Chapter CXLIV: Letter II: 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.

LETTERS TO THE COUNT DE GRIGNAN.[295]

FROM 1670 TO 1696.

[295] Count de Grignan was of an ancient and noble Provençal
family. He was rich, and held a high office, that of
Lieutenant-General of the Government of Provence; and as the
governor, Vendôme, was rarely in his place, M. de Grignan was
virtually the governor. He had been twice married before his
union with Madame de Sévigné’s daughter, and it seems likely,
considering the fashion of those times, and indeed of French
marriages now, the mother was influenced by ambition. She found
it did not confer happiness. The count was extravagant and fond
of play, though he seems to have been a kind husband; still it
is evident that Madame de Sévigné was constrained in her letters
to him. She compliments him, professes much affection, and was
always on friendly terms with him, because he was the husband of
her darling daughter. But her letters to him never go beyond this.

LETTER I.

PARIS, Wednesday, 23d June, 1670.

You have written me the most charming letter in the world. I should have answered it much sooner, had I not known that you were traversing your province. I should likewise have sent you the music you desired, but have not yet been able to procure it: in the mean time let me tell you that I love you most affectionately, and if that is capable of giving you the satisfaction you assure me it does, you ought to be the most contented man in the world. You must certainly be so in the correspondence you carry on with my daughter; it appears to me very animated on her part, and I do not think any one can love another more than she does you. I hope to return her to you safe and sound, with a little one the same, or I will burn my books. I am not very skillful indeed my self; but I can ask advice, and follow it, and my daughter on her side takes all possible care of herself.

LETTER II.

PARIS, Wednesday, Aug. 6, 1670.

Is it not true that I have given you the prettiest wife in the world? and can any one be more prudent, more regular in her conduct? Can any one love you more, have more Christian sentiments, long more ardently to be with you, or attend more strictly to the duties of her station? It is ridiculous enough to say all this of my own daughter; but I admire her as other people do, and perhaps more, as I am more an eyewitness of her behavior; and to own the truth to you, whatever good opinion I had of her as to the principal points, I never thought she would have been so exact as she is in all the minuter ones. I assure you, every body does her justice, and she loses none of the praises which are so much her due.