Mademoiselle de L’Enclos’ _Cercle_—Madeleine de Scudéri—The
Abbé Dubois—“The French Calliope,” and the Romance of her
Life—“_Revenons à nos Moutons_”—A Resurrection?—Racine and his
Detractors—“Esther”—_Athalie_ and St Cyr—Madame Guyon and the
Quietists.
Among the ladies of distinction forming the _cercle_ of Mademoiselle
de L’Enclos at this time, were the Countesses de la Sablière, de
la Fayette, and de Sévigné, de Souvré, de la Suza, d’Olonne, de
Sandwich, the Marquises de Wardes, de Créquy, de St Lambert; the
Duchesses de Sully and de Bouillon, and the Maréchales de Castelnau
and de la Ferté. The old antagonism between Ninon and Mademoiselle
de Scudéri was smoothed away also by the amiable intervention
of Madame de Sévigné, and the autumn of the lives of these two
women was cheered by the sunshine of a genuine friendship, which,
however, Boileau did his best to dull, by asserting that the
famous romanticist of her day did not merit her popularity. Ninon
succeeded however, in bringing him to soften his severe criticisms on
Madeleine’s works, until they became gentler even than her own views
of the voluminous tales which she regarded as far too wordy, and
almost destitute of the passion which should be the motive power of
romance.
Mademoiselle de Scudéri in everyday life was, however, amiable
and charming in manner and conversation—so that her personal
appearance, which was far from prepossessing, hardly detracted from
her fascination. She was plain of feature, and of masculine build,
but this had not come in the way of the idolatrous admiration, in
former days, of Conrard, the Secretary of the Académie Française; and
Pelisson, the advocate and faithful friend of the ill-fated Fouquet,
remained true as ever to his ardent worship of her. The years of
Madeleine de Scudéri ran even to a length beyond those of her friend
Ninon. She died in her ninety-fourth year.
Among the brilliant company assembling almost nightly in the salon of
the rue des Tournelles, one day came, unbidden and unwelcomed, the
Abbé Dubois, he who at a later time was to acquire such a prominent
position at the Court of the Regency, and die a cardinal. For this
man, more notorious than celebrated, Ninon conceived an instinctive
dislike. The ferret face repelled her, but she did not refuse him the
letter of introduction he sought of her to Monsieur de St Evrémond in
London, whither he was bound.
The “French Calliope,” Madame Deshoulières, was an intimate friend of
Mademoiselle de L’Enclos. Her career was romantic and even heroic.
Her maiden name was Anne Antoinette Ligier de la Garde, she was a
goddaughter of Anne of Austria, who held her at the font when she was
christened. She was the daughter of the queen’s _maître d’hôtel_, and
was born in one of the little apartments of the Louvre. Beauty and
grace and high talent distinguished her as she grew up. Her father
caused her to be very strictly reared, and no books were permitted
her except philosophical and religious works. One day, however, she
detected her maid reading one of the pastoral romances of d’Urfé.
She was immediately fired with desire, as a true daughter of Eve, to
taste of the delightful fruit of the vice of romantic fiction, and
said she would ask her father’s permission for it. This frightened
the _bonne_ so much, that, to purchase her charge’s silence, she
offered to lend her the interesting history of _The Shepherds of
Lignon_, in which she had been so surreptitiously absorbed; and upon
these followed the novels of Calprenède and of Madeleine de Scudéri.
But if these books sufficed for all the intellectual needs of the
run of the young ladies of the period, Antoinette was a girl of
brains, and soon returned to her first love of more healthy and solid
literature, and of poetry; and she studied for some time the art of
versification under Hesnaut, whose fame is best remembered by the
gifts of his pupil.
At eighteen she became the wife of Monsieur de Boisguerry, Seigneur
Deshoulières, a gentleman of Poitou, in the service of the Prince
de Condé. The queen had been displeased at this marriage, whereat
Monsieur de la Garde explained that his child had to be provided for,
and his emolument in Her Majesty’s service had not been so great that
it could be forthcoming from that source. This offended the queen,
and the offence was aggravated by the suspicion of Frondeur leanings
hanging about him, so that Antoinette’s dowry from her royal
godmother was but a small one.
Three months after their marriage, Monsieur Deshoulières was summoned
to follow Condé to Spain, and his wife returned to her old home,
which was, however, no longer at the Louvre, but in a small house at
Auteuil.
Here she spent the time in study, finding her chief delight in the
philosophical works of Gassendi, now for some years a professor of
the College of France. On the return of her husband to the frontier,
she hastened to meet him, and the two repaired to Brussels, where
the Court received her with high distinction; but in addition to her
acquirements, her grace and beauty won her admiration so marked, that
it became aggressive, and she was forced to repulse the unwelcome
attentions thrust upon her. This turned friends into enemies, who
satisfied their revenge by representing her as a spy of Mazarin
and of the queen—a far-fetched accusation enough, which, however,
obtained wide credence.
The State payments to her husband were now withheld, and on seeking
redress from the minister she was decreed an arrest, and sent for
imprisonment to Vilvorde, where she was doomed to spend fourteen
months in complete solitude, and kept from all means of communication
with her friends. But Antoinette’s girlhood had been passed in the
days when natural feminine weakness had been fortified by stirring
public events, and Madame Deshoulières consoled herself with
theological study during the time of her imprisonment, mainly of the
Fathers, from Origen to St Augustine.
Only after a length of time Monsieur Deshoulières discovered the
prison in which his wife was immured. Having ascertained this, he
formed the bold project of carrying her off. To this end he engaged
forty men, armed them to the teeth, and in the dead of a dark night,
he led them to the edge of the moat of the Castle of Vilvorde, at
its narrowest and shallowest part, stationing his men in the water,
which they had previously filled with branches and mud, so as to form
a human bridge. Arrived at the base of the wall, he fixed a ladder
to the ramparts, and mounting, followed by his guard with stealthy
caution, overpowered the two sentinels and gagged them. Then they
hastened on to the governor’s bedroom, and putting a cord round
his neck while he was in profound sleep, and a musket to his face,
they detained him in durance till he had yielded up the keys of his
captive’s apartments, and of the doors of the fortress. The garrison
was then forced to lay down arms, and entering a waiting berline,
Monsieur Deshoulières and his rescued wife gained in a few hours the
ground of France.
The tidings of this intrepid act travelled as fast as they did,
and Le Tellier, the Secretary of State, presented the pair to the
queen and Mazarin. Anne of Austria embraced her goddaughter warmly,
a general amnesty was proclaimed, and all was forgotten—so much
forgotten, that Mazarin and the queen omitted to award Deshoulières
the promised arrears of pay, and the pension which was to reward the
two. The debts and liabilities of Deshoulières became formidable,
and he had no alternative but to obtain a division of maintenance,
pay up from his own small resources all he could, and retire with
his wife to live on the slender dowry Anne had bestowed on her
goddaughter. It did not nearly suffice for their rank and position.
In order to meet their requirements, Madame Deshoulières devoted
herself to her pen, and her verses, first published in the _Mercure
Galant_, won universal admiration, but no money reward. Left to
itself, the nature of the editor ever inclines to the view that
_kudos_ is enough for the author, and this particular editor gave his
contributor to understand that she ought to consider herself only too
fortunate to have made an appearance in his pages.
Once again the admirers looked askance and grew scornful and
sarcastic, and the humour of Madame Deshoulières’ pen acquiring the
sombre tints of her cruel fortunes, she was nicknamed the “_Mendicant
Muse_.” So, with the addition of three children to maintain, the poor
woman remained until the death of Monsieur Deshoulières, forsaken by
her old troops of friends and admirers. Then she penned the immortal
trifle beginning—
“Dans ces près fleuris
Qu’arrose la Seine,
Cherchez qui vous mêne,
Mes chères brébis.”
It was her charming device for winning the attention and generosity
of Louis XIV., and attained its end.
The king awarded her a pension of two thousand livres, and the editor
of the _Mercure Galant_, laying the credit of this good fortune to
his own account, straightened out things by continuing to publish
Madame Deshoulières’ verses _gratis_ in his columns.
Once more the fine-weather friends flocked about her, and belauded
her attractions, personal and intellectual. In these lay no
exaggeration, for Antoinette Deshoulières was exceptionally gifted.
Her conversation was brilliant, delicate, and sparkling with
originality. The poets chanted her praises, and Benserade changed his
sobriquet of the “_Mendicant Muse_” to the “_Calliope Française_.”
Among other well-remembered trifles from her pen, the pretty poem of
_Les Oiseaux_ is to be recorded. It is by these charming productions
that the memory of Antoinette Deshoulières lives. Her aims in graver
poetry and drama fell below their mark. For her, these were the
unattainable, and possibly it was failure in this direction which
impelled her to a jealousy unworthy of her excellent judgment and
native good taste, when she rendered high praise to the _Phèdre_
of Pradon, and criticised in a satirical poem the grand tragedy of
Racine on the same subject.
From every point of view it was a lamentable mistake, and laid her
open to storms of sarcastic abuse—
“Dans un fauteuil doré Phèdre tremblante
Et blême
Dit des vers ou d’abord personne n’entend rien.”
So wrote Madame Deshoulières, and the flippancy on the tremendous
theme evoked general disgust. “What is this tumbled from the clouds?”
cried Madame de la Sablière. “This sweet and interesting shepherdess,
who talked so tenderly to her sheep and flowers and birds, has
suddenly changed her crook into a serpent!”
Madame de Sévigné preferred to be entirely of the opinion of Madame
Deshoulières, but if envy of the great tragic poet was in the heart
of the one, personal animosity was beyond question in that of the
other; for Madame de Sévigné had never forgiven either Boileau or
Racine for favouring the intrigue of her grandson, de Grignan with
the Champmeslé.
Madame Deshoulières burned with desire for dramatic honours, and she
wrote a tragedy called _Genséric_. It was a feeble, ill-constructed
piece of work, and was ill-received; but it was not to be forgotten,
for it perpetuated the immortal figure of speech, as familiar in
England as in France, of the advice to her—“Return to your sheep”
(_anglicé_—“Let us go back to our muttons”).[8]
Once again she wooed the drama in the guise of comedy and opera; but
her efforts were signal failures. She died at the age of sixty-two,
of the same malady as her godmother, and, like her, she bore the
cruel suffering with patience and resignation, writing in the
intervals of pain a paraphrase of the Psalms, and her _Reflections
Morales_, one of her best works. Bossuet, who administered to her the
last consolations of religion, spoke in warm eulogy of those last
days of hers.
A singular circumstance disturbed the smooth flow of Mademoiselle
de L’Enclos’ life at this time. It was the sudden appearance of an
aged woman who declared herself to be Marion Delorme, and claiming a
fifty-seven years’ friendship with Ninon.
She declared that the report of her death had been false; that the
doctor, Guy Patin, had not attended her funeral; but had saved her
life, and then she had left Paris and lived out of France.
Convinced as Ninon was, that the poor woman was demented, or
attempting to impose on her, she sent to the Street of the Dry
Tree, where Guy Patin lived; but the doctor was absent in Prussia,
sharing the exile of his son, who had been condemned for being in
possession of six copies of one of the libellous pamphlets that made
life hideous for the king and Madame Louis Quatorze, and no other
testimony, for or against, was to be found. The magistrate to whom
the unhappy creature had applied to verify her identity, hastened a
little later to assure Ninon that to communicate with Guy Patin would
be troubling him to no purpose; since the Marion Delorme, as she
called herself, had given unmistakable proof of madness, and she had
been placed in the Hôtel Dieu. So the matter ended.
The shafts, impotent as they were, of Madame Deshoulières had
an evil effect on Racine. Ninon, warmly seconded by St Evrémond
especially, endeavoured to win the great tragic poet from his
exclusive associations with the Court; but he turned a deaf ear to
every argument. It is possible that the atmosphere of Versailles,
as it prevailed under the ordering of Madame de Maintenon, tainted
and unhealthy as it was with pharisaical “piety,” assorted with the
sentiments of gloom ill-health had fostered, for Racine suffered
cruelly, long before his death, from an abscess on the liver.
Moreover, by education and rearing he was a Port Royalist, and the
tenets of Jansenism could but have run in his blood. In her earlier
time Madame de Maintenon had looked favourably on these Calvinistic
sectaries of the Catholic Church; only at a later date it was that
the rupture occurred with the Abbé Fénelon and Madame Guyon, the
notable advocate of the doctrines of the Quietest, Michael Molinos
the Spanish monk. Madame Guyon, whose maiden name was de la Motte,
evinced mystic tendencies even as a child. As she grew up, it was
her wish to enter a convent; but her parents prevented this, and she
was married at sixteen. At eight-and-twenty she became a widow, and
then the old mystic sentiments began to rule her more dominantly than
ever. This was further fostered in her by her confessor and other
ecclesiastics about her, who persuaded her that she was destined by
Heaven to be a powerful agent for the advancement of religion.
“Still young,” says Voltaire, “with beauty, riches, and a mind
fitted for society, she became infatuated with what is called
_spiritualism_. Her confessor whose name was Lacombe, a man of a
nature at once passionate and devout, and who died mad, plunged
the mind of his penitent deeper into the mystic reveries by which
it was already affected. Her doctrine,” Voltaire goes on to say,
“was a complete renunciation of self, the silence of the soul, the
annihilation of all its faculties, internal worship, and the pure
and disinterested love of God, which is neither degraded by fear
nor animated by the hope of reward.”
There were times, however, that religious enthusiasm, following its
customary tendency, betrayed her into extravagance, and absurdities
of speech in her efforts to explain her views.
By her written treatises, and by her orations, Madame Guyon made
many proselytes. For five years she travelled from place to place in
Piedmont and Dauphiné; then returning to Paris, she continued her
labours for two years, uninterfered with. Suddenly the Archbishop of
Paris, one of the most infamously profligate of priests on record,
Harlay de Champvallon, found himself horrified at discovering
that Madame Guyon’s teaching was neither more nor less than that
of Molinos, whose Jansenist theories of grace and free-will were
in direct opposition to the Jesuitical tenets, then, of course,
all-dominant at Versailles. He pretended to hold Father Lacombe as
a seducer, and sent him to the Bastille; while Madame Guyon was put
under arrest into the convent of the Visitandines, where she won
universal love, and many believers in her mild faith. From here
Madame de Maintenon, who had made her acquaintance at Ninon’s house,
and bore her considerable affection and esteem, freed her, and gave
her a home in St Cyr. There she was introduced to Fénelon, and they
formed their firm and life-long friendship.
Madame de Maintenon, however, instigated by the bigoted Bishop of
Chartres, who was director of the consciences of the young ladies
of St Cyr and their teachers, ere long withdrew her favour, falling
in also with the prejudices the king had against her. Among other
persecutions to which she was now subjected, was the production
of a letter from Lacombe, or purporting to be from him, exhorting
her to repent of her criminal intimacy with him. The unhappy man,
always of a highly nervous, excitable nature, had now long been
insane, and the accusation was believed by no one. Later, she was
again imprisoned at Vincennes, and in the Bastille, whence she was
delivered by de Noailles, the successor of the infamous Harlay. But
here her sufferings did not end. Once more she was imprisoned in the
Bastille, and finally she was exiled to Blois, where she spent the
last fifteen years of her life, in acts of charity and piety, graced
ever by unswerving patience; but while occasionally betrayed into
extravagance of expression on religious points, her common sense and
excellent judgment in everyday matters were remarkable.