Chapter CLXX: Letter V: THE ROCKS, January 8, 1690

What a melancholy date, my amiable cousin, compared with yours! It suits a recluse like me, and that of Rome suits one whose fate is to wander uncontrolled, and “who stalks his idleness from one end of the world to the other.” What a happy life! and how mildly has Fortune treated you, as you say, notwithstanding her quarrel with you! Always beloved, always esteemed, always carrying joy and pleasure along with you, always the favorite of, and fascinated with, some friend of consequence--a duke, a prince, or a pope (for I will add the holy father by way of novelty); always in good health, never at the charge of any one, no business, no ambition; but, above all, the advantage of not growing old! This is the height of felicity. You doubt, sometimes, whether you are not advancing, by certain calculations of time and years; but old age is still at a distance. You do not approach it with horror, as some persons I could name. This is reserved for your neighbor, and you have not even the fears that are usually felt at seeing a fire in your neighborhood. In short, after mature reflection, I pronounce you the happiest man in the world. This last journey to Rome is, in my opinion, the most delightful adventure that could have happened to you, with an adorable embassador (the Duke de Chaulnes), on a noble and grand occasion, and a visit to the beautiful mistress of the world, whom, having once seen, we are always longing to see again. I very much like the verses you have made on her. She can not be too highly celebrated. I am sure my daughter will approve them. They are well written and poetical; we sing them. I am delighted with what you tell me of Paulina, whom you saw at Grignan in your way. I have judged most favorably of her from your praises, and the unaffected letter you wrote to Madame de Chaulnes, which she has sent to me. Oh, how much I should like to take a journey to Rome, as you propose! but then it must be with the face and air I had many years ago, and not with those I now have. A woman, particularly, should not move her old bones except to be embassadress. I believe that Madame de Coulanges, though still young, is of the same opinion; but in my youth I should have been in raptures with such an adventure. It is not the same with you. Every thing becomes you. Enjoy, then, your privilege, and the jealousy you excite to know who shall be favored with you. I will not waste my time in arguing with you on the present state of affairs. All the duke’s prosperities have given me real joy. You fear precisely what all his friends apprehend, that, being the only one who can fill the place he holds with equal success and reputation, he will be kept in it too long. This apartment in your new palace creates new alarms; but let us do better. Let us not anticipate evils; rather let us hope that every thing will happen as we wish, and that we shall all meet again at Paris. I was delighted with your remembrance, your letter, and your songs. Write to me whenever it is agreeable and convenient. I take the liberty of sending this by the embassadress; and I do more, my dear cousin, for under her protection I take the liberty of embracing my dear governor of Brittany, and his excellency the embassador, with real affection, and without offense to respect. These high dignities do not intimidate me. I am sure he still loves me. God bless him and bring him back again. These are my wishes for the new year. Adieu, my dear cousin; I embrace you. Continue to love me. I wish it--it is my whim, and to love you more than you love me. But you are very amiable, and I must not place myself on a par with you.