SCARRON (Paul), an eminent comic, or rather burlesque, French writer, was the son of Paul Scarron a counsellor in parliament, and born at Paris in 1610. He was deformed, and of very irregular manners; yet his father designed him for the ecclesiastical state. He went to Italy when he was four and twenty; but returned just as licentious as he went, and so continued till by a terrible stroke he was deprived of all power to indulge vicious appetites. He was at Mans where he was a canon; but retiring from thence, at a carnival season, into a damp and fenny situation, a torpor suddenly seized him, and he lost the use of his limbs. The physicians attempted in vain to restore them: and poor Scarron, at 27 years of age, had no movements left him but those of his hands and tongue. Melancholy and terrible as his condition was, his comical and burlesque humour never forsook him; he was continually talking and writing in this strain; and his house became the rendezvous of all the men of wit. Afterwards a fresh misfortune overtook him: his father, who had hitherto supplied his wants, incurred the displeasure of cardinal Richelieu, and was banished. Scarron, deprived of his resources, presented an humble request to Richelieu; which was so humorously drawn, that the minister could not forbear laughing. What the effect would have been, cannot be said, since both Richelieu and his father died soon after: however, it is reckoned among his best pieces. This extraordinary person at length conceived thoughts of marriage; and in 1651, was actually married to Mademoiselle d'Aubigne, afterwards the most celebrated Madam de Maintenon, who lodged near him, and who was about 16 years of age. This lady, whose passion for Scarron, if she had any, must have been quite intellectual, had wit and beauty, and served to increase the good company which frequented his house: she also restrained him in his buffooneries, making him more reserved and decent. Scarron died in 1660, and his jesting
humour did not die before him. Within a few minutes of his death, when his acquaintance were about him all in tears: "Ah! my friends, (said he), you will never cry for me so much as I have made you laugh." He wrote many books both prose and verse; but his Comical Romance is almost the only one which continued to be liked by persons of taste: and this was foretold by Boileau.