[65]Voltaire, Siècle de Louis XIV. chap. XXV.
[66]In the verses made on this occasion the poet alludes also to the beauty of her mother:—
Amour, c'est comme si, pour n'être pas connu,
Avec une innocence extreme
Vous vous déguisez en vous-meme
Elle a vos traits, vos yeux, votre air engageant,
Et de même que vous, sourit en égorgéant;
Enfin qui fit l'un a fait l'autre,
Et jusque à sa mère, elle est comme la votre."
[67]At the age of seventy-six, madame de Sévigné's grandson, the young marquis de Grignan, sought lier friendship; thus, in some sort, she reigned over three generations of the same family. The one fault of Ninon so unsexes her that we must regard her character rather as belonging to a man than a woman. "I saw the disadvantages women labour under," she said, "and I chose to assume the position of a man (et je me fis homme)." She regulated her conduct by what was considered honourable in a man—honourable, not moral. Her talents and generous qualities caused her to be respected and loved by a large circle of distinguished friends. Madame de Maintenon was her early and intimate friend: even when she became devout she continued to prize Ninon's friendship, and wrote to her to give good lessons to her incorrigible brother.
[68]His song, excusing his idleness, is very good: it is in dialogue between himself and the chief among those who blamed him, the count de Bussy-Rabutin.
BUSSY.
Magistrat sans pareil,
Par quel destin étrange
Quittez-vous le conseil?
COULANGES.
Vous verrez qu'avant nous
Les héros, las de gloire.
Allaient planter des choux.
BUSSY.
Que Dioclétien!
Est-ce ainsi qu'il faut vivre?
Il n'étoit pas chrétien.
COULANGES.
En a bien fait autant:
Quitta-t'-il pas l'empire
Pour être plus content?
BUSSY.
Savez-vous ce qu'il fit?
Chagrin dans sa chambrette,
Souvent s'en repentit.
COULANGES.
Ne s'en repentit pas;
Et de cette héroïne
Je veut suivre les pas.
BUSSY.
Ignorez-vous les bruits?
Et que ce galant homme
Sut charmer ses ennuis?
COULANGES.
Monsieur, que dites-vous?
Tranquille et sans vergogne
Il vient parmi nous.
BUSSY.
Moine, roi, cardinal,
Le fit venir en France
Mourir à l'hôpital.
COULANGES.
Monsieur, et vos raisons!
Je vivrois de la sorte
Et ferai des chansons."
[69]At the time of the dauphin's marriage, when madame de Coulanges was presented to the dauphine, the latter received her with a compliment on her wit and letters, of which she had heard in Germany. At this time madame de Sévigné writes,—"Madame de Coulanges is at St. Germain: she does wonders at court: she is with her three friends (mesdames de Richelieu, de Maintenon, and de Rochefort) at their private hours. Her wit is a qualification of dignity at court."—April 5. 1680.
[70]The best known of his couplets are the following philosophic ones:—
La chose est très-connue,
Et que tous nos premiers parens
Ont mené la charrue;
Mais, las de cultiver enfin
Sa terre labourée,
L'un a dételé le matin,
L'autre l'après-dînée."
[71]Turning over her pages, we frequently find reflections such as the following, which, from its gentleness and feeling, is singularly characteristic of the amiable writer:—"Vous savez que je suis toujours un peu entêtée de mes lectures Ceux à qui je parle ont intérêt que je lise de bons livres: celui dont il s'agit présentement, c'est cette Morale de Nicole: il y a un traité sur les moyens d'entretenir la paix entre les hommes, qui me ravit: je n'ai jamais rien vu de plus utile, ni si plein d'esprit et de lumières. Si vous ne l'avez pas lu, lisez-le; si vous l'avez lu, relisez-le avec une nouvelle attention: je crois que tout le monde s'y trouve; pour moi, je suis persuadée qu'il a été fait à mon intention; j'espère aussi d'en profiter; j'y ferai mes efforts. Vous savez que je ne puis souffrir que les vieilles gens disent, 'Je suis trop vieux pour me corriger:' je pardonnerois plutôt aux jeunes gens de dire, 'Je suis trop jeune.' La jeunesse est si aimable, qu'il faudrait l'adorer, si l'âme et l'esprit étoient aussi parfaits que le corps; mais quand on n'est plus jeune, c'est alors qu'il faudrait se perfectionner, et tâcher de regagner par les bonnes qualités ce qu'on perd du côté des agréable. Il y a longtemps que j'ai fait ces réflexions, et pour cette raison je veux tous les jours travailler à mon esprit, à mon âme, à mon cœur, à mes sentimens. Voilà de quoi je suis pleine, et de quoi je remplis cette lettre, n'ayant pas beaucoup d'autres sujets."—Aux Rochers, 7. Oct. 1671. With regard to the book that gave rise to these reflections, M. de Sévigné, her son, who had a more enlightened taste as to style, by no means approved it. He says, "Et moi, je vous dirai que le premier tome des Essais de Morale vous paroitroit tout comme à moi, si la Marans et l'abbé Têtu ne vous avoient accoutumée aux choses fines et distillées. Ce n'est pas aujourd'hui que le galimathias vous parois clair et aisé: de tout ce qui a parlé de l'homme, et l'intérieur de l'homme, je n'ai rien vu de moins agréable; ce ne sont point là ces portraits où tout le monde se reconnoit. Pascal, la logique de Port Royal, et Plutarque, et Montaigne, parlent autrement: celui-ci parle parce qu'il veut parler, et souvent il n'a pas grand' chose à dire."
[72]Take, for instance, the following extracts on the subject of his death:—"Ne croyez point, ma fille, que le souvenir de M. de Turenne soit déjà finit dans ce pays-ci; ce fleuve, qui entraine tout, n'entraine pas sitôt une telle mémoire; elle est consacrée à l'immortalité. J'étais l'autre jour chez M. de la Rochefoucauld, avec madame de Lavardin, madame de la Fayette, et M. de Marsillac. M. le Premier y vint. La conversation dura deux heures sur les divines qualités de ce véritable héros: tous les yeux étaient baignés de larmes, et vous ne sauriez croire comme la douleur de sa perte est profondément gravé dans les cœurs. Nous remarquions une chose, c'est que ce n'est pas depuis sa mort que l'on admire la grandeur de son cœur, l'étendue de ses lumières, et l'élévation de son âme; tout le monde en étoit plein pendant sa vie, et vous pouvez penser ce que fait sa perte par-dessus ce qu'on étoit déjà: enfin, ne croyez point que cette mort soit ici comme celle des autres. Vous pouvez en parler tant qu'il vous plaira, sans croire que la dose de votre douleur l'emporte sur la nôtre. Pour son âme, c'est encore un miracle qui vient de l'estime parfaite qu'on avoit pour lui; il n'est pas tombé dans la tête d'aucun dévot qu'elle ne fut pas en bon état: on ne sauroit comprendre que le mal et le péché pussent être dans son cœur: sa conversion si sincère nous a paru comme un baptême; chacun conte l'innocence de ses mœurs, la pureté de ses intentions, son humilité, éloignée de toute sorte d'affectation; la solide gloire dont il étoit plein, sans faste et sans ostentation; aimant la vertu pour elle-même, sans se soucier de l'approbation des hommes; une charité généreuse et chrétienne. Vous ai-je dit comme il l'habilla ce régiment anglois? il lui coûta quatorze mille francs, et il resta sans argent. Les Anglois ont dit à M. de Lorges qu'ils achéveroient de servir cette campagne, pour venger la mort de M. de Turenne, mais qu'après cela ils se retireroient, ne pouvant obéir à d'autres que lui. Il y avoit de jeunes soldats qui s'impatientoient un peu dans les marais, où ils étoient dans l'eau jusqu'aux genoux; et les vieux soldats leur disoient 'Quoi, vous vous plaignez!' On voit bien que vous ne connoissez pas M. de Turenne: il est plus fâché que nous quand nous sommes mal; il ne songe, à l'heure qu'il est, qu'à nous tirer d'ici; il veille quand nous dormons; c'est notre père: on voit bien que vous êtes jeunes. Et c'est ainsi qu'ils les rassuroient. Tout ce que je vous mande est vrai; je ne me charge point des fadaises dont on croit faire plaisir aux gens éloignés: c'est abuser d'eux, et je choisis bien plus ce que je vous écris, que ce que je vous dirois, si vous étiez ici. Je reviens à son âme: c'est donc une chose à remarquer, que nul dévot ne s'est avisé de douter que Dieu ne l'eût reçue à bras ouverts, comme une des plus belles et des meilleures qui soient jamais sorties de ses mains. Méditez sur cette confiance générale sur son salut, et vous trouverez que c'est une espèce de miracle qui n'est que pour lui. Vous verrez dans les nouvelles les effets de cette grande perte."—15 Août, 1675.
"M. de Barillon soupa ici hier: on ne parla que de M. de Turenne, il en est véritablement très-affligé. Il nous contoit la solidité de ses vertus, combien il étoit vrai, combien il aimoit la vertu pour elle-même, combien pour elle seule il se trouvoit récompensé, et puis finit par dire que l'on ne pouvoit pas l'aimer, ni être touché de son mérite, sans en être plus honnête homme. Sa société communiquoit une horreur pour la friponnerie, pour la duplicité, qui mettoit ses amis au-dessus des autres hommes. Bien de siècles n'en donneront pas un pareil. Je ne trouve pas qu'on soit tout-à-fait aveugle en celui-ci, au moins les gens que je vois. Je crois que c'est vanter d'être en bonne compagnie."—28 Août, 1675.
[73]"Voici un changement de scène qui vous paroitra aussi agréable qu'à tout le monde. Je fus samedi à Versailles avec les Villars. Vous connoissez la toilette de la reine, la messe, le dîner: mais il n'est pas besoin de se faire étouffer pendant que leurs majestés sont à table; car à trois heures le roi, la reine, monsieur, madame, mademoiselle, tout ce qu'il y a de princes et de princesses, madame de Montespan, toute sa suite, tous les courtisans, toutes les dames, enfin ce qui s'appelle la cour de France, se trouve dans ce bel appartement du roi que vous connoissez. Tout est meublé devinement—tout est magnifique. On ne sait ce que c'est d'y avoir chaud; on passe d'un lieu à l'autre sans avoir presse nulle part. Un jeu de reverse donne la forme, et fixe tout. Le roi est auprès de madame de Montespan, qui tient la carte; monsieur, la reine, et madame de Soubise, Dangeau et compagnie, Langlée et compagnie. Mille louis sont répandus sur le tapis. Il n'y a point d'autres jetons. Je voyois Dangeau, et j'admirois combien nous sommes sots au jeu auprès de lui. Il ne songe qu'à son affaire, et gagne où les autres perdent: il ne néglige rien, il profite de tout; il n'est point distrait: en un mot, sa bonne conduite défie la fortune; aussi les deux cent mille francs en deux jours, les cent mille écus en un mois, tout cela se met sur le livre de sa recette. Il dit que je prenois part à son jeu, de sorte que je fus assise très-agréablement et très-commodément. Je saluai le roi, ainsi que vous me l'avez appris: il me rendit mon salut, comme si j'avois été jeune et belle. La reine me parla aussi longtemps de ma maladie que si c'eût été une couche. M. le duc me fit mille de ces caresses, à quoi il ne pense pas. Le maréchal de Lorges m'attaqua sous le nom du chevalier de Grignan, enfin tutti quanti. Vous savez ce que c'est que de recevoir un mot de tout ce que l'on trouve en son chemin. Madame de Montespan me parla de Bourbon: elle me pria de lui conter Vichi, et comment je m'en étois portée. Elle me dit que Bourbon, au lieu de guérir un genou, lui a fait mal aux deux. Je lui trouvai le dos bien plat, comme disoit la maréchale de la Meilleraie; mais sérieusement, c'est une chose surprenante que sa beauté; sa taille n'est pas la moitié si grosse qu'elle étoit, sans que son teint, ni ses yeux, ni ses lèvres en sont moins bien. Elle étoit habillée de point de France, coiffée de mille boucles: les deux des tempes lui tombent fort bas sur les joues; des rubans noirs à sa tète, des perles de la maréchale d'Hôpital, embellies de boucles et de pendeloques de diamants de la dernière beauté, trois ou quatre poinçons, point de coiffe; en un mot, une triomphante beauté, à faire admirer tous les ambassadeurs. Elle a su qu'on se plaignoit qu'elle empèchoit à toute la France de voir le roi; elle l'a redonné, comme vous voyez; et vous ne sauriez croire la joie que tout le monde en a, ni de quelle beauté cela rend la cour. Cette agréable confusion, sans confusion, de tout ce qu'il y a de plus choisi, dure depuis trois heures jusqu'à six. S'il vient des courriers, le roi se retire un moment pour lire ses lettres, puis revient. Il y a toujours quelque musique qu'il écoute, et qui fait un très bon effet. Il cause avec les dames qui ont accoutumé d'avoir cet honneur. Enfin, on quitte le jeu à six heures. On n'a point du tout de peine à faire les comptes—il n'y a point de jetons ni de marques. Les poules sont au moins de cinq, six, à sept cent louis, les grosses de mille, de douze cents. On parle sans cesse, et rien ne demeure sur le cœur. Combien avez-vous de cœurs? J'en ai deux, j'en ai trois, j'en ai un, j'en ai quatre: il n'en a donc que trois, que quatre; et Dangeau est ravi de tout ce caquet: il découvre le jeu, il tire ses conséquences, il voit à qui il a affaire; enfin, j'étois bien aise de voir cet excès d'habilité: vraiment c'est bien lui qui sait le dessous des cartes. On monte donc à six heures en calèches, le roi, madame de Montespan, M. et madame de Thianges, et la bonne d'Hendicourt sur le strapontin, c'est-à-dire comme en paradis, ou dans la gloire de Niquée. Vous savez comme ces calèches sont faites: on ne se regarde point, on est tourné du même côté. La reine étoit dans une autre avec les princesses, et ensuite tout le monde attroupé selon sa fantaisie. On va sur le canal dans des gondoles; on trouve de la musique; on revient à dix heures, on trouve la comédie; minuit sonne, on fait media noche. Voilà comme se passe le samedi. De vous dire combien de fois on me parla de vous, combien on me fit de questions sans attendre la réponse, combien j'en épargnai, combien on s'en soucie peu, combien je m'en souciois encore moins, vous reconnoitrez au naturel l'iniqua corte. Cependant il ne fut jamais si agréable, et on souhaite fort que cela continue."
[74]It is curious to find her earnestly recommending maternal affection to her daughter. One poor little girl was wholly sacrificed—shut up in a convent, waiting for a vocation; the other was saved by her grandmother from a similar fate. She writes, "Mais parlons de cette Pauline; l'aimable, la jolie petite créature! Ai-je jamais été si jolie qu'elle? on dit que je l'étais beaucoup. Je suis ravie qu'elle vous fasse souvenir de moi: je sais bien qu'il n'est pas besoin de cela; mais, enfin, j'ai une joie sensible: vous me la dépeignez charmante, et je crois précisément tout ce que vous me dites: je suis étonnée qu'elle ne soit devenue sotte et ricaneuse dans ce couvent: ah, que vous avez fait bien de l'en retirer! Gardez-la, ma fille, ne vous privez pas rie ce plaisir; la Providence en aura soin."—Oct. 4, 1679. In another letter she says, "Aimez, aimez Pauline; croyez-moi, tâtez, tâtez de l'amour maternel."
[75]It is in these letters from her château that we find her penetration into the human heart, and her sympathy with all that is upright and good. She writes to her daughter, "Vous verrez comme tous les vices et toutes les vertus sont jetés pêle-mêle dans le fond de ces provinces; car je trouve des âmes de paysans plus droites que les lignes, aimant la vertu comme naturellement les chevaux trottent." As to her jansenism, it was very sincere, though not mingled with the spirit of party. She believed in the election of grace, and the few that were to be saved; and, though somewhat puzzled when she tried to reconcile this doctrine with the free will of man, she has recourse to St. Augustin, the jansenian saint, and says, "Lisez un peu le livre de la prédestination des saints de St. Augustin, et du don de la persévérance: je ne cherche pas à être davantage éclaircie sur ce point; et je veux me tenir, si je puis, dans l'humilité et dans la dépendance. Le onzième chapitre du don de la persévérance me tomba hier sous la main: lisez-le, et lisez tout le livre: c'est où j'ai puisé mes erreurs: je ne suis pas seule, cela me console; et en vérité je suis tentée à croire qu'on ne dispute aujourd'hui sur cet matière avec tant de chaleur, que faute de s'entendre."
[76]"Je fis ma cour l'autre jour à St. Cyr, plus agréablement que je n'eusse jamais pensé. Nous y allâmes samedi; madame de Coulanges, madame de Bagnols, l'abbé Têtu, et moi: nous trouvâmes nos places gardées; un officier dit à madame de Coulanges que madame de Maintenon lui faisait garder un siège auprès d'elle: vous voyez quel honneur! 'Pour vous, madame,' me dit-il, 'vous pouvez choisir.' Je me mis avec madame de Bagnols, au second banc derrière les duchesses. Le maréchal de Bellefond vint se mettre par choix à mon côté droit. Nous écoutâmes, le maréchal et moi, cette tragédie avec une attention qui fut remarqué; et de certaines louanges sourdes et bien placées. Je ne puis vous dire l'excès de l'agrément de cette pièce. C'est une chose qui n'est pas aisée à représenter, et qui ne sera jamais imitée. C'est un rapport de la musique, des vers, des chants, et des personnes si parfait, qu'on n'y souhaite rien. On est attentif, et l'on n'a point d'autre peine que celle de voir finir une si aimable tragédie. Tout y est simple, tout y est innocent, tout y est sublime et touchant. Cette fidélité à l'histoire sainte donne du respect: tous les chants convenables aux paroles sont d'une beauté singulière. La mesure de l'approbation qu'on donne à cette pièce, c'est celle du goût et de l'attention. J'en fus charmée et le maréchal aussi, qui sortit de sa place pour aller dire au roi combien il étoit content, et qu'il étoit auprès d'une dame qui étoit bien digne d'avoir vu Esther. Le roi vint vers nos places; et après avoir tourné, il s'adressa à moi, et me dit, 'Madame, je suis assuré que vous avez été contente.' Moi, sans m'étonner, je répondis, 'Sire, je suis charmée, ce que je sens est au dessus des paroles.' Le roi me dit, 'Racine a bien de l'esprit.' Je lui dit, 'Sire, il en a beaucoup, mais en vérité ces jeunes personnes en ont beaucoup aussi; elles entrent dans le sujet, comme si elles n'avoient jamais fait autre chose.' 'Ah, pour cela,' reprit-il, 'il est vrai;' et puis sa majesté s'en alla, et me laissa l'objet d'envie: comme il n'y avoit quasi que moi de nouvelle venue, il eut quelque plaisir de voir mes sincères admirations, sans bruit et sans éclat. M. le prince, madame la princesse, me vinrent dire un mot, madame de Maintenon, elle s'en alloit avec le roi. Je répondit à tout, car j'étois en fortune. Nous revînmes le soir aux flambeaux; je soupai chez madame de Coulanges, à qui le roi avoit parlé aussi, avec un air d'être chez lui, qui lui donnoit une douceur trop aimable. Je vis le soir M. le chevalier de Grignan. Je lui contait tout naïvement un éclair mes petites prospérités, ne voulant point les cachoter sans savoir pourquoi, comme certaines personnes. Il en fut content, et voilà qui est fait. Je suis assurée qu'il ne m'a point trouvé dans la suite, ni une sotte vanité, ni un transport de bourgeoise."
[77]"Le père Bourdaloue s'en va, par ordre du roi, prêcher à Montpelier, et dans ces provinces où tant de gens se sont convertis sans savoir pourquoi. Le père Bourdaloue le leur apprendra, et en fera de bons catholiques. Les dragons ont été de très-bons missionnaires jusqu'ici: les médiateurs qu'on envoient présentement rendront l'ouvrage parfait. Vous aurez vu, sans doute, l'édit par lequel le roi révoque celui de Nantes. Rien n'est si beau que tout ce qu'il contient, et jamais aucun roi n'a fait et ne fera rien de plus mémorable."—Lettre au comte de Bussy, 14 Nov. 1685, The count replies, "J'admire la conduite du roi pour ruiner les huguenots: les guerres qu'on leur a faites autrefois, elles Saints Barthélémis, ont multiplié et donné vigueur à cette secte. Sa majesté l'a sapée petit à petit, et l'édit qu'il vient de donner, soutenu des dragons et des Bourdaloues, a été le coup de grace."
BOILEAU
1636-1711
One of the authors most characteristic of the better part of the age of Louis XIV. was Boileau. The activity and directness of his mind, his fastidious taste, his wit, the strict propriety of his writings, and their useful aim, were worthy of a period which, for many years, legislated for the republic of letters. Sunk in ignorance as France had been, it required spirits as resolute and enlightened as his to refine it, and spread knowledge widely abroad—while his disposition and habits were honourable to himself, and to the society of which he formed a distinguished part.
The father of the poet, Giles Boileau, was for sixty years greffier to the great chamber of the parliament of Paris. The simplicity of his character, his abilities, and probity, caused him to be universally esteemed. He had a large family. Three of his sons distinguished themselves in literature. One, who took the name of Pui-Morin, was a lawyer; but his publications were rather classic than legal. Another entered the church; he became a doctor of Sorbonne, and enjoyed several ecclesiastical preferments.
Nicholas Boileau (who, to distinguish him from his brothers, was called by his contemporaries Despréaux, from some meadows which his father possessed at the end of his garden,) was born in Paris, on the 5th of December, 1636.[78] He lost his mother when he was only eleven months old—she dying at the early age of twenty-three. His childhood was one of suffering; so that he said of himself, in after times, that he would not accept a new life on the condition of passing through a similar childhood. We are not told what the evils were of which he complained, but they were certainly, to a great degree, physical; for he was cut for the stone at an early age, and the operation being badly performed he never entirely regained his health. His earliest years were spent at the village of Crone, in which his father had a country house, where he spent his law vacations, and where, indeed, Louis Racine declares that Nicholas was born. The house must have been small and humble, for the boy was lodged in a loft above a barn, till a little room was constructed for him in the barn itself, which made him say that he commenced life by descending into a barn. His disposition as a child was marked by a simplicity and kindliness, that caused his father to say, "that Colin was a good fellow, who would never speak ill of any one." His turn for satire made this seem ridiculous in after times: yet it was founded on truth. Delicacy, and a sort of irritability of taste, joined to wit, caused him to satirise writers: but he carefully abstained from impugning the private character of any one; and, with his friends, and in his conduct during life, he was remarkable for probity, kindness of heart, and a cordial forgiving disposition. When we view him as a courtier, also, we recognize at once that independence of feeling, joined to a certain absence of mind, of which his father perceived the germ.
He went to school at Beauvais; and M. Sevin, master of one of the classes, discovered his taste for poetry, and asserted that he would acquire great reputation in his future life; being persuaded that, when a man is born a poet, nothing can prevent him from fulfilling his destiny. Boileau was at this time passionately fond of romances and poetry; but his critical taste was awakened by these very pursuits. "Even at fifteen," he says, in his ninth satire, "I detested a stupid book. Satire opened for me the right path, and supported my steps towards the Parnassus where I ventured to seek her." At the age of eighteen he wrote an ode on the war which it was expected that Cromwell would declare against France. In later days he corrected this ode, and added to the force of its expressions; but even in its original state it is remarkable for the purity of its language, its conciseness, and energy.
At the age of sixteen he lost his father, and thus acquired early that
independent position which is the portion of orphans. His relations
wished him to follow the profession of the law: he consented, and,
applying himself with diligence, was named advocate at an early age.
1656.
Ætat.
20.
But the chicanery, the tortuousness, and absurdity of the practice
speedily disgusted him, formed as he was by nature to detect and expose
error; so that, in the very first cause entrusted to him, he showed so
much disgust, that the attorney (who probably was aware that such
existed), fancying that he had discovered some irregularity in his
proceedings, said, on withdrawing his brief, "Ce jeune avocat ira loin."
Boileau, on the contrary, was only eager to throw off the burden of a
profession so little suited to him; and he quitted the bar for the study
of ecclesiastical polity, fancying that religion would purify and
elevate the practice of the church. He was soon undeceived; and was
shocked and astonished by the barbarous language, the narrow scholastic
speculations, and polemical spirit, of the sorbonne. He found that
chicanery had but changed its garb; and, unwilling to debase his mind by
such studies, he gave them up, and dedicated himself entirely to
literature. Led by his inborn genius, he boldly entered on the career of
letters and poetry, in spite of the warnings of his family[79], for his
patrimony, consisting only of a few thousand crowns, seemed to render it
imperative that he should follow a gainful profession. His desires,
however, were moderate; and he contrived to limit his expenses to his
slender income.
Literature and knowledge were at a low ebb in France when Louis XIV. began to reign. The genius of the people had, previously to Corneille, displayed itself in no great national poem. Its instincts for poetry, owing, perhaps, to the faulty nature of the language, had confined itself to songs and ballads, inimitable for a certain charming elegant simplicity, but with no pretension to the praise due to a high order of imagination. Corneille, in his majesty and power, stood alone. Then had come Molière, who detected and held up to ridicule the false taste of the age. Yet, in spite of his attacks, this false taste in part subsisted; and there were several of the favourite authors of the day whose works excited Boileau's spleen, and roused him to the task of satire. Chapelain may be mentioned as the chief among them. Jean Chapelain was a Parisian, and a member of the French academy. He was much patronised by the minister Colbert; and, under his auspices, the king not only granted him a pension, but entrusted to his care the making out a list of the chief literary men of Europe, towards whom Louis, in a spirit of just munificence, inspired by Colbert, allowed pensions, in token that their labours deserved assistance or reward. Jean Chapelain, an upright, a clever, and a generous man, was thus exalted to the head of the republic of letters; and was seduced by the voice of praise to write a poem on the subject of the Maid of Orleans. The topic was popular: while in progress. Chapelain enjoyed an anticipated reputation on the strength of it; and the duke de Longueville allowed him a pension; but as soon as the "Pucelle" was published, which rash act he did not venture on for a number of years, his fame as a poet fell to the ground; epigrams rained on the unfortunate epic, and Boileau brought up the rear with pointed well-turned sarcasms. As the friend of Colbert, as an amiable man of acknowledged talents. Chapelain had many partisans. The duke de Montauzier[80], a satirist himself in his youth, was furious, and declared that Boileau ought to be tossed into the river, that he might rhyme there. Other friends of Chapelain remonstrated; but their representations turned to the amusement of the satirist. "Chapelain is my friend," said the abbé de la Victoire, "and I grieve that you have named him in your satires. It is true, if he followed my advice, he would not write poetry; prose suits him much better."—"And what more do I say?" cried Boileau: "I repeat in verse what every one else says in prose: I am, in truth, the secretary of the public."[81]
As such the public joyfully accepted him. He became the favourite guest of the best society in Paris, where genius and wit were honoured. Joined to his faculty of writing satires, whose every word was as a gem set in gold, Boileau read his verses well, and possessed the talent of mimicry, which added greatly to the zest of his recitations. Chapelain, Cotin, and the poetasters whom he lashed, passed thus, as it were, in living array before his audience; and the enjoyment he created naturally led to a popularity, which, as it was bestowed by the well-born, the beautiful, and the rich, spread a halo of prosperity round the poet's steps.
Boileau, however, has not escaped censure for his personal attacks. It was considered a defilement of the elevated spirit of poetical satire to attack persons; and, though Boileau only lashed these men as authors, their blameless private characters made many recoil from seeing their names held up to ridicule. Not only his contemporaries, but later writers, have blamed him.[82] He has even been accused of acting from base motives. That Chapelain, when he made a list for Colbert of literary men deserving of pensions, did not include Boileau's name is supposed to be the occasion of his enmity. But the dislike seems to have had foundation earlier; for we are told that the first satire was composed when the poet was only four-and-twenty, and had no pretensions to be pensioned for unwritten works, and, indeed, before the pensions in question were granted.[83] Some ill blood might have arisen through a quarrel between Boileau and his elder brother Giles, who was a friend of Chapelain. This circumstance rendered him, perhaps, more willing to attack the latter; but, doubtless, his ruling motive was his hatred of a bad book, and his natural genius, which directed the scope of his labours.
Boileau himself carefully distinguishes between attacks made on authors and on individuals; and, à propos, of his ridicule of Chapelain, he says,
Distilé sur sa vie un venin dangereux?
Ma muse en l'attaquant, charitable et discrete,
Scait de l'homme d'honneur distinguer le poète."[84]
Still he whimsically gives, as it were, the lie to this very defence by his subsequent conduct; for, when any one of the unhappy authors whom he had held up to ridicule showed him personal kindness, he was not proof against the impulse that led him to expunge his name in the next edition of his works, and substitute that of some new-sprung enemy. Thus in the seventh satire we find the following persons strung together:—
Mes vers, comme un torrent, coulent sur le papier,
Je rencontre à la fois Perrin et Pelletier,
Bardou, Mauroy, Boursault, Colletet, Titreville."
He afterwards altered the last verse to
Perrin had translated the Æneid into French; and was the first person who obtained leave to introduce the Italian opera into France. Pelletier was a sort of itinerant rhymester, who, when he addressed a sonnet to a man, carried it to him, and contrived to get paid for his pains. Bardou and Mauroy were minor poets, whose nonsense appeared in ephemeral collections of verses. Boursault was more distinguished. He quarrelled with Molière, and endeavoured to satirise him in a slight drama, entitled "Portrait du Peintre, ou, contre Critique de l'École des Femmes." Molière showed himself very indifferent to this sort of attack; but Boileau took up the cudgels for him. Boursault revenged himself by another drama, levelled against Boileau himself, called "Satire des Satires;" and the latter, with a sensitiveness in which he had no right to indulge, got a decree of parliament to prevent its representation. Many years after, when Boileau was at the baths of Bourbon for his health, and Boursault was receveur des termes at Mont Luçon, a town not far distant, Boileau writes to Racine, "M. Boursault, whom I thought dead, came to see me five or six days ago, and made his appearance again unexpectedly this evening. He told me he had come three long leagues out of his way to Mont Luçon, whither he was bound, and where he lives, to have the pleasure of calling on me. He offered me all sorts of things—money, horses, &c. I replied by similar civilities, and wished to keep him till to-morrow to dinner; but he said he was obliged to go away early in the morning, and we separated the best possible friends." Racine says, in reply, "I am pleased by the civilities you have received from Boursault; you are advancing towards perfection at a prodigious pace; how many people you have pardoned." Boileau replies, "I laughed heartily at the joke you make of the people I have pardoned; but do you know that I have more merit than you imagine, if the Italian proverb be true, chi offende non perdona." About this time Pradon and Bonnecorse attacked him; and he took occasion, in a new edition of his works, to substitute their names for those of the persons with whom he was now reconciled.
To return to his younger days: wit, high and convivial spirits, and his acknowledged and popular talents, gained him the favour of the great. The great Condé was his especial protector; and he changed many expressions in his poems, and even altered them materially, at his suggestion. The great Coudé often assembled literary men at Chantilly; and he liked this society far better than that of people of rank. One day, when Racine and Boileau were with him, the arrival of some bishop was announced, as having come to view his palace and grounds. "Show him every thing," said the prince impatiently, "except myself." This prince often discussed literary topics with his guests. When he was in the right, he argued with moderation and gentleness; when in the wrong, he grew angry if contradicted: his eyes sparkled with a fire that even intimidated Boileau, who yielded at once, remarking, at the same time, to his neighbour, "Henceforth I shall always agree with the prince when he is in the wrong."
The First President Lamoignon also honoured him with his intimate friendship; and Arnaud and Nicole, churchmen distinguished for their virtues and talents, were among his dearest and most revered friends. But, besides these, he had intimates of his own station, of not less genius than himself; authors, yet without rivalship, who enjoyed the zest given by each other's wit in society; to whom he was strongly attached, and with whom, in the heyday of life, he played many a prank, and spent long hours of social enjoyment. Racine, La Fontaine, Molière, and Chapelle[85] were among these. Many anecdotes are told concerning them, which makes us the more regret that no faithful Boswell was near to glean more amply. The "Boileana," which pretended to record their wit, is by no means authentic. Louis Racine, in his valuable life of his father, has given us one or two; from these—the shadow rather than the light of wit—marking its place rather than displaying its form—we select a few.
This knot of friends frequently dined at a celebrated traiteur's, or at one another's houses; in particular, at Molière's and Boileau's country houses at Auteuil. The conversation on these occasions was brilliant; and, did a silly remark escape from any among them, a fine was immediately levied. Chapelain's poem of the "Pucelle" was on the table, and, according to the quality of the fault, the accused was adjudged to read a certain number of lines from this poem: twenty lines was a heavy punishment; a whole page was considered equivalent to a sentence of death.
The famous supper, when the whole company resolved to drown themselves, has been related in the life of Molière. Buoyant spirits, unchecked by age or sorrow, inspired a thousand freaks, which were put in execution on the spur of the minute. At one time the university of Paris was going to present a petition to parliament to desire that the philosophy of Descartes should not be taught in the schools. This was mentioned before the First President Lamoignon, who said that, if the petition were presented, the decree could not be refused. Boileau, amused by the idea, wrote a burlesque decree, which he got up in common with Racine, and his nephew added the legal terms, and carried it, together with several other papers, to be signed by the president. Lamoignon was on the point of putting his name, when, casting his eyes over it, he exclaimed, "This is a trick of Despréaux!" The burlesque petition became known, and the university gave up the notion of presenting a serious one.
Meanwhile, flattered and courted by the great, and beloved by his
friends, Boileau long abstained from publishing those satires which had
gained him so much popularity. Many of his verses had passed into
proverbs from their appositeness and felicity of expression[86]; and
those who heard him recite were eager to learn them by heart, and repeat
them to others. Becoming thus the universal subject of
conversation,—listened to with delight, repeated with
enthusiasm,—the booksellers laid hold of mutilated copies, and
printed them. The sensitive ear of the author was shocked by the mistakes
that crept in, the result of this loose mode of publication, and he at last
resolved to bring them out himself.
1666.
Ætat.
30.
He published seven satires, preceded by an address to the king, which,
however full of praise, could hardly be called flattery, since it echoed
the voice of the whole French nation, and had been fairly earned by the
sovereign. Louis then appeared in the brilliant position of a young
monarch labouring for the prosperity and glory of his people. Cardinal
Richelieu and cardinal Mazarin had disgusted the French with favourites
and prime ministers. Louis was his own minister; unwearied in his
application to business, and never suffering his pleasures to seduce him
to idleness. These very pleasures, conducted with magnificence and good
taste, dazzled and fascinated his subjects. He established his influence
in foreign countries, forcing them to acknowledge his superiority. He
aided Austria against the Turks; succoured Portugal; protected Holland:
and while, with some arrogance, but more real greatness, he thus rose
the sun of the world, he studied to make his court the centre of
civilisation and knowledge. Such a course might well deserve the praises
Boileau bestowed, who was also influenced by Colbert to give such a turn
to his address as would lead the mind of the active and ardent sovereign
to take delight in the blessings of peace, instead of the false glories
of war. The first edition was also preceded by a preface, in which he
apologises for the publication, to which he was solely urged by the
disfigurement of his poems as they were then printed. He bids the
authors whom he criticises remember that Parnassus was at all times a
free country; and that, if he attacked their works, they might revenge
themselves by criticising his; and to reflect that, if their productions
were bad, they deserved censure; if good, nothing said in their
dispraise would injure them.
In vain he tried to propitiate authors; and it must be acknowledged
that, though some might be found candid enough to admit the truth of his
strictures, no man could be pleased at being the mark for ridicule. The
outcry was prodigious, and he endeavoured to appease it, and justify
himself, in his ninth satire, addressed to his understanding '("à son
esprit:" the word thus used is very untranslatable; in former times the
term wit had very much the same signification).
1667.
Ætat.
31.
About the same time he published his eighth satire on man, while he
still kept the ninth in manuscript. The king read the eighth, and
admired it exceedingly. M. de Saint Maurice, an officer of the king's
guard, who had a frequent opportunity of approaching the monarch, as he
was teaching him to shoot flying, observed that Boileau had written a
still better satire, in which there was mention of his majesty. "Mention
of me!" cried the king haughtily. "Yes, sire," replied Saint Maurice,
"and he speaks with all due respect." Louis showed a desire to see this
new production; and Boileau gave a copy of it to his friend on condition
that he showed it only to the king. Louis was much pleased: it became
known at court, copies got abroad, and the poet found it necessary to
publish it.
This was the period of his life when Boileau was fullest of energy and invention; and his industry equalled the fecundity of his wit. He himself used in after days to call it his bon temps, and alluded to it at once with pride and regret. He wrote several of his epistles, his "Art Poétique," and the "Lutrin." Having in his satires held up to ridicule the prevalent faults of the literature of his time, he turned his thoughts to giving rules of taste, and was desirous of pointing out the right path for authors to pursue. He mentioned his design to M. Patin, who doubted the possibility of adapting such a subject to French verse. In this he mistook the genius of his language. Narrow as are the powers of French verse, which was then, indeed, in its infancy, it was, under the master hand of Boileau, admirably fitted for pointed epigrams and sententious maxims. He felt this; and, notwithstanding his friend's counsels, he began his "Art Poétique;" and, carrying a portion of it to his adviser, M. Patin at once acknowledged his mistake, and exhorted him to proceed.
At the same time he was employed on the "Lutrin;" a poem in which he displayed more fancy and sportive wit than he had before exhibited. It is not so graceful nor so airy as "The Rape of the Lock[87];" but it is more witty, and abounds with those happy lines, many of which have passed into proverbs, while others concentrate, as it were, a whole comedy into a few lines.
The idea of the "Lutrin" was suggested in conversation. Some friends of the author were disputing concerning epic poetry, and Boileau maintained the opinion advanced in his "Poetics," that an heroic poem ought to have but a slender groundwork, and that its excellence depended on the power of its inventor to sustain and enlarge the original theme. The argument grew warm; but no one was convinced, and the conversation changed. It turned upon a ridiculous dispute between the treasurer and chanter of the Chapelle Royale of Paris, concerning the placing of a reading desk (Lutrin).[88] M. de Lamoignon, the revered and excellent friend of Boileau, turned to him, and asked whether an heroic poem could be written on such a subject. "Why not?" was the reply: the company laughed; but Boileau, excited to think on the subject, found the burlesque of it open upon him. The spirited opening is the happiest effort of his muse; and, when he showed it to M. de Lamoignon, he was encouraged to proceed. At first he limited the poem to four cantos, which are the best; for, as is usually the case with burlesque, it becomes heavy and tedious as it is long drawn out. The first and second cantos are, indeed, far superior to the remainder. The wit has that pleasantry whose point is sharp, and yet without sting; so that even those attacked can smile. The poem begins with an exordium that at once opens the subject:—