PARIS, Friday, Dec. 22, 1673.
A piece of political news is just come into my head, and, contrary to
my custom, I shall give it you. You know the King of Poland[85] is
dead. The grand marshal,[86] the husband of Mademoiselle d’Arquien,
is at the head of an army against the Turks; he has lately gained so
complete a victory over them, that fifteen thousand were left dead on
the field of battle, two bashaws are taken prisoners, and he himself
occupies their general’s tent. After so distinguished a victory, it is
not in the least doubted that he will be declared king, especially as
he is at the head of such an army, and that fortune generally declares
in favor of numerous battalions. This piece of news has given me
pleasure.
[85] Michael Koribert Wiesnowieski, who died November 1673.
[86] John Sobieski, elected King of Poland, May 20, 1674. He
married the grand-daughter of Marshal d’Arquien, who, after his
death, returned to France. The victory Sobieski gained in 1685,
under the walls of Vienna, and which saved the emperor and the
empire, is still more celebrated than that which is here spoken
of.
I never now see the Chevalier de Buous. He is enraged at not being made
a _chef d’escadre_.[87] He is at St. Germain, and I am in hopes he will
manage his affairs so well as to obtain his desire at last: I sincerely
wish it. The Archbishop (of Arles) has written to assure me of the
joy the affair of Orange has given him, and that he hopes that of the
Syndicate will end no less happily. He finds himself obliged to own, by
the event, that your vigor was of more service than his prudence, and
that from your example he is become a perfect bravo. This has rejoiced
me exceedingly.
[87] A rank somewhat inferior to that of rear-admiral.
And now, my dear child, when I picture you to myself, pale and thin,
when I think of the agitations you endure, and that the slightest
degree of fever endangers your life, I suffer night and day from
apprehensions for you. What happiness would it be to have you with me,
in a less destructive climate, in your native air, which would again
restore you to health and vigor! I am surprised that loving you as the
Provençals do, they do not urge this remedy to you. I consider you as
having been so useful till now, and as having relieved M. de Grignan
so much in all his affairs, that I dare not regret I did not bring
you with me; but when every thing is finished, why not give me this
satisfaction? Adieu, my dearest child, I am very impatient to hear from
you. You would throw yourself into the fire, you say, to convince me
of your love: my child, I have no doubt of your affection, and without
this extraordinary proof of it, you may give me a much more pleasing
and a much more convincing one.