THE ROCKS, Wednesday, Dec. 11, 1675.
A little patience, my dear child, brings us to the accomplishment of
our wishes: I have received the two packets of letters from you that
I should have received before; but they are come at last, and you will
do me no more than justice to believe that I am highly delighted to
have them. I thank you that notwithstanding all your philosophy, you
enter into all my melancholy reflections on the immense distance that
separates us; you sympathize with me; you seem afflicted as well as
myself with this disposition of Providence; but you encounter it with
more courage than I do, who always feel from it some new increase of
sorrow. I am continually meditating on the past, for which the present
and the future can never make me amends. It is an ample field in which
to exercise a heart so tender and ill-defended as mine. I can not but
admire those good ladies who make a duty of their inclination; there
is La Troche for instance, who has so well turned and wound her good
fortune, that she is at length settled at her ease in the good city
of Paris, making it the seat of her empire and the field of all her
operations. She has fixed her son at court, in spite of wind and tide,
and makes it her business to be always near him. As for Marbeuf, she
had begun, even in her husband’s time, and now lays no restraint upon
herself; she has taken a lease of a house in Paris for a hundred years,
and most humbly takes her leave of poor Brittany: while you, my dear
child, who were born and bred in this country, you whom I have always
so fondly loved, and so ardently wished to have forever with me, are
driven to the furthest end of the world by the storms of adverse
fortune; but, if I mean to put an end to my letter, I must pass lightly
over these reflections, and resume my courage in the flattering hope
of a change: d’Hacqueville and I indulge some pleasing dreams of that
kind; but this is not a time to communicate them to you. Let us return
to the miseries of this poor province.
Every place is full of warriors; there are to be some at Vitré,
notwithstanding the princess is there. Monsieur, when he writes to
her, styles her his good aunt; his dear aunt; but I do not find that
she is better treated than others. There are to be troops at Guerche,
the estate of the Marquis de Villeroi; and from thence they are to
spread themselves among the country people, to rob and strip them. This
is a heavy disaster upon poor Brittany, that never experienced any
thing of the kind before. Our governor has received a power to grant a
general amnesty, which he disperses with one hand, and with the other
lets loose eight thousand soldiers, over whom he has as much command
as you have: they have all their orders. M. de Pommereuil is expected
here every day; he has the inspection of this little army, and may
very soon boast a fine government. He is the best and wisest of the
robe; he is my friend; but I doubt whether he will be as tractable as
your intendant, whom you manage so excellently; I am afraid he will be
changed. I can give you no information to-day respecting Languedoc; in
the mean time content yourself with some from Guienne; I find they are
well protected, and have procured a considerable mitigation of their
burden. Alas! we are not so happy; our protections, if we had any,
would do us more harm than good, by the animosity against us of two
individuals. I believe we may still find, or at least promise to find,
the three millions demanded of us, without ruining our friend;[133] for
he is so beloved by the states, that they would do any thing rather
than he should suffer. And this, I think, is enough upon the subject.
[133] M. de Harroüis.
I am rejoiced that you are not returned to Grignan; it would have been
only an additional fatigue and expense to you. Prudence and economy,
for which the good abbé desires me to thank you, have rendered that
step unnecessary. Let me know if the dear little ones are to come to
you. We have most delightful weather here, and we are making some new
walks, which will be very beautiful. My son is very good, and helps to
amuse us; he enters into the spirit of the place, and has brought no
more of the warrior or of the courtier with him into this retreat, than
is sufficient to enliven conversation. When it does not rain we are not
so much to be pitied as at a distance it may be supposed; the time we
have fixed to spend here will pass like the rest.
My letter has not been given to Louvois; the whole affair is
negotiating between Lauzun and myself; if he will take the guidonage,
we have offered to make a small addition to it; if he resolves to sell
his post outright, which would be very unreasonable, he must look for
a purchaser on his side, as we shall on ours; that is all. I have
written to the chevalier to condole with him on our not having met at
Paris; we should have made curious lamentations together on our last
year’s party, and should have renewed our tears for the loss of M.
de Turenne. I know not what idea you have of our princess; I assure
you she is no Artemisia;[134] her heart is like wax, it easily takes
impression; she makes a boast of it, and says pleasantly enough that
she has a ridiculous heart; this is spoken in general terms, but the
world is rather more particular in its applications. I am in hopes
I shall be able to keep this folly within bounds, by the frequent
speeches I make (as if I intended nothing by them) on the detestable
light in which those women are held, who give too great a rein to their
passions, and how much they subject themselves thereby to contempt. I
talk miraculously sometimes; I am heard and approved as much as can be
expected. Indeed, I consider it quite a duty to talk thus; and should
think it an honor to be instrumental in working a reformation.
[134] The affectionate and chaste wife of Mausolus, king of
Caria, whose ashes she drank after his death.
I am tired to death with the barrenness of news; we stand in great need
of some event, as you say, let it be at whose expense it will; as long
as we have no more Turennes to lose, _vogue la galère_. You tell me
extraordinary things; I read them, admire them, believe them, and then
you send me word they are not true; I well know the style and braggart
of the provinces. You judge superficially of our governor, when you
say you should have acted as he did, had you been in his place; I know
you would not; neither did the king’s service require it. Ah! what is
become of the excellent understanding you had last winter? This is no
time to think of deputations; let us see peace restored, and then we
shall have time to think of every thing.
As to the religion of the Jews, I said, when reading their history,
that “if God had given me grace to have been born a Jew,”[135] I should
have liked it better than any other except the true religion. I admire
its magnificence; but you must admire it still more, on account of its
year of rest, and of dressing-gowns, which would have given you an
opportunity of being a shining example of piety in your elbow-chair;
never would sabbath have been better kept. Ripert has received the
Moral Essays; they contain several treatises, and among the rest one
that is particularly pleasing; you will guess which I mean. I am
delighted with your good health and beauty, for I love you truly. I
often wish for you in these woods, the air of which, as well as that of
Livri, is a great preservative to the complexion. Our good abbé praises
you highly for your care in discharging your debts; for that, in his
estimation, is the law and the prophets; and as M. de Grignan is so
prudent, I will embrace him notwithstanding his beard; but do you know
that your little brother’s beard has the presumption to rival it? it
is to much purpose! Send me word of your success at play. It seems to
me as if I saw your little fingers taking out of the pool; but these
times are past; good and evil travel on the same road, but they leave
different impressions. You have given a great dinner; where was I? for
I know all; I see all the magnificence from hence. You express yourself
admirably on the marriage of the little prince (De Marsan) and the
maréchale; the disproportion is doubtless great, but suppose he should
have escaped it! Believe me, you have no need of my letters, you can
write delightfully without a theme. But I must reduce myself at last
to Solon’s rule, “Nothing is to be praised on this side the grave;”
which is a heavy restriction for me, who dearly love to praise what
is praise-worthy; besides, who can stay so long? For my part, I shall
always go on in my old way: adieu, my ever-lovely and beloved child.
[135] In allusion to an expression of M. de Rochefoucault, who
said, “If God had given me grace to have been born a Turk, I
should have died a Turk.”