Brilliant gos-
sip herself, she wrote enthusiastically to her friend Horace Walpole
of this unrivaled gossip of an earlier generation.
sip herself, she wrote enthusiastically to her friend Horace Walpole
of this unrivaled gossip of an earlier generation.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v22 - Sac to Sha
Above all, they succeeded in banishing the disorders
of the mind, which are so intolerable in solitude and under the
infirmities of a weakened frame. Madame de la Tour spoke
with such sublime confidence of the Divinity, that the sick, while
listening to her, believed that he was present. Virginia often
returned home with her eyes wet with tears, and her heart
overflowing with delight, at having had an opportunity of doing
good. After these visits of charity, they sometimes prolonged
their walk by the valley of the Sloping Mountain, till they
reached my dwelling, where I used to prepare dinner for them
upon the banks of the little river which glides near my cottage.
I procured for these occasions some bottles of old wine, in order
to heighten the gayety of our Indian repast by the more genial
productions of Europe. At other times we met upon the sea-
shore, at the mouth of other little rivers, which are here scarcely
larger than brooks. We brought from the plantation our vegeta-
ble provisions, to which we added such as the sea furnished in
great variety. We caught on these shores the mullet, the roach,
and the sea-urchin, lobsters, shrimps, crabs, oysters, and all other
kinds of shell-fish. In this way we often enjoyed the most tran-
quil pleasures in situations the most frightful. Sometimes, seated
upon a rock under the shade of the velvet sunflower-tree, we
saw the enormous waves of the Indian Ocean break beneath our
feet with a tremendous noise. Paul, who could swim like a fish,
would advance on the reefs to meet the coming billows; then,
at their near approach, would run back to the beach, closely
pursued by the foaming breakers, which threw themselves with
a roaring noise far on the sands. But Virginia at this sight
uttered piercing cries, and said that such sports frightened her
too much.
Our repasts were succeeded by the songs and dances of the
two young people. Virginia sang the happiness of pastoral life,
## p. 12700 (#114) ##########################################
12700
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
and the misery of those who were impelled by avarice to cross
the furious ocean, rather than cultivate the earth and enjoy its
peaceful bounties. Sometimes she performed a pantomime with
Paul, in the manner of the negroes. The first language of man
is pantomime; it is known to all nations, and is so natural and
so expressive that the children of the European inhabitants
catch it with facility from the negroes. Virginia, recalling from
among the histories which her mother had read to her those
which had affected her most, represented the principal events
in them with beautiful simplicity. Sometimes at the sound of
Domingo's tamtam she appeared upon the greensward, bearing a
pitcher upon her head, and advanced with a timid step toward
the source of a neighboring fountain to draw water. Domingo
and Mary, who personated the Shepherds of Midian, forbade her
to approach, and repulsed her sternly. Upon this Paul flew to
her succor, beat away the shepherds, filled Virginia's pitcher,
and placing it upon her head, bound her brows at the same time
with a wreath of the red flowers of the Madagascar periwinkle,
which served to heighten the delicacy of her complexion. Then,
joining their sports, I took upon me the part of Raguel, and
bestowed upon Paul my daughter Zephora in marriage.
Another time she represented Ruth, accompanying Naomi who
returns poor and widowed to her own country, where she finds
herself a stranger after her long absence. Domingo and Mary
personated the reapers. Virginia followed their steps, pretend-
ing to glean here and there a few ears of corn. She was inter-
rogated by Paul with the gravity of a patriarch, and answered
with a faltering voice his questions. Soon, touched with com-
passion, he granted an asylum to innocence and hospitality to
misfortune. He filled Virginia's lap with all kinds of food; and
leading her toward us as before the old men of the city, declared
his purpose to take her in marriage. At this scene, Madame de
la Tour, recalling her widowhood and the desolate situation in
which she had been left by her relations, succeeded by the kind
reception she had met with from Margaret, and now by the
soothing hope of a happy union between their children, could not
forbear weeping; and these mixed recollections of good and evil
caused us all to join in her tears of sorrow and of joy.
These dramas were performed with such an air of reality,
that you might have fancied yourself transported to the plains.
of Syria or of Palestine. We were not unfurnished with either
## p. 12701 (#115) ##########################################
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
12701
decorations, lights, or an orchestra, suitable to the representation.
The scene was generally placed in an opening of the forest,
where such parts of the wood as were penetrable formed around
us numerous arcades of foliage, beneath which we were shel-
tered from the heat during the whole day; but when the sun de-
scended toward the horizon, its rays, broken by the trunks of the
trees, diverged among the shadows of the forest in strong lines
of light, which produced the most sublime effect. Sometimes
the whole of its broad disk appeared at the end of an avenue,
spreading one dazzling mass of brightness. The foliage of the
trees, illuminated from beneath by its saffron beams, glowed
with the lustre of the topaz and the emerald. Their brown and
mossy trunks appeared changed into columns of antique bronze;
and the birds, which had retired in silence to their leafy shades
to pass the night, surprised to see the radiance of a second morn-
ing, hailed the star of day with innumerable carols.
Night soon overtook us during those rural entertainments;
but the purity of the air, and the mildness of the climate, ad-
mitted of our sleeping in the woods secure from the injuries of
the weather, and no less secure from the molestation of robbers.
At our return the following day to our respective habitations,
we found them exactly in the same state in which they had been
left. In this island, which then had no commerce, there was so
much simplicity and good faith that the doors of several houses
were without a key, and a lock was an object of curiosity to
many of the natives.
There were, however, some days in the year celebrated by
Paul and Virginia in a more peculiar manner; these were the
birthdays of their mothers. Virginia never failed the day before
to prepare some wheaten cakes, which she distributed among a
few poor white families born on the island, who had never eaten
European bread; and who, uncared for by the blacks, forced to
live in the woods on tapioca roots, had not for the sustaining of
their poverty either the stupidity which attends slavery or the
courage which springs from education. These cakes were all the
gifts that Virginia could offer to ease their condition; but she
gave them in so delicate a manner that they were worth vastly
more. In the first place Paul was commissioned to take the
cakes himself to these families, and get their promise to come
and spend the next day at Madame de la Tour's and Margaret's.
They might then be seen coming: a mother of a family, perhaps,
## p. 12702 (#116) ##########################################
12702
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
with two or three thin, yellow, miserable-looking daughters, so
timid that they dared not lift their eyes from the ground. Vir-
ginia soon put them at their ease. She brought them refresh-
ments, the excellence of which she endeavored to heighten by
relating some particular circumstance which in her own estimation
greatly improved them: this drink had been prepared by Mar-
garet; this other by her mother; her brother had himself picked
this fruit from the top of the tree. She would get Paul to dance
with them, nor would she leave them till she saw that they
were happy. She wished them to partake of the joy of her own
family. "We are happy," she would say, "only when we are
seeking the happiness of others. " When they left, she would
have them carry away some little thing that appeared to please
them; enforcing their acceptance of it by some delicate pretext,
that she might not appear to know that they were in want. If
she remarked that their clothes were much tattered, she obtained
her mother's permission to give them some of her own, and then
sent Paul to leave them secretly at their cottage doors. She fol-
lowed thus the example of God, concealing the benefactor and
revealing only the benefit.
You Europeans, whose minds are imbued from infancy with
prejudices at variance with happiness, cannot imagine all the
instruction and pleasure which Nature has to give. Your soul,
confined to a little round of human knowledge, soon reaches the
limit of its artificial enjoyment; but Nature and the heart are
inexhaustible.
Paul and Virginia had neither clock nor almanac, nor books
of chronology, history, or philosophy. The periods of their lives
were regulated by those of nature. They knew the hours of
the day by the shadows of the trees, the seasons by the times
when those trees bore flowers or fruit, and the years by the
number of their harvests. These soothing images diffused an in-
expressible charm over their conversation. "It is time to dine,"
Virginia would say to the family: "the shadows of the plantain-
trees are at their roots;" or, "Night approaches: the tamarinds
close their leaves. " "When will you come to see us? " some of
her companions in the neighborhood would inquire. "At the
time of the sugar-canes," Virginia would answer. "Your visit
will be then still more delightful," her young acquaintances
would reply. When she was asked what was her own age, and
that of Paul, "My brother," said she, "is as old as the great
## p. 12703 (#117) ##########################################
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
12703
cocoa-tree of the fountain; and I am as old as the little cocoa-
tree. The mangoes have borne fruit twelve times, and the
orange-trees have flowered four-and-twenty times, since I came.
into the world. " Their lives seemed linked to the trees like
those of fauns or dryads. They knew no other historic epochs
than that of the lives of their mothers, no other chronology than
that of their orchards, and no other philosophy than that of
doing good and resigning themselves to the will of God.
After all, what need had these young people of riches or
learning after our sort? Even their necessities and their ignor-
ance added to their happiness. No day passed in which they did
not do one another some service or give some knowledge; and
while there might be some errors in this last, yet man in a sim-
ple state has no dangerous ones to fear.
Thus grew those children of Nature. No care had troubled
their peace, no intemperance had corrupted their blood, no mis-
placed passion had depraved their hearts. Love, innocence, and
piety were each day unfolding the beauty of their souls, disclos-
ing matchless grace in their features, their attitudes, and their
motions. Still in the morning of life, they had all its blooming
freshness; and surely such in the garden of Eden appeared our
first parents, when, coming from the hands of God, they first
saw, approached, and conversed together, like brother and sister.
Virginia was gentle, modest, and confiding as Eve; and Paul,
like Adam, united the figure of manhood with the simplicity of
a child.
THE SHIPWRECK
From 'Paul and Virginia. Copyright 1867, by Hurd & Houghton
I
NDEED, everything presaged the near approach of the hurricane.
The clouds in the zenith were of a frightful blackness, and
their edges copper-colored. The air resounded with the cries
of the tropic birds,- frigate-birds, cutwaters, and a multitude of
other marine birds, which, notwithstanding the fogginess of the
atmosphere, came from all points of the horizon, seeking shelter
on the island.
About nine in the morning, we heard in the direction of the
ocean the most terrific noise, like the sound of thunder mingled
with that of torrents rushing down the steeps of lofty mountains.
## p. 12704 (#118) ##########################################
12704
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
Every one exclaimed, "There is the hurricane! " and in an in-
stant a furious gust of wind dispelled the fog which covered
the Isle of Amber and its channel. The Saint Géran was pre-
sented to our view,- her deck crowded with people, her yards.
and topmast lowered to the deck, her flag at half-mast; she was
moored by four cables at the bow and one at the stern, anchored
between the Isle of Amber and the mainland,-within that belt
of reefs which encircles the Isle of France, and which she had
passed through in a place where no vessel had ever passed be-
fore. She presented her front to the waves, which rolled in
from the open sea; and as each billow rushed into the narrow
strait, her prow was so lifted that the keel could be seen,— the
stern plunging into the sea, disappearing from view as if it were
swallowed by the surges. In this position, driven by the wind
and waves toward the land, it was equally impossible for her to
return through the passage by which she had entered, or by cut-
ting her cables to strand herself upon the beach, from which she
was separated by sand-banks and reefs of rock. Every billow
which broke upon the coast advanced roaring to the bottom of
the bay, throwing up the shingle to the distance of fifty feet
on the land; then rushing back, laid bare its sandy bed, rolling
down the stones with a harsh and frightful sound.
The sea,
swollen by the violence of the wind, rose higher every moment;
and the whole channel between this island and the Isle of
Amber was one vast sheet of white foam full of yawning black
depths. Heaps of this foam more than six feet high were piled
up at the lower part of the bay, and the wind which swept the
surface carried masses of it over the steep sea bank on to the
land to the distance of half a league. These innumerable white
flakes, driven horizontally even to the foot of the mountains,
looked like snow issuing from the bosom of the sea. The hori-
zon showed all the signs of a long tempest; the sky and the
water seemed blended together. Dense, horrifying clouds swept
across the zenith with the swiftness of birds, while others
seemed motionless as rocks. Not a spot of blue sky could be
seen in the whole firmament; a wan olive light alone made visi-
ble the earth, the sea, and the skies.
In the violent rolling of the vessel, what we all dreaded hap-
pened. The cables which held her bow broke; and then, held
only by a single hawser, she was dashed upon the rocks at half
a cable's length from the shore. One cry of horror burst from
## p. 12705 (#119) ##########################################
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
12705
«<
«<
us all. Paul rushed forward to throw himself into the sea, when
I seized him by the arm. "My son," said I,
would you per-
ish? " "Let me go to save her," cried he, or let me die! "
Seeing that despair had deprived him of reason, Domingo and I,
in order to preserve him, fastened a long cord around his waist
and held it fast by the end. Paul precipitated himself toward
the vessel, sometimes swimming, sometimes walking on the
rocks. Sometimes he had hopes of reaching it; for the sea, by
the reflux of its waves, left it at times almost dry, so that one
could walk around it; but immediately returning with renewed
fury, buried it beneath mountains of water, raising it again upon
its keel and throwing the unfortunate Paul far upon the shore,
his legs bleeding, his breast torn and wounded, and himself
half dead. When the youth had scarcely recovered the use of
his senses, he would arise and return with new ardor toward the
vessel, whose joints the sea was now opening by the terrible
blows of its waves.
The crew, despairing then of safety, precipitated themselves
in crowds into the sea upon yards, planks, hen-coops, tables, and
barrels. At this moment we saw an object worthy of infinite
pity: a young girl in the gallery of the stern of the Saint-Géran,
stretching out her arms toward him who made so many efforts
to join her. It was Virginia. She had recognized her lover by
his intrepidity. The sight of this lovely girl exposed to such
horrible danger filled us with grief and despair. As for Vir-
ginia, with a noble and dignified bearing, she waved her hand to
us as if bidding us an eternal adieu. All the sailors had thrown
themselves into the sea except one who remained upon the deck,
who was naked, and strong as Hercules. He approached Vir
ginia with respect; we saw him kneeling at her feet, and attempt
to force her to throw off her clothes; but she repulsed him with
dignity and turned away her head. Then were heard redoubled
cries from the spectators, "Save her! save her! do not leave
her! " But at that moment a mountain of water of frightful size
was compressed between the Isle of Amber and the coast, and
advanced roaring toward the vessel, which it menaced with its
black flanks and foaming summit. At this terrible sight the
sailor flung himself alone into the sea; and Virginia, seeing
death inevitable, with one hand held her robe about her, press-
ing the other upon her heart, and raising upward her serene
eyes, seemed an angel ready to take her flight to the skies.
XXII-795
## p. 12706 (#120) ##########################################
12706
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
Oh, day of horror! alas! all was engulfed. The wave threw
some of the spectators, whom an impulse of humanity had
prompted to advance toward Virginia, far up on the beach, as
well as the sailor who had wished to save her in swimming.
This man, who had escaped from almost certain death, kneeled
on the sand, saying, "O my God, thou hast saved my life, but
I would have given it gladly for that noble young lady. " Do-
mingo and I drew the unfortunate Paul from the waves sense-
less, the blood flowing from his mouth and ears. The governor
put him in the hands of the surgeons, while we searched along
the shore, hoping that the sea might have thrown up the body
of Virginia. But the wind having suddenly changed, as it often
does in hurricanes, we had the grief of feeling that we could
not even bestow upon the unfortunate girl the last rites of sep-
ulture. We retired from the spot, overwhelmed with consterna-
tion; our minds wholly occupied by a single loss, although in the
shipwreck so many had perished. Many went away doubting,
after witnessing such a terrible fate for this virtuous girl, whether
there was a Providence; for there are evils so terrible and un-
merited that even the faith of the wise is shaken.
In the mean time Paul, who had begun to return to conscious-
ness, had been carried into a neighboring house, till he was in
a fit state to be taken to his own home. Thither I bent my
way with Domingo, to prepare Virginia's mother and her friend.
for the disastrous event. When we were at the entrance of the
valley of the river of Fan Palms, some negroes informed us that
the sea had thrown many pieces of the wreck into the opposite
bay. We descended to it, and one of the first objects I saw
upon the beach was the body of Virginia; it was half covered.
with sand, and lay in the attitude in which we had seen her
perish. Her features were not changed; her eyes were closed,
but her brow still retained its expression of serenity, and on her
cheeks the livid hue of death blended with the blush of virgin
modesty. One hand still held her robe; and the other, which
was pressed upon her heart, was firmly closed and stiffened.
With difficulty I disengaged from its grasp a small case: how
great was my emotion when I saw that it was the picture of
St. Paul, which she had promised never to part with while she
lived. At the sight of this last evidence of the constancy and
love of the unfortunate girl I wept bitterly. As for Domingo,
he beat his breast and pierced the air with his cries of grief.
## p. 12707 (#121) ##########################################
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
12707
We carried the body of Virginia to a fisherman's hut, and gave
it in charge to some poor Malabar women to wash away the
sand.
While they were performing this sad office, we ascended the
hill with trembling steps to the plantation. We found Madame
de la Tour and Margaret in prayer, awaiting news from the ves-
sel. As soon as Madame de la Tour saw me, she cried, "Where
is my daughter-my dear daughter- my child? " My silence
and my tears leaving her no doubt as to her misfortune, she
was instantly seized with a convulsive stopping of the breath and
agonizing pain, and her voice was no longer heard but in sighs
and sobs. Margaret cried, "Where is my son? I do not see my
son! " and fainted. We ran to her assistance, and I assured her
that Paul was living, and cared for by the governor.
As soon
as she recovered consciousness, she devoted herself to the care
of her friend, who was roused from one fainting fit only to fall
into another. Madame de la Tour passed the whole night in the
most cruel sufferings, which caused me to feel that there is no
grief like a mother's grief. When she returned to consciousness
she turned a sad fixed look toward heaven. In vain her friend
and I pressed her hand in ours; in vain we called her by the
tenderest names. She appeared wholly insensible to these testi-
monials of our affection, and no sound issued from her oppressed
bosom but deep hollow moans.
In the morning Paul was brought home in a palanquin; he
had recovered the use of his reason, but was unable to utter a
word. His interview with his mother and Madame de la Tour,
which I had dreaded, produced a better effect than all my cares.
A ray of consolation appeared on the countenances of these two
unfortunate mothers. They pressed close to him, clasped him in
their arms, and kissed him; and their tears, which had been held
back by their excessive grief, began to flow. Paul mingled his
tears with theirs; and nature having thus found relief in these
three unfortunate creatures, a long stupor succeeded the convuls-
ive expression of their grief, and afforded them a lethargic re-
pose, resembling in truth that of death.
M. de la Bourdonnais sent privately to inform me that the
corpse of Virginia had been by his order carried to the town,
from whence it would be transferred to the church of Shaddock
Grove. I immediately went down to Port Louis, where I found
a multitude assembled from all parts of the island in order to
## p. 12708 (#122) ##########################################
12708
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
be present at the funeral, as if the island had lost in her that
which was most dear. The vessels in the harbor had their yards
crossed and their flags at half-mast, and they fired guns at short
intervals. A body of grenadiers led the funeral procession, with
their muskets reversed, and the drums covered with crape giving
only muffled, mournful sounds. Dejection was depicted on the
countenances of these warriors, who had so often faced death in
battle without a change of countenance. Eight young ladies of
the principal families of the island, dressed in white, carrying
palm branches in their hands, bore the body of their young com-
panion covered with flowers. They were followed by a choir of
children chanting hymns. After them came the governor, his
staff, and all the principal inhabitants of the island, and an im
mense crowd of people.
This was what had been ordered by the administration to do
honor to the virtues of Virginia. But when the corpse arrived
at the foot of this mountain, in sight of those cottages of which
she had been so long the joy, and that her death filled now with
despair, all the funeral pomp was interrupted; the hymns and
chants ceased, and nothing was heard throughout the plain but
sighs and sobs. Then many young girls from the neighboring
habitations were seen running to touch the coffin of Virginia
with handkerchiefs, chaplets, and crowns of flowers, invoking her
as a saint. Mothers asked of Heaven a daughter like Virginia;
lovers, a heart as faithful; the poor, a friend as tender; slaves,
a mistress as good.
## p. 12709 (#123) ##########################################
12709
DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON
(LOUIS DE ROUVROY)
(1675-1755)
s LOUIS XVIII. was leaving chapel one Sunday, he was stopped
by his favorite and efficient general, the Duke of Saint-
Simon, a descendant of the annalist.
«Sire,” he said, "I have a favor to ask of your Majesty. "
"M. de Saint-Simon, I know your recent and valuable services: you
may ask what you please. "
"Sire, it is a matter of grace to a prisoner in the Bastille. "
"You jest, I think, M. de Saint-Simon. "
"About the Bastille, yes, Sire; but not about the original manu-
scripts of the Duke de Saint-Simon seized in 1760, and your Majesty's
prisoners of State at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. "
"I know of them, M. de Saint-Simon, and you shall have these
manuscripts. I give you my word for it. "
This conversation occurred in 1819, when Louis de Rouvroy, the
famous Duke of Saint-Simon, had been dead for over sixty years.
His vast collection of memoirs,— which Sainte-Beuve says "forms the
greatest and most valuable body of memoirs existing up to the pres-
ent," which he had bequeathed by will explicitly to his cousin, the
Bishop of Metz, had been all that time in the hands of government
officials. A vigorous wrangle over their possession had followed the
duke's death in 1755, and for six years they were in the possession of
a notary. The Bishop of Metz died in 1760 without having obtained
them; and by most people they were forgotten and left unmolested
at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which was first in an obscure
upper room "almost under the roofs" of the old Louvre, and later
moved to different parts of the city.
The existence of this astonishing mass of historical material had
not been entirely ignored. Marmontel and Duclos obtained access to
it, and gleaned many extracts for their own histories. Voltaire had
read it, in part at least. Much of it had been read aloud to Madame
du Deffand, as she sat old and blind in her arm-chair.
Brilliant gos-
sip herself, she wrote enthusiastically to her friend Horace Walpole
of this unrivaled gossip of an earlier generation.
## p. 12710 (#124) ##########################################
12710
SAINT-SIMON
Even after receiving the King's authorization, General de Saint-
Simon had great difficulty in obtaining his ancestor's valuable papers;
and at first only four of the eleven portfolios comprising the memoirs
were grudgingly yielded to him. We know just how they looked,
those leather portfolios fourteen inches long by nine and a half
wide, with the Saint-Simon coat of arms in gilt on the outside. They
are still in existence, with their closely written folio pages headed
by the inscription in capitals, 'Mémoires de Saint-Simon. ' There was
no division into chapters or books, but the several thousand pages
form one continuous narrative.
A garbled three-volume edition of extracts had appeared in 1789;
but it was not until 1829 that a reliable edition, revised and arranged
in chapters, appeared in forty volumes. It created a stir. The critics
fell upon its erratic French, its solecisms, its unconscionable digres-
sions; but all readers admitted the charm of the vivid narrative and
keen description. "He wrote like the Devil for posterity," said Châ-
teaubriand. In various abridged and unabridged forms it has been
popular ever since, and widely read and quoted by the French na-
tion. No other work affords such a revelation of life at the court of
Louis XIV. , and during the succeeding regency. Macaulay found
material in it for more than one of his historical sketches.
Louis de Rouvroy, Vidame de la Ferté, and later Duke of Saint-
Simon and peer of France, was born in Paris, January 16th, 1675, of
an ancient family which claimed descent from Charlemagne. His
father, as a young page of Louis XIII. , had gained royal favor,
chiefly by adroitness in helping the King to change horses without
dismounting. The King enriched him, made him duke and peer, and
in return received his lifelong devotion. Louis, born when his father
was sixty-nine, the only child of a young second wife, had Louis XIII.
and Marie Thérèse as sponsors, and was early introduced to the court
where most of his life was passed. He tells us that he was not a
studious boy, but fond of history; and that if he had been allowed
to read all he wished of it, he might have made some figure in the
world. "
«<
At nineteen he entered a company of the musketeers, and served
honorably in several campaigns; witnessing the siege of Namur, and
active in the battle of Neerwinden. But with his lifelong propensity
to consider himself slighted, he resented his lack of advancement,
and retired from the army after five years. The jealous courtier
had a strongly domestic side, as is shown in his devotion to his
mother and in grateful tributes to his wife. His marriage in 1695
to a beautiful blonde, eldest daughter of the Marshal de Lorges, was
purely a marriage of convenance, but proved a delightful exception to
the usual family intrigues of the period. He soon grew to love his
## p. 12711 (#125) ##########################################
SAINT-SIMON
12711
―――
wife: "She exceeded all that was promised of her, and all that I
myself had hoped. "
He received Jesuit training in youth, and was always a strict
Catholic; retiring once a year to the monastery of La Trappe for a
period of prayer and meditation, and to confess and receive absolution
from his dear friend, the Abbé de La Trappe. Then feeling himself
morally purged for the time being, he returned to his usual life with
apparently never a thought of changing his conduct or avoiding the
faults he had just confessed. Like his fellow courtiers who could
quarrel over questions of precedence at the communion table, he
made no clear distinction as to the relative value of religious feeling
and religious observances.
He was primarily a courtier, and frankly self-seeking; but too
tactless to win royal favor. Louis XIV. never cordially liked him,
but he maintained a place at court chiefly through the friendship of
the princes. The early death of the dauphin- previously Duke of
Burgundy - he felt as most disastrous to his fortunes. But he allied
himself to the Duke of Orléans, and was of the council of the Re-
gency. He did his best to reform the profligate prince, and in return
was offered the position as governor of young Louis XV. , or that of
Guard of the Seals, both of which he refused. He had entered upon
public life very young, and most of his early associates who were
older died before him. So did his wife and eldest son. Left to him-
self, he fell into debt. Finally it was intimated to him that his pres-
ence was no longer desired at court; and he went away to spend his
remaining years either at his country seat, La Ferté, or at his hotel
in Paris, and to busy himself in revising his memoirs.
In writing these, Saint-Simon had found the greatest interest of his
life. He was only nineteen when, while serving upon one of his Ger-
man campaigns, he began the work that was to extend over nearly
thirty years, from 1694 to 1723. Memoirs had a peculiar fascina-
tion for him; and after reading those of Marshal de Bassompierre, he
decided to keep a close account of people and events. He was too
shrewd not to realize that no sincere expression would be possible if
his enterprise were known; so throughout his long life he accom-
plished his daily record in secret. He wrote for a posterity whom he
wished to have know the truth. Even Voltaire thought it unpatriotic
to dim the glory of Versailles by showing what was base in its royal
inmates. But Saint-Simon was no idealist. He considered himself a
philosopher, a statesman, a historian; but he hardly merits these
titles. Like La Bruyère, this "little duke with his cruel, piercing.
unsatisfied eyes," was pre-eminently a portrait painter. But La Bruy-
ère was not a nobleman, nor of the company he describes, but there
on sufferance as a retainer of the haughty Condés. Saint-Simon, on
## p. 12712 (#126) ##########################################
12712
SAINT-SIMON
the contrary, felt his noble birth as a fact of vital importance, for
which he must force recognition. The ruling thought of all his work
is this insistence upon precedence. All his life he labored to extend
the privileges of the peerage; and bitterly resented any social ad-
vance on the part of a bourgeois, as though with instinctive presenti-
ment of the change even then impending. Even talent, when of
humble origin, was contemptible in his eyes. Of Voltaire-whom he
calls Arouet - he says slightingly: "The son of a notary who was
my father's lawyer, and has been mine. " He was supremely happy
when he had brought about the Bed of Justice and effected the abase-
ment of the illegitimate princes. He had long hated them because
they took precedence of peers. To him the lower classes, the mass
of the nation, only existed as a pedestal for nobility, and he never
considers them as a factor in society.
What would they all have done, - selfish adulated Louis, dignified
Madame de Maintenon, hiding her resolute will under determined
tact, the hoydenish princesses, the toadying lords and ladies,—if they
had known of the presence of this "spy" upon their every gesture?
He cared little for nature. Even Lenôtre's beautifully convention-
alized gardens pleased him less than a salon. "I examined everybody
with my eyes and ears. ” He notes the courtly manners, the gor-
geous robes, the royal magnificence; and he also notes the underly-
ing treachery and corruption. "He is like those dogs, which, without
seeing him, scent and discover a robber hidden under a piece of
furniture," said Sainte-Beuve.
He excels in sketching individuals, and in communicating to us
their manner, appearance, personality. He can paint a great canvas
too, and show us the entire court gathered for a ball in the Salle
de Glaces, or about the bed of a dying prince. Instead of the flaw-
less, magnificent pageant others have shown as the court life of Louis
XIV. , he stamped verisimilitude upon his glittering yet grewsome
representations.
THE MARRIAGE
From the Memoirs >
Α"
LL this winter my mother was solely occupied in finding a
good match for me. Some attempt was made to marry me
to Mademoiselle de Royan. It would have been a noble
and rich marriage; but I was alone, Mademoiselle de Royan was
an orphan, and I wished a father-in-law and a family upon whom
I could lean. During the preceding year there had been some
## p. 12713 (#127) ##########################################
SAINT-SIMON
12713
talk of the eldest daughter of Maréchal de Lorges for me. The
affair had fallen through, almost as soon as suggested; and now,
on both sides, there was a desire to recommence negotiations.
The probity, the integrity, the freedom of Maréchal de Lorges
pleased me infinitely, and everything tended to give me an
extreme desire for this marriage. Madame de Lorges by her
virtue and good sense was all I could wish for as the mother
of my future wife. Mademoiselle de Lorges was a blonde, with
complexion and figure perfect, a very amiable face, an extremely
noble and modest deportment, and with I know not what of
majesty derived from her air of virtue and of natural gentleness.
The Maréchal had five other daughters; but I liked this one best.
beyond comparison, and hoped to find with her that happiness
which she since has given me. As she has become my wife, I
will abstain here from saying more about her, unless it be that
she has exceeded all that was promised of her, and all that I
myself had hoped.
My marriage being agreed upon and arranged, the Maréchal
de Lorges spoke of it to the King, who had the goodness to
reply to him that he could not do better, and to speak of me
very obligingly. The marriage accordingly took place at the
Hôtel de Lorges, on the 8th of April, 1695; which I have always
regarded, and with good reason, as the happiest day of my life.
My mother treated me like the best mother in the world. On
the Thursday before Quasimodo the contract was signed; a grand
repast followed; at midnight the curé of St. Roch said mass,
and married us in the chapel of the house. On the eve, my
mother had sent forty thousand livres' worth of precious stones
to Mademoiselle de Lorges, and I six hundred louis in a corbeille
filled with all the knick-knacks that are given on these occasions.
We slept in the grand apartment of the Hôtel de Lorges.
On the morrow, after dinner, my wife went to bed, and received
a crowd of visitors, who came to pay their respects and to grat-
ify their curiosity. The next evening we went to Versailles,
and were received by Madame de Maintenon and the King. On
arriving at the supper-table, the King said to the new duchess,
"Madame, will you be pleased to seat yourself? "
His napkin being unfolded, he saw all the duchesses and
princesses still standing: and rising in his chair, he said to
Madame de Saint-Simon, "Madame, I have already begged you
to be seated;" and all immediately seated themselves. On the
## p. 12714 (#128) ##########################################
SAINT-SIMON
12714
morrow, Madame de Saint-Simon received all the court in her
bed, in the apartment of the Duchesse d'Arpajon, as being
more handy, being on the ground floor. Our festivities were fin-
ished by a supper that I gave to the former friends of my father,
whose acquaintance I had always cultivated with great care.
THE PORTRAIT
From the Memoirs >
I
HAD, as I have already mentioned, conceived a strong attach-
ment and admiration for M. de La Trappe. I wished to
secure a portrait of him; but such was his modesty and humil-
ity that I feared to ask him to allow himself to be painted.
I went therefore to Rigault, then the first portrait-painter in
Europe. In consideration of a sum of a thousand crowns, and
all his expenses paid, he agreed to accompany me to La Trappe,
and to make a portrait of him from memory. The whole affair
was to be kept a profound secret; and only one copy of the pict-
ure was to be made, and that for the artist himself.
-
My plan being fully arranged, I and Rigault set out. As soon
as we arrived at our journey's end, I sought M. de La Trappe,
and begged to be allowed to introduce to him a friend of mine,
an officer, who much wished to see him. I added that my
friend was a stammerer, and that therefore he would be impor-
tuned merely with looks and not words. M. de La Trappe smiled
with goodness, thought the officer curious about little, and con-
sented to see him. The interview took place. Rigault, excusing
himself on the ground of his infirmity, did little during three-
quarters of an hour but keep his eyes upon M. de La Trappe;
and at the end went into a room where materials were already
provided for him, and covered his canvas with the images and
the ideas he had filled himself with. On the morrow the same
thing was repeated; although M. de La Trappe, thinking that a
man whom he knew not, and who could take no part in conver-
sation, had sufficiently seen him, agreed to the interview only out
of complaisance to me. Another sitting was needed in order to
finish the work; but it was with great difficulty M. de La Trappe
could be persuaded to consent to it. When the third and last
interview was at an end, M. de La Trappe testified to me his
## p. 12715 (#129) ##########################################
SAINT-SIMON
12715
surprise at having been so much and so long looked at by a
species of mute. I made the best excuse I could, and hastened
to turn the conversation.
The portrait was at length finished, and was a most perfect
likeness of my venerable friend. Rigault admitted to me that
he had worked so hard to produce it from memory, that for sev-
eral months afterwards he had been unable to do anything to
his other portraits. Notwithstanding the thousand crowns I had
paid him, he broke the engagement he had made by showing the
portrait before giving it up to me. Then, solicited for copies, he
made several; gaining thereby, according to his own admission,
more than twenty-five thousand francs: and thus gave publicity
to the affair.
I was very much annoyed at this, and with the noise it made
in the world; and I wrote to M. de La Trappe, relating the
deception I had practiced upon him, and sued for pardon. He
was pained to excess, hurt, and afflicted; nevertheless he showed
no anger. He wrote in return to me, and said I was not ignor-
ant that a Roman Emperor had said, "I love treason but not
traitors;" but that as for himself, he felt on the contrary that
he loved the traitor but could only hate his treason. I made
presents of three copies of the picture to the monastery of La
Trappe. On the back of the original I described the circum-
stance under which the portrait had been taken, in order to show
that M. de La Trappe had not consented to it; and I pointed out
that for some years he had been unable to use his right hand,
to acknowledge thus the error which had been made in repre-
senting him as writing.
MADAME DE MAINTENON AT THE REVIEW
From the Memoirs'
HE King wished to show the court all the manœuvres of war;
the siege of Compiègne was therefore undertaken, according
to due form, with lines, trenches, batteries, mines, etc. On
Saturday, the 13th of September, the assault took place. To wit-
ness it, the King, Madame de Maintenon, all the ladies of the
court, and a number of gentlemen, stationed themselves upon an
old rampart, from which the plain and all the disposition of the
## p. 12716 (#130) ##########################################
12716
SAINT-SIMON
troops could be seen. I was in the half-circle very close to the
King. It was the most beautiful sight that can be imagined, to
see all that army, and the prodigious number of spectators on
horse and foot, and that game of attack and defense so cleverly
conducted.
- was
But a spectacle of another sort-that I could paint forty
years hence as well as to-day, so strongly did it strike me
that which from the summit of this rampart the King gave to all
his army, and to the innumerable crowd of spectators of all kinds
in the plain below. Madame de Maintenon faced the plain and
the troops in her sedan chair, alone, between its three windows
drawn up; her porters having retired to a distance. On the left
pole in front sat Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne; and on the
same side, in a semicircle, standing, were Madame la Duchesse,
Madame la Princesse de Conti, and all the ladies, and behind
them again, many men. At the right window was the King,
standing, and a little in the rear a semicircle of the most distin-
guished men of the court. The King was nearly always uncov-
ered; and every now and then stooped to speak to Madame de
Maintenon, and explain to her what she saw, and the reason of
each movement. Each time that he did so she was obliging
enough to open the window four or five inches, but never half-
way; for I noticed particularly, and I admit that I was more.
attentive to this spectacle than to that of the troops. Sometimes
she opened of her own accord to ask some question of him: but
generally it was he who without waiting for her, stooped down
to instruct her of what was passing; and sometimes, if she did
not notice him, he tapped at the glass to make her open it. He
never spoke save to her, except when he gave a few brief orders,
or just answered Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne, who wanted
to make him speak, and with whom Madame de Maintenon car-
ried on a conversation by signs, without opening the front win-
dow, through which the young princess screamed to her from.
time to time. I watched the countenance of every one carefully:
all expressed surprise, tempered with prudence, and shame that
was, as it were, ashamed of itself; every one behind the chair
and in the semicircle watched this scene more than what was
going on in the army. The King often put his hat on the top
of the chair in order to get his head in to speak; and this con-
tinual exercise tired his loins very much. Monseigneur was on
## p. 12717 (#131) ##########################################
SAINT-SIMON
12717
horseback in the plain with the young princes. It was about
five o'clock in the afternoon, and the weather was as brilliant as
could be desired.
Opposite the sedan chair was an opening with some steps cut
through the wall, and communicating with the plain below.
It
had been made for the purpose of fetching orders from the King,
should they be necessary. The case happened. Crenan, who
commanded, sent Conillac, an officer in one of the defending
regiments, to ask for some instructions from the King. Conillac
had been stationed at the foot of the rampart, where what was
passing above could not be seen. He mounted the steps; and as
soon as his head and shoulders were at the top, caught sight of
the chair, the King, and all the assembled company. He was not
prepared for such a scene; and it struck him with such astonish-
ment that he stopped short, with mouth and eyes wide open,—
surprise painted upon every feature. I see him now as distinctly.
as I did then. The King, as well as the rest of the company,
remarked the agitation of Conillac, and said to him with emotion,
"Well, Conillac! come up. " Conillac remained motionless, and the
What is the matter? >>
King continued, "Come up.
Conillac,
thus addressed, finished his. ascent, and came towards the King
with slow and trembling steps, rolling his eyes from right to left
like one deranged. Then he stammered something, but in a tone
so low that it could not be heard. "What do you say? " cried
the King. "Speak up. " But Conillac was unable; and the King,
finding he could get nothing out of him, told him to go away.
He did not need to be told twice, but disappeared at once. As
soon as he was gone, the King looking round said, "I don't know
what is the matter with Conillac. He has lost his wits: he did
not remember what he had to say to me. " No one answered.
Towards the moment of the capitulation, Madame de Main-
tenon apparently asked permission to go away; for the King
cried, "The chairmen of Madame! " They came and took her
away; in less than a quarter of an hour afterwards the King
retired also, and nearly everybody else. There was much inter-
change of glances, nudging with elbows, and then whisperings in
the ear. Everybody was full of what had taken place on the
ramparts between the King and Madame de Maintenon. Even
the soldiers asked what meant that sedan chair, and the King
every moment stooping to put his head inside of it. It became
necessary gently to silence these questions of the troops. What
## p. 12718 (#132) ##########################################
12718
SAINT-SIMON
effect this sight had upon foreigners present, and what they said
of it, may be imagined. All over Europe it was as much talked
of as the camp of Compiègne itself, with all its pomp and pro-
digious splendor.
A PARAGON OF POLITENESS
From the 'Memoirs>
HE Duc de Coislin died about this time. I have related in its
proper place an adventure that happened to him and his
brother, the Chevalier de Coislin: now I will say something
more of the duke. He was a very little man, of much humor
and virtue, but of a politeness that was unendurable, and that
passed all bounds, though not incompatible with dignity. He had
been lieutenant-general in the army. Upon one occasion, after
a battle in which he had taken part, one of the Rhingraves who
had been made prisoner fell to his lot. The Duc de Coislin
wished to give up to the other his bed, which consisted indeed
of but a mattress. They complimented each other so much, the
one pressing, the other refusing, that in the end they both slept
on the ground, leaving the mattress between them. The Rhin-
grave in due time came to Paris and called on the Duc de
Coislin. When he was going, there was such a profusion of
compliments, and the duke insisted so much on seeing him out,
that the Rhingrave, as a last resource, ran out of the room and
double-locked the door outside. M. de Coislin was not thus to
be outdone. His apartments were only a few feet above the
ground. He opened the window accordingly, leaped out into the
court, and arrived thus at the entrance door before the Rhin-
grave, who thought the Devil must have carried him there. The
Duc de Coislin, however, had managed to put his thumb out
of joint by this leap. He called in Félix, chief surgeon of the
King, who soon put the thumb to rights. Soon afterwards Félix
made a call upon M.
of the mind, which are so intolerable in solitude and under the
infirmities of a weakened frame. Madame de la Tour spoke
with such sublime confidence of the Divinity, that the sick, while
listening to her, believed that he was present. Virginia often
returned home with her eyes wet with tears, and her heart
overflowing with delight, at having had an opportunity of doing
good. After these visits of charity, they sometimes prolonged
their walk by the valley of the Sloping Mountain, till they
reached my dwelling, where I used to prepare dinner for them
upon the banks of the little river which glides near my cottage.
I procured for these occasions some bottles of old wine, in order
to heighten the gayety of our Indian repast by the more genial
productions of Europe. At other times we met upon the sea-
shore, at the mouth of other little rivers, which are here scarcely
larger than brooks. We brought from the plantation our vegeta-
ble provisions, to which we added such as the sea furnished in
great variety. We caught on these shores the mullet, the roach,
and the sea-urchin, lobsters, shrimps, crabs, oysters, and all other
kinds of shell-fish. In this way we often enjoyed the most tran-
quil pleasures in situations the most frightful. Sometimes, seated
upon a rock under the shade of the velvet sunflower-tree, we
saw the enormous waves of the Indian Ocean break beneath our
feet with a tremendous noise. Paul, who could swim like a fish,
would advance on the reefs to meet the coming billows; then,
at their near approach, would run back to the beach, closely
pursued by the foaming breakers, which threw themselves with
a roaring noise far on the sands. But Virginia at this sight
uttered piercing cries, and said that such sports frightened her
too much.
Our repasts were succeeded by the songs and dances of the
two young people. Virginia sang the happiness of pastoral life,
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12700
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
and the misery of those who were impelled by avarice to cross
the furious ocean, rather than cultivate the earth and enjoy its
peaceful bounties. Sometimes she performed a pantomime with
Paul, in the manner of the negroes. The first language of man
is pantomime; it is known to all nations, and is so natural and
so expressive that the children of the European inhabitants
catch it with facility from the negroes. Virginia, recalling from
among the histories which her mother had read to her those
which had affected her most, represented the principal events
in them with beautiful simplicity. Sometimes at the sound of
Domingo's tamtam she appeared upon the greensward, bearing a
pitcher upon her head, and advanced with a timid step toward
the source of a neighboring fountain to draw water. Domingo
and Mary, who personated the Shepherds of Midian, forbade her
to approach, and repulsed her sternly. Upon this Paul flew to
her succor, beat away the shepherds, filled Virginia's pitcher,
and placing it upon her head, bound her brows at the same time
with a wreath of the red flowers of the Madagascar periwinkle,
which served to heighten the delicacy of her complexion. Then,
joining their sports, I took upon me the part of Raguel, and
bestowed upon Paul my daughter Zephora in marriage.
Another time she represented Ruth, accompanying Naomi who
returns poor and widowed to her own country, where she finds
herself a stranger after her long absence. Domingo and Mary
personated the reapers. Virginia followed their steps, pretend-
ing to glean here and there a few ears of corn. She was inter-
rogated by Paul with the gravity of a patriarch, and answered
with a faltering voice his questions. Soon, touched with com-
passion, he granted an asylum to innocence and hospitality to
misfortune. He filled Virginia's lap with all kinds of food; and
leading her toward us as before the old men of the city, declared
his purpose to take her in marriage. At this scene, Madame de
la Tour, recalling her widowhood and the desolate situation in
which she had been left by her relations, succeeded by the kind
reception she had met with from Margaret, and now by the
soothing hope of a happy union between their children, could not
forbear weeping; and these mixed recollections of good and evil
caused us all to join in her tears of sorrow and of joy.
These dramas were performed with such an air of reality,
that you might have fancied yourself transported to the plains.
of Syria or of Palestine. We were not unfurnished with either
## p. 12701 (#115) ##########################################
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
12701
decorations, lights, or an orchestra, suitable to the representation.
The scene was generally placed in an opening of the forest,
where such parts of the wood as were penetrable formed around
us numerous arcades of foliage, beneath which we were shel-
tered from the heat during the whole day; but when the sun de-
scended toward the horizon, its rays, broken by the trunks of the
trees, diverged among the shadows of the forest in strong lines
of light, which produced the most sublime effect. Sometimes
the whole of its broad disk appeared at the end of an avenue,
spreading one dazzling mass of brightness. The foliage of the
trees, illuminated from beneath by its saffron beams, glowed
with the lustre of the topaz and the emerald. Their brown and
mossy trunks appeared changed into columns of antique bronze;
and the birds, which had retired in silence to their leafy shades
to pass the night, surprised to see the radiance of a second morn-
ing, hailed the star of day with innumerable carols.
Night soon overtook us during those rural entertainments;
but the purity of the air, and the mildness of the climate, ad-
mitted of our sleeping in the woods secure from the injuries of
the weather, and no less secure from the molestation of robbers.
At our return the following day to our respective habitations,
we found them exactly in the same state in which they had been
left. In this island, which then had no commerce, there was so
much simplicity and good faith that the doors of several houses
were without a key, and a lock was an object of curiosity to
many of the natives.
There were, however, some days in the year celebrated by
Paul and Virginia in a more peculiar manner; these were the
birthdays of their mothers. Virginia never failed the day before
to prepare some wheaten cakes, which she distributed among a
few poor white families born on the island, who had never eaten
European bread; and who, uncared for by the blacks, forced to
live in the woods on tapioca roots, had not for the sustaining of
their poverty either the stupidity which attends slavery or the
courage which springs from education. These cakes were all the
gifts that Virginia could offer to ease their condition; but she
gave them in so delicate a manner that they were worth vastly
more. In the first place Paul was commissioned to take the
cakes himself to these families, and get their promise to come
and spend the next day at Madame de la Tour's and Margaret's.
They might then be seen coming: a mother of a family, perhaps,
## p. 12702 (#116) ##########################################
12702
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
with two or three thin, yellow, miserable-looking daughters, so
timid that they dared not lift their eyes from the ground. Vir-
ginia soon put them at their ease. She brought them refresh-
ments, the excellence of which she endeavored to heighten by
relating some particular circumstance which in her own estimation
greatly improved them: this drink had been prepared by Mar-
garet; this other by her mother; her brother had himself picked
this fruit from the top of the tree. She would get Paul to dance
with them, nor would she leave them till she saw that they
were happy. She wished them to partake of the joy of her own
family. "We are happy," she would say, "only when we are
seeking the happiness of others. " When they left, she would
have them carry away some little thing that appeared to please
them; enforcing their acceptance of it by some delicate pretext,
that she might not appear to know that they were in want. If
she remarked that their clothes were much tattered, she obtained
her mother's permission to give them some of her own, and then
sent Paul to leave them secretly at their cottage doors. She fol-
lowed thus the example of God, concealing the benefactor and
revealing only the benefit.
You Europeans, whose minds are imbued from infancy with
prejudices at variance with happiness, cannot imagine all the
instruction and pleasure which Nature has to give. Your soul,
confined to a little round of human knowledge, soon reaches the
limit of its artificial enjoyment; but Nature and the heart are
inexhaustible.
Paul and Virginia had neither clock nor almanac, nor books
of chronology, history, or philosophy. The periods of their lives
were regulated by those of nature. They knew the hours of
the day by the shadows of the trees, the seasons by the times
when those trees bore flowers or fruit, and the years by the
number of their harvests. These soothing images diffused an in-
expressible charm over their conversation. "It is time to dine,"
Virginia would say to the family: "the shadows of the plantain-
trees are at their roots;" or, "Night approaches: the tamarinds
close their leaves. " "When will you come to see us? " some of
her companions in the neighborhood would inquire. "At the
time of the sugar-canes," Virginia would answer. "Your visit
will be then still more delightful," her young acquaintances
would reply. When she was asked what was her own age, and
that of Paul, "My brother," said she, "is as old as the great
## p. 12703 (#117) ##########################################
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
12703
cocoa-tree of the fountain; and I am as old as the little cocoa-
tree. The mangoes have borne fruit twelve times, and the
orange-trees have flowered four-and-twenty times, since I came.
into the world. " Their lives seemed linked to the trees like
those of fauns or dryads. They knew no other historic epochs
than that of the lives of their mothers, no other chronology than
that of their orchards, and no other philosophy than that of
doing good and resigning themselves to the will of God.
After all, what need had these young people of riches or
learning after our sort? Even their necessities and their ignor-
ance added to their happiness. No day passed in which they did
not do one another some service or give some knowledge; and
while there might be some errors in this last, yet man in a sim-
ple state has no dangerous ones to fear.
Thus grew those children of Nature. No care had troubled
their peace, no intemperance had corrupted their blood, no mis-
placed passion had depraved their hearts. Love, innocence, and
piety were each day unfolding the beauty of their souls, disclos-
ing matchless grace in their features, their attitudes, and their
motions. Still in the morning of life, they had all its blooming
freshness; and surely such in the garden of Eden appeared our
first parents, when, coming from the hands of God, they first
saw, approached, and conversed together, like brother and sister.
Virginia was gentle, modest, and confiding as Eve; and Paul,
like Adam, united the figure of manhood with the simplicity of
a child.
THE SHIPWRECK
From 'Paul and Virginia. Copyright 1867, by Hurd & Houghton
I
NDEED, everything presaged the near approach of the hurricane.
The clouds in the zenith were of a frightful blackness, and
their edges copper-colored. The air resounded with the cries
of the tropic birds,- frigate-birds, cutwaters, and a multitude of
other marine birds, which, notwithstanding the fogginess of the
atmosphere, came from all points of the horizon, seeking shelter
on the island.
About nine in the morning, we heard in the direction of the
ocean the most terrific noise, like the sound of thunder mingled
with that of torrents rushing down the steeps of lofty mountains.
## p. 12704 (#118) ##########################################
12704
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
Every one exclaimed, "There is the hurricane! " and in an in-
stant a furious gust of wind dispelled the fog which covered
the Isle of Amber and its channel. The Saint Géran was pre-
sented to our view,- her deck crowded with people, her yards.
and topmast lowered to the deck, her flag at half-mast; she was
moored by four cables at the bow and one at the stern, anchored
between the Isle of Amber and the mainland,-within that belt
of reefs which encircles the Isle of France, and which she had
passed through in a place where no vessel had ever passed be-
fore. She presented her front to the waves, which rolled in
from the open sea; and as each billow rushed into the narrow
strait, her prow was so lifted that the keel could be seen,— the
stern plunging into the sea, disappearing from view as if it were
swallowed by the surges. In this position, driven by the wind
and waves toward the land, it was equally impossible for her to
return through the passage by which she had entered, or by cut-
ting her cables to strand herself upon the beach, from which she
was separated by sand-banks and reefs of rock. Every billow
which broke upon the coast advanced roaring to the bottom of
the bay, throwing up the shingle to the distance of fifty feet
on the land; then rushing back, laid bare its sandy bed, rolling
down the stones with a harsh and frightful sound.
The sea,
swollen by the violence of the wind, rose higher every moment;
and the whole channel between this island and the Isle of
Amber was one vast sheet of white foam full of yawning black
depths. Heaps of this foam more than six feet high were piled
up at the lower part of the bay, and the wind which swept the
surface carried masses of it over the steep sea bank on to the
land to the distance of half a league. These innumerable white
flakes, driven horizontally even to the foot of the mountains,
looked like snow issuing from the bosom of the sea. The hori-
zon showed all the signs of a long tempest; the sky and the
water seemed blended together. Dense, horrifying clouds swept
across the zenith with the swiftness of birds, while others
seemed motionless as rocks. Not a spot of blue sky could be
seen in the whole firmament; a wan olive light alone made visi-
ble the earth, the sea, and the skies.
In the violent rolling of the vessel, what we all dreaded hap-
pened. The cables which held her bow broke; and then, held
only by a single hawser, she was dashed upon the rocks at half
a cable's length from the shore. One cry of horror burst from
## p. 12705 (#119) ##########################################
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
12705
«<
«<
us all. Paul rushed forward to throw himself into the sea, when
I seized him by the arm. "My son," said I,
would you per-
ish? " "Let me go to save her," cried he, or let me die! "
Seeing that despair had deprived him of reason, Domingo and I,
in order to preserve him, fastened a long cord around his waist
and held it fast by the end. Paul precipitated himself toward
the vessel, sometimes swimming, sometimes walking on the
rocks. Sometimes he had hopes of reaching it; for the sea, by
the reflux of its waves, left it at times almost dry, so that one
could walk around it; but immediately returning with renewed
fury, buried it beneath mountains of water, raising it again upon
its keel and throwing the unfortunate Paul far upon the shore,
his legs bleeding, his breast torn and wounded, and himself
half dead. When the youth had scarcely recovered the use of
his senses, he would arise and return with new ardor toward the
vessel, whose joints the sea was now opening by the terrible
blows of its waves.
The crew, despairing then of safety, precipitated themselves
in crowds into the sea upon yards, planks, hen-coops, tables, and
barrels. At this moment we saw an object worthy of infinite
pity: a young girl in the gallery of the stern of the Saint-Géran,
stretching out her arms toward him who made so many efforts
to join her. It was Virginia. She had recognized her lover by
his intrepidity. The sight of this lovely girl exposed to such
horrible danger filled us with grief and despair. As for Vir-
ginia, with a noble and dignified bearing, she waved her hand to
us as if bidding us an eternal adieu. All the sailors had thrown
themselves into the sea except one who remained upon the deck,
who was naked, and strong as Hercules. He approached Vir
ginia with respect; we saw him kneeling at her feet, and attempt
to force her to throw off her clothes; but she repulsed him with
dignity and turned away her head. Then were heard redoubled
cries from the spectators, "Save her! save her! do not leave
her! " But at that moment a mountain of water of frightful size
was compressed between the Isle of Amber and the coast, and
advanced roaring toward the vessel, which it menaced with its
black flanks and foaming summit. At this terrible sight the
sailor flung himself alone into the sea; and Virginia, seeing
death inevitable, with one hand held her robe about her, press-
ing the other upon her heart, and raising upward her serene
eyes, seemed an angel ready to take her flight to the skies.
XXII-795
## p. 12706 (#120) ##########################################
12706
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
Oh, day of horror! alas! all was engulfed. The wave threw
some of the spectators, whom an impulse of humanity had
prompted to advance toward Virginia, far up on the beach, as
well as the sailor who had wished to save her in swimming.
This man, who had escaped from almost certain death, kneeled
on the sand, saying, "O my God, thou hast saved my life, but
I would have given it gladly for that noble young lady. " Do-
mingo and I drew the unfortunate Paul from the waves sense-
less, the blood flowing from his mouth and ears. The governor
put him in the hands of the surgeons, while we searched along
the shore, hoping that the sea might have thrown up the body
of Virginia. But the wind having suddenly changed, as it often
does in hurricanes, we had the grief of feeling that we could
not even bestow upon the unfortunate girl the last rites of sep-
ulture. We retired from the spot, overwhelmed with consterna-
tion; our minds wholly occupied by a single loss, although in the
shipwreck so many had perished. Many went away doubting,
after witnessing such a terrible fate for this virtuous girl, whether
there was a Providence; for there are evils so terrible and un-
merited that even the faith of the wise is shaken.
In the mean time Paul, who had begun to return to conscious-
ness, had been carried into a neighboring house, till he was in
a fit state to be taken to his own home. Thither I bent my
way with Domingo, to prepare Virginia's mother and her friend.
for the disastrous event. When we were at the entrance of the
valley of the river of Fan Palms, some negroes informed us that
the sea had thrown many pieces of the wreck into the opposite
bay. We descended to it, and one of the first objects I saw
upon the beach was the body of Virginia; it was half covered.
with sand, and lay in the attitude in which we had seen her
perish. Her features were not changed; her eyes were closed,
but her brow still retained its expression of serenity, and on her
cheeks the livid hue of death blended with the blush of virgin
modesty. One hand still held her robe; and the other, which
was pressed upon her heart, was firmly closed and stiffened.
With difficulty I disengaged from its grasp a small case: how
great was my emotion when I saw that it was the picture of
St. Paul, which she had promised never to part with while she
lived. At the sight of this last evidence of the constancy and
love of the unfortunate girl I wept bitterly. As for Domingo,
he beat his breast and pierced the air with his cries of grief.
## p. 12707 (#121) ##########################################
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
12707
We carried the body of Virginia to a fisherman's hut, and gave
it in charge to some poor Malabar women to wash away the
sand.
While they were performing this sad office, we ascended the
hill with trembling steps to the plantation. We found Madame
de la Tour and Margaret in prayer, awaiting news from the ves-
sel. As soon as Madame de la Tour saw me, she cried, "Where
is my daughter-my dear daughter- my child? " My silence
and my tears leaving her no doubt as to her misfortune, she
was instantly seized with a convulsive stopping of the breath and
agonizing pain, and her voice was no longer heard but in sighs
and sobs. Margaret cried, "Where is my son? I do not see my
son! " and fainted. We ran to her assistance, and I assured her
that Paul was living, and cared for by the governor.
As soon
as she recovered consciousness, she devoted herself to the care
of her friend, who was roused from one fainting fit only to fall
into another. Madame de la Tour passed the whole night in the
most cruel sufferings, which caused me to feel that there is no
grief like a mother's grief. When she returned to consciousness
she turned a sad fixed look toward heaven. In vain her friend
and I pressed her hand in ours; in vain we called her by the
tenderest names. She appeared wholly insensible to these testi-
monials of our affection, and no sound issued from her oppressed
bosom but deep hollow moans.
In the morning Paul was brought home in a palanquin; he
had recovered the use of his reason, but was unable to utter a
word. His interview with his mother and Madame de la Tour,
which I had dreaded, produced a better effect than all my cares.
A ray of consolation appeared on the countenances of these two
unfortunate mothers. They pressed close to him, clasped him in
their arms, and kissed him; and their tears, which had been held
back by their excessive grief, began to flow. Paul mingled his
tears with theirs; and nature having thus found relief in these
three unfortunate creatures, a long stupor succeeded the convuls-
ive expression of their grief, and afforded them a lethargic re-
pose, resembling in truth that of death.
M. de la Bourdonnais sent privately to inform me that the
corpse of Virginia had been by his order carried to the town,
from whence it would be transferred to the church of Shaddock
Grove. I immediately went down to Port Louis, where I found
a multitude assembled from all parts of the island in order to
## p. 12708 (#122) ##########################################
12708
BERNARDIN DE SAINT-PIERRE
be present at the funeral, as if the island had lost in her that
which was most dear. The vessels in the harbor had their yards
crossed and their flags at half-mast, and they fired guns at short
intervals. A body of grenadiers led the funeral procession, with
their muskets reversed, and the drums covered with crape giving
only muffled, mournful sounds. Dejection was depicted on the
countenances of these warriors, who had so often faced death in
battle without a change of countenance. Eight young ladies of
the principal families of the island, dressed in white, carrying
palm branches in their hands, bore the body of their young com-
panion covered with flowers. They were followed by a choir of
children chanting hymns. After them came the governor, his
staff, and all the principal inhabitants of the island, and an im
mense crowd of people.
This was what had been ordered by the administration to do
honor to the virtues of Virginia. But when the corpse arrived
at the foot of this mountain, in sight of those cottages of which
she had been so long the joy, and that her death filled now with
despair, all the funeral pomp was interrupted; the hymns and
chants ceased, and nothing was heard throughout the plain but
sighs and sobs. Then many young girls from the neighboring
habitations were seen running to touch the coffin of Virginia
with handkerchiefs, chaplets, and crowns of flowers, invoking her
as a saint. Mothers asked of Heaven a daughter like Virginia;
lovers, a heart as faithful; the poor, a friend as tender; slaves,
a mistress as good.
## p. 12709 (#123) ##########################################
12709
DUKE OF SAINT-SIMON
(LOUIS DE ROUVROY)
(1675-1755)
s LOUIS XVIII. was leaving chapel one Sunday, he was stopped
by his favorite and efficient general, the Duke of Saint-
Simon, a descendant of the annalist.
«Sire,” he said, "I have a favor to ask of your Majesty. "
"M. de Saint-Simon, I know your recent and valuable services: you
may ask what you please. "
"Sire, it is a matter of grace to a prisoner in the Bastille. "
"You jest, I think, M. de Saint-Simon. "
"About the Bastille, yes, Sire; but not about the original manu-
scripts of the Duke de Saint-Simon seized in 1760, and your Majesty's
prisoners of State at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. "
"I know of them, M. de Saint-Simon, and you shall have these
manuscripts. I give you my word for it. "
This conversation occurred in 1819, when Louis de Rouvroy, the
famous Duke of Saint-Simon, had been dead for over sixty years.
His vast collection of memoirs,— which Sainte-Beuve says "forms the
greatest and most valuable body of memoirs existing up to the pres-
ent," which he had bequeathed by will explicitly to his cousin, the
Bishop of Metz, had been all that time in the hands of government
officials. A vigorous wrangle over their possession had followed the
duke's death in 1755, and for six years they were in the possession of
a notary. The Bishop of Metz died in 1760 without having obtained
them; and by most people they were forgotten and left unmolested
at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, which was first in an obscure
upper room "almost under the roofs" of the old Louvre, and later
moved to different parts of the city.
The existence of this astonishing mass of historical material had
not been entirely ignored. Marmontel and Duclos obtained access to
it, and gleaned many extracts for their own histories. Voltaire had
read it, in part at least. Much of it had been read aloud to Madame
du Deffand, as she sat old and blind in her arm-chair.
Brilliant gos-
sip herself, she wrote enthusiastically to her friend Horace Walpole
of this unrivaled gossip of an earlier generation.
## p. 12710 (#124) ##########################################
12710
SAINT-SIMON
Even after receiving the King's authorization, General de Saint-
Simon had great difficulty in obtaining his ancestor's valuable papers;
and at first only four of the eleven portfolios comprising the memoirs
were grudgingly yielded to him. We know just how they looked,
those leather portfolios fourteen inches long by nine and a half
wide, with the Saint-Simon coat of arms in gilt on the outside. They
are still in existence, with their closely written folio pages headed
by the inscription in capitals, 'Mémoires de Saint-Simon. ' There was
no division into chapters or books, but the several thousand pages
form one continuous narrative.
A garbled three-volume edition of extracts had appeared in 1789;
but it was not until 1829 that a reliable edition, revised and arranged
in chapters, appeared in forty volumes. It created a stir. The critics
fell upon its erratic French, its solecisms, its unconscionable digres-
sions; but all readers admitted the charm of the vivid narrative and
keen description. "He wrote like the Devil for posterity," said Châ-
teaubriand. In various abridged and unabridged forms it has been
popular ever since, and widely read and quoted by the French na-
tion. No other work affords such a revelation of life at the court of
Louis XIV. , and during the succeeding regency. Macaulay found
material in it for more than one of his historical sketches.
Louis de Rouvroy, Vidame de la Ferté, and later Duke of Saint-
Simon and peer of France, was born in Paris, January 16th, 1675, of
an ancient family which claimed descent from Charlemagne. His
father, as a young page of Louis XIII. , had gained royal favor,
chiefly by adroitness in helping the King to change horses without
dismounting. The King enriched him, made him duke and peer, and
in return received his lifelong devotion. Louis, born when his father
was sixty-nine, the only child of a young second wife, had Louis XIII.
and Marie Thérèse as sponsors, and was early introduced to the court
where most of his life was passed. He tells us that he was not a
studious boy, but fond of history; and that if he had been allowed
to read all he wished of it, he might have made some figure in the
world. "
«<
At nineteen he entered a company of the musketeers, and served
honorably in several campaigns; witnessing the siege of Namur, and
active in the battle of Neerwinden. But with his lifelong propensity
to consider himself slighted, he resented his lack of advancement,
and retired from the army after five years. The jealous courtier
had a strongly domestic side, as is shown in his devotion to his
mother and in grateful tributes to his wife. His marriage in 1695
to a beautiful blonde, eldest daughter of the Marshal de Lorges, was
purely a marriage of convenance, but proved a delightful exception to
the usual family intrigues of the period. He soon grew to love his
## p. 12711 (#125) ##########################################
SAINT-SIMON
12711
―――
wife: "She exceeded all that was promised of her, and all that I
myself had hoped. "
He received Jesuit training in youth, and was always a strict
Catholic; retiring once a year to the monastery of La Trappe for a
period of prayer and meditation, and to confess and receive absolution
from his dear friend, the Abbé de La Trappe. Then feeling himself
morally purged for the time being, he returned to his usual life with
apparently never a thought of changing his conduct or avoiding the
faults he had just confessed. Like his fellow courtiers who could
quarrel over questions of precedence at the communion table, he
made no clear distinction as to the relative value of religious feeling
and religious observances.
He was primarily a courtier, and frankly self-seeking; but too
tactless to win royal favor. Louis XIV. never cordially liked him,
but he maintained a place at court chiefly through the friendship of
the princes. The early death of the dauphin- previously Duke of
Burgundy - he felt as most disastrous to his fortunes. But he allied
himself to the Duke of Orléans, and was of the council of the Re-
gency. He did his best to reform the profligate prince, and in return
was offered the position as governor of young Louis XV. , or that of
Guard of the Seals, both of which he refused. He had entered upon
public life very young, and most of his early associates who were
older died before him. So did his wife and eldest son. Left to him-
self, he fell into debt. Finally it was intimated to him that his pres-
ence was no longer desired at court; and he went away to spend his
remaining years either at his country seat, La Ferté, or at his hotel
in Paris, and to busy himself in revising his memoirs.
In writing these, Saint-Simon had found the greatest interest of his
life. He was only nineteen when, while serving upon one of his Ger-
man campaigns, he began the work that was to extend over nearly
thirty years, from 1694 to 1723. Memoirs had a peculiar fascina-
tion for him; and after reading those of Marshal de Bassompierre, he
decided to keep a close account of people and events. He was too
shrewd not to realize that no sincere expression would be possible if
his enterprise were known; so throughout his long life he accom-
plished his daily record in secret. He wrote for a posterity whom he
wished to have know the truth. Even Voltaire thought it unpatriotic
to dim the glory of Versailles by showing what was base in its royal
inmates. But Saint-Simon was no idealist. He considered himself a
philosopher, a statesman, a historian; but he hardly merits these
titles. Like La Bruyère, this "little duke with his cruel, piercing.
unsatisfied eyes," was pre-eminently a portrait painter. But La Bruy-
ère was not a nobleman, nor of the company he describes, but there
on sufferance as a retainer of the haughty Condés. Saint-Simon, on
## p. 12712 (#126) ##########################################
12712
SAINT-SIMON
the contrary, felt his noble birth as a fact of vital importance, for
which he must force recognition. The ruling thought of all his work
is this insistence upon precedence. All his life he labored to extend
the privileges of the peerage; and bitterly resented any social ad-
vance on the part of a bourgeois, as though with instinctive presenti-
ment of the change even then impending. Even talent, when of
humble origin, was contemptible in his eyes. Of Voltaire-whom he
calls Arouet - he says slightingly: "The son of a notary who was
my father's lawyer, and has been mine. " He was supremely happy
when he had brought about the Bed of Justice and effected the abase-
ment of the illegitimate princes. He had long hated them because
they took precedence of peers. To him the lower classes, the mass
of the nation, only existed as a pedestal for nobility, and he never
considers them as a factor in society.
What would they all have done, - selfish adulated Louis, dignified
Madame de Maintenon, hiding her resolute will under determined
tact, the hoydenish princesses, the toadying lords and ladies,—if they
had known of the presence of this "spy" upon their every gesture?
He cared little for nature. Even Lenôtre's beautifully convention-
alized gardens pleased him less than a salon. "I examined everybody
with my eyes and ears. ” He notes the courtly manners, the gor-
geous robes, the royal magnificence; and he also notes the underly-
ing treachery and corruption. "He is like those dogs, which, without
seeing him, scent and discover a robber hidden under a piece of
furniture," said Sainte-Beuve.
He excels in sketching individuals, and in communicating to us
their manner, appearance, personality. He can paint a great canvas
too, and show us the entire court gathered for a ball in the Salle
de Glaces, or about the bed of a dying prince. Instead of the flaw-
less, magnificent pageant others have shown as the court life of Louis
XIV. , he stamped verisimilitude upon his glittering yet grewsome
representations.
THE MARRIAGE
From the Memoirs >
Α"
LL this winter my mother was solely occupied in finding a
good match for me. Some attempt was made to marry me
to Mademoiselle de Royan. It would have been a noble
and rich marriage; but I was alone, Mademoiselle de Royan was
an orphan, and I wished a father-in-law and a family upon whom
I could lean. During the preceding year there had been some
## p. 12713 (#127) ##########################################
SAINT-SIMON
12713
talk of the eldest daughter of Maréchal de Lorges for me. The
affair had fallen through, almost as soon as suggested; and now,
on both sides, there was a desire to recommence negotiations.
The probity, the integrity, the freedom of Maréchal de Lorges
pleased me infinitely, and everything tended to give me an
extreme desire for this marriage. Madame de Lorges by her
virtue and good sense was all I could wish for as the mother
of my future wife. Mademoiselle de Lorges was a blonde, with
complexion and figure perfect, a very amiable face, an extremely
noble and modest deportment, and with I know not what of
majesty derived from her air of virtue and of natural gentleness.
The Maréchal had five other daughters; but I liked this one best.
beyond comparison, and hoped to find with her that happiness
which she since has given me. As she has become my wife, I
will abstain here from saying more about her, unless it be that
she has exceeded all that was promised of her, and all that I
myself had hoped.
My marriage being agreed upon and arranged, the Maréchal
de Lorges spoke of it to the King, who had the goodness to
reply to him that he could not do better, and to speak of me
very obligingly. The marriage accordingly took place at the
Hôtel de Lorges, on the 8th of April, 1695; which I have always
regarded, and with good reason, as the happiest day of my life.
My mother treated me like the best mother in the world. On
the Thursday before Quasimodo the contract was signed; a grand
repast followed; at midnight the curé of St. Roch said mass,
and married us in the chapel of the house. On the eve, my
mother had sent forty thousand livres' worth of precious stones
to Mademoiselle de Lorges, and I six hundred louis in a corbeille
filled with all the knick-knacks that are given on these occasions.
We slept in the grand apartment of the Hôtel de Lorges.
On the morrow, after dinner, my wife went to bed, and received
a crowd of visitors, who came to pay their respects and to grat-
ify their curiosity. The next evening we went to Versailles,
and were received by Madame de Maintenon and the King. On
arriving at the supper-table, the King said to the new duchess,
"Madame, will you be pleased to seat yourself? "
His napkin being unfolded, he saw all the duchesses and
princesses still standing: and rising in his chair, he said to
Madame de Saint-Simon, "Madame, I have already begged you
to be seated;" and all immediately seated themselves. On the
## p. 12714 (#128) ##########################################
SAINT-SIMON
12714
morrow, Madame de Saint-Simon received all the court in her
bed, in the apartment of the Duchesse d'Arpajon, as being
more handy, being on the ground floor. Our festivities were fin-
ished by a supper that I gave to the former friends of my father,
whose acquaintance I had always cultivated with great care.
THE PORTRAIT
From the Memoirs >
I
HAD, as I have already mentioned, conceived a strong attach-
ment and admiration for M. de La Trappe. I wished to
secure a portrait of him; but such was his modesty and humil-
ity that I feared to ask him to allow himself to be painted.
I went therefore to Rigault, then the first portrait-painter in
Europe. In consideration of a sum of a thousand crowns, and
all his expenses paid, he agreed to accompany me to La Trappe,
and to make a portrait of him from memory. The whole affair
was to be kept a profound secret; and only one copy of the pict-
ure was to be made, and that for the artist himself.
-
My plan being fully arranged, I and Rigault set out. As soon
as we arrived at our journey's end, I sought M. de La Trappe,
and begged to be allowed to introduce to him a friend of mine,
an officer, who much wished to see him. I added that my
friend was a stammerer, and that therefore he would be impor-
tuned merely with looks and not words. M. de La Trappe smiled
with goodness, thought the officer curious about little, and con-
sented to see him. The interview took place. Rigault, excusing
himself on the ground of his infirmity, did little during three-
quarters of an hour but keep his eyes upon M. de La Trappe;
and at the end went into a room where materials were already
provided for him, and covered his canvas with the images and
the ideas he had filled himself with. On the morrow the same
thing was repeated; although M. de La Trappe, thinking that a
man whom he knew not, and who could take no part in conver-
sation, had sufficiently seen him, agreed to the interview only out
of complaisance to me. Another sitting was needed in order to
finish the work; but it was with great difficulty M. de La Trappe
could be persuaded to consent to it. When the third and last
interview was at an end, M. de La Trappe testified to me his
## p. 12715 (#129) ##########################################
SAINT-SIMON
12715
surprise at having been so much and so long looked at by a
species of mute. I made the best excuse I could, and hastened
to turn the conversation.
The portrait was at length finished, and was a most perfect
likeness of my venerable friend. Rigault admitted to me that
he had worked so hard to produce it from memory, that for sev-
eral months afterwards he had been unable to do anything to
his other portraits. Notwithstanding the thousand crowns I had
paid him, he broke the engagement he had made by showing the
portrait before giving it up to me. Then, solicited for copies, he
made several; gaining thereby, according to his own admission,
more than twenty-five thousand francs: and thus gave publicity
to the affair.
I was very much annoyed at this, and with the noise it made
in the world; and I wrote to M. de La Trappe, relating the
deception I had practiced upon him, and sued for pardon. He
was pained to excess, hurt, and afflicted; nevertheless he showed
no anger. He wrote in return to me, and said I was not ignor-
ant that a Roman Emperor had said, "I love treason but not
traitors;" but that as for himself, he felt on the contrary that
he loved the traitor but could only hate his treason. I made
presents of three copies of the picture to the monastery of La
Trappe. On the back of the original I described the circum-
stance under which the portrait had been taken, in order to show
that M. de La Trappe had not consented to it; and I pointed out
that for some years he had been unable to use his right hand,
to acknowledge thus the error which had been made in repre-
senting him as writing.
MADAME DE MAINTENON AT THE REVIEW
From the Memoirs'
HE King wished to show the court all the manœuvres of war;
the siege of Compiègne was therefore undertaken, according
to due form, with lines, trenches, batteries, mines, etc. On
Saturday, the 13th of September, the assault took place. To wit-
ness it, the King, Madame de Maintenon, all the ladies of the
court, and a number of gentlemen, stationed themselves upon an
old rampart, from which the plain and all the disposition of the
## p. 12716 (#130) ##########################################
12716
SAINT-SIMON
troops could be seen. I was in the half-circle very close to the
King. It was the most beautiful sight that can be imagined, to
see all that army, and the prodigious number of spectators on
horse and foot, and that game of attack and defense so cleverly
conducted.
- was
But a spectacle of another sort-that I could paint forty
years hence as well as to-day, so strongly did it strike me
that which from the summit of this rampart the King gave to all
his army, and to the innumerable crowd of spectators of all kinds
in the plain below. Madame de Maintenon faced the plain and
the troops in her sedan chair, alone, between its three windows
drawn up; her porters having retired to a distance. On the left
pole in front sat Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne; and on the
same side, in a semicircle, standing, were Madame la Duchesse,
Madame la Princesse de Conti, and all the ladies, and behind
them again, many men. At the right window was the King,
standing, and a little in the rear a semicircle of the most distin-
guished men of the court. The King was nearly always uncov-
ered; and every now and then stooped to speak to Madame de
Maintenon, and explain to her what she saw, and the reason of
each movement. Each time that he did so she was obliging
enough to open the window four or five inches, but never half-
way; for I noticed particularly, and I admit that I was more.
attentive to this spectacle than to that of the troops. Sometimes
she opened of her own accord to ask some question of him: but
generally it was he who without waiting for her, stooped down
to instruct her of what was passing; and sometimes, if she did
not notice him, he tapped at the glass to make her open it. He
never spoke save to her, except when he gave a few brief orders,
or just answered Madame la Duchesse de Bourgogne, who wanted
to make him speak, and with whom Madame de Maintenon car-
ried on a conversation by signs, without opening the front win-
dow, through which the young princess screamed to her from.
time to time. I watched the countenance of every one carefully:
all expressed surprise, tempered with prudence, and shame that
was, as it were, ashamed of itself; every one behind the chair
and in the semicircle watched this scene more than what was
going on in the army. The King often put his hat on the top
of the chair in order to get his head in to speak; and this con-
tinual exercise tired his loins very much. Monseigneur was on
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SAINT-SIMON
12717
horseback in the plain with the young princes. It was about
five o'clock in the afternoon, and the weather was as brilliant as
could be desired.
Opposite the sedan chair was an opening with some steps cut
through the wall, and communicating with the plain below.
It
had been made for the purpose of fetching orders from the King,
should they be necessary. The case happened. Crenan, who
commanded, sent Conillac, an officer in one of the defending
regiments, to ask for some instructions from the King. Conillac
had been stationed at the foot of the rampart, where what was
passing above could not be seen. He mounted the steps; and as
soon as his head and shoulders were at the top, caught sight of
the chair, the King, and all the assembled company. He was not
prepared for such a scene; and it struck him with such astonish-
ment that he stopped short, with mouth and eyes wide open,—
surprise painted upon every feature. I see him now as distinctly.
as I did then. The King, as well as the rest of the company,
remarked the agitation of Conillac, and said to him with emotion,
"Well, Conillac! come up. " Conillac remained motionless, and the
What is the matter? >>
King continued, "Come up.
Conillac,
thus addressed, finished his. ascent, and came towards the King
with slow and trembling steps, rolling his eyes from right to left
like one deranged. Then he stammered something, but in a tone
so low that it could not be heard. "What do you say? " cried
the King. "Speak up. " But Conillac was unable; and the King,
finding he could get nothing out of him, told him to go away.
He did not need to be told twice, but disappeared at once. As
soon as he was gone, the King looking round said, "I don't know
what is the matter with Conillac. He has lost his wits: he did
not remember what he had to say to me. " No one answered.
Towards the moment of the capitulation, Madame de Main-
tenon apparently asked permission to go away; for the King
cried, "The chairmen of Madame! " They came and took her
away; in less than a quarter of an hour afterwards the King
retired also, and nearly everybody else. There was much inter-
change of glances, nudging with elbows, and then whisperings in
the ear. Everybody was full of what had taken place on the
ramparts between the King and Madame de Maintenon. Even
the soldiers asked what meant that sedan chair, and the King
every moment stooping to put his head inside of it. It became
necessary gently to silence these questions of the troops. What
## p. 12718 (#132) ##########################################
12718
SAINT-SIMON
effect this sight had upon foreigners present, and what they said
of it, may be imagined. All over Europe it was as much talked
of as the camp of Compiègne itself, with all its pomp and pro-
digious splendor.
A PARAGON OF POLITENESS
From the 'Memoirs>
HE Duc de Coislin died about this time. I have related in its
proper place an adventure that happened to him and his
brother, the Chevalier de Coislin: now I will say something
more of the duke. He was a very little man, of much humor
and virtue, but of a politeness that was unendurable, and that
passed all bounds, though not incompatible with dignity. He had
been lieutenant-general in the army. Upon one occasion, after
a battle in which he had taken part, one of the Rhingraves who
had been made prisoner fell to his lot. The Duc de Coislin
wished to give up to the other his bed, which consisted indeed
of but a mattress. They complimented each other so much, the
one pressing, the other refusing, that in the end they both slept
on the ground, leaving the mattress between them. The Rhin-
grave in due time came to Paris and called on the Duc de
Coislin. When he was going, there was such a profusion of
compliments, and the duke insisted so much on seeing him out,
that the Rhingrave, as a last resource, ran out of the room and
double-locked the door outside. M. de Coislin was not thus to
be outdone. His apartments were only a few feet above the
ground. He opened the window accordingly, leaped out into the
court, and arrived thus at the entrance door before the Rhin-
grave, who thought the Devil must have carried him there. The
Duc de Coislin, however, had managed to put his thumb out
of joint by this leap. He called in Félix, chief surgeon of the
King, who soon put the thumb to rights. Soon afterwards Félix
made a call upon M.
