Spanish and Italian, read extensively
and conversed brilliantly. At the death of her uncle and in the
freshness of her youth, she went to Paris with her brother who had some
pretension as a poet and dramatic writer. He even posed as a rival
of Corneille, and was sustained by Richelieu, but time has long since
relegated him to comparative oblivion. His sister, who was a victim of
his selfish tyranny, is credited with much of the prose which appeared
under his name; indeed, her first romances were thus disguised. Her love
for conversation was so absorbing, that he is said to have locked her
in her room, and refused her to her friends until a certain amount of
writing was done. But, in spite of this surveillance, her life was so
largely in the world that it was a mystery when she did her voluminous
work.

Of winning temper and pleasing address, with this full equipment of
knowledge and imagination, versatility and ambition, she was at an early
period domesticated in the family of Mme. de Rambouillet as the friend
and companion of Julie d'Angennes. Her graces of mind and her amiability
made her a favorite with those who frequented the house, and she was
thus brought into close contact with the best society of her time. She
has painted it carefully and minutely in the "Grand Cyrus," a romantic
allegory in which she transfers the French aristocracy and French
manners of the seventeenth century to an oriental court. The Hotel
de Rambouillet plays an important part as the Hotel Cleomire. When
we consider that the central figures were the Prince de Conde and
his lovely sister the Duchesse de Longueville, also that the most
distinguished men and women of the age saw their own portraits, somewhat
idealized but quite recognizable through the thin disguise of Persians,
Greeks, Armenians, or Egyptians, it is easy to imagine that the ten
volumes of rather exalted sentiment were eagerly sought and read. She
lacked incident and constructive power, but excelled in vivid portraits,
subtle analysis, and fine conversations. She made no attempt at local
color; her plots were strained and unnatural, her style heavy and
involved. But her penetrating intellect was thoroughly tinged with the
romantic spirit, and she had the art of throwing a certain glamour over
everything she touched. Cousin, who has rescued the memory of Mlle. de
Scudery from many unjust aspersions, says that she was the "creator
of the psychological romance." Unquestionably