_To Vittorio Amadeo, Duc de Savoie._
VERSAILLES, Dec. 31, 1708.
The assurances, my dear father, that my mother gives me of your
continued affection for me have caused me too much pleasure not to
make me tell you myself of my gratitude, and how sensible I am of
your remembrance. Nothing can ever diminish my respect and tenderness
for you. Blood, my dear father, makes itself warmly felt under all
circumstances, and in spite of my destiny--unfortunate because it
puts me in a party opposed to yours--your interests are so strongly
imprinted in my heart that nothing can make me wish the contrary. But
this very tenderness only increases my grief when I think that we
are among the number of your enemies. I own that affection may feel
somewhat wounded by seeing you arrayed against both your daughters.
But as for me, I will never be against you, and I can only regard
you as the father whom I love as my own life. But that is not saying
enough; I would willingly sacrifice my life for you; your interests
are the sole object of my present desires.
Permit me, therefore, my dear father, to forestall by a day the coming
year and to wish that it may lead us to the end of my sorrow and
reunite us in a manner that shall crown us with joy. I venture to tell
you that it depends on you alone to make me the happiest person in the
world.
I fear to importune you by the length of this letter; but you will
pardon me the liberty I take. I cannot prevent myself from assuring
you at least once a year of my tenderness and respect, asking you
at the same time for the continuation of your affection. I think I
deserve it, and shall never make myself unworthy of it.
[With the year 1709 the letters begin to show distress at the
sorrowful results of the war, at the terrible winter, her failing
health, and, above all, the reserve she was forced to maintain towards
her family.]
VERSAILLES, February 4, 1709.
Would to God, my dear grandmother, that your prayers could be granted.
We should then, each of us, have reason to be content, for though we
live now in different lands we could then think alike on many subjects.
It appears that the excessive cold prevails everywhere. They say it is
two hundred years since such a severe winter has been known here. It
is thought impossible to keep Lent because all vegetables are frozen,
and the archbishop will be obliged to allow three meat days a week. As
for me, I am not interested, for my health does not allow me to fast;
fish makes me ill.
I have a strong desire to drive out on a sledge; for I never did so;
a very pleasant idea of it is in my mind from having seen my mother
do it. But I own I have not enough courage on account of the bitter
cold. I shall not have much trouble in giving you an account of the
amusements of this carnival. It has been very dull up to this time,
and I think it will end in the same way. There can be no balls, for
there is no one to dance. Several ladies are pregnant, and those who
are lately married come from convents and do not know how to dance.
There are but nine ladies who can do so, and half of those are little
girls. I should be the old woman of a ball [æt. 23], which takes away
all my desire for one. I do not know what folly possesses the women
now, but at thirty years of age they think they are past dancing; if
the fashion lasts, I ought to make the most of the time that is left
to me.
September 23, 1709.
I have been for three days very ill, having vomited at intervals,
which fatigues me greatly, not being accustomed to it. Otherwise, my
health is good. I hope very much to give you another grandson, and I
do not doubt it, for I am as I was with the two others.
I have been in the greatest anxiety the last week; but never was a
lost battle so advantageous and glorious [Malplaquet]. That is to me a
great consolation. You will hear, my dear grandmother, from my sister
the anxiety she, too, has been in about the King of Spain, who started
hurriedly to put himself at the head of his army because he was not
satisfied with the manoeuvring of the man who commanded it.
I do not know, my dear grandmother, who has written you such marvels
of my son. It is true that he is pretty in manners and mind, but not
in looks.
December 9, 1709.
When, my dear grandmother, when will come the long desired day when
we can speak frankly on so many things about which we are forced to
keep silence now? This war has lasted so long! I believe that all of
those who are making it desire its end; and yet in spite of that it
continues. The more you could look into the bottom of my heart, the
better you would know, my dear grandmother, that it is what it should
be, and full of feeling--which does not contribute to my tranquillity.
But I have no regret for what I suffer, for I know that blood and duty
ordain it for me.
I have spent my day in the church, which is no small matter in my
present condition. Now that I have passed the eighth month I am very
languishing. The changes of month always affect me in my pregnancies,
so that I hope in a few days I shall be over it.
March 24, 1710.
I was most agreeably mistaken, my dear grandmother, in giving you
another grandson [Louis XV., then called Duc d'Anjou]. He is the
prettiest child in the world, and I believe he will become a great
beauty. Though it is of no consequence after they grow up, one likes
better to have a pretty child than an ugly one.
VERSAILLES, June 23, 1710.
There is no talk of anything here, my dear grandmother, but the
marriage of the Duc de Berry. Though it will take place without any
ceremony (for the times do not allow amusements or great expenses),
all the ladies are none the less busy with their finery. This does not
render conversation very lively, nor does it give much matter for a
letter, for really nothing is talked of but head-dresses, costumes,
petticoats, and milliners, and though I am a woman, I never take much
pleasure in such discussions. I have a great desire for the wedding
to take place and end all discussions about it. They are waiting for
the dispensation from Rome. I hope in ten or twelve days to send you a
brief account of the event.
Every one tells me that my father will begin the campaign on the
first of next month. Judge, therefore, my dear grandmother, of my
uneasiness; it is the last stroke. But in whatever state I am, be sure
that you have a grand-daughter who loves you tenderly.
July 7, 1710.
M. le Duc de Berry was married yesterday. It was all as magnificent as
the season and the times would allow. There was no fête; and that is
all I can tell you to-day, being completely wearied out.
November 17, 1710.
I am always afraid, my dear grandmother, to bore you by talking of my
children, but since you order me to give you news of them, I obey you
with pleasure. I shall begin by telling you that the elder is getting
sense enough to know he has a grandmother, and that he loves you. He
grows immensely and, consequently, is very thin; he is well-made, but
rather ugly. The little one is not the same; he is a fat dumpling and
very handsome; he will soon have four teeth, and is in fine health. As
soon as he is one year old I will send you his portrait; I dare not
have it painted any earlier, for they say it brings ill-luck. I do
not believe that; but the case of my eldest makes me prefer to risk
nothing.
_To her father._
MARLY, February 16, 1711.
I am so charmed, my dear father, with the letter you have written me
that I cannot prevent myself from telling you how sensitive I am to
the assurances you give me of your affection. I assure you that I
deserve it through the tenderness that I shall feel for you throughout
my life. Would to God, my dear father, that this year might be to me
as happy as you have been kind enough to wish it.
There is but one thing lacking to my happiness, but it is a thing that
is very near my heart. I shall never accustom myself to be in other
interests than yours, and I own to you that my duty in vain compels me
to be so; nature _will_ have the upper hand, and I cannot keep myself
from continually praying for you. But, indeed, my dear father, is it
not high time to end our sorrows? The advantages we have won in Spain
made me hope that peace would follow. But the only peace that I can
have can come through you alone.
I would not end my letter so soon, for I have many things to say
to you, if I did not fear to say too much on a topic which is not
suitable for me in any way. Forgive it, my dear father, in favour of a
daughter whose tenderness alone inclines her to speak, and who longs
to see you both content and glorious.
[No letters exist concerning the most important event in the Duchesse
de Bourgogne's life, the death of Monseigneur, which made her
dauphine, April 10, 1711. From that moment she felt more deeply the
importance of fitting herself for the great post she expected soon to
fill.]
_To her mother._
VERSAILLES, May 3, 1711.
I have had no letters from you by this courier, my very dear mother; I
hope, however, they may reach me within a few days.
We have had very good news from Barcelona, and from all sides pleasant
things are reaching us. All that is taking place in Italy causes
me to make many reflections and gives me many hopes. I confess the
truth, my very dear mother, it would be the greatest happiness I could
have in this life if I could see my father brought back to reason. I
cannot comprehend how it is that he does not make terms, above all in
the unfortunate position in which he now finds himself, and without
any hope whatever of succour. Will he let them take Turin again? The
rumour is afloat here that it will not be long before that siege is
laid. Judge, therefore, my dear mother, of the state I must be in,--I,
so sensitive to all that concerns you. I am in despair at the position
to which my father is reduced by his own fault. Is it possible that
he really thinks we will not give him good terms? I assure you that
all the king wants is to see his kingdom tranquil, and that of his
grandson, the King of Spain, secure. It seems to me that my father
ought to desire the same thing for himself, and when I consider that
he is master of making it so, I am astonished that he does not do it.
I fear, my very dear mother, that you will think me too daring in
what I say, but I cannot restrain myself under the view I take of my
father's position. I feel that he is my father, and a father whom I
deeply love. Therefore, my very dear mother, forgive me if I write
too freely. It is the desire I have that we should all escape these
difficult moments that makes me write as I do. I send you a letter
from my sister, who is just as vexed as I am at what is now going on.
VERSAILLES, December 13, 1711.
It is sad, my dear mother, that my brother and I have the same
sympathy in toothache. I hope he has not had anything like that which
I had last night; it made me suffer horribly, not being rid of it one
moment. For more than two months it has seized me from time to time.
I have ceased taking care of it, for keeping my room does me no good,
and during the time I am not in it I am thinking and always hoping the
pain may not return. I merely avoid the wind in my ears, and eating
anything which may hurt me. I think the dreadful weather contributes
to these face-aches.
As for me, my dear mother, I cannot be as reserved as you in speaking
about the peace; I absolutely must tell you what I think of it. We
have to-day another courier from England which confirms the hopes
I feel. The conferences will be held at Utrecht, and will begin on
the twelfth of next month. [The peace she longed for was not signed
at Utrecht until a year after her death.] They would not make such
advances if they were not veritably resolved to conclude a peace so
desired by all and so necessary to Europe. It is only the emperor
who still will not listen to it; but when he finds himself alone
he will surely come into it. They say it is his usual way to make
difficulties, and that the last time he made as many as he makes now.
I hope that soon you will not be so reserved with me, and that we
shall all have every reason to rejoice together.
I look forward to the great pleasure of once more seeing the
Piedmontese in this country, and of being able to talk to them of you,
of all my dear family, and of the country, the mere recollection of
which is so pleasant to me.
Poor Mme. du Lude is again attacked with gout in the breast and feet;
she suffers much. I am very much afraid that in the end it will play
her some bad trick. Madame is taking remedies; she was bled two days
ago and has taken medicine to-day. It was not before she wanted it,
for she drops asleep everywhere, which gives much anxiety to all those
who take an interest in her. She must have felt the need of remedies
to have brought herself to take them. Adieu, my dear mother, I embrace
you with all my heart.
VERSAILLES, December 18, 1711.
It is in order not to miss a week in assuring you myself of my
tenderness that I write to-day. For the last seven days I have been,
my dear mother, in a state of great exhaustion which has prevented me
from dressing; for the inflammation that I had in my teeth has spread
now over my whole body. I can scarcely move; and my head feels a
horrible weight.
I wanted to forestall the first day of the year by offering to all
my family the wishes I desire for them; not being able to do so, I
content myself, my dear mother, by embracing you with all my heart.
[The above is the last letter of the dauphine which has been preserved
in the State Archives of Turin. She died two months later, February
12, 1712, aged twenty-six years and two months; her husband, the
dauphin, died on the 18th, and her eldest son, the Duc de Bretagne,
the little dauphin, died a week later. See "Memoirs of the Duc de
Saint-Simon," Vol. III., translated edition.]