The "Virgile Travesti " created a perfect furore, and | comfort and ease. He stood greatly in need of these, soon a host of imitators sprang up, who did their best to if we can believe a portrait drawn by himself, the acfollow in the footsteps of Scarron, and to burlesque in curacy of which seems to be confirmed by the testimony verse Ovid, Horace, Lucian, Juvenal, Homer and other of all his friends, and which prefaced his poem "Recelebrated classical authors, whilst one of these imita- lation des Parques et des Poètes sur la Mort de Voiture," tors oven ventured to describe in burlesque verse the a poet who died in 1648. The book was adorned with a "Passion of Our Lord." This rage for burlesque lasted copper plate representing a back view of Scarron seated for twenty years, and then subsided as suddenly as it in a peculiar kind of chair, which it would be a mishad originated. None of these burlesque poems are now nomer to call an easy-chair, was dedicated "to the remembered except Scarron's, which, in spite of its want courteous reader who never saw me," and accompanied of delicacy, its forced and often tiresome buffoonery, con- by the following written portrait of the unfortunate tains entire passages inspired by real "vis comica," and author, very characteristic of his own peculiar style: full of true wit and ingenious and refined criticism. The success of Scarron's poems was a great boon to him, enabling him to live for some time in comparative "Unknown friend, who never saw me in your life, and perhaps never troubled yourself much about it, because there is nothing to be got by the sight of such a fellow am. as I am, allow me to tell you that I am not very anxious you should behold me in propria persona, because I have been informed that some facetious gentlemen make themselves merry at the expense of an unhappy wretch, and describe me as another sort of monster than I really Some affirm I am a complete cripple, and others maintain that I have no thighs, and am set upon a table in a cage, where I chatter like a blind magpie; whilst not a few will tell you, and swear it, too, if you would let them, that my hat is fastened to a cord which runs through a pulley, and that I hoist it up or let it down as often as I have to salute a friend who does me the honor of paying me a visit. "I therefore thought myself obliged, in conscience and all that, to prevent them from telling any longer so many horrid falsehoods; and, therefore, I ordered my picture to be engraved, as you see it in the beginning of this book. I know you will grumble, courteous reader, for every reader in the world grumbles more or less; and, as for me, I can grumble as well as the best of them, when 'tis my turn to be a reader. You will grumble, I dare say, and huff, and puff, because, forsooth, I show you my back. But prithee, old friend, don't be too choleric. Be assured that I did not do it with a design to turn my back upon the company, but only because its convexity is more fit to receive an inscription than the concavity of my stomach, which is wholly covered by the penthouse of my head hanging over it; and also because my shape, or rather my irregular personal appearance, may be perceived from behind as well as in front. I am rot so conceited as to pretend to make a present to the public-for by those jolly damsels, the nine Muses, I swear and protest that I never dreamt in my life of seeing my phiz on a medal-but I would have had my picture drawn if I could have found an artist hold enough to take my countenance in black and white. Therefore, for want of a picture, I describe myself to you as near as I can. "I am past thirty-eight, as you may see by the back of my chair. If I live to be forty, I shall add the Lord knows how many misfortunes to those I have already suffered for these eight or nine years past. There was a time when my size was not to be found fault with, though now it is of the smallest. My illness has made me shorter by a foot; my head is somewhat too big, considering my height, and my race is full enough, in all conscience, for one who carries such a skeleton of a body abouthim. I have hair enough on my head not to need a wig, and many gray hairs, too, in spite of the proverb. My sight is good enough, though my eyes are large and of a blue color; and one of them is sunk deeper into my head than the other, because I lean on that side. My nose is well enough; my teeth, which in days yore looked like a row of square pearls, are now like boxwood, and will I have lost one tooth and very soon be of a slate color. a half on the left side, and two and a half precisely on the right, and I have two more standing somewhat out of their ranks; my legs and thighs had at first the shape of an obtuse angle, then of a right angle, and, finally, of an acute angle; my thighs and body form another, and my head, being continually bent over my stomach, makes me look more or less like a Z. My arms are shriveled up as well as my legs, and my fingers as well as my arms; in short, I am a living epitome of human misery. This, as near as I can give, is my shape. Since I have got so far, I will even tell you something of my disposition. Under the rose be it spoken, courteous reader, I do this only to swell the bulk of my book, at the request of the bookseller; the poor dog, it seems, being afraid that he should be a loser by this impression, if he did not give the courteous reader enough for his money. Were it not for this, this digression would be of no more purpose than a thousand others. But to our consolation let it be said that ours is not the first age in which people play the fools of complaisance, without reckoning the follies they commit of their own accord. "I was always a little hasty in temper, a little given to good living, and rather lazy. I frequently call my servant a nincompoop, and a little after address him as 'sir.' I hate no man, and could wish all the world had the same feelings for me; I am as blithe as a bird, when I have money-and should be much more so were I in health; I am merry enough in company, and am quite happy when I am alone; I bear all my ills pretty patiently. And now, as I humbly imagine the porch to be big enough for the house, it is high time for me to conclude. About the year 1648 another versified comedy of this "living epitome of human misery," "L'Héritier Ridicule," made its appearance, which is said to have pleased the youthful King, Louis XIV., so much, that he had it performed twice in one day. This same year Scarron's friend, Mlle. de Hautefort, married the Marshal de Schomberg, and, of course, out came our poet with an epithalamium. He also published, between the years 1643 and 1651, various collections of his poetical epistles, and his other rhythmical productions, amongst which some drinking songs, in verses of thirteen and fourteen syllables, and some eating songs, of which Scarron seems to have been the inventor, attracted notice by their novelty. The Prince of Orange, who about this time visited France, sent to our deformed poet some pecuniary assistance, and received in return an ode in which Scarron lavishes his thanks profusely, and when later on the Prince died he wrote some "" Stances Héroïques" on his death. During the wars and rebellion of the Fronde, chiefly directed against Cardinal Mazarin, many pamphlets appeared, in prose as well as in verse, all aimed at the statesman then at the helm of the Gallic ship of state. One of the bitterest and most scurrilous of these was "La Mazarinade," supposed to have been written by Scarron, in which the cardinal is no longer called "greater than Cæsar," as he was in the opening of the "Typhon"; but in which it is distinctly stated that "mon Jule n'est pas César." When, however, Mazarin, a couple of years later, returned triumphantly to Paris, the poet clearly saw the error of his ways, admitted that the cardinal had been "autrefois l'object de l'injuste satire," and declared his regret in having attacked him, above all for his own sake, for: "Pour le malheur des temps, et surtout pour le mien, He even went so far as to write to some gentleman connected with the Court, but whose name has not transpired, that he had never dared to write to Her Majesty and make his innocence appear; but, continues he, “you gave me to understand that the Queen has asked for some of my plays, which makes me flatter myself that she still remembers such a wretch as I am. During the troubles of the Regency everything, good, bad, or indifferent, that was printed in Paris passed under my name; and this abuse still continues, notwithstanding all the pains I have taken to undeceive the world. Some insolent libels against His Eminence were fathered on me, and, perhaps, the reason of it was because another gentleman of the purple, belonging to a party opposed to His Eminence, was pleased to honor me with his friendship "— of course His request was granted, and he was pardoned, but he never again received his pensions, though Fouquet, the "surintendant des finances," as soon as he heard of his loss, allowed our paralyzed literary man yearly sixteen hundred livres, for which he received no other reward but a dozen or so of very cleverly written letters, and the dedication of a rather long, but smartly written, burlesque ode relating the adventures of Leander and Hero. About this time was also published the "Baronade," one of Scarron's violent poetical satires directed against a certain financier Baron. "These cruel pains, 'neath which I groan, Would force complaints from hearts of stone. dedicated a certain book to him, and I brought him fifty from Mlle. de Montpensier for a wretched comedy (this comedy was the 'Ecolier de Salamanque ') he dedicated to her." Nothing came amiss to Scarron, and he accepted everything gratefully; and whether the gift was money, an abbey, firewood, books, a carriage, pies, cheese, poultry, or even puppies, he was always profuse in his thanks. If any other literary man of the period asked for anything, or was dedicating one of his works to some nobleman, Scarron was the first to make fun of him, but then it must be admitted that when our author begged he did so in a jocular way and without any meanness. In extenuation of his unceasing applications for relief might be brought forward his terrible bodily sufferings and the dreadful position in which he was placed. And yet Scarron never lost his good temper, and though now and then he gave vent to his feelings in prose as well as In 1651, the same year the "Mazarinade " saw the light, in poetry, he could not be wholly serious. In one of his appeared the first part of a work on which now Scarron's letters to De Marigny, already quoted, he acknowledges reputation chiefly rests-namely, the prose romance, "Le that he "might have lived a comfortable life, though Roman Comique "; the second part of which appeared somewhat obscure; but when these cruel thoughts come six years later, whilst the third and final part, published into my head, I swear to you, dear friend of mine, that if after our author's death, was never written by him at all. it had been lawful to make away with oneself, I would The "Roman Comique," intended as a reaction against long ago have rid myself of all my miseries by taking a the fashionable novels of Mlle. de Scudéri, and of Ho-stiff dose of poison, and I believe I shall be forced to do noré d'Urfé, with their sham shepherds and their shep- it at last." And then our author breaks out in poetry : herdesses, their pretended "hifalutin" sentiments, and their euphuistic language, often went to the other extreme-excessive coarseness and indelicacy. It describes vividly the adventures of a troop of strolling players in the provinces, and brings before us human beings, with all their faults and virtues, whose actions are related in simple and clear language, whilst the jocular mood of the author suits the subjects he treats of. It remains the best of all the comic and realistic novels of the seventeenth century, and its various personages, such as the liliputian, cantankerous, and conceited Ragotin; the misanthropical and envious actor La Rancune; the scoundrelly La Rapinière; the pretentious poet Roquebrune; the amorous Le Destin and Léonard; the tenderhearted young ladies De l'Etoile and Angélique; the sorely tried Mrs. La Caverne, and the enormous Mrs. Bouvillon, are considered typical characters up to the present day. Scarron might have seen some of these strolling players during his residence in the town of Mans, for it is now generally supposed that he wanted to represent the actors of a well-known provincial troop, who traveled about the country under the guidance of a certain Jean Baptiste de Monchaingre, better known as Filandre, and who visited Mans whilst our author dwelt there. Four stories, freely imitated from the Spanish, are also interpolated in the "Roman Comique," which novel may have been suggested by a book, "The Amusing Journey," first published in 1603, written by the Spanish actor Augustin de Roxas, and containing dialogues between three of his fellow-comedians and himself, relating their adventures and experiences; though the two novels completely differ in subject and treatment. The three parts of the "Roman Comique " have been "rendered into English by Mr. Thomas Brown, Mr. Savage, and others," whilst there is an abbreviated translation of the same work by Oliver Goldsmith. Our little "epitome of all human miseries "seems seldom to have been well off, for he was always asking for something or other in his letters and in his verses, while his friend Segrais, the secretary to Mlle. de Montpensier, admits that "nobody ever wrote more dedications than Scarron did, but he received money for them. M. de Bellièvre sent him a hundred crowns because he had Till death my wearied eyes does close. However, his kindliness of heart never forsook him, and, in spite of his own troubles, he always did a good turn whenever he could. Thus we find him writing to his friend Lavardin, Bishop of Mans, "that he would do well to give a lift to his friend Ménage, who, with all his merit and learning, has got but little preferment in the Church." Another time he begs the Duke of Retz, a brother of the coadjutor, to give sanctuary in his mansion to "a young gentleman of his acquaintance, who, though only twenty years of age, has already been engaged in a score of duels, killed an impudent scoundrel who compelled him to fight, cannot obtain his pardon except in Paris, and has a natural aversion to hanging. . . Moreover, it will be no little satisfaction for you to have protected a young gentleman of his merit. You'll take the greatest pleasure in the world to see him snuff the candles with a pistol, as often as you have a mind to see this pastime." Whilst, later on, he wrote to Fouquet, asking him to do "a small favor to one of his relatives by marriage, who had always been a faithful servant to the king. "He also gave shelter in his house to two nuns thrown on the wide world through the bankruptcy of their convent, with one of whom, Céleste Palaiseau, he had been in love in his youth, and who, through his influence, became afterward prioress of an abbey at Argenteuil. Scarron's affliction did not prevent him from almost daily receiving visitors, such as his friends and fellowlaborers in the fields of literature: Sarazin, Boisrobert, Tristan l'Hermite, Segrais, De Scudéry, Marigny, Pellisson, Ménage; the artist Mignard; the Marshal d'Albret; the Dukes de Vivonne and de Souvré; the Counts du Lude, de Villarceaux, de la Sablière, d'Elbène, Grammont, and Châtillon; the lady authors Madame Deshoulières and Mile. de Scudéry; the young nobleman's company for the colonization of these far-away countries, of which he offered the management to Segrais, then only about twenty-six, but of a very steady character. In a letter to his friend Sarazin Scarron says "that he was going to set sail for America within a month; and what strengthened him in his resolution was his being eternally plagued in town with a new crop of fools who call themselves Platonists." Then, after stating his reasons for leaving France, he finishes by saying: "I have been tempted to take a thousand crowns' worth of shares in our new West India Company, which is going to establish a colony within three degrees of the line, on the banks of the Orillana and the Orinooo. So farewell, France; farewell, Paris; farewell, ye she-devils in the shape of angels; good-by, ye Ménages, ye Sarazins, and ye Marignys. I take my leave of burlesque verse, of comedies and comical romances, to go to a happy climate, where there are no affected coxcombs, no canting rascals, no inquisition, no rheumatism to cripple any one, nor no confounded wars to starve me." This latter remark about the " wars scems to be an allusion to the Fronde troubles, which did not end till 1653. But poor Scarron did not leave France after all, for an event happened as romantic as any he ever described in the "Tragi-comic Tales," chiefly borrowed from the Spanish, and of which Molière made use of one MADAME D'AUBIGNÉ. SCARRON AT HIS WINDOW SEEING MADAME D'AUBIGNÉ. for his "Tartuffe." Scarron was anxious to obtain all the information he could about the West Indies, and one -day one of his neighbors, the Baroness de Neuillant, introduced him to a certain young lady, about seventeen, Françoise d'Aubigné, who had been brought up in Martinique Island. She was a granddaughter of that well-known literary and militant champion of the Protestant cause in France, during the sixteenth century; the firm friend of Henri IV., of Théodore Agripa d'Aubigné; had only lately become a Roman Catholic, and lost her mother; was known in society as "la jeune Indienne," and was in a position not far removed from the most abject poverty. Scarron took compassion on this unfortunate girl, dependent on an avaricious cantankerous relative, and, in order to provide her with a shelter, this hopelessly paralyzed and deformed cripple, twenty-five years older than herself, offered her his hand, which proposal, after some hesitation, she accepted. They were married about 1652, and it is reported that Scarron should have said: "I won't commit any follies, she may be sure of that; but I'll teach her to commit some. In the marriage contract he recognized as the portion she brought him "two very large and very expressive eyes, a remarkably fine bust, two beautiful hands, and a good deal of intelligence;" whilst to his notary he declared he would leave her at his death, besides a sum of twenty-five thousand francs, the ordinary heirloom of a poet-"immortality." He did not know that his prophecy would ever become true, and never could have thought, amidst all the fantasies and burlesque freaks of his imagination, that twenty-four years after his death his staid and seriousminded widow would become the wife of Louis XIV., the proudest of all monarchs, the most infatuated with his royal prerogatives; and that her name should become |