Patriotic26 gallantry may perhaps contend that English women could, if they had liked, have written as well as their neighbors; but we will leave the consideration of that question to the reviewers of the literature that might have been. In the literature that actually is, we must turn to France for the highest examples of womanly achievement in almost every department. We confess ourselves unacquainted with the productions of those awful women of Italy, who held professorial chairs, and were great in civil and canon law; we have made no researches into the catacombs of female literature, but we think we may safely conclude that they would yield no rivals to that which is still unburied; and here, we suppose, the question of pre-eminence can only lie between England and France. And to this day, Madame de Sévigné remains28 the single instance of a woman who is supreme29 in a class of literature which has engaged the ambition of men; Madame Dacier still reigns30 the queen of blue stockings, though women have long studied Greek without shame; [33] Madame de Sta?l’s name still rises first to the lips when we are asked to mention a woman of great intellectual power; Madame Roland is still the unrivalled type of the sagacious and sternly heroic, yet lovable woman; George Sand is the unapproached artist who, to Jean Jacques’ eloquence31 and deep sense of external nature, unites the clear delineation32 of character and the tragic33 depth of passion. These great names, which mark different epochs, soar like tall pines amidst a forest of less conspicuous34, but not less fascinating, female writers; and beneath these, again, are p. 34spread, like a thicket35 of hawthorns36, eglantines, and honey-suckles, the women who are known rather by what they stimulated38 men to write, than by what they wrote themselves—the women whose tact39, wit, and personal radiance created the atmosphere of the Salon40, where literature, philosophy, and science, emancipated41 from the trammels of pedantry42 and technicality, entered on a brighter stage of existence.
What were the causes of this earlier development and more abundant manifestation43 of womanly intellect in France? The primary one, perhaps, lies in the physiological44 characteristics of the Gallic race—the small brain and vivacious45 temperament46 which permit the fragile system of woman to sustain the superlative activity requisite47 for intellectual creativeness; while, on the other hand, the larger brain and slower temperament of the English and Germans are, in the womanly organization, generally dreamy and passive. The type of humanity in the latter may be grander, but it requires a larger sum of conditions to produce a perfect specimen48. Throughout the animal world, the higher the organization, the more frequent is the departure from the normal form; we do not often see imperfectly developed or ill-made insects, but we rarely see a perfectly49 developed, well-made man. And thus the physique of a woman may suffice as the substratum for a superior Gallic mind, but is too thin a soil for a superior Teutonic one. Our theory is borne out by the fact that among our own country-women those who distinguish themselves by literary production more frequently approach the Gallic than the Teutonic type; they are intense and rapid rather than comprehensive. The woman of large capacity can seldom rise beyond the absorption of ideas; her physical conditions refuse to support the energy required for spontaneous activity; the voltaic-pile is not strong enough to produce crystallizations; phantasms of great ideas float through her mind, but she has not the spell which will arrest them, and give them fixity. This, more than unfavorable external circumstances, is, we think, the reason why woman has not yet contributed any new form to art, any discovery in p. 35science, any deep-searching inquiry50 in philosophy. The necessary physiological conditions are not present in her. That under more favorable circumstances in the future, these conditions may prove compatible with the feminine organization, it would be rash to deny. For the present, we are only concerned with our theory so far as it presents a physiological basis for the intellectual effectiveness of French women.
A secondary cause was probably the laxity of opinion and practice with regard to the marriage-tie. Heaven forbid that we should enter on a defence of French morals, most of all in relation to marriage! But it is undeniable that unions formed in the maturity51 of thought and feeling, and grounded only on inherent fitness and mutual52 attraction, tended to bring women into more intelligent sympathy with men, and to heighten and complicate53 their share in the political drama. The quiescence54 and security of the conjugal55 relation are doubtless favorable to the manifestation of the highest qualities by persons who have already attained56 a high standard of culture, but rarely foster a passion sufficient to rouse all the faculties to aid in winning or retaining its beloved object—to convert indolence into activity, indifference57 into ardent58 partisanship61, dulness into perspicuity62. Gallantry and intrigue63 are sorry enough things in themselves, but they certainly serve better to arouse the dormant64 faculties of woman than embroidery65 and domestic drudgery66, especially when, as in the high society of France in the seventeenth century, they are refined by the influence of Spanish chivalry67, and controlled by the spirit of Italian causticity68. The dreamy and fantastic girl was awakened70 to reality by the experience of wifehood and maternity71, and became capable of loving, not a mere phantom72 of her own imagination, but a living man, struggling with the hatreds73 and rivalries74 of the political arena75; she espoused76 his quarrels, she made herself, her fortune, and her influence, the stepping-stones of his ambition; and the languid beauty, who had formerly77 seemed ready to “die of a rose,” was seen to become the heroine of an insurrection. The vivid interest in affairs which was thus excited in woman p. 36must obviously have tended to quicken her intellect, and give it a practical application; and the very sorrows—the heart-pangs and regrets which are inseparable from a life of passion—deepened her nature by the questioning of self and destiny which they occasioned, and by the energy demanded to surmount78 them and live on. No wise person, we imagine, wishes to restore the social condition of France in the seventeenth century, or considers the ideal programme of woman’s life to be a marriage de convenance at fifteen, a career of gallantry from twenty to eight-and-thirty, and penitence79 and piety80 for the rest of her days. Nevertheless, that social condition has its good results, as much as the madly superstitious81 Crusades had theirs.
But the most indisputable source of feminine culture and development in France was the influence of the salons82, which, as all the world knows, were réunions of both sexes, where conversation ran along the whole gamut83 of subjects, from the frothiest vers de société to the philosophy of Descartes. Richelieu had set the fashion of uniting a taste for letters with the habits of polite society and the pursuits of ambition; and in the first quarter of the seventeenth century there were already several h?tels in Paris, varying in social position from the closest proximity84 of the Court to the debatable ground of the aristocracy and the bourgeoisie, which served as a rendezvous86 for different circles of people, bent87 on entertaining themselves either by showing talent or admiring it. The most celebrated88 of these rendezvous was the H?tel de Rambouillet, which was at the culmination89 of its glory in 1630, and did not become quite extinct until 1648, when the troubles of the Fronde commencing, its habitués were dispersed90 or absorbed by political interests. The presiding genius of this salon, the Marquise de Rambouillet, was the very model of the woman who can act as anamalgam to the most incongruous elements; beautiful, but not preoccupied91 by coquetry, or passion; an enthusiastic admirer of talent, but with no pretensions92 to talent on her own part; exquisitely93 refined in language and manners, p. 37but warm and generous withal; not given to entertain her guests with her own compositions, or to paralyze them by her universal knowledge. She had once meant to learn Latin, but had been prevented by an illness; perhaps she was all the better acquainted with Italian and Spanish productions, which, in default of a national literature, were then the intellectual pabulum of all cultivated persons in France who are unable to read the classics. In her mild, agreeable presence was accomplished95 that blending of the high-toned chivalry of Spain with the caustic69 wit and refined irony96 of Italy, which issued in the creation of a new standard of taste—the combination of the utmost exaltation in sentiment with the utmost simplicity98 of language. Women are peculiarly fitted to further such a combination—first, from their greater tendency to mingle99 affection and imagination with passion, and thus subtilize it into sentiment; and next, from that dread100 of what overtaxes their intellectual energies, either by difficulty, or monotony, which gives them an instinctive101 fondness for lightness of treatment and airiness of expression, thus making them cut short all prolixity102 and reject all heaviness. When these womanly characteristics were brought into conversational103 contact with the materials furnished by such minds as those of Richelieu, Corneille, the Great Condé, Balzac, and Bossuet, it is no wonder that the result was something piquant104 and charming. Those famous habitués of the H?tel de Rambouillet did not, apparently105, first lay themselves out to entertain the ladies with grimacing106 “small-talk,” and then take each other by the sword-knot to discuss matters of real interest in a corner; they rather sought to present their best ideas in the guise107 most acceptable to intelligent and accomplished women. And the conversation was not of literature only: war, politics, religion, the lightest details of daily news—everything was admissible, if only it were treated with refinement108 and intelligence. The H?tel de Rambouillet was no mere literary réunion; it included hommes d’affaires and soldiers as well as authors, and in such a circle women would not become bas bleus or dreamy p. 38moralizers, ignorant of the world and of human nature, but intelligent observers of character and events. It is easy to understand, however, that with the herd109 of imitators who, in Paris and the provinces, aped the style of this famous salon, simplicity degenerated110 into affectation, and nobility of sentiment was replaced by an inflated111 effort to outstrip112 nature, so that the genre113 précieux drew down the satire114, which reached its climax115 in the Précieuses Ridicules117 and Les Femmes Savantes, the former of which appeared in 1660, and the latter in 1673. But Madelon and Caltros are the lineal descendants of Mademoiselle Scudery and her satellites, quite as much as of the H?tel de Rambouillet. The society which assembled every Saturday in her salon was exclusively literary, and although occasionally visited by a few persons of high birth, bourgeois85 in its tone, and enamored of madrigals, sonnets118, stanzas119, and bouts120 rimés. The affectation that decks trivial things in fine language belongs essentially121 to a class which sees another above it, and is uneasy in the sense of its inferiority; and this affectation is precisely122 the opposite of the original genre précieux.
Another centre from which feminine influence radiated into the national literature was the Palais du Luxembourg, where Mademoiselle d’Orleans, in disgrace at court on account of her share in the Fronde, held a little court of her own, and for want of anything else to employ her active spirit busied herself with literature. One fine morning it occurred to this princess to ask all the persons who frequented her court, among whom were Madame de Sévigné, Madame de la Fayette, and La Rochefoucauld, to write their own portraits, and she at once set the example. It was understood that defects and virtues123 were to be spoken of with like candor125. The idea was carried out; those who were not clever or bold enough to write for themselves employing the pen of a friend.
“Such,” says M. Cousin, “was the pastime of Mademoiselle and her friends during the years 1657 and 1658: from this pastime proceeded a complete literature. In 1659 Ségrais revised these portraits, added a considerable number in prose and even in verse, and p. 39published the whole in a handsome quarto volume, admirably printed, and now become very rare, under the title, ‘Divers Portraits.’ Only thirty copies were printed, not for sale, but to be given as presents by Mademoiselle. The work had a prodigious126 success. That which had made the fortune of Mademoiselle de Scudéry’s romances—the pleasure of seeing one’s portrait a little flattered, curiosity to see that of others, the passion which the middle class always have had and will have for knowing what goes on in the aristocratic world (at that time not very easy of access), the names of the illustrious persons who were here for the first time described physically127 and morally with the utmost detail, great ladies transformed all at once into writers, and unconsciously inventing a new manner of writing, of which no book gave the slightest idea, and which was the ordinary manner of speaking of the aristocracy; this undefinable mixture of the natural, the easy, and at the same time of the agreeable, and supremely128 distinguished129—all this charmed the court and the town, and very early in the year 1659 permission was asked of Mademoiselle to give a new edition of the privileged book for the use of the public in general.”
The fashion thus set, portraits multiplied throughout France, until in 1688 La Bruyère adopted the form in his “Characters,” and ennobled it by divesting130 it of personality. We shall presently see that a still greater work than La Bruyère’s also owed its suggestion to a woman, whose salon was hardly a less fascinating resort than the H?tel de Rambouillet itself.
In proportion as the literature of a country is enriched and culture becomes more generally diffused131, personal influence is less effective in the formation of taste and in the furtherance of social advancement132. It is no longer the coterie133 which acts on literature, but literature which acts on the coterie; the circle represented by the word public is ever widening, and ambition, poising134 itself in order to hit a more distant mark, neglects the successes of the salon. What was once lavished135 prodigally136 in conversation is reserved for the volume or the “article,” and the effort is not to betray originality137 rather than to communicate it. As the old coach-roads have sunk into disuse through the creation of railways, so journalism138 tends more and more to divert information from the channel of conversation into the p. 40channel of the Press; no one is satisfied with a more circumscribed139 audience than that very indeterminate abstraction “the public,” and men find a vent17 for their opinions not in talk, but in “copy.” We read the Athen?um askance at the tea-table, and take notes from the Philosophical140 Journal at a soirée; we invite our friends that we may thrust a book into their hands, and presuppose an exclusive desire in the “ladies” to discuss their own matters, “that we may crackle the Times” at our ease. In fact, the evident tendency of things to contract personal communication within the narrowest limits makes us tremble lest some further development of the electric telegraph should reduce us to a society of mutes, or to a sort of insects communicating by ingenious antenna141 of our own invention. Things were far from having reached this pass in the last century; but even then literature and society had outgrown142 the nursing of coteries143, and although many salons of that period were worthy144 successors of the H?tel de Rambouillet, they were simply a recreation, not an influence. Enviable evenings, no doubt, were passed in them; and if we could be carried back to any of them at will, we should hardly know whether to choose the Wednesday dinner at Madame Geoffrin’s, with d’Alembert, Mademoiselle de l’Espinasse, Grimm, and the rest, or the graver society which, thirty years later, gathered round Condorcet and his lovely young wife. The salon retained its attractions, but its power was gone: the stream of life had become too broad and deep for such small rills to affect it.
A fair comparison between the French women of the seventeenth century and those of the eighteenth would, perhaps, have a balanced result, though it is common to be a partisan60 on this subject. The former have more exaltation, perhaps more nobility of sentiment, and less consciousness in their intellectual activity—less of the femme auteur, which was Rousseau’s horror in Madame d’Epinay; but the latter have a richer fund of ideas—not more ingenuity145, but the materials of an additional century for their ingenuity to work upon. The women of the seventeenth century, when love was on the wane146, took to p. 41devotion, at first mildly and by halves, as English women take to caps, and finally without compromise; with the women of the eighteenth century, Bossuet and Massillon had given way to Voltaire and Rousseau; and when youth and beauty failed, then they were thrown on their own moral strength.
M. Cousin is especially enamored of the women of the seventeenth century, and relieves himself from his labors147 in philosophy by making researches into the original documents which throw light upon their lives. Last year he gave us some results of these researches in a volume on the youth of the Duchess de Longueville; and he has just followed it up with a second volume, in which he further illustrates148 her career by tracing it in connection with that of her friend, Madame de Sablé. The materials to which he has had recourse for this purpose are chiefly two celebrated collections of manuscript: that of Conrart, the first secretary to the French Academy, one of those universally curious people who seem made for the annoyance149 of contemporaries and the benefit of posterity150; and that of Valant, who was at once the physician, the secretary, and general steward151 of Madame de Sablé, and who, with or without her permission, possessed152 himself of the letters addressed to her by her numerous correspondents during the latter part of her life, and of various papers having some personal or literary interest attached to them. From these stores M. Cousin has selected many documents previously153 unedited; and though he often leaves us something to desire in the arrangement of his materials, this volume of his on Madame de Sablé is very acceptable to us, for she interests us quite enough to carry us through more than three hundred pages of rather scattered154 narrative155, and through an appendix of correspondence in small type. M. Cousin justly appreciates her character as “un heureux mélange de raison, d’esprit, d’agrément, et de bonté;” and perhaps there are few better specimens156 of the woman who is extreme in nothing but sympathetic in all things; who affects us by no special quality, but by her entire being; whose nature has no tons criards, but is like those textures157 which, p. 42from their harmonious158 blending of all colors, give repose159 to the eye, and do not weary us though we see them every day. Madame de Sablé is also a striking example of the one order of influence which woman has exercised over literature in France; and on this ground, as well as intrinsically, she is worth studying. If the reader agrees with us he will perhaps be inclined, as we are, to dwell a little on the chief points in her life and character.
Madeline de Souvré, daughter of the Marquis of Courtenvaux, a nobleman distinguished enough to be chosen as governor of Louis XIII., was born in 1599, on the threshold of that seventeenth century, the brilliant genius of which is mildly reflected in her mind and history. Thus, when in 1635 her more celebrated friend, Mademoiselle de Bourbon, afterward160 the Duchess de Longueville, made her appearance at the H?tel de Rambouillet, Madame de Sablé had nearly crossed that tableland of maturity which precedes a woman’s descent toward old age. She had been married in 1614, to Philippe Emanuel de Laval-Montmorency, Seigneur de Bois-Dauphin, and Marquis de Sablé, of whom nothing further is known than that he died in 1640, leaving her the richer by four children, but with a fortune considerably161 embarrassed. With beauty and high rank added to the mental attractions of which we have abundant evidence, we may well believe that Madame de Sablé’s youth was brilliant. For her beauty, we have the testimony162 of sober Madame de Motteville, who also speaks of her as having “beaucoup de lumière et de sincérité;” and in the following passage very graphically163 indicates one phase of Madame de Sablé’s character:
“The Marquise de Sablé was one of those whose beauty made the most noise when the Queen came into France. But if she was amiable164, she was still more desirous of appearing so; this lady’s self-love rendered her too sensitive to the regard which men exhibited toward her. There yet existed in France some remains of the politeness which Catherine de Medici had introduced from Italy, and the new dramas, with all the other works in prose and verse, which p. 43came from Madrid, were thought to have such great delicacy165, that she (Madame de Sablé) had conceived a high idea of the gallantry which the Spaniards had learned from the Moors166.
“She was persuaded that men can, without crime, have tender sentiments for women—that the desire of pleasing them led men to the greatest and finest actions—roused their intelligence, and inspired them with liberality, and all sorts of virtues; but, on the other hand, women, who were the ornament167 of the world, and made to be served and adored, ought not to admit anything from them but their respectful attentions. As this lady supported her views with much talent and great beauty, she had given them authority in her time, and the number and consideration of those who continued to associate with her have caused to subsist168 in our day what the Spaniards call finezas.”
Here is the grand element of the original femme précieuse, and it appears farther, in a detail also reported by Madame de Motteville, that Madame de Sablé had a passionate169 admirer in the accomplished Duc de Montmorency, and apparently reciprocated170 his regard; but discovering (at what period of their attachment171 is unknown) that he was raising a lover’s eyes toward the queen, she broke with him at once. “I have heard her say,” tells Madame de Motteville, “that her pride was such with regard to the Duc de Montmorency, that at the first demonstrations172 which he gave of his change, she refused to see him any more, being unable to receive with satisfaction attentions which she had to share with the greatest princess in the world.” There is no evidence except the untrustworthy assertion of Tallement de Réaux, that Madame de Sablé had any other liaison174 than this; and the probability of the negative is increased by the ardor175 of her friendships. The strongest of these was formed early in life with Mademoiselle Dona d’Attichy, afterward Comtesse de Maure; it survived the effervescence of youth, and the closest intimacy176 of middle age, and was only terminated by the death of the latter in 1663. A little incident in this friendship is so characteristic in the transcendentalism which was then carried into all the affections, that it is worth relating at length. Mademoiselle d’Attichy, in her grief and indignation at Richelieu’s treatment of her relative, p. 44quitted Paris, and was about to join her friend at Sablé, when she suddenly discovered that Madame de Sablé, in a letter to Madame de Rambouillet, had said that her greatest happiness would be to pass her life with Julie de Rambouillet, afterward Madame de Montausier. To Anne d’Attichy this appears nothing less than the crime of lèse-amitié. No explanations will appease177 her: she refuses to accept the assurance that the offensive expression was used simply out of unreflecting conformity178 to the style of the H?tel de Rambouillet—that it was mere “galimatias.” She gives up her journey, and writes a letter, which is the only one Madame de Sablé chose to preserve, when, in her period of devotion, she sacrificed the records of her youth. Here it is:
“I have seen this letter in which you tell me there is so much galimatias, and I assure you that I have not found any at all. On the contrary, I find everything very plainly expressed, and among others, one which is too explicit179 for my satisfaction—namely, what you have said to Madame de Rambouillet, that if you tried to imagine a perfectly happy life for yourself, it would be to pass it all alone with Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. You know whether any one can be more persuaded than I am of her merit; but I confess to you that that has not prevented me from being surprised that you could entertain a thought which did so great an injury to our friendship. As to believing that you said this to one, and wrote it to the other, simply for the sake of paying them an agreeable compliment, I have too high an esteem180 for your courage to be able to imagine that complaisance181 would cause you thus to betray the sentiments of your heart, especially on a subject in which, as they were unfavorable to me, I think you would have the more reason for concealing182 them, the affection which I have for you being so well known to every one, and especially to Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, so that I doubt whether she will not have been more sensible of the wrong you have done me, than of the advantage you have given her. The circumstance of this letter falling into my hands has forcibly reminded me of these lines of Bertaut:
“‘Malheureuse est l’ignorance
Et plus malheureux le savoir.”
“Having through this lost a confidence which alone rendered life supportable to me, it is impossible for me to take the journey so p. 45much thought of. For would there be any propriety183 in travelling sixty miles in this season, in order to burden you with a person so little suited to you, that after years of a passion without parallel, you cannot help thinking that the greatest pleasure of your life would be to pass it without her? I return, then, into my solitude184, to examine the defects which cause me so much unhappiness, and unless I can correct them, I should have less joy than confusion in seeing you.”
It speaks strongly for the charm of Madame de Sablé’s nature that she was able to retain so susceptible185 a friend as Mademoiselle d’Attichy in spite of numerous other friendships, some of which, especially that with Madame de Longueville, were far from lukewarm—in spite too of a tendency in herself to distrust the affection of others toward her, and to wait for advances rather than to make them. We find many traces of this tendency in the affectionate remonstrances186 addressed to her by Madame de Longueville, now for shutting herself up from her friends, now for doubting that her letters are acceptable. Here is a little passage from one of these remonstrances which indicates a trait of Madame de Sablé, and is in itself a bit of excellent sense, worthy the consideration of lovers and friends in general: “I am very much afraid that if I leave to you the care of letting me know when I can see you, I shall be a long time without having that pleasure, and that nothing will incline you to procure187 it me, for I have always observed a certain lukewarmness in your friendship after our explanations, from which I have never seen you thoroughly188 recover; and that is why I dread explanations, for however good they may be in themselves, since they serve to reconcile people, it must always be admitted, to their shame, that they are at least the effect of a bad cause, and that if they remove it for a time they sometimes leave a certain facility in getting angry again, which, without diminishing friendship, renders its intercourse189 less agreeable. It seems to me that I find all this in your behavior to me; so I am not wrong in sending to know if you wish to have me to-day.” It is clear that Madame de Sablé was far p. 46from having what Sainte-Beuve calls the one fault of Madame Necker—absolute perfection. A certain exquisiteness190 in her physical and moral nature was, as we shall see, the source of more than one weakness, but the perception of these weaknesses, which is indicated in Madame de Longueville’s letters, heightens our idea of the attractive qualities which notwithstanding drew from her, at the sober age of forty, such expressions as these: “I assure you that you are the person in all the world whom it would be most agreeable to me to see, and there is no one whose intercourse is a ground of truer satisfaction to me. It is admirable that at all times, and amidst all changes, the taste for your society remains in me; and, if one ought to thank God for the joys which do not tend to salvation192, I should thank him with all my heart for having preserved that to me at a time in which he has taken away from me all others.”
Since we have entered on the chapter of Madame de Sablé’s weaknesses, this is the place to mention what was the subject of endless raillery from her friends—her elaborate precaution about her health, and her dread of infection, even from diseases the least communicable. Perhaps this anxiety was founded as much on ?sthetic as on physical grounds, on disgust at the details of illness as much as on dread of suffering: with a cold in the head or a bilious193 complaint, the exquisite94 précieuse must have been considerably less conscious of being “the ornament of the world,” and “made to be adored.” Even her friendship, strong as it was, was not strong enough to overcome her horror of contagion194; for when Mademoiselle de Bourbon, recently become Madame de Longueville, was attacked by small-pox, Madame de Sablé for some time had not courage to visit her, or even to see Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, who was assiduous in her attendance on the patient. A little correspondence à propos of these circumstances so well exhibits the graceful badinage195 in which the great ladies of that day were adepts196, that we are attempted to quote one short letter.
p. 47“Mlle. de Rambouillet to the Marquise de Sablé.”
“Mlle. de Chalais (dame27 de compagnie to the Marquise) will please to read this letter to Mme. la Marquise, out of a draught197.
“Madame, I do not think it possible to begin my treaty with you too early, for I am convinced that between the first proposition made to me that I should see you, and the conclusion, you will have so many reflections to make, so many physicians to consult, and so many fears to surmount, that I shall have full leisure to air myself. The conditions which I offer to fulfil for this purpose are, not to visit you until I have been three days absent from the H?tel de Condé (where Mme. de Longueville was ill), to choose a frosty day, not to approach you within four paces, not to sit down on more than one seat. You may also have a great fire in your room, burn juniper in the four corners, surround yourself with imperial vinegar, with rue191 and wormwood. If you can feel yourself safe under these conditions, without my cutting off my hair, I swear to you to execute them religiously; and if you want examples to fortify198 you, I can tell you that the Queen consented to see M. Chaudebonne, when he had come directly from Mme. de Bourbon’s room, and that Mme. d’Aiguillon, who has good taste in such matters, and is free from reproach on these points, has just sent me word that if I did not go to see her she would come to me.”
Madame de Sablé betrays in her reply that she winces199 under this raillery, and thus provokes a rather severe though polite rejoinder, which, added to the fact that Madame de Longueville is convalescent, rouses her courage to the pitch of paying the formidable visit. Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, made aware through their mutual friend Voiture, that her sarcasm200 has cut rather too deep, winds up the matter by writing that very difficult production a perfectly conciliatory yet dignified201 apology. Peculiarities like this always deepen with age, and accordingly, fifteen years later, we find Madame D’Orleans in her “Princesse de Paphlagonia”—a romance in which she describes her court, with the little quarrels and other affairs that agitated202 it—giving the following amusing picture, or rather caricature, of the extent to which Madame de Sablé carried her pathological mania203, which seems to have been shared by her friend the Countess de Maure (Mademoiselle p. 48d’Attichy). In the romance, these two ladies appear under the names of Princesse Parthénie and the Reine de Mionie.
“There was not an hour in the day in which they did not confer together on the means of avoiding death, and on the art of rendering204 themselves immortal205. Their conferences did not take place like those of other people; the fear of breathing an air which was too cold or too warm, the dread lest the wind should be too dry or too moist—in short, the imagination that the weather might not be as temperate206 as they thought necessary for the preservation207 of their health, caused them to write letters from one room to the other. It would be extremely fortunate if these notes could be found, and formed into a collection. I am convinced that they would contain rules for the regimen of life, precautions even as to the proper time for applying remedies, and also remedies which Hippocrates and Galen, with all their science, never heard of. Such a collection would be very useful to the public, and would be highly profitable to the faculties of Paris and Montpellier. If these letters were discovered, great advantages of all kinds might be derived208 from them, for they were princesses who had nothing mortal about them but the knowledge that they were mortal. In their writings might be learned all politeness in style, and the most delicate manner of speaking on all subjects. There is nothing with which they were not acquainted; they knew the affairs of all the States in the world, through the share they had in all the intrigues210 of its private members, either in matters of gallantry, as in other things, on which their advice was necessary; either to adjust embroilments and quarrels, or to excite them, for the sake of the advantages which their friends could derive209 from them;—in a word, they were persons through whose hands the secrets of the whole world had to pass. The Princess Parthénie (Mme. de Sablé) had a palate as delicate as her mind; nothing could equal the magnificence of the entertainments she gave; all the dishes were exquisite, and her cleanliness was beyond all that could be imagined. It was in their time that writing came into use; previously nothing was written but marriage contracts, and letters were never heard of; thus it is to them that we owe a practice so convenient in intercourse.”
Still later in 1669, when the most uncompromising of the Port Royalists seemed to tax Madame de Sablé with lukewarmness that she did not join them at Port-Royal-des-Champs, we find her writing to the stern M. de Sévigny: “En vérité, je p. 49crois que je ne pourrois mieux faire que de tout211 quitter et de m’en aller là. Mais que deviendroient ces frayeurs de n’avoir pas de médicines à choisir, ni de chirurgien pour me saigner?”
Mademoiselle, as we have seen, hints at the love of delicate eating, which many of Madame de Sablé’s friends numbered among her foibles, especially after her religious career had commenced. She had a genius in friandise, and knew how to gratify the palate without offending the highest sense of refinement. Her sympathetic nature showed itself in this as in other things; she was always sending bonnes bouches to her friends, and trying to communicate to them her science and taste in the affairs of the table. Madame de Longueville, who had not the luxurious212 tendencies of her friend, writes: “Je vous demande au nom de Dieu, que vous ne me prépariez aucun rago?t. Surtout ne me donnez point de festin. Au nom de Dieu, qu’il n’y ait rien que ce qu’on peut manger, car vous savez que c’est inutile pour moi; de plus j’en ai scrupule.” But other friends had more appreciation213 of her niceties. Voiture thanks her for her melons, and assures her that they are better than those of yesterday; Madame de Choisy hopes that her ridicule116 of Jansenism will not provoke Madame de Sablé to refuse her the receipt for salad; and La Rochefoucauld writes: “You cannot do me a greater charity than to permit the bearer of this letter to enter into the mysteries of your marmalade and your genuine preserves, and I humbly214 entreat215 you to do everything you can in his favor. If I could hope for two dishes of those preserves, which I did not deserve to eat before, I should be indebted to you all my life.” For our own part, being as far as possible from fraternizing with those spiritual people who convert a deficiency into a principle, and pique216 themselves on an obtuse217 palate as a point of superiority, we are not inclined to number Madame de Sablé’s friandise among her defects. M. Cousin, too, is apologetic on this point. He says:
“It was only the excess of a delicacy which can be really understood, and a sort of fidelity218 to the character of précieuse. As the précieuse did nothing according to common usage, she could not dine p. 50like another. We have cited a passage from Mme. de Motteville, where Mme. de Sablé is represented in her first youth at the H?tel de Rambouillet, maintaining that woman is born to be an ornament to the world, and to receive the adoration219 of men. The woman worthy of the name ought always to appear above material wants, and retain, even in the most vulgar details of life, something distinguished and purified. Eating is a very necessary operation, but one which is not agreeable to the eye. Mme. de Sablé insisted on its being conducted with a peculiar cleanliness. According to her it was not every woman who could with impunity220 be at table in the presence of a lover; the first distortion of the face, she said, would be enough to spoil all. Gross meals made for the body merely ought to be abandoned to bourgeoises, and the refined woman should appear to take a little nourishment221 merely to sustain her, and even to divert her, as one takes refreshments222 and ices. Wealth did not suffice for this: a particular talent was required. Mme. de Sablé was a mistress in this art. She had transported the aristocratic spirit, and the genre précieux, good breeding and good taste, even into cookery. Her dinners, without any opulence223, were celebrated and sought after.”
It is quite in accordance with all this that Madame de Sablé should delight in fine scents224, and we find that she did; for being threatened, in her Port Royal days, when she was at an advanced age, with the loss of smell, and writing for sympathy and information to Mère Agnès, who had lost that sense early in life, she receives this admonition from the stern saint: “You would gain by this loss, my very dear sister, if you made use of it as a satisfaction to God, for having had too much pleasure in delicious scents.” Scarron describes her as
“La non pareille Bois-Dauphine,
and the superlative delicacy implied by this epithet226 seems to have belonged equally to her personal habits, her affections, and her intellect.
Madame de Sablé’s life, for anything we know, flowed on evenly enough until 1640, when the death of her husband threw upon her the care of an embarrassed fortune. She found a friend in Réné de Longueil, Seigneur de Maisons, of whom we are content to know no more than that he helped p. 51Madame de Sablé to arrange her affairs, though only by means of alienating227 from her family the estate of Sablé, that his house was her refuge during the blockade of Paris in 1649, and that she was not unmindful of her obligations to him, when, subsequently, her credit could be serviceable to him at court. In the midst of these pecuniary228 troubles came a more terrible trial—the loss of her favorite son, the brave and handsome Guy de Laval, who, after a brilliant career in the campaigns of Condé, was killed at the siege of Dunkirk, in 1646, when scarcely four-and-twenty. The fine qualities of this young man had endeared him to the whole army, and especially to Condé, had won him the hand of the Chancellor229 Séguire’s daughter, and had thus opened to him the prospect230 of the highest honors. His loss seems to have been the most real sorrow of Madame de Sablé’s life. Soon after followed the commotions231 of the Fronde, which put a stop to social intercourse, and threw the closest friends into opposite ranks. According to Lenet, who relies on the authority of Gourville, Madame de Sablé was under strong obligations to the court, being in the receipt of a pension of 2000 crowns; at all events, she adhered throughout to the Queen and Mazarin, but being as far as possible from a fierce partisan, and given both by disposition232 and judgment233 to hear both sides of the question, she acted as a conciliator, and retained her friends of both parties. The Countess de Maure, whose husband was the most obstinate234 of frondeurs, remained throughout her most cherished friend, and she kept up a constant correspondence with the lovely and intrepid235 heroine of the Fronde, Madame de Longueville. Her activity was directed to the extinction236 of animosities, by bringing about marriages between the Montagues and Capulets of the Fronde—between the Prince de Condé, or his brother, and the niece of Mazarin, or between the three nieces of Mazarin and the sons of three noblemen who were distinguished leaders of the Fronde. Though her projects were not realized, her conciliatory position enabled her to preserve all her friendships intact, and when the political p. 52tempest was over, she could assemble around her in her residence, in the Place Royal, the same society as before. Madame de Sablé was now approaching her twelfth lustrum, and though the charms of her mind and character made her more sought after than most younger women, it is not surprising that, sharing as she did in the religious ideas of her time, the concerns of “salvation” seemed to become pressing. A religious retirement237, which did not exclude the reception of literary friends or the care for personal comforts, made the most becoming frame for age and diminished fortune. Jansenism was then to ordinary Catholicism what Puseyism is to ordinary Church of Englandism in these days—it was a récherché form of piety unshared by the vulgar; and one sees at once that it must have special attractions for the précieuse. Madame de Sablé, then, probably about 1655 or ’56, determined238 to retire to Port Royal, not because she was already devout239, but because she hoped to become so; as, however, she wished to retain the pleasure of intercourse with friends who were still worldly, she built for herself a set of apartments at once distinct from the monastery240 and attached to it. Here, with a comfortable establishment, consisting of her secretary, Dr. Valant, Mademoiselle de Chalais, formerly her dame de compagnie, and now become her friend; an excellent cook; a few other servants, and for a considerable time a carriage and coachman; with her best friends within a moderate distance, she could, as M. Cousin says, be out of the noise of the world without altogether forsaking241 it, preserve her dearest friendships, and have before her eyes edifying242 examples—“vaquer enfin à son aise aux soins de son salut et à ceux de sa santé.”
We have hitherto looked only at one phase of Madame de Sablé’s character and influence—that of the précieuse. But she was much more than this: she was the valuable, trusted friend of noble women and distinguished men; she was the animating243 spirit of a society, whence issued a new form of French literature; she was the woman of large capacity and large heart, whom Pascal sought to please, to whom Arnauld submitted p. 53the Discourse244 prefixed to his “Logic,” and to whom La Rochefoucauld writes: “Vous savez que je ne crois que vous êtes sur de certains chapitres, et surtout sur les replis da c?ur.” The papers preserved by her secretary, Valant, show that she maintained an extensive correspondence with persons of various rank and character; that her pen was untiring in the interest of others; that men made her the depositary of their thoughts, women of their sorrows; that her friends were as impatient, when she secluded245 herself, as if they had been rival lovers and she a youthful beauty. It is into her ear that Madame de Longueville pours her troubles and difficulties, and that Madame de la Fayette communicates her little alarms, lest young Count de St. Paul should have detected her intimacy with La Rochefoucauld. [53] The few of Madame de Sablé’s letters which survive show that she excelled in that epistolary style which was the specialty246 of the H?tel de Rambouillet: one to Madame de Montausier, in favor of M. Périer, the brother-in-law of Pascal, is a happy mixture of good taste and good sense; but among them all we prefer quoting one to the Duchess de la Tremouille. It is light and pretty, and made out of almost nothing, like soap, bubbles.
“Je croix qu’il n’y a que moi qui face si bien tout le contraire de ce que je veux faire, car il est vrai qu’il n’y a personne que j’honore plus que vous, et j’ai si bien fait qu’il est quasi impossible que vous le puissiez croire. Ce n’estoit pas assez pour vous persuader que je suis indigne de vos bonnes graces et de votre souvenir que d’avoir manqué fort longtemps à vous écrire; il falloit encore retarder247 quinze jours à me donner l’honneur de répondre à votre lettre. En vérité, Madame, cela me fait par3?itre si coupable, que vers tout autre que vous j’aimeroix mieux l’être en effet que d’entreprendre une chose si difficile qu’ est celle de me justifier248. Mais je me sens si innocente p. 54dans mon ame, et j’ai tant d’estime, de respect et d’affection pour vous, qu’il me semble que vous devez le conn?itre à cent lieues de distance d’ici, encore que je ne vous dise pas un mot. C’est ce que me donne le courage de vous écrire à cette heure, mais non pas ce qui m’en a empêché si longtemps. J’ai commencé, a faillir par force, ayant eu beaucoup de maux, et depuis je l’ai faite par honte, et je vous avoue que si je n’avois à cette heure la confiance que vous m’avez donnée en me rassurant, et celle que je tire de mes propres sentimens pour vous, je n’oserois jamais entreprendre de vous faire souvenir de moi; mais je m’assure que vous oublierez tout, sur la protestation que je vous fais de ne me laisser plus endurcir en mes fautes et de demeurer inviolablement, Madame, votre, etc.”
Was not the woman, who could unite the ease and grace indicated by this letter, with an intellect that men thought worth consulting on matters of reasoning and philosophy, with warm affections, untiring activity for others, no ambition as an authoress, and an insight into confitures and rago?ts, a rare combination? No wonder that her salon at Port Royal was the favorite resort of such women as Madame de la Fayette, Madame de Montausier, Madame de Longueville, and Madame de Hautefort; and of such men as Pascal, La Rochefoucauld, Nicole, and Domat. The collections of Valant contain papers which show what were the habitual subjects of conversation in this salon. Theology, of course, was a chief topic; but physics and metaphysics had their turn, and still more frequently morals, taken in their widest sense. There were “Conferences on Calvinism,” of which an abstract is preserved. When Rohault invented his glass tubes to serve for the barometrical249 experiments in which Pascal had roused a strong interest, the Marquis de Sourdis entertained the society with a paper entitled “Why Water Mounts in a Glass Tube.” Cartesianism was an exciting topic here, as well as everywhere else in France; it had its partisans59 and opponents, and papers were read containing “Thoughts on the Opinions of M. Descartes.” These lofty matters were varied250 by discussions on love and friendship, on the drama, and on most of the things in heaven and earth which the philosophy of that day p. 55dreamt of. Morals—generalizations251 on human affections, sentiments, and conduct—seem to have been the favorite theme; and the aim was to reduce these generalizations to their briefest form of expression, to give them the epigrammatic turn which made them portable in the memory. This was the specialty of Madame de Sablé’s circle, and was, probably, due to her own tendency. As the H?tel de Rambouillet was the nursery of graceful letter-writing, and the Luxembourg of “portraits” and “characters,” so Madame de Sablé’s salon fostered that taste for the sententious style, to which we owe, probably, some of the best Pensées of Pascal, and certainly, the “Maxims252” of La Rochefoucauld. Madame de Sablé herself wrote maxims, which were circulated among her friends; and, after her death, were published by the Abbé d’Ailly. They have the excellent sense and nobility of feeling which we should expect in everything of hers; but they have no stamp of genius or individual character: they are, to the “Maxims” of La Rochefoucauld, what the vase moulded in dull, heavy clay is to the vase which the action of fire has made light, brittle254, and transparent255. She also wrote a treatise256 on Education, which is much praised by La Rochefoucauld and M. d’Andilly; but which seems no longer to be found: probably it was not much more elaborate than her so-called “Treatise on Friendship,” which is but a short string of maxims. Madame de Sablé’s forte257 was evidently not to write herself, but to stimulate37 others to write; to show that sympathy and appreciation which are as genial258 and encouraging as the morning sunbeams. She seconded a man’s wit with understanding—one of the best offices which womanly intellect has rendered to the advancement of culture; and the absence of originality made her all the more receptive toward the originality of others.
The manuscripts of Pascal show that many of the Pensées, which are commonly supposed to be raw materials for a great work on religion, were remodelled259 again and again, in order to bring them to the highest degree of terseness260 and finish, which p. 56would hardly have been the case if they had only been part of a quarry261 for a greater production. Thoughts, which are merely collected as materials, as stones out of which a building is to be erected262, are not cut into facets263, and polished like amethysts264 or emeralds. Since Pascal was from the first in the habit of visiting Madame de Sablé, at Port Royal, with his sister, Madame Périer (who was one of Madame de Sablé’s dearest friends), we may well suppose that he would throw some of his jewels among the large and small coin of maxims, which were a sort of subscription265 money there. Many of them have an epigrammatical piquancy266, which was just the thing to charm a circle of vivacious and intelligent women: they seem to come from a La Rochefoucauld who has been dipped over again in philosophy and wit, and received a new layer. But whether or not Madame de Sablé’s influence served to enrich the Pensées of Pascal, it is clear that but for her influence the “Maxims” of La Rochefoucauld would never have existed. Just as in some circles the effort is, who shall make the best puns (horibile dictu!), or the best charades267, in the salon of Port Royal the amusement was to fabricate maxims. La Rochefoucauld said, “L’envie de faire des maximes se gagne comme la rhume.” So far from claiming for himself the initiation268 of this form of writing, he accuses Jacques Esprit, another habitué of Madame de Sablé’s salon, of having excited in him the taste for maxims, in order to trouble his repose. The said Esprit was an academician, and had been a frequenter of the H?tel de Rambouillet. He had already published “Maxims in Verse,” and he subsequently produced a book called “La Faussete des Vertus Humaines,” which seems to consist of Rochefoucauldism become flat with an infusion269 of sour Calvinism. Nevertheless, La Rochefoucauld seems to have prized him, to have appealed to his judgment, and to have concocted270 maxims with him, which he afterward begs him to submit to Madame Sablé. He sends a little batch271 of maxims to her himself, and asks for an equivalent in the shape of good eatables: “Voilà tout ce que j’ai de maximes; mais p. 57comme je ne donne rien pour rien, je vous demande un potage aux carottes, un rago?t de mouton,” etc. The taste and the talent enhanced each other; until, at last, La Rochefoucauld began to be conscious of his pre-eminence in the circle of maxim253-mongers, and thought of a wider audience. Thus grew up the famous “Maxims,” about which little need be said. Every at once is now convinced, or professes272 to be convinced, that, as to form, they are perfect, and that as to matter, they are at once undeniably true and miserably273 false; true as applied274 to that condition of human nature in which the selfish instincts are still dominant275, false if taken as a representation of all the elements and possibilities of human nature. We think La Rochefoucauld himself wavered as to their universality, and that this wavering is indicated in the qualified276 form of some of the maxims; it occasionally struck him that the shadow of virtue124 must have a substance, but he had never grasped that substance—it had never been present to his consciousness.
It is curious to see La Rochefoucauld’s nervous anxiety about presenting himself before the public as an author; far from rushing into print, he stole into it, and felt his way by asking private opinions. Through Madame de Sablé he sent manuscript copies to various persons of taste and talent, both men and women, and many of the written opinions which he received in reply are still in existence. The women generally find the maxims distasteful, but the men write approvingly. These men, however, are for the most part ecclesiastics277, who decry278 human nature that they may exalt97 divine grace. The coincidence between Augustinianism or Calvinism, with its doctrine279 of human corruption280, and the hard cynicism of the maxims, presents itself in quite a piquant form in some of the laudatory281 opinions on La Rochefoucauld. One writer says: “On ne pourroit faire une instruction plus propre à un catechumène pour convertir à Dieu son esprit et sa volonté . . . Quand il n’y auroit que cet escrit au monde et l’Evangile je voudrois etre chretien. L’un m’apprendroit à connoistre mes misères, et l’autre à implorer mon libérateur.” Madame p. 58de Maintenon sends word to La Rochefoucauld, after the publication of his work, that the “Book of Job” and the “Maxims” are her only reading.
That Madame de Sablé herself had a tolerably just idea of La Rochefoucauld’s character, as well as of his maxims, may be gathered not only from the fact that her own maxims are as full of the confidence in human goodness which La Rochefoucauld wants, as they are empty of the style which he possesses, but also from a letter in which she replies to the criticisms of Madame de Schomberg. “The author,” she says, “derived the maxim on indolence from his own disposition, for never was there so great an indolence as his, and I think that his heart, inert282 as it is, owes this defect as much to his idleness as his will. It has never permitted him to do the least action for others; and I think that, amid all his great desires and great hopes, he is sometimes indolent even on his own behalf.” Still she must have felt a hearty283 interest in the “Maxims,” as in some degree her foster-child, and she must also have had considerable affection for the author, who was lovable enough to those who observed the rule of Helvetius, and expected nothing from him. She not only assisted him, as we have seen, in getting criticisms, and carrying out the improvements suggested by them, but when the book was actually published she prepared a notice of it for the only journal then existing—the Journal des Savants. This notice was originally a brief statement of the nature of the work, and the opinions which had been formed for and against it, with a moderate eulogy284, in conclusion, on its good sense, wit, and insight into human nature. But when she submitted it to La Rochefoucauld he objected to the paragraph which stated the adverse285 opinion, and requested her to alter it. She, however, was either unable or unwilling286 to modify her notice, and returned it with the following note:
“Je vous envoie ce que j’ai pu tirer de ma teste pour mettre dans le Journal des Savants. J’y ai mis cet endroit qui vous est le plus sensible, afin que cela vous fasse surmonter la mauvaise honte qui p. 59vous fit mettre la préface sans y rien retrancher, et je n’ai pas craint dele mettre, parce que je suis assurée que vous ne le ferez pas imprimer, quand même le reste vous plairoit. Je vous assure aussi que je vous serai pins obligée, si vous en usez comme d’une chose qui servit à vous pour le corriger on pour le jeter au feu. Nous autres grands auteurs, nous sommes trop riches pour craindre de rien perdre de nos productions. Mandez-moi ce qu’il vous semble de ce dictum.”
La Rochefoucauld availed himself of this permission, and “edited” the notice, touching287 up the style, and leaving out the blame. In this revised form it appeared in the Journal des Savants. In some points, we see, the youth of journalism was not without promise of its future.
While Madame de Sablé was thus playing the literary confidante to La Rochefoucauld, and was the soul of a society whose chief interest was the belles-lettres, she was equally active in graver matters. She was in constant intercourse or correspondence with the devout women of Port Royal, and of the neighboring convent of the Carmelites, many of whom had once been the ornaments288 of the court; and there is a proof that she was conscious of being highly valued by them in the fact that when the Princess Marie-Madeline, of the Carmelites, was dangerously ill, not being able or not daring to visit her, she sent her youthful portrait to be hung up in the sick-room, and received from the same Mère Agnès, whose grave admonition we have quoted above, a charming note, describing the pleasure which the picture had given in the infirmary of “Notre bonne Mère.” She was interesting herself deeply in the translation of the New Testament289, which was the work of Sacy, Arnauld, Nicole, Le Ma?tre, and the Duc de Luynes conjointly, Sacy having the principal share. We have mentioned that Arnauld asked her opinion on the “Discourse” prefixed to his “Logic,” and we may conclude from this that he had found her judgment valuable in many other cases. Moreover, the persecution290 of the Port Royalists had commenced, and she was uniting with Madame de Longueville in aiding and protecting her pious291 friends. Moderate in her Jansenism, as in everything p. 60else, she held that the famous formulary denouncing the Augustinian doctrine, and declaring it to have been originated by Jansenius, should be signed without reserve, and, as usual, she had faith in conciliatory measures; but her moderation was no excuse for inaction. She was at one time herself threatened with the necessity of abandoning her residence at Port Royal, and had thought of retiring to a religions house at Auteuil, a village near Paris. She did, in fact, pass some summers there, and she sometimes took refuge with her brother, the Commandeur de Souvré, with Madame de Montausier, or Madame de Longueville. The last was much bolder in her partisanship than her friend, and her superior wealth and position enabled her to give the Port Royalists more efficient aid. Arnauld and Nicole resided five years in her house; it was under her protection that the translation of the New Testament was carried on and completed, and it was chiefly through her efforts that, in 1669, the persecution was brought to an end. Madame de Sablé co-operated with all her talent and interest in the same direction; but here, as elsewhere, her influence was chiefly valuable in what she stimulated others to do, rather than in what she did herself. It was by her that Madame de Longueville was first won to the cause of Port Royal; and we find this ardent brave woman constantly seeking the advice and sympathy of her more timid and self-indulgent, but sincere and judicious friend.
In 1669, when Madame de Sablé had at length rest from these anxieties, she was at the good old age of seventy, but she lived nine years longer—years, we may suppose, chiefly dedicated292 to her spiritual concerns. This gradual, calm decay allayed293 the fear of death, which had tormented294 her more vigorous days; and she died with tranquillity295 and trust. It is a beautiful trait of these last moments that she desired not to be buried with her family, or even at Port Royal, among her saintly and noble companions—but in the cemetery296 of her parish, like one of the people, without pomp or ceremony.
It is worth while to notice, that with Madame de Sablé, as p. 61with some other remarkable French women, the part of her life which is richest in interest and results is that which is looked forward to by most of her sex with melancholy297 as the period of decline. When between fifty and sixty, she had philosophers, wits, beauties, and saints clustering around her; and one naturally cares to know what was the elixir298 which gave her this enduring and general attraction. We think it was, in a great degree, that well-balanced development of mental powers which gave her a comprehension of varied intellectual processes, and a tolerance299 for varied forms of character, which is still rarer in women than in men. Here was one point of distinction between her and Madame de Longueville; and an amusing passage, which Sainte-Beuve has disinterred from the writings of the Abbé St. Pierre, so well serves to indicate, by contrast, what we regard as the great charm of Madame de Sablé’s mind, that we shall not be wandering from our subject in quoting it.
“I one day asked M. Nicole what was the character of Mme. de Longueville’s intellect; he told me it was very subtle and delicate in the penetration300 of character; but very small, very feeble, and that her comprehension was extremely narrow in matters of science and reasoning, and on all speculations301 that did not concern matters of sentiment. For example, he added, I one day said to her that I could wager302 and demonstrate that there were in Paris at least two inhabitants who had the same number of hairs, although I could not point out who these two men were. She told me I could never be sure of it until I had counted the hairs of these two men. Here is my demonstration173, I said: I take it for granted that the head which is most amply supplied with hairs has not more than 200,000, and the head which is least so has but one hair. Now, if you suppose that 200,000 heads have each a different number of hairs, it necessarily follows that they have each one of the numbers of hairs which form the series from one to 200,000; for if it were supposed that there were two among these 200,000 who had the same number of hairs, I should have gained my wager. Supposing, then, that these 200,000 inhabitants have all a different number of hairs, if I add a single inhabitant who has hairs, and who has not more than 200,000, it necessarily follows that this number of hairs, whatever it may be, will be contained in the series from one to 200,000, and consequently will be equal to the number of hairs on one of the previous 200,000 p. 62inhabitants. Now as, instead of one inhabitant more than 200,000, there are nearly 800,000 inhabitants in Paris, you see clearly that there must be many heads which have an equal number of hairs, though I have not counted them. Still Mme. de Longueville could never comprehend that this equality of hairs could be demonstrated, and always maintained that the only way of proving it was to count them.”
Surely, the most ardent admirer of feminine shallowness must have felt some irritation303 when he found himself arrested by this dead wall of stupidity, and have turned with relief to the larger intelligence of Madame de Sablé, who was not the less graceful, delicate, and feminine because she could follow a train of reasoning, or interest herself in a question of science. In this combination consisted her pre-eminent charm: she was not a genius, not a heroine, but a woman whom men could more than love—whom they could make their friend, confidante, and counsellor; the sharer, not of their joys and sorrows only, but of their ideas and aims.
Such was Madame de Sablé, whose name is, perhaps, new to some of our readers, so far does it lie from the surface of literature and history. We have seen, too, that she was only one among a crowd—one in a firmament304 of feminine stars which, when once the biographical telescope is turned upon them, appear scarcely less remarkable and interesting. Now, if the reader recollects305 what was the position and average intellectual character of women in the high society of England during the reigns of James the First and the two Charleses—the period through which Madame de Sablé’s career extends—we think he will admit our position as to the early superiority of womanly development in France, and this fact, with its causes, has not merely an historical interest: it has an important bearing on the culture of women in the present day. Women become superior in France by being admitted to a common fund of ideas, to common objects of interest with men; and this must ever be the essential condition at once of true womanly culture and of true social well-being306. We have no faith in feminine conversazioni, where ladies are eloquent307 on Apollo p. 63and Mars; though we sympathize with the yearning308 activity of faculties which, deprived of their proper material, waste themselves in weaving fabrics309 out of cobwebs. Let the whole field of reality be laid open to woman as well as to man, and then that which is peculiar in her mental modification, instead of being, as it is now, a source of discord310 and repulsion between the sexes, will be found to be a necessary complement311 to the truth and beauty of life. Then we shall have that marriage of minds which alone can blend all the hues312 of thought and feeling in one lovely rainbow of promise for the harvest of human happiness.
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2
conjecture
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| n./v.推测，猜测 | |
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3
par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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4
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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5
attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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6
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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7
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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8
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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9
modification
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| n.修改，改进，缓和，减轻 | |
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10
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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11
distinctive
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| adj.特别的，有特色的，与众不同的 | |
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12
distinctively
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| adv.特殊地，区别地 | |
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13
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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14
inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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15
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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16
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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17
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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18
memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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19
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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20
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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21
judicious
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| adj.明智的，明断的，能作出明智决定的 | |
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22
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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23
manly
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| adj.有男子气概的；adv.男子般地，果断地 | |
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24
petals
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| n.花瓣( petal的名词复数 ) | |
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25
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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26
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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27
dame
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| n.女士 | |
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28
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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29
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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30
reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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31
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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32
delineation
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| n.记述；描写 | |
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33
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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34
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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35
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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36
hawthorns
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| n.山楂树( hawthorn的名词复数 ) | |
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37
stimulate
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| vt.刺激，使兴奋；激励，使…振奋 | |
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38
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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39
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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40
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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41
emancipated
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| adj.被解放的，不受约束的v.解放某人（尤指摆脱政治、法律或社会的束缚）( emancipate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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42
pedantry
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| n.迂腐，卖弄学问 | |
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43
manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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44
physiological
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| adj.生理学的，生理学上的 | |
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45
vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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46
temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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47
requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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48
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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49
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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50
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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51
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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52
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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53
complicate
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| vt.使复杂化，使混乱，使难懂 | |
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54
quiescence
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| n.静止 | |
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55
conjugal
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| adj.婚姻的，婚姻性的 | |
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56
attained
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的过去式和过去分词 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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57
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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58
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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59
partisans
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| 游击队员( partisan的名词复数 )； 党人； 党羽； 帮伙 | |
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60
partisan
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| adj.党派性的；游击队的；n.游击队员；党徒 | |
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61
Partisanship
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| n. 党派性, 党派偏见 | |
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62
perspicuity
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| n.（文体的）明晰 | |
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63
intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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64
dormant
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| adj.暂停活动的；休眠的；潜伏的 | |
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65
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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66
drudgery
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| n.苦工，重活，单调乏味的工作 | |
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67
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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68
causticity
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| n.尖刻，苛性度，刻薄 | |
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69
caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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70
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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71
maternity
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| n.母性，母道，妇产科病房；adj.孕妇的，母性的 | |
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72
phantom
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| n.幻影，虚位，幽灵；adj.错觉的，幻影的，幽灵的 | |
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73
hatreds
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| n.仇恨，憎恶( hatred的名词复数 )；厌恶的事 | |
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74
rivalries
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| n.敌对，竞争，对抗( rivalry的名词复数 ) | |
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75
arena
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| n.竞技场，运动场所；竞争场所，舞台 | |
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76
espoused
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| v.（决定）支持，拥护（目标、主张等）( espouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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77
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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78
surmount
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| vt.克服；置于…顶上 | |
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79
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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80
piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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81
superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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82
salons
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| n.（营业性质的）店( salon的名词复数 )；厅；沙龙（旧时在上流社会女主人家的例行聚会或聚会场所）；（大宅中的）客厅 | |
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83
gamut
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| n.全音阶，(一领域的)全部知识 | |
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84
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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85
bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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86
rendezvous
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|
| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
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87
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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88
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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89
culmination
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| n.顶点；最高潮 | |
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90
dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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91
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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92
pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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93
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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94
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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95
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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96
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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97
exalt
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| v.赞扬，歌颂，晋升，提升 | |
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98
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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99
mingle
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| vt.使混合，使相混；vi.混合起来；相交往 | |
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100
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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101
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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102
prolixity
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| n.冗长，罗嗦 | |
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103
conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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104
piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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105
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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106
grimacing
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的现在分词 ) | |
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107
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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108
refinement
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| n.文雅；高尚；精美；精制；精炼 | |
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109
herd
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| n.兽群，牧群；vt.使集中，把…赶在一起 | |
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110
degenerated
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| 衰退，堕落，退化( degenerate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
inflated
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| adj.（价格）飞涨的；（通货）膨胀的；言过其实的；充了气的v.使充气（于轮胎、气球等）( inflate的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）膨胀；（使）通货膨胀；物价上涨 | |
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112
outstrip
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| v.超过，跑过 | |
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113
genre
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| n.(文学、艺术等的)类型，体裁，风格 | |
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114
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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115
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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116
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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117
ridicules
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| n.嘲笑( ridicule的名词复数 )；奚落；嘲弄；戏弄v.嘲笑，嘲弄，奚落( ridicule的第三人称单数 ) | |
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118
sonnets
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| n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
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119
stanzas
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| 节，段( stanza的名词复数 ) | |
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120
bouts
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| n.拳击（或摔跤）比赛( bout的名词复数 )；一段（工作）；（尤指坏事的）一通；（疾病的）发作 | |
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121
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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122
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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123
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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124
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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125
candor
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| n.坦白，率真 | |
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126
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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127
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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128
supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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129
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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130
divesting
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| v.剥夺( divest的现在分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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131
diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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132
advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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133
coterie
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| n.(有共同兴趣的)小团体，小圈子 | |
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134
poising
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| 使平衡( poise的现在分词 )； 保持（某种姿势）； 抓紧； 使稳定 | |
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135
lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136
prodigally
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| adv.浪费地，丰饶地 | |
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137
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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138
journalism
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| n.新闻工作，报业 | |
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139
circumscribed
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| adj.[医]局限的：受限制或限于有限空间的v.在…周围划线( circumscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；划定…范围；限制；限定 | |
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140
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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141
antenna
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| n.触角，触须；天线 | |
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142
outgrown
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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143
coteries
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| n.（有共同兴趣的）小集团( coterie的名词复数 ) | |
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144
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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145
ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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146
wane
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| n.衰微，亏缺，变弱；v.变小，亏缺，呈下弦 | |
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147
labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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148
illustrates
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| 给…加插图( illustrate的第三人称单数 )； 说明； 表明； （用示例、图画等）说明 | |
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149
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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150
posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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151
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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152
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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153
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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154
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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155
narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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156
specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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157
textures
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| n.手感( texture的名词复数 )；质感；口感；（音乐或文学的）谐和统一感 | |
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158
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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159
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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160
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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161
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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162
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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163
graphically
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| adv.通过图表；生动地，轮廓分明地 | |
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164
amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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165
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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166
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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167
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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168
subsist
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| vi.生存，存在，供养 | |
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169
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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170
reciprocated
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| v.报答，酬答( reciprocate的过去式和过去分词 )；（机器的部件）直线往复运动 | |
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171
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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172
demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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173
demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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174
liaison
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| n.联系，（未婚男女间的）暖昧关系，私通 | |
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175
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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176
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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177
appease
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| v.安抚，缓和，平息，满足 | |
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178
conformity
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| n.一致，遵从，顺从 | |
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179
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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180
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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181
complaisance
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| n.彬彬有礼，殷勤，柔顺 | |
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182
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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183
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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184
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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185
susceptible
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| adj.过敏的，敏感的；易动感情的，易受感动的 | |
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186
remonstrances
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| n.抱怨，抗议( remonstrance的名词复数 ) | |
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187
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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188
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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189
intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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190
exquisiteness
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191
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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192
salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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193
bilious
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| adj.胆汁过多的；易怒的 | |
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194
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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195
badinage
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| n.开玩笑，打趣 | |
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196
adepts
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| n.专家，能手( adept的名词复数 ) | |
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197
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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198
fortify
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| v.强化防御，为…设防；加强，强化 | |
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199
winces
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| 避开，畏缩( wince的名词复数 ) | |
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200
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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201
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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202
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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203
mania
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| n.疯狂；躁狂症，狂热，癖好 | |
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204
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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205
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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206
temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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207
preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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208
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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209
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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210
intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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211
tout
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| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
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212
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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213
appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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214
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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215
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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216
pique
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| v.伤害…的自尊心，使生气 n.不满，生气 | |
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217
obtuse
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| adj.钝的；愚钝的 | |
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218
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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219
adoration
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| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
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220
impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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221
nourishment
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| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
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222
refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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223
opulence
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| n.财富，富裕 | |
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224
scents
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| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
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225
dames
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| n.（在英国）夫人（一种封号），夫人（爵士妻子的称号）( dame的名词复数 )；女人 | |
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226
epithet
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| n.（用于褒贬人物等的）表述形容词，修饰语 | |
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227
alienating
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| v.使疏远( alienate的现在分词 )；使不友好；转让；让渡（财产等） | |
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228
pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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229
chancellor
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| n.(英)大臣；法官；(德、奥)总理；大学校长 | |
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230
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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231
commotions
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| n.混乱，喧闹，骚动( commotion的名词复数 ) | |
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232
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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233
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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234
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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235
intrepid
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| adj.无畏的，刚毅的 | |
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236
extinction
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| n.熄灭，消亡，消灭，灭绝，绝种 | |
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237
retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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238
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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239
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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240
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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241
forsaking
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| 放弃( forsake的现在分词 )； 弃绝； 抛弃； 摒弃 | |
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242
edifying
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| adj.有教训意味的，教训性的，有益的v.开导，启发( edify的现在分词 ) | |
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243
animating
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| v.使有生气( animate的现在分词 )；驱动；使栩栩如生地动作；赋予…以生命 | |
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244
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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245
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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246
specialty
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| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
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247
retarder
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| n. 阻碍者，减速器，[化]迟缩剂 | |
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248
justifier
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| 辩护者，辩解者 | |
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249
barometrical
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| 气压计的 | |
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250
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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251
generalizations
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| 一般化( generalization的名词复数 )； 普通化； 归纳； 概论 | |
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252
maxims
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|
| n.格言，座右铭( maxim的名词复数 ) | |
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253
maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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254
brittle
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| adj.易碎的；脆弱的；冷淡的；(声音)尖利的 | |
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255
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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256
treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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257
forte
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| n.长处，擅长；adj.(音乐)强音的 | |
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258
genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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259
remodelled
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| v.改变…的结构[形状]( remodel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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terseness
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| 简洁，精练 | |
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261
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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262
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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263
facets
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| n.（宝石或首饰的）小平面( facet的名词复数 )；（事物的）面；方面 | |
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264
amethysts
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| n.紫蓝色宝石( amethyst的名词复数 )；紫晶；紫水晶；紫色 | |
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subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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266
piquancy
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| n.辛辣，辣味，痛快 | |
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267
charades
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| n.伪装( charade的名词复数 )；猜字游戏 | |
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268
initiation
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| n.开始 | |
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infusion
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| n.灌输 | |
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concocted
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的过去式和过去分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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271
batch
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| n.一批(组，群)；一批生产量 | |
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professes
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| 声称( profess的第三人称单数 )； 宣称； 公开表明； 信奉 | |
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273
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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dominant
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| adj.支配的，统治的；占优势的；显性的；n.主因，要素，主要的人(或物)；显性基因 | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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277
ecclesiastics
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| n.神职者，教会，牧师( ecclesiastic的名词复数 ) | |
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278
decry
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| v.危难，谴责 | |
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279
doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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280
corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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281
laudatory
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| adj.赞扬的 | |
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282
inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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283
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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284
eulogy
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| n.颂词；颂扬 | |
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285
adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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286
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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287
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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288
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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290
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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291
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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dedicated
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| adj.一心一意的；献身的；热诚的 | |
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293
allayed
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| v.减轻，缓和( allay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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294
tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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295
tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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296
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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297
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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298
elixir
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| n.长生不老药，万能药 | |
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299
tolerance
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| n.宽容；容忍，忍受；耐药力；公差 | |
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penetration
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| n.穿透，穿人，渗透 | |
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301
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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302
wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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303
irritation
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| n.激怒，恼怒，生气 | |
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304
firmament
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| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
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305
recollects
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的第三人称单数 ) | |
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306
well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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307
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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308
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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309
fabrics
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| 织物( fabric的名词复数 )； 布； 构造； （建筑物的）结构（如墙、地面、屋顶）：质地 | |
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310
discord
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| n.不和，意见不合，争论，（音乐）不和谐 | |
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311
complement
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| n.补足物，船上的定员；补语；vt.补充，补足 | |
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312
hues
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| 色彩( hue的名词复数 )； 色调； 信仰； 观点 | |
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