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"A Simple Heart"[edit]

"A Simple Heart", or Un cœur simple or Le perroquet in French, is a story about a servant girl named Felicité. After her one and only love Théodore purportedly marries a well-to-do woman to avoid conscription, Felicité quits the farm where she works and heads for Pont-l'Évèque, where she picks up work in a widow's house as a servant. She is very loyal, and easily lends her affections to the two children of her mistress, Mme Aubain. She gives entirely to others; although many take advantage of her, she is unaffected.

She has no husband, no children, and no property, and is reliant on her mistress to keep her; she is uneducated, which bars her visits to the Church; her death is virtually unnoticed. Despite her life being seemingly pointless, she has within her the power to love, which she does even when she does not receive it in return. She also carries within her a yearning, a majestic quasi-religious sensibility which finds its apotheosis in the deification, as she dies, of her pet parrot who floats above her deathbed masquerading as the Holy Ghost. She lives a simple, unexamined life.

Lettre de Madame de Sévigné à sa fille Madame de Grignan.
Paris, mercredi 16 mars 1672

Vous me demandez, ma chère enfant, si j’aime toujours bien la vie. Je vous avoue que j’y trouve des chagrins cuisants ; mais je suis encore plus dégoûtée de la mort : je me trouve si malheureuse d’avoir à finir tout ceci par elle que si je pouvais retourner en arrière je ne demanderais pas mieux. Je me trouve dans un engagement qui m’embarrasse : je suis embarquée dans la vie sans mon consentement ; il faut que j’en sorte, cela m’assomme ; et comment en sortirai-je ? Par où ? Par quelle porte ? Quand sera-ce ? En quelle disposition ? Souffrirai-je mille et mille douleurs, qui me feront mourir désespérée ? Aurai-je un transport au cerveau ? Mourrai-je d’un accident ? Comment serai-je avec Dieu ? Qu’aurai-je à lui présenter ? La crainte, la nécessité feront-elles mon retour vers lui ? N’aurai-je aucun autre sentiment que celui de la peur ? Que puis-je espérer ? Suis-je digne du paradis ? Suis-je digne de l’enfer ? Quelle alternative ! Quel embarras ! Rien n’est si fou que de mettre son salut dans l’incertitude ; mais rien n’est si naturel, et la sotte vie que je mène est la chose du monde la plus aisée à comprendre. Je m’abîme dans ces pensées, et je trouve la mort si terrible que je hais plus la vie parce qu’elle m’y mène que par les épines qui s’y rencontrent. Vous me direz que je veux vivre éternellement. Point du tout ; mais si on m’avait demandé mon avis, j’aurais bien aimé à mourir entre les bras de ma nourrice : cela m’aurait ôté bien des ennuis et m’aurait donné le ciel bien sûrement et bien aisément ; mais parlons d’autre chose.

Je suis au désespoir que vous ayez eu Bajazet par d’autres que par moi. C’est ce chien de Barbin qui me hait, parce que je ne fais pas des Princesses de Montpensier. Vous en avez jugé très juste et très bien, et vous aurez vu que je suis de votre avis. Je voulais vous envoyer la Champmeslé pour vous réchauffer la pièce. Le personnage de Bajazet est glacé ; les mœurs des Turcs y sont mal observées ; ils ne font point tant de façons pour se marier ; le dénouement n’est point bien préparé : on n’entre point dans les raisons de cette grande tuerie Il y a pourtant des choses agréables, et rien de parfaitement beau, rien qui enlève, point de ces tirades de Corneille qui font frissonner. Ma fille, gardons-nous bien de lui comparer Racine, sentons-en la différence. Il y a des endroits froids et faibles, et jamais il n’ira plus loin qu’Alexandre et qu’Andromaque. Bajazet est au-dessous, au sentiment de bien des gens, et au mien, si j’ose me citer. Racine fait des comédies pour Champmeslé : ce n’est pas pour les siècles à venir. Si jamais il n’est plus jeune et qu’il cesse d’être amoureux, ce ne sera plus la même chose. Vive donc notre vieil ami Corneille ! Pardonnons-lui de méchants vers, en faveur des divines et sublimes beautés qui nous transportent : ce sont des traits de maître qui sont inimitables. Despréaux en dit encore plus que moi ; et en un mot, c’est bon goût : tenez-vous-y.

Voici un bon mot de Mme Cornuel, qui a fort réjoui le parterre. M. Tambonneau le fils a quitté la robe, et a mis une sangle autour de son ventre et de son derrière. Avec ce bel air, il veut aller sur la mer : je ne sais ce que lui a fait la terre. On disait donc à Mme Cornuel qu’il s’en allait à la mer : « Hélas, dit-elle, est-ce qu’il a été mordu d’un chien enragé ? » Cela fut dit sans malice, c’est ce qui a fait rire extrêmement.

https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/features/verlaine-and-rimbaud-poets-from-hell-6109698.html

Letter from Madame de Sevigne to her daughter Madame de Grignan. 
Paris, Wednesday, March 16, 1672

You ask me, my dear child, if I still love life. I confess to you that I find there bitter sorrows; but I am still more disgusted with death: I find myself so unhappy to have to finish all this by her that if I could go back I would not ask for anything better. I find myself in an engagement that embarrasses me: I am embarked on life without my consent; I must go out, it sucks me up; and how will I get out of it? From where ? By which door? When will it be? In what disposition? Will I suffer a thousand and a thousand pains, which will make me die in despair? Will I have a brain transport? Will I die from an accident? How will I be with God? What will I have to present to him? Fear, will necessity make my return to him? Will I have any other feeling than that of fear? What can I expect? Am I worthy of paradise? Am I worthy of hell? What an alternative! What an embarrassment! Nothing is so crazy as to put one's safety in uncertainty; but nothing is so natural, and the foolish life I lead is the easiest thing in the world to understand. I sink in these thoughts, and I find death so terrible that I hate life more because it leads me there than through the thorns that meet there. You will tell me that I want to live forever. Not at all ; but if I had been asked my opinion, I would have liked to die in the arms of my nurse: that would have removed me much trouble and would have given me the sky quite surely and easily; but let's talk about something else.

I am in despair that you have had Bajazet by others than me. It's this Barbin dog that hates me, because I do not make Princesses de Montpensier. You have judged it very right and very well, and you will have seen that I am of your opinion. I wanted to send you Champmeslé to warm you up. The character of Bajazet is frozen; the customs of the Turks are badly observed there; they do not do so many ways to marry; the denouement is not well prepared: one does not enter into the reasons of this great slaughter There are, however, pleasant things, and nothing perfectly beautiful, nothing that removes, not those of Corneille's tirades that make shudder. My daughter, let us beware of comparing Racine to her, let's feel the difference. There are cold and weak places, and never will it go further than Alexander and Andromache. Bajazet is below, in the opinion of many people, and mine, if I dare to quote myself. Racine makes comedies for Champmeslé: it's not for centuries to come. If he is no longer young and stops being in love, it will not be the same anymore. Long live our old friend Corneille! Forgive him for wicked verses, in favor of the divine and sublime beauties that carry us: they are master traits that are inimitable. Despréaux says even more than me; and in a word, it's good taste: stick to it. to the feeling of many people, and mine, if I dare to quote myself. Racine makes comedies for Champmeslé: it's not for centuries to come. If he is no longer young and stops being in love, it will not be the same anymore. Long live our old friend Corneille! Forgive him for wicked verses, in favor of the divine and sublime beauties that carry us: they are master traits that are inimitable. Despréaux says even more than me; and in a word, it's good taste: stick to it. to the feeling of many people, and mine, if I dare to quote myself. Racine makes comedies for Champmeslé: it's not for centuries to come. If he is no longer young and stops being in love, it will not be the same anymore. Long live our old friend Corneille! Forgive him for wicked verses, in favor of the divine and sublime beauties that carry us: they are master traits that are inimitable. Despréaux says even more than me; and in a word, it's good taste: stick to it. Forgive him for wicked verses, in favor of the divine and sublime beauties that carry us: they are master traits that are inimitable. Despréaux says even more than me; and in a word, it's good taste: stick to it. Forgive him for wicked verses, in favor of the divine and sublime beauties that carry us: they are master traits that are inimitable. Despréaux says even more than me; and in a word, it's good taste: stick to it.

Here is a good word from Mrs. Cornuel, who has greatly enjoyed the floor. Mr. Tambonneau the son left the dress, and put a strap around his belly and his butt. With this beautiful air, he wants to go to the sea: I do not know what the earth did to him. It was said to Madame Cornuel that he was going to the sea: "Alas," she said, "was he bitten by a mad dog? This was said without malice, that's what made us laugh extremely.

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https://vovanlam.wordpress.com/2012/07/04/luyen-van-luyen-tu-cach/