Chapter CII: Letter XCI: THE ROCKS, Sunday, February 21, 1685

Ah, my child! was ever any thing so ill-timed as the death of the King of England,[216] just at the eve of a masquerade? My poor little marquis[217] is very unfortunate to have such an unexpected event thrown in the way of his pleasure. I know nothing that can comfort him for this disappointment but the universal encomiums that have been given to his charming dress, and the hope that the masquerade is only put off for a time.

[216] Charles II., who died 16th February, 1685.

[217] Louis-Provence, Marquis de Grignan, Madame de Sévigné’s
grandson.

My dear child, I make you my compliments of condolence on these great occurrences, and expect yours in return upon my mistaken ideas; for I was at the masquerade, the opera, and the ball, snug in a corner, contemplating you with admiration; in short, I was in as great an agitation as you may suppose your poor mother to experience on such an occasion; and, after all, there was no entertainment of any kind.

I enter into your sentiments, my beautiful dear, better than any one. Yes, yes, I can very well conceive that we are transfused into our children, and, as you say, feel more keenly for them than for ourselves. I have sufficiently experienced these emotions, which are not without their pleasure when the object is deserving of them and of the admiration of every one besides. Your son pleases extremely; there is something inexpressibly smart and agreeable in his countenance; the eye does not pass lightly over him as over others in general, but rests attentively. Madame de la Fayette tells me she has written to Madame de Montespan that she had engaged her honor that you and your son would have reason to be satisfied with her. I know no one who would be more happy to serve you than Madame de la Fayette.

But is it not extraordinary that we have not yet had a word together on the death of the King of England? He was by no means an old man, and he was a monarch; this shows that death spares no one. It will be a great happiness if he was a Catholic in his heart, and died in the faith of our holy religion. England appears to me a theater that is about to furnish some very extraordinary scenes: the Prince of Orange, the Duke of Monmouth, an infinite number of Lutherans, and a confirmed aversion to all Catholics; but time will discover in what way Providence will direct the performance, after this tragical event;[218] however, it seems it will not put a stop to the diversion at Versailles, since I find you are to return there on Monday. You say a thousand kind things of the concern it would give you to leave me behind at Paris, if I were there, but as this, to my great regret, is not the case, make the most of this opportunity, follow the court: no one is formed to make a better figure there, and I think every thing seems to tend toward the completion of your wishes. Mine, though made at such a distance, are not less ardent and sincere than if I were with you. I feel, though less delicately, the truth of a remark you made to me one day, and which I then laughed at: that you were so much mistress of my imagination and my heart that I had you always present with me; this is very true, my child, but I must own I had rather enjoy a little more of reality.

[218] Charles II. was sixty-five years of age, and had reigned
about twenty-five years, reckoning from the restoration of the
Stuarts. He received the sacraments agreeably to the rites of
the Church of Rome, but more, it is said, in compliance with the
entreaties of his brother than the dictates of his conscience. He
had some good private qualities. But, as a prince, his character,
says the impartial Hume, was “dangerous to his subjects, and
dishonorable to himself.” To rid himself of his parliament, he
had placed himself in a state of disgraceful independence on
Louis XIV. It has been said of him that he never said a foolish
thing, and never did a wise one. Judging by the following
anecdote, he carried further even than policy required, the
practice of dissimulation, which would be, as it is declared,
the necessary virtue of kings, if it be true that weakness and
indolence are their natural vices. It is said that Charles II.
having reproached his minister Shaftesbury with being “the
greatest knave in the three kingdoms,” he replied, “Apparently
your majesty only includes subjects.”

Madame de Sévigné speaks of the state of England in the character
of a well-informed person. The rebellion of Monmouth and his
tragical end in the same year, and James II. dethroned and driven
out of the kingdom three years afterward by his son-in-law,
justified but too well her predictions.