Chapter XXIII: Letter XII

FROM THE ROCKS,[34] Sunday, May 31, 1671.

[34] The name of Madame de Sévigné’s estate in Brittany.

At last, my child, I am at the Rocks. Can I behold these walks, can I view these ornaments, this little closet, these books, these rooms, and not die with grief? Some recollections are agreeable, but there are others again so lively and so tender that they are hardly supportable; such are mine with respect to you. And you may easily guess the effect this is likely to produce in a heart like mine.

If you continue pretty well, my dear child, I believe I shall not come to you till next year. Brittany and Provence are not very compatible; long journeys are strange things. If we were always to continue in the same mind we are in at the end of a journey, we should never stir from the place we were then in; but Providence, in kindness to us, causes us to forget it. It is much the same with lying-in women. Heaven permits this forgetfulness that the world may be peopled, and that folks may take journeys to Provence. Mine, therefore, will afford me the greatest joy I ever received in my life, but how cruel a thought is it to see no end to your stay there! I more and more admire and applaud your prudence, though, to tell you the truth, I am greatly affected with this impossibility; but I hope time will make us see things in a different light. We must always live in hope; without that consolation there would be no living. I sometimes pass such melancholy moments in the woods, that I return as changed as one just out of a fever. I fancy you pass your time pretty well at Marseilles. Do not fail to tell me how you were received at Grignan. The people here had designed to make a kind of triumphal entry for my son; Vaillant had drawn out near fifteen hundred men under arms, very well dressed, with new ribbons round their necks, and had marched them within a league of the Rocks. But guess what happened! Our abbé had written word that we should be there on Tuesday, and afterward forgot to mention it to us. Accordingly these poor people were waiting under arms the whole day till ten o’clock at night, when they returned home very much chagrined at their disappointment; and behold the next day, which was Wednesday, we came in as quiet and peaceable as lambs, without dreaming that a little army had been drawn out to receive us! We were a good deal vexed at this mistake, but there was no remedy; so much for our first setting out. Mademoiselle du Plessis is just as you left her. She has formed a new acquaintance at Vitré that she plumes herself mightily upon, because she is a great genius, has read all the romances, and, more than that, has had two letters from the Princess de Tarante. I was wicked enough to set Vaillant upon telling her that I was jealous of this new friend of hers, and that, when I heard of their intimacy, it had given me the greatest uneasiness, though I had taken no notice of it to her. It requires the pen of a Molière to describe all she says upon the occasion; and it is highly amusing to see how artfully she manages me, and with what care she avoids speaking of my supposed rival before my face; I too play my part very well. My little trees are grown surprisingly; Pilois[35] is raising their stately heads to the clouds. In short, nothing can be more beautiful than these walks, which you first saw planted. You may remember I once gave you a little device which was thought very suitable. Here is a motto I wrote the other day upon a tree, which I intend for my son, who is just returned from Candia. _Vago di fama_.[36] Is it not pretty, notwithstanding its conciseness? Yesterday I had another inscribed in honor of the idlers, _Bella cosa far niente!_[37] Ah! my dear child, what a wild romantic air my letters have! What is become of the time when I used to talk of Paris like other people? Now you will hear of nothing but myself; and, to show you what confidence I have in your affection, I am persuaded this will be the most agreeable intelligence I can give you. I am highly pleased with my company here. Our abbé is at all times an excellent companion. La Mousse and my son are satisfied with me, and I with them. We always seek one another; and if business at any time takes me from them, they are at their wit’s end, and think it very odd in me to prefer a farmer’s account to a tale of La Fontaine’s. They are all passionately in love with you. I fancy you will hear from them soon. I choose however to be beforehand with them, for I do not love talking to you in a crowd. My dearest child, will you always love me? my life depends upon your affection! That, as I told you the other day, constitutes all my joy and all my sorrow.

[35] The gardener at the Rocks.

[36] Anxious for fame.

[37] What a fine thing it is to do nothing.