The fair fame of a woman was delicately stabbed with a needle-point; a man's honor hinted away with a smile and a shrug. Madame disdained needle-points; the bludgeon was her

weapon.

VERSAILLES, March 8, 1700. It must be remembered that in these On Sunday we had a long sermon, and I days what we call refinement was an wrote to my aunt, the Electress of Brunsunknown quantity. Virtuous women wick; Monday I went wolf-hunting with openly discussed questions which, now- Monseigneur, but we did not find. Tuesadays, no woman with the barest pre-day we attended a stag-hunt in the forest tence of shred of decency could bring of St. Germains, and in the evening herself to speak of. Madame was not went to the play; Wednesday, I wrote behind her age in that respect-nay, to Lorraine and Modena, and attended she so far surpassed it that no compiler the sermon; Thursday, I again went wolfhas ever been found daring enough to hunting, and after I came home, finished a print her letters in extenso; and she long letter to my aunt; Friday, there was another sermon, and I had a very busy united to this a German fearlessness day; for my first gentleman is just dead, and a complete indifference to what the and he who takes his place will have to world might say which a French woman pay the widow forty-two thousand francs. could never have comprehended. Her This occupied me the whole day, and I conducted on German also received a great number of letters. nursery was principles, in flat defiance of Parisian Saturday, we again went wolf-hunting; on custom and precedent; and all her life my return I wrote to my daughter. Sunshe had a habit of saying what she day I wrote to Hanover, and attended the liked, of whom and to whom she liked, sermon, which was remarkably long. I which was embarrassing to her con- also wrote to Paris; Monday, I write to temporaries, delightful to the readers you. of her correspondence, and utterly contrary to the ways and manners of her time.

Her life after marriage was spent almost entirely between Versailles, St. Cloud, and Marly, and was chiefly occupied, except when her presence was necessary at some State ceremony, with hunting, of which she was passionately fond, and in writing innumerable letters to her numerous kindred. Three extracts from her voluminous correspondence, in different years, will show the strangely monotonous conditions under which she lived.

ST. CLOUD, June 17, 1698.

MARLY, May 5, 1709.

Monday, I have to write to the two queens of Spain, also to the Duchess of Savoy, and wish to settle with my men of business my bills and payments. Tuesday, I shall receive the visit of the ambassadors and envoys; in the afternoon I must write to my daughter, and to three of her children, who already write to me. Wednesday, I write to the electress and to Modena, and I reply to the letters that I have not yet answered. Thursday, I write again to Hanover, and I sometimes attend evening prayers and benedictions on that day, as well as on Sunday. Friday, I write to Lunéville. Saturday is the only day I have no carrier to send out.

"Every letter which arrives in, or goes out of France," she calmly announces to her sister, "is opened and read. But this is a matter of indifference to me; I go on writing all that comes into my head, just the same."

In the midst of this great court I live retired as in a desert; there are but few people whom I see frequently; I spend long days shut up in my rooms, writing and reading. If any one comes to pay me a visit, I only receive them for a moment; When she was married to Monsieur, I talk of the weather, or of any court gos- Madame became, nominally a Roman sip, and then retire again. Four times a week come my letter days: Monday, Sa- Catholic. Changing one's religion was voy; Wednesday, Modena; Thursday and a thing of course in those days, if temSunday I write long letters to my aunt in poral advantages resulted therefrom;

English religious books are livelier than those written in French and German; I find them all extremely dull, with the exception of the Bible, of which I never tire. I always go to sleep over the others." Madame had a pronounced opinion that priests and Christianity were poles asunder. Possibly the scandalous life of the Abbé Dubois, her son's boon companion and evil adviser, may have strengthened this belief. Her views on religion generally, intermingled with diatribes against "these gentry," as she calls them, are pretty well exemplified in the following extracts, chiefly from letters to her sister, the Margravine Louise.

and Madame's father would have been them a great consolation." Religious much horrified had his daughter made books she did not appreciate. "I do any objection. Practically, she re- not know," she remarks, "whether mained exactly what she had always been; perhaps rather more of a freethinker on subjects theological than either a sincere Protestant or Romanist would have approved; but with a good deal of every-day Christianity, and a shrewd common sense in her way of regarding her own and her neighbor's duties, that served her in good stead. The then almost unknown virtue of toleration had a strong advocate in her. "I must own," she says, writing of Louis XIV., "that when I hear the great man praised in a sermon for his persecution of the reformed, I am always impatient; I cannot bear bad actions being praised." She had very decided ideas (about what had she not decided ideas ?) anent the whole duty of sovereigns. "I do not like kings thinking that they please the Lord much by prayer. It is not for that that he has placed them on thrones, but to do good, and to administer justice fairly and rightly. In these actions ought we to see kings' devotions. Also they ought to see that priests keep to their prayers, and not meddle with anything else. When a king says his morning and evening prayers, he has done all he need; again, he ought to make his subjects as happy as he can."

All her life she went on reading her German Bible, and singing her German psalms. "To-day," she writes, when quite an old woman, "is my birthday. I have already read four psalms, four chapters of the Old Testament, and three of the New. Apropos of Bibles, a Berlin pastor has sent me a New Testament. It has been translated in an entirely impartial manner, and pleased me for that reason; for I cannot bear translations influenced by the private feelings of the translators.'

"You are wrong," she says to Caroline of Anspach, then Princess of Wales, with whom she carried on an active correspondence, though they never met," to think that I never sing the Lutheran psalms and hymns; on the contrary, I often do so, and find

It is a very unfortunate thing that the clergy try to set Christians, one against If they followed my advice, the other. the three Christian religions should join together, and become one, and not trouble us as to what each thought individually, and only care that all should live according to the law of the Gospel. Those who lead evil lives would then alone be rebuked by the preachers.

Christians ought also to be allowed to contract marriage together in any Church, without being blamed by their fellows. If all this were done, they would be more united than they are now .. The end to be attained being the same with all Christians, the differences among them are only priests' business, and do not concern honest people; but we ought to live worthily, and in a Christian manner, being merciful, charitable, and virtuous. Preachers ought to try to inculcate this, and not to quarrel among themselves on a quantity of small matters; but to do so would greatly diminish the authority of these gentry, so they continue quarrelling, leaving aside the most important and essential of things

...

plainly that religion is made the pretext | eat fish, and I am convinced that one for ambitious dealings and self-interest may do many better things than spoil To trust God implicitly in all circum- one's stomach by eating too much stances is a great comfort. . . Dr. Luther fish." Apropos of eating fish, Mabehaved as all the clergy do. They all dame's singular predilections in the wish to govern, and be the head. Had he thought more of the general profit of Chris- way of food were patriotically German, and, to a non-German, astounding. tianity, he would not have made a schism Think of the petits soupers of the time, . . . I know that you are too strict to go to the play on Sunday; but, to my think- with everything the quintessence of ing, paying and receiving visits is more daintiness, and hear the Teutonic prindangerous than doing so, for during the cess's calm avowals. course of a visit it is difficult not to speak I cannot bear tea, coffee, or chocolate, ill of one's neighbors, and this is a far and cannot understand how any one can greater sin than going to the play. I do like that sort of thing. I find that tea not approve of people going to the play in- tastes of hay and rotten straw, coffee of stead of to church; but, after having ful- soot, and chocolate is too sweet and soft. filled one's religious duties, I consider that What I would willingly partake of, would the playhouse is better than a visit to one's be a good cup of Biran brot, or beer soup; friends. . . If my advice was followed, these things will do no harm to one's inside there should be laws made against ChrisSausages and ham suit my stomach tians ever speaking ill of one another. All best... Nobody seems surprised to see religious differences would then be abol-me eating black pudding with pleasure. I ished, and people would live together ac- have also brought raw ham into fashion. cording to the Gospel, which recommends Every one takes it now; and many of our in so many places the virtue of charity other German dishes, such as sauer-kraut, . . . To speak of one's neighbors as being sweetened cabbage, beans, and bacon, have certainly damned, is to commit an act been adopted; they are really good here against charity, and shows hatred instead... I have so accustomed myself to Gerof love. This ought to be strictly forbid-man dishes, that I cannot bear any French den, but I fear that my advice never will be followed.

A delicious touch reveals her view of sermons. "Between ourselves they do not give me pleasure. I think the thing correct and proper, but not diverting."

Writing in her old age, she sums up her creed thus: "When one has attained the age of sixty-three years, one has naturally one's religious opinions really settled. I share St. Paul's belief, that it matters little whether one is a disciple of Paul or of Cephas, so that one belongs to Christ. I hope, with God's help, to live and die in this persuasion." The persecuted Huguenots had a steady friend in Madame, who never missed doing them a good turn when she could; and on one occasion intervened successfully to have thirty released from prison. Possibly she thought that in so doing she was acting more meritoriously than in fasting strictly, which she had no great opinion of. "I could not fast," she informs her sister, "being unable to

...

...

concoction Where eating and drinking are concerned, I am a thorough German, and have been so all my life. They do not know how to fry things properly here. The butter and milk are not so good here as in our country. They have no taste, and are as insipid as clear water. The cabbages are not good either, owing to the earth being sandy and poor substance. Ah! how glad I shall be to partake of some of the dishes your cook makes for you! They would be more to my taste than all the fine things concocted by my maître d'hotel... Although I have been here fifty-three years, I have not yet become used to this country's detestable cookery.

Madame took her husband's death, in 1701, with much philosophy. Her great dread was being forced to retire into a nunnery. "Pas de couvent! pas de couvent!" she reiterated, and her wishes were respected. Possibly it would have been a difficult matter to send Madame where she did not wish to go. She did not go to the funeral, but records the fact that she cried all day. She is loyal to him throughout

66

her correspondence. There is nothing comes with curious unexpectedness. spiteful said of him; indeed, he is "I was truly grieved to hear of the rarely mentioned; but that her mar- death of your great-niece; but a ried life cannot have been a happy one woman's life is so seldom happy, my is obvious from her repeated, and dear Louise, that one ought rather to always highly depreciatory allusions to be glad of the death of a little girl; marriage. Sometimes marriages turn for it is a brand saved from the burnout well, but quite as exceptions, not ing." two in a thousand. It may be said of happy marriages as of the phoenix, there is but one in a century." "It is indeed true that to live single is to choose the better part; the best of husbands is good for nothing." "He who marries does well, but he who remains single does better. This is quite my belief; had my life been at my own disposal, I should have followed St. Paul's advice."

Concerning second marriages, she discourses with admirable, and, indeed, unanswerable logic. "I also, dear Louise, cannot understand people marrying again. Evidently, one has either loved or hated the defunct. Has one loved him? Then how can one put another in his place? Has one been unhappy? Then how can one expose oneself to a renewal of one's wretchedness, unless one is dying of hunger, and marries for a piece of bread? Only in this last case is the thing admissible."

Madame had no romantic ideas as to the permanence of love's young dream. "Generally," she says trenchantly, "when one marries for love, hate follows after a short time spent in each other's company." "Happy couples," she remarks again, "are things rarely met with. I have seen people who have married for love soon after fall to hating each other like the very devil."

Her view of the whole duty of wives was this: "The wisest way is to love one's husband reasonably and dutifully, but not with passion; to live with him peacefully and kindly, and not to trouble oneself on account of his conduct. In this way the husband and wife remain good friends, and harmony resides in the household." In one of her letters to the Margravine Louise, she strikes a sad note which

All my life [she says, in 1701] I have regretted being a woman; and, to tell the truth, it would have suited me better to have become Elector, than Madame. I should not have taxed the poor people as does the present Elector, and I should have allowed freedom of worship to all faiths. I should even prefer being Elector to being king of England, for neither the temper nor the Parliament of these English would suit me. I do not envy my aunt (the Electress Sophia) her birthright, though no doubt she will manage them better than I

should have done.

It must be remembered that, as only surviving child of Elizabeth Stuart's eldest son, Madame herself would have been heiress-apparent of England, in place of her aunt, had she not abjured the reformed religion on her marriage. To have missed such an inheritance would have been a bitter pill to some women, but Madame was philosophical. She had, as she says, never wished to be a queen; and it is a lamentable fact that her opinion of the English was of the lowest possible quality. "A good German is worth all the English put together," she says; and again, more trenchantly, "The English are so false that I would not trust them with a single hair." "The English are a false and singular people," she wrote to her sister; and when the latter was staying in England, warned her, "You must not be surprised at an Englishman behaving rudely to you; for, between ourselves, that nation is worth very little." Nevertheless, she had been anxious that her daughter should have married William III. ; and when her wishes proved fruitless, naïvely remarked, "I find that many things are spoilt in this life by religion; especially since my daughter cannot wed King William."

She said much of the exiled English

He

royal family, James II., his wife and | If he made himself more feared by his son, and was curiously divided in her wicked relations, they would hesitate feelings towards them, and her aunt, before beginning their wicked machithe electress, and her son George; nations against him." not able to decide whether she would "My son," she writes to her sister, prefer the restoration of the Stuarts or "cares but little for the country. the establishment of the Hanoverian only likes town life. He is not unlike dynasty finally declaring that she Madame de Longueville, who used to wished the Pretender could be king of feel extremely dull in her husband's England, and George I. emperor of castle in Normandy. Those with her Germany. Of Mary of Modena she said, Madame, will you not try to speaks in terms which, coming from divert yourself somewhat? There are her, express unlimited esteem - she hounds and forests, will you hunt?' had "every royal quality, generosity,No,' answered she, 'I do not care courtesy, and judgment; never spoke for hunting.' 'Do you care for emunkindly of any one- and was clean!"broidery ?' 'No, I do not care for Imagine the state of society when per- work.' 'Do you like walking, or playsonal cleanliness was a sufficient re-ing at some game?' 'No, I like markable quality to merit special neither the one nor the other.' 'What mention! "Her only failing-no one do you care for, then?' they asked is perfect in this world- was her extreme piety."

King James she did not think so highly of, though she pitied him; but she was much disgusted with him for desiring the court of France not to go into mourning for his daughter Mary. "This greatly surprised me, for I think that one cannot forget one's own children, however badly they have behaved; surely blood is thicker than water." Madame herself was a very loving mother, and had that merciful blindness which is one of the prerogatives of motherhood. We have not been used to consider the Regent Duc d'Orleans an ideal character. Hear how his mother speaks of him a year before her death. "My son is very good to me, and shows me much affection. I believe that he would be really grieved to lose me. His visits do me far more good than does the physic I am ordered to take, for they rejoice my heart, and do not give me pains in my stomach; and he always tells me something funny, which makes me laugh. He is so witty and agreeable. I should be indeed an unnatural mother did I not love him with my whole heart. If you knew him you would see how entirely free he is from malice and ambition. Ah he is only too good! He forgives everybody, and does nothing but laugh at his enemies.

her. She answered, 'What would you have me say? I do not care for innocent pleasures!'" Morality was not the fashion in those days. Madame herself, whose own reputation was unblemished, could calmly write, "England certainly owes much to the Duchess of Portsmouth. She is the best sort of woman I have ever met! "

Probably the greatest trouble of Madame's life was that her son had been married to Mademoiselle de Blois, the illegitimate daughter of Louis XIV. and Madame de Montespan. Her German horror of a mésalliance was intense. This was one cause of her vigorous and enduring hatred of Madame de Maintenon-another reason being the latter's persevering efforts to get the Duc de Maine legitimized, which, in case of the dauphin's death, might have seriously affected the prospects of Madame's own son as next heir. "There is an old German proverb," she writes, "which is, that when the devil himself cannot go to a place, he sends an old woman; the truth of this is patent to all we members of the royal family."

Always vigorous in her powers of denunciation, Madame did not spare her unacknowledged sister-in-law. "The old serpent," "the old toad," "the king's old wretch," are terms that recur constantly whenever she has to