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PostPosted: 22 Dec 2017, 00:22 
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Marie de Rabutin-Chantal, marquise de Sévigné

Marie de Rabutin-Chantal, marquise de Sévigné (5 February 1626 – 17 April 1696) was a French aristocrat, remembered for her letter-writing. Most of her letters, celebrated for their wit and vividness, were addressed to her daughter. She is revered in France as one of the great icons of French literature.

Mme de Sévigné's most amusing correspondence before her daughter's marriage was addressed to her cousin and friend Roger de Bussy-Rabutin. However, in 1658, she quarrelled with him.

On 29 January 1669, her daughter Françoise married comte de Grignan, a nobleman from Provence. The couple intended to live in Paris, but Grignan was soon appointed as lieutenant governor of Provence, necessitating that they live there.
Mme de Sévigné was very close to her daughter, and sent her the first of her famous letters on 6 February 1671. Their correspondence lasted until Mme de Sévigné's death.

Mme de Sévigné's letters were being copied and circulated. Therefore, she knew that her letters were semi-public documents and crafted them accordingly.

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PostPosted: 22 Dec 2017, 00:26 
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The most Astonishing Thing - Madame de Sévigné writes about Grande Mademoiselle and duc de Lauzun.

In 1670, Anne Marie Louise d'Orléans, granddaughter of Henry IV, stunned the masses by falling in love not with a king but with Antoine Nompar de Caumont, duc de Lauzun, a relatively lowly member of society ....


Paris,
Monday 15 December 1670


What I am about to communicate to you is the most astonishing thing, the most surprising, the most marvellous, the most miraculous, most triumphant, most baffling, most unheard of, most singular, most extraordinary, most unbelievable, most unforeseen, biggest, tiniest, rarest, commonest, the most talked about, the most secret up to this day, the most brilliant, the most enviable, in fact a thing of which only one example can be found in past ages, and, moreover, that example is a false one; a thing nobody can believe in Paris (how could anyone believe it in Lyons?), a thing that makes everybody cry ‘mercy on us’, in short a thing that will be done on Sunday and those who see it will think they are seeing visions – a thing that will be done on Sunday and perhaps not done by Monday.
I can’t make up my mind to say it. Guess, I give you three tries. You give up? Very well, I shall have to tell you. Monsieur de Lauzun is marrying on Sunday, in the Louvre – guess who? I give you four guesses, ten, a hundred. Mme de Coulanges will be saying: That’s not so very hard to guess, it’s Mademoiselle de La Vallière. Not at all, Madame. Mademoiselle de Retz, then? Not at all, you’re very provincial. Of course, how silly we are, you say: It’s Mademoiselle Colbert. You’re still further away. Then it must be Mademoiselle de Créquy? You’re nowhere near. I shall have to tell you in the end: he is marrying, on Sunday, in the Louvre, with the King’s permission, Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle de … Mademoiselle … guess the name. He’s marrying Mademoiselle, of course! Honestly, on my honour, on my sworn oath! Mademoiselle, the great Mademoiselle, Mademoiselle, daughter of the late Monsieur, Mademoiselle, granddaughter of Henri IV, Mademoiselle d’Eu, Mademoiselle de Dombes, Mademoiselle de Montpensier, Mademoiselle d’Orléans, Mademoiselle, first cousin of the King, Mademoiselle, destined for a throne, Mademoiselle, the only bride in France worthy of Monsieur. There’s a fine subject for conversation. If you shout aloud, if you are beside yourself, if you say we have lied, that it is false, that you are being taken in, that this is a fine old tale and too feeble to be imagined, if, in fine, you should even abuse us, we shall say you are perfectly right. We did as much ourselves.

Good-bye, letters coming by this post will show you whether we are telling the truth or not.


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