# A Cyclopaedia of Female Biography/Cottin, Sophie

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COTTIN, SOPHIE,
Whose maiden name was Ristaud, was born at Tonneins, in the department of Lot and Garonne, in 1773. She married M. Cottin, a banker at Bordeaux, and went soon after to reside at Paris, where her husband died. She was then twenty years of age, and was much admired; but she had been tenderly attached to her husband, and never would marry again. To relieve her sorrows, she gave herself up to intellectual pursuits; and thus, in the expression of her thoughts and feelings, she began to write. Her first attempts were small poems, and a story, "Claire d'Albe," which she was induced to publish by the following singular circumstances. Upon the breaking out of the revolution of 1789, Madame Cottin, who did not partake of the popular opinions, adopted the most secluded life possible, devoting herself to study and reading. At the same time she took a lively interest in the misfortunes of those unhappy days, and her heart bled to hear ​of the imprisonment and execution of many a well-known citizen. In the darkest days of "terror," she one evening received the following letter:—
"Madam,—I am almost unknown to you. I have seen you but a few times, and have probably made but a slight impression on you; but I am in urgent distress, and I apply to you with confidence, certain of receiving the aid you can administer.
Madame, my name is on the proscribed list; I am surrounded by spies and enemies; every step leads me to the guillotine, and I can only hope for safety in a foreign land. But I am totally without money to release myself from these dangers; a way has now opened for me, but persons must be feed, and two thousand one hundred and fifty livres is the sum requisite. I supplicate you then, madam, to take pity on an unfortunate fellow-creature who wishes to preserve his life for the sake of a family depending on him. The person who delivers this will call for your answer, and may be entirely trusted.De Fonbelle."
Madame Cottin remembered the name of Fonbelle, and also remembered that he was highly esteemed in the house where she had met him; she was anxious to save him; but how or where to get the required sum? She thought—she considered; when at last the idea struck her. She had often been urged by her friends to publish the tales she had written for her amusement, but had always shrunk from coming before the world. In this extremity, however, she bethought her of a story of which she had read the first chapters in a little circle, where it had produced a favourable impression. She instantly sat down to her writing-desk, drew out her imperfect manuscript, and resolved to complete it. The night passed—she was still at her labours; two o'clock came—her room was the only one in the house that shewed a light; there was a knocking at the door—a noise in the entry! Who could it be at that hour? Her heart beat violently. It was a domiciliary visit I The letter of Fonbelle lay on the desk—it needed all her presence of mind—the gens-d'armes were already in the room. The expedient she adopted was singular, but successful; she told them she was an authoress, merely occupied in her vocation, and, that they might be convinced of it, offered to give them a sketch of her story. They ranged themselves on chairs round the room, and she proceeded to relate to them "Claire d'Albe." There was such a charm in her voice, and in her manner of arranging the incidents—so much dramatic interest in her conduct of the events—that these rude men became deeply affected. The same people who would have remorselessly dragged the fairest and tenderest to a merciless execution, absolutely sobbed over fictitious woes, pathetically related. When she had finished, they were so much gratified that they forbore touching her papers; and their search through the house was but nominal. They departed, after shaking hands with her, telling her when the book came out, they would immediately purchase a copy.
The book was soon finished; but that was not all—it must be sold. Madame Cottin went in the morning to at least twenty booksellers; none were willing to risk their money with an unknown author. Her active benevolence was net to be abated by repulse. At last, by the means of a friend, she was introduced to a ​kind-hearted publisher, who, hearing she was pressed for money, consented to oblige her. "What do you ask, madam?" said he; "the book is prettily written as far as I see, but it is not a master-piece." "Fifty Louis," replied she; "since you are so frank, I confess that I am under the most urgent necessity to procure this sum."
The good man feared the risk; but his better feelings prevailed, and he counted her out fifty golden Louis. The rest of the sum she made up from money she had reserved from her housekeeping supplies, determined to live frugally till her next account day. When the messenger returned, she placed in his hands the two thousand one hundred and fifty livres; and in a fortnight had the pleasure of a letter from M. De Fonbelle, assuring her of his safety and gratitude, while on the same day her volume appeared in print. It was received with so much approbation, that she was induced to bring out, in succession, her other more admired works.
This anecdote has been detailed, as it honours Madame Cottin more than even her literary reputation. How noble, to take the first steps in the career of authorship from no sordid motive, nor even from a vain desire of renown, but solely to save the life of an innocent victim of injustice! Her other works were all brought out for the indulgence of her wish to succour the indigent, and never did a lower motive inspire her genius. Her written works are like her entire life—an exposition of the noblest sentiments. The eloquence and fervour with which she expresses the most secret feelings of the heart, have been much admired, particularly by her own sex. Her authorship commenced from the irrepressible desire to occupy her time innocently, and improve her own mind. The last work she undertook was on religion; and she had also commenced one on education; a painful disease prevented her from finishing either. The latter was the only one of her works for which she was anxious to gain a favourable reception with the public. Singular as it will now seem, she disapproved, in general, of women appearing as authors; but in her solicitude for this work on education, she honoured the true and instinctive promptings of female genius—to teach. Madame Cottin died, after a severe illness of three months, August 25th., 1807.
Her works have been collected, and published at Paris. The following are the names of the principal of them:—"Claire d'Albe," "Malvina," "Amelie de Mansfield," "Matilda," and "Elizabeth, or the Exiles of Siberia;" this last is considered her best work.