Chapter CXIV: Letter CIII: PARIS, Monday, January 10, 1689

We often stumble upon the same ideas, my dear child; even think that I wrote to you from the Rocks what you say in your last letter respecting time. I now consent that it should fly; the days have no longer any thing so dear and precious for me as I found them to contain when you were at the Hôtel de Carnavalet. I enjoyed, I made the most of every hour; I treasured it as a miser does his gold; but in absence, the case is different; time can not fly fast enough till the wished-for period arrives; we hurry it along, and would willingly dispose of all the intermediate space in favor of the days to which we aspire; it is a piece of tapestry which we are eager to finish; we are lavish of hours, and bestow them on any one. But I own that when I reflect on the point to which this profusion of hours and days leads me, I tremble. I am no longer certain of any, and reason presents me with the image of what I am certain to find in my way. My child, I will put an end to these reflections with you, and endeavor to turn them to my own advantage.

The Abbé Têtu is in an alarming way for want of sleep. The physicians would not answer for his intellects. He is sensible of his situation, which is an additional calamity: he is kept alive merely by opium: he seeks for diversion and amusement, and accordingly frequents public places. We want him to go to Versailles to see the King and Queen of England, and the Prince of Wales. Can there be a grander spectacle, or one more capable of affording the highest interest? It appears that the Prince of Orange favored the king’s flight. The king was sent to Exeter, where it was his intention to go; the front of his house was well guarded, and all the back doors left open. The prince was not inclined to sacrifice his father-in-law. He remains in London in the place of the king, without taking upon himself the title, being only desirous of restoring what he thinks the true religion, and supporting the laws of the country, without spilling a drop of blood: this is precisely the reverse of what we thought of him; we see him in a very different point of view. Our king, however, acts in a manner almost divine with respect to their Brittanic Majesties; for is it not being the representative of the Almighty to support a king banished, betrayed, and abandoned? The noble ambition of our sovereign is gratified by acting this part. He went to meet the queen, with all his household, and a hundred coaches and six. When he perceived the Prince of Wales’s carriage, he alighted and affectionately embraced him; he then ran to the queen, who was by this time alighted; he saluted her, talked with her some time, placed her at his right hand in his carriage, and presented the dauphin and monsieur to her, who were also in the carriage, and conducted her to St. Germain, where she found every thing prepared for her like a queen--all sorts of apparel, and a rich casket containing six thousand louis-d’ors. The King of England was expected the next day at St. Germain, where the king waited for him. He arrived late. His majesty went to the end of the guard-room to meet him; the King of England made an inclination as if to embrace his knees, but the king prevented him, and embraced him three or four times very cordially. They talked together in a low voice for nearly a quarter of an hour; the king presented the dauphin and monsieur to him, the princes of the blood, and Cardinal de Bonzi. He conducted him to the queen’s apartment, who could scarcely refrain from tears. After a conversation of a few minutes his majesty led them to the apartment of the Prince of Wales, where they again conversed for some time, and he then withdrew, not choosing to be attended back, saying to the king, “This is your house; when I come you will do the honors of it, and I will do the honors of mine when you come to Versailles.” The next day, which was yesterday, the dauphiness went there with all the court. I know not how they regulated the chairs, for they had those belonging to the Queen of Spain; and the Queen-mother of England was treated as a daughter of France: I shall hereafter send you these particulars. His majesty sent the King of England ten thousand louis-d’ors; the latter looks old and fatigued; the queen is thin, with fine black eyes swelled with weeping; a fine complexion, but rather pale; a large mouth, beautiful teeth, a fine figure, and a great share of sense; no wonder if with all these she pleases every one who beholds her. Here is matter for general conversation that will not soon be exhausted.

The poor chevalier can neither write nor go to Versailles, which grieves us sadly, as he has a thousand things to do there; but he is not ill: on Saturday he supped with Madame de Coulanges, Madame de Vauvineux, M. de Duras, and your son, at the lieutenant’s, where the healths of the first and second were drank, that is to say, Madame de la Fayette’s and yours, for you have yielded to the date of friendship. Yesterday Madame de Coulanges gave a very pretty supper to the gouty gentlemen, the Abbé de Marsillac, the Chevalier de Grignan, and M. de Lamoignon, whose nephritic complaints stood him in stead of the gout; his wife and the _divinities_ were admitted in consequence of colds which they are never without; I in consideration of the rheumatism I had twelve years ago, and Coulanges, for deserving to have the gout. There was no scarcity of conversation; the little man sung, and gave the Abbé de Marsillac great pleasure, which he expressed by his admiration, and by imitating the tones and manners, which reminded me so strongly of his father that I could not help being affected. Your son was at the Mesdemoiselles de Castelnau’s. There is a younger sister, very pretty and very agreeable, who is quite to your son’s taste, and he leaves the squint-eyed girl to Sanzei; he took a hautboy with him, and they danced till midnight. This society is very pleasant to the marquis, as he meets St. Hérem, Janin, Choiseul, and Ninon there; so that he is not in a foreign country. The chevalier does not seem to be in haste to marry him, nor does M. de Lamoignon seem very desirous of marrying his daughter. We can say nothing with respect to the marriage of M. de Mirepoix,[242] this is the work of M. de Montfort: people seem to be infatuated, or else their heads are turned, for they do not think as they used to do; in short, this man seems impelled by his destiny, and what can be done in such a case?

[242] Gaston John Baptist de Levis, Marquis de Mirepoix, married,
January 16, 1689, to Anne Charlotte Maria de Saint Nectaire,
daughter of Henry Francis, Duke de la Ferté, and of Mary Gabriel
Angelica de la Mothe Houdancourt.

M. de Lauzun is not gone back to England; he has an apartment at Versailles, and is perfectly satisfied; he has written to Mademoiselle to have the honor of seeing her, which has given her great offense. I have performed a master-piece; I have been to visit Madame de Ricouart, who is lately returned, very well pleased at being a widow. You have nothing to do but appoint me to complete your acknowledgments, like your romances, do you recollect? I thank the amiable Paulina for her letter; I am confident her person would please me; so she could then find no appellation for me but that of _madam_?[243] this is being very serious. Adieu, my dear child; preserve your health, in other words, your beauty, which I so much admire.

[243] It must have been observed that the Marquis de Grignan
followed this etiquette with his mother, which was the custom
among persons of high rank, and particularly in the southern
provinces, where the Roman laws gave fathers an absolute power
over their children, which inspired children with more respect
than love, and exacted the forms of submission, even in the
overflowings of the heart. Madame de Sévigné was averse to this
false dignity, the most gloomy mask that love can assume; and
it has been seen that she even laughed at her daughter, who, in
speaking of her grandfather, had written to her, _monsieur votre
père_. Every one knows the humorous speech of the great Condé,
before a man who affected to say Monsieur and Madame in speaking
of his relations: “Monsieur my groom, go and tell monsieur my
coachman, to put messieurs my horses to monsieur my coach.”