Chapter XXXII: Letter XXI: THE ROCKS, Wednesday, October, 7, 1671

You know I am always carried away by what I read, so that it is for the interest of those I converse with, that I should read none but the best books. I can think of nothing at present but M. Nicole’s Moral Reflections. His treatise on the means of preserving peace among men, delights me. I never met with any thing so truly practical, yet so full of fire and imagination. If you have not yet read it, I beg you will. If you have read it, read it again with additional attention. For my part, I think all mankind are included in it. I am persuaded it was made for me, and hope to profit by it; at least I shall endeavor to do so. You know I could never bear the old saying, “I am too old to mend;” I could much sooner pardon the young for saying, I am too young. Youth is in itself so amiable, that were the soul as perfect as the body, we could not forbear adoring it; but when youth is past, it is then we ought to think of improvements, and endeavor to supply the loss of personal charms by the graces and perfections of the mind. I have long made this the subject of meditation, and am determined to work every day at my mind, my soul, my heart, and my sentiments. I am full of this at present, and therefore fill my letter with it, having besides nothing of greater consequence to tell you.

I suppose you are at Lambesc, but I can not see you clearly from hence; there is a mist about my imagination that conceals you from my sight. I had formed an idea of Grignan, I saw your apartment, used to walk upon your terrace, and went to mass at your beautiful church. But now I am quite at a loss; I wait with great impatience for intelligence from your new quarters. I will write no more to-day, though I have a great deal of time upon my hands; for I have nothing but trifles to tell you, which would be an affront to the lady-lieutenant of a province, who is holding the States, and, consequently, has weighty affairs upon her hands. It may do well enough when you are in your little palace of Apollo. Our abbé and La Mousse are very much yours; and I, my dear child, need I tell you what I am, or what you are to me?