THE ROCKS, Wednesday, November 26, 1684.
So much the worse for you, my dear child; if you do not read over your
letters, your indolence robs you of a great pleasure, which is not one
of the least of the evils it may occasion you; for my part, I read them
over and over again; they constitute all my joy, all my sorrow, all my
occupation, so that you are the center and cause of all. I shall begin
this letter with you.
Is it possible that what you tell me can be true, that when you spoke
to the king you were like a person beside yourself, and so lost, to use
your own expression, in the blaze of majesty, that you knew not what
you said, nor could recollect any of your ideas. Never, never can I
believe that my beloved daughter, always so remarkable for her ready
wit and happy presence of mind, should have been in such a situation. I
must confess, that from what his majesty said to you--“that he would do
something for M. de Grignan”--I by no means understand that he merely
alluded to the great expense M. de Grignan had lately incurred: no, the
king’s answer appeared to me to bear this construction, “Madam, the
favor you ask of me is a trifle, I will do something more for Grignan;”
meaning, I suppose, the affair of the survivorship, which he knew would
be a capital point for your family. I had no idea of the little present
in question, and you know what I said upon that subject in my last
letter. It rests with you, my dear, to set me right, and I beg you will
do so, for I do not love to view things in a wrong light.
Madame de la Fayette has written me word that you were an angel of
beauty at court, that you spoke to the king, and that it was thought
you were soliciting a pension for your husband. I returned a slight
answer, “that I believed it was to entreat his majesty to consider the
great expenses M. de Grignan had been obliged to incur in Provence,”
and that was all.
You relate inimitably the story of M. de Villequier and his
mother-in-law. There seems no danger of her proving a Phædra to him.
Had you read that part of your letter over, you would easily have
conceived the manner in which it struck me. It is not unlike the
story of Joconde; and the chambermaid yawning with fatigue at her
long waiting is admirable. I think Madame d’Aumont’s conduct very
praiseworthy: it ought to silence the world, and satisfy her husband.
What great doings in Savoy! I can not believe the king will withhold
his pity and assistance from the young Princess of Baden, when she
represents to him the situation of her mother, abandoned by all her
children. I do not believe she will set out till her mother is gone.
This good mother, it is true, has so much fire about her, that it is
difficult to persuade one’s self she is not still in the prime of her
youth. The Princess de Tarente intends to receive her at Vitré. As
for Madame de Marbeuf, she is one of her old acquaintance; they have
spent whole winters together in supping and playing at the Palace of
Soissons; you may judge how readily this will be renewed at Rennes. I
have told my son the story of the Chevalier de Soisson’s engagement: we
could neither of us have believed the eyes of a grandmother retained
still so much power. I do not think the raising of the siege of
Buda[213] worth mentioning to you; it is a piece of news hardly of
sufficient consequence to obtain a place in my letter. I fancy the
dauphiness,[214] however, will take the pains to be sorry: her brother
has exposed himself so much, and acquitted himself so well in this
expedition, that it is a pity such an elector should be obliged to
return from it.
[213] After having beaten the Turks, and repulsed the troops they
were leading to the assistance of Buda, the Duke of Lorraine was
at length obliged to raise the siege, which had lasted for nearly
four months.
[214] The dauphiness was always a German in her heart; this
partiality, which the subsequent war increased and rendered more
offensive, contributed, with other eccentricities of character,
to alienate the affections of her husband, the king, and the
whole court.
Our _worthy_ is very ill with one of those bad colds and coughs which
you have seen him afflicted with. He is in his little closet. We take
better care of him here than could be done at Paris. My daughter-in-law
has gone through all the hot and cold regimen of the Capuchins, without
being affected either one way or the other by them. When the weather
is fine, as it has been for the last three days, I venture out about
two o’clock, and walk backward and forward before the gardeners, who
are cutting wood, and representing the picture of winter, but without
stopping to contemplate the scene; and after I have enjoyed all the
heat of the sun, I return to the house, leaving the evening to those
of a more hardy constitution. In this way do I govern myself to please
you, and very often I do not stir out of the house at all. Coulanges’
chair, a few books that my son reads admirably, and now and then a
little conversation, will compose the whole of my occupation during the
winter, and the subject of your anxiety; for I shall exactly follow
your orders in all points, and every where.
My son understands perfectly well what _Wednesday_ means.[215] To say
the truth, we would be very dull without him, and he without us; but
he manages matters so well that there is generally a party of ombre in
my apartments, and at intervals we read, and make comments on what we
read; you know what sort of place the Rocks is. We have read a folio
volume through in little more than a week. We have been engaged with M.
Nicole, the Lives of the Fathers of the Desert, and the History of the
Reformation in England; in short, those who are happy enough to have a
taste for reading never need be at a loss for amusement.
[215] This was one of Madame de Sévigné’s post-days.