Chapter LXXXVI: Letter LXXV: PARIS, Friday, Feb. 9, 1680

I see you are in the midst of the pleasures of the carnival, my beautiful dear; you give little _private_ suppers to eighteen or twenty ladies; I am well acquainted with your mode of life, and the heavy expenses you incur at Aix; but yet, amid all this bustle, I fancy you contrive to have plenty of rest. We say sometimes, I will have pleasure for my money; but I think I hear you say, I will have rest for mine: take your rest then, and enjoy, at least, this advantage. I can not help being surprised that a minuet-tune does not tempt you sometimes; what! not a single step! no motion of the shoulders! quite insensible! it is not to be believed, it is unnatural; I never yet knew you sit still on these occasions, and, were I to draw such inferences as I commonly do, I should imagine you much worse than you say you are.

There was, yesterday evening, an enchanting entertainment at the Hôtel de Condé. The Princess of Conti named one of the duke’s daughters, with the Prince de la Roche-sur-Yon. First was the christening, then the dinner; but what a dinner! then a play, but what a play! interspersed with fine pieces of music, and the best opera-dancers. A theater built by the fairies; such perspectives, orange-trees loaded with fruits and flowers, festoons, pilasters, scenes, and other decorations; in short, the whole expense of the evening cost no less than two thousand louis-d’ors, all for the sake of the pretty princess.

The opera (of Proserpine) is superior to every other. The chevalier tells me he has sent you several of the airs, and that he saw a gentleman[172] who said he had sent you the words; I dare say you will like it. There is a scene in it,[173] between Mercury and Ceres, which requires no interpreter to be understood; it must have been approved, since it has been performed; but you will judge for yourself.

[172] Quinault.

[173] See the second scene of the first act.

The poisoning affair is grown quite flat; nothing new is said of it. The report is, that there will be no more blood spilled; you will make your own reflections, as we do. The Abbé Colbert is made Coadjutor of Rouen. They talk of a journey into Flanders. No one knows what this assembling of the forces portends.

Friar Ange has raised Marshal de Bellefond from the dead; he has cured his lungs, that were incurable. Madame de Coulanges and I have been to visit the grand-master,[174] who has been almost at death’s door for a fortnight past; his gout had returned; add to this an oppression, which made every one suppose he was at his last gasp; cold sweats, light-headedness; in short, he was ill as it was possible to be. The physicians could give him no relief; he sent for Friar Ange, who has cured him, and brought him from the very gates of death, by the gentlest and most agreeable medicines; the oppression went off, the gout fell back into his knees and feet, and he is now out of danger.

[174] The Duke de Lude.

Adieu, my dear child! I still lead the same life, either in the suburbs, or with these good widows; sometimes here, sometimes eating chicken with Madame de Coulanges; but always pleased to think I am gliding down the stream with old Time, and hastening the happy moment when I shall see you again.