n fact, I consider this an admirable book; nobody has written
as these gentlemen have, for I put down to Pascal half of all that is
beautiful. It is so nice to have one's self and one's feelings talked
about, that, though it be in bad part, one is charmed by it. What is
called searching the depths of the heart with a lantern is exactly what
he does; he discloses to us that which we feel every day, but have not
the wit to discern or the sincerity to avow. I have even forgiven the
swelling in the heart (_l'enflure du coeur_) for the sake of the rest,
and I maintain that there is no other word to express vanity and pride,
which are really wind: try and find another word. I shall complete the
reading of this with pleasure."

Here we have the real Madame de Sevigne, whom we love, on whom we rely,
who is as earnest as she is amiable and gay, who goes to the very core of
things, and who tells the truth of herself as well as of others. "You
ask me, my dear child, whether I continue to be really fond of life. I
confess to you that I find poignant sorrows in it, but I am even more
disgusted with death; I feel so wretched at having to end all this
thereby, that, if I could turn back again, I would ask for nothing
better. I find myself under an obligation which perplexes me: I embarked
upon life without my consent, and I must go out of it; that overwhelms
me. And how shall I go? Which way? By what door? When will it be?
In what condition? Shall I suffer a thousand, thousand pains, which will
make me die desperate? Shall I have brain-fever? Shall I die of an
accident? How shall I be with God? What shall I have to show Him?
Shall fear, shall necessity bring me back to Him? Shall I have no
sentiment but that of dread? What can I hope? Am I worthy of heaven?
Am I worthy of hell? Nothing is such madness as to leave one's salvation
in uncertainty, but nothing is so natural; and the stupid life I lead is
the easiest thing in the world to understand. I bury myself in these
thoughts, and I find death so terrible, that I hate life more because it
leads me thereto than because of the thorns with which it is planted.
You will say that I want to live forever then: not at all; but, if my
opinion had been asked, I should have preferred to die in my nurse's
arms; that would have removed me from vexations of spirit, and would have
given me Heaven full surely and easily."

Madame de Sevigne would have very much scandalized those