litude of this place with the blaze and bustle that surrounds them. She was charmed at the jesting manner in which I had saved the trouble of receiving these visitors. We both vowed to each other, at table, to yield no more to the expense of giving treats. She brought five or six persons with her. I had some neighbours, who went out with their dogs and guns for me; and now I have shut the temple of Janus. I think that is not badly applied; your Carthages * put me in mind of it.

Montgobert informs me that you are stronger than you were, and confirms what you say to me about your health. She mentions your feasts and entertainments, and seems to be quite gay. Never was your mansion more brilliant than at present; but I fancy I should be at a loss to find a place to sup in, at this time of the year; there is none that I know of, but Rochecourbière, the terrace, and the meadow. I remember to have lived luxuriously there, particularly with those exquisite ortolans, whose fat I was as fond of, as you were of the orange-flowers at Hieres, We are not incommoded here by the heat; the rain you suppose prevents us from making our hay, which is no small mortification to

us.

A young man came to visit me the other day, who is the son of a gentleman of Anjou, with whom I was formerly intimately acquainted. At his entrance I beheld a fine, graceful, handsome figure, which struck me with pleasure; but, alas! as soon as he opened his mouth, he laughed at every word he spoke, which made me almost ready to cry. He has a smattering of Paris and the opera; he sings; is familiar and airy; and repeats with great gravity, “Quand on n'a point ce qu'on

* That is, your buildings.

aime, qu'importe, qu' importe à quel prix? (To obtain what we do not love, what price is too great?) instead of To obtain what we love, which you know are the words of the opera*. I recommend this charming alteration to M. de Grignan, to set it to music.

I have had the letter of the clergy to the king sent to me; it is a curious piece; it would do you good to see how prettily they threaten his holiness. In my opinion they could not have devised a more certain method to make the pope † change the pacific intentions, which he seems to have adopted in his letter to cardinal d'Etrées, whom he invites to come to Rome and settle every thing by his spirit of moderation. If his holiness sees this letter of the clergy, he may possibly alter his tone. The coadjutor's name immediately struck me among the rest; but, I must say, not with so much pleasure, as when I heard his speech to the king extolled, as perfectly elegant and well delivered.

I feel that my son stands in need of patience; he has found under the canopy certain species of misfortunes, that are calculated to cure human vanity: perfidy and deceit are of the number; in a word, every thing that can make him wish for a cruel one, as madame de Coulanges says. I wish this may not be productive of more than one ill effect. He is gone, and, to complete all, M. de la Trousse had intended to petition that his place might be secured to Bouligneux, to whom he is about to marry his daughter. You will easily judge, that this is entirely overturning your poor brother; for how can he pretend to keep his place under

*The words of the opera are: Quand on obtient ce qu'on aime, qu'importe, qu'importe à quel prix ?

+ Innocent XI.

A particular allusion used between the mother and daughter, and to be found in the former volumes of these Letters.

such circumstances? and yet how can he resign, when by so doing he will deprive himself of all chance of promotion? We shall see whether La Trousse cannot afford us some less ungenerous chance of extricating ourselves from a labyrinth, into which we have been led by him. I need not tell you how greatly this real cause of being dissatisfied with his situation has increased the desire your brother had to get rid of his place, even before there was any cause.

If Providence delights in order, and order is no other than the will of God, there must be many things contrary to his will. The persecutions against St. Athanasius, and other orthodox divines, and the calm prosperity of tyrants, are all contrary to order, and consequently to the will of God: therefore, with leave of father Malebranche*, would it not be as well to confine ourselves to what St. Augustin says, that God permits all things that come to pass, that he may derive glory from them to himself, by ways unknown to man? St. Augustin acknowledges no rule or order but the will of God, and if we do not follow his doctrine, we shall have the mortification of finding, that, as scarcely any thing in this world is agreeable to order, every thing must pass contrary to his will who made all things; which, in my mind, is a shocking supposition. But now we are talking of order, my dear, let me tell you something that I have done perfectly in order; I have had two admirable Brandebourgs made for the rain †, one at the end of the long walk by the side of the mall, and the other at the end of the Infinite. There is a little roof to each of

* Father Malebranche says, that "all that is done in nature is done from the nature of order."

See Letter, June 21.

The name madame de Sévigné had given to one of the long walks in her gardens at the Rocks,

them, on the inside of which I have had clouds painted, and a verse that I met with the other day in the Pastor Fido,

Di nimbi il cielo s'oscura indaruo *.

If you do not think this pretty, and prettily applied, I shall be quite vexed. Be so good as to find out another verse for me on the same subject, for the end of the Infinite.

Madame de Rarai is dead. She was a good woman, and one to whom I was attached. I condole with the mesdemoiselles de Grignan on the occasion, provided they do the same by me. This will occasion a slight mourning in the family, which will be of great service to me at Rennes. That little journey will not in the least break in upon our correspondence.

Adieu, my ever dear and lovely child! you are pleased with my faggots, and here you have enough of them. He who orders breakfast at seven in the morning, ought to command a good appetite also. Why may I not hope to find you, by your care, in better health than I left you? it seems to me, in this case, as if I could never repay you the obligation I should owe you, and that you might always be as well as you please.

* In vain the sky obscures itself in clouds.

LETTER DCLIII.

TO THE SAME.

The Rocks, Saturday, August 4, 1680.

You induce me to write long letters, by assuring me, that when I do so, and you find them above your strength, you prudently leave the answering them to a person of a less delicate constitution than yourself. However, as it sometimes happens that I want materials, Iconjure you, be they long or short, to recline on your little bed, and chat with me in that situation, that my imagination may be spared the pain of supposing you are inconvenienced by writing. I have an idea that you must love me with greater affection when stretched hus supinely at your ease: this at least is my fancy. I have so great a regard for your repose, that I would willingly persuade those who have the ordering of your diet, to remove the necessity of your rising early, and' overheating yourself; for pleasures should not become toils, nor should sportsmen regulate the life of women by their own appetites or inclinations. I like your idea much better, to make every one master of his own time, place, and crust. If I had as noble a house, and as good society within it, as you have, I would imitate you in that respect. The gormandising planet still reigns in this country in spite of me. I have already complained' of it to you. We are so continually at it, and so much in the style of our forefathers, that the expense is in

tolerable.

The princess de Tarente took me with her the other day to see a very handsome woman of Vitré; it was at her own invitation. I mention this, lest you should take me for an intruder. She has a pretty little country