I
admire God in His works, and I seek by knowledge of the truth to regulate
my mind and become better. Come in, all doors are open to you; my
antechamber is not made to wear you out with waiting for me; come right
in to me without giving me notice. You bring me something more precious
than silver and gold, if it be an opportunity of obliging you. Tell me,
what can I do for you? Must I leave my books, my study, my work, this
line I have just begun? What a fortunate interruption for me is that
which is of service to you!"

[Illustration: La Bruyere----633]

From the solitude of that closet went forth a book unique of its sort,
full of sagacity, penetration, and severity, without bitterness; a
picture of the manners of the court and of the world, traced by the hand
of a spectator who had not essayed its temptations, but who guessed them
and passed judgment on them all,--"a book," as M. de Malezieux said to La
Bruyere, "which was sure to bring its author many readers and many
enemies." Its success was great from the first, and it excited lively
curiosity. The courtiers liked the portraits; attempts were made to name
them; the good sense, shrewdness, and truth of the observations struck
everybody; people had met a hundred times those whom La Bruyere had
described. The form appeared of a rarer order than even the matter; it
was a brilliant, uncommon style, as varied as human nature, always
elegant and pure, original and animated, rising sometimes to the height
of the noblest thoughts, gay and grave, pointed and serious. Avoiding,
by richness in turns and expression, the uniformity native to the
subject, La Bruyere riveted attention by a succession of touches making a
masterly picture, a terrible one sometimes, as in his description of the
peasants' misery:

To be seen are certain ferocious animals, male and female, scattered over
the country, dark, livid, and all scorched by the sun, affixed to the
soil which they rummage and throw up with indomitable pertinacity; they
have a sort of articulate voice, and, when they rise to their feet, they
show a human face; they are, in fact, men. At night they withdraw to the
caves, where they live on black bread, water, and roots. They spare
other men the trouble of sowing, tilling, and reaping for their
livelihood, and deserve, therefore, not to go in want of the very bread
they have sown." Few people at the court, and in La Bruyere's day, would
have thought about the su