a pitiless clique of idle men attached to the
Court, and circulating in society, who were
always on the watch for victims, at whose
expense they might make good stories, or whom
they might make the subjects of a practical
jest. Mademoiselle de Gournay had fallen into
their snares years before, and she seemed a
still more tempting victim now. A regular
conspiracy of wicked wits was formed against
the poor old woman, who was then not much
under sixty years of age. Her vanity had
grown to enormous magnitude; her credulity
was in proportion; whilst her power of
swallowing and digesting any flattery,
however gross, was something fabulous. No
tribute that could be offered exceeded her
notion of her own deserts. She certainly
offered fair game for ridicule, and she was
not spared.

Louis the Thirteenth, who laboured under
the royal malady of ennui, enjoyed the
accounts of the mystifications that were
constantly put upon the poor old lady.

They told her (and she believed them)
that there was nothing talked about at
Court but her book; and that his Majesty,
Louis the Thirteenth, was her warm admirer.
Mademoiselle de Gournay not unnaturally
expected that some solid proof of the royal
admiration would follow; but nothing came.
Louis, well content to be amused by absurd
stories about her, never dreamed of rewarding
her for them. She was made to believe that
her portrait adorned the galleries of Brussels
and Antwerp; that in Holland her works
had been published with complimentary
prefaces; that, in Italy, Caesar Carpaccio and
Charles Pinto had celebrated her genius in
their own tongue, and spread the glory of her
name from one end of the peninsula to the
other; and that no well-educated person in
Europe was ignorant of her name and works.
Marie de Gournay, after having been adopted
by Montaigne, found all these marvels quite
probable and easy of belief. These splendid
visions of fame and success were quite as
good as reality; they gilded her poverty,
and invested her privations with a dignity
more than regal. Among many other
mystifications played off upon her, there was
one which has since, in different forms,
made the plot of farces and vaudevilles without
number; but it was for the behoof of
Mademoiselle de Gournay that it was
originally made and invented. The poet
Racan, whose works were some of the few
Mademoiselle de Gournay condescended to
read, had received a copy of " L'Ombre,"
and prepared to pay her a visit to return
thanks. It must be borne in mind that they
had never seen each other; the conspirators
chanced to hear of his intentions. Such a fine
occasion was not to be neglected; having
ascertained the time appointed for the interview,
they took care to be beforehand. The first
who presented himself was the Chevalier de
Bresire; he caused himself to be announced
by Mademoiselle Jamyn (the orphan she
had adopted: now her friend and companion.)
as M. Racan. He was clever and agreeable,
and flattered Mademoiselle de Gournay with
so much grace, that she was enchanted with
him. He had scarcely departed, when
M. Yvrande arrived: " Announce M. Racan,"
said he to Mademoiselle Jamyn.

"M. Racan has only this moment left
us."

"Some vile trick!" said he, with
indignation.

Mademoiselle de Gournay, seeing a young
man, still handsomer and more agreeable
than the other, and whose compliments were
still more poetical, was easily pacified, and
received him graciously. A few moments
after he had left, the poet himself made his
appearance. He was absent, nervous, shabbily
dressed, awkward, and had, moreover, a
ridiculous pronunciation. He called himself
"LACAN."

The old lady was now out of all patience.

"Must I, then, see nothing but Racans all
the days of my life!" she exclaimed; and,
taking off her slipper, she flung it at his
head, abusing him vehemently for daring to
impose upon her; and drove him out of the
house.

Of course, this story was much too good
not to have a great success; it circulated,
not only through the Court, but all over Paris,
and came at last to the ears of poor
Mademoiselle de Gournay herself, who could not
be consoled, as it revealed all the tricks to
which she had been a victim. The illusions
thus rudely destroyed were far more precious
than the philosopher's stone she had so
vainly sought, and involved a disappointment
infinitely more painful. Who can help
sympathising with the poor woman, who thus
saw all her fairy treasures resolved into their
intrinsic worthlessness!

However, good came out of evil. Cardinal
Richelieu—who had been especially delighted
with the story of the three Racans, and was
never weary of hearing it repeated—took the
fancy of wishing to see her, that he might
try to make a good story out of her himself.
He sent for her, and indulged in some very
clumsy pleasantry, of which he had the grace
to feel afterwards ashamed. Willing to make
her some amends, he settled a pension upon
her, in order that, for the rest of her days,
she, and her friend, and her cat, might live
on something better than dry bread.

Under the influence of this gleam of
sunshine, Mademoiselle de Gournay edited
another edition of Montaigne's works, with an
abridgment of her former preface. She also
published a fresh work of her own, entitled,
"Avis et Présens de Mademoiselle de
Gournay," which had a moderate success.
Another edition of " L'Ombre " was also
called for. All this, in some measure,
consoled her for past humiliations.

Her prosperity lasted until the death of