beginning again to be thronged with worshipers, that the sacred rites which have for a long time been allowed to lapse are now being renewed, and that the food for the sacrificial victims is once more finding a sale, whereas, up to recently, a buyer was hardly to be found. From this it is easy to infer what vast numbers of people might be reclaimed if only they were given an opportunity of repentance. IV Trajan to Pliny 1 You have adopted the proper course, my dear Pliny, in examining into the cases of those who have been denounced to you as Christians, for no hard and fast rule can be laid down to meet a question of such wide extent. The Christians are not to be hunted out; if they are brought before you and the offense is proved, they are to be punished, but with this reservation - that if any one denies that he is a Christian, and makes it clear that he is not by offering prayers to our deities, then he is to be pardoned because of his recantation, however suspicious his past conduct may have been. But pamphlets published anonymously must not carry any weight whatever, no matter what the charge may be, for they are not only a precedent of the very worst type, but they are not in consonance with the spirit of our age. 1 Answer to the foregoing. - Eds. V Madame de Sévigné to her Daughter1 Paris, Monday, Dec. 15, 1670. I am going to tell you a thing the most astonishing, the most surprising, the most marvelous, the most miraculous, the most magnificent, the most confounding, the most unheard of, the most singular, the most extraordinary, the most incredible, the most unforeseen, the greatest, the least, the rarest, the most common, the most public, the most private till to-day, the most brilliant, the most enviable; in short, a thing of which there is but one example in past ages, and that not an exact one neither; a thing that we cannot believe in Paris how then will it gain credit at Lyons?- a thing which makes everybody cry, 'Lord have mercy upon us!' a thing which causes the greatest joy to Madame de Rohan and Madame de Hauterive; a thing, in fine, which is to happen on Sunday next, when those who are present will doubt the evidence of their senses; a thing which, though it is to be done on Sunday, yet perhaps will be not finished on Monday. I cannot bring myself to tell you; guess what it is; I give you three times to do it in. What, not a word to throw at a dog? Well then, I find I must tell you. Monsieur de Lauzun is to be married next Sunday at the Louvre, to pray guess to whom! I give you four times to do it in; I give you six; I give you a hundred. Says Madame de Coulanges, 'It is really very hard to guess; perhaps it is Madame de la Vallière.' Indeed, Madam, it is not. 'It is Mademoiselle de Retz, then.' No, nor she neither; you are extremely provincial. Lord bless me,' say you, 'what stupid wretches we are! it is Mademoiselle de Colbert all the while.' Nay, now you are still farther from the mark. 'Why then it must certainly be Mademoiselle de 1 The Comtesse de Grignan. - Eds. Crequy.' You have it not yet. Well, I find I must tell you at last. He is to be married next Sunday, at the Louvre, with the king's leave, to Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle de Mademoiselle guess, pray, her name; he is to be married to Mademoiselle, the great Mademoiselle; Mademoiselle, daughter to the late Monsieur; Mademoiselle, granddaughter of Henry IV; Mademoiselle d'Eu, Mademoiselle de Dombes, Mademoiselle de Montpensier, Mademoiselle d'Orleans, Mademoiselle, the king's cousin german, Mademoiselle, destined to the throne, Mademoiselle, the only match in France that was worthy of Monsieur. What glorious matter for talk! If you should burst forth like a Bedlamite, say we have told you a lie, that it is false, that we are making a jest of you, and that a pretty jest it is without wit or invention; in short, if you abuse us, we shall think you quite in the right; for we have done just the same things ourselves. Farewell, you will find by the letters you receive this post whether we tell you truth or not. VI Madame de Sévigné to her Daughter Paris, Friday, August 2, 1675. I cannot help thinking, my dear, of the astonishment and grief you have felt at the death of M. de Turenne. Cardinal de Bouillon is inconsolable; he heard it from a gentleman of Louvigny's, who, willing to be the first to make his compliments of condolence on the occasion, stopped his coach as he was coming from Pontoise to Versailles. The Cardinal did not know what to make of his discourse; and the gentleman, on his part, finding he knew nothing of the matter, made off as fast as he could. The Cardinal immediately dispatched one of his people after him, and soon learned the fatal news, at which he fainted; he was carried back to Pontoise, where he has been these two days without eating a morsel, passing his whole time in tears and lamentations. Madame de Guénégand and Cavoye have been to see him, who are no less afflicted than himself. I have just written him a note, which I think pretty good. I informed him of your grief upon the occasion, both from the interest you take in all that concerns him, and from your esteem and admiration for the deceased hero. Pray do not forget to write to him yourself, for I think you write particularly well on such subjects; in this case, indeed, you have nothing to do but give a loose to your pen. Paris is in a general consternation of grief at this great loss. We wait in great anxiety for another courier from Germany. Montecuculi, who was retreating, is returned back and doubtless hopes to profit not a little by an event so favorable for him. It is said the troops uttered cries of grief that might have been heard at the distance of two leagues, when news was brought them of their general's death. No consideration could stop them; they insisted upon being led immediately to the fight; they were resolved to avenge the death of their father, their leader, their protector and defender; while he was with them, they said, they feared no danger, and were determined to avenge his death. 'So lead us on,' they cried; 'think not to stop us; we are bent on the fight.' This I had from a gentleman who belonged to M. de Turenne, and was sent from the camp to His Majesty. He was bathed in tears while he related this, and all the time that he related the circumstances of his master's death. The ball struck M. de Turenne directly across the body. You may easily imagine he fell from his horse and expired; but he had just life enough left to crawl a step or two forwards, and clinch his hands in the agonies of death; and then a cloak was thrown over the body. Boisguyot, which is the name of the person who gave us this account, never quitted him till he was carried, with as little noise as possible, to the nearest house. VII Madame de Sévigné to her Daughter Gien, Friday, October 1, 1677. We took a trip to-day after dinner which you would. have been much pleased to take with us. In the afternoon we were to have taken leave of our good company, and set out each on a different road, some towards Paris, and others towards Autri. This good company, not being sufficiently prepared for this dismal separation, had not the power to support it, and would absolutely accompany us to Autri. We laid before them all the inconveniences attending such a step, but, being overpowered, were obliged to yield. We all passed the Loire at Châtillon; the weather was fine, and we were delighted to see the ferry-boat return to take in the carriages. Whilst we were on board, the conversation turned on the road to Autri; they told us it was two long leagues, consisting of rocks, woods, and precipices. We, who had been accustomed to such fine roads ever since we left Moulins, were somewhat alarmed at this account; and the good company and ourselves repassed the river, ready to die with laughing at this little alteration; all our people shared in the jest, and in this gay humor we took the road to Gien, where we all are at present. After consulting our pillows, which will in all likelihood advise us to make a bold stroke at a separation, we shall go, our good company their way, and we ours. Yesterday evening, at Cone, we visited a real hell, in which are the forges of Vulcan. Here we found eight or ten |