ntended by the author, and that the
young may be led to follow the example of the "paysan, parvenu a la
fortune par des intrigues galantes," in spite of his recommendations of
sobriety.[160]

Nothing, perhaps, could have so wounded Marivaux as this imputation, for
few writers have been actuated by purer and more noble motives, and it was
with difficulty that he restrained his impulse to call upon the assembled
company for justification.[161] This is but another instance of his
extreme sensibility, for, despite the criticism more or less just, the
spirit of the discourse was both kindly and complimentary, as may be seen
from these closing words: "J'ai rendu justice, monsieur, a la beaute de
votre genie, a sa fecondite, a ses agrements: rendez-la, je vous prie, de
votre part, au ministere saint dont je suis charge; et en sa faveur,
pardonnez-moi une critique qui ne deroge point, ni a ce qui est du
d'estime a votre aimable caractere, ni a ce qui est du d'eloge a la
multitude, a la variete, a la gentillesse de vos ouvrages."[162]

No sooner was Marivaux a member of the French Academy than epigrams, such
as this, began to be showered upon him: "Il eut ete mieux place a
l'Academie des Sciences, comme inventeur d'un idiome nouveau, qu'a
l'Academie Francaise, dont assurement il ne connaissait pas la
langue."[163]

From the time of his admission to the French Academy until his death he
wrote little of value. A _Lettre a une dame sur la perte d'un perroquet_,
in verse, may serve to represent the decline of his genius. His popularity
waned and was eclipsed by that of the vigorous writers and philosophical
thinkers that followed him. His graceful sketches were soon to be
forgotten in those terrible scenes that closed the century, which the most
morbid and foreboding mind could scarcely have foreseen or pictured in the
lurid colourings that history has painted them. His closing years were
embittered by a knowledge of his failing powers and a growing
suspiciousness of those about him, and his increasing poverty would have
made his sufferings more keen, had it not been for the generous devotion
of a friend, Mlle. de Saint-Jean, with whom he lived for the last few
years of his life, in her apartments, rue de Richelieu, and whose modest
fortune he shared. He died on February 12,[164] "after a rather long
illness,"[165] which he bore with fortitude, and "with all the
tranquillity of a Christian philosopher"[166] saw the inevitable end