Lives of the most eminent literary and scientific men of France, Vol. 1 (of 2)

We contemplate the career of this extraordinary man with sentiments of mingled pity and admiration. He certainly wanted a lively imagination, or he would not have seen the necessity of so much mortification and suffering in following the dictates of the gospel. His charity, his fortitude, his resignation, demand our reverence; but the view he took of human duties was distorted and exaggerated: friendship he regarded as unlawful—love as the wages of damnation—marriage as a sin disguised; he saw impurity in maternal caresses, and impiety in every sensation of pleasure which God has scattered as flowers over our thorny path.

A modern writer[59] has said, that he pities any one who pronounces on the structure and complexion of a great mind, from the comparatively narrow and scanty materials which can, by possibility, have been placed before him; and observes, that modest understandings will rest convinced there remains a world of deeper mysteries, to which the dignity of genius refuses to give utterance. And thus, in all humility, we despair of penetrating the recesses of Pascal's mind, while solving mathematical problems that baffled all Europe; writing works replete with wit and wisdom, close reasoning and sublime eloquence; and the while believing that he pleased the Creator by renouncing all the blessings of life; by spending his time in the adoration of relics, and shortening his life by self-inflicted privation and torture. His works, replete with energy and eloquence as they are, present many of the same difficulties. We have already spoken at large of his "Lettres Provinciales." His "Pensées," or Thoughts, which he wrote on loose scraps of paper, meaning hereafter to collect them in the form of a work, for the conversion of atheists, contain much that is admirable and true, though we may be allowed to object to some of his reflections. He has been praised for the mode in which he enounces the idea, that an atheist plays a losing game[60]; he had far better believe, since thus he gains the chance of eternal happiness, while by disbelief he insures eternal damnation. This thought, however, is founded on misapprehension, and a want of knowledge of the human mind. Belief is not a voluntary act—it is the result of conviction; and we have it not in our choice to be convinced. Besides, love of truth is a passion of the human soul; and there are men who, perceiving truth in disbelief, cling to it as tenaciously as a religionist to his creed. The method of convincing infidels by commenting on the beauty of the morality of the gospel, and its necessity for the happiness of man, is far more conclusive. On the excellence of Christianity, and the benefits mankind has derived from its propagation, is founded the noblest argument for its truth; and he has urged these eloquently and forcibly in other portions of his work. Pascal, indeed, must always rank among the worthiest upholders of the Christian faith; one who taught its lessons in their purity, and only erred by being good overmuch. The same precision and clearness of mind that made him a good mathematician led him to excellence in the practice of Christian virtues; but it also led an adherence to the letter rather than the spirit, and to the taking up its asceticism in preference to the holier duties which are an integral part of the plan of the creation, and form the most important portion of human life.

MADAME DE SÉVIGNÉ

1626-1696

It appears ridiculous to include a woman's name in the list of "Literary and Scientific Men." This blunder must be excused; we could not omit a name so highly honourable to her country as that of madame de Sévigné, in a series of biography whose intent is to give an account of the persons whose genius has adorned the world.

The subject of this memoir herself would have been very much surprised to find her name included in the list of French writers. She had no pretensions to authorship; and the delightful letters which have immortalised her wit, her sense, and the warm affections of her heart, were written without the slightest idea intruding that they would ever be read, except by her to whom they were addressed.

Marie de Rabutin-Chantal was born on the 5th February, 1626. The family of Rabutin was a distinguished one of Burgundy, and Chantal was its elder branch. Her paternal grandmother, Jeanne-Françoise Fremiot, now canonized, was a foundress of a religious institution, called the Sisters of Visitation; which was the cause of a sort of hereditary alliance between her grand-daughter and the sisters of St. Mary, whose houses she was in the habit of visiting in Paris, and during her various journeys. Mademoiselle de Rabutin lost her father in her early infancy. When she was only a year and a half old, the English made a descent upon the isle of Rhé, for the purpose of succouring Rochelle. M. de Chantal put himself at the head of a troop of gentlemen volunteers, and went out to oppose them. The artillery of the enemy's fleet was turned upon them, and M. de Chantal, together with the greater part of his followers, were left dead on the field. It has been 1597. said that he fell by the hand of Cromwell himself. 1697.
July
22. The baron de Chantal was a French noble of the old feudal times; when a cavalier regarded his arms and military services as his greatest glory, and as the origin of his rank and privileges. His daughter has preserved a curious specimen of his independence in his mode of treating great men, and of the impressive concision of his letter writing. When Schomberg was made marshal of France, he wrote to him—

"Chantal."

By which few words he conveys his opinion that Schomberg owed his advancement, not to his valour nor military exploits, but to his rank, his having a black beard, like Louis XIII., and his intimacy with that monarch. The mother of mademoiselle de Rabutin was Marie de Coulanges, who was of the class of nobility distinguished in France as of the robe; that is, as being ennobled through their having filled high civil situations of chancellor, judge, &c. She died in 1636, when her daughter was only ten years of age, and the orphan fell under the care of her maternal grandfather, M. de Coulanges (her grandmother, the saint, being too much occupied by her religious duties to attend to her grandchild's welfare and education): he, also, dying the same year, her guardianship devolved on her uncle, Christophe de Coulanges, abbé de Livry. Henceforth he was a father to her.

We know nothing, except by conjecture, of Marie de Rabutin's education and early years. She says that she was educated with her cousin Coulanges, who was several years younger than herself. He is known to us as a gay, witty, convivial man, whose reputation arose from his talent for composing songs and madrigals on the events of the day, written with that airiness and point peculiar to French productions of this sort. He was quick and clever, and the young lady must have enjoyed in him a merry, agreeable companion. She tells us, also, that she was brought up at court; a court ruled over by cardinal de Richelieu, who, though a tyrant, studied and loved letters, was desirous of advancing civilization, and took pleasure in the society of persons of talent, even if they were women. She was always fond of reading. The endless romances of Scuderi were her earliest occupation; but she aspired to knowledge from more serious studies. Under the care of Ménage and Chapelle, who both admired her, she learnt Latin and Italian. She must always have possessed the delicacy and finesse of understanding that distinguish her letters: vivacity that was almost wit; common sense, that regulated and harmonized all, and never left her. She was not, perhaps, what is called beautiful, even on her first entrance into the world, but she was exceedingly pretty; a quantity of light hair, a fair blooming complexion, eyes full of fire, and a person elegant, light, and airy, rendered her very attractive. 1644.
Ætat.
18. She married, at the age of eighteen, Henry, marquis de Sévigné, of an ancient family in Britany.

The Bretons even now scarcely consider themselves French. They are a race remarkable for dauntless courage and inviolable fidelity; for rectitude and independence of feeling, joined to a romantic loyalty, which, in latter years, has caused them to have a distinguished place in the internal history of France. M. de Sévigné was not quite a man fitted to secure the felicity of a young girl, full of ability, warmth of heart, and excellent sense. He was fond of pleasure, extravagant in his expenses, heedless, and gay. In the first instance, however, the marriage was a happy one. The bon temps de la régence were, probably, the bon temps of madame de Sévigné's life. 1647.
Ætat.
21. She bore two children, a son and a daughter. Her letters at this period are full of gaiety: there is no trace of any misfortune, nor any sorrow.

M. de Sévigné was related to the celebrated cardinal de Retz, in those days coadjutor to the archbishop of Paris. When France became distracted by civil broils, this connection caused him to adhere to the party of the Fronde. His wife partook in his politics, and was a zealous Frondeuse. We have traces in all her after life of the intimacies formed during the vicissitudes of these troubles. She continued warmly attached to the ambitious turbulent coadjutor, whose last years were spent so differently from his early ones, and on whom she lavishes many encomiums: she was intimate with mademoiselle de Montpensier, daughter of Gaston, duke of Orleans; but her chief friend was the duchess de Chatillon, whom she called her sister. 1649.
Ætat.
23. Several letters that passed between her and her cousin Bussy-Rabutin, during the blockade of Paris by the prince de Condé, are preserved. He sided with the court, and wrote to ask his cousin to interfere to obtain for him his carriage and horses, left behind in Paris when the court escaped to St. Germain:—"Pray exert yourself," he writes: "it is as much your affair as mine; as we shall judge, by your success in this enterprise, in what consideration you are held by your party; that is to say, we shall have a good opinion of your generals, if they pay the attention they ought to your recommendation." She failed; and Bussy-Rabutin writes, "So much the worse for those who refused you, my fair cousin. I do not know if it will profit them anything, but I am sure it does them no honour."

We have mentioned, in the memoir of the duke de la Rochefoucauld, the depraved state of French society during the wars of the Fronde. Madame de Sévigné kept herself far aloof from even the suspicion of misconduct, but her husband imbibed the contagion. The name of his mistress, Ninon de l'Enclos, gave a celebrity 1650. to his infidelity infinitely painful to his wife. 1650.
Ætat.
24. Madame de Sévigné felt her misfortune, but bore it with dignity and patience. Not long after she had cause to congratulate herself on her forbearance, when her husband was killed in a duel by the chevalier d'Albret. The occasion of the combat is not known, but such were too frequent in the days of the Fronde. The inconstancy of her husband did not diminish the widow's grief: she had lived six happy years of a brilliant youth with him; his gay, social disposition was exactly such as to win affection; and, when he was lost to her for ever, she probably looked on her jealousy in another light, and felt how trivial such is when compared with the irreparable stroke of death. Her sorrow was profound. Her uncle, the abbé de Coulanges, was her best friend and consoler. He drew her attention to her duties, and assisted her in the arduous task of managing her affairs, embarrassed by her husband's extravagance. She had two young children, and their education was her chief and dearest care, and she was thus speedily recalled to active life.

Her widowhood was exemplary. Left at four-and-twenty without her husband's protection, in the midst of a society loosened from all moral restrictions, in which the highest were the most libertine, no evil breath ever tainted her fair fame. Her cousin, Bussy-Rabutin[61], who has distilled, from a venomous pen, poison over the reputation of almost every Frenchwoman of that period, says not a word against her, except that she encouraged sometimes the friendship of those who loved her. No blame can arise from this. It was necessary for the advancement of her children that she should secure the support and friendship of people in power. She lived in a court surrounded by a throng of society: she felt safe, since she could rely on herself; and prudery would only have made her enemies, without any good accruing. The only friend she had who did not deserve the distinction was Bussy-Rabutin; but he being a near relation, and she the head of their house, she showed her kindness and her prudence by continuing to admit him to the honour of her intimacy. In his letters he alludes to the admiration that Fouquet felt for her; and we find that her friendship for him continued unalterable to the last. Bussy rallies her, also, on the admiration of the prince de Conti: "Take care of yourself, my fair cousin," he writes: "a disinterested lady may, nevertheless, be ambitious; and she who refused the financier of the king may not always resist his majesty's cousin. You are a little ingrate, and will have to pay one day or another. You pursue virtue as if it were a reality, and you despise wealth as if you could never feel the want of it: we shall see you some day regret all this." Again he writes, "One must regulate oneself by you; one is too happy in being allowed to be your friend. There is hardly a woman in the kingdom, except yourself, who can induce your lovers to be satisfied with friendship: we scarcely see any who, rejecting love, are not in a state of enmity. I am certain that it requires a woman of extraordinary merit to turn a lover into a friend." And again, "I do not know any one so generally esteemed as yourself: you are the delight of the human race; antiquity would have raised altars to you; and you would assuredly have been the goddess of something. In our own times, not being so prodigal of incense, we content ourselves with saying that there does not exist a woman of your age more virtuous and more charming. I know princes of the blood, foreign princes, nobles of high rank, great captains, ministers of state, magistrates, and philosophers, all ready to be in love with you. What can you desire more?" This language deserves quoting only as evidence of the sort of ordeal Madame de Sévigné passed through. While receiving all this flattery, she was never turned aside from her course. To educate her children, take care of their property, secure such a place in society as would be advantageous to them, and to render her uncle's life happy, were the objects of her life. She was very fortunate in her uncle, whose kindness and care were the supports of her life. Her obligations to him are apparent from the letter she wrote many years after, on his death:—"I am plunged in sorrow: ten days ago I saw my dear uncle die, and you know what he was to his dear niece. He has conferred on me every benefit in the world, either by giving me property of his own, or preserving and augmenting that of my children. He drew me from the abyss into which M. de Sévigné's death plunged me: he gained lawsuits; he put my affairs into good order; he paid our debts; he has made the estate on which my son lives the prettiest and most agreeable in the world." She was fortunate, also, in her children, whom she passionately loved. But it must be remembered that children do not entirely occupy a parent's time. She afterwards regretted that her daughter had been brought up in a convent; but, in sending her there, she acted in accordance with the manners of the times.[62] While her children were away, and when she came up to Paris from her country house, she diversified her life by innocent pleasures. She enjoyed good society, and adorned it. She was one of the favourites of the Hôtel de Rambouillet, where met a knot of people, who, however they might err in affectation and over refinement, were celebrated for talent and virtue. She was a friend of Julie d'Angennes, afterwards madame de Montauzier; and the Alcovistes of the set were her principal friends. Ménage mentions her with admiration, and was accustomed to relate several anecdotes concerning her. He went to visit her in Britany, a great undertaking for a Parisian. The chevalier de Méré, one of the most affected and exaggerated of the Précieuses, and also the count de Lude, whom Ménage mentions as one of the four distinguished sayers of bon mots of the time, were chief among her friends and admirers.

Her cousin Bussy-Rabutin quarrelled with her. The occasion is not known; but it is suspected that she refused to exert herself to re-establish him in the favour of Fouquet, who was displeased with him. The infamy of his proceeding is almost unexampled. He included mention of her in the portion of his scandalous publication of the "Amours des Gaules" published 1659. In this he does not accuse her of misconduct, but he represents her economy as avarice, her friendship as coquetry; and added to this the outrage of raking up and publishing the misfortunes of her married life, which, though they redounded to her credit, must have deeply hurt a woman of feeling and delicacy. She never forgave her cousin; and, though afterwards reconciled to him, it is evident that she never regarded him with esteem. In addition to this annoyance, her career was not entirely sunny. Her warm heart felt bitterly the misfortunes that befel her friends. Her first sorrow of this kind was the imprisonment, banishment, and adversity of cardinal de Retz. He deserved his downfall,—but not in her eyes. She only saw his talents and amiable qualities; and viewed in him a powerful friend, now overthrown. His imprisonment embittered two years of her life. Her husband's uncle, the chevalier de Sévigné, took an active part in his escape from the citadel of Nantes; but this did not restore him to his friends. He was obliged to take refuge in Spain; and did not return to France for many years, when he came back an altered man.

Her next misfortune was the fall and banishment of Fouquet. It speaks highly for madame de Sévigné's good sense and superior qualities that, while refusing a man who, in other instances, showed himself presuming from success with other women, she should secure him as a friend. The secret lay in her own feelings of friendship, which being sincere, and yet strictly limited, she acquired his esteem as well as affection. Fouquet was a munificent and generous man, of a superior understanding and unbounded ambition. He dissipated the finances of the state as he spent his own; but he could bestow as well as take, as he proved when, on getting his place of procureur-general to the parliament, he sent in the price (14,000 francs) to the public treasury. The entertainment he gave Louis XIV. at Vaux, which cost 18,000,000 of francs, was the seal of his ruin, already suggested to the king by Colbert. He had made the monarch, already all powerful, fear his victim. Louis fancied that Fouquet had fortified Belle Isle, and that he had a strong party within and without the kingdom. This was a mere mistake, inspired by the superintendent's enemies, to ensure his fall. Madame de Sévigné, Pelisson, Gourville, and mademoiselle Scuderi were his chief friends: joined to these was Pelisson, his confidential clerk. He shared the fall of his master, and was imprisoned in the Bastille; but, undeterred by fear from this, defended him with great eloquence. The simple-minded, true-hearted La Fontaine was another of his firm friends in adversity. The suit against him was carried on for three years. He was pursued with the utmost acrimony and violence by Colbert, Le Tellier, secretary of state, and his rival in credit, and Séguier, the chancellor. During his trial, madame de Sévigné wrote daily to M. de Pomponne, afterwards minister, relating its progress. These letters are very interesting, both from the anecdotes they contain, and the warmth of feeling the writer displays. Fouquet was treated with the utmost harshness by the chancellor Séguier, whom he answered with spirit, preserving through all a presence of mind, a composure, a dignity, and resolution, which is the more admirable, since, in those days, there was no humiliation of language to which the subjects of Louis XIV. did not descend, and think becoming, as addressed to the absolute arbiter of their destiny.

The sort of interest and terror excited about him is manifest, by the fact, that madame de Sévigné masked herself when she went to see him return from the court, where he was tried, to the Bastille, his prison.[63] His trial lasted for more than a month. The proceedings against him were carried on with the utmost irregularity; and this and other circumstances—the length of time that had elapsed, which turned the excitement against him into compassion; the earnestness of the solicitations in his favour, together with the virulence with which he was persecuted,—all these things saved his life. Madame de Sévigné announces this news with delight:—"Praise God, and thank him! Our poor friend is saved! Thirteen sided with M. d'Ormesson (who voted for banishment), nine with Sainte Helene, (whose voice was for death). I am beside myself with joy. How delightful and consolatory must this news be to you; and what inconceivable pleasure do those moments impart which deliver the heart and the thoughts from such terrible anxiety. It will belong before I recover from the joy I felt yesterday: it is really too complete; I could scarcely bear it. The poor man learnt the news by air (by means of signals) a few moments after; and I have no doubt he felt it in all its extent." The king, however, abated this joy. He had been taught to believe that Fouquet was dangerous: fancying this, he of course felt, that, as an exile, he would enjoy every facility for carrying on his schemes. He changed the sentence of banishment into perpetual imprisonment in Pignerol. Fouquet was separated from his wife and family, and from his most faithful servants. At first his friends hoped that his hard fate would be softened. "We hope," writes madame de Sévigné, "for some mitigation: hope has used me too well for me to abandon it. We must follow the example of the poor prisoner: he is gay and tranquil; let us be the same." The king, however, continued inexorable. He remained long in prison: a doubt hangs over the conclusion of his life; and it is not known whether he remained a prisoner to the end. He died in 1680.[64]

When Fouquet's papers were seized, there were among them a multitude of letters which compromised the reputations of several women of quality. Madame de Sévigné had been in the habit of corresponding with him. The secretary of state, Tellier, declared that her letters were les plus honnêtes du monde; but they were written unguardedly, in all the thoughtlessness of youth. She apprehended some annoyance from their having fallen into the hands of the enemy, and thought it right to retire into the country. Bussy-Rabutin put himself forward at this moment to support her: a reconciliation ensued between them,—not very cordial, but which, for some time, continued uninterrupted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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