INTRODUCTION (continued 2)

MADAME ARGANTE. … Parle-moi a coeur ouvert; fais-moi ta confidente.

ANGELIQUE. Vous, la confidente de votre fille?

MADAME ARGANTE. Oh! votre fille, et qui te parle d'elle? Ce n'est point ta mere qui veut etre ta confidente; c'est ton amie, encore une fois.

ANGELIQUE, riant. D'accord; mais mon amie redira tout a ma mere; l'une est inseparable de l'autre.

MADAME ARGANTE. Eh bien! je les separe, moi; je t'en fais serment. Oui, mets-toi dans l'esprit que ce que tu me confieras sur ce pied-la, c'est comme si ta mere ne l'entendait pas….

Little by little the mother gains the daughter's confidence, until at last, emboldened, Angelique confesses:

Vous m'avez demande si on avait attaque mon coeur? Que trop, puisque j'aime!

MADAME ARGANTE, d'un air serieux. Vous aimez?…

ANGELIQUE, riant. Eh bien! ne voila-t-il pas cette mere qui est absente? C'est pourtant elle qui me repond; mais rassurez-vous, car je badine.[123]

Nothing could be more graceful or more natural. This, then, is that marivaudage, against which so much has been said!

Madame Argante has discovered the secret, and, fearful for her daughter's welfare, she allows the mother nature to assume the upper hand, and points out the danger of her course to Angelique, who, at last, comprehends, and agrees to renounce her lover. This she attempts to do, but love will have its way, and will not be put down. An elopement is arranged, which is interrupted by the arrival of Madame Argante, who takes Dorante to task for his indifference to the real happiness of Angelique. He is covered with confusion, confesses his mistake, and by his manly attitude gains the mother's heart and the daughter's hand. Ergaste, the rejected suitor, proves to be an uncle of Dorante, and in a spirit of self-abnegation, well nigh superhuman, devotes himself to celibacy and his fortune to the lovers. Lisette plays the role of the intrigante and temptress of her mistress. The comic of the piece is in the hands of Lubin, a peasant in the service of the family, who is bribed by each party to spy upon the other.

Lack of space forbids more than a mere mention of the remaining plays, many of which are worthy of being compared favourably with those which have been outlined. We have seen enough to convince us that, although his drama may be classified in general as psychological and feminin there is great diversity in the individual plays, and never monotony.

It has been said by certain of his contemporaries that in all the characters of his comedies he has but embodied himself, that they all have "the imprint of the style precieux, for which he has been reproached with so much reason in his novels and in his comedies,"[124] and that all,—"masters, valets, courtiers, peasants, lovers, mistresses, old men, and young men have the esprit of Marivaux."[125] To this accusation he makes reply in these words, quoted by d'Alembert: "On croit voir partout le meme genre de style dans mes comedies, parce que le dialogue y est partout l'expression simple des mouvements du coeur: la verite de cette expression fait croire que je n'ai qu'un meme ton et qu'une meme langue; mais ce n'est pas moi que j'ai voulu copier, c'est la nature et c'est peut-etre parce que ce ton est naturel, qu'il a paru singulier."[126]

Both the accusation and the reply are somewhat justifiable. With all the diversity that may be found in his different characters, there is yet a similarity of sentiments and of expression, which is due, not to a desire of representing himself in his plays, but to looking for models to a society the very natural of which was artificial, and to looking always from one point of view. To the careful student of the human heart the infinite variety that Marivaux has known how to introduce into his characters, which are always clearly distinct from one another, even if by mere delicate shades of difference, is a greater cause for wonder than the general family resemblance that unites them all.[127]

The roles of women are the important ones in the works of this author. In this particular the comedies of Marivaux recall the tragedies of Racine. Brunetiere[128] goes so far as to claim that "the roles of women in Marivaux's drama are almost the only women's roles" in the whole repertory of French comedies. Of Moliere's drama he recognizes only three such roles as clearly individualized, those of Agnes, Elmire and Celimene. "The others, whatever their name—Marianne, Elise, Henriette —are about the same ingenue, or—Dorine, Nicole, Toinon— about the same soubrette." Marivaux excels in his portrayal of the ingenue and of the coquette, but perhaps no role is more sympathetically developed than that of the young widow, now tender and yielding like Araminte of the Fausses Confidences, now vivacious and positive, but no less kindly, like the countess of the Legs.

His soubrettes resemble closely their mistresses, to such a degree that by exchanging roles they may readily be mistaken for them, as we have seen in le Jeu de l'Amour et du Hasard. Unlike those of Moliere, they are always refined and graceful, and are none the less witty. Contrary to their more cautious mistresses, they all, or nearly all, believe in love, and seek to further the marriage of the former. Lisette of le Legs is an exception. In short, all of the younger women of Marivaux are the perfection of grace, beauty, delicacy, wit or artlessness, and are simply irresistible.

It is only the mothers that merit our aversion. With few exceptions, notably Mme. Argante in la Mere confidente, he paints them "laides, vaines, imperieuses, avares, entichees de prejuges." "Il ne pare pas du moindre rayon de coquetterie leurs maussades et acariatres personnes. Il a de la peine a ne pas ceder, quand il s'agit d'elles, a la tentation de la caricature. On dirait qu'il se venge."[129] The roles of fathers, on the other hand, are treated with great affection. They are always kind and indulgent, and exercise their authority as little as possible. Their motto is that of the good Monsieur Orgon of le Jeu de l'Amour et du Hasard: "Il faut etre un peu trop bon pour l'etre assez."

His amoureux are less varied and less attractive than his amoureuses, and, while no less refined and exquisite, are less sincere, more calculating and self-interested.

His valets, like his soubrettes, are more refined than those of Moliere, that is to say, are higher in the social scale, and are treated by their masters with more consideration. The changes, soon to be wrought in the old regime, are already germinating. While almost rivalling their masters in wit, they yet occupy a secondary place upon the stage, and rarely dwarf by their own cleverness, as do often those of Moliere, their master's roles.[130] "Three of these valets are real creations. Dubois of les Fausses Confidences, Trivelin, of la Fausse Suivante, Lepine of le Legs."[131] Trivelin is the ancestor of Beaumarchais' Figaro.[132]

Marivaux has introduced into a number of his plays peasants of the cunning, calculating, Norman type, who speak a Norman patois, which may be a souvenir of his own Norman origin.

Piron, who could not resist an occasional thrust at his rivals, was guilty of the following witticism: "Fontenelle a engendre Marivaux, Marivaux a engendre Moncrif, et Moncrif n'engendrera personne." The boutade is amusing, but not just. Moncrif can hardly be considered an offspring of Marivaux, although he imitated certain of his coquettish graces,[133] any more, or perhaps even much less, than the latter, may be considered an offspring of Fontenelle. Larroumet[134] mentions as true successors to Marivaux, in the line of proverbes and comedies de societe, Florian, in the eighteenth century, and in the nineteenth, Picard, Andrieux, Colin d'Harleville, Carmontelle, Theodore Leclercq, Alfred de Vigny and Alfred de Musset,[135] in the novel Paul Bourget and his school, and particularly Paul Hervieu, and in the journal, the masters of the modern chronique.

One feature common to all of the writings of our author, as to many of his contemporaries, is their lack of the sentiment of nature. There are no streams, no flowers, no birds throughout his works. The two slight exceptions, mentioned by Larroumet,[136] show so evident a lack of interest in the beauties of nature that they offer the strongest proof in support of the rule. Here they are, the first from the eighth and the second from the eleventh part of Marianne: "Pendant qu'on etait la- dessus, je feignis quelque curiosite de voir un cabinet de verdure qui etait au bout de la terrasse. Il me parait fort joli, dis-je a Valville, pour l'engager a m'y mener." [137] —"Il faisait un fort beau jour, et il y avait dans l'hotellerie un jardin qui me parut assez joli. Je fus curieuse de le voir, et j'y entrai. Je m'y promenai meme quelques instants."[138] This passage, from the sixth part of the same work, shows a somewhat greater appreciation: " Ah, ca! vous n'avez pas vu notre jardin; il est fort beau; madame nous a dit de vous y mener; venez y faire un tour; la promenade dissipe, cela rejouit. Nous avons les plus belles allees du monde!"[139] There is one passage, however, in the fifth part, in which Marivaux gives evidence of a frank and simple enjoyment of nature: "Nous nous promenions tous trois dans le bois de la maison;… et comme les tendresses de Valvilie interrompaient ce que nous disions, cette aimable fille et moi, nous nous avisames, par un mouvement de gaite, de le fuir, de l'ecarter d'aupres de nous, et de lui jeter des feuilles que nous arrachions des bosquets."[140]

Marivaux has had the singular honor of causing the creation of a new word in the French literary vocabulary, to designate his peculiar style, le marivaudage, a term which has had in the past rather more of discredit than of esteem in its general acceptation. Sainte-Beuve thus defines it: "Qui dit marivaudage, dit plus ou moins badinage a froid, espieglerie compassee et prolongee, petillement redouble et pretentieux, enfin une sorte de pedantisme semillant et joli; mais l'homme, considere dans l'ensemble, vaut mieux que la definition a laquelle il a fourni occasion et sujet."[141] With the increasing popularity of Marivaux, there has gradually arisen a different and more complimentary idea of the term. Deschamps, in his excellent work on the author, thus defines it: "Cet examen de conscience, dicte par une probite inquiete,—cette application a eviter les illusions qui trompent, a dejouer les pieges du caprice et de la fantaisie, a mettre au service du sentiment les plus subtiles lumieres de la raison,…—l'esprit de finesse employe a decouvrir les plus secrets mouvements de notre sensibilite,—par consequent l'usage conscient d'un style ajuste a la tenuite de ces enquetes, style qui n'est pas exempt de recherche, mais qui abonde en trouvailles decisives,—voila precisement le marivaudage."[142]

Marivaux has been blamed for an affectation, an ingenuity, a delicacy of style, together with a diffuseness, which led him to turn a thought in so many different ways as to weary the reader, a habit of clothing in popular expressions subtle and over-refined ideas, and, finally, a studied and far-fetched neologism.[143]

His ideas on style may be found in the sixth leaflet of the Cabinet du Philosophe, in which he answers the accusations of his critics. With him the idea is primary and the word used to express it but secondary. Wherefore, an author should be judged rather by the thoughts which the words express than by the words themselves. If, moreover, the finesse of the writer is such that he can perceive certain shades of meaning, not evident to the more commonplace beholder, how can he make them clear without deviating from the regular forms of expression? A man who understands his language may have poor thoughts, but cannot express his thoughts poorly. "Venons maintenant a l'application de tout ce que j'ai dit. Vous accusez un auteur d'avoir un style precieux. Qu'est-ce que cela signifie?… Ce style peut-etre bien n'est accuse d'etre mauvais, precieux, guinde, recherche, que parce que les pensees qu'il exprime sont extremement fines, et ont du se former d'une liaison d'idees singulieres, lesquelles idees ont du a leur tour etre exprimees par le rapprochement de mots et de signes qu'on a rarement vus aller ensemble." We should have to tell him to think less, or else urge the others to allow him to use the only expressions possible of conveying his thoughts, even should they appear precieuses. If, then, his thoughts are understood, the next question is whether they could be formed with fewer ideas, and consequently fewer words, and still convey to the hearer all the necessary finesse, all of the delicate shades of meaning. "Il y a des gens qui, en faisant un ouvrage d'esprit, ne saisissent pas toujours precisement une certaine idee qu'ils voudraient joindre a une autre. Ils la cherchent; ils l'ont dans l'instinct, dans le fond de l'ame; mais ils ne sauraient la developper. Par paresse, ou par necessite, ou par lassitude. ils s'en tiennent a une autre qui en approche, mais qui n'est pas la veritable: et ils l'expriment pourtant bien, parce qu'ils prennent le mot propre de cette idee a peu pres ressemblante a l'autre, et en meme temps inferieure." Montaigne, La Bruyere, Pascal, and all great writers, have had individual ideas, hence a singular style, as it is termed.

In the seventh leaflet of the Spectateur he replies to the accusation that he attempted in his writings to display his wit at the expense of naturalness. "Combien croit-on, par exemple, qu'il y ait d'ecrivains, qui, pour eviter le reproche de n'etre pas naturels font justement tout ce qu'il faut pour ne l'etre pas, et d'autres qui se rendent fades, de crainte qu'on ne leur dise qu'ils courent apres l'esprit! Courir apres l'esprit, et n'etre point naturel, voila les reproches a la mode." What Marivaux sought, above everything else, was naturalness, and he prided himself upon employing more nearly than most writers the language of conversation. Summing up the whole matter, he declares: "J'ajouterai seulement, la-dessus, qu'entre gens d'esprit, les conversations dans le monde sont plus vives qu'on ne pense, et que tout ce qu'un auteur pourrait faire pour les imiter, n'approchera jamais du feu et de la naivete fine et subite qu'ils y mettent."[144]

Although the term of neologue was applied to Marivaux by Voltaire, and has been repeated ever since, he was less of a neologist than a precieux in language.[145] That is to say, he was less inclined to coin new words, or even to use old words with new meanings, than he was to employ unusual and peculiar turns of expression.[146] Marivaux was not the only writer of the time to make use of expressions precieuses, and, although he figures rather more prominently than most of the authors ridiculed by Desfontaines in his Dictionnaire neologique,[147] he has the company of many others, and among them, of his friends La Motte, Fontenelle, de Houtteville, and even Montesquieu. Some of the expressions which were considered reprehensible by Desfontaines have since been received into common parlance, and so do not appear unnatural or unusual: sortir de sa coquille, etc.

Fleury[148] gives six divisions of the peculiar turns of expression employed by Marivaux, which constitute that part of the marivaudage most condemned by his critics:

1. The use of a common expression, in which a word is first taken in a figurative sense, to be followed by its literal sense:

Il ne veut que vous donner la main.—Eh! que veut-il que je fasse de cette main, si je n'ai pas envie de la prendre?

Son coeur ne se marie pas, il reste garcon.

2. The use of a metaphor unexpectedly carried out:

Un amour de votre facon ne reste pas longtemps au berceau: votre premier coup d'oeil a fait naitre le mien; le second lui a donne la facon; le troisieme l'a rendu grand garcon. Tachons de l'etablir au plus vite; ayez soin de lui, puisque vous etes sa mere.

Monsieur a couru apres moi, je m'enfuyais, mais il m'a jete de l'or, des nippes et une maison fournie de tous ses ustensiles a la tete; cela m'a etourdie, je me suis arretee.

3. A metaphor piquant by its oddity:

_Je crois que j'ai laisse ma respiration en chemin.

La vie que je mene aujourd'hui n'est point batarde, elle vient bien en ligne droite de celle que je menais._

4. A phrase ending in a surprise:

Je gage que tu m'aimes.—Je ne parie jamais, je perds toujours.

5. A metonymy put into action:

Voyez-vous cette figure tendre et solitaire qui se promene la-bas en attendant la mienne?

6. A rough comparison, which will not admit of examination:

Si j'etais roi, nous verrions qui serait reine, et comme ce ne serait pas moi, il faudrait que ce fut vous.

Although these divisions are not altogether satisfactory, they, with the examples cited, will serve to convey an accurate enough idea of this side of the marivaudage. Such expressions, or, at least, those in which the exaggeration of the figure is most apparent, are usually found in the mouths of servants and peasants, to which class such complicated language is not unnatural.[149]

A very minor phase of the literary activity of Marivaux remains to be considered, and that is his work in criticism. Eulogiums of the tragedies of Crebillon pere,[150] of the Romulus[151] and the Ines de Castro[152] of La Motte, and of the Lettres persanes[153] of Montesquieu constitute almost his entire equipment in this line.

That he was not an unbiased critic, this unwarranted praise of his friend La Motte is enough to prove: "Je sortais, il y a quelques jours, de la comedie, ou j'etais alle voir Romulus, qui m'avait charme, et je disais en moi-meme: on dit communement l'elegant Racine, et le sublime Corneille; quelle epithete donnera-t-on a cet homme-ci, je n'en sais rien; mais il est beau de les avoir meritees toutes les deux." His criticism of the Lettres persanes is, after all, the only one worthy of praise. In it he has shown himself a fair and competent judge of this first celebrated work of Montesquieu. I realize that, in thus restricting the critical works of Marivaux, it is taking a narrow view of criticism, and that his works ridiculing the classics, l'Iliade travestie and le Telemaque travesti, together with his ideas upon the quarrel of the ancients and moderns, as seen throughout certain of his works, and particularly in le Miroir, and lastly his opinion of criticism in general, and his defense of his own style, as embodied in works already mentioned, should be taken into consideration, if we had the time to study him as critic in this broader sense.

If Marivaux, yielding to his sense of etiquette and good breeding, was sparing in his criticism of his contemporaries, he was certainly not spared by them. The circle of his friends was small, but intimate, and his timidity with men, his suspiciousness, his lack of self-assertion, made him an easy prey to such unscrupulous opponents as Voltaire. Fond of the refined society of the salons, and repelled by the less feeling and more boisterous set of the cafes, which he avoided, Marivaux became a convenient object of attack for the cabals set in motion by the latter, and, although, in spite of his general suspiciousness, he refused to give credence[154] to an idea so obnoxious to him, it is not unlikely that the frequent failure of his comedies on their "first night" may be most satisfactorily explained in this way.

Marivaux was ever ready to accept a criticism that seemed to him deserved. "J'ai eu tort de donner cette comedie-ci au theatre," he says in the preface to his Ile de la Raison: "Elle n'etait pas bonne a etre representee, et le public lui a fait justice en la condamnant. Point d'intrigue, peu d'action, peu d'interet; ce sujet, tel que je l'avais concu, n'etait point susceptible de tout cela…." At another time, having been present at the first performance of one of his comedies, and noticing the undissimulated yawns of the parterre, he confessed, upon leaving the theatre, that no one had been more bored than he.[155] However, notwithstanding his readiness to acknowledge his own defects, and to defer to the opinions of others, Marivaux required the criticism to be fair- minded and impersonal.

The seventh leaflet of the Spectateur contains his ideas upon this matter of criticism, which a few selections will suffice to illustrate: "A l'egard de ces critiques qui ne sont que des expressions meprisantes, et qui, sans autre examen, se terminent a dire crument d'un ouvrage cela ne vaut rien, cela est detestable, nous serons bientot d'accord la-dessus, et je vous ferai convenir sur-le-champ que ces sortes de raisonnements a leur tour ne valent rien et sont detestables…. Ah! que nous irions loin, qu'il naitrait de beaux ouvrages, si la plupart des gens d'esprit qui en sont les juges, tatonnaient un peu avant de dire, cela est mauvais ou cela est bon! … mais je voudrais des critiques qui pussent corriger et non pas gater, qui reformassent ce qu'il y aurait de defectueux dans le caractere d'esprit d'un auteur, et qui ne lui fissent pas quitter ce caractere. Il faudrait aussi pour cela, s'il etait possible, que la malice ou l'inimitie des partis n'alterat pas les lumieres de la plupart des hommes, ne leur derobat point l'honneur de se juger equitablement, n'employat pas toute leur attention a s'humilier les uns les autres, a deshonorer ce que leur talents peuvent avoir d'heureux, a se ruiner reciproquement dans l'esprit du public…."[156] When obliged to endure unfair and personal criticism, as he often was, Marivaux met it invariably with contemptuous silence,[157] saying to his friends: "J'aime mon repos et je ne veux point troubler celui des autres."[158]

Among those most bitter and most constant in their attacks upon him was Voltaire, some of whose remarks have come down to us. "C'est un homme," says Voltaire, "qui passe sa vie a peser des riens dans des balances de toile d'araignee" … or again: "C'est un homme qui sait tous les sentiers du coeur humain, mais qui n'en connait pas la grande route." On June 8, 1732, writing to M. de Fourmont, Voltaire declares: "Nous allons avoir cet ete une comedie en prose du sieur Marivaux, sous le titre les Serments indiscrets. Vous comptez bien qu'il y aura beaucoup de metaphysique et peu de naturel."

The strong antipathy felt by Marivaux for Voltaire forced him at times, in the presence of friends, to give vent to his feelings in words quite as spiteful as those of his enemy: "M. de Voltaire est le premier homme du monde pour ecrire ce que les autres ont pense…. M. de Voltaire est la perfection des idees communes…. Ce coquin-la a un vice de plus que les autres; il a quelquefois des vertus." But his retorts never went so far as publication, and when, in 1735, the Lettres philosophiques of Voltaire were condemned to be burned by Parliament, and Marivaux was urged by a publishing house, offering a good round sum, to make the most of Voltaire's discomfiture and write a refutation of the same, he refused, with his characteristic nobility of soul, to advance his own interests at the expense of those of his enemy. As much cannot be said of the latter, who, in letters written at this time, shows a cowardly fear of Marivaux's acceptance of the offer.

Voltaire was not the only rival to show hostility. Destouches, in the Envieux, ou la Critique du Philosophe marie (XII), Le Sage, in Gil Blas (Book VII, chapter XIII), as well as Crebillon fils, in the work already mentioned, were among the number.

Marivaux's admission to the French Academy had long been a matter of grave doubt to his friends, for he was too honest for intrigue and too proud to sue for favours, and there was much opposition on the part of many members, who declared that their purposes were at war, as they had assumed the task of composing the language, while he seemed to aim at its decomposition; but Mme. de Tencin had set her mind upon making of him an academician, and spared no pains to accomplish her purpose. The influence of this brilliant, scheming, unprincipled, and headstrong woman, aided by Bouhier, president of the parliament of Dijon, and likewise a warm supporter of Marivaux, gained the day, and she had the pleasure of seeing her old friend, upon his fifty-fifth birthday, February 4, 1743, received within the ranks of the forty Immortals. Voltaire, although a dangerous competitor, was not received until three years later; Piron, Le Sage, and Crebillon fils, never.

Strangely enough, this painter of gay and brilliant society succeeded to the fauteuil of an ecclesiastic, l'abbe d'Houtteville, and was welcomed by another, Languet de Gergy, archbishop of Sens. At his death his place was filled by still another, a certain abbe de Radonvilliers. The task of the archbishop was not one of the easiest, for it devolved upon him to eulogize an author, many of whose works, by reason of his ecclesiastical position, he was not supposed to have read. The acquaintance that he shows with them, however, is rather too intimate to credit his assertion that his judgment is drawn from hearsay: but with due deference to public opinion and his supposed position, the archbishop lauds rather the character of the man than the excellence of the author, declaring that it is not so much for the multitude of his books, though welcomed by the public with avidity, that Marivaux owes his election, as it is to "l'estime que nous avons faite de vos moeurs, de votre bon coeur, de la douceur de votre societe, et, si j'ose le dire, de l'amabilite de votre caractere."[159]

Along with much praise of the author's ability, with flattering comparisons such as these: "Theophraste moderne, rien n'a echappe a vos portraits critiques…. Le celebre La Bruyere parait, dit-on, ressusciter en vous…" are criticisms upon the immoral influence of certain of his works, particularly the Paysan parvenu, which claim to have a moral aim. The archbishop suggests that his descriptions of licentious love are painted in such "naive and tender colors" that they must create upon the reader an impression other than that intended by the author, and that the young may be led to follow the example of the "paysan, parvenu a la fortune par des intrigues galantes," in spite of his recommendations of sobriety.[160]

Nothing, perhaps, could have so wounded Marivaux as this imputation, for few writers have been actuated by purer and more noble motives, and it was with difficulty that he restrained his impulse to call upon the assembled company for justification.[161] This is but another instance of his extreme sensibility, for, despite the criticism more or less just, the spirit of the discourse was both kindly and complimentary, as may be seen from these closing words: "J'ai rendu justice, monsieur, a la beaute de votre genie, a sa fecondite, a ses agrements: rendez-la, je vous prie, de votre part, au ministere saint dont je suis charge; et en sa faveur, pardonnez-moi une critique qui ne deroge point, ni a ce qui est du d'estime a votre aimable caractere, ni a ce qui est du d'eloge a la multitude, a la variete, a la gentillesse de vos ouvrages."[162]

No sooner was Marivaux a member of the French Academy than epigrams, such as this, began to be showered upon him: "Il eut ete mieux place a l'Academie des Sciences, comme inventeur d'un idiome nouveau, qu'a l'Academie Francaise, dont assurement il ne connaissait pas la langue."[163]

From the time of his admission to the French Academy until his death he wrote little of value. A Lettre a une dame sur la perte d'un perroquet, in verse, may serve to represent the decline of his genius. His popularity waned and was eclipsed by that of the vigorous writers and philosophical thinkers that followed him. His graceful sketches were soon to be forgotten in those terrible scenes that closed the century, which the most morbid and foreboding mind could scarcely have foreseen or pictured in the lurid colourings that history has painted them. His closing years were embittered by a knowledge of his failing powers and a growing suspiciousness of those about him, and his increasing poverty would have made his sufferings more keen, had it not been for the generous devotion of a friend, Mlle. de Saint-Jean, with whom he lived for the last few years of his life, in her apartments, rue de Richelieu, and whose modest fortune he shared. He died on February 12,[164] "after a rather long illness,"[165] which he bore with fortitude, and "with all the tranquillity of a Christian philosopher"[166] saw the inevitable end approach. His death passed almost unnoticed by his contemporaries.

Although at the time of his death he was seventy-five years of age, as Colle records in his journal, "he did not seem to be fifty-eight."[167] He had that gift, which none but his own light-hearted time has known, of warding off, if not old age itself, at least the appearance of it. And from that first half of the eighteenth century, that period of perennial youth, have come down to us those ever fresh and rose-hued creations, which are our charm to-day, recalling, as they do, a society long past, a brilliancy of wit, of conversation well-nigh forgotten, a gayety, a thoughtlessness, which we of the money-loving, practical, and scientific twentieth century may long for, but not know.