The Women of the French Salons
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Amelia Gere Mason >> The Women of the French Salons
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"One does not wish women to be coquettes," she writes again, "but
permits them to learn carefully all that fits them for gallantry,
without teaching them anything which can fortify their virtue or
occupy their minds. They devote ten or a dozen years to learning
to appear well, to dress in good style, to dance and sing, for
five or six; but this same person, who requires judgment all her
life and must talk until her last sigh, learns nothing which can
make her converse more agreeably, or act with more wisdom."
But she does not like a femme savante, and ridicules, under the
name of Damophile, a character which might have been the model
for Moliere's Philaminte. This woman has five or six masters, of
whom the least learned teaches astrology. She poses as a Muse,
and is always surrounded with books, pencils, and mathematical
instruments, while she uses large words in a grave and imperious
tone, although she speaks only of little things. After many long
conversations about her, Sappho concludes thus: "I wish it to be
said of a woman that she knows a hundred things of which she does
not boast, that she has a well-informed mind, is familiar with
fine works, speaks well, writes correctly, and knows the world;
but I do not wish it to be said of her that she is a femme
savante. The two characters have no resemblance." She evidently
recognized the fact that when knowledge has penetrated the soul,
it does not need to be worn on the outside, as it shines through
the entire personality.
After some further discussion, to the effect that the wise woman
will conceal superfluous learning and especially avoid pedantry,
she defines the limit to which a woman may safely go in knowledge
without losing her right to be regarded as the "ornament of the
world, made to be served and adored."
One may know some foreign languages and confess to reading Homer,
Hesiod, and the works of the illustrious Aristee (Chapelain),
without being too learned. One may express an opinion so
modestly that, without offending the propriety of her sex, she
may permit it to be seen that she has wit, knowledge, and
judgment. That which I wish principally to teach women is not to
speak too much of that which they know well, never to speak of
that which they do not know at all, and to speak reasonably.
We note always a half-apologetic tone, a spirit of compromise
between her conscious intelligence and the traditional prejudice
which had in no wise diminished since Martial included, in his
picture of a domestic menage, a wife not too learned..." She is
not willing to lose a woman's birthright of love and devotion,
but is not quite sure how far it might be affected by her ability
to detect a solecism. Hence, she offers a great deal of subtle
flattery to masculine self-love. With curious naivete she says:
Whoever should write all that was said by fifteen or twenty women
together would make the worst book in the world, even if some of
them were women of intelligence. But if a man should enter, a
single one, and not even a man of distinction, the same
conversation would suddenly become more spirituelle and more
agreeable. The conversation of men is doubtless less sprightly
when there are no women present; but ordinarily, although it may
be more serious, it is still rational, and they can do without us
more easily than we can do without them.
She attaches great importance to conversation as "the bond of
society, the greatest pleasure of well-bred people, and the best
means of introducing, not only politeness into the world, but a
purer morality." She dwells always upon the necessity of "a
spirit of urbanity, which banishes all bitter railleries, as well
as everything that can offend the taste, " also of a certain
"esprit de joie."
We find here the code which ruled the Hotel de Rambouillet, and
the very well-defined character of the precieuse. But it may be
noted that Mlle. de Scudery, who was among the avant-coureurs of
the modern movement for the advancement of women, always
preserved the forms of the old traditions, while violating their
spirit. True to her Gallic instincts, she presented her
innovations sugar-coated. She had the fine sense of fitness
which is the conscience of her race, and which gave so much power
to the women who really revolutionized society without
antagonizing it.
Her conversations, which were full of wise suggestions and showed
a remarkable insight into human character, were afterwards
published in detached form and had a great success. Mme. de
Sevigne writes to her daughter: "Mlle. De Scudery has just sent
me two little volumes of conversations; it is impossible that
they should not be good, when they are not drowned in a great
romance."
When the Hotel de Rambouillet was closed, Mlle. de Scudery tried
to replace its pleasant reunions by receiving her friends on
Saturdays. These informal receptions were frequented by a few
men and women of rank, but the prevailing tone was literary and
slightly bourgeois. We find there, from time to time, Mme. de
Sable, the Duc and Duchesse de Montausier, and others of the old
circle who were her lifelong friends. La Rochefoucauld is there
occasionally, also Mme. de. La Fayette, Mme. de Sevigne, and the
young Mme. Scarron whose brilliant future is hardly yet in her
dreams. Among those less known today, but of note in their age,
were the Comtesse de la Suze, a favorite writer of elegies, who
changed her faith and became a Catholic, as she said, that she
"might not meet her husband in this world or the next;" the
versatile Mlle. Cheron who had some celebrity as a poet,
musician, and painter; Mlle. de la Vigne and Mme. Deshoulieres,
also poets; Mlle. Descartes, niece of the great philosopher; and,
at rare intervals, the clever Abbess de Rohan who tempered her
piety with a little sage worldliness. One of the most brilliant
lights in this galaxy of talent was Mme. Cornuel, whose bons mots
sparkle from so many pages in the chronicles of the period. A
woman of high bourgeois birth and of the best associations, she
had a swift vision, a penetrating sense, and a clear intellect
prompt to seize the heart of a situation. Mlle. De Scudery said
that she could paint a grand satire in four words. Mme. de
Sevigne found her admirable, and even the grave Pomponne begged
his friend not to forget to send him all her witticisms. Of the
agreeable but rather light Comtesse de Fiesque, she said: "What
preserves her beauty is that it is salted in folly." Of James II
of England, she remarked, "The Holy Spirit has eaten up his
understanding." The saying that the eight generals appointed at
the death of Turenne were "the small change for Turenne" has been
attributed to her. It is certainly not to a woman of such keen
insight and ready wit that one can attach any of the affectations
which later crept into the Samedis.
The poet Sarasin is the Voiture of this salon. Conrart, to whose
house may be traced the first meetings of the little circle of
lettered men which formed the nucleus of the Academie Francaise,
is its secretary; Pellisson, another of the founders and the
historian of the same learned body, is its chronicler. Chapelain
is quite at home here, and we find also numerous minor authors
and artists whose names have small significance today. The
Samedis follow closely in the footsteps of the Hotel de
Rambouillet. It is the aim there to speak simply and naturally
upon all subjects grave or gay, to preserve always the spirit of
delicacy and urbanity, and to avoid vulgar intrigues. There is a
superabundance of sentiment, some affectation, and plenty of
esprit.
They converse upon all the topics of the day, from fashion to
politics, from literature and the arts to the last item of
gossip. They read their works, talk about them, criticize them,
and vie with one another in improvising verses. Pellisson takes
notes and leaves us a multitude of madrigals, sonnets, chansons
and letters of varied merit. He says there reigned a sort of
epidemic of little poems. "The secret influence began to fall
with the dew. Here one recites four verses; there, one writes a
dozen. All this is done gaily and without effort. No one bites
his nails, or stops laughing and talking. There are challenges,
responses, repetitions, attacks, repartees. The pen passes from
hand to hand, and the hand does not keep pace with the mind. One
makes verses for every lady present." Many of these verses were
certainly not of the best quality, but it would be difficult, in
any age, to find a company of people clever enough to divert
themselves by throwing off such poetic trifles on the spur of the
moment.
In the end, the Samedis came to have something of the character
of a modern literary club, and were held at different houses.
The company was less choice, and the bourgeois coloring more
pronounced. These reunions very clearly illustrated the fact
that no society can sustain itself above the average of its
members. They increased in size, but decreased in quality, with
the inevitable result of affectation and pretension.
Intelligence, taste, and politeness were in fashion. Those who
did not possess them put on their semblance, and, affecting an
intellectual tone, fell into the pedantry which is sure to grow
out of the effort to speak above one's altitude. The fine-spun
theories of Mlle. de Scudery also reached a sentimental climax in
"Clelie," which did not fail of its effect. Platonic love and the
ton galant were the texts for innumerable follies which finally
reacted upon the Samedis. After a few years, they lost their
influence and were discontinued. But Mlle. de Scudery retained
the position which her brilliant gifts and literary fame had
given her, and was the center of a choice circle of friends until
a short time before her death at the ripe age of ninety-four.
Even Tallemant, writing of the decline of these reunions, says,
"Mlle. De Scudery is more considered than ever." At sixty-four
she received the first Prix D'Eloquence from the Academie
Francaise, for an essay on Glory. This prize was founded by
Balzac, and the subject was specified. Thus the long procession
of laureates was led by a woman.
In spite of her subtle analysis of love, and her exact map of the
Empire of Tenderness, the sentiment of the "Illustrious Sappho"
seems to have been rather ideal. She had numerous adorers, of
whom Conrart and Pellisson were among the most devoted. During
the long imprisonment of the latter for supposed complicity with
Fouquet, she was of great service to him, and the tender
friendship ended only with his life, upon which she wrote a
touching eulogy at its close. But she never married. She feared
to lose her liberty. "I know," she writes, "that there are many
estimable men who merit all my esteem and who can retain a part
of my friendship, but as soon as I regard them as husbands, I
regard them as masters, and so apt to become tyrants that I must
hate them from that moment; and I thank the gods for giving me an
inclination very much averse to marriage."
It was the misfortune of Mlle. de Scudery to outlive her literary
reputation. The interminable romances which had charmed the
eloquent Flechier, the Grand Conde in his cell at Vincennes, the
ascetic d'Andilly at Port Royal, as well as the dreaming maidens
who signed over their fanciful descriptions and impossible
adventures, passed their day. The touch of a merciless criticism
stripped them of their already fading glory. Their subtle
analysis and etherealized sentiment were declared antiquated, and
fashion ran after new literary idols. It was Boileau who gave
the severest blow. "This Despreaux," said Segrais, "knows how to
do nothing else but talk of himself and criticize others; why
speak ill of Mlle. de Scudery as he has done?"
There has been a disposition to credit the founder of the Samedis
with many of the affectations which brought such deserved
ridicule upon their bourgeois imitators, and to trace in her the
original of Moliere's "Madelon." But Cousin has relieved her of
such reproach, and does ample justice to the truth and sincerity
of her character, the purity of her manners, and the fine quality
of her intellect. He calls her "a sort of French sister of
Addison." Perhaps her resemblance to one of the clearest,
purest, and simplest of English essayists is not quite apparent
on the surface; but as a moralist and a delineator of manners she
may have done a similar work in her own way.
Sainte-Beuve, who has left so many vivid and exquisite portraits
of his countrywomen, does not paint Mlle. de Scudery with his
usual kindly touch. He admits her merit, her accomplishments,
her versatility, and the perfect innocence of her life; but he
finds her didactic, pedantic, and tiresome as a writer, and
without charm or grace as a woman. Doubtless one would find it
difficult to read her romances today. She lacks the genius which
has no age and belongs to all ages. Her literary life pertains
to the first half of the seventeenth century, when style had not
reached the Attic purity and elegance of a later period. She was
teacher rather than artist; but no one could be farther from a
bas bleu, or more severe upon pedantry or pretension of any sort.
She takes the point of view of her time, and dwells always upon
the wisdom of veiling the knowledge she claims for her sex behind
the purely feminine graces. How far she practiced her own
theories, we can know only from the testimony of her
contemporaries. It is not possible to perpetuate so indefinable
a thing as personal charm, but we are told repeatedly that she
had it in an eminent degree. It is certain that no woman without
beauty, fortune, or visible rank, living simply and depending
mainly upon her own talents, could have retained such powerful
and fastidious friends, during a long life, unless she had had
some rare attractions. That she was much loved, much praised,
and much sought, we have sufficient evidence among the writers of
her own time. She was familiarly spoken of as the tenth Muse,
and she counted among her personal friends the greatest men and
women of the century. Leibnitz sought her correspondence. The
Abbe de Pure, who was not friendly to the precieuses and made the
first severe attack upon them, thus writes of her: "One may call
Mlle. de Scudery the muse of our age and the prodigy of her sex.
It is not only her goodness and her sweetness, but her intellect
shines with so much modesty, her sentiments are expressed with so
much reserve, she speaks with so much discretion, and all that
she says is so fit and reasonable, that one cannot help both
admiring and loving her. Comparing what one sees of her, and
what one owes to her personally, with what she writes, one
prefers, without hesitation, her conversation to her works.
Although she has a wonderful mind, her heart outweighs it. It is
in the heart of this illustrious woman that one finds true and
pure generosity, an immovable constancy, a sincere and solid
friendship."
The loyalty of her character was conspicuously shown in her brave
devotion to the interests of the Conde family, through all the
reverses of the Fronde. In one of her darkest moments Mme. de
Longueville received the last volume of the "Grand Cyrus," which
was dedicated to her, and immediately sent her own portrait
encircled with diamonds, as the only thing she had left worthy of
this friend who, without sharing ardently her political
prejudices, had never deserted her waning fortunes. The same
rare quality was seen in her unwavering friendship for Fouquet,
during his long disgrace and imprisonment. Mme. de Sevigne,
whose satire was so pitiless toward affectation of any sort,
writes to her in terms of exaggerated tenderness.
"In a hundred thousand words, I could tell you but one truth,
which reduces itself to assuring you, Mademoiselle, that I shall
love you and adore you all my life; it is only this word that can
express the idea I have of your extraordinary merit. I am happy
to have some part in the friendship and esteem of such a person.
As constancy is a perfection, I say to myself that you will not
change for me; and I dare to pride myself that I shall never be
sufficiently abandoned of God not to be always yours . . . I
take to my son your conversations. I wish him to be charmed with
them, after being charmed myself."
Mlle. de Scudery is especially interesting to us as marking a
transition point in the history of women; as the author of the
first romances of any note written by her sex; as a moral teacher
in an age of laxity; and as a woman who combined high
aspirations, fine ideals, and versatile talents with a pure and
unselfish character. She aimed at universal accomplishments
from the distillation of a perfume to the writing of a novel,
from the preparation of a rare dish to fine conversation, from
playing the lute to the dissection of the human heart. In this
versatility she has been likened to Mme. de Genlis, whom she
resembled also in her moral teaching and her factitious
sensibility. She was, however, more genuine, more amiable, and
far superior in true elevation of character. She was full of
theories and loved to air them, hence the people who move across
the pages of her novels are often lost in a cloud of speculation.
But she gave a fresh impulse to literature, adding a fine quality
of grace, tenderness, and pure though often exaggerated
sentiment. Mme. de La Fayette, who had more clearness of mind as
well as a finer artistic sense, gave a better form to the novel
and pruned it of superfluous matter. The sentiment which casts
so soft and delicate a coloring over her romances was more subtle
and refined. It may be questioned, however, if she wrote so much
that has been incorporated in the thought of her time.
CHAPTER IV. LA GRANDE MADEMOISELLE
Her Character--Her Heroic Part in the Fronde--Her Exile--
Literary Diversions of her Salon--A Romantic Episode
There are certain women preeminently distinguished by diversity
of gifts, who fail to leave behind them a fame at all
commensurate with their promise. It may be from a lack of unity,
resulting from a series of fragmentary efforts, no one of which
is of surpassing excellence; it may be that the impression of
power they give is quite beyond any practical manifestation of
it; or it may be that talents in themselves remarkable are cast
into the shade by some exceptional brilliancy of position. The
success of life is measured by the harmony between its ideals and
its attainments. It is the symmetry of the temple that gives the
final word, not the breadth of its foundations nor the wealth of
its material.
It was this lack of harmony and fine proportion which marred the
career of a woman who played a very conspicuous part in the
social and political life of her time, and who belongs to my
subject only through a single phase of a stormy and eventful
history. No study of the salons would be complete without that
of the Grande Mademoiselle, but it was not as the leader of a
coterie that she held her special claim to recognition. By the
accident of birth she stood apart, subject to many limitations
that modified the character of her salon and narrowed its scope,
though they emphasized its influence. It was only an incident of
her life, but through the quality of its habitues and their
unique diversions it became the source of an important
literature.
Anne Marie Louise d'Orleans, Duchesse de Montpensier, has left a
very distinct record of herself in letters, romances, memoirs and
portraits, written out of an abounding fullness of nature, but
with infinite detail and royal contempt for precision and
orthography. She talks naively of her happy childhood, of her
small caprices, of the love of her grandmother, Marie de Medicis,
of her innocent impressions of the people about her. She dwells
with special pleasure upon a grand fete at the Palais Royal, in
which she posed as an incipient queen. She was then nineteen.
"They were three entire days in arranging my costume," she
writes. "My robe was covered with diamonds, and trimmed with
rose, black, and white tufts. I wore all the jewels of the crown
and of the Queen of England, who still had some left. No one
could be better or more magnificently attired than I was that
day, and many people said that my beautiful figure, my imposing
mien, my fair complexion, and the splendor of my blonde hair did
not adorn me less than all the riches which were upon my person."
She sat resplendent upon a raised dais, with the proud
consciousness of her right and power to grace a throne. Louis
XIV, than a child, and the Prince of Wales, afterwards Charles
II, were at her feet. The latter was a devoted suitor. "My
heart as well as my eyes regarded the prince de haut en bas," she
says. "I had the spirit to wed an emperor."
There were negotiations for her marriage with the Emperor of
Austria, and she thought it wise to adapt herself in advance to
his tastes. She had heard that he was religious, and immediately
began to play the part of a devote so seriously, that she was
seized with a violent desire to become a veritable religieuse and
enter the convent of the Carmelites. She could neither eat nor
sleep, and it was feared that she would fall dangerously ill. "I
can only say that, during those eight days, the empire was
nothing to me," she writes. But she confesses to a certain
feeling of vanity at her own spirit of self-sacrifice, and the
sensibility which made her weep at the thought of leaving those
she loved. This access of piety was of short duration, however,
as her father quickly put to flight all her exalted visions of a
cloister. Her dreams of an emperor for whom she lost a
prospective king were alike futile.
"She had beauty, talent, wealth, virtue, and a royal birth," says
Mme. de Motteville. "Her face was not without defects, and her
intellect was not one which always pleases. Her vivacity
deprived all her actions of the gravity necessary to people of
her rank, and her mind was too much carried away by her feelings.
As she was fair, had fine eyes, a pleasing mouth, was of good
height, and blonde, she had quite the air of a great beauty."
But it was beauty of a commanding sort, without delicacy, and
dependent largely upon the freshness of youth. The same
veracious writer says that "she spoiled all she went about by the
eagerness and impatience of her temper. She was always too hasty
and pushed things too far." What she may have lacked in grace
and charm, she made up by the splendors of rank and position.
A princess by birth, closely related to three kings, and glowing
with all the fiery instincts of her race, the Grand Mademoiselle
curiously blended the courage of an Amazon with the weakness of a
passionate and capricious woman. As she was born in 1627, the
most brilliant days of her youth were passed amid the excitements
of the Fronde. She casts a romantic light upon these trivial
wars, which were ended at last by her prompt decision and
masculine force. We see her at twenty-five, riding victoriously
into the city of Orleans at the head of her troops and, later,
ordering the cannon at the Bastile turned against the royal
forces, and opening the gates of Paris to the exhausted army of
Conde. This adventure gives us the key-note to her haughty and
imperious character. She would have posed well for the heroine
of a great drama; indeed, she posed all her life in real dramas.
At this time she had hopes of marrying the Prince de Conde, whom
she regarded as a hero worthy of her. His wife, an amiable woman
who was sent to a convent after her marriage to learn to read and
write, was dangerously ill, and her illustrious husband did not
scruple to make tacit arrangements to supply her place.
Unfortunately for these plans, and fortunately perhaps for a
certain interesting phase of literature, she recovered. Soon
afterwards, Mademoiselle found the reward of her heroic
adventures in a sudden exile to her estates at Saint Fargeau.
The country life, so foreign to her tastes, pressed upon her very
heavily at first, the more so as she was deserted by most of her
friends. "I received more compliments than visits," she writes.
"I had made everybody ill. All those who did not dare send me
word that they feared to embroil themselves with the court
pretended that some malady or accident had befallen them." By
degrees, however, she adapted herself to her situation, and in
her loneliness and disappointment betook herself to pursuits
which offered a strong contrast to the dazzling succession of
magnificent fetes and military episodes which had given variety
and excitement to her life at the Tuileries. When she grew tired
of her parrots, her dogs, her horses, her comedians and her
violin, she found solace in literature, beginning the "Memoirs,"
which were finished thirty years later, and writing romances,
after the manner of Mlle. de Scudery. The drift of the first
one, "Les Nouvelles Francaises et les Divertissements de la
Princesse Aurelie," is suggested by its title. It was woven from
the little stories or adventures which were told to amuse their
solitude by the small coterie of women who had followed the
clouded fortunes of Mademoiselle. A romance of more pretension
was the "Princesse de Paphlagonie," in which the writer pictures
her own little court, and introduces many of its members under
fictitious names. These romances have small interest for the
world today, but the exalted position of their author and their
personal character made them much talked of in their time.
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