might have kept it for a climax, were it not desirable to preserve a chronological order. It was written nearly four-and-twenty years after the letter we have just given; which we mention to show how she had retained her animal spirits. The person to whom it is addressed is her jovial cousin De Coulanges. The apparent tautologies in the exordium are not really such. They only represent a continued astonishment, want ing words to express itself, and fetching its breath at every comma. To Mons. de Coulanges. come by the post, will show whether we have been speaking truth or not.' The Never was French vivacity more gay, more spirited, more triumphant, than in this letter. There is a regular siege laid to the reader's astonishment; and the titles of the bride come like the pomp of victory. Or, to use a humbler image, the reader is thrown into the state of a child, who is told to open his mouth and shut his eyes, and wait for what God will send him. holder of the secret hovers in front of the expectant, touching his lips and giving him nothing; and all is a merry flutter of laughter, guessing, and final transport. And yet this will not suit the charming misgiving that follows. Alas, for the poor subject of the wonder! The marriage was stopped; it was supposed to have taken place secretly; and Mademoiselle, who was then forty-five years of age, and had rejected kings, is said to have found her husband so brutal, that he one day called to her, Henrietta of Bourbon, pull off my boots.' The boots were left on, and the savage discarded. I am going to tell you a thing, which of all things in the world is the most astonishing, the most surprising, the most marvellous, the most miraculous, the most triumphant, the most bewildering, the most unheard-of, the most singular, the most extraordinary, the most incredible, the most unexpected, the most exalting, the most humbling, the most rare, the most common, the most public, the most private (till this moment), the most brilliant, the most enviable-in short, a thing of which no example is to be found in past times; at least, nothing quite like it ;-a thing which we know not The letter we give next-or rather, of how to believe in Paris; how then are you to be- which we give passages-is a good specilieve it at Lyons? a thing which makes all the men of the way in which the writer goes world cry out, "Lord have mercy on us!" a thing from subject to subject;-from church to which has transported Madame de Rohan and the fair, and from the fair to court, and mad Madame d'Hauterive; a thing which is to be done on Sunday, when those who see it will not believe dogs, and Ninon de l'Enclos, and sermons their own eyes; a thing which is to be done on on death, and so round again to royalty and Sunday, and yet perhaps will not be finished tilla scene.' It is addressed to her daughter. Monday. I cannot expect you to guess it at once. I give you a trial of three times; do you give itl up? Well, then, I must tell you. M. de Lauzun is to marry, next Sunday, at the Louvre, guess whom? I give you four times to guess it in: give you six: I give you a hundred. Truly," cries Madame de Coulanges, it must be a very dined to-day at Madame de Lavardin's, after difficult thing to guess; 'tis Madame de la Val- having been to hear Bourdaloue, where I saw the lière." No, it isn't, Madam. ""Tis Mademoiselle Mothers of the Church; for so I call the Prinde Retz then?" No, it isn't, Madam; you are cesses de Conti and Longueville.* All the world terribly provincial. "Oh, we are very stupid, no was at the sermon, and the sermon was worthy of doubt!" say you; "tis Mademoiselle Colbert." all that heard it. I thought of you twenty times, and Further off than ever. "Well then, it must be Ma-wished you as often beside me. You would have been demoiselle de Créqui?" You are not a bit nearer. Come, I see I must tell you at last. Well, M. de Lauzun marries, next Sunday, at the Louvre, with the king's permission, Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle de Mademoiselle - - guess the name;-he mar ries "MADEMOISELLE"-the great Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle, the daughter of the late MONSIEUR; Mademoiselle, granddaughter of Henry the Fourth; Mademoiselle d'Eu, Mademoiselle de Dombes, Mademoiselle de Montpensier, Mademoiselle d'Or leans, Mademoiselle, cousin-german of the King, Mademoiselle, destined to the throne, Mademoiselle, the only woman in France fit to marry Monsieur. Here's pretty news for your coteries! Exclain about it as much as you will;-let it turn your heads;say we lie," if you please; that it's a pretty joke; that it's "tiresome;" that we are a "parcel of ninnies." We give you leave: we have done just the same to others. Adieu! The letters that 66 To Madame de Grignan. 'Paris, Friday, March 13, (1671.) Behold me, to the delight of my heart, all alone in my chamber, writing to you in tranquillity. Nothing gives me comfort like being seated thus. ** * * enchanted to be a listener, and I should have been tenfold enchanted to see you listen. ** * * * We have been to the fair, to see a great fright of a woman, bigger than Riberpré by a whole head. She lay-in the other day of two vast infants, who came into the world abreast, with their arms a-kimbo. You never beheld such a tout-ensemble! * And now, if you fancy all the maids of honor run mad, you will not fancy amiss. Eight days ago, Madaine de Ludre, Coëtlogon, and little De Rouvroi were bitten by a puppy belonging to Théobon, and the puppy has died mad; so Ludre, Coetlogon, and De Rouvroi set off this morning for the coast, to be dipped three times in the sea. 'Tis a dismal journey: Benserade is in despair about it. Théobon does not choose to go, though she had a little bite too. The Queen, how* Great sinuers, who had become great saints. ever, objects to her being in waiting till the issue | natural in the world. One does not belong to the of the adventure is known. Don't you think Ludre devil, because one fears God, and has at bottom a resembles Andromache? For my part, I see her principle of religion; but, then, on the other hand, one does not belong to God, because his laws ap. fastened to the rock, and Treville coming, on a winged horse, to deliver her from the monster. pear hard, and self-denial is not pleasant. Hence "Ah, Zeesus! Madame de Grignan, vat a sing to the great number of the lukewarm, which does not surprise me at all; I enter perfectly into their pe trown, all naket, into te sea!"* reasons; only God, you know, hates then, and that must not be. But there lies the difficulty. Why must I torment you, however, with these endless rhapsodics? My dear child, I ask your pardon, as they say in these parts. I rattle on in your company, and forget every thing else in the pleasure of it. Don't make me any answer. Send me only news of your health, with a spice of what you feel at Grignan, that I may know you are happy; that is all. Love me. We have turned the phrase into ridicule; but it is natural, it is good.' Mademoiselle calls * *K * * Your brother is under the jurisdiction of Ninon. I cannot think it will do him much good. There are people to whom it does no good at all. She hurt his father. Heaven help him, say I! It is impossible for Christian people, or at least for such as would fain be Christian, to look on such disorders without concern. Ah, Bourdaloue! what divine truths you told us to-day about death! Madame de la Fayette heard him for the first time in her life, and was transported with admiration. She is enchanted with your re* * * * A scene took place membrances. yesterday at Mademoiselle's, which I enjoyed exThe Abbé de la Mousse here mentioned tremely. In comes Madame de Gèvres, full of her airs and graces. She looked as if she expected was a connexion of the Coulangeses, and I should give her my post; but, 'faith, I owed her was on a visit to Madame de Sévigné at her an affront for her behavior the other day, so I house in Brittany, reading poetry and roThe weather was so rainy and didn't budge. Mademoiselle was in bed: Madame mance. de Gèvres was therefore obliged to go lower down: cold, that we of this island are pleased to no very pleasant thing, that! see one of her letters dated from her 'firefor drink; somebody must present the napkin; side' on the 24th of June. Pomenars, the Madame de Gèvres begins to draw off the glove from her skinny hand; I give a nudge to Madame criminal gentleman who was always afraid d'Arpajon, who was above me; she understands of losing his head, was one of her neighme, draws off her own glove, and advancing a step bors; and another was the before-mentioned with a very good grace, cuts short the Duchess, Mademoiselle du Plessis, whom the daughand takes and presents the napkin. The Duchess ter's aversion and her own absurdities conwas quite confounded: she had made her way up, spired to render the butt of the mother. It and got off her gloves, and all to see the napkin presented before her by Madame d'Arpajon. My is said of Pomenars, who was a marquis, dear, I'm a wicked creature; I was in a state of that having been tried for uttering false delight; and indeed what could have been better money, and cleared of the charge, he paid done? Would any one but Madanie de Gèvres the expenses of the action in the same coin. have thought of depriving Madame d'Arpajon of It must have been some very counteracting an honor which fell so naturally to her share, good quality, however, in addition to his standing as she did by the bedside? It was as good animal spirits, that kept his friends in good selle did not dare to lift up her eyes; and, as for heart with him; for Madame de Sévigné myself, I had the most good-for-nothing face!' as a cordial to Madame de Puisieux. Mademoi *My dear, I wish very much I could be religious. I plague La Mousse about it every day. I belong at present neither to God nor devil; and I find this condition very uncomfortable though, between you and me, I think it the most Ah, Zesu! Madame de Grignan, l'etrange sose Madame de Lul'être zettée toute nue tans la mer.' dre, by her pronunciation, was either a very affected speaker, or seems to have come from the borders' Madame de Sévigné, by the tone of her narration, could hardly have believed there was any thing serious in the accident. never mentions him but with an air of de- To Madame de Grignan. They would assuredly not take place nowThe Rocks, Sunday, 26th July, (1671.) a-days in society equal to that of Madame You must know, that as I was sitting all alone de Sérigné; but ages profit by their predein my chamber yesterday, intent upon a book, I saw cessors, and the highest breeding of one the door opened by a tall lady-like woman,who was often becomes but second-rate in the next. ready to choke herself with laughing. Behind her If anything, however, could warrant such came a man, who laughed louder still, and the man was followed by a very well-shaped woman, who rough admission to the freedom of a supelaughed also. As for me, I began to laugh before rior circle, it was the coarse platitudes and I knew who they were, or what had set them aaffectations of an uncouth neighbor like laughing and though I was expecting Madame de this; probably of a family as vulgar as it Chaulnes to spend a day or two with me here, I look was rich, and which had made its way into ed a long time before I could think it was she. She a society unfit for it. Mademoiselle du it was, however; and with her she had brought Po-Plessis seems to have assumed all characmenars, who had put it in her head to surprise me. The fair Murinette* was of the party; and Pomenars was in such excessive spirits that he would have gladdened melancholy itself. They fell to playing battledoor and shuttlecock-Madame de Chaulnes plays it like you; and then came a lunch, and then we took one of our nice little walks, and the talk was of you throughout. I told Pomenars how you took all his affairs to heart, and what relief you would experience had he nothing to answer ters in turn, and to have suited none, except that of an avowed, yet incorrigible teller of fibs. Madame de Sévigné spoke to her plainly one day about these peccadilloes, and Mademoiselle cast down her eyes and said with an air of penitence, Ah, yes, Madam, it is very true; I am indeed the greatest liar in the world: I am very much obliged to you for telling me of it!' to but the matter in hand; but that such repeated attacks on his innocence quite overwhelmed you. 'It was exactly,' says her reprover, 'like We kept up this joke till the long walk reminded Tartuffe quite in his tone; yes, brother, us of the fall you got there one day, the thought of I am a miserable sinner, a vessel of iniwhich made me as red as fire. We talked a long quity.' Yet a week or two afterwards, time of that, and then of the dialogue with the giving an account of a family weddinggypsies, and at last of Mademoiselle du Plessis, dinner, she said that the first course, for and the nonsensical stuff she uttered; and how, one day, having treated you with some of it, and one day, included twelve hundred dishes. her ugly face being close to yours, you made noWe all sate petrified,' says Madame de more ado, but gave her such a box on the ear as Sévigné. At length I took courage and staggered her upon which I, to soften matters, said, "Consider a little, Mademoiselle, you exclaimed, "How rudely these young people do must mean twelve, not twelve hundred. play!" and then turning to her mother, said, One sometimes has slips of the tongue." "Madam, do you know they were so wild this "Oh, no, Madam! it was twelve hundred, morning, they absolutely fought! Mademoiselle du Plessis provoked my daughter, and my daughter or eleven hundred, I am quite sure; I canbeat her: it was one of the merriest scenes in the not say which, for fear of telling a falseworld; and with this turn Madame du Plessis was hood, but one or the other I know it was ;" Eo delighted, that she expressed her satisfaction at and she repeated it twenty times, and would seeing the young ladies so happy together. This not bate us a single chicken. We found, trait of good-fellowship between you and Made. upon calculation, that there must have been moiselle du Plessis, whom I lumped together to make the box on the ear go down, made my visi- at least three hundred people to lard the tors die with laughter. Mademoiselle de Murinais, fowls; that the dinner must have been in particular, approved your proceeding mightily, and vows that the first time Du Plessis thrusts her nose in her face, as she always does when she speaks to any body, she will follow your example, and give her a good slap on the chaps. I expect them all to meet before long; Pomenars is to set the matter on foot; Mademoiselle is sure to fall in with it; a letter from Paris is to be produced, showing how the ladies there give boxes on the ears to one another, and this will sanction the custom in the provinces, and even make us desire them, in order to be in the fashion. In short, I never saw a man so mad as Pomenars; his spirits increase in the ratio of his criminalities; and, if he is charged with another, he will certainly die for joy.' These practical mystifications of poor Mademoiselle du Plessis are a little strong. * Mademoiselle de Murinais. served up in a great meadow, in tents pitched for the occasion; and that, supposing them only fifty, preparations must have been made a month beforehand.' It is pleasant to bid adieu to Mademoiselle du Plessis, and breathe the air of truth, wit, and nature, in what has been justly called by the compiler of the work at the head of this article, one of Madame de Sévigné's most charming letters.'* The crime of the fine gentleman servant who would not make hay, is set forth with admirable calmness and astonishment; and never before was the art of haymaking taught, or rather exemplified, in words so simple and so few. It is as if the pen itself had become a hay The original appears in the 'Lettres Choisies,' edited by Girault. fork, and tossed up a sample of the sweet [this haymaking, Madame de Sévigné goes to grass. The pretended self-banter also, at Paris; and with the exception of an octhe close, respecting long-winded narra-casional visit to the house at Livry, to retions, is exquisite. To M. de Coulanges. fresh herself with the spring-blossoms and the nightingales, remains there till July, when she visits her daughter in Provence, • The Rocks, 22d July, (1671.) where she stayed upwards of a year, and I write, my dear cousin, over and above the then returned to the metropolis. It is not stipulated fortnight communications, to advertise our intention to notice these particulars in you that you will soon have the honor of seeing future; but we mention them in passing, Picard; and, as he is brother to the lacquey of Ma- to give the reader an idea of the round of dame de Coulanges, I must tell you the reason life between her town and country houses, why. You know that Madame the Duchess de and the visits to Madame de Grignan, who Chaulnes is at Vitré: she expects the duke there, sometimes came from Provence to her. In in ten or twelve days, with the States of Brittany.* the country, she does nothing but read, Well, and what then? say you. I say, that the duchess is expecting the duke with all the states, write, and walk, and occasionally sees her and that meanwhile she is at Vitré all alone, dying neighbors. In town, she visits friends, theawith ennui. And what, return you, has this to do tres, churches, nunneries, and the court; is with Picard? Why, look ;-she is dying with now at the Coulangeses, now dining with ennui, and I am her only consolation, and so you Rochefoucauld, now paying her respects to may readily conceive that I carry it with a high hand over Mademoiselles de Kerborgne and de Kerqueoison. A pretty roundabout way of telling my story, I must confess; but it will bring us to the point. Well then, as I am her only consolation, it follows that, after I have been to see her, she will come to see me, when of course I shall wish her to find my garden in good order-and my walks in good order-those fine walks, of which you are so fond. Still you are at a loss to conceive whither they are leading you now. Attend then, if you please, to a little suggestion by the way. You are aware that haymaking is going forward? Well, I have no haymakers: I send into the neighboring fields to press them into my service; there are none to be found; and so all my own people are summoned to make hay instead. But do you know what haymaking is? I will tell you. Haymaking is the prettiest thing in the world. You play at turning the grass over in a meadow; and as soon as you know how to do that, you know how to make hay. The whole house went merrily to the task, all but Picard: he said he would not go; that he was not engaged for such work; that it was none of his business; and that he would sooner betake himself to Paris. 'Faith! didn't I get angry? It was the hundredth disservice the silly fellow had done me; I saw he had neither heart nor zeal; in short, the measure of his offence was full. I took him at his word; was deaf as a rock to all entreaties in his behalf; and he has set off. It is fit that people should be treated as they deserve. If you see him, don't welcome him; don't protect him; and don't blame me Only look upon him as, of all servants in the world, the one the least addicted to haymaking, and therefore the most unworthy of good treatment. This is the sum-total of the affair. As for me, I am fond of straight-forward histories, that contain not a word too much; that never go wandering about, and beginning again from remote points; and accordingly, I think I may say, without vanity, that I hereby present you with the model of an agreeable narration.' In the course of the winter following * He was Governor of the province. some branch of royalty; and is delighted and delighting wherever she goes, except when she is weeping for her daughter's absence, or condoling with the family disasters resulting from campaigns. In the summer of 1672 was the famous passage of the Rhine, at which Rochefoucauld lost a son, whose death he bore with affecting patience. The once intriguing but now devout princess, the Duchess de Longueville, had the like misfortune, which she could not endure so well. Her grief nevertheless was very affecting too, and Madame de Sévigné's plain and passionate account of it has been justly admired. In general, at the court of Louis XIV. all was apparently ease, luxury, and delight, (with the exception of the jealousies of the courtiers and the squabbles of the mistresses;) but every now and then there is a campaign-and then all is glory, and finery, and lovers' tears, when the warriors are setting out; and fright, and trepidation, and distracting suspense, when the news arrives of a bloody battle. The suspense is removed by undoubted intelligence; and then, while some are in paroxysms of pride and rapture at escapes, and exploits, and lucky wounds, others are plunged into misery by deaths. Extract from a letter to Madame de Grignan. You never saw Paris in such a state as it is now; every body is in tears, or fears to be so: poor Madame de Nogent is beside herself; Madame de Longueville, with her lamentations, cuts I have not seen her; but people to the heart. * * sent to Port-Royal for M. Arnauld and Mademoi- of the latter was sufficient. As soon as the Duchess saw her-"Ah! Mademoiselle, how is, my brother!" (the great Condé.) She did not dare to ask further. “Madame, his wound is To Madame de Grignan. going on well; there has been a battle." "And brilliant scene, from the king and the favor. my son?" No answer. "Ah! Mademoiselle, my ite to Dangeau, the skilful gamester-cool, son, my dear child-answer me-is he dead?" collected, and calculating-amidst the gal "Madame, I have not words to answer you." lant prattle around him, give to its details "Ah! my dear son; did he die instantly? had he not one little moment! Oh! great God, what a degree of life and animation not to be a sacrifice!" And with that she fell upon her bed; surpassed: and all which could express the most terrible anguish, convulsions, and faintings, and a mortal silence, and stifled cries, and the bitterest tears, and hands clasped towards heaven, and complaints the most tender and heart-rending-all this did she go through. She sees a few friends, and keeps herself barely alive, in submission to God's will; but has no rest; and her health, which was bad already, is visibly worse. For my part, I cannot help wishing her dead outright, not conceiving it possible that she can survive such a loss.' Paris, Wednesday, 29th July, (1676.) will gratify you as much as it does all the world. We have a change of the scene here, which was at Versailles last Saturday with the Villarses. You know the Queen's toilet, the mass, and the focating ourselves in the crowd to get a glimpse of dinner? Well, there is no need any longer of suf their majesties at table. At three, the King, the Queen, Monsieur, Madame, Mademoiselle, and We have taken no notice of the strange every thing else which is royal, together with Madeath of Vatel, steward to the Prince de dame de Montespan and train, and all the courtiers, Condé, who killed himself out of a point and all the ladies-all, in short, which constitutes of honor, because a dinner had not been the court of France-is assembled in that beautiful served up to his satisfaction. It is a very is furnished divinely, all is magnificent. Such a apartment of the king's, which you remember. All curious relation, but more characteristic of thing as heat is unknown; you pass from one the poor man than of the writer. For a place to another without the slightest pressure. A like reason, we omit the interesting though game at reversis gives the company a form and a horrible accounts of Brinvilliers and La settlement. The King and Madame de Montespan Voisin, the poisoners. But we cannot help keep a bank together: different tables are occugiving a tragedy told in a few words, both because Madame de Sévigné was herself highly struck with it, and for another reason which will appear in a note. The other day, on his coming into a ball-room, a gentleman of Brittany was assassinated by two men in women's clothes. One held him while the other deliberately struck a pomard to his heart. Little Haronis, who was there, was shocked at beholding this person, whom he knew well, stretched out upon the ground, full-dressed, bloody, and dead. His account (adds Madame de Sévigné) forcibly struck my imagination.* The following letter contains a most graphic description of the French court, in all its voluptuous gayety; and the glimpses which it furnishes of the actors on the We have taken the words in Italics from the version of the letters published in 1765, often a very meritorious one, probably by various hands,' some passages exhibiting an ignorance of the commonest terms hardly possible to be reconciled with a knowledge of the rest. The three special words above quoted are admirable, and convey a truer sense of the original than would have been attained by one more literal. The passage in Madame de Sévigné is tout étendu, tout chand, tout sanglant, tout habillé, tout mort. We take the opportunity of observing that some of the directly comic as well as tragic relations in this version are rendered with great gusto; though it could not save us the necessity of attempting a new one-owing to the want of a certain life in the general tone, as well as an occasional obsoleteness of phraseology, somewhat startling to observe in so short a lapse of time as seventy-seven years. There is another version of a later date, and containing more letters; but though not destitute of pretensions of its own, it is upon the whole much inferior to the older one, of which it mainly appears to be a copy. pied by Monsieur, the Queen, and Madame de Soubise, Dangeau* and party, Langlée and party: have no other counters. I saw Dangeau play, and -everywhere you see heaps of louis d'ors; they thought what fools we all were beside him. He dreams of nothing but what concerns the game; he wins where others lose; he neglects nothing, profits by every thing, never has his attention diverted; in short, his science bids defiance to chance. Two hundred thousand francs in ten days, a hundred thousand crowns in a monththese are the pretty memorandums he puts down in his pocket-book. He was kind enough to say that I was partners with him, so that I got an excellent seat. I made my obeisance to the King, as you told me; and he returned it, as if I had been young and handsome. The Queen talked as long to me about my illness, as if it had been a lying-in. The Duke said a thousand kind things without minding a word he uttered. Marshal de Lorges attacked me in the name of the Chevalier de Grignan; in short, tutti quanti (the whole company). You know what it is to get a word from every body you meet. Madame de Montespan talked to me of Bourbon, and asked me how I liked Vichi, and whether the place did me good. She said that Bourbon, instead of curing a pain in one of her knees, did mischief to both. Her size is reduced by a good half, and yet her complexion, her eyes, and her lips, are as fine as ever. She was dressed all in French point, her bair in a thousand ringlets, the two side ones hanging low on her cheeks, black ribbons on her head, pearls (the same that belonged to Madame de l'Hôpital), the loveliest diamond ear-rings, three or four bodkins-nothing else on the head; in short, a triumphant beauty, worthy the admiration of all the foreign ambassadors. She was accused of preventing the whole French nation from seeing the King; she has |