{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_10665/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_10665","id":"gutenberg_10665","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10665","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Biographies","Category: French Literature","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Lenclos, Ninon de, 1620-1705"],"text":"LIFE, LETTERS\n\nAND\n\nEPICUREAN PHILOSOPHY\n\nOF\n\nNINON\n\nDE L'ENCLOS\n\nThe Celebrated Beauty of the Seventeenth Century\n\n\n\nROBINSON--OVERTON\n\n\n\n\n1903\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\nLIFE OF NINON DE L'ENCLOS\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nNinon de l'Enclos as a Standard\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nConsidered as a Parallel\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nYouth of Ninon de l'Enclos\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nThe Morals of the Period\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nNinon and Count de Coligny\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nThe \"Birds\" of the Tournelles\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nEffect of Her Mother's Death\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nHer Increasing Popularity\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nNinon's Friendships\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nSome of Ninon's Lovers\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nNinon's Lovers (Continued)\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nThe Villarceaux Affair\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nThe Marquis de S\u00e9vign\u00e9\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nA Family Tragedy\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nNinon's Bohemian Environments\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nA Remarkable Old Age\n\n\n\n\nLETTERS TO THE MARQUIS DE S\u00c9VIGN\u00c9\n\n\nINTRODUCTION TO LETTERS\nI--A Hazardous Undertaking\nII--Why Love Is Dangerous\nIII--Why Love Grows Cold\nIV--The Spice of Love\nV--Love and Temper\nVI--Certain Maxims Concerning Love\nVII--Women Expect a Quid Pro Quo from Men\nVIII--The Necessity for Love and Its Primitive Cause\nIX--Love Is a Natural Inclination\nX--The Sensation of Love Forms a Large Part of a Woman's Nature\nXI--The Distinction Between Love and Friendship\nXII--A Man in Love Is an Amusing Spectacle\nXIII--Vanity Is a Fertile Soil for Love\nXIV--Worth and Merit Are Not Considered in Love\nXV--The Hidden Motives of Love\nXVI--How to Be Victorious in Love\nXVII--Women Understand the Difference Between Real Love and Flirtation\nXVIII--When a Woman Is Loved She Need Not Be Told of It\nXIX--Why a Lover's Vows Are Untrustworthy\nXX--The Half-way House to Love\nXXI--The Comedy of Contrariness\nXXII--Vanity and Self-Esteem Obstacles to Love\nXXIII--Two Irreconcilable Passions in Woman\nXXIV--An Abuse of Credulity Is Intolerable\nXXV--Why Virtue Is So Often Overcome\nXXVI--Love Demands Freedom of Action\nXXVII--The Heart Needs Constant Employment\nXXVIII--Mere Beauty Is Often of Trifling Importance\nXXIX--The Misfortune of Too Sudden an Avowal\nXXX--When Resistance is Only a Pretence\nXXXI--The Opinion and Advice of Monsieur de la Sabli\u00e8re\nXXXII--The Advantages of a Knowledge of the Heart\nXXXIII--A Heart Once Wounded No Longer Plays with Love\nXXXIV--Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder\nXXXV--The Heart Should Be Played Upon Like the Keys of a Piano\nXXXVI--Mistaken Impressions Common to All Women\nXXXVII--The Allurements of Stage Women\nXXXVIII--Varieties of Resistance Are Essential\nXXXIX--The True Value of Compliments Among Women\nXL--Oratory and Fine Phrases Do Not Breed Love\nXLI--Discretion Is Sometimes the Better Part of Valor\nXLII--Surface Indications in Women Are Not Always Guides\nXLIII--Women Demand Respect\nXLIV--Why Love Grows Weak--Marshal de Saint-Evremond's Opinion\nXLV--What Favors Men Consider Faults\nXLVI--Why Inconstancy Is Not Injustice\nXLVII--Cause of Quarrels Among Rivals\nXLVIII--Friendship Must Be Firm\nXLIX--Constancy Is a Virtue Among Narrow Minded\nL--Some Women Are Very Cunning\nLI--The Parts Men and Women Play\nLII--Love Is a Traitor with Sharp Claws\nLIII--Old Age Not a Preventive Against Attack\nLIV--A Shrewd But Not an Unusual Scheme\nLV--A Happy Ending\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nCORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN LORD SAINT-EVREMOND AND NINON DE L'ENCLOS\n\nI--Lovers and Gamblers Have Something in Common\nII--It Is Sweet to Remember Those We Have Loved\nIII--Wrinkles Are a Mark of Wisdom\nIV--Near Hopes Are Worth as Much as Those Far Off\nV--On the Death of De Charleval\nVI--The Weariness of Monotony\nVII--After the Death of La Duchesse de Mazarin\nVIII--Love Banishes Old Age\nIX--Stomachs Demand More Attention Than Minds\nX--Why Does Love Diminish After Marriage?\nXI--Few People Resist Age\nXII--Age Has Some Consolations\nXIII--Some Good Taste Still Exists in France\nXIV--Superiority of the Pleasures of the Stomach\nXV--Let the Heart Speak Its Own Language\nXVI--The Memory of Youth\nXVII--I Should Have Hanged Myself\nXVIII--Life Is Joyous When It Is Without Sorrow\nLetter to the Modern Leontium\n\n\n\n\nNINON DE L'ENCLOS\n\nLIFE AND LETTERS\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nThe inner life of the most remarkable woman that ever lived is here\npresented to American readers for the first time. Ninon, or\nMademoiselle de l'Enclos, as she was known, was the most beautiful\nwoman of the seventeenth century. For seventy years she held\nundisputed sway over the hearts of the most distinguished men of\nFrance; queens, princes, noblemen, renowned warriors, statesmen,\nwriters, and scientists bowing before her shrine and doing her homage,\neven Louis XIV, when she was eighty-five years of age, declaring that\nshe was the marvel of his reign.\n\nHow she preserved her extraordinary beauty to so great an age, and\nattracted to her side the greatest and most brilliant men of the\ncentury, is told in her biography, which has been entirely re-written,\nand new facts and incidents added that do not appear in the French\ncompilations.\n\nHer celebrated \"Letters to the Marquis de S\u00e9vign\u00e9,\" newly translated,\nand appearing for the first time in the United States, constitute the\nmost remarkable pathology of the female heart, its motives, objects,\nand secret aspirations, ever penned. With unsparing hand she unmasks\nthe human heart and unveils the most carefully hidden mysteries of\nfemininity, and every one who reads these letters will see herself\ndepicted as in a mirror.\n\nAt an early age she perceived the inequalities between the sexes, and\nrefused to submit to the injustice of an unfair distribution of human\nqualities. After due deliberation, she suddenly announced to her\nfriends: \"I notice that the most frivolous things are charged up to\nthe account of women, and that men have reserved to themselves the\nright to all the essential qualities; from this moment I will be a\nman.\" From that time--she was twenty years of age--until her death,\nseventy years later, she maintained the character assumed by her,\nexercised all the rights and privileges claimed by the male sex, and\ncreated for herself, as the distinguished Abb\u00e9 de Chateauneauf says,\n\"a place in the ranks of illustrious men, while preserving all the\ngrace of her own sex.\"\n\n\n\n\nLIFE OF NINON DE L'ENCLOS\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nNinon de l'Enclos as a Standard\n\n\nTo write the biography of so remarkable a woman as Ninon de l'Enclos\nis to incur the animadversions of those who stand upon the dogma, that\nwhoso violates one of the Ten Commandments is guilty of violating them\nall, particularly when one of the ten is conventionally selected as\nthe essential precept and the most important to be observed. It is\npurely a matter of predilection or fancy, perhaps training and\nenvironment may have something to do with it, though judgment is\nwanting, but many will have it so, and hence, they arrive at the\nopinion that the end of the controversy has been reached.\n\nFortunately for the common sense of mankind, there are others who\nrepudiate this rigid rule and excuse for human conduct; who refuse to\naccept as a pattern of morality, the Sabbath breaker, tyrant,\noppressor of the poor, the grasping money maker, or charity monger,\neven though his personal chastity may entitle him to canonization.\nThese insist that although Ninon de l'Enclos may have persistently\ntransgressed one of the precepts of the Decalogue, she is entitled to\ngreat consideration because of her faithful observance of the others,\nnot only in their letter but in their spirit, and that her life\ncontains much that is serviceable to humanity, in many more ways than\nif she had studiously preserved her personal purity to the sacrifice\nof other qualities, which are of as equal importance as virtues, and\nas essential to be observed.\n\nAnother difficulty in the way of establishing her as a model of any\nkind, on account of her deliberate violations of the sixth precept of\nthe Decalogue, is the fact that she was not of noble birth, held no\nofficial position in the government of France, either during the\nregency or under the reign of Louis XIII, but was a private person,\nretiring in her habits, faithful in her liaisons and friendships,\ndelicate and refined in her manners and conversations, and eagerly\nsought for her wisdom, philosophy, and intellectual ability.\n\nHad she been a Semiramis, a Messalina, an Agrippina, a Catherine II,\nor even a Lady Hamilton, the glamor of her exalted political position\nmight have covered up a multitude of gross, vulgar practices,\ncruelties, barbarities, oppressions, crimes, and acts of\nmisgovernment, and have concealed her spiritual deformity beneath the\ngrandeur of her splendid public vices and irregularities. The mantle\nof royalty and nobility, like dipsomania, excuses a multitude of sins,\nhypocrisy, and injustice, and inclines the world to overlook,\ndisregard, or even condone, what in them is considered small vices,\neccentricities of genius, but which in a private person are magnified\ninto mountains of viciousness, and call forth an army of well meaning\nbut inconsistent people to reform them by brute force.\n\nIt is time to interpose an impasse to the further spread of this\nmisapprehension of the nature and consequences of human acts, and to\ndemonstrate the possibility, in humble walks of life, of virtues worth\ncultivating, and to erect models out of those who, while they may be\nderelict in their ethical duties, are still worthy of being imitated\nin other respects. Our standards and patterns of morality are so high\nas to be unattainable, not in the details of the practice of virtue,\nbut in the personnel of the model. Royal and noble blood permeated\nwith the odor of sanctity; virtuous statesmanship, or proud political\nposition attained through the rigid observance of the ethical rules of\npersonal purity, are nothing to the rank and file, the polloi, who can\nnever hope to reach those elevations in this world; as well expatiate\nupon the virtues of Croesus to a man who will never go beyond his\nday's wages, or expect the homeless to become ecstatic over the\nmagnificence of Nabuchodonosor's Babylonian palace. Such extremes\npossess no influence over the ordinary mind, they are the mere\nvanities of the conceited, the mistakes of moralists.\n\nThe history of Ninon de l'Enclos stands out from the pages of history\nas a pre-eminent character, before which all others are stale,\nwhatever their pretensions through position and grandeur,\nnotwithstanding that one great quality so much admired in\nwomen--womanly purity--was entirely wanting in her conduct through\nlife.\n\nWhile no apology can be effectual to relieve her memory from that one\nstigma, the other virtues connected with it, and which she possessed\nin superabundance, deserve a close study, inasmuch as the trend of\nmodern society is in the direction of the philosophical principles and\nprecepts, which justified her in pursuing the course of life she\npreferred to all others. She was an ardent disciple of the Epicurean\nphilosophy, but in her adhesion to its precepts, she added that\naltruistic unselfishness so much insisted upon at the present day.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nConsidered as a Parallel\n\n\nThe birth of Ninon de l'Enclos was not heralded by salvoes of\nartillery, Te Deums, or such other demonstrations of joy as are\nattendant upon the arrival on earth of princes and offspring of great\npersonages. Nevertheless, for the ninety years she occupied the stage\nof life, she accomplished more in the way of shaping great national\npolicies, successful military movements and brilliant diplomatic\nsuccesses, than any man or body of men in the seventeenth century.\n\nIn addition to that, her genius left an impress upon music and the\nfine arts, an impress so profound that the high standard of excellence\nboth have attained in our day is due to her efforts in establishing a\nsolid foundation upon which it was possible to erect a substantial\nstructure. Moreover, in her hands and under her auspices and guidance,\nlanguages, belles lettres, and rhetoric received an impetus toward\nperfection, and raised the French language and its literature,\nfiction, poetry and drama, to so high a standard, that its productions\nare the models of the twentieth century.\n\nIt was Ninon de l'Enclos whose brilliant mentality and intellectual\ngenius formed the minds, the souls, the genius, of such master minds\nas Saint-Evremond, La Rouchefoucauld, Moli\u00e8re, Scarron, La Fontaine,\nFontenelle, and a host of others in literature and fine arts; the\nGreat Cond\u00e9, de Grammont, de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, and the flower of the chivalry\nof France, in war, politics, and diplomacy. Even Richelieu was not\nunaffected by her influence.\n\nStrange power exerted by one frail woman, a woman not of noble birth,\nwith only beauty, sweetness of disposition, amiability, goodness, and\nbrilliant accomplishments as her weapons! It was not a case of the\nmoth and the flame, but the operation of a wise philosophy, the\nprecepts of which were decently, moderately and carefully inculcated;\na philosophy upon the very edge of which modern society is hanging,\nafraid to accept openly, through too much attachment to ancient\ndoctrines which have drawn man away from happiness and comfort, and\nconverted him into a bitter pessimism that often leads to despair.\n\nAs has already been suggested, had Ninon de l'Enclos sat upon a\nthrone, or commanded an army, the pages of history would teem with the\nrenown of her exploits, and great victories be awarded to her instead\nof to those who would have met with defeat without her inspiration.\n\nPompey, in his vanity, declared that he could raise an army by\nstamping his foot upon the ground, but the raising of Ninon de\nl'Enclos' finger could bring all the chivalry of Europe around a\nsingle standard, or at the same gentle signal, cause them to put aside\ntheir arms and forget everything but peace and amity. She dominated\nthe intellectual geniuses of the long period during which she lived,\nand reigned over them as their absolute queen, through the sheer force\nof her personal charms, which she never hesitated to bestow upon those\nwhom she found worthy, and who expressed a desire to possess them,\nstudiously regulated, however, by the precepts and principles of the\nphilosophy of Epicurus, which today is rapidly gaining ground in our\nsocial relations through its better understanding and appreciation.\n\nHer life bears a great resemblance to the histories in which we read\nabout the most celebrated women of ancient times, who occupied a\nmiddle station between the condition of marriage and prostitution--a\nclass of women whose Greek name is familiarized to our ears in\ntranslations of Aristophanes. Ninon de l'Enclos was of the order of\nthe French \"hetaerae,\" and, as by her beauty and her talents, she\nattained the first rank in the social class, her name has come down to\nposterity with those of Aspasia and Leontium, while the less\ndistinguished favorites of less celebrated men have shared the common\noblivion, which hides from the memory of men, every degree of\nmediocrity, whether of virtue or vice.\n\nA class of this kind, a status of this singular nature existing\namongst accomplished women, who inspired distinguished men with lofty\nideals, and developed the genius of men who, otherwise, would have\nremained in obscurity, can never be uninteresting or uninstructive;\nindeed, it must afford matter for serious study. They are prefigures,\nor prototypes of the influence that aims to sway mankind at the\npresent day in government, politics, literature, and the fine arts.\n\nAs a distinguished example of such a class, the most prominent in the\nworld, in fact, apart from a throne, Ninon de l'Enclos will peculiarly\nengage the attention of all who, whether for knowledge or amusement,\nare observers of human nature under all its varieties and\ncircumstances.\n\nIt would be idle to enter upon a historical digression on the state of\nfemale manners in ancient Athens, or in Europe during the last three\ncenturies. The reader should discard them from his mind when he\nperuses the life of Ninon de l'Enclos, and examine her character and\nenvironments from every point of view as a type toward which is\ntrending modern social conditions.\n\nAt first blush, and to a narrow intellect, an individual woman of the\ncharacter of Ninon de l'Enclos would seem hopelessly lost to all\nvirtue, abandoned by every sense of shame, and irreclaimable to any\nfeeling of social or private duty. But only at first blush, and to the\nmost circumscribed of narrow minds, who, fortunately, do not control\nthe policy of mankind, although occasional disorders here and there\nindicate that they are endeavouring to do so.\n\nA large majority of mankind are of the settled opinion that every\nvirtue is bound up in that of chastity. Our manners and customs, our\nlaws, most of our various kinds of religions, our national sentiments\nand feelings--all our most serious opinions, as well as our dearest\nand best rooted prejudices, forbid the dissevering, in the minds of\nwomen of any class, the ideas of virtue and female honor. That is,\nour public opinion is along that line. To raise openly a doubt on this\nhead, or to disturb, on a point considered so vital, the settled\nnotions of society, is equally inconsistent with common prudence and\nthe policy of common honesty; and as tending to such an end, we are\napt to consider all discussion on the subject as at least officiously\nincurring danger, without an opportunity of inculcating good.\n\nBut, however strongly we insist upon this opinion for such purposes,\nthere are others in which it is not useless to relax that severity for\na moment, and to view the question, not through the medium of\nsentiment, but with an eye of philosophic impartiality. We are\ngradually nearing the point, where it is conceded that in certain\nconditions of society, one failing is not wholly incompatible with a\ngeneral practice of virtue--a remark to be met with in every homily\nsince homilies were written, notwithstanding that rigid rule already\nalluded to in the previous chapter.\n\nIt is surprising that it has never occurred to any moralist of the\ncommon order, who deals chiefly with such general reflections, to\napply this particular maxim to this particular social status. We\nfollow the wise precepts of honesty found in Cicero, although we know\nthat he was, at the time he was writing them, plundering his fellow\nmen at every opportunity. Our admiration for Bacon's philosophy and\nwisdom reaches adulation although he was the \"meanest of men,\" and was\nguilty of the most flagrant crimes such as judicial bribery and\npolitical corruption. We read that Aspasia had some great and many\namiable qualities; so too had Ninon de l'Enclos; and it is worthy of\nconsideration, how far we judge candidly or wisely in condemning such\ncharacters in gross, and treating their virtues as Saint Austin was\nwont to deal with those of his heathen adversaries, as no better than\n\"splendid vices,\" so unparalleled in their magnitude as to become\nvirtues by the operation of the law of extremes. There was no law\npermitting a man to marry his sister, and there was no law forbidding\nKing Cambyses to do as he liked.\n\nAnother grave point to be considered is this: The world, as it now\nstands, its laws, systems of government, manners and customs, and\nsocial conditions, have been built up on these same \"splendid vices,\"\nand whenever they have been tamed into subjection to mediocrity--let\nus say to clerical, or ecclesiastical domination;--government, society\nand morals have retrograded. The social condition in France during\nNinon de l'Enclos' time, and in England during the reign of Charles\nII, is startling evidence of this accusation. Moreover, it is fast\nbecoming the condition to-day, a fact indicated by the almost\nuniversal demand for a revolution in social ethics, the foundation to\nwhich, for some reason, has become awry, threatening to topple down\nthe structure erected upon it. Society can see nothing to originate,\nan incalculable number of attempts to better human conditions always\nproving failures, and worsening the human status. It is dawning upon\nthe minds of the true lovers of humanity, that there is nothing else\nto be done, but to revert to the past to find the key to any possible\nreform, and to that past we are edging rapidly, though, it must be\nsaid unwillingly, in the hope and expectation that the old foundations\nare possessed of sufficient solidity to support a new or re-modeled\nstructure.\n\nThe life of Ninon de l'Enclos, upon this very point, furnishes food\nfor profitable reflection, inasmuch as it gives an insight into the\ngreat results to be obtained by the following of the precepts of an\nancient philosophy which seems to have survived the clash of ages of\nintellectual and moral warfare, and to have demonstrated its capacity\nto supply defects in segregated dogmatic systems wholly incapable of\nany syncretic tendencies.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nYouth of Ninon de l'Enclos\n\n\nAnne de l'Enclos, or \"Ninon,\" as she has always been familiarly called\nby the world at large, was born at Paris in 1615. What her parents\nwere, or what her family, is a matter of little consequence. To all\npersons who have attained celebrity over the route pursued by her,\noriginal rank and station are not of the least moment. By force of his\ngenius in hewing for himself a niche in history, Napoleon was truly\nhis own ancestor, as it is said he loved to remark pleasantly. So with\nNinon de l'Enclos, the novelty of the career she laid out for herself\nto follow, and did follow until the end with unwavering constancy,\njustifies us in regarding her as the head of a new line, or dynasty.\n\nIn the case of mighty conquerors, whose path was strewn with violence,\neven lust, no one thinks of an ignoble origin as in any manner\nderogatory to the eminence; on the contrary, it is considered rather\nas matter to be proud of; the idea that out of ignominy, surrounded by\nconditions devoid of all decency, justice, and piety, an individual\ncan elevate himself up to the highest pinnacle of human power and\nglory, has always, and will always be regarded as an example to be\nfollowed, and the badge of success stretched to cover the means of\nits attainment. This is the universal custom where success has been\nattained, the failures being relegated to a well merited oblivion as\nunworthy of consideration either as lessons of warning or for any\npurpose. Our youth are very properly taught only the lessons of\nsuccess.\n\nIt is in evidence that Ninon's father was a gentleman of Touraine and\nconnected, through his wife, with the family of Abra de Raconis, a\nrace of no mean repute in the Orleanois, and that he was an\naccomplished gentleman occupying a high position in society. Voltaire,\nhowever, declares that Ninon had no claim to a parentage of such\ndistinction; that the rank of her mother was too obscure to deserve\nany notice, and that her father's profession was of no higher dignity\nthan that of a teacher of the lute. This account is not less likely,\nfrom the remarkable proficiency acquired by Ninon, at an early age, in\nthe use of that instrument.\n\nIt is equally certain, however, that Ninon's parents were not obscure,\nand that her father was a man of many accomplishments, one of which\nwas his skill as a performer on the lute. A fact which may have\ninduced Voltaire to mistake one of his talents for his regular\nprofession.\n\nNinon's parents were as opposite in sentiments and disposition as the\nPoles of the earth. Madame de l'Enclos was a prudent, pious Christian\nmother, who endeavored to inspire her daughter with the same pious\nsentiments which pervaded her own heart. The fact is that the mother\nattempted to prepare her daughter for a conventual life, a profession\nat that period of the highest honor, and one that led to preferment,\nnot only in religious circles, but in the world of society. At that\ntime, conventual and monastic dignitaries occupied a prominent place\nin the formation of public and private manners and customs, and if not\nregarded impeccable, their opinions were always considered valuable in\nstate matters of the greatest moment, even the security of thrones,\nthe welfare and peace of nations sometimes depending upon their\nwisdom, judgment, and decisions.\n\nWith this laudable object in view, Madame de l'Enclos carefully\ntrained her daughter in the holy exercises of her religion, to which\nshe hoped to consecrate her entire life. But the fond mother met with\nan impasse, an insurmountable obstacle, in the budding Ninon herself,\nwho, even in the temples of the Most High, when her parent imagined\nher to be absorbed in the contemplation of saintly things, and\nimbibing inspiration from her \"Hours,\" the \"Lives of the Saints,\" or\n\"An Introduction to a Holy Life,\" a book very much in vogue at that\nperiod, the child would be devouring such profane books as Montaigne,\nScarron's romances and Epicurus, as more in accordance with her trend\nof mind.\n\nEven at the early age of twelve years, she had mastered those authors,\nand had laid out a course of life, not in accord with her good\nmother's ideas, for it excluded the idea of religion as commonly\nunderstood, and crushed out the sentiment of maternity, that crowning\nglory to which nearly all young female children aspire, although in\nthem, at a tender age, it is instinctive and not based upon knowledge\nof its meaning.\n\nThis beginning of Ninon's departure from the beaten path should not be\na matter of surprise, for all the young open their hearts to ideas\nthat spring from the sentiments and passions, and anticipate in\nimagination the parts they are to play in the tragedy or comedy of\nlife.\n\nIt is this period of life which the moralist and educator justly\ncontend should be carefully guarded. It is really a concession to\nenvironment, and a tacit argument against radical heredity as the\nfoundation upon which rest the character and disposition of the adult,\nand which is the mainspring of his future moral conduct. It is\nimpossible to philosophize ourselves out of this sensible position.\n\nIn the case of Ninon, there was her mother, a woman of undoubted\nvirtue and exemplary piety, following the usual path in the training\nof her only child and making a sad failure of it, or at least not\nmaking any impression on the object of her solicitude. This was,\nhowever, not due to the mother's intentions: her training was too weak\nto overcome that coming from another quarter. It has been said that\nNinon's father and mother were as opposite as the Poles in character\nand disposition, and Ninon was suspended like a pendulum to swing\nbetween two extremes, one of which had to prevail, for there was no\nmidway stopping place. It may be that the disciple of heredity, the\nopponent of environment will perceive in the result a strong argument\nin favor of his view of humanity. Be that as it may, Ninon swung away\nfrom the extreme of piety represented by her mother, and was caught at\nthe other extreme by the less intellectually monotonous ideas of her\nfather. There was no mental conflict in the young mind, nothing\ndifficult; on the contrary, she accepted his ideas as pleasanter and\nless conducive to pain and discomfort. Too young to reason, she\nperceived a flowery pathway, followed it, and avoided the thorny one\noffered her by her mother.\n\nMonsieur de l'Enclos was an Epicurean of the most advanced type.\nAccording to him, the whole philosophy of life, the entire scheme of\nhuman ethics as evolved from Epicurus, could be reduced to the four\nfollowing canons:\n\nFirst--That pleasure which produces no pain is to be embraced.\n\nSecond--That pain which produces no pleasure is to be avoided.\n\nThird--That pleasure is to be avoided which prevents a greater\npleasure, or produces a greater pain.\n\nFourth--That pain is to be endured which averts a greater pain, or\nsecures a greater pleasure.\n\nThe last canon is the one that has always appealed to the religious\nsentiments, and it is the one which has enabled an army of martyrs to\nsubmit patiently to the most excruciating torments, to reach the\nhappiness of Paradise, the pleasure contemplated as a reward for\nenduring the frightful pain. The reader can readily infer, however,\nfrom his daily experiences with the human family, that this\nconstruction is seldom put upon this canon, the world at large,\nviewing it from the Epicurean interpretation, which meant earthly\npleasures, or the purely sensual enjoyments. It is certain that\nNinon's father did not construe any of these canons according to the\nreligious idea, but followed the commonly accepted version, and\nimpressed them upon his young daughter's mind in all their various\nlights and shades.\n\nImbibing such philosophy from her earliest infancy, the father taking\ngood care to press them deep into her plastic mind, it is not\nastonishing that Ninon should discard the more distasteful fruits to\nbe painfully harvested by following her mother's tuition, and accept\nthe easily gathered luscious golden fruit offered her by her father.\nLike all children and many adults, the glitter and the tinsel of the\npresent enjoyment were too powerful and seductive to be resisted, or\nto be postponed for a problematic pleasure.\n\nThe very atmosphere which surrounded the young girl, and which she\nsoon learned to breathe in deep, pleasurable draughts, was surcharged\nwith the intoxicating oxygen of freedom of action, liberality, and\nunrestrained enjoyment. While still very young she was introduced into\na select society of the choicest spirits of the age and speedily\nbecame their idol, a position she continued to occupy without\ndiminution for over sixty years. No one of all these men of the world\nhad ever seen so many personal graces united to so much\nintellectuality and good taste. Ninon's form was as symmetrical,\nelegant and yielding as a willow; her complexion of a dazzling white,\nwith large sparkling eyes as black as midnight, and in which reigned\nmodesty and love, and reason and voluptuousness. Her teeth were like\npearls, her mouth mobile and her smile most captivating, resistless\nand adorable. She was the personification of majesty without pride or\nhaughtiness, and possessed an open, tender and touching countenance\nupon which shone friendship and affection. Her voice was soft and\nsilvery, her arms and hands superb models for a sculptor, and all her\nmovements and gestures manifested an exquisite, natural grace which\nmade her conspicuous in the most crowded drawing-room. As she was in\nher youth, so she continued to be until her death at the age of ninety\nyears, an incredible fact but so well attested by the gravest and most\nreliable writers, who testify to the truth of it, that there is no\nroom for doubt. Ninon attributed it not to any miracle, but to her\nphilosophy, and declared that any one might exhibit the same\npeculiarities by following the same precepts. We have it on the most\nundoubted testimony of contemporaneous writers, who were intimate with\nhim, that one of her dearest friends and followers, Saint-Evremond, at\nthe age of eighty-nine years, inspired one of the famous beauties of\nthe English Court with an ardent attachment.\n\nThe beauties of her person were so far developed at the age of twelve\nyears, that she was the object of the most immoderate admiration on\nthe part of men of the greatest renown, and her beauty is embalmed in\ntheir works either as a model for the world, or she is enshrined in\nsong, poetry, and romance as the heroine.\n\nIn fact Ninon had as tutors the most distinguished men of the age, who\nvied with one another in embellishing her young mind with all the\ngraces, learning and accomplishments possible for the human mind to\ncontain. Her native brightness and active mind absorbed everything\nwith an almost supernatural rapidity and tact, and it was not long\nbefore she became their peer, and her qualities of mind reached out so\nfar beyond theirs in its insatiable longing, that she, in her turn,\nbecame their tutor, adviser and consoler, as well as their tender\nfriend.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nThe Morals of the Period\n\n\nExamples of the precocious talents displayed by Mademoiselle de\nl'Enclos are not uncommon in the twentieth century, but the\napplication she made of them was remarkable and uncommon. Accomplished\nin music, learned and proficient in the languages, a philosopher of no\nsmall degree, and of a personal beauty sometimes called \"beaut\u00e9 de\ndiable,\" she appeared upon the social stage at a time when a new idol\nwas an imperative necessity for the salvation of moral sanity, and the\npreservation of some remnants of personal decency in the sexual\nrelations.\n\nCardinal Richelieu had just succeeded in consolidating the usurpations\nof the royal prerogatives on the rights of the nobility and the\npeople, which had been silently advancing during the preceding reigns,\nand was followed by the long period of unexampled misgovernment, which\noppressed and impoverished as well as degraded every rank and every\norder of men in the French kingdom, ceasing only with the Revolution.\n\nThe great Cardinal minister had built worse than he had intended, it\nis to be hoped; for his clerico-political system had practically\ndestroyed French manhood, and left society without a guiding star to\ncement the rope of sand he had spun. Unable to subject the master\nminds among the nobility to its domination, ecclesiasticism had\nsucceeded in destroying them by augmenting royal prerogatives which it\ncould control with less difficulty. Public maxims of government,\nconnected as they were with private morals, had debauched the nation,\nand plunged it into a depth of degradation out of which Richelieu and\nhis whole entourage of clerical reformers could not extricate a single\nindividual. It was a riot of theological morality.\n\nThe whole body of the French nobility and the middle class of citizens\nwere reduced to a servile attendance on the court, as the only means\nof advancement and reward. Every species of industry and merit in\nthese classes was sedulously discouraged; and the motive of honorable\ncompetition for honorable things, being withdrawn, no pursuit or\noccupation was left them but the frivolous duties, or the degrading\npleasures of the palace.\n\nNext to the king, the women naturally became the first objects of\ntheir effeminate devotion; and it is difficult to say which were\nsoonest corrupted by courtiers consummate in the arts of adulation,\nand unwearied in their exercise. The sovereign rapidly degenerated\ninto an accomplished despot, and the women into intriguers and\ncoquettes. Richelieu had indeed succeeded in subjecting the State to\nthe rule of the Church, but Ninon was destined to play an important\npart in modifying the evils which afflicted society, and at least\nelevate its tone. From the methods she employed to effect this\nchange, it may be suspected that the remedy was equivalent to the\nHanemannic maxim: \"Similia similbus curantur,\" a strange application\nof a curative agent in a case of moral decrepitude, however valuable\nand effective it may be in physical ailments.\n\nThe world of the twentieth century, bound up as it is in material\nprogress, refuses to limit its objects and aims to the problematic\nenjoyment of the pleasures of Paradise in the great hereafter, or of\nsuffering with stoicism the pains and misfortunes of this earth as a\nmeans of avoiding the problematic pains of Hell. Future rewards and\npunishments are no longer incentives to virtue or right living. The\nonly drag upon human acts of every kind is now that great political\nmaxim, the non-observance of which has often deluged the earth with\nblood; \"Sic utere tuo ut alienum non laedas,\" which is to say: So use\nthine own as not to injure thy neighbor. It is a conventional\nprinciple, one of contract in reality, but it has become a great\ndoctrine of equity and justice, and it is inculcated by our\neducational systems to the exclusion of the purely religious idea, and\nthe elimination of religious dogma, which tends to oppressive\nrestraints, is carefully fostered.\n\nThere is another reason why men's minds are impelled away from the\npurely sentimental moral doctrines insisted upon by sectarianism,\nwhich is ecclesiasticism run riot, and the higher the education the\ndeeper we delve into the secret motives of that class of mankind, the\ndeceptive outward appearances of which dominate the pages of history,\nwhich is, that the greatest and most glorious systems of government,\nthe wisest and most powerful of rulers, the greatest and most liberal\nstatesmen, heroes, and conspicuous conquerors, originated in\nviolations of the Decalogue, and those nations and kingdoms which have\nbeen founded upon strictly ecclesiastical ideas, have all sunk beneath\nthe shifting sands of time, or have become so degenerate as to be\nbywords and objects of derision.\n\nFrom the same viewpoint, a strange phenomenon is observable in the\nworld of literature, arts, and sciences. The brightest, greatest\ngeniuses, whose works are pointed to with admiration; studied as\nmodels and standards, made the basis of youthful education, imitated,\nand even wept over by the sentimental, were, in their private lives,\npersons of the most depraved morals. Why this should be the case, it\nis impossible even to conjecture, the fact only remaining that it is\nso. Perhaps there are so many different standards of morality, that\nhumanity, weary of the eternal bickering consequent upon the conflicts\nentered into for their enforcement, have made for themselves a new\ninterpretation which they find less difficult to observe, and find\nmore peace and pleasure in following.\n\nTo take a further step in the same direction, it is curious that in\nthe lives of the Saints, those who spent their whole earthly existence\nin abstinence, works of the severest penance, and mortifications of\nthe flesh, the tendency of demoniac influence was never in the\ndirection of Sabbath breaking, profanity, idolatry, robbery, murder\nand covetousness, but always exerted itself to the fullest extent of\nits power in attacks upon chastity. All other visions were absent in\nthe hair-shirted, and self-scourgings brought out nothing but sexual\nidealities, sensual temptations. The reason for this peculiarity is\nnot far to seek. What is dominant in the minds always finds egress\nwhen a favorable opportunity is presented, and the very thought of\nunchastity as something to be avoided, leads to its contemplation, or\nits creation in the form of temptation. The virtue of chastity was the\none law, and its observances and violations were studied from every\npoint of view, and its numberless permissible and forbidden\nlimitations expatiated upon to such a degree, that he who escaped them\naltogether could well attribute the result to the interposition of\nsome supernatural power, the protection of some celestial guardian.\nOne is reminded of the expression of St. Paul: \"I had not known lust\nhad the law not said: thou shalt not covet.\" Lord Beaconsfield's\nopinion was, that excessive piety led to sexual disorders.\n\nAccording to Ninon's philosophy, whatever tended to propagate\nimmoderation in the sexual relations was rigidly eliminated, and\nchastity placed upon the same plane and in the same grade as other\nmoral precepts, to be wisely controlled, regulated, and managed. She\nput all her morality upon the same plane, and thereby succeeded in\nequalizing corporeal pleasure, so that the entire scale of human acts\nproduced a harmonious equality of temperament, whence goodness and\nvirtue necessarily followed, the pathway being unobstructed.\n\nIt is too much to be expected, or even to be hoped for, that there\nwill ever be any unanimity among moral reformers, or any uniformity in\ntheir standards of moral excellence. The educated world of the present\nday, reading between the lines of ancient history, and some that is\nnot so very ancient, see ambition for place and power as the moving\ncause, the inspiration behind the great majority of revolutions, and\nthey have come to apply the same construction to the great majority of\nmoral agitations and movements for the reform of morals and the\nbetterment of humanity, with pecuniary reward or profit, however,\nadded as the sine qua non of maintaining them.\n\nCure the agitation by removing the occasion for it, and Othello's\noccupation would be gone; hence, the agitation continues. As an\neminent theologian declared with a conviction that went home to a\nmultitude, at the Congress of Religions, when the Columbian Exposition\nwas in operation:\n\n\"If all the religions in the world are to be merged into one, who, or\nwhat will support the clergy that will be deprived of their salaries\nby the change in management?\"\n\nThe Golden Calf and Aaron were there, but where was the angry Moses?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nNinon and Count de Coligny\n\n\nIt was impossible for a maiden trained in the philosophy of Epicurus,\nand surrounded by a brilliant society who assiduously followed its\nprecepts to avoid being caught in the meshes of the same net spread\nfor other women. Beloved and even idolized on all sides, as an object\nthat could be worshiped without incurring the displeasure of\nRichelieu, who preferred his courtiers to amuse themselves with women\nand gallantries rather than meddle with state affairs, and being\ndisposed both through inclination and training to accept the\nsituation, Ninon felt the sentiments of the tender passion, but\nphilosophically waited for a worthy object.\n\nThat object appeared in the person of the young Gaspard, Count de\nColigny, afterwards Duc de Chatillon, who paid her assiduous court.\nThe result was that Ninon conceived a violent passion for the Count,\nwhich she could not resist, in fact did not care to resist, and she\ntherefore yielded to the young man of distinguished family, charming\nmanners, and a physically perfect specimen of manhood.\n\nIt is alleged by Voltaire and repeated by Cardinal de Retz, that the\nearly bloom of Ninon's charms was enjoyed by Richelieu, but if this be\ntrue, it is more than likely that Ninon submitted through policy and\nnot from any affection for the great Cardinal. It is certain, however,\nthat the great statesman's attention had been called to her growing\ninfluence among the French nobility, and that he desired to control\nher actions if not to possess her charms. She was a tool that he\nimagined he could utilize to keep his rebellious nobles in his leash.\nAbb\u00e9 Raconis, Ninon's uncle, and the Abb\u00e9 Boisrobert, her friend, who\nstood close to the Cardinal, had suggested to His Eminence that the\ncharms of the new beauty could be used to advantage in state affairs,\nand he accordingly sent for her at first through curiosity, but when\nhe had seen her he hoped to control her for his personal benefit.\n\nAlthough occupied in vast projects which his great genius and activity\nalways conducted to a happy issue, the great man had not renounced the\naffections of his human nature, nor his intellectual gratifications.\nHe aimed at everything, and did not consider anything beneath his\ndignity. Every day saw him engaged in cultivating a taste for\nliterature and art, and some moments of every day were set apart for\nsocial gallantries. When it came to the art of pleasing and attracting\nwomen, we have the word of Cardinal de Retz for it, that he was not\nalways successful. Perhaps it is only inferior minds who possess the\nart and the genius of seduction.\n\nThe intriguing Abb\u00e9, in order to bring Ninon under the influence of\nhis master, and to charm her with the great honor done her by a man\nupon whom were fixed the eyes of all Europe, prepared a series of\ngorgeous f\u00eates, banquets and entertainments at the palace at Rueil.\nBut Ninon was not in the least overwhelmed, and refused to hear the\nsighs of the great man. Hoping to inspire jealousy, he affected to\nlove Marion de Lormes, a proceeding which gave Ninon great pleasure as\nit relieved her from the importunities of the Cardinal. The end of it\nwas, that Richelieu gave up the chase and left Ninon in peace to\nfollow her own devices in her own way.\n\nWhatever may have been the relations between Ninon and Cardinal\nRichelieu, it is certain that the Count de Coligny was her first\nsentimental attachment, and the two lovers, in the first intoxication\nof their love, swore eternal constancy, a process common to all new\nlovers and believed possible to maintain. It was not long, however,\nbefore Ninon perceived that the first immoderate transports of love\ngradually lost their activity, and by applying the precepts of her\nphilosophy to explain the phenomenon, came to regard love by its\neffects, as a blind mechanical movement, which it was the policy of\nmen to ennoble according to the conventional rules of decency and\nhonor, to the exclusion of its original meaning.\n\nAfter coldly reasoning the matter out to its only legitimate\nconclusion, she tore off the mask covering a metaphysical love, which\ncould not reach or satisfy the light of intelligence or the sentiments\nand emotions of the heart, and which appeared to her to possess as\nlittle reality as the enchanted castles, marvels of magic, and\nmonsters depicted in poetry and romance. To her, love finally became a\nmere thirst, and a desire for pleasure to be gratified by indulgence\nlike all other pleasure. The germ of philosophy already growing in her\nsoul, found nothing in this discovery that was essentially unnatural;\non the contrary, it was essentially natural. It was clear to her\nlogical mind, that a passion like love produced among men different\neffects according to different dispositions, humors, temperament,\neducation, interest, vanity, principles, or circumstances, without\nbeing, at the same time, founded upon anything more substantial than a\ndisguised, though ardent desire of possession, the essential of its\nexistence, after which it vanished as fire disappears through lack of\nfuel. Dryden, the celebrated English poetic and literary genius,\nreaches the same opinion in his Letters to Clarissa.\n\nHaving reached this point in her reasoning, she advanced a step\nfurther, and considered the unequal division of qualities distributed\nbetween the two sexes. She perceived the injustice of it and refused\nto abide by it. \"I perceive,\" she declared, \"that women are charged\nwith everything that is frivolous, and that men reserve to themselves\nthe right to essential qualities. From this moment I shall be a man.\"\n\nAll this growing out of the ardour of a first love, which is always\nfollowed by the lassitude of satiety, so far from causing Ninon any\ntears of regret, nerved her up to a philosophy different from that of\nother women, and makes it impossible to judge her by the same\nstandard. She can not be considered a woman subject to a thousand\nfantasies and whims, a thousand trifling concealed proprieties of\nposition and custom. Her morals became the same as those of the wisest\nand noblest men of the period in which she lived, and raised her to\ntheir rank instead of maintaining her in the category of the\nintriguing coquettes of her age.\n\nIt is not improbable that her experience of the suffering attendant\nupon the decay of such attachments, a suffering alluded to by those\nwho contemplate only the intercourse of the sexes through the medium\nof poetry and sentiment, had considerable influence in determining her\nfuture conduct. At an early age, following upon her liaison with Count\nColigny, she adopted the determination she adhered to during the rest\nof her life, of retaining so much only of the female character as was\nforced upon her by nature and the insuperable laws of society. Acting\non this principle, her society was chiefly composed of persons of her\nadopted sex, of whom the most celebrated of their time made her house\na constant place of meeting.\n\nA curious incident in her relations with Count de Coligny was her\nsuccess in persuading him to adjure the errors of the Huguenots and\nreturn to the Roman Catholic Church. She had no religious\npredilections, feeling herself spiritually secure in her philosophic\nprinciples, but sought only his welfare and advancement. His obstinacy\nwas depriving him of the advantages due his birth and personal merit.\nConsidering that Ninon was scarcely sixteen years of age, respiring\nnothing but love and pleasure, to effect by tenderness and the\npersuasive strength of her reasoning powers, such a change in a man\nso obstinate as the Count de Coligny, in an obstinate and excessively\nbigoted age, was something unique in the history of lovers of that\nperiod. Women then cared very little for religious principles, and\nrarely exerted themselves in advancing the cause of the dominant\nreligion, much less thought of the spiritual needs of their favorites.\nThe reverse is the rule in these modern times, when women are the most\nardent and persistent proselytizers of the various sects, a custom\nwhich recalls the remark of a distinguished lawyer who failed to\nrecover any assets from a notorious bankrupt he was pursuing for the\ndefrauded creditors: \"This man has everything in his wife's name--even\nhis religion.\"\n\nNinon's disinterested counsel prevailed, and the Count afterward\nabjured his errors, becoming the Duc de Chatillon, Marquis d'Andelot,\nand died a lieutenant general, bravely fighting for his country, at\nCharenton.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nThe \"Birds\" of the Tournelles\n\n\nHaving decided upon her career, Ninon converted her property into\nprudent and safe securities, and purchased a city house in the Rue des\nTournelles au Marais, a locality at that time the center of\nfashionable society, and another for a summer residence at Picpusse,\nin the environs of Paris. A select society of wits and gallant\nchevaliers soon gathered around her, and it required influence as well\nas merit to gain an entrance into its ranks. Among this \u00e9lite were\nCount de Grammont, Saint-Evremond, Chapelle, Moli\u00e8re, Fontenelle, and\na host of other no less distinguished characters, most of them\ncelebrated in literature, arts, sciences, and war. Ninon christened\nthe society \"Oiseaux des Tournelles,\" an appellation much coveted by\nthe beaux and wits of Paris, and which distinguished the chosen\ncompany from the less favored gentlemen of the great metropolis.\n\nAmong those who longed for entrance into this charming society of\nchoice spirits was the Count de Charleval, a polite and accomplished\nchevalier, indeed, but of no particular standing as a literary\ncharacter. Nothing would do, however, but a song of triumph as a test\nof his competency and he accomplished it after much labor and\nconsumption of midnight oil. Scarron has preserved the first stanza\nin his literary works, the others being lost to the literary world,\nperhaps with small regret. The sentiments expressed in the first\nstanza rescued from oblivion will be sufficient to indicate the\ncharacter of the others:\n\n\"Je ne suis plus oiseau des champs,\nMais de ces oiseaux des Tournelles\nQui parlent d'amour en tout temps,\nEt qui plaignent les tourterelles\nDe ne se baiser qu'au printemps.\"\n\nWhich liberally translated into English will run substantially as\nfollows:\n\nNo more am I a wild bird on the wing,\nBut one of the birds of the Towers, who\nThe love in their hearts always sing,\nAnd pity the poor Turtle Doves that coo\nAnd never kiss only in spring.\n\nScarron alludes to the delicacy of the Count's taste and the\nrefinement of his wit, by saying of him: \"The muses brought him up on\nblanc mange and chicken broth.\"\n\nHow Ninon kept together this remarkable coterie can best be understood\nby an incident unparalleled in female annals. The Count de Fi\u00e8sque,\none of the most accomplished nobles of the French court, had it\nappears, grown tired of an attachment of long standing between Ninon\nand himself, before the passion of the former had subsided. A letter,\ncontaining an account of his change of sentiments, with reasons\ntherefor, was presented his mistress, while employed at her toilette\nin adjusting her hair, which was remarkable for its beauty and\nluxuriance, and which she regarded as the apple of her eye. Afflicted\nby the unwelcome intelligence, she cut off half of her lovely tresses\non the impulse of the moment, and sent them as her answer to the\nCount's letter. Struck by this unequivocal proof of the sincerity of\nher devotion to him, the Count returned to his allegiance to a\nmistress so devoted, and thenceforward retained it until she herself\nwearied of it and desired a change.\n\nAs an illustration of her sterling honesty in money matters and her\ndelicate manner of ending a liaison, the following anecdote will serve\nto demonstrate the hold she was able to maintain upon her admirers.\n\nM. de Gourville, an intimate friend of Ninon's, adhered in the wars of\nthe Fronde to the party of the Prince of Cond\u00e9, one of the \"Birds of\nthe Tournelles.\" Compelled to quit Paris, to avoid being hanged in\nperson, as he was in effigy, he divided the care of a large sum of\nready money between Ninon de l'Enclos and the Grand P\u00e9nitencier of\nNotre Dame. The money was deposited in two caskets. On his return from\nexile, he applied to the priest for the return of his money, but to\nhis astonishment, all knowledge of the deposit was denied, and that if\nany such deposit had been made, it was destined for charitable\npurposes under the rules of the P\u00e9nitencier, and had most probably\nbeen distributed among the poor of Paris. De Gourville protested in\nvain, and when he threatened to resort to forcible means, the power\nof the church was invoked to compel him to abandon his attempt. So\ncruelly disappointed in a man whom all Paris deemed incorruptibly\nhonest, de Gourville suspected nothing else from Mademoiselle de\nl'Enclos. It was absurd to hope for probity in a woman of\nreprehensible habits when that virtue was absent in a man who lived a\nlife of such austerity as the Grand P\u00e9nitencier, hence he determined\nto abstain from visiting her altogether, lest he might hate the woman\nhe had so fondly loved.\n\nNinon, however, had other designs, and learning that he had returned,\nsent him a pressing invitation to call upon her.\n\n\"Ah! Gourville,\" she exclaimed as soon as he appeared, \"a great\nmisfortune has happened me in consequence of your absence.\"\n\nThat settled the matter in de Gourville's mind, his money was gone and\nhe was a pauper. Plunged in mournful reflections, de Gourville dared\nnot raise his eyes to those of his mistress. But she, mistaking his\nagitation, went on hastily:\n\n\"I am sorry if you still love me, for I have lost my love for you, and\nthough I have found another with whom I am happy, I have not forgotten\nyou. Here,\" she continued, turning to her escritoire, \"here are the\ntwenty thousand crowns you intrusted to me when you departed. Take\nthem, my friend, but do not ask anything from a heart which is no\nlonger disposed in your favor. There is nothing left but the most\nsincere friendship.\"\n\nAstonished at the contrast between her conduct and that of her\nreverend co-depositary, and recognizing that he had no right to\ncomplain of the change in her heart because of his long absence, de\nGourville related the story of the indignity heaped upon him by a man\nof so exalted a character and reputation.\n\n\"You do not surprise me,\" said Ninon, with a winning smile, \"but you\nshould not have suspected me on that account. The prodigious\ndifference in our reputations and conditions should have taught you\nthat.\" Then adding with a twinkle in her eye: \"Ne suis-je pas la\ngardeuse de la cassette?\"\n\nNinon was afterward called \"La belle gardeuse de cassette,\" and\nVoltaire, whose vigilance no anecdote of this nature could escape, has\nmade it, with some variations, the subject of a comedy, well known to\nevery admirer of the French drama, under the name of \"La D\u00e9positaire.\"\n\nNinon had her preferences, and when one of her admirers was not to her\ntaste, neither prayers nor entreaties could move her. Hers was not a\ncase of vendible charms, it was le bon appetit merely, an Epicurean\nvirtue. The Grand Prior of Vend\u00f4me had reason to comprehend this trait\nin her character.\n\nThe worthy Grand Prior was an impetuous wooer, and he saw with great\nsorrow that Ninon preferred the Counts de Miossens and de Palluan to\nhis clerical attractions. He complained bitterly to Ninon, but instead\nof being softened by his reproaches, she listened to the voice of some\nnew rival when the Grand Prior thought his turn came next. This put\nhim in a great rage and he resolved to be revenged, and this is the\nway he fancied he could obtain it. One day shortly after he had left\nNinon's house, she noticed on her dressing table a letter, which she\nopened to find the following effusion:\n\n\"Indigne de mes feux, indigne de mes larmes,\nJe renonce sans peine \u00e0 tes faibles appas;\n  Mon amour te pr\u00eatait des charmes,\n  Ingrate, que tu n'avais pas.\"\n\nOr, as might be said substantially in English:\n\nUnworthy my flame, unworthy a tear,\nI rejoice to renounce thy feeble allure;\n  My love lent thee charms that endear,\n  Which, ingrate, thou couldst not procure.\n\nInstead of being offended, Ninon took this mark of unreasonable spite\ngood naturedly, and replied by another quatrain based upon the same\nrhyme as that of the disappointed suitor:\n\n\"Insensible \u00e0 tes feux, insensible \u00e0 tes larmes,\nJe te vois renoncer \u00e0 mes faibles appas;\n  Mais si l'amour pr\u00eate des charmes,\n  Pourquoi n'en empruntais-tu pas.\"\n\nWhich is as much as to say in English:\n\nCaring naught for thy flame, caring naught for thy tear,\nI see thee renounce my feeble allure;\n  But if love lends charms that endear,\n  By borrowing thou mightst some procure.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nEffect of Her Mother's Death\n\n\nIt is not to be wondered at that a girl under such tutelage should\nabandon herself wholly, both mind and body, to a philosophy so\ncontrary in its principles and practices to that which her mother had\nalways endeavored to instill into her young mind. The father was\nabsent fighting for Heaven alone knew which faction into which France\nwas broken up, there were so many of them, and the mother and daughter\nlived apart, the disparity in their sentiments making it impossible\nfor them to do otherwise. For this reason, Ninon was practically her\nown mistress, and not interfered with because the husband and wife\ncould not agree upon any definite course of life for her to follow.\nNinon's heart, however, had not lost any of its natural instincts, and\nshe loved her mother sincerely, a trait in her which all Paris learned\nwith astonishment when her mother was taken down with what proved to\nbe a fatal illness.\n\nMadame de l'Enclos, separated from both her husband and daughter, and\ndevoting her life to pious exercises, acquired against them the\nviolent prejudices natural in one who makes such a sacrifice upon the\naltar of sentiment. The worldly life of her daughter gave birth in her\nmind to an opinion which she deemed the natural consequence of it.\nThe love of pleasure, in her estimation, had destroyed every vestige\nof virtue in her daughter's soul and her neglect of her religious\nduties had converted her into an unnatural being.\n\nBut she was agreeably diverted from her ill opinion when her malady\napproached a dangerous stage. Ninon flew to heir mother's side as soon\nas she heard of it, and without becoming an enemy of her philosophy of\npleasure, she felt it incumbent upon her to suspend its practice.\nFriendship, liaisons, social duties, pleasure, everything ceased to\namuse her or give her any satisfaction. The nursing of her sick mother\nengaged her entire attention, and her fervor in this dutiful\noccupation astonished Madame de l'Enclos and softened her heart to the\nextent of acknowledging her error and correcting her estimate of her\ndaughter's character. She loved her daughter devotedly and was happy\nin the knowledge that she was as devotedly loved. But this was not the\nkind of happiness that could prolong her days.\n\nNotwithstanding all her philosophy, Ninon could not bear the spectacle\npresented by her dying parent. Her soul was rent with a grief which\nshe did not conceal, unashamed that philosophy was impotent to\nrestrain an exhibition of such a natural weakness. Moreover, her dying\nmother talked to her long and earnestly, and with her last breath gave\nher loving counsel that sank deep into her heart, already softened by\nan uncontrollable sorrow and weakened by long vigils.\n\nScarcely had Madame de l'Enclos closed her eyes upon the things of\nearth, than Ninon conceived the project of withdrawing from the world\nand entering a convent. The absence of her father left her absolute\nmistress of her conduct, and the few friends who reached her, despite\nher express refusal to see any one, could not persuade her to alter\nher determination. Ninon, heart broken, distracted and desolate, threw\nherself bodily into an obscure convent in the suburbs of Paris,\naccepting it, in the throes of her sorrow, as her only refuge and home\non earth.\n\nSaint-Evremond, in a letter to the Duke d'Olonne, speaks of the\nsentiment which is incentive to piety:\n\n\"There are some whom misfortunes have rendered devout through a\ncertain kind of pity for themselves, a secret piety, strong enough to\ndispose men to lead more religious lives.\"\n\nScarron, one of Ninon's closest friends, in his Epistle to Sarrazin,\nthus alludes to this conventual escapade:\n\n\"Puis j'aurais su * * *\n* * * * * * * * * *\n* * * * * * * * * *\nCe que l'on dit du bel et saint exemple\nQue la Ninon donne \u00e0 tous les mondains,\nEn se logeant avecque les nonais,\nCombien de pleurs la pauvre jouvencelle\nA r\u00e9pandus quand sa m\u00e8re, sans elle,\nCierges br\u00fblants et portant \u00e9cussons,\nPr\u00eatres chantant leurs fun\u00e8bres chanson,\nVoulut aller de linge envelopp\u00e9e\nServir aux vers d'une franche lipp\u00e9e.\"\n\nWhich, translated into reasonable English, is as much as saying:\n\nBut I might have known * * *\n* * * * * * * * * *\n* * * * * * * * * *\nWhat they say of the example, so holy, so pure,\nThat Ninon gives to worldlings all,\nBy dwelling within a nunnery's wall.\nHow many tears the poor lorn maid\nShed, when her mother, alone, unafraid,\nMid flaming tapers with coats of arms,\nPriests chanting their sad funereal alarms,\nWent down to the tomb in her winding sheet\nTo serve for the worms a mouthful sweet.\n\nBut the most poignant sorrow of the human heart is assuaged by time.\nSaint-Evremond and Marion de Lormes, Richelieu's \"belle amie,\"\nexpected to profit by the calm which they knew would not be long in\nstealing over the heart of their friend. Marion, however, despaired of\nsucceeding through her own personal influence, and enlisted the\nsympathies of Saint-Evremond, who knew Ninon's heart too well to\nimagine for a moment that the mournful, monotonous life she had\nembraced would satisfy her very long. It was something to be admitted\nto her presence and talk over matters, a privilege they were accorded\nafter some demur. The first step toward ransoming their friend was\nfollowed by others until they finally made great strides through her\nresolution. They brought her back in triumph to the world she had\nquitted through a species of \"frivolity,\" so they called it, of which\nshe was never again guilty as long as she lived.\n\nThis episode in Ninon's life is in direct contrast with one which\noccurred when the Queen Regent, Anne of Austria, listening to the\ncomplaints of her jealous maids of honor, attempted to dispose of\nNinon's future by immuring her in a convent. Ninon's celebrity\nattained such a summit, and her drawing rooms became so popular among\nthe \u00e9lite of the French nobility and desirable youth, that sad inroads\nwere made in the entourage of the Court, nothing but the culls of\nhumanity being left for the ladies who patronized the royal functions.\nIn addition to this, she excited the envy and jealousy of a certain\nclass of women, whom Ninon called \"Jansensists of love,\" because they\npracticed in public the puritanic virtues which they did not even have\ntact enough to render agreeable. It is conceivable that Ninon's\nbrilliant attractions, not to say seductive charms, and her\nunparalleled power to attract to her society the brightest and best\nmen of the nation, engendered the most violent jealousy and hatred of\nthose whose feebler charms were ignored and relegated to the\nbackground. The most bitter complaints and accusations were made\nagainst her to the Queen Regent, who was beset on all sides by loud\noutcries against the conduct of a woman whom they were powerless to\nimitate, until, to quiet their clamors, she deemed it her duty to act.\n\nAnne of Austria accordingly sent Ninon, by special messenger, a\nperemptory order to withdraw to a convent, giving her the power of\nselection. At first Anne intended to send her to the convent of\nRepentant Girls (Filles Repenties), but the celebrated Bauton, one of\nthe Oiseaux des Tournelles, who loved a good joke as well as he did\nNinon, told her that such a course would excite ridicule because Ninon\nwas neither a girl nor a repentant (ni fille, ni repentie), for which\nreason, the order was changed leaving Ninon to her own choice of a\nprison.\n\nNinon knew the source of the order, and foresaw that her numerous\ndistinguished admirers would not have any difficulty in protecting\nher, and persuading the Queen Regent to rescind her order, and\ntherefore gave herself no concern, receiving the order as a\npleasantry.\n\n\"I am deeply sensible of the goodness of the court in providing for my\nwelfare and in permitting me to select my place of retreat, and\nwithout hesitation, I decide in favor of the Grands Cordeliers.\"\n\nNow it so happened that the Grands Cordeliers was a monastery\nexclusively for men, and from which women were rigidly excluded.\nMoreover, the morals of the holy brotherhood was not of the best, as\nthe writers of their history during that period unanimously testify.\nM. de Guitaut, the captain of the Queen's guard, who had been\nintrusted with the message, happened to be one of the \"Birds,\" and he\nassured the Regent that it was nothing but a little pleasantry on the\npart of Ninon, who merited a thousand marks of approval and\ncommendation for her sterling and brilliant qualities of mind and\nheart rather than punishment or even censure.\n\nThe only comment made by the Queen Regent was: \"Fie, the nasty\nthing!\" accompanied by a fit of laughter. Others of the \"Birds\" came\nto the rescue, among them the Duc d'Enghien, who was known not to\nvalue his esteem for women lightly. The matter was finally dropped,\nAnne of Austria finding means to close the mouths of the envious.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nHer Increasing Popularity\n\n\nNinon's return to the gayeties of her drawing rooms was hailed with\nloud acclamations from all quarters. The envy and jealousy of her\nfemale enemies, the attempt to immure her in a convent, and her\nselection of the Grands Cordeliers as her place of retreat, brought\nher new friends and admirers through the notoriety given her, and all\nParis resounded with the fame of her spirit, her wit, and her\nphilosophy.\n\nLadies of high rank sought admission into her charming circle, many of\nthem, it is to be imagined, because they possessed exaggerated ideas\nof her influence at court. Had she not braved the Queen Regent with\nimpunity? Her drawing rooms soon became the center of attraction and\nwere nightly crowded with the better part of the brilliant society of\nParis. Ninon was the acknowledged guide and leader, and all submitted\nto her sway without the slightest envy or jealousy, and it may also be\nsaid, without the slightest compunctions or remorse of conscience.\n\nThe affair with the Queen Regent had one good effect, it separated the\ndesirable from the undesirable in the social scale, compelling the\nlatter to set up an establishment of their own as a counter\nattraction, and as their only hope of having any society at all. They\nestablished a \"little court\" at the H\u00f4tel Rambouillet, where\nfoppishness was a badge of distinction, and where a few narrow minded,\nstarched moralists, poisoned metaphysics and turned the sentiments of\nthe heart into a burlesque by their affectation and their unrefined,\neven vulgar attempts at gallantry. They culled choice expressions and\nepigrams from the literature of the day, employing their memories to\nconceal their paucity of original wit, and practised upon their\nimaginations to obtain a salacious philosophy, which consisted of\nsodden ideas, flat in their expression, stale and unattractive in\ntheir adaptation.\n\nNinon's coterie was the very opposite, consisting as it did of the\nvery flower of the nobility and the choicest spirits of the age, who\nbanished dry and sterile erudition, and sparkled with the liveliest\nwit and polite accomplishments. There were some who eluded the\nvigilance of Ninon's shrewd scrutiny, and made their way into her\ninner circle, but they were soon forced to abandon their pretensions\nby their inability to maintain any standing among a class of men who\nwere so far beyond them in rank and attainments.\n\nNot long after her return to the pleasures of society, after the\nconvent episode, Ninon was called upon to mourn the demise of her\nfather. M. de l'Enclos was one of the fortunate men of the times who\nescaped the dangers attendant upon being on the wrong side in\npolitics. For some inscrutable reason, he took sides with Cardinal de\nRetz, and on that account was practically banished from Paris and\ncompelled to be satisfied with the rough annoyances of camp life\ninstead of being able to put in practice the pleasant precepts of his\nphilosophy. He was finally permitted to return to Paris with his head\nsafe upon his shoulders, and flattered himself with the idea that he\ncould now make up for lost time, promising himself to enjoy to the\nfull the advantages offered by his daughter's establishment. He\nembraced his daughter with the liveliest pleasure imaginable, taking\nupon himself all the credit for her great reputation as due to his\nefforts and to his philosophical training. He was flattered at the\nsuccess of his lessons and entered upon a life of joyous pleasure with\nas much zest as though in the bloom of his youth. It proved too much\nfor a constitution weakened by the fatigues of years of arduous\nmilitary campaigns and he succumbed, the flesh overpowered by the\nspirit, and took to his bed, where he soon reached a condition that\nleft his friends no hope of his recuperation.\n\nAware that the end was approaching, he sent for his daughter, who\nhastened to his side and shed torrents of tears. But he bade her\nremember the lessons she had learned from his philosophy, and wishing\nto give her one more lesson, said in an almost expiring voice:\n\n\"Approach nearer, Ninon; you see nothing left me but a sad memory of\nthe pleasures that are leaving me. Their possession was not of long\nduration, and that is the only complaint I have to make against\nnature. But, alas! my regrets are vain. You who must survive me,\nutilize precious time, and have no scruples about the quantity of your\npleasures, but only of their quality.\"\n\nSaying which, he immediately expired. The philosophical security\nexhibited by her father in his very last moments, inspired Ninon with\nthe same calmness of spirit, and she bore his loss with equanimity,\ndisdaining to exhibit any immoderate grief lest she dishonor his\nmemory and render herself an unworthy daughter and pupil.\n\nThe fortune left her by her father was not so considerable as Ninon\nhad expected. It had been very much diminished by extravagance and\nspeculation, but as she had in mind de la Rochefoucauld's maxim:\n\"There are some good marriages, but no delicious ones,\" and did not\ncontemplate ever wearing the chains of matrimony, she deposited her\nfortune in the sinking funds, reserving an income of about eight\nthousand livres per annum as sufficient to maintain her beyond the\nreach of want. From this time on she abandoned herself to a life of\npleasure, well regulated, it must be confessed, and in strict\naccordance with her Epicurean ideas. Her light heartedness increased\nwith her love and devotion to pleasure, which is not astonishing, as\nthere are privileged souls who do not lose their tender emotions by\nsuch a pursuit, though those souls are rare. Ninon's unrestrained\nfreedom, and the privilege she claimed to enjoy all the rights which\nmen assumed, did not give her the slightest uneasiness. It was her\nlovers who became anxious unless they regulated their love according\nto the rules she established for them to follow, rules which it can\nnot be denied, were held in as much esteem then as nowadays. The\nfollowing anecdote will serve as an illustration:\n\nThe Marquis de la Ch\u00e2tre had been one of her lovers for an\nunconscionably long period, but never seemed to cool in his fidelity.\nDuty, however, called him away from Ninon's arms, but he was\ndistressed with the thought that his absence would be to his\ndisadvantage. He was afraid to leave her lest some rival should appear\nupon the scene and dispossess him in her affections. Ninon vainly\nendeavored to remove his suspicions.\n\n\"No, cruel one,\" he said, \"you will forget and betray me. I know your\nheart, it alarms me, crushes me. It is still faithful to my love, I\nknow, and I believe you are not deceiving me at this moment. But that\nis because I am with you and can personally talk of my love. Who will\nrecall it to you when I am gone? The love you inspire in others,\nNinon, is very different from the love you feel. You will always be in\nmy heart, and absence will be to me a new fire to consume me; but to\nyou, absence is the end of affection. Every object I shall imagine I\nsee around you will be odious to me, but to you they will be\ninteresting.\"\n\nNinon could not deny that there was truth in the Marquis' logic, but\nshe was too tender to assassinate his heart which she knew to be so\nloving. Being a woman she understood perfectly the art of\ndissimulation, which is a necessary accomplishment, a thousand\ncircumstances requiring its exercise for the sake of her security,\npeace, and comfort. Moreover, she did not at the moment dream of\ndeceiving him; there was no present occasion, nobody else she had in\nmind. Ninon thought rapidly, but could not find any reason for\nbetraying him, and therefore assured him of her fidelity and\nconstancy.\n\nNevertheless, the amorous Marquis, who might have relied upon the\nsolemn promise of his mistress, had it not been for the intense fears\nwhich were ever present in his mind, and becoming more violent as the\nhour for his departure drew nearer, required something more\nsubstantial than words. But what could he exact? Ah! an idea, a novel\nexpedient occurred to his mind, one which he imagined would restrain\nthe most obstinate inconstancy.\n\n\"Listen, Ninon, you are without contradiction a remarkable woman. If\nyou once do a thing you will stand to it. What will tend to quiet my\nmind and remove my fears, ought to be your duty to accept, because my\nhappiness is involved and that is more to you than love; it is your\nown philosophy, Ninon. Now, I wish you to put in writing that you will\nremain faithful to me, and maintain the most inviolable fidelity. I\nwill dictate it in the strongest form and in the most sacred terms\nknown to human promises. I will not leave you until I have obtained\nsuch a pledge of your constancy, which is necessary to relieve my\nanxiety, and essential to my repose.\"\n\nNinon vainly argued that this would be something too strange and\nnovel, foolish, in fact, the Marquis was obstinate and finally\novercame her remonstrances. She wrote and signed a written pledge\nsuch as no woman had ever executed, and fortified with this pledge,\nthe Marquis hastened to respond to the call of duty.\n\nTwo days had scarcely elapsed before Ninon was besieged by one of the\nmost dangerous men of her acquaintance. Skilled in the art of love, he\nhad often pressed his suit, but Ninon had other engagements and would\nnot listen to him. But now, his rival being out of the field, he\nresumed his entreaties and increased his ardor. He was a man to\ninspire love, but Ninon resisted, though his pleading touched her\nheart. Her eyes at last betrayed her love and she was vanquished\nbefore she realized the outcome of the struggle.\n\nWhat was the astonishment of the conqueror, who was enjoying the\nfruits of his victory, to hear Ninon exclaim in a breathless voice,\nrepeating it three times: \"Ah! Ah! le bon billet qu'a la Ch\u00e2tre!\" (Oh,\nthe fine bond that la Ch\u00e2tre has.)\n\nPressed for an explanation of the enigma, Ninon told him the whole\nstory, which was too good to keep secret, and soon the \"billet de la\nCh\u00e2tre\" became, in the mouth of everybody, a saying applied to things\nupon which it is not wise to rely. Voltaire, to preserve so charming\nan incident, has embalmed it in his comedy of la Prude, act I, scene\nIII. Ninon merely followed the rule established by Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9:\n\"Les femmes ont permission d'\u00eatre faibles, et elles se servent sans\nscrupule de ce privil\u00e8ge.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nNinon's Friendships\n\n\nMademoiselle de l'Enclos never forgot a friend in a lover, indeed, the\ntrait that stands out clear and strong in her character, is her whole\nhearted friendship for the men she loved, and she bestowed it upon\nthem as long as they lived, for she outlived nearly all of them, and\ncherished their memories afterward. As has been said, Ninon de\nl'Enclos was Epicurean in the strictest sense, and did not rest her\nentire happiness on love alone, but included a friendship which went\nto the extent of making sacrifices. The men with whom she came in\ncontact from time to time during her long life, were nothing to her\nfrom a pecuniary point of view, for she possessed an income\nsufficiently large to satisfy her wants and to maintain the social\nestablishment she never neglected.\n\nThere was never, either directly or indirectly, any money\nconsideration asked or expected in payment of her favors, and the man\nwho would have dared offer her money as a consideration for anything,\nwould have met with scorn and contempt and been expelled from her\nhouse and society without ever being permitted to regain either. The\nnatural wants of her heart and mind, and what she was pleased to call\nthe natural gratifications of physical wants, were her mentors, and to\nthem she listened, never dreaming of holding them at a pecuniary\nvalue.\n\nOne of her dearest friends was Scarron, once the husband of Madame de\nMaintenon, the pious leader of a debased court and the saintly\nmistress of the king of France. In his younger days, Scarron\ncontributed largely to the pleasures of the Oiseaux des Tournelles,\nthe ecclesiastical collar he then wore not being sufficient to prevent\nhis enjoying worldly pleasures.\n\nIn the course of time Scarron fell ill, and was reduced to a dreadful\ncondition, no one coming to his succor but Ninon. Like a tender,\ncompassionate friend, she sympathized deeply with him, when he was\ncarried to the suburb Saint Germain to try the effects of the baths as\nan alleviation of his pains. Scarron did not complain, on the\ncontrary, he was cheerful and always gay even when suffering tortures.\nThere was little left of him, however, but an indomitable spirit\nburning in a crushed tenement of mortal clay. Not being able to come\nto her, Ninon went to him, and passed entire days at his side. Not\nonly that, she brought her friends with her and established a small\ncourt around his bed, thus cheering him in his pain and doing him a\nworld of good, which finally enabled his spirit to triumph over his\nmortal shell.\n\nInstances might be multiplied, enough to fill a volume, of her\ndevotion to her friends, whom she never abandoned and whom she was\nalways ready with purse and counsel to aid in their difficulties. A\ncurious instance is that of Nicolas Vauquelin, sieur de Desyvetaux,\nwhom she missed from her circle for several days. Aware that he had\nbeen having some family troubles, and that his fortune was menaced,\nshe became alarmed, thinking that perhaps some misfortune had come\nupon him, for which reason she resolved to seek him and help him out\nof his difficulties. But Ninon was mistaken in supposing that so wise\nand gay an Epicurean could be crushed by any sorrow or trouble.\nDesyvetaux was enjoying himself in so singular a fashion that it is\nworth telling.\n\nThis illustrious Epicurean, finding one night a young girl in a\nfainting condition at his door, brought her into his house to succor\nher, moved by an impulse of humanity. But as soon as she had recovered\nher senses, the philosopher's heart was touched by her beauty. To\nplease her benefactor the girl played several selections on a harp and\naccompanied the instrument with a charming and seductive voice.\n\nDesyvetaux, who was a passionate admirer of music, was captivated by\nthis accomplishment, and suddenly conceived the desire to spend the\nrest of his days in the company of this charming singer. It was not\ndifficult for a girl who had been making it her business to frequent\nthe wineshops of the suburbs with a brother, earning a precarious\nliving by singing and playing on the harp, to accept such a\nproposition, and consent to bestow happiness upon an excessively\namorous man, who offered to share with her a luxurious and tranquil\nlife in one of the finest residences in the suburb Saint Germain.\n\nAlthough most of his life had been passed at court as the governor of\nM. de Vend\u00f4me, and tutor of Louis XIII, he had always desired to lead\na life of peace and quiet in retirement. The pleasures of a sylvan\nlife which he had so often described in his lectures, ended by leading\nhis mind in that direction. The young girl he found on his doorstep\nhad offered him his first opportunity to have a Phyllis to his Corydon\nand he eagerly embraced it. Both yielded to the fancy, she dressed in\nthe garb of a shepherdess, he playing the r\u00f4le of Corydon at the age\nof seventy years.\n\nSometimes stretched out on a carpet of verdure, he listened to the\nenchanting music she drew from her instrument, or drank in the sweet\nvoice of his shepherdess singing melodious pastorals. A flock of\nbirds, charmed with this harmony, left their cages to caress with\ntheir wings, Dupuis' harp, or intoxicated with joy, fluttered down\ninto her bosom. This little gallantry in which they had been trained\nwas a delicious spectacle to the shepherd philosopher and intoxicated\nhis senses. He fancied he was guiding with his mistress innumerable\nbands of intermingled sheep; their conversation was in tender eclogues\ncomposed by them both extemporaneously, the attractive surroundings\ninspiring them with poetry.\n\nNinon was amazed when she found her \"bon homme,\" as she called him, in\nthe startlingly original disguise of a shepherd, a crook in his hand,\na wallet hanging by his side, and a great flapping straw hat, trimmed\nwith rose colored silk on his head. Her first impression was that he\nhad taken leave of his senses, and she was on the point of shedding\ntears over the wreck of a once brilliant mind, when Desyvetaux,\nsuspending his antics long enough to look about him, perceived her and\nrushed to her side with the liveliest expressions of joy. He removed\nher suspicions of his sanity by explaining his metamorphosis in a\nphilosophical fashion:\n\n\"You know, my dear Ninon, there are certain tastes and pleasures which\nfind their justification in a certain philosophy when they bear all\nthe marks of moral innocence. Nothing can be said against them but\ntheir singularity. There are no amusements less dangerous than those\nwhich do not resemble those generally indulged in by the multitude.\"\n\nNinon was pleased with the amiable companion of her old friend. Her\nfigure, her mental attainments, and her talents enchanted her, and\nDesyvetaux, who appeared in a ridiculous light when she first saw him\nin his masquerade, now seemed to her to be on the road to happiness.\nShe made no attempt to persuade him to return to his former mode of\nlife, which she could not avoid at this moment, however, as\nconsidering more agreeable than the new one he had adopted. But what\ncould she offer in the way of superior seductive pleasures to a pair\nwho had tasted pure and natural enjoyments? The vain amusements and\nallurements of the world have no sympathy with anything but\ndissipation, in which, the mind, yielding to the fleeting seductions\nof art, leaves the heart empty as soon as the illusion disappears.\n\nThe strange conduct of Desyvetaux gave birth to numerous reflections\nof this nature in Ninon's mind, but she did not cease to be his\nfriend, on the contrary, she entered into the spirit of his simple\nlife and visited him from time to time to enjoy the spectacle of such\na tender masquerade which Desyvetaux continued up to the time of his\ndeath. It gave Mademoiselle Dupuis nearly as much celebrity as her\nlover attained, for when the end came, she obeyed his desire to play a\nfavorite dance on her harp, to enable his soul to take flight in the\nmidst of its delicious harmony. It should be mentioned, that\nDesyvetaux wore in his hat as long as he lived, a yellow ribbon, \"out\nof love for the gentle Ninon who gave it to me.\"\n\nSocrates advises persons of means to imitate the swans, which,\nrealizing the benefit of an approaching death, sing while in their\ndeath agony. The Abb\u00e9 Brant\u00f4me relates an interesting story of the\ndeath of Mademoiselle de Lineul, the elder, one of the queen's\ndaughters, which resembles that of Desyvetaux.\n\n\"When the hour of her death had arrived,\" says Brant\u00f4me, \"Mademoiselle\nsent for her valet, Julian, who could play the violin to perfection.\n'Julian,' quoth she, 'take your violin and play on it until you see me\ndead--for I am going--the Defeat of the Swiss, and play it as well as\nyou know how; and when you shall reach the words \"tout est perdu,\"\nplay it over four or five times as piteously as you can:' which the\nother did. And when he came to 'tout est perdu' she sang it over\ntwice; then turning to the other side of the couch, she said to those\nwho stood around: 'Tout est perdu \u00e0 ce coup et \u00e0 bon escient;' all is\nlost this time, sure.'\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nSome of Ninon's Lovers\n\n\nNotwithstanding her love of pleasure, and her admiration for the\nsociety of men, Ninon was never vulgar or common in the distribution\nof her favors, but selected those upon whom she decided to bestow\nthem, with the greatest care and discrimination. As has been already\nsaid, she discovered in early life, that women were at a discount, and\nshe resolved to pursue the methods of men in the acceptance or\nrejection of friendship, and in distributing her favors and\ninfluences. As she herself declared:\n\n\"I soon saw that women were put off with the most frivolous and unreal\nprivileges, while every solid advantage was retained by the stronger\nsex. From that moment I determined on abandoning my own sex and\nassuming that of the men.\"\n\nSo well did she carry out this determination that she was regarded by\nher masculine intimates as one of themselves, and whatever pleasures\nthey enjoyed in her society, were enjoyed upon the same principle as\nthey would have delighted in a good dinner, an agreeable theatrical\nperformance, or exquisite music.\n\nTo her and to all her associates, love was a taste emanating from the\nsenses, a blind sentiment which assumes no merit in the object which\ngives it birth, as is the case of hunger, thirst, and the like. In a\nword, it was merely a caprice the domination of which depends upon\nourselves, and is subject to the discomforts and regrets attendant\nupon repletion or indulgence.\n\nAfter her first experience with de Coligny, which was an abandonment\nof her cold philosophy for a passionate attachment she thought would\nendure forever, Ninon cast aside all that element in love which is\nconnected with passion and extravagant sentiment, and adhered to her\nphilosophical understanding of it, and kept it in its proper place in\nthe category of natural appetites. To illustrate her freedom from\npassionate attachments in the distribution of her favors, the case of\nher friend Scarron will give an insight into her philosophy. Scarron\nhad received numerous favors from her, and being one of her select\n\"Birds,\" who had always agreed with la Rochefoucauld that, \"There are\nmany good marriages but none that are delicious,\" she assumed that her\nfriend would never entangle himself in the bonds of matrimony. But he\ndid and to his sorrow.\n\nWhen Ninon had returned to Paris after a long sojourn with the Marquis\nde Villarceaux, she found to her astonishment that Scarron had married\nthe amiable but ignoble Mademoiselle d'Aubigne. This young lady was in\na situation which precluded all hope of her ever attaining social\neminence, but aspiring to rise, notwithstanding her common origin, she\nmarried Scarron as the first step upon the social ladder. Without\nrealizing that this woman was to become the celebrated Madame de\nMaintenon, mistress of the king and the real power behind the throne,\nNinon took her in charge and they soon became the closest and most\naffectionate friends, always together even occupying the same bed.\nNinon's tender friendship for the husband continued in spite of his\ngrave violation of the principles of his accepted philosophy, and when\nhe was deserted, sick and helpless, she went to him and brought him\ncheer and comfort.\n\nNinon was so little imbued with jealousy that when she discovered a\nliaison between her own lover, Marquis de Villarceaux and her friend,\nMadame Scarron, she was not even angry. The two were carrying on their\namour in secret, and as they supposed without Ninon's knowledge, whose\npresence, indeed, they deemed a restraint upon their freedom of\naction. The Marquis considered himself a traitor to Ninon, and Madame\nScarron stood in fear of her reproaches for her betrayal. But Ninon,\ninstead of taking either of them to task, as she would have been\njustified in doing, gently remonstrated with them for their secrecy,\nand by her kindness reassured both of them and relieved them from\ntheir embarrassment, making them understand that she desired nothing\nso much as their happiness. Both the Marquis and his mistress made\nNinon their confidante, and thereafter lived in perfect amity until\nthe lovers grew tired of each other, Madame Scarron aiming higher than\nan ordinary Marquis, now that she saw her way clear to mounting the\nsocial ladder.\n\nIt was perhaps due to Ninon's kindness in the Villarceaux episode,\nthat enabled her to retain the friendship of Madame de Maintenon when\nthe latter had reached the steps of the throne. The mistress of\nroyalty endeavored to persuade Ninon to appear at court but there was\ntoo great a difference in temper and constitution between the two\ncelebrated women to admit of any close relations. Ninon made use of\nthe passion of love for the purpose of pleasure only, while her more\nexalted rival made it subservient to her ambitious projects, and did\nnot hesitate with that view to cloak her licentious habits beneath the\nmantle of religion, and add hypocrisy to frailty. The income of Ninon\nde l'Enclos was agreeably and judiciously spent in the society of men\nof wit and letters, but the revenues of the Marchioness de Maintenon\nwere squandered on the useless decoration of her own person, or\nhoarded for the purpose of elevating into rank and notice an\ninsignificant family, who had no other claim to such distinction than\nthat derived from the easy honesty of a female relation, and the\ndissolute extravagance of a vain and licentious sovereign.\n\nWhile Ninon de l'Enclos was receiving and encouraging the attentions\nof the most distinguished men of her time, literati, nobles, warriors,\nstatesmen, and sages, in her house in the Rue des Tournelles, the\nmistress of the sovereign, the dear friend who had betrayed her to the\nMarquis de Villarceaux, was swallowing, at Versailles, the adulations\nof degraded courtiers of every rank and profession. There were met\ntogether there the vain and the ambitious, the designing and the\nfoolish, the humblest and the proudest of those who, whether proud or\nhumble, or ambitious, or vain, or crafty, were alike the devoted\nservants of the monarch or the monarch's mistress--princes, cardinals,\nbishops, dukes and every kind of nobility, excisemen and priests,\nkeepers of the royal conscience and necessary--all ministers of filth,\neach in his degree, from the secretaries of state to the lowest\nunderlings in office--clerks of the ordnance, victualing, stamps,\ncustoms, colonies, and postoffice, farmers and receivers general,\njudges and cooks, confessors and every other caterer to the royal\nappetite. This was the order of things that Ninon de l'Enclos was\ncontending against, and that she succeeded by methods that must be\nconsidered saintly compared with the others, stands recorded in the\npages of history.\n\nAfter Ninon had suffered from the indiscretion of the lover who made\npublic the story of the famous pledge given la Ch\u00e2tre, she lost her\nfancy for the recreant, and though friendly, refused any closer tie.\nHe knew that he had done Ninon an injury and begged to be reinstated\nin her favor. He was of charming manners and fascinating in his\npleading, but he made no impression on her heart. She agreed to pardon\nhim for his folly and declined to consider the matter further. Nor\nwould she return to the conversation, although he persisted in\nreferring to the matter as one he deeply regretted. When he was\ndeparting after Ninon had assured him of her pardon, she ran after him\nand called out as he was descending the stairs: \"At least, Marquis,\nwe have not been reconciled.\"\n\nHer good qualities were embalmed in the literature of the day, very\nfew venturing to lampoon her. Those who did so were greeted with so\nmuch derisive laughter that they were ashamed to appear in society\nuntil the storm had blown over.\n\nM. de Tourielle, a member of the French Academy, and a very learned\nman, became enamored of her and his love-making assumed a curious\nphase. To show her that he was worthy of her consideration, he deemed\nit incumbent upon him to read her long dissertations on scientific\nsubjects, and bored her incessantly with a translation of the orations\nof Demosthenes, which he intended dedicating to her in an elaborate\npreface. This was more than Ninon could bear with equanimity--a lover\nwith so much erudition, and his prosy essays, appealed more to her\nsense of humor than to her sentiments of love, and he was laughed out\nof her social circle. This angered the Academician and he thought to\nrevenge himself by means of an epigram in which he charged Ninon with\nadmiring figures of rhetoric more than a sensible academic discourse\nfull of Greek and Latin quotations. It would have proved the ruin of\nthe poor man had Ninon not come to his rescue, and explained to him\nthe difference between learning and love. After which he became\nsensible and wrote some very good books.\n\nIt should be understood that Ninon had no secrets in which her merry\nand wise \"Birds\" did not share. She confided to them all her love\naffairs, gave them the names of her suitors, in fact, every wooer was\nturned over to this critical, select society, as a committee of\ninvestigation into quality and merit both of mind and body. In this\nway she was protected from the unworthy, and when she made a\nselection, they respected her freedom of choice, carefully guarding\nher lover and making him one of themselves after the fitful fever was\nover. They were all graduates in her school, good fellows, and had\naccepted Ninon's philosophy without question.\n\nHer lovers were always men of rank and station or of high talents, but\nshe was caught once by the dazzle of a famous dancer named P\u00e9cour, who\npleased her exceedingly, and who became the fortunate rival of the Duc\nde Choiseul, afterward a marshal of France. It happened that Choiseul\nwas more remarkable for his valor than for his probity and solid\nvirtues, and could not inspire in Ninon's heart anything but the\nsterile sentiments of esteem and respect. He was certainly worthy of\nthese, but he was too cold in his amorous desires to please Ninon.\n\n\"He is a very worthy gentleman,\" said she, \"but he never gives me a\nchance to love him.\"\n\nThe frequent visits of P\u00e9cour excited the jealousy of the warrior, but\nhe did not dare complain, not knowing whether things had reached a\nclimax and fearing that if he should mention the matter he might help\nthem along instead of stopping them. One day, however, he attempted to\ngoad his unworthy rival into some admission, and received a response\nthat was enough to settle his doubts.\n\nP\u00e9cour was in the habit of wearing a costume much resembling that of\nthe military dandies of the period. Choiseul meeting him in this\nequivocal garb, proceeded to be funny at his expense by putting to him\nall sorts of ironical and embarrassing questions. But P\u00e9cour felt all\nthe vanity of a successful rival and was good natured. Then the Duke\nbegan to make sneering remarks which roused the dancer's anger.\n\n\"Pray, what flag are you fighting under, and what body do you\ncommand?\" asked Monseigneur with a sarcastic smile.\n\nQuick as a flash came the answer which gave the Duke an inkling into\nthe situation.\n\n\"Je commande un corps o\u00f9 vous servez depuis longtemps,\" replied\nP\u00e9cour.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nNinon's Lovers--Continued\n\n\nA counter attraction has been referred to in speaking of the H\u00f4tel\nRambouillet, where a fashionable court was established for the purpose\nof drawing away from Ninon the elite who flocked to her standard.\nMademoiselle de Scudery gives a fine description of this little court\nat Rambouillet in her romance, entitled \"Cyrus.\" There was not and\ncould not be any rivalry between the court in the Rue des Tournelles\nand that at Rambouillet, for the reason that Ninon's coterie consisted\nof men exclusively, while that of Rambouillet was thronged with women.\nBut this, quite naturally, occasioned much envy and jealousy among the\nladies who devised all sorts of entertainments to attract masculine\nsociety. One of their performances was the famous \"Julia Garland,\" so\nnamed in honor of Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, who was known by the\nname of \"Julie d'Angennes.\" Each one selected a favorite flower, wrote\na sonnet in its praise, and when all were ready, they stood around\nMademoiselle de Rambouillet in a circle and alternately recited the\npoem, the reward for the best one being the favor of some fair lady.\nAmong those who were drawn to the H\u00f4tel Rambouillet by this pleasing\nentertainment was the Duke d'Enghien, afterward known as the \"Great\nCond\u00e9,\" a prince of the highest renown as a victorious warrior. He\nwas a great acquisition, and the Garland Play was repeated every night\nin the expectation that his pleasure would continue, and the constant\nattraction prove adequate to hold him. Once or twice, however, was\nsufficient for the Duke, its constant repetition becoming flat and\ntiresome. He did not scruple to express his dissatisfaction with a\nsociety that could not originate something new. He was a broad minded\nman, with a comprehensive knowledge, but had little taste for poetry\nand childish entertainments. But the good ladies of Rambouillet,\nunable to devise any other entertainment, persisted in their Garland\nPlay, until the Duke's human nature rebelled at the monotony, and he\nbegged his friends de Moissens and Saint-Evremond to suggest some\nrelief. They immediately brought him in touch with the Birds of the\nTournelles, with the result that he abandoned the H\u00f4tel Rambouillet\nand found scope for his social desires at Ninon's house and in her\nmore attractive society. The conquest of his heart followed that of\nhis intelligence, the hero of Rocroi being unable to resist a\ntenderness which is the glory of a lover and the happiness of his\nmistress.\n\nIt is a curious fact, known to some, that all the heroes of Bellona\nare not expert in the wars of Venus, the strongest and most valiant\nsouls being weak in combats in which valor plays an unimportant part.\nThe poet Chaulieu says upon this point:\n\n\"Pour avoir la valeur d'Hercule,\nOn n'est pas oblig\u00e9 d'en avoir la vigueur.\"\n\n(To have the valor of Hercules, one need not have his vigor.)\n\nThe young Prince was born to attain immortal glory on the field of\nMars. To that all his training had tended, but notwithstanding his\nrobust physique, and the indicia of great strength with which nature\nhad endowed him, he was a weakling in the field of Venus. He came\nwithin the category of a Latin proverb with which Ninon was familiar:\n\"Pilosus aut fortis, aut libidinosus.\" (A hairy man is either strong\nor sensual.) Wherefore, one day when Ninon was enjoying his society,\nshe looked at him narrowly and exclaimed: \"Ah, Monseigneur, il faut\nque vous soyez bien fort!\" (Ah, Monseigneur, you must be very strong.)\n\nNotwithstanding this, the two dwelt together for a long time in\nperfect harmony, the intellectual benefit the Duke derived from the\nclose intimacy being no less than the pleasure he derived from her\naffection. Naturally inclined to deserve the merit and esteem as well\nas the love of her admirers, Ninon used all the influence she\npossessed to regulate their lives and to inspire them with the true\ndesire to perform faithfully the duties of their rank and station.\nWhat power over her intimates does not possess a charming woman\ndisembarrassed of conventional prudery, but vested with grace, high\nsentiments, and mental attainments! It was through the gentle exercise\nof this power that the famous Aspasia graved in the soul of Pericles\nthe seductive art of eloquent language, and taught him the most solid\nmaxims of politics, maxims of which he made so noble a use.\n\nThe young Duke, penetrated with love and esteem for Ninon, passed at\nher side every moment he could steal away from the profound studies\nand occupations required by his rank and position. Although he\nafterward became the Prince de Cond\u00e9, the Lion of his time, and the\nbulwark of France, he never ceased expressing for her the liveliest\ngratitude and friendship. Whenever he met her equipage in the streets\nof Paris, he never failed to descend from his own and go to pay her\nthe most affectionate compliments.\n\nThe Prince de Marsillac, afterward the Duke de la Rochefoucauld, less\nphilosophical then than later in life, and who prided himself on his\nacquaintance with all the vices and follies of youth, could not long\nwithhold his admiration for the solid and estimable qualities he\nperceived in Ninon, whom he often saw in the company of the Duke\nd'Enghein. The result of his admiration was that he formed a tender\nattachment which lasted as long as he lived. It was Ninon who\ncontinued the good work begun by Madame de La Fayette, who confessed\nthat her social relations with la Rochefoucauld had been the means of\nembellishing her mind, and that in compensation for this great service\nshe had reformed his heart. Whatever share Madame de La Fayette may\nhave had in reforming the heart of this great man, it is certain that\nNinon de l'Enclos had much to do with reforming his morals and\nelevating his mind up to the point it is evident he reached, to judge\nfrom his \"Maxims,\" in which the human heart is bared as with a scalpel\nin the most skilfully devised epigrams that never cease to hold the\ninterest of every reader.\n\nChapelle, the most celebrated voluptuary in Paris, did everything in\nhis power to overcome Ninon's repugnance, but without success. There\nwas nothing lacking in his mental attainments, for he was a poet of\nvery high order, inimitable in his style; moreover, he was presentable\nin his person. Yet he could not make the slightest impression on\nNinon's heart. He openly declared his love, and, receiving constant\nrebuffs, resolved to have revenge and overcome her resistance by\npunishing her. This he attempted to do in a very singular manner\nwithout regard to consistency.\n\nAll Paris knew his verses in which he did not conceal his ardent love\nfor Ninon, and in which were expressed the highest admiration for her\nestimable qualities and the depth of her philosophy. He now proceeded\nto take back everything good he had said about her and made fun of her\nlove, her friendship, and her attainments. He ridiculed her in every\npossible manner, even charging up against her beauty, her age. A verse\nor so will enable the reader to understand his methods:\n\n\"Il ne faut pas qu'on s'\u00e9tonne,\nSi souvent elle raisonne\nDe la sublime vertu\nDont Platon fut rev\u00eatu:\nCar \u00e0 bien compter son \u00e2ge,\nElle peut avoir v\u00e9cu\nAvec ce grand personnage.\"\n\nOr, substantially in the English language:\n\nLet no one be surprised,\nIf she should be advised\nOf the virtue most renowned\nIn Plato to be found:\nFor, counting up her age,\nShe lived, 'tis reason sound,\nWith that great personage.\n\nNinon had no rancor in her heart toward any one, much less against an\nunsuccessful suitor, hence she only laughed at Chapelle's effusions\nand all Paris laughed with her. The truth is, la Rochefoucauld had\nimpressed her mind with that famous saying of his: \"Old age is the\nhell of women,\" and not fearing any hell, reference to her age neither\nalarmed her, nor caused the slightest flurry in her peaceful life. She\nwas too philosophical to regret the loss of what she did not esteem of\nany value, and saw Chapelle slipping away from her with tranquillity\nof mind. It was only during moments of gayety when she abandoned\nherself to the play of an imagination always laughing and fertile,\nthat she repeated the sacrilegious wish of the pious king of Aragon,\nwho wished that he had been present at the moment of creation, when,\namong the suggestions he could have given Providence, he would have\nadvised him to put the wrinkles of old age where the gods of Pagandom\nhad located the feeble spot in Achilles.\n\nIf Ninon ever felt a pang on account of the ungenerous conduct of\nChapelle, his disciple, the illustrious Abb\u00e9 de Chaulieu, the Anacreon\nof the age, who was called, when he made his entr\u00e9e into the world of\nletters \"the poet of good fellowship,\" more than compensated her for\nthe injury done by his pastor. The Abb\u00e9 was the Prior of Fontenay,\nwhither Ninon frequently accompanied Madame the Duchess de Bouillon\nand the Chevalier d'Orl\u00e9ans. The Duchess loved to joke at the expense\nof the Abb\u00e9, and twit him about his wasted talents, which were more\nadapted to love than to his present situation. It may be that the\nworthy Abb\u00e9, after thinking over seriously what was intended to be a\nmere pleasantry, concluded that Madame the Duchess was right, and that\nhe possessed some talent in the direction of love. However that might,\nhave been, it is certain that he had cast an observant and critical\neye on Ninon, and he now openly paid her court, not unsuccessfully it\nshould be known.\n\nThe Abb\u00e9 Gedoyn was her last lover so far as there is any account of\nher amours. The story is related by Remond, surnamed \"The Greek,\" and\nmust be taken with a grain of salt as Ninon was at that time\nseventy-nine years of age. This Remond, notwithstanding her age, had\nmade violent love to Ninon without meeting with any success. Perhaps\nhe was trying an experiment, being a learned man, anxious to ascertain\nwhen the fire of passion became extinct in the human breast. Ninon\nevidently suspected his ardent professions for she refused to listen\nto him and forbade his visits altogether.\n\n\"I was the dupe of his Greek erudition,\" she explained, \"so I banished\nhim from my school. He was always wrong in his philosophy of the\nworld, and was unworthy of as sensible a society as mine.\" She often\nadded to this: \"After God had made man, he repented him; I feel the\nsame about R\u00e9mond.\"\n\nBut to return to the Abb\u00e9 Gedoyn: he left the Jesuits with the Abb\u00e9\nFraguier in 1694, that is to say, when Mademoiselle de l'Enclos was\nseventy-eight years of age. Both of them immediately made the\nacquaintance of Ninon and Madame de la Sali\u00e8re, and, astonished at the\nprofound merit they discovered, deemed it to their advantage to\nfrequent their society for the purpose of adding to their talents\nsomething which the study of the cloister and experience in the king's\ncabinet itself had never offered them. Abb\u00e9 Gedoyn became particularly\nattached to Mademoiselle de l'Enclos, whose good taste and\nintellectual lights he considered such sure and safe guides. His\ngratitude soon received the additions of esteem and admiration, and\nthe young disciple felt the growth of desires which it is difficult to\nbelieve were real, but which became so pressing, that they revived in\na heart nearly extinct a feeble spark of that fire with which it had\nformerly burned. Mademoiselle de l'Enclos refused to accede to the\ndesires of her lover until she was fully eighty years of age, a term\nwhich did not cool the ardor of the amorous Abb\u00e9, who waited\nimpatiently and on her eightieth birthday compelled his benefactress\nto keep her word.\n\nThis incident recalls the testimony of a celebrated Countess of\nSalisbury, who was called to testify as an expert upon the subject of\nlove in a celebrated criminal case that was tried over a hundred years\nago in the English House of Lords. The woman correspondent was of an\nage when human passion is supposed to be extinct, and her counsel was\nattempting to prove that fact to relieve her from the charge. The\ntestimony of the aged Countess, who was herself over seventy-five\nyears of age, was very unsatisfactory, and the court put this question\nto her demanding an explicit answer.\n\n\"Madame,\" he inquired, \"at what age does the sentiment, passion, or\ndesire of love cease in the female heart?\"\n\nHer ladyship, who had lived long in high society and had been\nacquainted with all of the gallants and coquettes of the English court\nfor nearly two generations, and who, herself, had sometimes been\nsuspected of not having been averse to a little waywardness, looked\ndown at her feet for a moment thoughtfully, then raising her eyes and\nlocking squarely into those of the judge, answered:\n\n\"My Lord, you will have to ask a woman older than I.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nThe Villarceaux Affair\n\n\nParty politics raged around Ninon, her \"Birds\" being men of high rank\nand leaders with a large following. They were all her dearest friends,\nhowever, and no matter how strong personal passion was beyond her\nimmediate presence, her circle was a neutral ground which no one\nthought of violating. It required her utmost influence and tenderness,\nhowever, to prevent outbreaks, but her unvarying sweetness of temper\nand disposition to all won their hearts into a truce for her sake.\nThere were continual plots hatched against the stern rule of\nRichelieu, cabals and conspiracies without number were entered upon,\nbut none of them resulted in anything. Richelieu knew very well what\nwas going on, and he realized perfectly that Ninon's drawing-rooms\nwere the center of every scheme concocted to drag him down and out of\nthe dominant position he was holding against the combined nobility of\nFrance. But he never took a step toward suppressing her little court\nas a hot-bed of restlessness, he rather encouraged her by his silence\nand his indifference. Complaints of her growing coterie of uneasy\nspirits brought nothing from him but: \"As long as they find amusements\nthey are not dangerous.\" It was the forerunner of Napoleon's idea\nalong the same line: \"We must amuse the people; then they will not\nmeddle with our management of the government.\"\n\nIt is preposterous to think of this minister of peace, this restless\nprelate, half soldier, half pastor, meddling in all these cabals and\nseditious schemes organized for his own undoing, but nevertheless, he\nwas really the fomenter of all of them. They were his devices for\npreventing the nobility from combining against him. He set one cabal\nto watch another, and there was never a conspiracy entered into that\nhe did not prepare a similar conspiracy through his numerous secret\nagents and thus split into harmless nothings and weak attempts what\nwould have been fatal to a continuance of his power. His tricks were\nnothing but the ordinary everyday methods of the modern ward\npolitician making the dear people believe he is doing one thing when\nhe is doing another. The stern man pitted one antagonist against\nanother until both sued for peace and pardon. The nobility were honest\nin their likes and dislikes, but they did not understand double\ndealings and therefore the craft of Richelieu was not even suspected.\n\nSoon he corrupted by his secret intrigues the fidelity of the nobles\nand destroyed the integrity of the people. Then it was, as Cyrano\nsays: \"The world saw billows of scum vomited upon the royal purple and\nupon that of the church.\" Vile rhyming poets, without merit or virtue,\nsold their villainous productions to the enemies of the state to be\nused in goading the people to riot. Obscene and filthy vaudevilles,\ndefamatory libels and infamous slanders were as common as bread, and\nwere hurled back and forth as evidence of an internecine strife which\nwas raging around the wearer of the Roman scarlet, who was thereby\njustified in continuing his ecclesiastical rule to prevent the\nwrecking of the throne.\n\nNinon had always been an ardent supporter of the throne, and on that\naccount imagined herself to be the enemy of Richelieu. There were many\nothers who believed the same thing. They did not know that should the\ngreat Cardinal withdraw his hand for a single moment there would not\nbe any more throne. When the human hornets around him became annoying\nhe was accustomed to pretend to withdraw his sustaining hand, then the\nthrone would tremble and totter, but he always came to the rescue;\nindeed, there was no other man who could rescue it. Cabals, plots, and\nconspiracies became so thick around Ninon at one period that she was\nfrightened. Scarron's house became a rendezvous for the factious and\nturbulent. Madame Scarron was aiming at the throne, that is, she was\nopening the way to capture the heart of the king. This was too much\nfor Ninon, who was more modest in her ambitions, and she fled\nfrightened.\n\nThe Marquis de Villarceaux received her with open arms at his ch\u00e2teau\nsome distance from Paris, and that was her home for three years. There\nwere loud protests at this desertion from her coterie of friends, and\nnumerous dark threats were uttered against the gallant Marquis who had\nthus captured the queen of the \"Birds,\" but Ninon explained her\nreason in such a plausible manner that their complaints subsided into\ngood-natured growls. She hoped to prevent a political conflagration\nemanating from her social circle by scattering the firebrands, and she\nsucceeded admirably. The Marquis was constantly with her, permitting\nnobody to intervene between them, and provided her with a perpetual\nround of amusements that made the time pass very quickly. Moreover,\nshe was faithful to the Marquis, so wonderful a circumstance that her\nfriend and admirer wrote an elegy upon that circumstance, in which he\ndraws a picture of the pleasures of the ancients in ruralizing, but\nreproaches Ninon for indulging in a passion for so long a period to\nthe detriment of her other friends and admirers. But Ninon was happy\nin attaining the summit of her desire, which was to defeat Madame\nScarron, her rival in the affections of the Marquis, keeping the\nlatter by her side for three whole years as has already been said.\n\nHowever delighted Ninon may have been with this arrangement, the\nMarquis, himself, did not repose upon a bed of roses. The jealousy of\nthe \"Birds\" gave him no respite, he being obliged in honor to respond\nto their demands for an explanation of his conduct in carrying off\ntheir leader, generally insisting upon the so-called field of honor as\nthe most appropriate place for giving a satisfactory answer. They even\ninvaded his premises until they forced him to make them some\nconcessions in the way of permission to see the object of their\nadmiration, and to share in her society. The Marquis was proud of his\nconquest, the very idea of a three years' t\u00eate \u00e0 t\u00eate with the most\nvolatile heart in France being sufficient to justify him in boasting\nof his prowess, but whenever he ventured to do so a champion on the\npart of Ninon always stood ready to make him either eat his words or\nfight to maintain them.\n\nMadame Scarron, whom he so basely deserted for the superior charms of\nher friend Ninon, often gave him a bad quarter of an hour. When she\nbecame the mistress of the king and, as Madame de Maintenon, really\nheld the reins of power, visions of the Bastile thronged his brain. He\nknew perfectly well that he had scorned the charms of Madame Scarron,\nwho believed them irresistible, and that he deserved whatever\npunishment she might inflict upon him. She might have procured a\nlettre de cachet, had him immured in a dungeon or his head removed\nfrom his shoulders as easily as order a dinner, but she did nothing to\ngratify a spirit of revenge, utterly ignoring his existence.\n\nAdded to these trifling circumstances, trifling in comparison with\nwhat follows, was the furious jealousy of his wife, Madame la\nMarquise. She was violently angry and did not conceal her hatred for\nthe woman who had stolen her husband's affections. The Marquise was a\ntrifle vulgar and common in her manner of manifesting her displeasure,\nbut the Marquis, a very polite and affable gentleman, did not pay the\nslightest attention to his wife's daily recriminations, but continued\nto amuse himself with the charming Ninon.\n\nUnder such circumstances each was compelled to have a separate social\ncircle, the Marquis entertaining his friends with the adorable Ninon\nas the center of attraction, and Madame la Marquise doing her best to\noffer counter attractions. Somehow, Ninon drew around her all the most\ndesirable partis among the flower of the nobility and wits, leaving\nthe social circle managed by la Marquise to languish for want of\nstamina. It was a constant source of annoyance to the Marquise to see\nher rival's entertainments so much in repute and her own so poorly\nattended, and she was at her wits' end to devise something that would\ngive them \u00e9clat. One of her methods, and an impromptu scene at one of\nher drawing-rooms, will serve to show the reason why Madame la\nMarquise was not in good repute and why she could not attract the\n\u00e9lite of Paris to her entertainments.\n\nLa Marquise was a very vain, moreover, a very ignorant woman, a\n\"nouvelle riche\" in fact, or what might be termed in modern parlance\n\"shoddy,\" without tact, sense, or savoir faire. One day at a grand\nreception, some of her guests desired to see her young son, of whom\nshe was very proud, and of whose talents and virtues she was always\nboasting. He was sent for and came into the presence accompanied by\nhis tutor, an Italian savant who never left his side. From praising\nhis beauty of person, they passed to his mental qualities. Madame la\nMarquise, enchanted at the caresses her son was receiving and aiming\nto create a sensation by showing off his learning, took it into her\nhead to have his tutor put him through an examination in history.\n\n\"Interrogate my son upon some of his recent lessons in history,\" said\nshe to the tutor, who was not at all loth to show his own attainments\nby the brilliancy of his pupil.\n\n\"Come, now, Monsieur le Marquis,\" said the tutor with alacrity, \"Quem\nhabuit successorem Belus rex Assiriorum?\" (Whom did Belus, king of the\nAssyrians, have for successor?)\n\nIt so happened that the tutor had taught the boy to pronounce the\nLatin language after the Italian fashion. Wherefore, when the lad\nanswered \"Ninum,\" who was really the successor of Belus, king of the\nAssyrians, he pronounced the last two letters \"um\" like the French\nnasal \"on,\" which gave the name of the Assyrian king the same sound as\nthat of Ninon de l'Enclos, the terrible b\u00eate noir of the jealous\nMarquise. This was enough to set her off into a spasm of fury against\nthe luckless tutor, who could not understand why he should be so\nberated over a simple question and its correct answer. The Marquise\nnot understanding Latin, and guided only by the sound of the answer,\nwhich was similar to the name of her hated rival, jumped at the\nconclusion that he was answering some question about Ninon de\nl'Enclos.\n\n\"You are giving my son a fine education,\" she snapped out before all\nher guests, \"by entertaining him with the follies of his father. From\nthe answer of the young Marquis I judge of the impertinence of your\nquestion. Go, leave my sight, and never enter it again.\"\n\nThe unfortunate tutor vainly protested that he did not comprehend her\nanger, that he meant no affront, that there was no other answer to be\nmade than \"Ninum,\" unfortunately, again pronouncing the word \"Ninon,\"\nwhich nearly sent the lady into a fit of apoplexy with rage at hearing\nthe tabooed name repeated in her presence. The incensed woman carried\nthe scene to a ridiculous point, refusing to listen to reason or\nexplanation.\n\n\"No, he said 'Ninon,' and Ninon it was.\"\n\nThe story spread all over Paris, and when it reached Ninon, she\nlaughed immoderately, her friends dubbing her \"The successor of\nBelus.\" Ninon told Moli\u00e8re the ridiculous story and he turned it to\nprofit in one of his comedies in the character of Countess\nd'Escarbagnas.\n\nAt the expiration of three years, peace had come to France after a\nfashion, the cabals were not so frequent and the rivalry between the\nfactions not so bitter. Whatever differences there had been were\npatched up or smoothed over. Ninon's return to the house in the Rue\ndes Tournelles was hailed with joy by her \"Birds,\" who received her as\none returned from the dead. Saint-Evremond composed an elegy beginning\nwith these lines:\n\nCh\u00e8re Philis, qu'\u00eates vous devenues?\nCet enchanteur qui vous a retenue\nDepuis trois ans par un charme nouveau\nVous retient-il en quelque vieux ch\u00e2teau?\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nThe Marquis de S\u00e9vign\u00e9\n\n\nIt has been attempted to cast odium upon the memory of Mademoiselle de\nl'Enclos because of her connection with the second Marquis de S\u00e9vign\u00e9,\nson of the celebrated Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, whose letters have been read\nfar and wide by those who fancy they can find something in them with\nreference to the morals and practices of the court of Versailles\nduring her period.\n\nThe Marquis de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, by a vitiated taste quite natural in men of\nweak powers, had failed to discover in a handsome woman, spirited,\nperhaps of too jealous a nature or disposition to be esteemed, the\nproper sentiments, or sentiments strong enough to retain his\naffections. He implored Ninon to aid him in preserving her affections\nand to teach him how to secure her love. Ninon undertook to give him\ninstructions in the art of captivating women's hearts, to show him the\nnature of love and its operations, and to give him an insight into the\nnature of women. The Marquis profited by these lessons to fall in love\nwith Ninon, finding her a thousand times more charming than his\nactress or his princess. Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9's letter referring to the\nlove of her son for Ninon testifies by telling him plainly \"Ninon\nspoiled your father,\" that this passion was not so much unknown to\nher as it was a matter of indifference.\n\nThe young Chevalier de Vass\u00e9 often gave brilliant receptions in honor\nof Ninon at Saint Cloud, which the Marquis de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 always attended\nas the mutual friend of both. De Vass\u00e9 was well acquainted with\nNinon's peculiarities and knew that the gallantry of such a man as de\nS\u00e9vign\u00e9 was a feeble means of retaining the affections of a heart that\nwas the slave of nothing but its own fugitive desires. But he was a\nman devoted to his friends and, being Epicurean in his philosophy, he\ndid not attempt to interfere with the affection he perceived growing\nbetween Ninon and his friend. It never occurred to the Marquis that he\nwas guilty of a betrayal of friendship by paying court to Ninon, and\nthe latter took the Marquis' attentions as a matter of course without\nconsidering the ingratitude of her conduct. She rather flattered\nherself at having been sufficiently attractive to capture a man of de\nSeine's family distinction. She had captured the heart of de Soign\u00e9,\nthe father, and had received so many animadversions upon her conduct\nfrom Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, that it afforded her great pleasure to \"spoil\"\nthe son as she had the father.\n\nBut her satisfaction was short-lived, for she had the chagrin to learn\nsoon after her conquest that de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 had perished on the field of\nhonor at the hands of Chevalier d'Albret. Her sorrow was real, of\ncourse, but the fire lighted by the senses is small and not enduring,\nand when the occasion arises regret is not eternalized, besides there\nwere others waiting with impatience. His successful rival out of the\nway, de Vass\u00e9 supposed he had a clear field, but he did not attain his\nexpected happiness. He was no longer pleasing to Ninon and she did no:\nhesitate to make him understand that he could never hope to win her\nheart. According to her philosophy there is nothing so shameful in a\ntender friendship as the art of dissimulation.\n\nAs has been said, much odium has been cast upon Mademoiselle de\nl'Enclos in this de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 matter. It all grew out of the dislike of\nMadame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 for a woman who attracted even her own husband and\nson from her side and heart, and for whom her dearest friends\nprofessed the most intimate attachment. Madame de Grignan, the proud,\nhaughty daughter of the house of de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, did not scruple to array\nherself on the side of Mademoiselle de l'Enclos with Madame de\nCoulanges, another bright star among the noble and respectable\nfamilies of France.\n\n\"Women have the privilege of being weak,\" says Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, \"and\nthey make use of that privilege without scruple.\"\n\nWomen had never, before the time of Ninon, exercised their rights of\nweakness to such an unlimited extent. There was neither honor nor\nhonesty to be found among them. They were common to every man who\nattracted their fancy without regard to fidelity to any one in\nparticular. The seed sown by the infamous Catherine de Medici, the\nutter depravity of the court of Charles IX, and the profligacy of\nHenry IV, bore an astonishing supply of bitter fruit. The love of\npleasure had, so to speak, carried every woman off her feet, and there\nwas no limit to their abuses. Mademoiselle de l'Enclos, while devoting\nherself to a life of pleasure, followed certain philosophical rules\nand regulations which removed from the unrestrained freedom of the\ntimes the stigma of commonness and conferred something of\nrespectability upon practices that nowadays would be considered\nhorribly immoral, but which then were regarded as nothing uncommon,\nnay, were legitimate and proper. The cavaliers cut one another's\nthroats for the love of God and in the cause of religion, and the\nwomen encouraged the arts, sciences, literature, and the drama, by\nconferring upon talent, wit, genius and merit favors which were deemed\nconducive as encouragements to the growth of intellect and\nspirituality.\n\nNinon was affected by the spirit of the times, and being a woman, it\nwas impossible for her to resist desire when aided by philosophy and\nforce of example. Her intimacy with de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 grew out of her attempt\nto teach a young, vigorous, passionate man how to gain the love of a\ncold-blooded, vain and conceited woman. Her letters will show the\nvarious stages of her desires as she went along vainly struggling to\nbeat something like comprehension into the dull brain of a clod, who\ncould not understand the simplest principle of love, or the smallest\npoint in the female character. At last she resolved to use an argument\nthat was convincing with the brightest minds with whom she had ever\ndealt, that is, the power of her own love, and if the Marquis had\nlived, perhaps he might have become an ornament to society and an\nhonor to his family.\n\nTo do this, however, she violated her compact with de Vass\u00e9, betrayed\nhis confidence and opened the way for the animadversions of Madame de\nS\u00e9vign\u00e9. At that time de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 was in love with an actress,\nMademoiselle Champm\u00eal\u00e9, but desired to withdraw his affections, or\nrather transfer them to a higher object, a countess, or a princess, as\nthe reader may infer from his mother's hints in one of her letters to\nbe given hereafter. To Ninon, therefore, he went for instruction and\nadvice as to the best course to pursue to get rid of one love and on\nwith a new. Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 and Madame de La Fayette vainly implored\nhim to avoid Ninon as he would the pest. The more they prayed and\nentreated, the closer he came to Ninon until she became his ideal.\nNinon, herself was captivated by his pleasant conversation, agreeable\nmanners and seductive traits. She knew that he had had a love affair\nwith Champm\u00eal\u00e9, the actress, and when she began to obtain an\nascendency over his mind, she wormed out of him all the letters he had\never received from the comedienne. Some say it was jealousy on Ninon's\npart, but any one who reads her letters to de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 will see between\nthe lines a disposition on his part to wander away after a new\ncharmer. Others, however, say that she intended to send them to the\nMarquis de Tonnerre, whom the actress had betrayed for de S\u00e9vign\u00e9.\n\nBut Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, to whom her son had confessed his folly in\ngiving up the letters, perhaps fearing to be embroiled in a\ndisgraceful duel over an actress, made him blush at his cruel\nsacrifice of a woman who loved him, and made him understand that even\nin dishonesty there were certain rules of honesty to be observed. She\nworked upon his mind until he felt that he had committed a\ndishonorable act, and when he had reached that point, it was easy to\nget the letters away from Ninon partly by artifice, partly by force.\nMadame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 tells the story in a letter to her daughter, Madame\nde Grignan:\n\n\"Elle (Ninon) voulut l'autre jour lui faire donner des lettres de la\ncomedienne (Champm\u00eal\u00e9); il les lui donna; elle en \u00e9tait jalouse; elle\nvoulait les donner \u00e0 un amant de la princesse, afin de lui faire\ndonner quelque coups de baudrier. Il me le vint dire: je lui fis voir\nque c'\u00e9tait une infamie de couper ainsi la gorge \u00e0 une petite cr\u00e9ature\npour l'avoir aimer; je representai qu'elle n'avait point sacrifi\u00e9 ses\nlettres, comme on voulait lui faire croire pour l'animer. Il entra\ndans mes raisons; il courut chez Ninon, et moiti\u00e9 par adresse, et\nmoiti\u00e9 par force, il retira les lettres de cette pauvre diablesse.\"\n\nIt was easy for a doting mother like Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 to credit\neverything her son manufactured for her delectation. The dramatic\nincident of de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 taking letters from Ninon de l'Enclos partly by\ningenuity and partly by force, resembled his tale that he had left\nNinon and that he did not care for her while all the time they were\ninseparable. He was truly a lover of Penelope, the bow of Ulysses\nhaving betrayed his weakness.\n\n\"The malady of his soul,\" says his mother, \"afflicted his body. He\nthought himself like the good Esos; he would have himself boiled in a\ncaldron with aromatic herbs to restore his vigor.\"\n\nBut Ninon's opinion of him was somewhat different. She lamented his\nuntimely end, but did not hesitate to express her views.\n\n\"He was a man beyond definition,\" was her panegyric. \"He possessed a\nsoul of pulp, a body of wet paper, and a heart of pumpkin fricasseed\nin snow.\"\n\nShe finally became ashamed of ever having loved him, and insisted that\nthey were never more than brother and sister. She tried to make\nsomething out of him by exposing all the secrets of the female heart,\nand initiating him in the mysteries of human love, but as she said:\n\"His heart was a pumpkin fricasseed in snow.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nA Family Tragedy\n\n\nSome of Ninon's engagements following upon one another in quick\nsuccession were the cause of an unusual disagreement, not to say\nquarrel, between two rivals in her affections. A Marshal of France,\nd'Estr\u00e9es and the celebrated Abb\u00e9 Deffiat disputed the right of\nparentage, the dispute waxing warm because both contended for the\nhonor and could not see any way out of their difficulty, neither\nconsenting to make the slightest concession. Ninon, however, calmed\nthe tempest by suggesting a way out of the difficulty through the\nhazard of the dice. Luck or good fortune for the waif declared in\nfavor of the warrior, who made a better guardian than the Abb\u00e9 could\npossibly have done, and brought him greater happiness.\n\nNinon surrendered all her maternal rights in the child to the worthy\nMarshal, who became in reality a tender and affectionate father to the\nwaif, cared for him tenderly and raised him up to a good position in\nlife. He placed him in the marine service, where, as the Chevalier de\nla Bossi\u00e8re, he reached the grade of captain of a vessel, and died at\nan advanced age respected by his brother officers and by all who knew\nhim. He inherited some of the talents of his mother, particularly\nmusic, in which he was remarkably proficient. His apartments at\nToulon, where he was stationed, were crowded with musical instruments\nand the works of the greatest masters. All the musicians traveling\nback and forth between Italy and France made his house their\nheadquarters. The Chevalier accorded them a generous welcome on all\noccasions; the only return demanded was an exhibition of their\nproficiency in instrumental music.\n\nThe happiness of this son solaced Ninon for his unfortunate birth, and\nit would have been happy for her had she never had a second. But her\nprofound love for the Chevalier de Gersay overcame any scruples that\nmight have arisen in her mind against again yielding to the maternal\ninstinct, and another son came to her, one who was destined to meet a\nmost horrible fate and cause her the most exquisite mental torture.\n\nThis de Gersay, who was famous for the temerity of his passion for the\nqueen, Anne of Austria, a fact he announced from the housetops of\nParis in his delirium, was as happy as a king over the boy that came\nto him so unexpectedly, and lavished upon him the most extravagant\naffection. He took him to his heart and trained him up in all the\naccomplishments taught those of the highest rank and most noble blood.\nThe boy grew up and received the name of Chevalier de Villiers,\nbecoming a credit to his father.\n\nHis mother was beyond sixty years of age when de Villiers began to\nenter society, and her beauty was still remarkable according to the\nchronicles of the times and the allusions made to it in the current\nliterature. She was as attractive in her appearance, and as lovable as\nat twenty years of age, few, even among the younger habitu\u00e9s of her\ndrawing-rooms being able to resist the charms of her person. Her house\nwas thronged with the \u00e9lite of French society, young men of noble\nfamilies being designedly sent into her society to acquire taste,\ngrace, and polish which they were unable to acquire elsewhere. Ninon\npossessed a singular genius for inspiring men with high and noble\nsentiments, and her schooling in the art of etiquette was marvelous in\nits details and perfection. Her power was practically a repetition of\nthe history of the Empress Theodora, whose happy admirers and\nintimates could be distinguished from all others by their exquisite\npoliteness, culture, finish and social polish. It was the same in\nNinon's school, the graduates of which occupied the highest rank in\nletters, society, statesmanship, and military genius.\n\nDe Gersay intending his son to fill a high position in society and\npublic honors, sent him to this school, where he was received and put\nupon the same footing as other youth of high birth, and was duly\ntrained with them in all the arts and accomplishments of refined\nsociety. The young man was not aware of his parentage, de Gersay\nhaving extracted a solemn promise from Mademoiselle de l'Enclos that\nshe would never divulge the secret of the youth's birth without his\nfather's express consent, a promise which resulted in the most\ndisastrous consequences.\n\nNinon, as mother of this handsome youth, admired him, and manifested a\ntenderness which he misunderstood for the emotion of love, Ninon,\nherself never contemplating such a fatality, and ended by becoming\nenamored of his own mother. Ninon thought nothing of his passion,\nbelieving that it would soon pass away, but it increased in intensity,\nbecoming a violent flame which finally proved irresistible, forcing\nthe youth to fall at his mother's feet and pour forth his passion in\nthe most extravagant language.\n\nAlarmed at this condition of her son's heart, Ninon withdrew from his\nsociety, refusing to admit him to her presence. Although the Chevalier\nwas an impetuous wooer, he was dismayed by the loss of his inamorata,\nand begged for the privilege of seeing her, promising solemnly never\nto repeat his declaration of love. Ninon was deceived by his\nprofessions and re-admitted him to her society. Insensibly, however,\nperhaps in despite of his struggle to overcome his amorous\npropensities, the Chevalier violated the conditions of the truce.\nNinon, on the watch for a repetition of his former manifestations,\nquickly perceived the return of a love so abhorrent to nature. His\nsighs, glances, sadness when in her presence, were signs to her of a\npassion that she would be compelled to subdue with a strong, ruthless\nhand.\n\n\"Raise your eyes to that clock,\" she said to him one day, \"and mark\nthe passing of time. Rash boy, it is sixty-five years since I came\ninto the world. Does it become me to listen to a passion like love?\nIs it possible at my age to love or be loved? Enter within yourself,\nChevalier, and see how ridiculous are your desires and those you would\narouse in me.\"\n\nAll Ninon's remonstrances, however, tended only to increase the\ndesires which burned in the young man's breast. His mother's tears,\nwhich now began to flow, were regarded by the youth as trophies of\nsuccess.\n\n\"What, tears?\" he exclaimed, \"you shed tears for me? Are they wrung\nfrom your heart by pity, by tenderness? Ah, am I to be blessed?\"\n\n\"This is terrible,\" she replied, \"it is insanity. Leave me, and do not\npoison the remainder of a life which I detest.\"\n\n\"What language is this?\" exclaimed the Chevalier. \"What poison can the\nsweetness of making still another one happy instill into the loveliest\nlife? Is this the tender and philosophic Ninon? Has she not raised\nbetween us that shadow of virtue that makes her sex adorable? What\nchimeras have changed your heart? Shall I tell you? You carry your\ncruelty to the extent of fighting against yourself, resisting your own\ndesires. I have seen in your eyes a hundred times less resistance than\nyou now set against me. And these tears which my condition has drawn\nfrom your eyes--tell me, are they shed through indifference or hate?\nAre you ashamed to avow a sensibility which honors humanity?\"\n\n\"Cease, Chevalier,\" said Ninon, raising her hand in protest, \"the\nright to claim my liveliest friendship rested with you, I thought you\nworthy of it. That is the cause of the friendly looks which you have\nmistaken for others of greater meaning, and it is also the cause of\nthe tears I shed. Do not flatter yourself that you have inspired me\nwith the passion of love. I can see too plainly that your desires are\nthe effect of a passing presumption. Come now, you shall know my\nheart, and it should destroy all hope for you. It will go so far as to\nhate you, if you repeat your protestations of blind tenderness. I do\nnot care to understand you, leave me, to regret the favors you have so\nbadly interpreted.\"\n\nWhen Ninon learned that her son was plunged into despair and fury on\naccount of her rejection of his love, her heart was torn with sorrow\nand she regretted that she had not at first told him the secret of his\nbirth, but her solemn promise to de Gersay had stood in her way. She\ndetermined now to remedy the evil and she therefore applied to de\nGersay to relieve her from her promise. De Gersay advised her to\ncommunicate the truth to her son as soon as possible to prevent a\ncatastrophe which he prophesied was liable to happen when least\nexpected. She accordingly wrote the Chevalier that at a certain time\nshe would be at her house in the Saint Antoine suburb and prayed him\nto meet her there. The impassioned Chevalier, expecting nothing less\nthan the gratification of his desires, prepared himself with extreme\ncare and flew to the assignation. He was disconcerted, however, by\nfinding Ninon despondent and sad, instead of smiling and joyful with\nanticipation. However, he cast himself at her feet, seized her hand\nand covered it with tears and kisses.\n\n\"Unfortunate,\" cried Ninon submitting to his embraces, \"there are\ndestinies beyond human prudence to direct. What have I not attempted\nto do to calm your agitated spirit? What mystery do you force me to\nunfold?\"\n\n\"Ah, you are about to deceive me again,\" interrupted the Chevalier, \"I\ndo not perceive in your eyes the love I had the right to expect. I\nrecognize in your obscure language an injustice you are about to\ncommit; you hope to cure me of my love, but disabuse yourself of that\nfancy; the cruel triumph you seek to win is beyond the united strength\nof both of us, above any imaginable skill, beyond the power of reason\nitself. It seems to listen to nothing but its own intoxication, and at\nthe same time rush to the last extremity.\"\n\n\"Stop,\" exclaimed Ninon, indignant at this unreasoning folly, \"this\nhorrible love shall not reach beyond the most sacred duties. Stop, I\ntell you, monster that you are, and shudder with dismay. Can love\nflourish where horror fills the soul? Do you know who you are and who\nI am? The lover you are pursuing--\"\n\n\"Well! That lover?\" demanded the Chevalier.\n\n\"Is your mother,\" replied Ninon; \"you owe me your birth. It is my son\nwho sighs at my feet, who talks to me of love. What sentiments do you\nthink you have inspired me with? Monsieur de Gersay, your father,\nthrough an excess of affection for you, wished you to remain ignorant\nof your birth. Ah, my son, by what fatality have you compelled me to\nreveal this secret? You know to what degree of opprobrium the\nprejudiced have put one of your birth, wherefore it was necessary to\nconceal it from your delicacy of mind, but you would not have it so.\nKnow me as your mother, oh, my son, and pardon me for having given you\nlife.\"\n\nNinon burst into a flood of tears and pressed her son to her heart,\nbut he seemed to be crushed by the revelations he heard. Pale,\ntrembling, nerveless, he dared not pronounce the sweet name of mother,\nfor his soul was filled with horror at his inability to realize the\nrelationship sufficiently to destroy the burning passion he felt for\nher person. He cast one long look into her eyes, bent them upon the\nground, arose with a deep sigh and fled. A garden offered him a\nrefuge, and there, in a thick clump of bushes, he drew his sword and\nwithout a moment's hesitation fell upon it, to sink down dying.\n\nNinon had followed him dreading some awful calamity, and there, in the\ndim light of the stars, she found her son weltering in his blood, shed\nby his own hand for love of her. His dying eyes which he turned toward\nher still spoke ardent love, and he expired while endeavoring to utter\nwords of endearment.\n\nLe Sage in the romance of Gil Blas has painted this horrible\ncatastrophe of Ninon de l'Enclos in the characters of the old woman\nInisilla de Cantarilla, and the youth Don Valerio de Luna. The\nincident is similar to that which happened to Oedipus, the Theban who\ntore out his eyes after discovering that in marrying Jocasta, the\nqueen, he had married his own mother. Le Sage's hero, however, mourns\nbecause he had not been able to commit the crime, which gives the case\nof Ninon's son a similar tinge, his self-immolation being due, not to\nthe horror of having indulged in criminal love for his own mother, but\nto the regret at not having been able to accomplish his purpose.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nHer Bohemian Environments\n\n\nThe daily and nightly doings at Ninon's house in the Rue des\nTournelles, if there is anything of a similar character in modern\nsociety that can be compared to them, might be faintly represented by\nour Bohemian circles, where good cheer, good fellowship, and freedom\nfrom restraint are supposed to reign. There are, indeed, numerous\nclubs at the present day styled \"Bohemian,\" but except so far as the\ntendency to relaxation appears upon the surface, they possess very few\nof the characteristics of that society of \"Birds\" that assembled\naround Mademoiselle de l'Enclos. They put aside all conventional\nrestraint, and the mental metal of those choice spirits clashed and\nevolved brilliant sparks, bright rays of light, the luster of which\nstill glitters after a lapse of more than two centuries.\n\nPersonally, Ninon was an enemy of pedantry in every form, demanding of\nher followers originality at all times on penalty of banishment from\nher circle. The great writer, Mynard, once related with tears in his\neyes that his daughter, who afterward became the Countess de\nFeuqui\u00e8res, had no memory. Whereat Ninon laughed him out of his\nsorrow:\n\n\"You are too happy in having a daughter who has no memory; she will\nnot be able to make citations.\"\n\nThat her society was sought by very good men is evidenced by the grave\ntheologians who found her companionship pleasant, perhaps salutary. A\ncelebrated Jesuit who did not scruple to find entertainment in her\nsocial circle, undertook to combat her philosophy and show her the\ntruth from his point of view, but she came so near converting him to\nher tenets that he abandoned the contest remarking with a laugh:\n\n\"Well, well, Mademoiselle, while waiting to be convinced that you are\nin error, offer up to God your unbelief.\" Rousseau has converted this\nincident into an epigram.\n\nThe grave and learned clergy of Port Royal also undertook the labor of\nconverting her, but their labor was in vain.\n\n\"You know,\" she told Fontenelle, \"what use I make of my body? Well,\nthen, it would be easier for me to obtain a good price for my soul,\nfor the Jansenists and Molinists are engaged in a competition of\nbidding for it.\"\n\nShe was not bigoted in the least, as the following incident will show:\nOne of her friends refused to send for a priest when in extremis, but\nNinon brought one to his bedside, and as the clergyman, knowing the\nscepticism of the dying sinner, hesitated to exercise his functions,\nshe encouraged him to do his duty:\n\n\"Do your duty, sir,\" she said, \"I assure you that although our friend\ncan argue, he knows no more about the truth than you and I.\"\n\nThe key to Mademoiselle de l'Enclos' character is to be found in her\ntoleration and liberality. Utterly unselfish, she had no thoughts\nbeyond the comfort and, happiness of her friends. For them she\nsacrificed her person, an astounding sacrifice in a woman, one for\nwhich a multitude have suffered martyrdom for refusing to make, and\nare cited as models of virtue to be followed. Yet, notwithstanding her\nstrange misapplication or perversion of what the world calls \"female\nhonor,\" her world had nothing but the most profound respect and\nadmiration for her. It requires an extremely delicate pencil to sketch\nsuch a character, and even then, a hundred trials might result in\nfailing to seize upon its most vivid lights and shades and bring out\nits best points.\n\nStanding out clearly defined through her whole life was a noble soul\nthat never stooped to anything common, low, debasing or vulgar.\nBrought up from infancy in the society of men, taught to consider them\nas her companions and equals, and treated by them as one of\nthemselves, she acquired a grace and a polish that made her society\ndesired by the proudest ladies of the court. There is no one in the\nannals of the nations of the earth that can be compared to her. The\nAspasia of Pericles has been regarded by some as a sort of prototype,\nbut Aspasia was a common woman of the town, her thoughts were devoted\nto the aggrandizement of one man, her love affairs were bestowed upon\nan open market. On the contrary, Mademoiselle de l'Enclos never\nbestowed her favors upon any but one she could ever after regard as an\nearnest, unselfish friend. Their friendship was a source of delight to\nher and she was Epicurean, in the enjoyment of everything that goes\nwith friendship.\n\nSaint-Evremond likens her to Leontium, the Athenian woman, celebrated\nfor her philosophy and for having dared to write a book against the\ngreat Theophrastus, a literary venture which may have been the reason\nwhy Saint-Evremond gave Ninon the title. Ninon's heart was weak, it is\ntrue, but she had early learned those philosophical principles which\ndrew her senses away from that portion of her soul, and her\nenvironments were those most conducive to the cultivation of the\nsenses which are so easily led away into seductive paths. But however\nfar her love of pleasure may have led her, her philosophical ideas and\npractices did not succeed in destroying or even weakening any other\nvirtue. \"The smallest fault of gallant women,\" says de la\nRochefoucauld, \"is their gallantry.\"\n\nThe distinguished Abb\u00e9 Ch\u00e2teauneuf expresses a trait in her character\nwhich drew to her side the most distinguished men of the period.\n\n\"She reserved all her esteem, all her confidence for friendship, which\nshe always regarded as a respectable liaison,\" says the Abb\u00e9, \"and to\nmaintain that friendship she permitted no diminution or relaxation.\"\n\nIn other words she was constant and true, without whims or caprice.\nThe Comte de Segur, in his work on \"Women, their Condition and\nInfluence in Society,\" says: \"While Ninon de l'Enclos was fostering\nand patronizing genius, and giving it opportunities to expand, Madame\nde S\u00e9vign\u00e9 was at the head of a cabal in opposition to genius, unless\nit was measured upon her own standard. In her self-love she wrought\nagainst Racine and sought to diminish the literary luster of Fl\u00e8chier.\nBut with all her ability Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 possessed very little\ngenius or tact, and her lack of discrimination is apparent in the fact\nthat none of her prot\u00e9g\u00e9s ever reached any distinction. Moreover, her\nvirtues must have been of an appalling character since they were not\nstrong enough to save her husband and son from falling into the\nclutches of \"That horrid woman,\" referring to Ninon.\n\nNinon certainly understood men; she divined them at the first glance\nand provided for their bodily and intellectual wants. If they were\ndeemed worthy of her favors, she bestowed them freely, and out of one\nanimal desire gratified, there were created a thousand intellectual\naspirations. She understood clearly that man can not be all animal or\nall spiritual, and that the attempt to divert nature from its duality\nof being was to wreck humanity and make of man neither fish, flesh nor\nfowl. Her constant prayer in her younger days, for the truth of which\nVoltaire vouches, was:\n\n\"Mon Dieu, fa\u00eetes de moi un honn\u00eate homme, et n'en fa\u00eetes jamais une\nhonn\u00eate femme.\" (My God, make me an honest man, but never an honest\nwoman).\n\nCount Segur, in his book already referred to, has this to say further\nconcerning Ninon:\n\n\"Ninon shone under the reign of Louis XIV like a graceful plant in its\nproper soil. Splendor seemed to be her element. That Ninon might\nappear in the sphere that became her, it was necessary that Turenne\nand Cond\u00e9 should sigh at her feet, that Voltaire should receive from\nher his first lessons, in a word, that in her illustrious cabinet,\nglory and genius should be seen sporting with love and the graces.\"\n\nHad it not been for the influence of Ninon de l'Enclos--there are many\nwho claim it as the truth--the sombre tinge, the veil of gloominess\nand hypocritical austerity which surrounded Madame de Maintenon and\nher court, would have wrecked the intellects of the most illustrious\nand brightest men in France, in war, literature, science, and\nstatesmanship. Madame de Maintenon resisted that influence but the Rue\ndes Tournelles strove against Saint Cyr. The world fluctuated between\nthese two systems established by women, both of them--shall it be\nsaid--courtesans? The legality and morality of our modern common law\nmarriages and the ease and frequency of trivial divorces forbid it.\nNinon prevailed, however, and not only governed hearts but souls. The\ndifference between the two courts was, the royal salon was thronged\nwith women of the most infamous character who had nothing but their\ninfamy to bestow, while the drawing rooms of Ninon de l'Enclos were\ncrowded with men almost exclusively, and men of wit and genius.\n\nThe moral that the majority of writers draw from the three courts that\noccupied society at that time, the Rue des Tournelles, Madame de\nS\u00e9vign\u00e9, and Versailles, is, that men demand human nature and will\nhave it in preference to abnormal goodness, and female debauchery.\nNinon never hesitated to declaim against the fictitious beauty that\npretended to inculcate virtue and morality while secretly engaged in\nthe most corrupt practices, but Moli\u00e8re came with his Pr\u00e9cieuses\nRidicules and pulverized the enemies of human nature. Ninon did not\nknow Moli\u00e8re personally at that time but she was so loud in his praise\nfor covering her gross imitators with confusion, that Bachaumont and\nChapelle, two of her intimate friends, ventured to introduce the young\ndramatist into her society. The father of this Bachaumont who was a\ntwin, said of him: \"My son who is only half a man, wants to do as if\nhe were a whole one.\" Though only \"half a man\" and extremely feeble\nand delicate, he became a voluptuary according to the ideas of\nChapelle, and by devoting himself to the doctrines of Epicurus, he\nmanaged to live until eighty years of age. Chapelle was a drunkard as\nhas been intimated in a preceding chapter, and although he loved Ninon\npassionately, she steadily refused to favor him.\n\nMoli\u00e8re and Ninon were mutually attracted, each recognizing in the\nother not only a kindred spirit, but something not apparent on the\nsurface. Nature had given them the same eyes, and they saw men and\nthings from the same view point. Moli\u00e8re was destined to enlighten his\nage by his pen, and Ninon through her wise counsel and sage\nreflections. In speaking of Moli\u00e8re to Saint-Evremond, she declared\nwith fervor:\n\n\"I thank God every night for finding me a man of his spirit, and I\npray Him every morning to preserve him from the follies of the heart.\"\n\nThere was a great opposition to Moli\u00e8re's comedy \"Tartuffe.\" It\ncreated a sensation in society, and neither Louis XIV, the prelates of\nthe kingdom and the Roman legate, were strong enough to withstand the\ntorrents of invectives that came from those who were unmasked in the\nplay. They succeeded in having it interdicted, and the comedy was on\nthe point of being suppressed altogether, when Moli\u00e8re took it to\nNinon, read it over to her and asked her opinion as to what had better\nbe done. With her keen sense of the ridiculous and her knowledge of\ncharacter, Ninon went over the play with Moli\u00e8re to such good purpose\nthat the edict of suppression was withdrawn, the opponents of the\ncomedy finding themselves in a position where they could no longer\ntake exceptions without confessing the truth of the inuendoes.\n\nWhen the comedy was nearly completed, Moli\u00e8re began trying to think of\na name to give the main character in the play, who is an imposter. One\nday while at dinner with the Papal Nuncio, he noticed two\necclesiastics, whose air of pretended mortification fairly represented\nthe character he had depicted in the play. While considering them\nclosely, a peddler came along with truffles to sell. One of the pious\necclesiastics who knew very little Italian, pricked up his ears at the\nword truffles, which seemed to have a familiar sound. Suddenly coming\nout of his devout silence, he selected several of the finest of the\ntruffles, and holding them out to the nuncio, exclaimed with a laugh:\n\"Tartuffoli, Tartuffoli, signor Nuncio!\" imagining that he was\ndisplaying his knowledge of the Italian language by calling out\n\"Truffles, truffles, signor Nuncio,\" whereas, what he did say was\n\"Hypocrites, hypocrites, Signor Nuncio.\" Moli\u00e8re who was always a\nclose and keen observer of everything that transpired around him,\nseized upon the name \"Tartuffe\" as suitable to the hypocritical\nimposter in his comedy.\n\nNinon's brilliancy was so animated, particularly at table, that she\nwas said to be intoxicated at the soup, although she rarely drank\nanything but water. Her table was always surrounded by the wittiest of\nher friends and her own flashes kept their spirits up to the highest\npoint. The charm of her conversation was equal to the draughts of\nNepenthe which Helen lavished upon her guests, according to Homer to\ncharm and enchant them.\n\nOne story told about Ninon is not to her credit if true, and it is\ndisputed. A great preacher arose in France, the \"Eagle of the Pulpit,\"\nas he was called, or \"The great Pan,\" as Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, loved to\ndesignate him. His renown for eloquence and piety reached Ninon's ears\nand she conceived a scheme, so it is said; to bring this great orator\nto her feet. She had held in her chains from time to time, all the\nheroes, and illustrious men of France, and she considered P\u00e8re\nBourdaloue worthy of a place on the list. She accordingly arrayed\nherself in her most fascinating costume, feigned illness and sent for\nhim. But P\u00e8re Bourdaloue was not a man to be captivated by any woman,\nand, moreover, he was a man too deeply versed in human perversity to\nbe easily deceived. He came at her request, however, and to her\nquestion as to her condition he answered: \"I perceive that your malady\nexists only in your heart and mind; as to your body, it appears to me\nto be in perfect health. I pray the great physician of souls that he\nwill heal you.\" Saying which he left her without ceremony.\n\nThe story is probably untrue and grew out of a song of the times, to\nridicule the attempts of numerous preachers to convert Ninon from her\nway of living. They frequented her social receptions but those were\nalways public, as she never trusted herself to any one without the\nknowledge and presence of some of her \"Birds,\" taking that precaution\nfor her own safety and to avoid any appearance of partiality. The song\nreferred to, composed by some unknown scribe begins as follows:\n\n\"Ninon passe les jours au jeu:\nCours o\u00f9 l'amour te porte;\nLe pr\u00e9dicateur qui t'exhorte,\nS'il \u00e9tait au coin de ton feu,\nTe parlerait d'un autre sorte.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nA Remarkable Old Age\n\n\nWhen Ninon had reached the age of sixty-five years, there were those\namong the beauties of the royal court who thought she ought to retire\nfrom society and make way for them, but there appeared to be no\ndiminution of her capacity for pleasure, no weakening of her powers of\nattraction. The legend of the Noctambule, or the little black man, who\nappeared to Ninon when she was at the age of twenty years, and\npromised her perpetual beauty and the conquest of all hearts, was\nrevived, and there was enough probability in it to justify a strong\nbelief in the story. Indeed, the Abb\u00e9 Servien spread it about again\nwhen Ninon was seventy years of age, and even then there were few who\ndisputed the mysterious gift as Ninon showed little change.\n\nAs old age approached, Ninon ceased to be regarded with that\nfamiliarity shown her by her intimates in her younger days, and a\nrespect and admiration took its place. She was no longer \"Ninon,\" but\n\"Mademoiselle de l'Enclos.\" Her social circle widened, and instead of\nbeing limited to men exclusively, ladies eagerly took advantage of the\nprivilege accorded them to frequent the charming circle. That circle\ncertainly became celebrated. The beautiful woman had lived the life of\nan earnest Epicurean in her own way, regardless of society's\nconventionalities, and had apparently demonstrated that her way was\nthe best. She had certainly attained a long life, and what was more to\nthe purpose she had preserved her beauty and the attractions of her\nperson were as strong as when she was in her prime. Reason enough why\nthe women of the age thronged her apartments to learn the secret of\nher life. Moreover, her long and intimate associations with the most\nremarkable men of the century had not failed to impart to her, in\naddition to her exquisite femininity, the wisdom of a sage and the\npolish of a man of the world.\n\nMadame de La Fayette, that \"rich field so fertile in fruits,\" as Ninon\nsaid of her, and Madame de la Sabli\u00e8re, \"a lovely garden enameled with\neye-charming flowers,\" another of Ninon's descriptive metaphors,\npassed as many hours as they could in her society with the illustrious\nDuke de la Rochefoucauld, who, up to the time of his death honored\nNinon with his constant friendship and his devoted esteem. Even Madame\nde S\u00e9vign\u00e9 put aside her envy and jealousy and never wearied of the\npleasure of listening to the conversation of this wise beauty, in\ncompany with her haughty daughter, Madame de Grignan, Madame de\nCoulanges, Madame de Torp, and, strange to say, the Duchess de\nBouillon.\n\nHer friends watched over her health with the tenderest care and\naffection, and even her slightest indisposition brought them around\nher with expressions of the deepest solicitude. They dreaded losing\nher, for having had her so long among them they hoped to keep her\nalways, and they did, practically, for she outlived the most of them.\nAs proof of the anxiety of her friends and the delight they\nexperienced at her recovery from the slightest ailment, one\nillustration will suffice.\n\nOn one occasion she had withdrawn from her friends for a single\nevening, pleading indisposition. The next evening she reappeared and\nher return was celebrated by an original poem written by no less a\npersonage than the Abb\u00e9 Regnier-Desmarais, who read it to the friends\nassembled around her chair:\n\n\"Clusine qui dans tous les temps\n  Eut de tous les honn\u00eates gens\n  L'amour et l'estime en partage:\n  Qui toujours pleine de bon sens\n  Sut de chaque saison de l'\u00e2ge\n  Faire \u00e0 propos un juste usage:\nQui dans son entretien, dont on fut enchant\u00e9\n  Sut faire un aimable alliage\n  De l'agreable badinage,\n  Avec la politesse et la solidit\u00e9,\n  Et que le ciel doua d'un esprit droit et sage,\n  Toujours d'intelligence avec la verit\u00e9,\nClusine est, gr\u00e2ce au ciel, en parfaite sant\u00e9.\"\n\nSuch a poem would not be accorded much praise nowadays, but the hearts\nof her friends regarded the sentiments more than the polish, as a\nsubstantial translation into English will serve to show appeared in\nthe lines:\n\nClusine who from our earliest ken\n  Had from all good and honest men\n  Love and esteem a generous share:\n  Who knew so well the season when\n  Her heritage of sense so rare\n  To use with justice and with care:\nWho in her discourse, friends enchanted all-around,\n  Could fashion out of playful ware\n  An alloy of enduring wear,\n  Good breeding and with solid ground,\n  A heavenly spirit wise and fair,\n  With truth and intellect profound,\nClusine, thanks be to Heaven, her perfect health has found.\n\nHer salon was open to her friends in general from five o'clock in the\nevening until nine, at which hour she begged them to permit her to\nretire and gain strength for the morrow. In winter she occupied a\nlarge apartment decorated with portraits of her dearest male and\nfemale friends, and numerous paintings by celebrated artists. In\nsummer, she occupied an apartment which overlooked the boulevard, its\nwalls frescoed with magnificent sketches from the life of Psyche. In\none or the other of these salons, she gave her friends four hours\nevery evening, after that retiring to rest or amusing herself with a\nfew intimates. Her friendship finds an apt illustration in the case of\nthe Comte de Charleval. He was always delicate and in feeble health,\nand Ninon when he became her admirer in his youth, resolved to\nprolong his life through the application of the Epicurian philosophy.\nDe Marville, speaking of the Count, whom no one imagined would survive\nto middle age, says: \"Nature, which gave him so delicate a body in\nsuch perfect form, also gave him a delicate and perfect intelligence.\"\nThis frail and delicate invalid, lived, however, until the age of\neighty years, and was always grateful to Ninon for her tenderness. He\nnever missed a reception and sang her praises on every occasion.\nWriting to Saint-Evremond to announce his death, Ninon, herself very\naged, says: \"His mind had retained all the charms of his youth, and\nhis heart all the sweetness and tenderness of a true friend.\" She felt\nthe loss of this common friend, for she again writes of him afterward:\n\"His life and that I live had much in common. It is like dying oneself\nto meet with such a loss.\"\n\nIt was at this period of her life that Ninon occupied her time more\nthan ever in endearing herself to her friends. As says Saint-Evremond:\n\"She contents herself with ease and rest, after having enjoyed the\nliveliest pleasures of life.\" Although she was never mistress of the\ninvincible inclination toward the pleasures of the senses which nature\nhad given her, it appears that Ninon made some efforts to control\nthem. Referring to the ashes which are sprinkled on the heads of the\npenitent faithful on Ash Wednesday, she insisted that instead of the\nusual prayer of abnegation there should be substituted the words: \"We\nmust avoid the movements of love.\" What she wrote Saint-Evremond\nmight give rise to the belief that she sometimes regretted her\nweakness: \"Everybody tells me that I have less to complain of in my\ntime than many another. However that may be, if any one had proposed\nto me such a life I would have hanged myself.\" One of her favorite\nmaxims, however, was: \"We must provide a stock of provisions and not\nof pleasures, they should be taken as they come.\"\n\nThat her philosophical principles did not change, is certain from the\nfact that she retained all her friends and gained new ones who flocked\nto her reunions. Says Madame de Coulanges in one of her letters: \"The\nwomen are running after Mademoiselle de l'Enclos now as much as the\nmen used to do. How can any one hate old age after such an example.\"\nThis reflection did not originate with Ninon, who regretted little her\nformer pleasures, and besides, friendship with her had as many sacred\nrights as love. From what Madame de Coulanges says, one might suppose\nthat the men had deserted Ninon in her old age, leaving women to take\ntheir place, but Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 was of a different opinion. She\nsays: \"Corbinelli asks me about the new marvels taking place at\nMademoiselle de l'Enclos' house in the way of good company. She\nassembles around her in her old age, whatever Madame de Coulanges may\nsay to the contrary, both men and women, but even if women did not\nflock to her side, she could console herself for having had men in her\nyoung days to please.\"\n\nThe celebrated English geometrician, Huygens, visited Ninon during a\nsojourn at Paris in the capacity of ambassador. He was so charmed\nwith the attractions of her person, and with her singing, that he fell\ninto poetry to express his admiration. French verses from an\nEnglishman who was a geometrician and not a poet, were as surprising\nto Ninon and her friends as they will be to the reader. They are not\nliterature but express what was in the mind of the famous scientist:\n\n\"Elle a cinq instruments dont je suis amoureux,\nLes deux premiers, ses mains, les deux autres, ses yeux;\nPour le dernier de tous, et cinqui\u00e8me qui reste,\nIl faut \u00eatre galant et leste.\"\n\nIn the year 1696, when Ninon had reached eighty, she had several\nattacks of illness which worried her friends exceedingly. The Marquis\nde Coulanges writes: \"Our amiable l'Enclos has a cold which does not\nplease me.\" A short time afterward he again wrote: \"Our poor l'Enclos\nhas a low fever which redoubles in the evening, and a sore throat\nwhich worries her friends.\" These trifling ailments were nothing to\nNinon, who, though growing feeble, maintained her philosophy, as she\nsaid: \"I am contenting myself with what happens from day to day;\nforgetting to-day what occurred yesterday, and holding on to a used up\nbody as one that has been very agreeable.\" She saw the term of her\nlife coming to an end without any qualms or fear. \"If I could only\nbelieve with Madame de Chevreuse, that by dying we can go and talk\nwith all our friends in the other world, it would be a sweet thought.\"\n\nMadame de Maintenon, then in the height of her power and influence,\nhad never forgotten the friend of her youth, and now, she offered her\nlodgings at Versailles. It is said that her intention was to enable\nthe king to profit by an intimacy with a woman of eighty-five years\nwho, in spite of bodily infirmities, possessed the same vivacity of\nmind and delicacy of taste which had contributed to her great renown,\nmuch more than her personal charms and frailties. But Ninon was born\nfor liberty, and had never been willing to sacrifice her philosophical\ntranquility for the hope of greater fortune and position in the world.\nAccordingly, she thanked her old friend, and as the only concession\nshe would grant, consented to stand in the chapel of Versailles where\nLouis the Great could pass and satisfy his curiosity to see once, at\nleast, the astonishing marvel of his reign.\n\nDuring the latter years of her life, she took a fancy to young\nVoltaire, in whom she detected signs of future greatness. She\nfortified him with her counsel, which he prayed her to give him, and\nleft him a thousand francs in her will to buy books. Voltaire\nattempted to earn the money by ridiculing the memory of his\nbenefactress.\n\nAt the age of ninety years, Mademoiselle de l'Enclos grew feebler\nevery day, and felt that death would not be long coming. She performed\nall her social duties, however, until the very end, refusing to\nsurrender until compelled. On the last night of her life, unable to\nsleep, she arose, and at her desk wrote the following verses:\n\n\"Qu'un vain espoir ne vienne point s'offrir,\nQui puisse \u00e9branler mon courage;\nJe suis en age de mourir;\nQue ferais-je ici davantage?\"\n\n(Let no vain hope now come and try,\nMy courage strong to overthrow;\nMy age demands that I shall die,\nWhat more can I do here below?)\n\nOn the seventeenth of October, 1706, she expired as gently as one who\nfalls asleep.\n\n\n\n\nLETTERS\n\nOF\n\nNINON de L'ENCLOS\n\nTO THE\n\nMARQUIS de S\u00c9VIGN\u00c9.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION TO LETTERS\n\n\nThe celebrated Abb\u00e9 de Ch\u00e2teauneuf, in his \"Dialogues on Ancient\nMusic,\" refers to Mademoiselle de l'Enclos under the name of\n\"Leontium,\" a name given her by le Mar\u00e9chal de Saint-Evremond, and in\nhis eulogy upon her character, lays great stress on the genius\ndisplayed in her epistolary style. After censuring the affectation to\nbe found in the letters of Balzac and Voiture, the learned Abb\u00e9 says:\n\n\"The letters of Leontium, although novel in their form of expression,\nalthough replete with philosophy, and sparkling with wit and\nintelligence contain nothing stilted, or overdrawn.\n\n\"Inasmuch as the moral to be drawn from them is always seasoned with\nsprightliness, and the spirit manifested in them, displays the\ncharacteristics of a liberal and natural imagination, they differ in\nnothing from personal conversation with her choice circle of friends.\n\n\"The impression conveyed to the mind of their readers is, that she is\nactually conversing with them personally.\"\n\nMademoiselle de l'Enclos writes about the heart, love, and women.\nStrange subjects, but no woman ever lived who was better able to do\njustice to them. In her frame of mind, she could not see men without\nstudying their dispositions, and she knew them thoroughly, her\nexperience extending over a period of seventy-five years of intimate\nassociation with men of every stamp, from the Royal prince to the\nMarquis de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, the latter wearying her to such an extent that she\ndesignated him as \"a man beyond definition; with a soul of pulp, a\nbody of wet paper, and a heart of pumpkin fricasseed in snow,\" his own\nmother, the renowned Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, admitting that he was \"a heart\nfool.\"\n\nNinon took this weak Chevalier in charge and endeavored to make a man\nof him by exposing his frailties, and, entering into a long\ncorrespondence, to instruct him in the pathology of the female heart,\nwith which he was disposed to tamper on the slightest provocation. Her\nletters will show that she succeeded finally in bringing him to\nreason, but that in doing so, she was compelled to betray her own sex\nby exposing the secret motives of women in their relations with men.\n\nThat she knew women as well as men, can not be disputed, for,\nbeginning with Madame de Maintenon and the Queen of Sweden, Christine,\ndown along the line to the sweet Countess she guards so successfully\nagainst the evil designs of the Marquis de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, including Madame\nde La Fayette, Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, Madame de La Sabli\u00e8re, and the most\ndistinguished and prominent society women of France, they all were her\nparticular friends, as well as intimates, and held her in high esteem\nas their confidante in all affairs of the heart.\n\nNo other woman ever held so unique a position in the world of society\nas Mademoiselle de l'Enclos, and her letters to the Marquis de S\u00e9vign\u00e9\nmay, therefore, be considered as standards of the epistolary art upon\nthe subjects she treats; as containing the most profound insight into\nthe female heart where love is concerned, and as forming a study of\nthe greatest value in everything that pertains to the relations\nbetween the sexes.\n\nThere is an entire absence of mawkish sentimentality, of effort to\nconceal the secret motives and desires of the heart beneath specious\nlanguage and words of double meaning. On the contrary, they tear away\nfrom the heart the curtain of deceit, artifice and treachery, to\nexpose the nature of the machinery behind the scenes.\n\nThese letters must be read in the light of the opinions of the wisest\nphilosophers of the seventeenth century upon her character.\n\n\"Inasmuch as the first use she (Mademoiselle de l'Enclos) made of her\nreason, was to become enfranchised from vulgar errors, it is\nimpossible to be further removed from the stupid mistake of those who,\nunder the name of \"passion,\" elevate the sentiment of love to the\nheight of a virtue. Ninon understood love to be what it really is, a\ntaste founded upon the senses, a blind sentiment, which admits of no\nmerit in the object which gives it birth, and which promises no\nrecompense; a caprice, the duration of which does not depend upon our\nvolition, and which is subject to remorse and repentance.\"\n\n\n\n\nLETTERS OF NINON de L'ENCLOS\n\nTO THE\n\nMARQUIS de S\u00c9VIGN\u00c9\n\n\n\nI.\n\nA Hazardous Undertaking.\n\nWhat, I, Marquis, take charge of your education, be your guide in the\nenterprise upon which you are about to enter? You exact too much of my\nfriendship for you. You ought to be aware of the fact, that when a\nwoman has lost the freshness of her first youth, and takes a special\ninterest in a young man, everybody says she desires to \"make a\nworldling of him.\" You know the malignity of this expression. I do not\ncare to expose myself to its application. All the service I am willing\nto render you, is to become your confidante. You will tell me your\ntroubles, and I will tell you what is in my mind, likewise aid you to\nknow your own heart and that of women.\n\nIt grieves me to say, that whatever pleasure I may expect to find in\nthis correspondence, I can not conceal the difficulties I am liable to\nencounter. The human heart, which will be the subject of my letters,\npresents so many contrasts, that whoever lays it bare must fall into\na flood of contradictions. You think you have something stable in your\ngrasp, but find you have seized a shadow. It is indeed a chameleon,\nwhich, viewed from different aspects, presents a variety of opposite\ncolors, and even they are constantly shifting. You may expect to read\nmany strange things in what I shall say upon this subject. I will,\nhowever, give you my ideas, though they may often seem strange;\nhowever, that shall be for you to determine. I confess that I am not\nfree from grave scruples of conscience, foreseeing that I can scarcely\nbe sincere without slandering my own sex a little. But at least you\nwill know my views on the subject of love, and particularly everything\nthat relates to it, and I have sufficient courage to talk to you\nfrankly upon the subject.\n\nI am to dine to-night with the Marquis de la Rochefoucauld. Madame de\nla Sabli\u00e8re and La Fontaine will also be guests. If it please you to\nbe one of us, La Fontaine will regale you with two new stories, which,\nI am told, do not disparage his former ones. Come Marquis--But, again\na scruple. Have I nothing to fear in the undertaking we contemplate?\nLove is so malicious and fickle! Still, when I examine my heart, I do\nnot feel any apprehension for myself, it being occupied elsewhere, and\nthe sentiments I possess toward you resemble love less than\nfriendship. If the worst should happen and I lose my head some day, we\nshall know how to withdraw in the easiest possible manner.\n\nWe are going to take a course of morals together. Yes, sir, MORALS!\nBut do not be alarmed at the mere word, for there will be between us\nonly the question of gallantry to discuss, and that, you know, sways\nmorals to so high a degree that it deserves to be the subject of a\nspecial study. The very idea of such a project is to me infinitely\nrisible. However, if I talk reason to you too often, will you not grow\nweary? This is my sole anxiety, for you well know that I am a pitiless\nreasoner when I wish to be. With any other heart than that which you\nmisunderstand, I could be a philosopher such as the world never knew.\n\nAdieu, I await your good pleasure.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nWhy Love is Dangerous\n\n\nI assure you, Marquis, I shall keep my word, and on all occasions, I\nshall speak the truth, even though it be to my own detriment. I have\nmore stability in my disposition than you imagine, and I fear\nexceedingly that the result of our intercourse may sometimes lead you\nto think that I carry this virtue into severity. But you must remember\nthat I have only the external appearance of a woman, and that in mind\nand heart I am a man. Here is the method that I wish to follow with\nyou. As I ask only to acquire information for myself before\ncommunicating to you my ideas, my intention is to propound them to the\nexcellent man with whom we supped yesterday. It is true that he has\nnone too good an opinion of poor humanity. He believes neither in\nvirtue nor in spiritual things. But this inflexibility, mitigated by\nmy indulgence for human frailties, will give you, I believe, the kind\nand the quantity of philosophy which is required in all intercourse\nwith women. Let us come to the gist of your letter.\n\nSince your entrance into the world it has offered you nothing, you\nsay, of what you had imagined you would find there. Disgust and\nweariness follow you everywhere. You seek solitude, and as soon as\nyou are enjoying it, it wearies you. In a word, you do not know to\nwhat cause to attribute the restlessness which torments you. I am\ngoing to save you the trouble, I am, for my burden is to speak my\nthoughts on everything that may perplex you; and I do not know but you\nwill often ask me questions as embarrassing for me to answer as they\nmay have been for you to ask.\n\nThe uneasiness which you experience is caused only by the void in your\nheart. Your heart is without love, and it is trying to make you\ncomprehend its wants. You have really what one calls the \"need of\nloving.\" Yes, Marquis, nature, in forming us, gave us an allowance of\nsentiments which must expend themselves upon some object. Your age is\nthe proper period for the agitations of love; as long as this\nsentiment does not fill your heart, something will always be wanting;\nthe restlessness of which you complain will never cease. In a word,\nlove is the nourishment of the heart as food is of the body; to love\nis to fulfill the desire of nature, to satisfy a need. But if\npossible, manage it so that it will not become a passion. To protect\nyou from this misfortune, I could almost be tempted to disprove the\ncounsel given you, to prefer, to the company of women capable of\ninspiring esteem rather than love, the intercourse of those who pride\nthemselves on being amusing rather than sedate and prim. At your age,\nbeing unable to think of entering into a serious engagement, it is not\nnecessary to find a friend in a woman; one should seek to find only\nan amiable mistress.\n\nThe intercourse with women of lofty principles, or those whom the\nravages of time force into putting themselves forward only by virtue\nof great qualities, is excellent for a man who, like themselves, is on\nlife's decline. For you, these women would be too good company, if I\ndare so express myself. Riches are necessary to us only in proportion\nto our wants; and what you would better do, I think, is to frequent\nthe society of those who combine, with agreeable figure, gentleness in\nconversation, cheerfulness in disposition, a taste for the pleasures\nof society, and strong enough not to be frightened by one affair of\nthe heart.\n\nIn the eyes of a man of reason they appear too frivolous, you will\nsay: but do you think they should be judged with so much severity? Be\npersuaded, Marquis, that if, unfortunately, they should acquire more\nfirmness of character, they and you would lose much by it. You require\nin women stability of character! Well, do you not find it in a\nfriend?--Shall I tell you what is in my mind? It is not our virtues\nyou need; but our playfulness and our weakness. The love which you\ncould feel for a woman who would be estimable in every respect, would\nbecome too dangerous for you. Until you can contemplate a contract of\nmarriage, you should seek only to amuse yourself with those who are\nbeautiful; a passing taste alone should attach you to one of them: be\ncareful not to plunge in too deep with her; there can nothing result\nbut a bad ending. If you did not reflect more profoundly than the\ngreater part of young people, I should talk to you in an entirely\ndifferent tone; but I perceive that you are ready to give to excess, a\ncontrary meaning to their ridiculous frivolity. It is only necessary,\nthen, to attach yourself to a woman who, like an agreeable child,\nmight amuse you with pleasant follies, light caprices, and all those\npretty faults which make the charm of a gallant intercourse.\n\nDo you wish me to tell you what makes love dangerous? It is the\nsublime view that one sometimes takes of it. But the exact truth is,\nit is only a blind instinct which one must know how to appreciate: an\nappetite which you have for one object in preference to another,\nwithout being able to give the reason for your taste. Considered as a\nfriendly intimacy when reason presides, it is not a passion, it is no\nlonger love, it is, in truth, a warm hearted esteem, but tranquil;\nincapable of drawing you away from any fixed position. If, walking in\nthe footsteps of our ancient heroes of romance, you aim at great\nsentiments, you will see that this pretended heroism makes of love\nonly a sad and sometimes fatal folly. It is a veritable fanaticism;\nbut if you disengage it from all that opinion makes it, it will soon\nbe your happiness and pleasure. Believe me, if it were reason or\nenthusiasm which formed affairs of the heart, love would become\ninsipid, or a frenzy. The only means of avoiding these two extremes is\nto follow the path I have indicated. You need only to be amused, and\nyou will find amusement only among the women I mention to you as\ncapable of it. Your heart wishes occupation, they are made to fill it.\nTry my recipe and you will find it good--I made you a fair promise,\nand it seems to me I am keeping my word with you exactly. Adieu, I\nhave just received a charming letter from M. de Saint-Evremond, and I\nmust answer it. I wish at the same time to propose to him the ideas\nwhich I have communicated to you, and I shall be very much mistaken if\nhe does not approve of them.\n\nTo-morrow I shall have the Abb\u00e9 de Ch\u00e2teauneuf, and perhaps Moli\u00e8re.\nWe shall read again the Tartuffe, in which some changes should be\nmade. Take notice, Marquis, that those who do not conform to all I\nhave just told you, have a little of the qualities of that character.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nWhy Love Grows Cold\n\n\nIn despite of everything I may say to you, you still stick to your\nfirst sentiment. You wish a respectable person for a mistress, and one\nwho can at the same time be your friend. These sentiments would\nundoubtedly merit commendation if in reality they could bring you the\nhappiness you expect them to; but experience teaches you that all\nthose great expectations are pure illusions. Are serious qualities the\nonly question in pastimes of the heart? I might be tempted to believe\nthat romances have impaired your mental powers. Poor Marquis! He has\nallowed himself to become fascinated by the sublime talk common in\nconversation. But, my dear child, what do you mean to do with these\nchimeras of reason? I willingly tell you, Marquis: it is very fine\ncoin, but it is a pity that it can not enter into commercial\ntransactions.\n\nWhen you wish to begin housekeeping, look for a reliable woman, full\nof virtue and lofty principles. All this is becoming to the dignity of\nthe marriage tie; I intended to say, to its gravity. But at present,\nas you require nothing but a love affair, beware of being serious, and\nbelieve what I tell you; I know your wants better than you yourself\nknow them. Men usually say that they seek essential qualities in those\nthey love. Blind fools that they are! How they would complain could\nthey find them! What would they gain by being deified? They need only\namusement. A mistress as reasonable as you require would be a wife for\nwhom you would have an infinite respect, I admit, but not a particle\nof ardor. A woman estimable in all respects is too subduing,\nhumiliates you too much, for you to love her long. Forced to esteem\nher, and even sometimes to admire her, you can not excuse yourself for\nceasing to love her. So many virtues are a reproach too discreet, too\ntiresome a critic of our eccentricities, not to arouse your pride at\nlast, and when that is humbled, farewell to love. Make a thorough\nanalysis of your sentiments, examine well your conscience, and you\nwill see that I speak the truth. I have but a moment left to say\nadieu.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nThe Spice of Love\n\n\nDo you know, Marquis, that you will end by putting me in a temper?\nHeavens, how very stupid you are sometimes! I see it in your letter;\nyou have not understood me at all. Take heed; I did not say that you\nshould take for a mistress a despicable object. That is not at all my\nidea. But I said that in reality you needed only a love affair, and\nthat, to make it pleasant, you should not attach yourself exclusively\nto substantial qualities. I repeat it; when in love, men need only to\nbe amused; and I believe on this subject I am an authority. Traces of\ntemper and caprice, a senseless quarrel, all this has more effect upon\nwomen, and retains their affection more than all the reason\nimaginable, more than steadiness of character.\n\nSomeone whom you esteem for the justice and strength of his ideas,\nsaid one day at my house, that caprice in women was too closely allied\nto beauty to be an antidote. I opposed this opinion with so much\nanimation, that it could readily be seen that the contrary maxim was\nmy sentiment, and I am, in truth, well persuaded that caprice is not\nclose to beauty, except to animate its charms in order to make them\nmore attractive, to serve as a goad, and to flavor them. There is no\ncolder sentiment, and none which endures less than admiration. One\neasily becomes accustomed to see the same features, however regular\nthey may be, and when a little malignity does not give them life or\naction, their very regularity soon destroys the sentiment they excite.\nA cloud of temper, even, can give to a beautiful countenance the\nnecessary variety, to prevent the weariness of seeing it always in the\nsame state. In a word, woe to the woman of too monotonous a\ntemperament; her monotony satiates and disgusts. She is always the\nsame statue, with her a man is always right. She is so good, so\ngentle, that she takes away from people the privilege of quarreling\nwith her, and this is often such a great pleasure! Put in her place a\nvivacious woman, capricious, decided, to a certain limit, however, and\nthings assume a different aspect. The lover will find in the same\nperson the pleasure of variety. Temper is the salt, the quality which\nprevents it from becoming stale. Restlessness, jealousy, quarrels,\nmaking friends again, spitefulness, all are the food of love.\nEnchanting variety! which fills, which occupies a sensitive heart much\nmore deliciously than the regularity of behavior, and the tiresome\nmonotony which is called \"good disposition.\"\n\nI know how you men must be governed. A caprice puts you in an\nuncertainty, which you have as much trouble and grief in dispelling as\nthough it were a victory obtained over a new object. Roughness makes\nyou hold your breath. You do not stop disputing, but neither do you\ncease to conquer and to be conquered. In vain does reason sigh. You\ncan not comprehend how such an imp manages to subjugate you so\ntyrannically. Everything tells you that the idol of your heart is a\ncollection of caprices and follies, but she is a spoiled child, whom\nyou can not help but love. The efforts which reflection causes you to\nmake to loosen them, serve only to forge still tighter your chains;\nfor love is never so strong as when you believe it ready to break away\nin the heat of a quarrel. It loves, it storms; with it, everything is\nconvulsive. Would you reduce it to rule? It languishes, it expires. In\na word, this is what I wanted to say; do not take for a mistress a\nwoman who has only reliable qualities; but one who is sometimes\ndominated by temper, and silences reason; otherwise I shall say that\nit is not a love affair you want, but to set up housekeeping.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nLove and Temper\n\n\nOh, I agree with you, Marquis, a woman who has only temper and\ncaprices is very thorny for an acquaintance and in the end only\nrepels. I agree again that these irregularities must make of love a\nnever ending quarrel, a continual storm. Therefore, it is not for a\nperson of this character that I advise you to form an attachment. You\nalways go beyond my ideas. I only depicted to you in my last letter an\namiable woman, one who becomes still more so by a shade of diversity,\nand you speak only of an unpleasant woman, who has nothing but\nungracious things to say. How we have drifted away from the point!\n\nWhen I spoke of temper I only meant the kind which gives a stronger\nrelish, anxiety, and a little jealousy: that, in a word, which springs\nfrom love alone, and not from natural brutality, that roughness which\none ordinarily calls \"bad temper.\" When it is love which makes a woman\nrough, when that alone is the cause of her liveliness, what sort can\nthe lover be who has so little delicacy as to complain of it? Do not\nthese errors prove the violence of passion? For myself, I have always\nthought that he who knew how to keep himself within proper bounds,\nwas moderately amorous. Can one be so, in effect, without allowing\nhimself to be goaded by the fire of a devouring impetuosity, without\nexperiencing all the revolutions which it necessarily occasions? No,\nundoubtedly. Well! who can see all these disturbances in a beloved\nobject without a secret pleasure? While complaining of its injustice\nand its transports, one feels no less deliciously at heart that he is\nloved, and with passion, and that these same aggravations are most\nconvincing proofs that it is voluntary.\n\nThere, Marquis, is what constitutes the secret charm of the troubles\nwhich lovers sometimes suffer, of the tears they shed. But if you are\ngoing to believe that I wished to tell you that a woman of bad temper,\ncapricious, can make you happy, undeceive yourself. I said, and I\nshall always persist in my idea, that diversity is necessary,\ncaprices, bickerings, in a gallant intercourse, to drive away\nweariness, and to perpetuate the strength of it. But consider that\nthese spices do not produce that effect except when love itself is the\nsource. If temper is born of a natural brusqueness, or of a restless,\nenvious, unjust disposition, I am the first one to say that such a\nwoman will become hateful, she will be the cause of disheartening\nquarrels. A connection of the heart becomes then a veritable torment,\nfrom which it is desirable to free oneself as quickly as possible.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nCertain Maxims Concerning Love\n\n\nYou think, then, Marquis, that you have brought up an invincible\nargument, when you tell me that one is not the master of his own\nheart, in disposing of it where he wishes, and that consequently you\nare not at liberty to choose the object of your attachment? Morals of\nthe opera! Abandon this commonplace to women who expect, in saying so,\nto justify their weaknesses. It is very necessary that they should\nhave something to which to cling: like the gentleman of whom our\nfriend Montaigne speaks who, when the gout attacked him, would have\nbeen very angry if he had not been able to say: \"Cursed ham!\" They say\nit is a sympathetic stroke. That is too strong for me. Is anyone\nmaster of his heart? He is no longer permitted to reply when such good\nreasons are given. They have even so well sanctioned these maxims that\nthey wish to attract everyone to their arms in order to try to\novercome them. But these same maxims find so much approbation only\nbecause everyone is interested in having them received. No one\nsuspects that such excuses, far from justifying caprices, may be a\nconfession that one does not wish to correct them.\n\nFor myself, I take the liberty of being of a different opinion from\nthe multitude. It is enough for me that it is not impossible to\nconquer one's inclination to condemn all those who are unreasonable or\ndishonorable. Dear me! Have we not seen women succeed in destroying in\ntheir hearts a weakness which has taken them by surprise, as soon as\nthey have discovered that the object of their affections was unworthy\nof them? How often have they stifled the most tender affection, and\nsacrificed it to the conventionalities of an establishment? Rest,\ntime, absence, are remedies which passion, however ardent one may have\nsupposed it, can never resist; insensibly it weakens, and dies all at\nonce. I know that to withdraw honorably from such a liaison requires\nall the strength of reason. I comprehend still more, that the\ndifficulties you imagine stand in the way of maintaining a victory, do\nnot leave you enough courage to undertake it; so that, although I may\nsay that there are no invincible inclinations in the speculation, I\nwill admit that there are few of them to be vanquished by practice;\nand it happens so, only because one does not like to attempt without\nsuccess. However that may be, on the whole, I imagine that there being\nhere only a question of gallantry, it would be folly to put you to the\ntorture, in order to destroy the inclination which has seized upon you\nfor a woman more or less amiable; but also, because you are not\nsmitten with anyone, I persist in saying that I was right in\ndescribing to you the character which I believed would be the most\ncapable of making you happy.\n\nIt is without doubt to be desired, that delicate sentiments, real\nmerit, should have more power over our hearts, and that they might be\nable to occupy them and find a permanent place there forever. But\nexperience proves that this is not so. I do not reason from what you\nshould be, but from what you really are. My intention is to give you a\nknowledge of the heart such as it is, and not what it ought to be. I\nam the first one to regret the depravity of your taste, however\nindulgent I may be to your caprices. But not being able to reform the\nvices of the heart, I would at least teach you to draw out of them\nwhatever good you can. Not being able to render you wise, I try to\nmake you happy. It is an old saying: to wish to destroy the passions\nwould be to undertake our annihilation. It is only necessary to\nregulate them. They are in our hands like the poison in a pharmacy;\ncompounded by a skillful chemist they become beneficent remedies.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nWomen Expect a Quid Pro Quo From Men\n\n\nOh, who doubts, Marquis, that it may be only by essential qualities\nthat you can succeed in pleasing women? It is simply a question of\nknowing what meaning you attach to this expression. Do you call\nessential qualities, worth, firmness of character, precision of\njudgment, extent of learning, prudence, discretion, how can I tell the\nnumber of virtues which often embarrass you more than they make you\nhappy? Our minds are not in accord upon this matter. Reserve all the\nqualities I have specified for the intercourse you are obliged to have\nwith men, they are quite proper under such circumstances. But when it\ncomes to gallantry, you will have to change all such virtues for an\nequal number of charming traits; those that captivate, it is the only\ncoin that passes current in this country; it is the only merit, and\nyou must be on your guard against calling it spurious money. It may be\nthat true merit consists less in real perfection than in that which\nthe world requires. It is far more advantageous to possess the\nqualities agreeable to those whom we desire to please, than to have\nthose we believe to be estimable. In a word, we must imitate the\nmorals and even the caprices of those with whom we associate, if we\nexpect to live in peace with them.\n\nWhat is the destiny of women? What is their r\u00f4le on earth? It is to\nplease. Now, a charming figure, personal graces, in a word, all the\namiable and brilliant qualities are the only means of succeeding in\nthat role. Women possess them to a superlative degree, and it is in\nthese qualities that they wish men to resemble them. It will be vain\nfor you to accuse them of frivolity, for they are playing the beauty\nr\u00f4le, since they are destined to make you happy. Is it not, indeed,\ndue to the charm of our companionship, to the gentleness of our\nmanners, that you owe your most satisfying pleasures, your social\nvirtues, in fact, your whole happiness? Have some good faith in this\nmatter. Is it possible for the sciences of themselves, the love of\nglory, valor, nay, even that friendship of which you boast so much, to\nmake you perfectly happy? The pleasure you draw from any of them, can\nit be keen enough to make you feel happy? Certainly not. None of them\nhave the power to relieve you from a wearisome monotony which crushes\nyou and makes you an object of pity.\n\nIt is women who have taken upon themselves to dissipate these mortal\nlanguors by the vivacious gayety they inject into their society; by\nthe charms they know so well how to lavish where they will prove\neffectual. A reckless joy, an agreeable delirium, a delicious\nintoxication, are alone capable of awakening your attention, and\nmaking you understand that you are really happy, for, Marquis, there\nis a vast difference between merely enjoying happiness and relishing\nthe sensation of enjoying it. The possession of necessary things does\nnot make a man comfortable, it is the superfluous which makes him\nrich, and which makes him feel that he is rich.\n\nIt is not because you possess superior qualities that you are a\npleasant companion, it may be a real defect which is essential to you.\nTo be received with open arms, you must be agreeable, amusing,\nnecessary to the pleasure of others. I warn you that you can not\nsucceed in any other manner, particularly with women. Tell me, what\nwould you have me do with your learning, the geometry of your mind,\nwith the precision of your memory, etc.? If you have only such\nadvantages, Marquis, if you have no charming accomplishments to offset\nyour crudity--I can vouch for their opinion--far from pleasing women,\nyou will seem to them like a critic of whom they will be afraid, and\nyou will place them under so much constraint, that the enjoyment they\nmight have permitted themselves in your society will be banished. Why,\nindeed, try to be amiable toward a man who is a source of anxiety to\nyou by his nonchalance, who does not unbosom himself? Women are not at\ntheir ease except with those who take chances with them, and enter\ninto their spirit. In a word, too much circumspection gives others a\nchill like that felt by a man who goes out of a warm room into a cold\nwind. I intended to say that habitual reserve locks the doors of the\nhearts of those who associate with us; they have no room to expand.\n\nYou must also bear this in mind, Marquis, that in cases of gallantry,\nyour first advances must be made under the most favorable\ncircumstances. You must have read somewhere, that one pleases more by\nagreeable faults than by essential qualities. Great virtues are like\npieces of gold of which one makes less use than of ordinary currency.\n\nThis idea calls to my mind those people who, in place of our kind of\nmoney, use shells as their medium of exchange. Well, do you imagine\nthat these people are not so rich as we with all the treasures of the\nnew world? We might, at first blush, take this sort of wealth as\nactual poverty, but we should be quickly undeceived upon reflection,\nfor metals have no value except in opinion. Our gold would be false\nmoney to those people. Now, the qualities you call essential are not\nworth any more in cases of gallantry, where only pebbles are\nsufficient. What matters the conventional mark provided there is\ncommerce?\n\nNow, this is my conclusion: If it be true, as you can not doubt, that\nyou ought not to expect happiness except from an interchange of\nagreeable qualities in women, you may be sure that you will never\nplease them unless you possess advantages similar to theirs. I stick\nto the point. You men are constantly boasting about your science, your\nfirmness, etc., but tell me, how weary would you not be, how disgusted\neven, with life, if, always logical, you were condemned to be forever\nlearned and sordid, to live only in the company of philosophers? I\nknow you, you would soon become weary of admiration for your good\nqualities, and the way you are made, you would rather do without\nvirtue than pleasure. Do not amuse yourself, then, by holding\nyourself out as a man with great qualities in the sense you consider\nthem. True merit is that which is esteemed by those we aim to please.\nGallantry has its own laws, and Marquis, amiable men are the sages of\nthis world.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nThe Necessity for Love and Its Primitive Cause.\n\n\nThis time, Marquis, you have not far to go, your hour has come. The\ndiagnosis you give me of your condition tells me that you are in love.\nThe young widow you mention is certainly capable of rousing an\ninspiration in your heart. The Chevalier de ---- has given me a very\nfavorable portrait of her. But scarcely do you begin to feel a few\nscruples, than you turn into a crime the advice I have been giving\nyou. The disorder which love brings to the soul, and the other evils\nwhich follow in its train, appear to you, so you say, more to be\nfeared than the pleasures it gives are to be desired.\n\nIt is true that some very good people are of the opinion that the\nsorrows of love are about equal to its pleasures, but without entering\nupon a tiresome discussion to ascertain whether they are right or\nwrong, if you would have my opinion, here it is: Love is a passion\nwhich is neither good nor bad of itself; it is only those who are\naffected by it that determine whether it is good or bad. All that I\nshall say in its favor is, that it gives us an advantage with which\nany of the discomforts of life can not enter into comparison. It drags\nus out of the rut, it stirs us up, and it is love which satisfies one\nof our most pressing wants. I think I have already told you that our\nhearts are made for emotion; to excite it therefore, is to satisfy a\ndemand of nature. What would vigorous youth be without love? A long\nillness: it would not be existence, it would be vegetating. Love is to\nour hearts what winds are to the sea. They grow into tempests, true;\nthey are sometimes even the cause of shipwrecks. But the winds render\nthe sea navigable, their constant agitation of its surface is the\ncause of its preservation, and if they are often dangerous, it is for\nthe pilot to know how to navigate in safety.\n\nBut I have wandered from my text, and return to it. Though I shock\nyour sensitive delicacy by my frank speaking, I shall add, that\nbesides the need of having our emotions stirred, we have in connection\nwith them a physical machinery, which is the primitive cause and\nnecessity of love. Perhaps it is not too modest for a woman to use\nsuch language to you, but you will understand that I would not talk to\nevery one so plainly. We are not engaged in what may be called \"nice\"\nconversation, we are philosophizing. If my discussions seem to you to\nbe sometimes too analytical for a woman, remember what I told you in\nmy last letter. From the time I was first able to reason, I made up my\nmind to investigate and ascertain which of the two sexes was the more\nfavored. I saw that men were not at all stinted in the distribution of\nthe roles to be played, and I therefore became a man.\n\nIf I were you, I would not investigate whether it be a good or a bad\nthing to fall in love. I would prefer to have you ask whether it is\ngood or bad to be thirsty; or, that it be forbidden to give one a\ndrink because there are men who become intoxicated. Inasmuch as you\nare not at liberty to divest yourself of an appetite belonging to the\nmechanical part of your nature, as could our ancient romancers, do not\nruin yourself by speculating and meditating on the greater or less\nadvantages in loving. Take love as I have advised you to take it, only\ndo not let it be to you a passion, only an amusement.\n\nI understand what you are going to say: you are going to overwhelm me\nagain with your great principles, and tell me that a man has not\nsufficient control over his feelings to stop when he would. Pooh! I\nregard those who talk in that fashion in the same light as the man,\nwho believes he is in honor bound to show great sorrow on the occasion\nof a loss or accident, which his friends consider great, but which is\nnothing to him. Such a man feels less than any one the need of\nconsolation, but he finds pleasure in showing his tears. He rejoices\nto know that he possesses a heart capable of excessive emotion, and\nthis softens it still more. He feeds it with sorrow, he makes an idol\nof it, and offers it incense so often that he acquires the habit. All\nsuch admirers of great and noble sentiments, spoiled by romances or by\nprudes, make it a point of honor to spiritualize their passion. By\nforce of delicate treatment, they become all the more infatuated with\nit, as they deem it to be their own work, and they fear nothing so\nmuch as the shame of returning to common sense and resuming their\nmanhood.\n\nLet us take good care, Marquis, not to make ourselves ridiculous in\nthis way. This fashion of straining our intelligence is nothing more,\nin the age in which we are living, than playing the part of fools. In\nformer times people took it into their heads that love should be\nsomething grave, they considered it a serious matter, and esteemed it\nonly in proportion to its dignity. Imagine exacting dignity from a\nchild! Away would go all its graces, and its youth would soon become\nconverted into old age. How I pity our good ancestors! What with them\nwas a mortal weariness, a melancholy frenzy, is with us a gay folly, a\ndelicious delirium. Fools that they were, they preferred the horrors\nof deserts and rocks, to the pleasures of a garden strewn with\nflowers. What prejudices the habit of reflection has brought upon us!\n\nThe proof that great sentiments are nothing but chimeras of pride and\nprejudice, is, that in our day, we no longer witness that taste for\nancient mystic gallantry, no more of those old fashioned gigantic\npassions. Ridicule the most firmly established opinions, I will go\nfurther, deride the feelings that are believed to be the most natural\nand soon both will disappear, and men will stand amazed to see that\nideas for which they possessed a sort of idolatry, are in reality\nnothing but trifles which pass away like the ever changing fashions.\n\nYou will understand, then, Marquis, that it is not necessary to\nacquire the habit of deifying the fancy you entertain for the\nCountess. You will know, at last, that love to be worthy of the name,\nand to make us happy, far from being treated as a serious affair,\nshould be fostered lightly, and above all with gayety. Nothing can\nmake you understand more clearly the truth of what I am telling you,\nthan the result of your adventure, for I believe the Countess to be\nthe last woman in the world to harbor a sorrowful passion. You, with\nyour high sentiments will give her the blues, mark what I tell you.\n\nMy indisposition continues, and I would feel like telling you that I\nnever go out during the day, but would not that be giving you a\nrendezvous? If, however, you should come and give me your opinion of\nthe \"Bajazet\" of Racine, you would be very kind. They say that the\nChampmesle has surpassed herself.\n\nI have read over this letter, Marquis, and the lecture it contains\nputs me out of humor with you. I recognize the fact that truth is a\ncontagious disease. Judge how much of it goes into love, since you\nbestow it even upon those who aim to undeceive you. It is quite\nstrange, that in order to prove that love should be treated with\nlevity, it was necessary to assume a serious tone.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nLove is a Natural Inclination\n\n\nSo you have taken what I said about love in my last letter as a crime?\nI have blasphemed love; I have degraded it by calling it a\n\"necessity?\" You have such noble thoughts, Marquis. What is passing in\nyour mind is proof of it. You can not realize, or imagine anything\nless than the pure and delicate sentiments which fill your heart. To\nsee the Countess, hold sweet discourse with her, listen to the sound\nof her gentle voice, dance attendance upon her, that is the height of\nyour desires, it is your supreme happiness. Far from you are those\nvulgar sentiments which I unworthily substitute for your sublime\nmetaphysics; sentiments created for worldly souls occupied solely with\nsensual pleasures. What a mistake I made! Could I imagine that the\nCountess was a woman to be captured by motives so little worthy of\nher? To raise the suspicion in her mind that you possessed such views,\nwould it not inevitably expose you to her hate, her scorn, etc.?\n\nAre not these the inconveniences which my morality leads you to\napprehend? My poor Marquis! you are yourself deceived by your\nmisunderstanding of the real cause of your sentiments. Give me all\nyour attention: I wish to draw you away from error, but in a manner\nthat will best accord with the importance of what I am about to say. I\nmount the tribune; I feel the presence of the god who inspires me. I\nrub my forehead with the air of a person who meditates on profound\ntruths, and who is going to utter great thoughts. I am going to reason\naccording to rule.\n\nMen, I know not by what caprice, have attached shame to the indulgence\nof that reciprocal inclination which nature has bestowed upon both\nsexes. They knew, however, that they could not entirely stifle its\nvoice, so what did they do to relieve themselves of their\nembarrassment? They attempted to substitute the mere shell of an\naffection wholly spiritual for the humiliating necessity of appearing\nin good faith to satisfy a natural want. Insensibly, they have grown\naccustomed to meddle with a thousand little sublime nothings connected\nwith it, and as if that were not enough, they have at last succeeded\nin establishing the belief that all these frivolous accessories, the\nwork of a heated imagination, constitute the essence of the\ninclination. There you are; love erected into a fine virtue; at least\nthey have given it the appearance of a virtue. But let us break\nthrough this prestige and cite an example.\n\nAt the beginning of their intercourse, lovers fancy themselves\ninspired by the noblest and most delicate sentiments. They exhaust\ntheir ingenuity, exaggerations, the enthusiasm of the most exquisite\nmetaphysics; they are intoxicated for a time with the idea that their\nlove is a superior article. But let us follow them in their liaison:\nNature quickly recovers her rights and re-assumes her sway; soon,\nvanity, gorged with the display of an exaggerated purpose, leaves the\nheart at liberty to feel and express its sentiments without restraint,\nand dissatisfied with the pleasures of love, the day comes when these\npeople are very much surprised to find themselves, after having\ntraveled around a long circuit, at the very point where a peasant,\nacting according to nature, would have begun. And thereby hangs a\ntale.\n\nA certain Honesta, to give her a fictitious name, in whose presence I\nwas one day upholding the theory I have just been maintaining, became\nfurious.\n\n\"What!\" she exclaimed in a transport of indignation, \"do you pretend,\nMadame, that a virtuous person, one who possesses only honest\nintentions, such as marriage, is actuated by such vulgar motives? You\nwould believe, in that case, that I, for instance, who 'par vertu,'\nhave been married three times, and who, to subdue my husbands, have\nnever wished to have a separate apartment, that I only acted thus to\nprocure what you call pleasure? Truly you would be very much mistaken.\nIndeed, never have I refused to fulfill the duties of my state, but I\nassure you that the greater part of the time, I yielded to them only\nthrough complaisance, or as a distraction, always with regret at the\nimportunities of men. We love men and marry them because they have\ncertain qualities of mind and heart; and no woman, with the exception\nof those, perhaps, whom I do not care to name, even attaches any\nimportance to other advantages----\"\n\nI interrupted her, and more through malice than good taste, carried\nthe argument to its logical conclusion. I made her see that what she\nsaid was a new proof of my contention:\n\n\"The reasons you draw from the legitimate views of marriage,\" said I,\n\"prove that those who hold them, fend to the same end as two ordinary\nlovers, perhaps, even in better faith, with this difference only, that\nthey wish an extra ceremony attached to it.\"\n\nThis shot roused the indignation of my adversary.\n\n\"You join impiety to libertinage,\" said she, moving away from me.\n\nI took the liberty of making some investigations, and would you\nbelieve it, Marquis? This prude so refined, had such frequent\n'distractions' with her three husbands, who were all young and\nvigorous, that she buried them in a very short time.\n\nCome now, Marquis, retract your error; abandon your chimera, reserve\ndelicacy of sentiment for friendship; accept love for what it is. The\nmore dignity you give it, the more dangerous you make it; the more\nsublime the idea you form of it, the less correct it is. Believe de la\nRochefoucauld, a man who knows the human heart well: \"If you expect to\nlove a woman for love of herself,\" says he, \"you will be much\nmistaken.\"\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nThe Sensation of Love Forms a Large Part of a Woman's Nature\n\n\nThe commentaries the Countess has been making you about her virtue,\nand the refinement she expects in a lover, have certainly alarmed you.\nYou think she will always be as severe as she now appears to you. All\nI have told you does not reassure you. You even esteem it a favor to\nme that you stop with doubting my principles. If you dared you would\ncondemn them entirely. When you talk to me in that fashion, I feel at\nliberty to say that I believe you. It is not your fault if you do not\nsee clearly into your own affair, but in proportion as you advance,\nthe cloud will disappear, and you will perceive with surprise the\ntruth of what I have been telling you.\n\nThe more cold blooded you are, or at least, as long as passion has not\nyet reached that degree of boldness its progress will ultimately lead\nyou to, the mere hope of the smallest favor is a crime; you tremble at\nthe most innocent caress. At first you ask for nothing, or for so\nslight a favor, that a woman conscientiously believes herself obliged\nto grant it, delighted with you on account of your modesty. To obtain\nthis slight favor, you protest never to ask another, and yet, even\nwhile making your protestations, you are preparing to exact more. She\nbecomes accustomed to it and permits further trifling, which seems to\nbe of so little importance that she would endure it from any other\nman, if she were on the slightest terms of intimacy with him. But, to\njudge from the result, what appears to be of so little consequence on\none day when compared with the favor obtained the day before, becomes\nvery considerable when compared with that obtained on the first day. A\nwoman, re-assured by your discretion, does not perceive that her\nfrailties are being graduated upon a certain scale. She is so much\nmistress of herself, and the little things which are at first exacted,\nappear to her to be so much within her power of refusal, that she\nexpects to possess the same strength when something of a graver\ncharacter is proposed to her. It is just this way: she flatters\nherself that her power of resistance will increase in the same\nproportion with the importance of the favors she will be called upon\nto grant. She relies so entirely upon her virtue, that she challenges\ndanger by courting it. She experiments with her power of resistance;\nshe wishes to see how far the granting of a few unimportant favors can\nlead her. Here is where she is imprudent, for by her very rashness she\naccustoms her imagination to contemplate suggestions which are the\nfinal cause of her seduction. She travels a long way on the road\nwithout perceiving that she has moved a single step. If upon looking\nback along the route, she is surprised at having yielded so much, her\nlover will be no less surprised at having obtained so much.\n\nBut I go still further. I am persuaded that love is not always\nnecessary to bring about the downfall of a woman. I knew a woman, who,\nalthough amiable in her manner with everybody, had never been\nsuspected of any affair of the heart. Fifteen years of married life\nhad not diminished her tenderness for her husband, and their happy\nunion could be cited as an example to imitate.\n\nOne day at her country place, her friends amused themselves so late\nthat they were constrained to remain at her house all night. In the\nmorning, her servants happening to be occupied with her guests, she\nwas alone in her apartment engaged in making her toilet. A man whom\nshe knew quite well, but who was without social position, dropped in\nfor a short visit and to pass the compliments of the day. Some\nperplexity in her toilette, induced him to offer his services. The\nneglige dress she wore, naturally gave him an opportunity to\ncompliment her upon her undiminished charms. Of course she protested,\nbut laughingly, claiming they were unmerited. However, one thing\nfollowed another, they became a trifle sentimental, a few\nfamiliarities which they did not at first deem of any consequence,\ndeveloped into something more decided, until, finally, unable to\nresist, they were both overcome, the woman being culpable, for she\nregarded his advances in the nature of a joke and let them run on.\nWhat was their embarrassment after such a slip? They have never since\nbeen able to understand how they could have ventured so far without\nhaving had the slightest intention of so doing.\n\nI am tempted to exclaim here: Oh, you mortals who place too much\nreliance upon your virtue, tremble at this example! Whatever may be\nyour strength, there are, unfortunately, moments when the most\nvirtuous is the most feeble. The reason for this strange phenomenon\nis, that nature is always on the watch; always aiming to attain her\nends. The desire for love is, in a woman, a large part of her nature.\nHer virtue is nothing but a piece of patchwork.\n\nThe homilies of your estimable Countess may be actually sincere,\nalthough in such cases, a woman always exaggerates, but she deludes\nherself if she expects to maintain to the end, sentiments so severe\nand so delicate. Fix this fact well in your mind, Marquis, that these\nfemale metaphysicians are not different in their nature from other\nwomen. Their exterior is more imposing, their morals more austere, but\ninquire into their acts, and you will discover that their heart\naffairs always finish the same as those of women less refined. They\nare a species of the \"overnice,\" forming a class of their own, as I\ntold Queen Christine of Sweden, one day: \"They are the Jansenists of\nlove.\" (Puritans.)\n\nYou should be on your guard, Marquis, against everything women have to\nsay on the chapter of gallantry. All the fine systems of which they\nmake such a pompous display, are nothing but vain illusions, which\nthey utilize to astonish those who are easily deceived. In the eyes of\na clear sighted man, all this rubbish of stilted phrases is but a\nparade at which he mocks, and which does not prevent him from\npenetrating their real sentiments. The evil they speak of love, the\nresistance they oppose to it, the little taste they pretend for its\npleasures, the measures they take against it, the fear they have of\nit, all that springs from love itself. Their very manner renders it\nhomage, indicates that they harbor the thought of it. Love assumes a\nthousand different forms in their minds. Like pride, it lives and\nflourishes upon its own defeat; it is never overthrown that it does\nnot spring up again with renewed force.\n\nWhat a letter, good heavens! To justify its length would be to\nlengthen it still more.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nThe Distinction Between Love and Friendship\n\n\nI was delighted with your letter, Marquis. Do you know why? Because it\ngives me speaking proof of the truth of what I have been preaching to\nyou these latter days. Ah! for once you have forgotten all your\nmetaphysics. You picture to me the charms of the Countess with a\ncomplacency which demonstrates that your sentiments are not altogether\nso high flown as you would have me believe, and as you think down in\nyour heart. Tell me frankly: if your love were not the work of the\nsenses, would you take so much pleasure in considering that form,\nthose eyes which enchant you, that mouth which you describe to me in\nsuch glowing colors? If the qualities of heart and mind alone seduce\nyou, a woman of fifty is worth still more in that respect than the\nCountess. You see such a one every day, it is her mother; why not\nbecome enamored of her instead? Why neglect a hundred women of her\nage, of her plainness, and of her merit, who make advances to you, and\nwho would enact the same role with you that you play with the\nCountess? Why do you desire with so much passion to be distinguished\nby her from other men? Why are you uneasy when she shows them the\nleast courtesy? Does her esteem for them diminish that which she\npretends for you? Are rivalries and jealousies recognized in\nmetaphysics? I believe not I have friends and I do not observe such\nthings in them; I feel none in my own heart when they love other\nwomen.\n\nFriendship is a sentiment which has nothing to do with the senses; the\nsoul alone receives the impression of it, and the soul loses nothing\nof its value by giving itself up to several at the same time. Compare\nfriendship with love, and you will perceive the difference between a\ndesire which governs a friend, and that which offers itself to a\nlover. You will confess, that at heart, I am not so unreasonable as\nyou at first thought, and that it might be very well if it should\nhappen that in love, you might have a soul as worldly as that of a\ngood many people, whom it pleases you to accuse of very little\nrefinement.\n\nI do not wish, however, to bring men alone to trial. I am frank, and I\nam quite sure that if women would be honest, they would soon confess\nthat they are not a bit more refined than men. Indeed, if they saw in\nlove only the pleasures of the soul, if they hoped to please only by\ntheir mental accomplishments and their good character, honestly, now,\nwould they apply themselves with such particular care to please by the\ncharms of their person? What is a beautiful skin to the soul; an\nelegant figure; a well shaped arm? What contradictions between their\nreal sentiments and those they exhibit on parade! Look at them, and\nyou will be convinced that they have no intention of making themselves\nvalued except by their sensual attractions, and that they count\neverything else as nothing. Listen to them: you will be tempted to\nbelieve that it is not worldly things which they consider the least. I\nthink I deserve credit for trying to dispel your error in this\nrespect, and ought I not to expect everything from the care they will\ntake to undeceive you themselves? Perhaps they will succeed only too\neasily in expressing sentiments entirely contrary to those you have\nheard to-day from me.\n\nI am due at Mademoiselle de Raymond's this evening, to hear the two\nCamus and Ytier who are going to sing. Mesdames de la Sabli\u00e8re, de\nSalins, and de Monsoreau will also be there. Would you miss such a\nfine company?\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nA Man in Love is an Amusing Spectacle\n\n\nYou take things too much to heart, Marquis. Already two nights that\nyou have not slept. Oh! it is true love, there is no mistaking that.\nYou have made your eyes speak, you, yourself, have spoken quite\nplainly, and not the slightest notice has been taken of your\ncondition. Such behavior calls for revenge. Is it possible that after\neight whole days of devoted attention she has not given you the least\nhope? Such a thing can not be easily imagined. Such a long resistance\nbegins to pass beyond probability. The Countess is a heroine of the\nlast century. But if you are beginning to lose patience, you can\nimagine the length of time you would have had to suffer, if you had\ncontinued to proclaim grand and noble sentiments. You have already\naccomplished more in eight days than the late Celadon could in eight\nmonths. However, to speak seriously, are your complaints just? You\ncall the Countess ungrateful, insensible, disdainful, etc. But by what\nright do you talk thus? Will you never believe what I have told you a\nhundred times? Love is a veritable caprice, involuntary, even in one\nwho experiences its pangs. Why should, you say that the beloved object\nis bound to recompense a blind sentiment acquired without her\nconnivance?\n\nYou are very queer, you men. You consider yourselves offended because\na woman does not respond with eagerness to the languishing looks you\ndeign to cast upon her. Your revolted pride immediately accuses her of\ninjustice, as if it were her fault that your head is turned; as if she\nwere obliged, at a certain stage, to be seized with the same disease\nas you. Tell me this: is the Countess responsible if she is not\nafflicted with the same delirium as soon as you begin to rave? Cease,\nthen, to accuse her and to complain, and to try to communicate your\nmalady to her; I know you, you are seductive enough. Perhaps she will\nfeel, too soon for her peace of mind, sentiments commensurate with\nyour desires. I believe she has in her everything to subjugate you,\nand to inspire you with the taste I hope will be for your happiness,\nbut so far, I do not think she is susceptible of a very serious\nattachment.\n\nVivacious, inconsistent, positive, decided, she can not fail to give\nyou plenty of exercise. An attentive and caressing woman would weary\nyou; you must be handled in a military fashion, if you are to be\namused and retained. As soon as the mistress assumes the r\u00f4le of\nlover, love begins to weaken; it does more, it rises like a tyrant,\nand ends in disdain which leads directly to disgust and inconstancy.\nHave you found, perchance, everything you required in the little\nmistress who is the cause of your dolorous martyrdom? Poor Marquis!\nWhat storms will blow over you. What quarrels I foresee! How many\nvexations, how many threats to leave her! But do not forget this: So\nmuch emotion will become your punishment, if you treat love after the\nmanner of a hero of romance, and you will meet a fate entirely the\ncontrary if you treat it like a reasonable man.\n\nBut ought I to continue to write you? The moments you employ to read\nmy letters will be so many stolen from love. Great Heavens! how I\nshould like to be a witness of your situations! Indeed, for a\nsober-minded person, is there a spectacle more amusing than the\ncontortions of a man in love?\n\n\n\n\nXIII\n\nVanity Is a Fertile Soil for Love.\n\n\nYou are not satisfied, then, Marquis, with what I so cavalierly said\nabout your condition? You wish me by all means to consider your\nadventure as a serious thing, but I shall take good care not to do so.\nDo you not see that my way of treating you is consistent with my\nprinciples? I speak lightly of a thing I believe to be frivolous, or\nsimply amusing. When it comes to an affair on which depends a lasting\nhappiness, you will see me take on an appropriate tone. I do not want\nto pity you, because it depends upon yourself whether you are to be\npitied or not. By a trick of your imagination, what now appears to be\na pain to you may become a pleasure. To succeed, make use of my recipe\nand you will find it good. But to refer to the second paragraph of\nyour letter:\n\nYou say you are all the more surprised at the coldness of the Countess\nas you did not think it in earnest. According to what you say, your\nconjectures are based on the indiscretions of her friends. The good\nshe spoke about you to them, was the main cause of your taking a fancy\nto her. I know men by this trait. The smallest word that escapes a\nwoman's lips leads them into the belief that she has designs upon\nthem. Everything has some reference to their merits; their vanity\nseizes upon everything, and they turn everything into profit. To\nexamine them closely, nearly all of them love through gratitude, and\non this point, women are not any more reasonable. So that gallantry is\nan intercourse in which we want the others to go along with us, always\nwant to be their debtors. And you know pride is much more active in\npaying back than in giving. If two lovers would mutually explain,\nwithout reservation, the beginning and progress of their passion, what\nconfidences would they not exchange?\n\nElise, to whom Val\u00e8re uttered a few general compliments, responded,\nperhaps without intending to, in a more affectionate manner than is\nusual in the case of such insipidities. It was enough. Val\u00e8re is\ncarried away with the idea that from a gallant he must become a lover.\nThe fire is insensibly kindled on both sides; finally, it bursts\nforth, and there you are, a budding passion. If you should charge\nElise with having made the first advances, nothing would appear more\nunjust to her, and yet nothing could be more true. I conclude from\nthis that to take love for what it really is, it is less the work of\nwhat is called invincible sympathy, than that of our vanity. Notice\nthe birth of all love affairs. They begin by the mutual praises we\nbestow upon each other. It has been said that it is folly which\nconducts love; I should say that it is flattery, and that it can not\nbe introduced into the heart of a belle until after paying tribute to\nher vanity. Add to all this, the general desire and inclination we\nhave to be loved, and we are bravely deceived. Like those enthusiasts\nwho, by force of imagination, believe they can really see the images\nthey conjure up in their minds, we fancy that we can see in others the\nsentiments we desire to find there.\n\nBe careful, then, Marquis, not to let yourself be blinded by a false\nnotion. The Countess may have spoken well of you with the sole object\nof doing you justice, without carrying her intention any farther. And\nbe sure you are wrong when you suspect her of insincerity in your\nregard. After all, why should you not prefer to have her dissemble her\nsentiments toward you, if you are the source of their inspiration? Are\nnot women in the right to hide carefully their sentiments from you,\nand does not the bad use you make of the certainty of their love\njustify them in so doing?\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\nWorth and Merit Are Not Considered in Love\n\n\nNo, Marquis, the curiosity of Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 has not offended me.\nOn the contrary, I am very glad that she wished to see the letters you\nreceive from me. Without doubt, she thought that if it were a question\nof gallantry, it could only be to my profit; she now knows the\ncontrary. She will also know that I am not so frivolous as she\nimagined, and I believe her just enough to form hereafter another idea\nof Ninon than the one she has heretofore had of her, for I am not\nignorant of the fact that she does not speak of me much to my\nadvantage. But her injustice will never influence my friendship for\nyou. I am philosophic enough to console myself for not securing the\ncommendation of people who judge me without knowing me. Whatever may\nhappen, I shall continue to talk to you with my ordinary frankness,\nand I am sure that Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, in spite of her refined mind,\nwill, at heart, be more of my opinion than she cares to show. Now, I\ncome to what relates to you.\n\nWell, Marquis, after infinite care and trouble, you think you have at\nlast softened that stony heart? I am glad of it; but I laugh at your\ninterpretation of the Countess' sentiments. You share with all men a\ncommon error which it is necessary to remove, however flattering it\nmay be to you to foster it. You believe, every one of you, that it is\nyour worth alone that kindles passion in the heart of women, and that\nqualities of heart and mind are the causes of the love they feel\ntoward you. What a mistake! You only think so, it is true, because\nyour pride finds satisfaction in the thought. But, if you can do so\nwithout prejudice, inquire into the motives that actuate you, and you\nwill soon perceive that you are laboring under a delusion, and that we\ndeceive you; that, everything well considered, you are the dupe of\nyour vanity and of ours; that the worth of the person loved is only an\nexcuse which gives an occasion for love, and is not the real cause.\nFinally, that all this sublime by-play, which is paraded on both\nsides, is a mere preliminary which enters into the desire to satisfy\nthe need I first indicated to you as the prime exciting cause of this\npassion. I tell you this is a hard and humiliating truth, but it is\nnone the less certain. We women enter the world with this necessity of\nloving undefined, and if we take one man in preference to another, let\nus say so honestly, we yield less to the knowledge of merit than to a\nmechanical instinct which is nearly always blind.\n\nFor proof of this I need only refer to the foolish passions with which\nwe sometimes become intoxicated for strangers, or at least for men\nwith whom we are not sufficiently acquainted, to relieve our selection\nof them from the odium of imprudence from the beginning; in which case\nif there is a mutual response, well, it is pure chance. We are always\nforming attachments without sufficient circumspection, hence I am not\nwrong in comparing love to an appetite which one sometimes feels for\none kind of food rather than for another, without being able to give\nthe reason. I am very cruel to thus dissipate the phantoms of your\nself love, but I am telling you the truth. You are flattered by the\nlove of a woman, because you believe it implies the worthiness of the\nobject loved. You do her too much honor: let us say rather, that you\nhave too good an opinion of yourself. Understand that it is not for\nyourself that we love you, to speak with sincerity, it is our own\nhappiness we seek. Caprice, interest, vanity, disposition, the\nuneasiness that affects our hearts when they are unoccupied, these are\nthe sources of the great sentiment we wish to deify! It is not great\nqualities that affect us; if they enter for anything into the reasons\nwhich determine us in your favor, it is not the heart which receives\nthe impression, it is vanity; and the greater part of the things in\nyou which please us, very often makes you ridiculous or contemptible.\n\nBut, what will you have? We need an admirer who can entertain us with\nideas of our perfections; we need an obliging person who will submit\nto our caprices; we need a man! Chance presents us with one rather\nthan another; we accept him, but we do not choose him. In a word, you\nbelieve yourselves to be the objects of our disinterested affection. I\nrepeat: You think women love you for yourselves. Poor dupes! You are\nonly the instruments of their pleasures, the sport of their caprices.\nI must, however, do women justice; it is not that you are what I have\njust enumerated with their consent, for the sentiments which I develop\nhere are not well defined in their minds, on the contrary, with the\nbest faith in the world, women imagine themselves influenced and\nactuated only by the grand ideas which your vanity and theirs has\nnourished. It would be a crying injustice to accuse them of deceit in\nthis respect; but, without being aware of it, they deceive themselves,\nand you are equally deceived.\n\nYou see that I am revealing the secrets of the good goddess. Judge of\nmy friendship, since, at the expense of my own sex, I labor to\nenlighten you. The better you know women, the fewer follies they will\nlead you to commit.\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nThe Hidden Motives of Love\n\n\nReally, Marquis, I do not understand how you can meekly submit to the\nserious language I sometimes write you. It seems as if I had no other\naim in my letters than to sweep away your agreeable illusions and\nsubstitute mortifying truths. I must, however, get rid of my mania for\nsaying deeply considered things. I know better than any one else that\npleasant lies are more agreeable than the most reasonable\nconversation, but my disposition breaks through everything in spite of\nme. I feel a fit of philosophy upon me again to-day, and I must ask\nyou to prepare to endure the broadside of morality I am making ready\nto give you. Hereafter, I promise you more gayety. So now to answer\nyour letter.\n\nNo, I will not take back anything. You may make war on me as much as\nit please you, because of the bad opinion of my sex I expressed in my\nlast letter. Is it my fault if I am furnished with disagreeable truths\nto utter? Besides, do you not know, Marquis, that the being on earth\nwho thinks the most evil of women, is a woman?\n\nI wish, however, very seriously, to justify the ideas, to my manner of\nexpressing which you have taken an exception. I am neither envious nor\nunjust. Because I happened to mention my own sex rather than yours,\nyou must not imagine that it is my intention to underrate women. I\nhoped to make you understand that, without being more culpable than\nmen, they are more dangerous because they are accustomed more\nsuccessfully to hide their sentiments. In effect, you will confess the\nobject of your love sooner than they will acknowledge theirs. However,\nwhen they assure you that their affection for you has no other source\nthan a knowledge of your merit and of your good qualities, I am\npersuaded that they are sincere. I do not even doubt that when they\nrealize that their style of thought is becoming less refined, they do\neverything in their power to hide the fact from themselves. But the\nmotives, about which I have been telling you, are in the bottom of\ntheir hearts just the same. They are none the less the true causes of\nthe liking they have for you, and whatever efforts they may make to\npersuade themselves that the causes are wholly spiritual, their desire\nchanges nothing in the nature of things. They hide this deformity with\nas much care as they would conceal teeth that might disfigure an\notherwise perfect face. In such case, even when alone they would be\nafraid to open their mouth, and so, by force of habit in hiding this\ndefect from others as well as from themselves, they succeed in\nforgetting all about it or in considering that it is not much of a\ndefect.\n\nI agree with you that you would lose too much if men and women were to\nshow themselves in their true colors. The world has agreed to play a\ncomedy, and to show real, natural sentiments would not be acting, it\nwould be substituting the real character for the one it has been\nagreed to feign. Let us then enjoy the enchantment without seeking to\nknow the cause of the charm which amuses and seduces us. To anatomize\nlove would be to enter upon its cure. Psyche lost it for having been\ntoo curious, and I am tempted to believe that this fable is a lesson\nfor those who wish to analyze pleasure.\n\nI wish to make some corrections in what I have said to you: If I told\nyou that men are wrong in priding themselves on their choice of a\nwoman, and their sentiments for her; if I said that the motives which\nactuate them are nothing less than glorious for the men, I desire to\nadd, that they are equally deceived if they imagine that the\nsentiments which they show with so much pompous display are always\ncreated by force of female charms, or by an abiding impression of\ntheir merits. How often does it happen that those men who make\nadvances with such a respectful air, who display such delicate and\nrefined sentiments, so flattering to vanity, who, in a word, seem to\nbreathe only through them, only for them, and have no other desire\nthan their happiness; how often, I repeat, are those men, who adorn\nthemselves with such beautiful sentiments, influenced by reasons\nentirely the contrary? Study, penetrate these good souls, and you will\nsee in the heart of this one, instead of a love so disinterested, only\ndesire; in that one, it will be only a scheme to share your fortune,\nthe glory of having obtained a woman of your rank; in a third you\nwill discover motives still more humiliating to you; he will use you\nto rouse the jealousy of some woman he really loves, and he will\ncultivate your friendship merely to distinguish himself in her eyes by\nrejecting you. I can not tell you how many motives, there are so many.\nThe human heart is an insolvable enigma. It is a whimsical combination\nof all the known contrarieties. We think we know its workings; we see\ntheir effects; we ignore the cause. If it expresses its sentiments\nsincerely, even that sincerity is not reassuring. Perhaps its\nmovements spring from causes entirely contrary to those we imagine we\nfeel to be the real ones. But, after all, people have adopted the best\nplan, that is, to explain everything to their advantage, and to\ncompensate themselves in imagination for their real miseries, and\naccustom themselves, as I think I have already said, to deifying all\ntheir sentiments. Inasmuch as everybody finds in that the summit of\nhis vanity, nobody has ever thought of reforming the custom, or of\nexamining it to see whether it is a mistake.\n\nAdieu; if you desire to come this evening you will find me with those\nwhose gayety will compensate you for this serious discourse.\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\nHow to Be Victorious in Love\n\n\nIs what you write me possible, Marquis, what, the Countess continues\nobdurate? The flippant manner in which she receives your attentions\nreveals an indifference which grieves you? I think I have guessed the\nsecret of the riddle. I know you. You are gay, playful, conceited\neven, with women as long as they do not impress you. But with those\nwho have made an impression upon your heart, I have noticed that you\nare timid. This quality might affect a bourgeoise, but you must attack\nthe heart of a woman of the world with other weapons. The Countess\nknows the ways of the world. Believe me, and leave to the Celadons,\nsuch things as sublime talk, beautiful sentiments; let them spin out\nperfection. I tell you on behalf of women: there is not one of us who\ndoes not prefer a little rough handling to too much consideration. Men\nlose through blundering more hearts than virtue saves.\n\nThe more timidity a lover shows with us the more it concerns our pride\nto goad him on; the more respect he has for our resistance, the more\nrespect we demand of him. We would willingly say to you men: \"Ah, in\npity's name do not suppose us to be so very virtuous; you are forcing\nus to have too much of it. Do not put so high a price upon your\nconquest; do not treat our defeat as if it were something difficult.\nAccustom our imagination by degrees to seeing you doubt our\nindifference.\"\n\nWhen we see a lover, although he may be persuaded of our gratitude,\ntreat us with the consideration demanded by our vanity, we shall\nconclude without being aware of it, that he will always be the same,\nalthough sure of our inclination for him. From that moment, what\nconfidence will he not inspire? What flattering progress may he not\nmake? But if he notifies us to be always on our guard, then it is not\nour hearts we shall defend; it will not be a battle to preserve our\nvirtue, but our pride; and that is the worst enemy to be conquered in\nwomen. What more is there to tell you? We are continually struggling\nto hide the fact that we have permitted ourselves to be loved. Put a\nwoman in a position to say that she has yielded only to a species of\nviolence, or to surprise; persuade her that you do not undervalue her,\nand I will answer for her heart.\n\nYou must manage the Countess as her character requires; she is lively,\nand playful, and by trifling follies you must lead her to love. Do not\neven let her see that she distinguishes you from other men, and be as\nplayful as she is light hearted. Fix yourself in her heart without\ngiving her any warning of your intention. She will love you without\nknowing it, and some day she will be very much astonished at having\nmade so much headway without really suspecting it.\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nWomen Understand the Difference Between Real Love and Flirtation\n\n\nPerhaps, Marquis, you will think me still more cruel than the\nCountess. She is the cause of your anxieties, it is true, but I am the\ncause of something worse; I feel a great desire to laugh at them. Oh,\nI enter into your troubles seriously enough, I can not do more, and\nyour embarrassment appears great to me. Really, why risk a declaration\nof love to a woman who takes a wicked pleasure in avoiding it on every\noccasion? Now, she appears affected, and then again, she is the most\nunmindful woman in the world in spite of all you do to please her. She\nlistens willingly and replies gaily to the gallant speeches and bold\nconversation of a certain Chevalier, a professional coxcomb, but to\nyou she speaks seriously and with a preoccupied air. If you take on a\ntender and affectionate tone, she replies flippantly, or perhaps\nchanges the subject. All this intimidates you, troubles you, and\ndrives you to despair. Poor Marquis!--and I answer you, that all this\nis love, true and beautiful. The absence of mind which she affects\nwith you, the nonchalance she puts on for a mask, ought to make you\nfeel at heart that she is far from being indifferent. But your lack of\nboldness, the consequences which she feels must follow such a passion\nas yours, the interest which she already takes in your condition, all\nthis intimidates the countess herself, and it is you who raise\nobstacles in her path. A little more boldness on your part would put\nyou both at your ease. Do you remember what M. de la Rochefoucauld\ntold you lately: \"A reasonable man in love may act like a madman, but\nhe should not and can not act like an idiot.\"\n\nBesides, when you compare your respect and esteem with the free and\nalmost indecent manner of the Chevalier; when you draw from it the\nconclusion that she should prefer you to him, you do not know how\nincorrectly you argue. The Chevalier is nothing but a gallant, and\nwhat he says is not worth considering, or at least appears so.\nFrivolity alone, the habit of romancing to all the pretty women he\nfinds in his way, makes him talk. Love counts for nothing, or at least\nfor very little, in all his liaisons. Like the butterfly, he hovers\nonly a moment over each flower. An amusing episode is his only object.\nSo much frivolity is not capable of alarming a woman. She is delighted\nat the trifling danger she incurs in listening to such a man.\n\nThe Countess knows very well how to appreciate the discourse of the\nChevalier; and to say everything in a word, she knows him to be a man\nwhose heart is worn out. Women, who, to hear them talk, go in more for\nmetaphysics, know admirably how to tell the difference between a lover\nof his class and a man like you. But you will always be more\nformidable and more to be dreaded by your manner of making yourself\nfelt.\n\nYou boast to me of your respectful esteem, but I reply that it is\nnothing of the kind, and the Countess knows it well. Nothing ends with\nso little respect as a passion like yours. Quite different from the\nChevalier, you require recognition, preference, acknowledgment, even\nsacrifices. The Countess sees all these pretensions at a glance, or at\nleast, if in the cloud which still envelops them, she does not\ndistinguish them clearly, nature gives her a presentiment of what the\ncost will be if she allows you the least opportunity to instruct her\nin a passion which she doubtless already shares. Women rarely inquire\ninto the reasons which impel them to give themselves up or to resist;\nthey do not even amuse themselves by trying to understand or explain\nthem, but they have feelings, and sentiment with them is correct, it\ntakes the place of intelligence and reflection. It is a sort of\ninstinct which warns them in case of danger, and which leads them\naright perhaps as surely as does the most enlightened reason. Your\nbeautiful Adelaide wishes to enjoy an incognito as long as she can.\nThis plan is very congenial to her real interests, and yet I am fully\npersuaded that it is not the work of reflection. She sees it only from\nthe point of view of a passion, outwardly constrained, making stronger\nimpressions and still greater progress inwardly. Let it have an\nopportunity to take deep root, and give to this fire she tries to\nhide, time to consume the heart in which you wish to confine it.\n\nYou must also admit, Marquis, that you deceive yourself in two ways\nin your calculation. You thought you respected the Countess more than\nthe Chevalier does, on the contrary you see that the gallant speeches\nof the Chevalier are without effect, while you begrudge them to the\nheart of your beauty. On the other hand, you figure that her\npreoccupied air, indifferent and inattentive manner are proofs or\nforewarnings of your unhappiness. Undeceive yourself. There is no more\ncertain proof of a passion than the efforts made to hide it. In a\nword, when the Countess treats you kindly, whatever proofs you may\ngive her of your affection, when she sees you without alarm on the\npoint of confessing your love, I tell you that her heart is caught;\nshe loves you, on my word.\n\nBy the way, I forgot to reply to that part of your letter concerning\nmyself. Yes, Marquis, I constantly follow the method which I\nprescribed at the commencement of our correspondence. There are few\nmatters in my letters that I have not used as subjects of conversation\nin my social reunions. I rarely suggest ideas of any importance to\nyou, without having taken the opinions of my friends on their verity.\nSometimes it is Monsieur de la Bruy\u00e8re, sometimes Monsieur de\nSaint-Evremond whom I consult; another time it will be Monsieur l'Abb\u00e9\nde Ch\u00e2teauneuf. You must admire my good faith, Marquis, for I might\nclaim the credit of the good I write you, but I frankly avow that you\nowe it only to the people whom I receive at my house.\n\nApropos of men of distinguished merit, M. de la Rochefoucauld has\njust sent me word that he would like to call on me. I fixed to-morrow,\nand you might do well to be present, but do not forget how much he\nloves you. Adieu.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\nWhen a Woman Is Loved She Need Not Be Told of It\n\n\nI have been engaged in some new reflections on the condition you are\nin, Marquis, and on the embarrassment in which you continue. After\nall, why do you deem it necessary to make a formal declaration of\nlove? Can it be because you have read about such things in our old\nromances, in which the proceedings in courtship were as solemn as\nthose of the tribunals? That would be too technical. Believe me, let\nit alone; as I told you in my last letter, the fire lighted, will\nacquire greater force every day, and you will see, that without having\nsaid you love, you will be farther advanced than if you were\nfrightened by avowals which our fathers insisted should worry the\nwomen. Avowals absolutely useless in themselves, and which always\nincumber a passion with several nebulous days. They retard its\nprogress. Bear this well in mind, Marquis: A woman is much better\npersuaded that she is loved by what she guesses than by what she is\ntold.\n\nAct as if you had made the declaration which is costing you so much\nanxiety; or imitate the Chevalier; take things easy. The way the\nCountess conducts herself with him in your presence seems to be a law\nin your estimation. With your circumspection and pretended respect,\nyou present the appearance of a man who meditates an important design,\nof a man, in a word, who contemplates a wrong step. Your exterior is\ndisquieting to a woman who knows the consequences of a passion such as\nyours. Remember that as long as you let it appear that you are making\npreparations for an attack, you will find her on the defensive. Have\nyou ever heard of a skillful general, who intends to surprise a\ncitadel, announce his design to the enemy upon whom the storm is to\ndescend? In love as in war, does any one ever ask the victor whether\nhe owes his success to force or skill? He has conquered, he receives\nthe crown, his desires are gratified, he is happy. Follow his example\nand you will meet the same fate. Hide your progress; do not disclose\nthe extent of your designs until it is no longer possible to oppose\nyour success, until the combat is over, and the victory gained before\nyou have declared war. In a word, imitate those warlike people whose\ndesigns are not known except by the ravaged country through which they\nhave passed.\n\n\n\n\nXIX\n\nWhy a Lover's Vows Are Untrustworthy\n\n\nAt last, Marquis, you are listened to dispassionately when you protest\nyour love, and swear by everything lovers hold sacred that you will\nalways love. Will you believe my predictions another time? However,\nyou would be better treated if you were more reasonable, so you are\ntold, and limit your sentiments to simple friendship. The name of\nlover assumed by you is revolting to the Countess. You should never\nquarrel over quality when it is the same under any name, and follow\nthe advice Madame de la Sabli\u00e8re gives you in the following madrigal:\n\n  B\u00e9lise ne veut point d'amant,\n  Mais voudrait un ami fid\u00e8le,\nQui pour elle e\u00fbt des soins et de l'empressement,\n  Et qui m\u00eame la trouv\u00e2t belle.\n  Amants, qui soupirez pour elle,\n  Sur ma parole tenez bon,\nB\u00e9lise de l'amour ne hait que le nom.\n\n  (B\u00e9lise for a lover sighed not,\n  But she wanted a faithful friend,\nWho would cuddle her up and care for her lot,\n  And even her beauty defend.\n  Oh, you lovers, whose sighs I commend,\n'Pon my word, hold fast to such game,\nWhat of love B\u00e9lise hates is only the name.)\n\nBut you are grieved by the injurious doubts cast upon your sincerity\nand constancy. You are disbelieved because all men are false and\nperjured, and because they are inconstant, love is withheld. How\nfortunate you are! How little the Countess knows her own heart, if she\nexpects to persuade you of her indifference in that fashion! Do you\nwish me to place a true value on the talk she is giving you? She is\nvery much affected by the passion you exhibit for her, but the\nwarnings and sorrows of her friends have convinced her that the\nprotestations of men are generally false. I do not conceive any\ninjustice in this, for I, who do not flatter men willingly, am\npersuaded that they are usually sincere on such occasions. They become\namorous of a woman, that is they experience the desire of possession.\nThe enchanting image of that possession bewitches them; they calculate\nthat the delights connected with it will never end; they do not\nimagine that the fire which consumes them can ever weaken or die out;\nsuch a thing seems impossible to them. Hence they swear with the best\nfaith in the world to love us always; and to cast a doubt upon their\nsincerity would be inflicting a mortal injury.\n\nBut the poor fellows make more promises than they can keep. They do\nnot perceive that their heart has not enough energy always to hold the\nsame object. They cease to love without knowing why. They are good\nenough to be scrupulous over their growing coldness. Long after love\nhas fled they continue to insist that they still love. They exert\nthemselves to no purpose, and after having tormented themselves as\nlong as they can bear it, they surrender to dissatisfaction, and\nbecome inconstant with as much good faith as they possessed when they\nprotested that they would be forever constant. Nothing is simpler and\neasier to explain. The fermentation of a budding love, excited in\ntheir heart the charm that seduced them; by and by, the enchantment is\ndispelled, and nonchalance follows. With what can they be charged?\nThey counted upon keeping their vows. Dear me, how many women are too\nhappy with what is lacking, since men give them a free rein to their\nlightness!\n\nHowever this may be, the Countess has charged up to you the\ninconstancy of your equals; she apprehends that you are no better than\nall other lovers. Ready to yield to you, however little you may be\nable to reassure her, she is trying to find reasons for believing you\nsincere. The love you protest for her does not offend her. What am I\nsaying? It enchants her. She is so much flattered by it, that her sole\nfear is that it may not be true. Dissipate her alarms, show her that\nthe happiness you offer her and of which she knows the price, is not\nan imaginary happiness. Go farther; persuade her that she will enjoy\nit forever, and her resistance will disappear, her doubts will vanish,\nand she will seize upon everything that will destroy her suspicions\nand uncertainty. She would have already believed you; already she\nwould have resolved to yield to the pleasure of being loved, if she\nhad believed herself really loved, and that it would last forever.\n\nHow maladroit women are if they imagine that by their fears and their\ndoubts of the sincerity and constancy of men, they can make any one\nbelieve they are fleeing from love, or despise it! As soon as they\nfear they will be deceived in the enjoyment of its pleasures; when\nthey fear they will not long enjoy it, they already know the charms of\nit, and the only source of anxiety then is, that they will be deprived\nof its enjoyment too soon. Forever haunted by this fear, and attacked\nby the powerful inclination toward pleasure, they hesitate, they\ntremble with the apprehension that they will not be permitted to enjoy\nit but just long enough to make the privation of it more painful.\nHence, Marquis, you may very easily conjecture a woman who talks to\nyou as does the Countess, using this language:\n\n\"I can imagine all the delights of love. The idea I have formed of it\nis quite seductive. Do you think that deep in my heart I desire to\nenjoy its charms less than you? But the more its image is ravishing to\nmy imagination, the more I fear it is not real, and I refuse to yield\nto it lest my happiness be too soon destroyed. Ah, if I could only\nhope that my happiness might endure, how feeble would be my\nresistance? But will you not abuse my credulity? Will you not some day\npunish me for having had too much confidence in you? At least is that\nday very far off? Ah, if I could hope to gather perpetually the\nfruits of the sacrifice I am making of my repose for your sake, I\nconfess it frankly, we would soon be in accord.\"\n\n\n\n\nXX\n\nThe Half-way House to Love\n\n\nThe rival you have been given appears to me to be all the more\nredoubtable, as he is the sort of a man I have been advising you to\nbe. I know the Chevalier; nobody is more competent than he to carry a\nseduction to a successful conclusion. I am willing to wager anything\nthat his heart has never been touched. He makes advances to the\nCountess in cold blood. You are lost. A lover as passionate as you\nhave appeared to be, makes a thousand blunders. The most favorable\ndesigns would perish under your management. He permits everybody to\ntake the advantage of him on every occasion. Indeed, such is his\nmisfortune that his precipitation and his timidity injure his\nprospects by turns.\n\nA man who makes love for the pleasure he finds in it, profits by the\nsmallest advantage; he knows the feeble places and makes himself\nmaster of them. Everything leads his way, everything is combined for\nhis purpose. Even his imprudences are often the result of wise\nreflection; they help him along the road to success; they finally\nacquire so superior a position that, from their beginning, so to\nspeak, dates the hour of his triumph.\n\nYou must be careful, Marquis, not to go to extremes; you must not show\nthe Countess enough love to lead her to understand the excess of your\npassion. Give her something to be anxious about; compel her to take\nheed lest she lose you, by giving her opportunities to think that she\nmay. There is no woman on earth who will treat you more cavalierly\nthan one who is absolutely certain that your love will not fail her.\nLike a merchant for whose goods you have manifested too great an\nanxiety to acquire, she will overcharge you with as little regard to\nconsequences. Moderate, therefore, your imprudent vivacity; manifest\nless passion and you will excite more in her heart. We do not\nappreciate the worth of a prize more than when we are on the point of\nlosing it. Some regulation in matters of love are indispensable for\nthe happiness of both parties. I think I am even justified in advising\nyou on certain occasions to be a trifle unprincipled. On all other\noccasions, though, it is better to be a dupe than a knave; but in\naffairs of gallantry, it is only the fools who are the dupes, and\nknaves always have the laugh on their side. Adieu.\n\nI have not the conscience to leave you without a word of consolation.\nDo not be discouraged. However redoubtable may be the Chevalier, let\nyour heart rest in peace. I suspect that the cunning Countess is\nmaking a play with him to worry you. I have no desire to flatter you,\nbut it gives me pleasure to say, that you are worth more than he. You\nare young, you are making your debut in the world, and you are\nregarded as a man who has never yet had any love affairs. The\nChevalier has lived; what woman will not appreciate these differences?\n\n\n\n\nXXI\n\nThe Comedy of Contrariness\n\n\nProbity in love, Marquis? How can you think of such a thing? Ah, you\nare like a drowned man. I shall take good care not to show your letter\nto any one, it would dishonor you. You do not know how to undertake\nthe manoeuvres I have advised you to make, you say? Your candor, your\nhigh sentiments made your fortune formerly! Well, love was then\ntreated like an affair of honor, but nowadays, the corruption of the\nage has changed all that; love is now nothing more than a play of the\nhumor and of vanity.\n\nYour inexperience still leaves your virtues in an inflexible condition\nthat will inevitably cause your ruin, if you have not enough\nintelligence to bring them into accord with the morals of the times.\nOne can not now wear his sentiments on his sleeve. Everything is show;\npayment is made in airs, demonstrations, signs. Everybody is playing a\ncomedy, and men have had excellent reasons for keeping up the farce.\nThey have discovered the fact that nobody can gain anything by telling\nthe actual truth about women. There is a general agreement to\nsubstitute for this sincerity a collection of contrary phrases. And\nthis custom has proved contagious in cases of gallantry.\n\nIn spite of your high principles, you will agree with me, that unless\nthat custom, called \"politeness,\" is not pushed so far as irony or\ntreason, it is a sociable virtue to follow, and of all the relations\namong men, the true meaning of gallantry has more need of being\nconcealed than that of any other social affair. How many occasions do\nyou not find where a lover gains more by dissimulating the excess of\nhis passion, than another who pretends to have more than he really\nhas?\n\nI think I understand the Countess; she is more skillful than you. I am\ncertain she dissimulates her affection for you with greater care than\nyou take to multiply proofs of yours for her. I repeat; the less you\nexpose yourself, the better you will be treated. Let her worry in her\nturn; inspire her with the fear that she will lose you, and see her\ncome around. It is the surest way of finding out the true position you\noccupy in her heart. Adieu.\n\n\n\n\nXXII\n\nVanity and Self-Esteem Obstacles to Love\n\n\nA silence of ten days, Marquis. You begin to worry me in earnest. The\napplication you made of my counsel has, then, been successful? I\ncongratulate you. What I do not approve, however, is your\ndissatisfaction with her for refusing to make the confession you\ndesired. The words: \"I love you\" seem to be something precious in your\nestimation. For fifteen days you have been trying to penetrate the\nsentiments of the Countess, and you have succeeded; you know her\naffection for you. What more can you possibly want? What further right\nover her heart would a confession give you? Truly, I consider you a\nstrange character. You ought to know that nothing is more calculated\nto cause a reasonable woman to revolt, than the obstinacy with which\nordinary men insist upon a declaration of their love. I fail to\nunderstand you. Ought not her refusal to be a thousand times more\nprecious to a delicate minded lover than a positive declaration? Will\nyou ever know your real interests? Instead of persecuting a woman on\nsuch a point, expend your energies in concealing from her the extent\nof her affection. Act so that she will love you before you call her\nattention to the fact, before compelling her to resort to the\nnecessity of proclaiming it. Is it possible to experience a situation\nmore delicious than that of seeing a heart interested in you without\nsuspicion, growing toward you by degrees, finally becoming\naffectionate? What a pleasure to enjoy secretly all her movements, to\ndirect her sentiments, augment them, hasten them, and glory in the\nvictory even before she has suspected that you have essayed her\ndefeat! That is what I call pleasure.\n\nBelieve me, Marquis, your conduct toward the Countess must be as if\nthe open avowal of her love for you had escaped her. Of a truth, she\nhas not said in words: \"I love you,\" but it is because she really\nloves you that she has refrained from saying it. Otherwise she has\ndone everything to convince you of it.\n\nWomen are under no ordinary embarrassment. They desire for the very\nleast, as much to confess their affection as you are anxious to\nascertain it, but what do you expect, Marquis? Women ingenious at\nraising obstacles, have attached a certain shame to any avowal of\ntheir passion, and whatever idea you men may have formed of our way of\nthinking, such an avowal always humiliates us, for however small may\nbe our experience, we comprehend all the consequences. The words \"I\nlove you\" are not criminal, that is true, but their sequel frightens\nus, hence we find means to dissimulate, and close our eyes to the\nliabilities they carry with them.\n\nBesides this, be on your guard; your persistence in requiring an open\navowal from the Countess, is less the work of love than a persevering\nvanity. I defy you to find a mistake in the true motives behind your\ninsistence. Nature has given woman a wonderful instinct; it enables\nher to discern without mistake whatever grows out of a passion in one\nwho is a stranger to her. Always indulgent toward the effects produced\nby a love we have inspired, we will pardon you many imprudences, many\ntransports; how can I enumerate them all? All the follies of which you\nlovers are capable, we pardon, but you will always find us intractable\nwhen our self-esteem meets your own. Who would believe it? You inspire\nus to revolt at things that have nothing to do with your happiness.\nYour vanity sticks at trifles, and prevents you from enjoying actual\nadvantages. Will you believe me when I say it? You will drop your idle\nfancies, to delight in the certainty that you are beloved by an\nadorable woman; to taste the pleasure of hiding the extent of her love\nfrom herself, to rejoice in its security. Suppose by force of\nimportunities you should extract an \"I love you,\" what would you gain\nby it? Would your uncertainty reach an end? Would you know whether you\nowe the avowal to love or complaisance? I think I know women, I ought\nto. They can deceive you by a studied confession which the lips only\npronounce, but you will never be the involuntary witness of a passion\nyou force from them. The true, flattering avowals we make, are not\nthose we utter, but those that escape us without our knowledge.\n\n\n\n\nXXIII\n\nTwo Irreconcilable Passions in Women\n\n\nWill you pardon me, Marquis, for laughing at your afflictions? You\ntake things too much to heart. Some imprudences, you say, have drawn\nupon you the anger of the Countess, and your anxiety is extreme. You\nkissed her hand with an ecstasy that attracted the attention of\neverybody present. She publicly reprimanded you for your indiscretion,\nand your marked preference for her, always offensive to other women,\nhas exposed you to the railleries of the Marquise, her sister-in-law.\nDear me, these are without contradiction terrible calamities! What,\nare you simple enough to believe that you are lost beyond salvation\nbecause of an outward manifestation of anger, and you do not even\nsuspect that inwardly you are justified? You impose upon me the burden\nof convincing you of the fact, and in doing so I am forced to reveal\nsome strange mysteries concerning women. But, I do not intend, in\nwriting you, to be always apologizing for my sex. I owe you frankness,\nhowever, and having promised it I acquit myself of the promise.\n\nA woman is always balancing between two irreconcilable passions which\ncontinually agitate her mind: the desire to please, and the fear of\ndishonor. You can judge of our embarrassment. On the one hand, we are\nconsumed with the desire to have an audience to notice the effect of\nour charms. Ever engaged in schemes to bring us into notoriety;\nravished whenever we are fortunate enough to humiliate other women, we\nwould make the whole world witness of the preferences we encounter,\nand the homage bestowed upon us. Do you know the measure of our\nsatisfaction in such cases? The despair of our rivals, the\nindiscretions that betray the sentiments we inspire, this enchants us\nproportionately to the misery they suffer. Similar imprudences\npersuade us much more that we are loved, than that our charms are\nincapable of giving us a reputation.\n\nBut what bitterness poisons such sweet pleasures! Beside so many\nadvantages marches the malignity of rival competitors, and sometimes\nyour disdain. A fatality which is mournful. The world makes no\ndistinction between women who permit you to love them, and those whom\nyou compensate for so doing. Uninfluenced, and sober-minded, a\nreasonable woman always prefers a good reputation to celebrity. Put\nher beside her rivals who contest with her the prize for beauty, and\nthough she may lose that reputation of which she appears so jealous,\nthough she compromise herself a thousand times, nothing is equal in\nher opinion to see herself preferred to others. By and by, she will\nrecompense you by preferences; she will at first fancy that she grants\nthem out of gratitude, but they will be proofs of her attachment. In\nher fear of appearing ungrateful, she becomes tender.\n\nCan you not draw from this that it is not your indiscretions which vex\nus? If they wound us, we must pay tribute to appearances, and you\nwould be the first to censure an excessive indulgence.\n\nSee that you do not misunderstand us. Not to vex us on such occasions\nwould be really to offend. We recommend you to practice discretion and\nprudence, that is the r\u00f4le we enact, is it not? Is it necessary for me\nto tell you the part you are to play? I am often reminded that\naccepting the letter of the law, is to fail to understand it. You may\nbe sure that you will be in accord with our intentions as soon as you\nare able to interpret them properly.\n\n\n\n\nXXIV\n\nAn Abuse of Credulity Is Intolerable\n\n\nThe Countess no longer retreats? You think she has no other object in\nview than to put your love to the proof? Whatever preference you have\nmanifested for her; however little precaution you have taken to\ntestify to your passion, she finds nothing in you but cause for\nscolding. The least excuse, however, and the reproaches die upon her\nlips, and her anger is so delightful that you do everything to deserve\nit. Permit me to share in your joy with all my heart. But although\nthis behavior flatters you, if you consider that such acts are not\nintended to be of long duration, how badly reasonable women, who value\ntheir reputation, misunderstand their true interests by thus\nmultiplying through an affected incredulity, occasions for slandering\nthem. Do they not understand and feel that it is not always the moment\nwhen they are tender which gives a blow to their reputation? The doubt\nthey cast upon the sincerity of the affection they have inspired, does\nthem more harm in the eyes of the world than even their defeat. As\nlong as they continue incredulous the slightest imprudence compromises\nthem. They dispose of their reputation at retail.\n\nWhenever a lover finds a woman incredulous of the truth of his\nsentiments, he goes full lengths, every time he has an opportunity, to\nfurnish proofs of his sincerity. The most indiscreet eagerness, the\nmost marked preferences, the most assiduous attentions, seem to him\nthe best means of succeeding. Can he make use of them without calling\nthe attention of the whole world to the fact; without offending every\nother woman and giving them occasions to be revenged by their sharpest\narrows?\n\nAs soon as the preliminaries are settled, that is to say, as soon as\nwe commence to believe ourselves sincerely loved, nothing appears on\nthe surface, nothing happens; and if outsiders perceive our liaison,\nif they put a malicious construction upon it, it will only be by the\nrecollection of what passed during a time when love was not in\nquestion.\n\nI would, for the good of everybody concerned, that as soon as a woman\nceases to find any pleasure in the society of a man who wishes to\nplease her, that she could tell him so clearly and dismiss him,\nwithout abusing his credulity, or giving him ground for vain hopes.\nBut I would also, that as soon as a woman is persuaded that a man\nloves her, she could consent to it in good faith, reserving to\nherself, however, the right to be further entreated, to such a point\nas she may deem apropos, before making an avowal that she feels as\ntenderly disposed toward her lover, as he is toward her. For, a woman\ncan not pretend to doubt without putting her lover to the necessity of\ndissipating her doubts, and he can not do that successfully without\ntaking the whole world into his confidence by a too marked homage.\n\nI know very well that these ideas would not have been probable in\ntimes when the ignorance of men rendered so many women intractable,\nbut, in these times when the audacity of our assailants leaves us so\nfew resources, in these times, I say, when, since the invention of\npowder, there are few impregnable places, why undertake a prolonged\nformal siege, when it is certain that after much labor and many\ndisasters it will be necessary to capitulate?\n\nBring your amiable Countess to reason; show her the inconveniences of\na prolonged disregard of your sentiments. You will convince her of\nyour passion, you will compel her to believe you through regard for\nher reputation, and still better, perhaps, you will furnish her with\nan additional reason for giving you a confidence she doubtless now\nfinds it difficult to withhold from you.\n\n\n\n\nXXV\n\nWhy Virtue Is So Often Overcome\n\n\nMy last letter has apparently scandalized you, Marquis. You insist\nthat it is not impossible to find virtuous women in our age of the\nworld. Well, have I ever said anything to the contrary? Comparing\nwomen to besieged castles, have I ever advanced the idea that there\nwere some that had not been taken? How could I have said such a thing?\nThere are some that have never been besieged, so you perceive that I\nam of your opinion. I will explain, however, so that there will be no\nmore chicanery about the question.\n\nHere is my profession of faith in this matter: I firmly believe that\nthere are good women who have never been attacked, or who have been\nwrongly attacked.\n\nI further firmly believe that there are good women who have been\nattacked and well attacked, when they have had neither disposition,\nviolent passions, liberty, nor a hated husband.\n\nI have a mind at this point to put you in possession of a rather\nlively conversation on this particular point, while I was still very\nyoung, with a prude, whom an adventure of some brilliancy unmasked. I\nwas inexperienced then, and I was in the habit of judging others with\nthat severity which every one is disposed to manifest until some\npersonal fault has made us more indulgent toward our neighbors. I had\nconsidered it proper to blame the conduct of this woman without mercy.\nShe heard of it. I sometimes saw her at an aunt's, and made\npreparations to attack her morals. Before I had an opportunity she\ntook the matter into her own hands, by taking me aside one day, and\ncompelled me to submit to the following harangue, which I confess made\na deep impression in my memory:\n\n\"It is not for the purpose of reproaching you for the talk you have\nbeen making on my account, that I wish to converse with you in the\nabsence of witnesses,\" she explained, \"it is to give you some advice,\nthe truth and solidity of which you will one day appreciate.\n\n\"You have seen fit to censure my conduct with a severity, you have\nactually treated me with a disdain, which tells me how proud you are\nof the fact that you have never been taken advantage of. You believe\nin your own virtue and that it will never abandon you. This is a pure\nillusion of your amour propre, my dear child, and I feel impelled to\nenlighten your inexperience, and to make you understand, that far from\nbeing sure of that virtue which renders you so severe, you are not\neven sure that you have any at all. This prologue astonishes you, eh?\nWell, listen with attention, and you will soon be convinced of the\ntruth whereof I speak.\n\n\"Up to the present time, nobody has ever spoken to you of love. Your\nmirror alone has told you that you are beautiful. Your heart, I can\nsee by the appearance of indifference that envelops you like a\nmantle, has not yet been developed. As long as you remain as you are,\nas long as you can be kept in sight as you are, I will be your\nguarantee. But when your heart has spoken, when your enchanting eyes\nshall have received life and expression from sentiment, when they\nshall speak the language of love, when an internal unrest shall\nagitate your breast, when, in fine, desire, half stifled by the\nscruples of a good education, shall have made you blush more than once\nin secret, then your sensibility, through the combats by which you\nwill attempt to vanquish it, will diminish your severity toward\nothers, and their faults will appear more excusable.\n\n\"The knowledge of your weakness will no longer permit you to regard\nyour virtue as infallible. Your astonishment will carry you still\nfarther. The little help it will be to you against too impetuous\ninclinations, will make you doubt whether you ever had any virtue. Can\nyou say a man is brave before he has ever fought? It is the same with\nus. The attacks made upon us are alone the parents of our virtue, as\ndanger gives birth to valor. As long as one has not been in the\npresence of the enemy, it is impossible to say whether he is to be\nfeared, and what degree of resistance it will be necessary to bear\nagainst him.\n\n\"Hence to justify a woman in flattering herself that she is\nessentially virtuous and good by force of her own strength, she must\nbe in a position where no danger, however great it may be, no motive\nno matter how pressing, no pretext whatever, shall be powerful enough\nto triumph over her. She must meet with the most favorable\nopportunities, the most tender love, the certainty of secrecy, the\nesteem and the most perfect confidence in him who attacks her. In a\nword, all these circumstances combined should not be able to make an\nimpression upon her courage, so that to know whether a woman be\nvirtuous in the true meaning of the word, one must imagine her as\nhaving escaped unscathed all these united dangers, for it would not be\nvirtue but only resistance where there should be love without the\ndisposition, or disposition without the occasion. Her virtue would\nalways be uncertain, as long as she had never been attacked by all the\nweapons which might vanquish her. One might always say of her: if she\nhad been possessed of a different constitution, she might not have\nresisted love, or, if a favorable occasion had presented itself, her\nvirtue would have played the fool.\"\n\n\"According to this,\" said I, \"it would be impossible to find a single\nvirtuous woman, for no one has ever had so many enemies to combat.\"\n\n\"That may be,\" she replied, \"but do you know the reason? Because it is\nnot necessary to have so many to overcome us, one alone is sufficient\nto obtain the victory.\"\n\nBut I stuck to my proposition: \"You pretend then that our virtue does\nnot depend upon ourselves, since you make it the puppet of occasion,\nand of other causes foreign to our own will?\"\n\n\"There is no doubt about it,\" she answered. \"Answer me this: Can you\ngive yourself a lively or sedate disposition? Are you free to defend\nyourself against a violent passion? Does it depend upon you to arrange\nall the circumstances of your life, so that you will never find\nyourself alone with a lover who adores you, who knows his advantages\nand how to profit by them? Does it depend upon you to prevent his\npleadings, I assume them to be innocent at first, from making upon\nyour senses the impression they must necessarily make? Certainly not;\nto insist upon such an anomaly would be to deny that the magnet is\nmaster of the needle. And you pretend that your virtue is your own\nwork, that you can personally claim the glory of an advantage that is\nliable to be taken from you at any moment? Virtue in women, like all\nthe other blessings we enjoy, is a gift from Heaven; it is a favor\nwhich Heaven may refuse to grant us. Reflect then how unreasonable you\nare in glorifying in your virtue: consider your injustice when you so\ncruelly abuse those who have had the misfortune to be born with an\nungovernable inclination toward love, whom a sudden violent passion\nhas surprised, or who have found themselves in the midst of\ncircumstances out of which you would not have emerged with any greater\nglory.\n\n\"Shall I give you another proof of the justice of my ideas? I will\ntake it from your own conduct. Are you not dominated by that deep\npersuasion that every woman who wishes to preserve her virtue, need\nnever allow herself to be caught, that she must watch over the\nsmallest trifles, because they lead to things of greater importance?\nIt is much easier for you to take from men the desire to make an\nattack upon your virtue by assuming a severe exterior, than to defend\nagainst their attacks. The proof of this is in the fact that we give\nyoung girls in their education as little liberty as is possible in\norder to restrain them. We do more: a prudent mother does not rely\nupon her fear of dishonor, nor upon the bad opinion she has of men,\nshe keeps her daughter out of sight; she puts it out of her power to\nsuccumb to temptation. What is the excuse for so many precautions?\nBecause the mother fears the frailty of her pupil, if she is exposed\nfor an instant to danger.\n\n\"In spite of all these obstacles with which she is curbed, how often\ndoes it not happen that love overcomes them all? A girl well trained,\nor better, well guarded, laughs at her virtue, because she imagines it\nis all her own, whereas, it is generally a slave rigorously chained\ndown, who thinks everybody is satisfied with him as long as he does\nnot run away. Let us inquire further into this: In what class do you\nfind abandoned females? In that where they have not sufficient wealth\nor happiness constantly to provide themselves with the obstacles which\nhave saved you; in that, where men have attacked their virtue with\nmore audacity, more facility, more frequency, and more impunity, and\nconsequently with more advantages of every sort; in that, where the\nimpressions of education, of example, of pride, the desire of a\nsatisfactory establishment could not sustain them. Two doors below,\nthere is a woman whom you hate and despise. And in spite of the\noutside aid which sustains that virtue, of which you are so proud, in\ntwo days you might be more despicable than she, because you will have\nhad greater helps to guarantee you against misfortune. I am not\nseeking to deprive you of the merit of your virtue, nor am I\nendeavoring to prevent you from attaching too much importance to it;\nby convincing you of its fragility, I wish to obtain from you only a\ntrifle of indulgence for those whom a too impetuous inclination, or\nthe misfortunes of circumstances have precipitated into a position so\nhumiliating in their own eyes; my sole object is to make you\nunderstand that you ought to glorify yourself less in the possession\nof an advantage which you do not owe to yourself, and of which you may\nbe deprived to-morrow.\"\n\nShe was going to continue, but some one interrupted us. Soon\nafterward, I learned by my own experience that I should not have had\nso good an opinion of many virtues which had been formerly imposed\nupon me, beginning with my own.\n\n\n\n\nXXVI\n\nLove Demands Freedom of Action\n\n\nI have been of the same opinion as you, Marquis, although the ideas I\ncommunicated to you yesterday appeared to be true speculatively, that\nit would be dangerous if all women were to be guided by them. It is\nnot by a knowledge of their frailty, that women will remain virtuous,\nbut by the conviction that they are free and mistresses of themselves\nwhen it comes to yield or to resist. Is it by persuading a soldier\nthat he will be vanquished that he is goaded into fighting with\ncourage? Did you not notice that the woman who did the talking as I\nhave related in my last letter, had a personal interest in maintaining\nher system? It is true, that when we examine her reasoning according\nto the rules of philosophy, it does seem to be a trifle specious, but\nit is to be feared that in permitting ourselves to reason in that\nfashion on what virtue is, we may succeed in converting into a\nproblem, the rules we should receive and observe as a law, which it is\na crime to construe. Moreover, to persuade women that it is not to\nthemselves they are indebted for the virtue they possess, might it mot\ndeprive them of the most powerful motive to induce them to preserve\nit? I mean by that, the persuasion that it is their own work they\ndefend. The consequences of such morality would be discouraging, and\ntend to diminish, in the eyes of a guilty woman, the importance of her\nerrors. But let us turn to matters of more interest to you.\n\nAt last, after so many uncertainties, after so many revolutions in\nyour imagination, you are sure you are loved? You have finally\nsucceeded in exciting the Countess to divulge her secret during a\nmoment of tenderness. The words you burned to hear have been\npronounced. More, she has allowed to escape her, a thousand\ninvoluntary proofs of the passion you have inspired. Far from\ndiminishing your love, the certainty that you are beloved in return\nhas increased it; in a word, you are the happiest of men. If you knew\nwith how much pleasure I share your happiness you would be still\nhappier. The first sacrifice she desired to make was to refuse to\nreceive the Chevalier: you were opposed to her making it, and you were\nquite right. It would have compromised the Countess for nothing, which\ncalls to my mind the fact, that women generally lose more by\nimprudence than by actual faults. The confidence you so nobly\nmanifested in her, ought to have greatly impressed her.\n\nEverything is now as it should be. However, shall I tell you\nsomething? The way this matter has turned out alarms me. We agreed, if\nyou remember, that we were to treat the subject of love without\ngloves. You were not to have at the most but a light and fleeting\ntaste of it, and not a regulated passion. Now I perceive that things\nbecome more serious every day. You are beginning to treat love with a\ndignity which worries me. The knowledge of true merits, solid\nqualities, and good character is creeping into the motives of your\nliaison, and combining with the personal charms which render you so\nblindly amorous. I do not like to have so much esteem mixed with an\naffair of pure gallantry. It leaves no freedom of action, it is work\ninstead of amusement. I was afraid in the beginning that your\nrelations would assume a grave and measured turn. But perhaps you will\nonly too soon have new pretensions, and the Countess by new disputes\nwill doubtless re-animate your liaison. Too constant a peace is\nproductive of a deadly ennui. Uniformity kills love, for as soon as\nthe spirit of method mingles in an affair of the heart, the passion\ndisappears, languor supervenes, weariness begins to wear, and disgust\nends the chapter.\n\n\n\n\nXXVII\n\nThe Heart Needs Constant Employment\n\n\nMadame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 does not agree with me upon the causes of love as I\ngive them. She pretends that many women know it only from its refined\nside, and that the senses never count for anything in their heart\naffairs. According to her, although what she calls my \"system\" should\nbe well founded, it would always be unbecoming in the mouth of a\nwoman, and might become a precedent in morals.\n\nThese are assuredly very serious exceptions, Marquis, but are they\nwell grounded? I do not think so. I see with pain that Madame de\nS\u00e9vign\u00e9 has not read my letters in the spirit I wrote them. What, I\nthe founder of systems? Truly, she does me too much honor, I have\nnever been serious enough to devise any system. Besides, according to\nmy notion, a system is nothing but a philosophic dream, and therefore\ndoes she consider all I have told you as a play of the imagination? In\nthat case, we are very far out of our reckoning. I do not imagine, I\ndepict real objects. I would have one truth acknowledged, and to\naccomplish that, my purpose is not to surprise the mind; I consult the\nsentiments. Perhaps she has been struck by the singularity of some of\nmy propositions, which appeared to me so evident that I did not think\nit worth while to maintain them; but is it necessary to make use of a\nmariner's compass to develop the greater or less amount of truth in a\nmaxim of gallantry?\n\nMoreover, I have such a horror of formal discussions, that I would\nprefer to agree to anything rather than engage in them. Madame de\nS\u00e9vign\u00e9, you say, is acquainted with a number of female\nmetaphysicians--there! there! I will grant her these exceptions,\nprovided she leaves me the general thesis. I will even admit, if you\nso desire, that there are certain souls usually styled \"privileged,\"\nfor I have never heard anybody deny the virtues of temperament. So, I\nhave nothing to say about women of that species. I do not criticise\nthem, nor have I any reproaches to make them; neither do I believe it\nmy duty to praise them, it is sufficient to congratulate them.\nHowever, if you investigate them you will discover the truth of what I\nhave been saying since the commencement of our correspondence: the\nheart must be occupied with some object. If nature does not incline\nthem in that direction, no one can lead them in the direction of\ngallantry, their affection merely changes its object. Such a one\nto-day appears to be insensible to the emotion of love, only because\nshe has disposed of all that portion of the sentiment she had to give.\nThe Count de Lude, it is said, was not always indifferent to Madame de\nS\u00e9vign\u00e9. Her extreme tenderness for Madame Grignan (her daughter),\nhowever, occupies her entire time at present. According to her, I am\nvery much at fault concerning women? In all charity I should have\ndisguised the defects which I have discovered in my sex, or, if you\nprefer to have it that way, which my sex have discovered in me.\n\nBut, do you really believe, Marquis, that if everything I have said on\nthis subject be made public, the women would be offended? Know them\nbetter, Marquis; all of them would find there what is their due.\nIndeed, to tell them that it is purely a mechanical instinct which\ninclines them to flirt, would not that put them at their ease? Does it\nnot seem to be restoring to favor that fatality, those expressions of\nsympathy, which they are so delighted to give as excuses for their\nmistakes, and in which I have so little faith? Granting that love is\nthe result of reflection, do you not see what a blow you are giving\ntheir vanity? You place upon their shoulders the responsibility far\ntheir good or bad choice.\n\nOne more thrust, Marquis: I am not mistaken when I say that all women\nwould be satisfied with my letters. The female metaphysicians, that\nis, those women whom Heaven has favored with a fortunate constitution,\nwould take pleasure in recognizing in them their superiority over\nother women; they would not fail to congratulate themselves upon the\ndelicacy of their own sentiments, and to consider them as works of\ntheir own creation. Those whom nature built of less refined material,\nwould without doubt owe me some gratitude for revealing a secret which\nwas weighing upon them. They have made it a duty to disguise their\ninclinations, and they are as anxious not to fail in this duty as they\nare careful not to lose anything on the pleasure side of the question.\nTheir interest, therefore, is, to have their secret guessed without\nbeing compromised. Whoever shall develop their hearts, will not fail\nto render them an essential service. I am even fully convinced that\nthose women, who at heart, profess sentiments more comformable to\nmine, would be the first to consider it an honor to dispute them.\nHence, I would be paying my court to women in two fashions, which\nwould be equally agreeable: In adopting the maxims which flatter their\ninclinations, and in furnishing them with an occasion to appear\nrefined.\n\nAfter all, Marquis, do you think it would betray a deep knowledge of\nwomen, to believe that they could be offended with the malicious talk\nI have been giving you about them? Somebody said a long time ago, that\nwomen would rather have a little evil said of them than not be talked\nabout at all You see therefore, that even supposing that I have\nwritten you in the intention with which I am charged, they would be\nvery far from being able to reproach me in the slightest degree.\n\nFinally, Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 pretends that my \"system\" might become a\nprecedent. Truly, Marquis, I do not understand how, with the justice\nfor which she is noted, she was able to surrender to such an idea. In\nstripping love, as I have, of everything liable to seduce you, in\nmaking it out to be the effect of temperament, caprice, and vanity;\nin a word, in undeceiving you concerning the metaphysics that lend it\ngrandeur and nobility, is it not evident that I have rendered it less\ndangerous? Would it not be more dangerous, if, as pretends Madame de\nS\u00e9vign\u00e9, it were to be transformed into a virtue? I would willingly\ncompare my sentiments with those of the celebrated legislator of\nantiquity, who believed the best means of weakening the power of women\nover his fellow citizens was to expose their nakedness. But I wish to\nmake one more effort in your favor. Since I am regarded as a woman\nwith a system, it will be better for me to submit to whatever such a\nfine title exacts. Let us reason, therefore, for a moment upon\ngallantry according to the method which appertains only to serious\nmatters.\n\nIs love not a passion? Do not very strict minded people pretend that\nthe passions and vices mean the same things? Is vice ever more\nseductive than when it wears the cloak of virtue? Wherefore in order\nto corrupt virtuous souls it is sufficient for it to appear in a\npotential form. This is the form in which the Platonicians deified it.\nIn all ages, in order to justify the passions, it was necessary to\napotheosize them. What am I saying? Am I so bold as to play the\niconoclast with an accredited superstition? What temerity! Do I not\ndeserve to be persecuted by all women for attacking their favorite\ncult?\n\nI am sorry for them; it was so lovely, when they felt the movements of\nlove, to be exempt from blushing, to be able even to congratulate\nthemselves, and lay the blame upon the operations of a god. But what\nhad poor humanity done to them? Why misunderstand it and seek for the\ncause of its weakness in the Heavens? Let us remain on earth, we shall\nfind it there, and it is its proper home.\n\nIn truth, I have never in my letters openly declaimed against love; I\nhave never advised you not to take the blame of it. I was too well\npersuaded of the uselessness of such advice; but I told you what love\nis, and I therefore diminished the illusion it would not have failed\nto create in your mind; I weakened its power over you and experience\nwill justify me.\n\nI am perfectly well aware that a very different use is made of it in\nthe education of females. And what sort of profit is there in the\nmethods employed? The very first step is to deceive them. Their\nteachers strive to inspire them with as much fear of love as of evil\nspirits. Men are depicted as monsters of infidelity and perfidy. Now\nsuppose a gentleman appears who expresses delicate sentiments, whose\nbearing is modest and respectful? The young woman with whom he\nconverses will believe she has been imposed upon; and as soon as she\ndiscovers how much exaggeration there has been, her advisers will lose\nall credit so far as she is concerned. Interrogate such a young woman,\nand if she is sincere, you will find that the sentiments the alleged\nmonster has excited in her heart are far from being the sentiments of\nhorror.\n\nThey are deceived in another manner also, and the misery of it is, it\nis almost impossible to avoid it. Infinite care is taken to keep from\nthem the knowledge, to prevent them from having even an idea that they\nare liable to be attacked by the senses, and that such attacks are the\nmost dangerous of all for them. They are drilled in the idea that they\nare immaculate spirits, and what happens then? Inasmuch as they have\nnever been forewarned of the species of attacks they must encounter,\nthey are left without defense. They have never mistrusted that their\nmost redoubtable enemy is the one that has never been mentioned: how\nthen can they be on their guard against him? It is not men they should\nbe taught to fear, but themselves? What could a lover do, if the woman\nhe attacks were not seduced by her own desires?\n\nSo, Marquis, when I say to women that the principal cause of their\nweaknesses is physical, I am far from advising them to follow their\ninclinations; on the contrary, it is for the purpose of putting them\non their guard in that respect. It is saying to the Governor of the\ncitadel, that he will not be attacked at the spot which up to then has\nbeen the best fortified; that the most redoubtable assault will not be\nmade by the besiegers, but that he will be betrayed by his own.\n\nIn a word, in reducing to their just value, the sentiments to which\nwomen attach such high and noble ideas; in enlightening them upon the\nreal object of a lover who pretends to great delicacy and refinement,\ndo you not see that I am interesting their vanity to draw less glory\nout of the fact of being loved, and their hearts to take less pleasure\nin loving? Depend upon it, that if it were possible to enlist their\nvanity in opposition to their inclination to gallantry, their virtue\nwould most assuredly suffer very little.\n\nI have had lovers, but none of them deceived me by any illusions. I\ncould penetrate their motives astonishingly well. I was always\npersuaded that if whatever was of value from the standpoint of\nintellect and character, was considered as anything among the reasons\nthat led them to love me, it was only because those qualities\nstimulated their vanity. They were amorous of me, because I had a\nbeautiful figure, and they possessed the desire. So it came about that\nthey never obtained more than the second place in my heart. I have\nalways conserved for friendship the deference, the constancy, and the\nrespect even, which a sentiment so noble, so worthy deserves in an\nelevated soul. It has never been possible for me to overcome my\ndistrust for hearts in which love was the principal actor. This\nweakness degraded them in my eyes; I considered them incompetent to\nraise their mind up to sentiments of true esteem for a woman for whom\nthey have felt a desire.\n\nYou see, therefore, Marquis, that the precedent I draw from my\nprinciples is far from being dangerous. All that enlightened minds can\nfind with which to reproach me, will be, perhaps, because I have\ntaken the trouble to demonstrate a truth which they do not consider\nproblematic. But does not your inexperience and your curiosity justify\nwhatever I have written so far, and whatever I may yet write you on\nthis subject?\n\n\n\n\nXXVIII\n\nMere Beauty Is Often of Trifling Importance\n\n\nYou are not mistaken, Marquis, the taste and talent of the Countess\nfor the clavecin (piano) will tend to increase your love and\nhappiness. I have always said that women do not fully realize the\nadvantages they might draw from their talents; indeed, there is not a\nmoment when they are not of supreme utility; most women always\ncalculating on the presence of a beloved object as the only thing to\nbe feared. In such case they have two enemies to combat; their love\nand their lover. But when the lover departs, love remains; and\nalthough the progress it makes in solitude is not so rapid, it is no\nless dangerous. It is then that the execution of a sonata, the\nsketching of a flower, the reading of a good book, will distract the\nattention from a too seductive remembrance, and fix the mind on\nsomething useful. All occupations which employ the mind are so many\nthefts from love.\n\nSuppose his inclination brings a lover to our knees, what can he\naccomplish with a woman who is only tender and pretty? With what can\nhe employ his time if he does not find in her society something\nagreeable, some variety? Love is an active sentiment, it is a\nconsuming fire always demanding additional fuel, and if it can find\nonly sensible objects upon which to feed, it will keep to that diet. I\nmean to say, that when the mind is not occupied the senses find\nsomething to do.\n\nThere are too many gesticulations while talking, sometimes I think we\nshall be compelled to use sign language with a person we know to be\nunable to understand a more refined language. It is not in resisting\nadvances, nor in taking offense at too bold a caress that a woman is\nenabled to maintain her virtue. When she is attacked in that fashion,\neven while defending herself, her senses are excited and the very\nagitation which impels her to resist, hastens her defeat. But it is by\ndistracting the attention of the man to other objects, that the woman\nis relieved of the necessity of resisting his advances, or taking\noffense at his liberties to which she herself has opened the way, for\nthere is one thing certain, which is, that a man will never disappoint\na woman who is anxious for him.\n\nYou will not find a single woman, unless you can suppose one\nabsolutely ignorant, who is not able to gauge exactly the degree of\nfamiliarity she ought to permit. Those who complain that their lovers\ndo not come up to the mark do not affect me in the least. Inquire into\nthe reason, and you will perceive that their stupidities, their\nimprudences are the cause. It was their desire to be found wanting.\n\nDefect in culture may expose us to the same inconveniences, for with a\nwoman without mind, and without talents what else is there to do but\nundertake her conquest? When in her company, the only way to kill\ntime is to annoy her. There is nothing to talk about but her beauty,\nand of the impression she has made upon the senses, and sensual\nlanguage is the only one that can be employed for that purpose. She\nherself is not convinced that you love her, and she does not respond,\nshe does not recompense you but by the assistance of the senses, and\nexhibits an agitation equal to yours, or else, her decency gone, she\nhas nothing but bad humor with which to oppose you. This is the last\nditch of a woman without mind, and what a culmination! On the\ncontrary, what are not the advantages of an intelligent, resourceful\nwoman? A lively repartee, piquant raillery, a quarrel seasoned with a\ntrifle of malice, a happy citation, a graceful recitation, are not\nthese so many distractions for her, and the time thus employed, is it\nnot so much gained for virtue?\n\nThe great misfortune with women is, without doubt, the inability to\nfind occupations worthy of their attention, and this is the reason why\nlove with them is a more violent passion than with men, but they have\na characteristic which, properly directed may serve as an antidote.\nAll women, to say the least, are as vain as they are sensitive,\nwhence, the cure for sensitiveness is vanity. While a woman is\noccupied in pleasing in other ways than by the beauty of her figure,\nshe loses sight of the sentiment which inspires her to act. In truth,\nthis sentiment will not cease to be the \"determining motive\" (you must\npermit me to use some technical term of art), but it will not be the\nactual object presented to her attention, and that is something\ngained. Wholly devoted to the care of becoming perfect in the species\nof glory to which she aspires, this same desire, of which love will be\nthe source, will turn against love, by dividing the attention of the\nmind and the affections of the heart; in a word it will create a\ndiversion.\n\nBut perhaps you will tell me that there are women of spirit and\ntalents beyond the reach of attack. Whence you infer that men who do\nnot dislike freedom will avoid them, but that fools and men of\nintelligence cultivate them. That is true, but the fools take to them\nbecause they do not perceive the difficulty in their way, and men of\nintelligence do not avoid them, because they aspire to surmount it.\n\nNow, ought not you, who are a military man, to appreciate everything I\nsay to you about talent? I will suppose a campaign upon which you have\nentered; you have been given charge of conducting the siege of a city.\nWould you be satisfied if the governor, persuaded that the city is not\nimpregnable, should open to you the gates without having given you the\nleast occasion to distinguish yourself? I venture to say not; he\nshould resist, and the more he seeks to cover himself with glory, the\nmore glory he gives you. Well, Marquis, in love as in war, the\npleasure of obtaining a victory is measured according to the obstacles\nin the way of it. Shall I say it? I am tempted to push the parallel\nfarther. See what it is to take a first step. The true glory of a\nwoman consists less, perhaps, in yielding, than in putting in a good\ndefense, so that she will merit the honors of war.\n\nI shall go still farther. Let a woman become feeble enough to be at\nthe point of yielding, what is left her to retain a satisfactory\nlover, if her intelligence and talents do not come to her aid? I am\nwell aware that they do not give themselves these advantages, but if\nwe investigate the matter, we shall find that there are very few women\nwho may not acquire a few accomplishments if they really set about it;\nthe difference would only be the more, at least. But women are\ngenerally born too indolent to be able to make such an effort. They\nhave discovered that there is nothing so convenient as being pretty.\nThis manner of pleasing does not require any labor; they would be glad\nnot to have any other. Blind that they are, they do not see that\nbeauty and talents equally attract the attention of men, but, beauty\nmerely exposes her who possesses it, whereas talents furnish her with\nthe means of defending it.\n\nIn a word, to appreciate it at its full value, beauty stores up\nregrets and a mortal weariness for the day when it shall cease to\nexist. Would you know the reason? It is because it drowns out all\nother resources. As long as beauty lasts, a woman is regarded as\nsomething, she is celebrated, a crowd sighs at her feet. She flatters\nherself that this will go on forever. What a desolate solitude when\nage comes to ravish her of the only merit she possesses? I would like,\ntherefore (my expression is not elevated, but it interprets my\nthought), I would like that in a woman, beauty could be a sign of\nother advantages.\n\nLet us agree, Marquis, that in love, the mind is made more use of than\nthe heart. A liaison of the heart is a drama in which the acts are the\nshortest and the between acts the longest; with what then, would you\nfill the interludes if not with accomplishments? Possession puts every\nwoman on the same level, and exposes all of them equally to\ninfidelity. The elegant and the beautiful, when they are nothing else,\nhave not, in that respect, any advantage over her who is plain; the\nmind, in that case making all the difference. That alone can bestow\nupon the same person the variety necessary to prevent satiety.\nMoreover, it is only accomplishments that can fill the vacuum of a\npassion that has been satisfied, and we can always have them in any\nsituation we may imagine, either to postpone defeat and render it more\nflattering, or to assure us of our conquests. Lovers themselves profit\nby them. How many things they cherish although they set their faces\nagainst them? Wherefore, let the Countess, while cultivating her\ndecided talent for the clavecin, understand her interests and yours.\n\nI have read over my letter, my dear Marquis, and I tremble lest you\nfind it a trifle serious. You see what happens when one is in bad\ncompany. I supped last night with M. de la Rochefoucauld, and I never\nsee him that he does not spoil me in this fashion, at least for three\nor four days.\n\n\n\n\nXXIX\n\nThe Misfortune of Too Sudden an Avowal\n\n\nI think as you do, Marquis, the Countess punishes you too severely for\nhaving surprised an avowal of her love. Is it your fault if her secret\nescaped? She has gone too far to retreat. A woman can experience a\nreturn to reason, but to go so far as to refuse to see you for three\ndays; give out that she has gone into the country for a month; return\nyour tender letters without opening them, is, in my opinion, a\nveritable caprice of virtue. After all, however, do not despair\nwhatever may happen. If she were really indifferent she would be less\nsevere.\n\nDo not make any mistake about this: There are occasions when a woman\nis less out of humor with you than with herself. She feels with\nvexation that her weakness is ready to betray her at any moment. She\npunishes you for it, and she punishes herself by being unkind to you.\nBut you may be sure that one day of such caprice advances the progress\nof a lover more than a year of care and assiduity. A woman soon begins\nto regret her unkindness; she deems herself unjust; she desires to\nrepair her fault, and she becomes benevolent.\n\nWhat surprises me the most is the marked passage in your letter which\nstates that since the Countess has appeared to love you, her\ncharacter has totally changed. I have no particular information on\nthat point. All I know is, that she made her debut in society as a\nlady of elegance, and her debut was all the more marked because,\nduring the life of her husband, her conduct was entirely the contrary.\nDo you not remember when you first made her acquaintance, that she was\nlively even to giddiness, heedless, bold, even coquettish, and\nappeared to be incapable of a reasonable attachment? However, to-day,\nyou tell me, she has become a serious melancholic; pre-occupied,\ntimid, affected; sentiment has taken the place of mincing airs; at\nleast she appears to so fit in with the character she assumes to-day,\nthat you imagine it to be her true one, and her former one, borrowed.\nAll my philosophy would be at fault in such a case, if I did not\nrecognize in this metamorphosis the effects of love. I am very much\nmistaken if the storm raging around you to-day, does not end in the\nmost complete victory, and one all the more assured because she has\ndone everything in her power to prevent it. But if you steadily pursue\nyour object, carrying your pursuit even as far as importunity, follow\nher wherever she goes and where you can see her; if you take it upon\nyourself not to allude to your passion, and treat her with all the\nmannerism of an attentive follower, respectful, but impressed, what\nwill happen? She will be unable to refuse you the courtesies due any\nindifferent acquaintance. Women possess an inexhaustible fund of\nkindness for those who love them. You know this well, you men, and it\nis what always reassures you when you are treated unkindly. You know\nthat your presence, your attentions, the sorrow that affects you have\ntheir effect, and end by disarming our pride.\n\nYou are persuaded that those whom our virtue keeps at a distance\nthrough pride, are precisely those whom it fears the most, and\nunfortunately, your guess is only too just, it keeps them off, indeed,\nbecause it is not sure of its ability to resist them. It does more\nsometimes, it goes to the length of braving an enemy whose attack it\ndares not anticipate. In a word, the courage of a reasonable woman is\nnearly always equal to a first effort, but rarely is that effort\nlasting. The very excess of its violence is the cause of its\nweakening. The soul has only one degree of force, and exhausted by the\nconstraint that effort cost it, it abandons itself to lassitude. By\nand by, the knowledge of its weakness throws it into discouragement. A\nwoman of that disposition bears the first shock of a redoubtable enemy\nwith courage, but, the danger better understood, she fears a second\nattack. A woman, persuaded that she has done everything possible to\ndefend herself against an inclination which is urging her on,\nsatisfied with the combats in which she has been engaged, finally\nreaches the opinion that her resistance can not prevail against the\npower of love. If she still resist, it is not by her own strength; she\nderives no help except from the idea of the intrepidity she at first\ndisplayed to him who attacks, or from the timidity she inspired in\nhim in the beginning of her resistance. Thus it is, that however\nreasonable she may be, she nearly always starts out with a fine\ndefense, she only needs pride to resolve upon that; but unfortunately,\nyou divine the means of overcoming her, you persevere in your attacks,\nshe is not indefatigable, and you have so little delicacy that,\nprovided you obtain her heart, it is of no consequence to you whether\nyou have obtained it through your importunities or with her consent.\n\nBesides that, Marquis, the excess of precautions a woman takes against\nyou, is strong evidence of how much you are feared. If you were an\nobject of indifference, would a woman take the trouble to avoid you? I\ndeclare to you that she would not honor you by being afraid of you.\nBut I know how unreasonable lovers are. Always ingenious in tormenting\nthemselves, the habit of never having but one object in view is so\npowerful, that they prefer being pestered with one that is\ndisagreeable than with none at all.\n\nHowever, I feel sorry for you. Smitten as you are, your situation can\nnot fail to be a sad one. The poor Marquis, how badly he is treated!\n\n\n\n\nXXX\n\nWhen Resistance Is Only a Pretense\n\n\nI was delighted to learn before my departure for the country, that\nyour mind was more at rest. I feel free to say, that if the Countess\nhad persevered in treating you with the same severity, I should have\nsuspected, not that she was insensible to your love, but that you had\na fortunate rival. The resistance manifested by her would have been\nbeyond her strength in a single combat. For you should be well\nadvised, Marquis, that a woman is never more intractable than when she\nassumes a haughtiness toward all other men, for the sake of her\nfavorite lover.\n\nI see in everything you have told me, proofs that you are loved, and\nthat you are the only one. I will be able to give you constant news on\nthat score, for I am going to investigate the Countess for myself.\nThis will surprise you, no doubt. Your astonishment will cease,\nhowever, when you call to mind that Madame de la Sabli\u00e8re's house,\nwhere I am going to spend a week, adjoins the grounds of your amiable\nwidow. You told me that she was at home, and, add to the neighborhood,\nthe unmeasured longing I have to make her acquaintance, you will not\nbe surprised at the promise I have just made you.\n\nI have not the time to finish this letter, nor the opportunity to\nsend it. I must depart immediately, and my traveling companion is\nteasing me in a strange fashion, pretending that I am writing a love\nletter. I am letting her think what she pleases, and carry the letter\nwith me to the country. Adieu. What! Madame de Grignan's illness will\nnot permit you to visit us in our solitude?\n\nDu Ch\u00e2teau de---.\n\nI am writing you from the country house of the Countess, my dear\nMarquis, this is the third day I have been with her, which will enable\nyou to understand that I am not in bad favor with the mistress of the\nhouse. She is an adorable woman, I am delighted with her. I sometimes\ndoubt whether you deserve a heart like hers. Here I am her confidante.\nShe has told me all she thinks about you, and I do not despair of\ndiscovering, before I return to the city, the reasons for the change\nin her character which you have remarked. I dare not write you more\nnow, I may be interrupted, and I do not wish any one to know that I am\nwriting you from this place. Adieu.\n\n\n\n\nXXXI\n\nThe Opinion and Advice of Monsieur de la Sabli\u00e8re\n\n\nHow many things I have to tell you, Marquis! I was preparing to keep\nmy word with you, and had arranged to use strategy upon the Countess\nto worm her secret from her, when chance came to my aid.\n\nYou are not ignorant of her confidence in Monsieur de la Sabli\u00e8re. She\nwas with him just now in an arbor of the garden, and I was passing\nthrough a bushy path intending to join them, when the mention of your\nname arrested my steps. I was not noticed, and heard all the\nconversation, which I hasten to communicate to you word for word.\n\n\"I have not been able to conceal from your penetration, my inclination\nfor M. de S\u00e9vign\u00e9,\" said the Countess, \"and you can not reconcile the\nserious nature of so decided a passion with the frivolity attributed\nto me in society. You will be still more astonished when I tell you\nthat my exterior character is not my true one, that the seriousness\nyou notice in me now, is a return to my former disposition; I was\nnever giddy except through design. Perhaps you may have imagined that\nwomen can only conceal their faults, but they sometimes go much\nfarther, sir, and I am an instance. They even disguise their virtues,\nand since the word has escaped me, I am tempted, at the risk of\nwearying you, to explain by what strange gradation I reached that\npoint.\n\n\"During my married life I lived retired from the world. You knew the\nCount and his taste for solitude. When I became a widow, there was the\nquestion of returning to society, and my embarrassment as to how I was\nto present myself was not small. I interrogated my own heart; in vain\nI sought to hide it from my own knowledge, I had a strong taste for\nthe pleasures of society; but at the same time I was determined to add\nto it purity of morals. But how to reconcile all this? It seemed to me\na difficult task to establish a system of conduct which, without\ncompromising me, would not at the same time deprive me of the\npleasures of life.\n\n\"This is the way I reasoned: Destined to live among men, formed to\nplease them, and to share in their happiness, we are obliged to suffer\nfrom their caprices, and above all fear their malignity. It seems that\nthey have no other object in our education than that of fitting us for\nlove, indeed, it is the only passion permitted us, and by a strange\nand cruel contrariety, they have left us only one glory to obtain,\nwhich is that of gaining a victory over the very inclination imposed\nupon us. I therefore endeavored to ascertain the best means of\nreconciling in use and custom, two such glaring extremes, and I found\npredicaments on all sides.\n\n\"We are, I said to myself, simple enough when we enter society, to\nimagine that the greatest happiness of a woman should be to love and\nbe loved. We then are under the impression that love is based on\nesteem, upheld by the knowledge of amiable qualities, purified by\ndelicacy of sentiment, divested of all the insipidities which\ndisfigure it, in a word, fostered by confidence and the effusions of\nthe heart. But unfortunately, a sentiment so flattering for a woman\nwithout experience, is everything less than that in practice. She is\nalways disabused when too late.\n\n\"I was so good in the beginning as to be scandalized at two\nimperfections I perceived in men, their inconstancy and their\nuntruthfulness. The reflections I made on the first of these defects,\nled me to the opinion that they were more unfortunate than guilty.\nFrom the manner in which the human heart is constituted, is it\npossible for it to be occupied with only one object? No, but does the\ntreachery of men deserve the same indulgence? Most men attack a\nwoman's virtue in cold blood, in the design to use her for their\namusement, to sacrifice her to their vanity, to fill a void in an idle\nlife, or to acquire a sort of reputation based upon the loss of ours.\nThere is a large number of men in this class. How to distinguish true\nlovers? They all look alike on the surface, and the man who pretends\nto be amorous, is often more seductive than one who really is.\n\n\"We are, moreover, dupes enough to make love a capital affair. You\nmen, on the contrary, consider it merely a play; we rarely surrender\nto it without an inclination for the person of the lover; you are\ncoarse enough to yield to it without taste. Constancy with us is a\nduty; you give way to the slightest distaste without scruple. You are\nscarcely decent in leaving a mistress, the possession of whom, six\nmonths before, was your glory and happiness. She may consider herself\nwell off if she is not punished by the most cruel indiscretions.\n\n\"Hence I regarded things from their tragical side, and said to myself:\n'If love draws with it so many misfortunes, a woman who cherishes her\npeace of mind and reputation, should never love.' However, everything\ntells me that we have a heart, that this heart is made for love, and\nthat love is involuntary. Why, then, venture to destroy an inclination\nthat is part of our being? Would it not be wiser to rectify it? Let us\nsee how it will be possible to succeed in such an enterprise.\n\n\"What is a dangerous love? I have observed that kind of love. It is a\nlove which occupies the whole soul to the exclusion of every other\nsentiment, and which impels us to sacrifice everything to the object\nloved.\n\n\"What characters are susceptible of such a sentiment? They are the\nmost solid, those who show little on the outside, those who unite\nreason with an elevated nobility of character in their fashion of\nthinking.\n\n\"Finally, who are the men the most reasonable for women of that kind?\nIt is those who possess just sufficient brilliant qualities to fix a\nvalue on their essential merit. It must be confessed, though, that\nsuch men are not good companions for women who think. It is true,\nthey are rare at present, and there has never been a period so\nfavorable as this to guarantee us against great passions, but\nmisfortune will have it that we meet one of them in the crowd.\n\n\"The moralists pretend that every woman possesses a fund of\nsensibility destined to be applied to some object or another. A\nsensible woman is not affected by the thousand trifling advantages so\nagreeable to men in ordinary women. When she meets an object worthy of\nher attention, it is quite natural that she should estimate the value\nof it; her affection is measured according to her lights, she can not\ngo half way. It is these characters that should not be imitated, and\nall acquaintance with the men of whom I have just been speaking,\nshould be avoided if a woman values her peace of mind. Let us create a\ncharacter which can procure for us two advantages at one and the same\ntime: One to guard us from immoderate impressions; the other to ward\noff men who cause them. Let us give them an outside which will at\nleast prevent them from displaying qualities they do not possess. Let\nus force them to please us by their frivolity, by their absurdities.\nHowever much they may practice affectation, their visible faults would\nfurnish us with weapons against them. What happy state can a woman\noccupy to procure such safeguards? It is undoubtedly that of a\nprofessional society woman.\n\n\"You are doubtless astonished at the strange conclusion to which my\nserious reasoning has led me. You will be still more astonished when\nyou shall have heard the logic I employ to prove that I am right:\nlisten to the end. I know the justice of your mind, and I am not\nlacking in it, however frivolous I may appear to be, and you will\nfinish by being of my opinion.\n\n\"Do you believe that the outward appearance of virtue guarantees the\nheart against the assaults of love? A poor resource. When a woman\ndescends to a weakness, is not her humiliation proportionately as\ngreat as the esteem she hoped to secure? The brighter her virtue, the\neasier mark for malice.\n\n\"What is the world's idea of a virtuous woman? Are not men so unjust\nas to believe that the wisest woman is she who best conceals her\nweakness; or who, by a forced retreat puts herself beyond the\npossibility of having any? Rather than accord us a single perfection,\nthey carry wickedness to the point of attributing to us a perpetual\nstate of violence, every time we undertake to resist their advances.\nOne of our friends said: 'There is not an honest woman who is not\ntired of being so.' And what recompense do they offer us for the cruel\ntorments to which they have condemned us? Do they raise up an altar to\nour heroism? No! The most honest woman, they say, is she who is not\ntalked about, that is to say, a perfect indifference on the part of a\nwoman, a general oblivion is the price of our virtue. Must women not\nhave much of it to preserve it at such a price? Who would not be\ntempted to abandon it? But there are grave matters which can not be\noverlooked.\n\n\"Dishonor closely follows upon weakness. Old age is dreadful in\nitself, what must it not be when it is passed in remorse? I feel the\nnecessity of avoiding such a misfortune. I calculated at first that I\ncould not succeed in, doing so, without condemning myself to a life of\nausterity, and I had not the courage to undertake it. But it gradually\ndawned upon me that the condition of a society woman was alone\ncompetent to reconcile virtue with pleasure. From the smile on your\nface, I suspect such an idea appears to be a paradox to you. But it is\nmore reasonable than you imagine.\n\n\"Tell me this: Is a society woman obliged to have an attachment? Is\nshe not exempt from tenderness? It is sufficient for her to be amiable\nand courteous, everything on the surface. As soon as she becomes\nexpert in the role she has undertaken, then, the only mistrust the\nworld has of her is that she has no heart. A fine figure, haughty\nairs, caprices, fashionable jargon, fantasies, and fads, that is all\nthat is required of her. She can be essentially virtuous with\nimpunity. Does any one presume to make advances? If he meet with\nresistance he quickly gives over worrying her, he thinks her heart is\nalready captured, and he patiently awaits his turn. His perseverance\nwould be out of place, for she would notify a man who failed to pay\nher deference, that it was owing to arrangements made before he\noffered himself. In this way a woman is protected by the bad opinion\nhad of her.\n\n\"I read in your eyes that you are about to say to me: The state of a\nprofessional society woman may injure my reputation, and plunge me\ninto difficulties I seek to avoid. Is not that your thought? But do\nyou not know, Monsieur, that the most austere conduct does not guard a\nwoman from the shafts of malice? The opinion men give of women's\nreputation, and the good and wrong ideas they acquire of us are always\nequally false. It is prejudice, it is a species of fatality which\ngoverns their judgment, so that our glory depends less upon a real\nvirtue than upon auspicious circumstances. The hope of filling an\nhonorable place in their imagination, ought not to be the sole\nincentive to the practice of virtue, it should be the desire to have a\ngood opinion of ourselves, and to be able to say, whatever may be the\nopinion of the public: I have nothing with which to reproach myself.\nBut, what matters it to what we owe our virtue, provided we have it?\n\n\"I was therefore convinced that I could not do better, when I\nreappeared in the world, than to don the mask I deemed the most\nfavorable to my peace of mind and to my glory. I became closely\nattached to the friend who aided me with her counsel. She is the\nMarquise de ----, a relative. Our sentiments were in perfect accord.\nWe frequented the same society. Charity for our neighbors was truly\nnot our favorite virtue. We made our appearance in a social circle as\ninto a ball room, where we were the only masks. We indulged in all\nsorts of follies, we goaded the absurd into showing themselves in\ntheir true character. After having amused ourselves in this comedy,\nwe had not yet reached the limit of our pleasure, it was renewed in\nprivate interviews. How absolutely idiotic the women appeared to us,\nand the men, how vacuous, fatuous, and impertinent! If we found any\nwho could inspire fear in a woman's heart, that is, esteem, we broke\ntheir heart by our airs, by affecting utter indifference for them, and\nby the allurements we heaped upon those who deserved them the least.\nBy force of our experience, we came near believing, that in order to\nbe virtuous, it was necessary to frequent bad company.\n\n\"This course of conduct guaranteed us for a long time against the\nsnares of love, and saved us from the dreadful weariness a sad and\nmore mournful virtue would have spread over our lives. Frivolous,\nimperious, bold, even coquettish if you will, in the presence of men,\nbut solid, reasonable, and virtuous in our own eyes, we were happy in\nthis character. We never met a man we were afraid of. Those who might\nhave been redoubtable, were obliged to make themselves ridiculous\nbefore being permitted to enjoy our society.\n\n\"But what finally led me to doubt the truth of my principles, is they\ndid not always guard me from the dangers I wished to avoid. I have\nlearned through my own experience, that love is a traitor with whom it\nwill not do to trifle. I do not know by what fatality, the Marquis de\nS\u00e9vign\u00e9 was able to render my projects futile. In spite of all my\nprecautions he has found the way to my heart. However much I resisted\nhim I was impelled to love him, and my reason is of no more use to me\nexcept to justify in my own eyes the inclination I feel for him. I\nwould be happy if he never gave me an occasion to change my\nsentiments. I have been unable to hide from him my true thoughts, I\nwas afraid at first that he might deem me actually as ridiculous as I\nseemed to be. And when my sincerity shall render me less amiable in\nhis eyes (for I know that frivolity captures men more than real\nmerit), I wish to show myself to him in my true colors. I should blush\nto owe nothing to his heart but a perpetual lie of my whole being.\"\n\n\"I am still less surprised, Madame,\" said Monsieur de la Sabli\u00e8re, \"at\nthe novelty of your project, than at the skill with which you have\nsucceeded in rendering such a singular idea plausible. Permit me to\nsay, that it is not possible to go astray with more spirit. Have you\nexperimented with everybody according to your system? Men go a long\nway around to avoid the beaten track, but they all fall over the same\nobstacles. To make use of the privilege you granted me to tell you\nplainly my thought, believe me, Countess, that the only way for you to\npreserve your peace of mind is to resume openly your position as a\nreasonable woman. There is nothing to be gained by compounding with\nvirtue.\"\n\nWhen I heard the conversation taking that complexion, I knew it would\nsoon finish, and I therefore promptly withdrew, and could not think of\nanything but satisfying your curiosity. I am tired of writing. In two\ndays I shall return to Paris.\n\n\n\n\nXXXII\n\nThe Advantages of a Knowledge of the Heart\n\n\nWell, Marquis, here I am back again, but the news I bring you may not\nbe altogether to your liking. You have never had so fine an occasion\nto charge women with caprice. I wrote you the last time to tell you\nthat you were loved, to-day I write just the contrary.\n\nA strange resolution has been taken against you; tremble, 'tis a thing\nsettled; the Countess purposes loving you at her ease, and without its\ncosting her any disturbance of her peace of mind. She has seen the\nconsequences of a passion similar to yours, and she can not face it\nwithout dismay. She intends, therefore, to arrest its progress. Do not\nlet the proofs she has given you reassure you. You men imagine that as\nsoon as a woman has confessed her love she can never more break her\nchains; undeceive yourself. The Countess is much more reasonable on\nyour account than I thought, and I do not hide from you the fact that\na portion of her firmness is due to my advice. You need not rely any\nmore on my letters, and you do not require any help from them to\nunderstand women.\n\nI sometimes regret that I have furnished you weapons against my sex,\nwithout them would you ever have been able to touch the heart of the\nCountess? I must avow that I have judged women with too much rigor,\nand you now see me ready to make them a reparation. I know it now,\nthere are more stable and essentially virtuous women than I had\nthought.\n\nWhat a stock of reason! What a combination of all the estimable\nqualities in our friend! No, Marquis, I could no longer withhold from\nher the sentiment of my most tender esteem, and without consulting\nyour interests, I have united with her against you. You will murmur at\nthis, but the confidence she has given me, does it not demand this\nreturn on my part? I will not hide from you any of my wickedness; I\nhave carried malice to the point of instructing her in the advantages\nyou might draw from everything I have written you about women.\n\n\"I feel,\" she said to me, \"how redoubtable is a lover who combines\nwith so much knowledge of the heart, the talent to express himself in\nsuch noble and delicate language. What advantages can he not have of\nwomen who reason? I have remarked it, it is by his powers of reasoning\nthat he has overcome them. He possesses the art of employing the\nintelligence he finds in a woman to justify, in the eyes of his\nreason, the errors into which he draws her. Besides, a woman in love\nthinks she is obliged to proportion her sacrifices to the good\nqualities of the man she loves. To an ordinary man, a weakness is a\nweakness, he blushes at it; to a man of intelligence, it is a tribute\npaid to his merits, it is even a proof of our discernment; he\neulogizes our good taste and takes the credit of it. It is thus by\nturning it to the profit of the vanity which he rescues from virtue,\nthat this enchanter hides from our eyes the grades of our weakness.\"\n\nSuch are at present, Marquis, the sentiments of the Countess, and I am\nnot sure if they leave you much to hope for. I do not ignore the fact\nthat it might have doubtless been better to carry out the project we\nhave in view without giving you any information concerning it. That\nwas our first intention; but could I in conscience secretly work\nagainst you? Would it not have been to betray you? Moreover, by taking\nthat course, we should have appeared to be afraid of you, and hence we\nfound courage to put you in possession of all we expect to do to\nresist you.\n\nCome, now, Marquis, our desire to see you really makes us impatient.\nWould you know the reason? It is because we expect you without fearing\nyou. Remember that you have not now a weak loving woman to fight\nagainst, she would be too feeble an adversary, her courage might give\nout; it is I, now, it is a woman of cold blood, who fancies herself\ninterested in saving the reason of her friend from being wrecked. Yes,\nI will penetrate to the bottom of your heart; I will read there your\nperverse designs; I will forestall them; I will render all the\nartifices of your malice innocuous.\n\nYou may accuse me of treason as much as you please, but come to-night,\nand I will convince you that my conduct is conformable to the most\nexact equity. While your inexperience needed enlightenment,\nassistance, encouragement, my zeal in your cause urged me to sacrifice\neverything in your interests. Every advantage was then on the side of\nthe Countess. But now there is a different face on things; all her\npride to-day, is barely strong enough to resist you. Formerly, her\nindifference was in her favor, and, what was worth still more, your\nlack of skill; to-day you have the experience, and she has her reason\nthe less.\n\nAfter that, to combine with you against her, to betray the confidence\nshe reposes in me, to refuse her the succor she has the right to\nexpect from me, if you are sincere, you will avow it yourself, would\nbe a crying wrong. Henceforth, I purpose to repair the evil I have\ndone in revealing our secrets, by initiating you into our mysteries. I\ndo not know why, but the pleasure I feel in crossing you, appears to\nbe working in my favor, and you know how far my rights oven you\nextend. My sentiments will always be the same, and, on your part\nwithout doubt, you are too equitable to diminish your esteem for me,\nbecause of anything I may have done in favor of a friend.\n\nBy and by, then, at the Countess'.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIII\n\nA Heart Once Wounded No Longer Plays with Love\n\n\nWhat, Marquis, afraid of two women? You already despair of your\naffairs, because they oppose your success, and you are ready to\nabandon the game? Dear me, I thought you had more courage. It is true\nthat the firmness of the Countess astonishes even me, but I do not\nunderstand how she could hold out against your ardor for an entire\nevening. I never saw you so seductive, and she has just confessed to\nme that you were never so redoubtable. Now I can respond for her,\nsince her courage did not fail her on an occasion of so much peril. I\nsaw still farther, and I judge from her well sustained ironical\nconversation, that she is only moderately smitten. A woman really\nwounded by the shaft of love would not have played with sentiment in\nsuch a flippant manner.\n\nThis gives birth to a strange idea. It would be very delightful, if in\na joking way, we should discover that your tender Adelaide does not\nlove you up to a certain point. What a blow that would be to your\nvanity! But you would quickly seek revenge. You might certainly find\nbeauties ready to console you for your loss. How often has vexation\nmade you say: \"What is a woman's heart? Can any one give me a\ndefinition of it?\"\n\nHowever, do you know that I am tempted to find fault with you, and if\nyou take this too much to heart, I do not know what I would not do to\nsoften the situation. But I know you are strong minded. Your first\nfeelings of displeasure past, you will soon see that the best thing\nyou can do is to come down to the quality of friend, a position which\nwe have so generously offered you. You ought to consider yourself very\nfortunate, your dismissal might be made absolute. But do not make this\nout to be much of a victory, you will be more harshly treated if we\nconsider you more to be feared.\n\nAdieu, Marquis. The Countess, who is sitting at the head of my bed,\nsends you a thousand tender things. She is edified by the discretion\nwith which you have treated us; not to insist when two ladies seem to\nbe so contrary to you, that is the height of gallantry. So much\nmodesty will certainly disarm them, and may some day move them to\npity. Hope, that is permitted you.\n\n\nFrom the Countess.\n\nAlthough you may be inspired by the most flattering hopes, Marquis, I\nwill add a few words to this letter. I have not read it, but I suspect\nthat it refers to me. I wish, however, to write you with my own hand\nthat we shall be alone here all day. I wish to tell you that I love\nyou moderately well at present, but that I have the greatest desire\nin the world not to love you at all. However, if you deem it advisable\nto come and trouble our little party, it gives me pleasure to warn you\nthat your heart will be exposed to the greatest danger. I am told that\nI am handsomer to-day than you have ever found me to be, and I never\nfelt more in the humor to treat you badly.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIV\n\nAbsence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder\n\n\nAll this, Marquis, begins to pass the bounds of pleasantry. Explain\nyourself, I pray you. Did you pretend to speak seriously in your\nletter, in making it understood that I was acting on this occasion\nthrough jealousy, and that I was trying to separate you and the\nCountess to profit by it myself?\n\nYou are either the wickedest of men or the most adroit; the wickedest\nif you ever could suspect me guilty of such baseness; the most adroit,\nif you have thrown out that idea to make my friend suspect me. I see\nvery clearly in all this, that the alternative is equally injurious to\nme, since the Countess has taken the matter to heart. I find that my\nrelations with her are very embarrassing. Criminal that you are, how\nwell you know your ascendency over her heart! You could not better\nattack her than by the appearance of indifference you affect. Not\ndeign to answer my last letter, not come to the rendezvous given you,\nremain away from us three days, and after all that, to write us the\ncoldest letter possible, oh, I confess it frankly, that is to act like\na perfect man; that is what I call a master stroke, and the most\ncomplete success has responded to your hope. The Countess has not\nbeen able to stand against so much coolness. The fear that this\nindifference may become real has caused her a mortal anxiety.\n\nGreat Heavens! What is the most reasonable woman when love has turned\nher head? Why were you not the witness of the reproaches I have just\nheard? How is that? To hear the Countess to-day, gave me an injurious\nopinion of her virtue, a false idea of your pretensions, and I\nconsidered your designs criminal because you took so much pleasure in\npunishing her.\n\nI am hard, unjust, cruel, I can not remember all the epithets with\nwhich I was covered. What outbursts! Oh, I protest to you, this will\nbe the last storm I will undergo for being mixed up in your affairs,\nand I very cordially renounce the confidence with which you have both\nhonored me. Advisers do not play a very agreeable part in such cases,\nso it seems to me, always charged with what is disagreeable in\nquarrels, and the lovers only profit by a reconciliation.\n\nHowever, after due reflection, I think I should be very silly to take\noffence at this. You are two children whose follies will amuse me, I\nought to look upon them with the eye of a philosopher, and finish by\nbeing the friend of both. Come then, at once, and assure me if that\nresolution will suit you. Now, do not play the petty cruel role any\nmore. Come and make peace. These poor children; one of them has such\ninnocent motives, the other is so sure of her virtue, that to stand in\nthe way of their inclination, is surely to afflict them without\nreason.\n\n\n\n\nXXXV\n\nThe Heart Should be Played Upon Like the Keys of a Piano\n\n\nI am beginning to understand, Marquis, that the only way to live with\nthe most reasonable woman, is never to meddle with her heart affairs.\nI have, therefore, made up my mind. Henceforward I shall never mention\nyour name to the Countess unless she insists upon my doing so; I do\nnot like bickerings.\n\nBut this resolution will change nothing of my sentiments for you, nor\nmy friendship for her. And, although I still stand her friend, I shall\nnot scruple to make use of my friendship, so far as you are concerned,\nas I have in the past I shall continue, since you so wish it, to give\nyou my ideas on the situations in which you may become involved, on\ncondition, however, that you permit me sometimes to laugh at your\nexpense, a liberty I shall not take to-day, because if the Countess\nfollows up the plan she has formed, that is, if she persists in\nrefusing to see you alone, I do not see that your affairs will advance\nvery rapidly. She remembers what I told her, she knows her heart, and\nhas reason to fear it.\n\nIt is only an imprudent woman who relies upon her own strength, and\nexposes herself without anxiety to the advances of the man she loves.\nThe agitation which animates him, the fire with which his whole person\nappears to be burning, excites our senses, fires our imagination,\nappeals to our desires. I said to the Countess one day: \"We resemble\nyour clavecin; however well disposed it may be to respond to the hand\nwhich should play upon it, until it feels the impression of that hand,\nit remains silent; touch its keys, and sounds are heard.\" Finish the\nparallel, and draw your conclusions.\n\nBut after all, why should you complain, Monsieur, the metaphysician?\nTo see the Countess, hear the soft tones of her voice, render her\nlittle attentions, carry the delicacy of sentiment beyond the range of\nmortal vision, feel edified at her discourses on virtue, are not these\nsupreme felicity for you? Leave for earthy souls the gross sentiments\nwhich are beginning to develop in you. To look at you to-day, it might\nbe said that I was not so far out of the way when I declared love to\nbe the work of the senses. Your own experience will compel you to avow\nthat I had some good reason for saying so, for which I am not at all\nsorry. Consider yourself punished for your injustice. Adieu.\n\nYour old rival, the Chevalier, has revenged himself for the rigors of\nthe Countess, by tying himself up with the Marquise, her relative.\nThis choice is assuredly a eulogy on his good taste, they are made for\neach other. I shall be very much charmed to know whither their fine\npassion will lead them.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVI\n\nMistaken Impressions Common to All Women\n\n\nDo you think, Marquis, that I have not felt all the sarcasm you have\ndeigned to turn against me on account of my pretended reconciliation\nwith the Countess? Know this, sir, that we have never been at outs.\n\nIt is true, she begged me to forget her vivacity, which she claimed\nwas due to her love, and she insisted that I should continue to give\nher good counsel. But Good Heavens! Of what use are my counsels except\nto provide you with an additional triumph? The best advice I can give\nher is to break off her relations with you, for whatever confidence\nshe may have in her pride, her only preservative against you is\nflight. She believes, for example, that she used her reason with good\neffect in the conversation you have related to me. But every\nreasonable woman does not fail to use the same language as soon as a\nlover shows her some respectful pretensions.\n\n\"I only want your heart,\" they say, \"your sentiments, your esteem is\nall I desire. Alas! you will find only too many women with so little\ndelicacy as to believe themselves very happy in accepting what I\nrefuse. I will never envy them a happiness of that kind.\"\n\nBe on your guard, Marquis, and do not openly combat such fine\nsentiments; to doubt a woman's sincerity on such occasions, is to do\nmore than offend them, it is to be maladroit. You must applaud their\nmistaken idea if you would profit by it. They wish to appear\nhigh-minded, and sensible only of the pleasures of the soul, it is\ntheir system, their esprit du corps. If some women are in good faith\non this point, how many are there who treat it as an illusion and wish\nto impose it upon you?\n\nBut whatever may be the reason which impels them to put you on a false\nscent, ought you not to be delighted that they are willing to take the\ntrouble to deceive you? What obligations are you not under? They give\nin this manner, a high value to those who, without it, would be very\nundesirable. Admire our strategy when we feign indifference to what\nyou call the pleasures of love, pretending even to be far removed from\nits sweetness, we augment the grandeur of the sacrifice we make for\nyou, by it, we even inspire the gratitude of the authors of the very\nbenefits we receive from them, you are satisfied with the good you do\nus.\n\nAnd since it was said that we make it a duty to deceive you, what\nobligation do you not owe us? We have chosen the most obliging way to\ndo it. You are the first to gain by this deceit, for we can not\nmultiply obstacles without enhancing the price of your victory.\nTroubles, cares, are not these the money with which lovers pay for\ntheir pleasures? What a satisfaction for your vanity to be able to\nsay within yourselves: \"This woman, so refined, so insensible to the\nimpressions of the senses; this woman who fears disdain so much, comes\nto me, nevertheless, and sacrifices her repugnance, her fears, her\npride? My own merit, the charms of my person, my skill, have\nsurmounted invincible objects for something quite different. How\nsatisfied I am with my prowess!\"\n\nIf women acted in good faith, if they were in as much haste to show\nyou their desires as you are to penetrate them, you could not talk\nthat way. How many pleasures lost! But you can not impute wrong to\nthis artifice, it gives birth to so many advantages. Pretend to be\ndeceived, and it will become a pleasure to you.\n\nIf the Countess knew what I have written, how she would reproach me!\n\n\n\n\nXXXVII\n\nThe Allurements of Stage Women\n\n\nI know too well that a man in your position, particularly a military\nman, is often exposed to bad company, consequently, he is attracted by\nthe divinities you mention. In spite of that you are not deceived, and\nI would probably censure you, if I were not so sure, that, in the\npresent state of your heart, the heroines of the theater are not\ndangerous to you. But the Countess is less indulgent, you say. Her\njealousy does not astonish me, she confirms my ideas concerning female\nmetaphysicians. I know how much credit is due their sincerity. Her\ncomplaints are very singular, for, what is she deprived of? The women\nin question are nothing but women of sentiment, and it is to sentiment\nthat the Countess is attached.\n\nHow little women are in accord! They pretend to despise women of the\nstage; they fear them too much to despise them. But after all, are\nthey wrong to consider them rivals? Are you not more captivated with\ntheir free and easy style, than with that of a sensible woman who has\nnothing to offer but order, decency, and uniformity? With the former,\nmen are at their ease, they appear to be in their element; with the\nlatter, men are kept within bounds, obliged to stand on their\ndignity, and to be very circumspect. From the portrait of several of\nthem, I should judge that there are some of them very capable of\nmaking many men unfaithful to the most beloved mistress. But with a\nsensible man, this infidelity, if it be one, can not be of long\nduration. These women may create a sudden, lively desire, but never a\nveritable passion.\n\nThe fairies of the operatic stage would be too dangerous, if they had\nthe wit or the humor always to amuse you as much as they do the first\ntime you are thrown on their company. However little jargon, habits,\nand decency they have on the surface, it is possible that they may\nplease you at first. You men have so little refinement sometimes! The\nfreedom of their conversation, the vivacity of their sallies of\nalleged wit, their giddy ways, all this affords you a situation that\ncharms; a lively and silly joy seizes upon you, the hours you pass\nwith them seem to be only moments. But happily for you, they seldom\npossess sufficient resources to maintain a role so amusing. Inasmuch\nas they lack education and culture, they soon travel around the small\ncircle of their accomplishments. They feed you with the same\npleasantries, the same stories, the same antics, and it is seldom one\nlaughs twice at the same thing when one has no esteem for the fun\nmaker.\n\nThe Countess need not worry, for I know you well enough to assure her\nthat it is not that class of women she may apprehend, there are in the\nworld, others more redoubtable, they are the \"gallant women,\" those\nequivocal women in society. They occupy a middle position between good\nwomen and those I have been talking about; they associate with the\nformer and are not different from the latter except on the surface.\nMore voluptuous than tender, they seduce by lending to the least\nrefined sentiments an air of passion which is mistaken for love. They\nunderstand how to convey an impression of tenderness to what is only a\ntaste for pleasure. They make you believe that it is by choice, by a\nknowledge of your merit that they yield. If you do not know them to be\ngallant women, the shade of difference which distinguishes the true\nmotives which actuates them, from the sensibility of the heart, is\nimpossible to seize. You accept for excess of passion what is only an\nintoxication of the senses. You imagine you are loved because you are\nlovable, but it is only because you are a man.\n\nThese are the women I should fear if I were in the place of the\nCountess. The financial woman who has lately appeared in society\nbelongs to this class, but I have already warned the Countess.\n\nI call to mind, here, that in your preceding letter, you mentioned the\nallurements which the Countess thought proper to manifest? She was\nright in taking umbrage. Your passion for her is truly too great to\nprevent you from sacrificing everything, but I fear you will not\nalways be so honest.\n\nMadame de ---- possesses bloom and cheerfulness; she is at an age when\nwomen assume charge of young men who desire to be fitted for society,\nand to learn their first lessons in gallantry. The interesting and\naffectionate disposition you find in her will have its effect, but be\ncareful, it is I who warn you. Although I despise such women, it\nhappens that they have the power to create attachments; they often\nfind the secret of making you commit more follies than any of the\nother women.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVIII\n\nVarieties of Resistance are Essential\n\n\nI hasten to tell you, Marquis, that I have just maintained a thesis\nagainst Monsieur de la Bruy\u00e8re. No doubt you admire my temerity?\nHowever it is true. He pretends that Corneille described men as they\nshould be, and Racine as they are; I held the contrary. We had some\nillustrious spectators of the dispute, and I ought to be very proud of\nthe suffrages in my favor.\n\nBut all the details would be too long to write you, so come and we\nwill talk them over. Every one has his own fashion of describing\nthings, I have mine, I know. I represent women as they are, and I am\nvery sorry not to be able to represent them as they should be. Now I\nshall reply to your letter.\n\nThe species of languor which affects you does not surprise me. The\nmalady which afflicts the Marquise has deprived you of the pleasure of\nseeing the Countess, and your heart remaining in the same condition\nfor three days, it is not surprising that ennui should have gained\nupon it. Neither does your present indifference for the Countess alarm\nme. In the greatest passions there are always moments of lukewarmness,\nwhich astonish the hearts that feel the sensation. Whether the heart,\nconstantly agitated by the same emotions, finally tires, or whether it\nis absolutely impossible for it to be always employed with the same\nobject, there are moments of indifference, the cause of which can not\nbe ascertained. The livelier the emotions of the heart, the more\nprofound the calm that is sure to follow, and it is this calm that is\nalways more fateful to the object loved than storm and agitation. Love\nis extinguished by a resistance too severe or constant. But an\nintelligent woman goes beyond that, she varies her manner of\nresisting; this is the sublimity of the art.\n\nNow, with the Countess, the duties of friendship are preferable to the\nclaims of love, and that is another reason for your indifference\ntoward her. Love is a jealous and tyrannical sentiment, which is never\nsatiated until the object loved has sacrificed upon its altar all\ndesires and passions. You do nothing for it unless you do everything.\nWhenever you prefer duty, friendship, etc., it claims the right to\ncomplain. It demands revenge. The small courtesies you deemed it\nnecessary to show Madame de ---- are proofs of it. I would have much\npreferred, though, you had not carried them so far as accompanying her\nhome. The length of time you passed in her company, the pleasure you\nexperienced in conversing with her, the questions she put to you on\nthe state of your heart, all goes to prove the truth of what I said in\nmy last letter. It is vain for you to protest that you came away more\namorous than ever of the Countess, your embarrassment when she\ninquired whether you had remained long with your \"fermi\u00e8re g\u00e9n\u00e9rale,\"\nthe attempt you made to deceive her by an evasive answer, the extreme\ncare you took to disarm her slightest suspicion, are indications to me\nthat you are far more guilty than you pretend, or than you are aware\nof yourself.\n\nThe Countess suffers the consequences of all that. Do you not see how\nshe affects to rouse your jealousy by praising the Chevalier, your\nancient rival? For once, I can assure you that you will not so soon be\naffected by the languors we mentioned a short time ago. Jealousy will\ngive you something to think about. Do you count for nothing, the\nsufferings of the Marquise? You will soon see her, the ravages of the\nsmallpox will not alone disfigure her face, for her disposition will\nbe very different, as soon as she learns the extent of her misfortune.\nHow I pity her; how I pity other women! With what cordiality she will\nhate them and tear them to tatters! The Countess is her best friend,\nwill she be so very long? She is so handsome, her complexion casts the\nothers in the shade. What storms I foresee!\n\nI had forgotten to quarrel with you about your treatment of me. You\nhave been so indiscreet as to show my recent letters to M. de la\nRochefoucauld. I will cease writing you if you continue to divulge my\nsecret. I am willing to talk personally with him about my ideas, but I\nam far from flattering myself that I write well enough to withstand\nthe criticism of a reader like him.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIX\n\nThe True Value of Compliments Among Women\n\n\nThe marks left by the smallpox on the Marquise's face have set her\nwild. Her resolution not to show herself for a long time does not\nsurprise me. How could she appear in public in such a state? If the\naccident which humiliates her had not happened, how she would have\nmade the poor Chevalier suffer! Does not this prove that female virtue\ndepends upon circumstances, and diminishes with pride?\n\nHow I fear a similar example in the case of the Countess! Nothing is\nmore dangerous for a woman than the weaknesses of her friend; love,\nalready too seductive in itself, becomes more so through the contagion\nof example, if I may so speak; it is not only in our heart that it\ngathers strength; it acquires new weapons against reason from its\nenvironment. A woman who has fallen under its ban, deems herself\ninterested, for her own justification, in conducting her friend to the\nedge of the same precipice, and I am not, therefore, surprised at what\nthe Marquise says in your favor. Up to the present moment they have\nbeen guided by the same principles; what a shame, then, for her, that\nthe Countess could not have been guaranteed against the effects of it!\nNow, the Marquise has a strong reason the more for contributing to\nthe defeat of her friend; she has become positively ugly, and\nconsequently obliged to be more complaisant in retaining a lover. Will\nshe suffer another woman to keep hers at a less cost? That would be to\nrecognize too humiliating a superiority, and I can assure you that she\nwill do the most singular things to bring her amiable widower up to\nthe point.\n\nIf she succeed, how much I fear everything will be changed! To have\nbeen as beautiful as another woman, and to be so no longer, although\nshe embellishes herself every day, and to suffer her presence every\nday, is, I vow, an effort beyond the strength of the most reasonable\nwoman, greater than the most determined philosophy. Among women\nfriendship ceases where rivalry begins. By rivalry, I mean that of\nbeauty only, it would be too much to add that of sentiment.\n\nI foresee this with regret, but it is my duty to forewarn you.\nWhatever precautions the Countess may take to control the amour propre\nof the Marquise, she will never make anything else out of her than an\ningrate. I do not know by what fatality, everything a beautiful woman\ntells one who is no longer beautiful, assumes in the mouth, an\nimpression of a commiseration which breaks down the most carefully\ndevised management, and humiliates her whom it is thought to console.\nThe more a woman strives to efface the superiority she possesses over\nan unfortunate sister woman, the more she makes that superiority\napparent, until the latter reaches the opinion that it is only\nthrough generosity that she is permitted to occupy the subordinate\nposition left her.\n\nYou may depend upon it, Marquis, that women are never misled when it\ncomes to mutual praise; they fully appreciate the eulogies\ninterchanged among themselves; and as they speak without sincerity, so\nthey listen with little gratitude. And although she who speaks, in\npraising the beauty of another, may do so in good faith, she who\nlistens to the eulogy, considers less what the other says than her\nstyle of beauty. Is she ugly? We believe and love her, but if she be\nas handsome as we, we thank her coldly and disdain her; handsomer, we\nhate her more than before she spoke.\n\nYou must understand this, Marquis, that as much as two beautiful women\nmay have something between them to explain, it is impossible for them\nto form a solid friendship. Can two merchants who have the same goods\nto sell become good neighbors? Men do not penetrate the true cause of\nthe lack of cordiality among women. Those who are the most intimate\nfriends often quarrel over nothing, but do you suppose this \"nothing\"\nis the real occasion of their quarrel? It is only the pretext. We hide\nthe motive of our actions when to reveal it would be a humiliation. We\ndo not care to make public the fact that it is jealousy for the beauty\nof our friend that is the real cause, to give that as the reason for\nestrangement would be to charge us with envy, a pleasure one woman\nwill not give another; she prefers injustice. Whenever it happens\nthat two beautiful women are so happy as to find a pretext to get rid\nof each other, they seize upon it with vivacity, and hate each other\nwith a cordiality which proves how much they loved each other before\nthe rupture.\n\nWell, Marquis, am I talking to you with sufficient frankness? You see\nto what lengths my sincerity goes. I try to give you just ideas of\neverything, even at my own expense, for I am assuredly not more exempt\nthan another woman from the faults I sometimes criticise. But as I am\nsure that what passes between us will be buried in oblivion, I do not\nfear embroiling myself in a quarrel with all my sex, they might,\nperhaps, claim the right to blame my ingenuity.\n\nBut the Countess is above all such petty things, she agrees, however,\nwith everything I have just said. Are there many women like her?\n\n\n\n\nXL\n\nOratory and Fine Phrases do Not Breed Love\n\n\nThe example of the Marquise has not yet had any effect on the heart of\nher friend. It appears, on the contrary, that she is more on guard\nagainst you, and that you have drawn upon yourself her reproaches\nthrough some slight favor you have deprived her of.\n\nI have been thinking that she would not fail on this occasion to\nrecall to your recollection, the protestations of respect and\ndisinterestedness you made when you declared your passion for her. It\nis customary in similar cases. But what seems strange about it is,\nthat the same eagerness that a woman accepts as a proof of disrespect,\nbefore she is in perfect accord with her lover, becomes, in her\nimagination, a proof of love and esteem, as soon as they meet on a\ncommon ground.\n\nListen to married women, and to all those who, being unmarried, permit\nthe same prerogatives; hear them, I say, in their secret complaints\nagainst unfaithful husbands and cooling lovers. They are despised, and\nthat is the sole reason they can imagine. But with us, what they\nconsider a mark of esteem and sincerity, is it anything else than the\ncontrary? I told you some time ago, that women themselves, when they\nare acting in good faith, go farther than men in making love consist\nin an effervescence of the blood. Study a lover at the commencement of\nher passion: with her, then, love is purely a metaphysical sentiment,\nwith which the senses have not the least relation. Similar to those\nphilosophers who, in the midst of grievous torments would not confess\nthat they were suffering pain, she is a martyr to her own system; but,\nat last, while combatting this chimera, the poor thing becomes\naffected by a change; her lover vainly repeats that love is a divine,\nmetaphysical sentiment, that it lives on fine phrases, on spiritual\ndiscourses, that it would be degrading to mingle with it anything\nmaterial and human; he vainly, boasts of his respect and refinement. I\ntell you, Marquis, on the part of all women, that such an orator will\nnever make his fortune. His respect will be taken as an insult, his\nrefinement for derision, and his fine discourses for ridiculous\npretexts. All the grace that will be accorded him, is that she will\nfind a pretext to quarrel with him because he has been less refined\nwith some other woman, and that he will be put to the sorrowful\nnecessity of displaying his high flown sentiments to his titular\nmistress, and what is admirable about this is, that the excuse for it\narises out of the same principle.\n\nP.S.--You have so much deference for my demands! You not only show my\nletters to M. de la Rochefoucauld, but you read them before the whole\nassembly of my friends. It is true that the indulgence with which my\nfriends judge them, consoles me somewhat for your indiscretion, and I\nsee very well that the best thing for me to do is to continue on in my\nown way as I have in the past. But, at least, be discreet when I\nmention matters relating to the glory of the Countess; otherwise, no\nletters.\n\n\n\n\nXLI\n\nDiscretion Is Sometimes the Better Part of Valor\n\n\nNo, Marquis, I can not pardon in you the species of fury with which\nyou desire what you are pleased to call the \"supreme happiness.\" How\nblind you are, not to know that when you are sure of a woman's heart,\nit is in your interests to enjoy her defeat a long time before it\nbecomes entire. Will you never understand, that of all there is good\non earth, it is the sweetness of love that must be used with the\ngreatest economy?\n\nIf I were a man and were so fortunate as to have captured the heart of\na woman like the Countess, with what discretion I would use my\nadvantages? How many gradations there would be in the law I should\nimpose upon myself to overlook them successively and even leisurely?\nOf how many amiable pleasures, unknown to men, would not I be the\ncreator? Like a miser, I would contemplate my treasure unceasingly,\nlearn its precious value, feel that in it consisted all my felicity,\nbase all my happiness upon the possession of it, reflect that it is\nall mine, that I may dispose of it and yet maintain my resolution not\nto deprive myself of its use.\n\nWhat a satisfaction to read in the eyes of an adorable woman the power\nyou have over her; to see her slightest acts give birth to an\nimpression of tenderness, whenever they relate to you; to hear her\nvoice soften when it is to you or of you she speaks; to enjoy her\nconfusion at your slightest eagerness, her anxiety at your most\ninnocent caresses? Is there a more delicious condition than that of a\nlover who is sure of being loved, and can there be any sweeter than at\nsuch moments? What a charm for a lover to be expected with an\nimpatience that is not concealed; to be received with an eagerness all\nthe more flattering from the effort made to hide the half of it?\n\nShe dresses in a fashion to please; she assumes the deportment, the\nstyle, the pose that may flatter her lover the most. In former times\nwomen dressed to please in general, now their entire toilette is to\nplease men; for his sake she wears bangles, jewelry, ribbons,\nbracelets, rings. He is the object of it all, the woman is transformed\ninto the man; it is he she loves in her own person. Can you find\nanything in love more enchanting than the resistance of a woman who\nimplores you not to take advantage of her weakness? Is there anything,\nin a word, more seductive than a voice almost stifled with emotion,\nthan a refusal for which she reproaches herself, and, the rigor of\nwhich she attempts to soften by tender looks, before a complaint is\nmade? I can not conceive any.\n\nBut it is certain that as soon as she yields to your eagerness, all\nthese pleasures weaken in proportion to the facility met. You alone\nmay prolong them, even increase them, by taking the time to know all\nthe sweetness and its taste. However, you are not satisfied unless\nthe possession, be entire, easy, and continuous. And after that, you\nare surprised to find indifference, coolness, and inconstancy in your\nheart. Have you not done everything to satiate your passion for the\nbeloved object? I have always contended that love never dies from\ndesire but often from indigestion, and I will sometime tell you in\nconfidence my feelings for Count ----. You will understand from that\nhow to manage a passion to render happiness enduring; you will see\nwhether I know the human heart and true felicity; you will learn from\nmy example that the economy of the sentiments is, in the question of\nlove, the only reasonable metaphysics. In fine, you will know how\nlittle you understand your true interests in your conduct toward the\nCountess. To interfere with your projects, I shall be with her as\noften as it is possible. Now, do not be formal, and tell me that I am\nan advocate on both sides; for I am persuaded that I am acting for the\ngood of the parties interested.\n\n\n\n\nXLII\n\nSurface Indications in Women are Not Always Guides\n\n\nWhat, I censure you, Marquis? I will take good care not to do so, I\nassure you. You have not been willing to follow my advice, and hence,\nI am not at all sorry for having ill-used you. You thought you had\nnothing to do but to treat the Countess roughly. Her easy fashion of\ntreating love, her accessibility, her indulgence for your numerous\nfaults, the freedom with which she mocks the Platonicians, all this\nencouraged you to hope that she was not very severe, but you have just\ndiscovered your mistake. All this outward show was nothing but\ndeceitful and perfidious allurements. To take advantage thus of the\ngood faith of any one--I must confess that it is a conduct which cries\nfor vengeance; she deserves all the names you give her.\n\nBut do you wish me to talk to you with my customary frankness? You\nhave fallen into an error which is common among men. They judge women\nfrom the surface. They imagine that a woman whose virtue is not always\non the qui vive, will be easier to overcome than a prude; even\nexperience does not undeceive them. How often are they exposed to a\nseverity all the keener that it was unexpected? Their custom then, is\nto accuse women of caprice and oddity; all of you use the same\nlanguage, and say: Why such equivocal conduct? When a woman has\ndecided to remain intractable, why surprise the credulity of a lover?\nWhy not possess an exterior conformable to her sentiments? In a word,\nwhy permit a man to love her, when she does not care ever to see him\nagain? Is this not being odd and false? Is it not trifling with\nsentiment?\n\nYou are in error, gentlemen, you are imposing upon your vanity, it is\nin vain you try to put us on a false scent, that, of itself, is\noffensive, and you talk of sentiment as ennobling a thing that\nresembles it very little. Are not you, yourselves, to blame if we\ntreat you thus? However little intelligence a woman may have, she\nknows that the strongest tie to bind you to her is anticipation,\nwherefore, you must let her lay the blame on you. If she were to arm\nherself from the first with a severity that would indicate that she is\ninvincible, from that time, no lovers for her. What a solitude would\nbe hers, what shame even? For a woman of the most pronounced virtue is\nno less sensible of the desire to please, she makes her glory consist\nin securing homage and adoration. But without ignoring the fact that\nthose she expects attention from are induced to bestow them only for\nreasons that wound her pride; unable to reform this defect, the only\npart she can take is to use it to her advantage to keep them by her\nside; she knows how to keep them, and not destroy the very hopes\nwhich, however, she is determined never to gratify. With care and\nskill she succeeds. Hence, as soon as a woman understands her real\ninterests she does not fail to say to herself what the Countess\nconfessed to me at our last interview:\n\n\"I can well appreciate the 'I love you' of the men; I do not disguise\nthe fact that I know what it signifies at bottom, therefore upon me\nrests the burden of being offended at hearing them; but when women\nhave penetrated their motives, they have need of their vanity to\ndisconcert their designs. Our anger, when they have offended us, is\nnot the best weapon to use in opposing them. Whoever must go outside\nherself and become angry to resist them, exposes her weakness. A fine\nirony, a piquant raillery, a humiliating coolness, these are what\ndiscourage them. Never a quarrel with them, consequently no\nreconciliation. What advantages does not this mode of procedure take\nfrom them!\n\n\"The prude, it is true, follows a quite different method. If she is\nexposed to the least danger, she does not imagine herself to be\nreasonable but in proportion to the resentment she experiences; but\nupon whom does such conduct impose? Every man who knows the cards,\nsays to himself: 'I am ill used because the opportunity is\nunfavorable. It is my awkwardness that is punished and not my\ntemerity. Another time, that will be well received which is a crime\nto-day; this severity is a notice to redouble my effort, to merit more\nindulgence and disarm pride; she wishes to be appeased.' And the only\nmeans in such case to make her forget the offense is, that in making\nan apology to repeat it a second time. With my recipe, I am certain\nthat a man will never reason that way.\n\n\"The Marquis, for example, has sometimes permitted me to read in his\neyes his respectful intentions. I never knew but one way to punish\nhim; I have feigned not to understand him; insensibly, I have diverted\nhis mind to other objects. And this recipe has worked well up to the\nmoment I last saw him at my house. There was no way to dissimulate\nwith him; he wished to honor me with some familiarities, and I stopped\nhim immediately, but not in anger. I deemed it more prudent to arm\nmyself with reason than with anger. I appeared to be more afflicted\nthan irritated, and I am sure my grief touched his heart more than\nbitter reproaches which might have alarmed him. He went away very much\ndissatisfied; and just see what the heart is: at first, I was afraid I\nhad driven him away forever, I was tempted to reproach myself for my\ncruelty, but, upon reflection, I felt reassured. Has severity ever\nproduced inconstancy?\"\n\nTo go on: We talked until we were out of breath, and everything the\nCountess told me gave me to understand that she had made up her mind.\nIt will be in vain for you to cry out against her injustice, consider\nher as odd and inhuman, she will not accept any of the sweetness of\nlove unless it costs her pride nothing, and I observe that she is\nfollowing that resolution with more firmness than I imagined her\ncapable of. The loss of your heart would undoubtedly be a misfortune\nfor which she could never be consoled. But, on the other hand, the\nconditions you place upon your perseverance appear too hard to be\naccepted; she is willing to compromise with you. She hopes to be able\nto hold you without betraying her duty, a project worthy of her\ncourage, and I hope it will succeed better than the plan she had\nformed to guarantee her heart against love. Let us await the outcome.\n\nShall we see you to-morrow at Madame la Presidente's? If you should\ndesire to have an occasion to speak to her, I do not doubt that you\nwill make your peace.\n\n\n\n\nXLIII\n\nWomen Demand Respect\n\n\nI should never have expected it, Marquis. What! My zeal in your behalf\nhas drawn your reproaches down upon me? I share with the Countess the\nbad humor her severity has caused! you. Do you know? If what you say\nwere well founded, nothing could be more piquant for me than the\nironical tone in which you laud my principles. But to render me\nresponsible for your success, as you attempt, have you dared think for\nan instant that my object in writing you, was ever for the purpose of\ngiving you lessons in seduction? Do you not perceive any difference in\nteaching you to please, and exciting you toward seduction? I have told\nyou the motives which incline women to love, it is true, but have I\never said that they were easier to vanquish? Have I ever told you to\nattack them by sensuality, and that in attacking them to suppose them\nwithout delicacy? I do not believe it.\n\nWhen your inexperience and your timidity might cause you to play the\nrole of a ridiculous personage among women, I explained the harm these\ndefects might cause you in the world. I advised you to have more\nconfidence, in order to lead you insensibly in the direction of that\nnoble and respectful boldness you should have when with women. But as\nsoon as I saw that your pretensions were going too far, and that they\nmight wound the reputation of the Countess, I did not dissimulate, I\ntook sides against you, and nothing was more reasonable, I had become\nher friend. You see, then, how unjust you are in my regard, and you\nare no less so in regard to her. You treat her as if she were an\nequivocal character. According to your idea, she has neither decided\nfor nor against gallantry, and what you clearly see in her conduct is,\nthat she is a more logical coquette than other women. What an opinion!\n\nBut there is much to pardon in your situation. However, a man without\nprejudice, would see in the Countess only a lover as reasonable as she\nis tender; a woman who, without having an ostentatious virtue,\nnevertheless remains constantly attached to it; a woman, in a word,\nwho seeks in good faith the proper means of reconciling love and duty.\nThe difficulty in allying these two contraries is not slight, and it\nis the source of the inequalities that wound you. Figure to yourself\nthe combats she must sustain, the revolutions she suffers, her\nembarrassment in endeavoring to preserve a lover whom too uniform a\nresistance might repel. If she were sure of keeping you by resisting\nyour advances; but you carry your odd conduct to the extent of leaving\nher when her resistance is too prolonged. While praising our virtue,\nyou abandon us, and then, what shame for us! But since in both cases\nit is not certain that her lover will be held, it is preferable to\naccept the inconvenient rather than cause you to lose her heart and\nher esteem.\n\nThat is our advice, for the Countess and I think precisely alike on\nthe subject. Be more equitable, Marquis; complain of her rather than\ncriticise her. If her character were more decided, perhaps you would\nbe better satisfied with her; but, even in that case would you be\nsatisfied very long? I doubt it.\n\nAdieu. We count on seeing you this evening at Madame de La Fayette's,\nand that you will prove more reasonable. The Abb\u00e9 Gedoyn will be\npresented me. The assembly will be brilliant, but you will doubtless\nbe bored, for you will not see the only object that can attract you,\nand you will say of my apartment, what Malherbe so well says of the\ngarden of the Louvre:\n\n\"Mais quoi que vous ayez, vous n'avez point Caliste,\nEt moi je ne vois rien, quand je ne la vois pas.\"\n\n(Whatever you may have Caliste you have not got,\nAnd I, I can see nothing when I see her not.)\n\n\n\n\nXLIV\n\nWhy Love Grows Weak--Marshal de Saint-Evremond's Opinion\n\n\nA calm has succeeded the storm, Marquis, and I see by your letter that\nyou are more satisfied with the Countess and with yourself. How\npowerful logic is coming from the mouth of a woman we adore! You see\nhow the conduct of our friend has produced an opposite effect from\nthat of the Marquise; the severity of the former increasing your\nesteem and love for her and the kindness of the Marquise making an\nunfaithful lover out of the Chevalier. So it generally happens among\nmen, ingratitude is commonly the price of benefits. This misfortune,\nhowever, is not always beyond the reach of remedies, and in this\nconnection I wish to give you the contents of a letter I received from\nMonsieur de Saint-Evremond a few days ago. You are not ignorant of the\nintimate relations that have always existed between us.\n\nThe young Count de ---- had just espoused Mademoiselle ----, of whom\nhe was passionately amorous. He complained one day to me that hymen\nand the possession of the beloved object weakened every day, and often\ndestroyed the most tender love. We discussed the subject for a long\ntime, and as I happened to write to Saint-Evremond that day, I\nsubmitted the question to him. This is his reply:\n\n\nSAINT-EVREMOND TO MADEMOISELLE DE L'ENCLOS.\n\nMy opinion is exactly in line with yours, Mademoiselle; it is not\nalways, as some think, hymen or the possession of the loved object\nwhich, of itself, destroys love, the true source of the\ndissatisfaction that follows love is in the unintelligent manner of\neconomizing the sentiments, a possession too easy, complete, and\nprolonged.\n\nWhen we have yielded to the transports of a passion without reserve,\nthe tremendous shock to the soul can not fail quickly to leave it in a\nprofound solitude. The heart finds itself in a void which alarms and\nchills it. We vainly seek outside of ourselves, the cause of the calm\nwhich follows our fits of passion; we do not perceive that an equal\nand more enduring happiness would have been the fruit of moderation.\nMake an exact analysis of what takes place within you when you desire\nanything. You will find that your desires are nothing but curiosity,\nand this curiosity, which is one of the forces of the heart,\nsatisfied, our desires vanish. Whoever, therefore, would hold a spouse\nor a lover, should leave him something to be desired, something new\nshould be expected every day for the morrow. Diversify his pleasures,\nprocure for him the charm of variety in the same object, and I will\nvouch for his perseverance in fidelity.\n\nI confess, however, that hymen, or what you call your \"defeat,\" is, in\nan ordinary woman, the grave of love. But then it is less upon the\nlover that the blame falls, than upon her who complains of the cooling\nof the passion; she casts upon the depravity of the heart what is due\nto her own unskillfulness, and her lack of economy. She has expended\nin a single day everything that might keep alive the inclination she\nhad excited. She has nothing more to offer to the curiosity of her\nlover, she becomes always the same statue; no variety to be hoped for,\nand her lover knows it well.\n\nBut in the woman I have in mind, it is the aurora of a lovelier day;\nit is the beginning of the most satisfying pleasures. I understand by\neffusions of the heart, those mutual confidences; those ingenuities,\nthose unexpected avowals, and those transports which excite in us the\ncertainty of creating an absolute happiness, and meriting all the\nesteem of the person we love. That day is, in a word, the epoch when a\nman of refinement discovers inexhaustible treasures which have always\nbeen hidden from him; the freedom a woman acquires who brings into\nplay all the sentiments which constraint has held in reserve; her\nheart takes a lofty flight, but one well under control. Time, far from\nleading to loathing, will furnish new reasons for a greater love.\n\nBut, to repeat; I assume sufficient intelligence in her to be able to\ncontrol her inclination. For to hold a lover, it is not enough\n(perhaps it is too much) to love passionately, she must love with\nprudence, with restraint, and modesty is for that reason the most\ningenious virtue refined persons have ever imagined. To yield to the\nimpetuosity of an inclination; to be annihilated, so to speak, in the\nobject loved, is the method of a woman without discernment. That is\nnot love, it is a liking for a moment, it is to transform a lover into\na spoiled child. I would have a woman behave with more reserve and\neconomy. An excess of ardor is not justifiable in my opinion, the\nheart being always an impetuous charger which must be steadily curbed.\nIf you do not use your strength with economy, your vivacity will be\nnothing but a passing transport. The same indifference you perceive in\na lover, after those convulsive emotions, you, yourself, will\nexperience, and soon, both of you will feel the necessity of\nseparating.\n\nTo sum up; there is more intelligence required to love than is\ngenerally supposed, and to be happy in loving. Up to the moment of the\nfatal \"yes,\" or if you prefer, up to the time of her defeat, a woman\ndoes not need artifice to hold her lover. Curiosity excites him,\ndesire sustains him, hope encourages him. But once he reaches the\nsummit of his desires, it is for the woman to take as much care to\nretain him, as he exhibited in overcoming her; the desire to keep him\nshould render her fertile in expedients; the heart is similar to a\nhigh position, easier to obtain than to keep. Charms are sufficient to\nmake a man amorous; to render him constant, something more is\nnecessary; skill is required, a little management, a great deal of\nintelligence, and even a touch of ill humor and fickleness.\nUnfortunately, however, as soon as women have yielded they become too\ntender, too complaisant. It would be better for the common good, if\nthey were to resist less in the beginning and more afterward. I\nmaintain that they never can forestall loathing without leaving the\nheart something to wish for, and the time to consider.\n\nI hear them continually complaining that our indifference is always\nthe fruit of their complaisance for us. They are ever recalling the\ntime when, goaded by love and sentiment, we spent whole days by their\nside. How blind they are! They do not perceive that it is still in\ntheir power to bring us back to an allegiance, the memory of which is\nso dear. If they forget what they have already done for us, they will\nnot be tempted to do more; but if they make us forget, then we shall\nbecome more exacting. Let them awaken our hearts by opposing new\ndifficulties, arousing our anxieties, in fine, forcing us to desire\nnew proofs of an inclination, the certainty of which diminishes its\nvalue in our estimation. They will then find less cause of complaint\nin us, and will be better satisfied with themselves.\n\nShall I frankly avow it? Things would indeed change, if women would\nremember at the right time that their role is always that of the party\nto be entreated, ours that of him who begs for new favors; that,\ncreated to grant, they should never offer. Reserved, even in an\nexcess of passion, they should guard against surrendering at\ndiscretion; the lover should always have something to ask, and\nconsequently, he would be always submissive so as to obtain it. Favors\nwithout limit degrade the most seductive charms, and are, in the end,\nrevolting even to him who exacts them. Society puts all women on the\nsame level; the handsome and the ugly, after their defeat, are\nindistinguishable except from their art to maintain their authority;\nbut what commonly happens? A woman imagines she has nothing further to\ndo than to be affectionate, caressing, sweet, of even temper and\nfaithful. She is right in one sense, for these qualities should be the\nfoundation of her character; they will not fail to draw esteem; but\nthese qualities, however estimable they may be, if they are not offset\nby a shade of contrariety, will not fail to extinguish love, and bring\non languor and weariness, mortal poisons for the best constituted\nheart.\n\nDo you know why lovers become nauseated so easily when enjoying\nprosperity? Why they are so little pleased after having had so much\npleasure? It is because both parties interested have an identically\nerroneous opinion. One imagines there is nothing more to obtain, the\nother fancies she has nothing more to give. It follows as a necessary\nconsequence that one slackens in his pursuit, and the other neglects\nto be worthy of further advances, or thinks she becomes so by the\npractice of solid qualities. Reason is substituted for love, and\nhenceforward, no more seasoning in their relations; no more of those\ntrifling quarrels so necessary to prevent dissatisfaction by\nforestalling it.\n\nBut when I exact that evenness of temper should be animated by\noccasional storms, do not be under the impression that I pretend\nlovers should always be quarreling to preserve their happiness. I only\ndesire to impress it upon you, that all their misunderstandings should\nemanate from love itself; that the woman should not forget (by a\nspecies of pusillanimous kindness) the respect and attentions due her;\nthat by an excessive sensitiveness, she does not convert her love into\na source of anxiety capable of poisoning every moment of her\nexistence; that by a scrupulous fidelity, she may not render her lover\ntoo sure that he has nothing to fear on that score.\n\nNeither should a woman by a sweetness, an unalterable evenness of\ntemper, be weak enough to pardon everything lacking in her lover.\nExperience demonstrates that women too often sacrifice the hearts of\ntheir spouses or their lovers by too many indulgences and facilities.\nWhat recklessness! They martyrize themselves by sacrificing\neverything; they spoil them and convert them into ungrateful lovers.\nSo much generosity finally turns against themselves, and they soon\nbecome accustomed to demand as a right what is granted them as a\nfavor.\n\nYou see women every day (even among those we despise with so much\nreason), who reign with a scepter of iron, treat as slaves men who are\nattached to them, debase them by force of controlling them. Well,\nthese are the women who are loved longer than the others. I am\npersuaded that a woman of refinement, well brought up, would never\nthink of following such an example. That military manner is repugnant\nto gentleness and morals, and lacks that decency which constitutes the\ncharm in things even remote from virtue. But let the reasonable woman\nsoften the clouds a trifle, there will always remain precisely what is\nnecessary to hold a lover.\n\nWe are slaves, whom too much kindness often renders insolent; we often\ndemand to be treated like those of the new world. But we have in the\nbottom of our hearts a comprehension of justice, which tells us that\nthe governing hand bears down upon us sometimes for very good reasons,\nand we take kindly to it.\n\nNow, for my last word: In everything relating to the force and energy\nof love, women should be the sovereigns; it is from them we hope for\nhappiness, and they will never fail to grant us that as soon as they\ncan govern our hearts with intelligence, moderate their own\ninclinations, and maintain their own authority, without compromising\nit and without abusing it.\n\n\n\n\nXLV\n\nWhat Favors Men Consider Faults\n\n\nTo explain in two words to your satisfaction, Marquis. This is what I\nthink of the letter I sent you yesterday: For a woman to profit by the\nadvice of Monsieur de Saint-Evremond it is requisite that she should\nbe affected with only a mediocre fancy, and have excited the passion\nof love. However, we shall talk about that more at large whenever it\nmay please you, now, I will take up what concerns you.\n\nThe sacrifice the Countess has exacted of you is well worth the price\nyou put upon it. To renounce for her sake, a woman whose exterior\nproclaimed her readiness to accord you whatever favor you might be\nwilling to ask; to renounce her publicly, in the presence of her\nrival, and with so little regard for her vanity, is an effort which\nnaturally will not pass without a proportionate recompense. The\nCountess could not have found a happier pretext for giving you her\nportrait.\n\nBut to take a solemn day when the Marquise received at her home for\nthe first time since her illness; to select a moment when the moneyed\nwoman was taking up arms to make an assault of beauty upon a woman of\nrank; to speak to her merely in passing, to pretend to surrender\nyourself entirely to the pleasure of seeing her rival; to entertain\nthe latter and become one of her party, is an outrage for which you\nwill never be pardoned. Revenge will come quickly, and be as cruel as\npossible, you will see. It is I who guarantee it. Now for the second\nparagraph of your letter:\n\nYou ask me whether the last favor, or rather the last fault we can\ncommit, is a certain proof that a woman loves you. Yes and no.\n\nYes, if you love the woman for whom you had your first passion, and\nshe is refined and virtuous. But even in such a case, this proof will\nnot be any more certain, or more flattering for you, than all the\nothers she may have given you of her inclination. Whatever a woman may\ndo when she loves, even things of the slightest essential nature in\nappearance are as much certain marks of her passion, as those greater\nthings of which men are so proud. I will even add, that if this\nvirtuous woman is of a certain disposition, the last favor will prove\nless than a thousand other small sacrifices you count for nothing, for\nthen, on her own behalf less than on yours, she is too much interested\nin listening to you, for you to claim the glory of having persuaded\nher, although every one else would have been accorded the same favor.\n\nI know a woman who permitted herself to be vanquished two or three\ntimes by men she did not love, and the man she really loved never\nobtained a single favor. It may happen, then, that the last favor\nproves nothing to him to whom it is granted. Whereas, on the contrary,\nit may happen that he owes the granting of it to the little regard\nhad for him. Women never respect themselves more than with those they\nesteem, and you may be quite sure that it requires a very imperious\ninclination to cause a reasonable woman to forget herself in the\npresence of one whose disdain she dreads. Your pretended triumph,\ntherefore, may originate in causes which, so far from being glorious\nfor you, would humiliate you if you were aware of them.\n\nWe see, for example, a lover who may be repelled; the woman who loves\nhim fears he will escape her to pay his addresses to another woman\nmore accommodating; she does not wish to lose him, for it is always\nhumiliating to be abandoned; she yields, because she is not aware of\nany other means of holding him. They say there is nothing to reproach\nin this. If he leaves her after that, at least he will be put in the\nwrong, for, since a woman becomes attached more by the favors she\ngrants, she imagines the man will be forced into gratitude. What\nfolly!\n\nWomen are actuated by different motives in yielding. Curiosity impels\nsome, they desire to know what love is. Another woman, with few\nadvantages of person or figure, would hold her lover by the\nattractions of pleasure. One woman is determined to make a conquest\nflattering to her vanity. Still another one surrenders to pity,\nopportunity, importunities, to the pleasure of taking revenge on a\nrival, or an unfaithful lover. How can I enumerate them all? The heart\nis so very strange in its vagaries, and the reasons and causes which\nactuate it are so curious and varied, that it is impossible to\ndiscover all the hidden springs that set it in motion. But if we\ndelude ourselves as to the means of holding you, how often do men\ndeceive themselves as to the proofs of our love? If they possessed any\ndelicacy of discernment, they would find a thousand signs that prove\nmore than the most signal favor granted.\n\nTell me, Marquis, what have I done to Monsieur de Coulanges? It is a\nmonth since he has set foot in my house. But I will not reproach him,\nI shall be very pleasant with him when he does come. He is one of the\nmost amiable men I am acquainted with. I shall be very angry with you\nif you fail to bring him to me on my return from Versailles. I want\nhim to sing me the last couplets he has composed, I am told they are\ncharming.\n\n\n\n\nXLVI\n\nWhy Inconstancy Is Not Injustice\n\n\nIt was too kind of you, Marquis, to have noticed my absence. If I did\nnot write you during my sojourn in the country, it was because I knew\nyou were happy, and that tranquilized me. I felt too, that it was\nnecessary for love to be accorded some rights, as its reign is usually\nvery short, and besides that, friendship not having any quarrel with\nlove, I waited patiently an interval in your pleasure which would\nenable you to read my letters.\n\nDo you know what I was doing while away? I amused myself by piecing\nout all the events liable to happen in the condition your society is\nnow in. I foresaw the bickerings between the Countess and her rival,\nand I predicted they would end in an open rupture; I also guessed that\nthe Marquise would not espouse the cause of the Countess, but would\ntake up the other's quarrel. The moneyed woman is not quite so\nhandsome as her rival, a decisive reason for declaring for her and\nbacking her up without danger.\n\nWhat will be the upshot of all this quarreling among these women? How\nmany revolutions, Good Heavens! in so short a time! Your happiness\nseems to be the only thing that has escaped. You discover new reasons\nevery day for loving and esteeming this amiable Countess. You believe\nthat a woman of so much real merit, and with so interesting a figure,\nwill become known more and more. Let nothing weaken the esteem you\nhave always had for her. You have, it is true, obtained an avowal of\nher love for you, but is she less estimable for that? On the contrary,\nought not her heart to augment in price in your eyes, in proportion to\nthe certainty you have acquired that you are its sole possessor? Even\nif you shall have obtained proofs of her inclination we spoke about\nrecently, do you think that gives you any right to underrate her?\n\nI can not avoid saying it; men like you arouse my indignation every\ntime they imagine they claim the right to lack in courtesy for my sex,\nand punish us for our weaknesses. Is it not the height of injustice\nand the depth of depravity to continue to insult the grief which is\nthe cause of their changes? Can not women be inconstant without being\nunjust? Is their distaste always to be followed by some injurious act?\nIf we are guilty, is it the right of him who has profited by our\nfaults, who is the cause of them, to punish us?\n\nAlways maintain for the Countess the sentiments you have expressed in\nher regard. Do not permit a false opinion to interfere with the\nprogress which they can still make in your heart. It is not our defeat\nalone which should render us despicable in your eyes. The manner in\nwhich we have been defended, delivered, and guarded, ought to be the\nonly measure of your disdain.\n\nSo Madame de La Fayette is of the opinion that my last letter is based\nupon rather a liberal foundation? You see where your indiscretions\nlead me. But she does not consider that I am no more guilty than a\ndemonstrator of anatomy. I analyse the metaphysical man as he dissects\nthe physical one. Do you believe that out of regard to scruples he\nshould omit in his operations those portions of his subject which\nmight offer corrupted minds occasions to draw sallies out of an ill\nregulated imagination? It is not the essence of things that causes\nindecency; it is not the words, or even the ideas, it is the intent of\nhim who utters them, and the depravity of him who listens. Madame de\nLa Fayette was certainly the last woman in the world whom I would have\nsuspected of reproaching me in that manner, and to-morrow, at the\nCountess', I will make her confess her injustice.\n\n\n\n\nXLVII\n\nCause of Quarrels Among Rivals\n\n\nWhat, I, Marquis, astonished at the new bickerings of your moneyed\nwoman? Do not doubt for an instant that she employs all the\nrefinements of coquetry to take you away from the Countess. She may\nhave a liking for you, but moderate your amour propre so far as that\nis concerned, for the most powerful motive of her conduct, is, without\ncontradiction, the desire for revenge. Her vanity is interested in\npunishing her rival for having obtained the preference.\n\nWomen never pardon such a thing as that, and if he who becomes the\nsubject of the quarrel is not the first object of their anger, it is\nbecause they need him to display their resentment. You have\nencountered in the rival of the Countess precisely what you exacted\nfrom her to strengthen your attachment. You are offered in advance the\nprice of the attentions you devote to her, and from which you will\nsoon be dispensed, and I think you will have so little delicacy as to\naccept them. It is written across the heart of every man: \"To the\neasiest.\"\n\nYou should blush to deserve the least reproach from the Countess. What\nsort of a woman is it you seem to prefer to her? A woman without\ndelicacy and without love; a woman who is guided only by the\nattractions of pleasure; more vain than sensible; more voluptuous than\ntender; more passionate than affectionate, she seeks, she cherishes in\nyou nothing but your youth and all the advantages that accompany it.\n\nYou know what her rival is worth; you know all your wrong doing with\nher; you agree that you are a monster of ingratitude, yet, you are\nunwilling to take it upon yourself to merit her pardon. Truly,\nMarquis, I do not understand you. I am beginning to believe that\nMadame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 was right when she said that her son knew his duty\nvery well, and could reason like a philosopher on the subject, but\nthat he was carried away by his passions, so that \"he is not a head\nfool, but a heart fool\" (ce n'est pas par la t\u00eate qu'il est fou, mais\npar le coeur).\n\nYou recall in vain what I said to you long ago about making love in a\nfree and easy manner. You will remember that I was then enjoying\nmyself with some jocular reflections which were not intended to be\nformal advice. Do not forget, either, that the question then was about\na mere passing fancy, and not of an ordinary mistress. But the case\nto-day is very different, you can not find among all the women of\nParis, a single one who can be compared with her you are so cruelly\nabandoning. And for what reason? Because her resistance wounds your\nvanity. What resource is left us to hold you?\n\nI agree with you, nevertheless, that when a passion is extinguished it\ncan not be relighted without difficulty. No one is more the master of\nloving than he is of not loving. I feel the truth of all these maxims;\nI do homage to them with regret, as soon as, with a knowledge of the\ncause, I consider that you reject what is excellent and accept the\nworse; you renounce a solid happiness, durable pleasures, and yield to\ndepraved tastes and pure caprices; but I can see that all my\nreflections will not reform you. I am beginning to fear that I am\nwearying you with morals, and to tell you the truth, it is very\nridiculous in me to preach constancy when it is certain that you do\nnot love, and that you are a heart fool.\n\nI therefore abandon you to your destiny, without, however, giving up\nmy desire to follow you into new follies. Why: should I be afflicted?\nWould it be of any moment to assume with you the tone of a pedagogue?\nAssuredly not, both of us would lose too much thereby. I should become\nweary and you would not be reformed.\n\n\n\n\nXLVIII\n\nFriendship Must Be Firm\n\n\nI do not conceal it, Marquis, your conduct in regard to the Countess\nhad put me out of patience with you, and I was tempted to break off\nall my relations with so wicked a man as you. My good nature in\nyielding to your entreaties inclines me to the belief that my\nfriendship for you borders on a weakness. You are right, though. To be\nyour friend only so long as you follow my advice would not be true\nfriendship. The more you are to be censured the stronger ought to be\nmy hold on you, but you will understand that one is not master of his\nfirst thoughts. Whatever effort I may make to find you less guilty,\nthe sympathy I have for the misfortune of my friend is of still\ngreater importance to me. There were moments when I could not believe\nin your innocence, and they were when so charming a woman complained\nof you. Now that her situation is improving every day, I consider my\nharshness in my last letter almost as a crime.\n\nI shall, hereafter, content myself with pitying her without\nimportuning you any longer about her. So let us resume our ordinary\ngait, if it please you. You need no longer fear my reproaches, I see\nthey would be useless as well as out of place.\n\n\n\n\nXLIX\n\nConstancy Is a Virtue Among the Narrow Minded\n\n\nYou did not then know, Marquis, that it is often more difficult to get\nrid of a mistress than to acquire one? You are learning by experience.\nYour disgust for the moneyed woman does not surprise me except that it\ndid not happen sooner.\n\nWhat! knowing her character so well, you could imagine that the\ndespair she pretended at the sight of your indifference increasing\nevery day, could be the effect of a veritable passion? You could also\nbe the dupe of her management! I admire, and I pity your blindness.\n\nBut was it not also vanity which aided a trifle in fortifying your\nillusion? In truth it would be a strange sort of vanity, that of being\nloved by such a woman; but men are so vain, that they are flattered by\nthe love of the most confirmed courtesan. In any case undeceive\nyourself. A woman who is deserted, when she is a woman like your\nbeauty, has nothing in view in her sorrow but her own interest. She\nendeavors by her tears and her despair, to persuade you that your\nperson and your merit are all she regrets; that the loss of your heart\nis the summit of misfortune; that she knows nobody who can indemnify\nher for the loss of it. All these sentiments are false. It is not an\nafflicted lover who speaks; it is a vain woman, desperate at being\nanticipated, exasperated at the lack of power in her charms, worrying\nover a plan to replace you promptly, anxious to give herself an\nappearance of sensibility, and to appear worthy of a better fate. She\njustifies this thought of Monsieur de la Rochefoucauld: \"Women do not\nshed tears over the lovers they have had, so much because they loved\nthem, as to appear more worthy of being loved.\" It is for D---- to\nenjoy the sentiment.\n\nShe must indeed, have a very singular idea of you to hope that she can\nimpose upon you. Do you wish to know what she is? The Chevalier is\nactually without an affair of the heart on hand, engage him to take\nyour place. I have not received two letters from you that do not speak\nof the facility with which she will be consoled for having lost you. A\nwoman of her age begins to fear that she will not recover what she has\nlost, and so she is obliged to degrade her charms by taking the first\nnew comer. Perhaps her sorrow is true, but she deceives you as to the\nmotives she gives for it. Break these chains without scruple. In\npriding yourself on your constancy and delicacy for such an object,\nyou appear to me to be as ridiculous as you were when you lacked the\nsame qualities on another occasion.\n\nDo you remember, Marquis, what Monsieur de Coulanges said to us one\nday? \"Constancy is the virtue of people of limited merit. Have they\nprofited by the caprice of an amiable woman to establish themselves in\nher heart? the sentiment of medicrioty fixes them there, it\nintimidates them, they dare not make an effort to please others. Too\nhappy at having surprised her heart, they are afraid of abandoning a\ngood which they may not find elsewhere, and, as an instant's attention\nto their little worth might undeceive this woman, what do they then\ndo? They elevate constancy up among the virtues; they transform love\ninto a superstition; they know how to interest reason in the\npreservation of a heart which they owe only to caprice, occasion, or\nsurprise.\" Be on your guard against imitating these shallow\npersonages. Hearts are the money of gallantry; amiable people are the\nassets of society, whose destiny is to circulate in it and make many\nhappy. A constant man is therefore as guilty as a miser who impedes\nthe circulation in commerce. He possesses a treasure which he does not\nutilize, and of which there are so many who would make good use of it.\n\nWhat sort of a mistress is that who is retained by force of reason?\nWhat languor reigns in her society, what violence must one not employ\nto say there is love when it has ceased to exist? It is seldom that\npassion ceases in both parties at the same time, and then constancy is\na veritable tyrant; I compare it to the tyrant of antiquity who put\npeople to death by tying them to dead bodies. Constancy condemns us to\nthe same punishment. Discard such a baleful precedent to the liberty\nof association.\n\nBelieve me, follow your tastes, for the court lady you mentioned; she\nmay weary you at times, it is true, but at least she will not degrade\nyou. If, as you say, she is as little intelligent as she is beautiful,\nher reign will soon be over. Your place in her heart will soon be\nvacant, and I do not doubt that another or even several other\ngallantries will follow yours. Perhaps you will not wait for the end,\nfor I see by your letter that you are becoming a man of fashion. The\nnew system you have adopted makes it certain, nothing can be better\narranged. Never finish one affair without having commenced another;\nnever withdraw from the first except in proportion as the second one\nprogresses. Nothing can be better, but in spite of such wise\nprecautions, you may find yourself destitute of any, as, for example,\nsome event beyond the reach of human foresight may interfere with\nthese arrangements, may have for principle always to finish with all\nthe mistresses at once, before enabling you to find any one to keep\nyou busy during the interregnum. I feel free to confess, Marquis, that\nsuch an arrangement is as prudent as can be imagined, and I do not\ndoubt that you will be well pleased with a plan so wisely conceived.\nAdieu.\n\nI do not know where I obtain the courage to write you such long and\nfoolish letters. I find a secret charm in entertaining you, which I\nshould suspect if I did not know my heart so well. I have been\nreflecting that it is now without any affair, and I must henceforth be\non my guard against you, for you have very often thought proper to say\nvery tender things to me, and I might think proper to believe in their\nsincerity.\n\n\n\n\nL\n\nSome Women Are Very Cunning\n\n\nYou may derive as much amusement out of it as you wish, Marquis, but I\nshall continue to tell you that you are not fascinated by Madame la\nPresidente. Believe me when I say that I see more clearly into your\naffairs than you do yourself. I have known a hundred good men who,\nlike you, pretended with the best faith in the world that they were\namorous, but who, in truth were not in any manner whatsoever.\n\nThere are maladies of the heart as well as maladies of the body; some\nare real and some are imaginary. Not everything that attracts you\ntoward a woman is love. The habit of being together, the convenience\nof seeing each other, to get away from one's self, the necessity for a\nlittle gallantry, the desire to please, in a word, a thousand other\nreasons which do not resemble a passion in the least; these are what\nyou generally take to be love, and the women are the first to fortify\nthis error. Always flattered by the homage rendered them, provided\ntheir vanity profits by it, they rarely inquire into the motives to\nwhich they owe it. But, after all, are they not right? They would\nnearly always lose by it.\n\nTo all the motives of which I have just spoken, you can add still\nanother, quite as capable of creating an illusion in the nature of\nyour sentiments. Madame la Presidente is, without contradiction, the\nmost beautiful woman of our time; she is newly married; she refused\nthe homage of the most amiable man of our acquaintance. Perhaps\nnothing could be more flattering to your vanity than to make a\nconquest which would not fail to give you the kind of celebrity to\nwhich you aspire. That, my dear Marquis, is what you call love, and it\nwill be difficult for you to disabuse yourself of the impression, for\nby force of persuading yourself that it is love, you will, in a short\ntime firmly believe that the inclination is real. It will be a very\nsingular thing some day, to see with what dignity you will speak of\nyour pretended sentiments; with what good faith you will believe that\nthey deserve recognition, and, what will be still more agreeable, will\nbe the deference you will believe should be their due. But\nunfortunately, the result will undeceive you, and you will then be the\nfirst to laugh at the importance with which you treated so silly an\naffair.\n\nShall I tell you how far injustice reaches? I am fully persuaded that\nyou will not become more amorous. Henceforth, you will have nothing\nbut a passing taste, frivolous relations, engagements, caprices; all\nthe arrows of love will glance from you. It is true you will not\nexperience its pangs, but will you enjoy, in the least, its sweetness?\nCan you hope ever to recover from the fantasies to which you surrender\nyourself, those moments of delight which were formerly your supreme\nfelicity? I have no desire to flatter you, but I believe it my duty to\ndo you this much justice: Your heart is intended for refined\npleasures. It is not I who hold you responsible for the dissipation in\nwhich you are plunged, it is the young fools around you. They call\nenjoyment the abuse they make of pleasure; their example carries you\naway. But this intoxication will be dissipated sooner or later, and\nyou will soon, see, at least I hope so, that you have been deceived in\ntwo ways in the state of your heart. You thought it was fascinated by\nMadame la Presidente, you will recognize your mistake; you thought she\nhad ceased to have an inclination for--but I hold to the words I have\nuttered. Perhaps there will come a time when I shall be at liberty to\nexpress my thoughts more freely. Now, I reply to the remainder of your\nletter.\n\nConfess it, Marquis, that you had little else to do this morning when\nyou re-read my letters. I add that you must have been in a bad humor\nto undertake their criticism. Some brilliant engagement, some\nflattering rendezvous was wanting. But I do not care to elude the\ndifficulty. So I seem to contradict myself sometimes? If I were to\nadmit that it might very well be; if I were to give you the same\nanswer that Monsieur de la Bruy\u00e8re gave his critics the other day: \"It\nis not I who contradict myself, it is the heart upon which I reason,\"\ncould you reasonably conclude from it that everything I have said to\nyou is false? I do not believe it.\n\nBut how do I know, in effect, if, led away by the various situations\nin which you were placed, I may not have appeared to destroy what I\nhad advanced on different occasions? How do I know, if, seeing you\nready to yield to a whim, I may not have carried too far, truths,\nwhich, feebly uttered, would not, perhaps, have brought you back? How\ndo I know, in a word, if, being interested in the happiness of a\nfriend, the desire to serve her may not have sometimes diminished my\nsincerity? I think I am very good natured to reply seriously to the\nworries you have caused me. Ought I not first to take cognizance of\nthe fact that there is more malice in your letter than criticism? This\nwill be the last time you will have an opportunity to abuse my\nsimplicity. I am going to console myself for your perfidy with some\none who is assuredly not so wicked as you.\n\nWhat a pity it is that you are not a woman! It would give me so much\npleasure to discuss the new coiffures with you! I never saw anything\nso extravagant as their height. At least, Marquis, remember that if\nMadame la Presidente does not wear one of them incessantly, you can no\nlonger remain attached to her with decency.\n\n\n\n\nLI\n\nThe Parts Men and Women Play\n\n\nSo the affair has been decided! Whatever I may say of it, you are the\nmaster of Madame la Presidente; a beloved rival has been sacrificed\nfor you and you triumph.\n\nHow prompt your vanity is to make profit out of everything. I would\nlaugh heartily if your pretended triumph should end by your receiving\nnotice to quit some fine morning. For it may well be that this\nsacrifice of which you boast so much is nothing but a stratagem.\n\nEver since you have been associated with women, have you not\nestablished as a principle that you must be on your guard against the\nsentiments they affect? If your beauty had accepted you merely for the\npurpose of re-awakening a languishing love in the heart of her\nCeladon; if you were only the instrument of jealousy on the part of\none and artifice on the other, would that be a miracle?\n\nYou say that Madame la Presidente is not very shrewd, and consequently\nincapable of such a ruse. My dear Marquis, love is a great tutor, and\nthe most stupid women (in other respects) have often an acute\ndiscernment, more accurate and more certain than any other, when it\ncomes to an affair of the heart. But let us leave this particular\nthesis, and examine men in general who are in the same situation as\nyou.\n\nThey all believe as you do, that the sacrifice of a rival supposes\nsome superiority over him. But how often does it happen that this same\nsacrifice is only a by play? If it is sincere, the woman either loved\nthe rival or she did not. If she loved him, then as soon as she leaves\nhim, it is a sure proof that she loves him no longer, in which case\nwhat glory is there for you in such a preference? If she did not love\nhim, what can you infer to your advantage from a pretended victory\nover a man who was indifferent to her?\n\nThere is also another case where you may be preferred, without that\npreference being any more flattering. It is when the vanity of the\nwoman you attack is stronger than her inclination for the disgraced\nlover. Your rank, your figure, your reputation, your fortune, may\ndetermine her in your favor. It is very rare (I say it to the shame of\nwomen, and men are no less ridiculous in that respect), it is rare, I\nrepeat, that a lover, who has nothing but noble sentiments to offer,\ncan long hold his own against a man distinguished for his rank, or his\nposition, who has servants, a livery, an equipage, etc. When the most\ntender lover makes a woman blush for his appearance, when she dare not\nacknowledge him as her conqueror, when she does not even consider him\nas an object she can sacrifice with eclat, I predict that his reign\nwill be short. Her reasons for getting rid of him will be to her an\nembarrassment of choice. Thus the defunct of la Presidente was a\ncounsellor of state, without doubt as dull and as stiff as his wig.\nWhat a figure to set up against a courtier, against a warrior like\nyou?\n\nWell, will you believe in my predictions another time? What did I tell\nyou? Did the Chevalier find it difficult to persuade your Penelope?\nThis desolate woman, ready to break her heart, gave you a successor in\nless than fifteen days, loves him, proves it, and is flouted. Is this\nlosing too much time? What is your opinion?\n\n\n\n\nLII\n\nLove Is a Traitor With Sharp Claws\n\n\nYes, indeed, Marquis, it is due to my friendship, it is due to my\ncounsel that the Countess owes the tranquillity she begins to enjoy,\nand I can not conceive the chagrin which causes the indifference she\nmanifests for you. I am very far, however, from desiring to complain\nof you; your grief springs from a wounded vanity.\n\nMen are very unjust, they expect a woman always to consider them as\nobjects interesting to them, while they, in abandoning a woman, do not\nordinarily omit anything that will express their disdain. Of what\nimportance to you is the hatred or love of a person whom you do not\nlove? Tell me that. Your jealousy of the little Duke is so\nunreasonable that I burst out laughing when I learned it. Is it not\nquite simple, altogether natural that a woman should console herself\nfor your loss, by listening to a man who knows the value of her heart\nbetter than you? By what right, if you please, do you venture to take\nexceptions to it? You must admit that Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 was right: You\nhave a foolish heart, my poor Marquis.\n\nIn spite of all that, the part you wish me to play in the matter\nappears to me to be exceedingly agreeable. I can understand how nice\nit would be to aid you in your plan of vengeance against an\nunfaithful woman. Though it should be only through rancor or the\noddity of the thing, we must love each other. But all such comedies\nturn out badly generally. Love is a traitor who scratches us when we\nplay with him.\n\nSo, Marquis, keep your heart, I am very scrupulous about interfering\nwith so precious an association. Moreover, I am so disgusted with the\nstaleness of men, that henceforth I desire them only as friends. There\nis always a bone to pick with a lover. I am beginning to understand\nthe value of rest, and I wish to enjoy it. I will return to this,\nhowever. It would be very strange if you take the notion that you need\nconsolation, and that my situation exacts the same succor because the\nMarquis de ---- has departed on his embassy. Undeceive yourself, my\nfriends suffice me, and, if you wish to remain among their number, at\nleast do not think of saying any more gallant things to me,\notherwise--Adieu, Marquis.\n\n\n\n\nLIII\n\nOld Age Not a Preventive Against Attack\n\n\nOh, I shall certainly abandon your interests if you persist in talking\nto me in such fashion. What demon inspired you with the idea of taking\nthe place of the absent? Could any one tease another as you did me\nlast evening? I do not know how you began it, but however much I\ndesired to be angry with you, it was impossible for me to do so. I do\nnot know how this will end. What is certain, however, is; it will be\nuseless for you to go on, for I have decided not to love you, and what\nis worse, I shall never love you; yes, sir, never.\n\nEh? truly, but this is a strange thing; to attempt to persuade a woman\nthat she is afflicted, that she needs consolation, when she assures\nyou that it is not the fact, and that she wants for nothing. This is\ndriving things with a tight hand. I entreat you, reflect a little on\nthe folly that has seized upon you. Would it be decent, tell me that,\nif I were to take the place of my friend? That a woman who has served\nyou as a Mentor, who has played the role of mother to you, should\naspire to that of lover? Unprincipled wretch that you are! If you so\npromptly abandon a young and lovely woman, what would you do with an\nold girl like me? Perhaps you wish to attempt my conquest to see\nwhether love is for me the same in practice as in theory. Do not go to\nthe trouble of attempting such a seduction, I will satisfy your\ncuriosity on that point immediately.\n\nYou know that whatever we are, women seldom follow any given\nprinciples. Well, that is what you would discover in any gallant\nassociation you aspire to form with me. All I have said about women\nand love, has not given you any information as to my line of conduct\non such an occasion. There is a vast difference between feeling and\nthinking; between talking for one's own account and pleading the cause\nof another. You would, therefore, find in me many singularities that\nmight strike you unfavorably. I do not feel as other women. You might\nknow them all without knowing Ninon, and believe me, the novelties you\nwould discover would not compensate you for the trouble you might take\nto please me.\n\nIt is useless to exaggerate the value you put upon my conquest, that I\ntell you plainly; you are expending too much on hope, I am not able to\nrespond. Remain where you are in a brilliant career. The court offers\nyou a thousand beautiful women, with whom you do not risk, as you\nwould with me, becoming weary of philosophy, of too much intelligence.\n\nI do not disguise the fact, however, that I would have been glad to\nsee you to-day. My head was split all the afternoon over a dispute on\nthe ancients and moderns. I am still out of humor on the subject, and\nfeel tempted to agree with you that I am not so far along on the\ndecline of life as to confine myself to science, and especially to the\ngentlemen of antiquity.\n\nIf you could only restrain yourself and pay me fewer compliments it is\nnot to be doubted that I would prefer to have you come and enliven my\nserious occupations rather than any one else. But you are such an\nunmanageable man, so wicked, that I am afraid to invite you to come\nand sup with me to-morrow. I am mistaken, for it is now two hours\nafter midnight, and I recollect that my letter will not be handed you\nbefore noon. So it is to-day I shall expect you. Have you any fault to\nfind? It is a formal rendezvous, to be sure, but let the fearlessness\nin appointing it be a proof that I am not very much afraid of you, and\nthat I shall believe in as much of your soft talk as I deem proper.\nYou understand that it will not be I who can be imposed upon by that.\nI know men so well----\n\n\n\n\nLIV\n\nA Shrewd But Not an Unusual Scheme\n\n\nThis is not the time, Marquis, to hide from you the true sentiments of\nthe Countess in your regard. However much I have been able to keep her\nsecret without betraying her friendship, and I have always done so, if\nI conceal from you what I am going to communicate, you may one day\njustly reproach me.\n\nWhatever infidelities you may have been guilty of, whatever care I\nhave been able to take to persuade her that you have been entirely\nforgotten, she has never ceased to love you tenderly. Although she has\nsought to punish you by an assumed indifference, she has never thought\nof depriving herself of the pleasure of seeing you, and it has been\nthrough the complaisance of the Countess that I have sometimes worried\nyou; it was to goad you into visiting me more frequently. But all\nthese schemes have not been able to satisfy a heart so deeply wounded,\nand she is on the point of executing a design I have all along been\nopposed to. You will learn all about it by reading the letter she\nwrote me yesterday, and which I inclose in this.\n\n\n\n\nFROM THE COUNTESS TO MADEMOISELLE DE L'ENCLOS.\n\n\n\"If you wish to remain my friend, my dear Ninon, cease to combat my\nresolution; you know it is not the inspiration of the moment. It is\nnot the fruit of a momentary mortification, an imprudent vexation, nor\ndespair. I have never concealed it from you. The possession of the\nheart of the Marquis de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 might have been my supreme felicity if\nI could have flattered myself with having it forever. I was certain of\nlosing it if I had granted him the favors he exacted of me. His\ninconstancy has taught me that a different conduct would not be a sure\nmeans of retaining a lover. I must renounce love forever, since men\nare incapable of having a liaison with a woman, as tender, but as pure\nas that of simple friendship.\n\n\"You, yourself, well know that I am not sufficiently cured to see the\nMarquis without always suffering. Flight is the only remedy for my\nmalady, and that is what I am about to take. I do not fear, moreover,\nwhat the world may say about my withdrawal to the country. I have\ncautioned those who might be surprised. It is known that I have won in\na considerable action against the heirs of my late husband. I have\ngiven out that I am going to take possession of the estate awarded me.\nI will thus deprive the public of the satisfaction of misinterpreting\nmy taste for solitude, and the Marquis of all suspicion that he is in\nany manner to blame for it. I inclose his letters and his portrait.\n\n\"Good Heaven! How weak I am! Why should it cost my heart so much to\nget rid of an evil so fatal to my repose? But it is done, and my\ndetermination can not be shaken. Pity me, however, and remember, my\ndear friend, the promise you gave me to make him understand that I\nhave for him the most profound indifference. Whoever breaks off\nrelations with a lover in too public a manner, suggests resentment and\nregret at being forced to do so; it is an honest way of saying that\none would ask nothing better than to be appeased. As I have no desire\nto resume my relations with the Marquis, return him what I send, but\nin the manner agreed upon, and pray him to make a similar restitution.\nYou may tell him that the management of my property obliges me to\nleave Paris for a time, but do not speak of me first.\n\n\"I should be inconsolable at leaving you, my dear Ninon, if I did not\nhope that you would visit me in my solitude. You write willingly to\nyour friends, if you judge them by the tenderness and esteem they have\nfor you. In that case, you have none more worthy of that title than I.\nI rely, therefore, upon your letters until you come to share my\nretreat. You know my sentiments for you.\"\n\nI have no advice to give you, Marquis, on what you have just read, the\nsole favor I expect from you is never to compromise me for the\nindiscretion I commit, and that the Countess shall never have any\nreason for not forgiving me. All I can say to justify myself in my own\neyes is, that you have loved the Countess too much for her resolution\nto be a matter of absolute indifference to you. Had I been just, I\nwould have betrayed both by leaving you in ignorance of her design.\n\n\n\n\nLV\n\nA Happy Ending\n\n\nI am delighted with everything you have done, and you are charming. Do\nnot doubt it, your behavior, my entreaties, and better than all, love\nwill overcome the resistance of the Countess. Everything should\nconspire to determine her to accept the offer you have made of your\nhand. I could even, from this time on, assure you that pride alone\nwill resist our efforts and her own inclination.\n\nThis morning I pressed her earnestly to decide in your favor. Her last\nentrenchment was the fear of new infidelities on your part.\n\n\"Reassure yourself,\" said I, \"in proof that the Marquis will be\nfaithful to you, is the fact that he has been undeceived about the\nother women, by comparing them with her he was leaving. Honest people\npermit themselves only a certain number of caprices, and the Marquis\nhas had those which his age and position in society seemed to justify.\nHe yielded to them at a time when they were pardonable. He paid\ntribute to the fashion by tasting of all the ridiculous things going.\nHenceforth, he can be reasonable with impunity. A man can not be\nexpected to be amorous of his wife, but should he be, it will be\npardoned him as soon as people see you. You risk nothing, therefore,\nCountess; you yourself have put on the airs of a society woman, but\nyou were too sensible not to abandon such a role; you renounced it;\nthe Marquis imitates you. Wherefore forget his mistakes. Could you\nbear the reproach of having caused the death of so amiable a man? It\nwould be an act that would cry out for vengeance.\"\n\nIn a word, I besought and pressed her, but she is still irresolute.\nStill, I do not doubt that you will finish by overcoming a resistance\nwhich she, herself, already deems very embarrassing.\n\nWell, Marquis, if the anxiety all this has caused you, gives you the\ntime to review what I have been saying to you for several days past,\nmight you not be tempted to believe that I have contradicted myself?\nAt first I advised you to treat love lightly and to take only so much\nof it as might amuse you. You were to be nothing but a gallant, and\nhave no relations with women except those in which you could easily\nbreak the ties. I then spoke to you in a general way, and relative to\nordinary women. Could I imagine that you would be so fortunate as to\nmeet a woman like the Countess, who would unite the charms of her sex\nto the qualities of honest men? What must be your felicity? You are\ngoing to possess in one and the same person, the most estimable friend\nand a most charming mistress. Deign to admit me to share a third\nportion of your friendship and my happiness will equal your own. Can\none be happier than in sharing the happiness of friends?\n\n\n\n\nCORRESPONDENCE\n\nBETWEEN\n\nLORD SAINT-EVREMOND\n\nAND\n\nNINON DE L'ENCLOS\n\nWHEN OVER EIGHTY YEARS\nOF AGE\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n\nCharles de Saint Denis, Lord of Saint-Evremond, Marshal of France, was\none of the few distinguished Frenchmen, exiled by Louis XIV, whose\ndistinguished abilities as a warrior and philosopher awarded him a\nlast resting place in Westminster Abbey. His tomb, surmounted by a\nmarble bust, is situated in the nave near the cloister, located among\nthose of Barrow, Chaucer, Spenser, Cowley and other renowned\nEnglishmen.\n\nHis epitaph, written by the hand of a Briton, is singularly replete\nwith the most eminent qualities, which the great men of his period\nrecognized in him, though his life was extraordinarily long and\nstormy. He was moreover, a profound admirer of Ninon de l'Enclos\nduring his long career, and he did much toward shaping her philosophy,\nand enabling her to understand the human heart in all its\neccentricities, and how to regulate properly the passion of love.\n\nDuring his long exile in England, the two corresponded at times, and\nthe letters here given are the fragments of a voluminous\ncorrespondence, the greater part of which has been lost. They are to\nbe found in the untranslated collated works of Saint-Evremond, and are\nvery curious, inasmuch as they were written when Ninon and\nSaint-Evremond were in their \"eighties.\"\n\nSaint-Evremond always claimed, that his extremely long and vigorous\nlife was due to the same causes which Ninon de l'Enclos attributed to\nher great age, that is, to an unflagging zeal in observing the\ndoctrines of the Epicurean philosophy. These ideas appear in his\nletter to Mademoiselle de l'Enclos, written to her under the sobriquet\nof \"Leontium,\" and which is translated and appended to this\ncorrespondence.\n\nAs an evidence of Saint-Evremond's unimpaired faculties at a great\nage, the charms of his person attracted the attention of the Duchess\nof Sandwich, one of the beauties of the English Court, and she became\nso enamored of him, that a liaison was the result, which lasted until\nthe time of Saint-Evremond's death. They were like two young lovers\njust beginning their career, instead of a youth over eighty years of\nage, and a maiden who had passed forty. Such attachments were not\nuncommon among persons who lived calm, philosophical lives, their very\nmanner of living inspiring tender regard, as was the case of the great\naffection of the Marquis de S\u00e9vign\u00e9, who although quite young, and his\nrank an attraction to the great beauties of the Court, nevertheless\naspired to capture the heart of Mademoiselle de l'Enclos, who was over\nsixty years of age. What Ninon thought about the matter, appears in\nher letters on the preceding pages.\n\n\n\n\nCorrespondence Between Lord Saint-Evremond\nand Ninon de L'Enclos\nWhen Over Eighty Years\nof Age\n\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nSaint-Evremond to Ninon de l'Enclos\n\nLovers and Gamblers have Something in Common\n\n\nI have been trying for more than a year to obtain news of you from\neverybody, but nobody can give me any. M. de la Bastille tells me that\nyou are in good health, but adds, that if you have no more lovers, you\nare satisfied to have a greater number of friends.\n\nThe falsity of the latter piece of news casts a doubt upon the verity\nof the former, because you are born to love as long as you live.\nLovers and gamblers have something in common: Who has loved will love.\nIf I had been told that you had become devout, I might have believed\nit, for that would be to pass from a human passion to the love of God,\nand give occupation to the soul. But not to love, is a species of\nvoid, which can not be consistent with your heart.\n\nCe repos languissant ne fut jamais un bien;\nC'est trouver sans mouvoir l'\u00eatat o\u00f9 l'on n'est rien.\n\n('Twas never a good this languishing rest;\n'Tis to find without search a state far from blest.)\n\nI want to know about your health, your occupations, your inclinations,\nand let it be in a long enough letter, with moralizing and plenty of\naffection for your old friend.\n\nThe news here is that the Count de Grammont is dead, and it fills me\nwith acute sorrow.\n\nIf you know Barbin, ask him why he prints so many things that are not\nmine, over my name? I have been guilty of enough folly without\nassuming the burden of others. They have made me the author of a\ndiatribe against P\u00e8re Bouhours, which I never even imagined. There is\nno writer whom I hold in higher esteem. Our language owes more to him\nthan to any other author.\n\nGod grant that the rumor of Count de Grammont's death be false, and\nthat of your health true. The Gazette de Hollande says the Count de\nLauzun is to be married. If this were true he would have been summoned\nto Paris, besides, de Lauzun is a Duke, and the name \"Count\" does not\nfit him.\n\nAdieu. I am the truest of your servants, who would gain much if you\nhad no more lovers, for I would be the first of your friends despite\nan absence which may be called eternal.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nNinon de L'Enclos to Saint-Evremond\n\nIt is sweet to remember those we have loved\n\n\nI was alone in my chamber, weary of reading, when some one exclaimed:\n\"Here is a messenger from Saint-Evremond!\" You can imagine how quickly\nmy ennui disappeared--it left me in a moment.\n\nI have been speaking of you quite recently, and have learned many\nthings which do not appear in your letters--about your perfect health\nand your occupation. The joy in my mind indicates its strength, and\nyour letter assures me that England promises you forty years more of\nlife, for I believe that it is only in England that they speak of men\nwho have passed the fixed period of human life. I had hoped to pass\nthe rest of my days with you, and if you had possessed the same\ndesire, you would still be in France.\n\nIt is, however, pleasant to remember those we have loved, and it is,\nperhaps, for the embellishment of my epitaph, that this bodily\nseparation has occurred.\n\nI could have wished that the young ecclesiastic had found me in the\nmidst of the glories of Nike, which could not change me, although you\nseem to think that I am more tenderly enchanted with him than\nphilosophy permits.\n\nMadame the Duchess de Bouillon is like an eighteen-year old: the\nsource of her charms is in the Mazarin blood.\n\nNow that our kings are so friendly, ought you not to pay us a visit?\nIn my opinion it would be the greatest success derived from the peace.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nNinon de l'Enclos to Saint-Evremond\n\nWrinkles are a Mark of Wisdom\n\n\nI defy Dulcinea to feel with greater joy the remembrance of her\nChevalier. Your letter was accorded the reception it deserved, and the\nsorrowful figure in it did not diminish the merit of its sentiments. I\nam very much affected by their strength and perseverance. Nurse them\nto the shame of those who presume to judge them. I am of your opinion,\nthat wrinkles are a mark of wisdom. I am delighted that your surface\nvirtues do not sadden you, I try to use them in the same way. You have\na friend, a provincial Governor, who owes his fortune to his\namiability. He is the only aged man who is not ridiculed at Court. M.\nde Turenne wished to live only to see him grow old, and desired to see\nhim father of a family, rich and happy. He has told more jokes about\nhis new dignity than others think.\n\nM. d'Eb\u00e8ne who gave you the name of \"Curictator,\" has just died at the\nhospital. How trivial are the judgments of men! If M. d'Olonne were\nalive and could have read your letters to me, he would have continued\nto be of your quality with his philosophy. M. de Lauzun is my\nneighbor, and will accept your compliments. I send you very tenderly,\nthose of M. de Charleval, and ask you to remember M. de Ruvigny, his\nfriend of the Rue des Tournelles.\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\nNinon de l'Enclos to Saint-Evremond\n\nNear Hopes are Worth as much as Those Far Off\n\n\nI sent a reply to your last letter to the correspondent of the Abb\u00e9\nDubois, but as he was at Versailles, I fear it has not reached him.\n\nI should have been anxious about your health without the visit of\nMadame de Bouillon's little librarian, who filled my heart with joy by\nshowing me a letter from one who thinks of me on your account.\nWhatever reason I may have had during my illness to praise the world\nand my friends, I never felt so lively a joy as at this mark of\nkindness. You may act upon this as you feel inclined since it was you\nwho drew it upon me.\n\nI pray you to let me know, yourself, whether you have grasped that\nhappiness one enjoys so much at certain times? The source will never\nrun dry so long as you shall possess the friendship of the amiable\nfriend who invigorates your life. (Lady Sandwich.) How I envy those\nwho go to England, and how I long to dine with you once again! What a\ngross desire, that of dinner!\n\nThe spirit has great advantages over the body, though the body\nsupplies many little repeated pleasures, which solace the soul in its\nsorrowful moods. You have often laughed at my mournful reflections,\nbut I have banished them all. It is useless to harbor them in the\nlatter days of one's life, and one must be satisfied with the life of\nevery day as it comes. Near hopes, whatever you, may say against them,\nare worth as much as those far off, they are more certain. This is\nexcellent moralizing. Take good care of your health, it is to that\neverything should tend.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\nNinon de L'Enclos to Saint-Evremond\n\nOn the Death of de Charleval\n\n\nNow, M. de Charleval is dead, and I am so much affected that I am\ntrying to console myself by thinking of the share you will take in my\naffliction. Up to the time of his death, I saw him every day. His\nspirit possessed all the charms of youth, and his heart all the\ngoodness and tenderness so desirable among true friends. We often\nspoke of you and of all the old friends of our time. His life and the\none I am leading now, had much in common, indeed, a similar loss is\nlike dying one's self.\n\nTell me the news about yourself. I am as much interested in your life\nin London as if you were here, and old friends possess charms which\nare not so well appreciated as when they are separated.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\nNinon de l'Enclos to Saint-Evremond\n\nThe Weariness of Monotony\n\n\nM. de Clerambault gave me pleasure by telling me that I am in your\nthoughts constantly. I am worthy of it on account of the affection I\nmaintain for you. We shall certainly deserve the encomiums of\nposterity by the duration of our lives, and by that of your\nfriendship. I believe I shall live as long as you, although I am\nsometimes weary of always doing the same things, and I envy the Swiss\nwho casts himself into the river for that reason. My friends often\nreprehend me for such a sentiment, and assure me that life is worth\nliving as long as one lives in peace and tranquillity with a healthy\nmind. However, the forces of the body lead to other thoughts, and\nthose forces are preferred to strength of mind, but everything is\nuseless when a change is impossible. It is equally as worth while to\ndrive away sad reflections as to indulge in useless ones.\n\nMadame Sandwich has given me a thousand pleasures in making me so\nhappy as to please her. I did not dream, in my declining years to be\nagreeable to a woman of her age. She has more spirit than all the\nwomen of France, and more true merit. She is on the point of leaving\nus, which is regretted by every one who knows her, by myself,\nparticularly. Had you been here we should have prepared a banquet\nworthy of old times. Love me always.\n\nMadame de Coulanges accepted the commission to present your kind\ncompliments to M. le Comte de Grammont, through Madame de Grammont. He\nis so young that I believe him fickle enough in time to dislike the\ninfirm, and that he will love them as soon as they return to good\nhealth.\n\nEvery one who returns from England speaks of the beauty of Madame la\nDuchesse de Mazarin, as they allude to the beauty of Mademoiselle de\nBellefond, whose sun is rising. You have attached me to Madame de\nMazarin, and I hear nothing but the good that is said of her.\n\nAdieu, my friend, why is it not \"Good day?\" We must not die without\nagain seeing each other.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\nNinon de l'Enclos to Saint-Evremond\n\nAfter the Death of La Duchesse de Mazarin\n\n\nWhat a loss for you, my friend! If it were not for the fact that we,\nourselves, will be considered a loss, we could not find consolation. I\nsympathize with you with all my heart. You have just lost an amiable\ncompanion who has been your mainstay in a foreign land. What can be\ndone to make good such a misfortune? Those who live long are subject\nto see their friends die, after that, your philosophy, your mind, will\nserve to sustain you.\n\nI feel this death as much as if I had been acquainted with the\nDuchess. She thought of me in her last moments, and her goodness\naffected me more than I can express; what she was to you drew me to\nher. There is no longer a remedy, and there is none for whatever may\nhappen our poor bodies, so preserve yours. Your friends love to see\nyou so well and so wise, for I hold those to be wise who know how to\nbe happy.\n\nI give you a thousand thanks for the tea you sent me, but the lively\ntone of your letter pleased me as much as your present.\n\nYou will again see Madame Sandwich, whom we saw depart with regret. I\ncould wish that her condition in life might serve to be of some\nconsolation to you. I am ignorant of English customs, but she was\nquite French while here.\n\nA thousand adieux, my friend. If one could think as did Madame de\nChevreuse, who believed when dying that she was going to converse with\nall her friends in the other world! It would be a sweet thought.\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\nSaint-Evremond to Ninon de l'Enclos\n\nLove Banishes Old Age\n\n\nYour life, my well beloved, has been too illustrious not to be lived\nin the same manner until the end. Do not permit M. de la\nRochefoucauld's \"hell\" to frighten you; it was a devised hell he\ndesired to construct into a maxim. Pronounce the word \"love\" boldly,\nand that of \"old age\" will never pass your lips.\n\nThere is so much spirit in your letters, that you do not leave me even\nto imagine a decline of life in you. What ingratitude to be ashamed to\nmention love, to which we owe all our merit, all our pleasures! For,\nmy lovely keeper of the casket, the reputation of your probity is\nestablished particularly upon the fact that you have resisted lovers,\nwho would willingly have made free with the money of their friends.\n\nConfess all your passions to make your virtues of greater worth;\nhowever, you do not expose but the one-half of your character; there\nis nothing better than what regards your friends, nothing more\nunsatisfactory than what you have bestowed upon your lovers.\n\nIn a few verses, I will draw your entire character. Here they are,\ngiving you the qualities you now have and those you have had:\n\n  Dans vos amours on vous trouvait leg\u00e8re,\n  En amiti\u00e9 toujours s\u00fbre et sinc\u00e8re;\n  Pour vos amants, les humeurs de V\u00e9nus,\n  Pour vos amis les solides vertus:\n  Quand les premiers vous nommaient infid\u00e8le,\n  Et qu'asservis encore \u00e0 votre loi,\n  Ils reprochaient une flamme nouvelle,\nLes autres se louaient de votre bonne foi.\n  Tant\u00f4t c'\u00e9tait le naturel d'H\u00e9l\u00e8ne,\n  Ses app\u00e9tits comme tous ses appas;\n  Tant\u00f4t c'\u00e9tait la probit\u00e9 romaine?\nC'\u00e9tait d'honneur la r\u00e8gle et le compas.\n  Dans un couvent en soeur d\u00e9positaire,\n  Vous auriez bien m\u00e9nag\u00e9 quelque affaire,\n  Et dans le monde \u00e0 garder les d\u00e9p\u00f4ts,\nOn vous e\u00fbt justement pr\u00e9f\u00e9r\u00e9e aux d\u00e9vots.\n\n  (In your love affairs you were never severe,\n  But your friendship was always sure and sincere;\n  The humors of Venus for those who desired,\n  For your friends, in your heart, solid virtues conspired;\nWhen the first, infidelity laid at your door,\n  Though not yet exempt from the law of your will,\n  And every new flame never failed to deplore,\nThe others rejoiced that you trusted them still.\n  Ingenuous Helen was sometimes your role,\n  With her appetites, charms, and all else beside;\n  Sometimes Roman probity wielded your soul,\n  In honor becoming your rule and your guide.\n  And though in a convent as guardian nun,\nYou might have well managed some sprightly fun,\n  In the world, as a keeper of treasures untold,\nPreferred you would be to a lamb of the fold.)\n\nHere is a little variety, which I trust will not surprise you:\n\nL'indulgente et sage Nature\nA form\u00e9 l'\u00e2me de Ninon\nDe la volupt\u00e9 d'Epicure\nEt de la vertu de Caton.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\nNinon de l'Enclos to Saint-Evremond\n\nStomachs Demand More Attention than Minds\n\n\nThe Abb\u00e9 Dubois has just handed me your letter, and personally told me\nas much good news about your stomach as about your mind. There are\ntimes when we give more attention to our stomachs than to our minds,\nand I confess, to my sorrow, that I find you happier in the enjoyment\nof the one than of the other. I have always believed that your mind\nwould last as long as yourself, but we are not so sure of the health\nof the body, without which nothing is left but sorrowful reflections.\nI insensibly begin making them on all occasions.\n\nHere is another chapter. It relates to a handsome youth, whose desire\nto see honest people in the different countries of the world, induced\nhim to surreptitiously abandon an opulent home. Perhaps you will\ncensure his curiosity, but the thing is done. He knows many things,\nbut he is ignorant of others, which one of his age should ignore. I\ndeemed him worthy of paying you a visit, to make him begin to feel\nthat he has not lost his time by journeying to England. Treat him well\nfor love of me.\n\nI begged his elder brother, who is my particular friend, to obtain\nnews of Madame la Duchesse Mazarin and of Madame Harvey, both of whom\nwished to remember me.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\nSaint-Evremond to Ninon de l'Enclos\n\nWhy does Love Diminish After Marriage?\n\n\nTranslator's Note.--Two of Ninon's friends whom she idolized, were\nvery much surprised to discover after their marriage, that the great\npassion they felt for each other before marriage, became feebler every\nday, and that even their affection was growing colder. It troubled\nthem, and in their anxiety, they consulted Mademoiselle de l'Enclos,\nbegging her to find some reason in her philosophy, why the possession\nof the object loved should weaken the strength of ante-nuptial\npassion, and even destroy the most ardent affection.\n\nThe question was discussed by Ninon and her \"Birds\" for several days\nwithout reaching an opinion that was in any manner satisfactory. It\nwas therefore resolved to consult Saint-Evremond, who was living in\nexile in England. After writing him all the particulars, and the\ndiscussions that had been held with opinions pro and con, he sent the\nfollowing letter in reply, which is unanswerable upon the subject.\nMoreover, it contains lessons that should be carefully studied and\nwell learned by all loving hearts, who desire to maintain their early\naffection for each other during life.\n\nThe letter is a masterpiece of the philosophy of love, and it is\nremarkable, in that it develops traits in human nature upon the\nsubject of love and marriage, which are overlooked in questions\napplicable to the relations between the sexes, and that are so often\nstrained to the breaking point. Indeed, it gives clues to a remedy\nwhich can not fail to effect a cure.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMy opinion is exactly in line with yours, Mademoiselle; it is not\nalways, as some think, hymen or the possession of the loved object\nwhich of itself destroys love; the true source of the dissatisfaction\nthat follows exists in the unintelligent manner of economizing the\nsentiments, a too complete, too easy, and too prolonged possession.\n\nWhen we have yielded to the transports of a passion without reserve,\nthe tremendous shock to the soul can not fail quickly to leave it in a\nprofound solitude. The heart finds itself in a void which alarms and\nchills it. We vainly seek outside of ourselves, the cause of the calm\nwhich follows our fits of passion; we do not perceive that an equal\nand more enduring happiness would have been the fruit of moderation.\nMake an exact analysis of what takes place within you when you desire\nanything. You will find that your desires are nothing but curiosity,\nand this curiosity, which is one of the forces of the heart,\nsatisfied, our desires vanish. Whoever, therefore, would hold a spouse\nor a lover should leave him something to be desired; something new\nshould be expected every day for the morrow. Diversify his pleasures,\nprocure for him the charm of variety in the same object, and I will\nvouch for his perseverance in fidelity.\n\nI confess, however, that hymen, or what you call your \"defeat,\" is, in\nan ordinary woman, the grave of love. But then it is less upon the\nlover that the blame falls, than upon her who complains of the cooling\nof the passion; she casts upon the depravity of the heart what is due\nto her own unskillfulness, and her lack of economy. She has expended\nin a single day everything that might keep alive the inclination she\nhad excited. She has nothing more to offer to the curiosity of her\nlover, she becomes always the same statue; no variety to be hoped for,\nand her lover knows it well.\n\nBut in the woman I have in mind, it is the aurora of a lovelier day;\nit is the beginning of the most satisfying pleasures. I, understand by\neffusions of the heart, those mutual confidences; those ingenuities,\nthose unexpected avowals, and those transports which excite in us the\ncertainty of creating an absolute happiness, and meriting all the\nesteem of the person we love. That day is, in a word, the epoch when\na man of refinement discovers inexhaustible treasures which have\nalways been hidden from him; the freedom a woman acquires brings into\nplay all the sentiments which constraint has held in reserve; her\nheart takes a lofty flight, but one well under control. Time, far from\nleading to loathing, will furnish new reasons for a greater love.\n\nBut, to repeat; I assume sufficient intelligence in her to be able to\ncontrol her inclination. For to hold a lover, it is not enough\n(perhaps it is too much) to love passionately, she must love with\nprudence, with restraint, and modesty is, for that reason, the most\ningenious virtue refined persons have ever imagined. To yield to the\nimpetuosity of an inclination; to be annihilated, so to speak, in the\nobject loved, is the method of a woman without discernment. That is\nnot love, it is a liking for a moment, it is to transform a lover into\na spoiled child. I would have a woman behave with more reserve and\neconomy. An excess of ardor is not justifiable in my opinion, the\nheart being always an impetuous charger which must be steadily curbed.\nIf you do not use your strength with economy, your vivacity will be\nnothing but a passing transport. The same indifference you perceive in\na lover, after those convulsive emotions, you, yourself, will\nexperience, and soon, both of you will feel the necessity of\nseparating.\n\nTo sum up: There is more intelligence required to love than is\ngenerally supposed, and to be happy in loving. Up to the moment of the\nfatal \"yes\" or if you prefer, up to the time of her defeat, a woman\ndoes not need artifice to hold her lover. Curiosity excites him,\ndesire sustains him, hope encourages him. But once he reaches the\nsummit of his desires, it is for the woman to take as much care to\nretain him, as he exhibited to overcome her; the desire to keep him\nshould render her fertile in expedients; the heart is similar to a\nhigh position, easier to obtain than to keep. Charms are sufficient\nto make a man amorous; to render him constant, something more is\nnecessary; skill is required, a little management, a great deal of\nintelligence, and even a touch of ill humor and inequality.\nUnfortunately, however, as soon as women have yielded they become too\ntender, too complaisant. It would be better for the common good if\nthey were to resist less in the beginning and more afterward. I\nmaintain that they never can forestall loathing without leaving the\nheart something to wish for, and the time to consider.\n\nI hear them continually complaining that our indifference is always\nthe fruit of their complaisance for us. They are ever recalling the\ntime when, goaded by love and sentiment, we spent whole days by their\nside. How blind they are! They do not perceive that it is still in\ntheir power to bring us back to an allegiance, the memory of which is\nso dear. If they forget what they have already done for us, they will\nnot be tempted to do more; but if they make us forget, then we shall\nbecome more exacting. Let them awaken our hearts by opposing new\ndifficulties, arouse our anxieties, in fine, force us to desire new\nproofs of an inclination, the certainty of which diminishes the value\nin our estimation. They will then find less cause of complaint in us,\nand will be better satisfied with themselves.\n\nShall I frankly avow it? Things would indeed change if women would\nremember at the right time, that their role is always that of the\nparty to be entreated, ours that of him who begs for new favors;\nthat, created to grant, they should never offer. Reserved, even in an\nexcess of passion, they should guard against surrendering at\ndiscretion; the lover should always have something to ask, and\nconsequently, he would be always submissive so as to obtain it. Favors\nwithout limit degrade the most seductive charms, and are, in the end,\nrevolting even to him who exacts them. Society puts all women on the\nsame level; the handsome and the ugly, after their defeat are\nindistinguishable except from their art to maintain their authority;\nbut what commonly happens? A woman imagines she has nothing more to do\nthan to be affectionate, caressing, sweet, of even temper, and\nfaithful. She is right in one sense, for these qualities should be the\nfoundation of her character; they will not fail to draw esteem; but\nthese qualities, however estimable they may be, if they are not offset\nby a shade of contrariety, will not fail to extinguish love, and bring\non languor and weariness, mortal poisons for the best constituted\nheart.\n\nDo you know why lovers become nauseated so easily when enjoying\nprosperity? Why they are so little pleased after having had so much\npleasure? It is because both parties interested have an identically\nerroneous opinion. One imagines there is nothing more to obtain, the\nother fancies she has nothing more to give. It follows as a necessary\nconsequence that one slackens in his pursuit, and the other neglects\nto be worthy of further advances, or thinks she becomes so by the\npractice of solid qualities. Reason is substituted for love, and\nhence-forward no more spicy seasoning in their relations, no more of\nthose trifling quarrels so necessary to prevent dissatisfaction by\nforestalling it.\n\nBut when I exact that evenness of temper should be animated by\noccasional storms, do not be under the impression that I pretend\nlovers should always be quarreling to preserve their happiness. I only\ndesire to impress it upon you, that all their misunderstandings should\nemanate from love itself; that the woman should not forget (by a\nspecies of pusillanimous kindness) the respect and attentions due her;\nthat by an excessive sensitiveness she does not convert her love into\na source of anxiety capable of poisoning every moment of her\nexistence; that by a scrupulous fidelity she may not render her lover\ntoo sure that he has nothing to fear on that score.\n\nNeither should a woman by a sweetness, an unalterable evenness of\ntemper, be weak enough to pardon everything lacking in her lover.\nExperience demonstrates that women too often sacrifice the hearts of\ntheir spouses or their lovers, by too many indulgences and facilities.\nWhat recklessness! They martyrize themselves by sacrificing\neverything; they spoil them and convert them into ungrateful lovers.\nSo much generosity finally turns against themselves, and they soon\nbecome accustomed to demand as a right what is granted them as a\nfavor.\n\nYou see women every day (even among those we despise with so much\nreason) who reign with a scepter of iron, treat as slaves men who are\nattached to them, debase them by force of controlling them. Well,\nthese are the women who are loved longer than the others. I am\npersuaded that a woman of refinement, well brought up, would never\nthink of following such an example. That military manner is repugnant\nto gentleness and morals, and lacks that decency which constitutes the\ncharm in things even remote from virtue. But let the reasonable woman\nsoften the clouds a trifle, there will always remain precisely what is\nnecessary to hold a lover.\n\nWe are slaves, whom too much kindness often renders insolent; we often\ndemand to be treated like those of the new world. But we have in the\nbottom of our hearts a comprehension of justice, which tells us that\nthe governing hand bears down upon us sometimes for very good reasons,\nand we take kindly to it.\n\nNow, for my last word. In everything relating to the force and energy\nof love, women should be the sovereigns; it is from them we hope for\nhappiness, and they will never fail to grant us that as soon as they\ncan govern our hearts with intelligence, moderate their own\ninclinations, and maintain their own authority, without compromising\nit and without abusing it.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\nNinon de l'Enclos to Saint-Evremond\n\nFew People Resist Age\n\n\nA sprightly mind is dangerous to friendship. Your letter would have\nspoiled any one but me. I know your lively and astonishing\nimagination, and I have even wanted to remember that Lucian wrote in\npraise of the fly, to accustom myself to your style. Would to Heaven\nyou could think of me what you write, I should dispense with the rest\nof the world; so it is with you that glory dwells.\n\nYour last letter is a masterpiece. It has been the subject of all the\ntalks we have had in my chamber for the past month. You are\nrejuvenating; you do well to love. Philosophy agrees well with\nspiritual charms. It is not enough to be wise, one must please, and I\nperceive that you will always please as long as you think as you do.\n\nFew people resist age, but I believe I am not yet overcome by it. I\ncould wish with you, that Madame Mazarin had looked upon life from her\nown viewpoint, without thinking of her beauty, which would always have\nbeen agreeable when common sense held the place of less brilliancy.\nMadame Sandwich will preserve her mental force after losing her\nyouth, at least I think so.\n\nAdieu, my friend. When you see Madame Sandwich, remember me to her, I\nshould be very sorry to have her forget me.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\nSaint-Evremond to Ninon de l'Enclos\n\nAge Has Some Consolations\n\n\nIt gives me a lively pleasure to see young people, handsome and\nexpanding like flowers; fit to please, and able to sincerely affect an\nold heart like mine. As there has always been a strong similarity\nbetween your tastes, your inclinations, your sentiments, and mine, I\nthink you will be pleased to receive a young Chevalier who is\nattractive to all our ladies. He is the Duke of Saint Albans, whom I\nhave begged to pay you a visit, as much in his own interests as in\nyours.\n\nIs there any one of your friends like de Tallard, imbued with the\nspirit of our age, to whom I can be of any service? If so, command me.\nGive me some news of our old friend de Gourville. I presume he is\nprosperous in his affairs; if his health is poor I shall be very\nsorry.\n\nDoctor Morelli, my particular friend, accompanies the Countess of\nSandwich, who goes to France for her health. The late Count Rochester,\nfather of Madame Sandwich, had more spirit than any man in England,\nbut Madame Sandwich has more than her father. She is generous and\nspirituelle, and as amiable as she is generous and spirituelle. These\nare a portion of her qualities. But, I have more to say about the\nphysician than about the invalid.\n\nSeven cities, as you know, dispute among themselves, the birth place\nof Homer; seven great nations are quarrelling over Morelli: India,\nEgypt, Arabia, Persia, Turkey, Italy, and Spain. The cold countries,\neven the temperate ones, France, England and Germany, make no\npretensions. He is acquainted with every language and speaks the most\nof them. His style, elevated, grand and figurative, leads me to\nbelieve that he is of Oriental origin, and that he has absorbed what\nhe found good among the Europeans. He is passionately fond of music,\nwild over poetry, inquisitive about paintings, a connoisseur in\neverything--I cannot remember all. He has friends who know\narchitecture, and though skilled in his own profession, he is an adept\nin others.\n\nI pray you to give him opportunities to become acquainted with all\nyour illustrious friends. If you make him yours, I shall consider him\nfortunate, for you will never be able to make him acquainted with\nanybody possessing more merit than yourself.\n\nIt seems to me that Epicurus included in his sovereign good the\nremembrance of past things. There is no sovereign good for a\ncentenarian like me, but there are many consolations, that of thinking\nof you, and of all I have heard you say, is one of the greatest.\n\nI write of many things of no importance to you, because I never think\nthat I may weary you. It is enough if they please me, it is\nimpossible at my age, to hope they will please others. My merit\nconsists in being contented, too happy in being able to write you.\n\nRemember to save some of M. de Gourville's wine for me. I am lodged\nwith one of the relatives of M. de L'Hermitage, a very honest man, and\nan exile to England on account of his religion. I am very sorry that\nthe Catholic conscience of France could not suffer him to live in\nParis, and that the delicacy of his own compelled him to abandon his\ncountry. He certainly deserves the approbation of his cousin.\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\nNinon de l'Enclos to Saint-Evremond\n\nSome Good Taste Still Exists in France\n\n\nMy dear friend, is it possible for you to believe that the sight of a\nyoung man gives me pleasure? Your senses deceive you when it comes to\nothers. I have forgotten all but my friends. If the name \"doctor\" had\nnot reassured me, I should have replied by the Abb\u00e9 de Hautefeuille,\nand your English would never have heard of me. They would have been\ntold at my door that I was not at home, and I would have received your\nletter, which gave me more pleasure than anything else.\n\nWhat a fancy to want good wine, and how unfortunate that I can not say\nI was successful in getting it! M. de L'Hermitage will tell you as\nwell as I, that de Gourville never leaves his room, is indifferent to\ntaste of any kind, is always a good friend, but his friends do not\ntrespass upon his friendship for fear of worrying him. After that, if,\nby any insinuation I can make, and which I do not now foresee, I can\nuse my knowledge of wine to procure you some, do not doubt that I will\navail myself of it.\n\nM. de Tallard was one of my former friends, but state affairs place\ngreat men above trifles. I am told that the Abb\u00e9 Dubois will go to\nEngland with him. He is a slim little man who, I am sure, will please\nyou.\n\nI have twenty letters of yours, and they are read with admiration by\nour little circle, which is proof that good taste still exists in\nFrance. I am charmed with a country where you do not fear ennui, and\nyou will be wise if you think of nobody but yourself, not that the\nprinciple is false with you: that you can no longer please others.\n\nI have written to M. Morelli, and if I find in him the skill you say,\nI shall consider him a true physician.\n\n\n\n\nXIV\n\nSaint-Evremond to Ninon de l'Enclos\n\nSuperiority of the Pleasures of the Stomach\n\n\nI have never read a letter which contained so much common sense as\nyour last one. You eulogize the stomach so highly, that it would be\nshameful to possess an intelligent mind without also having a good\nstomach. I am indebted to the Abb\u00e9 Dubois for having sounded my\npraises to you in this respect.\n\nAt eighty-eight years of age, I can eat oysters every morning for\nbreakfast. I dine well and sup fairly well. The world makes heroes of\nmen with less merit than mine.\n\nQu'on ait plus de bien, de cr\u00e9dit,\nPlus de vertu, plus de conduite,\nJe n'en aurai point de d\u00e9pit,\nQu'un autre me passe en m\u00e9rite\nSur le go\u00fbt et sur l'app\u00e9tit,\nC'est l'avantage qui m'irrite.\nL'estomac est le plus grand bien,\nSans lui les autres ne sont rien.\nUn grand coeur veut tout entreprendre,\nUn grand esprit veut tout comprendre;\nLes droits de l'estomac sont de bien dig\u00e9rer;\nEt dans les sentiments que me donne mon \u00e2ge,\nLa beaut\u00e9 de l'esprit, la grandeur du courage,\nN'ont rien qu'\u00e0 se vertu l'on puisse comparer.\n\n(Let others more riches and fame,\nMore virtue and morals possess,\n'Twill kindle no envious flame;\nBut to make my merit seem less\nIn taste, appetite, is, I claim,\nAn outrageous thing to profess.\nThe stomach's the greatest of things,\nAll else to us nothing brings.\nA great heart would all undertake,\nA great soul investigate,\nBut the law of the stomach is good things to digest,\nAnd the glories which are at my age the delight,\nTrue beauty of mind, of courage the height,\nAre nothing unless by its virtue they're blest.)\n\nWhen I was young I admired intellect more than anything else, and was\nless considerate of the interests of the body than I should have been;\nto-day, I am remedying the error I then held, as much as possible,\neither by the use I am making of it, or by the esteem and friendship I\nhave for it.\n\nYou were of the same opinion. The body was something in your youth,\nnow you are wholly concerned with the pleasures of the mind. I do not\nknow whether you are right in placing so high an estimate upon it. We\nread little that is worth remembering, and we hear little advice that\nis worth following. However degenerate may be the senses of the age at\nwhich I am living, the impressions which agreeable objects make upon\nthem appear to me to be so much more acute, that we are wrong to\nmortify them. Perhaps it is a jealousy of the mind which deems the\npart played by the senses better than its own.\n\nM. Bernier, the handsomest philosopher I have ever known (handsome\nphilosopher is seldom used, but his figure, shape, manner,\nconversation and other traits have made him worthy of the epithet), M.\nBernier, I say, in speaking of the senses, said to me one day:\n\n\"I am going to impart a confidence that I would not give Madame de la\nSabli\u00e8re, even to Mademoiselle de l'Enclos, whom I regard as a\nsuperior being. I tell you in confidence, that abstinence from\npleasures appears to me to be a great sin.\"\n\nI was surprised at the novelty of the idea, and it did not fail to\nmake an impression upon my mind. Had he extended his idea, he might\nhave made me a convert to his doctrine.\n\nContinue your friendship which has never faltered, and which is\nsomething rare in relations that have existed as long as ours.\n\n\n\n\nXV\n\nNinon de l'Enclos to Saint-Evremond\n\nLet the Heart Speak Its Own Language\n\n\nI learn with pleasure that my soul is dearer to you than my body and\nthat your common sense is always leading you upward to better things.\nThe body, in fact, is little worthy of regard, and the soul has always\nsome light which sustains it, and renders it sensible of the memory of\na friend whose absence has not effaced his image.\n\nI often tell the old stories in which d'Elb\u00e8ne, de Charleval, and the\nChevalier de Riviere cheer up the \"moderns.\" You are brought in at the\nmost interesting points, but as you are also a modern, I am on my\nguard against praising you too highly in the presence of the\nAcademicians, who have declared in favor of the \"ancients.\"\n\nI have been told of a musical prologue, which I would very much like\nto hear at the Paris theater. The \"Beauty\" who is its subject would\nstrike with envy every woman who should hear it. All our Helens have\nno right to find a Homer, and always be goddesses of beauty. Here I am\nat the top, how am I to descend?\n\nMy very dear friend, would it not be well to permit the heart to\nspeak its own language? I assure you, I love you always. Do not change\nyour ideas on that point, they have always been in my favor, and may\nthis mental communication, which some philosophers believe to be\nsupernatural, last forever.\n\nI have testified to M. Turretin, the joy I should feel to be of some\nservice to him. He found me among my friends, many of whom deemed him\nworthy of the praise you have given him. If he desires to profit by\nwhat is left of our honest Abb\u00e9s in the absence of the court, he will\nbe treated like a man you esteem. I read him your letter with\nspectacles, of course, but they did me no harm, for I preserved my\ngravity all the time. If he is amorous of that merit which is called\nhere \"distinguished,\" perhaps your wish will be accomplished, for\nevery day, I meet with this fine phrase as a consolation for my\nlosses.\n\nI know that you would like to see La Fontaine in England, he is so\nlittle regarded in Paris, his head is so feeble. 'Tis the destiny of\npoets, of which Tasso and Lucretius are evidence. I doubt whether\nthere is any love philter that could affect La Fontaine, he has never\nbeen a lover of women unless they were able to foot the bills.\n\n\n\n\nXVI\n\nSaint-Evremond to Ninon de l'Enclos\n\nThe Memory of Youth\n\n\nI was handed in December, the letter you wrote me October 14. It is\nrather old, but good things are always acceptable, however late they\nmay be in reaching us. You are serious, therefore, you please. You add\na charm to Seneca, who does not usually possess any. You call yourself\nold when you possess all the graces, inclinations, and spirit of\nyouth.\n\nI am troubled with a curiosity which you can satisfy: When you\nremember your past, does not the memory of your youth suggest certain\nideas as far removed from languor and sloth as from the excitement of\npassion? Do you not feel in your soul a secret opposition to the\ntranquillity which you fancy your spirit has acquired?\n\nMais aimer et vous voir aim\u00e9e\nEst une douce liaison,\nQue dans notre coeur s'est form\u00e9e\nDe concert avec la raison.\nD'une amoureuse sympathie,\nIl faut pour arr\u00eater le cours\nArr\u00eater celui de nos jours;\nSa fin est celle de la vie.\nPuissent les destins complaisants,\nVous donner encore trente ans\nD'amour et de philosophie.\n\n(To love and be loved\nIs a concert sweet,\nWhich in your heart is formed\nCemented with reason meet.\nOf a loving concord,\nTo stop the course,\nOur days must end perforce,\nAnd death be the last record.\nMay the kind fates give\nYou thirty years to live,\nWith wisdom and love in accord.)\n\nI wish you a happy New Year, a day on which those who have nothing\nelse to give, make up the deficiency in wishes.\n\n\n\n\nXVII\n\nNinon de l'Enclos to Saint-Evremond\n\n\"I Should Have Hanged Myself\"\n\n\nYour letter filled with useless yearnings of which I thought myself\nincapable. \"The days are passing,\" as said the good man of Yveteaux,\n\"in ignorance and sloth; these days destroy us and take from us the\nthings to which we are attached.\" You are cruelly made to prove this.\n\nYou told me long ago that I should die of reflections. I try not to\nmake any more, and to forget on the morrow the things I live through\ntoday. Everybody tells me that I have less to complain of at one time\nthan at another. Be that as it may, had I been proposed such a life I\nshould have hanged myself. We hold on to an ugly body, however, as\nsomething agreeable; we love to feel comfort and ease. Appetite is\nsomething I still enjoy. Would to Heaven I could try my stomach with\nyours, and talk of the old friends we have known, the memory of whom\ngives me more pleasure than the presence of many people I now meet.\nThere is something good in all that, but to tell you the truth, there\nis no comparison.\n\nM. de Clerambault often asks me if he resembles his father in mental\nattainments. \"No,\" I always answer him, but I hope from his\npresumption that he believes this \"no\" to be of advantage to him, and\nperhaps there are some who would have so considered it. What a\ncomparison between the present epoch and that through which we have\npassed!\n\nYou are going to write Madame Sandwich, but I believe she has gone to\nthe country. She knows all about your sentiment for her. She will tell\nyou more news about this country than I, having gauged and\ncomprehended everything. She knows all my haunts and has found means\nof making herself perfectly at home.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII\n\nSaint-Evremond to Ninon de l'Enclos\n\nLife Is Joyous When It Is Without Sorrow\n\n\nThe very last letter I receive from Mademoiselle de l'Enclos always\nseems to me to be better than the preceding ones. It is not because\nthe sentiment of present pleasure dims the memory of the past, but the\ntrue reason is, your mind is becoming stronger and more fortified\nevery day.\n\nIf it were the same with the body as with the mind, I should badly\nsustain this stomach combat of which you speak. I wanted to make a\ntrial of mine against that of Madame Sandwich, at a banquet given by\nLord Jersey. I was not the vanquished.\n\nEverybody knows the spirit of Madame Sandwich; I see her good taste in\nthe extraordinary esteem she has for you. I was not overcome by the\npraises she showered upon you, any more than I was by my appetite. You\nbelong to every nation, esteemed alike in London as in Paris. You\nbelong to every age of the world, and when I say that you are an honor\nto mine, youth will immediately name you to give luster to theirs.\nThere you are, mistress of the present and of the past. May you have\nyour share of the right to be so considered in the future! I have not\nreputation in view, for that is assured to all time, the one thing I\nregard as the most essential is life, of which eight days are worth\nmore than centuries of post mortem glory.\n\nIf any one had formerly proposed to you to live as you are now living,\nyou would have hanged yourself! (The expression pleases me.) However,\nyou are satisfied with ease and comfort after having enjoyed the\nliveliest emotions.\n\nL'esprit vous satisfait, ou du moins vous console:\nMais on pr\u00e9f\u00e9rerait de vivre jeune et folle,\nEt laisser aux vieillards exempts de passions\nLa triste gravit\u00e9 de leurs reflexions.\n\n(Mental joys satisfy you, at least they console,\nBut a young jolly life we prefer on the whole,\nAnd to old chaps, exempt from passion's sharp stings,\nLeave the sad recollections of former good things.)\n\nNobody can make more of youth than I, and as I am holding to it by\nmemory, I am following your example, and fit in with the present as\nwell as I know how.\n\nWould to Heaven, Madame Mazarin had been of your opinion! She would\nstill be living, but she desired to die the beauty of the world.\n\nMadame Sandwich is leaving for the country, and departs admired in\nLondon as she is in Paris.\n\nLive, Ninon, life is joyous when it is without sorrow.\n\nI pray you to forward this note to M. l'Abb\u00e9 de Hautefeuille, who is\nwith Madame la Duchesse de Bouillon. I sometimes meet the friends of\nM. l'Abb\u00e9 Dubois, who complain that they are forgotten. Assure him of\nmy humble regards.\n\nTranslator's Note--The above was the last letter Saint-Evremond ever\nwrote Mademoiselle de l'Enclos, and with the exception of one more\nletter to his friend, Count Magalotti, Councillor of State to His\nRoyal Highness the Grand Duke of Tuscany, he never wrote any other,\ndying shortly afterward at the age of about ninety. His last letter\nends with this peculiar Epicurean thought in poetry:\n\nJe vis \u00e9loign\u00e9 de la France,\nSans besoins et sans abondance,\nContent d'un vulgaire destin;\nJ'aime la vertu sans rudesse,\nJ'aime le plaisir sans mollesse,\nJ'aime la vie, et n'en crains pas la fin.\n\n(I am living far away from France,\nNo wants, indeed, no abundance,\nContent to dwell in humble sphere;\nVirtue I love without roughness,\nPleasures I love without softness,\nLife, too, whose end I do not fear.)\n\n\n\n\nDOCTRINE OF EPICURUS\n\nEXPLAINED BY\n\nMARSHAL DE SAINT-EVREMOND\n\nIN A LETTER TO\n\nTHE MODERN LEONTIUM\n\n(NINON DE L'ENCLOS)\n\n\n\n\nTO THE MODERN LEONTIUM\n\n(NINON DE L'ENCLOS)\n\n\nBeing the moral doctrine of the philosopher Epicurus as applicable to\nmodern times, it is an elucidation of the principles advocated by that\nphilosopher, by Charles de Saint-Evremond, Mar\u00e9chal of France, a great\nphilosopher, scholar, poet, warrior, and profound admirer of\nMademoiselle de l'Enclos. He died in exile in England, and his tomb\nmay be found in Westminster Abbey, in a conspicuous part of the nave,\nwhere his remains were deposited by Englishmen, who regarded him as\nillustrious for his virtues, learning and philosophy.\n\nHe gave the name \"Leontium\" to Mademoiselle de L'Enclos, and the\nletter was written to her under that sobriquet. The reasoning in it\nwill enable the reader to understand the life and character of Ninon,\ninasmuch as it was the foundation of her education, and formed her\ncharacter during an extraordinarily long career. It was intended to\nbring down to its date, the true philosophical principles of Epicurus,\nwho appears to have been grossly misunderstood and his doctrines\nfoully misinterpreted.\n\nLeontium was an Athenian woman who became celebrated for her taste for\nphilosophy, particularly for that of Epicurus, and for her close\nintimacy with the great men of Athens. She lived during the third\ncentury before the Christian era, and her mode of life was similar to\nthat of Mademoiselle de l'Enclos. She added to great personal beauty,\nintellectual brilliancy of the highest degree, and dared to write, a\nlearned treatise against the eloquent Theophrastus, thereby incurring\nthe dislike of Cicero, the distinguished orator, and Pliny, the\nphilosopher, the latter intimating that it might be well for her \"to\nselect a tree upon which to hang herself.\" Pliny and other\nphilosophers heaped abuse upon her for daring, as a woman, to do such\nan unheard of thing as to write a treatise on philosophy, and\nparticularly for having the assurance to contradict Theophrastus.\n\n\nThe Letter.\n\nYou wish to know whether I have fully considered the doctrines of\nEpicurus which are attributed to me?\n\nI can claim the honor of having done so, but I do not care to claim a\nmerit I do not possess, and which you will say, ingenuously, does not\nbelong to me. I labor under a great disadvantage on account of the\nnumerous spurious treatises which are printed in my name, as though I\nwere the author of them. Some, though well written, I do not claim,\nbecause they are not of my writing, moreover, among the things I have\nwritten, there are many stupidities. I do not care to take the trouble\nof repudiating such things, for the reason that at my age, one hour of\nwell regulated life, is of more interest and benefit to me than a\nmediocre reputation. How difficult it is, you see, to rid one's self\nof amour propre! I quit it as an author, and reassume it as a\nphilosopher, feeling a secret pleasure in manipulating what others are\nanxious about.\n\nThe word \"pleasure\" recalls to mind the name of Epicurus, and I\nconfess, that of all the opinions of the philosophers concerning the\nsupreme good, there are none which appear to me to be so reasonable as\nhis.\n\nIt would be useless to urge reasons, a hundred times repeated by the\nEpicureans, that the love of pleasure and the extinction of pain, are\nthe first and most natural inclinations remarked in all men; that\nriches, power, honor, and virtue, contribute to our happiness, but\nthat the enjoyment of pleasure, let us say, voluptuousness, to include\neverything in a word, is the veritable aim and end whither tend all\nhuman acts. This is very clear to me, in fact, self-evident, and I am\nfully persuaded of its truth.\n\nHowever, I do not know very well in what the pleasure, or\nvoluptuousness of Epicurus consisted, for I never saw so many\ndifferent opinions of any one as those of the morals of this\nphilosopher. Philosophers, and even his own disciples, have condemned\nhim as sensual and indolent; magistrates have regarded his doctrines\nas pernicious to the public; Cicero, so just and so wise in his\nopinions, Plutarch, so much esteemed for his fair judgments, were not\nfavorable to him, and so far as Christianity is concerned, the Fathers\nhave represented him to be the greatest and the most dangerous of all\nimpious men. So much for his enemies; now for his partisans:\n\nMetrodorus, Hermachus, Meneceus, and numerous others, who\nphilosophize according to his school, have as much veneration as\nfriendship for him personally. Diogenes Laertes could not have written\nhis life to better advantage for his reputation. Lucretius adored him.\nSeneca, as much of an enemy of the sect as he was, spoke of him in the\nhighest terms. If some cities held him in horror, others erected\nstatues in his honor, and if, among the Christians, the Fathers have\ncondemned him, Gassendi and Bernier approve his principles.\n\nIn view of all these contrary authorities, how can the question be\ndecided? Shall I say that Epicurus was a corruptor of good morals, on\nthe faith of a jealous philosopher, of a disgruntled disciple, who\nwould have been delighted, in his resentment, to go to the length of\ninflicting a personal injury? Moreover, had Epicurus intended to\ndestroy the idea of Providence and the immortality of the soul, is it\nnot reasonable to suppose that the world would have revolted against\nso scandalous a doctrine, and that the life of the philosopher would\nhave been attacked to discredit his opinions more easily?\n\nIf, therefore, I find it difficult to believe what his enemies and the\nenvious have published against him, I should also easily credit what\nhis partisans have urged in his defence.\n\nI do not believe that Epicurus desired to broach a voluptuousness\nharsher than the virtue of the Stoics. Such a jealousy of austerity\nwould appear to me extraordinary in a voluptuary philosopher, from\nwhatever point of view that word may be considered. A fine secret\nthat, to declaim against a virtue which destroys sentiment in a sage,\nand establishes one that admits of no operation.\n\nThe sage, according to the Stoics, is a man of insensible virtue; that\nof the Epicureans, an immovable voluptuary. The former suffers pain\nwithout having any pain; the latter enjoys voluptuousness without\nbeing voluptuous--a pleasure without pleasure. With what object in\nview, could a philosopher who denied the immortality of the soul,\nmortify the senses? Why divorce the two parties composed of the same\nelements, whose sole advantage is in a concert of union for their\nmutual pleasure? I pardon our religious devotees, who diet on herbs,\nin the hope that they will obtain an eternal felicity, but that a\nphilosopher, who knows no other good than that to be found in this\nworld, that a doctor of voluptuousness should diet on bread and water,\nto reach sovereign happiness in this life, is something my\nintelligence refuses to contemplate.\n\nI am surprised that the voluptuousness of such an Epicurean is not\nfounded upon the idea of death, for, considering the miseries of life,\nhis sovereign good must be at the end of it. Believe me, if Horace and\nPetronius had viewed it as painted, they would never have accepted\nEpicurus as their master in the science of pleasure. The piety for the\ngods attributed to him, is no less ridiculous than the mortification\nof the senses. These slothful gods, of whom there was nothing to be\nhoped or feared; these impotent gods who did not deserve the labor and\nfatigue attendant upon their worship!\n\nLet no one say that worshipers went to the temple through fear of\ndispleasing the magistrates, and of scandalizing the people, for they\nwould have scandalized them less by refusing to assist in their\nworship, than shocked them by writings which destroyed the established\ngods, or at least ruined the confidence of the people in their\nprotection.\n\nBut you ask me: What is your opinion of Epicurus? You believe neither\nhis friends nor his enemies, neither his adversaries nor his\npartisans. What is the judgment you have formed?\n\nI believe Epicurus was a very wise philosopher, who at times and on\ncertain occasions loved the pleasure of repose or the pleasure of\nmovement. From this difference in the grade of voluptuousness has\nsprung all the reputation accorded him. Timocrates and his other\nopponents, attacked him on account of his sensual pleasures; those who\ndefended him, did not go beyond his spiritual voluptuousness. When the\nformer denounced him for the expense he was at in his repasts, I am\npersuaded that the accusation was well founded. When the latter\nexpatiated upon the small quantity of cheese he required to have\nbetter cheer than usual, I believe they did not lack reason. When they\nsay he philosophized with Leontium, they say well; when they say that\nEpicurus diverted himself with her, they do not lie. According to\nSolomon, there is a time to laugh and a time to weep; according to\nEpicurus, there is a time to be sober and a time to be sensual. To go\nstill further than that, is a man uniformly voluptuous all his life?\n\nReligiously speaking, the greatest libertine is sometimes the most\ndevout; in the study of wisdom, the most indulgent in pleasures\nsometimes become the most austere. For my own part, I view Epicurus\nfrom a different standpoint in youth and health, than when old and\ninfirm.\n\nEase and tranquillity, these comforts of the infirm and slothful, can\nnot be better expressed than in his writings. Sensual voluptuousness\nis not less well explained by Cicero. I know that nothing is omitted\neither to destroy or elude it, but can conjecture be compared with the\ntestimony of Cicero, who was intimately acquainted with the Greek\nphilosophers and their philosophy? It would be better to reject the\ninequality of mind as an inconstancy of human nature.\n\nWhere exists the man so uniform of temperament, that he does not\nmanifest contrarieties in his conversation and actions? Solomon merits\nthe name of sage, as much as Epicure for less, and he belied himself\nequally in his sentiments and conduct. Montaigne, when still young,\nbelieved it necessary to always think of death in order to be always\nready for it. Approaching old age, however, he recanted, so he says,\nbeing willing to permit nature to gently guide him, and teach him how\nto die.\n\nM. Bernier, the great partisan of Epicurus, avows to-day, that \"After\nphilosophizing for fifty years, I doubt things of which I was once\nmost assured.\"\n\nAll objects have different phases, and the mind which is in perpetual\nmotion, views them from different aspects as they revolve before it.\nHence, it may be said, that we see the same thing under different\naspects, thinking at the same time that we have discovered something\nnew. Moreover, age brings great changes in our inclinations, and with\na change of inclination often comes a change of opinion. Add, that the\npleasures of the senses sometimes give rise to contempt for mental\ngratifications as too dry and unproductive and that the delicate and\nrefined pleasures of the mind, in their turn, scorn the voluptuousness\nof the senses as gross. So, no one should be surprised that in so\ngreat a diversity of aspects and movements, Epicurus, who wrote more\nthan any other philosopher, should have treated the same subjects in a\ndifferent manner according as he had perceived them from different\npoints of view.\n\nWhat avails this general reasoning to show that he might have been\nsensible to all kinds of pleasure? Let him be considered according to\nhis relations with the other sex, and nobody will believe that he\nspent so much time with Leontium and with Themista for the sole\npurpose of philosophizing. But if he loved the enjoyment of\nvoluptuousness, he conducted himself like a wise man. Indulgent to the\nmovements of nature, opposed to its struggles, never mistaking\nchastity for a virtue, always considering luxury as a vice, he\ninsisted upon sobriety as an economy of the appetite, and that the\nrepasts in which one indulged should never injure him who partook. His\nmotto was: \"Sic praesentibus voluptatibus utaris ut futuris non\nnoceas.\"\n\nHe disentangled pleasures from the anxieties which precede, and the\ndisgust which follows them. When he became infirm and suffered pain,\nhe placed the sovereign good in ease and rest, and wisely, to my\nnotion, from the condition he was in, for the cessation of pain is the\nfelicity of those who suffer it.\n\nAs to tranquillity of mind, which constitutes another part of\nhappiness, it is nothing but a simple exemption from anxiety or worry.\nBut, whoso can not enjoy agreeable movements is happy in being\nguaranteed from the sensations of pain.\n\nAfter saying this much, I am of the opinion that ease and tranquillity\nconstituted the sovereign good for Epicurus when he was infirm and\nfeeble. For a man who is in a condition to enjoy pleasures, I believe\nthat health makes itself felt by something more active than ease, or\nindolence, as a good disposition of the soul demands something more\nanimated than will permit a state of tranquillity. We are all living\nin the midst of an infinity of good and evil things, with senses\ncapable of being agreeably affected by the former and injured by the\nlatter. Without so much philosophy, a little reason will enable us to\nenjoy the good as deliciously as possible and accommodate ourselves to\nthe evil as patiently as we can.","title":"Life, letters, and Epicurean philosophy of Ninon de L'Enclos, the celebrated beauty of the seventeenth century","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":87574}