GRIGNAN, September 20, 1695.
And so you are at our poor Rocks, my dear children, experiencing there
the sweets of tranquillity, exempt from all duties and all fatigues,
and our dear little marchioness can breathe again! Good heavens! how
well you describe to me her situation, and her extreme delicacy! I
am so affected at it, and I enter so affectionately into your ideas,
that my heart is oppressed, and tears rush into my eyes. It is to
be hoped that you will only have the merit of bearing your sorrows
with resignation and submission; but if God should appoint otherwise,
like all unforeseen events, it would turn out differently from your
expectations; I will believe, however, that this dear being will
last, with care, as long as any one; we have a thousand examples of
recovery. Has not Mademoiselle de la Trousse suffered from almost every
kind of disorder? In the mean time, my dear child, I enter into your
feelings with infinite affection, and from the bottom of my heart. You
do me justice when you say you are afraid of affecting me too much by
relating to me the state of your mind; it does indeed affect me, be
assured I feel for you keenly. I hope this letter will find you calmer
and happier. Paris seems to be quite out of your thoughts, on account
of our marchioness. You are thinking only of Bourbon and the spring.
Continue to inform me of your plans, and do not leave me in ignorance
of any thing that concerns you.
Give me some account of the letters of the 23d and 30th of August.
There was also a note for Galois, which I desired M. Branjon to pay.
Give me an answer upon this subject. The good Branjon is married; he
has written me a very charming letter upon the occasion. Let me know
whether the match is as good as he represents it to be. The lady is
related to all the parliament, and to M. d’Arouys. Explain this to
me, my child. I also addressed a letter to you for our Abbé Charrier.
He will be sorry not to see you again; and M. de Toulon! you express
yourself well respecting this ox; it is for him to tame him, and for
you to stand firm where you are. Return the abbé’s letter to Quimperlé.
With regard to your poor sister’s health, it is not at all good. It is
no longer her loss of blood that alarms us, for that is over; but she
does not recover her strength; she is still so much altered that you
would scarcely know her, because her stomach does not regain its tone,
and no food seems to nourish her; this arises from the bad state of
her liver, of which you know she has long complained. It is so serious
an evil that I am really alarmed at it. Remedies might be used for her
liver, but they are unfavorable to the loss of blood, which we are in
continual apprehension may return, and which has produced a bad effect
upon the afflicted part. These two maladies, which require opposite
medicines, reduce her to a truly pitiable situation. Time, we hope,
will repair this devastation; I sincerely wish it; and if we enjoy this
blessing, we shall go to Paris with all expedition. This is the point
to which we are arrived, and which must be cleared up; I will be very
faithful in my communications.
This languor makes us say little yet of the return of the warriors. I
do not doubt, however, that the business will be concluded; it is too
far advanced: but it will be without any great joy; and even if we go
to Paris, they would set out two days after, to avoid the air of a
wedding, and visits, which they wish not to receive; _a burnt child,
etc._
As to M. de St. Amant’s grief, of which such a parade has been made
at Paris, it was founded upon my daughter’s having really proved by
memorandums, which she has showed to us all, that she had paid her
son nine thousand francs out of ten she had promised him; and having
in consequence sent him only a thousand, M. de St. Amant said he was
cheated, that they wanted to take advantage of him, and that he would
give no more, having already given the fifteen thousand francs of
his daughter’s portion (which he laid out at Paris in stock, and for
which he has the estates that were given up to him here,) and that the
marquis must seek for assistance in that quarter. You may suppose that
when _that quarter_ has paid, it may occasion some little chagrin; but
it is at an end. M. de St. Amant thought in himself that it would not
be advisable to quarrel with my daughter; so he came here as gentle as
a lamb, wishing for nothing but to please and to take his daughter back
with him to Paris; which he has done, though, in good truth, she ought
to have waited for us; but the advantage of being in the same house
with her husband, in that beautiful mansion of M. de St. Amant; of
being handsomely lodged, and living sumptuously at no expense; made my
daughter consent without hesitation to accept all these comforts. But
we did not see her depart without tears, for she is very amiable; and
was so much affected at bidding us adieu, that it could scarcely have
been supposed she was going to lead a life of pleasure in the midst of
plenty. She had become very fond of our society. She set out with her
father on the first of this month.
Be assured, my son, that no Grignan intends you harm; that you are
beloved by all; and that if this trifle had been a serious thing, they
would have felt that you would have taken as much interest in it as you
have done.
M. de Grignan is still at Versailles; we expect him shortly, for the
sea is clear, and Admiral Russel, who is no longer to be seen, will
give him leave to come here.
I shall seek for the two little writings you mention. I rely much upon
your taste. The letters to M. de la Trappe are books we can not send,
though in manuscript. You shall read them at Paris, where I still hope
to see you, for I love you in a much greater degree than you can love
me. It is the order of nature, and I do not complain.
I inclose you a letter from Madame de Chaulnes, which I send to you
entire, from confidence in your prudence. You will justify yourself
in things to which you well know what answer to make, and will pay no
attention to those that may offend you. I have said for myself all I
had to say, waiting for your answer respecting what I did not know;
and I added that I would inform you of what the duchess told me. Write
to her, therefore, candidly, as having learned from me what she writes
respecting you. After all, you should preserve this connection; they
love you, and have rendered you service; you must not wound gratitude.
I have said that you owed obligations to the intendant. But to you, my
child, I say, is this friendship incompatible with your ancient leagues
with the first president and the attorney-general? Is it necessary
that you should break with your old friends for the sake of securing
an intendant! M. de Pommereuil did not exact such conduct. I have also
said that you ought to be heard, and that it was impossible you should
have neglected to congratulate the attorney-general upon the marriage
of his daughter. In short, my child, defend yourself, and tell me what
you say, that I may second you.