Chapter CLXXI: Letter VI: GRIGNAN, April 10, 1691

We have received a letter dated the 31st of March from our dear embassador. It came in less than a week. This expedition is delightful, but what he tells us is still more so. It is impossible to write in better spirits. My daughter takes upon herself to answer him, and as I desire her to send the Holy Ghost with all diligence, not only to create a pope,[312] but to put a speedy termination to business, that he may be able to pay us a visit. She assures me that she will send him word of the conquest of Nice in five days after opening the trenches by M. de Catinet, and that this intelligence will produce the same effect for our bulls. Tell us, my dear cousin, if we judge rightly. We have received M. de Nevers’ epistle to the little Le Clerc of the academy. It is accompanied by one of your letters; they always give us great pleasure. The packet came very slowly; we know not why. There is neither rhyme nor reason in the conduct of the post. We think the epistle of M. de Nevers very pretty and very entertaining. In short, all his productions have so peculiar and so excellent a character that after them we can relish no others. The two last verses of the song he made for you, charmed my daughter as a Cartesian. Speaking of the fine wines of Italy, he says:

Sur la membrane de leur sens
Font des sillons charmans.[313]

[312] Alexander VIII. had been dead for two months and a few
days. Before he died, he distributed among his nephews all the
money he possessed, which made Pasquin say that it would have
been better for the church to have been his niece than his
daughter.

[313] They make charming furrows upon the membrane of the senses.

In short, it all deserves praise. For instance, can any thing be more humorous, in his epistle, than the smallest human string wound up to the highest pitch; and the other extreme, of a hundred crotchets rolling in bass to the very depth of the abyss? This picture is complete, and the opera of which he speaks is deservedly ridiculed; but we can not comprehend why he has given his son’s name to this epistle: _cui bono?_ and where is the wit of it? for the style resembles his own as much as one drop of water resembles another. It would be impossible to be deceived, and the subject can give offense to none. If you do not explain this to us, we shall be ill.

But let us talk of your grief at having lost this delightful family,[314] which has so well celebrated your merit in verse and prose, while you at the same time were so much alive to the charms of its society. It is easy to conceive the painfulness of this separation. M. de Chaulnes will not suffer us to believe that he shares it with you. An embassador must be occupied only with the business of the king, his master, who on his side has taken Mons, with a hundred thousand men, in a manner truly heroic, going every where, visiting every place, and indeed, exposing himself too much. The policy of the Prince of Orange, who was taking his measures very quietly with the confederate princes for the beginning of May, has found itself a little disconcerted by this promptitude. He threatens to come to the assistance of this great place. A prisoner told this to the king, who replied, coolly, “We came here to wait for him.” I defy your imagination to frame a more perfect and more precise answer. I therefore, suppose, my dear cousin, that by sending you the news of this other conquest,[315] in four days, your Rome will not be sorry to live paternally with her elder son. God knows whether our embassador will ably support _the identity of the greatest king in the world_, as M. de Nevers said.

[314] M. and Madame de Nevers.

[315] The town of Mons surrendered to the king on the 10th of
April, the day on which this letter is dated, after a siege of
eighteen days. To Boileau is attributed the following impromptu,
addressed to a lady who required him to write some verses upon
the occasion:

Mons était, disait-on, pucelle
Qu’un roi gardait avec grand soin;
Louis-le-Grand en eut besoin,
Mons se rendit: vous auriez fait comme elle.

Mons was a virgin, it is said,
Kept by a king with greatest care;
Louis the Great wished for the maid,
Mons yielded: so would you, my fair.

Let us return to our own country. Our little Marquis de Grignan went to the siege of Nice like an adventurer, _vago di fama_ (eager for fame). M. de Catinet gave him the command of the cavalry for several days, that he might not be a volunteer. This did not prevent him from going every where, from exposing himself to the fire, which was at first very brisk, or from bearing fascines, for this is the fashion; but what sort of fascines, my dear cousin? All from orange-trees, laurels, and pomegranates! They feared nothing but too great a profusion of perfumes. Never was there so beautiful or so delightful a country seen. You can conceive what it must be from your knowledge of Italy. This is the country M. de Savoie has taken pleasure in losing and destroying. Can we call this good policy? We expect the little colonel (the Marquis de Grignan), who is preparing to set out for Piedmont; for this expedition to Nice is only _throwing the bait in expectation of the game_. He will not be here when you pass; but do you know who will find you here? My son, who is coming to spend the summer with us, and to meet his governor, by following the footsteps of his mother.

By the by, speaking of mother and son, do you know, my dear cousin, that I have been for these ten days or more in a sorrow of heart from which you alone have had the power of relieving me, while I have been employed in writing to you. This has been occasioned by the illness of the dowager Madame de Lavardin, my most intimate and oldest friend; this woman, of such excellent and sound understanding; this illustrious widow, who gathered us all under her wing; this person of such exalted merit, has fallen suddenly into a sort of apoplexy; she is drowsy, paralytic, and feverish; when she is roused, she talks rationally, but she soon relapses; in short, my child, my friendship could not sustain a greater loss; I should feel it keenly. The Duchess de Chaulnes writes to me respecting her, and is very much grieved at her illness; Madame de la Fayette still more so. Indeed, her merit is so well known, that every one is interested as in a public loss; judge, then, what her friends must feel. I am informed that M. de Lavardin is very much affected; I hope it is true; it is an honor to him to grieve for a mother to whom he is in a manner indebted for whatever he is. Adieu, my dear cousin; my heart is full, I can write no more. If I had begun with this melancholy subject I should not have had the courage to chat with you as I have done.

I shall say no more respecting the Temple, I have given my opinion of it already; but I shall never like or approve it. Not so with regard to you, for I love you, and shall love and approve you always.