ENTERTAINMENTS OF THE COURS: OR, ACADEMICAL CONVERSATIONS.

Held upon the Cours at Paris, by a Cabal of the Principal Wits of that Court.

Compiled by that eminent and now celebrated Author, Monsieur de Marmet[?], Lord of Valcroissant.

And Rendered into English by Thomas Saintserf, Gent.

LONDON, Printed by T. C. and are to be sold at the three Pigeons in St. Paul's Church-yard, 1658.[?]

ENTERTIENMENTS of the COVRS at PARIS

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE JAMES, Marquess of Montrose[?], Earl of Kincairn, and Lord Mugdock.

My Lord,

THe World will per­ceive how hasty I am to throw my self at your Lordships feet by this poor Dedication: for rather than bring no Offering, I have fetcht a small Present from [Page] France to pass through England to arrive at the happiness of your Lordships Patronage. I confess my Author inscrib'd it, To the Wits; and I do so too in sending it to Your Lordship; whose large Soul is so brimful of knowledge, that the measure is admired when compared with Your years. But our thoughts are answerd as soon as we remember that immortal Hero, Your glorious Father; whose Spirit was so emminent for Speculation and Practice, that his Camp was an Aca­demy, admirably replenished with Discourses of the best [Page] and deepest Sciences; whose several Parts were strongly held up, (under Him the Head) by those knowing Noble Souls, the Earls of Kinoul and Airly, the Lords Gourdon, Ogilvy, Naper, and Maderty, and the two famous Spottswoods, (Sir Robert, and his Nephew) whose learned heads were too precious to be cut off by them who knew not how to under­stand them. This I am bold to mention, because such Noble Discourses banisht from his Quarters all obscene and scur­rilous language, with all those offensive satyrical Reflections, [Page] (which now are the only cur­rent Wit among us) and if any such peep'd forth in his pre­sence, his severe looks told the speaker it was unwelcome. Nor did this proceed from a narrow­nesse in his heart, being (to all who knew him) one of the most Munificent, as well as Magni­ficent Personages, in the world: which too well appear'd, when Cities after Victories tender'd large sums to be freed from the present incumbrance of his Army; He satisfied their de­sires, but refused their Moneys, still saying, that he could not at once have their Hearts and their [Page] Purses; his work was to vindi­cate his Masters rights, and re­store them to their wonted happi­nesse. Nay, his unexpressibly malicious Enemies found that his Mercy transcended their Malice, when those brave Per­sons (after Quarter given) were butcher'd at St. Andrew's, he refusd to retaliate on the Pri­soners in his power, saying, their Barbarity was to Him no example; and if the meanest Cor­poral in his Army should give Quarter to their General, it should be strictly and religiously observd. And after all, when command­ed to lay down Arms, (though [Page] he then saw it destructive to his Master) he in meer Passive obe­dience submitted, as soon as he obtained Indemnity for them who ingaged with him without paying one farthing Composition, nobly suffering himself to be banished, which (be it recorded to all Posterity) was put in ex­ecution at the Haven of Mon­trose, the Third day of Septem­ber, a day which twice since hath been registred in bloud, at Dunbar, and at Worcester.

[All this might seem Flatte­ry to your Lordship, (from me who had the honour of em­ployment under his Command, [Page] both at home and abroad) if it were not known to the world for Truth; since the Soul of the Great MONTROSE lives eminently in His SON: which began early to shew its vigour, when your Lordship (then not full twelve years old) After the battell of Kilseioh. was close Prisoner in Edinbo­rough-Castle, from whence you nobly refus'd to be exchanged, lest you cost your great Father the benefit of a Prisoner, where­in He gladly met Your Reso­lution, Both so conspiring to this glorious Action, that nei­ther out-did the other, though all the world besides.

[May both Your Names still live to fill Chronicles, where­of we dare not doubt, since your hopeful alliance by your in­comparable Lady to the illu­strious Family of the renowned DOUGLASSES; for whose Honour here, and Feli­city hereafter, may Your Lord­ship accept the Duty, and God hear the Prayers of

My Lord, Your Lordships most obedient and most devoted humble Servant,
THOMAS SAINTSERF.

A short Table of the Subjects handled in this Book.

1. HE maintains the honour of Ladies
page 4.
2. Of the Country
p. 8.
3. Of Sympathy
p. 10.
4. Of Habits, or Habitudes in all their parts
p. 13.
5. Of Quarrels, and Duels
p. 25.
6. Of the Palm, and the Laurel
p. 33.
7. Of Glory, the sole reward of Cham­pions, and Conquerers
p. 35.
8. Of Sea-sickness
p. 42.
9. Of the Turks maxim
p. 47.
10. Of Clemency
p. 52.
11. The Relation of a Comedy of the Days Reign of Semiramis
p. 61
12. An Invertive against an able Poet
p. 76.
13. For the Country
p. 85.
14. Of Eloquence, and the delicate parts thereof
p. 83.
15. An Apology for Monsieur de Bal­zac
p. 94.
16. of the distinction of Wits
p. 100.
17. Of Metoposcopy
p. 118.
18. Of the infallibility of the Horo­scopes
p. 120.
19. Whence comes the folly of learned men
p. 127.
20. Whether the World be Eternal or no
p. 131.
21. Of Academies, and the diffe­rences thereof
p. 138.
22. Of the posture men ought to be in at Court
p. 151.
23 Of Balls and Masques
p. 177

I Humbly desire my worthy Readers, out of their indui­gence to my necessary absence from the Press, and the Correctors praeteritions, to mend these following errors (which as they are many, so are they, I hope, the grossest in the Book) by reading Anthonomasies for Anchonomasies, page 21. as indifferent, for an indifferent, p. 24. no where, for no more, p. 31. Cacozelous, for Carozelous, p. 34. Of the Preface, and of the Work, Intrigo, for Intrique.

Intrigo, for Intrique, Page 2. Cleomica, for Cleomia, p. 6. his time, for time, p 9. Intrigos, for Intriques, p. 9. reiterated, for re­siterated, p. 12. any, for my, p. 15. all Councel, for all the Councel, p. 28. nicenes, for nicens, p. 29. my modesty, for mo­desty, p. 32. in some kind, for in some sort, p. 39. Universe, for Divers, p. 40. Helm, Helmet, p. 44. Top-Mast, for Top, p. 44. Insolvent, for Insolvable, p. 45. gold, for good, p. 52. a Barba­rian, for Barbarians, p. 54. vertue, for vertues, p. 57. sufficient, for sufficiently. p. 57. in assiduity, for his assiduity, p. 60. Se­miramis, for Smn ramis, p. 73. as, for at, p. 66. Intrigo, for In­trique, p. 66. then it would, for the it would, p. 67. reduc't, for deduc't, p. 70. in the Communions, for in Communions, p. 70. those, for these, p. 72. a most, for most a, p. 77. Philoxcnes, for Philonenes, p. 78. Mines, for Mimes, p. 78. his talent, for this talent, p. 81. Nominizing, for Nounnizing, p. 83. affectations, for affections, p. 84. That is, for That in, p. 86. Clarity, for Charity, p. 89. I would not have refused the Challenge, for I would Challenge, p. 100. blinded, for beblinded, p. 101. we are to hold, for we held, p. 103. pass, for post, p. 104. and that a person, for a person, p. 105. and open a gap, for and a gap, p. 105. to himself in history, for to his in history, p. 105. act not, for are not, p. 105. a man is of, for a man of, p. 109. a brisk, for and brisk, p. 107. skatteringly, for skanningly, p. 113. the Climats, for of the Climats, p. 114. Cellules, for Cellutes, p. 119. perfectly, for perfectively, p. 121. they spu'd, for they said, p. 126. his glory, for for his glory, 132. Omnipotent, for Omnitent, p. 132. by the whole, for and by the whole, p. 143. this Academy, for the Academy, p. 146. but that it, for that but that it, p. 147. knew, for know, p. 155. in his own, sor in own p. 156. they have caught, for they caught p. 163. as we [Page] live, for as he lives, p. 168. to God, for God, p. 168. near a forc't, for a forc't, p. 172. have but ordinary, for have ordi­nary, p. 174. taillery, for caillery, p. 176. there were, for thed are, p. 180. upon the same, for so upon the same, p. 193. con­clusion, for copulusion, p. 192. of this, for of their, p. 192. being tyed, for were tyed, p. 193. a bowl-dish, for the bowl-dish, p. 193. shave an egg, for shame an egg-shell, p. 194. attended, for attend, p. 196. with no, for with, p. 203.

ENTERTAINMENTS OF THE COURS: OR, ACADEMICAL CONVERSATIONS.

THAT IS, A Miscellanie of Civil, Philosophi­cal, Physical, Metaphysical, Astrological, Historical, and Politick Discourses; held upon the Cours at Paris, by a Cabal of the Principal Wits of that Court.

Compiled and set forth by that eminent and now celebrated Author, Monsieur de Marmet, Lord of Valeroissant.

And Translated into English by THOMAS SAINTSERE, Gentleman.

LONDON, Printed by T. C. for Humphrey Robinson, at the three Pigeons in St. Paul's Church-yard, 1658.

THE AUTHOR TO THE WITS.

I Forbear to dedicate my Book to great Persons, who ordinarily take as little notice of such works as are addressed to them, as they do of the Authors thereof; and who make but small reckoning of such like Presents; not for that they are not worthy of them; but because they are now adays too much perse­cuted by them, and in regard also that they are often either above their understanding, or disagreeing from [Page] their Genius. For my part, I prefer Wit before Birth, and Knowledge before Dignity: and consequently, I had rather direct my works to intel­ligent and ordinary persons, who will take pleasure to read them, and of whom I can revenge my self, if they requite my labour with contempt or detraction.

The conversation of these Walks, (which was not composed for every body, & which I offer you) is publisht for no other end then to make your protection (which you must not re­fuse it) triumph with the greater pomp and splendor, and to exalt the force of your reason, and the vigor of your wit above the lownesse of its value, by the favour of your patro­nage. I produce it not because the contagious fancy of writing where­with mens spirits are now a days [Page] infected, hath siezed upon me, and made me fond of being reputed and cried up for an Author; for I am not tickled with that ambition, nor have I any other motive to make me fall into this disease, but to be favoured with your remedy. If my Work were without blemish, and more happy then the rest of these times are, which dayly pass the censure of the Criticks, I would present it you only for the goodness thereof, to profit you, and divert you from more serious cogi­tations in your vacant moments. But in regard that in all Ages there was never any great man who escapt the rigor of censure, and who hath not been in some kinde obscured in History: I have reason to procure it as many Patrons and Readers as I can, and such also as may be as zealous for my reputation, as they [Page] are necessary for my weakness: Besides that indeed, the bonour I bear you, obliges me to do it, as much as the advantage I expect from your prote­ction: For were you to combate none but mean persons, both in judgement and condition, your victory would be more prejudicial then glorious: But now all the Grandees of the Kingdom are as much in love with Minerva, as they were wont to be with Mars; and are as good at the Pen, as they are at the Sword: So that by sustain­ing my cause, you will be constrained (if I be reproved) to oppose the di­versity of their opinions who produce most admirable and sublime conceits; and I shall be the object of the quaint­ness of your wits; the vigor and sub­tility whereof will (I hope) [...] as victoriously forth against a multitude of illustrious and competent Judges, [Page] as against the Cabal of pertinatious and fastidious Criticks. I have recourse therefore to you, both for your interest and mine, in confidence of your civility and sufficiency, if you read (as I hope you will) this Letter I send you: For ingenious and prudent men read a book from the beginning; but fools and dunses conceive that the Liminary Epistles of all Books are alike, and have not the curiosity to look upon the soul of an Author; however it be that indeed, by which he discovers what he is, rather then by all the elegancy and substance of his writings: And though the number of them who make books be infinite, and their wits but very indifferent, yet do they write very differently, and by different motions: For, some do it for their own satis­faction; others, for that of the pub­lique; [Page] some again, for profit and subsistance; and most of them all, by a motion of vanity, and desire of re­putation. These last hold themselves to be accomplisht wits, and think it to be the property of sublime intelli­gences, to communicate and divulge themselves, thereby to receive the re­flexion, and procure a testimony that they live with some credit in mens minds; as if forsooth, the reputation of a true man of honour were to be­come a Book, and be exposed to the humor of every Cock-brain'd Sot, who will despise and deride it, when he ought to cherish and esteem it. As for me, Readers, none of these motives, but a better design obliged me to Pen this Conversation; as the love and delight of my Neighbour in the first place, and in regard that a well regulated affection begins alwaies at [Page] home, I did it both to benefit and divert my self with these reflexions. Now the better to illuminate, and in­form you of my subject, know, that I give you in these Entertainments, a Man of Honour, or a Compleat Man, Incognito, and so much dis­guised, that my self who masked him, have much a do to know him. It is but a Fragment and relick of the in­structions which I gave my Son; and if you will vouch safe to make some deliberation upon these little dis­courses which I have drawn from thence, (and which make no unplea­sant medly) you will find it to be a perfect model to form a True man of Honour, and that the use and application thereof will not be wholly unfruitful. But, fearing least I should fall short of such Authors as have gone before me, both in the production [Page] and dispensation of so necessary a doctrine, as that which treats of a Man of Honour; I decline the waies wherein they walkt, by huddling up things and matters in an agreeable confusion; and the better to delight you with a handsome variety, I for­bear to present you with raw, rough, and indigested Precepts, as I did my Son; however it be also true that I followed some kinde of order in the documents I gave him, and that to instruct him with the better judge­ment, and facilitate his advantage, I coucht them with regularity, and drest them with good language, and not with such gibbridge as I now offer them to you. I can easily shew you how to observe both this order, and the instructions I gave my Son; the Principal whereof was to call upon God in all his actions; to wor­ship [Page] his Oracles in the mouths of his Anointed, (who are the gifts of Heaven;) to reverence and submit to the Mysteries of Faith; and not to scoff at Divine things, as Atheists and Libertines do. I can (I say) make you touch with your finger all such other documents of gallantry, both in Court and Camp, as are any way important and necessary to form a Man of Honour, by directing you in the Margent to the most essential Precepts thereof: But you will not have so little curiosity and prudence as to pass through this Walk without observing the rarities; nor will you be so much obstructed with Rheum, but that you will be able to smell the Roses which are in it, yea and pluck some of them too. You will perad­venture finde it strange, that I cele­brate not mine own praises, nor those [Page] of my book, according to the custome of some Wits of the Times: but, besides that you know that it is un­handsome for any man so to do: Of two important and remarkable Pre­cepts of antiquity, (the one to know ones self, and the other to make ones self known by speaking,) I prefer the bumility of the former; (where as others serve themselves of the va­nity of the latter, to publish their pride;) and to make a right use of the latter, I always consider well both what I say, and what I do: For as on the one side I should be loth to have men say that my writings are full of vanity; that I am a fool; or that all my Rules are false; so am I no less glad on the other, to have ull the falsity fall to the Criticks share, (if they make anill judgement of me) rather then one verity against [Page] this opinion should be found, either in my tongue or Pen; and especially in the latter, if I should chance to be so weak, as to be taken tripping in the former: For I am not of the humor of the greatest part of writers, who not hoping to attain an advan­tagious judgement of their works, presume to forge Apologiesfor them­selves, and put them into their Pre­faces, and (like silly and ill-favor'd women, who kiss the Pensil which flatters them) either beg or hire some good pen to write in their behalf, without considering that the honour redounds to the Author, and not to them; according to those great Artists of antiquity, who wishing that all the reputation of their work might be ascribed to their ability, employed the best of their capacity, and the ex­cellency of their Art upon the weakest [Page] and meanest subjects, to make it the more estimable and famous to Poste­rity. Nor am I of the humor of them who finding none to praise them so much as they desire, endeavour to blind the world, by audaciously bor­rowing the names of their friends, to set forth the imaginary elegancies of their writings, and the qualities which they fancy themselves to pos­sess: And I vow to you Readers, that I cannot but blush for shame when I read such Epistles of this kind, as are directed to you; nor do I feed my fancy as they do, who often lye beyond pro­bability, and are as well satisfied therewith, as Lovers are when they have dreamt that they have lain with their Mistresseses, though there be no such matter: For as these men enjoy their Loves but in conceit; so those take Bristol-stones for fine [Page] Diamonds; and the first and rough draught, for the perfection of a Picture; insomuch as that they forfeit the ornaments of Eloquence, by seeking them with so much vio­lence; for since Nature is against them, it is in vain for them to labour to purchase the unperceivable address of Art. Some who conceive themselves to be the greatest Masters of this Pro­fession, and who think they have found the secret of well writing, and of pleasing the whole world, are prone to gull and flatter themselves with the opinion that they are the sove­reign Judges of Parnassus, (though without right or reason;) & so become the Adorers and Panegyrists of their own productions; but they tire out Rhetorick to no purpose, and unsuc­cesfully extend themselves, together with the secrets of the Art, upon the [Page] praises they pretend to have acquir'd, though the noise of their writings (which is heard by none but them­selves) be no greater then that which they would make by scrunching of a piece of Pye-crust; and they ground their reputation upon the fine Apo­logies they make for themselves, as being sure enough that no body else would undertake to praise them: And indeed they have reason to do so, since it is necessary for dubious and impro­bable things to be thus supported; whereas on the other side, such as are certain, need no other prop then that which they have from themselves, and from the truth of their own essence. Therefore the certainty of this so just and well-grounded discourse, keeps me far enough from ascribing any esteem to what I do; because fame is better confin'd to [Page] fower words of value, from an im­partial and judicious person, then to the amplest and most elaborate Pane­gyricks, the most confirmative Elo­gies, and the most authentical atte­stations, which have but the least supposition or savour of complacency and self-love: For these things are always unfaithful to them who trust in them, unless they be sustained by the testimony of others, and by the support of truth; without which two props all reputations must needs be dissipated and adulterated; they be­ing to them as the Oak to the Ivy, to hold them up. One only suspetion (though ill grounded) abates the value of the noblest things; and that is pride, the least itch whereof is always fatal, if too much stirred. But men will tell me that all gallant persons are infected with ambition; that reputation is a ticklish thing; [Page] and that the love of Eloquence, which gives this passion of honour to Ora­tors, is very charming and desirable; I grant it: But who is he, that effe­ctively enjoys that Goddess, as he conceives he does? And who is he that as truly, and perfectly possesses, as he easily fancies he doth, that tou­ching beauty, whose sweet and potent Empire reigns with sovereignty, over Rational Souls; and whose charms are so attractive, that the most bar­barous spirit cannot resist them? He who were able to govern her peace­fully alone, might call himselfe happy, and worthy of great honour, for his ambition would be fully satis­fied, and his reputation advantagi­ously establisht. But we must have Diogenes's Lanthorn to find him, and cry aloud with the Oblivious, Where is he? For I know but few Writers in France who can pretend [Page] to this advantage, and it may be there are not many more; I mean Monsieur de Scudery, and Monsieur de Balzac, (both famous for their merits and their Divine Writings) and some others of their Class; who have indeed all right to this pretention, and deservedly wear the Lawrel for their praeheminencie therein: But it would be to no purpose to nominate them all particulary; for their works have illu­strated their names, with such resplen­dent attributes, and titles (which are called in Rhetorick Anchonomasies) that they are easie enough to be known. Greece hath ever abounded with fair Women; witness Queen Helen, whose beauty, so much cele­brated by antiquity, and so much admir'd by all the world in History, set all the Orient on fire, by the de­struction of one City: But let Homer [Page] sing as much as he pleases of the ex­cellency of this beauty, by the revo­lutions of her effects, and do what he can, to make us admire and adore her; for my part, I say still, that there came a much rarer miracle of perfection out of his Country, then she; I mean Eloquence, which hath kindled love and fire in all the Nati­ons upon earth, and which merited at least, as well as his Helen, a History for her heauty; where as yet, we have but some pictures, of the tender and lively passions, of the great Ma­sters thereof. This Grecian Girle, or this Heavenly Girle, (incom­parably more charming then King Priams Daughter-in-Law) which captivates the most determinate, and most resolute spirits, and inspires them with a certain kind of love, which understands reason, and guides it self by it: This fair Girle, I say, [Page] came to dwell, and set up an Academy at Parnassus, where she had a world of Courtiers, and Suitors: But not being satisfied with these alone, she went to travel up and down the world, and endeavour'd to spread her Original, upon all the tongues which had her Copie: For the ancient Latins, who passionately loved for­reign beauties (as their successors still do) stay'd her, as she past through Rome, and became her Amorous Ido­laters; and indeed, by their cares and services, they received great favors, and most secret carresses from her: But she being of an in­constant and light humor, and fond of variety, after she had once cloy'd her self with them, bid them farewell, and went on to see, and be seen, in the rest of the world. Wherefore it is not for any of our Frenchmen to think that they have gotten the vir­ginity [Page] of this fair Lady of pleasure, howbeit some flatterers have endea­voured to chowce, and fool them with that opinion, and have served them, as those women use to do, who sell their Wenches Maidenheads a hun­dred times over: For, if they have any smack of good learning (as I think they have) and any skill in Languages, they know well enough, (against the sentence of a famous Author, who says, That it is im­possible for an old Woman to be handsome) that Eloquence is a handsome, and old Curtizan, which hath as much of the Sensitive Soul, as of the Rational; that all the world hath had to do with her, and that never any body enjoy'd her alone; that Caefar carried her into the Camp; that Cicero ushered her throughout the whole Roman Empire; and that before these, Isocrates, with [Page] his swavity; Demosthenes, with his vehemency, and many other Au­thors carried her all over Greece. So that these Gallants ought not to conceive themselves, to have found the Bean in the Cake, and swagger, and crack, of an imaginary good fortune. For my part, I go a quite contrary way to work, being far from this presumprion, and instead of praising my self, I intreat you my Readers, to excuse the faults, which you shall find in my Books; I mean, as well those, which may be directly imputed to me, as those of the Corre­ctors of the Press; in regard I have freely and absolutely committed the Copy to their disposal, in case my friends at Court (who are some of those famous, and quaint Wits, which composed the Academy, and were the delights of the greatest man that ever was) should approve, and [Page] like of it. But fearing least all the faults you may find in them, should leave some ill impression upon you, (as poyson doth when we have toucht it) and to banish the bad opinion you may retain of them otherwise (without taking notice of these petty foppe­ries) I conjure you, to break the bone, when you have pickt it, take out the Marrow, and make your profit of such matters as will divert you. I caused this first Edition to be Printed in a small volume, for your conveni­ency; to the end that making it your Pocket-Companion, you might re­create your selves with it, either in Coach or Chair, and chiefly in Walks, because it hath Entertainments for its Design; and the Cours, for its Scaene: And I also will'd it to be done, without the embellishment of great Letters, and Flourishes; to the end that the vogue, and value of [Page] the Work, might be due to nothing but its own goodness, and merit (if it have any) without the help of su­perficial dress, and ornament. I presume not to make you any great present, in the Form; nor expect any thanks from you, for the Matter, because I appear Anonymous, and disguised to the world, as being clad in paper: But to let you see, that I thank you for your Complement, and for your praise, (without receiving either the one, or the other) I have oppugn'd the desire of some Courtiers of new Books, and laught at them, for that they would not only have me qualifie this Work with my Name, but make my self yet more ridiculous, by putting my picture also in it; in order to which, you shall see how prettily they went to work with me; for, some of them told me, that I must get my self drawn in Iron, because I [Page] had born Arms, and shewed my self in the Field; others, that since I was now grown a Gown-man, and a Counsellor, I should do well to be drawn in a long Gown, with a Book in my hand, and a Bonnet upon the table, and consequently insert my Letters of Doctorate, and my recep­tion into Parlament. But one of my friends (who is a notable Crack indeed) went farther, and shew'd me, that the quality of an Author (which I had) was to be preferred before all that, and that I ought to cause my self to be engraven in brass, in the Frontispiece of my Booke, mantled with certain unknown Cha­racters, (which might be taken for Prophesies) crown'd with Lawrel, like a Roman Emperor, or with Vervain, like Lucians Demy-gods, and barb'd, and caparrison'd stark naked, like an Hero; (That is, to [Page] put a Half-Corslet, and a Coat of Armor upon my bare body) and that if my Book were carried to the Nor­thern Countreys, my Picture would take cold in its arms, as having them naked a hands-breadth above the elbow, and that the winds (which are so violent in those parts) would blow off my Crown from my head. Thus (said this wag) must an Author be set out in his Works: But I think, he either jeer'd the Pro­fession, or me, in regard he well knew, that I was not of the Class, of those illustrious Authors, who are worthy to be shewn in their Books; and it is enough for men to laugh at my Writings, without laughing at my face. In effect, what benefit is it to the Publick, to know the Authors of Books? For they ought but to draw either profit or pleasure from such Books as are good, and give [Page] them the value and price they de­serve, provided they be able to com­prehend them. Suppose this Book merited any esteem, and could pur­chase me any honour for having com­posed it, to what purpose would it be, to declare my name, to such as know me not, and are never likely to see me? Certainly this knowledge would be useless to them, and but a kind of visionary vanity to me; in regard that names do only note, and signifie things plainly, and give no knowledge of them (because they do not represent them effectively) even though we see them, unless we knew them before. As for such as know me, I cannot teach them my Name, because they know it already; and it would be to no purpose likewise, to tell them, that this Book is mine, because that, by knowing me, they also know the strength, and drift of [Page] my wit, and capacity: And if my Work fall into the misfortune of many other, to be disparaged, and taken for a foppery, should not I be a very dolt, to publish my self for the Author? And had I not better hide my self, (like Apelles) behind the Curtain, and rejoyce alone, if they who know not the Author, give it their favourable vote, and appro­bation? Or to disown it to my ac­quaintance, as a bastard put upon me to Father, if they find it to be simple, disgustful, or deformed? For what is it to any body, if Marmet Valcro­issant the Elder, or any other who­soever, fumbled up these Entertain­ments together? And what need any one care to know, either by my name, or by my Book, whether I be a Citizen of Paris, or of Apt in Provence? Whether I be a Courtier of ten years standing, or live three hundred miles [Page] from Court? Whether I have true politeness, and elegancy of speech; and that character, which the An­cients called Urbanity? or whe­ther I affect new Terms, Phrases, and the Style A la mode? Whether I have acquir'd the propriety of lan­guage of my self, or whether I learnt it of my Nurse? And in fine, whether I be fain to study long, to utter my thoughts, or whether the air of my Birth, or Nature, have inspir'd me with a good faculty, and form of writing? All this, my Readers, is an indifferent to you, as it is useless to the whole world; and let the Work and the Workman be what they will, it is sufficient to esteem them, as they deserve. That false opinion, that it is necessary to be at the Court, to write, or speak well, (which you will find refuted in some part of this Treatise) and which had [Page] not the good luck to be started our Age, (because Antiquity thought, that the purity, and politeness of speech could be no more but at Rome:) This opi­nion, I say, would be disadvanta­gious to me, if I discovered my name, and men would impose some original sin of Provence upon my Style, by praeoccupation of Spirit; as they heretofore found fault, with the ex­cellent Works of those famous Ora­tors of Lyons, and as they reproacht even Titus-Livins himself, that his Style retain'd the tincture of the Paduan Tongue; and this for no other reason, but because they knew well enough, that those illustrious persons wrote not at Rome. Thus you see, that the Name of an Author is sometimes prejudicial to him, in his Book; and it is better for him, to have men judge of him by his Work, then of his Work by opinion: [Page] For so many Verses, and so many Prefaces in his behalf, so many Ad­vertisements to the Reader, so many Dedicatory Epistles to great Persons, and so many Apologies in form of Prologue, are of small account to such as read a Book for the Subjects sake; and they are also very hurtful to the Author, because the greatest part of these persons, read not these things at all, and are content to speak ill of a Book howsoever; and so the Author makes himself a laughing­stock, by arrogating to himself a false glory. My self past once through the trial of these dangers; and I confess, my modesty was never so neer shipwrack, as at that time; for though I were far from comply­ing toward its loss, and from so much as consenting to its deviation; yet could I heartily wish, that I were able to repeal my Name, and the [Page] flatterous praises, which men were pleased to bestow upon me. But Printed Books are like thrown stones, and irrevocable acts; and nothing but time can suppress them, how bad soever they be: Nor have I the va­nity to think, that this which I now put forth, will last long, or that it is either one of the best, or even of the ordinary sort of Works: And if it were capable of sense, how much would it grieve, to see it self negle­cted, forsaken, and despised, by the Booksellers, and in good Libraries, amongst so many other, which are as so many noble Pictures, and magni­ficent Temples of Eloquence, and which the quaint, and learned Wits cherish, and carry always about them, as their constant and grateful Com­panions! Certainly, it would not forbear to weep for sorrow and shame, as the figure of Solomon [Page] heretofore did, (which Constantine the Great caused to be set up in St. Sophies Church) for rage and spight, and shed tears with admira­ble artifice, to see that holy Temple, so rich in Ornaments, so stately in matter, and so marvailous in stru­cture, out-strip his. In like manner do I believe, with shame enough, that I have not been able to arive to that Character of Eloquence, which our famous French Orators have attaind; and this Present which I make you, is neither to take pride in my cheer­fulness, nor discover my dulness: For I do out of humility, (submitting my self to your correction) that which so many others have done for want of knowledge and judgement; and that homage which I render in publick, proceeds from the esteem I have of all the world; and not from the mis­cognizance of my self. But I take [Page] all the care I can, to avoid the en­gaging my self insensibly, in the slippery way of the Court, where Idiots and Novices suffer themselves to fall, and who are infected with cajolery; and I might be justly chidden for vain-glory, if I did as some Courtiers do, who stand making of Congees, and Cringes, to be sa­luted, and who spinning out their Complements, beyond measure, or exception, cast themselves into con­tempt and scorn, by speaking of themselves, thereby to be answered, and praised: and therefore to escape the suspition of being vain, I forbear this humiliation, and baseness; though yet I should seem to hunt after repu­tation, by vilipending my self, I will not speak of my self at all, either good or evill, as not meriting (per­adventure) either blame, or praise: And as the former shall not move me [Page] to indignation, if men say, I am not a good Author; so shall not the latter to pride; for neither of these passions shall disturb the peace of my Soul: So that, resolving neither to trouble my self, nor thank any body, what­soever men say to my advantage, shall be very welcome to me; but knowing my self so well as I do, it shall not perswade me. I understand the difference which the Schools put, between Philosophers, and Sophists, and it is no easie matter, to make me take a Paradox, for an Article of Faith: I am able to distinguish glittering Armour, from Armour of Proof, and I know, that the former is better for shew, then for service. Since the famous Relicts of Anti­quity present us with Panegyricks for Nero, and with Apologies for Buzirus, and that in times of old, People adored Beasts; I cannot en­dure [Page] to be deified by Elogies; and consequently, though the Eloquence of a friend should have all the art, and address of those ancient Decla­mators, (who would needs make a Quartan Ague pass for a Goddess, and Poverty for a Good) yet would it no more move me, then the blame men may cast upon my Writings, which hurts me not at all, however it looks, at the beginning of this Discourse, as if I would formalize a little, and as if I vow'd revenge: For, I am in my Carreere, and I find my self obliged to go on, even though I perish: And as people said, that the design of my Convesation of importance, which treats of dying well, after having lived ill, was too serious, and austere, for a man of my profession; that I ought to have kept it within the rules of Morality, without touching upon devotion; [Page] and that to invite the world to read it, I had done well to handle those so dilucid truths, and so necessary meditations in a Romantick way; and embellish so grave, and solid a Matter, with rich, and gay Orna­ments of Language: As they did (I say) glose, and comment thus upon that; so let them also say as they please, that my Entertainments are not brisk, and gallant enough, to be held upon the Cours by Courti­ers, and that some of the Subjects thereof are too serious, and Schola­stick: Let them say, that I had done well, to have used a better, and more exact dispensation, both in the Method, and in the Discourse, and that I should have omitted some matters therein: Let them reproach me, that my Style is neither good, nor well digested, and that it is languid, and Carozelous, as well as [Page] strong, and elevated: Let them accuse me, that my Language is not pure, nor my terms expressive; that my judgement is not well fortified, nor my spirit much inlightned to write well: Let them twit me, with the imitation of good Authors, and with the borrowing of conceits from the Ancients: And in fine, let such as are of a Critical Palate say as much as hath been written, by so many good and famous pens in this last Age; all this (my Readers) shall be indifferent to me; howbeit, according to custom, and Ceremony, I have desired your protection, against the Criticks: Yea, though not only the Country Gentlemen, (who are but subalternative Judges) but even the very whole Court it self (which Judges soverainly, and soverainly well of these things) should condemn my Writings, it should not at all [Page] trouble me, yea, and it should touch me as little, as if the world had not talkt of it at all: For in a word, I care not; and I am as well content, that you should despise, as value my Works, and that you should not read them, as read them; for it is not my design to gather pride, but vertue, from my Books, and to live like a Man of Honour. Farewell.

ENTERTAINMENTS OF THE COURS AT PARIS: AND Academical Discourses.
The first Walk.

HOld Coachman, hold! cry'd the Marquesse de Bon air, passing one day in his Coach at the entrance of the Cours, by that of the Baron d' Ai­guefueil, (in which was the Count de Rioumayon, a Counsellor of Parliament, Monsieur Hydaspe, Colonel of Horse, and Angelin the Philosopher) and looking [Page 2] upon the Company, said, Your Servant Gentlemen; have you any room for mein your Coach? I am weary of being alone in mine own. This charming Baron, who is the Center of all men of vertue, either for their inclination, or his court­ship, and whose curious and sublime spirit makes a noble acceptance, and a just choice of Geniuses, had pickt out these Gallants as the cream of his electi­ons, and after having treated them that day, carried them to the Cours, where entring (as aforesaid) to satisfie his own duty, and the Marquesses request, he answered, Come my Lord, we will find room for you; we are ravisht to meet you, and here is no body, but will most willingly squeeze himself for your sake. Upon this the Colonel whispered him in the ear, saying, Let him alone, he is never better accompanied, then by his own phancies; for doubtlesse, he is now plotting some journey, some new fashion, some intrique, or some combat. I cannot handsomely refuse him, replied the Baron; I must answer his desire with some civility; and to make him a cold complement, would be to slight his merit and acquaintance, and abuse my own duty. Then leaning halfe out of the [Page 3] Coach, he bid one of the Pages open the Boot; which the Marquesse perceiving, came out of his, and some complements past between him and the Baron, about placing him in the body of the Coach, which the Baron prest upon him, as both honour and conveniency required.

The Marquesse being set, and the Coach going on, the Baron askt him, My Lord, whither were you going so soli­tary, and pensive? You are a great Courtier of Ladies, and certainly you were not alone, without some design: I swear to you, my Lord, (said the Mar­quesse) I am wholly disengaged; for I have taken my leave of Cajollery, and hate those Prattleboxes like the plague; and setting that aversion aside, I have an in­differency for all such objects, as move any passion; and I came from home, with­out knowing whither to go; for when my Coachman askt me whither he should carry me? Even whither thou wilt, said I; all parts of Paris are alike to me, and never did I more freely trust my self in thy hands, then this evening. Certainly, my Lord, (said the Count de Rioumayon) your Coachman must needs be guided by the good spirit which governs you, and hath some secret intelligence with [Page 4] your fair passion, since he hath brought you unawares, to the place where your inclinations are. Look, there goes her Coach; you know whom I mean, and you know better then any body else, the truth of what is said thereof at Court.

Go, you are a wag, said the Marquess! What? Will you submit your thoughts 1. He main­tains the honour of Ladies. to calumnious reports; and suffer your judgement, to accomplish the ruine, of a Lady of honour? Indeed, if it be true, that those things which present them­selves to our eyes, make more impression upon our mindes then Reason, and that we are more dispos'd to prefer detra­ction, and slander, before the true rela­tion, of such vertues as are found in a person; I confess, it looks as if I were dispenst with, for speaking advantagi­ously, of the merit of her whom you now hinted; in regard that she gives so clear arguments, to entertain you upon the misfortune, which is befaln her in my behalf: But I should think my self a Traytor to so many Vertues as she hath, if I let you not know, that she possesses them without spot, and without defect, and that, after having vanquisht those Monsters which might stir rebellion in her Soul, she hath made them slaves, to her good nature.

The satisfaction of our own Consci­ences, is the soveraign remedy of discon­tentment of mind, and the true testi­mony to justifie our actions: It were a baseness, to saint upon report only; for whilst the calm is coming, the storm ceases; and when we have innocency for our shield, the sharpest shots of ca­lumny prove dull, and ineffective. This is the reason, why this Lady hath never much troubled her felf, at whatsoever the whole Court hath said concerning our frequentation; and howbeit some ill interpreters might censure her of im­pudence, for shewing so little shame thereof; yet are the most setled judge­ments sufficiently perswaded to the contrary, and the most cleer-sighted eyes explicate (to her advantage) that her constancy, and stability, are the justifi­cations of her innocence, and that good intentions never make any account at all, of the noises of detraction: Guilt is never without a character; we may read the fear of punishment, in the faces of offenders; and though their inward remorse be indeed no great affliction to the body, yet doth it torment, and con­found the mind, with horrible thoughts, and dreams, which plainly appear after­wards [Page 6] in their eyes, and express, that the contempt of vertue hath caused an insur­rection of Passions.

He who violated and murthred Cleomia, had strange visions after her death: Apollo­dorus his dream, that he was flead by the Scythians, was a visible punishment of the treason he had secretly committed: Deuxis, for having falsely boasted, that he had enjoyed a certain Roman Lady, had never afterwards, the heart to come into her company, and testified, by the shame of his flight, the falsity, both of his supposition, and of his slander.

Now if these Heros, who had invincible spirits, had yet the pictures of shame, fear, and terror, exprest upon their faces; how, I pray you, can it be possible, for a woman, whose sex is no lesse bashful then frail, to have the confidence to appear at the Cours, and shew her face, after having blemisht her honour, and espe­cially being publisht? As there are diffe­rent Lovers, so are there different Loves; and although that sympathy, which is (peradventure) between us, may have produc't some frequentation, and that frequentation some little kindnesse, yet neither have her desires, nor mine, tran­scended the bounds, of an agreeable, and innocent conversation.

He would have gone on, but the Coun­sellor interrupted him, saying, I am sorry, that the confusion, and rumbling of the Coaches, makes me lose one half of those fine things which my Lord Marquess hath uttered, and that instead of satisfaction, I receive trouble from his discourse. It is true indeed (said the Count de Riou­mayon) we can hardly hear one another speak here; and if we stay, we shall lose all the pleasure of our walk, which con­sists chiefly in conversation. I think so too, said the Baron; and therefore let us withdraw our selves out of the croud, where the best divertisement we can have, is but to see the going up and down of Coaches, and such persons in them as are indifferent to us, and where we shall also be deprived, of the charms, and sweetnesse of your entertainments. Shall we go out, and walk in some place apart, where we may have more quiet, and more conveniency, to entertain our selves? They all agreed; and the Baron having commanded a Page to bid the Coachman drive off from the Cours, and carry them gently, to some private walk by the River side; Our Philosopher (said the Marquess) is highly pleased with this humor; for he is so much in [Page 8] love with the Country, and solitude, that he is out of his center, when he is not in his Country-house.

It is true (said Angelin) that I am ex­treamly taken with the Country, and 2. Of the Country. that I find all my delights there; but you shall never hear me say, that I am in my Element there, though I enjoy the sweets of my solitude, according to my wish; for this term, is followed by a tempta­tion of vanity, to which I am not sub­ject, and I content my self, with the in­nocent use, of those pleasures it gives me, without staining them with vain­glory. According to the example of an ancient Grecian, it hath been counted the Paradise of the Learned, and the Ele­ment of good wits; but as our sight is shortned, and hath its distance bounded by the objects which limit it, so do persons of an ordinary soul, find but their equal proportion of contentment, in the em­ployments of the Country; whereas the most sublime ones have matter enough, to set the strong imagination they have of good things on work, as not being di­ftracted, either by the embarasments of the world, or by the serious divertise­ments which men receive in the Towns.

Aristotle's Master said, that his friends [Page 9] were his importuners, and the theeves of time. Now if he, being a Philosopher, and living as such, were importuned by his friends, and they were a burthen to him; how would you have a man, who is always in company, to settle himself upon an assiduous study, or upon weighty re­flexions? And how is it possible for him to do any thing perfectly, amongst inter­ruptions? For there is much difference, between the Active, and the Contemplative life; and the later of these, is much more nice, and delicate, then the former; and therefore no wonder, if the ancient Phi­losophers succeeded better in their Science, then they of later Ages; and if the old Anchorits found felicity, and the chief degree of perfection, in the life which they led in the Desarts, which was purely speculative, and where there was nothing to divert them from the medi­tation, of the most secret, and high my­steries. And without this quiet; how is it possible to live, in the incumbrances, and instability, of the things of this world; amongst the juglings, and cheateries of the Court; amongst the intriques, and praevarications in affairs; amongst the ambitions, and dangers of war; and in fine, amongst the haunts, [Page 10] and conversations of women? Great persons never see truth, but through the casement of flattery: Treachery and courtships, are vails for mortal enmities: Interest breeds strife: Partiality makes evil Unions; and all Conversations, in fine, are now corrupted; and therefore happy is he, who can say, Like a fugitive, have I absented my self, from the cursed commerce of men, and have kept my self in the repose of solitude, because I never found any elsewhere, and for that I have seen much malice, and perpetual contentions amongst them.

You speak here (said Hydaspe) of 5. Of sym­pathy. certain evils which are met with in the world; but you are careful enough, for your own inclinations sake, not to touch a whit upon the pleasures, and charms of the Court. I pray Sir, (said the Coun­sellor to Hydaspe) do not interrupt him; he both cuts, and condemns himself, in his own words; for he said just now, that he would not grant solitude to be his Element, and yet we see, with what heat he speaks, and how that passion which over-rules him, transports him, and sinks him into the matter, in favour of what he loves. You shall give me leave to tell him (said Hydaspe) that all [Page 11] the fine things of the Country are dead, and dumb, and so by consequence, can give no perfect pleasure to witty persons, and that when they are seen the second time, they afford no satisfaction at all; and tell me, Sir, I pray you, (said he to the Philosopher) without speaking of the various divertisements we have at Court, or in the Towns, can there be in the most stately houses, and in the most beautiful places of the Country, any employments, or entertainments, comparable to those charms which we receive, in the conver­sation of Lad es?

The Philosopher was going to speak; but the Baron answered; Our going out of the Cours interrupted my Lord Marquess just now, upon this fine subject of the conversation of Ladies; for he had indeed, begun a very handsome discourse in their behalf, or at least, in his own defence, when my Lord of Riou­mayon dalli'd with him, about his good fortunes.

These Gentlemen (said the Marquesse) think that as soon as a man hath any frequentation, or a little habit with a Lady, all kind of liberty is infallible, and the conquest inevitable; but they are much mistaken, upon these false opinions; [Page 12] and howbeit that sex makes shew of weaknesse, yet is it stronger, and makes more resistance then we think. As for what concerns my self, I have already protested to you, that however the ac­quaintance, and sympathy, which I may have with that Lady whose Coach we met upon the Cours, hath given me her frequentation, and that frequentation hath produc'd some kindness; yet have I never had any particular conversation with her, but always an innocent, and indifferent affection.

I believe as much, said the Baron, with his ordinary swavity, and complacency, who (though he comprize in himself all the eloquence and subtilty of the Court, and all the depth, and height of the Aca­demies, and be able to nourish his mind with his own aliments) would needs not­withstanding, win that of the Marquesse, and taste the thoughts thereof, by en­gaging him upon some handsome sub­ject. I doubt not of it, said he, to comply with his discourse, and I believe, that the long habits you have had with that Lady, have produc'd that inclination which you call sympathy, and that those habits, according to their force and power, have, by resiterated acts, form'd that [Page 13] reciprocal affection, and passion, which you have for one another.

When you say, that habit forms sym­pathy, (said the Count) you understand it not according to the large extent of its significations, but to explicate it, and restrain it, according to the terms of Courtiers, who interpret it to be an often-repeated frequentation, and con­versation, and conceive that frequen­tation may ingender sympathy; which, for my part, I cannot avow, however some gloss of argument, and captious subtility may be brought for it, to gull the mind, but not to give it rational sa­tisfaction.

There is no great difference, said An­gelin, (seeing these Gentlemen engaged in 4 Of ha­bitudes in all their parts. a fair field, and disposed to enter into these matters) between frequentation, and habit; and frequentation is as able to beget sympathy, as habit, construe it how you please; All they can differ in, is, that the former acts, when it is often neer a subject, and in a particular place; and the later looks upon all things in gene­ral, and the application of the means to atchieve them. Pardon me, if I tell you, that after I shall have shew'd you what habit is, you will range your selves [Page 14] on my side, and rationally grant what is due, to my opinion, and Philosophy. It is true, that in regard I cannot speak home to you hereof, without using such terms as seem little suitable to the Cours, and to Courtiers, I ought to protest to you, that I will utter nothing but what shall be pleasing, and acceptable to you; but being to treat with wits, which are capable of Sciences, and quaintnesse of speech, and who know, that the dis­courses of all things in the world may justly be agitated in a walk, and that the Ancients did ever practice it in their Licea; I will, without hampering my self with excuses, tell you plainly, that, Make you habit consist, as much as you please, in a certain disposition, whereby the subject is either proper, or improper, in behalf of it self, or any other; for my part, I had rather take it for a quality scarce moveable, which results from one or more actions of the vital Power, being afterwards made capable, and having a natural inclination, to produce the like acts; and in this sense it is, that this qua­lity may be very properly called habit; as also when a man has any thing, which he hath acquir'd by his own actions, which is, when he gains the inclination [Page 15] he courts; and this is that, which proves my proposition; besides that by this mean, the Subject arrives to the highest point of perfection. The Prince of Phi­losophers calls Habit a disposition, which hath the power to produce an act in perfect manner, that is to say, easily; and what more easie, and more efficacious way can a man have to act, then when, by divers acts, he intirely wins the person he desires, by gaining first the Will, and then the Inclination, which are the facul­ties dependent on, and inseparable from, Sympathies? Now you see, that since reiterated acts obtain our desires, it is not hard for Habit to form Sympathy, when we seek it; nor is my human wisedom, and industry able to hinder the event thereof.

As for the division of Habits, we must leave it to the Sixth Book of Morals, where it is divided into three Classes, which serve nothing at all to my purpose upon this subject; for all I should be able to say of it, would make no impres­sion upon your minds; and the matters being meerly Scholastick, and tedious, I will only let you see the difference which there is, between Supernatural, and Natural Habits, and how, according to the [Page 16] cause which produces them, they are either infused, or acquired.

You know that those which are In­fused, come immediately from God, by the Theological Vertues, which we receive in Baptism; and that the Acquired, are those which we purchase with pains, and trouble, and which are necessary to fa­cilitate operation.

There are moreover, according to the Subject, four more, in conformity with the four Powers which possesse them, and which are amply deduc't in Philosophy. But from the whole Treatise of Habits, I draw but this conclusion; that Habit is a quality, which gives us a disposition, and a great facility, to operate; and that it differs from the disposition in this, that the disposition may be easily lost, but the Habit seldom; and that if acts produce it, multiplication augments it, and makes it more stable in the person which pos­sesses it. So that if Habit facilitate ope­ration; if Disposition be lesse efficacious then it; and if the reiteration of acts strengthen it; can you deny, but that Habit forms Sympathy; since of what disposition soever a soul be, she is able to change it at pleasure, by the facility she hath to operate, and by the force she gets [Page 17] in frequentation? Thus much for the Habits of the Philosophers.

As for the Habits of Courtiers, which are long Frequentatians, is there any thing more powerful to form an inclina­tion? And doth not even Nature her self grow to be changed, by constant Conversations? It is easie to exact what a man desires of a soul, by the ordinary documents, wherewith we may inspire her by the ear, and by the apparent ex­amples which we may present before her eyes; for there slide into the heart, cer­tain divine, and imperceptible Specieses, or forms, which, when they have once imprinted themselves upon us, we take them to be properly our own, and think that they are derived from us; though in the mean while, they come not from our Nature, but from them who are pleased to frame them, and who often cause us many inward griefs. If Nature, and Inclination could not be changed, all the ancient Philosophers would not have given us for a precept, that amongst all frequentations, we should choose the best, and not only fly the bad, but the unsetled, yea, and even the different ones; for the bad do certainly corrupt us, and the different, hinder the good natural Habits [Page 18] we have; and though the embarasment of a Rabble do not change us, yet it hinders us; and since even violence it self is necessary for us to follow the good way, we must not doubt, but the least impediment will trouble us.

Take not these documents for fabu­lous stories; for all the Fathers, since the Scripture, are of this opinion; and St. Paul goes much further upon this subject, when he says, that one crum of leaven, spoyls a whole heap of dough. If St. Paul wrote it, St. John the Apostle put it in pra­ctise, when he shun'd the Bath where Cerinth had washt himself, because he was not only an enemy to the Faith, but a wicked man besides, even in his own Religion.

As the herb Aconitum, kills us by touch­ing it, and the rage of a mad Dog com­municates it self unperceivably, from the person bitten to the by-standers; so are we perverted by evil company, and so are others also corrupted by us after­wards. In like manner by the Habits which we often repeat with honest peo­ple, we may be able to change a perverse, and corrupt nature, and inspire good manners afterwards, into such as we fre­quent. Augustus Caesar's Daughters were [Page 19] of this opinion, when Livia, having well­behaved, and modest persons about her, hoped to participate of their vertues; and Julia often seeing some vain, and loose-lived young fellows, thought by her good example, and frequentation, to reduce them, or at least, to make her self perfect amongst the wicked; as those Roses are sweetest, which grow neer a bed of Garlick.

However you conclude upon Habits, and Frequentation (said the Marquesse) they never have the power to frame a Sympathy, or Inclination, because they depend upon the blood, and are graffed upon Nature. All they can do, is only to raise them, and quicken them, when they are either dead, or faint. Love is a torch which kindles another, and burns not long alone, and without help: the experience I have had thereof, in order to this Lady, is certain; and human pru­dence, for as much as concerns this oeco­nomie, or dispensation, hath no other jurisdiction, then only to move, and not to form. I have ever observed in that adorable person I love, (even in despight of her rigors) a spark of the fire of Sym­pathy, which would have been extin­guisht, if I had not stir'd it, and I never [Page 20] believed, that she was quite deprived of it. And though in the consideration of her first repulses, (not hoping ever to be able to obtain her favour) I had read the Remedies of Ovid, Samocratus, and Nigidus, against love; and though men perswaded me, that it was as easie, to dis­entangle ones self from love, as it was to break with a friend when one had a mind to it, (howbeit there is granted a diffe­rence between a Friend, and a Lover, in regard that the one loves for the good of the object beloved, and the other for himself, and that the passion of the Friend is lasting, and that of the Lover incon­stant) yet have I found all these rules un­true, in my self, and that they have no­thing in them but false baits, and ill-stu­died lessons, having spent my spirits in vain, and fruitlesly endeavoured, to pro­duce a vertue by a defect, and to fix my love upon another, if I could have found a beauty worthy of exchange.

As for the distinction of a Lover from a Friend, I have likewise had the same motions (to which a compliance to please him might lead me) with those, the opinion whereof might spur on my hopes, to the atchievement of my desires; and as for the facility of forsaking her, alas! [Page 21] I have found it to be the most powerful of impossibilities, after having put in pra­ctice all the lessons of those enemies of the Sex, who died at Capua, in the ser­vice, and pursuit of the Ladies they loved, for punishment of their crime of writing against Love. I have tried all things in vain, as flattered by the opinion, that she had a leven of Sympathy which I must cultivate, and fearing to die like the rest, for chastisement of my fault of endea­vouring to leave her, and not really to inspire her with an inclination, as you would needs phancy, and passe for infallible rules, and definitions, in this point. And hereby you may judge, of the effect of Sympathy, and of the power of fair eyes; and that the chains of such as adore them, are so strong, that even the disdain of the persons them­selves who have framed them, hath much adoe to break them.

In these motions of tendernesse, I passionately cry'd, Pardon, my lovely Princess, the effects of my levity, and let me depart always from you with joy, and never by constraint! Judges are often inclin'd to clemency, by considering that the Malefactors before them, have more offended God then Man, and that [Page 22] since the Supream Goodness hath for­given them their crimes against him, they have no reason to punish them, for the offences they have committed against men, betwixt whom and the Divine Justice there is no comparison. Just so, the punishment which yourindignation phan­cies, ought not to be for me, because I have already received absolution of my fault, from my fidelity, which was first offended, by the actions of my despair; and there­fore you, who are my Judge, must mitigate your wrath, and receive me into mercy.

In order to these motions, I consider an infallible sign of the absolute empire, which a beauty enliven'd by a good wit hath, over all things created, by that which it possesses over the wills of men, who are the chiefest; and this power is evident, and known, by the submissions, respects, and enterprises, which they em­brace, to render themselves acceptable, and by what they put in execution, as a mark of their despair; for, as the Will is the only part, which God intended to be free, and that his infinite goodnesse seems to have no other limits then for his own occasions; I shall not conceive my self guilty of impiety, if I say, that the love which we bear towards women, [Page 23] deprives us also of the use of our Free Will, and hath a kind of tyrannical in­fluence upon our liberty. I have ever observed this truth amongst Lovers, when I have read in Histories, how many have died for their Mistresses; and how a vehement affection, and an extream love slights all kindes of dangers whatsoever; and I had sufficient experience of this power in my self, when I fought rather for the interests of her whom I worshipt, then for my friends, yea, and rather for a phancy which concern'd her, then for my own particular quarrels. And yet it is very true withal, (said the Colonel) that such combats as are made upon such slight grounds, have seldom any good issue; for Cupid, who is but a baby, and a wanton giddy-brain'd baby, is apt to be pettish without cause, and comes al­ways home by weeping cross, when he plays with Bellona; whereas on the other side, if the justice of a cause presides, the event proves as favourable as can be desired.

I was much pleased (said the Coun­sellor) these days past, that my youngest Brother fought with a young Spark, Son to a Financier, for a punctillo of Honour, of small consideration, and almost for [Page 24] nothing, by hearing the Marshal of France (who took up the businesse) discourse of quarrels, and of the address which it is needful to have in them; and indeed that noble Lord, (who hath a high spirit, and a great judgement, (and who is one of our best friends) spake thereof with much reason, and with great testification of affection towards my Brother: for having called him into his Cabinet, where I was, and knowing what a sputter he makes by his dayly squabbling, and fighting; to stop the fury of his hot and giddy spirit, and instruct him about these mad freeks, he said thus to him; The love I bear towards your Family, obliges me to give you a sound check; for it is not the way to get reputation, and esteem, to be such a Ranter as you are, and to be every day brawling, and scuffling. It is true, that of all the parts which compose a true man of honour, boldnesse is the most remarkable, and volour the most necessary; since without these two august qualities, a man who pretends to bravery, cannot be in vogue, nor so much as aspire to it; for the former sets him forth, and makes him considerable in company, and at Court, and the later gives him good successe in War, and Duels; but [Page 25] with this proviso still, that these fine parts be accompanied with moderation, and judgement, and that their passion be tempered by prudence, which is the pro­duction of the understanding, and the light of the soul.

I will say nothing of this necessary boldnesse, and valour, in the Camp, 6. Of Quar­rels, and Duels. which is both carried on by the fire of honour; and which is as well ushered up by command, as ballanc't by discipline; but I speak only of that boldnesse, and valour, which is necessary in a civil life, and in the disorders which cause quarrels; for this ought to be ruled by discretion, and judgement (as I have already said) and rectified by a habit of prudence. A man who will appear in company, must be bold, so far as to utter his mind freely, and cleerly, and be resolute, both in countenance, posture, and action; but his words must be composed with mo­desty, and judgement, and he must con­sider the place, and persons present, and what he intends to say, before he speaks. He must not rant, nor vapour, but look upon the intention, and merit of the person who pricks him, and bear a deaf ear long before he comes to extremity; and especially, if he who offends him, be [Page 26] not of high condition, or much esteemed; for in this case, we ought to suffer more, then from a gallant man, from whom an ordinary displeasure must passe for a great cause of quarrel, to get reputation. And herein you err'd to day (said he) by medling with a young fellow, upon little or no ground, and by exposing your self also (as you dayly do) to hazard, without subject: For, men fight com­monly for offences, that is to say, for in­ward satisfaction, and to win honour; the latter of these grounds depends upon the report, which is made of a combat; and the principal reason which makes men draw their swords, is to repair them­selves, in the hope they have, that the reputation will be as publick as the offence. So that, to fight (I fay) as you have done, with a young man who hath never done any thing yet, or with a person who is not of high condition; besides, that the action remains dead, asleep; and that the good, or evil, which comes from it makes no noise, a man runs great hazzard of his life with a common person, and gets no honour, if he have the better: Whereas, on the other side, the merit of a gallant man, makes a brave action famous, and re­nowned. [Page 27] From whence we may draw this argument, that one must be bold, and as it were rash, with stout, and quarrelsome men; and courteous, and indolent, to them who are not of high reputation, either for their courage, or birth. For valour, which is an impe­tuous heat, that, for our satisfaction, throws us upon dangers, is hurtful to a man, unlesse he deliberate before he ex­ecutes, and unlesse it be tempered with moderation. A Champion is not a Champion, because he hath courage, but brutal, if he joyn it not with the dexte­rity of judgement, and with the circum­stance of times, and places; for he cannot exercise his courage, and bring it to an issue, by any other means, then by con­duct, and reason; and hereby it is, that we must moderate our boyling motions, which might otherwise make us fall upon a man of honour, in place of respect, and that for slight and frivolous matters, upon which, before we shew any disgust, we must maturely consider with our selves, whether they be worth our re­sentment or no, and when the offence deserves it, to conduct our proceedings with address, that we may not be worst­ed; and to be sure to perish, rather then do a base action.

It is principally in the point of combat, that a truly free, and stout Soul, hath need of all the counsel, and judgement, to preserve her honour, and her life, and to bridle her passion, and judiciously to consult all the praecautions necessary, as well for the right, and equality of weapons, and advantage of places, as for the subtle addresses of Vapourers, and Quarrellers. And as for your part, (said this wise Lord) what fury, or what dulnesse blinded you, in the choice of your Pistols, that you had not the pati­ence to charge at your pleasure, that which was left you, and that, after having cool'd the courage of your adversary, (who could not reach you with his sword) you received the affront, of giving false fire? Henceforward, be more con­siderate, and hazzard not your life, with­out praecaution; for impetuosity never gets any entire victory in Duels, either with Sword, or Pistol; whereas he who fights temperately, and coldly, will al­ways be even with his enemy, and sel­dome receive disadvantage. To stand upon your fencing postures, and passes, as they do in the Schools with Foyls, is uselesse, and very different from fighting in earnest; and though the heat, and [Page 29] disorder of a desperate fellow, do some­times puzzle the stoutest and skilfullest Sword-man, yet the firmnesse of a good judgement, either tires him out, or keeps his hands only off, so as afterwards, by promptitude, and activity, he gets the better. Be therefore, I say, better advi­sed, then you have been hitherto, both about the incense of quarrels, and the distinction of persons, and husband your life better in the field, then you have hitherto done.

Then the Marquesse interrupted the Counsellor, and said, Sir, was there no­thing of love in your Brothers quarrel, and was it not for some Mistresse that he fought? No, my Lord, said the Coun­sellor, Oh! I was afraid of that, said the Marquesle; for in that case the cause had been good, and had deserved no re­prehension; since the absolute power which love hath acquir'd over Reason, renders all faults excusable; and that Mistresse of Passion, being so much sub­ject to it as she is, finds all her justifica­tion, in the blindnesse of her servitude. The one dims the other, by taking too much root in our inclinations, and gains a superiority of power, to make it under­take any thing with impunity, and to [Page 30] make inestimable, the meanest actions which concern it; yea, and my self, being strucken with this blindnesse, thought my self worthy to be celebrated in History, for having so briskly squabled, and quarrelled, with a certain Lord, who was with a Lady of my acquaintance; and that, only because Love (that blind, and sawcy Baby) led me to this frollick.

I was ravisht, my Lord, (said the Phi­losopher to the Marquesse) with ex­cesse of joy, at the news of the last Duel you fought upon this subject, with so much honour, and gallantry, as being certainly inform'd before, of the cause of your going into the field, and I only wanted the knowledge, of your Enemies meeting you, to enable me, to make an infallible judgement, of the advantage you had upon him; for all the world knows by reputation, the bravery of your heart; but it is difficult to judge by experience, of your skill, in regard that there is no living after the trial thereof; for without having a superna­tural subsistence, I do not believe, that they who have felt the point of your sword, can possibly last long, unlesse the greatnesse of your courage vouchsafe to use some clemency towards them, after [Page 31] having forc't them to have recourse to your pitty, and beg their lives. The excesse which this joy produc't in me, came not from the news I had of your victory, because I had already fore-seen it; but from the share I take in your ex­ploits, the happinesse, and force whereof (which are the highest degree of valour) diffuse themselves upon all your friends, and make them also, after a sort, re­doubtable.

Indeed, (said the Marquesse) I per­ceived well enough, that my duty obliged me to interrupt you, and answer your civilities; but you discourst so hand­somely, that I resolved to forbear, till you had done; not that the subject of your fine words tickled my ears, and made me delight in the form of your complacencies, more then in the matter; but because I would not deprive these Gentlemen, of the admiration of your eloquence.

To which Angelin answered with sub­mission and respect; My Lord, when I say any thing in favour of your reputa­tion, I pay but one part of the homage I owe your merit; nor is at any produ­ction of my complacency; for you are so accomplisht a person, that all the [Page 32] Panegyricks which might be composed of you, would be beneath the esteem which the whole Court hath of you; and I think, that its esteem is just, and lawful, in your behalf only; in regard that sometimes, it falsely bestows it upon unworthy persons, and denies it to such as deserve it, though not so worthily as your Lordship. I confesse, (said the Marquesse) I should never consent to the loss of modesty, had any body but you, undertaken to rob me of it; but your eloquence makes me in a sort, a complice of the theft, and almost guilty of the sinne.

Then the Count, (catching up their complements) said to the Marquesse, The learned Angelin hath so many par­takers in his belief, that your merit must needs appear, & your modesty lie hidden. The strength of his wit (repli'd the Mar­quesse) at least appears, not borrowing from others, what abounds in himself; and I am of opinion, that by undertaking to speak of me, he meant to make a picture of himself.

My Lord, said the Baron, your com­plements will last till the end of the Cours, and methinks, this is no fit place for them; stay till we be passing some Gate, or at [Page 33] the top of a pair of stairs, where you may be able to animate them with gestures and congees; for here you can hardly stir. Let us change our subject; digressions are delightful, and are the supream divertisements of conversation. 7. Of the Palm and of the Laurel. How glorious is that illustrious Con­querer, who is lately come to Town, for having made so advantagious a conquest for France, and planted our Palms, and our Laurels, in a Country, where the enemy made his brags, that we every year sow'd Cyprus? That is spoken like Apollo, and very far from the style which the ancient Greeks called Cacozele, said our Philosopher, retorting the same guilt upon the rest, which they were wont to throw upon him, for using School-terms, whereby he drew a kind of undervalue upon himself, because he could hardly forbear them. He hath reason, said the Colonel; the Baron speaks Romansick language, in Comick terms. But before we go any further in Poetry, it will be good, to speak of the Symbols, or signi­fications of the Palm, and the Laurel, and know, why the Romans anciently crown'd the Triumphers heads with Laurel, and honoured their hands rather with Palm, then with Oak, or Ivy, Vervain, or Olive.

To which the Baron (whose spirit is a magazeen of the finest curiosities, and most lively notions) answered, I will say somewhat thereof, and it is, That in my opinion, (if my memory do not fail me) besides that the Laurel, and the Palm have marvailous properties, they are con­secrated to Apollo; that Mount Parnassus is full of them; that the one of them is an enemy to fire, and repels the Thunder­boult; and that the other is the most ancient Symbol of Victory, and resists all assaults; that the Sacrificers at Rome, to obtain propitious Augurs, first crown'd themselves with Laurel, and then cast the Wreths of boughs into the Wood­piles, and drew the good Augurs, of the event of the affairs of the Common­wealth, from the noise of the Laurel in the fire. Besides all these effects, and these traditions, I say, my argument is, that when the Emperors return'd in Tri­umph for their Victories, after having conquered some parts of the world by this example, all the rest of it trembled, and there was nothing left upon earth, which was not subjected to them, and which stood not in awe of them. And therefore, they crown'd their heads with Laurel, to signifie their independency in [Page 35] the world, and that they feared nothing but the fire of heaven, which hath such violent, and prodigious[?] effects, and from which the Laurel only, hath the priveledge to defend us.

The word Victory, and Palm (said the Philosopher) was anciently all one; and 8. Of glory, the sole reward of Cham­pions and Con­querors. Claudian calls the Laurel, the Decision of things present, and the Prediction of things to come; moreover, Ovid, Suetonius, and Pliny assure us, that the Ancients held these trees as sacred, and never made any prophane use of them, because they had grounded their superstitions, upon an accident which hapned to Augusta Drusilla the Empress; who going one day from Rome to Veictan, sate down under a Laurel, or Bay-tree, over which there flew an Eagle, which let fall in her lap a white Chicken, with a Laurel branch in his bill, and a Palm in his talon. She caused this Chicken to be nurst, and the branch to be planted in a field of hers, from which there sprung many trees; and so the Emperors afterwards, through a super­stitious Religion, when they came to triumph, used to cause some of those branches to be gathered, to honour their heads, and hands, and then to be re­planted in the same field. Nor is this all; [Page 36] for there is a prodigie reported, of the said field; and that is, that whensoever any one of them, who had Triumphed, died, the Plant which had been replanted, also died, after it had served for a Trophy, to the deceast Triumpher; and that as soon as Nero was dead, (who was the last of the Race of the Caesars) all the Trees of the aforesaid Field likewise died. And thus much for the reasons, why the Romans used Laurels, and Palms in their Triumphs.

Really, (said the Baron) this is full of learning, and curiosity; and therefore it ought not to be ill taken, that I served my self of those terms, when I endea­voured to speak worthily of the victories which that great Lord hath won upon our Enemies, since he is returned most gloriously from forreign Countreys, and that his Name, at present, fills the whole Court with renown. He is lookt on, as the Angel-Guardian of the Kingdom; the King, and Queen cherish, and esteem him in his Ministery; all great Employ­ments rely upon him, and henceforth, he shall have no other title, then that of the Great States-man.

You say not (answered the Count) that in his Triumphs, he is adored like a Half-God; and yet, that he is lookt [Page 37] on with the eyes of envy, and that there are some, who would overthrow the Altars which have been decreed him.

Truly, (said the Count) he is come into the Land of Envy, but he is potent 9. Of Envy. enough to banish it, whensoever he pleases to retire himself from Court; for that vice removes, as often as vertue, and Fortune fix their habitation; because, having no other but these great objects, it always follows such as are owners thereof. Inso much, as that if our Hero, like another Laertes, or Scipio, fled into So­litude, it would not fail to find him there, in regard of the huge qualities which are in him; and yet all would still redound to his honour. If I shew, that he is envied, I shew that he is Triumphant, and in that supremacy of felicity, which his valour hath acquir'd him: It is enough to con­sider his Employments, and how glori­ously he hath acquitted himself of them; and moreover, that the height of his splendor, hath bridled the passion of Monarchs, and Conquerers, (which is glory in quiet, and moderation) and re­duc't it to the Laws of swavity, and Reason: And this is as easie to be ob­served in his ordinary proceedings, and in all his actions, as in his countenance; [Page 38] and this true character of the motions of the Soul, hath never shew'd us any alte­ration in him; and it hath so little of the art of dissimulation, and duplicity in it, that a man may be able to settle a solid judgement of his interior, by his looks. This makes the envious burst with rage, to see that he takes no great notice, of the value due to him, and that he sets light by those things which trouble others. The services he hath done the Crown, as well with his Counsel, as with his Sword, have caused him to be re­compenst as he is, and purchast him that high point of glory he enjoys.

I wondred not at all, when, being these days past, at the Cours, amongst the fa­vourable applauses which were given him, I observed some melancholy, in the eyes of a certain great Lord, who seem'd to be troubled, to hear his praises; for I easily imagined, that the cloudiness of his countenance had no other cause, then the pompous testimony of grati­tude, which the other received from the Queen, and from the incense which every one offered, to his glorious exploits; since it is true, that it is proper to the envious to lament at the happinesse, and rejoyce at the unhappinesse of others, and [Page 39] not to torment themselves for their own evils only, but also for the felicity of their neighbours. This is a sin which hath been ever since the beginning of the world, and will last till the end; and therefore, it were in vain to wish, that we had lived in another Age, or to live in those which are to come, to be exempt from its contagion, and to be free from its malice. The greatest Captain of Pharamonds time, and who had most gifts of Nature and Wit, had never yet so many, as to equal the number of his enviers; and the most unhappy Courtier of the last that shall be, of our Kings, will never suffer so many crosses, as will pa­ralel the rejoycings, which have been made, for the misfortunes which have befaln him.

Albeit you sustain (said the Marquess) that they who are envied for their vertue, are envy-proof, and that that which stains the reputation of others, refines theirs; yet it is not to be denied, but that the envious are a sort of people, which dim the splendor of honour, and destroy, in some sort, the greatnesse of a high fame; for they disguise the fairest actions, with the habits of a foolish, and blinde Fortune, and by as the uprightness of a [Page 40] Soul, how frank and generous soever; and therefore their by-ways, and pra­ctices are not to be neglected, in regard they strike in absence, at a distance, and at unawares; whereas other enemies are not so much to be feared, because they are known; and because time may have salved the wrongs they have received; and in fine, because we stand always upon our guard, and with praecaution, to pre­vent them. But, this curst race of Nature is never weary of persecuting us, and does us more hurt with the tongue, without touching us, then an irreconci­leable enemy would do, if he had us under him, with his sword at our throats.

This is very true indeed, (said Angelin) and therefore was the war of the Greeks, against the Trojans, less cruel, and shorter, for that it began upon an injury, then that of the Romans, against the Carthaginians, because both these Republicks had their several design, to conquer the whole world, and disputed for the decision of the Empire of the Drivers. The great enmity between Caesar and Pompey, pro­ceeded likewise from nothing but envy; the former envying the later, for his good conduct, in the government of the Com­monwealth, and the later the former, for [Page 41] the felicity which accompanied him in war: So that we see, that the decay of that flourishing Republick began from the Civil Wars raised by envy. And therefore to revenge our selves against these pernicious hornets, who besiege our bodies a far off, who suborn the clearest Consciences, and betray the gallantest lives; we must use an advan­tagious, and estimable remedy, against obtrectatory, and ill grounded suspici­ons, which destroy the reward of vertue, and seem to blot it out of the souls of men. I will be bold to say, that revenge upon the envious, is as laudible, as it is sweet, and facil; for it consists, but in continuing to do well, and in striving to excel, in so good a practice; in regard that the vertue of their Neighbour gnaws, and consumes them, as rust doth Iron.

My dear Lord makes use of this stra­tagem, and is not moved at all because he is envied, notwithstanding what you have said; for, besides that he is worthy of it, he is so well establisht in vertue, and favour, that he doth not believe that the vices of others can hurt him, or the greatest storm shake him. And therefore it is as much in vain, for the envious to [Page 42] buz out their detractions, and dart their private injuries against so firm a Soul, as it was for the Pigmys, and the Ruffian Thiodamas of Lydia, to presume to wrestle with Hercules. For before he undertakes any great designs, or causes any of his orders to be executed, he prepares his spirit for the censure of envy, and sweetly perswades himself, that the issue will make his blames turn into praises; and that to desist from the pursuit of brave actions, is the only means to support detraction. His perseverance in the good opinion he gives of himself, keeps his person in esteem; as on the other side, desistence, and wavering might abate the good thoughts, which men have of him. The Court is a tempestuous Sea, which violently tosses as well great Ships, as small Barks; and her floating waves shake the most weighty, and solid hearts, with­out sincking them. Unlesse a man have profound wisdom, without weaknesse, and spot, and make a perfect harmony thereof with constancy, he cannot pre­serve himself there, from shipwrack, and come safe to the Port.

As for the Sea, billows, and waves, 10. Of Sea­sickness. (said the Marquesse) I will shew you a very pleasant, and good Letter, from a [Page 43] Gentleman, a friend of mine, who is in the Fleet, with a Brother of his, who is Captain of a Gally, wherein you shall see what he says of Sea-sicknesse, wherewith he is furiously tormented. This is the Letter, and thus it says.

My Lord,

GOD blesse the Cow-stall, and the Divel take the Element wherein a man makes his grave by falling! Alas! you may easily judge of the sad condition I am in, by seeing my scribbling, and this Letter so rumpled; but I doubt, whether it will be received by you, as coming from a person who honours you so much as I do, because I force my self to write to you, and because I write to you, when I am stomach-sick; or whether it will draw so much sense of compassion from you, in regard I am lying straight along, without strength or pulse, and with insupportable qualms, and faintings. In fine, I am as miserable as the good King in the Scripture was, in his greatest calamities; save only, that he was fain to lie upon a Dunghil, and I lie upon a Satin-quilt; but if he were pestred with vermin, I am so as much as he; if he wanted food, my stomach (against the order of Nature (which abhors a vacuum) is posting thither; if he were forsaken by his friends, [Page 44] my Brother, and my friends (as if they were about a grave) instead of pitying my mis­fortune, do nothing but laugh and scoff at it. In a word, it seems all one to me, to be at the bottom of the Sea, or here in the Gally; and in regard a mans heart is the first which lives, and the last which die, it is to be believed, that our bodies are deprived of life, when we feel our hearts a dying. As soon as I shall be able to reach a Port, I will leave the Moveable, for the Immoveable, and the hazzard of the Water, to expose my self to the rigor of all the other Elements; and will remedy the inconveniences I now suffer, after the manner of poor Mad-men. Six foot of Land will cure me of these evils, and then I will send you the Mercury of all we do in the liquid Field, and give you as good an account of our affairs, as of my own restitutions. Just now came a billow and tost our Gally to the middle Region of the air; threw me head­long against the Helmet; overturn'd my Ink-horn, and blew my paper up to the very top; and now having gathered all together again, and crawl'd to my Quilt, I make a hard shift to tell you once more, God blesse the Cow-stall, and that I am, &c.

This Letter, (said the Baron) is very particular, and very excellent in its kind, and merits to be valued as you [Page 45] value it, who have the fountain of high Intelligences. But to return to our noble subject of Entertainments, It is a strange tickling, to the heart of our Conquerer, to hear from the Queens mouth, in full Cours, and amongst the greatest at Court, (as he had already heard from the Kings, in the Cabinet) that the obligation which France hath to him, cannot be worthily required, but by honour, and glory; and that this acknowledgement she makes of being insolvable, is the most pompous, and richest payment he can possibly receive from her. Antiquity (though most potent) never knew so well as France, how to reward the vertue of her Heros; for she hath never presum'd to offer them any mercenary recogni­zance; and not being able to recompense them to the full, she hath been content to honour them with Triumphs, Statues, and illustrious Titles, and to remain always obliged to them.

It is true, (said the Count) that the least atchievement a man can make, of any kind of reputation (however it be a vain, and meer imaginary thing) is sufficient to satisfie ambition, and more worth then all the true temporal goods we are able to purchase, after which we [Page 46] run with such an extraordinary greedi­ness, and for which both Religion and Laws are despised, and the hunger whereof, like fire, is never stancht.

All this is pretty, said the Colonel; but now a days, men are not paid with wind; for the world being grown old, and co­vetous, looks altogether upon interest; and instead of exalting themselves, and satiating their ambition with honour, they betake themselves to what is more material, and substantial, and endeavour to prescribe rules to their Sovereigns, to recompense them profusely therewith. The Count answered, It is their part how­ever, to appoint what employments, and honours they please, for their Subjects, as also to dispose of their acknowledge­ments, and liberalities; and on the other side, it is the part of such as are under them, to acquit themselves dexteriously of their duty, thereby to arrive to a good issue, and require an equal reward from them, with fame. But it concerns Princes to look to their choice, and Subjects to be humble, and active; and certainly, both the one, and the other, ought effi­caciously to consider, that vertue must be rewarded; and that all the best settled States in the world, are founded upon [Page 47] these two Pillars, as upon immoveable foundations; namely, the recompense of good services, and the punishment of bad actions. The French, who fall short of no Nation upon earth, in wit, subtilty, and politeness, are content with repu­tation, and satisfied with a tickling of honour, for all their labours, sweats, toils, watches, and loss of blood it self; quite contrary to the Eastern People, and espe­cially the Turks, who never undertake any great action, but with design, to 11. Of the Turks maxime. augment their charge, and their Pay; and the quality of persons, is of no use to them at all, for the purchasing of great Employments. For confirmation hereof, (said the Colonel) and of what you may have learnt in History, I have seen in my travels, that in the Grand Signors Domi­nions, there is no Hereditary Nobility, nor difference of birth, acquired by an idle succession from Father to Son; nor is it their custome, to prefer unworthy persons to any eminency, above such as are ver­tuous, and have given testimony thereof: No Inheritances, and Possessions left to Cowards, and Sluggards, who, without serving either Prince or People, consume the goods of such as are generous, and stout, perverting themselves, and their [Page 48] Posterity, and studying all kindes of vices, and volupties. But there you may see vertue, valour, good judgement, sufficiency, and gallant exploits (wherein every one strives to excel) raise men in a trice, from slaves, to be Governours of Provinces; from poor, to be rich, and powerful; from base, and unknown, to be Noble, and chief of the State. They are honoured for their Charges, that is to say, for their Merits, because they gain them by their Merits; and for their vertues, and sufficiency, because these make them subsist with splendor.

They have no disputes, about rank, and precedency, left them by inheritance from their Ancestors; but every one knows what belongs to him by his merit, without usurping upon anothers, and the authority wherein they are plac't by the Prince, regulates all without alteration. The least discovery, or the least glimps of a grudge, costs them not only their charges, but their heads. There is no such thing, as frowning, and grumbling, if they obtain not what they desire; nor is favour, or recommendation any thing worth, unless it be accompanied with true desert, whereof evident proofs have been formerly given. Great mens Chil­dren, [Page 49] if they be not seconded with some eminent qualities, are less regarded, then Clowns, and the very meanest of the people, if they be vertuous. For indeed, suppose a man had business, would he not be well holp up, to commit (for example) a Suite in Law, of great importance, to an ignorant, and unskilful Lawyer, though he were the Son of the President, or Chancellor, rather then to a man of mean, and obscure birth, who were famous, cunning, and able? And were it not pretty also, in the extremity of sickness, to commit our lives, to the Son of a Phy­sitian, of four descents from Father to Son, who is young, inexpert, and ill grounded, rather then to a new comer, who is learned, experienced, and well verst in his profession? Nothing blinds us more, then the exterior splendour of good birth; and amongst the Turks, (as rough, and coorce as they are, (from whom all false appearance, and vanity is banisht, and where there is no fraud, nor cheatery) the signs of good wit, and the proofs of generosity prevaile, before noblenesse of blood, and ancientnesse of race; and labours, good services, gallant testimonies, and great exploits, are in­comparably more considered by them [Page 50] then riches, treasures, and large estates. For Nobility, good parts, and honour, do not spring from pedegrees, as herbs do from seeds; nor do the vertues of our Ancestors passe in Idea from Father to Son, for perpetuity; but most certain it is, that wheresoever there is reward, there will vertue also be.

I perceive (said the Marquesse) by your discourse, that you secretly blame an error, which is lately crept into France, and which is pernitious to her; and that is, to give Employments, and Honours, rather by favour, and quality, then ac­cording to merit, and vertue; and that you shew us that want of experience, and capacity are often the ruine of the State. The scope of my discourse, replied Hydasp, is not to make that conclusion; nor did I alledge the policy of the Infidels, for any other reason, then to demonstrate that vertue is every where valued, and recompenst; and that those Barbarians (being more mercenary then we) reward it otherwise then we do, and make not their extraction (like us) from a different source; and therefore their vertues seem to be, in a manner, but Scaenical, speci­ous, and ostentative, and ours are essential, true, and grassed upon Nature; for if [Page 51] they prove able to derive any honour from theirs, they receive it, for the most part, from that of the Christians, whom they get by the Children of Tribute, and whom they style Azamoglans, in regard they are the strength of their Militia, and are employ'd in the highest offices, in consideration of their good qualifications of Nature, blood, and birth, rather then of their breeding, which is little lookt after, and un-instructed, for that they are given to all kinds of insolencies, and vices, however they grow afterwards to be brave Souldiers. And now you see, I have said something of what I brought back from my journey to Constantinople, to shew you, that if such a General of an Army, as he is of whom we have spoken, had made such glorious Con­quests in the East, as he hath done for us, he would have past through all the de­grees of favour, as of a Janissary, a Sainac, a Bashaw, and Bellerbeg, and have been made Grand Dizir, yea, and besides, the Grand Signors dayly Pay, he would have obtain'd all the assignations he had askt upon the Timar. But amongst us, where an Illustrious Birth, and a Supreme Off­spring is considered, as August as it is, this Lord hath had, in favour of his blood, [Page 52] the Offices, and Employments, that is to say, the means to work the miracles he hath wrought; and in regard all acknow­ledgements are beneath his Spirit, and generosity, he is satisfied with a little smoak, and rewarded by the tongues of fame, much more to his contentment, then he would be by the hands of the Financiers, and Secretaries of State, with all the good of Peru, and with all the Brevials, of the highest Dignities of the Kingdom.

Amongst so many illustrious qualities (said the Colonel) as you have observed 12. Of Clomen­cy. in our Hero; I will not omit the supreme vertue, wherewith he favours his friends, yea, and even his very enemies too, and which I know by experience, that he possesses in the highest measure, and that his Irascible part hath never been able to surmount it; wherein I take much more notice of their good luck, who have the benefit of it, then of their own deserts, and of the influences which come from him, then of the subject which makes him lay aside severity, and shew himself favourable, and merciful. I mean his Clemency, which is the judge of vengeance, and the moderatresse of power, when there is question of lessening [Page 53] the punishments, which a person of au­thority may inflict upon such as are under his obedience.

This vertue, (said the Counsellor) is a gift of piety, a sweetnesse of spirit, and a delenishment of punishments ordered by the Laws; which, after it hath banisht the interior distemper, it reduces our souls to quiet, and makes us spare ano­thers blood, as we do our own; for Cle­mency is of an heroick essence; and the defection of that active, and unbridled Passion which oppugns it, and seems to check it, is the most wonderful effect, that they who exercise this vertue, are able to produce, and the victory gotten over it, is much more glorious then that which is won by force of arms.

Here the Marquesse interrupted him, saying, Sir, you put me in mind of an act of this vertue, which he exercised some days since at my request, in the behalf of an Officer of his Army, who had offended him. Therefore it was that I spake of it (answered Hydaspe) because I was present when you begg'd that persons pardon; and when the address of your Eloquence, easily obtain'd what you desired, of a soul already disposed thereto by vertue; and for this cause it is, that I told you, [Page 54] that Clemency favours as well enemies as friends, and that we must hold our selves happy, when fortune makes us meet with more necessary motions to pardon, in them whom we petition, then merit in the offenders. Not but that your discourse might have wrought the same effect, even upon Barbarians; because you took him upon a good advantage; but that with another, you would not have succeeded so soon, nor so easily.

What businesse was that, my Lord, (said the Baron) which merited your favour; and what was that insolent person, who presum'd to displease his General? you shall be pleas'd to dis­pense with me for naming him, (said the Marquesse) and I will only tell you, that finding my self in his Chamber, with few people about him, we began to discourse of the repentance of this Officer, (who is a friend of mine) and in order to the cause of his disgrace; whereupon I ob­served some moderation of spirit, and some serenity of countenance in the said Lord; and as he was going into his Ca­binet, to hide his complacency from us, and to refuse to answer us, some of us offred to follow him, which he courte­ously suffred; and then I took my occa­sion [Page 55] to speak thus to him: My Lord, where the will governs, and conduct depends upon a capriccio of hatred, Reason is, for the most part, turn'd out of door. If the solidity of your judge­ment, which makes you accomplish such huge things, did not rather consider the good, or bad end of actions, then the facility you have to undertake, you would not speed as you do, and you would be deprived of the general ap­plause. I would have broken off here, but seeing him look mildely upon me, and hearken peacefully to me, I went on thus.

Nature, and Merit, my Lord, have furnisht you with authority to act, and have given you much independency. If your will were not ruled by Reason, as it is, you being so potent as you are, and suffering your self to be carried away by the perswasions of flatterers, you would certainly precipitate your self, upon some cholerick action, the event whereof would obscure the splendour of the bravest atchievements of your life, as the death of Calistene blotted out the esteem which men had of the Great Macedonian King. I grant, my Lord, that the person, whose pardon I crave, deserves it not, [Page 56] but rather the effects of your resentment, and to be deprived of the chiefest of his felicities, which is, the hope of appeasing you, and escaping death: but because he is of a condition unworthy to contest with you, and for you to revenge your self on him in an honourable way; there­fore must the priviledge, and power which you have to exterminate him, serve you for a bridle, to moderate the heat of your vengeance, which casts him into repentance, and inflicts a thousand deaths upon his soul. Indeed, my Lord, generous spirits exercise as much clemency towards them whom they have conquered, as they do glory for their victory; as you have sufficiently experimented, and pra­ctised in your Triumphs. He who hath offended you, is more submissive to you then a vanquisht person; and therefore you ought to have pity on him, (in re­gard he acknowledges his fault) and suspect all the counsels which proceed from your passion, what shew soever of pleasure they promise you, and with what pretext of justice soever they colour themselves.

It is a humane accident, to have an ad­vantage over ones enemies; but to pardon when we have overcome, is a [Page 57] celestial, and divine vertues; Whence it grows, that we prefer clemency before rigor, and that we more value the attri­bute of Mercy in Almighty God, then that of Justice. Pardon therefore my Lord, pardon! and if you will not grant it, for his sake who hath offended you, (who is wholly unworthy of it;) nor for mine, who deserve not this favour; yet do it for your own sake, to the end that the losse of his life may not make men think that you are a Servant to your Passions, and that they overrule your Reason, and offuscate the lustre of your glory. What honour will it be for you, to free your self from a weak Enemy? Enemy! I style him amisse; for I pro­test to you, he has as many good wishes for you, as you can think of ways to destroy him; and he hath already suffi­ciently punishment from his fault, and from the terrour you have given him. Break therefore the neck of your indig­nation, and by forbearing to put him to death, shew that your hatred is not im­mortal.

I shall passe for a Hero, and my glory will not be below that of the Half-Gods of Antiquity, if I prevail upon your desire; and upon your Spirit, which hath not [Page 58] hitherto been overcome, and which renders your design invincible, in the resolution you have taken: But the title of magnanimous would not be due to you, if you would not suffer your self to be vanquisht by my just petition, in regard that by resisting it, you would be guilty of the death of a man, who begs your pardon, and refuses to defend him­self. The world knows, my Lord, that you hold it to be an heroick thing, not to be transported by your passions; and though they may chance to assault your Will, yet that judgement which governs it, will make you relish my reasons; however I presume not to hope, to ob­tain the pardon I crave of you from thence, but from your vertue only, which shall (if it please you) give life to this unhappy man, and accumulate me with felicities, and obligations, by gra­ciously vouchsafing to hear me.

I was going on, but he suddainly in­terrupted me, saying, Well my Lord, for your sake I pardon him: bid him be wiser hereafter; and to let you see that I do nothing to halves, (howbeit another, after such a fault, would have endured him no more) let him come freely hither, and welcome, and I will look upon him as I did before.

According to this act of vertue (said the Count) confirmed by another of supererogation, we may consider in this generous Lord, an incomparable greatness of mind; and judge how persons of honour are received by him, since even his very enemies themselves are welcome to him; and if we should speak out of the mouths of all those persons of quality, who resort to his Palace (where they are treated, with more then ordinary courte­sies, and civilities) they would all testifie, that when they come from him, they are much more charm'd, and delighted with his sweetnesse, then with the highest complements they have heard made him. Monsieur Angelin, in the swarm of duties which the whole Court pays him, hath not been invisible to the eyes of his mind, though he hath to those of his body; for coming yesterday towards me, with his accustomed complacency, and being mindful of our friendship, he askt me for him, and shew'd that he desir'd to see him. This, Sir, (said the Count to the Philosopher) ought to give you infinite satisfaction; for it is indeed no small favour.

If, when he told you, he desired to see me (said Angelin) he did not flatter me; [Page 60] and if he exprest not that desire for com­placencies sake, I am much obliged to his memory, and my own good fortune; in regard that this testimony of kindnesse towards me, is a most high honour, and happinesse to me: for I cannot imagine, but that this desire must needs proceed from that goodnesse of his, whereof we have spoken; and you shall give me leave (if you please) to maintain this truth, against the good opinion he may have of me, and against my own happinesse: But I must have recourse to that good esteem he is pleased to have of me, to beseech him to believe, that I have not been wanting in my zeal, or respect towards him, but that, amongst the many cares I have, to render my self acceptable to him, there always crouds in some fear against my will, because those cares are inseparable from the fear I have to be trouble some to him: so that my respect grows to be a fault, and I make a vice of a too great vertue. But I have follow'd him in heart, all the Sommer in the field, and I have waited on him often since his return; and in a word, I would not come short in his assiduity, of the most impor­tunate of his Courtiers, nor in zeal of the most diligent of his Poets, were it [Page 61] not out of that fear I have mentioned; and these are the effects, of the passion I have for his service, which in regard I cannot render him in person, I erect him an Altar in my heart.

For my part, I confess, (said the Coun­sellor) I have not yet seen him, and I shall hardly be able to justifie my want of duty towards him; for I am too blame, for having so long delayed my complement; and it his goodness do not temper (as I hope it will) the shame I have thereof, by the judgement he will vouchsafe to make, that it is rather an effect of my businesse, then a defect of my gratitude; I shall not presume to shew my face before him, and I will shun those parts of the Court where he is. I know not (said the Baron) whether your businesse detain you so much, or no; but sure I am, that it hinders you not from playing the Gallant, nor from coming to Court, yea, and very seldom keeps you from going to the Plays.

To speak the truth (said the Counn­sellor) 13. The relation of a Co­medy, of the Days Reign of Sem [...]mis[?]. besides that History animates, and encourages, and the acts of hostility upon the Amphitheaters have always moved the Spectators to glorious actions, I have so great an inclination to see these publick [Page 62] Spectacles, that had I lived in the time of the Old Romans, I had not faln short of the most ardent Lovers of the Circle; yea, and pleasure, and zeal might (per­adventure) have made me descend to the Arena (to use the word of Antiquity) and combat the Gladiators, Lyons, and Tygres. And this is to confess to you, that my passion suffers me not to let many Plays slip; and I swear to you, that the excellency of that New Piece, set forth by the Players of the Hostel de Bourgogne, deserves a cessation from all kinds of business, to see it acted.

Good Sir, (said the Baron) cure our curiosity, and tell us something of that Poem, in regard we yet know nothing thereof, but by the Arguments set up against the walls. To judge whether it be good or no (said the Counsellor) it is enough for you to know the Author of it, and to say, that he hath so well married Reason, and addresse with niseness of conceipts, Antitheses of terms, and abundance of Maximes, that the long texture of rich ornaments, the solidity of judgement, the oeconomy of conduct, and the subject of the History, are in dispute, for the glory of the Work. I grant you, that the Author was a little [Page 63] crafty, in taking for his Subject, the One Days Reign of Smniramis, and in chosing a History, (which frees him from the care of regulating his labour, in the Dramma­tical Poem) which is, of the natural Day, of four and twenty hours, since the matter it self religiously keeps him within the rules, without art, or aid. Not yet, that the sublimity, and elevation of spirit which he hath, (and which make his Poetry called Divine) or the force, and extent of his judgement, had any need of this cunning to perfect the Work; but because he could not find so pompous, and splendid a matter for the Stage as this, and for that he freely permitted his Spirit, to incline to that which Fortune favour'd most.

Now, to say that the beauty of the hand adds also to the Verses; and that the subtlest judgement, and the exactest ear may be deceived, by a thing which is spoken with emphasis; the same reason may serve for Plays, which the Stage sets out, and makes estimable, by the stately dresses, and various changes of the Scaene, which are not effectively good in the Cabinet, or Closet, where solitude, silence, and leasure, suffers us more pun­ctually to examine them. But that [Page 64] whereof I spake to you, scorns to be re­prehended (without calumny) by the most injurious censurers, either upon the Stage, or in the Closet; for it convinces the Criticks of all the ill opinion they can have of it; it limits all their conte­stations, and making them desist from their former errors, forces them to submit with heart and hand, to what truth re­quires from their thoughts. In fine, Gentlemen, this Piece is the honour of the French Stage, and as there never hath been, so never will there be the like of it. That is very much indeed (said the Mar­quesse) but yet not all, because the com­pany desires a hint of the story, and prays you to relate it.

I will tell you, Gentlemen, (said the Counsellor) this History is taken out of Bocaccuis; and Semiramis, Daughter to Neptune, was married to Ninus, the Son of Belus, first King of the Assyrians. This illustrious Queen was not only endued with a beautiful body, but also with a magnanimous mind; which made her take the habit, and arms of her husband Ninus upon her, and command the Armies, and hazzard her self in Battails, whilst he lived idely, and sluggishly at home; for boldness in dangers, (which [Page 65] is very often but vanity, and fury) was in her a natural magnanimity, which cast her upon the most evident and imminent dangers, with such ardour, and valour, as cool'd the most masculine Spirits of her State. And this magnanimity it was which startled both the Court, and the Camp, when she hurried her self, with too much heat, and hazzard, upon a Battail against the AEthiopians, wherein the head of their King was the prize of her victory, and served for a Trophy to honour her Triumph: and this was that which made her the first who scaled the walls of a certain strong Town, of great importance to her authority; at the assault whereof, she forbad the Rams to be applied to the Gates, and the rest of the Engins to be set on work, to have the glory of carrying it by storm, and to enter first her self, in the most perilous assault; And this it was, which made Ninus, of a petty King of the Assyrians, the Monarch of all Asia; and this, in fine, it was, which for reward of all the memorable services she had done his Crown, made her ask leave of him, to govern the Kingdom but one whole Day, as the only, and absolute Queen, and he to be her Subject: Which he granted her, upon condition that her [Page 66] power should end with the Day, and he be King again. And this is the Theme which our Poet hath taken for his Poem, where we may see, how this Princesse new moulds her Family, and distributes Offices, and Employments, to her Creatures, who were the choice persons of the Kingdom: How she gives Com­missions for war, and signs Dispatches of State, how she grants pardons, and presides in Counsels; how she receives Embassadors, and disposes her Orders, in favour of whom she pleases; how she marches like the Goddesse Bellona, at the head of an Army, against the City of Babylon, which was revolted from her; how she calms the sedition; exemplarily punishes the Factious, and banishes the complices therein, and the assistants thereto. In this Piece, in fine, our famous Poet demonstrates, in the space of four and twenty hours, many functions, which a Sovereign, and firmly establisht Roy­alty may execute, during the Regency, of a most puissant, and active King: And all this mingled with so many se­veral accidents, that at one Scaene ra­vishes the hearers mind with admiration, another sweetly recreates, and diverts it. But the intrique which sways the whole [Page 67] Poem, by the love which Ninus, and Se­miramis bore to a certain Slave, with whom they were both blindly taken, and mistaken, (for he was an Hermaphro­dite) is the most pleasant, and agreeable thing that can be shewed upon the Stage, aud was the cause of most of the revo­lutions of that State. For, upon the Sedition of Babylon (whereof semiramis received news one morning whilst she was dressing her selfe, at one of her Country-Houses, from whence she went to reduce the said City to obedience, with her head but half tyr'd, and her hair half done up, and half about her ears, (after having made an oath not to dresse her self quite, till she had quell'd the Rebells, and allay'd the tumult, as indeed she did:) Upon this sedition, I say, the grounds of Policy are so well deduc't, and canvast; Machiavels arguments so well debated, approv'd, and refuted in the Counsel; the best Maxims of Aristotle's Policy, and Plato's Commonwealth so well appropriated by the Poet, that it seems to be an Epitome of the whole Science of Policy.

You speak so well of it (said the Count) and set it so finely forth, that it is more pleasure to hear you relate it, the it would [Page 68] be, perhaps, to see it acted at the Hostel de Bourgogne. Really (said the Philo­sopher) he jeers us, and I think he comes abroad on purpose to speak this canting language, thereby to give the company the pleasure of adjusting, and ranging all the parts of this Comedy (if they can all come into the Subject) and making a Symmetry, of the various accidents thereof, which is as hard to do, as it is to make a justnesse, and equality of the temperament, and a harmony of all the humors of the Body; and it seems to my understanding, to be a picture, drawn (in great part) from his own invention, and capricio, which hath never been copy'd from the Original. For to speak but of one point only, how is it possible, to find any part, even of Policy, in this Poem, after having shew'd us such a world of various matters as he hath en­deavoured to do, in the Dramaticke? This Science, is of too great a force, and extent, to be abridged, and for all what­soever all the great Masters thereof have left written, to be deduc't, and com­prized therein. The Counsellor was about to reply; but the Philosopher hindred him, going vehemently on thus:

Policy, which is a means to govern, [Page 69] wherein every day produces various changes in affairs; wherein the reasons of State are so numerous, and so ambiguous, as to hold the most subtle Ministers in suspense, and wherein there are so many nice, and abstract precepts, that unlesse judgement, or experience give the art to apply them, the event thereof cannot but be pernicious, or fruitless. Policy, Sir, (I say) is not to be briefly treated: for the Maxims, by-ways, and practices thereof, are enough to fill many great volumes. For, it is a Civil Science, which composes the union of men, and we should not know how we lived, if we were not taught, that it is not only necessary for the conduct of States, but useful also in such private conversations as ours; and that it is exercised upon sensible, and particular objects, albeit it be of a great extent, and of an eminent and spiritual origin. Society is a Chara­cter, which God hath printed upon man, and which Nature inspires him with, as being carried towards it, by a certain instinct, or natural Law, which gives him an internal motion to it, and this motion is afterwards seconded by the imitation of external things, which are the con­veniencies, and commerce of this life; [Page 70] the true causes of forming Societies, in Monarchies, Aristocracies, and Democracies. There are some speculative persons, who find seven forms of Government; but I know but three of them; for the rest are mixt, and composed of these.

The object of Policy took its principle from particular Societies, and so by de­grees, in progress of time, from small ones to great ones. The first man, and the first woman, made the first Society in the world; and afterwards, their Fami­lies, and Posterities engrandisht it so much, that of one particular Society, were made many; and so it necessarily follow'd, that what was proper to one generation only, (being augmented by different Families) must grow to be va­riously divided; that Houses, Borroughs, Forts, Towns, and whole Provinces must be built, for lodging, and habitation, and Convoys appointed for the security of Commerce, and that all must be deduc't in fine, into Kingdoms, and Common­wealths, and other Forms of Government, that so by the direction of one, or more, Order, and Policy, might be kept in Communions, which were made by the world for its safety, and conservation; and consequently, that whatsoever might [Page 71] prove hurtful, either to the publick, or private Interest might be removed, and avoided: This Order, I say, hath always been supernatural, and not of humane invention; and howbeit it looks, as if the Body acted principally therein, and that care, vigilancy, and labour, wrought most in it, yet doth it draw its origin, and derivation, from a Divine Source.

The Baron (who was pleas'd with this Discourse) said, There is no doubt, but Policy comes immediately from God, and from a Motion of Nature; since even irrational Creatures, without art and study, are more capable of it then we, and seem to put this Science in practice, to teach us how to guide our selves, in the management of States, and in the direction of Nations. For, Bees are a perfect example of Policy, and that Policy of theirs is so well ranged, and so firmly establisht, in their Swarms, (which are their Communities) that we must abso­lutely conceive, that God gave them this instinct, for the instruction of our Government, in regard there are, in the conduct of these creatures, so certaine Maxims, and so well regulated an Order. I leave it to your consideration, whether the Refiners of this Science, and the [Page 72] Doctors of the Cabinet, would do hand­somely, to forge, and counterfeit precepts, and whether they ought not to follow the natural reasons, of those Creatures, which are their Authors, and which we find to be as potent, as just. It is judi­ciously decided, that Religion is the Principle, and Foundation of Policy, and that these States are always in disorder, and danger, in which it is not firmly settled. So that the Bees (which never go out of their Hives, without first crossing their legs, and kissing them, by an instinct of Religion) shew us what we ought to do in the morning, before we undertake any business, and that we must of necessity worship God, to be able to subsist.

Pardon me my Lord, (said the Philo­sopher) if I tell you, that this seems not very probable, and that the signification of the Greek word [...], (which is Footless) confirms it not.

I see Sir, (said the Baron) you are still upon the School, and Etymologies; but experience shews us, that this word is taken from apparence, and not from truth; and if they look as if they had no feet, it is because they shrink them up, and hide them by flying; for without [Page 73] them, how should they be able to sting, creep, and take such infatigable pains as they do? They are never weary of working, and of working for us (says the Prince of Poets) rather then for them­selves, by making us honey, and what­soever else we draw from it; to teach us, that men ought to employ themselves, for their friends, labour for their Country, and bestir themselves for the good, and peace of the Commonwealth; and that they ought to be content with what they have, without siezing, or coveting what belongs to others, as they are with their Hives, without trouble, or discord, and without taking, or siezing upon those of their Neighbours.

All Politicians have found by their examples, that Peace and Union con­serves a State; that Love and Communi­cation of goods maintains it; that Am­bition and Novelty destroys it; that moderation, and continency banishes hatred, and quarrels; that swavity, and complacency of great persons causes not envy; that Vagabonds, and idle persons give ill examples; that seditious persons foment vice, and destruction; that em­ployment, and exercise makes men prompt to defend themselves; that war [Page 74] makes them endure labour; that Arts are very advantagious; that prodigality, and ryot impoverishes the Subject; that dearth of provisions, for want of conduct, makes them rebel; and that, in fine, all States have need of persons of great experience, and authority, to govern them: And therefore, in regard the Bees have a King, who sways them, and to whom they pay obedience, and submissi­on, and who regulates all things, as we have said; it proves, that of all politick States, Monarchy is the best, and that which God gave them, and which he likes; and which, in a word, is that which all people should do well to follow.

For my part (said the Marquesse with admiration) as I do not believe, that any thing can be better said, or more hand­some things of Policy, comprised in fewer words then these Gentlemen have spoken; so do I not also conceive, that any thing can be more beautiful, more ample, and more recreative, upon the Stage, then the Tragedy, which the Counsellor hath related to us; nor that the acutest, and most supercilius Criticks can have ought to object, either against the Subject, or the Composition thereof. [Page 75] And yet I must let you know, (said the Counsellor) that there are some, and that there was one, the other day, in my Box, (who would needs be taken for a great Author, and a great Poet) who made my ears glow with pleading, and com­menting, sometimes upon the Subject, and the Conduct; sometimes upon the Order, and Dresse of the Stage; now upon the cadency of the Verses, and the disposition of the Actors; then, upon the Discourse, and the Sequel; very often; upon the merit, and reputation of the Author; afterwards, upon the Cloaths, and beauty of the Women; from thence, to the stateliness, or meanesse, of some of the Verses; and in fine, which way soever he directed his impor­tunities, and censures, I still observed, that he was prickt with envy, and that he fancied not the Author: Insomuch, as that after I had often desired him to hold his peace, I was fain at last to enjoyn him to silence, that so I might hear the Actors, and taste the pleasure of the Stage.

Colonel Hydospe, who was also with you (said the Baron) is particularly ac­quainted with that Poet, for they have bin often at my house together, and we will [Page 76] desire him to tell us who he is, that so we may be able to make a perfect descern­ment, 15. An Invective against an able Poet. or distinction of good Wits, and know whether censure, and detraction be signs thereof or no.

Hydaspe (catching up the word) said: It is true indeed, that I know that person, of whom you would have me give you my opinion; but it is extreamly against my humor, to judge of men; and I shall hardly be able to satisfie you in this oc­casion. For howbeit you may tell me, that I my self passe through the common judgement of men, and that I may fall into the snares of calumny, (which tra­duces, and blemishes the best actions) I am content to suffer this touch, and can hardly get leave of my self, to retalia [...]e it; And though I humbly submit my self to the whole world, yet will I not freely speak what I think of it. But Monsieur Angelin, who is a competent judge of these things, and who hath a good faculty to discern Wits, will give you better satisfaction thereupon, then I can, as having more light, and being more particularly acquainted with the person.

To which the Philosopher replied thus. Man being (according to some of [Page 77] Aristotle's Disciples) A little World; and (according to some other of a different Sect) the Picture of the whole Universe; it would be needful to have most a lively, yea, and even a supernatural intellect, and to be extraordinarily skilful in por­traiture, to discover the defects of so fair a Piece, and to be able to speak worthily of the bold, and gentle stroaks, whereby it is made perfect; which is above my knowledge: and yet howsoever, in re­gard I receive your desires as command­ments, I cannot forbear to obey you, and humbly endeavour, to the utmost of my simple, and common sense, to acquit my self the best I can, if not so well as I ought.

I tell you therefore, that I find nothing extraordinary in the person; but on the other side, I take him for a very great Dunse, in whom all the rules of Logo­mancy, and Chyromancy are false. Do not laugh at these words; for I expresse them literally, because, (to satisfie my curiosity) I have examined him, and lookt very strictly into his particular conversation; and according to my small understanding, I find him weak in his grounds, and arguments, and of a low and creeping style. All he hath, [Page 78] are some affected words which he hath studied, and which he ordinarily uses; and this gives him a kind of glosse, and makes him seem to be a gallant man. This is my opinion, touching his Dis­courses, and his Entertainments. Now, as for his pen, and his writings, (some whereof I have seen) I have observed nothing in them, but a masse of mean conceits, collected out of various Authors, which he appropriates to himself as his own; and in a word, his Works, (the babes of his wit) are like the Son of Noe, who discovered the shameful parts of his Father; and are only different in this, that he laught himself, and they make others laugh.

Philonenes was condemned to the Mimes, for making good Verses; and Plato was sold for a Slave in Egina, for making good Prose: but our blade needs not fear banishment; for his writings will never make him envied, either by Prince, or People; and yet I must confess to them of his faction, that he hath some rarities; I mean, that good conceits are rare in his mouth, and good actions in his hand. If they will needs have it, that he hath a Courtiers wit, I confirm it; for indeed, it never reaches beyond the present [Page 79] Object, and is so far from the accumu­lation of variety of matters, that it is hardly able to manage, and maintain a common discourse. In fine, he is very much like them, who have been at the University, and cannot speak Latin; and I believe, he hath been these ten years at Paris, without seeing the Court, or the University. I am sure, you will pardon me, if I tell you, that the ablest man in the world could not find in him, what I have sought in vain; I mean subtility of Spirit, which is the source of good operations, and whereof you have (per­adventure) observed some tincture by his ability to find fault.

His Wit is like the River of Eridanus, and the Philosophers Stone, which are both hard to be found, and which have scarce any being, but in mens phancy. His learning will never raise him above the Vulgar; and had he lived in the time of Crates, he would infallibly have left him a legacy; for this Misers humour was, to distribute his goods amongst the ignorant; yea, and that so far, as to de­prive his own Children of any part thereof, if they were witty, and learned. Now to speak otherwise then I do of this person, would be to deceive you; [Page 80] and to prove the truth thereof, himself will give you a sufficient testimony, when­soever you shall think it fit to enjoy his sottish conversation; for you may judge of the Lion by his Claw, and you will think him happy, to have been born heretofore, since now a days there are no such Noddies gotten. Thus you see the influence you have upon me, and that I am yours usque ad aras, since for your sakes, I have broken the oath I had made, never to speak to any bodies pre­judice. A Poet would with good reason be afraid of those Furies, which they of that profession call Eumenides, and which inflict cruel punishments upon perjuries; and so a person more religious then I am, would give the title of sin, to that which I call duty: but perfect friendship hath no bounds, and I might more justly be term'd a Lover then a Friend, for slighting (as I do) the Oath I had made.

I swear to you (said the Baron) that it is as hard to make a sound distinction of some Wits, which we sometimes hear discourse, and which seem to be indiffe­rently good, as it is to defend ones self against their persecutions and imperti­nencies; and especially, when they cir­cumvent you, and constantly importune [Page 81] you with their far fetcht arguments, and their affected nicities of the times: for you would say, if you heard them, that all the talk must be for them; that it were felony to interrupt them; that no body but they knows how to argue; and that nothing can be said, which can escape their censure: But this is the common way, for the ignorant to shew their abi­lity, and their sottish vanity; as we see it to be an ordinary thing in disputes, and controversies, for fundamental rea­sons to prop error.

I was much taken (said the Counsellor) with this out side Poet, by the studied, and captious entertainments, wherewith he murthered me before the Play began: but now I am not only unbeguiled by the relation of this talent, but much more enlightned also by the truth which re­sults from the solid judgement, of a person who hath lively notions, then by the false esteem, and general applause of the vulgar. I take one for all; and I confesse to you, that the good office this Gentleman hath done us, makes me find, that censure is the true mark of igno­rance, and that to be a Critick, and a Varlet, is the same thing.

How many of these gulls, and formal [Page 82] Cockscombs are there, who follow the Court, and are harbour'd there, said the Marquesse? For I know many kinds of them; some whereof, act by a principle of vanity, and presumption, and do all they do out of design, and vain-glory. They pretend to be States men, and Gallants, & make a mystery of all things, and by a certain counterfeit, and studied glibnesse of tongue, labour to be held eloquent, and passe for great men. Others dispose of themselves by interest, and insinuate with the Grandees, to be pro­tected by them, that so they may exact upon Players, and Book-sellers, and get a belly full, free cost.

All these people (said the Baron) make the high point of eloquence consist in the politenesse, and nicenesse of speaking A la mode, and in certain new, and unheard of words which they affect, to expresse themselves (as they think) wittily, and seem eloquent by extravagancies; and instead of keeping themselves within the usual terms, and within the bounds and decency of our Language, they study strange expressions, and comment upon the Latin, and other Tongues; and the worst of it is, that men do not only imi­tate them, but esteem them for it; as a [Page 83] new fashion'd Sute gets a Taylor repu­tation; or as new Shows, or new Jugglers, make the people flock together.

Truly, (said the Count) if to speak, or write well, we must follow the Maxims 16. Of E­loquence, and the delicate parts thereof. of Novelty, which these pretended fine speakers practice, by Verbalizing the Nouns, and Nounnizing the Verbs; I find it to be too hard a Law, and disap­prove of it as tyrannical, and insuppor­table. For all Sciences are grounded upon natural Sense; every Nation sets them out plainly and purely, in its ordi­nary Language; and none but the French, seek new, and uselesse beautifications, and embellishments, which will cause them to be despised in another Age, and serve for no ornament at all in this. And what can they hope to gain by this levity of theirs, but the vain applause, and vogue of the people, and the contempt of pru­dent persons? The worst I see in this abuse is, that not only novelties alone pass for politenesse, and quaintnesse, but besides, that whatsoever comes out of the Country is neglected and slighted; that all, which comes not from Court, is base, and barbarous; and that out of the reach thereof, it is impossible to be ca­pable of any thing; as if, forsooth, those [Page 84] Gallants, who take upon them to be the Legislators of well speaking, had a just jurisdiction, to impose Lawes upon words, and to carve them into fashions.

If the Country Gentlemen, and they who are obliged to make publique Speeches, were forc't to come five hun­dred miles, to learn the new fashion'd speech, and to procure a new Book, which is not often worth a rush in it self, and is not esteemed neither, but for its new form of speaking: If I say these poor Gentlemen should be bound for the purchase of eloquence, to make as many journeys, as there are broacht new words and expressions, the High-ways to Paris would be more frequented, then the Pont Where all the Mount­aubancs, Jugglers, and Cheaters are. Neuf, and by this concourse, the Court would be as populous as the King­dom. Besides, that it were a great un­happinesse for them, if, because they are not Courtiers, they should not be suffered to utter their thoughts, and if they should be accused of not knowing how to speak French, because they amuse not them­selves, with these foolish affections, which our Sparks call the politenesse, and quaintnesse of the times, choice words, handsomenesse of discourse, and speech A la mode.

The Counsellor (to confirm what the Count had said in favour of the Country Gentlemen) 17. For the Coun­try. spake thus. I am apt to con­ceive (if I be not mistaken) that the art of well speaking, consists not in the perfect knowledge of our Language alone: for if so, they who are at Paris, or neer any of them who follow the Court, would have the advantage; and thence it would follow, that the birth of a Lackay, would be better then the wit of a Gentleman. But it is much more honourable for the Country Gentlemen to learn (as they do) the property of the Language of them­selves, then to receive it from their Nurses; and they had rather have any fault of the Country seen in their style, then the least defect of judgement in their discourses: for thereby it may be per­ceived, that they hold of themselves, and not from their birth, whatsoever ele­gancy they have, and that reason ought to be more valued then the quaintness of expressions. And for the strengthning of my argument, I conclude in their behalf, that judgement, and Science, are to be preferr'd before the politenesse of the Court, and that those discourses which are made according to the rules of Art, and are supported by reason, are better [Page 86] then all the Modes in France.

That in your opinon, Sir, (replied the Marquesse) but you will not have many on your side therein, in regard there be many arguments to oppose it. We know very well, both Court and Country; and certain it is, that the later is furnisht with witty, valiant, and vertuous persons; but they are still to seek of the true tincture of eloquence, and have much a do, to get accomplisht Orators; for Nature gives the first qualities thereof, Art produces, and perfects the rest, and this Art (which is not exactly known, but where we are) is partly founded upon the Language of the times. All those Authors who are esteem'd and celebrated at Court, and who passe for the prime Wits of this Age, were but poor Poets, and very mean Orators, at their first coming thither; but now, by the influ­ence, and communication of this sweet air which we breath, they are held to be great persons, and extraordinary men.

Whatsoever you say, in behalf of the Court, (said the Counsellor) you will still grant me, that the perfection of eloquence consists not in those fopperies, which are ordinarily used, and which men strive [Page 87] to innovate dayly here; for it depends upon certain qualities of conceits, and words, and upon the collection thereof with dexterity, and judgement.

That it is requisite, to have such qua­lities, as all who are styled Orators have not, and that Eloquence is an art, which relies as much upon conduct, as upon Nature, is not to be doubted; for learning and study, are (in part) the rules, and precepts of it; quite different from Poetry, wherein Nature acts more then Art, by the help, strength, and motion she gives the Poet, to make use of his talent, and wherein (saith the Prince of Eloquence, he is inspired with a Divine Spirit. But for my part, I find study, and labour absolutely necessary, to make a compleat Orator, and that they must both be applied to the true ways, and not to the novelty of fashions, and fan­cies: And therefore he must take care, to have the terms of his discourse solid, expressive, and usual with persons of honour; and not strange, extravagant, and vulgar; and his periods round, and as short as conveniently they can be, without obscurity. His style must be florid; and enrisht with Figures, and not only with such as serve for ornament, [Page 88] but with such also, as are good to animate, corroborate, and perswade. It is like­wise very important, that the whole body of a Discourse, be replenisht with acute, and sound conceits, and that the inventions be amplified, according to the rules of art, and not according to the capricio of the Orator; and in fine, that a speech be compos'd (to use the proper terms) of all the Parts of Speech, and that these Parts be proportion'd to their qua­lity, and quantity.

Since we are upon the businesse of new words, (said Hydaspe) what conditions ought words to have, to be fit for all good discourses, and how must they be handsomely chosen, to the end that we may not be left in confusion, about choosing such as are perspicuous, and splendid, and shunning those which are so dark, and ambiguous, that they cannot be comprehended? You know better then I (answered the Counsellor) and if I have presum'd to dogmatize (with leave for this word) it was only to disap­prove of the hard law, which the in­venters of new words would fain impose upon us, and suppress that abuse, which begins to slip in, and take root amongst us.

To make a happy speech, the Orator must choose his words on purpose, and they must be significant, singular, proper, and conform both to custome, and to the matter he handles; that is to say, if the matter be serious, and grave, the words must be magnificent, and pompous; if vulgar, simple, and plain; if pleasant, and delicious, sweet, and flourishing: For by significant terms, we expresse our selves neatly, and cleerly; and choice and proper words, add grace, and charity to a Discourse. He who intends to speak well, must never utter any mean and vulgar phrases, however they may some­times be permitted, and tolerated; and yet still, he must speak according to custome; for such words as are not in use, make a speech ridiculous, and pe­dantick; as the want of choice terms, and such as are suitable to the Subject we undertake, insteed of making the matter intelligible, renders it AEnigma­tical, and barbarous.

The old Authors (said the Marquesse) never spake so worthily as you do, of this Art; and though you have discourst of the perfection of Eloquence, and of the conditions necessary for words, yet shall not that serve your turn; for you [Page 90] shall come, if you please, to style in general, and to the other parts of an Orator, since you acquit your self thereof so pertinently, and vigorously.

I perceive Gentlemen (said the Coun­sellor) that I am insensibly engaged; but though I should reap nothing, but shame, wearinesse, and vexation, by not giving you satisfaction, (without prefuming to teach my Masters, who have already both natural and artificial Eloquence, in a far larger measure then my self) I will proceed at randome.

Conceits, are the Soul of Reason, and they reign imperiously amongst many, and various matters; they shine brightly through the masse of their own beauties; they captivate the most severe, and ob­stinate spirits, and having charm'd them with their force, and subtility, they dis­pose of them at their pleasure. Now those Conceits, which have fo much power, and efficacy to act, are of two sorts: the one are proper, and necessary, for the intelligence of matters; and the other serve to adorn, and illuminate a discourse; and as the former are fram'd, by the definition, description, or denu­meration of Parts, Proprieties, and Acci­dents, and by the sequel of such reasons [Page 91] as are fit to prove the subject; so are the later produc't, by many parts, which serve for a mavailous ornament thereto, and which I should be infinitely glad, to be able to deduce, and demonstrate to you.

It is an ordinary trick of Orators, who study to sooth, and gull the world with captious artifices, to make often use of fables, in pleasant matters; and in grave ones, of Sentences, which are as the precious Stones, to make their designs perspicuous: for they judiciously apply the good authorities they have taken, from the most laudible persons of all times, and sometimes craftily usurp them, and make them their own, without alledging the Author, the Book, or the Terms; and they prudently place, in the weakest parts of their speech, certain Hieroglificks, and Emblems, (which are the Images authoriz'd by the Ancients, to awaken, and stir up, by the dresse and subtilty of the Secret, (which makes the Mystery, and the embellishment) the eyes, and ears of the hearers to the matter, and their minds to curiosity. It is also their way, to cite certain Proverbs, which very much grace a discourse; but this they do but seldome, in regard they [Page 92] are common; as they also forbear to propose examples, unlesse they be pickt out amongst such as are least known, and most illustrious. As for comparisons, they take such as are single, such as are composed of those, which compare one thing to another, in one point only; and of those also, which are multiplied, and look upon various objects: For in regard that they are often fain to make use of them, they shun the poor and lame ones, and cull out the rich and sound ones, which are indeed of as great force as Examples, to move, and animate power­fully. There is no doubt, but naked thoughts are much weaker, then such as are arm'd with the assistance which I have now deduc't; and it were to make them contemptible, to expose them unsupported, and without those props, which serve them both for ornament, strength, and clarity.

The Count perceiving him break off his discourse there, said, This is as touch­ing the conditions of words, and the qualities of conceits; but the ways to distribute, and dispense them, are diffi­cult, and unknown to many persons: For it is not enough to have materials to build, but we must also have an Architect, [Page 93] and a Design, and carry things on ac­cording to the Regular, and Geometrical Ground-Plate of Fabricks: And so we must likewise know, how to range, and order that which you have now said, and to reduce the matters, into that which you call Style.

To this the Counsellor replied, To entertain you with what you desire, it had been good to let you know, that in the practice thereof, Imperceptible Tran­sitions are some of the finest secrets; that is, to passe in a discourse, from one matter to another; and I should have slid in­sensibly upon it, to shew you the way of it, and to tell you, that mens thoughts are no lesse various, and different, then their persons; that they make divers impressions upon their minds; that they never discover themselves without alte­ration, and are never exprest with the same purity, wherewith they are re­ceived. The same thing holds also in Style: for every Orator, speaks after his own fashion; and they differ as much as the Subjects, and Matters whereof they treat; and the manner, or method they hold in collecting their words, (which is the proper definition of Style) is as par­ticular, and peculiar to every Orator, as [Page 94] the ways of several Painters are in their works.

It was very judiciously, and advanta­giously observed by Demosthenes, and Quinctilianus, (who were ancient School-men, and great Masters, of Rhetorick) that there are three kinds of Style: namely, the plain one, which is without ornament, and artifice, and which cleerly expresses things, by common discourses: the ordinary, or midle one, which is more extended then the first, and enricht with points, and figures, but which hath very little vigor, and life in it: And the third, which is excellent, hath the qualities of both the other, and is animated besides, with force, pomp, violence, and all the Maxims of art. Now the excellency of this high Style, depends upon the heat wherewith it ought to be enlivened, by the figures which are proper to the no­tions, and by certain acute, sublime, and cleer points, which captivate the mind. And really, sweetnesse, and smoothnesse of Style, is almost always necessary, to procure an indulgent hearing, and to win empire over Souls; as it also is, to have the periods just, and of a measure con­form to the Subject; besides, that the tie, or connexion of the words, must not [Page 95] be any way harsh to the ear, or to the tongue, but agreeable, and harmonious. Moreover, they who are to speak to stubborn, and obstinate Spirits, and en­deavour to vanquish, and reduce them by force of argument, use an eloquent, and imperious Style, and assemble certain grave, and magnificent terms, with an order far above the common way of speaking; for they dresse, enrich, and fortifie their Style, with points, sentences, and violence of figures; and to exercise this violence, the Prince of Eloquence says, that we must have pressing reasons, and puissant figures, and that the Orator ought to be possest with the same passion, to which he perswades his hearer, to quicken him, prevail upon him, and obtain his desire of him.

I wonder (said the Marquesse) that one of the most famous Authors of the times 18. An Apology for Mon­sieur de Balzac. should be censur'd, howbeit he observed all the precepts which you have recited, and that his Style have purchast a general applause.

It is true (said the Counsellor) that many have written against his manner of speaking, and that his Style hath been attempted to be supprest; and yet you see, that he leaves not to flourish; that [Page 96] his works are still in great vogue, (as having been several times printed) and that the truth of his merit remains victo­rious over censure.

He would do ill to complain (said the Baron) of the persecution of his enemies, because it is partly by them, that he reigns amongst the Wits, and holds most of his glory from them: for envy never acts strongly, but against unparalell'd vertue; and if they have sought repu­tation, by censuring his Writings, which attract the hearts, and admiration of all men, he hath done an heroical action, by despising their attempt, in regard he could acquire no subject of Triumph, by combating their weaknesse. For such conjurations are more favourable then hurtful, in regard of the lustre they confer upon vertue, and for that mean spirits are never made objects of aemulation. And how many Authors to purchase esteem; would be glad to be thus unfor­tunate, and to have Philarks to encounter as he hath had? But all are not Ciceros, or Ovids, to merit enemies, and aemulators. It is strange, that a Fryer, or the Rector of a Colledge, who hath but the Theory of the art of well speaking, and hath not so much as suckt the air of true elegancy, [Page 97] should presume to enter the list with him who hath establisht it, who, (like another Crisiphonte) is not lesse sedulous in the study of Philosophy, then in the practice of the Liberal Sciences; and who, being the Christophero Columbo of our France, hath open'd us the treasures of Elo­quence, and clearly won the Palm in that field; and therefore Philarok did un­doubtedly better, to make a safe, though shameful retreat, then to contest any longer.

In matter of war, the same and repu­tation of Conquerers makes them more glorious, then the shares they have in enterprizes; and so in order to Books, some presumtuous Writers, insteed of conserving the little repute they have gotten, do ordinarily lose themselves, by undertaking to correct the works of others: And this passes in the knowledge of the weaker judgements, for the diffe­rence there is, between the force, and fertility of the wit, of the Author of whom we speak, and the sterility of that of his Antagonist; between the height and statelinesse of that of the one, and the lownesse, and meanesse of that of the other; between the property of speech of the former, and the pedantry of the [Page 98] later; for in short, take the later out of the School, and you strike him quite dumb; and really, all the honour he hath gotten, consists in the indignation of the whole world, which he hath purchast to himself: nor is his fault to be pardon'd at all, as not being able so much as to imitate our Author, after ten years study; and yet as worthy as this Pedant hath been, of a just rebuke, the Gentleman hath never defended himself against his presump­tion, with any other weapons, then those of the vertue of silence: And as Narses, that great, and victorious Captain, subdued the Goths, conquer'd the Bactres, and subjugated the Germans, more by patience then by force; just so hath he vanquisht his adversary; who perceiving that there was nothing to be gotten, by attempting his constancy, at length grew weary of the field, and defeated himfelf; whereby the silence of the persecuted is become perfectly victorious, and hath given him as great an advantage over the persecutor, as he hath by the excel­lency of his Works.

A Spirit, when it is prickt, and exas­perated by passion, produces still more, and dictates better things, then when it is not: and therefore, had this Gentle­man [Page 99] been subject to revenge, having shewn us such wonders in quiet, and tranquillity, what could we have expe­cted, but Divine Answers from him? But as it was not sufficient for the Legislators of the Greeks, only to understand Philoso­phy, but also to put it in practice; so was it also his pleasure, to profess the Precepts of the Stoicks, and particularly that of taming his passions, and utterly extin­gnishing them, before he would prescribe us any Laws, in the art of well speaking. The obligations which France hath to him, render her incapable of acknow­ledgement, and the thanks we owe his pen, are much greater, then the satisfa­ction which we should be able to receive, from the testimonies of our duties. Let him go boldly on, to purchase the bene­dictions of the Kingdom, (since he cannot be paid with other coyn) and by the productions of new Works, furnish the rest of the world with matter, both for envy, and admiration; for without being any thing lesle then a Barbarian, no man can henceforward endeavour to blemish a wit, which makes our Language flourish so much as he hath done; and I shall always hold my self a good French-man, as long as I shall be of this opinion.

If this Apology (said the Philosopher) had been made, and publsht, whilst Phi­lark was alive, it would certainly have made his pen fall out of his hand, and his persecution would not have lasted so long. You may also say (said the Mar­quesse) that in that case, the Counsellor would have been likewise censured, as well as he whom he defends, and must certainly have made one in that great quarrel.

I would challenge my self, (said the Baron) in regard that the Laws of fight­ing oblige us to serve not only our friends, but also all such as employ us, without exception; yea, and that even without being employ'd, we ought to fight with any such as engage us in the field. But I am also confident, that I should have had the advantage on my side, in regard of the justice of the Cause, which I should have maintain'd; and that, having many reasons to protect a docil Spirit, which fought with patience, the victory would surely have been mine, and all the world have declared for us.

As to the point of the reasons (said the Colonel) by undertaking this Apology, 19. Of the di­stinction of Wits. wherewith you have entertain'd us, the Counsellor hath left the reasons, and [Page 101] figures of the Art of Oratory, which he had begun to shew us. I am returning thither, (said the Counsellor) and Cicero had just cause to desire (as I told you) that the Orator be possest with the same passion, to which he endeavours to per­swade his hearers, if he mean to act with efficacy; and to establish in good Rhe­torick, that strong reasons, and pressing figures are necessary for him to animate: for they are in effect, the most powerful reasons of an Orator, to keep him from being beblinded, by any other nice part of his discourse, and from being inebri­ated, with the vapor, of the good opinion he hath, of what he intends to perswade, and of the justice of his design: And if the force of his figures, and the violence of his reasons, (which are the strongest ways to convince) do not transport him, he will never obtain what he aims at, but will certainly find in mens minds, many difficulties, and much resistance for him to overcome. For howbeit, Rational Souls seem to be invincible to Reason, because they are fortified therewith, and because that was the first object of their creation; yet do we find, that Reason is their most susseptible, or obnoxious part, and that such thoughts as are [Page 102] founded thereon, and such discourses as are compos'd by ratiocination, cap­tivate them with ease and facility. But it is to be wisht, that those reasons may have many conditions, and that they may be well follow'd: for it is indeed a shame, that there should be laws against such as break the images of Princes, and such as conterfeit money, and yet that we should suffer falsity in rational discourses; yea, and that even those persons, who passe for the most just, and reasonable, should surprize, and gull the people, with Sophisms, Paradoxes, and false appa­rences of reason. Now, for the avoiding of these surprizes, and for the strict exa­mination of such reasons as are not ordi­nary, we must observe, whether they be certain, or at least probable, and propor­tionate to the motions we mean to raise, in the affections; and to excite the mo­tions with successe, the Orator must urge such reasons as are easie to be understood, well deduc't, not hard to be explicated, animated with figures, and not over nu­merous, (for then one spoils the effect of another) and above all, he must take heed, least, though he expresse them with artifice, there appear neverthelesse some natural plainesse, (for the later must be [Page 103] visible, and the other invisible) in regard that if it be never so little discovered, it forthwith produces a contrary effect. If the Orator will observe all which I have said, in his Style, and if the reasons which he means to propose, be sustained with such props as are necessary; there is no doubt, but he will charm with his eloquence, and acquire with his sweet­nesse, and (when he lists) with affect or strain, those motions he intends to exact from the hearer.

All this is highly delightful (said the Philosopher) to know, if a man, who will needs seem to be a great Speaker, be effe­ctively eloquent or no; and to prove that the high point of Eloquence consists not in the inventing, and coyning of words; but in the practice of men of honour, in conditions requisite, both for reasons, and conceits, in the accommo­dation of the Style, and in the decisive perfection of the Orator. But now we must examine the way we are held, to make a distinction of Wits in general, and what apparent signs we may observe, to judge effectively, whether they be good, or bad: for the manner of life of the Stoicks, made them easie to be known, and their reputation was either good, or [Page 104] bad, in despight of all their moderation of Spirit; and however their retreats were close, their discourses private, and that they forbore to publish their Philo­sophy; yet left they not to post through the judements of men, because they were fain to speak, and could not live without expressing themselves, and without being understood.

Speak, that I may know thee, said a certain wise man; and the Divine Oracle hath left us for a Precept, that we shall know men by their works. A dead Body is always incognizable, not only because it is ordinarily changed, but because it neither speaks, nor acts; and for that the qualities of its Soul, which we should know, are departed with her, and have left nothing but a trunk, and a lump without motion. An idle man is mise­rable, and wicked, because he renders his Spirit dull, and his Body heavy, and sluggish, and because also he leads a lazy life, and purchases the hatred of God and Man, and for that, in fine, he makes not himself known what he is: And howbeit an Emperor of Rome endea­voured to excuse his lazinesse, by saying, that every one must render an account of what he shall have done, and not of [Page 105] what he shall not have done, a person who moves not, is incapable of doing evil; yet did he stain the lustre of the Roman Empire by his sloth, and a gap of infamy to his history, which could not be stopt by his actions, because thereby he never afforded any matter for it. So that it is necessary, either to see the man, or to see his works, to judge what he is; and we must make use of this art, to observe the interior of all the counte­nances he shews.

Action indeed (said the Count) facili­tates knowledge; but it is also true, that we might find other means, if the Science of Complexions were infallible, and evident, in frequentation; and there is no doubt, but it would be easie, to make a perfect judgement of Spirits, since they are not, but by the organs, and that Bodies have no functions, but are meerly subject to the humors which govern them.

You make me take notice (said the Philosopher) of a certain form of trying, and knowing men, which I find easie, and as it were indubitable; and it is, that when we see a person of a cold, and moist complexion, we may judge, that he hath a good memory; and that if he have never so little learning, or reading, he must [Page 106] needs have his mind full of the juyce, and marrow of good Books; and con­sequently, that he hath good foundations, and may passe for an able man; and of this we have an example in Herodotus, upon the subject of the Amazons (whose sex participates most of the cold, and moist) that being allied to men of for­reign Countrys, they sooner learnt the language of their husbands, then their very husbands themselves, and changed their speech as often as their Country, whensoever their various Expeditions of War required it. So that we may say, that a man of that Complexion, may be a good positive Divine, a good Cosmo­grapher, a good Arithmetician, a good Linguist, a good Lawyer, a good Gramma­rian, and a good Historian; all which are the Sciences, and Arts, which are acquired by the Memory.

If Flegm, and Melancholy predomi­nate in a man, and if he have drought, and coldnesse in equal proportion, we may draw an infallible consequence, that he hath a strong Imagination; and that by his inclination, he may be capable of Eloquence, Poetry, Musick, and of all the Arts and Sciences, which consist in figures, and correspondencies, in harmonies, and [Page 107] proportions, provided that he have pra­ctised, and applied himself to them.

On the other side, when a man of a Cholerick, and dry Complexion, and that the blood, by an agreeable conjun­ction, hath an equal dominion between dry and moist; it is not to be doubted, but that Nature hath drain'd her forces, been prodigal of her favours, and form'd this excellent Temperament, of her purest Substance: And we may conclude, that such a man hath a good judgement, and brisk, and pleasant humor; that he may be a good School Divine, a good Natural, or Moral Philosopher, a good Lawyer, a good Companion, a good Drol, a good Courtier of Ladies, and according to that, good at all other operations of the mind, and functions of the Body.

But Sir, (said the Marquesse) if Spirits, may be better known by their actions, then by the Complexion, (because you have said, that they are the inevitable marks of them, and that you mean to draw the conclusions thereof, from what they act;) what say you of a man, who practices Physick, and the Mathematicks; and of another, who practices Policy, Wars, and Civil Conversations; and of a third, who is a good Limner, and a good [Page 108] Engyneer? As I have said (answered the Philosopher) that, by the knowledge of the Complexion, we may discern Spirits; & so, according to the drift of their incli­nations (since things are dependent, and reflective upon one another) we may know that a Limner, a Poet, a Mathe­matician, an Astrologer, a Politician, a Captain, or an Orator, have a difference of Imagination, very contrary to the Un­derstanding, & memory; that they can ne­ver be good Grammarians, good School-Divines, good Logicians, good Physitians, or good Lawyers; and that they who are subtle, and crafty, and have a forward­nesse, and quicknesse of wit, are fit to be Courtiers, Negotiators, and Merchants; but that they are not capable of learning, and that there are no Spirits more contra­ry, and repugnant to Sciences then these.

It will not be so difficult, to judge of the understanding by its effects, and of the ignorance of the vulgar, who per­swade themselves, that a man is wise, and prudent, if he be eloquent, historical, and Romantick; if he be a good Mathe­matician, and a Poet; which are things directly belonging to the Imagination, and Memory, and not to the Judgement, which is the seat of Prudence, and the [Page 109] just guide of the Soul, and Reason. And they have different opinions, concerning these matters of Judgement; whereas they ought to refer themselves to the learned, and know that the works of the Understanding, give this Power of the Soul, the faculty to distinguish, to infer, to judge, to argue, and to elect; and that such doubts as are in it, arise from acci­dents; but that we answer them by di­stinctions, because thence we draw the Consequences; which if they do not satisfie the mind, we still contest, till it be appeased by reasons, and till the Judge­ment be satisfied.

If the Athenians had had this doctrine, they would not have wondred, to see so wise a man as Socrates, not know how to speak, and discourse; nor should we at present find so much obscurity, and roughnesse of Style, in the works of Aristotle, Plato, and Hypocrates. From hence we must conclude, that whosoever will have the knowledge of a good Judgement, a happy Memory, and a strong Imagination, must draw it from the effects thereof; and that in the pra­ctice of the Arts, and Sciences proposed, the issue demonstrates, whether they who exercise them, be capable of them [Page 110] or no, and whether they applied them­selves to them by natural inclination, or by hard labour.

All this is not sufficient, said the Colonel; for I remember another favourable Maxim, which I have experimented in my travels, to distinguish Inclinations, and know mens Spirits perfectly, by their Complexions; which is, by the origin of their birth; by the Science, of the various humors of Nations, and by the consideration of the Climates. Galen was the first who well practiced this way, in the enquire he makes, of the temperature, of the Region where a man is born, or where he dwells, when he means to judge of the Phisiognomy, and know the Spirit: And he says very well, when he says, that the Northern People have no unfaithful Memory, and that they want Judgement; that there never was but one Philosopher, in all Scythia; & that in Athens, they were all Philosophers; and they who are neer the Sun, are cunning, prudent, and subtle. I ask the reason of this, as Aristotle doth in his Problems, said the Philosopher? That you may know in his Book, answered the Colonel. As for me, I believe, that they of cold Countrys, have Spirits like Drunkards, [Page 111] and cannot discern the nature of things, in regard that the great coldnesse of the Region reverberates the natural heat inwards, and makes the moisture of their brains, and other parts, exceed the drought, and heat, which are the quali­ties of the Understanding: In such sort, as that they have but the Imagination, and the Memory; and their Spirit is like an image of wax, which may be moulded, and unmoulded at pleasure, as not being provided with addresse, subtility, vigor, ratiocination, or any other judicious faculty.

That Power of the Soul therefore (said the Baron) which ought to have the su­premacy, is never found in them: and if they be bestial, inconstant, and fickle, the reason thereof is, in my opinion, that the Moon, which immediately presides over watry, and humid Bodies, predo­minates over the people of these Regions, and casts upon them the influence, of the qualities she possesses: Which we find true, in women who, for their humidity, participate also of this Star, and we see by experience, that they have much of its levity, and inconstance in them. Moreover we may observe it in Lobsters, and other Shell-Fishes, which at the Full [Page 112] of the Moon, are full of meat, and at the wain have nothing but water in them.

From this argument, (said Hydaspe) and from the knowledge of the Affricans, or Scythians, (howbeit we converse but little with them) we may draw a judge­ment, of the people of this Kingdom, who are neerer, or farther from the Sun, and affirm, that they can, or cannot be capable, of such and such things: but in order hereto, their presence helps much, and makes us know them, by their Stature, by their Hair, and by the colour, of their faces; and by these things, we may judge of their Spirits; nor is it very difficult to guesse, that a man, who is big, white, or flaxen, is moist, and that this moisture hath dilatated his members, whitned his skin, guilded his hair, given him a happy memory to retain things, and a strong Imagination to construe Specieses, and set on work many inven­tions.

On the other side, not to believe, that a man of a little, and low pitch, grows to be so by the force of heat, would be to deny the rarification of the pores, caused by heat; and that the Sun doth not black the hair, and tan the face; which would be, not to admit any such heat in [Page 113] his beams, as in his nature, and go against Philosophy, Physick, and Reason. It is therefore true, that a little, and black man is ordinarily hot, and consequently of great judgement; that he hath a good wit to argue, dispute, and resolve, and that he can act with force, and vigour, upon the most sharp, and subtle matters.

Thus you see Gentlemen (said the Philosopher) that the distinction of Spirits may be made by discourse, by Works, by Complexions, by Birth, by Habitation, by Stature, by Hair, and by the colour of the face. But I find another more efficacious, and more important way, which is Phisiognomy. That is comprised (said the Marquesse) in the colour of the face; and the qualities of the Body whereof we have spoken, com­pose the greatest part thereof.

We have indeed said something, (re­plied Angelin) but it was but weakly, and skanningly; And these reasons will not win the game, if you add not, that Phisiognomy, which is the miror, and rule of Nature, shews us the inclinations, and conditions of men, by all those things together, and not by the retail, which we perceive upon the out side of their bodies, and upon their faces. I will [Page 114] not incumber my self in the diversity of subjects, which are to be considered by this Rule, and make a disquisition after that of the Stars, the Planets, and of Climats; for we are upon the discern­ment of men, without any other pattern, then that of Bodies; and I pretend to know them distinctly, by Phisiognomy in general; which is easie to do, by the scope thereof; that is, to judge of the inclinations, propensions, and drifts of their Spirits, and by the subject (which is man himself) guiding our selves by such motions, and inclinations, as are purely Natural. From whence we must infer, that albeit the Soul be spiritual, Immaterial, and Indivisible, she yet follows the affections, and dispositions of the Body, and depends, in some sort, upon them, in her operations; not yet, as the Cause, but as the Instrument, and Organ. If God hath reason to require an account of Graces unprofitably re­ceived, when superfluities cause diseases in the body, when it is transported with Choler, and infatuated with debauchery, and when so many other irregular mo­tions alter, and change the good opera­tions which it ought to exercise: If, I say, the Soul makes ill use of her Organs, and [Page 115] must yield an account of her actions to God, we may well know, that she follows the dispositions of the body, which perverts, and insnares her. That by the Body, we are enabled to know the strength, or weaknesse, of the mind; and that as often, and as much, as the Body, which is her Instrument, changes, and varies its inclinations; so often, and so much must the Soul necessarily change, and vary her operations.

By this you may see, that if the mark of the Phisiognomy appears upon the outside of the Body, and upon the face, we may draw from thence, the knowledge of the interiour motions; however Philosophy, by good habits, do sometimes change, and reduce them to reason. Zo­phirus, who was the greatest Phisiog­nomist of Antiquity, after having con­sidered the air of Socrates, and Alcibiades, knew, that their Natural Signs inclin'd them, the one to drunkennesse, and dulnesse, and the other to loosnesse, and leachery; but he perceived also at the same time, certain counter-signs to these defects, and that vertue had gotten the uper hand, of the inclinations of these great men, and vanquisht their ill na­tures. Now the same Author says, that [Page 116] the Phisiognomy, and the principal marks thereof, are in the Eye-broughs, in the Forehead, upon the Brest, upon the Shoulders, upon the Navel, and gene­rally in all parts of the Body.

Let this ancient Author say what he will, (said the Count) my opinion still is, (and none can doubt it) that the Eyes are the fairest, and clearest part, of this Science; in regard they are the image of the Soul, and the windows of the heart; or Diaphanous, and transparent bodies, through which we may clearly see the most secret thoughts; and in fine, they are the Indexes of manners, and the true testimonies of the mind. Aristotle was taught by Plato, that one may see evident­ly in a mans eyes, whether he be patient, or passionate; hateful, or envious; merry, or sad; chaste, or leacherous; stupid, or subtle; giddy, or judicious; and in fine, that all the passions of the Soul may be manifestly seen, in these Looking-glasses. For, when we see the Eyes red, and fiery, it suffices to signifie a great excess of choler; and consequently that he who hath it, is touchy, and pettish, and furious, upon the least occasion; And the spartling, and vigo­rous brightnesse, which shines in a puis­sant, [Page 117] and ardent eye, (which hath as it were something of the nature of fire in it;) (that is, that it hath store of spart­ling glances, or spirits) indicates much concupiscence, impetuosity, boldnesse, temerity, and insolence. But what will you say, of those dull and heavy eyes, which seem to be always half asleep, and not to have confidence enough to look upon others, for fear of seeing themselves in them? As timidity, fear, and faint-heartedness have their Essential Signs, in these parts of the Body, (and princi­pally, because they are of a most noble substance, and very sensible, and delicate) so may we also gather from thence, that such persons as hang down their eyes, are fearful, bashful, unsettled, and me­lancholy.

The Sanguine Complexion is the most easie of all, to be known; and the grace which we observe, in a cheerful, and smiling eye, is not only an apparence, but a certain, and indubitable effect. We may often perceive some certain Souls to laugh inwardly, as conceiving them­selves to be very well hidden: but though they be able to hold their mouths, and the other parts of their faces, yet do their eyes declare the tranquillity of their [Page 118] minds, the candour of their Souls, and that briskness of humor, which is covered by modesty; for the knowledge of the Eyes hath not the power to impose any passions, but to discover (by the senses, and spirits which reign over them) those, which we ought to curb, with the bridle of Reason, and which are manifested to us by natural Signs.

The Count having ended, the Philo­sopher said; Some Authors have given us for a ground of Phisiognomy, that when a man has any kind of resemblance of a beast, he hath some kind of Sym­pathy, with that beast, both in nature, and inclinations. But they who Phisi­ognomize men to beasts, make not the right choice of the Signs, and their ele­ction is defective, in order to the Soul, though it be, in some sort, conform to the Body. And the Prince of Philoso­phers is not of this opinion, but teaches us, that the Nature of Men and Beasts are repugnant to one another; and that where there is a repugnance, there is no Sympathy; and that men have too noble operations to be compared to beasts.

Another Science of Phisiognomy is discovered by the head, where all the 21. Of Metopos­copy. principal operations of the Soul reside; [Page 119] and in the mould of the skull, are dis­posed all the various Cellutes of the Fa­culties, which the School, in barborous terms, calls Sensitive, Syllogistick, Me­morial, and Motive. The head, I say, is one of the greatest Indexes, to know the Spirit it contains; as the hand likewise is in regard it is the instrument of the Understanding) a good practice, to guide us by the lines thereof, to the knowledge of the inclinations.

Chiromancy is a fine Science, and very proper to judge of Spirits, but it is too common. But of all the precepts of Phisiognomy whereof we have spoken, it is fit for every body to make use of that which he finds most facil, and easie, and whereof he hath had most expe­rience, and proof.

The indubitable Secret, to make the Horoscopes, (said the Counsellor) whereof the Phisiognomists, and Astrologers serve themselves most, and whereby, for the most part, they least baffle, and fool men is indeed the Phisiognomy of the forehead, which is more then the other parts whereof we have spoken, and then the very Complexion it self, the gate, and light, to know the Star, which pre­sided at the conception, and birth of any [Page 120] body; and it is this Star, which forms the Complexion, makes the Inclinations, stirs the Passions, and which infuses all the good, or evil, which befals, and threatens us. The Body of Man is com­posed of four Humors, which are ever striving for the superiority amongst themselves, and some one of them always carries it, and predominates over the rest; for otherwise, we should be immortal; because if they had equality, they would make an exact, and perfect Temperament ad pondus, which was never found in any but our Saviour Christ. Now, these four Humors, or four Complxions, are infus'd by the Seven Planets which govern them, and which form 22. Of the in­fallibility of the Horo­scopes. them, of the mixture, of the pure sub­stance, of the Elements, and of the occult vertues of the Firmament: for Saturn infuses Melancholy; Jupiter, Sol, and Venus, Blood; Mars, Choler; and Luna Flegm; and Mercury concurs with some one of the other, but is never alone. Wherefore, we need know no more, then the force, nature, and influence of the Seven Planets, to judge of their power, and of the propensions, and dispositions which they infuse into us; and to under­stand perfectly the effect which is caused, [Page 121] by Saturn kind, and Saturn unkind; Jupiter happy, and Jupiter unhappy; Mars propitious, and Mars contrary; Sol gracious, and Sol ungracious; Venus fair, and Venus dangerous; Mercury advantagious, or Mercury prejudicial; and in fine, what Luna pleasant, and Luna unpleasant can do: for certainly, I say, after we have attain'd the Science of the Planets, and come to know perfectively, that although their power, (like the Heavens, which are their habitation) have the general qua­lities, which unite themselves with those of the Elements, and agree with the hu­mors of the Bodies they produce; yet doth this power still reserve to it self the empire of their domination, or rule, and suffers not those Bodies to be govern'd, but by a dependency upon, and submis­sion to their influence. When, I say, we are perfectly acquainted with the Influent aspect of the Planets, and can penetrate to the depth of their powers, we need not have any more recourse to the Com­plexion, in regard it is form'd, and go­vern'd by them; nor hunt after the Star, which infuses the Complexion, because we discover it already, as I have shewed.

How then (said the Baron) shall we be able to know, under what Planet a man is [Page 122] born, and by what he is govern'd? That we may learn (said the Counsellor) by Metoposcopy, which is the contemplation, and knowledge of the forehead; wherein four parts are to be considered; viz. the form, the colour, the eye-brows, and the lines; and from the last of these, we may draw the perfect science of the predomi­nating Planets, in this manner. All fore­heads are markt with lines; and according to the order of Nature, there be seven principal ones of them, which are attri­buted to the seven superiour Planets, and dependent upon their influence. The single, plain, and clear lines, presage fe­licity; the cross, broken, and uneven ones, infelicity. Saturn, who hath his seat in the seventh Heaven, and which is the highest of all the Planets, hath the seventh line, at the top of the forehead, neer the hair, which is called the Saturnin line: Jupiter, who hath the sixth Heaven, hath the sixth line, called the Jupiterian: Mars, the fifth, which is called the Martial: Sol, the fourth, which is called the Solar: Venus, the third, which is called the Vene­real: Mercury, the second, which is called the Mercurial: and Luna, the first, which is called the Lunary.

Now there are but five of these Lines [Page 123] entire, and the other two are but halves: As the Lunary Line is upon the left eye; so the Mercurial, is a long one, between the eye-brows: Sol and Venus, have each of them two lines to answer them: for Sol hath the fourth line, and a half one, and half of that which is upon the right eye; and Venus hath the third line, and half of the nose besides, where there appears a little fulnesse. All other Lines, not de­signed by the seven Planets, which go cross wise, upwards, or downwards, either bending, or thwarting, and which are in any kind different from, or contrary to the Natural ones, prognosticate poverty, dishonour, sicknesse, persecution, and in­famous death.

Thus having observed, that every line belongs properly to the Planet, which hath markt it, and which rules it; when there appear two, or more Lines alike, in depth, colour, largenesse, and straitnesse; the Superiour Planets, which are denoted by these Lines, have concur'd more or less, then they shew themselves to the Nativity of the forehead which bears them; and that Line only, which is seen to be the longest, the deepest, and the clearest, is that which demonstrates the Planet, which had the principal influence, and [Page 124] preheminency, at the conception, and at the birth, of him who hath it; and the longest of the rest signifies the other Planet, which helpt to concur to that Nativity, but more weakly, then the prin­cipal Planet, which governs the longest Line of all. So that every Line, according to the Planet it signifies, and the effect of its influence (when it is not crost) progno­sticates happinesse, and when it is so, un­happinesse. Wherefore, we need but observe the longest Line of the forehead, and know to what Planet it belongs, and consequently the force and influence which this Planet hath; to judge afterwards, by this way of Phisiognomy, of the power superior things have over a Soul, and of her inclinations, and actions. Moreover, we may learn a mans predominant Planet, by knowing the day, and hour of his birth, and by counting, and turning the number of the seven Planets, upon a Cercle: As for example, if we know a man to have been born upon a Thursday Morning, about six of the Clock, in Sommer; we must count from the hour the Sun rises at, (which is at four a Clock) beginning with Jupiter, (which is the Planet for that day;) then with Mars, at five a Clock, Sol at six, Venus at seven, and so with the rest, still [Page 125] turning all the seven Planets within the term of the four and twenty hours of the day; and so by observing the hour, we shall find, that that man was born, under that Planet, which presided at his birth; as you see in this, whom we find to have been born under the Planet Sol, which concur'd about six a Clock: But herein, we must be ever sure to begin, the Cercle, at the cer­tain hour at which the Sun rises, in that season. And thus I have shew'd you two very subtle, and nice ways, to know men, without having any recourse to the Com­plexion, and to so many sorts of particular Phisiognomies as we have deduc't, (and which are not indeed very certain) pro­vided (as I have said) that we have the Science of the Planets, and the knowledge of the faculties they inspire into Souls, and infuse into Bodies, wherewith I should be highly glad to entertain you, at a more convenient time, and occasion.

Hey Gentlemen! Look there's Cousin, said the Marquesse: Page, call him hither; and turning in the Coach, This is the pleasantest Fool, (said he to the Company) and hath the most admirable fancies, of any in the Kingdom: for in the very sallies of his furies, and Rodomontados, you may sometimes perceive judicious [Page 126] discourses; and he so handsomely marries jest and earnest, the Gasconado and the Satyr together, that one would say, that even in his very digressions themselves, he hath the eloquence of an Orator. His manner of life (said the Baron) is very strange: For the whole world is his Country, and all Paris his Inn, where he hath as many Quarters, and Officers, as there are Gentlemens houses, and good Tables. At meal-times, he makes no more ado, but steps into the first Noble Mans house he goes by, and according to the hour, says, Cousin, I come to dine, or sup with thee: Bring me some water, and cover the Table: And so he sits down, and sings a world of merry songs, and catches, and tells such stories as would make one burst to hear them. If it be night, he asks for a Chamber, goes to bed, and the Gentleman of the house waits on him to it, as if he were some very conside­rable person indeed. In fine, he is every bodies Cousin: he is welcome in all good company; and he takes no care for any thing of this life, in regard the whole world labours for him, and gives him kind entertainment. O! Ile warrant you, (said the Count, who was upon the side of the Coach where they said Cousin) he thinks [Page 127] not much of the time to come; for he is so deep sunk into his freaks, and sancies, that he hath lost the use of his senses; and you see, he neither hears nor feels those Lackays, who speak to him, and shake him.

Alas! Gentlemen, (said the Baron with wonder) all excesses are hurtful; and the 23. Whence comes the folly of learn­ed men. enjoyment of a good, which is not possest with temper, is prejudicial: Yea, even Science it self, (which is the Soveraign good of the Rational Man, and the best food of the mind) weakens and corrupts it, when it is over full of it, as a Stomach, which regorges[?] with too much meat, is corrupted by worms. This poor distracted fellow, whom you see, is much to be pitied; for he hath been one of the most learned men of his time, and the greatest Speculative Philosopher of many Ages. He hath sustain'd divers opinions, against the followers of the ancient Philosophers; as for example, that the Earth moves, and the Heavens stand still: That the Sun is hot in his Nature, and not in his beams: That the four Elements operate with equal force, and vertue, in a just composure; and that if any one of them predominated, the composure could not stand any longer; and such like questions of this kind. Now [Page 128] you see Gentlemen, the unhappy effect, which the admirable notions of this poor man have produc't, and how mediocrity, and moderation in all things, is evermore advantagious then excess.

These accidents of folly (said the Phi­losopher) happen to learned, and studious men, by a too great contention of mind, which is made in the production of the lights, and notions they have: for whereas these notions strive to sally out altogether, they make an effort, or strain, and stupifie a man; or else, coming out in too great abundance, they confound the Objects, and offuscate the understanding: yea, and perhaps, the mischief happens, because the Spirits in this great contention, and maze, ascend all to the brain, and burn it; and so, by puzling the Imagination, they scatter the Judgement. And it is very likly, that this hapned to him, by some one of these ways; for if the violence of a passion causes a commotion, and an exundation of all the Humors in a Body, and casts it into Apoplexies; and if even an indifferent motion, which is only coun­terfeited by the Will, causes certain per­clusions, or numnesses in some members, and universal Palsies, (as was seen upon the Stage at Paris, in the person of a Player, [Page 129] who acted the part of Herod, in the Ma­riana, and who in the heat of the motion of his speech, was suddainly strucken with a numnesse) If, I say, the strain of a na­tural motion, and even of a studied one, causes strange accidents in the Body, we must not wonder, that the commotions of the dissipations, and excesses in the mind, (which is frail, and delicate) make it weak, and sick.

It is said, that Cousin grew mad in an Academy, by holding a famous dispute, and by maintaining a certain point of Philosophy, wherein he had the advantage of all them who oppos'd his opinion: and it was a prodigious thing, that after having disputed three hours together, and after having held the highest discourses that could be, he was seen in the fields, raving, and tauing, playing a thousand odd prancks, and freaks, and casting himself, by little and little, into horrible extra­vagances.

What point was that Sir, (said the Phi­losopher) which caused that great and vehement dispute? I was told of it (said the Counsellor) and I found, that it was but a trivial Proposition in Philosophy, to wit, whether the world be from Eter­nity, or from Time! And Cousin, who was [Page 130] an Academical Philosopher, maintain'd the opinion of Plato. But what could he say against Aristotle's reasons? said Angelin; For I will prove to you, that the world hath always been; and in fine, the Peripa­teticks have ever carried it against the Acadamicks: And you will see, that this Fool will have cast you into disputes of Philosophy; and that with his plato, and his Aristotle, (who never agree) you will be fain to define their contradictory opi­nions, by the discourse of the creation of things, which is now in question.

I perceive (said the Count) that Mon­sieur Angelin hath an itch to dispute; that he would be highly pleased, to have me follow his inclinations, and frame Subjects of Philosophy: which to please him, and not displease the Company, I will do; but if I find him apt to Ergotize, I will in­stantly break off, and then we shall have fine sport to hear him dispute alone. I maintain therefore the opinion of Plato, which is, that the world is not Eternal; and this is the best, and soundest doctrine, and authorized by the Scripture, where the Eternal Wisedom, by the mouth of Solomon, Cap. 8. of his Proverbs, says, God possessed me, in the beginning of his ways, and before he made any thing: And Jesus Christ, [Page 131] who is the same Wisedom incarnate, con­firms the opinion of the Creation of the world, when Cap. 17. of St. John, he says, Father, clarifie me with that brightnesse, which I had in thee, before the world was made, and which I possest when men were not yet form'd in thy praescience, and before the constitution of things. If the world were Eternal, men would be so too; and having been always in Formal Being, and not in Praescience, they would be co-equal, and co-eternal with God. But for proof of the contrary, we know at what time began the inventers of Arts; History teaches us the true origin of man, and we dayly see his end.

If God created not the world from all Eternity, it is not that he envied, or 24. Whe­ther the World be Eternal or no. grudged man that happinesse; but that he found it good to make it, at his own time and pleasure: for he acts freely, and not by force, or necessity: he wanted nothing to compleat his greatnesse, since he cannot be better satisfied then with himself; and because we admit no ne­cessary Communication in the Divinity, but that which is made by the production of the Divine Persons, which from all Eternity have acted internally: For had he done otherwise, he had shewn, that he wanted help, to encrease, and support [Page 132] for his glory; and without the Creation, and Settlement of the world in Time, he had not been acknowledged above it, and Omnitent as he is. Doubtlesse he had, from all eternity, the will, to create the world; though he created it not eternall, but just at that time, when he did it: for otherwise, the premeditated design would be taken for the deed, and we should be fain to reverse this principle establisht in good Philosophy, that the Will cannot dispose of a former action, because the Will, being the cause of the action, must need be before it, and for that the former Will, is the cause of the present action; and if this Will be restrained to the cir­cumstance of time wherein this action is produc't, as is evident in the Creation of the world, which God made at such a time, having had the will to create it before, it may be askt (said the Baron) why it is said, In the beginning God created the Heaven and Earth, and consequently all things? It is (said the Counsellor) because it was the first work of the Creation, and not the first work of God, who never had any beginning; and this word beginning, resolves that Heaven, and the World, are not from Eternity, because they had their beginning, Many great Doctors, as [Page 133] S. Augustin, Philon the Jew, and Caietan, (after having said, that God is Sovereignly Good, and infinitely Eternal; and that it is the property of a Good to communicate it self, if not in whole, at least in part) affirm, that he who lives Eternally, created all things of nothing, and that they are not Eternal: And after them, almost all the Sects of Philosophers have believed, that it is not Eternal; and that there is nothing eternal but God, however they have had various opinions concerning the Creation.

Democritus says, that it sprung, by the congression, and from a masse of Atoms, (which are certain little, almost invisible, and indivisible bodies;) Plato, from an Inherent matter. Diodorus, from an inform, and imperceptile matter. Zoroastus, from a Chaos, or Confusion of things. Pithagorus, from Numbers, and Degrees. Epicurus, from a grain of Imaginary Spaces. Socrates, Calistines, Dion, Aristophanes, and the Cal­dean Priests, from a First Cause, wherein they agree with us. And with the greatest part of the ancient Stoicks, and Scinicks. So that, you see Gentlemen, by Rational Arguments, by Canonical Authority, and by a good number of the Pagan Philo­sophers, that the World is not Eternal. [Page 134] And you see Sir, (replied the Philosopher) that I have had the patience to hear you out; and therefore, it is but justice, for you to hear me also, since I have not been forward to contest, and dispute with you, as you doubted I would. I pray tell me what shall become of our Aristotle, who is the Prince of Philosophers, and who hath ever been generally followed? Can you deny what he says, of the Eternity of the world, and are you able to refute the force of his arguments? It is the principal ground of the Articles of Faith, that there is a God, and that he is Eternal, Infinite, Omnipotent, Independent, and Immutable. Now it follows, that remaining still with equality the same, he acts always equally, and does the same thing; and that being Immutable, as he hath said; he hath ever been the same which he is: and therefore, either he hath always produc't the world; or if he have been without producing it, he hath never produc't it.

God, and Nature, are always doing that which is best, nor is there either medio­crity, or extremity, in their productions: And it is much better, that the world should be Eternal, then Temporary; wherefore, ought we to doubt, but that it hath ever been, in regard that durance [Page 135] is incomparably better, then the end and cessation of being, and that Eternity is the only prize, of so vast, and noble a matter. The Circular Motion hath neither be­ginning, nor end, and consequently is Eternal; as Heaven, which is Gods habi­tation, is Eternal, as well as He is who in­habits it, and glorifies it: For otherwise, we must admit, with some certain Philo­sophers, of the Imaginary Spaces, and give God another residence, and another im­ployment, before he operated in the crea­tion, and conservation of things. Take notice, if you please, that I answer all your objections, and that I borrow of Aristotle, and Procles, that if the world were made in Time, why was it made at that time, ra­ther then at another? And if God could, and would not make it, it looks as if he had grudged man that happinesse; as on the other side, to say that he would, and could not, would suppose a want of power in God, which were abominable, and blas­phemous to think.

The terms of my reasons follow yours, but differ in this, that mine are indivisible, and without reply: for the Soveraign Good ought to communicate it self infi­nitely, but not in part, as you have said: and therefore God must have made the [Page 136] world from all Eternity, to produce an Infinity, which was equal to him; or otherwise its production would be defe­ctive, and consequently would not seem to have come from him. But suppose that the opinion of Plato be true, (who will not believe, as well as you, that the world is Eternal) yet will you grant me however, that it is also true, that Nature, which acts by constraint, acts quite differently from God, who is Free, and whom it suffices to do all he does, upon good formal Reason, which is his Infinite Goodnesse, by which he acts, and makes all things: Supposing your opinion, (I say) and grant­ing the Free-Will of Almighty God, we must ask him the reason, why he staid so long, from communicating his Divine Goodnesse to man, and why the moment of the Creation, (which hath neither be­ginning nor end of extention in him, in order either to the subject, why, or to the space, wherein we conceive it to have been made?) Why Sir, I say, should this moment be later then other, if they be all equal, and contemporary, and of one, and the same instant, in his Divinity?

That Argument which you started, though it seem'd to be for you, was in effect, for me; for it is resolved in Divinity, [Page 137] that in God there is no Time, and that all those Times, which you admit, are present to him: And therefore we must conclude, that since God produc't the Universe, he produc't it from all Eternity; for otherwise, if there were Time in the Divine operations, he could not be him­self Eternal, and Infinite. This is con­firm'd by Cicero, when, after having said, that God is a pure Spirit, a Free Under­standing, a Proper Essence, and an Infinite Being, he both calls him, and proves him to be an Eternal Moment; as Philon the Jew also doth, when he notes two Eternal Powers in God; namely, the Creative Power, which gives him the name of God; and the Gubernative (to use the School-term) which gives him the title of Lord. For, if a moment have no time, and if these two Powers be eternal in God, we must conclude, that he rules, and governs all from all Eternity, and that so eminent; and so immortal a Principle, hath no lesse productions, then co-equal, and co-eternal, and that all is Eternal with it. I subscribe not however so positively, and perempto­rily, to this opinion; and if I have spoken to you like a Philosopher, and not like a Christian, it was but for argument, and recreation sake, and not for a testimony of [Page 138] my belief. For I blindly submit to all things of Faith, without offering to oppose them with any Sciences, or erroneous opinions; and for fear least I be accused of having too much correspondence with Aristotle, I heartily renounce his Sect, and render my self wholly up to your Plato.

Let them both alone, Gentlemen, said the Marquesse; your discourses are very 25. Of Acade­mies, and the diffe­rences thereof. good, well deduc't, and far from the School; but these matters are too high for the Cours, and more fit to be reserved for the Sorban: For I perfectly perceive, that you reap up the Colloquies which you hold at the Academies, and that instead of di­verting, and recreating our minds, you make us fix them upon certain Problema­tical Questions, and Abstractions, which appertain to the Closet, and the Gown: And therefore, I pray you, lay aside all Philosophical Contestations, and hunt no more after contradictory reasons, upon sure Principles: Let us leave doubts, and jealousies, to determinate Spirits, and Syllogistical acts, to stated Conferences, which solve the obscurest Propositions: Let us shun all contentions of mind, which destroy the Soul, and beget no friendship at all; and let us forbear, in fine, to digress, upon such things as are serious, and need­lesse, [Page 139] which may provoke us, and are sure to afford us no pleasure at all.

If the gifts of the mind (said the Count) were as equally distributed amongst men in Nature, as the goods of Fortune anci­ently were in Sparta, where there were neither poor, nor rich, it would be good sport, to see the witty scuffles, and the endlesse and invincible disputes of the Academies: For the decisions of Truth and Falshood, would require no judge­ments; and Logick (whose property it is to teach clearly, and regularly) would be a needlesse Science, and means to refute falshood, and distinguish, and define argu­ments: And as for Rhetorick, that illu­strious and resplendent art, which we use with pomp, and magnificence, to cap­tivate the Reason of our hearers; which moves, attracts, and charms the affections; which hath inevitable force, and arms, to obtain what it will; which, when Reason hath once given us the perfect knowledge of vertue, perswades us, and obliges us to love it, follow it, and pra­ctice it: This fine art, (I say) Gentlemen, as well as Logick, would certainly be the Essence of things necessary; but neither Arguments, nor Eloquence would be in use, to make us quarrel as we do: Always [Page 140] provided (as I have said) that we were equal in understanding, and science, and that some Spirits had no more light in them then others.

A lively force (said the Baron) gives a man a power, over such as will exercise it: a temperate force affords him an eminent superiority, over such as depend upon him; and a gentle force both conquers, and captivates all resistance, much better then the former. Now the first, is the force of the Body, which shews it self in all its actions, and which gulls not the senses with a false apparence, but makes them feel its strains, and vigor: The second is the force of Authority, which hath a Soveraign power to rule, and command: And the third, is the force of Love, which seazes, disarms, and conquers the Soul, how obstinate and rebellious soever she be. I have observed, that there is never any dispute, about the force of the Body, and that when a man hath had the worst at any exercise, (as boxing, wrestling, or fencing) he ingeniously confesses, and ac­knowledges it: And it is also as certain, that every man stoops freely, and without grudging, to the force of Authority, and to the power of a Soveraign: Nor is there indeed any man, who is perfectly a man, [Page 141] and who bears the character of Reason, but hath sometime sacrificed it to the force of Love, and acknowledges himself to have been willing to be the prize, of so sweet, and so pleasant a Conquest.

In the combates of the mind, it is not so; since in this point, men never acknow­ledge themselves to be worsted: For look but upon the acts, and arguments of Phi­losophy, and the rest of the Sciences, and you will find two Disputants so fierce and eager against one another, that they will never have done with their Negatives and false Proofs; yea, and you shall hear them grumbling, and mumbling one against another, even after their Disputes are ended, and their Questions resolved; insomuch as that if they were not hindred, and silenc't by force, they would come to handy-gripes, and decide the matter by strength of body, instead of deciding it by strength of mind. Now I am not ignorant, that the cause of this is, that the force of the Body is apparent; that the force of Au­thority is undeniable; and that the force of Love is invinsible: But the Mind, which is occult, immaterial, and invisible, conceals its weakness, and seeks new productions, to contest the victory; yea, & it often happens, that one of the two Disputants passes for a [Page 142] self-wil'd, and temerary Cockscomb; and that by thinking to shew his wit, he shews his ignorance.

Indeed (said the Colonel, with a scorn­ful countenance) I do not approve of the School-fashions; and those Disputes, which are perpetually contested, and never resolved, make me almost out of love with the Sciences, which look, as if they could not be taught without these Methods, and for the learning whereof, we must necessarily passe under the lash of Barbarous Masters. But I think there are none of them (said the Baron) reduc't to so strict a point, as to oblige us so pe­remptorily to dispute, for the learning of them; for we see, that Philosophy is now a days taught so far different from the rules of the School, and is so much civi­lized for Conversation, that the very women themselves both understand it, and handle it, in a mild, and gentle way of argumentation, and discourse; in regard there are now no more tricks, nor clinches, nor deceits, nor impostures in it, to sur­prize, and gull the Judgement; the Aca­demies Portick, and Licea, being now re­form'd, and dispos'd into a most easie, and smooth way, to deduce, and decide Que­stions, by the secret of the art of Oratory, [Page 143] which perswades Sciences by reason, and sweetnesse; far from forcing, and thrusting them upon mens minds, by rough, and violent contestations. Yes, (said the Colonel) but in all Academies, they dis­pute, and quarrel, but they do not fight. It is true (said the Baron) that they are of various Methods, and not all of one, and the same fashion: for in some of them, they are always arguing, as in the Col­ledges; in other, they have one point given them, upon which they are to speak and write; and I have seen some of them, where they take every ones opinion, upon a question, or doubt, and correct the works of an Author. Yea, and I know some other, which have no set, and establisht order; but only by plain Conversations, they discourse of various matters at ran­dome, and without any selection at all; and some also, where they draw lots for the Subject, upon which they are to write, and give their opinions, which are after­wards censur'd, and by the whole Body together. But, in fine, (said the Colonel) let the manner be what it will, they never give over, without disputes, and contra­dictions, upon the matter.

I swear to you (said the Baron) that I have been in a certain Academy, where [Page 144] this never hapned, and indeed, I never saw a better, and a more handsome, more universal, and more profitable Institution then that, in regard of the easie, and plea­sant way there was to break, and inform mens Spirits: For Books, Travels, and Conversation, are the three things, which make a man perfect, and procure him a general esteem, and reputation, with persons of honour, and prudence; And all these were practic'd together, whensoever we met in our Assemblies, where indeed we profited much by hearing both the lecture, and discourse of various matters, worthy of high admiration, and study. Now the order of this Academy was this.

There were as many Matters handled, as there were persons in the Academy, and every one having made choice of a parti­cular Science, Art or Subject, he managed it as regularly as he pleased, twice a week: And by this means, we had as many diffe­rent Lessons, as Persons, whereof to make our advantage; and all the Vertues, and Sciences of the Ancients, being proposed, and laid before us for examples, it lookt as if they had left us their Libraries, and the exercise of their Heroick actions. So that it was impossible, but that much or [Page 145] little, of all these particular things, must stick in the mind, and that this variety must sweeten the drinesse of the Precepts, and utterly banish the sharpnesse of dis­pute. For it was not there the way to oppose what was said, but to hearken with attention, and delight, and to let the Orator carry the prize he aim'd at; in re­gard that every one spake, or wrote, upon the matter he had thought fit to elect, and ingeniously dispos'd himself to utter nothing but the very cream of what he had been able to gather from it. Now the ordinary Subjects, were, History, True and Fabulous; Sciences, Speculative and Practick; the Mathematicks. Heraldry, the Maps, the Horoscopes, Travels, and merry Tales; so that by means of Conversation (which is one of the three ways to make a man perfect) the other two, were put in pfactice, without the pains, and charge of travel, and study: For we had all sorts of Books, in the heads of our Co-academicks, and all the contents thereof in their mouths: We travell'd upon the Maps by Geography, and we learnt the manners, and customes of Countrys, and Nations, by the Variety of Histories: Yea, and we had another and better advantage, and we were our [Page 146] selves both the Masters, and Scholers of the progresses we made in our studies. For in regard that all our Notions are imper­fect, unlesse we produce them, and that according to Seneca, a good which is not communicated, is not pleasing; therefore, by means of the Discourses, and Speeches which we used to make in publick, we learnt to write regularly, and by frequent exercise, we easily acquired a habit, of hiding the defects of Nature, and making our Artificial qualities seem proper, and natural to us. So that, in a word, there was nothing more advantagious, and pro­fitable, then the exercises of the Academy, in regard that all which is requisite, to make a man learned, eloquent, courteous, compleasant, valiant, active, dexterous, and perfectly compleat in all kinds, was there to be learnt.

How beautiful, and delightful is Nature in her diversities; and how considerable, and adorable is the power of God, in the variety of things, whereof he hath com­pos'd the Universe? For if variety makes beauty, and beauty makes pleasure, we may conclude from thence, that the va­riety of matters which we handled, was extraordinarily delectable to us, and that the Institution of our Academy, containing [Page 147] the three points, which give life, and motion, to the great Fabrick of Civil Society; we might all easily arive to our desired end, (which was to be compleat, and perfect men) without passing through those thorny, and craggy difficulties, and labours, which were prescribed us by divers Sects of Philosophers: for so I call their contradictory opinions, their Pro­blems, their Sophisms, and all their odd tricks, which cause so many disputes, and differences, in the Schools; for the avoiding whereof, all questions, and scruples whatsoever, which might seem in the least kind, contrary to what was pronounc't, were absolutely prohibited in our Academy.

The Counsellor having hearkned to the Baron with attention, and admiration, said, Indeed, the method of this Academy deserves to be much esteemed, and the particular advantages, drawn from the universality of things taught in it, highly to be considered: for it is of the nature of Indivisible Goods, which belong as much in bulk, to every one in particular, as to all men together; nor do I believe, there is any false appearance, partiality, or imposture in it, that but that it affords an evident, and sensible profit to all. Yet [Page 148] will I tell you of another, which is no lesse commendable, albeit it be (like fair faces) quite different in all its beauties, and seem not to embarass so many Sciences: It is, that in the Circle of the Assembly, every one wonders at some subject, and every one takes also by turn, the wonders, which are proposed to him by the rest: For in the first place, he must wonder at the Pro­position he receives, and give the reasons also why he wonders; and then he must not wonder, and give the reasons likewise, why he doth not wonder. For example, one will say to me, Sir, I wonder, that the Sun, which heats the whole world, hath no heat in himself? To this I must answer, that I wonder too, and make a handsome discourse, to warrant my wonder, and from thence, by a gentle transition, or an imperceptible passage, go to the contrary sense, and prove with as much eloquence as I can, that I do not wonder at it, and that there is no cause to wonder.

That which you say, Sir, (replied the Baron) is like the Play of wonders, which is used amongst Women, at Wakes, and other petty Pastimes. It may be (said the Counsellor) that this form of discourse hath been prophan'd in those petty Di­vertisements, and gossipings of Women: [Page 149] but I believe not, that the Questions amongst them, are various, or learned, or that they know how to handle them handsomely, insomuch, as for that effect it is needful to have the profundity, and universality of the Sciences, to handle them regularly, and dexterously; and to be able to maintain, and defend any such argument as may be started by curi­osity. Now the wonders which are ordi­narily moved in this Academy, are drawn from Natural Questions, from Moral Maxims, and from all the most sublime, and Speculative curiosities that can fall under a nice, and subtle judgement; nor is it enought to speak something of them, but we must sound the bottome of each of them, and stay a good while upon these two parts of the Problem.

I must confesse (said the Baron) that this is a handsome order, but not so pro­fitable, 26. Of that which makes a compleat Man. either for the Speakers, or Hearers, as that of the Academy whereof I told you, which comprehended all the Sciences, and which had the true, and only way to make a man Compleat.

I remember (said the Count) that you said, that Reading, Travel, and Conver­sation make a man Compleat; and that all these things were in your Academy: [Page 150] But to my apprehension, there are other Schools, no lesse, if not more proper, then that, which are the Court, the Camp, and the Houses of great Persons. The Camp (said the Baron) is included in Travel; and the Court, and the houses of great Persons, in Conversation; for, there is a frequent, and continual resort, which makes the Conversation both stronger, and closer. It is true, that every body is not fit for the Court, and for great mens Houses: but if a Country Gentleman, at his first coming thither, find himselfe troubled, and disgusted, whereas others take so much pleasure, and contentment; he must endeavour to grow familiar, and acceptable, by disposing himself to gallan­try, and courtship; by furnishing himself with the Discourses, and Complements of the Times; and by studying the Maxims, and proceedings of the Court; of which there are different opinions, of whether plain dealing, or cheatery, be most in pra­ctice there; For some speak against those Courtiers, who make it all their study, and care, to know how to cog, and fib, and prevaricate, and who think, that the supream vertue of the Court, consists in knowing how to lye well: Others object against these, that they couzen themselves [Page 151] by couzening others, and that the highest perfection is, to have a good stock of free­dome and plainnesse, and to trust even their very enemies, with their thoughts and intentions.

That is to say (replied the Philosopher) that all the thoughts of a Courtier must be so good, that he may not be affraid to discover them to the whole world; and that he must not only not think any thing which is criminal, and against Morality, but be able to defend himself also, even against temptations: But this is too austere for the Court, and not very well relisht, even in Cloisters. Some others (said the Baron) believe, that to purchase dexterity, a man must know perfectly how to wear two faces under one hood, that is, to forge, foist, flatter, and dissemble, and never to speak as he thinks; and this, for certain reasons, and maxims, which (you know as well as I) ought to seem void of all design, and artifice, and to be managed with such temper, that the least incon­stancy, or levity may not appear in them.

Few persons come to the Court, with­out 27. Of the po­sture men ought to be in at Court. engaging themselves in the service, either of the King, or of some Noble Man, to get a support, or make a fortune; and a certain friend of mine, who hath fixt [Page 152] himself there in a very good one, made use of a great deal of art, and industry, to win the heart of the Prince, to whom he belongs, (as well knowing that to be the only way, and the principal spoak of the wheel of Fortune) in order to which, he set all his craft on work, to study, and find out his humor, without taking notice of the greatness of his Pomp, and Condition, or of his Employments, Dignities, and Interests; but he lookt only, and meerly upon himself, without any reflection at all, upon any of those frail, and fading goods, and advantages of the world, which ordi­narily overcharge, and overwhelm the strongest Souls: Nay, and he desired (if it had been as possible as he thought it ne­cessary) to have him stript of his Body, that so, by seeing his Soul naked, he might with the more facility be able to judge, whether she were great with temporal goods, or with her own, and consequently to discern her inclinations. In fine, by this course of his, he came so perfectly to know him, & to please him, by complying with him, in whatsoever he saw accep­table to him, that he most easily grew to obtain of him whatsoever he would, and to settle his fortune so advantagiously as he hath done; and in order to this effect, [Page 153] the friendship, which he procured with all his Creatures, and Domesticks, was of very considerable use, and assistance to him. For, as a Lover endeavours to win the Maid before the Mistresse, thereby to facilitate his design, and enjoy his desire; just so do good reports stir up benevolence, and prepare a Master to affect, and favour a Servant; as on the other side, bad re­ports alienate, and avert the good inten­tions he may have towards him. In a word, he rendred himself so officious, and submissive, that by his dexterity, and care, he never met with any humor, opinion, or inclination so contrary, and so irrecon­cileable to his, but he wrought so effica­ciously upon it, as to make it absolutely his own.

It must needs be very troublesome (said the Marquesse) to a person of condition, who hath been wont to be served, and courted at home, to submit himself to the service of a Noble Man, or Prince, whom he must be as careful to please, as to please the King himself: and certainly if we considered this well, we should see, that it is to give a Mountain for a Mole-hill, since when we are under obedience, we must make a thousand congees, and cringes, for so much as a nod, or a good [Page 154] look; a slight acknowledgement, God wot, of so precious a gift as our liberty, which is the richest treasure of this life, and which the Divine Providence it self thought fit to leave to our own disposal, and direction.

There is no doubt (said the Baron) but he who betakes himself to service, and subjection, finds at first, a great deal of hardnesse in the ways of the Court, in re­gard that he hath left his own house, and his businesse, for that of another; and for that he cannot move, but by a second motion, in respect of his duty to obedi­ence, and of his having changed his liberty for captivity: But pains, and troubles grow easie by custome, whereas otherwise they are odious, and burthensome; and some men, rather then they will accustome themselves to them, are content to loose, what others acquire, by suffring them; for they are matters both of honour and profit; since by humility, and assiduity, we grow to overcome. But every body cannot follow the Court, and maintain himself in the Kings service, at his own charge.

No, (said the Marquesse) but yet you will grant me, that if we voluntarily follow a Prince, he bestows great courtships [Page 155] and favours upon us; whereas if we serve him for wages, he slights us, and commands us: And what a vexation it is for a Gentle­man to be either stalking, or standing like a Crane, in an Anticamera, or Lobby, whilst some mean and petty Officer of the Army, some Poet, or some Lutenist, shall be jigg by joll in the Cabinet with my Lord?

If we should make all these reflexions, and scruples, (said the Baron) the Gran­dees would have no persons of quality about them; and very many Gentlemen would also want, those good fortunes, which they purchase by their means and assistance.

Colonel Hydaspe, (who sate in the Boot of the Coach) rising up, and looking out; What do you look upon so earnestly, Sir? said the Baron. A Coach full of the hand­somest Wenches in Paris, and all of my acquaintance, said the Colonel. I know well enough, (said the Count) that the Baggage was in the Reer, and that now that the Cours is almost ended, this blessed crew would come to beautifie the retreat, as hoping to meet with an occasion to pick up a Cully. Marry (said the Marquess) there is enough of this stuff every where, and the greatest, and gallantest meetings [Page 156] are composed of such kinde of Cattle; though they all act different Parts, and most of them are a lincognito. But as for such of them as are unmaskt, and publick enough to be known by persons of honour, they are lesse dangerous, and more harm­lesse in the trade they drive (as hurting no body but themselves, and some fond blockheads) then those others, who under the false apparence of modesty, and civi­lity, palliate their brutality, or their in­terest, with gallantry, and who are indeed, the poyson of Nature, which every one should do well to shun, like the Plague.

I know that Coach (said the Count) and I wonder whether the owner of it be there, with that honorable Society? Who is it? said the Baron. A young Gentleman of condition, and the Marquesse de Bon air's Country man, (said the Count) who was not long since a Fryer, and being ashamed to shew his head in own Country, came, and hid himself here in base, and infamous places, where he goes abroad but seldome, for fear of being seen, and keeps no other company but such a Crew as this, which will ruine him, and bring him, peradventure, to the end allotted for such courses.

I know both his Person and his Family, [Page 157] (said the Marquesse) and indeed it is pity, that the poor Gentleman is grown so de­baucht; for he is of a good descent, and hath both Natural, and Artificial parts most worthy of his quality, and of a better fortune then he hath got himself: I was once employed for him, and I would I could have given his Father that satisfa­ction which he desired of me in his behalf. But the young man hath carried himself ill, & very much wronged his Parents. This always comes (said the Counsellor) of wild and rash actions, and of weighty resolutions ill digested, which cause shame and repentance, and sometimes desolation in Families. I will tell you (said the Marquesse) the story of this person (which is after a manner Romansick) that so you may see the different effects of his Passi­ons.

His Father is an Officer, of a Soveraign Court of our Province, and one of the most esteem'd, and powerful of his Company. He bred up this Son with great expense, and all imaginable care; and really, by his good nature, and conditions, he at first answered all his Fathers expe­ctations, and grew a very compleat young man; as being enricht, and adorn'd with many fine qualities, and Sciences. He [Page 158] daunces, and plaies on the Lute most ad­mirably well; he is very learned, and most accomplisht in all his Academical Exercises; and besides all this, he hath a very handsome body, and a gentile beha­viour, which had already gotten him some good esteem at Court. But since he hath learnt ill customes, neglected all his good parts, and done horrible things. For being taken with that natural affection to his Country, (which is common to us all) (our native air seeming sweeter, and plea­santer to us, then that of the gallantest Court in the world) he would needs go taste the delights thereof, and make his Parents and Friends spectators of his good qualities: But this journey proved fatal to him, as being the source of all his misfortunes, and desolations: For he fell so in love with a young woman, who was not of his condition, as to ruine him­self by it. Now his Father, who knew him to be of so violent, and impetuous a Spirit, that he would undertake any thing to please his fancy, endeavoured to send him away, thereby to divert him from his Amours; but all in vain, for after having used all imaginable diligences, as well by rendernesse, as harshnesse, and by intrea­ties, as mennaces, without being able to [Page 159] perswade him; he desired me (as know­ing me to be one of his friends, and con­ceiving me to have some influence upon him) to disswade him, from the design he had taken, to marry that person, who was so much inferior to him, both in birth, and fortune, and of a contrary Religion besides, as being the Parsons daughter of the Parish, which most of all troubled the poor Father. Wherefore, I being in that Town, (whether I went to keep the Car­naval) and taking him one day abroad in my Coach, I attempted to divert him from his said purpose; and after having inti­mated to him his Fathers most passionate opposition, I askt him whether it were true, (as I had heard) that he intended to seek contentment, and repose, in a Marri­age, where he would be sure to find no­thing but disquiet and vexation? I told him, that women were strong chains to intangle men; and that being Diseases, (as the Proverb says they are) if they make us not keep our beds, yet they make us keep our chamber, and weaken us, and deprive us of the delights of the Court: And it is (said I) a strange thing, that every body desires to marry, and to grow old; but when they have once obtain'd their desires, they repent, and lament it. [Page 160] I did not signifie to him, that I was so great an enemy to Nature, as to intend to disswade him altogether from marriage, and to embrace a single life; but to make him defer it yet some time, and shun that rock, and that gulf into which he was going to cast himself, to the extream dis­contentment of his Parents, and the utter destruction of his affairs. In order to which, I spake thus to him.

If you resolve to take a wife, you 28. Of Marri­age, and single life. hazzard the infringment of your liberty; & you will have but a bad successe of the enterprize, if you charge your self with so heavy a burthen. Consider it maturely, before you do it; a Wife is a fine piece of housholdstuff in our neighbours house; and he who intends to live happily in this world, must wish every body else to marry, and never marry himself. Experience indeed ought to have cured men of this folly, since it hath taught them, that they quietly enjoy the Estates of their Parents; but that those which are brought them by their wives, are so fatal to their Fami­lies, that they do not only not receive any benefit from them, but by a contagious conjuncture, they often cause them to lose their own. But as for you, who pre­tend to a mean, and unworthy Match, [Page 161] you have no cause to fear that, for many reasons, in regard you are to have nothing with her; and I tell you as a friend, that if Love, and Generosity makes you scorn interest, at least ought you to consider birth, and Religion, and not cast your Father into a mortal affliction, nor give him just ground to disinherit you, and make you miserable. Consider, that a single man may do much with little means, and that our own inconveniences are in­supportable enough, without charging our selves with those of a whole Family: That a Batchellors life, and the delights of the Court (where your Father intended to settle you) are powerful charms to stay you there: That God, amongst the ma­nifold and various afflictions, which he cast upon that illustrious Patient in the holy Scripture, left him his Wife, as the Alpha, and Omega, that is, the Source, and Compliment, of all his miseries; and in fine, that this Evil (though it be called a necessary one) is accompanied with many other; and that a married man can have but two good days in his life; to wit, the day of his marriage, and the day of his wives death. Therefore let me intreat you, to cease your suit; for your Father will never give his consent, and your Equi­page [Page 162] is ready for you to go to Court, as soon as you please.

Upon this he seem'd, in some sort, to be reduc't, and made me a kind of pro­mise to obey his Father; but he would by no means hear of going out of Town; and some days after, he was caught in his Mistresses chamber, by certain arm'd men sent on purpose by the Parson, (for he had the hearts of his Disciples at his devotion) who threatned him to kill him, unlesse he married her presently, which to avoid the danger, he was accordingly con­strained to do; and to make the businesse the more notorious, and prevent the Fathers complaint, they got it to be perform'd by a Roman Catholique Priest, with the Ceremonies of that Church. Thus you may behold a most desolate Father, and a most miserable Son: For the Father sued for his Son, and the abolition of the marriage; and for the mittigation of this Suit, I was employ'd as an interces­sor, for the Son to the Father, as formerly I had been, for the Father, to the Son; and so, after time had a little appeased his indignation, and moderated his passion, I went to see him; and the better to re­concile him, to a thing already done, I spake thus to him.

Since hope is the only consolation of the distressed, and the object of an uncertain good, you have no reason to afflict your self, if by flattering your self with a favou­rable event, the uncertainty thereof have undeceived you, by deceiving your expe­ctation, and demonstrated to you, that we must look with an indifferent eye, upon such things as depend upon Fortune, and sometimes slight the fair apparence thereof, in regard they are casual, and have as different successes, as she is incon­stant, and various. All your Sons actions gave you contentment, and satisfaction, because of his dexterity, and obedience; but since he hath been obnoxious to Love, you have seen, that that God will not permit his vassals, to suffer any chains but his own; and that his persevering to lodge his affections, in a place which you had forbidden him, hath punisht his disobe­dience, with the premeditated surprize, wherewith they caught him. Your in­tentions were just, and his chastizable; for though the consideration of Religion had not been a sufficient obstacle to temper his passion, you had a Right, and Autho­rity, to prescribe rules to his designs; and he was obliged to a blind obedience, not only for the respect, and reverence due [Page 164] from a Son to a Father, but also for fear of being miserable. For he well knew, that to marry against your will, was the High-way to beggery, and that your na­tural affection, and paternal indulgence towards him, would run the hazzard of being taken from him, by the resentment you would have of his rebellion, and by the little acknowledgement he had made you, of the good which you intended him. But in fine, since suddain and passionate resolutions are of no long durance, it is fit for you to break that, which you have taken of disinheriting him, and to let your self be overcome by a Fatherly affection, which will not suffer you to see the ruine of your Child. You are not ignorant, that the honour of a Virgin cannot be repaired, but by Marriage, or Death; and your Son was necessitated, either to finish the one, or undergo the other; and since you are his Father, I am sure, you desire not his death; and consequently, having given him life, you are bound to conserve and sustain it.

Affliction is the Touchstone, of a quiet and peaceful Soul, which, when she once comes to wrestle with misfortune, and adversity, easily gets the victory. I know well enough, that in regard you could [Page 165] have found a fitter, and a richer Match for him, and have enjoy'd the unity of Religion in your house, it will be a great grief to you, to receive a smaller portion, and a subject of controversie, instead of peace, and quiet, which you so much love and cherish: But if thereby you win a Soul to God, that difficulty will give you a double merit, and the Ladies vertue, (whose body is a Treasure) will bring more happinesse to your Family, then you would have elsewhere acquired. For, the Maids of Sparta had no portions, but their vertues; and if they had a good reputation, their poverty never hindred their marriage. Many things give us more fear, then hurt; and we are more troubled by opinion, then by effect. You will be even ravisht with joy, when you shall find your self receive more conso­lation from this Lady, then you would have done from another, and when you shall confesse your self bound to blesse a thousand times the day, when you left your suit, and gave your consent to this marriage. I make this good Augure of this fair Lady, because I know, that the bounty of her soul, is not inferior to the beauty of her body, and that the [Page 166] sweetnesse of her nature, and the gentile­nesse of her education, will not give you a greater dominion, over her humility, then a reverence to her vertue. Take therefore quickly, possession of this trea­sure, and forgetting the disobedience of your Son, instead of chastizing him, re­quite him, for the interest you have in so worthy a purchase; for it is to as little purpose for you to hinder him, from re­ceiving the fruits, and pleasures of the pains he hath taken, and the trouble he hath suffred, as it is to shew your aversion and opposition, by absenting him, since at last you must resolve it. 'Tis true, the businesse was a little rash, and violent, But — I was willing to go on, but the im­petuosity of his grief breaking out into tears, he interrupted me, saying,

My Lord, the respect which I ow you, forc't me to have the patience to hear you, though not without much internall re­luctancy. I confess, I can refuse you no­thing, and that I resign my self wholly to your request; but I know you likewise, to have too much discretion to command me any thing so repugnant, both to my af­fairs, and to my reason; and in order there­to, he made me so many protestations, and instanc't so many, and so strong argu­ments, [Page 167] that I was fain to leave him re in­fecta; and he, by his continued prose­cution, and diligence afterwards, ob­tain'd a breach and abbolition of the mar­riage.

It may be conceived (said the Councel­lor) that this young Gentleman caused this plot to be laid for himself, and had intel­ligence with the Gentlewomans parents, presuming that his father seeing the busi­ness without remedy, and the marriage performed by a Roman-catholick Priest, would afterwards condescend and submit to Fate, without using any further oppo­sition. But he was very much mistaken, (said the Marquisse) and though you Councellors use to obtain your ends by heat and confidence, yet this poor young Gentleman, either out of spight and re­venge, against his Father, or out of the tender sense of love, or despaire, to see himself deprived of so fair and sweet a consort) cast himself into a Cloister.

Finish, if it please you my Lord (said the Count) and say, that he soon came out of it again; for the cause, and manner of his going in, could promise nothing but a fatal repentance, which obscures the noblest actions, and a shameful coming out, which stains the purest life. And this [Page 168] is the reason (as I told you) why he came to hide himself here for shame, in such places as I dare not name, where he leads as disorderly, and loose a life, as that which he had undertaken, was retired and holy.

The fervent desires of Religion (said the Baron) which arise in young persons, ought not to be followed, upon the first motions; for unlesse they be persecuted by these inspirations, at least ten years together, it is hard to discern cleerly, whether it be a vocation of Heaven, or a temptation of the Divel, and whether it be a true zeal, to die to the world, and live to God, or a snare of the enemy of mankind, to destroy our souls. It is fit therefore to take much time to consider a design, which must last as long as he lives; for it is easie for us to slip into hell, under the false apparence of heaven.

There are but two motives (said the Philosopher) to perswade us to a Mona­stical Life; the one, in order, God, and the other, to our selves; and when the love of God, and of our own Salvation is mixt with any shadow of particular interest, and levity of Spirit, the yoak of the Lord becomes rough, and insup­portable; how sweet and charming soever [Page 169] it be, when we have no other end, but the pure love of him. Wherefore, we must consult with our Consciences, to make this distinction, and know, whether the passions wee have for a Monastical Life, have a disinterest perseverance; that so we may not sigh always in a Cloister, for the world, after having sigh't a little in the world, for a Cloister. Now, to make a firm, and solid judgement, of the suspicions, and scruples, which may arise from such Inspirations, we may believe, that the vocation is undoubtedly divine, and that fervency, and heat of devotion, comes perfectly, and purely from the holy Ghost, when a perseverant zeal of the love of God, accompanied with the con­tempt of the pleasures of this life, stirs us up, and pricks us on, to unite our selves to him, and makes us (even whilst we are in the world) begin to practice the mor­tifications of a Religious Life. And when we are so truly enlightned with this know­ledge, that there is no more blindnesse, nor shame left to counter-ballance the truth; we ought not to bear a deaf ear, nor spurn against the holy Spirit, but take up the burthen, and cover our selves with sack-cloth, and ashes, to follow the sum­mons of this Divine Fire.

It is true indeed (said the Counsellor) that we may be tempted to our perdition, under a fair, and false appearance of Sal­vation; and that the false motives of Re­ligion, do ordinarily proceed from the dis­contentments of life, from wearinesse of the world, or from some capricio, or fancy of the brain; and therefore it is very necessary to sound to the bottomes of our hearts, to know, whether our vocation be perfectly pure, or any way polluted with sensual appetites; whether the desire of beautifying, and beatifying our Souls, guide us towards solitude, rather then the desire of change, or the hope of a better condition; and whether our inten­tion be rather to please God, by forsaking the world, then either to please our selves, or the first motion of our spirits; and in fine, whether ambition have any prevalen­cy with us, either to forward, or hinder us; and that since secular honours are so high, that we have no hope to attain to them, whether we aspire to merit, and obtain those of Religion. Wherefore this Gentle­man should have well pondered, whether it were the saturity of wanton Love, or the abolition of his marriage, which made him abandon, and detest that, which he had so passionately coveted before, and [Page 171] retire himself into a Monastery, either to anger his Father, or to have a freer accesse to women, under the Habit of Hypo­crisie. Moreover, we must also take heed, least by the sense of the indigency of our condition, and by the fear, of not being able to hold out the immense expences of the variety of Fashion, or otherwise, we be induc't to make profession of poverty, in a place, where it is as honorable, as it seems dishonorable, and shameful else­where. For how many afflicted persons in the world, seek consolation in Cloisters? And how many Droans, and Sluggards, make choice of a quiet, and sedentary life, to eat their bread without working? How many, out of a blind, and false opinion, that it is impossible to make their Salva­tion in the world, thrust themselves into Monasteries? And how many out of too much instability, and levity of Spirit? How great is the number of them, who are seduc't by the greedy, and interessa­ble perswasions, of their Directors, and Ghostly Fathers, who judge them in some kind or other, either like to prove useful to their Order, or know them to have Estates to dispose of? And how many also of them, whose simple, and ill digested mo­tion to piety, which lasts no longer then a [Page 172] blast of straw, and suddainly turns to repentance? There is, in fine, an infinity, of false, and treacherous motives, which inspire a soul to perdition, instead of sal­vation; and there is only that of the holy Ghost, which under an appearance of tempting us, doth really operate to save us. Therefore how careful, and punctual ought we to be in this case, to pick out the most abstruse, and secret thoughts of a Soul, to make an absolute, and definitive judgement of her, and know whether it be really, and only the pure love of God, which moves her, or self love, and a defire to flattter her, with the plausible bait of devotion? For, as the former makes us lead a happy, and celestial life, amongst the rigors of abstinency, and mortifica­tion, and hath the joy of heaven for its scope; so doth the later make us lead a dismal, and unhappy life here on earth, and hath no other end, then despair, and ignominy, that is, Apostacy, and Hell, since it is a common thing, both to the learned, and unlearned, to brand Apostacy with shame & ignominy, a forc't, and irreligious life in a Monastery with despair; and from thence comes the Proverb, that all persons consecrated to God, are good, or bad Angels; that there is no mediocrity in Religion and [Page 173] that a man must necessarily be, either the one, or the other.

According to this discourse (said the Baron) we may clearly distinguish voca­tions; and a person who is moved by devotion, by sounding his heart to the bottome, may know, whether he be right­ly called, and whether the place he hath appointed for his retirement, be the right, or the wrong way, both to his Temporal, and Eternal Felicity?

If a false vocation (said the Marquesse) be so fatal to Monasteries, as to make a man live a wicked, and scandalous life; the true one, which comes from the holy Ghost, must needs be Divine, because it causes an Angelical life, and purchases much veneration, and reverence, to such Souls, as having profited by good inspi­rations, are like the gifts of Heaven and Nature, to serve for lights, and patterns of Heroick, and moral vertue.

Indeed (said the Philosopher) we ought 31. Of the re­spect we owe to Sacred persons. to carry some respect, and reverence, towards good Religious men; and I know not what to think, of those Libertines, who despise them, and scoff at holy things; and who, setting light by Heaven, and the gifts thereof, upbraid, and combate their felicity. Nor do I make a rash Proposition, [Page 174] when I affirm these persons, who are markt with the sacred character, to be the gift of God, because (besides that they lead a holy, and exemplary life, and instruct Souls towards Salvation) the lively light they impart, to such as with whom they converse, is an infallible sign of their being sent from above, to save Souls, and to illuminate such Spirits, as have the or­dinary notions; for God (who is an uni­versal, and Incomprehensible Intelligence) hath a care of us, and makes himself con­cern'd, in the affairs of our consciences, procuring our salvation by his providence, according as we cooperate with our acti­ons; and in regard that he hath given us Rational Souls, he likes not that they should be in love with our Bodies, and wholly transported to sensual delights; and that, in fine, that beam of Divinity which we hold from him, should be put out upon earth, as material fire is hidden under ashes. Therefore it was, that he sent his Prophets in the Old Law, to prepare mens spirits for his coming; and his Apostles in the New One, to announce his Passion, and his Miracles to our Fore­fathers, and to instruct them, by the ex­ample he gave us in his life: And for that, in the Infancy of the Church, it was ex­pedient [Page 175] for him, to make himself known, by the greatnesse of his gifts, thereby to attract to himself, those People, which were then, either in disobedience, or Paganism; he sent his holy Spirit; and that not secretly, and only to kindle the hearts of his Apostles, with the fire of Charity, and to inspire them, with the Orthodox, and sacred Doctrine, which they were to preach in the world; but openly, and publickly, to shew by his goodnesse, and by the magnificence of his gifts, a pattern of the glory he had pro­mised, which is unconceiveable, inefable, and incomprehensible to human under­standing. But now since Christianism is so generally propagated, it is not needful, for God to use those attracts, and specious magnificencies, or any other particular remedies, to retain the faithful Believers in their duty, which only consists in the well keeping of his Commandments, and in honoring the Announcers of his Divine Word.

Now, if he sends us secret Apostles, markt with the Sacred Character of his Grace, and inspires them with the misteri­ous Notions of a purely Celestial Science; I pray you consider, what kind of persons they be, who have so good a Mission, [Page 176] and how they ought to be esteemed? Wherefore, I will conclude, that as all good Religious are called by God, so are they also sent by him, to interpret his Oracles, and that he sends them, not with lightning, and thunder, as he anciently communicated himself to his People; but secretly, and as if he were familiar, amongst men; to the end, that not being of a higher essence then theirs, their words, and deeds might preach together, and shew us, that we our selves are the causers of our destruction, as Israel was; and that though God made us without our help, yet will he not save us without our help; and that we must serve our selves of those two things, as of two spurs, to attain to Christian perfection. That is called, in plain terms, Preaching (said Hydaspe) and so going on with his caillery, the Count interrupted him, saying, Gentlemen, shall we not retire our selves? For it grows late, and we must sup more early then we use to do, to go to the Bal, or Mask, which is to be daunc't to night, at the Hostel de Luxembourgh. With all my heart, said the Baron, when you please; and so all agreeing, away they went, to the Barons house, whether when they were come, Gentlemen, (said he) you must do me the [Page 177] honour to sup with me, and then we will go all together to the Bal. What kind of Bal is it? said the Marquesse. 'Tis but a Bal of Entrances, without Machins, (said the Count;) and they say, that the Divertisements, Exercises, and Passions of Youth, is the Subject, and that the Bala­dins, or Maskers, took it out of their own ordinary manner of life: Not to publish their vices, and volupties, which it were fit for them to keep private, (and which they will not forbear to follow, and enjoy, whether they be known, or not known) but because the pleasures of the senses are not so satisfactory, and agreeable, when they are not communicated; as being, for the most part, like those of love, the chief satisfaction whereof, is, first to obtain ones desire, and then to divulge it: And so these people take pride in their employments, and declare, that though 31. Of Bals and Masks. every body seeks after divertisements, and pleasures, yet few know how to choose the true, and noble means to acquire them: For women are ignorant of it, either for want of capacity, or through excesse of Passions; Children are not of maturity, to comprehend it; and old folks, are fond of toys and bables. But they who are to daunce this Ball, are both for Age, and Sex, [Page 178] in the most perfect flower, and vigor, to have both the Theorical, and Practical knowledge, of true pleasures: I mean that gang of inseperable Camerades, who are called La Trouppe Galliarde, or the Jolly Company, and who study nothing but the accomplishment, of the delights, and volupties of this life; for they trample upon what is base; scorn as Chimerical, what is too witty, and give their minds wholly to such things, as are exempt from sottish vanity, and sordity. This mask (as I told you before) is a Picture, of their manner of life, and a true type, and con­firmation of their honest, and honorable divertizements; and if you have the cu­riosity to see it, I doubt not but you will esteem it, as it deserves, and instead of censuring it, not only approve it, but praise it, and do your best to protect it, and prefer it, both for the fitnesse of the Subject, the dexterity of the Actors, and the gallantry of the Scene, before all you have ever seen.

Though you commended it not so much (said the Counsellor) we should yet be desirous to see it, because the other night we crouded so much, to see one neer us, which was not so good, either for the Scene, or for the Actors, and the Subject [Page 179] of it was a little peccant too, as alluding to the disparagement of women.

What Subject was it then, said the Marquesse, who had not been then in their company to see it? It was (said the Coun­sellor) the Jubiley of Caelibat, or Single Life, wherein were represented all the gallan­tries, which possibly could be invented, in contempt, and scorn of Ladies: and therefore it was not only not applauded, but all the Spectators (for their sakes) were much disgusted, because the Ladies (who are the Oracles, which either give, or take away the approbation of men) were much troubled at the blemishing of their credit, and the deminution of their honour.

I will tell you (said the Marquesse) of a Bal which I made in our Country this Lent, a little after I employ'd my self for that young Gentleman, whose sad story I have related to you; and I believe, you will find the Subject to be very good, and the Invention most pleasant. It was this,

After the death of Alexander the Great, 32. The relation of a magni­ficent Ball, or Mask. (which was the noble cause of dividing the Empire of the world, amongst his Captains, and prescribing limits to ambi­tion) Antigonus, the Father of Demetrius, and Salcucus, had each of them certain Kingdoms for their shares; for in regard [Page 180] they were the Chief Commanders, who had signalized themselves in Battails, and Victories, and had, in great part, by their exploits, forwarded their Master, in the atchievement of that Universal Sove­raignty; it was therefore fit, and just, that they should be requited, for their pains, and dangers, with a recompense suitable to the greatnesse of their minds, and the merit of their actions, and that their valor should be rewarded with Kingdoms, since nothing but Triumph, and Potency can be the just, and equivalent price of vertue. Wherefore, to Demetrius and his Father, was allotted the Kingdom of Phrygia; and that of Syria, to Seleucus; who had to wife the Lady Stratonica, Daughter to Demetrius; a Princess, as much worthy of admiration, for the singular beauty of her Body, as of adoration, for the incom­parable gifts, and endowments of her mind. To assure you of the Historical part of the subject, it is hard, because there is no Author, who hath written truely, and perfectly of it: but I conceive it to be thus.

Fame, the flying Trumpet of Stratonica's beauty, had already spread it, as a Prodigy, upon the whole face of the earth, and erected as many Altars, as there are Prince­ly, [Page 181] and Soveraign hearts, to conceive love, and ambition for her. This coming to the Court of Syria, and breeding some disorder in the Kings Family, it also possest Seleucus, and his Son Antiochus, with an equal passion of love towards her; but Antiochus, (as a Son, and a Subject) must submit to the Law of Nature, and to the Royal Power, by concealing his flame, and tempering his Passion, by force, and duty. For Seleucus, having imposed silence, upon those internal, and hidden motions, which his Son was like to dis­cover in his brest, declared to his Counsel the resolution he had, to take Demetrius his Daughter, to his second wife; and for this effect, he sent Appelles into Phrygia, to draw her Picture, thereby to know, by the Copy of so perfect a hand, whether the Original were answerable to the repu­tation, and whether his passions were seconded by verity. The Divine Appelles, (whose name will never die, and merited alone to be styled the Author of a Second Nature) lived at that time, upon the coast of Syria, and was a Subject to Seleucus. But, this Picture proved fatal, to all such as beheld it; for they were all deprived, of the use of some member of their bodies, because it was drawn in the Temple, at the [Page 182] time of Sacrifice. This was the Subject of my Mask, which I intituled, The En­chanted Picture of STRATONICA; and the Order, and Entries of it were these.

The great Hall of the Palace, was the place where they daunc't, because it was the most capable of the company, and the most remarkable to help their memo­ries, to retain the representation of this dumb History. A vast and stately Theater was built from the floor, a dorn'd with a Scene magnificently drest; where an ex­cellent Concert of Instruments, and voices, entertain'd the Spectators, till the Assem­bly was full; and in the mean time, a stain'd cloth, with the Subject painted upon it, hid from their eyes the proud Decorations, and Ornaments of the Scene, and afforded a gentle, and sweet liberty to their ears, to enjoy the charms of the Musick, and avoid the confounding of the functions of the Senses, that so they might suddainly, and all at once, surprize them with the magnificence, and splendor thereof, and pleasantly beguile them, by the distance of the Object.

Fame, (as the principal Subject of the History of this Mask) with her clothes full of eyes, and tongues, and Gazets, or News-books, in her hands, shewed her [Page 183] self with incomparable celerity, at the first Entry; and dauncing with an im­perceptible agility, made the Beholders believe that she flew in her steps, and that he who represented her, (who was a Dauncing-Master) had both the wings, and lightnesse of that Goddesse. At the end of his part, he scattered his Gazets in the Hall, and Exit. In the second Scene, was exhibited the Frontispiece of a stately Temple, which being opened by a Sacristain, or Sexton, displaid a most ex­cellent, and resplendent Piece of painting, representing the Altar, and Trevet, where the Idol rendred the Oracles; which was very recreative, by means of the variety of actions, which the Sacristain perform'd, in just measure, and cadency of the daunce, to prepare, and accommodate all things for the sacrifice, and which was as cleer, and intelligible indeed, as any Part of a Play.

The adorable Stratonica, led by her Gallant, daunc't the third Scene, and afforded admiration to all the Spectators, by the Majesty of her countenance, by the Statelinesse of her Habit, and by her most sweet, and regulated gravity, in the exactnesse of the daunce. Having ended her Part, she kneel'd down in a corner of [Page 184] the Temple, and her Gallant behind her, expecting the Sacrisice.

The fourth represented the coming of Appelles from Syria, to the Court of Phrygia, to take a Picture of Stratonica, who having understood that she was in the Temple, at a Sacrifice which her Father Demetrius had commanded to be made, as a thanks-giving, for a victory which he had ob­tain'd, came in with his stain'd Cloth, his Slice, and his Pensils, and having daunc't a while, hid himself behind a corner of the Altar, over against the Princesse, to steal her Picture, during the time of the Sacrifice, the most secretly he could, ac­cording to his order. The high Priest, follow'd by two Sacrificers, having each of them a Thurible in his hand, made the fift Entrey, with a Majestick gravity, and a Statelinesse of Habit, taken out of the ancient Medals, fit for the Parts they acted, and as they were dauncing, offred Incense to the Idol, and made the finest figures, and cadencies, that could be shew'd by the number of three, still turning to the Altar, and offering Incense, at the end of their Ayer, whilst Appelles, behind the Altar, drew Stratonica's Picture, with a regulated motion, upon the fame Ayer they daunc't.

Upon a suddain, a huge, and terrible noise, behind the Altar, made both the Musitians, and Dauncers stop, in the middle of the Sacrifice, and the Oracle bellow'd out a dreadful voice, that their adorations were not pleasing to the Gods, because they had been prophan'd by a Painter; but that his Work should expiate the crime, and that all men who should look upon it, should be deform'd in some part of their bodies, excepting only women, who should be exempt from the punishment. Hereupon, the whole Assembly went out of the Temple much afflicted, and di­sturbed.

Olympia, wife to one of the Sacrificers, made the sixth Entry, and then the Musick struck up again; and she understanding the disgust, which the Gods had signified against the Sacrifice, by the concourse of people she saw going out of the Temple, and shewing her self desirous to know the cause thereof, she found no body there, but Appelles cast into a profound, and Le­targical sleep; whom she (in vain) endea­voured to awake, to consult about the businesse: For, in regard he had been taken with the beauty of the picture whilst he was drawing it, he was the first who received the punishment of the prophanation he [Page 186] had committed, by a dead sleep, into which he was cast, according to thesentence of the Oracle. So that Olympia could not awake him; but observing, amongst other mar­vailous excellencies of the Picture, the Inscription which it bore, for King Seleucus, and nettled by covetousnesse (a vice con­stant to the Sex) in hope of great reward for so rare a Present, she resolved to steal the Picture, and carry it into Syria to the King. But it was no small pleasure, to see this woman represent all the mo­tions, which the Passions of this Entry required, with a well compos'd cadency, and an agreeable disposition of Steps: As the terror given by the Oracle; the Ex­tasies, into which she was cast, by the ex­cellency of the Piece; and the flight she made out of the Temple, for fear of being caught in so worthy a theft. In a word, this Entry was so stupendious, and so ex­pressive, that it raised so many buzzes of admiration, and applause, as put the Mu­sick to silence.

Upon this, an excellent Trio was sung, by certain Musitians, in an Antick Habit, to give time for Olympia's journey into Syria with the Picture, and to observe the rules of the Representation; during which the Temple disappear'd, and at the same time, [Page 187] by a subtle change of the Scene, was sud­dainly represented a stately Room, of a Kings Palace, which covered the whole Theater, (and whose magnificent structure might dispute Architecture, with the most pompous Palace of Italy, and the most admirable Porticks of Venice) where there came out an Eunuch, Door-keeper to King Seleucus's Chamber, and introduc't Olympia to him. The Musick (having given the Spectators leisure to recollect their minds, from the excess of delight, wherewith they had been seaz'd by this stately change of the Stage) began to play-again, and the Eunuch daunc't his part, after a brisk, and antick fashion, not much disresembling the Ideas of the Trio, perform'd by the Musitians.

The King Seleucus came forth of his Chamber, with Olympia, to whom he shew'd many signs of recognizance, for the Present she had made him, and willing her to set it upon a Cupboard which stood neer the Stage, and not being able to sa­tiate himself with admiring it, or rather with adoring it, he suddainly became blind; which Olympia perceiving, she fled away, and left him groaping up and down the Stage; and it was a very pleasant spectacle to the Beholders, to see him [Page 188] harnast in a Coat of Arms, glittering like the Sun, with Spangles of Gold, and Em­brodery, go groveling, and staggering to his Chamber; and all this, with the han­somest measure, and the most regulated Counterpaces that could be.

The Prince Antiochus, understanding the dismal news of the King his Fathers blind­nesse, came out of his Chamber, with intention to go visit, and consolate him; but casting his eye upon this Divine, and fatal picture, and contemplating the beauty thereof, he suddainly found his Right Leg shortned by a foot, with strange and grievous pains; and so he was fain to go halting home.

In the second Entry, two Princes of the Court came forth, to go to the King; but stopping to gaze upon the Picture, before they went in, the one of them swel'd up like a Tun, and the other grew bunch-backt.

Then, four of the Life-Guard daunc't excellently well, and were so much the more admir'd, because they daunc't a Pyrrique after the old fashion, with their Halbards in their hands, wherewith they shew'd many military feats, after the manner of pitcht, and well regulated Bat­tails: But they also suffred by this fatal Charm; for as they were peeping upon [Page 189] the Picture, they were all four struck lame in their arms, and their Halbards fell out of their hands, and made sport enough for the Company, to see them march off with every one a crooked arm, dragging their Halbards with their other hands; and all this, with a very fine cadency, and measure.

But the greatest mischief the Picture did, was to a litte knavish Page, who, being sent to call the Physitians, and not content to stand and pry upon it, at a distance, must needs forsooth creep to­wards it, and consider it neer hand; but upon a suddain, the poor Strippling found his thighs shivered, and was forc't to wrig­gle away upon his breech, which caused much laughter, to see him throw away the Picture in a rage, and daunce upon his arse. Now, the King understanding that the whole Court had suffred by looking upon this Picture, commanded it to be torn in pieces; to which purpose the Eunuch coming forth in the third Entry, and finding the Picture upon the ground, could not forbear to look upon it, before he brake it; but it cost him dear, for his head grew forthwith as bald as his chin; and so scratching his noddle with one hand, and assaulting the Picture with the [Page 190] other, he came as scurvily off as the rest.

A Physitian, and a Mountebank being sent for, to cure the King, and his Son, made the fourth Entry, so upon the same ayer, but with different steps, and con­trary figures, in regard of the Antipathy there is between them, in point of their Vocation; and this Entry was of more force then the rest, and had more paces of Science, and figures of peculiarity, in re­spect of their contrariety; but it was too short; for really, had the whole Bal been compos'd of the same steps, upon the same ayer, it would not have been tedious; so delightful, and ravishing they were.

Now, all humane remedies being found uselesse, towards the cure of these great mischiefs this Charm had wrought, it was thought fit, to have recourse to Divine ones. Wherefore the King, with all his crippled Court, went to the Temple, to beg remedy of the Gods; and here the Scene changed in a trice, and shew'd ano­ther Temple, different from the former, where the high Priest, and the Sacrificer immolated an Heyfer upon the Altar, for the recovery of the King, and his Court: and then all the Cripples entred together, dauncing after odd, and ridiculous fashi­ons, every one according to the defect of [Page 191] his debilitated part; after which, the Musick stopping, they all made halt, expecting the Oracle, which answered, that nothing but the Original of the Picture, could cure the evils which the Copy had wrought. Hereupon the Temple disappear'd, and Seleucus's Palace return'd again, whence two Embassadors were dispatch't to Demetrius, to demand Stra­tonica, for wise to the King of Syria; which finisht the sixth Entry; and after which the Musitians began to play, and by a sweet concert of Voices, and Instruments, made an agreeable Interlude, to give the Embassadors leisure to make their journey, and bring the worthy fruit of their Em­bassie.

Seleucus being inform'd, that the Em­bassadors approached with the divine Sub­ject of his health, and the adorable object of his love, went forth at the eighteenth Entry, with all his Court, in as pitiful a case as it was, to receive her; where they daunc't, after the prettiest, and most phantastical fashion that could be, with so many various, and extravagant postures, (according to the various defects of their Members, and all together with so much punctuality) that all these different per­sons compos'd a just harmony of their [Page 192] bodies, like a good Concert, of a diversity of Notes.

The fair Stratonica, shew'd her self at the bottome of the Theater, ushered in by the Embassadors, and she soon suspended both the eyes, and hearts of the Spectators, as well with the beauty of her person, as with her grace, and comlinesse in dauncing; and as soon as she was presented to the King, he recovered his sight, and all the poor, maim'd Courtiers grew sound, and brisk; in acknowledgement of which great felicity, the Stage was subtly, and suddainly changed, into joy and jubily, and the Musick, having altered their tune, for the twentieth, and last Entry, Stratonica, and the whole Court daunc't the Grand Bal, (being thirteen in number) to wit, Stra­tonica, Seleucus, Antiochus, the two Em­bassadors, the two Princes, the four Hal­bardeers, the Eunuch, and the Page, and afterwards, in representation of the Wed­ding, and copolusion of the Mask, they all went to play the good fellows together.

Indeed (said the Count) the Subject of their Bal was gallant, and stately, and I believe the representation of it was ad­mirable, though it seem to be almost im­possible; not for the sumptuousnesse, and charge, but for the trouble and difficulty [Page 193] of it. For, how could you make a man seem blind, bunch-backt, puft up, and broaken-thigh'd, which are things almost impossible? It was a pretty trick indeed, said the Marquesse: For whilst the King was rubbing his eyes, and making a shew of feeling some dimnesse in them, he im­perceivably slipt on a pair of false eyes, which he had hidden under his Vizard: And one of the Princes, by means of a Cushion which he had under his Cassack, drew up a silken string, and shew'd a bunch in his back: And the other made himself seem to be swoln, with a Bag-pipe, which he had upon his brest, the pipes whereof were tied to his arm-pits, fill'd the bag by their frequent motion. As for the Page, he fell instantly upon his breech, having the Bowl dish tyed behind him before, though it appear'd not at all, till he began to daunce upon it, and to tumble upon the Stage, the noise whereof signified the measures of the cadency, which added great grace to the action, and great delight both to the ears, and eyes of the Company. All the rest was very easie, and feasable; and all things were so well, and so advan­tagiously ordered, that there was not any defect at all, in the least point of the whole Representation.

These are but petty observations which you make, (said the Philosopher) and I have taken notice of one thing, very irre­gular, and quite against the order of the Scene, which requires the unity of Times, and Places, and which ought to be regu­lated at most, within the term of a Natural Day, of four and twenty hours: But in this Bal, I have noted, that of place, in the representation, of two different Kingdoms far asunder; and in that of Time, two different Journeys, which impugns the Unity of Time, and restrains not the mind, to the point which the Stage desires. You could not be a Philosopher (replied the Marquesse) if you did not comment upon all things, and pretend even to shame an egg-shell. But to give rational satisfaction, to such persons of judgement, as shall come to the knowledge of the Subject; and to prevent the malice of such Criticks, as shall presume to condemn, either the Invention, or Order of this Bal; I will only tell you, that we ought not to cavil, or find strange, to see fabulous concep­tions exhibited upon a true Foundation; and if we made any addition, to the History of Piutarch, or to the famous Ro­mance of Stratonica, to embellish and illu­strate the Stage, and to give the Spectators [Page 195] more cause of admiration, you must con­sider, that common things do not surprize, and ravish the Senses, as novelty doth: For, if even Beauty it self were too fami­liar to us, it would not be amiable; and if our Notions, and Sciences were not so defective as they are, we should live with­out pleasure; in regard that all satisfactions of the mind, and delights of the eyes, come from deprivations, or ignorance, which is the whetstone of curiosity: And thence it is, that we draw those admi­rations, attended by the charms, and di­vertizements which new things afford us; whereas such, as wherewith we have been once satiated, seem always faint, and in­sipid, though never so excellent.

Now, in regard that in this Design, the principal scope was the satisfaction of the Intelligent; we conceived, that the Re­presentation of a History, of a Fable, or of any trivial subject, would not surprize the mind, nor charm the senses; and therefore that it was fit to invent some particular Subject, so to exact (at least by the novelty thereof) something, for the advantage, and pleasure of the curious, and that to keep the learned within the compass of their rules, it was also necessary, by diversify­ing the Scene, to insert somewhat, con­trary [Page 196] to the Dramatick, and to illustrate the beauty of the Epick, and to elevate, in fine, the splendor of the Stage, by the thing, which is now a days most unusual to it. I speak to you Master Philosopher, (said the Marquesse) and if you be not content with this, I send you back to the Hall, where you would have found where­with to satisfie you, in the pompous rich­nesse of the Cloaths, in the proud deco­rations of the Stage, and in the excellent harmony, both of the Instruments, and Voices.

The Marquesse had no sooner done, but the Coach was stopt, and invested Rue des Lom­bards at Paris. by a multitude of arm'd Citizens, and Sergeants, in Lumbard-Street, who all in a rage, attend upon the Commissary of the Quarter, which their Pages, and Lackays (who were in good number) perceiving, forthwith drew their swords to repulse them, and laid so well about them, that they wounded some, put others to flight, and slasht them for the most part to the purpose, whilst the Commissary, coming to the Coach with some Torches about him, cried out with a commanding voice, like a Magistrate, Are you they, who have stoln away a young Lady, out of this Street? Come on, let us see? Feel, my [Page 197] friends, feel in this Coach! To which the Gentlemen answered, We know not what you mean; we have no Lady here; but if we had, we would keep her well enough from you. Herewith, finding themselves mistaken, they departed, and the Coach went on; and when it was pretty far ad­vanc't, the Gentlemen heard some Pistols go off, at the next turning; and when they were past the corner of old Lavieille rue du Temple. Temple Street, they saw in Rue des Blancs-Mante­aux. White-Cloak-Street, seven or eight Filous, or Theeves, having set upon another Coach, which had but few folks in it, had kill'd the Coach-man; and the Horses being frighted, ran away with the Coach, and overthrew it in the middle of the Street, which stopt the passage. The Rogues seeing so many people coming, betook them to their heels, and got away, before these Gentle­men came up; whose Coach-man, to make way, fell a whipping his own horses, and those of the other too so sharply, that they rais'd the Coach upright, in such sort, as the Boots of the two Coaches rub'd one against another, & so the Gentlemen past slowly on; when suddainly, a Lady skipt out of the other Coach, in despight of them who endeavoured to hold her, & resolute­ly catching hold of the boot of the Barons [Page 198] Coach, cried help, help, for Gods sake! I am a poor Girle stoln from my Fathers house, and would rather be hang'd, then go with this villain, who hath forc't me away! The civil, and officious Baron receiving her, took her in his arms, set her down by him, and bid the Coachman drive on as fast as he could. All the company crouded to see her, and examine her; but to no purpose, for she gave them no answer; but, partly through the fright, and partly through her straining to get out of the other Coach, she fell in a swoon.

Being come to the Barons house, they caused torches to be brought to the Coach, to see what Fortune had bestowed upon them, and there they found so much beau­ty, and so many charms, in the face of a young Lady, of about fifteen years old, that even in the very fit of her swooning it self, it surpriz'd them with admiration, and passion. They laid her upon a bed, and when she was come to her self again, she burst forth into such lamentable shriks, and complaints, as that she was almost ready to use violence to her self, notwith­standing the Baron did what he could, to appease and consolate her. Oh unhappy wretch that I am! (said she) I fell at first but into the snares of one Ravisher; and [Page 199] now I am at the mercy of many persons whom I know not, and who peradven­ture— She was going on, but the Baron interrupted her, saying, Cheer up Lady, and be of good comfort, in the assurance I give you, that you shall here receive no wrong, nor displeasure, but rather all kind of respect, and obedience. She replied with resentment, and submission; I desire no such thing as that of you Sir; but all the favour I crave of you, is, that I may be carried safe to my Fathers house; and this I beg of you, by all the honour you have, and by all you hold dear in the world! And with this, she burst out into so many tears and sobs, and actions of humility, that she would have softned the heart of a very Barbarian; and adding to her supplications (to captivate them whom she petition'd) that the aversion, and hatred which she carried towards him who had forc't her away, made her cast her self upon the mercy of the first she met with; but that the Fates had been propitious to her, in throwing her upon persons of condition, amongst whom she found some light, of the only comfort of the distressed, which is hope. Lady, (said the Baron) I should be glad to carry you instantly home; but I can hardly do it, [Page 200] because I neither know where you dwell, nor who you are.

Upon this, she took a little courage, and wiping her rosy, and most amiable cheeks, which were all bedew'd with tears, she told him where she dwelt, and who she was; namely, the Daughter of a certain Financier, (whom she named) and related part of the accident how she was forc't away. Then the Marquesse catching up her words, said, Your Parents, Lady, are seeking after you, and the Commissary of your Quarter came with a great multi­tude, and felt in our Coach for you, as we past along the Street, to see if we had stoln you. I would to God! (said she) (with a sob, which stopt her speech, and already flattered the noble Company, with the hope, that, this word was spoken to their advantage) I would to God, the Commissary, and my Parents had met that Coach wherein I was, instead of yours! For then I had been by this time, in my dear Mothers arms. But I should be sorry for that, replied the Baron; for then I should have been deprived, of the highest felicity that could befal me: And I should be freed (said she with a sigh) from the fear and danger wherein I am! I will warrant you from the later, (said the [Page 201] Baron) and you have just ground to lay aside the former, in regard you are in a safe refuge, where none shall command but your self, and where you are as absolute by the respect I have vow'd you, as by the empire you have acquired upon my soul.

This sublime Complement dull'd the heat of the fire wherewith the other Gen­tlemen began to burn: for afterwards, they spake of nothing but going instantly to supper, & then to the Bal, whereof they had talkt upon the Cours, and to leave this fair desolate Lady to her rest, if it were possible for her to take any, (being at the mercy of despair) but it was so far from it, that she did nothing but impatiently ask now whether she were going home? then, whether the Coach were ready? and in fine, whether they would keep their word with her, or not? And the like.

The Steward having sent word, that the Meat was at table, the Company rose to go to supper; but much ado they had to depart out of the Chamber, where they had left their hearts, and where Love had laid new ambushes for them, at their going out: For this charming Lady, having re­covered some part of her strength through hope, and rising, out of civility, from the bed to wait upon them to the door, shew'd [Page 202] them so tall, straight, and slender a body, enricht, and illustrated with so comely and majestick a grace, and with so sweet and penetrating an ayer, that the gravity of her carriage, and the vivacity of her aspect rendred her Divine, and inaccessible. Her supper was brought into her chamber to her, but the would not touch so much as one bit of any thing; and indeed, the Gentlemen did neither eat, nor say much; they being agitated with the passion of love, and desire; and she with that of fear, and discomfort. After supper, they all re­tired, save only the Baron, who dispatcht a witty, & discreet person, to inform himself of the Ladies condition, and of the truth of the accident; wherby he found, that she was worth six hundred thousand Livers, (which is neer sixty thousand pound Sterling) as being the only Child, and Heiress to a rich Financier, and that there was great dili­gence, and inquiry made after her.

But if Love had sensibly touch't his heart before, this news did it much more, in de­spight of all the generus resistance he could make against it. Wherefore, he presently began to consider how he might make use of his good Fortune, and keep the Lady for himself: in order to which, he resol­ved to carry her forthwith out of his [Page 203] house, where she had been seen; and to this effect, he sent his Coach with six fresh horses, out at St. Anshonies Gate, with some men on horse-back well arm'd, to guard it. In the mean while, he went into the Chamber of his fair Guest, to ask her if she were ready to go home; however he in­tended to carry her farther. And she, as soon as ever she saw him, without expe­cting his complement, earnestly ask't him what he came to offer her, according to his promise. I am here to wait on you Lady (said he) and there is a Chair on purpose at the Gate, to carry you with more ease, and convenience, then in a Coach, in regard of your weakness. Where­upon she, without answering him, without calling for hood or mask, and without expecting his hand, went first down the stairs, and slipt into the Chair, and the Baron went into another, to conduct her to the Coach, which stay'd for them, and which was to carry them before day, to the house of a friend of his in the Country.

They met with misfortune in the streets; but the Baron being in deep contemplati­on upon his design, was furiously assault­ed by two strong Passions, which so tor­mented him, that they made a kinde of a Portative Hell of his soul, namely, Honor, [Page 204] and Profit, which made a fierce combat in his brest; and Love, taking the stron­ger side of the two, suffered him not to deliberate much upon it, but byassed his Spirit that way. Honour said to him, Hold, whither goest thou? Thou goest to commit an unworthy Rape, which will stain the brightness of thy glory with ir­reparable shame; and to perpetrate a crime, whereof Heaven hath made thee the Preventer. Thou oughtest to send this Lady home to her Parents, and therein thou wouldst perform an Heroical Acti­on.

Love said, Affection cannot be forc't, and my fire is never kindled, but by ser­vices, and complements. Thou wilt more vigorously captivate thy Mistresse, by carrying her home, then by keeping her prisoner; and her Father, in requital of thy generosity, will make thee a Present of the thing which thou hast given him: Home with her, home with her!

No, (said Profit) thou art a fool, if thou lettest slip thy good fortune, and out of faint-heartedness, loosest a certain treasure for an uncertain reward. Whereupon, Love wheel'd about, and tickled him with a desire, to take present possession of the charms, and delights he had propos'd him. [Page 205] In fine, after a long contestation of his thoughts, Honor got the victory; and so, calling that person to him, whom he had sent to inform him of the accident, (as confiding most in him) he bid him softly, Go to the Financiers house; whither when they came, the tears, desolation, and affliction, which was there before, turn'd forthwith into as great a confusion of amazement, joy, and gladnesse. For, when the Mother (who was in her bed, over­whelmed with grief) and the Father, (who was walking sadly up and down the chamber, exaggerating the excesse of his misfortune) heard their Servants shout out upon a suddain, Mistresse, Mistresse! the Father was coming out, to see what was the matter, and met the Baron at the Chamber-door, ushering in his Daughter, and presenting her to him. The Mother could not contain her self, but jumpt out of the bed, and caught her in her arms; and whilst all was full of embra ements, and excesses of joy, the Baron said to them; It hath been my happinesse, to take your Daughter out of the hands of him who had stoln her, and now I bring her to you. Upon which the young Lady began to relate the good treatment she had re­ceived; but the Baron forthwith replied; [Page 206] Lady, all the recompense I desire, shall be the glory of having served you. As for the Father, and Mother, their actions supplied the want of words, to thank, and acknowledge the irremunerable favour he had done them; and so having sent for his Coach, which expected him out of town, and taking his leave, he said to the young Lady; Lady, I have yet served you but to halves; nor shall I think my self to have merited any thing of you, till I shall have fought with him who forc't you, and till the justice of your cause shall have made me sacrifice him, to revenge your injury.

In the second Walk, we will treat of the pretty adventures of the Barons love to this Lady, and introduce his Coach, with other persons in it, amongst whom we shall see a Conversation as various, as recreative. And the Ladies, and Wits of the Court must be pleased to pardon me, if I have coucht any Entertainments here, which are not proper for the Cours, or any Matters which are not pleasing to their palates: For, if I have shew'd in this book, that I am not much inclin'd to verbosity, and that I love not superfluous and affected terms; I was induc't to it by the advice of my friends, who are good book-men, [Page 207] and the scourges of them, who talk much, and say nothing. However, to expiate this crime committed against Gallantry, I was fain (contrary to my design) to change the Scene of this first Walk, and retire the Coach of my Interlocutors, from the Cours; to the end, that not being distracted by the charming beauty of the Ladies, nor diverted by the variety and confusion of Objects, their Conversation might not be interrupted, and that they might probably be able to continue it in a Walk apart, upon such subjects as require quiet and attention. But in these follow­ing Walks, it shall not be so; and they shall allow the Court more freedome, more gallantry, and more pleasure, then this hath done.

FINIS.

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