has
received. All examination is impossible to her lightness, and doubt is
a state which her weakness cannot support. Her catechism and the
philosophy of Descartes are two systems which she understands equally
well.... Her mirror cannot make her doubt the charms of her face; the
testimony of her eyes is more questionable than the judgment of those
who have decided that she is beautiful and well-formed. Her vanity is
of a singular kind, but seems the less offensive because it is not
reflective, though in reality it is the more ridiculous, Intercourse
with her is a slavery; her tyranny is open; she does not deign to color
it with the appearance of friendship. She says frankly that she has the
misfortune of not being able to do without people for whom she does not
care. She proves it effectually. One sees her learn with indifference
the death of those who would call forth torrents of tears if they were a
quarter of an hour too late for a card party or a promenade."

But this vain and self-willed woman read Virgil and Terence in the
original, was devoted to Greek tragedies, dipped into philosophy,
traversed the surface of many sciences, turned a madrigal with facility,
and talked brilliantly. "The language is perfect only when you speak it
or when one speaks of you," wrote Mme. de Lambert, in a tone of discreet
flattery. "No one has ever spoken with more correctness, clearness, and
rapidity, neither in a manner more noble or more natural," said Mlle. de
Launay.

Through this feminine La Bruyere, as Sainte-Beuve has styled her, we
are introduced to the life at Sceaux. It was the habit of the guests
to assemble at eight, listen to music or plays, improvise verses for
popular airs, relate racy anecdotes, or amuse themselves with proverbs.
"Write verses for me," said the insatiable duchess when ill; "I feel
that verses only can give me relief." The quality does not seem to
have been essential, provided they were sufficiently flattering.
Sainte-Aulaire wrote madrigals for her. Malezieu, the learned and
versatile preceptor of the Duc du Maine, read Sophocles and Euripides.
Mme. du Maine herself acted the roles of Athalie and Iphigenie with the
famous Baron. They played at science, contemplated the heavens through a
telescope and the earth through a microscope. In their eager search for
novelty they improvised fetes that rivaled in magnificence the Arabian
Nights; they posed as gods and goddesses, or, affecting simplicity,
assum