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 3 1924 082 179 445 
 
The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924082179445 
 
MADAME DE SEYIGNE 
 
 llEli 
 
 CORRESPONDENTS AND CONTEMPORARIES, 
 
MADAME DE SEVIGNE, 
 
 HER 
 
 COEEESPONDENTS AND CONTEMPOEAEIES. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE COMTESSE DE PULIGA. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE ST., STRAND. 
 
 1873. 
 
 [A II rights reserved. ] 
 
A -/J 77/ 
 
 LONDON : 
 BRADBURY, AGNKW, & CO., PRIISTERS, WHITEFRIAKS. 
 
TO MY FATHER 
 
 ihiB maxh 
 
 IS 
 
 MOST AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Before committing the following pages to tlie 
 attention of the reader, a few words are due from 
 the writer to say that no pretence is made to bring 
 forward any new facts in connection with the life of 
 Madame de Sevign^. 
 
 The chief aims in this labour of love have been 
 to show Madame de S^vigne, perliaps more than has 
 yet been done, as a woman and as a philosopher ; to 
 enter with the reader not only into the subject, but 
 into the spirit of her letters — pausing at each noble 
 thought to see if some instruction cannot be derived 
 fi'om it ; to make her loved as well as admired ; to 
 paint her brihiant youth in that polished court of 
 Anne of Austria ; to show her a Frondeuse with a 
 pure fame ; to sympathize with the woes of her 
 short married life ; to see her weep over the unworthy 
 husband she loved but could not esteem ; to respect 
 her when, a fond mother, she seeks retirement to 
 devote herself to her two children — to that son and 
 that daughter, ' the dear sorrow of her life ; ' to look 
 on while such men as Fouquet, as Conti, as Turenne 
 
\in PREFACE. 
 
 are rejected as lovers but retained as friends ; to listen 
 to the insidious Bussy endeavouring in vain to shake 
 her virtue and forced to acknowledge it; to accom- 
 pany her uninvited to the Hotel de Eambouillet, where 
 she sits one of that fair circle listenino; with an indulo;- 
 ent smile to the tender sighs of Menage ; to witness 
 her, a beauty still, the mother of another triumphant 
 beauty ; to follow her year by year, not only in Paris, 
 but to Livry and the Rochers ; and at each of those 
 places to group around her the many friends who 
 were true to her through that eventful life. Finally, to 
 perform with her that last long and tedious journey to 
 Grignan, there to admire her fear and courage before 
 death (it seems to us there can be no courage w^here 
 there is no fear) ; and to see her pass away in the 
 house of that daughter who had been her very all ; 
 perhaps also to enter with a full heart into the 
 feelings of love and sorrow which after her bereave- 
 ment Madame de Grignan so ably expressed. 
 
 If we have succeeded in picturing that smiling 
 image of womanhood in her living and true shape, 
 and if from the hearts of a few who knew her not 
 before we can call forth that sympathy and admira- 
 tion we feel for Madame de Sevigne, then is our task 
 accomplished and we are rewarded for our endeavour 
 to render our efforts acceptable. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PA<;ic 
 Descriptive portrait of Madame de Sevigiie, by Madame de la 
 
 Fayette. — Character and genius of Madame de Sevigne . . 1 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 1592-1643. 
 
 Parentage of Madame de Sevigne. — Her bii-tli. — Death of her 
 father and mother. — Assigned to the care of the A1jI>u de 
 Coulanges. — Her tutors : Menage ; Cliapelain . 15 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 1610-44. 
 
 France in 1G44.— Louis XIII. — Cardinal Richelieu. — Anne of 
 Austria. — Battle of Rocroy. — Due d'Enghien. — ( 'urdiual 
 Mazarin.— The^nd' ... 29 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1644-7. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Chantal at the age of eighteen. — Bussy-Ra- 
 butin. — The Marquis de Sevigne. — Marriage of Madame de 
 Sevigne. — They retire to the Rocher.s. — Return to Paris. — 
 Birth of a daughter . . 35 
 
rONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1646. 
 
 The Marquise de EamlDOuillet.— The Hotel de Rambouillet.— The 
 Ruelle. — Character of Madame de Rambouillet. — Her portrait 
 by Mademoiselle de Scudery. — Daughters of Madame de Ram- 
 bouillet. — Moral standard of the early part of the seventeenth, 
 century. — Yoiture : his character. — Corneille : influence of 
 
 y^ his works . 40 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1646-7. 
 Character of Madame de Sevigne.— Her suitors : Bussy-Rabutin ; 
 the Comte du Lude ; the Comte de Vasse ; the Comte de 
 Montmoron ; the Marquis de Noirmoutier ; Menage ; the 
 Abbe de St.-Pavin ; the Chevalier de Mere ; the Abbe de 
 Montreuil ; Marigny ; Segrais.— The Cours la Reine . . 54 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 1648. 
 Birth of Charles de Sevigne.— Correspondence with Bussy.— Com- 
 
 mencement of civil strife.— Arrest of Broussel.— Intercession 
 of Gondi.— Portrait of Anne of Austria 
 
 66 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 1648-50. 
 Joumee des Banicades.— Flight of the queen.— Suspension of 
 hostilities.— Arrest of the princes.— They are liberated by 
 Mazarin . • . . . . 73 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 1650-1. 
 
 Monsieur de Sevigne is enamoured of Ninon de Lenclos.— Her 
 
 character.— Bussy's intercepted letter.— Monsieur de Scvigne's 
 
 passion for Madame de Gondran.—Duel with the Chevalier 
 
 d'Albret . . oo 
 
CONTENTS. xi 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1651-4 
 
 Death of Monsieur cle St'vigne. — ^Madaiiie de Sevigne returns to 
 Paris. — Habits of society. — Dispute between the Due de Rohan 
 and the Marquis de Tonquedec. — Pussy's fete in the Jardins 
 du Temple. — Madame de Suvigne's admirers : Fouquet ; Tu- 
 renne ; Conti. — Correspondence with Bussy . . . .92 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 1652. 
 
 Conde raises an amiy against the king. — He is met by Turenne 
 near Paris. — The gates of the city open to Conde. — He quits 
 Paris. — Entry of the king. — Imprisonment of Retz . .111 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 1654-5. 
 
 Madame de Sevign<' at the Pochers. — Escape of Cardinal de Retz 
 Irom prison. — Madame de Sevigni'- returns to Paris. — Plea- 
 sures of the capital. — Fair at St.-Germain. — Madame de 
 Sevigne visits i\I A DEMOISELLE in exile. — Bussy leaves Paris 
 Avithout seeing his cousin. — Letters to and from Bussy. — 
 His eulogium of Madame de Sc'vignc . . . . .117 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 1656-7. 
 
 Madame de Scvigne's thoughts on youth. — Her intimacy with 
 Mademoiselle. — Beauty and intelligence of Madame de 
 Sevigaie's children. — Their education. — Description of Madame 
 de S/'vigne by Mademoiselle de Scudery. — Madame de Sevigne 
 an admirer of La Fontaine . . , . . . .126 
 
vii CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1658-60. 
 
 Bussy in difficulties. — His qnarrel with Madame de Sevigne. — 
 Marriage of Louis XIV.— Representation of the * Precieuses 
 ridicules' . . ....... 133 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 1661-4. 
 
 Career and arrest of Fouquet. — Letters from Madame de Sevigne 
 found among his papers. — She implores the assistance of her 
 friends. — Honourable conduct of Bussy. — Reconciled to his 
 cousin. — Trial of Fouquet. — Madame de S^vigne's letters to 
 Pomponne . . ....... 139 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 1662-5. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Sevigne's appearance at court— She takes part 
 in the ballets with the king. — Praises of mother and daughter 
 sung by the poets. — Publication of the ' Histoire amoureuse 
 des Gaules.' — Bussy is arrested and imprisoned in the Bastille. 
 — Madame de Sdvigne reconciled to him on his release after 
 an imprisonment of thirteen months. — He is banished for 
 seventeen years ... , . 157 
 
 CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 1666-8. 
 
 Mode of living of Madame and Mademoiselle de Sevigne.— 
 Madame du Plessis-Guenegaud.— The Coulanges.— The king 
 an admirer of Mademoiselle de Sevigne.— Mademoiselle de 
 Sevigne at the age of twenty-three.— Correspondence of Bussy 
 and Madame de Sevigm^ renewed. — Their reconciliation . 166 
 
(''OA^TENTS. xiii 
 
 (JHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 PAGE 
 
 16(JS-70. 
 
 Charles de Sevigiie : his character. — Joins the expedition to Candia 
 under the orders of the Comte de St. -Paul. — Mademoiselle de 
 Sevigne is engaged to the Comte de Grignan. — Madame de 
 Sevigne's opinion of the alliance. — The marriage is cele- 
 Ijrated. —Correspondence bet\Yeen Madame de Sevigne and 
 Eussy .... ...... 180 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 16G9-71. 
 
 Monsieur de Grignan appointed Lieutenant-General de Provence. — 
 He leaves Madame de Grignan with her mother. — Madame de 
 Sevigne's letters to him. — Birth of Marie-Blanche d'x\dhemar. 
 — Departure of Madame de Grignan for Provence . . .189 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 1670, 
 
 Projected marriage of Madei^ioiselle to Monsieur de Lauzun. — 
 Letters of Madame de Sevigne to Monsieur de Coulanges. — 
 Character of Monsieur de Lauzun. — Refusal of the king . 196 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 1671. 
 
 First letter of Madame de Sevigne to Madame de Grignan. — 
 Friends of Madame de Sevignr Madame de la Fayette, 
 Madame de Lavardin, Madame de la Troche, d'Hacqueville, 
 the Due de la Rochefoucauld. — Madame de Sevigne^s affection 
 for her daughter. — Her care for her little granddaughter. — 
 Madame de Grignan joins her husband. — Narrow escape on 
 the Rhone. — Anxiety of Madame de Sevigne.— Return of 
 Charles de Sevigne from Candia . . , . . ,211 
 
xiv CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIT. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1671. 
 
 Love intrigues of Charles cle SeWgui'.— Coldness of Madame de 
 Grignan. — The king visits Monsieiu' le Prince at Chantilly. — 
 Suicide of Vatel. — Amauld d'Andilly rebukes Madame de 
 Sevicjne. — Her reflections on death ..... 222 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 1671. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne leaves Paris for Brittany. — Her retinue. — 
 Arrival at the Rochers. — Her occupation there. — The Janse- 
 nistes and Port-Royal. — Arrival of the Due and Duchesse de 
 Chaulnes for the Etats. — Madame de Chaulnes visits Madame 
 de Sevign6. — Description of the Rochers. — Letters of Madame 
 de St^vigne. — Her anxiety about Madame de Grignan . . 230 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 1671-2. 
 
 Birth of a son to Madame de Grignan. — Madame de Sevigne's joy 
 at the event. — She returns to Paris. — Her reception there. — 
 Madame Scarron. — Madame de Sevigne advises Monsieur de 
 Grignan on the government of Provence. — Charles de Sevigne 
 with the army. — Illness of the Marr|uise de la Trousse. — 
 Death of the Chevalier de Grignan. — Health of Cardinal de 
 Retz. — Madame de Sevigne's grief at not being able to visit 
 her daughter. — Death of Madame de la Trousse. — Public 
 events. • — The Rhine crossed. — Death of the Due de 
 Longueville. — Grief of his mother. — Letter of Madame de 
 Sevigne 252 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 1672-4. 
 
 Departure of Madame de Sevigne for Provence. — Her reception 
 
 at Lyons. — Arrival at Grignan. — Correspondence with 
 
 Madame de Coulanges, Madame de la Fayette, and Bussy. — 
 
 Madame de Sevigne after a stay of fourteen months leaves 
 
CONTENTS. XV 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Grignan for Paris. — Her grief. — Visits Bourbilly, and is re- 
 ceived at Epoisses by the Comte and Comtesse de Guitaut. — 
 Reflections on I\Iadame de Sevigne's correspondence with her 
 daughter. — Monsieur de Grignan lays siege to Orange. — 
 Anxiety of Madame de Sevigne. — Coldness of her daughter. — — 
 Religious feeling of Madame de Sevigne. — Reflections on the 
 moral standard of the seventeenth century. — Madame de 
 Grignan announces her intention of visiting Paris . . . 276 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 1674-5. 
 
 Arrival of Madame de Grignan in Paris. — Bussy in Paris. — He 
 sees his cousin. — Birth of Pauline de Grignan. — Marriage of 
 Mademoiselle de Bussy. — Madame de Sevigne expresses to 
 Bussy her grief at her approaching double separation. — His 
 sympathy. — Difference in their nature. — Madame de Sevigne 
 accompanies her daughter to Fontainebleau. — Sympathy of 
 Cardinal de Retz. — He quits Paris. — Madame de la Valliere 
 takes the veil. — Reflections. — Death of Turenne. — His cha- 
 racter. — Early admiration for Madame de Sevigne. — Revolt 
 in Brittany. — Madame de Sevigne leaves Paris for Brittany . 302 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 1675-6. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne's journey to Brittany. — She is welcomed at 
 Nantes by Monsieur de Lavardin and Monsieur d'Harouys. — 
 Comments on the cruelty exercised in Brittany. — Solitude of 
 the Rochers. — Madame de Sevigne's neighbour, the Princesse 
 de Tarente. — Correspondence with Madame de Grignan. — 
 Reflections on Louis XIV. — Arrival of Charles de Sevigne. — 
 Mutual affection of the mother and son. — Madame de Sevigne 
 has an attack of rheumatism. — Aflectionate solicitude of her 
 son. — Indifference of Madame de Grignan. — She neglects 
 writing to the Princesse de Tarente. —Madame de Sevigne 
 leaves the Rochers for Paris 317 
 
AVI 
 
 rON TENTS. 
 
 tlHx\PTEK XXVIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1676. 
 
 Return of Madame de Sevigue to Paris.— Warm tli of her reception. 
 —Rising power of Madame de Maintenon.— Splendour of 
 Madame de Montespan.— Trial of the Marcpiise de Brinvilliers. 
 —Departure of Madame de Sevigne for Vichy, accompanied 
 by Madame d'Escars.— Life at Vichy.— Solicitude of Madame 
 de Sevigne for her grandchildren . • -'-i-'^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 1076. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne leaves Vichy.— Her rece]_3tion by ]\Iadame 
 Fou(|uet, Madame de Fiennes, the Comtesse de Vaux. — 
 Arrival in Paris. — Trial and execution of the Marquise ^e 
 Brinvilliers. — Madame de Sevigne's description of the court at 
 Versailles. — She returns to Livry. — The Baron de Se^ngne 
 distinguishes himself at Aire. — Advice to Madame de Grignan 
 on the education of her son. — Declining favour of Madame de 
 Montespan. — Madame de Coulanges at Versailles. — Her illness. 
 — Life of Madame de Sevignu at Livry. — Peculiarity of her 
 disposition . • 369 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 1676-7. 
 
 The Baron de Sevigne arrives at Livry. — Joy of his mother. — Inde- 
 cision of Madame de Grignan. — She goes to Lambesc instead 
 of visiting Paris. — Disaj^pointment of Madame de Sevigne. — 
 Langli'-e's present to Madame de Montes]ian. — His position 
 and fortune. — Singular present of Dangeau to Madame de 
 Montespan. — Arrival of Madame de Grignan. — State of her 
 health. — Charles de Sevigne a. sous-lieutenant of the Gen- 
 darmes-Dauphins. — Departure of Madame de Grignan * 389 
 
MADAME DE SEVIGNE, 
 
 HER 
 
 CORRESPONDENTS AND CONTEMPORARIES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Descriptive portrait of Madame de Sevigne, hj Madame de la Fayette. — 
 Character and genius of Madame de SiWignc. 
 
 As in tlie Greek drama of old the cliorus advanced 
 to the front of the stage to sing the praises of the 
 heroes for whom the interest of the audience was 
 desired, so we, likening the contemporaries of Madame 
 de Sevigne to that chorus, imagine there can be no 
 better way of introducing her to the reader than to 
 reproduce what Avas written of her and read with 
 approval during her lifetime. Excelling as they did in 
 the delineation of character, the polite and literary 
 w^orld of the period now to occupy us were singularly 
 fond of painting in words what was emphatically 
 termed a ' portrait ' of anyone regarded as possessing 
 some superiority. 
 
 In accordance Avitli this custom, Madame de la 
 Fayette, the intimate friend of Madame de Sevign^^ 
 penned the following ' portrait,' which she circulated 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. I. 
 
 among tlieir acquaintances under tlie masculine signa- 
 ture of ' uh Inconnu ' ; — 
 
 ' Those who attempt to portray the fair are ever 
 striving to flatter, that they may give pleasure, never 
 daring to utter one syllable as to defects ; but being 
 as I am, unknown to you, madame, I wdll paint you 
 with a bold hand, and make known the truth without 
 fear of incurring your resentment. 
 
 ' I am grieved at having nothing but what is agree- 
 able to tell you, for it would be a great pleasure to me 
 if, after having pointed to a thousand defects, I could 
 see myself this winter received by you in the same 
 manner as many persons who have all their lives 
 importuned you with praises. 
 
 ' It is not my wish to overwhelm you witli praise, 
 nor to trifle time away by saying that your figure is 
 perfect, that your complexion has a bloom and fresh- 
 ness which assures us you are but twenty ; that your 
 mouth, your teeth, and your hair are unrivalled ; — no, 
 I will not tell you all this, your mirror alone is suffi- 
 cient. But as you do not waste time by consulting it, 
 it cannot tell you how charming you are when you 
 speak ; and this is what I must reveal to you. 
 
 ' Know then, madame, if perchance you know it not 
 already, that your mind so greatly adorns and beauti- 
 fies your person, that when you are animated by con- 
 versation from which restraint is banished, there is 
 nothing on earth so pleasing. All you utter has such 
 a charm, and becomes you so well, that your words 
 
Chap. I.] DESrillPTIVE PoBTEAIT. 
 
 attract around you " the loves and the graces ; " the 
 lirilhancy of your wit Imparts such kistre to your 
 •expression, that though it appears that wit ought only 
 to affect the ears, it is certain that yours dazzles the 
 €yes ; so much so that when you are listened to it is 
 impossible any longer to remark that your features 
 lack regularity, and we award you the most complete 
 beauty in the world. 
 
 ' You can conjecture that if I am unkno^Yn to you, 
 you are not unknown to me, and that I must have had 
 more than once the lionour of seeing and hearing you 
 to be able thus to distinguish where lies the charm 
 which surprises mankind. But I wish further to let 
 you see, madame, that I am as well acquainted with 
 your solid qualifications as with those which are 
 agreeable and attractive. Your min^d is great, nolde, 
 adapted to dispense Avealth and incapable of stooping 
 to the care of hoarding it : you are susceptible to fame 
 and ambition, and no less so to pleasures — you seem 
 to 1)e born for them, and they appear to liave been 
 created for you : your presence adds to diversion, and 
 diversions enhance your beauty. In short, joy is the 
 natural state of your soul, and sorrow is more un- 
 natural in you than in any other. . You are Ijy nature 
 tender and affectionate, but to the shame of our sex 
 this tenderness has been useless to you, and you have 
 confined it to your own, bestowing it upon Madame de 
 la Fayette. 
 
 ' Ah, madame, if there were in the world one so 
 
 B 2 
 
MADAME DE l^EVIGNE. [Chap. T. 
 
 fortiiiiate that 3^011 sliould think him not unworthy of 
 the treasure she enjoys, and he did not strive by every 
 means in his power to win it, lie would deserve to 
 suffer all t\\Q misfortunes whicli love ean inflict on 
 those who live under its swa}^ What happiness to 
 ol)tain possession of a lieart such as yours, the senti- 
 ments of which would 1)0 expressed in that refined wit 
 witli whicli the £>;ods have endowed you ! Your heart, 
 madame, is doubtless a treasure that none can ever 
 deserve : never was there one so generous and so 
 faithful. There are people Avho suspect you of not 
 always showing it as it is ; but, on the contrary, you 
 are so accustomed to feel nothing but what is honour- 
 able, that you sometimes allow to be seen what 
 prudence would require you to hide. You are the 
 m<)st courteous and obliging person ever known, and 
 by a manner at once free and gentle, which is apparent 
 in all your actions, the simplest compliments of good 
 l.)reeding appear in you as protestations of friendship, 
 and all who leave your presence remain persuaded of 
 your esteem and good will, without being able to 
 explain to themselves what mark you have given 
 them of either. 
 
 * In fine, Heaven has endowed you with charms 
 such as were never given to another, and the world 
 is under an obligation to you for having manifested 
 so many admirable qualities whicli were before un- 
 known. I will not undertake to describe them; I 
 should be breaking the resolution I formed— not to 
 
CHAr.L] BE VIE I r OF HER CHARACTEB. 5 
 
 overwlielm you with praise. jMoreover, maclame, 
 to say of you wluit would be 
 
 Di-iics de vous et digne.- de pamltre, 
 
 II I'audrait ('tir ^'lJtl■c amant, 
 
 Et je n'ai pas riioiineiir de Tutre.'* 
 
 Of such i)raise, at the age of three and thirty, did 
 ]\Iadame de Suvigue appear deserving in the eyes of 
 Lladame de \-<x Fayette ; and kiudatory as it is, we 
 think it even falls short of what she vras entitled to. 
 Imperfections slie had ; but the phrase of the old 
 anatomists, and which Llacaulay applies to Addison, 
 is eminentl)' suited to Madame de Sevign^ — ' she was 
 sound in the noble parts.' In her there was no little- 
 ness, no envy, no false pride. She was indeed good, 
 noble-minded, and gentle : there is not, in our opinion, 
 one thought in that voluminous correspondence Avhich 
 she would have wished at anv time to erase or to 
 recall. 
 
 To the most noble genius she united every womanly 
 virtue, and man\' which oftener fall to the lot of men. 
 It is with an impression of dee}) sadness that we reflect 
 how full of sorrow and disappointment was the life of 
 one who deserved all that the world can give. True, 
 she had no great sorroAvs ; for though she mourned her 
 husband, he had long l.)efore his death become a source 
 of humiliation to her. To a superficial observer ,she 
 may appear as a prosperous, gay, charming woman ; 
 
 *" Worthy of you, aiK.l worthy to appear, I ought to be your lover, 
 and that I have not tlie honour to be. 
 
<; M J DAME BE ^KVIGNE. [Chap. I. 
 
 and yet with tlic most loving liearf, with tlie keenest 
 sensibilit>\ she lV)un(l herself again and again baffled 
 and crossed hi all the hopes she most cherished. 
 
 With every charm to allure and attach, she was 
 nedected by the husband she loved ; and the bitter- 
 ness of the later days of his life— to which she never 
 alludes — we discern in a few lines she wrote when at 
 a ripe age. Talking of the blindness of men, she adds, 
 as if gazing back on the past — ' I have known some^ 
 indeed, who were taken with beauties very little to be 
 admired.' When left a widow, at five and twenty, she 
 looked to her children for happiness and comfort, and 
 in neither did she find the consolation she sought. 
 Her daughter two years after her marriage to the 
 Cornte de Grignan, quitted Paris for Provence, and her 
 permanent return to the capital, for which Madame de 
 Sevigne longed with a passionate eagerness, never 
 took place. Her son, brave, witty, and amiable, one 
 whom she believed destined to be successful, either 
 from indolence or weariness, frustrated her maternal 
 ambition by retiring to obscurity while still in the 
 prime of life. 
 
 In whatever desires she may have indulged for 
 herself, wdiatever her hopes of those better days for 
 wdiich every human heart seems to yearn, they never 
 came to pass. Cares and tribulations did come, for 
 she more than shared those of the children she so 
 dearly loved. In spite of this her heart and mind 
 were of that mould wliich bears and does not re[)ine : 
 
CnAi'. I.] BEVIEW OF BEIl CBABACTER. 
 
 lier disposition was to be liappy : slie liad inherit ed tlic 
 independent and braA' e spirit of her soldier-father, with 
 the meekness and snbmission of her sainted grand- 
 mother—she was the true daughter of the free-spoken 
 Chantal, and the no less true desceiidant of Sainte 
 Fran^oise. She often repeats — 'I am not devote;' but 
 she was eminently religious. In all things she sees the 
 liand of the Divine Providence : she accepts sorrows, 
 and she hopes to be compensated because of her faith 
 in that Providence. The frequency of this thought in 
 the mind of one who led a life which is termed worldl}^ 
 must be a surprise to many : her reliance on the good- 
 ness of God, on His better wisdom, is such as few of 
 the elect can boast of; but so genuine is her simplicity, 
 so complete is the absence of cant or pride, that wc 
 feel persuaded it is quite possible to peruse with some 
 care jMadame de Sevigne's letters and hardly notice 
 this religious sentiment — it is the marrow of her soul. 
 
 She was une who loved all that was true and beauti- 
 ful. In the charms of Nature she revels ; she is never 
 weary of extolling them : her mind was as a fountain 
 of livinc: waters which no drain could exhaust ; she 
 might look again and again on the same pleasing 
 picture, an<l ever with the same relish — a relish she 
 imparted to others. She often recalls the words of 
 Mademoiselle de Scudery — ' that a heart is to ].;e 
 judged by its capacity for loving ; ' and she remarks — 
 * If this be true, mine is no common one.' We would 
 add further — that a heart is to be judged by its capacity 
 
8 MADAME 1)E SEVIGNE. [Chap. I. 
 
 to praise : it is a faculty seldom enjoyed. How rare 
 the man or woman who finds a true pleasure in notic- 
 ing, in bringing to liglit, in celebrating the virtue, tlie 
 genius, or the gifts of others ! Madame de Sevigne 
 could praise, an<l do so in no niggardly spirit ; her soul 
 was so human and so large that she felt glad when 
 humanity showed its bright and redeeming sides. She 
 also behoved in goodness : ingratitude slie experi- 
 enced, calumny she bore, and still that belief lived — 
 ' The world is not long unjust : ' this thought recurs 
 frequently. 
 
 "We can fancy no more ridiculous accusations than 
 those which would represent Madame de Sevigne as a 
 pretentious blue-stocking, and as a woman with a 
 mind so narrow that a minuet danced with Louis XIV 
 sufQced to elate with joy. Nothing but the most 
 superficial acquaintance with her character can excuse 
 such statements, which are only to be compared to 
 the wisdom of a person who asserts that Italy has the 
 same climate as Russia because it sometimes freezes 
 in Rome or Naples. We shall not attempt to justify 
 Madame de Sevigne against these charges ; the 
 monument of genius she has left speaks loud enough. 
 No one capable of appreciating what is good and 
 ennobling can become acquainted with her letters and 
 not admit that her character needs no defence. That 
 she wrote as others spoke in her day, and in language 
 which may at times strike us as somewhat affected and 
 lar-fetchcd ; that she felt the admiration, nay, we will 
 
Chap. I.] REVIEW OF HER CHARACTER. 
 
 even say the adoration, witli wliicli Louis XIV was re- 
 garded by his subjects, Ave are prepared to admit ; that 
 she expresses her adoration in terms which to us are 
 extreme and displeasing, is true beyond cavil ; but to 
 draw any conclusions unfavourable to her from this 
 is equally rational with saying that she had bad taste 
 because she submitted to the fashions then in vogue. 
 To worship Louis XIV was to be a good patriot, and 
 nothiuLi' more : the kino- ^vas the kine;, and not a man. 
 Absurd as you will, no more absurd in the Frenchman 
 or Frenclnvoman of the seventeenth century than the 
 devotion of a good Catliolic to the Pope in our days : 
 then, as now, they revered a principle and the repre- 
 sentative of a higher power. 
 
 And because Madame de Sevigne had a just pride 
 in the long line of noble ancestors from whom she 
 descended, is it to be inferred that her feelings on this 
 point bear any similarity to those of a ]parrciu.c of 
 yesterday ? To be in a condition to judge fliirly of 
 men and women who lived in another age, we must 
 imagine ourselves living in that age — that is, espousing 
 its prejudices and foults, as we espouse those of our 
 own time, which two hundred years hence will, we 
 doubt not, appear fully as ridiculous. 
 
 There exists a vast number of persons ever ready 
 to denounce as exaggerated and unnatural every 
 sentiment which they have not themselves experienced^ 
 and who would doubt the evidence of their own eyes 
 rather than imagine that some beings are possessed of 
 
10 MADAME DE SEVINGK [Chap. I. 
 
 faculties of ^vliicli tliey Iiave no conception. This is 
 what constitutes the real incredulity of the world, and 
 gives rise to scoffers of all kinds. People of this 
 class have not scrupled to pronounce Madame de 
 Sevigne's attachment for her daughter extremely 
 overdrawn. It is asserted by these detractors that 
 inwardly she rather rejoiced at a separation which 
 afforded her an occasion for writimr such delio-htful 
 letters, and that she paraded her motherly love as 
 she might have done a string of pearls. The plea 
 is, that a woman of sixty could not in reality be sa 
 anxious, so. solicitous for the well-being of a daughter 
 of forty, nor express herself in terms so varied and 
 so endearing, and this solely because of their respec- 
 tive ages. 
 
 Tennyson, in a beautiful and simple poem — ' The 
 Grandmother ' — has illustrated this sentiment, where 
 the old dame thinks of AVilly, the eldest bairn, who 
 died at threescore and ten, as the boy, 'ruddy and 
 white, and strong on his legs ; ' and of her remaining* 
 sons, the one that went at sixty and the other that 
 went at sixty-five, as ' pattering over the boards/ 
 Nothing can be more sweet and touching than this 
 short poem ; nothing more true to human nature. 
 ]\[others will look on men as on the babes they 
 bore : it is a relationship over which Time can have 
 no sway. 
 
 Madame de Scvigne, in writing to her daughter — 
 particularly during the first ten years which followed 
 
Chap. I.] T.EVIEW OF HEU CIIAIlACTEB. 11 
 
 Madame de Grignan's marriage — often appears to be 
 pleading hero^Yn cause : she speaks of lier great affec- 
 tion, slie Legs her child to consider it ; she demands to 
 l)e loved in return. It will perhaps be suggested that a 
 mother ought not to stoop to such means. AVe would 
 say, that the necessity ought not to arise for a mother 
 to have to do so. ^fadame de Sevignr had invested 
 her all in I\Iadame de Grignan, and perceiving that 
 she who was t<» repay tlie interest of a great debt 
 was doino" so ii'rud^'iniidv, slie feared she would lose 
 l)0tli principal and interest. AVe are persuaded that 
 ^Madame de S('vigne lived in the apprehension of 
 seeing withdrawn from her that heart which ought to 
 have been hers beyond all others. To gentle re- 
 proaches Madaiiie de Grignan answered with the 
 tame excuse, that she was not given to manifesting 
 outwardly what she felt. This is enough ; Madame 
 de Sevigne asks no more : again and again, as if 
 wishing to persuade herself, she repeats, — ' I know 
 what vour affection is for me ; I know how true vou 
 are;' and when, in later years, Lladame de Grignan's 
 heart, cold though it was, seems to have melted, the 
 only repining of the mother is — ' You did not, my 
 daughter, always disclose this tenderness for me.' 
 
 That ^ladame de Sevignd was sensible of every 
 neglect in word or action of her daughter we are fully 
 convinced ; that she loved her none the less in spite of 
 it there can be no doubt. ^ladame de Sevignc's letters 
 are the outpourings of her soul : reproofs which she 
 
12 ilf.4D.4Mi; DE SKVIGNE. [Chap. I. 
 
 might not have spoken, she writes ; and from afar she 
 indulf>:es in endearments under whieh the disdainful 
 and beautiful comtesse, if hearing h] stead of reading 
 them, might have proved impatient. The same 
 thought, tlie same sentiment is reproduced many 
 hundreds of times, and yet it is done without same- 
 ness or weariness ; it is ever clothed in a fresh garb 
 as genuine and as briUiant as the preceding. 
 
 Some of Lladame de Sevigne's letters are so well 
 known as to be quoted at random much in the same 
 wa}' as is the ' To be, or not to be,' and other passages 
 of Shakspeare. Now to attempt to form a judgment 
 of her genius from tliese specimens, would be as 
 reasonable as to pronounce on Shakspeare's dramatic 
 power from mere fragments. Madame de Sevigne's 
 letters form a whole : to understand her thorouo-hlvv 
 not one of them, not ten, but all must be read. They 
 are as a jewel of incomparable solidity, brilliancy, and 
 form ; the materials — the gold, the diamonds, the 
 rubies — are perfect when viewed separately, but to 
 compose the ornament for which the artist is to 
 derive fame, tliey re(|uire skilful arrangement in the 
 setting. 
 
 Elevation of thought, marvellous ability to conipre- 
 hend and retain, a profound insight hito the depths of 
 human nature, a true charity, and — we would wish to 
 insist on this — an extraordinary good sense ; all this 
 had Madame do Sevigne : she judged rightly Avithout 
 effort; nothing tortuous in that noble intelli<2:ence. 
 
CiiAr. I.] IlEVIEW OF HER CHARACTER. 13 
 
 The advice wliicli slie gives on all subjects to Madame 
 de Grignan resembles that of Lord Chesterfield in one 
 sense only, — it always perfectly suits the purpose. To 
 form an idea of how consideraldy in advance of her 
 contemporaries IMadame de Sevigne really was, there 
 is nothing more profitable than to read the memoirs of 
 the Due de St.-Simon, and to contemplate his mind, 
 great and powerful as it was, cramped and deformed 
 l)y pride, arrogance, and servility. 
 
 Lladame de Sevio;ne thouij-ht she Avould have en- 
 joyed a life at court, and after the marriage of her 
 dau^diter she more than once seems to rei^'ret that she 
 has no sufficient motive for going there. We fancy 
 that under no circumstance, without suffering greatly, 
 could she have submitted to the thraldom which was 
 there the lot of even the most favoured. For the 
 jirivileges and pleasures of the court tlie king made 
 people pay so dearly, tliat we can only admire the 
 patience and fortitude which, from the proudest duke 
 to the most obscure menial, all seem to have possessed 
 in so eminent a degree. When Ave place side by side 
 the overweeninir self-sufficiencv of St.-Sinion and the 
 little feminine vanity which causes Madame de Sevigne 
 to record her ' good fortune ' in being specially ad- 
 dressed l)y Louis XIV on this or that occasion, then 
 can Ave laugh at the one and appreciate the other. 
 
 Justice has hardly been done to Madame de 
 S<' visile's merits as a woman : our desire is to aid in 
 bringing them more to light, to impart to others a 
 
U MADAME DE BEVIGNK [Chap. r. 
 
 portion of tlio deliglit, of the moral good wliicli i^n 
 intimate acquaintance with her letters has afforded us. 
 We have for her a regard, not as for one who died two 
 hundred years ago, but as for a dear and revered 
 friend just passed awa3\ AVe have shed tears over 
 the last letter slie wrote simply because it was the 
 last. 
 
 It has been related that when the great poet Henri 
 Heine died, Theophile Gautier wondered how many 
 years Nature would require to again produce such a 
 mind ; and in regard to Madame de Sevigne, we 
 believe that after a lapse of two centuries she still 
 stands alone as a woman equally great for her talents 
 and her virtues. 
 
1G2C.] FnAXCE AXD EXGLAXI) IX 1026. r> 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 iry.) 2-1643. 
 
 Parentage of MaJaiiie tie Suvi-iiu. — Her liirth.— Deatli of lier father 
 and rnotlier. — Assigned to the care of the Abbe de CoiilanL;es. — 
 Her tutors ; Menage ; Chaptdaiii. 
 
 In tlic year 1G2C, Eicliclieu was master of France, 
 mid Buckingham lord-paramonnt in England — IMoii- 
 sieur le Cardinal omnipotent, and ' Steenie ' all-power- 
 ful. James I, ' the wisest font in Christendom,' had 
 heen dead but a year, and Louis XIII, a bigot with a 
 narrow and revengeful mind, sat on the throne of 
 St. Louis. A great tide was rising in both countries; 
 the biUows were heaving, and not even the lar-seeing 
 could guess what would lie revealed Avhen they broke. 
 In both countries there was a fermentation which 
 prompted men to draw their swords and say their say 
 — in both it was the dawn of day ; and if blood was 
 to redden the glory of the English sun, civil strife was 
 in France also to cause loss and grief. The country 
 entlcmen of England were protesting against the 
 encroachments of the crown, Avhilst the flower of 
 French nobility was being decimated by the unrelent. 
 
 
16 MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. IL 
 
 ing minister, and still the restlessness could not be 
 subdued : though the blood of a Montmorency was 
 twice shed on the block, the Fronde was yet to be. 
 It was an eventful period, one in which men and things 
 appear to have had a height and breadth in comparison 
 Avitli which we are but as dwarfs. 
 
 In tliat stirring time there came into the world a 
 woman of a rare genius, the very personification, not 
 indeed of the ' siccle de Louis XIV,' but of the seven- 
 teenth century — noble and strong, virtuous and gay. 
 
 The family of Eabutin was both ancient and illus- 
 trious; but we should care little for their long pedigree, 
 were it not for the two great women of their name — 
 one a saint, the other a genius. 
 
 ^YllQn the wars were over, when France was at 
 peace and Henri IV established on the throne, 
 Christophe de Rabutin-Chantal who had fought well 
 for the monarch of the 'white plume,' returned to 
 the home of his fathers. The old castle of Bourbilly 
 was eveii then a , venerable pile ; Eabutin, the 
 clifiteau of their name, already fallen and deserted. 
 TJiere Christophe de Eabutin, who had received 
 many wounds for his king, turned his thoughts 
 t(» a (juiuter life, and in iry.)2 married Jeanne- 
 Franroise Fremyot, daughter of Benigne Frc- 
 rnyot, president of the parliament of Dijon, a man 
 universally esteemed. The child of his house was 
 worthy of such a parent, and by her many amiable 
 qualities, by the love she bore her husband, she en- 
 
1610.] BER PARENTAGE. 
 
 deared herself greatly to liim. Several cliildren were 
 born to them : Celse-Benigne, the father of Madame 
 de Sevigne, m 1596, fom^ years only before the death 
 of his she, who escaped from so many perils — battles 
 and duels (of the latter he fought eighteen) — to perish 
 from a blow accidentally received at the hand of a 
 neighbour and friend, the Seigneur of Chaselle. After 
 this sad event the young widow, with her four helpless 
 children, continued to reside with her father-in-law, 
 Guy de Rabutin-Chantal (the first who had taken the 
 latter name), and in the solitude of a gloomy manor- 
 house, forced to please a cross and whimsical old man, 
 she had on many occasions to exercise those virtues 
 which, a century after her death, earned for her the 
 glory of canonization. 
 
 The life of Madame de Chantal seemed destined to 
 be passed in the fulfilment of the humble and difficult 
 duties God had set for her ; but in the accomplishment 
 of her daily task her heart could not satisfy its cravings 
 for perfection. She was one of those who to seek 
 the higher virtues, often set aside the practice of 
 those they deem inferior. For some years Francois 
 de Sales, Bishop of Geneva, had been drawings 
 Madame de Chantal to God ; and to obey His will, 
 as they believed, in 1610 she left her home and 
 children to become the founder of the Order of the 
 Visitation. To quit her house she had to step over 
 the body of her young son, who, lying across the 
 threshold, implored her with tears and supplications to 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
18 MADAME DE SEVIGNB. [Chap. II. 
 
 remain, but witliout avail. What courage upheld her 
 in that terrible moment when she called on Nature to 
 silence its holiest instincts ! No doubt she thought 
 she was doing right, but by her cruel act her children 
 became orphans indeed. 
 
 After his mother had left, Celse-Bdnigne was taken 
 to the house of his grandfather, the good President 
 Fremyot, and there he grew into manhood. ' He 
 became,' says Bussy-Rabutin, ' one of the most ac- 
 complished cavaliers of France : he danced with a 
 grace incomparable ; he fenced remarkably well ; . . ^ 
 he was extremely lively, clothing every thought he 
 uttered in a garb quite peculiar. To hear him con- 
 verse was a pleasure. But he did not charm by tliis 
 alone : it was by the grace and air with which he 
 spoke. In him all was playful.' * To this the Baron 
 de Chantal added the qualities and faults of his race : 
 he was intrepidly brave, proud, passionate, and so 
 out-spoken that he made himself many enemies, 
 his bluntness of speech was proverbial, and from a 
 letter he wrote to Schomberg, on the latter being 
 made a Marshal of France, we can form an opinion of 
 his temperament. It runs thus : — 
 
 ' Monseigneur, 
 * Qualite — Barbe noire — Famiharit^. 
 
 ' ClIANTAL.' 
 
 This laconic epistle is to be interpreted — You are a 
 marshal because you are a man of quality, have a 
 
 * Histoire gen^alogique. 
 
1624.] CHARACTER OF HER FATHER. 10 
 
 black beard, like that of the king, and are admitted 
 to his familiarity. No wonder that such a man had 
 more than one duel, and that he was ever ready to 
 take the part of second for his friends — in those days 
 no passive position. The rashness and impetuosity of 
 Chantal led him into many troubles, and ultimately 
 brought about his death. 
 
 In 1G24 he had united himself to Idarie de C'ou- 
 langes, of a family respectable by the character of its 
 members, and by tlie high positions which they occu- 
 pied : Philippe de Coulanges, father of Marie, being 
 ' Conseiller du Roy en ses Conseils d'Estat et Prive.' 
 This change of life does not seem to have soliered the 
 young Baron de Ghantal, for we find him on Easter 
 Sunday of this vrry year, in the church where he had 
 been partaking of the Holy Sacrament, receiving from 
 Montmorency Bouteville a summons, which was in- 
 stantly obeyed, to stand by him in a combat he was 
 about to en2:ai>'e in at the Porte St.-Antoine. Without 
 changing his attire, Chantal hurried to join his recJdcss 
 and unfortunate friend, who three vears afterwards 
 expiated his faults on the scaifold. The scandal caused 
 by this duel on Easter Sunday, and the circumstances 
 attending it, was great ; prosecutions ensued, and for 
 a time Chantal was forced to hide. When at last the 
 storm had subsided, and he reappeared at court, it was 
 to meet the frowns of the cardinal and the cold looks 
 of the king : from that hour Chantal kiiew that the 
 road to glory and fortune was closed to him. 
 
 r -2 
 
20 MADAME BE S:EVICtNE. [Chap. IL 
 
 It was at tliis troublous period that Marie de 
 Rabutin was born. At the Place Royale-du-Marais, 
 on the 5th of February, 1626, she first saw the light 
 She was not the first child of Jier parents ; a daughter 
 who did not survive her birth having preceded her. It 
 is of that little one Madame de Chantal from her con- 
 vent writes to the other grandmother, Madame de 
 Coulanges — ' "We must bless God, my beloved sister, 
 that this dear infant is in paradise, where eternally 
 she will celebrate His goodness, and pray for her 
 dear father and mother. God will irive others if He 
 
 o 
 
 pleases.' 
 
 One other was to become the great and good 
 woman who now enc^afres our attention. 
 
 o o 
 
 It is impossible to record these first years of Madame 
 de S^vigne's existence, and recall the death of all 
 nearest to her, without experiencing a feeling of great 
 love and pity for one who was so early bereaved : her 
 young and brave father (she was like him in many 
 things — in her wit, sometimes audacious ; in her free 
 spirit, in her true courage) died within six months after 
 her birth. 
 
 Most of the events which crowd the first half of the 
 seventeenth century had their origin in love and gal- 
 lantry. The smiles of the fair sex foil or aid the 
 calculations of statesmen. Armies are brou dit to2:ether, 
 blood is shed, to propitiate or revenge some beauty, bo 
 she queen or duchess. It is sufficient that Anne of 
 Austria is on the tln^one of France, Buckingham being 
 
1627.] DEATH OF HER FATHER. 21 
 
 lord of her heart, of England, and of his kin^i:!,-, to 
 assemble off the French coast the armed galleys of 
 England, commanded by that great and gaudy actor 
 who was to fail once ere the curtain fell upon his 
 dazzling apparition. When the news spread that the 
 English had come, many who longed for warlike fame 
 joined in a brave band, and went to meet the invaders. 
 Of the number was Chantal : he left his anxious and 
 gentle wife to meet a glorious death. 
 
 On the 22nd of July, 1627, the English landed on 
 the Isle of Rhe. A bloody battle ensued ; the French 
 suffered great loss, many of noble name fell to rise no 
 more, and amongst the slain was the brave Chantal : in 
 the flower of his age, full of hope and promise, he died, 
 but to live immortally in his child. In his singular 
 destiny, standing between such a parent and such a 
 daughter, he can be justly compared to those princes 
 who have been the son of- a king and the father of a 
 king, but never themselves king. His greatest claim 
 to be remembered is, not what he was, but what he 
 might have been : he is the link between two women 
 of merit so rare that that link must have been of 
 precious metal. 
 
 Great was the mourning when the news of his un- 
 timely end reached his pious mother and his loving 
 wife. Sainte Chantal on this occasion writes thus to 
 the young widow whose destiny so nearly resembled 
 her own : — ^ Be careful of yourself, my dearest daugh- 
 ter ; keep yourself to bring up in the fear of our Lord 
 
22 MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. II. 
 
 tins offspring of a holy wedlock. Guard her as a trust, 
 without allowing your affection to be too greatly at- 
 tached, so that the Divine Goodness may take a greater 
 care of, and be all things to, this dear little child.^ 
 Never was it more needed that such a prayer should 
 be heard. Six years only after the death of her hus- 
 band did Marie de Coulanges follow him, and then 
 indeed the Divine Goodness had to be all in all to the 
 little orphan. Sainte Chantal, wholly occupied by the 
 cares of her Order, never even saw the child of her 
 only son. It was Madame de Coulanges who took the 
 little one to rear and cherish ; but this loving care 
 soon failed the predestined orphan : twelve months had 
 not elapsed since the Baronne de Chantal had been 
 carried to her rest, ere she was followed by her mother, 
 when all womanly solicitude for Marie de Chantal was 
 at an end. 
 
 Old Monsieur de Coulanges lived a few years longer, 
 and his orphan grandchild remained with him» Her 
 aunt, Madame de Coulanges, the mother of Emmanuel 
 — ' le petit Coulanges ' of so much wit and so many 
 songs — seems at this period to have shown a great 
 interest in the welfare of her little niece. When the 
 grandfather died the family met together to name a 
 guardian for the young Marie. 
 
 At this family gathering Bussy-Rabutin, though only 
 eighteen, stood in the place of his father, Leonor de 
 Eal)utin, first cousin to the Baron de Chantal. It was 
 his first share in the destiny of one who, when grown 
 
1636.] CONSIGNED TO HER UNCLE. 23 
 
 to womanhood, was to occupy so important a place in 
 his hfe. The choice of the assembled relations fell on 
 the Abbe de Coulanges, Prieur de Livrj, the brother 
 of Marie de Coulanges, Baronne de Chantal : he was 
 then only nine and twenty, but worthy of the trust 
 which fell to him, and which he so zealously fulfilled. 
 When he died, at the ripe age of eighty, Madame de 
 Sdvigne declares in warm and glowing terms that she 
 owed to him the happiness and peace of her life. For 
 fifty years he was to her the most faithful friend and 
 the wisest counsellor. True, the Abbe de Coulanges 
 found in his niece one to whom Providence had been 
 more than bountiful, and all her varied gifts he culti- 
 vated with a watchful solicitude. In girlhood he took 
 care that she should receive that brilliant and sohd 
 education which was to be the corner-stone of her 
 mind. For masters she had men such as Mena2:e and 
 Chapelain : they prepared her to occupy a place at the 
 Hotel de Eambouillet, and become worthy of the name 
 of Precieuse when that epithet implied all that could 
 be said in praise of a woman. 
 
 From the tune she was intrusted to the Abbe de 
 Coulanges, Marie de Rabutin passed her life in the 
 happy solitude of Livry, that ' aimable desert,' which 
 she was always afterwards to seek with such pleasure. 
 She loved to write nowhere so well as at Livry ; there 
 she was at rest, and in the holy enjoyment of Nature 
 forgot many of her sorrows and anxieties. But now, 
 in her bright childhood, no shadow falls across her path, 
 
24 MADAME DE SEVmNK [Chap. IL 
 
 and with her young cousin Emmanuel she may sport 
 in the gardens of Livry with no care at her heart and 
 with a smile on her lips. 
 
 The Abbe de Coulanges, of solid but not brilliant 
 attainments, was a man of strict integrity : he early 
 imbued his niece with those principles which she was 
 to carry through life ; from him she learnt to admire 
 the ' holy virtue of economy/ as she terms it, and to 
 judge rightly of those ostentatious spendthrifts, who 
 raining themselves, beggar others. His influence added 
 no doubt to develop that perfect good sense which was 
 in her, and on which, as a firm foundation, reposes her 
 genius. Whatever obligation Madame de Sevigne was 
 uiider to the Abbe de Coulanges, she repaid it by 
 unbounded gTatitude. It was his rare privilege to have 
 the constant companionship of his cherished niece to 
 the end of his career. Except for those seven years 
 of her wedded life, it may be said that she never left 
 him : his comfort and pleasure were the objects of her 
 unwearied attention ; even the fondly-loved daughter 
 gave way before the ' Bien Bon ' : where he is con- 
 cerned there is no hesitation. Not even to q:o to 
 Grignan, the haven of her desires, will Madame de 
 Sevigne consent to leave her uncle ; and it is clearly 
 discernible she acts thus, not merely from a strict sense 
 of what was her duty (an impulse irresistible, and which 
 she ever obeyed), but because she was prompted by 
 the truest affection. 
 
 When Marie de Rabutin quitted Livry to take her 
 
1G43.] HEB TUTORS. 25 
 
 place in tlie brilliant society of Paris, she surprised all 
 by the attraction of her manners, by her brilhant wit 
 and cultivated understandins;. 
 
 This we think an opportune moment to say a few 
 words of the two instructors to whom she owed so 
 many talents. First Ave must speak of Menage — the 
 Abbe Menage, but *Abbe ' only to reap 'benefices,' fat 
 livings which involved neither responsibiUty nor trouble. 
 His wit, his sagacity, his perfect knowdedge of many 
 languages, had earned him a reputation which posterity 
 has not confirmed. When called upon to instruct 
 Mademoiselle de Chantal in Italian and literature, he 
 was still young, and his age rendered him particularly 
 susceptible to the attractions of his pupil, whose 
 humble servant and admirer he early declared him- 
 self. We must not be surprised at this : I in the 
 seventeenth century rank created such a separation, 
 birth threw such a gulf between human beings, that 
 tender sentiments from those in an inferior station of 
 life were deemed of little consequence. A woman of 
 quahty would take a pride in inspiring such feelings, 
 but she was never supposed to be disturbed by their 
 existence : Menage might then freely declare himself 
 the slave of Mademoiselle de Chantal, and she consent 
 to treat him as such. 
 
 There is no doubt that the nature of Menage's 
 attachment was such as to cause him often to suffer 
 keenly. He had adored Mademoiselle de Chantal ; he 
 adored Madame de Sevigne, and there are traces in 
 
26 MADAME DE S£:VIGN:E. [Chap. II. 
 
 letters penned by lier kind liand, wliicli show that more 
 tlian once the Avonnded susceptibility of Manage led 
 him to abstain from seeing his pupil. There exist 
 two letters signed ' Chantal ' which nevertheless were 
 probably written by Madame de Sevigne after her 
 marriage, at a very early period no doubt, and in which 
 she displays her gentle kindness and consideration for 
 her master. Evidently there had been some quarrel, 
 and she writes to Menage — 
 
 ' Once more I tell you, we do not understand each 
 other ; and it is your good fortune to be eloquent, 
 otherwise ail you have written to me, though it be 
 marvellously well said, would not be worth much. 
 Still it does not alarm me, and I feel my conscience 
 so free of all you tax me mth, that I do not despair 
 of forcing you to acknowledge the truth of this. But 
 to do so is imporssible if you will not consent to call 
 upon me. If you are determined it shall not be to-day, 
 I entreat you to let it be to-morrow. If you do not 
 come, maybe you will not close your door to me, and 
 I shall follow you up so closely that you will be 
 forced to admit that you are in the wrong. You w^ish 
 to cover me with ridicule by declaring that you have 
 quarrelled with me, only because you are sorry at my 
 departure. If it were so I should deserve "les Petites- 
 Maisons," and not your hatred ; but the difference is 
 great, and I cannot comprehend why, when losing a 
 person, and regretting her, it is needful because of 
 
16A3.] LETTERS TO MANAGE. 27 
 
 that to treat her at the Last interviews with the 'utmost 
 coldness. It is a way of behaving quite extraordinary, 
 and as I am not accustomed to it, you must excuse 
 my surprise. However, let me beg you to believe 
 that there is not one of the old or new friends of 
 whom you speak that I esteem and love as I do you. 
 This is why, before losing your friendship, I beg you 
 to let me have the consolation of showing you to b^ 
 wrong, and of saying that it is your affection wdiich 
 has ceased. 
 
 'Chantal.' 
 
 This letter proved effectual, as may well be sur- 
 mised. Shortly after she writes again — 
 
 ' It is you who have taught me to speak of our 
 friendship as extinct : as for myself, bearing you the 
 affection I do, I should never have supposed such a 
 thing. Accuse yourself only of the words which have 
 displeased you, and believe I can experience no greater 
 joy than to know that you still entertain for me the 
 friendship you had promised, and to hear of its 
 glorious resurrection. Adieu. 
 
 'Marie Chantal.' 
 
 These letters, full of easy wit, were written by a 
 young lady of eighteen, and give promise of that happy 
 felicity of expression in which Madame de Sevigne 
 was to excel. 
 
 Chapelain, much older than Menage, a bad poet and 
 
28 MADAME BE S:EVIGNK [CnAr. n. 
 
 a good* critic — unless when commanded by Richelieu 
 to disparage the ' Cid '—formed his pupil's mind with 
 a more serious intent, and though he was not in- 
 different to her charms, his sentiments must have been 
 widely different from those of Menage. 
 
 No doubt in her admiration of these two men 
 Madame de Sevigne erred with her generation ; she 
 f^'as one of those who were prepared to admire the 
 long-expected poem of the ' Pucelle,' the tedious and 
 obscm-e fragments of which called forth loud expres- 
 sions of applause from the best judges of the day. 
 For us it is easy to point out what is ridiculous, and 
 exclaim at the bad poetry of those authors whose fame 
 AA^e now wonder at, but whose influence we are 
 unacquamted with. We never heard their voice ; we 
 know not how came the ready answer, how were 
 spoken those lines whose faults we distinguish so 
 easily : nothing now remains but the faint image, the 
 vshadow of what was living and fresh two centuries ago. 
 
1610.] FRANCE IN 1644. 20 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IG 10-44. 
 
 France in 1644. — Louis XIII. — Cardinal Richelieu. — Anne of Austria. — 
 Battle of Rocroy. — Due d'Enghien. — Cardinal Mazarin. — The 'Cid.'^ 
 
 Before following Mademoiselle de Cliantal into the 
 new life about to begin for her, we wish to make a few 
 remarks on the times in whicli her lot was cast: to 
 appreciate her virtues and talents it is necessary to 
 form an exact idea of her surroundings. 
 
 To understand clearly the state of France in 1G44 — 
 that is, the year of Madame de Sevignd's marriage — 
 we must glance back a few years, and note wdiat 
 progress had been made, what changes had occurred 
 since Henri IV fell by the knife of Ravaillac. France 
 had then attained io j)re-eminence in Europe. Under 
 the rule of Marie de Medicis, as intriguing and wily as 
 any of her merchant race, the country soon began to 
 lose some of its prestige. It might have sunk still 
 lower with such a king as Louis XIII, had not the 
 strong hand of a Richelieu come to the rescue. Not- 
 withstanding apparent prosperity, the canker was 
 eating into the heart of the nation ; the strong and 
 
30 MADAME DE SBVIGNK [Chap. III. 
 
 manly race, that wliicli gave Henri IV his companions, 
 was fast disappearing. Idolatry of the king, and 
 consequent baseness, had been planted, and was now 
 throwing out strong roots. The expansion of French 
 grandeur, of French glory, was to terminate, leaving 
 in France nothing but ' witty valets.' *' Instead of the 
 chivalrous monarch — often sad at heart under his 
 jaunty smile — there reigned the dull, pale, sickly king, 
 unhappy in all things, hating and despising his queen, 
 — who deserved blame and pity equally — and torn 
 between the influence of his mother and the command 
 which the Cardinal de Richelieu had obtained over his 
 weak mind. 
 
 It is tragic to read of the desperate uncertainties of 
 the master who was the servant of his minister, and of 
 the fights, the rebuffs, the triumphs of the servant who 
 was the master. We behold Eiclielieu drao-oino- the 
 feeble monarch to the siege of Rochelle ; we see that 
 indomitable will creating an army and exhausting 
 France to enable him to crush the Protestants, that 
 thrifty and serious race who were making their 
 country rich ; towns that had been prosperous, pro- 
 vinces that had been enlightened became abandoned 
 and plunged into dark superstition. 
 
 Still the cardinal unflinchingly and unfearmgly pur- 
 sued his course, striving for the grandeur of France, 
 for the power to be obtained by royalty; the two 
 
 * i 
 
 La(|iiais spirituels.'— Miclielet. 
 
:643.] DEATH OF LOUIS XIII. 31 
 
 queens — Marie cle iledicis, the mother, Anne of 
 Austria, the wife — both his bitter enemies, both wishing 
 his death. What can be more gloomy than the pictul^e 
 of the king — taciturn and bigoted ; of the queen — 
 devout and gallant ; of the queen dowager — without 
 shame or respect in her old age as in her prime ; and 
 the master of them all, the sickly-strong man, with his 
 thin face, his piercing eyes — still to be seen in Phi- 
 lippe de Champagne's picture — having no rest and no 
 peace, and lording over France and its king only by 
 unceasing toil and trouble? Repose, however, came 
 early for both king and minister. On the 14th of 
 May, 1643, Louis XIII expired, five months only after 
 the death of Richelieu. 
 
 Anne, no longer young, and having nearly lost what 
 had been her only charms — her dazzling complexion 
 of lilies and roses — retaining still, perhaps, that hand 
 which had been matchless, was now regent. Pas- 
 sionate and gentle by turns, she inspired true love 
 and ardent devotion in many of those nearest attached 
 to her person. A Madame de Chevreuse was ready 
 to intrigue and suffer for her ; a proud and virtuous 
 maiden like Mademoiselle de Hautefort, the lovely 
 southern girl whose beauty had warmed the king's 
 cold heart, served and loved her, even though it 
 brought disgrace upon herself. It was not at the 
 moment when Anne assumed power that the old fail- 
 ings, and her conspiring with the stranger could be 
 remembered. One thing alone was in the minds of 
 
32 MADAME BE S:EVIGNE. [Chap. III. 
 
 tlie people — she was' a queen, a mother, and she had 
 been persecuted. France seemed to be springing to 
 her feet after a weary niglitmare : a child on the 
 throne, a woman to reign for him, and commanding his 
 armies a young man — Mars himself, with his feathery 
 helmet and his shining armour riding gaily before his 
 troops, and leading them to victory. 
 
 On the 19th of Lla}^, 1G43, the battle of Eocroy 
 was fought and won. The news of this victory spread 
 a joy that amounted to madness : the young warrior 
 with the eagle beak was lifted on the instant to a 
 pinnacle so high, that with his princely blood he 
 became dangerous to the queen herself. The Due 
 d'Enghien, whose name was in every mouth, was the 
 son of that sombre Conde, so greedy and so repulsive, 
 hoarding his great wealth with a careful hand. His 
 mother was Charlotte-Marguerite de Montmorency, 
 whose beauty had enthralled the heart of the Bearnais 
 in his later years. The husband and wife hated each 
 other, but their mutual interests had led Madame la 
 Princesse to court the cardinal who had ordered her 
 brother's death. The young Enghien, born in 1621, 
 had received from his severe father an education which 
 fitted him to be a hero at an age when others are but 
 boys. Brought up at Bourges by the Jesuits, he 
 pursued the most serious studies ; and afterwards fre- 
 quented the celebrated academy of Benjamin, whose 
 aim was to form men to be virtuous and courageous. 
 TJie son oF ]^>I(>nsieur le Prince was treated with the 
 
1644.] THE REGENCY. 33 
 
 same austerity as the simplest gentleman. Manners 
 and gallantry lie learnt in the society of his beautiful 
 mother and his no less beautiful sister, Madame de 
 Longueville. With so much to aid him, it is not sur- 
 j)rising that his claims became great, and that his 
 hungiy ambition led him to take part in the Fronde, 
 of which as yet no warning appeared. The queen, 
 obedient to Mazarin, was ruling France, not as Riche- 
 lieu had done, but in the interest and for the welfare 
 of Giulio Mazarini. This would-be great politician 
 had but one god — Fortune, and fortune for self. A 
 gambler in all things, he played to take the place of 
 Richelieu, just as he threw his cards to win gold. 
 Meanwhile Enghien was pursuing his triumphs — after 
 Rocroy, Fribourg ; after Fribourg, Nordlingen ; and 
 still France was getting poorer : discord was rife, and 
 civil war at hand. 
 
 While such stirring events were taking place, the 
 manners and the modes of life were at once loose and 
 grand. The regent submitted to Mazarin because 
 fihe loved him. Men and women, the greatest and 
 proudest, ignored any law but their pleasure : a few 
 only seemed to protest against the prevailing im- 
 morality, but such examples were rare and far between. 
 Dignity, honour, and a pretence to virtue belonged to 
 women such as Madame de Montbazon, Madame de 
 Guemenee, and Madame de Chevreuse, who were all 
 followed bv a host of lovers. Madame de Lono:ue- 
 villc herself, a very goddess, a princess of the blood, 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. in. 
 
 the beloved sister of Concle, was to throw all aside 
 lor La Rochefoucauld. These were the people among 
 wdiom the young and charming Marquise de Sdvignd 
 was to find herself. 
 
1644.] AT THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN. Go 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1644-7. 
 
 j\Iademoiselle de Cliaiital at the age of eigliteen. — Biissy-Raljiitiii. — Tlie 
 Marrpis Je Sevigiie. — Marriage of Madame de Suvigne. — Tliey retiie 
 to the Rochers. — Return to Paris. — Birth of a daughter. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Eabutin-Chantal ^vas soon siir- 
 roimded by a host of suitors and admirers, attracte'd 
 by lier large fortune, her enticing manners, and her 
 great beauty. The man who best knew her — Bussy- 
 Eabutin — has left a description of her personal appear- 
 ance, which, though written in a moment of anger, 
 and dwelling much on defects, sums up with — ' She 
 had the most beautiful complexion ; lips rosy and 
 fresh ; a fine figure ; and hair, fair, thick, and wavy/ 
 Another contemporary says of her: — 'She is fair, 
 with a complexion which answers admirably to the 
 colour of her hair: her features are animated, her skin 
 smooth, and the whole forms one of the most agreeable 
 women of Athens [Paris].' 
 
 We may conclude from these statements that a 
 dazzling complexion and golden hair formed the most 
 prominent attractions of the young Burgundian heiress. 
 Her nose was somewhat square, and she often in her 
 
 D 2 
 
36 MADAME DE SEFIGNK [Chap. IV. 
 
 lottLTS refers to its imperfection ; lier jaw had in part 
 the same defect ; l)ut her bhie eyes were full of fire, of 
 wit, of gentleness. That she was pleasing and beauti- 
 ful there can be no doubt : it is impossible to gaze on 
 portraits of her, even when her youth was passed, 
 without wishing" to look airain. 
 
 Li her own family there existed a most eligible 
 alliance for Marie de Rabutin : her coushi, Bussy- 
 Ealmtin, l)y his near relationship, by the name he 
 bore, by his attractive person, appeared to possess all 
 that was requisite to insure success. ' Eoger de 
 Eabutin,.' says he of himself, ' had eyes large and soft, 
 UKjuth well made, nose large and nearly aquiline, 
 physiognomy felicitous, and hair flxir, wavy, and light.' 
 Tlie portraits which exist of Bussv do not contradict 
 tills flattering picture : his appearance is noble and 
 pleasing, his brow full of intelli2,'ence, and his eves 
 >^})arkle Avith a fi/rssc most alluring. To these fasci- 
 nations were added wit and boldness. What pre- 
 vented the two cousins, who at all times had the 
 most sincere regard for each other, being united is 
 not known. Bussy was possessed of a scanty patri- 
 jnony, and the great wealth of his cousin would have 
 well suited liis ambitious designs; moreover, his father 
 was urging him to become the possessor of it. It 
 pleased Bussy to imply in after years, tliat he thought 
 his cousin ' the inost channing woman in existence to 
 be the wife of another ;' but this statement of Bussy 
 does not accord either with his true nature or with the 
 
1644.] HER MARRIAGE. 37 
 
 character of his cousin. More probably the Al)bo de 
 Coukxnges, in his wisdom, did not see the happiness 
 of his ward in sucli an ahiance ; and at the age of 
 eighteen JMarie de Rabutin was affianced to Henri, 
 Marquis de Sevigur, the representative of a nol)le 
 Breton family worthy to be allied to the blood of the 
 Rabutins. ]\Ionsieur de Sevigne was also a nephew 
 of the famous Paul de Gondi, Archbishop of Corinth. 
 It was the mediation of the latter that brought about 
 the match ; and the advantages of being related to 
 a man supposed to be called to play so important a 
 part in the affairs of France were no doubt considered. 
 
 Negotiations were commenced al)Out the beginning 
 of the year 1(344, and in jMay the marriage was to 
 have taken place ; but a duel was the prologue, as 
 seven years afterwards it was the epilogue of this 
 unhappy union. The Marquis de Sevigne, while 
 crossing the Pont Neuf, struck with the flat of his 
 sword a l^reton ,i;entleman of the name of Paul Ha}^ 
 du Chastellet, Avho had spoken some words to his 
 discredit. A meeting ensued, and the promised bride- 
 groom was wounded so seriously that his life was in 
 dano:er. OwInL;- to this it was not till the 4th of 
 Aua'ust, in the church of 8aint-Gervais and Saint- 
 Protais, that the nuptial rite was completed. Tlie 
 ceremony was performed by Jacques de Neucheze, 
 Bishop and Count of Chalon-sur-Saune, the uncle of 
 the bride. 
 
 There is every reason to believe that the early years 
 
38 MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap.IY. 
 
 of Madame de Sevigne's wedded life were as bappy 
 as tliey were prosperous : her husband was young 
 and liandsome, and of the same gdadsome disposition 
 as herself. Fortune had given them all that adds 
 savour to life — a great name, a large income, and 
 youth and health to enjoy it all. No presentiment of 
 what was to be darkened the bright prospects of the 
 youthful pair. They had left Paris very shortly after 
 their marriage and had resorted to the Rochers, — 
 ' those poor Rochers,' as Madame de S^vigne was to 
 term her home in Brittany, whose avenues, whose 
 pure air, whose tranquil surroundings she was so often 
 to praise. 
 
 The newly-married couple evidently remained there 
 for a rather lengthened period, as is proved by the 
 letter in verse which, in concurrence with Lenet, Bussy 
 addressed to them in March, 1646, and in which he 
 reproaches them for their too great attachment to their 
 country home, and abjures them not to waste the best 
 years of their life in solitude at the Rochers. 
 
 A few months after this date the marquis and his 
 wife left Brittany to return to Paris, and on the 10th 
 of October, 16-16, Fran^.oise-Marguerite de S6vign6 
 was born. She was baptized on the 28th of the same 
 month, the sponsors being Jacques Neuchc^ze, Bishop 
 of Chalon, and Dame Claude-Marguerite de Gondi. 
 
 The year following this, the greatest event in 
 Madame de ^(wignd's life — the feelings she enter- 
 tained for her daughter justifies us in saying this — 
 
1647.] A PEECIEUSE. :3!> 
 
 was spent in Paris amid tlie pleasures of tlie capital. 
 It was then the 
 
 ' Temps de la bonne ivgence, 
 Temps oil rugnait une henreuse abonclance, 
 Temps ou la villa au->.si bien que la coiir, 
 Ne respirait qne les jeiix et 1' amour.' ^ 
 
 Madame de Sevigne found herself naturally in the 
 centre of all that was elegant and agreeable. The 
 fame of the Hotel de Rambouillet was still in the 
 zenith, and the youthful marquise was in every way 
 qualified to become an Illitstre^ a Precieuse^ as the 
 women who composed the circle of the ' Incomparable 
 Arthenice ' were designated. 
 
 Our narrative of the events in the life of ]\Iadame 
 de Sevigne will now be interrupted by a few words 
 respecting some of the frequenters of the hotel in 
 the Rue St.-Thomas-du-Louvre. 
 
 * The happy time of the regency, when plenty reigned, and the town 
 as well as the court thought of nothing Init pleasure and love. 
 
40 MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. V. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 1646. 
 
 The Marfjiiise de Ranibouillet, — The Hotel de Ramhoiiillet. — The 
 Euelle. — Character of Madame de KambouiUet. — Her portrait by 
 Mademoiselle de Scudery. — Daughters of Madame de Rambouillet. 
 — Moral standard of the early part of tlie seventeenth centuty. 
 — Yoitiire : his character. — Corneille : influence of liis works. 
 
 Catherine de Vivonne, Marquise de Rambouillet, 
 was the only daughter of Jean Vivonne, Marquis 
 Pisani, and Julia Savelli, a Ptoman lady of noble birth. 
 She who was to associate her name with a transforma- 
 tion of manners, and with all that is elegant and 
 refined, was born at Piome in 1588, and from Italy she 
 brought that taste for art and for literature which en- 
 gaged her attention through life. At the age of twelve 
 the young girl was united to Charles d'Angennes, 
 Marquis de Rambouillet, and their long union Avas one, 
 if not of uninterrupted felicity, at least of perfect re- 
 ciprocated affection and confidence. Their residence, 
 known to posterity as the Hotel de Pvambouillet, was 
 in every particular the creation of the young marquise. 
 It stood on the site before occupied by the Hotel 
 Pisani, part of the dower she had brought to her 
 
1646.] THE RUELLE. 41 
 
 husband. Not finding it, liowever, in accordance with 
 ter artistic and luxurious tastes, she had it pulled 
 down, and from her own designs another mansion was 
 erected. It occupied a comparatively small space in 
 the Eue St.-Thomas-du-Louvre, but the gardens behind 
 extended as far as the Carrousel and the Tuileries. 
 Madame de Eambouillet introduced in the erection of 
 her hotel a happy modification of the then established 
 style of architecture. Instead of placing the stairs in 
 the centre of the house, they occupied an angle, thus 
 leaving ample room for a suite of apartments. These 
 were adorned with every device that art and tastu 
 could suggest, and fortune could procure. Even the 
 colour of the hangings Avas new, and by its novelty 
 was often commented on by lier contemporaries. In- 
 stead of red or bro\Am, then universally employed, 
 Madame de Rambouillet's room was hung in blue and 
 gold. The windows, opening to the ground, permitted 
 the free passage of light and air. The garden was as 
 the continuation of that earthly paradise of which 
 ]\Iadame de Eambouillet's nielle was the centre. 
 
 The raelle^ a word in daily use in the seventeenth 
 century, and having then a more extended signification 
 than in the present day, it will perhaps be necessary 
 to explain more clearly of what it consisted. The bed, 
 at that time monumental and magnificently adorned, 
 stood in the centre of one end of the room, and for 
 princesses and ladies of high quality it Avas raised from 
 the ground by a few steps, called the' estrade. Near 
 
42 MADAME VE SEVIGNE. [Chap. V. 
 
 tlie foot of the bed, and dividing the apartment, stood a 
 gilt bakistrade, such as may still be seen in the room 
 of Louis XIV at Versailles. Each side of the bed 
 Avithin that reserved space was called the ruelle : it 
 was often still more enclosed by a colonnade reaching 
 from the ground to the ceiling, and it then formed an 
 alcovr. 
 
 Madame de Rambouillet was early afflicted with a 
 singular malady which compelled her to shun both fire 
 and sunshine : she could not encounter either without 
 the blood boiling in her veins. In her alcove^ sur- 
 rounded by flowers, by boohs, by the portraits of those 
 she loved, she sat enthroned, and received from all 
 that homage so justly her due. 
 
 The Marquise de Eambouillet was barely twenty 
 Avhen, forsaking the pleasures of the Louvre, she 
 beo-an to attract around her a circle of intellect and 
 beauty, no other passport than talent and good 
 manners being requisite : intelligence, not birth, held 
 the first place. Society in the youthful days of 
 Madame de Rambouillet being still rough and un- 
 couth in its ways, she determined to polish and 
 change its manners, and in this she succeeded. Her- 
 self charming, affable, easily pleased, attentive to each 
 and all, she presided with incomparable grace at those 
 assemblies of the first Prmieiises^ so different from 
 those afterwards so cruelly censured by Moliere. 
 
 Madame de Rambouillet received from her admirers 
 the name of the ' Incomparable Arthenice.' To be 
 
1646.] MADAME 1)E BAMBOUILLET. 4a 
 
 st}'lecl ca Precieuse ^vas a mark of distinction, but to 
 Avell nnclerstancl the title we must know in what re- 
 spect and veneration it was held by her friends. The 
 marquise has won the approbation of all : in no pam- 
 phlet of that period does one word tarnish her pure 
 fame. Virtue in her was revered, and it was loved : 
 while so many were occupied by intrigues and gallan- 
 tries, her character remained unsullied. Her mind, 
 cultivated and refined, reflected the modest pride of 
 her heart. Forgetful of self, ever ready to listen, to 
 praise, to encourage, her approbation was sought by 
 all who strove to become renowned. Her taste was 
 deemed so perfect that even artificers sought her 
 approval. In the midst of constant adulation she 
 carefully guarded herself from being a partisan- — in 
 those quarrelsome days a task of such difficulty that 
 she the more deserves commendation. 
 
 No portrait of this great and noble woman remains : 
 beautiful she is declared to have been ; and ^lademoi- 
 selle de Scudery, who was early initiated into the 
 select circle of the Hotel de Rambouillet, thus describes 
 its mistress in the ' Grand Cynis,' under the name of 
 Cleomire : — 
 
 ' If you would wish to picture to yourself this admir- 
 able being, imagine beauty in person. I do not tell 
 you to evoke that beauty with which our painter>s 
 endow Venus, it is not chaste enough ; nor that they 
 give to Pallas, it would be too proud ; nor that of 
 Juno, it is not sufficiently amiable ; nor that of Diana, 
 
44 MADAME VE SEVIGNK [Chap. V. 
 
 wliicli is too coarse ; but I will tell yon, that in order 
 to represent Gleomire it would be necessary to unite 
 what in the attributes of these divinities is m-ost perfect, 
 and then it would be possible to compose a tolerable 
 likeness. 
 
 ' Gleomire is tall, and her figure is excellent : all the 
 features of her face are perfect ; the delicacy of her 
 complexion cannot be expressed ; the majesty of her 
 person is worthy of admiration ; and from her eyes 
 beam I know not what lire, Avhicli imprints respect in 
 the soul of all those who behold it. For myself, I own 
 that I have never approached Gleomire without experi- 
 encing in my heart a respectful fear, which obliges me 
 when in her presence to think more of my actions 
 than I do under any other circumstances. Moreover, 
 the eyes of Gleomire are so beautiful, that it has been 
 impossible ever to represent them well. Still they are 
 eyes which, exciting admiration, have not caused what 
 other eyes are wont to do ; for if they inspired love, 
 they inspired always equal fear and respect, and by a 
 special privilege they have purified all the hearts they 
 have inflamed. There is even in their brilliancy a 
 modesty so great that it is shared by those who gaze 
 on them, and I am strongly persuaded that there does 
 not exist a man who ever dared to harbour a criminal 
 design in the presence of Gleomire. Her physiognomy 
 is the most handsome and noble I ever beheld, and 
 there appears on her visage a tranquillity which shows 
 clearly that of her soul. One can discern that all her 
 
1646.] MADAME I)E llAMBOUILLET. 45 
 
 passions are under the control of lier reason, and do 
 not war in lier heart. In fact, I do not believe that 
 the colour of her cheeks has ever over-stejiped its 
 limits and spread itself over her face, except occasioned 
 by the heat of summer or from feelings of modesty ; 
 never certainly by passion or any violent perturbation 
 of the soul. So that Cleomire, being always equally 
 peaceful, is always equally beautiful. 
 
 ' To resume, if there was a wish to emljody Chastity, 
 so that all the earth might worship her, I would give 
 her the aspect of Cleomire ; to make Glory loved by 
 all, I would again represent Cleomire ; and if Virtue 
 took a human garb, it must be that of Cleomire.' 
 
 Such was the very remarkable woman who contri- 
 buted so much to transform the rough generation of 
 the early years of the seventeenth century into the 
 gallant and verse-loving aristocracy^ of the Fronde. 
 
 Of the numerous famil}^ — seven children — Ijorn to 
 the Marquise de Rambouillet, only two of her daagli- 
 ters remained in the ' world ' : the three others entered 
 the Church. The first-born son died in infanev ; and 
 the second, the Marquis Pisani, worthy of his illus- 
 trious parents, was killed at the age of thirty at the 
 Ijattle of Nordlingen. Madame de Rambouillet's two 
 daughters, Jnlie and Angelique, aided their mother in 
 her grateful task, and shared her pleasures and pur- 
 suits. The eldest particularly, Julie d'Angennes, more 
 like a sister than a daughter — there was a difference of 
 only sixteen years between them — bore to her mother 
 
46 MADAME DE SKVIGNK [Chap. V. 
 
 a perfect similarity in tastes and disposition. The 
 strongest ties of afiection united these two charming 
 women, and so completely happy, so perfectly satisfied 
 with her lot in that noble house Avas Julie d'Angennes, 
 that she resisted all oifers of marriage from her nume- 
 rous admirers. The perseverance of one who for four- 
 teen years sighed at her feet was recompensed at last ; 
 but Avhen Julie d'Angennes consented to give her hand 
 to the Marquis de Montausier, her youth was passed, 
 and even then she yielded only to the wishes of her 
 mother. 
 
 For twenty years Julie d'Angennes was a queen, the 
 very soul of the circle over Avhich her mother presided. 
 It was she who inspired poets ; men worshipped Iier, 
 and women loved her : her amiabihty satisfied every 
 claim upon her ; and the lovers she discouraged she 
 succeeded in not displeasing. Her manners were 
 such as may be imagined from the school in which 
 she had been brought up. Born for the world and 
 its pleasures, she was its delight, and herself delighted 
 in it. Julie d'Angennes shared the perilous maxims 
 of her intimate friend the Marquise de Sable, that 
 women are created to be adored; that they al6ne 
 inspire noble resolutions ; and that a worthy recom- 
 pense for every sacrifice is the bestowal of their 
 esteem and friendship. 
 
 Chivalry Avas past, but its laws were revived iu 
 those books of love and gallantry which Anne of 
 Austria had brought into fashion. Madame de Sabl^ 
 
1646.] 8TANDABD OF MORALK 47 
 
 was tlie living impersonation of that platonic and 
 Tefined sentimentality wliicli inspired Mademoiselle de 
 Scud^ry, and wliicli every woman was jealous to 
 emulate. If we wish to enter into the spirit of the 
 seventeenth century, we must understand its moral 
 feelings. To be in love, and to inspire that passion, 
 was a kind of necessity. To be an ' honncte homme/ 
 as the phrase then went — and an ' honnCte homme ' is 
 to be translated : a perfect gentleman, accomplished, 
 brave, vitty, and gallant — it was essential to pay 
 <ittentions to some lady who accepted this homage, 
 and whose good name was by no means sullied by it. 
 In the seventeenth century it was supposed that a 
 woman might be loved and yet remain pure. Such a 
 supposition calls forth in our day an equivocal smile 
 or a cynical remark. The standard of virtue, not the 
 irractice of it, is to us the real indication of the moral 
 condition of a society ; but we must not for one 
 moment forget how different in that, and in every 
 other respect, the first Iialf of the seventeenth century 
 was to tlie second half. In the declining years of 
 Louis XIV, the ' Grand Cyrus ' was as much out of 
 fashion as the sentiments and aspirations which in- 
 spired it. Let us read Mademoiselle de Scudery's 
 account of the life and manners of the days of her 
 youth : — 
 
 ^Love (in the island of Chypre and the court of 
 Paphos [Paris]) is not a simple passion, as in other 
 countries, but a passion of necessity and good breeding. 
 
48 MADAME BE SEVIGNK [Chap. V. 
 
 All men must be enamoured, and all women loved. 
 None are indifferent ; and coldness of heart, to tliose 
 who are capable of it, is reproved as a crime. It is 
 considered such a reproach to be free of all tics, that 
 those who are not in love pretend to be so. As for the 
 ladies, custom does not require them to love, but only 
 to suffer being loved ; all their glory consists in effect- 
 ing illustrious conquests, and, though they be rigorous 
 towards them, not losing the lovers they have subdued 
 The real honour of our " belles " is to maintain their 
 slaves in obedience, not by favours, but by the sole 
 power of tlieir charms ; the consequence is, that there 
 is nearly an equal obligation for a man to be unsuccess- 
 ful as to be attached. Ladies are not forbidden to 
 acknowledge the perseverance of their lovers by an 
 affection perfectly pure ; on the contrary, Venus-Uranie 
 commands it. But often such a length of time is re- 
 quired to gain the heart of the loved one, that the pains 
 of the conqueror are all but equal to the pleasures of 
 his conquest. It is permitted to the " belles " to em- 
 ploy a few innocent artihces to subdue the hearts of 
 men. The desire to please is not a crime ; complacency 
 even is laudable, provided there is no meanness. To 
 express all in a few words, everything that can render * 
 women amiable, and cause them to be admired, is 
 allowable if it offends neither purity nor modesty, 
 which qualities, in spite of the prevailing gallantry of 
 our island, are the principal virtues of all the ladies. 
 Thus, having discovered the means to blend innocence 
 
1646.] JULIE UANGENNEH. 49 
 
 and love, they spend a life at once agreeable and 
 diverting.' 
 
 The house of Madame de Rambouillet was a very 
 ' temple of honour ; ' to be admitted into her circle a 
 distinction greatly envied. Wliere she was concerned 
 all etiquette was forsaken, and princesses of the blood, 
 who honoured none but duchesses with their visits, 
 waived all established customs in favour of Madame 
 de Rambouillet. Madame de Sevigne in after years 
 says — 'The Hotel de Rambouillet was {l\<d Louvre.' 
 There, indeed, might be seen Madame la Princesse, 
 the proud mother of the great Conde ; there she came, 
 accompanied by her sons and her lovely daughter. 
 Mademoiselle de Bourbon, whom a tender friendship 
 united to Julie d'Angennes. Not only did the young- 
 prince sse bear a fond affection for the charming Julie, 
 but women of a serious temper, like the Duchesse 
 d'Aiguillon, the niece of Cardinal Richelieu, sought her 
 companionship. Madame de Sabl6 used to say that 
 she could conceive no greater felicity on earth than to 
 spend her life with Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. She 
 who could resist such constant praises and remain 
 still amiable, must have been gifted with qualities 
 rarely given to mortals. A contemporary has said, 
 that after Helen no woman has had her beauty so cele- 
 brated. It is hardly possible to credit that a life begun 
 amidst such noble and prosperous independence ended 
 in servility. The Duchesse de Montausier is indeed a 
 different woman from Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. 
 
 yuL. I. E 
 
50 MADAME DE S^VIGN:^. [Chap. V. 
 
 It would fill a volume to record the names of all who 
 met at the Hotel de Eambouillet : suffice it to say, that 
 everyone of any note was to be found in the ' blue 
 room ' of the marquise; every attraction, birth, beauty, 
 wit, and talent. He, of all others, who was the in- 
 dulged favourite of those great ladies was Voiture. 
 His letters, his verses, his repartees, excited general 
 admiration. No doubt his wit was essentially that 
 of the time, the day, the hour : his charming im- 
 promptus even now delight the reader by their singular 
 felicity. 
 
 Voiture, of low origin (he was the son of a shoe- 
 maker), had become so self-sufficient through the 
 indulgence and flattery he received, that the Due 
 d'Enghien used to say — ' Really, if he were one of 
 us, this man would be insufferable.' Voiture was 
 allowed every liberty of speech ; his presence in the 
 * blue room ' was always hailed with delight. A spoilt 
 child, he was vain and susceptible ; at times super- 
 cilious, at others obsequious. His favourite fancy was 
 to profess to be dying of love for some great lady. All 
 his faults were excused, and some pretty verses were 
 sufficient to cause him to be regarded as the most 
 amiable of men. 
 
 A striking instance of the exceptional position of 
 Voiture is given by Madame de Motteville, who 
 relates that in 1644, being at Ruel, the Queen Re- 
 gent and Madame la Princesse were driving through 
 the park, when they espied Voiture walking, and appa- 
 
1G4G.] VINCENT VOITUEE. 01 
 
 rently absorbed in meditation. The queen, to please 
 Madame la Princesse, called Voiture, and asked what 
 he was dreaming of. The impromptu answer of the 
 favoured poet is remarkable alike for its point, in- 
 genuity, and boldness ; the last verse, which we quote, 
 being an allusion to the preference Anne of Austria 
 was supposed to have entertained for Buckingham : — 
 
 ' Je pensais (car nous autres poetes 
 Nous pensons extravagamjuent) 
 Ce que, dans I'liimieur ou vous etes, 
 Vous feriez, si dans ce moment 
 Vous avisiez en cette place 
 Venir le Due de Buckingham ; 
 Et lequel serait en disgrace, 
 De lui ou de Pere Vincent/ * 
 
 The queen was not offended at the pleasantry, and 
 for a long time kept a copy of the lines, which she 
 herself gave to Madame de Motteville. 
 
 Widely diflerent from Voiture stands the great, the 
 illustrious Corneille. He also received a warm wel- 
 come in that hospitable mansion To Madame de 
 Rambouillet and the assembled Precieuses he read his 
 master-pieces. They were hailed with dehght and ap- 
 plause, but not such, however, as posterity has awarded 
 to that great man. 
 
 Pierre Corneille, when Madame de Sevigne entered 
 
 * I was wondering, fur we poets do muse extravagantly, what, in the 
 mood you are in, you would do if you saw the Duke of Buckingham 
 coming this way, and A\'ho would be in disgrace, he or Pere Vincent 
 (the confessor of the queen). 
 
 E 2 
 
52 MADAME BE Sl^JVIGN^. [Chap. V. 
 
 society, was still in the prime of life, but his greatest 
 works had already appeared, and now his genius, as 
 if consumed by its own fire, was on the decline. As 
 early as 1636 — Corneille was then just thirty — he had 
 written the ' Cid,' which for energy, deep feeling, the 
 most vivid and touching delineation of passion, the 
 most dramatic situation, remains unparalleled ; all this 
 clothed in a language noble and harmonious, rough 
 yet polished. The sensation created was immense : 
 the ' Cid," owing to its Spanish origin, found its way 
 at once to the queen. It was represented in her pre- 
 sence at the Louvre, and the frowns of the cardinal, 
 who saw in it a justification of duelling, could not re- 
 strain the applause, the tears, the delight of an en- 
 thralled audience : the well-known line—' All Paris for 
 Chimcne has the eyes of Rodrigue,' expresses the 
 situation. It has been said that all the heroines of 
 Corneille's tragedies are Frondeuses ; and it is true. 
 Madame de Longueville was to repeat to Gohgny and 
 to La Rochefoucauld what Chimcne in her transport 
 exclaims — 
 
 ' Sors vainquenr d'un combat dont Chimcne est le prix/* 
 
 ' Cinna,' which appeared in 1639, had been dedi- 
 cated by the poet to the cardinal ; but the panegyric 
 on clemency came home like a satire on the unfor- 
 giving priest— Corneille, a ' bourgeois,' had espoused 
 the passions and faults of the ' noblesse,' and after the 
 
 * Come out victorious from a fight where Chimcne is the iirize. 
 
1646.] PIERRE CORNEILLE. r)3 
 
 ' Cid ' the execution of a Montmorency for a duel 
 would have been impossible. 
 
 But if Corneille was admired, his serious and j^uiet 
 manners, his timid and defective reading, were not in 
 any way calculated to make him, as Madame do 
 Motteville puts it, an ornament of the ' belles ruelles/ 
 No doubt Voiture occupied a more prominent place 
 at the Hotel de Rambouillet, and it was easier to com- 
 ment on and praise liis little verses than the majestic 
 flow of Corneille. 
 
 We fancy the great man was often silent. Seated 
 on one of the low stools reserved for those of inferior 
 birth, he ahowed^ the minor luminaries to chatter 
 and please. There Balzac formed the centre of an 
 attentive group ; close by, Menage discussed or ex- 
 plained some foreign verses ; St.-Pavin and the A].)])6 
 IMontreuil paid their gallant compliments to the fair, 
 while Chapelain deigned to read some fragments of 
 his long-expected ' Pucelle.' All applaud save that 
 fair flower of Bourbon, who can hardly conceal her 
 weariness. George de Scudery is perhaps receiving 
 those compliments due to his sister, who published 
 her works under cover of his name. Proud, poor, 
 and noble, he gazes admiringly on Anne de Bourbon. 
 In the ruellc, Madame de Rambouillet is seated with 
 her daughters, and at their feet the flower of the 
 French nobihty. But the afternoon is speeding on ; 
 it is time to go to the Cours la Peine, and the goodly 
 company disperse. 
 
54 MADAME DE ^:^VIGNt. [Chap. VI. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1646-7. 
 
 Character of Madame de Sevigne. — Her suitors : Biissy-Eabiitin ; the 
 Conite dii Lude ; the Comte de Vasse ; the Comte de Montmoron ; 
 the Marijuis de Noirmoutier ; Menage ; the Abbe de St.-Pavin ; the 
 Chevalier de Mere ; the Abbe de Montreiiil ; Marigny ; Segrais. — 
 The Conrs la Keine. 
 
 While in Paris, Madame de Sevigne not only mixed 
 in tlie select society of tlie Hotel de Rambouillet, but 
 she formed a little court of which she herself was the 
 centre. The sprightliness of her humour, her predilec- 
 tion for amusement under every form, must in the eyes 
 of many have added to the attractions Nature had 
 given her. Of the principles professed at the Hotel 
 de Ptambouillet she retained only what was really en- 
 nobling and elevating. Her virtue was amiability; 
 her fault, certainly not prudery. In her words we 
 think she might at . times have been more discreet ; 
 but we must not forget that for repudiating some 
 expressions which would now be intolerable in any 
 polite circle, Madame de Rambouillet acquired that 
 reputation for exaggerated delicacy and fastidiousness 
 which in the minds of many is still inseparable from 
 her name. 
 
1646-7.] ROGER BE RABUTIN. n5 
 
 Madame de Sevi^cne, at all times so chaste in her 
 couduct, was not always circumspect in her language, 
 and too often allowed herself a licence that we can 
 but regret. Her free manners, added to the evident 
 neglect of her husband, contributed to encourage many 
 admirers, and none more so than her cousin Bussy. 
 His life was in its variations always Intimately con- 
 nected with Madame de Sevigne. On both sides there 
 early existed, and it continued in spite of bitter affronts 
 offered by Bussy, a true and sincere affection, a perfect 
 appreciation of each other's merits, a remarkable 
 afSnity, ^lot of heart, but of intellect. Madame de 
 Sevigne used to say that Bussy was ' le fagot de son 
 esprit,' and he was worthy to be so. 
 
 Soon after his young cousin s marriage, Bussy 
 having made some overtures to her, all his advances, 
 as he himself declares, were met in a playful spirit, 
 and answered with a famiharity authorized by the 
 position in which they stood to each other. Still 
 Bussy was a dangerous wooer. Of his personal advan- 
 tages we have already spoken : his military career 
 had begun at the age of sixteen, and he early won 
 the most honourable distinctions, being named a colonel 
 at twenty, and at twenty-six a ' Lieutenant de Roi du 
 Nivernais.' He was not only handsome and brave, 
 but was possessed of talents so remarkable, that his 
 literary efforts, singularly brilliant and clear, were 
 destined to open for him the doors of the Academy. 
 To his many gifts he added, what was a great charm in 
 
56 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. [Chap. VI. 
 
 tlie eyes of JMadame de Sevigne, tlie name of Rabutin. 
 Slie herself, the last descendant of the eldest branch 
 of the family, saw in her cousin the man who was to 
 perpetuate and signalize that name. Bahidinage^ as 
 she terms it, was always a powerful element in her 
 heart : she felt strongly the ties of blood, and made no 
 effort to conceal it. 
 
 Bussy being often called away to join the army, 
 was compelled for the time to cease his attentions to 
 Madame de Sevigne, but he never failed to keep 
 himself in her mind by means of letters. In 1646, he 
 writes to her from the camp of Hondscottei^a letter, 
 half prose, half verse, in which Jbe informs his fair 
 cousin of his brilliant prowess : — 
 
 ' To you, madame, who are fond of details, I will 
 give an account of our campaign. To speak more 
 correctly, it is a eulogy of Monsieur le Due' 
 
 Bussy goes on to describe the junction of the 
 troops, the forced march, and arrives at the siege ot 
 Mardick : — 
 
 ' Ce fut la que pour mon bonheiir 
 L'ennemi rasant la trancliee, 
 Dc^vant cc prince j'eus 1'h.omieur 
 De tirer une fois I^pee. 
 Oe fut en cette occasion 
 Qu'il fit lui-meme une action 
 Digne cVi'trrnelle memoire, 
 Et 1 1 lie iiTayant d'lionneur cnmMr, 
 II s(i dechargea de la gLjiie 
 Dont il se trouvait actable. * 
 
 * It was tlKTo, tlu' enemy being close to the trenches, I had the good 
 fortune to draw my ^word in the presence of the prince. It was also on 
 
1646-7.] ROGER DE RABTJTIN, 57 
 
 * I cannot tell yoii, my dear cousin, to what extent 
 Monsieur le Due praised the httle I did at this sortie ; 
 but what rendered it really important, were the feats he 
 himself accomplished, and the number of dead and 
 wounded among men of quality. All this did me 
 honour, because I commanded.' 
 
 After expatiating on the events in which he shared, 
 he ends by saying — 
 
 ' Je finirais mes rccits de comljats 
 Et Teloge de son altesse, 
 En vous parlant de ma tendresse, 
 Si je n'etais im pen trop las.' * 
 
 Through many years was Bussy to continue in 
 every way to force his love upon his cousin, notwith- 
 standing in a short period of time he was twice 
 married, and moreover had a number of romantic 
 adventures. The most celebrated of these was his 
 carrying away by force a young and rich widow, 
 Madame de Miramion, whom on account of her 
 wealth he wished to make his wife. The terror, the 
 agony of the unfortunate lady when thus violently 
 torn from her family, the solemn oath she took, ere 
 Bussy could open his lips to justify himself, never to 
 marry him, form an episode of the most dramatic 
 
 tliis occasion that he accomplislied an action worthy of everlasting re- 
 memljrance, and having loaded me with honour he ruliuved himself of 
 the glory with whicli he was overhurdened. 
 
 * I Avould linish my accoimt of battles and praises of his highness, by 
 speaking of my affection were I not rather tired. 
 
58 MADAME DE StVIGNE. [Chap. YI. 
 
 interest. This event happened in the year 1648, but 
 it caused no change whatever in the conduct of Bussy 
 towards his cousin. 
 
 Of the rivals of Bussy in his endeavours to win the 
 good graces of Madame de Sevigne, the most impor- 
 tant of all, and the man whom her heart, if it ever 
 secretly wavered, inclined for, was the Comte du Lude. 
 Not possessing so many attractions as Bussy, he was 
 nevertheless a great favourite with women. Tall and 
 well made, proficient in every manly accomplishment, 
 tender and passionate, imploring with tears, discreet 
 and considerate, the most trustworthy friend where 
 he ceased to be a lover, he was most formidable to 
 the peace and reputation of a young woman. But 
 Madame de Sevign^ seems to have excelled in the 
 difficult art of rejecting the suitor without offending 
 the friend. Her partiality for the Comte du Lude was 
 always great, and with the boldness of a clear con- 
 science she in after years jokes on the subject with 
 her daughter. She has no shame in declaring that 
 her pen — as Madame de Grignan had reproached her 
 — ^ is always cut to write wonders of the Grand 
 Maitre.'* No doubt she owed him a tender recollec- 
 tion, and the thought of him agreeably reminded her 
 of the days of her triumphs. 
 
 The Comte de Vasse, the Comte de Montmoron, 
 and the Marquis de Noirmoutier seem also in those 
 
 * The Comte du Lude was Grand Master of the Artillery. 
 
1646-7.] ABBE DE ST.-PAVIN. 59 
 
 early years to have assiduously courted tlie young 
 marquise. Other admirers she had of a less dangerous 
 kind, but these only contributed by their attentions to 
 enKven and divert her. Menage, her ancient pre- 
 ceptor, continued his useless declarations. Madame 
 de Sevigne, to show how affectionately she regarded 
 him, and at the same time how unimportant she 
 thought his professed passion, one day kissed him in 
 sisterly way before a circle of men. Seeing the 
 astonishment of the bystanders, she turned her smiling 
 face towards them, and with her ready manner said — 
 'It was thus the Christians kissed in the primitive 
 Church.' 
 
 Not more dangerous, and full of pleasantry and 
 amiability, stood the Abbe de St.-Pavin, the neigh- 
 bour of the Abbe de Coulanges at Livry. This abbe 
 lived a life of pleasure and dissipation : his house was 
 the resort of good society, but his infirmity — he was 
 humpbacked — did not make him a very formidable 
 lover. His pen found some of its best inspirations to 
 address Madame de Sevigne, whom he used to meet 
 every Friday in summer, when she drove from Paris 
 to Livry to spend that day with her ' Bien Bon.' St.- 
 Pavin found so great a charm in the society of our 
 marquise that he exclaims — 
 
 ' Seigneur, que vos bontes sont grand.es 
 De nous ecouter de si haut ! 
 On vous fait diverses demandes ; 
 Seul vous savez ce qii'il nous faut. 
 
60 MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. VI. 
 
 Je suirt lionteux de iiies faiblesses. 
 
 Pour les lionneurs, pour les ri chesses, 
 
 J 6 voiis importimai jadis : 
 
 J'y renonce, je le proteste. 
 
 jMultipliez les vendredis, 
 
 Je vous cpitte de tout le reste.' * 
 
 This charming epistle was not forgotten by Madame 
 de Sevigne, and the day came when, with gentle pride, 
 she recalled that prayer of St.-Pavin, that God would 
 multiply the Fridays. 
 
 The Chevalier de Mere was also one of the intimate 
 circle of Madame de Sevigne. He is principally re- 
 membered for his extreme fatuity, and the favour he 
 enjoyed with the belles and Precieuses confirmed this 
 overweening opinion of his person. His pedantry and 
 self-satisflxctlon cannot have been congenial to Madame 
 de Sevigne, and the reputation of the Chevalier de 
 Mere must have been his greatest claim to be tole- 
 rated. 
 
 Very different from him, pleasant and good- 
 humoured, jovial, indolent, and amusing, was the 
 Abbe de Montreuil, who knew how to administer 
 flattery in the most delicate manner. Having once 
 seen Madame de Sevigne play at Blind Man's Buff, he 
 improvised the following lines : — 
 
 ■' De toutes les fagons vous avez droit de plaire, 
 Mais surtout vous savez nous charmer cu ce jour: 
 
 * Lord, how great is your mercy Irom so high to listen to us ! Many 
 are the favours wo a^k ; you alone know what m l' need. I am ashamed 
 of my woalvJiesses : for honoiu^s, for riches, I did once importune you. 
 I re}] ounce them. Multiply the Fridays, and I ask nothing more. 
 
ie4G-7.] ABBE BE MoNTBEUIL. 61 
 
 Voyant vos yeux bandes, ou voiis prend pour rAiuour ; 
 Les voyant dt^couverts, on vous prend poiu' sa mere.' * 
 
 Montreuil wrote letters nearly as well as lie turned 
 a couplet. A false rumour having been circulated that 
 Madame de Sevigne had returned to Paris from the 
 EocherSj he addressed to her the following : — 
 
 ' As your merit cannot allow you to remain long in 
 any place without the news of it being known, there 
 is a report that you are in Paris. I cannot believe it : 
 it is one of the things in this world I most wish for, 
 and consequently it cannot be true. At all hazards I 
 send to inquire whether it be so, that in such case I 
 may cease to be ill. It will not be the first miracle you 
 have accomplished. In your illustrious race they are 
 performed from mother to son. You are aware that 
 Madame de Chantal was extremely addicted to them, 
 and all honest people who see and hear you are of a 
 mind to declare that " Monsieur son fils," who was your 
 father, accomplished a great miracle. I entreat you 
 then, if you are come back, not to keep the knowledge 
 from me, so that I may presently have the pleasure of 
 being in good health, and the honour of seeing you. It 
 is a favour I believe I merit as much as formerly, as I 
 am as giddy and as wild as ever, and continue to say 
 things as much out of place. I am forgetting that if I 
 
 * To please is in every way your ri^^lit, but never more than to-day 
 have you charmed us : seeing your eyes bandaged, ^\'e mistake you lur 
 Love J seeing them uncuvuied, we imagine you to be his mother. 
 
 a- 
 
62 MADAME DE S^VIGNE. [Chap. VI. 
 
 be not altered it may not be the same with you, and 
 that instead of the monosyllabic letter I received last 
 year, in which there was " Yes," you may now send 
 me one of the same length, but with " No " instead. 
 But God above all — a sentence I have just found in my 
 almanac when looking for the day of the month. It is 
 the nineteenth. 
 
 ' I am, with all the gravity and respect of which I 
 am capable (the first is little ; the second much), 
 
 ' Your humble servant, 
 
 *M0NTREUIL. 
 
 * I have omitted to put *' Madame " in my letter, 
 and now that you are Lieutenante de Roi de Fougeres 
 it is a great fault. Here are three : distribute them as 
 you think best — Madame, madame, madame.' 
 
 With the same gaiety as Montreuil, with ready songs 
 and prompt repartees, Marigny — a follower of Retz, a 
 familiar of the Marquis de Sevigne when he married 
 — added to the liveliness of the society of Madame de 
 Sevigne, who appreciated and enjoyed his conver- 
 sation. 
 
 Segrais, a man of the world, an author, young and 
 amiable, openly professed more than friendship for 
 the youthful marquise ; but he himself in some pretty 
 lines is forced to acknowledge — 
 
1646-7.] THE COUBS LA REINE. 63 
 
 * Mais qu'ai-je lais aiissi ? Ne savais-je pas bien 
 Qa'on perd tout avec vous, et qu'on n'y gayne rien ? ' * 
 
 Not only in the ruelh of Madame de Sevigne must 
 we picture to ourselves these many suitors striving to 
 win a smile from her fair lips ; the ^ promenade ' was 
 nearly as much as conversation a favourite pastime of 
 the society of the seventeenth century. Whatever 
 may be said to propagate the false idea that a love 
 of Nature was not then prevalent, we think it was 
 hardly ever so genuine. Madame de Rambouillet used 
 to delight in exploring the beautiful environs of Paris 
 — Chantilly, Anet, and Ruel were amongst the favoured 
 spots. In Paris itself, the Cours la Peine, enclosed 
 between the banks of the Seine and the woods of the 
 Champs Elys^es, were daily thronged with select 
 crowds. Marie de Medicis, wife of Henri IV, had 
 given her name and put in fashion those noble 
 avenues ; Louis XIII adding many improvements. 
 When coming from the Tuileries the road was through 
 the Porte de la Conf(6rence, then old and falling to 
 ruins. The king built a new and magnificent gate ; 
 at the same time the dark drives were more opened, 
 while the character of rusticity was still retained. 
 There being no embankments, the view of the glitter- 
 ing river could be fully enjoyed. Every afternoon 
 ladies went m open chariots to breathe the fresh air 
 
 * But what have I done ? Do I not well know that with you all is 
 lost and nothing gained ? 
 
<34 MADAME DE SEFIGNE. [Chap. YI. 
 
 and to sliow off to advantage their beauty and dress. 
 The men, magnificently mounted, and in all the splen- 
 dour their attire then admitted, pranced at the car- 
 riage doors, flying from one to another. The drive 
 lasted late into the evening, and many were the soft 
 words then spoken. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Scudery is again the faithful 
 historian who describes the Cours la Reine. Writing 
 in 1G50, she says — 
 
 * Hemiogene, who knew all the avenues of Suze 
 [Paris], so managed that they should arrive on the 
 most favourable side, that on which is to be observed 
 one of the most beautiful sights to charm the eye. In 
 approaching Suze by this spot, an eminence is reached, 
 whence is plainly to be seen a large prairie of more 
 than a hundred stades, through which runs the River 
 Choaspe [Seine], whose waters are so sweet that they 
 cannot be equalled by those of the purest and freshest 
 fountains. On the banks of this river stands the town 
 of Suze, its magnificent palaces causing it to appear 
 as beautiful when viewed fi'om the outside as from 
 within. 
 
 ' On the side to which Hermog^ne conducted Behsis, 
 on the banks of the lovely river, are to be found four large 
 avenues, so large, so broad, and so shaded by the thick 
 foliage of the trees which form them, that it is impos- 
 sible to imagine a more delightful drive. This is the 
 spot where, in small open chariots, the ladies all drive 
 to of an evening. The men follow on horseback, and 
 
1646-7.] THE CO UBS LA EEINE. 65 
 
 having the hberty to go from one to another, this resort 
 is at once promenade and conversation^ and no doubt 
 very diverting. . . . They saw those large drives 
 crowded with smaU painted and gikled chariots, in which 
 were seated the most beautiful ladies of Suze, amongst 
 whom a number of men of quality, admirably mounted 
 and splendidly dressed, went and came, bowing to 
 them. 
 
 ' ^' 
 
 In this description there exists a singular similarity 
 to what a writer of the present day might say of the 
 Champs Elysees or the Bois de Boulogne. In some 
 respects the lapse of two centuries has not altered the 
 picture of Mademoiselle de Scudery, and the substitu- 
 tion of a few words would adapt it to our day, 
 
 * ' Aitameue, ou le Grand Gyms.' 
 
 VOL. r. 
 
m AIADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. VII. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 1648. 
 
 Eirth of Charles de Sevigne. — r'(.nvs]>oii(Icnco with Bussy. — Commence- 
 ment of civil .strife. — Arrest of Eruiissel. — Intercession of Gondi. — 
 Portrait of Anne of Austria. 
 
 In the early part of the year 1G48, Madame de Se- 
 vigne was again at the R-ochers, and tliere her son 
 Charles de Sevigne was born. Shortly after this happy 
 event she Avrites a proud and joyful letter to Bussy, at 
 that time with the army : — • 
 
 ^Des Rocliers, Marcli 15, 1648. 
 
 ' I find you a pleasant coxcomb not to have written 
 to me for two months. Have you forgotten who I am, 
 and the rank I hold in the family ? Truly, little cadet, 
 I shall remind you of it, and if you anger me I shall 
 reduce you to the linnhcl/^' You knew that I was 
 about to be confined, and you feel no more anxiety 
 about my health than if I were still a gixl. Learn 
 then, even if it is to enrage you, that I am the mother 
 of a s<Mi, into whom I shall instil with his milk a hatred 
 of youiself. I shall have many moi;e, simply that they 
 
 * A rliar-f i-larej in a coat of arms to indicate the youngi-r Lranch. 
 
1648.] BIRTH OF HER SON. 67 
 
 may become your enemies. You have not been clever 
 enou,i!;li to do as much, you father of daughters ! 
 
 ^ But tliis is conceaHiig my friendship hjng enough, 
 my dear cousin. Nature is more powerful than poli(;y. 
 I had resolved to scold you all through my lette'i' for 
 your laziness, but it causes me too great an effort, and 
 I must end by saying, that Monsieur de Sevigne and I 
 esteem you highly, and often spealv of the pleasure 
 there would be in being with you/ 
 
 Bussy replied immediately : — 
 
 ' April 12, 1648. 
 
 ' To answer your letter of the 15th of March, I shall 
 tell you first, madam e, that I perceive you adopt a cer- 
 tain habit of lecturim:- me which savours more of the 
 mistress than the cousm. Beware of what you engage 
 in, for when I once resolve to suffer I shall expect to 
 have the favours as well as the rebuffs of a lover. I 
 know you are the head of the family, and I owe you 
 deference in this respect ; but you presume on my sub- 
 mission a little too much. It is true you are as prompt 
 to be appeased as to be angry, and if your letters 
 begin by "I find you are a pleasant coxcomb," they 
 make amends by ending with, " We esteem you highly, 
 Monsieur de Sevigne and I/' ' 
 
 He ^oes on to congratulate his cousin on the birth of 
 her son, andtoacbiowledge his due}) regret at not having 
 one himself His first wife, Gabrielle de Toulongeon 
 
 F li 
 
 V 
 
CS MADAME DE SLVIGNE. [Chap. VII. 
 
 - — like Madame de Sevigne, a granddaughter of Saiiite 
 Chant al — had borne him two daughters only. It was 
 at this time that Bussy, ea^'er to contract a second 
 marriage which would augment his fortune and perhaps 
 realize his hope of seeing an heir to his name, rashly 
 attempted to carry off ]\ladame de Miramion, and failed 
 as we have said, covered with shame and ridicule. 
 Madame de Sevigne was in Brittany when the occur- 
 rence took place, and it was only in the autumn of this 
 year, at her uncle's — Jacques de Neucheze, Bishop of 
 Chalon — at his abl)ey of Ferrieres, wlieire she and 
 Monsieur de Sevigne were on a visit, that she had the 
 opportunity of meeting her cousin. He was then by every 
 effort striving to atone for his conduct and appease 
 the just anger of Madame de Miramion's family, and 
 in consequence remained only a few days in the com- 
 pany of Madame de Sevigne. No sooner was he in 
 Paris, than taking up that pen he could handle so 
 gracefully, he wrote a letter, not to the wife, but to 
 the husband and \Aife. He was then ingratiating him- 
 self with Monsieur de Sevigne, and becoming his con- 
 fidant in order that he might the more readily have 
 access to his cousin. Of right principles Bussy was 
 entirely free, and he pursued his course at all times 
 unimpeded by honour, generosity, or delicacy. 
 
 Soon after this. Monsieur and Madame de Sevigne 
 returned to Paris, where we find them at the com- 
 mencement of the year 1649. 
 
 It is impossiljle to mention this date without a 
 
1648.] CIVIL STRIFE IN PARIS. 69 
 
 pause. Already tlie prosperous course of the first years 
 of the regency was being interrupted by civil strife. 
 The queen — of whom courtiers used to say, when 
 first she gathered the reins of power into her hs^nds, 
 * The queen is so good ' — was showing herself authori- 
 tative, and a more than jealous guardian of every 
 privilege of royalty. In her discussions with the par- 
 liament, haughty and arrogant, she tolerated no 
 mediation. The victory of Conde at Lens, on the 20th 
 of August, 1G48, had given new prestige and autho- 
 rity to the queen. She imagined herself pow^erful 
 enough to speak and act without restraint, and then 
 the conflict commenced. It began with the arrest of 
 Broussel,'" an idol of the people, venerable and vir- 
 tuous, who was seized in the midst of his family, and 
 the screams of whose servants soon brought together 
 a clamorous multitude calling loudly for his libera- 
 tion. This mob was met by Gondi, Coadjuteur of 
 Paris, that singular and dramatic personage, who was 
 to play so important a part in coming events. This 
 man, at once capable of every vice and every virtue, 
 was remarkably ,ugly, even deformed, but with eyes so 
 full of fire, insolence, and wdt, that few women with- 
 stood his fascinations. He was then the most popular 
 man in Paris ; and this can readily be conceived, as 
 he himself declares that in a very short period he had 
 spent more than thirty-six thousand ecus (8,640/.) in 
 oTatuities. In his ecclesiastical robes he now appeared 
 
 o 
 
 * A councillor in the Upper Chamber. 
 
70 MADAME BE Sj^VIGNK [Chap. VIL 
 
 ."jefore his floclc, and took upon liimself to go and speak 
 to the queen. When admitted to her presence, he 
 declared to her, in the most moderate language, that 
 the only means of quieting the rising tumult was to 
 set Broussel free. On hearing this, the queen flushed 
 angrily, and with her hands close to the face of the 
 coadjuteur exclaimed — ' Rather than give him his 
 liberty, I will strangle liim with these hands ; and 
 those who . . . .' At this moment Mazarin 
 approached her, and speaking a few words in her ear, 
 she paused and composed herself; and adds the 
 coadjuteur in his memoirs — ' If I had not known her, I 
 should have thought her extremely softened/ 
 
 This will perhaps be an opportune moment to tran- 
 scribe from Madame de Motteville, the faithful histo- 
 rian of the queen, the picture she has left of her 
 mistress : — 
 
 ' She is tall and well made, and her demeanour, soft 
 and majestic, never fails to inspire love and respect. 
 She has been one of the greatest beauties of her 
 day, and even now [1G58] enough of it remains to 
 eclipse many who are young and have pretensions to 
 beauty. Her eyes arc handsome ; the gentle and 
 serious blend themselves agreeably in her looks, whose 
 power has been fatal to many ihustrious subjects, and 
 whole nations have experienced what empire tho}^ have 
 over men. Her mouth, though more innocently, has 
 been an accomplice in all the woes she has caused : it 
 is small and rosy, and Nature has been liberal of 
 
1648.] AXXE OF AUSTRIA. 71 
 
 all the charms which can contribute to make it perfect. 
 By one of her smiles she can win a tliousand hearts : 
 even lier enemies cannot withstand her fascinations. 
 AA^e liave known many, wliom ambition had deprived 
 of their better judgment, (,)wn that the queen forced 
 herself on their affection even when they were most 
 inclined to fail in their duty towards her. Her hair, 
 which she has in great profusion, is fine, and of a 
 light auburn ; there is nothing more agreeable than to 
 see it l)eing dressed. Her hands, which all Europe 
 has praised, are made to please the eyes, to carry a 
 sceptre, and to be admired. They unite a perfect 
 whiteness with extreme handiness ; so much so that 
 people are always enchanted when this great queen 
 shows them, either at her toilet or at her table. 
 
 ' Her bosom is well shaped, and those who love to 
 behold what is Ijeautiful would have reason to murmur 
 at the care the queen takes to hide it, if the motive 
 Avhich prompts her to act did not command their 
 esteem. Her skin is of a dehcacy and whiteness which 
 can never be sufficiently praised. Her complexion is 
 not equal to the rest, and the little care she takes to 
 preserve it — never wearing a mask — does not con- 
 tribute to improve it. Her nose is not as perfect as 
 her other features ; it is large : but her eyes being 
 large also, it does not ill become her ; and if it deprives 
 her face of some beauty, it adds to its gravity. 
 
 ' To resume, the whole of her person is deserving 
 of commendation, but I fear to offend her modesty 
 
72 MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. VII. 
 
 and mine if I say more : this is why I dare not add, 
 that her foot is remarkably small and well formed/ 
 
 The foregoing portrait of Anne of Austria was 
 penned by one who, if perfectly sincere, was blinded 
 by an affectionate partiality. 
 
 St. -Simon in after years, speaking of the grace and 
 dignity with which this queen held her court, states 
 that ^ she excelled in the difficult art of observing the 
 rank of each and yet offending none.' Louis XIV in 
 his halcyon days remembered with regret and envy 
 the court of his mother, and in vain he tried to per- 
 suade his queen, Marie-Th^r^se, and the first dauphine 
 of Bavaria to emulate her. 
 
 The gentleness, however, of Anne of Austria did 
 not hinder her from giving way to the most violent 
 fits of passion, and from carrying the throne of her 
 son to the brink of ruin — the events we shall now 
 recall testifying to her rashness and impetuosity. 
 
 We have left Broussel a prisoner and the regent 
 resisting every entreaty to give him his Hberty : the 
 people, however, were to have their will. 
 
1648.] JOURXKE BEH BABEICADEH. TS 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 1648-50, 
 
 Jonrnee de.-^ Barricades. — Flight of the queen. — Suspension of hostilities. 
 — Arrest of the priiietis. — They are liberated by Mazarin. 
 
 At daybreak on the 27tli of August, 1648, twelve 
 hundred barricades suddenly appeared in the streets 
 of Paris. A woman of the people beat the drum to 
 call the insurgents to arms. In spite of her anger, in 
 spite of her threats, Anne was forced to yield : she 
 feared for Mazarin the fate of Straftbrd — and Broussel 
 was free. That the fire was not extinguished the 
 queen knew, and on the 6th of January, 1040, she 
 fled with the boy king at three in the morning from 
 Paris to St.-Germain. From that hour the siege of 
 Paris began. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne and her husband, by their 
 relationship to Gondi, the very soul of the Fronde, 
 found themselves of the party opposed to the court ; 
 Bussy, who w^as attached to the Prince de Conde, was 
 with the besieging army, and again separated from 
 his cousin. Monsieur de Sevigne had joined the Due 
 de Longueville, who was in Normandy striving to 
 raise that province against the king. His beautiful 
 
74 MADJME DE Si^VIONE. [Chap. VIII. 
 
 clucliess remained in Paris, and ^vitliin the walls of the 
 Hotel de Ville the young ' Paris de Longueville ' came 
 into the world. Among the fair Frondenses Madame 
 de Longueville rallied round her was Madame de 
 Sevign^ ; but then, as ever, her good sense, her 
 gentleness, her true love of her country, made her 
 deplore the war which was arming men against their 
 fellow-countrymen. Bussy, who commanded the 
 chevau-legers of the Prince de Conde, was at St.- 
 Denis, and thence he wrote to his cousin : — 
 
 * St.-Denis, February 5, 1640. 
 
 ' I have lono* hesitated to write to vou, not knowius; 
 whether you were become my enemy, or were still my 
 good cousin ; whether I must despatch to you a foot- 
 man or a trumpeter. But remembering to have 
 heard you blame the brutality of Horace, who refused 
 to recognize his brother-in-law after war had been 
 declared between their republics, I have thought that 
 the interests of your party will not prevent you read- 
 ing my letters ; and as for me, except in what con- 
 cerns the king's service, I am your very humble 
 servant/ 
 
 Madame de Sevigne in Paris was ready and willing 
 to serve her cousin, except in what concerned the 
 interest of her party, as he was her humble servant 
 except in what concerned the king's service. Bussy 
 had been trying to get his carriage horses out of the 
 
1649.] BVSSY IN DANGER. 75 
 
 town, claiming tliem in tlie name of his uncle, Hiigues 
 de Rabutin, Grand Prieur of llie Tenjple, and Madame 
 de Sevigne ]iad used lier influence for him on this 
 occasion without success, for they were eventually 
 seized. Bussy, however, for the loss he sustained, 
 consoled himself with the proofs of affection his cousin 
 had given him. 
 
 On the 11th of March the queen and the parliament 
 signed a truce, which enabled the officers of tlie be- 
 sieging army to re-enter Paris, but not Avithout danger 
 — 3.1azarin was so detested that the cry ' Au ^lazarin ! * 
 was sufficient to place any one in great peril. On 
 entering Paris, we may suppose urged by a desire to 
 see Lladame de Sevigne, Bussy had been rec[uested 
 by the officer on duty to produce a pass from the 
 Marechal Duplessy. Bussy declared that he had none, 
 and that none was needed. High words followed, and 
 soon Bussy found himself surrounded by an angry 
 multitude. In the turmoil wdiich ensued he received a 
 violent blow on the head, and whilst in a co-ps de 
 [larde^ wdiere he took refuge with his companions, 
 loud threats of death met his ears. His audacity in 
 answering a man who was abusing the king, in cleverly 
 blaming the minister whilst upholding the monarch, 
 turned the tide in his favour, and he was able to 
 reach in safety the house of the grand prieur. 
 
 He did not long enjoy tlie privilege of seeing his 
 cousin ; the Prince de Conde had now taken a dislike to 
 Bussy, and was anxious that he should sell his commis- 
 
7<; MADAME BE f^EVIGNE. [Chap. YIIL 
 
 sion to the Comte de Guitaut. Tlie proud RabutiD, 
 Iiowever, was not a man to defer to tlie wishes of the 
 prince when he fancied them contrary to his interest 
 and to justice, and peremptorily refused what was 
 demanded of him. It was not in the power of Conde to 
 enforce his desires, but he had the power to order 
 Bussy into active service. He was therefore required to 
 quit Paris and join his company in FLanders. To 
 this order he angrily submitted. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne had not witnessed the dissen- 
 sions which tore the capital without experiencing a 
 just horror of the fratricidal conflict. When so many 
 were blinded by love or ambition, she, though faithful 
 to the side her relations had espoused, writes thus to 
 Monsieur Lenet her reprobation of what was taking 
 place : — 
 
 ' Monsieur, — You must allow me to wish for peace, 
 for with your permission I think an hour's conversa- 
 tion worth fifty letters. Wlien you are here,- and I 
 have the honour of seeing you, I shall force you to own 
 with me that war is a foolish amusement. I ardently 
 desire to see it ended, and also to experience a con- 
 tinuance of your friendship, which I hold in particular 
 esteem, and am, monsieur, 
 
 ' Your very humble and obedient servant, 
 
 ' M. DE Rabqtin-Chantal. 
 
 ' Paris, March 25.' 
 
16o0.] AiaiEHT OF THE PRINCES. 
 
 Little did Madame de Sevime imasfine the events 
 winch were yet to happen, and how much French 
 blood was still to be shed, how much misery brought 
 about by the blindness and arrogance of all. Conde, 
 the hero, the demi-god, was growing every day more 
 insolent and overbearing. He now insults Anne as a 
 woman and as a queen. A gentleman of the name of 
 Jarz^, attached to Conde's household, had the audacity 
 to importune the queen with declarations of love, 
 when she proudly and disdainfully, before her whole 
 court, broufifht home to him his insolence and forbade 
 him her presence. But Conde, braving his sovereign's 
 verdict, interferes imperiously, and leading Jarz6 by 
 the hand, forces the queen to receive him. She sub- 
 mits, but inwardly vows revenge, and sets about to 
 prepare it from that hour. She meditated no less than 
 the arrest of Gond(^ and his brother Conti, and that of 
 the husband of their sister, tlie Due de Longueville. 
 On the 18th of January, 1G50, the plan was put in 
 
 execution. 
 
 Unsuspecting and confident the three princes arrived 
 to take their places at the council, while the queen, 
 under the pretext of indisposition, had retired to bed. 
 At her side, anxiously inquiring respecting her health, 
 sat Madame la Princesse, strong in the grandeur of 
 her house and the great services of her son. He, 
 before taking his place at the council board, is ad- 
 mitted to the presence of the queen, and after a few 
 seconds' conversation leaves her to meet his fate. No 
 
78 MADAME BE SBVIGNE. [Chap. VIII. 
 
 sooner were tlie three princes together in one room, 
 than the captain of the guard approaches Cond^ 
 to announce his orders. The prince received them 
 with undisturbed equanimity, and with the other princes 
 suffered himself to be led without resistance to Vin- 
 cennes. While this was taking place the devout queen, 
 having repaired to her oratory, was praying with the 
 boy king for the success of an enterprise which was to 
 cause new miseries to France. 
 
 In Paris the fickle populace, now destroying what 
 they had before worshipped, lit bonfires in exultation 
 over the captivity of the hero of Rocroy. Though a 
 prisoner, Cond6 was still powerful : if men and 
 courtiers abandoned him, women remained faithful. 
 His lovely sister, insulted in the person of her brothers 
 and her husband, carried away by ambition and a 
 desire for renown, once more attempts to continue a 
 war against the crown. Notwithstanding she is unsuc- 
 cessful in Normandy, she still perseveres. Disguised 
 in man's attire, she emljarked in a small vessel, and 
 arrived in the Netherlands throws herself into 
 Stenay, where with such a heutenant as Turenne she 
 looks forward to victories. But the star of the car- 
 dinal was in the ascendant, and Turenne was defeated 
 at Rethel (Dec. 15, 1G50). 
 
 A more efficient auxiliary was to be the young 
 Princesse de Cond(^. Despised and neglected by her 
 husband, she shows an energy and fortitude Avhich 
 surprises every one. Taking her young son, Enghien, 
 
1650.] BU.%^Y WITH THE IXSURGENTS. 79 
 
 she flies from Cliantilly to Montrond, and from Mont- 
 rond to Bordeaux. There tliis woman of two and 
 twenty, robed m mournmg, and holding her child in 
 her arms, excites the inhabitants to the highest pitch 
 of enthusiasm ; the hatred of IMazarin alone was sufli- 
 cient to urge resistance to the queen. 
 
 M(jntrond, one of the strongholds of the Condes, 
 was to gather within its walls many of the prince's 
 partizans. Bussy, who served under the prince, but 
 without any attachment to him, had lingered in Paris, 
 not wishing to take a part in this new Fronde ; but a 
 pjrivate letter from the Princesse de Conde forced him 
 against his will to repair to Montrond. The Due de la 
 Rochefoucauld and the Due de Bouillon were preparing 
 for a siege, and from these scenes of warfare Bussy 
 writes to Madame de Sevigne, who, in Paris, and still 
 faithful to the cause which Gondi embraced, found 
 herself with the court and against her cousin : — 
 
 ' Camp of Montrond, July 2, 16,50. 
 
 ' I have at last, my fair cousin, declared myself for 
 Monsieur le Prince : it has not been without great 
 reluctance, as against my king I am serving a prince 
 who does not care for me. True, the position he is 
 in inspires me with compassion. I shall therefore serve 
 him while a prisoner as if he loved me, and if ever he 
 is fi^ee, I shall return him my commission and quit him 
 immediately to go back to my duty. 
 
 ' What say you to such sentiments, madame ? Let 
 
80 MADAME DE 8MVIGNK [Chap. VIII. 
 
 me know, I pray you, if you do not esteem them great 
 and noble. Let us write often to each other ; the car- 
 dinal Avill know nought of it, and were he to discover 
 it, and give you a " lettre de cachet," remember it is 
 glorious for a woman of twenty to be mixed up in 
 affairs of state. The celebrated Madame de Chevreuse 
 did not begin earlier. As for myself, I would willingly 
 cause you to commit a crime of whatsoever nature. 
 AVhen I tliink that last year we were on different sides, 
 and that we are so still, although we have both changed, 
 I conclude that we are playing at prison-bars. But 
 your side is always the best, as you never leave Paris, 
 while I g:o from St. -Denis to Montrond, and from Men- 
 trond I fear I shall end by going to the devil. 
 
 ' For news I shall tell you that I have just defeated 
 the regiment of St.-Aignan ; but if the " mestre-de- 
 camp " had been there in person I should not have 
 done it so cheaply. 
 
 ' Monsieur de Launay-Lyais will tell you the life 
 we lead. He is a man of merit, and for that reason 
 I shall serve him willingly ; but the most powerful of 
 all is, because you like him, and I believe I shall be 
 pleasing you. 
 
 ^ Adieu, my fair cousin.' 
 
 The Launay-Lyais to whom reference is thus made 
 by Bussy, and who was the bearer of the letter, was a 
 Breton gentleman whom Madame de Sevign^ had 
 recommended to her cousin, and whom he was serving 
 
1651.] RELEASE OF THE FRIX(JE>^. ai 
 
 in tlie liuijo of advancino; himself in lier i^ood 
 
 graces. 
 
 The Prince de Conde, in whose cause Bussy was 
 enhsted against his bettor sense, had been, witli Iiis 
 iUusirious companions in ca]>tivity, transferred from 
 Vincennes to Havre; and Fortune seemed to be smihng 
 on Giuho Mazarini. The queen, em'aptured after suc- 
 cess, mad with joy at the victory of Rethel, is again l)y 
 her arrogance doing her best to turn the tide ; the parha- 
 inent, insulted by Mazarin, lifts up its head ; Retz, w^ho 
 had for some time acted with the court, is reconciled 
 to the friends of Conde ; a wish for peace was being- 
 felt, and negotiations were opened, in which the coad- 
 juteur, before all things, stipulated tliat Mademoiselle de 
 Chevreuse should become a princess of the blood by a 
 marriage with Conti. ]\Iazarin all at once finds the 
 earth slipping under Ids feet ; from all-powerful he be- 
 comes terrified, and flies from the Palais Royal in tlie 
 night of the 6th of January, 1G51. AVith all speed he 
 hastens to Havre to set the princes at large : lie 
 wishes still to appear as though acting by his own free 
 will, but they well know it is under compulsion. 
 
 Conde, with the new halo of captivity on his victo- 
 rious brow, returns to Paris to find himself in the as- 
 cendant. He is advised to put aside the queen and 
 declare liimself regent. ]\Iazarin gone, Mazarin de- 
 feated, who except the first prince of the blood should 
 take his place and govern the state ? But fortunately 
 for Anne of Austria, as Conde had entered the dungeon 
 
 VOL. r. ^ 
 
82 M J DAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. VIII. 
 
 of Vincennes, so he came out of the fortress of Havre 
 — proud, arrogant, and, except on the battle-field, de- 
 void of any capacity. He declares that his brother is 
 not to marry Mademoiselle de Chevreuse, and he pays 
 men to insult her and her mother in the streets. Retz 
 steps forward to revenge this indignity ; Conde and 
 Conti find themselves surrounded in the parliament by 
 armed men, the creatures of the cardinal,* when a 
 massacre might have followed the slightest provoca- 
 tion : the two Bourbons bow as they pass before the 
 two Lorraines,! who in the galleries were triumphantly 
 enjoying their revenge. 
 
 The queen, still hating Conde, is courting Retz 
 once again. In the night, disguised as a cavalier, with 
 feathers in his hat and a sword at his side, he is ad- 
 mitted into the Palais Hojed ; in the day, clothed in 
 purple, at Notre Dame he preaches peace and Christian 
 charity. 
 
 During the eventful year 1650 Madame de Sevigne's 
 life was embittered by humiliations and sorrows, with 
 which, leaving the great actors whose influence was 
 felt by her also, we shall now occupy ourselves for a 
 time. 
 
 * Retz had recently been made a cardinal, 
 t Madame de Chevreuse and her daughter. 
 
16.50.] CHARACTER OF HER HUSBAND. 83 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 1650-1. 
 
 Monsieur cle Sevigne is enamoured of Ninon de Lenclos. — Her cliaracter. 
 — Bussy's intercex:)tcd letter. — Monsieur de Sevigne's passion for 
 Madame de Gondran. — Duel with the Chevalier d'Albret. 
 
 We have said before, tliat very soon aftur lier mar- 
 riage, Madame de Sdvigne had reason to complain of 
 her husljand. In spite of her beauty, her inteUigence, 
 her virtue, Llonsieur do Sevigne loved on all sides, 
 but never one so amiable as his Avife. He was not an 
 *honnCte homnie/ as the term went: he ruined his 
 young wife and caused her nmch grief. It was this 
 conduct of the Marquis de ISevigne Avhich emboldened 
 the admirers of the youthful marquise. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne had l^orne with patience the 
 infidelities of her husband, maintaining for herself the 
 same strict line of virtuous duty ; but in 1650 she had 
 to submit to an affront which surpassed all former ex- 
 periences, and wellnigh mastered her patience — from 
 Bussy she learnt that Monsieur de Sevigne was the 
 favoured lover of Ninon de Lenclos. This woman 
 has acted a part so singular that it will be necessary 
 here to give a more lengthened notice of her. By a 
 
 G 2 
 
84 MADAME BE B^VIGNK [Chap. IX. 
 
 remarkable fatality she became, as it were, the evil 
 genius of Madame de Sevigne, being loved by three 
 generations of men on whom a pure and noble woman ' 
 had the greatest claims for affection. In youth, the 
 husband, then the son, and years afterwards the grand- 
 son of Madame de Sevigne all fell under the fascina- 
 tion of one over whom Tune seemed to have no 
 power. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Lenclos was well, and even nobly 
 born. At fifteen, bereft of both parents, she Avas mis- 
 tress of herself and fortune, and began that career of 
 systematic dissipation which she pursued for so many 
 years. Soon she lost her place in the society of women 
 pretending to any outward decency, and when her in- 
 discretions became public, she remained surrounded by 
 a host of lovers and friends who all equally worshipped 
 her. Her beauty was brilliant, and her mind equal to 
 it. She had the virtues of men — firmness, fi^iendship, 
 perfect disinterestedness, and in their sense strict 
 honour. No woman was more dangerous ; no woman 
 could be more seductive. Born in 1616, she was ten 
 years older than Madame de Sevigne, and in 1C50, 
 at the age of thirty-four, was in the fulness of her 
 prime. 
 
 There are three periods, each perfectly distinct, in 
 the career of Ninon — the first, when she goes by that 
 name, and knows no restraint ; the second, when, 
 arrived, at mature age, she is still feared for her 
 dangerous seductions, blamed for her declared incre- 
 
1650.] NINON DE LENCLOS, 85 
 
 dulity, but esteemed for the solid qualities whicli are 
 in her — she is then Ninon de Lenclos ; the third is in 
 old age, when, in the full possession of her elevated 
 reason, she becomes her real self, and is Mademoiselle 
 de Lenclos, admitted into the company of Avomen be- 
 longing to the first society. 
 
 To pursue a career so completely without parallel it 
 is easy to conceive that the powers of Ninon must 
 have been of no mean kind. She swayed a host, and 
 swayed them all despotically. By the few women who 
 in her youth surrounded her, among whom was Madame 
 Scarron — the future Madame de Maintenon — she was 
 always cherished. 
 
 Such was the rival for whom Madame de Sevigne 
 learnt that she was neglected. When Bussy disclosed 
 this new infidelity of her husband, her sorrow and 
 anger were indeed great, and she expressed her feel- 
 ings without restraint to her cousin, who, though con-^ 
 soling her, and striving to avail himself of tlie disposition 
 he saw in her, had so ingratiated himself with Mon- 
 sieur de Sevio;n^ as to be the chosen confidant of his 
 passion for Ninon. But even to Bussy such double- 
 dealing was of no avail. Madame de Sevigne, unable 
 to conceal her grief, and losing her husband, unworthy 
 as he was, could not restrain herself from hinting to 
 liim what she had learned. He w^as not long conjectur- 
 ing who was his wife's informant, and the very next 
 day, at the Cours la Eeine, he reproached Bussy for 
 his indiscretion. Bussy, nothing daunted, felt no 
 
so MADAME BE SEVIGNK [Chap. IX. 
 
 scruple in assuring liim that he had kept his promise 
 of silence, and that Madame de Sevigne had simply 
 guessed the state of affairs. Then, having satisfied 
 himself that he had quieted the suspicions of the Mar- 
 quis de Sevigne, Bussy hastened to write the following 
 letter to his cousin : — 
 
 ' I was not wrong yesterday, madame, when I sus- 
 pected your prudence. You have spoken to your hus- 
 band of what I had told you. You must perceive that 
 it is not on my account that I reproach you thus. The 
 worst that can happen to me is to lose his friendship ; 
 but you have more to fear. I have, however, been 
 fortunate enough to disabuse him ; but he is so per- 
 'suaded that it is impossible to remain " honnete 
 homme " without being always in love, that I despair 
 of you ever being happy if you aspire to be loved by 
 him only. Let not this alarm you, madame ; as I have 
 begun to serve you, I shall not abandon you now. 
 You are aware that jealousy is often more efficient to 
 retain a heart than beauty and merit. I advise you to 
 make your husband jealous, my fair cousin, and for 
 this purpose I offer myself to you. If you bring him 
 back by these means, I have enough affection for 
 you to return to my first part, of being your agent 
 with him, and sacrifice myself again to make you 
 happy. And if you must lose him, love me, my cousin, 
 and I shall aid you to take your revenge by loving 
 you all your life.' 
 
 Bussy intrusted this letter to a page, who, taking it 
 
16.50.] BUSSTS INTERCEPTED LETTER. 87 
 
 at an early Lour, arrived before Madame de Sevigne 
 was awake. Whilst Avaiting to deliver tlie letter, 
 Monsieur de Sevigne appeared, and being informed 
 that the missive was for his wife, he opened it, and 
 after reading it dismissed the page, telling him there 
 was no answer. When the unsuspecting messenger 
 returned, the fury and despair of Bussy knew no 
 bounds. He declares that he felt inclined to kill the 
 page : all his wiles, his patience, his perseverance 
 were about to prove useless. The very same day, as 
 he expected, the i\larqulse de Sevigne wrote to make 
 known to him the commands of her husl^fed, which 
 forbad him her house. She further advised him to 
 have patience, when all would soon blow over. It 
 was shortly after this that Bussy married Mademoiselle 
 de Rouville, and a fortnight later went to Montrond, 
 whence, as we have seen, he wrote to his cousin in the 
 usual terms of gallant familiarity. 
 
 If Monsieur de Sevigne was inconstant and fickle, 
 the lovely Ninon, who was causing so much pain to 
 our marquise, was no less so. ' Three months were 
 for her three centuries,' and he who was for a time 
 envied, found himself very soon forced to relinquish 
 a position he had perhaps acquired only after the en- 
 treaties of years. For a short period only did Mon- 
 sieur de Sevigne have it in his power to boast, as he 
 had done to Bussy. The scandal remained, but Ninon 
 loved another — Eambouillct de la Sabliere took the 
 place of Henri de Sevigne. 
 
88 MADAME DE ^EVIGNK [Chap. IX. 
 
 The one charming woman who had every claim 
 and every right did not profit by this event, wliich 
 perhaps she at first hoped might prove fortunate for 
 lier. In vain was she ready for every sacrifice, and 
 Avlien, after long resistance on her part, the wise comi- 
 sels of the Abbe de Coulanges were acted upon, and 
 Madame de Sevigne's fortune put out of her husband's 
 reach, in the hour of need slie came generously for- 
 ward to help him. Sevigne in requital could only de- 
 clare, that ' for others she might be the most agreeable 
 woman in the world, but that he could not love her/ 
 AVishing to rid himself of even the slight restraint her 
 presence imposed upon him, he took her again to the 
 Eochers, himself hastening to return to Paris, where 
 another intrigue was awaiting him. 
 
 After his separation from Ninon, Sevigne conceived 
 a violent passion for Madaine de Gondran, who for her 
 beauty and gallantry had acquired a certain reputation. 
 She was married to a man whose only merit was his 
 large fortune ; and his wife covered him with ridicule, 
 which his stupidity and coarseness only made the more 
 easy. For Madame de Gondran, Monsieur de Sevigne 
 lavishly expended larger sums of money than he had 
 ever done before ; nothing would satisfy her. The 
 empire she obtained over his weak disposition was so 
 complete, that hearing her express a wish to wear a 
 matchless pair of diamond ear-rings which belonged to 
 ]\[ademoiselle de Chevreuse, Sevigne did not scruple to 
 solicit the loan of them from her, usinir the name of 
 
16,50.] MADAME I)E GOXDBAX. S9 
 
 Mademoiselle de la Vergne. The je^vels were readily 
 lent, and Madame de Gondran tlie same evening boldly 
 exliibited tliem. Sevigne, to repair tins miscliief, and 
 to silence the ireneral astonishment which the si^ht of 
 Mademoiselle de Chevreuse's well-known diamonds in 
 the possession of Madame de Gondran had excited ^ 
 was obliged to entreat Mademoiselle de la Vergne to 
 confirm his false assertion, and assmne the res])onsi- 
 bility of the loan. 
 
 Madame de Gondran, who was by birth and connec- 
 tion simply a hoiirgecnse^ became so infatuated by the 
 attentions of Monsienr de Sevigne, that she did not 
 conceal the disdain she felt for all who were not noble 
 and titled, and was never weary of exalting the merit 
 and wit of ' les gens de la conr.' This insolent be- 
 haviour provoked in many \<\\o had been formerly 
 honoured with ]\Iadame de Gondran's good graces a 
 desire to repay her arrogance. Accordingly the Abbe 
 de Romilly, who had been one of her admirers, forgot 
 himself so far as to speak of her in the most offensive 
 terms, and this in the presence of her husband. The 
 particulars of this strange scene reached Monsieur de 
 Sevigne, and in his fury he proposed to publicly clias- 
 tise Lacger, the person who had spread abroad the 
 words of the Abbe de Romilly. This was avoided 
 only by the precautions Lacger took not to show him- 
 self But the anxiety which a rumour of these events 
 caused Madame de Sevigne in Brittany was only pre- 
 mature ; a few days later and the indiscretions of Ma- 
 
90 MADAME DE SLVIGXK [Chap. IX. 
 
 dame de Gondran were to give rise to the duel in wliicli 
 the Marquis de Sevigiie lost his life. 
 
 Whilst Madame de Gondran was receiving from 
 Monsieiir de Sevigne that homage so flattering to her 
 -pride and vanity, the Chevalier d'Alhret, also young 
 and charming, became enamoured of her and paid 
 her some attentions. They were not, however, well 
 received, and four times in succession did Madame 
 de Gondran refuse him her house. The Chevalier 
 d'Albret knew at whose instiiration this was done, and 
 felt the slight deeply. At this juncture, Lacger, whom 
 the Marquis de Sevigne had promised to treat so 
 severely, and Avho was in hiding, and burning to repay 
 the injury he had received, spread a report that Mon- 
 sieur de Sevigne had been speaking of the Chevalier 
 d'Albret in terms damaging to his honour. The Mar- 
 'quis de Soyecour, a friend of the Chevalier d'Albret, 
 Avas commissioned by the latter to inquire of the Mar- 
 quis de Sevigne if it were true that he had used the 
 words imputed to him. Sevigne denied positively having 
 done so ; adding, moreover, that he was not trying 
 to justify himself, being in the habit of doing that only 
 sword in hand. As both rivals were equally eager to 
 fight, a meeting was arranged, and on Friday, the 4tli 
 of Februar}^, 1G51, at noon, the encounter took place. 
 
 When the two adversaries found themselves face to 
 face, the Marquis de Sevigne repeated his previous 
 assertions, and he and the chevalier then embraced. 
 This, however, did not shake their determination, and 
 
16ol.] DEATH OF HER HUSBAND. 91 
 
 the combat began. After a few seconds Monsieur do 
 Sevi2:ne accident a] Iv fell on the sword of his anta- 
 gonist, receiving a wound which was innnediately de- 
 clared to be fatal. He lingered long enough, however, 
 to be taken to his house, where he expired two days 
 after at the age of thirty-two, having ill spent the few 
 years allotted to him. 
 
9-2 MADAME DE HEVIGNK [Chap. X. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 1651-4. 
 
 Death of Monsieur de Sevigne. — Madame de Scvigne returns to Paris.— 
 Habits of society. — Dispute between the Due de Rohan and the 
 Marc[uis de Tonquedec. — Bussy's/^'ie in the Jardins du Temple.— 
 Madame de Sevigne's admirers : Fouquet ; Turenne ; Conti.— Cor- 
 respondence with Bussy. 
 
 The grief of Madame de Sevigne at the loss of a 
 liiisband whom, in spite of the sorrows he had caused 
 her, she sincerely loved, was great and sincere. She 
 hastened to Paris when the fatal news reached her, 
 Lilt arrived too late to see her husband alive. Except 
 by his wife, and by the unhappy and despicable 
 Monsieur de Gondran, who shed tears at the death of 
 a man he loved but ought to have hated. Monsieur de 
 Sevigne died unregretted, passing out of the world 
 unpitied and unmourned. With some amiable quali- 
 ties — otherwise a woman so gifted as his wife could 
 not have Ijcstowcd on him her afiections — he had 
 those minor faults which most interfere in the pleasant- 
 ness of social Intercourse. 
 
 At the age of twenty-five, by the death of Monsieur 
 de Sevigne, his young wife found herself in the most 
 
1G51.] RETIRES TO THE ROCHERS. 93 
 
 «ad and dangerous position in wliicli a woman can be 
 placed. Madame de Sevigne was beautiful and ami- 
 able ; slie had a loving heart, a happy disposition, and 
 a keen sense of the enjoj^ment of life and of the plea- 
 sures it may at times bestow : all seemed calculate^ 
 to surround her with perils and temptations, and to 
 render well-nigh impossible the accomphshment of the 
 resolution she had taken. We do not doubt that it 
 was during those nine months of solitude and regret 
 which IMadame de Sevigne spent at the Rochers 
 immediately after her bereavement, that she embraced 
 that holy vocation of perpetual widowhood and devoted 
 maternity wdnch, to her glory and honour, she adhered 
 to without variation. 
 
 / It may seem to some that Madame de Sevigne 
 could not really grieve for her husband. We think 
 she grieved, not at what he had been, but at his not 
 being what he might have been. What greater pang, 
 what deeper sorrow can fill the heart of a w^oman in 
 whom duty is sacred, than feeling that her youth, her 
 heart, her affection, are bestowed and lost on one who 
 is unworthy ? How great must have been the regrets 
 of Madame de Sevigne when she felt that, deserving 
 of all respect, she was insulted ; hoping for happiness, 
 she reached it not ! It was in that solemn pause in 
 her lifetime, when free and allowed to look forward 
 agahi, that the greatness of her soul displayed itself. 
 She loved her two children with an affection so perfect 
 and so enlightened, that she w^ould not blind herself to 
 
94 MADAME BE SEVIGNK [Chap. X. 
 
 suppose tliat if slic were once Iiappy tliej might be 
 equally so. Slie understood and foresaw that iu a 
 second marriage, wliicli miglit atone for the first, the 
 children born of a more felicitous union must rob those 
 to whom she had first given life of some share of her 
 lieart and affection. For them she sacrificed her 
 brilliant youth, and giving up hope for self, and accept- 
 ing' as inevitable and ordained for her welfiire the dis- 
 pensations of that Divine Providence to whose influence 
 she submitted, she turned her thoughts to the future, 
 to the happiness, to the rearing of her son, and of that 
 daughter to whom one day she was to write — ' I do 
 not know from what you have preserved me, but if it 
 Averc from fire and water I could not love you more 
 than I do.' Her children were indeed her guardian 
 angels, and for them she acquired, and to them she 
 owed, that virtue which no breath ever sullied, and 
 which no self-satisfaction ever rendered proud. Hers 
 was the simplicity of perfect security ; it was as true 
 courage, which never boasts, but never fears. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne, in the new life which was to 
 begin for her, had recourse for aid and assistance to 
 her kind guardian, the Abbd de Coulanges. He it 
 was who helped to re-establish her fortune, and to 
 restore order where Monsieur de Sevigne had sown 
 confusion. From that time, for the remainder of his 
 life, the * Bien Bon * took in hand the care of the 
 affairs of his niece, and she did not undervalue the 
 obligations she owed him. 
 
16.51.] IlJETimXS TO PARIS. 95 
 
 At tliu end of the year 1G51, Madame de Sevigue 
 returned to Paris, and Loret, the gazetteer, who cele- 
 rbated in verse all the events of note in the polite 
 world, speaks thus of her arrival : — 
 
 ' SevigiiL', veuve jeiine et l^elle, 
 Comme una chaste tomterelle, 
 Ayant d'un ctX'ur tri-^te et niarri 
 Lamente moiisieur son niari, 
 Est de retour de la campagiie, 
 C'est-a-dire de la BretaL,^iie ; 
 Et, malgre ses sombres atours 
 Qui sembleiit ternir ses beaux jours, 
 Vient au'-rmenter dans nus nielles 
 L'aureable nombre des belles.' * 
 
 o 
 
 jMadame de Sdvigne, her mourning over, found her- 
 self once more surrounded by her many friends. If 
 slie had before been sought and courted, her new 
 position only added to the interest she excited, and 
 gave fresh zeal and fresh hopes to those who sighed 
 for her. She resumed her place in the gay and 
 polished circles she frequented. Made:\ioiselle, 
 dauditer of Monsieur, brother of Louis XIII, was 
 then occupying the Tuileries, where she was in the 
 habit of giving the most brilliant entertainments : 
 there JMadame de Sevigne often shone. She was 
 faithful still to the society of the Fronde : she knew 
 
 * Sevigne, a young and beautiful widow, having, like a chaste turtle- 
 dove, with a sad and forlorn heart mourned for her noble husband, has 
 now returned from the country, that is, from Brittany ; and in S23ite of 
 the dark robes, which appear to obscure the brightness of her da}'s, has 
 come to swell in our ruelles the agreeable host of the fair. 
 
<){\ MADAME DE SEVIGXL. [Chap. X. 
 
 mtimately tlie Dacliesse cle Clievreiise and the 
 Ducliesse de Cliatillon (daughter of Montmorency 
 Bouteville, the friend of Rabutin-Chantal), who was 
 now a splendid and proud beauty, the adored divinity 
 of Conde. Madame Renaud de Sevigne, the aunt of 
 our marquise, and the mother of her chosen friend 
 Mademoiselle de la Vergne (soon to become Madame 
 de la Fayette), also gathered at her house a choice 
 company. Another aunt of Madame de Sevigne, the 
 sister of her mother, Henriette de Coulanges, Marquise 
 de la Trousse, was then, as she CA^er remained, a kind 
 and valued friend. IMadame de Sevigne visited too 
 the great Sapho, Mademoiselle de Scudery, whose 
 rueUe was, as that of Madame de Eambouillet, though 
 not on so brilliant and transcendant a scale, the 
 resort of those who had any pretensions to wit and 
 talent. 
 
 At no period did there exist a greater love of 
 pleasure and dissipation than during that to which 
 we now refer. As in 1793, prisoners condemned to 
 die spent their last hours in amusement, so in the 
 previous century, when the state was convulsed, 
 when every day was bringing fresh complications, 
 when intrigues were rife, wdien ambition, vanity, 
 and revenge moved and swayed so many hearts, 
 there , existed a wish to forget all those turbulent 
 scenes in brilliant and enticing pleasures. If in 
 the provinces the misery was great ; if old men, 
 w^omen, and children were dying of hunger by hun- 
 
1651.] PJs'E OF THE Dl'C DE ROHAX. 97 
 
 dreds ; if devastation laid "waste provinces rich and 
 fruitful ; if the drinking-songs of soldiers were heard 
 in the invaded cloisters of the nuns ; if their peaceful 
 abodes were turned into scenes of debauch, in Paris, 
 all w^as smiling: tlie queen, the court, the nobility all 
 united to ignore tlie wues they were causing. 
 
 ]\Iadame de Sevigne, the very year of lirr return \o 
 Paris, found herself, tln-oiigh an incident of which she 
 was the heroine, brouglit before the puljlic, and made 
 the object of creneral conversation. Anion L;-Kt those 
 wdio w^ere at that time endeavouring to obtaiu her 
 favour — Bussv was then in Nivernais, in the exercise 
 of his office as Lieutenant of the King — were the Due 
 de Rohan and the Marquis de Tonquedec, the latter 
 a Breton nobleman. Rohan was that Cliahot wliose 
 good looks, grace as a dancer, and amial)ility, had 
 won the heart of the proudest heiress of France — 
 Mademoiselle de Rohan ; she who had disdain e<l 
 princes, like the Conite de Soissons ; and conquerors, 
 like tlie Due de Weimar. T(j young Chabot, ]\[ade- 
 moiselle de Rohan gave her heart, and soon, in spite 
 of tlie violent opposition of her duchess mother, her 
 hand. The queen, to win the Rohans to the Church, 
 promised to confer on Chabot the name and dukedom 
 of his Ijride, in exchange for a promise to bring up 
 their children in the Catholic faith. This Avas done, 
 and from a simple and rather obscure gentleman, 
 Chabot, now Due de Rohan, became the equal of the 
 greatest in the land. He freipiented assiduously the 
 
 VOL. I. ^ 
 
98 MADAME DE HLVIGNE. [Chap. X. 
 ^ 
 
 house of Madame de S^vigiK^, but being a married 
 man he received from the young marquise only the 
 coquettish welcome she knew not how to refuse to 
 an admirer. 
 
 The Marquis de Tonquedec was also a brilliant 
 cavalier, and attached to the court party. He found 
 himself for that reason in opposition to the Due de 
 Rohan, who was a Frondeur supporting the princes ; 
 but in truth their great rivalry was, their equal and 
 extreme desire to be distinguished by Madame de 
 S^vign^. 
 
 Oqc afternoon, a Tuesday in June, 1652, the Due 
 de Rohan coming to pay a visit to Madame de 
 S^vign^, found the Marquis de Tonquedec sitting in 
 her ruelle^ in the seat of honour — an arm-chair at the 
 head of the bed. On seeing the due he rose and 
 bowed, and then resumed his seat. The visit of the 
 Due de Rohan was short and silent : he hurried away 
 and went to report to his proud cluchesse the affront 
 he considered he had received. She, indignant, urged 
 him to be revenged on the marquis. Accordingly the 
 next day Rohan returned to the house of the Marquise 
 de S^vign^, and complained to her of Tonquedec's 
 conduct. She onlv answered — ^ In truth he was rather 
 proud.' The slight preference these words disclosed 
 exasperated Monsieur de Rohan, and calling again on 
 Madame de S^vign6 with the purpose of meeting 
 Tonquedec, he succeeded in his design, when, for- 
 getful of the respect he owed to the house and the 
 
1G51.] DE ROHAN AND rONQUEDEC. 99 
 
 presence of a lady, he approacliecl his supposed rival 
 with these words: — 'They tell me, monsieur, that 
 you boast of liaving bearded me here. I have come 
 to teach you to pay me the respect that is my due.' 
 ' Monsieur,' answered Tonquedec, ' J shall always pay 
 you more respect than you deserve.' Other words 
 followed, and Tonquedec at last drcAV his sword. 
 j\ladame de S^vi,i;'n6 and her aunt — Madame cle la 
 Trousse — who Avas present, interfered, and succeeded 
 in separating;' the adversaries. Tonqu(5lec at their 
 entreaties quitted the place, but did not long defer 
 calling out the Due de Rohan. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne, alarmed and grieved, sorry to 
 lose the friendship of a great and powerful family, 
 sought to conciliate them and efface by some gentle 
 condescension the memory of a painful scene ; but 
 when Mademoiselle de Chabot (sister of the Due de 
 Rohan) declared to her that the first condition of a 
 reconciliation must be her ceasing to receive Tonque- 
 dec, she refused, and her uncle, Renaud de Sevigne, 
 coming forw^ard as her champion, challenged the Due de 
 Rohan. The watchful care of the duchesse prevented 
 this encounter, as well as that of Rohan and Tonque- 
 dec, and the death of the due hajDpening a short time 
 after, threw into oblivion an event which had been to 
 Madame de Sevigne the source of many painful emo-" 
 tions, and had given to her name a notoriety she could 
 
 but shun. 
 
 In the month of August, 1652, we find Madame de 
 
 II 'J 
 
100 MADAME DE ^RVWNE. [Chap, X. 
 
 Seviii'iie once a^Miii in tlie solitude of the Rocliers, 
 where she writes to Menage a letter full of friend- 
 ship and amial)ility. Mena,i;'e was at that time 
 the preceptor of Mademoiselle de la Vergne, as he 
 had been that of Mademoiselle de Rabutin-Chantal. 
 He professed a great admiration for his younger 
 pupil, and the older one reproaches him in these 
 terms : — 
 
 ' But though she [Mademoiselle de la Vergne] be a 
 thousand times more amiable than me, you have been 
 ashamed of your injustice, and your conscience has 
 been so remorseful that you liave been compelled to 
 divide your affections more equally than you did at 
 first. I j)raiso God for this good sentiment, and I 
 promise you to live in sucli peace with so amiable a 
 rival, tliat you sliall hear no complaint from either. 
 For mvself I am resolved to be all mv life the sincerest 
 friend you possess. You are at liberty to be fretful 
 and capricious, as I am determined by my admirable 
 patience to prove you always the offender. Endeavour 
 tliat I may have no need to do so, and I beg you to 
 continue me your friendship, which you know I hold in 
 so particular esteem.' 
 
 i\[enage was indeed fortunate in having his name 
 thus associated with those of two women so remarkable 
 and distinguished. Is it to be wondered at that for 
 both he professed such strong admiration? He had, 
 in a, work then recently published, thus described 
 Madame de Seviu'iic : — 
 
lt;.];j.] FETE IX THE JJBDJXS I)U TEMPLE. ]01 
 
 ' Des ouvragcs du ciel le jjIus parfait ouvrage, 
 Ornement do la cour, merveille de voire a^e, 
 Aimable SHvigiie, dont lt::s charines puisbuuts 
 Captivent la raison et maitrisent Il-s si^ns ; 
 M:ii.- de qui la veitu, surle \'isage pemte, 
 Inspire aux plus hardis le respect et la crainte." * 
 
 cer- 
 
 Respect, Madame de Sevigne did inspire, but 
 tainly not fear, whicli was most contrary to her smiling 
 and engaging manners. 
 
 When she returned to Paris in the following year 
 Bussy was there, having bravely served his cause, 
 though he had reaped but little glory. He continued to 
 court his cousin, but finding in her the same quiet deter- 
 mination, he left her for a while to carry his homage 
 to Madame de ]\Ionc;dat, who received him less coldlv. 
 But as Bussy could not have too many intrigues on 
 hand at one time, he chose, being on the point of re- 
 turmm;: to the armv, to o-ive a fete to Madame <le 
 Sevigne in the gardens of the Temple, which Avere 
 under the mastership of his uncle, Hugues de Rabutin, 
 gra^nd prieur. This fetp, was in reality intended for 
 Madame de Monglat, but it \xs.^ given in such a way 
 that Bussy, as he purposed no doubt, succeeded in 
 pleasing both ladies. He himself describes the beauty 
 of the entertainment, and we cannot give a better idea 
 of the taste of the time than Ijy translating his ac- 
 count : — 
 
 * Of heaven tlie most perfect work, ornament of tlie court, and wonder 
 of your age, amiable Sevigne, whose cliarms <Tipti\'ate reason and <ivin-- 
 power the senses, but whose virtue, imprinted on her counlenaiicc, 
 inspires respect and fear in the boldest. 
 
J()2 MADAME DE H£}'IGXll [Chav. X. 
 
 ^ First imagine in the gardens of the Temple, with 
 which you are well acquainted, a grove traversed by 
 two walks. At the spot where they meet there was a 
 somewhat large circle of trees, to the branches of 
 which had been attached a hundred glass chandeliers. 
 On one side of this open space was erected a magnifi- 
 cent theatre, the decoration of which was worthy of 
 the illumination it received — the hght from hundreds 
 of candles, which the leaves of the trees prevented 
 from being diffused afar, threw on that spot such a glow 
 that the sun could not have made it brighter. For 
 the same reason also the surrounding space was so 
 dark that eyes were useless. The night was most 
 calm and serene. First the comedy began, which was 
 pronounced agreeable ; then twenty-four violins, hav- 
 ing played some " ritournelles," gave out *' branles," 
 *' courantes," and " petites danses." The company was 
 not so numerous as select : some danced, some looked 
 on, and otliers wandered through walks, where one 
 person could not distinguish another. This lasted 
 till daybreak, and as if Heaven had acted in concert 
 with me, morning dawned just as the candles ceased 
 to give light. This Jrfe succeeded so perfectly, that on 
 all sides I receive<l inquiries as to the particulars, and 
 to this day it is talked of with admiration.^ 
 
 It Avas at this period — 1G53-4 — that Madame de 
 Seviirne found herself most surrounded and courted. 
 The Comte du Lude was still faith f id to her ; the 
 Prince de Gonti, brother of Conde, the once enemy of 
 
icrA] rnrj:TE]) BY F01\>UJ'Jr. lo;^ 
 
 Mazarin, and now united to the cardinal's niece — Anne 
 Martinozzi — -was attracted by the charms of the young 
 widow, and in spite of his recent marriage to a vuiuous 
 and lovable woman, was doing his utmost to be favour- 
 ably noticed by her. This prince was in everything a 
 contradiction : at once a handsome man and a cripple, 
 he had a charming head, full of life and intelligence, 
 with a body deformed ; one day a devotee, allying 
 himself to the Society of Jesus, the next day seeking 
 pleasure under every form. 
 
 It is necessary to read the memoirs of the seven- 
 teenth century to comprehend and value the prestige 
 of princes of the blood, and to understand how 
 leniently the world looked upon their weaknesses. 
 This will render Madame de Sevigne's conduct still 
 more worthy of praise. She was fi-ee, and had she 
 listened to so exalted a lover, it is probable she would 
 have reaped more outward consideration than con- 
 demnation. Even her cousin Bussy, though still in 
 love with her, was too ambitious not to give way to 
 the claims of one by whose means he might obtain 
 favours. But if he dared not be a rival of Armand de 
 Bourbon, it was not so with Fouquet : he also was 
 courting Madame de Sevignd. Fouquet, of whom the 
 greatness and the fall are equal in their magnitude, 
 was then in the plenitude of his power, his prestige, 
 and his riches. Promoted by Mazarin to the Surinten- 
 dance des Finances, the wealth of France was in his 
 hands. He had made for himself an enormous fortune; 
 
li»4 MJT>AME DE ^KVIGXE. [Chap. X. 
 
 Lis prodigality and his generosity knew no bounds. 
 Fouquet Avas one of those powerful and masterly 
 organizations, whose faculties seem to embrace every 
 variety of human capacity and enjoyment. Business, 
 art, pleasure, he could attend to all, and in all excel. 
 So great was the success of Fouquet among women, 
 that thinking of Iiim Boileau was led to exclaim— 
 
 'Jamais Siirintendant ne troiiva de crueUes.' * 
 
 In this case, ho^vever, the exception confirmed the 
 rule, and though he did acquire m Madame de Sevign^ 
 a friend who luved and prized him, and who in the 
 hour of his dis<2.race came forward to declare what she 
 felt in terms ibr Avhich slie deserves eternal praise, 
 she did not repay his passion with the feelings he 
 Avished to inspire. Fouquet's boundless Avealth had 
 so often heljMMl him to triumph Avhere otherwise he 
 might have failed, that one so steadfast, so unassuming, 
 and so disinterested (she one day recalled Avith delight 
 that she never had recourse to his purse), must have 
 surprise*] him, and increased his Avish to make such 
 a conquest. 
 
 Anotlier man accustomed to victories, Turenne, had 
 been smitten by the seductions of the Marquise de 
 tScvigne, and having risked a declaration, found his 
 persistence rewarded ordy l)y the deprix^tion of the 
 society iVum Avhich he derived so much pleasure. 
 Several times did Madame de Sevi^iie denv herself to 
 
 * Never did woman frown on a Surintendant. 
 
1-i.n.] L'r>:xy\s' meax\e,^s. ](»-) 
 
 the great captain, thus jeah^iisly giiardiiig lier reputa- 
 tion in spite of the insinuations and mockeries of such 
 a man as Russv. The foUowino^ is his advice to lier 
 on this suhject — he was then in Catalonia with the 
 Prince de Conti : — 
 
 ' ]\r(,)rit]iellier, June 16^ inr)4. 
 
 ' I have had news of vou, madame. Ha\e \{>u any 
 recollection of the conversation you liad last winter 
 with the I^rince de Conti at JMadame de jNTontausicr's ? 
 fie has told me that he made himself a^Tceable, found 
 you much to his taste, and that he intends to tell you 
 so more stronHy this winter. Be cautious, my dear 
 cousin : such as are not interested are sometimes 
 ambitious ; and she who resists the wealth of the 
 king does not always withstand his cousin. From 
 the manner the prince has spoken to me of his designs, 
 1 see clearly that I am destined to be his confidant. I 
 think you will not be opposed to this, knowing as you 
 do how well I have acquitted myself in tliat character 
 uiidcr other circumstances. For myself, I am delighted 
 with the hope of being his successor ; you un<lerstand 
 mc, my fair cousin. If after all that Fortune wishes 
 to put in your hands, I am not more prosperous, it 
 will be your fault; but you Avill assuredly be careful, 
 for you really must be of some assistance to me. 
 Wljut trouldes me most is, that you may be embar- 
 rassed in your clioice among these rivals, and I fancy 
 I hear you say in; 
 
 
106 MADAME BE ^EVIGNE. [Chap. X. 
 
 '■ Des deux c.utcs j'ui bean coup cle cliagrin ; 
 Dieu, Tetrauge peine ! 
 Dois-je chasser I'ami de moii cousin? 
 Dois-je chasser le cousin de la reine ? * 
 
 ^ Perhaps you will fear to attach yourself to the 
 service of princes, and my example will not encourage 
 you. Perhaps the figure of one will displease you; 
 perhaps the face of the other. Let me hear of the 
 latter, and what progress he has made since my 
 departure. . . . 
 
 ^ Fortune is making you great advances, my dear 
 cousin ; be not ungrateful. You are as much attached 
 to virtue as if it were something solid, and you despise 
 wealth as if you could never need it. . . . We shall 
 see you one day regretting the time you will have lost; 
 we shall see you repent having ill employed your 
 youth, and having striven with so much trouble to 
 acquire and retain a reputation which a calumniator 
 can rob you of, and which depends more upon chance 
 than upon your conduct. 
 
 ' I joined tlie Prince de Conti at Auxerre. He did 
 not pass by Chaseu,! because he learnt that it Avould 
 take him six miles out of his way, so my preparations 
 were useless. I have not left him since, and I am on 
 as good terms with him as it is possible to be. We 
 intend diverting ourselves here for two days with play, 
 drives, and good fare, while the troops assemble to 
 
 * Onlioth sides I am much perplexed. Must I banish the friend of ray 
 cousin (Fouquet) i Must I banish the cousin of the queen (Conti) ? 
 t An estate of Bussy's, situated in Burgundy, near Autun. 
 
1604.] CHAllM'TEU OF EVSy^Y. loV 
 
 enter Catalonia. I answer for it, my fair cousin, that 
 you will hear me spoken of this campaign. 
 
 ' Adieu, my clear cousin ; think sometimes of me, 
 and that you liaA^e no I'olation or friend who loves you 
 
 as I do. I would wish no, I will not saA^ more for 
 
 fear of displeasing you, but you may guess A\'liat I 
 would wis]).' 
 
 Unfortunately the answer Madame de Scvigne re- 
 turned to tliis letter, so unworthy of any man who could 
 pretend to any feelings of honour, so douhly despicable 
 in one who, as a near relation, ought to have been a 
 jealous guardian of her good name, has not been pre- 
 served. What is most de})lorable in Bussy, wliat 
 lowers him more than his counsel and insinuations, is 
 the way in A\diich he appears to ignore their ignominy. 
 In him immorality was as natural as in others is an 
 innate feeling of what is right. Fortunately Ibr 
 Madame de Sevign(\ such a code of conduct as 
 Bussy suggested to her could not tempt her, and 
 when she reached old age, she could look back with 
 tranquil serenity on the days of her youtli, and write 
 to the same Bussy, instead of the regrets he had 
 predicted, words in which she reviews her lile ' as 
 having l,)een tran(|uil and tolerably happy, without 
 lustre or distinctions, but which may probably 
 end in a more Christian way than if it had been 
 more eventful.' But it was her privilege never to 
 waver, and we can surmise in what terms she 
 
108 MADAME DE StlVIGNK [Chap. X. 
 
 Avrote to Bussy by the following ausvver he returned 
 to her letter : — • 
 
 ' Figuieres, July 30, 1654. 
 
 ' ]\Iy God, how witty you are, my dear cousin ! how 
 w^ell you write ! how amiable you are ! It must be 
 owned, that being so prudish as you are, you are 
 under a great obligation to me for not loving you 
 more than I do. In trutli, I take great pains to re- 
 strain myself At times I condemn your insensibility, 
 at others I excuse it; but I esteem you always: I 
 have so many reasons not to displease you on this 
 occasion, and so many also to disobey you. What! 
 you flatter me, my dear cousin ; you tell me soft 
 tilings, and you will not let me have the least fondness 
 for you. AA^ell, I will not ; one must agree to what 
 you wish, and love you according to your own fashion ; 
 but you will have to answer one day before God for 
 the violence I do myself, and for the evils which will 
 follow.^ 
 
 A short time after this, being still in Catalonia, 
 Bussy writes again to his cousin, and though her 
 letters to him have not been preserved, he himself 
 gives a faithful account of their purport : — 
 
 ' All camp de Vei'ii;<is, Aug. 17, 1654. 
 
 ' You tell me so often, my dear cousin, that you 
 Avould regret me greatly w^ere I dead, and I think it so 
 enviable to be regretted by you, that I would wish to 
 
16oi.] iTXS'P.s' FAITH IX HIS CifHSIX. loO 
 
 be m tliat state were it not for c<'rtaiii trifilnir reasons 
 
 o 
 
 Avliich hin<ler me. ^.loreover, liaYinii- never found you 
 guilty of falseliood, I prefer to trust your word on this 
 oeeasion rather than test it. Iksides, there is every 
 appearanee that a i^erson vho has teai's in her e}'es 
 when speaking of tlie loss of one of her friends, wouh.l 
 mourn mueli over liini i[' lie were reallv dead. I believe 
 then, my dear eousin, that you love me, and I assure 
 yo\i that I am in regard to you as you are in regard to 
 me; that is, satisfied to the extreme with you and. 
 your friendship. . . . 
 
 * It is true, madarne, that you are strangely indignant 
 Avith eocjuettes. I know not whether you will entertain 
 the same feelings until you are fifty ; but at all hazards 
 I shall keep in exereise some fine sentiments of love to 
 use with you should vou take a liking for them. Till 
 tlien I shall only profess the most sincere friendship, 
 as vou do not wish for anything else. 
 
 ' I am glad that you are satisfied with the surin- 
 tendant [Fouquet] : it is a proof that he is more 
 reasonable, and does not take things so much to heart 
 as he did. When you do not agree to what one wishes, 
 madame, one must wish what you will agree to, and 
 consider himself happy in remaining your friend. There 
 is only you in the whole kingdom who can prevail on 
 a lover to be contented with friendship. AVe see none 
 who from being disdained do not become enemies, and 
 I am persuaded that a woman must be gifted with 
 extraordinary merit to be able to act in such a way 
 
no MADAME DE I^EVIGNE. [Chap. X. 
 
 tliat the vexation of a rejected lover does not prompt 
 him to quarrel with her/ 
 
 Not only did Madame de S^vigne accomplish v^hat 
 Bussy deemed so difficult a task, but somewhat alarmed 
 at the persistent declarations of her cousin, she warned 
 him that all his letters were read by her aunt, the 
 Marquise de la Trousse. On this account every ap- 
 pearance of tenderness in his correspondence vanished, 
 but as Bussy in that very letter exclaimed, ahuding to 
 tlie jealous affection of the Abbe de Coulanges and of 
 his brother. Monsieur de St.-Aubin, for their niece — 
 ' You are a hundred times more jealous of yourself 
 than they can ever be.' 
 
 The real protectors of Madame de Sevigne were in 
 truth, not her kind uncles, but the two young children 
 to whom she had devoted her life, and whose hifluence, 
 like that of a summer morning, is felt, but not seen. 
 
1652.] IVAR OF THE FRoXDE. "\, 111 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 1652. 
 
 Conde raises an amiy against tlie king. — He is met by Turenne near 
 Paris.- — The gates of the city open to Conde. — He cjuits Paris. — Entry 
 of the king. — Imprisonment <)£ Retz. 
 
 We cannot proceed further without briefly caUing 
 attention to the great events which had happened 
 during the short period we have been exckisively 
 occupied with Madame de Sevigne. It is true that 
 she took no active part in them, but an acquaintance 
 with what was going on is essential to the under- 
 standing of her hfe and letters ; her allusions to 
 passing occurrences are so frequent, and their conse- 
 quences were so great, that a clear apprehension of 
 them is indispensable. 
 
 AVe have seen Conde and Retz disputing even in 
 the parliament. After those violent scenes the pres- 
 tige of Conde every day declined. Irritable and 
 ambitious, he listened to the instigations of his tur- 
 bulent sister, who feared peace, and wished to con- 
 tinue her adventurous life, in order that La Roche- 
 foucauld mi'dit follow her and Monsieur de Longue- 
 
^ 
 
 112 MADAME DE Si2riGN±:. [Chap. XI. 
 
 ville be forgotten. Listening to ber, ber two brothers 
 followed ber into Guienne, wbere tbey displayed their 
 rebellious flag, con /en r Isahelle. Mazarin from his 
 exile was governing France, and profiting by every 
 mistake of bis enemies ; the queen, anxious and eager 
 for the return of ber minister, seized this opportunity 
 to call bim bark. Indifferent to the h>ud and violent 
 opposition, be returned triumphant, though proscribed, 
 surrounded by a host, and more than ever the master 
 of France. The queen, with the young king, the fair 
 youth whose presence and name gave her all her 
 greatness, collected an army to oppose that which 
 Conde was raising. He, forgetful of his Bourbon 
 blood, forgetful even of the country to which he 
 belonged, w^as treating w^ith the stranger — with the 
 bated Spaniard, and even with tlie Lord Protector of 
 England. But in spite of subsidies, in spite of the 
 genius which had been victorious so often, Conde 
 found himself in this unholy campaign defeated or 
 thwarted. One powerful auxiliary he had in Made- 
 moiselle, who, famishing for glory and renown, hoping 
 to be queen, and thinking to obtain for herself the 
 throne of ber boy cousin by bis defeat, madly and 
 gallantly closed against bim the gates of Orleans, thus 
 for ever associating herself in bis mind with humilia- 
 tion and defeat. And so Condd could approach Paris, 
 Paris which was closing its gates equally to king and 
 rebel. Turenne meanwhile was pursuing him hotly, and 
 soon one great captain was face to face ^^'ith the other. 
 
1652.] CONDK AT THE GATES OF PARIS. 113 
 
 Near St. -Cloud Conde found himself closely pressed. 
 The fight began on the 1st of July, 1652 : on both 
 sides hatred and revenge called the combatants to the 
 carnage. Tlie Marquis de St.-Megrin had sworn to 
 kill Conde with his own hand, but he himself perished 
 in the deadly enterprise. But if St.-Megrin failed, it 
 .seemed to be fated that Cond6 should succumb that 
 day. To Turenne was joined La Fert^, and their 
 heavy artillery caused severe loss to the followers of 
 the hero. 
 
 From Paris on one side, by the townsfolk, from 
 Charenton on the other, by the queen and court, could 
 be witnessed the fearful struggle. Already Conde was 
 calling at every gate of Paris that they might be 
 opened to permit a retreat to his bleeding soldiers. 
 All remained closed. Then Mademoiselle, in tears, 
 and followed by other great ladies animated by one 
 interest, went in j)erson to beg for the order which 
 was to save Conde. At last she succeeded in obtain- 
 ing it, and bravely from the Hotel de Ville she passed 
 through the Faubourg St.-Antoine, beyond the Bas- 
 tille, to find Conde, torn, covered with dust and gore, 
 sheddhig tears, yea shedding tears over the loss of so 
 many valiant companions, and yet refusing to retreat. 
 Was he to be abandoned ? One thing alone could save 
 him ; it was, that the cannon of the Bastille should 
 open fire. The order was given ! Conde received the 
 news with transports of joy; it was his salvation. 
 The king and Mazarin, who made so sure of victory, 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
114 MADAME DIE Si:VIGN2. ' [Chap. XI. 
 
 were awed by this demonstration, which proved to 
 them that Paris was not theirs, as they had beheved. 
 The cardinal was beside himself. 
 
 The advantage was not pursued, and pell-mell the 
 army of Conde, his wounded, baggage, and straggling 
 combatants, entered through the Porte St.-Antoine. 
 Cond^ and his foreign soldiers were dreaded, but they 
 were to- be preferred to the hated Mazarin. It was 
 then that Monsieur le Prince associated his name with 
 ignominy which time will never efface : the massacre 
 at the Hotel de Ville, on the 4th of Jul}^, that useless 
 and cruel act, separated him for ever, not only from 
 the old Fronde which he w^as sacrificing, but from the 
 hearts of the Parisians. In face of general reproba- 
 tion and hatred, he left Paris rather than submit to 
 the king, and with the Due de Lorraine quitted the 
 city he had so wantonly filled with mourners, retiring 
 to the Low Countries, thence to strive to continue 
 the struggle. 
 
 So once again, and for ever, Mazarin, Anne, and 
 Louis were the masters. It was then, at fourteen 
 years of age, that the young Phoebus, in his golden 
 locks and with his kingly prestige, rode on his white 
 palfrey alone, and in advance of all, through tlie 
 streets of his capital. It was then, for the first time, 
 that he asserted his mastery, and took into his hands 
 the reins of government, to relinquish them only with 
 death. It was then also that began for Mazarin those 
 last years of unquestioned power, and with these two 
 
1652.] ENTRY OF THE KING. 115 
 
 -assumptions closed for France tliat period of dire 
 suffering, peril, independence, and pleasurable danger 
 wliicli had made women as brave as men, and men as 
 brave as heroes. It was then that manhood was for- 
 -saken, dignity forgotten, pride dissembled, and the 
 robe of the courtier was worn by a whole nation. As 
 the young king rode through the streets, his prancing 
 steed was trampling under his hoofs the old liberties, 
 the proud spirit of feudal ages. The rugged ground 
 was left behind, and a smooth and slippery surface 
 .spread itself before the heir of the Bourbons, so smooth 
 and so slippery that a century later Louis Capet was 
 io lay his head under the knife of the guillotine. The 
 stumbling-blocks of royalty had been removed, but in 
 removing them the strong foundations of the edifice 
 had been shaken, and, left without pillars, it was one 
 day to fall and bury thousands under its ruins. 
 
 It was over with the Fronde. Mazarin, who had 
 wisely retreated for a time, by his absence allowed 
 the queen to flatter and entrap Retz, and have him 
 afterwards arrested and taken to Vincennes (Dec. 18, 
 1652), as Condd had been before him. All his ene- 
 mies gone, the cardinal a second time came back from 
 his exile to enjoy for eight years the riches of France 
 and the power of its king. 
 
 All the actors in the great drama were now dis- 
 persed and altered — Madame de Longueville in 
 Guienne, sad, mortified, hated by La Rochefoucauld 
 for having loved Nemours, and mourning for the same 
 
 I 2 
 
116 ^ MADAME DE B'KVIGNA [Chap. XI 
 
 Nemours, killed in a duel by his own brother-in-law. 
 The beautiful and proud princesse was then beginning 
 to taste the bitterness of adversity and the sweets 
 of repentance ; Madame de Chevreuse, the Princess 
 Palatine, and the great Frondeuses had submitted their 
 allegiance to the queen ; Monsieur was exiled to 
 Blois, and Mademoiselle to St.-Fargeau ; Conti was 
 soliciting his pardon, and his marriage to a niece of 
 Mazarin was being negotiated. The triumphant suc- 
 cess of the court brought disgrace and punishment on 
 inany friends of Madame de Sevign^, and no doubt 
 she keenly shared the sufferings of Retz. Still she 
 must have rejoiced at the termination of a war which 
 had armed brother against brother. 
 
1654.] ESCAPE OF RETZ. 117 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 1654^5. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne at the Rochers. — Escape of Cardinal de Retz from 
 prison. — Madame de Sevign6 returns to Paris. — Pleasures of the 
 capital. — Fair at St.-Germain. — Madame de S6vign6 visits Made- 
 moiselle in exile. — Bussy leaves Paris without seeing his cousin. — 
 Letters to and from Bussy. — His eulogium of Madame de Sevigne. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne, leaving the noisy capital, 
 spent the summer of 1654 at the Rochers, and thence 
 wrote to Menao'e, v^ho had sent her a letter from the 
 Cardinal de Retz, which she was to transmit to the 
 Marechal de la Meilleraye at Nantes, from whose 
 custody the cardinal had effected his escape. 
 
 Retz, a prisoner at Vincennes, had hoped to obtain 
 his liberty by giving up to the king his pastoral staff,'' 
 thus throwing away his greatest safeguard. The only 
 recompense he received for this voluntary renuncia- 
 tion was to exchange Vincennes for the Chateau of 
 Nantes, where he found himself strictly, though 
 leniently, guarded by the Marechal de la Meilleraye. 
 In spite of this surveillance, Retz, aided by the Cheva- 
 
 * Eetz had succeeded his uncle, Henri de Gondi, as Archbishop of 
 Paris, 
 
118 MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. XII.. 
 
 lier Renaucl de Sevigne and the Due de Brissac, con- 
 trived to escape from liis prison. Whilst flying, at the 
 full speed of tlie horse procured for him, he fell and 
 dislocated his shoulder. Fainting with pain he 
 mounted again ; but soon after, when on the point of 
 being overtaken by the soldiers pursuing him, he hid 
 under a haystack, and remained there seven hours — 
 seven hours of bodily anguish and mental anxiety [ 
 At last he reached a friendly shelter, whence he em- 
 barked for Spain. There he re-embarked, and after 
 being shipwrecked, and surmounting many perils, he 
 arrived at Rome, no more a fugitive, but a prince of 
 the Church, to take part in the conclave which was to 
 elect a new pope. 
 
 The cardinal, who had given his word to the Mare- 
 chal de la Meilleraye not to escape, was eager to justify 
 his conduct : he wrote to him therefore, striving to- 
 palliate his act, and Madame de Sevigne was intrusted 
 with the letter to forward to its destination. She had 
 no doubt that it would have ' a very great effect,' and 
 she thanked Menage for having so promptly fulfilled 
 his trust. She ends her letter by declaring coquettishly 
 that she is still the same as when she wrote him a. 
 letter he thought worth ten thousand ^cus. Madame 
 de Sevigne had not forgotten a compliment paid by 
 Manage in earlier days to Mademoiselle de Chantal. 
 
 During the year 1655, Madame de Sevigne did not 
 leave the capital, which was then replete with pleasures 
 of every description. The return of the court and the 
 
1655.] FOIRE DE 8T.-GERMAIN. 119 
 
 settlement of affairs had given a new and strong im- 
 pulse to pleasure and trade : tlie youthful king was 
 setting the example, by seeking and creating occa- 
 sions for elegant and refined amusements. Ballets and 
 spectacles were numerous and magnificent, the king 
 himself not disdaining to take a personal share in the 
 pastimes ; and in the ballets, where a bevy of young 
 and noble beauties vied with each other in grace, he 
 was to be seen in their midst. 
 
 ^ Le roi, notre monarque iUustre, 
 Dont le glorieux et beau lustre 
 Ne peut d'aucun etre teiTii, 
 Menait I'infante Mancini, 
 Des plus sages et gracieuses, 
 Et la perle des Pr^cieuses.' * 
 
 exclaims Loret in his Gazette. Paris, he says, was 
 mad with jo}^, and he is at a loss how to describe 
 the brilliancy and number of the^^^e^. 
 
 One of the favourite pleasure resorts was the Foire 
 de St. -Germain. It differed so essentially from all we 
 know or see, that it will not be uninteresting here to 
 make some acquaintance with the tastes of the seven- 
 teenth centur}^ 
 
 A vast bazaar existed at St. -Germain, in which every 
 kind of richness and rarity was gathered, with lotteries, 
 gaming-tables, and every temptation which ingenuity 
 could invent. For two months in the year the con- 
 
 / The king, our illustrious monarcli, whose glory and splendour no 
 one can tarnish, led the charming Mancini, one of the most modest and 
 graceful, and the pearl of the Precieuses. 
 
120 MADAME BE SEVIGN:^. [Chap. XII. 
 
 course here was immense ; the common herd went 
 during the day, the nobles after nightfall. Wearing a 
 mask, their servants in gray liveries, their carriages- 
 without arms, men and women of the first quality 
 gave themselves up to dissipation. They walked in 
 the midst of dazzling illuminations, through streets 
 each of which was reserved to a specialty gathered to 
 attract and arrest — jewels, gorgeous stuffs, mirrors, 
 pictures — while at the lotteries and gaming-tables- 
 enormous sums were staked and lost. 
 
 So appreciated was the Foire de St.-Germain, so 
 favourite a resort was it, that' Mademoiselle, when 
 in exile at St.-Fargeau, owned that she regretted it 
 beyond everything else. To the love of pleasure was 
 joined in that shining society the love of intrigue, and 
 under the mask and the incognito both could be in- 
 dulged, and indulged with impunity. 
 
 Mademoiselle, who during the year 1655 was in 
 exile and experiencing the ingratitude of many and 
 the steadfastness of a few, remarks in her memoirs on 
 the gift she at that time possessed of making people 
 ill. But all were not ahke, and Madame de S^vignd 
 faithful in adversity, fearful of no disgrace, as she was 
 seeking no favour, was one of the small number who 
 went to pay Mademoiselle their court, and her name 
 is gratefully and honourably mentioned, as it ever was 
 and ever deserved to be. ^ 
 
 It is not surprising to see Bussy at this time more 
 than ever engaged in his amorous adventures. To 
 
1655.] BUSSY AT LANDllECY. 121 
 
 his passion for Madame de Moiiglat, he had now added 
 another, the object this time being the Marquise de 
 Gourville, one of the h\dies of the small court of the 
 illustrious Charlotte de Montmorency, Princesse de 
 Conde. This gay and unprincipled woman appears to 
 have treated Bussy with a severity no greater than 
 that of Madame de Monglat. Divided between these 
 rival beauties, Bussy, on the eve of his departure for 
 the campaign in Flanders, found no time to wish his 
 cousin good-bye, and from the camp at Landrecy he 
 wrote to excuse himself and ask a forgiveness readily 
 granted. Not, however, receiving immediately an 
 answer from Madame de Sevigne, he writes a second 
 time, begging to know why she does not reply, and 
 telling her that the day before his departure 'had been 
 employed in making protestations to love eternally/ 
 He goes on to describe, with more vivacity and truth 
 than reserve, his last interview with Madame de Mon- 
 glat, and finds an expression at once charming and true, 
 that ' Love is a true recommenceur.' After his picture 
 of love and sorrow at an approaching separation, he 
 ' adds — ' I suppose that the history of the surintendant 
 is neither so gay nor so sad ; but whatever it may be^ 
 I beg you to tell me/ 
 
 'I did not doubt that sooner or later yoa would 
 wish me good-bye, and if it was not at my house, it 
 would be from the camp before Landrecy,' writes 
 Madame de Sevign6, replying to the first letter of 
 her cousin, and indulgently putting aside his feeble 
 
122 MADAME DE SEVIGNR [Chap. XII. 
 
 excuse, showing how unnecessary it was. ' I am very 
 indulgent of liberty to everyone/ says she, and with 
 calmness and friendship, testifying to her cousin the 
 nature of her affection, which no petty jealousy could 
 obscure, no unworthy preference increase, she goes 
 on to say — * To speak truly, I am not much afflicted 
 by knowing that you are with the army. I should be 
 an unworthy cousin of so brave a cousin if I regretted 
 seeing you taking your part in this campaign at the 
 head of the finest corps in France, and in the glorious 
 post you occupy. I think you w^ould disowm senti- 
 ments less noble than these : I leave weaker and 
 tenderer feelings to others — every lover in his own 
 fashion. For myself, I profess to be brave as well as 
 you ; these are the sentiments I wish to display. It 
 might be possible to find ladies who would think them 
 rather Roman, 
 
 ' Et rendraient gi^eice aux cTieux de n'etre pas Eomaines, 
 Pour conserver encor qiielque chose d'liumaiu. 
 
 ' But upon this I can answ^er them, that I am not 
 quite inliuman, and that with all my bravery I do not 
 fail to wash as ardently as they that your return may 
 be prosperous.' 
 
 The brave marquise, the true well-wisher of Bussy, 
 did not have lono; to w^ait before the rumour of his 
 exploits reached her ears. He had greatly distin- 
 
 * And who AvoiUd thank the gods that they are not Romans, but 
 retain something human. 
 
1656. J COMPLIMENTS REE C0VI<1K. 123 
 
 guishecl liimself, and Madame de Sevigne, in lier 
 extreme satisfaction at tlils new accession of glory to 
 the name of Rabutin, writes with feigned indigna- 
 tion — 
 
 ' Paris, July 14, 1655. 
 
 * Are yon determined for ever to put your relations 
 to shame? Will you never ^veary of being talked 
 of at every campaign ? Do you imagine that we are 
 pleased to hear that Monsieur de Turenne informs the 
 court that you have done nothing worth mentioning" 
 at Landrecy ? In truth it is with great grief we learn 
 such things, and you will easily conceive how I interest 
 myself in the affronts you offer to our house.' 
 
 With delighted pride Madame de Sevigne continues 
 to congratulate her cousin, and only puts in inciden- 
 tally, that she had seen Madame de Monglat and 
 Madame de Gourville the day before, and had heard 
 from them that they had received letters from him. 
 Instead of resenting the apparent neglect, she contents 
 herself by hoping that she may soon have a ' voiture a 
 part,' thus playing on the word and paying to Bussy 
 the then great compliment of comparing his style to 
 that of Voiture. 
 
 To Bussy 's curious inquiries as to the progress made 
 by the surintendant, and his solicitations for her confi- 
 dence in return for his, she answers— 
 
 ' Though nothing can be more gallant than what 
 you tell me of your affairs, I do not feel tempted to 
 make you my confidant in regard to what takes place 
 
124 MADAME BE 8EVIGNE. [Chap. XIL 
 
 between tlie surintendant and me, and I should despair 
 of being able to inform you of anything approaching 
 what you have written. I continually take the same 
 precautions and have the same fears, which very 
 seriously impede the progress he would wish to make. 
 I believe he will at last tire himself with, always use- 
 lessly beginning the same thing.' 
 
 Bussy, in spite of his contrary declarations, could 
 not help admiring and respecting one whose conduct 
 Avas so dignified and virtuous, one who disclaimed sa 
 seriously and modestly, without blaming others, and 
 without pride of self, the suspicion of what would in 
 those days have been a sort of pride to many. 
 Fouquet was one whose homage and love were not 
 only hardly ever coldly received, but who was sought 
 and courted by the proudest. His wealth, his libera- 
 lity in dispensing it — and never more so than when 
 his heart was taken — had given him a power which 
 that of the king alone could balance. The resistance- 
 of Madame de Sevigne must therefore not only be 
 looked on as that of a virtuous woman, but as the 
 silent protestation of a pure mind against the weak- 
 nesses of a whole community ; but her own phrase, sO' 
 often repeated, that ' the world is not long unjust,' was 
 3ven then true in her case, for her cynical and profli- 
 gate cousin cannot refrain from praising her in the 
 Following terms : — 
 
 * I must tell you, madame, that I do not beheve there 
 exists in the world a person so generally esteemed 
 
165o.] EULOGIZED BY BUSSY. 125 
 
 a,s you are. You are tlie deliglit of humanity. Pagans 
 •would have erected altars to you, and you would as- 
 suredly have been a goddess of something. In our 
 days, when we are less prodigal of incense, and above 
 all less sensible of livino; merit, we content ourselves 
 by saying that there exists not a woman of your age 
 more virtuous or more amiable. I know princes of the 
 blood, foreign princes, great noblemen who are well- 
 nigh princes, great captains, gentlemen, ministers of 
 state, magistrates, and philosophers, who would be 
 your humble servants would 3^ou allow them. Can 
 you desire more ? Unless you sigh for the liberty of 
 the cloister you cannot go further.' 
 
 Such praise from such a man was indeed gratifying 
 to receive, and there is no doubt that Madame de 
 S^vign^ did enjoy a reputation at once rare and 
 undisputed. During these, the more brilliant and 
 difficult years of her career, she Avas put before the 
 world by the able hand of Mademoiselle de Scud^ry 
 as the Princesse Clarinte, one of the most graceful 
 portraits in ' C161ie.' 
 
12G MADAME DE S.^VIGNA [Chap. XIII. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ]\Iadame de Sevigne's tlioughts on youth. — Her intimacy with Made- 
 moiselle. — Beauty and intelligence of Madame de Sevigne's chil- 
 dren. — Their education. — Description of Madame de Sevign6 hy 
 Mademoiselle de Scudery. — Madame de Sevigne an admirer of La 
 Fontaine. 
 
 Madame de Sbvign]^ at the age of thirty had 
 ah'eady begun to look upon her youtli as a thing of 
 the past. Menage had sent to her at the Rochers, 
 where she was spending the summer, some verses 
 written in her praise. She wrote to thank him for 
 them, and says — ' Your verses have reminded me of 
 my youth, and I am curious to know wliy the remem- 
 brance of the loss of so irrecoverable a gift causes no 
 sadness. Instead of the pleasure I experienced, it 
 appears to me that I ought to have cried ; but without 
 examining whence comes this feeling, I will think only 
 of my gratitude to you.' 
 
 Madame de Sevign^ alone was to regard her youth 
 as passed ; never was she more sought after, more 
 courted, more admired. During the year 1656, 
 Queen Christine of Sweden, the daughter of the heroic 
 
1656.] CHRISTINE OF SWEDEN. 127 
 
 Gustavus Aclolplms, had come to Paris, and having 
 seen the Marquise de Sevigne, she expressed in ^Yarm 
 terms how charming and clever she thought her. By 
 a remarkable coincidence, Ninon de Lenclos shared 
 with Madame de Sevigne the preference of the 
 northern queen, who was then an object of curiosity 
 and interest to all. To see a woman of tAventy-eight, 
 born to a throne, renouncing it voluntarily, and that 
 when endowed with energy, perseverance, and no 
 common intelligence, was indeed enough to excite 
 astonishment. 
 
 Madame de Sevign^, in her country retreat, re- 
 ceived from all sides accounts of the splendid recep- 
 tions given to this queen, and writing to Made- 
 moiselle, she expresses a wish to hear the opinion 
 that princesse entertained of the queen she had just 
 visited. This letter contains a plaj^ful description, partly 
 in verse, of the society of the province and of their 
 amusements. It is worded in a tone at once deferen- 
 tial and familiar, clearly indicating how far Madame 
 de Sevigne was admitted to the intimacy of Made- 
 moiselle, and fully prepares us for the sentiments 
 which on an after event happening to that princesse 
 she was to express. 
 
 The children of Madame de S^vign^ had now 
 attained an age when their education must have 
 been the object of her greatest care. From letters 
 written at a later period there is no doubt that 
 Mademoiselle de Sevigne went for some time to the 
 
12s MADAME DE ^BVIGNK [Chap. XIII. 
 
 ^ *onvent of tlie A'isitation at Nantes; but her real 
 L;"ui(le was Iier mother, ^vho bestowed on her, and on 
 Charles de Sevigne, an education at once solid and 
 lu'illiant. Both minds were capable of receiving it : 
 ^^lademoiselle de Sevigne had a taste for abstruse 
 nliilosopliy, and wu shall see more of the admiration 
 ')[' Madame de Grignan for the writings of the great 
 neseartes. The mutual and constant affection of the 
 ]»rother and sister shows they wore brought up to- 
 gether: they formed with their young and beautiful 
 mother an amiable and charming trio, one which tlie 
 Abbe Arnauld, wlio saw them in 1057 at the house of 
 the Chevalier Renaud de Sevii-'ne, deserllies in enthusi- 
 astic terms. 
 
 After pa3ing homage to ]\Iadame de Sevign^'s 
 merits, remarking that her name alone speaks her 
 praise, and that she was prized liy all who knew 
 how to prize Adrtue and agreeableness, he goes on to 
 say — ' I can fancy that I see her still, such as she 
 a})peared to me the lirst time I had the honour of 
 beholding her. She arrived in an open chariot with 
 lier son and daughter, all three such as poets paint 
 Lato]ie surrounded b}^ the young Apodo and the child 
 Diana, so great was tlie l)eauty of the mother and 
 children.' 
 
 IMadame de Sovigne herself records the impression 
 lier lovely children made on Pomponne, the brother of 
 the Abbe Arnauld, when she writes to Madame de 
 frrignan : — 
 
16o7.] HER PORTRAIT IX ' CLELJE: 120 
 
 ' Monsieur cle Pompoune remembers a day when he 
 saw you, a httle gkl, at my uncle S(jvign6's. You 
 were behind a window with your brother. IMore 
 beautiful, says he, than an angel, you were pretend- 
 ing to be a princess banished from the house of her 
 father. Your brother was equal to you in beauty. 
 You were nine years old. He reminded me of that 
 day, and has never forgotten any of the occasions he 
 has had of seeing you. ' 
 
 If the reputation of the Marquise de Sevigne as a 
 writer and thinker has been acknowledged only by 
 posterity, it is pleasing to her admirers to know that 
 gifts so rare, and a genius so lofty, were recognized 
 though they were not celebrated. Madame de Sevigne 
 obtained from her contemporaries that respect and 
 appreciation which was unconsciously experienced by 
 all who approached her. Superiority, however modest, 
 may assume a garb whose radiation illumines the sur- 
 rounding atmosphere, imparting a light and glow, the 
 influence of which comes home even to the most 
 
 ignorant. 
 
 'The Princesse Clarinte [Madame de S(^vigne],' 
 writes Mademoiselle de Scudery, 'has blue eyes full 
 of fire : she dances admirably, and charms both the 
 eyes and the heart. Her voice is soft and harmonious, 
 and she sings with much expression. She reads a 
 great deal, though she does not pretend to knowledge. 
 She has learnt the African [Italian] tongue, and sings 
 certain little African songs which please her more than 
 
 YOL. I. 
 
 K 
 
130 MADAME DE Si^VIGNE. [Chap. XIII. 
 
 those of lier own country, because tliey are more full 
 of passion. She loves praise, . . . and has so much 
 judgment, that without being severe, retiring, or soh- 
 tary, she has found the means to obtain the most 
 glorious reputation, and to keep it at a great court 
 where she sees the flower of the land, and where she 
 herself incites love in all who are capable of experi- 
 encing it. This same playfulness, which becomes her 
 so well, and which by diverting her diverts others also, 
 enables her to retain as her friends many who would 
 rather pass for her lovers. Her mode of conduct is 
 such that calumny has always respected her virtue, 
 and has never caused her to be suspected of the 
 slightest gallantry, though none be more "galante" 
 than her. Therefore she remarks, laughingly, that she 
 has never been enamoured but of her own glory, and 
 that she loves jealously. When needful she can do 
 Avithout the world and the court, and amuses herself in 
 the country with as much tranquillity as if she were 
 born in the woods ; and in truth she returns thence as 
 beautiful and as gay as if she had never quitted Erico 
 [Paris]. She wins the hearts of women as well as 
 those of men, and has surmounted envy and ill-nature. 
 She writes as she speaks, that is, most politely and 
 agreealdy. I have never beheld together so many 
 attractions, so much good humour, so much politeness, 
 so much innocence and virtue, and no other person has 
 e\ er accomplished so well the blending of grace with- 
 out affectation, pleasantry without malice, cheerfulness 
 
1657.] APPJRECIATION OF HER C4ENIUS. i:U 
 
 without folly, propriety without coldness, and virtue 
 without severity/ 
 
 Such is the testimony bestowed on Madame de 
 S6vign6 by another of her distinguished contempo- 
 raries. Her epistolary genius, which when in its full 
 flow was to be appreciated to a small degree by her 
 generation, was, it seems, nearly guessed at by Made- 
 moiselle de Scud^ry. No doubt she had more than 
 once an opportunity of judging of the productions of 
 that quick and eloquent pen, which, however, was to 
 develop perfectly only when called upon to express in 
 words the feelings of her heart. Charming as are 
 some of Madame de S^vigne's letters to Bussy, replete 
 with wit, thought, and repartee, yet they are markedly 
 below those she penned to Madame de Grignan. It 
 is when writing to her daughter that Madame de 
 S^vign^ reaches the most elevated eloquence and finds 
 the truest words, the most vivid images to describe 
 either joy or sadness. This portrait by Mademoiselle 
 de Scudery must strike those who are familiar with 
 the genius of Madame de S4vign4 by its remarkable 
 exactness. She dwells upon those qualities which are 
 most manifest and shining in Madame de S^vign^'s 
 unintentional autobiography. In her character the 
 most opposite qualities were united, as in the extreme 
 north, where day and night are blended without 
 beino' confounded, and where at the same moment 
 may be seen in the heavens the glorious sun and 
 the pale moon ; so in Madame de S^vign^ W( ri' 
 
 K 2 
 
132 MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. XITI. 
 
 joined what in others seems incompatible and irre- 
 concila1)le. 
 
 No events of any importance signalized this period 
 in the career of onr marquise. Her cousin Bussy, stiU 
 with the army, continued his correspondence with her, 
 expressing the friendship to which he was soon to give 
 a loud disclaimer by his treacherous conduct towards 
 one whom in his better moments he acknowledged 
 emphatically and knew to be w^orthy of every respect 
 and admiration. 
 
 The fcfcs and pastimes were still continued. 
 Fouquet, then in the height of his power, gave 
 brilliant and costly entertainments at his princely 
 residence at Vaux, where under his patronage wiiters 
 and artists carried on their avocations. It was his 
 pow^erful approbation which brought before the public 
 one who was afterwards to become so deservedly 
 famous. La Fontaine, whose genius in its perfect and 
 harmonious simplicity has some resemblance to that 
 of Madame de Sevign^, was then beginning to attract 
 attention. Madame de S^vign^ had been one of those 
 called together by the surintendant to hsten to the 
 poet's verses, and she had felt at the hearing of them 
 the pleasure and admiration which her good taste 
 could not fail to call forth. La Fontaine prided himself 
 upon her approval, and in addressing some verses to 
 her he says, that were he consulted her name would 
 be written in heaven : meaning, in a Pagan sense, that 
 she was worthy of being placed as a divinity. 
 
1658.] CHARACTER OF BUSST. 133 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 1658-60. 
 
 Bussy in difficulties. — His quarrel with Madame de Sevign^. — Marriage 
 of Louis XIV. — Representation of the ' Pr6cieuses ridicules.' 
 
 We now come to an event which caused Madame 
 de Sevignd the most poignant grief, and threw a dark 
 cloud over those years of quiet and happiness. The 
 injury came from a hand which ought rather to have 
 been placed in a burning fire than permitted to deal 
 such a blow. Bussy, of whom a contemporary partial 
 to him has said, that ' he loved no one, and succeeded 
 , in being loved by none,' was every year, by his ruinous 
 tastes, his pride and arrogance towards his superiors, 
 and at the same time his obsequiousness where he 
 hoped to' obtain favours or promotion, damaging his 
 fortune, his reputation, and his honour. He had suc- 
 ceeded in gaining the ill-will of two such powerful 
 men as Turenne and Fouquet, while on the other 
 hand his successes with women of easy disposition, 
 such as the ^arquise d'Uxelles, of whom he speaks 
 to Madame de S^vign^ in disrespectful and familiar 
 terms, had excited the jealousy of many, and caused 
 
134 MADAME DE ^EVIGNE. [Chap. XIV. 
 
 him to be disliked and feared. His means were at no 
 time large, but bis passion for gambling, for luxury, 
 and sbow, would have required an unlimited fortune. 
 At the time of the campaign of 1656, Bussy found 
 liimself owing to pecuniary difficulties compelled to 
 solicit tlie aid of his cousin. The service he required 
 of her was the loan of ten thousand ^cus (2,400Z.) 
 on the security of the legacy to come to him from 
 their uncle Jacques de Neuch^ze, Bishop of Chalon, 
 who had just died, leaving that amount each to 
 Madame de S6vign^ and to Bussy. She immediately 
 signified her willingness to assist her cousin, and 
 promised to lend him what he required ; but in all such 
 matters she was advised by her uncle, who, better 
 acquainted with Bussy's affairs, was desirous before 
 parting with the money to ascertain if Bussy's security 
 Avas not already mortgaged. The Abb6 de Coulanges 
 therefore sent a confidential agent into Burgundy to 
 make the necessary inquiries. This delay irritated 
 Bussy, and to Madame de Sdvign6's friendly assurances 
 that he had but to wait a little, he returned a haughty 
 reply, and to enable him to start immediately he 
 accepted the generous ofier of the Marquise de 
 Monglat, who placed her diamonds at his service, on 
 which he borrowed the sum he needed. 
 
 It was on his return from a campaign which had 
 been glorious and successful, that Bussy, still greatly 
 irritated against his cousin, committed the dehberate 
 and cowardly offence which he was afterwards, it is 
 
1659.] BUSSY IN DISGRACE. 135 
 
 true, to expiate so dearly, but whicli nevertheless 
 remains as an indelible spot on bis name and cbaracter. 
 After tbe hardships of the war, all the young men 
 embraced with greater ardour the relaxations which 
 Paris could afford them, while many of the mveterate 
 pleasure seekers saw with regret and vexation the 
 approach of Lent, which was to cause a short inter- 
 ruption to their amusements. One of the wildest of 
 this wild host, Vivonne, first gentleman of the king, 
 proposed to some of his boon companions to escape 
 the restraint the world imposed upon them by 
 spending the time at one of his houses four leagues 
 from Paris, where they would be at full liberty to 
 divert themselves. Not content with doing this in 
 privacy, they committed some scandalous acts of 
 which the report spread abroad, and, greatly exag- 
 gerated, reached the king, to whom they were repre- 
 sented as offences to religion and order, and who 
 punished their authors by banishment to their several 
 country houses. 
 
 The edict was severe, and acutely felt by Bussy, 
 who saw thus fi:ustrated his well-grounded hopes of 
 advancement. It was in this enforced solitude and 
 leisure that, listening to his malicious inclination, he 
 wrote a few satirical sketches for the amusement of 
 Madame de Monglat, which elicited from her a warm 
 approval. These resulted in his ' Histoire amoureuse 
 des Gaules,' in which he laid bare the intrigues and 
 vices of the courtiers, and it was in such company 
 
136 MADAME BE SEflGNE. [Chap. XIV. 
 
 that he placed a cruel and lying description of 
 Madame de S^vignd. It is true that he did not intend 
 giving publicity to his work, and it was only by fraud 
 and without his cognizance that the manuscript was 
 printed. Nevertheless the offence remained the same, 
 and the consequences of it were such as to satisfy 
 €ven the bitterest enemies of Bussy, who ultimately 
 more than reaped his deserts. 
 
 About the year 1660 the first part of the life of 
 Madame de Sevign^ may be regarded as closed, not 
 on account of any diminution in her attractions or the 
 homage paid to her, but because it is the dawn of what 
 may properly be termed the * Si^cle de Louis XIV.' 
 The early associations of her youth are vanishing, 
 society is being remodelled ; the marriage of the king, 
 an occasion for amnesty and pardon, brings back 
 Conde as a courtier, henceforth as humble as the most 
 lowly before his royal cousin ; the course of Mazarin is 
 all but sped, and he is to see only the accomplishment 
 of his latest scheme — the Spanish alliance and the 
 peace of the Pyrenees — ere he dies ; the young king 
 is to inaugurate that assumption of personal power 
 ^vhich never w^avered in his hands ; and the free 
 and somewhat mocking spirit which was so rife for 
 many years is to become extinct for evermore. The 
 minds and voices of men were to be fashioned differ- 
 ently, and much that had been admired was to be 
 destroyed, and that which had been destroyed to I5e 
 admired. 
 
1660.] THE PBMHEVSES RIDIGULER 137 
 
 It was tlien that the Precieuses, who had been 
 venerated and envied, saw their appellation ridiculed 
 by petty imitations. From the high regions of the 
 Hotel de Rambouillet the cultivation of wit, fine 
 manners, and subtle comprehension had descended to 
 more humble abodes, where the pursuit of exaggerated 
 refinements, from elevating, became ludicrous and 
 trivial. A genius such as JMoliere, then at the most 
 l)rilliant period of his career, was to seize on this 
 decline and bring on the stage that perfect representa- 
 tion of all that was open to criticism and laughter in 
 the manners and language of women whom he took 
 care to designate as the ' Pr^cieuses ridicules,' never 
 intending them to he confounded, as is done by many 
 in our day, with the real Pr6cieuses, who were and 
 ever continued an honour to their sex. So well 
 understood was this by his contemporaries, so im- 
 possible was it for women such as the Marquise de 
 Eambouillet to imagine themselves intended under an 
 assumed character which bore no resemblance what- 
 ever to their persons, that offence could not be taken. 
 
 At the first representation of the play, which was 
 an immense success, the whole of Madame de Ram- 
 bouillet's family, excepting Monsieur and Madame de 
 Montausler, who were in the province they governed, 
 Avere among the spectators present. No disapproba- 
 tion was expressed, and the epithet of Precieuse was 
 for some years yet, in spite of the l)low dealt by 
 Sloliere, to remain a term of eulogy. There is reason 
 
138 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. [Chap. 51 v. 
 
 to suppose that Madame de S^vign^ was one of those 
 who attended this representation. She who always 
 entertained so great an aversion to all that resembled 
 aflectation, and declares that when receiving letters 
 written with exaggerated delicacy of style, to avoid 
 the same in herself she feels inclined to be coarse, 
 could not but have applauded the poet's condemnation 
 of what she hated and despised, and which could not 
 alter her respectful affection for the society of the true 
 Pr^cieuses whom Ninon was so admirably to define as 
 the ' Jans^nistes of Love/ 
 
1661.] CAREER OF FOUQUET. 139 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 1661-4. 
 
 Career and arrest of Fouquet. — Letters from Madame de Sevigne found 
 among his papers. — She implores the assistance of her fiiends. — 
 Honourable conduct of Bussy. — Reconciled to his cousin. — Trial of 
 Fouquet. — Madame de S^^dgne's letters to Pomponne. 
 
 In the year 1661 tlie life of Madame de Sevignd 
 was to be troubled by a catastrophe which appalled a 
 whole country, arising from perhaps the most arbitrary, 
 and in one sense the most just, act of Louis XIV. 
 The method adopted, the many amiable quahties of 
 him who became the victim, the immense power, 
 wealth, and prosperity he had enjoyed, all contributed 
 to render the arrest of Fouquet a starthng and un- 
 expected occurrence. It surprised Europe, and threw 
 a hundred hearts into mourning. 
 
 Fouquet on the eve of his fall had reached the very 
 pinnacle of his greatness : the dispenser of the trea- 
 sures of France, the favoured minister of the king, 
 and to all appearance destined to take the place of 
 Mazarin. The intention of governing by himself, of 
 becoming acquainted with every detail of the ad- 
 ministration, which the young monarch had expressed, 
 
140 MADAME BE BRVIGNE. [Chap. XV. 
 
 was believed to be the hot whim of an impatient 
 youth, soon to tire of the very excess of his power. 
 This conviction was shared by the whole court, by 
 the queen dowager, by the very ministers of the king, 
 and by none more so than by Fouquet, who, grasping 
 and ambitious, awaited eagerly to seize the reins of 
 government. 
 
 While Mazarin lived, the powerful surintendant 
 had feared for himself The money so lavishly be- 
 stowed, and which opened for him the secrets of hearts 
 and letters, had made him acquainted with a report 
 written 1)y Colbert, then filling an obscure position in 
 the house of the cardinal, in which was clearly 
 shown the depredations of Fouquet, together with 
 his abuse of power. In this report it was pro- 
 posed that the surintendant should be put upon his 
 trial and compelled to restore to the state the enor- 
 mous sums he had appropriated, and at the same time 
 the future great minister suggested and expounded a 
 plan which, based on economy and prudence, was to 
 restore order in the finances which the ruinous 
 expedients of Fouquet had thrown into inexplicable 
 confusion. 
 
 This letter of Colbert's reached Mazarin only after 
 it had been read by Fouquet, who secured a copy of it 
 and at once most imprudently prepared himself, incase 
 I\Iazarin should attempt his arrest, to resist his aii- 
 tliority to the utmost. This wild scheme, never to be 
 ex(;cuted, had been put on paper, and when discovered 
 
1661.] * POWER OF FOUQJJET. 141 
 
 on Foiicjiiet's arrest was one of the most powerful in- 
 struments in the hands of his adversaries. As we have 
 said, the report reached Mazarin, but the need of 
 money was so great ; the calls which the treaty of the 
 Pyrenees and the king's marriage occasioned so press- 
 ing ; so completely master was Fouquet of ev^ery finan- 
 cial resource, so boundless his credit and the confi- 
 dence his elevated position conferred upon him, that 
 his calls for money were sure to be answered. The 
 dangerons ascendency he had acquired rendered him 
 not only indispensable, but forced Mazarin and the 
 kincT to treat him with the most distinguished favour, 
 so that his command of resources might not be 
 diminished. 
 
 If Fouquet had profited by this timely warning, 
 and resolutely changed his course, he might not only 
 have spared himself the bitter end of his life, but 
 possibly have enjoyed for many years the height of 
 prosperity he had reached. The death of Mazarin, 
 instead of rendering Fouquet more wary, and inspiring 
 him with that mode of conduct which the king so- 
 licited — the laying before him, in all its bareness and 
 aridity, the state of his finances — lured the blind fa- 
 vourite of fortune to further deceit. Even then, at the 
 eleventh hour, a frank avowal might have saved him ; 
 but so sunk was he in the abyss he had created, that 
 he could hide it but with new deceit, and he con- 
 tinued to present to Louis XIV fictitious accounts 
 of a fictitious revenue, while Colbert on the other hand, 
 
142 MADAME BE SJ^VIGNA' [Chap. XV. 
 
 slowly wending Lis way, every day revealed the truth 
 and contradicted the reports of the surintendant. 
 
 As early as March, 1661, Louis XIV decided on the 
 fall and ruin of Foiiquet, and to make more sure of 
 him, in every way to have it in his power to over- 
 whelm him at one blow, he continued to lavish his 
 smiles and regal bounties on one doomed already in 
 his mind, not to banishment, but to death. Thus 
 led on, the mifortunate Fouquet, believing himself 
 entire master of his sovereign's confidence, conceived 
 the project of offering to him that feast at Vaux which, 
 as the last rays of the setting sun ere it dips into the 
 silent ocean surpass in colour and brilliancy even the 
 glory of noon, was to throw on those last hours of 
 liberty and happiness an intensity of light which puts 
 in darker shadow that sad period of imprisonment, of 
 death from the living world, so soon to follow. 
 
 The hearts of men must not be too profoundly 
 searched. If Louis XIV appears to have, as a king, 
 committed a cruel but necessary act, it can hardly be 
 doubted that more secret motives inspired his excess 
 of severity. In a room at Vaux, a portrait of Louise 
 de la Valli^re, who believed her love and her fault to 
 be hidden from the eyes of men, was seen by the king. 
 He knew that Fouquet had sued for the good graces of 
 her who had bestowed on him her virgin heart, and 
 the man and the monarch, uniting in one revengeful 
 thought, decreed, while under the roof of Fouquet, 
 while breaking his bread, to throw him into the 
 
1661.] ARREST OF FOUQUET. 143 
 
 dungeon of the Bastille. Hardly was time given to 
 him to shake from his shoes the dust of the broad 
 walks of Vaux ; the echo of music, of fireworks, of 
 laughter, was still ringing in the air when Fouqaet 
 awoke from his dream to find himself a prisoner — not, 
 however, a forsaken one. 
 
 The names of those whom Fouquet had served or 
 obliged were legion. In every rank of life, from the 
 grandest and the proudest to the needy and hungry, he 
 had bestowed some of that gold which was his foot- 
 stool and his stumbling-block. Great ladies, courtiers, 
 authors, people of all kinds and every name could 
 recall some favour conferred, some help bestowed. 
 The hand which performed these deeds must have 
 been a gracious one, for the voice of sorrow and 
 gratitude rose loud and great even before the wrath 
 of the sovereim. There was one friend who had 
 never asked a favour, one woman who, faithful in 
 adversity, has given to posterity the exact and moving 
 narration of Fouquet the accused and Fouquet the 
 condemned. 
 
 When the news of the arrest reached Madame de 
 S^vign^, she w^as at the Rochers, and had been led by 
 the latest accounts of Fouquet to beheve him at the 
 very summit of favour. The king, she imagined, was 
 to visit Brittany, accompanied by his ministers, and 
 Madame de S^vign^ was in agreeable expectation, and 
 looking forward to the advantages her friendship with 
 Fouquet might secure to her. It was then she heard 
 
144 MADAME DE SMVIGNK [Chap. XY. 
 
 of his disgrace, liis ruin, and that of all his friends and 
 dependents. 
 
 Keenly as Madame de S(^vign^ felt the disgrace 
 which fell on one to whom she was sincerely attached, 
 the consequences it had for her were of a kind to cause 
 her the most bitter tribulation. When Fouquet was 
 arrested all his papers were seized, his private boxes 
 being delivered to the king, who made himself ac- 
 quainted with their contents. Amongst his voluminous 
 correspondence were found some letters of Madame 
 de St^vignt^'s, treating solely of some of the affairs of 
 her family, principally those of her cousin the Marquis 
 de la Trousse. The king read these, and struck by 
 the easy and graceful style of the writer, spoke of 
 them with praise, declaring at the same time that the 
 contents were such as to do honour to her who had 
 penned them. This assertion, formal as it was, and 
 repeated even by Le Tellier, the king's minister, did 
 not prevent the joyful outcry of envy and malice. 
 Hundreds who had been compelled to acknowledge a 
 virtue they could ill emulate, jealous women, disap- 
 pointed men, raising their voices proclaimed that 
 Madame de S(3vign(^ was not the spotless person she 
 pretended to be ; that letters of hers — letters of love, 
 of course — had been discovered among the papers of 
 the surintendant ; that she feigned to be a prude, 
 only the better to hide her faults. The hue and cry 
 was great : vice knows no greater joy than soiling the 
 good name of virtue. 
 
1001.] SI^^OX BE POMPOyXE. 115 
 
 Tins clamrair reached ]\[a(lame de Sevi,i;-iiL' in Brit- 
 tany; tliere she learned that hitters which all could 
 have read, and ^vith which none could now become 
 acquainted, were being passed as testimonials of a 
 weakness of which she was innocent. That reputation 
 she had so carefully guarded seemed ready to escape 
 from her : suspicion is a blast to certain minds, 
 ^dadame de Suvimie felt this trial most severely, and 
 si 10 called upon all her friends to come to her aid in 
 this hour of need, to explain and make known to others 
 the truth so honourable to her. To one of these 
 friends, Simon de Pomponne, also a friend of Fouquet's, 
 she wrote on this occasion ; and to him, three years 
 later, she addressed day by day her letters giving an 
 accurate account of all that happened during Fouquet's 
 trial. 
 
 Pomponne Avas the son of Arnauld d'Andilly, brother 
 of the celebrated Alibe Arnauld, tlie great apostle of 
 Janscnisme. Arnauld d'Andilly, in spite of his re- 
 ligious opinions, had retained the good-will of the king 
 and queen dowager, while his son, Simon de Pom- 
 ponne, engaged in the public service, seemed called to 
 attain the higliest offices. He was a man of strict 
 good sense, judging rightly and promptly, iiever acting 
 hurriedly, Aveighing all things, modest, virtuous in Iiis 
 private life, and simple in his tastes. Flis physi- 
 ognomy reflected the serenity of his mind, and he 
 knew how tu bear prosperity as he also knew how to 
 endure adversity. He was destined to meet with an 
 
 VOL. I. ^ 
 
146 MADAME BE I^EVIGNE. [Chap. XV. 
 
 equal share of botli : the one did not discourage, the 
 other failed to elate him ; his perfect equanimity re- 
 mained at all times the same. From having been 
 admitted into the close intimacy of Fouquet, Pom- 
 ponne, though in no wise implicated in any of the 
 accusations then rising so rife against the fallen surin- 
 tendant, liad been a sharer in his disgrace, and exiled. 
 From Madame de Sevigne he received a letter dated 
 from the Eochers, in which she expresses her feelings 
 in a tone at once sad and dignified : — 
 
 ' Aux Rocliers, October 11, 16G1. 
 
 .J ., ... , /.!-'" 
 
 ' Nothing is more true than that a community of 
 interest revives friendship. You have written to me 
 so obligingly on this subject, that I can give no better 
 answer than to assure you that I have the same senti- 
 inents for you as you profess to have for me ; in one 
 Avord, I honour and esteem you very particularly. But 
 wliat do you say as to all that has been found in these 
 chests ? AVould you have believed that my poor 
 letters, filled with the marriage of Monsieur de la 
 Trousse, and all the affairs of his house, would have 
 been put away so mysteriously? I assure you, that 
 Avliatever glory I may reap from those who will do 
 me tlie justice to l)elieve that I never had any other 
 intercourse with him, I am much affected that I am 
 obliged to defend myself, and perhaps uselessly, with 
 many persons who will never understand this truth. 
 I think you will easily comprehend the grief this causes i 
 
16G1-4.] HER DEFtJXnEU."^. 147 
 
 a licart like nunc. I implore you to say on tliis what 
 you know; I cannot have too many friends at this 
 moment. I am impatiently expecting your brother, 
 the Ahl.)e Arnauld, that I may console myself a little 
 with liim as to this singular adventure. Nevertheless, 
 I do not fail to wish with all my heart some allevia- 
 tion of suffering for the unhappy, and I beg of you 
 always, monsieur, the continuation and honour of your 
 friendship. 
 
 'M. DE Rabutjx-Chantal.' ," 
 
 j\Iadame de Sevigne also wrote innnediately to two 
 otlier men, who had known her from her youth, and 
 of whose friendship she was sure. Chapelain and 
 Menage were both called upon by their former pupil 
 to sustain and uphold her reputation. Each had 
 forestalled her wishes, and proclaimed what was the 
 real nature of her correspondence Avith Fouquet. 
 Chapelain in his indignation heaps on the fallen man 
 every epithet of contempt : he denounces as unworthy 
 of any gentleman the hoarding of women's letters — 
 records robbing even the innocent of their good name : 
 he treats the faithful friends of Fouquet — Made- 
 moiselle de Scudery, Scarron, Pellisson — as interested 
 rabble, and assures the ]\larquise de Sevigne that he 
 had not waited to receive her commands to begin a 
 campaign so contrary to his habits. He adds, that 
 she lias not been wanting in friends to defend her 
 cause, and that she may live and rest in peace. 
 
 L 2 
 
i-tO ^fl^i J-'^ilVJLJJj M/JJj OJJ. y llT^\ 111. 
 
 [Chap. XV. 
 
 Meiiagx' was equall}^ warm in lils protestations, 
 and does not inflict on Fouquet's followers in adversity 
 a blame they did not deserve, tlie expression of which 
 must have caused pain to Madame de S^vigne. But 
 the most powerful of the marquise's advocates, one 
 A\diom she had not solicited, and towards whom her 
 thoughts could only have turned with regret and 
 suspicion, w\as Bussy. His truly noble and cliivalrous 
 conduct in this affair remains as the only expiation 
 of many foults. It is pleasing to see one who erred so 
 often, for once on the side of right and proclaiming it 
 loudly. 
 
 When the name of his cousin burst on the world as 
 one who had favoured Fouquet, Bussy was in Paris, 
 and the feelings of true affection for LFadame de 
 S^vigne which were dormant in his heart, awakened 
 at tliis calumny. AVell knowing the share of reproach 
 attached to himself for having first questioned the 
 character of one of whose perfect purity he was con- 
 vinced, he felt sincere remorse for what he was ever 
 to denounce as a dark spot in his life, and to efface 
 Avhich he stepped forward as the champion of his 
 cousin's irood name. He did not do this without 
 having received from Le Tellier, who alone with tlie 
 king had read the letters found in Fcuquet's chests, 
 the solenm assurance that those of ]\Iadame de Sevigne 
 contained not a word Avhich could lead to the supposi- 
 tion that she entertained for the surintendant a more 
 tender regard than friendship. 
 
1602.] nEVOyCLLKD TO BU8SY. 149 
 
 Thus secure, Biiss}^ sllenccJ all wlio dared utter auy 
 nismuatujns ni Ins presence ; and publicly quarrelled 
 Avitli Lis brother-in-law, liouville, Avho had talked of 
 the intri-ue of the ]\Iari|uise de Scvigiie and Fouquet 
 as a fact be^end doubt. Ijuss}^ haughtily contradicted 
 him, and when Ruuville remarked that it ill became 
 one wdio had ma<le so niucli noise about her to bid 
 others n(.)t speak, he replied — ' I like noise only wdaen 
 I make it myself/ The championship of Bussy aided 
 much to establisli the truth and dispel rumours which 
 Were ^^■ithout solid foundation. 
 
 On lier return from the Bocliers in the following- 
 year (1CG2), Madame de Sevigne did not lose the 
 opportunity of becoming reconciled to her cousin, and 
 for a time all their former intimacy and friendship was 
 renewed. Thus cleared, at least in the eyes of all 
 whom envy did not blind, of tlie accusation which, 
 had caused her such painful anxiety, Madame de 
 Sevignu continued to proclaim her keen interest in the 
 fate of the prisoner aAvaiting hi's trial in the Bastille. 
 Three years elapsed between the day of his cirrest and 
 that on wdiich the trial opened. Friends and enemies 
 exerted themselves equally to save or overwhelm one 
 Avhose fate w^is an object of such intense interest. 
 When once again Fouquet w^as seen by the world lie 
 had swayed, it was as an accused man defending his 
 life, and defending it, not before impartial judges, but 
 before relentless persecutors. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne had early used what influence 
 
i:.(i MADAME DE i<J>VIfiNE. [Chap. XV., 
 
 she })OSsesso'l with tliose m whose liaiids the clestiii}^ 
 of Fouquet was to be phiced. OKvier le FcA're 
 <rOrmessori, one of the ' juges rapporteurs/ was both 
 a friend and connection of Madame de Sevigne, and to 
 him she more tlian once appealed in flxvonr ofherfahen 
 friend. AVhen at hist tlie great trial commenced, and 
 all were in snspense as to what was likely to be the 
 issue, Madame dc Sevignu took npon herself to inform 
 Pomponne of every cliange in the aspect of afflxirs. 
 On the second day she writes — ' To-da}'^, Monday, 
 November 17, lGG-1, Monsieur Foucquet has for tlie 
 second time been at the bar/ Monsieur le Chancelier 
 Seguier, who conducted the prosecution, had by his 
 determined ill-will towards the prisoner inspired greater 
 sympathy for him. ' i\Ionsieur Foucquet answered per- 
 fectly WL'll,' is the conclusion of the account of the day's 
 })roeredings. 
 
 The next day she writes in terms of affection and 
 esteem to Pomponne, wdio liad expressed his gratitude 
 to her for thus informing him of ever}^ phase of the 
 trial, doing so when she must have known that all 
 letters were opened, and what discontent any expres- 
 sion of sympathy with Fouquet was sure to awaken in 
 the higher powers which she reverenced and feared. 
 ' To-day our dear friend has been again at the bar. 
 The Abbe d'Effiat br)wed to him as he passed, and he 
 in returniiig the salutation said — "I am your very 
 humble servant," and that with his customary open 
 and smiling countenance. The Al:)l3e d'Efliat felt so 
 
16(i4.j TRIAL OF FDUi^VET. 151 
 
 o\'ercomc Avitli emotion tliat lie knew not wliat 
 to (lu/ 
 
 Tlien come tlie conversations between Fouqnet anJ 
 the eliancL'licr, and the joyful assertion, that if the 
 interrogations continue they will be very advantageous 
 to the prisoner, isevertheless, neither Fouquetnorhis 
 friends thougl it lightly of the peril in which his life was 
 placed, and he had obtained from those with whom he 
 still secretly corresponded the assurance that precon- 
 certed simals would reveal his condemnation to him 
 In his prison the instant it Avas known. This he re- 
 quested ' that he may have time to make himself 
 ready to receive the news from those who will bring it 
 to him ; adding, that provided he has half an hour to 
 prepare himself, he is capable of receiving without 
 emotion the worst that can ])e told him. This pas- 
 sao'e makes me shed tears, and I am convinced it 
 moves your heart.' 
 
 The examination of Fouquet continued with the 
 same animosity ; he himself appearing to be wonder- 
 fully calm and self-possessed. Eeturning one day on 
 foot to his prison, he sees some workmen engaged in 
 making a fountain, and approaching them he gives 
 some advice ; then laughingly turning to D'Artagnan, 
 <>'Overnor of the Bastille, he says to him — '"Are you 
 not surprised that I interfere? But it is because I 
 was at one time rather clever at things of this kind." 
 Those who love Monsieur Foucquet find this tranquil- 
 lity admirable, and I am of the number/ 
 
ir.2 MADAME BE ^'EVIGNE. [Chap. XV. 
 
 Madame Je Sevigiiu refuses to receive any thanks 
 for lier letters, and adds — ' All the feelings you express 
 as to \Yhat I ^vrite to you are most natural ; that of 
 h()})e is eonnnon to all without our being able to say 
 why, but at least it supports the heart.' 
 
 In the letter of the 27th of November she says — 
 "- I must tell you what I have done. Only think, some 
 ladies proposed to me to go to a house facing the 
 Arsenal, that I miglit see our poor friend return. I was 
 masked, and sa\v him coming from a good distance. 
 Monsieur d'Artagnan was at his side, and fifty musket- 
 eers at thirty or fort}'' paces in the rear. He appeared 
 rather serious. For myself, when I caught sight of 
 him I trem])led, and my heart beat so high that I was 
 overwhehned. On coming near us, to return to his 
 prison, Monsieur d'Artagnan nudged him and made 
 him notice tliat we were there. He thereupon bowed 
 to us, and took that smiling expression you know so 
 well. I do not think he recoiinized me, but I OAvn to 
 you that I was much o\'ercome when I saw him enter 
 by that little door. If you knew the misfortune of 
 having a heart like mine I am sure you would pity 
 me ; but I think from the knowledge I have of you 
 that }'ou are equally affected.' Speaking of the 
 need of courage, she continues — 'It is not that a 
 thousand things are not said which give hopes, but, 
 alas! my imagination is so lively that all that is uncer- 
 tain kills me.' 
 
 At first it appeared that the intention of the judges 
 
1664.] TRIAL OF FOUQUET. 153 
 
 was to make tlie trial last as long as possible, when 
 suddenly the plan Avas altered, and Segnier (whom 
 Madame de Sevioiie ealls ' Pnis\ ^at the mstio'ation of 
 Colbert, who was the soul of the whole aflair, and for 
 whom the iaithful friend of Fouquet has found a 
 bitterh' sareastie name in ' Petit,' one day read to 
 Fouquet n(j less than ten eharges. The prisoner pro- 
 tested that he eould not in one reply dei'end himself 
 against so many aceusations. When at last he was 
 permitted to speak, wliieh he did for two hours, the 
 exelamation of Pussort, one of tjie judges, is — 'I hope 
 he will not eonq)lain that he has not been a])le to 
 speak his full.' ' A\diat say you of these words ? ' puts 
 in Madame de Sevigne ; ' are they not those of an 
 excellent judge? ' 
 
 On the 9th of December she describes admirably 
 the alternatir)n of hope and despair w^hicli filled her 
 heart : — ' I assure you that these days are long in pass- 
 ina", and that uncertainty is a dreadful thhig. It is a 
 misfortune which the family of the poor prisoner do 
 not exjierience. I have seen them, and I admire them. 
 One would think they had never heard or read of what 
 has happened in times passed. What surprises me 
 most is, that Sapho is just the same— she whose intelli- 
 2-ence and penetration know no bounds. AA hen I re- 
 fleet on this, I flatter myself, and am persuaded, or at 
 least I try to persuade myself, that they know more 
 than I do. On the other hand, wdicn I speak to people 
 less interested, and of great good sense, I am forced 
 
i:.4 MADAME DE ^EVIOyE. [Chap. XV. 
 
 to admit tliat all tlie nicasures against liim liave been 
 so carefully prepared that it Avill be a complete miracle 
 if tliiDgs turn out as we wisli. One often loses but 
 bv one vote, but that one does all. . . . Still, at tlie 
 bottom of my heart there is a ray of hope. I know 
 not Avhence it comes, iior where it goes, and it is 
 even not great ouough to permit me to sleep in peace. 
 I was talking yesterday of this aflair with Madame du 
 Plessis. I can onl}^ see people with whom I can 
 speak, and wlio lia\'e the same feelings as myself. 
 She hopes, as I do, Avij;hout knowing the reason, why. 
 '' But why do you hope ?" ''Because I do." These 
 are our answers ; are they not reasonable ? ' 
 
 This Madame du Plessis-Guenegaud, whose feeling!* 
 were in such perfect harmony with those of Madame 
 de Sevigne, had been in tho days of Fouquet's pros- 
 perity one of his dearest friends, and now remained 
 steadfastly fiiithful to him in the hour of his adversity. 
 She Avas a woman of great Avealth, intelligence, and 
 of a<]:reeable manners. It Avas she Avho encoura^'ed 
 Fou(|uet to protect and help authors and artists. 
 Herself a Precieuse, in her ' enchanted palace,' as 
 jMadame de Sevigne terms the Plotel de Nevers Avhich 
 she inhabited, she gathered Avits and poets, and in 
 imitation of IMadamc de Piambouillet, the Incompar- 
 able Arth^nice, she became tlie charming Amalthee^ 
 ander Avhich name Madame de Scvigno often alludes 
 to her. 
 
 The ray of hope which sustained Madame de 
 
1064.] SEXTEXCE OX FOVQl'ET. IX^ 
 
 Sc'vigric and tlie- other friends of the surintendant 
 l)ecaine Inighter ^vlieii r^Iousieur d'Onnesson, in re- 
 viewing the case, expressed an opinion that Fonrjuet's 
 fortune shouhl lie confiscated, and lie banislied for 
 lite. This sentence seemed niihl compared Avith wliat 
 Avas expected. The next day SaiiitL^-Helene, d'Or- 
 messon's ' nnwortliy colleague,' in summing up, gave 
 as his judgnient that the prisoner slionld suffer the 
 penalty of death, but added that the king might lie 
 merciful. Madame de Sevigne hoped that the severe 
 advice of D'Ormesson AN'ould l)e acted upon, but in 
 this she Avas to be disajipointed. "What Avas her 
 anxiety durinir those intervening' da\'s Ave can Avell 
 
 miagme. 
 
 ' People speak of nothing else ; one reasons, de- 
 ducts consequences, counts on one's fingers ; one 
 hopes, fears, Avishes, hates, admires ; one is sad, over- 
 Avlielmed ; in a Avord, my dear sir, the state Ave are in 
 just noAv is extraordinary; but Avhat is most admirable 
 ^ is the firmness of our unfortunate friend. lie knows 
 CATrything that goes on, and v<.)lumes could daily be 
 filled in his praise.' At last, on the i^Oth of December, 
 the fate of the prisoner, AAdiich had been trembling in 
 the balance, AA^as decided. 
 
 ' Praise God, monsieur, and thank Him ; our poor 
 friend is saved. Thirteen agreed to the advice of 
 Monsieur d'Ormesson, and nine to that of Sainte- 
 Helcno. I am so happy that I am beside myself.' 
 
 It must indeed have been a joyful moment, that 
 
156 MADAME BE SEVIGXK [Chap. XV. 
 
 wlieii she saw rescued from death one for wliom she- 
 bore such sincere afll'ction. When she learns that the- 
 kini;-, reversing every precedent of royal clemency, 
 has changed the exile for a prison, she thaiiks God 
 still, measuring how great had been the peril, how 
 powerful tlie antagonism, and how marvellous the 
 escape. The bitterness of death Avas passed, the 
 anguish of the hour was averted, and Madame de 
 Sevign^ was justly thankful. 
 
 Every individual member of Fouquet's family was 
 iuAolved in his disgrace : all were exiled, all Avere 
 separated ; he himself was refused the consolation,, 
 always accorded to such prisoners, of his wife sharing 
 his confinement. His hxithful domestics were taken 
 from him. Alone, and jealously guarded, he was to 
 make his way Uj Pignerol, where for fourteen years he 
 was to live the life of the tomb, knowing nothing of 
 the outer A\'orld, and hour by hour, day by day, 
 becoming, even for those who had truly loved lilri],. 
 a memory of the past. The news of his death but 
 ruffled the surface of the hearts of his friends ; his 
 memory had been buried with that of the long-since 
 departed. 
 
1(;(;2.] HER DAVGHTEIl AT COVRT, \-u 
 
 rjHAPTER XVL 
 
 1GG2-5. 
 
 ]\Ia(lemoiselle ilu S<!'yigne's a|t]irarance at court. — She takes part in tlie 
 ballets with the kinj;-. — Praises of mother and daii-htiT sung by 
 the poets. — Pul>lication of the ' Histoire amoiireuse des (iauk'^.' — 
 Bussv is arrested and innnisoncil in the Bastille. — Madame de 
 S('vii;iL('' rec(.inrih.'d to liim on his release after an imprisonment (jf 
 thirteen munths. — He is banished for seventeen years. 
 
 We must now retraco our steps to glance at the 
 jears passed over in our consecutive narrative of 
 Fouquet's arrest and trial, wliicli we have thought it 
 best not to interrupt l»y any reference to the events 
 which took place in the private life of Madame de 
 
 Sevigne. 
 
 Between the years 1(301 and 1064, a fresh subject 
 of joy was afforded t(.) Madame de Sc'vignc'. Her 
 beloved daughter, arrived at ripe girlhood, beautiful 
 and accomplished, a wonder to her contemporaries, 
 the pride of her mother's heart, came out in the 
 world to take her share in that brilliant society to 
 which she belonged. It was in the winter of 1GG2-3 
 that Frangoise de Sevigne made her appearance before 
 that large audience then called the court. The sen- 
 sation she created was great; her beauty being of 
 
i:,S MADAME T)E SilVIGXE. [Chap. XVL 
 
 a land avcII calciilated t<:) excite adiniratiou, thougli in 
 some degree a tenderness of expression was wanting. 
 To tlie dazzling complexion of a blonde slie united 
 perfect regularity of features ; all lier portraits, that 
 painted by Mignard especially, represent lier as 
 simi'ularlv beautiful. There is in her countenance 
 <i remarkable harmony: it seems as if the most 
 critical eye could not wish her in any single par- 
 ticular to be otherwise. Looking at this ' aimable 
 ■contenance/ of which Madame de Sevigne speaks so 
 often, the peculiarity of her daughter's beauty is 
 readily understood. Yet there was something de- 
 ficient in all this perfection : a lack of warmth, of 
 <:-enialitv, absence too of all those outward endear- 
 meiits which rendered her mother so fascinating, 
 -and which in the daughter silenced and repelled 
 the admiration she called forth. However, her 
 triumphant beauty won for her all the favours which 
 the court could bestow and the world envy. 
 
 The years which saw her in her prime were those 
 ■of the reign of Louis XIV most devoted to pleasure. 
 The tide was then at its hii]:hest, and no si^ii that 
 it could ever recede was discernible. The king, in 
 the ardour of his youth, in all the fire of his love 
 for Mademoiselle de la A^alliere, seemed never tired of 
 inventing and shariiig- in new amusements. Ballets 
 ■ — medley compositions in which decorator, musician, 
 })oet, and actor had each a part — were then in their 
 greatest fixvour. Every kind of splendour was to be 
 
1GG3.] ' THE BALLET UES ABT.^.' 1^'!> 
 
 Avitnessecl on these occasions, wliile on the !)oarils 
 appeared tlie monarch, hiving and heloved, with the 
 flower of girlhood and womanhood gathered around 
 him. i\Iesdrmoiselles (hj la Vallicrc, de Mortemart, 
 de St. -Simon, de Scvigne, and the cliarming princess, 
 daughter of England and France, the gay Henriette, 
 the delight of the court, the prompter of every 
 scheme of pleasure. 
 
 In January, IGOo, was })erformed the 'Ballet des 
 Arts,' in wliicli ^ladenioisene de Sevigne took a part. 
 She was one of four amazons, the tliree others being 
 Mesdemoiselles de St. -Simon, de la A'alliere, and de 
 ]\Iortemart 'afterwards to hceonre ]\radanie de Montes- 
 pan). In the midst of these beauties Mademoiselle de 
 Sevigne was conspicuous, and Benserade, the poet of 
 these fetes^ whose pen ever found new words of praise 
 and new homage to ofter, exclaims — 
 
 ' Deja cette l>eante fait craiudre ha |)uissaiicL*, 
 Et pour nous mettre en Ixitte a (Vi/xtivines drn;i,m.'rs, 
 EUe I'utre justemeut dans r;'iL;e lai Ton coiiiinencc 
 A distiiiguer les Laipn; davec(|ue Ics licr^er^; 
 
 , '* 
 
 Durln<^»' the whole of the winter the rein'esentations of 
 this ballet were continued, and many nmst have been 
 tlie occasions when ]\Iadame <le Sevigne heard the 
 approving remarks on her ' Belle Madelonne,' as she 
 termed her daughter. 
 
 * Already this beauty makes lier power feared, and, to expose us to 
 extreme perils, she has now attained the age when she can distinguish 
 the wolves from the shepherds. 
 
ICO MADAME UE ,'^f.ViaXj2. [Chap. XVI. 
 
 These ])riliiant i')astimes were resumed the followiiio- 
 Avinter, and in the 'Amours deguises,' Mademoiselle 
 de Se\'igne took tlie part of one of the loves disguised 
 as a sea-n^nnph. Beuserade did not fail to compli- 
 ment her, and at the same time offer some delicate 
 flattery to ]\ladame de Sevigne. He tells Mademoiselle 
 de Sevi^iie, that dismiised as Love she disiiniises herself 
 in her own person, and that even her mother resembles 
 that of the young god : — 
 
 ' Et jusfjiTes a sa m^iv, elle est comme la vOtre.'* 
 
 But tlie prettiest verses which the graceful poet 
 addressed to the charming couple are those suggested 
 to him by the ballet of the ' Naissance de Venus,' 
 performed in 1GG5, when Mademoiselle de Sevigne 
 appeared as ( )mphale, the Due de St.-Aignan as 
 Plercules, the king hhnself as Alexander ; the other 
 actors being the Marquis de Villeroy, the Marquis de 
 Eossan, Madame, the Duchesse de Sully, and the 
 Marquise de Vibraye : — 
 
 ' Bloiidiiis accoiTtuincs a faire des coiifjuGtes, 
 Devant ce jeum.' Ml>jct si charmant et .si doux, 
 
 T(jus grands liuros que vons etes, 
 II lie faut pas laisser pourtaiit de filer doux. 
 L'iii-iatr foule aux pieds Hercule et sa massue ; 
 (^)uelle (jue sc.iit Vulfrande, elle ii\'st point re(;iie : 
 Elli' veiaait uionrir le plus fidele amant, 
 Fan to de Tassister d'un regard seulement. 
 Injuste priHi'dL', sotte fa^on de faire, 
 (^)U(j la pucelle tient de madame sa mere, 
 
 * And even his mother is like yours. 
 
16G5.] OBAliAGTER OF HER DAVGHTER. 161 
 
 Et <[ue la bonne dame, au courage inhiimain, 
 Se 1 aslant aussi pfu d'otic belle que sage, 
 Enron,' tous les jours applique a son u^age, 
 Au det)iiju.^nt du gtnre liumain.' * 
 
 It is questionable whether ]\Iadame cle Sevlgne was 
 Avise m aUowiiig her daughter to appear so often before 
 tlie world, thus causing her name to be too frequently 
 celebrated. Already the natural disposition of Made- 
 moiselle de Sevign(\ though she was perfectly sedate 
 and virtuous, prompted her to value her cliarms too 
 highly. From the aeeount of her partial mother we 
 gather that she li\X"d in a sort of worship of her own 
 person. Her high estimate of her own beauty was 
 known to tliose adnjitted to h(.'r intimacy, and the 
 Abbe de la Mousse, a familiar of Madame de Sevignd's 
 house, and who had initiated the young Fran^oise 
 into the obscurities of Dcscai'tes, reprehended his 
 pupil for this undue admiration of herself, reminding 
 her that the attractions of which she was so proud 
 were destine<l to destruction. 'Yes,' was the answer, 
 ' but tliey are not yet decayed.' 
 
 Had it not l.»cen for the extreme coldness of manner 
 iA Mademoiselle de Scvigne, her reputation might 
 
 * Lovers, acruslniiu'd to conquests, before tliis young object, so 
 clmrniing and so gentle, great heroes though you l»e, you must learn 
 humble sulanission. The ungrntel'ul one leaves Hercules at her feet ; 
 A\ lull evrr the ollerin^, it is not arcepled. Rather than encouiagr the 
 most faithful lover Avitli a look, she would allow him to expire. Foolish 
 l.eli:ivi(Hir, wliirh the diimsel inherits (rom her iiioduM', aud \vlii».]i tlie 
 '^r.x.il lady, with unnatural coui'.igr, as little tirnd of beiii- beautiful as 
 clia>U-, still constantly adopts to the injury of human natuie. 
 
 \oj,. [, 
 
 M 
 
102 MADAME BE ^hVIGNE. [Chap. XVI. 
 
 liave suffered. Already the attentions paid to lier 
 ])\ the ^ charmant ' Marquis de Villeroy had been 
 alkided to in songs. Her indifference, however, 
 rendered her very little susceptible to any danger, 
 and her cold heart was a quiet guardian of her virtue. 
 Her sentiments also were no doubt naturally elevated 
 and straight! "or ward; she had inherited from her mother 
 sun 10 of that purity of heart, of that proud wish for an 
 untarnished name which bore ]\radame de Sevigne such 
 good company through life. Mademoiselle de Sevigne, 
 like Madame de Grignan, remains a woman of irre- 
 proachable character. 
 
 This period of her daugliter's triumphs was ever 
 alluded t(,) in after years by Madame de Sevigne with 
 tciiderness and reo;ret. To herself also it was a time 
 of happy prosperity. Still in the prime of life, rich, 
 admired, and souii'ht after, she had at her side a 
 child slie adored and whom she heard lauded by every 
 voice. Most of the friends of her youtli had come 
 back from exile ; the Cardinal de Ketz, though not in 
 favour, had returned. She was reconciled to Bussy, 
 wlio assured her that the sarcastic portrait he had 
 made of her Jiad been burnt in the presence of Madame 
 de Moni-'lat. "^A'ith this assurance Madame de Sevigne, 
 wh(>n on a tour in Buriiamdy in l(3r)4, met her cousin 
 with all her (ornier cordiality, and left Bourbilly more 
 tliaij ever enchanted with his society. But she was 
 soon to diseover that siie had been too ready to pardon, 
 and ihal even a iiabutin could l)reak his troth. 
 
1605.] HI8T0IBE 1)ES GAULES. K-O 
 
 A^anity had always l^een tliu besetting sin in Bussy ; 
 it blinded his intelliirence, it robbed him of whatever 
 
 O 7 
 
 Avas 'j^ood in his natnre. On this occasion it served 
 him an ill turn, and lie had for many years to reflect 
 on his too great si_isee|>tibility to flattery. 
 
 Madame de Monglat, for whom Bussy had written 
 the ' Histoire amoureuse des Gaules/ was not for long 
 the only person acquainted with the subject. The manu- 
 script was read, the portraits were transcribed or re- 
 membered ; the malice of many was satisfied, and these 
 were loud in their praises of the work. This approval 
 put Bussy off his guard : those to whom the forbidden 
 book was known liecame every day more numercjus, 
 and at last Bussy consented to leave the manuscript 
 for two whole days in the custody of the ]\[arquise de 
 la Baume. She truaclierously had it copied, and to Ije 
 rcveu'-ed on Bussv, A\diom she had loved, and from 
 whom slie had separated in anger, slie had it printed in 
 Holland. Had she contonted herself Avitli leaving tin.' 
 manuscrii)t in its original form, tlie indignation against 
 Bussy might have been great, ))ut there would have 
 been no particular outcry. Facts which tlie author 
 had disu'uised in fiction were rol)bed of every artifice, 
 and Ijecame scandalous hbels. A key was even added, 
 giving the real names of all the personages, and in this 
 outraireous uaiise the book first came from the press at 
 Lleux' in the early part of lG(i5. 
 
 The pu])iic were violent hi thoir exj)ressioiis of 
 cin-vr, and the unfortunate Bussy was ovorwhelmed 
 
 O 7 " 
 
 u 2 
 
1(U MAf>AME DE ^hVIGNK [Chap. XVI. 
 
 by tlie burst (;f iiulignatioii sliowercd upon him. He 
 cnmprelR'ii(k'(I his danger when he saw that his 
 enemies had made him appear to have attacki'd the 
 kino;, althou'di notliiriir was farther from his intention. 
 His first care, therefore, was to beg the monarch to 
 inspect the original cop}^, and jndge whether he had 
 ever dared to outrage his sacred person. The king 
 read the manuscript, and appears to liave been rather 
 leniently disposed than otherwise towards its author ; 
 but the many who were ofiended were not inclined to 
 let him off easily. The clamour went on increasing ; 
 the heinousness of the offence Avas magnified, and at 
 last an order was given that Bussy should be im- 
 prisoned in the Bastille. His arrest took place on 
 the 17th of April, 1665. 
 
 The diso'rnci.^ of Bussy, who, regarded as the greatest 
 Avit of the Avhole court, was much feared, and whose 
 merits wen-' extolled beyond measure, did not satisfy his 
 rnemies. Tliey still pursued him in his prison, striving 
 hi vY^xy way to excite the king's anger against him. 
 EA'crv sarcaslic S(Hto: made public Avas attributed to 
 him, and q\'(:yy offence against royalty Avas regarded 
 as coming from his pen. 
 
 It Avas in his ad\'ersity that the littleness of Bussy 's 
 ch.'ii'artei' Avas most manifest. Instead of accepting 
 Avith <'<)urage and dignity a punishment he liad so 
 gralnitnusly brought u|)on himself, he Avhined under 
 the infliction, and servilely licked his master's feet. 
 Idle king and (jueen were in turn implored by him in 
 
1665.] BANISIfMEXT OF BUSSY. 165 
 
 the most abject terms. Every influence he possessed 
 at court was beg^-ed by him. In spite of these 
 endeavours, thirteen months were to ehipse ere he 
 regained his hberty, and when at last it was accorded 
 it was to suffer banishment for a term of seventeen 
 years. 
 
 Though Madame de Sevign^ felt cruelly affronted 
 when she saw appear in the work of her cousin a por- 
 trait she believed to have been destroyed years before, 
 though her indignation was equal to the offence, and 
 she reuounced all intercourse with one who had proved 
 so treaclierous, in this hour of need her true heart did 
 not forsake him. The interest Bussy still excited in 
 her mind was great ; she defended him as far as 
 such a bad cause could be sustained, throwing the 
 blame on ]\Iadame de la Baume, who had abused the 
 trust placed in her. 
 
 When Bussy quitted the Bastille, the first visit he 
 received was from j\Iadame de Suvigne, but the feeling 
 of conscious guilt on one side, and that of resentful 
 pride on the other, pi-cvented any true cordiality. An 
 ap})arent reconciliation took jdace, sincere in its inten- 
 tions, but deficient in its accomplishment. It was 
 only at a later period, after a frank a^'Owal on either 
 side, that the recollection of all estrangement was 
 suffered to pass into oblivion and a second friendship 
 was established. 
 
GG MADAME BE HKVIGNJJl. [Chap. XVII. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 1G66-8. 
 
 I\Iode of living of Madame aucl Mademoiselle de Sevigne. — Madame dii 
 Plessis-CTuenegaiid. — The Coiilaii,i;es. — The king an admirer of 
 Mademoiselle de Sevigne. — jiademoiselle de Sevigne at the age of 
 twenty-three. — Correspondence of Bussy and Madame de Sijvi;4iie 
 I'jncwed. — Their reconciliation. 
 
 No change took place in the mode of living of 
 Madame de Sevigne and lier daughter for the 
 next two years — pleasures and amusements were 
 numerous, and Mademoiselle de S^vign^ reigned as 
 an established beauty without receiving any offer 
 of marriage worthy of her attractions. At one time 
 the admiring homage she received from the king 
 seemed likely to ripen into more tender sentiments, 
 but neither the mother nor the daughter could suffer 
 that ' excess of honour or that indignity.' The alarm, 
 however, was but transient, and the wayering affec- 
 tions of the monarch fixed themselves on Madame 
 de Montespan, one of the fair amazons of the ' Ballet 
 des Arts.' 
 
 The renown of Mademoiselle de Sevigne's beauty 
 and coldness was celeluixted by La Fontaine, who, then 
 
1666.] MADAME DU PLESHIS-GUENMAUD. 167 
 
 in tlie first fliisli of his success, dedicated t(j her the 
 * Lion amoureiix ' : — 
 
 ' Sevi^L^iK', «le qui les attraits 
 Ser\eiit aiix Graces de miHlcle, 
 Et qui iiai^ultes toute belie, 
 A votre imliiference pres, 
 Pourriez-vous etre fiivoi-alde 
 Aux jeux iuuocents d'uur. labie, 
 Et voir sau;s vous LqiDuyaiilrr 
 Uii lidu qu'Aiiiour sut (luni]iter? 
 AiUMiir est un etrau.^e uiatlre ! 
 Heureux qui peut ue le cunnaitre 
 Que par recit, lui ni ses eijups ! 
 Quand on en parle devaut vous, 
 Si la \'eril6 vous offense, 
 La fill lie au moins se peut soulfrir : 
 (Adle-i'i prend bien I'a^surance 
 De venir a vos pieds solt'rir, 
 Par zele et par reconnaissance. 
 
 ? * 
 
 No doubt Mademoiselle de Sevigne, in spite of 
 this reputed indifference, was pleased at the poet's 
 delicate flattery, and Madame de Sevigne reaped in 
 the compliments thus paid to her daughter the grati- 
 tude La Fontaine owed to her for her early appreciation 
 of his genius, a preference which ever increased. 
 
 We have spoken before of Madame du Plessis- 
 Guenegaud, and of the sympathy existhig between 
 
 * Sevi.u.ne, whose cliarms mi-lit serve as a model to the C^races ; 
 you who were born all perfect exci-jiting your indiiference, could 
 you be i'a\'<»urable to the innocent d(.'\'iijes of a fabli-, and see, with- 
 out IteiuLi; alarmed, a li<ai that Love eould tame ^ Lm'e is a strange 
 master ; happy is he win* knows him by nqnitation onl}^ — him and liis 
 wounds. When he is spoken of in yiuir pi e.-^ence^ if truth offends you 
 a fable at least may be tolerated ; this one boldly comes to offer itseK at 
 your feet, inspired by zeal and gratitude. 
 
](;s MADAME BE Xf:VIGN2. [Chap. XVn. 
 
 her and our marquise CAviug to their community of 
 tliought at the time of Fouquet's trial The intimacy 
 had gone on progressing, and Madame de S^vign^ 
 and her daughter were constant visitors at the Hotel 
 de Nevers. There they met a circle at once varied 
 and select ; there La Fontaine, Boileau, Eacine — all 
 three striving for that reputation they have since en- 
 joyed — read what have become the masterpieces of 
 the French lanoTiaci-e and literature. In the summer 
 Madame du Plessis-Guen^gaud gathered at her Chateau 
 de Fresncs the same attractions and the same company; 
 Madame de Sevigne being more than once prevailed 
 upon to pay long visits to her friend and share in the 
 numerous diversions. The then most fashional)le 
 entertainment Avas private theatricals, and m these 
 Madame de Sevigne took an active part. 
 
 Slie herself informs us in one of her letters to her 
 daughter, that her talents for acting were considered 
 of no mean kind. Her vivacity, her natural grace 
 and ease, her quick understanding, no doubt con- 
 tributed to make her a charming performer, and 
 her power over an audience must have been easily 
 acquired. 
 
 A near relation of Madame de St^vio'n^'s, Madame 
 de Goulanges, whom with her husband she styles the 
 ' perfect couple,' was also among the amiable guests at 
 the Cliateau de Fresnes. Marie-Angcdique du Gue- 
 Bagnols had, in 1G59, married Emmanuel de Goulanges, 
 the gay and witty cousin of Maclame de St^vigne. His 
 
1^66.] Mi >XH1 E I T/ I)E Col LANCET. • 169 
 
 wife was gifted \\\i\\ equal vivacity, and in spite of 
 apparent frivolity |)()ssessed a sound understanding. 
 Niece of Le Tellier, first cousin <>f Louvois, Madame 
 de (Joulaiiges seemed destined to make the fortune of 
 lier husband. I)Ut in spite of tiiat wit, which according 
 to Madame de 8cvigne served her in place of dignity 
 at court, Monsieur de Coulaiie'cs could not obtain any 
 post or favour. He lived entirely for society, of which 
 he was during his very long life one of the chiefest 
 ornaments. Full of pithy sayings, always ready with 
 a Song, jo\ial and cheerful at all hours, the ' petit 
 Coulanges ' continued simply the favourite of all who 
 knew him. To Ma<lame de Se\dgne he was tlie most 
 attached relation, th<_' most devoted friend. It was he 
 and Ids annable wife who ollen consoled and cheered 
 lier in the terribh; moments which followed every de- 
 parture of j\[adame de Grignan. 
 
 It is something very noticealde that among her 
 friends Madame de Sevigne numbered persons of every 
 a<''e • her mind, youthful and mature at the same time, 
 enabled her in her prime to be intimate with her elders, 
 and Avhen arrived at old age to find suitable com- 
 panions in the young of her o^\'n sex. Never was 
 there one witli more varied endowments. As the 
 clear surface of a lah'e reflects the sky and surrounding 
 objects, varying From the lightest hue to the most 
 sombre tints, so the soul of Madame de Sevigne could 
 receive every impression ; retaining at once the sub- 
 limest thoughts and the most trifling conversations, 
 
no MADAME DE SjJ^VIGNf^. [Chap. XTIT. 
 
 but impartiiii^' to everytlnng that purity and depth of 
 fceUng which was hers and hers only. 
 
 Corneille, arrived at oh:l age, and smitten by the 
 charms of a young marquise, tells her in some com- 
 plimentary lines that posterity will only beheve of 
 her beauty what he will proclaim ; whatever triumphs 
 she then enjoyed w^ould only interest future genera- 
 tions because he, the poet, admired her. It is the 
 same with the friends of Madame de Sevign^ ; every 
 name made familiar to us by her pen, every man 
 wliom we know to have been one of those wlio oftuii 
 enjoyed her society, acquires an interest and excites 
 our curiosity. He who was not indifferent to one 
 Avhom posterity has placed so high, cannot be indif- 
 ferent to tliat posterity. 
 
 Madame de Sevignc', though her numerous friend y, 
 the interest of her daughter, and the pleasures of a 
 society she appreciated were so many inducements for 
 her to remain in Paris, did not neglect the calls of 
 more serious duties, but obeying the necessity which 
 re(pnred her presence at the Rochers, she spent there 
 the autumn and winter of 1666. AVhen she returned 
 from this absence her thoughts became more than ever 
 engrossed as to the future of her daughter : of the 
 several alliances which had been proposed for her 
 none as yet had been found suitable. Mademoiselle 
 de Sevigne had l.)een solicited in marriage by the Due 
 de Caderousse, a young nobleman, rich and agreeable, 
 l)ut wliose profligacy rendered him a most undesirable 
 
1666.] BCr;<^Y IN EXILE. 171 
 
 husband. He was refiisi'd, and shortly after united to 
 the eldest daughter of j\Iadame <lu Plessis-Guenegaud, 
 whose destiny justified the refusal of Madame de 
 bevigne. 
 
 The Comte de I\Icrinville and the Comte d'Etanii'cs 
 for different reasons were not more successful, and 
 'the prettiest girl in France,' as Bussy termed his 
 young cousin, remaiuLMl unmarried to her twenty- 
 third year. The irritation and impatience of the 
 fond mother at this state of thinii^s are clearly dis- 
 cernible in her corrL^spondence ^vith Bussy at this 
 period. 
 
 The interchange of letters Ijuhveen the two Ralju- 
 tins had reconnnenced after Bussy 's banishment, but 
 not with the unrestrained familiarity of former tiines. 
 Bussy, who in November, 1C6<), had written to 
 Madame de Sevigne a letter in which he describes a 
 visit he had paid to her house at Bourbilly, proudly 
 speaks of the escutcheons of the Rabutins, and the 
 greatness of their race. To this epistle Madame de 
 Sevigne replied after an interval of six months, and 
 contenting herself with making some slight excuses, 
 goes on to express her sorrow that he was not with 
 the army in Flanders. Bussy's answer was immediate, 
 and in it he haughtily disclaims any regret or repining. 
 With a feigned philosophy he accepts his lot, and 
 says — 'There are many people in France who have 
 greater pleasures than I Lave, but there are none who 
 have fewer anxieties. Still, I have as much couraire 
 
172 MADAME BE Si^VIfiyiJ). [Chap. XVTI. 
 
 and ambition as I ever possessed, but it is true that I 
 am not mad enoui^'li to trouble myself with misfortunes 
 tliat are iDCvitalilc . . . 
 
 ' (^Uiand on n'u pas ce que Ton aime, 
 II faut aimer ce (jiie I'on a.'* 
 
 ' Mademoiselle de Sevio-ni^ is rio-ht in sendino- me 
 lier eompliments. After you there is no one I love 
 and esteem so mueh. I am as interested in her as 
 vou are in me. I am certain that she is not so dis- 
 satisfied with her lot as I am with it. Her virtue 
 allows her to wait witli jiatience for an advantageous 
 establishment, which the extraordinary esteem I hold 
 her in convinces me cannot be lon^- in coming!;. These 
 are strong exprcssirjns, madame ; but, in a word, I like 
 her much, and think she, rather than Mademoiselle 
 de Brancas, ought, to be a princess.'! 
 
 In spite of this returning mark of friendship, a whole 
 year ela])sed before another letter was exclianged be- 
 tween the two cousins. In the month of June, 1668, 
 Madame de S(3vign(^ having heard that Bussy had 
 met with an accident, writes to inquire after his 
 health, remarking- at tlic same time that she now 
 thoroughly believes the Italian proverb — 'He who 
 otfends pardons not.' This Avas enough to provoke a 
 justification from Bussy. He begins by reminding 
 
 * When we cannot obtain what we wish^ we must lie satisfied ^\■ith 
 what we have. 
 
 -|- Madtimoiselle de Brancas married Alphonse de Lorraine, Prince 
 d'llarcourt. 
 
16G8.] EA'FLANATIONS WITH BU^SY. 17-3 
 
 lier that tlie last letter had ])CC'ii written by hirnself, 
 and g'oes on to say — 
 
 ' AMiy tell me that I do not forgive you the wrong 
 I have done yon, since I have asked yonr pardon a 
 thousand times, and you have promised as many times 
 to thhik no more alx uit it ? I so depended upon your 
 word that I felt as if nothing had passed between us, 
 and if sometimes I remembered it, it was to compel 
 me to repair the past by greater tenderness towards 
 you. However, it appears that you now and then 
 regret having pardon(Ml me. All that I can believe in 
 )-our favour is, that such changes are foreign to your 
 nature, and that kindness and friendship towards me 
 are natural to you.' You have not the strength to 
 resist fashion, and I am now out of favour. If ever I 
 am again well spoken of, T imagine you will make less 
 effort to applaud the good that may l)e said of me than 
 vou do when tin.' contrary is done.' 
 
 He then reminds his cousin of his conduct at the 
 time of Fourpiet's arrest, and less clearly tries to esta- 
 l)lish that in their cpiarrel he had not been so much to 
 blame as she thought. The relnainder of the letter is 
 full of pleasantry on the exiiected visit of Monsieur de 
 ]\Ionglat to Bussy, and he also informs Madame de 
 Sevigne that the rumour of an accident Ifaving befallen 
 him was entirely without foundation. 
 
 To l^ussy's reproach, that she had forsaken lum be- 
 cause of his disgrace, Madame de Sevigne answers 
 with dignily — 
 
174 MADAME DE ^EVIGNE. [CnAr. XVII. 
 
 ' Learn from iiic, that it is not customary to accuse 
 me of inditference wliere lu}^ friends are concerned. I 
 have many faults, but I have not tliat one. Such a 
 foncy exists only in your imagination, and I have 
 before this shown proofs of generosity in regard to the 
 disgraced which have done me honour with niany I 
 could name if I chose. I do not think, therefore, that 
 I deserve this reproach, and you can erase this item 
 froin the list of my delects. But let us speak of your- 
 self 
 
 ' We are relations, and of the same blood. We 
 please one another, we love one another, we take an 
 interest in our mutual fortunes. You ask me to ad- 
 A'ance money to you on the ten thousand ^cus you 
 are to receive as the legacy of Monsieur de Chalon, 
 You say I refused you, while I say I lent it to you ; 
 for you know very well, and our friend Corbinelli* will 
 b(^ar me out, that my heart Avas at once agreeable, and 
 that when we were settling; some formalities in order 
 to obtain the consent of Neucliese that we might stand 
 in your pla<;e to receive the legacy, you became impa- 
 tient ; then, having found me unfortunately imperfect 
 enough in mind and body to be a subject for you to 
 
 '' CorliineUi, to wlioin iLuLiiiie «le Se\n,L;iie tlius pointedly alludes^ 
 "\v;is inlrodiii'c'l tn her l»y Biissy. Pie entertained sentiments of deep 
 (Irviition I'ur ]\Ja(l;i)iii_' dr S(j\i,L;iie, and "was in conf^taiit conmiunicatidU 
 \\\\]\ licr. A man of talent, a mnsician, the dcscriidani ol" an Italian 
 family, lie led a modest and contented life. The friend of the .t^ivat, lie 
 always njaiiila.iind liis ind(']>('iKh'nrc. He a<lniired Madame de Suvigne, 
 he wor.^hipped Madame de Caii^nan, and ^va.s ever welcomed by liir 
 mother. 
 
KjO.s.] EXPLANATIONS WITH BrS>'^J\ 173 
 
 make a very pretty portrait of, you made it, and you 
 preferred to our old friendsliip, to our name, and even 
 to justice, the pleasure of l>eing praised for your work. 
 You know that a lady-friend of ours generously bound 
 you to burn it : she believed you had <lone so, and I 
 also believed it. Some time afterwards, having heard 
 that you had done wonders in my defence in regard to 
 Monsieur Foacquet, this conduct completely brought me 
 round. I Avas reconciled to vou on mv return from 
 Brittany, and with what sincerity? You know Itest. 
 You remember also our journey in Burgundy, and 
 with what frankness I returned all the share you had 
 ever had in my friendship. I came back more than 
 ever prejudiced in your faA'our. There were then some 
 people who said to me, " I have seen your portrait in 
 the hands of Madame de la Baume ; I have seen it." I 
 answered only by a disdainful smile, pitying those who 
 were so foolish as to Ixdieve their own eyes. "I 
 have seeJi it,'' was again I'epeated to me at the end of 
 a AW'ek ; and again I smile. I laughingly tell Corbi- 
 nelli. He puts on the same incredulous smile which 
 had already served me on two occasions, and I remain 
 for five or six months in this ignorance, pitied by those 
 whom I had laughed at. At last the unhappy day 
 came when I saw myself, and with my own ' chequered 
 e^es ' that A\hich I had refused to credit. If horns had 
 «'i-o\vn out of my head I should have Ijeen less asto- 
 nislKMl. I read and re-read that cruel portrait. I 
 should have thought it very clever had it Ijeen oi' any 
 
176 MADAME DE HEYIGNK [Chap. XVII. 
 
 otlier than me, and by any other tlian you. 1 even 
 thought it so appropriately introduced, and so fitly 
 placed in the book, that I had not the consolation of 
 being able to flatter myself that it was by some 
 other hand than yours. I recognized it by many 
 things I had heard said, more than by the delineation 
 of my character, which I entirely disown. . . . 
 
 ' To be in the hands of everyone, to find oneself 
 iu print; to serve as an amusement to all the pro- 
 vinces, where such things cause harm irreparable; to 
 meet oneself in all tlie libraries, and to receive this 
 aftront fiTjm whom ? I Avill not further expound my 
 reasons ; you are intelligent, and I am assured that if 
 y()U reflect Init a quarter of an hour, you will see 
 them, and think as I do.' 
 
 ]\Ladaine de S^vigno, after tliis clear summin;:^- 
 up of tlie who](,^ case, reuiinds her cousin how little 
 lier bella^'iour corresponded with his accusations. 
 AAdien he was in prison she sympathized with him, 
 and made no secret of the interest he inspired. In 
 a few words she contrasts her conduct with his, and 
 says in con elusion — 
 
 ' This is what I wish to say for once in my hfe, 
 conjuring you to erase from your mind the idea that 
 I am in the wrong. Ki.'ep my letter, and read it again 
 if ever the thought occurs to you to believe it, and l»c 
 impartial in this, as if you were judging a case be- 
 tween two other persons. Let not your interest make 
 you see what does not exist. Ccmfess that you have 
 
1C68.] EXPLANATIONS WITH BUSSY. 177 
 
 cruelly offended against the friendsliip that was be- 
 tween us, and I am disarmed. But to imao'ine that if 
 
 o 
 
 you answer I can ever remain quiet, you are greatly 
 mistaken, for it would be impossible, I shall never 
 cease to write, and instead of two words, as I had 
 promised, I should write two thousand ; and at last 
 I shall do so much l)y letters of a cruel length and 
 mortal dullness, that I shall compel you, in spite of 
 yourself, to ask my forgiveness, that is, to l)eg for life. 
 Do so with a good grace.' 
 
 The letter Bussy wrote in answer to his cousin is a 
 marvel of subtlety and of what can be said in defence 
 of a bad case. To the open attac]< of Madame de 
 SevigiK^, hr answers b}' explanati(.)iis and protestations 
 whicli prove very little except how well he eould 
 write. Professing that he did not think himself 
 thoroughly culpable, he repeatedly acknowledges the 
 much greater magnitude of his offence, compared with 
 that he had imagined he had received of Madame de 
 S^vigne. He blends compliments and assurances of 
 esteem and affection with the reproaches he tells her 
 she had deserved ; and again disclaiming any sym- 
 pathy for himself because of his banishment and 
 broken career, he ends his letter with a compliment 
 for Mademoiselle de Sevigne, knowing well what 
 would best please her mother. 
 
 But Bussy made a mistake when he thought to 
 silence his cousin. Madame de S(^vign(3 was too 
 firmly in the right not to uphold that truth with all 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 MADAME BE HjiVIGNK [Chap. XYIL 
 
 her strength. In another letter, dated the 28th of 
 August, 1<»68, slie takes up Bussy's arguments one 
 by one, and succeeds, only too clearly for hmi, m 
 establishing the cowardly conduct of one who was 
 her relation and friend. Every little perfidy, every 
 breach of laitli is recalled, and, what is marvellous, 
 in all the vivacity of offended friendship there does 
 not appear one trace of animosity or bitterness. 
 Madame de Sevignt^, strongly as she felt what had 
 taken place, continued to entertain for her cousin the 
 most sincere friendship, and when at last Bussy lays 
 down his arms and openly acknowledges himself 
 vanquished, she joyfully exclaims — 
 
 ' Rise, comte ; I will not kill you when you are 
 down, or take up your sword to resume our combat. 
 It is better I should grant you your hfe and we 
 should live in peace. . . . 
 
 ' Adieu, comte. Now I have defeated you I shall 
 everywhere say that you are the most valiant of men, 
 and I shall speak of our fight when I talk of single 
 comi)ats. 
 
 'My daughter sends you her compliments. The 
 opinion you entertain of her consoles us a little.^ 
 
 Bussv was not lono: in thankinor his cousin for her 
 generosity, and with a foresight that proved true he 
 Avrites — ' I cim so persuaded that Mademoiselle de 
 S^vigne will soon be well married, that this opinion 
 amounts io a })resentiment. You will tell me news 
 of it before a year. I am her very humble admirer.* 
 
1668.] EECOyCILED TO BVSSY, 170 
 
 Thus terminated the quarrel between ]\Ia(lame de 
 S^vignu and Bussy. Through the whole of it her 
 demeanour was sueh as might be expected from her 
 noble mind. She could not but resent the outrage ; 
 she was too frank not to do so openly. Yet she could 
 twice, and twice with e(paal sincerity, forgive — forget 
 w^as n(.)t in her power, and f(.)r many years the wound 
 w^as to remain painful. The hand that had dealt the 
 blow was pardoned, but the blow had been given. 
 Like youth, perfect confidence is possessed but once in 
 a lifetime ; let it be shaken, and the foundations, how- 
 ever great the will, can never be again solidly esta- 
 blished. On one side stands Madame de Sevigne, as 
 noble minded as forgiving; on the other Bussy, as 
 spiteful as revengefid — the offended and the offender, 
 to choose between them cannot be a difficult task. 
 
 N J 
 
18(» MAl>AME IJE ^EVIGNE. [Chap. XVIII. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 1668-70. 
 
 Charles de Sevigne : Ins cliaracter.^ Joins the expedition to Candia 
 under tlie orders of the Comte de St.-PauL — Mademoiselle de 
 Sevigne is ejiiiaued to the Comte de GiiLrnan. — Madame de Sevime's 
 opinion of the alliance. — Tlie marriage is celebrated. — Correspond- 
 ence between Maduiiue de Sevigne and Bussy. 
 
 It was in the year 1668 that the son of Madame de 
 Sevigne, having attained the age of twenty, began hfe 
 in earnest. Charles de Sevigne, who during the hfe- 
 time of his mother Avas known by the title of Baron de 
 Sevigne, differed entirely in mind and temper from his 
 sister. Every mention of him in his mother's letters, 
 even when referring to his youthful folhes, wins for 
 him the sympathy of the reader. In many particulars 
 he reseml)led his mother. Possessed of those little 
 graees which add so much to the charm of existence, 
 he was a most amiable companion. He had received 
 the same careful education as his sister, and his talents 
 were not only equal, but perhai»s superior to hers; he 
 spoke, he v/rote, he read delightfully; affectionate and 
 demonstrative, his mother experienced from him those 
 outpourings of tenderness which were denied her by 
 
16(;.s.] CHARLES DP: ^'^LVIGXE. 181 
 
 her more beloved daugliter. ' A jjrave and good man/ 
 was St. -Simon to write of liim many years after his 
 death, favourably contrasting him with his sister, 
 whose hauglity pretensions did not find favour in St.- 
 Simon's eves. 
 
 Sevigne appears to have l:)een truly amiable, and 
 to have inherited a i!:ood share of the blood of the 
 Rabutins, to whom he bears a strong resemblance in 
 many things. Madame de Sevigne w^as tenderly at- 
 tached to her son, and always solicitous for his welfare 
 and fortune ; but her marked predilection fur her 
 daughter could not be hid from an}- eyes, and least 
 ot all from those of her son. The way in which he 
 seems to have accepted the second place in his 
 mother's heart is very touching : his affection re- 
 mained the same, not only for Madame de Sevign^, 
 but, what is more surprising, for his sister. The only 
 fiiult we can sincerely regret in the character of 
 Madame de Sevigne is, her having lavished a much 
 larger sliare of her heart on one cliild, a partiality 
 which certainly seems not to have been justified. Of 
 the two, Charles de Sevigne was no doubt the more 
 lovable, and we believe much mure capable of return- 
 mo^ the tenderness so often vasted on the colder dis- 
 position of Madame de Grignan. 
 
 Brave, and impatient to distinguish himself, Sevigne 
 seized the opportunity which offered of joining the 
 band of volunteers whom the Marquis de la Feuillade 
 led to the assistance of Venice against the Turks 
 
182 MADAME BE f^EVTGNE. [Chap. XVIII. 
 
 ■ The young baron was attached to the brigade com- 
 manded by the Comte de St.-Panl, son of the Diichesse 
 de Longneville. Sevigne, encouragc^d l»y {\\q Due de 
 hi Eochefoucauld and Turenne, whom he had con- 
 sulted, and without referring to his motlier, decided 
 on joining an expedition destined to be both heroic 
 and unfortunate. Madame de Sevigne, whose approval 
 was afterwards solicited and obtained, did not without 
 a deep pang witness his departure, and shortly after- 
 wards she writes to Bussy — ' And now he is gone, 
 I have cried bitterly. I am truly afflicted. I shall 
 not enjoy a mementos tranquillity during the whole 
 expedition. I see all the i)erils of it ; they are killing 
 me. But I was not mistress ; and on such occasions 
 
 ' mothers have not much to say.' 
 
 The enterprise, fatal to so many, gave to S^vign^ 
 an early renown for valour which he was to sustain 
 in his future campaigns. At the time he embarked, 
 in the month of September, 1GG8, the marriage of 
 ^lademoiselle de Sevigne, tliough still kept a secret, 
 was already decided on, her brother having left his 
 proxy in the hands of the Abbo de la Mousse. It was 
 o]ily on the 4th of December that Madame de Sevigne 
 wrote to Bnssy— 
 
 ' I must inform you of what I have no doubt will 
 much })lease you. It is, that at last the " prettiest girl 
 in France "is to be married to, not the best-looking 
 man, but one of the most "homirtcs hommrs " in the 
 ki)i'i,-(lom. It is Monsieur de Grignnn, whom you 
 
IfiGS.] MOXHIEVJ: DE URIGNAX. 1^3 
 
 have long known. All his wives have died to make 
 way for ^-onr cousin, and even his father and his son, 
 witli extraordinary kindness ; so, liein-- richer than 
 he has ever Ijeen, and finding hini to Ije by his birth, 
 by his estahllslanent, and by liis good (|ualities such 
 as we could wish, we do not bargain as it is customary 
 to do, but rely on tlie two families that have gone 
 before us. He appears much plejised at our alliance, 
 and as soon as we hear from his uncle, the Arch- 
 bishop of Aries — liis other uncle, the Bishop of Uzes, 
 being here — the aflair will be completed before the end 
 of the year. As I am a rather particular lady I do 
 not fail to ask your advice and approbation. Tlie 
 public seems satisfied, tliat is something ; v;e are so 
 foolish that our conduct is mosth^ ruled l)y that.' 
 
 The Comte de Griofuan, Avhom Madame de Sevigne 
 thought to possess every requirement she could wish, 
 was the eldest representative of an ancient and noble 
 family of Provence. Fran^,ois Adhemar, Comte de 
 Grignan, was descended from the family of Castellane, 
 wdio had allied themselves to the Grignans, which 
 
 O 7 
 
 name tliey adopted on inheriting, in l;'Go, the mmfe 
 of Griuiian. The Adhemars were of still more ilhis- 
 trious descent. The familv of Llonsieur de Grignan 
 was numerous and powertul, his uncles and some of 
 his brothers occupying high ecclesiastical positions. 
 Two younger l)rothers Mere in the army, one being a 
 Chevali(-'r de Malte, the other commanding a troop of 
 chevau-leger. Tlie destined husband of Mademoiselle 
 
184 MADAME DE ^J^VIGNE. [Chap.XYIII. 
 
 (le Sevigne Avas tliirty-seven years of age, tall, and of a 
 remarkably good figure, l)ut in features by no means 
 handsome. In manners be was stately and polite, his 
 bearing full of dignity and well befitting his noble name 
 and race. He was in reality possessed of the good 
 qualities attributed to him by -Madame de Sevigne, 
 and became ' the most desirable liusband, and the 
 most agreeable for his society.' He had been twice 
 married ; the first time to the second daughter of the 
 Marquise de Rambouillet, and afterwards to Made- 
 moiselle du Puy-du-Fou. By his first wife he had 
 two daughters, still children when he contracted a 
 third alliance. At the time he proposed to Made- 
 moiselle de Sevigne, the Comte de Grignan was Lieu- 
 tenant-general du Roi en Languedoc ; but this office 
 did not hinder him from living at court, and being 
 favourably regarded by the king, he entertained great 
 hopes of further advancement. 
 
 Charmed witlra union so gratifying and appropriate, 
 Madame de Sevigne perhaps willingly blinded herself 
 to the real state of her son-in-law's fortune. The 
 Cardinal de Eetz, to whom she had written of her 
 daughter's tremulous fears as the day of the wedding 
 drew nigh, warns her of her imprudence in these 
 terms : — 
 
 'Great as y('U describe to me her fears [Made- 
 mois(dle de St^vlgne's] in regard to the wedding day, 
 I doubt whether they can equal mine as to what is to 
 follow. Nil ice I see by your letters that you have not 
 
1G69.] HER f>AUGirn:TrS MARRIAGE. \'< 
 
 had, nor Lope foi', any explanations, and that you 
 abandon yourself to destiny, which is often very un- 
 grateful and does not requite the confidence placed 
 m it. 
 
 The cardinal's fears were not soundless, and the 
 constant embarrassments of Madame de Griguan, who 
 wdiile living in a state of ostentatious grandeur was 
 overwhelmed with debts and difficulties, caused 
 Madame de S^vio-ne to shed more tears than her own 
 
 o 
 
 sorrows ever called forth. But now all was hope and 
 felicity. The nol)le relations and friends of both parties 
 were called upon to sign the contract on the 27th ot 
 Januarv, 1669, and on the 29th the marriaire was 
 celebrated. The union, however, caused no sepa- 
 ration between mother and daughter; Monsieur and 
 Madame de Grionan contlnuino; to reside in Paris. 
 
 The newly estal)lished harmony between Madame 
 de Sevigne and her cousin Bussy was soon again to be 
 disturbed. The fault this time lay with Monsieur de 
 Grignan, who, contrary to all established customs of 
 o:ood breeding:, had not on the occasion of his marriao^e 
 written to Bussy. Madame de Sevigne, sensilde of 
 this. omission, and desirous that her children and her 
 cousin should remain on terms of amicalde intercourse, 
 took upon herself to try and persuade the vain-glorious 
 Eabutin to write first to Monsieur de Grignan, She 
 began by expressing her wish to Madame de Bussy, 
 and her cousin, who had for some time ceased his 
 correspondence with her, resumed it to explain his 
 
186 MADAME DE HKVIGNK [Chap.XYIII. 
 
 silence. He very truly puts tilings as tliey stood, 
 and says — 
 
 ' From whate^'or point we may both be looked at, 
 and particularly when he [Grignan] marries the 
 daughter of my first eousin, he ought to write to me 
 first, for I presume that my being persecuted does not 
 exclude me from this favour. There are a thousand 
 people who for that reason would write to me the more 
 willingly, and omitting to do so is not like the polite- 
 ness of the Hotel de Rambouillet. I know that friend- 
 ships are free, but I was not aware tliat things which 
 concern good breeding were equally so. This comes 
 from being so long away from court : one unlearns 
 everything in the provinces.' 
 
 The answer of Madame de S(^vign6 is a request to 
 Bussy to defer to her wish. She strives to put it 
 gaily, that Monsieur de Grignan, thinking his happi- 
 ness uncommon, is determined not to adhere to es- 
 tablished customs. She begs Bussy to write him a 
 letter such as he can so well pen, and in the same 
 cover she enclosed a few lines from Madame de 
 Grignan, of so formal and sour a character that they 
 did not help to l)ri]ig about what Madame de Sevign^ 
 desired. Bussv, who tliou^-ht he could read between 
 the lines, imairined he discerned in his cousin's letters 
 the hostile influence of Monsieur de Grignan. His 
 answer, therefoic, was angry and sullen, and Iiis al- 
 lusions to ]\Iadamo de Grimian anvthimr but deferen- 
 tial. Madame de Sevii;iie, whose intentions, far from 
 
 O 7 I 
 
1G70.] DI'J.lTIf OF PREtMDEXT FREMYOT. 187 
 
 offeiiJiiig' BiLssy, were to efface any ill impression he 
 might have entertained from lior son-in-law's silence, 
 exclaims in wonder and pain — ' Ah, (;omte, Avas it you 
 who wrote the letter I have just received?' Then, 
 w^ord by word, she explains her meaning, adding — ' I 
 was cheerful and liappy when Avriting my letter, 
 and I had no doubt it would divert you in your 
 solitude.' 
 
 Bussy, however, had been hurt, and only reluctantly 
 relented. But there was no witlistanding the eloquent 
 rjen of Madame de Seviiine, so Bussv wrote first to 
 i\Ionsieur de Grignan. Either his letter did not please, 
 or he was dissatisfied with the answer he received, as 
 a pause a.gain occurred in the correspondence (.)f the 
 cousins. These two Eabutins were, however, ' ])orn 
 for one another,' and when, in 1G70, the President 
 Fremvot died, leavin!^- his fortune to his cousin 
 Madame de Sevigne, Bussy seized tlie opportunity to 
 write to her. His letter was short, but friendly. 
 'We are always meeting wdth incidents, but our senti- 
 ments are good,' answers ^ladame de Sevign(^, and 
 she again resumes tlie correspondence. 
 
 Bussy Iiastensto encourage her to continue, amiably 
 owning that he found it so tedious not wuiting to her, 
 that he had gladly availed himself of the circumstance 
 of the death of the President Fremvot to write to her, 
 and that if that occasion had not oflered its(df he would 
 have found it necessary to condole with her on the 
 death of some one still living;. 
 
ISS AfADJiM}] BE >^£riGXJJJ. [Chap. XYIIT. 
 
 It seemed liowever, in spite of these renewals of 
 aftection, that the cousins could not live in peace. 
 Writing to l]ussy after a conversation with Corbinelli, 
 Madame de Se\'igne, who no doubt had been speaking 
 to their mutual friend of the last quarrel, cannot avoid 
 recurring rather bitterly to the past. This little ran- 
 cour was met in good spirit by Bussy, and he con- 
 tents himself with asking ]\Iadame de Sevign^ how 
 long she intends awakening the memory of those by- 
 gone offences, as he wishes to be prepared. He begs 
 her also ' to take more care another time not to oifend 
 against the friendship she owes him,^ and he adds a 
 few words for C*orbinelli, whom he was expecting on a 
 visit, and wlio had in vain tried to prevent Madame 
 de Sevio-n^ sending' a letter written in a moment of 
 tumultuous recollections. 
 
 The graceful acknowledgment of her fault by 
 Madame de Sevigne caused Bussy to tell her that she 
 miirht ofiend him often on condition that she would 
 always excuse herself in the same manner. A perfect 
 understandim!; was established once more, not however 
 to 1)0 never again clouded. The irresistible impulse 
 forcing Ma<kame de Sevigne and Bussy towards one 
 another made tliem ()l)livious of minor quarrels, which 
 seemed as necessary to them as are reconciliations to 
 some lovers. 
 
1660.] OIimiN OF HER LETTERS. 189 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 16G9-71. 
 
 Monsieur cle Grignan appointed Lieutenant-Gen6ral de Provence. — He 
 leaves IMadame de Grignan with, her mother. — Madame de Sevigne's 
 letters to him. — Birth of Marie-Blanche d'Adhemar. — Departure of 
 Madame de Grignan for Provence. 
 
 Madame de S^vignb seemed destined to experience 
 happiness only to feel keener regrets. As when she 
 was nnited to Henri de Sevigne she had joyfully em- 
 braced the hope of felicity, soon to be troubled and 
 dispelled, so on her daughter's marriage she felt a 
 confident assurance, a perfect satisfaction in Madame 
 de Grignan's prosperity and good fortune, only the 
 more bitterly to experience anxiety and disappoint- 
 ment. Not a year after the long-wished-for and 
 desired establishment of her daughter, an event 
 occurred which for the remainder of her existence 
 was to cause Madame de Sevigne to live in a state 
 of impatient longing and sorrowful repining. Her 
 separation from her daughter was a cup of grief she 
 never drained, and which every fresh parting filled to 
 overflowing. 
 
 On the 29th of November, 1G69, the Comte do' 
 
1!)(> MA I) J ME BE 8EVIGNK [Chap. XIX. 
 
 Grignaii ^Yas named Lieutenant-G^ne^ral de Provence. 
 Tliis appointment necessitated his leaving Paris im- 
 mediately and establishing himself in the province he 
 was called upon to govern. Tliongh only lientenant- 
 general, Monsieur de Grignan was to all intents and 
 purposes governor, the holder of that office being the 
 Due de Vendome, then too young to fulfil his obli- 
 gations. The absence of any effective civil power had 
 been taken advantage of by the Bishop of Marseihes, 
 who had usurped an ascendency urgently calling for 
 legal repression by the presence of a lieutenant-general, 
 to take in his hands and resume in his person the 
 authority of the king. 
 
 To conceive what the grief of Madame de Sevign^ 
 must have been at this sudden termination of all her 
 cherished hopes, we must reflect what a journey to 
 Provence was in those days, and what a gulf the slow- 
 ness and obstacles of travelling were to create between 
 herself and Madame de Grignan. Henceforth the 
 delights of daily intercourse, the sharing of all petty 
 vexations, of all small rejoicings, the unburdening of 
 one heart to the other, the consolation of a dear pre- 
 sence ever near, were to be denied to that loving 
 mother who had devoted her youth to her children. 
 
 The letters of Madame de Sevigne wauld not be 
 the monument of genius they are had Madame de 
 Grignan remained in Paris ; but not at such a price 
 would ]\Iadame de Sevigne, we I'eel sure, have bought 
 the eminent place posterity has awarded her. She 
 
1G70.] MOX^<IEUli DE (jniGXAy LEAVES FAlilS. 191 
 
 often meditated on tlie shortness of life, and on the 
 sacrifices we make of our dearest affections only at 
 last to die. 
 
 But if the presence of Monsieur de Grignan was 
 imperatively demanded in his province, his young 
 wife, who was anticipating her confinement, and whoso 
 health had been shaken in the autumn of 1069 by an 
 accident which happened to her at Livry, remained 
 for a while under the care of her watchful mother. 
 Only after the expected event should have taken 
 place was Madame de Grignan to join her husband. 
 
 IMonsieur de Grignan left Paris at the end of April, 
 1070, and his mother-in-law writes to him letters full 
 of consummate diplomacy and replete with that good 
 sense which distinguished her. She praises her daughter, 
 and desirous of her happiness, knowing she can find 
 it but in living affectionately with her husband, she 
 extols her virtues, her merits, and her conjugal tender- 
 ness : — 
 
 'Paris, Weduesday, August 6, KJTo. 
 
 ' Is it not true that I have bestowed on you the 
 prettiest wife in the world? Can any one be more 
 virtuous, m(.)re regular in her conduct? Can any one 
 love you more tenderly? Can any one have more 
 CThristian sentiments? Can any one more ardently 
 desire to join you? Can anyone be more attached 
 to her duties ? It is rather ridiculous for me to speak 
 so well of my daughter, but in truth I admire her 
 
11)2 MADAME BE SKVIGNE. [Chap. XIX. 
 
 eliaviour quite as much as others do ; and even more, 
 as I am better acquamted with it. To tell you the 
 truth, whatever good opinion I may have had of her 
 on all important points, I did not imagine she would 
 be as scrupulous on minor matters as she is. I assure 
 you the world does her justice, and she loses none of 
 the praises that are due to her. It is an old theme of 
 mine, and will cause me to be stoned one of these 
 days, that the public is neither mad nor unjust. 
 IMadame de Grignan must for the moment be too well 
 satisfied with it to dispute with me. Slie has been 
 in inconceivable anxiety about your health. I am 
 delighted that you are cured, both for the love of you 
 and for the love of her. I beg you, if j^ou are to have 
 another attack, to wait till after my daughter's con- 
 finement. She complains every day that we have 
 Ivcpt her here, and says quite seriously that it is 
 extremely cruel to have separated her from you. One 
 would suppose we had taken a pleasure in putting two 
 hundred leagues between you and her. I beg you to 
 quiet her mind on that point, and assure her of your 
 joy in hoping she will be happily delivered here. 
 Nothing was more impossible than to have taken her 
 away in the state she was ; nothing will be so good 
 for her health as to be confined under the care she has, 
 and nothing can be so favourable for her reputation 
 as her mode of conduct here. If after this she felt 
 inclined to become mad and coquettish, she might be 
 so more than a year before any one would believe it, 
 
1G70.] WHITES TO M. BE GilIGNAN, 193 
 
 SO good an opinion has she given of her wisdom. I 
 call as witnesses all the Grio:nans here as to the truth 
 of what I advance. My joy at all this is great, for I 
 love you with all my heart, and am delighted that 
 the result should have so well justified your pre- 
 ference. I give you no news ; it would be trespassing 
 on my daughter's rights. I only beg you to believe 
 that no one has for you a more tender interest than 
 I have.' 
 
 What could better endear Madame de Grignan 
 to her husband than such letters, models of tact and 
 the truest and most enlightened affection ? Overween- 
 ing as was the tenderness of Madame de S^vign6 for 
 her daughter, it never stood as a barrier to any other 
 claim. She urges her daughter, to love her husband 
 and cherish her children : she is the first to bring to 
 light all the good qualities of Monsieur de Grignan, 
 and her influence was ever that of peace and harmony. 
 It seemed to her that she could never dispose Mon- 
 sieur de Grignan to receive his wife with sufficient joy 
 and gratitude, and she writes to him again : — ' She 
 has been in despair that you should have written to 
 me. I never saw a woman so jealous and so envious ; 
 but do what she will she cannot hinder our friendship.' 
 
 If Monsieur de Grignan was not satisfied with such 
 a mother-in-law, he must indeed have been hard to 
 please. With what perfect good grace she seemed to 
 yield him the first place, and how completely she 
 acknowledges his right to possess his wife, and re- 
 
 yoh, I, 
 
194 MADAME DE ^EVIGNE. [Chap. XIX. 
 
 gards as a favour the time slie is still to retain her 
 daughter ! 
 
 On the 15t]i of November, 1670, Madame do 
 Grignan gave birlli to a daughter. The disappoint- 
 ment ^vas great, but Lladamc de Sevigne v\\as too 
 pleased at her ovii cliild's safety to feel keenly on the 
 subject, and she joyfully announces to Monsieur de 
 Grignan the advent of his third daughter. 
 
 Marie-Blanche, who had for godfather the Arch- 
 bishop of Aries, uncle of Monsieur de Grignan, and 
 for godmother Madame de Sevign^, v^as to know 
 care and affection only for the first few years of her 
 life, spent near that loving grandmother. The des- 
 tiny of this poor little child, sent when five years old 
 to a convent, there to be buried, like a rosebud placed 
 in darkness and forbidden to Idoom, is in truth sad 
 and sorrowful. She seemed to have come into the 
 world for no other purpose than to feel what it is to 
 be unhappy and unloved. 
 
 The recovery of Madame cTe Grignan was to 
 Madame de Sevigne^ a w^arning of the separation she 
 had been looking forward to with fear and anguish 
 for a whole year. She writes to Monsieur de Grignan 
 — ' I must love you indeed to send my daughter to 
 you in such weatlicr as this. What folly to quit so 
 good a mother, Avith whom, according to your own 
 account, she is so well satisfied, to go to find a man 
 at the extremity of France ! I assure you nothing is 
 more improper than such an action.' 
 
1G71.] DEFAllTURE OF HER DAUGIlTEli. 105 
 
 Early in the montli of January, 1G71, the depar- 
 ture of i\Iadame de Grignan was contemplated. 
 Heavy rauis prevented her undertakmg the journey 
 for some time, and Zltadame de Scvigno explains the 
 reason at some length to JMonsieur de Grignan, as i[ 
 fearful he would imagine she withheld from him a 
 presence he justly desired. She describes in a few 
 words the poignant grief of the last days, when the 
 certainty of what is coming embitters every remaining 
 moment. 
 
 A short reprieve Avas granted to the mother and 
 daughter, but at last, on the 5th of February, the 
 parting embrace was given. Blinded by tears, over- 
 come by her sorrow, clinging to her daughter with a 
 passionate fondness, Madame de Sevign(3 had to 
 unclasp her from her heart, and watch her take her 
 departure for a distant home. 
 
1:6 MADAME I)E SEVIGNE. [Chap. XX. 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 1670. 
 
 Projected marriage of Mademoiselle to Monsieur de Lauzuii. — Letters 
 of Madame de Sevigne to Monsieur de Coiilanges. — Character of 
 Monsieur de Laiizim. — Refusal of the king. 
 
 We ^Yill now leave Madame de Grignan to continue 
 her journey to Provence vdiile we recount an occur- 
 rence of wliicli i\Iadame de Sevijiiie, in letters written 
 to Monsieur de Coulanges in December, 1G70, Las 
 made herself the immortal historian. Never perhaps 
 has her pen more nearly resembled the brush of the 
 painter, and in colours more vivid given life to the 
 incident she describes : — • 
 
 'Paris, Monday, Dec. 15, 1670. 
 
 ' I am going to inform you of an event tlie most 
 astonishing, the most surprising, the most marvehous, 
 the most miraculous, the most triumphant, the most 
 bewildering, the most unheard-of, the most singular, 
 the most extraordinary, the most incredible, the most 
 unexpected, the greatest, the smallest, the most rare, 
 the most common, the most notorious, the most 
 
1G70.] MAERlAaE OF MADEMOISELLE. 197 
 
 secret until to-day, the most brilliant, the most envi- 
 able ; in fine, an event of which only one parallel is to 
 be fomiil in past ages — even that is not a true one ; 
 an event which we cannot believe in Paris, how then 
 can it be believed at Lyons ? an event which causes 
 everyone to cry " Mercy on us ! " an event which 
 overjoys Madame de Rohan and Madame d'Hauterive ; 
 an event, in fact, which will take place on Sunday, 
 when those who witness it Avill think they see double ; 
 an event which is to take place on Sunday, and which 
 perhaps may not be accomplished on Monday. I can- 
 not persuade myself to tell you ; gaiess it : I give 
 you three guesses ; do you give it up ? Well then, I 
 nuist tell you : ]\Ionsieur de Lauzun is to marry on 
 Sunday, at the Louvre, guess whom : I give you four 
 guesses ; I give you ten ; I give you a hundred, 
 ^^ladame de Coulanges says — ^ " That is not very 
 difficult to guess ; it is Madame de la Valli^re." 
 Quite wrong, madame. " It is ;!\IademoisL'lle de Retz 
 then." Quite wrong ; you are very countrified. 
 "Ah, truly we are very stupid," say you; "it is 
 Mademoiselle de Colbert." Further off than ever. 
 " It is assuredly ]^JadeinoiselIe de Crcqui ! " You are 
 no nearer. I must at last tell you. He is to marry 
 on Sunday, at the Louvre, with the king's permission, 
 Mademoiselle — , Mademoi^tclle de . . ., Mademoiselle ; 
 a'ucss the name : he is to marry !\Iademoiselle ; faith ! 
 by my faith! my sworn faith! Mademoiselle, the 
 great ]\Iademolselle ; ]^f ademoiselle, daughter of 
 
198 MADAME BE SEVIGNR [Chap. SX. 
 
 the late Monsieur ; Mademoiselle, granddaughter of 
 Henri IV; Mademoiselle d'Eii, Mademoiselle de 
 Dombes, Mademoiselle de Montpensier, Mademoiselle 
 d'0rl(5ans ; Mademoiselle, first cousin of the king ; 
 LIademoiselle, once destined for the throne ; Made- 
 moiselle, the only person in France worthy of 
 Monsieur. Here is a fine subject for discourse. If 
 you cry out, if you are beside yourself, if you say we 
 are deceiving you, that it is false, that you are being 
 laughed at, that it is a pleasant joke, that it is a very 
 tame invention ; if, in fact, you abuse us, we shall 
 say you are right, we have done the same ourselves.' 
 
 This letter had not reached Lyons, and imparted 
 the news then causing such surprise and excitement 
 everywhere, before Madame de Sevigne gives the 
 second act in the tragi-comedy : — 
 
 ' Paris, Friday, Dec. 19, 1670. 
 
 ' What is termed falling from the skies is what 
 happened last night at the Tuileries ; but I must 
 begin further back. I left you at the joy, the tran- 
 sports, the rapture of the princesse and her happy 
 lover. It was on Monday, then, that the event was 
 announced, as I have told you. Tuesday was passed 
 in talking, in being astonished, in complimenting. 
 On Wednesday, Mademoiselle prepared a deed of 
 gift to Monsieur de Lauzun, with the object of giving 
 him the titles, the names, and the distinctions neces- 
 
1670.] THE KfXG IIETIIACTB. 199 
 
 sary for the marriage contract, whicli was ready the 
 same daA'. She <^-<x\q him then, awaitiiis; somethim^ 
 Lc'ttrr, four dukedoms: the first is the Comte d'Eu, 
 which is tlie highest peerage of France, and gives the 
 first rank ; the dukedom of ilontpensier, the name of 
 which he bore all da}' yesterday ; the dukedom of 
 St.-Fargeau, and the dukedom of Cliatellerault, the 
 whole esteenK'd Avortli twenty-two mihions. The 
 contract was drawn u[) afterwards, in wliich he took 
 the name of Montpensier. On Thursday morning, 
 which \vas yesterihiy, 3-Iademolselle lioped the king 
 wouhi sign the contract, as he had promised to do ; 
 but at about seven o'clock in the evening, the queen, 
 SIoNsiEUK, and S("A^'ral dotards made his majesty to 
 understand that the affair would damage his reputation ; 
 so that after summoning' ^Mademoiselle and Monsieur 
 de Lauzun, the king declared to then), in presence of 
 Monsieur le Prince, that he forbade them to think any 
 more of this marriage. Monsieur de Lauzun received 
 this order wdth all iho respect, all the submission, all 
 the fortitude, and all the despair so great a iall 
 demanded. As to Made.molselle, yielding to her 
 feelings, she gave way to tears, to screams, to violent 
 grief, t(j reproaches, and the whole day she has kept 
 her bed, not taking anything but broth. Here's a 
 fine dream, here's a fine subject for a romance or a 
 tragedy, but aljove all a fine subject to argue upon 
 and speak of eternally! It is wdiat wx^ do day and 
 night, evening and morning, without end, without 
 
200 MADAME BE SLVIGN±]. [CirAr. XX. 
 
 ceasiDg. We hope you will do the same; efrcl tanfo 
 vi bacio le mani,^ 
 
 There exists perhaps in history no story so curious 
 as the passion of Mademoiselle for Monsieur de 
 Lauzun, the near approach of whose marriage, so 
 mismatched were the lovers in rank and age, was the 
 cause of wonderment to Madame de Sdvign6 and her 
 contemporaries. 
 
 Mademoiselle was the proud daughter of Gaston 
 d'Orl^ans, brother of Louis XIII. Born in 1G27, she 
 had attained the age of forty-three at the time of her 
 projected marriage with Lauzun. Having been all 
 her life insensible to any tender feeling, swayed only by 
 ambition, she appeared destined never to descend from 
 that elevated position which not only her birth and riches, 
 ] lilt her dignity of conduct had given her. Possessing 
 the haughtiest spirit, Mademoiselle had been early 
 led to believe that, in spite of the disparity of }'ears, 
 she was to share the throne of her boy-cousin. As- 
 piring to be a queen, but queen of a great country, 
 and cruelly discappointed by the marriage of the king, 
 she turned her thoughts in another direction. The 
 Princesse de Condc's health was delicate, and had she 
 died the hero of Rocroy would have been a suitable 
 husband for a great princess. But the Princesse de 
 Cond^ lived. Great alliances with the sons of em- 
 peroi'S and reigning ki]i,''i;s were negotiated for Made- 
 moiselle ; some she refused, and some were not con- 
 
1G70.] MADEMOISELLE, 201 
 
 eluded because of tlie ill-will of the queen dowager. 
 But \yliat fate could await that dauditer of France 
 better than that she possessed in her native land? 
 After the Cjueen, the first in rank at court, of great 
 power and immense wealth, free and unfettered by 
 those ties which crushed the life out of more than one 
 youug princess taken to become a queen in a foreign 
 court, her existence, even Avhen damped by exile and 
 banishment to her own princely domains, seemed one 
 uninterrupted course of pleasure and honour. Sur- 
 rounded by friends and courtiers, dispensing favours, 
 and demanding none, exalted by her rank, Ijy her 
 person, by her intelligence. Mademoiselle, grand- 
 daughter of Henri IV, had become tlie ' Great Made- 
 moiselle/ But prosperity, which had seemed to satisfy 
 her, grcAA^ tame at last, and Aveary of the quarrels, of 
 the interested affection which the hope of ])ecoming 
 her heir gave rise to on all sides — not excepting the 
 king, who desired her great wealth for the dauphin — 
 ]\LvDEMOiSELLE anuounccd her intention to marry. 
 Wlio could aspire to sucli a hand? Tlie excitement 
 was great amongst the friends of the princesse. 
 
 MoxsiEUi^, l:)rother of tlie king, had lost his beautiful 
 young wife, Henrietta of England ; and ]\Iademoiselle 
 alone in France could aspire to replace her. But tliese 
 tv:o cousins bore no love for one another: neither 
 wislied for the marriage ; t]ie king did not press it, and 
 all eyes were turned in another direction. 
 
 There was then, in the flower of manhood, a young 
 
202 MADAME DE SLVIGXK [Chap. XX, 
 
 prince, Bourbon on his motlier's side, and heir to the 
 name of Longneville. The Comte de St.-Paul, born 
 at the Hotel de Villo in the troublous days of the 
 Fronde, was the husband that many of Mademoiselle's 
 best friends wished to give her. The difference of 
 twenty )X'ars between him and liis Intended bride was 
 disregarded. He was of ro}'al blood, charming in per- 
 son, and fit to receive the titles and riches Made- 
 moiselle could l)estow. ]\Iadame de Sovigne, Avho 
 from her youth had always been admitted to the 
 intimacy of Made.moiselle, was one of those who 
 supported the pretensions of the Comte de St.-Paul. 
 He seemed to be favourably received by Made- 
 .AioisELLE, and the whole family of Lono;ueville were 
 rrjoicing and exulting when the most incredible news 
 burst on an astonished society, that ' on Sunday, at the 
 Louvre, with tlie king's permission,' Mademoiselle 
 was to marry ]\Ionsieur de Lauzun. 
 
 ' Lauzun,' says St. -Simon, who became his brother- 
 in-law, ' was a man small in figure, Avith sandy hair, 
 well made, with a physiognoni}' proud, intelligent, and 
 imposing, but, from Avhat I have heard said by his con- 
 temporaries, without any beauty. Full of ambition, 
 wliims, and ftmcies ; jealous of every distinction, 
 always wishing to overstep the mark, never satisfied 
 Avith anything ; with no knowledge of letters, or any 
 ornament of the mind ; naturally morose, solitary, and 
 retired ; noUe in all his wa^s, unkind and malicious 
 by na.ture, still more so through jealousy and ambi- 
 
1670.] MONSIEUR I)E LAVZVN. 2(>3 
 
 tion ; a good friend ^vhen lie was, Avliicli was rare, 
 inclined to Ins relations, an enemy even of those 
 indifterent to liini ; cruel in finding out faults, even 
 inventing them ; excessively brave, and also danger- 
 ously huld. A courtier equally insolent, spiteful, and 
 obsequious ; full of mean intrigues to attain his ends, 
 for that reason dangerous Xo ministers ; feared Ijy all at 
 court, and ever readv Avith sarcasms as wittv as thev 
 were cruel, sparing none/ 
 
 This formidable })ersonnge, for one possessed of such 
 qualifications may well be teruLcd so, came to court a 
 ' cadet of Gascony,' under the name of llarquis do 
 ruyguilhem. He Ijelonged to the house of Caumont, 
 and was cousin to the ]\Iar(jchal do Grammont, whose 
 protection was his chief recommendation. In a very 
 short time Pu^^guilhem became a favourite with Louis 
 XIV, when his presumption attained immense pro- 
 portions. The king having promised him the appoint- 
 ment of grand master of the artillery, Puyguilhem so 
 prematurely spoke of the nomination that the know- 
 Icdu'e of the kinii's intention reached Louvuis in time 
 for him to prevent it. Soon after, being with the king, 
 ruyguilhem alluded to the artillery, and insolently 
 called on the monarch to keep his word. The king 
 answered, that having made the promise on condition 
 of secrec}', the indiscretion of Puyguilhem had released 
 him. Immediately the passionate young man turned 
 liis back to the king, and drawing his sword broke it 
 in two, exclaiming that lie would never again serve a 
 
:nl MADAME DE SLVIGXA [CiiAr. -\X. 
 
 prince who knew not how to keep his word. It was 
 then that Louis XIV showed himself worthy of his 
 rank. Furious at the insuU, he walked to the win- 
 dow, and opening it, threw out his stick, saying he 
 should be sorry to strike a gentleman, and then left 
 the room. 
 
 The next day Puyguilhem was a prisoner in the 
 Bastille ; but soon tlie monarch relented, and the 
 favourite was liberated Avith the title of captain of the 
 guards, an appointment the king had offered him 
 while in prison. Once more at court, he began to 
 attract the attention of one who so nearly raised him 
 to the highest honours his hungry ambition could 
 ever aspire to. 
 
 As early as IGGG, Mademoiselle entertained a pre- 
 ference for Lauzun, and he at the same time began to 
 show her silent and unobtrusive marks of his passion. 
 In the queen's apartments, Lauzun, who had taken 
 that name on the death of his father, always found 
 means to approach jMademolselle and deferentially 
 and tenderly to converse "with her. For a while she 
 Avas blinded to the feeling which prompted her to seek 
 the presence of Lauzun. She was too proud to sus- 
 pect Ijerself capable of any weakness, and fk\ttered 
 herself that she prized his intelligence and his good 
 feeling. Slowly did the conviction come to her that 
 lovr, which she had so long disdained, was obtaining 
 tlie mastery of her heart. It was with a kind of 
 horror that ^Jade^niolselle discovered what she felt. 
 
1G70,] MADEMOISELLE ANlJ LAUZUS. 2u:> 
 
 That she could love, and stoop to one so iniiiiiteh^ 
 beneath her, caused lier poignant grief. She battled 
 Avith her inclination, avoiding every occasion of meet- 
 ing Lauzun ; but soon, feeling how essential his pre- 
 sence was to her existence, she gave way and aban- 
 doned herself to the impulse of her heart. In her 
 memoirs she describes, day by day as it were, the 
 progress and force of her passion. When she became 
 convinced that no eilbrt on her part could subdue it, 
 her mind turned to an honom^able issue — could slie 
 marry Lauzun ? 
 
 The immense ab}'ss between herself and Lauzuii 
 she clearly discerned ; slie knew that if she obtained 
 the king's approval the astom'shment and reprobation 
 of the world would be ^Tcat. What, the first cousin ot 
 the king take as a husband a fovourite of yesterday ! 
 A princess who had been sought by the njonarchs of 
 Europe give her hand to Puyguilhem ! In spite of 
 search in history for a parallel, ' even that not a 
 true one,' as Sladame de Sevign<^ justly says, she 
 made up her mind to face the world and be happy 
 after her fashion. 
 
 It was from her own lips that Laazun learnt who 
 was the husband she had chosen. He at first refused 
 to believe what he heard, and l)y his feigned modesty 
 endeared himself still more to one blinded by the 
 strongest partiality. 
 
 The king's permission Avas next to be obtained. 
 "When Mademoiselle disclosed lier intentions to him, 
 
iio;; 
 
 MADAME IJE ^EVIGNK [Chap. XX. 
 
 he neither consented nor oLjected, but begged her to 
 reflect on what she was about to do. Her sohcitations 
 became more urgent, and Louis XIV, prevailed on by 
 her entreaties, sent notice to lier bv the Due de 
 Montausicr that she might do as slie pleased. The 
 toleration was so great that the bearer of the permis- 
 sion pressed ^Iademoiselle and Lauzun to be united 
 that very night, lest the king should reflect and 
 retract his consent. Infatuated l')y love and am- 
 bition, thev did not defer to so wise a counsel — in 
 Lauzun there was a desire to make a gorgeous ap- 
 pearance on his wedding day ; in ]\Iademoiselle the 
 noble pride of her fully. Two days of triumph and joy 
 passed ; llie third cast to the winds the anticipations 
 of both. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne, who followed all the different 
 phases of this strange affair witli intense interest, 
 wrote on the 24th of December to Monsieur de 
 Coulanges : — 
 
 ' Now you know the romantic history of Made- 
 ^.lOiSELLE and Monsieur de Lauzun. It is a fit subject 
 for a tragedy, according to theatrical rides : we were 
 arranging the acts and the scenes the other day, taking 
 four days instead of twenty-four hours, and the piece 
 was perfect. Never were such changes seen in so 
 short a time ; never did you witness such universal 
 emotion; never did you hear such extraordinary news. 
 Monsieur de Lauzun has acted his part to perfection ; 
 h(,^ has sustained his misfortune with a fortitude, a 
 
1G70.] GBIJ^F OF MADEM()1>^ELLE. 'l^^^l 
 
 courage, and also a .l^tIcI' IjIcikIcmI with a profound 
 respect, wliicli lias caused him to he admired hy every- 
 body. What lie lias lost is licyond price, hut the 
 favour of tlie kiiia\ ^vliicli lie lias retained, is beyond 
 price also, and it docs not appear tliat his iate is to ])e 
 deplored. 2^LvL)E:\IOISELLE has likewise behaved ex- 
 tremelv well : she weiit abundantly ; she has to-dav 
 recommenced paying her respects to royalty, all of 
 whose visits she had receive<l. This is the end of the 
 affair. Adieu.' 
 
 Eeturning to the ])ast, and to the truth of the pre- 
 sentiment which from the first dictated to ]\Iadanie de 
 Reviirne, tliat it was an event which was t<) ' take 
 place on iSunday, and Avhich ])(_'rha})S may not be 
 accomplished on Monday,' she writes again : — ■ 
 
 'Paris, ^yedllC'sday, Dec. ol, 1G70. 
 
 ' I have received your answers to my letters, and I 
 understand your astonishment at what passed between 
 the 15tli and 20th of this month : the subject was 
 worthy of it, I admire also your rectitude of mind, 
 and how right you were in thinking that this great 
 machine could uot iro on from ]\rondav till the fol- 
 lowing Sunday. Modesty prevents me from praishig 
 you unrestrainedly on this subject, because I thouglit 
 and said exactly the same thing. I remarked to ni}' 
 daughter on the ]\londay, " This will never go on suc- 
 cessfully till Sunday," and I wanted to wager, notwith- 
 standing everything breathed of the wedding, that it 
 
lioy MADAME DE ^LVICiNiL.. [C hap. XX. 
 
 would not take place. In truth, on Thursday the sky 
 became clouded, and the storm burst at ten o'clock m 
 the evenmg, as I have already told you. On that very 
 Thursday, at nine m the morning, I went to see 
 Mademoiselle, having heard that she was to be 
 married in the country, and that the Coadjuteur of 
 Rheims was to perform the ceremony. It was tlius 
 resolved on the Wednesday evening, for as to the 
 Louvre, that was given up on the Tuesday. Made- 
 moiselle was writing ; she gave orders for me to enter 
 her room, finished her letter, and then, as she was in 
 bed, made me kneel by the bedside. She told me to 
 whom she w^as writing, and why, and spoke of the 
 handsome presents slie had made the day before, and 
 the name she had given ; adding, that there was no 
 match for her in Europe, and that she wished to be 
 married. She then repeated to me a conversation she 
 had had with the king, and appeared beside herself 
 with joy at making a man happy. She spoke to me 
 with tenderness of the merit and gratitude of Monsieur 
 de Lauzuu, and upon that I said, " Indeed, Made- 
 moiselle, you are very pleased, but vvhy did you not 
 promptly settle this affair on Monday ? Do you not 
 know that so great a delay gives time to the whole of 
 the kingdom to speak, and that it is tempting God and 
 the king to delay so long such an extraordinary affair ? " 
 She answered me that I was right ; but she was so 
 confident, that what I said made only a trifling im- 
 pression then. She again spoke of the good qualities 
 
1670.] GrJEF OF MADEMOISELLE. 20:) 
 
 and tlie good fomily of Lanzmi. I repeated to lier 
 these lilies of Severe in ' Poljcuete ' — 
 
 ' " Je ne la puis du moins MfiDier d'nn niauvais dioix : 
 Pol\ tiicti; a du noiii, et sort du saui;- de.s ruis." * 
 
 Slie embraeed me tenderly. This conversation lasted 
 an honr, and it is impossible to relate it cill ; l)nt evi- 
 dently I had been very agreeal)le dnring the time: I 
 may say it vithout vanity, for in truth she was glad to 
 speak to some one, her heart was so fnlL At ten 
 o'clock she gave audience to the rest r)f France who 
 came to compliment her on the event. She Avas ex- 
 pecting news all the morning, but received none. In 
 the afternoon she amused herself hy superintending the 
 arrangement of Monsieur de Montjjensier's [Lauzun] 
 apartment. In the evening you know \\hat happened. 
 Tlie next day, Avhich Avas Friday, I went to see her. 
 I found her in bed. On seeimr me her sobs redouljled ; 
 calling me, she eml)raced me and covered me Avitli 
 her tears. She said to me, "Alas! do you rememlier 
 Avliat you told me yesterday? Ah, Avhat cruel pru- 
 dence ! ah, prudence ! " She made me Aveepto see her 
 Aveep so liitterly. I have ]»een again twice, and found 
 her extremely afflicted : she has ahvays treated me as 
 a person Avho understands her sorrows, and she is 
 not deceived. I have felt on this occasion sentiments 
 it is not customary to experience toAvards })ersons (.)f 
 
 * I cannot Idame lier for lier bud clioice : Pol} euclc has a naine, and 
 is descended from kings. 
 
 VOL. 1. P 
 
2\i) MADAME DE SRVIGNE. [CriAr. XX. 
 
 siirh rank. This ])etwcen us two and Madame de 
 C^^ulano•es, for aou Avell understand that this tattle 
 Avould be ridiculous to any one else. Adieu.' 
 
 The grief of Mademoiselle had been great indeed ; 
 tlio humiliation and disappointment were unspeakal'l(\ 
 A\Tien summoned on that fatal Thursday evening into 
 tliL' {iresence of the king, and hearing from his lips the 
 doom, as she believed, of her happiness, she had sup- 
 plicated him with tears to retract his refusal ; throwing 
 herself on her knees, regardless of the presence of 
 ]\[onsieur le Prince, to whose remonstrances she was in 
 a great measure indebted for the king's revulsion of 
 feeling, she begged, she implored the monarch, the 
 near relation, not to dral her such a blow. Louis was 
 firm, but his resolution cost him a pang : kneeling 
 before the unfortunate princesse, supporting her in his 
 arms to raise her, mingling his tears with hers, he even 
 reproached her for not having profited by his per- 
 mission in the hour it was accorded, thereby giving no 
 opportunity for time and advisers to make him see the 
 indignity of such a marriage. 
 
 It was in the power of Louis XIV to forbid the 
 njarriage of Mademoiselle to the man she loved, but 
 it was not in his powder to force that love from her 
 heart. Her affection for Lauzun was to be the means 
 of extorting from her a part of her fortune to pur- 
 ch;»s(5 his liberty when he had fallen into the deepest 
 disMT.ice. 
 
1671] THE FIll^T LETTER. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 1671. 
 
 Fir^t letter of Madame d*? SL'vign»' to IMadanie de Grigiian. — Friends of 
 Mai In me de Si'vignc : Madame de la Fayette, Madame de Lavardin, 
 Madame de la Troche, d'Haeqiieville, the Due de laRocliefoucauld. — 
 Madame de iSi'viuiic's aflcctidii for lier dancihter. — Her care for her 
 lirtli- granddaughter. — ]\ladanic de Grignan joins her husband. — • 
 Naiiiiw escape on the Rhone. — Anxiety of Madame de Se\ngne. — ■ 
 Return uf Charles de Sevigne from Candia. 
 
 ' My o'l'ief would be small if I could describe it to 
 you ; I shall certainly not attempt to do so. I search 
 in vain for my dear daughter ; I can no longer find 
 her.' In those few words is summed up the bitter- 
 ness of absence and death — to seek, and not to find. 
 Madame de S(3vign<4, the moment she could no longer 
 see Madame de Grignan, and when the carriage which 
 was taking away what she loved best had disa})peared 
 from her eyes, repaired immediately to tlie Convent of 
 Sainte-Marie, where she could give vent to her grief 
 in solitude. She remained there for hours without 
 speaking a word, and without ceasing to sob ; her 
 heart was weh-nigh breaking, and her loneliness was 
 only cheered by friends — no other child, no relation to 
 dry her tears in that bitter hour. As soon as she 
 
 F 2 
 
212 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. [Chat-. XXL 
 
 could siifiicicntly compose herself, she went to the 
 constant and dear friend of her whole life, Madame de 
 la Fayette. This illustrious woman was worthy in all 
 respects of the companionship of Madame de Sevign^. 
 Both found in their mntual affection, in their daily 
 intercourse, a source of consolation and pleasure which 
 never forsook them for one hour till they w^ere parted 
 by death. No cloud seems to have ever obscured 
 the serenity of their relation since the moment when 
 Madame de Sevigne playfully promised to Menage to 
 live in perfect amity with the amiable rival he had 
 given her. 
 
 Madame de la Fayette, l:)orn at Havre in 1634, was 
 the dauirhter of Monsieur de la Veri>:ne, irovernor of 
 the town. Her mother was, as we have seen, united 
 by a second marriage to Renaud de Sevigne, uncle 
 of Madame de St^vigne's husband. It was at this 
 peritjd that commenced a friendship so equally honour- 
 able to ])oth. No two women were ever possessed of 
 fewer affinities of mind and taste than Madame de 
 Sevign^ and Madame de la Fayette : on one side the 
 most cheerful spirit, the happiest disposition, the most 
 robust health ; on the other, a mind disposed to 
 melancholy and solitude, a frame shattered by early 
 infirmities. Madame de Sevigne mentions with re- 
 sjieet the ' divine reason of her friend.' Her own was 
 not inferior, and joined to a brilliant wit. J\[adame 
 de la P\xyette, under tlie name of Segrais, i)ublished 
 several n^jvels which were universally applauded. 
 
in?!.] MADAME DE LA FAYETTE. 213 
 
 * La Princesse de Montpensier,' ' Zaydo,' ' La Prin- 
 cesse de Cleves/ appcarrd in turn ; the admiration 
 tlie}^ excited l»ei]ig so well founded tliat no person of 
 tast<' can read these chaiiuio!:;' productions and not 1)0 
 deligdited. The incognito of I\ladame de la Fa^'ette 
 was soon dropped, and she recei\ ed the praises justly 
 due to her talent. " La Princesse de Cleves ' is, in 
 its few chapters, a perfect masterpiece ; a model of 
 elogant narration, of simple and truthful delineation 
 of sentiment, of noble grief, virtue, and love. In its 
 flowery simplicity it initiates us, not into the society 
 of the time ol" Catherine de IKmIIcIs, the period 
 selected for the scene, Init into that (.»f Louis X1A\ 
 while the wliok^ story savours of the high moral of 
 the Pr^cienses, and is a eulogium of platonic passion. 
 
 AVlien the Due de la Rochefoucauld became the 
 bitter opponent of ]\Iadame de Longueville, and 
 changed into hatred the love of ])ygone days, dis- 
 couraired and believing' all women false, he found in 
 another feminine heart an aiiection of a different 
 kind, but which remained his till the last day of his 
 life. The Comtesse de la Fayette and the Due de hi 
 Eochefoucauld gave a rare exam})le of fidelity and 
 affection. A constant invalid, lieing a mart}'r to gout, 
 Monsieur de la Rochefoucauld found in Madame de 
 la Fayette a companion at all times. It was with 
 them that Madame de S^vignc spent so many hours 
 of pleasant intercourse ; she listened to the first read- 
 ings of the ' Maximes ;' she admired all there was to 
 
:il4 MADAME DE I^KVIGNB. [Chap. XXI. 
 
 admire in the character of Monsieur de la Roche- 
 foucauld, and his bad qualities she overlooked. She 
 felt grateful for the interest he professed for ]\Ia<]ame 
 de Grignan, and delighted in the sagacity and bril- 
 liancy of his wit ; her ' cher faubourg,' that is, the 
 company of Madame de la Fayette and Monsieur de 
 la Eochefoucauld, was her best solace when separated 
 from her daughter. 
 
 In the first letter of Madame de S<^vign^ to Madame 
 de Grignan there is mention of nearly every one of the 
 chosen friends who did their best to comfort her on 
 the occasion of that sad separation. D'Hacqueville, 
 the kind friend of mother and daughter, in whose 
 carriage Madame de Grignan had started on her long 
 journey, and who had cheered them at the last pain- 
 ful moment. The best, the most obliging of men, 
 D'Hacqueville's early intimacy with the Cardinal de 
 Retz had secured him admission into the circle of 
 Madame de Sevign^. His obliging disposition was 
 proverbial, and as he seemed capable of being in many 
 places at one time to serve others, he received the 
 surname of ' Les d'Hacqueville,' implying that one 
 man alone could not accomplish what he did. Madame 
 de Sevigne was to find him ready on all occasions to 
 serve her, and she repaid him with sincere gratitude 
 
 and friendship. 
 
 ' The afternoon was spent with ]\Iadame de la 
 Troche at the Arsenal.' This good ' Trochanire,' as 
 Madame de S^vign^ often terms her, professed and 
 
1671.] MADAME DE LAYARDIN, 215 
 
 felt for our marquise tlie most devoted affection, aud 
 sometimes complained that she did not receive a 
 sufficient return, jealously comparin^i;' the affection 
 Madame de Sevigne showed for Madame de la 
 Fayette with that received by herself; but these 
 transient clouds did not prevent their intercourse from 
 being constant and sincere. In the gardens of the 
 Arsenal, Madanje de la Troche no dou])t listened to 
 many a tender regret, and offered consolation of little 
 avail. 
 
 ' I learnt at IMadame de Lavardin's the news I give 
 you — i\ly ancient and intimate friend,' was Madame 
 de tSevigne to write many years afterwards ; ' this 
 woman of so o'ood and solid a mind, this illustrious 
 widow who had gathered us all under her wing.' 
 
 The ^larquise de Lavardin, some years older than 
 Madame de Sevigne, was the eldest of those widows 
 who formed a circle where such different attractions 
 were coml)ined. H<."r name is constantly occurring 
 in the letters of Madame de Stn'ign(^, and she 
 owes to that friendship the fact of her not being 
 forgotten. 
 
 Madame de Grignan gone, her letters were the 
 delio'ht of Madame de S(^vign^. She received them 
 with tears, and when reading them felt as if her 
 heart must break. The thought of her daughter 
 never left her : — '- It is what dcvots call an habitual 
 thought, that which we ought to have for God.' 
 ' Adieu, my dear child, the sole passion of my heart, 
 
216 MADAME DE SJ^VIQNA [Chap. XXL 
 
 tlie joy and sorrow of my life. Love me always, 
 it is the only thing that can give me any conso- 
 lation.' 
 
 Nothing tliat concerned Madame de Grignan was 
 trivial to lier fond mother. A peasant of Sully, 
 ])ccanse Ije had seen lier, became an object of interest 
 for Madame do 8evign^, and she narrates in touching 
 terms lier conversation with the coachman wdio was 
 to drive her <laughter : — 
 
 ' Alas ! I met that Monsieur Busche in the streets. 
 I stopped liim, and in tears asked him his name : he 
 told it me, and I sobbing said, " ]\Ionsieur Busche, 
 I beg yon to be careful of my daughter ; do not 
 upset her, and when you have safely taken her to 
 Lyons, come back and tell me how she is, I will give 
 you something for your trouble ; " assuredly I shall 
 do so.' 
 
 Losing her daughter, Madame de Sevigne felt her- 
 self "wanting in what she regarded as her greatest 
 attraction. ' As for me, I feel as if I were stri})})cd, 
 and robbed of all that made me aiiTceable. I no 
 longer dare to see any one, and in spite of all that is 
 said to clieer me, I have spent these days in solitude, 
 not beimi; able to do otherwiso.' 
 
 At the connnencement of this long interchange of 
 letters between mother and daughter, the imperfec- 
 tions of Madame de Grignan, that hauglitiness of 
 temper and coldness of heart, are easily traced. Al- 
 ready Madame de Sevigne had sufiered by them, and 
 
1671.] CAirE FOB HER GRANDDAUGHTER. 217 
 
 her gentle reproaches are in trnth protestations of ten- 
 derness. The mfant daii.i;^liter of Madame de Grignan 
 had been left to the watchful care of her grandmother, 
 ' who loved her, reflecting to wliom she belonged.' To 
 the young mother she writes :— ' To understand the 
 state I am in, join to the natural inchnation and ten- 
 derness I haxe for you the circumstance of being per- 
 suaded that ynii love me, and imagine the intensity of 
 my feelings. Vvliy do you eAcr unkindly hide from 
 me such precious treasures ? You are fearful tliat I 
 should die of joy ; but do you not fear also that I sliould 
 die of the sorrow of believing the contrary ? I call 
 D'Hacqueville as a witness of the gi'ief he has seen me 
 in at times. But I must leave this sad remembrance, 
 and enjoy a Immju without which life to me is tasteless 
 and wearisome. . . . Ah, my child, I long to possess 
 you a little ; to hear yuu, to embrace you ; to see you 
 pass by oven, if I desire too much. These are thoughts 
 which are stronger than my will. I feel all tlie sadness 
 of having lost you. This separation rends my heart 
 and soul ; it is as a physical pain. . . . How can I 
 exist, knowing that whatever I do I shall no longer find 
 my dear child? ' 
 
 To soothe her loneliness, Madame de Sevigne be- 
 stowed on JIarie-Blanche d'Adliemar the most tender 
 solicitude. An alarm of fire having awoke Madame de 
 Sevign^ in the night, she rose in fear and trembling, 
 imagining for the moment that her little grandchild was 
 burnt. She found her quietly asleep, but the house of 
 
21 s MA]>AME BE XEVIGNK [Chap. XXI. 
 
 her neioiibour, the Comte de Guitant, was m flames. 
 She describes the confusion, the terror, with admirable 
 skill : — ' If we could have laugdied on such an occasion, 
 what pictures nii,i;'ht have been made of the state we 
 were all in ! Guitaut in his shirt and drawers ; 
 Madame de Guitaut without stockings, and having lost 
 one of her slippers ; Madame de Yauvineux in a short 
 petticoat ; all her servants, all the neighbours in night- 
 caps. The ambassador [of Venice] had on his dressing- 
 gown and wig, and admirably maintained the dignity 
 ot the scremssnne. 
 
 Every little event, evciy trifle that could amuse 
 ?dadame de Grignan, is narrated to her with that in- 
 comparable grace Maibimc de S^vign^ possessed. She 
 overwhelms her daughter with the remembrances of 
 their relations and friends. Madame de Grii^iian seems 
 It.) have been neglectCul in acknowledging all these kind 
 messages, and her mother flatteringly insinuates tliat 
 there is on the part of all who know her a great desire 
 to be mentioned by her ; and she, ever considerate, 
 names those to whom she wishes to be able to show a 
 line from her dear daitghter, leaving her, we may be 
 ^vell sure, all the merit of the attention. She felt the 
 deficiency of her daughter in this respect, and encour- 
 ages her to be amiable and gracious by praising beyond 
 their deserts the few occasions when Madame de 
 Grignan dropped her customary reserve : — ' Madame 
 du Gu^ [mother-in-law of Monsieur de Coulanges, 
 and wife of the intendant at Lyons] has vrritten to 
 
1G71.] EXCUSED MADAME DE GEIGXAN. 219 
 
 i\Ionsienr de Coulan2,-es tliat vmi are as l)eautiful as aii 
 angel. She is cliarmei] with you, and wull pleased with 
 your ]:)olIteiJOSs. ... Do you know that to be remeiu- 
 bered b}^ you is eousiMered a fortune? Those who are 
 not, long for the distinction. The word you sent for 
 my aunt is beyond pri('(,^ ; you are ycr}^ far from for- 
 gotten.' 
 
 The journey of Madame de Grignan was continued 
 amidst weleome reee})tions on all sides ; she had gone 
 to rank first and be a kind of queen in tlie province 
 her husband goyerned. Madame de Sevigne ^vas not 
 indiflerent to the honours her daughter Avas receiying', 
 and read of them with delight. She compares the 
 tranquillity of her own existence with that of i\Iadame 
 de Grignan, giying her leisure as a reason for her long- 
 letters, and excusins; ]\Iadame de Grignan beforehand 
 if she cannot answer tliem at equal lengtli : — 
 
 ' I do not see a moment in which you belong to 
 yourself. I see a liusband who adores }'ou, who c^imiot 
 leave you, and who hardly belieyes in his felicity. I 
 see addresses, an infinity of compliments, of ciyilities, 
 of yisits ; you receive extreme honours, you must 
 answer it all ; you are overwhelmed. Even I, with my 
 goodwill, could not be (.M/ual to it. What ])e(;omes of 
 your laziness in all tins confusion ? It suifers ; it hides 
 in some httle room; it dies of fright lest it should lose 
 its place ; it awaits you at stray moments to rejnind 
 you at least of its existence, and to speak a word in 
 passing. "Alas!" says it, " you have forgotten me. 
 
220 MADAME BE f<hVIGNE. [Chap, XXT. 
 
 E em I'll! I) (.T tliat I am your oldest friend, oue who 
 lias never abandoned you, tlie faithful companion 
 of ^'our happy da}'s, one who consoled you in every 
 aniiismient, and even sometimes caused you to hate 
 them. It was I Avho prevented your dying of ennui in 
 Brittany, and wlien you were ill. Sometimes your 
 mother interru})ted our pleasures, but she treated me 
 with indulgence, and I knew where to find you 
 again. Now I know not Avhat is to become of me ; 
 the dignity and splendour of your husband's position 
 will cause me to perish if you have not some care 
 tor me. 
 
 The anxietv of Madame de 8evign(j as to Ijer 
 daughter was not without foundation, Madame de 
 Grignan liaviiig narrowly escaped a serious accident. 
 In spite of unfavourable weatlier she had emfiarked in 
 a boat on the Pilione, and was well-nigii violently driven 
 agai]ist one of the pillars of the bridge of Avignon. The 
 peril liad been great, the escape marvellous, and 
 jindanie de iSe^igne felt the risk her daughter had run 
 with an intensit}' that can Ite imagined. No words are 
 strong enough to conjure her daughter to be prudent, 
 ami licr allusioiis to the dreadful Rhone are incessant: 
 ' vnu will be wearv of them,' savs she to her daughter; 
 but the Kul)jeet a\ as too near her heart to allow her to 
 put it aside entirely. 
 
 At the end of Februarv the amiable Charles de 
 Sevlgue returned home, and if he did not console his 
 mother, his presence must have liglitened her anguish. 
 
1671.] AXXIETY FOR HER DAUCinTER. 221 
 
 He was one with whom she couh:l speak at ease of her 
 dear eomtesse in Provence. She assures ^^Jailame do 
 Grignan that she knows how to select her confidants, 
 and that she ncud not apprehend any grounds ior 
 ri(hcule. In her select circle of dear friends slie could 
 at leisure exult over the prefections and chanus of her 
 daughter. 
 
222 MADAME DB SEVIGNR [Chai-. XXII. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ir;7i. 
 
 Love intrigues of Charles de Sevignc. — Coldness of Madame de 
 Grif;iian. — The king visits ]\I(insieiir le Prince at Chantilly. — 
 Suicide of Yatel.' — Arnauld d'Andilly rebukes Madame de Sevigne. 
 — Her reflections on death. 
 
 The absence of IMadame de Grignan was but slightly 
 compensated for by the presence of the Baron de 
 Sevign6, who was at that time engrossed in love in- 
 trigues, his affections being divided between Ninon, 
 still dangerous, though fifty-five years of age, and 
 the actress La Champmesle, young, charming, and 
 wiiming all hearts by her talent. Her acting of the 
 part of Berenice in the tragedy of Racine had won for 
 her the first place on the stage ; her charms, how- 
 ever, were not so dangerous to the young Sevigne 
 as the influence of Ninon de Lenclos. Madame de 
 Sevign^ learnt with grief the inclination of her son, 
 remembering how fatal that influence had once been 
 to her happiness. On this subject she writes — ' But 
 how dangerous she is, tliat Ninon ! If you knew 
 how she discourses on religion, you would be horri- 
 fied. Her zeal to [)crvcrt young men is equal to 
 
I'ln.] Sj^.VIGXjI'S love IXTIUGUE;^. 2:^3 
 
 that of a i^Joiislrur de St. -Germain wliom avc saw 
 once at Li\'rv. Slic savs ^'oiir brother has the 
 smiphcity of a (hj\e/ And furtliei-: — 'Madame de 
 hi Favette and I are niakinu' i»reat efforts to free 
 him from s<.) dangerous a eonneetion/ 
 
 The g'entle infiuenee of ^[adame de {Sevii;'ne had 
 won for her the entire eonfidence of her son : it 
 was to her he opened his heart on all occasions. She 
 listened complacently to the recital of his follies, re- 
 servinir to herself the ri^ht to introduce ' a little word 
 of God.' pjoth her son and lladame de Grignan she 
 advised and encouraged, knowino: well their faults 
 and temptations, and ])eing desirous beyond all for 
 their liap})iness. Thhiking of her daughter's probable 
 dullness in her new home, and of her disposition to 
 ridicule all tliat Avas not in accordance Avith her 
 OAvn tastes, Madame de SeAigne Avrites— ' StriA^e, my 
 child, to put up Avith what is not liad; do not disgust 
 yourself Avitli AA'hat is simply inferior, but anuise your- 
 self Avith all that is not ridiculous.' 
 
 At the same time that she Avas urging her daughter 
 to accept her ucav life, she never omitted to divert 
 her Avith a journal of all tlie events of the day ; every 
 impression must be quickly transmitted to Provence. 
 ^ As soon as I hear anything Avorthy of admiration/ 
 alluduig to a sermon of Bourdaloue, ' I long for your 
 presence, and admire Avhat are in me the effects of su 
 tender an affection.' 
 
 It was easier for iladame de Grignan to satisfy her 
 
224 MADAME DE SHVIGNK [Chap. XXII. 
 
 mother in regard to her heart by her letters than she 
 had been able to do when they livud together under 
 the same roof. A line, a word even, sufficed to assure 
 Madame de Sevigno of lirr daughter's attachment ; 
 and rejoicing in a change she believes to have taken 
 place, she hazards some allusions to the time when 
 Madame de Grignan's cold behaviour had caused her 
 to question her affection : — ' You tell me I have been 
 unjust on the subject of your affection for me, but I 
 have been so even more than you imagine ; I hardly 
 dare own to you to what extent I carried my fohy. I 
 have imagined you felt an aversion to me, and I have 
 believed it because I fancied your behaviour towards 
 me W'as that which I should adopt towards those I 
 hate ; and only consider, I believed this dreadful thing 
 when most ardently wishing the contrary ! In such 
 moments — I must lay bare to you my entire weak- 
 ness — if any one had thrust a poniard into my heart 
 it would not have wounded me so mortallv as that 
 fancy/ 
 
 Well might Charles de S(3vignc upliraid his motlier 
 for her predilection for one who w^as so far from 
 rcturnimx the affection lavished on her. Madame de 
 Grignan seems to liave been as indifferent in regard 
 to the little child she left behind as she was undemon- 
 strative with her mother. Madame de Sevign(5 begs 
 for a friendly word for Peccpiet, the doctor who was 
 takimr i^Tcat care of the little daughter. Not once 
 does Madame de Grignan spontaneously think of 
 
1C71.] SUICIDE OF VATEL. 225 
 
 acknowledging a friendly remembrance or return- 
 in 2: it. 
 
 Better to enaljle her to tliink of her daughter, 
 Madame de Sevign6 spent the Holy Week in solitude 
 at Livry, and slie owns that the constant thought of 
 that daughter hindered her from thinking of CTod. 
 When she goes to St. -Germain, at the end of March, 
 to pay her court to the queen, it is with the inquiries 
 after her dauirhter that she is most delighted. Well 
 may she term her an ' habitual thought/ 
 
 It was in the montli of April of the same year that 
 Louis XIV paid a visit to Monsieur le Prince at 
 Chantilly, when he was received with a magnificenre 
 and pomp worthy of himself The eyes of all France 
 were turned towards the princely residence, and the 
 curiosity for details of the visit was great in the ex- 
 treme. Such as came to the knowledge of Madame 
 de Sevignt^ were j^romptly forwai'dud to Madame de 
 Grignan. After telling her of the hunt by moon- 
 light, of the fireworks, of the supper, and of the 
 gamljling, she comes to the singular catastrophe 
 brought about by this reception. 
 
 Vatel, ' maitre d'hoter of Monsieur le Prince, had 
 committed suicide under the impression that the fish 
 he had ordci'cd was not fortlicoming : — 'At four in 
 the morning Vatel was up and on the alert. All was 
 sleeping : he meets an inferior purveyor who was 
 bringing two loads of fish : he inquires of liim, " Is 
 this all?'' The other aiiswers, "Yes, sir," not know- 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 MADAME DE i^KVIGNE. [CHAr. XXII. 
 
 ing that Vule'l was expecting fish from all the sea- 
 ports. He waits some time : the other purveyors do 
 not arrive ; his Ijrain was on fire, he imagines no more 
 is forthcoming ; he meets Gourville, and says to him, 
 " Monsieur, I shall not survive this disgrace ; I have 
 honour and reputation to lose." CTOurville laughed at 
 liim. A^atel goes to liis room, places his sword against 
 the door, thrusts it through his body, and falls dead. 
 It was not till the tliird thrust that he received a 
 mortal wound in the heart. While this was taking- 
 place fish was arriving on all sides. Vatel is sought 
 for to give directions. They go to his room, they 
 knock, they break 0])en the door, and find him 
 bathed in his ]ilood. Monsieur le Prince is called, and 
 is in despair. Monsieur le Due shed tears.' 
 
 The unfortunate man was praised and pitied by the 
 king ; l)ut, says Madame de Sevigne, ' it was too late 
 for poor Vatel,' ' These are minute details/ she further 
 adds, ' but as I would wish for the'm myself I imagine 
 you do the same/ 
 
 Spring had now set in, and Madame de Sevign4 
 was contemplating a journey she was compelled to 
 make into Brittany. Till that was determined on 
 she returned from time to time to Livry, and went to 
 dine witli Pomponne, where she found the venerable 
 Arnauld d'Andilly, whose increasing holiness edified 
 her much. ' lie scolded me very seriously,' says she, 
 ' and transported with affection and zeal, he told me 
 I was mad not to think of converting myself ; that I 
 
1671.] REFLECTIONS ON LIFE. 227 
 
 was a pretty pagan ; tliat I made of you the idol of my 
 heart ; that this sort of idohitry was as dangerous as any 
 other, though appearing h:^ss criminal to me/ Never 
 was such a reljuke more needed ; never the ^^/ord 
 ^ idol ' more aptly applied. 
 
 The thoughts of Madame de Sevignc on the eve 
 of starting for Brittany, ran upon the hope of a 
 journey to Provence, which she was to undertake on 
 her return. Madame de Grignan was expressing to 
 her mother her equal impatience to embrace her 
 again, and on this Madame de Sevigne makes the 
 following reflections : — 
 
 ' You d(.^sire time to pass quickly in order that you 
 may see me again. You know not what you are 
 doing : it will obey you only too exactly, and when 
 you wish to keep it back, you will no longer be 
 mistress. There was a time when I made the same 
 mistake, and I have repented of it, though time has 
 not done me all the harm it inflicts on others.' 
 
 The shortness of life, the certain issue to which we 
 all impatiently hasten, were ever present to ]\Iadame 
 de Sevign^'s mind. In the budding leaflet she dis- 
 cerned the withered leaf Avhich next autumn must 
 lie prostrate on the ground. To her daughter's in- 
 quiries whether she still loves life, she answers — ' You 
 ask me, my child, whether I stfll love life as well as I 
 did. I do not conceal from you that I find it full of 
 poignant afflicti(,)ns ; but I am even more disgusted 
 with death. I consider myself so unfortunate tliat I 
 
 <i. 2 
 
ii2S MADAME DE Si^VIGNA [Chap. XXII. 
 
 have to eiicl with it, that if I could turn hack I would 
 joyfully do so. I am in a position that embarrasses 
 me. I was started in life without mv consent, and I 
 must quit it ; this weighs on my heart. And how 
 shall I quit it? How? By what door ? When will 
 it be ? In what disposition ? Shall I suffer a thou- 
 san<l agonies, which will cause me to die despairing ? 
 Shall I have delirium ? Shall I die from an accident ? 
 How shall T stand with God ? What shall I have to 
 present to Him ? Will fear and necessity suffice to 
 make me turn to Him ? Shall I have no other feeling 
 thau that of terror ? AAdiat can I hope ? Am I wortliy 
 of Paradise ? Am I worthy of hell 1 What an alter- 
 native ! What a perplexity ! Nothing is so devoid 
 of reason as leaving our salvation in uncertainty, and 
 nothing is so natural. The foolish life I lead is the 
 easiest to compreliend. I plunge into these tliouglits, 
 and I find death so terrible that I hate life more 
 because it leads to it, than Ijccause of the thorns with 
 whicli it is full. From this you will tell me that I 
 desire to live eternally. Not at all ; but if I had been 
 asked my choice, I would willingly have died in the 
 arms of my nurse : this would have spared me many 
 sorrows, and given me heaven with surety and ease. 
 But let us talk ol' otlier thing's.' 
 
 (Constantly do we meet Avitli allusions to death in 
 the correspo]i(k'!ice of Madame de Scvigne. If she 
 heai's a sermon, the I'cmarks of the orator on that 
 dreadful (."\'entuality are what most strike her. ' AVc 
 
1671.] REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. 22:) 
 
 heard tlie other day the Abb^ de ]\Iontmor. I never 
 hstened to a finer young preacher. He made the 
 sign of tlie cross ; he read his text ; he did not scold 
 us : he did not call us sinners ; he l)e2:<2:ed us not to 
 fear death, it being the only means through which we 
 can live again with Jesus Christ. We agreed with 
 him so far, we were all satisfied.' 
 
 A wider separation from her daughter arrived at 
 last. Lladame de Stjvione left Paris for the Eochers, 
 
 O 7 
 
 regretting that her letters to her dear correspondent 
 would now be devoid of interest, and that she must 
 henceforth be contented with hearing from her and 
 of her only. 
 
230 MADAME DE SEFIGNK [Chap. XSIII 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 1671. 
 
 'Vfadame de Sevic^^no leaves Paris for Brittany. — Her retinue. — Arrival 
 at the Roehers.— Her occnjxxtions there. — The Jausenistes and Port- 
 Royal. — Arrival of the Due and Duchesse de Chaulnes for the 
 Etats. — Madame de Chaulnes visits Madame de S^vigne.— Descrip- 
 tion of the R(.iclier?. — Letters of ]Madame de Sevigne. — Her anxiety 
 about Madame de Grignan. 
 
 On her journey into Brittany the Marquise de 
 Sevigne was accompanied by her son, her kind uncle, 
 the Bien bon Abbe de Coulanges, and the Abb6 de la 
 Mousse. In deference to the wishes and superstitions 
 of the Abb6 de Coulanges the start was made from 
 Paris on a Monday instead of a Friday, the day pro- 
 posed by Madame de Sevign^. * I shall accordingly 
 start on Monday. I fancy you will like to know 
 what my retinue consists of, that you may in imagi- 
 nation see me pass, as I saw Monsieur Busche go by. 
 I take with me two caleches [barouches]. I have seven 
 carriage horses ; one horse to carry my bed, and 
 tln-ee or four outriders. I shall be in my caleehe 
 drawn by my two fine horses ; the abb6 will some- 
 times ho with me. In the other carriage, my son, 
 La Mousse, and tKlene : that carriage will have four 
 
1671.] AERITAL AT THE ROCBEBS. :2ni 
 
 horses and a postillion. . . . These are minute par- 
 ticulars, but we dislike them not from those we love.' 
 
 It was on tlie Lsth of May, 1671, that Madame de Se- 
 \\gn6 started on her journey, and on the 31st of the same 
 month she writes her first letter at the Rochers, where 
 she arrived on the 27th. To welcome Madame de 
 Se^'ign6 and her son, fifteen hundred men, ' all with a 
 new ribl:)on,' had collected on the road at a league's 
 distance from the Rochers, but owIni>' to a mistake of 
 the Abbe de Coulanges they waited in vain, and at ten 
 o'clock at night were compelled to return home. On 
 her arrival next day, being informed of the disappoint- 
 ment she had occasioned, Madame de Sevigne was 
 sorry for the good peasants who had desired to greet 
 them with joyful demonstrations, and she expresses 
 to her daughter lier kindly and considerate regret. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne found herself suddenly trans- 
 ])lanted from a gay cii-cle to the solitude of a country 
 mansion in a distant province, but she had no fear of 
 dullness. She had succeeded in drawing her son away 
 from Paris, and she hoped that the chains wliich held 
 him there would be entirely severed by absence. No 
 more agreeable companion could be selected for her. 
 Endowed with cheerful and buoyant spirits, liis mother 
 termed him 'a treasure of folly.' His tastes coincided 
 with her own. AMiile Lladame de Grigiian studied, 
 and professed to derive pleasure from books of philo- 
 sophy, the mother and son read ' verses, novels, his- 
 tories,' and comedies, which Sevigne acted like i\Ioliere 
 
^332 MA J) AM J^ DE ^EVIGNK [Chap. XXIII. 
 
 ' He understands everything : lie has wit ; he carries 
 us away, and has hindered us taking to any serious 
 reading. When he has gone we shall resume some 
 " fine Morale " of Monsieur Nicole.' 
 
 In connection with the writer here referred to, it 
 may not be inappropriate to say a few words 
 respecting Madame de Sevigne's friends, the Janse- 
 nistes. 
 
 The reform of Luther had given rise to a sect 
 who regarded themselves as the privileged defenders 
 of the faith. The Jesuits founded by Ignatius Loyola 
 had spread all over Europe, and their toleration of 
 the follies of the age, provided the cloak of religion 
 was thrown over them, had excited the reprobation of 
 all loyal Christians. A select number of serious and 
 austere men had purposed to restore the Church to its 
 primitive purity, and to reduce the thraldom of the 
 pope, every day more encroaching, to the limits 
 within which they believed it to have been confined 
 by the early constitutions of the Church. 
 
 Two eminent theologians, Michel Baius in the six- 
 teenth and Edmond Richer in the seventeenth centurv, 
 had published books treating of these great questions. 
 Their works were condemned at Rome, but their doc- 
 trines earned new supporters. Duvergier de Hauranne, 
 Abbe de St.-Cyran, and Jansenius, Bishop of Ypres, 
 determined to unite in a common declaration of faith 
 all those whu shared their convictions. Tliey engaged 
 to prove that what they had advanced had been al- 
 
1671.] POllT-lioYAL. 2;33 
 
 ready advocated l>y a father of the Church hke St.- 
 Augustiii. 
 
 In 1040 was published the ' Augustinus,' a work 
 written by Jansenius, and which contained the creed 
 of the new communion. The principal points in their 
 doctrine were — restriction of ecclesiastical jurisdiction, 
 the doctrine of grace, that redemption is the gift of 
 God, that all depends on His good pk'asure, and not on 
 our efforts. To tliese maxims they united an exaUed 
 piety and great austerity of life. ]\len of irreproachable 
 character, of talent and genius, were led away by 
 the grandeur of these severe doctrines ; they joined 
 together and formed the nucleus of that band which 
 became formidable enough to be severely persecuted. 
 
 At Port-Royal, in a solitary and barren spot, they 
 took up their abode, and their influence, rendered all- 
 powerful by the good works they profusely spread 
 around them, became every day more potent. These 
 revolts of conscience were viewed with severity by 
 Louis XIV, who was early a supporter of the Jesuits. 
 To b^ suspected of connivance Avith the Jansenistes was 
 regarded as a crime, though in truth their differences 
 with Rome and the Jesuits rested on subtleties. It was 
 reaUythe protest of sincere Christianity, of elevated prin- 
 ciples, against the worldly indulgence and sophistical 
 precepts of the members of the Company of Jesus. This 
 cause was admirably defended by the masterly hand of 
 Pascal, who in publishing, in 1656, his ' Lettres pro- 
 vinciales ' gave to the Jesuits a fearful blow. It was 
 
2'?A MADAME DE SKVIGNR [Chap.XXIII. 
 
 rlealt witli strength, and liit effectually. The whole of 
 France read with the deepest mterest these masterly 
 productions, and Madame de Sevignc^, who by her 
 family connections found herself naturally the friend of 
 the Jansenistes, was never tired of admiring them. 
 
 Of the marvellous faculties of Pascal it is unneces- 
 sary to speak : his genius had reached the meridian at 
 an age when in others it begins to dawn. A boy of 
 twelve, unaided he discovered the thirty-two propo- 
 sitions of Euclid. His mind was so developed, and 
 experienced every outward sensation with such in- 
 tensity ; his genius weighed on his feeble frame so 
 lieavily, that his health and intellect at last gave way. 
 Pursued by the most morbid fancies, imagining a 
 yawning gulf ever at his side, suffering incessantly, 
 Pascal was early doomed, and expired in the very 
 prime of life at the age of thirty-nine, leaving behind 
 liim an immortal name and a fame unsullied. 
 
 Of the venerable Arnauld d'Andilly we have 
 already spoken. Plis brother, the great apostle of 
 ' Jansenisme,' wrote the celebrated book, ' La , Fre- 
 rpiente Communion,' a virulent protest against the 
 sacrilegious abuse of the Sacrament. For twelve 
 years Arnauld never left the retreat of Port-Royal, 
 C(jnd3ating for the cause he had embraced. Nicole, 
 his friend, and who assisted him with more than one 
 of his works, was equally eminent for his virtues and 
 talents. He was to share the exile of Arnauld as he had 
 shared his militant labours, for he also sustained by his 
 
1671-1 TRoUGIITS ON RELIGION. 21'.: 
 
 pen the morals and doctrines of Port-Royal, teaching 
 in beautiful laugua^i^-c the most elevated and noble 
 precepts. It was his ' fine ]\Iora]e ' that Madame de 
 Sevigne speaks of, and which she read with much 
 delight and profit. ' Our brothers,' is the appellation 
 she gives to the rechises wlio dared oppose the great 
 army of the Jesuits. 
 
 The avidity of Madame de Snvigne for serious 
 reading does not astonish us when regarded in con- 
 nection with the nature of her own reflections. 
 There was in her a natural incJination to devotion 
 and philosophy, and slie admirably describes the 
 conflicting feelings of her own soul : — 
 
 ' One of my groat desires is to be " devote." Every 
 day I torment La, Mousse about it. I neither beloug to 
 God nor the devil. This state fatigues me, though, 
 between you and me, I tliiuk it the most natural in 
 the world. We do not belong to the devil, l.iecause 
 we fear God, and we have in our hearts a principle 
 of religion. AVe do not belong to God, because His 
 laws are severe and we have no inclination to destroy 
 ourselves. This is what causes the lukcAvarm, tlie great 
 number of ^^hom does not surprise me ; I understand 
 their reasons. Still God hates them. AVe must there- 
 fore try not to be of them, and here lies the difficulty.' 
 
 If in the tranquillity of the Eochers ]\Iadame de 
 Sevigne's thoughts dwelt oftener on the serious pro- 
 blems of life and death ; she had also more leisure to 
 allow them to rest on the grief she experienced at her 
 
2:^.6 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. [Ciiap. XXIII. 
 
 separation from her daughter. ' My daughter, love 
 me always/ she exchiims ; ' your affection is my hfe : 
 I told you so the other day ; it is the source of all my 
 joys and all my sorrows. I own to you that the re- 
 mainder of my existence is covered witli gloom and 
 sadness when I reflect that I shall so often spend it 
 far from you.' And again : — Monsieur de la Roche- 
 foucauld says that tlie thoughts which when we go to 
 bed are dark gray, become black during the night. I 
 can speak on this.' 
 
 Although Madame de S(^vigne left behind her in 
 Paris many pleasant friends and recreations, she found 
 at the Rochers both society and amusement : she her- 
 self speaks of them with evident appreciation. In her 
 son, in the Abbt^ de la Mousse, she met with affection 
 and an endeavour to understand and please her. La 
 Mousse studied Tasso with her in Itahan, and S^vigne 
 read to them chapters from ' Rabelais,' ' which make 
 us die with laughter.' During the day she walked in 
 the avenues she had planted, watching with deliglit 
 and pride the growth of her trees, enjoying ' a solitude 
 and silence it is difficult to find elsewhere.' 
 
 But all that concerned Madame de Grignan was 
 ever pre-eminent. The ktters from Provence were 
 anxiously expected, and when a whole week elapsed 
 without neAvs, the anxiety of Madame de Sevign6 
 caused her sleepless nights. With unwearied tender- 
 ness she entertains Madame de Grignan witli all that 
 can please or flatter her. She rejoices at the descrip- 
 
1671.] MADEMOISELLE DU FLE>SSIS. 237 
 
 tioiis her daughter gives her of the laagnificence of 
 Grignan, and she longs to be herself able to judge of 
 the abode where her lieluved child reigns, she whose 
 presence she misses so sadly : — 
 
 ' I think a thousand times a day of the time wlien 
 I used to see you at all hours. Alas ! it is I who can 
 well say, " Helas ! quand reviendra ce temps, bergere?"* 
 I regret it eyery hour of my life, and I should wish 
 for its return even if I were to pay for it with my 
 blood. It is not that I have to reproach myself with 
 having' gazed on you with indifference. I declare to 
 you that I never beheld you with that languor and 
 indifference which habit olhrn givL'S. Neither my 
 eyes nor my heart ever accustomed themselves to that 
 sight, and never did I look on you without joy and 
 tenderness : if there have been moments when it did 
 not appear, it was then I felt it most.' 
 
 AVhile at the Rochers, Madame de S^vign(3 did not 
 seek the S( )ciety of her neighbours ; she preferred her 
 tranquil solitude to the tame amusements of provin- 
 cial society. To Vitr^, where she had a house known 
 as the Tour de Sevigne, she went as rarely as possil)le, 
 and then only when compelled by her affection for 
 the governor of Brittany, the Due de Chaulnes, and 
 Ids wife. One person, however, was admitted to her 
 intimacy, and ]\Iade]noiselle du Plessis-d'Argentr6, 
 whose parents, of an ancient and noble family, lived 
 only three miles from the Rochers, is somewhat 
 
 * Alas ! slieplierclesy, wlieu will that time aj^aiii return ? 
 
2;3S MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap.XXIII. 
 
 cruelly portrayed by Madame de S6vigne. The ex- 
 travagant friendship she [)rofessed for the marquise, 
 her follies and faults are commented upon to Madame 
 de Grignan, who disliked her, and who, when she and 
 Mademoiselle du Plessis w^ere children together at the 
 Rocliers, had one day boxed her companion's ears, of 
 whicli circumstance Madame de S(3vign(^ had a rather 
 too indulgent recollection : — 
 
 '.Mademoiselle du Plessis is exactly as you repre- 
 sent her ; if possible ratlier more foolish. What she 
 says every day on tlie fear of causing me jealousy 
 dehes description ; my only regret is having no one to 
 laugh over it with me.' 
 
 Mademoiselle du Plessis, wdth no intelligence, and 
 a A^ast amount of pretension, was constantly exposing 
 herself to ridicule. Her delio'lit was to belicA^e she 
 
 o 
 
 possessed the maimers and language of the court, and 
 to attain this she aiiued at imitating Madame de 
 Sevigne. ' The divine Plessis is false in everything. I 
 do her too great an honour in abusing her. She acts 
 all kinds of parts ; the " d6v(^te," the knowing person, 
 the fastidious, the most good-natured in the world ; 
 but above all she apes me, so that she always causes 
 me about as much pleasure as if I saw myself in a 
 mirror which made me ridiculous, and spoke to an 
 echo which would answer my follies.' 
 
 But company more agreeal>Ic tlian that of ]\[ade- 
 moiselle du Plessis soon loiccd ]\ladame de Sevigiic inr 
 some time to abandon her retreat. The Baron de 
 
1671.] nUC DE CHAULNES. ^--50 
 
 Sevign^ had now left the Rochers, when, at the end 
 of July, the governor of the provmce arrived at Vitre 
 to open the Etats of Brittany. These assemblies were 
 a sort of parliament in which supplies were voted, 
 taxes controlled, and the liljerties of the province 
 defended. They had, however, under Louis XI V, 
 lost a great deal of their primitive importance. In 
 many provinces Avhere the Etats had presumed to 
 offer remonstrances to the king, they had been sup- 
 pressed. In Brittany and in Provence they were still 
 tolerated, but had become a pretext for balls and 
 banquets, the wishes of the monarch l)eing commu- 
 nicated bv the i!'()vernor to the assembled nobility, 
 Avlio inmiediat(dy deferred to them. 
 
 The governor of Brittany, the Due de Chaulnes, and 
 his duchesse, were, and alvwiys remained, the intimato 
 friends of the J\lar(puse de Sevigr)t\ The due was a 
 man who, under an appearance of heaviness, hid the 
 most clear and quick intelligence ; to this was joined 
 great capacity for business, an irreproachalde probity 
 uiiitod to extrcmr liberality and magnilieunce, great 
 dignity, and great politeness. His wife, according to 
 St. -Simon, with the figure of a ' Suisse,' the coarse 
 face and the language, even the words, of the 
 ra1)l)le, was e(jually endowed Avith the dignity, polite- 
 ess, and manners of a i>Teat lady. The Due de 
 
 n 
 
 Chaulnes was her second husband : slie lived with 
 him in perfect concord, and oidy survived liim a few 
 months. Her lirst husband had been St.-Megrin, 
 
240 MADAME BE SAVIGNE. [Chap. XXIII. 
 
 killed in the fight at the Porte St.-Antoine durmg 
 the Fronde. 
 
 In Brittany tlie Due and Dnchesse de Chaidneskept 
 princely state, and the consideration and affection they 
 showed to Madame de Sevign^ never ahated. No 
 sooner did Madame de Chaiihies arrive at Vitr^ tlian 
 she hastened to visit Madame de Sevigne, who received 
 lier with the pleasure she experienced in seeing a 
 friend and the respect she owed to the wife of the 
 £;"<.)vernor. She was anxious that the duchesse should 
 see her park in all its beauty, and she hastened her 
 people to put her walks in order. The refusal of one 
 of" her footmen to take a share in the general hay- 
 making was to her the pretext for an amusing letter to 
 Monsieur de Coulangcs, and which was appreciated as 
 it deserved to Le. It runs thus : — 
 
 ' Anx Tvocliers, July 22, 1671. 
 
 ' These few lines, my dear cousin, are without preju- 
 di(.-e to the letter I have promised to write to you every 
 f )rtnight. My ^^'ish just now is to inform you that you 
 Avill shortlv hav(; the honour of seeino; Picard, and as 
 he is the brother of Madame de Coulanges' lackey, I 
 am glad t<;> give you the reason for my conduct. You 
 iwr aware that Madame de Chaulnes is at Vitre. She 
 is expecting the due her husliand in ten or twehe 
 days, with the Etats of Brittany. You imagine I am 
 raving. She is, then, expecting her husliand with the 
 Etats, and till then she is at Vitre, all alone and dying 
 
1071.] LETTER To M. DE cnrLAXOES. 241 
 
 of dull] less. You do not comprehend how this can 
 e\'er hring me liack to Picard. She is, as I have said, 
 dyu\'^ of dullness. I am her only consolation, and you 
 can conceiA'e tliat I am far before jJademoiselle de 
 Kerbone et de Kerqueoisuii. This is a large circuit, 
 but we shall come at last to um ubjeet. As I am then 
 her only consolation, afti.-r I have been to see her she 
 is coming t<.) me, and I desire that shi- shall find my 
 garden and my walks in good order, those long alleys 
 you like S(t much. You do n(.)t understand where this 
 leads to. Here is another incidental proposition. Yuu 
 know that we arc making hay : I had no labourers ; I 
 sent into that field which poets have celebrated to call 
 all those whn were working there to come and clean up 
 here : you are still in the dark ; and in tlieir stead I 
 sent all my servants haymaking. Do you know what 
 that is ? I must explain to you. Haymaking is the 
 prettiest thing in the world ; it is playfully turning hay 
 in a field : he who knows so much knows how to make 
 hay. All my servants went off gail}^ Picard alone 
 came to tell me he would not go ; that he had not 
 entered my ser\dce for that purpose ; that it was not his 
 business, and that he preferred returning to Paris. By 
 rny faith, my anger rose. I remembered that it was the 
 hundredth time I liad had to find fault with him ; that 
 he had neither affection nor gratitude ; in a word, the 
 measure was full to the brim. I took him at his word, 
 and in spite of what was said to me I remained as 
 firm as a rock, and he is gone. It is justice to treat 
 
 VOL. 1. K 
 
21ii MADAME BE SKVIGNE. [CiiAr. XXIII. 
 
 people according to tlieir deserts. If you see him 
 again, do not receive him ; do not protect him ; do not 
 hhnrie me, and remember that he is the man in the 
 worh;l wlio least likes haymaking, and the most un- 
 worthy to be Avell treated. 
 
 ' This is the history in few words. For my part, 
 I like narrations in which there is nothing but what 
 is necessary ; AA^here one does not wander right and 
 left, or begin things far off, and without vanity I 
 believe this to be the model of agreeable narrations.' 
 
 A few days after sending this letter to her cousin, 
 Madame de Sevigne received a visit from the Duchesse 
 de Chaulnes, who was accompanied by the Marquis de 
 Pomenars, an individual of most singular eliaracter. 
 Convicted of several crimes — for making spurious coin, 
 for cari'ying off tlie daughter of the Comte de Creance, 
 he continued to lead a jovial existence, even going so 
 far as to pay a visit to the judge who had condemned him. 
 The Duchesse de Chaulnes and Madame de Sdvi^-ne 
 appear to have paid little regard to his imputed crimes, 
 and to have diverted themselves with his eccentricities. 
 
 The Duchesse de Chaulnes remained two days with 
 Madame de Sevignc admiring her walks and enjoying 
 the beauty and charm of the plantations. 
 
 AVe take this opportunity to give a short descrip- 
 tion of the Rochers. The mansion when Madame de 
 Sevignc, a young bride, resorted to it for the first 
 time, was more than three hundred years old. It 
 
ir,7l.] DESCBIPTION OF THE BOCHEBS. 24;) 
 
 was — -and is, for altiiouii'h ::!-irat alterations have l)eeii 
 made, tlje principal features still remain — a massive 
 Gothic pile. There are several towers, in one of 
 wliicli was the staircase. The buildino-s were inclosed 
 
 o 
 
 by liigh walls, and the hrst courtyard contained 
 S}>acious accommodation tor the steward and de- 
 pendents. Adjoining;- the chateau on one side was a 
 lari-e ii^arden, and hevond that an orcliard, both 
 facing the east. The park was at this time not so 
 vast as JMadame de Sevigne left it. The walks and 
 alleys were numerous and beautiful. Theie was a 
 mall, which the lady of the manor conqjared to a 
 gallery; a labyrinth, which she extended and culti- 
 vated. Every fresh sojourn of ]\Iadame de Sevigne 
 at tlie Rocliers brought forth fresh improvements. 
 AAdiile she planted trees, the Abl)e de Coulanges built 
 the chapel, wiiich was separated from the mansion i>y 
 the entrance gate, but whicli has since been joined to 
 it. Madame de Sevigne had given a name to each 
 of her favourite walks : one was the ' Sohtaire,' whicli 
 measured twelve hundred steps ; one extremity of it 
 joined the ' Cloitre,' and the other the labyrinth. 
 The ' Infinie ' was e(|nally long, and ' LTTumeur de 
 ma Mere ' and ' LTIumeur de ma Fille ' were so 
 situated as to inspire meditation and melancholy. 
 
 There were also wide open spaces all kn<jwn ])y 
 different names. The 'Place Coulanges ' was cele- 
 brated for its echo ; llie ' Place ]\Iadame ' is compared 
 to a Belvedere, and whence an extensive view c(juld 
 
 K 2 
 
244 MADAME DE ^EVIGXB. [Ch.vp.XXIII. 
 
 be enjoyed ; and the ' Cloitre ' bad four rows of 
 magnificent trees. In these walks and the cross- ways 
 were dispersed what were then called ' Brandebonrgs/ 
 small pavilions to serve as rehiges from the weather. 
 The surrounding country was barren and of severe 
 aspect : a quantity of low gorse covered the fields, and 
 the peasantry partook of tlie roughness of the soil ; 
 they were, and have remained, uncouth and ignorant. 
 
 The rooms inhabited by Madame de Sevigne still 
 retain their original appellations. Her ' cabinet,' 
 painted green, that in which was her library, is situated 
 in the tower, whence she overlooked her park. Her 
 bedroom, with an alcove contahiing two small closets, 
 her dressing-room, and her morning room adjoining 
 the ^ green closet,' even her bed has been preserved, 
 the latter being of yellow satin embroidered with 
 coloured silk, gold, and silver. The staircase, of 
 granite, leading to all these rooms is also intact. 
 
 It was in this old mansion, and in the amiable com- 
 pany of Madame de Sevigne, that the Duchesse de 
 Chaulnes forgot for a wliile the restraints and fatigues 
 of her oflicial receptions : her visit to the Rochers, 
 however, compelled Lladame de Sevigne to pay a 
 return visit to Vitre, and join in the show and noise of 
 the Etats. 
 
 The Due and Duchesse de Chaulnes received the 
 assembled nobility with splendour and magnificence. 
 Two tables wore kept, at one of which presided the 
 due, and at the otlier the duchesse. Everything was 
 
1671.] TJ[E ETAT;<. ^^4.") 
 
 served in abiuiJant prodigality. Tlie pyramids of 
 fruit were so liigli, that on one occasion when Madame 
 de Sevigne was present, one of them was being carried 
 into the room when its summit ^vas struck in the door- 
 W'ay, and it fell to the ground wdth more than twenty 
 pieces of porcelain, the noise of which w^as so great 
 that it silenced the violins. The same violins served 
 for a ball, at wdiich danced, wdth a gTace iladame de 
 Sevigne termed incomparable, the Marquis de Locmaria 
 and the Marquis de Coetlogon. She declares that no 
 gentlemen of the court couhl approach them, and with 
 a tender recollection she reverts to the perfection of 
 Madame de Grignan's dancing. Minuets and passe- 
 pieds necessitated a little more study and elegance 
 than is needed to indolently and heavily walk through 
 a quadrille. 
 
 Monsieur d'Harouys, the treasurer of Brittany, was 
 cousin by marriage to the .Marquise de Sevigne, and 
 she describes his house as the Louvre of the Etats. 
 The prodigality of D'Harouys was to be his ruin ; but 
 although his reckless squandering of money caused him 
 to end his days in the Bastille, his probity was never 
 suspected. 
 
 All the nol)ility of the province WT^re gathered at 
 Yitre, and I\Iadame de Sevigne, wdio had never before 
 Avitnessed the Etats, d<;clares that the whole proceed- 
 ings formed a really fine spectacle ; but she describes 
 their political insigniticance by the lullowing lines, 
 where she represents tlie Etats as resulting in a pretext 
 
:245 ]\IAJ)AME DE SLrTf^XE, [Chap. XXIIL 
 
 for ' presents, lil'teeri or twenty open ta1)les, constant 
 ganiWing, perpetual balls, comedies three times a 
 week, and great magnificence. This is the Etats. I 
 am forgetting four hundred barrels of wine that is 
 drunk.' 
 
 It was the constant and pointed attention of the 
 Due and Duchesse de Chaulncs that detained Madame 
 de Se\igne at tlie Etats. Their civihty was so marked, 
 the desire that slie should not depart so sincere, that 
 the preference they testified for her, and the honours 
 with which they received her, caused her to admire the 
 amia])ility of the other ladies of the province. But all 
 this did not replace for her the charms of the Rochers ; 
 she returned to her abbe, to La Mousse, to her dog, 
 to her mall, to Pilois, to her workmen with delight. 
 There in tranquillity she resumed her loved occupations, 
 and bared her heart to her dear daughter. 
 
 The thoughts of Madame de Sevigne were in- 
 cessantly turning to the future, from which she 
 hoped changes that would restore peace to her heart. 
 Madame de Grignan, to whom she bad expressed these 
 desires, had commended them in a way which pro- 
 voked the following answer : — 
 
 ' Wliat you say of the anxieties we have so naturally 
 and so often in regard to the future, and how insensibly 
 our inclinations aUer and suit tliemselves to necessity, 
 is matter for a Ixh*!; like rascal's. Nothing is so solid, 
 notliing so useful as this kind of meditation. And who 
 are the women of your age who indulge in them ? 
 
1671.] TnorHETS O.Y TILE FUTmE. 2-1'. 
 
 For my part I know of none. You have a courage 
 and a sense of right that I respect ; for myself I am 
 not endowed to the same extent witli these qualities, 
 and they fail me principally where my affections are 
 concerned. My words are reasonalde : I speak like 
 those who feel rightly, but the intensity of my feelings 
 kills me. For example, I was not mistaken in my 
 presentiment as to what I should suffer at being 
 separated from you. I im;igiiie<l it as I feel it. I 
 understood that nothing would replace your presence, 
 that tlie remembrance of you would always be 
 painful to my heart, that I should weary of your ab- 
 sence, that I should be anxious as to your health, and 
 day and night tormented a]>out you. I feel all this as 
 I had foretold. There are se\'eral points on which I 
 have not the strength to dwell ; my thoughts glide 
 over them, as you so well express. I have not found 
 that the proverb is true in my case, that we have a 
 dress according to the cold. I have none for this cold. 
 Nevertheless I amuse myself, and time passes ; my 
 particular case d<.»es not alter the truth of the general 
 rule. We almost always fear evils which change their 
 name by the alteration of our tliouglils and feelings.' 
 
 The anticipation of future happiness is, whatever 
 reason may say to tlie contrary, one of the greatest 
 solaces in days of sadness. It is hope, it is uncertainty 
 w^hicli bids us rise and Ije of good cheer. It was these 
 that rendered her daugliter's absence tolerable to 
 Madame de Sevigne. ' My temper is happy,' says 
 
248 MADAME I)E ;<t]\l(',NE. [Chap. XXIll. 
 
 she, in answer to Madame de Grignan's fears lest her 
 solitude should sadden her. ' Fear not, for me the 
 dullness caused by solitude, except the sorrows of my 
 heart, over which I have no control. I am to be 
 pitied for nothing else.' But these sorrows of her 
 heart caused her to experience the most painful im- 
 patience if any delay occurred with the letters from 
 Provence. ' I wish it were Fridav, that I m'vAii have 
 one of your letters, and it is but AA^ednesday.' All 
 the friendship of the Abbe de Coulanges could not 
 alter that fact so displeasing to Madame de Sevigne, 
 and she truly adds — ' If to please me they assured me 
 it was Friday, it would be infinitely worse, for if on 
 that day I received no letter from you, they could not 
 by any possibility reason with me/ 
 
 It was in diligent reading tliat the anxious mother 
 best soothed the agitation of her heart. She perused 
 with delight, perfect comprehension, and sympathy her 
 favourite book the ' Morale ' of Nicole. Slie finds it de- 
 lightful, and discovers lessons in it on all subjects. 
 ' Nobody has written hke them [tlic Jansenistes]. . . . 
 We are so naturally fond of hearing ourselves and our 
 feelings talked aljout, that e\'uii if we hear them 
 blamed we are charmed.' 
 
 ]\Iadame de Sevigne at this time lieard with o-reat 
 deli gilt of a circumstance touching one of her re- 
 vered friends at Port-Eoyal. The venerable Arnauld 
 d'Andillv had, on the occasion of his sou, Monsieur de 
 Pomponne, beirjg named Minister of Foreign Affairs, 
 
1671.] TOLKK AVION FUR YOUTH. 249 
 
 been receivcMl by the king with every imaginable dis- 
 tinction. JMadanie de Se\'ign(' rejoiced at this public 
 tribute rendered hy the monarch to a virtuous man, 
 and she also looked forward with the keenest pleasure 
 to the future possi])ility of lii.'r being, through the in- 
 fluence of [Monsieur do Pomponne, of some assistance 
 to Monsieur de Grriirnan. She did not neo^lect to write 
 to the 'good man,' as slie terms Arnauld dMndilly ; 
 she could do so without belii.L;- suspected of flattering a 
 rising power. In his answer Arnauld d'Andilly only 
 does Jier justice when he remarks, that her congratu- 
 lations, meaning her sympathy for him and his family, 
 had been offered by her twenty years before their 
 prosperity came to them, and some of those years had 
 not been spent in the enjoyment of favour either by 
 himself or his sons. 
 
 ' You know that I am always rather persistent in 
 my reading,' writes ]\[adame de Sevigne ; and in 
 another letter to her daughter she dwells on the work 
 of i\Ionsieur Nicole : — 'Everybody is alluded to in it, 
 and for my part I Ixdievo it was written purposely 
 forme: I hope I shall profit by it. You are aware 
 that I cannot tolerate that old people should say that 
 I am too old to improve. I could sooner pardon a 
 young person making that speech. Youth is so amialde 
 that one would ]>e forced to adore it if tlie nhnd and 
 soul were always as perfect as the body; but it is 
 when we are no longer young that we must aspire to 
 perfection, and strive to gain in good qualities what 
 
2"'<' ^[ADA^rE de Silriaxjl]. [chap.xxiii. 
 
 Ave lose in tigTeca])le attractions. It is long since that 
 1 made these refleeti(.)ns, and for this reason I am 
 determined every day to labonr at my soul, my heart, 
 and my sentiments. Tliis is what I am engaged npon, 
 and what I fill my letters with, not having many other 
 subjects.' 
 
 All these letters, serious sometimes, playful at others, 
 admirable always, were at first received by Madame 
 de Grigiian at her Chateau de Grignan, where she 
 spent part of the summer. She left there in the month 
 of October for the Etats at Lambesc, and iladame de 
 Sevigne expresses a desire that the Provenc^als should 
 treat her as the Bretons had treated Madame de 
 Chaulnes, by offering her a gift of welcome ; but she 
 adds — ^ Though I may desire it, their minds and 
 hearts are dry, and their nature suffers in consequence; 
 the sun absorbs all the moisture which should form 
 goodness and tenderness.' 
 
 If J\Iadame de Sevigne had not much confidence in 
 the hearts of the people of Provence, she doubted 
 still more the skill of those Avho were to attend 
 Madame de Grignan in her expected confinement. 
 Tlie thought of ])ciiig separated from her daughter at 
 such a time was extremly bitter to Madame de 
 Sevigne. Day and ni^lit she dwuUs on the perils that 
 may attend her, and thinks will) a sorrowful heart 
 of the distance between them. Writing of Avhat her 
 imagination causes her to suffer, she says — " I fancy 
 that all I love, all that is precious to me, is iroimr 
 
I'l;].] ocrrrATioys at the lu^cnKU;^. 2:.i 
 
 to escape from me, and this saddens my lieart to such 
 an extent tliat if tliese thoiiL^dits were continnally in 
 my mind I should shdv under them.' 
 
 The Rochers in the month of November could not 
 have cheered the already anxious mother : her many 
 occupations v^^ere not sufficient to silence tliose yearn- 
 ing's of the heart. Slie was building her cha])el, and 
 Avhile surveying its progress, she can ])ut admire that 
 there are men who do for twelve sous wJiat otlirrs 
 Would not attempt for a tliousand pounds. Slie thinks 
 what a gnod thing it is-tliat cupidity should exist, to 
 prompt men to run about on scaftolding which holds 
 t<.» nothing. 
 
 When it did not rain in torrents, she herself held tlie 
 young trees that were being planted, and conversed 
 with her gardener Pilois, whose rustic good sense she 
 preferred to the fine talk of many of those w^ho termed 
 tlieraselves gentlemen. Every cliangeful aspect of 
 Nature was noticed to l)e admired by ^ladame de 
 SeviiiTie, and in si)eaking of the loveliness of the trees, 
 wdiich still retained green leaves mixed with gold and 
 brown, she remarks that ' it makes an admirable 
 stuff.' 
 
 The Rocliers were left entirely to its inliabitants : 
 never had Madame de Sevigne seen so few people as 
 in tliat year ; but, as she writes to Madame de Grignan, 
 ' we find evening and morning here like every^^■llere 
 else.' 
 

 MADAME DE SLVIGNE. [Chap. XXIY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 1G71-2. 
 
 Birth of a son to Madame de Grignan. — Madame de Sevigne's joy at the 
 rvent.— She returns to Pciris. — Her reception there. — Madame 
 Scarron. — Madame de Seviiim' advises Monsieur de Grignan on the 
 government of Provence.— Charles de Sevigne with the army. — 
 lUness of the Marijuise de Lx Trousse. — Death of the Chevalier de 
 Grignan. — Health of Cardinal de Retz. — Madame de Sevig]i('''s 
 \iv\yA at not being alih.^ to visit her daughter. — Death of Madame 
 de la T]'()usse. — Pu'jlic e^'ents. — -Tlie Pvhine crossed. — Death of 
 the Due de Lo]iL;ueville. — Giief of his mother. — Letter of Madame 
 de Sevigiir. 
 
 At last jMaJame de Sevigii^ received joyful news tliat 
 lifted a heavy load from her heart. Madame de Grignan 
 had been safely delivered of a son, which much-desired 
 heir had been presented at the font by the representa- 
 tives of Provence, and named Louis-Provence. The 
 delight of Madame de Sevigne was so intense that she 
 can oidy exclaim — ' If the state I am in at present 
 could continue, life would be too pleasant. But let ns 
 enjoy the good of the present hour; trouljlcs will come 
 quick enough.' 
 
 Madame de Sevigne only waited for the assurance 
 of her daughter's perfect recovery before starting for 
 Paris ; wdien she was satisfied of the well-being of her 
 
1671.] nETUllXS TO PARIS. 253 
 
 daughter and grandson, slic quitted the Eoehers with 
 a regret that alaruicd lirr. She started on the 9th of 
 December, and travelled witli ease and comfort, calling 
 for her letters at Laval. At Malicorne, the house of 
 the Marquise de Lavardin, she writes a short letter 
 to her daughter, in which she unconseiijusly repeats 
 the verv exhortation of Sainte Miantal to ]\Iadame 
 de Sevigne's mother : — ■' Take care of this dear cliild 
 [Louis-Provence], but give him to God if you desire 
 that He should allow you to retain His gift.' Tlie 
 tender and maternal heart of ]\Iadame de Sevione 
 appears in the last lines of this letter, wliere she is 
 looking forward \vith Joy to seeing again her little 
 granddaughter Avhom she had left in Pciris, and says — 
 ' You do not think of her, and I am determined to 
 love her,' 
 
 On Friday, the ISth of December, Madame de 
 Sevigne found herself in Paris and surrounded with 
 loving attentions by her family and friends. Small- 
 pox being in her own house, she went with her little 
 granddaughter to the house of her cousin Coulanges, 
 where she was received with open arms. Madame 
 de Sevigne declared that she adored Coulancres 
 because he indulged her in talking of Madame de 
 Grignan, to whom he had paid a visit during the 
 summer. It was with the greatest satisfaction that 
 Coulanges saw as his guest the ' Beauty mother,' as 
 he named his cousin. IMadame de Sevigne still re- 
 tained great personal attractions, and seven years 
 
254 MADAME DE ^EVIGNB. [CHAr.XXIV. 
 
 later slie was spoken of as still really beautiful ; while 
 Madame de Grigiiau, on the contrary, was early to 
 lose those transeendant charms of Avhieli she was so 
 proud. 
 
 With great deligdit Madame de Sevigne found her- 
 self in the midst of a circle of friends, and the names 
 of ]\Iadame de la Fayette and Monsieur de la Roche- 
 foucauld again occur frequently in her letters ; but 
 her real pleasure was in the rearing of Marie-Blanche. 
 ' She kisses me, she knows me, she calls me. I am 
 ]\Iamma to her ; and of the one in Provence there is 
 no mention.' 
 
 It is no longer a description of the tranquil walks 
 at the Eochers : the correspondence resumes all its 
 worldly and historical interest. The sudden disgrace 
 of ]\Ionsieur de Lauzun, but a year before the spoilt 
 favourite of Fortune, and now a prisoner at Pignerol, 
 provokes nearly as much wonder as his rise had 
 excited. ^ Vanity of vanities/ adds Madame de 
 Sevigne. 
 
 There had been great changes at court during 
 those months of absence of Madame de Sevigne. 
 Monsieur, brother of the king, had married a second 
 wife — the German hoyden who lived her rough life 
 and spoke her free speech in the polished and hypo- 
 critic court of Louis XIV. The contrast to the other 
 Madame was great, and those who had loved the 
 young and inq^rudent princesse saw with regret her 
 place filled so dilferently. Monsieur de Lauzun had 
 
1671.] MADAME S(AllI(ON. 205 
 
 gone to join Fonquet, the star of Mademoiselle de 
 la Valliere was deelinins,', that of ]\Iadame de ]\Iontes- 
 pan in the zenith, while that of ]\ladame Scarron was 
 in the ascendant. 
 
 It is not our purpose to recount the loves and gal- 
 lantries of Louis XIV, but as ]\Iadan)e Scarron was a 
 friend of Madame de Sevigne, her singular destiny 
 must be glanced at. 
 
 Fran(^'oise d'Aubigne, of Huguenot parents, Avas left 
 an orphan at an early age. A convent now became 
 her home, and it was there she abjured the faith in 
 which she had been brought u[), and embraced Catho- 
 licism, of which she l)ecame the persecuting champion. 
 Madame de Neuillant for a time gave her shelter. It 
 was to escape the persecutions she suffered in that 
 house, that at sixteen, beautiful, intelligent, and per- 
 haps ambitious, the young girl consented to unite 
 herself to a deformed cripple, to an obscene writer, in 
 a word, to Scarron. Her manners were serious and 
 reserved, and in spite (jf heV sin^iilar position slie 
 inspired respect. Her protector — we cannot trrni 
 him her husband — regarded her as his daughter, and 
 for the sake of her youth reformed his life and manners 
 as best he could. That he was kind and generous to 
 her there is no doubt, but tlieir means were so strict]}^ 
 limited to what Scarron earned by his pen, that when 
 he died his widow found herself penniless. 
 
 Madame Scarron was of an insinuating and capti- 
 vating disposition. The great ladies to whom Scarron, 
 
 VOL. T. n ^ 
 
:2:.0 MADAMJJ BE ^EVIGNE. [Chap. XXIV. 
 
 a general favourite, liad made her known, took a fancy 
 to her, and in a kind of semi-dependent position slie 
 found herself on an intimate footing in the Hotels 
 de Eichelieu and d'Albret. St.-Simon remarks that at 
 that time the absence of bells rendered it necessary 
 for ladies to have with them some gentlewomen whose 
 society would amuse them, and whose services they 
 might em}>loy. This ^vas the situation of ^Madame 
 Scarron, and though she was admitted to the intimacy 
 of the highest in the land, it was not as an equal. 
 Her pecuniary position after the death of her husband 
 was more than precarious. She solicited the continu- 
 ation of a pension that had been paid to him, and 
 when in possession of two thousand francs a year, 
 thought herself out of the reach of want. That 
 ]\ladame Scarron had merits of no common kind, that 
 lier sedate beauty, her dignified manners, as well as 
 lier intelligence and agreeableness won lor her the 
 affection of manv, is certain. A\dien she received the 
 ^ singular honour,' as Madame de Sevign^ terms it, 
 of b(dng the governess and guardian of the children 
 of Madame de j\Iontespan and Louis XIV, she re- 
 nounced her dependent life to give her whole time 
 to her young charges. AVliat influence she acquired 
 over them was seen in after years. Loved by IMadame 
 d(.^ Montespan, admitted to all the secrets of that exist- 
 ^'uce, at once so envied and so troubled, ]\radame 
 Scarron was not favourably regarded by Louis XIV, 
 ;nid it was only after an intercourse of many years 
 
1671.] MADAME SCABEOy, '267 
 
 that he liegan to appreciate lier, wlien was laid tlie 
 foundations of a fortune without parallel. 
 
 It was in 1671 that Madame de Sevigno for the 
 first time makes any allusion to the rising power of 
 Madame Scarron. After the death of the Duchesso 
 do Montausier, the post of dame d'lionneur was given 
 to the Duchesse de Richelieu, who uslm] her influenci^ 
 to obtain for Madame Scarron tlie ])Osition which 
 served as a first step to lier favour. The same year, 
 Louise de la ValHore, as a drooping flower, was still at 
 court, ]\Iadame de IMontespan queen of all, and if it 
 was suspected tliat ^Madame Scarron's voice had weiglit, 
 no dream of what she was to become ever crossed the 
 minds of lier friends. Her age, the austere virtue slie 
 professed, her disgust of the court and its intrigues, 
 m\ist have banished a^: Avild any idea of ]\Iadaine 
 Scarron sharing the grandeur of Louis XIV. 
 
 ' We sup every day with Madame Scarron,' writes 
 jMadame de Sevigne to her daughter. ' She is 
 amiable, and has a singular rectitude of judgment. 
 It is wonderful to hear her talk al^out the dreadful 
 agitations of a certain country she knows so well 
 The despairing moments passed by D'Heudicourt, when 
 her place appeared so miraculous ; the continuous fury 
 ■)f the little ]jauzun ; the gloomy melancholy and 
 weariness of the ladies of St. -Germain, of whom per- 
 haps the most envied [Madame de Montespan] is not 
 exempt : it is curious to hear her discoursing on all 
 this. These conversations lead us sometimes very fir; 
 
 VOL. r. 
 
2"8 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. [Chap. XXIV. 
 
 from morality to morality, sometimes Christian, some- 
 times political. We often speak of you : she appre- 
 ciates your intelligence and your manners ; so when 
 you come here again, do not fuar that you will be out 
 of fashion.' 
 
 The aflairs of the court were not the only subjects 
 that interested Madame de Sevigne ; those of Provence 
 were still inore in her mind. Two adverse parties 
 were now formed in the province ; one had its natural 
 head in ^bjnsieur de Grignan, the other was supported 
 by Forbin-Janson, Bishop of Marseilles. Madame de 
 Sevignt^, whose judgment was always sound and 
 unbiassed, had tried, but tried in vain, to calm her 
 dauglitcr's irritation on the subject. She saw liow dis- 
 astrous miij'ht l)Ccome a conflict between two men of 
 so elevated a rani:, and how profitable to them and 
 all would be their union. But Madame de Grignan's 
 temper was imperious, and she rather courted than 
 avoided the contest. 
 
 At the assembled Etats, Llonsieur de Grignan had 
 not met with that submissive obedience the king 
 required. Severe repression had been commanded, 
 and Madame de Sevigne pleads the cause of the Pro- 
 vencals with her son-in-law. She bids her dauo'hter 
 tell Iier husband not to act hastilv on the riirorous 
 orders he had received ; to serve his king, but con- 
 sider also the interests of those he was e'overnimr. 
 She advises further, that he, as a man who best knows 
 the real state of affairs, should Avrite to the kinc:, and 
 
1C72.] ADVISE><1 HEP. mX-IN-LAW. i^'i) 
 
 ' we must try for this once to obtain a pardon from 
 Lis goodness.' 
 
 The Comte do Gri^iian took a riii'lit view of 
 Madame de Sovigne's advice, and gave to her counsel 
 the attention it deserved. Tlie pardon of the monarch, 
 if not so complete as might liave been expected, 
 having been obtained, ^[onsieur de Grignan reaped 
 the glory for e<)nduct inspired in liim by one who 
 embraced liis interests with as much ardour as did 
 Iiis own wife, and viewed events with a cooler and 
 better judgment. 
 
 Madame de Grignan had early acquired great in- 
 fluence over her husband, and itadame de Sevigne, 
 aware of tlie importance of all she wrote to her, 
 therefore insisted in warm terms on the happiness 
 and need of peace. The Bishop of Uzes, uncle of 
 ]\Ionsieur de Grignan, Avas in Paris, and shared in 
 tlie wislies (,)f ]\Iadame de Sevigne and in all lier 
 opinions. 
 
 Charles de Sevigne had joined tlie army at the 
 latter end of 1G71, and Madame de Sevign^ very 
 truly says, that now her grandcliild is the only 
 consolation of her life. * I wish that you could see 
 how she loves me,' writes she in January, 1G72; 
 ' how slie calls me, how she kisses me. She is not 
 pretty, but she is pleasing. The tone of her voice is 
 charming ; she is white, she is fair ; in a word, I 
 love her.' 
 
 The care Madame de Sevigne took to inform her 
 
 s 2 
 
£ino MADAME DE SEVIGNE. [Chap. XXIV. 
 
 (.laughter of all that might please or in any way touch 
 her feelings was not repaid in the same manner. The 
 ]Marquise de la Trousse, Madame de Scivign^'s aunt, 
 and whom she dearly loved, was dangerously ill of 
 the affection which ultimately caused her death. Her 
 niece was to her a kind and vigilant nurse, and, as 
 we sliall presently see, a most devoted one. Although 
 in her letters to Provence Madame de Sevimie fre- 
 
 o 
 
 quently expresses the pain and grief she felt at her 
 aunt's state of health, no sympathetic answer came ; 
 and she is compelled to write — • ' I pray you, my 
 daughter, to often introduce some kind word for my 
 aunt ; it is a consolation to her in her continual suf- 
 ferings.' Every consolation it was in the power of 
 iladame de S^vigne to give was offered to the suf- 
 ferer, and that to the last moment of her life ; Madame 
 de Sevign^'s heart needed no reminder. 
 
 Another person, dear to Madame de Sevigne for her 
 daughter's sake, was lying at that time near the point 
 of death. The Chevalier de Grignan, called the 
 ' beau Grignan,' and whom of all her brothers-in-law 
 tlie comtesse preferred, had been struck by that fatal 
 scourge, the small-pox. Madame de Sevigne, who 
 anxiously ibllowed the course the disease was taking, 
 trusted in his youth, and hoped against the fatal 
 forebodings spoken at the commencement of the attack. 
 The suspense, however, did not last long ; on the Cth 
 of February, the Chevalier de Grignan expired, and 
 it is with feelings of real distress that Madame de 
 
1672.] ILLNESS OF liETZ. 261 
 
 S^vignc informs lier dauglitcr of this event. What 
 fortune lie liad lie left to liis eldest brother, and this 
 conduct no doubt aided I\Iadame de Seviirne in thinkinir 
 
 o o 
 
 well of him — where that dauL;-hter was concerned she 
 became blind to every other interest. 
 
 The year liad not begun prosporimsly for Madame 
 de Sevign^ : her dear daughter still absent, her sou 
 with the army, iladame de la Trousse dangerously ill, 
 the death of the Chevalier de Grignan, and now the 
 health of the Cardinal de Retz, to whom she was 
 always so sincerely attached, was causing fears to his 
 friends. Above all was the hope deferred of that 
 journey to Provence she was longing to take, with 
 which obstacles that her conscience would not allow 
 her to put aside were constantly interfering. To 
 Madame de Grignan's insinuation, that she was 
 mistress of her actions, she answered that it was true 
 she was so ; but 'life is full of bitterness,' and that of 
 being in Paris when Madame de Grignan was at Aix 
 was one that time could not sweeten. 
 
 To the natural desire Madame de S(5vigne had of 
 joining her daughter was added a strong wish to be 
 able, with her good abbe, to be of some assistance to 
 her in arranging her affairs. Madame de Grignan had 
 Bot been married three years, and already embarrass- 
 ments had begun. Monsieur de Grignan bore the title 
 of Lieutenant-governor of Provence, but the Due de 
 Vendome received the high emoluments of Governor. 
 Forced to maintain the dignity of his office, and by 
 
2f;2 MADAME DE HLVIOKK [Chap. XXIV. 
 
 liis tastes doing that beyond AAdiat Avas necessary, 
 Monsieur do Grignan naturally experienced difficulties, 
 wliicli were increased by his passion for gambling and 
 l>y his reckless extravagance. 
 
 From the first hour that Madame de St^vigne — the 
 scales fallen from Iier eyes — got an insight of the 
 true position of the Comte de Grignan, she urged, 
 with the warmth of affection and experience, that order, 
 without which no fortune is truly great, should rule in 
 their house. What she condemns repeatedly is gam- 
 bling:'- — the fortune of a few and the ruin of a host : 
 moreover, neither Monsieur nor Madame de Grignan 
 were fortunate, and as early as May, 1671, Madame 
 de S6vign6 warns her daughter thus : — ' I hear on 
 different sides tliat you both lose all you stake. Why, 
 why, such ill luck? why that perpetual little rain I 
 have always found so inconvenient ? ' Nearly a year 
 after she adds : — 
 
 ' Continued ill luck provokes and offends. We hate 
 thus to be mocked ])y Fortune. The advantage others 
 have over us is humiliating, though it be only a trifle. 
 I\Ty love, Nicole expresses that so well. I hate For- 
 tune, and am well convinced that she is blind to treat 
 you in such a fashion. If she had but one eye, 
 you would not be so unlucky.' And again a month 
 afterwards : — 
 
 ' You Iiave wonderful ill-luck ; you always lose. 
 This swallows up a great deal of money. I cannot 
 l»elieve you have enough not to feel these continual 
 
lG7ii.] BEB FiiE^E^^T To UER DAUGHTEE. 2G?, 
 
 losses. Take my aJvii-e, do not persist. I feel more 
 tliau you do tliat perpetual ill-luek. Remember that 
 you have spent all that money witliout diverting your- 
 self. Quite the contrary ; you have given five or six 
 thousand francs to bore yourself. My child, I am 
 getting too earnest ; you must say, like Tartuffe, " It is 
 an excess of zeak'" 
 
 While Madame de Sevigne was so anxious regarding 
 the fortune of ]\Iadame de Grignan, and so fearful of 
 those trifles wliicli at last wear away even the rock, she 
 did not fail to lavish on her presents of every descrip- 
 tion ; books and elegant trifles for husband or wife, and 
 on the ttth of March Lladame de Sevigne sends her 
 daugliter a pearl necklace which ^ surpasses,' says 
 slie, ' all presents, past and future.' It was a single 
 row, worth twelve thousand ecus. Madame de Sevigne 
 had bom^dit it at the sale of the effects of the Venetian 
 And)assador, her now ' defunct neighbour,' as she 
 terms him, and it is with dehght she begs her daughter 
 to look at the pearls, weigh them, and see how they 
 become her. She herself says that she had never seen 
 such fine pearls, and prides herself on her choice be- 
 cause ]\Iadame de Grignan is to profit by it. When 
 the thanks came she would hardly accept them. 
 
 ' AVe strive to amuse our dear cardinal,' she writes, 
 speaking of Eetz, and informs Madame de Grignan 
 that Corneille, Boileau, and Mohere have read to him 
 their newest works, she being present the while. She 
 adds, — ' It is all they can do for his service, and it is 
 
204 MADAME VE t^LVIGNM. [Chap. XXIV. 
 
 not little' But she passes rapidly over tins to dwell 
 on tlie alTection Retz has for Madame de Grignan, and 
 the reirret he feels at her absence : — - 
 
 o 
 
 ' I have a thousand compliments to pay to yon from 
 Monsieur de la Ptochefoneauld, from Madame de la 
 Fayette, and from his eminence ; ' but for him, this 
 dear cardinal, this kind uncle, Madame de Griguaa 
 had no sympathy either; and no solicitation of her 
 mother could bring her to act towards him as it would 
 have been both her duty and to her interest. 
 
 In the midst of her attendance on her dear invahds, 
 Madame de Sevignu was receiving from her daughter 
 letters warmly urging her to execute her promised 
 journey. According to Madame de Grignan's view^, the 
 illness of Madame de la Trousse was probably not of 
 a character to make it imperions that her niece should 
 not leave her ; but though j\Iadame de Sevigne repeats 
 with affection and sincerity that she lives but in the 
 hope of a journey to Provence, she cannot take it upon 
 herself to abandon jMadame de la Trousse at such a 
 moment. She knew that her aunt could not recover, 
 and she remained in the painful hesitation which the 
 chaugeful symptoms caused her — at one moment she 
 believed Madame de la Trousse might linger on lor 
 months to come, and that she might go; the next 
 moment she fears the end is near, but at all times she 
 feels keenly for the sufferings and protracted agony of 
 one whom she has loved and wdio loves her in return. 
 
 The Marquise de la Trousse was admirably cared 
 
1672.] ILLyj^SS OF HEM AUXT. i2G5 
 
 for by her two unmarried daughters, Mademoiselle de 
 la Trousse and Mademoiselle de Meri : their cousin saw 
 with compassion their filial tenderness and devotion, 
 comparing their conduct with that of their brother, 
 the Marquis de la Trousse, who waited till his mother 
 Avas at the point of death before professing for her any 
 affection. On the tender letters he then wrote to his 
 mother, Madame de Sevigne mahes the folio whig com- 
 ments : — ' I do not much value those affections of the 
 death-bed, and for myself I thank tliose who would 
 only l.)egin to love me then. My child, we must love- 
 during life, as yuu do so well ; we must make calm 
 and happy, and not fill with bitterness and anguish, 
 the existence of those wlio cherish us. It is too late 
 to change at the point of death.' 
 
 These words (jf ]\Iadame de Sevign6 seem to suggest 
 a hidden hesitation as to her daughter's conduct. One 
 feels that, do what she will, she does not experience 
 that perfect security in Madame de Grignan's affec- 
 tion that she professes. Her words are as much of 
 warning as of praise ; to presume that people are 
 capable of great or good actions, to express to tlieni 
 that conviction, is, we believe, a powerful motive to 
 urge them to act according to our wishes ; pride comes 
 to the rescue, and hel})s on tliose who otherwise might 
 have halted on the road. This tactic, if we mav call it 
 so, is frequent with Madame de Sevign^ : she always 
 takes it for granted that her daughter does or saj's 
 what is right, and thus, without appearing to lecture 
 
2UG ]\L\I>AME DE ,'<f:VI(iXE. [Chap. XXIV, 
 
 or reprove, slie })oints out lier course. In the maiiv 
 instances when she proffers advice, she does so timidlv, 
 and as it v^ere dechning any right to interfere, hut 
 never hesltatino; when she beheves it to be her dutv. 
 The (juestion of extravagance is that to which she- 
 returns most frequently, and she does so certainly 
 without any encouragement, for in a letter to her 
 daughter she sa}'s : — ' Tell me, however, if my counsels 
 displease you botli, for if thc}^ do they will be useless, 
 and I should not be in a hurr}^ to say displeasing things 
 to you. Answer me sincerely on this subject.' 
 
 AVhatever may have been the answer of iladamo 
 de Grignan, her mother never gave up tlie sa- 
 cred privilege of speaking as a parent to her child, 
 and if at times she undoubtedly flatters her — as 
 she ought not — yet on certain points, her truth, 
 her honesty, her sincerity were stronger than her 
 partiality. 
 
 The protracted illness of Madame de la Trousse 
 keeping Madame de Sevign6 in Paris, at the end of 
 April she entered her new house in the Rue St.- 
 Anastase, in which she carefully reserved an apart- 
 ment for her dauirhter, whom she looked forward to 
 bring back with her from Provence, at least for a time. 
 ' You bid me not think of you in settling in my new 
 house : I think of no one else.' 
 
 These little pleasures of preparing the al)ode she 
 hoped to see one day inliabited by ]\Iadame de 
 Grignan could but for a moment divert her from all 
 
1672.] EEFLECTIOXS ON SUFFElUX^r. 2']7 
 
 lier many cares. For Iier son she was beginning to 
 feel the keenest anxiety, as the war against the Dutcli 
 — the campaign lod liy the king — now appearcMl 
 terriljly earnest. Xuarh' every man in France liad 
 joined the army, and Paris was deserted Tlie snm- 
 mer had come, and not even Livry, with all its beanty, 
 could soothe the mind of ]\[adame de 8evi£;-ne. 
 
 The constant contemplation of the dreadful suffer- 
 ings of her aunt had upon Madame de Sevigno's 
 imagination the most vivid effect, and it is what makes 
 her write to her daugliter — 'We were saying the 
 other dav, that the onh' rual evil in life is i;-reat suffer- 
 ing ; the rest is in our imagination, and depends on 
 the manner in which we look at tliin''''s. All other 
 afflictions find a reniedy either hi time, or inoderation, 
 or strength of mind ; reflection can lighten them, or 
 religion, or philosophy. As to great sufferings, they 
 hold both body and soul. Tlie thouglit of God causes 
 them to ])e borne with patience, but does not light'- u 
 them. 
 
 ' This speech has the appearance of coming straiglit 
 from the Faul)Ourg St. -Germain [from Madame de la 
 Fayette], but in truth it is my poor aunt, who by her 
 extreme sufferings gave us the subject for it, and she 
 does not allow any other afflictions in life to be com- 
 pared to hers.' 
 
 ]\Ionsieur de la Rochefoucauld and ]\Iadame de la 
 Fayette, wdiom Madame de Sevigne saw every day, 
 Averc not calculated to suggest to her more cheerful 
 
 oo 
 
2Gy BTADAME BE HEVIGNE. [Chap. XXIV. 
 
 reflections. Monsieur de la Eocliefoucaiild was a con- 
 stant sufferer from gout, and Madame de la Fayette 
 was ne^•er ^Yell two dctys togetlier, being suLject to- 
 ailments of every kind. Madame de Sevigne says, in 
 reference to those two friends — ' AVe sometimes have- 
 conversations together of such sadness, that there- 
 seems nothing left to be done but to bury us.' 
 
 One bright and dear object offered itself, however, 
 to Madame de Sevigne, and every day she seems to 
 dwell with more force on her fondness for her little 
 grandchild. She pictures to the absent mother the 
 most smiling images of happy babyhood : — ' Her com- 
 plexion, her neck, her little body is admirable. She- 
 does a hundred little things : she talks, she caresses, 
 she gives slaps, she makes the sign of the cross, she- 
 demands pardon, she curtseys, she kisses the hand^ 
 she shrugs her shoulders, she dances, she flatters, she 
 takes hold of the chin ; in a word, she is charming in 
 everything. I amuse myself with her for hours together. 
 I will not allow this treasure to die. I was telling you 
 this the other day; I cannot imagine how it is pos- 
 sible to help loving one's daughter.' More than onci?, 
 leaving aside other occupations, the fond grandmother 
 dwells on the beauty and qualities of her little 
 charg'c. 
 
 While Madame de Sevigne was leading that life of 
 kindness and anxiety, Madame de Grignan was, as a 
 queen, travelling through the province ruled by her 
 husband. Her tour extended as for as Monaco, wdiere- 
 
ICTI] MADAME DE GIUGXAN'S rEOGnE>'<S. 2!;i) 
 
 she went to visit the daiiirhter of the ]\Iarcchal de 
 Grammont, the celebrated ^^.ladanie de Monaco, who had 
 heen one of the most adiiiired beauties of tlie court 
 of Louis XIV. No A^ery great s^'mpath}^ could have 
 existed between lier and ]\Iadame de Griiiiian, their 
 character and mode of life being so essentially dif- 
 ferent. But they met as exiles in a foreign country, 
 and were reciprocally happy in e()n\'ersing together 
 of that court at which tliey had both shone so 
 brightly. 
 
 The progress of ]\Iadaine de Grignan was attended 
 by a pomp at which her mother dared not rejoice, 
 well knowing at what price such display ^vas pur- 
 chased. On this occasi;>n aj^'ain she ventures a word 
 of warnimr, to be, alas! neglected. Madame de Grig- 
 nan, in writing to her mother an account of her journey, 
 tells her that the powerful perfumes of Provence had 
 at last disgusted her, and tliat a bad smell would even 
 1)0 welcome as a change. Lladame de Scvigne re- 
 marks u]3on this morbid flmcy of her daughter, that — 
 '• Nothing is more extraordinary than the state you 
 have been in ; and yet it is quite natural : the most 
 unwholesome thing is to sleep in a perfumed atmo- 
 sphere. . . . You were telling me a short time ago 
 tliat there are no delights that do not lose that name 
 when abundance and facility accompany them. I 
 own to having a desire to tempt the experience.' 
 
 To see the enchanted land where J\ladame de 
 Grignan reigned, Avas the ardent wish of Madame de 
 
-70 MADAME DE f<t:VIGNE. [CnAr.XXIY. 
 
 SevigTie', and alliiding to tlie causes wliicli kept lier 
 back wlieii slie so longed to depart, she remarks — ' I 
 always tliink there are certain things very badly ar- 
 ranged in the events of our lives. They are as large 
 stones in tlie way, too lieavy to be moved. I think we 
 sliall pass over tliis one, I ait it will not be without 
 difficultv.' 
 
 JMadanie de Srvignu had decided, despite the linger- 
 ing illness of lier aunt, to leave her and undertake the 
 long-looked-for journey, but such a proceeding went 
 against her heart, and she says — ' It is something to 
 admire that God should put a counterbalance to the 
 joy I shall have in going to you. I shall leave my 
 aunt dying: this thought wounds my heart ; and I 
 shall carry with me a perpetual anxiety for my son. 
 Ah ! this is the world indeed ! You say we must lose 
 the liabit of Avishing for anything ; add to tliat, and of 
 being quite satisfied. It is a state not reserved for 
 mortals.' 
 
 ]\Iadame de la Trousse having become much worse, 
 and her end appearing to Ije close at hand, her kind 
 niece, whatcA'cr she looked to bevond, could not con- 
 template without much sorrow the approaching disso- 
 lution. She quiets lier daughter's pressing haste, and 
 adds a few words which exj)lain her fortitude and 
 strength in many temptations : — ' You know how I 
 hate remorse ; it would have been a perpetual weight 
 on my mind not to have rendered the last duties to my 
 poor aunt. I oim't nothing I think I owe her at such 
 
ir-2.] DEATH OF HER A TXT. 271 
 
 a melancliolv time.' ^Mci'lainc do Scvi2.'ne's only ru- 
 pining at tlie long and painful delay is — ' Admire my 
 misfortmie ; it is sufficient for me t(.> desire a thing to 
 find obstacles.' But, clear above all, in spite of re- 
 grets, in spite of impatience, sliines tliat satisflrction of 
 liaving beliaved as her affection and <luty prompted 
 her, and in having!' silenced on that occasion any selfish 
 yearnings, to listen only to the voice that bade her not 
 forsake in her dyinir moments one who had been the 
 friend of her vouth. 
 
 I. 
 
 At last, on the 30th of June, Tdadame de la Trousse 
 expired peaceabl}^ hi her sleep, ]\ladani;.' de Sevigne 
 havimr left lier side onlv a few hours l)cfore. 'Jdie 
 poignant grief of the poor daugliters is vividl}" de- 
 scribed, and the real sorrow of i\Iadame de >Sevigne is 
 also expressed in words touching and true. Then lier 
 heart Ixnmds at the thouij-ht that now she can fulfil 
 her desire of joining her daughter. All her prepara- 
 tions had long been made, and having placed the little 
 j\[arie-Blanche d'Adhemar under the most watchful 
 guardianship her care could suggest, she left Paris on 
 the 13tli of July. 
 
 Before accompanying ]\Iadame de Sevigne on her 
 journey, we must take a glance at the contents of some 
 of her letters in which she descril^ed to her daughter 
 the OTeat and stirring events whiclrwerc astonishing 
 the whole of Europe. 
 
 The campaign of 1G72, commanded by the king in 
 person, was destined to crush entirely those proud 
 
272 MADAME DE KEVIGNR [Chap. XXIV. 
 
 Low Countries wliicli would not 1)0W to tlie will of tlie 
 omnipotent Louis. Monsieur le Prince, liis son Mon- 
 sieur le Due, his nepliew tlie handsome Due de Lon- 
 gueville, commanded and served in that expedition. 
 Sevign^ was also with the army, and in the expectation 
 of the battles which must be fought, his mother, as 
 we have seen, was anxiously eager for news of Iiim. 
 
 Sudden Iv evcrv one in Paris, and soon after the 
 wliole of France, learnt Avitli astonishment and wonder 
 that the Plhine had been crossed by tlie army under 
 ]\Ionsieur le Prince. It was victory- — it was peace ! 
 1)ut to tlie minds (jf manv it ^vas too dearly boudit by 
 the death of the young Due de Longueville, who 
 through his impetuosity and rashness had met his 
 fate. ]\Ionsieur de j\Iarsillac, son of the Due de la 
 Piochefoucauld, had been wounded, and Ins other son, 
 the Chevalier de Marsillac, had been killed. The 
 prince whose death was causing such emotion was 
 that son of ^ladame de Longueville born at the Hotel 
 de Ville in the days of the Fronde, and alluding to 
 what ]\Ionsieur de la Rochefoucauld felt on this occa- 
 sion, J^Iadame de Sc\'ign6 writes to her daughter: — 
 'his tears camr* from his heart' 
 
 ?\lndame de Scvigno was present when Monsieur de 
 la Pocheibucauld received ncAvs so full of sadness, and 
 after the first moment given to sympathizing with 
 him she rushed to inquire as to lier son, and is re- 
 minded tliat lie is with the army of the king, not 
 with that of the Prince de Condc. Her maternal 
 
1672.] DEATH OF THE DUC BE LONGUEVILLE. 
 
 '!!?> 
 
 anxiety relieved, lier mind reverts immediately to the 
 catastrophe which was occupying every one, and this 
 is what she writes : — ' You have never seen Paris in 
 the state it is in. Every one is mourning, or fears 
 having to be so. ^Madame dc Nogent is beside her- 
 self. They tell me it is heart-breaking to see Madame 
 de Longueville. I have not seen her, but this is what 
 I know. ]\bidemoiselle de A^ertus ''^ had two davs 
 before returned to Port-Royal, where slie is nearly 
 always. They went to fetch her, with j\bDnsieur 
 Arnauld, to disclose the terrible news to Madame de 
 Longueville. ]\bidemoiselle de Vertus liad only to 
 show herself: that liurried return boded something 
 alarming. In fact, as soon as she appeared : " Ah, 
 mademoiselle, how is my brother?" tier thoughts 
 could go no further. " Madame, he bears his wound 
 well." "There has been a battle ; and mv son ? " No 
 answer Avas 'given. " Ah, mademoiselle, my son, my 
 dear child ; answer me, is he dead ? " " Madame, I 
 have no words to answ^er you." "Ah, my dear son, 
 did he die immediately? Did he not have a single 
 inoment? Ah, my God, what a sacrifice! " and upon 
 this she falls on her bed, and all that the most violent 
 anguish can do, and by convulsions, by hxinting, by 
 mortal silence, l)y stifled sobs, by bitter tears, ])y 
 cries to Heaven, and by the ]uost heart-rending lamen- 
 tations, she has felt everything. . . . 
 
 ' There is in the world a man [^lonsieur de la 
 
 * Catherine-Fran^oise dc Bretagne, one of the reclu'^fs of Port-Royal. 
 
 VOL, I. T 
 
2V4 MADABIE DE SEVIGNR [CiiAr.XXIV. 
 
 Eochefoucauld] hardly less afflicted, and I have it in 
 my head that if they had both met in those first 
 moments, and there had ])een no one with them, all 
 other feelings wonld have given place to tears and 
 sol>s ; it is a dream.' 
 
 The Due de Longueville by his charming manners 
 had rendered himself extremely popular, and it was 
 not only by those to whom he was attached by near 
 and tender ties that he was mourned. He had solid 
 virtues. ' No one was so near perfection,' says 
 ]\Iadame de S^vigne, and we see clearly that in de- 
 scribing the agony experienced by Madame de Longue- 
 ville, the vivid imagination of Madame de Sevigne 
 had been inspired by her motherly heart, and every 
 chord in her soul vibrated in unison with those lamen- 
 tations and cries to Heaven spoken by one who had 
 lost her child. It is the privilege, and at the same 
 time the curse, of those who conceive events easily 
 and vividly, not to be able to paint a scene of sorrow 
 without inw^ardly feeling an echo of the voice they 
 call up, as in their heart a glad image leaves also a 
 ray of sunshine. The soul of those whose imagination 
 is strong, receives the impression, be it good or evil, 
 of that moment ; as when a hand strikes a note, one 
 instant only is the sound heard, but the chord has 
 vibrated. It is those passing emotions that give 
 to verses, that Impart to painting the life which 
 Pygmalion sighed to see bestowed on the work of 
 his hands. 
 
1672] THE EVE OF BEFAETURE. 275 
 
 And now Madame de S^vio;ne had foro-otten for a 
 time everything miconnected with her journey. It 
 is in rapturous terms she announces to her daughter 
 that she is about to join her, and though the last 
 letters of Madame de Grignan do not seem to have 
 satisfied the mother, yet her whole desire tends to 
 embrace her child. Alluding to the long delay of her 
 journey, Madame de S^vigne says — ' As long illnesses 
 wear out affliction, so long anticipation wears out joy. 
 You will have exhausted all the pleasure of seeing me 
 before I come, and when I arrive you will be quite 
 -accustomed to my presence.' 
 
 T 2 
 
270 MADAME DE SEVIQNK [Chap. XXV. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 1672-4. 
 
 Departure of Madame de Sevigne for Provence. — Her reception at 
 Lyons. — Arrival at Grignan. — Correi^pondence with Lladame de 
 Coiilanges, Madame de la Fayette, and Bussy. — i\Iadame de 
 Si'vigne after a stay of fourteen months knives Grignian for Paris, — 
 Her grief. — Visits Bourbilly, and is i(.'C(.'i\"ed at Epoisses by the 
 Comte and Conitcsse de Guitaut. — Pieflections on Madame de 
 Si^vigiie's correspondence with her daughter. — Monsieur de Grignan 
 lays siege to Orange. — Anxiety of Madame de Sevigne. — Cohlness 
 of her daughter. — Pcljgioiis feeling of Madame de Sevigne, — 
 Pteflections on tlie moral standard of the seventeenth centmy. — 
 Madame de Grignan announces her intention of visiting Paris. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne was accompanied by her 
 uncle, tlie Abb^ de Coulanges, \vlio, in spite of con- 
 trary advice, had not hesitated for his dear niece's 
 sake, to hazard a journey to Provence in the middle of 
 summer, and l)y the Al)b(3 de la Mousse. Monsiem^ dn 
 Gue, the father of Madame de Coulanges, and In- 
 tend iivit of Lyons, was to welcome ]\ladamc de Sevigne 
 in that tow^n. 
 
 At Auxerre, three days after leaving Paris, she 
 Avrites a short letter to Madame de Grignan, and says 
 — ' AA^e travel rather seriously. IMonsieur de Coulanges 
 
1672.] JOINS HER DATJGBTER. 277 
 
 "would have Ix'cu needful to enliven us. . . . T(.> 
 1)e gay, one must Ik; vitli tliose that are so ; you 
 know thac I suit mysdf to others, l:)ut I invent 
 nothmg.' 
 
 At Lyons, jMadame de Scvigne was received with 
 delight \)y JMadamc de C\>ulanges, and with every 
 mark of consideration and friendship by the intendant 
 and his wife. TIk;}' were at great pains to amuse her 
 in every way, and shoAx^ her all that could interest or 
 divert her. T\Iadame de C^ndanges insisted on her n.'- 
 maining a day longer than she had intended, and her 
 solicitations were so pressing, that in spite of her im- 
 patience, Madame de Sevigne yielded. She had whUe 
 at Lyons made the a(.'(:|uaintance of Monsieur de Grig- 
 nan's sister, the Comtesse de Eochebonne, whose extra- 
 ordinary likeness to her brother had startled her. ' It 
 is Monsieur de Grignan as a very amiable woman,' 
 she writes. 
 
 On the 30th of July, after a separation of a year and 
 seven months, the mother and daughter were together 
 under the same roof, and with her kind Bien Bon, with 
 her faithful La Mousse, Madame de Sevigne had the 
 joy of finding herself at Grignan, in the house of and 
 in the company of that daughter, the thought of whom 
 had never left her a moment since the hour they had 
 parted. 
 
 The correspondence is now interrupted for the four- 
 teen months Madame de Sevign^ remained with her 
 daughter. With the exeepti(jn of a few, the letters 
 
278 MADAME BE HMVIGNK [Chap. XXV. 
 
 she then Avr(:)te to her son and her many correspondeuts 
 have not been preserved. 
 
 The day after leaving Lyons, where she had been so 
 affectionately treated, Madame de Sevign^ writes to 
 Madame de Coulanges, who on the 1st of August ac- 
 knowledges the receipt of two letters. She informs 
 Madame de S6vignt^, in a style also easy and charm- 
 ing, of her occupations at Lyons, of her attendance on 
 her mother, and of the attentions she received from the 
 Marquis de Villeroy. Le Charmant, as she calls him, 
 and as he was surnamed, was suffering a temporary 
 disgrace, and had been banished from the court. 
 Madame de Coulanges had received a pressing invita- 
 tion to join Madame de S^vigne at Grignan, and she 
 expresses her hope of being able to do so ; at the same 
 time she hints that the Marquis de Villeroy intends 
 going there with the Comte de Eochebonne. As this 
 great conqueror of hearts had been at one time supposed 
 to be under the charm of Mademoiselle de S6vign^, it 
 is very probable that the marquise did not wish for a 
 presence that might awaken the malignity of those ever 
 on the watch to imagine or surprise the secrets of 
 hearts. However, neither one nor the other visited 
 Grignan, and it is from Lyons that Madame de 
 Coulanges bade good-bye to the inhabitants of Gri- 
 gnan. She says gracefully — ' In going from here I feel 
 the relief in not having to leave you.' 
 
 Corbinelli had joined the Comtesse de Grignan 
 aud Madame dr Sevigne in Provence, and he is in- 
 
1672.] SIGN OF DEVOTION. 279 
 
 eluded in tlic regrets of Madame de Coulanges, who 
 bids liim return to Paris to become lier confidant. 
 
 Once in the capital, Madame de Coulanges resumed 
 the correspondence, and gives to Madame de Sevign^ all 
 the neAvs of the court and town she knew would amuse 
 her. She informs her that the existence of Madame 
 Scarron is a mystery to every one ; that she does not 
 see one of her friends, and that having received a letter 
 from her, she dared not say so for fear of inquiries. 
 The truth was, that Madame Scarron was bringing up 
 in secrecy Madame de Montespan's children, and she 
 had taken her trust in such earnest, that with her own 
 hands she had prepared the rooms they inhabited, 
 fearino^ the indiscretion of the workmen she mieiit 
 emj^loy. 
 
 *The Princesse d'Harcourt has appeared at court 
 without rouo;e/ she writes. This was the outward 
 sign of devotion ; as soon as a woman determined to 
 embrace religion she publicly announced her intention 
 by appearing with her natural complexion : it was a 
 mortification beyond everything else, and the sure road 
 to heaven. Madame de Sevign^ ridicules these pre- 
 tences of sanctity which took so singular a form ; but 
 at the same time, when she believes a real conversion 
 has been effected, and that one who belonged entirely 
 to the world and its vanities has given herself to God's 
 service, she speaks of it in terms of eulogy wdiich leave 
 nothins: to l^e added, as we shall soon see when she 
 alludes to Madame de Marans. 
 
280 MADAME BE ,SEVIGNA [Chap. XXV. 
 
 JMadame dv la Fayette Avas another correspondent of 
 ]\Ia(lame de Scvigne, Lut her letters were short, and 
 she does not fill them with those little nothing's in 
 Avhich Madame de Coulanoes delioiited. 'Do not 
 measure oar friendship by my lettei\s/ she says. ' I 
 shall love you quite as much in writing to you a page 
 a month, as you will love me in sending me ten every 
 week.' ' My taste for writing to any one is passed.' 
 
 The great excuse for Lladame de la Fayette was her 
 constant sufferino; from headache. Her delicate health 
 d charred her from every enjoyment in life, and when 
 after going to Chantilly, which she describes as ' the 
 most delightful place under the sun,' she wants to give 
 an account of it to ]\f adame de Sevigne, she says — ' If 
 I had not such a headache, I would tell you all 
 about it.' 
 
 Charles de Sevign(3 was in Paris, and both the 
 friends of his mother saw him often, and speak of him 
 with praise. The little Marie-Blanche d'Adhemar was 
 also cared for by j\Iadame de Coulanges, who in giving 
 news of her to jMtidame de Sevigne adds — ' Madame 
 Scarron does not sho^\^ herself ; I am extremely sorry 
 for it. This year I have none of those I love.' 
 
 At Grio-nau, Madame de Sevioiie resumed her oft- 
 interru})ted correspondence with her cousin Bussy, and 
 the letters are Avritten in the familiar and friendly 
 style of other times ; but after one or two had been 
 cxchaniied there was a^ain silence for a whole year. 
 
 Bussy neglected none of his interests, and he knew 
 
1672.1 THE ETATS AT LAMBESC. i^si 
 
 that Madame iXc Sevigiie liad many friends, some in 
 power like Pumponne. At that time, although he re- 
 peatedly >state.s th(.' contrary, n.nd protests his perfect 
 resignati<->n to his fate, Bussy was striving with greater 
 ardour than ever to obtain his pardon. Madame de 
 Sevigne in Paris could serve him, l)ut at Grignan she 
 could do nothing, and he was therefore less anxi<jus to 
 remind her of his existence. 
 
 The months .Madame do Sevio-nc remained in 
 Provence were not wholly spent at Grignan. At 
 the end of December, 1G72, the lieutenant-governor 
 had been obliged to preside at the Etats at Lambesc, 
 and the delicate state of health of Madame de Grignan 
 not permitting her to accompany her husband, Zyladame 
 de Sevig-ne went with her son-in-law. On the morn- 
 ing fixed for her journey back to Grignan, torrents of 
 rain impeded her departure, and she gives her daughter 
 a graphic account of the confusion : — 
 
 'AYhen we reckon without Providence, my dear 
 daughter, Ave risk being wrong in our calculations. 
 I was ready this morning at eight ; I had taken my 
 coffee, heard mass, wished good-bye to all, tlie mules 
 were laden ; their bells reminded me that I must get 
 into my litter; my room was full of people, Avho 
 were beo'^ins; me not to o'o, because for some days it 
 has rained a great deal, and since yesterday without 
 intermission, and even now. I boldly resisted all that 
 was said, wishing to do honour to the resolution I 
 had taken, and which I had announced to you l)y yes- 
 
282 MADA3IE DE ^SEVIGNK [Chap.XXY. 
 
 terclay's post, tlmt I should be with you on Thursday ; 
 when, on a sudden, Monsieur de Grignan, in a yellow 
 dressing-gown, spoke to me so seriously of the folly of 
 my undertaking, saying that my mules would fall 
 over the precipices, that the men would be wet and 
 unable to help me, that in a moment I changed my 
 mind, and gave way entirely to his remonstrances. 
 Therefore boxes brought back, mules unharnessed^ 
 maids and valets dry themselves after having only 
 crossed the yard, and a messenger is sent to you, 
 knowing well what is your affection and your anxiety.' 
 Madame de Sevi<j;ne also took advantao:e of her 
 sojourn in Provence to visit Marseilles, where, in spite 
 of the still existing differences between her son-in-law 
 and the archbishop, she was received by the latter 
 with every imaginable distinction, as if the venerable 
 prelate were desirous of proving that his quarrels with 
 Monsieur de Grignan were of a purely local character^ 
 and that even their animosity could not make him 
 foroet what was due to Madame de Sevigne's merit. 
 
 S 
 
 Unfortunately she had now espoused her daughter'.^ 
 prejudices with such violence that she put a false in- 
 terpretation on the conduct of Forbin-Janson, and 
 wrote about him to her friends in power as would a 
 person who saw only Monsieur de Grignan's interest, 
 and condemned without mercy all those who opposed 
 
 him. 
 
 After that long and delightful residence with 
 her da.u'-diter, the day of separation came, that day 
 
1673.] HALT AT MONTJ^LIAIAIi. 2s;? 
 
 which from the first moment of their re-union JMadamc 
 de Sevione coiiLI not look forward to without 
 terror. It had been her constant hope to have her 
 daughter return A\'ith her, Ijut the duties of Llonsieur 
 de Grio-nan did not allow of it. When ]\Iadame de 
 S^vigne started on her journey back, the same day 
 Madame de Grignan left her home for Salon and Aix. 
 At Montelimar, five leagues only from Grignan, the 
 distressed mother writes : — 
 
 ' ]\Iontelimar, Tluirsday, Oct. 5. 
 
 ' This is a terrible day, my dearest daughter ; I 
 own to you that I am exhausted. I have left you in 
 a position that adds to my grief. I think of all the 
 steps you take, and of all those I make, and how many 
 are needful, walking always in that way, ere we can 
 ever meet. Near you my heart is at rest ; it is its 
 natural state, and the only one that can satisfy it. 
 What occurred this morning causes me keen pain, and 
 makes me feel a heart-breaking, for which your philo- 
 sophy will explain the reasons; I have felt those reasons^ 
 and shall feel them long. My heart and imagination 
 are filled with nothing but you, of whom 1 cannot 
 think without ^^'eeping ; and as I think of you alwaj's^ 
 the state I am in is unbearable. As my grief is ex- 
 cessive, I trust it may not last long with such \dolence» 
 I search for you always, and I find that everything 
 fails me because I have lost you. JMy eyes, that have 
 met you su often for fourteen months, rest upon you 
 
2S4 MADAME BE HKVIGNK [Chap.XXV. 
 
 110 longer. The agreealjle time I have lately spent 
 renders the present very painful until I am a little ac- 
 customed to it ; but I shall never be sufficiently so not tO' 
 ardently wish to see and embrace you again. I must not 
 hope better for the future than for the past. I know what 
 your absence caused me to suffer ; I shall be still more 
 to be pitied, because I have got myself imprudently 
 into the habit of seeing you. I fancy I did not em^ 
 brace you enough at parting ; I did not tell you suffi- 
 ciently how satisfied I am ^^4th your tenderness ; I 
 did not recommend you enough to Monsieur de Gri- 
 gnan ; and I did not thank him adequately for his. 
 civility and the affection he has for me. ... In a word^ 
 my daughter, I live for you only ; may God do me the 
 grace to make me love Him some day as I love you.' } 
 
 From Lyons, where she was received by the Comte 
 , and Comtessr de Eocheljonne, she writes a2;ain : — 
 
 * I had always hoped to bring you back with me : 
 you know^ with wdiat arguments and with what a tone 
 you cut me short as to that. Everything had to give 
 way to the force of your reasoning, and I had to take 
 the part of admiring you ; but understand, tliat Xho, 
 least natural thing in the W'Orld is for me to return tO' 
 Paris alone. If you can come there this winter, it will 
 be a joy and consolation to me ; and in that case I 
 shall only grieve over a three months' separation, as. 
 you l)egg<?d me to do ; but I am leaving you, the dis- 
 tance between us increases, and the future is un- 
 certain.^ 
 
U7-i.] SHE VISITS BOURBIILY. 285 
 
 Madame d(3 Sevigne bcfoir- retunnng to Paris was to 
 make a sliort stay in BiirguiKly, and slie warned Bussy 
 not to miss being there at tlie time. On tlie 16tli of 
 October, 1G73, slie dates her first letter from Bour- 
 billy, ' the old mansion of her fathers/ and says — ' I 
 find my Ijeautiful fields, my littL^. river, my magnifi- 
 cent woods, and my fine mill in the same place I left 
 them. There have been here peo})le of greater worth 
 than me, yrt after Grignan, after having left you, I am 
 dying of dullness.' 
 
 Bussy was not in Burgundy to greet his cousin in 
 the home of their mutual ancestors, he Ijeing at the 
 time in Paris, but a neighbour, who was also a friend, 
 the Comte de Guitaut, aud his wife, received ]\[adame 
 de Sevigne with every demonstration that could please 
 and touch her. Epoisses, the chateau of the Comte 
 de Guitaut, was close to Bourljilly, and in Paris the 
 comte was also the neighbour of ]\[adame de Sevign^. 
 He was a man of pleasing aspect, cjuick, and clever. 
 jMadame de Sevigne often wrote to him, and did so as 
 to one who could understand Jier well. His wife was 
 a woman of solid sense, and ]\Iadame de Sevigne, in 
 what concerned tlie management of Bourbilly, solicited 
 her advice more than once. 
 
 On her arrival at Bourljilly j\radame de Sevigne 
 found letters from the Comte de Guitaut, begging to 
 l)e early informed of her arrival, and the next morning, 
 through pouring rain, he came to l)id her welcome. A 
 few hours after, to Madame de Sevigne's surprise, 
 
-2^(; MADAME DE HKVIGNE. [Chap. XXV. 
 
 arrivrd tlio Comtcsse cle Guitaut and the Comtesse de 
 Fiesque ; this hxst lady, the mtimate friend and com- 
 panion of Mademoiselle, was better known as 
 jMadame la Comtesse. It was said of her, that she 
 Avas never older than eicfhteen : she was wild and 
 thoughtless to her last day. Having lost a daughter, 
 some one remarked that the comtesse was extremely 
 embarrassed by an affliction, to which Bussy answered 
 — ' She loves joy quite as much as her children/ 
 Seeing her at Bourbilly, Madame de S^vigne ex- 
 claims — 'And to see the comtesse at Bourbilly, can 
 3^ou well understand that ? and handsomer, younger, 
 and more magnificent and gay than you ever saw her. 
 . . . We spoke of news,' and from her Burgundian 
 retreat JMadame de S^vign^ sends her daughter the 
 latest tidings from court. 
 
 As soon as Madame de S^vigne had settled the 
 business that had l^rought her to Bourbilly, she 
 yielded to the appeals of the Guitauts, and paid 
 them a visit at Epoisses. She found the house of 
 ^ surprising size and beauty,' and says that one might 
 pass many days in it without experiencing weariness. 
 Her cousins, the Toulongeons, had been asked to meet 
 her, and with Madame de Chatelus and Monsieur de 
 Bonneval they formed a complete party. After three 
 days of such good company, Madame de Sevigne 
 started for Paris, where she was hastening with im- 
 patience in order to receive her daughter's letters more 
 regularly. 
 
16;:;] AliRIVES IX TAEIS. 5;-.7 
 
 At Auxerre, lier next staLre on tlie way, ^Madame 
 de S^vignu wrote to lier kind hosts at Epoisses a 
 letter of thanks in which she remarks that the 
 welcome assisted her to bear and dispel the sadness 
 she had brought from Provence : it is always and 
 ever ^ladame de Grignan who is uppermost in her 
 mind. 
 
 Every time after the mother and daughter had been 
 together there appear in the first letters traces of 
 those slight differences which caused such pain to 
 Madame de Sevigne : on this sujjject she writes to 
 Madame de Grignan : — 'If my susceptibihty has 
 sometimes made my friendship disagreeable, I beg 
 you, my daughter, to excuse it in favour of the cause. 
 I shall guard that cause all my life, and I trust that 
 w^ithout doing it any harm, I shall become less im- 
 perfect than I am. I try every day to profit by my 
 reflections, and if I could, as I have told you some- 
 times, live but two hundred years, I flxncy I might be 
 a very admirable person.' 
 
 Madame de Sevignd's care is always to take upon 
 herself the blame which her daughter only too well 
 deserved. It is when her heart is wounded too 
 bitterly that she reveals the truth, and discloses the 
 sufferings she experienced. The cold nature of 
 Madame de Grignan was the last that could satisfy 
 one whose tenderness found nothing too great and 
 nothins^ too small on which to manifest it. 
 
 Once more in Paris, the principal occupation of 
 
tiS8 MADAME DE Sl2VIGNE. [CiiAr.XXY. 
 
 i\radame <le Sevigne is to busy herself with her 
 dnugliter's iiffairs, and she says — ' If you ask me 
 Avliat is talked of in Paris, I shall tell you they speak 
 only of IMonsieur rind Madame de Grignan, of their 
 business, of their interests, of their return/ 
 
 ]\Ionsieur and Madame de Coulanges, Madame de 
 la Fayette, ]\hxdame Searron, Monsieur de la Eoche- 
 foucauld, all those friends of every season had hastened 
 to visit tlir. marcjuise on her arrival. The faithful 
 D'Hacqueville was there, ready to enter into all the 
 interests of the Giignans, and ser^x' them to the 
 utmost of his poAver ; as was also Monsieur de la 
 iJarde, a relation of the Grignans, and prized on that 
 recount l^y ]\Iadame de Sevigne. 
 
 Monsieur de Grio-uan was then eno;ao;cd in an 
 undertaking' which was one mx'at reason for the 
 anxiety of ]\Li<lame de Sevigne. The town (3f Orange, 
 in the department of Vaucluse, was in the seventeenth 
 century the capital of a small country measuriDg only 
 fivQ leao'ues in leno;th and four in Ijreadth. It had 
 for centuries l")een an independent state, but the kings 
 of France persisted in asserting over it a sovereignty 
 c<>nteste<l Avith justice by the Princes of Orange, 
 Avliose right had long been established. In 1673, 
 William of ( Jrange having confiscated the marcjuisate 
 of B(.'rg-()p-Zoom, Avliich belonged to the Comte 
 d'Auvergne in right of his Avife, Louis XIV, to 
 r(.'tali;ite, 1>estoAVcd on the Comte d'AuAxrgne the 
 prin(.'ipality of Orange, and gaA^e orders to the Comte 
 
1673.] CAPTURE OF ORANGE. 2-9 
 
 dc Grignan to take violent possession of it if entrance 
 were refused. 
 
 The town of Orange was the cradle of the illustrious 
 house of Grignan ; the first Comte d'Orange Ijeing 
 Geraud xldhemar IV. It was therefore a grateful 
 task for the lieutenant-iieneral of Provence to render 
 to his native land the town from which his family 
 originated ; hut the enterprise was difficult, and 
 should he fail, the triumph of his enemies would he 
 great. It was said that Orange was well defended, 
 and the minister of war, Louvois, had refused to send 
 any artillery to the Comte de Grignan. The de- 
 scendant of the Adhemars did not allow himself to 
 be discouraged by receiving no subsidies from the 
 minister, but called upon five hundred gentlemen of 
 his province to accompany him as volunteers. The 
 appeal was readily answered ; Monsieur de Grignan 
 was popular, and he now received the best public 
 testimony of the esteem in which he was held by those 
 he was called to govern. 
 
 On the 12th of November, 1673, the trenches were 
 opened, and on the 18th the little garrison evacuated 
 the citadel, leaving it to the Comte de Grignan to take 
 possession of in the name of the King of France. 
 
 AVlien this fortunate result was made known to 
 Madame de Sevign^, the relief to her was great : she 
 had been keenly anxious, fearing the ridicule which a 
 failure midit bring; on her son-in-law, and she ' em- 
 braces the conqueror of Orange.' At the same time 
 
 VOL. I. U 
 
200 MADAME BE SEVIGNE. [Chap. XXV. 
 
 she warmly urges her daughter to come to Paris imme- 
 diately with her husband, to profit by the favourable 
 impression the success at Orange had excited, and to 
 plead their cause against the Bishop of Marseilles, 
 with whom they were more than ever at variance. To 
 JMonsieur de Pomponne, in long interviews, to all 
 whose influence could serve any purpose, did Madame 
 de S6vign^ explain and maintain the right of Mon- 
 sieur de Grignan and the wrong of Monsieur de Mar- 
 seilles. She promises Madame de Grignan that 
 Madame Scarron will add her voice in case of need, 
 but it is to be regarded as that of the friend of 
 Madame de Montespan — to the king there is as yet 
 no reference. 
 
 'I have just returned from St.-Germain, where I 
 have been two days,' writes Madame de S^vign^ to her 
 daughter at the beginning of December ; and then 
 comes the mention of all the inquiries — ' And how is 
 Madame de Grignan ? and when is she coming back ? ' 
 The siege of Orange was naturally the subject which 
 called forth the compliments of friends and courtiers. 
 The king had been highly satisfied, and had praised 
 Monsieur de Grignan. To this, so flattering to her 
 maternal pride, was added the greater satisfaction of a 
 long conversation with IMonsieur de Pomponne, and 
 bc'lievino; she had been able to serve her dauo'hter, 
 3Tadamc de S(^vign6 narrates what took place at St.- 
 Germain in a ha]:)py and cheerful spirit. 
 
 The persistence of Madame de S^vign^, that ^lon- 
 
1673.] REPROOF OF HER DAUGHTER. 291 
 
 sieur de CTrignan and his wife should come to Paris, 
 was not regarded by her who was solicited as an ex- 
 jDression of the most devoted and unselfish love. To 
 all that Madame de Sevio;n^ advances, to the reasons 
 she believes imperious — and believes with others whose 
 opinion she valued — Madame de Grignan answers with 
 reproaches, telling her mother that she would have 
 thought her the last person to advise her to incur ex- 
 cessive expenses, knowing with what difficulty they 
 supported the state they were compelled to keep. To 
 these words, Madame de Sevign^ answers more in 
 sorrow than in anger. She repeats them as if her 
 eyes can hardly understand their meaning; then 
 she says — 
 
 ' No, my child, I do not wish to harm you so 
 much ; God forbid ! And while you are all wisdom and 
 philosophy, I do not desire to be accused of being a 
 selfish, unjust, and frivolous mother, who upsets every- 
 thing, who ruins all, and who impedes your acting ac- 
 cording to your upright judgment. But I believed you 
 would undertake this journey ; you had promised me 
 you would, and when I reflect on what you spend at Aix, 
 in actors, in entertainments, and repasts, I can Init fkncy 
 it would cost you less to come here, where you have no 
 obligations. Monsieur de Pomponne and Monsieur de 
 la Garde point out to me a thousand afFahs in which 
 you and Monsieur de Grignan are necessary. ... I am 
 disposed to receive you ; my heart is carried away by 
 hope ; you are in need of change of air. I flattered 
 
 u 2 
 
292 MADAME BE SEVIGNK [Chap. XXV. 
 
 myself that Monsieur cle Grignan would leave you 
 with me this summer, so that you would not have to 
 accomplish such a joui-ney for two months, like a man. 
 All your friends had the complacency to tell me I was 
 right when wishing for you so ardently : these were 
 my supporters. You do not consider^ all this as either 
 just or true. I yield to necessity and to the force of 
 your arguments. I shall try, after your example, to 
 submit to them, and I shall accejot this grief, no small 
 one, as a penance God wishes me to do, and that I have 
 well deserved. It would be difficult to find a more 
 efficient one, and one that touches more my heart ; but 
 I must sacrifice everything, and resign myself to spend 
 the rest of my life far from the person I best love, who 
 suits most completely my tastes and inclinations, and 
 who loves me better than she has ever done. I must 
 give up all this to God, and with His grace I shall do 
 so ; I shall admire His providence which allows that^ 
 in the midst of so much grandeur and agreeableness in 
 your establishment, there should exist difficulties which ' 
 rob life of its enjoyment, and cause a separation that 
 wounds my heart' every hour of the day, and more 
 than I desii'c every hour of the night. These are my 
 sentiments ; they are not exaggerated, they are simple 
 and sincere ; I shall ofier them to God for my salva- 
 tion. It is over ; I shall say no more about it, and 
 shall reflect on the invinciljle force of your reasonings 
 on your admirable A^-isclom, for which I praise you and 
 will strive to imitate.' 
 
1674.] HEE EELIGinus FEELING, 293 
 
 What heart, what daughter's heart, could read those 
 lines aiK.l not be melted ? Who of us can l)ecome 
 uccjuainted with tlicm and not own that sliu who ex- 
 presses so w^ell the most profound and refined feelings 
 of human nature, possessed a tenderness and delicacy 
 of sentiment that cannot he surpassed ? Those all-ab- 
 sorbino' thou<:^hts of her dauohter alarmed CA^en the 
 conscience of Madame de S^vio:n^ : she discovered how 
 near she was to idolatry when she says — ' That trifling 
 circumstance of a heart which we deny to the Creator, 
 to give it to the creature, causes me much agitation/ 
 
 The thouohts'of Madame de Sevij^ne were for one 
 moment diverted from her daughter Ijy the return of 
 the Baron de Sevigne ; his stay, however, w^as short, 
 and after a campaign of eight months he was ordered 
 to Charleroy. In one of his mother's letters he sends a 
 few lines to his sister, complaining of his hard fate; but 
 he does so in his usual good-natured and high-spirited 
 tone. 
 
 On the 1st of January, 1674, ]\radame/ de Sevigne 
 addresses her good wishes to her daughter, and tells her 
 that they comprise so many things that she would 
 never end were she to attempt to enumerate them all. 
 She does not express, though she insinuates, her heart's 
 dear desire that Madame de Grignan should perform 
 that long-promised journey to Paris. Then, as usual, 
 comes the news of the court : the maids of honour 
 have been suppressed, and their places have been filled 
 with married women of first quality. The change was 
 
294 MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. XXV. 
 
 attributed to j\]a.dame de Montespan, who resembled 
 Bussy in liking noise only when made by themselves. 
 Madame dc Thianges is devote, and has consequently 
 abandoned rouge. ' Eouge is the law and the ,pro- 
 pliets ; it is on rouge that rests the very foundation of 
 Christianity.' The court devotees are cruelly but truly 
 portrayed by Madame de Sevigne. She was too sin- 
 cerely religious not to scorn the outward adornments 
 of religion, which, as she well knew, often covered 
 Avhitened sepulchres. 
 
 Madame de Grignan had repaired her harshness, and 
 at the commencement of the year had written words 
 of affection and respect to her mother. She is thanked 
 by an ardent profession of affection : — ' Believe, my 
 child, that this year, and all the others of my life 
 belong to you ; it is a tissue, it is an entire existence 
 which to its last breath is devoted to you. Your 
 moralizing is admirable ; it is true that time passes 
 everywhere, and passes rapidly. You call after it 
 because it robs you of some of your brilliant youth ; 
 but a great deal of it remains. For myself, I see it 
 go by with horror, bringing to me dreadful old age, 
 infirmities, and death. These are the reflections of a 
 person of my time of life. Pray God, my daughter, 
 that I may draw from them the profit Christianity 
 teaches us.' 
 
 It seemed that time, which Madame de Se^ignc 
 measured with such terror, was at last to bring her 
 daughter to Paris. The journey was decided upon, 
 
1674.] SHE GOES TO ST.-GERMAIN. 295 
 
 but the date of departure from Grigiian was not yet 
 fixed. On this her mother writes to her : — ' You are 
 pleased that it is not your business to decide : a reso- 
 lution is something strange for you ; it is your terror, 
 I have seen you remain a lone; time before resolvino- 
 on a colour : it is the sign of a mind too enlightened, 
 which, as it Avere, embraces at one view all difficulties, 
 and remains suspended like the coffin of Mahomet/ 
 
 The interests of the lieutenant-o-eneral of Provence 
 had taken Madame de S^vio-n^ to court more than 
 
 o 
 
 was her wont. She wished first of all to see Pom- 
 ponne, who was her best and most powerful friend 
 there, and to cultivate the good-will of all who could 
 support i\Ionsieur de Grignan and oppose the Bishop 
 of Marseilles. Monsieur de Grignan had been refused, 
 through the hostile influence of the prelate, a recpicst 
 he had made to the Etats for a gratification of five 
 thousand francs for the pay of a body guard. The 
 aftront of this refusal had been keenly felt by ]\Iadam<' 
 de Sevign^, and she vents her anger without r(.'- 
 straint. 
 
 ' But let us speak of St.-Germain,' adds she, and 
 she describes her reception by the queen, who declares, 
 that having been away for three years, Madame de 
 Grignan must return. After seeing her majesty, 
 Madame de Sevign6 visits Madame de Colbert, where 
 she sees Mademoiselle de Blois, with her mother the 
 Duchesse de la Valliere. The young princesse is de- 
 scribed as a prodigy of charms and grace. She danced, 
 
206 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. [Chap. XXY. 
 
 and JMadame <Ie Sevio;nu is lemiildcd of lier dauo^hter 
 at the same age. Mademoiselle dc Blois called lier 
 ducliesse mother ' Belle ]\raman/ and was herself 
 callctl ' 3Jademoisellc.' Very soon that Belle j\lamaii 
 bi'came Soem' Louise de la Misericorde. 
 
 Conversions, as they were then called, were frequent. 
 ?den and women suddenly altered their mode of life 
 and practised the most rigid austerity. With some it 
 was l)ut a cloak or a fashion ; with others it was sin- 
 cere, and an inspiring example. God, if often dis- 
 obeyed, was at least present to the contemporaries of 
 3 fa dame de Sevignd. Incredulity was neither the 
 ])ent nor the mode, and we think even hypocrisy was 
 much less practised than is Ijclieved : the fear of hell 
 Avas deeply implanted in minds still fresh from the 
 superstitions of the middle ages. When civilization 
 Ijursts upon a century, and throws a flood of light on 
 what was before in obscurity, there remains for some 
 time a remnant of a cloud like a mornino; fo2f from 
 which the sun issues only at dawn. At one time it is 
 neither night nor day ; the heavens are clear, and when 
 tlic sun shall rise high in them every nook and hollow 
 will be lighted by his rays ; but during these inter- 
 A'ening hours many spots will remain in deep shadow, 
 'llie seventeenth century occupies, we fancy, that place 
 in the history of civilization : theology was studied 
 by men of the greatest intelligence ; a Pascal was 
 awed by the mysteries of Christianity ; equality ex- 
 isted in reality for all ; king and servant owned a 
 
1674.] ^rJDA^IE be MABAN.^^. 2!) 
 
 J'ii 
 
 master. Anotlior life v. as looked forward to A\^itli fear 
 and C(,'rtainty, or lio})e and ft/ar, jjut it was cijiitciu- 
 plated by sinners and rig]it(jous as inevitaJjle a 
 certainty as death itself. The future (.'xistence wms 
 a subject of inquiry and w'onder ; it called forth such 
 repentances and such amendments as th(.)se of Madam(_' 
 <le Marans, which ^ladame de Sevigne admirably 
 describes. 
 
 ]\Iadame de J\Iarans had been perhaps the only 
 woman our kind marquise ever hat(:fd : she had calum- 
 niated, unjustly and wantonly, Madame de Grignan 
 on the legitimate and honest affection she bore her 
 brother-in-law, the Beau Grignan. Madame de 
 S(^vigne had, by every means in her power, caused 
 Madame de Marans to rue her imprudent speech ; 
 when, therefore, Lladame de Sevigne pronounces her 
 to be an example of true piety, she can be suspected 
 of no partiality. The following is an account she 
 gives her daughter of a visit she paid to Madame de 
 ]\rarans : — 
 
 ' At last, my child, I have seen Madame de Marans 
 in her ceU. . . . She Avas pleased to see me. We 
 kissed each other. She is not much altered. AVe 
 talked of you : she loves you better than ever, and 
 appears so humble that it is impossible not to love her. 
 We discoursed of her piety; she told me it was true 
 that God had been gracious to her, and she thanks 
 Him for it. The graces she has received are no less 
 than an ardent faith, a tender love of God, and a 
 
298 ^ MADAME BE SJ^VIGNK [Chap. XXV. 
 
 horror of the Avorhl A.11 this blended with such a feel- 
 ing of her own weakness, that she dares not move as 
 it were for fear the divine grace shouLl abandon her. 
 It is as a vessel of precious essence she guards care- 
 fully in solitude ; she thinks the world would cause 
 it to evaporate, and she even fears the occupations 
 of piety. . . . She goes on foot to church ; she reads 
 all our good books ; she works, she prays, she hates 
 the news of the world as much as she formerly 
 loved it ; she excuses her neighbour with the same 
 zeal she formerly accused him ; she loves God as much 
 as she loved the world. We laughed at her past 
 manners ; we turned them to ridicule. She has not 
 the bad style of devotion ; she speaks sincerely and 
 agreeably of her feelings. I remained with her two 
 hours, and without weariness. . . . She is much more 
 amiable than she used to be.' 
 
 In whatever light those conversions may be regarded, 
 it seems to us, that thouoli the exao-o^erated forms 
 they assumed may be blamed, yet they testify to a 
 faith and resolution very uncommon in our day. Tliere 
 was more virility then than now. Great resolves were 
 taken and abided hj : women, young, rick, and hand- 
 some, quitted the world which held them in its chains 
 to seek the seclusion of the cloister. It may be 
 answered that baffled love or tired ambition hur- 
 ried them to that anticipated rest. We do not deny 
 that this may have often been the case, but love was 
 love indeed ; forgetfulness was not sought, indifference 
 
1674.] BEFLECTIOXS nx CLOISTER LIFE. £99 
 
 was not courted ; earnestness in all tliinQ's was the 
 watcliword. 
 
 Let US look around us : wlio are those who forswear 
 all things because of disappointed love ? Tears are wept 
 in secret ; the heart heaves in anguish ; through life 
 even something of sadness may linger in the soul that 
 has suffered ; but where is the woman who does not 
 with time regain, not gladness, not lightness of heart, 
 but the possibility to live, to enjoy, and nearly always 
 to be happy again '? It is better so ; we would not 
 wish for those early resignations of life. There is no 
 book with only one page worth reading ; though the 
 first may be the best, yet if we turn not to others 
 we know not what hidden treasure they may disclose. 
 Still there is something t(j venerate in that rashness 
 which prompted women of twenty to say the world is 
 but sin, and that eternal salvation must be the only 
 care. Let us carefully avoid the false idea that con- 
 vents were comfortable and quiet homes. No ; the life 
 of a Carmelite, the life that the Duchesse do la Valliere 
 embraced at thirty, w^as one of privation and toil : it 
 was sleejoing on the hardest couch, waking at all hours 
 of the night, working at the most menial occupations ; 
 it was the entire abnegation of every self-indulgenc*,-, 
 and for years did all thes(j delicate ladies, accustomed 
 to every luxury and to every pleasure, follow those 
 severe rules. Tell us not that such sentiments arc tu 
 be despised or scoffed at, are they not rather deserv- 
 ing of veneration ? 
 
300 MADAME I)E ^KVIGNK [Chap. XXV. 
 
 Aljoiit the time that Madame de Sevigne paid her 
 visit to Madame de Marans she went to see her uncle, 
 llenaud de Sevigne, at Port-Koyal, and the following 
 is the description she gives of that retreat : — 
 
 ' Port-Royal is a Thebaide ; it is paradise. It is a 
 <lesert where all the devotion of Christianity has taken 
 r<jfuge ; the atmosphere of holiness is felt far and wide. 
 There are five or six recluses that no one knows, and 
 who live like the penitents of St. -Jean Climaque. The 
 nuns are angels on earth. Mademoiselle de Vertus is 
 ending her life there with extreme resignation amidst 
 unparalleled sufferings : she will not live another month. 
 All who serve them, even the drivers, the shepherds, 
 the workmen, are pious and modest. I own to you I 
 ^\^as delighted to see that divine solitude of which I 
 had heard so much. It is a barren valley, well calcu- 
 lated to turn one's thoudits to salvation.' 
 
 o 
 
 If Madame de Sevigne could appreciate so perfectly 
 and describe with such truth the effects of piety, those 
 examples did not urgeher to renounce the fond idolatry 
 of her heart to which her soul was given up so exclu- 
 sively. When Madame de Grignan informs her mother 
 of the day of her departure for Paris, Madame de 
 S^vigne's joy is complete ; yet in awe of her daugh- 
 ter's philosophy, she is at pains to explain clearly, 
 that had not all the Grignans' friends judged their 
 journey indispensable, she would have silenced her 
 desires and allowed her daughter to act as she pleased. 
 This much said, she abandons herself to her happiness 
 
1674.] BE TURN OF HER SOX. ?j^)1 
 
 and to lier preparations for well receiving lier dear 
 comtesse. 
 
 In lier contentment Madame de Sevigne does not 
 lose sight of all that can be useful to her daughter, and 
 warmly advises her to quit the ostentation of Provence, 
 and bring Avith her to Paris only the necessary nmiiber 
 of servants : ' six footmen would suffice,' she thinks, 
 * and six horses/ Monsieur de Grignan is begged to 
 be satisfied with one valet only. 
 
 That every pleasure might be experienced, Charles 
 de Sevigne arrived in Paris a few days before his sister, 
 and the beginnino; of March saw them all re-united. 
 
302 MADAME DE SI^VIGN:^. [Chap. XXVI. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVL 
 
 1674-5. 
 
 Arrival of Madame de Grignan in Paris. — Bnssy in Paris. — He sees liis 
 cousin. — Birth of Pauline de Grignan. — Marriage of Mademoiselle 
 de Bussy, — Madame de Se'vign^ expresses to Bussy her grief at her 
 approaching double separation. — His sympathy. — Difference in 
 their nature. — Madame de Suvigne accompanies her daughter to 
 Fontainehleau. — Sympathy of Cardinal de Retz. — He quits Paris to 
 enter a retreat. — Madame de la Valliere takes the veil, — Reflec- 
 tions. — Death of Turenne. — His character. — Earl}^ admiration for 
 Madame de Se\'ign^, — Revolt in Brittany. — Madame de Sevigne 
 leaves Paris for Brittany. 
 
 After an absence of three years, Madame de 
 Grignan once more found herself in that pohshed 
 society of which she had been one of the most brilHant 
 ornaments. Accustomed as she had become of late to 
 the ladies of her small court at Aix, she must have 
 met with delight those charming and polite women 
 who formed the intimate circle of Madame de Sevigne. 
 j\Iother and daughter were again together for a period 
 of fifteen months, but Madame de Sevigne during 
 that time carried on an active correspondence Avith 
 Bussy, the Comte de Guitaut, and Monsieur de Gri- 
 gnan, who was called back to Provence in the month 
 of May, 1674. 
 
ir^r 
 
 1674.] BUSSY IN PARIS. 303 
 
 Bussy had obtained permission of tlie king to visit 
 Paris to settle some of his business affairs, and had 
 remained in conceahiient beyond the time granted to 
 him. The secret having reached Madame de Sevigne, 
 she with her daughter went to visit her cousin. The 
 interview warmed their mutual friendship, and when 
 Bussy returned to his provincial exile, the letters ex- 
 chano;ed between them were numerous. AVhat had 
 happened to Bussy in regard to Madame de Sevigne 
 had happened to her in regard to the Guitauts ; her 
 short visit of three days at Epoisses had inspired her 
 with renewed friendship for her neighbours which she 
 loses no occasion to testify. 
 
 After seeing Madame de Sevigne, Bussy ^vlites to 
 her next morning : — ' I do not lo^^e you better to-day 
 than I did yesterday, but our conAcrsation of last 
 night makes me feel much more vividly the affection 
 I entertain for you. It was lying dormant in my 
 heart : your presence has imparted new life to it. I 
 see by this, that long absence is as contrary to friend- 
 ship as it is to love/ 
 
 A few months later, being at Chaseu, and hearing 
 that his cousin had been ill, Bussy writes : — ^ You 
 know I have said that you are one of those persons 
 who ouo'ht never to die, as some ou<:ht never to have 
 been born.' And again, alluding to this thought : — 
 ' It is not only as the most virtuous woman in 
 the world that I love you ; it is also as the most 
 amiable.' 
 
304 MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. XXVI, 
 
 The Avars of Louis XIV left but little tranquillity to 
 Madame de Sevign^. The couquest of the Franche- 
 Comte had called her son to face new dangers, and 
 he had received a slight wound in the head. He 
 had JDeen much exposed, and his mother felt how 
 thankful she ought to be at such a narrow escape ; 
 but her heart was too w^arm and her imagination too 
 quick not to cause lier to suffer acutely from such 
 alarms. Madame de Grignan's health also had been 
 delicate. The preceding year at Aix she narrowly 
 escaped death in her confinement, and now the birth 
 of another child was looked forward to with great 
 anxiety. On the 9th of September, 1674, she was, 
 however, safely delivered of that daughter wdio be- 
 came the Marquise de Simiane. The Cardinal de 
 Eetz, who had been for some months enjoying the 
 society of his two dear nieces, was the sponsor, and 
 after him the young daughter of Madame de Grignan 
 received the name of Pauline. 
 
 In April 1675, Bussy announced to Madame de 
 S^vigne the approaching marriage of his eldest 
 daughter Frangoise. She w^as a person of considerable 
 attractions, and had been instructed by her father, 
 who had carefully developed her natural abilities. 
 She Avas the ornament of the small circle that met at 
 Chaseu and Bussy ; l)ut her father's disgTace had not 
 contributed to Ijrino; suitors for her hand. There had 
 
 ]jeen some thouo-ht of her beino- united to the Comte 
 de Limoges, but that w^as abandoned, and at the age 
 
1675.1 ilEli oniEF AT SEPARATION^ -i,:, 
 
 of twenty-eight she became the wife of the Marquis 
 de Coligny, who was for her in name and in for- 
 tune a most desirable alliance. Wlien Madame de 
 S(^vign^ w^as called u[jon to congratulate the father 
 and daughter, she was on the point of seeing both her 
 son and daughter leave her, and she writes to Bussy : 
 — ' In reality my head is turned : my son in three 
 days joins the army, and in a few more my daughter 
 starts for Provence. It is not to ])Q imagined that, 
 contemplating such separations, I can retain what 
 sense I possess. Have then pity on me.' In the 
 same letter JMadame de Grignan and Corbinelli send 
 their congratulations to Bussy and the future bride. 
 
 Bussy in reply to his cousin's lamentations says — 
 ' I do not doujjt that you suifer keenly, being on the 
 point of separating yourself from those you love best, 
 and ought to love best. One could live happily if it 
 were possdjle to act as the opera tells us — 
 
 " N'aimous jamais, ou n'aimons ,i<urre, 
 II est claiiL^ereux tVaiiui.T tant." * 
 
 — For myself, I prefer the complaint to the remedy, 
 and I find it better to suffer when leaviii!:^: those I 
 love than to love them coldly. Perpetual indolence 
 does not suit me ; I prefer violent changes.' 
 
 It' would have t»een difficult for Bussy to under- 
 stand and enter completely into the feelings of Madame 
 de Sevigne : such an affection as that she bore her 
 
 * Let us never love, or love but little ; it is dan^evous to love tu(.t 
 much. 
 
 VOL. I. X 
 
306 MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. XXVI. 
 
 daiio'liter was foreisiii to Lis selfish nature, and his con- 
 fession, if sincere, came from the depths of a very 
 shallow heart. ]\Iadame de Sevione eveiy time she 
 cpitted her daughter passed through an ordeal of 
 sufierino; AAduc'h only those who love some dear absent 
 one, as she loved Lladame cle Grignan, can appreciate, 
 and certainly Bussy was not one of that number. 
 
 On the i!4th of JMay, at Fontaiuchleau, Madame de 
 Sevigne, who had accompanied her daugliter thus far, 
 Lade her good-])yr, and with her kind uncle repaired 
 to Li^n'y to give way to her grief in solitude. AYith 
 deep sorrow she r(_'sumes that correspondence, the only 
 consolation of a IjereaA^ed heart : — ' What a day, my 
 daughter, is that which opens on our separation ! How 
 has it a})peared to }'ou ? For myself, I have felt it 
 with all the Ijitterness and Q-rief I had imaoined and 
 
 o o 
 
 apprehended so long. What a moment that Avhc-n we 
 quitted each other ! what an adieu 1 and what a 
 sorrow to go cacli a different way when we are so well 
 together ! I will not dwell more upon it, or descant 
 upon, as you say, all the thoughts which oppress my 
 heart. I will try aud represent to myself your eourage, 
 and all you said to me on this subject which makes me 
 aduiire you. Still I flincied you were moved when 
 ^cissing i\v\ As for myself, I canie ])ack to Paris, as 
 you can imagine. Monsieur de Coulanges suited him- 
 self to my di.sposition. I went straight to the Cardinal 
 de Retz.' 
 
 KoiKj Ijclter than that ' dear eminence ' entered into 
 
lc;-3.] ITER HEM AUKS ON TEABS. 307 
 
 the feelino's of j\ra(lame de ScviQiic for her dauivhtrr, 
 and his iiidulc^'Ciicc and sympathy were his greatest 
 cLaims to her aifcction. .Vt all timr^s she had valued 
 Eetz, and when she sei.'S him p)rcparing to renounce 
 the world,, and end in ivtiiv-ment and pielv a life that 
 had been so full of Ijusy Intrigues, admiration is added 
 to affection. SIk,* puts in its most Ijrilliant lidit an 
 action vrhich Avas exciting move curiosity than cre- 
 dence : few helicvi.'d that Retz would carr}' (jut his 
 intention, and 3Jadame de hu'vigiie revolted at what 
 she considered an injustice to a man she veneiTited and 
 esteemed. Durino- thosij first davs of her <lau!ihter's 
 aljsence, though all her fi-iends vied veitli eacli other to 
 offer her every consolation in their power, it is to Eetz 
 she returns most willingly. "With him her tears flowed 
 freely, and she says to Tdadai^ie de Grignan — ' Be not 
 anxious for th<:)se who li:;v;: the gift of tears. I pray 
 God that I may ncA'<.-r ioi.'l those sorrows when the eyes 
 do not relieve the heart.' 
 
 Madame de Sevigne had quitted Li\Ty to enjoy the 
 last moments she could spend A\dtli the Cardinal de 
 Retz : jt was another separation to take place, au'l if it 
 'Could not he compared h.) that at Fontaine! )leau, still it 
 weighed on her heart, causing her, Avhen it came to pass, 
 to write — ^ I assure you, my child, that after the adieu 
 I said to you at Fontainel)leau, that which I hade yes- 
 terday to the Cardinal de Eetz is the most painful to 
 my heart. ... I tell you again, my child, you 
 cannot have for him sufficient esteem or affection.' 
 
 X 2 
 
308 MADAME DE SEVIGNB. [Chap. XrVI. 
 
 At the time Eetz was abandoning those scenes in 
 which he had acted so pre-eminent a part, a woman 
 who had also enjoyed, not the exhihirating triumphs 
 of ambition, luit those of love, was renouncing her 
 name, her youth, her lover, and her children. A year 
 before, Mademoiselle de la Valliere had entered the 
 convent of the Grandes Carmelites, and for a whole 
 week, day after day, had taken leave of all those she 
 had cherished on earth. For a 3^ear she had pursued 
 her novitiate, and on the 4th of June, 1675, she made 
 her ]>rofrssioD. 
 
 ^ The Duchesse de la Valliere made yesterday her 
 profession. Madame de Villars had promised to take 
 me, 1»ut by some unlucky confusion we imagined we 
 could not have a place. There was nothing necessary 
 but to present r)neself, though the queen had said she 
 did not wish the permission to be extended. However, 
 it was not to be. ^Madame de Villars has been sorry 
 about it. And so this lovely and courageous person 
 accomplished this action, like all the actions of her life, 
 in ji. manner both noble and charming. Her beauty 
 surprised everyone ; but what will surprise yoi"u is that 
 the sermon of Monsieur de Condom [Bossuet] was not 
 as sublime as had been anticipated.'' 
 
 It was the elocpient voice of Bossuet which had 
 been called upon to illustrate tliat great example of 
 repentance, and the genius that had inspired those 
 moving orations spoken over the coffins of the greatest 
 and loveliest, failed to move the hearts of those pre- 
 
1675.] DIWHESSE BE LA rALLlERE. 309 
 
 sent on this occcasion. But what was tlie task ? The 
 queen, ofiended and forgiving, was present ; she Avho 
 had sinned kneeling in deep humility close to her for- 
 tunate and triumphant rival; and unseen, but exercising 
 a power over e^Tiy heart, the monarch, the husband, 
 the lover. So Bossuet's eloquence was silenced, and 
 the noble self-sacrifice jtroclaimed itself by its own 
 force. Of these Avomen, doomed all three to sufferino\ 
 the most proud and happy in that hour was to know 
 the greatest bitterness ; the last years of the splendid 
 Montespan, the real (jucen of Louis XIV, Avere in 
 theh^ abandoned sadness a sufficient atonement for her 
 sin. Soeur Louise de la Misericorde died in peace at 
 a ripe age ; Madame de Montespan, in full maturity, 
 and forsaken by all. Better to lay down Avillingiy 
 that fair head than lay it L.>av in t\\Q bitterness of 
 humiliation. 
 
 Madame de Gricrnan had no sooner left Paris than 
 
 o 
 
 she expresses to her mother the impatience she feels 
 for her ' gazette/ and such encouragement was more 
 than sufficient to excite Madame de Sevign^'s zeal, 
 and make her seek all the ncAVS about Avhich her 
 dauo;hter was curious. The court Avas the CA^er- 
 changing scene to Avhicli all eyes Avere turned, and 
 every step of j\ladamc de Montespcin is recorded. The 
 real days of her triumph AA^ere passed, for though 
 seemingly all-p(.)Averful, there Avas one shadow growing 
 every day l:)igger on her path. Madame Scarron Avas 
 already the Marquise de Maintenon. 
 
310 MADAME BE ^RVIGNE, [Chap. XXVI. 
 
 ]\Iadame cle Sevigne, her daiigliter gone, found all 
 lier pleasure in writing toiler and receiving lier letters; 
 she was, however, looking forward to increasing the 
 distance l3etween them. Her presence V\^as imperiously 
 demanded at the Eochers, and in spite of the troubled 
 state of the province, she contein]:)lated going there in 
 the company of her Bien Bon. But before starting, 
 her care was to settle all the affairs of her dauoiiter. 
 Her mind Avas incessantly turned towards Grignan, 
 and yet in the face of that absorbing devotion, her 
 influence over her dauo;hter failed even in trifles. The 
 Cardinal de Retz, in giving up his establishment, and 
 selling his plate to pay off his delrts, had reserved a 
 small silver casket to offer ns a present to Madame de 
 Grignan. Instead of being gracefully accepted, it 
 was, in spite of ]\Tadame do S^vigne's endeavours to 
 show her dauo'hter the rudeness of her conduct, 
 haughtily de clined. 
 
 ' Do you know, my daughter, that this excess of 
 pride is a defect that is not estimal)le V But it was 
 of no avail, and Madame de Grignan abided by her 
 decision, offending both her mother and a relation who 
 had always given her proofs of friendship and interest. 
 
 The increasing revolt in Brittany forced Madame de 
 Sevigne to delay her journey, and she remained in 
 uncertainty as to wlien she could start. ' But,' says 
 she, 'you know my devotion to Providence. We must 
 ah\^ays come Ijack to it, and live from day to day. ]\Iy 
 words arc wise, as you see, but very often my conduct 
 
167.3.] DEATH OF TCIIENNE. 311 
 
 is not. Tliere is one point, ^\'liiell you can easily piiess, 
 on wliicli I cannot practise tliat resignation 1 preacli to 
 otiiers.' 
 
 On the 31st of Jnly, 1G7j, ]\Iadame dc Sevioiiu 
 announced to lier son-in-law a catastroplie that Avas 
 throAvincr the whole of France into niournino\ Tu- 
 reiine, the great co-hero of Conde, had Ix'en killed, 
 and not in battle. 
 
 ' It is to you, mv dear (.'omte, I addix'ss myself, to 
 inform you uf one of the greatest losses France could 
 suffer : it is the death of Llonsieur de Turenne. If 
 I am the first to annonnce it to you, I am persuaded 
 \ui\ A\dll Ije as lirieyed and moyed as we nre. The 
 news arriyed at A'ersailles on Z\Ionday, and the king 
 Avas afflicted, as he might he, at the death of the 
 greatest captain and th<.' most honourahlc man in the 
 world. All the court was in tears, and I^Jonsieur de 
 (Ajudom nearly fainting. The court y^as on tlie point 
 of starting for Fontaineljleau in pursuit of pleasure. 
 All was abandoned. iSTeyer was a man more sincerely 
 regretted. This part of the town where he lived, the 
 whole of Paris, and all the people Ax^erc tlnx>Avn int(j 
 confusion and grief. I send you an (waei account of 
 the last days of his life. It A^^as after three months i>\: 
 miraculous achieyements that had excited tla.' admira- 
 tion of eA^ery soldier, that the last day of his glory 
 and his life arrived. He had the pleasure of seeing 
 the army of the enemy retreating before him, and on 
 the 27th, Avhich Avas Saturday, he Avent to the top of 
 
312 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. [Chap. XXVI- 
 
 a. small eminence to oliservc tlieir movements. His 
 intention "was to attack the rear guard, and so tliink- 
 ina' lie had written to the kino; in the mornino;, that 
 he had sent Avord to Brissac to have prayers of 
 " forty hours '' said. He announced the death of the 
 3'oung D'Hoccjuincourt, and added that he would 
 des2:)atch a messenger to inform the king of the result 
 of the undertakino'. He sealed his letter and sent it 
 at two o'clock. He then went out on that small 
 eminence, accompanied by eight or ten persons. From 
 afar a cannon was fired at random, which cut his body 
 in two. You <'nn judge the cries and tears of the 
 army. The courier started instantly, and arrived on 
 Monday as I toLt you ; so that the king at one hour's 
 interval received a letter from Monsieur de Turenne 
 and the news of his death.' 
 
 Turenne, it is to be remembered, was one of 
 Madame de Sevione's most ardent admirers in the 
 
 o 
 
 days of her youth. In his fate she then took a double 
 interest, and the woman's inward thoughts turned 
 with regret to that past which Turenne represented. 
 To this was joined that feeling which all who wished 
 for th e success of French arms must have experienced. 
 The death of the great captain occurred at a moment 
 u'hen his military genius was in its splendour, and 
 while he was gloriously serving his country. His end 
 Avas a triumph to the enemy and a defeat to France. 
 Through every rank this ((jnviction ran, and conster- 
 nation can best express what was experienced by great 
 
1671.] DKATIT OF TVUENXE. 3K 
 
 '^A'X 
 
 and small. The very flower of French nobility was 
 at the Avars, and the loss of one whose presence it was 
 believed assured Aictory, was rec;;irdrd by many ns a 
 fatal omen. In e^'cry letter of Madame de Sevigne at 
 that period, traces of violent emotion are found ; every 
 new detail concernino; JMonsieur de Turenne is trans- 
 mitted to Prov<'nc(,' as a matt(/r of deep interest. 
 
 ' I am always thinking, my dangiit(.a^, of the sur- 
 prise and astonishment you will feel at ilifi news of 
 Monsieur de Turenne's death. . . . They say the 
 soldiers' cries were heard two miles off; no considera- 
 tion could restrain them : they iM'^'L-cd to be led to 
 battle ; they vowed to avenge the life of their father, 
 their general, their protector/ 
 
 Turenne, rough and abrupt in his ways, was kind to 
 his soldiers, and anxious for the welfare of all. He 
 inspired them with both respect and confidence, and 
 their clamorous desctlation was well founded. A few 
 clays after having written to her daughter, Madame de 
 Sevigne enters on this sul:>ject with her cousin Bussy, 
 and alluding to his absence from the army says — 
 
 "' You did not see the death of Monsieur de Turenne, 
 nor that cannon-ball fired at random, and which selects 
 him out of ten or twelve. As for me, who recognize 
 Providence in all things, I see that cannon loaded 
 from all eternity. I s(^e that everything leads JMon- 
 sieur de Turenne to it, and I find nothing to deplore 
 for his sake, providing his conscience was prepared. 
 What more could he need ? He dies in the midst of 
 
314 MADAME JJE ^El'KlKE. [CnAr. XXYI. 
 
 lii.s glory ; Lis reputatiuii ruiild iiut be greater ; he was 
 I'DJoving at that moment the .satisfaction of seeing his 
 (^uemies retreat. S<;>metimes, when life prolongs itself 
 too much, the star of heroes hccomes less brilliant. It 
 is ]jet ter to cut into the quick, particularly for heroes, 
 wliose actions are so much noticed/ Then she names 
 two men who Iia^^e survived their reputation, and 
 adds — ' ]Monsi('ur de Turenne di<l not feel death ; do 
 you count that as nothing V 
 
 Th(* fear of death was too vi\'id in ]\Tadame de Sevigne 
 not to make her dwell on those she Ijelieved to have 
 l)een mercifully dealt Avith. The Ijlood of the Rabutins, 
 oven when it flowed in the veins of a dashing soldier 
 like BuF^'sv, revolted at the thouolit of destruction, and 
 the reflections of the two cousins on this suljject bear 
 a close r<'seml)lanee. For both life was a boon, and in 
 spite of every grief, it Avas cherished. 
 
 Bussy, in answering ~\Iadame de Sevigne's letter, 
 AAU'ites : — 'I aeree with you that life is too short: a 
 liundred years assured would l)e a reasonable time to 
 liA^e. You ask me if there is no means of attainino- 
 that aoe. After havino; thou^-ht much aljout it, this is 
 Avhat I ha\'e discoA^ered, not as a certainty, Ijut as likely 
 to prolong life. To sleep but little, to eat in modera- 
 tion, and not fear death ; to l)e dull sometimes, and 
 sometimes divert ourselves ; for if Ave diA^erted our- 
 selves ahvays, life AA^ould appear too short ; and if Ave 
 Ave]-e always dull, Ave should die of Aveariness/ 
 
 The fcAv years given to us, and Avhich we often spend 
 
1670 ] IlEVoLT IX BlUTTAXY. ;31"'> 
 
 in a manner opposed to our inclination, Avas a continual 
 subject of regret for Madame de Sevignu, Every day 
 that passed seemed to rob lier of some moment of joy 
 she might have spent in her dear daughter's society, and 
 when she finds herself compelled to increase the dis- 
 tance already between them, she says — ' If I l)elicYed 
 my heart, I would put very far from me all my little 
 affairs and start for CTrignan. I Avould leave tlie Bien 
 Bon, since lie is the '' bien mcchant," and for the few 
 days \\r have to live I would In'e aft<T my (jwu 
 fashion. AVhat folly to restrain oneself for a. dull round 
 of duty and business ! AYho thanks us for it V 
 
 No doubt ]\Iadame de Sevigne' felt what she ex- 
 pressed, Ijut at the same time she has also said — ' You 
 know hov^ I f('ar remorse.' If her imagination ran 
 Avild, her conduct was gui<led by the most strict sense 
 of dutv, and on tins (jccasion she Avas e\'en risking 
 some serious jDcril in starting for Brittany. 
 
 The cau^e of the aoitation which was alarming the 
 whole of the nobility of Brittany, was a ncAv tax on 
 tobacco, which the ignorant peasantry violently refused 
 to pay. The impost on tinned goods hail l)een im- 
 patiently submitted to, but to be deprived of t(.)bacco 
 exasperated the people to resistance; the officers ap- 
 pointed to receive the taxes were assaulted, and soon 
 an armed rebellion was afoot. (.'bateaux Avere pil- 
 laged and burned ; seigneurs were hanged, their sword 
 by their side, to the village spire ; the governor was 
 received with a shower of stones in the streets of 
 
316 MADAME DE SBVIGNK [Chap. XXVL 
 
 Eennes ; tlie Ducliesse de Cliaulnes insulted and 
 menaced, and terror spread over a wliole country. The 
 scene of action was more in Basse Bretagne, and 
 Madame de Sevign6 believed slie would be in security 
 at the Eochers ; but soon she hears, ' Those demons 
 have been as far as Foug^res/ The hour of repression 
 was come also, and before Madame de S6vigne ar- 
 rived at the Eochers, the king's troops had preceded 
 her to quiet the province, that is, ' to ruin it/ Mon- 
 sieur de Forbin and Monsieur de Vins, the latter the 
 brother-in-law of Pomponne, had been ordered to pacify 
 Brittany, and protect the property of Madame de 
 Sevio;ne. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs at the time the 
 marquise Jeft Paris. 
 
1675.] 
 
 SHE GOES To THE ROCHE RS. 317 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 1(575-6. 
 
 Madame de 8evigne's jraimey to Brittany.— She is welcomed at Nantes 
 by Monsieur de Lavardin and Monsieur d'Harouys. — Comments on 
 the cruelty exercised in Btittany.— Solitude of the Rochers. — 
 Madame de Sevigne's neighljour, the Princesse de Tarente. — Cor- 
 respondence with ]\Iadame du ( rri,i;na.n. — Reflections on Louis XIV. 
 — Arrival of Charles de S<'vigiie. — Mutual aflection of the mother 
 and son. — Madame de Sevigne has an attack of rheumatisni. — 
 Affectionate solicitude of her son. — Indilfercnce of Madame de 
 Grionan. — She nt'ulects writinij- to the Princesse de Tarente. — 
 Madame de ScviL!:u(''. leaves the llochurs for Paris. 
 
 The Abloe de Coulanges was tlie only companion of 
 Madame de Sevigne on this journey ; neitlier the 
 amiable baron nor the officious La ]\Iousse keeping her 
 company. It was with ' the deepest sadness ' the 
 marquise left Paris, knowing well that she could no 
 lonirer receive her dauo;hter^s letters with their accus- 
 tomed regularity, and experiencing the most serious 
 anxiety as to the welfixre (.>f her son, then ' with the 
 army of Monsieur de Luxembourg, who is furiously 
 impatient to act.' 
 
 The Abbe de Coulanges, although everything that 
 was kind, was not a cheerful companion for his niece. 
 
318 MADAME BE SLVIGNK [divr. XXVII. 
 
 With liim she fears the tedium of the joiiriie}', to vary 
 ^Yhieh she decided to perform it by Avater. 
 
 Arrived at Ork'aiis, she writes to her daughter : — 
 ' And lioAY, mv L:)ve, I am on the point of embarking 
 on our Loire. Do von remember the charmino; 
 A'oyage Ave made tor^ctlicr upon it? I shall often 
 think of it.' 
 
 That remcmljrance, dear to Madame do Sovigue as 
 Vviis all that in any va.y referred to her daughter, was 
 necessary to cheer the melancholy she was experienc- 
 in^-'. The Ijurden of moral solitude was wei<i;hino; 
 upon her when she writes — ' I consider myself fortu- 
 nate in beino' a substance that thinks and reads ; other- 
 wise, our rrood al)])e Avould not amuse me much. . > . 
 The landscape and the weather are admirable. 
 These are crystal days, when one feels neither heat nor 
 cold. Our cari'iag*' could A^ery well have taken us by 
 v(K\A, but it is to di^^ert ourselves that wc g<:) by 
 Avatcr.' 
 
 The pleasnre, howrwer, had its drawlxiclvs ; the boat 
 li'oin^' aoToinid so often that ]\[adame de Soviiine is 
 forcctl to acknowledu-e that she re^Tcts not iDcinc: in 
 her carriage, Avhich at least Avouki not stop every 
 moment. OAvino; to the difficulties of iiaAd^'ation she 
 and the al>be arc forced to land at midnight, and sleep 
 on straw in a miseral^lc liOA^el ; and JMadame de 
 Sovignc says — ' I should have laughed if I had not 
 been ashamed of havi]:)g exposed the abbo to the 
 fatigues of such a journey/ 
 
1670.J MOXSIi-JVI! l)i: LAVARDIX. oJ!> 
 
 An'iveclat Nantes, ]\Iaclaiue do Scvignt' was r'M.-rivud 
 on landing l)v thr Marf^nis dc Lavardijj, the son 
 of lier intimat;' friend the .^lanjiiisc (h.' Lavardin, aii<l 
 who was Lieutenant-i!-('nei-al of Britt:inv : he and 
 Monsieur d'Harouys vicil with rarh oUk.t AA'ho shonLl 
 give her the most liospitaljlc wdcnne. It is with 
 pleasure the mar(|uise finds Iiersclf once more in the 
 midst of friends, and sht,'. says of J.lonsieur de Lavardin 
 - — "He really has many very gno:l and nol)L_' (j_u;ditirs.' 
 It was true he Avas a most honr>ur:ihle man, and t(_> 
 i^Iadame de Sevigiie', tli(.' friend of his mntli'vr, the lady 
 of the Eochers, he showed himself at his Lest. 
 Madame de Grignan Avas ni:>t jiartial to him, aiid the 
 eulogies of ?.[adame de fSevi<4"ne avcit a ]:ind of justifi- 
 cation of her feelings for I\[onsieur dc Lavardin. After 
 re(jeiving such atte}ition from him, she did not find 
 a grateful echo in jMadame dc (Irii^nan, andslie repea.ts 
 again — ' I dart? not tell 3'<.)U anything more in his 
 praise, hut Ik; has solid r|ualities, and his disinterested- 
 ness oives him <'Teat iiowcr for commandino-.' And 
 
 O O J- <n 
 
 again : — ^He is the least servile courtier I ever met/ 
 
 It is Avorth AAdiile to rcmarlv J.hidame de Se\'i-iie's 
 appreciation of Avhat she deems Avorthy <jf praise or 
 condemnation. She lauds Lavardin for those Adrtues 
 least practised in his days ; and A\daen she speaks in 
 reprobation of the cruel repressions in Brittany, it must 
 he read as the just and ecjuitable indignafion of a 
 Avoman : it is in truth a protest, one Avhich would have 
 called forth the severe judgment of her contemporaries. 
 
:52(i MADAME DE SEVIGXE. [Chaf. XXVII. 
 
 The siifFeriugs of tli(? people were not viewed as they 
 would be to-day, and mrn-eover, IMadame de Sevigne 
 was the intimate friend of those whom she cannot re- 
 frain from blamino'. 
 
 AVe shall presently come to some passages in the 
 correspondence which have been signalized as unfeeling 
 and imseemly. They strike us in another light. 
 AYords, we repeat it, must be carefully weighed, as so 
 often they have but a relative value. Human life and 
 suiSerino; were both less and more considered in the 
 seventeenth century than in the present. Torture 
 existed, and all, even the most sensitive, were familiar 
 in thought with its fearful horrors. It was, we 
 imagine, to their minds something palj)able, aud yet 
 no more to be realized Ijy them than is to us the carnage 
 of a battle-field where a hundred thousand men are face 
 to fjice. 
 
 We speak lightly of war, and do so without being 
 hard hearted ; we talk of tlie number of dead and 
 wounded, we feel a thrill of horror, and the heart 
 sickens, l:)ut we pass on. Could we but see one of those 
 mutilated men, what an agony of pity would fill our 
 soul ! Truly, war as it is conducted now would have 
 revolted the captains of the seventeenth century. In 
 many points they wcrcj liarbarous, but they rrgarded 
 winter as an obstac](." to further progess, and the sacri- 
 fi(.'e of hecatomljs like thrise of our day wci*e unknown. 
 It is difficult to say A\'li<'re l)egins the line that separates 
 insensibility from pit}^, one so often wears the garb of 
 
1675.] SOLITUDE OF THE BOCHEES. 321 
 
 tlie other : it is tlie voice that speaks, the soul that 
 prompts A\4iich prochxim the true feelings. 
 
 Madame do Sevigne w<is as truly human as any 
 mother and woman can l)e ; she recoiled with liorror 
 from the atrocities committed, and sometimes ^Yhen 
 she mentions them and then passes on, it is that she 
 thinks them 'their own commentary. If a painter 
 represents a scene of woe, he does not write beneath it : 
 ' Stop and mourn ;' he knows he has been telling his tale 
 by a living representation intended to move the hearts 
 of every spectator. What more bitter irony than 
 the apparently trifling manner in which Madame de 
 8evigne describes the ruin of a whole province ! ■ je- 
 tween those lines we read an indignant protest. 
 
 At the end of September Madame de Sevigno 
 reached the Rochers, and found her Avoods ' of an 
 extraordinary melancholy and beauty.' The trees she 
 had planted were now giving shade, and she owns to 
 her daughter that there is a slight appearance of mater- 
 nal affection in what she feels. ' Consider,' says she, 
 ' that I saw them all no higher than that, as Monsieur 
 de Montbazon used to say of his children.' 
 
 Her imagination in those solitary woods flew in- 
 stantly to her daughter. ' I must look -steadfastly at 
 the will of God, to contemplate without despair all I 
 see.' There is a visible trace of sadness in the letters 
 Madame de Sevigno writes at this period : her mind 
 turned sorroAvfuUy to all that was most painful to her 
 heart. In speaking of the intense grief of Madame de 
 
 VOL. I. ^ 
 
322 MADAME DE SLVIGXA. [Chap. XSVII. 
 
 A^aubruii, A\'ho had lost her husband, she says, as if 
 auswerin«">' some iiiAA^ard thoiiQ-ht : — ' There are some 
 Ofriefs which oui^dit "to remain inconsohiLle.' Madame 
 dv Sevic^no is constantly reflecting on life and its trou- 
 bles, and it is with admirable grandeur she wiites 
 — 'Nothing; is worth havin.o' but a righteous heart; one 
 
 .^ .,. ,.^,^.... ^... ,^..^ r..v. .V ^.^. 
 
 sees through all things as through a surface of crystal ; 
 there is nothing to hide/ 
 
 The quiet of the Eochers was as an oasis in a barrjcn 
 desert. Nearly the whole of Brittany was overrun by 
 a brutal soldiery, and for exemption from their pre- 
 sence Madame de Scvigne was indebted not onjy to 
 Monsieur de Pomponne, but to her neighbour, the 
 Princesse de Tarente, who lived at Chateau j\Iadame, 
 close to the Rochers. The ' bonne Tarente,' Avho from 
 this time is so frequently mentioned in the letters 
 written in Brittany, was the daughter of the Landgrave 
 of Hesse, and the widow of the Due de la Tremouille, 
 Prince de Tarente, and first baron of Brittany. This 
 great lady was the aunt of the second Madame, and 
 therefore her position in Brittany entitled her to every 
 respect. 
 
 The princesse was about the same age as Madame de 
 Sevigne, whose amial>ility and wit she appreciated. 
 They had moreover in common one sentiment and one 
 regret which inclined their hearts towards one another : 
 the daughter of the princesse was tenderly cherished by 
 her mother, from wdiom also she Avas separated. ' She 
 hjA'es her daughter,' writes Madame de Sevignc ; ' she- 
 
1675.] THE PEIAWESSE DE TAEEXTE. 
 
 
 thinks of her, and told me all she suifered as to the 
 only person who could understand her/ 
 
 Madame do Se^'■io;ne found in the Bonne Tarente a 
 kind listener, and the princesse acted towards her in 
 the same manner. The marquise is informed by her 
 of the diiTerent intrioTies which were aijitatiDG; the 
 court of Denmark, where the young Princesse de la 
 Tremouille resided with the queen, her first cousin. 
 Two suitors were strivino; for the hand of the Prin- 
 cesse de Tarentu's daughter ; one the favourite of the 
 king, the other protected by the queen. 
 
 The news regarding Denmark is carefully transmitted 
 to Madame de Grignan. ' "When I shall not speak to 
 you of that court, I shall entertain you about Pilois 
 [the gardener]/ 
 
 The maternal sympathy which served to create a 
 sincere friendship between two women so different as 
 Madame de Sevigne and the Princesse de Tarente, 
 could hardly be understood by T^Iadamc de Grignan. 
 It is evident from her mother's letters that the heart of 
 Madame de Grignan remained cold to her own children, 
 and that if the little marquis was regarded as the heir, 
 the other children were regarded with indifference by 
 their mother. Madame de Sevigne more than once 
 touchingiy recommends her little granddaughter to 
 Madame de Grignan, and she says — ' You do me great 
 pleasure in taking good care of my little one. I am 
 convinced of the satisfaction you have in doing some- 
 thino' for the love of me. I do not understand why 
 
 Y 2 
 
3d4 MADAME BE SEVIGNE. Chap. XXYII. 
 
 3^011 say that aljisencM^ disturbs all our affections. I find 
 it does ITS no other harm than to cause us to suffer. I 
 ignore completely the delights of inconstancy, and I 
 think I may answer and vouch for all those hearts 
 where you reign supreme that not one of them has 
 chano^ed. Is it o-enerous for me to answer for other 
 hearts than my own ? Are you at least assured of 
 that one ? I do not find you any longer so occupied 
 with your son. I fancy it is your fault, for he was 
 much too intelligent not to be still very pretty. You 
 do not yet understand maternal love : it is fortunate, 
 my daughter, for it is violent ; but except when there 
 exists particular reasons like those I had, and which 
 are not often met with, it is as well to dispense with 
 that excess/ 
 
 Madame de Sevigne in those last lines discloses some 
 of the hidden wounds of her heart. Her maternal 
 tenderness was in truth carried to excess, and there is 
 no doubt she felt this without, moreover, being able to 
 alter her feelino^s. 
 
 The life of Madame de S^vig-ne at the Eochers did 
 not resemljle that she had led when last she was thcr(\ 
 Instead of the gaiety and display of the Etats at Vitrc, 
 there, existed nothing but desolation. She could not 
 remain there long without being absorbed, like every- 
 one (-'Ise, by what was passing around her, and she 
 says — 'All our pr(jvince is so entirely occupied with 
 punishments inflicted upon it, that no one pays A^isits/ 
 And a few days later — ' I share the desolation of the 
 
iO:,3.] IXHU^fANITY OF THE KING. 325 
 
 "'.vliole ] rcrN'iiice. . . . ^vloiisieur de ^[oiitmoroii Ims 
 taken refuge at tlie house of caie of liis friends, three 
 I.agut.'S from here, iu order not to hear the eries and 
 desolation of the people of Eennes when they see their 
 parliament leave thr town. You perceive that I am 
 quito " Bretonne ; " Ijut you well understand that it is 
 owing to the atmosphere we breathe, and also to some- 
 thing more, for everyone is afflicted.' 
 
 Wlien we know what Avere the punishments inflicted 
 on the rebels we cannot wonder at this sadness. This 
 is what Madame de Sevig-ne narrates to her dauoiiter : — 
 
 o o 
 
 ^ Do you Avish to know the news of Rennes ? There 
 are still five thousand men, for others have come from 
 Nantes. They have decreed a tax of one hundred 
 thousand ecus to l^e paid by the l^onrgeois, and if it is 
 not done in twenty- four hours it will be doul3led, and 
 the soldiers will force the payment. They have 
 banished all the inhabitants of one large street, and 
 have forbidden the other people in the town to receive 
 them under pain of death ; so that there is to be 
 seen all those unfortunates, old men, sick women, and 
 chilcken, roaming in tears outside the towii, not 
 knowing where to go, where to find food, and where 
 to sleep. . . . They have arrested sixty bourgeois, and 
 to-morrow they begin to hang. This province is 
 a fine example to others, and particularly to teach 
 respect for the governors, not insult them, nor throw 
 stones in their gardens.' 
 
 In many cases those fearful punishments were in- 
 
326 MADAMI] DE HEVK^^^Ji:. [Cii.'.i-. XXVIL 
 
 flic ted for no other crime than the paltry offence with 
 vrliich ]JaJame de Scviond closes her sentence. Louis 
 XIV had novv^ reached the summit of human indiffer- 
 ence. A short time before leaving Paris, Lladamc de 
 Sevigne had in a letter to her daughter remarked upon 
 the increasing arrogance of the monarch : — ' Eoyalt}' is 
 rstablished l)eyond what you can conceive. There is 
 no thought of rising, or of looking at any one. The 
 other chiy a poor mother who has lost the most charm- 
 ing son, Avas in tears imploring his majesty to give her 
 back the money paid for his commission. His majesty 
 passed on. Afterwards, and on her knees, that poor 
 Madame de Froulai dragged herself to his feet, l)eg- 
 ging him to take pity on her. The king never 
 stopped.'' 
 
 AVhat could be to such a man the sufferino^s of a 
 distant province ? He could decree with impunity 
 the death of hundreds of unfortunate human beings, 
 then turn his severe eyes on the beaming J\fontespan, 
 or receive from his neglected rjueen every proof of 
 blind adoration, and from his nobilitv the servile 
 liomag(3 of inferiors. This worship qf royalty had 
 grown since ]\Iachxme de Sevigne's younger days r she 
 could recall those years of the Fronde, when Louis XIV 
 submitted to conditions, and the sleeping Eabutins at 
 Bourl:)illy could have told another tale of the first 
 Bourljon monarch. It was true respect and noble 
 homage, equally honourable to him that accepts 
 and to him that offers it, that Henri IV received 
 
1675.] HATRED OF THE GOVERNORS. 327 
 
 from his companions-in-arms, and tliougli lie did not 
 demand godlike worship, he remains as the very 
 incarnation of royalty. His white colours flying high, 
 with no spot upon them but the red mark of his own 
 blood, he Avooed France, he loved her, he espoused 
 her, and their quarrels were like those of lovers — 
 bonds of affection which endear the more. Louis XIY 
 strived for nothing but his own glory : had he borne 
 for his country but half the affection his grandf^ither 
 had for it, gifted as he was with so many cjualities 
 eminently suited to a monarch, he would have earned 
 that name of ' great ' which he has only usurped. 
 
 All these considerations, slightly though pointedly 
 hinted at by Madame de S(3vign6, caused her to 
 rejoice at the poprdarity Monsieur de Grignan enjoyed 
 in Provence. Excess of zeal was the fault of many 
 governors whom she saw detested, and she says — ' If 
 you would be witness of the hatred, horror, and detes- 
 tation that exists in some places for the governor, you 
 would better feel the consolation of being everywhere 
 liked. What reproaches l what affronts ! what insults ! 
 what menaces, and besides all this, stones flying about 
 them ! I do not think Monsieur de Grignan would 
 accept this place on such conditions.' 
 
 With the means Monsieur de Chaulnes used to calm 
 the rebellion, it is not surprising to hear that when he 
 arrived at Rennes, accompanied by Monsieur de 
 Forbin and Monsieur de Vins, ' he was received like 
 the kino-; but as it is fear only that makes them 
 
028 MADAM!-: I'E >s',' T/^^Xi''. [CirAi>. XXVII. 
 
 <4iai)"'c thoir lanQ-uooT' ^Jonskair Jo Chaiilncs does 
 not for^'ot the ivisults lie has rucoived/ adds the 
 marquis:'. 
 
 .Madame de Sovigne strove to forget in the peaceful 
 heauty nf the country the miseries ^A'ith which she 
 Avas surrounded. Her life was spent in an amiable 
 austerity, in which she found herself at ease, as she 
 di 1 in all circumstances of life. 'You would like/ 
 writes she tu j\Iadame de Grignan, ' my simple fare 
 and the exercise I take. I sleep seven hours Hke a 
 Carmelite. That hard life, which resemljles the 
 'ountry, suits me, and the air I breathe is so lenient, 
 that a complexion which has been praised so many 
 '.'cai's remains unaltered.' 
 
 With her workmen, Madame de S^vign^ found 
 • audi to amuse her : she had a taste for building and 
 planting, and at the Eochers she indulged it freely. 
 She owns, and it is not surprising when we think 
 what her solitary abode must have l)een in November, 
 with no other society than the Bien Bon, that ' the 
 . urfoce of my humour depends on the weather, so that 
 if }'ou wish to loiow how I am, you must consult the 
 stars. But your Provence will always answer you 
 A\X)nders. Fine weather is nothing to you who are 
 ;oo ]tuich accustomed to it. For us, we see the sun 
 x(,) rarely that it causes us particular joy. A fine 
 moral could be drawn from this, but I have said enough 
 about rain and sunshine.' 
 
 I-Io\A'eAer, the days, even the dark and dull, were 
 
icuo.] IIEII occriWTloxs. :ys) 
 
 well oecuiiicJ ^^' .Vadnuie dc S<'\'io-n;'. • and tlio loiio- 
 evenings, the tljnuglit df vrliirli tin-niented jfadam(_^ de 
 (d'ignan, were su.) employed as to render tli<"m toler- 
 able. 'Tliose evenings, Avliich yon arc anxious anout, 
 my daugliter — alas ! I pass them without dullness. I 
 nearly always have to write, or else I read, and insen- 
 sibly midnight e(>mes. The abbe leav;.^s me at ten, 
 and the two hours I remain alone do not kill me an^' 
 more than the others. During the day I have l)usi- 
 ness Avitli the Bien Bon, or else I oceu[)y m}^self with 
 my great and cnnvenient Avork [tapestry]. In truth, 
 my child, life glides (jn so rapidly that I knoAV not 
 how Ave can so (jften feel d(,'spair al30ut the affairs of 
 this Avorld. One has time here to make reflections.' 
 
 It A\'as in such moments that ^ladame de Sevigno 
 pondered most on that grief, surpassing all others — • 
 the reparation from her daughter. Neither time nor 
 any <:>ther consideration could rol3 it of its bitterness, 
 and if we reflect on j\Iadame de S^vign^'s peculiar 
 situation, Ave see hoAv natural it AA^as that it should 
 ]je so. Her son Avas charming and amiable, Ijut she 
 enjoyed his presence only at long interA^als, and there- 
 fore she remained as it Avere alone. Nothing could 
 diA^ert her, because nothing could al^sorb her ; neither 
 love nor aml)ition had ruflied the pure stream of ma- 
 ternal tenderness, and insensibly every other feeling 
 had been blended in that one. ' Life passes,' she writes, 
 ' Avithout my enjoying a presence so dear. I cannot 
 accustom myself to this hardship ; all- my thoughts 
 
330 MADAME DE HlA IGNE. [Chap. XXYII. 
 
 and all my meditations are darkened l)y it. I slionld 
 need a com^age that I do not possess to reconcile 
 myself to this extraordinary destiny. I regret every 
 one of my days that goes by and draws me on without 
 giving me time to he with you. I regret my life, and 
 yet I sliall quit it with less sorrow, since everything 
 in it is so hadly arranged to make it agreeable. In 
 tliesc' thoughts, my dearest, I weep sometimes Avithout 
 telhng you, and I should deserve your sermons, in 
 spite of my efforts, more often than I should wish, for 
 it is never voluntarily T throw myself in those sad 
 meditations : I find them naturally in my heart, and 
 I have not the power to master them.' 
 
 Even had j\radame deGrignan recjuited her mother's 
 affection as it deserved, even had she been as naturally 
 affectionate as her brother, it would have been im- 
 possible for her to have given to Madame de Sevigne 
 an ecjuivalent return of tenderness. Her husband, her 
 exalted position, what affection she had for her children, 
 her }>assion for grandeur and dominion, each and all 
 demanded too ^reat a share of her heart and thouo'hts 
 to ena,l)le her ever to compare what she felt with what 
 her mother experienced. There arc in the sky in 
 a serene summer nii'iit thousands of brilliant stars, 
 yet their light is pale when compared with a winter's 
 sun : one concentrates, the others disperse. Madame 
 de Sevicrne treasured all the feelino-s of her heart for 
 one object, and when, alluding to the man}^ affections 
 that occupied the Princesse de Tarente, or rather that 
 
167-3. ^'ATISFAf'TOLY LEMIXI^-! 'EXCE>^. 0;n 
 
 had oeciipied Ikt, slie atij justly puts it — ' I do not 
 think she has had time to love lirv daughter ns T do 
 mine, or dare compare herself with me. There niM-ds he. 
 more than one heart to love so many ol )i(.^ets. As for m<'^ 
 I perceive every chi}' that the large fish eat the small 
 ones. If you are my preserver, as you tell me, I am 
 too much ohliired to vou, and rannot iirize enoucih the 
 affection I have for you : I do not know from what 
 you liav(' preserved me, but if it wcic from fire and 
 water I ccaild not love yrai more than I do.' 
 
 It was in listenin'''^ to the confidences (jf tlie Princesse 
 de Tarente, wdio put ' all her glory ' on those adven- 
 tures, of which her ver}" dilierent neighljour judged at 
 her time of life she ouQ:ht to lose even the recollection, 
 that the t(.'stimony of her irreproacha.l)le life came hack 
 to Tdadame de Sevigne as a silent hut consoling re- 
 membrance, (''omparing her tranquil and yet troubled 
 existence with that of her Bonne Tarente, she thanked 
 as it were her children who ha<l guar<led her so weh, 
 and spared her those reminiscences she deplored in 
 others. She could now^ with calm serenity measure 
 her perils. They had l)een very grea.t. The woman, 
 endow^ed as ]\Iadame de SoA^igne was, formed to please 
 and fashioned for love, Avho could at the age of twenty- 
 five renounce everv other endearment Init those of her 
 children, deserved the name of virtuous. There was a 
 sort of gratitude in the feelings Madame de Sevigne 
 had for her children, and it intensified them. 
 
 The -weeks Avere passed cjuietly in the Chateau des 
 
332 MADAME BE SilnONE. [Chap. XXYII. 
 
 Eo<'liers, .sonictimes in tlie .scx/iety of tlic Bonne Tarente, 
 sometimes in tliat of Ma(]<nn(ji.s(.'l]e clu Plessis, for 
 whom Lladame de Scvigne professes a sort of sym- 
 pathy. AVhen she is foreed to own — ' Excepting 
 that '- — alas, that ^\as a i-rcat deal — ' she is the best 
 CK'atnre in the world/ perhaps JMadamu de Sevigne s 
 judgment, as in her more sev(jrc remarks on the same 
 person, Avas carried to an extreme. Mademoiselle dn 
 Plessis appears to have Ijeen gifted with few good 
 <|ua]ities, if any, and a great many that Avere mean 
 and ridiculous. Her redeeming point AA^as that she 
 loved Madame de SeAngne, and Avas so convinced of 
 the superiority of the marquise, that her pride Avas to 
 be thought her favourite, and her aim to imitate her. 
 Such a companion c<:)uld not be acceptable to Madame 
 HO Sevigne, but it is ridiculous to belieA^e that she 
 really treated the poor country gii'l as she desciibes : 
 in the first place, her heart Avas incapable of it ; in the 
 second, her good breeding forbade it. Mademoiselle 
 du Plessis, her stupidities, her exaggerations Avere a 
 standing joke betAveen mother and daughter, and in- 
 dulged in consequence. That such a person as Made- 
 moiselle du Plessis Avas tolerated by Madame de 
 Sevign^ says much in faA^our of her indulgence. 
 Neither recreation nor profit, nor benefit of any kind, 
 could she derive from her acc[uaintance, and Made- 
 moiselle du Plessis reaped all that and more. 
 
 The letters of Madame de Grignan were as usual 
 the solace of Madame de S^vign^, and the delay of one 
 
1675. J REFLECTIONS ON TIME. 
 
 • ) ■ 1 ••> 
 
 courier inspires lier with such reflections as these oii 
 patience : — 
 
 ' If Ave would only have patience we should spare 
 ourselves a deal of sorrow : Time takes away as much 
 as he brings. You know we find liim a real dabl)lci-, 
 placing and removing, arranging and disarranging, 
 marking and blotting, shortening- and len<^theiiino\ 
 rendering all things good and bad, and nearly always 
 disfiguring them. There is but our friendship that 
 Time respects, and must ahvays respect/ Then again, 
 as we haA^e often remarked, Madame de Sevioiic 
 affirms beforeljand Avhat her daughters sentiments 
 oug-ht to Ijc, and suo'o-ests to her Avhat assurances of 
 affection Avould satisfy her. For her own part she is 
 never weary of telling Madame d(' Grignan that she 
 knows no rival in her heart, and exclaims : — 'I giA^e 
 you Avith pleasure the floAver of all my baskets ; that 
 is, the floAver of my Avit, of my head, of my eyes, of 
 my pen, of my inkstand ; the rest goes as it can. I 
 divert myself as much conversing Avith yon as I labour 
 Avith others.' 
 
 This is not the only time ILidame de Sevignc 
 speaks of her distaste for Avriting : the numerous 
 letters she had to answer she considered fatiguing. 
 This does not at all coincide Avith the assurances of 
 those Avho Avould represent her as labouring constant!}' 
 in AdeAV of posterity, and being aAA^are of the monu- 
 ment she Avas daily eree-ting to her memory. No one 
 could have been more unconscious of it, Avhile she 
 
334 MADAME DE Si^VIGNE. [CnAr. XXVII. 
 
 li(.'r,-;(.'lf very truly says, lirr pen always has ^ tlie reius 
 upon the neck.' ^ 
 
 The Baron de Sevigne had been for some time 
 exj^cetcd Ijy his mother, and for more than three 
 "weelcs she remained without news of him. He was no 
 longvr with tlie army, and he was not at the Eochers ; 
 however, Z\I;idame de Sevignc Avas not luieasy, sup- 
 posing him, with truth, to be occupied ^ singing 
 matins ' with a young abbess he often visited. At 
 last the truant son made his appearance, and it is 
 thus announced to Lladame de Grignan :— 
 
 ' As I was returning from a walk the day before 
 yesterday, at the end of the ]dail I met the frater, 
 who the moment he saw me went on both knees at 
 my feet, feeling himself so guilty in haviug remained 
 threc', weeks under the earth sinoin^' matins, that he 
 could not approach me in any other way. I had 
 firmly resolved to scold him, but I did not know 
 Avhere to find my anger. I was delighted to see him ; 
 you are aAvare how diverting he is. He kissed me a 
 thousand times, and gave me the worst reasons in the 
 world, which I accepted as good. AVe converse a great 
 deal ; we read, we walk, and we shall here end the 
 }Tar, that is, what remains of it.' 
 
 The presence of Charles de Sevigne at the Eochers 
 altered for his mother the whole aspect of the place. 
 She found herself reo;arded with the most tender 
 affection, and occupied Avith an intelligent and gay 
 companion. Sevigne cherished his mother, enjoyed all 
 
167--,.] FOTEllTY OF THE FEOVJXCE. o;)5 
 
 the charms of her .society, and all the sei.'urity and 
 ease she allo^A^ed him in his intercourse with her. It 
 was into her indulgent ear he poured tbc tale of his 
 follies Avliich slic fondly re})roA'e(l, while \\m: stati.'- 
 ment of his wrongs called forth her tender sympath}'. 
 
 While Franroise do Sevi:-!!:' Avas a rineen in Pro- 
 vence, her brother Avas impatiently filling the post of 
 'guidon' (standard-bearer) in the Gendarmes Dau- 
 phins, Avhich at the time of 3,Iadame de GiigiUin's 
 marriao'e had been purchased for him. It Avas locked 
 upon as a stepping-stone to something beU'er, but 
 the very nature of the post rendered adA^ancement 
 extremely sIoav and dependent on circumstances Avhich 
 no A\alour could control. SeAdgne detested a grade 
 so inferior to his rank and fortune, and OA^en to his 
 ao-e, calling; himself ' Guidon Avith a gray beard/ Avhile 
 the long conversations AAdth his mother AA^ere taken up 
 discussing the best means to rid himself of an occupa- 
 tion so distasteful, and to do so Avithout too great a 
 pecuniary loss. 
 
 The rcA^olt in Brittany had deranged ^^Jadame de 
 Sevigne's affaii^s, as those of every landoAvner in the 
 province, and Avhen her daughter begs her to tell her 
 in earnest Avhether she is really ruined, as she says, 
 she ansAvers — 'Yes, and no. If avc Avould remain 
 here Ave could live for nothing, because nothing can 
 be sold ; l.)ut as for money, it is true, there is none 
 left in this proAdnce.' 
 
 The disappointments of Charles de Sevigne did not. 
 
33() MADAME DE Hl^VIGNK [Chap. XXVII- 
 
 liow<?ver, dam}) his good spirits ot cloud the affection 
 he had for his sister. He hastens to write to her, an<l 
 does so Avith expressions of the most vivid friendship, 
 and at the same time with a sort of deference for the 
 better wisdom of his sister, who had strongly opposed 
 the purchase of his ' Guidonnage/ From what he 
 says it is to be inferred that Madame de Grignan Wcts 
 solicitous for her brother's interests, and he thanks her 
 in warm terms. Nothino; was lost for his trrateful 
 heart, and he writes to his sister — ' May God preserve 
 to us, my dear sister, so good a mother and so good 
 an uncle.' By him also the unfortunate Mademoiselle 
 du Plessis is unmercifully ridiculed, and perhaps she 
 was rather nn^re exposed to the jokes of the son than 
 to those of the mother. 
 
 The similarity of character between Madame de 
 Sevigne and her son is strongly manifested in a few 
 lines she writes of him to her daughter, and which, we 
 think, is an exact description of her own disposition : — - 
 ' My son diverts us ; he adopts the spirit of the place he 
 is in, and brings into this solitude nothing of the army 
 and the court but what renders conversation aoree- 
 able.' It was in acting thus that Madame de Sevio-ne 
 earned for herself the affection and good-will of her 
 neighbours. 
 
 Her presence at the Eochers was regarded as a 
 boon, and she finds herself b] amino- those selfish 
 friendships Avhich would wish to retain her there for 
 ever : — -' I cannot accustom myself to the barbarity 
 
1675.] MABFHISE AND FIBELE. 337 
 
 with whicli they all desire that I should spend the 
 rest of my life at the Rochers ; they do so continually, 
 never imagining that it is possible to find a society 
 more delightful than that of Mademoiselle du Plessis. 
 It makes me impatient to see that in a whole province 
 there is not a person capable of imagining it likely one 
 may have some friends in Paris/ 
 
 The Princesse de Tarente, like Madame de Sevigne, 
 would have willingly aljaudoned her Chateau Madame 
 for the court, where her nephew and niece seemed to 
 call her ; but if Monsieur wrote to her as his ' dear 
 aunt,' and Madame a.ssured her of her afiection, they 
 did nothing to facilitate her return to Paris, and con- 
 tented themselves with sending her an exemption from 
 the troops which were covering the whole country. 
 It was necessity that retained the German princesse 
 and the amiable marquise in their country retreats, 
 and necessity that brought in close contact tAvo 
 natures so different : the bond, however, was their 
 mutual affection for their absent daughters, and 
 both acted towards one another in the most kindly 
 manner. 
 
 During that winter ]\Iadame de Sevigne was sur- 
 prised by the present of a charming little dog, ' white 
 and curly,' which the princesse sent to her. In vain 
 she protested against receiving it, thinking of her 
 favourite Marphise she had left in Paris, and more- 
 over, 'having determined not to engage in attach- 
 ments of that kind.' So, to be true to her resolution, 
 
 VOL. I. 2 
 
338 MADAME DE S^^IGNE. [Chap. XXVII. 
 
 when she has been compelled to accept Fidfele, she 
 writes to Madame de Grignan — ' I do not attach myself 
 to him, but he is beginning to be fond of me, and I am 
 
 afraid I shall succumb I pray you not to let 
 
 Marphise know anything about it, for I fear her re- 
 proaches/ And a few days after, continuing the 
 pleasantry, she says — ' What you say about Fiddle is 
 perfectly just and true ; my conduct has been exactly 
 that of a coquette. It is true that I am ashamed of 
 myself, and that I try, as you have seen, to justify 
 my behaviour ; for it is certain, that in spite of the 
 " Maxime" of Monsieur de la Eochefoucauld, * I aspired 
 to the standard of having loved but one dog, and I 
 am embarrassed in regard to Marphise. I do not 
 know what is to be done with them ; what reasons 
 shall I give her ? It throws me insensibly into un- 
 truths ; at least I shall tell her all the circumstances 
 of my new engagement. It is a position in which I 
 had resolved never to find myself; it is a great 
 example of human frailty.' 
 
 Is it possible to give to a trivial circumstance a 
 more charming garb ? Fiddle and Marphise play a 
 part when their unknown rivalry is described by 
 Madame de S^vign^. Everything she touches takes 
 a new form. It reminds us of the fairy tale, in which 
 a young princess is endowed with a gift which causes 
 her, every time she speaks, to pour from her mouth 
 
 */j It is possible to find a woman who has had no gallantry, but it is 
 lare to find one who has had but one.' 
 
1676.] HER DREAM. 339 
 
 flowers and precious stones. It was the magic wand of 
 genius which had imparted that pow er to Madame de 
 Sdvign^, and we think the application in her case is 
 not exaowrated. 
 
 The year 1676 began for Mada-me de S^vigne 
 and her son at the Eochers. They both on the first 
 day of the new year sent their best wishes for happi- 
 ness to Madame de Grignan, to whom her mother 
 says — ' And if you consider that my affection enters 
 for something in the composition of your happiness, 
 be assured that you can reckon on it with surety/ 
 
 Madame de S^vign^ as the months went by, length- 
 ening the time she had Ijeen separated from her 
 daughter, became ever more oppressed with that 
 thought, and she represents thus her waking from a 
 dream in wdiich she had imagined herself with her 
 daughter : — 
 
 'This is the day to tell you my dream. Learn, 
 that about eight o'clock in the morning, having 
 dreamt of you all night, I imagined much more 
 strongly than usual that Ave were together, and that 
 you were so gentle, so amiable, and so caressing, that 
 I was transported with tenderness. Upon this I woke, 
 but so sad and oppressed at having lost that dear 
 fancy, that I began to weep and sigh so immoderately 
 as to compel me to call Marie, and with cold water 
 and Eau de la reine d'Hongrie, to shake off the rest of 
 my sleep and free my head and heart of this dreadful 
 oppression. This lasted a quarter of an hour, and all 
 
 z 2 
 
;UU MADAME BE XEVIGNE. [Chap. XXVII. 
 
 I can say is, that I have never before found myself in 
 such a state/ 
 
 It is probable that when Madame de S^vigne 
 suffered from this painful nightmare she was already 
 under that influence which brouo-ht on her first illness. 
 
 o 
 
 Her constitution had always been robust, and she pre- 
 sumed perhaps too much upon it. When, in the 
 middle of January, she announces to her daughter 
 that a pain in her right side keeps her in bed, j\Jadame 
 de Grignan, to whom her mother was incessantly 
 preaching every precaution, miL;ht w^ell attribute her 
 sufferings to those walks prolonged till complete dark- 
 ness in those ' large alleys,' which Madame de Sevign6 
 persisted in regarding as protected as covered galleries ; 
 but youth, which had so often permitted such im- 
 prudences with impunity, was no longer there, and the 
 result was a most violent attack of rheumatism, A^'hich 
 the fear of friohtenino; her dauo^hter caused Madame 
 de S(^vigne to announce as a slight pain. But fortu- 
 nately by her side the mai'rjuise had a most watchful 
 guardian. Her son on that occasion shows himself in 
 a most amial^le light, and does so with perfect sim- 
 plicity. He whites to his sister, that the sufferings of 
 his mother, thouoh tliey cause him no anxiety, break 
 his heart by their intensity, and that he does all in his 
 * small power to comfort her.' He then jokes with his 
 sister, to prove to her that his security is not feigned. 
 The Bien Bon contributed also to the utmost of his 
 power to console and cheer his dear niece ; and a 
 
1676.] HER DESCRIPTION OF RHEUMATISM. 341 
 
 young person, whose name is not given, but for whom 
 Madame de Sevigne seems to have felt a great par- 
 tiality, shared \\'ith the l^aron the task of solacing her 
 in her hours of sufiering. The attack was extremely 
 severe, and was accompanied by violent fever and 
 deliiium ; but after a few days, when the intensity of 
 the pain had a little suljsided, nothing can hinder 
 Madame de Sevigne resuming her correspondence, and 
 as she is unable to write she dictates to her son the 
 following description of her illness :■ — ■ 
 
 ^Rochers, Monday, Feb. 3, 1676. 
 
 'Guess, my daughter, what is the thing in the 
 world that conies tlie quickest and goes away the 
 slowest, which Ijiings you nearest to convalescence and 
 takes you furthest from it, which <_'auses you to ap- 
 proach the most agreeable condition and prevents 
 you enjoying it, which gives the most brilliant hopes 
 and delays their realization : can you guess 1 It is 
 rheumatism. I have been suffering from it twenty- 
 three days. Since the fourteenth day I have been 
 without fever and without pain, and have thought 
 myself able to walk, whi<4i is all I desire ; JDut I find 
 myself swollen everywhere— feet, legs, hands, and 
 arms ; and this swelling, which is termed my cure, is 
 the cause of my impatience, and would be that of my 
 merit if I were resigned/ 
 
 Durino^ those days, so wearisome to a person ac- 
 
342 MADAME DE SEVIGNmI [Chap.XXYII. 
 
 customed to constant activity, not only those imme- 
 diately surrounding Madame de S^vigne, but the 
 Princesse de Tarente and Mademoiselle du Plessis 
 vied with each other to show their regard for their 
 neighbour. Madame de Sevigne declares to her 
 daughter that she has been treated like a queen, and 
 above all, that the 'frater has been a consolation I 
 cannot express. He has a pretty knowledge of health 
 and sickness. I had confidence in all he told me. 
 He pitied all my suiferings.' 
 
 The convalescence of Madame de Sevigne was 
 
 o 
 
 troubled by the thought of her son leaving her, and by 
 an event which caused her the most violent emotion. 
 Madame de Grignan was prematurely delivered of a 
 son, and the news caused her mother such a shock as 
 to frighten Charles de Sevigne, who was present when 
 the letter was opened. The favourable progress 
 Madame de Grignan was making would have consoled 
 her mother for the loss of a son to the Grignans. The 
 little child was alive, but was not expected to survive : 
 he, however, struggled through eighteen months of 
 weakness and suifering. 
 
 News from Grignan was Madame de Sevigne's 
 greatest consolation after the baron had left her. She 
 had then recourse to the pen of her little secretary, 
 the young girl, whom she describes as ' amiable and 
 pretty,' and for whom she seems to have conceived 
 much affection, which was returned with a very warm 
 heart. One of Madame de Sevigne's greatest anxieties 
 
1676.] APATHY OF MADAME DE GEIGNAN. 343 
 
 in not being able to write, was the fear that it would 
 alarm her daug;hter : she knows no words strong* 
 enough to tranquillize her and quiet her solicitude, 
 which she probably judged rather too much after her 
 own feelings in such cases. ' I am in despair at the 
 anxiety 1 cause you. Distance makes us experience 
 many useless sufferings, and neither our joy nor our 
 sadness are ever in their right place.' 
 
 Whatever Madame cle Grignan may have ex- 
 perienced as to her mother's illness — and both mother 
 and brother gave her credit for most affectionate 
 anxiety — she failed, as she had often done before, to 
 show any gratitude to those who gave her mother 
 the most disinterested proofs of friendship. Madame 
 de Sevio'ne felt grateful to all who had taken an 
 interest in her, and she was desirous that her daughter 
 should, for her sake, appear to do so. The Princesse 
 de Tarente had been a most attentive friend to 
 Madame de Sevign6, and had gone so far as to 
 write to ]\Iadame de Grignan. No answer, however, 
 was returned, and Madame de Sevigne is forced to 
 say — ' I would have Avished, my daughter, that you had 
 not allowed the answer to the good princesse to cool. 
 You Avould have pleased me extremely in promptly 
 joining in the gratitude I owe to her.' And again, for 
 this hint had l)ecn without effect—' The good princesse 
 came to see me to-day, and inquire*! Avhether I had 
 any news from you. I should much bave liked to have 
 had an answer to give her. Solitude and the country 
 
?A4 MADAME DE >^'LVIGNE. [Chap.XXVIL 
 
 makes one think of such things. I blushed at my 
 thoupkts, and she blushed also. I Avish that for the 
 affection you bare me, you had paid that debt earlier/ 
 Madame de Sevione however left the Eochers, and 
 bade good-bye to her Bonne Tarente without having 
 received that slight satisfaction. We can imagine at 
 Avhat pains Madame de Sevign^ must have been some- 
 times to cover and justify the conduct of her daughter. 
 She had raised her to such a pinnacle, endowed her 
 wdth so many qualities, that in order to maintain in 
 others that belief she professed in the perfections of 
 her daughter, her task could not have been an easy 
 one ; for how much considerate mention, and for how 
 many gracious words never spoken by Madame de 
 Grignan, must her mother have earned her the thanks 1 
 
1676.] RETURN To PARTK. 345 
 
 CHAPTER XXVITL 
 
 ICTG. 
 
 Return of Ma< lame de Sbvign§ to Paris.— AVarmth of her reception. — 
 Eising power of ]\J\iiLiiii(' de I\Iaintenon. — Splendour of Madame d-^ 
 Montespan. — Trial of the I\lar(|uise de Brinvilliers. — Departure of 
 Madame de Sevigm'' for Vichy, accompanied by Madame d'Escar.^. — 
 Life at Vichy. — vSulieitudii of Madame de Scvign*^ for her grand- 
 children. 
 
 The journey back to Paris was slow and tedious. 
 The marquise started on tlie 24tli of March, and 
 reached Paris on the Sth of April. She stopped suc- 
 cessively at Laval and Malicorne, the latter the residence 
 of her friend the Marquise de Lavardin ; and from both 
 places she wrote to her daughter. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne who had already benefited by 
 the change of air, thought to complete her cure by a 
 residence at Bourljon or Vichy, Avhere she hoped 
 i\Iadame de Grignan might l)e prevailed upon to join 
 her. However great the desire on her part, she could 
 not think of a visit to Grignan, to which place her 
 son-in-law and daughter were pressingiy inviting her. 
 Writing from Paris, the reason she gives for her refusal 
 is, that ' the good abbe will not go. He has a thousand 
 thino-s to do here, and he fears the climate. I have 
 not discovered in any treatise on ingratitude that I can 
 
346 MADAME DE SEViaNR [Chap. XXVIII. 
 
 leave liiin at liis age, knowing as I do tliat siicli a se^^a- 
 ration would break his heart, and if he died in my 
 absence, my remorse would leave me no peace/ 
 
 To jvidge what a sacrifice Madame de Sevigne was 
 making; to her notion of what was due to her uncle, 
 we must read the lines in the same letter where she 
 expresses her regrets : — ' I do not tell you if I desire 
 to see you, or if I regret the days of my life which are 
 passing. I complain sorrowfully of spending it with- 
 out you. One would imagine we have another life in 
 which we enjoy each other's presence and affection ; 
 the present is our all, which we dissipate to find death 
 at last. I am moved by that thought.' 
 
 Madame de Grignan, in answer to her mother, pro- 
 posed joining her at Vichy for a fortnight, and then re- 
 turning to her own home. This to the fond mother 
 seemed the hardest of temptations. Her wish, her hope, 
 her entreaty was, that Madame de Grignan should 
 meet her at Vichy, return with her to Livry, and wait 
 there for Monsieur de Grignan, who would be with 
 them early in the winter. Such a proposition seemed 
 rational to Madame de S6vigne, who says — 'For you owe 
 me a little of your time for the consolation of my life.' 
 
 To see her daughter for a fortnight appeared to her 
 only as an addition to her pain : she puts it to Madame 
 de (.Trignan in every way that could touch her heart, 
 reralling how ill she had been, and how that dear 
 presence would console her. To all this Madame 
 de Grignan, uninfluenced by her husband, opposed a de- 
 
]fi76.] BECEFTION BY HER FBIENDS, 347 
 
 terminecl neo;ative, offering; ao'ain to meet her motlier at 
 Yichy, but nothing more, alleging that her husband's 
 duties imperiously demanded her presence in Provence 
 until they could both together start for Paris. It was 
 in vain that in every letter Madame de Sevigne strove 
 to alter a resolution so contrary to her wishes. 
 
 Her return to Paris had ].>een as usual the occasion 
 for all her friends to show her their affection. Corbi- 
 nelli was there the very first day to relieve her yet 
 trembling hand from the task of writing. On her 
 arrival she encountered at her door, coming to inquire 
 when she was expected, Mesdames de Villars, de St.- 
 Geran, and cl'Heudicourt. All three were in the inti- 
 macy of the marquise, and she mentions them frequently 
 in her correspondence. The Marquise de Villars had 
 been Mademoiselle de Bellefonds, full of wit and caustic 
 pleasantries ; her husband, on account of his fine figure, 
 had received the surname of 'Orondat,' one of the most 
 charming heroes of the * CStus.' He had several times 
 filled the post of ambassador, and both he and his wife 
 were in constant communication with Madame de S^- 
 vign^. The Comtesse de St.-G^ran, the intimate friend 
 of the Marquise de Villars, was wholly devoted to the 
 com^t and its pleasures. Madame d'Heudicourt is 
 often alluded to as the ' tall woman,' wlio could inform 
 Madame de Grionan of all the intrigues of St. -Germain. 
 Madame de Vins, who was also one of the first 
 visitors of the marc[uise on her return to Paris, 
 must be remembered as a dearer friend of Madame 
 
us MADAME TJE Sl^^IGNK [Chap. XXVIIL 
 
 de Seviu'iie : she was the sister of Madame de Pom- 
 ponne, and even before her marriage to the Mar- 
 quis de Vius, had a great share and exercised great 
 inhueuce in all the affairs over which her brother- 
 in-law presided. It ^vas through her, and through her 
 interest, that Madame de Sevigne thought she would 
 be able to serve Monsieur de Grignan. Madame de 
 Vins was at this time quite young, and had already 
 been in frequent correspondence with Madame de 
 Sevigne, who while in Brittany frequently mentions 
 havino- heard from her. On her return to Paris she 
 extols j\Lidanie de Vins' amiability, her affection for 
 Madame de Grignan, and her desire to oblige her. 
 
 One by one every friend of Madame de Sevigne is 
 mentioned to her daughter. It is clear that the mar- 
 quise experienced great satisfaction in finding herself 
 once more surrounded by all those familiar faces. 
 'Madame de Coulanges is always extremely amial^le. 
 . . . Corbinelli is, as you know, ever appearing and 
 disappearing. Our friendship is solid. ... I shall 
 ma.ke your reproaches to La Mousse. . . . D'Hacque- 
 ville, always occupied with the turmoil of business, 
 and always full of good qualities. . . . Madame de 
 la Fayette, AA'ith her low fever, and ever good company 
 at her house. . . . Monsieur de la Rochefoucauld is 
 as you left him. '.'". . The good Troche says she is 
 going to Anjou. She is, as usual, going and coming: 
 people say she is the female D'Haccjueville.' 
 
 The news of the court found its place naturally in 
 
1676.] I^L'^E OF MADAME BE MA fNTENON. 349 
 
 the letter.s written from Paris. Even ^vhcn in Brittany, 
 ]\radame cle Sevime forwarded to lier dano-liter tlie 
 particulars of any event she heard of through her 
 friends — j\ I a dame de Montespan in her giory, and 
 Madame de IMaintenon, now a mar<|uise, considered 
 and in favour, are watched, and ea,(di action is com- 
 mented on. 
 
 Ah^eady Madame de Sevi^ne had reported to her 
 daughter those rumoiu^s tending to prove that the two 
 friends, once so united, were m(.)re th.m at variance, and 
 that hatred had taken the phice of aih/cti* )n. ' The Friend,' 
 (I'amie — the chjsignation of i\Iadame de J\Iaintenon) ' is 
 of a pride which causes her to revolt against the orders 
 of the other [Madame de Montespan J. She is ready 
 to ol)ey the father, but not the mother. She will 
 undertake the jommey for his sake, Ijut not for hers. 
 She informs him of everything, and her of nothing. 
 One scolds the Friend [I'ami — -Louis XIV] for having 
 so much friendship for that haughty persou, but it is 
 believed it will not last, unL'SS the success of the jour- 
 ney changes those hearts. This secret has been 
 travellino- under oxound for the last six months : I 
 think it will ra,ther surprise you. The friends of the 
 Friend [bamie] are afflicted at all this.' 
 
 The journey alluded to is one ^ladame de Maintenon 
 was on the point of taking to the Pyrenees for the 
 benefit of the Due du Elaine, who was unable to walk. 
 His delieate health was the object of his governess's 
 most watchful care, and she bore him through life the 
 
3r)0 MADAME DE SJ^VIGNE. [Chap. XXVIIl. 
 
 most tender affection. A few months after this, the 
 account of the return of Madame de Maintenon reached 
 the Eochers, and is transmitted to Provence : — ' No- 
 thing was more agreeable than the surprise reserved 
 for the king. He was expecting Monsieur du Maine 
 on the following day. When he saw him enter his 
 room, led only by the hand of Madame de Maintenon, 
 he was transported with joy. On arriving, Monsieur 
 de Lou vols went to call on this governess. She supped 
 at Madame de Eichelieu's, some kissing her hands, 
 others her dress ; and she laughing at it all, if she 
 be not altered ; but I am told she is. ' 
 
 These are the first precise indications of the growing 
 influence of one who, as Madame Scarron, was only 
 patronized before. Madame de Montespan, whose 
 care it had been to inspire the king with aftection for 
 his children, and which brought Madame de Main- 
 tenon under his notice, could not as yet feel anything 
 but impatience : no thought of being supplanted in the 
 king's heart by a woman so inferior to herself in every 
 outward respect could cross her mind. She was still 
 in the plenitude of her power, and two children she 
 gave to the king — the second Mademoiselle de Blois, 
 who became Duchesse d'Orleans, and the Comte de 
 Toulouse — yet unborn. She enjoyed such triumphs as 
 going with the queen to the Carmelites to visit Soeur 
 Louise de la Misericorde, and inquiring of her whether 
 she were as pleased as she had heard, and what mes- 
 sage she had for the ' brother of Monsieue [the king].' 
 
1676.] TBE KING'S STRUGGLES OF CONSCIENCE. 351 
 
 The two answers were modest and becomino; : — ' I am 
 not pleased, but contented ;' and to tire king : — 'Say 
 what you will, madame ; say what you will.' 'Add 
 to this/ says Madame de Sevigne, ' all the grace, 
 intelligence, and modesty that you can imagine.' 
 
 These trifling events, which interest even posterity? 
 had a double value for one who, like Madame de 
 Grignan, was the contemporary and had shared the 
 early triumphs of J\Iesdemoiselles de ^lortemart and la 
 Valliere. It was well known that those women would 
 hereafter belong to history, and their every word and 
 action were regarded with attention. 
 
 If one would judge clearly of facts, is it not neces- 
 sary to be acquainted with all those developments ? I'o 
 know only that Louis XIV forgot Madame de Montes- 
 pan for Madame de Maintenon, would seem like a 
 caprice, but to see day by day that silent working of 
 the mind which changed the most pleasure-loving 
 monarch into the austere companion of an austere 
 woman, is a study : it prepares us for that great 
 alteration in all things — it is autumn, which announces 
 the forthcomino' winter. The hesitation, the fluctua- 
 
 o 
 
 tions of the king's conscience ; his struggles with liis 
 passion, and his rising bigotry ; the eclipses, and then 
 the more brilliant effulgence of the Marquise de Mon- 
 tespan, show the human heart in all its littleness and 
 poverty. Neither rank nor beauty could clothe human 
 frailty and faults : their misery contrasts only the more 
 strongly with the surrounding grandeur. 
 
33:2 MADAME BE SEVIGNE. [Chap. XXYIII. 
 
 But there was news of another nature to announce 
 to ]\Iadame de Grii^iian, for it was in 1676 that the 
 celebrated Marquise de Brinvilliers gave to the world 
 the scandal of her crimes and death. This woman, 
 who has come down to posterity as a murderess, 
 belonged to the nobility of France. She was the 
 daughter of Dreux Aubray, Lieutenant-civil, and was 
 married in 1651 to the Marquis de Brinvilliers. De- 
 praved from her youth, she successively poisoned, with 
 the complicity of her lover, Sainte-Oroix, all those whose 
 fortune she coveted : her father, her husband, her chil- 
 dren, none Avere spared. On the death of Sainte-Croix 
 papers establishing their mutual culpability were dis- 
 covered. The Marquise de Brinvilliers fled, but was 
 overtaken and arrested. In 1676 the attention of the 
 Avhole of France was directed to her, and curiosity 
 was at its highest. Her cynicism equalled her crimes, 
 and while in prison she asked permission to play at 
 cards to pass the time. 
 
 ' Nothing is talked of here,' writes Mada.me de 
 S^^dgne, ' but the sayings and doings of La Brin- 
 villiers. LLive you ever heard of her fearing to omit 
 in her confession that she had poisoned her father ? 
 The trifles she is in fear of forgetting are admirable. 
 She loved Sainte-Croix, and wished to marry him. 
 With this object she several times poisoned her hus- 
 band. Sainte-Croix, who did not want such a terrible 
 wife, gave the husband an antidote ; so that between 
 these alternatives, repeated five or six times, some- 
 
1676.1 VINDICATION OF MADAME DE SBVIGNK 353 
 
 times poisoned and sometimes cured, lie is still alive, 
 and now comes forward to solicit mercy for his dear 
 half' 
 
 When Madame de Sevigne is on the point of start- 
 ing for Vichy she regrets her inability to continue to 
 tell her daughter what may be spoken in regard to the 
 Brinvilliers. She must not be accused of spealdng 
 lightly of so heinous a creature : pity she could not 
 inspire, and when Madame de Sevigne was writing to 
 her daughter she was as it were speaking to her. Her 
 written word in this case must not be considered as a 
 serious and meditated expression either of blame or 
 scorn : it is the impression of the moment, the instant 
 echo of what has just been spoken. Those letters 
 are conversations, and if every passing joke, every 
 word that savours of iiTcverence W(_'re to Ije brought 
 home to each and all, who could be called just ? 
 J\Iadame de Sevigne was writing to one with whom she 
 felt no need of restraint, and in that free intercourse 
 she abandons herself to every sensation of the hour. 
 
 Before quitting Paris, Madame de Se\^gne gave a 
 supper to her most intimate friends : — ' Madame de 
 Coulan^e.s and her husband, Madame de la Troche, 
 Monsieur de la Trousse, Mademoiselle de Montgeron, 
 and Corbinelli ' are coming to ' bid me farewell by 
 eating a pigeon-pie.' After they have left, she adds 
 in the last lines written to Madame de Grignan before 
 retiring to rest — 'My company has just left me. 
 Mesdames de Pomponne, de Vins, de Villars, and 
 
 VOL. I. ^ ^ 
 
XA MADAME BE S£VIGXE. [Chap. XXVIII. 
 
 St.-Geran have l3een here ; I have embraced them all 
 for you.' 
 
 Those L.-ave-takiiigs were all without paiu. That 
 which Aveut closer to the heart of ^Madame de Sevione 
 was her separation from her kind Bien Bon. Already 
 since her return from the Eochers had she gone 
 through the ordeal of seeing her son start to join the 
 arm}\ The king in person Avas in Flanders, and the 
 French army and that of the Prince of Orange 
 found themselves face to face near the farm of Heurte- 
 bis(3 on that 10th of May, when Madame de Sevigne 
 was en.ting her pigeon-pie. The two armies, however, 
 did not eno-nu'e, much to the dissatisfaction of the 
 French troops, who felt sure of vict<:»r3^ The oppor- 
 tunity thus lost to Sovigne of distinguishing himself 
 was seized a few weeks later, Avhen he proved his 
 valour at the sie^e of Aire. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne had been rxtronudy sad at 
 losing her son, the charm of whose societ}', had there 
 been no dearer tie, must have made his absence re- 
 uretted ; but he had now another claim on her heart 
 — his tender nursino; of her at the Eochers. 
 
 One separation disposes us to feel more acutely 
 another ; it is as the drop that causes the full cup to 
 overflow. The disappointed hope of se(.'ing i\Iadauu' 
 de Grioiian, and the dano;ers to which Sevioiie was 
 ex[)osed, added to the sadness with which the marquise 
 saw the moment come that would put a f'W <]ays 
 journey between herself and the Al.^l)e de (A)ulanges. 
 
1676.] JOURNEY TO VICHY. 355 
 
 ^ This separation, tliuiigii Init a slioit one, costs liim a 
 ofveat deal. I am anxious aljout his health ; heartache 
 is not good when one is old. I shall do my duty in 
 returning here, as it is the only occasion in my life 
 Avhen I can show him my affection, and I shall sacrifice 
 to it e^X'u the thought of going to Grignan. There 
 xire circumstances under which the dearest sentiments 
 give way tu gratitude.' 
 
 ]\Iadame de Se^^igne did not, hoAvever, travel alone to 
 Yichy ; her companion, to whom the aljl^e had iu trusted 
 the care of his niece's health, was Madame d'Escars, 
 called by j\Iadame de Sevigne the 'bonne d'Escars,' wdtli 
 whose society she seems to have Ijcen mucli pleased. 
 They travelled to Vichy in the track of Madame de 
 Montespan, wdio was resorting to Bourbon for the 
 l^enefit of her health. ' We follow the steps of Madame 
 de Montespan. We inquire at ever}^ place what she 
 has said, what she has done, what she has eaten, 
 how she has slept. She is in a coach drawn jjy six 
 horses, and with her is the petite de Thianges. She 
 has another coacJi behind with the same number 
 of horses, in which are her six women. She has tw<_> 
 travellino; vans, six mules, ten or twelve men on 
 horseback, without reckoning the officers <A her house- 
 hold. H<'r suite consists of forty-five persons. She 
 finds her room and ]m\ ready, and eats Avith a good 
 appetite.' 
 
 The progress of Madame de Montespan resembled 
 that of a queen ; everywhere she was treated as the 
 
 A A li 
 
356 MADAME DE SEVIGNM. [Chap. XXVIII. 
 
 dispenser of all favours, and met mth petitions ; her 
 oliarity was demanded, and she scattered her gold 
 lavishly. It was that very influence which caused her 
 to be regretted : it was the power she possessed over 
 the king's mind, and which she often used for noble 
 and good purposes, which distinguishes her entirely 
 from Mademoiselle de la Valliere, whose humihty was 
 too near akin to baseness. The pride and arrogance 
 of Madame de Montespan, her desire to be a voice in 
 the state, were as a gorgeous mantle over her faults. La 
 Valliere, bearing awkwardly her ducal crown, conscious 
 of her guilt, and ashamed of it, proclaimed it by that 
 very attitude, and never called forth those marks of 
 deference which came home naturally to the proud 
 Mortemart. 
 
 At Bourbon, where Madame de Montespan appears 
 with hands full of bounty, she is solicited by one 
 who had known also, in a different way, the very 
 giddiness of prosperity. Madame de Sevigne heard 
 from Madame Fouquet herself, whom she saw at 
 Moulins, where she stopped on her journey, an account 
 of the interview, and she relates it to her daughtei". 
 Madame de Montespan had ^received her very kindly; 
 she listened to her with gentleness and an admirable 
 appearance of compassion. God put in Madame 
 Fouquet 's mouth those words which could best plead 
 her cause. She spoke of her ardent desire to be im- 
 prisoned with her husband, and of her hope that Pro- 
 vidence would on fitting occasions give Madame de 
 
KiTG.] ARRIVAL AT VICHY, ?, 
 
 j')i 
 
 Montespaii a recollection of lier, and pity for her mis- 
 fortunes.' 
 
 Madame Fouqnet, wlio was thus, ' without baseness 
 or importunity/ pleading her cause, must, had Madame 
 de Montespan's heart been susce[)tible to maternal 
 tenderness, have excited in it the greatest msh to 
 serve a woman to whom her own son, the one born to 
 Monsieur de Monti. 'span, was at that moment intrustrfl. 
 Her husband, who had put on mourning for his Avife's 
 shame as for her death, and ig;nored her existence to 
 her last day, had left with jMadame Fouquet his ' hand- 
 some and clever ' boy of ten, who, alas ! grew into the 
 most servile of courtiers, and became, under the name 
 of Due d'Antin, a favourite of Louis XIV. 
 
 Madame de Montespan dreams but of love and 
 power, and every day there comes from the army a 
 courier bearinp" her assurances of that tenderness which 
 caused nil heads to l:)ow l:)efore her. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne arrived at Vichy, after a 
 prosperous journey, on the 18th of May. 8he was met 
 on her arrival by the Duchesse de Brissac and the 
 Chanoinesse de Longueval, who had preceded her to 
 Vichy, where they were staying together. 'Monsieur 
 de St.-Herem, Monsieur dc la Fayette, the Aljbe 
 Dorat, Plancy, and others followed in a second 
 carriao^e and on horseback. I was received with great 
 joy. Madame de Brissac took me to sup at her house.' 
 
 At Vichy Madame de Sevigne was immediately sur- 
 rounded by affectionate friends : this alone speaks for 
 
:Ui MAPAMJ-J 1)E ^KVIGNE. [Chap. XXYIII. 
 
 lier jiopularity. Eveiy\Yliere slie ^A^as welcome cl. AVc 
 can imagine lier smiling face, her ready wit and good 
 humour must have warmed the hearts of all by her 
 presence. The mode of life at Vichy is minutely de^ 
 scriljed by the marquise. As early as six in the morn- 
 ing they all met at the spring, where ' one drinks and 
 makes a very ugly face.' At twelve they dine, and 
 after dinner the small party assembles at one or the- 
 other's house. There we see the handsome coquette, 
 the Duchesse de Brissac, formerly Mademoiselle de 
 St. -Simon, whom her brother the due describes 
 as ^ equally beautiful and modest,' but who after her 
 marriao'e to a man whose low vices were his wife's 
 excuse, earned for herself another reputation. The 
 charming duchesse then plays at cards with St.-Herem 
 and Plancy, Madame de Sevigne and the ^ Chanoine ' 
 read Ariosto, while country girls amuse them with 
 their dancing. ' At five we drive in a lovely country, 
 at seven we sup lightly, and at ten we go to bed.' 
 
 The beauty of the neighbourhood of Vichy was for 
 Madame de Sdvign^ a constant source of pleasure. 
 She is also delighted with the grace of the peasants 
 who dance before her, and she longs for her daughter 
 to see them. Wc must remark how charmed Madame 
 de Sevigne always professes to be when witnessing 
 good dancing. At Vitre she praises Monsieur de 
 Locmaria, and at Vichy she is enchanted with the 
 bourrees.* The reason is, that dancing was then an 
 
 * A peasants' dauce. 
 
1676.] IlEFLECTIOXS ON DANCING. 350 
 
 art, to excel in ^Y^iicll Avas a distinction not easily ac- 
 cpircd, and IMadame de Sevigne had been, and 
 Madame de Griirnan also, celebrated for that accom- 
 plishment. ' The minuets, branles, and passe-pieds de- 
 manded, as we have said, a more graceful carriage 
 than is necessary in our day to walk through a 
 quadrille or turn in a valse. One thing leads to 
 another : the security of being graceful, the easy 
 carriaoe of a handsome fio'ure, was calculated to allow 
 that person to show Avhatever wit and intelligence she 
 was endowed \\ith.. It was an assurance remote 
 from Ijoldness, but contrary to timidity. We are con- 
 vinced that many men of parts are silent and over- 
 looked only because they are awkward, and that if 
 minuets were now the fashion, they would reveal that 
 intelligence Nature has given to them. Conversation 
 is l3rilliant as dancing is honoured : the seven- 
 teenth and eighteenth centuries are the proof of one 
 side of the proposition, and we venture to say the 
 nineteenth century is the proof of the other. Every 
 day we see examples of awkwardness and timidity 
 acting as an obstacle in life ; and neither birth nor 
 wealth gives that security which is obtained by an 
 easy presence — both are to l^e found where the other 
 is wanting. In those days of curtseys, when men 
 could not enter a room without a profound obei- 
 sance ; when to walk, to sit, or to stand received 
 every attention, the mind, as unfettered as the 
 body was free, could shine forth, and witty sayings 
 
360 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. [Chap. XXYIIL 
 
 and repartees could be spoken with boldness and 
 assurance. 
 
 There is another observation which suggests itself 
 when readino' about those minor events of our exist- 
 ence, and which in truth are certain indications of 
 the spirit of the age. People in the seventeenth cen- 
 tury were always, at every hour of the day, pre- 
 pared to show themselves to their acquaintances. A 
 constant effort had to be made, and that strain, both 
 of mind and body, we are convinced helped to a 
 vigorous expansion of both. Ease was little con- 
 sidered; appearance and effect always. At her toilette 
 a lady received her visitors (we do not commend ; we 
 simply remind) ; when slightly indisposed, friends and 
 admirers hastened to relieve the dullness of the sick- 
 room : there was as it were a constant battle with 
 decay or destruction. Women were both hardier and 
 stronger ; the very fashions, the tight straight bodice, 
 helped women to stiffen themselves against the attacks 
 of age, while the elegant richness of the dress of the 
 men demanded a constant effort to carry well a cos- 
 tume which when slovenly became ridiculous. The 
 head, surmounted by a ponderous wig, must be erect ; 
 the arms and hands, embarrassed by large sleeves and 
 falling la<;e, must be moved leisurely ; the walk must 
 be firm and light ; the attitu<lrs selected with care, 
 best to display the yards of ribbon of the canons and 
 the bows of the shoe. 
 
 Our simplicity is the shore on which we wreck all 
 
1676.] MADAME DE BRISSAC'S BECEPTToX. 301 
 
 that added to the pleasure of social intercourse : 
 elegance and politeness go together, as neglect and 
 rudeness follow on each other's steps. When we 
 begin by being indifferent as to what is thought of us 
 by others, we are very near becoming indifferent to 
 everything but selfish gratification. Put aside the 
 desire to please, and what inducement remains to 
 frequent society ? why submit to any restraints it 
 commands 1 Day Ijy day the increasing adoration of 
 personal comforts marks the doom of what was once 
 called wit, and conversation becomes a mere exchange 
 of busy nothings. Silence is now the mark of sagacity; 
 rudeness the livery of superiority — so be it ! 
 
 To return to Madame de Sevigne : let us read the 
 description she gives Madame de Grignan of an indis- 
 position of the Duchesse de Brissac : — * Madame de 
 Brissac was ill to-day ; she was in bed, handsome, and 
 her hair dressed in a manner to infatuate the whole 
 world. I wish you could have seen what she made of 
 her sufferings, and the use she made of her eyes, and 
 of her hands which lay on the coverlet, and her 
 attitudes, and the compassion she demanded. Filled 
 with admiration and tenderness I contemplated that 
 work of Nature, and found it so perfect that my at- 
 tention must have resembled an astonishment for 
 which I believe I shall reap the thanks. And con- 
 sider that the scene was for the Abbe Bayard, St.- 
 H6rem, Montjeu, and Plancy.' 
 
 At Vichy, news was scarce, and as the Duchesse de 
 
:302 MA DA ME BE ^El'IQNK. [Chap. XXVIII. 
 
 Brissac was not ill vxi'vy day, \\\(^iv wrre few flicts to 
 impart to MaclaniL' dc GrigiiaD, ].)ut always plenty of 
 sa1»j('('ts to write about. Aizain and again ^ladame de 
 Sevigne returns to the topic nearest to her heart — her 
 dauiihter's return. Firm in her resolution not to con- 
 
 o 
 
 sent to her coming to Vichy for a. short stay, she ex- 
 plains why : — ' If you had been one of those persons 
 who allow themselves to be persuaded and carried off, 
 I should have hoped to tak(,' }^ou back with me against 
 your Avill ; ] nit you are one from whom it is useless to 
 hope concessions of that kind. I know your tone and 
 resolution, and doing so I prefer that you should re- 
 serve all your affection and all your money to come 
 this winter and give me the joy and consolation of 
 embracing you.' 
 
 It was with a heavy heart that ]\Iadame de Sevigne 
 ■reflected how near she^vas to Grigiiian, and how com- 
 paratively short her journey there would be. She 
 begged not to l3e reminded of the vicinity of Lyons, 
 and when preparing to return t(.> Paris the struggles 
 of her feelings, of what she owed to her Bien Bon, and 
 what she felt for her daughter, make her exclaim : — 
 ' And this is then what is termed right principles and 
 gratitude ; I am not surprised that there should be so 
 little hurry in the exercise of those fine vir^tues.' 
 
 Madame de Sevigne, when her thoughts reverted 
 thus with tender regret to Grignan and Provence, was 
 not thinking of her daughter only : her little grand- 
 children had their share in her aflfection. At that 
 
1C76.] JlEll (rPdEF Fi>l: ^ULIE-BLAXCHr:. :)r, ; 
 
 time slii' Avas rxpLT^'iic-inu- a ,solieitud(' she daiv.l in 
 lier fond id(,)latiy hardly express to .Ara-laine (h.' Cri- 
 gimiL The litthi ^larie-JUaneln", who for three years 
 had been under Ijcr grandmother's tender care, was 
 now with her parents, hut to l)e l:)anished two A'ears 
 Liter. She was not pretty; there Avas an heir tn 
 provide for ; the eh:lest daughter must therefore mal^c 
 room for that fortunate Ijrother, so a convent v-is tlio 
 home found for her at the early age of five. jMadame 
 de Sevignu from afar felt painfully for her cherished 
 little one, hut the other day the joy of her hearth, and 
 she writes to her daughter^' ^ly heart is oppressed at 
 the thought of ni}' little granddaughter. >She will ho 
 in despair at having left you, and l>eing, as you .>a}-, 
 in prison.' A few days later she repeats— ' i^Iy heart 
 is heavy aljout my dear little <:)ne. Poor child, slie is 
 then placed ! She concealed her little grief ! I pity 
 her if you love her, and if she loves you as much as 
 Ave loved each other. But you possess courage Avhich 
 always serwes you on these occasions. God would 
 have favoured me by endowing me with as much.' 
 
 Madame de Sevigne could ne^^er brino- herself to 
 combat openly any resolution vf lier daughter. On 
 that occasio]!, when truly unhapt)y at the fate of her 
 little goddaughter, she strives to awaken pity in the 
 mother s heart, and expresses her grief to sugg(.'st to 
 Madame de G-rignan what the hardship was. When 
 she is answered by ]\Iadame de Grignan that the child 
 is happy, she accepts rather too promptly the mother's 
 
■MU MADAME DE SEVIGNE. [Chap. XXVIII. 
 
 assurance. ' I am deliglitecl to know that my little 
 one is cheerful and ha^ipy : it was the sadness of her 
 little heart that afflicted me/ 
 
 The child of ^ve may no doubt have smiled again 
 quickly, but from what comes out in after years the 
 sadness of her young heart was great, and her religious 
 vocation entirely forced upon her. Madame de Se- 
 vigne strove continually to obtain for her a future 
 more in accordance with her wishes, but in vain. 
 She, however, succeeded in rescuing Pauline, the 
 Sf'cond daughter, from a destiny similar to that of 
 lior sister. Children were a great incumbrance to 
 those proud, poor houses, Avhere one son was to be 
 endowed with all the wealth that could be treasured 
 up, and the convent was an honourable forge tfulness 
 for the daughters, wliose meagre dower swelled tlie 
 fortune of the heir to the name. 
 
 The little marquis was the object of Madame de 
 Grignan's care and attention : on him rested all the 
 hopes of her vain-glorious heart ; and when she finds 
 that he is shy in his babyhood, she alarms herself for 
 his future. Her mother, ever wiser, answers her fears : 
 — ' I wish to speak to you of the little marquis. Let 
 not his timidity cause you any anxiety. Consider 
 that the charming marquis [Villeroy] tromljled up to 
 the age of ten or twelve, and that La Troche was so 
 frightened at everything that his mother could hardly 
 look at him. These are men brave enouo-h to reassure 
 } ou. It is nothing but childishness ; and in growing, 
 
1676.] CAFJ'J FOE IIELl GnANDCHILDBEX. 3G: 
 
 instead of fearing the 1 )Ugl )ear, they fear blame ; they 
 dread not beino- thoug;ht as much of as others, 
 and that is sufficient to niider them brave enouo^h, 
 and to face death a thousand times. Do not bi- 
 impatient. ' 
 
 All who Avcrc dependent on ^ladame clc Grio'nau 
 
 J- o 
 
 OAved thanks to ^ladMnic de Sevi^nc. Her advice, ever 
 wise, moderate, and ju.^t, was, there is no doubt, re- 
 spected by her dauglitcj-, who was sensible of th*.- 
 sagacity and admii"al)L,^ wisdom of lier mother. Con- 
 stantly through the j-cnrs of tljc childhood and youtli 
 of the marquis and Pauline, their cause is pleaded 
 and their f^iults excused 1»v the absent anindmother. 
 The impatient comtesse, hurrying to conclusions, is 
 restrained ; her hand is guided and made more 
 gentle. 
 
 The Marquis dc Grignan did become what Madame 
 de Sevigne foresaAr, perfectly brave ; l)ut to her it was 
 owing that his childish timidity, respected and gently 
 treated, early vanished. There seems to haA'c been 
 hardly any question on Avhich j\Iadanie de Sevigne was 
 not competent to give advice, and yet she gives it with 
 perfect modesty, never dictating. Different indeed 
 seems to have jjeen the imperious and decided Madame 
 de Grionan, whose word and resolution were uttered as 
 law. Aware as .^^Fadame de Sevigne a\iis of her 
 daughter's temper, still we perceive she always hoped 
 to be able to prevail against it ; and when finally dis- 
 appointed she cannot help alluding, someAvhat in anger, 
 
 VOL. I. A A ^ 
 
:V\(\ MADAME UE >^EVI(AXE. [CiiAr. XXVIIL 
 
 to ^ladame de Grignan's pliilosopliy, whieli to us reads 
 like anotlior ^vord for indifference, ' If instead of phi- 
 losopliizing so miieli, you liad granted me with frank- 
 nr.^s and goodwill that time Avhicli I asked of yon, it 
 Avonld have been a proof of your affection very Avell 
 placed ; but I insist on nothing : you know best your 
 o\\ii affairs, and I perfectly understand that they may 
 need your presence.' 
 
 The resignation of Madame de Sevione was in Gfreat 
 part feigned, as Madame dc Grignan must have known,; 
 but it was a pleasure fur tliat fond mother to try and 
 per-uade herself of her daughter's affection, and the 
 anxiety ]^^Iadame de Grignan professed for her mother's 
 liealth served as a pretext for it. 
 
 This first illness of .AFadame de Sevigne had, in a 
 mind already disposed to seriousness, excited reflections 
 of a grave nature. Her desire to attain that devout state 
 she judged necessary for her eternal salvation became 
 every day greater. She is constantly exchanging sen- 
 timents in reo'ard to this with her dauoliter. ^ You 
 inquire of me Avhether I am devote, Alas ! no, my 
 child, and I am very surry for it ; but it seems to me,. 
 ])(*A^(^ver, that I detach myself a little from what is 
 termed the world. Old aiii; and illness oive leisure to 
 make oreat reflections.' At the same time she owns 
 that what sIk; withdraws from the public she gives to 
 her daughter, who cA'cr eni>Tosses her thouodits. She 
 begs h<'r to tell her every detail of her house, her 
 room, her balconies, her terraces; everything that 
 
1676.] MADAME BE FKQVIGSY. 3G 
 
 •■>r.'"7 
 
 belongs to I\radame de Grignan Ix'comes v, source 
 of ciiriositv and interest to lier mother. 
 
 The three weeks at Yiehy passed rapidly for the 
 marquise: she had benefited l)y the waters, enjoyed 
 the society of her friends, and admired the charming 
 country she was in. Other persons known both to- 
 mother and daughter had arrived at Vichy. She 
 speaks of the ' Ijonne Pequigny,' mother to the Due 
 de Chaulnes, who in her desire to resemble IMadame dc 
 Sevigne did everything in imitation of her, forgetful 
 of her seventy-six j'cars. When, however, there was 
 something to praise, the marquise soon forgot what 
 was ridiculous, and speaking of jNTadame de Pequigny, 
 she says — ' She is the only person whom I ever saw 
 exercise without control tlie virtue of liljerality. She 
 has two thousand five hundred louis, <:)f which she is 
 determined not to take back one. She gives, she 
 clothes, she feeds the poor ; if she is asked for a pistole 
 she oives two. I had only imaoined what I see in 
 her. It is true that she has an income of twenty- 
 five thousand ecus a year, and that in Paris she 
 does not spend ten. This is what makes her magni- 
 ficent ; and I think she is to be praised for having 
 the will with the power — two things generally always 
 se^jarated. ' 
 
 Well might Madame de Sevigne say on another 
 occasion, alludino; to the words of Solon, ' that none are 
 to be praised l)efore death,' — ■' This is very provoking 
 for me, who am fond o^praisiiig what is praiseworth}' 
 
368 MAJJAMI-: l)E S±:riGXK. [Chap.XXVIIL 
 
 — lioAv^ wait ? I .shall contimic my own way, even if 
 I am to alter afterwards/ 
 
 We have msistecl before on this most amiable side of 
 Madame de Sevigne's eharaeter, and it is in accordance 
 Avitli that sense of justice AAdiich animated her. She 
 ignored no feeling that elevates the mind, and naturally 
 her soul found itself raised to that hiah level which 
 others labour for years to attain. 
 
1676.] RETURN FROM VICHY. 369 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 1676. 
 
 Madame de Se\agne leaves Vicliy. — Her reception by Madame Fonquet, 
 Madame de Fienui's, the Comtesse de Vaux. — Arrival in Paris. — 
 Trial and execution ul the Marquise de Brin\dlliers. — Madame de 
 Se^dgn6's «k'Scri]dion of the court at A^crsailles. — She retirrns to 
 Livry. — The Baron d(.' Se'viiiiK-' distin^niishes himsell' at Aire. — Ad\dce 
 to Madame de GriL;nan on the education of her son. — Declining 
 favour of I\ladame de Montespan. — Madame de Coulauges at Ver- 
 sailles. — Her illness. — Life of Madame de Se^dgne at Li"\ay. — ■ 
 Peculiarity of her disj)Osition. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne left Vicliy on the 1 4tli of June, 
 aud as usual she \\Tote to JMaJame de Grignan at every 
 place where she rested on the jouiDey. Her first 
 stoppage is at Langlar, the country house of the Abbe 
 Bayard, whose visits she had several times received at 
 Vichy. She is pleased with the beauty of the place, 
 with the liberty the host allows his guests to enjoy, 
 and immediately she wishes her daughter by her side. 
 Her thoughts lead her back to that ever-recurring re- 
 collection — that life is speeding away and she S(^pa- 
 ra,ted from Madame de Grignan. ' It puts me in 
 mind/ she says, ' of a man in Brittany Avho spoke to 
 me of the avarice of a certain priest, and said quite 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 B B 
 
370 MADAME DE SEVIGX£. [Chap. XXIX. 
 
 naturally, *' In a word, maclame, lie is a man who eats 
 hake all his life that he may eat salmon after his 
 death/' I found that just, and make the application 
 of it noAY. Duty, and the consideration of the w^orld, 
 cause us to cat hake all our lives, in order to eat 
 salmon afterwards/ 
 
 The journey back was painful to Madame de Sevigne ; 
 every step she took increasing the distance between 
 her and her daughter. ' I am going ever further from 
 you ; but it cannot be without sorrow or without 
 reflecting on the laws we impose on ourselves, and the 
 martyrdom we suffer in preferring so often our duty 
 to our inclination : this is a fine example of it/ 
 
 As at every town or village she rested, Madame de 
 Sevigne w^as met by some friend eager to welcome 
 her, she could at least indulge in the pleasure of talk- 
 in :>- of Madame de Grioiian. At Moulins she sees 
 T,:adame Fouquet, who receives her with affection ; at 
 T\iontargis, the governor and his wife, Madame de 
 Fiennes, Avelcome her; at Yaux, the eldest son of 
 Fouquet, the Comte de Vaux, gives her a great supper, 
 riid no doubt in those gardens where she had known 
 the surintendant in the plenitude of his power. In 
 pri.'ocnce of all the wonders his magnificence had 
 created, her thoughts reverted sadly to the solitary 
 prisoner at Pignerol. 
 
 In Paris, wdiich she reached on the last day of June, 
 Madame de Sevigne was greeted with delight by her 
 kind uncle, who in his extreme satisfaction found no 
 
1676.] EXECUTION OF MADAME DE BBINVILLIEBS. 371 
 
 better expression of his joy than by wishing her to 
 experience a similar one soon. Mesdames cle ViUars, 
 de St.-Geran, d'Heuclicourt, Monsiem^ de k Eoche- 
 foucaiikl, the C^oulanges, Mesdames de Sanzei and 
 d'Hacqueville, all those friends of the marquise hasten 
 to visit her as if her absence had been of months in- 
 stead of weeks. Madame de la Fayette was absent 
 at Chantilly. Bussy, who was in Paris Avith a permit, 
 came also to visit his cousin. Being obliged to keep 
 her room for a few days after her return from Vichy, 
 Madame de Sevigne received on all sides proofs of the 
 consideration in Vvdiich she was held by the influx of 
 friends who came to bear her company. Once more 
 is she informed of all the ncAvs of the court and town. 
 Madame de Brinvilliers was still occupying public 
 attention. Her end was near : her sentence had been 
 pronounced, and Madame de Sevigne gives her 
 dauokter an account of a spectacle which revolts our 
 more humane feekngs, and which Avas presented to 
 the capital of France on a bright summer's evening. 
 
 ' It is done ! Brinvilkers is in thr air. Her poor 
 little lx)dy was, after execution, thrown into a great 
 fire, and her ashes scattered to the winds. . . . She 
 was condemned yesterday, and this morniDg her sen- 
 tence was read to her. It was, that she was to make 
 apology at Notre Dame, to be bekeaded, her body 
 burnt, and her ashes scattered to the winds. She was 
 put to the torture, and said there was no need for it; 
 she would tell oalL In fact, she gave an account of her 
 
 B B 2 
 
372 MADAME DE SEVIQJSrB. [Chap. XXIX. 
 
 life, which is more dreadful even than what was 
 imagined. She gave poison to her father ten times 
 (she did not succeed with him), to her brothers, and 
 several others, and in everything love and intrigue 
 Avere mingled. After this confession they did not, 
 however, spare her the torture : she added nothing to 
 what she had abeady said. She asked to speak to 
 Monsieur ]e Procureur-general, and remamed an hour 
 Avith him. The subject of their discourse is not yet 
 known. At six o'clock she was led in a shift, with a 
 rope round her neck, to make an apology at Notre 
 Dame ; then she was put in the cart, where I saw her, 
 thrown back on the straw, with a low cap and in her 
 shift, a doctor at one side, the executioner at the other ; 
 verily it made me shudder. Those who saw the 
 execution say she ascended the scaffold with great 
 courage.^ 
 
 The miserable creature, thus submitted to an ordeal 
 too frightful to imagine, had gone through all the 
 cruel formalities of justice of those days with indomi- 
 table courage : she had heard her sentence read with- 
 out fear or weakness ; she had ascended the scaffold 
 alone and barefooted, and for a Cjuarter of an hour 
 submitted to the sinister preparations of the execu- 
 tioner. ' It was dreadful cruelty, and there was a 
 general murmur,' writes Madame de Sevigne, 
 
 AVe have dwelt upon this incident, revolting as it 
 is, in order to give an idea of the Paris of those days, 
 with its heaving crowds pressing on the tracks of the 
 
1676.] REFLECTIONS ON HUMANITY. 3T:i 
 
 cart that was bearing that great ciimiual to an igno- 
 minious death, but not to prove that we are any l3etter 
 or more humane than people were in the seven- 
 teenth century. On the contrary, we are convinced 
 that the crowd of our day is as ferocious and blood- 
 thirsty as in the days of Madame de Sevigne ; the 
 difference is in civilization, and there we think the 
 difference is really an important one. Races are like 
 individuals ; see how a child, the most affectionate, 
 can quietly witness an accident, or an act of cruelty 
 which revolts us. Is that child's little heart more in- 
 sensil:)le than ours 1 No ; every year marks in children 
 a progress in the faculty of compassion ; it grows with 
 them. The very Uttle ones are naturally cruel ; they 
 inflict pain, because they understand not what it is ; 
 it requu-es a certain amount of reasoning to compre- 
 hend the sufferings of others ; a crowd of low rabble 
 are the more insensible to reason as they are more 
 ignorant. Sufiering is a privilege of intelligence; 
 the more developed our minds, the quicker we appre- 
 hend every impression. In the nineteenth century 
 there is in every crowd a much larger number of per- 
 sons endowed with the faculty to re(;eive impressions 
 than there was in the seventeenth century. The indi- 
 viduals taken separately aie no better, but a croAvd is 
 more imao-inative. It is one reason, we think, why 
 such an execution as that of Madame de Brinvilliers 
 would not be possible in oiu' day. 
 
 We will now turn from that sad spectacle, and 
 
374 MADAME BE SEVIGNK [Chap. XXIX. 
 
 to refresh ourselves will follow Madame cle Sevigne to 
 Versailles, to become acquainted at one view with the 
 enchanting sight that royalty, beauty, and magni- 
 ficence gave to the world, that is to France. St.-Ger- 
 main was now finally given up, and Versailles, that 
 ' favourite without merit,^ definitively adopted. 
 
 ' Let me inform you, my child, of a change of scene 
 which will appear to you as agreeable as it does to 
 everyone,^ writes Madame de Sevigne. ' I went to Ver- 
 sailles on Saturday with the Villars. This is how 
 things are disposed. You are acc[uainted with the 
 toilette of the queen, the mass, the dinner ; but it is 
 now no longer necessary to be suffocated while their 
 majesties are at table, for at three o'clock the king, the 
 queen. Monsieur, Madame, Mademoiselle, all the 
 princes and princesses there are, Madame de Montespan 
 and all her suite, all the courtiers, all the ladies, in a ^ 
 word, what is called the court of France, find them- 
 selves in that fine apartment of the king that you 
 know. All is furnished divinely, all is magnificent. 
 One knows not what it is to be hot, and it is easy to 
 pass from one room to another without the slightest 
 crush. A game of reversi shapes and settles every- 
 thing. It consists of the king (Madame de Montespan 
 holds the card), Monsieur, the queen and Madame de 
 Soubise, Dangeau and company, Langiee and com- 
 pany. A thousand louis are thrown on the table; 
 there are no other markers. I saw Dangeau play, and 
 I admired how ignorant we are compared with him. He 
 
1676.] THE COURT OF VERSAILLES. 375 
 
 o< iJ 
 
 thinks of nothing but his affairs, and wins where others 
 lose. He neglects nothing ; he profits by all ; he is 
 never inattentive ; in fact, his good management defies 
 fortune; therefore two hundred thousand francs in 
 ten days, one hundred thousand ecus in one month are 
 inscribed in his book of gains. He said I was takino; 
 part in his game, and therefore I was seated very 
 agreeably and conveniently. I bowed to the king, as 
 you taught me to do, and he returned it as if I had 
 been young and handsome. The queen talked to me 
 of my illness ; she also spoke of you. Monsieur le 
 Due caressed me a thousand times, of which he 
 thinks nothing. The Marechal de Lorges spoke 
 to me of the Chevalier de Grignan, in fact, tutti 
 quant i ; you know what it is to receive a word from 
 each person on your way. j\ladame de Montespan 
 talked to me of Bourbon, and begged me to tell her 
 about A^ic'hy, and how I liked it. She told me that 
 Bourbon, instead of curing one knee, had made both 
 bad. I found her ^' back much flatter," as the Marechal 
 de la i\Ieilleraye used to say ; Imt seriously, her beauty 
 is surprising. Her figure is much slimmer than it was, 
 and her complexion, her eyes, her lips are as before. 
 She was dressed in j^oint de France ; her hair in a 
 thousand curls, the two on her temples falling low on 
 her cheeks ; black ribbons on her head, and pearls of 
 the Marechale de THopital, improved by ornaments 
 of diamonds of the greatest beauty; three or four pins, 
 no cap ; in fact, a triumphant beauty to be admired 
 
376 MADAME DE SEVIONE. [Chap. XXIX. 
 
 by all tlie ambassadors. She had learnt that com- 
 plaints had been made that she hindered the whole of 
 France from seeing the king. She has given him back, 
 as you see, and you camiot imagine tlie joy there is, 
 or of what magnificence it makes the court. That 
 agreeable confusion without confusion of all that is 
 most select, lasts from three o'clock till six. If 
 couriers arrive the king retires to read his letters, and 
 then retm'ns. There is always some music for him to 
 listen to, and it has a good effect. He converses with 
 those ladies accustomed to that honour. Finally, play 
 is abandoned at the hour I mentioned ; there is no 
 trouble in settling the accounts, there being no 
 counters. ... At six o'clock they enter their 
 carriages, the king, Madame de Montespan, Monsieur, 
 Madame de Thianges, and the good D'Heudicom't on 
 the strapontiii^^ which she regards as paradise. You 
 know how the carriages are made ; there is no looking 
 at one another, everybody is turned the same way. 
 The Cjueen is in another with the princesses, and the 
 rest grouped according to their fancy. Some go in 
 gondolas on the canal, where there is music. At ten 
 o'clock all return, when a comedy is performed ; mid- 
 night strikes, and then 'media noche. This is how 
 Saturday was spent. We left when the carriages came 
 for the chive. 
 
 ' To tell you how many persons spoke to me of you, 
 how often you were inquired after, how many ques- 
 
 * An inferior seat. 
 
1G7G] THE COURT OF VERSAILLES. :^T7 
 
 tions were put to me which waited fV)r no answer, how 
 many I spared, how little it was cared for, and how 
 much less I cared a1)0ut it, would Ije to describe to 
 you from nature the huqua corte: Still it was never 
 more agreeable, and it is to be desiri.'d that it may con- 
 tinue so. ]\Iadame de Nevers was extremely handsome, 
 modest, and unafiected ; her beauty reminds me of 
 you. Monsieur de Nevers is always the same ; his wife 
 loves him passionately. Mademoiselle de Thianges' 
 beauty is more regular than that of her sister. Mon- 
 sieur du Maine is incomparaljle ; his intelligence is 
 surprising ; he says things that are not to he conceived. 
 Madame de ]\Iaintenon, ]\Iadame de Thianges, Guelphs 
 and Ghibellines ; reflect that all are assemljled. 
 Madame made me a thousand civilities for the sake of 
 the orood Princesse de Tarente. Madame de Monaco 
 was in Paris/ 
 
 It was indeed a strange sight, tliat of so many hos- 
 tile parties all gathered together. St.-Simon repeatedly 
 proves that Louis XIV, by his preference for the 
 children born to him by Madame de Montespan, 
 altered the Avhole face of the court ; that he lavished 
 dignities on the Due du ]\Iaine and his sisters, Avhile 
 princes of the royal blood were left unprovided for. It 
 was then the commencement of that confusion of rank : 
 Louis XIV did not follow in his conduct the steps of 
 any of his predecessors : he made known his will, and 
 it became law. Madame de Se^dgne and all the court 
 were astonished when they saw the position given to 
 
378 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. [Chap. XXIX. 
 
 tlie cliildren of Madame de Montespan, and to tlieir 
 o'ovemess, for it was in that lig-lit Madame de Main- 
 tenon was still regarded ; and lier extreme favom", 
 then visible to all, was attributed in great part to that 
 connection vrith the king. If on one side the queen 
 l>ore the bitter humiliation of seeing: the courtiers more 
 eager for the glances of her rival than her own, that 
 " triumphant beauty ' was day by day witnessing the 
 increasing rise and power of one whom her hand had 
 rescued from poverty and dependence, and who, 
 arrived at maturity, was robbing her of her power and 
 of her children. 
 
 From the 'iniquitous court,' as Madame de Sevigne 
 so justly characterizes it in Italian, she turned with 
 satisfaction, we are convinced, to her true freedom in 
 the solitude of Livry. The season was oppressively 
 hot : July and, August could not be agreeable in 
 Paris, and the shady walks of Livry offered re- 
 pose and ease. There is a remark to make on 
 the ever-renewed interest with ^^dlicll Madame de 
 Sevigne found herself at Liviy. The constant fresh- 
 ness and intensity of her feelings were such that 
 nothing that is beautiful or agreeable, nothing of 
 nature, nothing of the sentiments of the heart, was 
 ever lost to her eyes ; while to her mind nothing lost 
 its charm because often witnessed or often repeated. 
 Whenever she gazes on green trees, on fresh meadows, 
 be it near Paris, be it after a sojourn of months at the 
 Eochers, everything is new to her. Madame de Sd vigne's 
 
1676.] HEB FACILITY OF EXPItE>^SION. 379 
 
 mind, ever young, like all that is immortal, received 
 every impression with the same vividness it had in the 
 fii'st hour her eyes learnt to discern what was really 
 beautiful. This is the great secret of that wonderful 
 variety in monotony which her letters, the outpour- 
 ings of her heart, present ; they never w^eary be- 
 cause she Avho wrote them never knew weariness. 
 
 It is wonderful with what ease Madame de SeviL!;ne 
 passes from one subject to another, and yet the per- 
 fect harmony of the whole is never clisturL^ed. It is 
 not that she is at any pains to lead up to her transi- 
 tions : no ; a full stop, and one topic takes the place 
 of another, but in every line there Ijreathes that same 
 inspiration which preserves even the most trivial 
 anecdote from oblivion. Everything becomes interest- 
 ino^ as soon as it has come from her hands ; slie herself 
 speaks, and one never tires of hearing her. It is as 
 the melodious voice of a singer, which makes us 
 oblivious of the dull common Avords of the liljretto, 
 only to ];)e charmed hj the music and hj the skill 
 of the interpreter. 
 
 Madame de Sevigne received at Livry the frequent 
 visits of her numerous friends. She welcomed them 
 with pleasm^e, but her principal and real delight in the 
 country Avas in the enjoyment of the calm beauties of 
 Nature, in reading her favourite authors, and, above 
 all, in receiving those ever-wished-for letters from her 
 dauohter. News of her, and news of her son, Avas 
 alAvays anxiously expected. Charles de Sevign^ had 
 
380 MADAME BE SEVIGNE. [Chap. XXIX. 
 
 greatly distiEguishecl himself at the short but success- 
 ful siege of Aire. He had been named to the king 
 amongst the few who had more than accomplished 
 their duty. This was a great and legitimate satisfac- 
 tion to Madame de S<^vio'ne. She descended from a 
 warlike race, and her pride at her son s bravery is 
 easily discernible. That he should do his duty, and 
 do it better than others, was the result of her lesson to 
 him ; though during all his campaigns her anxiety 
 was great, and she often wonders with alarm how it 
 is possible to escape so often in such hot engagements. 
 But Madame de Sevigne did not now limit her 
 anxieties to her amiable son and to her less amiable, 
 though much adored, daughter. The ' little marquis ' 
 — the hope and pride of the Grignans — occupied her 
 thoughts. She wished to see him grow worthy of the 
 great name he was to represent. She seems to have 
 been doubtful of the care Madame de Grignan was 
 likely to bestow on the education, or rather on the 
 tender age and rearing, of her little son. Madame de 
 Sevigne warmly advises her ' to cultivate his budding 
 intelligence,' and adds, ^ I beg you to forgive him all 
 that he may confess with ingenuousness, but never a 
 lie.' These are but few words, but they express a 
 sentiment which in its truth has become trivial, yet 
 we believe they help immensely to an understanding 
 of the character of Madame de Sevime. 
 
 o 
 
 We have said, and we repeat, that she ignored 
 nothing that was good or noble. Is it not touching 
 
1676.] LIFE AT LIVBY. 381 
 
 to represent her to ourselves as anxious and fearful 
 lest that little child of three years might speak what 
 is not true ? It is natural we should think of this for 
 the children at our knees, but it is not so natural that 
 a grandmother, separated by so great a distance, 
 should have that thought, and much less so in the age 
 in which she lived. Children were counted for very 
 little : they must grow out of infancy to accjuh-e any 
 interest for their parents. 
 
 Madame de Grignan herself, cold by nature, seems 
 to have been guilty of a good deal of indifference 
 towards her young family, to grow afterwards passion- 
 ately eager for the fortune and success of the young 
 marquis nnd the charming Pauhne. 
 
 At Livry Madame de Sevigne found herself, by her 
 close proximity to Paris, obliged to accept some of the 
 invitations she rec<,'ived, and when she judged by the 
 ' tone ' that the desire for her presence was really 
 oTcat, she quitted for some hours the dear solitude of 
 her home. In one of her letters she gives her 
 daup^hter an account of a dinner at the house of the 
 ]\Iarquise d'Uxelles, and says that all was worthy of 
 praise. The company was such as to make it agree- 
 able : it was composed of JMonsiein- and J\[adame de 
 Coulano-es, Monsieur de la Eochefoucauld, Madame de 
 la Fayette, and others. J\[adame de CJoulanges is 
 always mentioned with praise and alT(jrtiou : it is with 
 pleasure that Madame de Sevigne impresses on her 
 dauohter that their little friend, as she calls her, is not 
 
382 MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. XXIX. 
 
 tlie dupe of tlie affection of lier friends at court, and 
 tliat if she a^oes there it is because of tlie amusement 
 slie finds. 
 
 We must remember that Madame de Coulanges had 
 been the more particuhxr and intimate friend of 
 Madame ScarrOn, and she remained in distinguished 
 flivour with Madame de Maintenon. Though not 
 yet the real cjueen, she was akeady a power, and 
 better heads than the giddy one of Madame de 
 Coulanges might have been turned by the prospects 
 such an intimacy opened. Not so, however, Avith the 
 Leaf (la Fcuille), another of her surnames : she could, 
 like Madame de Sevigne, turn her back on Versailles, 
 and without envy or jealousy enjoy at Livry the 
 intercourse of her cousin and the amusements they 
 shared. 
 
 At no time was the court of France more brilliant 
 and magnificent. At no time either did it present a 
 spectacle more calculated to inspire serious reflections 
 in those Avho could reflect. It was as it were like 
 witnessing the last desperate eflbrts of one carried 
 away by a strong current, Madame de Montespan, 
 armed Avith her beauty and sarcastic wit, with the 
 power that habit and years can give, was with all her 
 strength resisting the fate that was to overcome her. 
 One day, intoxicated by her renewed ascendency over 
 her royal lover, she in public leans lovingly her proud 
 head on his shoulders. Still there were those Avho 
 mistook not the signs of the time, and who felt sure 
 
167G.] DECLINE OF MADAME DE MONTESPAX. ::58i 
 
 that a change Avas nigh. ' Everyone Ijelieves that the 
 star of Madame de I\I(jntespan is waning/ writ<\-< 
 Madame de Sevigne. ' There arc tcors, an apparent 
 mehmcholv, affected gaiety, quarrels — in a word, 
 everytlhng must have an end. One looks, observe,^, 
 and imagines. Rays of light are discMj^x^red on faces 
 which a month ao;o were crmsidered utterly unworth"\^ 
 to be compared with <jthers. The game goes on very 
 gaily, though the hcJIr keeps her room. Son^e tremble 
 others rejoice, others di-sire immutability, most wish 
 for a change of scene. We are, according to the most 
 clear sighted, at a crisis worthy of attention.' 
 
 With this news came the report that tlnj. Friend (]^Ia- 
 dame de Maintenon) Avas no longer what she had been, 
 Recallino; to rememljrance Madame Scarron, whos^i 
 serious qualities Madame de Sevigue had appreciated, 
 she goes on to say — ' We can count on no good head 
 if that one was not ca})al)le of supporting unaltered 
 the contact of that strange world.' 
 
 Madame de Coulangcs, who after a visit of a few 
 days at Livry had left it to return t<:> Versailles, the 
 better to solicit an appointment she desired to obtain 
 for her husljand, was there attacked hj a malignant 
 fever which very nearly <.'arried her to her grave. In 
 the middle of Septrndn'r, Madame de Sevigne gives 
 the first intimation of it to her daughter. ' The poor 
 Madame de Coulanges,' she says, ' has a strong fever ; 
 she felt the first shivers at Versailles : to-morrow is the 
 fourth day.' 
 
384 MADAME DE SEViaNE. [Chap. XXIX. 
 
 A week later, from tlie house of Madame cle Cou- 
 langes, slie writes a letter full of her grief. She de- 
 scribes the progress of the fever, and exclaims, alluding 
 to the doctors Avho were attending and, as she beheved, 
 bleeding to death Madame de Coulanges : — ' Nothing 
 more is necessary than once to see these gentlemen to 
 be determined never to intrust our poor body to them. 
 ... I have thought twenty times of Molifere since I 
 saw all this.' The biting satire of the great poet 
 aij'ainst the iofnorant and. pedantic doctors, who were 
 chargeable with the deaths of many in that century, 
 had been present to Madame de Sevigne even before 
 she became, by her vigilant attendance on Madame 
 de Coulanges, the daily witness of their blunders. 
 Writing to Madame de Grignan only a few days before 
 the illness of IMndamc de Coulanges, she speaks with 
 amused delight of the pointed and truthful caricatures 
 of the ' Malade Imag;inaire.' 
 
 The presence of Madame de S(3vigne was both a 
 relief and a consolation to Monsieur de Coulanges and 
 the sufferer. The jovial little man, unaccustomed 
 to any emotion but that of pleasure and amusement, 
 was overcome with sorrow at the possibility of losing 
 his wife. ' Write to the petit Coulanges,' says the 
 marquise to her daughter ; ' he has been worthy of com- 
 pnssion : had he lost his wife he would have lost every- 
 thing. It was a touching spectacle when she dictated 
 a letter for Monsieur du Gue, recommending Monsieur 
 de Coulanges to him, adding that conscience and 
 
1676.] ILLNESS OF MADAME BE COULANGES. 
 
 ')ry.j 
 
 justice forced her to acknowledge she had ruined him, 
 and demanding of ]M<:msieur and ^^Icidame du Gue that 
 last proof of theii- affection for her. I assure you it 
 was a very sad scene. You will then Avrite to that 
 poor little man. He is perfectly satisfied with my 
 friendship. Verily it is on such occasions we must 
 show it/ 
 
 Madame de Sevimid could not witness tlie struoo-le 
 between life and death of M adame de Coulano-es with- 
 
 o 
 
 out her mind turning to that great mystery which was 
 to her an object of dread, and yet so constantly pre- 
 sent to her imaoination. Traces of her meditations 
 are discernible in a few lines, where, alluding to some 
 remedies she was trying to rc'duce the swelling of her 
 hands, which had never subsided since her rheumatism, 
 she writes : — ' I shall try a few little remedies for my 
 hands, purely for your sake, as myself I have not much 
 confidence. It is alwa}^s in the desire to please you 
 that I take care of myself, being well persuaded that 
 the hour of my death can neither be advanced nor 
 delayed ; but I obey the counsels of human prudence, 
 being convinced that it is the right way to arrive at 
 what is required by Providence.' 
 
 These words savour of fatalism, and no doubt it was 
 the bent of Madame de Se^igne's mind. She regarded 
 all things as preordained, and she could practise resig- 
 nation only because of that conviction. It is strange 
 to us that one so tender-hearted could have found con- 
 solation in that severe doctrine. It is true she under- 
 
 VOL. I. CO 
 
386 MADAME BE SKVIGNL. [CuAr. XXIX. 
 
 stood it in no passive way ; she explains in the pre- 
 ceding passage what lier conviction was — to strive, to- 
 laljonr, to combat, and then, Avhen every effort has- 
 been made, to snbmit and be patient. Grief slie could 
 fee], but repining never, with that certitude that no 
 strivino' of hers could ever have altered or bettered her 
 
 o 
 
 existence. Such a faith had something in it that was 
 pTand and noble ; and even those who share it not can 
 but revere it in Madame de Sevigne : through life it 
 ^\'as her real courage, and the answer she opposed to 
 every check of Fortune. 
 
 In the month of October, 1676, all anxiety respect- 
 ing Lladame de Coulanges being at an end, Madame 
 de Sevigne had the pleasure of receiving her cousin 
 Bussy at Li\T.y. He came, profiting by the rare per- 
 missions his incessant adulation and solicitation, joined 
 to the assistance of the Due de St.-Aignan, obtained for 
 him from the king. During the few days he spent in 
 the country, Bussy hastened to write to Madame de 
 Grignan, knowing it was the best way to please his 
 cousin. Bussy was also greatly attached to his eldest 
 daughter, Madame de Coligny, who was widowed in 
 the first year of her marriage, and who completely de- 
 voted herself to her father. She was preferred by him 
 before all his other children, and he justified his par- 
 tiality for his daughter, and his cousin's preference for 
 Madame de Grignan, by saying that their two 
 daughters being so extraordinary in merit, should be 
 regarded with extraordinary affection. It was too 
 
1676.] HER SIKGULAE TIMIDITY. 387 
 
 true ; Madame de Sevigne's preference coidd not be 
 kept a soeret ; it ^\'as exlidjited in all her actions, and 
 by flattering it no douljt Biissy made himself agreeable 
 to his cousin. 
 
 Bussy in his letter to Madame de Grignan assures 
 her that ^Madame de Sevio'ue is all the better for his 
 presence and his good spirits. She profited by them a 
 very short time however, finding herself again in the 
 undisturbed and somewhat melancholy enjoyment of 
 the last days of autumn. She describes these ad- 
 miralty to her daughter : — 
 
 ' The weather is miraculous ; it is those beautiful 
 crystal days of autumn which are no longer warm, and 
 yet not cold. I am charmed with them, and remain 
 out of doors from ten in the morning till five in the 
 afternoon, not losing a moment of them ; and at five, 
 with admirable obedience, I retire. It is not without 
 humbling myself, and acknowledging Avith great dis- 
 pleasure that I am a miserable mortal, that a foolish 
 timidity compels me to shun the fresh dew — my oldest 
 friend, which I accuse, perhaps unjustly, of all my 
 •^oes — and take refuge in the church, and close my 
 eyes tdl I am told that there are lights in my room. 
 For at dusk I require complete obscurity, as that of 
 the woods or a church ; or else I must have three or 
 four persons to talk wdth me.' 
 
 It is worthy of attention how often the most joyous 
 dispositions are most susceptible to sadness from out- 
 ward causes. Madame de Suvigne could not resist 
 
 C C 2 
 
388 MADAME BE 8:EVIGN:E. [Chap. XXIX. 
 
 certain impressions, and more than once she mentions 
 her dread of being alone in her room when the shadows 
 are falling without. That hour, delightful to many, 
 when one can sit in repose and enjoy a tranquil 
 dreamy moment, was repugnant to her. At such 
 times her imagination had to grapple with the phan- 
 toms it evoked : her daughter ill, her daughter ever 
 absent, rose before her, and to avoid such images she 
 sought first the woods, and then, when that was for- 
 bidden, it was the solitude of a church. 
 
1676.] ILLNESS OF THE BARON. 
 
 389 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 1676-7. 
 
 The Baron cle S6vigii6 arrives at Livry.— Joy of his mother. — Indecision 
 of Madame de Grignan. — She goes to Lamhesc instead of visiting 
 Paris.—Disappointment of Madame de Se\agne.—Langlee's present 
 to Madame de Montespan. — His position and fortime. — Singular 
 present of Dangean to Madame de Montespan. — Arrival of Madame 
 de (irignan. — State of her health. — Charles de Se\dgne a sous- 
 lieutenant of the Gendarmes-Daupliins. — Departure of Madame de 
 Grignan. 
 
 The affiiirs of Madame cle Grio;nan and those of the 
 Baron de Sevig;ne brouo-ht their mother back to Paris 
 earlier than she had intended to come. For Madame 
 de Grio-nan she had some favours to ask, but for the 
 baron there was more serious business to attend to. 
 While with the army he had had an attack of rheuma- 
 tism, and he had written to his mother to obtain him 
 leave of absence. It was no easy task, as Madame de 
 S^vigne well knew, and the necessity of seeing Colbert 
 in the interest of her daughtei', and Louvois in that of 
 her son, was far from agrecaljle. Before, however, she 
 could obtain the wished-for permission, the baron, 
 regardless of the consequences, arrived at Livry, not 
 daring to show himself at Paris. Madame de Sevigne 
 
390 MADAME DE 8BVIGNE. [CiiAr. XXX. 
 
 went into the country to receive liim, and it hy 
 chance happened that they met at the end of the 
 avenue. 'We entered, we embraced each other, we 
 talked of twenty things in the same breath, we ques- 
 tioned each other, never waiting for an answer. In a 
 word, that interview partook of all the joy and con- 
 fusion with which such meetings are generally accom- 
 panied/ 
 
 ■i 
 
 It was always with strong expressions of delight that 
 jMadame de Sevigne met her son. His warm and 
 affectionate disposition corresponded exactly with 
 hers, and we imagine that imconsciously, if she wept 
 more when she left Madame de Grignan, her joy for 
 the moment was purer when she received her son ; no 
 clouds ever darkened the first hour of their reunion. 
 Everything Avas spontaneous with Madame de Sevigne 
 when meeting' her son, and when meetino; Madame de 
 Grioiian everythim>: was calculated. Ever fearino; to. 
 displease or hurt her daughter, from the moment she 
 clasped her in her arms, Madame de Sevigne must 
 have expi'rienced some diffidence, some fear, which 
 could not give to such meetings the open joyousness 
 of those with her son. Entering into all the wishes 
 and desires of liis mother, the amiable baron hastened 
 to add his solicitations to hers, and in a few lines, the 
 most affectionate and gay, he pressed Madame de 
 Grignan to liasten her arrival. 
 
 The question was, wli ether, for her mother's sake, 
 the comtesse in Provence would consent to allow Mon- 
 
1G7G-7.] INDECISION OF HER DAUGHTER. 391 
 
 sieiir cle Grignan to go alone to Lambesc for the 
 Etats, and herself precede him to Paris by two or 
 three months. Madame de Sevigne desired it ardently, 
 and she answered the objections of her daughter with 
 some pain. Madame de Grig;nan saw nothing; but 
 
 J- o o 
 
 obstacles, and reasons for remaining. Madame de 
 Sevigne thought otherwise. 'I continue to implore 
 you, my beloved, to decide in my favour, and to waver 
 no longer to undertake a journey you have promised 
 me, and -which in truth you oavc me a little. I am 
 not the only one to oljser^'e that you bargain a good 
 deal to please me. Start, then, my daughter ; start.' 
 
 On that occasion Madame de Grignan was justified 
 in delaying her journey for a month or two. The task 
 devolving on the lieutenant-governor at the Etats v^as 
 a difficult and disaon-eeable one. The demands of the 
 king were exorbitant, and he who presented them 
 could not but find himself regarded as responsil:)le for 
 what in truth he was entirely innocent. The presence 
 of a woman like the Comtesse de Grignan, young, 
 clever, and l^eautiful, would be a powerful auxiliary to 
 her husljand. Madame de Sevigne is most unwillingly 
 fjrcM'd to say — ' You are reasonable ; you love me, 
 you see better than I can what you may do, and 
 what is in your way. You are at full liberty to 
 decide.' 
 
 JMadame de Grignan, her mother tells us in her 
 letters, was long in taking a resolution ; and no doubt 
 at that moment she hesitated, drawn as she was on one 
 
S\)-2 MADAME BE SEVIGNE. [Chap. XXX. 
 
 side l)y tlie warm entreaties of her mother, on the 
 otlior hy the affection she bore Monsieur cle Grignan 
 and what she believed to be her duty to him. * It is 
 a great truth, my daughter, that indecision robs us of 
 our liberty. If you were compelled you would have 
 taken a resolution/ 
 
 Her resolution was takeu, however, but it was not 
 such as Madame de Sevigne desired. T\^iile with her 
 son and the Chevalier de Grignan she was discoursing 
 on the prol:>nble arrival of her daughter, she received a 
 letter informing: her that Madame de Grionan had 
 started for Lanibesc, and Madame de Sevigne, who on 
 the 11th of November was thinking only of going to 
 Paris to receive her daughter, writes on the 13th — 
 ' And so, my daughter, you are at Lambesc, and at the 
 time I was still hoping for your presence, you were 
 going towards the Durance. One had needs be pos- 
 sessed of as much reason as you have to submit to this 
 disappointment, and I own toyou,^that whatever you 
 may think my feelings are on this occasion, you cannot 
 represent them with truth.' 
 
 In spite of her grief, Madame de Sevigne was too 
 just not to admit the force of Madame de Grignan's 
 reasons : — ' You will be very useful to Monsieur de 
 Grignan, and I am compelled to own that nothing is 
 wiser or more dignified than your conduct.' 
 
 The interval Madame d<j Sevigne had still to wait 
 before se(,'iiig her daughter was sliortened by the pre- 
 sence of her son. She remained with him at Livry, 
 
1676.] MADAME BE MOXTESPAJSPS PRESENT. 393 
 
 and he wrote to his sister that their mother rather 
 wished him to be worse than he was, that she might 
 repay him for the care he had taken of her during her 
 illness. ' I do all I can/ says he, ' to console my 
 mother for the bad weather, and for having left Paris ; 
 but she will not listen to me when I talk of this. She 
 isiihvays reverting to the care I took of her during her 
 illness, and as far as I can judge from what she says, 
 she is extremely sorry that my rheumatism is not in 
 every limb and accompanied by fever, that she might 
 be able to prove to me the extent of her affection and 
 gratitude/ 
 
 Madame de Sevign^, though keeping her son com- 
 pany during those winter days, was constantly visiting 
 Paris. Madame de Coulanges was occupying Madame 
 de Griofnan's room in the house of Madame de Sevimie, 
 to forget the room in wdiich, she jokingly said, she had 
 * died/ From her Madame de Sevigne heard the 
 news of the court, for ^^'hich she was always curious, 
 and for wdiich Madame de Grignan had an equal 
 relish. Madame de Montespan is still the person on 
 whom all eyes are turned. ' Langiee,' says Madame 
 de Sdvigne, 'has given to Madame de Montespan a 
 dress of gold, embroidered with gold, trimmed with 
 gold, over it worked gold, mixed with gold, blended 
 to a certain other gold. It makes the most divine 
 stuff that was ever imagined. , It is the fairies who did 
 this work in secret ; no human heing knew of it. It 
 was determined to offer it as mysteriously as it had 
 
304 MADAME DE 8EVIGNE. [Chap. XXX. 
 
 been manufactured. Madame de Montespan's tailor 
 brouglit her a dress slie had ordered, havmg made it 
 to an absurd measure. Directly she tried it on she 
 exclaims with such cries and reproaches as you can 
 imagine. The tailor, trembling, says to her, *' Madame, 
 as the time is short, will you see if the dress I have 
 here would not satisfy you in default of iha other ? " 
 He shows it. " M\, the Ijcautiful thing 1 what mate- 
 rial 1 comes it from heaven ? there are no such on 
 earth.'' The king arrives. The tailor says, "Madame, 
 it is for you/' They understand it is a piece of 
 gallantry ; but who can have made the present ? "It 
 is LangltM'/' says the king. " It is Langlee assuredly,'' 
 ansAvers Madame de ]\Iontespan ; " nobody but him 
 can have imaoined such maoiiificence." " It is 
 Laugiee, it is Langlee," is repeated by everybody. 
 "It is Langlee," cvcil the echoes own it; and I, my 
 daughter, to l.)e in fashion, I repeat it is Langlee.' 
 
 This little episode is so characteristic of the time 
 tjiat v^e Lave tlioiio-ht it well to mve it in full, but a 
 fuw words of explanation of the giver, of Langlee, arc 
 n('<'es8ary. The son of a bed-chamljer woman of the 
 ijueen dowager, of no family, he had been l)y his 
 mother early introiluced to court. There he attached 
 himself particularly to Monsieur. He was a man of 
 perfect taste, and soon became an authority on ques- 
 tiijus of dress, jewelry, and furniture. His forte, how- 
 e\^er, was the gaming-table. Of consummate skill, 
 and without being ever suspected of iho, slightest dis- 
 
1076.] SKETCH OF LAX<-^Lf.E. 305 
 
 lionesty, lie acquired an immense fortune by liis gains. 
 He sliared the lieayy play with the king, and stoc);] ex- 
 tremely well with 3dadame de j\Iuntespan. "Without 
 being particularly distinguished by the king, he was 
 admitted into all the })l(.'asures and amusements of the 
 court. Obliging, ready to lend, not in a hurry for 
 repayment, he was generally liked, and his advice con- 
 stantly sought. Later in life his intimacy extended to 
 the king's daughter, and to the last he always main- 
 tained his singular position. In reading St.-Simon 
 one is struck l)y the nundjer of adventurers, if we may 
 so term them, who niadtj their way in a court so proud 
 and exclusive. It is amusino^ to see the welhbred am- 
 tempt with which tSt. -Simon renders justice to the 
 equalities of such people, appearing all the vrhile as- 
 tonishc^d that they should ever have Ijreathed the same 
 air as himself 
 
 Madame de ]i[ontesp;!n, to return to her, vras still 
 thought to l,)e in fa^^our, otherwise she would not have, 
 received such presents, for the example of Langlee 
 was followed a f jw da}'s after l)y Dangeau, who was his 
 exact counterpart, having been introduced to court in 
 much the same way, erpially fortunate at cards, and 
 ecj^ually esteemed for fair i>lay. 0])liging, and <:-(»n- 
 sidered by the king and Madame de ]\rontespnn, he 
 had, to please the haughty marcjuise, taken it into his 
 head to form a menagery at Clagny, the house the 
 kino' had oiyoii her. ^ He has collected, at a cost of 
 more than two thousand ecus, the most tender turtle- 
 
390 MADAME DE SEVIGNK [Chap. XXX. 
 
 doves, the fattest cows, tlie most curly sheep, the 
 ducks of duclis, and yesterday this jBue assemblage 
 Avas passed in review/ 
 
 This present seems strange indeed to us, and it is 
 probable that the belle preferred the dress of gold, the 
 gift of Langlee. 
 
 One of the reasons which called Madame de Sevio^ne 
 from Livry was her desh^e to obtain the payment of 
 the pension granted to Monsieur de Grignan. She 
 went, not to Versailles, but to St.-Germain, Avhere she- 
 was coldly received by Coll3ert. We know slip de- 
 tested him for the part he had taken at the time of 
 Fouquet's trial, and his only answer to her application, 
 well arranged as she says it was, was — ' I shall see 
 al)Out it, madame,' and accompanied her to the door. 
 Afte]:;^that, to console herself, Madame de Sevigne goes 
 to dine with her kind friend Pomponne. 
 
 Her disapjjointment, however, was of short duration, 
 as together ^yit]l the news that her daughter would ^ 
 soon be with her, came the assurance that woulcL end 
 her son's exile and uncertainty. To return to Paris 
 with her son, and there to receive her daughter was 
 indeed all that Madame de Sevign^ could desire. The 
 last letters addressed to Madame de Grignan, and 
 which met her at the different towns Avhere she stopped, 
 are <'xpressive (^f tlic keenest delight. It is as a sud- 
 den cha])ge of rhythm, and readiug those letters after 
 the lapse of years, there is all the unexpected and 
 happy effects musicians draw from such transitions. 
 
16 76.] INCONSISTENCY OF HER DAUGHTER. 397 
 
 We have l)een tormented, anxious, eager with Madame 
 de Sevigne, and with her also we throw aside all such 
 feelings only to be glad. 
 
 Happy days Avere those of expectation to Madame 
 de Sevigne, the happiest of all we believe, for the 
 much-desired presence of Madame de Grignan always 
 brought with it sufferings of another kind, and par- 
 ticularly were they very great during that stay of a 
 little over five months she was going to make with 
 her mother. 
 
 Madame de Grionan seems to have been both cold 
 and jealous, for when Madame de Sevigne expresses 
 too warmly her desu-e to see her daughter, she is 
 blamed by her; and when she gives way to the good 
 or bad reasons of Madame de Grignan, she is accused 
 of indifference. 
 
 As Madame de Grignan started from Lambesc, on 
 her way to Paris, her mother's thoughts flew to her in 
 affection and gratitude : the journey was regarded by 
 one so over-fond as a meritorious act : Madame de 
 Grignan was thanked in glowing terms for thus setting 
 out in the dej)th of winter. ' What do I not owe to 
 you, my child, for so much trouble, fatigTie, annoyance, 
 cold, frosts, and sleepless nights ? I feel as if I had 
 suffered all those inconveniences myself ; my thoughts 
 have not been one moment separated from you, and I 
 have found a hundred times that I am not worthy of 
 the extreme trouble you are taking for me ; that is on 
 a certain side, for that of tenderness and affection 
 
:yjP> MADAME BE SEVIGNE. [Chap. XXX. 
 
 must give me great merit in your eyes. What a 
 journe}^ ! and in what a season ! You will arrive pre- 
 cisely on the shortest clay in the year, and conse- 
 quently you Avill bring us Ijack the sun. I have seen 
 a motto which Avould be very appropriate to me. It 
 is a tree, leafless and Avithout life, aud around it these 
 words — Fin che sol ritorni [Till the sun returns]. 
 What say you of it, my daughter ? ' 
 
 The meeting so eagerly looked forward to, on one 
 side at least, took place on the 2i5nd December, 1676, 
 at Villeneuve St.-Georges, where JMadame de Sevigne 
 went to meet her dauo-hter. Madame de Griman 
 
 o o 
 
 arrived exhausted by the fatigues of her journey of 
 twenty days, and so altered, so delicate in appearance, 
 that Madame de Sevigne hardly knew her. Such a 
 sight threw a gloom over the very first hour of their 
 meetino\ and the anxious solicitude of Madame de 
 Sevigne rendered the stay of Madame de Grignan a 
 continual alternation of painful differences. 
 
 Bussy was in Paris on the arrival of the Belle 
 Madelonne, as Avith the privilege of age and relation- 
 ship, he, like Madame de Sevigne, termed Madame 
 de Grimian. He remained in Paris till March of the 
 following year, but his occupations prevented his seeing 
 much of his cousin, and starting for Burgundy he 
 Amtes to Madame de Sevigne, that at least he will 
 now enjoy her correspondence. 
 
 AVe know little of the early months of 1677 ; they 
 were spent in Paris by mother and daughter. Mon- 
 
1677.] I^ETUIIN OF MADAME I)E GEIGNAK. 301^ 
 
 sieur de Grignan had j<jiiied them there ; but in spite 
 of such a happy reunion, letters written after the 
 separation in June bear traces of how Utile satisfactory 
 to either were those moments so eaLi;( rly desired and so 
 im])atiently antiripated. 
 
 One happy event occurred for ]\Iadame de Sevigne ; 
 her son did at last succeed in riddin^r himself of his 
 post, so obnoxious to him. He bouglit of La Fare, 
 the appointment of sous-lieutenant of the CTcndarmes- 
 Dauphins, and thus found himself at tlie head of the 
 company. The dauphin was becoming ever}- day a 
 more important personage in the state, and this ad- 
 vancement, though rather dearly purchased, Avas 
 looked upon with great satisfaction by the marquise. 
 
 The visit of Madirmc de Grignan Avas cut short by 
 the very tenderness of her mother : for the sake of 
 both a separation Avas judged essential, and on the Sth 
 of June, 1677, Monsieur and jMadame de Grignan 
 left Paris. 
 
 To the grief of separating from her daughter Avas 
 this time added the keenest anxieties about her health. 
 What such days were to Madame de Sevigne she has 
 described already in the most vivid terms. On the 
 mornino' she bade adieu to her dear children, she 
 turned for consolation to Madame de la Troche, Avho, 
 attached as she Avas to the marquise, did her best to 
 console her, and regarded it as a painful privilege to 
 be the chosen confidante of her Avoe. 
 
 Leavino' them too-ether, and for the moment alloAv- 
 
400 MADAME DE SEVIGNE. [Chap. XXX. 
 
 ing Madame de Griman to travel unheeded to Pro- 
 vence, we will in a few words bring to mind tlie great 
 public events which happened during those years we 
 have been almost exclusively occupied with Madame 
 de Sevignd 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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