DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.61284#0118
VIGEE-LEBRUN
almost beside himself with joy, could not sufficiently express his thanks.
“But how on earth, sir,” he asked, “ did you know this was my wife?”
“Nothing is simpler,” was the reply; “Madame being the only woman
at the ball whom I do not know, I had already made up my mind that
she had very recently come up from the country.”
The gayest, most irresponsible creature among the intellectual people
of that time was the Abbe Delille, who represented almost at its best that
strange type of quite unclerical “clergy” which had no official functions
except to draw incomes from benefices which rarely or never saw their
“ occupiers.” He had come into notice by a verse translation of the
Georgies, became an Academician in 1774, and was made Professor of
Latin Poetry at the College de France, about which time he obtained a
rich endowment of church property through the influence of the Comte
d’Artois. Voltaire regarded him as one of the highest ornaments of French
literature. Madame Lebrun’s impression of him was that he had never
grown up. He was in her eyes “ the most charming, the best, the most
intelligent child one could possibly see. He was known as chose legere,
and I have always been struck by the aptness of that description, for no
man has ever skimmed over the surface of life more lightly than he
did, without forming a strong attachment to anything in the world.
. . . His fine wit, his natural gaiety, lent an indescribable charm to his
conversation. No one could tell a story better than he; he delighted
every circle he frequented by innumerable tales and anecdotes, without
ever being bitter or satirical; one could say that everybody was fond
of him, and also that he was fond of everybody.” This last characteristic
was a weakness which caused some trouble among his friends, as he was
always liable to be captured by the last comer. When reproached with
this tendency he would admit it, and defend himself by saying, “ I per-
suade myself that the person who comes to seek me wants me more than
that other who is waiting for me.”
It will have been noticed how highly Vigee-Lebrun reckons good-
nature among the qualities of her acquaintances. It was not commonly
regarded as a social virtue in those days, when backbiting flourished as
perhaps never before or since, on either side of the Channel. It was the
period of the School for Scandal, a play which the critic of the Morning Post,
on the morrow of its first performance, justly described as one wherein
a group of characters “ are ever ready, at the call of scandal, to sacrifice
the reputations even of their dearest friends at the too fashionable shrine
almost beside himself with joy, could not sufficiently express his thanks.
“But how on earth, sir,” he asked, “ did you know this was my wife?”
“Nothing is simpler,” was the reply; “Madame being the only woman
at the ball whom I do not know, I had already made up my mind that
she had very recently come up from the country.”
The gayest, most irresponsible creature among the intellectual people
of that time was the Abbe Delille, who represented almost at its best that
strange type of quite unclerical “clergy” which had no official functions
except to draw incomes from benefices which rarely or never saw their
“ occupiers.” He had come into notice by a verse translation of the
Georgies, became an Academician in 1774, and was made Professor of
Latin Poetry at the College de France, about which time he obtained a
rich endowment of church property through the influence of the Comte
d’Artois. Voltaire regarded him as one of the highest ornaments of French
literature. Madame Lebrun’s impression of him was that he had never
grown up. He was in her eyes “ the most charming, the best, the most
intelligent child one could possibly see. He was known as chose legere,
and I have always been struck by the aptness of that description, for no
man has ever skimmed over the surface of life more lightly than he
did, without forming a strong attachment to anything in the world.
. . . His fine wit, his natural gaiety, lent an indescribable charm to his
conversation. No one could tell a story better than he; he delighted
every circle he frequented by innumerable tales and anecdotes, without
ever being bitter or satirical; one could say that everybody was fond
of him, and also that he was fond of everybody.” This last characteristic
was a weakness which caused some trouble among his friends, as he was
always liable to be captured by the last comer. When reproached with
this tendency he would admit it, and defend himself by saying, “ I per-
suade myself that the person who comes to seek me wants me more than
that other who is waiting for me.”
It will have been noticed how highly Vigee-Lebrun reckons good-
nature among the qualities of her acquaintances. It was not commonly
regarded as a social virtue in those days, when backbiting flourished as
perhaps never before or since, on either side of the Channel. It was the
period of the School for Scandal, a play which the critic of the Morning Post,
on the morrow of its first performance, justly described as one wherein
a group of characters “ are ever ready, at the call of scandal, to sacrifice
the reputations even of their dearest friends at the too fashionable shrine