THE ROCKS, Sunday, February 21, 1685.
Ah, my child! was ever any thing so ill-timed as the death of the
King of England,[216] just at the eve of a masquerade? My poor little
marquis[217] is very unfortunate to have such an unexpected event
thrown in the way of his pleasure. I know nothing that can comfort him
for this disappointment but the universal encomiums that have been
given to his charming dress, and the hope that the masquerade is only
put off for a time.
[216] Charles II., who died 16th February, 1685.
[217] Louis-Provence, Marquis de Grignan, Madame de Sévigné’s
grandson.
My dear child, I make you my compliments of condolence on these great
occurrences, and expect yours in return upon my mistaken ideas; for
I was at the masquerade, the opera, and the ball, snug in a corner,
contemplating you with admiration; in short, I was in as great an
agitation as you may suppose your poor mother to experience on such an
occasion; and, after all, there was no entertainment of any kind.
I enter into your sentiments, my beautiful dear, better than any
one. Yes, yes, I can very well conceive that we are transfused into
our children, and, as you say, feel more keenly for them than for
ourselves. I have sufficiently experienced these emotions, which are
not without their pleasure when the object is deserving of them and of
the admiration of every one besides. Your son pleases extremely; there
is something inexpressibly smart and agreeable in his countenance; the
eye does not pass lightly over him as over others in general, but rests
attentively. Madame de la Fayette tells me she has written to Madame de
Montespan that she had engaged her honor that you and your son would
have reason to be satisfied with her. I know no one who would be more
happy to serve you than Madame de la Fayette.
But is it not extraordinary that we have not yet had a word together on
the death of the King of England? He was by no means an old man, and he
was a monarch; this shows that death spares no one. It will be a great
happiness if he was a Catholic in his heart, and died in the faith of
our holy religion. England appears to me a theater that is about to
furnish some very extraordinary scenes: the Prince of Orange, the Duke
of Monmouth, an infinite number of Lutherans, and a confirmed aversion
to all Catholics; but time will discover in what way Providence will
direct the performance, after this tragical event;[218] however, it
seems it will not put a stop to the diversion at Versailles, since
I find you are to return there on Monday. You say a thousand kind
things of the concern it would give you to leave me behind at Paris,
if I were there, but as this, to my great regret, is not the case,
make the most of this opportunity, follow the court: no one is formed
to make a better figure there, and I think every thing seems to tend
toward the completion of your wishes. Mine, though made at such a
distance, are not less ardent and sincere than if I were with you. I
feel, though less delicately, the truth of a remark you made to me one
day, and which I then laughed at: that you were so much mistress of my
imagination and my heart that I had you always present with me; this is
very true, my child, but I must own I had rather enjoy a little more of
reality.
[218] Charles II. was sixty-five years of age, and had reigned
about twenty-five years, reckoning from the restoration of the
Stuarts. He received the sacraments agreeably to the rites of
the Church of Rome, but more, it is said, in compliance with the
entreaties of his brother than the dictates of his conscience. He
had some good private qualities. But, as a prince, his character,
says the impartial Hume, was “dangerous to his subjects, and
dishonorable to himself.” To rid himself of his parliament, he
had placed himself in a state of disgraceful independence on
Louis XIV. It has been said of him that he never said a foolish
thing, and never did a wise one. Judging by the following
anecdote, he carried further even than policy required, the
practice of dissimulation, which would be, as it is declared,
the necessary virtue of kings, if it be true that weakness and
indolence are their natural vices. It is said that Charles II.
having reproached his minister Shaftesbury with being “the
greatest knave in the three kingdoms,” he replied, “Apparently
your majesty only includes subjects.”
Madame de Sévigné speaks of the state of England in the character
of a well-informed person. The rebellion of Monmouth and his
tragical end in the same year, and James II. dethroned and driven
out of the kingdom three years afterward by his son-in-law,
justified but too well her predictions.