of a wit, as well as of being the most charming woman in Paris. She had
good sense, and was often annoyed by her husband's thoughtlessness,
which caused him to degenerate at times into buffoonery; while her
repartees and letters caused her to be universally cited and
esteemed[69]; and her easy agreeable conversation made her the delight
of every one who knew her. The airiness of her mind is well expressed in
the names madame de Sévigné gives her in her correspondence: la
Mouche, la Feuille, la Sylphide all denote a mixture of lightness,
gaiety, and grace, with a touch of coquetry, and the _piquancé_ of wit,
whose point was sharp, but free from venom. When madame de Maintenon
became the chief lady in the kingdom, she was charmed to have near her
this early friend and amusing companion. Madame de Coulanges frequented
court assiduously, but she enjoyed no place. Her species of intellect
was characteristic of the times. The conceits, mystifications, and
metaphysical flights of the Hôtel de Rambouillet had given place to
wit, and to sententious and pointed, yet perspicuous and natural, turns
of expression. Truth and clearness, and a certain sort of art, that
shrouded itself in an appearance of simplicity, was the tone aimed at by
those who wished to shine. Equivokes, _sous-entendres_, metaphors, and
antithesis, all kinds of trifles, sarcastic or laudatory, were lightly
touched on, coloured for a moment with rainbow-hues, and vanished as
fast: these were the fashion; and no conversation was more replete with
these, and yet freer from obvious pretension, than that of madame de
Coulanges. It is true that there must always be a sort of pedantry in an
adherence to a fashion; but, when the manner is graceful, smiling,
unaffected, and original, the pretension is lost in the pleasure
derived. All this was natural to madame de Coulanges. Her confessor said
of her. "Each of this lady's sins is an epigram." When recovering from a
severe illness, madame de Sévigné announced, as the sign of her
convalescence, "Epigrams are beginning to be pointed;" not that by
epigrams sarcasms were meant, but merely novel turns of expression,
words wittily applied, ideas full of finesse, that pleased by their
originality. She and her husband were, perhaps, too much alike to accord
well: she was annoyed at his want of dignity, and the heedlessness that,
joined to her extravagance, left them poor and himself unconsidered. He
liked to be where he was more at his ease than in his wife's company.
Her faults, however, diminished as she grew old. She learnt to
appreciate the court at its true value. She ceased her attendance on
madame de Maintenon; but her intimacy with Ninon de l'Enclos continued
to the end of her life. The ingratitude of her court friends, the
smallness of her fortune, her advancing age, and consequent loss of
beauty, and her weak health, rendered her neither crabbed nor sad: on
the contrary, she became indulgent, gentle, and contented.
Her husband preserved his characteristics to the end. When exhorted by a
preacher to more serious habits, he replied by an impromptu:--
"Je voudrois, à mon âge,
Il en seroit le temps,
Etre moins volage
Que les jeunes gens,
Et mettre en usage
D'un vieillard bien sage
Tous les sentimens.
"Je voudrois du viel homme
Etre séparé;
Le morceau de pomme
N'est pas digéré."[70]
He died at the advanced age of eighty.
During the earlier portion of the correspondence, madame Scarron figures
as one of the favourite guests of the Fauxbourg. Her husband was dead,
and she was living at the Hôtel d'Albret, among her earliest friends.
The latter correspondence is full of anecdotes about her, as madame de
Maintenon, and indicate her gradual advancement; but those which speak
of her early days, when she was the char&i and ornament of her circle,
merely through her talents, and agreeable and excellent qualities, are
the most interesting.
Corbinelli was another chief friend of madame de Sévigné. He was
descended from an Italian, who came into France on the marriage of
Catherine de Medici and Henry II. His father was attached to marshal
d'Ancre, and was enveloped in his ruin. We have no details of his actual
circumstances, except that, although he was poor, his position in
society was brilliant. A stranger, without employment, without fortune
or rank, he was sought, esteemed, and loved by the first society; while
his character presents many contradictions. Studious and accomplished, a
man of learning and science, he only wrote compilations. Something of a
sceptic, he studied religion, and became a quietist. Pitied by his
friends, as neither rich nor great, he passed a happy life; and, though
always in ill health, his life was prolonged to more than a century. He
was one of madame de Sévigné's most familiar friends. In early life he
had had employments under cardinal Mazarin. He was a friend of the
marquis de Vardes, and shared the disgrace he incurred, together with
Bussy-Rabutin and others, on account of certain letters fabricated,
pretending to be written by the king of Spain, for the purpose of
informing his sister, the queen of France, of Louis XIV.'s attachment
for mademoiselle de la Vallière. This event was fatal to his fortunes;
but it developed his talents, since he made use of the leisure afforded
by his retreat for the purpose of study. He applied himself to the
theories of Descartes, and became deeply versed in classic literature.
At one time he turned his attention to the study of law, but soon threw
it aside with disgust: his clear and comprehensive understanding was
utterly alien to the contradictions, subterfuges, and confusion of old
French law. In religion, he sided with the mystics and quietists; but
was more of a philosopher than a religionist; and chose his party for
its being more allied to protestant tenets, and because, M. de Sévigné
says, his mysticism freed him from the necessity of going to mass. He
was a mixture of Stoic and Epicurean. He would not go half a league on
horseback, he said, to seek a throne. And thus he harmonised his temper
with his fortunes, for he was an unlucky man. "His merit brings him ill
luck," madame de la Fayette said. It may be added that it brought also a
contented mind, a friendly disposition, and calm studious habits. An
amusing anecdote is told of his presence of mind in extricating himself
from a dilemma in which he was placed.
Louis XIV. learnt that the prince of Conti, and other young and heedless
nobles of high rank, had, at a certain supper, uttered various sarcasms
against, and told stories to the discredit of, himself and madame de
Maintenon. The king wished to learn the details, and sent D'Argenson to
inquire of Corbinelli, who was supposed to have been at the supper.
Corbinelli was by this time grown old and deaf. "Where did you sup on
such an evening?" asked D'Argenson. "I do not remember," the other
replied. "Are you acquainted with such and such princes?" "I forget."
"Did you not sup with them?" "I do not in the least remember?" "It seems
to me that a man like you ought to recollect these things." "True, sir,
but before a man like you, I am not a man like myself." Madame de
Sévigné's correspondence with this accomplished and valued friend is
lost, but her letters to her daughter are full of expressions of esteem
and friendship towards him.
Thus, in her letters, we find all the events of the day alluded to in
the tone used by this distinguished society. Some of the observations
are witty and amusing; others remarkable for their truth, founded on a
just and delicate knowledge of the human heart.[71] These are mingled
with details of the events of the day. We may mention, among others, the
letters that regard the death of Turenne. The glory that lighted up that
name shines with peculiar brilliancy in her pages. His heroism,
gentleness, and generosity are all recorded with enthusiasm.[72]
Sometimes her letters record the gossip, sometimes the _bon mots_, of
the day; and each finds its place, and is told with grace, simplicity,
and ease.
From this scene, full of life and interest, at the call of duty, she
visited Britany; and, when her uncle desired, or motives of economy
urged, buried herself in the solitude of her country seat of Les
Rochers, a _château_ belonging to the family of Sévigné, one league
from Vitré, and still further from Rennes. As far as the character and
person of the writer are concerned, we prefer the letters written from
this retirement to those that record the changes and chances of her
Parisian life. They breathe affection and peace, the natural sentiments
of a kind heart, an enlightened taste, and an active mind. "At length,
my child," she writes, on her first visit to her solitude after her
daughter's marriage (May 31. 1671), "here I am at these poor Rochers.
Can I see these avenues, these devices, my cabinet and books, and this
room, without dying of sorrow? There are many agreeable memories, but so
many that are tender and lively, that I can scarcely support them: those
that are associated with you are of this number. Can you not understand
their effect on my heart? My young trees are surprisingly beautiful.
Pilois (her gardener) raises them to the sky with an admirable
straightness. Really, nothing can be more beautiful than the avenues you
saw planted. You remember that I gave you an appropriate device: here is
one I carved on a tree for my son, who has returned from Candia: _Vago
di fama._ Is it not pretty to say so much in a single word? Yesterday I
had carved, in honour of the indolent, _Bella cosa far niente._ Alas,
dear child, how rustic my letters are! Where is the time when I could
speak, as others do, of Paris? You will receive only news of myself; and
such is my confidence, that I am persuaded that you will like these
letters as well as my others. The society I have here pleases me much.
Our abbé (the abbé de Coulanges, her uncle, who resided constantly
with her) is always delightful. My son and La Mousse (a relation of M.
de Coulanges) suit me extremely, and I suit them. We are always
together; and, when business takes me from them, they are in despair,
and think me very silly to prefer a farmer's account to a tale of La
Fontaine."--"Your brother is a treasure of folly, and is delightful
here. We have sometimes serious conversations, by which he may profit;
but there is something of whipped cream in his character: with all that,
he is amiable."--"We are reading Tasso with pleasure. I find myself an
adept, through the good masters I had. My son reads "Cleopatra" (a
romance of Calprenède) to La Mousse; and, in spite of myself, I listen,
and find amusement. My son is setting off for Lorraine: his absence will
give me much _ennui_. You know how sorry I am to see agreeable company
depart; and you have been witness, also, to my transports of joy when I
see a carriage drive away with that which restrained and annoyed me; and
how this caused us to decide that bad company was better than good. I
remember all the follies we committed here, and every thing you did or
said: the recollection never quits me. All the young plantations you saw
are delicious. I delight in raising this young generation; and often,
without thinking of the injury to my profit, I cut down great trees,
because they overshadow and inconvenience my young children. My son
looks on; but I do not suffer him to make the application my conduct
might inspire." It was not, however, always solitude at the Rochers. The
duke of Chaulnes was lieutenant-governor of Britany; and he and the
duchess were too happy to visit madame de Sévigné, and to persuade her
to join them when they visited the province, to hold the assembly of the
states. From such a busy scene she gladly plunges again into her avenues
and old halls, her moonlight walks, and darling reveries.
[Sidenote: 1672.
Ætat.
46.]
She returned to Paris in December; and, in July of the following year,
visited her daughter in Provence, where she spent fifteen months. These
periods, so full of happiness to her, are blanks to us; and when, with
tears and sighs, she tears herself away from Grignan, and the letters
begin again, our amusement and delight recommences.
[Sidenote: 1674.
Ætat.
48.]
In 1674, madame de Grignan visited Paris, and remained fourteen months.
Parisian society was invested for the tender mother with a charm and an
interest, which became mingled with sadness on her daughter's departure.
[Sidenote: 1675.
Ætat.
49.]
The letters on this separation are rendered interesting by the
circumstance of her intimacy with cardinal de Retz, who was then
projecting abdicating his cardinal's hat, which the pope forbade, and
his retreat, for the sake of paying his debts. This last was a measure
founded on motives of honour and integrity, whatever his adversary, M.
de la Rochefoucauld, may say to the contrary. The esteem, amounting to
respect, which madame de Sévigné expresses for him, raises them both.
The death of Turenne happened also during this spring, and the letters
are redeemed from the only fault which a certain sort of minds might
find with them, that of frivolity. If they are frivolous, what are our
own lives? Let us turn our eyes towards ourselves, and ask, if we daily
put down our occupations, the subjects of our conversation, our
pleasures and our serious thoughts, would they not be more empty of
solid information than madame de Sévigné's letters; or, if more
learned, will they not be less wise, and, above all, deficient in the
warmth of heart that burns in hers? In the summer of this year, she
would fain have visited her daughter; but her uncle insisted that a
journey to Britany was necessary for the final settlement of their
mutual affairs, as he was grown old, and might die any day. She arrived
at the Rochers at the end of September. Her life was more lonely than
during the previous visit, for her only companion was her uncle. She had
felt deeply disappointed at giving up her journey to Provence, and the
additional distance between her and her daughter, when in Britany, was
hard to bear. "We were far enough off," she writes; "another hundred
leagues added pains my heart; and I cannot dwell upon the thought
without having great need of your sermons. What you say of the little
profit you often derive from them yourself displays a tenderness that
greatly pleases me. You wish me, then, to speak of my woods. The
sterility of my letters does not disgust you. Well, dear child! I may
tell you, that I do honour to the moon, which I love, as you know. The
good abbé fears the dew: I never suffer from it, and I remain, with
Beaulieu (her dog) and my servants in attendance, till eight o'clock.
Indeed, these avenues are of a beauty, and breathe a tranquillity, a
peace, and a silence, of which I can never have too much. When I think
of you, it is with tenderness; and I must leave it to you to imagine
whether I feel this deeply--I cannot express it. I am glad to feel
alone, and fear the arrival of some ladies, that is, of constraint." Her
residence in the province was painfully disturbed, on account of the
riots which had taken place at Rennes, on account of the taxes; and the
governor had brought down 4000 soldiers to punish the inhabitants. Ever
fearful that her letters might be read at the post, madame de Sévigné
never directly blames any act of government, but her disapprobation and
regret are plainly expressed. "I went to see the duchess de Chaulnes, at
Vitré, yesterday," she writes, "and dined there: she received me with
joy, and conversed with me for two hours, with affection and eagerness;
relating their conduct for the last six months, and all she suffered,
and the dangers she ran. I thanked her for her confidence. In a word,
this province has been much to blame; but it is cruelly punished, so
that it will never recover. There are 5000 soldiers at Rennes, of which
one half will pass the winter. They have taken, at hazard,
five-and-twenty or thirty men, whom they are about to hang. Parliament
is transferred--this is the great blow--for, without that, Rennes is not
a better town than Vitré. The misfortunes of the province delay all
business, and complete our ruin."--"They have laid tax of 100,000 crowns
on the citizens; and, if this sum be not forthcoming in twenty-four
hours, it will be doubled, and exacted by the soldiers. They have driven
away and banished the inhabitants of one whole street, and forbidden any
one to give them refuge, on pain of death; so that you see these poor
wretches--women lately brought to bed, old men and children--wander
weeping from the town, not knowing whither to go, without food or
shelter. Sixty citizens are arrested: to-morrow they begin to hang. This
province is an example to others, teaching them, above all, to respect
their governors and their wives; not to call them names, nor to throw
stones in their garden." Coming back from these scenes, which filled her
with grief and indignation, she returns to her woods. "I have business
with the abbé: I am with my dear workmen; and life passes so quickly,
and, consequently, we approach our end so fast, that I wonder how one
can feel worldly affairs so deeply. My woods inspire me with these
reflections. My people have such ridiculous care of me, that they guard
me in the evening, completely armed, while the only enemy they find is a
squirrel." These twilight walks had a sorrowful conclusion.
[Sidenote: 1676.
Ætat.
50.]
In January she was suddenly laid prostrate by rheumatism: it was the
first illness she ever had--the first intimation she had received, she
says, that she was not immortal. Her son was with her: they were better
friends than ever. "There is no air of maternity," she writes, "in our
intercourse: he is excellent company, and he finds me the same." On this
disaster, his tenderness and attentions were warm and sedulous. "Your
brother," she writes, "has been an inexpressible consolation to me." She
at first made light of her attack, in her letters, though she was
obliged to acknowledge that she could not move her right side, and was
forced to write the few lines she was able to trace with her left hand;
and soon she lost even the power of using this. In the then state of
medicine, her cure, of course, was long and painful.
This illness deranged many of madame de Sévigné's plans. On her return
to Paris, she was ordered to take medicinal baths, to complete her cure.
She went to Vichi, where her health mended, and then returned to Paris,
where she expected a speedy visit from her daughter. Her letters during
this period are very diverting. She throws an interest over every
detail. The one that describes her visit at Versailles, on her return,
gives us a lively and picturesque account of the etiquette and
amusements of the court.[73]
The visit that madame de Grignan paid her mother, soon after, was an
unlucky one. She fell into a bad state of health. The anxiety her mother
evinced augmented her illness. It was deemed necessary to separate
mother and daughter.
[Sidenote: 1677.
Ætat.
51.]
Corbinelli writes, "It was a cascade of terror; the reverberation was
fatal to all three; the circle was mortal." Madame de Grignan returned
to Provence. This was a severe blow to madame de Sévigné. Her daughter
wrote to her, "I was the disorder of your mind, your health, your house.
I am good for nothing to you." To this, and to the reproaches she heard
that her solicitude had augmented madame de Grignan's illness, madame de
Sévigné replies, "To behold you, then, perish before my eyes was a
trifle unworthy of my attention? When you were in good health, did I
disquiet myself about the future? did I think of it? But I saw you ill,
and of an illness perilous to the young; and, instead of trying to
console me by a conduct that would have restored you to your usual
health, absence was suggested. I kill you! I am the cause of all your
sufferings! When I think of how I concealed my fears, and that the
little that escaped me produced such frightful effects, I conclude that
I am not allowed to love you; and, since such monstrous and impossible
things are asked of me, my only resource is in your recovery." For some
years after this madame de Grignan was in a delicate state of health.
"Ah!" writes her mother, "how happy I was when I had no fears for your
health! Of what had I then to complain, compared to my present
inquietude?" However, though still delicate, she revisited Paris in the
following month of November--it being considered advantageous for her
family affairs,--and remained nearly two years. Her mother had taken a
large mansion, the Hôtel de Carnavalet, and they resided under the same
roof. There was a numerous family, and chief among them was a brother of
M. de Grignan. The chevalier de Grignan enjoyed a great reputation for
bravery and military conduct. He was a martyr to rheumatic gout, which
often stood in the way of his active service; but he was always favoured
by the king, and regarded by every one, as a man of superior abilities,
and of a resolute and fearless mind. When six men of quality were
selected to attend on the dauphin, under the name of _Menins_, he was
named one of them. Two of M. de Grignan's daughters also accompanied
them. They were the children of his former marriage with Angélique
d'Angennes, sister of the celebrated madame de Montauzier. Cardinal de
Retz died in the August of this year.
[Sidenote: 1679.
Ætat.
53.]
"Pity me, my cousin," madame de Sévigné writes to the count de Bussy,
"for having lost cardinal de Retz. You know how amiable he was, and
worthy the esteem of all who knew him! I was a friend of thirty years'
standing, and ever received the tenderest marks of his friendship, which
was equally honourable and delightful to me. Eight days' uninterrupted
fever carried him off. I am grieved to the bottom of my heart."
At length, in the month of September, madame de Grignan returned to
Provence. Her mother writes. "Do not tell me that I have no cause to
regret you: I have, indeed, every cause. I know not what you have taken
into your head. For myself, I remember only your friendship, your care,
your kindness, your caresses. I have lost all these: I regret them; and
nothing in the world can efface the recollection, nor console me for my
loss." M. de Sévigné was at this time in Britany, and was elected
deputy, by the nobles, to attend on the governor. "The title of new
comer," writes his mother, "renders him important, and causes him to be
mixed up in every thing. I hope he will marry: he will never again be so
considerable. He has spent ten years at court and in the camp. The first
year of peace he gives to his country. He can never be looked on so
favourably as this year." Unfortunately, he deranged all these schemes
by falling in love inopportunely; and he lingered in Britany, grasping
all the money he could, felling trees, and squandering the proceeds
without use or pleasure, while his mother awaited his return anxiously,
and bore the blame of his absence, as it was supposed that he was
detained by business of hers. The time when he could settle was not
come. He was of that disposition which is not unfrequent among men.
Gifted with vivacity, wit, and good humour, agreeable and gay, it
appeared, as madame de Sévigné said, that he was exactly fitted for
the situation at court, which, as lieutenant of the dauphin's company of
gendarmes, he naturally filled. But he was discontented: the restraint
annoyed him; pleasure palled on him; he was eager to sell out, to bury
himself in his province. One reason was that he was not regarded with an
eye of favour by the king. Madame de Sévigné herself felt this
disfavour, arising from her having been of the party of the fronde, a
friend of Fouquet, and, lastly, a jansenist.
[Sidenote: 1680.
Ætat.
54.]