escritora, periodista y crítica literaria

Mme. de Sevigné and her times

Marie de Rabu­tin Chan­tal, mar­qui­se de Sevig­né, was 70 years old when she died, 300 years ago, in April of 1696. She lived in what is called the cen­tury of Louis XIV, so well des­cri­bed by Vol­tai­re: “It was a time worth the atten­tion of times to come, when the heroes crea­ted by Cor­nei­lle and Raci­ne, Moliere’s cha­rac­ters and Lulli’s sympho­nies spo­ke to Louis XIV, to Mada­me ‑so cele­bra­ted by her refi­ned tas­te- to Con­dé, Col­bert, to all tho­se men supe­rior in every sen­se. No other time will be found in which the Duke de la Roche­fou­cauld, the author of the Maxi­mes, after con­ver­sing with Pas­cal, atten­ded a play by Cor­nei­lle”. The glory of Fran­ce per­va­des the cen­tury; two great poli­ti­cians, Riche­lieu and Maza­rin, lay the foun­da­tions for Louis XIV’s abso­lu­te monarchy, sup­por­ted by the great bour­geo­isie. The court at Ver­sai­lles is the cen­ter of atten­tion, ambi­tion and talent. Modern French is born and the French Aca­demy foun­ded (1635); its first dic­tio­nary is published in 1694. It is the time of Racine’s and Corneille’s clas­si­cal thea­ter, Moliere’s sati­ri­cal plays, the jan­se­nis­te Pascal’s phi­lo­sophi­cal Pen­sées, La Fontaine’s fables; Des­car­tes’ Dis­cours de la Métho­de brings order and logic into the minds of men. The lite­ra­tu­re and ideas from Fran­ce that inun­da­ted the Euro­pean world of that time still live among us.

¿What was the talent of this aris­to­crat, the mar­qui­se de Sevig­né, that allo­wed her to glow among men of genius? She is not the only one of her sex; it is a time when women shi­ne with their own light or reflect other people’s; in their salons and reunions, Mme. de Ram­boui­llet and Mlle. de Scu­déry bring together the wits of men who excel in poli­tics and art. Molie­re will later cri­ti­ci­ze this type of gathe­ring in Les Pre­cieu­ses Ridi­cu­les; but at best, they sti­mu­la­te cul­tu­re and act as a refi­ning ele­ment of society and the minds of the epoch.

Mme. de Sevig­né deser­ves a spe­cial men­tion among the­se women, doyen­nes of inte­llec­tual ele­gan­ce. She outshi­nes them; her talent does not belong with pre­cio­sis­me, that mun­da­ne effort towards social pre­emi­nen­ce and frisky wit­ti­cism. Orpha­ned in childhood, Marie de Rabu­tin Chan­tal pro­fi­ted from an unu­sual upbrin­ging, cul­ti­va­ted and inde­pen­dent, under the care of her uncle and tutor, the abbé de Livry. She was for­tu­na­te enough to beco­me a widow at 25; her hus­band was killed in a duel fought over the favors of a lady known as la belle Lolo. Mme. de Sevig­né finds her­self young, rich and free. She is the mother of two beau­ti­ful chil­dren, Char­les and Fran­co­ise, whom she ido­li­zes. Fran­co­ise is as attrac­ti­ve as her mother, so much so that she allows her­self to snub the king. In the salons, Mme. de Sevig­né is a rival for the doyen­nes, she sedu­ces poli­ti­cians and inte­llec­tuals; when the hec­tic life of the salons beco­mes too deman­ding, she takes refu­ge in her country esta­te.

Her lite­rary work takes the form of let­ters, mostly writ­ten to her daugh­ter after her marria­ge and her depar­tu­re from home. “It see­med as if my body and my soul were torn off…every sin­gle thought made me wish for death”, she wri­tes on the day after her depar­tu­re. Nearly 1,500 let­ters are kept, writ­ten by this mother who ado­res her daugh­ter; we find in them not only motherly love but a chro­ni­cle of her times as well. Mme. de Sevig­né has the eye of a repor­ter when des­cri­bing the dra­ma of court intri­gues, the anec­do­tes of every­day life. She is witty and scin­ti­lla­ting in her por­traits of the king’s favo­ri­tes, the minis­ters, the women. One of the reasons why we may find it dif­fi­cult to read her work today are the many popu­lar pro­verbs and expres­sions she uses; she can neverthe­less be deeply lite­rary. In a let­ter she regrets the fact that her son has devas­ta­ted a tract of wood­land for money: “To dare des­troy all this life, all this beauty of the woods, this ancient abo­de of mys­tery and day­drea­ming”…

The pro­cess of deve­lop­ment lies in the talent and effort of the women of our time and the legacy of tho­se who have made his­tory; tho­se who dared defy the barriers of their time in order to grow; tho­se who trus­ted their own inte­lli­gen­ce and lis­te­ned to the voi­ces of their crea­ti­ve talent. Mme. de Sevig­né is repre­sen­ta­ti­ve of the­se women, a wri­ter capa­ble not only of por­tra­ying her epoch but of explo­ring her inner self. A dedi­ca­ted mother, she turns her love into lite­ra­tu­re; family life does not pre­vent her from taking part in the world around her. Young in heart and spi­rit, the inna­te joy she pours into her let­ters makes them a delight­ful means of unders­tan­ding her con­tem­po­ra­ries. She trusts her own mind enough to pass judg­ment on Raci­ne ‑then at the top of his glory- or to express her admi­ra­tion for Pas­cal. The­re is a touch of black humour to her wri­ting; she des­cri­bes thus the sce­ne of a fire: “If one could bring one­self to laugh over such an unfor­tu­na­te hap­pe­ning, one could paint such por­traits of the cir­cums­tan­ces in which we found our­sel­ves! Gui­taut was nearly naked, in his nightshirt and shorts; Mme. de Guitaut’s legs were bare, and she had lost one of her slip­pers”. We find no pre­cio­sis­me in this para­graph; it comes nea­rer to the moc­king tone of Vol­tai­re.