night were dreadful.  I think of you continuously—­it is what devotees call habitual thought, such as one should have of God, if one did one’s duty.  Nothing gives me diversion; I see that carriage which is forever going on and will never come near me.  I am forever on the highways; it seems as if I were sometimes afraid that the carriage will upset with me; the rains there for the last three days, drove me to despair.  The Rhone causes me strange alarm.  I have a map before my eyes—­I know all the places where you sleep.  This evening you are at Nevers; on Sunday you will be at Lyons where you will receive this letter.  I have received only two of yours—­perhaps the third will come; that is the only comfort I desire; as for others, I seek none.”

The letters of Mme. de Sevigne contain a great number of sayings applicable to habits and conduct, and these have had their part in shaping the customs and in depicting the time.  To be modest and moderate, friendly, and conciliatory, to be content with one’s lot and to bow to circumstances, to be sincere, to cultivate good sense and good grace—­these counsels have been and still are, according to French opinion, the basis of French character:  and Mme. de Sevigne’s own popularity and success attest their wisdom.

She had not the gift of seeing things vividly and reproducing them in living form; her talent was a rarer one—­it induced the reader to form a mental picture of the scene described, so vivid as to be under the illusion of being present in reality; and this is done with so much grace, charm, happy ease and naturalness, that to read her letters means to love the writer.  What mother or friend would not fall a willing victim to the charm of a woman who could write the following letter?

“You ask me, my dear child, whether I continue to be really fond of life; I confess to you that I find poignant sorrows in it, but I am even more disgusted with death; I feel so wretched at having to end all thereby, that, if I could turn back again, I would ask for nothing better, I find myself under an obligation which perplexes me; I embark upon life without my consent, and so must I go out of it; that overwhelms me.  And how shall I go?  Which way?  By what door?  When will it be?  In what condition?  Shall I suffer a thousand, thousand pains which will make me die desperate?  Shall I have brain fever?  Shall I die of an accident?  How shall I be with God?  What shall I have to show Him?  Shall fear, shall necessity bring me back to Him?  Shall I have sentiment except that of dread?  What can I hope?  Am I worthy of heaven?  Am I worthy of hell?  Nothing is such madness as to leave one’s salvation in uncertainty, but nothing is so natural.  The stupid life I lead is the easiest thing in the world to understand; I bury myself in these thoughts and I find death so terrible that I hate life more because it leads me thereto, than because of the thorns with which it is planted.  You will say that I want to live forever, then; not at all; but, if my opinion had been asked, I would have preferred to die in my nurse’s arms; that would have removed me from the vexations of spirit and would have given me heaven full surely and easily.”