Letters from MADAME LA MARQUISE DE SÉVIGNÉ
selected, translated, and introduced by VIOLET HAMMERSLEY (New York : HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, 1956)

TO MADAME LA COMTESSE DE GRIGNAN

(In answer to letters of 30 May and 2 June)

Les Rochers, Sunday 21 June [I67I].

At last, my dear, I breathe again. I heave a sigh like M. de la Souche, a weight is lifted from my heart, which allowed me no rest or respite. God is a witness how greatly I suffered when two weeks passed without a letter from you! It is not an affectation, but a deadly reality when I say that my life, in very truth, depends on your letters. I must confess to you that I was at the end of my tether. I was so distraught with anxiety lest you should be ill that I would have welcomed a letter from you to any other correspondent. Better to be forgotten by you than endure such torments . . . I found no comfort save in confiding my troubles to d'Hacqueville, who is so level-headed, and yet can understand better than anyone the immensity of my passion for you, whether because he shares it, or because he loves me so much, or a combination of the two I know not; certain it is that he enters into all my feelings, and this binds me to him with the closest ties . . . But guess what happened to these cherished letters I was waiting for so impatiently! They had been sent to Rennes because your brother was there. . . You can guess what a racket I made at the post. . .

You tell me how well you are looking. Am I to believe that I should be able to identify you in a crowd? You say you are not pale, not emaciated, not at your last gasp like Princesse Olympie, not sick unto death as I have been picturing you! How happy this makes me. God alone knows ! In His name then, enjoy yourself, look after yourself . . . let M. de Grignan help in the good work. As I told you, I am certain you are pregnant of a male child; this should encourage him and make him the more zealous. I am glad you can turn your mind to dress. Do you recollect how tired we grew of that old black mantle you wore? No doubt it was meritorious but scarcely attractive to the onlooker.

I fear you will find it difficult to lengthen your short skirts. This fashion has reached us here; the young ladies from Vitre, Mesdemoiselles de Croque-Oison and Kerborgne wear them just above the ankle. I adore these names and call la Plessis Mile Kerlouche. As for you, the Queen of Provence, you will set the fashion there, which rejoices me . . .I wanted to know what weather you were having in your Provence and how you were enduring the plague of bugs, but you have forestalled my curiosity. As for us it rains incessantly, and we find it useless to say: Rain, rain, go to Spain! as it indubitably comes back again! Our workmen are scattered. Pilois has gone home, and instead of addressing me at the foot of a tree, you must do so at my Preside or the Abbe's study, to whom I owe more than I can ever repay. We have much business on hand, and have not as yet made up our minds whether to face the Etats (the provincial Etats were assemblies attended by representatives of the clergy, the nobility and the commoners, which took place periodically by order of the King for the purpose of regulating the local administration of the province, raising funds, etc.), or to run away. The one certain thing, my best one, which you will readily believe, is that we do not forget our poor exile. Alas I she is too dear and precious for that. We talk of her frequently, but however much I may talk of her, I think of her the more, every day and all night, during my walks, and when I most appear to forget her; at every hour, and whatever subject crops up, when discoursing on other matters, and Anally, as I should think of Him were I but moved by the love of God to the exclusion of all else. All the more that ofttimes I do not mention your name, for one should guard against exaggeration and check it for the sake of good manners and diplomacy. I must remember my old teaching and avoid being ponderous. We read and are very studious here. La Mousse has begged that I should read Tasso with him. I am familiar with it, having been wellgrounded, and find it entertaining. His Latin and his good sense make him an apt pupil and my sound training makes me a good teacher. Your brother reads aloud to us various trifles and plays, which he recites like Moliere; also verses, tales, romances. He is most diverting, has a ready wit, and woe to us should we take anything he says seriously. He leaves us in a fortnight to do his military service, not I assure you without regret.... You who know Les Rochers can picture me here, but I am at a loss when I think of you. I conjure up a Provence, a house at Aix; I can also picture Grignan, but it is bare of trees, which I hate, and there are no grottoes in which to keep cool; I cannot imagine where you walk, and am sure the wind on the terraces will sweep you off your feet. If only it could carry you here on a whirlwind, I would open my windows wide to receive you, God knows!

Your daughter is charming; as yet she has not ventured to copy her mother's nose, neither has she . . . I will say no more! She has adopted another alternative and has a little square one. Are you not sorry? This time you must pass it over. Stare at yourself in the glass and that will ensure a happy end to the good work you have begun....

TO THE SAME

Les Rochers, 15 July [I67I].

...Mademoiselle du Plessis often graces us with her presence. Yesterday she was telling us how at her sister-in-law's wedding feast, twelve hundred roasted joints were consumed. This was such a tall order that we were turned to stone. Taking my courage in both hands I said: "Mademoiselle, reflect. Is it not twelve roasted joints you mean? Surely you are making an error! " "No, Madame, twelve hundred, or at least eleven hundred—I cannot affirm whether it is eleven or twelve for fear of committing myself, but I can assure you it is one or the other! " This she repeated at least twenty times, not conceding as much as a chicken. We suggested there must have been three hundred cooks present to offer such a bill of fare, and it must have required a great meadow spread with tents, and we think that if really there were only hfty persons to partake of the feast they must have started a month ahead. All this banter would have amused you.

TO THE SAME

Paris, Wednesday 30 March [I672].

...You may also like to hear that Keroual's lucky star has followed her. The King of England is enamoured of her, and as she shews a slight inclination not to hate him the result is that she 15 eight months gone with child; strange indeed! La Castelmaine is out of favour, and that is how things are done in that Kingdom over the sea. Since we are gossiping I will reveal to you, with M. de Grignan's permission, that the young son of F...and the Chevalier de Lorraine (I dare not be more explicit) is being brought up, pell mell and all above board, with Mme d'Armagnac's children; and when the Chevalier returned great play was made of family likenesses which the Chevalier confirmed, and thereupon took such a liking to the boy that they no longer made any secret of his origin. Madame d'Armagnac will continue to lavish her kindness on him in the name of the Chevalier de Lorraine. How tedious for you if you have already heard this scandal. Adhemar is much better placed than I to recount all the tittle tattles, and I can safely leave it in his hands.

TO THE SAME

Paris, Wednesday 29 July [1676].

Here's a change of scene, my dear, which will appeal to you as much as to the rest of the world. I went with the Villars's to Versailles on Saturday. You know the usual court procedure, the Queen's robing, Mass followed by dinner, but it is no longer imperative to stifle whilst Their Majesties are at table, for at three o'clock the magnificent royal suite is thrown open and the King and Queen, MONSIEUR, MADAME and MADEMOISELLE, the princes and princesses, Madame de Montespan and her suite, the courtiers and their ladies, indeed the entire French Court assemble there. The apartments are sumptuously furnished and as there is no crowd to speak of one does not feel the heat unduly, and the guests move from room to room without being crushed to death. A game of reversi sets the tone for the evening. The King stands behind Mme de Montespan who holds the cards; MONSIEUR, the Queen and Mme de Soubise also take part; Dangeau and Co.; Langlee and Co.; a thousand louis are flung on the table, no other counters being used. I watched Dangeau play and realised what innocents we all were compared with him. He is absorbed in the game to the exclusion of all else; he neglects nothing which can be turned to his own advantage, in a word his good judgement overrides the vagaries of fortune, and two hundred thousand francs in ten days, a hundred thousand ecus in a month all go on the credit side of his ledger. He drew me into partnership with him, so I was admirably placed. As you instructed me to do, I bowed to the King who bowed back as if I were young and lovely. The Queen talked at length of my illness and cure as if I had lately been through the pangs of childbirth. She also spoke to me of you. M. le Duc lavished his usual meaningless caresses on me . . . Mme de Montespan spoke to me of Bourbon and asked me to tell her about Vichy, and the benefit I had derived from it, saying that far from curing her knee Bourbon had given her a pain in both. She holds herself as straight as a ramrod, in the words of Marechale de la Meilleraye, but quite seriously, I find her beauty dazzling; she has lost weight, but this has in no way impaired her complexion, eyes, or lips. Her dress was of French point lace, her head adorned with hundreds of little curls, the two longest hanging down on each side of her face, and a black ribbon threaded through the hair. She wore pearls, the property of Mme la Marechale de l'Hopital, enriched with curls and festoons of priceless diamonds, as well as three or four bodkins and no coif; in a word beauty triumphant. She was the cynosure of all eyes, sought out by ambassadors, the admiration of the whole assembly. She has met with criticism on the grounds that she deprived the French people of their King and sovereign; now she has graciously handed him back, and you can scarcely believe what rejoicings there are, nor what beauty and sparkle this has lent to the court. This agreeable confusion, this order in disorder among these great and distinguished persons prevails from three to six of the clock. When a courier is announced the King retires to read his letters, returns anon and is always ready to listen to any music being played, which makes a favourable impression. He discourses with the ladies who are specially chosen as recipients for this honour. At six o'clock the players rise from the gaming table, and nothing is easier than to settle accounts, neither markers nor counters being used. The lowest stakes (poles) range from Eve, six, or seven hundred louis, rising to ten or twelve hundred. Each player lays down twenty-five to start with as an ante, making a hundred for the table, and the dealer an additional ten. The holder of the knave of hearts (quinola) receives four louis from the other players who pass, and should the pool remain unclaimed sixteen are added to induce careful play. Everyone talks without drawing breath, and no one stops to consider what they are talking about. " How many hearts did you say ? two ? three ? one ? no four: he has only three. And Dangeau is delighted to take advantage of the idle chatter in order to decide on his tactics; it is engrossing to watch the skill he displays . . . At six the company move off and are shown to their carriages, the King takes his seat with Mme de Montespan at his side, MONSIEUR, Madame de Thianges and the good d'Heudicourt on the back seat. You know how these caleches are made; they do not sit facing each other, but all look the same way. The Queen rides in another with the Princesses, followed by a crowd manccuvring for places as best they can. Later on the guests are rowed in gondolas on the canal to the strains of music, returning about ten, when a play is staged, and at the stroke of midnight mediaroche is served; thus Saturday draws to its close . . .

Pray tell the Archbishop what the President says on the subject of my health. I showed my hands and knees to Langeron in order that he should report to you. I am using a kind of ointment which I am told will cure me, this will absolve me from the horrid necessity of bathing in bullock's blood, at any rate until after the dog days. It is you, and you alone, my daughter, who can cure me of all my ills . . .

TO MADAME DE GRIGNAN

Les Rochers, Sunday 26 November [1684].

. . . Let us start by discussing you and your concerns. To me it is scarcely credible that when you were conversing with the King you got so confused, so rattled, that you well nigh took leave of your senses and could only stand and gape at your sovereign. I can scarcely credit that my beloved child, usually so self-possessed and resourceful, should be reduced to such a plight. From what you told me that His Majesty said about wishing to benefit M. de Grignan I did not think this merely implied that his huge expenditure in Provence would be taken into account. By the King's answer I took him to mean: " What you are asking is little enough—my intention is to do something more." . . .

Madame de La Fayette says you looked beautiful as an angel at Versailles, that you were received by the King, and it is thought you pleaded that your husband might be granted a pension. But if questioned, I intend replying quite casually that you were drawing His Majesty's attention to your excessive commitments in Provence.

Our dear Bienbon has contracted one of his heavy colds, and is shut away in his small alcove where he is much better off than in Paris. As for my daughter-in-law she has taken all the Capuchins' most violent remedies . . . which appear to have left her quite unmoved. When it is fine weather, as it has been these last three days, I start at two o'clock and walk quanto và; I pass and repass the woodmen sawing wood with a will and looking to the life like classical effigies of winter, and when I have basked once more in the last rays of the setting sun I go back to my room, and leave tougher, coarser-grained folk to enjoy the dusk since, having become a timid damsel at your dictation, I have adopted these sedentary habits. The Coulanges armchair, the books my son reads aloud to perfection, a modicum of conversation—these will constitute my in-all and by-all through the winter, to your entire satisfaction be it said, since in so doing I am following your prescriptions to the letter . . . We have read many volumes in folio in the course of the last twelve days, Nicole, The Lives of the Fathers of the Desert, The English Reformation: if one is fortunate enough to fancy this kind of diversion one can never be dull.