THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF .CALIFOP^ THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS MARQUISE DE SEVIGNE DAME DE BOURBILLY 1626-1696 BY JANET ALDIS "Quelle femme aimable! quel adorable ^crivain ! Nulle, parmi les femmes franpaises, n'a possd6 a ce degr6 1' imagination et 1'esprit" SAINTE-BEUVE WITH EIGHTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS METHUEN & CO. 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. LONDON 11 First Published in 1907 PREFACE MADAME DE SEVIGN&, said Sainte-Beuve, wrote her Letters "during twenty-seven years of the most delightful period of the most agreeable French society"; and no other writer gives so complete a picture of that vivid and fascinating epoch as the famous Marquise. It was the Augustan Age of France, when modern manners and modern culture passed swiftly from their bright dawn to a brilliant noontide. In literature, there were Corneille, Moliere, Racine, La Fontaine, Madame de S^vigne, and La Rochefoucauld; the rivals Mignard and Le Brun were painting their wonder- ful portraits ; Pascal was stirring society with his anonymous Lettres provinciates ; Bourdaloue and Bossuet were pouring forth to crowded congregations their eloquent thunders of denunciation, and the funeral orations which have since become classics; Saint Francis de Sales was founding convents and monasteries, and preaching and living the holy life ; while the humble Saint Vincent de Paul was steadfastly devoting his energies and talents to the service of the unregarded poor, and by the example of his simple and sincere enthusiasm, making it fashionable for high-born ladies to minister with their own delicate hands to the sufferers in prison and in the Hotel Dieu. We can only realise the charm of that wonderful century by comparing it with the arid century that followed ; by con- trasting its spontaneous and fertile flow of genius, its natural romance and colour, its genuine religious ardour, with the stultified and absurd self-consciousness of straining mediocrity, the formal picturesqueness and paraded infidelity which were so conspicuous in the more sophisticated eighteenth century. The people of Madame de Sevigne's day lived and breathed ' *** \ vi THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS romance. Duelling and abductions, deeds of high daring, and pious self-renunciation were in the air. The city was gay with frequent religious processions, when, mingling with priests and people, friars in their brown, white, and grey habits marched through the streets barefoot or in sandals, and devout citizens draped windows and balconies with their choicest carpets and tapestries, and lent their most valuable pictures and treasured articles de virtu to decorate altars -in the public squares where the Host rested when the priest was wearied with its weight. On Midsummer Day, Saint John's fire flared up from the Greve, and those whose name was John lighted his fire on their doorsteps with superstitious precaution, for fear of mis- adventure. Brutal and frequent executions took place, not only on the Greve, but in the public streets; and by night, in those same dark and narrow streets, bands of mysterious figures in mask and domino swept silently by, or played tricks on gay cavaliers with clanking swords, or on the humbler citizen going home from tavern or wineshop. The Seine was then the principal highway of traffic for the city, and ponderous barges, laden with oil and wood and wine, glided slowly into the capital ; the Champs Elysees were veritable and delightful fields, a fashionable rendezvous where the gay promenaders along the Cours-la-Reine might walk or meet their friends ; and the Bois de Boulogne was a dense wood outside Paris, through which people usually travelled in com- panies as a protection against the brigands who made their haunts in its deep recesses. And in the Letters of Madame de Sevigne we get brilliant and detailed descriptions of all this life and glow and colour ; truthful and impressionist pictures of the moment, which, written to amuse her idolised daughter in Provence, have delighted countless thousands in the centuries that have followed. The ) Marquise did not dream that she was writing for posterity. Though some of her letters were handed about among friends, and admired during her lifetime, it is evident that she and her daughter made a compact before they parted that their letters to each other should be private. When, occasionally, she showed a part of her daughter's letters to Madame de la Fayette, she assured the Comtesse de Grignan that she was PREFACE vii not indiscreet, that she knew exactly how much to show, and to what friends to show it; and once, when she had greatly enjoyed one of her daughter's letters, she exclaimed : " Bon Dieu ! my dear child, how charming your letters are ! There are passages in them that deserve to be printed ; one of these days you will find that a treacherous friend will betray you " with no thought that her own letters would eventually be given to the world by her granddaughter Pauline, the Comtesse de Simiane. But no author, writing for a large and appreciative public, could have given more care to his work than did Madame de Sevigne, writing only for the eyes of her daughter, for whose amusement and pleasure she was never tired of giving her best. There was nearly the length of France between Madame de Sevigne* and the Comtesse de Grignan, but in spirit the Marquise was always with her daughter, and whatever happened in Paris or Brittany, Livry or Vichy, or wherever she chanced to be, she always sent an account of it to Provence. She wrote almost daily those vivid and life-like chronicles of the gossip of the Court, the news of the town, interesting details concerning intimate friends, her own thoughts, aspirations, religious sentiments, and philosophy of life, and all in such graceful, easy, piquant and varied phrases, that there is amazingly little repetition throughout the two thousand letters. These letters were the chief occupation of her days. It is noticeable that when she was with her daughter, she wrote to her other friends much more frequently ; but when she was separated from Madame de Grignan her first care was always to write to Provence, and if, as occasionally happened, there was not enough of interest to fill her letter, she would lay down her pen and " run round the town " to see if she could gather any news to send her. " I give you," she once told her daughter, " the top of the basket ; that is to say, the flower of my head, of my eyes, and of my mind." It has not been attempted in the present volume to give a resume of her complete correspondence. It has been written mainly with the idea of giving the personal history of the Marquise in its relation to her times, and of showing how viii THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS intimately she was connected with the great events of her day, and how closely she came into contact with the great personages who were, consciously or unconsciously, occupied in making history: her uncle the Cardinal de Retz, the Due de la Rochefoucauld, Foucquet, Marechal Turenne, and many others. The letters have, however, been freely used in this endeavour to picture the private life of a grande dame in Parisian society and at Versailles, at the Baths and at her country-house, or travelling in France two centuries and more ago. By a fortunate chance, the chief houses in which Madame de SeVignd lived have been spared by Time and the Revolu- tion. The house where she was born in the Place des Vosges still stands, marked by a tablet in her honour; only a few paces away, in the Rue de Sevigne", is the fine Hotel de Carnavalet, which she occupied for the last twenty years of her life ; her beautiful country-house Les Rochers, in Brittany, is almost untouched by time, amid the park and gardens which she planted, and loved with such a genuine passion ; and at Gargan-Livry, a few miles from Paris, may still be found the grey old Abbaye where she spent her tranquil girlhood with the good Abbd de Livry. Among the many authorities which I have used, I am especially indebted to Monmerque's valuable edition of the Lettres, with Mesnard's Notice biographique, in the Collection des grands ecrivains de la France ; Walckenaer's Memoires touchant la vie et les ecrits de la Marquise de Sevigne '; Memoires of the Comte de Bussy, Madame de Motteville, Cardinal de Retz, and La Grande Mademoiselle; Journal du Voyage de deux jeunes hollandais a Paris en 1656-1658, public par A. P. Faugere ; and Dr. Martin Lister's account of his visit to Paris in 1698. For the place of Madame de Sevigne's birth, and the date of her daughter's birth, I have followed Mesnard, who has given a copy of the acte de bapteme in each case. J. A. CAMBRIDGE, July 9, 1907 CONTENTS CHAPTER I The duel on Easter Sunday morning at the Porte Saint- Antoine The scandal in Paris, and its consequences The birth of Madame de Sevign6 Her celebrated grandmother Sainte-Chantal, the disciple of Saint Francis de Sales A twofold inheritance CHAPTER II A family council The Abbe de Livry chosen as guardian of Marie de Rabutin- Chantal Her life at the Abbaye Walpole's "Notre Dame de Livry" An amorous tutor A shabby man of letters . . . .13 CHAPTER III Her " portrait" by the Marquise de la Fayette The young Burgundian heiress is betrothed to Henri, Marquis de Sevigne The bridegroom fights a duel and is dangerously wounded An old chateau in Brittany The furniture of Madame de Sevigne's room The birth of Franoise Marguerite de Sevigne . . . . . . .24 CHAPTER IV The H6tel de Rambouillet, the pioneer of Parisian salons The Marquise de Rambouillet A lady's bed-chamber in the seventeenth century Julie d'Angennes La Guirlande de Julie A polished society of prfcieux et prtcieuses The Duchesse de Longueville Mademoiselle de Scudery . 35 CHAPTER V The dissipated young Marquis de Sevigne openly neglects his wife The birth of Charles de Sevigne Madame de Sevigne has many admirers The Comte de Lude, Segrais, the Abbe de Montreuil, the Comte de Bussy- Rabutin A daring abduction . . . . -49 x THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS CHAPTER VI PAGE A visit to the Bishop of Chalon The Marquis and his wife return to Paris The beginnings of the Fronde The flight of the Court to Saint-Germain Paris besieged by the Queen "Mazarins" and "Frondeurs" The Duchesse de Longueville at the Hotel de Ville . . . .61 CHAPTER VII The "Princes' Fronde" The Sevignes give a supper-party to the Duchesse de Chevreuse The appartement of the crippled poet Scarron The Marquis de Sevigne and Ninon de 1'Enclos An intercepted letter The Marquis conducts his wife to the solitude of Les Rochers The diamond earrings The Marquis de Sevigne is killed in a duel . . 7 1 CHAPTER VIII Madame de Sevigne's widowhood at Les Rochers She returns to Paris and gradually re-enters Parisian society Rival suitors The quarrel between the Due de Rohan and the Marquis de Tonquedec in her ruelle A haughty Duchess The battle of Saint- Antoine . . . -83 CHAPTER IX The Comte de Bussy pays court to the Marquise He gives a fete in her honour in the Temple Gardens Madame de Sevigne at the height of her charm and popularity A period of temptation Dangerous gallants The Prince de Conti ; Nicolas Foucquet . . . . -93 CHAPTER X The escape of Cardinal de Retz His relative, Madame de Sevigne, acts as intermediary A letter to her old tutor Menage The Comte de Bussy leaves Paris to go to camp A lively correspondence between the two cousins ....... . 105 CHAPTER XI The Queen of Sweden visits Paris Her impression of Madame de Sevigne An infant prodigy La Fontaine's verses on the Marquise A ball in her honour Wax-candles carried off by the maskers . . . .114 CHAPTER XII The Comte de Bussy in difficulties He desires to borrow money of the Marquise A misunderstanding Madame de Montglas pledges her diamonds Bussy's mean revenge on his cousin Moliere gives Les Prgcieuses Ridicules . . . . . . .124 CONTENTS xi CHAPTER XIII PAGE The last fete at Vaux A startling arrest Letters from Madame de Sevigne found among the private papers of Foucquet A Parisian scandal The Comte de Bussy defends his cousin's good name . . . 131 CHAPTER XIV Foucquet's trial Madame de Sevigne writes a daily account of it to the Marquis de Pomponne The Chancellor Seguier A period of suspense Foucquet is sent to Pignerol under the escort of d'Artagnan and his famous Musketeers . . . . . . . .140 CHAPTER XV Madame de Sevigne introduces her daughter at Court "A beauty who will set the world on fire " Mademoiselle de Sevigne dances with the King Verses in her honour . . . . . . 151 CHAPTER XVI A reconciliation between the Marquise and her cousin Bussy Letters of explanation The Marquise writes a clear summing-up of his offences The Comte finally sues for mercy, and is pardoned by his cousin . .161 CHAPTER XVII Suitors for the hand of Mademoiselle de Sevigne A vain young beauty The Due de Caderousse The Marquis de Merinville " The prettiest girl in France " unmarried at twenty-three She is betrothed to a widower with two young daughters . . . . . . .169 CHAPTER XVIII Mademoiselle de Sevigne is married to the Comte de Grignan An ancient and honourable family An imprudent mother Charles de Sevigne His campaign in Candia against the Turks . . . . . 1 78 CHAPTER XIX The Comte de Grignan is appointed Deputy-Governor of Provence Madame de Sevigne's grief and disappointment Model letters from a mother-in-law The Comtesse de Grignan remains a year in Paris with her mother The Bishop of Marseilles .... .185 CHAPTER XX A celebrated letter La Grande Mademoiselle and M. de Lauzun A royal love-story Madame de Sevigne visits the Tuilleries, and is the confidante of La Grand Mademoiselle A Princess in tears . . . -193 xii THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS CHAPTER XXI PAGE A bitter parting The perilous journey to Provence A tender mother "A pretty pagan " Spring at Livry ...... 202 CHAPTER XXII Baron de Se"vign His dissipated life in Paris "He wears the chains of Ninon" An actress' love-letters "A fool in heart but not in head" Description of a fete at Chantilly The death of Vatel . . .211 CHAPTER XXIII The Marquise and her household go to Brittany for the belle saison Her cavalcade of carriages, pack-horses, and postilions The tenantry assemble on the wrong day to welcome the young heir Dancing Bohemians Sevigne leaves for the camp in Lorraine . . . . .221 CHAPTER XXIV The States of Brittany A seventeenth-century town The Duchesse de Chaulnes visits the Marquise at Les Rochers A humorous criminal A grand banquet at the Castle of Vitre A doorway heightened to admit pyramids of fruit Guests at Les Rochers A collation in the garden . 229 CHAPTER XXV The "Fete de Marie" at Vitre A drinking province The Marquise takes refuge at Les Rochers An exhausted hostess Madame de Sevigne is escorted back to Vitre by the Governor's guards .... 239 CHAPTER XXVI Wolves in the woods at Les Rochers The birth of a grandson The Marquise and her household return to Paris A warm welcome given to the mtre- beautlK charming society A brilliant group of writers . . .247 CHAPTER XXVII The Marquise visits her daughter in Provence Madam de Se~vigne at Marseilles Her return to Paris A midnight walk with Madame Scarron The death of Turenne . . . . . . .256 CHAPTER XXVIII The Marquise has an attack of rheumatic fever She is tenderly nursed by her son and the Bien-Bon Rival beauties at the Carmelites The Marquise CONTENTS xiii goes to Vichy for the waters A coquette at the Baths two hundred years ago Appalling remedies prescribed by physicians The hanging of a countess ...... . 268 CHAPTER XXIX The Marquise at Versailles Madame de Montespan at cards with the King The H6tel de Carnavalet The reckless extravagance of the Grignans A clever stepmother A sarcastic letter ..... 279 CHAPTER XXX The Marquise visits Les Rochers with the Bien-Bon The rough roads of Brittany Madame de Grignan comes to Paris for a long stay Company at the H6tel de Carnavalet The marriage of Charles de Sevigne The death of the Bien-Bon in 1687 ...... 289 CHAPTER XXXI The young Marquis de Grignan at Philipsburg Madame de Sevigne at the performance of Esther by the young ladies of Saint-Cyr Her last visit to Les Rochers The marriage of the Marquis de Grignan The marriage of Pauline The death of Madame de Sevigne .... INDEX .......... 309 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS THE MARQUISE DE SEVIGN& ..... Frontispiece By permission of Messrs. Hachette, Paris FACING PAGE PLACE DES VOSGES (Place Royale), PARIS ..... 6 From a Photograph by Mons. Sauvanaud, Paris THE ABBAYE DE LIVRY . . . . . . .18 HENRI, MARQUIS DE SEVIGNE ...... 30 By permission of Messrs. Hachette, Paris CHRISTOPHE DE COULANGES, ABBE DE LIVRY . . . .84 By permission of Messrs. Hachette, Paris THE COMTE DE BUSSY ....... 100 From an Engraving after the Original Portrait at Versailles NICOLAS FOUCQUET . . . . . . . .118 From an Engraving after the Original Portrait at Versailles CHARLES DE SEVIGNE . . . . . * . .152 By permission of Messrs. Hachette, Paris THE COMTESSE DE GRIGNAN (Fransoise de Sevigne) . . .158 By permission of Messrs. Hachette, Paris HENRIETTE, DUCHESSE D'ORLEANS . . . . . .194 From a Miniature by Petitot in the South Kensington Museum THE DUCHESSE DE MONTPENSIER ("La Grande Mademoiselle"). . 194 From a Miniature by Petitot in the South Kensington Museum THE COMTESSE DE GRIGNAN ...... 206 From the Portrait by Mignard in the Muse"e Carnavalet, Paris From a Photograph by Mons. Moutet, Paris LES ROCHERS, MADAME DE SEVIGNE'S HOME IN BRITTANY . . 222 MARECHAL TURENNE ....... 260 From an Engraving by Nanteuil, after Champaigne in the Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris xvi THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS FACING PAGE THE MARQUISE DE MAINTENON ...... 272 From a Miniature in the South Kensington Museum THE MARQUISE DE MONTESPAN ...... 272 From a Miniature by Petitot in the South Kensington Museum THE H6TEL DE CARNAVALET, COUR D'ENTREE .... 282 From a Photograph by Mons. Moutet, Paris THE MARQUISE DE SEVIGNE ...... 294. From a Portrait at Versailles From a Photograph by Messrs. Neurdein, Paris THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS CHAPTER I The duel on Easter Sunday morning at the Porte Saint-Antoine The scandal in Paris, and its consequences The birth of Madame de Sevigne Her celebrated grandmother Sainte-Chantal, the disciple of Saint Francis de Sales A twofold inheritance IT was the morning of Easter Day of the year 1624, and the devout and faithful of the parish church of Saint Paul in the Marais, the most fashionable quarter of Paris, had gathered together to "make their Easter." The priests in gorgeous vestments, with little white-robed acolytes in attendance, were celebrating High Mass to a great congregation, for the Church's festivals were at this period strictly observed by almost the whole population. Among the crowd was the young Baron de Chantal, after- wards the father of Madame de SeVigne, who had come with his recently married wife, Marie de Coulanges, and her family. The Baron had just communicated, when a lackey, hurriedly entering the church, found his way to where the young noble sat, and gave him a message from his friend, Bouteville de Montmorency. " Monsieur le Marquis," whispered the servant, " was waiting for Monsieur at the Porte Saint-Antoine, where he was about to fight a duel with Monsieur Pont-Gibaud, and he begged him to come immediately and act as his second." It might have occurred to some people that church-going clothes with black velvet slippers made scarcely a suitable costume to wear as second, but this ardent duellist did not give 2 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS a thought to such trifles. Without hesitating an instant, he left his wife and her relatives, who doubtless wondered what had called him away so suddenly, and, traversing the short distance along the Rue Saint-Antoine, in a few minutes reached the Porte, where the combatants were awaiting him in hot, impatient anger. Chantal was eagerly welcomed by his friend, and so fierce was the quarrel that they did not even wait to send for swords. Knives were borrowed from a neighbouring tavern, and in the shortest possible time principals and seconds were fighting with the reckless bravery and practised skill of that duelling age, under the grim shadow of the Bastille. Fortunately no one was killed, but such an extraordinary affair was not likely to remain a secret. It was a choice piece of gossip for Easter Day, and before night the news had spread over court and town, and everyone was talking of the scandalous occurrence. It reached the ears of Richelieu, the powerful minister of Louis xni, who had determined to suppress duelling, which, it was said, was yearly robbing France of more of the bravest of her young nobility than the most disastrous wars. The minister was gravely offended. Was his famous Edict to be regarded as a dead letter ? To be set aside as an idle form ? The Church, too, was scandalised. A duel on Easter Day! Such sacrilege and profanation were unheard of! And Church and State united their clamours for punishment for this out- rageous defiance of civil and ecclesiastical laws. Swift retribution followed the offence. Shortly after, on the 24th of April, the Parlement of Paris in solemn conclave declared that Bouteville de Montmorency, Pont-Gibaud, and their seconds were convicted of lese-majestt both human and divine. A decree pronounced them to be " ignoble, vulgar, and infamous," and condemned them to be hung and strangled on a gallows in the form of a cross, which must be erected in the Place de Greve. Furthermore, the same decree ordained that their houses were to be razed to the ground and their goods confiscated. But laws that could sanction such stringent and brutal sentences had necessarily to be slackly administered at least in the case of nobles who had powerful friends to avenge them A HANGING IN EFFIGY 3 and before this terrible sentence was pronounced the young men had promptly taken flight. The Baron de Chantal was forced to leave his wife, to whom he had been married only a few months, and to take refuge in Burgundy, his native province, where for some time he hid in the house of his brother-in-law, the Comte de Toulongeon. The law had to take its course, however, notwithstanding the non-appearance of the culprits, and a gruesome little farce was enacted for its satisfaction. As the condemned had disappeared, vengeance was wreaked on them by means of their effigies. A gallows was duly erected in the Place de Greve, and figures representing the four duellists were hung in front of the Hotel de Ville. What followed reads like an incident from a romance, but was nothing more than a common occurrence of the time. The Mercure Francois records that on that same night, as dark- ness fell, a company of lackeys, well protected by a band of horsemen, came stealthily to the Place de Greve, and while some kept a keen lookout for the watch, others hurriedly cut down the gruesome caricatures of their masters and carried them off. Gradually the scandal died down, and no further efforts were made to punish the culprits. Their goods were not con- fiscated, their houses were not razed to the ground, and by cautious degrees the young men began to appear among their friends and at Court again, though Richelieu kept an eye on their conduct that was by no means friendly. But their peril had not taught them a great deal of wisdom ! Bouteville de Montmorency was a born swordsman, with such a passion for duelling that nothing could keep him from it long ; while the Baron de Chantal was one of those brilliant young men, endowed with all the talents, who by some trick of inherent perversity take pleasure in offending those people they ought to conciliate. His nephew, the Comte de Bussy, who figures so largely in Madame de Sdvigne's life, has left a slight pen-sketch of him which gives a suggestion at least of his charm and varied accomplishments ; which indicates also that his daughter must have inherited not a little of her wit, fascination, and delight in life from her reckless and ill-fated father. 4 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS " He became," writes Bussy, " one of the most accomplished cavaliers of France, not only for the graces of his person, but for those of his mind also. He danced with an incomparable grace, he fenced well, and his courage was of a rare quality. He was very lively and animated, giving to every word he said such an original and graceful turn that it was a pleasure to hear him converse. But he did not charm by this alone ; it was by the air and grace with which he spoke ; in him all was playful." Unfortunately this young cavalier, in addition to his other accomplishments, had a habit of plain-speaking which by itself was sufficient to gain him many enemies. Madame de Sevigne", more than half a century later, briefly referred to an incident in her father's life which throws an illuminating flash on his whole career, and makes it easy to understand why this brave and witty young noble, of good birth and powerful connections, never gained preferment at Court. When* Schomberg, one of his friends, was made Marechal de France in 1625, the Baron de Chantal wrote this laconic note of congratulation " MONSEIGNEUR, Qualite", barbe noire, familiarite." Madame de Sevign thus explains to her daughter this sole item of her father's correspondence that had been preserved. " You understand that he wished to say to M. de Schomberg that he had been made Mardchal de France, because he was a man of quality, because his beard was black like the King his master's, and because he was admitted to familiarity with the King. For a time the Baron settled down quietly in his house in the Place Royale with his gentle young wife, Marie de Coulanges, who was the daughter of Philippe de Coulanges, Conseiller du Roi, and Marie de Beze, " people of great honour and virtue," said their aristocratic connection the Comte de Bussy, " though not of noble birth." But it seemed impossible for this rash and impetuous young man to keep out of mischief long. Six short months after he had been hung in effigy with his friends, he again arranged to fight another duel as second to his fire-eating friend Bouteville, but, by a fortunate chance, the King was warned of the affair in time to prevent it. Louis XIII, who had always found this witty young noble THE BIRTH OF MARIE DE CHANTAL 5 amusing, began to look coldly on him when Richelieu pointed out that he was an intimate friend of the Prince de Chalais, who, for high treason, was beheaded in 1626, and of the Marquis de Toiras, who had also offended the powerful and vindictive Richelieu. Indeed, the Baron had the misfortune to displease the great Cardinal, which was infinitely worse than displeasing the King, as he was soon to discover in a most startling fashion. _Some two years after his marriage, on February 5, 1626, a little daughter was born to the Baron and his wife not the first, for a child who died at birth had preceded her a daughter who afterwards, as the Marquise de Sevigne, brought more fame to her house and race by her pen than all her valiant fighting ancestors had brought by their swords. For a year after her birth all went well with the household in the Place Royale ; we may even suppose that the young Baronne, with her bright baby and her handsome and fascinating husband, enjoyed for a brief space a semblance at least of that domestic tranquillity of which she had experienced so little during her short wedded life. But this tranquillity was not of long duration. On the I2th of May 1627, Bouteville de Montmorency, the incorrigible duellist, arranged a meeting with Beuvron ; and their two seconds seconds always fought in those days were Bussy d'Amboise and des Chappelles. The affair took place in the Place Royale, that fine square which is now called the Place des Vosges, the very heart and centre of the Marais Quarter. Strangely enough, though eighteenth-century Paris has been so effectually swept away by civilisation and Baron Haussmann, this spacious " Place " of red-and-white brick mansions, after three hundred years of natural and political storms, looks not very different from when it was built by the bluff Henri Quatre, and considered one of the finest squares in Europe. Standing in the Place des Vosges, we are back again in the seventeenth century. In that corner mansion lived the haughty des Rohan ; near by, the beautiful intriguing Duchesse de Chevreuse kept the watchful Mazarin on the qui vive with her ceaseless plottings ; under those quaint, cool arcades, some of France's greatest men have paced, deep in earnest converse on the burning questions of their day, Sully, Richelieu, Corneille, <5 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Moliere, La Rochefoucauld, Turenne; and, so strange is the fortune of war, in those same arcades horses were stabled during the Fronde ! Here, in the square, the favourite game of " running the ring " was played by gallant young nobles ; on fete days those long straight windows were gay with rare carpets and priceless tapestries ; lackeys and waiting-women gossiped in those attics with mansard roofs, or quarrelled in the " Place " below as they waited for their masters. But chance and in- evitable change have metamorphosed those shady promenades into sordid little shops, now given over to menders of broken china, dealers in second-hand clothes, and vendors of iced drinks ; there is the inevitable cheap sweet-store, and an emporium of tawdry garnitures for humble funerals ; while the panelled and decorated rooms above, where Court beauties swept in and out in trailing garments of silk and brocade, attended by gallants in plumed hats and richly embroidered mantles, are now let out in suites of rooms or business offices. The Baron de Chantal lived with his wife and little daughter Marie in the house which is now number one, where a tablet records the fact that Madame de Sdvigne* was born there. One may be quite certain that, on the day of the fateful duel, the young Baron was either looking from an upper window or standing near his friend in the square while the fight was pro- gressing. Indeed, there is little doubt that faces were peering from most of the many windows giving on to the " Place," all keenly interested in a duel of any kind, but especially a duel in which the notorious Bouteville de Montmorency was a principal. It was a day of disaster for this young noble and his friends. One of the seconds, Bussy d'Amboise, was killed by Bouteville's second des Chappelles. Bouteville, knowing that he could expect no mercy from Richelieu, fled hastily across the square to the house of his friend Baron Chantal. The latter had horses in waiting, and the two offenders galloped hastily away by one of the narrow back streets, hoping to escape into hiding till the affair should be condoned, if not forgotten. But there was to be no farce of hanging in effigy this time ! Richelieu, whose consistent policy was to bring lawless nobles under the law, determined to make an example that should DEATH OF THE BARON DE CHANTAL 7 effectually deter others from disobeying his edict The fugitives were followed up at once and arrested at Vitry-le-Brule, where, with the least delay possible, they were beheaded by Richelieu's command, amid the astonishment and fervent execrations of the French nobility. This duel and its fatal consequences had a serious effect on the fortunes of Madame de Sevign<'s father. The Baron found, to his consternation, that, in the warrant of arrest issued against Bouteville, the unfortunate duel of Easter Day two years before was recalled ; and worse, his name was mentioned as being concerned in it ! It was a sinister omen to be thus distinguished by Richelieu in such a connection ; it was something of a warning, or even, it might be, a threat, and he felt that his head would be safer if he removed from Richelieu's near neighbourhood for a time. So, bidding good-bye to his wife and baby daughter, who was then a little more than a year old, he set out to join his friend the Marquis de Toiras, at that time governor of the Isle of Rhe. Toiras gladly welcomed the Baron as a gentleman volunteer, and when news of this reached his mother, the Blessed Chantal, she wrote to her daughter-in-law in the Place Royale " Oh, my dearest daughter, jl do not doubt that your poor heart must be in pain at the thought of your husband exposed to the chances of war. ... I pray that God may preserve you with your dear little one. . . ." The forsaken young Baronne needed all the support that Sainte-Chantal's prayers could give her. A few weeks after her husband had joined the army of the Marquis de Toiras, the Duke of Buckingham landed with two thousand English troops on the Isle of Rhe. The Baron de Chantal, at the head of his company of volunteers, was soon in the midst of the fight, where among brave men his bravery was conspicuous. Three horses were killed under him, and during the engagement, which lasted six hours, he received twenty-seven wounds. He lingered for two hours in mortal pain, then, having received the sacraments, a sad consolation to his mourning wife and mother, this gallant young noble died at the early age of thirty-one. This was the first of that series of deaths which left his little daughter, Marie de Rabutin-Chantal, so peculiarly an 8 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS orphan. The Marquis de Toiras, grieving for the loss of his friend, sent the Baron de Chantal's heart home to his young widow, who placed it in the Church of the Minims, which has since been destroyed. It is said too, that, after her years of mourning were over, he offered himself to her in marriage, but that the gentle, heart-broken Baronne resolved to devote her life to her little girl. She did not, however, long survive her husband. She moved from the house in the Place Royale, so full of bitter- sweet memories of her short and anxious wedded life, and for the six years of her widowhood lived with her parents, Philippe de Coulanges and his wife, sometimes at their mansion in the Place Royale, sometimes at Sucy, the country-house which her father had built a few years before. Then she too died, and her bright and lovely little daughter was left to the care of her grandparents de Coulanges. The Blessed Chantal, fully occupied with the cares of her new Order, wrote to thank Philippe de Coulanges and his wife, not only for the incomparable love which they had for her son, " but for the care which they had lavished on { cette pauvre petite pouponne*. " "But what can be said when God speaks?" she writes on the death of her daughter-in-law. " Let us hope that His sweet goodness will be father, mother, and all things to the little one that the dear departed has left." Madame de Coulanges was a gentle guardian to her daughter's little girl. She taught her herself, she gave her wise and constant care, and we learn from one of Sainte- Chantal's letters that, at the early age of eight, she was pre- sented for her first communion. " The news you give me of that poor little orphan consoles me greatly," she writes to Philippe de Coulanges. " How happy she will be if God preserve you and my poor, very dear sister, to continue your wise and pious guidance ! In truth I love that child as I loved her father, and all for God. I am rejoiced to hear that she is to communicate at Easter. I shall keep it well in mind, and pray God that at the re- ception of our sweet Saviour it will please Him to take entire possession of that little soul." Scarcely two months after her first communionthat great A RELIGIOUS CONFESSION 9 epoch in the life of a Roman Catholic child little Marie de Chantal lost her pious and wise grandmother de Coulanges, who died in May 1634, at the age of fifty-seven, and was buried beside her daughter, the Baronne de Chantal, at the Convent of the Visitation in the Rue Saint-Antoine, one of those founded by the Blessed Chantal. Two years and a half later, Philippe de Coulanges, then an old man of seventy- five, was taken also, and Marie de Chantal, not yet eleven years old, was robbed by death of all her nearest kin. There was her paternal grandmother, Sainte-Chantal, it is true, but that holy woman, who had abandoned her own children for the love of God, was too absorbed by the duties of her Order to undertake the care of a young granddaughter, and never even saw her, though she came to Paris in 1641, at the command of Anne of Austria, while Marie de Chantal was a young girl. Many years afterwards, Madame de SeVigne wrote to her daughter a brief confession of her spiritual difficulties. " I desire to be devout, but my mind is naturally worldly. ... I am neither of God nor of the devil, and this state troubles me, though between ourselves I find it the most natural state in the world. One does not belong to the devil, because one fears God, and at bottom has the principles of religion; one does not belong wholly to God, because His laws are so strict, and no one loves self-denial." In these days, when we place so much to the account of heredity, when we do not consider genius as a "sport" but regard it rather as the choicest flower of racial tendency, it is interesting to trace in two of Madame de Sevigne's im- mediate ancestors those well-defined, but opposing strains of devotion, and an intense joy in all the good gifts and pleasures of life. It is clear that from her father, the handsome, witty, gay and gallant courtier, she derived much that was brightest and most arresting in her genius, the qualities to which she herself gave the generic term, Rabutinage. But there was another side to her character that charmed the circle of friends who knew her best, a side which gives a peculiar cacJiet to her letters, which attracts the sympathy of her readers, which shows her to be truly human, most truly woman, as no mere io THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS hard brilliance of wit or felicity of phrase could ever have revealed her ; which gives a softening, an atmosphere so to speak, to her letters and her life; that half mystic, half de- votional instinct which she probably inherited from her famous grandmother, the " Blessed Chantal." This well-known saint had a strange story. Jeanne Franchise Fre*myot was the daughter of President Fremyot of the Parlement of Burgundy, a man of staunch moral and physical courage, who had been a valiant supporter of the King during the troublous times of the League. Christophe de Rabutin-Chantal, the grandfather of Madame de Sevigne, a Burgundian noble of ancient race, married her in 1592. Like all the Rabutins, he was brave, sarcastic, free of speech and life, with the habit of answering all adverse questions with the sword. He fought eighteen duels, but, strangely enough, he escaped all the perils of his numerous affairs of honour, to die, while out hunting, from a blow given accidentally by a friend. He was only thirty-seven when he died, leaving his widow with four children ; three girls and one boy, Celse Bdnigne, the youngest, who was then four years old. Madame de Chantal went to live with her husband's father, Guy de Rabutin, and gave all her leisure to good works. At Bourbilly, a castle and estate which was part of Madame de Sevigne's inheritance, there is still shown a large oven where the 5 pious widow used to bake the bread which she made for the poor with her own hands. At another place she was called the Saint of Monthelon, and there is no doubt that, but for her children, she would have become a religieuse on the death of her husband. After some years of widowhood, Madame de Chantal had a vision in which she saw an ecclesiastic in soutane and rochet, who, she divined, was to be her spiritual director and guide. Singularly enough, Saint Francis de Sales, while in retreat, preparing for his Lenten course, had a vision also, in which it was revealed to him that he was to be the founder of a new Order, and that a widow and certain others whom he saw were to be its first members. When Madame de Chantal was at Dijon, staying with her THE BLESSED CHANTAL 11 father for the Lenten season, she heard Saint Francis de Sales preach for the first time in her life, and immediately recognised him as the ecclesiastic who, in her vision, had been indicated as her spiritual guide. At the same time, Saint Francis, seeing the Baronne among his congregation, at once saw in her the widow who was to be the head of his new Order. Could there be any doubt after this as to what would be the result ? Her children were still young, and for some years longer she stayed with them. But in due time one of her daughters was married ; the two other daughters took the veil ; and her only son, Celse Benigne, who was afterwards the father of Madame de SeVigne*, was then fourteen. Madame de Chantal, all this time under the spiritual influence of Saint Francis, ever drawn with a more potent attraction towards the holy life, finally resolved to leave her son and her relatives, to found the new Order which the Bishop of Geneva had dreamed of years before. She told her father of her intention, and the President asked her mildly, as he shed bitter tears "What, my dear daughter, does a father who has always loved you so well count for nothing ? At least let me die before you go, then do as you will." Her young son, the Baron de Chantal, did not take the news so calmly. He implored her with all the strength of his passionate nature not to desert him. But the pious widow was firm. Doubtless she thought it more meritorious to establish convents for the glory of the Church than to stay in the world with her young son, and such a matter was between herself and God, however it might appear to human eyes and hearts. The lad of fourteen, however, could listen to no reasons, could not be persuaded that any call, however holy, could take precedence of his crying need for his mother, and, beside him- self with hot-hearted, boyish grief, he threw himself across the threshold, passionately declaring that if she went she would have to step over his body, vainly hoping that he might thus prevent her going. Her mother's heart must surely have been torn with anguish, but she did not swerve from her purpose. She left the house with her son's cries ringing in her ears, and 12 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS from that time onward she cut herself adrift from her family, and steadfastly set her face towards the religious life. Under the direction of Saint Francis de Sales, she founded eighty-seven convents of the Order of the Daughters of the Visitation of Saint Mary. Madame de Sevigne never saw her famous grandmother, but she always wrote with reverence and affection of her saintly and illustrious relative, and occasionally in jesting mood would refer to Saint Francis as her " spiritual grandfather." When- ever she was in grief or trouble, she would retire to the Convent of the Visitation in the Rue Saint- Antoine as to a home, and wherever she stayed as she travelled in France, she would always visit the Convent of the Visitation of Saint Mary if there happened to be one in the town. The Sisters, who respected her for her connection with their revered founder, called her " the living relic," and always gave her a cordial and affectionate welcome. Madame de Chantal died at Moulins in one of the convents she had founded. Soon after her death a selection of her letters was published, and just one hundred years later she received the honours of canonisation and beatification. CHAPTER II A family council The Abbe de Livry chosen as guardian of Marie de Rabutin- Chantal Her life at the Abbaye Walpole's " Notre Dame de Livry" An amorous tutor A shabby man of letters THE little Marie de Rabutin-Chantal, now about ten years old, and "a beauty who attracted all hearts," as Madame de Guette tells us in her Memoires, was orphaned indeed by the death of her grandfather. A family council was held for the purpose of choosing a guardian for the young Burgundian heiress, and it was then that her cousin, Roger de Rabutin, afterwards too well-known as the Comte de Bussy, played his first part, so to speak, in the drama of her life, in which he was so frequently and not always creditably an actor. His father, Le*onor de Rabutin, was prevented by his affairs from attending the meeting of relatives, and Roger, then a handsome youth of eighteen, was sent as his repre- sentative. Christophe, the second son of Philippe de Coulanges and consequently her mother's brother, was chosen as the child's guardian. He was the Abb6 de Livry, a staid, grave young man of twenty-nine, as complete a contrast to her brilliant and reckless father, who would have been her natural protector, as could possibly be imagined. There was not a sparkle of wit, not a glint of humour among the whole range of his virtues. He had, in fact, not one of those dangerous and glittering qualities which were so conspicuous in the Rabutin ancestry, but the child could not have had a better guide and adviser, or one who was more wholly devoted to her interests. From that time forward, to the day of his death some fifty years later, he was her truest friend, her most reliable counsellor, and always an actively beneficent influence in her life. Circumstances had made him an abbe", vowed 13 14 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS to the Church, but nature and inclination had surely destined him to be, like so many of his ancestors, " a gentleman of the long robe." He had an inborn passion for calculation, an intuitive caution in all business dealings, an innate probity of character, qualities which made him an excellent trustee of the property of the young heiress ; indeed, he managed his niece's affairs so skilfully during her minority, that her wealth had increased considerably by the time she married. Besides nursing her estates during her girlhood, and giving her the best advice on money matters after her marriage, he taught her to pay her debts with as much care and rectitude as if she had been nothing but a good and honest bourgeoise; he cultivated her intelligence so that she had a thorough knowledge of all business relating to her property ; and he showed her how to regulate her expenses, and how to manage her own and her children's fortunes, in such a capable fashion, that her spendthrift cousin the Comte de Bussy sneered at her as being "too good a woman of business for a lady of quality." Madame de Sevigne's wit, and genius, and charm came to her direct from nature, but there is little doubt that the wise guidance and counsel of the " Bien-Bon," as she always called her uncle, trained her faculties in the direction of prudence and wisdom, and instilled into her from youth that rectitude and probity which, in the Marquise, is so greatly a part of her many-sided, amazing charm. She often mocked affectionately at her uncle's love for les beaux yeux de la cassette, at his continual calculations, at his love for arithmetic; but she recognised nevertheless what a great part these very unromantic qualities had played in procuring the happiness of her life. But his affectionate care was not all expended on her material interests. It is probable that for some time he educated her himself; then, as she grew older, he engaged two excellent masters, Chapelain and the Abbd Menage, both men of high literary reputation, who gave her that solid and thorough education which proved a staunch support to the genius which afterwards found such matchless expression in her letters. "NOTRE DAME DE LIVRY" 15 She studied Latin sufficiently " to be able," as she wrote, " to read Virgil in all the dignity of the text." " Italian," she says, " I have learned very well ; thanks to the good masters I have had." And Menage, who was a clever linguist, taught her Spanish, which was a quite fashionable language among the nobility, for was not the Spanish princess, Anne of Austria, Queen of France? Marie de Chantal also learned dancing, though, to the Rabutins, dancing was almost a natural instinct ; and her voice was so well trained, that besides taking an in- telligent interest in music, she sang " little Italian songs," which she loved for their passionate fervour. She acted delightfully in private theatricals ; she composed little chansons ; she had a keen and vivid interest in all current literature as well as in the works of the dead masters; and by her manners, as well as by her accomplishments, she grew up to be one of the most charming and distinguished women in a polished and world- renowned society. It was, one cannot doubt, a new and absorbing interest in the life of the young and serious Abbe* to watch the development of the mind and to train the amiable character of his lovely and intelligent little niece. The Abbaye de Livry still stands, hardly touched save by Time's defacing fingers, and it is not difficult to imagine the bright-eyed, fair-haired little Marie de Chantal, playing, studying, and laughing in the meadows and woods which lie around it, during the happy and healthful girlhood which she spent under the wise care of the Bien-Bon. Horace Walpole, whose passionate admiration for the letters of Madame de Sevigne* provoked the jealousy of his letter- writing friend Madame du DefTand, wrote to George Montagu, in 1766, describing a visit to this early home of " Notre Dame de Livry," as he calls the Marquise de Sevigne. It is of especial interest to those who have seen the Abbaye as it exists to-day, for the little pavilion that he mentions as having been built by the Abbe* for his niece is no longer there. "... Livry is situated in the Foret de Bondi," he writes, " very agreeably, on a flat, but with hills near it, and in prospect. There is a great air of simplicity and rural about it, more regular than our taste, but with an old-fashioned tranquillity, and 1 6 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS nothing of colifichet. Not a tree exists that remembers the charming woman, because in this country an old tree is a traitor, and forfeits its head to the crown ; but the plantations are not young, and might very well be as they were in her time. The Abbe's house is decent and smug ; a few paces from it is the sacred pavilion built for Madame de Sevigne' by her uncle, and much as it was in her day ; a small salon below for dinner, then an arcade, but the niches now closed, and painted in fresco with medallions of her, the Grignan, the Fayette, and the Rochefoucault. Above, a handsome large room, with a chimney-piece in the best taste of Louis the Fourteenth's time ; a Holy Family in good relief over it, and the cipher of her uncle Coulanges; a neat little bed- chamber within, and two or three clean little chambers over them. On one side of the garden leading to the great road is a little bridge of wood, on which the dear woman used to wait for the courier that brought her daughter's letters. Judge with what veneration and satisfaction I set my foot upon it ! If you will come with me to France next year, we will go and sacrifice on that sacred spot together." This was written by Walpole about eighty years after the death of the Abbe de Coulanges, before the Revolution began its work of devastation among religious houses. Even now, more than two hundred years since Madame de SeVigne had any connection with Livry, this spot, where she spent some of the happiest hours of her life, is practically unchanged in all its broader aspects. The village of Livry, and the beautiful Forest of Bondi, have, it is true, in these days of easy communication become suburbs of Paris, and are now portioned out into gardens and smart villa residences, all asleep behind close- shut persiennes during the white glare of the burning summer sun. The tiny lake, in compliment to Walpole's "Dame de Livry," is called the Lac de Sevigne; the Abbe"s house is alluringly but mistakenly described for the benefit of literary pilgrims as the " Demeure de Monsieur de Sevigne " ; even the hostess of the little wine-shop a few yards from the lake gives voluble misinformation concerning the haunts of the illustrious lady whose memory bestows such distinction on the suburban village. But happily the Abbaye, with its adjoining chapel, is some THE ABB A YE DE LIVRY 17 distance away, and remains undisturbed in solitude and the peace of desolation. It is approached by a long avenue of trees, in which a tall crucifix stands half-hidden among the thick foliage. At the end of the avenue is the long, low house, with no striking architectural features, dismantled, falling into ruin, with nothing but painted wainscot walls and dusty floors to be seen through the closed windows, though, annexed to the east wing, is the chapel, kept in good repair and used for village service. The pavilion mentioned by Walpole, to which she often came with her daughter and her dear friends, the Marquise de la Fayette and the Due de la Rochefoucauld, as a refuge from the summer heat of Paris, has entirely disappeared ; gone, too, is the little bridge of wood on which " the dear woman used to wait for the courier that brought her daughter's letters." Some straight and formal chestnut walks, however, remind one of her home at Les Rochers, and look as if at some time she may have planted their early predecessors ; and though fruit-trees and fertile fields have taken the place of the lovely gardens that used to abut on the Forest of Bondi, the old house, set in its green solitude, is still eloquent of the presence of the serious Abbe" and his beautiful young ward. We hear strangely little of the Brothers who inhabited the Abbaye, and their days were probably too occupied with their devotions, too monotonous in their religious calm, to take much place in the life of the young girl whose thoughts and desires were trending towards the great world she was so soon to enter. But we get a glimpse of one Brother many years after this, which is almost the only indication we find that there was actually a Brotherhood of monks living in the Abbaye. In May 1672 the Marquise writes to her daughter : " Here is a very tragic story from Livry. Do you remember that pretended devotee who dared not turn his head ? I said that it seemed as if he were carrying a glass of water on it. Devotion has turned his brain. One fine night he gave himself five or six stabs with a knife, and then fell on his knees in the middle of his room, naked, and covered with blood. Someone went in and found him in this state. ' Ah ! Mon Dieu ! brother, who has treated you thus ? ' ' My father/ he replied coldly, * I am doing 1 8 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS penance.' He then fainted, and was put to bed, and his wounds, which were dangerous, were dressed. With much care and attention he recovered at the end of three months, when he was sent back to his relatives at Lyons." It was by no means a solitary life that the young girl led with her uncle the Abbe*. Her aunt, Madame de Coulanges, would often visit Livry with her son, the little cousin Emmanuel, just eight years younger than Marie de Chantal, who was afterwards so witty, so gaily irresponsible, so incurably frivolous, that his friends all agreed that he never grew up to the end of his days. Other relatives came to visit the charming young orphan, and there were neighbours, too, who remained her friends all her life. Among these was Denis Saint-Pavin, whose father, the PreVot des Marchands at Paris, was the seigneur of Livry. This young man, unfortunately a hunchback, was an intimate friend and welcome guest at the Abbaye, and as Marie de Chantal grew older he celebrated the young beauty in frequent verses. Both were young and gay-hearted, and evidently found much pleasure in the companionship; but Saint-Pavin had no hope of ever being any dearer than a friend. " I am her friend, but not her lover," he writes, and then whimsically points out the contrast between them. He extols her charms, and enumerates his own defects ; his dwarf-like body, his long arms and legs, which, he says, cause him to be taken for a windmill. Here too, to Livry, came Manage and Chapelain, her tutors in languages and literature. The young Abbe Menage, then in the early thirties, did more than give her lessons in Spanish and Italian, more than point out to her the beauties of the Italian poets ; he lost his heart to his lovely young pupil, who, in addition to her complexion of cream-white and roses, her eyes sparkling with youth and genius, her shining masses of wavy fair hair, had a joyous wit and a brilliant intelligence that, by themselves, would have been a sufficiently dangerous charm. It is not surprising that the Abbe should be the humble and persistent worshipper of this young girljust merging into the woman who was to fascinate and charm some of the bravest and wisest of the men of her generation ; but his laughing pupil would never take his passion seriously. Perhaps, with those AN AMOROUS TUTOR 19 clear-seeing eyes of hers, that put such a just value on most of the things that came across her vision, she divined that Manage was one of those men they are not all dead to-day! who bring their worship to shrines that throw reflected glory on the devotee. Mesnard has truly said of him " It was the habit of Manage to adore his pupils. He sighed by turns for Mademoiselle de Chantal and for Mademoiselle de la Vergne (who afterwards became Madame de la Fayette). He sang the praises of both in all languages. He loved them before and after their marriage, he loved them when they became widows." Sometimes, as she grew older, there were little misunder- standings between master and pupil, and from two of her early letters to Manage we gather that the Abbe had written her a sarcastic and wounding letter. But in her reply she shows such a frank amiability, such a desire of keeping his friendship, that he would have been a churl indeed to have resisted such friendly overtures. " Once again," she writes, " I say to you that we do not understand each other. You have the good fortune to be eloquent, otherwise all that you have written to me would not be worth much, though it is wonderfully well put. I am not alarmed, however, and I feel my conscience so clear of all that you accuse me, that I have not lost the hope of compelling you to acknowledge my innocence. But this will be impossible if you will not visit me for half an hour, and I cannot understand why you so obstinately refuse to do this. I beg you once again to come and see me; if you will not come to-day, I entreat you to call to-morrow. If you will not come here, perhaps you will not close your door to me, and I shall follow you up so closely that you will be forced to admit you are in the wrong. You wish to make me appear ridiculous by saying that you have only quarrelled with me because you are sorry at my departure. If such were the case I should deserve les Petites-Maisons and not your hatred ; but it is so different, and I cannot understand why, when losing a friend and regretting her, one should, because of that, treat her at the last interview with the utmost coldness. It is a most extraordinary way of 20 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS behaving, and as I am not accustomed to it you must excuse my surprise. However, I 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, that I beg you to give me the consolation of proving you to be in the wrong, and of saying that it is your affection that has ceased, CHANTAL " Though this letter is signed " Chantal," it is thought by her biographers that it was probably written soon after her marriage, when the circle of her friends considerably increased, and that Menage, accustomed to a very large share of her time and interest, was piqued at the division of his pupil's regard. The vanity of the Abbe was well known ; has not Moliere cruelly preserved him for all time as Vadius ? but his pupil knew that beneath all his affectations there was a true and loyal heart, and she writes to him again on the same subject " It is you who have taught me to speak of our friendship as dead ; as for me, caring for you as affectionately as I do, I should never have supposed it. Accuse yourself then of those disagreeable words which have so displeased you, and believe that I can have no greater joy than to know that you still feel for me the friendship which you promised me, and that it has had a glorious resurrection. Adieu, CHANTAL " But the young lady was not always so sweet and humble in her dealings with her tutor. Doubtless they were both fully aware of the wide social gulf between her rank and that of the man who had climbed into the great world up the ladder of literature. There was always in her treatment of Menage a disregard of him as a possible lover, a sisterly and familiar attitude in which one might imagine her replying to any remonstrance, " Why, it is only Menage ! " an attitude that must have been peculiarly irritating to the vain young Abbe, whose weakness it was to pose as the adorer of charming ladies of rank, and who allowed neither her nor his friends to be ignorant of his passion for his lovely pupil. The Comte de Bussy relates that one day after her A WITTY RETORT 21 marriage, when she was driving out to make some purchases, her maid-companion was unable to come, and as it was not the custom then for a lady to drive out alone, she asked Menage to accompany her, adding that she did not suppose anyone would remark on the circumstance. The Abb was deeply wounded at being treated so dis- dainfully, but Madame de SeVign6 replied with scant ceremony " Get into my carriage, and if you are troublesome I shall come to see you at your house ! " Tallemant tells the story, that once, soon after her marriage, she kissed Menage in the presence of several young gallants. The young men were surprised, for though manners were very free at that period, and it was the usual custom to kiss the hostess and maids on arriving at an inn, this, they thought, was carrying the habit of kissing to an unusual limit. Madame, seeing their astonishment, gaily explained her action. " It was thus that they kissed in the primitive church ! " she laughingly told them as she turned to go. She was not even invariably submissive to him in his character of tutor, and on one occasion, having asked him how he was, Menage replied, " Madame, je suis enrhumeV' " Je la suis aussi," answered Madame de Sevignd Manage, who could not forget that she had been his pupil, conscientiously pointed out that, according to the rules of the language, she should have said " Je le suis." " You may say it if you wish," she retorted with vivacity, " but if I said it like that I should think I had a beard on my chin 1 " In spite, however, of her little impertinences to her tutor, which were usually the outcome of her vigorous and buoyant spirit, she had the utmost confidence in him, and sometimes told him of her most private affairs. Once, after a conversation of this kind, the Abbe*, always anxious to edge in a little word of his devotion, remarked sentimentally " I am indeed your confessor, and have been your martyr." " And I your virgin ! " she promptly retorted. It was during the first years of Madame de SeVigne*'s married life, when she was a popular and brilliant beauty in Parisian society, that Menage was more than ever anxious to 22 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS show his world on what familiar terms he was with his late pupil. He relates with a good deal of satisfaction that one day, at the Hotel de Rambouillet, " I held one of Madame de Sevigne's hands in mine, and, when she had retired, M. Peletier said to me, ' There goes the finest work that ever came out of your hands ! ' ' Well might Madame de Sevigne treat his passion lightly, for he was evidently of the type who feel it a pleasing duty to be gallant to any lady in whose company they find themselves. But he had so advertised his passion for Madame de SeVigne that he occasionally received a lesson from ladies who were amused at his pretensions. When the Marquise de Lavardin and he were both travelling in the same carriage to Brittany, on their way to visit Madame de Sevigne', Manage, hoping to make himself agreeable, took one of her hands to kiss, doubtless adding some gallant little speech. " Monsieur Manage," said the Marquise laughingly, while drawing her hand away, "are you rehearsing for Madame de These anecdotes of Madame de Se'vignd and her tutor indicate her greatest fault at this youthful, unformed period of her life, the only fault that even Tallemant des Reaux, the society spy, who set down all the failings, and faults, and mischances of his friends and enemies with such appalling industry, could find in the beautiful young Marquise, a habit of brusque and thoughtless speech, which probably the wise and careful guidance of a mother might have pruned into gentleness. This want of a woman's training was, however, made up in some measure when she came under the influence of one of the most extraordinary women of her day, the Marquise de Rambouillet. Her other tutor, Chapelain, was an entire contrast to the vain young Abbd Manage, who dressed neatly and well in becoming black, and endeavoured to make the most of his personal charms in the eyes of the ladies he desired to please. Chapelain was an excellent scholar ; he was in correspondence with most of the savants of Europe ; and, as a literary guide, the young Mademoiselle de Chantal could not have had a better A SHABBY MAN OF LETTERS 23 master. But his appearance was almost ludicrous ; his chief passion was saving, and he probably thought good money wasted on clothes. Tallemant declares that he made a veritable sensation when he first visited the Hotel de Rambouillet, wearing garments that looked as if they must have been purchased at the Marche* de Friperie, a great gallery near the Halles, where second-hand finery was sold on Wednesdays and Saturdays by the Jews. His boots, said Tallemant, never matched each other, and were laced with string; his hand- kerchiefs were terrible, and his wigs were fit for nothing but to crown scarecrows. " I believe," wrote Tallemant with convic- tion, " that Chapelain never had anything absolutely new." His long intercourse at the Hotel de Rambouillet had probably taught him a few elementary lessons in the art of dress before he became the tutor of Mademoiselle de Chantal, but to the end of his life he always had the miser's deep-rooted objection to squandering money on clothes. In spite of this, however, he gained much respect by his literary attainments, and was held in honour by the habitues of the H6tel de Rambouillet ; and for twenty years at least he was looked on as a great poet, who, when he should publish his poem, La Pucelle, would be celebrated wherever the French language was spoken. Unfortunately, he was one day persuaded to publish La Pucelle y and then the lovely Duchesse de Longueville, who, for no especial reason except her beauty perhaps, was considered quite an authority on literature, said out loud the heresy that others only dared to whisper : " It is doubtless a charming poem," said the young Duchesse, "but isn't it rather weari- some ? " CHAPTER III Her "portrait" by the Marquise de la Fayette The young Burgundian heiress is betrothed to Henri, Marquis de Sevigne The bridegroom fights a duel and is dangerously wounded An old chateau in Brittany The furniture of Madame de Sevigne's room The birth of Francoise Marguerite de Sevigne FOR eight happy years Marie de Rabutin-Chantal had been the cherished ward and companion of her uncle at Livry, when he decided to give her in marriage to a suitable husband. So many of the young girls of her day were married at sixteen, or earlier, that one may consider it part of the wisdom of the good Abbe in all that concerned his niece that he had not chosen to establish her sooner. It certainly was not because of a lack of suitors. Marie de Chantal was not faultlessly beautiful, with regular features and perfect contours, but she had in full measure that first exquisite bloom of girlhood which the French, with their love of paradox, so falsely call beaute du diable. Years afterwards, her cousin Bussy, when describing her in a fit of pique, gave a detailed list of her imperfections, with a searching after malicious truth that would have been fatal to any but the most mathematically correct beauty of feature. He dwelt at length on her nose, which was " square at the tip " ; he pointed out that her eyelids were " mottled " ; that the pupils of her eyes were of different colours; that, like her forehead, her jaw was too square ; but he was compelled in honesty to acknowledge that " she, had the most beautiful complexion in the world, fresh and rosy lips, an exquisite figure, and thick wavy fair hair." But how misleading is a catalogue of a woman's perfection or imperfection of feature ! Is it not a truism that the elusive quality called " charm " can irradiate a plain face into something more alluring than beauty, while the lack of it leaves perfect 24 A PEN-PORTRAIT 25 features a mere dull mask of cold inanity? Contemporary evidence assures us repeatedly that Madame de Sevigne', with- out regular beauty, was one of the most singularly charming and attractive women of her day. She herself, with too much good sense to be vain, makes one light allusion to her appear- ance, when in after years, as a grandmother, she might speak of her attractions in the past tense. " People used to say I was very pretty," she once wrote to her daughter, which was an exceedingly modest way of referring to the numberless flattering things that had been said and sung of her. Her defects might be catalogued, but it was more difficult to translate adequately her charm into words, it was so much the inexpressible attraction of innate grace of mind and joyousness of spirit, in addition to her distinctive personal beauties. Fifteen years later, when she was thirty-three, her friend the Marquise de la Fayette wrote this pen-portrait of her, and from it we gather at least an impression of her vivid and lovable personality. Madame de la Fayette, wishing to mystify her friend, sends her the portrait, pretending that it is from " Tlnconnu," the Unknown Gentleman. " All those who attempt to paint pretty women take infinite pains to flatter them in order to please, without daring to mention a single word of their defects. But I, Madame, thanks to the privilege of being unknown to you, shall paint you with a bold hand, and tell you the truth without fear of incurring your anger. . . . " I do not wish to overwhelm you with compliments, or to waste time by telling you that your figure is admirable, that your complexion has a bloom and beauty which assures us you are only twenty ; that your mouth, your teeth, your hair are unrivalled. I will not point out these things to you, because your mirror will tell you them equally well, but as you do not fritter away your time in 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 by chance you do not know it already, that your mind so greatly adorns and beautifies your person, that there is nothing on earth so charming as you when you are animated by conversation from which constraint is 26 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS banished. All that you say has such a charm, and is in such harmony, that your words attract the smiles and graces round you ; the sparkle of your wit gives such a brilliance to your complexion and to your eyes, that though it appears that wit should reach only the ears, it is certain that yours dazzles the eyes, so that as we listen to you we forget that your features lack regularity, and we declare that you are the most perfect beauty in the world. . . . " Your mind is great and noble, formed to dispense wealth, and incapable of the baseness of hoarding it. You love glory and ambition, and you love pleasures equally well ; you seem to have been born for them, and they appear to have been made for you ; your presence adds to diversion, and diversion in- creases your beauty. In short, joy is the natural state of your soul, and nothing is more contrary to you than sorrow. . . . You are by nature tender and passionate ; your heart, Madame, is doubtless a treasure that no one could deserve; never was there one so generous, so true, and faithful. . . . You are the most courteous and obliging person that ever was known, and by the frank and sweet manner which is shewn in all your actions, the simplest compliments of good-breeding when said by you have the air of protestations of friendship ; and all who leave your presence are persuaded of your esteem and good- will without being able to explain what proof you have given them of either. In short, Heaven has endowed you with charms such as have never been given to any other person, and the world is under an obligation to you for having exhibited so many agreeable qualities which were never before known. I will not begin to describe them, else I should be breaking my resolve not to overwhelm you with praise, and furthermore, Madame, to say of you what is worthy, Fought to be your lover, and that I have not the honour to be ! " Under the somewhat tedious formality of the " portrait " we gather an impression, at least, of Madame de Sevigne's unusual charm, and if this is how she appeared in the eyes of her friends at the age of thirty-three, can we not imagine something of the brilliance of her presence when heightened by the exquisite unconsciousness of dawning womanhood, the freshness and deli- cate bloom of eighteen ? In addition to her dazzling complexion, A WEALTHY HEIRESS 27 her perfect mouth and teeth, her masses of shining fair hair, and blue eyes that sparkled with goodwill, wit, and gaiety, her whole personality was tingling with joyous life to the finger-tips, and she possessed an extraordinary charm of manner " which per- suaded everyone of her esteem and goodwill," a social gift in itself of the first importance. Besides these attractions of mind and person, she had other charms which often count for so much in marriage, and in French marriage especially. Her dot amounted to one hundred thou- sand crowns, equal in modern money, it is said, to 24,000, in addition to which she had valuable expectations that ultimately came to 16,000 more. This Burgundian heiress had, in truth, " all the attractions," for she was also of an ancient and honour- able race. Near Samur was Bourbilly, an old castle which she inherited, with the title of Dame de Bourbilly, from the Rabutin family, who could trace their ancestry back to the twelfth century. " I yield to the Montmorenci for honours, but the family is not of earlier date than ours," wrote Bussy de Rabutin with his inflated pride, at which her nobler spirit was occasionally a little scornful. It has been thought a little strange that Bussy should not have at least asked for his cousin in marriage. He frankly tells us in his memoirs that his father was anxious for him to marry the young heiress, as her wealth would have been particularly welcome to his impoverished branch of the Rabutins. The gasconading Bussy gives us clearly to understand that though he was poor his personal attractions were of no mean calibre. " Roger de Rabutin," he writes of himself, apparently without a blush, " had large soft eyes, a well-formed mouth, a large and nearly aquiline nose, a pleasing expression, and fair waving light hair." Though he could so minutely analyse his cousin's shortcomings, there was not a word of any defect in his own " portrait," but he might with truth have added that an absolutely unscrupulous disposition, allied to the most shameless hardihood, marred not only his character, but even the expression of his handsome face. Notwithstanding his father's wishes, he made no offer for his cousin's hand. Long after, it pleased him to write that "he thought her the most charming woman in the world to be the 28 THE QUEEN OF LE1TER WRITERS wife of another." And he may have been quite sincere when he says that her light-hearted gaiety, so attractive to other men, would have been a source of disquiet to him had he married her. It is to be feared that to faithless husbands like himself no attractions, save those of the most dove-like domesticity, would have been entirely safe from suspicion. It is quite probable, also, that their very similarity of tastes, wit, and intellect made the two cousins unsuited to each other, for does not perfect marriage always demand dissimilarity? It might be, too, that the Bien- Bon, so watchful of his niece's interests, so clear-sighted in all that concerned her well-being, did not encourage the Comte de Bussy, who, just a year before Marie de Chantal's marriage, was united to another cousin, Gabrielle de Toulongeon. While the Abb6 de Coulanges was looking for a suitable alliance for his niece, Paul de Gondi, the Coadjutor of the Archbishop of Paris, and afterwards so notorious as the Cardinal de Retz, made overtures to the Bien-Bon on behalf of his young nephew, Henri, the Marquis de SeVigne". After due considera- tion, the Abb^jthought it would be a suitable marriage. The connection with a powerful noble like Gondi counted for much, and de SeVignd was young, good-looking, with a substantial inheritance, and a descent that was entirely satisfactory. When Bussy, in exile, was occupying his leisure in making a family-tree, Madame de Se'vigne' sent these concise facts of her husband's ancestry " Fourteen contracts of marriage from father to son ; three hundred years of chivalry ; the fathers sometimes of consider- able importance in the wars of Brittany and of distinction in its history ; sometimes living at home as good Bretons ; sometimes having great wealth, sometimes with only moderate possessions, but always making great and good alliances. In three hundred and fifty years, beyond which we can only find their Christian names, are du Ouelnec, Montmorency, Baraton, and Chateau- giron. These are great names, and the women of these families married des Rohan and des Clisson. Since these four there are des Guesclin, des Coetquen, des Rosmadec, des Clindon, and des SeVign^ of their own house. ..." Documents remain which show that the young Marquis owned considerable property; and when he came to sign the DE sfiviGNfrs MARRIAGE 29 marriage settlement at the house of d'Ormesson, the family lawyer, who was also a connection of the bride through the de Coulangcs, her relatives, greatly interested in the future husband of their charming young connection, remarked that "he was a fine cavalier of good figure, and apparently witty as well." The arrangements for the marriage were interrupted by an occurrence that was not particularly auspicious for the bride's future happiness. The marriage contract was drawn up on the 27th of May 1644, but the signing of it was postponed by a quarrel, in which the hot-headed young Marquis was the chief offender. Henri de SeVignd, on the eve of his wedding, so to speak, whilst walking on the Pont Neuf met a young Breton, Paul Hay.du Chastellet, who, he had heard, had been saying certain things to his discredit. Without a moment's thought of his position as bridegroom, he struck du Chastellet with the flat of his sword. In any place there would have been but one answer to such an insult, but on the Pont Neuf, one of the most public thoroughfares of Europe, crowded like a daily fair, the affront was peculiarly irritating, and a meeting was at once arranged. They met soon after, and de SeVignd was wounded in the thigh, so severely that his life was for some time in danger, and it was not till the month of July that the marriage contract could be signed. On the 4th of August 1644 the religious ceremony took place in the church of Saint-Gervais-et-Saint-Protais at two o'clock in the morning. The ceremony was performed by a relative, a nephew of Sainte-Chantal, Jacques de Neucheze, Bishop and Count of Chalon-sur-Saone, who gave the bride a wedding-gift of ten thousand crowns. Shortly after the marriage the Marquis took his young wife with him to Les Rochers, his estate in Brittany, which was to become such a dearly-loved home of the Marquise. In these days of swift and luxurious travelling we can only with an effort realise what discomfort and impedimenta were inseparable from a long journey in the seventeenth century. There were com- paratively few inns in provincial France, and these were almost inconceivably bare of furniture and the necessaries of life. When the Queen Regent, Anne of Austria, was wandering in the provinces with the young King during the upheaval of the 30 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Fronde, she came to an inn where there was no bed, and as her own had not arrived, she had to sit on the only chair the place could provide, her aching head supported by one of her ladies of honour ! Every person of quality in those days carried his own bed while travelling, and this was generally strapped upon a pack-horse or mule. In addition to the travelling carriage for the seigneur and madame his wife, another carriage had to be provided for dependants and waiting-women, so that, with postillions, the whole cavalcade made quite a gay procession as it whirled swiftly along through the dull country villages and provincial towns. The young Marquis and his wife were probably about eight or ten days on the road to Les Rochers, the nearest town to which was then, as now, the quaint little Vitre, which still contains several streets whose houses remain apparently un- touched since Madame de Sevigne saw them as a bride, though probably they were then in better repair. The four and a half miles from thence to the chateau has not been greatly changed since her day, though on each side there were dense woods and plantations where there are now cultivated fields, bordered by cider-apple trees and chestnuts. The Chateau of Les Rochers is situated in a thickly wooded country, sloping away in dark green hollows and rising again in green crests. The tiny church on a distant hill, where Charles de SeVigne was baptized, looks like a toy building half smothered in foliage. The chateau was already three hundred years old when Madame de Sevigne was first taken there, and in externals, at least, is not greatly altered to-day. Did those gloomy forests, where wolves and other wild animals had their haunts, look somewhat savage and forbidding to the eyes of the young girl who had been brought up amid the gracious and cultivated beauty of the gardens and meadows of Livry? There is no record of her first impressions, but we know that it became one of her greatest pleasures, almost a passion indeed, to lay out gardens and to plant allies. " I have bought land, to which I have said, as usual, I shall convert you into a park," she once wrote to her cousin Bussy ; and in her letters from Les Rochers she makes constant reference to her improvements on the estate; her labyrinth, her mall, and the HENRI, MARQUIS DE SEVIGNE OF THE UNIVERSITY OF MADAME DE SfiVIGNfi'S BED-CHAMBER 31 many walks to which she gave the names of her best loved friends. Fortunately for the literary pilgrim who finds a satisfaction in seeing the entourage of Madame de SeVigne", her bed-chamber at the chateau has been left as it was when she occupied it, and passing over the threshold we step at once into the seventeenth century. On entering, the eye is struck by the date 1644 in brass letters over a door, which reminds us that this was the year in which she was brought here as a bride. A portrait of her father hangs just above the date ; not a good painting, but it gives an indication of the wild and reckless spirit of that dashing cavalier, with just a soupgon of wistful regret under- lying the painted bravado, as if his better self were conscious of wasted opportunities. The bed, which is a half-tester, is especially interesting, for the faded hangings of biscuit-coloured silk, and the coverlet to match, are said to have been embroidered by Madame de Grignan, the idolised daughter of the Marquise ; and the pale- tinted, delicate arabesques, leaves, flowers, and birds, carry us back to the far-away days when patient stitchery was the chief outlet for woman's talent of every kind. Opposite to the bed is the huge open fireplace with big brass dogs and irons, and in the slab of polished granite forming the arch of the mantel are three large Roman capitals in mosaic, M. R. C. (Marie Rabutin-Chantal.) As we look at the appointments of the room, we are reminded how scarce and costly was furniture in the days when Louis Quatorze was king. Not only did private individuals carry their beds and toilet necessaries from town to country house, but even the royal family, when they journeyed from the Louvre to Saint-Germain, carried beds and cooking utensils; guests, though of the most exalted rank, were expected to bring their own ; and when, after a time, the natural taste for luxury and ostentation of Louis XIV caused him to provide furnished rooms for certain privileged courtiers, his thrifty minister Colbert felt very serious at this unheard-of extravagance ! For a marquise, a lady of great position, with wealth and large estates, the little draped toilet -table looks singularly unpretending. The toilet set, too, of red lacquer, painted, not 32 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS very artistically, with groups of flowers, is modest to the point of shabbiness ; the looking-glass, in red-lacquer frame, would hardly be considered adequate for the waiting-woman of a marquise to-day; and the two upright brass candlesticks remind us of the semi-gloom in which people of the seventeenth century, in the provinces at least, passed the dark months of the year. On a tall chest of drawers are all that remain of her washing accessories most probably all there were a pewter ewer holding perhaps two pints of water, and one of those quaint porcelain vessels of beautiful old Breton pottery rarely seen even in museums to-day the front part barrel-shaped, the back flat for hanging close to the wall, holding perhaps a gallon or so of water. A shallow, stoup-like basin beneath served for washing bowl, into which the water was turned from the upper part of the vessel by a rudimentary tap. A few old chairs of beautiful forms are standing about the room, most of them covered with tapestry whose colours are fresh and vivid ; her ink-stand is kept in a glass-case, and near it is an account-book, very neatly kept, of some of her gardening expenses, but it is not in her own handwriting. Perhaps the most interesting part of the whole room is the deep recess near the window, in which she so often sat while she was penning those charming letters to her daughter and her many friends. We know, too, that she must frequently have laid down her pen to step out on to the terrace among the fragrant orange trees which still stand as they were in her day, or to wander yet farther among those formal gardens laid out by Le Notre, which she loved with such a genuine passion ; or to muse, perchance, by her sun-dial on the happy hours it once recorded for her. "There are some pleasant recollections," she once wrote of Les Rochers, " but there are some so vivid and tender that one can hardly bear them." But she had no mournful musings, no painful memories when her young husband brought her to his ancestral home as its mistress. The future was all theirs, a bright alluring future in tints of gold and couleur de rose. Both were young, of a joyous and happy disposition ; they had wealth, a great name, and good health to enjoy the gifts with which Fortune had so generously dowered them. For the first two years after their THE BIRTH OF FRANQOIS DE SfiVIGNfi 33 marriage they rarely visited Paris, spending most of their time in the solitude of Brittany, perhaps planning improvements and alterations, as is the custom of the newly wed ; and, besides visiting their friends and country neighbours, making the ac- quaintance of their retainers and peasantry those uncouth, primitive Bretons whose very language she did not understand, but to whom she was, one cannot doubt, a kind and gracious Lady Bountiful. The first definite news we get of them is in March 1646, when her cousin Bussy and his friend Lenet, just preparing for a campaign, wrote a joint letter, in verse, imploring Sevigne* and his wife not to waste the best years of their life among country neighbours, and begging them to come to Paris to their many friends again. In the autumn of the same year the Marquis and his wife did return to Paris, to their house in the Rue des Lions, where, on the loth of October 1646, about two years after their marriage, their first child was born, Frangoise Marguerite de Sevigne*, the daughter to whom the Marquise wrote those wonderful letters which have gained for her a place among the world's men and women of genius. The de SeVignes were kept in Paris for some time by a law- suit, but they were quite willing and eager to enjoy the delights of the capital after their long sojourn in Brittany. The Marquise had indeed, till then, seen very little of the gay town since her marriage. These were the few halcyon years before the storm of the Fronde. Anne of Austria, guided by the clever Mazarin in her state policy, brought up with pious care the handsome boy-king and his little brother the Due d'Anjou. Never was the idle world of Paris more tranquil, more gaily devoted to simple pleasures. Daily drives along the Cours-la-Reine, the excitements of the Foire Saint-Germain from Epiphany to Lent ; suppers, balls, and occasional comedies ; these formed the amusements of wealthy aristocrats ; and the Marquis and his young wife, then scarcely more than twenty, were welcomed in the best society. Besides their many friends, two of their relatives were influential officials in the great world : Gondi the Coadjutor, who was on the eve of greater power and notoriety, the relative of the Marquis ; and the brusque Hughes de Rabutin, the Grand Prieur of the 3 34 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Temple, the uncle of Madame de Sevigne, whom her husband used to call, presumably in private, " my uncle the Pirate." " It was the time of polished conversation, of gallantry, and, in a word, of that which they called the ruelles" wrote Saint- Simon of this period ; and it was in this atmosphere of old-world gallantry and polite conversation that Madame de Sevigne"s talent was developed, that her mind and manners were formed. It was then that, as a young married lady, she was first introduced to a salon famous in the history of French literature, famous, indeed, in the polite society of Europe, the world- renowned salon of Madame de Rambouillet. CHAPTER IV The Hotel de Rambouillet, the pioneer of Parisian salons The Marquise de Rambouillet A lady's bed-chamber in the seventeenth century Julie d'Angennes La Guirlande de Julie A polished society of prtcieux et precieuses The Duchesse de Longueville Mademoiselle de Scudery " T HAVE still something remaining of that fine manner X which made me a precieuse," once wrote Madame de Sevigne to her daughter from Les Rochers in the depths of Brittany, to prove that she had not lost all the polish of Paris by living for some time in the provinces. This title of Precieuse, which, after Moliere had delighted Paris with Les Precieuses Ridicules and Les Femmes Savantes^ became a word for scorn and laughter, was, in the early days of Madame de Sevigne"'s married life, the highest commendation that could be bestowed on a woman. It represented delicacy of mind, of manners, of morals ; the polished ease which can only be acquired in good society ; and an extreme refinement of language and expression, which afterwards, in the mauvaises ruelles, as Madame de Sevigne called them, degenerated into affectation and all the mincing absurdities recognised under the name of " preciosity." When Scarron praised Mademoiselle de la Vergne to her mother, he called her toute lumineuse, toute precieuse ; Mademoiselle de Mancini was called la perle des precieuses ; and Madame de Sevigne was, as we have seen, like many another of her contemporaries, proud of her claim to the title. At this time the headquarters, so to speak, of these/nz**Jttr, was the Hotel de Rambouillet, in the Rue Saint-Thomas du Louvre, not far from the Tuilleries. It was the pioneer of Parisian salons, and without question the most celebrated in French social history. From 1630 till the year 1648, when the Fronde practically closed its doors, it was the centre, not 35 36 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS merely of the literary and artistic life of Paris, but of its most polished social intercourse ; and its mistress, under a sweet and exquisitely cultivated grace of manner, ruled her subjects with a charming and imperious power to which they were all willingly submissive. The salon of the Hotel de Rambouillet is so singularly interesting because of the coarse and dark background of manners and morals from which it gleams like a picture of fine- woven, many-coloured tapestry. In its early beginnings France was only just emerging from the primitive days of chivalry. Almost every gentleman was a soldier, more ac- customed to life in camp than in court, with an absolute scorn for all intellectual accomplishments. An " Academy " then meant a riding-school ; and the sons of gentlemen were taught how to ride well, to be adepts in the use of the sword, to play at running the ring, at mall, or at tennis, and if they excelled in these accomplishments their education was thought to be complete. The Prince de Conde*, nephew of Henri IV, was considered quite exceptional, because, in addition to all these bodily exercises, he had his two young sons taught Latin ; educated well, in short, especially the Prince de Conti, who was brought up at the College of Clermont. But civilisation was gradually evolving by its usual and natural processes, and while the great Richelieu, under Louis XIII, was devoting his energies to the curtailment of the feudal power of the turbulent nobles, the salon of Madame de Rambouillet became the centre of an intellectual and social influence whose far-reaching effects it would be im- possible to calculate. It was the splendid dawn of a recog- nised homogeneous society in Paris which reached its zenith in the latter half of the eighteenth century. It must not be forgotten that though Paris under Louis XIV was foremost among the cities of Europe in all the elegancies and arts of refined civilisation, yet, in the early days of the seventeenth century, Italy and Spain were far ahead of her in these respects. Spain had already formulated its code of strict and immutable etiquette, and Italy was the home of art and letters, and of a polished delicacy in matters of gallantry as yet unknown in France. THE MARQUISE DE RAMBOUILLET 37 And it was from Italy that the young Marquise de Rambouillet brought her inherited taste for letters, art, and all the refinements of civilised life. Catherine de Vivonne was the only daughter of the Marquis de Pisani, who, while ambassador at Rome, married Julia de Savelli, a lady of the illustrious house that had given popes and cardinals to the Church. Their daughter was born at Rome, and in 1600, at the age of twelve, was married to Charles d'Angennes, Marquis de Rambouillet. Her life in Paris that followed, fashioned in a large measure by herself, reads like that of a princess in some impossible fairy-tale. By the time she was twenty she had grown tired of the coarse and licentious society of the Court of Henri IV, and with that determination which was not the least con- spicuous of her remarkable qualities, she decided to withdraw herself in a measure from the world, to devote herself to her family, and to the cultivation of art and letters in a society with tastes similar to her own. As a beginning, the young Marquise built for herself a beautiful dwelling. She had inherited the H6tel de Pisani from her father, and as this was dilapidated and falling into ruin, she had the old house pulled down and another mansion erected on its site from her own designs. In this new building the stairs were placed in an angle, suites of rooms opened from one into the other, and windows of the pattern that we now call French windows let in light and air in a manner that had hitherto been unimagined in Paris. The grounds stretched away to the Tuilleries, and, though they were in the midst of Paris, were so large that the neighbouring gardens did not disturb the privacy of the Hotel de Rambouillet. The furniture of this remarkable house was the choicest that could be designed or procured. Just as in our own dark days red rep curtains represented the highest height of the upholsterer's imagination in draperies, so, in the dawn of the seventeenth century, brown or red hangings were considered the only possible mode in France. But the original young Italian lady changed all that in her own house at least. The Blue Salon of the H6tel de Rambouillet became nearly as celebrated as its beautiful and cultivated mistress. The Blue 3 8 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Chamber was the bedroom of the Marquise (the " sanctuary of the Temple of Athene " her visitors called it), who, suffering from a malady that made excessive heat, whether of sun or fire, unbearable, was obliged to spend a great part of the day in the cool seclusion of her room ; and on this, which was her reception chamber also, she lavished the costliest and most elegant decoration. Blue silk draperies shaded the windows, for, as a poet of the time remarked, ladies had discovered that the clear, untempered light of day was not too becoming to their complexions ; the arm-chairs, the chairs without arms, and the stools or tabourets, were upholstered in blue velvet ; finely- worked inlaid cabinets, wrought perhaps by those cunning Italian artificers whom Marie de Medicis had brought to Paris, made a dignified decoration for the room ; and rare tapestries, Venetian lamps, pictures, and fresh flowers in exquisite crystal vases, gave to the salon an elegance and distinction that had till then been undreamed of in Paris. A lady's bedroom in the seventeenth century was a singularly important part of the house. It was there that she often re- ceived her visitors, not necessarily in bed, though if she had the slightest ailment, or even only a fit of indolence, she would welcome her friends of both sexes from among her pillows with as little embarrassment as if she were receiving them in the garden. These bedrooms were frequently divided into two parts by a balustrade, in the fashion that may still be seen in the chamber of Louis XIV at Versailles. The bed, placed in the middle of the wall, had thus a space on each side spaces that were called ruelles, a word in constant use during the seventeenth century. On one side, ladies interviewed their servants, or persons who came on business; the other was reserved for their closest intimates, or people they most delighted to honour. Occasionally the ruelle would be formed into an " alcove," Spanish fashion, by means of columns that reached from floor to ceiling, which made a still more private bower than that enclosed by the mere balustrade ; and frequently in contemporary literature the ladies who received in their bed- rooms are referred to as " alcovistes." People who gossiped were said to be talking a la ruelle, for all the news of the town circulated through the ruelles, just as, a century later, current THE CELEBRATED BLUE ROOM 39 events were discussed in the salons. Madame de SeVigne, as we shall see, had her ruelle^ and she was a constant visitor to that of La Grande Mademoiselle, who, because she was a Princess of the Blood, had her bedstead raised on an estrade^ and ladies who came to pay their respects knelt on the steps leading up to her bed, " to kiss hands " as the phrase went. The celebrated Blue Room was divided by gilded columns which reached from floor to ceiling. The vault of this alcove was decorated with allegorical pictures representing Love, Marriage, Summer, and Study. The blue draperies, the elegant furniture, the unusual adornments of the room, gave Madame de Rambouillet's guests a nai've surprise, it was all so new, so delightfully unlike anything they had ever seen before; and we must not forget that society was then in its fresh, early youth, and had neither lost the faculty of being surprised, nor adopted the worn dictum of Solomon that nothing is new under the sun. There is no picture remaining of the mistress of this " Temple of Honour," as Bayle called it, but we gather from the evidence of her guests and friends that, besides being a beautiful and graceful woman, born for social empire, she had a singularly well-balanced mind, which so harmonised her various gifts that there is nothing distinctive by which to remember her; she remains a gracious presence, an inspiring influence, an embodi- ment in her own person and life of the beauty she so passionately worshipped with her beauty-loving, Italian nature. " She was revered, adored," said Madame de Motteville, "a model of courtesy, wisdom, knowledge, and sweetness." Segrais, a poet who was very intimate with Madame de Sevigne, writes of her : " She was amiable and gracious, of a sound and just mind ; it was she who corrected all the bad customs which were common before her time. She taught politeness to all those of her period who frequented her house. She was also a good friend, and kind to everyone." Mademoiselle de Scudery tells us, in one of the rhapsodical " portraits " brought into fashion by her facile and sentimental pen, that Madame de Rambouillet " is tall and her figure is excellent ; all the features of her face are perfect ; the delicacy of her complexion cannot be expressed, the dignity of 40 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS her person is worthy of admiration, and from her eyes beam I know not what fire, which imprints respect in the mind of all those who behold it." The Marquise de Rambouillet had seven children, but of these only two were associated with her in her salon. These daughters, Julie and Angelique, shared their mother's social duties and pleasures, while adding to the many attractions of their home. The more celebrated of these was Julie, the elder, who was, says Cousin, " without being absolutely beautiful, the most perfectly finished feminine type of the period." No woman, said a contemporary, had been so praised or sung since Helen of Troy. Her manners were so sweet, so amiable, so caressing, that all the many minor poets who frequented her mother's salon were inspired to write chansons or madrigals on the jfair Julie. She charmed women as well as men. The Marquise de Sable", herself a clever and remarkable woman, said that she could imagine no greater happiness on earth than to spend her life with Julie d'Angennes. The beautiful Anne de Bourbon, sister of the great Conde, and afterwards so well known as the Duchesse de Longueville, was her intimate and affectionate friend, and when she had the small-pox it was the courageous and devoted Julie who nursed her. But this graceful and winning girl refused the many suitors who sighed in vain for her. It was her opinion, and that of many others, that there was nowhere such a paradise on earth as the Hotel de Ram- bouillet. One, however, among her suitors, persistently refused to take no for an answer. The Marquis de Montausier met her when she was in the full bloom of her beautiful girlhood, at the age of twenty-four, and for long years he urged his suit in vain. Eventually she accepted him, at the age of thirty-eight, when the fairest bloom of her youth was long past, because urged to do so by her mother, who probably thought it was time for her daughter to be established in life. It was to this patient, adoring suitor that the world of book-lovers owes that literary curiosity, La Guirlande de Julie. It is composed of nineteen leaves of parchment, and on each is a flower exquisitely painted by Robert, with a verse beneath written in praise of the fair Julie by the Marquis de Montausier and other gallants who frequented her mother's ruelle. It is interesting to note that "PRfiCIEUX ET PRfiCIEUSES" 41 Angelique, the other daughter of Madame de Rambouillet who remained " in the world," married the Comte de Grignan, who afterwards married as his third wife the daughter of the Marquise de Sevigne. How interesting would have been a glimpse into this famous salon at the time when the young Marquis and Marquise de Sevigne" were introduced there after their marriage ! In the mornings for it was then that Madame de Rambouillet frequently received the most distinguished ladies and gentle- men of the Court, as well as the most clever and famous men of letters, would assemble in the celebrated Blue Room. The ladies, clustering round their hostess in the beautifully decorated alcove, would be seated according to their rank on arm-chairs, chairs without arms, or tabourets, all toying with tiny canes, which, let it be whispered, was a little affectation a la precieuse \ The gentlemen, in embroidered coats, with curls falling on their lace collars, would throw their rich cloaks on the floor, and, seating themselves in the most approved attitudes of gallantry, would trifle with the big plumes in their hats, while they gaily repeated the last new story from Court, criticised the last new play, or made an impromptu chanson, epigram, or bon mot, which would be quickly repeated from mouth to mouth with laughter and approval. Beyond the balustrade the less intimate or less important visitors walked about or sat on tabourets ; abbe's, poets, literary men, who held no brevet of rank save the uncertain and fluctuating rank bestowed by intellect. Chief among the visitors was the beautiful Princesse de Conde, who, though a Princess of the Blood, and forbidden by Court etiquette to visit anyone beneath the rank of duchess, made an exception to this rule in favour of Madame de Rambouillet. She had brought her lovely daughter Anne de Bourbon since girl- hood, and this royal lady, world-renowned afterwards as the Duchesse de Longueville, was, among those fair women, the most supreme, triumphant beauty. She had been married only a year before Madame de Sevign<, and was then in the most brilliant prime of her dazzling loveliness, which Voiture poetic- ally declared was made of " stars and pearls and flowers." Her large eyes of turquoise blue, the extraordinary white fairness of her complexion, her masses of silvery blonde hair, gave an 42 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS ethereal look to the young Duchess who became so celebrated in the Fronde, and all her loveliness was heightened by a languorous grace which was one of her most potent charms. A few years before, she had passionately desired to vow herself to a religious life ; all her thoughts were turned towards devotion, till one evening she was induced to go to a ball. She was a vision of loveliness on that, for her, fateful evening ; and as she entered the room all eyes were turned towards the young beauty who looked so ethereal, so angelic in her brilliant fairness ; and as she danced it may be safely assumed that more than one cavalier found the courage to tell her so. When she left the ballroom that evening, she trod on air, she was intoxicated with the new-found power of her beauty. Nothing more was said of a life of devotion ; all such thoughts and aspirations were choked and hidden under the most worldly ambitions, till, years later, after having sinned and suffered, and wrought incalculable harm to her country, she strove to expiate her sins among the Carmelites. Her husband was more than twice her age, but his rank was only one degree below that of the Cond family, and by a special privilege it was arranged that the young Duchess should keep all the prerogatives of her position as Princess of the Blood. It mattered not at all that hers was a loveless marriage, from which a host of evils to herself and others was to be the result, for rank was the most superlatively important question of the day, as may easily be gathered from the memoirs of Saint- Simon. She was not the only victim in her own family of this arrogant pride of position. Even the great Conde, her elder brother, who everyone declared was a modern Caesar; who vanquished the enemies of his country at Rocroy when a mere youth ; before whose wonderful military genius armies fell defeated and dismayed; even he was forced to yield to his father in the matter of marriage. It was probably in the salon of Madame de Rambouillet that he met the gentle and charming Made- moiselle du Vigean, whom he learned to love with the ennobling and worshipping passion that comes only once in a lifetime. But there was such a wide, impassable gulf between the Due d'Enghien, a Prince of the Blood, and one who was merely a A TACTFUL ANSWER 43 lady, with charm, beauty, and intelligence, it is true, but no rank to speak of! And the Prince de Conde, the shabbily-dressed, astute old noble, with unkempt beard and slovenly habits, forgetting the hot-headed, tumultuous days of his own young passion, when in terror he had carried off his fair princess from the covetous eyes of his licentious uncle, Henri Quatre, decided that the marriage must not be dreamed of. There was a heart- rending separation, when the brave young Due d'Enghien, the greatest hero of his age, fainted as he bade good-bye to the gentle girl whom he desired with all his being, and who, not long after, hid her broken heart among the Carmelite Sisters. The Prince de Conti, the youngest of the Conde family, was also a visitor to the ruelle of the Marquise, and he may have met Madame de Sevigne there, for a few years later we find him among those who were especially attracted by her brilliant social charms. But what a crowd of other visitors was welcomed at this hospitable salon ! In Richelieu's time, some years before, it had become such a social centre that the suspicious Cardinal once suggested to Madame de Rambouillet that she should report to him any adverse comments on himself or his policy. With supreme tact the Marquise assured him that her guests needed no such espionage; her sentiments towards him were too well known, she said, for any of them to speak a disparaging word of him in her presence ! As in all such gatherings, some faces, some names, some personalities stand out conspicuously, forcibly arresting attention ; while others are mere phantoms, powerless to stir even the most passing interest. Prominent among the dainty dames who fluttered in and out the Blue Room was Mademoiselle Paulet, the honorary secretary to the Marquise, whose mane of thick tawny hair, brilliant eyes, and fearless character, gained for her the title of la Lionne. La Lionne often entertained the company by her singing ; which was so exquisite that nightin- gales were once found dead by a fountain where she had sung the night before at least so said one of the many poets of the salon ! There was Voiture, too, poet and ambassador, the son of a wine merchant. Like Menage, he was always affecting to be 44 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS dying of love for some great lady, and always thirsting to fight duels on paper ! In spite of his absurdities, however, he was a clever linguist and man of affairs, and was frequently sent on foreign missions, which probably helped to foster his pretty talent for letter-writing. Madame de Sevigne, supreme in that art, greatly admired Voiture's letters, and often recom- mended them to her granddaughter. He wrote verse too, and very impertinent verse it sometimes was, but he was the darling of the Hotel de Rambouillet, and everyone, even Anne of Austria, excused his audacities merely because he was Voiture. The men, probably, were not always so indulgent, for the Prince de Conde one day remarked, " If he were one of us he would be intolerable," and he was probably intolerable to some people as it was. But he must have had his good and interesting qualities, or how could he have so charmed those clever, discerning ladies of the Hotel de Rambouillet ? He was neither tall nor hand- some, his hair and beard were grey, and more than one gentleman, better endowed with personal attractions, wondered wherein his charms lay. One of them said so one day to Madame Saintot. " Ah ! " she replied, " if you only knew how agreeable he can be to women when he chooses ! " When the young Bossuet, then only seventeen, was taken to the salon of Madame de Rambouillet, he was asked to preach an extempore sermon. It was evening, and the young heaven- born orator, carried away by his own eloquence, held his audience interested and charmed till midnight. Voiture did not lack the witty word for the occasion. " I have never heard a preacher begin so early, or end so late," said he. Sarrazin, another poet, was the buffoon of the company, who lives to-day in Moliere as Triboulet. Sometimes Madame de Longueville would say to him, " Preach like a cordelier, or a capuchin " ; and Sarrazin would imitate these friars so well, that it was said of him that if he had only lived till the time of the eloquent Bourdalotie, he would have preached like Bourdaloiie. Balzac, scarcely remembered to-day, eclipsed in fame by his A LITERARY WOMAN 45 greater namesake of the Comedie Humaine, was also a visitor at the salon. What a glimpse of the condition of \hQporte-plume, that expressive synonym for a literary man ! we get in Richelieu's annoyance at not having one of Balzac's books dedicated to him. The independent Balzac had, in fact, not dedicated it to anyone. "Does he imagine himself grand seigneur enough to dispense with a dedication?" asked the Cardinal in haughty displeasure. As one calls to mind those interminable, basely flattering " dedications " to the grands seigneurs, who looked on them as payment for the support they gave to the literary man, the humble being who only lived, so to speak, in the smiles of their countenances, it is not surprising that George de Scudery, impoverished descendant of a noble house, should proudly declare that though adverse circumstances had made him a porte-plume, the only plumes his ancestors carried were worn in their hats ! But George de Scudery is hardly remembered to-day, except as the gasconading brother of his wonderful sister, Madeleine de Scudery, that unmitigated literary woman. A descriptive phrase from Tallemant brings her vividly before us, the "tall dark person with the very long face," and Madame de Cornuel finishes the sketch with her witty mot, " She was destined by Providence to blot paper, for she sweated ink from every pore." Why is it that Mademoiselle de Scudery, with every virtue under the sun, and not one of them hidden under a bushel, awakens an instinctive protest ? Is it that her virtues are too terribly blatant, her accomplishments too obvious and paraded? Her attainments are almost appalling ; in their universality one is inclined to wonder " how one small brain could hold so much." Conrart, who was her great friend, and a regular attendant at her samedis, writes that "she had a prodigious imagination, an excellent memory, an exquisite judgment, with a natural disposition to understand everything curious that she saw done, and everything praiseworthy that she heard of." She learned about agriculture, gardening, housekeeping, cooking, and a life in the country ; she also turned her attention to the causes and effects of maladies, and the composition of an infinite number of 46 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS remedies ; she distilled perfumes and scented waters ; and in addition to all these housewifely arts she learned to play the lute, to talk Spanish and Italian, and, more important than all, she wrote a number of novels, the chief of which is the Grand Cyrus, where she represents all the principal society of the time of the Fronde. Here too, in this salon, the young Marquise de Sevigne would often meet her former tutors, the Abbe Menage and the thrifty Chapelain ; and the latter, with his absurd dress and miserly habits, not infrequently served as a target for the wits, one of whom, conscious of his own correct costume, once scornfully declared that the philosopher in his many-coloured garments looked like a mackerel ! The Due de la Rochefoucauld, then the Prince de Marsillac, met at the Hotel de Rambouillet both the famous women with whom his name is chiefly associated ; the lovely Duchesse de Longueville, to whom he paid assiduous court more from interest than from any deeper feeling ; and Mademoiselle de la Vergne, then a child of twelve or thirteen, who, some twenty-five years later, as Madame de la Fayette, became the supreme interest of his declining, gouty age ; while Madame de SeVigne* was the intimate and affectionate friend of both. How impossible it is to give any idea of the numberless visitors who each thought it a great distinction to be admitted to this famous circle ! But one at least must not be overlooked, the brilliant Madame de Cornuel, " who could never open her mouth without some sparkle of wit escaping." She is an abstraction of clever sayings. " Every sin she confessed was an epigram," said one of her friends, and almost every remark she made possessed some germ of originality that caused it to be repeated with delight. Of the ill-mannered Due de Rohan she said, " He is very well-born, but he has been very badly whipped "; while of the devout James II of England she shrewdly remarked, " The Holy Spirit has eaten his understanding." One of her lackeys fell down in her presence " on all fours." " I forbid you to rise," said his mistress, " you were intended by Nature to walk like that." There was generally a quite perceptible sting in her wit, though perhaps it was fortunately not always apparent to the THE WITTY MADAME DE CORNUEL 47 victim. Madame de Sevigne was delighted with the retort she once made to the somewhat foolish little Comtesse de Fiesque, who declared of a friend that he was not so stupid as he was said to be. " Why," said Madame de Cornuel pointedly, " you are like those people who have been eating garlic ! " Madame de Sevigne's intercourse with the Marquise de Rambouillet and those who visited her famous salon must have been of invaluable service to the young married lady who had not long made her debut in Parisian society. Madame de Sevigne, like all daughters of Eve, was not free from faults, and those who admire her to-day as a sweet and fascinating woman, with almost every feminine grace, cannot but admit that in early youth her wit was somewhat boisterous. It was a kind of flamboyant joyousness, the outcome of magnificent health and high spirits, which now and again overflowed into imprudent speech; never, the most scandal-loving of her contemporaries agree, into imprudent action. Tallemant says leniently, " She had the habit of saying everything she thought was pleasing, though it was often a little free " ; but even this industrious scandal-monger could find nothing worse to say of her. Indeed, with this exception, he has nothing but sincere praise. " She was one of the most amiable and worthy people in Paris," he declares, and such praise from Tallemant may be considered praise indeed. Her cousin Bussy, seeking carefully for defects, writes that, " For a woman of quality her character was a little too playful and sprightly," which may have been a fault in a grande dame, but it unquestionably added an ingredient of perennial charm to the famous Letters by which her memory lives. To correct this fault, which was probably the result of having missed a mother's training, for it is not generally men who teach the " prunes and prisms " of life, she could not have gone to a better school than the ruelle of Madame de Rambouillet. Here she found the insensible correction by example which her quick, sensitive mind would not be long in applying. In this brilliant society, the final polish was added to her natural wit and cultivated intelligence, and the result was such a combination of graces of heart and mind and character as is rarely to be seen. We get one little glimpse of her exquisite 48 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS personal charm at this period, in an epigram, made by the Abb Montreuil, " On seeing Madame de SeVigne play Blind Man's Buff" : " De toutes les fa9ons vous avez droit de plaire, Mais surtout vous savez nous charmer en ce jour : Voyant vos yeux bandes, on vous prend pour 1' Amour ; Les voyant decouverts, on vous prend pour sa mere." CHAPTER V The dissipated young Marquis de Sevigne openly neglects his wife The birth of Charles de Sevigne Madame de Sevigne has many admirers The Comte de Lude, Segrais, the Abbe de Montreuil, the Comte de Bussy-Rabutin A daring abduction BESIDES being a frequent visitor at the Hotel de Ram- bouillet, Madame de Sevigne had many visitors at her own ruelle, and it was not long before the brilliant and charm- ing young Marquise, so full of unspoiled, fresh delight in life, gathered round her a group of friends as gay and vivacious as herself. After her secluded girlhood in the country as the ward of an abbe, it was only human and natural that, with her joyous, pleasure-loving nature, she should desire to join in every new diversion, to enjoy each novel entertainment that Paris had to offer. Her husband, more eager in the pursuit of pleasure than herself, and lacking the good sense and inherent virtue which was her safeguard among the pitfalls of that lax society, was soon drawn into a whirl of vice and dissipation, and, without misgiving or scruple, thoughtlessly left her to her own occupations and engagements. In France, at this period, ladies rarely drove or walked out alone. Sometimes they were accompanied by a companion, who was one of the many poor gentlewomen for whom, in those early days of society, the day-star of women's higher education had not yet dawned. Frequently, however, two or three ladies would pay their visits together, and one of Madame de Sevigne's intimates at this period, with whom she visited the Duchesse de Chevreuse, the Duchesse de Chatillon, the Marquise de Rambouillet, and other mutual friends, was the Comtesse de Fiesque. This little lady was so frivolous, so light of head and heart, that the witty Madame de Cornuel in after years said of her that " she never grew any older because she was preserved 4 50 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS in folly," and, in these veritable days of her youth, she was a quite irresponsible madcap, and not the wisest friend the Marquise could have chosen. As one of the distinguished precieuses^ Madame de Sevigne soon attracted a little court of gallants, un mille honnetes gens, as one chronicler puts it, with the exaggeration that must be allowed for in most chronicles. These, after the fashion of the time, had no objection to posing as the devoted gallant of a pretty woman, and at the Foire Saint-Germain, along the Cours- la-Reine, or in the fashionable promenade of the Luxembourg Gardens, would gather round the lady whose society was most pleasing to them, and, hat in hand at her carriage door, or riding beside her on the promenade, would advertise to their world which lady they honoured by their preference. The Foire Saint-Germain was an institution, a feature of Parisian life which emphasises, as much as most things, the difference between the society of that period and the society of to-day. La Grande Mademoiselle, when she was exiled to Saint-Fargeau for her conspicuous share in the Fronde, declared that of all the pleasures of Paris she most regretted the Foire Saint-Germain. The Foire began at Epiphany and ended at Shrovetide, and for the two months it lasted the fashionable world of Paris went there almost every evening to find amuse- ment. All the rarities that could be procured were on sale; valuable and dainty laces, choice perfumes, Spanish gloves, faience, pictures, pocket looking-glasses, apricot paste, bon-bon boxes, and other costly articles were to be bought at the Foire ; and it was the custom a custom at which the poorer gallants occasionally grumbled ruefully in private for gentlemen who accompanied a lady to the Foire to buy her any trifle she most desired as a " fairing." But then the trifles of the Foire were so expensive ! A set of lace collar and cuffs, English point it is true, cost six louis, and the other bagatelles were proportion- ately dear. There were shows, of course; lions, performing dogs, two-headed wonders ; and Madame de SeVigne mentions having been to the Foire to see a " Monster Woman " ; raffling was carried on at almost every shop, and the gambling, dancing, and drinking saloons were always well attended. There was, too, the excitement of going in masks and dominos when the THE COURS-LA-REINE 51 opera or play was over. It would scarcely have been convenable for the Marquises, Comtes, and Dues, and their ladies, to have rubbed elbows with the Parisian crowd in usual recognisable garb ; so the liveries of their servants and carriages were of a uniform, non-committal grey, no distinctive heraldic bearings were in evidence, and from behind the disguise of the loup or black velvet mask a fashion brought from Italy ladies and their gallants might look on, and join in the diversions of the multitude, or prosecute intrigues, without the least fear of detection. The Cours-la-Reine was a meeting-ground of a totally different character. The name, affixed to the wall of a street to-day, even though some avenues of trees still remain, gives very little suggestion of this superb promenade, which, bounded by the meadows and woods of the Champs Elysees on one side and the Seine on the other, extended from the heart of Paris to the village of Chaillot. It consisted of four fine avenues of trees, planted some years before by Marie de Medici, with a grand circular sweep in the centre, and a superb gateway at each end. Day after day from Toussaint^ when the winter Parisian season began, to the belle saison commencing in May or June, when the Court went to Fontainebleau and most of the wealthy inhabitants of Paris retired to their country houses all the fashionable world of Paris drove daily along the Cours after the midday dinner till supper, to see and to be seen. No grey liveries were visible here; the carriages were generally rather small and open, lined with velvet and silk of brilliant hues, gilded and decorated with armorial bearings or fantastic devices ; and the ladies, as was natural, donned their most elegant bonnets and becoming costumes. The gentlemen sometimes drove in carriages also, or rode on horses with gay trappings ; and with their embroidered costumes, their plumed hats, their long curls worn in graceful Cavalier fashion, they gave a gallant touch of vivacity and movement to the brilliant scene as they rode by the side of this or that lady, or left her to greet a new-comer. What a scene of grace and elegance, of animated life and colour, was this gay procession ! Here was the bold and handsome Due de Beaufort, who was the darling of the Parisian fishwives, and, said Cardinal de Retz, " thought and spoke like them ! " 52 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Here was the Prince de Marsillac, later to be known as the Due de la Rochefoucauld, and to be chiefly remembered by his bitter Maximes, conspicuously attentive to the lovely young Duchesse de Longueville; there was Gondi, the Coadjutor, giving no hint of the ambitions which were seething in his bold and clever brain, and which were presently to come to such terrible fruition ; the Prince de Conti, deformed, but with a handsome head, a witty and spirituel mind ; that sparkling brunette the Duchesse de Chatillon, and the scheming Duchesse de Chevreuse all so soon to be linked together in the intrigues of the Fronde. The carriage of Gaston d'Orleans appears, and all traffic stops, for this handsome, treacherous prince is Mon- sieur, the uncle of the boy-king. But Gaston has gracious manners ; he is, besides, terribly afraid of a crush, and he calls out in some agitation, " Pray do not stop, gentlemen ; keep on, keep on ! " and the carriages move on slowly again, and badinage and conversation is renewed. Or the Grande Mademoiselle, his tall, pretty daughter appears, and thoroughly enjoys the move- ment of deference and admiration her coming produces, while she bows with the condescending grace and royal air which makes her one of the most popular members of the reigning family. Among the gallants who paid frequent court to the young Marquise de Se'vigne' was the Comte de Lude, a handsome, fashionable young ttigant in whose attentions she found a most seductive flattery. He was a good dancer, a wit who could pay back her own clever speeches in the same light coin, who could whisper dainty nothings in the most charming fashion in the world, who had, in fact, every art of society, and, in addition, one that must have been peculiarly his own he could melt into tears quite naturally when he was wooing the lady of the hour ! Madame de Sevigne had a perfectly friendly and frank liking for this fascinating cavalier, and years later, when he was a Duke, and Grand Master of Artillery, her daughter, who had heard much of the Due de Lude, told her laughingly one day, that "her pen was always cut to write wonders of the Grand Master." Madame de Sevigne cheer- fully admitted the soft suggestion, and once, when talking of chocolate, she writes gaily : " The Grand Master, who used to MADAME DE SVIGNS ADMIRERS 53 live upon it, has become its declared enemy ; judge, then, whether I can be its friend ! " There was the Comte de Vasse", too, one of her husband's friends, who had already made some noise in the polite world of Paris by a gallant adventure which ended in a notorious duel. But Madame de Sevigne's perfect rectitude of conduct was proof against the temptations that beset her on all sides at this peril- ous period of her life, when, in the early twenties, new to Parisian ways, and extraordinarily attractive, she was left so much alone by her husband among a society that boasted openly of its conquests. Segrais, the poet, who was a gentleman in the household of Mademoiselle, in addressing some verses to her, finishes with this testimony : " But what have I said ? Do I not know that with you one loses all and gains nothing ! " The friend of her girlhood at Livry, the hunchback Saint- Pavin, sometimes met her at the H6tel de Rambouillet, or on Fridays in summer, when she always drove from Paris to see the Bien-Bon, she would meet him at the Abbaye. So charming was this weekly reunion of her new friends from Paris with those old and valued friends of her girlhood, that Saint-Pavin, with his ever-ready pen, once wrote a prayer in ten lines, which may be compressed into three : " Lord, of all the gifts and blessings which Thou hast bestowed upon me, I entreat Thee to multiply the Fridays, and I will willingly forego all the rest." Another gay and witty companion was the young Abbd de Montreuil, who was always showing his white teeth in laughter, and whose title of abbe brought him a satisfactory income for which he performed no duties. An abb^ was the most privileged and irresponsible of beings : he had all the advan- tages of belonging to the Church, which sometimes included a fine revenue, with none of the drawbacks of being a priest. We see by one of the Abbe* de Montreuil's letters to the Marquise how pleasantly familiar was his intercourse with her ; we learn incidentally, also, that it was about this time that her husband was made Lieutenant de Roi de Fougeres, a small town in Brittany, not far from Les Rochers, with a grand old castle of which there are only the dilapidated remains to-day. 54 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS " As your merit will not allow you to remain long in any place without its being known," writes the Abbe, " it is reported that you are in Paris. I do not know how to believe it ; it is one of those things that I most earnestly desire, and therefore it cannot be true. I send, however, to know if it is true, so that, if such be the case, I may no longer be ill. This will not be the first miracle you have performed ; in your illustrious race they are performed from mother to son. You know that Madame de Chantal was greatly given to them, and all the honest people who see and hear you, agree that Monsieur her son, who was your father, performed a great miracle. I beg you then, if you have returned, not to keep the news of it from me, so that I may have the pleasure of being quite well and coming to see you. It is a favour which I believe I deserve as much as formerly, since I am as giddy and wild as ever, and still say things as much out of place. I am forgetting that if I am not changed you may be, and that, instead of the mono- syllabic letter which I received from you last year, in which there was only ' yes,' you may send me one of the same length in which there will be only ' no.' ... I am, with all the serious- ness and respect of which I am capable (the first is not great, the second is much), Your very humble servant, "DE MONTREUIL " P.S. I have forgotten to put Madame in my letter, and as you are now Lieutenante de Roi de Fougeres it is a great omission. Here are three then, distribute them as you wish : Madame, Madame, Madame." But of all the men who crowded round the witty young Marquise, eager for her smiles, her gay speeches, her trifling marks of favour, no one was more dangerous than her cousin Roger, the Comte de Bussy. There was a singular affinity between these two gifted people, but it was much more an affinity of intellect than of mind or heart. The one was incap- able of a mean or dishonourable action, was loyal and loving to her friends, with a fine moral discrimination between right and wrong; while Bussy showed himself lacking in every one of these qualities. But neither time nor adversity had yet tested his character and publicly proved his baseness, when he was THE BIRTH OF CHARLES DE SEVIGNE 55 coolly and with definite purpose striving to win the affections of his beautiful cousin. To her eyes, as to the eyes of the world, he appeared a handsome soldier, accomplished, witty, brave, even though Marechal Turenne cruelly said that " Bussy was the best officer in the army for writing chansons? He had been in the King's service from the age of sixteen, and, by the time he was twenty was a colonel, commanding his father's regiment. His personal advantages, too, were considerable, and could not fail to have some influence with a woman who was peculiarly susceptible to the power of beauty ; but his greatest advantage was the opportunity of seeing her privately in her own home, with all the privileges of a near relative. She was proud, too, of her cousin, with a sisterly pride, because he was of her blood, her nearest relative on her father's side; she makes frequent mention of the Rabutins, and we easily perceive that, besides having a natural delight in her noble race, she recognises that it is from the Rabutins that both she and her cousin inherit that strain of mingled wit, gaiety, and irrespon- sible wildness, which she calls Rabutinage. One of her earliest known letters to her cousin is dated 1648, from Les Rochers, shortly after the birth of her son Charles de SeVigne. It is much too frank to be quoted to-day, for in France as in England, two centuries and more ago, it was customary to be quite outspoken on the elemental subjects of life; indeed, Madame de Sevigne in after years discussed with her daughter subjects that few people would think of writing in a letter to-day, for the Marquise held the opinion that every- thing might be a subject for conversation so long as it was treated in the right way. After giving Bussy the news of the birth of her son, and scolding him for not writing before, she ends thus "... But enough of concealing my tenderness, my dear cousin, nature is more powerful than policy. I had intended to scold you for your laziness from the beginning of my letter to the end, but it is too great an effort, and I am obliged to tell you that M. de Sevigne' and I love you well, and often speak of the pleasure we should have in being with you." In answering this letter Bussy, tells his cousin, " I envy M. de Sevigne more than any man in the world," with a good 56 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS deal more in the light, gallant, somewhat free strain in which at that time, and indeed till Madame de Sevignd found means of stopping it, the Comte always wrote to her. While Madame de Sevigne was spending the summer at Les Rochers with her husband and two baby children, her cousin Bussy was engaged in a most daring and scandalous enterprise, which gives a faint indication of the insolent power and audacity of the nobles of seventeenth - century France, which, notwithstanding all Richelieu's efforts, had been as yet only scotched, not destroyed. It was not till Louis XIV came to the full power of his manhood that, by his extraordinary force of will and his unequalled egoism, he made himself the sun and centre of the social system of France, round which the nobles revolved and looked for recognition and life, know- ing well that any attempt at the old feudal lawlessness and independence would be promptly crushed. The Comte de Bussy, who had married just a year before Madame de Sevigne, lost his wife in 1646. After two years of widowhood he was now looking out for a second wife who should advance his fortunes. His paternal estates were impoverished, and the gay life he led, with high play, and all the other expenses incidental to his rank as a young cavalry officer of noble birth, did nothing to improve his prospects. But Bussy was exacting. His handsome person, distinguished name, and long ancestry were considered by him ! a fair exchange for beauty, wealth, and youth, and if possible good birth also. But as even an impoverished noble cannot have everything, he was willing to forego this latter, perhaps because he knew that other possessors of noble names would not barter them for empty titles sans wealth and lands. He frequently talked over these matters with his uncle, Hughes de Rabutin, the Grand Prieur du Temple, with whom he usually stayed when he came to Paris, and it chanced that while he was staying with the Grand Prieur at his country house near Sens, he heard of a lady who seemed by report to fulfil to a marvel the chief conditions he demanded. The affair was absurdly romantic, but Bussy, who tells the shameful story himself, appeared to look on it as a common- place matter. The lands adjoining those of the Grand Prieur A CHARMING YOUNG WIDOW 57 belonged to a wealthy bourgeois named Le Bocage, and, as a near neighbour, Bussy became friendly with the old man, who, knowing that he was looking for a rich young wife, told him one day that he had heard of a widow, beautiful, young, of a pious and angelic sweetness, and, most important qualification, worth several millions ! He did not know the young lady himself, said Le Bocage, but a friend of his, Pere Cle'ment, was her confessor, in whom she placed considerable confidence, and he thought that by his means a marriage could be brought about. Pere Cldment was consulted, and readily consented to do his best in the affair. He was, in fact, a worthless priest who had no other object than to extort money from Bussy, and no stage-villain could more effectively have played his part. As a preliminary, he told Bussy at what hour he would be able to see the pretty widow in church ; and Bussy, who saw her twice, thought her superlatively lovely. He neither spoke to her, nor even approached her ; but Pere Clement assured him that the lady was pleased with his appearance, but that she could do nothing without the consent of her relatives. Every word of this was fabrication. The young Madame de Miramion, so far from thinking of Bussy as a possible husband, had only an overwhelming desire to devote herself to the service of God. She had been married at sixteen to Jean de Beauharnais, Seigneur de Miramion, a handsome, de- voted young husband, who lived but six months after their marriage. Heartbroken at his death, the young girl would fain have buried her grief in the cloister, had it not been for the frail baby daughter who was born some time after its father's death. The first two years of her widowhood she had spent in the most austere retirement, dividing her days between the altar and the cradle; and now, at the age of nineteen, her friends were hoping to bring about a marriage between her and M. Caumartin, although her supreme desire still was to become a religieuse, a desire that nothing prevented her from fulfilling but maternal duty and tenderness. But of all this Bussy knew nothing, save the garbled and false accounts which Pere Clement periodically gave him. This latter was always demanding money, and, in all, Bussy paid 58 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS him about two thousand crowns for his services. After much circumlocution, and a tissue of falsehoods, the priest assured Bussy that the relatives would never consent to Madame de Miramion's marriage with him, but that the widow herself was quite willing, and the only alternative was to carry her off by force ! Bussy was not at all startled by the proposal. It may possibly have been his own, but in any case he felt confident that the young lady would be delighted to become the Comtesse de Bussy, and be fully compensated for any inconvenience the abduction might cause her by the privilege of being presented at Court, where she had hitherto not been admitted. A fact that throws in higher light the social disorder of the period, is that the Prince de Conde", in whose army Bussy held his commission, and to whom he confided the scandalous affair, promised the Comte his protection, and even offered to help by giving him a mission in Paris, and to place him in command of Bellegarde, one of his strongholds in Burgundy, where he might retire after the abduction ! Backed as he was by this powerful prince, Bussy felt fresh confidence, and was reckless as to con- sequences. He laid his plans with all the forethought of which his clever, unscrupulous mind was capable, and arranged every- thing to ensure success. By the aid of spies he learned that Madame de Miramion was staying at Issy with her late husband's grandfather, and that on the 7th of August she intended to visit the convent at Mont Valerien for the purposes of devotion. Bussy posted four relays of horses along the road from Saint- Cloud to the Chateau de Launay, belonging to the Grand Prieur, about twenty-five leagues distant, where he had gathered a band of armed gentlemen and retainers to help him in case of trouble. Near Paris another strong escort of armed men, among whom was his brother Christophe de Rabutin, awaited the passing of Madame de Miramion's carriage. The young widow, thinking only of her devotions, left Issy at seven o'clock in the morning, accompanied by her mother-in-law and some of her waiting-women. Just as the carriage had crossed the bridge on the way from Saint-Cloud to Mont Valerien, it was suddenly stopped by two cavaliers, who presented themselves at the door to lower the A DARING ABDUCTION 59 apron, or leather curtains, which shut them in. Madame de Miramion, thinking they were robbers, tried to repulse them by striking at them, and calling " Help ! Help ! " with all her strength. Her cries and efforts were alike useless. One of the gentlemen, rinding they could not lower the apron, drew his sword to cut the strings, and the young widow, with frantic courage, tried to snatch away his weapon as a defence, only succeeding, however, in cutting her hands and covering them with blood. Resistance was useless. Bussy had six horses harnessed to Madame Miramion's carnage, and the cavalcade trotted off, armed men on each side of the carriage door guarding the help- less women within. When they stopped at inns for fresh horses, Madame de Miramion implored people to help her, but her hands covered with blood, the disorder of her appearance after her struggles to get free, and her mental agony, gave her such a wild, distraught look, that when Bussy and his gentlemen assured the people that it was a mad woman whom they were taking away to put under restraint, they willingly believed them. At length they reached the Chateau de Launay, and at the sight of the two hundred armed men awaiting them in the sombre courtyard the young widow was almost frantic with terror. She utterly refused to leave her carriage, to eat, or to have her maid taken from her. Fortunately one of the gentlemen, a Chevalier of Malta, touched by her distress and helplessness, assured her of his desire to serve her, and, gaining her confidence in a slight degree, induced her to enter the chateau. Then Bussy came to see her, but of him she felt the utmost horror and loathing. He talked of his devotion, and mentioned marriage, but she swore a solemn oath that no power on earth should induce her to become his wife. This, to Bussy, was a serious matter. Had the affair been successful, he would have gained his fair widow and her millions ; the matter would have caused some gossip, but he would have been a hero who had carried off his bride for love. But now, instead of being a hero, people would not hesitate to call him a scoundrel there is such a wide gulf between failure and success ! To add to his concern, news was brought to the chateau that Rubelle, the brother of Madame de Miramion, was on his way to the castle with an armed force of six hundred men. 60 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS He quickly decided to send her away to the town, and the Chevalier of Malta accompanied her carriage, but even he did not think it prudent to enter Sens. Her brother, M. de Rubelle, soon discovered her at an inn, but the poor young widow was so exhausted by the excitements and terrors of her extra- ordinary adventure, that she fell dangerously ill, and had to be re- moved to Paris for medical advice. Her life was in the greatest danger, and the sacraments were even administered to her; but fortunately for Bussy she recovered, though only after a long and painful convalescence ; when, with a magnanimity that the Comte did not deserve, she begged her friends to deal leniently with him on condition that he should never attempt to see her again. CHAPTER VI A visit to the Bishop of Chalons The Marquis and his wife return to Paris The beginnings of the Fronde The flight of the Court to Saint-Germain Paris besieged by the Queen "Mazarins" and " Frondeurs " The Duchesse de Longueville at the H6tel de Ville THE family and friends of Madame de Miramion were naturally greatly incensed at the Comte de Bussy's audacious conduct, and had it not been for the powerful inter- cession of his patron, the Great Conde, things would not have gone very well with him. While it was still doubtful whether he would be pursued by the law, he went to visit his uncle, Jacques de Neucheze, the Bishop of Chalon, where the Marquis and Marquise de Sevigne were spending the autumn with their children. This bishop, uncle to both the cousins, had, it will be remembered, officiated at the marriage of Madame de Se'vigne' ; he was also godfather to her daughter, and he now gave a cordial welcome to his young relatives at his beautiful old Abbey of Ferrieres on the banks of the Loing. Here the days passed pleasantly enough, and we know that they had excellent enter- tainment, for Bussy declared that Crochet, the Bishop's cook, made such good soups that they gave him a distaste for all others. The Comte, doubtless, was glad to escape for a while from Paris, to avoid the mockery of his friends at his failure, and the scorn of those who were disgusted at his conduct. It was delightful, too, to be with his young cousins, both as gay and witty as himself, and who, whatever they may have thought of his disgraceful enterprise, were too loyal to their relative to say much on the subject. But he had hardly been with them a week when a letter from his mother recalled him to Paris, urging him to come at once to settle some business in connec- tion with the abduction of Madame de Miramion. Bussy left this pleasant company most unwillingly, only to find that his 61 62 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS recall had been quite unnecessary. Some time after he wrote to both his cousins, who were still at Ferrieres : " If you do not soon return to Paris I shall come to find you, even though my affairs here will not be settled till after Christmas." It was then the 1 5th of November 1648, and they must have come back to Paris very shortly after this, for on the nth of December Madame de SeVigne was at the Parlement in the " Lantern," with her relative the celebrated lawyer Olivier d'Ormesson, listening to a case in which they were both interested, when the deputes des enquetes came in a body into the Grand Chamber and demanded a General Assembly. This scene was probably Madame de Sevigne's first actual experience of the Fronde, the "Ladies' War," as it has been lightly called in derision, but which, nevertheless, for four long years was to divide France into violently opposed factions, to cause bitter family dissensions, and to bring untold misery and bloodshed throughout the kingdom. While Madame de SeVigne had been staying at the peaceful old Abbey of Ferrieres in the autumn of 1648, the Fronde had commenced with the one or two dramatic little " curtain-raisers," so to speak, by which the long and bloody drama of the civil war was ushered in. Since the death of Louis xill in 1643, the affairs of the State had prospered marvellously. It was "the good regency when court and town thought of nothing but pleasure and love," wrote Saint Evremond. " The Queen is so good," was a phrase on everyone's lips, and the handsome little King, whenever he appeared in public, was idolised by the people. To add to the general sense of security and triumph, the Great Conde", even before his father's death, while he was yet only the Due d'Enghien, had gained for France such astounding victories that they could only be compared with those of the ancient world. But, underlying all this apparent prosperity, there was a growing discontent among the masses. The wars, though they added glory to the name of France, drained the nation of men and resources. Paris was filled with disabled soldiers, who, with no provision made for their needs, and maddened by their misery and want, helped to foster dis- affection among the people. Revolt was in the air of Europe. Cromwell's troops were every day more victorious in England ; DISAFFECTION IN PARIS 63 Charles I was in prison, and his Queen and her two sons had been hospitably received by their royal relatives in Paris ; and the presence of these victims of the Revolution in England probably had a share in turning the thoughts of the Parisians towards rebellion. The treasury of France was empty. Mazarin, the humble, smooth-tongued Italian, " who reverenced no virtue and hated no vice," who ruled the haughty Anne of Austria by his lightest word, had bribed, quite openly, with honours and emoluments, people of all sorts and conditions who had joined his party, and had spent in advance four years' income of the treasury of France. He had contrived, also, at the same time, to amass an enormous and shameful private fortune during the few years he had been minister in fact, though not in name. The natural result of this policy was a frequent and oppressive taxation, which closely affected all classes; and when, in 1648, fresh duties were imposed on the supplies entering Paris, Parlement assembled, under its venerable First President Matthew Mole, and refused to register the new decrees. It determined also to check this growing abuse of excessive taxation, and made an order, called Arret d' Union, which summoned its members to the Grand Council Chamber for the purpose of deliberating on State affairs, and of reforming the Constitution. Mazarin was alarmed at such unheard-of assertion on the part of Parlement, which by this action went far beyond its privileges. The Court party professed a boundless contempt for "those square-capped devils" the men of the law, and Mazarin forbade them to assemble. But these were men of intelligence and education who had a real grievance, and who were determined, if possible, to have it redressed. Matthew Mol<, Blancmesnil, Charton, and Broussel held meetings, harangued and argued, and the latter "talked like a Roman of the liberties and rights of the people." Anne of Austria was furious at this dissatisfaction among the men of the long robe. At every fresh act of assertion on the part of Parlement she became more angry, more eager to punish them for daring to oppose her will. In August the arrest of Broussel had been followed by the famous Jour des 64 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Barricades, and disaffection had been simmering all through the autumn. The popular hatred of Mazarin was increasing daily ; Parlement was growing more arrogant, more insistent in its demands ; and the Queen Regent, more haughty at each encroachment on royal prerogatives, more furious at every fresh insult to Mazarin who, it was commonly believed, was her lover or her husband was maturing a plan of punishment which should appal the good people of Paris, and soon reduce them to abject obedience. Few, very few, were in the secret. On the Eve of the Epiphany, while her confidential ministers were making ready for the great coup> Anne talked and laughed among her ladies, as usual; and one of them, Madame de Motteville, gives us a charming little picture of how this Twelfth- night of 1649 was kept at the Court of France. " On the 5th of January, the Eve of the Epiphany, the evening so famous that it will be talked of for ages to come, I went to the Queen, with whom I was accustomed to pass the greater part of my life. I found her in her little room, tran- quilly watching the King playing cards, and leaning carelessly against the corner of the table as if she were thinking of nothing but of what she was looking at. ... To amuse the King, the Queen cut up a cake, and as my sister, Madame de Bregy, and I were the only ladies present, she did us the honour of making us share it with the King and herself. We made her the Twelfth-night Queen, because the bean was found in the Virgin's slice, and to make merry she sent for a bottle of hippocras, which we drank before her ; and having no other purpose than to amuse ourselves, we forced the Queen to drink a little also. Then, wishing to fulfil the obligations which the extravagant follies of the day demanded, we cried out * The Queen drinks ! ' We supped as usual in her dressing- room, and made good cheer without the slightest uneasiness." Shortly after, the Queen retired, and apparently everything went on at the Palace as usual. But at three o'clock on that cold January morning the King, and the little Monsieur his brother, were awakened, hastily dressed, and taken to the carriage which awaited them at the garden gate of the Palais Royal, where the Queen joined them. They drove to the Cours-la-Reine, which was the rendezvous for those in the A STRANGE COURT PROCESSION 65 secret, and surely that magnificent promenade never witnessed a stranger sight than the assembling, in the weird, chilly moonlight of a winter morning, of the Princes of the Blood, the Court officials, the ladies and gentlemen of the Court, all, in fact, who were of any importance in the political party of the Queen's adherents. One by one carriages drove up with occupants who were more or less sleepy, more or less annoyed that the rendezvous should be at such an unseasonable hour. There was Gaston d'Orleans, with Madame his second wife and her baby daughters the former much troubled at such an unheard-of expedition ; La Grande Mademoiselle, Gaston's eldest and imperious daughter, not very pleased at having to get up at such a cold and early hour ; and the dowager Princesse de Conde, who only at the last moment had been wakened by her son the Prince de Conde, and consequently was angry and annoyed at not having been told the secret sooner. There was, however, no time to scold, so, taking her daughter-in-law and the little Due d'Enghien, then five years old, she also drove to the Cours-la-Reine. All the Princes of the Blood and their families were present save one member, the Duchesse de Longueville. But no one at this juncture thought her absence ominous. When she had been urged to leave the town with the Queen and Court, she had sent back a plausible message that the state of her health would not allow her to bear the fatigue of travelling; she was confident, however, that the good citizens of Paris would do her no harm. The royal cavalcade started on its way to Saint-Germain- en-Laye, and reached there about five o'clock in the morning. Everyone was cold, sleepy, and supremely uncomfortable in tl'-e great palace, which was almost bare of furniture. Cardinal Mazarin had sent two or three small beds from Paris a few days previously, and these were made ready for the Queen, the King, the little Monsieur, and Cardinal Mazarin. La Grande Mademoiselle was fortunate; she slept on a mattress in an attic with no glass to the windows ; but the Duchesse d'Orleans, the Princesse de Conde, and most of the others of the party, were thankful for a heap of straw to lie on. Even this presently became so scarce and precious that none was to be had at any price. 5 66 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS " I will starve Paris into submission," the Queen declared triumphantly. And the Great Conde, well versed in the tactics of war, assured her that it could be besieged and taken in a fortnight. Paris, waking up to find itself bereft of Queen, King, and Court, was for a short time in a panic of alarm. But the Coadjutor of Paris, Madame de Sevigne's relative by marriage, now came into prominence as the leader of the Frondeurs, and soon reassured his flock. Parlement took counsel with the Coadjutor, the Due de Beaufort, and other leading Frondeurs, and, as a first step, levied a tax on all who could pay it, and in this way collected an immense sum of money for provisions and arms. The Queen, however, sent out a decree forbidding all villages round Paris to carry provisions of any kind into the city by land or water, intending to blockade Paris by river as well as by road ; but as the farmers of the sur- rounding villages obtained such good prices for their produce in Paris, the besieged town experienced no difficulty on that point. Such a general and disastrous upheaval could not fail to affect every person in Paris, and it became a necessity for each one to declare for one party or the other, to announce himself as a " Mazarin " or a " Frondeur." The hatred of the multitude for Mazarin had grown to such a point, that all their grievances were identified with him, and the whole Court party was vilified under his name; while the Frondeurs took their title from a group of idle youths and loafers who hung about the confines of the town, flinging stones at each other or at peaceable passers-by. Fronder means literally " to fling," or " to censure," and when the word was used by one of the Parlement it was taken up immediately by their party, and used as a catchword with the customary popular frenzy ; and gloves, hats, ribbons, and canes, to be quite fashionable, were all presently labelled in the shop windows a la Fronde, Madame de Sevigne" and her husband were naturally on the side of the Frondeurs. The Coadjutor of Paris, of the powerful de Retz family, was the unscrupulous, intriguing soul of the Fronde, and as he was the head of their house, they, as a matter of course, belonged to his party. At this period the A PROCESSION OF FRONDEURS 67 strife centred round the lovely Duchesse de Longueville, who for the sake of the Prince de Marsillac, son of the Due de la Rochefoucauld, broke with her family, and contributed by her powerful influence to keep alive the flame of civil war. Her sway over her own family and friends was so great, that, as Madame de Motteville said, " her approval was looked on as the greatest blessing." Three days after the Queen and Court had left the capital, the Duchesse sent a message to her husband, and to her younger brother the Prince de Conti, asking them both to join her in Paris. These two men were completely under the dominion of this lovely and clever woman, and had no thought but to obey her ; knowing, however, that they would be followed by the execrations of the whole Court for deserting the Queen, they secretly left Saint-Germain in the evening, and reached the gates of Paris at midnight. Here they were met by a torchlight procession, at the head of which were the Coadjutor and the Due de Beaufort, while the greater part of Paris shouted itself hoarse in welcoming a Prince of the Blood among their leaders. The Parisians, however, found it almost too difficult to believe that a prince and princess were actually identifying themselves with the popular interest ; it was unnatural ; such good news could not be true, and they suspected an intrigue by which they would be betrayed. It was therefore necessary to gain their entire confidence, and the leaders soon devised a plan which appealed with immense force to the popular imagination, and assured the good citizens that these royal personages were in sympathy with the Frondeurs. The Due de Longueville went to Parlement and told those who had assembled there that Madame his wife would, with Madame de Bouillon, take up her residence at the Hotel de Ville! Such condescension was unheard-of! It brought tears to the eyes of the citoyennes, and vivas of delight from their husbands. Years after, when the Coadjutor (then Cardinal de Retz) was writing his memoirs, he gave this little pen-picture of the circumstance, which shows that he was fully aware of the value of the incident as a stroke of policy " Imagine, I pray you," he wrote, "these two ladies upon the 68 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS steps of the Hdtel de Ville, the more beautiful because they appeared to be carelessly dressed, though this was not really the case. Each held in her arms one of her children, who were as beautiful as their mothers. The Greve was crowded with people up to the roofs ; all the men gave shouts of joy, and all the women shed tears of tenderness. I threw five hundred pistoles from the windows of the Hotel de Ville." The room of the Duchesse de Longueville became the council chamber, as it were, for the leaders of the Fronde. Here came the Frondeur nobles, the Due de Bouillon, the Due d'Elbceuf, the Marquis de Noirmoutier, and, to her the most important of all, the Prince de Marsillac. The magistrates and town officials came here also, and the details of the pro- gramme of the Fronde party were all discussed and settled only with her approval. In the midst of all this intrigue Madame de Longueville's youngest child was born on 29th January 1649. The next day she paid a high compliment to Messieurs of the Parlement, which delighted the Parisians. She begged President le Feron, in the name of the Parlement, to act as godfather to her little son in conjunction with the Duchesse de Bouillon ; and the baby received the name of Charles-Paris, in honour of his birth-place. The men of the SeVigne family had their part to play in the Fronde, though it must be confessed that it was not per- formed with distinction. The Due de Longueville hastened to his province of Normandy to rouse it to rebellion against the Regent, and the young Marquis de Sevigne* joined the expedition. They did not accomplish much in any way, but it was quite a pleasant campaign, and Saint-Evremond, who wrote a delicate satire on the occasion, records that the Marquis de SeVign^ had the honour of affording much amusement to the Due de Longueville by his clever buffoonery. Renaud de Sevigne, an uncle of the Marquis, was scarcely more fortunate in the matter of military laurels. He was sent to command a regiment raised by the Coadjutor, and, because of his title of Archbishop of Corinth, it was called the " Corinthians." When this regiment was badly beaten by the Royalists, the latter called them in derision the " First of the Corinthians," which amused even the Frondeurs themselves. MADAME DE SVIGN AMONG THE FRONDEURS 69 They were very light-hearted, these Frondeurs and Royalists. Everything was a subject for jest and biting epigram, for chansons and witty madrigals. The Coadjutor employed the poet Marigny to use his poetic gift in showering clever insults on the enemy, anonymously of course. His muse, one is inclined to think, must have been too hard-worked at this period, or he would never have sent such wretched rhymes to Madame de Sevigne as a New Year's greeting " Adorable et belle marquise, Plus belle mille fois qu'un satin blanc tout neuf; Au premier jour de 1'an mil six cent quarante-neuf, Je vous presenterais de bon coeur ma franchise. ..." However, since they were sent with such good intentions, she probably did not criticise them very severely. Madame de Sevigne was among the Frondeurs who paid court to the Duchesse de Longueville, and joined in the gaieties that went on in Paris while each side was preparing for war. The Comte de Bussy was in the army of the Prince de Conde, commanding a company of light horse, just outside Paris on the plain of Saint-Denis. In February he wrote the following letter to his cousin " I have long hesitated to write to you, not knowing whether you had become my enemy, or whether you were still my good cousin ; whether to send you a lackey or a trumpeter. But having remembered once hearing you blame the brutality of Horace for having said to his brother-in-law that he would no longer recognise him after war had been declared between their republics, I believed that the interests of your party would not prevent you from reading my letters ; and as for me, except in what concerns the service of the King my master, I am your very humble servant. " Do not think, my dear cousin, that this is the end of my letter ; I wish to say a few words to you concerning our war. " I find that keeping guard is very cold work. It is true that wood costs nothing here, and that we can live well at a cheap rate. With all that, it is a most wearisome business, and without the hope that you would fall to my share at the sack of Paris I should be tempted to desert ; but that prospect gives me patience. 70 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS " I send my servant for news of you, and to bring from Paris my carriage horses, in the name of our uncle the Grand Prieur. Adieu, my dear cousin." Bussy, however, was not destined to see his carriage horses again. Finding that the efforts of his servant were useless, he begged Madame de Sevigne to use her influence in having them sent to him ; and at the end of his letter he says, " If Cardinal Mazarin had a cousin as charming as you in Paris, I am very much deceived if he would not make peace at all costs ; and I would do the same, for upon my faith I love you well. Adieu." Madame de Sevigne did her best to get Bussy's carriage horses sent to him, but the Frondeurs knew too well to whom they belonged, and would not give them up. The Comte de Bussy, making the best of his loss to his cousin, assured her that he was consoled for the loss of his horses by the friendship she showed in trying to have them sent to him. From a letter written by Madame de Sevigne in the beginning of the war, to Lenet, the friend who had sent her the rhyming letter to Les Rochers in conjunction with Bussy, the same Lenet with whom she laughed so much in her youthful days, we learn what the Marquise thought of the war, though at this period its miseries and horrors had barely begun " PARIS, March 25, 1649 " MONSIEUR, You must permit me to wish for peace, for, with your permission, I think an hour's conversation is worth fifty letters. When you come here, and I have the honour of seeing you, I shall compel you to agree with me that war is a foolish thing. I passionately desire it to end, and to remain in your good graces, which I hold in particular esteem, and am with truth, Monsieur, your very humble and obedient servant, " M. DE RABUTIN-CHANTAL " Notwithstanding her passionate desire, and that of many thousands more, the war was far from its end, and before that longed-for event, Madame de Sevigne' was to experience a private grief and affliction that for the time caused her to regard the war as of quite secondary importance. CHAPTER VII The "Princes' Fronde" The Sevignes give a supper-party to the Duchesse de Chevreuse The appartement of the crippled poet Scarron The Marquis de Sevigne and Ninon de 1'Enclos An intercepted letter The Marquis conducts his wife to the solitude of Les Rochers The diamond earrings The Marquis de Sevigne is killed in a duel "CAMP OF MONTROND, July 2, 1650 " T HAVE at last declared myself for Monsieur le Prince, and 1. I may say to you, my fair cousin, that it has not been without great reluctance, for, against my King, I am serving a Prince who does not care for me. It is true the position he is in fills me with pity. I shall therefore serve him while he is in prison as if he loved me, and if ever he comes out, I shall return him my lieutenancy and leave him at once. " What do you say to such sentiments, Madame ? Do you not think them grand and noble ? " Let us write often to each other, the Cardinal will know nothing of it ; and at the worst, if he sends you a lettre de cachet, it is a fine thing 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 declare to you, my charming cousin, that I would willingly cause you to commit a crime, no matter what. " When I think that last year we were on different sides, and are so still, though we have both changed, I fancy that we are playing at prisoner's base. However, your side is always the best, for you never leave Paris, while I go from Saint-Denis to Montrond, and I am afraid I shall end by going from Montrond to the devil. . . ." From this entirely characteristic letter of the Comte de Bussy, written a month after his second marriage, we gather 71 72 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS what an amazing change had occurred in the affairs of the Fronde in one short year. In its beginning, Anne of Austria had besieged Paris, hoping thus to reduce her subjects to obedience, and the Prince de Conde had been her most loyal and trusted commander. The Frondeurs, whether men of the robe, bourgeoisie, or canaille, were resisting the Queen because they resented the crushing taxes, and hoped to be able to stipulate for a less oppressive rule. But the nobles were not united by this single aim ; almost everyone, in fact, was occupied with his own pet ambition, from the Prince de Marsillac, who, quite unfairly, during his father's lifetime demanded the honneurs du Louvre, to the Coadjutor, who was scheming for a cardinal's hat. In this network of intrigue, cohesion was impossible, but when the Queen Regent and Court returned to Paris everyone hoped that affairs would be amicably settled. The Prince de Conde, however, gave great offence to the Queen by his arrogant behaviour, and as a punishment she caused him and his brother the Prince de Conti, with their brother-in-law the Due de Longueville, to be conducted to Vincennes as prisoners of state. A thunder-bolt from heaven would not have seemed more terrifying to all classes in France. The Princes of the Blood in prison ! Their sacred persons brought under the law like mere nobles ! It was incredible ! inconceivable ! but it was nevertheless true, and the whole aspect of the Fronde changed as by magic. It was now the " Princes' Fronde." The Coadjutor and his party executed a volte-face, and were supporting the Queen and upholding her authority in Paris ; while the provinces, hating Mazarin rather than Anne of Austria, were making war on the Crown on behalf of the Princes, urged to rebellion by the Duchesse de Longueville and the Princesse de Conde. The poor dowager Princesse, broken-hearted at the indignity put upon her sons, did not long survive their disgrace. While her sons were in prison, and her daughter Anne, the beautiful Duchesse, was in active rebellion against the Queen, she died in bitter loneliness, without one of those children whom she had loved so well, to soothe her last sad hours. THE SfiVIGNfiS* SUPPER-PARTY 73 Madame de Se"vigne and her husband were now both in Paris, and, following the lead of their relative the Coadjutor, supported the royal cause, though it must not be supposed that there was anything approaching unity of purpose or action among the Queen's adherents. This party was split up into several factions, most of which were governed by the intrigues of the Duchesse de Montbazon, who entirely ruled the actions of the Due de Beaufort; the Duchesse de Chevreuse, who dictated to Gondi ; and the Duchesse de Chatillon, who was the confidential friend of the Prince de Conde. The Fronde, indeed, now justified its name of "The Ladies' War." Amid all this inconceivable confusion and bewildering intrigue, the gaieties of Parisian life went on as usual, with a licence and gay freedom that had been unknown in the days of the "good Regency," the time of the precieuses^ and the receptions of the Hotel de Rambouillet. Madame de Sevigne and her husband, though neither was mixed up in political intrigue, were, nevertheless, brought frequently into contact with the Coadjutor's party, and in July 1650 they gave a supper to the Duchesse de Chevreuse, Condi's clever and powerful ally, one of the most notorious women of her day. Loret has recorded it in his curious chronicle, the Rhyming Gazette, a diary in rhyme that he kept for Mademoiselle de Longueville, the stepdaughter of the Duchess. " There is a good deal of talk here," wrote Loret in easy doggerel, " of a fine collation that Sdvigne gave to the Duchesse de Chevreuse four or five days ago, after their return from driving along the Cours-la-Reine. The supper-room was well lighted with candles, there were several pretty ladies and a good number of gallants. It was a merry party. They ate ortolans, they sang drinking songs ; they argued excitedly, * no '- < yes ' ' no ' ' we shall see ' was repeated a hundred times, and it is said they applauded the Fronde. Someone spilt soup ; a silver dish was stolen, and I know nothing more about it!" This rather wild supper-party was, however, a simple affair in comparison with some of the excesses of the Fronde. All society was disorganised ; Parisians breathed intrigue and lived in an atmosphere of masquerade and disguises. The house of the 74 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS crippled poet Scarron was at this period one of the chief rendezvous for the licentious and aggressive spirits of the Fronde. All those who hated Mazarin were sure of hearing him vilified at Scarron's appartement in the Marais. The general hatred of the minister was here concentrated into witty lampoons, epigrams, and insulting street songs which sooner or later found their way to the Pont Neuf, and were repeated with delight by the Parisian mob. The satyr-like host of the house in the Marais was one of the " lions " of Paris. He was so terribly crippled that he could not walk ; so poor, that he hardly knew where to find daily bread ; but so devoted to art, that in his greatest poverty, during the Fronde, he ordered a picture from Nicolas Poussin a Bacchic subject of course ! So witty that everyone except his victims enjoyed the sinister sneers, the biting jests, the wounding epigrams, that he dispensed so freely. He com- plains that visitors came to see him " as if he were a lion at a fair," but he probably did not object to this notoriety. His guests were among the most distinguished men in Paris ; Gondi the Coadjutor, the Due de Lesdiguieres, the Comte de Fiesque, the President de Pommereul, and among many others came the young Marquis de Sevigne. Few ladies would visit at his house ; his lack of even ordinary moral sentiments was too well- known, but he was such a witty talker that he was frequently carried to the houses of the ladies whose husbands visited him. Ninon de 1'Enclos, however, who, like himself, scorned all social conventions, was sometimes a guest at his gay and licentious suppers, and it was here that she probably often met the young Marquis de Sevigne. The Marquise, it need hardly be said, was not of the number who sought the acquaintance of Scarron, though, later, he begged her to go and see him. She learned, however, to her sorrow and annoyance, of the irregular life her husband was leading. Bussy, ever since their marriage, had tried to persuade both husband and wife that he was the entirely devoted friend of each. As he was a near relative, some eight years older than herself, a clever and polished man of the world, with a defer- ential manner to women, and a persuasive tongue, the Marquise doubtless looked upon him as a friend on whom she could rely NINON DE L'ENCLOS 75 for safe guidance. Whenever he was in Paris during the intervals of warfare, she begged him to use his influence with her husband to keep him, if possible, from the low and vicious acquaintances who were continually causing her annoyance as well as grief, for his irregularities were no secret to the society in which they lived. Bussy declares in his memoirs that he did influence the young Marquis for some time, and that through him he broke with some of his vulgar associates; and he evidently was entirely in his confidence, for one afternoon, during the drive along the Cours-la-Reine, the Marquis came into Bussy's car- riage, and confided to him with fatuous delight that he was the accepted lover of Ninon. Ninon ! Who in Paris at that period had not seen or heard of Ninon? Anne de 1'Enclos Ninon is merely a charming diminutive of the sober Anne had been left an orphan at fifteen, and having a sufficient fortune for her needs she had elected to live her life without .any respect to convention or morality. She was of good family, which gave her a certain standing, though she soon lost her place in society by her openly immoral life. But to the day of her death, at the age of ninety, she had her own peculiar place in Paris. The beautiful and dangerous courtesan was even more witty than beautiful ; and her openly avowed sentiments of free-thought aroused more horror than her notorious life. Ninon scoffed at the precieuses, and her wit was eagerly repeated in society. A man once complained to her that his daughter had no memory. " Be thankful, Monsieur," said Ninon, " for then she cannot quote." Her conversation was so gay, so witty and brilliant, that people came in crowds to her evenings ; and though she drank nothing intoxicating, her guests used to say that the soup got into her head as if it had been wine. More than once Ninon was in danger of being exiled by the stern Anne of Austria, who, as far as she could, kept a check on licence and immorality, but each time she was saved, either by a witty mot of her own, or by the intervention of powerful friends. On one such occasion, when Ninon was in disgrace, the Prince de Conde", once her lover and always her friend, meeting her among a great crowd of people, lifted his hat 76 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS and stood for some minutes talking at her carriage door. This deference from a Prince of the Blood saved Ninon, and there was no more talk of exile ! Ninon had a singular and fatal attraction for the men of the Sevigne family. Madame de Sevigne's husband was the first victim of her fascination, and in due time his son followed in his unworthy father's footsteps ; and many years later, when Ninon in her old age was still one of the attractions of Paris to fashion- able and gilded youth, her grandson, the young Marquis de Grignan, took pleasure in seeking her company. Strangely enough, when the Queen of Sweden came to Paris, and passed free comments on all she saw and heard, she declared that the two most interesting women she had met were Madame de Sevigne and Ninon de 1'Enclos ; all of which seems to suggest some similarity in their gaiety of mind, their frankness and joie de vivre, in spite of their total dissimilarity of morals. Bussy had no sooner heard the news which the Marquis de Sevigne had been so eager to give him, than he hastened to tell his cousin. Madame de Sevigne coloured with anger and annoyance when she heard the humiliating truth, and when Bussy advised her to say nothing about it she saw no wisdom in his counsel. " You must be mad to give me such advice, or else you think that I am mad," said the indignant young Marquise. "You will certainly be foolish if you do not follow his example," insinuated Bussy. " Revenge yourself, my pretty cousin, and I will share your vengeance, for your interests are as dear to me as my own." But Madame de Sevigne was not to be led away by such specious reasoning. " That is all very well, Monsieur le Comte," she said laugh- ingly, " but my annoyance is not great enough for that." The unscrupulous Bussy writes with an absolute lack of shame of the scandalous part he played between the weak young Marquis and his wife. The next day, when the Comte met Sevigne again at the Cours-la-Reine, the latter at once came into his carriage. " I think you must have mentioned to your cousin what I told you yesterday," he began, " because she has hinted some- thing of it to me." A SUBTLE LETTER 77 " I have not said a word of it, Monsieur," declared the false de Bussy, " but as she is very clever, and has said a good deal on the subject of jealousy, she may have chanced to hit on the truth." ' The foolish young Sevigne, full of his new affair, was easily satisfied on the point of his wife's jealousy, and told the Comte that he was going to Saint-Cloud that evening, where the Marquis de Vasse was giving a grand fete to Ninon, and that he should not return to Paris before the next day. Bussy warned Sevigne that such openly scandalous conduct would drive his wife to despair, and that, however prudent and virtuous she might be, she would seek revenge if he persisted in his shameful courses. Then, taking leave of the Marquis and driving home, he at once wrote the following subtle and per- nicious counsel to his young cousin " I was not wrong yesterday, Madame, in suspecting your prudence. You have repeated to your husband what I told you. You can see quite well that it is not for my own interest that I reproach you, for all that would happen to me would be to lose his friendship ; but for you, Madame, there is much more to fear. I have, however, been fortunate enough to allay his suspicions. For the rest, Madame, he is so persuaded that he cannot be a man of the world without being always in love, that I despair of your ever being satisfied if you aspire to be the only one loved by him. But this need not alarm you, Madame; as I have begun to serve you, I will not forsake you at this juncture. You are aware that jealousy has sometimes more power to retain a heart than charms or worth ; I therefore advise you to make your husband jealous, my pretty cousin, and for that purpose I offer myself to you. If I bring him back by this means I have enough affection for you to return to my first part of being your agent with him, and I will sacrifice myself again to make you happy. And if you must lose him, love me, my cousin, and I will help you to take your revenge by loving you all your life." Bussy sent this letter early in the morning to Madame de Sevignd's house by a page, who, learning that she was asleep, waited about till he could give the letter into her own hands, as he had been ordered. Shortly after, the Marquis de SeVigne* 78 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS arrived home from Saint-Cloud, and, finding the page with a letter from the Comte de Bussy to Madame de Sevigne, he took it from the lad, and, after reading it, told him he might return to his master as there was no answer. When the Comte de Bussy heard who had read the letter, he declares that he felt fit to kill the page, and did not sleep the whole night for thinking of the danger to which he had exposed his cousin ; and since one knows the character of the Comte, we may guess that some fear of the annoyance it might bring to himself may also have contributed its share to his sleepless night. The weak young Marquis, however, took no very decided action. He merely forbade his wife to see the Comte de Bussy again ; and with her usual charm and sweetness she wrote to her cousin, telling him to have a little patience and the affair would soon be forgotten. But the intercepted letter probably had its influence, for Sevigne thought that if his wife were away from Paris he might continue his dissipated life with more freedom than if she were at hand to hear of his dishonourable doings ; and shortly after this he took the Marquise and her two young children to Les Rochers, and leaving them there with callous unconcern, he returned to Paris, flinging himself anew without the least restraint into his evil courses. It is not surprising that such a life required more money than he possessed. Though they had been married hardly more than six years, Madame de Sevigne, in self-protection, had already had a separation of property, probably by the advice of the good Abbe de Livry. But when her husband plunged daily deeper into the slough of dishonour and debt, Madame de Sevigne, like the true woman that she was, forgave his flagrant sins against her, and came to his help with fifty thousand crowns. What the good thrifty Abbe, who so well knew the value of money, said on the occasion has not been recorded, but Menage, who cordially disliked the selfish young Marquis for so openly neglecting his charming wife, used his privilege of being tutor and scolded her sharply for her weakness. " Madame," he said severely, " a prudent woman would never throw away such sums upon a husband ! " But Madame de Sevigne was never prudent where she loved. After the Marquis de Sevigne had left his wife in the gloomy A PAIR OF DIAMOND EARRINGS 79 solitude of Les Rochers, he threw himself with less restraint than before into the pleasures of Paris. Ninon, to whom " three months was an eternity," soon tired of him ; but instead of joining his wife in Brittany, and endeavouring to retrieve the fortune he had so nearly ruined, he now made himself con- spicuous as the slave of a worthless woman who had already been the talk of polite Paris because of what were termed her " galantries." Though this Madame de Gondran was undoubtedly a beautiful and attractive woman, Tallemant, in writing of Sevigne's infatuation, adds, " For my part, I should have liked his wife better." Bussy, too, with the frankness of a friend and cousin, pointed out to the Marquis that Madame de Sevign6 was so charming that if she were not his wife he would certainly desire her for his mistress. " Very possibly I might," assented Sevigne", but the admis- sion did not make him a whit more faithful. Strangely enough, his intimates and acquaintances could all perceive the rare charm and beauty of his young wife ; every- one admitted it except the foolish, dissipated young Marquis, who thought it bon ton to neglect her. He now became so infatuated with Madame de Gondran " Lolo," as her intimates called her that he could refuse her nothing, and he carried his complacency to such an absurd point that for a while all the gossips of his circle were set talking in amazed indignation. Mademoiselle de Chevreuse owned a pair of exquisite earrings, and these, no less, Madame de Gondran desired to wear at a ball during the Carnival. It was a little difficult for a woman of Madame de Gondran's rank, to say nothing of her lack of character, to borrow earrings belonging to the daughter of a duchess ; but capricious beauty never believes that anything it desires is impossible, and Madame de Gondran contrived to make the Marquis de Sevignd believe it also. With a headlong determination to gratify Madame, he went boldly to Mademoiselle de Chevreuse and begged her to lend her earrings not to Madame de Gondran, that request he knew would have been useless ! but to Mademoiselle de la Vergne, his wife's intimate friend, whose mother had quite recently married his uncle, the Chevalier Renaud de Sevigne. 8o THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Mademoiselle de Chevreuse lent them willingly, and that same evening the bourgeoise wore them with complacent vanity at a ball. The earrings were immediately recognised, and several of the guests spoke of their amazement at seeing them worn by Madame de Gondran, hardly, indeed, believing the evidence of their own eyesight, and openly curious as to how she could possibly have obtained them. The Marquis de Se'vigne knew that someone would be certain to tell Mademoiselle de Chevreuse who had worn her jewels, and, fearing to be found out in his disgraceful falsehood, he went to Mademoiselle de la Vergne. To her he confessed the whole shameful truth, and throwing himself on her mercy, he begged her to help him out of the tangle into which he had drawn himself. Mademoiselle de la Vergne, who afterwards became the celebrated Madame de la Fayette, was then a charming and gentle girl of about nineteen, and, taking pity on the Marquis, promised to do her best. She went to Mademoiselle de Chevreuse and thanked her for the jewels ; then, to save her friend's worthless husband, added the falsehood that she had lent them to Madame de Gondran ! The Marquis de Sevigne procured invitations for the Gondrans to all kinds of entertainments, where on their own merits they would never have been admitted, and, in consequence, their vanity increased daily. They began to speak with the utmost disdain of their old friends and relatives, and affected to know only the most charming people of the Court. It was inevitable that such absurd pretensions should meet with ridicule, and one evening, at her own house, the Abbe de Romilly grossly insulted Madame de Gondran while in the company of her husband. That good, easy man apparently dared not notice an insult to his wife from a person of superior rank, and a man named Lacger, who saw the curious scene, industriously spread the report of it. When the Marquis de Sevigne heard of it he was furious, and made no secret of his intention of caning Lacger before a numerous company. Lacger, warned in time, did not appear, and Dame Rumour, disappointed of the actual duel which would assuredly have followed, invented one entirely on her own account, and, with her usual careful attention to detail, added A FATAL DUEL 81 that the Marquis had been badly beaten and was dangerously wounded by a sword-thrust. This entirely fabricated story found its way to the provinces, and Madame de SeVigne, in alarm for her faithless husband, wrote him a letter full of tender reproaches, breathing a deep anxiety about his health. The Marquis never replied to this letter; for the next few days, far from thinking about his devoted young wife, his whole thought and attention were absorbed by an "affair of honour," the indirect result of his quarrel with Lacger. This young man, in great anger at Sevigne's threats, determined to be revenged without risking his own person. Knowing that the Chevalier d'Albret, another of Madame de Gondran's admirers, had for some time been refused admittance to her house, he spread the report that Sevigne had been scoffing at his discomfiture, not only with Madame de Gondran, but in the hearing of other people also. The Chevalier, determined to know the truth of the story, sent his friend the Marquis de Soyecour to SeVigne to ask whether he had been talking about him in the manner mentioned by Lacger. SeVigne replied at once that he had never said a word to the disadvantage of the Chevalier d'Albret ; then, not wishing to be suspected of trying to conciliate a rival, he added haughtily "that he had only said this in the cause of truth and not to justify himself, for that he never did except with a sword in his hand ! " There was only one possible answer to this, and probably both young men the one hotly jealous of his rival, the other burning to avenge the insult to Madame de Gondran on someone were more than willing to fight. A meeting was arranged, and at midday on Wednesday, 4th of February 1651, they drove, attended by their seconds, to a spot behind the convent of Picpus, a short distance from Paris. Every detail was carried out with the punctilio such occasions demanded. The Marquis de Sevigne', who had chosen swords, bowed to the Chevalier, saying that he was his servant, and again declared that he had not said the words which had been falsely reported. The young men then embraced. 6 82 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS "But," said the Chevalier, "we must fight all the same." " Certainly," agreed Sevigne ; adding that he had not come out there merely to return without having done anything. Did a glimmer of their folly in righting indirectly for such a worthless woman pierce for a moment their hot and foolish young heads ? Even supposing that such wisdom had illumined them for a brief space, the laws of " honour " (and honour meant neither truth, chastity, honesty, faith, nor any other virtue save that of courage ; but in that respect, as Madame de Sevigne wrote years after, a man's reputation was more delicate than a woman's) would have forbidden them to do anything but fight ; and fight they did in grim earnest. After a few minutes' practised sword-play Sevigne received a thrust in the body, and he fell. He was taken from the ground to a carriage, and conveyed at once to Paris, where the surgeons pronounced that he was mortally wounded. His wild and foolish companions of pleasure came to see him; Gondran, the complacent and ridiculous bourgeois, wept bitter tears at the thought of losing his aristocratic friend the Marquis; and of Sevigne himself there is not a word recorded to indicate that even at that late hour he regretted his misspent life, or repented of the wrongs he had inflicted on the Marquise. His one futile refrain was the regret that he had to leave this pleasant world at the early age of thirty-two. CHAPTER VIII Madame de Sevigne's widowhood at Les Rochers She returns to Paris and gradually re-enters Parisian society Rival suitors The quarrel between the Due de Rohan and the Marquis de Tonquedec in her ruelle A haughty Duchess The battle of Saint-Antoine MADAME DE SEVIGNE had just passed her twenty- fifth birthday when the sad news of her husband's death reached her among the sombre woods of Les Rochers, and who can say what dark hours of desolation and anguish were spent by the young widow in her lonely chateau, where, so few years before, she had enjoyed a brief bright period of happiness as a bride? Few mourned the Marquis save his young wife ; he had been a selfish egoist, seeking nothing but his own vicious pleasure; he had wasted his own fortune and part of his wife's also by his reckless dissipation ; he had heaped humiliation on the Marquise, and it is scarcely sur- prising that the cynical Bussy found it difficult to believe that Madame de Sevignd's sorrow for her husband could be genuine. But no one save this cynic doubted the reality and entire sincerity of Madame de Sevignd's grief. We know from her letters what a sensitive and impressionable heart and mind were hers; how keenly alive to pleasure, how readily touched by sorrow ; and, notwithstanding the humiliations her husband had caused her to suffer, in spite even of the crowning outrage of the manner of his death, she was overwhelmed with grief at her loss. Even her pride was dominated by love and yearning sorrow. Tallemant tells the story, that the Marquise, who had neither a lock of hair nor a portrait of her husband, putting aside all wifely anger and just resentment, went to Madame de Gondran, who at once gave her what she required; while Madame de Sevigne, on her side, returned to the bourgeoise all the shameful letters she had written to the Marquis. This 83 84 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS may or may not have been true, there is only an inveterate gossip's word for it, but it is quite conceivable that in the abandonment of her grief the young widow may have acted in a manner she would not have thought permissible in calmer hours. We have, too, a record of her emotion when, two years after her husband's death, she saw Soyecour, who had taken part in the affair that led to the duel. Tallemant saw her turn pale and almost faint at the sight of this man ; and the first time she saw the Chevalier d'Albret, the man who had killed her husband, she lost consciousness entirely. Once, too, when walking among the beautiful allees on the heights of Saint- Cloud, she caught sight of Lacger, and turning to her friends, she said in a low voice " There is the man I hate more than anyone in the world, because of the misfortunes he has brought upon me." The two officers who were walking beside her immediately offered to thrash him in her presence, but the Marquise, who shrunk from such notoriety, refused their kind but embarrassing offer by saying tactfully " Pray take care ; he is with several of my relatives whom you would not wish to offend, I am sure." And she turned with the officers into another allee of the park to avoid meeting Lacger. Many years after, she chanced to write to her cousin Bussy that she could scarcely tell one year from another, because they were so mingled in her memory that only one or two were worth remembering. " I should like to know," wrote the malicious Bussy, " which are the two years you consider worth remembering. If it were anyone else I should say that they were the years when you were married and when you became a widow." The Marquise glided lightly over this impertinence. " I had only retained the dates of my birth and of my marriage," she replied ; " but without increasing the number I will forget the year when I was born, which saddens me [she was then sixty], and I will put in its stead that of my widowhood, and the commencement of an existence which has been sufficiently pleasant and happy, without triumphs, and without distinction ; CHRISTOPHE DE COULANGES, ABBE DE LIVRY MADAME DE SfiVIGNfi RETURNS TO PARIS 85 but it will finish in a more Christian manner than if it had been disturbed by great events, and that truly is the chief thing." All the spring, summer, and autumn of that sad year of 1651 the Marquise spent on her estate at Les Rochers with her two little children and her good uncle the Abbe de Coulanges, who immediately set himself to work to repair the shameful inroads that the late Marquis had made in his niece's and her children's fortune. Gradually all debts were paid, and by the virtue of that " holy economy " which the *Abbe revered and daily instilled into his niece, her estates were brought again into good order, though only at his death did the Marquise reveal what a perilous state her affairs had been in at this period. " He extricated me from the abyss into which I was plunged at the death of M. de Sevigne ; he gained my lawsuits, improved my estates, paid my debts, and made my son's estate the prettiest and most agreeable place possible," she tells her cousin, the Comte de Bussy, at the Abbe's death in 1687. After nine or ten months of solitude and inevitable regrets for what might have been, Madame de Sevignd returned to Paris in the November of 1651. Loret, who recorded all events of importance in the polite world of Paris, noted the fact in his society chronicle " Sevigne, veuve, jeune et belle, Comme une chaste tourterelle Ayant d'un coeur triste et marri Lamente monsieur son mari Est de retour de la campagne, C'est-a-dire de la Bretagne ; Et, malgre ses sombres atours Qui semblent ternir ses beaux jours, Vient augmenter dans nos ruelles L'agreable nombre des belles." It is probable that the young widow, whose year of mourning was not yet complete, in the first few months of her return saw only her relatives and most intimate friends. There was her mother's sister, Henriette de Coulanges, Marquise de la Trousse, who was also a widow. She was frequently with her niece; indeed, she seems at this time to have been a companion and chaperone to the young Marquise, who was much too charming and attractive to live alone, even if etiquette had permitted it. 86 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Another relative by marriage was Madame Renaud de Sevigne*, at whose house she frequently saw the pretty and clever young Mademoiselle de la Vergne, her aunt's daughter by her first marriage; the young girl who, greatly against her will, had been mixed up in the affair of the diamond earrings. A life- long friendship commenced between the Marquise de SeVigne and Mademoiselle de la Vergne, who, a few years later, as Madame de la Fayette, became one of the celebrated women of her time. There was a difference of eight years between the two friends, but the younger, by her grave philosophical character, her rather sombre outlook on life, and, in later years, by her ill- health, seemed fully as old as the Marquise de Sevigne*, who by her gaiety, magnificent health, and joyous delight in life, kept her youth for an unusually long period. It is pleasant, too, to find that the beautiful young widow, in the midst of the many perils of that unscrupulous society, was carefully guarded by her uncles the de Coulanges. Bussy sneers lightly at them for being jealous of her reputation; but the Comte, whose professions of affection for her were, at this time especially, greatly in evidence, could never have been accused of such a virtue. When Madame de Sevigne' again appeared in society, there was no lack of pleasant houses at which to visit. In these last months of the Fronde all classes of Paris were seeking amuse- ment with a feverish gaiety, on the eve of they knew not what. La Grande Mademoiselle held her little court at the Tuilleries, and two or three nights in the week there was a comedy, a band of twenty-four violins to make music, and afterwards a supper and a ball. Indeed, the entertainments at Mademoiselle's were the chief of those in Paris. Anne of Austria gave no fetes, or balls, or comedies ; she was indolent by nature, much absorbed by her devotional exercises, and had probably little taste left for amusement among all the intrigues of the Fronde, which, however amusing they might be to the gay conspirators, were serious enough for her and her son, whose kingdom was at stake. Besides the charming entertainments at the Tuilleries, other heroines of the Fronde were constantly providing balls, suppers, fetes, plays, at which not a few of the political intrigues were developed. The Duchesse de Chatillon, the daughter of MADAME DE SfiVIGNfi IN PARIS 87 Bouteville de Montmorency, whose friendship had been so fatal to Madame de Sevigne's father, had grown up to be a triumphant beauty, who dominated a little circle of which she was the brilliant directress. The Prince de Conde was her abject slave, while she played the political cards entirely in his interests. The Duchesse de Chevreuse, another prominent Frondeuse, had her evenings too ; and the Comtesse de Fiesque, the gay, irresponsible trifler, was attached to the court of La Grande Mademoiselle, and generally, on those evenings when the royal lady did not receive, gave some diversion or entertain- ment at her house. All these were the heroines of the Fronde, and, strangely enough, though Madame de Sevigne had no taste for intrigue indeed, she was too frank and outspoken for the subtle role of intrigante they were all her intimate friends. We gather that she was warmly welcomed in this society, for this was the most triumphant, and at the same time the most perilous period of her life. Her beauty was at its finest flowering point; her wit had been polished and her manners formed in the exacting school of the Hotel de Rambouillet, and by five years of the best Parisian society; while her freedom of speech, which was the only fault that even Tallemant could find, must have been benefited by the softening and refining influence of grief and adversity. A circle of admirers gathered round her whenever she appeared, all eager for her preference ; and some, we cannot doubt, hoping to be accepted as the successor of the late Marquis. All, however, among these gallants had not such honourable intentions, and she, well knowing her world, and realising her lonely situation with no father, husband, or brother to defend her, was probably the more determined to protect herself by her prudent and careful conduct. But they were the troublous times of civil war. Party feeling ran high, the least social offence was magnified into an insult, and it is perhaps not surprising that there should be ill-blood among the hot-headed young gallants who strove for the first place in Madame de Sevigne's regard. A little more than a year after her husband's death, she found, to her intense annoyance, that an incident which occurred at her house, and of which she was the heroine, became the subject of conversation in all the ruelles of Paris. 88 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Among the men who at this time were paying her the most marked homage was the Due de Rohan, who had, not long before, by his handsome person, his graceful figure, his skill as a dancer, and similar qualities, won the heart of the haughtiest heiress in France, Mademoiselle de Rohan. This lady, who might have married a prince or a duke, would have none other than the handsome Chabot, a simple and obscure gentleman who brought her neither wealth nor titles. Her mother violently opposed this choice, but the pious Queen promised to give Chabot the name and dukedom of the Rohans, on condition that the children of the marriage should be brought up in the Roman Catholic faith. The bargain was gladly made, and Chabot rose with a bound from his modest condition as a mere gentleman, to every privilege belonging to a duke and peer of France. He was greatly attracted by Madame de Sevigne, and was a frequent visitor at her ruelle ; though we may be quite certain that the Marquise, who, said her cousin Bussy, " was too jealous of her own honour," gave him no more than the pleasant welcome that was ordinarily given to gentlemen in the ruelles of the ladies of their acquaintance. Conrart, the first Perpetual Secretary of the Academy, gives such a quaint picture of the manners of the time in his piquant recital, that no mere para- phrase could do the incident justice. Tonquedec, it may be mentioned, was a neighbour and friend of Madame de Sevigne in Brittany. "A gentleman of Brittany," writes Conrart, "named the Marquis de Tonquedec, related to the young Madame de Rohan, was attached [by feudal service] to the Due de Rohan, and had promised to raise a regiment for him in the party of the Princes, but instead of doing this he joined the party of Cardinal Mazarin. After this the Due de Rohan complained of him and would receive him no longer. " On the 1 8th of June, Tonquedec was at the house of the widow of the Marquis de Sevigne when the Due de Rohan arrived there. Tonquedec, who was in an arm-chair at the head of the bed in the ruelle, rose slightly, lifted his hat, and sat down again before the Duke had taken a seat, and without offering him his place. The Duke did not, however, show any resentment at this, but as he was leaving, he said to the Marquise de Sevigne that if it JEALOUS RIVALS 89 had not been her house he would have taught Tonquedec the duty and respect he owed him. The Marquise said to the Due de Rohan that she was very sorry indeed that Tonquedec had been so impertinent at her house, and that she would beg him not to come again, for which the Due de Rohan thanked her and went away. The following Thursday the Due de Rohan passed Madame de SeVigne's house, and seeing the carriage of the Comte de Lude outside, he asked the coachman if his master was there. The man said no, it was M. de Tonquedeo, to whom his master had lent his carriage. The Duke was attended by several gentlemen, whom he left below while he went upstairs to the ruelle of the Marquise de Sevigne. When the Marquise saw him she was very confused, and the Due de Rohan, after having saluted her, turned to Tonquedec, and said " * I have been told that you boasted of having defied me in this house, and I have come to-day to teach you the respect you owe me.' " * Monsieur,' retorted Tonquedec, * I always pay you more respect than you deserve.' " ' You do not know your duty,' repeated the Duke, ' and I shall have to show you what it is.' " Upon this, the Marquise de Sevigne, who was alone, and who well knew to what such words would lead, begged Tonquedec over and over again that he would leave the house at once. " * Madame,' said the Due de Rohan, * do you really wish him to go ? ' " ' Certainly, Monsieur,' she replied. " ' It is only right that you should be obeyed,' answered the Duke, and with these words he turned Tonquedec out of the house." This, said Conrart, was the Due de Rohan's version of the affair, but that of Madame de Sevigne* was somewhat different. In the first place, she denied that she had ever promised not to receive Tonquedec at her house again. Indeed, on this point she greatly offended the Duchesse de Rohan. After the first visit of de Rohan, on the i8th of June, Madame de Sevigne, who all through her life was particular in the observance of small, as well as important, social duties (and who continually scolded her daughter for the neglect of them), paid a visit to the Duchesse 90 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS de Rohan in the Place Royale, to say how sorry she was that the affair should have occurred at her house. The haughty Duchesse received her with marked coldness, which perhaps was hardly surprising when the homage that her husband, whom she passionately loved, was paying Madame de Sevigne was just then the most freely discussed topic in Paris ! Then the Marquise, anxious to make peace, mentioned the affair to Mademoiselle de Chabot, the sister of de Rohan, who replied that if she wished the Duchesse to be satisfied with her conduct, it was necessary that she should refuse to see Tonquedec again. " This," remarked Conrart, " was thought very imperious," and Madame de SeVigne had no intention of discarding an old friend for such insufficient reasons. It was generally believed in society that it was the proud Duchesse de Rohan who was so determined that Tonquedec should be humiliated by the Duke. When the latter told his wife of the manner in which Tonquedec had almost ignored his presence, and had kept the seat of honour in the Marquise de SeVigne's ruelle without offering it to him, his feudal lord, the Duchesse had exclaimed that " the affront was too great to endure ! " It was because of her anger that the Duke had paid the second visit, knowing that Tonquedec was there, and had then " reprimanded him as if he had been his valet." Nor was Madame de Sevigne alone, as the Due de Rohan had said, for her aunt, the Marquise de la Trousse, was in the ruelle, and Marigny the poet was there also, and when the Due de Rohan spoke so insultingly to Tonquedec, they both implored the latter to leave the house at once, knowing that in the heat of passion a duel on the spot might be the result if he stayed. All this caused much gossip in Paris, and everyone, " especi- ally the ladies," said Conrart, "blamed the behaviour of the Duke in the presence of the Marquise de Sevigne." Even Loret, who of course gave the piquant incident a place in his chronicle, deplored that it should have happened dans un lieu de respect, and the general feeling was against the de Rohans. Madame de Sevigne' had no near relative to call out the Duke ; even Bussy was with his regiment in Nivernais, but the Chevalier Renaud de Sevigne*, the nearest of her late husband's kin, challenged the Due de Rohan, while Tonquedec demanded "MADAME SAINTE-GENEVlfiVE" 91 satisfaction on his own account ; and the Comte de Vasse, the Comte de Lude, Chavagnac, and others among her friends, were all anxious that the insult to the Marquise should be answered for. But the watchful Duchesse, passionately devoted to her husband, was determined that no meeting of the kind should take place. Knowing what would be the inevitable result of her husband's arrogant conduct, she never allowed him to go out without a guard of men, and Loret recorded that " the Duke was held back, though he frantically desired to fight." But unkind rumour said that it was not necessary to hold him very tightly ! Conrart finishes his recital of the incident with this terse comment : " The true cause of the misunderstanding between the Due de Rohan and de Tonquedec was that they were both in love with Madame de Sevigne." But the attention of Paris was soon directed to other, more serious matters than this nobleman's quarrel. The Fronde, after nearly four years of the turmoil and bloodshed of civil war throughout France, was now drawing near to its end. Paris was brilliant with the colour and commotion that differing parties brought in their train. The followers of Cond6 wore scarves of the couleur isabelle or dove colour ; red was the badge carried by the soldiers of the brigand king the Due de Lorraine, who, when those intriguing ladies the Duchesses de Montbazon and de Chatillon asked him what part he intended to take in the Fronde, gallantly took the hand of each, and replied, " Let us call the violins, and dance, Mesdames ; that is the way one negotiates with ladies ! " The adherents of Gaston d'Orleans wore blue ; and, to the lasting shame of the House of Conde, there were many Spaniards flaunting their yellow scarves, a continual reminder of the treason of those who had sought a Spanish alliance against their own King. Paris, weary of war, was desiring peace above all other things, and in desperation decided to appeal to its venerated saint, " Madame Sainte-Genevieve." This was, of course, to satisfy the demands of the people ; for even in that day there were many among the educated and upper classes who openly scoffed at it as superstition. La Grande Mademoiselle mocks gaily at the custom in her memoirs, and Madame de Sevigne's attitude towards it may be 92 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS guessed from the jesting account of the procession she long afterwards gave to her daughter. " I have been with Madame de Vins, the Abbe Arnauld, and d'Hacqueville to see the procession of Sainte-Genevieve. Do you know that this procession is considered a very fine sight ? It is composed of all the different religious Orders [of the mendicant friars the Cordeliers, the Jacobins, the Augustins, and the Carmelites], all the parish priests, and all the canons of Notre Dame, preceded by the Archbishop of Paris, who goes on foot, giving his benediction right and left till he comes to the cathedral. I should have said to the left only, for the Abbe de Sainte-Genevieve walks barefooted on the right, pre- ceded by one hundred and fifty friars who are barefooted also. The cross and mitre are borne before him, as before the Arch- bishop, and he bestows his benediction in the same manner, but modestly and with much devotion, fasting, and with an air of penitence which shows that he is to say mass at Notre Dame. The Parlement in red robes, and the chief companies, follow the shrine of the saint, which glitters with jewels, and is carried by twenty men robed in white and barefooted. The Provost of the merchants and four councillors are left as hostages at the Church of Sainte-Genevieve for the return of this precious treasure." The procession was carried on the I3th of June, and on the ist of July the decisive and disastrous battle of Saint-Antoine was fought just outside Paris, that extraordinary conflict between the two greatest French heroes of their century, the famous Turenne and the equally famous Conde. King, Queen, and Court watched the struggle from Charenton on one side, while the townspeople, crowding on to the roofs, watched with eager, fascinated eyes from the other bank. Conde, hotly pursued by Turenne in the rear, and faced by the closed gates of Paris, seemed doomed to ignominious death and defeat before the eyes of the Parisians, who had once adored him for his military genius. Then Mademoiselle, her heart touched by the hero's distress, insisted on the opening of the Porte Saint-Antoine, and had the cannon of the Bastille turned on Turenne's army. Conde was saved, and it was practically the end of the Fronde, of which Mademoiselle was declared the " Heroine," a proud title for which she was yet to pay an extravagant price a dreary exile of six years ! CHAPTER IX The Comte de Bussy pays court to the Marquise He gives a fete in her honour in the Temple Gardens Madame de Sevigne at the height of her charm and popularity A period of temptation Dangerous gallants The Prince de Conti Nicolas Foucquet THE Comte de Bussy in his scandalous memoirs boasts that he was the first to speak of love to Madame de Sevigne after her husband's death, but we have seen that the young widow was surrounded by many admirers as soon as her year of mourning was completed, and as Bussy was only able to leave his regiment for a short visit to Paris in the October of 1652, he must have been deceived by his vanity on this point. In the following February, however, he came again to Paris, and stayed there till the autumn. Then, there is no doubt, he paid the most assiduous attention to his charming cousin, who, besides being one of the most attractive women in Parisian society, was doubly desirable to a man of Bussy's character, because of the many distinguished men who were constantly seeking her. Bussy himself lacked neither distinction nor charm. He, too, was of that strangely seductive Rabutin blood, and had not yet proved what a base alloy was lurking in his character. To outward seeming he was a brave soldier, a polished courtier, a witty and handsome man, who never forgot that he was of the nobility; who, however little he might esteem women, always paid them the most courteous homage in speech and manner. But though, as the cousin of the Marquise, he had the advantage of being able to visit her more frequently, and on more familiar terms than other friends who were not her relatives, the young widow was in no danger from the fascinating Comte. He has written much that was spiteful and malicious about her, but he bore constant witness to the absolute rectitude and virtue of her life ; and this from Bussy, who once at least in his anger would 03 94 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS so gladly have soiled her good name, has been considered by her biographers as a testimonial indeed. But with all her undoubted and indisputable virtue, which shines with star-like purity among the astonishing intrigues by which she was surrrounded in her daily society, she was never austere. She met Bussy's amorous speeches, his veiled advances, his most cunning innuendoes, with the same laughing repulses, none the less effectual because they were witty and showed a perfect comprehension of the situation. Bussy records that he got nothing but " the answer of the oracle," and though he still continued his attentions to his cousin, trying his utmost to make her believe that he was desperately in love with her, he transferred some of his affections to Madame de Montglas, who received them with more gratitude than Madame de Sevigne. Bussy had been staying all that summer of 1653 with his uncle Hughes de Rabutin, the Grand Prieur of the Temple, and just before leaving Paris, to join his regiment in Flanders, he gave a fete in the Temple Gardens, ostensibly to Madame de Sevigne, but in reality to Madame de Montglas ; and it was so like Bussy's double-dealing to make each of them believe she was the lady he delighted to honour. And all this time not a word of his wife, who was probably safely away in Burgundy at his estate of Chaseu ! Bussy was very well pleased with his fete, and gives an account of it which shows that he at least appreciated it at its full value. " Some days before I departed," he writes, " I gave to Madame de Sevigne a fete so beautiful and extraordinary, that you will, I am sure, like to have a description of it. First, picture to yourselves the Temple Gardens, which you know well, where there is a grove traversed by two walks. At the point where they meet was a rather large circle of trees, to the branches of which had been fastened a hundred glass chandeliers. On one side of this open space a magnificent theatre was erected, of which the decoration was worthy of the illumination. The light from hundreds of candles, which the leaves of the trees prevented from being diffused, threw such a glow on to that spot, that the sun could not have made it more brilliant, and, from the same cause, the surrounding places were so dark that eyes were THE COMTE DE BUSSY'S FJ&TE 95 useless. The night was beautifully clear and tranquil. The entertainment began with a comedy which the guests found very amusing, and after this the twenty-four violins played some ritournelles, branles, courantes, and petites dames. The company was more select than numerous ; some danced, others looked on, while others wandered away among the allees. This lasted till the break of day, and, as if Heaven had acted in concert with me, the dawn appeared just as the candles flickered out. This fete was such a success that I received many inquiries as to the particulars of it, and to this day it is spoken of with admiration." Bussy, who was now mestre de camp g/nfral of light cavalry a promotion for which he had been negotiating during his stay in Paris joined Turenne's army not long after this, and though he corresponded with his cousin after his departure, several letters of this period have been lost, for which, he says, he would willingly have paid their weight in gold to anyone who brought them to him. Madame de Sevigne had not time to miss her cousin amid the gaieties of the Parisian winter season. The Fronde was now happily over, and Paris was settling down to pleasure after the distractions of civil war, precisely as she had sought it when the strife had been at its worst ; for does not Paris, under all superficial change, ever remain au fond the City of Pleasure ? The leading spirits of the Fronde were now in exile. The Cardinal de Retz languished in Vincennes ; La Grande Made- moiselle was experiencing the deadly monotony of winter in the provinces, in her dilapidated old Chateau of Saint-Fargeau ; her vacillating father, Gaston d'Orleans, was banished to his estate of Blois, and even refused his daughter's visits as often as he dared defy that determined young Princess, fearing lest a too great intimacy with the chief heroine of the Fronde might be considered compromising by the young King. Conde*, once the greatest hero in France, was utterly demoralised by the ignominy of his imprisonment. " I went to prison an honest man," he declared, "and came out a criminal." He was now misusing his military genius in making war on the King in the provinces ; his army a very Adullam's cave for the disaffected. Those poor provinces ! Words cannot paint the sufferings the peasants, farmers, and lesser gentlemen endured after the passing of an 96 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS army, even though that army was composed of fellow-country- men ! Whole villages were laid waste, and sometimes left a smoking ruin after everything had been seized by the rapacious soldiers ; and men and women who resisted or protested were strung up on the nearest trees after the most horrible treatment, or frightfully mutilated as a warning to others. That true saint, Vincent de Paul, went where he could in the wake of this terrible army, binding up wounds, carrying comfort and consolation to stricken hearts, a most faithful and humble " curer " of souls and bodies. But all these things had no place in the chronicles of Paris. The streak of barbarism in the French character of this and much later periods, showed itself in the absolute insensibility to the wrongs or sufferings of the peasant. A gentleman was always sure of consideration according to his rank, of course ! but a peasant was of no importance under any circumstances. And while Paris, in the season that followed the battle of Saint- Antoine, was seeking amusement with the same frantic im- petuosity that she had sought it during the Fronde, a few, very few, good women of the bourgeoisie the Presidente Lamoignon and Madame de Miramion were among the foremost under the direction of Saint Vincent de Paul, carried what help they could to those stricken towns and villages which had suffered from the visit of an army ; whether of Conde's men or the King's it hardly mattered, for all the soldiers were poorly and irregularly paid, and almost as indifferent to life as outlaws or barbarians. The Prince de Conti had made a better bargain for himself than his brother Conde. As payment for his share in the Fronde he had married Anne Martinozzi, one of those attractive Italian nieces of Mazarin who all made such good marriages. This clever young Prince was one of the many men who found an especial charm in Madame de Sevigne's society, and, as will be seen by one of Bussy's letters, deliberately planned to gain a special place in her regard. He was a strange compound of virtues and vices ; a man who swiftly passed from excessive devotion to extremes of dissipation. At one time he was in- tended for the Church, and for a brief period he was the Abbe de Cluny ; and Olivier d'Ormesson gives this striking pen-picture 'HI THE PRINCE DE CONTI 97 of the occasion when, at the Sorbonne, he maintained his first thesis for the degree of licentiate. All the theological faculty of the Sorbonne were present. " M. le Prince de Conti was in an arm-chair on a high dai's opposite the President, under a red velvet canopy, with a table before him. He wore a violet satin cassock with the rochet and camail^ like a bishop. The Coadjutor (Gondi) presided, and disputed very well, though with great deference ; but the young Prince sustained his thesis marvellously well, with much vivacity and spirit, in front of a great number of the Jesuits." But the Prince de Conti had to relinquish his abbacy when he married, and for a time he threw himself into a whirl of dissipation. In the winter following the Fronde he had met Madame de Sevigne' at the Marquise de Montausier's house, and had been greatly attracted by her witty conversation, for he too was clever and spirituel, with a gift of persiflage that doubtless harmonised very well with the brilliant gaiety of Madame de Sevigne. Nature, who had been so lavish to him in some ways, had been very severe in others, for with a hand- some, well-formed head and face, he had piteously deformed shoulders. We have no record as to what were Madame de SeVigne's impressions concerning him, but we may be quite certain that, whatever his intentions may have been, she looked on him merely as a pleasant and exalted friend of the moment, whose attentions were passing honours to be lightly forgotten. Another, more dangerous admirer was Nicolas Foucquet, the new Surintendant des Finances, a perilous friend for a young, unprotected woman because of his extraordinary personal charm. He had had an amazing career of unbroken prosperity. At the age of sixteen he was an advocate of Parlement ; two years later he was a councillor of the Parlement of Metz; and before he was twenty he held the honourable post of Maitre des Requetes. During the Fronde this precocious young lawyer had rendered important services to Mazarin, and in Parlement was always one of the most zealous supporters of that unpopular minister. Such devotion and ability did not go unrewarded. Mazarin, who had the born ruler's gift for appraising men, gauged his suppleness of mind, his ability and resource as a negotiator, his energy and power as an administrator, and on 7 98 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS the day after the entry of the Cardinal into Paris back again till death to his old power and supremacy Foucquet, conjointly with Servien, was made Surintendant des Finances. In the few short years that followed, the life of Nicolas Foucquet reads like that of the younger son in a fairy-tale who has suddenly become prince, with stores of treasure at command. By his peculiar gift for finance, and his almost miraculous power of inspiring confidence, immense sums of ready money were at his disposal ; gold poured through his hands, so to speak, in an inexhaustible stream. The King demanded money, always money, for treaties, ballets, fetes, rejoicings, masquerades ; and Foucquet, by his resource, ability, and unlimited credit, was always able to supply it. His family, his relatives, his friends, all shared in his marvellous success ; courtiers, both men and women, were, figuratively, at his feet, and overwhelmed him with the most delicate, the most flattering marks of their regard, which he in turn paid for with gold or remunerative posts. He had a genuine passion for art; and poets, painters, sculptors, and artists of all the minor arts found in him a modern Maecenas. He gave magnificent entertainments at his house at Saint- Mandd near Picpus ; royalty sat at his table, and came out of curiosity to see his magnificence ; in all the kingdom there was no man more generally courted than Nicolas Foucquet. Court ladies of the highest rank gladly accepted his attentions, and his charm was not all that of gold. He was gay, witty, clever, with a delight that was almost a passion, in all the good things of life, and he had apparently no greater happiness than in putting himself and his riches at the service of his friends. La Fontaine, who for some years lived under his protection for those were the days when literary men did not disdain to pick up the crumbs from great men's tables declared of Foucquet " that his manner of giving was better than the gift." Madame de Sevign^ frequently met Foucquet in Parisian society after the Fronde. The financier was greatly attracted by this charming, brilliant Marquise, who, unlike so many ladies he met, wanted nothing either for herself or for her friends. Once, when Bussy urged her to beg some favour of the Surin- tendant, Madame de S^vign^ replied almost indignantly, " I A LETTER FROM THE COMTE DE BUSSY 99 would rather ask a favour of any other man in the world than him " ; for she knew that only by her absolute independence could she keep him at a safe distance. From a letter, written by Bussy to the Marquise, we gather that she was in the midst of temptation among the gay and corrupt society of Paris, who, if they had ever followed the precepts of the precieuses, had certainly forgotten them, or laid them aside as out of fashion. Bussy had accompanied the Prince de Conti to Catalonia, and, while halting for two days at Montpellier, wrote to his cousin a letter which, under its light badinage, reveals Bussy at his worst, a self-seeker of the most degraded kind. " MONTPELLIER, June 16, 1654 " I have had news of you, Madame. Do you remember the conversation you had last winter with the Prince de Conti at Madame de Montausier's ? He tells me that he said some pretty things to you, that he found you much to his taste, and that he intends to tell you so more decidedly this winter. Take care, my charming cousin ; the woman who is not guided by interest is sometimes led away by ambition, and she who is able to resist the King's financier may not always be able to withstand his cousin. By the way in which the Prince spoke to me of his designs, I see plainly that he intends to make me his confidant. I suppose you will have no objection to this, knowing as you do, how well I have acquitted myself in that character under other circumstances. For myself, I am delighted with the hope of being his successor ; you understand me, my pretty cousin. If, after all that fortune wishes to put in your way, I do not make mine, it will be entirely your fault ; but you will surely be careful, for you really must help me in some way. I think you will be some- what embarrassed between the two rivals ; I seem to hear you saying, "Des deux c6tes j'ai beaucoup de chagrin; O Dieu, 1'etrange peine ! Dois-je chasser 1'ami de mon cousin ? Dois-je chasser le cousin de la Reine? " Perhaps you are afraid to attach yourself to the service of princes, and my example may deter you. Perhaps the figure zoo THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS of one displeases you, and perhaps the face of the other. Let me hear something of this latter, and of the progress he has made since my departure. How many free-patents has your liberty cost him ? " Fortune is making you splendid advances, my dear cousin ; do not be ungrateful. You are as much infatuated with virtue as if it were a real good, and you despise wealth as if you could never be in need of it. Do you not know that old Senne- terre, a sensible man of great experience, said that people of honour go barefooted ? We shall see you one day regretting the time you have lost ; we shall see you repenting of having so badly employed your youth, and of having with so much difficulty striven to acquire and preserve a reputation which a calumniator may destroy, and which depends more on good fortune than on your good conduct. " I joined the Prince de Conti at Auxerre. He did not pass by Chaseu [the Comte de Bussy's estate] because he learned that it would take him six leagues out of his way, so my prepara- tions were useless. I have not left him since, and am on the best possible terms with him. We intend to amuse ourselves here for two days, with play, drives, and good cheer, while waiting for the troops to assemble for the purpose of entering Catalonia. I can answer for it, my charming cousin, that you will hear of me in this campaign. " Adieu, my fair cousin ; think sometimes of me, and that you have no relative or friend who loves you so much as I do. I wish no, I will not finish, for fear of displeasing you, but you know quite well what I wish." In no other letter of Bussy's does he show quite such black, unrelieved baseness of mind. He was desperately anxious to improve his fortunes, and, untroubled by the least moral hesitation, he urges his young, unprotected cousin to barter her beauty and charm that he may, of her dishonour, make a stepping-stone to advancement ! His counsel, his insinuations, his suggestions throughout are villainous, and not even the prevalence of such ambitions among courtiers can excuse him. There were many honourable and noble men even among the class who claimed the proud title, and Bussy's shameless and THE COMTE DE BUSSY BUSSY AND MADAME DE S^VIGNfi 101 cynical letter would not deserve quotation if it did not show what a fire of temptation assailed the young Marquise on all sides, even from her nearest relative, who should have held her honour as dear to him as his own. Tried in this fire, however, her purity of life shines the brighter, more especially as the licence of the times was so great that many examples among her daily society would have provided her with ample excuses if she had wished to follow Bussy's advice. How sadly prophetic he is, too, in saying that a caluminator may easily destroy the reputation which she is so careful to preserve! One may quite certainly say that at this period neither of them dreamed that the base-hearted Bussy would be the caluminator of the cousin he professed " to love better than any relative or friend." Her answer to this letter has been lost, but we may gather something of its nature from the note Bussy sent her on receiving it w/y 30, 1654 " Mon Dieu ! How witty you are, my dear cousin ! How well you write, and how charming you are ! It must be owned that, being so modest as you are, you are under a great obliga- tion to me for not loving you more than I do. Faith, I can scarcely keep within the limits you impose. Sometimes I blame your insensibility, sometimes I excuse it ; but I always excuse you. I have many reasons for not displeasing you, but I have still stronger reasons for disobeying you. What ! You flatter me, my cousin, you say sweet things, and yet you forbid me to have the least tenderness for you. Ah well ; I must not then ; I must do as you wish, and love you after your own fashion ; but some day you will have to answer before God for the constraint I put upon my feelings, and for the evils which will follow in consequence. . . ." In the next letter to his cousin, written rather more than a fortnight afterwards, Bussy gives us some glimpses of Madame de Sevigne's affectionate character, and of the scorn and indig- nation with which she regarded coquettes. We also glean a little news of the Surintendant Foucquet, about whom Bussy 102 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS was continually asking questions, and building, one doubts not, all kinds of airy castles on the subject. It is noticeable, too, that this letter is different in tone from the one he had written at Montpellier. The Marquise, though truly amiable, and hating to wound her cousin, had evidently made him quite aware that such letters were not to her taste. "THE CAMP AT VERGES, August 17, 1654 " You tell me so often that you would regret me greatly if I were dead, and there is something so delightful in the idea of being regretted by you, that I would willingly die, if a few trifling considerations did not make me wish to live. Besides, having never found you out in an untruth, I am quite willing to believe your word in this instance rather than prove it. It is also extremely probable that a person whose eyes fill with tears when speaking of the loss of her friend, would mourn him truly if he were really dead. I believe then, my beautiful cousin, that you love me, and I assure you that I, like you, am entirely satisfied with our friendship. " But I do not agree with you that your letter, frank, and signed openly as you say, would put to shame all the love- letters in the world ; the two things are entirely distinct from each other. You must be satisfied if your friends approve of your style, without depreciating the billets-doux that have never injured you. You are ungrateful, Madame, to abuse them after the respect they have shown you. For my part, I am an advocate for the love-letters, but not against yours; I see no necessity to decide between them, for they are entirely different things. Your letters have their graces, and the billets-doux theirs ; but, frankly speaking, if you would sometimes send us a love-letter, your letters would not be so valued as they are. " You are strangely indignant against coquettes. I do not know whether this will last till you are fifty, but at all events I shall keep in exercise a few sentiments of love, so that I may have them for use if at any time you should happen to change your mind. Till then, I shall have for you only the purest friendship in the world, since you will have nothing more. " I am glad that you are satisfied with the Surintendant ; it A WISE PRECAUTION 103 is a proof that he is returning to reason, and that he does not take things to heart so much as he did. When you will not do as we wish, Madame, we must wish to do what you desire, and consider ourselves too happy in remaining your friends. No one except you in the whole kingdom could persuade a lover to be content with friendship. There are very few who remain friendly when their love has been refused, and I am convinced that a woman who is able to prevent a rejected lover from turning into an enemy, must have extraordinary merit. . . . " I am delighted to hear that your uncles think well of me. Apart from jealousy, they are excellent men ; but there is no one perfect in this world, and if they were not jealous they would perhaps be something worse. With it all, it is not they whom I fear the most ; and do you wish to know why, Madame ? I fear you so much because you are a hundred times more jealous for your own honour than they can be. " I shall be obliged to say sweet things sometimes, Madame ; I cannot keep from writing them ; but there is no danger from the hour that Madame de la Trousse sees my letters. . . . Adieu, my charming cousin, here is enough badinage for this time. Here is the serious part of my letter, I love you with all my heart." The Marquise, rather alarmed, no doubt, at the licence Bussy was taking in his letters, told him, with the instinct of self-protection, that in future all the letters he sent her would be shown to her aunt, the Marquise de la Trousse. Her uncles, too, one gathers, are prepared to be watch-dogs to their charming young niece, whose greatest safeguard, however, is her own high sense of honour. Bussy encloses a note to Madame de la Trousse, which shows that he is not abashed in the least at his too-free letters to his cousin. " I am greatly obliged to you, Madame, for the advice you have given me. Believing that our charming Marquise read my letters by herself, I might perhaps have written some things that I should not wish others to see, and God knows what a life you would have led me on my return, and how ashamed you and I would have been of them. Your prudence has averted 104 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS that misfortune by telling me that you will read all I write, and has placed things on such a footing that I shall take care to please you always, and never to cause you any annoyance. But, Madame, in reassuring you concerning the too-tender letters, I am ashamed of writing such follies, knowing that you will read them ; you who are so wise, and before whom only the prfrieuses are pure. . . ." CHAPTER X The escape of Cardinal de Retz His relative, Madame de Sevigne, acts as in- termediary A letter to her old tutor Menage The Comte de Bussy leaves Paris to go to camp A lively correspondence between the two cousins SHORTLY after receiving these letters from her cousin Bussy, Madame de Sevigne" went, as was her custom, to spend the autumn at Les Rochers, and while there received a letter from Cardinal de Retz which must have caused her much astonishment. Though personally she had kept aloof from the political and other intrigues of the Fronde, she had a close acquaintance with most of the prominent actors in it, for her kinsman by marriage, Cardinal de Retz (he obtained the hat in 1650), has with much reason been called by historians " the soul of the Fronde." He began his career as "leader of a party" the phrase is his own by instigating the Paris mob to rebel against authority on the eve of the famous Jour des Barricades, in August 1648, which was virtually the beginning of the Fronde ; and for the next four years he was intriguing, now with this party, now with that, and was, throughout the rebellion, one of its most prominent and truculent figures. At the conclusion of the Fronde he was confined at Vincennes, and not long after, his uncle, the Archbishop of Paris, died. This was a great opportunity for the Cardinal. All the cures of Paris demanded of the King, in the name of religion, that the Cardinal should be set at liberty to take his rightful place at the head of the clergy and of his flock. The Holy Father at Rome, too, had a voice in the matter, and expressed some indig- nation that a Prince of the Church should be put in prison, considering that all ecclesiastics claimed immunity from arrest. But strangely enough, for some inexplicable reason, the Cardinal formally renounced all claim to the Archbishopric of 105 io6 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Paris ! He thus gave up all hope of his liberty, and the only result of this quixotic action was his removal from Vincennes to a prison at Nantes, where the Marechal de la Meilleraye guarded him with so little severity that the Cardinal passed his days in the pleasantest society. It was probably from motives of policy that the scheming Cardinal was surrounded by diversion, and permitted to receive visits from all the ladies in the neighbourhood, who, after enjoy- ing the comedy which was the usual evening amusement of the Cardinal, would often stay to sup with him. The Chevalier Renaud de SeVigne and his wife, who lived in Anjou, often came to see him, bringing with them Mademoiselle de la Vergne, whom the Cardinal found " very pretty and charming." But amidst all these diversions the Cardinal was yearning for the only thing they denied him, his liberty. He was a prisoner on parole, but de Retz was always able to juggle with conscience or honour as occasion demanded, and he now made a bold bid for freedom with the aid of Joly, the Due de Brissac, and his relative the Chevalier Renaud de SeVigne*. It was a romantic flight. He escaped from under the eyes of his gaolers in broad daylight, and while they were trying to open a heavy door which he had shut behind him, he climbed with ropes the walls of a bastion forty feet high, and then de- scending, mounted a horse which his friends had in readiness on the other side. While hotly pursued he fell from his horse and dislocated his shoulder, but even this did not daunt him. He concealed himself for seven hours in a haystack, and then galloped off again, in spite of the intense pain in his arm. The whole flight was a romance, a series of exciting perils and hairbreadth escapes, till finally, reaching Rome, the escaped prisoner was just in time to bring the drama to a picturesque conclusion by assisting at the election of a new Pope, with all the gorgeous pomp of the Roman Catholic Church. While he halted on his journey at Machecoul, in his brother's territory of de Retz, he had a short breathing-space in which to reflect on the consequences his flight might have for the Marechal de la Meilleraye. He dared not write to him personally, for fear of compromising him still more than he had already done by his breach of faith ; he may even have found it somewhat THE MARQUISE AND CARDINAL DE RETZ 107 difficult to find explanatory phrases for his conduct in address- ing the considerate guardian to whom he had given his parole. In his dilemma he bethought himself of his charming young relative, the Marquise de Sevigne*. She, he knew, was on friendly terms with la Meilleraye, and he wrote to her an account of his flight, explaining his motives, passing as lightly as he could over his breach of honour, and begging her to use what influence she had with la Meilleraye on his behalf. Fearing this letter might be intercepted, he sent it to Manage, indicating, at the same time, how it should be used. The letter reached Madame de Sevigne in safety, and on the first of October she wrote to Menage from les Rochers. " I have received the letter you sent me from the Coadjutor, and I do not doubt but that it will have a very great effect. I sent it yesterday to Nantes to the Mare'chal de la Meille- raye, and I cannot tell you how much obliged to you I am for the promptness with which you have done me this service. In that I recognise your usual habit, and I truly thank you with as much goodwill as of goodwill you have taken such trouble. . . . " But how delightful it is to find you on good terms with all my family. Six months ago things were not so pleasant. I find that these quick changes have a strong resemblance to those of the court. . . . But, bon Dieu ! Where did you make acquaintance with the Grand Prieur, whom M. de Sevigne used always to call * my uncle the Pirate ' ? He had the fancy that he resembled him greatly, and I think he was not mistaken. But do tell me what you could have been doing together, as well as with the Comte de Bussy. I have a strange curiosity to learn all about this affair as you have promised me. But there is yet something else. Our Abbe* [the Bien-Bon], who hears on all sides that you are loved, gets it into his head that he loves you also, and he has already told me to put a word in here and there on this subject to you. I have promised to do my best, and if it be true that you love those whom I love, and to whom I am under the very greatest obligations, I shall not have much trouble to obtain this favour from you. I will give you time to think of it, and, while awaiting your reply, I assure you that you io8 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS ought to be as satisfied with me as on that day when I wrote to you a letter worth ten thousand crowns. "MARIE DE RABUTIN-CHANTAL" The Marquise could not resist her inclination to coquetry whenever she wrote to her old tutor Menage, and she refers to the days of her girlhood, when the tutor had declared that one of her letters was " worth ten thousand crowns." A year or two before this she had reproached him humorously for the devotion he was showing to his young pupil Mademoiselle de la Vergne. " But even though she be a thousand times more amiable than I am, you have been ashamed of your injustice, and your conscience has been so remorseful that you have been obliged to divide your affections more equally than you did at first. I praise God for this good feeling, and promise you to agree so well with that amiable rival, that you shall hear no complaint from either of us." As may clearly be seen from the letter, dated 1654, Menage, who a few years before had been, in his quality of literary man, an almost daily guest at the Cardinal's table, had become embroiled with his patron during the troubles of the Fronde. Loret refers to it in his chronicle, and it is probable that at the same time he may have quarrelled with the Abbe de Livry also. " But how delightful it is to find you on such good terms with all my family. Six months ago things were not so pleasant." These cordial phrases show what genuine pleasure it gave the Marquise to find that the friend and tutor of her girlhood was no longer at enmity with her people. With what charming artifice she mentions the Abbe de Livry's desire to be friendly again ; how gracefully she insinuates that by meeting him half-way, her old tutor will be giving her a special pleasure ! This gentle, peace-loving side of Madame de Sevigne's nature must have been one of her greatest charms ; her gracious, kindly spirit was strangely free from the taint of pride or bitterness ; she " hated satire," it was said, and she hated, too, all the ignoble passions which mar human intercourse ; the discord, strife, and jealousy which, a free-growing crop at all times, flourished especially during the turbulent years of the Fronde. Madame de Sevigne returned to Paris for the winter season BUSSY GOES TO CAMP 109 at All Saints, and in the spring her cousin Bussy came to the capital for a short period. All society was watching with keen and curious eyes for the lady who would be honoured by the preference of the young King. It was more than whispered that Mademoiselle Mancini was the chosen of the King ; indeed, it is history now that he would fain have raised her to share his throne. But the Cardinal's ambitions stopped short at this; even Anne of Austria could not countenance this honour for Mazarin at her son's expense, and the project was promptly quashed. The Marquise de SeVigne" was still pursued by the attentions of Foucquet, who was daily increasing in the power that wealth gives, arid it is again from Bussy's letters that we gather in what relation the Surintendant stood to Madame de Se"vigne\ Bussy, who still professed to care for his cousin with a more than cousinly affection, was so occupied with his various " affairs of the heart " that he could not find time to bid her good-bye, till the last hour before his departure for Landrecy. Then, on calling at her house, he found that she had gone to Livry for a few days, as she often did while she was in Paris during the summer. He sent an apologetic letter, but we see from Madame de Sevigne's reply that she has nothing but the most frank and sisterly regard for him, and accepts the excuses for his neglect without the least offence, and is anxious, indeed, only for his honour and distinction. " LIVRY, June 26, 1655 " I did not doubt that you would bid me good-bye sooner or later," she writes, " either at my own house or from the camp at Landrecy. As I am not a woman of ceremony I am quite content with the latter, and had not even thought of being angry because you did not come to see me before you set out. . . . " I have not stirred from this beautiful desert since your departure, and, to speak frankly, I am not at all sorry to hear that you are with the army. I should be unworthy of so brave a cousin if I were sorry to see you in this campaign, at the head of the finest regiment in France, and in so glorious a post as the one you hold. I believe that you would condemn any senti- ments less noble than these ; I leave weaker and more tender i io THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS feelings to other people. Everyone loves in his own way. I profess to be brave as well as you, and am proud to boast of such sentiments. Some ladies might perhaps think this profession a little too much in the old Roman style, ' And would thank God they were not Romans, that they might still preserve some feelings of humanity.' " " But I can assure them that I am not entirely inhuman, and that with all my heroism I desire your safe return as passionately as they can do. I trust, my dear cousin, that you do not doubt this, or that I pray to God with all my heart that He will preserve you. This is the farewell you would have received, and I beg you to accept it from here as I have accepted yours from Landrecy." Bussy was a little piqued at these heroic sentiments, how- ever, and would have been much better pleased with timorous doubts as to his safety. " Your letter from Livry is very pleasant," he writes, " but, as you say, it is not the most loving in the world. . . . When one loves people who go to the army, one has more fear for the dangers to which they will be exposed than joy in the hope of the honours they may obtain." About a fortnight after this, the Marquise wrote again to Bussy, giving him the most affectionate congratulations on the success of his Guards at Landrecy, an engagement that Mare'chal de Turenne had praised before all the Court. She was delighted to hear that her cousin had so distinguished him- self, and sent her praises under the form of the badinage he so well understood. " PARIS, July 14, 1655 " Will you always disgrace your relations ? Will you never be tired of making yourself the subject of conversation in every campaign ? Do you think we are pleased to hear that M. de Turenne has sent word to the Court that you have done nothing worthy of mention at Landrecy ? Truly this is most annoying to us, and you will understand how deeply I feel the insults that you bring upon our family. " But I do not know, my cousin, why I thus amuse myself FOUCQUET AND MADAME DE SfiVIGNfi in with jesting, for I have just now very little leisure, and what time I have I ought to speak seriously. Let me tell you, there- fore, how delighted I am to hear of the success you have had in what you have undertaken. . . . " Adieu, my cousin ; the Gazette mentions you very slightly ; which has given offence to many people, and to me especially, for I am more interested than anyone in what concerns you. ..." A few days after this, Madame de SeVigne* wrote a long letter to her cousin, of which the most interesting paragraphs are those which relate to the Surintendant Foucquet. In a letter that Bussy had sent her early in July from the camp at Landrecy, he gave her a detailed account of the tender leave-taking between himself and Madame de Montglas, and finished the recital by saying " There, Madame, is my histoire amoureuse. I believe that that of the Surintendant is neither so gay nor so sad, but what- ever it is I beg you to tell me all about it." The Marquise did not satisfy his curiosity. In her letter answering this she told him very little, and of what she did say she warns him not to gossip, for Bussy had already been helped by the powerful Surintendant to purchase his post of mestre de camp ge'ne'ral, and, as she took care to remind him, it would not be politic to talk about Foucquet's relations with herself. It is quite probable that Bussy's too-glib tongue occasionally needed a curb ! "... I never remember to have read anything more amusing than your description of your leave-taking. . . . But though it is very good of you to give me the particulars of this affair, I have not the least inclination to make you a similar con- fidence concerning what passes between the Surintendant and me ; indeed, I should be very sorry to be able to say anything in the least resembling it. 1 have always in his company the same circumspection and the same fears, and these are a con- siderable drawback to the progress he wishes to make in my affection. I believe that, in the end, he will be tired of renewing a subject in which he is so little likely to succeed. I have seen him only twice these six weeks because of a journey I have 112 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS taken. This is all I can, and indeed all I have to say on this subject. Be as careful of my secret as I am of yours ; it is as much your interest as mine to keep silence on the matter. . . ." The journey that Madame de Sevigne mentions was in all probability to Saint-Fargeau, the lonely chateau where La Grande Mademoiselle was still in exile. The Princess mentions this visit in her memoirs. " Mesdames de Montglas, Lavardin, and de Sevign^ came expressly from Paris to see me," she writes in July 1655 ; and she whimsically complains of the curious power she has at this period of making people ill. In many cases when she invited her former friends and flatterers to her chateau, she received, instead of the visits she expected, so many excuses on the score of ill-health that she began to suspect that the real cause of so much illness was her disgrace with the King ! In October, Bussy again wrote to the Marquise, again mentioning the Surintendant, with whom he had evidently had some little misunderstanding, and, reading between the lines, it is not difficult to imagine that Foucquet's leniency, which so surprises Bussy, is due to the powerful influence of the Marquise. It is interesting, too, to note that Marechal de Turenne, one of the most distinguished heroes in France, was anxious to be on familiar terms with Madame de Sevigne. The little we can learn of this affair is tantalising. We know from her letters that, some years after this, she went to visit him with Madame de la Fayette, we know also that the sympathetic letters she wrote on his death could only have been inspired by a personal acquaintance and a deep admiration, but we do not know whether at this brilliant period of her life he was ever successful in gaining admittance to her ruelle. "THE CAMP AT ANGRES, October 7, 1655 " I am very glad, Madame, to receive assurances from you that the Surintendant is inclined to think me in the right in the affair between us. This greatly surprises me, and I think it very extraordinary that he chooses to complain of Madame Martel rather than of me. I assure you also, my charming cousin, that I am very much obliged to him, and that there is hardly any- TURENNE AND MADAME DE SVIGN 113 one in the world against whom I would not declare myself if it were a question of his interests. Judge, if you can, how much I love you for having prevented me from losing such a good friend. . . . " Two or three days ago, when M. de Turenne and I were chatting together, I chanced to mention your name. He asked me if I saw you sometimes, and I told him that we were first cousins of the same family, and that I saw no other woman so frequently as you. He said that he knew you, and that he had been twenty times to your house without finding you at home. He added that he esteemed you greatly, and that, as a proof of it, he saw no other woman [the next sentence is missing in the text in every edition], I told him that you had spoken of him to me, that you were aware of the honour he did you, and that you had told me you were greatly obliged to him. 11 While we are upon this subject, Madame, I must tell you that I do not believe there is a person in the world who is more generally esteemed than you. You are the delight of man- kind. In pagan times, altars would have been raised to you, and you would assuredly have been created the goddess of some- thing or other. In these days we are not so prodigal of incense, above all for living merit, and we content ourselves with saying that you are the most lovely and virtuous woman of your age. I know Princes of the Blood, foreign princes, great noblemen who keep a princely state, great captains, ministers of state, gentle- men, magistrates, and philosophers, who would be your humble servants if you would allow them. What could you desire more? Unless you envy the liberty of the cloisters you can go no further. . . ." CHAPTER XI The Queen of Sweden visits Paris Her impression of Madame de Sevigne An infant prodigy La Fontaine's verses on the Marquise A ball in her honour Wax candles carried off by maskers 'THHESE were indeed the most brilliant and triumphant years -L of Madame de SeVignd's life. The " princes, ministers of state, and great captains " of Bussy's eulogy are easily recognis- able in the Prince de Conti, Foucquet, and Marechal de Turenne ; and it would be interesting, if it were possible, to trace the other dignitaries who he declared were willing, at a sign from her, to become her devoted servants. She had not yet reached her thirtieth year, and was still in the zenith of her extraordinary charm, still enjoying life with the gay abandon that was part of her natural disposition, but which was, however, always kept between well-defined limits of grace and propriety. During the year 1656 Paris was pleasantly occupied with entertaining that eccentric royal lady, Queen Christina of Sweden. This learned and masculine daughter of Gustavus Adolphus, who voluntarily renounced her throne, was received with enthusiasm and given many fetes by the French King and his Court ; for it has ever been a charming Parisian habit to offer hospitable welcome to kings and queens who were not comfort- able in their own kingdoms. Balls and masquerades, comedies and reviews, followed by sumptuous banquets, were given in honour of the Northern Queen, whose dress, speech, and actions were watched and noted with an amused and eager curiosity. At the balls and festivals she clothed herself something like the Court ladies at least, but there were times, enjoyed by the Parisian crowd, when she donned her usual costume of a marts justaucorps of black velvet trimmed with ribbons ; a cravat tied with flame-coloured ribbons, which was popularly called a " drole " ; a blue moire skirt edged with 114 QUEEN CHRISTINA OF SWEDEN 115 deep embroidery ; and on her fair hair, cut short like a man's, a black velvet toque decorated with a plume of black feathers. Among the many diversions provided for the Queen, was that of an exhibition of an infant prodigy, at that time astonish- ing both Court and town, and who reminds us that there is nothing new under the sun, not even infant prodigies. This strange child was the son of a comedian named Beauchasteau, and at the age of seven or eight, spoke several languages, and improvised verses with extraordinary facility. King, queens, and courtiers, always eager for novelties of any description, crowded to hear the child, who, unabashed by this brilliant assembly, improvised complimentary verses on each in turn. Madame de Sevigne was of the company, and of her he said "Sevigne, suspendez vos charmes Et les clartes de votre esprit? Pour nous faire rendre les armes, Votre extreme beaute suffit." Poor little prodigy ! After receiving a pension of a thousand crowns from Mazarin, and another of three hundred crowns from the Chancellor Seguier, he was taken to Spain, and from thence to England, where he was brought before the Protector Cromwell. He survived all these honours, but his ambitious friends, still not satisfied, wished to introduce him at the Court of Persia, and during his journey into that far country all trace of him was lost. Queen Christina of Sweden wrote and spoke her impressions of people and things with an almost embarrassing freedom. To Mazarin she wrote that the Court lacked only one thing to make it perfect, " the witty conversation of that rare person Ninon de 1'Enclos " ! She was evidently quite impartial in her admiration of gaiety and intellect, for she expressed an equally sincere admiration for Madame de Sevigne', and in a letter to the Marquise de Lavardin said so much in praise of her beauty and wit, that Madame de Sevigne' was rather annoyed when she found that the Marquise had been showing this letter somewhat freely to her friends. There is, perhaps, a little of this annoyance to be traced in an extract from a curious epistle, half prose, half verse, that she wrote to La Grande Mademoiselle from Les Rochers the same autumn : ii6 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS " I have lately received twenty-five or thirty letters, which have told me the same thing twenty-five or thirty times ; the fine receptions that have been given to the Queen of Sweden, and those which she has given to other people." Among the many fetes was a sumptuous entertainment given by Nicolas Foucquet at Saint-Mande", for the Surintendant had grown in influence and importance as his wealth increased. He kept a superb table, which was supplied with the rarest delicacies from all known quarters ; and so exquisite were his banquets, that Mazarin, the Queen - Mother, the young King, and Monsieur accepted the hospitality of this wonderful financier, who seemed to have discovered the coveted secret of turning everything into gold. But, magnificent as Saint-Mande* was, Foucquet's ambition soared yet higher ; he would have a palace of art, in which should be gathered all that money could buy or art create, of things that were most rare and precious. The Surintendant owned the estate of Vaux-le-Vicomte, near Melun, and here he determined should be his Palace of Art. Up to that period, brick faced with stone was considered good enough for any private building, but Foucquet, for his new palace, would have nothing but the finest cut stone. Le Vau, the King's architect, planned the building, and an army of workmen was brought to carry out his advanced ideas. Le Notre, the King's gardener, exercised his talent in laying out whole villages in parks, parterres, gardens, and closes; and there was also the tranquil little river Argenteuil to turn into fountains, cascades, and foaming torrents, amid the sylvan silence of the woods and gardens. Foucquet had inherited from his father, not only a cherished collection of books and rareties, but also the passion for collect- ing, which he was now able to gratify to its utmost. He bought whole libraries and collections, which he housed at Vaux ; he procured the richest tapestries from Mortlake in England and from Flanders ; but such an enormous quantity of these precious fabrics was required for the walls and furniture of his new palace, that skilled workmen were brought from Paris, and a manufactory was started at Maincy, a village close to Vaux. The famous Le Brun decorated his walls and ceilings; sculptors, artists, craftsmen of all kinds, looked to Foucquet as a NICOLAS FOUCQUET 117 beneficent patron, and if anything rare or unique were taken to him it was nearly certain to be bought at a good price. Marble basins, vases and groups of figures, were wanted for his fountains ; statues were required to people his woods ; all the most rare and costly works of art were needed to fitly furnish the rooms of his superb palace. Even his factotum Vatel was unique; there was not such another as he in the kingdom; and the great Mazarin did not disdain to borrow him from Foucquet to superintend the festivities when the Due de Mantua stayed in Paris. There was a charm of boyish enthusiasm in all that Foucquet did, a vivid personal charm that seems to have endeared him to all those whom he benefited. He was a generous friend to literary men in the days when, as Pellisson said, " an immortal work would cause a poet to die of hunger." La Fontaine lived at Vaux, and amid the beauties of the woods and gardens watched the habits of the wild creatures of the woods, a know- ledge that he afterwards turned to good use in his imperishable Fables. To Scarron, the jovial scoffer, the burlesque poet whose words were winged with venom, he was more than a patron; we have glimpses of him as a kind and thoughtful friend. Foucquet not only allowed him a pension of sixteen thousand crowns, but in 1659 the poet wrote to Foucquet: " Since you sent me the pie, I have received your excellent cheeses. I believe you intend to nourish us on the best fare in the world." Mademoiselle de ScudeVy was another of his pensioners, and also one of his most attached and faithful friends. She is not an altogether lovable person, although she was most weari- somely admirable ; for ever talking in her strident voice ; for ever laying down rules for the guidance of other women; always posing as an oracle to an admiring circle. But her loyalty to her friends when they were in trouble excuses many of her platitudes. Just as she had been faithful to the Duchesse de Longueville in her disgrace, so, when Foucquet came to his inevitable fall, Mademoiselle de ScudeVy was his most ardent helper and advocate, so far as a man in his desperate condition could be helped. When Vaux-le-Vicomte was finished, Foucquet had an ii8 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS especial pleasure in gathering round him in his sumptuous retreat, the poets, literary men, playwrights, and artists, to enjoy the exquisite gardens and to wonder at the marvellous fountains, which for their beauty and ingenuity had not their like in France. Moliere came with his troupe of players to give his comedies ; Le Brun, the painter, would not only paint scenes for their representation, but he would also use his mechanical genius in preparing all kinds of surprises ; artists of every degree delighted in giving the generous, kindly Foucquet of their best. Mademoiselle de Scudery was a person of much importance at Vaux. She was the pre-eminently successful novelist of the day, whose volumes, as they issued from the press, were veritable events. Here, too, came her declared lover Pellisson Foucquet's business manager not as an ordinary lover, of course, but a purely platonic though ardent friend, exactly according to the precepts that Mademoiselle de Scudery had laid down with so much authority at the Hotel de Rambouillet. Madame de Sevigne was an honoured guest at Vaux. Besides the admiration Foucquet had always professed for her, he had great confidence in her intelligence and judgment. " I must consult the Marquise de Se'vigne," he said on one occasion, " her conversation throws such a clear light on things that are puzzling." It is not difficult to picture the Marquise at Vaux, wandering among the beautiful gardens, listening to the murmurous music of the fountains, and walking round with her host to examine and admire all the wonderful works of art he had gathered in his palace. At these charming reunions, host and guests vied with each other in literary games, bouts-rimes, epigrams, madrigals, and chansons ; and on one occasion La Fontaine, then an unknown, ardent young poet, read a letter for the amusement of the company that he had written in verse to the Abbesse de Mons. The audience was charmed with the wit and easy grace of the letter, and Madame de Sevigne expressed her pleasure to the modest young poet with her usual gracious frankness. Two days afterwards, La Fontaine, delighted with her approval, and knowing that praise of the charming Marquise could not fail to NICOLAS FOUCQUET A "PORTRAIT" OF MADAME DE SEVIGNfi 119 please Foucquet, wrote to him the following prophetic but somewhat obscure lines: " De Sevigne, depuis deux jours en a, Ma lettre tient les trois quarts de sa gloire. Elle lui plut, et cela se passa, Phebus tenant chez vous son consistoire. Entre les dieux (et c'est chose notoire) En me louant, Sevigne me pla^a . . . Ingrat ne suis : son nom sera pie$a Dela la ciel, si 1'on m'en voulait croire." It was about this time that Mademoiselle de Scudery published her famous romance Cle'lie, in which she gives a "portrait" of Madame de Sevigne, under the name of the " Princesse Clarinte." It was, indeed, one of the chief points of interest about these novels, that some of the ladies and gentlemen of the fashionable world would be certain to find themselves there, under high-sounding names drawn from Greek and Roman sources. One can imagine the eager curiosity and interest with which certain people would be recognised, and how the author would be besieged with questions as to who was who. The " portrait " of Madame de Sevignd would be considered a somewhat lengthy description even of a princess in a novel to-day, but the many little details give us an intimate knowledge of this grande dame who was so unaffected and charming in her manner. "The Princesse Clarinte," she writes, "is of that pleasant height and figure which, while being much more than medium, is yet not excessive. Her air also is so free, her actions so natural, her carriage so noble, that immediately one sees her one knows she is of noble birth and has passed her life in the great world. "She is fair, without being insipid, and her colouring is very suitable to her style of beauty. Her complexion is so admirable that not even the most severe winters can rob her of the beautiful bloom which makes it so lovely, which gives such a fine effect to her marvellous fairness ; and one sees there at all seasons that freshness which is only seen at dawn on the most beautiful roses in spring. Her lips are of the loveliest colour ; her face is well formed, her eyes are blue and 120 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS full of fire and expression. . . . Her throat is white, and beauti- fully formed. As for her mind, I do not know how to make you understand it, but I know well that there never was one more charming, better turned, more enlightened, or more delicate. She has a lively imagination, and her whole manner is so galante, so frank, and so charming, that one could not, without shame, see her without loving her. She, however, confesses that she is sometimes subject to little moods of melancholy without reason, which cause her to make a truce with joyousness for three or four hours only ; but these annoyances are so slight and pass so quickly that hardly anyone but herself knows anything of them. Her conversation is easy, amusing, and natural ; she speaks well and justly; she has sometimes certain nai've and witty expressions which please infinitely ; and though she is not one of those stiff and motionless beauties who have no gestures, all her little actions have no affectation and are only the natural outcome of her vivacious spirit, of the enjoyment of her humour, and of her charming habit of doing everything gracefully. She dances so marvellously well that she delights the eyes and the hearts of all those who see her. Clarinte loves reading, and, what is better, she understands admirably all the best literature without any pretence of being a bel esprit. She has even learned the African [Italian] language, with wonderful ease. This princess, besides these rare qualities, has a sweet, true, and charming voice ; and what is especially praiseworthy, is that though she sings in a passionate manner, and one might truly say she sings well, yet she sings like a lady of quality ; that is to say, without staking all her honour on how she does it, without being begged to do it, and without ceremony : and she does it so gaily that she becomes still more charming, especially when she sings certain little African [Italian] songs, which she likes better than those of her own country because they are more passionate. " For the rest, Clarinte loves all pretty things, and all innocent pleasures, but she loves glory more than herself; and what is a very great advantage to her, is that she has found the means, without being either severe, shy, or solitary, to preserve the best reputation in the world at a great court where she sees round her the most polished men, and where she awakens love A "PORTRAIT" OF MADAME DE SEVIGNE 121 in the hearts of all those who are capable of experiencing it. That same playfulness which becomes her so well, and amuses herself while it amuses others, helps her to retain as friends many who, if they dared, would become her lovers. Her conduct is such that calumny has always respected her virtue, and she has never been suspected of the least gallantry, though no one is more galante than she. She sometimes says that she has never been in love except with her own reputation, which she guards jealously. " What is still more remarkable in this person, is that at her age she directs the affairs of her household as prudently as if she had all the experience that time could give to a most enlightened mind ; and what I admire still more is that, when it is necessary, she can leave the world and the court, and amuse herself in the country with as much tranquillity as if she had been born in the woods. ... I have never seen together so many attractions, so much good-humour, so much politeness, so much enlightenment, so much innocence and virtue ; and no one else has ever known better the art of having grace without affectation, cheerfulness without folly, propriety without con- straint, glory without pride, and virtue without severity. . . ." Mademoiselle finishes the portrait by saying " She has a friend who has known her since childhood, who is a man of such great merit, who has so much wit, judgment, knowledge, virtue, politeness, and who knows the world so well, that it is not strange that she should have chosen him from the beginning of her life to be the chief among her friends." This description could only apply to the Comte de Bussy, who, to his world, seemed a polished courtier, a gentleman sans peur et sans reproche the abduction hardly counted but who was soon to make a startling revelation of his character, in a manner that most seriously wounded the heart and hurt the reputation of the lady who was supposed to be his closest friend. During the years that immediately succeeded the Fronde, Paris was gradually growing more ardent in the pursuit of amusement exactly in proportion as the young King approached nearer to his full manhood. Never was King more passionately devoted to pleasure in every form than Louis xiv, and at this 122 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS period, a year or two before his marriage, we find him frequently running about the streets at night during Carnival time, with his young brother the Due d'Anjou, and a few choice spirits among his courtiers, all masked, or dressed in absurd masquerade costumes, visiting the houses at which they knew balls were being held. It is interesting to find that on one such occasion he visited the hotel of the Due de Lesdiguieres, who that night was giving a ball, ostensibly to six ladies, though, says the chronicler, " the affair was really given in honour of the widow of the Marquis de Sevigne." It was a magnificent entertainment. It began with a comedy, which was followed by a ball, and after that the guests sat down to a banquet. The rooms were beautifully decorated, and in the grand gallery there were no less than thirty-six crystal lustres, each holding twelve wax candles. At the hour of the ball, a little group of figures, all closely masked h la portugaise, came out of the Louvre and stood on the steps debating as to where they should go that evening. There was the young King, then about nineteen, Monsieur, some chevaliers d'honneur, and a few ladies of the Court, the charming little Riviere Bonceil, Mademoiselle d'Argencourt, and Mesdames de Navailles and de Comminges. It was at first proposed to visit Mademoiselle, but finally they decided to go to the house of M. de Lesdiguieres. The maskers reached the house just as the comedy was over, when the ball was in progress ; and the host, knowing this band of maskers, gave them welcome, and after dancing for some time they all sat down to a superb collation. But when the King and his distinguished company had left the house, another masked band of a less reput- able kind swarmed in, and carried food from the tables and candles from the lustres. These latter had to be replaced several times during the evening, and it was said that the wax candles alone cost the Due de Lesdiguieres more than one hundred pistoles. These maskers were an extraordinary feature of the second half of the seventeenth century in Paris, and under such con- venient disguise, robberies and murders were committed with impunity. Sometimes as many as two hundred maskers would be seen at one ball ; and it was a necessity for anyone walking DISORDERLY MASKERS 123 or driving through Paris at night to be accompanied by armed lackeys. So great was the disorder that sometimes the lackeys themselves would turn on the maskers and plunder them ; indeed, all kinds of excesses were committed by these dark, mysterious figures, who might be anyone, from the young King, or Monsieur his brother, to the students at the Jesuit or other colleges, escap- ing for a few brief hours from the rigid rule of their daily life. CHAPTER XII The Comte de Bussy in difficulties He desires to borrow money of the Marquise A misunderstanding Madame de Montglas pledges her diamonds Bussy's mean revenge on his cousin Moliere produces Les Pr4cieuses Ridicules TV/TADEMOISELLE DE SCUD&RY was not the only -LV-L person who considered the Comte de Bussy as one of the staunchest friends of Madame de SeVigne". Had the Marquise been asked who was her dearest, most loyal friend, she probably would have named her cousin Bussy. He never lost an oppor- tunity of telling her in polished phrase and amusing epigram, it is true, but none the less unmistakably that he was her very humble servant, always anxious to do her bidding, always hoping that she would return the love he professed to have for her. Madame de Sevigne", as we have seen, consistently laughed at such professions, and kept him at a safe distance by refusing to take them seriously. Those were the days of exaggerated gallantry, and 'perhaps it was a legacy from the court of prfoieuses that men should make pretty speeches and women expect them. The Marquise certainly preserved her reputation as &pr/cieuse by keeping all her professed admirers beyond a well-defined circle of propriety, and to Bussy she confessed a sisterly love and interest in his honour which he found peculiarly irritating. In 1655 she wrote to him " I am told that you have asked permission to stay on the frontiers this winter. As you know, my poor cousin, that I love you with a blunt and honest kind of love, I hope your request may be granted ; for this, it is said, is the sure road to promotion, and you know how sincerely I am interested in your welfare and good fortune. But I shall be pleased whatever happens. If you remain on the frontier, true friendship will find there what it expects ; and if you return, affectionate friend- ship will be gratified." 124 BUSSY IN NEED OF MONEY 125 Bussy, as we have seen, was rather piqued by such calm expressions of friendship; he would greatly have preferred to hear that a warmer, more agitated interest filled her with fears for his safety. The peculiar connection between these cousins, who, said a mutual friend, " were born for each other," was an intimacy of mind, an affinity between their wit and understanding quite apart from their totally diverse characters and principles. The Marquise herself once wrote that " they could hear each other's thoughts before they spoke," and this quick mutual interplay of ideas and expression is so marked in some of their letters, that, without looking at the heading, it is occasionally difficult to say which cousin is writing. Each, without question, found an especial and piquant pleasure in the other's society. The Comte admired his cousin for many things : her grace, her beauty, her sweet disposition, even for the impregnable virtue which he tried so often to undermine ; but above all else he admired her for her instant appreciation of his sparkling wit, to which her own brilliant intellect answered with never-failing responsiveness ; his lightest bon mot y his most obscure allusion, his most delicate repartee, would always, he knew, be sure of instant comprehension from her, and not infrequently strike an answering fire of wit. As Bussy told Mare"chal Turenne, " he saw no other woman so frequently," and the Marquise was, doubtless, equally glad to see this handsome and polished soldier-cousin who had so many times tried to impress on her the fact that he was her most devoted servant. It would seem incredible that any misunder- standing could arise between these two friends, bound so closely together by ties of kinship as well as by such an unusual affinity of understanding, did we not know that the frail texture of human friendship has often some weak part that gives way under the strain of unusual circumstances. Bussy, in the month of May 1658, was in Paris, preparing to join Turenne's army in Flanders, and, as the preparation of his equipages and other requirements was an expensive matter, he found himself in desperate need of money. He applied to some of his friends, who probably knew Bussy too well to lend him a sou, and finally he went to the Marquise de Sevigne, who, 126 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS like himself, had just been left ten thousand crowns by their uncle, Jacques de Neucheze, the Bishop of Chalon. They had neither of them yet received the money from the executors, and Bussy sent to ask his cousin if she would advance him a thousand pistoles on the money he was to receive. The Marquise was quite ready to help him in his need, but apparently the Abb6 de Coulanges managed all her money affairs, and when she told him of Bussy's application he did not think the matter so simple as did his niece. Money should not be lent even to cousins, said the sage Abbe, without good and solid security; and had Bussy, who played high, who was a spendthrift, who was always squandering money on his pleasures, such security to offer ? Bussy was therefore told that, before the money could be lent him, his affairs would have to be inquired into. It was only a postponement, but Bussy, who was in sore need of money, regarded it as a disguised refusal. Besides, there was no time to wait ; his reputation would suffer if he arrived late at the seat of war ; and, burning with wrath against his cousin, he went to Madame de Montglas, who, to lend him two thousand crowns, immediately pledged her diamonds. Having obtained the much-needed assistance, Bussy left for Flanders, more angry with Madame de SeVigne than he would have believed possible. His anger had not cooled when, some time after, he wrote this scathing reflection on his cousin's refusal. " There are people," he writes to a friend, " who make only sacred things the limit of their friendship, and who will do everything to oblige their friends with the exception of offending God ; these people call themselves friends as far as the altar. Madame de SeVigne's friendship has other limits. That beauty is only a friend till it is a question of the purse." Was the Marquise to blame? It is difficult for us to-day to decide how much share she had in the delay, and we know it was the Abbe" de Coulanges who counselled prudence. Had she had the control of her own affairs she would probably have advanced the money at once, without further question. But her own and her children's fortunes had already been seriously impaired by her spendthrift husband ; it had taken the thrifty Abbe years of careful management " to draw her from the abyss " BUSSY'S QUARREL WITH THE MARQUISE 127 into which her husband's excesses had plunged her ; and there is no doubt that the Bien-Bon thought good money would be thrown away by lending it to a prodigal like Bussy. We know that Madame de Sevigne had a horror of avarice, and that she willingly impoverished herself for her husband and children ; indeed, it is quite conceivable that the prudent Abbe used the argument that for her children's sake she must not quite recklessly lend money to a gambler like Bussy without due inquiry. An extract from a letter that she wrote just a year before her death is a touching witness to her generosity of spirit, for it demonstrates plainly that she had stripped herself of almost everything to establish her children, and to pay the debts in- curred by their extravagance. " I die without any ready money," she writes, " but also without debts ; it is all I ask of God, and it is enough for a Christian." But even if some allowance be made for Bussy's anger against the cousin who he thought might have done him this service, the revenge he took a little later was so scandalous, so shameful from every point of view, that the most lenient of his judges could only be shocked at such base, dishonourable conduct. In the spring of the following year, 1659, the Comte de Bussy, with his friends, had just returned from a campaign, and, eager to join in all the amusements of Paris after the hardships of war, they were greatly annoyed when Holy Week interrupted their plans of pleasure. Vivonne, one of the most reckless of this band, suggested that they should all come with him to one of his country-houses some leagues from Paris, where they might indulge in whatever amusements they desired, unchecked by the religious observances which Paris always devoutly practised in the holy season. His companions accepted this proposal with enthusiasm, and at his Chateau of Roissy they behaved outrageously ; uttering blasphemies against religion, and acting in such a wild, reckless fashion, that Bussy, who had passed his fortieth year, should have been ashamed to chronicle such doings. But Bussy, born without moral sense, had no shame at any time, and he tells us in his memoirs that, in the morning after this 128 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS wild night, he and his companions agreed to write the worst things they knew of everyone except their friends. It was then that Bussy, in this disgraceful company, gave rein to his spite and anger against his cousin. He wrote a " portrait," in which he dissected her with a merciless analysis, accentuating her defects, depreciating her charms, and holding her up to ridicule in the manner most calculated to wound her, or any woman, to the depths of the soul. But retribution was near at hand for Bussy ; in fact, this event has been noted by his biographers as the turning-point of his life, when from being a brave, clever captain, with high ambitions for the future, and a brilliant prospect of promotion, he became, first a prisoner, then an exile for long, weary years, seeing one by one his fair hopes and bright ambitions fade to the melancholy actuality of grey, monotonous, empty days at his estate in the provinces, with only the recollection of past successes to feed his vanity. Rumours, very probably exaggerated, of the orgy at Roissy had reached the ears of the King and the pious Queen Regent, who, as long as she lived, exacted as far as she could an outward respect for religion and virtue, and as a result the offenders were banished, Bussy to his estate in Burgundy. Here, in the long leisure of his solitude, he wrote his scandalous Histoire amoureuse des Gautes, which was, in fact, a chronique scandaleuse of the Court, with the flimsiest disguise of fictitious names. Bussy knew better than anyone that his cousin had no rightful place among such depraved company, but nevertheless he in- cluded her portrait with the others, now polished and sharpened with malicious skill, so that every point was barbed with the worst of venom the bitter venom of him who has once been friend. Bussy declared afterwards that he never intended either the Histoire amoureuse or Madame de Sevigne's "portrait" to be published ; he had only written it, he said, to amuse Madame de Montglas. But of such things, once written, it is impossible to predict the fate. This brochure was found to be so clever, so exquisitely entertaining, by her friends and his own, who had no difficulty in recognising the originals, that it was lent about from one to another, and among others to the Mar.quise de la A VILLAINOUS PORTRAIT " 129 Baume, who privately made a copy of it before returning the manuscript. Copies multiplied, and were passed about, so that the " secret " became very well known in the beau monde of Paris. The Marquise was not long left in ignorance of Bussy's mean revenge. Had it been mere invective or defamation, it would not have been half so damaging. But the clever Bussy had simply analysed his cousin's beauty, and had proved that she, to whom three or four years before he had declared that pagans would have worshipped her as a divinity, had really no beauty at all. The Marquise knew well what laughter the clever sketch would excite among her friends ; indeed, no friendship could be proof against it. Even she herself confessed, when time had dulled the acuteness of her annoyance, that " had it been written by anyone else of anyone else I should have enjoyed reading it." Corbinelli, one of her truest friends, who greatly admired and esteemed her, wrote to Bussy his impressions on reading the sketch, and we may be certain that there were many others in that gay social world whose delight would not be tempered by the least sympathy for the victim. " When I first read it," writes Corbinelli, " I was angry ; then, in spite of myself, I laughed heartily. After that, I was ashamed of having laughed. Then I yielded to temptation and read it again. I laughed yet a second time, though I was angry and ashamed all the same." No wonder Madame de Sevigne said that "the villainous portrait " caused her to pass whole nights without sleep ! It was a cruel blow to her friendship as well as to her pride, and for a long time she could neither forget nor forgive it, and would have no intercourse with her despicable cousin, who, in holding up to ridicule his near relative, whose reputation and honour he should have been the first to defend, has heaped such dishonour on himself that it will endure while his name is remembered. Satire was in the air. Moliere, that brilliant satirist of his century, was delighting Paris with his life-like representations of the absurdities around him, and in 1660 he first performed Les Precieuses Ridicules. But it must not be supposed that the true precieuseS) who had shone with such distinction at the Hotel de Rambouillet, were the people whom Moliere held up 9 130 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS to the scorn and mocking laughter of the Parisians. Madame de Rambouillet herself and several of her family witnessed the performance. Madame de Sevigne was probably there, and certainly many others of the precieuses who were so proud of their title, and it is scarcely probable that they would have gone to see themselves caricatured ; besides, all the literature of the day makes it perfectly clear that the precieuses of the Hotel de Rambouillet were ladies worthy of all honour and praise. Since the Fronde that salon had been virtually closed, but Mademoiselle de Scudery had been holding her " Saturdays " in the rue Vieille du Temple, and one would not dare to say that Moliere had not found his absurd precieuses there ! The con- versation was so fervently, so inexorably literary ; words, phrases, sentiments, expressions, fancies, and feelings were examined, analysed, and torn to tatters ; every form of literary exercise was worked to death, while the hostess talked almost without cessation to her admiring guests. CHAPTER XIII The last fete at Vaux A startling arrest Letters from Madame de Sevigne" found among the private papers of Foucquet A Parisian scandal The Comte de Bussy defends his cousin's good name WHILE Madame de SeVignd was still suffering from the annoyance that her cousin's treachery had caused her, she had to endure yet another attack on the reputation of which she had always been so jealously careful. This time, the scandal did not start up stealthily here and there, like some noxious weed ; and instead of learning by the amused and malignant smiles of her acquaintance that they had seen and enjoyed every detail of her latest " portrait," the blow was to fall with the utmost publicity, for the slander was one of the results of an event that astonished not only all France, but all Europe the sudden and startling downfall from power of Nicolas Foucquet, Surintendant des Finances. Foucquet was at the very pinnacle of his power in 1661, but he was as yet unaware that he had reached the ultimate point of his splendour. Was not his device, the squirrel leaping upwards from branch to branch, interwoven endlessly in all the decorations of his palace? Was not his motto, Quo non ascendant? (To what may I not attain?) ever before his eyes and never absent from his ambitious mind ? Mazarin, the ruler of all France, including the Queen-Mother and the young King, was dead, and Foucquet was awaiting an honour which his sanguine spirit looked on as almost a certainty his appointment to the coveted post of First Minister. But the astute Mazarin before his death had already planned Foucquet's fall. When the Chateau de Vaux was in course of construction, he had sent an obscure young dependant of his household named Colbert, to give a report of what was going on. Colbert had brought back a detailed account 131 132 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS of the stupendous expenditure : an army of workmen, fifteen thousand men at least, employed in building, or on the estate, and many details to correspond ; with the conclusion that Foucquet was keeping up his gorgeous state by a system of fraud. He drew up a memorandum and sent it to Mazarin ; but if the minister had spies, so also had Foucquet, and the memorandum was stopped in its transit through the post, read by the Surintendant, then re-sealed and sent on to its destination. In the memorandum, Colbert had suggested that Foucquet should be brought to trial, and forced to refund the money that he had abstracted so freely from the nation's funds. Foucquet at once prepared to resist this intended humiliation, and drew up a wild scheme on paper, which was, not long after, thrown into his desk and forgotten. When it was discovered, however, after his arrest, this absurd document was used by his enemies against him, and proved a terrible witness in the hands of his implacable pursuers, Colbert and le Tellier. But Foucquet, unaware of the abyss of ruin which his enemies were deliberately preparing for him, had never felt more confident in his good fortune. He was expecting to have the Order of the Holy Spirit conferred on him, as a preliminary to the greater honour of being chosen First Minister in the place of the late Mazarin, and, in buoyant expectation of this great distinction, he prepared a magnificent fete at Vaux for the the King and all the Court, a fete on which he lavished all the resources he had at command. On that fateful day for Foucquet, August 17, 1661, the royal cortege came from Fontainebleau ; King, Queen-Mother, and courtiers, in their carriages, on horseback, in litters ; a gay and glittering procession passing under the leafy avenues through the great gates, into the superb grounds of Vaux, then glowing with its mature summer display of brilliant flowers, rare plants and shrubs, and musical with the sound of falling waters. It was six o'clock when the company arrived, and all, with eager curiosity, wandered from one to another of the superb rooms, where everything that was finest in the arts had been brought together into a magnificent, harmonious whole. Some THE LAST FfiTE AT VAUX 133 wandered into the gardens among the orange-trees, or, leaning on the balustrades, listened to the cooling and soothing music of the myriad fountains ; or watched with fascinated gaze the wonderful display of water in the big walk that divided the gardens into two. This, perhaps, was the most arresting spot in all these pleasure grounds of enchantment. On each side of jt were one hundred columns, out of which water gushed at the height of thirty-five feet, making two straight walls of water ; and close by, fifty fountains were playing into separate basins. This cool, murmurous beauty of falling water, irradiated by the declining August sun into millions of sparkling jewels and a rainbow mist of spray, made for King and courtiers a magnificent and novel sight, the like of which had never before been seen in France. As daylight waned, the company was summoned to a grand collation. The royal guests were served in their own apparte- ment with pheasants, quails, ortolans, the choicest wines, the finest fruits and viands that could be procured, all prepared under the skilful direction of the renowned Vatel, and served sumptuously on gold plate, a luxury that the King himself did not possess. The courtiers in other rooms fared no less delicately, while soft music from the twenty-four violins gave a charming and unwonted grace to the feast. Supper over, the gay, laughing company again hurried into the gardens, now sleeping in the serene splendour of the August evening, anxious to obtain seats for the play a new, and of course entertaining, comedy by Moliere, to be given for the first time. Can we not see that crowd ? The young King in close attendance on Mademoiselle de la Valliere ; the pious Queen- Mother, drawn in the caleche thoughtfully provided by Foucquet ; the doll-faced, pretty Monsieur, with his new and charming young wife, the beautiful Henriette of England; and the crowd of attendant courtiers in silks and brocades, the ladies with their hair in bunches of curls on each side of the face, daintily patched, highly rouged, their white throats clasped with pearls, talking, jesting, laughing with their gallants almost as finely dressed as themselves, all sauntering or hurrying towards the theatre ; and, chatting with his guests, or in attendance on the King, Foucquet, with his enigmatical smile, the lord of all this Eastern splendour 134 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS combined with Western ingenuity, pitifully unaware of the tragedy with which this gay and sumptuous fete would end. What a setting for the play had been chosen ! It was given near a grove of fir-trees, with the murmuring freshness of fountains all round ; a thousand torches gave a brilliant illumination to the scene, and beyond and round about were the dense, mysterious shadows of the whispering trees. While King and courtiers were waiting expectantly, Moliere, as he himself relates, suddenly appeared on the stage in ordinary clothes, and, feigning great surprise, he turned to the King and begged him to excuse the lack of preparation. There was no time, he said, to get ready for the entertainment which his Majesty apparently expected ; there were, indeed, no actors ; but if the King would only assist by ordering a play! It was a comedy within a comedy, a childish artifice which pleased the young King and his young Court, in these early days of his manhood when all pleasures were new, and satiety had not yet dulled the freshness of every delight. The King made a sign ; and immediately the famous shell opened, and a Nai'de appeared in the car of a goddess, and commanded the boundaries to be removed and the trees to speak, which, naturally, they did at once, at the bidding of so charming a person ; Pellisson spoke the inevitable prologue, and at the first entry of the ballet the Nai'de, with her train of fauns, nymphs, and satyrs, disappeared into the fairy-land of the surrounding woods. Stale enough to-day, perhaps ; nothing but common pantomime ; but in those early days of theatrical art in France how exquisitely novel and enchanting ! But as all things, even Les Fdcheux y the new comedy by Moliere, must come to an end, the King and courtiers turned their steps towards the chateau in the warm dusk of the autumn night. At that instant another surprise awaited them. Suddenly the whole horizon beyond the chateau, near Maincy, was illuminated with soft light, four statues of fire appeared on the hill, and the superb palace of Vaux was brightly outlined by thousands of tiny lamps, an artifice to-day so old, but which to those more than two hundred years ago had the supreme charm of novelty. Dome, statues, carvings, all the wonderful white beauties of this superb castle, stood out in bold relief, and though A STARTLING ARREST 135 midnight had struck an hour before, yet King and courtiers stood still to gaze on the fascinating sight. Wonder succeeded wonder, for as they paused in astonishment a countless number of rockets shot up into the vault of heaven ; some fell, trans- formed in their slow descent into fleurs-de-lis, familiar names, monograms ; a whale appeared on the canal, from whose body issued rockets, which, shooting up into the air, were transformed into a thousand differing shapes, from which issued fire and water, while trumpets and tambours made a confusing din, giving the illusion that a furious battle was being fought. Just as the King, believing that these wonders were at an end, gave the sign to retire, numberless rockets burst forth from the dome, and, increasing in size as they shot into the air, fell on the other side of the gardens, making an archway of jewelled fire for the King and Court to pass under to the palace. Here another magnificent repast awaited them, after which came a ball that was not ended before the dawn. Everyone declared that the fete was magnificent, extra- ordinary, wonderful, fairy-like ; but its main object was a failure, it had not given pleasure to the King. Louis had taken note of all the marvels that his host had exhibited for his delight and entertainment, but his comment was somewhat bitter : " I shall never again venture to invite you to visit me, Monsieur ; you would find yourself inconvenienced," he remarked to Foucquet. It was said, too, that among the allegorical paintings the King had recognised a portrait of la Valliere; but whatever may have been the immediate cause, Foucquet's ruin was a settled thing; Colbert and le Tellier were pursuing him with hatred and jealousy, pointing out to the King how dangerous a man he was; and no one could disguise the fact that the Surintendant was helping himself freely from the public coffers, even as Mazarin, as Richelieu, as all men in power did in those days. Scarcely more than a fortnight after the fete, Foucquet was arrested at Nantes, where he had been living in a house with a subterraneous passage to the Loire, on which a boat was always in waiting to carry him over to Belleisle. Once there, he hoped to be able to set the King at defiance ; a boyish project enough, 136 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS which was quite in keeping with his character and youthful enthusiasm. Besides this, he had couriers waiting with relays of horses at intervals along the road ; but all his avenues of escape failed him, and he was carried off to Angers, a strong prison, which had been prepared, as he blindly supposed, for his rival Colbert. His superb library was sold, the palace of Vaux was shut up, seals were placed on all his property, and as the Chancellor Seguier affixed them to the furniture of his house, Saint-Mande", near Paris, he could not resist an epigram. " Foucquet desired the Seals, and he has them now," he said, in reference to the Surintendant's ambition. Madame de Sevigne was at her Chateau of Les Rochers in Brittany, not far from Nantes, waiting for the news of Foucquet's appointment as Minister, and his election to the coveted honour of the Order of the Holy Spirit, when the sudden and appalling tidings of his arrest was brought to her. We know from her letters afterwards, how keenly she felt her friend's disgrace, and how sincerely she grieved for his fall, but a keener, more personal stroke to herself was presently to shock and harass her yet further. All his private papers at Saint-Man de had been removed to Versailles for the King to read, and business correspondence, billets-doux, and the most intimate com- munications were eagerly examined. The arrest of Foucquet had been startling enough, but the love-letters of great ladies to the financier was a theme entirely to the Parisian taste. Names leaked out, and chansons were sung in the public streets, hawked on the Pont-Neuf, and jested over in the ruelles ; and while in her Breton solitude, Madame de Sevigne learned with horror and indignation, that letters from herself had been found among the billets-doux, that she who had been so careful of her fair fame was held up to public ridicule as being among the crowd of ladies who had not been able to resist the wealth and personal charm of the Surintendant. Did not all her world know that Foucquet had pursued her with marked attentions? And was it not natural that they should rejoice at hearing that Madame de Sevigne was no better than the rest, in spite of her parade of virtue? Men whom she had repulsed, women who hated her for the honour A PARISIAN SCANDAL 137 they lacked, all took up the chorus, and this supposed indiscre- tion of the virtuous Majquise caused more malicious joy, and tenfold as much scandal, as that of the others, whose notorious gallantries had long ago lost the surprise of novelty. Madame de Sevigne remembered what letters she had sent to Foucquet, and knew that they were no billets-doux^ but merely notes concerning her nephew the Marquis de la Trousse. But how prove her innocence to others ? It is to be feared that there were men and women of the Court who never were convinced ; so difficult it is to demonstrate to others a thing of which they have no conception ! The King himself, struck with the charming and easy style of the letters, said that they did honour to the lady who had written them. Le Tellier repeated this on all sides, but to little purpose; it was so much more piquant and amusing to believe the worst ! The Marquise did not, however, sit down idly under this injustice. She wrote to her old tutors, Chapelain and Menage, who both exerted themselves in the interests of their esteemed pupil. Chapelain took up the cudgels very warmly on her behalf, but in writing to tell her so, he said hard truths about the Surintendant at which she probably winced ; he also referred to Scarron, Pellisson, and Mademoiselle de Scudery as " interested rabble," which was a harsh judgment on the two latter at least, who proved the most devoted friends of the financier in his adversity. It cannot have been a very agreeable letter to the Marquise, but it at least assured her that he had not waited to be asked to act in her defence, and in a somewhat grandiloquent fashion he finished by assuring her that she had many friends to defend her good name, and " that she might live in repose and sleep in peace." In a letter that Madame de Sevign^ wrote to Menage, we may trace a little just annoyance that her simple notes should have been placed by Foucquet in a box containing love-letters. She evidently feels that such conduct was a species of treason. " I thank you, my dear Monsieur, for all your news," she writes ; " there are two or three items in your letter that I did not know. As for that of M. Foucquet, I hear nothing else spoken of. I think you understand very well the displeasure I 138 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS felt at having been included in the number of those who had written to him. It is true that it was neither gallantry nor interest which obliged me to correspond with him, one may perceive quite clearly that it was nothing but the affairs of M. de la Trousse; but that did not prevent my having been very vexed to find that he put them in the same box as his love-letters, and to hear myself classed with those whose senti- ments are not so pure as mine. On this occasion it is necessary that my friends should enlighten those who do not know the truth of the matter." She also wrote on the same subject to the Marquis de Pomponne, the son of Arnauld d'Andilly, who was a personal friend of Foucquet, who, indeed, was included in Foucquet's disgrace and exiled to Verdun in 1662. "... But what do you say to all that has been found in those boxes ? Would you ever have believed that my poor letters, full of the marriage of M. de la Trousse and of all the affairs of his family, would have been put away so mysteriously ? I assure you that whatever credit I may gain from those who will do me the justice to believe that I have never had any other connection with him, I am greatly disturbed to be obliged to justify myself, and perhaps uselessly, with regard to a thousand persons who will never understand the truth. I think you will easily comprehend what grief this causes to a heart like mine. I implore you to say what you know concerning this; I can never have enough friends on this occasion. I am impatiently expecting your brother to console me a little over this strange affair ; nevertheless I do not fail to wish with all my heart some solace to the unhappy, and I desire of you always, Monsieur, the continuation of the honour of your friendship. " M. DE RABUTIN-CHANTAL " There was yet another defender of her good name to whom Madame de SeVignd had not applied, whom she only remembered, in fact, with indignation and anger. Her cousin Bussy, hearing that letters from the Marquise had been found among Foucquet's papers, bethought himself that they might refer to the office of mestre de camp gnral y in which transaction the Surintendant had advanced him some of the money. He went to le Tellier BUSSY DEFENDS THE MARQUISE 139 to explain this affair, and while there took the opportunity to ask the truth about the letters of Madame de Sevigne, which just then were one of the chief subjects of Parisian gossip. Le Tellier assured Bussy that " they were the most honest letters possible, and of a jesting character." Bussy, already feeling ashamed of his own scandalous be- haviour, which he always afterwards had the grace to look on as one of the worst actions of his life, now took up his cousin's cause, and defended her good name on every possible occasion. Society had not forgotten the part he had so lately taken against her, and one day when his brother-in-law de Rouville classed Madame de Sevigne among the mistresses of Foucquet, Bussy quarrelled seriously with him. De Rouville was astonished at his attitude, and reminded him that after having written such scandal against her, it was hardly in keeping for him to take cudgels in her defence. " I don't like such reports," retorted Bussy, " unless I make them myself!" CHAPTER XIV Foucquet's trial Madame de Sevigne writes a daily account of it to the Marquis de Pomponne The Chancellor Seguier A period of suspense Foucquet is sent to Pignerol under the escort of d'Artagnan and his famous Musketeers IN his famous " Instructions to the Dauphin," Louis XIV de- clared that no act of his reign had given him more pain than the arrest and trial of Foucquet. The Surintendant's ruin was a planned and settled thing, but the bitter animosity of Colbert and le Tellier to the accused, greatly aggravated every circum- stance connected with the trial, and contributed, there is little doubt, towards the severity of his punishment. The letters of Madame de Sevigne' to the Marquis de Pomponne, almost the first of importance that she wrote, give a living, moving picture of Foucquet on trial before his judges, some of whom are determined that if possible he shall be made to suffer the extreme penalty of the law. She also, with her wonderful art of fixing the most fleeting impressions, makes us share in the hopes and fears that alternately possessed those of his friends who were watching the trial with such absorbing interest. We see, too, her tender woman's heart resenting the injustice of his judges, and wholly absorbed, as the trial goes on, in the important question, " Will the penalty be death or im- prisonment ? " Indeed, when Napoleon read these letters in his exile at Saint-Helena, he remarked "that they were very tender letters to be written about a mere friend." The letters begin " To-day, Monday, the iyth of November, M. Foucquet was brought for the second time before the Chancellor. He seated himself without ceremony upon the sellette as he did the first time. The Chancellor began by desiring him to hold up his hand, to which he replied that he had already given the reasons which prevented him from taking the oath. . . . 140 FOUCQUETS TRIAL 141 " * But/ said the Chancellor, ' though you will not acknow- ledge the power of the court, you answer and put questions, and you are now upon the sellette! " ' It is true, I am,' he replied, ' but not voluntarily. I am brought here against my will ; there is a power which I must obey, it is a humiliation which God has made me suffer and which I receive from His hands. After the services I have rendered, and the offices I have had the honour to fill, I might have been spared this disgrace.' " The Chancellor then continued the examination respecting the gabelles, to which the replies of M. Foucquet were very satisfactory. As the examination proceeds I shall continue to send you a faithful account of it ; I am anxious to know whether my letters reach you safely. ..." The Marquise might with reason be anxious about her letters. She was perfectly aware that a rigorous watch was kept on the post, and that all suspected correspondence was seized and read without scruple. It was an unpleasant habit of those in power. Mazarin had found the practice of great service ; Foucquet, as we have seen, was glad to ex- ercise it on occasion ; and Louis XIV, having a practically inexhaustible capacity for enjoyment, found much diversion as well as profit in reading the private correspondence of his subjects. But Madame de Sevigne's loyalty to her friends was stronger than her fear, and we must remember that it was no light thing to profess friendship for Foucquet at this period ; so many of his friends had been included in his disgrace, while Colbert and le Tellier, his chief enemies, pursued him with the utmost malignity, and were sure to look coldly on those who supported him. The band of devoted friends who were watching every phase of the trial, in the hope that some miracle would be worked to save him who had been so generous when he was in power, eagerly noticed every circumstance, however trifling, thinking that it might influence the sentence of Foucquet. In the following letter Madame de Sevigne records the little incident of the plaster which Foucquet's mother sent to the Queen, and how much his supporters hoped from it. It is significant, 142 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS however, that the Marquise, though she desired it, could not hope against her reason. " Friday ', November 20, 1664 " M. Foucquet was examined this morning respecting the gold mark. He answered very well. Several of the judges bowed to him, but the Chancellor reproved them, and said it was not the custom!; and to the Breton counsellor he said, ( It is because you are a Breton that you bow so low to M. Foucquet.' " While passing by the Arsenal, out walking, he asked what the workmen were doing, and he was told that they were making the vase of a fountain. He went to them and gave his opinion, and then returned smiling to M. d'Artagnan, and said to him : ' You are surprised that I should interfere in such things, but formerly I used to understand them very well.' " The friends of M. Foucquet, and I among the rest, think this tranquillity admirable ; others call it affectation ; such is the way of the world. " Madame Foucquet, his mother, has given the Queen a plaster that has cured her convulsions, which, to speak correctly, were nothing but the vapours. Many people, believing what they wish, imagine that the Queen will seize this occasion to intercede the King for pardon for the unfortunate prisoner ; but I, who hear a good deal of talk of the tenderness in that quarter, do not believe a word of it. The noise that plaster has made is wonderful ; everyone says that Madame Foucquet is a saint, with the power of working miracles. ..." Day by day, as the trial proceeded, Madame de Sevigne gave a clear and lucid account of it to Foucquet's exiled friend Pomponne, always with the most tender sympathy for the accused man, and often with much indignation against his judges. In the following letter she gives a glimpse of the Chancellor Seguier at his devotions, for everything was of importance to the friends who were watching the trial ; even the Chancellor's visit to a convent might have a bearing on the case, and it will be seen that the lady Abbess did not miss the opportunity of speaking a word for Foucquet. The interest for us of to-day lies in the record of an instance of the intense religious fervour P&RE VINCENT 143 that was one of the distinguishing features of this great century, and so conspicuously lacking in the centuries that followed. Saint Francis de Sales and Saint Vincent de Paul had a holy influence on their countrymen that is absolutely incalculable ; both were filled with a spiritual fervour that acted like leaven throughout the kingdom. The one, well-born and rich, had his own particular sphere of influence ; the other, the humble and pious Pere Vincent, was laughed at by the courtiers when- ever he appeared at Court, for his shabby appearance and plebeian aspect ; but the record of his life's work reads like the chronicle of an early Christian saint, before the love of worldly things had come to mar the simple faith as it came from their Master. His practical Christianity in caring for the sick and poor, when those unfortunates were regarded as absolutely of no account; his work among the devastated villages after the Fronde ; his eloquent and successful appeal on behalf of les enfants trouves, are among the most moving and glorious chronicles of his brilliant century. The convent of the Visitation in the rue Saint-Antoine was one of those founded by the Blessed Chantal, Madame de SeVigne's grandmother, under the direction of Saint Francis de Sales, whom the Marquise once jestingly referred to as " our spiritual grandfather." " Puis " is the Chancellor Seguier ; for it was not safe to mention the judges by name in such a recital. Monday r , November 24, 1664 "... Two days ago I dined at Sainte-Marie de Saint-Antoine. The mother superior related to me the details of four visits that Puis has paid her during the last three months, at which I am greatly astonished. He came to tell her that the now blessed Bishop of Geneva [Saint Francis de Sales had been beatified in 1661] had obtained for him such especial mercies during his illness that summer, that he felt under the greatest obligations to him ; and he requested her to ask the prayers of the community for the deceased. He gave her a thousand crowns for the accomplishment of his desires, and entreated her to show him the Bishop's heart. When he was at the grating he fell upon his knees, and remained more than a quarter of an 144 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS hour bathed in tears, apostrophising the heart, and praying for a spark of the Divine fire of the love of God that had consumed it. The mother superior at his side wept also, and when he left she gave him a reliquary full of relics of the blessed one. He wears it always, and during his four visits appeared so earnest about his salvation, so disgusted with the Court, so transported with the desire of being converted, that a person more clear-sighted than the Abbess would have been deceived. She contrived to introduce carefully the affair of M, Foucquet, but he answered like a man who was interested in nothing but religion : that he did not know ; that he would see ; and, finally, that justice would be done according to God's will, without con- sidering anything else. I was never more surprised than at this conversation. If you ask me what I think of it, I must tell you that I do not know ; that it is quite unintelligible to me ; and, on the other hand, I cannot see the good of this comedy ; and if it is not a comedy, how can he reconcile his fine speeches with all the steps he has taken since then ? These are things that only time will explain, for by themselves they are entirely enigmatical. Do not mention it, however, for the mother superior has begged me not to talk of the circumstance." In the next letter we find that M. d'Ormesson, whom the Marquise refers to as the " Reporter," is speaking boldly on the prisoner's behalf. Madame de Sevigne was connected by marriage with this famous lawyer (whose Journal is one of the most trustworthy records of the period), and during the trial she begged him to use his influence in Foucquet's interest. D'Ormesson would give no definite reply to the Marquise, prob- ably because he saw more clearly than she did the inroads that the Surintendant had made on the national funds. The lawyer was, however, on the side of justice and mercy, and, in fact, he defended Foucquet so well that his own disgrace, which occurred not long after, was supposed to be the result of his zeal at this trial. In all her letters on the trial there is nothing more delight- ful than the picture she gives of herself and the little band of ladies Mademoiselle de Scudery, Madame du Plessis Guene*- gaud, Madame Scarron, perhaps, for we can only conjecture standing masked, opposite the Arsenal, to see their unfortunate FOUCQUETS TRIAL 145 friend, as he was escorted back to prison by d'Artagnan and the fifty Musketeers that Dumas has made so famous. Thursday ', November 27, 1664 " The examination was continued to-day on the subject of the grants. The Chancellor had the kind intention of driving M. Foucquet to extremities and of embarrassing him, but he did not succeed, for M. Foucquet acquitted himself admirably. He did not come into the Chamber of Justice till eleven o'clock, because the Chancellor made the Reporter read as before, and in spite of all that fine devotion of which I told you, he said the worst he could of our poor friend. The Reporter always took his part, because the Chancellor evidently leaned to the other side. Finally he said, ' Here is a charge which the accused will not be able to answer/ * Ah, sir,' said the Reporter, ' here is a plaster which will cure that weakness'; and he gave an excellent justification, adding, ' Sir, in the place I hold I shall always speak the truth, no matter in what form it presents itself to me.' The allusion to a plaster made the audience smile, as it reminded them of the one that has lately made so much noise. The accused, who remained only an hour in court, was then brought in, and when he left, M. d'Ormesson was complimented by several people on his firmness. " I must now tell you what I myself did. Guess which ladies of my acquaintance proposed to me to go to a house exactly opposite the Arsenal, where we could see the return of our poor friend. I was masked, but I saw him almost as soon as he came in sight. M. d'Artagnan was walking beside him, and fifty Musketeers were thirty or forty paces behind. When I saw him my legs trembled, and my heart beat so violently that I could scarcely bear it. In approaching us to re-enter his dungeon, M. d'Artagnan touched him, and pointed out that we were there. He then saluted us with that bright, smiling count- enance you know so well. I do not believe he recognised me, but I confess I was strongly affected when I saw him enter that little door. If you knew the misfortune of having a heart like mine I am sure you would pity me, but I do not think you have much advantage of me in that matter. . . ." 10 146 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Day by day hope and fear succeeded each other, as the trial went well or ill. Madame de Sevigne's well-balanced mind was stronger than her affectionate heart, which desired Foucquet's acquittal so intensely; we gather from her letters that she was never carried away by the illusions which so mis- led his relatives and some of his friends. When Mademoiselle de Scudery, a woman of quite unusual intellect, and looked up to by all her circle as a very oracle, hopes and believes that things are going well, the Marquise is not deluded by a similar optimism ; her faculty of fearlessly facing the truth will not allow her even this consolation. On December the pth she writes " I assure you the days are very tedious, and that this uncertainty is a frightful thing, but it is an evil to which the whole family of the poor prisoner has become accustomed. I have seen them, and admire them. One would think they had never known, never read the events that have happened in past times ; and what surprises me still more is that Sappho is the same ; she whose wit and penetration are unequalled. When I think over this circumstance, I deceive and persuade myself, or at least I try to persuade myself, that they know more of the affair than I do. On the other hand, when I reason with others less interested, whose judgment is reliable, I find the measures against him so just that it will be a real miracle if the affair terminates in the way we desire ... we sometimes lose by a single vote, but that vote is everything. . . . Yet at the bottom of my heart I still have a little hope ; I do not know whence it comes or where it leads, nor is it sufficient to make me sleep in peace. Yesterday I was talking over the affair with Madame du Plessis ; I cannot endure anyone just now but those with whom I can speak, and who have the same feelings as myself. She hopes as I do, without knowing the reason why. * But why do you hope ? ' ' Because I do.' These are our answers. Are they not reasonable? I told her with the greatest sincerity in the world that if the sentence should be as we desire, the height of my joy would be to despatch a man on horseback to you instantly with the delightful news, and that the pleasure of picturing your happiness on hearing it would make mine complete." FOUCQUET'S TRIAL 147 But Madame de Sevignd was to have no such pleasant news to communicate to her exiled friend. Foucquet had defrauded the State of immense sums even the Marquise admits that " the measures against him are so just " and the young King intended to make a signal example of him. Richelieu and Mazarin had both grown rich on the public money, and it was a well understood rule that those in power helped themselves liberally as occasion offered. But Louis XIV meant to have neither Richelieus nor Mazarins ; he intended above all things to govern by himself, and to understand the affairs of his kingdom. Colbert, whom Madame de Sevigne called the " North," was not so amiable as Foucquet, but he was a man of unquestioned integrity. It is a noticeable fact that during the reign of Louis XIV there were no more ministers who out-shone the King in splendour ; no Richelieu keeping up kingly state while the true King sat at his devotions in a badly furnished palace, disregarded even by his courtiers ; no grasping Mazarin to hoard the nation's wealth, to lavish it on works of art, or to squander it among the men who were his tools ; no Foucquet to live in royal splendour, and to give with more than royal generosity. From the day of Foucquet's arrest, all the glory, splendour, wealth, honour, and power of every kind centred in the Roi Soleil ; and if the nobles gave grand fetes it was for his pleasure and approval, and it probably was his pleasure that they nearly ruined themselves in doing so. Foucquet was a doomed man from the beginning. Colbert and le Tellier, who had caused his arrest, were determined on his ruin. Marechal Turenne was talking to a man who blamed the violence of Colbert, and praised the moderation of le Tellier. " True, sir," answered Turenne ; " M. Colbert has most desire that he should be hung, and M. le Tellier most fear that he should not be." By the middle of December, the case had been so far tried that his sentence became the subject of consideration. D'Ormesson suggested that Foucquet should be banished for life, and all his property confiscated. Sainte-Helene judged that the prisoner ought to suffer the death-penalty, but that the King might be merciful. Madame de Sevignd, with her usual graphic impressionism, gives Pomponne a glimpse of the 148 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS suspense which all the friends of Foucquet suffered at this crucial time. "Everybody is interested in this important affair. People talk of nothing else. One reasons, draws inferences, counts his chances on the fingers; one hopes, pities, fears, wishes, hates, admires, is overwhelmed ; in short, my dear sir, our present situa- tion is most extraordinary, but the resignation and firmness of our dear friend is admirable. He knows everything that goes on, and every day volumes might be written in his praise." On Saturday, December 20, the verdict was at length given, and the Marquise writes this short postscript to her letter " Praise God, Monsieur, and thank Him ; our poor friend is saved. Thirteen were of M. d'Ormesson's opinion, and nine of Sainte-He'lene's. My mind is so relieved that I am nearly beside myself." Two days after, the Marquise sent further interesting details to the Marquis de Pomponne, in which we find that Foucquet kept his attitude of defiant resistance to the last. His physician Pecquet and his servant Lavalee were greatly attached to their master, and it is significant of the rigour and personal enmity with which Foucquet was pursued, that these two perfectly innocent men were thrown into the Bastille, and kept there for a year and more, merely because they were the devoted servants of their unfortunate master. " Monday " This morning at ten o'clock M. Foucquet was conducted to the chapel of the Bastille. Foucaut held the sentence in his hand. ' You must tell me your name, sir,' said he, ' that I may know whom I address.' ' You know very well who I am,' replied M. Foucquet ; ' and as for my name, I will not give it here, just as I refused to give it in the Chamber of Justice ; by the same rule, also, I protest against the sentence you are going to read to me.' " Foucaut put on his hat and read out the sentence, while M. Foucquet listened bareheaded. Pecquet and Lavalee were afterwards separated from him, and the cries and tears of these poor men melted every heart that was not made of iron. They made such a terrible noise that M. d'Artagnan was obliged to go and console them, for it seemed to them as if a sentence of death had just been read to their master. They were both FOUCQUET CONDUCTED TO PIGNEROL 149 taken to a room in the Bastille, and it is not known what will be done with them. " M. Foucquet went to M. d'Artagnan's apartment. ... At eleven o'clock a coach was ready, into which M. Foucquet entered with four guards. M. d'Artagnan was on horseback with fifty Musketeers ; he will conduct him to Pignerol, where he will leave him in the care of Saint-Mars, who is a very worthy man ; he will have fifty soldiers as a guard. I do not know whether our friend will be allowed another servant ; you can have no idea how cruel it seems to everyone that Pecquet and Lavale'e should be taken from him; some draw dreadful con- clusions from it. May God preserve him as He has done hitherto. We must trust in Him, and leave our friend under the protection of that Divine Providence which has been so gracious to him. They still refuse to allow his wife to join him, but have permitted his mother to remain at Pare with her daughter the Abbess." There was not much real mercy shown to Foucquet. He was spared the death-penalty, and that was all ; and probably to linger for sixteen years in a dungeon at Pignerol, dead to his friends, with not even his wife to share his solitude, was worse, save for the disgrace, than death itself. We hear a few more last words of him from Madame de Sevigne, whose affection followed him step by step on his melancholy journey, and whose brilliant pen shows him to have been a man of singular fascination, with a bright, buoyant, and unconquerable spirit, that not even his long imprisonment in the Bastille, nor the dread prospect of Pignerol, was able to subdue. " Pecquet and Lavale'e are still in the Bastille," she writes to Pomponne a few days later. "Can anything in the world be more dreadful than this injustice? They have given another servant to our unfortunate friend. M. d'Artagnan was his only comfort on the journey. . . . " La Foret, his old esquire, came to speak to him as he was going away. " ' I am delighted to see you/ said Foucquet. ' I know your fidelity and affection. Tell the ladies of my family that my courage remains, and that I am in good health/ ISO THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS " Truly this is admirable. Adieu, my dear sir ; let us, like him, have courage. . . . " Madame de Grignan is dead." When the Marquise wrote this last piece of news to Pom- ponne, she had no idea of what an influence it would have on her own life. Madame de Grignan was Angelique d'Angennes, whom she had seen so often at the Hotel de Rambouillet, and was the first wife of the Comte de Grignan. This latter, after marrying another wife, and losing her also, was destined to become the son-in-law of the Marquise de Sevigne. The prison doors of Pignerol shut on Foucquet, and though he lived for a time in the hearts of the many whom he had befriended, little was ever heard of him again. He who had loved all the material pleasures of this world, who had surrounded himself with every luxury that art could produce to delight the eye or to gratify the senses, spent the last sad years of his life in a bare and miserable dungeon, which looked out on to a desolate courtyard where no one ever passed. Whether his bright, eager, kindly spirit chafed behind his prison bars, and hoped vainly for release, or whether, in answer to his pious mother's prayers, his thoughts turned to spiritual things, will never be known we only know that after fourteen long years of bitter expiation for his offences, Foucquet died. CHAPTER XV Madame de Sevigne introduces her daughter at Court "A beauty who will set the world on fire " Mademoiselle de Sevigne dances with the King Verses in her honour DURING the three years that Foucquet was in the Bastille, awaiting his celebrated trial, the Marquise experienced one of the greatest pleasures of her life, that of introducing her lovely young daughter Franchise to the Court and to the polite world of Paris. It is a little strange that though Madame de Sevigne was devoted to her children, and to her daughter especially, we hear very little of either of them during their childhood. Fortunately, the Abbe Arnauld, the son of the Port Royalist Arnauld d } Andilly, and brother to the Marquis de Pomponne, has written a charming miniature pen-portrait of the mother and her two lovely children, who were then nine and eleven years respectively. The Abbe was on a visit to Paris, and was staying at the house of the Chevalier Renaud de Sevigne'. " It was during this visit," he writes, " that M. de Sevigne* introduced me to the illustrious Marquise de Sevigne", his niece, whose very name is dear to those who value wit, charm, and virtue. ... I fancy I can see her still as she appeared to me on the day when I first had the honour of seeing her. She arrived in an open carriage with her son and daughter beside her, all three like the poets paint Latona accompanied by the young Apollo and the little Diana, so striking was the beauty of the mother and her children. She did me the honour to promise me her friendship from that time, and I consider myself particularly fortunate to have preserved till now a gift so dear and precious." Madame de Sevigne* herself records the impression that her children made on Pomponne, the Abbe's brother, at about the same period. Nearly twenty years after, he recalled it while 151 152 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS talking over bygone times with the Marquise, who, writing to her daughter that same evening, repeated his pleasant little reminiscence. "Monsieur de Pomponne remembers the day when he saw you as a little girl at my uncle SeVigne's house. You were at a window with your brother, more beautiful, he says, than an angel. You were pretending to be a prisoner, a princess banished from her father's house. Your brother was as handsome as you You were then nine years old. [She was eleven.] He reminded me of that day, and has never forgotten any of the times when he has seen you." Frangoise de SeVignd had been brought up chiefly under her mother's loving and wise superintendence, though we gather, from a few words of regret written by Madame de Sevigne, that for a short time at least her little daughter, then about ten years old, was sent to the convent of the Visitation at Nantes, naturally one of the establishments founded by her great-grandmother, the Blessed Chantal. She was taught Latin and Italian by the Marquise, and, under her almost constant supervision, received a solid and thorough education ; but she did not wear her learning with so light and winsome a grace as did her charming mother, who, it has been well said, " knew a great deal without professing to know any- thing." As she grew older the Abb< de la Mousse, a doctor of theology, was her tutor, or perhaps not so much a tutor as a friend in the household, whose learned and wise conversations were of great benefit to the expanding intelligence of the young girl. Under his influence she became a fervent disciple of Descartes, whose philosophy was frequently discussed in certain fashionable salons where Madame de SeVign^ and her daughter often visited before the latter's marriage. Drawn by a natural affinity, she turned to the Cartesian theories of cold reason with all the ardour of a strong intellect, unillumined and unwarmed by the generous heart which gave such grace and glow and tenderness to all the dainty blossoms of her mother's witty and cultivated mind. We get one slight reference to her as a child, which is not particularly pleasant ; but it is only justice to her to recall the fact that the other child concerned, Mademoiselle du Plessis A VISIT TO MONT SAINT-MICHEL 153 Argentre", her neighbour at Les Rochers, must have had a quite peculiar gift of irritation, for even the Marquise, with her equable temper, continually mentions in her letters what an unmitigated nuisance she is. " Ah ! " she exclaims many years later, in a letter to her daughter, "how few people there are who are absolutely true ! Consider the word a little and you will like it. The divine Plessis is most completely false. I do her too much honour even in speaking ill of her; she plays all kinds of characters ; the devotee, the skilful, the timorous, the indisposed, the amiable, but above all she mimics me in such a manner that it amuses me as much as would a glass that distorted my face, or an echo, like that of Hudibras, which answered nothing but nonsense." As a child this person cannot have been very charming, but the incident, as related by Madame de SeVigne, reveals the weakness of her maternal affection, and how almost impossible it was to her to believe her daughter in fault. " Finally we talked of Mademoiselle du Plessis, of the foolish things she used to say, and we recalled that one day, when she had made some absurd remark to you, with her face close to yours, you did not stand on ceremony, but gave her such a box on the ear that it made her stagger; and how I, to smooth matters a little, remarked, * How roughly these little girls play ! ' And how afterwards I said to her mother, * Madame, these two young creatures were so rough, that they actually fought this morning ; Mademoiselle du Plessis irritated my daughter, and my daughter slapped her ; it was most amusing.' And by the way in which I represented it, I delighted Madame du Plessis with the idea that the two little girls were so merry together." It is a much pleasanter reminiscence when she recalls to her daughter the occasion when the two drove together to visit the famous Mont Saint-Michel with its beautiful monastery and castle. Nearly thirty years later, while staying at Dol, she writes to Madame de Grignan : " From my room I can see the sea and Mont Saint-Michel, that noble hill which you have seen so proud, and which has seen you so beautiful ; I dwell on the remem- brance of that journey with much tenderness." Frangoise de SeVigne was only thirteen years old at the time, but she already gave promise of great beauty, for a Counsellor of Parlement, who 154 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS visited Mont Saint-Michel a week later, wrote to a friend at this date : " For the last month I have had the advantage of being the near neighbour of Madame de SeVigne, whose house is only two leagues from ours. This favourable situation has given me the opportunity of becoming better acquainted with her than merely by the well-deserved report of her worth. . . . Made- moiselle her daughter is another marvel, of whom I will say nothing further than "Vous la verrez, si vous ne 1'avez vue, Vous la verrez, de mille attraits pourvue, Briller d'un eclat sans pareil ; Et vous direz, en la voyant paraltre : C'est un soleil qui ne fait que de naitre Dans le sein d'un autre soleil." Mademoiselle de Sevign< must have been an exquisitely lovely girl when her mother first took her to Court. She was then sixteen, for life began much earlier for girls in France of the seventeenth century than it does to-day. Her beauty was of a blonde type, with the colouring of the hair and eyes slightly darker than that of her mother, which emphasised the delicate perfection of her features and dazzling complexion. Treville, who at Court was regarded as an oracle on such matters, declared that " her beauty would set the world on fire " ; and her cousin Bussy, with the pardonable pride of a relative, called her " the prettiest girl in France." As we look at her portrait, painted by Mignard more than ten years later, it is easy to understand what an exquisite flower-like loveliness the living, animated original must have possessed in all the dainty freshness of youth, when she first appeared among the powdered, patched, and highly rouged dames of the Louvre. In these years at Court before her marriage, her beauty won for her a brilliant and undisputed success, and whenever she appeared in the great world, a chorus of praise and flattery greeted her on all sides, which probably gratified the heart of her loving and indulgent mother more than any tribute to her own charms had ever done. But even this triumphant, unquestioned loveliness had its drawback, plainly in this instance the defect of its fair quality. It is the Marquise who tells us this intimate little secret, and at the same time we discover that she too had "THE PRETTIEST GIRL IN FRANCE" 155 suffered the same overwhelming annoyance in her own youth. Long years after this, when writing of her granddaughter, she says " It is a very fortunate thing that Pauline has not the defect of blushing. It has been, as you say, a real drawback to your beauty, as it was to mine when I was young. When I found that I was not troubled with this ridiculous inconvenience, I would not change myself for anyone else. This is a persecution inflicted by the devil upon vanity. In short, my child, it forced you to leave balls and assemblies, though everyone constantly spoke of you as a beauty. ... I really think people do not blush so much as they used." But blushing in a beauty of sixteen is rarely regarded by other people as a grave defect, in spite of the real annoyance caused to its victim ; and Mademoiselle de Sevigne, who had inherited from her mother the grace of perfect dancing, had been only a short time at Court when she was chosen by the King to dance in the ballets given at the Palais Royal. At no time in the history of France, or indeed of any other nation, have ballets been given under quite the same circumstances as during these and the few following years. The Grand Monarque who ruled so autocratically, who gradually broke the pride of his courtiers and nobles till there was only one will at Court his own ; who was looked on as the source of all good and evil, and who, even by the bold, rebuking Bossuet, was once referred to as a deity this Grand Monarque appeared before his courtiers, foreign ambassadors, and those of the wealthy bourgeoisie who were fortunate enough to gain admittance to the fetes, as a dancer, in the same plays as Moliere and other actors ! Well might the cynical la Rochefoucauld remark that " Everything happens in France ! " Of course ballads were made on the subject and sung by the Parisians, " Pont-Neufs " as they were called, because all scandals or events of importance found their way into ballads and songs, which were hawked by thousands on the Pont-Neuf ; and Madame de Motteville records that all libels against the Court, and presumably other libels too, were placed on a con- spicuous post on the same famous bridge. As everyone knows, there had been ballets before this. They had been given during the reign of Louis xni, and in the 156 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Regency; but never had such care, such resources, such expenditure been lavished upon them, since never before had the King appeared as a public dancer. The ballet was not merely a play; it was a superb melange in which the art of the decorator, of the poet, of the musician, and of the actor was called forth to its uttermost. Benserade, the Court poet, composed the verses, but the brilliant Moliere frequently aided him with flashes of suggestion, and was often among the players. The scenery, the decorations, the costumes, were the most superb that could be procured, and the great hall of the Palais Royal on evenings when the ballets were given appeared a veritable fairy-land. The audience itself was part of the glittering spectacle. It is not difficult to imagine that great crowd of brilliant courtiers ; the ladies in velvets, rich brocades, and silks, their hair " dressed in a thousand curls"; patched, rouged, and powdered, with priceless jewels gleaming from their necks and arms and hair, or sewn with cunning embroidery among the laces of their corsage. Can we not hear those dainty, perfumed, smiling dames as, with bright eyes gleaming above their fans with mischief, or love, or malice, they whisper comments, criticisms, and satires to the admiring gallants near them ? Those gallants who, in their silken and velvet garments, their lace ruffles, their shoes with red heels and diamond buckles, their plumed hats and short embroidered mantles, were not one whit behind the ladies in the matter of gaudy plumage ! What a privilege it was to those who were not of this brilliant world to be allowed to witness these wonderful representations ! Sometimes, by good fortune, foreigners were admitted to the ambassadors' seats, and it is from the journal of two young Dutchmen that we have a record of one such memorable evening. They were so anxious to obtain good seats, that they went as early as three in the afternoon, though the ballet did not begin till nine. Through their eyes we see the grande salle lighted with so many candles in the chandeliers that the hall is as brilliant as if it were broad day ; we see young nobles showing guests to their seats, and giving them a copy of the vers du ballet, which ran to fifteen pages, printed by Robert Ballard, the famous printer of music to the King, whose descendants inherited A BALLET ROYAL 157 the valuable privilege, till the Revolution came and abolished privilege of all kinds. But the Revolution was as yet undreamed of! Was not the Roi Soleil about to dance before the eyes of his adoring courtiers ? It was on January 8, 1663, when Mademoiselle de SeVign< was sixteen, that she first danced in a ballet with the King, the famous Ballet des Arts about which so much has been said and written and sung. An infant daughter of the King and Queen, aged six weeks, had died just ten days before, but all the preparations had been made for the ballet, and such an unimportant event as the death of one of his legitimate children was not allowed to interfere with the amusement of the King! The representation was given in the great hall of the Palais Cardinal, that superb mansion built by Richelieu, which is known to-day as the Palais Royal. In the first entree the King came on as a shepherd, dancing with the most lovely shepherdesses of the Court. There was Madame, the wife of Monsieur the King's brother, the gay and gracious Princesse Henriette, young, laughter-loving, frivolous, who, with the King, was constantly seeking and inventing new pleasures and diversions; the brilliant and haughty Mademoiselle de Mortemart, on the eve of becoming Madame de Montespan, as yet unaware of her future role in France ; the beautiful Mademoiselle de Saint- Simon, parfaitement belle et sage, said her brother, the prince of chroniclers ; and the young, exquisitely fair Mademoiselle de Se'vigne, who surpassed them all in absolute perfection of feature. Benserade, the Court poet, wrote flattering verses for all these fair ladies, and of Mademoiselle de Sevigne' he said " Deja cette beaute fait craindre sa puissance, Et pour nous mettre en butte a d'extremes dangers, Elle entre justement dans Page ou Ton commence A distinguer les loups d'avecque les bergers." In the seventh entree of the ballet the King and these same ladies came on again ; and this time Madame was Minerva, while the demoiselles de Mortemart, de Saint-Simon, and de Sevigne were her attendant Amazons, with Mademoiselle de la 158 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Vallicrc, who to her shame and life-long sorrow loved the King too well. We may imagine something, though scarcely all, of Madame de Se*vignc"s maternal pride and delight in the brilliant success of her lovely young daughter, who, as she confessed, was "the only passion of her heart, the pleasure and sweetness of her life." Years after, she recalled these triumphs to her daughter, and reminded her of the almost unique representation at which she had assisted. " There were," she wrote, " four persons, including the late Madame, whom it would be difficult to replace in whole centuries for their beauty, their exquisite youth, and for their dancing. Oh, what shepherdesses ! what Amazons 1 " The Ballet dcs Arts was superb, said everyone, and the King, well pleased at its undoubted success, gave it again early in the following year, with the same shepherdesses and the same Amazons. A month after, in 1664, Mademoiselle de ScVignc* had the honour of being chosen to take part in another representa- tion. This time she was a sea-nymph in the ballet entitled Amours tlcguist'Si and her companions were Madame de Montespan, Madame de Vibraye, and Mademoiselle d'Elbceuf. Monsieur the King's brother was a sea-god, and the Marquis de Villeroy and the Marquis de Rossan were sea-gods also. In the verses for Mademoiselle de ScVigne* on this occasion, Benscrade included her mother also " Vous travcstir ainsi, c'cst bicn Otre ingenu, Amour ! c'cst commc si, pour n'ctrc pas connu, Avcc unc innocence extr6me, Vous vous d^guisiez en vous-mrnu-. Elle a vos traits, vos feux et voiiv air rn;\uvani, Et, de mcmc que vous, sourit en 6gorgeant. Enfin qui fit Tune a fait Tantiv ; Kt jusqucs & sa mere, elle est commc la v6tre." As may be seen from these lines, Madame de SeVigne' was not eclipsed even by the brilliant beauty and attractions of her young daughter. Poets still sang the charms of the Marquise, who, although she was thirty-six when she first introduced her daughter at Court, yet appeared to her admirers "always fresh and always fair " ; and with her gay wit and cheery wisdom, her warm and generous heart, which gave such a genial grace to her E CBFCNAN TGU/S f7o5| MADEMOISELLE DE sVIGNfc AT COURT 159 charming manner, she was welcomed wherever she appeared, and was unquestionably much more popular in society than her beautiful and clever daughter. In 1665, Mademoiselle de Sevigne danced yet once again with the King. In the ballet royal of the Naissance de V^nus the King came on in the second part as Alexander, the Marquis de Rossan was Hercules, Madame was Roxana, and Made- moiselle de Sevigne was Omphale. From Benserade's verse on the latter we gather something of the success of the young beauty in that brilliant Court " Blondins accoutumes a faire des conquetes, Devant ce jeune objet si charmant et si doux, Tous grands heros que vous etes, II ne faut pas laisser pourtant de filer doux. L'ingrate foule aux pieds Hercule et sa massue ; Quelle que soit 1'offrande, elle n'est point re9ue : Elle verroit mourir le plus fidele amant, Faute de 1'assister d'un regard seulement. Injust precede, sotte fa^on de faire, Que la pucelle tient de madame sa mere, Et que la bonne dame, au courage inhumain, Se lassant aussi peu d'etre belle que sage, Encore tous les jours applique a son usage, Au detriment du genre humain." It would have been scarcely possible, scarcely human, indeed, for the brilliant young beauty to have passed through such public triumphs without attracting marked and dangerous attention. It was a great distinction to have been chosen to dance with the King, but when to this was added her "exquisite youth," her delicate beauty, her graceful figure and perfect dancing, it is not surprising to learn that she roused a good deal of interest among the Court gallants. The King's favourite, the handsome young Marquis de Villeroy, who, from his personal attractions and notorious gallantries, had been nick- named "the charming," paid assiduous attention to this fresh young beauty, and the circumstance was quickly noted by watchful eyes at Court. From the Court, as was the invariable custom, the news spread to the town, and chansons on the subject were sung in the streets and sold on the Pont-Neuf. But what else could have been expected ? 160 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS "Who plays, pays," and particularly when one plays on a public stage ! But Madame de Sevigne kept a jealous watch over her daughter, and however undesirable and annoying it might be to find her the subject of street songs, she took every precaution to guard her from all actual harm or evil. These were the humiliating penalties exacted by such a pronounced public success; for Court life in those days was so public, so exposed to the curious among the multitude, that few events escaped the popular eye or tongue. Indeed, it has been said that no history of that time could be complete without consulting the street ballads. In spite of these drawbacks, however, Mademoiselle de Sevigne everywhere reaped the triumphs of her striking and undisputed beauty ; and these were brilliant years both for the Marquise and her daughter. But unalloyed success and unbroken happiness is no one's portion for long, and Madame de Se'vigne', in the height of her triumph at her daughter's success and distinction at Court, was deeply wounded again by a disgraceful affair which she had been led to believe was finished. CHAPTER XVI A reconciliation between the Marquise and her cousin Bussy Letters of explanation The Marquise writes a clear summing-up of his offences The Comte finally sues for mercy, and is pardoned by his cousin WHEN, at the time of Foucquet's arrest, the innocent letters of Madame de Sevigne to the Surintendant were causing so much undeserved gossip and scandal in Paris, the Marquise had been especially grateful to her cousin, the Comte de Bussy, for the valiant defence he had made of her good name. She was particularly touched that, in spite of their serious quarrel concerning her " villainous portrait," he had apparently forgotten all the rancour her indignant reproaches might have caused him, to come forward as her champion against their too-censorious world. Then, having been assured that the offending manuscript had been burned at the house of Madame de Montglas, the Marquise, whose spirit was too generous to harbour resentment long, allowed herself to be reconciled to her cousin. She, whom he had called so avaricious, so miserly towards her friends, had even lent him four thousand francs, when Bussy, in perennial need of money, went in August 1663 to join the army in Lorraine. Their friendship was apparently on as firm a foundation as ever. In the autumn of 1664, Bussy met his cousin at her manor of Bourbilly in Burgundy, and, as the Marquise herself declares, she was " more than ever enchanted with his society." But this happy renewal of friendship was not to last long. As we have seen, though the original manuscript of the Histoire amoureuse had been burned, a copy of it had been taken by a spiteful woman, Madame de la Baume, whom Bussy had once loved and then neglected. To revenge herself, she treacherously allowed copies to be taken of her copy ; nor was this the worst. Bussy had disguised the heroes and heroines of his Histoire ii 1 62 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS amoureuse under fictitious names, and though the originals were easily guessed at, the artifice gave at least a little clothing of decency, thin mask though it was, to the disgraceful facts ; but even this was now thrown aside. Scandalous truths were added ; libels on the King, Queen, and ladies of the Court were inserted ; a key, giving the real names of all the fictitious persons, was appended, and in this aggravated form, infinitely worse than the original, the book was printed at Liege early in the year 1665. The consternation and wrath of those who were thus publicly, without the least disguise, held up to ridicule, and worse than ridicule, may be imagined without difficulty. They demanded punishment for Bussy ; they declared that these libels on the King and Court came from his hand ; and Bussy was conducted to the Bastille. Madame de Sevigne, deeply wounded at what she considered the fresh treachery of her cousin, was annoyed beyond measure at this new development. It had been humiliating enough to know that her portrait in manuscript had circulated among the society she daily frequented, but now, as she said, to find herself in the libraries, to meet her portrait everywhere, was almost beyond endurance. Perhaps, however, someone represented to her that Bussy had not been quite so blamable as appeared at first ; for we find that a year after, when Bussy, seriously ill, was allowed to leave the Bastille to undergo an operation, Madame de Sevigne was the first among his friends who visited him. Then when Bussy, leaving the house of Balance, his surgeon, in September, was allowed to retire to Chaseu, his estate in Burgundy, in place of being confined in the Bastille, the Marquise, grieving that his career should be broken by exile just at the time when his bravery and long service should have been rewarded by promotion, wrote him sympathetic letters, which reveal a true interest in his welfare, though the old tone of confidence is lacking. In 1667, she says, "The whole Court is at camp, and the whole camp is at Court. . . . My heart has felt most favourably towards you since I have seen so many people eager to begin, or rather, to recommence the profession in which you gained so much honour during the time you were occupied in it. It is a sad thing for a man of courage to be confined at home when there are such great doings BUSSY IN EXILE 163 in Flanders. As you feel, no doubt, all that a man of spirit and bravery can feel, it is not very wise of me to revive so painful a subject. I hope you will pardon me in consideration of the great interest I take in your affairs. "It is said that you have written to the King. Send me a copy of your letter, arid give me a little information concerning your mode of life ; what you do to amuse yourself, and whether the improvements you are making in your house do not greatly contribute to it. As for me, I have spent the winter in Brittany, where I have planted a great number of small trees, and a labyrinth where one will require Ariadne's clue to find the way out of it. I have also purchased some land, to which I have said, as usual, * I shall make you into a park/ I have ex- tended my walks, too, but this has cost me very little. My daughter sends you a thousand remembrances. I send mine to all your family." The correspondence between the two cousins was continued for some time, but there was no longer the old buoyant delight and mutual sympathy. Once, when Bussy had waited six months for an answer to one of his letters, he reproached her with the delay, and Madame de SeVigne took the opportunity of reminding him of the Italian proverb, " The offender never pardons." Taking this for a text, Bussy writes her a long, grieved letter, in which he says, " Why tell me that I do not forgive the wrong I have done you, since I have asked your pardon a thousand times, and you have promised as many times to think no more about it? It seems to me, however, that from time to time you repent of having pardoned me." This intuition of Bussy's was probably very near the truth. Madame de Sevign^ must have occasionally felt that he had transgressed against her almost beyond complete forgiveness ; and when, in the same letter, he accuses her of with- holding her friendship and interest because he is in exile, and "out of fashion," she could no longer contain the just indigna- tion, the bitter sadness of heart, that his base conduct had caused her. About seven weeks after, she writes him a letter in which she places all the circumstances of their difference before him, and then asks him to judge impartially, as if he were a third, uninterested person, who is the real offender. 164 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS " PARIS, July 26, 1668 " I wish to begin by answering in two words your letter of the Qth of June, and then our case will be finished. . . . " Learn from me, my cousin, that it is not customary to accuse me of indifference towards my friends. I have many other faults, but not that. Such a fancy exists only in your imagination, and I have before this shown proofs of generosity towards people who were in disgrace which have done me honour among many I could name if I wished. I do not believe, then, that I deserve this reproach, and you may strike this item from the list of my shortcomings. But let us talk of you. " We are relations, and of the same blood. We please each other, we love each other, we are each interested in the other's welfare. You asked me to advance money to you on the ten thousand crowns which you were soon to receive as a legacy from M. de Chalon. You say I refused you, while I say I lent it to you ; for you know well, and our friend Corbinelli is witness to it, that my heart was at once willing, and that while we were settling some formalities to obtain the consent of Neucheze that I might receive the legacy instead of you, you became impatient. Then, having unfortunately found me sufficiently imperfect in body and mind to be a subject for you to make a very pretty portrait of, you made it ; and you preferred the pleasure of being praised for your work to our old friendship, to our name, and even to justice itself. You know that a lady, a friend of yours, generously obliged you to burn it. She believed you had done so, and I believed it -also ; and some time after, hearing that you had done wonders in the affair of M. Foucquet and me, this conduct completely brought me round. I was reconciled to you on my return from Brittany, and you know with what sincerity ! You remember also our journey to Burgundy, and with what frankness I gave you again all the share you had ever had in my friendship. I came away delighted with your society. There were people who said to me at that time, ' I have seen your portrait in the hands of Madame de la Baume; I have seen it.' I answered them only by a disdainful smile, pitying those who were so absurd as to believe A SUMMING-UP OF BUSBY'S OFFENCES 165 their own eyes. ' I have seen it,' I was told again a week after, and again I smiled. I repeat it laughingly to Corbinelli. I again put on the incredulous smile which has already served me on two occasions, and I remain for five or six months in this ignorance, pitying those who laughed at me. At last the unhappy day came when I myself saw, and with my own ' parti-coloured ' eyes, what I had refused to believe. If horns had grown out of my head I should have been less astonished. I read and re-read that cruel portrait. I should have thought it very clever if it had been written of anyone else than me, or by any other person than you. I even found it so well introduced, and so appropriately placed in the book, that I had not the consolation of believing it could have been done by any other than you. I recognised it by several things I had heard rather than by the painting of my character, which I entirely disown. Finally, I saw you at the Palais Royal, where I told you that the book was in circulation. You tried to persuade me that someone had made that portrait from memory and had it printed. But I no longer believed you. . . . "To be in the hands of everyone; to find oneself in print ; to serve as a book of amusement for all the provinces, where such things cause irreparable harm ; to meet oneself in the libraries, and to receive this injury from whom ? I will not extend my reasons further; you have a good understanding, and I am sure that if you reflect for only a quarter of an hour, you will see them, and you will feel them as I do. Nevertheless, what did I do when you were arrested ? With utter sadness in my soul I force myself to make you com- pliments ; I complain of your misfortune ; I even talk of it in society, and speak my opinion of the behaviour of Madame de la Baume so freely, that I become embroiled with her. When you come out of prison I visit you several times ; I bid you good-bye when I set out for Brittany; I have written to you, since you have been at home, quite freely and without bitter- ness. . . . " This is what I wish to say for once in my life, and to beg you to erase from your mind the idea that I am in the wrong. Keep my letter and read it again if ever the fancy occurs to you to believe such a thing, and be as just as if you were judging 1 66 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS a case between two other persons. Do not let your interest see what does not exist ; confess that you have cruelly offended against the friendship that was between us, and I am disarmed. But do not believe that if you merely answer I can always remain silent, for that would be impossible ; I shall never cease to write, and in place of the two words I promised you I shall write two thousand ; and at last I shall do so much by letters of a cruel length and mortal dulness, that I shall compel you, in spite of yourself, to beg for pardon, that is to say, to sue for your life. Do so, then, with a good grace. " For the rest, when you were bled I felt the effect of it. Was it not the i/th of this month? Exactly : it did me all the good in the world ; pray accept my thanks for it. I am so difficult to bleed that it is a charity on your part to allow your arm to be bled instead of mine. . . ." This last is a little bit of nonsense of Madame de Sevigne's, who always declared that there was such an affinity between herself and her cousin, that when anything happened to the one it affected the other. She probably wrote it at the end of her long arraignment in order that the whole letter might not have a bitter flavour throughout. The Comte de Bussy, with more leisure than he wished in his exile, the same day he received this letter wrote an answer to Madame de SeVign^ fully as long, justifying himself where he could, explaining that what had made him so angry over the desired loan was the attitude of her lawyer, who talked of sending to make inquiries in Burgundy, while he was in press- ing, immediate need of the money to take him to the seat of war at once, that he might not be regarded as a laggard. He also gave a new version of how the portrait got into print. " I pass by your condemnation of the portrait, Madame, for no one could possibly blame me for that more than I blame myself; but you ought to learn something else about it that you do not know. That friend so generous, who, you say, obliged me to burn the portrait, obliged you very cheaply. First, after having enjoyed the pleasure of having heard it read, she begged me to tear it up ; and this I did into a thousand BUSSY CAPITULATES 167 pieces in front of her. To tell the truth, I had not left the room when her husband, who was present, gathered together the pieces, to the tiniest morsel, and put them together again so well that he copied it, and showed it to me three days after. I confess to you that I was seized with the desire of having it again, and that some time after, being on friendly terms with Madame de la Baume, she had the ridiculous brochure from me, which she published as you know. . . ." It was a sordid story in whatever form the Marquise heard it ; a story of bad faith, treachery, and meanness that must have made her own frank and noble heart sick with disgust. Bussy goes on trying to justify himself with his plausible and subtle skill, but such repetitions and justifications, however interesting they may have been to the two cousins, are of little interest to us of to-day. One circumstance, however, that Bussy mentions, gives us a piquant glimpse of the fashion in which prisoners at the Bastille received visits. " All my friends except you," he tells her with reproach, " came to see me at the moat near the windows of the Bastille. . . ." Madame de Sevigne, when she answers this letter at her leisure, scorns his excuses, and refuses to receive them. She does not approve of his efforts at sheltering himself behind the ladies of his acquaintance. " Do not tell me again," she writes, " that it is the fault of anyone else ; it is not true . . . the fault is entirely your own." Indeed, the whole letter is very bracing, though there is not a trace of malice or ill-feeling. She merely shows him, by the plainest demonstration, what a disloyal friend and faithless relative he has been. Bussy feels himself vanquished, and at last sues for his life, as she had demanded. " I have begged for life, and you would kill me at your feet ; that is a little inhuman. I did not think that pretty women could be so cruel except in love affairs. Cease then, petite brutale, to desire to whip a man who throws himself at your feet, who confesses his fault and beseeches you to pardon him. If you are not yet content with the terms I use in this encounter, send me the model of the satisfaction which you desire, and I will return it to you written and signed with my own hand, countersigned by a secretary, and sealed with the seal of my arms. What more would you have ? . . ." 168 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS The Marquise did not desire more. She had written to him fully of all the grief and chagrin and unhappiness his conduct had caused her; she had had that satisfaction, so dear, it is said, to women, of proving her opponent in the wrong, and, what was more, of making him confess it ; and now she was her own gracious, kindly self again, willing to send him a full, free pardon. " PARIS, September 4, 1668 " Rise, Comte ; I would not kill you at my feet, or take your sword to renew the combat. But it is better that I should give you life, and that we should live in peace. I exact only one condition ; that is, that you should own the thing just as it happened. This is a very generous proceeding on my part, and you can no longer call me a petite brutale. . . . Adieu, Comte. Now that I have conquered you, I shall say everywhere that you are the bravest man in France ; and whenever remarkable duels are talked of I shall relate ours. . . ." CHAPTER XVII Suitors for the hand of Mademoiselle de Sevigne A vain young beauty The Due de Caderousse Monsieur de Merinville " The prettiest girl in France " unmarried at twenty-three She is betrothed to a widower with two young daughters BY an odd, malign chance, it was during the time when the Comte de Bussy's malice and treachery was bearing its most bitter fruit, that Madame de SeVigne was, by her daughter's social success, most prominently before the society of the Court ; and to the Marquise, so keenly sensitive to impressions, the trial must have been exceptionally severe. But probably her own annoyance was partly atoned for by her daughter's success. Each year some fresh distinction awaited the young beauty. In 1666 La Fontaine dedicated to her his Lion amoureux, which was not, however, published till 1668. It begins "Sevigne, de qui les attraits Servent aux Graces de modele, Et qui naquites toute belle, A votre indifference pres ..." The rather spoiled young lady had already shown herself to be cold and proudly indifferent to those who sought her smiles, and La Fontaine made a gentle and guarded allusion to this, which was, however, well enough understood. The gallant Menage, always delighted to pose as the slave and adorer of pretty young girls, addressed to her a madrigal in Italian, the language which he had taught her mother ; and the hunchbacked poet, Saint-Pavin, whom she often met at Livry, now wrote epistles in verse to the daughter, as years before he had written them to Marie de Rabutin-Chantal. But Mademoiselle did not receive all this homage with the gracious and winning charm that had so endeared her mother 169 170 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS even to some of those whose advances she had been obliged to check. She was cold and slightly haughty in her manner, with much more intellect than heart. She would probably have been something of a bluestocking if social affairs had not fully occupied her time. Among her brother's friends was the Comte de Saint-Paul, that youngest son of the Duchesse de Longueville who had been born at the Hotel de Ville, and the story goes that he paid a good deal of attention to the clever young beauty, who one day, in reply to \tis JUurettts> flippantly quoted in Latin, " Saul, Saul, quid me persequeris ? " Her mother records, too, that another time when a foreigner, M. Dietriechen, was mentioned, Mademoiselle de Sevigne gave her opinion : "He is very much like the Due de Beaufort," said she, " except that he speaks better French ! " A witticism that was received with delighted laughter, for the Due de Beaufort was noted for his coarse language, which was more suited to the streets than to the polished society of his compeers. She was fond of argument, too, and quite willing to uphold a bad cause for this reason ; in which she was singularly unlike her mother and her brother, who always greatly preferred to agree with their friends. And in many other qualities she was a complete contrast to the charming Marquise. We never find a trace of personal vanity in Madame de Sevigne's letters ; on the contrary, she frequently laughed at her little defects, and pretended to see her own flat-tipped nose in that of her grand- daughter Blanche. But Mademoiselle, her daughter, was no such unconscious beauty. She, whose face was so perfect in form and colouring that she might well have left the care of it to Nature, was over-anxious to preserve it in all its freshness ; and, quite unintentionally, the Marquise has told for all time the little artifices that her daughter practised. They are by no means grave faults in a girl, however. They merely amusingly serve to show that vain beauty is singularly alike in all ages and conditions of life, whether the means used be the latest concoctions of the " beauty doctors," or the simpler methods of the seventeenth century, before vanity was so systematically exploited by business cunning. A FfiTE AT VERSAILLES 171 " What is become of the time when you would eat nothing but a woodcock's head for fear of becoming too fat ? " she asks years afterwards. And another time she whimsically recalls how, as a young girl, her daughter, in anointing her face to get rid of her pimples, "had contemplated herself in essence, like a chicken in a pie." The Abbe de la Mousse, her tutor, noting one day some exhibition of girlish vanity, reminded her of the fleeting nature of beauty. " Mademoiselle," he remarked gravely, " those charms will all decay some day." "That may be, Monsieur," pertly replied his pretty pupil, " but they are not decayed yet ! " When Mademoiselle de Sevigne had been some years at Court, and was about twenty -one or twenty -two, it was whispered by jealous and malicious tongues that the King, visibly colder to la Valliere, was thinking of choosing Mademoiselle de Sevigne' as her successor! His Majesty was at this period undoubtedly giving great distinctions to the young lady and her mother. On the i8th of July 1668, they were both guests at the famous fete given at Versailles in the chateau and gardens, as yet in an unfinished condition. Only three hundred ladies were invited to this fete galante^ which was one of the most exclusive given at Versailles by Louis XIV. The guests, already dressed in festive costume for the day, drove, early in the morning, from Paris to Versailles, where they found that the apartments had been specially decorated and perfumed for the occasion, and, so that the visitors might not be embarrassed by the laws of etiquette, the King and royal family had retired to a pavilion in the gardens. On their arrival, the guests sat down to a repast; after which they descended to the gardens, where small carriages were in waiting to drive them, accompanied by the young Queen, round the park and gardens. These carriages, in fact, were placed all day at the service of the visitors, to convey them from one entertainment to another without fatigue or loss of time. There were many English at this fete, the most notable of whom was the ill-fated Duke of Monmouth, who paid conspicu- ous attention all that day to the equally ill-fated Madame, the beautiful Henriette of England. No entertainment at that 172 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS time was complete without a comedy, and the famous Georges Dandin by Moliere was given for the first time in the park of Versailles. But the chief event of the day, or rather the evening, was the supper ; and at this banquet both Madame de Sevigne and her daughter were at the King's table, a distinction that we may be sure was commented on freely. Curiously enough, Mesdames de la Valliere, de Montespan, and de Maintenon, were all at this fete ; de Montespan already scheming to supplant de la Valliere, and the humble " widow Scarron " was suing for a small pen- sion, entirely unaware of the barren and disappointing splendour the future held for her. These and similar distinctions from the King set the Court gossips on the qui vive. Already reports of the King's attentions to Mademoiselle de SeVigne were finding their way into letters. Madame de Montmorency, who sent to Bussy in his exile all the gossip and scandal of the Court, wrote on the I5th of July, three days before the fete, that the King was paying attention to Mademoiselle de SeVigne with the intention of making her the successor to Mademoiselle de la Valliere. " But this is still very feeble," she added. Bussy answered this at once, and he, always seeking his own advancement, frankly declared the pleasure the news gave him : " I should be very glad if the King did become attached to Mademoiselle de SeVigne," he wrote, " for that young lady is among my very good friends, and he could not do better than take her for a mistress." Bussy's troubles had not changed him. This nobleman of long and honourable descent, who openly confessed that he sought his own advancement when advising his cousin to smile graci- ously on the attentions of Foucquet and the Prince de Conti, now rejoices that his lovely young relative is attracting the notice of the King ; for through her, one guesses without difficulty, he hopes to repair his damaged fortunes, and to get release from his wearisome exile. But Madame de Sevigne kept faithful guard over her young daughter, and she who had been so jealous of her own reputa- tion would not lightly have allowed her daughter to be robbed of womanhood's most precious jewel. " Her devotion to her young sovereign had its limits," sagely remarks a biographer. MADEMOISELLE DE SVIGNfi 173 Nor had she waited till then to instil into her daughter the precepts of honour and virtue. Mademoiselle de Sdvigne had been too well brought up to buy any grandeur at the expense of her good name. She has been reproached by many writers with too much indifference ; of being so cold by temperament that she found it no temptation to resist the King's advances. But the firmness that repels has nothing picturesque or dramatic in its quality ; and those who can lightly bewail the lost virtue of the frail and gentle Louise de la Valliere, or write with pleasant deprecation of the magnificence of the haughty and venal Montespan, would probably find such firmness a trifle too austere for interest. But one doubts not that M. de Grignan had full satisfaction in the unassailable honour of his wife, and that he probably did not object to her coldness to others it was not a common fault at the Court of Louis XIV ! since she was a loving and faithful wife to him. The line of simple duty and virtue has never made much stir in the world. Many people, including the Comte de Bussy, have accused the Marquise de Sevigne with being cold, and "too much in love with her own reputation " ; but her solicitous care that that jewel of price should never be dimmed, has preserved, not only for those of her own day, but for millions of posterity, a striking and praiseworthy example. She was a woman of brilliant attractions, with a frank enjoyment of the pleasures of the world, and was not indifferent to its honours ; she was sought by a crowd of seductive triflers, and surrounded by potent temptations, but she has come through the fire unstained and untainted, a shining example of purity in a Court and society where absolutely impregnable virtue was not reckoned among the most estimable or popular attractions. How different would have been the effect of the life of Madame de Sevigne, had either she or her daughter succumbed to the evil influences that beset them in the Court of Louis Quatorze ! Besides belonging to the exclusive circle near the person of the King, Mademoiselle de Sevigne was taken by her mother to many of the salons of Parisian society where the Marquise had long been a welcome guest. Madame de la Fayette was always ailing, but she was nevertheless always at home to some of the " best talkers " in Parisian society ; and though the 174 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Marquise and her daughter were among her most frequent visitors, we hear more of the evenings they spent at the H6tel de Nevers, which had taken the place, in some degree, of the Hotel de Rambouillet. At this period there was no more cele- brated hostess in Paris than Madame du Plessis Guenegaud. Foucquet had been an intimate friend of the family, and M. du Plessis Guenegaud, who was Secretary of State, and enormously rich, was for a time involved in Foucquet's disgrace and sent into exile. But in 1665, when the late Surintendant was under safe keeping in a dungeon at Pignerol, M. de Guenegaud was per- mitted to return to Paris, and the Hotel de Nevers once again opened its hospitable doors to a polished and brilliant society. Madame de Sevigne always called her intimacy with Madame du Plessis Guenegaud a reflected friendship, because they had become acquainted though the Marquis de Pomponne, over their mutual distress and interest at Foucquet's trial. But the Marquise was soon welcomed on her own account, and was frequently at the Hotel de Nevers. When Pomponne was recalled from exile, in 1665, he wrote a letter describing an evening he had spent there after his return. Among the numerous company were Madame de Sevigne and her daughter, Madame de la Fayette, and the Due de la Rochefoucauld ; Boileau the critic, who pricked so many bubbles of reputation with his caustic pen, was there also, reading one of his satires before publication ; and Racine read a part of his Alexandre y which was not played till the end of the year. The Great Century was now in its golden prime ; the King, though furiously devoted to pleasure, was governing well and wisely ; encouraging the development of arts and manufactures, and by his gracious approval and patronage stimulating the literary men to give of their best. In place of Voiture, the Scuderys, and all the lesser lights of the Hotel de Rambouillet, there was now at the Hotel de Nevers, Corneille, the one star of magnitude that had given a glory to the former salon, and, in addition, Moliere, Racine, La Fontaine, de la Rochefoucauld, and Boileau a very constellation of brilliant literary stars, the like of which was never before seen at any other period of French history. Graceful little literary games were played at the Hotel de Nevers, in which Mademoiselle de Sevigne and the two young MADEMOISELLE DE SfiVIGNfi'S SUITORS 175 daughters of the house eagerly took part. Here, too, came the Due de Caderousse, who became one of the suitors for the hand of Mademoiselle de Sevigne. But the Marquise, whose good sense and penetration were rarely at fault, did not overlook the fact that he was a dissipated young man who was a gambler, and not likely to make a good husband ; therefore, in spite of his great position, this suitor was refused. The Due de Caderousse, however, determined to have one of this charming group of girls, married the elder of the daughters of Madame du Plessis Guenegaud, and in a few short years the unhappiness of this marriage proved how wise the Marquise had been to refuse the alliance. Sometimes in summer the Marquise and her daughter would pay a visit to Madame du Plessis Guene'gaud at her country- house at Fresnes, for two or three months at a time. Many of their friends from Paris came there also, and little romances and fairy-tales were, played, in which the Marquise frequently acted, and gained considerable success and applause. In a letter to the Marquis de Pomponne, who had recently been appointed Ambassador to the Swedish Court, Madame de Sevigne gives a delightful little glimpse of the pleasant society at Fresnes. " I have M. d'Andilly at my left hand, which is the side of the heart," she writes ; " I have Madame de la Fayette at my right ; Madame du Plessis is in front of me, and is amusing herself with daubing little pictures ; Madame de Motteville, a little farther away, is deep in thought ; while Madame de Caderousse, her sister, and Mademoiselle de Se"vign< keep flitting in and out like bees." But, singularly enough, the lovely young Mademoiselle de Sevigne, with all her beauty and unusual distinction, backed up by the appreciable advantages of good birth and a rich dowry, had considerable difficulty in finding a suitable husband. After the Due de Caderousse had been refused in 1665, another Provengal presented himself. He was the son of the Comte de Merinville, Lieutenant-General of Provence ; and this marriage was brought very near to a conclusion, but Madame de SeVigne", finding that her daughter did not greatly care about the match, and that she herself did not wish her child to be settled in such a distant province, broke off the marriage as diplomatically as she could. 1 76 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Another suitor was the Comte d'Etauges, who was rich, it was said, " but something of a fool." Nothing came of this, however ; and the Marquise began to be somewhat weary, as well as sur- prised, at still having her beautiful young daughter to chaperon ; and when the Comte de Bussy asked in one of his letters about " the prettiest girl in France," his cousin wrote in reply, " The prettiest girl in France sends you her compliments. It is a charming name, but I am tired of doing the honours of it ! " Perhaps, like many another beauty, Mademoiselle de SeVigne" began by being too exigeant. Saint-Pavin, in a letter to the Marquise, glances lightly at the truth in graceful, facile verse " Votre fille est le seul ouvrage Que la nature ait acheve. Aussi la terre est trop petite Pour y trouver qui la merite ; Et la belle, qui le sait bien, Meprise tout et ne veut rien." Frangoise de Sevigne was not the first beautiful girl who has illustrated the truth of the homely proverb anent the crooked stick. After seven years in which to make a choice, after refusing a rich and handsome young duke, a rich young count, and probably others, she became affianced to a man who had been married twice before, who, it was remarked, " abused a man's privilege of being ugly," and who was burdened with debt. Yet, let it be said at once, it was an entirely happy marriage, which in all probability brought more solid satisfaction than either of the others would have done. And it is also only justice to add that the proud, cold young beauty, who as a girl had been so vain and selfish, ripened into a thoughtful and capable woman, entirely devoted to her husband and children, and to the interests of the family into which she married. Not long before the marriage took place, Madame de Sevigne" wrote the news to Bussy; she had probably not thought it prudent to tell him sooner, although negotiations had been going on for some time previously. "PARIS, December 4, 1668 " I must tell you a piece of news that I am sure you will be rejoiced to hear ; it is that at last the prettiest girl in France is MARRIAGE NEGOTIATIONS 177 to be married, not to the handsomest youth, but to one of the worthiest men in the kingdom to M. de Grignan, whom you have known for a long time. All his wives died to give place to your cousin, and, by extraordinary good fortune, even his father and his son died too, so that he is richer than he has ever been. Being besides, by birth, establishment, and by his good qualities, everything that we could wish, we have not bargained with him as is usual on such occasions, but have relied on the two families which have preceded us. He seems very well pleased with the alliance, and as soon as we have heard from his uncle, the Archbishop of Aries, the affair will be concluded before the end of the year, as his other uncle, the Bishop of Uzes, is here. As I am a lady who loves decorum, I could not fail to ask your advice and approbation. The public seems satisfied, which is a great deal, for we are so foolish that we are nearly always governed by its opinion." The "advice and approbation," which the Marquise so decorously asked from Bussy, were asked for at a somewhat late date, seeing that the arrangements for the marriage were nearly concluded, but the etiquette that demanded such empty compliments was apparently satisfied by the merest show of attention. 12 CHAPTER XVIII Mademoiselle de Sevigne is married to the Comte de Grignan An ancient and honourable family An imprudent mother Charles de Sevigne His campaign in Candia against the Turks FRANgOIS ADHEMAR, Comte de Grignan, who to Madame de Sevign^ seemed such a desirable husband for her daughter, was the eldest son of an ancient and illustrious family of Provence. He was descended from the House of Castellane, and this family, being connected with the Adhemars of Monteil, took the name and arms of Grignan in 1563, when they inherited the Comtd de Grignan. The Adhe'mar family dated further back than the Crusades, and the exploits of one of their ancestors in these wars were immortalised by the poet Tasso. The Marquise was well pleased at having arranged such a distinguished alliance for her daughter, and she delighted in reading up the records of the family greatness. " I see an Adhe'mar," she wrote to M. de Grignan, " who was one of the greatest seigneurs six hundred years ago. His death threw an army of three hundred thousand men into mourning, and made all Christian princes weep. I see also a Castellane, but he is not so ancient ; he is modern ; it is only five hundred years ago since he made such a grand figure in the world." The family of Grignan was still influential, with numerous connections in good positions. Two uncles of M. de Grignan were distinguished prelates, the Archbishop of Aries and the Bishop of Uzes. Two of his brothers were also in the Church ; the elder, the Coadjutor of the Archbishop of Aries, and the other an abbe, who became Bishop of Evreux. He also had two brothers in the army, one a captain of a company of Light Horse, and the other a Chevalier of Malta. M. de Grignan was between thirty-seven and forty years old at the time of his marriage to Mademoiselle de Sevigne, but his 178 THE COMTE DE GRIGNAN 179 exact age is not known. He was not handsome ; indeed, his pronounced plainness is frequently referred to by the Marquise, who set a high value on her daughter's loveliness, and passion- ately admired beauty and grace wherever she saw it. But notwithstanding this intense and innate love of beauty, she knew that good qualities were of infinitely greater importance in the matter of her daughter's happiness ; and, for the rest, M. de Grignan had a tall and fine figure, his manners had the polish of good breeding and the refinement that had been acquired in the school of the Hotel de Rambouillet. He was an accomplished musician, and, of more importance than all else, he was an honourable and good man, who made her daughter an excellent husband. " He was," said the Marquise, " the most desirable husband, and very agreeable in society " ; later, too, he gave her daughter a great position, which, in the Marquise de Sevigne's estimation, had only one drawback, it was far away from Paris and from Court. M. de Grignan had two little girls at the time of his marriage with Franchise de Sevigne, the daughters of his first wife, Angelique Claire d'Angermes. His second wife had died in giving birth to a son who did no^live. But the Marquise had not been quite her usual prudent self in arranging this marriage. Perhaps the alliance appeared to her so desirable from all other points, that she wilfully shut her eyes to one important fact. She had written to the Comte de Bussy, " we have not bargained with him as is usual on such occasions, we have relied on the two families which have pre- ceded us " ; and she had evidently written in the same strain to Cardinal de Retz, who, as head of her husband's family, was one of the chief persons to be consulted about the marriage. The Cardinal saw no reason for such blind confidence, and in his reply he gave her a warning which was only too well justified by the events of after years. " Great as are your daughter's fears concerning the wedding day," he writes, " I doubt whether they can be equal to mine in regard to what is to follow, since I see by one of your letters that you have neither had, nor expect, any explanations, and that you have, in a manner, trusted yourself to Destiny, who is often most ungrateful, and ill requites the confidence placed in her." i8o THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Notwithstanding this warning, it was a time of optimism and pleasurable anticipation for Madame de SeVigne, even though in the marriage contract, signed two days before the wedding, it was agreed that of the two hundred thousand livres which the Marquise gave in ready money as part of her daughter's dot, one hundred and eighty thousand livres should be handed over to be used in payment of the Comte de Grignan's debts ! The Marquise was wealthy at this period of her life; her estates were in a prosperous, flourishing condition, and all her pecuniary affairs had been kept in most excellent order by the Abbe* de Coulanges. Happily for her she could not foresee the future married life of her daughter, which, ominously begun by payment of the bridegroom's debts, was, through luxury, ostenta- tion, gambling, and much needless vanity, to bring debt and discomfort to the chief persons concerned, and to reduce the Marquise to comparative poverty. But all this was far enough away when the wedding took place on January 29, 1669, the day of Saint Francis de Sales, as Madame de Sevigne reminded her daughter. It was doubtless attended by a numerous company of friends and relatives, as more than sixty persons signed the wedding con- tract. The Comte de Bussy's name is absent from the list, not because he was in exile and unable to attend, but because he was greatly annoyed that the Comte de Grignan had not written to him as a near relative of the bride. Bussy had put himself beyond the pale of all honest men's regard by his scandalous conduct in general, and to Madame de Se'vigne' in particular ; and it is quite conceivable that the Comte de Grignan, who was not conspicuously humble, considered that he did not deserve the usual civilities. Bussy, swift to take offence, and always willing to credit any coldness or neglect to the fact of his exile rather than to his own shameful behaviour, wrote to the Marquise to air his grievance. " Madame de Grignan has reason also to complain of me ; I ought to have written to her after her marriage, and I beg her pardon and frankly confess the debt. I must also be frank with you concerning M. de Grignan. From whatever point you look at it, particularly when he marries the daughter of my first cousin, he ought to write to me first (for I suppose that being persecuted does not exclude me BUSSY IS OFFENDED 181 from this favour ; there are a thousand people who would write to me all the more willingly on that account), his omission is not like the politeness of the Hotel de Rambouillet. I know well that friendships are free, but I was not aware that the things which concern good breeding were equally free. This is what comes of being so long away from Court, one unlearns every- thing in the provinces. . . ." The Marquise replied to this in gay mood, and cheerfully tried to make peace between her relatives ; telling Bussy of the bridegroom's happiness, and that if the latter did write, he would probably only bore him, the Comte de Bussy, with a list of her daughter's perfections, as was the custom of the newly- wed. Madame de Grignan would, she assured him, write instead of her husband. The young Comtesse did write, but not so graciously or so tactfully as her mother had done. " M. de Grignan has not written," she says, " and so far from understanding that he ought to send you a letter, he thinks it rather lacking in courtesy on your part that you have not condescended to send your com- pliments, because he is so happy he thinks that everybody should congratulate him. These are his reasons, and I am vain enough to repeat them to you myself." The Comte de Bussy made a quite considerable grievance of this petty affair, for in the long days of exile he probably exaggerated his own wrongs and the shortcomings of his friends. He thought the Comtesse de Grignan's letter "very sharp," and he consequently wrote a long, bitter complaint to the Marquise, who, though only so recently reconciled to him, found to her dismay that, owing to his vanity, they were now on the verge of another quarrel. " Ah ! Comte, was it you who wrote the letter I have just received ? " she replied soon after. " I was so astonished while reading it that I felt distracted, and could not believe what I saw. Is it possible that the most foolish letter in the world could be taken in that manner by a man who understands raillery as well as you, and who also knows how to give such excellent explanations when a letter needs them ? " Then she explains, almost sentence by sentence, the meaning and intentions of the offending letter, and finishes with the little 1 82 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS reproach, " Not only have I not recognised my blood in your style, but I have not recognised yours." Bussy, only half appeased, finally did write first to M. de Grignan ; but coolness had again sprung up between the cousins, and the correspondence ceased for some months, till in the next year, 1670, the President Fremyot died, leaving part of his fortune to Madame de Sevigne. Then Bussy, probably missing her friendly and charming letters during his interminable, empty days of exile, wrote to congratulate her. The Marquise, whose bright, healthy spirit was incapable of bearing malice, replied to his letter almost immediately, saying, " I thank you for having reopened the door of our intercourse, which had entirely lost its handle. Incidents are always happening between us, but we mean well, and perhaps we shall laugh at them some day." It is a little curious that during all this time there is scarcely a mention, either in memoirs or correspondence, of Charles de Sevigne, the only son of the Marquise. There is no indication in all Madame de Sevigne's letters as to where or by whom he was educated ; we only know that, like his sister, he received a good and thorough education, and that, from his mother, he inherited an enthusiasm for literature, though in his youth he loved nothing but plays and romances ; and sometimes, when he was with the Marquise, we find her gaily complaining in her letters that he lured her from more serious reading to listen to the romantic novels of Calprenede, or to the many comedies that he read so well. In character, Charles de Sevigne' was in all surface qualities very like his mother, having an abundance of those charming graces that make for success in society. " He accommodates himself to the humour of everyone," wrote the Marquise, " and always agrees with the last speaker." In his delightful letters we catch more than a hint of Madame de SeVigne's own felicities of style ; he has the happy faculty of saying the right thing in the most pleasant fashion ; he is always amiable, perhaps a thought too amiable, and he takes the second place in his mother's affection with the most graceful humility in the world. He was undoubtedly in all superficial charm more like the Marquise than her haughty and reserved daughter, and some biographers have said that Madame SON AND DAUGHTER 183 de SeVign^ would have done well to bestow her greatest love on him. But even had she been able to love at will, she knew his amiable, unreliable character too well, and must often have unwillingly noticed his resemblance to his father in the mad follies to which he gave up his youth. She was very patient ; she paid his debts, and bore with all his youthful faults and excesses ; but though with the true mother-spirit she accepted the present with resignation and hoped all things for the future, she could not give her dissipated, erring son the honour and respect which she gave in such full measure to her daughter, and which must necessarily be the foundation of any great love. Perhaps, since so many people say so, Madame de Sevigne may have loved her daughter a little unwisely, but that is a matter upon which it is impossible to dogmatise. Is any great love wise, measured by ordinary, practical standards? Hers was truly a great love, poured out without stint, one of the world's most celebrated, most unselfish loves, giving all and asking little in return a love which has enriched literature and humanity with some of the finest letters in the world. And as we read those letters, we cannot fail to grasp the difference in character between her two children. Between the lines we may discern some indication of the clever, thoughtful mind of Madame de Grignan. Her mother could write to her, sure of entire comprehension, of complete understanding ; sure, from her absolutely upright character, that she would never be betrayed. Could she have written with the same freedom of maternal love to her son Charles, even if she had had the same tenderness of feeling for him? Impossible. She would never have known whether some mistress, who had empire over him for the moment, might not obtain possession of her most cherished secrets ! Madame de SeVignd's experi- ence of men had not been calculated to inspire her with much trust in them. Her husband, on whom she lavished all the best of her young, unspoiled faith and affection, was base, faithless, and utterly untrustworthy through his weakness. Her cousin Bussy, between whom and herself the tie of kindred was unusually strong, had, in a fit of pique, coldly and with wicked deliberation held her up to the ridicule of the world among whom she lived. Her son, as he grew to manhood, handsome, 1 84 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS witty, brave and charming though he was, had yet the weak and fatal amiability of character that made him always ready "to agree with the last speaker," with apparently no solid or settled convictions of his own. He was a little over twenty when he joined the heroic and adventurous expedition to Candia, which the Due de Roannes led to the assistance of Venice against the Turks. More than four hundred young gentlemen volunteers, belonging to the greatest families of France, took part in the campaign, and Charles de SeVign was in the brigade commanded by the young Comte de Saint-Paul, that son of the Duchesse de Longueville who had been born in the Hotel de Ville. Though Franchise de Se'vigne's betrothal had not been mentioned at the time of her brother's departure in August 1668, we know that before he set out he left a power of attorney with the Abbe* de la Mousse, so that he might sign in his place in his sister's marriage contract. After he left, Madame de Sevigne wrote to tell the news of his departure to the Comte de Bussy, and we see the anguish of her true mother-love at the first long separation from her son : " You do not know, I believe, that my son is gone to Candia with M. de Roannes and the Comte de Saint-Paul. He took this fancy very strongly into his head, and consulted M. de Turenne, Cardinal de Retz, and M. de la Rochefoucauld you see what important personages ! All these gentlemen approved of it so highly that it was settled and rumoured about before I knew anything of the matter. In short, he is gone. I have wept bitterly ; I am terribly afflicted by it, and I shall not have a moment's peace during the whole expedition. I see all its dangers, and am frightened to death by them, but I have not been mistress ; on such occasions as these, mothers have not much voice in the matter. It turned out to be a disastrous expedition. The brave young volunteers knew little of the art of war, and a terrible loss of men was the natural result. Then the pestilence broke out, and carried off many of the men that battle had spared ; but, fortunately for Charles de Sevigne" and his mother, he returned unhurt by wounds or pestilence, and with a reputation for bravery in this his first campaign. CHAPTER XIX The Comte de Grignan is appointed Deputy- Governor of Provence Madame de Sevigne's grief and disappointment Model letters from a mother-in-law The Comtesse de Grignan remains a year in Paris with her mother The Bishop of Marseilles ONE of the greatest advantages of her daughter's marriage to the Comte de Grignan was, in Madame de Sevigne's eyes, that their home was in Paris, and that, in all probability, they would remain there. M. de Grignan had influential friends and relatives, he was a man of solid worth and good abilities, and they hoped that in time he would secure some position at Court. There is no doubt that in her visions of the future the Marquise had dreamed of being always near her beloved daughter, rejoicing in her happiness and success, helping to lighten her troubles, and soothing her inevitable sorrows with tender love and experience. The Comte was Lieutenant-General of Languedoc, it is true, but as there were two other lieutenants- general and a governor-general of the province, it was hardly probable that he would be often called upon for military service. But Madame de Sevign^ did not enjoy one whole year of this tranquil, undisturbed happiness, which she hoped would have lasted for her lifetime. On the 2Qth of November 1669, the Comte de Grignan was appointed Lieutenant-General of Provence. It was the same title that he had held in Languedoc, but with a wide difference in the office. The Due de Vendome, who had succeeded his father as Governor of Provence, was only thirteen years old, and consequently unable to govern in person. In his absence the chief President of Parlement, the Baron d'Oppede, was a kind of provisional governor, but the Bishop of Marseilles had so arrogantly taken advantage of this circum- 185 1 86 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS stance to usurp legal authority, that it was imperatively necessary for some recognised government to be immediately established in the name and authority of the King. This was a great position for the Comte de Grignan and for Madame la Comtesse his wife ; it was practically the govern- ment of a little kingdom, with all the pomp and authority belonging to the office. But to Madame de Sevigne all the joy and honour of the prospect were swallowed up by the grief of the imminent parting. In these days of swift and easy travel- ling it is so difficult for us to imagine what a wide gulf of separation lay between Paris and Provence ! It took more than a fortnight to get from one place to the other, and there were real dangers in crossing the impetuous Rhone, in the bad roads, and the many possible mischances of travel. It was a sudden and distressing disappointment to all Madame de SeVigne's hopes, and an overwhelming grief to be compelled to part with her daughter. But that painful duty was deferred for some months after the Comte de Grignan's departure, which was a respite to the Marquise, embittered, however, every day by the thought of the approaching separation. M. de Grignan left Paris for Provence at the end of April 1670, but as his wife was not then in a fit state of health to travel, he left her in Paris with her mother till the end of the year. We gather from Madame de Sevigne's letters afterwards that the young wife, parted from her husband, was so determined to be entirely faithful to him, that instead of dressing herself in beautiful costumes, as she had formerly done when she appeared at Court, she now wore most unbecoming clothes. " Do you not remember," her mother writes some time after, " how you used to weary us with the sight of that wretched black mantle ? That negligence was the action of a virtuous woman. M. de Grignan might well be obliged to you for it, but it was most annoying for those who saw it." Though the Marquise was delighted to have her daughter in Paris for a time longer, she was too wise to wish to cause any resentment from a sense of being neglected on the part of the Comte de Grignan. She wrote frequently to him, and her letters are a model of what the letters of a mother-in-law should be. They are most delicately diplomatic, saying with instinctive LETTERS FROM A MOTHER-IN-LAW 187 tact all the things he would most desire to know. She dwells on her daughter's love for him, she takes the second place in her daughter's affection, she tells him that everyone speaks of her correct and regular conduct, and dwells insistently on her daughter's desire to be with him. " PARIS, August 6, 1670 " Is it not true that I have given you the prettiest wife in the world? Can anyone be more virtuous, more regular in her conduct ? Can anyone love you more tenderly ? Can anyone have more Christian sentiments? Can anyone desire more ardently to be with you ? Can anyone be more devoted to her duties ? It is rather ridiculous of me to speak so well of my own daughter, but it is because I admire her conduct as much as other people do ; and perhaps more, because I have more opportunities of seeing it. To tell you the truth, whatever good opinion I had of her on all important points, I did not think she would be so scrupulous as she is on all minor matters. I assure you everyone does her justice, and she loses none of the praises that are her due. " It is an old theme of mine, for which I shall be stoned one day, that the public is neither foolish nor unjust, and Madame de Grignan has too much reason to be satisfied with it just now to dispute it. She has been in inconceivable anxiety about your health, and I am delighted to hear that you have recovered, for love of you as well as for love of her. I beg you, if you expect any more attacks of your disorder, to prevail on them to wait till after my daughter is confined. She complains every day that we keep her here, and declares very seriously that it was extremely cruel to have separated her from you. One would suppose that we had put two hundred leagues between her and you for pleasure. I beg you to calm her mind on that point, and to tell her what joy it gives you to hope that she will be happily delivered here. It was absolutely impossible for her to have accompanied you in her condition, and nothing will be so good for her health as to be confined with the care she has here, nor for her reputation as to remain in a place where her conduct is so admired. If, after this, she desired to become giddy and coquettish, it would be more than a year before anyone would 1 88 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS believe it, as she has given everyone such a good opinion of her wisdom. I call on all the Grignans who are here to bear witness to the truth of what I tell you. My joy in all this accords well with yours, for I love you with all my heart, and I am delighted that the result has so well justified your choice. I shall tell you no news, as that would be trespassing on my daughter's rights. I only beg you to believe that no one can be more tenderly interested than I am in everything that concerns you." It is almost impossible not to admire the Marquise from almost every aspect, and in relation to almost every duty of life ! In the world she is brilliant, witty, amiable, and graceful ; to those who have the happiness of being near her heart she is most tenderly affectionate; as wife, mother, niece, friend, she is as nearly perfect as faulty human nature may be ; even to this difficult character of mother-in-law, which has been the butt of vulgar wit since the beginning of the world, she adds a new dignity, and invests it with a wise and thoughtful tenderness ; showing an acute avoidance of giving offence that might well be copied by those unhappy, untactful mothers-in-law, who by an overweening, selfish affection for their daughters have wrecked their happiness for life. In another letter, written a few days after this, she tells him that she writes so frequently to him only on condition that he will not answer her letters. She rejoices in the honours that are paid to him in his new office of lieutenant-general, and again she writes most about his wife, knowing that of this subject he will not soon tire. " I see that such a lively correspondence is kept up between a certain lady and you that it would be absurd of me to pretend to give you any news. There is not the least hope of being able to inform you that she loves you ; all her actions, all her conduct, all her cares and anxieties tell you so plainly enough. I am rather difficult to please in matters concerning love, and profess to know something about it ; and I own to you that I am perfectly satisfied with what I see, and that I should not wish it to be different. Enjoy this pleasure to the uttermost, and do not be ungrateful. If any little vacant place remains in your heart, allow me the pleasure of occupying if fnr i LETTERS TO THE COMTE DE GRIGNAN 189 it, for you hold a very considerable place in mine. ... I have given my daughter a book for you, you will find it very beautiful ; it is by an intimate friend of Pascal's ; he writes nothing that is not perfect ; pray read it with attention, I have also sent you some beautiful airs till I can get the other music. Do not neglect either your voice or your fine figure ; in a word, continue to be amiable since you are loved so well." The intimate friend of Pascal, of whom she writes, is Nicole, the author of Essais de morale. Madame de Sevigne greatly admired his writings, and she read and re-read his books many times in the long leisure of her days at Les Rochers. He was one of the celebrated band of writers at Port Royal, the head- quarters of Jansenism in Paris. The Marquise was a good Jansenist, as were so many of her friends. She always speaks with love and reverence of the good Arnauld d'Andilly, who, in spite of his almost aggressive Jansenism, was looked on with favour by the King, though the latter, by his mother's training and his early education, leaned towards the Jesuits in doctrine. Again, in September, Madame de SeVigne writes to the Comte de Grignan to assure him of his wife's health and well- being, and above all of the love she shows for her absent husband. These are by no means the most witty, or humorous, or clever of her letters, but they record her tender anxiety to foster the best possible feeling between the Comte and Comtesse, so that this favour of having her daughter near her for these few months shall not in any way cause unhappiness between them. In nothing else that she has written does she show herself more tenderly tactful, more affectionately desirous of her daughter's truest well-being and happiness. "PARIS, Friday, September 12, 1670 " I do not write with the idea of beginning a correspondence with you ; I should be cautious of doing so, knowing how you are overwhelmed with that from Madame de Grignan. I pity you for having such long letters to read ; I never saw anything so lively, and I believe that you would gladly have her with you to be delivered from them, to such a state has she reduced you by her importunity. She has just now separated herself from 190 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS us and retired to a corner of the room with a little table and desk before her, not thinking M. de Coulanges or I worthy of approaching her. She is in despair because you have written to me ; I have never seen such a jealous and envious woman. However, I defy her, let her do what she will, to interrupt our friendship. You have a great part in the care I take of her health. . . ." About two months later, on November 15, 1670, Madame de Grignan gave birth to a daughter. They had all greatly desired a son, but Madame de Sevigne', one may easily guess, and M. de Grignan too, there is little doubt, were so happy to find the young Comtesse out of danger that there was not much room for regret. The baby was baptized Marie Blanche, and for some time stayed with Madame de Sevigne, who called her granddaughter her " little heart." The child had for godfather the Archbishop of Aries, and for godmother the Marquise de Sevigne, who showed more tenderness to the child than its own mother, who had so ardently hoped for a son, that, with a coldness that was part of her nature, she was not very satisfied with her baby daughter. Perhaps, too, she, who was so beautiful herself, was rather piqued at the baby's plainness ; it is a point on which young, foolish mothers are sometimes ridiculously sensitive. Madame de Sevigne, with a soup^on of mischief, tells her son-in-law that his third daughter resembles him rather than its mother. " Malicious people," she writes, " say that Blanche d'Adhemar will not be an extraordinary beauty, and the same people add that she is very much like you. If this be the case, you will not doubt that I love her dearly." Every week regularly, while her daughter was convalescent, the Marquise wrote to M. de Grignan, giving him details of her health and the news his wife was unable to write. In one of these letters she gives him such excellent counsel that we read in and between the lines a little of that art of savoir vivre of which Madame de Sevigne was so completely mistress, and at the same time we get a passing hint of that amiability, and peace-loving feminine charm, which was one of the many graces of her beautiful character. The Bishop of Marseilles, who, through his arrogance and THE BISHOP OF MARSEILLES 191 usurpation of power, had been the immediate cause of the Comte de Grignan's appointment to the vice-government of Provence, had evidently been mentioned to the Comte as likely to cause him a considerable amount of trouble in his new office. He had probably told this to Madame de Sevigne*, and her advice as to how to treat the Bishop is so admirable, so packed with epigrammatic wisdom and knowledge of human nature, that it might with advantage be taken as a rule of conduct in similar difficult circumstances. "PARIS, Friday , November 28, 1670 " Let us speak no more of this wife of yours, we love her beyond all bounds of reason. She is very well, and I want to write to you entirely on my own account. I wish to talk to you about Monsieur de Marseilles, and to beg you, by all the confidence you have in me, to follow my advice in your conduct respecting him. I know the manners of provincials, and I know the pleasure they take in fomenting quarrels, so much that unless we are always on guard against the discourse of these gentlemen, we insensibly adopt their sentiments, which are very often unjust. I can assure you that time, or other reasons, have greatly altered M. de Marseilles's disposition. For some days he has been very mild, and if you do not treat him as an enemy, you will not find him one. Let us take him at his word till we find he does something to the contrary. Nothing is so likely to destroy a good intention as to show a distrust of it ; to be suspected as an enemy often suffices to make a man one ; everything is then at an end, and there is no further hope of management. Confidence, on the contrary, prompts us to do good actions ; we are pleasantly affected by the good opinion of others, and will not willingly lose it. In God's name be open- hearted, and you will be surprised by a behaviour you did not expect. I can never believe that this man conceals any venom in his heart, when we consider all the professions of friendship he has made us, and of which it would be better to be the dupes rather than to be capable of suspecting him unjustly. Follow my advice; it is not mine only, several capable persons recommend this conduct to you, and assure you that you will not be deceived. Your family is convinced of it ; we see better 192 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS into these things than you ; and so many people who love you, and who have not a little good sense, can hardly be mistaken." It was excellent advice, but it is uncertain whether the Comte de Grignan adopted it. If he did, the result did not justify Madame de SeVigne's expectations; as for many years the Bishop of Marseilles proved a veritable thorn in the flesh to M. de Grignan and Madame his wife. CHAPTER XX A celebrated letter La Grande Mademoiselle and M. de Lauzun A royal love-story Madame de Sevigne visits the Tuilleries, and is the confidante of La Grande Mademoiselle A Princess in tears T UST one month after the birth of Blanche d'Adhemar, and I while the Comtesse de Grignan was still staying with her mother, an event occurred which threw Parisians into an almost inconceivable state of excitement. Never had such a thing been dreamed of before ! The Court was indescribably agitated by the news; it was the only possible topic in the salons and ruelles, in the Louvre and in the Luxembourg ; in short, all Paris was as excited as if the town had been on the point of being besieged. Madame de SeVigne, who was greatly attached to the principal personage in the drama, wrote what is perhaps her most famous letter, on the occasion, to her cousin Emmanuel de Coulanges, who was then staying at Lyons. "PARIS, December 15, 1670 " I am going to tell you of an event which is the most astonishing, the most surprising, the most marvellous, the most miraculous, the most magnificent, the most bewildering, the most unheard-of, the most singular, the most extraordinary, the most incredible, the most unexpected, the greatest, the least, the most rare, the most common, the most public, the most private till to-day, the most brilliant, the most enviable ; in short, an event to which there is only one parallel to be found in past ages, and even that not an exact one ; an event which we cannot believe in Paris (how then can it be believed in Lyons ?) ; an event which makes everybody exclaim, ' Lord, have mercy upon us ! ' an event which causes the greatest joy to Madame de Rohan and Madame d'Hauterive; an event, in fact, which will take 13 194 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS place on Sunday next, when those who are present will doubt the evidence of their senses ; an event which, though it is to happen on Sunday, may perhaps not be accomplished on Monday. I cannot persuade myself to tell you. Guess what it is ! I give you three guesses. Do you give it up ? Well, then, I must tell you. Monsieur de Lauzun is to be married next Sunday at the Louvre guess to whom ! I give you four guesses, I give you ten, I give you a hundred. Madame de Coulanges says, * It is not very difficult to guess, it is Madame de la Valliere.' You are quite wrong, Madame. ' It is Mademoiselle de Retz then.' No, it is not ; you are very provincial. * Dear me, how stupid we are/ you exclaim, * it is Mademoiselle de Colbert, of course/ You are farther off than ever. ' Then it must be Mademoiselle de Crequi.' You are no nearer. Well, I find I must tell you. He is to marry on Sunday at the Louvre, with the King's permission, Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle de Mademoiselle guess the name ! he is to marry Mademoiselle, my faith ! by my faith ! my sworn faith ! Mademoiselle, la Grande Mademoiselle; Mademoiselle, daughter of the late Monsieur; Mademoiselle, granddaughter of Henri IV; Mademoiselle d'Eu, Mademoiselle de Dombes, Mademoiselle de Montpensier, Mademoiselle d'Orleans ; Mademoiselle, first cousin to the King; Mademoiselle, once destined for the throne; Mademoiselle, the only person in France worthy of Monsieur. Here is a fine subject for con- versation. If you cry out, if you are beside yourselves, if you say we are deceiving you, that it is false, that we are laughing at you, that it is a pretty joke, that it is a very poor invention ; if, in fact, you abuse us, we shall say you are right, for we have done the same ourselves. Adieu. You will see by the letters you receive by this post whether I am telling you the truth or not." This amazing romance of royalty is almost too well known to mention, were it not that Madame de SeVigne^ has given the most inimitable account of it, and was, besides, as nearly a personal friend of the Princess as anyone could be who was not of royal blood. There is no more prominent, and, in some respects, no more HENRIETTE DUCHESSK D'ORLEANS THE DUCHESSE DE MONTPENSIER "LA GRANDE MADEMOISELLE" LA GRANDE MADEMOISELLE 195 romantic, figure than that of La Grande Mademoiselle in all the pageant of great personages who defile before us as we read the history of France's great century. The daughter of Gaston, Due d'Orleans, she was the cousin of the King, and when he was born called him " her little husband," till Richelieu scolded her, then a girl of twelve, and told her she was too old for pleasantries in such bad taste. Nevertheless, Mademoiselle for many years cherished the hope of sharing the throne of France, till that great day of the battle of Samt-Antoine, when she earned her name of " Heroine of the Fronde " by opening the gates of Paris to the King's enemies, and by turning the cannon of the Bastille on the King's army. As Mazarin heard the thunder of the cannon, he remarked with grim humour, " Mademoiselle has killed her husband ! " And, truly enough, in place of sharing her young cousin's throne, she was very shortly after exiled to Saint-Fargeau, one of her numerous estates, where Madame de Sevignd was among the few friends who were loyal enough to visit her during her disgrace. Whom was not Mademoiselle to have married? Charles II of England, living in exile at Saint-Germain, would have been glad of the vast wealth of this Princess, but he was then a prince in poverty and exile, with not sufficient French to plead his cause, though his mother was eloquent and anxious enough on his behalf. Unluckily for him, at this time Mademoiselle's head was somewhat turned with the chimerical hope of marrying the Emperor, and a bashful, out-at-elbows Prince, metaphorically speaking, without even a kingdom, was quite eclipsed by those dazzling imperial splendours which were brought so tantalisingly near only to be snatched away. After the failure of this brilliant scheme she had hoped to marry the Great Conde. His wife was alive at the time, it is true, but so near to death that Mademoiselle almost exultingly wrote in her diary how slender were the chances of her recovery. She did recover, however, and Mademoiselle had to look elsewhere for a husband. There was some talk of a Prince of Bavaria ; but who was a petty prince, when Mademoiselle had hoped to marry an Emperor? Then came the Prince de Savoie, Alphonse VI of Portugal, then Monsieur the King's brother, 196 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS who had just lost his wife, Henriette of England, the gay and graceful Princess who had danced in the ballet royal, where Mademoiselle de Sevign^ had figured also, only a few years before. Monsieur was some thirteen years younger than Mademoiselle, who was then over forty years of age. But disparity of age had never been any bar to Mademoiselle's matrimonial schemes ; indeed, there was some talk of an alliance with the Comte de Saint-Paul, who had just returned with Sevignd and others from the expedition in Candia, and he was a full twenty years her junior ! These plans, however, came to naught, for at the mature age of forty-three she had fallen deeply, violently, irre- sistibly in love for the first and only time in her life. She who had scoffed at love for so long as a bourgeoise passion, " unworthy of a noble soul," was now to succumb to its autocratic power with an abandonment of heart as reckless as could be shown by the meanest of her tiring-women or kitchen-maids. Her love would have been more dignified, more worthy of respect, had she given her heart to a man who was morally or physically attractive ; but it was a part of the adverse fate of Mademoiselle, who, in marriage at least, was always near to great things and always missing them, that her grand passion, when it swept her away from all the artificial moorings of royalty and left her a mere human woman, ready to sacrifice everything for her love, should be roused by a man who would have been utterly ridiculous, had it not been for a certain sinister power which was largely the result of giving way to his mad impulses without an ordinary sane fear of consequences. This M. de Lauzun, who by his projected marriage with Mademoiselle gained more distinction than his own qualities could ever have brought him, made his appearance at Court as a cadet of Gascony, under the protection of his uncle the Marechal de Gramont. He was inconceivably impertinent and audacious, but as audacity is said to be one of the ingredients of success, he soon made his way, and short and plain though he was, he was soon quite a favourite among the ladies. He was more than ordinarily insignificant in stature ; " the smallest man that God has ever made," wrote the Comte de Bussy to Madame de Sdvign< ; and Mademoiselle's own portrait of him when he THE DUG DE LAUZUN 197 was thirty-seven is not attractive, though she saw him with the eyes of love. " He is a small man," she writes, " but no one can say that his figure is not the straightest, prettiest, and most agreeable. His limbs are fine, and he has a good air in everything he does. 'His hair, which is blonde, mixed with grey, is rather scanty ; it is badly dressed and somewhat greasy; he has fine blue eyes which are generally red ; he has a shrewd mien and a pleasing countenance. His smile is agreeable. The end of his nose is pointed and red ; there is something elevated in his physiognomy ; he is very negligent in his attire, but when he thinks it worth while to be careful he looks well. Behold the man ! " Saint-Simon gives us his moral attributes, which are even less attractive. " A courtier who was equally insolent, spiteful, and obsequious ; full of mean intrigues to gain his ends, and for that reason dangerous to ministers ; feared by all at Court, and ever ready with sarcasms as witty as they were cruel, sparing no one." The same authority tells us that he was full of ambition, whims, and fancies ; that he was jealous of every distinction, and, sullen and morose, he was never satisfied with anything ; that he had no knowledge of letters or mental culture, and even when he was a good friend, which was seldom, he was a dangerous man. Mademoiselle, who gives all the details of her love-affair quite ingenuously and frankly, paints for us only too clearly the fact that it was herself who made all the advances, and that when this strange little person saw what advantages would really be his by marriage with this tall spinster of royal blood, who was so enormously wealthy, and of such personal distinction as to be next the Queen in consideration, he fell in with her plans more from a spirit of ambition than from any genuine affection. It was long before Mademoiselle could bring herself to believe that she, the granddaughter of Henri IV, whose strongest article of faith was her blind belief in the divine superiority of royalty, could stoop so low as to become the wife of a noble whom she regarded as definitely, tangibly, immeasurably inferior to herself in the scheme of the universe. It is one of the celebrated romances of the world ; a touching story of a woman's great renunciation, though in the Memoirs of Mademoiselle the pathos often gets perilously near to bathos, as she innocently 198 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS exhibits her amusing conception of the divinity of royalty ; but as she was close to the throne in the reign when royalty in France reached its apotheosis, her times are probably more responsible for this than she is. When Mademoiselle had come to this great decision, and had told Lauzun of the great honour she intended to confer on him, there was yet the King's permission to obtain. Louis XIV neither forbade her nor gave his consent, but begged her to reflect well on what she was about to do. She implored and entreated him still more urgently, and at length the King sent word to her by the Due de Montausier that she might do as she pleased. The messenger, a wise man, knowing much of Court intrigue and of royal indecision, urged Mademoiselle to get married at once, that very night, before the King should have time to change his mind. Mademoiselle might perhaps have done so, but the vain little Lauzun refused to forego the triumph of a grand wedding, at which all the Court would be present to witness his semi-royal grandeur ; and they delayed fatally. Madame de Sevigne tells the story so graphically, with such a warm, breathing human interest in the Princess and her romantic marriage, that while reading her letters the centuries fall away, and for the time we are at the Tuilleries, sharing in La Grande Mademoiselle'striumph, her bitter disappointment, and her despairing grief. Before M. de Coulanges had received his cousin's letter, giving him the news of the " most astonishing " marriage, the Marquise wrote him another containing a surprise which was almost as dramatic. "PARIS, Thursday, December 19, 1670 " What is called falling from the clouds happened last night at the Tuilleries ; but I must relate things farther back. You have already heard of the joy, the transport, the ecstasies of the Princess and her happy lover. The affair was made public on Monday, as I told you. Tuesday was passed in talking, astonishment, and compliments. On Wednesday Mademoiselle made a deed of gift to M. de Lauzun, with the design of giving him certain titles, names, and dignities necessary to be inserted in the marriage contract, which was drawn up that day. She gave him, then, four duchies till she could bestow something better on him ; the first was that of the comt< d'Eu, which entitles A ROYAL LOVE-STORY 199 him to rank as the first peer of France; the dukedom of Montpensier, of which he bore the title all that day ; the duke- dom of Saint- Fargeau, and the dukedom of Chatellerault, the whole of which is valued at twenty-two million livres. The contract was then drawn up, and he took the name of Montpensier. On Thursday morning, which was yesterday, Mademoiselle was hoping and expecting the King to sign as he had said, but about seven o'clock in the evening the Queen, Monsieur, and several old dotards had so persuaded the King that his reputation would suffer in the affair that he resolved to break it; and sending for Mademoiselle and M. de Lauzun, he announced to them in the presence of Monsieur that he forbade them to think any further of the marriage. M. de Lauzun received the prohibi- tion with all the respect, submission, firmness, and, at the same time, with all the despair one might expect at such a great reverse of fortune. As for Mademoiselle, she gave vent to her feelings. She burst into tears, cries, lamentations, and the most violent ex- pressions of grief ; she has not left her bed all day, and takes nothing but a little broth. What a fine dream is here ! What a splendid subject for a romance or a tragedy, but, above all, what a subject for reasoning and talking eternally ! That is what we do, day and night, evening and morning, without end and without intermission. We hope you will do the same, and with this I kiss your hand." Madame de Sdvignd greatly appreciated the dramatic value of the whole incident, and on Christmas Eve, writing again to her cousin de Coulanges, who was so witty that he often called forth her most sparkling letters, she tells him that they think it a story well adapted for a tragedy, following all theatrical rules. " The other day we laid out the acts and scenes, and taking four days instead of twenty-four hours, the play was complete." A week later she gives him a few more interesting details, and we see how familiar she was with the proud Princess, who doubtless was glad to pour some of her sorrow and disappointment into the sympathetic and discreet ear of Madame de Se"vigne\ " PARIS, Wednesday, December 31, 1670 " I have received your answers to my letters. I can easily understand your astonishment at what happened between the 200 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS 1 5th and the 2Oth of this month ; the subject well deserved it. I admire also your penetration and judgment in thinking that so great an affair could not possibly hold out from Monday till Sunday. Modesty prevents me from praising you on this point, because I said and thought the same things as you. I remarked to my daughter on Monday, ' This will not go on happily till Sunday ; I will wager that though everyone talks of nothing but this wedding it will never happen/ In fact, the sky was over- cast on Thursday, and at about ten in the evening, as I told you, the cloud burst. That same Thursday I went at about nine in the morning to Mademoiselle's house, having been informed that she was going out of town to be married, and that the Coadjutor of Rheims was to perform the ceremony. These were the plans on Wednesday evening, but affairs had been determined otherwise at the Louvre since Tuesday. Made- moiselle was writing; she told me to enter, and when she had finished her letter she made me kneel at her bedside. She told me to whom she was writing, and why; she told me of the beautiful presents she had given the evening before, and the titles which she had conferred ; that there was no match for her in the Courts of Europe, and that she was determined to provide for herself. She related to me, word for word, a conversation that she had had with the King; and appeared transported with joy at the thought of making a man so happy. She spoke to me with tenderness of the worth and gratitude of M. de Lauzun, and to all this I said, ' Mon Dieu, Mademoiselle, you seem very happy, but why was not this affair promptly finished on Monday ? Do you not perceive that such a great delay will give time to the whole kingdom to talk, and that it is tempting God and the King, to put off such an extraordinary affair for so long ? ' She told me that I was "right, but she was so full of confidence, that what I said made hardly any impression on her at the time. She spoke again of the family and of the good qualities of M. de Lauzun. . . . She embraced me tenderly. This conversation lasted an hour, and it is impossible to repeat all that passed between us, but I may say without vanity that my ^company was very agreeable to her, for her heart was so full that she was glad to talk to anyone. At ten o'clock she devoted her A PRINCESS IN TEARS 201 time to the rest of France, who came to pay their compliments upon the marriage. She waited all the morning for news from the King, but none came. " After dinner she amused herself with putting M. de Mont- pensier's rooms in order with her own hands. You know what happened in the evening. The next day, which was Friday, I went to see her, and found her in bed ; she redoubled her cries on seeing me, she called me to her, she embraced me, and made me all wet with her tears. ' Alas ! ' she said, ' do you remember what you said to me yesterday? Ah, what fore- sight ! what cruel, cruel foresight ! ' She made me weep to see her weep so violently. I have been to see her twice since ; she is in great affliction, and she always treats me as a person who sympathises with her grief, and in this she is not mistaken, for I feel for her on this occasion such sentiments as one rarely feels for people of such exalted rank. All this, however, is between ourselves and Madame de Coulanges ; for you can understand how entirely ridiculous these things would sound to other people. Adieu." It is generally supposed that Mademoiselle married Lauzun privately, but in any case the strange little man, after ten years at Pignerol, in the cell above that of Foucquet, treated the Princess so badly when he was released, that with all her love and desire for self-sacrifice, she made the resolve, and kept it, of never seeing him again. CHAPTER XXI A bitter parting The perilous journey to Provence A tender mother " A pretty pagan " Spring at Livry T TNDERLYING all the excitement and interest that Madame ^J de Sevigne felt in the dramatic affair between La Grande Mademoiselle and Monsieur de Lauzun, was the sad prospect, daily growing nearer and more formidable, of parting with her idolised daughter. In early December she already laments the need for separation, and whimsically says to M. de Grignan, with a light reference to her grief when she first heard of his appointment, " I shall soon be in the same state that you saw me in last year. I must love you greatly to send my daughter to you at this inclement season. How foolish it is to leave a good mother, with whom you assure me she is so satisfied, to go to find a man at the farthest end of France ! Nothing could be more indecorous than such conduct ! " As Madame de Grignan daily regained her health, there was, however, no longer any reason for detaining her in Paris, and her departure was fixed for the loth of January 1671. The journey was nevertheless postponed a little longer because of the heavy rains, and Madame de Sevigne writes a most apologetic letter to her son-in-law, assuring him with such full and detailed reasons that she had no joy in keeping his young wife now that she ought to be in Provence with him, that the most unreasonable husband should have been con- vinced. " Alas ! " she writes on the i6th of January, " the poor child is still with me, for it was utterly impossible for her to have set out on the loth of this month as she had intended. The rains have been, and are still, so violent, that it would have been the greatest folly to have attempted it. All the rivers have over- flowed ; all the highroads are under water; all the carriage- 202 A POSTPONED JOURNEY 203 tracks are so hidden, that she would have run the risk of being overturned at every ford." Another reason for delaying the departure was that the Coadjutor of the Archbishop of Aries, the Comte de Grignan's brother, with whom the Comtesse was to travel, had been commanded by the King to perform the marriage ceremony between Mademoiselle d'Harcourt, a cousin of the Grignans, and the Due de Cadaval, a Portuguese nobleman. Madame de SeVigne was most anxious that her daughter should be accom- panied by her brother-in-law, partly as a protection for the young Comtesse, partly for the sake of les convenances, and was greatly disturbed at the postponement of the marriage. " The affair has been put off day after day," she goes on, " and may not be concluded this week. However, I see that my daughter is so impatient to be gone that the time she now passes with us cannot be called living, and if the Coadjutor does not excuse himself from this marriage, I can see that she is quite ready to commit the folly of going without him. It would be so extraordinary to travel by herself, and, on the contrary, such a fortunate thing to have the company of her brother-in-law, that I shall do my utmost to arrange for them to travel together, and in the meantime the waters may have somewhat subsided. But I assure you that I have no pleasure in her company ; I know that she must leave us, and all that she does now are her duties and the preparations for departure. We see no society ; we go to no amusements ; our hearts are always heavy, and we talk of nothing but rains, bad roads, and melancholy stories of people who have lost their lives in travel- ling on them. In a word, though I love her as you know, our present condition is dull and disagreeable. We have had no pleasure in these last few days. I am greatly obliged to you, my dear Comte, for all the friendship and sympathy you feel for me. You understand better than anyone else what I suffer, and what I shall suffer. I should be sorry, however, that the joy you will have in seeing her should be troubled by thoughts of that. These are the changes and sorrows with which life is chequered. Adieu, my dearest Comte. I weary you to death with my long letters, but I hope you will understand the reason why I write them." 204 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS It was almost three weeks after this charming letter of apology was written that Madame de Soigne* endured the first terrible parting from her daughter, a separation that to her loving and sensitive heart seemed to contain nearly the bitterness of death. On the 5th of February Madame de Sevignd held her daughter in her arms for the cruel farewell, weeping, " without knowing what she did." One of the Marquise's most faithful and affectionate friends was there to assist them in those little welcome offices at parting, when the principals are too absorbed in grief to remember necessary details ; the good d'Hacqueville, the kind, officious friend who divided his days among so many friends, who so multiplied himself in their service that he was sometimes, in affectionate mockery, spoken of in the plural as " les d'Hacqueville." He had been a college friend of the Cardinal de Retz, and through him had become acquainted with Madame de Sdvigne. He was devoted to her and her daughter ; he was sometimes even too attentive, but always with such praiseworthy intentions, that when most annoyed they could only laugh at him and his bad writing and his stale news, and love him for his kind, unselfish devotion. When everything necessary for the long journey had been packed into the travelling carriage a bed, which the Chevalier de Grignan, another of her husband's brothers, had lent her, food, kitchen utensils (the coffee-pot was unluckily forgotten !), besides books for the long monotonous days of travelling Madame de Sevigne' saw the man who was to drive her daughter bringing his horses round, and, her eyes streaming with tears, she went to implore him to take care of her daughter. She asked him his name, and when he had told her "'Monsieur Busche,' said I, sobbing all the time" (it is the Marquise who tells this afterwards to her daughter), " ' I recom- mend my daughter to your care ; do not overturn her, I pray ; and when you have taken her safely to Lyons, come and tell me the news and I will give you something to drink.' " Even when the good-byes had all been said, and Monsieur Busche was just driving off, Madame de Sevigne could not let her daughter go without one last anguished embrace, then, watching her from an upper window as she finally drove away, A CRUEL SEPARATION 205 she felt, as she afterwards declared, " fit to throw herself out of the window after her." Distracted at her loss, she went from her own desolate house to the Convent of Sainte- Marie, in the Faubourg de Saint- Jacques, and in this retreat she remained for hours, unable to do anything but weep. The next day she wrote to her daughter, and in her own vivid words we recognise the sincerity and depth of her grief. " PARIS, Friday, February 6, 1671 " My grief would be very light if I could give you a descrip- tion of it ; I shall not therefore attempt it. I search everywhere in vain for my dear child, and I find her not ; every step she takes carries her farther away from me. I went to Sainte-Marie, half dead, and weeping all the way ; it seemed to me that my very heart and soul had been torn from me. Mon Dieu ! what a cruel separation ! I begged to be alone ; and they took me into Madame du Housset's room, where they made me a fire. Agnes stayed with me, but without speaking, for that was our bargain ; and I remained there till five o'clock without ceasing to weep ; every thought brought death with it. I wrote to M. de Grignan, you may easily guess in what style. Then I went to Madame de la Fayette, who redoubled my sorrows by sharing in them. She was alone, and ill and sad, because of the death of a sister, a nun, which was exactly as I would have wished to find her. Monsieur de la Rochefoucauld came in, and we talked of nothing but you, and of the good reason I had to be in distress. ... At about eight o'clock I came home, but, bon Dieu ! can you understand what I felt on going upstairs ? The doors were open of that room which I always entered with such happiness, but everything was in disorder and desolate, and only your poor little girl was there in place of mine. Can you understand all that I suffered? The night passed in mournful vigils, and the returning light brought me no peace of mind. . . ." The abandonment of grief that Madame de SeVign occasionally made the same social mistakes that harass the lives of less fortunate individuals. " I must tell you of an absurd mistake I made the other day," she writes to her daughter. " I was at M. de Chaulnes' house, and I saw a man standing at the end of the room whom I believed to be the maitre d* hotel. I went up to him and said, My good sir, do let us have dinner ; it is one o'clock, and I am fit to die with hunger.' * Madame,' he said, looking gravely at me, ' I should be very happy to give you a dinner at my house ; my name is Pe"caudiere, and I live only two leagues from Landerneau.' My child, it was a gentleman of Lower Brittany, and you may imagine how foolish I felt at the discovery ; I cannot help laughing even while I write it." The States were gradually drawing to a conclusion, as may be seen from Madame de Se'vigne's letters. We get a glimpse of the young Due de Rohan paying conspicuous attention to a beauty of Lower Brittany, who dances beautifully, and who entirely neglects her betrothed to listen to the flattering nothings of the young nobleman, in spite of her mother's evident frowns and disapproval. Monsieur Locmaria has lost none of his fascination ; his dancing, his figure, his face, his manners are all captivating ; and she tells her daughter that the " Murinette beauty," that is to say Mademoiselle Murinais, would accept him willingly, but that he has not the same inclination for her. Pomenars has grown bolder than ever, and sends word to Madame de Grignan that he is sure he will not be hanged now because he has escaped so long. We catch, too, a glimpse of the tender heart of the brilliant mistress of Les Rochers, who is always ready with a jest, always ready to laugh at the jests of others, whose spirits are always bright and buoyant in company. " I am ready to die sometimes," she tells her daughter, "for want of giving vent to my tears at a ball where I am reminded of you ; and sometimes I actually enjoy my tears unobserved. There are some airs and dances that almost always produce that effect on me. Our States may sing and dance and drink as long as they please, but your dear picture finds its way through all, and fixes itself in my heart as on its proper throne." The Marquise is drily sarcastic over the large sums of "THE FORTUNATE MOMENT" 245 money voted by the Breton gentlemen, in addition to that already promised to the King. "They must think they are going to die, and are disposing of all their effects," whispered a Breton gentleman in her ear, at one of these generous and enthusiastic moments ; and the Marquise cordially agreed. She knew that all this money would have to be raised somehow, and indeed, only a few years later, Brittany was so impoverished by its " free gifts " to the King, that the province was well-nigh bankrupt. " The contract our province made with the King was signed last Friday, but before that we had given two thousand louis- d'or to Madame de Chaulnes, besides many other presents. It is not that we are so rich here ; but we have courage, we are very obliging, and between twelve and one at noon we can never refuse anything to our friends. That is the fortunate moment ; the odours of your orange-flowers do not produce such fine effects. I do not know how you are at present, but your health is drunk here every day by more than a hundred gentlemen who never saw you in their lives, and in all probability never will. . . . " Provincial splendour appears here in all its glory, but the other day M. de Grignan's post was admired and envied by everyone for being without this parade. . . . While the rage for making presents prevailed, we had a desire to propose to the States to give ten thousand crowns to M. and Madame de Grignan. M. and Madame de Chaulnes declared that they would listen to the proposal ; the others that they would actually make the present. Finally, we agreed to have it whispered about, to make a few of the Bas Bretons murmur, to soften them down at table, and make them promise to propose it." But, needless to say, this proposal was never made ; the States had promised all they could perform to the great officials of Brittany. It is amusing to find that as the States drew near the end the Marquise told her daughter that she did not dare to keep at Les Rochers any longer, as the way there was too well known. On the last Sunday in August, a day of leisure, no less than five carriages-and-six came to give her a surprise visit. However, a week after this, on September 6, the Marquise was very happy to be able to write to her daughter of the actual conclusion of the Assembly. 246 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS " ' The best of company must part,' said M. de Chaulnes, on dismissing the Bretons to their homes. The States broke up about midnight. I was present, with Madame de Chaulnes and some other ladies. It was a very fine, very grand, and very magnificent assembly. M. de Chaulnes spoke to everybody with great dignity, and expressed himself extremely well. After dinner we all go to our own places. I shall be rejoiced to find myself again at Les Rochers. I have had an opportunity of obliging several people ; I have made a deputy and a pen- sioner ; I have spoken for several unfortunate folk, but of myself not a word, for I cannot ask without a reason." CHAPTER XXVI Wolves in the woods at Les Rochers The birth of a grandson The Marquise and her household return to Paris A warm welcome given to the m2re-beaut A charming society A brilliant group of writers THE Marquise was so overjoyed to leave Vitre", to be able at last to bid good-bye to her pleasant friends, and to the crowds of Breton ladies and gentlemen whose acquaintance she had made during the States, that she tells her daughter " I am going back to Les Rochers, so delighted to go that I am almost ashamed of being so tranquil in your absence." She had really enjoyed the festivities, however, and it is pleasant to find that a closer acquaintance with the people of her own province by marriage had given her a cordial liking and respect for their good qualities. " I like your Bretons very much," she says ; " they smell a little of wine, it is true, but your orange-flower perfumes do not hide such good hearts." The rest of the month of September was passed in the serene solitude of Les Rochers, which the Marquise had so yearned for in the midst of the entertainments of the States. Day after day she wandered in her mall, her labyrinth, her walks and woods ; sometimes taking a book, sometimes " plough- ing the mall with her eyes," or reading and re-reading her daughter's letters. She occasionally varied these occupations by going to see how the chapel, in which the Bien-Bon was so interested, was progressing, or she talked business with her tenants, or discoursed on religion and philosophy with her two abbe's. In October she mentions the nut-gathering ; a sober harvest enough, she thinks, in comparison with the lovely fruits and flowers of her daughter's little kingdom. " I know Provence only by its pomegranates, its orange-trees, 247 248 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS and its jessamines," she writes ; " for that is how it is described to me; but for us, chestnuts are our greatest ornament. The other day I had three or four baskets full of them round me ; some I boiled, some I roasted, and with others I filled my pockets ; they are served up at table, they are trodden under- foot ; this is Brittany in all its glory." We have another most piquant glimpse of this beautiful and stately chatelaine as she wanders in her woods, under the alluring rays of the October moon. She loves her woods and gardens with a passion that causes her to seek them every spare hour of the day when the weather is fine ; she watches the young trees growing, with an almost maternal solicitude ; and when Pilois, her chief gardener, and his men are planting, she some- times holds up the saplings for the sheer pleasure of helping at so congenial an occupation. Even in the evenings, moonlight in her woods is so seductive that, to the alarm of her household, she stays there till late at night. But she takes precautions " Apropos my woods are infested with wolves ; I have two or three guards to follow me every night with their muskets upon their shoulders ; Beaulieu is their captain, and for these two days past we have honoured the moonlight with our presence between eleven and twelve at night. The night before last I saw a black man coming towards me ; I thought of the Augur of whom you told me, but, on approaching, it proved to be la Mousse. A little farther on we saw a white body extended along the ground ; we came up to this quite boldly, and, behold ! it was a tree I had had cut down a week ago. These are extraordinary adventures ! " Finally, on November 29, she received the news for which she had been waiting so long at Les Rochers, with deep anxieties and silent tears, with continual prayers of her own, as well as daily masses at church the safe delivery of her daughter. Everyone concerned was especially delighted, because this time it was a son ; and the Marquise, in the excess of her emotion, wept for joy, and immediately went to have as many masses said by way of thanksgiving, as she had ordered before when hoping to ensure the safety of her daughter. Her first impulse was one of devout thankfulness. " I am now so entirely happy," she writes, " that I cannot THE MARQUISE RETURNS TO PARIS 249 help returning thanks to God without ceasing for the peace of mind which I did not expect so soon. I have received letters of congratulation, without number and without end, from Paris and Brittany, and the baby's health has been drunk for miles around. I have distributed money for drink, and have feasted my people on the occasion, exactly as if it were Twelfth- night. But nothing gave me greater pleasure than the com- pliment I received from Pilois, who came this morning with his spade upon his back, and said to me, ' Madame, I have come to tell you how heartily glad I am to hear that Madame la Comtesse has a fine boy.' That, to me, is worth all the fine speeches in the world. . . . Adieu, divine Comtesse ; I kiss the little child whom I love tenderly, but not so well as Madame his mother ; it will be a long time before he attains to that degree of affection." After having stayed nearly seven months at Les Rochers, Madame de Sevigne set out for Paris on December 9, with the Bien-Bon, the Abbe* de la Mousse, her waiting-women, and her pet dog Marphise. They had four horses to each carriage, and though they " flew like the wind " they were nine days on the road, including a short stay at Malicorne. The first thing she did on reaching Paris was to write again to the daughter who was never long absent from her thoughts. She gives a vivid picture of her meeting with her friends and relatives, particularly with Emmanuel de Coulanges, her cousin, who while staying at Lyons had gone for a short visit to Madame de Grignan ; indeed, the part that relates to him is an extraordinary impressionist picture of the emotions. " PARIS, Friday, December 18, 1671 " I have just arrived, my dear child, and am at my aunt's house, surrounded, embraced, and questioned by all my family and hers ; but I have left them all, resolved to say good-day to you as well as to other people. M. de Coulanges is waiting to take me home with him, where he says I shall stay because one of Madame de Bonneuil's sons has the small-pox. . . . Suppose me now arrived at M. de Coulanges', whom I adore because he is always talking to me of you ; but can you guess what happens ? Why, I cry, and my heart is so strangely oppressed that I make 250 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS a sign with my hand for him to be silent, and silent he is. My eyes are red, and we speak quickly of other things, on the con- dition, however, that one day I shall give myself up entirely to talking of you, to the exclusion of everything else. He tells me that when he saw you, you shut your eyes and said you were in my room; yes, certainly you were in Paris, for there was M. de Coulanges ! He acted this very charmingly, and I am delighted to find that you have still a little foolishness left, for I was terribly afraid lest you should always be Madame la Gouvernante. ..." Then the amiable, witty, frivolous Emmanuel de Coulanges the cousin, eight years younger than the Marquise, whom she remembers as a baby, when she, a little orphan, was staying with his mother at Sucy takes up the pen to write to Madame de Grignan, and from his note we gather something of the ex- quisite beauty of the young Comtesse, who is now about twenty- five, and of the gracious charm and affection of her whom he generally calls mere-beaut^. " I shut my eyes, and on opening them again, I see that mere-beaut^ who is your delight and mine ; and this assures me that I am at Paris. I am going to entertain her with all your perfections. Do you know that I am more bewitched with you than ever, and that I am afraid I shall take the Chevalier de Breteuil's place? I know that this would not please M. de Grignan, and it is the only thing that keeps me from so great an undertaking. But in truth, Madame la Comtesse, you are a master-piece of Nature, and it is thus I speak of you whenever I mention you. I was yesterday at M. de la Rochefoucauld's, where I met M. de Longueville [the Comte de Saint-Paul, who had recently taken the title of the Due de Longueville when his elder brother entered the Church], and we talked of nothing but Provence and you. Adieu, my charming Comtesse ; I can see your room, I am looking at that man in the tapestry who is opening his breast ; believe me, if you could see mine at this moment, you would see my heart as you see his, a heart which is yours, which languishes for you ; but do not tell this to M. de Grignan. Your daughter is a little brown beauty ; she is very pretty ; there, she is kissing me and THE MARQUISE AND HER GRANDDAUGHTER 251 prattling to me, but she never cries. She is beautiful, but I do not love her so well as I love you. There is no such thing as talking to your mere-beaut^ about you ; the great tears fall from her eyes. Mon Dieu ! what a mother ! " The little Blanche d'Adhemar, now about a year old, is fre- quently mentioned by the Marquise, whose graphic pen-sketches to the Comtesse (who had not seen her daughter since she was a few months old) bring the baby vividly before us. Sometimes she says she can hardly leave the child's bedside, even to write to its mother, because of its sweet and fascinating baby-ways ; at other times we see her, by means of the magic pen of the Marquise, chattering baby-talk to her mother's picture ; and in May, when Blanche is just about a year and a half old, Madame de Sevignd gives a delightful portrait of her tiny granddaughter. " You tell me," she writes to the Comtesse, " that your son's beauty diminishes, and that his merit increases. I am sorry for the loss of his beauty, and I am rejoiced to find that he loves wine ; this is a little spice of Brittany and Burgundy together, which will produce a charming effect with the prudence of the Grignans. As for your daughter, she is just the reverse ; her beauty increases and her merit lessens. I assure you she is very pretty, but as obstinate as a demon ; she has her little will, and intentions, with which she diverts me extremely. She has a beautiful complexion, blue eyes, black hair, a nose that is neither handsome nor ugly; her chin, her cheeks, and the contours of her face are faultless. I shall say nothing of her mouth, it will do very well; she has a very sweet voice, and Madame de Coulanges thinks it suits her mouth." The Marquise sends yet another delightful little picture of baby Blanche to her mother in Provence. On Monday, 23rd of May, she writes to Madame de Grignan "... Yesterday I dined at the la Troches' with the Abbe Arnauld and Madame de Valentine. After dinner we had le Camus, his son, and Ytier, and together they gave us a charming little concert. After that Mademoiselle de Grignan arrived with her equerry Beaulieu, her governess Helene, her v/aiting- woman Marie, her little page Jacquot her nurse's son, and her nurse Mere Jeanne, dressed in her Sunday clothes ; 252 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS she is the most amiable country-woman I have ever seen. This little procession made a fine appearance. We sent them into the garden, and we all watched them with much pleasure ; I was much charmed with her little household. . . ." Poor little Blanche d'Adhemar ! These early years that she passed with her loving grandmother were probably the most sunny days of her life. There is no actual record of the date when she was taken to Provence by her mother, but we gather from the Letters that it was soon after her fifth birthday. M. de Grignan then expresses his satisfaction with his little daughter, and shortly after she was placed in the convent at Aix, founded by her ancestress Sainte-Chantal. Fleeting mention is now and again made of her in Madame de Sevigne's letters. We gather that the child was sometimes jealous, sometimes a little rebellious ; sometimes chafing at being away from home where her brother and sister were so happy. Occasionally the Marquise pleads for her, but evi- dently the Comtesse de Grignan had never felt much affection for her eldest-born, and she had no scruple in devoting her to a religious life. One child at least, in good Catholic families, was often " given to God " ; and it mattered not at all that her daughter Blanche did not evince any "vocation," that the Rabutin blood in her young veins desired ardently to be released into the world ; it was necessary, so the Comtesse thought, that one child at least should be economically provided for, and as the baby Pauline promised to have beauty as her dower, the unfortun- ate little Blanche, who was plainer, was chosen for the sacrifice. Back again in Paris among her friends, the Marquise gives many most interesting glimpses into the charming and varied society among which she spent her days. The friend whom she most frequently visits is Madame de la Fayette, by whom she is sincerely loved and always cordially welcomed. Here, the Marquise tells her daughter, is the prettiest little garden in Paris, where they sit and breathe the perfume of the flowers, and enjoy the lovely spring evenings, because Madame de la Fayette is so delicate that she cannot even venture into a carriage. Madame de la Fayette is visited every day by the cynical Due de la Rochefoucauld, who is a martyr to gout, but who always contrives to limp or drive to see his friend, where THE DUC DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD 253 they both sit and talk so sadly, or groan over their sufferings, till, the Marquise de SeVigne tells her daughter afterwards, " Madame de la Fayette is always ailing, M. de la Rochefou- cauld is always lame, and we sometimes talk so dismally, till it seems that there is nothing to be done but to bury us." Very often, too, the Marquise goes to the house of the Due de la Rochefoucauld, which is also in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and though the Duke does not hold a salon, he frequently arranges for dramatists and authors to read or act their new pieces to a select company of his friends. What a group of authors were then amusing Paris ! The brilliant Moliere, whose glance noted every absurdity, whose every play was a satire on some existing abuse; Racine, Corneille, La Fontaine, whose names, after the test of centuries, proudly hold their places among the greatest in France ! One day the Marquise happened to be at the Duke's house when Corneille was giving one of his plays, and, as was her usual custom, she writes her daughter an account of it. " The other day at M. de la Rochefoucauld's, Corneille read one of his comedies, which showed us what he once had been. I wish you had been with me that afternoon, I am sure you would not have been wearied or indifferent ; indeed, you would have dropped a tear or two, since I myself shed twenty. The Duke was behind the scenes, and Pomenars was above with the lackeys, wrapped in his cloak up to the eyes for fear of the Comte de Cr^ance, who is resolved to have him hanged at all costs. The beaux were all upon the stage ; the Marquis de Villeroi was in a masquerade dress, the Comte de Guiche was as obscure as his own wit, and all the rest were in cloaks like so many banditti." The Due de la Rochefoucauld frequently sent messages to Madame de Grignan, and on one occasion he sent her his famous Maximes. " Here are M. de la Rochefoucauld's MaximeS) revised and corrected with additions ; it is a present to you from himself," writes the Marquise. " Some of them are exquisite ; but there are others that, to my shame, I cannot understand at all. God knows whether you will." But the Marquise does not confine herself to visiting these two friends. We must not overlook the fact that she sometimes goes to visit the sick, who, she says, are as full of sorrow and 254 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS vexation as herself when she remembers her separation from her daughter. There is Madame Scarron too, " who sups with us almost every evening, and is the most agreeable companion imaginable. She knows perfectly well how to please me, by talking to me of you. She admires you greatly." Cardinal de Retz, too, has returned to Paris, and is now the Abbe of Saint-Denis. The Marquise has a great affection for this relative, and often mentions him in her letters. " We do all we can to amuse our dear Cardinal," she says. " Corneille has read him one of his comedies, which is soon to be produced, and which recalls the fine works he has written. On Saturday, Moliere is to read him Trissotin \les Femmes Savantes\ which is a very amusing comedy; and Despre"aux will read him his Lutrin and his Potique\ this is all we can do for him. He loves you with all his heart, and often speaks of you ; and we are not so ready to finish your praises as we are to begin them." It was always the same ; wherever she went she was sure to talk of her daughter, and, in that agreeable, charming society, which she herself said " was the kindest in the world," they did not fail to mention the subject that concerned her most, even though they might not be so interested in Madame de Grignan as was her mother. " Everybody talks to me of my daughter," innocently declared the Marquise. " Do you see that good woman ? " said her cousin Emmanuel de Coulanges one day. " She is for ever in the presence of her daughter ! " Besides talking of her daughter, and writing to her almost every day, she delighted in sending her presents. Sometimes it is a parcel of books ; sometimes a fan, which she thinks charming because it is decorated with a group of little chimney-sweeps instead of the fashionable cupids ; or it is a pair of pincettes for M. de Grignan's "incomparable beard." But she loves to adorn her beautiful daughter, and once she sends her a lovely pearl necklace, which always appears in Madame de Grignan's portraits after this date. " I forbid you, my dear child," she writes, " to send me your portrait. If you are looking pretty, have it painted, but keep the delightful present for me till I come to see you, for I should be very sorry to leave it here. In the meantime, accept one THE PEARL NECKLACE 255 from me that surpasses all presents, past and to come ; this is not saying too much, my child, for it is a pearl necklace worth twelve thousand crowns. It is a large sum, but not greater than my love and goodwill towards you. Examine it well, weigh it, see how beautifully it is set, and then tell me your opinion of it. It is the finest I ever saw ; it belonged to our late neighbour, the Venetian ambassador, who is dead ; and it has been greatly admired here." Through all the letters she rings the changes on the same theme, her intense longing to visit her daughter; to see her in her own home, in the new and strange surroundings of Southern France. But her aunt, Madame de la Trousse, who had watched over her with constant care and affection since the first days of her widowhood, was ill, and her love and duty would not allow her to leave her, even though she had the utmost care and attention from her daughters, Mademoiselle de la Trousse and Mademoiselle de Meri. Of the Marquis de la Trousse, who had not been a very loving son, but who now expressed affection for his mother, she says : " I do not place much value on such deathbed affections, and I would not thank those who only began to love me then. My child, we must love during life, as you do so well ; we must make the existence of those we care for calm and happy, not fill it with bitterness and grief. It is too late to change at the point of death.'"* Madame de Sevign^ was kept for months in a state of un- certainty. Sometimes her aunt, who was suffering from dropsy, rallied a little, and the doctors said she might linger for some time ; then the Marquise would think that she and the Bien-Bon might leave her, and perhaps even find her recovered on their return. Following this, Madame de la Trousse grew so much worse that her death seemed only a question of hours; but, though sorely tempted, the Marquise always kept her post, and through the long, bright spring days sat by the bedside of her aunt whose terrible sufferings she described most movingly to her daughter and only left her for short periods while she paid brief visits to her ailing friend the Marquise de la Fayette. At length, on the last day of June, the Marquise de la Trousse died, and Madame de Sevigne was free to think of her visit to her daughter in Provence. CHAPTER XXVII The Marquise visits her daughter in Provence Madame de Sevigne at Marseilles Her return to Paris A midnight walk with Madame de Scarron The death of Turenne THE Marquise de la Trousse died on the 3Oth of June 1672, and by the I3th of July Madame de Se'vigne, who for months previously had been making preparations for her visit to Provence, was able to set out on the journey, accompanied by the Bien-Bon and the Abbd de la Mousse. They arrived at Grignan in the beginning of August, and the Marquise spent the whole of the following year with her daughter. We hear very little of this visit, because most of the letters that the Marquise sent to her friends in Paris and elsewhere have been lost, but we gather from one or two notes to her daughter that she visited Marseilles with M. de Grignan, and was delighted with the reception accorded to the Governor of Provence. With her usual keen interest in everything novel or strange, she im- mediately wrote to her daughter, who was at Grignan, with a charming vivacity, her impressions of the place and people. " I sit down to write to you between a visit from Madame the Intendant's wife and a very fine harangue. I am now expecting a present, and the present expects my pistole. I am charmed with the singular beauty of this town. Yesterday was a glorious day, and the place from which I could see the sea, the bastions, the mountains, and the town, is a most remarkable spot. . . . The crowd of chevaliers who came to see M. de Grignan on his arrival some with names that are familiar, like Saint-Herem, others unknown adventurers with swords and fine hats gave a suggestion of war and romance, of embarkations and adventures, of chains and irons, of slavery, of captives and captivity; and all this, to one who loves romance as I do, is inexpressibly delightful." 256 THE MARQUISE IN PROVENCE 257 It was probably on this same journey that she was detained at Lambesc, from whence she wrote to her daughter, with her own inimitable charm, of the difficulties that beset travellers in Provence. " LAMBESC, 10 o'clock Tuesday morning "December 20, 1672 " When we reckon without Providence, my dear daughter, we are often obliged to reckon twice. I was all ready dressed by eight o'clock ; I had drank my coffee, heard mass, bidden good- bye to everybody, the little mules were loaded, and the tinkling of their bells reminded me that it was time to get into my litter ; my room was full of people, who begged me not to set out because of the heavy rains of the last few days, and because it had rained without cessation the whole of yesterday and this morning. But I resisted all their arguments, determined to keep the promise I made you in my letter of yesterday, of being with you on Thursday, when suddenly in came M. de Grignan in his dressing-gown, and talked to me so seriously of the rashness of my undertaking saying that the muleteer would not be able to follow my litter, that my mules would fall into the ditches, that my people would be too fatigued to be able to assist me that I at once changed my mind and yielded to his wise remon- strances . . . and now I shall depart when it pleases Heaven and M. de Grignan, who governs me entirely." While staying in Provence, Madame de SeVigne was kept well posted with what was going on at Court by her friends Madame de la Fayette and Madame de Coulanges. The Marquise on one occasion scolded Madame de la Fayette for not writing oftener, and that ailing lady, who always " enjoyed " miserable health, wrote back, " You love writing to everyone ; I hate it just as much, and if I had a lover who expected a letter every day I should certainly break with him." Madame de Coulanges tells her how her letters are appreciated by everyone who has the privilege of reading them, and it is pleasant to us, who are so charmed with them to-day, to find that even during her lifetime this delightful writer was not without honour in her own country. " But I must not forget what happened this morning," writes 17 258 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Madame de Coulanges. " A footman from Madame de Thianges [sister to Madame de Montespan] wanted to speak to me. I ordered him to be shown in, and this is what he said. l Madame, I have come from Madame de Thianges, who begs you to send her the letter about the Horse, and the one about the Meadow, from Madame de SevigneV I told the lackey that I would take them myself to his mistress, and so I got rid of him. Your letters have the reputation they deserve, as you see ; it is certain that they are delightful, and you are as delightful as your letters." During the time that the Marquise was staying in Provence, Madame de Grignan's youngest daughter, Pauline, was born. On October the 5th, 1673, Madame de Sevigne left her daughter with much grief, especially as the latter was not in good health. On the way home she stayed for a short while at Bourbilly, her castle in Burgundy, and arrived in Paris on All Saints Day. She was welcomed by numbers of her friends : Madame de la Fayette, the Due de la Rochefoucauld, Madame de Scarron, who was steadily and stealthily rising in favour at Court, the Archbishop of Rheims, the Abbe de Grignan, d'Hacqueville, the Abbe Tetu, and a host of others, all eager to welcome the charming Marquise to their society after her long absence. The next morning, as early as nine o'clock, M. de la Garde, the Abbe de Grignan, Brancas, and d'Hacqueville crowded into her room to have a little private conversation, for at this period Madame de Sevigne was much occupied in Paris with supporting the interests of M. de Grignan, as the Bishop of Marseilles, his old enemy, was secretly working against him. Madame de SeVign^ in giving her daughter the news that would be sure to interest her, did not forget Madame de Scarron, whom they had both known in the days of her poverty and obscurity. During Madame de Sevigne's absence she had been promoted, and instead of existing on a small pension in an appartement in the Marais, she was now governess to the children of the King and Madame de Montespan, and lived in the utmost privacy in a beautiful house on the confines of Paris. The Marquise gives her daughter an account of a perfectly safe mid- night walk through the streets of Paris, for by this time in fact since the year 1666 Paris was lighted with candle lanterns THE WIDOW SCARRON 259 suspended in the middle of the street, except on moonlight nights, of course ! On December 4 she writes " We supped yesterday with Madame Scarron and the Abbe* Tetu at Madame de Coulanges'. We talked a great deal, and you were not forgotten. We took it into our heads to accompany Madame de Scarron home at midnight to the farthest end of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, past Madame de la Fayette's, almost as far as Vaugirard in the country. She lives in a fine and beautiful house, where no one is allowed to enter. She has a large garden, handsome apartments, servants, a carriage and horses, and she dresses neatly but richly, like a woman who has passed all her life with people of rank. She is amiable, pretty, good, and free from affectation ; one can converse very pleasantly with her. We returned gaily by the light of the lanterns, and in no danger from thieves." About two months after this, however, to Madame de SeVigne's great satisfaction, she wrote no more letters to her daughter for a whole year, for Madame de Grignan came to Paris on a long visit to her mother ; and it was then, no doubt, that she renewed her interest in the people about the Court, for after her return to Provence in May 1675, the Marquise writes more frequently than ever about the happenings at Versailles and at Saint-Germain. But it is particularly noticeable that at this period Madame de Sevigne writes with especial caution whenever she mentions her friends who have any interest at Court. " It is sometimes necessary to write in cypher," she tells her daughter, for letters were frequently opened as they passed through the post. She also speaks in terms of eulogy of the King whenever she has occasion to mention him ; for Louis XIV was ruling with a strong hand ; rewarding and punishing with such autocratic power, that all his subjects feared him, and few, very few, dared to be as outspoken as the brusque Marquis de Montausier, who one day remarked angrily, " No one but mistresses and ministers has any influence nowadays ! " We therefore find that Madame de la Fayette, who had considerable political influence in a quiet way, in connection with the Princess of Savoy, is sometimes mentioned as the Mist, Madame de Coulanges is the Leaf- a term well suited to her airy and frivolous character Madame de Montespan is Quantova, M. 26o THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS de Pomponne is the Rain, while the Torrent and the Dew are names for persons who have not been very clearly identified. Soon after Madame de Grignan's return to Provence, an event occurred at the seat of war which seems to have affected Madame de Sevigne with a deep personal grief, the death of the Marshal de Turenne. It would be particularly interesting to know what degree of intimacy existed between the Marquise and the great hero; we know they were personal friends, for Madame de SeVign mentioned to her daughter one day that she had been to visit him with Madame de la Fayette. It is somewhat curious that of Foucquet, and of the brave Mardchal, Madame de SeVign has left the most touching and interesting records ; especially noticeable because both these men, as we know from Bussy's letters, during the earlier, more brilliant days of her widowhood, would fain have become her lovers. Their intentions neither of them honourable seem not to have shocked the Marquise in the least degree, though when her more severe daughter wrote with expressions of horror on the subject of adultery, she cordially agreed with her. The truth is that Madame de Sevigne', to use a common phrase, " took her world as she found it," and her world thought it a light, almost venial sin to break the seventh commandment. It was this easy and graceful adaptability of mood and temper that made Madame de Sevign^ such a charming companion. " If I had a little more warmth in my disposition I should be angry," she wrote on one occasion, and it was probably the decision and emphasis not always agreeable ! in Madame de Grignan's character that caused Ninon to declare that she had all the sel of the family. M. de Turenne was killed in July 1675, an d all Paris was shocked and grieved when the news reached the city. Madame de Sevign^ tells the sad circumstance to her friends, and continu- ally mentions incidents of his life, and always with loving and admiring affection. There is something singularly good and attractive in his portrait, a look of far-seeing wisdom and human sympathy combined, which distinguishes him from the other nobles of his day ; indeed, most of his actions were totally unlike those of his compeers, especially in matters relating to the poor soldiers under his command. As the Marquise relates, MARECHAL TURENNE THE DEATH OF TURENNE 261 he clothed a whole regiment at his own expense ; and on another occasion he sold his plate that his soldiers might be fed. Madame de Sevign^ uses a very happy phrase in mentioning his death to her cousin Bussy, which informs us at the same time that she was a fatalist. " You are an excellent almanac," she writes to Bussy, " you predicted like one of the profession all that happened in Germany ; but you did not foresee the death of M. de Turenne, nor the cannon-ball, shot at random, which singled him out of ten or twelve others. But I, who see the hand of Providence in everything, I see that cannon loaded from all eternity. I see that everything combined to lead him to that fatal spot ; and I do not consider it very terrible for him, supposing him in a fit state of mind to die. What more could he have desired ? He died in the midst of glory." As the Marquise was on intimate terms with Cardinal Bouillon, his nephew, and Madame d'Elbceuf, his niece, she was invited by them to meet some of the gentlemen and soldiers who had witnessed his death, and the day after she writes a most touching account of the meeting to her daughter, giving, at the same time, a detailed description of the hero's death. "PARIS, Wednesday, August 28, 1675 " In truth, my daughter, I am going to write to you yet once again of M. de Turenne. Madame d'Elbceuf, who is staying for a few days with the Cardinal de Bouillon [her brother], invited me to dine with them yesterday to talk of their sad loss. Madame de la Fayette was there also, and we did what we proposed to do, till there was not a dry eye among us. Madame d'Elbceuf had a portrait, exquisitely painted, of the hero, whose people all arrived at eleven o'clock. They were already clothed in mourning, and all were bathed in tears; three gentlemen came in who were fit to die with grief at the sight of the picture ; they could not utter a word, and their cries pierced one to the heart. His valets, his lackeys, his pages and trumpeters, were all in tears, and made everyone weep to see them. The first who was able to speak answered our sad questions ; we made him tell us the manner of his death. M. de Turenne wished to confess, and when he retired for that purpose, 262 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS he gave his orders for the evening, and intended to communi- cate the next day, which was Sunday. He thought about giving battle, and mounted his horse at two o'clock on Satur- day, after he had eaten his dinner. He had several people with him, but he left them all at about thirty paces from the height where he intended to go, and said to young d'Elbceuf, ' Nephew, stay you there ; you keep so close to me that I shall be recog- nised/ M. d'Hamilton, who was near the place where he was passing, said to him " * Monsieur, come this way ; the enemy is directing the fire to the spot where you are ! ' " * I will do as you say,' replied M. de Turenne, ' I do not wish to be killed to-day. This place will do admirably. 1 " He turned his horse, and perceived Saint-Hilaire, who, coming up to him with his hat in his hand, said "'Will you look at that battery I have placed over there, Monsieur ? ' " The Marechal turned back, and, without having time to stop his horse, his arm and part of his body were torn to pieces by the same ball that carried away Saint-Hilaire's arm, and the hand in which he held his hat. That gentleman, who was looking at him attentively, did not see him fall, for the horse ran away with M. de Turenne to the spot where he had left young d'Elbceuf ; he was then leaning with his face over the pommel of the saddle. At this moment the horse stopped, and he fell into the arms of his people ; twice he opened his eyes wide, and moved his lips, and then remained silent for ever. Only to think that he was dead ; that part of his heart was carried away ! " His people burst into tears and loud cries, but M. d'Hamilton quieted them, and took young d'Elbceuf away from his uncle's body, where he had thrown himself, almost fainting with grief. A cloak was placed over the body, which was carried to the shelter of a hedge, where they kept watch over it in silence, till a carriage was brought to convey it to the tent. There it was met by M. de Lorges, M. de Roye, and several others, who were almost dead with grief; but they were obliged to control themselves, and to think of the great responsibility that had fallen upon them. " A military service was held in the camp, where tears and THE FUNERAL OF TURENNE 263 cries made truest mourning; all the officers had crape scarves, all the drums were covered with crape also, and they beat only a single stroke; the soldiers marched with their pikes trailing and their muskets reversed, but the cries of a whole army cannot be described without emotion. . . . " When the body was removed from the camp to be brought to Paris, the weeping and lamentations were renewed ; and in every place through which it passed there was nothing but grief and mourning. At Langres, however, they did more than this : the sad procession was met by more than two hundred of the chief inhabitants, clothed in mourning ; these were followed by the people, and all the clergy in their vestments, who held a solemn service in the town. A voluntary contribution was immediately made to defray this expense, which amounted to five thousand francs. What do you say to these marks of natural affection founded upon an extraordinary merit ? " He is to be brought to Saint-Denis this evening or to- morrow; his people are all gone to meet the body at a place about two leagues distant, from whence they will escort it to a chapel where it will be placed for the present. There will be a service at Saint-Denis, and afterwards one at Notre Dame, which will be very solemn. " What do you think of our entertainment at the Cardinal's house? We dined, as you may imagine, sadly enough, and till four o'clock we did nothing but sigh. ..." Two days after writing this, the Marquise went with Madame d'Elbceuf and the Cardinal to the service at Saint- Denis, of which she writes a sad and moving account to her daughter. Perhaps the most noticeable difference in the mourning of that day and this, was the utter lack of restraint among relatives, friends, servants, and people of every degree. At this service Madame d'Elbceuf " filled the chapel with her cries " ; nor is this occasion singular, for Madame de Sevigne relates that at the death of the Princesse de Conti, all her ladies-in-waiting gave themselves up to grief in the most extravagant fashion, some of it, as she noted, most evidently in use for the occasion. Shortly after the funeral service at Saint-Denis, Madame de 264 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Sevigne left Paris to spend the autumn in Brittany, against the wishes and advice of all her friends, for Brittany was in revolt against authority ; castles were pillaged, seigneurs were hanged, raids were made on government offices, the Governor was stoned, and the whole country was in inexpressible confusion and uproar. Indeed, said the Marquise, the whole province held the Governor, her good friend the Due de Chaulnes, in unspeakable hatred. The poor ignorant Bretons, who did not know a word of any other language except their own patois, naturally enough blamed their Governor for the crushing taxes under which they groaned, and especially for a new tax on tobacco, which was the immediate cause of the rising. But Madame de SeVigne*, more enlightened, knew that these taxes had year after year been augmented till they had grown unbearable, not by the Governor, but by the King, whose journeys, whose magnificent entertainments, whose palaces, whose vices of gambling and adultery, whose extravagance, in short, was a bottomless pit of expenditure, into which the funds of the nation continually disappeared. Brittany was ruined, said the Marquise. Of the "gift" a gracious name for taxes to be given to the King that year, they were nine hundred thousand francs short ; and this general poverty and distress had a marked influence on Madame de Sevignd's own fortune. " The Abbe* is continually counting," she told her daughter, " but we are not a penny the richer for all his reckoning." Tenants could not pay their rents, but the landlords had to find the money somehow, and the Marquise expresses her own indignation very forcibly. " Our gift to the King is increased, and I thought I should have beaten the honest Boucherat when I saw the augmentation ... I do not see how we are to pay half of it. Rennes is like a desert ; the punishments and taxes are unmerciful ; I might write from this time till to-morrow if I were to repeat the tragic stories that I hear." Some of the tragic stories she did relate, and she has some- times been accused of indifference in speaking of the sufferings of the peasantry. But it is impossible not to understand the indignation which breaks out now and again, as she writes of the outrageous punishments that are being inflicted. " You perceive," she tells her daughter, "that I have grown quite THE RISING IN BRITTANY 265 Bretonne> but you will understand that it is because of the air we breathe, and also due to something else, for everyone is affected. . . . Do you wish to know the news from Rennes ? They have levied a tax of one hundred thousand crowns to be paid by the bourgeois, and if this is not done in twenty-four hours it will be doubled, and the soldiers will extort the pay- ment. They have banished all the inhabitants of one big street, and have forbidden all the townspeople to receive them under pain of death; and one may see all those miserable creatures, old men, women who have been torn from a sick-bed, and young children, wandering in tears outside the town, not knowing where to go, or how they will find food, or where to sleep. The day before yesterday a pedlar was broken on the wheel; he had begun the dance with the pillage of the stamp-office. Sixty of the bourgeois have been arrested, and to-morrow they will begin the hangings. M. de Chaulnes has been received like the King, but it is only fear that has made them change their tone; and M. de Chaulnes does not forget all the shocking things they have said about him, of which the sweetest and most familiar was gros cochon^ without counting the stones thrown at his windows and into his garden, and the threats, which God alone prevented from being put into execution." The hangings did indeed go on, and what disgust and irony is in the letter of the Marquise in which she replies to her daughter's comments on affairs in Brittany. "You speak very pleasantly of our miseries. But we are no longer so much broken on the wheel as we were. Only one a week now, just to keep justice in practice. It is true, too, that mere hanging now seems a refreshing process. I have quite a new idea of justice since I have come here. Your galley-slaves seem to me to be a company of honest folk who have retired from the world to lead a peaceful life." But the life at the chateau went on as usual, though few visits were paid or received, a melancholy contrast to her previous stay at Les Rochers in 1671, when day after day she was able to send to her daughter the chronicle of the feasting and gaieties of the States. In December, however, she had the pleasure of welcoming her son Charles, who had been campaigning in 266 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Turenne's army, and who was now trying to get rid of his cornetcy. He had had no promotion for five years, and in disgust he wrote to his sister: "I am still a cornet, always a cornet, and shall be a cornet when my hair is grey." His mother expected him at Les Rochers for some weeks before he appeared, but he was paying attention to a pretty abbess, and their first meeting, as described to her daughter, is so characteristic of both mother and son, that it deserves quotation. On December 4, 1675, she writes "As I was returning from my walk yesterday, I found frater at the end of the mall, who fell on his knees as soon as he saw me, feeling so culpable for having been singing matins for three weeks underground, that he thought he dared not approach me in any other fashion. I had resolved to scold him well, but I never know how to be angry with him ; and I was heartily glad to see him, for you know how entertaining he is. He embraced me a thousand times, and gave me the worst reasons in the world, which, however, I accepted as perfectly good. We talk, we walk, we read, and so wear away the year, or at least what is left of it. We are determined to dispose of our wretched cornetcy as well as we can, if the King permit. . . ." The only neighbour at this time, except the irritating Made- moiselle du Plessis, was the Princesse de Tarente, who lived at Vitre"; who, said Madame de Sevigne, was very well in the country, though she should not enjoy her company greatly at Paris. It was from the Princesse that the Marquise had a charming little dog, of which she writes most whimsically to her daughter " Aux ROCHERS, November 13, 1675 "... You are surprised to hear that I have a little dog; this is how it happened. One day I was calling a little dog which belongs to a lady who lives at the end of the park. Madame de Tarente said to me : ' What ! do you like dogs ? I will send you one of the prettiest you have ever seen/ I thanked her, and said that I had made a resolution never again to indulge myself in an affection of that kind ; so the subject was dropped, and I thought no more of it. A few days after, I saw a footman bring a little dog-kennel, all decorated with A PET DOG 267 ribbons, and out of this pretty kennel jumped a little perfumed dog, quite extraordinarily beautiful, with ears, coat, and sweet breath, like a little sylph, the fairest of the fair. I was never more surprised nor more embarrassed. I would have returned it, but the servant would not take it back ; though the chamber- maid who had reared it was fit to die with grief for the loss of it. It is Marie who is so fond of it; he sleeps in his kennel in Beaulieu's room, and eats nothing but bread. I try not to become too attached to it, but it begins to like me, and I am afraid I shall succumb to its affection. This is the story, which I beg you not to tell to Marphise [her pet dog] at Paris, for I dread her reproaches. But it is the cleanliest little animal you ever saw ; its name is Fidele, a name, I believe, that the lovers of the Princess have never deserved, though they have been of some importance. Some day I will amuse you with her adventures. Her style, it is true, is full of faintings, and I do not think she has had sufficient leisure to love her daughter, not at least as I love mine. More than one heart would be necessary to love so many things at once, and I perceive every day that the great fish eat up all the little ones. If you are, as you say, my preservative, I am very much obliged to you, and I cannot too highly prize the love I have for you. I do not know from what dangers it has guarded me, but if it were from fire or from water, it could not be dearer to me than it is." CHAPTER XXVIII The Marquise has an attack of rheumatic fever She is tenderly nursed by her son and the Bien-Bon Rival beauties at the Carmelites The Marquise goes to Vichy for the waters A coquette at the Baths two hundred years ago Appalling remedies prescribed by physicians The hanging of a countess SOME of the most delightful pictures the Marquise gives of herself at Les Rochers, are those in which she describes her wanderings along her sunny walks or her musings in the shady allees. " I am always out of doors, like a wild man of the woods," she tells her daughter. " My health and vivacity depend so much on the weather, that in order to know how I am you have only to consult the stars." In November, again, she says "Our Saint Martin's summer still continues, and I take long walks ; and as I do not use an easy-chair I repose my corporea saltna at length in these avenues, where I spend whole days alone, attended by a single servant, and I do not return till almost night, when fire and candles make my room cheerful. I hate the twilight when I have no one to talk with ; I would far rather be alone in the woods than alone in a room ; this is what is called jumping into the water to get out of the rain, but I enjoy my solitude better than the weariness of an arm- chair. Do not be afraid of the night dews for me, my child, there are none in these old avenues ; they are like galleries ; fear nothing but heavy rains, for from them I am forced to flee indoors, and I can do nothing which does not injure my eyes. It is to preserve my sight that I brave what you call the night dews; but you need not fear for my health, it is perfectly good." The Marquise had always delighted in going out in all weathers. In rain, in sunshine, in bitter frosts, she would be in the park and gardens when she was in Brittany, full of con- ILLNESS OF THE MARQUISE 269 fidence in her magnificent health and constitution, which for nearly fifty years had scarcely caused her a day's uneasiness. But perhaps the Marquise did not pay the deference of precau- tion that time inexorably exacts, even from the most robust, for, some two months after that enjoyable Saint Martin's little summer, she one day found herself with a stiff neck and unable to move all her right side. Her son Charles, in much concern, brought a doctor from Vitre*, who pronounced it to be an attack of rheumatic fever. The affection that her children, the Abbe", the household, everyone, in fact, who came in close contact with this lovable woman, felt for her, was displayed at this crisis in every possible way ; but the dominant thought was how to prevent Madame de Grignan from being alarmed, so that she in turn might not alarm her mother by her grief. It was at this time that Charles de Sevignd showed the most amiable and charming side of his character, his true affection for his sister, his loving thoughtful- ness for his mother ; indeed, as a son his tender devotion and graceful social gifts made him almost perfect; it was only as a man that he showed himself light-minded, weak, and frivolous, and lacking in the energy and ambition that would have delighted his mother, and which were necessary for him to make, or even fitly to hold, his place in the world. On January 21, 1676, he writes to assure his sister " Begin, if you please, my dear little sister, by firmly believing everything that the good Abbe and I shall tell you to-day, and pray do not be alarmed if by chance you do not see my mother's handwriting. The swelling in her hands is still so much that we do not think it advisable to let them be exposed to the air, and another reason is that, since yesterday, which was the ninth day of the disease, the inflamed parts have begun to perspire. Do not imagine that we have not taken the utmost care of her, or that any precaution has been neglected. There is a very good physician at Vitre, who lias bled her in the foot with perfect success ; she is taken care of here as well as she could have been in Paris, and, what is even better, she herself thinks so. For the first illness she has ever had in her life it has been most severe and painful, but as it is almost a necessity to have some ailment this year, it is infinitely better for her to have had 270 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS this rheumatism than inflammation of the lungs, which has been so prevalent. In short, every day we have some consolation in our sorrow, and we feel almost greater pleasure in seeing our mother's two hands packed up in cloths, and herself unable to stand, than we felt when we saw her walking and singing in our avenues from morning till night." Not a word of his mother's delirium ; scarcely a hint of the terrible pains by which the poor Marquise was racked ; the report was designedly as favourable as possible, so that the Comtesse de Grignan, who loved her mother so dearly, should not be disturbed more than was absolutely necessary. The Comtesse had, at the time of Madame de Sevigne"s illness, prematurely given birth to her youngest child, a little boy who died in 1677. The Bien-Bon and his nephew Charles were so anxious on account of the two invalids, that they could not always agree as to the best method of lessening Madame de Grignan's fears for her mother. The Abbe declared that a few lines in the Marquise's handwriting, no matter how bad it might be, was necessary to reassure her daughter ; " while I maintain," wrote the young Baron to his sister, "that it would be much more likely to frighten you, and that you will have done us the honour to believe what we have reported to you about her health, . . . you never could suspect me of being so callous as to write in a jesting strain at a time when I was threatened with the most dreadful calamity." Mademoiselle du Plessis, too, the young lady who so annoys the Marquise by her persistent flattery of imitation, shows herself jealously anxious to do something to help the invalid, though in everything she attempts, according to Charles Sevign6, she makes ludicrous mistakes even in her best- intentioned efforts. There is a " little person," too, the daughter of a neighbouring lady, who is about fourteen, and so devoted to the Marquise that she weeps forlornly during her illness, and who, as soon as her help is required, makes herself useful in the sick-room, and as an amanuensis when the Baron is not there to write at his mother's dictation. The object of all this care and affection found her illness a severe trial. After two months of pain she partially recovered, MADAME DE MONTESPAN 271 though her hands were still very swollen, and she was not able to write to her daughter for some time. Even when she was allowed to go into the gardens again, she was " ready to cry " at being obliged to leave her dear woods at five o'clock instead of wandering in them till nearly midnight, and she felt the humiliation keenly. "Of all the maladies that could have befallen me," she tells her daughter, " I have had the least dangerous but the most painful, and the one most calculated to correct my pride, and to make me humble and apprehensive; for I would now run a hundred leagues to avoid such agony. But you, my dear child, who have suffered so much, and with so much courage, your resolution and endurance are greater far than mine ; may your noble soul long remain united to your lovely body ! " The Marquise was able to return to Paris by the 8th of April, and the air did her good almost immediately ; there was no air, she always declared, that suited her so well as that of the lie de France ! But she was already thinking of taking the waters at Vichy or Bourbon, and she finally decided on Vichy. Her son had rejoined his regiment; and it was something of a wrench to leave the Bien-Bon alone, but the health of the Marquise was just then the first consideration, and in May she set out for Vichy in her big carriage, so as to be quite comfortable. As it happened, Madame de Montespan was just in front of her, on the way to Bourbon, and she gives a vivid little pen-picture of the lady's progress to her daughter, who, remembering the days when she had danced with Mademoiselle de Mortemart, would have a special interest in the doings of the haughty beauty. " We closely follow the footsteps of Madame de Montespan," wrote the Marquise ; " and at every place we are told what she said, what she did, what she ate and how she slept. She is in a carriage with six horses, and the little Thianges is with her ; another carriage follows, drawn by the same number of horses, with six of her women in it ; she has two sumpter waggons, six mules, and ten or twelve cavaliers on horseback, without reckoning her officers ; her train consists of about forty-five people. She always finds her room and bed ready, and on her arrival she retires, and eats heartily. She gives away a good 272 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS deal in charity, and throws a good many louis d'or about with a very good grace. She receives a courier from the army every day." Only a week or two before this the Marquise had mentioned another little incident of which Madame de Montespan was the heroine ; a meeting between two rivals, that, to those who know their history, covers a whole world of bitter humiliation and chagrin on one side, and on the other the ungenerous triumph of victorious beauty. It reminds one of the pregnant little speech of Louise de la Valliere, when she was thinking of entering the convent where she was now Sister Louise de la Mis a gloomy time of year, and under circumstances which were still more gloomy, for her mother was too ill even to be carried to the chapel of the Chateau de Grignan. The bride, however, was not taken far away from home, for the estates of the Simianes adjoined those of the Grignans. Madame de Sevigne had been a tender nurse to her daughter in her long illness, but, as she complained to Emmanuel de Coulanges, it was wearing out her strength and endurance. " I own to you, my dear cousin, that I am dying of this, and I am hardly able to support all the bad nights that she causes me to pass." This was written in October, and though in the following spring Madame de Sevigne seemed quite well, there is no doubt that when she was stricken by the small-pox in April, her strength had been so exhausted by her continual anxiety for her daughter that the disease found her an easy prey. It is sad to think of her lonely deathbed ; she, who had loved her daughter with such rare devotion, was denied that dear daughter's presence in those last mournful hours. Madame de Grignan was in a room close by, but still dangerously ill, and unable to 20 306 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS go to her mother ; Charles de Sevigne' was hundreds of leagues away in Brittany ; and that bright spirit, which had so dreaded the thought of death, was obliged to face it alone, without either of her children to minister to her wants, or to sustain her courage as she set out on the last drear journey. It is a satis- faction to know, however, that, in spite of the terror which this dreadful disease always caused, especially in those days when it so frequently proved fatal, she was nursed with devoted care and affection by Mademoiselle de Martillac, and Montgobert, one of her daughter's dependants, who is often mentioned familiarly in the letters. The Marquise died on the I7th of April 1696, at the age of seventy, and her tombstone records that she received " all the sacraments " in her last hours ; a fact that must have given much solemn happiness to her devout mind. Her friends in Paris, when they heard the sad news, " met together to weep." Madame de Chaulnes, Madame de la Troche, Madame de Coul- anges, and others ; and her frivolous cousin Emmanuel for once wrote with a sad sincerity of his loss that is peculiarly touching from such a gay society trifler. M. de Grignan in reply wrote to him a letter that, as it not only expresses his grief but gives a few details of her illness as well, is one of the many written on the occasion that is most worth quoting. "GRIGNAN, May 23, 1696 " You, sir, can understand better than anyone the magnitude of the loss we have sustained, and my just grief. Madame de SeVigne's merit was perfectly known to you. It is not merely a mother-in-law that I regret, this name does not always com- mand esteem, it is an amiable and excellent friend, and a delightful companion. But it is a circumstance more worthy of our admiration than regret, that this noble-minded woman con- templated the approach of death (which she expected from the beginning of the attack) with astonishing firmness and sub- mission. She, who was so tender and timid respecting those she loved, displayed the utmost fortitude and piety when she believed that she ought to think only of herself ; and we cannot but remark how useful and important it is to fill the mind with sacred subjects, for which Madame de Sevigne appears to have THE DEATH OF MADAME DE SfiVIGNfi 307 had a peculiar taste, by the use she made of these excellent provisions in the last moments of her life. I relate these par- ticulars to you, sir, because they accord with your sentiments, and will be gratifying to the friendship you have borne for her whom we lament, and at the same time my mind is so full of them that it is a relief to me to find a man so willing to listen to the recital, and to take pleasure in hearing it." Her daughter was overwhelmed with grief, and in a few heart-broken sentences reveals how terribly she realised the extent of her loss. To the President Moulceau she writes : " What perfections did she not unite, to be to me in different ways more dear and precious? A loss so complete and irreparable does not dispose one to seek consolation except in tears and lamentations. I have not the strength to lift my eyes to the place whence comfort comes, I can as yet only cast them around me, where I no longer see her who loaded me with affection, and had no other care but to give me every day fresh proofs of her love. You lose a friend of incomparable merit and fidelity ; and I, Monsieur, what do I not lose ? " INDEX Adhemar, Frangois. See Grignan, Comte de Marie Blanche d', 190, 217, 250-252 Pauline d', 252, 258, 286, 300, 305 Albret, Chevalier d', 81, 82, 84 Amonio, quack doctor, 276 Andilly, Arnauld d', 138, 175, 189, 210 Angennes, Angelique d' (Comtesse de Grignan), 40, 41, 150, 179 Julie d'. See Montausier, Mar- quise de Anjou, Due d'. See Orleans, Philippe, Ducd' Anne de Bourbon. See Longueville, Duchesse de Anne of Austria, Queen Regent, 9, 15, 2 9 33 63, 64 ; and the Fronde, 66, 72 ; 86, 109, 133 Arnauld, Abbe, 92, 151 Arpajon, Madame d', 213-214 Artagnan, M. d', 142, 145, 148, 149 Ballets at the Court, 155-159 Balzac, Jean L.G., 44, 45 Beaufort, Due de, 51, 66, 67, 73, 170 Bellefond, Marechal de, 301 Benserade, Isaac, 156-159 Boileau-Despreaux, Nicolas, 174, 215, 254 Bondi, Forest of, 15-17 Bossuet, Jacques Benigne, 44, 212, 213 Bouillon, Cardinal de, 261, 263 Due de, 68 - Duchesse de, 67, 68 Bourbilly, 10, 258, 295 Bouteville de Montmorency, Marquis, 1-7,87 Brinvilliers, Comtesse de, 278 Brissac, Due de, 106 Duchesse de, 157, 273, 274 Brittany, revolt in, 264-265 ; the States of, at Vitre, 224, 227-246 Bussy d'Amboise, 5, 6 Bussy-Rabutin, Roger, Comte de, 3, 13, 24, 27 ; marriage of, 28 ; 33 ; and Madame de Sevigne, 54-56, 74-78, 93-95, 98-103, 109-113, 124-129, 1 38-i39 160-168; and Madame de Miramion, 56-60, 61, 62, 69, 71 ; gives a fete in the Temple Gardens, 94-95 '> hi s Histoire amoureuse, 128-129, 160-161, 166-167 ; and Madame de Grignan, 154, 172, 180- 182; 288 ; death of, 304 Cadaval, Due de, 203 Caderousse, Due de, 175 Calprenede, Seigneur de la, 182, 224 Candia, Expedition to, 184 Capuchins of the Louvre, 277 Carman, Madame de. See Murinais, Mademoiselle de Chabot, Henri de. See Rohan, Due de Mademoiselle de, 90 Chalais, Prince de, 5 Champmesle, Mademoiselle, 215, 216 Chantal, Celse Benigne, Baron de, 1-8, 10, II Baronne de, I, 4-9 The Blessed (Jeanne Frangoise Fremyot), 7-12, 143 Chantilly, Fete at, 218-220 Chapelain, Jean, 14, 18, 22, 23, 46, 137 Charles n, King of England, 195 Chatillon, Duchesse de, 49, 52, 73, 86 Chaulnes, Due de, 224 ; at the Brittany States, 228-246 ; 264-265, 275, 290, 293 Duchesse de, at the Brittany States, 228-246 ; 293, 302 Chesieres, M., 235, 242 Chevreuse, Duchesse de, 5, 49, 52, 73, 87 Mademoiselle de, 79, 80 Christina, Queen of Sweden, 76, 1 14-1 16 Clement, Pere, 57 Coetlogon, M. de, 234, 237 Colbert, Jean Baptiste, 131-132, 135, 140, 147 39 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Conde, Henri, Prince de, 36, 43 Louis, Prince de (The Great Conde), 42, 58, 61, 62 ; and the Fronde, 65, 69, 72-73 5 75, 87 ; at the Battle of Saint Antoine, 92 ; 95, 195 ; gives a fete at Chantilly, 218-220 Dowager Princesse de, 41, 65, 72 Condom, M. de. See Bossuet Conti, Prince de, 36, 43, 52 ; and the Fronde, 67, 72 ; 96-97, 99 Corbinelli, Jean, 129, 164, 165, 276, 293 Corneille, Pierre, 174, 253, 254 Cornuel, Madame de, 45, 46, 47, 49 Coulanges, Christophe de,AbbedeLivry, 13-16, 24, 28, 85; and Menage, 107-108; 126, 180, 221, 223, 238, 249, 256, 270, 282, 283, 289, 290, 292 ; death of, 296-297 Emmanuel de, 18, 193, 221, 232, 249, 250, 254, 284, 294, 306 Henriette de. See La Trousse, Marquise de Madame de, 257-259, 276, 294, 301, 302 Marie de. See Chantal, Baronne de - Philippe de, 4, 8, 9, 13 Cours-la-Reine, 51, 54 Creance, Comte de, 232, 233, 253 Dangeau, Marquis de, 280 Daughters of the Visitation of Saint Mary, Order of, 12 Des Chappelles, M., 5, 6 Du Chastellet, Paul Hay, 29 Du Plessis Argentre, Mademoiselle, 153, 223, 270 Du Plessis-Guenegaud, Madame, 144, 146, 174, 175 Du Vigean, Mademoiselle, 42, 43 Elboeuf, Due d', 68 Madame d', 261, 263 Mademoiselle d', 158 Enghien, Due d'. See Conde, Louis, Prince de Etauges, Comte d', 176 Fiennes, Mademoiselle de, 212 Fiesque, Comte de, 74 Comtesse de, 47, 49, 87 Foire Saint-Germain, 50 Foucquet, Nicolas, 97-98 ; and Madame de Sevigne, 111-112; 116-118; his last fete at Vaux, 131-135 ; arrest of, 135-136 ; Madame de Sevigne's letters to, 136-139; trial of, 140- 150; 174 Fouesnel family, 225, 226 Fougeres, 53 Francis de Sales, Saint, 10-12, 143 Fremyot, Jeanne Francoise. See Chantal, The Blessed President, 10, u, 182 Fronde, The, 6, 62-74, 91, 92, 95, 105 Ggvres, Duchesse de, 213, 214 Gondi, Paul de. See Retz, Cardinal de Gondran, Madame de, 79, 80, 81, 83 Gourville, Sieur de, 218-220 Grignan, Comte de, 41 ; his first wife, 150; betrothed to Mademoiselle de Sevigne, 176, 177 ; family of, 178 ; marriage of, 179-181 ; appointed Lieut. -General of Provence, 185 ; letters of Madame de Sevigne to, 186-192; and Madame de Sevigne, 202-203 5 283 ; extravagance of, 286 ; receives the Order of the Holy Spirit, 300; letter on Madame de Sevigne's death, 306 Comtesse de (Fran9oise Marguerite de Sevigne), birth of, 33, 41 > childhood of, 151-154; at Court, 155 ; dances in the ballet royal, 157- 159; and her suitors, 169-170, 175- 176; and the King, 171-173; betrothal of, 176-177; marriage of, 178-181; 183; remains in Paris with her mother, 186; birth of a daughter, 190 ; 193 ; goes to Pro- vence, 202-205 5 character of, 206- 209 ; 214 ; at Marseilles, 226 ; birth of a son, 248 ; letter of Emmanuel de Coulanges to, 250 ; and her daughter Blanche, 252 ; visits her mother in Paris, 259, 282, 285 ; birth of youngest son, 270 ; and her step-daughter, 287 ; in Paris, 292 ; returns to Provence, 298 ; and her daughter Pauline, 300 ; in Paris, 304 ; returns to Provence, 304 ; illness of, 305-306 ; on her mother's death, 307 Mademoiselle de, 287 Mademoiselle d'Alerac de, 287 Marquis de, 76, 298-300, 304- 305 Gmrlande de Julie, La, 40 Hacqueville, M. d', 92, 204, 258, 282, 304 Harcourt, Mademoiselle d', 203 Harouys, M. d', 232, 235, 237, 241, 242 Hebert, Madame de Sevigne's servant, 218 Henriette, Duchesse d'Orleans, 133, 157, 159, 171 INDEX Hotel de Carnavalet, 282-284, 293, 296, 304 de Lamoignon, 284 James II, King of England, 46 La Baume, Marquise de, 129, 160, 164 Lacger, M., 80, 81, 84 La Fayette, Marquise de (Marie de la Vergne), 17, 19; her "portrait" of Madame de Sevigne, 25 ; 35, 46 ;. and the diamond earrings, 79~8o ; 86, 106; and Menage, 108 ; 173- 175, 205, 213, 215 ; and the Due de la Rochefoucauld, 252-253 ; 257, 259, 293, 303 ; death of, 304 La Fontaine, Jean de, 98, 117-119, 169, 174, 214 La Grande Mademoiselle. See Mont- pensier Lambesc, Madame de Sevigne at, 257 La Meilleraye, Marechal de, 106-107 Lamoignon, Madame, 96 President, 294 La Mousse, Abbe de, 152, 171, 184, 217, 221 ; at Les Rochers, 224, 239, 248 ; 256 La Rochefoucauld, Due de, 17, 46, 52, 67, 72, 174, 205, 217, 252-253, 304 La Sabliere, Madame de, 212 La Trousse, Marquise de (Henriette de Coulanges), 85, 90, 103, 137, I3 8 > 211, 255, 256 Lauzun, Due de, 194, 196-201 Lavalee, Foucquet's servant, 148, 149 La Valliere, Louise de, 133, 135, 158, 171, 172, 272, 279 Lavardin, Marquis de, 222, 224, 232, 235, 237 Marquise de, 22, 112 La Vergne, Marie de. See La Fayette, Marquise de L'Enclos, Ninon de, 74~77> 79 H5> 212, 213, 214, 215,216 Lenet, M., 33, 70 Le Feron, President, 68 Lesdiguieres, Due de, 74, 122 Les Rochers, 29-32, 163, 237, 247-248, 32-33 Le Tellier, Michel, 147 Livry, the Abbaye de, 15-17 Abbe de. See Coulanges, Chris- tophe de Locmaria, Marquis de, 234, 237, 244 Longueville, Charles Paris, Due de. See Saint-Paul, Comte de - Due de, 67, 68, 72 Duchesse de (Anne de Bourbon), 23, 40-42, 46, 65, 67, 68, 72 Loret, Jean, 73, 85 Louis xni, 4 xiv, 56, 121-122 ; at Vaux, 133- !36; 137, MO, MI, M7; and Court Ballets, 155-159 ; and Made- moiselle de Sevigne, 171, 172 ; and la Grande Mademoiselle, 198-199; at Chantilly, 218-220 ; 259, 280, 281, 301 Lude, Due de, 52, 91, 304 Maintenon, Marquise de (Madame Scarron), 74, 117, 137, 144, 172, 254, 258, 259, 294, 301, 302 Malicorne, 222, 249 Mancini, Mademoiselle de, 35, 109 Marie Therese, Queen of France, 272, 279-281 Marigny, Jacques Carpentier de, 69, 90 Marseilles, 226, 256 Bishop of, 185, 190-192, 258 Marsillac, Prince de. See La Roche- foucauld Martillac, Mademoiselle de, 306 Maskers in Paris, 122-123 Mauron, Baron de, 294-295 Mademoiselle de Brehant de, 294 Mazarin, Cardinal, 63-65, 97, 116, 117, 131, 132, 141, 195 Menage, Gilles, 14, 15, 18-22, 46, 78, 107-108, 137, 169 Meri, Mademoiselle de, 293 Merinville, Comte de, 175 Miramion, Madame de, 57-60, 96 Moliere, Jean Baptiste Poquelin de, 20, 35, 118, 129-130, 134, 156, 172, 174, 254 Montausier, Marquis de, 40, 198, 259 Marquise de (Julie d'Angennes), 40, 97 Montbazon, Duchesse de, 73 Montespan, Marquise de, 157, 158, 172, 259, 271-272, 275, 279-281 Montglas, Madame de, 94, ill, 112, 126, 128, 1 60 Montpensier, Duchesse de ("La Grande Mademoiselle"), 39, 50, 52, 65, 86, 87, 92, 95, 112 ; projected marriage of, 194-201 ; 213-214 Montreuil, Abbe de, 48, 53, 54 Mortemart, Mademoiselle de. See Montespan, Madame de Motteville, Madame de, 39, 64, 155, 175 Moulceau, President, 293, 307 Murinais, Mademoiselle de, 232, 233, 240, 244, 302 Nantes, Madame de Sevigne at, 289-290 Neucheze, Jacques de, Bishop of Chalon- sur-Saone, 29, 61, 126, 164 312 THE QUEEN OF LETTER WRITERS Nicole, Pierre, 189, 222, 227, 303 Noirmoutier, Marquis de, 68 Orleans, Gaston, Due d' ("Monsieur"), S 2 , 65, 95, 195 Henriette, Duchesse d', 133, 157, 159, I7i -^ Philippe, Due d' (" Monsieur"), 33, 122, 133, 158, 195, 280, 281 Ormesson, Olivier d', 29, 62, 144, 145, 147, 148 Paulet, Mademoiselle, 43 Pecquet, Jean, 148, 149, 218 Pellison, M., 118, 137 Philipsburg, Siege of, 298-299 Pignerol, 149, 150, 201 Pilois, Madame de Sevigne's gardener, 223, 225, 241, 248, 249, 291 Pisani, Marquis de, 37 Place de Greve, 2, 3 des Vosges. See Place Royale Royale, 4-6, 8 Pomenars, Marquis de, 232, 233, 239, 241, 244, 253 Pommereul, President de, 74 Pomponne, Marquis de, 138, 140, 142, 148, 151, 152, 174, 175, 260 Pont-Gibaud, M., I, 2 Prtcieuses, Les, 35, 129-130 Rabutin, Guy de, 10 Hughes de, 33, 56, 94 Roger de. See Bussy- Rabutin, Roger, Comte de Rabutin-Chantal, Christophe de, 10 Racine, Jean, 174, 215, 301 Rambouillet, H6tel de, 22, 23, 35-39, 40, 41-46, 130 Marquis de, Charles d'Angennes, 37 Marquise de (Catherine de Vivonne), 22, 34, 36-44, 130, 287 Rennes, 265 ; Capuchins of, 277 Retz, Cardinal de (Paul de Gondi), 28, 33, 52, 66, 67, 72-74, 95, 97, 105- 108, 179, 254, 304 Rhe, Isle of, 7 Richelieu, Due de, I, 3, 5-7, 43, 45 Rohan, Due de, 46, 88-91, 224, 230, 237 Duchesse de, 88-91, 232, 235 Romilly, Abbe de, 80 Rossan, Marquis de, 158, 159 JRue/Ies, 38 Saint-Amand, Mademoiselle, 305 Saint-Antoine, Battle of, 92, 195 Saint-Germain, 65 Saint-Herem, M., 256, 273, 274 Saint-Paul, Comte de (Due de Longue- ville), 68, 170, 184, 196, 250 Saint-Pavin, Denis, 18, 53, 169 Saint-Simon, Mademoiselle de. See Brissac, Duchesse de Sainte-Genevieve, procession of, 91-92 Sainte-Helene, M., 147, 148 Sarrazin, Jean Fra^ois, 44 Scarron, Madame. See Maintenon, Marquise de Schomberg, Henri, Comte de, 4 Scudery, George de, 45 Mademoiselle de. 39, 45, 46, 117- 120, 130, 137, 144, 146 Segrais, Jean Regnault de, 39, 53 Seguier, Chancellor, 115, 136, 142, 143 Sevigne, Charles de, 30 ; birth of, 55 ; 76, 151-152; character of, 182- 183; goes to Candia, 184; his dissipated life in Paris, 211-212, 214-217; at Les Rochers, 222-224; 226, 265 ; and his mother's illness, 269-270; 277, 285, 290, 292; marriage of, 294-296 ; 302-303 Fran9oise Marguerite de. See Grignan, Comtesse de Henri, Marquis de, 28 ; marriage f, 29 ; 33 ; neglects his wife, 49 ; 53 ; in Normandy, 68,; 74 ; and Ninon de 1'Enclos, 75, 76, 77, 79 ; leaves his wife at Les Rochers, 78 ; and Madame de Gondran, 79, 80, 81 ; killed in a duel, 81, 82 Marquise de (Marie de Rabutin- Chantal), parentage, I ; birth, 5-6 ; death of her parents, 7-8 ; early childhood, 8-9; her guardian, 13; education, 14-15 ; at Livry, 15-18, 109-110; and Menage, 19-22; "portrait" of, by Mme. de la Fayette, 25 ; marriage, 29 ; at Les Rochers, 30-32, 56, 78, 83-85, 105- 108, 115, 136, 163, 222-249, 264- 271, 276-277, 290-292, 296, 302- 304 ; birth of a daughter, 33 ; and the prtcicuses, 35 ; neglected by her husband, 49 ; and the Comte de Bussy, 54-56, 69-71, 74-78, 93-95, 98-103, 109-113, 160-168, 181- 182 ; birth of her son, 55 ; and the Fronde, 66, 69-70, 73; death of her husband, 82-83 '> "portrait" of, by Mademoiselle de Scudery, 119; Bussy 's "portrait " of, 128-129, 162, 164-165 ; her letters to Foucquet, 136-139; and Foucquet's trial, 140- 150; and her children, 151-152, 183 ; at Versailles, 171-172, 279-281 ; and her daughter's marriage, 176-180; INDEX 313 her letters to the Comte de Grignan, 186-192, 202-203; an( * La Grande Mademoiselle, 193-194, 198-201, 213-214; her daughter's departure for Provence, 204-206; character of, 207-208 ; her journey to Brittany, 221-222; and her son, 212, 214- 217, 226; and the Brittany States, 224, 227-246 ; birth of a grandson, 248 ; sends her daughter a pearl necklace, 254-255 ; at Bourbilly, 258 ; her pet dog, 266-267 ; at Vichy, 271-275, 284; visits her daughter in Provence, 256-258 ; and the death of Turenne, 260-263 ; illness of, 269-271 ; visits Vaux, 276 ; and the Capuchins of the Louvre, 277 ; and the H6tel de Carnavalet, 282, 293-294 ; at Nantes, 289-290 ; and her son's marriage, 294-296 ; visits her son at Les Rochers, 296 ; at the per- formance of Esther ; 301-302 ; in Provence, 304 ; her last illness and death, 305-307 Sevigne, Renaud de, 68, 79, 90, 106, 151 Madame Renaud de, 86 Simiane, Comte de, 305 Comtesse de. See Adhemar, Pauline d' Soyecour, Marquis de, 81, 84 Tallemant des Reaux, G., 21-23 Tarente, Princesse de, 266-267, 285 Tetu, Abbe", 258-259 Thianges, Madame de, 258, 271, 281 Toiras, Marquis de, 5, 7, 8 Tonquedec, Marquis de, 88-90, 232 Toulongeon, Comte de, 3 Gabrielle de, 28 Turenne, Vicomte de, 92, 112, 113, 147, 260-263 Twelfth-night at the Court, 64 Vasse, Comte de, 53, 77, 91 Vatel, mattre tfhdtel, 117, 133, 219-220 Vaux, 116-118, 132-135, 276 Vendome, Due de, 185, 291-292 Versailles, 171-172, 279 Vibraye, Madame de, 158 Vichy, 271-275, 284 Villeroy, Marquis de, 158-159, 253 Vincent de Paul, Saint, 96, 143 Vitre, 30 ; the States of Brittany at, 227- 246 Vivonne, Catherine de. See Rambouillet, Marquise de Voiture, Vincent, 43-44 Walpole, Horace, Earl of Orford, 15 Ytier, M., 212, 251 THE END Printed by MORRISON & GIBB LIMITED Edinburgh UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY BERKELEY from which borrowed. LOAN PERIOD 1 _HOME USE 4 , RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS DUE AS STAMPED INTERUBRARY LOAM MM? b L I FORM NO. DD 6, 40m 10 ' 77 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY YC 647^ flit, THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY