Chapter LXXXV: Letter LXXIV: PARIS, Wednesday, February 7, 1680

So, my child, you sometimes play at chess. For my own part, I am an enthusiast in this game, and would give the world if I could learn to play it like my son or you. It is the finest and most rational game of any; chance has nothing to do with it; we blame or applaud ourselves, and our success depends upon our skill. Corbinelli would fain make me believe I shall acquire it. He says I have some ideas and schemes of my own; but I can not see three or four moves forward into the game. I assure you I shall be much ashamed and mortified if I do not, at least, attain mediocrity. Every one played it at Pomponne when I was last there--men, women, and children; and while the master of the house was beating M. de Chaulnes, he met with a strange _check_ at St. Germain.

There has been a sad melancholy Monday, which you will easily comprehend. M. de Pomponne is at length gone to court. He dreaded this very much. You may guess what his thoughts were on the road, and when he beheld the court at Saint Germain, and received the compliments of the courtiers who surrounded him. He was quite overcome; and when he entered the chamber where the king was waiting for him, what could he say, or how begin? The king assured him he had always been satisfied of his fidelity and services; that he was perfectly at ease as to the state secrets he was acquainted with; and that he would give him and his family proofs of his regard. M. de Pomponne could not help shedding tears when he mentioned the misfortune he had to incur his displeasure. He added, that with respect to his family, he left it entirely to his majesty’s goodness; that his only grief was the being removed from the service of a master to whom he was attached, as well by inclination as duty; that it was next to impossible not to feel so heavy a loss in all its severity; that this cut him to the quick, and caused him to betray those marks of weakness, which he hoped his majesty would forgive. The king told him he was himself affected at them, that they proceeded from goodness of heart, and that he ought not to be offended. The whole discourse turned on this, and M. de Pomponne came away with eyes somewhat red, and the looks of a man who had not merited his misfortune. He told me all this yesterday evening: he could have wished to have been more firm, but he could not get the better of his emotion. This is the only occasion in which he has appeared too much affected; though it might be said he had not paid his court badly, if to pay court had been his object. He will soon recover his philosophy, and in the mean time an affair of some importance is concluded; these are renewals which we can not help feeling with him. Madame de Vins has been at Saint Germain: good God, what a difference! She had attentions enough paid her; but to reflect that that had been her home, where she has not now a corner to shelter her head in! I felt what she underwent in that journey. Adieu, my beloved child; I am always impatient to hear from you, but pray write only two words to me; renounce long letters forever, and spare me. It is horrible to think that those who love you, and who are beloved by you, should be the ruin of your health.