[The following reports were written down by the mistresses,
occasionally by the pupils, and corrected by Mme. de Maintenon
herself, in order to make them more worthy of being read and re-read
by the mistresses in after days.]
_Advice to the Young Ladies on the letters they write. Brevity and
simplicity recommended._
January, 1695.
As you order us to write down what was said yesterday at recreation
we shall do so as exactly and simply as we can. Mme. de Maintenon was
good enough to come here expressly to correct our letters, as our
mistresses had begged her to do. She first made all the young ladies
surround her, and those whose letters were to be corrected stood
nearest to her. She showed them, one after another, the faults in
those presented to her, making us particularly notice how a simple,
natural style, without turns of phrase, was the best, and the one
that all persons of intellect used; telling us that the principal
thing in order to write well is to express simply and clearly what
one thinks. She gave us as an example M. le Duc du Maine, whom she
taught to write, when she had the care of him, by the time he was five
years old. She related to us that having told him one day to write to
the king, he answered, quite embarrassed, that he did not know how to
write letters. Mme. de Maintenon said, "But have you nothing in your
heart that you want to tell him?"
"I am very sorry he has gone," he replied.
"Well," she said, "write that, it is very good." Next she said, "Is
that all you are thinking? have you nothing else to say to him?"
"I shall be very glad when he comes back," replied the Duc du Maine.
"There is your letter made," said Mme. de Maintenon; "you have only to
write it down simply, as you think it; if you think badly, it will be
corrected." She then said to us, "That is how I taught him, and you
have seen the charming letters that he writes." Mme. de Loubert, our
head mistress, said it would be giving us great pleasure if she would
take the trouble to write a model for us. She consented, and took for
her subject the letters she had just corrected; she wrote a note and a
letter in order to show us the difference.
We dared not show her the desire we had that she should write one for
us as if to a person to whom we owed respect; one of our mistresses
was so good as to say this for us. Mme. de Maintenon asked us, with
her accustomed kindness, "To whom, my children, do you wish me to
address it?" We answered her in a manner to let her know it should be
to herself, as our benefactress. "Well," she said, "since you wish it,
I will write you a letter of ceremony and respect to aged persons,
although they are not of better families than your own." Then,
addressing one of us, she said: "For instance, you owe respect to old
M. T----, your uncle, whom I know, though he is of the same family
as your own; you also owe me respect on account of my age,"--as if
wishing to tell us there was no other reason to make us respect her,
so great is her humility; but it does not become us, Mother, to speak
to you of that, which you know better than we.
After having written the letter we had asked of her, she had the
kindness to read it to us, and then said: "You see I have made it
respectful and tender, but it is meant for those who regard me as a
mother, just as I regard them as my daughters."
We have not as yet, Mother, received the letters she took the pains to
write for us, but we shall try to obtain them soon, and will then give
them to you, without changing anything.
We must also tell you what she made us notice as to the last words of
her letter which express the tenderness she allows us to show her,
having the charity to consider us her daughters. She said to us: "If
a person whom I did not know wrote to me thus it would not be proper,
though I should not mind it; but as for those at Saint-Cyr, I like
them to show me affection and write to me without ceremony...."
Before going away she said to us, "My dear children, do you think that
all this will profit you?" We answered that we hoped the pains she had
taken would not be wasted, and she went away saying that she wished
the same with all her heart.
It is with much pleasure, Mother, that we have acquitted ourselves
of what you ordered us; we beg you to excuse all the defects you may
perceive in it; but we think there is no need to tell you how filled
we are with gratitude to Mme. de Maintenon, who gives us daily fresh
marks of her kindness. It is this which makes us hope for as fortunate
a fate as that which has come to several of our companions who have
been brought closer to her. We cannot hope that fate will do as much
for us, but at least we are going to apply ourselves with all our
strength to profit by the kindnesses which she now does us; and we
shall endeavour all our lives to do honour to the education which she
procured for us, and in which she so often employs herself. We are,
Mother, with profound respect, your very humble and very obedient
servants,
D'OSMONT AND DU BOUCHOT.
_On good and bad characteristics of mind._
April, 1700.
On April 12 of the year 1700, Madame said to us during recreation:
"I fear you judge too much by what the young ladies who present
themselves for the novitiate have done in the classes. You see a girl
commit some considerable fault, perhaps many faults, and that is
enough to prejudice you against her; this is not just. You ought to
judge, both in good and evil, only by perseverance in them; because a
girl who has kept to either throughout the classes proves that such
is her character. I should, therefore, not oblige a girl who has done
well throughout to make a long novitiate. And, without excluding
a girl who did badly in the lower classes and seemed to change on
entering class Blue, I should nevertheless prolong her novitiate so
as to give her time to strengthen herself in good, if her change is
sincere, and to test it if assumed; so that you may see if she has one
of those fickle, inconstant natures which, it may be feared, will fall
back after a time into its early defects.
"One of the things to which you ought to apply yourselves the most,"
continued Madame, "is to know the character of your novices; it is
very important to choose only sound ones; piety may cut off vices,
but it seldom changes the defects that come from the character
of the mind. As for me, I would rather have what you call here a
naughty girl, who is often only frolicksome, than a captious mind or
an ill-humoured one, however pious. I rather like what are called
naughty children, that is to say jovial, vainglorious, passionate,
even a little headstrong, girls who chatter and are lively and
self-willed, because all those defects are easily corrected by reason
and piety, or even by age itself. But an ill-formed mind, a captious
mind remains to the end."
"What do you mean," they asked her, "by an ill-formed, captious mind?"
"A mind," replied Madame, "that does not yield to reason; that does
not see results; believes always that one is trying to vex it, gives
an evil turn to everything, and without being malignant takes things
quite otherwise than as they are meant. But nothing is worse than a
false spirit, a disguised and dissembling one, or an obstinate and
opinionated one. Beware of those defects and of a bad temper; they
are most troublesome in a community; for nothing makes the burden of
government heavier than the management of difficult natures which
require diverse treatment. God allows all these defects because such
ill-formed natures can always be saved. He is," she added pleasantly,
"more indulgent than we; He receives many persons into His paradise
whom I should be sorry to admit into our community."
Mme. de Riancourt asked if being rather sulky was the same as being
bad-tempered. "No," replied Madame, laughing. "I would readily permit
a little sulkiness; there are few children not subject to it; but
their natures are not bad for all that. What I call a bad temper is
that of a person easily affronted, suspicious, cavilling about an
air, a look, a word,--in short, a person with whom one can never be a
moment at one's ease; whereas a girl of a good spirit takes everything
in good part, lets many things go by without taking them up; and, far
from imagining that persons mean to attack her, when they are not
dreaming of it, does not even perceive a real intention to annoy;
a girl who accommodates herself to everything, who finds facilities
for doing whatever is wanted; a girl whom a superior can put without
caution into any office and with all sorts of persons. That is what I
call a good mind; it is a treasure to a community."
_Mistresses ought to suit their conduct to the diverse natures._
1701.
On one of our working-days Madame said to us: "You ask me to instruct
you about your classes; experience will teach you more than I can tell
you; it is less my own mind that has taught me what I know than the
experiments I made myself in the days when I educated the princes.
You should regulate your conduct to the various characters; be firm,
but never find too much fault; you must often shut your eyes and see
nothing, and above all take care not to irritate your girls and drive
them indiscreetly to extremities. There come unlucky days, when they
are upset, emotional, and ready to murmur; whatever you might then do
in the way of remonstrance and reprimand would not bring them back
to order. You must let things slide as gently as you can, so as not
to commit your authority; and it will often happen that the next day
the class will do marvels. Some children are so passionate and their
tempers are so quick that were you to whip them ten times running you
could not lead them as you wish. At such times they are incapable of
reason, and punishment is useless; you must give them time to calm,
and calm yourself; but in order that they may not think you give up
to them and that by their obstinacy they have become the stronger,
you must use dexterity, employ an intermediary, or say that you put
off the affair to another time, which renders it more terrible; but
do not think that they will be angry and passionate all their lives
because in childhood their tempers are quick.
"I have seen this in M. le Duc du Maine; he is now the gentlest man
in the world, but in his childhood, made irritable by illness and
violent remedies, he was sometimes in a fury of impatience which
every one reproached me for permitting. They used to put him into a
boiling bath [_bain bouillant_], and because he screamed and was out
of temper they wanted me to scold him; but I assure you I had not the
courage; I would go away to write, or have myself called away, so that
he might not think I tolerated his ill-temper (which, as I think, was
very pardonable on such occasions); besides which, the remedies so
heated his blood that all I could have said or done would not have
calmed him. One must study the moments at which to take the means
most suitable to children. Sometimes a look, a word, will bring them
back to their duty; or a private conversation in which you can bring
them to reason by speaking kindly with them. There are some that you
must publicly rebuke, and sometimes often; there are others that you
must punish instantly and not appear to spare. In short, discretion
and experience can alone teach you the means you ought to take on all
occasions; but you will never succeed unless you act with a great
dependence on the spirit of God. You must pray to Him much for all
those with whom you are intrusted; address Him in a special manner
when you are puzzled, never doubt that He will help you as long as you
distrust yourselves and are careful to keep yourselves united to Him."
_Questions on ideas of pleasure. Principle of conduct to follow in
friendships._
December, 1701.
Mme. de Maintenon asked Mlle. de la Jonchapt on what was the lesson of
the day when she entered the class [of the Blues]. She replied, "It
was, Madame, on the ideas we form of pleasure."
"Well," said Mme. de Maintenon, "what are yours; what would they be if
you were no longer here?"
"I think," said the young lady, "I would like to be with my family,
all assembled and all united."
"You are right to consider that a pleasure," said Mme. de Maintenon,
"it is in the order of God; nothing is so lovable as a united family.
And you, Laudonie, what would you like, when you are no longer here?"
"I hope, Madame, that I should find my pleasure in rendering service
to my father and mother."
"That is also very right," said Mme. de Maintenon, "every time that
you think in that way, and do not look for greater pleasures, it may
be said that you are very reasonable. But you do not sufficiently put
into your plan that you will have to suffer. Expect that, my children,
I implore you; nothing is so capable of softening ill-fortune, which
may overtake you, as being prepared for it; always expect something
worse than you have met with."
"There is one among them," said the mistress (it was Mme. de
Saint-Périer), "who tells me she expects her pleasure in going to see
her friends and receiving them in her own house."
"Assuredly," replied Mme. de Maintenon, "there is much pleasure in
living with our friends and conversing with open hearts, as we say,
and no constraint. But there is," she added in a lower voice to the
mistress, "a pagan maxim, which I think very stern; it is to act with
our friends as if we were sure they would some day be our enemies.
I could secure myself, it seems to me, by letting my friends see
nothing that was bad in me; I should try never to be wrong in their
presence, nor in that of persons whom I loved less, because so many
circumstances occur in life to separate us that friends often become
enemies, and then we are in despair at having trusted them too much,
and having spoken to them freely without reserve.
"Mme. de Montespan and I, for example," she added, continuing to speak
in a low voice to the mistress,--"we have been the greatest friends
in the world; she liked me much, and I, simple as I was, trusted her
friendship. She was a woman of much intelligence and full of charm;
she spoke to me with great confidence, and told me all she thought.
And yet we are now at variance, without either of us having intended
it. It is assuredly without fault on my side; and yet if either has
cause to complain it is she; for she may say with truth: 'I was the
cause of her elevation; it was I who made her known and liked by the
king, and she became the favourite while I was dismissed.' On the
other hand, was I wrong to accept the affection of the king on the
conditions upon which I accepted it? Did I do wrong to give him good
advice and to try, as best I could, to break up his connections? But
let us return to what I meant to say in the first instance. If in
loving Mme. de Montespan as I loved her I had been led to enter in a
bad way into her intrigues, if I had given her bad advice, either from
the world's point of view or from God's, if--instead of urging her all
I could to break her bonds--I had shown her the means of retaining the
king's affection, would she not have in her hands at this moment the
means of destroying me if she wished revenge? 'This (or that) person
whom you esteem so much,' she used to say to me, 'said to me thus and
so; she urged me to do this, she counselled me that,' etc. Have I
not good reason to say that we should not let anything be seen even
to our friends which they might use in the end against us? Sooner or
later things are known, and it is very annoying to have to blush for
things we have said and done in times past."
"I said, many years ago, to M. de Barillon [one of her oldest friends]
that there was nothing so clever as to never be in the wrong, and
to conduct one's self always and with all sorts of persons in an
irreproachable manner; he thought I was right, and said that, in
truth, there was nothing so able as to put one's self, through good
conduct, under shelter from all blame.
"I remember that one day the king sent me to speak to Mlle. de
Fontanges; she was in a fury against certain mortifications she had
received; the king feared an explosion and sent me to calm her. I was
there two hours and I employed the time in persuading her to quit the
king and in trying to convince her it would be a fine and praiseworthy
thing to do. I remember that she answered me excitedly, 'Madame, you
talk to me of quitting a passion as I would a chemise.' But to return
to myself, you must admit I had nothing to blush for, and no reason to
fear it should be known what I had said to her.
"You cannot too strongly preach the same conduct to your young ladies;
let them give nothing but good advice; teach them to act in the most
secret and personal affairs as if a hundred thousand witnesses were
about them, or would be later; for I say again, there is nothing that
is not sooner or later known, and it is more Christian, more virtuous,
safer, and more honourable to have been a noble personage only; and
even if we remain forever ignorant of what has been the wisdom of our
conduct, I think we ought to count for much the inward testimony of
a good conscience." Then rising, she said to the class, "Adieu, my
children, I am obliged to return to Versailles; but I have given my
sister de Saint-Périer a fine field on which, to instruct you."
_On contempt for insults and injuries._
1701.
On the last day of the year 1700, the community having said to Mme.
de Maintenon that they hoped to bury with the past century all their
old differences and be other than they had been in the coming one; and
also that they begged her to pardon and forget the imperfections of
the year 1700 and those which had preceded it, "The past year," she
replied, "has been fortunate enough; many things have been corrected
and I now see in this establishment more of good than of evil. God
grant that you advance as much the coming year; I hope it greatly,
for He has given you good willingness; that is what he requires of
us: 'Peace on earth to men of good will,' said the angels. When this
good will is real and sincere it does not remain useless, it produces
infallibly its fruit; in some sooner, in others later. We must await
the times and moments of God, not by remaining idle, but by working
with good will, without discouragement and without uneasiness, leaving
to God the care of blessing our labour. It is certain that He desires
our perfection more than we do ourselves. He could make us perfect in
a single day and all at once; but that is not His ordinary conduct;
He defers, He touches the heart of one at this time, another may be
touched at a future time. We must adore His designs and work in peace
and confidence."
The Dames de Saint-Louis having complained in the same conversation
that they were not persecuted as other institutions had been at their
birth: "You will be," said Mme. de Maintenon, "and you have been
already, though the harm that is said of you may not come to your
ears. I pay no regard to it, nor to that which is said of me myself.
I receive letters every day not only in the style of the person whom
my sister de Butéry knows of, but letters which ask if I am not tired
of growing fat by sucking the blood of the poor; and what I, being
so aged, expect to do with the gold I am amassing. I receive other
letters that go farther still and say to me the most insulting things;
some of them warn me I shall be assassinated. But all this does not
trouble me; I do not think it needs much virtue to feel no resentment
for that sort of opposition. I said rather an amusing thing on a
first impulse the other day to a poor woman, who came to me while I
was surrounded by a number of the Court, weeping and imploring that
I would get justice for her. I asked what wrong had been done to
her. 'Insults,' she said; 'they insult me, and I want reparation.'
'Insults!' I exclaimed, 'why, that is what we live on here!' That
answer made the ladies who accompanied me laugh." "I think, Madame,"
said Mme. de Saint-Pars, "that, far from enriching yourself at the
expense of the poor, you run into debt for the charities you do." "As
for debts," she replied, "I have none; but it often happens that I
have no money; and when I settle my accounts at the end of the year I
do not see how my income has been able to furnish all I have spent and
given away."
_On Civility._
1702.
Mme. de Maintenon having had the goodness to ask the young ladies
on what topic they wished her to speak to them, Mlle. de Bouloc
entreated her to instruct them on civility. She told them that
civility consisted more in actions than in words and compliments; and
there was but one rule to be given about it. "It is in the Gospel,"
she said, "which adapts itself so well to the duties of civil life.
You know that our Lord said that we must not do to others what we
would not wish them to do to us. That is our great rule, which does
not exclude the proprieties in usage in the different regions where
we may be living. As for what regards society, I make civility to
consist in forgetting one's self and being occupied only with what
concerns others; in paying attention to whatever may convenience or
inconvenience them, so as to do the one and avoid the other; in never
speaking of one's self; in listening to others and not obliging them
to listen to us; in not turning the conversation to one's self or
one's own tastes, but letting it fall naturally on that of others; in
moving away when two persons begin to speak to each other in a low
voice; in returning thanks for the smallest service and therefore of
course for great ones. You cannot do better, my children, than to
practise all these good manners among yourselves, and so acquire such
a habit of them that they will soon become natural to you. I assure
you that these attentions, and continual regard paid to the claims
of others are what make a person pleasing in society; and they cost
nothing to those who are well brought up. You have, for the most
part, that advantage; put it therefore to profit, and you will be
compensated for the self-restraint you will have to exercise in the
beginning by the esteem and friendship these deferential manners will
procure you."
_On never neglecting to learn useful things._
1702.
Madame having come to class Green and asking news of a certain young
lady, the mistress told her she had given up plain-chant. "Has she no
voice?" said Madame, "well, we are alike in that. I never could sing
an air, but I never hear one that I do not remember it, and after the
second hearing I feel all the mistakes that are made in it. I do
sing sometimes when I am alone, and it gives me great pleasure, but I
do not think it would give as much to others if they heard me. What
effect does plain-chant have on the classes?"
"They are delighted to learn it, and it will be very useful to them,"
replied the mistress.
"Yes, undoubtedly," said Madame; "even if they cannot sing, they
will get a little knowledge of singing, which will always give them
pleasure. We should never neglect to learn anything, no matter what.
I never supposed that learning to comb hair would be useful to me. My
mother, going to America, took several women with her, but they all
married there,--even to one old woman, frightfully ugly, with club
feet. My mother was left with none but little slaves, who were quite
incapable of waiting upon her, and especially of doing her hair. She
then taught me to do it, and as she had a very fine head of very long
hair I was obliged to stand on a chair; but I combed it extremely
well. From there I came to Court, and this little talent won me the
favour of Mme. la Dauphine; she was quite astonished at the way I
could handle a comb. I began by disentangling the ends of the hair
and went on upwards. The dauphine said she was never so well combed
as by me; I did it often, because her waiting-women never could do
it as well; they, the women, would have been sorry--if for nothing
else--not to have had me there every morning. I think you have to comb
each other's hair; and you ought not to make difficulties, or think
it beneath you because you are young ladies. Many a day I have come
here very early in the morning to comb the Reds and cut their hair
and clean out the vermin. You are given the liberty to cut your hair;
and cutting it makes it finer. I remember that my mother never saw me
without putting her scissors to mine; and she succeeded in what she
intended, for I have still a great deal of hair on my head.
"I repeat, my children, that you should never neglect to learn
everything you can learn. Nothing so marks the intelligence of a
person as liking to see and learn how a thing is done. I am charmed
with Jeannette; it is surprising that a child of her age should apply
herself as she does; the other day she spent half an hour watching to
see how a lock was put on; she looked it over in every way and gave
her whole attention to it. Mme. la Duchesse de Bourgogne knows how to
do every kind of work; I am often astonished by it. I think she must
have been brought up like our princes, and that some waiting-woman, to
pay her court, taught her these things. She does not need to learn any
of the handicrafts wherever she is, for she knows them all; you could
teach her nothing. Also, would you believe it? she understands about
fevers; she feels my pulse when she thinks I am ill, and what she says
about me is sure to be the same that M. Fagon says afterwards. She
knows how to spin wool, flax, silk, how to use a spinning-wheel, how
to knit, and she has lately embroidered for herself a gown of yellow
taffetas. I used to spin myself; to please my governess, I spun her
a gown. M. de Louvois knew all sorts of trades; he had enormously
thick fingers, almost as large as two of my thumbs, and yet he could
take a watch to pieces with wonderful nicety, though there is nothing
more delicate to handle. He could be shoemaker, mason, gardener,
etc. One day when I was winding silk on two cards, or squares, of a
pretty shape, while he worked with the king in my room, he was dying
of curiosity to know how the pretty thing that I held was made. The
king noticed this, and told me in a low voice. I showed it to him; he
unwound the silk, examined the card, and put it together again most
adroitly.
"There is nothing that we have not, sometime or other, a need to know.
In the days when I brought up the princes [Louis XIV.'s children by
Mme. de Montespan] it was necessary to keep them concealed; and for
that purpose we were constantly changing our place of residence, and
the tapestries had to be rehung each time. I used to mount the ladder
myself, for I often had no one to help me and I dared not make the
nurses do it; in that way I learned a trade I am sure I should never
have learned otherwise."
"It was because you had great energy," said a mistress.
"It is true," replied Madame, "that I did have energy in my youth."
"That is just what is wanting to our young ladies," said the mistress;
"they are so tired with the least exertion that they can hardly walk
round the garden without fatigue."
"They ought not to sit still a moment," said Madame; "it is good to
run, jump, dance, and play at base, skittles, and other games; it
makes them grow. Perhaps that is the reason they are so short. It is
amazing that at their age they do not like to be active, and that they
want to be always sitting down or leaning upon something. Mme. de
Richelieu at seventy years of age had never leaned back in her coach,
and I myself, old and ill as I am, I am always as erect as you see
me. I am glad when I see you sweeping and rubbing the floors of the
church, because it is good for your health; if I could, I would make
you run about all the time; but you cannot be educated while running.
I do not understand why you should object to sweeping; it makes you
strong. You ought not to object to help a servant; I have never seen
pride on that point among the nobility, except at Saint-Cyr. I can
understand perfectly well that beggars reclothed [_gueux revêtus_, the
term in those days for _parvenus_] should not venture to touch the
ground with the tips of their fingers; but nobles do not think such
things beneath them."
"I think," said a mistress, "that you had the goodness to tell us once
that you taught your nurse to read."
"Yes," replied Madame, "and sometimes she said she would not learn. I
used to follow that woman about, and often I spent whole days sifting
flour through a hopper; she would set me up upon a chair to do it
more conveniently. It is very fatiguing work; I only did it to oblige
my nurse. Since then God has raised me to great fortune and given me
great wealth; but I have never loved money except to share it. I do
not put my happiness into having fine petticoats, as you may see by
the gowns I wear, but I put it into giving pleasure to others. You
know that one of the maxims I have taught you is: The greatest of all
pleasures is to be able to give pleasure."
Then she asked Mlle. de Brunet which was easier, to exact things
from one's self, or from others. Mlle. de Brunet answered, "From
ourselves." Several other young ladies were questioned and thought the
same. "You are right," said Mme. de Maintenon. "I cannot understand
how any one can think otherwise, because it seems to me more just
and appropriate that we should inconvenience ourselves rather than
inconvenience others; we ought always to be occupied in avoiding
whatever may give pain to other people. Mme. la Duchesse de Bourgogne
undertook a piece of work, to execute which she sent for a woman who
embroiders, and this woman spent the whole of yesterday with her
without her ever thinking of giving her anything to eat. I asked the
woman in the evening if she had eaten; she said no, and I made her
dine and sup both. The king, who is wonderfully attentive, reproved
Mme. la Duchesse de Bourgogne severely; she tried to laugh it off, but
he told her that he could not laugh at such a matter. I am convinced
that that poor woman was not much pleased to find that while she
worked hard, those she worked for let her go hungry. If such a mark
of inattention, which might be very pardonable in a young princess
of sixteen, was rebuked by the king with such seriousness, how much
more should girls like you who will have to spend all your lives in
attentions to others need reproof if you neglect them.
"The king always astonishes me when he speaks of his own education.
His governesses amused themselves, he says, all day, and left him
in the hands of the maids without taking any care of him--you know
that he began to reign when he was three and a half years old. He ate
whatever he could lay hands on, without any attention being paid to
the injury this was to his health; it was this that accustomed him
to so much carelessness about himself. If they fricasseed an omelet
he snatched bits of it, which Monsieur and he went off into a corner
to eat. He relates sometimes that he spent his time mostly with a
peasant girl, the child of a waiting-maid of the queen's waiting-maid.
He called her Queen Marie, because they played at the game, '_à la
madame_,' she taking the part of queen, and he serving her as page or
footman, carrying her train, wheeling her in a chair, or marching with
a torch in front of her. You can imagine whether little Queen Marie
gave him good advice, and whether she was useful to him in any way."
_On never omitting either labour or pains._
July, 1703.
I am very much pleased, my dear children [of class Yellow], to find
in you as much docility and the same simplicity that there is in
the younger classes; and for this I give you great praise. I wish
to talk with you now on the precautions which you take to avoid
too much labour and trouble. It seems that some of you think you
can exempt yourselves from the common lot and avoid suffering the
slightest discomfort; but you will find that what you have to suffer
now is nothing at all in comparison with what you will meet with in
the world. There is no one who does not suffer. I have long had the
honour of seeing the king very closely; if any one could shake off
the yoke and have no cares or troubles it would surely be he; and
yet he has them continually. Sometimes he spends the whole day in
his cabinet going over his accounts; I often see him cracking his
brains over them, beginning them over and over again, and not leaving
them till he has finished them all; and this duty he never devolves
upon a minister. He relies on no one but himself for the regulation
of his armies; he possesses a knowledge of the number of his troops
and regiments in detail, like that which I possess of the divisions
in your classes. He holds several councils a day, where business
that is often vexatious and always wearisome is transacted; such as
that of war, pestilence, famine, and other afflictions. He has now
the government of two great kingdoms; for nothing is done in Spain
except by his order. The King of Spain has no money, because of the
laziness of his subjects; their land is much more extensive than that
of France, but it brings in nothing because it is not cultivated.
All this is an additional care to our king; he can scarcely take
any pleasure; business absorbs all his time. And yet if there is a
condition which might be supposed exempt from toil and fatigue, it
is that of royalty. The ministers, whose places are so coveted and
envied (though without reason), well deserve the profits of their
offices from the pains and fatigues they have to endure in them.
M. de Chamillart is working perpetually; there is no longer even a
question of relaxation for him, still less of pleasure; he cannot see
his family, whom he loves passionately, because he has not a moment
to give it, being from morning till night engaged in disagreeable
affairs and trying, for example, to make out whether Peter or John is
in the right. People fear he will fall ill, and he is very much
changed; he sent for his daughter, to marry her, but he cannot even
see her. Yet that is a man whom everybody thinks fortunate.
_On marriage._
1705.
Mme. de Maintenon, having married Mlle. de Normanville (who had stayed
with her some years after leaving Saint-Cyr) to M. le Président
Brunet de Chailly, did her the honour to be present at the wedding.
The next day she mentioned to the Dames de Saint Louis that M. l'Abbé
Brunet had made an excellent exhortation in marrying them, in which
he rebuked the over-delicate modesty of those who blamed priests for
opening their lips in church about a sacrament there administered,
which Jesus Christ has instituted, which Saint Paul declares to be
great and honourable; while at the same time their ears are not too
scrupulous to listen outside of the church to love-songs, and speeches
of questionable meaning. "This false delicacy is one of the blunders,"
she said, "that I do not wish to see you fall into, my dear daughters.
Nearly all nuns dare not utter the word 'marriage'; Saint Paul had
no such scruple, and speaks of it very openly. I have noticed this
weakness in you, and I should like to destroy it once for all."
"It is true," said Mme. de Jas, "that we usually pass over that
article in the Catechism; we consulted the Superior to know if we
should use it; we did not even mention it in the choir until you told
us we ought to speak of it as of all other matters in the Catechism,
when occasion offered."
"Do you not see, my dear daughters," resumed Mme. de Maintenon, "that
it is a notion quite unsustainable in a house like this that you
cannot venture to speak of a state which many of your young ladies
must enter, which is approved by the Church, which Jesus Christ
himself honoured by his presence? How will you make them capable of
properly fulfilling the duties of the several states to which God
calls them if you never speak of them; and (what is worse) if you let
them see the difficulty which you feel in speaking of such things?
There is certainly less modesty and propriety in such feelings than in
speaking seriously and in a Christian manner of a holy state which has
great obligations to meet. Fear only that the omissions your pupils
make through ignorance of the duties of that state may fall on you who
have failed to instruct them in it."
"Have the kindness, Madame," said Mme. de Jas, "to tell us a little in
detail what it is proper for us to say to them on that subject."
"You cannot preach to them too much," replied Mme. de Maintenon,
"about the edification that each will owe to her husband; also the
support, the attachment to his person and all his interests, the
service and cares that depend upon her; above all, the sincere and
discreet zeal for his salvation, of which so many virtuous women have
set an example, as well as of that of patience; also the care of the
education of children which extends so far into the future; and that
of servants and household; all of which are much more indispensable
duties for mothers of families than prayers of supererogation, which
many of them have been taught to make, to the injury of the more
important duties of their condition. When you speak of marriage to
your young ladies in this way, they will see that there is nothing
in it to laugh about. Nothing can be more serious than such an
engagement. Establish it, therefore, as a system, to speak to them on
this subject when it presents itself; and do not permit that, under
a pretence of modesty and perfection, the name of marriage shall not
be mentioned; that silly affectation, if I may venture to so express
myself, will cast you down very low into the pettiness I have taken
such pains to make you avoid."
_On the virtues called cardinal._
June, 1705.
Mme. de Maintenon, being in class Blue, talked to the young ladies
of the cardinal virtues, but first she said that the word "cardinal"
was taken from a Latin word signifying hinge, because, just as a door
turns on its hinges, so the whole conduct of our lives should turn on
the four virtues which include all others. She exhorted them to love
them, and not think it was enough to know how to define them, but to
practise them, in order all the sooner to gain merit.
Mlle. de Villeneuve asked her in what "merit" consisted. She answered:
"In having an assemblage of virtues and good qualities, and, above
all, religion and reason." Then she explained Justice; saying that
justice in action consists in rendering to every one that which is
due to him, and consenting that others should render to us what we
deserve. "What do we deserve when we do wrong? Mlle. de Laudonie,
answer."
"We deserve blame," answered the young lady.
"Yes," said Mme. de Maintenon, "and it is therefore justice to suffer
ourselves to be blamed when we do wrong; that is one of the best ways
of repairing our faults; there is no one who cannot act justly in that
way. It is the mark of a good mind to recognize our faults and admit
them. On the other hand, it is the mark of a very small mind not to be
able to see and admit that we are wrong, and to seek for false excuses
to cover it."
She next said that besides that sort of justice, which ought to
be found in our actions, there was one of judgment, called equity,
which so works that, without being influenced by our inclinations
or dislikes, it obliges us to form just ideas on all things, to
distinguish good from evil (even to seeing the faults of friends
without being blinded in their favour by affection), and to recognize
in good faith the good qualities which may exist in persons whom
we like least and who are even unpleasant to us. "Not," she said,
"that we are obliged to disclose the faults of our friends; because
friendship demands that we should cover and excuse them unless it is
necessary to stop an evil by disclosing them; but justice requires
that we should judge to be bad that which is bad, and good that which
is good, independently of our inclinations either way in respect
to the persons concerned. The first and surest rule to avoid being
mistaken in our judgments is to conform them as nearly as possible
to those of God, which are shown to us in Holy Scripture and in the
Gospel; and the second rule, which is also drawn from the Gospel, is
to judge others as we wish that they should think and judge of us, and
to treat them in all things as we should wish to be treated.
"But there is still another degree of justice more excellent than
these and which demands a very different kind of virtue: it is
_unselfishness_, which makes us capable of deciding against ourselves
in favour of those who have right on their side. There are many
persons sufficiently equitable to judge justly about the cases of
others; but as soon as they themselves are interested we find them
biased in their own favour. That is not justice, for justice insists
that we shall declare for the right on whichever side it is found.
The king did a praiseworthy action, which has been much admired as to
this. Some time ago he had a lawsuit against certain private persons
in Paris who had believed, the ramparts of the town being greatly
neglected, that they were free to appropriate a piece of land and
build upon it. Many years after they had done so the officers charged
with the king's revenue reflected that as that land belonged to him,
the houses that were built upon it ought also to belong to him, or at
least that he ought to be paid the value of the land on which they
were built. The private persons contended that the long time they had
been in possession was a sufficient title to make the property theirs.
The affair was carried to the king and judged in his presence; half
of the judges were for him, half declared for the other side, which
was very praiseworthy, the king being present. Now it is a law of the
kingdom, in suits thus judged before the king according to plurality
of opinions, that in case of an equal division he shall give the
casting vote; it depended therefore on the king himself to win his
case; but instead of doing so he gave his vote to the opposite side,
saying that, inasmuch as there were good reasons on both sides, he
preferred to relinquish his rights rather than press them farther to
the injury of his subjects.
"Let us now pass to Prudence. That is a virtue that rules all our
words and actions according to reason and religion; it enables us
to discern what we should do or omit doing, say or keep silence
about, according to occasions and circumstances; it is opposed to
the indiscretion of speaking out of season." Thereupon she asked
Mlle. de Saint-Maixant what she considered most contrary to charity,
to ridicule a person for corporal defects, or for defects of mind
or temper. The young lady answered, "To ridicule defects of mind or
heart." "It is never right to ridicule any defects," said Mme. de
Maintenon; "charity enjoins us to excuse all; but I think that it is
base and cruel to blame a person for a natural defect which he has
had no share in producing, and which he cannot correct. Good hearts
and minds are incapable of laughing at such defects; they endure them
and ignore them out of care and tenderness for those who have them.
But I should think it more excusable to blame a defect of mind or
temper; for, after all, the person who has it could correct it, or at
least diminish it; therefore that person is blamable to give way to
it. Nevertheless, charity forbids us to reproach him for that as well
as for the other. One means of avoiding the indiscretion which is so
disagreeable in society is to become prudent, to reflect on what we
are about to say, in order to foresee whether it will have any evil
result or give pain to others.
"Prudence also induces us to consult those who are wise and
experienced; it makes us take judicious measures to carry out that
which we undertake to do; and it teaches us to undertake nothing that
is not judicious, and has not a fair appearance of success.
"Temperance is a virtue which moderates us in all things, and makes
us keep the golden mean between too much and too little. It should be
in continual use; it prevents all excitements of passion, whether of
joy or sadness; if we laugh, it is with moderation and modesty; if we
weep, it is not as delivering ourselves up entirely to grief, but as
bearing it peaceably and patiently; if we eat, it is with moderation;
in short, temperance prevents excess in all things. Temperance is to
you, who are here, very necessary on all occasions, because the foible
of youth is to be carried away by joy and pleasure; everything turns
the head of youth and prevents it from possessing itself, unless it
takes great care to control this tendency. Remember carefully what I
am about to say to you: every person who is not mistress of herself
will never have merit, whether before God or before the world. She
must be mistress of her joy and not give way to fits of laughter, to
excessive demonstrations; all joy shown by postures of the body is
immoderate, and, consequently, opposed to temperance. We should never
hear a modest and well brought-up young person laugh noisily; the Holy
Spirit, as you know, says Himself that the laugh of a fool is known
because he laughs loudly, but the wise man laughs beneath his breath
because he is master of all his motions and knows how to moderate
them. And yet everything puts you beside yourselves. If the ball rolls
into _trou madame_ [a game] that is enough to make you shout and
scream with laughter; and still more if you win the game. I do not
condemn a little joy on such occasions, but it should not go so far as
immoderate shouts and losing your self-possession. We break the Reds
of such uproars of joy, how much therefore should you, who ought to be
more reasonable, break yourselves of this habit.
"Fortitude is a virtue which makes us pursue our enterprises with
courage, and surmount the obstacles we find in ourselves and others to
the good we have undertaken, without giving way before difficulties;
sustaining all unfortunate events with firmness and without
discouragement.
"To which of us is the virtue of fortitude most necessary, Beauvais?"
"To the one who has most defects and those most difficult to conquer,"
replied the young lady.
"Yes, I think as you do," said Mme. de Maintenon. Then she added:
"Should those who have the most defects, or who feel they are not
so well-born, be discouraged and imagine they can never succeed in
conquering them?"
"No, Madame," said the young lady, "because our merit depends on our
efforts aided by the grace of God."
"That is an admirable answer," said Mme. de Maintenon; "never forget
it, my children; our merit depends upon our effort. With that good
word I leave you, but we will talk of it again."
_On making excuses and inappropriate answers._
1706.
"I wish, my dear children," said Mme. de Maintenon to the young
ladies, "that I could rid you of your tendency to make excuses. I
know it is very natural, and it forms a religious penance not to make
excuses, even when unjustly blamed. But that is not what I require of
you; I ask you only, on such occasions, to listen respectfully and
tranquilly to what your mistresses say to you, and when they have
ended ask them, in a gentle and modest way, to allow you to give
your reasons--provided they are good, for it is a thousand times
better when you are wrong to acknowledge it than to make a single
bad excuse.... I like a girl infinitely more who sometimes does
wrongful things and owns it frankly and seems sorry for the trouble
she occasions, than another who usually does right but refuses to
acknowledge a fault when she happens to commit one. I have often
admired Mme. la Duchesse de Bourgogne, who is the first princess in
the land and over whom I, naturally, have no authority; you would
scarcely believe with what docility, what good spirit, what gratitude
she receives the advice I take the liberty to give her. But, more than
that, I found her the other day sitting on the stairs outside the door
of my room with Jeanne, a coarse village-woman of good sense whom I
have in my household, who was telling her of her faults and what she
heard said to her disadvantage in Paris; and that charming princess,
instead of being offended by the frankness of the good woman, threw
her arm round her neck and kissed her several times, saying: 'I am
very much obliged to you, Jeanne; I thank you for all that you have
told me, for I know it is out of affection to me.' And whenever she
sees her now she is not only friendly but she kisses her heartily,
though she is old and ugly and disgusting."
_On the taste for dress._
1708.
A mistress having said to Madame that some of the young ladies
had shown publicly before their companions their delight in being
well-dressed, and had said they could not conceive of a greater
pleasure and that nuns withered with grief at seeing persons who were
thus dressed, ... Madame said: "I cannot sufficiently tell you, my
children, what pettiness there is in this desire for adornment, though
it is natural in persons of our sex. It is, however, so humiliating
that those who care for their reputation, even in the great world,
should be careful not to show that weakness if they have it, for it
makes them despised by all; the most worldly persons, on the contrary,
esteem young ladies who despise their beauty and do not affect to
improve it by dress.
"When I exhort you sometimes to endeavour to please, I mean that it
shall be by good conduct, and not by fine clothes; sorrow to those who
seek to distinguish themselves in that way! If they are not sensitive
to the distress of offending God, a love of their own honour should
put them above this foible; for the world turns to ridicule those in
whom it sees the desire to appear beautiful, especially when they
are not so really. Those who have beauty and seem to disregard it
are, on the contrary, much esteemed. I wish," added Madame, sighing,
"I had done as much for God as I have for the world to preserve my
reputation. In my youth I persisted, in the midst of the highest
society, in wearing nothing but simple serge, at a period when no
one wore it; I was more singular in my dress than a young lady of
Saint-Cyr would be now in the midst of the Court." Mme. de Champigny
asked her if it was from fear of pleasing that she dressed so
modestly. "I was not happy enough," she replied, "to act in that way
from piety; I did it from reason and for the sake of my reputation.
I had not means enough to equal others in the magnificence of their
clothing; so I preferred to throw myself into the other extreme and
prove that I was above all desire to make a show by apparel and
adornment, rather than let it be thought I snatched at what I could,
and did my best to equal them. I could not tell you what esteem such
conduct won me; people never tired of admiring a pretty young woman
who had the courage, in the midst of society, to keep to such modest
apparel; that is just what it was; but there was nothing vulgar or
repulsive about it; if the stuff itself was simple, the gown was
well-fitting and very ample, the linen was white and fine, nothing was
shabby. I made more of an appearance in that way than if I had worn a
gown of faded silk, like most of the poor young ladies who try to be
in the fashion and who have not the means to pay for it.
"I also maintained with inviolable firmness a disinterested
determination to receive no presents; I was so well known for that
characteristic that no man ever presumed to offer me any, except one,
who was foolish. I do not know what made him do the thing I will now
tell you: I had an amber fan, very pretty; I laid it for a moment on a
table; and this man, whether as a joke or from design, took it up and
broke it in two. I was surprised and angry; I liked my fan very much,
and to lose it was a great regret to me. The next day the man sent me
a dozen fans the equals of the one he had broken. I sent him word it
was not worth while to break mine in order to send me a dozen others,
for I should have liked thirteen fans better than twelve, which I
returned to him, and remained without any fan at all. I turned the man
to ridicule in company for having sent me a present, so that no one
after that ever offered me one. You cannot think what a reputation
this proceeding gave me; and I was so jealous of maintaining it
that I would gladly have done without everything rather than act
otherwise. Such love of reputation, though it may be mixed with pride
and arrogance, and should consequently be corrected by piety, is
nevertheless of great utility to young ladies; it is a supplement to
piety, which protects them from many disorders."
_What pains and ennui there are in all states of life._
1710.
Mme. de Maintenon, having had fever all night, and having it still,
went up to class Blue and said to them: "I have dragged myself here
to see you, my children, in order that you may tell me what you have
remembered of the fine conference you had yesterday with M. l'Abbé
Tiberge" [one of the confessors of Saint-Cyr]. The young ladies
repeated it, and when they came to the part where he told them there
were troubles in every state of life she took up the subject and
enlarged upon it, saying: "That is true indeed, beginning first
with the Court people, whom the world considers so fortunate. There
is nothing more burdensome than the life they lead; it costs them
infinite trouble, constraint, expense, and ennui to pay their court;
and at the end of it all you will hear them say: 'Ah! how vexed I am;
I have stood about since morning and I think the king has not even
seen me.' And, in truth," continued Mme. de Maintenon, "they get up
very early in the morning, dress with care, and are on their feet all
day, watching for a favourable moment to make themselves seen and be
presented; and often they come back as they went, except that they
are in despair at having wasted both time and trouble. But I wish
you could see the state of the fortunate ones; that is to say, those
who see the king and have the honour to be in his intimacy; there is
nothing to equal the ennui that consumes them. We are now at Meudon,
a magnificent palace. Well! every one must go to walk, without liking
to do so, in a dreadful wind perhaps, out of respect to the king. They
come back very tired, and you will see a number of women complaining
and saying: 'How weary I am! this place will kill us all.' 'I cannot
bear it,' says another; 'if I could only walk with some one whom I
like, but no! I find myself in file with some one who makes me die of
weariness.' For no one can choose her companion any more than you can
here; she must go with whoever presents himself. The fact is," said
Mme. de Maintenon, "they do not really know what to do, and nothing
gives them any pleasure. Fête-days are the most wearisome of all
for those who are not pious; they do not know how to while away the
time. A few ladies are fortunate enough to like to spend those days,
as they should, in church; others who like to work are vexed not to
dare to do so; others again, who like neither church nor work, find
those days intolerably wearisome. You see, my dear girls, how it is
with the greatest of the earth; for I am speaking now of princes and
princesses, the very first persons of the Court, and those who are
the envy of the rest of the world. They are usually not contented
anywhere; they are bored by dint of seeking pleasure; they go from
palace to palace, Meudon, Marly, Rambouillet, Fontainebleau, in hopes
of amusing themselves. All these are delightful places, where you, my
children, would be enchanted if you saw them; but these people are
bored because they are used to it all. In the long run the finest
things cease to give pleasure and become indifferent; besides, such
things do not make us happy; happiness must come from within.... As
for me, whose favour every one envies because I pass a part of my day
with the king,--they think me the most fortunate person in the world;
and they are right, so far as the goodness with which his Majesty
honours me; and yet there is no one more restrained. When the king is
in my room I often sit apart from him because he is writing; no one
speaks, unless very low, in order not to disturb him. Before I came to
Court, at thirty-two years of age, I can truly say that I never knew
ennui; but I have known it enough since, and I believe that I could
not bear it, in spite of my reason, if I did not feel that it is God
who wills it. If you had to sit in my chamber and never say a word for
a portion of your lives you would quiver with impatience, would you
not? And yet, in spite of all I tell you, my post is envied. There is
no true happiness my children, except in serving God; piety alone can
sustain us and give us an equable behaviour, in the midst of pains and
tedium as well as in the midst of prosperity, which is a state no less
dangerous to our salvation."