Chapter LXXXIX: Letter LXXVIII: PARIS, Friday, March 15, 1680

I am much afraid we shall lose M. de la Rochefoucault. His fever still continues. He received the sacrament yesterday. The tranquillity of his mind is really worthy of admiration. He has settled all affairs of conscience, and his disorder and the prospect of approaching dissolution give him no concern; you would think it was his neighbor at the point of death. He hears the physicians dispute without being the least affected by it, and the contentions of the Englishman and Friar Ange, without saying a word. I return to this verse:

Trop au-dessus de lui, pour y prêter l’esprit.[177]

[177] Too superior to himself to pay any attention to it.

He would not see Madame de la Fayette yesterday, on account of her tears, and because he was to receive the sacrament; but he sent about noon to know how she was. Believe me, my child, he has not passed his life in making useless reflections: he has rendered death so familiar that the prospect is neither new nor terrific to him. M. de Marsillac arrived the day before yesterday, at midnight, so overwhelmed with grief, that I do not think even you could feel more for me. It was a long time before he could compose himself; at length he came in, when he found M. de Rochefoucault sitting in his chair, with an air very little different from that he usually wore. As M. de Marsillac is the only one of his children who may be said to enjoy his friendship, it was thought he would be himself affected at seeing him; but of this, however, there was not the smallest appearance, and he even did not name his illness to him. His son, unable to contain himself any longer, withdrew to give vent to his grief; when, after a great deal of altercation, Gourville being against, and Langlade for the Englishman, each of them supported by different parties in the family, and the two Esculapian chiefs keeping up all the warmth of their natural animosity, M. de Marsillac decided in favor of the Englishman; and yesterday, at four in the afternoon, M. de la Rochefoucault took his medicines, and at eight repeated them again. As there is no getting admittance at present, it is difficult to learn the truth; however, I have been told that after having been last night within an instant of giving up the ghost through the struggle between the medicine and the gouty humor, he had so considerable an evacuation that though the fever has not yet abated, there is reason to hope for a favorable issue. I am convinced in my own mind that he will recover, though M. de Marsillac does not yet venture to admit a ray of hope. I can compare him, in his affections and grief, to no one but yourself, my dear child, who can not bear the thoughts of my death. You may well believe that I shall not give him M. de Grignan’s letter at present: it shall go, however, with those that may come afterward; for I am convinced, with Langlade, from whom I learned all I tell you, that the remedy given will complete the cure.

I want to know how you are, after your journey to Marseilles; I must chide M. de Grignan for taking you with him; I can not approve of such useless jaunts. Must not you also show Toulon, Hieres, Saint Baume, Saint Maximin, and the Fountain of Vaucluse, to the Mademoiselles de Grignan?

I am almost constantly with Madame de la Fayette, who must be totally insensible to the charms of friendship, and the affections of the heart, were she less afflicted than she is. I close this packet at her house, at nine in the evening; she has read your little note; for, in spite of her fears, she has hope enough to be able to read it. M. de la Rochefoucault is still the same; his legs begin to swell, which the Englishman does not like; he seems certain, however, that his medicines will have the desired effect. If this be true, I shall admire the great humanity of the physician in not tearing him piecemeal, for this will be the ruin of them all; to take the fever out of their hands, is to take the bread out of their mouths. Du Chêne is very easy about the matter, but all the others are stark mad.