LETTERS TO THE PRESIDENT DE MOULCEAU.[301] FROM 1681 TO 1682.

LETTERS TO THE PRESIDENT DE MOULCEAU.[301] FROM 1681 TO 1682.

LETTER I.

Paris, Friday, January 8, 1681.

I should be very sorry, sir, if our correspondence were to end with the temple of Montpellier; and all you say to this effect, in doing the honors of your letters, by supposing the assurance of their continuance to contain a threat to me, is so ungenerous that I should be disposed to scold you; nor would the pretty turn you have given to this guarantee you from my reproaches, were it not that the letter you have written to my son makes me eager to tell you how much it has delighted me. The neatness of the beginning has reminded me of our merry stories, and the beauty of the verses has made me regret that you have not continued them in good earnest. If you have done so, let us share the pleasure of reading them. The two Latin verses you explain are very just. In short, we esteem your verse, your prose, and all your productions. My son is still your adorer; my daughter admires and esteems you in the highest degree. I presume you know my own sentiments for you, and that you see plainly there is not a family in the world who so justly appreciates your merit. You do the same in regard to M. de Carcassonne, by praising him as you do. The poor chevalier has been here for these six weeks, laid up with the rheumatism. He receives visits from persons almost as lame as himself. Those who are left-handed show at least that their taste is right. You have returned M. de Noailles to us in a very ill state of health. He has so violent a diarrhœa that it seems as if he had eaten to his own share all that he has expended at Montpellier; in short, he has been obliged to resign the staff, the staff that was the object of his love, the staff he went so far to assume, the staff which was the reward of all his other services. It is natural to suppose that he must be very ill, when he gives it himself to M. de Luxembourg. You say much in his favor when you speak of the distinction and expansion of heart he showed you. I wish his generosity had gone so far as to have induced him to return our mortified friend’s visit.[302] Have I not heard you say that we ought to respect the unfortunate? It can not be doubted that this has increased the mortification. I pity him for having suffered this feeling to take possession of him, and to have surmounted even his Christian philosophy; but I pity him still more if your heart be yet closed against him. A friend like you would be a true consolation in all his afflictions. Our friend (Corbinelli) is entirely occupied here with his affairs. He does wonders. He is become the best lawyer in Paris; and this qualification came to him unexpectedly along with his peruke and brandenbourg, so that we should much sooner have taken him for a captain of cavalry than a man of business. It is thus the exterior often deceives us. If M. de Vardes had not thrown him into this employment, his gratitude and inclination would lead him straight to you. His heart is still perfect in all the moral virtues. They will become Christian virtues when it shall please Providence, whom we still adore, and who seems to treat you well, by the sentiments it inspires you with. Adieu, my dear sir. We should have many things to say to each other if we met. Who knows that some day or other we may not? Our friend writes to you separately; so much the worse for him: he will not know that I have the pleasure of assuring you here of my sincere and faithful friendship.

It appears that he thought he could not, with propriety, in the situation he held, return the visit of M. de Vardes, then an exile, and whom Madame de Sévigné designates by the title of the mortified friend.

LETTER II.

Paris, April 17, 1682.

If you are alarmed at the appearance of my neglect, be assured, sir, it is a false alarm, and that appearances are deceitful; you do not suffer yourself to be forgotten; Rochecourbières, Livri, and the days in which we have seen you, are faithful guarantees of what I say; and I am certain you believe it, and that, being so well informed on every other subject, Christian humility does not prevent you from knowing your own worth. It is a truth, therefore; you can not be forgotten. Our friend and I have said a thousand times, “Let us write to this poor reprobate”; but by continually delaying it, we have embarrassed ourselves by our miserable security. It seems to me as if Montpellier has given a great deal to the jubilee. You know what a horror Corbinelli has of this sort of parade, which he calls hypocrisy. I do not know exactly how he has acted upon the occasion, and I have not dared question him; but, considering the extreme respect he has for this holy mystery, and how rigorously he enters into the preparations for it, of which he will not abate a single iota, I have long been tempted to say to him, basta la meta (the half is sufficient); for, in fact, if all the faithful were to follow his ideas upon the subject, the ceremonials of religion would be done away. This is the inspiration of God, and whether it be light or dereliction, some great change must happen to alter his opinion. M. de Vardes has put the same question to him, that you put to me on his jubilee; he has answered very honestly, and has given him a probet autem semetipsum homo, which may occasion great reflections. This is all I can tell you; you know and love the soil, for, indeed, the more his heart is known, the more it must be admired. I perceive his departure approach, and I perceive it with sorrow; but what may not Providence reserve for M. de Vardes? M. de Bussy is recalled after an exile of eighteen years; he has seen the king, who received him most graciously: these are times of justice and clemency; we not only do what is well, but what is perfectly well; I doubt not, therefore, that this poor exile’s turn will come, and every one else believes it so firmly that if any thing can do him injury, it is this general report. You tell me the most agreeable truth I can hear, in assuring me the young people will bring from Languedoc all the politeness which failed them here.[303] They appear to me like the Germans who are sent to Angers to learn the language; they were Germans in manners, and if they had not learned them out of court, would seem to conduct themselves ridiculously. It is easy to comprehend that, having had so good a master as M. de Vardes for six months, they must have profited more than they had done during their whole life.

LETTER III.

Paris, May 26, 1682.

Were you not very much surprised, sir, to see M. de Vardes slip through your fingers, whom you had held so firmly for nineteen years? This is the time Providence had marked out for him; in reality, he was no longer thought of, he appeared forgotten, and sacrificed to example. The king, who reflects and arranges every thing in his head, declared one morning that M. de Vardes would be at court in two or three days; he said he had written to him by the post, that he wished to surprise him, and that for more than six months no one had mentioned his name to him. His majesty was gratified; he wished to create surprise, and every one was surprised; never did intelligence make so great an impression, nor so great a noise, as this. In short, he arrived on Saturday morning, with a head singular in its kind, and an old justaucorps à brevet,[304] such as was worn in the year 1663. He set one knee to the ground in the king’s chamber, M. de Chateauneuf being the only person present. The king told him that while his heart had been wounded he had not recalled him, but that he now recalled him with a whole heart, and that he was glad to see him. M. de Vardes made an admirable reply, with an air of being deeply affected, and the gift of tears, which God has given him, produced no ill effect upon this occasion. After this first interview, the king caused the dauphin to be called, and presented him to him as a young courtier. M. de Vardes recognized, and saluted him; the king said to him, laughing: “Vardes, this is a blunder; you know that no one is saluted in my presence.” M. de Vardes replied in the same tone: “Sire, I have forgotten everything; your majesty must pardon even thirty blunders.” “Well, I will,” said the king; “stop at the twenty-ninth.” The king afterward laughed at his coat. M. de Vardes said, “Sire, when a man is so wretched as to be banished from your presence, he is not only unfortunate, but he becomes ridiculous.” All this was said in a tone of perfect freedom and playfulness. The courtiers performed wonders. He came one day to Paris, and called upon me; I was just gone out to call upon him, but he found my son and daughter at home, and in the evening I found him at his own house: it was a joyful meeting; I mentioned our friend to him. “What, madam! my master! my intimate friend! the man in the world to whom I owe the greatest obligations! can you doubt that I love him with my whole heart?” This pleased me highly. He resides with his daughter at Versailles. The court goes to-day; I suppose he will return, to catch the king again at Auxerre, for it appears to all his friends that he ought to take this journey, in which he will certainly pay his court well, by bestowing the most natural praises on three little things—the troops, the fortifications, and his majesty’s conquests. Perhaps our friend will tell you all this, and my letter will be only a miserable echo; but, at any rate, I have entered into the minutiæ, because I should like, on such an occasion, to be written to in the same style, and I judge you, my dear sir, by myself; I have often been deceived by others, but never by you. It is said that your worthy and generous friend, M. de Noailles, has rendered very important services to M. de Vardes; he is so generous that it is impossible to doubt this. M. de Calvisson is arrived; this must either break off, or conclude our marriage. In reality, I am weary of this tedious affair, I am not in a humor to talk of any thing but M. de Vardes. M. de Vardes forever; he is the Gospel of the day.

LETTER IV.

Paris, July 28, 1682

You are going to hear a beautiful and an admirable story; pay great attention to every circumstance attending it. The Prince de Conti having expressed himself dissatisfied with the Chevalier de Lorraine, because he had said the Prince de la Roche-sur-Yon was in love with his wife, found an opportunity of telling him, two days ago, in the gardens of Versailles, that he would do him the honor of fighting him, because he had offended him by his conversation, etc. The Chevalier de Lorraine thanked him for the honor he intended him, and wished to justify himself in what he had said; after which the prince told him that he might have M. de Marsan for his second, who, hearing himself named, stepped forward and accepted the office without hesitation, desiring the Prince de Conti to allow M. de Soissons to be the other second, as he had long been an enemy to their family. The proposal was yielded to, the party was formed, the place appointed, the hour chosen, and secrecy enjoined. Can not you fancy yourself in the times of the late M. de Boutteville? Each went his way; but the Chevalier de Lorraine went straight to Monsieur, to whom he related the whole story, and Monsieur the next moment confided it to the king. You may guess what he said to his son-in-law. He talked to him for more than two hours with more of gayety than anger, but in a tone of authority, which must have caused great repentance. Here the affair ended. The public thinks the Chevalier de Lorraine ought to have refused upon the spot, instead of consenting and then betraying every thing; but people of the trade think that a refusal would have excited some angry words from the prince, and perhaps some menace not very easy of digestion; and then to have such a stigma cast upon him, and from a man who is so much to be dreaded! In this way his conduct has been approved, and the more so because his courage is unquestionable. What say you to this affair? How does it appear to you to be handled? Alas! if that sainted princess were to descend from heaven, and to find her dear son troubled with such impetuosity, do you not think she would retrace her steps from grief and affliction? You will talk this over with M. de Vardes. Would to God that the birth of a Duke of Burgundy, which is hourly expected, could restore him to us!

LETTER V.

June 13, 1684.

Word was sent me from Languedoc that I had a law-suit pending there, that M. de Grignan was prosecuted with rigor, and that the judges were strange people. I cursed them heartily, sir, and have since found that you are one of the principals: it is you, therefore, I have loaded with so many imprecations, you, whose protection I have claimed to soften the rigor and to attend to the justice of my cause. It is to M. d’Argouges I am indebted for the information, that this odious judge and this highly-esteemed M. de Moulceau, are one and the same. All the anger kindled against the first, has disappeared at the name of the second, and the weapons have fallen from my hand, like those of Arcabonne, when she recognized Amadis. It is to M. de Moulceau that I address this quotation from the opera; you will suppose, that, in virtue of your title of judge, I shall quote nothing but laws to you. There is one established law in the world, particularly among honest men, which is, never to condemn unheard: in this, sir, consists the favor I have to ask you. The Prince de Conti claims an estate of which we have been in possession for three hundred years. I know, from M. de Corbinelli, that three hundred years is a strong title; we request you, sir, to give us time to collect our proofs, to convince you of the weakness of the Prince de Conti’s claim and of the solidity of ours.

LETTER VI.

Paris, November, 24, 1685.

I have received no letter from you for more than fifteen months; I know not whether our enraged and jealous friend[305] has intercepted any; it is not, however, like him to do so; he would be more inclined to assassinate you with the little sword you once used so pleasantly in the garden of Rambouillet. We shall never forget your wisdom, nor your folly; and I have spent a year with my son in Brittany, where we have often mentioned you with sentiments with which your merit must impress all hearts that are not unworthy of knowing it. We have been twenty times on the point of writing some nonsense to you; we wished to assure you that the scarcity of the gratification did not prevent you from being often in our remembrance, and twenty times has the demon which turns aside good intentions perverted the course of this. At length, sir, after having been overturned, drowned, and had a wound in my leg, which has not been healed till within these six weeks, I left my son, and his wife, who is very pretty, and arrived at Baville, at M. de Lamoignon’s, on the tenth or twelfth of September, where I found my daughter and all the Grignans, who received me with joy and affection. To complete my happiness, my daughter will not leave me this winter. I have found our dear Corbinelli just as I left him, except a little more philosophical, and dying every day from some cause or other: his freedom excites my envy; in changing his object he would become a saint; he is, however, so kind and charitable to his neighbor, that I really believe the grace of God is concealed under the name of Cartesian. He converts more heretics by his good sense, and by not irritating them by vain disputes, than others by all their controversy. In short, every one now is a missionary, every one thinks he has a mission, and particularly the magistrates and governors of provinces, upheld by the dragoons: this is the greatest and most noble action that has ever been conceived or performed. Like us, you have been surprised with other news. What an event is the death of the Prince de Conti! after having experienced all the perils of the Hungarian war, he came here to die of a disorder which he scarcely felt! His lovely widow has deeply bewailed him: she has an annuity of a hundred thousand crowns, and has received from the king so many marks of friendship, and of his natural affection for her, that with such assistance no one can doubt that she will in time be comforted.

LETTER VII.

Livri, October 25, 1686.

I have received your letter, sir; it presented itself to me as if you wished to make me ashamed of my silence, and to believe I had been ill, for the purpose of entering into conversation with me. It reminds me of a very pretty comedy, in which the person who wishes to come to an explanation with the lady who enters, makes her believe she called him, and thus obtains a hearing. If you have the same intention, sir, I return you a thousand thanks; and I really can not comprehend how, esteeming you as I do, remembering you with so much pleasure, speaking of you so readily, having so high a relish for your understanding and your worth, to say no more for fear of exciting jealousy, I can, with so many things to promote a correspondence, have left you seven or eight months without saying a word to you. It is horrible; but what does it signify? let us remain in this freedom, since it is not compatible with the sentiments I have just expressed for you. I have seen M. de la Trousse; we talked of you the moment we had embraced; I think him, by what he told me, highly deserving the esteem you appear to entertain for him. The stroke is at least double. I found him perfectly acquainted with, and as sensible of your worth as you can possibly desire. He must pass through this place on his way to La Trousse; I shall show him your letter, and I do not think it will induce him to change his opinion. You have now M. de Noailles with you: you are in such favor there that I shall rejoice with you on the pleasure you will receive at seeing a man whom you have inspired with such lively sentiments of esteem for you. I can easily imagine the confusion which the derangement of the states must have occasioned you; but you can not dispense with going to Nîmes. I must say a word to you respecting Mademoiselle de Grignan. You know, I presume, that she has been in the convent of the Carmelites for eight months, and that she took the habit in form, with a zeal too violent to last. In the first three months she found herself so reduced, from the severity of the order, and her stomach so injured by the meagerness of the provision, that she was obliged to eat meat by compulsion. This inability to comply with the rules, even in her noviciate, induced her to quit the convent; but with so true a sentiment of piety, of humiliation at the delicacy of her health, and of such perfect contempt for the world, that the holy nuns have preserved an affectionate friendship for her; and she, who has only changed the habit, and not the sentiment, has no false shame, like those who grow weary of the life, and is now with us as usual, giving us the same edification. Her residence at Paris is fixed at the Feuillantines, where she will board with several others; she will return there at Martinmas, when we do. What attaches her to this house is its vicinity to the Carmelites, where she goes almost daily, and whenever a certain princess is there. She takes from this holy convent all that agrees with her, that is, its devotion and conversation, and leaves the strictness of the order, to which she was by no means equal.

It is thus God has conducted her and gently repulsed her from the high degree of perfection to which she aspired, to support her in another a little inferior to it, which can not but be good, since He gives her grace to love him alone, which is all that can be desired in this world. But Providence has also inspired her with the most noble, just, and praiseworthy thought it was possible to conceive for her family. She was determined that her return to the world should not deprive her father of what she wished to give him by her civil death: and at quitting her convent, she made him a very handsome present of forty thousand crowns, which he owed her; that is, twenty thousand crowns principal, and the rest arrears and sums borrowed. This gift has been duly estimated, not only by those who love M. de Grignan, but by those who knew that all her property becoming personal at the age of five-and-twenty, if she had not disposed of any thing by will, would go almost wholly to her father; and that M. de Grignan would have eighty thousand crowns to pay Mademoiselle d’Alerac, reckoning the principal of the jointure at forty thousand. This is enough in conscience for us not to pity the sister, and to rejoice that the family is relieved from this double payment. I own I have been very much affected at this seasonable and generous action; and I admire the goodness of her disposition, which led her to do, without affectation, the only thing in the world that could render her dear to her family, where she is now received and considered as its benefactress. The understanding alone might have wrought this effect in another, but it is best when produced only by the heart. My daughter has contributed so well to this little maneuvre, that she has received double pleasure from its success. The chevalier has also done wonders; for you may suppose it has been necessary to assist, and give a form to these good intentions. In short, all has gone well: even Mademoiselle d’Alerac has entered into the justice of the sentiment. I pray that God may reward her by a good establishment, of which she still conceals from us every prospect, so that at present there is no appearance of any thing of the kind. Do I not weary you, sir, by this long account? you will have an indigestion of the Grignans. To divert you, let us talk a little of poor Sévigné: I should mention him with grief if I could not tell you that after five months of horrible suffering from medicines which worked him to the very bone, the poor child is at length restored to perfect health. He has spent the whole of August with me in this retreat, which you are now acquainted with. We were alone with the good abbé, we had everlasting conversations, and this long intercourse has renewed our acquaintance with each other, and our acquaintance renewed our friendship. He is returned home with a stock of Christian philosophy, sprinkled with a grain of anchoretism, and particularly with an extreme affection for his wife, by whom he is equally beloved, which makes him altogether the happiest man in the world, because he passes his life agreeably to his own mind. We have talked of you twenty times with friendship and delight, and twenty times have we said, “Let us write to him, I wish it very much;” and when we have been on the point of giving ourselves this pleasure, a demon has stepped in to distract our attention, and turn aside our good resolutions. What is to be done, my dear sir, in misfortunes like these? Perhaps you know the mortification of forming good resolutions without the power of executing them. I fear our dear jealous friend calculates upon spending the winter with you; you will be very glad: you will laugh, and I shall cry; for I have so perfect a confidence in him, and so true a friendship for him, that I can not lose the society of such a man without feeling it painfully every moment; M. de Vardes, however, whom he is delighted to follow, will restore him to us, as he takes him away from us. I am pleased that this attachment continues; you will act your part well, and I consider the pleasure of seeing you, and of establishing himself again in your heart, as a happy circumstance for our friend. M. de Vardes has not been sufficiently particular in the information you omitted to tell me: the surest way is to write ourselves, as you see. I do not write to you often, but you will own when I do that it is not for nothing.

LETTER VIII.

Paris, November 26, 1686.

I thought, sir, that in purchasing an office, nothing was necessary but to find money; but I see that the manner of giving and receiving it is also to be considered. You will soon be quit of this embarrassment, from the desire you always have to contribute to your own tranquillity. Good heavens! how rational and how worthy of you is this disposition, and how just too is the choice of your company, when we come to speak and point out its excellence! If we judge from appearances, it is very superior to our parliaments. I can fancy I hear M. and Madame de Verneuil say a thousand kind things to you, and receive yours in return. When this princess mentions me, tell her it is impossible to be more at her service than I am. You have a sister of Madame de la Troche with you, who is very amiable; the eldest will place all the attentions you pay her to her own account. I have presented your compliments to the Chevalier de Grignan, who has received them graciously; he pointed out to the prince[306] the silence and discretion of your departure; nothing can exceed his concern and zeal for your interest: but we can answer for nothing when we are left-handed. What you told me the other day of a certain discourse he held with a certain person, makes me exhort you to preserve the noble tranquility I have always witnessed in you, on the success of this affair. We only returned from Livri yesterday; the beauty of the weather, and the health of my daughter, which has been nearly established there, made us stay out of gratitude. In the two months we have been there, we have not been able to prevail on our friend to give us his company for more than ten days. He has a thousand little affairs there, to which he is accustomed: I know nothing of his intentions with respect to his departure, I almost doubt whether the society he meets at M. de Vardes’ will not prevent him from setting out soon. I assure you I shall reap the advantage of his inclination to do so with pleasure, but I only contribute toward it by my wishes. Pray inform us how M. de Vardes finds himself in the midst of this troop of Bohemians; I can not get this vision out of my eyes. We shall have a thousand things to tell you of the son-in-law;[307] in short, it struck us the other day that if Homer had been acquainted with him, he would have chosen him in point of anger for his Achilles. We have a new prince and a new princess here.

LETTER IX.

Paris, December 15, 1686.

I wrote you a long letter, sir, more than a month ago, full of friendship, secrets, and confidence. I know not what became of it; it lost its way, perhaps, in seeking for you at the States, since you have not answered it: but this will not prevent me from telling you a melancholy, and at the same time a pleasing, piece of intelligence: the death of the prince, which happened the day before yesterday, the 11th instant, at a quarter after seven in the evening, and the return of the Prince de Conti to court, through the kindness of the prince, who asked this favor of the king in his last moments. The king immediately granted it, and the prince had this consolation on his death-bed; but never was joy drowned in so many tears. The Prince de Conti is inconsolable at the loss he has sustained. It could not be greater, particularly as he passed the whole time of his disgrace at Chantilly, where he made an admirable use of the understanding and abilities of the prince, and drew from the fountain-head all that was to be acquired from so great a master, by whom he was tenderly beloved. The prince flew, with a speed that has cost him his life, from Chantilly to Fontainebleau, where Madame de Bourbon was seized with the small-pox, in order to prevent the duke, who had not had the disorder, from nursing her and being with her; for the duchess, who has always nursed her, would have been sufficient to satisfy him of the care that was taken of her health. He was very ill, and at length died of an oppression with which he was seized, which made him say, as he was on the point of returning to Paris, that he should take a much longer journey. He sent for his confessor, Father Deschamps, and, after lying in a state of insensibility for twenty-four hours, and receiving all the sacraments, he died, regretted and bitterly lamented by his family and his friends. The king was much afflicted at the event, and, in short, the grief of losing so great a man and so great a hero, whose place whole ages will not be able to supply, has been felt by all ranks. A singular circumstance happened three weeks ago, a little before the departure of the prince for Fontainebleau. Vernillon, one of his gentlemen, returning from the chase at three o’clock, saw, as he approached the castle, at one of the windows of the armory, an apparition: that is, a man who had been dead and buried. He dismounted, and came nearer; he still saw it. His valet, who was with him, said, “I see the same, sir, that you see.” Vernillon had been silent, that his valet might speak of his own accord. They entered the castle together, and desired the keeper to give them the key of the armory. The keeper went with them; they found all the windows closed, and a silence which had been undisturbed for more than six months. This was told to the prince: he appeared struck with it at first, and afterward laughed at it. Every one heard the story and trembled for the prince. You see what the event has been.

LETTER X.

Paris, Monday, April 29, 1687.

So you like my letters, sir. I am delighted that you do; this is one which will be worth a hundred. My robust health was slightly attacked, about a month ago, by a little colic, a little rheumatism, a little vexation; consequently, all this might excuse me from writing to you; but I had rather die than another should tell you that the Prince de Conti is at length returned to court. He is this night at Versailles, and the king, like a kind father, has restored him to favor, after having exiled him for a while, to leave him at leisure to make his own reflections. No doubt he has done so, and the court will be very gay and splendid on the occasion. His majesty will make several chevaliers at Whitsuntide, but it will be only a family promotion: M. de Chartres, the Duke de Bourbon, the Prince de Conti, and M. du Maine, but no one else: all the other candidates must be pleased to have patience; but they will not see without mortification the adjournment of their hopes. The Duke de Vieuville is governor to the Duke de Chartres. Madame de Polignac, who is not Mademoiselle d’Alerac, paid a visit yesterday to Madame de Grignan. She was brilliant, lively, elated with the grandeur of the house of Polignac, fond of talking of the name, and all the personages belonging to it. She has taken upon herself the fortune of the two brothers, and has supported, generously and courageously, the frown and disapprobation of the king. She has employed skillful artificers; and instead of deserting the deserted, like women in general, she has made it a point of honor to reinstate them at court. I could answer for it that she will revive and re-establish this family. This is what Providence had in store for them, and which prevented us from being able to read distinctly what it had written for Mademoiselle d’Alerac. Adieu, sir; love me, for indeed you ought. I love your mind, your worth, your wisdom, your folly, your virtue, your humor, your goodness: in short, all that belongs to you, and wish you, and the pretty covey under your wing, which must afford you so much pleasure and comfort, every possible happiness. All here salute you, except our friend, who knows nothing of this hasty letter. I shall talk of you a great deal with Bourdaloüe. Madame Dangeau, formerly Bavaria, is very prudent, very amiable, and makes her husband very happy; she might have made him very ridiculous.

LETTER XI.

Wednesday, March 2, 1689.

What things, sir, may not be said! what a period in the history of our monarch is the manner in which he has received the king of England! the presents with which he has loaded him in setting out from hence for Ireland; vessels at Brest, where he now is, frigates, troops, officers; the Count d’Avaux as embassador extraordinary and adviser, and who is also to have the care of the troops and money; two millions on his departure, and as much afterward as he wants! Beside these great things he has given him his arms, his helmet, his cuirass, which can not fail of bringing good fortune to him. He has given him arms sufficient for ten or twelve thousand men. And as to little conveniences they are innumerable: post-chaises admirably made, calashes, carriage and saddle-horses, services of gold and silver, toilets, linen, camp-beds, magnificent swords of state, swords for service, pistols; in short, every thing of every kind that can be thought of; and in embracing him as he bid him adieu, he said to him, “You can not say that I am not affected at your departure: I own to you, however, that I wish never to see you again; but if, unfortunately, you should return, be assured you will find me as you leave me.” Nothing could be better said, nothing more just: generosity, magnificence, magnanimity were never exercised as they have been by his majesty on this occasion.

We hope that the Irish war will be a powerful diversion, and prevent the Prince of Orange from tormenting us by descents upon our coast; and thus our three hundred thousand soldiers, our armies so well stationed every where, will only serve to make the king feared, without any one daring to attack him.

This is a time of political discussion: I should very much like to hear you talk over these great events. I inclose the opinion of a respectable upholsterer on the questions, respecting furniture, of Madame de Moulceau: but whatever he may say of a gold fringe and double taffeties for curtains, and though there are many such here, nothing is so pretty, so suitable, or so cool for the summer, as curtains made of these beautiful taffeties single, and tapestry the same. I have seen them at several houses, and admire them exceedingly: every thing must be looped up, and plaited, as he has directed: for the other kind of furniture, you must have damask or brocade.

LETTER XII.

Grignan, Friday, November 10, 1690.

Where do you think I am, sir? Did you not know I was in Brittany? Our Corbinelli must have told you so. After having been there sixteen months with my son, I thought it would be very pleasant to spend the winter here with my daughter. This plan of a journey of a hundred and fifty leagues at first appeared a castle in the air; but affection rendered it so easy, that in fact I executed it between the 3d and 24th of October, on which day I arrived at Robinet’s gate, where I was received by Madame de Grignan with open arms, and with so much joy, affection, and gratitude, that I thought I had not come soon enough, nor from a sufficiently great distance. After this, sir, tell me that friendship is not a fine thing! it makes me often think of you, and wish to see you here once more during my life. We shall be here the whole of this winter, and the next summer; if you do not find a moment to come and see us, I shall think you have forgotten me. You will not know this house again, it is so much improved; but you will find its owners still abounding with esteem for you; and me, sir, possessing a regard for you, capable of driving our friend to madness, and worthy of your paying us this visit.

LETTER XIII.

Grignan, June 5, 1695.

I intend, sir, to bring an action against you, and thus I set about it. I wish you to judge it yourself. I have been here for more than a year with my daughter, for whom I have as much love as ever. Since that time you have no doubt heard of the marriage of the Marquis de Grignan to Mademoiselle de Saint-Amand. You have seen her often enough at Montpellier to be acquainted with her person; you have also heard mention of the vast wealth of her father. You are not ignorant that this marriage was solemnized with great pomp in the château which you know. I suppose you can not have forgotten the time when the true esteem we have always preserved for you began. On this subject I measure your sentiments by my own, and I judge that, we not having forgotten you, you can not have forgotten us.

I even include M. de Grignan, whose date is still more ancient than ours. I collect all these things, and I find myself injured on every side; I complain of it here, I complain of it to our friends, I complain of it to our dear Corbinelli, the jealous confidant and witness of all the esteem and friendship we bear you; and at length, sir, I complain of it to yourself. Whence proceeds this silence? is it from forgetfulness? from perfect indifference? I know not which to say: what would you have me think? What does your conduct resemble? Give a name to it, sir; the cause is now ready for your sentence. Pass it: I consent that you should be both party and judge.

LETTER XIV.

Grignan, Saturday, February 4, 1696.

I was right, sir, when I supposed you would be concerned at my anxiety, and would use all the diligence in your power to relieve it. M. Barbeirac’s prescription and your letter had wings, as you wished; and it seems that this little fever, which appeared so low, had wings too, for it vanished at the bare mention of M. Barbeirac’s name. Seriously, sir, there is something miraculous in this sudden change; and I can not doubt that your wishes and your prayers contributed to produce it. Judge of my gratitude by their effect. My daughter goes halves with me in all I say here; she returns you a thousand thanks, and entreats you to give a great many to M. Barbeirac. We are happy in having no longer any thing to do, but to take patience and rhubarb, which she finds agree well with her. We doubt not that in this quiet state, rhubarb is a medicine which M. Barbeirac must approve, with a regimen, which is sometimes better than all. Thank God, sir, both for yourself and for us; for we are certain that you are interested in this acknowledgment; and then, sir, cast your eyes upon all the inhabitants of this château, and judge of their sentiments for you.