be

thinking I am to pass my winter in Britany: I was once very near doing so; but after all, here I am, my loved child, here I am, to my great satisfaction.

LETTER DCLXXVIH.

TO THE SAME.

Paris, Friday, All-Saints day, 1680.

I HAVE just informed madame de Coulanges that I am out of countenance at being in Paris at this season of the year, having never been seen at such a feast before; if the coadjutor * can relish this wretched pun, it is at his service. Madame de Coulanges informs me she has received so entertaining a letter from you, that she should never be tired of reading it; and you have the assurance to write me word, by the very same post, that your style is as flat and insipid as the lady's who wrote to M. de Coulanges in my letter. You deserve to be heartily scolded when you talk in this manner.

If you would have me speak to you without disguise, and agreeably to the dictates of sound reason, M. de Grignan ought to make you set out, without waiting till he has finished the ceremony of receiving M. de Vendôme; this delay will carry you far into the month of January, the thought of which is insupportable. M. de Vendôme stays at every place; he will be more than a week at Orleans, he will spend five or six days in hunting with the archbishop of Lyons; so you see that staying to receive him, conducting him to Aix, and bringing him back with you again, will take up a great deal of time; and it will be paying very little attention to your health or safety, thus to delay your journey. This is what my anxiety to every thing that respects

* The coadjutor was fond of playing upon words.

your comfort and welfare prompts me to write to you:" I wish this piece of advice may prove as unnecessary, and come as unseasonably, as most of those things do," that pass between persons at such a distance as we are from each other; and that, when this letter arrives, you may already have fixed the day of your departure, as your letter expresses. Your apprehension, that I should pass the winter in Britany, found me snug in Paris.

After embracing you most cordially, my dear count, in spite of your infidelities, I must tell you, that the above is addressed to you; your affection ought to inspire you with the same anxiety, the same apprehensions, as those which actuate me.

It is said madame de Schomberg is going to leave us, and take up her residence in the fauxbourg St. Germain. It is really very amusing, to see the preparations that are made for the observance of the new league of amity between this lady and madame de la Fayette. The abbé Têtu maintains, that this intimacy will put madame de Coulanges out of all patience; and he is still so much her admirer, as to be delighted with the idea. Brancas is almost wild about it, and talks of madame de Schomberg, as if she were still at the hotel de Rambouillet. If madame de Coulanges should avenge herself on them all, by contracting a friendship and intimacy with you, it would have the most whimsical effect imaginable for my part, I shall take great care of what I have already obtained, as a reward for my past services. Corbinelli and I are both of opinion that nothing is wanting in these preparations but friendship itself. Adieu, my dearest child! it grows late. I have been overwhelmed with visits. You always laugh at my foresight; but I cannot bear to drive things off to the last moment.

:

LETTER DCLXXIX.

TO THE SAME.

Paris, Wednesday, November 6, 1680. I STILL advise you, my child, to set out as soon as possible; for if you stay till M. de Grignan has discharged all his duties, you must lay aside all thoughts of coming this winter. I should think his regard for you would not suffer him to expose you to the cold weather and bad roads: at least, such conduct would be unaccountable to me. You were certainly born never to taste a moment's repose or pleasure, since I find you passing so lightly over your stay in Paris, to dwell upon your return to Grignan. I believe few persons, except you, would perplex themselves with such thoughts amidst the hurry of a removal. For my part, my dear child, I cannot imagine what should make you think of leaving Paris; when once you are here, you will be lodged as comfortably as you can desire; your lease will be renewed for four years, your expences regulated; and if you, that is, M. de Grignan, should wish to avoid the very extraordinary ones you have long incurred, this is the only place in the world where you may take breath. As for Aix, it is a bottomless pit for money. I fancy that by this time you are somewhat cured of your Grignan economy, where you were to live for little or nothing; for it was nothing, it seems, nothing at all, to have four or five tables, to keep open house, and furnish entertainment for man and horse; a thing that no one in the world now thinks of doing: in short, say what you please, that famous caravansera of yours appears to me to teem with ruin; this concourse of people seems to me like the flood which carries all

before it. In short, my child, I dare not think of this vortex; Paris will prove your resting-place: stay here at least till you have confronted your expences, and can look your return in the face; but first let me see you here; that is the chief object of my wishes.

Mademoiselle de Meri has found apartments to her mind; she will have all the time she can desire to settle herself; nothing need hurry her: she sees plainly that I am much better pleased to have her here, while she can remain here, than to have farther to go for her. It was to bring her to a determination, that I wrote to you; for when people are irresolute, they can do nothing they wish. She is much better than she was; she can now talk herself, and hear others talk; we have a good deal of chat together every evening. Ah, my dear child, how easy is it for any one to live with me! how far will a little complaisance and sociability, or even the appearance of confidence, lead me! I believe no one in the world is more readily pleased in domestic life than myself. I wish you could only witness how smoothly every thing goes on, when my cousin chooses it should do so. She hinted to me the other day, that she had heard, in general terms, of my son's misfortune, and that she should very much like to know further particulars. I was not displeased at this curiosity, and therefore gave her a full account of the whole affair, besides relating other anecdotes, that I thought might be amusing to her. This is what I call living together as we should do: but when we cannot say any thing but what is answered rudely; when we endeavour to behave in the civilest manner possible, and yet nothing will please; when every subject we mention is heard with sullen silence, and the most well-known circumstances are concealed under an air of mystery; when facts are treated as falsehoods and calumnies, and distrust, ill-nature, and even aversion,

is manifested in every word, and every look; I must

confess, such conduct vexes me to the heart, and I cannot help resenting it. I cannot accustom myself to these rough roads; and if it were only on account of having brought you into the world, a more gentle manner might be expected. And yet, my dear child, I have often experienced this disagreeable and unkind treatment: I should not mention it to you, but that, to my great satisfaction, the case is altered. If this change does but last, it will give me very great joy; yes, I repeat it, very great joy: you may believe me when I speak thus, for it is not often that I do so. This has not been a reconciliation, but a gradual restoration to health, by means of kind and unreserved conversations, and not of the nature of those that used to take place, as between persons who were strangers to each other. In short, I am quite satisfied; indeed a very little will satisfy me; and, upon occasion, I can consider a suspension of ill treatment as a mark of friendship. By what I have said, you may judge how pleased I should be, if civility, good nature, a show of confidence, an intercourse of familiar chat, and all the little attentions that should be maintained between persons who know what life is, could once more be established between her and me through your means. I perceive there is a settled coolness and indifference be tween M. de la Garde and you, by his affecting never to visit you when you are alone; and by his inviting every one of your family to his house except yourself: I am very much mortified at this misunderstanding, after your having been upon such pleasant and friendly terms: but we will reserve this subject for another opportunity.

I have just received your letter of the 30th of October; I have nothing farther to say, than that I am