glige, je deviens inutile."

[Often, although light, I weary the person who carries me. A word in
my manner is worth a whole discourse. I began under Louis the Great to
be in vogue,--slight, long, flat, narrow, of a very slight material.

The most unskilled fingers cut me in their way; under a thousand
different forms I appear every day; I am a great aid to the astonished
valets. The Louvre does not see my face at its door.

A coarse hand most of the time receives me from the hand of the nicest
people. Civil, officious, I am born for the city.

In the coldest weather, my back is always bare; and, although quite
convenient, scarcely have they seen me, when I am neglected and
useless.--Visiting card.]

A more interesting one and one that caused no little amusement is the
following:

"Je suis niais et fin, honnete et malhonnete,
Moins sincere a la cour qu'en un simple taudis.
Je fais d'un air plaisant trembler les plus hardis,
Le fort me laisse aller, le sage m'arrete.

"A personne sans moi l'on ne fait jamais fete:
J'embellis quelquefois, quelquefois, j'enlaidis.
Je dedaigne tantot, tantot j'applaudis;
Pour m'avoir en partage, il faut n'etre pas bete.

"Plus mon trone est petit, plus il a de beaute.
Je l'agrandis pourtant d'un et d'autre cote,
Faisant voir bien souvent des defauts dont on jase.

"Je quitte mon eclat quand je suis sans temoins,
Et je me puis vanter enfin d'etre la chose
Qui contente le plus et qui coute le moins."

[I am both stupid and bright, honest and dishonest; less sincere at
court than in a simple hovel; with a pleasant air, I make the boldest
tremble, the strong let me pass, the wise stop me.

There is no joy to anyone without me; I embellish at times, at times I
distort; I disdain and I applaud; to share me, one must not be stupid.

The smaller my throne, the greater my beauty; I enlarge it, however,
on both sides, often showing defects which are made sport of.

I leave my brilliancy when I am without witness, and I can boast
of being the thing which contents the most and costs the least.--A
smile.]

Critics often reproach Mlle. de Scudery for having portrayed
herself--as Sapho--in a flattering light in her novel _Cyrus_; but it
must be remembered that at that time this was a common custom, women
of the highest quality indulging in such pastimes, there even being a
prominent salon where verbal portraiture was the sole occupation. No
one has written m