PARIS, Friday, Nov. 24, 1679.
What a charming letter have I just received from you! what exquisite
pleasure is it to hear you reason thus! What you say on the subject of
medicine delights me. I am persuaded that, with that understanding and
quickness of apprehension with which God has endowed you, you might,
with a little application, soon outstrip the physicians themselves.
You might, indeed, want a little experience, and perhaps, too, you
might not kill with impunity as they do; but I would much sooner trust
your judgment of a disease than theirs. The only real concern of life
is undoubtedly the care of our health; the world seems to agree in
this. The general question is, “How are you? how are you?” and yet we
are in general wholly ignorant of every particular relating to this
important science. Go on then, go on, my child; finish the course of
your studies; the scarlet gown is all the diploma you will stand in
need of, as in the play.[154] Pray, what do you mean by sending us your
little physician? I assure you ours have entirely lost their credit
here, except three or four of our acquaintance, and who prescribe the
Englishman’s recipe; all the rest are held in utter abhorrence. This
Englishman recovered Marshal de Bellefond the other day from death’s
door. I do not think the first physician has the right secret.
[154] Molière’s Malade Imaginaire.
Is it then true, my child, you have got the better of your complaints?
No more pains in the chest, no colic, no pain in the legs? This is
as it should be. You see the advantage of repose and taking care to
recruit yourself. Can you be angry with me for chiding you when you
neglect yourself, and inhumanly abandon all care of your health? I
could talk for ten years about this wicked conduct in you, and the
benefits that result from a contrary conduct. Why can not I embrace you
and enjoy your company here in the evenings? I enter this house with a
heavy heart. From nine till twelve at night I am as desolate as I was
at Livri, and yet I prefer this silence and repose to all the evening
parties I am invited to in this part of the town. I hate going out of
an evening. When I am not tormented with fears for your health, I feel
your absence more. The thought of your lungs is like pinching the ear
to prevent the pain of boring it from being felt: this comparison I
heard from you, but the former pain soon returns when I am not checked
by the other. I confess I never bear your absence so well as when I am
in fear for your health, and I thank you a thousand times for removing
the pincers from my ears. Madame de Vins stands in need of some equally
powerful means to remove her affliction at M. de Pomponne’s disgrace,
by which she loses her all. I often visit her, and no misfortune shall
ever drive me from the house. M. de Pomponne will easily resolve on
what is to be done, and will bear his ill-fortune with dignity; he will
again display the virtues of a private station, for which we so much
admired him at Frêne. They say he was rather remiss in his office, and
made the couriers wait too long for their dispatches. He justifies
himself fully. But, good heavens! do we not plainly see where the fault
lies! Ah! how would poor Madame du Plessis have adored him now! and how
would this similarity of situation have cemented their union! Nothing
in the world would have been so fortunate for him. I have mentioned
this to no one but Madame de Vins; I suppose you understand me. I can
answer for the justice of my opinion, which is, I dare say, your own.
The whole court pities him, and have been to pay him their compliments
of condolence on the occasion. You will soon see him recommence
the thread of his perfections. We have talked a great deal about
Providence, a doctrine he understands perfectly well. Surely there
never was so worthy a minister. M. Colbert, the embassador,[155] is to
succeed in this office; he is a great friend of the chevalier’s. Write
all your thoughts to the latter; perhaps Fortune, capricious as she is,
intends you should reap more advantage through his means than from our
intimate acquaintance. You will easily strike into the right road by
what I tell you. How is it possible for us to know what Providence has
in store for us?
[155] Mons. de Colbert de Croissy, brother to the
comptroller-general, was then in Bavaria, in order to conclude a
marriage between Monseigneur and Maria Anna Victoria of Bavaria.
I continue my attentions to Mademoiselle de Méri; the impression the
misfortune of her little domestic makes on her is very extraordinary.
She tells me she fancies, when any one speaks to her, they are shooting
at her, as if they had an intention to kill her. This really does her
as much harm as her illness. It is a circle; her anger increases her
disorder, and her disorder increases her anger. The sum total is,
that it is a very strange affair, and I employ all my attention to
administer to her relief.
Corbinelli gives up the Chevalier de Méri, with his pitiful style,[156]
and the ridiculous critique he makes on a wit so free, so playful, so
charming, as Voiture’s: those are to be pitied who do not understand
him.[157] I would not have you depend on receiving the definition
you asked of him, for he has read nothing these three months but the
Code and the Cujas. He is delighted with you for resolving to study
medicine: you are a prodigy in his opinion. The calm ingratitude of
M. and Madame Richelieu is indeed a prodigy; you describe it very
pleasantly. M. le Grand, and some others, said seriously the other day
at St. Germain, that M. Richelieu had made an admirable siege: it was
supposed he had been reading some book about the great Richelieu’s in
the civil wars; not so, he meant Richelieu the tapestry-maker, who has
made an admirable siege that hangs in his wife’s apartment.
[156] M. de Méri had known and loved Madame de Maintenon from
her infancy. He had brought her out into the world under the
name of the Young Indian. He cultivated her friendship in all
circumstances. But what is singular is, that he would have
married her, and that he made her the offer of his hand at
the very time that Louis thought of making her his wife. The
letters of M. de Méri, which were found in Madame de Maintenon’s
collection, were indeed emphatic, heavy, and pedantic, and well
deserved the name “pitiful style” (chien de style).
[157] The French editors observe, justly enough, that as much
may be said in regard to those who can not find out the value of
these letters of Madame de Sévigné.
Madame de Coulanges has been at court this fortnight; Madame de
Maintenon had a cold, and would not part with her. I must tell you of
a quarrel she had with the Countess de Grammont.[158] The latter was
scorching her fine complexion over the fire, making chocolate; Madame
de Coulanges would have saved her the trouble. The Countess bid her
leave her to herself, for it was the only pleasure she had left. Madame
de Coulanges answered, “Ah, ingrate!” This expression, which at any
other time would have made her laugh, embarrassed and disconcerted her
so highly, that she could not get the better of it, and they have not
spoken since. The Abbé Têtu said, very rudely, to our neighbor, “But,
madame, had she answered you, ‘The pot calls the kettle black,’ what
would you have found to say?” “Sir,” said she, “I am no pot, though
she is a kettle.” So here is another quarrel. _Quanto_ and the sick
lady are both on the high ropes; the latter is so much in favor with
the fountain of all good things, that it occasions a great deal of
animosity. I could tell you a thousand trifles if you were here.
[158] Elizabeth Hamilton, lady of the bed-chamber to Queen Maria
Theresa, of Austria.
Ah, my child, you tell me I have nothing to do but laugh, when I have
your absence to support; I could almost find in my heart to say, “Ah!
ingrate!” Do not you remember what this absence of yours has made me
suffer? Are not you the sensible and true occupation of my heart? You
well know, and you ought to feel, what a terrible addition the fear of
hearing you are indisposed, and chilled by the piercing air of Grignan,
makes to this apprehension. You are unjust if you are at a loss to
guess my sentiments, which are so very natural, and so full of true
affection for you.