PARIS, Monday, February 21, 1689.
It is certain that we are separated from each other by a grievous
distance: this is enough to make us shudder; but what would it have
been if I had added to it the road from hence to the Rocks or Rennes?
This, however, will not take place so soon. Madame de Chaulnes wishes
to see the termination of several affairs, and I am only afraid that
she will set out too late, considering my intention of returning next
winter, which I must do for several reasons; the first of which is that
I am convinced M. de Grignan will be obliged to return on account of
his knighthood, and you can not take a better opportunity to escape
from your falling, uninhabitable castle, and come and pay your court
a little with the knight of the order, who will not be a knight till
that time. I paid mine the other day at St. Cyr much more agreeably
than I expected. We, that is, Madame de Coulanges, Madame de Bagnols,
the Abbé Têtu, and I, went on Saturday. We found our places kept; an
officer told Madame de Coulanges that Madame de Maintenon had ordered
a place for her next herself; you see what honor is paid her. “You,
madam,” said he, “may choose.” I placed myself with Madame de Bagnols
in the second row behind the duchesses. Marshal de Bellefond came,
and placed himself by choice at my right hand, and before us were
the Duchesses d’Auvergne, De Coislin, and De Sully. The marshal and
I listened to the tragedy with an attention that was remarked, and
bestowed some praises in a low voice that were very well placed. I can
not tell you the extreme beauty of this piece: it is a performance not
easy to represent, and is inimitable: it is the union of music, poetry,
singing, and character, so perfect and complete that there is nothing
we wish to alter. The young ladies who represent kings and great
personages seem to be made on purpose. It commands attention, and the
only unpleasant circumstance attending it is, that so fine a production
should at last end. Every thing in it is simple and innocent, sublime
and affecting: the sacred history is so faithfully adhered to as to
create respect; all the airs corresponding with the words, which are
taken from the Psalms or Ecclesiastes, and interwoven with the subject,
are singularly beautiful; the taste and attention of the audience are
the criterions of the merit of the piece. I was delighted with it, and
so was the marshal, who left his place to inform the king how much he
was gratified, that he was seated next to a lady who was very worthy of
seeing Esther. The king approached our seat, and having turned round,
addressed himself to me: “I am told, madam,” said he, “that the piece
has given you satisfaction.” I replied, with perfect self-possession,
“Sire, I am delighted; what I feel is beyond the power of words to
describe.” The king continued, “Racine has great talents.” I replied,
“Sire, he has indeed; and so have these young people: they enter into
the subject as if it had been their sole employment.” “Ah! that is
very true,” he rejoined. And then he retired, leaving me the object of
universal envy. As I was almost the only new spectator, the king took
pleasure in observing my genuine admiration, which was without noise
or parade.[248] The prince and princess came and spoke a word to me;
Madame de Maintenon flashed upon me like lightning, and then retired to
the king. I answered every one, being in one of my happiest moods. We
returned at night with flambeaux. I supped at Madame de Coulanges’, to
whom the king had also spoken with an air of affability that made him
appear fascinating. I saw the chevalier at night. I related to him very
naturally my little good fortune, being unwilling to conceal it without
a reason, as some people do. He was pleased, and here I conclude upon
this head. I am sure he did not afterward find in me any ridiculous
vanity, or the transports of a vulgar country bumpkin. Ask him. M. de
Meaux talked to me a good deal about you, and so did the prince. I
pitied you for not being present; but how was it possible? one can not
be every where. You were at the opera at Marseilles. As Atys is not
only too happy, but too charming, it is impossible you could have been
tired with it. Paulina must have been surprised at such a spectacle;
she has no right to wish for a more perfect one. I have so pleasing an
idea of Marseilles, that I am persuaded you are amused there; and I
will back the dissipations of that place against those of Aix.
[248] By mentioning the circumstance to which she believed she
was indebted for this little favor of the king, she proves
sufficiently that she was not so much elated with it as has been
pretended.
But on that very Saturday, after the representation of Esther, the king
was informed of the death of the young Queen of Spain,[249] who was
carried off in two days by a violent vomiting: this has very much the
air of foul play. The king informed monsieur of it next day, which was
yesterday; great was the grief upon the occasion; madame wept bitterly,
and the king retired in a flood of tears.
[249] Maria-Louisa of Orléans, daughter of monsieur, and of
Henrietta-Anne of England, his first wife.
Madame de la Fayette says in her Memoirs, that the Queen of Spain
was poisoned by a cup of chocolate. Dangeau affirms that it was
by an eel pie. Madame, in her _Lettres Originales_, maintains
that the poison was communicated by raw oysters.
Voltaire has denied this poisoning, as well as several others.
It was a system of the historian. But he only confutes Dangeau’s
account, who had said that three of the queen’s women had died in
consequence of eating of the same dish. Against this detail he
brings forward respectable authority.
Madame de la Fayette, who, in the life of Madame (Henrietta of
England), had not dared to confirm the opinion of her having died
by poison, joined with Voltaire in that of the Queen of Spain,
daughter of this princess.
The evidence of Madame (De Bavière) would be stronger if she were
not so partial, and did not show herself so ready to give credit
to every crime. What she adds, that it was two of the queen’s
French waiting women who poisoned her, is very improbable.
She says, however, that it was the Earl of Mansfield who procured
the poison, a circumstance which agrees with the common report of
that period.
In fact, all the letters and memoirs of cotemporary writers agree
in saying that the Council of Spain, devoted to the emperor and
the Prince of Orange, and resolved to enter into the league
against France, wished to remove a queen who was too good a
Frenchwoman, and who, governing her husband, was too great an
obstacle to the projects of war that had been formed.
It is true that such a report, at the moment of the breaking out
of hostilities, can not pass for an historical proof; but it must
be owned that it very nearly resembles truth.
It is said there is good news from England; not only the Prince of
Orange is not elected king or protector, but he is given to understand
that he and his troops have nothing to do but return: this shortens
our solicitude. If this news should gain ground, our Brittany will
be in less agitation, and my son will not have the mortification of
commanding the nobility of the viscounty of Rennes, and the barony of
Vitré. They have chosen him, against his will, to be at their head. Any
one else would be greatly elated with this honor, but he is vexed at
it, not liking, under any title whatever, to take the field in that way.