Les Précieuses Ridicules—Sappho andLe Grand Cyrus—The Poets of the Latin Quarter—The Satire which Kills—A Lost Child—Periwigs and New Modes—The Royal Marriage and a Grand Entry.
Molière’s comedy,Le Cocu Imaginaire—which had created such unrestrainable delight in the ex-queen of Sweden—had been preceded a year earlier by the famousPrécieuses Ridicules. To call this play the dramatist’s masterpiece, is to do rank injustice to his work of greater length and importance, notably, if one dare to choose, toLe Tartufe. ThePrécieuses, however, took Paris by storm, and was accounted a gem. Still a delightful little bit of humour, and not lacking now in its way of a home-thrust, it carried a double-edged power in the days of the Hôtel de Rambouillet, when the affectations of speech and conversation had run to such absurd extravagance, that Molière’s satire was little or no exaggeration. Mademoiselle de Scudéri’s “Inutile! retranchez le superflu de cet ardente,” is distinctly precious.
Of the queens of these intellectualréunions, Mademoiselle de Scudéri was the reigning novelist. Her long life, exceeding Ninon’s in years, was devoted to the production of romances and the lighter sort of literature, which ran to a lengthy record.Le Grand Cyrusstands best remembered, but is scarcely more than a memory. A long day’sjourney would be needed to find the most ardent of fiction-readers who would now care to follow through the windings of that romance which in its day created such enthusiasm, and made a lioness of the amiable if some way from beautiful Madeleine de Scudéri.Artamène; ou, le Grand Cyrus, after all, was, to be sure, scarcely fiction. It was composed of little more than thinly-veiled facts, presenting under classic names the living men and women of society; heroes and heroines of antiquity stood sponsors to the fine, broad-skirted, perruqued gentlemen and fashionable dames of Versailles and the Louvre and the Palais Royal. Artaban, Agathyse, Zenocrates—these were, in their modish habit as they lived, severally the Duc de St Bignon, M. de Rainez, M. Ysern, and others—while Mademoiselle de Scudéri herself was Sappho. It was in her salon that was drawn up the famousCarte du Tendre—gazetteer of articles necessary to the pursuit of love. Mademoiselle de Scudéri wrote with grace and much sense; but her romances were insufferably prolix. Ninon found them wearisome to a degree, even though theGrand Cyrusis a record of the great Prince de Condé. George de Scudéri, Madeleine’s brother, was also a very fertile novelist of his day, scarcely to be rivalled in speed of production by Dumas himself. Nor does there appear that the ghosts who worked for this great, more modern enchanter of the realm of historical romance, rendered any services to the seventeenth-century novelist. The salons of Madame de Rambouillet and of Madame de Sabléwere the rendezvous of the most aristocratic of these versifiers and epigram-makers, who really occasionally uttered something witty or poetical; though for the most part the wit and poetry did not rise above such greatness as that of Sir Benjamin Backbite, in Lady Sneerwell’s drawing-room, on the macaroni ponies whose
“Legs were so slim,And their tails were so long.”
“Legs were so slim,And their tails were so long.”
“Legs were so slim,
And their tails were so long.”
The refinements and elegance of speech to be heard at thoseréunions, fostered, and indeed were a powerful influence in, the reformation effected by the Académie for the French language. But the passion for these improvements was often torn to tatters, and the puerilities and affectations excited a reaction among men of the more Bohemian class of writers and versifiers, such as Scarron, St Amand and others, and the curious mixture of real poetic expression and thought, profanity and coarseness, in their productions, carry back to the days of Rabelais and of Villon, with echoes of Ronsard and of Charles of Orléans. But the simplicity and beauty of their numbers only now and again shone through the grossness of their compositions, and sheer opposition to the “Clélies” and “Uranies” and “Sapphos” probably inspired the numerous parodies and the odes to cheese and good feeding produced by these authors, who hailed with delight the now famous actor-manager Molière’sPrécieuses Ridicules.
The piece was first produced at the Petit-Bourbonearly in the winter of 1659. The plot, deep-laid if simple, consists of the successful playing off by two lovers respectively of the two charming young women they love honestly and deeply, but who meet refusal on the score of their language being too natural, and their attire not sufficiently fashionable. The two young men thereupon dress up their valets, Mascarille and Jodelet, in fine costumes, bestow on them the titles of marquis and vicomte, and contrive to introduce them to theprécieuses. The exquisite humour of the dialogue between Gorgibus, the father of one of the two girls, and uncle of the other, sets the ball rolling; his contempt for the new names, Aminte and Policène, which they have selected in place of those given them, as he says, by their godfathers and godmothers; his dim grasp of what he calls their jargon, when they try to instil into him some idea of its elegancies, is the essence of genuine comicality, as are the compliments of the two aristocratic visitors who inform the ladies that it is the reports of their exquisite attractions and beauty, reaching far and wide, which has brought them to their feet. Then follows the flutter of delight, veiled under the attempt at calm graciousness, of theprécieuses. “But Monsieur,” says Cathos to Mascarille, the marquis, inviting him to sit down, “I entreat you not to be inexorable to this armchair, which has been stretching out its arms to you for this quarter of an hour past; allow it the satisfaction of embracing you.” The fun grows apace, as the slips of tongue and bearing of the two pretended gentlemenbegin to disconcert the two infatuated girls. At last a dance is proposed, the fiddlers are sent for, and behind them enter the two masters of the valets, who tear their fine coats off their backs, and turn them out. “And you,” says Gorgibus, chasing theprécieusesfrom the room, to repent at leisure of their affectations and thirst forla galantérie, “out of my sight, and to the devil with all these verses, romances, sonnets, and the rest of it—pernicious amusements of do-nothings and idlers!” So the curtain descended on thePrécieuses Ridicules, and the story goes that before very long the play extinguished the glory of the salon of the Hôtel de Rambouillet.
The Comte de Fiesque, who had gone with Condé to Spain, was killed in Catalonia by the bursting of a bomb. Ninon, not able personally to ask the widow where the child was which de Fiesque regarded as his, commissioned two persons to ascertain for her from Madame de Fiesque some intelligence concerning its whereabouts, but the countess asserted that she had no knowledge of this. The remorse and regret of Ninon were of no avail: she was unable to trace the lost one.
At last, after long negotiations, Maria Théresa of Austria was united to Louis XIV. This brought Condé back to allegiance to France, by the Peace of the Pyrenees, effected by Cardinal Mazarin, one of the few of his achievements which really benefited France. Ninon was one in the gorgeous cortège which proceeded to Grosbois, beyond Charenton, to receive the young princess. It wasa brilliant show. The fashions of the early days of the young king had greatly changed since his father’s time, which was so greatly distinguished, at least as far as male attire went, for its elegant simplicity. Bright hues had superseded the black, the beautiful but sombre colouring of the material of the silk or satin or velvet doublets with large, loose slashed sleeves; the falling bands of rich point lace; the long, straight, fringed or pointed breeches meeting down to the lace-ruffled or lawn wide-topped boots, and the eminently graceful Flemish plumed beaver hat. In place of the long hair waving to the neck, full-bottomed periwigs had come into vogue; the doublets were short and waistcoatless, displaying a bulging shirt-front, tied with ribbons to the nether garments, which, like the large loose sleeves, were covered with points and bows; deep lace ruffles drooped from the knees, and only the falling collar, with a hat higher crowned than of yore, but still plumed, remained of the old style.
It was to the beauty of Louis XIV.’s hair when he was a little boy, that the huge, hideous periwigs seem to owe their invention. Nature’s ruling has its exceptions in the bestowal of naturally curling head-covering, and desiring to offer the sincerest flattery of imitation, the French courtiers and the ingenuity of the coiffeurs combined to invent the huge periwigs, which in some sort of fashion even contrived to live through the French Revolution and the Terror itself; for did not Robespierre preside at the great Feast of the Supreme Being in about theugliest, primmest bobtail wig ever fashioned on barber’s block?
As to the women’s dress in France, it varied somewhat according to their rank. Middle-class bourgeoises wore the scantiest covering out-of-doors on their necks and shoulders; not even in church was their attire more modest. To so scandalous a length was this carried, that it brought on them more than one remonstrance from the pulpit; and Englishwomen, taking as always, their fashions from Paris, followed suit. A Nonconformist English divine published a translation of a French work by “A grave and learned Papist”—possibly the Curé of St Étienne—who reprehended in no measured terms the “shameful enormity,” as he phrased it, of this style of dress. The ladies of the great world ordinarily went with more circumspection in the streets, and nearly always, also, they wore a mask. It was generally made of black velvet, lined with white satin. It fixed itself on the face with a spring, and was fastened with a thin wire, which was terminated by a glass button that could be dropped between the lips, and so disguise the voice. The female style of dressing the hair was to gather it up in a bunch at the crown of the head, leaving some curls to hang on each side of the face; over this was placed a sort of little linen hood, the points of which usually reached to the shoulders. The gowns were wide-sleeved and long-waisted, with a skirt embroidered or trimmed with lace. A small dog was almost indispensable to a lady of fashion. The little creatures were verypretty, generally having pointed muzzles and ears. Women took snuff and smoked, and the traces of these habits were apt to leave their ugly reminders about their persons and dress.
A great many new streets and houses were added to the city. The increase in the number of public vehicles rendered the streets very noisy, while the filth of the ways was indescribable; but this did not hinder women from walking in velvet slippers, or pages and lackeys from wearing bright, gold-laced scarlet livery.
The state of morals, from highest to lowest, was at a low ebb. Vice permeated every class, from the clergy and nobility to the dregs of the populace. Murder and barefaced robbery took place constantly in the streets; the rage for gambling was boundless, and the cardinal-minister made no attempt to check the shameful licence of the green tables.
Yet Paris was fair and brilliant to the eye when Maria Théresa made her entry in the most magnificent carriage of the cortège which occupied three hours in passing. The princess was not beautiful; but her expression was amiable, and her complexion very fair for a Spanish woman. She wore a mantle of violet velvet embroidered with goldenfleur-de-lisover a robe of white brocade covered all down the front with a splendidrivièreof emeralds, and she wore her crown with infinite grace and dignity.
The fierce light that beats upon the lives of kings and queens was at its fiercest when cast upon the life of the Sun-King. His marriage withthe Spanish princess was one of policy and convenience, and as such there have been unions more disastrous. If love played no great part in it, at least the king was true to the dignity and a certain gentle courtesy and good-nature underlying the pomp and extravagant display with which he was pleased to surround himself; and Maria Théresa’s record of a queen’s life bears no startling evidence of unhappiness or discontent—something indeed to the contrary.