LETTERS TO MADAME DE GRIGNAN[11] FROM 1671 TO 1690. (continued 6)

The Duchess of Hanover, who received her, and who was the daughter of the celebrated princess palatine, was soon disgusted with Madame de Brinon, who retired to the Abbey of Maubuisson, and died there, regretting the world, regretting St. Cyr, and regretting life.

LETTER C.

Paris, Friday, December 31, 1688.

Per torner dunque al nostro proposito,[238] I must tell you, my child, that all the uncertainties of the day before yesterday, which seemed to be fixed by the assurances M. de Lamoignon gave us that the King of England was at Calais, are now changed into the certainty that he is detained in England; and that if this ill fortune has not befallen him, he has perished; for he was to make his escape, and embark a few hours after the queen. So, that though we have no certain intelligence of his being arrested, there is not a single person who does not now credit it. Such is our situation; and such the way in which we are closing the present year, and entering upon that of ’89; a year marked out by extraordinary predictions, as pregnant with great events. Not one, however, will take place that is not agreeable to the order of Providence, like all our actions, and all our journeyings. We must submit to every thing, and look boldly in the face of futurity; this is going a great way.

In the mean while, count, I address myself to you. Yesterday the Knights of St. Michael went through the ceremony with several of those of the order of the Holy Ghost, at the hour I mentioned to you after vespers, and to-morrow the rest will do the same. The chevalier will inform you how it is managed with respect to the absentees. You must make your profession of faith, and give an account of your life and manners. Of this you will be duly informed; you are not the only one; and in the mean time hold off, fair and softly. Yesterday, M. de Chevreuse, of the order of St. Michael, passed before M. de la Rochefoucault, who said to him, “Sir, you pass before me, which you have no right to do.” M. de Chevreuse replied, “Sir, I have a right, for I am Duke de Luynes.” “Oh, sir,” rejoined the other, “in this respect I yield to you.” The gazette will inform you, my dear count, that M. de Luynes has given this duchy to his son, with the king’s permission; and M. de Chevreuse, who will henceforward be called M. de Luynes, the duchy of Chevreuse to his son, who will be styled Duke de Montfort. Your son’s comrades are highly distinguished by titles. It is said that some troops are to be sent into Brittany with M. de Momont, Major-General, to be under the command of M. de Chaulnes; there will be encampments in all the provinces. You need only refer to the map, to judge whether we have occasion to be on our guard on all sides; cast your eyes for a moment over all Europe. Madame de Barillon is very uneasy respecting her husband;[239] but it is said at random, for no letters arrive, that he is safe, though the chapel of the King of England has been pulled down, as well as that belonging to the embassador’s household. Time will clear up all this. But who am I speaking to? is it still to this count? My dear child, your good lady, who swore she would not touch a card till the King of England had won a battle, will not probably play again for a long time. Poor woman! The Prince of Orange is in London—this is still the subject of my letter, as it is of all conversation, for every one considers himself as concerned in this great scene. The queen is still in a convent at Boulogne, always in tears at the absence of her husband, whom she passionately loves.

Madame de Brinon is quite forgotten. A new comedy is said to be in rehearsal, which is to be represented at St. Cyr, and is called Esther. The carnival does not promise to be very gay. My son’s letters are constantly filled with the most affectionate sentiments for you and M. de Grignan. We expect your letters, but probably shall not answer them till Monday. The chevalier and I have very long conversations about you; he is tolerably well, and when your son returns from Chalons, he intends to accompany him to Versailles. The good Corbinelli exhausts his rhetoric upon the present situation of affairs, and at the same time adores you. Adieu, my lovely child; I embrace you a thousand times, and wish you a happy year in that of 1689.

LETTER CI.

Paris, Monday, January 3, 1689.

Your dear son arrived this morning. We were delighted to see him and M. du Plessis; we were at dinner when they came, and they ate very heartily of our repast, which was already somewhat impaired. Oh, that you could have heard all the marquis said of the beauty of his company! He first asked if the company was arrived; and on the question, whether it was a fine one, this was the answer he received: “Indeed, sir, it is; it is one of the finest that ever was seen; it is an old company, and more to be prized than the new ones.” You may guess the effect such an encomium must have on a person who was not known to be the captain. Our boy was in raptures the next day at the sight of his noble company mounted; the men, made on purpose, as it were, and selected by you, and the horses cast in the same mold, gave him such high spirits, that M. de Chalons[240] and Madame de Noailles (his mother) entered into his feelings of joy. He has been received by these pious persons as the son of M. de Grignan; but why do I tell you all this? it is the marquis’ business.

LETTER CII.

Paris, Wednesday, January 5, 1689.

I took the marquis with me yesterday; we began by visiting M. de la Trousse, who was so obliging as to put on the dresses of the novice and professor, as on the ceremonial day; these two habits set off a fine figure to advantage. A foolish thought, without considering consequences, made me regret that the fine shape of M. de Grignan had not shone upon this occasion. The page’s dress is very becoming; and I am not at all surprised that the Princess of Clèves should fall in love with M. de Nemours and his handsome legs.[241] The mantle has all the magnificence of royalty; it cost La Trousse 800 pistoles, for he purchased it. After having viewed this pretty masquerade, I took your son to all the ladies in the neighborhood. Madame de Vaubecourt and Madame Oilier received him with great politeness; he will soon pay visits upon his own account.

The Life of St. Louis has induced me to read Mézerai; I was willing to take a view of the last kings of the second race, and I want to unite Philip de Valois with King John; this is an admirable period of history, upon which the Abbé de Choisi has written a book that may be read with interest. We endeavor to beat into your son’s head the necessity of being a little acquainted with what has passed before his time; and it will have effect; but, in the mean while, there are many reasons for paying attention to what is passing at present. You will see by the news of to-day how the King of England escaped from London, apparently with the consent of the Prince of Orange. Politicians reason upon this subject, and ask if it be more advantageous for this king to be in France; some say Yes, because he is here in security, and will not run the risk of being compelled to give up his wife and child, or lose his head; others say No, because he leaves the Prince of Orange to enjoy the protectorship, and be adored, having made his way to it naturally, and without bloodshed. It is certain that war will soon be declared against us, or perhaps, even we may declare it first. If we make peace in Italy and Germany, we may apply ourselves with greater attention to the English and Dutch war; this is to be hoped, for it would be too much to have enemies on all sides. You see whither my rambling pen leads me; but you may easily suppose that all conversations turn upon these great events.

LETTER CIII.

Paris, Monday, January 10, 1689.

We often stumble upon the same ideas, my dear child; even think that I wrote to you from the Rocks what you say in your last letter respecting time. I now consent that it should fly; the days have no longer any thing so dear and precious for me as I found them to contain when you were at the Hôtel de Carnavalet. I enjoyed, I made the most of every hour; I treasured it as a miser does his gold; but in absence, the case is different; time can not fly fast enough till the wished-for period arrives; we hurry it along, and would willingly dispose of all the intermediate space in favor of the days to which we aspire; it is a piece of tapestry which we are eager to finish; we are lavish of hours, and bestow them on any one. But I own that when I reflect on the point to which this profusion of hours and days leads me, I tremble. I am no longer certain of any, and reason presents me with the image of what I am certain to find in my way. My child, I will put an end to these reflections with you, and endeavor to turn them to my own advantage.

The Abbé Têtu is in an alarming way for want of sleep. The physicians would not answer for his intellects. He is sensible of his situation, which is an additional calamity: he is kept alive merely by opium: he seeks for diversion and amusement, and accordingly frequents public places. We want him to go to Versailles to see the King and Queen of England, and the Prince of Wales. Can there be a grander spectacle, or one more capable of affording the highest interest? It appears that the Prince of Orange favored the king’s flight. The king was sent to Exeter, where it was his intention to go; the front of his house was well guarded, and all the back doors left open. The prince was not inclined to sacrifice his father-in-law. He remains in London in the place of the king, without taking upon himself the title, being only desirous of restoring what he thinks the true religion, and supporting the laws of the country, without spilling a drop of blood: this is precisely the reverse of what we thought of him; we see him in a very different point of view. Our king, however, acts in a manner almost divine with respect to their Brittanic Majesties; for is it not being the representative of the Almighty to support a king banished, betrayed, and abandoned? The noble ambition of our sovereign is gratified by acting this part. He went to meet the queen, with all his household, and a hundred coaches and six. When he perceived the Prince of Wales’s carriage, he alighted and affectionately embraced him; he then ran to the queen, who was by this time alighted; he saluted her, talked with her some time, placed her at his right hand in his carriage, and presented the dauphin and monsieur to her, who were also in the carriage, and conducted her to St. Germain, where she found every thing prepared for her like a queen—all sorts of apparel, and a rich casket containing six thousand louis-d’ors. The King of England was expected the next day at St. Germain, where the king waited for him. He arrived late. His majesty went to the end of the guard-room to meet him; the King of England made an inclination as if to embrace his knees, but the king prevented him, and embraced him three or four times very cordially. They talked together in a low voice for nearly a quarter of an hour; the king presented the dauphin and monsieur to him, the princes of the blood, and Cardinal de Bonzi. He conducted him to the queen’s apartment, who could scarcely refrain from tears. After a conversation of a few minutes his majesty led them to the apartment of the Prince of Wales, where they again conversed for some time, and he then withdrew, not choosing to be attended back, saying to the king, “This is your house; when I come you will do the honors of it, and I will do the honors of mine when you come to Versailles.” The next day, which was yesterday, the dauphiness went there with all the court. I know not how they regulated the chairs, for they had those belonging to the Queen of Spain; and the Queen-mother of England was treated as a daughter of France: I shall hereafter send you these particulars. His majesty sent the King of England ten thousand louis-d’ors; the latter looks old and fatigued; the queen is thin, with fine black eyes swelled with weeping; a fine complexion, but rather pale; a large mouth, beautiful teeth, a fine figure, and a great share of sense; no wonder if with all these she pleases every one who beholds her. Here is matter for general conversation that will not soon be exhausted.

The poor chevalier can neither write nor go to Versailles, which grieves us sadly, as he has a thousand things to do there; but he is not ill: on Saturday he supped with Madame de Coulanges, Madame de Vauvineux, M. de Duras, and your son, at the lieutenant’s, where the healths of the first and second were drank, that is to say, Madame de la Fayette’s and yours, for you have yielded to the date of friendship. Yesterday Madame de Coulanges gave a very pretty supper to the gouty gentlemen, the Abbé de Marsillac, the Chevalier de Grignan, and M. de Lamoignon, whose nephritic complaints stood him in stead of the gout; his wife and the divinities were admitted in consequence of colds which they are never without; I in consideration of the rheumatism I had twelve years ago, and Coulanges, for deserving to have the gout. There was no scarcity of conversation; the little man sung, and gave the Abbé de Marsillac great pleasure, which he expressed by his admiration, and by imitating the tones and manners, which reminded me so strongly of his father that I could not help being affected. Your son was at the Mesdemoiselles de Castelnau’s. There is a younger sister, very pretty and very agreeable, who is quite to your son’s taste, and he leaves the squint-eyed girl to Sanzei; he took a hautboy with him, and they danced till midnight. This society is very pleasant to the marquis, as he meets St. Hérem, Janin, Choiseul, and Ninon there; so that he is not in a foreign country. The chevalier does not seem to be in haste to marry him, nor does M. de Lamoignon seem very desirous of marrying his daughter. We can say nothing with respect to the marriage of M. de Mirepoix,[242] this is the work of M. de Montfort: people seem to be infatuated, or else their heads are turned, for they do not think as they used to do; in short, this man seems impelled by his destiny, and what can be done in such a case?

M. de Lauzun is not gone back to England; he has an apartment at Versailles, and is perfectly satisfied; he has written to Mademoiselle to have the honor of seeing her, which has given her great offense. I have performed a master-piece; I have been to visit Madame de Ricouart, who is lately returned, very well pleased at being a widow. You have nothing to do but appoint me to complete your acknowledgments, like your romances, do you recollect? I thank the amiable Paulina for her letter; I am confident her person would please me; so she could then find no appellation for me but that of madam?[243] this is being very serious. Adieu, my dear child; preserve your health, in other words, your beauty, which I so much admire.

LETTER CIV.

Paris, Wednesday, January 12, 1689.

You retired then at five o’clock in the afternoon; you drew king and queen at dinner; you were in as good company as at Paris. It will not be my fault if the archbishop (of Aix) does not know that you are satisfied with him; I informed Madame de la Fayette of this the other day, who was much pleased with the information; she enjoins you both to lay aside the spirit and way of thinking of Provence. But to come to the King and Queen of England. It is so extraordinary to have this court here, that it is the constant subject of conversation. The regulation of rank and precedency is to be attended to, in order to render life agreeable to those who are so unlikely to be restored. This the king said the other day, adding that the English king was the best man in the world; that he should hunt with him; that he should come to Marly and Trianon; and that the courtiers should habituate themselves to him. The King of England does not give his hand to the dauphin, and does not reconduct him. The queen has not kissed monsieur, who is offended at this; she said to the king, “Tell me what you wish me to do; if you would have me follow the French fashion, I will salute whom you please; but it is not the custom in England to salute any one.” She paid a visit to the dauphiness, who was ill, and who received her in bed. No one sits in England; I believe the duchesses will follow the French fashion, and behave to her as they did to her mother-in-law.[244] We are greatly taken up with this new court.

In the mean time, the Prince of Orange is in London, where he has imprisoned several lords; he is severe, and will soon make himself hated. M. Schomberg is commander-in-chief in Holland, in the room of this prince, and his son is to have the reversion: so the mask is now completely thrown off.

LETTER CV.

Paris, Friday, January 14, 1689.

I have dined, my dear child, and am now in the chevalier’s apartment; he is in his chair, with a thousand little aches and pains that fly about him. He has slept well; but this confinement affects his spirits, and vexes him exceedingly; I too am grieved at it, as I know the ill consequences better than any one. It is very cold; the thermometer is at the lowest degree; our river is frozen; it snows, freezes, and thaws at the same time; there is no walking in the streets; I keep to the house, and to the chevalier’s chamber. If I could have an answer from you before the end of a fortnight, I would desire you to tell me whether I do not incommode him, by staying with him all day; but as I have no time to lose, I put this question to himself, and I fancy he is not displeased at it. The weather is an additional cause of his illness; it is not the sort he likes; it is always unfavorable when it is extreme.

M. de Gobelin is still at St. Cyr; Madame de Brinon is at Maubuisson, where she will soon be tired; she can never remain long in a place; she has made many agreements, and been in several convents; her good sense does not screen her from this error. Madame de Maintenon is much pleased with the comedy[245] which she has made her young ladies of St. Cyr perform; it will be a very fine piece according to report. She has paid a visit to the Queen of England, who, having made her wait a moment, said she was very sorry she had lost any time in seeing and conversing with her, and received her extremely well. Every one is pleased with this queen; she has an excellent understanding. She said to the king, on seeing him caress the Prince of Wales, who is a lovely child, “I formerly envied the happiness of my son, in not feeling his misfortunes; but I now pity him, for being insensible to your majesty’s caresses and kindness.” All she says is proper and to the purpose; but this is not the case with her husband: he has a great share of courage, but his understanding is not above the common standard; he relates what has passed in England with an insensibility that excites the same feeling for himself. He is a good man,[246] and partakes of all the amusements of Versailles. The dauphiness does not intend to visit this queen; she wants her right hand seat and chair of state, which can not be; she will therefore be always in bed, when the queen visits her. Madame is to have an arm-chair upon the left hand, and the princesses of the blood are to visit with her; before whom they have tabourets only. The duchesses will be upon the same footing as at the dauphiness’s; this is settled. The king, knowing that a king of France gave a Prince of Wales only a chair on the left hand, chooses that the King of England should treat the dauphin in the same manner, and precede him. He is to receive Monsieur without chair or ceremony. The queen has saluted him, saying to our sovereign what I told you. It is not yet certain that M. de Schomberg is to succeed the Prince of Orange in Holland. This is a year of falsehood.

LETTER CVI.

Paris, Monday, January 17, 1689.

My letter, then, is dignified with a title; this is a proof of its singular merit. I am glad my story amused you. I can never guess at the effect my letters will produce, but this has been a happy one.

If you sought an opportunity of coming to an explanation with the archbishop, instead of suffering the misunderstanding which people endeavor to create between you to ferment, a short time would clear up the whole, or you would silence chatterers; either of these is desirable, and you will find good result from it; you will put an end, it is true, to the amusements of the Provençals; but it is only silencing ridiculous impertinence. M. de Barillon is arrived; he has found a family group, with many of whose faces he was not acquainted. He is grown very fat, and said to M. de Harlai, “Sir, do not remind me of my fat, and I will say nothing to you of your lean.” He is very lively, and much of the same disposition as his namesake whom you know. I will pay all your compliments to him, when they will not appear forced; I have done so with regard to Madame de Sully, who returns you a thousand with a very good grace; and to the countess,[247] who is too witty upon M. de Lauzun, whom she wished to raise to the pinnacle of honor, and who has neither an apartment at Versailles, nor the free admittance he formerly had. He is merely returned to court, and his exploit does not appear so extraordinary, though a very pretty romance was at first made out of it.

The English court is quite established at St. Germain; they would not accept more than 15,000 livres a month, and have regulated their court upon that foundation. The queen is very much liked; our king converses very pleasantly with her; she has good sense without affectation. The king wished the dauphiness to pay her the first visit, but she was always so conveniently indisposed, that this queen paid her a visit three days ago, admirably dressed; a black velvet robe, a beautiful petticoat, her hair tastefully disposed, a figure like the Princess de Conti’s, and great dignity of manner. The king received her as she alighted; she went first into his apartment, where she had a chair below the king’s; here she remained half an hour; he then conducted her to the dauphiness, who was up; this occasioned a little surprise; the queen said to her, “I expected to have found you in bed, madam.” “I wished to rise, madam,” replied the dauphiness, “to receive the honor your majesty does me.” The king left them, as the dauphiness has no chair in his presence. The queen took her place, with the dauphiness on her right hand, madame on her left, and there were three other chairs for the three young princes. They conversed together for upward of half an hour; several duchesses were present, and the court was very numerous. At length she retired; the king gave orders to be informed of it, and handed her back to her carriage. I do not know how far the dauphiness went with her, but I shall hear. The king, upon his return, highly praised the queen; he said, “This is how a queen ought to be, both in person and mind, holding her court with dignity.” He admired her courage in misfortunes, and her affection for her husband; for it is certain that she loves him, as that hateful woman, Madame de R***, told you. Some of our ladies who wished to assume the airs of princesses, did not kiss the queen’s robe, some of the duchesses wished to avoid it also; but the king was displeased at this, and they now pay her homage. Madame de Chaulnes has been informed of these particulars, but has not yet performed this duty.

LETTER CVII.

Paris, Wednesday, February 16, 1689.

The chevalier is still at Versailles, but I expect him this evening. The marquis dined with me the other day; I conversed a good deal with him, and I can assure you, with much satisfaction. There is an air of truth and modesty in all he says, which does not in the least resemble the style of these thoughtless youths who always appear fools or liars. He related to me all the fatigues of his journey to Philipsburg, which were very great; little D’Auvergne had the fever for four days, from mere weariness; the marquis is strong, and bears this first trial with great courage; he told me his other adventures, gave me an account of all the blows that were given on each side of him, and the contusion he received; and this, without ostentation, with a cool composed air of veracity, which is highly pleasing. I love to converse with him, and lose no opportunity of doing it; he supped yesterday with M. Turgot, and some young folks, at the rich little La Martillière’s; he returned at midnight. He is gone to the horse-market, being wholly taken up with his company; he will write to you to-night: he loves you, and knows your extreme affection; you do nothing for him to which he is not as sensible as you can possibly wish: it is not even necessary to rouse him upon this subject.

I dined yesterday with Mademoiselle de Boileau; it was a company of wits; the Abbé de Polignac, the Abbé de Rohan, his doctor, Abbé David, and Corbinelli. After dinner they discussed, very pleasantly, the philosophy of your Father Descartes; it was with great difficulty they could comprehend the motion God gives to a ball that is pushed by another; they would have it that the first communicated its motion, and you know how the Abbé Polignac and Corbinelli exclaimed upon the occasion: this diverted me, and brought my dear little Cartesian to my remembrance, whom even I could understand so readily. From thence I went to Madame de la Fayette’s where, by good fortune, I found only M. de Pomponne and M. de Barillon: we spent two hours very agreeably, and the more so as we are seldom so fortunate. They say that the English parliament has made the Prince of Orange king, because the former king has deserted his kingdom, and broken the treaty between sovereign and subjects; that his flight is an abdication; that they are determined to render the throne elective; and that the parliament would not allow the Princess of Orange to be queen: these were the reports of yesterday, The chevalier will bring us news from Versailles. Some say with regard to the King of England’s apathy, that by hearing him talk, it is easy to guess why he is here.

LETTER CVIII.

Paris, Monday, February 21, 1689.

It is certain that we are separated from each other by a grievous distance: this is enough to make us shudder; but what would it have been if I had added to it the road from hence to the Rocks or Rennes? This, however, will not take place so soon. Madame de Chaulnes wishes to see the termination of several affairs, and I am only afraid that she will set out too late, considering my intention of returning next winter, which I must do for several reasons; the first of which is that I am convinced M. de Grignan will be obliged to return on account of his knighthood, and you can not take a better opportunity to escape from your falling, uninhabitable castle, and come and pay your court a little with the knight of the order, who will not be a knight till that time. I paid mine the other day at St. Cyr much more agreeably than I expected. We, that is, Madame de Coulanges, Madame de Bagnols, the Abbé Têtu, and I, went on Saturday. We found our places kept; an officer told Madame de Coulanges that Madame de Maintenon had ordered a place for her next herself; you see what honor is paid her. “You, madam,” said he, “may choose.” I placed myself with Madame de Bagnols in the second row behind the duchesses. Marshal de Bellefond came, and placed himself by choice at my right hand, and before us were the Duchesses d’Auvergne, De Coislin, and De Sully. The marshal and I listened to the tragedy with an attention that was remarked, and bestowed some praises in a low voice that were very well placed. I can not tell you the extreme beauty of this piece: it is a performance not easy to represent, and is inimitable: it is the union of music, poetry, singing, and character, so perfect and complete that there is nothing we wish to alter. The young ladies who represent kings and great personages seem to be made on purpose. It commands attention, and the only unpleasant circumstance attending it is, that so fine a production should at last end. Every thing in it is simple and innocent, sublime and affecting: the sacred history is so faithfully adhered to as to create respect; all the airs corresponding with the words, which are taken from the Psalms or Ecclesiastes, and interwoven with the subject, are singularly beautiful; the taste and attention of the audience are the criterions of the merit of the piece. I was delighted with it, and so was the marshal, who left his place to inform the king how much he was gratified, that he was seated next to a lady who was very worthy of seeing Esther. The king approached our seat, and having turned round, addressed himself to me: “I am told, madam,” said he, “that the piece has given you satisfaction.” I replied, with perfect self-possession, “Sire, I am delighted; what I feel is beyond the power of words to describe.” The king continued, “Racine has great talents.” I replied, “Sire, he has indeed; and so have these young people: they enter into the subject as if it had been their sole employment.” “Ah! that is very true,” he rejoined. And then he retired, leaving me the object of universal envy. As I was almost the only new spectator, the king took pleasure in observing my genuine admiration, which was without noise or parade.[248] The prince and princess came and spoke a word to me; Madame de Maintenon flashed upon me like lightning, and then retired to the king. I answered every one, being in one of my happiest moods. We returned at night with flambeaux. I supped at Madame de Coulanges’, to whom the king had also spoken with an air of affability that made him appear fascinating. I saw the chevalier at night. I related to him very naturally my little good fortune, being unwilling to conceal it without a reason, as some people do. He was pleased, and here I conclude upon this head. I am sure he did not afterward find in me any ridiculous vanity, or the transports of a vulgar country bumpkin. Ask him. M. de Meaux talked to me a good deal about you, and so did the prince. I pitied you for not being present; but how was it possible? one can not be every where. You were at the opera at Marseilles. As Atys is not only too happy, but too charming, it is impossible you could have been tired with it. Paulina must have been surprised at such a spectacle; she has no right to wish for a more perfect one. I have so pleasing an idea of Marseilles, that I am persuaded you are amused there; and I will back the dissipations of that place against those of Aix.

But on that very Saturday, after the representation of Esther, the king was informed of the death of the young Queen of Spain,[249] who was carried off in two days by a violent vomiting: this has very much the air of foul play. The king informed monsieur of it next day, which was yesterday; great was the grief upon the occasion; madame wept bitterly, and the king retired in a flood of tears.

It is said there is good news from England; not only the Prince of Orange is not elected king or protector, but he is given to understand that he and his troops have nothing to do but return: this shortens our solicitude. If this news should gain ground, our Brittany will be in less agitation, and my son will not have the mortification of commanding the nobility of the viscounty of Rennes, and the barony of Vitré. They have chosen him, against his will, to be at their head. Any one else would be greatly elated with this honor, but he is vexed at it, not liking, under any title whatever, to take the field in that way.

Madame de la Fayette says in her Memoirs, that the Queen of Spain was poisoned by a cup of chocolate. Dangeau affirms that it was by an eel pie. Madame, in her Lettres Originales, maintains that the poison was communicated by raw oysters.

Voltaire has denied this poisoning, as well as several others. It was a system of the historian. But he only confutes Dangeau’s account, who had said that three of the queen’s women had died in consequence of eating of the same dish. Against this detail he brings forward respectable authority.

Madame de la Fayette, who, in the life of Madame (Henrietta of England), had not dared to confirm the opinion of her having died by poison, joined with Voltaire in that of the Queen of Spain, daughter of this princess.

The evidence of Madame (De Bavière) would be stronger if she were not so partial, and did not show herself so ready to give credit to every crime. What she adds, that it was two of the queen’s French waiting women who poisoned her, is very improbable.

She says, however, that it was the Earl of Mansfield who procured the poison, a circumstance which agrees with the common report of that period.

In fact, all the letters and memoirs of cotemporary writers agree in saying that the Council of Spain, devoted to the emperor and the Prince of Orange, and resolved to enter into the league against France, wished to remove a queen who was too good a Frenchwoman, and who, governing her husband, was too great an obstacle to the projects of war that had been formed.

It is true that such a report, at the moment of the breaking out of hostilities, can not pass for an historical proof; but it must be owned that it very nearly resembles truth.

LETTER CIX.

Paris, Ash-Wednesday, February 23, 1689.

My dear child, the life you lead at Marseilles delights me. I love that city, which resembles no other in the world. Ah! how well I understand Paulina’s admiration! How natural, how just, how novel all her surprise must be! How pretty I think her! how pleasing to me is the mind which my fancy gives her! It seems to me that I love her, and that you do not love her enough. You want her to be all perfection. Did she engage for this when she left her convent? You are not just. Who is there without faults? Do you, in conscience, expect her to be free from them? Whence can this hope arise? It is not in nature. You wish her then to be a prodigious prodigy, such as was never before seen. If I were with you, I think I should do her some good offices, merely by correcting your imagination a little, and by asking you, if a young girl, who thinks of nothing but pleasing you and improving herself, who loves and fears you, and who has a great share of understanding, is not in the first rank of excellence? These are the dictates of my heart in favor of my dear Paulina, whom I love, and whom I entreat you immediately to embrace for my sake. Add to this her good conscience, which makes her renounce the compact, when she sees the jugglers perform their necromancies. This life, though agreeable, must have fatigued you; it is too much for you, my dear child; you go to bed late, and you rise early, I have had apprehensions for your health. The reason I do not talk to you of mine is, that it is as I wish yours to be, and that I have nothing to say upon the subject.

LETTER CX.

Paris, Monday, February 28, 1689.

The chevalier went yesterday to Versailles to know his fate; for, not finding himself in the lists that have appeared, he is anxious to know whether he is reserved for the dauphin’s army, which has not yet been mentioned. As he has said that he was capable of serving, he has a right to think that he has not been forgotten; at all events it will not be his fault; he is one of the best. It is certain that the King of England set out this morning for Ireland, where he is expected with impatience; he will be better there than here. He will traverse Brittany with the swiftness of lightning; and go straight to Brest, where he will find Marshal d’Estrées, and ships and frigates ready; he takes with him 50,000 crowns. The king has given him sufficient arms for 10,000 men. As his Britannic majesty took leave, he said with a smile, “That arms for himself were the only things that had been forgotten;” our king gave him his; the heroes of romance never did any thing more gallant than this action. What will not this brave but unhappy king do, with arms that have ever been victorious? Behold him then with the casque and cuirass of Rinoldo and Amadis, and all our most celebrated knights-errant; I will not say of Hector, for he was unfortunate. There is not an offer that can be suggested, that our king has not made him; generosity and magnanimity have been carried to their height. M. d’Avaux[250] is to go with him; he set out two days ago. You will ask why M. de Barillon[251] was not the person. The reason is, that M. d’Avaux, being perfectly acquainted with the affairs of Holland, will be more useful, than he who is acquainted only with those of England.[252] The queen has shut herself up at Poissi with her son; she will be near the king, and the fountain-head of intelligence. She is overwhelmed with grief, and suffers from a nephritic complaint, that makes it feared she has the stone; she is really to be pitied. You see, my dear child, it is the rage of talking that makes me write all this; the chevalier and the gazette will give you better information than I can do. Your son has lived with me; I never leave him, and he is satisfied. He is going to take leave of the little Mesdemoiselles Castelnau; but his heart has yet no attractions. His duty and his regiment take up all his time. He is delighted at the thoughts of going, and of setting the example to others.

LETTER CXI.

Paris, Wednesday, March 2, 1689.

Shrove-Tuesday is not an indifferent day to Paulina. I can not help scolding you, my dear child, for not having sent her prettily to the good Langlée’s, to dance a little with Mademoiselle d’Oraison; what harm would there have been in allowing her this little pastime? I am sure this dear child is interesting, that she has a good air, a good carriage, and even eclipses more regular beauties. I scold you also for reading all your letters before you go to bed. I know it is scarcely possible to keep them till the next day; but you must calculate upon not sleeping, for there will often be many things in them that will create disagreeable thoughts; nor would it be a whit better if they contained nothing but reflections and news. Before the imagination has sifted the contents, the night is gone. As you know all this to be true, settle the matter for the benefit of your health. I took my marquis yesterday to Madame du Pui-du-fou’s; she grows very old. M. de Mirepoix, who had been there once before to see me, came a second time, and each time his whole conversation turned upon his condescension in marrying to please his family. The little puppet is dying of the spleen in this dreary abode. I afterward went to Madame de Lavardin’s, to whom I remembered you. She embraced your son several times. She loves you dearly, and so does Madame de Mouci; but this last is in the third heaven; she has lost a sister, who was a nun, for whom she had very little regard: I shall make your compliments to her and her learned brother.[253] The chevalier arrived last night, and is very well; he will be employed, but he knows not yet in what country; I admire his courage. Your son is a very agreeable and a very pretty fellow; he already manages all his affairs, gives orders, makes purchases, and keeps his accounts; it is a pity his father had not done the same. The chevalier will inform you what our king said to the King of England at his taking leave: “Sir, it is with grief I see you depart, yet I never wish to see you again; but if you return, be assured you will find me the same as you leave me.” Could any thing better have been said? He has loaded him with every thing, great and small; two millions of money, ships, frigates, troops, officers, and M. d’Avaux, who makes, upon the occasion, one of the most brilliant figures in the world. I will venture to say that there is no one who would not be proud of the employment, who would not think it worthy of a man thoroughly acquainted with business, and capable of giving advice: if M. de Barillon is not sensible of this he is very happy. I now come to the minutiæ, such as toilets, camp-beds, services of plate, plain and gilt, arms for his person, which are the king’s; arms for the troops in Ireland, and those who go with him, who are very numerous; in short, generosity, magnificence, and magnanimity were never so strikingly displayed as upon this occasion. The king is not willing that the queen should go to Poissi; she will see very little company, but the king will take care of her, and she will receive news without intermission. The parting of the King and Queen of England rent the hearts of all the spectators; nothing but tears, sighs, lamentations, and swoonings were to be seen or heard, which is very easy to be comprehended. Such is his destiny. He has a good cause; he is the protector of the true religion, and his courage will allow him no other alternative than conquest or death.

LETTER CXII.

Paris, Wednesday, March 23, 1689.

I shall not retract the praises I have bestowed on the tragedy of Esther; I shall be delighted with the harmony and novelty of this spectacle as long as I live; I was in raptures with it; I found in it a thousand things so just, so well introduced, and so important to a king, that I entered with uncommon spirit into the pleasure arising from the utterance, in fiction and song, of the most solid truths; I was affected with these various beauties, and am very far from changing my opinion. But I told you that the impression of this piece has produced its usual effect, and has brought forth a civil demur against excessive applause. I, who have read it again with pleasure, suppose that the critics are routed, as M. d’Aiguebonne will be with his demur, if the chevalier has time to press the point. The victory of the grand council has been brilliant and gratifying, and I doubt not that it will give you ample satisfaction; I am impatient to receive your letter upon this subject. M. de Lamoignon told me again to-day, that this advantage, gained sword in hand, was greater than we supposed. I told him he was mistaken, as we had felt the pleasure in its fullest extent. He is very much engaged in the great cause between mademoiselle, the prince, and the whole house of Lorraine, who have recourse to law in the same way we have. M. de Lamoignon is to plead on Thursday, and the affair will be determined upon hearing.

The King of England set sail on the 17th, and arrived in Ireland on the 19th. Little Mailly, who accompanied him to Brest, is returned. Adieu, my beloved child; I dread an increase of distance from you; it makes me ill. I swallow this journey like a dose of medicine; but the worst is, that I have no time to lose; in truth, my reflections are often of the most melancholy cast; for, though I submit to that Providence which separates us, what would become of me if I had not the hope of seeing you again?

LETTER CXIII.

The Rocks, Wednesday, June 1, 1689.

Paulina is too fortunate in being your secretary; she learns, as I told you, to think, and express her thoughts, by seeing how you express yours. She is learning the French language, which most women are ignorant of, but you take the trouble of explaining words to her, which she would not understand; and by instructing her in so many subjects, you relieve your own head and mine. The tediousness of dictating is not equal to the fatigue of writing; and my mind is never at rest, but when I know yours is so. Persevere, then, in instructing your daughter so properly, and in affording so great a relief to yourself and to me.

When you are assured of my being in perfect health, you do every thing that can be done, which is to dread its interruption. This too sometimes engages my thoughts, and not finding any of those little inconveniences with which you are acquainted, I say with astonishment, I must, however, expect that this happy state will change; and I conclude, that I ought, as upon all other occasions, to submit to the will of God, and believe, that in inflicting ills upon me, he will give me patience. I will therefore enjoy my present lot.

LETTER CXIV.

The Rocks, Sunday, July 3, 1689.

It is nine months this third of July, reckoning from day to day, and from Sunday to Sunday, since I left you with a deluge of tears, and more than you perceived, at Charenton. Such partings are grievous and bitter, particularly when we have not much time to lose. But to turn them to our advantage, we ought to make them a period of abstinence and penance, which would be the sure means of making them salutary; it is certain that this holy economy is a favor from heaven, like all others, which we do not deserve to obtain. Nine months, then, have passed, in which I have neither seen nor embraced you, nor even heard the sound of your voice. I have not been ill, I have had no particular uneasiness; I have seen fine houses, fine countries, and fine cities. Nevertheless, I must acknowledge that it appears to me nine years since I left you. I have had no letter from you this post; the delay is always a disappointment to me. Madame de Lavardin tells me that she said to Madame de Buri, with regard to Chabrilland’s cause, which the last expects to gain, “You have always great expectations; but one of your friends, who understands these things, is not of the same opinion.” “Ah!” said she, “you mean M. de Fieubet, but I do not believe him.” And Madame de Lavardin afterward told me that M. d’Arles is to have the honor of the civil petition. It is he, then, who is to be the solicitor; but I would not, I think, solicit with beat of drum in open court, where people are convinced you have already but too much credit. We lead here, my dear countess, the life I described to you. It is very fine weather; we are so perfumed at night with jasmines and orange-flowers, that in this respect I think I am in Provence. M. and Madame de Chaulnes have written to me from St. Malo, and constantly mention you. Write to La Troche; she can not be consoled for your forgetfulness of her. I know not how it has happened, for you are punctual. It is not possible that I have not informed you of the death of her husband. I expect your answer.

LETTER CXV.

The Rocks, Wednesday, October 5, 1689.

It had never entered my brain to accuse certain iron wires in the head-dress of being the cause of long faces; this hint would be very useful to certain persons of our acquaintance. I had heard they were very friendly; but no, quite the contrary. These two little wires press against the temples, prevent the circulation of blood, and cause abscesses. Some die in consequence. They may consider themselves fortunate whose faces are only lengthened an ell, and who become as pale as death; but young people, who are more hardy, may recover in time. I am very much inclined to place this story in the class with some others, formerly related to me by the good Princess de Tarente; however, it is not amiss to know every thing.

I do not in the least doubt that M. de la Garde, who never refused a remedy, will avail himself of that of the lady you mention. You will see him with his head upon the ground, and his heels in the air, turning an affair[254] like her; I really believe that if we were to pursue this regimen for any length of time, we should no longer have sore eyes. I have nothing to give you in return for your account of this visit.

We have had a very worthy, sensible, agreeable, unaffected, learned, and every way desirable, visitor with us; a man of great endowments, and capable of entering upon every subject of conversation; he has been here for a week. One of his brothers-in-law is arrived, the Abbé de Marbeuf, who spoils nothing; and a brother-in-law of the Count de Lis, who would spoil every thing if he opened his lips; this is a secret misanthropist, for he keeps his chagrin to himself; he is very well made, and sings so much like Beaumaviel, that he might be mistaken for him. When our worthy friend departed, every thing was comparatively flat and insipid; we renewed the just observations we made in this country with you, on pleasant and disagreeable company; and fixed that the disagreeable was the most desirable; their absence is a relief; whereas pleasant society leaves us dull and dejected; we can not easily pursue the old track; in short, it is a great misfortune to associate with sensible people, but it is a misfortune that does not often happen to us.

LETTER CXVI.

The Rocks, Sunday, November 13, 1689.

Your letter is not yet arrived; this is always a grief to me; though I have in some degree got the better of the apprehensions I formerly suffered from the delay; it is the whim of the post, and we must endure it; but as I am constantly with you at Grignan, I lose the thread of the conversation; this it is that vexes me. I know not whether you go to the assembly with M. de Grignan, or remain at your château. I am very uneasy about the chevalier’s health, and the effects of the bark, repeated in its usual dose; its heat operating upon that of the chevalier’s blood, brings to my mind an old saying, When the brave meets the brave, they remain brave. We hope, therefore, that this brave bark will make the blood remain brave; God grant it may; it is very difficult to subdue.

I have received a long letter from my new friend, the man-wolf Guébriac; I would have sent it to you, as his style, which is very easy, would be agreeable enough, if he did not praise me so extravagantly; in fact, my modesty will not suffer it; he is so astonished to find a woman with a few good qualities and good principles, who in her youth had some charms, that he seems to have passed his life in a whirlwind of passions, among a banditti equally devoid of faith and law, where love reigned alone, despoiled of every kind of virtue; this has given rise to some very pleasant things.

We are reading the History of the Church by M. de Godeau;[255] it is really a very fine work; in what a respectable light does it place religion! we are ready to suffer martyrdom with Abbadie. Every thing has its turn; Corisca is very pretty and very roguish; altri tempi, altre cure. Love me always, my dear child, but never weigh other love in the same scale with yours; your heart is of the first order, and no one resembles it.

LETTER CXVII.

The Rocks, Wednesday, January 11, 1690.

Good heavens! what a new year’s gift! what wishes! what could be more calculated to charm me? I will tell you a feeling I have just discovered in myself; if it could repay yours I should be satisfied, for I have no other coin: instead of the kind fears which the frequent deaths that surround you occasion, and which make you think of others, I offer you the real consolation, and even the joy, which frequently arise to me from my being older than you. The thought that the oldest goes first, and that I shall probably and naturally keep my rank with my dear child, constitutes the true charms of this feeling. What have I not suffered, when your ill state of health made me dread a reverse of the order of nature? These were trying times; let us talk no more of them; you are well, God be praised; and every thing has resumed its natural course. God preserve you; I believe you hear my tone of voice, and know me.

I now come to the chevalier; I have no hesitation in believing that the climate of Provence would agree with him better in winter than that of Paris. All those who, like swallows, fly to your sunshine, afford sufficient testimony of this. But, while I rejoice at his being sensible of the difference, I am grieved at his having lost a thousand crowns of his income; and by what means? was his regiment worth so much to him? He will sell it then to the marquis;[256] but will not the money arising from it, in payment of debts, diminish the interest of loans? Settle this account for me, which makes me uneasy; I can not figure to myself the Chevalier de Grignan at Paris without his genteel and neat little equipage; I can not see him walking on foot, nor inquiring for places to Versailles; such an idea can not enter my head; this article is interlocutory; ah, how happily this term of chicanery finds admittance here! Neither do I comprehend your sixty-four people, besides guards; you deceive me, this can not be your meaning, you must give me a mathematical demonstration.

With regard to Paulina, you can not surely hesitate respecting the choice you have to take, between good and evil. The superiority of your understanding will easily point out to you the true road; every thing leads you to your duty; honor conscience, and the power you possess. When I consider how much she has corrected herself in a short time to please you, and how much she is improved, you will be answerable for all the good she neglects. As to reading, you are too much engaged in conversation and discussion to attend to it: we are most quiet here, and therefore, have leisure for it. I even read works I had slightly run over at Paris, and which appear quite new to me. We also read, by way of interlude to our grand lectures, scraps that we meet with, such as the fine funeral orations of M. de Bossuet,[257] M. Flechier,[258] M. Mascaron,[259] Father Bourdaloüe: we pay a fresh tribute of tears to M. de Turenne, Madame de Montausier, the Prince, the late Madame, and the Queen of England; we admire the portrait of Cromwell: these are master-pieces of eloquence, which charm the mind. You must not say, “These are old;” they are not old, they are divine. Paulina should be made acquainted and delighted with them; but this is calculated solely for the Rocks. I know not what book to recommend to Paulina: Davila is fine in Italian, we have read it; Guicciardini is very long; I should like the anecdotes of Medicis, which are an abridgment, but they are not in Italian. I will not name Bentivoglio again;[260] let her confine herself to poetry, I do not like Italian prose; to Tasso, Aminto, Il Pastor Fido, etc. I dare not add Ariosto, there are some bad passages in it; let her also read history; let her cherish this taste, which may long preserve her from idleness; it is to be feared that if this part of reading were suppressed there would be scarcely any thing to read; let her begin with the life of Theodosius the Great, and let her tell me how she likes it. This, my child, is a letter of trifles; we set apart some days for chatting, without offense to serious matters, in which we always take true interest.

LETTER CXVIII.

The Rocks, Sunday, January 15, 1690.

You are right, I can not reconcile myself to the date of this year; it has, however, been already begun for some time; and you will find, that, let us pass it as we may, we shall soon find the bottom of the bag that contained the thousand livres.[261]

You really spoil me, and so do my Paris friends; the sun has scarcely gained upon us a barley-corn before you tell me when you shall expect me at Grignan; and my friends desire me to fix from that hour the time of my departure, in order to hasten their joy. Such pressing civilities flatter me highly, and particularly yours, which admit of no comparison. I will, then, sincerely confide to my dear countess, that between this and September, I can not entertain a thought of leaving this country; this is the time when I send my little means to Paris, of which only a very small part is gone. This is the time when the Abbé Charier is treating for my fines and sales, which amount to ten thousand livres; but more of this hereafter; let us content ourselves with driving away every hope of taking the least step before the time I have mentioned. I will not, however, say that you are my goal, my perspective; you know it well, and that you are so firmly rooted in my heart that I fear M. Nicole would find much difficulty to prune you away; this, in short, is my disposition. You use the most affectionate expression possible to me, in hoping you may never see the end of the happy years you wish me. We are very far from agreeing in our wishes; for I have informed you of a very just and very proper truth, which God will doubtless grant, and which is to follow the natural order of providence; this is my comfort through the thorny road of old age: mine is a rational feeling, and yours too extraordinary and too kind a one.

As to Paulina, that devourer of books, I had rather she should swallow bad ones, than have no love for reading; romances, plays, Voiture, Sarrasin, have all been exhausted; has she dipped into Lucian? is she capable of enjoying Les Petites Lettres? History should come next, and if she does not find her account in this, I pity her. If she does not like the finest works of devotion, so much the worse for her, for we know but too well that even without devotion ourselves, they are charming. With respect to ethics, as she would not make so good a use of it as you, I would not have her meddle either with Montaigne, Charron, or any others of his stamp; she is too young. The true morality of this age, is what we learn in conversation, fables, history, and example. If you were to bestow a little of your time upon her in conversation, she would reap greater benefit from this than from all the rest. I know not whether what I say is worth your reading, I am very far from being wedded to my opinion.

LETTER CXIX.

The Rocks, Sunday, January 22, 1690.

Good heavens, what a situation you are in! how pressing a one! and how much and sensibly I am grieved at it! But, my child, how weak and futile are wishes upon such occasions! and how needless it is to tell you that if I had now, as I have had, some portable sum which depended on me, it should soon be yours! I am overwhelmed with a host of little creditors who dun and threaten me, and I do not know whether I shall be able to satisfy them, as I had hoped to do; for I am quite suffocated by the obligation I am under of paying immediately 5000 livres by way of fine, and the price of the estate of Madame d’Acigné, which I have purchased, to avoid paying 10,000 if I had waited two years longer. Such, then, is my situation; but this is only to acquaint you with the utter impossibility of my assisting you. Your brother appears to me to feel for you, and I am persuaded he would perform his duty better than your rich prelates, if the times were as they have been, that is, if it were possible to borrow. He will talk to you himself, and tell you his opinion of your affairs. I have also set forth to him the embarrassments of your little colonel; he mentioned the subject to me the first, some time ago, pitying and regretting, like us, that the chevalier had not the management of him for the first year or two; nothing could have been of so much service to him as such a master; in short, my dearest child, no one but God can confine so great a number of disagreeable things within the bounds of resignation, in which you appear to me. To return to my son; he had some anxiety on seeing a stripling of seventeen or eighteen at the head of such a troop. He remembers enough of past times to know how difficult it is at that age to command old officers; and this difficulty would have been removed, if he could have had his uncle to establish him; this is a very disagreeable and delicate time for him. Can not you assist him with some prudent counselor, to advise him a little? For, in short, he is alone, and can not at his age know a profession that requires more experience than any other. I have conjured you to send for the marquis to Grignan; what will he do during the carnival at Paris and Versailles? do you think he will acquit himself well of the duty and compliments he has to go through? I perhaps do him wrong; but he is very young, and little accustomed to this business; in short, I think he has more to perform than he is equal to. I resign the pen to my son; I will resume it again presently.

LETTER CXX.

The Rocks, Sunday, February 26, 1690.

I could not have believed that I should have wept so much for La Chau; but it is impossible to read your account of his poor wife’s unfeigned and violent affliction without being affected to tears. This is, indeed, a peculiar misfortune, and a fate which nothing could prevent. The man is in haste, he wants to get to his journey’s end; he is advised, for very weighty reasons, not to expose himself, or, at least, not to go into the little boat; but he will listen to no one, he must go, he must be punctual to his appointment; Death is waiting for him at a particular spot upon the Rhône; he must meet him there, and perish. Good heavens, my dear child, how all this is arranged! Every one sees his own fate in this accident, and his wife’s grief becomes ours; as we are exposed to similar perils, it is our own interest that makes us weep, when we suppose we are lamenting the misfortunes of others. Christianity dictates to us that we should think first of this poor man’s salvation; but his wife afterward claims our pity for the loss of 4000 livres; if the dead body should not float, or the violence of the Rhône should throw it beyond Arles upon some unfrequented shore, Providence will dispose of this gold, sewed up in his wet coat, as of the rest.

I highly approve the resolution of not sending for the marquis, this is the surest way; the journey would be both expensive and fatiguing, and productive of no good but the mere gratification of your affection; bear this like many other things, and rather wait till he is a brigadier or major-general, than make him lose his time now. Beaulieu informs me, that he is quite overwhelmed with business, and that he attends to nothing else. Is it possible, that he should have visited Madame de la Fayette before Madame de Vins? I blame him; I am as jealous upon this occasion as you are, for I frequently put myself in your place; every reason should have induced him to have flown to Madame de Vins; she wrote to me the other day that she longed to see him, and to observe the difference and transition from infancy to youth. He has waited upon Madame de Lavardin, and will have time to pay her another visit.

M. de Grignan has resolved upon a very precipitate journey; it is difficult to avoid such courses, when we command singly in a province, whether for the service of the king, or the honor of the post. You never examine thoroughly into this business, except for M. de Grignan; this is natural enough; but the example should extend further. No enemies, my dear child; let this be your maxim, it is equally Christian and politic: I not only say no enemies, but also many friends; you have felt the good effects of these in your law-suit; you have a son; you may stand in need of those who you may now think can never be of service to you. We are deceived; see how Madame de la Fayette abounds with friends on every side, and of all ranks. She has a hundred arms, and they all serve her; her children feel it, and thank her daily for her courteous disposition; an obligation which she owes to M. de la Rochefoucault, and of which her family reaps the benefit. I am certain that you have been of this opinion for many years.

You explain Madame Reinié’s conduct very well; it is droll to think of her leaving Paris, her husband, all her business, to fly for three or four months all over Provence asking for money, without getting any, fatiguing herself, returning after being at great expense, and getting the rheumatism into the bargain! for recollect that she has pains all over her; and such as at length have defeated you.

I am delighted at Paulina’s partiality to M. Nicole; it is a proof that she reads him with attention; this taste gives me the highest opinion of her understanding; I also like her anger that the bishops do not fight for promotion. But, my dear, on your honor do you believe it right to give us only the first volume of the romance of the Princess, the Infanta, or the First Minister, so charming as we thought it?[262] I will not allow you to stop here; I insist upon knowing what is become of the princess’s good and just resolution? I am afraid it has vanished, by the necessity of the times, the want of a minister, the sudden journey, the impossibility of collecting the leaves of the Sibyl, idly and incautiously scattered to the winds for ten years. In short, I fear your good intentions will come to nothing, as I have so often found during the last twenty years: this story, however, requires a continuation, but it should not be too serious with regard to your affairs. I wish also to be informed of the success of M. Prat’s journey to the enraged lover of the Princess Truelle. I should like to know who were the confidants of the first minister and the favorite; and who received the couriers. Tell me if you are still satisfied with Flame;[263] he is a very considerable personage in your household. I want to know some particulars respecting the count’s journey, and if the treasurer will do as he wishes: here are a number of questions, my dearest child, for which I apologize. It is kind of you to love my letters; when you receive three at a time you say you are rich; but what fatigues do they not occasion you! They are so very long that you should not answer them minutely. Adieu, my love; how does Lent agree with you? for my part I like it extremely. I took a mess of milk-coffee this morning: I am not yet surfeited with it, nor with sermons, for we read none but those of M. le Tourneux and St. John Chrysostom. It is delightful weather, the winter is past, and we have a prospect of spring that is superior to spring itself.

N.B. This letter is the last from the mother to the daughter.