Marivaux acknowledges his fondness of ease and idleness elsewhere, as well as in this letter,[40] and it would certainly seem natural, from what we know of the man, to accept his own statement.  However, all men fond of idleness are not necessarily idle, nor do all lazy men lack industry.  There are various motives that force them to labor, often mere pride, and more often still, necessity.  Marivaux was a great worker, as his works in ten large volumes (as edited by Duviquet) prove, but they do not in the least disprove his statement that he was not fond of work, and it is undoubtedly true that, had it not been for the spur of necessity, he would not have written “tant de neants plus ou moins spirituels,” and the world would have been deprived of his best writings, for the poorest work that he produced was done while he was rich.

The loss of his fortune was a cruel blow, for it deprived him of the means of gratifying his fondness for dress and good living[41], and, worst of all, it debarred him largely from indulging his passion for charity.  His generosity and fellow-feeling for others were so great that he really suffered at sight of their misfortunes, if he was unable to alleviate them.  “Quoi! voir les besoins d’un honnete homme, et n’etre point en etat de les soulager, n’est-ce pas les avoir soi-meme?  Je serai donc pauvre avec les indigents, ruine avec ceux qui seront ruines, et je manquerai de tout ce qui leur manquera,” he exclaims in the thirteenth feuille of the Spectateur, and it was this spirit of generosity that led him to deprive himself often of the necessities of life for the sake of giving to others, and even, at times, to give unwisely.

The following anecdote, related by both Lesbros de la Versane[42] and d’Alembert[43], goes to show how far his love of giving sometimes led him.  One day he was accosted by a beggar, who seemed to him so young and strong that he was indignant, and, with a desire to shame him, asked him why he did not work.  “Helas! monsieur, si vous saviez combien je suis paresseux!” was the unexpected answer of the youth.  Marivaux, who hated all deceit, was so struck by the naive frankness of the reply that he gave him money to continue his idle way of life.

Another incident has come down to us from the same Sources[44].  A young actress, lacking in beauty and talent, had entered upon a career which Marivaux saw meant failure, and, to preserve her from the inevitable end, he persuaded her to enter a convent and provided the necessary funds, although at the price of great self-sacrifice.

Meanwhile Marivaux had married, at the age of thirty-three, a Mlle. Martin, “d’une bonne famille de Sens,"[45] whom he had the misfortune to lose within two years (in 1723), and whom he “regretted all his life."[46] She left him with an only daughter, who later became a nun and took the veil at the Abbaye du Tresor.

The Duke of Orleans, son of the Regent, through fondness for Marivaux, generously met all of the expenses of her installation.