it will be doubled, and exacted by the soldiers. They have driven away and banished the inhabitants of one whole street, and forbidden any one to give them refuge, on pain of death; so that you see these poor wretches--women lately brought to bed, old men and children--wander weeping from the town, not knowing whither to go, without food or shelter. Sixty citizens are arrested: to-morrow they begin to hang. This province is an example to others, teaching them, above all, to respect their governors and their wives; not to call them names, nor to throw stones in their garden." Coming back from these scenes, which filled her with grief and indignation, she returns to her woods. "I have business with the abbé: I am with my dear workmen; and life passes so quickly, and, consequently, we approach our end so fast, that I wonder how one can feel worldly affairs so deeply. My woods inspire me with these reflections. My people have such ridiculous care of me, that they guard me in the evening, completely armed, while the only enemy they find is a squirrel." These twilight walks had a sorrowful conclusion. [Sidenote: 1676. Ætat. 50.] In January she was suddenly laid prostrate by rheumatism: it was the first illness she ever had--the first intimation she had received, she says, that she was not immortal. Her son was with her: they were better friends than ever. "There is no air of maternity," she writes, "in our intercourse: he is excellent company, and he finds me the same." On this disaster, his tenderness and attentions were warm and sedulous. "Your brother," she writes, "has been an inexpressible consolation to me." She at first made light of her attack, in her letters, though she was obliged to acknowledge that she could not move her right side, and was forced to write the few lines she was able to trace with her left hand; and soon she lost even the power of using this. In the then state of medicine, her cure, of course, was long and painful.

This illness deranged many of madame de Sévigné's plans. On her return to Paris, she was ordered to take medicinal baths, to complete her cure. She went to Vichi, where her health mended, and then returned to Paris, where she expected a speedy visit from her daughter. Her letters during this period are very diverting. She throws an interest over every detail. The one that describes her visit at Versailles, on her return, gives us a lively and picturesque account of the etiquette and amusements of the court.[73]

The visit that madame de Grignan paid her mother, soon after, was an unlucky one. She fell into a bad state of health. The anxiety her mother evinced augmented her illness. It was deemed necessary to separate mother and daughter. [Sidenote: 1677. Ætat. 51.] Corbinelli writes, "It was a cascade of terror; the reverberation was fatal to all three; the circle was mortal." Madame de Grignan returned to Provence. This was a severe blow to madame de Sévigné. Her daughter wrote to her, "I was the disorder of your mind, your health, your house. I am good for nothing to you." To this, and to the reproaches she heard that her solicitude had augmented madame de Grignan's illness, madame de Sévigné replies, "To behold you, then, perish before my eyes was a trifle unworthy of my attention? When you were in good health, did I disquiet myself about the future? did I think of it? But I saw you ill, and of an illness perilous to the young; and, instead of trying to console me by a conduct that would have restored you to your usual health, absence was suggested. I kill you! I am the cause of all your sufferings! When I think of how I concealed my fears, and that the little that escaped me produced such frightful effects, I conclude that I am not allowed to love you; and, since such monstrous and impossible things are asked of me, my only resource is in your recovery." For some years after this madame de Grignan was in a delicate state of health. "Ah!" writes her mother, "how happy I was when I had no fears for your health! Of what had I then to complain, compared to my present inquietude?" However, though still delicate, she revisited Paris in the following month of November--it being considered advantageous for her family affairs,--and remained nearly two years. Her mother had taken a large mansion, the Hôtel de Carnavalet, and they resided under the same roof. There was a numerous family, and chief among them was a brother of M. de Grignan. The chevalier de Grignan enjoyed a great reputation for bravery and military conduct. He was a martyr to rheumatic gout, which often stood in the way of his active service; but he was always favoured by the king, and regarded by every one, as a man of superior abilities, and of a resolute and fearless mind. When six men of quality were selected to attend on the dauphin, under the name of _Menins_, he was named one of them. Two of M. de Grignan's daughters also accompanied them. They were the children of his former marriage with Angélique d'Angennes, sister of the celebrated madame de Montauzier. Cardinal de Retz died in the August of this year. [Sidenote: 1679. Ætat. 53.] "Pity me, my cousin," madame de Sévigné writes to the count de Bussy, "for having lost cardinal de Retz. You know how amiable he was, and worthy the esteem of all who knew him! I was a friend of thirty years' standing, and ever received the tenderest marks of his friendship, which was equally honourable and delightful to me. Eight days' uninterrupted fever carried him off. I am grieved to the bottom of my heart."

At length, in the month of September, madame de Grignan returned to Provence. Her mother writes. "Do not tell me that I have no cause to regret you: I have, indeed, every cause. I know not what you have taken into your head. For myself, I remember only your friendship, your care, your kindness, your caresses. I have lost all these: I regret them; and nothing in the world can efface the recollection, nor console me for my loss." M. de Sévigné was at this time in Britany, and was elected deputy, by the nobles, to attend on the governor. "The title of new comer," writes his mother, "renders him important, and causes him to be mixed up in every thing. I hope he will marry: he will never again be so considerable. He has spent ten years at court and in the camp. The first year of peace he gives to his country. He can never be looked on so favourably as this year." Unfortunately, he deranged all these schemes by falling in love inopportunely; and he lingered in Britany, grasping all the money he could, felling trees, and squandering the proceeds without use or pleasure, while his mother awaited his return anxiously, and bore the blame of his absence, as it was supposed that he was detained by business of hers. The time when he could settle was not come. He was of that disposition which is not unfrequent among men. Gifted with vivacity, wit, and good humour, agreeable and gay, it appeared, as madame de Sévigné said, that he was exactly fitted for the situation at court, which, as lieutenant of the dauphin's company of gendarmes, he naturally filled. But he was discontented: the restraint annoyed him; pleasure palled on him; he was eager to sell out, to bury himself in his province. One reason was that he was not regarded with an eye of favour by the king. Madame de Sévigné herself felt this disfavour, arising from her having been of the party of the fronde, a friend of Fouquet, and, lastly, a jansenist.

[Sidenote: 1680. Ætat. 54.]

During this year madame de Sévigné again, as she said, for the last time, to wind up all accounts, visited Britany. Her letters become more agreeable than ever; her affection for her daughter even increasing: her advice about her grandchildren[74]; her annoyance with regard to her son; is the interior portion of the story to which we are admitted. The news of the court is mentioned, and the progress of madame de Maintenon's favour, so puzzling to the courtiers; and, lastly, the picture of the provincial court of the duke and duchess de Chaulnes, who had the government of Britany. She describes their guards, their suite of provincial nobles, with their wives and daughters; and a little discontent creeps out, as it sometimes does, with regard to the court, that she had never risen above a private station. "I have seen you in Provence," she writes to her daughter, "surrounded by as many ladies, and M. de Grignan followed by as many men, of quality, and receive, at Lambesc, with as much dignity, as M. de Chaulnes can here. I reflected that you held your court there; I come to pay mine here: thus has Providence ordered." She enjoyed, however, the dinners, suppers, and festivals of the duke, who made much of her; and her anecdotes are full of vivacity. Her eyes never rest: they see all: sometimes a grace, sometimes a folly; now a _bon mot_, now a stupidity, salutes her eyes or ears: it is all transmitted to her daughter; and we, at this distance of time and place, enjoy the accounts, which, being true to human nature, often seem as fresh and _à propos_ as if they had occurred yesterday. And then she quits all, and writes, "I am at length in the quiet of my woods, and in that state of abstinence and silence for which I longed." And she plunges into the depths of jansenism, and discusses the knotty subject of the grace of God.[75]

On her return to the capital, she was made perfectly happy by the arrival of her daughter, in better health than she had been for a long time, and who remained in Paris for several years. Her son, also, whose youthful follies had cost her many a pang, made an advantageous marriage. [Sidenote: 1684. Ætat. 58.] She writes to the count de Bussy, "After much trouble, I at last marry my poor boy. One must never despair of good luck. I feared that my son could no longer hope for a good match, after so many storms and wrecks, without employment or opening for fortune; and, while I was engaged in these sorrowful thoughts, Providence brought about a marriage, so advantageous that I could not have desired a better when my son's hopes were highest. It is thus that we walk blindly, taking for bad that which is good, and for good that which is bad, and always in utter ignorance." M. de Sévigné married Jeanne-Marguerite de Brehaut de Mauron, an amiable and virtuous woman, whose gentleness, and common sense, and turn for piety, joined to a caressing and playful disposition, suited admirably both mother and son. In the autumn of this year she visited the new married pair at the Rochers. It was a sad blow to her to quit Paris, where her daughter was residing. Motives of economy, or, rather, the juster motive of paying her debts, enforced this exile, which was hard to bear. We read her letters for the variety of amusement and instruction we find in them; and, as we read, we are struck by the change of tone that creeps over them. From the period of this long visit of eight years, which madame de Grignan paid to Paris, we find the most perfect and unreserved friendship subsisting between mother and daughter. Their ages agree better: the one, now forty, understands the other, who is sixty, better than the young woman of twenty did her of forty. Other interests, also, had risen for madame de Grignan in her children. Her anxiety for her son's advancement was fully shared by madame de Sévigné. A more sober, perhaps a less amusing, but certainly a far more interesting (if we may make this distinction), tone pervades the later letters. Her daughter, before, was the affection that weaned her from the world; now it mingled with higher and better thoughts. The Rochers were more peaceful than ever. Her son had not good health: his wife was cheerful only at intervals: she was delicate; she never went out: by nine in the evening her strength was exhausted, and she retired, leaving madame de Sévigné to her letters. She was gentle and kind withal; attentive, without putting herself forward; so that her mother-in-law never felt that there was another mistress in the house, though all her comforts were attended to sedulously.

We pause too long over these minutia. We turn over madame de Sévigné's pages: an expression, a detail strikes us; we are impelled to put it down; but the memoir grows too long, and we must curtail. She returned to Paris in August, 1685, and enjoyed for three years more the society of her daughter. [Sidenote: 1687. Ætat. 61.] During this period she lost her uncle, the abbé de Coulanges. "You know that I was under infinite obligations to him," she, writes to count de Bussy: "I owed him the agreeableness and repose of my life; and you owed to him the gladness that I brought to your society: without him we had never laughed together. You owe to him my gaiety, my good humour, my vivacity; the gift I had of understanding you; the ability of comprehending what you had said, and of guessing what you were going to say. In a word, the good abbé, by drawing me from the gulf in which M. de Sévigné had left me, rendered me what I was, what you knew me, and worthy of your esteem and friendship. I draw the curtain before the wrong you did me: it was great, but must be forgotten; and I must tell you that I have felt deeply the loss of this dear source of the peace of my whole life. He lived with honour, and died as a Christian. God give us the same grace! It was at the end of August that I wept him bitterly. I should never have left him, had he lived as long as myself."

[Sidenote: 1688. Ætat. 62.]

The subsequent separation of mother and daughter renewed the correspondence. This division lasted only a year and a half, when madame de Sévigné repaired to Grignan, which she did not quit again. The letters written during these few months are very numerous and long. The growing charms and talents of Pauline de Grignan; the _début_ of the young marquis de Grignan, who began his career at sixteen in the siege of Philipsburg; and the deep interest felt by both, is the first subject. The arrival of James II. in France, and the court news, which had the novelty of the English royal family being established at St. Germain, fills many of the letters. The account of the acting of Esther[76], which enlivened the royal pleasures; and her naïve delight at having been spoken to by the king is one of her most agreeable passages. Added to this pleasure was that of M. de Grignan receiving the order of the saint esprit. Soon after she repaired to Britany, where her time was spent partly at Rennes, with the duchess de Chaulnes, partly at the Rochers. Her absence from Paris was felt bitterly by her friends: her motive, the payment of her debts, was, however, appreciated and applauded; and she was at once mortified and gratified by the offer of a loan of money to facilitate her return. Madame de la Fayette wrote to make her the proposition; but the money was to come from her kind friend the duchess de Chaulnes. The proposal was made with some _brusquerie_: "You must not, my dear, at any price whatever, pass the winter in Britany. You are old; the Rochers are thickly wooded; catarrhs and colds will destroy you; you will get weary; your mind will become sad and lose its tone: this is certain; and all the business in the world is nothing in comparison. Do not speak of money nor of debts, I am to put an end to all that;" and then follows a proposition for her to take up her abode at the Hôtel de Chaulnes, and of the loan of a thousand crowns. "No arguments," the letter continues, "no words, no useless correspondence. You must come. I will not even read what you may write. In a word, you consent, or renounce the affection of your dearest friends. We do not choose that a friend shall grow old and die through her own fault." This tone of command gave pleasure to madame de Sévigné, though she at once refused to lay herself under the obligation. But there was a sting in the letter which she passed over; madame de Grignan discovered it, and her mother allowed that she felt it; and writes, "You were, then, struck by madame de la Fayette's expression, mingled with so much kindness. Although I never allow myself to forget this truth, I confess I was quite surprised, for as yet I feel no decay to remind me: however, I often reflect and calculate, and find the conditions on which we enjoy life very hard. It seems to me that I was dragged, in spite of myself, to the fatal term when one must suffer old age. I see it,--am there. I should, at least, like to go no further in the road of decrepitude, pain, loss of memory, and disfigurement, which are at hand to injure me. I hear a voice that says, even against your will you must go on; or, if you refuse, you must die; which is another necessity from which nature shrinks. Such is the fate of those who go a little too far. But a return to the will of God, and the universal law by which we are condemned, brings one to reason, and renders one patient."

As madame de Sévigné was resolved to give up her Parisian life, for the admirable motive of paying her debts before she died, she felt that the only compensation she could receive was residing at Grignan. Madame de la Fayette, on hearing of her intention of going thither, writes, "Your friends are content that you should go to Provence, since you will not return to Paris. The climate is better; you will have society, even when madame de Grignan is away; there is a good mansion, plenty of inhabitants; in short, it is being alive to live there; and I applaud your son for consenting to lose you, for your own sake." [Sidenote: 1690. Ætat. 64.] On the 3d of October, therefore, she set off; and friendship, as she says, rendering so long a journey easy, she arrived on the 24th; when madame de Grignan received her with open arms, and with such joy, affection, and gratitude, "that," she says, "I found I had not come soon enough nor far enough." From this time the correspondence with her daughter entirely ceases. The letters that remain to her other friends scarcely fill up the gap. She visited Paris once again with her daughter; but her time was chiefly spent at Grignan. [Sidenote: 1694. Ætat. 68.] She witnessed the establishment of her grandchildren. The marriage of the young marquis de Grignan was, of course, a deeply interesting subject; nor was she less pleased when Pauline, whom she had served so well in her advice to her mother, married, at the close of the following year, the marquis de Simiane. [Sidenote: 1695. Ætat. 69.] Early in the spring of 1696 madame de Grignan was attacked by a dangerous and lingering illness. Her mother attended on her with tenderness and zeal; but she felt her strength fail her. She wrote to her friends, that, if her daughter did not soon recover, she must sink under her fatigues,--words proved too fatally true. [Sidenote: 1696. Ætat. 70.] After a sudden and short illness, she died, in April of the same year, at the age of seventy. The blow of her death was severely felt by her friends,--a gap was made in their lives, never to be filled up.