PARIS, Wednesday, February 7, 1680.
So, my child, you sometimes play at chess. For my own part, I am an
enthusiast in this game, and would give the world if I could learn to
play it like my son or you. It is the finest and most rational game of
any; chance has nothing to do with it; we blame or applaud ourselves,
and our success depends upon our skill. Corbinelli would fain make me
believe I shall acquire it. He says I have some ideas and schemes of
my own; but I can not see three or four moves forward into the game. I
assure you I shall be much ashamed and mortified if I do not, at least,
attain mediocrity. Every one played it at Pomponne when I was last
there--men, women, and children; and while the master of the house was
beating M. de Chaulnes, he met with a strange _check_ at St. Germain.
There has been a sad melancholy Monday, which you will easily
comprehend. M. de Pomponne is at length gone to court. He dreaded this
very much. You may guess what his thoughts were on the road, and when
he beheld the court at Saint Germain, and received the compliments of
the courtiers who surrounded him. He was quite overcome; and when he
entered the chamber where the king was waiting for him, what could he
say, or how begin? The king assured him he had always been satisfied
of his fidelity and services; that he was perfectly at ease as to the
state secrets he was acquainted with; and that he would give him and
his family proofs of his regard. M. de Pomponne could not help shedding
tears when he mentioned the misfortune he had to incur his displeasure.
He added, that with respect to his family, he left it entirely to his
majesty’s goodness; that his only grief was the being removed from the
service of a master to whom he was attached, as well by inclination
as duty; that it was next to impossible not to feel so heavy a loss
in all its severity; that this cut him to the quick, and caused him
to betray those marks of weakness, which he hoped his majesty would
forgive. The king told him he was himself affected at them, that they
proceeded from goodness of heart, and that he ought not to be offended.
The whole discourse turned on this, and M. de Pomponne came away with
eyes somewhat red, and the looks of a man who had not merited his
misfortune. He told me all this yesterday evening: he could have wished
to have been more firm, but he could not get the better of his emotion.
This is the only occasion in which he has appeared too much affected;
though it might be said he had not paid his court badly, if to pay
court had been his object. He will soon recover his philosophy, and
in the mean time an affair of some importance is concluded; these are
renewals which we can not help feeling with him. Madame de Vins has
been at Saint Germain: good God, what a difference! She had attentions
enough paid her; but to reflect that that had been her home, where she
has not now a corner to shelter her head in! I felt what she underwent
in that journey. Adieu, my beloved child; I am always impatient to hear
from you, but pray write only two words to me; renounce long letters
forever, and spare me. It is horrible to think that those who love you,
and who are beloved by you, should be the ruin of your health.