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SATYRICAL Truths, by way of Dialogue. Paris. 1725. in 12o. pagg. 341.

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Taken from the Journal des Sçavans,

HOSE who fhall read thefe Dialogues, will eafily acknowledge, as well as the Licenfer, that they come from a good hand, and that the Author has imagined them with no other view, but to fhow that thofe who depart from Reafon and good Senfe, would make people laugh, if they fpoke as they think. It is a Satyr the more agreeable and useful, because no body can be offended at the characters that are defcribed, fince they refemble no body, and are only an innocent and ingenious artifice made ufe of by the Author to correct the follies of Mankind, and make them love found Reafon.

The Work confifts of fifty Dialogues. The Maid who defigns to be a Nun, and alleges among other motives that the Habit of a Nun becomes her very well: The finical precife woman, who fays that her health is tributary to all feafons: The husband who fcorns to speak to his wife: The Lady who cannot go to Mafs without her fnuff-boxes: The Preacher who does not youchfafe to preach in a Village: The Maid who looks for a husband in Moreri's Dictionary: The devout woman, who is refolved, at any rate, to treat her Ghoftly Father with green peafe, are fome of the Articles which deferve moft to be read.

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The Maid who defigns to be a Nun, is PULCHERIA: The difcourfes about it with a Lady named CORINNA. Yes, Madam, fays fhe, I'll take the Habit on that day. You are going to make a great facrifice, fays CORINNA; and I cannot forbear being moved with it. PULCHERIA. I fhall take place of Sifter Joconde; fhe has done whatever lay in her power to be admitted firft; but I have contrived the matter fo, that she shall not take the Habit but a week after me. CORINNA. She makes alfo a great facrifice: fhe is a woman of quality. PULCHERIA. Not of fo great quality as people think: 'tis a common nobility: befides, the had no great hopes in the world. CORINNA. However, 'tis ftill a great facrifice to confecrate onefelf fo young to fuch an auftere life: I confefs, I am moved with it, and I admire you upon that account. PULCHERIA. Ho! fome regard will be had for me: they have promised me a room out of the Dortor, where I may fpend part of the day with fome of my companions in making coffee or fweet meats. CoRINNA. 'Tis a very fmall matter. PULCHERIA. Ho! tis a great diftinction; and ever fince Sifter Julia, who, as you know, is the daughter of a Marquis, fuch a room was never granted to any body elfe but to me. "Tis true,

I am not the daughter of a Marquis; but it seems to me that in every thing else I am as good as fhe; and without vanity I fhall have, at my taking the Habit, a finer affembly than fhe had, when she took hers. I have been told that none but her near Relations were prefent at that ceremony and indeed, what Preacher had the? I fhall have one, who is quite another man. Our Superior gave her the Veil; but I fhall have a

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Bishop; and you will fee a great many more coaches at the door of our Church. CORINNA. 'Tis a fign that you make your facrifice heartily, and that you defire the world fhould be witness to an heroic action, which muft needs confound them. PULCHERIA. The Ladies will alfo come finely drest. I fhall have magnificent cloaths; and a Princefs has promised me her jewels. I have the best Millener of the Court, and Cornets, Madam, Cornets, I must show them to you. CORINNA. Don't give yourfelf that trouble. I could not forbear to be moved with pity, thinking that after such a magnificent head-drefs, you will only have a thick Veil, and a neck-handkerchief of coarfe cloth. PULCHERIA. Ho! Madam, I fhall have a neck-handkerchief of a much finer cloth than the others

-You never faw me in a Nun's habit: they fay, it becomes me wonderfully well. CORINNA. Being fo well fhaped, all forts of cloaths muft needs become you. PU LCHERIA. No, they fay that Habit gives me an air, and if I dare repeat it, a gracefulness which I have not in the cloaths of the World. All our Sifters compliment me about it.

The Dialogue of the finical precife Lady with a Man, who loves only judicious expreffions, abounds no lefs with inftructive paffages. That Lady who has just now left an Author, whofe converfation fhe had defired long ago, complains that she has not fo much as received the Fee (P'Honoraire) of her curiofity. She fays that her retrograde ftar has only showed her, under the afpect of that pretended celebrated Author, a compound of atoms, which speak only as vulgar compounds do. She adds that he has brought forth no Conceit but what every body may understand. Hitherto, con$ 4

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tinues fhe, this is only the thousandth part of the infiniment petits; and I have only found in him words that have never been fifted in the Sieve of Elegance.

Inftead of faying that she is fick in all the feafons of the year, the fays that her health is tributary to all feafons; that this very Spring has given her no quarter; that it has extorted from her a fwinging head-ach which nothing can extenuate. And then proceeding to a fmall fong that was fent to her for her feftival-day, fhe observes that it has appeared very fine, and that its CACOPHONY has been particularly taken notice of. She asks whether that word is not derived from an antient Greek Author named CACOPHON, whofe Life fhe thinks to have read in Plutarch. She is wonderfully pleafed with fome Verses that have been made for her, in which there is CACOPHONY, and fhe repeats them with admiration:

Ma fille & moi, au jour de votre Fête,
Avons cueilli & affemblé ces fleurs,
Belle Silvie, pour vous orner la tête :
Il eût fallu une guirlande de coeurs.

She defires to learn how to make CACOPHONY: and being furprised to hear that she can make. fome, whenever the pleafes, fhe makes this Verfe:

Bon fens, mon cher, qui étes mon ami.

Is this CACOPHONY? fays fhe. She is told: Yes, Madam, and fome of the most harmonious. Ho! replies fhe, how much are Mortals to be pitied in a Vortex, which conceals their own talents from them!

The Author gives notice that those whom he brings upon the ftage, fay nothing but what they themselves would fay, if they were willing to speak what they think. This is true in most of the Dialogues of this Book. We say in most of them; for there are fome, in which, certainly, it is not poffible to judge that the Actors always fpeak as they think. That, for instance, of a Parifh-Clerk, and a Citizen's wife whofe husband is lately dead, appears to be one of that number. The Clerk fpeaks at first with a fincerity and ingenuity that has fome likelihood. He tells the Lady that he comes to offer his fervices for the burying of her husband; that he has long ago undertaken to bury people; and that, thanks be to God, he never buried any,body but to the great fatisfaction of all his Relations. That as foon as fome body falls fick in the Parish, the Priefts of the Parish think of burying him; that they do not fo much as stay till a man be fick; that it is fufficient for them that a man fhould belong to the Parish, and that there is hardly any perfon of note, but they think of his burial long before it happens; that his brethren and he talk of it at their leifurehours; that they caft up as near as they can, the charges every private perfon will be at for his burial; that this innocent pleasure which they take, is of a great conveniency for the Public, because every body, when he dies, finds his funeral in very great forwardnefs; that he has a Bill drawn up by him above fix years ago for the burying of her husband; that having always had a particular refpect for him, he is one of the firft, whofe burial took up his thoughts.

This discourse is perhaps but too well grounded upon truth; but we queftion whether the

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