Her Increasing Popularity
Ninon's return to the gayeties of her drawing rooms was hailed with
loud acclamations from all quarters. The envy and jealousy of her
female enemies, the attempt to immure her in a convent, and her
selection of the Grands Cordeliers as her place of retreat, brought
her new friends and admirers through the notoriety given her, and all
Paris resounded with the fame of her spirit, her wit, and her
philosophy.
Ladies of high rank sought admission into her charming circle, many of
them, it is to be imagined, because they possessed exaggerated ideas
of her influence at court. Had she not braved the Queen Regent with
impunity? Her drawing rooms soon became the center of attraction and
were nightly crowded with the better part of the brilliant society of
Paris. Ninon was the acknowledged guide and leader, and all submitted
to her sway without the slightest envy or jealousy, and it may also be
said, without the slightest compunctions or remorse of conscience.
The affair with the Queen Regent had one good effect, it separated the
desirable from the undesirable in the social scale, compelling the
latter to set up an establishment of their own as a counter
attraction, and as their only hope of having any society at all. They
established a "little court" at the Hôtel Rambouillet, where
foppishness was a badge of distinction, and where a few narrow minded,
starched moralists, poisoned metaphysics and turned the sentiments of
the heart into a burlesque by their affectation and their unrefined,
even vulgar attempts at gallantry. They culled choice expressions and
epigrams from the literature of the day, employing their memories to
conceal their paucity of original wit, and practised upon their
imaginations to obtain a salacious philosophy, which consisted of
sodden ideas, flat in their expression, stale and unattractive in
their adaptation.
Ninon's coterie was the very opposite, consisting as it did of the
very flower of the nobility and the choicest spirits of the age, who
banished dry and sterile erudition, and sparkled with the liveliest
wit and polite accomplishments. There were some who eluded the
vigilance of Ninon's shrewd scrutiny, and made their way into her
inner circle, but they were soon forced to abandon their pretensions
by their inability to maintain any standing among a class of men who
were so far beyond them in rank and attainments.
Not long after her return to the pleasures of society, after the
convent episode, Ninon was called upon to mourn the demise of her
father. M. de l'Enclos was one of the fortunate men of the times who
escaped the dangers attendant upon being on the wrong side in
politics. For some inscrutable reason, he took sides with Cardinal de
Retz, and on that account was practically banished from Paris and
compelled to be satisfied with the rough annoyances of camp life
instead of being able to put in practice the pleasant precepts of his
philosophy. He was finally permitted to return to Paris with his head
safe upon his shoulders, and flattered himself with the idea that he
could now make up for lost time, promising himself to enjoy to the
full the advantages offered by his daughter's establishment. He
embraced his daughter with the liveliest pleasure imaginable, taking
upon himself all the credit for her great reputation as due to his
efforts and to his philosophical training. He was flattered at the
success of his lessons and entered upon a life of joyous pleasure with
as much zest as though in the bloom of his youth. It proved too much
for a constitution weakened by the fatigues of years of arduous
military campaigns and he succumbed, the flesh overpowered by the
spirit, and took to his bed, where he soon reached a condition that
left his friends no hope of his recuperation.
Aware that the end was approaching, he sent for his daughter, who
hastened to his side and shed torrents of tears. But he bade her
remember the lessons she had learned from his philosophy, and wishing
to give her one more lesson, said in an almost expiring voice:
"Approach nearer, Ninon; you see nothing left me but a sad memory of
the pleasures that are leaving me. Their possession was not of long
duration, and that is the only complaint I have to make against
nature. But, alas! my regrets are vain. You who must survive me,
utilize precious time, and have no scruples about the quantity of your
pleasures, but only of their quality."
Saying which, he immediately expired. The philosophical security
exhibited by her father in his very last moments, inspired Ninon with
the same calmness of spirit, and she bore his loss with equanimity,
disdaining to exhibit any immoderate grief lest she dishonor his
memory and render herself an unworthy daughter and pupil.
The fortune left her by her father was not so considerable as Ninon
had expected. It had been very much diminished by extravagance and
speculation, but as she had in mind de la Rochefoucauld's maxim:
"There are some good marriages, but no delicious ones," and did not
contemplate ever wearing the chains of matrimony, she deposited her
fortune in the sinking funds, reserving an income of about eight
thousand livres per annum as sufficient to maintain her beyond the
reach of want. From this time on she abandoned herself to a life of
pleasure, well regulated, it must be confessed, and in strict
accordance with her Epicurean ideas. Her light heartedness increased
with her love and devotion to pleasure, which is not astonishing, as
there are privileged souls who do not lose their tender emotions by
such a pursuit, though those souls are rare. Ninon's unrestrained
freedom, and the privilege she claimed to enjoy all the rights which
men assumed, did not give her the slightest uneasiness. It was her
lovers who became anxious unless they regulated their love according
to the rules she established for them to follow, rules which it can
not be denied, were held in as much esteem then as nowadays. The
following anecdote will serve as an illustration:
The Marquis de la Châtre had been one of her lovers for an
unconscionably long period, but never seemed to cool in his fidelity.
Duty, however, called him away from Ninon's arms, but he was
distressed with the thought that his absence would be to his
disadvantage. He was afraid to leave her lest some rival should appear
upon the scene and dispossess him in her affections. Ninon vainly
endeavored to remove his suspicions.
"No, cruel one," he said, "you will forget and betray me. I know your
heart, it alarms me, crushes me. It is still faithful to my love, I
know, and I believe you are not deceiving me at this moment. But that
is because I am with you and can personally talk of my love. Who will
recall it to you when I am gone? The love you inspire in others,
Ninon, is very different from the love you feel. You will always be in
my heart, and absence will be to me a new fire to consume me; but to
you, absence is the end of affection. Every object I shall imagine I
see around you will be odious to me, but to you they will be
interesting."
Ninon could not deny that there was truth in the Marquis' logic, but
she was too tender to assassinate his heart which she knew to be so
loving. Being a woman she understood perfectly the art of
dissimulation, which is a necessary accomplishment, a thousand
circumstances requiring its exercise for the sake of her security,
peace, and comfort. Moreover, she did not at the moment dream of
deceiving him; there was no present occasion, nobody else she had in
mind. Ninon thought rapidly, but could not find any reason for
betraying him, and therefore assured him of her fidelity and
constancy.
Nevertheless, the amorous Marquis, who might have relied upon the
solemn promise of his mistress, had it not been for the intense fears
which were ever present in his mind, and becoming more violent as the
hour for his departure drew nearer, required something more
substantial than words. But what could he exact? Ah! an idea, a novel
expedient occurred to his mind, one which he imagined would restrain
the most obstinate inconstancy.
"Listen, Ninon, you are without contradiction a remarkable woman. If
you once do a thing you will stand to it. What will tend to quiet my
mind and remove my fears, ought to be your duty to accept, because my
happiness is involved and that is more to you than love; it is your
own philosophy, Ninon. Now, I wish you to put in writing that you will
remain faithful to me, and maintain the most inviolable fidelity. I
will dictate it in the strongest form and in the most sacred terms
known to human promises. I will not leave you until I have obtained
such a pledge of your constancy, which is necessary to relieve my
anxiety, and essential to my repose."
Ninon vainly argued that this would be something too strange and
novel, foolish, in fact, the Marquis was obstinate and finally
overcame her remonstrances. She wrote and signed a written pledge
such as no woman had ever executed, and fortified with this pledge,
the Marquis hastened to respond to the call of duty.
Two days had scarcely elapsed before Ninon was besieged by one of the
most dangerous men of her acquaintance. Skilled in the art of love, he
had often pressed his suit, but Ninon had other engagements and would
not listen to him. But now, his rival being out of the field, he
resumed his entreaties and increased his ardor. He was a man to
inspire love, but Ninon resisted, though his pleading touched her
heart. Her eyes at last betrayed her love and she was vanquished
before she realized the outcome of the struggle.
What was the astonishment of the conqueror, who was enjoying the
fruits of his victory, to hear Ninon exclaim in a breathless voice,
repeating it three times: "Ah! Ah! le bon billet qu'a la Châtre!" (Oh,
the fine bond that la Châtre has.)
Pressed for an explanation of the enigma, Ninon told him the whole
story, which was too good to keep secret, and soon the "billet de la
Châtre" became, in the mouth of everybody, a saying applied to things
upon which it is not wise to rely. Voltaire, to preserve so charming
an incident, has embalmed it in his comedy of la Prude, act I, scene
III. Ninon merely followed the rule established by Madame de Sévigné:
"Les femmes ont permission d'être faibles, et elles se servent sans
scrupule de ce privilège."