[331] These selections from letters necessarily omitted in our
plan, comprise nearly, if not quite all, that is of literary
or moral value in the whole series. We are thus able to give a
more distinct impression of Madame de Sévigné’s character as a
mother and a Christian. Besides the many amusing anecdotes here
collected, her sentiments on important duties of life are of
much value; and her religious feelings are deserving distinct
recognition. It will be seen that she studied her Bible, and
strove to follow its divine teachings; like Fénelon, though
nominally a Romanist, or rather Jansenist, she had in her heart
and mind protested against the corruptions of that Church. Her
clear insight, just principles, and heart-piety are remarkably
displayed in these extracts.
A SUPPER.--We supped again yesterday with Madame de Scarron and the
Abbé Têtu, at Madame de Coulanges’. We had a great deal of chat, in
which you had your share. We took it into our heads to conduct Madame
de Scarron home, at midnight to the very furthest end of the Faubourg
St. Germain, a great way beyond Madame de la Fayette’s, almost as far
as Vaugirard, and quite in the country, where she lives in a large
handsome house--the entrance of which is forbidden to every one--with
a large garden, and beautiful and spacious apartments; she has an
equipage, servants, and a genteel table; dresses neatly, but elegantly,
in the style of a woman who associates with people of rank; she is
amiable, handsome, good, free from affectation, and, in a word, an
excellent companion. We returned very merrily, in the midst of a number
of flambeaux, and in full security from thieves.
PORT ROYAL.--That Port Royal is a perfect Thebais, a very paradise; a
desert where all that is left of true Christian devotion is retired.
The whole country for a league round breathes the air of virtue and
holiness. The nuns are angels upon earth. Mademoiselle de Vertus
is wearing out the remains of a miserable life there, in the most
excruciating pain, but with inconceivable resignation. The very meanest
of the inhabitants have a virtuous serenity in their countenances, and
a modesty of deportment to be met with in no other place. I own to
you I was delighted to see this divine solitude of which I have heard
so much; it is a frightful valley, calculated to inspire a taste for
religion.
HINTS ABOUT CHILDREN.--A word about the little Marquis (de
Grignan);[332] I beseech you not to be under any apprehension about
his timidity. Remember that the charming Marquis (de la Châtre) used
to tremble and quake till he was twelve years old, and that La Troche,
when young, was so terrified at the least thing, that his mother
could not bear to have him in her sight; and yet you see how much
they have distinguished themselves since: let that comfort you. Fears
of this kind are the mere effect of childhood, and when childhood is
surmounted, instead of being afraid of raw-head and bloody bones,
these personages are afraid only of being thought fearful, are afraid
of being less esteemed than others, and that is sufficient to make
them brave, and kill their thousands and ten thousands: let me then
again beg you to make yourself easy on that score. As to his shape,
it is another matter: I would advise you to put him into breeches,
and then you will see better how his legs go on, and whether they are
straightened as he grows. You must let him have room to stir himself,
and unfold his little limbs: but you must put on him a pretty tight
vest, which will confine his shape. I shall receive some further
instructions, however, on this subject, which I will not fail to
transmit to you. It would be a fine thing indeed to see a Grignan
with a bad shape! Do you not remember how pretty he was in his
swaddling-clothes? I am no less uneasy than yourself at this alteration.
[332] Grandson of Madame de Sévigné.
REFLECTIONS.--What you say of death taking the liberty of interrupting
fortune is admirable; this ought to comfort those who are not in the
number of her favorites, and to diminish the bitterness of death. You
ask me if I am religious: alas! my dear, I am not sufficiently so, for
which I am very sorry; but yet I think I am somewhat detached from
what is called the world. Age and sickness give us leisure enough for
serious reflection; but what I retrench from the rest of the world
I bestow upon you, so that I make but small advances in the path of
detachment; and you know that the law of the game is to begin by
effacing a little what is dearest to our heart.
VERSAILLES IN 1676.--I was on Saturday at Versailles with the Villars.
You know the ceremony of attending on the queen at her toilet, at mass,
and at dinner; but there is now no necessity of being stifled with the
heat, and with the crowd, while their majesties dine: for at three,
the king and queen, monsieur, madame, mademoiselle, the princes and
princesses, Madame de Montespan, and her train, the courtiers, and
the ladies, in short the whole court of France, retire to that fine
apartment of the king’s which you know. It is furnished with the utmost
magnificence; they know not there what it is to be incommoded with
heat; and pass from one room to another without being crowded. A game
at reversis gives a form to the assembly, and fixes every thing. The
king and Madame de Montespan keep a bank together. Monsieur, the queen,
and Madame de Soubise, Dangeau, and Langlé, with their companies, are
at different tables. The baize is covered with a thousand louis-d’ors;
they use no other counters. I saw Dangeau play, and could not help
observing how awkward others appeared in comparison of him. He thinks
of nothing but his game, though he scarcely seems to attend to it; he
gains where others lose; takes every advantage; nothing escapes or
distracts him; in short, his good conduct defies fortune. Thus, two
hundred thousand francs in ten days, a hundred thousand crowns in a
month, are added to his account-book under the head _received_. He
had the complaisance to say I was a partner with him in the bank, by
which means I was seated very commodiously. I bowed to the king in the
way you taught me; and he returned my salutation, as if I had been
young and handsome. The queen talked to me of my illness, nor did she
leave you unmentioned. The duke paid me a thousand of those unmeaning
compliments which he bestows so liberally. M. de Lorges attacked me in
the name of the Chevalier de Grignan; and, in short, _tutti quanti_
(all the rest). You know what it is to receive a word from every one
who passes you. Madame de Montespan talked to me of Bourbon, and
desired me to tell her how I liked Vichi, and whether I had found any
benefit there. She said that Bourbon, instead of removing the pain from
her knee, had given her the tooth-ache. Her beauty and her shape are
really surprising; she is much thinner than she was; and yet neither
her eyes, her lips, nor her complexion are injured. She was dressed
in French point; her hair in a thousand curls, and the two from her
temples very low upon her cheeks; she wore on her head black ribbons,
intermixed with the pearls which once belonged to the Maréchale de
l’Hôpital, diamond pendants of great value, and three or four bodkins.
In a word, she appeared a triumphant beauty, calculated to raise
the admiration of all the foreign embassadors. She has heard that
complaints were made of her having prevented all France from seeing
the king; she has restored him, as you see, and you can not imagine
the delight this has occasioned, nor the splendor it has given to the
court. This agreeable confusion, without confusion, of all the most
select persons in the kingdom, lasts from three o’clock till six. If
any couriers arrive, the king retires to read his letters, and returns
to the assembly. There is always music, to which he sometimes listens,
and which has an admirable effect: in the mean time, he chats with the
ladies who are accustomed to have that honor. They leave off their game
at the hour I mentioned, without the trouble of reckoning, because they
use no marks or counters. The pools are of five, six, or seven hundred,
and sometimes of a thousand or twelve hundred louis-d’ors.
At six they take the air in calashes; the king and Madame de Montespan,
the prince and Madame de Thianges, and Mademoiselle d’Heudicourt, upon
the little seat before, which seems to her a seat in paradise. You know
how these calashes are made; they do not sit face to face in them, but
all look the same way. The queen was in another with the princesses:
the whole court followed in different equipages, according to their
different fancies. They went afterward in gondolas upon the canal,
where there was music: at ten the comedy began, and at twelve they
concluded the day with the Spanish entertainment of _media noche_; thus
we passed the Saturday.
THE TELESCOPE.--Apropos, did I mention to you an excellent telescope
that amused us exceedingly in the boat? It is really a master-piece
of its kind; it is a still better one than that which the abbé left
with you at Grignan. This glass brings objects quite home that are at
three leagues’ distance; alas! that it would bring those which are two
hundred! You may easily guess the use we made of it on the banks of the
Loire, but I have found a new method of using it, which is this: you
know that one end brings objects nearer to you, and the other throws
them to a great distance; now this end I turn toward Mademoiselle du
Plessis, and in a moment I see her three leagues from me. I tried this
experiment the other day on her, and the rest of my neighbors; this
was amusing, but nobody knew what I meant by it; if there had been any
one to whom I could have given the hint, the pleasure would have been
greater. When tired with disagreeable company, it is only to send for
the glass, and look through it at the end that distances the objects.
Ask Montgobert, if she would not have laughed heartily. This is a
pretty subject to talk nonsense upon. If you have Corbinelli with you,
let me recommend the use of the glass to you.
Adieu, my dear; we are not mountains, as you say, so I hope to embrace
you a little nearer than two hundred leagues: but you are going still
further off; I have a great mind to set out for Brest. It is very hard,
in my opinion, that the grand-duchess should not have the good Rarai as
her lady of honor; the Guisardes have appointed La Sainte-Même to the
office. I hear that La Trousse’s good fortune is doubled, and that he
will have De Froulai’s situation.
RULES OF LIVING.--I am never in bed more than seven hours, and I eat
sparingly: I add to your precepts walking a great deal, but the worst
is, that I can not prevent somber thoughts from intruding into my
long gloomy avenues. Sadness is poison to us, and the source of the
vapors. You are right in thinking this disorder is imaginary; you have
admirably defined it; it is sorrow that gives birth to, and fear that
nourishes it.
WORK.--I was employed yesterday on a piece of work as tedious as the
company I had: I never work but when I have company; when I am alone, I
walk, I read, or write. La Plessis incommodes me no more than Maria; I
am so happy as to have no inclination to listen to any thing she says,
and find as little interruption from her presence, as you do from some
whom you have the same kind of regard for. In other respects she has
the best sentiments in the world; I admire how all her good qualities
are spoiled by her impertinent and ridiculous manners. It is quite
laughable to hear what she says of my patience in bearing with her;
how she explains it; and the obligations she fancies it lays her under
to attach herself to me; and how I serve her for an excuse for not
visiting her friends at Vitré. It would make you smile, to observe her
little arts to satisfy her vanity (for vanity is the growth of every
soil); and her affected fears that I am growing jealous of a nun of
Vitré, for whom she has a partiality. All this would make an excellent
farce.
EVENING EMPLOYMENTS.--I was perfectly rejoiced to return here; I am
making a new walk, which employs me wholly. I pay my workmen in corn;
and find nothing so profitable as to amuse one’s self, and forget, if
possible, the evils of life. Neither do my evenings, my child, about
which you are so much in pain, hang more heavily on my hands: I am
almost always writing, or reading, and midnight overtakes me before I
know where I am. Our abbé (her uncle) takes his leave of me at ten,
and the two hours that I am alone, are no more irksome to me than the
rest. In the day I am either employed with the abbé, or among my dear
laborers, or in my favorite work. In short, my dear, life flies away
so swiftly, and we are always drawing so near our end, that I can
not conceive how people can make themselves so unhappy about worldly
affairs. I have here sufficient time for reflection, and it is my
fault, and not that of the place, if I do not indulge it. I am quite
well; all my people obey you admirably: they are ridiculously careful
of me; they come to guard me home in the evening armed cap-à-pie, and
it is against a squirrel they draw their swords.
AN IMPROMPTU MARRIAGE.--M. de Chaulnes concluded a marriage the other
day, which gave me pleasure, between the little Du Guesclin, and a very
pretty girl with a large fortune; when he had with great difficulty
settled the articles, he said, “Let us draw up the contract;” the
parties consented, and he immediately resumed, saying, “What prevents
their being married to-morrow?” Every one exclaimed, “There must be
wedding-clothes, a toilet, and linen.”--He laughed at this. M. de
Rennes gave a dispensation of two banns, and the next day being Sunday,
one was published in the morning, and they were married at noon; after
dinner the little bride danced like an angel; she had learned at Paris
of the duchess’ master, and had caught her air; the next day she was
Madame du Guesclin, and had saved 20,000 livres that would otherwise
have been spent in the wedding. It is consistent with good sense to
rise superior sometimes to trifles and customs.
A BRIDE.--Madame de Coulanges informs me that the new Madame de la
Fayette was reclined upon a magnificent bed in a noble house; the room
hung with beautiful tapestry belonging to the Keeper of the Seals;
the bed decorated with an ancient mantle of the order, and the room
hung with fine tapestry, having the arms ornamented with the staves of
the Marshal of France, and the collar of the order; looking-glasses,
chandeliers, glass plates, and crystals, according to the present
fashion, out of number; a great many servants, and valets-de-chambre
in livery; the bride in an elegant dress. In short, such taste reigns
in the house of the new-married couple and in their family, that our
Madame de la Fayette ought to be perfectly satisfied at her son’s
having formed so great and honorable an alliance.
BLEEDING.--You tell me you have found it necessary to be bled; the
trembling hand of your young surgeon makes me tremble. The prince said
one day to a new surgeon, “Does not the idea of bleeding me make you
tremble?”--“Faith sir,” replied the man, “your highness has most reason
to tremble.” He was in the right.
COMPANY.--I have for a long time adopted your opinion, that bad company
is preferable to good: how dismal it is to part with the good! and
what a pleasure it is to get rid of the bad! Do you remember how we
were tormented at Fouesnel, and how overjoyed we were when the company
thought proper to take their leave? I think we may then establish it as
a maxim, that nothing is more desirable than bad company, and nothing
more to be dreaded than good. Let whoever is puzzled with this enigma
call upon us for the solution of it.
QUARRELS IN HIGH LIFE.--I think I mentioned to you the quarrel between
the Duke de Ventadour and the Duke d’Aumont; the latter was returning
from Bourbon with his wife, and the Duchess de Ventadour and the
Chevalier de Tilladet. The Duke de Ventadour was at an estate he
has in the same county, called La Motte. He had desired his wife to
come to him there, and sent, at the same time, to invite the whole
company, but was refused; he then came himself, but was ill received,
because, following the company about from dinner-time till bed-time,
his conversation was mixed continually with menaces and reproaches;
in short, he was like Don Quixotte, pistol in hand, threatening and
challenging the gentlemen. The chevalier treated him as a person fit
only for Bedlam. At length the ladies arrived in great fear at Paris,
where the king, being informed of what had happened, sent a guard to
take care of Madame Ventadour, so that she is now under the protection
of his majesty. What think you the monster did? he went to the king,
attended by his neighbors, that is, the Princes de Condé, de Conti,
Messieurs de Luxembourg, Duras, Schomberg, Bellefond; and, with
incredible assurance, told the king that the Chevalier de Tilladet
had not paid him the _respect due to his rank_; mark the expression:
he places the dukedom where it was formerly. “Sire,” said he, “I want
to know why I am refused the company of my wife! what has happened
to my person of late? Am I uglier, or more ill made than formerly,
when I was as much courted as I am now avoided? If I am ugly, sire,
is it my fault? Had I been my own maker, I would have been like your
majesty; but these are things that are not in our own disposal.” In
short, partly owing to this natural and proper, and at the same time
unexpected, flattery, and partly to the justice of his argument, the
king was pleased with him, as well as the whole court, However, they
are to be separated; the difficulty is, that he insists that his
wife shall be shut up in a convent, which is a sad affair. M. de la
Rochefoucault is employed to accommodate this business, and settle
matters between the gentlemen.
EXTRAVAGANCE OF M. DE SÉVIGNÉ.--I have been ready to weep to see the
desolation of this estate; there were the finest trees in the world
upon it, and my son, in his last journey, gave the finishing stroke
to the last. He would even have sold a little copse, which was the
greatest ornament of the place. Is not this lamentable? He scraped
together four hundred pistoles by this plunder, of which he had not a
single penny left in a month. It is impossible to think with patience
how he acts, and what his Brittany journey cost him, notwithstanding
he discharged his coachman and footman at Paris, and took nobody but
Larmechin with him. He has found out the art of spending an immense
deal of money, without making any show for it, of losing without
playing, and of paying without discharging his debts. War or peace, he
is forever crying out for money; in short, he is a perpetual drain, and
what he does with his money I can not conceive, for he appears to have
no particular passion. I really think his hand is a crucible, which
melts money the instant it is put into it.
* * * * *
My son writes me word that he is going to play at reversis with his
young master:[333] this makes my blood run cold within me; two, three,
or four hundred pistoles are lost before we can look around us. “This
is nothing for Admetus, but a great deal for him.” If people, before
they play, would think that they may possibly lose a great deal, and
that debts of honor must be paid immediately, they would not be so
ready to engage in such parties; but the misfortune is, that every one
thinks he shall win, and this leads him on to destruction. If Dangeau
is one of the party, he will carry off every thing; for he is a perfect
harpy at play. However, it will all turn out as it shall please God,
and so it will be with the 6,000 francs which I expected to receive
from Nantes, and which a demon has interfered in the shape of a point
of law, that throws us as far back as ever.
[333] The Dauphin.
GAMING.--They play extravagantly high at Versailles: the _hoca_[334] is
forbidden at Paris under pain of death, and yet it is played at court:
five or six thousand pistoles of a morning is nothing to lose. This is
no better than picking of pockets. I beseech you to banish this game
from among you.
[334] A game at cards.
* * * * *
The other day the queen missed going to mass, and lost twenty thousand
crowns in one morning. The king said to her, “Let us calculate, madam,
how much this is a year.” And M. de Montausier asked her the next day,
if she intended staying away from mass for the _hoca_ again; upon which
she was in a great passion. I have heard these stories from persons who
have come from Versailles, and who collect them for me.
* * * * *
But now about this _breland_,[335] what a folly is it to lose so
much money at such a rascally game! It has been banished from us for
a downright cut-throat. We do things in a more serious manner. You
play against all chance: you lose forever: take my advice, and do not
continue it: consider it is throwing money away without having any
amusement for it: on the contrary, you have paid 5,000 or 6,000 francs
to be the mere dupe of fortune. But I am rather too warm, my dear, and
must say with Tartuffe, “’tis through excess of zeal.”
[335] A game at cards.
* * * * *
I will tell you, my dear child, a thought that has occurred to me on
the frequent losses you and M. de Grignan sustain at cards. I would
have you both be cautious. It is not pleasant to be made a dupe of;
and be assured that it is not natural to be perpetually the winner or
the loser. It is not long since I was led into the tricks of the Hôtel
de la Vieuville. You remember, I suppose, how our pockets were picked
there. You are not to imagine every body plays as fairly as you do
yourself. The concern I have for your interest makes me say so much;
and as it comes from a heart entirely devoted to you, I am persuaded
you will not be displeased at it.
PROVIDENCE.--You say you never mention Providence but when you have
a disorder on your lungs, whereas that subject always exhausts mine,
for I can find none that furnishes so large a field for discussion,
observation and inquiry; and why may we not discourse as well on this
as on natural philosophy? Why did you not still say, as you did last
year, that our fears, our reasonings, our decisions, our wills, our
desires, are only so many means employed by God for the execution of
his purposes? Is not this an inexhaustible subject, fraught with the
most entertaining variety?
* * * * *
Believe me there is no experiment in natural philosophy more
interesting than the investigation of the connection and diversity of
our several sentiments; so that you see, _It is God’s will_ may be
paraphrased in a thousand different ways.
FREE WILL.--I have no other answer to make you upon what St. Augustin
says, except that I hear and understand him, when he tells me, and
repeats to me five hundred times in the same book, that all things
depend, as the apostle says, “not on him that willeth, nor on him
that runneth, but on God, that showeth mercy to whom it pleaseth him;
that it is not for any merit in man, that God bestows his grace, but
according to his own good pleasure; that man may not glory in his own
strength, seeing he receives all things from God.” His whole book is in
this strain, filled with passages from Scripture, the writings of the
Apostle Paul, and the Homilies of the Church. He calls our free will,
a deliverance, and an aptitude to love God, because we are no longer
under the dominion of the devil, and are chosen from all eternity,
according to the decrees of the Almighty before all ages. When I
read in this book the following passage, “How could God call men to
judgment, if they were not free agents?” I confess I am at a loss to
understand it, and am disposed to think it a mystery: but as free will
can not put our salvation in our own power, and as we must always be
dependent on God, I have no desire to understand it better, and will
endeavor, as much as possible, to remain in a state of humility and
dependence.
DEVICES.--As to devices, my dear child, my poor brain is in a very bad
condition for thinking of any, much less for inventing them; however,
as there are twelve hours in the day, and above fifty in the night, my
memory has furnished me with a rocket raised to a great height in the
air, with these words; _Che peri, pur che s’innalzi_.[336] I am afraid
I have seen this somewhere in the late tournaments, though I can not
exactly say where or when; for I think it too pretty to be my own. I
remember also having seen in some book, a rocket on the subject of a
lover who had been bold enough to declare himself to his mistress, with
these words, _Da l’ardore l’ardire_,[337] which is pretty but does
not apply in this instance. I am not quite sure whether the first I
have mentioned is in strict conformity to the rules of devices: for I
do not perfectly understand them; all I know is, that it pleased me,
and whether it was in a tournament, or on a seal, is a matter of no
great importance; it is scarcely possible to invent new ones for every
occasion. You have heard me a thousand times repeat that part of a line
in Tasso, _L’alte non temo_:[338] I used to repeat this so often, that
the Count de Chapelles had a seal engraved, with an eagle flying toward
the sun, and _L’alte non temo_ for the motto: a very happy device.
* * * * *
M. de Montmoron came hither post: among other things we were talking
about devices: he assures me he does not remember to have seen any
where the one I proposed: he knew the one with these words, _Da
l’ardore l’ardire_, but that is not the thing: the other, he says, is
much more complete, _Che peri, pur che s’innalzi_. And whether it is
my own, or borrowed, he thinks it excellent.
* * * * *
I have seen a device which suits me exactly; it is a leafless tree,
apparently dead, with this inscription round it, _Fin che sol
ritorni_.[339] What think you of it, my child?
[336] Let it perish, so it be exalted.
[337] My boldness arises from my ardor.
[338] I rise without fear.
[339] Till the sun returns.
THE USE OF REASON.--I am still alone, my dear child, without being
dull: my health is good; I have plenty of books, work, and fine
weather; these, with a little reason, go a great way.
PECUNIARY EMBARRASSMENTS.--You ask, why am I not with you? Alas! I
could easily answer you, if I were inclined to debase my letter with
a detail of the reasons that obliged me to quit you, of the misery
of this country, the sums that are owing me here, the delays in the
payment of them, what I owe elsewhere, and the ruin my affairs must
have sustained had I not taken this resolution in time. You well know
that I put it off for two years with pleasure; but there are extremes,
my dear child, in which we should destroy every thing in attempting to
wrestle with necessity; the property I possess is no longer my own; I
must preserve the same honor and the same probity I have all my life
professed. This, this, my child is the cruel cause that tears me from
you; and is this a subject to entertain you with?
AN OBSTINATE SON.--In regard to my son, I find I have courage enough
to tell him my sentiments without disguise. I wrote him a letter which
I think unanswerable; but the more I enforce my reasons, the more he
urges his arguments, and he appears so determined, that I now perfectly
understand what is meant by an unconquerable wish. There is a degree of
ardor in the desire which animates him, that no prudence can withstand.
I can not accuse myself of having preferred my own interest to his. I
wish for nothing but to see him walk in the path I have traced out for
him. He is wrong in all his arguments, and far beside the mark; I have
endeavored to set him right by incontestable arguments, corroborated by
the opinion of all our friends; and ask him if he has not some doubts,
seeing he is alone in an opinion which every one else disapproves? He
answers me always by an obstinate perseverance; so that I am reduced to
the last expedient, that of keeping him from making a rash or injurious
bargain.
A FORGIVING MOTHER.--As I was returning from my walk yesterday, I
met the poor _frater_,[340] at the end of the mall, who immediately
fell upon his knees, so conscious of having done wrong in having been
three weeks under ground, singing matins, that he thought he dared
not approach me otherwise. I had resolved to scold him heartily, but
I was so glad to see him, that I could not find an angry word to use.
You know how entertaining he is; he embraced me a thousand times, and
gave me the worst reasons in the world; which, however, I received as
sterling; we chat, we read, we walk, and we wear away the year; or
rather, what is left of it.
[340] Her son.
LOVE--ITS SYMPTOMS.--You want to know the symptoms of this love, of
which I spoke to you the other day. _Imprimis_, To be the first on all
occasions to deny it: to affect an air of great indifference, which is
a sure mark of the contrary: the opinion of those who can judge from
being near: the public voice: an entire suspension of all motion in
the globular machine: a neglect of ordinary concerns to attend to a
single one: a continual satirizing old people who are so foolish as
to be in love. “Such nonsense! they must be idiots! fools! And with a
young woman too! Very pretty indeed! it would become me mighty well!
I had rather break both my arms and legs.” And then we make answer
internally: “Indeed what you say is very true; but, for all that you
are in love: you tell us all these fine things: your reflections are
doubtless very just, very true, very tormenting; but for all that you
are in love; reason is on your side, but love is stronger than reason;
at the same time you are sick, you weep, you are out of humor, and you
are in love.”
CHESS.--You tell me of chess what I have often thought before. In my
opinion, there could not have been contrived a better expedient to
humble pride than this game, which at once sets before our view the
narrowness and insignificance of the human mind. I think it would be
of real utility to any one fond of such reflections. But then, on the
other hand, the foresight, the penetration, the address in defending
ourselves, as in attacking our adversary, the success attending the
right management of the game, is so pleasing, and affords so much
inward satisfaction, that it may at the same time nourish our pride and
swell our self-sufficiency. I am still far from being cured of this
passion, and therefore want to be further convinced of my own weakness.
ALONE.--I am delighted to be alone; I walk out, I amuse myself with
reading and work, and I go to church; in short I ask pardon of the
company I expect, but I own I do wondrous well without them.
A COURTIER.--The other day the dauphin was shooting at a mark, and shot
very wide of it: M. de Montausier rallied him upon it; and told the
Marquis de Créqui, who is very skillful to fire, saying to the dauphin,
“See how well he will hit the mark.” The arch youth had the complaisance
to shoot a foot further from it than the dauphin, which turned the
laugh on M. de Montausier: “Ah! little wretch,” said he, “you deserve
to be hanged.”
THE KING.--The king, in reality, is well served: neither life nor
fortune is considered when his pleasure is the question. If we were as
well disposed toward God, we should be saints indeed.
CHRISTIAN HUMILITY.--I know very well that Jesus Christ, St. Paul,
and St. Augustine, preached and exhorted, it was their business; this
latter gives good reason for doing so. But a poor sinner, recovered
only three days from a worse state than ours, should keep silence,
penetrated with the mercy of God toward him, occupied only with his
happiness, and the true gratitude he owes to his Saviour, for having
selected and distinguished him from so many others, without any merit,
through free grace: such should be the sentiments of his heart, and if
charity should make him interest himself for his neighbor, it should
display itself in lamentations before God, and in supplicating the same
grace for others that has so plentifully been poured upon him. Such
was that penitent and holy princess, Madame de Longueville; she did
not forget her situation nor the abyss from which God had saved her;
she preserved the remembrance as a foundation for her penitence and
her lively acknowledgment to the Almighty. Thus is Christian humility
preserved and the grace of Jesus Christ honored. This does not preclude
reflection and Christian conversation with our friends; but no sermons,
no scolding; these revolt, and make us recollect and refer persons
to their past life, because we find they have forgotten it. I am
astonished that people of good sense should fall into this injustice;
but we ought to be astonished at nothing; for what do we not meet with
in our journey through life?
HOME LIFE.--We lead so regular a life that it is scarcely possible to
be ill. We rise at eight, and I often walk till nine, when the bell
rings for mass, to breathe the fresh air in the woods; after mass we
dress, bid each other good-day, return and gather orange-flowers,
dine, and work or read till five. Since my son’s absence, I read to
save his little wife’s lungs; I leave her at five, and return to those
delightful groves, with a servant who follows me: I take books with
me, change my route, and vary my walks; from a book of devotion I turn
to one of history, this creates a little change; I think of God, and
his over-ruling providence possesses my soul, and reflect on futurity;
at length, about eight o’clock I hear a bell. This is the summons to
supper. I prefer this life infinitely to that of Rennes; is it not a
fit solitude for a person who should think of her salvation, and who
either is or would be a Christian? In short, my dearest child, there is
nothing but you that I prefer to the tranquil repose I enjoy here; for
I own with pleasure, that I would willingly pass some more time with
you if it pleased God.
LIBERTY AT HOME.--What do you say my child? would you not suffer
me to have two or three hours to myself, after having been at
mass, to dinner, and till five o’clock working, or talking with my
daughter-in-law? she would, I believe, be as much vexed at this as
myself: she is a good little woman, and we agree wonderfully well
together; but we have a great taste for the liberty of parting and
meeting again afterward. When I am with you, my child, I own I never
leave you but with regret and consideration for you; with every other
person, it is from consideration for myself. Nothing can be more just
or more natural: it is impossible to feel for two persons what I feel
for you; leave us, therefore, a little to our sacred freedom; it agrees
with me, and by the help of books the time passes in this way as
quickly as it does at your brilliant castle.
READINGS.--Our readings are delightful. We have Abbadie[341] and the
History of the Church; this is marrying the lute to the voice. You
are not fond of wagers; I know not how we could captivate you a whole
winter here. You skim lightly, and are not fond of history; and we
have no pleasure but when we are attached to our subject and make it a
business. Sometimes, by way of change, we read _Les petites Lettres_
of Pascal; good heavens! how delightful they are, and how well my son
reads them! I constantly think of my daughter, and how worthy of her
this extreme propriety of reasoning would be: but your brother says
you find that it is always the same thing: ah! so much the better;
can there be a more perfect style, more finely wrought, more delicate
unaffected raillery, or more nearly allied to the dialogues of Plato,
which are so very beautiful! And when, after the first ten letters, he
addresses himself to the R. P.s, what seriousness! what solidity! what
force! what eloquence! what a way of supporting it and of making it
understood! All this is to be found in the last eight letters, which
are very different from the former. I am persuaded you never did more
than glance over them, selecting the most beautiful passages; but they
should be read leisurely.
[341] Author of _La Vérité de la Religion Chrétienne_.
* * * * *
You ask me what books we are reading. When we have company reading
is laid aside; but before the meeting of the states, we read some
little books that scarcely took us up a moment:--Mohammed II., who
took Constantinople from the last emperor of the East; this is a
great event, so singular, brilliant, and extraordinary, that we are
carried away with it; and it happened but two hundred and thirty-six
years ago:--the Conspiracy of Portugal, which is very fine: the
Variations of M. de Maux: a volume of the History of the Church, the
second is too full of the detail of the councils, and therefore might
be tedious: _Les Iconoclastes_ and the Arianism of Maimbourg; this
author is detestable, his style disagreeable; he is always desirous of
being satirical, and compares Arius, a princess and a courtier, to M.
Arnauld, Madame de Longueville, and Treville; but setting aside these
fooleries, the historical passages are so very fine, the Council of
Nice so admirable, that it is read with pleasure; and as he brings us
down to Theodosius, we shall find consolation for all our evils in the
elegant style of M. de Flechier.[342]
[342] Esprit Flechier, Bishop of Nîmes, author of the Life of
Theodosius.
ARIANISM.--I am at present reading the history of Arianism; I neither
like the author[343] nor his style: but the history itself is
admirable; it is indeed that of the whole world: it has a share in
every thing, and seems to have springs that move all the powers of the
earth. The genius of Arius was astonishing; as it likewise is, to see
how his heresy spread itself over the world; almost all the bishops
join in the error; St. Athanasius alone stands forth to defend the
divinity of Jesus. These great events are truly worthy of admiration.
When I wish to feast my understanding and my soul, I retire into my
closet; I listen to _our fathers_, and their glorious morality, which
makes us so well acquainted with our own hearts.
[343] Louis Maimbourg.
* * * * *
I am employed in reading my Arianism: it is a strange history, in
which nothing displeases me but the author and the style; but I have
a pencil, and am revenged on him, by marking some passages which I
think highly diverting from the earnest desire he shows of drawing
parallels between the Arians and the Jansenists, and the perplexity he
is under to reconcile the conduct of the Church in the first ages of
Christianity with that of the Church at present. Instead of passing
slightly over them, he says, that the Church for _good reasons_ does
not act now as it did then.
ADORATION.--I find communion is frequent in Provence; to my shame be it
spoken, I neglected the immaculate conception of the Mother, to reserve
myself wholly for the nativity of the Son; for this we can not be too
well prepared.
JEALOUSY.--You are doubtless convinced that my sentiments and yours are
the same; but I want to teach you jealousy, at least in theory, and
assure you, _credi a me pur che l’ho provato_,[344] that we often say
things we do not think; and even if we did think them, would that be a
sign of not loving? Quite the contrary; for if we were to analyze these
speeches, so full of anger and resentment, we should find a great deal
of affection and attachment at the bottom. Some hearts are remarkably
delicate; when these happen to meet with a cool or indifferent
disposition, a very considerable progress is made in the region of
jealousy. This I have thought myself obliged in conscience to say to
you; make your own reflections upon it, for I can not pretend to enter
into particulars at the distance of two hundred leagues.
[344] Believe me for I have proved it.
FOLLY.--A young man came to visit me the other day, who is the son of a
gentleman of Anjou, with whom I was formerly intimately acquainted. At
his entrance I beheld a fine, graceful, handsome figure, which struck
me with pleasure; but, alas! as soon as he opened his mouth, he laughed
at every word he spoke, which made _me_ almost ready to cry. He has
a smattering of Paris and the opera; he sings; is familiar and airy;
and repeats with great gravity, “Quand on n’a point ce qu’on aime,
qu’importe, qu’importe, à quel prix?”[345] instead of _to obtain what
we love_, which you know are the words of the opera. I recommend this
charming alteration to M. de Grignan, to set it to music.
[345] To obtain what we do not love, what price is too great?
[Transcription note: a more accurate translation would be
“When we love but do not possess, what price is too great?”]
THE LOT OF MANKIND.--I wish to write in my prayer-book what M. de
Comines says of the cross purposes of human life. It is pleasant to see
that, even in his time, tribulation and misery were the lot of mankind.
His style gives peculiar grace to the solidity of his argument.
For my part, I am determined to be more than ever convinced of the
impossibility of being happy in this world, since God keeps _loyally_
to what he has promised.[346]
[346] This is the passage from Comines.
“No creature is exempt from suffering. All eat their bread in
pain.”
EXPENSES, RETRENCHMENTS, ETC.--I readily conceive that you are fearful
of looking into the expense you have incurred: it is a machine that
must not be touched, lest it fall and crush you with its weight. There
is something of enchantment in the magnificence of your castle, and the
elegance of your table. The dilapidation must be ruinous, and I can not
conceive what you mean by saying that it is not considerable. It is a
kind of black art, like that among courtiers, who, though they have not
a penny in their pockets, undertake the most expensive journeys both by
land and water, follow every fashion, are at every ball, masquerade,
and ring, in every lottery, and still go the same round, though
overwhelmed in debts. I forgot to mention gaming, which is another
curious article. Then estates dwindle away; but no matter, they still
go on. Just so it is with you.
* * * * *
I fancy that by this time you are somewhat cured of your Grignan
economy, where you were to live for little or nothing; for it was
nothing, it seems, nothing at all, to have four or five tables, to keep
open house, and furnish entertainment for man and horse; a thing that
no one in the world now thinks of doing: in short, say what you please,
that famous caravansera of yours appears to me to teem with ruin; this
concourse of people seems to me like the flood which carries all before
it. In short, my child, I dare not think of this vortex; Paris will
prove your resting-place: stay here at least till you have confronted
your expenses, and can look your return in the face.
* * * * *
There are many things yet to settle, which concern you as much as
myself, and I might as well not have made this journey at all, as to
make it too short; so that I must resolve to drain the bitter cup to
the bottom. Besides, as I observed to you in a former letter, the money
I save by being here, serves to pay off a part of my debts elsewhere;
without this expedient, what could I have done? You well know what I
mean; it has cost me many an uneasy moment: and, indeed, what could you
yourself have done, but for the assistance you received? At present, I
fancy, you have made matters up tolerably well.
BAPTISM.--What you said the other day, as to humor and memory, was
perfectly just; they are certainly things which are not sufficiently
known. I also intend to convict you of heresy, my child; and, be as
angry as you please, I insist, that the death of Jesus Christ is not
alone sufficient, without baptism: he requires the water, the spirit,
and the blood, and it is on these conditions alone that his death can
be of service to us. No part of the old man can enter into heaven,
but by regeneration through Jesus Christ. If you ask me my reasons, I
shall reply with St. Augustine, that I can give none, any more than I
can tell why, having come into the world to save all men, he saves so
very few; or why he concealed himself during his life-time, and would
not let any one know or follow him. I can give no reason for all these
things; but of this I am certain, that since he thought fit they should
be so, they must be right and proper, seeing that his will is truth and
justice.
ORDER.--If Providence delights in order, and order is no other than
the will of God, there must be many things contrary to his will. The
persecutions against St. Athanasius, and other orthodox divines,
and the calm prosperity of tyrants, are all contrary to order, and
consequently to the will of God; therefore, with leave of Father
Malebranche,[347] would it not be as well to confine ourselves to what
St. Augustine says, that God permits all things that come to pass, that
he may derive glory from them to himself, by ways unknown to man? St.
Augustine acknowledges no rule or order but the will of God, and if we
do not follow his doctrine, we shall have the mortification of finding,
that, as scarcely any thing in this world is agreeable to order, every
thing must pass contrary to his will who made all things; which, in my
mind, is a shocking supposition.
[347] Father Malebranche says, that “all that is done in nature
is done from the nature of order.”
MARY BLANCHE.[348]--You give me an excellent idea of your eldest
daughter; I see her before me; pray embrace her for me; I rejoice that
she is happy. For your son, you may love him as much as you please;
he deserves it; every one speaks highly of him, and praises him in a
way that would give you pleasure; we expect him this week. I have felt
all the force of the phrase he made use of to gain esteem, “which must
come, or tell the reason why:” it brought tears into my eyes at the
moment; but esteem is come already, and will not have to say why it
staid away. The reputation of this child is already commenced, and will
now only increase.
[348] Mary Blanche, eldest daughter of Madame de Grignan. She was
a nun at St. Mary at Aix.
THE YOUNG MARQUIS DE GRIGNAN.[349]--Your son was last night at the Duke
de Chartres’ ball; he was very handsome, and will inform you of his
success. You must not, however, calculate upon his studying much; he
owned to us yesterday, very sincerely, that he is at present incapable
of paying proper attention; his youth hurries him away, and he does
not understand what he reads. We grieve that he has not, at least, a
taste for reading, and that he wants inclination more than time. His
frankness prevented our scolding him; I know not what we did not say
to him; I mean the chevalier, myself and Corbinelli, who was rather
warm upon the occasion. But we must not fatigue or force him; this
taste will come in time, my dear; for it is not possible, that, with so
much spirit, good sense, and love for his profession, he should have
no desire to be made acquainted with the exploits of the heroes of
antiquity, and particularly _Cæsar at the head of his Commentaries_.
Have patience, and do not fret: he would be too perfect were he fond of
reading.
[349] Grandson of Madame the Sévigné.
* * * * *
I am also of opinion, that by reading we learn to write; I know some
officers of rank, whose style is vulgar; it is, however, a delightful
thing to be able to communicate our thoughts; but it also often happens
that these people write as they think, and as they speak; every thing
is in unison.
PAULINA.[350]--I am pleased with Coulanges’ praise of Paulina; it
is well applied, and makes me understand what sort of charms she
possesses, curbed however by persons who have not given her the best
nose[351] in the world. If the count had given her his fine eyes and
fine person, and left the rest to you, Paulina would have set the world
on fire; she would have been irresistible; this pretty mixture is a
thousand times better, and must certainly form a very pretty personage.
Her sprightliness resembles yours; your wit always bore away the palm,
as you say of hers; I like this panegyric. She will soon learn Italian,
with the assistance of a better mistress than you had. You deserve as
excellent a daughter as mine has been. I told you that you might do
what you wished with yours, from her disposition to please you; she
appears to me worthy of your love.
[350] Paulina de Grignan, born in 1674, and married in 1695, to
the Marquis de Simiane, was noticed at five or six years of age,
for the agreeableness of her wit, as well as the beauty of her
person. Her letters were already looked upon as performances in
which the pleasing and the natural were equally combined. She had
scarcely entered her fourth year, when she would occasionally
utter repartees full of wit and pleasantry. She was not more
than thirteen when she wrote, at Madame de Grignan’s request, a
small piece of devotion which the brightest genius might have
been proud of. It is easy to guess how a person thus favored by
nature must turn out, educated under the eyes of a mother and
grandmother whose good sense seemed as it were transfused into
her. She excelled not only in the epistolary style, but also in
the poetic, though she never wrote but for amusement. The solid
principles of true religion, in which she was brought up, shone
forth in her, amid the bustle of courts and secular affairs; and
never with so much splendor as in the last year of her life,
which she employed wholly in the exercise of the most sublime
virtues of Christianity.
[351] Paulina’s nose resembled her grandmother’s.
* * * * *
Paulina then is not perfect; I could never have supposed that her chief
imperfection would have been ignorance of religion. You must instruct
her in this, which you are very capable of doing; it is your duty, and
you have good books to assist you: in return, your sister-in-law, the
abbess, will teach her the world.
* * * * *
You astonish me by what you say of Paulina; pray, pray, my dear child,
keep her with you; think not that a convent can repair the errors of
education, whether as to religion, with which the sisterhood are very
little acquainted, or as to any thing else. You will do much better at
Grignan, when you have time for application. You will make her read
good authors; you will converse with her, and M. de la Garde will
assist you: I am convinced that this is preferable to a convent.
FAITH IN CHRIST.--So then, you read St. Paul and St. Augustine; two
excellent laborers to establish the absolute will of God. They never
scruple to assert, that God disposes of his creatures as the potter
does of his clay; some he chooses, some he rejects. They are no loss
to apologize for his justice, since there is no other justice but his
will. It is justice itself, it is the rule of right; and, after all,
what does he owe to man? Is he in any way dependent on him? Not at all.
He, therefore, does them justice in rejecting them, on account of the
stain of original sin, which is communicated to all; and he selects
a few, whom he saves by his son Jesus Christ, who himself says, “I
know my sheep, and am known of mine: I will lead them forth to the
pasture, and not one shall be lost.” “I have chosen you,” saith he in
another place to his apostles, “and you have not chosen me.” There are
numberless passages of this nature; I meet with them continually, and
understand them all; and when I find others that seem to contradict
them, I say to myself, This is to be understood figuratively, as when
we read that “God was in wrath,” that “God repented him,” and the like:
and I always abide by that first and great truth, which represents God
to me as he is, the sovereign master, the supreme creator and author
of the universe; in a word, as a being infinitely perfect, agreeably
to Descartes’ idea. Such are my humble and reverential thoughts, from
which, however, I deduce no ridiculous consequences, nor do they
deprive me of the hope of being of the number of the elect of God,
after the mercies he has bestowed on me, which are so many foundations
upon which to ground my confidence.
THE FIRE-EATER.--Yesterday a young man came here from Vitré, whom I
knew to have lived formerly as footman with M. Coulanges. M. de Grignan
has seen him at Aix. He showed me a printed list of the feats he
performed with fire; he has the secret of the man you have heard spoken
of at Paris. Among a thousand wonderful things that he did, and which I
am astonished the government permits, on account of the consequences,
I was struck with one in particular, which is soon done; this was
the letting fall from his hand into his mouth ten or twelve drops of
flaming sealing-wax, with which he appeared to be no more affected than
if it had been so much cold water; he did not make the least grimace,
or sign of uneasiness, and his tongue looked as fair and unhurt after
the operation as before. I have often heard of these fire-eaters; but I
must confess, that to see the thing performed in my own room, and under
my very eye, struck me with astonishment.
BOOKS.--We pass our time here very quietly; this you can not doubt; but
very swiftly, which will surprise you: work, walking, conversation,
reading, all these are called in to our assistance. Speaking of books,
you tell me wonders of M. Nicole’s last production; I have read some
passages that appeared to me very fine; the author’s style enlightens,
as you say, and makes us enter into ourselves, in such a way as
discovers the beauty of his mind and the goodness of his heart; for
he never scolds out of season, which is the worst thing in the world,
and never produces the desired effect. I did not purchase the book
at the time, which was in Lent: I contented myself with the good Le
Tourneux.[352] We are reading a treatise of the pious man of Port-Royal
upon continual prayer, which is a sequel to certain pious works that
are very fine; but this, which is much larger, is so spiritual, so
luminous, and so holy, that though it be a thousand degrees above
our understandings, it does not fail to please and charm us. We are
delighted to find that there have been, and still are, people in the
world, to whom God has communicated his Holy Spirit and grace in such
abundance; but, good heavens! when shall we be possessed of one little
spark, of one single degree? How sad it is to find ourselves so far
behind here, and so near in other things! fie, fie, let us not name
this misfortune! we ought to humble ourselves at it a hundred times a
day.
[352] Nicholas de Tourneux, confessor of Port-Royal, so
well-known by his excellent work, entitled “The Christian Year,”
and by a great number of other important works.
LIBERTY OF MIND.--There are certain periods of life in which we attend
to nothing but ourselves. You indeed have never been much occupied
in that way; but when we came down this river together, we were more
engaged in disputing about the Count des Chapelles than in admiring
the beauties of the rural scenes that surrounded us. Now, the case is
exactly the reverse: we observe a profound silence, are perfectly at
our ease, reading, musing, admiring, out of the way of all sorts of
news, and living upon our own reflections. The good abbé (her uncle)
is always praying: I listen attentively to his pious ejaculations; but
when he has got to his beads I beg to be excused, finding that I can
meditate much better without them. In short, we manage to pass twelve
or fourteen hours without being very unhappy; such a fine thing is
liberty.
THE NUNS OF SAINT-MARIE.--My greatest satisfaction is in visiting the
nuns of Saint-Marie; they are truly amiable women; they still retain
the remembrance of you, of which they do not fail to make a merit with
me: they are neither silly nor conceited, like some you know; they do
not believe the present Pope[353] to be a heretic; they understand
the religion they profess, and will never reject the Holy Scriptures
because they have been translated by worthy men; they pay all due
honor to the saving grace of Christ; they acknowledge the power of
providence; they educate the young girls committed to their care very
properly, and neither teach them to lie nor to dissemble; no chimeras,
no idolatry is to be found among them. In short, I have a great regard
for them. M. de Grignan would think them Jansenists; for my part, I
think them Christians: there are two of them who have an infinite deal
of wit. I shall go to their house to-morrow to write, and I shall dine
with them on Saturday: they are all the comfort I have here.
[353] Innocent XI., who passed for favoring the Jansenists,
merely because he took no steps against them.
MORAL ESSAYS.--Do you not intend to read the Moral Essays, and to give
me your opinion of them? For my part, I am charmed with them; and so
I am with the funeral oration on M. de Turenne; there are passages in
it which must have affected all that were present. I do not doubt but
it has been sent you; tell me if you do not think it very fine. Do
you not intend to finish Josephus? We read a great deal of serious as
well as lighter subjects; fable and history. We are so deeply engaged
with these, that we have scarcely leisure for any other employments.
They pity us at Paris; they think us confined to a fire-side by the
inclemency of the season, and languishing under a dearth of amusement;
but, my dear, I walk; I find a thousand diversions; the woods are
neither wild nor inhospitable. It is not for passing my time here
instead of at Paris that I am to be pitied.
HISTORY OF THE BIBLE.--I am, moreover, reading the emblems of the Holy
Scriptures,[354] which begin from Adam. I have begun with the creation
of the world, which you are so fond of, and shall end with the death
of our Saviour, which you know is an admirable series. We find in it
every circumstance, though related concisely; the style is fine; it
is done by an eminent hand: the history is interspersed throughout
with excellent reflections, taken from the fathers, and is very
entertaining. For my own part, I go much further than the Jesuits; and
when I see the reproaches of ingratitude, and the dreadful punishments
with which God afflicted his people, I can not help concluding, that
we, who are freed from the yoke to which they were subjected, are, in
consequence, highly culpable, and justly deserve those scourges of fire
and water which the Almighty employs when he thinks fit. The Jesuits do
not say enough on this subject, and others give cause to murmur against
the justice of the Deity, in weakening the supports of our spiritual
liberty, as they do. You see what fruit I derive from my reading. I
fancy my confessor will enjoin me to read the philosophy of Descartes.
[354] History of the Old and New Testament, by M. de Saci, Sieur
de Royaumont. He composed this book in the Bastille. It is, they
say, filled with allusions to the vicissitudes of Jansenism in
that age, M. de Saci was president of the nuns at Port-Royal.
AFFECTION.--I fancy myself qualified to write a treatise on affection;
there are a thousand things depending on it, a thousand things to be
shunned, in order to prevent those we love from smarting for it: there
are innumerable instances where we give them pain, and in which we
might alleviate their feelings, were we to reflect and to turn things
in all the points of view we ought, out of regard to the object of our
love. In short, I could make it appear in my book, that there are a
thousand different ways of proving our regard without talking of it; as
well as of saying by actions that we have no real regard, even while
the treacherous tongue is making protestations to the contrary. I mean
no one in particular, but what I have written, I have written.
SUBMISSION.--I beg you will read the second part of the second treatise
in the first volume of _Moral Essays_; I am sure you know it, but you
may not perhaps have observed it particularly; it is on the subject of
_submission to the will of God_. You will there see how clearly it is
demonstrated that Providence governs all things; that is my creed, by
that I abide: and though a contrary doctrine may be advanced elsewhere,
to keep fair with all sides, I shall consider such conduct only in the
light of a political stratagem, and follow the example of those who
believe as I do, though they may change their note.
PHILOSOPHY.--You say that I make God the author of every thing that
happens; read, read, I say, that part of the treatise I have pointed
out to you, and you will find that we are to look to Him for every
thing, but with reverence and humility, and consider man only as the
executor of his orders, from whose agency he can draw what effects he
thinks proper. It is thus we reason, when our eyes are lifted up to
heaven, but, in general, we are apt to confine our views to the poor
contemptible second causes that strike our bodily senses, and bear with
impatience what we ought to receive with submission; and such, alas!
is my present wretched situation. I join with you in believing that
philosophy is good for little, except to those who do not stand in need
of it. You desire me to love you more and more: indeed, you embarrass
me; I know not where to find that degree of comparison; it is beyond
my conception: but this I am certain of, that I never can, in thought,
word, or deed, evince the thousandth part of the affection I bear you;
and this is that sometimes distracts me.
OLD AGE.--So then you were struck with an expression of Madame de la
Fayette’s (“you are old,”) blended with so much friendship. Though I
say to myself that this is a truth which should not be forgotten, I
confess I was all astonishment at it; for I yet feel no sort of decay
that puts me in mind of it. I can not, however refrain from calculating
and reflecting, and I find that the conditions of life are very hard.
It seems to me that I have been dragged against my will to the fatal
period, when _old age_ must be endured; I see it, I have attained it;
and I would, at least, contrive not to go beyond it, not to advance
in the road of infirmities, pain, loss of memory, _disfigurements_
which are ready to lay hold of me; and I hear a voice which says, You
must go on in spite of yourself; or, if you will not, you must die,
an alternative at which nature recoils. Such, however, is the fate
of those who have reached a certain period.
* * * * *
I contemplate this evil, which has not yet proved itself so, with
heroic courage; I prepare myself for its consequences with peace and
tranquillity; and seeing there is no way of escape, and that I am not
the strongest, I think of the obligation I owe to God, for conducting
me so gently to the grave. I thank him for the desire he daily gives
me to prepare for death, and the wish of not draining my life to
the dregs. Extreme old age is frightful and humiliating: the good
Corbinelli and I see a painful instance of this truth hourly, in the
poor Abbé de Coulanges, whose helplessness and infirmities make us
wish never to reach this period.
SERMONS.--When I am as good as M. de la Garde, if ever God grants me
this grace, I shall like all sermons; in the mean while I content
myself with the Gospels as explained by M. le Tourneux; these are real
sermons, and nothing but the vanity of man could load modern discourses
with their present contents. We sometimes read the Homilies of St. John
Chrysostom; these are divine, and please us so highly, that I persist
in not going to Rennes till passion week, to avoid being exposed to the
eloquence of the preachers who hold forth in behalf of the parliament.
* * * * *
The Marshal de Grammont was so transported the other day, at a sermon
of Bourdaloüe’s, that he cried out, in the middle of a passage that
struck him, “By ----, he is right.” Madame burst out a-laughing, and
the sermon was interrupted so long that nobody knew what would be the
consequence. If your preachers are as you represent them, I am apt to
think they will be in no great danger of their being interrupted by
such praises.
JOSEPHUS.--I am glad you like Josephus, Herod, and Aristobulus. I beg
you to go on, and see the end of the siege of Jerusalem, and the fate
of Josaphat. Take courage; every thing is beautiful in this historian,
every thing is grand, every thing is magnificent, every thing is worthy
of you; let not an idle fancy prevail with you to lay him aside. I
am in the History of France; that of the Crusades has occasioned my
looking into it, but it is not to be compared to a single leaf of
Josephus. Alas! with what pleasure we weep over the misfortunes of
Aristobulus and Mariamne.
HOPE EVER.--We should never despair of our good fortune. I thought my
son’s situation quite hopeless, after so many storms and shipwrecks,
without employments, and out of the way of fortune; and while I was
indulging these melancholy reflections, Providence destined, or had
destined, us to so advantageous a marriage, that I could not have
wished for a better alliance, even at the time when my son had the
greatest reason to expect it. It is thus we grope in the dark, not
knowing our way, taking good for evil, and evil for good, in entire
ignorance.
TWILIGHT.--I hate twilight when I have nobody to chat with; and I
had rather be alone in the woods, than alone in a room. This is like
plunging up to the neck in water to save one’s self from the rain: but
any thing rather than an arm-chair.
A PRESENTIMENT.--Good Heavens! my dear child, what fools your women
are, both living and dead! your top-knots[355] shock me! What a
profanation! it smells of paganism; foh! It would make me shudder at
the thoughts of dying in Provence; I would, at least, be assured that
the milliner and undertaker were not sent for at the same time. Fie,
fie, indeed! but no more of this.[356]
[355] It was the custom in Provence to bury the dead with their
faces uncovered; and the women who wore ribbons as a head-dress,
retained them in their coffins.
[356] This passage might deserve the name of presentiment. All
she feared came to pass. She died in Provence, and the very
head-dress which was so repugnant to her mind, adorned her in her
coffin.