ing myself"--a confession that savors more of the
salon than of the library. He had a good deal of learning, but much
pretension, and Moliere has given him an undesirable immortality as
Vadius in "Les Femmes Savantes," in company with his deadly enemy, the
Abbe Cotin, who figures as "Trissotin." It appears that the susceptible
savant lost his heart to his lively pupil, and sighed not only in secret
but quite openly. He wrote her bad verses in several languages, loaded
her with eulogies, and followed her persistently. "The name of Mme.
de Sevigne," said the Bishop of Laon, "is in the works of Menage what
Bassan's dog is in his portraits. He cannot help putting it there." She
treated him in a sisterly fashion that put to flight all sentimental
illusions, but she had often to pacify his wounded vanity. One day, in
the presence of several friends, she gave him a greeting rather more
cordial than dignified. Noticing the looks of surprise, she turned away
laughing and said, "So they kissed in the primitive church." But the
wide knowledge and scholarly criticism of Menage were of great value to
the versatile woman, who speedily surpassed her master in style if not
in learning. Evidently she appreciated him, since she addressed him in
one of her letters as "friend of all friends, the best."

At eighteen the gay and unconventional Marie de Rabutin-Chantal was
married to the Marquis de Sevigne; but her period of happiness was a
short one. The husband, who was rich, handsome, and agreeable, proved
weak and faithless. He was one of the temporary caprices of the
dangerous Ninon, led a dashing, irresponsible life, spent his fortune
recklessly, and left his pretty young wife to weep alone at a convenient
distance, under the somber skies of Brittany. Fortunately for her and
for posterity, his career was rapid and brief. For some trifling affair
of so-called honor--a quality of which, from our point of view, he
does not seem to have possessed enough to be worth the trouble of
defending--he had the kindness to get himself killed in a duel, after
seven years of marriage. His spirited wife had loved him sincerely, and
first illusions die slowly. She shed many bitter and natural tears, but
she never showed any disposition to repeat the experiment. Perhaps she
was of the opinion of another young widow who thought it "a fine thing
to bear the name of a man who can commit no more follies." But it is
useless to speculate upon the reasons why a w