‘Madame de Rambouillet! The sister of Tallemant des Réaux, I suppose. Her husband makes a lot of cuckolds. Madame Cornuel, did you say? If she’s going to meet young Rambouillet, it will be her husband that will have the cornes! hein, Jacques? hein? It will be he that has the cornes, won’t it?’ exclaimed Monsieur Troqueville, who was peculiarly impervious to emotional atmosphere, chuckling delightedly, and winking at Jacques, his primness having suddenly fallen from him. Madeleine gave a little shrug and turned to the door, but Madame Troqueville, turning to her husband, said icily:—
‘’Twas of the Marquise de Rambouillet that Madeleine spoke, no kin whatever of the family you mention. Pray, my love, tell us all about it. Which Madame Cornuel is it?’
Monsieur Troqueville went on giggling to himself, absolutely intoxicated by his own joke, and Madeleine began eagerly:—
‘Oh! the famous one ... “Zénocrite” in the Grand Cyrus. She’s an exceeding rich widow and a good friend of Mademoiselle de Scudéry. She is famed in the Court and in the Town, for her quaint and pungent wit. ’Twas she who stuck on the malcontents the name of “les Importants,” you know, she——’
‘I had some degree of intimacy with her in the past,’ said Madame Troqueville, then in a would-be careless voice, ‘I wonder if she has any sons!’ Madeleine shut her eyes and groaned, and Jacques with his eyes dancing dragged up Monsieur Troqueville, and they left the house.
So her mother had known Madame Cornuel once; Madeleine looked round the little room. There was a large almanac, adorned, as was the custom, with a woodcut representing the most important event in the previous year. This one was of Mazarin as a Roman General with Condé and Retz as barbarian prisoners tied to his chariot; her mother had bound its edges with saffron ribbon. The chairs had been covered by her with bits of silk and brocade from the chest in which every woman of her day cherished her sacred hoard. On the walls were samplers worked by her when she had been a girl.
What was her life but a pitiful attempt to make the best of things? And Madeleine had been planning to leave her behind in this pathetically thin existence, while she herself was translated to unutterable glory. It suddenly struck her that her amour-propre had sinned more against her mother than any one else. She threw her arms round her neck and hugged her convulsively, then ran back to her own room, her eyes full of tears. She flung herself on her knees.
‘Blessed Virgin, help me to show that I am sensible to your great care over me by being more loving and dutiful to my mother, and giving her greater assistance in the work of the house. Oh, and please let pleasant things be in store for her also. And oh! Blessed Lady, let me cut an exceeding brave figure on Thursday. Give me occasions for airing all the conceits I prepare beforehand. Make me look furiously beautiful and noble, and let them all think me dans le dernier galant, but mostly her. Give me the friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry.’ She had not meant to add this long petition about herself, but the temptation had been too great.
And now to business. She must ensure success by being diligent in her dancing, thus helping God to get her her heart’s desire.
Semi-Pelagianism does not demand the blind faith of the Jansenists. Also, it implicitly robs the Almighty of omnipotence. Thus was Madeleine a true Semi-Pelagian in endeavouring to assist God to effect her Salvation (we know she considered her Salvation inextricably bound up with the attainment of the friendship of Mademoiselle de Scudéry), for:—