Chapter XI: Part 11

In describing her character, her malicious cousin, count de Bussy, darkens many traits, which, in their natural colouring, only rendered her the more agreeable. He blames her for being carried away by a love of the agreeable rather than the solid; but he allows, at the same time, that there was not a cleverer woman in France; that her manners were vivacious and diverting, though she was a little too sprightly for a woman of quality. Madame de la Fayette addressed a portrait to her, as was the fashion of those times. Madame de Sévigné was three-and-thirty when it was written. It is, of course, laudatory: it speaks of the charms of her society, when all constraint was banished from the conversation; and says that the brilliancy of her wit imparted so bright a tinge to her cheek, and sparkle to her eye, that, while others pleased the ears, she dazzled the eyes of her listeners; so that she surpassed, for the moment, the most perfect beauty. The portrait speaks of the affectionate emotions of her heart, and of her love of all that was pleasing and agreeable. "Joy is the natural atmosphere of your soul," it says; "and annoyance is more displeasing to you than to any other." It mentions her obliging disposition, and the grace with which she obliged; her admirable conduct, her frankness, her sweetness.

Of course fault has been found with her. In the first place, Voltaire says, after praising her letters, "It is a pity that she was absolutely devoid of taste; that she did not do Racine justice; and that she puts Mascaron's funeral oration on Turenne on a par with the _chef-d'œuvre_ of Fléchier." We need not say much concerning the first of these accusations. It may be thought that madame de Sévigné showed good taste in her criticisms on Racine. The truth was that, accustomed to Corneille in her youth, she adhered to his party, and was faithful to tastes associated with her happiest days. Of the second, we must mention that she heard Mascaron's oration delivered: and the effect of delivery is often to dazzle, and to inspire a false judgment. She wrote to her daughter on the spur of the moment; and her opinion had no pretensions to a criticism meant for posterity. Afterwards, when she read Fléchier's oration at leisure, she did not hesitate to prefer it. She is a little inclined to a false and flowery style in her choice of books; but her letters exonerate her from the charge of too vehement an admiration for such, or they would not he, as they are, models for grace, ease, and nature.

Another accusation brought against her is, that she was a little malicious in her mode of speaking of persons. It is strange how people can find dark spots in the sun: for, as that luminary is indeed conspicuous for its universal light, and not for its partial darkness, so madame de Sévigné's letters are remarkable for their absence of ill-nature; and, when we reflect with what unreserve and pouring out of the heart they were written, we admire the more the gentle and kindly tone that pervades the whole. "There is a person here," she writes to her daughter, of her uncle, the abbé de Coulanges, "who is so afraid of misdirecting his letters after they are written, that he folds them and puts the addresses before he writes them." The spirit of hyper-criticism alone could discover ill-nature in the quick sense for the ludicrous that the mention of this most innocuous piece of caution displays. In a few of her letters we find her record with pleasure some ill-natured treatment of a certain lady; but this lady had calumniated madame de Grignan, and so drawn on herself the mother's heaviest displeasure.

The last fault brought against her is her being dazzled by greatness:--her saying to her cousin, Bussy, after Louis XIV. had danced with her, "We must allow that he is a great king," which, as a frondeuse, she was at that time bound to deny: but he _was_ a great king, and posterity may therefore forgive her. She made no sacrifices to greatness, and was guilty of no truckling. She allows she should have liked a court life. She traces her exclusion from it to her alliance with the fronde, her friendship for Fouquet, and her jansenist opinions; but she never repines; and this is the more praiseworthy, with regard to her jansenism, since she only adhered to it from entertaining the opinions which received that name, not from party spirit; and had not, therefore, the support and sympathy of the party. She revered the virtues of their leaders; but there was nothing either bigotted or controversial in her admiration or piety.

The only reproach that madame de Sévigné at all deserves is her approval of the revocation of the edict of Nantes, the stain and disgrace of Louis XIV.'s reign, which banished from his country his best and most industrious subjects. We blame Philip III. for extirpating the Moriscos from Spain; but they, at least, were of a different race, and a gulf of separation subsisted between them and the Spaniards. The huguenots were the undoubted and native subjects of the kingdom: the times, also, were more enlightened and refined; and our contempt is the more raised when we find Louis the dupe of two ministers. Le Tellier and Louvois, who were influenced by their hatred of Colbert, one of the greatest and most enlightened ministers of France. We cannot but believe that the French revolution had worn a different aspect had the huguenots remained in France, and, as a consequence, the population had been held in less ignorance and barbarism. We cannot believe that madame de Sévigné really approved the atrocities that ensued. As a good jansenist, she was bound to detest forced conversions. Much of her praise, no doubt, was foisted in from fear that her letters might be opened at the post and read by officials; and it may be remembered, that M. de Grignan had evinced a suspicion that her jansenism had impeded the advancement of his family, as it certainly had of her own. She was at a distance, too, from the scene of action: still she says too much; and cannot be excused, except on the plea that she knew not what she did.[77]

The question has been asked, "In what does madame de Sévigné's merit consist? Did she show herself above her age?" La Harpe says, in his panegyric, "Even those who love this extraordinary woman do not sufficiently estimate the superiority of her understanding. I find in her every species of talent: argumentative or frivolous, witty or sublime, she adopts every tone with wonderful facility." To the question, however, of whether she was superior to her age, we answer, at once, no; but she was equal to the best and highest portion of it. We pass in review before us the greatest men of that day--the most profound thinkers, the most virtuous,--Pascal, Rochefoucauld, Racine, Boileau. Her opinions and sentiments were as liberal and enlightened as theirs; and that is surely sufficient praise for a woman absolutely without pretensions; and who, while she bares the innermost depths of her mind to her daughter, had no thought of dressing and educating that mind for posterity.

The race of madame de Sévigné is extinct. Her son continued childless. The marquis de Grignan died also without offspring. He died young, of the small-pox; and his broken-hearted mother soon followed him to the tomb. Pauline, marquise de Simiane, left children, who became allied to the family of Créqui; but that, also, is now extinct.

[Footnote 61: Roger de Rabutin, comte de Bussy, was one of those unfortunate men who, from some malconformity in the structure of their minds, inherit infamy from the use they make of their talents. His youth was spent in gambling, dissipation, duels, and all the disorders of a disorderly period. He was in the army during his early years, and became attached to the great Condé. He served under him when that prince blockaded Paris, and was one of the faction of young men of quality who attempted to govern the court on its return, and who received the name of _Petits-Maîtres_ from the witty Parisians, a name afterwards preserved to designate young coxcombs of fashion in almost all countries. When Condé was arrested, he made war against the king in Berri. When liberated, he abandoned him. Insolent and presumptuous, he made an enemy of this great man as well as of Turenne. Bussy attacked the latter in a dull epigram. Turenne's reply was far more witty: he wrote to the king, that "Bussy was the best officer, for songs, that he had in his troop." In like manner, he at first paid his court to Fouquet, and afterwards caballed against him. He had frequently been imprisoned in the Bastille. In 1569 he was exiled. He amused himself during his banishment by writing his "Amours des Gaules," a scandalous history of the time, whose wit cannot redeem the infamy attached to his becoming the betrayer and chronicler of the faults and misfortunes of his friends. Allowed to return to court, he entered into a cabal for the ruin of the duchesse de la Vallière--his own was the consequence. Deprived of his employment, imprisoned in the Bastille, and afterwards exiled, he drank deep of the cup of disappointment and mortification. He continued his work in his retreat; but the exercise of malice and calumny did not compensate for being driven from the arena on which he delighted to figure. Sixteen years after, wards he was allowed to return to court; but it had then lost its charms, especially as the king did not regard him with an eye of favour, so he returned once again to his country retreat. He died in 1693, aged seventy-one. Ill brought up and uneducated, wit, sharpened by malice, was his chief talent. He wrote a pure style, but his letters are stiff and dull; and his chief work is remarkable for its license and malice rather than for talent.]

[Footnote 62: "J'admire comment j'eus le courage de vous y mettre (au couvent); la pensée de vous voir souvent, et de vous en retirer me fit résoudre à cette barbarie, qui étoit trouvée alors une bonne conduite, et une chose nécessaire à votre éducation."--_Lettre à Mad. de Grignan_, 6 _May_, 1676.]

[Footnote 63: Il faut que je vous conte ce que j'ai fait. Imaginez vous que des dames m'ont proposé d'aller dans une maison qui regarde droit dans l'arsenal pour voir revenir notre pauvre ami. J'étais masquée; je l'ai vu venir d'assez loin. M. d'Artagnan étoit auprès de lui; cinquante mousquetaires à trente à quarante pas dernière. Il parroissoit assez rêveur. Pour moi, quand je l'ai apperçu, les jambes m'ont tremblé, et le cœur m'a battu si fort, que je ne pouvois plus. En s'approchant de nous pour entrer dans son trou M. d'Artagnan l'a pousse, et lui a fait remarquer que nous étions là. Il nous a donc saluées, et pris cette mine riante que vous lui connoissez. Je ne croie pas qu'il m'a reconnue, mais je vous avoue que j'ai été étrangement saisie quand je l'ai vu entrer dans cette petite porte. Si vous saviez combien on est malheureux quand on a le cœur fait comme je l'ai, je suis assurée que vous auriez pitié de moi; mais je pense que vous n'en etes pas quitte à meilleur marché de la manière dont je vous connois. J'ai été voir votre chère voisine, je vous plains autant de ne l'avoir plus, que nous nous trouvons heureux de l'avoir. Nous avons bien parlé de notre cher ami: elle a vu Sapho (mademoiselle de Scuderi) qui lui a redonné du courage. Pour moi, j'irai demain le reprendre chez elle car de temps en temps, je sens que j'ai besoin de réconfort: ce n'est pas que, l'on ne dise mille choses qui doivent donner de l'espérance; mais mon dieu, j'ai l'imagination si vive, que tout ce qui est incertain me fait mourir."--_Lettre à M. de Pomponne_, 27 _Novembre_, 1664.]

[Footnote 64: On the 3d April, 1680, Madame de Sévigné writes to her daughter, "My dear child, M. Fouquet is dead. I am grieved. Mademoiselle de Scuderi is deeply afflicted. Thus ends a life which it cost so much to preserve." Gourville, in his memoirs, speaks of his being liberated from prison as a certain thing: "M. Fouquet, being some time after set at liberty, heard how I had acted towards his wife, to whom I had lent more than a hundred thousand livres, for her subsistence, for the suit, and even to gain over some of the judges. After having written to thank me," &c. This seems to set the matter at rest. Voltaire says, in the "Siècle de Louis XIV.," that the countess de Vaux (Fouquet's daughter-in-law) confirmed the fact of his liberation: a portion of his family, however, believed differently in after times. His return, if set free, was secret, and did not take place long before his death.]

[Footnote 65: Voltaire, Siècle de Louis XIV. chap. XXV.]

[Footnote 66: In the verses made on this occasion the poet alludes also to the beauty of her mother:--

"Vous travestir ainsi, c'est bien ingénu,
Amour, c'est comme si, pour n'être pas connu,
Avec une innocence extreme
Vous vous déguisez en vous-meme
Elle a vos traits, vos yeux, votre air engageant,
Et de même que vous, sourit en égorgéant;
Enfin qui fit l'un a fait l'autre,
Et jusque à sa mère, elle est comme la votre."]

[Footnote 67: At the age of seventy-six, madame de Sévigné's grandson, the young marquis de Grignan, sought lier friendship; thus, in some sort, she reigned over three generations of the same family. The one fault of Ninon so unsexes her that we must regard her character rather as belonging to a man than a woman. "I saw the disadvantages women labour under," she said, "and I chose to assume the position of a man (et je me fis homme)." She regulated her conduct by what was considered honourable in a man--honourable, not moral. Her talents and generous qualities caused her to be respected and loved by a large circle of distinguished friends. Madame de Maintenon was her early and intimate friend: even when she became devout she continued to prize Ninon's friendship, and wrote to her to give good lessons to her incorrigible brother.]

[Footnote 68: His song, excusing his idleness, is very good: it is in dialogue between himself and the chief among those who blamed him, the count de Bussy-Rabutin.

"AIR.--'_Or nous dites, Marie._'

BUSSY.

"Or nous dites, Coulanges,
Magistrat sans pareil,
Par quel destin étrange
Quittez-vous le conseil?

COULANGES.

"Lisez, lisez l'histoire:
Vous verrez qu'avant nous
Les héros, las de gloire.
Allaient planter des choux.

BUSSY.

"Le bel exemple à suivre
Que Dioclétien!
Est-ce ainsi qu'il faut vivre?
Il n'étoit pas chrétien.

COULANGES.

"Charles-Quint, qu'on admire.
En a bien fait autant:
Quitta-t'-il pas l'empire
Pour être plus content?

BUSSY.

"Oui, mais dans la retraite
Savez-vous ce qu'il fit?
Chagrin dans sa chambrette,
Souvent s'en repentit.

COULANGES.

"La savante Christine
Ne s'en repentit pas;
Et de cette héroïne
Je veut suivre les pas.

BUSSY.

"Mais d'Azolin dans Rome
Ignorez-vous les bruits?
Et que ce galant homme
Sut charmer ses ennuis?

COULANGES.

"Du feu roi de Pologne,
Monsieur, que dites-vous?
Tranquille et sans vergogne
Il vient parmi nous.

BUSSY.

"Oui, mais son inconstance.
Moine, roi, cardinal,
Le fit venir en France
Mourir à l'hôpital.

COULANGES.

"Le diable vous emporte.
Monsieur, et vos raisons!
Je vivrois de la sorte
Et ferai des chansons."]

[Footnote 69: At the time of the dauphin's marriage, when madame de Coulanges was presented to the dauphine, the latter received her with a compliment on her wit and letters, of which she had heard in Germany. At this time madame de Sévigné writes,--"Madame de Coulanges is at St. Germain: she does wonders at court: she is with her three friends (mesdames de Richelieu, de Maintenon, and de Rochefort) at their private hours. Her wit is a qualification of dignity at court."--April 5. 1680.]

[Footnote 70: The best known of his couplets are the following philosophic ones:--

"D'Adam nous sommes tous enfans:
La chose est très-connue,
Et que tous nos premiers parens
Ont mené la charrue;
Mais, las de cultiver enfin
Sa terre labourée,
L'un a dételé le matin,
L'autre l'après-dînée."]

[Footnote 71: Turning over her pages, we frequently find reflections such as the following, which, from its gentleness and feeling, is singularly characteristic of the amiable writer:--"Vous savez que je suis toujours un peu entêtée de mes lectures Ceux à qui je parle ont intérêt que je lise de bons livres: celui dont il s'agit présentement, c'est cette Morale de Nicole: il y a un traité sur les moyens d'entretenir la paix entre les hommes, qui me ravit: je n'ai jamais rien vu de plus utile, ni si plein d'esprit et de lumières. Si vous ne l'avez pas lu, lisez-le; si vous l'avez lu, relisez-le avec une nouvelle attention: je crois que tout le monde s'y trouve; pour moi, je suis persuadée qu'il a été fait à mon intention; j'espère aussi d'en profiter; j'y ferai mes efforts. Vous savez que je ne puis souffrir que les vieilles gens disent, 'Je suis trop vieux pour me corriger:' je pardonnerois plutôt aux jeunes gens de dire, 'Je suis trop jeune.' La jeunesse est si aimable, qu'il faudrait l'adorer, si l'âme et l'esprit étoient aussi parfaits que le corps; mais quand on n'est plus jeune, c'est alors qu'il faudrait se perfectionner, et tâcher de regagner par les bonnes qualités ce qu'on perd du côté des agréable. Il y a longtemps que j'ai fait ces réflexions, et pour cette raison je veux tous les jours travailler à mon esprit, à mon âme, à mon cœur, à mes sentimens. Voilà de quoi je suis pleine, et de quoi je remplis cette lettre, n'ayant pas beaucoup d'autres sujets."--Aux Rochers, 7. Oct. 1671. With regard to the book that gave rise to these reflections, M. de Sévigné, her son, who had a more enlightened taste as to style, by no means approved it. He says, "Et moi, je vous dirai que le premier tome des Essais de Morale vous paroitroit tout comme à moi, si la Marans et l'abbé Têtu ne vous avoient accoutumée aux choses fines et distillées. Ce n'est pas aujourd'hui que le galimathias vous parois clair et aisé: de tout ce qui a parlé de l'homme, et l'intérieur de l'homme, je n'ai rien vu de moins agréable; ce ne sont point là ces portraits où tout le monde se reconnoit. Pascal, la logique de Port Royal, et Plutarque, et Montaigne, parlent autrement: celui-ci parle parce qu'il veut parler, et souvent il n'a pas grand' chose à dire."]

[Footnote 72: Take, for instance, the following extracts on the subject of his death:--"Ne croyez point, ma fille, que le souvenir de M. de Turenne soit déjà finit dans ce pays-ci; ce fleuve, qui entraine tout, n'entraine pas sitôt une telle mémoire; elle est consacrée à l'immortalité. J'étais l'autre jour chez M. de la Rochefoucauld, avec madame de Lavardin, madame de la Fayette, et M. de Marsillac. M. le Premier y vint. La conversation dura deux heures sur les divines qualités de ce véritable héros: tous les yeux étaient baignés de larmes, et vous ne sauriez croire comme la douleur de sa perte est profondément gravé dans les cœurs. Nous remarquions une chose, c'est que ce n'est pas depuis sa mort que l'on admire la grandeur de son cœur, l'étendue de ses lumières, et l'élévation de son âme; tout le monde en étoit plein pendant sa vie, et vous pouvez penser ce que fait sa perte par-dessus ce qu'on étoit déjà: enfin, ne croyez point que cette mort soit ici comme celle des autres. Vous pouvez en parler tant qu'il vous plaira, sans croire que la dose de votre douleur l'emporte sur la nôtre. Pour son âme, c'est encore un miracle qui vient de l'estime parfaite qu'on avoit pour lui; il n'est pas tombé dans la tête d'aucun dévot qu'elle ne fut pas en bon état: on ne sauroit comprendre que le mal et le péché pussent être dans son cœur: sa conversion si sincère nous a paru comme un baptême; chacun conte l'innocence de ses mœurs, la pureté de ses intentions, son humilité, éloignée de toute sorte d'affectation; la solide gloire dont il étoit plein, sans faste et sans ostentation; aimant la vertu pour elle-même, sans se soucier de l'approbation des hommes; une charité généreuse et chrétienne. Vous ai-je dit comme il l'habilla ce régiment anglois? il lui coûta quatorze mille francs, et il resta sans argent. Les Anglois ont dit à M. de Lorges qu'ils achéveroient de servir cette campagne, pour venger la mort de M. de Turenne, mais qu'après cela ils se retireroient, ne pouvant obéir à d'autres que lui. Il y avoit de jeunes soldats qui s'impatientoient un peu dans les marais, où ils étoient dans l'eau jusqu'aux genoux; et les vieux soldats leur disoient 'Quoi, vous vous plaignez!' On voit bien que vous ne connoissez pas M. de Turenne: il est plus fâché que nous quand nous sommes mal; il ne songe, à l'heure qu'il est, qu'à nous tirer d'ici; il veille quand nous dormons; c'est notre père: on voit bien que vous êtes jeunes. Et c'est ainsi qu'ils les rassuroient. Tout ce que je vous mande est vrai; je ne me charge point des fadaises dont on croit faire plaisir aux gens éloignés: c'est abuser d'eux, et je choisis bien plus ce que je vous écris, que ce que je vous dirois, si vous étiez ici. Je reviens à son âme: c'est donc une chose à remarquer, que nul dévot ne s'est avisé de douter que Dieu ne l'eût reçue à bras ouverts, comme une des plus belles et des meilleures qui soient jamais sorties de ses mains. Méditez sur cette confiance générale sur son salut, et vous trouverez que c'est une espèce de miracle qui n'est que pour lui. Vous verrez dans les nouvelles les effets de cette grande perte."--15 Août, 1675.

"M. de Barillon soupa ici hier: on ne parla que de M. de Turenne, il en est véritablement très-affligé. Il nous contoit la solidité de ses vertus, combien il étoit vrai, combien il aimoit la vertu pour elle-même, combien pour elle seule il se trouvoit récompensé, et puis finit par dire que l'on ne pouvoit pas l'aimer, ni être touché de son mérite, sans en être plus honnête homme. Sa société communiquoit une horreur pour la friponnerie, pour la duplicité, qui mettoit ses amis au-dessus des autres hommes. Bien de siècles n'en donneront pas un pareil. Je ne trouve pas qu'on soit tout-à-fait aveugle en celui-ci, au moins les gens que je vois. Je crois que c'est vanter d'être en bonne compagnie."--28 Août, 1675.]

[Footnote 73: "Voici un changement de scène qui vous paroitra aussi agréable qu'à tout le monde. Je fus samedi à Versailles avec les Villars. Vous connoissez la toilette de la reine, la messe, le dîner: mais il n'est pas besoin de se faire étouffer pendant que leurs majestés sont à table; car à trois heures le roi, la reine, monsieur, madame, mademoiselle, tout ce qu'il y a de princes et de princesses, madame de Montespan, toute sa suite, tous les courtisans, toutes les dames, enfin ce qui s'appelle la cour de France, se trouve dans ce bel appartement du roi que vous connoissez. Tout est meublé devinement--tout est magnifique. On ne sait ce que c'est d'y avoir chaud; on passe d'un lieu à l'autre sans avoir presse nulle part. Un jeu de reverse donne la forme, et fixe tout. Le roi est auprès de madame de Montespan, qui tient la carte; monsieur, la reine, et madame de Soubise, Dangeau et compagnie, Langlée et compagnie. Mille louis sont répandus sur le tapis. Il n'y a point d'autres jetons. Je voyois Dangeau, et j'admirois combien nous sommes sots au jeu auprès de lui. Il ne songe qu'à son affaire, et gagne où les autres perdent: il ne néglige rien, il profite de tout; il n'est point distrait: en un mot, sa bonne conduite défie la fortune; aussi les deux cent mille francs en deux jours, les cent mille écus en un mois, tout cela se met sur le livre de sa recette. Il dit que je prenois part à son jeu, de sorte que je fus assise très-agréablement et très-commodément. Je saluai le roi, ainsi que vous me l'avez appris: il me rendit mon salut, comme si j'avois été jeune et belle. La reine me parla aussi longtemps de ma maladie que si c'eût été une couche. M. le duc me fit mille de ces caresses, à quoi il ne pense pas. Le maréchal de Lorges m'attaqua sous le nom du chevalier de Grignan, enfin _tutti quanti_. Vous savez ce que c'est que de recevoir un mot de tout ce que l'on trouve en son chemin. Madame de Montespan me parla de Bourbon: elle me pria de lui conter Vichi, et comment je m'en étois portée. Elle me dit que Bourbon, au lieu de guérir un genou, lui a fait mal aux deux. Je lui trouvai le dos bien plat, comme disoit la maréchale de la Meilleraie; mais sérieusement, c'est une chose surprenante que sa beauté; sa taille n'est pas la moitié si grosse qu'elle étoit, sans que son teint, ni ses yeux, ni ses lèvres en sont moins bien. Elle étoit habillée de point de France, coiffée de mille boucles: les deux des tempes lui tombent fort bas sur les joues; des rubans noirs à sa tète, des perles de la maréchale d'Hôpital, embellies de boucles et de pendeloques de diamants de la dernière beauté, trois ou quatre poinçons, point de coiffe; en un mot, une triomphante beauté, à faire admirer tous les ambassadeurs. Elle a su qu'on se plaignoit qu'elle empèchoit à toute la France de voir le roi; elle l'a redonné, comme vous voyez; et vous ne sauriez croire la joie que tout le monde en a, ni de quelle beauté cela rend la cour. Cette agréable confusion, sans confusion, de tout ce qu'il y a de plus choisi, dure depuis trois heures jusqu'à six. S'il vient des courriers, le roi se retire un moment pour lire ses lettres, puis revient. Il y a toujours quelque musique qu'il écoute, et qui fait un très bon effet. Il cause avec les dames qui ont accoutumé d'avoir cet honneur. Enfin, on quitte le jeu à six heures. On n'a point du tout de peine à faire les comptes--il n'y a point de jetons ni de marques. Les poules sont au moins de cinq, six, à sept cent louis, les grosses de mille, de douze cents. On parle sans cesse, et rien ne demeure sur le cœur. Combien avez-vous de cœurs? J'en ai deux, j'en ai trois, j'en ai un, j'en ai quatre: il n'en a donc que trois, que quatre; et Dangeau est ravi de tout ce caquet: il découvre le jeu, il tire ses conséquences, il voit à qui il a affaire; enfin, j'étois bien aise de voir cet excès d'habilité: vraiment c'est bien lui qui sait le dessous des cartes. On monte donc à six heures en calèches, le roi, madame de Montespan, M. et madame de Thianges, et la bonne d'Hendicourt sur le strapontin, c'est-à-dire comme en paradis, ou dans la gloire de Niquée. Vous savez comme ces calèches sont faites: on ne se regarde point, on est tourné du même côté. La reine étoit dans une autre avec les princesses, et ensuite tout le monde attroupé selon sa fantaisie. On va sur le canal dans des gondoles; on trouve de la musique; on revient à dix heures, on trouve la comédie; minuit sonne, on fait _media noche_. Voilà comme se passe le samedi. De vous dire combien de fois on me parla de vous, combien on me fit de questions sans attendre la réponse, combien j'en épargnai, combien on s'en soucie peu, combien je m'en souciois encore moins, vous reconnoitrez au naturel _l'iniqua corte_. Cependant il ne fut jamais si agréable, et on souhaite fort que cela continue."]

[Footnote 74: It is curious to find her earnestly recommending maternal affection to her daughter. One poor little girl was wholly sacrificed--shut up in a convent, waiting for a vocation; the other was saved by her grandmother from a similar fate. She writes, "Mais parlons de cette Pauline; l'aimable, la jolie petite créature! Ai-je jamais été si jolie qu'elle? on dit que je l'étais beaucoup. Je suis ravie qu'elle vous fasse souvenir de moi: je sais bien qu'il n'est pas besoin de cela; mais, enfin, j'ai une joie sensible: vous me la dépeignez charmante, et je crois précisément tout ce que vous me dites: je suis étonnée qu'elle ne soit devenue sotte et ricaneuse dans ce couvent: ah, que vous avez fait bien de l'en retirer! Gardez-la, ma fille, ne vous privez pas rie ce plaisir; la Providence en aura soin."--Oct. 4, 1679. In another letter she says, "Aimez, _aimez_ Pauline; croyez-moi, tâtez, tâtez de l'amour maternel."]

[Footnote 75: It is in these letters from her _château_ that we find her penetration into the human heart, and her sympathy with all that is upright and good. She writes to her daughter, "Vous verrez comme tous les vices et toutes les vertus sont jetés pêle-mêle dans le fond de ces provinces; car je trouve des âmes de paysans plus droites que les lignes, aimant la vertu comme naturellement les chevaux trottent." As to her jansenism, it was very sincere, though not mingled with the spirit of party. She believed in the election of grace, and the few that were to be saved; and, though somewhat puzzled when she tried to reconcile this doctrine with the free will of man, she has recourse to St. Augustin, the jansenian saint, and says, "Lisez un peu le livre de la prédestination des saints de St. Augustin, et du don de la persévérance: je ne cherche pas à être davantage éclaircie sur ce point; et je veux me tenir, si je puis, dans l'humilité et dans la dépendance. Le onzième chapitre du don de la persévérance me tomba hier sous la main: lisez-le, et lisez tout le livre: c'est où j'ai puisé mes erreurs: je ne suis pas seule, cela me console; et en vérité je suis tentée à croire qu'on ne dispute aujourd'hui sur cet matière avec tant de chaleur, que faute de s'entendre."]

[Footnote 76: "Je fis ma cour l'autre jour à St. Cyr, plus agréablement que je n'eusse jamais pensé. Nous y allâmes samedi; madame de Coulanges, madame de Bagnols, l'abbé Têtu, et moi: nous trouvâmes nos places gardées; un officier dit à madame de Coulanges que madame de Maintenon lui faisait garder un siège auprès d'elle: vous voyez quel honneur! 'Pour vous, madame,' me dit-il, 'vous pouvez choisir.' Je me mis avec madame de Bagnols, au second banc derrière les duchesses. Le maréchal de Bellefond vint se mettre par choix à mon côté droit. Nous écoutâmes, le maréchal et moi, cette tragédie avec une attention qui fut remarqué; et de certaines louanges sourdes et bien placées. Je ne puis vous dire l'excès de l'agrément de cette pièce. C'est une chose qui n'est pas aisée à représenter, et qui ne sera jamais imitée. C'est un rapport de la musique, des vers, des chants, et des personnes si parfait, qu'on n'y souhaite rien. On est attentif, et l'on n'a point d'autre peine que celle de voir finir une si aimable tragédie. Tout y est simple, tout y est innocent, tout y est sublime et touchant. Cette fidélité à l'histoire sainte donne du respect: tous les chants convenables aux paroles sont d'une beauté singulière. La mesure de l'approbation qu'on donne à cette pièce, c'est celle du goût et de l'attention. J'en fus charmée et le maréchal aussi, qui sortit de sa place pour aller dire au roi combien il étoit content, et qu'il étoit auprès d'une dame qui étoit bien digne d'avoir vu Esther. Le roi vint vers nos places; et après avoir tourné, il s'adressa à moi, et me dit, 'Madame, je suis assuré que vous avez été contente.' Moi, sans m'étonner, je répondis, 'Sire, je suis charmée, ce que je sens est au dessus des paroles.' Le roi me dit, 'Racine a bien de l'esprit.' Je lui dit, 'Sire, il en a beaucoup, mais en vérité ces jeunes personnes en ont beaucoup aussi; elles entrent dans le sujet, comme si elles n'avoient jamais fait autre chose.' 'Ah, pour cela,' reprit-il, 'il est vrai;' et puis sa majesté s'en alla, et me laissa l'objet d'envie: comme il n'y avoit quasi que moi de nouvelle venue, il eut quelque plaisir de voir mes sincères admirations, sans bruit et sans éclat. M. le prince, madame la princesse, me vinrent dire un mot, madame de Maintenon, elle s'en alloit avec le roi. Je répondit à tout, car j'étois en fortune. Nous revînmes le soir aux flambeaux; je soupai chez madame de Coulanges, à qui le roi avoit parlé aussi, avec un air d'être chez lui, qui lui donnoit une douceur trop aimable. Je vis le soir M. le chevalier de Grignan. Je lui contait tout naïvement un éclair mes petites prospérités, ne voulant point les cachoter sans savoir pourquoi, comme certaines personnes. Il en fut content, et voilà qui est fait. Je suis assurée qu'il ne m'a point trouvé dans la suite, ni une sotte vanité, ni un transport de bourgeoise."]

[Footnote 77: "Le père Bourdaloue s'en va, par ordre du roi, prêcher à Montpelier, et dans ces provinces où tant de gens se sont convertis sans savoir pourquoi. Le père Bourdaloue le leur apprendra, et en fera de bons catholiques. Les dragons ont été de très-bons missionnaires jusqu'ici: les médiateurs qu'on envoient présentement rendront l'ouvrage parfait. Vous aurez vu, sans doute, l'édit par lequel le roi révoque celui de Nantes. Rien n'est si beau que tout ce qu'il contient, et jamais aucun roi n'a fait et ne fera rien de plus mémorable."--Lettre au comte de Bussy, 14 Nov. 1685, The count replies, "J'admire la conduite du roi pour ruiner les huguenots: les guerres qu'on leur a faites autrefois, elles Saints Barthélémis, ont multiplié et donné vigueur à cette secte. Sa majesté l'a sapée petit à petit, et l'édit qu'il vient de donner, soutenu des dragons et des Bourdaloues, a été le coup de grace."]

BOILEAU

1636-1711

One of the authors most characteristic of the better part of the age of Louis XIV. was Boileau. The activity and directness of his mind, his fastidious taste, his wit, the strict propriety of his writings, and their useful aim, were worthy of a period which, for many years, legislated for the republic of letters. Sunk in ignorance as France had been, it required spirits as resolute and enlightened as his to refine it, and spread knowledge widely abroad--while his disposition and habits were honourable to himself, and to the society of which he formed a distinguished part.

The father of the poet, Giles Boileau, was for sixty years _greffier_ to the great chamber of the parliament of Paris. The simplicity of his character, his abilities, and probity, caused him to be universally esteemed. He had a large family. Three of his sons distinguished themselves in literature. One, who took the name of Pui-Morin, was a lawyer; but his publications were rather classic than legal. Another entered the church; he became a doctor of Sorbonne, and enjoyed several ecclesiastical preferments.

Nicholas Boileau (who, to distinguish him from his brothers, was called by his contemporaries Despréaux, from some meadows which his father possessed at the end of his garden,) was born in Paris, on the 5th of December, 1636.[78] He lost his mother when he was only eleven months old--she dying at the early age of twenty-three. His childhood was one of suffering; so that he said of himself, in after times, that he would not accept a new life on the condition of passing through a similar childhood. We are not told what the evils were of which he complained, but they were certainly, to a great degree, physical; for he was cut for the stone at an early age, and the operation being badly performed he never entirely regained his health. His earliest years were spent at the village of Crone, in which his father had a country house, where he spent his law vacations, and where, indeed, Louis Racine declares that Nicholas was born. The house must have been small and humble, for the boy was lodged in a loft above a barn, till a little room was constructed for him in the barn itself, which made him say that he commenced life by descending into a barn. His disposition as a child was marked by a simplicity and kindliness, that caused his father to say, "that Colin was a good fellow, who would never speak ill of any one." His turn for satire made this seem ridiculous in after times: yet it was founded on truth. Delicacy, and a sort of irritability of taste, joined to wit, caused him to satirise writers: but he carefully abstained from impugning the private character of any one; and, with his friends, and in his conduct during life, he was remarkable for probity, kindness of heart, and a cordial forgiving disposition. When we view him as a courtier, also, we recognize at once that independence of feeling, joined to a certain absence of mind, of which his father perceived the germ.

He went to school at Beauvais; and M. Sevin, master of one of the classes, discovered his taste for poetry, and asserted that he would acquire great reputation in his future life; being persuaded that, when a man is born a poet, nothing can prevent him from fulfilling his destiny. Boileau was at this time passionately fond of romances and poetry; but his critical taste was awakened by these very pursuits. "Even at fifteen," he says, in his ninth satire, "I detested a stupid book. Satire opened for me the right path, and supported my steps towards the Parnassus where I ventured to seek her." At the age of eighteen he wrote an ode on the war which it was expected that Cromwell would declare against France. In later days he corrected this ode, and added to the force of its expressions; but even in its original state it is remarkable for the purity of its language, its conciseness, and energy.

At the age of sixteen he lost his father, and thus acquired early that independent position which is the portion of orphans. His relations wished him to follow the profession of the law: he consented, and, applying himself with diligence, was named advocate at an early age. [Sidenote: 1656. Ætat. 20.] But the chicanery, the tortuousness, and absurdity of the practice speedily disgusted him, formed as he was by nature to detect and expose error; so that, in the very first cause entrusted to him, he showed so much disgust, that the attorney (who probably was aware that such existed), fancying that he had discovered some irregularity in his proceedings, said, on withdrawing his brief, "Ce jeune avocat ira loin." Boileau, on the contrary, was only eager to throw off the burden of a profession so little suited to him; and he quitted the bar for the study of ecclesiastical polity, fancying that religion would purify and elevate the practice of the church. He was soon undeceived; and was shocked and astonished by the barbarous language, the narrow scholastic speculations, and polemical spirit, of the sorbonne. He found that chicanery had but changed its garb; and, unwilling to debase his mind by such studies, he gave them up, and dedicated himself entirely to literature. Led by his inborn genius, he boldly entered on the career of letters and poetry, in spite of the warnings of his family[79], for his patrimony, consisting only of a few thousand crowns, seemed to render it imperative that he should follow a gainful profession. His desires, however, were moderate; and he contrived to limit his expenses to his slender income.

Literature and knowledge were at a low ebb in France when Louis XIV. began to reign. The genius of the people had, previously to Corneille, displayed itself in no great national poem. Its instincts for poetry, owing, perhaps, to the faulty nature of the language, had confined itself to songs and ballads, inimitable for a certain charming elegant simplicity, but with no pretension to the praise due to a high order of imagination. Corneille, in his majesty and power, stood alone. Then had come Molière, who detected and held up to ridicule the false taste of the age. Yet, in spite of his attacks, this false taste in part subsisted; and there were several of the favourite authors of the day whose works excited Boileau's spleen, and roused him to the task of satire. Chapelain may be mentioned as the chief among them. Jean Chapelain was a Parisian, and a member of the French academy. He was much patronised by the minister Colbert; and, under his auspices, the king not only granted him a pension, but entrusted to his care the making out a list of the chief literary men of Europe, towards whom Louis, in a spirit of just munificence, inspired by Colbert, allowed pensions, in token that their labours deserved assistance or reward. Jean Chapelain, an upright, a clever, and a generous man, was thus exalted to the head of the republic of letters; and was seduced by the voice of praise to write a poem on the subject of the Maid of Orleans. The topic was popular: while in progress. Chapelain enjoyed an anticipated reputation on the strength of it; and the duke de Longueville allowed him a pension; but as soon as the "Pucelle" was published, which rash act he did not venture on for a number of years, his fame as a poet fell to the ground; epigrams rained on the unfortunate epic, and Boileau brought up the rear with pointed well-turned sarcasms. As the friend of Colbert, as an amiable man of acknowledged talents. Chapelain had many partisans. The duke de Montauzier[80], a satirist himself in his youth, was furious, and declared that Boileau ought to be tossed into the river, that he might rhyme there. Other friends of Chapelain remonstrated; but their representations turned to the amusement of the satirist. "Chapelain is my friend," said the abbé de la Victoire, "and I grieve that you have named him in your satires. It is true, if he followed my advice, he would not write poetry; prose suits him much better."--"And what more do I say?" cried Boileau: "I repeat in verse what every one else says in prose: I am, in truth, the secretary of the public."[81]

As such the public joyfully accepted him. He became the favourite guest of the best society in Paris, where genius and wit were honoured. Joined to his faculty of writing satires, whose every word was as a gem set in gold, Boileau read his verses well, and possessed the talent of mimicry, which added greatly to the zest of his recitations. Chapelain, Cotin, and the poetasters whom he lashed, passed thus, as it were, in living array before his audience; and the enjoyment he created naturally led to a popularity, which, as it was bestowed by the well-born, the beautiful, and the rich, spread a halo of prosperity round the poet's steps.

Boileau, however, has not escaped censure for his personal attacks. It was considered a defilement of the elevated spirit of poetical satire to attack persons; and, though Boileau only lashed these men as authors, their blameless private characters made many recoil from seeing their names held up to ridicule. Not only his contemporaries, but later writers, have blamed him.[82] He has even been accused of acting from base motives. That Chapelain, when he made a list for Colbert of literary men deserving of pensions, did not include Boileau's name is supposed to be the occasion of his enmity. But the dislike seems to have had foundation earlier; for we are told that the first satire was composed when the poet was only four-and-twenty, and had no pretensions to be pensioned for unwritten works, and, indeed, before the pensions in question were granted.[83] Some ill blood might have arisen through a quarrel between Boileau and his elder brother Giles, who was a friend of Chapelain. This circumstance rendered him, perhaps, more willing to attack the latter; but, doubtless, his ruling motive was his hatred of a bad book, and his natural genius, which directed the scope of his labours.

Boileau himself carefully distinguishes between attacks made on authors and on individuals; and, _à propos_, of his ridicule of Chapelain, he says,

"En blamant ses écrits, ai-je d'un style affreux
Distilé sur sa vie un venin dangereux?
Ma muse en l'attaquant, charitable et discrete,
Scait de l'homme d'honneur distinguer le poète."[84]

Still he whimsically gives, as it were, the lie to this very defence by his subsequent conduct; for, when any one of the unhappy authors whom he had held up to ridicule showed him personal kindness, he was not proof against the impulse that led him to expunge his name in the next edition of his works, and substitute that of some new-sprung enemy. Thus in the seventh satire we find the following persons strung together:--

"Faut-il d'un froid Rimeur dépeindre la manie?
Mes vers, comme un torrent, coulent sur le papier,
Je rencontre à la fois Perrin et Pelletier,
Bardou, Mauroy, Boursault, Colletet, Titreville."

He afterwards altered the last verse to

"Bonnecorse, Pradon, Colletet, Titreville."

Perrin had translated the Æneid into French; and was the first person who obtained leave to introduce the Italian opera into France. Pelletier was a sort of itinerant rhymester, who, when he addressed a sonnet to a man, carried it to him, and contrived to get paid for his pains. Bardou and Mauroy were minor poets, whose nonsense appeared in ephemeral collections of verses. Boursault was more distinguished. He quarrelled with Molière, and endeavoured to satirise him in a slight drama, entitled "Portrait du Peintre, ou, contre Critique de l'École des Femmes." Molière showed himself very indifferent to this sort of attack; but Boileau took up the cudgels for him. Boursault revenged himself by another drama, levelled against Boileau himself, called "Satire des Satires;" and the latter, with a sensitiveness in which he had no right to indulge, got a decree of parliament to prevent its representation. Many years after, when Boileau was at the baths of Bourbon for his health, and Boursault was _receveur des termes_ at Mont Luçon, a town not far distant, Boileau writes to Racine, "M. Boursault, whom I thought dead, came to see me five or six days ago, and made his appearance again unexpectedly this evening. He told me he had come three long leagues out of his way to Mont Luçon, whither he was bound, and where he lives, to have the pleasure of calling on me. He offered me all sorts of things--money, horses, &c. I replied by similar civilities, and wished to keep him till to-morrow to dinner; but he said he was obliged to go away early in the morning, and we separated the best possible friends." Racine says, in reply, "I am pleased by the civilities you have received from Boursault; you are advancing towards perfection at a prodigious pace; how many people you have pardoned." Boileau replies, "I laughed heartily at the joke you make of the people I have pardoned; but do you know that I have more merit than you imagine, if the Italian proverb be true, _chi offende non perdona._" About this time Pradon and Bonnecorse attacked him; and he took occasion, in a new edition of his works, to substitute their names for those of the persons with whom he was now reconciled.

To return to his younger days: wit, high and convivial spirits, and his acknowledged and popular talents, gained him the favour of the great. The great Condé was his especial protector; and he changed many expressions in his poems, and even altered them materially, at his suggestion. The great Coudé often assembled literary men at Chantilly; and he liked this society far better than that of people of rank. One day, when Racine and Boileau were with him, the arrival of some bishop was announced, as having come to view his palace and grounds. "Show him every thing," said the prince impatiently, "except myself." This prince often discussed literary topics with his guests. When he was in the right, he argued with moderation and gentleness; when in the wrong, he grew angry if contradicted: his eyes sparkled with a fire that even intimidated Boileau, who yielded at once, remarking, at the same time, to his neighbour, "Henceforth I shall always agree with the prince when he is in the wrong."

The First President Lamoignon also honoured him with his intimate friendship; and Arnaud and Nicole, churchmen distinguished for their virtues and talents, were among his dearest and most revered friends. But, besides these, he had intimates of his own station, of not less genius than himself; authors, yet without rivalship, who enjoyed the zest given by each other's wit in society; to whom he was strongly attached, and with whom, in the heyday of life, he played many a prank, and spent long hours of social enjoyment. Racine, La Fontaine, Molière, and Chapelle[85] were among these. Many anecdotes are told concerning them, which makes us the more regret that no faithful Boswell was near to glean more amply. The "Boileana," which pretended to record their wit, is by no means authentic. Louis Racine, in his valuable life of his father, has given us one or two; from these--the shadow rather than the light of wit--marking its place rather than displaying its form--we select a few.

This knot of friends frequently dined at a celebrated _traiteur's_, or at one another's houses; in particular, at Molière's and Boileau's country houses at Auteuil. The conversation on these occasions was brilliant; and, did a silly remark escape from any among them, a fine was immediately levied. Chapelain's poem of the "Pucelle" was on the table, and, according to the quality of the fault, the accused was adjudged to read a certain number of lines from this poem: twenty lines was a heavy punishment; a whole page was considered equivalent to a sentence of death.

The famous supper, when the whole company resolved to drown themselves, has been related in the life of Molière. Buoyant spirits, unchecked by age or sorrow, inspired a thousand freaks, which were put in execution on the spur of the minute. At one time the university of Paris was going to present a petition to parliament to desire that the philosophy of Descartes should not be taught in the schools. This was mentioned before the First President Lamoignon, who said that, if the petition were presented, the decree could not be refused. Boileau, amused by the idea, wrote a burlesque decree, which he got up in common with Racine, and his nephew added the legal terms, and carried it, together with several other papers, to be signed by the president. Lamoignon was on the point of putting his name, when, casting his eyes over it, he exclaimed, "This is a trick of Despréaux!" The burlesque petition became known, and the university gave up the notion of presenting a serious one.