PARIS, Sunday, March 17, 1680.
Though this letter will not go till Wednesday, I can not help beginning
it to-day, to inform you that M. de la Rochefoucault died last night.
I am so much engrossed with this misfortune, and with the extreme
affliction of our poor friend,[178] that I must relieve my mind by
communicating the painful event to you.
[178] Madame de la Fayette.
Yesterday, which was Saturday, the Englishman’s medicine had done
wonders; all the favorable symptoms of Friday, which I mentioned to
you, were increased; his friends began to sing Te Deum in their hearts;
his lungs were clear, his head free, his fever less, his evacuations
such as indicated a salutary crisis: in this state yesterday, at
six o’clock in the evening, he relapsed, so as to leave no hopes of
recovery; his fever redoubled in an instant, with an oppression of the
chest and delirium; in a word, he was suffocated by the treacherous
gout, and, notwithstanding he had a great degree of strength left even
after all his bleeding, it carried him off in less than five hours,
so that he expired at midnight in the arms of the Bishop of Condom.
M. de Marsillac did not leave him a moment; he is under inexpressible
affliction: he will find, however, some consolation in the king and the
court; and so will the rest of the family, from the place he enjoys:
but when will poor Madame de la Fayette find again such a friend, such
a companion, such kindness, such attention, such confidence, and such
consideration for her and her son! She is infirm, confined to her room,
and not like other people eternally from home. M. de Rochefoucault
was also of a sedentary disposition; their situation rendered them
necessary to each other; so that the mutual confidence and delightful
friendship that subsisted between them was unequaled. Think of this,
my child, and you will be convinced with me that no one could sustain
a greater loss, for this is not to be repaired or obliterated even
by time. I have never once quitted this disconsolate friend; she did
not mix in the hurry and confusion of the family, so that she really
stood in need of some pity. Madame de Coulanges has likewise acquitted
herself very well on this occasion, and we shall continue to discharge
our duty even at the hazard of our eyes, which are almost always
filled with tears. You see how unluckily your letters came; they have
hitherto had no admirers but Madame de Coulanges and myself; when the
chevalier returns he may possibly find a proper season for presenting
them; meantime you must write one out of condolence to M. de Marsillac;
he does honor to filial affection, and is a living proof that you
are not alone in this respect; but, in fact, I doubt that either of
you will meet with many imitators. The melancholy that reigns around
me has awakened all my sensibility, and makes me feel the anguish of
separation in all its horrors.