could hardly dream of an existence more democratic or more
Utopian. These favored men and women lead a simple, pastoral
life. They take care of the house and the garden, milk the cows,
make cheese and cakes, and tend sheep on pleasant days. But this
rustic community must have its civilized amusements. They visit,
drive, ride on horseback, paint, design, play on the lute or
clavecin, and have all the new books sent to them. After reading
the lives of heroes and philosophers, the princess is convinced
that no one is perfectly happy, and that Christianity is
desirable, as it gives hope for the future. Her platonic and
Christian republic is composed of "amiable and perfect people,"
but it is quite free from the entanglements of love and the
"vulgar institution of marriage." Mme. de Motteville replies
very gracefully, accepting many of these ideas, but as it is
difficult to repress love altogether, she thinks "one will be
obliged to permit that error which an old custom has rendered
legitimate, and which is called marriage." This curious
correspondence takes its color from the Spanish pastorals which
tinged the romantic literature of the time as well as its social
life. The long letters, carefully written on large and heavy
sheets yellow with age, have a peculiarly old-time flavor, and
throw a vivid light upon the woman who could play the role of a
heroine of Corneille or of a sentimental shepherdess, as the
caprice seized her.

A tragical bit of romance colored the mature life of the Grande
Mademoiselle. She had always professed a great aversion to love,
regarding it as "unworthy of a well-ordered soul." She even went
so far as to say that it was better to marry from reason or any
other thing imaginable, dislike included, than from passion that