LETTERS OF Mounſieur …

LETTERS OF Mounsieur de BALZAC. 1.2.3. and 4th parts.

Translated out of French into English.

BY Sr RICHARD BAKER Knight, and others.

Now collected into one Volume, with a methodicall table of all the letters.

LONDON, Printed for John Williams, and Francis Eaglesfield. At the Crown, and Marigold in S. Pauls Churchyard. 1654.

LETTERS OF Mounseur de BALZAC, Translated into English by Sr. RICHARD BAKER, and others.

LONDON. Printed for John Williams, and Francis E [...]glesfeild, at the Crown, and Marigold in St. Pauls Church-yard. 1655.

To the Honourable the Lord OF NEVVBURGE, ONE OF HIS MAJESTIES most honourable Privie Councell and Chan­cellour of the Dutchy of Lancaster.

MY Lord, I may perhaps be thought, besides the boldnesse, to be guilty of absurdity, in offer­ing a Translation to him who so exactly understand­eth the Originall; & one who if he had a mind to see how it would look in English, were able to set a much fairer gloss upon it, then I have done: yet my Lord, this absurdity may have a good colour; for it may not be unpleasing to you to see your own perfection in the glasse of anothers imperfection, seeing even the best Diamonds seem to take a pleasure in having of foiles. Besides, I have my choice of another colour, for be­ing to to passe a world of hazard in the censure of the world, I am willing to passe the pikes at first, and account this done, having once passed yours. And to­wards [Page] it, my Lord, I have two comforts; one for the Reader, that the Authours gold is so much over weight, that though much be lost in the melting, yet it holds out weight enough still, to make it currant: the other, for myself, that by this meanes I may have a testimony remaining in the world, how much I ho­nour you, and in how high a degree I most affe­ctionately am,

Your Lordships humble Servant RICHARD BAKER.
[...]

TO THE LORD CARDINALL OF RICHELIEƲ.

My LORD,

I Here present you Mounsieur Balzac's Letters, which may well be termed new ones, even after the eighth Edition; for though they have long since been in pos­session of publick favour, yet I may justly say, this is the first time their Authour hath avouched them. The advantagious Judgement you have delivered of him, and the ar­dor wherewith all France hath followed your approbation, well deserveth his best endeavours toward the perfectionating so ex­cellent things: I have been solicitous to draw him to this labour, to the end the world might know, that if I be not worthy the share I have in his respects, yet that I have at least been wise e­nough to make right use of my good fortune, and to cause it to be­come serviceable to the glory of my Countrey. But truly, were he master of his body, or did his maladies afford him liberty of spirit, he would not suffer any but himself to speak in this cause; and his pen performing no slight acts, would have consecrated his own labours, and the wonders they have produced. But since evils have no prefixed time of durance, and in that all the good interims which hereafter may befall him, are wholly to be, imployed in his Book, The Prince; I esteemed it to small purpose to attend his health in this businesse, and that it was now no longer any time to deferre the purging of these curious Letters from such blemishes as ill impressions had left upon them. They shall therefore non appear in the parity wherein they were con­ceived, and with all their naturall ornaments: Besides, I have added divers letters of his, not as yet come to light, which may serve as a subject of greater satisfaction to all men, and be as a recompense of the honour wherewith he hath collected the for­mer. And truly (my Lord) had it been possible to place in the [Page] Frontispiece of this Book, a more illustrous name then yours, or should Mounsieur de Balzac's inclination and mine have been farre from any such intention, yet would not the order of things, or the law of decency have permitted any other refle­ction, then what I now make: I speak not at this present, of that dazeling greatnesse whereunto you are elevated, nor of that so rare and necessary vertue, which rightly to recognize, the great­est King on earth hath esteemed himself not to be over able. I will only say, I had reason to submit an eloquence produced in the shade, and formed in solitarinesse, to this other eloquence quickned both with voice and action, causing you to reign in sovereignity at all assemblies. Certainly, my Lord, you are more powerfull by this incomparable quality, then by the authority wherein the King hath placed you: The only accent of your voice hath a hidden property, to charm all such as hearken unto you; none can be possessed with any so wilfull passions, who will not be appeased by the reasons you propound; and after you have spoken, you will at all times remain master of that part of man, no way subject to the worlds order, and which hath not any dependency upon lawfull power, or tyrannicall usurpation. This is a truth, my Lord, as well known as your name, and which you so solidly confirmed at the last assembly of the Nota­bles; as that in the great diversity of humours and judgements, whereof it was composed, there was peradventure this only point well resolved on, That you are the most eloquent man living. This being true, I can no way doubt, but the perusall of this Book I offer unto you, will extraordinarily content you, and that you will be pleased to retire thither, sometimes to recreate your spirits after agitation, and to suspend those great thoughts, who have for their object the good of all Europe. It is a book, my Lord, wherein you shall find no common thing but the Ti­tle; (where entertaining some particular person) Mounsieur de Balzac reades Lessons to all men; and where amidst the beauty of Complements and dexterity of Jeasting, he often teacheth of the most sublime point of Philosophy: I mean not that wrang­ling part thereof which rejecteth necessary verities, to seek after unprofitable ones, which cannot exercise the understanding without provoking passions, nor speak of moderation without distemper, and putting the soul into disorder: But of that, where­by [Page] Pericles heretofore made himself master of Athens, and wherewith Epaminondas raised himself to the prime place of Greece: which tempereth the manners of particulars, regulateth the obligation of Princes, and necessarily bringeth with it the fe­licity of all States where they command. This book will make it apparent even to your enemies, that your life hath been at all times equally admirable, though not alwayes alike glorious: How you have conserved the opinion of your vertue, even in the time of your hardest fortunes, and how in the greatest fury of the tem­pest, and in the most extreme violence of your affairs, the inte­grity of your actions hath never been reduced to the only testi­mony of your conscience. To conclude, It is in this Book, my Lord, where I suppose you will be pleased to read the presages of your present greatnesse, and what hath been foretold; not by Astrologicall Rules, or the aspect of some Constellation, but by a true discourse founded upon the maximes of Reason, and ex­perience of things past; causing him to presume, that God hath not conferred such extraordinary endowments upon you, to be for ever encloistered within your self: And that he hath loved France better, then to deprive her of the good you ought to pro­cure her. But all these verities shall one day be comprised in that work the King, by your mouth, my Lord, hath commanded Mounsieur de Balzac to undertake, and which one year of lei­sure will effect. There shall it be, where he will cause all men to confesse, that to have the pourtract of a perfect Prince, the reign of so great a Monarch as ours, is to be attended; that the Divine Providence never shewed it self more apparantly, then in the conduct of his designes, and in the event of his enterprises; and how Heaven hath so farre declared it self in his favour, that were his state assaulted on all sides, and all ordinary meanes of defence should fail him; he hath vertue sufficient to save himself, and perform miracles. Now as you are the prime intelligence of his Councell, and your cogitations the first causes of the good re­solutions therein taken, you are not to doubt, my Lord, but you likewise possesse the principall place therein, after his Majesty; and that you participate more then any other of his triumphs. There shall you be revenged of all those wretched writings you have formerly sleighted: There the spirits of all men shall be satis­fied in the justice of your deportments, and calumny it self will [Page] there be so powerfully convinced, that to cry down so legall a government as yours, ill affected French-men, and those stran­gers enemies to this Crown, will find no further pretext in af­fairs, nor credulity among men. And truly, when I (on the one side) consider how fatall it is to those who govern, to be ex­posed to the envy of great ones, and complaints of meaner per­sons, and how Publick affairs have this fatality, as how pure soe­ver the administration of the rest be, they still afford sufficient co­lour to calumny, to disguise them and cause them to appear unjust. And on the otherside: when I consider that to guide this State is no lesse then to manage a body having no one sound part; and how there is no sick person who doth not sometimes murmure against his Physician; I dare be confident (my Lord) that such a man as Monsieur de Balzac will not prove unusefull unto you, and that the luster of your actions, and glory of your life shall receive no diminution in his hands. I would say more, did I not fear to dis­oblige him in commending him, or if I believed him to be so great a self admirer as his enemies figure him unto us. But I who have sufficiently studied him to know him, and who am acquainted with his most secret Inclinations, and the most particular conce­ptions he hath in his soul, and of a far different opinion to theirs. I will therefore rest there (my Lord) and not to cause you to loose more time, and to the end you may the sooner enjoy the enter­tainment, this excellent Book prepareth for you: I will satisfie my self in letting you know, that I esteem not my self so unfortu­nate as formerly I did, since I have happened upon so fair an oc­casion, to let you know that I am,

My Lord,
Your thrice humble, and most obedient servant, SILBON.

THE PREFACE Upon the Letters of Mounsieur de BALZAC:

By Mounsieur de la MOTTE AIGRON.

I Doubt not but amongst those who shall see these Works some there are who will esteem them worthy a more advantagious Title then that of Letters, as well in regard of the greatnesse of those things therein frequently handled, as in respect of the exactnesse where­with they seem to have been composed: But as I willingly ex­cuse those, who with unapt complements imagine they have composed a good Letter; nor do any more blame such as there­in never digresse from their particular affairs; so must I like­wise acknowledge, that such writings as these, having not been made with any intention to be put in Print, the World might well have passed without them: And that it is onely allowed to the Germanes to give account to the age they live in, and to posterity forsooth, concerning the affairs and fortunes of their [Page] particular families, and of the silly acts of their Colleagues Truly it is an errour to believe, that grave and solemn subjects are to be banished out of all Letters, or that even elo­quence ought but slackly therein to appear; and that the Ma­jesty of both these is onely reserved for Pulpits and Panegyrick Orations; as though valour never appeared save only in pitch'd Battels; and that in single Combates it were lawfull to run a­way, or that virtue therein were utterly unusefull, because it hath fewer witnesses, neither is so fully regarded: But besides that, we are no longer in those times wherein the State government was publickly questioned, where the Oratours forced the Lieutenants generall of armies to render account of their severall charges; and that consequently, there is no more any means remaining to become eloquent in that kind: Yet are there reasons, where­by we may understand the merit of Letters to be of no lesse re­gard then that of Orations. Howbeit, if there be any necessity to find some difference between these; this at least can neither be in regard of the dignity of the Subjects the force of Reasons, the gracefulness of Discourses, nor in the sublimity of Conceits. To speak truth, when I consider the Orations yet remaining a­mong the ruines of former ages, some whereof were publickly pronounced, others onely penned; I am so farre from admiring any advantage they have over those Letters now extant among us both of the same Authours and Ages, as I do not so much as wonder at all, how the first having been armed with dis­course and voice, together with the gesture and motion of the body, have produced such prodigious effects as we all know and have so often, as it were by main force, extorted the consents of all hearers; yet the second, though they had not the like armes and allurements have notwithstanding not been any way deficient. Those smooth Exordiums whereby they pre­pare, and put themselves by easie accesses, as it were into pos­session of the Readers, those straites and passages whereby they conduct the spirits of men from pleasant to painfull, and from grievous, to gracious objects, to the end that having in a manner [Page] shaken and cast them out of their former stations, they may afterwards force them to fall on what side they please. Surely all these advantages are so peculiar to Orations, as I ingenious­ly confesse, Letters do not so much as know what they mean. In these, we enter at the first dash upon the matter, nor do we scarce at any time, quit the same; the reasons go altogether alone without assistance, and all the ornament allowed them, is onely freedome of conceptions, the fecundity of language, and that they passe not promiscuously. But as concerning the Subjects, they are common to both kinds of writings, and it is an errour to imagine, there are some particular to the one, that the other cannot touch upon the same without injury thereunto. Upon the matter, Panegyrick discourses, Apologies, Consulta­tions, Judgements upon Morall actions, whether good or bad opinions and censures upon occurrents of those which please, and those we ought to detest, yea even indifferent accidents; briefly whatsoever may fall into discourse, and under reason, are the objects of Letters: So we see, the greatest and most important mysteries of our religion have been left unto us in Letters. All the wisdome of the Pagans is contained in those of Seneca, and we owe to those Cicero wrote to his friends, the knowledge of the secrets, and certain inducements which caused the greatest revolutions the world hath ever known, to wit the shaking and subversion of the Roman Reipublicke, we are therefore to con­fesse Oratorical Treatises to have no other subject then Letters: and that if there be any difference, it is none other then what is observed between our ancient Seas, and those not discovered unto us till in our fathers times. The latter are no lesse deep then the other; they are capable of the like shipping; their ebbes, and floods are neither more just, nor lesse uncertain; and all the dif­ference discovered between them is onely this, that the winds tosse not those in like sort as it doth ours, and in that they are seldome or never subject either to stormes, or tempests. In like manner it being within the power and capacity of Letters to treat of the same things, how much more eminent and excellent [Page] soever one may conceive them to be then any other kind of wri­tings, yet do they not indeed receive those extraordinary moti­ons which appear in Orations, since neither the like height of excesse, nor the same Enthusiasmes or raptures are herein found; In a word, it is a more middle beauty, and a more calm elo­quence. And surely, if the subject we make use of be as illu­strious as the person before whom we are to handle it, were it not as much as to abuse both the one and the other, to come short in our expressions: Since the action ought neither to be pub­lick, nor generall, if you intend to performe it negligently, and not to allow it all the ornaments whereof it is capable. And who can doubt that Cicero being to make an Oration before Cesar, after the change of the Common-wealth, had not a grea­ter apprehension, and prepared not himself with more studious care, then if he had onely spoken to that beast with an hundred heads, he had so often led after his own Phantasie, and whereof he was in so full possession so long before, as to cause them to take the part best pleasing unto him. In these last occasions, and in the presence of this man alone, he knew with whom he had to do: Now had he been timerous, or fearfull to fail before his Master, yet impute not this apprehension of his to proceed either out of consideration he had of his greatnesse, nor from the re­flections upon those things he came to accomplish: But it was in that he considered him as a man no lesse versed in the art of well-speaking then himself, and who had heretofore contributed to the study of this science, so many rare gifts of spirit, and so many faire endowments of nature, that had he not afterward esteemed it more noble to conquer men by armes, then to convince them by arguments, and if of the two most excellent exercises this of his life, fortune, and the famousnesse of his courage, had not caused him to make choise of the for­mer, he might easily have disputed for the glory of the lat­ter with him. Or were it so that this excellent Oratour might at this day return into the world, and were personally, or by his Pen to discourse with those two great Cardinalls to whom the [Page] most part of these Letters are addrest, it is not probable, coming to know them as we do, that he would imploy, and contribute a more exact study and solicitude, then when he was onely to please a multitude of ignorant Plebeians, and to speak to all that rabble of ancient Rome, we shall yet again be amazed at the per­fection of these Letters, some whereof are written to the King, and appointed to be read (as in truth they were) with admi­ration in full counsell, and a great part of the rest addressed to the most eminent persons of our age. To speak truth we may justly say, this is the first time any thing of perfection hath ap­peared in our language; so that if of all our ancient eloquence there be ought worthy of esteem in any equality with this, it may be that with much labour you shall produce some one Letter: For of all such who have hitherto written, we may af­firme, that the most fortunate among them, when they made choise of subjects able to subsist of themselves, have not been ab­solutely condemnable, and that amidst their writings, the solidi­ty of learning, and the savagenesse of language (to wit) the good and evill did equally appear. But when at any time they fell upon subjects where eloquence onely swayed the Scepter, there truly it was where fortune forsook them, and where the feeble­nesse of their proper forces was manifestly perceived, if they were not some way assisted by strange tongues. Some of them (to say the truth) have doubted what way they were to take, and have striven to shew it to others, though themselves were not in it. In a word, the greatest glory those gained who have written with most perfection and purity, is onely that which nature hath re­served for women, to which sex eminent actions being denied, it seemeth they perform sufficient if they abstain from evil doing. But to say that any hath joyned Art to abundance, and min­gled mildnesse with Majesty, or hath raised his stile without either loosing himself, or straying from his subject, that is it which in truth we could not see till this present. And question­lesse these brave and generous formes of discourse, and those great and strange conceptions wherewith these Letters were so [Page] curiously limed, and so plentifully graced, have been very slen­derly known in proceeding ages: This very order, and this number, whereof every tongue is not capable, and wherein ours owes nothing to the Latine, and which appeares in all his words, though diversly, and as their gender requires, do right haply appear in this place, though the most part of writers be­fore him have esteemed these perfections of small importance; yet notwithstanding, without the helpe of these two great se­crets, nether ornaments of Art, nor graces of Nature, can be but in part pleasing; nor can all the reasons the World can al­ledge perswad a Very woman resoluing to resist: And to speake seriously, they are no lesse necessary among excellent discourses, and conceits, then discipline amongst Souldiers, without which, courage is of no effect, and valour most commonly proveth unprofitable. As for me who have known the Authour from both our infancies, and who better then all others, can depose in what fashion he effecteth his labours; besides, knowing the great advantage he hath over all those who write at this day: I haue ever thought that if any were able to raise our Language to the merit and reputation of such Eloquence, werewith the Ancients were adorned▪ it should be to him alone to whom our age oweth this glory. Nor do I doubt, but the comparison co­ming in question at this present, between these his writings, and those of others; the difference will be easily discovered, assu­ring my self, that all spirits will dispose themselves to be ranged herein to mine opinion and voluntarily to give way thereunto. As for my self, who read the Ancients with all respect due unto them, and the Moderns without any prejudicate opinion, do notwithstanding confesse, that all I can conceive in others is so far short of the merit of these Letters, that abstracting from the passion I am possessed with, both for them, and their Authour, hardly could I dispose my self to frame this Preface for them. And who is there will make any difficulty to give them their due? Since he whose very faults have been esteemed so fair, that they caused a Sect during his life, which yet continues [Page] after his death; having (at Meats) seen certain discourses this Authour composed in those miserable times, and which stood in need of another age to be gratefully regarded, was astonished at his beginnings, confessing it was with unwillingnesse, that the onely thing he supposed to possesse by the generall consent of all, was ravished from him by one who as yet had lived but twenty yeares. But surely, it was in this strain of writing which in that it is not restrained within so strict limits as that of Let­ters, is capable of all the motions, and ornaments of Art; and of the same sort as was the other discourse he addresseth to the Pope who now is, upon the like subject, as that of Saint Ber­nards to Eugenius: And as God never chose among men any so accomplished with all perfections, as this person to command all others, so can I not conceive any thing either more great, or extraordinary, then what appeareth in this work, nor more suta­ble to the excellency of the subject, and to the Majesty of him to whom he dedicated his discourse: But if (to return to the par­ticulars of these letters) it were necessary for the delivering an unpartiall judgement, to consider those of the Antients, I should seem more respectfull then were requisite, if (puting them all together) I should undertake to make them so much as enter into comparison with these; excepting onely those of Seneca, yea even in those (which in truth come not near these) there is so infinite abundance of matter, as can hardly be imagined, and since all things therein appear so confusedly, that it seems they were therein couched without choice, and to say truth, as it were at adventure, some who will yet further tax his stile will happily say, they are rather matters then Works. But for my part, if there be any defects therein, I hold they ought well to be borne with, in regard of so many rarities therein concurring; and when we have said all, what appearance is there to undervalue any thing we receive from a man who was worth seven Milli­ons of Gold? and who once in his life had the heart and ambiti­on to aspire to the Empire of the whole world? Let us therefore esteem all we receive from him, and from those times, yet suffer [Page] us to commend our own, wherein this science which meddleth with the commanding of spirits, and which was but formerly in it's infancy, is now found to be in his full maturity, and as it were of ripe years. If therefore you acknowledge any obliga­tion due (as in truth there is) to these excellent Letters, you shall in short time see so solid, and just a judgement proceed from this Authour, that the Parliament it self produced not any more able; and his solitarinesse will be so satisfactory unto you, that you will make no more difference then I do, to prefer the same before the magnificence of Princely Courts, and the Pomp of most stateliest Cities.

A Table of the letters (as they lie in order) which are contained in the first volume.

Lib. I.
  • A Letter from Cardinall of Riche­lieu, to the Signeur of Bal­zac Page 1.
  • To the Lord Cardinall of Riche­lieu Page 2
  • To the same Page 4
  • To the same Page 5
  • To the same Page 6
  • To the same Page 8
  • To the same Page 9
  • To the Lord Bishop of Air Page 11
  • To the same Page 14
  • To the same Page 16
  • To the same Page 17
  • To the same Page 20
  • To the same Page 21
  • To the reverend Bishop of Air Page 22
  • To Mounsieur de la Motts Ai­gron Page 26
  • To Mounsieur de bois Robert Page 29
Lib. 2. in the first vol.
  • To my Lord Cardinall de la Va­lete. Page 32
  • To the same Page 35
  • To the same Page 36
  • To the same Page 37
  • To the same Page 39
  • To the same Page 42
  • To the same Page 43
  • To the same Page 44
  • To the same Page 46
  • To the same Page 47
  • To the same Page 49
  • To Mounsieur du Planty Page 50
  • To Mounsieur de la Magdelen Page 51
  • To Mounsieur de Montigny Page 52
  • To the Duke of Espernon Page 53
  • To the same Page 55
  • To the same Page 56
  • The Duke of Espernon his letter to the French King, penned by Bal­zac Page 59
  • To the same Page 61
  • To the same Page 63
Lib. 3. in the first vol.
  • To the Duke de la valete Page 65
  • To the Signeur of Plessis, gover­nour of Tollemount Page 67
  • To Hidasp Page 68
  • To Hidasp Page 72
  • To Signeur de la Roche. Page 74
  • To Mounsieur de Bois Robert Page 75
  • To the same Page 76
  • To the same Page 79
  • To the same Page 80
  • To the same Page 82
  • To Mounsieur Girard Secretary to the Duke of Espernon Page 85
  • To the same Page 86
  • To Philander Page 87
  • To the same Page 87
  • To Olympia Page 89
  • To Chrisolita Page 90
  • To Clorinda Page 91
  • To the same Page 92
  • To the same Page 93
  • To the same Page 94
  • To the same Page 95
  • To Lidia Page 96
  • To the Baron of Amblovile Page 97
  • To the Count of Schomberg Page 99
  • A letter from the Count of Schom­berg to Mounsieur de Balzac Page 100
Lib. 4. in the fifth vol.
  • To my lord Marshal of Schom­berg Page 101
  • [Page] To the Bishop of Angoulesme Page 103
  • To Father Garasso Page 104
  • To the Cardinall of Valete Page 106
  • Another Page 107
  • To the Lord Bishop of Nantes Page 109
  • To Mounsieur de la Marque Page 110
  • To Mounsieur Tissandler Page 111
  • To Mounsieur de Faret Page 112
  • To Mounsieur Coeffetean Bishop of Marseillis Page 113
  • To Mounsieur Pouzet Page 114
  • An answer to a letter sent to Balzac from a learned old Lady Mada­moiselle de Gourney Page 114
  • To Mounsieur Berniere Page 117
  • To Mounsieur de Voiture Page 117
  • To Mounsieur de Vaugelas Page 118
  • To Mounsieur de Racan Page 120
  • To the Abbot of S. Cyran Page 121
  • To Mounsieur Malherb Page 126
  • To Mounsieur de Vaugelas Page 127
  • To the same Page 128
  • To the same Page 129
  • To the same Page 130
  • To the same Page 131
  • To Hydasp Page 132
  • Another Page 135
  • Another Page 136
  • Another Page 137
  • Another Page 138
  • Another Page 139
  • Another Page 141

A Table of the letters contained in the second volume.

Lib. I.
  • TO Mounsieur Moreau Page I.
  • To Mounsieur R [...]gault Page 3
  • To Mounsieur da Moulin Page 5
  • To Mounsieur the Abbot of Baume Page 8
  • To Mounsieur Bouthilier Page 10
  • To Mounsieur the Earle of Exce­ter Page 11
  • To Mounsieur de Boyssat Page 12
  • To Mounsieur Huggens Page 14
  • To the Baron of S. Surin Page 16
  • To Cardinall de la Valette Page 17
  • Another. Page 18
  • To Mounsieur de Bois Robert Page 19
  • To Mounsieur de Soubran Page 22
  • To Mounsieur de la Nauue Page 24
  • To Mounsieur Chaplain Page 25
  • To Mounsieur de Nesmond Page 26
  • To Mounsieur de Pontac. Monplei­sir Page 28
  • To Mounsieur Huggens Page 30
  • To Mounsieur de la Nauue Page 32
  • To Mounsieur Conrage Page 33
  • To — Page 35
  • To Mounsieur Godeau Page 37
  • To Mounsieur de Thibaudiere Page 38
  • To Mounsieur Gyrard Page 39
  • To my Lord the Bishop of Nan­tes Page 43
  • Another Page 44
  • Another Page 45
  • To — Page 46
  • To Mounsieur du Pleix Page 47
  • To Mounsieur Maynard Page 48
  • To Mounsieur de Descourades Page 49
  • To Mounsieur d' Andilly Page 50
  • To Mounsieur Conrart Page 52
  • To the same another Page 53
  • To my Lord the Mareschall De­fiat Page 56
  • To Mounsieur Grainer Page 57
  • To Mounsieur Gaillard Page 58
  • To Mounsieur the Master Advocate in the Parliament. Page 58
Lib. 2. in the second vol.
  • To my Lord the Earle of Exce­ter Page 61
  • [Page] To my Lord the Arch Bishop of Thoulouse Page 62
  • To Mounsieur Arnaut Abbot of S. Nicholas. Page 65
  • To Mounsieur Ogier Page 67
  • To Mounsieur Sirmond Page 69
  • To Mounsieur Collombiers Page 70
  • To — Page 71
  • To Mounsieur Coeffeteau Page 72
  • To my Lord, the Earle of Bras­sac Page 74
  • To Mounsieur de la Nauve Page 76
  • To Mounsieur Heinsius Page 77
  • To Mounsieur de la Pigionniere Page 79
  • To Mounsieur Chaplain Page 79
  • To Mounsieur Maynard Page 81
  • To — Page 81
  • To Mounsieur Arnaut Page 82
  • To Mounsieur Nesmond Page 83
  • To Mounsieur de Borstell Page 85
  • Another Page 86
  • Another Page 86
  • Another Page 87
  • Another Page 88
  • Another Page 89
  • Another Page 89
  • Another Page 90
  • Another Page 91
  • Another Page 92
  • To Mounsieur de Bois Robert. Page 93
  • To Mounsieur Descartes Page 94
  • To Mounsieur de la Motte Ai­gron Page 95
  • To Mounsieur de Grainer Page 96
  • To Mounsieur de la Nauve Page 97
  • Another Page 98
  • Another Page 99
  • Another Page 100
  • To Mounsieur Bardyn Page 101
  • To Mounsieur de Aiguebere Page 103
  • Another Page 105
  • To Mounsieur de Bois Robert Page 106
  • Another Page 107
  • Another Page 108
  • To Mounsieur the master Advocate in the Parliament Page 110
  • Another Page 112
  • Another Page 112
  • To Mounsieur de Caupeau vil­le Page 113
  • To — Page 114
  • To Mounsieur Trovillier Page 115
  • To Mounsieur Gerard Page 116
  • To my Lord the Bishop of Nants Page 118
  • Another Page 118

A Table of all the letters in the third volume. lib. 1.

  • TO my Lord the Cardinall de la Valet. page I.
  • To the same page 2
  • To Mounsieur Godea page 2 3
  • To Mounsieur Conrart page 4
  • To my Lord the Bishop of Nantes page 5
  • Another page 6
  • To Mounsieur de la Nauve page 7
  • To Mounsieur de la Motte le Voyer page 8
  • To Madam de Villesavin page 9
  • To Mounsieur de Gomberville page 10
  • To Mounsieur de Villiers Hotto­man page 12
  • To Mounsieur de Borstell page 13
  • To Madam — page 15
  • To Mounsieur Hobbier page 17
  • To Mounsieur de Copiauville page 18
  • To Mounsieur de Forgues page 19
  • To Madam d'Anguitur page 20
  • To Mounsieur Balthazar page 22
  • To Mounsieur de Serizai page 23
  • Another page 24
  • [Page]Another page 25
  • To Mounsieur Ogier page 26
  • Another page 27
  • To Madam Desloges page 28
  • Another page 29
  • To — page 30
  • To Madam Desloges page 31
  • Another page 32
  • Another page 35
  • Another page 36
  • Another page 37
  • Another page 38
  • To Mounsieur de la Nouve page 39
  • To Madam Desloges page 40
  • Another page 41
  • Another page 42
  • Another page 43
  • Another page 44
  • Another page 45
  • Another page 46
  • Another page 47
  • Another page 48
  • Another page 49
  • Another page 50
  • To — page 51
  • To — page 52
  • To — page 53
  • To Mounsieur de Coignet. page 54
  • To Mounsieur de Nuluic. page 55
  • To Madam Desloges page 56
  • Another page 58
  • To Madam du Fos page 59
  • To Madam de Campagnole page 61
  • Another page 62
  • Another page 63
  • Another page 64
The second part of the third volume
  • To my Lord the Cardinall Duke of Richelieu. page 69
  • Another page 74
  • Another page 75
  • To Mounsieur Cytois page 77
  • To Mounsieur de Chastelet page 78
  • To Mounsieur de Bois Robert page 81
  • To Mounsieur Favereau page 83
  • Another page 86
  • To Mounsieur Girard page 87
  • To my Lord the Earle of Port page 88
  • To my Lord the Bishop of Nantes page 89
  • To Mounsieur Senne page 90
  • The opinion of Cicero concerning the stile which Philosophers use in their writings. page 92
  • To Mounsieur Granier page 92
  • To Mounsieur de Brye page 93
  • To Mounsieur de Silhon page 94
  • To Mounsieur de S. Marte page 99
  • To Mounsieur D'Argenton page 100
  • To the most Reverend Father Leon page 101
  • To Mounsieur Chaplain page 102
  • To Mounsieur Bonnaud page 105
  • To Mounsieur Souchote page 106
  • To Mounsieur Tissander page 106
  • The letter of Peter Bembo to Her­cules Strotius page 108
  • Another page 108
  • Another page 109
  • To the Duke of Falete page 110
  • To the Bishop of Poitiers page 112
  • To Mounsieur Guyet page 113
  • To Mounsieur de L'orme page 114
  • To my Lord — page 115
  • To Mounsieur Senne page 115
  • To Mounsieur de Piles Cleremont page 116
  • To Mounsieur de Voiture page 117
  • Another page 118
  • To Mounsieur Mestivier page 119
  • To Mounsieur de Mesmes D'Auvur page 120
  • To Mounsieur de Thure page 121
  • To Mounsieur de Vougelas page 122
  • To Mounsieur Girard page 123
  • [Page]Another page 125
  • Clarissimo Balzacio, Facultas Theo­logiae Pariensiensis. S. page 126
  • Another page 127
  • To Mounsieur Talon page 128
  • Another page 129
  • To Mounsieur D'Espernon page 130
  • To Mounsieur Rous sines page 131
  • To Mounsieur Breton page 133
  • Another page 134
  • Another page 136
  • To Mounsieur Gerard page 137
  • To Mounsieur de Gues page 139
  • To Mouns. de Bois Robert page 143

A Table of the Letters contained in the fourth volume.

  • TO Mouns. Conrart page I.
  • To Mounsieur du Moulin page 3
  • To Mouns. L'Huillier page 4
  • To Mounsieur the Abbot of Bois Robert. page 6
  • To my Lord the Earle of Exceter page 7
  • To my Lord the Duke de la Valett page 8
  • To Mouns. Drovet page 9
  • To Mouns. De-Bonair page 10
  • To Mouns. Huggens page 11
  • To Mouns. de Racan page 12
  • To Mouns. De St. Chartres page 13
  • To Mouns. Baudoin page 14
  • To Mouns. de Coignet page 15
  • To Madam Cesloges page 16
  • To my Lord Keeper of the Seals Se­guier. page 17
  • To Mounsieur de Morins page 18
  • To Mouns. de Vaugulas page 19
  • To Mouns. de la Motte Aigron page 21
  • To Mouns. de Borstel. page 22
  • To Mouns. the chief Advocate page 23
  • To Mounsieur de Maury page 24
  • To Mouns. de Mondory page 24
  • To Mounsieur le Guay page 26
  • To Mouns. de Silhon page 26
  • To Mouns. de la Fosse page 27
  • To Mouns. D'Espesses page 29
  • To the same page 30
  • To Mouns. de Couurelles page 32
  • To — page 32
  • To my Lord the Bishop of Angou­lesme page 33
  • To Mounsieur de — page 34
  • To Mounsieur de Serizay page 39
  • To Mouns. Habert Abbot of Ce­rizy page 40
  • To Mouns. de Galliard page 41
  • To the same page 42
  • To Madam Desloges page 43
  • To Mouns. de — page 44
  • To Mouns. Girard page 46
  • To the same page 47
  • To the same page 48
  • To the same page 49
  • To Madamoisel de Campagnole page 50
  • To Mouns. the Abbot of Bois Ro­bert? page 51
  • To the same page 52
  • To the same page 53
  • To Mouns. de Savignac page 54
  • To Mouns. Chaplain page 56
  • To the same page 57
  • To the same page 58
  • To the same page 59
  • To the same page 60
  • To the same page 62
  • To the same page 63
  • To the same page 64
  • To the same page 65
  • To the same page 66
  • To Mounsieur de Silhon page 67
  • To Mouns Gerard Secretary to the Duke of Espernon page 68
  • To the same page 69
  • To Mouns. de la Mothe le Vayer page 70
  • To Mouns. de — page 71

The Letters of MONSIEUR de BALZAC. The first Book.

A Letter from the Cardinal Richelieu, to the Signior of BALZAC. LETTER I.

SIR,

THough I have formerly delivered my opinion to a friend of yours, concerning some of your letters he shewed me; yet can I not satisfie my self before these lines af­ford you a more Authentical approbation thereof. It is not any particular affection I bear to your person, which inviteth me to this allowance, but truth it self, carrying with it such a Prerogative, that it compelleth all (who have their eys and spirits rightly placed for the delivering an unpartial opi­nion) to represent them without disguise: My censure shall be seconded by many others, & if there be any of a contrary conceit, I dare assure you, time will make them know, that the defects they finde in your Letters, proceed rather from their Spirits, than from your Pen; and how nearly they resemble the Ictericks, who having the Jaundise in their eys, see nothing which seemeth not unto them to carry the same colour: Here­tofore mean Wits admired all things above the pitch of their capacitie; but now, their judgements seconding their sufficiencies, they approve nothing but what is within the compass of their Talent, and blame all [Page 2] whatsoever exceedeth their Studies. I dare (without presumption) say in what concerneth you herein, that I see things as they are, and declare them to be such as I see them: The conceptions of your Letters are strong, and as transcendent above ordinary imaginations, as they are conformable to the common sense of such who are of sound judgement. The Language is pure, and the Words perfectly well chosen, without af­fectation; the Sense is clear and neat, and the Periods accomplished with all their numbers. This censure of mine, is by so much the more ingenuous, as that approving whatsoever is your own in your Letters: I have not concealed to a certain friend of yours, that I found some recti­fication to be desired, concerning certain things you insert of other mens: fearing least the liberty of your Pen should cause many to ima­gine that it is too often dipped in their humours and manners; and draw such as are more acquainted with you by name, than conversation, to be otherwise conceited of you, then you willingly could wish. The manner, wherewith you have received this my Advise, causeth me that continuing my former freedom, I will conclude, in advertizing you, that you shall be answerable before God, if you suffer your Pen to sleep, and that you are obliged to imploy it upon more grave and important Subjects; being contented that you shall blame me, if in so doing you receive not the satisfaction, to see, that what you perform herein, shall be praised and esteemed, even by those who would willingly pick oc­casion to controul them, which is one of the most sure marks of the perfection of any Work. You shall receive some in this kinde out of my Affection, when I may have the opportunity to assure you, that I am,

Your well affectionate to serve you, the Cardinal of Richelieu.
From Paris the 4. of February 1621.

To the Lord Cardinal of Richelieu from BALZAC. LETTER II.

MY LORD,

I Am as proud of the Letter you did me the Honour to write unto me, as if there were a thousand Statues erected for me, or as if I were assured by infallible authority of my works excellency. Truly, to be commended by that man our Age opposeth to all antiquity, and upon whose wisdom God might well intrust the whole earths Government, is a favour I could not wish for without presumption, and which I am yet doubtfull, whether I have really received, or onely dreamed some such matter. But if it be so that my eys have not deceived me, and that you are he, who hath bestowed that voice upon me, which hath been chosen [Page 3] by all France to present her Petitions to the King, and by the King him self to convey his Commands into Cities and Armies: My Lord, I must humbly then acknowledge you have already payed me before hand for all the services I can ever possibly perform unto you: and I should shew my self very ungratefull, if I should hereafter complain of my for­tunes: since upon the matter, the goods and honours of this World are most ordinarily none other, than the inheritance of Sots, or rewards of Vice, Estimation, and Commendation, being onely reserved for Vir­tue. Ought I not then to rest highly satisfied, having received from your mouth the same prize, which Conquerours expect for their Victo­ries? yea, all that your self could hope for, in lieu of your great and immortal actions, if there were another Cardinal of Richelieu to give them their due commendations? But truely (my Lord) that is a thing which will always be wanting to your glorie; for when by your onely presence you have appeased the spirits of an incensed multitude; when by your powerfull reasons you have induced Christian Princes to set the Native Countrey of Jesus Christ at liberty, & to undertake the Holy War, when you have gained whole Nations to the Church, as well by the force of your Example, as by that of your Doctrine, who is of abi­lity to pay you the reputation which you in all right deserve? and where shall you finde so excellent a witness for all the marvellous Acts of your life, as I have of my watchings and studies? I cannot chuse but reiterate this, and my joy is over-just to be concealed. Is it possi­ble this great wit and high spirit, which hath been imployed even from his first youth in perswading Princes, in giving instructions to Embassa­dours, and hath been listned unto by old men, who have seen four Reigns? Is it possible, I say, this man should value me; on whose appro­bation all enemies agree? nor is there among all men a contrary party, or diversity of belief in this point. If I had a purpose to disquiet the repose of this Kingdom, I would seek for the consent of slack spirits; and I should stand in need in my favour of all sorts of men, were I to study for reputation in a popular State: but truely I never affected con­fusion, or disorder, and my designs have ever aimed at the pleasing of a few. For since you have declared your self in favour, as he likewise hath done, for whom France at this day envieth Italy: and since you carry after you the most solid part of the Court, I am content to let the rest run astray with Turks and Infidels, who make the greater number of mankinde. Yet (my Lord) I cannot think, that any hereafter will be so far in love with himself, or so obstinate in his own opinion, as not to be a Convertite by the onely reading the Letter you honoured me with, and who in conclusion will not subscribe to your great judge­ment? And, if it be certain that truth it self could not be strong enough against you, there is no question, but that side whereon you two shall [Page 4] agree, ought to be universally followed. For my part (my Lord) let all men say what they will, I fix my self with closed eys there; and what enemies soever the reputation you have allowed me procure me, yet knowing your abilities, and what you are, I will be no farther solicitous for mine own interest, or future benefit, since it is become your cause.

I am My Lord, Your most humble and most obedient servant, BALZAC.
The 10. of March, 1624.

To the Cardinal of Richelieu from BALZAC. LETTER III.

My Lord,

I Humbly intreat you to be pleased by these presents, to permit me to confirm unto you the assurance of my most humble service, and that you would allow me to crave some news from you: It is the onely thing wherein I am now curious, and which, in the very depth of my re­tiredness, obligeth me to reflect sometimes upon worldly affairs. But happen what can, I am most assured, you will remain constant even amidst publick ruins, and that Fortune cannot bereave you of those advantages she never gave you. Yet could I wish, that your life were somewhat more calm, and less glorious: And I suppose that Artimiza's goodness, having so great Affinity to what is infinite, & which is of power to procure love even amidst the most savage beasts, doth in right de­serve to obtain truce, and repose among reasonable Creatures. It is not in us to be Authours of hereafter, nor do our wishes rule the event of humane affairs. But surely, if there be any Justice in Heaven, (whereof there is no doubt) and if God have an eye to worldly matters; we must believe the tears of upright persons shall not be shed in vain, or that your Queen shall wax old in her misfortunes: yet at the least, since our cogitations be still within our own compass, and we being not forbid­den to hope well, let us make the best use we may of this small por­tion of Liberty yet remaining. The virtue she hath hitherto made use of, in resisting her afflictions, will happily one day serve to moderate her felicities. And if God strook a certain Madam Gabriella. Wo­man with suddain death, for that she should have been seated in the place, he destinated to this great Princess; he surely will [Page 5] not suffer that man to live long, who hath so highly injured her. How­ever (my Lord) it is great honour unto you, not to have failed her in her afflictions, and to have under-valued all worldly Prerogatives, to be un­fortunate with her. I know that herein you satisfie your self with the testimony of a clear conscience, and that it is not so much for opinion of men, you undertake Worthy actions, as for your own private satisfacti­an. Nor are you a little to comfort your self, in that at this present you are praised, even by your very enemies; and to see your resolutions redoubtable to those, who have great Armies on foot, and the chief forces of the State under their Command. I would say more, did I not fear you might suppose I had some private design in my Discourse, or seek hereby to prepare you to receive some kinde of importunity from me: But I most humbly beseech your Lordship to be confident, that I being of free condition, am little acquainted with flattery; and that I am not so given over to gain, but that notwithstanding you were still in Avignion, I would ever as really as at this hour remain,

My Lord,
Your most humble and most affectionate servant, BALZAC.
The 15. of May, 1623.

To the Cardinal of Richelieu from BALZAC. LETTER IV.

My Lord,

WEre I not well acquainted with my own insufficiency, I might well be possessed with no small vanity, upon the Letter you did me the Honour to write unto me, and might well imagine my self to be some other thing than I was the day before I received it. But knowing it is no other than a meer favour you pleased to afford me, I will not flatter my self in my good fortune, nor lessen the Obligation due unto you, in presuming to merit the same. If Virtue required any recompence out of her self, she would not receive it from other mouth than yours: and your reputation is at this day so Just and General, as it is become a Verity, wherein the Wise agree with the Vulgar. I do therefore account my self very happy to be reputed of, by a Person who is able to give a value to things of themselves worthless; and I at­tribute so much to your Judgement, that I will no longer hold any mean opinion of my self, lest therein I should contradict you. Truely, (my Lord) very difficultly will my parts any way answer your expecta­tion. The time, my Favour affoordeth me for rest, is so short, I can [Page 6] hardly imploy it to other purpose than to complain of its cruelty. I have enough to do to live, and to make that good, I keep my self as carefully as though I were composed of Christal, or as if I were some necessary matter for the good of all men. Yet (my Lord) you have so great power over me, that I will strain my self to shew my obedience, and to give you an account of my leasure, since you please to think I ought not to deprive the World thereof. It is better to utter glorious dreams, than to labour in gross designs, and there are certain Acts of the spirit so excellent, that Princes are too poor, and their power too slender to afford them their full merit. But, my Lord, you have often given so great testimonies of me, that if I should not have some pre­sumption, it were fit I lost my memory; wherefore out of the assurance you give me that my Stile doth not stray from that perfection, which men imagine, but never saw, nor have attained unto; I will enter upon a design which shall amaze our vulgar wits, and cause those, who have hitherto supposed they surmount others, to see I have found what they seek for. Whatsoever I do, I will at least have you at all times present to my thoughts, thereby to oblige my self not to come short before so great an example, nor will I forget the place where at this present I am, to the end not to omit any thing worthy the Ancient Rome. It is im­possible at once to have so glorious objects, and degenerous thoughts, or not to be transported with all those Triumphs of times past, and with the glory of our age. But this is not the place where I intend to speak, it being of too small extent to receive so illimitable a subject: It shall therefore suffice in conclusion of this my Letter to tell you, that since upon your advice all posterity dependeth, and the whole Court expecteth from you what they are, or are not to believe; I cannot chuse (my Lord) but to esteem my self right happy, even amidst my greatest miseries, if you still continue unto me your equal Judgement with the honour of your favours.

BALZAC.
From Rome this 10. of April 1623.

To the Lord Cardinal of Richelieu, from Monsieur Balzac. LETTER V.

My Lord,

MY purpose was at my arrival in France to have presented my Ser­vice unto you, in the place of your Residence, that I might have had the honour to see you; but my health having not been such, as to afford me the free disposition of my self: I am forced to defer my con­tentment, in that kinde, and to intreat to hear some news from you, till I be able to go to understand them from your Self. In the interim, the better to chear my Spirits, I will believe they are as good as I wish [Page 7] them, and will imagine this Collick of yours, whereof I had so great ap­prehension, shall be drowned in the fountain of Pougues. This truly is so generally desired, and sought for at Gods hands, by so many mouths, that I am confident he will not (in this point) leave the felicity he hath prepared for our times unperfect; and that he loveth the World too well, to deprive it of the good you are to Perform. Armies being defeated, new forces may be set on foot, and a second Fleet may be rigged, after the first perish: But if we should want your Lordship, the World would not last long enough to be able to repair such a loss: And the King might have just cause to bewail the same in the midst of his greatest Triumphs. He hath indeed an inexhaustable Kingdom of men. The Wars do daily afford him Captains. The number of Judges is not much inferiour to that of Criminals. It is onely of wise men, and such as are capable to guide the Stern of States, whereof the scarcity is great; and without flattery to finde out your Equal herein, all Nature had need put it self into Action, and that God long promised the same to mankind before he be pleased to produce him. I say nothing, (my Lord) I am not ready to swear in verification of my belief; or which I confirm not by the Testimony of your very Enemies. The authority of Kings is not so Sovereign, as that is, you exercise over the Souls of such as hearken unto you. Your spirit is right powerfull, and daily imployed in great affairs, and which refresheth it self in agitation of ordinary occurrents: You are destinated to fill the place of that Cardinal, which at this present, ma­keth one of the beautifull parties of heaven, and who hath hitherto had no Successour, though he have had Heirs and Brothers. This being thus, who will doubt that publick Prayers are to be offered for so pre­cious and necessary a health as yours; or that your life ought to be dear unto you, within you are to conserve the glory of our age. As for me (my Lord) who am assaulted on all sides, and to whom nothing is re­maining save hope, being the onely benefit of those who are deprived of all others: since my misfortune will needs make me that publick sacri­fice, which is, to be charged with the pains of all the people, and pay for all the World. I could be well content you should send me your Collick, and that it come to accompany the Feaver, the Scyatica, and the Stone. Since of so many diseases, there can but one Death be com­posed. Nor is it time any longer, to be a good husband of what is al­ready lost. But I will not enter further into this discourse, whereof I shall finde no end; and it were to small purpose to tell you, he is the most wretched man in the World, who so much honoureth you, for fear you should reject my affection, as some fatal thing, and least it avail me not at all to protest that I am, my Lord,

Your most humble and most obedient Servant. BALZAC.
Septemb. 4. 1622.

To the Lord Cardinal of Richelieu. LETTER VI.

MY LORD,

AFter the sealing of these presents, a messenger passed by this place, by whom I understand that the Pope hath created you a Cardinal; I make no question but you received this news as a matter indifferent unto you: and that your spirit being raised above the things of this World, you behold them with one and the same Aspect. Yet since herein the publick good meeteth with your particular interest, and that for your sake the Church rejoyceth, even in all the most irksome Prisons of Europe, it is not reasonable you should deprive your self of a contentment no less chast, than those heaven it self affordeth us? and which proceedeth from the same cause. All good men (my Lord) ought in these times to desire great Dignities, as necessary means to un­dertake great matters. If they do otherwise, besides that God will de­mand a strict account from them of those his graces, whereof they have made no good use; the World hath likewise just subject of complaint, seeing them abandon it as a prey to the wicked, and that their desire of ease causeth them to forsake the publick good. This (my Lord) is to let you know, you are to reserve your humility for those actions, passing between God and your self: But that in other cases you can neither have too much Wealth, nor over great power; since obedience is due to wisdom; there being certain virtues not practiseable by the poor. I do therefore infinitely rejoyce, to see you at this present raised to that emi­nent dignity, wherein you fill the Universe with Splendor, and where your sole example will (I hope) carry so great weight, as to cause the Church to return to the Purity of its first Infancy. Truely, if there be any hope to expect this happiness, and to see rebellious spirits per­swaded, as we behold their Cities forced; you doubtless are the man, from whom we are to expect this felicity; and who is onely able to fi­nish the victories of Kings by the subversion of misbelievers: To this effect doth all Christendom exact these atchievements at your hands, as a last instruction, and the general peace of consciences: and my self, who have thus long been in search after the Idea of Eloquence, without finding among us any, which is not either counterfeit, or imperfect, am very confident you will bring it to light in the same excellency as it was, when at Rome the Tyrants were condemned, and when it defended the oppressed Provinces. Though Purple be very refulgent, yet will it receive a farther luster by this your dignity, carrying command where­ever it cometh; and which is particularly so proper for the conduct of [Page 9] Souls, as it is onely to that power whereto they will submit them­selves. My Lord, if I have any hope to be known in after ages, or that my name may pass to posterity; they shall finde this consideration to be the first Obligation unto me of seeking the Honour of your ac­quaintance, and that having heard you speak, you did so absolutely purchase both my thoughts and affections, that since then, I have ever reflected upon you, as on an extraordinary person, and have ever passionately remained,

My lord,
Your most humble, most obedient, and most faithfull servant, BALZAC.
The 16. of Decem­ber, 1622.

To the Cardinal of Richelieu from BALZAC. LETTER VII.

My Lord,

HAd the ways been safe, or if the good order you have taken for publick security, had not been subject to the like success as are wholesome Laws, which are seldom well observed, I should not be necessitated to take a longer time than you allotted me when I parted from Fountainebleau, nor had I till now been constrained to spin out the time of my dispatch. But though your Commandments are all power­full in me, yet you know necessity will first be obeyed, nor will you (I hope) be displeased that I have made choice of a Prison, whereto I am accustomed, to avoid another not so commodious for me. This hath not hapned but to my extreme grief, since I have not been able to be a witness of the most illustrious life of our age, and have thereby lost half a year of your Actions, which (well nigh) fill up all our History. For though we are not so remote from the World, that no news can come to us, yet they pass so many places, as it is impossible they receive not divers impressions, or that they should arrive here in their purity, since they are often altered from the very Lover; yet I have understood, and Fame hath published, even in desarts, the great conflicts by you un­dergone, and atchieved for the Honour and reputation of France, and how you have subdued the subtilties of strangers, being in truth more to be feared than their Forces. I hear how Italy hath spent all her practises without hurting any, and how those States-men, who made account to Seignorize in all Assemblies, and to be Maisters in all reasons of State, were unable to defend themselves against you, but with passion and choller: nor to complain of any other thing, but that [Page 10] you perswaded them to whatsoever they were before-hand resolved not to yield. So as (my Lord) those who tearmed us Barbarians, and by their treaties commonly took revenge of our victories, have in the end found wisdom on this side the Alpes, and have well perceived there is a man, who hath abilities to hinder them from deceiving others. They stood amazed▪ to see a Servant, who would not suffer there should be any Master greater than his Sovereign. Who was as sensible of the least evils of his Countrey, as of his proper sorrows, supposing himself to be wounded upon the least apprehension, when any made shew of trenching upon the dignity of this Crown. But when they found you applied present remedies to all such inconveniences as they objected; that you prevented the difficulties they offered to propose, that you dived into their Souls, drawing thence their closest intentions, and how at the first conference you made answer to what they reserved for a se­cond: Then it was indeed, when their Flegm was turned into Choler, and when you put their humane wisdoms and politick Maxims to a stand. So as we see it is sufficient onely to let Good appear, to cause it to be beloved: and truly if Reason had the like power over the Will, as it hath over the Understanding, all those Italians doubtless, who heard you speak, had returned good French men, and the safe­ty of Christendom together with the security of her Princes, had been but one days work. Forreign Wars had been ended in your Chamber; nor should we now have any more than one business upon us, and the Kings Forces had at this present been imployed onely in suppressing the Rebels of his own Kingdom. My Lord, I hope you are perswaded (though I could not probably expect any slight occurrents from the place where you are) yet that I received these with much emotion and transport, it not being in my power to dissemble my joy, when I understood how their Majesties are not weary of your service, and how after having tried divers Councels, it was in conclusion thought fit to follow yours, & that you precede in the affairs of Europe, by being con­ductour of the Fortune of France. Truely, of all exteriour content­ments, there is not any whereof I am so sensible as of that. But on the other side, when I understand that your health is dayly assaulted, or threatned by some accident, that the Tranquility, your conscience af­fords you, hinders you not from having ill nights: And how amidst the happy successes befalling you, life it self is notwithstanding sometimes tedious unto you; then indeed I must confess they touch me in the tenderest part of my Soul. And whilest the Court makes thousands of feigned Protestations unto you; there is an Hermite some hundred leagues from you, who mourns for your maladies with unfeigned tears. I know not whether or no I may presume to say, I love you: yet is it not probable you will take offence at a word, wherewith you know God [Page 11] himself is well pleased. My Lord; I do in such manner love you, as I am either sick upon the relation of your indisposition; or if the news be current that you are recovered, yet have I still an apprehension of what alteration each hour may bring upon you. Ought it then to be in the fits of your Feaver, and in your inquietude for want of sleep, that you understand these publick acclamations, and the due praises you have purchased: Shall the Senses suffer, and the Spirits rejoyce, or they continue tortured amidst these Triumphs, or that you (at once) perform two contrary actions, and at the same time have need, as well of mode­ration, as patience: If Virtue could be miserable, or if that Sect, which acknowledgeth no other evil, but pain; nor any greater good than plea­sure, had not been generally condemned, the Divine providence had received complaints from all parts of this Kingdom; nor had there been an honest man known, who for your sake had not found something farther to be desired in the conduct of this World. But (my Lord) you understand much better than I do, that it is onely touching the fe­licity of beasts, we are to believe the body, and not concerning ours, residing onely in the supreme part of our selves, and which is as smally sensible of those disorders committed below her, as those in Heaven can be offended by the tempests of the Air, or vapours of the Earth. This being true: God forbid, that by the estate of your present consti­tution, I should judge of that of your condition; or that I should not esteem him perfectly happy, who is superlatively wise. You may please to consider, that howbeit you have shared with other men the infirmi­ties of humane nature, yet the advantage resteth soly on your side: since (upon the matter) there is onely some small pain remaining with you, instead of an infinity of errours, passions, and faults falling to our lots. Besides, I am confident that the term of your sufferings is well nigh expired, & that the times hereafter prepares right solide and pure contentments for you, and a youth after its season, as you are become old before your time. The King, who hath use of your long living, makes no unprofitable wishes: Heaven hears not the prayers that the Enemies of this State offer. We know no successour that is able to ef­fect what you have not yet finished: and it being true, that our Forces are but the Arms of your head, and that your Counsels have been chosen by God to re-establish the affairs of this age: we ought not to be appre­hensive of a loss, which should not happen but to our successours. It shall then be in your time (my Lord, I hope) that oppressed Nations will come from the Worlds end to implore the protection of this Crown: that by your means our Allies will repair their losses, and that the Spaniard shall not be the sole Conquerour, but that we shall prove the Infranchizers of the whole earth. In your time (I trust) the Holy Sea shall have her opinions free, nor shall the inspirations of the Holy Ghost be oppugned by the artifice of our Enemies, resolutions will [Page 12] be raised worthy the ancient Italy for defence of the common cause. To conclude, it will be through your Prudence (my Lord) that there shall no longer be any Rebellion among us, or Tyranny among men: that all the Cities of this Kingdom shall be seats of assurance for honest men; that novelties shall be no farther in request; save onely for colours and fashions of Attire: that the people will resign Liberty, Religion, and the Common-wealth, into the hands of superiours, and that out of law-full government, and loyall obedience, there will arise that felicity Po­liticians search after, as being the end of civile life. My hope is (my Lord) that all this will happen under your sage conduct, and that after you have setled our repose, and procured the same for our Allies, you shall enjoy your good deeds in great tranquility, and see the estate of those things endure, whereof your self have been a principal Authour. All good men are confident these blessed events will happen in your age, and by your advice. As for me, who am the meanest among those, who justly admire your Virtues, I shall not (I hope) prove the slackest in the expression of your Merits: Since therefore they (of right) exact a general acknowledgement; if I should fail in my particular contribu­tion, I were for ever unworthy the Honour I so ambitiously aspire unto; the heighth whereof is to be esteemed,

Your Lordships most humble and most obedient servant, BALZAC.

To the Lord Bishop of Air. LETTER VIII.

My Lord,

IF at the first sight, you know not my Letter, and that you desire to be informed who writes unto you: It is one more old-like than his Father, and as over-worn as a Ship, having made three voyages to the Indies; and who is no other thing, than the Relicks of him, whom you saw at Rome. In those days I sometimes complained without cause, and happily there was then no great difference between the health of o­thers, and my infirmity. Howsoever, be it that my imagination is crazed, or that my present pain doth no longer admit of any comparison, I be­gin to lament the Feaver and Scyatica as lost goods, and as pleasures of my youth now past: See here to what terms I am reduced, and how (as it were) I live, if it may be called living, to be in a continual con­testation with death. True it is, there is not sufficient efficacy in all [Page 13] the words whereof this World makes use, to express the miseries I indure; they leave no place, either for the Physicians skill, or the sick mans pa­tience; nor hath Nature ordained any other remedies for the same, save onely poison and precipices. But I much fear, least I suffer my self to be transported with pain, or indure it less Christianly than beseemeth me, being a witness of your Virtue; and having had the means to profit my self by your Example. My Lord, it is now time (or never) I subdue this wicked spirit, which doth forcibly transport my will; and that the old Adam obey the other. Yet doth it not a little grieve me, to be indebt­ed to my miserie for my Souls health, and that I much desire it were some other more noble consideration than nessitie, should cause me to become an honest man. But since the means to save us are bestowed upon us, and that we chuse them not, it is fitting that reason convince our sensi­bilities, causing us to agree to what is otherwise distastefull unto us. At the worst, we must at all times confess, that we cannot be said to perish, when we are safely cast on shore by some Shipwrack; and it may be, if God did not drive me, as he doth out of this life, I should never dream of a better. I will refer the rest to be related unto you at your return from Italy, with purpose to lay open my naked Soul unto you, toge­ther with my thoughts in the same simplicity they spring in me: you are the onely Person from whom I expect relief; and I hold my self richer in the possession of your good opinion, than if I enjoyed the favours of all earthly Princes, and all the wealth of their Territories and Kingdoms. Truely this is the first time (since I writ unto you from Lions) I have made use of my hands; and I have received a hundred Letters from my Friends without answering one. Hereby (my Lord) you see, there is no other consideration (your self excepted) of force to cause me to break silence, since for all others I have lost the use of speaking. Yet I beseech you to think (notwithstanding all this) my affection to be neither penurious, nor ambitious. The riches I crave at your no­ble hands, are purely spiritual, and I am at this present in an estate, wherein I have more need to settle some order for the affairs of my Conscience, than to reflect upon the establishment of my world­ly Fortunes. But (my Lord) to change discourse, and a little to retire my self from my pains, what do you thus long at Rome? Doth the Pope dally with us? and will he leave to his successour the glorie of the best Election can be made? Is he not affraid, lest it be given out he hath some intelligence with his Adversaries, and that he taketh not the advice of the holy Ghost, in what con­cerneth the Churches Honour, for Gods cause bring us with speed this news, provided it be the same the King demands, and all good men desire. I hope it shall not be said, you have spoken Italian all this while to no purpose, or that you can accuse his [Page 14] predictions, as erronious, who never falsified his word with you, and who is perfectly:

My Lord
Your most humble servant, BALZAC.
The 2. of July 1622.

To the Lord Bishop of Air. For the true understanding of this Letter: it is necessarie to be acquainted with the Gibbrige the French, residing at Rome, use to speak; who frame a new kinde of Language to themselves, composed of Italian words, having onely French terminations. LETTER IX.

My Lord,

I Think you will never be weary of going to Cortege, and that you will for ever have an apprehension of the Crepuscule all the days of your life; for it is, that you have long enough caused the curtains of your Carroach to be drawn in presence of those of Cardinals; and that you may well be (ere now) acquainted with the Court of Rome, even from the Papale subjects, to those who desire to be admitted into the first degrees of sacred Orders. For my part, I should soon be weary in seeing daily one and the same thing, and in beginning the day from the first hour of night? What can there be so pleasing in the place where you are, that should deserve to stay you there? In fair weather the Sun is dangerous: half the year they breath nothing but smoak, and in the rest, it raineth so frequently, that it seemeth some Sea hangeth over the Citie of Rome. But it may be you take pleasure in seeing the Pope, a body over shaken, and trembling with age and infirmities, who hath no other thing than Ice in his veins, and Earth in his Visage. I cannot imagine how this object can afford you any great contentment; or that you are much taken with the society and Company of the great multitude of my Lords his assi­stants, partaking of the one and the other signature: Nor can it be Car­riofile whom you so often over-rule, who should intreat you to stay there for the furtherance of his affairs. For being (as he is) a Popeline, who, of the Family of the Cardinal Ludovisio, who affords him his full share, it cannot be but well with him. I conclude therefore (my Lord) that I cannot guess the cause of your stay, if you take not the pains to tell me. For to imagine Monsieur de Luzon not to be as yet a Cardinal, were no less than to wrong the Kings credit, and to judge amiss of publick [Page 15] acknowledgement. I am here at the Antipodes, where there is not any thing but Air, the Earth, and a River; One had here need make above ten days journeys to finde a man: wherefore having in this place no other communication but with the dead, I can relate no other news unto you, but of the other World. Is it not true, that he, who would have burnt his shirt, had it known his secrets, would hardly have been drawn to make his general confession? and that Alexander the Great would with much difficulty have been induced to purchase Paradise by humility? What say you of poor Brutus? who killed his Father, think­ing to confound a Tyrant, and no less to repent himself at his death, in having loved Virtue, than if he had followed an unfaithfull Mistress. Do you not yet remember the first Consels, whose words smelt of Gar­lick and green roasted meat? think you not they made use of their hands instead of feet, being rough and durty as they were, and wore Shooes instead of Gloves? These men were not acquainted either with Sugar, Musk, or Amber-greice. They had not (as then) any gods of Gold, or Goblets of Silver. They were ignorant in all sorts of sciences, save onely to make War, and to have domination over men. I lately read how in Venice (in former times) men of greatest quality, usually married with common women, and that either the good Husbandry, or the mu­tual correspondency was such among the Citizens, that one Wife served three brothers. Think you that Francis the first is called Great, for having vanquished the Swisses? or to distinguish him from his Grand­child? or by reason of his great nose? Give me reason why Selim slew his Father, his Brothers, and Nephews? and after all this died but once? Were it not that I fear to be wearisom unto you, I should never make an end of my news, yea, I should be sufficiently stored to entertain you my whole life-time. But it is high time that unprofitable speeches give place to Pious Cogitations; and that I leave you among your Myrtles and Orange-trees, where you are never better accompanied, than when you are alone. I will here conclude, rather out of discretion, then for want of matter: But this shall not be till after I have said, that of all those who have any share in your favours, there is not any who is therein more proud of his good Fortune, than my self, or more really than I am,

My Lord
Your most humble and most affectionate servant, BALZAC.
The 25. of Sept. 1622.

To the Lord Bishop of Air from BALZAC. LETTER X.

My Lord,

THese times are fatal, for abating those heads appearing above others, and for changing the face of things: and questionless, if this course still continue, the King will either be forced to seek out a new people, or to resolve himself for a solitary Reign: All the Court is black with mournings: there is not a French-man who doth not either weep, or is bewailed; and War causeth onely slight sorrows; yet even among those, whose loss we lament, there are always some we willingly leave, and whose Catastrophe may serve us as a consolation for the rest. Without further ambiguity, the man is seized on, who grew lean by the well-fare of others, and who was one of those pale and sober persons, born for the Ruine of States; there is some appearance he died as well of the Purples of M. L. C. D. R. as of his own, and that you sent him his first surfeit from Rome; where he truely considering how there was no longer any favour to follow, nor Favorite to flatter, he would leave to live any longer, as though he had no further affairs in this World. Howsoever it be, we are herein to acknowledge the finger of God, and to confess, he doth sometimes punish Malefactours, without observing the forms of Justice; at least it cannot be denied, but God loveth the Queen extraordinarily, since he reserveth to himself the revenge of all her injuries, nor will let any thing remain in the World, which may prove distastefull unto her. If she desired the Sea should be calm in the most stormy days of Winter; or two Autumnes to happen each year: I am confident of Natures change, in conformity to her will: nor is there any thing she cannot obtain of Heaven, which granteth the very prayers she hath not as yet begun. I am here some hundred and fifty leagues from these fine things, where I study to solace my self as much as possibly I can; and to this end, I make my self drunk every day: But to free you from any sinister opinion of what I say, I assure you it is onely with the water of Pougues, which surely would be Ink, were it black; so that I surfeit without sinning against the rules of Sobrietie, and any frolicks are as Austeer as the Minimes fastings. I have a great de­sire to enter covenants with my Physicians, whereby it might be grant­ed, that all agreeable things should be wholesom, and that one might speedily recover his health by the scent of flowers instead of their Me­dicines, which are ordinarily second miseries succeeding the former: yet without spending much time, or trouble; I have made all impossibilities passible with me, and in the case I am, I would swallow fire, were it prescribed me for the recovery of my health. It is no small advantage [Page 17] not to be reduced to these tearms, no more than you are, and not to know what it is to suffer, or complain. So is it for the general good of the whole World, that GOD hath given you this vigorous health to imploy it in the service of Kings, and in your Vigilancy over the conduct of people. As for me, who should not happily make so good use thereof as I ought, and who am far more inclinable to Vice, than to Virtue: I hold it convenient I be always crazie, and that GOD take from me the means to offend him, whereof otherwise I should infallibly make but over-much use: I write not at this present to M. it is all I can do to fi­nish this Letter in hast, and to tell you what you long since knew, that

I am my Lord, Your most humble passionate Servant, BALZAC.
October the 15. 1622.

To the Lord Bishop of Air, from BALZAC. LETTER XI.

MY LORD,

I Am infinitely glad to understand by your Letters, of your safe return into France, and that you have now no further use of Cyphers, for the expression of your minde to my Lord, the Cardinal of Richelieu. I shall at your pleasure (I hope) understand the particulars of your Voyage, and what you have seen at Naples and Venice, worthy your content. This is not out of any great curiosity I have for these things, or that I admire dumbe Marble, or Pictures being no way so beautifull as the Per­sons: These trifles are to be left for the Vulgar, with whom the same Objects limit their imagination and sight: and who (of all times) reflect, meerly upon the present, and (of all things) onely upon the appear­ance: but for my part I am of a contrary opinion. There are not in the whole World any Palaces so sumptuous, or of so high a structure, which are not far under my thoughts, and I conceive in my spirit a poor her­mitage, to the foundation whereof many more materials are projected, than were requisite for establishing a Republick. You see here, my Lord, how in some sort I play the Prince amidst my poverty, and with what in­solency I scorn, what the World so much admireth; I am as haughty, as though I were a Minister of State, or as if this last change in the King­dom had been made for me alone: yet you know well, that I call not my self L.M.D.L.V. and how if there had been none but my self to assault, [Page 18] my Lord the Comte of Schambergs Virtue, it still had continued in the same place where it hath been reverenced of all men. Each man hath his several censure concerning this great news, but whatsoever they can say, I assure my self there can nothing befall that Lord, whereto he is not at all times prepared, and that he hath lived too long, not to know that Fortune, taketh special delight in dallying with the affairs of France, and hath from all Ages made choice of our Court, as the Theater of her follies. If he had not been provided of the go­vernment of this Citie, and what time the King commanded him to come thence, his fall had been more fearfull then it was, but it is Gods will that Augolesme should be the fatal retreat of the afflicted, and truely all things well considered, it is no great down-come to light upon a Mountain: Now truely if there be any thing amiss in the admi­nistration of the Kings monies, he cannot be taxed for introducing this errour; for he found it there: and besides, the necessity of the times have ever resisted his good intentions, and have hindred the appear­ance of what he had in his heart, for the reformation of disorders; It is now necessary the King undertake so glorious a design, and set his hand to that part of the State, which hath more need of redress than all the rest. But, he is first to begin by the moderation of his Spirit, and he shall after gain their loyalty, who serve him. If those Princes our Elders have seen, had considered, that the Coyn coming into their Exchecquers, was no less than the bloud, and tears of their poor Subjects, whom they have often forced to fly into Forrests, and pass the Seas to save them­selves from Taxes and impositions: they would have been more scrupu­lous and cautelous how they had touched upon so dreadfull underta­kings: at least, they would not have been at once both indigent and unjust, nor have amazed all the Princes of Europe, who could never conceive why they borrowed their own moneys of their Treasurers, who receive their revenews, as they purchase their own strong places from their Governours, who command therein. Truely, it is very strange the Great Turk can intrust his Wives to the vigilancy of others, and assure themselves their Chastity shall thereby be conserved; yet, that Kings know not to whom they may safely encharge their Treasures. But the true reason is, for that an honest man is by so much more difficultly found, then an Eunuch, by how much Miracles are more rare than Monsters. Great Fortitude is requisite for the attaining of honesty, but the will onely sufficeth to become covetous, and the most harmless have hands, and may happen to have temptations. Were it my part to play the reformer, and to preach before the Pre­lates, I would enlarge my self upon this Subject, but in the condi­tion wherein I stand, it is sufficient I approve not the ill, and have a good opinion of the present State: provided, the report be cur­rent, [Page 19] that there is now no obstacle between the King and the Queen his Mother, likely to hinder them from meeting; and that things are reduced to those terms, wherein Nature hath placed them: Then will the face of the State shortly resume the same beauty the late King bestowed thereon, and God will with a full hand pour his Graces upon so just a Government. Though my Lord the Cardinal of Richelieu were onely near publick affairs, without touching them, there is no question but he would bring a blessing to all France, and though he intimated nothing to the King, yet that he would at least inspire whatsoever were necessary for the good of his Sub­jects, and Dignity of his Crown. I will reserve to speak as I ought of this rare Virtue, till my great Work come to light. Where I will render every man his right, and condemn even those as culpa­ble, whom the Parliaments crouch unto; There shall it be where I will canvass the Court of Rome, (which I always separate from the Church) with as much force, and freedom as he used, from whose mouth we have seen lightning to issue, and Thunder to be thrown out. There is not any thing of so fair assemblance, whose deformities I unmask not. There is nothing of eminencie from one end of the World to the other, I over-turn not. I will discover the defects of Princes and States. I will expugne Vice wheresoever it is hidden, and with what Protection soever it is palliated. To conclude, I will pass as severe a Judgement as was that of the Areo­pagites in times past, or of the Inquisition at this present. Yet, my Lord, in this my common censure, I will take a particular care of the Queen Mothers reputation, and will let all the World see, that what heretofore others have called Virtue, is the natural habitude of this great Princess. In the place for others appointed for Af­flictions and Calamities, She shall together with the King, receive onely Flowers and Crowns; and as her innocencie had saved her from the general deluge, had she then lived; so will it cause her to Try­umph in my Story amidst the ruins of others. I have not the fa­culty of Flattering, but the Art onely to speak the Truth in good terms; and the Actions you see, had need be more eminent than those you have read of, if I equal them not by my Words. This being thus (my Lord, as I hope, you doubt not;) imagine in what terms I will Justifie the R. D. L. R. and in what sort I will intreat her Enemies: if I have a minde to it, I will make it one day appear that C. C. hath been as cruel a Monster as those who devour whole Cities, and denounce War against all Humane and Divine things. One will ima­gine by the marks I give him, that R. was a Magician, which dayly pricked some Image of Wax with needles, and who disturbed the re­pose of all Princes Courts of his time by the force of his Charms. [Page 20] The truth is, I will do great matters, provided my courage quail not on his part, whence I expect it should come▪ and to whom, by a kinde of strict Obligation, I am excited to undertake this Judgement, which will be no less famous than that of Michael Angelo. At our next meeting I will more particularly acquaint you with the whole design of my work, with its order, ornaments, and artifice; you shall there see whether or no I make good use of those hours I sometimes obtain from the Tyranny of my Physicians, and lingring Maladies. In the interim do me the ho­nour to love me still; nor think I speak the Court-language, or that I complement with you, when I assure you I am more than any man li­ving,

My Lord,
Your most humble servant, BALZAC.
The 28. of De­cember, 1622.

Another Letter to the Lord Bishop of Air. LETTER XII.

My Lord,

IT must needs be, your Oath of Fealty doth yet continue, and that the Ceremony you are imployed in, be longer than I imagined, since I have no news from you: for I must freely confess unto you, I am not so slightly perswaded of my self, as to have any thought, as that you neglect me. Besides, I am certain that publick Faith, and what hath ever been sworn upon Altars and the Gospels, are not more inviolable than your word, and that it will stand good, though Heaven and Earth should start; Besides, I can less conjecture, that you are hindred by want of health, whereof I hope you enjoy so large a treasure, as it is like to continue as long as the World lasteth. It were a wrong to me, should you alleadge sickness, and no less than to wrangle with me for a thing in such manner appropriated to my self, as I cannot communicate it to any other. I will therefore imagine whatsoever you will have me to think; you may love me if you please, without taking the pains to tell me so: But for my part, how importunate soever I am herein, yet am I resolute to write unto you, till you cut off my hands, and to pu­blish so long as I have a tongue, that I am

Sir,
Your most humble, and most affectionate servant, BALZAC.
The 16. of De­cember, 1622.

To the Lord Bishop of Air from BALZAC. LETTER XIII.

My Lord,

YOu cannot loose me, how little care soever you take to keep me; The Heavens must necessarily infuse new affections in me, and ut­terly alter my inclinations, if they intend to inhibite me to be your servant. Yet doth it not a little grieve me, you do not testifie what I know you believe; and that having the power to make me happy by the least of your Letters, I have more trouble to impetrate this favour, than I should finde in the obtaining of three Declarations from the King, and as many Briefs from his Holiness. But all this notwithstand­ing, I cannot be perswaded you place me among matters of meer in­differency, or that you no longer remember what you have promised with so large protestations, which I hold to be most Authentical. I rather, for the satisfaction of my thoughts, will be confident you have re­solved to love me in secret, thereby to avoid all jealousie; and will be­lieve there is more cunning, than coldness in your silence; were it other­wise, had I really lost your Favours, certainly I would not survive so deep a discomfort, since there is not any banishment, shipwrack, or si­nister fortune, I could not rather require at Gods hands, than such a loss: But these discourses are as much as to suppose impossibilities, or to in­vent dreams: I will therefore leave them, to let you understand some news from me. I can onely say, the Air of this Countrey is not offensive unto me: for to assure you that I am in health were too great a bold­ness; I confess, I have now & then some pleasing pauses, & I injoy certain good hours, which make me remember my former health: But there is great difference between this imperfect estate of mine, and a consti­tution comparable to that of yours, who have life sufficient to vivifie thirty such worn bodies as mine, which needs but one blast to blow it down. Howsoever, my Physicians have promised to make me a new man, and to restore unto me what I have lost. I should be well content­ed they were men of their words, and that I might at my ease attend all occasions, to testifie how passionately I am,

Your most humble and most affectionate Servant, BALZAC.
The 6. of Jan. 1623.

To the Reverend Bishop of Air from BALZAC. LETTER XIIII.

My Lord,

SInce you have as much care of me as of your Diocess, and in that I perceive you would imagine some defect, even in the felicities you expect in Heaven, should you be saved without me; I will use my ut­most indeavours to cause that your desire of my Spiritual good prove not unprofitable, and to make my self capable of the good counsel you gave me by your Letter. True it is, I have been so long habituated in vice, I have almost utterly forgotten my state of Innocencie, so as a par­ticular Jubile for my self onely, were no more than necessary: On the other side, the pious motions I have, are so poor and imperfect, that of all the flames the Primative Christians have felt and endured, I should hardly support the meer smoak. Yet (my Lord) even in this bad state wherein I now stand, do I expect a Miracle from my Maker, who is onely able to raise Children out of the hardest Quarries; nor will I be­lieve his mercie hath finished what he intendeth to effect for the good of Mortals: For since he hath placed Ports upon the shoars of most dan­gerous Seas, and given some kinde of dawning, even to the darkest nights; it may be there is yet something reserved for me in the secrets of his Providence; and that if hitherto I have ranged out of the right way, he will not any longer suffer me to stray, or tire my self in the track of vice. And truely, I must here, though much to my shame, acknowledge the truth unto you, with those few drops of corrupt bloud (which is all I have left) I am plunged in all those passions, wherewith the soundest bodies are pressed: yea, Tyrants, who burn whole Cities upon the first motion of rage, and choller, and who allow themselves to act what unlawfull thing soever, do nothing more than my self, save onely to enjoy those things I desire, and to execute those designs re­maining onely in my will, I wanting their power to perpetrate the like: Nor can the Feaver, the Stone, nor the Scytica, as yet tame my rebel­lious spirit, or cause it to become capable of Discipline; and if time had added years to the rest of my infirmities, I verily think I should desire to behold unclean sights with spectacles, such I mean as you ut­terly avoid, and cause my self to be carried to those lewd places, whe­ther alone I were unable to go: Insomuch that as there are divers paintings which are necessarily to be clean defaced, to take away the defects; So I much fear, nothing but Death can stay the cur­rent of my crimes, unless by your means I enter into a second life, more fruithfull than the former. I therefore speak in good sadness, set your whole Clergie to prayer, and command a publick Fast in the [Page 23] same strictness, as though you were to impetrate at the hands of God, the conversion of the great Turk, or of the Persian Emperour. Pro­pound to your self Monsters in my will to be mastred, and an infinity of Enemies to overcome in my passions, and after all this you will bear me witness, I have not made matters greater then they are, and save onely a certain imperfect desire I have to repent, and a kinde of small resistance, I sometimes make against the beginnings and buddings of vice, there is not any difference at all between my self and the greatest sinnet living: But take not (I beseech you) this I write, as a mark of my humility, for you never read a truer relation: and what St. Paul spake in the person of Mankinde, accusing himself of other mens offences, is my own simple disposition, which I deliver into the hands of the Divine Justice. I hate my self; yet true it is, I finde so great coldness in the performance of pious actions, that my minde seemeth to be imprisoned when at any time my duty draweth me to Church, and when I am there, I rather seek diversions and tempta­tions, then instruction or edification: Even mental prayer being an Oblation for all hours, and which may be performed without either burnt Incense, or bloudy Sacrifices, and the finishing whereof is so near the first motion; is to me as laborious, as the Pilgrimage of Mount Serrat, or of our Lady of Loretta, would be to another. I am always sad, but never penitent; I love solitariness, but hate austerity; I side with honest men, but reside with the wicked: if at any time some small rays of Devotion reflect upon my crazy conscience, they are of so short continuance, and so weak, as they neither afford me light nor heat, so as all this being but accident, and meer change, doth not any way merit the name of good, and it were great wrong to Virtue, to rank it in the number of casual occurrents. You are therefore ne­cessarily to labour for my conversion, which I am unable to effect of my self, and that for my part, I onely affoord matter whereon to make an honest man. If there be certain Saints whom we owe to the tears and intercession of others, and if some Martyrs have made their very Executioners Companions of their Glorie, I may well hope you will be a powerfull means to save me with your self; and that one day (happily) I may be mentioned among the rest of your Miracles. Sir, I know your life to be so spotless, as though you were incorporeal, or never loved any other than that Supream beauty, from whence all others are derived: Wherefore there is no question but so rare a Vir­tue may easily impetrate at Gods hands any supplication you shall exhi­bite, nor is there any doubt he hath (for you allotted) other limits to his bounty, save his onely omnipotency. You shall yet at the least finde in me Obedience & Docility, if I have not attained any stronger habitudes. You shall have to do with one who amidst the corruption of this Age, [Page 24] wherein well nigh all Spirits revolt from the Faith, cannot be drawn to believe any truth to be greater, than what he hath understood from his Nurse or Mother. If in what concerneth not Religion, I have sometimes had my private sence and opinion, I do with my very heart leave the same, to the end, to reconcile my self with the Vulgar; and least I should appear an enemy to my Countrey for a slight word, or matter of small im­portance. If φφφφ had held himself to this Maxim, he might securely have lived among men, nor had he been prosecuted with all extreamity, as the most savage of all beasts: But he rather chose to make a Tragical end, than to expect a death, wherewith the World was unacquainted, or to execute onely ordinary actions. So far as I can learn, or if the report which passeth be current, he had a conceit he might one day prove to be that false Prophet, wherewith the declining age of the Church is threatned: and though he be but of mean extraction, and poor fortunes, he was notwithstanding so presumptuous, as to imagine himself to be the man, who is to come with armed forces to disturb the quiet of consciences, and for whom the infernal Ministers keep all the Treasures yet hidden in the earths entrails. So long as he contented himself in committing onely humane faults, writing as yet with an un­tainted Pen, I often told him, his Verses were not passable; and that he was in the wrong to esteem himself an understanding man. But he per­ceiving that the rules I propounded to him, for bettering his abilities, to be over-sharp and severe for him, and finding small hope of arriving whether I desired to conduct him, he perhaps thought best to seek out some other way to bring himself into a credit at Court, hoping of a mean Poet to become a mighty Prophet: So that (as it is generally reported) after he had perverted a number of silly Spirits, and long shewed him­self in the throng of the ignorant multitude; he in conclusion did as one, who should cast himself into a bottomless pit, on purpose to gain the re­putation of being an admirable Jumper. My Lord, you remember (I doubt not) what our joynt opinion hath been of such like persons, and the weakness you shewed there was in the principles of their wicked Doctrine. Now truely how extravagant soever my Spirit hath been, I have yet ever submitted the same to the Authority of GODS Church, and to the consent of Nations; and as I have always held, that a single drop of water, would more easily corrupt, then the whole Ocean: So have I ever assured my self, that particular opinions could never be ei­ther so sound, or sollid, as the general Tenets. A silly man, who hath no further knowledge of himself, than by the relations of others, who is at his wits end, and wholly confounded in the consideration, or refle­ction upon the meanest works of Nature; who after the revolution of so many Ages, is not able to assign the cause of a certain Rivers overflow; nor of the intervales, or good days of a Tertian Ague: How dare he pre­sume [Page 25] to speak confidently of that Infinite Majesty, in whose presence the Angels themselves cover their faces with their Wings, and under whom the very Heavens crouch, even to the Earths lowest concavities. There is no other thing remaining for us, save the onely glory of Hu­mility, and Obedience, within the limits whereof, we ought to contain our selves: And since it is most certain, that Humane reason reacheth not to so high a pitch as to attain the perfection of Knowledge, we ought instead of disputing, or questioning points of Religion, to rest satisfied in the adoration of the Mysteries: for doubtless, if we strive to enter further thereinto, or search for a thing utterly unknown to all Phylosophy, and concealed from the Sages of this World, we shall by such prophane cu­riosity gain onely the dazeling of our eys, and confusion of our sences: God by the light of his Gospel hath revealed unto us divers Truths, whereof we were utterly ignorant; but he reserveth for us far greater Mysteries, which we shall never comprehend, but onely in that King­dom, which he hath prepared for his chosen Servants, and by the onely vision of his Face. In the mean time: to the end, to augment the merit of our Faith, and the more to perfectionate our Piety, his pleasure is, that Christians should become as blinde Lovers, and that they have not any other desires, or hopes, but for those things above the reach of their understandings, and which they can no way comprehend by Natural reason. So soon as the time you have prefixed me, shall be expired, and the Prime-roses make the Spring appear, I will not fail to wait up­on you, and diligently to address my self to the collection of your grave and important Discourses, and to become an honest man by hearing, since that is the Sence appointed for the apprehension of Christian virtues, and whereby the Son of God was conceived, and his Kingdom established among men. But it is needless to use any artifice, or that you paint the place of your abode in so glorious colours, thereby to invite me to come: For though you preached in the Desart, or were you hidden in such a corner of the World, where the Sun did onely shine upon the steril Sands and steep Rocks: you well know, I should esteem my self happy where you are. Your Company being of power to make either a prison, or pro­scription pleasing unto me; and wherein I finde the Loover and the whole Court, will add (to the description you have made of Air) divers beau­ties which Geographers have not hitherto observed, as being far greater, than others, though more secret. Those Mountains which will not al­low France and Spain to be one mans, and under which the Rain and Thunder are framed, will appear to me more huge, than they formerly did, when I first saw them: your waters, which heretofore cured divers diseases, will even raise the dead, if you once bless them; and doubtless this people, always bred up to bear Arms, and who as the Fire and Iron is onely destinated for the use of War, hath (ere now) mollified their [Page 26] fierce humour by the moderation of your milde conduct. For my part (Sir,) I make account to become a new man under your hands, and to receive a second Birth from you. Truely, it would be a thing right happy to me, and in it self famous; if the like Spiritual health, proceeding from the garments and shadows of the Apostles, might hap­pen unto me by approaching so holy a person; and if being your work­manship, and the Son of your Spirit, I should instantly resemble a Fa­ther so happily endowed with all those rare qualities and perfections, which are wholy deficient in me.

BALZAC.

To Mounsieur de la Motts Aigron. LETTER XV.

YEsterday was one of those Sunless days (as you tearm them) which resemble that beautifull blinde Maid, wherewith Philip the second fell in Love. Truely, I never took more pleasure in so pri­vate a solitariness; and though I walked in a large and open plain, where­of man could make no other use, but for two Armies to fight in: yet the shade the Heavens cast on all sides, caused me little to regard the shelter of Caves, or Forrests. There was a general and quiet calm from the highest Region of the Air, even to the Superficies of the Earth: the waters of Rivers seemed as even and smooth as those of Lakes; and surely; if at Sea such a calm should for ever surprise ships, they could never be either safe, or sunk. This I say, on purpose to make you re­pent the loss of so a pleasant a day, for not coming abroad out of the Ci­tie, as also to draw you sometimes out of your Angoulesme, where you tread levil with our Towers and Steeples, to come and take part of those pleasures wherein the ancient Princes of the World took delight: who usually refreshed themselves in Fountains, and lived on those fruits which Forrests affoord. Your friends are here in a small circle environed with Mountains, and where is yet remaining some few grains of that fair Gold whereof the first Age was composed. In truth, when the fire of War is flaming in the four corners of France, and that with­in a hundred paces hence, the whole Earth is covered with adverse Troups and Armies; they with mutual consent do always spare our Village. The Spring-time in other places producing the besiegings of Forts and Cities, with other enterprises of War, and which for this dozen years hath been less looked for, in respect of the change of Sea­sons, then for any alteration of Affairs, suffers us to see no other thing but Violets and Roses. Our people are not contained in their primative innocencie, either by fear of Laws, or Study of Sciences: They [Page 27] (to live uprightly) do simply follow their natural Bounty, and draw more advantage from their ignorance of Vice, then most of us do out of the knowledge of Virtue: so as in this Territorie of two miles, they know not how to cosen any, save Birds and Beasts, and the pleading Lan­guage is as unknown here, as that of America, or of other parts of the World, which have escaped the avarice of Ferdinand, and the ambi­tion of Isabella. Those things which hurt the health of man, or offend their eys, are generally banished hence; Snakes nor Lizards are never seen here, and of creeping creatures we know no other but Mellons and Strawberries. I intend not here to draw you the portrait of a palace, the workmanship whereof hath not been ordered according to the rules of architecture, nor the matter so precious as Marble and Purphire. I will onely tell you that at the Gates there is a Grove, wherein at full noon there enters no more day than needs must not to make it night, and to cause all colours not to look black: so that between the Sun and the shade, there is a kinde of third temper composed, which may well be endured by the weakest eys, and hide the deformities of painted faces. The Trees here, are green to the very ground, as well with their own leaves, as with Juy which invirons them: and as for the fruites where­in they are deficient, their branches are all beset with Turtle-Doves and Phesants, and this at all times in the year. From thence I march into a Meddow, where I tread upon Tulipans and Anemons, having caused them to be mingled among other Flowers, to confirm my opi­nion I brought from my Travails, that French flowers are not so fair, as those of Forreign Countreys. I (sometimes walk down into that Val­ley, being the secret part of my Desert, and which till now) was not known to any man: It is a Countrey to be wished for and painted. I have made choice thereof for my most precious occupations, there to pass the most pleasing hours of my life: The Trees and water ne­ver suffer this place to want couldness and verdure. The Swans which covered the whole River, are retired to this place of security: living in a Channel, which causeth the greatest talkers to take a nap, so soon as they come near; and on whose Banks I am always happy; be I merry, or melancholly: How short a time soever I stay there, I sup­pose I enter into my first innocency: my desires, my fears and hopes stop in a trice: all the motions of my Soul slacken, nor have I any passions remaining, or if I have any, I govern them as tame beasts. The Sun conveys its light thither, but never its heat. The place is so low, as it can onely receive the last points of its beams: be­ing therefore the more beautifull, in that they are less burning, and the light thereof altogether pure. But as it is my self who have discovered this new found Land; so do I possess it with­out any partner, nor would I share it with my own Brother. [Page 28] But in all other quarters under my command, there is not a man who Courts not his Mistress without controul, nor servant of mine who is not Master; each one satisfying himself of what he loves, and spending the time at pleasure. And on the other side, when I see the Grass trodden down; and on the other the Corn full of Layers: I am well assured, it is neither Winde nor Hail, hath made this work, but onely a Shepheard and his sweet-heart. At which door soever I go out of my house, or on what side soever I turn mine eys, in this pleasant Pathmos, I finde the River of Charanton well meriting as much fame, as that of Tagus, and wherein, when the Beasts go to drink, they see the Heavens as clear as we do, and enjoy the same advantage, which elsewhere men have over them. Besides, this pure water is so in love with this petty Province, that it divides it self into a thousand branches, and makes an infinite of windings and turnings, as loath to leave and deprive it self of so plea­sing a lodging; and when at any time it over-floweth, it is onely to make the year more fertile, and to affoord us means to catch Trouts and Pikes, leaving them upon the levil; and which are so great and excel­lent, as they equal the Sea-Monsters; the Crocadiles of Nile, and all the supposed Gold rowling in those feigned Rivers, so much spoken of by Poets. The great Duke of Espernon comes hether sometimes for change of felicity, and to lay aside that austere virtue and splendour, which dazeleth the eys of all men, to assume milder qualities, and a more ac­costable Majesty. This Cardinal likewise, by whom Heaven intends to act so high designs, and of whom you hear me dayly speak, after the loss of his brother, who was such a one, as if he might have chosen him among all men, he would not have taken any other: after (as I say) having indured that loss, well deserving to draw tears from the Queen, he made choice of this place, here to exercise his patience, and to re­ceive from Gods hands, who loveth silence, and who is found in solitary retirements, what Phylosophy affoordeth not, nor is to be practised among the throng of people. I would enlarge my self upon other ex­amples, to shew you how my Village hath at all times been frequented by Heroical Hermits, and how the steps of Princes and great Siegniours, art (as yet) newly trodden in my ordinary paths. But the more to envite you to come hither; I suppose it sufficient to say, that Virgil and my self do here attend you: if therefore you be accompanied in this Voyage with your Muses; and other Manuscripts, we shall not need to intertain the time with Court news, nor with the Germain troubles. Let me not live, if ever I saw any thing comparable to your Spiritual Meditations, and if the least part of the work you shewed me, be not of more worth than all Frankford Mart, and all those great Books which come to us from the North, bringing cold weather and Frosts along with them. I assure you the President of THOU, who was as wor­thy [Page 29] a Judge of Latine Eloquence, as of the life and Fortunes of men; and who had left an exact History behinde him, had he pleased to retract some things; made no small esteem of these my Countrey-men: But I cannot as yet conceive what caused him to affect certain wits so contra­ry to his own, and who never were acquainted, nor did so much as dream of that Roman purity, you pursue with so great scrupulosity and exact diligence. You will let these men see I assure my self; yea, and those wise Transalpines themselves likewise, who think all such to be Scythians who are not Italians, even in what fashion they spake in Au­gustus his age; yea, and in a time more clear from the corruption of good customs. In a word, besides the propriety of terms, and chastity of stile, which lendeth a luster to your elaborate writings, your conceits are so sublime, and so full of courage, that it is very probable the an­cient Republick of Rome was adorned with the like, at what time it was victorious over the world, and when the Senate conceived insemblable terms, the Commandments they prescribed to greatest Princes, and the answers it addressed to all Nations on earth: I will speak further, when you appear where I expect you; and where instead of Flowers, Fruits, and Shades, which I prepare for you, I hope to receive from you all the riches of Art and Nature. In the interim (to use my Lord the Cardinal d'Ossats term) I bid you good night, and let you know, that if you seek excuses not to come, I am no longer

Your most humble and faithfull servant, BALZAC.
The 26. Septem­ber, 1622.

To Mounsieur de bois Robert from BALZAC. LETTER XVI.

SIR,

I Was upon the point not to have written any more unto you, and to have contented my self in sending you single commendations, since I see my Letters procure you Enemies: and for that you are in dayly con­testation for defending them; if therefore you desire continuance of our conference in this kinde, live hence-forward reposedly, and recon­cile your self to choice wits, from whom I should be sorry you should se­parate your self for my sake; it is far better to conceal a small truth, than to disturb a general peace; and I should hold my Eloquence as pernicious as the perfections of Helena, should it prove any cause of your quarrels. Since there have been found men who have carped at [Page 30] the Worlds composure, and spied spots in the Sun, it is very likely inferiour things cannot be more perfect; and that there is nothing so absolutely approved, against which there hath not been some thing disputed, and certain weak reasons alleadged. I confess I write as men build Temples and Pallaces, and that I sometimes fetch my Mate­rials a far off, as we are to make a voyage of two thousand Leagues, to transport the Treasures of America into Spain. But if Pearls be not precious because they grow not in the sands of Seine; or if in what I do, some condemn me, it sufficeth that I am not of their minde; if the worst come, I appeal to my Lord the Cardinal of Richelieu, of whose approbation I esteem more, than of popular favour, or ap­plause of Theaters. It is long since I understood from him that I exceeded others, not excepting even those who strive to aspire to a kinde of Tyranny, and to usurp a more absolute Authority over wits, than is either lawfull, or reasonable. This being so, I should much wrong that great person, on whose books God hath placed the Truth we seek after, as well as the Eloquence all of us imagine we have at­tained should I digress from his opinion, to regard what four or five of those composers of Romand of the Rose say, who have no other Language but Legends: if I would content my self with my Infant conceptions, or determined to write as an honest Woman should speak, they would happily finde their own facility in my Works: though truely, if I take any pains therein, I assure my self they will sooner guess at, then gain my conceptions. But truely, he who pur­poseth to himself the Idea of perfection, and who labours for Eter­nity, ought not to let any thing escape his Pen, till after long and se­rious consultation with himself. Yet will I tell you, and all the World may easily understand, that my writings smell more of Musk and Amber, than of Oyl, or sweat; whereas out of that great labou­riousness they so much frame to themselves, there will infallibly arise obscurity, which none but the Blinde can tax me with. But as for those fellows, it is always night with them, and they are rather to accuse their Mothers of their defects, and not colours, or the light: I indeavour (in what I may) to make all my conceptions popular, and to be intelligible among Women and Children, even when I speak of things beyond their Capacity: but if your friends suppose certain of my conceits to be over-far fetcht, let them throughly observe, whether they transcend my subject, or their conceptions; or whither I go astray, or they loose sight of me: There are divers things above reason, which yet are not contrary thereto. An Heroical virtue ma­king use of excesses and heighth of passions, goeth as far beyond vulgar Virtue, as it surmounteth Vice: we are not therefore to shut up all Wits within the same limits, nor presently to censure that as Ex­orbitant, [Page 31] which is onely extraordinary: Otherwise we should resem­ble that poor Norvegian, who the first time he saw Roses, durst not touch them for fear of burning his fingers, and was much amazed to see (as he supposed,) Trees to bear fire: Surely as Novelty is not of force to make Monsters well featured, so ought it not to hinder our affections to excellent things, though unknown unto us. If for the understanding my language, it were necessary to learn two, or that Anxietie, Decrepitude, and the Irritaments of Despair, were familiar phrases with me; if I made use of Waves instead of Water, and evil Fates for ill fortune, or the Flower-de-luce for France; to the end to play the Poet in Prose; should I immolate my self to publick scorn, and sail upon the Ocean in the stormical seasons of the year, if I should say, the Misericordious Justice of God, and his just Misericord; or pluck comparisons from Plinie; and could I not commend a King with­out the help of Alexander the Great, and Plutarcks Worthies; if instead of well-speaking, I should translate Tacitus ill, and if in spite of him I should force him to deliver his opinion concerning all the affairs of this age, you then might rightly blame me from bringing follies so far off, and for taking so much pains to make my self ridiculous. But surely I should be the most innocent of all others, had I onely of­fended therein; and I may safely say without vanity, that even the follies of my Infancie, were more serious than those sweet Rhetorical flowers: when all is said, since there is nothing but Religion can force us to believe what she pleaseth, and that Kings themselves have no power over Souls, I am well satisfied with the affection of my friends, and do willingly leave their judgements free to themselves. One Good-night is more worth than all our Eloquence, and not to know the miseries of this life, is to be more learned than the Scorbo­nists and Jesuits. For my part, (despising the World as I do) I cannot much esteem my self, who make up one of the sickliest parts thereof; and I have so poor an opinion of my own sufficien­cy, as I little esteem the Talents of others. Think not then, I adore the workmanship of my hands, though I take as much pains therein, as did the ancient Carvers in counterfeiting their gods. But contrariwise, it is the reason why I dislike them, and had I been a man of ten thousand Crowns rent, I would have given the half of it to a Secretary, onely to hire him not to indite those Letters you have so much admired.

The 15. February, 1624.

The Letters of MONSIEUR de BALZAC. To my Lord Cardinal de la Valete; from Moun­sieur D' BALZAC. The second Book.

LETTER I.

My LORD,

WHilst you imploy your hours in gaining hearts and Votes, and happily lay the foundation of some eminent enter­prize: I here enjoy a reposedness not unlike that of the dead, and which is never rouzed but by Clorinda's kisses. If the Duke of Ossuna be chosen King of Naples, (as you write the report runneth) I finde no strangeness in it. The World is so old, and hath seen so much, it can hardly spie any new matter; nor is there at this day any lawfull Authority, whose Ori­gin (for the most part) hath not been unjust. And on the other side the ill success of revolts are far more frequent than are the changes of States: and the same action, which hath no less than a Diademe for the aim, hath often an ignominious death for its end. Howsoever this hap­pens, it shall not much trouble me, since the issue cannot be other than advantagious to this State. For God herein will either make it appear, that he is protector of Kings: or it falling out otherwise, yet at least it will weaken the Enemies to this Crown. But I hope you will not ad­vise me to beat my brains upon those politick considerations; for should [Page 33] I do so, it were no less than to retract the resolution I had taken to look upon things passing among us and our neighbours, as I do on the Hi­story Japon, or the affairs of another World. I ought to surrender this humour to vulgar spirits, who interest themselves in all the quarrels of States and Princes, and who will always be parties, on purpose to put themselves into choler, and be miserable in the misfortunes of others. Truely we shall never have done, if we will needs take all the affairs of the World to heart, and be passionate for the publick; whereof we make but a small part. It may be at this very instant wherein I write, the great Indian Fleet suffereth shipwrack within two leagues of Land: happily the great Turk hath surprised some Province from the Chri­stians, and taken thence some twenty thousand Souls, to convey them to their Cittie of Constantinople: It may be the Sea hath exceeded its li­mits, and drowned some Cittie in Zealand. If we send for mischiefs so far off, there will not an hour pass, wherein some disconsolation, or other will not come upon us. If we hold all the men in the World to be of our affinity, let us make account to wear Mournings all our life. As mine experience is not great, so are my years not many: yet since I came into the World, I have seen so many strange accidents, and have understood from my Father such store of incredible occurrents, as I suppose there can nothing now happen, able to cause admiration in me. The Emperour Charles the fifth his Grand-child, born to the hopes of so many Kingdoms, was condemned to death, for having over-soon de­sired them. The natural subjects of the King of Spain, do at this day dispute with him for the Empire of the Sea; nor will they rest satisfied with their usurped liberty. Surely, we should hardly be drawn to be­lieve these things upon the credit of others, and those in succeeding ages will with much difficulty be perswaded to receive them for truths; yet are these the ordinary recreations of Fortune, taking pleasure in de­ceiving Mankinde, by events far opposite to all appearance; yea, and contrary to their judgements. Hath she not delivered over to the peo­ples fury, the man whom she had formerly raised above the rest, to the end, we should not presume in greatest prosperities? And hath she not at the same time taken out of the Bastile, a Prisoner, to make him Ge­neral of a Royal Army, thereby to oblige us not at any time to despair? I do here consider all this with a reposed spirit, and as Fables presented on the Stage; or Pictures in a Gallery. Now since the late Comet had like to have been as fatal unto me, as to the Emperour Rodolphus, in that my curiosity to see it, caused me to rise in my shirt, which gave me a cold all the Winter after, I am hereafter resolved not to meddle with any thing above my reach; but to refer all to GOD and Nature. So as Clarinda suffer me to serve her, and that I understand from her own mouth that she loves me, I will hearken to no other news, nor search a [Page 34] second Fortune. I therefore most humbly beseech your Lordship to excuse me, if upon these occasions lately presented, I cannot affoord you my personal attendance, or refuse to follow you whither your re­solution leads you; my Mistress having commanded me, to render her an account how I shed my bloud, and enjoyning me never to go the Wars, but when Muskets are charged with Cypres powder; I am rather contented you should accuse me of Cowardize, than she justly to charge me with disobedience. And after all this, tell me whether, or no, you think me to be in my right wits, and that I have not lost my reason, to­gether with the respect I owe you. I herein do as a Delinquent; who fearing he should not be soon enough punished, puts himself into the hands of Justice, not staying either for the rack, or examination of Judges, for the discovery of a crime whereof he was never accused. I am well assured, that of all passions you have onely those of Honour and Glory, & that your Spirits are so replenished therewith, as there is no place left either for love, hate, or fear. Yet do I withall consider, that it is a part of a wise mans felicity to reflect upon other mens follies: howsoever, if any word hath escaped me, which may offend your eys, take it, I beseech you, as a means sent you from GOD for your farther mortification, in causing you to read things so distastefull unto you. You are necessarily to endure far greater crosses amidst the corruption of this Age: if you cannot live among the wicked, you must seek for another kinde of World than this, and for more perfect creatures than Mortals. There will ever be poysnings beyond the Alps, Treasons at Court, and revolts in this Realm. Howsoever (my Lord) there will be love even in spite of you, so long as there are eys and beauties in the World; yea, the Wise themselves will love, if they finde Clorindaes, Dianaes, and Cassan­dra's to be beloved. Fire seizeth sometimes on Churches and Palaces. God hath framed Fools and Phylosophers of one and the same matter: And that cruel Sect which seeks to bereave us of the one half of our selves, in seeking to free us from our passions and affections, instead of making a wise man, have onely raised a Statue. I must therefore once again tell you that I love, since Nature will have it so; and that I am of the progeny of our first Parents: but I must withall inform you, that all my affections spring not from the distempers and diseases of my Soul; my inclination to serve you, having immortal reason, not momentary pleasure for its foundation, one day happily I shall no more be amorous, but will always remain

My Lord,
Your most humble and most affectionate servant, BALZAC.

To the Lord Cardinal of Valete, Son to the Duke of Espernon. LETTER II.

MY LORD,

AT length they have done you right, and you now enjoy what you deserved from the first day of your Nativity: if there could be any thing added to man, who reckoneth Kings among his Predecessors, and whose inclinations happily are over-great to live under the power of an­other; I should advise you to rejoyce at this news; but being extracted as you are, from one of the most illustrious Origins on earth, and be­gotten by a Father, whose life is loaden with miracles; it sufficeth that you pardon Fortune, since it hath so happened that present necessity hath gained of her what she in right owed to your name. I know well that some will tell you, you are created Prince of such an Estate, as is bounded neither by Seas nor Mountains, and how the extent of your Jurisdiction is so illimitable, as were there many Worlds, they ought all of them to depend thereon as well as this. But I, who suffer not mine eys to be dazeled by any other luster than that of Virtue, and who do not so much as bestow the looking on, what most men admire; if I should esteem you either more great, or happy than you were, I should not have sufficiently profited under you, in the true understanding of you. Doubtless in the opinion of the Vulgar, it is an extraordinary Ho­nour to be a prime person in a Ceremony, and to wear a Hat of equal esteem to Crowns and Diadems. Yet I presume you will pardon me, if I make bold to tell you, it is an honour can never oblige a wise man to envy you. For had you this point onely above me, I should still be my own Master: Nor had I for your sake renounced that liberty, which was as dear to me as the Common-wealth of Venice. Upon the mat­ter, to have none other Judge on Earth save onely your reputation and conscience, and to have a great train of followers, some whereof are im­ployed in the procuring your spiritual pleasures, others in the conduct of your temporal affairs, all this shall be still the same with you, and di­vers others whom you slight; but to perform good and virtuous acti­ons, when you are assured they shall never come to the Worlds eye; to fear nothing but dishonest things; to believe death to be neither good nor bad in it self; but that if the occasion to imbrace it be honourable, it is always more valuable than a long life: to have the reputation of integrity in your promises, in a time, when the most credulous have enough to do to confide on publick Faith: This is it which I admire in you my Lord; and not your red Hat, and your fifty thousand Crowns rent; yet I will say, that for the honour of Rome, you ought to esteem of what she sends you. The time hath been when she would have erected [Page 36] Statues for you, and afforded you sufficient subject to have merited Tryumphs: but those days being past, and since that Empire is no lon­ger maintained by such means, yet ought you to rest satisfied with Ho­nours of Peace, and accept (as a high favour) a Dignity the King of Spaine's Son hath made suite for. If there were nothing else in it, but that it causeth you to quit your Mourning-robes, to revest your self with the colour of Roses, you can do no less than rejoyce at such a change. Howsoever the nearest objects to your eys, will not be so dolefull as for­merly they were, since there will be nothing upon you, which shall not be resplendent and glorious. I would willingly dilate this discourse, but the speedy departure of the Post will not suffer me; and besides, I being well assured, that if you esteem any thing in my Letters, it is not the multitude of words; I ought to be contented to end this, after my humble suite unto you, to love me always, since I am passionately

My Lord,
Your most humble, most obedient, and most faithfull servant, BALZAC.

To the Cardinal de Valette, from BALZAC. I here send you two Letters which were delivered me, to be conveyed unto you, the one from the Duke of Bavaria, the other from the Cardinal of Ler­ma. My Lord, you shall thereby perceive that your proposition hath af­forded joy, both to the Victorious, and to the afflicted; and that the World receiveth a notable interest therein. since it augmenteth the content­ment of Triumphs, and sweetneth the harshnes of retirement. LETTER III.

My Lord,

I Suppose you have understood of the Election of the Pope, some two days journies from Paris; and that you will make no great haste to add your approbation to a thing already dispatched: I had sent a Post on purpose to advertise you thereof; but my Lord Embassadour thought it not fit, but hath encharged his own Messenger to advertise you of all things in your Voyage this way, and to give you account of all occur­rents. This makes me think that the subject of your voyage ceasing, and the time of year being as yet somewhat troublesome, for the un­dertaking thereof, you will rather reserve it for a fitter season, when you may perform it with less disorder, and more advantagiously for the Kings service. My meaning is, that I would have you set forward about [Page 37] the end of Autumne, that you may spend here with us, one of these warm and springing Winters, laden with Roses, wholy reserved for our admi­rable Italic. And my Lord, though herein the consideration of my private interest may seem to make me speak thus, rather than my affection to your service; yet would I willingly tell you, that all kinde of contentments attend you here, and if your great Spi­rit aspire to glorious things for the keeping it in action, it shall infallibly finde them at Rome. In the interim, how short a while soever you stay here, you shall have the contentment to see France change some five, or six times. At your return you will hardly finde any thing answerable to what you left there; they shall not be the same men you formerly saw, and all things will appear unto you, as the affairs of another Kingdom. But before the matter be grown to that head, it is fitting you reign here in Sovereigntie, and become the Su­pream Judge of three, or four Conclaves: And truly, it might so happen (my Lord) that I should do you some acceptable service in those great occasions, if I had my health; but to my great grief it is a happiness, for which I envy my Grand-mother, and howsoever I have heretofore been little, or much estimable: I confess, that at this present, I am but the half of what I was. It is therefore in vain to expect works of any great value from me, or that you importune me to take pains for the Publick; for in Conscience what high designs can a man have, between the affliction of diseases, and the apprehension of Death? The one where­of doth never forsake me, and the other dayly affrights me; or how can you imagine I should conceive eminent matters, who am ready to die at every instant. True it is, that the necessity to obey you, which I have always before mine eys, is an extraordinary strong motive: but (not to dissemble) the impossibility of my performance is yet more for­cible; and so long as I continue in the state I now am, I cannot promise you so much as the History of the Kingdom of A lit­tle prin­cipality in France. Yue­lot; nor that of the Papacie of Campora, though it continued onely one half quarter of an hour.

From Rome this 27. of February 1622.

Another Letter unto Cardinal de la Valette from BALZAC. LETTER IV.

My Lord,

YOur Cash-keeper hath newly brought me the sum you commanded him to deliver unto me. I would willingly shew sufficient thank­fulness [Page 38] for this high favour: but besides that your benefits are bound­less, and that you are so gracious an obliger, that it doth even augment the value of your bounty, I should seem over-presumptuous to think any words of mine valuable to the least of your actions. It shall there­fore suffice me to protest unto you, that the bounty, wherewith the Let­ter I received from you, is so stored, (being of force to infuse Love and Fidelity in the hearts of very Barbarians,) shall work no less effect in the spirit of a person, who hath learned both by Nature and Philo­sophy not to be ingratefull. Since I finde my interest within my duty, I must necessarily love you (if I hate not my self) and be an honest man by the very Maxim of the wicked. Yet is not this last considera­tion the cause chiefly obliging me to your service: For though I ac­knowledge divers defects in my self, yet may I without vanity affirm, I was never besotted with so base an attraction as that of gain. I there­fore reflect upon your favours in their naked purity, and the esteem you make of me, is to me by so much a more strong obligation, than all others, in that it regardeth my merit, and not my instant poverty, and proceedeth from your judgement, which is far more excellent, then your fortunes are eminent. Herein (my Lord,) it is manifest, that all your inclinations are magnificent: for you knowing me neither to be fit to make the Father of a Family, nor to solicite causes at the Councel­table, nor well to ride post: you make it appear, you are of the right bloud of Kings, who are onely rich in superfluous things. Truely, it were a hard matter to guess what in this World is the true use of Pearls and Diamonds; or why a Picture should cost more than a Palace; but onely pleasure, which to satisfie the inventions of Art, are dayly im­ployed, and nature to that end produceth whatsoever is rare, being in­deed a thing more noble than necessiy, she being contented with small matters, ever preferring profit before pleasure. And I will here stop, lest I speak too much to my own advantage: And if I have already in­curred that crime, I beseech you to believe it hath not been with pur­pose to praise my self, but onely to extoll your liberality: Yet will I make bold to acquaint you, how I imploy your money, and yield you a more particular account of the affairs I dispatch for you here at Rome: First, in this hot Moneth I seek all possible remedies against the violence of the Sun. I have a Fan which wearieth the hands of four Grooms, and raiseth a winde in my Chamber, which would cause shipwrack in the main Sea; I never die but I die Snow in the Wine of Naples, and make it melt under Mellons. I spend half my time under water, and the rest on Land: I rise twice a day, and when I step out of my bed, it is onely to enter into a Grove of Orange-trees, where I slumber with the plea­sant purling of some twelve Fountains: but if occasion be offered to go further once in a week, I cross not the street but in a Carroach, passing [Page 39] still in the shade between Heaven and Earth: I leave the smell of sweet­est flowers unto the Vulgar, as having found the invention to eat and drink them. The Spring time never parts with me all the year, either in variety of distilled waters, or in Conserves. I change perfumes ac­cording to the diversity of seasons; some I have sweeter, others stronger: And though the Air be a thing Nature bestows for nothing, and where­of the poorest have plenty, yet that, I breath in my Chamber, is as costly unto me as my house-rent. Besides all this, I in quality of my Lord your Agent, am almost dayly feasted: and there whilest others fill themselves with substantial and most ponderous cates; I, who have no great appetite, make choice of such Birds as are crammed with Su­gar and nourish my self with the spirit of Fruits, and with a meat cal­led jelly. My Lord, these are all the services I yield you in this place, and all the functions of my residence near his holiness; and I hold my self particularly obliged now the second time to thank you for this fa­vour: for by your means I injoy two things seldom suiting together; a Master and Liberty; and the great rest you allow me, is not the least present you please out of your Nobleness to affoord me.

Your Graces most humble, most obe­dient, and most faithfull servant, BALZAC.
From Rome 15. of July, 1621.

To the Lord Cardinal de Valette from BALZAC. LETTER V.

My Lord,

WIthin the Deserts of Arabia, nor in the Seas intrails, was there ever so furious a Monster found, as is the Sciatica: And if Ty­rants, whose memories are hatefull unto us, had been stored with such instruments for effecting their cruelties; surely I think it had been the Sciatica the Martyres had indured for Religion, and not the fire, and biting of wilde beasts. At every sting it carries a poor sick person even to the borders of the other World, and causeth him sensible to touch the extremities of life. And surely, to support it long, a greater re­medy than Patience is no less than requisite, and other forces than those of man. In the end GOD hath sent me some ease, after the receit of an infinite of remedies, some whereof sharpned my grief, and the rest as­swaged it not. But the violence of my pain being now past, I begin to injoy such rest, as weariness and weakness affoordeth to over-tired bo­dies. And though I be in a state of health, far less perfect than those who are found, yet measuring it by the proximity of the misery I have [Page 40] indured, and the comparison of those pains I have suffered: I am right glad of my present Fortune, nor am I so hardy, to dare as yet complain of my great weakness remaining. To speak truth, I have no better legs than will serve to make a shew; and should I undertake to walk the length of my Chamber, my trouble would be no less, than if I were to pass the Mountains, and cross all Rivers I encounter. But, to the end to change Discourse, and to let you see things in their fair shape; you are to understand, that in this plight wherein I stand, (being sufficient to cause you to pitty me four hundred leagues off:) I am on the one side become so valiant, as not to fly, though I were pursued by a whole Ar­my; and on the other, so stately, that if the Pope should come to visite me, I would not conduct him so far as the Gates. This is the advantage I draw from my bad legs, and the remedies arising in my bed, where­with I indeavour to comfort my self without the help of Physicks. You will (I fear) say, I might well have forborn to entertain you with these impertinencies; nor am I ignorant that perfect felicities, such as yours, desire not to be disquieted, either by the complaints of the distressed, or by the consideration of distastefull things: But it is likewise true, that the first loss we indure in pain falls upon our judgement, and the body hath such a proximity with the Soul, that the miseries of the one, do easily slide into the other. But what reason soever I have to defend my evil humour, yet must it necessarily give way to your contentment; and of the two passions wherewith I am assaulted, obey the stronger. I will therefore be no longer sad, but for others, and will hold it fit I make you laugh upon the subject of XXXXX. to whom you lately addressed your Letters. You may please to remember one of their names to be A. the other B; yet it is not sufficient onely to know so much, but I must likewise inform you somewhat of their shape and stature. The first I speak of, is so gross, as I verily think he will instantly die of an Apople­xie; and the other so little, as I would swear that since he came into the World he never grew, but at the hairs end: afore any indifferent Judges, an Ape would sooner pass for a man than this Pigmy; nor will I believe he was made after the image of God, left therein I should wrong so ex­cellent a Nature. Besides, it were an easier task to raise the dead, than to make this mans teeth white; he hath a Nose at enmity with all others: and against which there is no possible defence but Spanish Gloves. What can I say more, there is no part of his body that is not shamefull, or wherein Nature hath not been defective. Yet notwithstanding one of the fairest Princesses of Italie, is by a solemn contract condemned to lodge night by night with this Monster. When you chance to see this man together with the other great bellied beast, who stuffs a whole Car­roach, you will presently suppose God never made them to be Princes; and that it is not onely as much as to abuse the obedience of free per­sons, [Page 41] but even to wrong the meanest Grooms, to give them Masters of this stamp. Now though the party you wot of, do in some sort repre­sent the latter person, yet is there still some small difference between his actions and the others. The great VVV. is newly parted from this Court, where he hath not received from his Holiness his expected contentment. His design was to break the Marriage his Brother hath contracted, upon some slight appearance of Sorcery, wherewith he deemed to dazle the Worlds eye, and ground the nullity of an action, which was by so much the more free, in that the parties, who perform'd it, sought not the consent of any to approve it. In conclusion, after the loss of much time, and many words, he is gone without obtaining any thing, save onely the Popes benediction; and as for me, I remain much satisfied to see Justice so exact at Rome, that they will not con­demn the Devil himself wrongfully. I have heard how in some places half hour Marriages are made, the conditions whereof are neither di­gested into writing, nor any memorie thereof reserved; but of these secret mysteries, there are no other witnesses, save onely the Night and Silence: And though the Court of Rome approveth them not, yet doth she shut her eys, fearing to see them. I am resolved not to be long in the description of K.K.K. whom you know much better than my self: Yet thus much I will say, that since Neroes death, there never appear­ed in Italie a Comedian of more honourable extraction: And surely to make the Company at this present in France compleat, his personage were sufficient: He makes Verses, he hath read Aristotle, and under­stands Musick, and in a word he hath all the excellent qualities unne­cessary in a Prince. I know here a German, called S. to whom he gi­veth an annual pension of a thousand Crowns, assigned unto him up­on an Abbey during life; this he hath done, not that he intendeth to use his service in his counsel, or with purpose to imploy him in any important negotiation for the good of his affairs: his onely ambition is to have him make a book, whereby it might appear how those of M M M. are lineally descended from Julius Caesar. I should be glad he would yet aim at some higher, or more eminent race, and that he would purchase a second fable at the like rate he payed for the first. I would willingly give him his choice of the Medes, Per­sians, Greeks, or Troians, which of these he would have of his Kind­red, and without the relying upon the Authority of tradition, or te­stimonie of Stories: I would draw his descent from Hector, or Achilles, which he best liked. There are certain Princes who are necessarily to be deceived, if you mean to do them acceptable service, being far bet­ter pleased to be entertained with a plausible lie, than to be advertised of an important truth. I hold my self right happy you are not of this humour: for whatsoever I say, I suppose it would be very hard for me to [Page 42] be of a fools minde, though he were a Monarch. I intend not to steal your favours, but to purchase them legally: and having ever believed flattery to be as mischievous a means to gain affection as charms, and sorcery: I cannot speak against my conscience, and were not this true I tell you, I would not assure you, that I am

Your most humble, most obe­dient, and most faithfull servant, BALZAC.
From Rome this 10. of December 1622.

To the Lord Cardinal de Valette, from BALZAC. Letter VI.

My Lord,

HOw great soever the subject of my sorrows be, yet do I finde in your Letters sufficient to make me happy in my hard fortune. The last I received hath so much obliged me, that, but for the displeasing news coming unto me, which tempered my joy, my reason had not been of sufficient force to moderate it. But at this time the death of my poor Brother being incessantly before mine eys, taketh from me the taste of all good tidings: and the prosperity even of the Kings affairs seem displeasing unto me, finding my self to bear upon me the mourn­ings of his Victorie. Yet since in this fatal agitation of Europe it is not I alone who bewail some loss, and since your self have not been able to preserve all that was dear unto you; I should seem very unci­vil, if I presumed to prefer my private interest before yours, or reflect upon my particular affliction, having one common with yours. It is long since I have not measured either the felicities, or fatalities of this World, but by your contentments, or discomforts; and that I be­hold you as the whole workmanship God hath made. Wherefore my Lord, I willl lay aside whatsoever concerns my self, to enter into your resentments, and to tell you, since you cannot make unworthy electi­ons, it must needs be that in death of your Friends you can suffer no small losses. Notwithstanding as you transcend sublunary things, and in that all men draw examples out of the meanest actions of your life: I assure my self they have acknowledged upon this occasion, that there is not any accident to surmount, against which you have use of all your virtue. Afflictions are the gifts of God, though they be not of those we desire in our prayers; and supposing you should not approve this proposition, yet have you at all times so little regarded death, as I [Page 43] cannot believe you will bewail any; for being in a condition your self esteems not miserable. My Lord, it sufficeth you conserve the me­mory of those you have loved, in consequence of the protestation you pleased to make unto me by your Letter: And truly if the dead be any thing, (as none can doubt) they cannot grieve for ought in this World, wherein they still injoy your favours. In the mean time I take this to my self, and am most happy in having conferred my dutifull affections upon a man, who setteth so high a value upon those things he hath lost. For any thing (my Lord) I perceive, there is small difference be­tween good works, and the services we offer you; they having their re­wards both in this life, and the other; your goodness being illimitable, as is the desire I have to tell you, I am

Your most humble, and most faithfull servant, BALZAC.
From Rome the 29. of Decemb. 1621.

To the Lord Bishop of Valette from BALZAC. LETTER VII.

MY LORD,

THough I be not in state, either to perform any great exploit upon the person of any man; nor have any great force to defend my self, yet cannot I touch upon the Count Mansfield without taking it to heart, and joyning my good affections to the Kings forces. If this were the first time the Germans had exceeded their limits, and sent their Armies to be overthrown in France; the novelty of these Barba­rous faces, and of those great lubberly swat-rutters, might easily have affrighted us: But upon the matter, we have to do with known ene­mies, and who will suffer us to take so sufficient advantages over them, besides those we naturally injoy, as without being forced to make use of Arms, we may defeat them onely by their own evil conduct. I do not wonder there are men, who willingly forsake Frost and Snow, to seek their living under a more pleasing and temperate climate than their own; and who quit bad Countreys, as being well as­sured, the place of their banishment shall be more blissefull unto them than that of their birth. Onely herein it vexeth me, in the behalf of the Kings honour, to see him constrained to finish the remainder of the Emperours victories, upon a sort of beaten Soul­diers, and who rather fly the fury of Marques Spinola, than follow us. These great Bulwarks, whose neighbour I am, seeming rather the [Page 44] Fabricks of Gyants, than the fortifications of a Garrison-Town, will not ever be looked upon with amazement; one day (I hope) there will appear nothing in their places but Cabbins for poor Fishermen; or if it be requisite the works of Rebellion should still remain, and the memory of these troublesome people indure yet longer, we shall in the upshot see them remove Mountains, and dive into the Earths foundations to provide themselves a Prison at their own charge. But withall (my Lord) I beseech you, let there be no further speech made of occasions, or ex­peditions, and let a Peace be concluded, which may continue till the Worlds end; let us leave the War to the Turk, and King of Persia, and cause (I beseech you) that we may lose the memorie of these miserable times, wherein Fathers succeed their Children, and wherein France is more the Countrey of Lans [...]ghts and Swisses than ours. Though Peace did not turn the very Desarrs into profitable dwellings, as it doth, or caused not the quarries, or flints to become fruitfull, though it came unaccompanied, without being seconded with security and plenty, yet were it necessary, onely to refresh our forces; thereby to enable us the longer to endure War. As I was ending this last word, I heard a voice which desired my dispatch, obliging me to end what I supposed I had but begun. It is with much reluctation (my Lord) I am deprived of the onely contentment your absence affordeth me. But since you could not receive this Letter, were it any longer, I am resolved to lose one part of my content, to enjoy the other; and to say sooner then I supposed, that I am even absolutely,

Your most humble, most obedient, and most faithfull servant, BALZAC.
The 16. of Sept. 1622.

To the Lord Cardinal de Valette from BALZAC. LETTER VIII.

My Lord,

YOu should oftner receive Letters from me, could I over-master my pain; but to say truth, it leaveth me not one thought free to reflect upon any thing else; and what desire soever I have to give you content, yet am I not able to do any thing, but at the Physicians good pleasure, and at the Feavours leasure; whilest the Court affordeth you all con­tent, and prepareth whatsoever is pleasant for you, reserving distrusts and jealousies for others: I here endure torments, such as wherewith one would make conscience to punish Parricides, and which I would not wish to my worst enemies. If notwithstanding all this (in obedience [Page 45] to the Counsel you give me in the Letter, you did me the honour to write unto me) I should make my self merrie, I were necessarily to take my self for some other body, and become a deeper dissembler than an honest man ought to be. My Melancholly is meerly corpo­real, yet doth my spirit give place, though not consent thereto; and of the two parts whereof I am composed, the more worthy is over-born by the more weighty. Wherefore if the whole World should act Come­dies to make me laugh, and though St. Germans Fair were kept in all the streets where I pass, the object of death ever present before my eys, bereaving me of sight, would likewise bar me of content, and I should remain disconsolate amidst the publick Jubilations, Yea, if the stone I so much dread, were a Diamond, or the Phylosophers Elixar, I should therein take small comfort, but would rather beseech God to leave me poor, if he please to bestow no better Riches upon me. But when I have said all, be it unto me as he shall please to appoint, since I am well assured, my maladies will either end, or I shall not for ever hold out: yet should I die with some discontent, if it happen before I testi­fie my dutifull affection towards you, and the sensibility I have of your noble favours. But howsoever it fare with me, I would willingly make a journey to Rome, there to finish the work I promised you, and which you command me to undertake for the honour of this Crown. Cer­tainly if I be not the cause to make you in love with our language, and to prefer it in your estimation before our Neighbour Tongues; I am afraid you will be much troubled to revolt from the Roman Empire, and that it will not be for the Historie of Matthew, or of Hallian, you will change that of Salust and Livie. I will not deceive you, nor delude my self; yet may I tell you, that my head is full of inventions and de­signs, and if the Spring (for which I much long) would afford me the least glimpse of health, I would contest with any who should produce the rarest things. I have an infinite of loose flowers, which onely want binding up into Nosegays; and I have suffered others to speak any time these six years, on purpose to be think my self what I have to say. But I well perceive the publick shall have onely desires and hopes; and truely, if I spring not afresh with the Trees, in stead of so many books you expect from me, you shall not read any thing of mine, save onely the end of this Letter, and the protestation I here make unto you, to die

Your most humble, most obe­dient, and most faithfull Servant, BALZAC.
The 7. of Ja­nuary 1623.

To the Lord Cardinal de Vallette from BALZAC. LETTER IX.

My Lord,

THe hope which any time this three Moneths, I have had of your determination to come into this Countrey, hath hitherto hindred me from writing unto you, or to make use of the onely means remain­ing for me to be near your person: But since you have supposed the speedy quitting the Court, to be as fatal as to die a sudden death, and that no less fortitude, or time is requisite to resolve to wean our selves from pleasing things, than to surmount painfull ones, I will by your permission resume the commerce the common rumour caused me to sur­cease, and will not hereafter believe you can with any less difficulty get out Paris, than can the Arsenac, or Loover. Were it not a place all stored with inchantments and chains, and which is of such power to attract and retain men, as it hath been necessary to hazard divers battels, to drive the Spaniards further off: one might well wonder at the difficulty you finde to convey your self thence. But in truth all the World doth there finde both habitations and affairs: and for you my Lord, since in that Countrey our Kings both enter into their first infancy, and grow old, as being the seat of their Empire; no man can justly blame you for making over-long abode there, without accusing you of over-much love to your Master, and for desiring to be near his person. At Rome you shall tread upon stones, formerly the gods of Caesar and Pompey, and shall contemplate the ruins of those rare workmanships, the antiquity where­of is yet amiable, and shall dayly walk among Histories and Fables: But these are the pastimes of weak spirits, which are pleased with trifles, and not the imployments of a Prince, who delighted in sayling on rough Seas, and who is not come into the World to let it rest idle: When you have seen the Tyber, on whose banks the Romans have per­formed the Apprentiships of their rare victories, and begun that high design, which they ended not, but at the extream limits of the Earth. When you shall ascend the Capitol, where they supposed God was as well present as in Heaven; and had there inclosed the fatality of the universal Monarchy: After you have crossed that great Circus, dedica­ted to shew pleasures to the people, and where the bloud of Martyrs hath been often mingled with that of Malefactours and bruit beasts. I make no doubt but after you have seen those and divers other things, you will grow weary of the repose and tranquility of Rome: and will say they are two things more proper for the Night and Church-yards, than for the Court and the Worlds eye. Yet have I not any pur­pose to give you the least distaste of a Voyage the King hath com­manded [Page 47] you to undertake, and whereof I well hoped to have been the guide, if my crazy body would have seconded the motion of my Will. But truely my Lord, I am deeply ingaged in this bu­siness, and when I look upon my self single, I sometimes have a de­sire to make you suspicious of those felicities, I fear, I shall not be able to enjoy with you; yet whatsoever I say, I am not so far in love with my self, as to prefer my private content before the general de­sires of all men, and the Churches necessities. It is requisite for infinite considerations of importance, you should be present at the first Conclave, and that you appear at a War not therefore less con­siderable, in being composed of disarmed persons, or for that it makes no Widowes nor Orphans. I am certain you have elsewhere seen more dangerous encounters, and have often desired more bloudy Victories. But how great soever the object of your ambi­tion be, yet can it not conceive any thing of such Eminency, as at once to give a Successour to Consuls, to Emperours, and Apo­stles; and to make with your breath the man, who over-toppeth Kings, and who commandeth overall reasonable Souls: Though my health be so uncertain, as I cannot promise my self three days continuance thereof, yet have I not lost all hope to see you (one day) in this Countrey, the prescriber of Laws to inferiours, and of examples to Commanders. My Lord, it may be, God reserveth me for your sake, that nothing be wanting to your glorie, and to the end there might be yet one man in the World, able to affoord you the praises proper to your merits,

My Lord,
Your most humble, and most faithfull Servant, BALZAC.
The 29. of June 1623.

To my Lord Cardinal de Valette. LETTER X.

My Lord,

IT must necessarily be the greatest affair at this present in agi­tation on Earth, that could oblige you to leave Paris; nor had you parted thence upon any slighter condition, than to make a head for all Christendom. If you arrive there oppor­tunely to have your part in this great Election, and that the Con­clave attend your Presence, on purpose to afford a more full Reputation and Authority, to what shall there be resolved upon: I do no way doubt but you will maintain the same advantage over the Italian wits, [Page 48] as you have obtained over ours; or that their policies will not be as im­pertinent in your Presence, as the Charmes of Magicians are frivolous, being confronted with Divine matters. You have sufficient of their pa­tience to put off affairs when occasion is offered: but you have a cou­rage they come short of, to carry matters by strong hand, if necessity require. Therefore my Lord, to what part soever your opinion shall incline, you will carry that with you which gaineth victories, and cau­seth the greater party to side with the founder; yea, if matters should pass without contestation, yet should you at least take notice, that you are intreated to that action, wherein God permits you to supply his place, and intrusteth to your care the most important matter of all his works. To speak seriously, his providence is never in so high imploy­ment, as when he is to choose the man who hath power to use well, or abuse all the Riches of Heaven, and who is to exercise a power nearest approaching to Divinity. Heretofore God made use of Thunder and Tempests, when he purposed to denounce any thing to men, declaring his Will by other than ordinary means. But since he hath caused Ora­cles to cease, and suffereth the Thunder to work onely natural effects: It is onely by the voyce of Cardinals he causeth his desires to be mani­fested, and ordaineth concerning the Worlds Conduct. When you please (my good Lord) I shall have some notice of these inspirations he hath sent you, and of the election you have made: For to force me (so soon) to inform my self thereof in the place where it was performed, this Kingdom had need be over hot for me, and that I were not so well acquainted as I am with the Sun at Rome. That which blacks the Moors, and burns Lybia, is not so dangerous at this Season; and were you not stored with treasures of Snow, and provided of Halls of Marble, to de­send you from the scorching Air, I should as soon chuse to be con­demned to the fire, as to be forced to reside where you are at this pre­sent. But your Grace I know can not be affrighted with all these ap­prehensions of heat; you are none of those who will finde fault with the Air, which all that ancient Republick breathed, or with the Sun, which hath holpen to make so many Conquerours, and given light to so many glorious Triumphs. Yet for my part, I who have none of these considerations, and who have wholy put my self into the power of Phy­sick, it is requisite I avoid the very shadow of danger, and live with as great apprehension of fear in this World, as though I were in an Ene­mies Countrey, or in a Forrest of wilde beasts. It is therefore out of pure necessity I attend your commands in this place, and a more seasonable time, to testifie unto you, without running the hazard of my life, that I am with all my Soul

My Lord,
Your most humble, and most obedient Servant, BALZAC.
The 2. of Au­August 1623.

To the Lord Cardinal de Valete, from BALZAC. LETTER XI.

My Lord,

I Verily believed I could never have been so unfortunate, as to be forced to search in the Gazettes for what you do, and to hear no other news from you, then what common brute bestoweth in all parts of the World, and which the English and Germans may as well know as I. This punishment is by so much the more wounding, in that I have heretofore been enriched with those benefits, whereof you now seem to bereave me; and in that the time was, when you pleased so far to discend from the rank whence you are derived, as to lay aside all those lusters which incompass you, to converse freely with me: But (my Lord) since one word of your mouth hath often cured my decayed spirits, & hath many times made me happy without the help of Fortune: I freely confess unto you, I cannot resolve to change condition, as knowing the loss of the least of your favours cannot be little; Yet being so innocent that I can no way imagine my offence, and not acknowledging among men, other more assured verity then your word, I have a great reluctation to be diffi­dent of a thing, upon the certainty whereof half the Court is ingaged for War, and the besieged would make small difficulty to surrender them­selves. My Lord, you have pleased to promise you would love me al­ways; therefore I beseech you not to be offended, if I put you in minde, that as the ancient Gods of the Countrey where now you are, submitted themselves to Destinies, after they had once assigned them: So you, though above all other Laws, are yet subject to your word. I am confi­dent it cannot be revoked so long as the order of sublunary things change not, and the Decrees of Gods providence remain immoveable: and if you repent any one action in your whole life, you therein do more then your very Enemies, who never as yet called the least of them in question. For my part, I am far from thinking I have totally lost your favours, left I should wrong your judgement, which conferred them upon me, and blame the best eys in the World, for having heretofore been blinde. I will rather suppose, if you send me no news, it is because you think I know what will be done some ten years hence, and that I am brimfull of the Roman Court, and of the Italian affairs. Truely I know the present Pope, and I have ever believed, there is not any hu­mane wit more capable to carry so ponderous a felicity, or to let us again behold the primitive beauty of religion, and the golden age of Gods Church, I know how at Rome idleness is day and night in action and that the complements and ceremonies there, put you to more trou­ble then you should finde in governing the whole World, if God had less [Page 50] it to your conduct. Me thinks I yet see this great Tyrant with so many heads, (I mean the Signoury of Venice) together with all those petty Soveraigns, who would hazard more men in hanging one single per­son, then the King would venture: in two battails, or at the taking in of four Cities. But my Lord all this with the rest doth but slightly touch my spirit, and as you are the sole worldly cause, which affoordeth me either joy, or discomfort, so it is from you onely I expect good, or ill news: I have made your affection in such sort necessary for my lifes contentment, that without it I should finde defects even in felicity it self, and should have an imperfect feeling of the most happy successes could befall me. Restore therefore, if so you please, or continue this your ancient favour towards me, which I cannot possibly forbear. And since you are part of that body to which God hath given infalibility, and snce it is forbidden to call the certainty of your wisdom into the least question: condemn not I beseech you, what you have formerly made as though your Italian favours were some other things then your French ones.

Your most humble, most obedient, and most faithfull servant, BALZAC.
The 10. of De­cemb. 1623.

Balzac his Letter to Mounsieur du Planty. LETTER XII.

SIR,

SInce you cannot be here till after the Feast, and for that I presume you have no purpose to oppose the Election of the Pope, being can­nonically chosen. I will advise you to stay your journey till the Spring be past, and the Snows melted; yet truely you are in such esteem here, as if you come not the sooner, I verily think you will be sent for, and and that the Court of Rome will commence suite with the Loover, to have my Lord the Cardinals presence. It is therefore fitting (if so he please) that he undertake this voyage, and put of State business, and the War to others, to live here in the midst of Glorie and Triumphs. In the mean time, I may (so near as I can) inform my self both of men and affairs, thereby to give you the better instructions at your coming. Now to the end to affoord you a taste of what I know, observe what I say, for I will tell you strange things. There is a certain great man here, who en­tertaineth six Astrologers in Pension, to let him understand from time to time who shall be Pope: Another takes large fees on both sides, find­ing it the onely way to bring his Clients to composition: A third hath the most extravagant virtue you ever heard of, he leads a far more [Page 51] plesant life then the Duke of Ossuna; and having read in holy Writ, how the wisdom of the World is folly in Gods sight, he imagines he should offend his conscience, if he were over wise. Here are Princes in this place, who in full peace pardon neither Age nor Sex. There are others who keep their beds, though they be well able to ride post; and who use all Physick possible to look pale, to be feaverish, and full of Ca­thars, and who make use of all the secrets in Physick to have a megar aspect. In conclusion, the highest place in this World, is that, whether the more easily to arrive, it is necessary to be lame, and take short steps; so as a sound Pope is commonly made out of a sickly Cardinal. At our next meeting I will inform you of the rest, and will in one half hour in­fuse into you all the experience I have hitherto gotten: But if I have not this contentment so soon as I desire, fail not I pray you, to let me here news of your health, and the rest of our good friends. But espe­cially I beseech you to assure Mounsieur de Mauroy, that I am passionat­ly his servant, and that I finde here much subtility and dissimulation, but not many so pure and true virtues, as his are

BALZAC.
From Rome 10. of February 1621.

A Letter to Mounsieur de la Magdelene from BALZAC. LETTER XIII.

SIR,

I Am extreamly glad you are not of the number of those whom the King hath lost before S. John d' Angely: Conserve your self therefore so far forth as your Honour and Courage will suffer, or permit, and con­tent your self to have tasted what War is; which if you please to be ad­vised by me, you should do well never more to behold but with Flan­ders spectacles. You are bound to execute good Actions, but you are to perform many, and permanently; and to be a better husband of a worthy mans life, than that of an ordinary Souldier of the Guards. At leastwise so long as you continue at the assembly of the Clergy, you shall be serviceable to the Church at your own ease, and there shall com­monly be ten days journey between you and danger. Though I were not any more of this World then those who lived before the late King, or who are to come into the World after the decease of this, yet should I not fear to hazard my self in this sort; and to keep all my bloud for the Publick, as readily as the most valiant Jesuite of France. It is in this sort I have learned to speak in this Court, where honest men are so wed­ded to their particular interests, and do so little reflect upon the gene­ral affairs, as they think there is nothing beyond the tips of their up­most [Page 52] hairs, & suppose the World endeth at their feet. The C. I. dreams of no other thing, but how to fortifie himself with men and mony against the C. B. whom he taketh for the Turk an Heretick: And say what you will, the fifty Abbies he hath gotten in one year, is that portion of the Church which pleaseth him better then all the rest. Behold in what terms we stand at this present: instead of procuring the conversion of Nations, and to seek the means to set the Levant at liberty: a P. thinks he hath worthily acquitted himself of his charge, so long as he provides to make his Nephew a greater man then his Predecessours was. But that I fear lest my zeal should over-far transport me, or that you should be­come as weary of my discourse as of a tedious Preacher, I would dilate my self upon this Subject; but I know the affairs in these parts are very indifferent unto you, I will therefore refer the further relation where­with I intended to acquaint you, to my Lord, the Marques of Caeuvre. In brief, there are none but himself and the Councel, who can cause the Pope to incline to our reasonable demands, and I will tell you without flattering him, that so long as he is here, the King may glorie that he reigneth at Rome. As for other things, what beautifull objects soever Rome presenteth to my view, and what pleasure soever each man findes there conformable to his humour and inclination, yet cannot I receive any, being so remote from persons so dear unto me, and shall esteem my self unhappy, so long as I am necessitated to write Letters unto you, and onely say, what is not as yet in my power to cause to appear, that I am

Mounsieur,
Your most faithfull servant BALZAC.

To Mounsieur de Montigny from BALZAC. LETTER. XIV.

SIR,

THough you use me ill, and that I have reason to be sensible of your neglects, yet I am resolved to suffer from you with an obstinate patience, and to acquire your favours by force, since I cannot ob­tain them otherwise. But I am assured you are not so uncivil, as not to suffer your self to be beloved, nor so tied to your own fancies, as that there remaineth no affection in you for whatsoever is separate: Other­wise I should think your humour were as much changed as are the af­fairs of France, or that you were suddenly become quite another man. I will therefore rest confident in the opinion most pleasing unto me, and imagine you are sufficiently my friend in your thoughts; but that you are over loyal a French man to have any intelligence out of the [Page 53] Kingdom. It may be the example of the Duke of Biron affrights you and that you take all such as are in Italic for Don Pedros, or Countes of Fuentes: in this case in truth you have reason, and it is far better to write no Letters at all, then to be forced to explain them before the Cour [...] of Parliament. But if you were of my humour, and that you would refer the whole State, and all the affairs therein to Mounsieur Lumes; me thinks our Amity could not pass for conspiracy, and you might safely let me have news from your self, and the rest of our friends, without any hazard at all. I desire onely to know what you do, and wherein you imploy the fairest season of your life. Do you never part from the lips of Opala; whose breath is so sweet as it seems she seedeth onely on Pinks and Perfumes? are you in as high esteem in your Mi­stresses thoughts as your merits and service deserves, and as your loyalty obligeth her unto? Is Clitorhon still in his generous musings? doth he daily take Towns at Table? and doth he yet frame forreign designs be­tween his Bed-curtains? Is there any good inclination in the Court for our great Cardinal? and are they not perswaded that if he were Pope, the Church would soon be as well Mistress in Germany as at Rome? After you have satisfied me in all these points, I am contented to be at truce with you as long as you please; and if need be, will suffer you to wax old upon the bosom of Opala, without ever asking you what you do there.

Yours, BALZAC.

BALZAC his Letter to the Duke of Espernon. LETTER XV.

My Lord,

WEre I not born (as I am) your most humble servant, yet should I shew my self a very degenerate French-man, if I did not much rejoyce in the happiness of your Family, since it is a publick Felicity. I have heard the prosperous success of the voyage you made into Beam, and of the great beginnings you have given, to what the King desireth there to undertake. And truly, the Election he hath made of you, to serve him in an occasion of such importance, hath been so generally ap­proved, that, if heretofore there hath been any defects pretended in the conduct of our Affairs, we must necessarily avow, that this last Action hath sufficiently justified all the former; it appearing plainly, that it is not onely favour which setteth the difference between men. I no way doubt, but right, and power sideing together, that the event of things will be suitable to our desires: But, howsoever it happen, you have already the glorie of having facilitated the victorie, and made it [Page 54] appear how the Enemies of the State have no other force, but what they draw out of our weakness. It is now time (my Lord) you take notice of those advantages God hath given you above the rest of men: You ought at least to remember, how being tried with worldly affairs, and retired from Court, publick necessity had not sought you out in your private reposedness at home, to put the Kings royal Armies into your hands, if you were not the onely man from whom all men expect the re-establish­ment of these affairs. I will not so far rely upon my own opinion, as to answer for the future: Yet when I consider the actions of your life, which are so eminent, that we finde difficulty to believe them, even af­ter they have been performed; and those in such, number, that stranger may well imagine you have lived from the very beginning of our Mo­narchy: I suppose I might boldly affirm, that, if there be yet any great matter remaining to be atchieved in the World, there is none but your self must attempt it. You have possessed the favour of Kings, as For­tunes which might fail you, and have not feared that their passions could out-last your innocencie. This virtue we so much admire, hath suc­ceeded the same authority, our Fathers have adored. You have made no use of your power in State, which you have not ever since conserved by the force of your courage. You have at all times preserved the liber­ty of France amidst the miseries of times, and the usurpation upon law­full power. Who is there can say this of himself? where are they that have stood firm between rebellion and servitude? where was there ever known an old age so necessary for the World, or so much good and bad Fortune equally glorious? My Lord, you know your self too well, to suspect me of flattery; and my humour is so aliene from any servile actions, as the Court hath not sufficient hopes to cause me to do any thing against my conscience. I then speak as I do now; for the onely interest of virtue; and if that were not on your side, I would seek for it among our enemies to do it right: None will suspect I have any preten­tions at Madrill; or that I intend to make a Furtune in Holland; yet to hear me speak of the Prince of Orenge, and the Marquess Spinola, one would say that I did at once expect Abbies from the Hollanders, and were a pensioner to Spain, In sum, I hold, my self obliged to those, who affoord me matter and means to reconcile the two rarest things in this world, to wit; virtue and eloquence. And as their reputation hath need of my Pen, to make it immortal; so are their lives and actions right usefull unto me, when I imploy my pains on excellent subjects. You have ever done me the honour to wish me well, and I have re­ceived innumerable favours from my Lord the Cardinal your Son; but howsoever, I humbly beseech you to be confident that my affections are absolutely pure, and that my particular interests have not any al­liance therewith. I am so happy as to have served you in a trouble­some [Page 55] time, and to have been of the weaker side; as judging it to be the more honest. I have not since been of another minde; and the reasons drawing me to do what I did, being still the same, I am really, as I ever have been,

My Lord,
Your most humble and thrice obedient servant, BALZAC.

To the Duke of Espernon from BALZAC. LETTER XVI.

My Lord,

THe Letter I lately received from you, maketh me know I am hap­pier then I supposed, since I have the honour to be sometimes in your memory. It is a place so taken up with high thoughts, and which the publick good doth in such measure make use of, as I had not the ambition to imagine, there could be any room left for a man of so small importance as my self. But I see, that as you never had any so potent enemies as to exceed your courage, so have you not any servants of so slight consideration, whom you esteem not worthy your care. Herein my Lord, you make it appear that the meanest matters change their nature into more noble subjects, so soon as they become yours: and how of all men, you have conquered part, and acquired the rest. I am verily perswaded it were no less then to offend God, to deny obedience to a person so high in his favour as you are, and that his meaning is, this commanding spirit he hath conferred upon you, should be master of all others. The honour therefore to you appertaining, being little inferiour to what we owe to sacred things; and that besides the ordinary providence which governeth the World, there being a particular one in Heaven, designed meerly for the conduct of your life, to make it admired in all after ages: it is neccessary as well in contem­plation of this common consideration, as for others particularly con­cerning myself, I should perpetually remain,

My Lord,
Your most humble and most faithfull servant, BALZAC.
The 5. of April 1622.

To the Duke of Espernon from BALZAC. LETTER XVII.

My LORD,

IN this general calm of the State, (wherein the affairs of this King­dom seem to be asleep, and the Worlds occurrents to be at a stand) all France expects your presence at Court, to be the Authour of the de­sired news, and to draw from the Kings breast the good intentions wherewith it is so richly stored. The reduction of Beam not stained with any drop of bloud: the truth wherein you have instructed all men, concerning the possibility of taking Rochel, and the order you have now lately left in Guiene, where you have reduced the Factions to such a point, as their onely power consisteth in their perverse humours; put­teth us in hope, that if God should defer the safety of our State till an­other age, it could be no man (your self excepted) for whom he hath reserved so glorious enterprise. My Lord, it is certain he never shewed more miracles in those places himself hath consecrated to his glory and publick piety, and which he hath chosen on purpose there to manifest his power, then he hath done in your person. And when I consider how often he hath protected you, contrary to all humane appearance; and the opposition you have encountred, in arriving to this height by so many rocks and precipices; I cannot but constantly believe you have over-passed the time of dying; and that for the Worlds general good, it is fitting you indure as long as the Sun, or Stars. To stop here, were to praise you imperfectly, and onely to make it appear you are able to affoard long services. I will therefore say more: on which side soever I turn mine eys, be it that I convey them beyond the Seas, or make them pass those mountains which separate us from our Neigh­bours, I finde not that person in any place, who can justly dispute for glorie with you; or whose life is so illustrious as yours. I have serious­ly considered all whatsoever might give value, or reputation to the Courts of stranger Princes, and there truely I finde men who are well seen in Military affairs, and who have gained to themselves no small experience by means of an infinity of rules and maximes: But the dif­ference between those men and your self, is, that they cannot stir, nor make themselves awfull without the Indies, Armies, and Cannons; whereas you are redoubtable all alone, and unarmed; yea, your very stilness terrifieth the greatest enemies of France. This being absolute­ly true (as no man can doubt) it is high time the King do really make use of a man whom the necessity of his state requireth of him, and that he no longer imploy those improsperous persons, under whose hands opportunities wax old, and his good fortune will fail him. It is suffi­cient [Page 57] that the Rhine and Alpes have formerly been French, and that our language is spoken in neighbouring Provinces, without suffering a strange kinde of people still to remain in the very bowels of our King­dom, who will not allow of our ancient Laws. There is now no longer means to cover this skar which dishonoreth the face of State, or to suf­fer that Rebellion & Loyalty live together. To speak truth, what kinde correspondency can be expected between the Mistress of the house, and the Concubine? what a monstrous production would that prove between a Monarchy and a popular government? and what kinde of Soveraign should he be, who were dependent on his subjects, and his Councel subordinate to the Town-house? Truly, if Catholicks should demand Cities of the King, proportionable to their number, as others do, he should be forced hence-forward to remain all his life time at Fountain-bleau and S. Germins: nor would there remain unto him any more then the bare title of a King, and the common fields of his Coun­trey. But it shall not always be so if predictions prove true: And rea­son as well as nature requireth that things should be reduced to their ancient form. It were no less then to injure him, who hath promised to France a longer continuance then to all her diseases, to think that he having given remedies against the Gothes and Moors, he will suffer it to die at this day by the hands of a small pack of Rebels: Provided, that face which I rather call immortal, then ancient, do still assure us of the great source of life you retain in your couragious heart, and that heaven please to preserve for the Worlds benefit, the blessing it conferred up­on us at your Nativity; we require not a more certain presage of the end of our evils; nor is there any so sick, or far strucken in years, who hopeth not to survive these intestine troubles: But we are not to ima­gine that victory and peace are two opposite things, though they be different; for is the one which assureth the other, and setleth it in state not to be any further either troubled, or threatned by any. When all is done, I finde it were much to oblige these malecontents, to give a sure repose to their distrustfull spirits, and at once to rid them of all their hopes and fears: when they shall no longer need to trouble themselves with making assemblies, and that their lives shall be free from the fear of punishments. When I say, both they and we shall en­joy common security, it is not to be doubted but their condition will be much bettered, it being a much fairer fortune to be cast on shore by a storm in a craised Vessel, then to be still in the power of windes and Sea-wracks. The word of Kings ought not to contradict the functions of Regality, nor can they oblige themselves to leave their Subjects in miserable estate, or to do contrary to what they ought. And in con­science since the ruine of Rebellion is written in Heaven, in the same sort as is the day of Judgement, and the Worlds dissolution; were it [Page 58] not as much as to resist Gods will, and to oppugne his providence, should we so soon grow weary of well-doing, or refuse to finish a work, the event whereof is infallible? There is nothing so easie for a great Prince, as either to finde or conceive faults, nor doth any man doubt that dissimulation is just, when it tends to the advantage and avail of the deceived. If a mad man were capable of remedies, were it not lawfull to cure him without asking his consent? were it fit a Father should suffer his Son to be drowned for fear of pulling him out by the hair? Are we to suffer the State to perish, for that we cannot preserve it by ordinary ways? No, (my Lord) we ought not; there is no con­sideration can cause that thing to change its nature, which of it self it just; and the Laws of necessity do dispence with us for those of forma­lity. Now to return to my first discourse, and to what particularly regardeth your Lordship; seeing your absence from Court hath at all times threatned more miseries unto us, then the apparition of Comets and other irregularities in Nature, and since to be miserable, it is suf­ficient to be at odds with you. There is not any of your enemies can escape the Divine justice, nor is there any doubt, but you will gene­rally finde all those spirits favourable unto you, whom you have for­merly convinced; or that your propositions shall not be received as as­sured Conquests. The best is, there are now no more any usurpers near the King, who seek to ingross his favours to their own advantages, and bereave men of those benefits which ought to be as common to them as the fire, or aire. His Majesties heart is open to all his subjects, he receives truth at what hand soever it comes unto him. This being so (my Lord) may we not rest confident you shall not lose one word, and that your virtue whereof the World is uncapable, shall at length be found the onely means the King hath to redress and re-establish his affairs. Neither time, travail, nor cost, ought divert him from this de­sign: It is a work will be nothing so costly as to raise a Favorite, and it being a thing all Christendom exacteth of him, as an Hereditary debt the King his Father hath left to be discharged. And truely, it is most certain that the face of States hath been changed, and whole Pro­vinces conquered, with less cost then divers Pagan Princes have im­ployed in erecting of Idols, and causing them to be adored by their people. But to leave this Italian severity you formerly reproved in me, and lest you should accuse me for warring against the dead, I will for your sake pardon their memorie; nor will I farther dilate my self upon so odious a Subject. Yet is this but half of what I intended to speak unto you at Coignac; if in that short abode you made there, and the continual press hindring the freedom of my Speech unto you, it had been permitted me to have had a longer audience. But (my Lord) what I could not perform by word of mouth, I will continue by my [Page 59] Letters, if you please to do me the honour as to command them; or if my words which you have heretofore made choice of for the concepti­on of your High thoughts, in bewailing present miseries and publick ingratitude, be, as pleasing unto you, as I am perfectly

Your most humble, most obedient, and most faithfull servant, BALZAC.
The 18. of Nov. 1623.

The Duke of Espernon his Letter to the French King: penned by BALZAC. LETTER XVIII.

SIR,

I Understand by the Letter it pleased your Majesty to do me the ho­nour to write unto me, that upon the opinion wherewith some have possessed you concerning the continuance of the German Wars, you judge it expedient for the good of your service, I should not (as yet) leave this Frontire. Whereunto Sir, I can give your Majesty no other answer, but that having at all times gathered out of your commands, what my duty obliged me unto, and having never proposed other end to my actions, then the good of your state, I should be carefull of stray­ing from that design in an occasion wherein I might imagine your ser­vice depended on my obedience. But at this present (Sir) the tran­quility of France groweth to be so general, your affairs so powerfully established, and the honour of your Amity so precious among all your neighbouring Princes; that as there is nothing in this Kingdom which doth not bend under your Authority; so is there not any Prince abroad, who doth not respect your power, or who conserveth not himself by your Justice. And as concerning the troubles of Bohemia; besides, that time hath evaporated the first heat of spirits, and that they begin to retire from those extremities wherein formerly they involved themselves: the imagined danger is so far removed hence, as we cannot conceive the least apprehension, even for those who are not our next neighbours that way. It is certain (Sir) that on this side the Rhine all things seem to be at rest under the shade of your State, and the ancient Allies of this Crown who are nearest any danger, expect the end of War without fearing it should come any further towards them, or that out of all this noise, there will arise any more then one War. These con­siderations then do no way oblige me to stay in these parts, where things are in so good estate, as they may well nigh subsist of themselves: besides the residence my Son of Valette shall make there in my absence, [Page 60] being sufficient to give order to all occurrents concerning the good of your affairs. I assure my self your Majesty will be so impartial as to be pleased to reflect upon the necessity of my particular occasions, and that suffering me to retire my self to my own house, you will at least permit me to enjoy a favour, usually inflicted on others as a punishment. I doubt not (Sir) but you will condiscend to the desire I have to under­take this voyage, and I presume you will be pleased to consider, that I being ingaged in two hundred thousand Crowns for your service; after the sight of your royal bounty in all sorts of hands, it were small reason (I receiving nothing) should still in this place stand as a meer cypher for the honour of France; or that I ruine my self with a rich shew, onely to continue strangers in the opinion they have of the magnificent great­ness of your Crown. Yet (Sir) having never believed I could sustain any great detriment by the loss of a thing I so slightly esteem, as I do worldly substance, I intend not in this place to complain of my pover­ty: But (to speak truth) since all my words and actions are by many mis-interpreted; and that having affoarded my dutifull attendance to the service of three great Kings, I yet finde much difficulty to defend my so long a loyalty against Calumny: I am with much sorrow con­strained to say, that if I stood firm in my duty, even when disobedience was crowned with rewards; and have maintained your Authority, when by some it was abused, by others contemned: It is no small injury to me, to imagine I will now begin to fail in my loyalty at this age where­in I am, or suffer my self to be reproached by posterity, whereto I study to annex the last actions of my life. But I see well (Sir) it is long since the hatred of dishonest French-men hath been fatal unto me, and that it hath been born with me inseparably. From the first hour I appeared in the World, there was never either peace or truce unvio­lated to my prejudice; and as though I were excepted out of all trea­ties, though War be ended, yet that made against me endureth. At this present (Sir) it sufficeth not I perform my charge without omitting or forgetting any thing due to your service; or that the innocencie of my actions be generally acknowledged; but I am driven to those streights, as to be forced to give account of my very thoughts, there being not any (my self excepted) from whom satisfaction is required for the fault he hath not as yet committed. If we lived in a Countrey where virtue were avoided, as not concurrent with the times, or ad­verse to the State, and where a great reputation were more dangerous then an inglorious one, I should not need to make much search for the cause of my misfortunes: but I well know the conduct you use, hath more honourable and honest grounds, and that your Majesty hath no pretention to reign with more assurance then the King your Father did before you. It is from him (Sir) you may learn how you are to di­stinguish [Page 61] wounded innocencie from wicked impudencie: and to know it is ordinary to draw honest men into suspicion, thereby to make them unserviceable. In following his example, you shall finde out the truth, though never so closely hidden, or what shadow soever they cast over the same to disguise it. And truely (Sir) since this great Prince in bestowing your Origin upon you, hath together there­with conferred his most Royal inclinations, I will never believe, that to follow a stranger passion, you will lose those perfections so proper, and natural unto you; or that for me alone your Majesty hath any other spirit then for the rest of men. Truely, if when you were not yet at your own liberty, such hath been the natural goodness of your gracious disposition, as you have at all times resisted violent counsels, nor have ever permitted your Authority should be imployed to the ruine of your subjects: there is small appearance, that having now by publick and solemne act obliged your self to reign alone, and your bounty finding not any obstacle to hinder the same, you would disturb the old age of one of your best servants, or deny to his gray hairs that rest nature requires at your hands, I ought to hope (at least) for this recompence for my long and faithfull services, since your Majestie may bestow it without incommodateing your affairs, and besides, I having never expected other reward of worthy actions, then the onely con­tentment to have performed them, I shall hold my self sufficiently hap­py, to receive from my conscience the testimonies, which whilest I live it will affoard me, that I have been, really am, and ever will to the end remain,

Sir,
Your most humble, most obedient, and most faithfull subject and servant, Espernon.
From Mets 7. of Jan. 1619.

Another Letter to the French King from the Duke of Esper­non, penned by the same BALZAC. LETTER XIX.

SIR,

HAving long attended at Mets, the occasions not to be unusefully there, and not finding any thing either in the conduct of my pre­sent life, or in the memorie of my fore-passed time, which might justly cast me into a worse condition then the rest of your subjects: I have presumed that the Laws of this Kingdom, and my Births prerogative might permit me to make use of publick liberty, and to partake of that peace you have purchased to the rest of your subjects. [Page 62] Nevertheless, (Sir) your Majesties will, doth so regulate mine, that I had not removed, had not the cause of my stay there ceased, and the difficulties of the Bohemian War been utterly removed. But have­ing had perfect intelligence by the relations the Duke of Lorain hath received from those parts, that the affairs there begin to be well set­led, the overture thereof beginning with the suspension of War on both sides; I could not imagine the good of your service did any way oblige me to remain longer in a place out of all danger in time of peace, and which will make good use of the Empires weakness if the War continue: considering likewise that if there be any part of your State less sound then the rest, and where your Authority had need with more then ordinary care to be conserved, it is questionless in the Province whither I am going, which bordering upon such neigh­bours as all honest men may justly suspect; and being a people com­posed of divers parts, have at all times been either troubled, or threatned with changes: yea, at this present (Sir) the most common opinion is, that the assembly now holden at Rochel, is no way plea­sing unto you, and that if you have been drawn to give any asscent thereto, it hath rather been a connivency to the necessity of time, then conformable to your will. Whereupon (Sir) if your Majesty please to reflect upon the miseries of your State, where out at least you have drawn this advantage, that even in the very spring of your age, you have attained great experience: You shall plainly see that all the miseries which befell your Majesty in your minority, have been begun upon the like occasions. I therefore using my best indeavours, if the intentions of those of Rochel be good; to hinder that the events be not evil; therein I hope I shall no way disobey you Maje­sties commands; but do rather explain them according to the true sense, allowing them the best interpretation, since it is most profita­ble for your service. Truely (Sir) no man is ignorant, that as the conser­vation of your Authority is the principle Law of your State: so likewise that the most express and important part of your commands, is the good of your affairs. This being undoubtedly true, what appear­ance is there, it being in my power to preserve the affections of a di­vided Province in due obedience to your Majesty, and to pacifie by my presence those affections easily drawn to revolt, if none did confirm them in their loyalty: I should (for the interrupting so necessary a voyage,) propound to my self so frivolous considerations, and those so far fetcht as the Wars of Bohemia. I live not in an age (Sir) where­in I am permitted to feed my self with vanity; but I do not withall suppose your Majesty doth so slightly esteem of my service, as not to make any farther use of me, save onely to see the packets from Ger­many safely conveyed; nor do I finde my self so un-usefull, as to be [Page 63] forced instead of better imployments; onely to let you know what news is stirring, and to give you an account of ordinarie rumours. I must humbly beseech your Majesty, to suffer me to die in this opi­nion I have of my self, and to allow me to make free use of my lea­sure; if you please not to impose more honourable imployments upon me for your service. Howsoever it happen, (Sir) or how badly so­ever I be intreated, I am determined to continue resolute in well-doing. And your Majesty may be most assured, that neither Time, which affoordeth occasions to the most miserable to raise their for­tunes, nor Place often favouring their resentments, nor Necessity which causeth their actions to seem just; shall ever transport me from remain­ing with the same affection I ever have done to be

Sir,
Your most humble, most obe­dient, and most faithfull subject and servant, Espernon.
From Pont de Vichij, the 7. of Feb. 1619.

Another Letter from the Duke of Espernon to the French King, penned by the same BALZAC. LETTER XX.

SIR,

IF your Majesty have misconceived mine intentions before you were clearly informed of them; I am perswaded, I have at this present in such sort justified the same by my proceedings, as there is no further need to defend them by my words. Truely, I may justly say, that the Conduct I have used, hath been such: the Queen your Mother, having done me the honour to make use of my service in a business, she deemed much to import the good of your State; as not making use of the ad­vantages which might arise by causing mischief to continue, or by giving way to such designs, the event whereof would have sufficiently commended the resolution, had they not been disadvantagious unto you: I have contented my self to testifie to all France, that I had re­spect to your Authority even in the hands of mine enemies: whereby (Sir) I trust I have caused my actions to appear so pure and unspotted before your Majestie, that you remain fully satisfied; nor will you I hope judge I have erred, in following a cause I might probably sup­pose could not be well separated from yours. Now therefore since it hath pleased your Majestie to supply what seemed deficient in the feli­citie of your Reign, and to settle peace in your State: All your true [Page 64] subjects (Sir) are by so much the more obliged to rely on your Royal word; in that it is the Rock whereon all Christendom rests confident: And the same having been given to the Queen your Mother, besides your obligation thereto by God and Nature, your very reputation confirmeth the same unto her upon this sacred and inviolable as­surance, after having dedicated my sensibilities and interests to pu­blick peace, and taken your Majesties memorie as witness, that I have at all times served you faithfully, though it hath not always been by ordinarie and common ways; I assure my self you will be pleased to permit me hence forward to pass the rest of my days in peace; and now at length to leave me in the Haven whereinto I have been cast by so many violent Tempests. Sir, I have but a short time to stay in this World, and surely I should suppose my life over-long, could I finde my self culpable of one single cogitation repugnant to the Allegeance I owe to your Majestie: I therefore most humbly beseech you (Sir) to be pleased to consider, that I desiring no other thing of you, but either some small repose after my great pains, or an honourable death in your service: I can no way herein allot more moderate limits to my ambition, nor wish a more innocent end to my old age: Howsoever, I shall esteem it right happy, may I end it in this sort; and if in loosing it, I conserve the qualitie I have ever hitherto inviolably kept of

Your Majesties most hum­ble, most obedient, and most faithfull subject and servant, ESPERNON.
From Angoulosme the 10. of June, 1619.

The Letters of MOUNSIEUR de BALZAC. The third Book.

To my Lord the Duke de la Valete; from Mounsieur De BALZAC. LETTER I.

My LORD,

IN acquittance of my promise when I parted from Mets, I am to let your Lordship know, we are at this instant beyond ten Rivers, and how all things have been pro­pitious to my Lord your Fathers voyage. To be diffi­dent the conclusion will not correspond to these fair be­ginnings: were either to make doubt of Gods provi­dence, or to distrust his grace; but it hath pleased his Divine Majesty at all times to take so particular care for the conservation of your Familie, that he will as soon permit his Altars and images to be irreverently in­treated, as persons, who are so high in his favour as all of you are. How­soever it happen (my Lord) if none but the prosperous can lose by alterations; you will, I hope, confess no such change can any way hap­pen, whereout we shall not draw some advantage; and what interpreta­tions soever they give to my Lord your Fathers intentions, yet will all honest men judge favourably thereof, nor will any man apprehend fail­ing after so eminent an example. All France attends his resolution to be rightly informed in the truth of the Kings affairs, and all men know he is of such consideration in this State, as his least discontentments are to be reckoned among publick miseries. I will perswade my self they will not proceed to any extreamity, and that there is not impu­dency enough in our Enemies to transport them to so dangerous coun­sels. [Page 66] If the worst come, yet must this voyage necessarily produce the one of two things, equally necessary in a troublesome time, War, or Liberty. I am not so clear sighted in future events, as to answer for what shall happen; yet since the order of seasons are framed to facili­tate our passage, and that all things have changed more succesfully un­to us then we presumed to desire; there is small appearance that Hea­ven will declare it self in favour of the less supportable cause. But that which doth the rather fortifie my confidence, is the vigorous estate wherein I finde my Lord your Father, he hath no shew of old age, save onely experience and Authority. The late Ligue, the Rebels, the Sword, nor poyson have not been of power to kill him, nor was there ever man so awfull in his adverse fortune. As for you (my Lord) who are the object of his hopes and fears; and who are to perform one of the principal parts in his designed action:The City of Mets. remember you have the command of a place which hath been the dishonour of Charls the fifth, and which affoardeth France a revenge for all the affronts he offered thereto. He who defended it against him had no more then two arms as you have, and one single life, nor was he made of any other matter then other men are. It is true, he fought by the Kings succours, but it sufficeth you fight for his service, and that all men know you are resolved not to survive your fortunes. Were you born to perform ordinarie actions, I should hold it fit to speak unto you in another strain; but since you purpose not to exercise any idle dignity in this World, nor are at this present in case to make use of the hands of a great Army, or expect reputation in your bed; speak as high as you please, provided you act accordingly; and that out of your particular forces (since those of the State fail you) you make good unto the King, the last conquest of his Ancestors. One onely worthy man hath heretofore been the whole Republick of Rome, and hath resisted the fury of a victorious Army. So though there were no more true French-men, but my Lord your Father, your self, and my Lords your brothers, I could no way dispair of publick affairs, nor of the furtune of this Kingdom. My Lord, I am so weary, that I am forced to defer the continuation of this discourse till another time, and to rest a while to make a more ample relation. I will content my self for the present, to pass my promise unto you of that History, the sub­ject whereof I require at your hands, and to assure you it is impossible to be more then I am

Your most humble, most obedient, and most affectionate servant, BALZAC.
The 9. of Febr. 1619.

To the Signiour of Plessis, Governour of Tollemount, from BALZAC. LETTER II.

SIR,

SInce it appears you have a will to lose every hour what you can in truth spend but once, and that you so slightly esteem your life, as though it were another mans; me thinks the War hath dealt very kinde­ly with you, in being contented to leave you half a face, and that you may well account what is left, as gotten goods. The Duke de Mayne, and the rest were not quit at so easie a rate: and it hath pleased God to shew examples in this kinde, to make it appear that he approveth not vanity; nor that he heedeth the advise of men for the defence of his own and his Churches cause. Truely, if these men had practised with the enemy, they could not have been more confident; nor have gone more naked to War, had they fought against women: And in truth I am so far from praising their desperate courses, as I do not so much as pardon them their deaths; and if my opinion had passed, I should have thought it fit to have accused them as culpable of their own deaths, and as such who had committed the greatest Parricides. It becomes me ill in this place to prescribe rules to my Master; for should I attempt to teach your courage how far it should extend it self, I might seem to do no less then prescribe Laws to what is illimitable. Yet be pleased (I pray you) to be informed, that valour is so tender and delicate a vir­tue, that if it be not sometimes well shielded and concerved by some others, it becometh more hurtfull to him who hath it, then healthfull for the State, often endamaged by it, or to the Prince who maketh use thereof. And surely without the assistance of reason, which ought to be its Governness, and Prudence as a guide unto it: there is not any passion more blinde, nor which doth less differ from the fury of beasts, and the bruitish ferocity of Barbarians: The latter of these think it cowardise to quit the place, though the breach of a River rowl upon them; or not to stand firm though they see a house falling on their heads. But these wretches, and we, have not the same pretentions; for as they propound to themselves, onely to kill, and to die, so should we onely aim at victory, and neglect the rest; otherwise to what end is the knowledge of virtue unto us, and of the limits which boundeth it, or to be born under a more happy Climate, then that of Polonia and Mu­scovia: if we draw no advantage either from the excellency of our in­stitutions, or extractions; I do not at all wonder, why there are men who prefer death before indigence, and who not finding any content­ment in their own Countries, are well pleased to pass beyond the [Page 68] Ice of their natural air, as willing to forgo the infelicity of their fortunes. But a man of worth, who at all hours injoyeth both perfect and pure contents, and who hath a great share of this ages virtue to lose, is a Trai­tour to the Publick, and a Tyrant to himself, if he forsake all this for a meer fancy, and deprive the World thereof, onely for a flash of Fame and vain Glory. You know this better then I can tell it you, and if you suppose the Phylosophy you have heretofore so highly esteemed, be yet wise enough to instruct you, she will tell you that Life is the ground­work of all other good that can here befall us; since by means thereof one may recover Kingdoms, though utterly lost, and remain Victor, after having been defeated in four battails. There is no question but a dead Lion is less worth than a living Dog, or that the most part of those Princes of whom there hath been so much speech, & those valiant Ca­ptains with whose Heroick acts so many Histories are stored, would not willingly change their Laurels for our lives. Rejoyce therefore (good Sir) together with Nature: in that you are as yet in the number of men; and comfort your self with Hanibal, and the Father of Alexander the great, for the loss you have received: whatsoever you can say, you have yet sight enough to cause you to turn love-sick, and to contemplate the beauties of Heaven and Earth. But suppose you were wholy blinde, yet is it true, that the Night hath its pleasures as well as the Day; yea, and such as you best love.

Yours, BALZAC.
The 18. of Decemb. 1622.

Another Letter to Hidasp from BALZAC. LETTER III.

MY dear Hidasp, thou canst not imagine the content I take in thy Letter, and in the good news it brings me, it is the onely way to cause me to contradict my self, when I account my estate mise­rable, since I hear thou art in health, and lovest me. Were I not con­fident thereof, I should the next day drink poyson; or if not valiant enough to attempt so hardy an enterprise, I should die with sorrow. Thou art (then) as necessary for my living as life it self; so as if thou desirest my estate, thou needest not for that any other means, than to deprive me of thy good opinion: But truely I never had the least ap­prehension of such a loss, and I assure my self if I were dead, thou shouldest be double as rich as thou desirest to be. I have long since been assured, thy thoughts are not inthralled to the earth, or that thy passions onely exceed those of the vulgar. Let me intreat thee to cherish them, my dear Hydasp; and though I be continually sad, and at [Page 69] all times ill affected in my health; yet remember that the very ravings of my Feaver are sometimes more prizeable then Phylosophycal Medi­tations; and we see beautifull faces often weep so gracefully, that some have been enamoured of their tears. I have fully acquainted thee with our occurrents here, by my last Letters, nor will I let any opportunity pass without giving my self the content of discoursing with thee in that kinde; binde me so much unto thee, as to do the like on thy part: But if thy Letters be so short, as usually they are, I will now betimes tell thee, I will read them so often, as they shall become long enough in spite of thee. I know well how in the place where thou art, thou oughtest not lose any minute of time, since opportunities last no longer; and re­solve thy self to take a thousand unprofitable journeys to thy Lords Chamber, before thou makest one to purpose. Great men use not to keep Registers of the absent, nor remembrancers of them they usually forget: but rather to the contrarie; they imagining there is no other thing on earth but themselves, and what concerns them: (provided, they finde any who look like men) they never trouble themselves to enquire for others, since with them assiduity often works more than service; yea, and those whom they would not affect for me [...]i [...], they will love by custom: It is therefore necessary you be still in sight, and al­ways at hand for the entertainment of Fortune: It is a tradition the sub­tle Gascoyns at their deaths leave to their Children: and truely as choler assumeth Arms out of whatsoever it encounters; so is it true, that oc­casion taketh hold of all such as present themselves. We ought to con­tract perfect love with honest men, but yet not to be at odds with others. Poisons themselves are necessary in some cases; and since we are forced to live among savage creatures, we had need have the in­dustry either to familiarise, or force them. I advise thee not to look before thee, behinde thee, and on every side when thou sp [...]ahes [...]; or to be in so great fear to be taken at thy word, as thou darest not tell what a clock it is if one asks thee. Thou shal [...] gain much by being silent, the dumb shall at all times therein exceed thee: For my part. I never make question of speaking, when I have any thing in my head better than silence. I do not hereby mean that we ought to discover our intentions by our looks, or that our intetiour conceptions appear out­wardly with all their passions, namely, of fear, hatred, or distemper. This were to betray our selves, and to give ill examples to others. But herein you are to make election of place, and persons, and not wilfully to deprived the self of the most pleasing fruit of mans life, there being not any, in whose breast we may securely deposite either our griefs, or joys. Besides, I would not have thee of that Spaniards humour, who took for his device Que si que no; but consider with thy self that reason is a sacred thing, whereto thou art to yield, where ever it appears. I [Page 70] confess that most things are involved in uncertainties, and that humane sciences have very slender and uncertain foundations; yet are there some truths so perspicuous, and so absolutely received into the Worlds approbation, as it were no less then to lack common sense, to call them into question; for he who should say, my Lord the Constable d' Esdi­guiers were not valiant, or my Lord the Cardinal of Richelieu, were not a man of able parts: doubtless all men would wonder at him, as at one who sought to introduce some new Sect, or indeavour to overthrow the fundamental Laws of the Kingdom. Nay, I tell you yet more; you are pyously to believe divers sots to be sufficient men, since the World will have it so; and that Kings are not the onely men who desire com­plasencie; since if we mean to live among others, we must sometimes necessarily flatter, and frame our selves to their opinions. Let us then follow the judgement of the wise, and the customes of the vulgar; let us keep our thoughts to our selves, and allow them our actions and out­sides. As I have advised thee not to be over silent, so would I not have thee over talkative, nor to weary any one with thy discourse of Moun­tauban, or the exploits thou hast there seen performed. I assure thee to avoid the company of these boasting companions; I would take post, go to Sea, or fly to the Worlds end. They seem to me to have gotten a patent for prateing, and that it were no less then to take their purse, if one should offer to speak a word in their presence: But above all, it is very death to me, when these fellows come fresh out of Holland, or when they begin to study the Mathematicks. From Millan to Sienna I was haunted with one of these Chapmen; whose company I shall so long as I have life, reckon among my greatest misfortunes. He would needs reform all the fortifications of those strong places we passed by; he trode on no earth at which he carped not, nor travailed over any Mountain, on which he had not some design; he set upon all the Citties in the Dukedom of Florence; he desired onely a certain short prefixed time, to take in all the States of Medena, Parma, and Urbin: yea, I had much ado to draw him from casting his designs upon the lands of the Church, and S. Peters Patrimony. These be diseases the roots whereof are not to be cut up, without taking away the tongue withall: Nay, I fear when all this is done, there will be yet need to pass further into the cure, and to use means to bereave them of voyce, for the general good of such as can hear. There is yet another sort of importunate people, whose number doth so multiply in France, it is almost arrived to an infinity: These have not one half hours intertainment for thee, without telling thee the King is raising puissant forces; how such a one is out of credit with his faction; another is a great searcher into, and medler in State-matters, and how a third diveth into all the intricacies of Court-businesses. If you can have the patience to bear them yet a [Page 71] while longer, you shall strait understand how the President Jannin was the man who had the truest intentions of all the Ministers of Justice: That it is expedient to shew a Master-piece of State, to give reputation to the present current of affairs: That the Kings Authority was inte­ressed in this action: and that those who sought to cry down the present government, rather aimed at their particular advantages, then redress of disorders See here the stile wherewith they persecute me even to my poor Vi [...]lage, and which is a cause I loath State, and publick affairs. Tire [...] therefore my cars at thine arrival, lest you turn mine adversary with intention to assault me with these huge words. If you know not that the [...]e follies have not always the same aspect, and that the [...]e are as well serious follies, as slight ones, I would admonish thee in this place: Now though a men at twenty can have no great experience of the World, yet have you a sufficient clear judgement to keep your self from being deluded, by the appearance of good, or by the outward luster of evil. I had need of more time then the bearer allows me, and of more words then a Letter is capeable of, sufficiently to instruct thee what thou oughtest to do, and what to avoid; or to learn thee a Science wherein my self do study in teaching thee. I will therefore onely say, since I am hastned to make an end, that before all other things thou art to offer thy whole will to God, if thou beest not able to give the rest; and to have (at least) good designs, if it be not as yet in thy power to do any good deeds. I well know it is no slender task, to undertake to guard our selves from evil, where inticements are extraordinary, and the danger extream, and where (thou wilt tell me) that if God will hinder thee from loving beauty, he had need make thee blinde. I having no pleasing answer to make thee hereto my dear Hydaspe, I re­fer thee to thy Confessor: intreating thee to consider, how if the King in the flower of his age wherein we see him, and in the midst of an in­finity of objects offering themselves to give him content, is yet not­withstanding so firm in the resolution to virtue, that he as easily sur­mounteth all voluptuous irregularities, as he doth his most violent re­bels, and is not any way acquainted with forbidden pleasures, nor doth glut himself even with lawfull ones: If as I say, this truth be generally avowed, I beseech thee tell me why continency may not be placed among things possible? But I much fear, there is no means to gain this for granted at thy hands; since thou believest as others do, that to be chaste, were no less then to usurp upon the possession of married wives. Yet at the least Hydaspe, if this body of thine, being of sufficient ability to send Collonies into each corner of the World, and to people the most desart places, will needs be imployed; I intreat thee to stay there, without being transported with the debauches of the mouth, which have no other limits then the loss of reason, and ruine of health. I [Page 72] should be in utter despair were it told me, that my brother drinks as much as though he were in a continual Feaver, and were as great a purveyer for his panch, as if he were to enter into a besieged Citty. I confess thy inclination doth of it self sufficiently divert thee from these Germain virtues, and that thou art not much less sober than my felf, who have passed over three years without suppers, and who would wil­lingly feed onely upon Fennill and pick-tooths, if I thought I could thereby recover health. Yet truely this doth not hinder me from have­ing some apprehension, when I consider how the examples of great ones doth often give Authority to vice: and that to keep our selves up­right in the midst of corruption, is not an effect of the ordinary force of men: Consider then once again (Hydasp) that we are powerfully to resist temptations. Have an eye to the interest thou hast to contain thy self within the limits of an orderly life; and be well advised, whe­ther thou couldst be contented to be of the proportion of those good fellows, whose spirits are choaked in their own grease, and who become such comely creatures, that if their bodies were pierced, there would nothing pass forth of their wounds but Wine and Porridge. Besides, [...]aking profession as thou dost, to be a man of thy word, be not offended [...] I summon thee to observe what thou hast promised me: or that I [...]ly tell thee, that if thou fallest again to the old game, I shall have [...] subject to assure my self of thy fidelity in other thy former pro­ [...]s. Were thou the King of the Indies, or thy life endless, I would not [...]rbid thee this exercise; but since we have scarce leasure enough in [...] World to attain virtue, nor over great possessions to secure us from [...]verty; believe me Hydasp, it is very dangerous to suffer ship-wrack on [...]; and besides, the expence of money, (which we esteem as dear [...] [...]s as life) to lose our sences likewise, and our time, the last where­ [...] [...]recoverable, is both shamefull and sinfull. Having here admo­ [...] thee well near, though confusedly and scatteredly of those things [...] [...]ghtest to flie, it were requisite I should likewise advise thee of [...] fit for thee to follow, and to cause if I could, good laws to [...] [...]vil manners. But it is fit to take time to deliberate upon a [...] of such importance, and truely to speak herein to purpose, all the wit I have, joyned with that of others, were no more than suffi­cient.

Yours, BALZAC.
The 1. of Jan. 1624.

To Hydasp from BALZAC. LETTER IV.

MY dear Hidasp, if God had conferred a Kingdom upon me, with condition not to have me sleep more than I do: I should prove [Page 73] the most vigilant Prince living, nor should I need either Guards, or Sentinels about my person. Surely there is not any (my self excepted) for whom night was not made, since when the windes are calm, and all nature quiet, I alone watch with the Stars. But I much fear lest God will not be satisfied herewith, since I fore-see so many miseries ready to rowl upon me, as I have no small apprehension to become more wretched to morrow, than I am at this present. The onely counte­nance of Hydasp would refresh me, and cause my pain to be in some sort pleasing. But since there are now at least a dozen great Cities, and a hundred leagues of Snow between us, I have much ado to for­bear dying, and to support my self upon my weakest part. Yet my meaning is not to have thee return hither; for (were it possible for me) I had much rather come to thee, and continually to gaze on that face whereof I have drawn so many fair poutraicts. It is true, there are few men living, whose love we should prefer before liberty. But assure thy self thy Master is of those; be not therefore more proud then Henry the third, who first obeyed him. For my part, though I be natural­ly refractory, yet have I ever had a special inclination to his service; yea, when all things went cross with him, and that his best friends for­sook him, I took pleasure in perishing, on purpose to affoard him some consolation in his calamities. Many desire a dependency on him out of their particular ends, but me thinks we should have more noble designs, since his onely virtue deserveth to be followed, and to cause a press wheresoever it passeth. In truth, the service we yield to so great a person, ought to hold the rank of the chief recompences we are to ex­pect; yet after this, there followeth another seldom failing any of good parts; yea, or those who have but patience. If thou heest of the one, or other sort of such men, remember this maxime; and do not as those honest persons, who think they do good service to the State, when they betray their Masters. Beasts themselves are capeable of acknowledge­ment; and that Italian had some small shew of reason, who called those Devils, who cured Agues, good Angels. Yet truely it is no less than to be over mannerly to go so far, nor would I thank Gods enemies for those gracious favours I indeed receive from him onely. But as touch­ing the rest of worldly affairs, there is no question, but we are to re­flect upon the nearest occasions Fortune affoardeth us; and those who seek after more remote means, shall in conclusion finde from one de­gree to another, that it is to Hugh Capete to whom they are obliged. I was affraid lest I should have left my fingers upon this paper, and have disenabled my self for ever writing more Letters after this, had I any longer continued my discourse. I tell thee no lie Hydasp, this is the third Winter we have had this year, and the greatest irregularity I ever observed in nature, For Gods love inquire the cause of Father Joseph, [Page 74] and intreat him from me, if your self be not acquainted with him, that he would be pleased to imploy the credit he hath in Heaven, to cause the return of warmer weather.

BALZAC.
The 25. of Jan. 1624.

To the Seigneur de la Roche from BALZAC. LETTER V.

SIR,

I Cannot conceive your meaning, when you speak of my friendship, as of a favour, or predestination, or in being so prodigal of your complements and commendations. There was sufficient in the Letter you lately sent, to bereave me of speech, and to make me flie to the Indies, were I forced to frame you a punctual answer. But since you are usually victorious, be pleased, I beseech you, to permit your cour­tesie to work the same effects, as doth your courage; and suffer me to yield unto you in this occasion, as I would do in those of Rochel, or Mountuban. I onely intreat you, hence forward to love me with less ostentation and luster then you have done hitherto; and since it is not in my power to hinder you from having me in estimation, let me at the least intreat you to carry the matter so, as though you had committed some sin; that is, without calling witness, or confirming the fact: other­wise, doubtless the World will suppose your affection to be injurious to your judgement; and I much fear, lest I should be blamed for blinding you, and for being more wicked then the late War, which was con­tented onely to make divers of our friends, blinkards. Truely that so compleat a person, whose acquaintance you commend unto me; not finding me sutable to the pourtraict you shewed him, may well say, you are not onely satisfied in being singly seduced, but seek to raise Here­sies out of your errours, and a contagion out of your crazy constitu­tion. This being so, I see not how I can better make good, either mine own reputation, or your report, then by voluntarily banishing my self from the place where you are, and not by my presence, to overthrow all the Honour you have hitherto acquired for me. If therefore you will not appear a deceiver, nor declare your self my ad­versary, leave me I pray you, to my retiredness, where I study onely to maintain health, and take no other pains then to procure my own repose, nor have any conference, but with my self.

Your most humble servant, BALZAC.
The 10. of April 1623.

To Mounsieur de Bois Robert from BALZAC. LETTER VI.

SInce the dead never return but they affright us: I was perswaded I should do you no small pleasure, nor a little oblige you, in forbear­ing to appear so much as in Paper before you, suffering you purely to enjoy your accustomed pleasures, without the mixture of any thing that might be distastefull unto you. But since at this present you come to disturb the quiet of Church-yards, and to finde out a man, in affecting whose memory you might well be satisfied; I am forced to tell you, that the party you so highly esteem, is wholy remaining beyond the Alps, and how this is onely his Ghost lately returned into France. I break all the Looking-glasses I meet with, I blunder the water of all Rivers I cross, I avoid the sight of all Painters in any place where I come, lest they shew me the pattern of my pale visage. Yet if in the crazy case wherein I am, I were any way capeable of consolation, I beseech you to be as­sured, I should take it as proceeding from the good success of your af­fairs, nor would I desire of my disease any long respite, then what were requisite to rejoyce with you. But truely, it is an enemy who knows not how to admit of conditions of peace, or truce, and I am so happy as not to be suffered to quit my pains to resume them. The meat I here eat for sustenance, is to me as pleasing as poyson, & I endure life out of pennance, whereas you (in the place where you live) spend the remain­der of the Golden age, refusing nothing to your sences you lawfully may allow them. Though the Queens Court be so chaste, as it were easier to drink drunk of a fountain, then to take any dishonest pleasures there, and that to gain admittance, it is requisite to be first purified at the Porters lodge; yet are you allowed even there to have pleasing tem­ptations, and going elsewhere, to seek out more solide contentments. But as for me in the case I am, I make no difference at all between lovely creatures, and well limmed pictures: and the misery I endure, having bereaved me of action, my wretched virtue is as much con­strained, as the sobriety of the poor is necessary. In all this I add not one word to the bare truth; and if the Count of Pountgibaut had his pardon to let you know how it is with me, he would tell you that I am more withered then the last years Roses, and how all the Ingeniers in an Army, were no more then sufficient to remove me. But my discourse will be more pleasing, if I speak of that head which deserveth to fill a Diadem, then in continuing this wretched complaint. When at the first I saw concurrent in him so much valour, and so great beauty, I neither took him for man nor woman; but after having recollected my self, I supposed him to be the Amazonian Queen: and doubtless in the [Page 76] Worlds infancy, it was to such faces onely, whereto all people yielded willing obedience, none quitting their service, every mans duty being conformable to his inclination; so as the onely means then to be re­bellious, was to be blinde. When this young Lord came to Rome at his return from te battail of Prague, I can well witness the jealousie he a [...] once affoarded both to men and their wives, and of the great Prognosticks all such gave of him, who presumed to have any experience in future occurrents, either by the aspect of Stars, or some more su­blime understanding: besides, to consider how at twenty years of age, there is scarce any corner of the known World he hath not traced, to encounter honourable actions; nor any sort of combate wherein for the most part he hath not been Conquerour; that he hath born Arms against Turks, and Infidels, that he hath appeared both in battails and sieges of Cities; that he hath given life to some enemies, and taken it from others. This (to speak truth) is a thing God suffereth as rarely to be seen as deluges, and other great effects of his power, or justice, in a long process of time the meerest Cowards may become Masters; were it by no other means, but that by seeing all men die before them, they may inherit the whole World. Divers likewise have performed great exploits, who have begun their actions either with gross errours, of mean adventures. But as there are very few Rivers navigable even from their first fountains, nor Countries where the Sun sendeth forth his full heat from the very day-spring: so are such men (doubtless) very rare and singular, who have not any need either of growth, or years; nor are subject either to the order of times, or rules of nature. But I have no purpose to fold up a book in a Letter: for though my grief do sometimes permit me to spend some small time upon pleasing subjects, yet will it not allow me to make thereon any long stay. I must there­fore leave off, during my short good day, lest I fall sick again in your presence, and once more clogg you with my complaints, instead of thanking you for your kinde remembrance, and assuring you of the great desire I have to remain so long as I live,

Your most humble servant, BALZAC.
The 4. August 1615.

A Letter from Balzac to Mounsieur de Bois Robert. LETTER VII.

THough I receive no news from you, and howbeit those from Paris are generally naught: yet am I so confident of your excellent con­stitution, as I cannot imagine it can be endamaged by that contagious [Page 77] aire; Surely if it be not in such sort infected, that birds fall down dead, and that the Springs be not corrupted, you have small cause to fear; and I have heretofore seen you of so perfect a composition, and so strong a substance, that an ordinary infection (I suppose) is unable to seize upon you: And rather than I will have any apprehension of your being carried away with the current of those who die of this great mor­tality; I shall sooner believe that God reserveth you to make the worlds Epitaph, and those last Songs appointed for the Catastrophe of all hu­mane joys. Yet ere it comes to this point, remember your promise, I pray you, and send me something to rid me of the Megreme I have ta­ken in reading the sotteries of these times. I cannot counterfeit the matter, but must confess I taste Verses as I do Mellons; so as if these two sorts of Fruits have not a relish near approaching to perfection, I know not how to commend them though on the Kings Table, or in Homers works. Whatsoever you do, yet at the least permit nothing to your spirit which may wound your reputation; and above all, let me intreat you not to be the man who may justly be taxed of having vio­lated the chastity of our language, or for instructing the French in forreign vices, utterly unknown to their Predecessours. Poetry, which God hath sometimes made choice of, for the uttering of Oracles, and to unfold his secrets to mankinde, ought at the least to be imployed in honest uses: Nor is it a less offence to make use thereof in vicious mat­ters, than to violate a Virgin. This I speak upon the subject of our friend, whose end I fear will hardly be natural, if he die not the sooner of his fourth Pox. This is the second time he hath issued out of Paris by a breach, having escaped as furious a flame as that of Troy. For my part, I cannot conceive what should be his design. For to war against Heaven; besides, that he shall be but slackly accompanied in such an expedition, nor hath a hundred hands as it is said of Gyants; he ought to understand, it was an action they could never atchieve: and how in Cicilia there are Mountains yet smoaking with their Massacre. We come not into this World to prescribe Laws, but to submit our selves to those we finde, and to content our selves with the wisdom of our fore-fathers, as with their Land and Sun. And truely, since in matters indifferent, novelties are ever reprehensible, and that our Kings quit not their Lil­lies to quarter Tulipans in their arms: by how much greater right are we obliged to conserve the ancient, and fundamental points of religion, which are by so much the more pure, in that by their antiquity they ap­proach nearer to the Origine of things, and for that between them, and the beginning of all good, there is the less time subject to corruption. To speak plainly, there is small appearance that truth hath from the be­ginning of the World attended this man, on purpose to discover it self unto him in a Brothell, or Tavern; and to be sent forth of a mouth [Page 78] which comes short in sobriety to that of a Suisse. I intend not to in­termeddle with the Courts of Parliament, nor to prevent their decrees by mine opinion: And to think to make this man more culpable then he is, were as much as to cast Ink on an Ethiopians face; I owe so much to the memory of our fore-past acquaintance, as I rather pitty him as a diseased person, then pursue him as an enemy. I confess he hath parts in him not absolutely ill, nor do I deny I have much pleased my self with his freedom of speech, so long as he proposed onely men for his object, and spared to speak of holy things. But when I heard say, he exceeded the bounds of inferiour matters, and banded himself even against what is transcendent to Heaven, I instantly quitted all acquain­tance with him, and thought the onely pleasure I could do him, was to pray to God to restore him to his right sences, and to take pitty on him as he did of the Jews, who crucified our Saviour. Hereafter I will be better advised then to weary you with so long a discourse, or to tire my self in troubling you: But truely I thought I could do no less after three years silence, esteeming this not to be over much for a man who is so slow a pay-master, for so many Letters he oweth you. Yet cannot I conclude, before I inform you of some particulars touching the place where I am at this present, and of my imployments here. First there is no day passeth wherein I see not the rising and setting of the Sun, and how during that time, I withdraw my self from all other distractions, to enjoy the purity of that fair light. Behold here in this present state wherein I am, all the Courtship I use, and the onely subjection I oblige my self unto. When I desire to take the air at other hours of the day, I must indeed confess my eys have no objects so vast as the Sea, or Appenines, not do I behold Rome under my feet as formerly I have done: Yet do I on all sides discover so pleasing a prospect, as thouge it fill not the capacity of my spirit so much as did the other, yet doth it far more content me. Painters come forty days journeys hence, to study in my Chamber, and if nature cause her greatness to appear, even from the bottom of the deepest Abysses, and darkest downfalls, she hath no less placed her rarest perfections under my windows. Moreover, I am plunged in abundance up to the eys, but my riches are tacked to the twigs and branches of Trees; for as Summer hath made me plentifull, so will Winter reduce me to my former poverty. In the mean time, I make Feasts of Figgs & Mellons, yea, out of the very Muscadine Grapes I eat, there issueth liquor enough to make half a Kingdom drunk; and the thing whereat happily you will wonder, is, that I put all this into a sick mans stomack, to whom well-nigh all good things are forbidden: yet have I found a means to reconcile my surfets with my Physical re­ceits, and in one and the same day I both enjoy pleasure, and endure pain; for I nourish my Feaver with excellent fruits, and purge it with [Page 79] Rubarbe: but howsoever I cannot hazard my health in more innocent debauches, since I perform them without troubling the tranquility ei­ther of earth or air, or without bereaving any thing of life. The first men the World produced, attained to extream age with such pure cates as mine are; for as of all bloudy meats they onely used Cherries and Mulberries; so was the simplicity of their lives accompanied with a perfect reposedness; Nature as yet being void of all Monsters: There was as then no mention either of Geryon, or Minotaure, nor of φφφφ. The Inquisition and Parliament were onely in the Idea of things; and of the two parts of Justice, there was that onely known which gave merits their due rewards.

BALZAC.
From BALZAC, 1623.

Another Letter from Balzac to Mounsieur de Bois Robert. LETTER VIII.

YOur Letter of the fifteenth of the last Moneth, came to my hands as I was ready to seal these Presents. You might have just cause to tax me, should I let them go unanswered, or if this dead man appear­ing in your presence, did not give you thanks for the many excellent words you have used in the adorning his Funeral Oration. I should be but too proud if others were of your opinion, or were infected with the like errour you are; but I much fear you will not for the present herein finde a party equal to that of the League, and do much doubt if all of a contrary conceit, should be declared Criminals, there would hardly be any acquitted in this Kingdom. Howsoever, I hold my self much ob­liged unto you, in conferring so liberally that upon me, you so well know I want, and for bestowing all your colours and mercurial mix­tures to make me seem beautifull: I will be well advised how I fall out with him who flatters me, and in the love I bear my self, I shall at all times suffer a rival with much satisfaction. Since a certain Gentleman in Germany pleaseth himself in being stiled King of Jerusalem, and since those who have no real Patrimonies, tickle themselves with meer Titles and Arms: by the like reason may I imagine my self to be the man you will needs have me, and receive from your courtesie the qualities my Nativity hath not affoarded me. But to disblame both of us, I beseech you hereafter to have more care of my modesty, and not to put me in danger either to lose it, or not to believe you. It is no less then to wrong the Angels, to call other spirits then theirs divine; yea, all the Celestial Court is sensible of suffering that name to fall to ground. For my part, I am so far from freeing my self of humane defects, as I do [Page 80] absolutely avow, there is not any more imperfect than I am, no not so much as blinkards and maimed persons. I espie faults enough, on which side soever I see my self, and my wit is so disfurnished of for­reign perfections, as I hold no man for learned, if he be not adorned with those abilities whereof I am ignorant; yea, even in that whereof you suppose me to have a perfect understanding: I have in truth no more than meer doubts and conjectures, so as if there were a man of perfect Eloquence to be found at the Worlds end, I would go in pil­grimage on purpose to see one contrary to N. N. To speak truely, there is great difference between filling the ear with some pleasing sound, and expressing the fancies of Artizans and Clowns according to Gram­matical rules; and in reigning over the spirits of men by force of rea­son; and to share the government of the World with Conquerours and Lawfull Kings. I have not the presumption to suppose I am arrived at this point; but I likewise think few have attained thereto, and the Phylosophers Stone were with more ease to be extracted, than the Elo­quence I propose to my self. It is as yet a kinde of Terra incognita, and which hath not been discovered together with the Indies. The Ro­mans themselves could onely recover the bare image, as they did of those Territories, over which they Triumphed by a false Title: Yea, Greece her self how vainly soever she boasted thereof, yet seized she onely upon the shadow, not seeing the substance: So as upon the mat­ter divers have possessed others with that conceit, being first de­ceived themselves; and are obliged to the restitution of an ill acquired reputation. Many of our friends have fallen into the like errours; I will not name them, fearing to astonish at the first sight, all such to whom you shall shew this Letter; or least I should publish odious truths. It shall suffice I tell you by the way, that if to attain perfect Eloquence, it sufficed onely to weary our hands with Writing, none could therein any way compare with our Practitioners and Pen-clerks. Yet is there not any reason why those, who perform poor things, should draw their weakness to their own advantage, or imagine I flatter them. A man is as well damned for one single deadly sin, as for a thousand with­out repentance; nor is it the strength of their judgement, which hin­ders them from committing many faults, but the onely barrenness of their wits which enables them not to write many books. I might en­large my self upon this subject, and discover divers secrets unto you, the world is not yet acquainted with. But I have neither time nor paper left, save onely to tell you that I am

Sir,
Your most humble servant, BALZAC.

Another Letter from BALZAC to the same man. LETTER IX.

I Understand some have taxed me for saying (in my last Letter unto you) the spirits of Angels; since Angels being all spirits, it seemed un­to them to be two inseperable terms: But to let such men see how ill grounded their Objection is, (and I suppose our judgements will here­in agree) it may please them to remember, that we call Angels spirits, to distinguish them from bodies, being a far different signification from what the word Spirit importeth, when we take it for that part of the Soul which understandeth, reasoneth, and imagineth, and which cau­seth so different effects in the Soul of a fool, and that of a discreet per­son. Questionless (even among Angels themselves) there may be a difference found between the spirits of some, and othersome of them, to wit, in the faculty of Ratiotination and Comprehension: Since those of the last order are not illuminated, but by means of them of the pre­cedent ranks, and so of the rest even to the first; which have a far more sublime intelligence then the inferiour Orders, which as no man (how smally soever seen in the Metaphysicks will doubt of) come as far short of the understanding the first Order is indued with, as they do of their degree. We are therefore to admit of this difference, and say, that an Angel is doubtless a Spirit, to wit, he is not a body: but withall that an Angel hath moreover a spirit, namely, this faculty of knowing, and conceiving either lesser, or more large, according to the priviledge of his Order. So as if a spirit hath no other signification then a simple and incomposed substance, this inequality were not to be found among the Angels, being equally simple, and far from all composition and mixture. When then I say it was a wrong done to Angels to call any other spirits divine save onely theirs: I take the word Spirit in its se­cond signification, and thereby seperate it from the Angel, and distin­guish the simple substance, and nature Angellical from that faculty of the Soul termed the understanding. But that one may not say, the spirit of Angels, because they are all spirit, is a reason very reproveable, and whereto there wanteth nothing but verity to make it no untruth; for that besides the spirit, or understanding affoarding to Angels so eminent a knowledge of divine things, they are likewise indued with will, causing them to love what they know, and with memory dayly ad­ding something to their natural intellect. But admitting I should yield to whatsoever these my reprehendors would have, and that I limit the word spirit within the bounds of its first signification, I should still have the better of it. For in truth our ordinary manner of conception can­not possibly represent Angels without bodies, yea, and the Church it [Page 82] self affoardeth them so fair, beatifull, and perfect ones, that from thence the best Poets ordinarily pick their Comparisons to pourtraite the ra­rest beauties. Besides, if in holy writ, mention be often made of the spirit of God, even before he assumed our corporal substance, and in a sence which could not be understood of the third person in Trinity, why may not I as justly speak of the spirits of Angels, being in compa­rison of Gods spirit, no better then earth, and material; and which approacheth not by many degrees unto the simplicity and purity of this majesterial cause, being as the Mother to all the rest. You see here, that (howsoever) it is very dangerous to study by half parts, or to understand some small matter more then those who never were at School; yet is it out of such men as these, that Novelists and super­stitious persons are raised; yea, and all the rest, who have reason enough to doubt, but not science sufficiently to determine rightly.

BALZAC.

To Mounsieur de Bois Robert from BALZAC. LETTER X.

SIR,

YOu have anticipated what I intended to say, and have not left for me in all Rhetorick, either complement or commendations to re­turn you. This is to force ingratitude by excess of obligation, and to reduce me to the necessity of being indebted unto you after I be dead. In truth it were necessary I had the power to promise you felicity and Paradise, in requital of the vows and sacrifices you offer unto me, and that I were in case to be your advocate, instead of being thus put to a stand to answer you. It may be you have a minde in such sort to disguise me to my self, as I shall not hereafter know who I am, but be forced to forget my own name, by causing me to imagine I am not the same man I was yesterday. Proceed at your pleasure to deceive me in this sort, for I am resolved not to contest with you in this kinde, to the Worlds end: nor to arm my self against an enemy, who onely throws Roses at my head. I should be very glad all my life would pass in such pleasing dreams, and that I might never awake, for fear of know­ing the truth to my prejudice. But for the attaining this happiness, it is necessary I do quite contrary to your advice, and never quit my Countrey-house, where none comes to enter into comparisons, or contest with me, for the advantage I have over bruit beasts, or my Lackeys. I agree with you that it is the Court-voice which either ap­proveth or condemneth all, and that out of its light, things though never so perfect, have no appearance: But I know not whether it were [Page 83] my best, to make that my own case; since I fear left my presence there, will rather prejudice my reputation & your judgement, then make good your position. Upon the matter, if there be any tollerable parts in me, they appear so little outwardly, as I had need have my breast opened to discover them: And in conclusion you will finde a sufficient obligation for me, to have you think my Soul is more eloquent then my discourse, & that the better part of my virtue is concealed: Yet since my promise is past, I must resolve for Paris, though it prove as strange a place unto me, as if I were out of the World, or as though they should chase raw Cour­tiers thence, as they do corrupt States-men. To tell you plainly how the case stands, I am none of those who study the slightest actions of their lives, and who use Art in all they do, or do not. I cannot light upon that accent, wherewith they authorise their follies, nor make of every mean matter a mystery by whispering it in the ear: And less do I know how to palliate my faults; or make shew of an honest man, if really I be not so: Now though I could make my self capable of these Arts, yet would it anger me shrewdly, if after having passed nine Ports, and abidden many back-casts to get thither, to be at last stayed at the Tenth: Nay, should I chance to get admittance; what a Hell were it for me to come into a Countrey where Hats are not made to cover heads, and where all men grow crooked with extream cringeing. Con­sider therefore, whether this humour of mine would sure with the place where you are; or if a man whose points and garters seem pon­derous unto him, and who findes it a difficult matter to obey Gods Commandments, and the Kings Edicts, can be drawn to be obliged to new Laws, or procure to himself a third servitude. In the stare where­in I now am, all the Princes in the World act Comedies to make me sport. I enjoy all the Riches of Nature, from the Heavens to River-waters, and I easily obtain of my moderate spirit, what I cannot attain unto by the liberality of Fortune. This being thus, will you perswade me to change those benefits none envy, with your fears, hopes, and su­spicions; or not think it fit I value liberty, for which the Hollanders have made War (now this fifty years) against the King of Spain? But since I have passed my word, I am not resolved to revoke it; yet when I must needs bid adieu to my Woods and solitary places, which have thaught me so many good things, and quit this inchanted Palace of mine, where all my thoughts are reall inspirations; I shall have a great conflict within me, to keep my word with you. I will believe none but your self, who best know whether or no I have reason to love this prison my Father builded for me, or this little spot of Land, where there is no defect but a Fountain of Gold and other unnecessary things; there being else sufficient here to satisfie a sober Person; I must confess the last great rains have blemished all the beauty abroad: And Winter [Page 84] which by right should be condemned never to depart from Swedland, is already come to cross the content I formerly enjoyed: But howsoever, there are yet pleasing remedies to avoid these present incommodities. The perfumes I burn, and whereof I am as prodigal, as though I exact­ed tribute from the Countries from whence they come, maketh me the less to miss the sweetness of the Spring: And a great fire resembling the brightest beauty, which I term the Sun of the night, and dark dayes, watcheth at all hours in my Chamber, and giveth light to my rest, as well as to my Studies. Before this witness (which I never loose sight of) all Nature is the subject of my meditation; & I conceive works, which hap­pily may merit a place in your Library, & to be chosen Citizens of that Divine Republick. I know not what men do most esteem in books, but I am confident, that in this I compose, Justice and Majesty, shall appear so evenly tempered, as none shall therein finde any thing either favo­ring of cowardize or cruelty. I take and make use of the art of Anci­ents; as they would have done from me, had I been the first man living. But I have no servile dependancy upon their conceptions, nor am I born their vassal, to follow no other laws or examples, save theirs: To the contrary (if I deceive not my self) my invention is far more happy then my imitation; and as there have been in our age divers new Stars disco­vered, till this present unperceived; so I in matter of Eloquence, seek out singularities, hitherto unknown to any. It is certain, and you know it as well as my self, you who know good things when you see them, and who are the Author of divers; that there are none so severe Muses as the French, nor any tongue more hating affectation, & bare appearances of things then ours. All kinde of ornaments therefore are not propper for her: and her purity is at such odds with the exorbitant licence of o­ther languages, that a French vice in this kinde, is often made a forraign virtue. But (in this case) we are to take advice of the understanding & care; and for my part, I have for my pattern herein, the Idea of the great Cardinal of Richelieu, as though he were present and privy to my con­ceptions, or as if he at all times received or rejected them, as they hap­pen to be either good or otherwise: But to tell you the truth, I know not well which way I pass by this tedious and untroden path, or what use I intend to make of these so many impertinent speeches. But I am as often out of my way, in the allies of my hermitage, & I have many times much use of a man, to let me know whether it be day, or night, and to order my times and actions; yet would I have you know, I do not usually fall into such errours, but onely before such as I love and honour, as I do you; at all other times, be it in my visits, or in my Letters, I will be well advised, how I suffer the end to come far short of the Exordium; and from the first word, I make all the haste I may to come to

Your most humble servant BALZAC.
The 11. of Feb. 1624.

To Mounsieur Girard, Secretary to the Duke of Espernon. LETTER XI.

LEt me intreat you, that we may deface out of our intended Histo­ry whatsoever hath passed these last four Moneths, let us imagine that time to have hapned in some fibulous age, and (for our mutual content) let us herein learn the Art of Oblivion. Had I been constrained to quit our ancient acquaintance, being of equal age to either of us, and whereof I make as great account as of my Fathers inheritance; surely I had been driven to the like streights, as he who with one hand should be forced to cut off the other. It is then the necessity of my inclina­tion, which forceth me to affect Ph [...]lander, though he were mine ene­my: and this passion doth so please me, that should any man cure me thereof, I would commense suit with him for my former melody. I will not accuse any man for the fault committed: Let us both imagine it to be a Childe without a Father, and to clear all men, let us lay it up among the present miseries, and impute it to the power of Fortune. I will rather suppose it to be the last effect of the Commer, then impute it to any act of your spirit, or that you contrived the discontent I have endured. I swear upon whatsoever is August or Sacred amongst men, I have no less loved you then my self, & have equally shared my self between my bro­ther and Philander. Henceforward I desire to do the like. But let us leave all these fair words, and petty nicities to poor spirits, and hereaf­ter confer together with such liberty as Philosophy affoardeth us. But above all things I intreat you not to suffer a supposed wisdom to restrain you within particular respects and petty considerations, which may hin­der you from speaking high in what concerns me. Fear not to shew your self my sure friend, for it is neither theft, nor throat-cutting; and of the two extreamities of defect and excess, it is better to fall into the fairest and least faculty. Otherwise if friendship should never appear, but remain at all times as a recluse, what better use can we draw thence then of hatred alike hidden? and at the most what use is there to be made thereof, but onely for the pleasure of conversation, and necessity of commerce? But I will leave this discourse whereof I hope you have no use, to ask you some news of the little man you sometimes see, and who imagineth the King bereaveth him of all such Offices as he bestow­eth upon Mounsieur de Luines. I make no question but he dayly tor­menteth both Soul and body, for that he is not alwayes at his Masters elbow, nor is so ordinarily seen at the Loover, as the steps of the great stairs, or the Swisses Hall. Three-score and ten years of experience have not sufficed to settle his spirit, and he who should observe his discourse without knowing him, instead of supposing his beard to be silver-haired, [Page 86] would rather think he had cast flower on his face; yet are we to confess he is one of the rarest Court-pieces, and that it is no small sport to see him in a chafe against the State, and the age we live in, which he ma­liceth more then he doth his creditors. Make quiet use of so pleasing a diversion, and remember the World could not end, nor Nature be perfect, if there were not as well such men as there are Apes and Monkies.

The 13. of Nov. 1623.

To the same from BALZAC. LETTER XII.

SIR,

I Beseech you reserve your counsel for those who are not as yet re­solved; and go perswade the Count Maurice to marry, and beget Ca­ptains for another age. As for me, I love both solitariness and society, but will not be continually tied to either. If my Father had been of my minde, I had remained where I was before he got me. I imagine the party you desire to bestow on me, is fair; but stay awhile, and she will not be so: She is no fool; but happily more witty then is necessa­ry for an honest woman to be: She is rich, bun my liberty is unprizea­ble. So as to make me alter my resolution, there is no other means then an express commandment from God, with this proposition, either of death, or a wife. Those creatures at Paris are ordinarily so cunning, and well practised, they finde nothing strange the first night they are married: and here, they have not wit enough to give their bodies right motion; but in all places they make men alike miserable, as do Fea­vers, War, or Poverty. To tell you freely how the matter stands, I will not dayly disturb my self in telling my Mistresses hairs, for fear she should bestow them as favours upon her familiars; or to be jealous lest all the women who come to see her, were young men disguised. I cannot endure, that in my absence she and her gallant drink to the health of their Cuckold, and that I be the subject of all their chat. And on the other side, it were far worse, were she chaste, yet a scowld, and to be troubled with an enemy to assault me day and night. I rather affect a tractable vice, then a tyrannical virtue: But if there be any other remedy, I will not be reduced to such straights, as to chuse the least of evils; since there is not any of this nature, I esteem not unsuf­ferable. In a word Philander, my Neighbours example doth not a little terrifie me: he hath begotten so many dumb, blinde, and de­formed creatures, he is able to furnish a reasonable Hospital. I will not [Page 87] be bound to love Monsters, because they are mine, and were I assured not to be defective in this kinde, I could well forbear having children; who if they be wicked, will desire my death; if wise, expect it, if the honestest living, yet will they now and then reflect upon it. But it may be (you will say) if my resolution were generally received, the Sea should be no longer charged with ships, and the Land would become desert. To this Philander I answer, that since the world is not always to endure, it were far better to have virtue become its Catastrophe, then any thing else; since it cannot finde a more fair and honest conclusion, then a general abstinence in this kinde.

BALZAC.
The 7. of April 1625.

To Philander from BALZAC. LETTER XIII.

SIR,

SInce these be the particular dayes appointed for Devotion: we being now in the season of publick Ecclesiastical mourning, and it import­ing every man to apply himself in the affairs of his conscience; you must excuse me, if I be short in my conversation with you in this kinde, and keep all my discourse for my Confessor. It were strange we should herein do less then the Bells, who are now all dumb, or trouble the commerce contracted between God and man, onely to tell idle stories. Let us therefore (I pray you) surcease all sorts of news, and not mingle any prophane matter with this holy week, which desireth to be as pure as a Virgin. The high Feast we are falling upon, will set us at liberty, after which, instead of three Letters you have written unto me, I am contented to return you six answers.

BALZAC.
On Goodfriday.

To the same from BALZAC. LETTER XIV.

YOur plaints are both right eloquent, and very unjust: I can at least well assure you, my thoughts are not so often here, as where you are, and if my Letters come not so far, it is because they can finde none to carry them. But by these presents I purpose rather to rejoyce with you for the recovery of your health, then to afflict my self unsea­sonably. Things past are to be reckoned as nothing, and what hap­pened yesterday, is as far from us as the life of Charlemain. Where­fore, [Page 88] I who have a perfect experience of worldly affairs, would as soon comfort you for the loss you received by the death of your great Grandfather, (so many years dead before you were born) as for the late danger of your Feaver, since it is now gone. The best is, the Phisicians have not so far exhausted you, but there yet remains bloud sufficient, to bestow part thereof in your Mistresses service, and to fill the World with your offences; so long as the ruines of your head may be repaired, and your beauty budd again with the next Roses, there is nothing lost hitherto; but indeed if instead of your former head, you carried the figure of a rusty Murrion, or rotten Pumpian, I should much pitty you in such a plight, and would presently add you to the number of decayed buildings. Now when all is done Philander, it is but a little water and earth mingled together, we study to conserve with all the maximes of wisedom, and all the rules of Phisick. Let us reflect I pray you, upon our better part, and hereafter labour as well to cure our selves of Vice, as of the Feaver. It is that image of God we defaced by our own hands, we ought to repair; and our first innocency is the thing it behoveth us to ask at his hands, rather then our former health. For my part, I am absolutely resolved to lead a new life, and to take no other care but for my Souls health, and to procure the same for others. And truely it were far better to conse­crate this great Eloquence of ours to his glorie, who gave it us, then t [...] [...]mploy it in commending fools, and in making our selves to be p [...]d among Children. The P. E. whom happily you know, and w [...] [...]ath one of the best, and most polite wits of all his company, [...]ms me all he can in this my design, and every hour of his com­ [...]y is as much to me, as eight dayes of reformation; yet is he not a [...] who professeth that pale virtue which affrighteth all men, and is [...]patible with humane infirmities: but quite contrary, he flatter­ [...] me in reprehending my errours, and instead of the pennance I [...] he is contented to enjoyn me honest recreations. Your bro­ [...] [...] you more about eight dayes hence, and will give you [...] [...]cc [...]mpt both of my actions and intentions; believe him as truth it [...], and besides, assure your self further upon my word, he is worth [...]ome Doctor and an half, and hath a good wit, without speaking of his zeal and virtue.

BALZAC.
The 17. of Ja­nuary 1623.

To Olympa from BALZAC. LETTER XV.

I Am much troubled to finde the cause of your tears; to impute them to the death of your Husband, is happily but the bare pretext. It is not to be imagined that death which causeth the most beautifull things to become offensive to the dayes brightness, and affrighteth those who formerly admired them; should make that man pleasing unto you, who was never so to any. Yet you seem with him to have lost all, and do so cunningly counterfeit the afflicted, I can hardly believe what I see: Can it be possible, you should be thus pestered to support your good fortune with patience, or be really so sorrowfull for the loss of a poor gouty fellow, for whose over-long living I should rather have thought it fit to comfort you? But if this be not thus, what do you with all this great mourning, wherein you plunge your self, and this mid-night ne­ver removing from your Chamber? I must confess I was never more astonished, then to finde such an Equipage of sadness about you, ac­companied with such elaborate actions, and so constrained counte­nances; and without jesting Olympa, (after this I have seen) there re­maineth nothing for the full expression of a fained passion, but onely to wear black smocks, and to be attended by Moors. Yet is it time, or never to return to your right sences, and to conclude your Come­dy, let me intreat you to leave off all these sower faces to fools. Cast off this black vail which hinders me from seeing you, and consider that five foot of ground, is worth you two thousand pounds by the year. To raise such a rent, the revenues of half some Kingdom were hardly sufficient; nor can you tax me for not speaking herein the truth, since I have it from your own mouth. Is it not almost incre­dible, so small a corner of earth, should yield so large a revenew. I doubt not but divers will suppose it bears Pearls or Diamonds. But I had almost forgot the most important business I am to impart unto you, and whereupon I first intended to write. I must therefore say, you are to have a special care, never to repair the loss you have lately received, assuring your self there is no one man in the World worthy to enjoy you privatively: you shall be answerable for those excellent qualities Nature & Art have conferred upon you for the commanding of men, if you say you cannot live without submitting your self to one. Here­in Olympa, you ought not suffer the vain ambition to be wise to a great Signiour to transport you, or the advantage of entring into the Loover [Page 90] in Carroch, to cause you quit the happiness you have to be Queen of your self. How much Gold soever one bestow in fetters, and how glo­rious soever the servitude be, yet assure your self they are but a couple of bad matters. Of late there was not any part of your body, whereof another was not master, he would examine your very dreams and thoughts: It was not in your power to dispose of one single hair, nay he robbed you of your very name. See here Olympa, what it is to have a Husband, and what you torment your self for with such prodigal tears. Me thinks it were all you could, or ought to do were he revived; or if the news of his death were doubtfull.

Yours, BALZAC.
The 22. of July 1622.

To Crysolita from BALZAC. LETTER XVI.

I Must needs disabuse you Crysolita, and inform you better in the Hi­story of that old Haxtris, you supposed to be a very Saint. First, you are to understand, she is extracted out of her Mothers sins, nor was ever any Yirginity so britle, as that she brought into this World. It is very likely she hath lost all remembrance of any such matter: But peo­ple of those dayes, stick not openly to affirm, that the first time she had liberty to go abroad, (at her coming home) she mist her Gloves and Maiden-head. After this, her beauty augmenting with riper years, she drew the eyes of all Italy upon her; and sold than fifty times at Court, she had formerly lost at School: But since then, she is arrived to an experience, far surpassing that of the Lord Chancellour, or the Popes Datary: & when I shall tell you, she knoweth whether there be more pleasure in a circumcised Courtizan, then in a Christian; and that she hath experienced the activity of Indians and Muscovites, yet shall I re­late but half the story. So it is, that now after she hath filled Limbo with her paricidial leachery, and been three-score years a Lectoress in vice, she would make you confident of her conversion: Yet am I credi­bly informed, that not having now any thing worth the losing, she is turned Solicitress, to entice others to vice; nor is there any chastity can escape her, if it take not sanctuary in the Carmelites. She cannot endure there should be one honest Woman in the whole Citie; this an­gering her as much, as though she robbed her, or had declared her self her enemy. Yet is this the Saint you so much talk of Crysolita, and the very same old Madame, from whom you promised me so many mi­racles. Now I, who know her very heart, write unto you, what here­after you ought to believe: for let her make what shew she will, yet I [Page 91] know she is as far from her conversion, as from her youth. The Capu­chins themselves could not cause her to pass her word to turn honest Woman the next grand Jubile; for instead of a better answer, she plain­ly told them, she had not as yet dispatched her business, and could well stay till another, which will happen about eight and twenty years hence.

BALZAC.
From Rome the 5. of February 1622.

To Clorinda from BALZAC. LETTER XVII.

Clorinda,

FOr that I am not in your conceit sufficiently punished with my Feaver, you belike think it fitting, I should yet be further afflicted with Love; so as there is nothing wanting to end my good fortune, but onely a law-suite and a quarrel. In this very place, designed for repose and joy, I continually burn, I tell each hour, and my dreams are full of distractions. Yet after all this, you suppose you much oblige me in wishing me every night good rest, as though it were not in your power to give it me. I had once a Master of your humour: he had means enough to procure my advancement, yet he supposed it suffi­cient to wish me well, and that I ought to rest satisfied, so long as he said, I deserved a good fortune. I know not whether it be your in­tention to use me in this manner: but howsoever I cannot take it ill, though you mock me, since you do it so handsomely. Advise me if you think good, to seek for a quiet life in Germany; cast me headlong down some Cliffe, and then say God guide me; wish me a good night out of your Chamber, all this concerns not me Clorinda. If I receive injuries from you, I am no longer in state to take notice of them. Yet I should think you might be somewhat more sensible of my sorrows, and at least to shew your self pittifull towards me, though you reserve your affections for some other. It is no generous act to kill a sick per­son, there is not any so common a Quack-salver but can do as much And in conclusion Clorinda, all the honour you will attain unto here­in after my death, is onely to have had some small force more then my lingering Feaver.

BALZAC.
In my bed the 20 fit of my Feaver.

Another Letter to Clorinda from BALZAC. LETTER XVIII.

WE are not seperated either by Seas or Mountains: your lodging and mine touch, yet finde I it an impossibility to see you. If you were at Japan, or in the Kingdom of China, I would resolve my self for those places, and I should finde some Bark, or other bound for that voyage: think not I dissemble, there is not any shelve in all the Sea, not hazard to undergo in so dangerous a voyage, whereof I have not less apprehension, then the meeting this little brother of yours. But if may be it is yourself, who make these difficulties, I suppose, to arise elsewhere. You are glad you want no pretext, on purpose to vex me when you please. If it be so Clorinda, let me be so much obliged unto you, as to conceal it. I had far rather be de­ceived, then know the truth to my prejudice: Either my company is troublesom unto you, or you reserve your favours for some other friend. Howsoever, I am contented to believe your Mother is sick, and that you cannot quit her Chamber: there are no excuses so coun­terfeit, I accept not for currant, so long as they relieve my spirits: Considering the power you have over me, it is a small matter to satis­fie your self in making me conceive the best. Yet must I thank you Clorinda, for violating Justice so formerly, and faining reasons with purpose to erre punctually. By this means you will not suffer me so much as to seem miserable, and you cozen me so cunningly, I can neither bemoan my self, nor beshrew you. Yet is it impossible I can for ever conceal my sensibilities: What violence soever I offer to my humour, it can no longer be contained. To be short Clorinda, if you loved me as you say, you would not live with me in the fashion you do; but I should receive from you real favours, not vain appear­ances; and say what you will, we shall meet alone once in our lives: I beseech you let not this word affright you, for if any should finde us in this manner, none will imagine we conspire against the King, or suspect I read Magick to you. Innocent actions carry their warrant with them, nor is there any necessity that two cannot be together without making a third. Believe me Clorinda, if we shut our selves for three hours into a private Chamber, the most slanderous will one­ly imagine, I either let you see the errours you are in, or that you ad­minister some Medicine unto me for my Feaver.

BALZAC.
The 15. April 1620.

To Clorinda from BALZAC. LETTER XIX.

I Know not whether I should term it slackness, or patience, the small resistance I make against the displeasures you do me; it may be, you are resolved to see how far my fidelity will extend, and to extort the utmost proofs thereof: yet is it better Clorinda to endure injustice, then to act it, and to be rather the Martyr, then the Tyrant. Shew your wit, I beseech you by inflicting dayly new torments upon me, and avoid all occasions of obliging me, with as much care as I seek those to serve you. I have prepared my spirits against all the bad occ [...]rents can happen that way. There is nothing I cannot endure, if it comes from you, your slight­ing me onely excepted: But herein I must tell you, I am so tender, as I am wounded with the least touch. I would not purchase the Kings fa­vour, if he affoard it me in rough terms; nor would I accept of his Graces, were I forced to gain them in with the forgoing the thing I affect more then his Kingdom. You understand me sufficiently what I mean hereby, and the just occasion I have to complain; but still you will have me in the wrong, nor do I doubt, but you will accuse me of your crime: But speak truely, have you no apprehension, that he whom you have so often injured, shall at length grow weary of his sufferings, and lest he should lose all fear, together with his hopes. You might con­sider Clorinda, that I am not possessed with slight passions, and how your self hath told me ere now; that if God should arm me with thun­der when I am angry, within four and twenty hours there would be neither Towers nor Pavillions standing in any place: Wherefore to se­cond your conceit; know (if that were) one while the fire should fall upon all jealous persons, and by and by burn all the Mothers and little brothers in a whole Province. And doubtless, if I did you no harm, yet would I put you into such a fright, you should be forced to hide your self under ground, and come to meet me in some Cave. But I gain much by these glorious brags, or by my seeming severity: I assure my self, you mock me and my threats. It is long since I have shewed you the way how to catch me, and you know the means how to reduce me to my former duty: I must confess I am not of sufficient force to contest with Clorinda: her kisses have power to expell all spleen, even out of the spirit of an Italian Prince, for the greatest injury can be offered him. Nay, they would force the Duke de Main to forsake his Arms in the hottest of his Martiall con­flicts: Wherefore I pray you, let us agree upon a business, which of necessity must be concluded: how disadvantagious soever the peace be I treat of with you, yet shall I at all times gain that which [Page 94] otherwise I should lose in your absence. I have therefore presented my complaints, with purpose to receive satisfactions: I am angry onely to the end you may appease me. I will tell you to morrow, that I am come to oblige you, to take the pains to receive me.

BALZAC.
The 17. of April 1620.

To Clorinda from BALZAC. LETTER XX.

I See well Clorinda, I do but lose my labour, and that if were an easier matter to return Ice into Coales, then to kindle love in you: All I can say, makes no impression in your thoughts, you will not so much as hear reason, because it resteth on my side. Well Clorinda, I must resolve my self for the worst of events, and stay the time till your wrin­kles affoard me revenge for all the wrongs you have done me. Think not this tyrannical power of your beauty, will last to the Worlds end. Time which overturneth Empires, and prescribeth limits to all things, will use you as it doth the rest of fair workmanships. I pray have pa­tience, if I take upon me to tell you this bad news; for I am not to day in the humour to flatter any. Though it would raise choler in you, yet must I say, you will grow stale, and be then no more what you now are. I doubt not of your sighes when you reflect upon this change, or that your very imagination is not sensible of some sorrow; yet shall this hap­pen Clorinda, there is not an hour passeth, which impaires not some part of your face. But the time will come, when your Looking-glass will more scare you, then a Judge doth a Fellon: your fore-head will flie to the Crown of your head; your cheeks will fall beneath your chinne, and your eyes of those dayes, shall turn of the same colour your lips are at this hour. I could willingly wish out of my love unto you, my rela­tion were not so true as it is. But since I have quitted all complacency, there is no means to make me silent. Clorinda, the Sun is still beauti­full, though ready to set; and the Autumne agreeable, though sprinkled with some Snow, but we enjoy no happy years, but the first of youth: And be as carefull of your self as is possible, yet can you not conserve your complexion, and acquire experience. Will you have me say more, and acquaint you with what I understood by a stranger, with whom I have conversed all this day? You are to know there is not any part of the World so remote, which his curiosity hath not carried him, nor rarity in Nature, he hath not carefully observed: He hath seen Mountains which burn perpetually without diminishing; he hath land­ed in Ilands, never resting in one place; he hath seen natural Sea-men; [Page 95] but he swore unto me, who among all these miracles, he never yet saw a beautifull old Woman. The Moral hereof is, that you must make use of your youth, and gather Nose-gayes before the Roses wither. None knows better then your self, that to be fair, is to raign without having need either of Guards or Forts. You see you are the Worlds ambition, no man desiring further happiness then Clorinda: But think not to continue this absolute authority, or this general esteem, by other means then you compassed them; and assure your self, that when you have no further attractions then an eloquent tongue, no man will seek for them among the surrowes of your face. A Woman had need be perfectly provided of virtue, to repair the ruines of her beauty. All the wit and experience in the World is fruitless, when she falls into this state, nor can any thing hinder her from being hated, but onely to change Sex. Remember then Clorinda, not to expect to live, when you are as good as dead; nor do not spend that time in deliberating, which should be imployed in doing. You are now of years both to give, and receive contentment, and we are in the Moneth, wherein each Creature turneth amorous; not excepting Lions, Tygers, or Phi­losophers. I intreat you therefore, not to shew your self the sole in­sensible creature in the World: suffer your self to be convinced by rea­son, since you cannot resist the same but to your own disadvantage: You have no subject to be suspicious of what I say; for I advise you to nothing Clorinda, wherein I would not willingly joyn with you in the accomplishment.

BALZAC.
The 3. of May 1620.

Another Letter to Clorinda from BALZAC. LETTER XXI.

CLorinda, your Religion must needs be amiss, otherwise I should see you now and then at Church: But I think it were an easier matter to convert a whole Nation, then to dispose you to give me content. The cause why you persist in your own opinion, is, because it is oppo­site to mine. Well then, I must depart without speaking with you, and am barred from affoarding to my affection, what good manners would have exacted of me, though I had not loved you: Truely I know not in what manner to suffer so wounding a displeasure, nor am I so well acquainted with my self, as to pass my word for him I speak of in this occasion. All I can say unto you Clorinda, is, that the onely way to rid me out of my pain, is to perform the thing I have so often proposed unto you, and to make your self capable of a strong resolution. Never did any Prince enterprise a more glorious voyage, then mine shall be, [Page 96] if you will make one: and truely, I see not why you should make any difficulty herein, the longer your journey is, the further shall you be removed from tyranny. It is a Monster you ought to fly from, even to the Worlds end, and with whom to be in peace, is dangerous: Will you fear to come into the Countrey of Comedies, Painting, and Mu­sick, or into a place where Women are by many as highly esteemed as Saints; without flattering you, I must affirm, you shall seem over much to neglect your own quiet, if you let slip to favourable an oc­casion to procure it. It is time Clorinda, you make it appear what you are, and that we begin the Historie of our adventures. If you love, all things will be easie for you; there is no more difficulty to passe the Alpes, then to go up into your Chamber: Nor doubt you that the Sea­waters will become sweet, if you be not satisfied in that they be smooth. But I am much affraid I shall not receive from you the satisfaction I ex­pect. You will tell me (as you use) we must let Nature work, and that she will soon revenge us of our enemies. I suppose Clorinda, all this may happen, but it is no reason we should be obliged to the Tyrants death for our liberty, but to our own resolutions.

The 30. of July 1620.
BALZAC.

To Lydia from BALZAC. LETTER XXII.

I Am almost mad to understand thou were seen laugh to day. Is this true love Lydia to be merry in my absence? and to be the same wo­man thou art, when I am with thee? Yet should I have been satisfied, hadst thou been contented onely to have made thy self merry with thy looking-glass, so the man in iron had not been in my place. I ne­ver saw him but once, and surely he is either a Sor, or else all the rules of Physiognomy are false: yet because he calls himself Captain, thou per­mits him to persecute thee with his complements, and art at the point to yield. If he touch thee Lydia, all the water in the Sea is little enough to purifie thee; and if thou allowest him the rest, have a care, least in his sleep, he take thee for an Enemy, and instead of his imbraces, strangle thee.

To the Baron of Amblovile from BALZAC. LETTER XXIII.

My Lord,

I Attend you here in the season of Jasmins and Roses, and do send you a taste of the pleasures of Rome, for fear you be poysoned there­with, upon your first approach. We are here in the Countrey of cu­riosities, and to be happy in this place, it sufficeth not to be blinde. The Sun hath yet heat enough to ripen us Reasins, and to affoard us Flowers: all the Winter falls upon the neighbouring Mountains, to the end we may not want Snow in August. But if you desire I should di­vert my discourse unto more serious matters, and conceal nothing from you: I must tell you, there is no place under Heaven, where Virtue is so near a Neighbour to Vice, or where good is so mingled with Evil: We here behold miracles on the one side, and monsters on the other; and at the same time when some Discipline themselves, others run to debauches of all kindes. Besides, there is as profound a peace here, as in that part of the Air elevated above the Windes and Storms. Idleness in this place, is an honest mans ordinary vocation; and to save half the World, no man will rise hastily from Table, for fear of troubling di­gestion. If you chance to see any with skars in their faces, do not thereupon imagine they have purchased them either in Wars, or in de­fence of their honour, for these are onely their Mistresses favours; but in recompence of such refractory humours, you shall see that here, the sanctity whereof doth illustrate the whole Church. It is their fervent prayers which impetrate all advantages over Enemies: It is their fast­ings which cause fruitfulness to flow upon the Earth: It is their inno­cency which conserveth the culpable from Eternal ruin. In a word, there are here such excellent examples of Virtue, and so intising allure­ments to Vice, that I will not marvel if you turn honest man here, and I will likewise willingly pardon you, if you do not so. Truly, as new Spain is the Province of Gold; and as Affrick affoards Lions, and France Souldiers; so is Italy the mother of those things you best love. When you shall see these Female Creatures in their own Countrey, and compare their beauty with the bad fashion of the masculine Italians, I doubt not, but it will seem to you as well as to my self, these Divine Women to have been created by themselves, or to be Queens who have married their Grooms. The most part of those beyond the Mounts have no more beauty then needs must, to excuse them from being esteemed ugly; and if there be some one whose face you could fancy, this shall happily be some desolate Palace, or some well favoured beast. But here (for the most part) they are born Eloquent; and I [Page 68] will tell you before hand, that in one and the same person, you shall finde both your Master and Mistress. For my part, I ingeniously con­fess, I do no longer live under Clorinda's regency, and all that is per­mitted me in this place, is onely sometimes to honour her memory. I expect you should at this passage accuse me of levity and disloyalty, and that you could willingly revile me. But do you not think my sighs must needs be surbated, in going every day four hundred leagues? Be­sides, being so far from her as I am, what know I, whether I love a dead body, or an Infidel. I have not received any favours from her, which are not rather marks of her virtues, then demonstrations of her love. And had she lost all her liberality in that kinde, she could hard­ly miss it. I am therefore onely obliged to my word, not to her affe­ction. And as for that, I should over-esteem her, if I made more rec­koning thereof, then some Princes do of theirs, and I should shew my self over superstitious, if I valued what I onely whispered in her ear, to be of greater efficacie then Letters Pattents and Edicts. It is a point decided in Ovids Theology, that an hundred false Oaths from an amo­rous person, amount not to half a deadly sin, and that it is onely the God of Poets whom we offend by our perjury in that point. Now I will be judged by her self, whether I having bestowed my service upon her, she should take it ill if another did reward me; or that I love ra­ther to be happy, then otherwise; or desire rather to possess Lucretia, then to desire Clorinda. Will she have her tyranny extend even to the Churches patrimony, and that the Pope share his temporal Authority with her? I do not believe she hath any such pretentions. For my part, I would she knew I can no longer behold any beauty but naked, nor recive any but warm and moist kisses. I will tell you the rest upon the banks of Tyber, and in these precious ruins whither I go to muse once a day, and to tread in their steps who have led Kings in Triumph. If there were any means there to finde a little of Sylla's good fortune, or of Pompeis greatness, instead of the Medals we now and then meet with, I should have a farther subject to invite you hither. Notwithstanding, if you be yet your self, and that by solemn vow you have forsaken the World, and the vanities thereof, assure your self, that it is in this Countrey where felicity doth attend you: and that being once in this place, you will esteem all those as banished persons, whom you have left behinde you in France.

BALZAC.
The 25. of Decem­ber 1621.

To the Count of Schomberg from BALZAC. LETTER XXIV.

My LORD,

I Send you the papers you have formerly seen, and whereto you have attributed so much, as I should be ashamed to assent thereto, were it not that I hold it less presumption to believe I have merited the same, then to imagine I can have a flatterer of your fashion. I had need be elevated to a more soveraign fortune then the state of Kings, to expect complacency from a man, who could never be procured to approve evil: and of whose disfavour one can hardly finde other cause, then the onely truth he hath declared. Howsoever it be, since you are now in Lymosin, and take not any journey in those parts, without having a thousand old debates to reconcile, and as many new ones to prevent, it is very propable, that after so pain­full an imployment, and so great disquiet of minde, my book will fall into your hands, just at such time as you cannot finde any thing more tedious unto you, then what you come from treating of: For should I presume that in your pleasant walks of Duretal, where all your minutes are pleasing, and all your hours precious, there could be any time spare for me, and my works; it were as much as to be ignorant of the diversions there attending you; or not to be acquainted with the great affluence of noble company, daily repair­ing thither, to visite you. But were it so, that you had none with you, save onely the memory of your fore-passed actions, your solitariness hath no need of books to make it more pleasing; nay, if all this were not, yet if you desire to seek contentment out of your self, you cannot finde any more pleasing, then in the presence of your Children, and particularly of that Divine daughter of yours, from whom I daily learn some miracle. It is therefore in her absence, and in solitary walks, where I have the ambition to finde entertainment, and to re­ceive gracious acceptance. In all other places (without presuming ei­ther to pass for Oratour or Poet:) it shall highly suffice me in being honoured with the assurance that I am

My Lord,
Your most humble servant, BALZAC.
The 25. of May 1624.

A Letter from the Count of Schomberg, to Moun­sieur de BALZAC. LETTER XXV.

SIR,

THe stile you travail in, causeth the Pens of all such who attempt an answer, to fall out of their hands, and Eloquence may so properly be called yours, that it is no marvel though others have but a small share therein. I would therefore have you know, that if I understand any thing in Letters, yours do obscure whatsoever hath hitherto been esteemed of in our Language: and that (with­out flattering you) there can be no diversion so pleasing, which ought not to give place to the perusing of those Lines you sent me. This occupation is worthy the Cabinets of Kings, and of the richest Eare curtins of France; and not (as you would have it) of my so­litarie retirements in Lymosin, from whence I am ready to be gone, with resolution never to retire from the affection I have promised you, whence you shall at all times draw effectual proofs, whensoever you please to imploy them for your service.

Sir,
Your most affectionate servant SCHOMBERG.
The 1. of June 1624.

The Letters of MOUNSIEUR de BALZAC. The fourth Book.

To my Lord Mashall of Schomberg. LETTER I.

My Lord,

I Should be insensible of publick good, and an enemy to France, had I not (as I ought) a true taste of the good news your Foot-man brought me. I will not mention the Obligations I owe you, being no small ones, if that be not a slight matter to be esteemed by you: But since I make profession to honour virtue even in the person of one departed, or an enemy; and at all times to side with the right, were there onely my self and Justice for it, you may please to be­lieve, I complain in your behalf for the miseries of our times, and that I am most joyfull to see you at this present, where all the World mist you: Certainly your retirement from Court, hath been one of the fairest pie­ces of your life, during which, you have made it apparent you are the same in both fortunes: since I can witness, that no one word then passed from you unsuitable to your resolution. Yet this rare virtue being there hidden, in one of the remote corners of the World, having but a very small circuit to dilate it self, must necessarily be contented with the satisfaction of your conscience and slender testimonies: In the mean time the authority of your enemies hath been obnoxious to all honest eyes. There was no means to conceal from strangers the States infirmities, or what reason to affoard them for the dis­grace of so irreproachable a Minister; nor was there any who grie­ved not, that by your absence the King lost so many hours and ser­vices. For my part, (my Lord) (reflecting upon you in that estate, it [Page 102] seemed to me I saw Phidias, or some other of those ancient Artists, their hands bound, and their costly materials, as Marble, Gold, or Ivory ta­ken from them. But now that better time succeed, each thing being again reduced to its place, it is time to rejoyce with all good French men, that you shall no more want matter, and that the King hath at length found how unusefull your absence hath been to his affairs: True­ly, be it that he content himself to govern his people wisely, or that the afflictions of his poor Neighbours set near his heart, and that his Justice extend further then his Jurisdiction: No man doubts whatsoever he doth, but you shall be one of the principal instruments of his designs, and that as well Peace as War have equal use of your conduct. All men have well perceived, you have not contributed any thing to the admi­nistration of the Kings treasure, save onely your pure spirit, to wit, that part of the Soul separated from the terrestrial part, being free from pas­sions, which reasoneth without either loving or desiring; and that you have managed the Riches of the State with as great fidelity, as one ought to govern another mans goods, with as much care as you con­serve your own, and with as great scruple as we ought to touch sacred things. But in truth it is no great glory for that man to have been faithfull to his Master, who knows not how to deceive any: And did I believe you were onely able to abstain from ill, I would barely com­mend in you the Commencements of virtue. I therefore pass further, and am assured, that neither the fear of death, which you have slighted in all shapes, and under the most dreadfull aspects it could possibly ap­pear, nor complacency which often overpasseth the best Counsels, to transport it self to the most pleasing ones; nor any private interest which makes us rather regard our selves, then the Publick; shall at all hinder you either from purposing, undertaking, or executing eminent matters, Posterity which will peradventure judge of our age upon the report I shall make, will see more elsewhere then I can here relate, and I shall rest sufficiently satisfied, if you please to do me the honour, as to remember that mine affection is no Childe of your prosperity, and how in two contrary seasons I have been equally

My Lord,
Your most humble and most faithfull servant, BALZAC.

To the Bishop of Angoulesme. LETTER II.

SIR,

I Will no longer complain of my poverty, since you have sent me [...]easures of Roses, Ambergreece, and Suger; it being of such plea­sing commodities, I pretend to be Rich, leaving necessary wealth to the Vulgar. Two Elements have joyntly contributed the best they have, to furnish matter for your Liberality: and smally valuing either Gold, or Pearls as I do, I could wish for nothing either from Sea, or Land, I finde not among your presents. You have bestowed with a full hand what is offered upon Altars, but sparingly, which men reckon by grains, and whereof none (the King of Tunnis excepted) is so prodigal as your self▪ In a word, this profusion of forraign odours you have cast into your Comfitures, obligeth me to speak as I do, and to tell you if you feed all your flock as this rate, there will not be any one in all your Diocess, who will not cost you more by the day, then the Elephant doth his Master. I see therefore Sir, I am the dearest Childe you have un­der your conduct, nor should I receive so delicate and precious nourish­ment from you, did not your affection force you to believe, my life to be more worth then ordinary, and consequently, that it deserveth more carefully to be preserved then ony other. But to return you comple­ments for such excellent things, were as much as to under value their worth, should I strive to acquit my self that way; our Language is too poor and unable to lend me wherewith to pay you: And since in Homers judgement the words of the most eloquent among the Grecians, were esteemed little better then Honey, (the food of Shepheards) there is small probability mine should be comparable to Ambergreece and Suger, the delicacies of Princes. I therefore fear I shall be forced to be all my life time indebted unto you, for the favours I have received from you, and that it must be onely in my heart, where I can be as liberal as your self. But I well know, you are so generous, as to content your self with this secret acknowledgement, and that in me you affect my naked good-meaning, which must supply the place of those other more fine, and subtile virtues I cannot learn at Court. Truely, as I expect no commendations, being the second perfumes you present me, in that I hold my self unworthy thereof: so do I suppose you cannot refuse me your affection, since it is a kinde of deserving it, to be passionately as I am

Sir,
Your most humble, and most faithfull servant BALZAC.
The 25. of De­cemb. 1626.

To Father Garrasso. LETTER III.

Father,

YOu have found the place whereat I confess I am the most easily surprized, and to oblige me to yield, your Courtesie hath left no­thing for your courage to perform: since therefore you imploy all your Muses to require my friendship, and have already payed of your own; I can no longer keep it to my self, but as another mans goods. But if this were not so, my resentments are not of such value with me, as not often to bestow them upon more slender considerations then those were which produced them; nor do my passions so transport me, but that I will at all times remain in the power of Religion and Philosophy. Hither­to I can defend a just cause, but in farther resisting what you desire, I should force right it self to be in the wrong, were it on my side: And out of bare enmity which in some Common wealths hath been tolle­rated, I should even pass to Tyrannie, a thing odious to all men. Since our lives are momentary, it is no reason our passions should be immor­tal, or that men should glut themselves with revenge, whereof God hath as well forbidden the use, as the excess. It is a thing he hath soly reserved to himself; and since none but he truely knoweth how to use this part of Justice, he would no more put it into the hands of men, then he doth Thunder and Tempests. Let us therefore stop in our first motions, for it is already too much to have begun. Let us not term the hardness of our hearts, Courage: and if you have prevented me in the overture of the peace we treat of, repent not your self, since you have thereby bereaved me of all the honour there had been in acquiring it. Heretofore Magnanimity and Humility might have been esteemed two contrary things, but since the Maxims of Morali­ty have been changed by the principles of Divinity, and that Pagan vices are become Christian virtues, there are even weak actions a man of courage ought to practice; nor is true glorie any longer due to those who have triumphed over innocents, but to those Martyrs they have made, and to such persons whom they have oppressed. But to pass from general considerations, to what is particular between you and me, it is no way likely, a religious man would disturb the tranquility of his thoughts, or quit his conversation with God and Angels, to intermed­dle with wicked Mortals, and to make himself a party in our disorders. I should likewise have less reason to seek for an enemy out of the World, wherein there are so many adversaries to dislike, and so many Rebels to subdue. Now (Father) whatsoever opinion you have had, and [Page 105] notwithstanding any thing I have said in the beginning of this Letter, I never intended to commence any real War against you: I have not at all felt the emotion I shewed; all my choller being but artificial, when at any time certain of my speeches seemed disadvantagious unto you; so as I freely consent, that what was written to Hydasp, shall pass as a flash of my brain, and not as any testimonie of my belief, onely to let men know, I had a desire to shew how able I was to contest with truth, if I had no minde to side with it. This science having been sufficiently daring to undertake to perswade, that a Quartan Ague was better then health: Rhetorick I say, which hath invented praises for Busiris, made Apologies for Nero, and obliged all the people of Rome to doubt whether Justice were a good, or a bad thing, may yet in these dayes exercise it self upon subjects wholy separated from com­mon opinions, and by gracefull fictions, rather excite admiration in mens spirits, then exact any credence. It raiseth Fantomes with pur­pose to deface them. It hath paintings and disguisements, to alter the purity of all worldly things: It changeth sides without levity, it accuseth innocencie without calumny: And to say truth, Painters and Stage-players are no way culpable of those murthers we see repre­sented in Pictures, or presented upon Theaters; since therein the most cruel is the most just. None can justly accuse those of falsity, who make certain glasses which shew one thing for another: Errour in some cases being more gracefull then truth. In a word, the life even of the greatest Sages, is not altogether serious, all their sayings are not Sermons, nor is all they write, either their last Testament, or the con­fession of their Faith. What can I say more? Can you imagine me to be so curious, as to condemne the gust of all that great multitude, who flock to hear you every morning? Are you perswaded that I and the people can never be of one minde? That will oppose my self to the belief of honest men? to the approbation of Doctors? and to their authority who are eminent above others? No Father; I allow no such liberty to my spirit: assure your self, I esteem you as I ought. I commend your zeal and learning, yea, were it truer then ever it was, that to compose tedious Volumnes, is no less then to commit great sins: Yet if you oblige me to judge of yours by that you sent unto me, I say it is very excellent in its kinde, and that I will no way hinder you from obtaining a Rank among the Fathers of these modern ages. But my testimony will not (I hope) become the onely fruit of your la­bours; I wish with all my heart the conversion of Turks and Infidels may crown your indeavours. I am perswaded, all the honour this World can affoard, ought to be esteemed as nothing by those who onely seek for the advancement of Gods glorie. I will therefore no farther dilate my self upon this Subject, nor wrong holy things by prophane praises; [Page 106] my intention is onely to let you know, I assume not so poor a part in the Churches interest, as not to be extraordinarily well pleased with those who are serviceable thereto, and that I am right glad besides the propension I have to esteem your amity, so powerfull a perswasion as Religion is, doth yet further oblige me.

Yours, BALZAC.

To the Cardinal of Vallette. LETTER IV.

My Lord,

THe Letter you pleased to send me from Rome, caused me to forget I was sick, and I presumed to solace my self after three years of sad­dess, ever since news was brought me of Lucidors death, and the suc­cess of that fatal combate, wherein you could not but be a loser, on which side soever the advantage happened. My Lord, I doubt not but your spirit though altogether stout and couragious, to support your proper misfortunes, is yet mollified by the relation of their miseries who love you, and where there is question rather of shewing your good nature, or your constancy, you will quit one virtue to acquire another. I know well, that in the number of your goods, you reckon your friends in the first rank, allowing onely the second place to your dignities, and to fifty thousand Crowns rent which accompanies them; and conse­quently I assure my self, you believe you are, as it were, grown poor by the loss of a man who had relation unto you. But I am likewise most certain, how after the passing certain unpleasant dayes out of the love you bare him; and having affoardeth him sufficient Testimonies of your affection, he now expecting no further acknowledgement or ser­vice, you will at length call to minde, that it is the publick to whom you owe your cares and passions, and that you are not permitted far­ther to afflict a spirit which is no longer yours. Since the misery of this age is so general, as it leaveth no one house without tears, nor any one part of Europe without trouble; and since Fortune is not of power to conserve even her own workmanships, who are many of them fallen to ground: it must needs so happen (my Lord) that being of the World, you are to taste of the fruits it produceth, and that you purchase at some hard rate, the good successes daily attending you. But truely, the place where you are, and the great designs taking you up, may well furnish you with so strong and solide consolations, as they need leave no work for others; and my Eloquence would come too late, should I imploy it after your reason, which hath formerly perswaded you, there being now neither precept nor Counsel in all humane wisdom unpro­posed [Page 107] to your view; and since neither Seneca, nor Epiotetus can say any thing save onely your thoughts; I had much rather send you divertise­ments no way distastefull, then to present you any remedies which doubtless will prove importunate. These writings (my Lord) here in­closed, shall not enter as strangers into your Cabinet, they will not talk unto you of the five Praedicables of Porphiry, nor of Justinians Novelles, or the numbers of Algebra. But you may there recreate and repose your spirits at your return from Audiences, Congregations, and the Consistory. I could well have bestowed upon them a more eminent title, then what they have. I could out of these composures have framed Apologies, Accusations, and politick discourses; yea, had I pleased ne­ver so little to have extended some of my Letters, they might have been called books. But besides, my design, aiming rather to please, then im­portune, and that I tend to the height of conceptions, and not at the abundance of words: When I treat with you, (my Lord) I suppose my self to be before a full assembly, and do propose to my self never to write any thing unto you, which Posterity ought not to read. Now if sometimes from your person I pass to others, or if I commend those whom I conceive are deserving, I assure my self, I therein performing an act of Justice, and not of subjection: you will be no way displeased with what I do, and well hope, I may conserve your favours without violating humane Laws, or separating my self from civil society.

Your most humble servant BALZAC.
The 15. of Ju­ly 1629.

To the Cardinal of Vallete. LETTER V.

My LORD,

THough innocency be the felicity of the afflicted, and that I finde in my self the satisfaction, he can expect who hath not offended, yet can I not so easily comfort my self: And the remedies my Phylosophy affoard me, are for meaner misfortunes then the loss of your favours. All I can contribute to my consolation out of the assurance I have of mine innocency, is the liberty I have taken to tell you so, and to com­plain of the injustice you have done me, if you have so much as suffered any to accuse me. I need not seek colours to palliate my actions or words: it is sufficiently known, their principal objects have ever been the glory of your name, and the desire to please you: I beseech you likewise to call to remembrance, that hard times have not hindred me [Page 108] from imbarking my self where my inclination called me; and that I have served my Lord your Father, when most of his followers were in danger to become his Martyrs. It should seem perchance, I stand in need of the memory of what is past, and that I make my precedent, good Offices appear, to the end to cause them to over-way my present offences. No (my Lord) I intend not to make use of what now is not, for the justification of mine actions, nor am I ignorant that never any woman was so vicious, who hath not heretofore been a Virgin, nor cri­minal, who cannot prescribe some time preceding his bad life. I speak of to day, as well as of heretofore, and do protest unto you, with all the Oaths able to make truth appear holy, and inviolably, that I never had one single temptation against my duty, and that my fidelity is spot­less, as (if you so pleased) it might be without suspicion: I must confess that you having declared your self no way desirous to trench upon my liberty, and that you left it wholy to my self, I have sometimes made use thereof, imagining that without wronging that first resolution, I vowed to your service, it might be lawfull for me to have second affe­ctions. I will not expect the rack to force me to confess it; I have loved a man whom the misfortunes of Court, and the divers accidents happening in worldly affairs, have separated from some friends of yours, and have cast him into other interests then theirs. But besides, that he was extracted from a Father, who did not more desire his own good, then your contentment; and since I am most assured how amidst all the fore-passed broils, he at all times conserved his inclinations for you. I must needs tell you, I was in such sort obliged unto him, as had he declared War against my King, and against my Countrey, I could not have chosen any side which had not been unjust: I therefore at this day bewail him with warm tears, and if ever I take comfort in the loss I have sustained, I shall esteem my self the most unworthy, and ingrate­full person living. Your self (my Lord) knowing (as you do) how much I owe unto his amity, would sooner adjudge me to die with him, then blame my resentments. I assure my self all my actions are dis­guised unto you, on purpose to cause you to dislike them: Howsoever I will not dispair, but the time to come will right me for what is past. You will one day see the wrong you offer to my innocency, in admit­ting false witnesses in prejudice thereof, and what you now term my fault, you will then be pleased to say; it was my unhappy fate, or my hard fortune: in the interim, I am resolved to continue in well doing, and though there were no other but my conscience to acknowledge my fidelitie yet inviolably to remain

Your most humble and most faithfull servant BALZAC.
The 30. of De­cemb. 1626.

To the Lord Bishop of Nantes. LETTER IV.

SIR,

AS the bearer hereof can testifie the obligations I owe you, so may he bear witness of my perpetual resentments, and will tell you, that were I born your Son, or subject, you could have but the same power over me you now possess: nay, I am perswaded, I yet owe somewhat more to your virtue, then to the right of Nations, or nature. If power hath made Princes, and chance Parents, reason well deserves a further kinde of obedience: It was that which overcame me upon the first conference I had with you, causing me to prostrate all my pre­sumption at your feet, after having rightly presented to my thoughts, how impossible it is to esteem my self, and know you: I am sure this language is no way pleasing to you, and that you will look awry at my Letter; but do what you please, I am more a friend to truth, then to your humour, and my spirits are so replenished with what I have seen, and heard, as I can no longer conceal my thoughts: I must tell you (Sir) you are the greatest Tyrant this day living; your authoritie be­comes awfull to all Souls, and when you speak, there is no further means to retain private opinions, if they be not conformable to yours. I speak this seriously, and with my best sence; you have often re­duced me to such extreamities, that coming from you, without knowing what to answer you, I have been ready to exclaim and say, (in the rapture wherein I was) Restore me my opinion which you have violent­ly forced from me, and take not from me the liberty of conscience the King hath given me. But truely, it is no small pleasure to be con­strained to be happy, and to fall into his hands, who useth no vio­lence; but to their avail who suffer. For my part, I have at all times departed your presence, fully perswaded in what I ought to believe: I never gave you a visite which cured me not of some passion: I never came into your chamber so honest a man, as I went forth: How often with one short speech have you elevated me above my self, and bereaved me of whatsoever was fleshly and prophane in me: How often hearing you discourse of the World to come, and of true felicity have I longed after it, and would willingly have purchased it at the price of my life? How often could I have followed you, (would you have conducted me) to a higher pitch of perfection, then all ancient Philosophers ever attained? So it is, that you onely have bestowed the love of invisible things upon me, causing me to distaste my first and most violent affections: I should still have been buried in flesh, had not you drawn me forth, nor had my [Page 110] spirit been other then a part of my body, had not you taken the pains to unloose it from sensual objects, and to sever the eternal from the pe­rishable part. You caused me at the first encounter to become suspi­cious to the wicked, and to favour the better side, before I was of it; you have made those remedies pleasing, which all others affrighted me with, and in the midst of vice, you have constrained me to confess virtue to be the most beautifull thing on earth. Think not therefore, that either the pomp of the Roman Court, or the glitter of that of France, can dazel those eyes of my Soul, whereto you have shewed so many ex­cellent things. It is the beams and lightning of those eminent Virtues you have discovered unto me, which cast so forceable reflections upon the eyes of my Soul, and which cause me, (though I formerly resolved to slight all things,) yet at least now to admire something. But yet (Sir) assure your self, it is not the World I admire, for I rather reflect upon it, as on that which hath deceived me these eight and twenty years I have been in it, and wherein I scarce ever saw any thing, but how to do evil, and counterfeit to be good. In all places on earth, whether my curiosity hath transporteth me, beyond Seas, or on the other side the Alpes, in free States, or in Kingdoms of Conquest, I have observed among men onely a fare of flatteries, fools, and cheaters; of Old men corrupted by their Ancestors, and who corrupt their children: Of slaves who cannot live out of Servitude: of poverty among virtuous persons, and ambitious covetousness in the Souls of great persons. But now that you have broken the bars, through which I could onely re­ceive some light impression of truth, I distinctly see this general corru­ption, and do humbly acknowledge the injury I offered to my Crea­tor, when I made Gods of his creatures; and what glorie I sought to bereave him of, &c.

BALZAC.
The 12. of January 1626.

To Mounsieur de la Marque. Letter VII.

I Know not what right use to make of your praises; if I receive them, I lose all my humility, and in rejecting them, I give that as granted which I am taxed for. Upon the edge of these two extreamities, it is more laudable to suffer my self to fall on my friends side, and to joyn in opinion with honest men, then to lean to that of Lysander, since all men agree, that his censure is ever opposite to the right; and that he is the wisest man in France, who resembles him the least. There would [Page 111] be some errour in the reputation I aim at, were I not condemned by him. Think it not therefore strange, that injuries are blown upon me by the same mouth which uttereth blasphemies against the memorie of ρρρ, and remember this old Maxim, that fools are more unjust then some sinners: The best is, that for one Enemy my Reputation raiseth against me, it procures me a thousand protectors; so as without stirring hence, I get victories at Paris; nor finde I any Harmony so pleasing, as what is composed of one particular murmure, mingled with general ac­clamations. There are sufficient in your Letter to cause me to retract the Maxims of my ancient Philosophy: At the least they oblige me to confess, that all my felicity is not within my self, things without me entring towards the composition of perfect happiness. I must freely confess unto you mine infirmity: I should grow dumb, were I never so short a time to live among deaf persons, and were there no glorie, I should have no eloquence. But it is time I return to the task I have undertaken; and that instead of so many excellent words you have ad­dressed unto me, I onely answer you, that I am

Your most humble servant BALZAC.

To Mounsieur Tissandier. LETTER VIII.

AT my return from Poiton, I found your packet attending me at my house; but thinking to peruse your Letters, I perceived I read my [...]anegyrick; I dare not tell you, with what transport and excess of joy I was surprized thereupon, fearing to make it appear, I were more vain then usually women are, and affect praises with the like intem­perance as I do persumes. Without dissembling, those you sent me, were so exquisite, as be it you deceive me, or I you, there never issued fairer effects, either from injustice or errour. I beseech you to conti­nue your fault, or to persevere in your dissimulation: For my part, I am resolute to make you full payment of what I owe you, and to yield so publick a testimonie of the esteem I hold of you, as my reputation hereafter shall be onely serviceable to yours, oblige me so far, as to ac­cept this Letter, for assurance of what I will perform; and if you finde me not so serviceable as I ought to be, blame those troublesom persons who are alwayes at my Throat, forcing me to tell you sooner then I re­solved, that I am

Your most humble and faithfull servant BALZAC.
The 5. of August. 1625.

To Mounsieur de Faret. LETTER IX.

THere is not any acknowledgement answerable to my Obligations unto you: If I owe you any honour, I am farther indepted unto you then my life comes to. Truely, to be sensible of another mans suf­ferings sooner then himself, or to assume a greater share in his inte­rests, then he doth; I must confess, is as much as not to love in fashion, or not to live in this age. It is likewise a long time since I have been acquainted, that the corruption environing you, doth not at all infect you; and how among the wicked, you have conserved an integrity suiting the Raign of Lewes the twelfth: Nay, happily we must search further, and pass beyond the Authentick Historie. It is onely under the Poets Charlemain, where a man of your humour is to be found, and that the combat of Roger hath been the victorie of Leon. Without more particularly explaining my self, you understand what I would say; and I had much rather be indebted to your support, then to the merit of my cause, or to the favourable censure I have received from the Pu­blick. Certainly, truth it self cannot subsist, or finde defence without assistance; yea, even that concerning the Religion; and which more particularly appertaineth to God then the other, seaseth not on our Souls, but by the entermise of words; and hath need to be perswaded to have it believed. You may hereby judge whether the good Offices you affoarded me, were not usefull unto me, or whether or no my just cause happened succesfully into your hands. But I must defer the thanks due unto you upon this occasion, till our meeting at Paris, to the end, to animate them by my personal expression. Be confident in the interim; though pitty it self would stay me in my Cell, yet you are of power to cause me to infringe my heremetical vow: besides, you have set such a luster upon that great Citie, and have punctuated unto me so many remarkable things, and novelties thereof, in the Letter you pleased to send me, as I should shew my self insensible of rarities, and not possessed with an honest curiositie, had I not a desire to return thither. I therefore onely attend some small portion of health to strengthen me, to part hence; and to go to enjoy with you our mutual delights, I mean the conversation of Mounsieur de Vaugelas, who is able to make me finde the Court in a Cottage, and Paris in the plains of Bordeaux: Adieu Mounsieur, love me alwayes, since I am with all my Soul

Your most humble and af­fectionate servant BALZAC.
The 12. of De­cemb. 1625.

To Mounsieur Coeffeteau, Bishop of Marseilles. LETTER X.

IT is now fifteen dayes since I received any news from you, yet will I believe the change of air hath cured you; and if you (as yet) walk with a staff, it is rather I hope for some mark of your authority, then for any support of your infirmity: If this be so, I conjure you to make good use of this happy season yet remaining, and not to lose these fair dayes, hastning away, and which the next Clouds will carry from us. I give yon this advice, as findeing it good; and because there is not any thing doth more fortifie feeble persons then the Sun of this moneth, whose heat is as innocent as its light. Adamantus hath had his share of the unwholesom influence raigning in these parts. The Feaver hath not born him the respect due to a person of his quality, having so rudely intreated him, as he is scarce to be known: Yet hath he some kinde of obligation to his sickness, in having acquainted him with such pleasures, as were not made for those who are over fortunate, and which formerly he knew nor. At this present he can never be weary in praising the benefits of Liberty, nor in admiring the beauty of day, and the diversities of Nature: so as to hear him speak you would suppose all things to be Novelties unto him; and that he is entred into another World, or new born again in this. Besides, they pass their time merrily at N. and of two hundred calling themselves Virgins, I verily think there is not one who speaks truth, if she have not recovered her Maiden-head. It may be their intention is not ill, and that in suf­fering themselves to be courted, they have no other design, then to raise servants to God. But since Godly intentions do not alwayes produce good effects, if you suffer things to run on in the same course which they do, I greatly apprehend in your regard, that Antichrist will shortly take his beginning in your Diocess; and lest you by consequence should be the first object of his persecution. I suppose you-have a greater interest then any man, to oppose this accident which now threat­neth us, and that to divert a mischief which is to be followed by the Worlds ruin, you ought not to spare the fulminations of Rome; nor make use onely of half your power. There are not any will be averse to this good work, save onely our young Gallants. But you cannot procure their disaffections upon a better subject then this, nor do greater ser­vice to the jealious God, then to conserve the honour of those creatures he loveth, I am

Your most humble and most affectionate servant, BALZAC.
The 7. of Octob. 1618.

To Mounsieur Pouzet. LETTER XI.

IF you will not return from Court, we are resolved to send Deputies on purpose to require you of the King, and to beseech him to restore us our good company: I know well, that in the place where you are, there are prisons both for the innocent, and most happy; and that no man can blame you for your over-long abode there, without accusing you for being fortunate. But it were likewise small Justice, your ab­sence should make this Citie a Village, and that Paris should usurp all the affections you owe me. As I perfectly love you, so do I expect to be reciprocally respected by you; nor would you I should herein have any advantage over you, though I yield unto you in all other things: Neither of us therefore can enjoy solide contentments, so long as we are separated; and I pretend you do me wrong, if you take satisfaction where I am not. Take Post therefore with speed, to be here quickly, grow not old either by the way, or at your Inne, for by this means I shall get the advantage of that time, and you shall gain me four dayes out of the loss of three Moneths. I have seen what you willed me con­cerning λ λ λ, But I would you knew, I have no resentments against forceless enemies, nor have I any minde to put my self into passion, when these petty Doctors please. Should these fellows speak well of me, I would instantly examine my conscience, to know whether I were guilty of any fault; and as Hippolitus suspected his own innocencie, be­cause he was esteemed spotless in his stepdames eye: So should not I have any good opinion of my own sufficiencie, were I gracious in their sights, who can have no other then bad affections. Howsoever, they cause me once a day to think my self some greater matter then I am, when I reflect upon their number, and the miracle I work, in interessing in one and the same cause supersticious persons, Atheists, and evil Monks Adieu.

Yours, BALZAC.
The 14. April 1625.

An answer to a Letter sent to BALZAC, from a learned Old Lady, Madamoiselle de Gournay. LETTER XII.

Madam,

I Do here at the first tell you, I have no other opinion of you, then your self gives me, and I have at all times had a more strong and [Page 115] sound notion of the inward qualities by the speech, then by the Physi­ogmony. But if after the Letter you did me the honour to write unto me, it were necessary to seek any forraign proofs; the testimonie of those two great personages, who have admired your virtue even in the bud, and left the pourtrait thereof under their own hands, may well serve as an Antidote, to secure me from the impressions and the painted shadows of calumny. I who know that Asia, Africk, and a great part of the World besides, believe Fables as fundamental points of Religion, do not at all wonder (if in what concerneth your particular) there be some who side not with the truth, which is sure to finde enemies in all places where there are men. This is an effect of that errour, now grown old in popular opinion; that it is fit an honest woman be ignorant of many things, and that, to maintain her reputation, it is not requisite all the World commend her; but that she be unknown to all men. Nay, I say further: The vulgar doth ordinarily cast an injurious eye, and with some tax of extravagancie, upon great and Heroical qualities, if they appear in that sex, to which they conceive it ought not to appertain. Now though to speak generally, and to reflect rightly upon the order of earthly things, and the grounds of policie, I must confess, I should lean to the first of these opinions: Yet will I be well advised, how I think that Nature hath not so much liberty left her, as to pass (upon occasion) the limits she ordinarily alloweth her self; or sometimes to exceed her bounds without blame, to the end, to produce certain things, far surpassing the rest in perfection. It is no good Argument to averre, that because you are adorned with the virtues of our sex, you therefore have not reserved those of your own; or that it is a sin for a woman to understand the Language which heretofore the Vestals made use of. I will therefore leave these calumnious persons, who desire to bereave Lillies of their beauty, and Christal of its clearness, to return to the Letter I have received from you; where without flattery I will affirm, that Meaning himself. this man who hath been described unto you, for so vain-glorious a person; who despiseth times past, who mocketh the modern, and prejudicateth the future; hath found out divers things in your works well pleasing unto him: so as if my ap­probation be at this present of any weight with you, you may for your own advantage, add this Encomion to that of Lipsius and Montagnio, and boldly affirm you have this advantage over Kings and Emperours, that the tastes of two different ages have agreed in your favour. Since you were first commended, the face of Christendom hath changed ten times: Neither our manner, attire, or Court, are cognisible to what you have seen them. Men have made new Laws, yea, and the virtues of our fore-fathers age, are esteemed the vices of ours: yet shall it appear, how amidst so many changes and strange revolutions, you have brought even [Page 116] to our times one and the same reputation; and that your beauty (I speak of what enamoreth the Capucins Friers, and old Philosophers) hath not left you, with your youth. I shall in mine own regard be very glad, the World should take notice how much I honour virtue, by what name soever it passeth, and under what shape soever it is shrowded: and I esteem my party stronger by the half, then it hath been, since you have vouchsafed to enter thereinto. But if without offending against Grammatical rules, and those of Decorum: I durst take you for my second, I assure my self if we were to denounce war against these petty Authours, who are ingendered by errour, and disclosed out of the corruption of this age, you should not have over many in talking half a dozen of them to task for your part. As the least, you would put those Pedants to silence, who brag they have taught me to speak. Yet will I tell you, before I proceed any further, and to the end they may know as much (if you please) that my Mother is not resolved to give this for granted, and how if there be any glorie to be gotten in so poor an ex­ploit, she is determined to dispute the matter against all these book­makers. I have ever been hitherto of opinion, that in what concern­eth the choice of words, I ought to suffer my self to be governed by the common acceptation thereof, without adhering to any one mans single example; and that instead of acknowledging the authority of any par­ticular, I am to follow the publick consent. But howsoever, it is not the praise of a great Orator to speak our language well, but rather the mark of a true Frenchman; Nor do I pretend applause from any, for not being born in Holland, or Germany. It is true, I attribute much to Elocution, and know that high things stand in need of the help of words, and that after those have been rightly conceived, they are as happily to be expressed. It onely angers me, that out of the poorest part of Rhetorick received among the ancients, they will needs extract all ours. And that to please mean spirits, it is fitting (as they think) our works should resemble those sacrifices, whereout they take the heart, and where, of all the head, nothing is left save onely the tongue. I would make answer to the other advertisements you did me the ho­nour to give me, if they had not relation to a matter I reserve my self fully to treat in L. being a work I am in hand with, and which I hope shortly to present unto you at Paris. There it shall be, where I will make it appear unto you, that reason cannot have an easier task, then to perswade a spirit of the like making mine is, and that I equally love the truth, whether I receive it from any other, or that I finde it my self.

BALZAC.
The 3. of Au­gust 1624.

To Mounsieur Berniere, President in the Parliament of ROAN. LETTER XIII.

THe mean compliment I am to offer you, is the first effect of the fuming drinks I received from you. I have no means to finde out my right sences to entertain you; they are lost in your excellent liquors, and I had need be more valiant then I am, to defend my self against Spain and Normandy, with their united forces: I verily think, that what should have been drunk at Barniere betwixt this and Easter, is over­flown in my Chamber: If my Friends come not to my aid, I am in dan­ger to suffer shipwrack, or not to become sober again till next year: yet will you needs have me even in this plight wherein I am, to act a sober mans part; and my Soul to execute those functions you have suspended. It is impossible, not being my self, I should speak my ordinarie lan­guage; I cannot give you two words of thanks without taking one for another; and my head is so full of your Spanish Wine, and Normandy Cider, that my wits give place; I will therefore content my self, to as­sure you with this small portion of sence yet left me, that supposing your friendship produced nothing, and were as barren, as it is fruitfull, I would sue for it out of a more noble consideration, then that of parti­cular interest, and would testifie unto you, that it is your self I love, and and not your fortunes: Believe, I beseech you, the truest of all men: you gained my heart the first time I had the honour to see you; I then gave my self wholy as yours, and said within my self, what I have often since reiterated, that you being rich enough to purchase a Soveraignty beyond the Alpes, if that should ever happen, I esteemed you a suffi­cient worthy person, to deserve to have me live under your Regency, and that I was

Your most humble servant and subject BALZAC.
At Paris the 5. of March 1627.

To Mounsieur de Voiture. LETTER XIV.

THough the half of France divide us, yet are you as present to my spirit, as the objects I see, and you have part in all my thoughts and dreams. Rivers, Plains, and Towns may well oppose themselves to my content: they cannot hinder my memorie frō taking entertainment with you, or from the frequent taste of those excellent discourses wherewith [Page 118] you have graced me, till I be so happy as again to hear you. Though you should grow proud, yet must I confess, I conceive not any thing ei­ther great or sublime, save onely those Seeds you have scattered in my Soul; and that your company, which at first, was right pleasing, is now become absolutely necessarie for me: You may therefore well think it is not willingly I leave you thus long in your Mistresses hands, or that I suffer her to enjoy my goods, without giving me account: Every mo­ment she obligeth you to allow her, are so many usurpations she makes upon me; all you whisper unto her, are secrets you conceal from me; and to have your conversation in mine absence, is to inrich her self by my losses. But there is no reason I should malice so fair a Rival, in that both of you are happy; or that I frame mine afflictions upon your mu­tual contents; provided (at my coming) I finde four Moneths absence not to have blotted me out of your remembrance, and that Love hath there reserved some place for friendship, I shall still have for mine ad­vantage the time passing to attend the hour assigned; and you will come to comfort me sometimes, concerning the miseries of this Age, and the injustice of men. In the interim, in the place where now I am, as I have but slender joyes, so have I not any great discontents: I am in equal distance removed from disfavour and good fortune, and that unconstant Goddess, who is ever imployed in depopulating Cities, and subverting States, hath no leasure to work mischief in mean places. I see Shepheardesses who can onely say, yea and nay, and who are too gross witted to be deceived by understanding persons; yet is painting as little known among them as Eloquence; and because I am their Ma­ster, they would suffer me to shew them, if I so pleased, how small a distance there is between power and Tyrannie: instead of the fine words and quaint discourses wherein your Ladies abound, there issues from their mouths a pure and innocent breath, which incorporates it self with their kisses, and gives them a taste, you ordinarily finde not among those of the Court. Supposing therefore you make not any better choice there, then I happen on here by chance, I make over particular profession, to relye on your judgement, and of being

Your most humble servant BALZAC.
The 7. of Octo­ber 1625.

To Mounsieur de Vaugelas. LETTER XV.

THe good opinion you have of me, makes up more then half my me­rit, and you herein resemble the Poets Epicts, who out of small [Page 119] truths frame incredible fixions; howsoeuer, if you loved me not, but according to the rigour or Law and Reason, I should much fear to be but of indifferent esteem with you. It is then much better for me, the affection you bear me, appear rather a passion then a virtue. Extre­mities in all other things are reproveable, in this laudable; and as cer­tain Rivers are never so usefull as when they overflow: so hath Friend­ship nothing more excellent in it then excess; and doth rather offend in her moderation, then in her violence. Continue therefore in ob­serving neither rule, nor measure, in the favours you afford me, and to the end I may be lawfully ingratefull, being infinitely obliged, leave me not so much as words wherewith to thank you. Truely your last Let­ters have taken from me all the terms I should imploy in this occasion, and instead of the good Offices I incessantly receive from you, it seems you will onely have new importunies in payment. Since it is thus, fear not my niceness, or that in matters of great consequence, I make not use of your affection, and in slight ones I abuse it not; henceforward it is requisite, you recover all my Law-sutes, compose all my quarrels, and correct all my errours: For to undertake to cure all my diseases, I sup­pose you would not, in prejudice of Mounsieur de Lorime. It shall there­fore suffice, you will be pleased to let him at this passage read how I re­quire my life at his hands; and if the onely obeying him, will preserve me, I will place his precepts immediately after Gods Commandments. There is no receit distastefull, if his Eloquence affoard the prepara­tive, nor pain unasswaged by his words, before it be expelled by his Art: Remotest causes are as visible to him, as the most ordinarie effects; and if nature should discover herlself naked unto him, he could not thereby receive any further communication of her secrets, then he hath acquired by former experience. Let him therefore bestow better nights on me, then those I have had these six years, wherein I have had no sleep; intreat him to make a peace between my Liver and Stomack, and to compose this civil War, which disturbs the whole inside of my body, if he desire I should no longer live, but for his glorie; and to perswade the World, he is nothing indebted to those Arabian Princes, who practised Phisick, or to the gods themselves who invented it. Truely if meer Humanists, whom divers of his profession have some­times scorned, seem of slight consideration with him; or if he be not contented with a civil acknowledgement, I am ready to call him my preserver, and to erect Altars, and offer sacrifice unto him: Yea, to com­pass this, I will quit the better part of what I implore; It shall suffice he hinder me from dying, and that he cause my diseases and plaints to en­dure some three-score years. I would likewise know (if you please) what his good Cozen doth, that Cittizen of all Common-wealths, that man who is no more a stranger in Persia, then in France, and whose [Page 120] knowledge hath the same extent, as hath all the Turkish Empire, and all the ancient Roman Monarchy. I have at the least three hundred questions to ask him, and a whole Volumne of doubts to propose unto him; I expect at our first meeting, to resolve hith him upon the affairs of former ages, and concerning the different opinions of Baromus and Ge­nebrard on the one side, and of Escales and Casaubon on the other. I am in the mean time resolved to pass ten or twelve dayes with Mounsieur de Racan, to the end to see him in that time work miracles, and write things which God must necessarily reveal unto him. Truely Conque­rours have no greater advantage over Masters of Fence, then he hath over Doctors; and he is at this day one of the great workmanships of Nature. If all wits were like his, there would be a great deal of time lost at School: Universities would become the most unprofitable parts of the Common-wealth, and Latine as well as Millan Parchment, with other forraign Merchandizes, would be rather marks of our vanity, then any effects of our necessity.

The 10. of October 1625.

To Mounsieur de Racan. LETTER XVI.

WEre my health better then it is, yet the roughness of the season we are entring into, and which I hoped to prevent, makes me over apprehensive, to stir out of my Chamber, or to hazard my self in a long voyage: A Sunless day, or one night in a bad Host-house, were suf­ficient to finish the work of my death; and in the state wherein I am, I should much sooner arrive in the next World, then at Chastelleraut. I must therefore intreat you to hold me excused, if I keep not promise with you, or if I take some longer time to make provision of strength, to prepare my self for so hardy an enterprize. At our return from Court, we are to come to your delicate House, and to see the places where the Muses have appeared unto you, and dictated the Verses we have so much admired. Those wherewith you honoured me, do over­much engage me, to leave my judgement at liberty; I will onely con­tent my self, to protest that you were never so very a Poet, as when you spake of me; and that you have Art enough to invent new Fables, as in­credible as ancient fictions: it seems Divinity cost you nothing; and be­cause your Predecessors have furnished Heaven with all sorts of people, and since Astrologers have there placed Monsters, you suppose it may be likewise lawfull for you, at least, to get entrance there for some of your friends. You may do Sir what you please; nor have I any cause [Page 121] to blame the height of you affection, since I hold he loves not suffici­ently, who loves not excessively. It will onely be the good wits of our age who will not pardon you; and will take it impatiently, to see my name in your Verses with as great Splendor and Pompe as that of Arte­misa and Ydalia. But as you imploy not other mens passions either in matter of hate or love; so I suppose you make less use of their eyes in judging the truth of things. In this case, I am sufficiently confident of my Retorick, to assure my self I shall at all times perswade you, that I am more estimable then mine Enemies: and that they have no other ad­vantage over me, who am sick, but onely health, if they injoy it. Be­sides, you need not make any Apology in excuse of your tediousness: I well perceive by the Excellencie of your labours, the time you have therein imployed, and know that perfection is not presently to be at­tained. A Crafts-man may easily in a short time finish diverse Statues of Clay, or Plaster; but these are but for a dayes use, or to serve as Orna­ments at a Cities triumph, not to continue many Kings raigns: Those who carve in Brass or Marble, wax old upon their works, and doubtless, matters ever to endure are long to be meditated: if my Megreme would permit me, I could say more unto you, but all I can obatin of it, is to sign this Letter, and to assure you that I am perfectly

Your most humble and affe­ctionate servant, BALZAC.
The 20. of No­vemb. 1625.

To the Abbot of St. Cyran. LETTER XVII.

SInce you desire to see in what Stile I begun to write; and how suffi­cient a fellow I was at nineteen: I here send you my errours of that age, and the first faults I committed: it were much better to condemn their memory, then to fall into them afresh, by renewing them in this place. But you will be absolutely obeyed, and I have no resistance against your force: See here then the remainder of many things now lost, and what I have saved from ship wrack, being neither valuable to the Diamonds, or lumps of Ambergreece, the Sea hath lately cast upon the Coast of Bayone.

I advise you for your honours sake, not to refresh the memory of what is past, nor to seek for examples of your fidelity in our Civil wars, since you have not therein conserved it. You may hereupon say what you please, and try (if you can) to make things seem to us con­trary [Page 122] to what they are; yet am I well assured, you were engaged in a faction, wherein you have not been usefull to the King, no, not where you could serve him as an honest man ought; so as if you desire I should (to do you a favour) forget things past; or if you will alleadge that the tranquillity we now enjoy, and the good order used in mannaging Pu­blick affairs, were the effects of your prudent conduct; besides, that this glorie is not absolutely due unto you, and there remaining others who suppose they have as large a share therein as your self. You must not take it ill, if I freely tell you, there is not any thing therein wor­thy of admiration. You entered upon the State-government in a peace­able time, you therein found all things so well disposed, as they seemed of themselves to work the wished effects; and the most of the French so inclined to subjection, as it was no hard matter to bring them to due obedience. And herein you are necessarily to confess, you owe much to C C C, and that he passed the last years of his life for your instructi­ons, as he since then died for the general good of this Kingdom. If there hath been any obstacle to remove, which at this present may be troublesome unto you, he hath before his death rid his hands thereof, with as much good fortune as resolution. If it may be esteemed a be­nefit, to understand the nature of the people, thereby to deal with them according to their humours, he hath made it appear unto you, there was not any thing above his patience; since without resentment, he was able to suffer the loss of his liberty; and if so it were, that he was forced to make use of some violent act, which nevertheless was necessary; nei­ther hatred, nor envy have ever been of power to hinder his under­takings. In a word, he hath tamed the most stubborn spirits, he hath left the parties who most perplexed this poor Kingdom, either abso­lutely ruined, or so weakned, as they are utterly unable to rise again. He hath accustomed all men to patience, and hath performed so strange things, as we now finde not any thing extraordinary; and (what I most esteem) he hath made the World see how great things the Kings Au­thority was able to do, though sometimes he did this for the establishing his own. I therefore do not at all now wonder, if having found affairs disposed to receive such impressions as you pleased to put upon them, you have hitherto caused them to fall out indifferently well, or if you have not as yet committed any considerable errours in the mannaging of State-affairs, as not having any matter of difficulty to overcome, you have onely herein suffered your self to be guided by common and ordi­nary presidents. But what is all this? that your indeavours should de­serve to be preferred before all those services the D. and P. with their Predecessors have performed. Had you any imagination, when you spake in so high terms, you could cause us to believe so great impro­babilities; or had you so poor an opinion of all mens judgements, as [Page 123] to suppose we more valued your fears and continual distrusts, then so many generous actions performed by them in the eye of all Christen­dom, for the glorie and reputation of this Crown. I will not touch upon the merits of the living, lest you should impute that to a desire of complacency, or some particular obligation, which the onely interest of truth exacteth of me. I onely require justice for the dead, whom you have dared to wrong in the Kings presence, against all rules of piety, obliging you to respect their memory. Doubt not, but that they are yet sensible of things in this World, and that amidst the glorie and contentments they possess, their care to live in the good odour of men, doth yet continue: You may therefore well imagine, they have just cause to think, those lives they have lost in their Princes service, and for the defence of their Countrey had been ill imployed, and might justly complain of our ingratitude, should we suffer before our eyes their reputations to be questioned, without testifying any distaste. In vain had they triumphed over the most beautifull parts of the earth, and carried their victorious Arms where the name of France was not yet arrived. To small purpose had they recluded the power of strangers, wherein the limits of Nature prescribed unto them. In vain likewise, e­ven in our memorie had they conserved State & Religion, when those of your faction did diversly labour the ruine of both; should you now be suffered to enter into comparison with them; or as though the posses­sion of that glorie wherein they alwayes remained, were unjustly con­troverted in their case. But the mischief herein is, that we have onely right on our side, and that all things are so averse unto us, as it will be very hard to cause reason to be so much as regarded, because it favours us; so as I get nothing by disputing with a man who is above Laws, and in whose behalf the King hath received so advantagious impressions, as he may securely exercise his passions, under pretext of his Authority, and confound his particular enmities, together with the interests of the Common-wealth. I should be very loath to say you are grown to such extremities, or that out of vanity and presumption, two imperfections purely humane, you should so suddenly be stept into Cruelty & Tyrannie, two Diabolical Errours. Nevertheless, if having great power in the Kings breast, (as indeed you may do much) you cause a general diffi­dence therein of all things, and indeavour to bring his best servants in­to suspition with him, thereby to make them unusefull: If you intend by imaginarie jealousies to divert his inclination from that goodness, whereto at all times it hath had an extraordinary propention; or if you hinder him from the free use of his natural debonarity toward her, who brought him into this World. Do you not think men will begin to say, it is not vanity alone hath spoiled you? and that it will not be ge­nerally wished, that the Maxims you make use of, were somewhat more [Page 124] Christian, and less contrary to Gods Commandments. I know we have a Prince of such perfection, as Heaven it self cannot without miracle make farther addition, then Experience. So timely a wise man hath scarce ever been; all his inclinations do wholy aim at good, and Virtue is to him so natural, as I verily believe he would be much troubled to do ill. But you are not ignorant that one cannot give poison to any man so easily, as to him whom in taking it, supposeth he receiveth wholesom Phisick, and that ill counsels have never so great power over our spirits, as when we embrace them without distrust. Surely the uttermost of evils is that, whereof we have neither knowledge nor apprehension; nor is there any fault more dangerous, then when we make use of reason it self in our er­rours. I have no purpose to offend any with my discourse, and do in­treat you to believe, I think it very well you make use of all the means, you suppose, may conduce to the causing the Kings authority to become more awfull to all men, and publick peace further confirmed. These are two so delicate matters, as they cannot be touched without danger, not conserved with over much care. Yet must you pardon me, if I say you are to be very circumspect, lest in thinking to strengthen this authority, you abuse it not to the prejudice of your own conscience; and you are withall to consider, that Peace cannot be of any long continuance, if it be pleasing to God, who hath never suffered without resentment, that the Laws of Nature should be violated. These Laws the Barbarians themselves allow of, have not been established either by force or neces­sity, as others are: The first thing we can do, is to follow them, and the obedience we yield them, can neither be milder, nor more easie: They are not engraven upon Marble, but are born with us; they are not pecu­liar to one people or Countrey, but are common to all men: They have not ordained any punishment for those who will not observe them, so was it not probable, that any could be found so much their own ene­mies, as to be inclined to such extreamities. To conclude, they were not made for the mean and vulgar people onely, but for all the World: and those are the more strictly thereto obliged, who owe most to their extraction. If this be true (as you cannot but know) should not Heaven be injured? things both Divine and Moral, should they not be openly dispised, would not Nature her self cry vengeance against you, should you by your crafts and disguisements animate a young Prince against that person, who of all the World, ought to be most dear unto him, and deface out of his royal Soul by your servile fears (ill founded) his first and most innocent affections? I will not believe for mine own content, and the honour of our age, that this mischief can happen; but I am much perplexed to know who it is, that causeth all honest men to sigh, who hindreth us the perfect feeling of that felity peace affoards, and which compassionateth even strangers, who are least interessed in our affairs. [Page 125] Will you have so savage a Soul, as to dread the fairest thing the World affoardeth? or can you be so pusillanimous, as to have any timorous re­flection upon an afflicted person? Can you imagine goodness it self should do hurt, or that the Court cannot without danger behold what it hath heretofore seen with so great contentment? For my part, if this be thus, I finde no difference between a lost state, and one concerning it self in this sort; and it must needs be, those miseries you apprehend are very violent, if they exceed your remedies. Alas, if we have forgotten we are Christians, shall we not at least remember we are men? if we be almost insensible, even to brutality, shall we not yet affoard something to apparance? Be satisfied in being in estimation and favour with the King: Govern alone, (if you can) all his affairs; administer Justice with­out any assistant; take all his authority into your own hands; yet suffer his Mother to see him, give way that he refuse her not a favour, which he cannot hinder, even his very enemies, sometimes from enjoying. Affoard, since it is in your power, this favour to all France; appease in time those publick complaints ready to rise against you, and slackning some part of your rigorous counsels, add this onely point deficient in the felicity of this Kings raign. If you can procure so pious a thing, and so pleasing to God and Man; this great reputation of Honesty you have shrewdly hazarded, will return with more glitter, and luster then ever it had; we will not believe our own eyes, if they shew us any thing oppo­site thereunto: We will suppose it is some other who had a desire to out­strip the D. and P. and how there is not any apparance, that a man in whom age ought to finish, what the study of Wisedom had happily left unperfect, should still be subject to enter into errours. But if on the other side, you go on in abusing our good Kings facility, & unprofitably to perplex his spirits with perpetual distrusts, if you disguise all things unto him, on purpose to cause him to perceive nothing, but what you please, nor to take notice of ill, being hidden under the apparance of its contrary; perswade not your self, that God will long suffer Truth to be unknown. Do not think, but things will shortly return to the same terms wherein Nature placed them; or that the King having once discovered the bad designs of his Favourites, will not easily be induced once again to amaze the whole World, by a second example of his Justice, and to satisfie his peoples complaints, by abandoning them to publick venge­ance. Then will you over-late reflect upon this Worlds vanity: you will then consider, that when we esteemed you happy, you were mount­ed to a place from whence there is not any who have not fallen, and how Fortune envious of your felicity, drew you from that sweet and peaceable life, wherein you were entred; fearing lest thereby you might conserve your Virtue, or therein avoid your ruin.

To Mounsieur Malherb. LETTER XVIII.

AFter I have told you how dear the testimonies I have received from your remembrance are unto me; I can do no less then thank you for the good Justice you affoarded me. If the like Integrity were to be found among those, who have the life and fortunes of men in their hands, I should take pleasure in pleading, and by the same reason Laws punish offenders, I might hope to be rewarded. It may be I flatter my self, but I suppose my interest is the same with all honest men, and that they can no longer live in security, since I am fallen upon, for the virtues I value in them. Surely, if the World suffer ill tongues to touch upon my labours, it is very probable, they will not spare other mens; and that hereafter there will not be any thing so excellent, which shall not be hated, nor so holy, some Lysander will not violate. These ill examples therefore are not to be suffered, nor is it to be tol­lerated, that one particular person forsake publick belief, to rely upon his own peculiar sence: and should this disorder continue, Artificers and Farmers would (at length) prove reformers of State. I pretend not hereby to lessen the favour I received from you: But on the contrary, I am so easie to oblige, as I suppose my friends give me all whatsoever they take not from me; you will yet avouch thus much, that supporting my side, you do in some sort fight in your own defence: For if to day they say, my Stile is not good, to morrow they will maintain your Rimes to be naught. But it is now time, after I have thanked you, that I wrangle with you, and complain for having been injured in the per­son of Mounsieur de Racan, whom you tax for a disease, whereof I have been dead this ten years. I doubt not, but that part of us whereby we are men, as well as by reason, hath heretofore acquired you Honour; and that our Historie ought to yield a glorious testimonie of your fore-passed virtues in that kinde: But since you can no longer be happy therein, but by memorie; and that your courage will now stand in need of your Sons assistance; me thinks, it is unseemly for you to scoffe at our weakness; for howsoever in accusing us, for not having conti­nued young so long as your self, you can onely tax us for arriving at the Haven sooner then you have done. There is none but M. F. who may boldly laugh at the debility of others, and make jests at our charge; but he hath reason so to do, since his merit herein is generally acknow­ledged; as being little less valiant in those feats, then that ancient He­roes, who subdued Monsters, and in one night was fifty times Son in Law to one of his Hosts. I infinitely esteem the eminent qualities [Page 127] wherewith he is adorned, and finde nothing in him which is not per­fectly pleasing. But when I consider that he is capeable to cause us to be despised by a whole Sex, and to make us ridiculous to the most beautifull part of the World, I have great contestation within my self, to forbear to wish him ill; and what part soever I take, touching the glorie all men allow him: Yet doth it not a little anger me, that my Eloquence is not so masculine as his.

The 15. of Aug. 1625.

To Mounsieur de Vaugelas. LETTER XIX.

WEre it not for the Letter you wrote me, I should have stood in need of all my Phylosophy to comfort my self for the loss I have received. But since you have sent me the counterfeit of that di­vine company I left at Paris, having thereby something, representing my forepassed good fortune; take it not ill, I begin to have less ap­prehension then formerly I had, of the discomfort I suffer in being re­moved from you; or if I say, you have caused your absence to become thereby the less irksome unto me, which otherwise would have proved insupportable. Lucidor doth overmuch oblige me in retaining me in his memorie, and in desiring my company in his inchanted Pallace. I beseech you to tell him, I shall never forget the happy day we there spent, and that I cannot believe, there is a more excellent Structure even in the Roman Kingdom, though builded by the very hands of Tasso or Ariosto: in sadness my thoughts stayed there, when I parted thence, I still walk in his Allies; I wander in his Woods, and slumber upon the banks of the Fairies Fountain, whereof I need onely drink a drop to turn Poet: That infinity of different beauties discovering themselves to our eyes, at the opening of the Gates, caused me instant­ly to hate Rome, Paris, and all Cities; and I termed the Duke of Venice miserable, in that he is condemned never to remove from the place where he is, and consequently never to see what I there beheld. The Foot-post, who is to carry this Letter, doth much press my dispatch, telling me, he shall hazard, to remain still in this place, if I make it any longer. This is equally my miserie, and your good fortune; for as I am constrained to deprive my self of the contentment to entertain time with you, so will this free you from divers impertinent speeches, wherewith happily I should otherwise have importuned you.

The 4. of August 1625.

LETTER XX. To the same.

I Can no longer live without receiving news from you, and under­standing from your self, the good success of your voyage. My bro­ther writ unto me, they have done you some kinde of justice, where­with you were reasonable well pleased; but if this content be not ab­solute, I am resolved not to rejoyce, and I do already condemne the State, and all those who govern it. It is a shame to see the bounties of Princes in the hands of such persons who can neither be usefull nor pleasing unto them; and that honest men must still satisfie themselves with the onely testimony of a good conscience, and in the content they receive in well-doing: For my part, I will not complain of For­tune, provided, you occasion to commend her. Now if the Mini­sters of State understood my secret, and that for satisfying of two, it were onely necessary to oblige one; by acquitting themselves of what they owe you, they might easily spare what they have pro­mised me. We have newly received tidings of the Defeat given to the Enemies naval Army; but having lost one of my near friends in that Conflict, I cannot forbear to be a bad French-man till to morrow, and to grieve for the Victory, whereat all others rejoyce: Besides, I being of a profession onely exercised in private, and re­pose, I assure you the report of Cannons begins to trouble me; for of all Wars, those of Germany please me best, in that I am thirty dayes journeys off: Our Doctors say no less then I do: the most zealous among them, longingly expect a more quiet season, fearing the ruine of the adverse part, for the interest of their Ar­guments and Schollership: and in very truth, I cannot conceive what they should do with their controversies, where there no lon­ger any against whom thay could contend. I write you this from the bank of the most beautifull River of the World; but being so far from you, I taste all pleasures imperfectly; and were my Kins­man revived, not seeing you, there would still remain a kinde of affliction upon me, which nothing but your presence is able to ease. Without playing the Poet, I can assure you, I have taught your name to all the Rocks in my wilderness: and it is written up­on the Barks of all our Trees: but you are no way obliged unto me, in that I love you extraordinarily. It is an action indepen­dant on my will or free election, it being at this present as neces­sary for me, as all other things are, without which I cannot sub­sist: And it is requisite I suffer my self to be transported by the [Page 129] force of my inclination, which another would call his Destiny. Be therefore when you please mine enemy; you are assured I shall ne­ver be but.

Your most humble and most faithfull servant BALZAC.
The 21. of Septem­ber 1615.

To the same. LETTER XXI.

A Lame Foot-man would have made more haste then the Messen­ger did, who delivered me your two Letters, fifteen dayes after the latter of them was written: Yet notwithstanding was he very well­com, and had it been Lysander himself, bringing news from you, he had been inviolable to all my Lackies; and I had received him as my friend. Truely, there is not any discontent which is not lost, in the joy I re­ceive to be beloved by you, and if the small displeasure they have done me, were of power to offend me, I should in your favours finde the re­medy others seek for revenge. I have as unmovedly read the Satyre made against me, as I write this Letter; and have onely accused my bad fortune, which hath at all times chosen the most infamous of all men for mine enemies: you cannot imagine how much I am ashamed of this unlucky accident, and of the wrong I suppose I receive, when at any time they give me the advantage in a comparison wherein Lysander can­not enter without having the better of it. Yet Sir, I am resolved to have patience, provided, the War you raise against me, be onely feigned, and that you speak not seriously; for surely I would burn all my pa­pers, were they culpable of one single word displeasing unto you; and my thoughts should be far different from my intention, had I done any thing disgustfull unto you; howsoever, I crave pardon for the fault whereof you accuse me, though I suppose I have not done you any so ill Offices to fair Ladies, as it seems you would perswade me: On the contrary, if my testimony be seconded by their ascents, there will not be hereafter any among them, who will not look upon you, as at one of their chiefest felicities; and who will not sell all her Pearls, to pur­chase one of your Nights. Queens will come from the remotest parts of the World, to taste the pleasure of your conversation; and you shall be the third after Salomon and Alexander, who shall cause them to come at the report of your Virtue. As for devout persons, I do not think they will rank Health and Strength in the number of Vices; for by that [Page 130] reason they should hold all those for Saints, whom the Courts of Parlia­ment have declared as impotent, and so fill Heaven with sick folks. To say truth, I cannot deny, but I have given the Alarum to married men, and I must say, your visits will be suspicious to those who know you not: but when they shall understand what I intend to publish in all places, that you had rather die, then violate with so much as one single thought, the laws of true Friendship, and that your fidelity is irreproveable: In stead of avoiding you, as an object of scandal, they will propound you to their Wives as an example of Continency. I could alleadge divers other things for my Justification, but if you think I have been faulty, I will not presume to imagine I am innocent; and rather then contradict you, I will sign the decree of my Death with mine own hand.

The 10. of Octob. 1625.

To the same. LETTER XXII.

THere is no other means to exceed the height of what you have written, not to answer the civilities of your Letter, but onely by rendring you all your own words: I know not your meaning: but to take the most unprofitable of your friends for your benefactor, and to thank me for the ill I do you, is no less then strangely to abuse the propriety of words, especially for a man so perfectly acquainted with our lan­guage, as your self; or questionless it must needs be, you suffer my per­secutions with the like patience, as good men receive those afflictions God layes upon them. For as losses and diseases are presents and fa­vours in terms of devotion; so do you bestow pompous names upon poor matters, & you make your self believe, you shall draw some advan­tage out of my Amity, though in truth you extract nothing thence but charge; nor doth it produce any better effects, then Thorns: And up­on the matter, what else are the pains and affairs, I perpetually put up­on you? or what difference is there between the hatred of an Enemy, and so troublelom an affection as mine? It is I who disturb your rest, who usurp your liberty, who will not suffer you to have any leasure, though that be the true possession of the wise. It is no want of good­will in me, that I change not all your kindeness into choller, and make not a pleader and wrangler of the best tempered spirit Philosophy ever received from Nature; I lay Ambushes for you at Paris, at Fontain­bleau, and at S. Germains: Yea, should you think to hide your self at the Worlds end to avoid importunities, I would undertake the voyage of Magellan, to seek you out there: yet are you well pleased with all [Page 131] this, and I receive thanks instead of expecting ill words. The care you have to oblige me, exceeds all I can desire: Good Offices come thick upon me, when they proceed from your side; and they are acti­ons it seems you are pleased to convert into habitudes. Without en­tring into infinities, do I not of recent memorie owe to your testimonie, all the good opinion your excellent friend can have of me; and if he imagine I am worthy any estimation, is it not you who sets a value upon my defects, and who have assisted me in deceiving him? But in what sort soever you have procured me these favours, be it that therein you have either committed theft, or made an acquisition, I am still right happie to be beloved by a man, who hath the reputation not to affect ill things, and to please whom, it is as much as to be reckoned in the number of honest men. The day before I parted from Court, I had the leasure to observe him at Mounsieur the Marshal of Schambergs house; but I assure you, I could spy nothing of slender consideration, either in his words or aspect; and though I have alwayes used to be diffident of my first opinion; nor ever to judge without long deliberation, I have notwithstanding herein, sinned against my own rules; and was not ashamed to say, that a wit of twenty years had amazed mine: But the Sermon bell rings, which calls and forceably draws me from you: my contentment therefore must give place to my dutie, which commands me to make an end, after I have required news from you, concerning a Woman, to whom I am extraordinarily and particularly obliged; of a Woman I say, who is more worth then all our books, and in whose conversation there is sufficient to make one an honest man, without ei­ther the help of Greeks or Romans: How old a Courtier soever you are, you understand not French, if you understand not Madame de Deftoges.

On Christmas day, 1625.

To the same. LETTER XXIII.

I Hope very shortly to follow these few lines, and to come to court you with as much assiduity and subjection, as though you were to be the founder of my fortunes. I have no other business at Paris, but this; though I frame many pretexts for that voyage, but I swear seri­ously you are the onely cause. My melancholy is of late become so black, and my spirits are so beclouded, as I must of necessitie see you, to dissipate them. It is to small purpose to speak well of me in the place where you are, they do me no good though; this is as much as to [Page 132] cast incense upon a dead body, and to strow flowers upon his grave, but this is no reviving of him. I no longer receive any comfort in the news you send me, and I am well assured my misfortune is constant, what alteration soever happen in the World: it remaineth then, that I seek for my consolation in your presence, and power forth all my com­plaints into your bosom; this I will do at the first sight of the Sun­beams, beseeching you to believe, that as in the middest of felicity, I should have need of you to make me happy; so also having such a friend as your self, I shall never esteem my self absolutely miserable.

BALZAC.
The 20. of Novem­ber 1625.

BALZAC his Letter to Hidasp. LETTER XXIV.

I Do far more esteem the Carthusians silence, then the Eloquence of such Writers, and am perswaded, (excepting in Church service, and for the necessity of Commerce) the Pope and the King should do well to forbid them Latin and French; whereof they seek to make two barbarous languages. I know well, that French spirits are sworn Enemies to all sorts of bondage, and that twelve hundred years of Monarchy, hath not been of power to make them lose their liberty, it being as natural to them as life it self. Whatsoever ugly face they frame to the Inquisition, and how full of Tygers and Serpents soever they paint the same, yet do I finde it right necessary in this Kingdom: For besides that, it would cause (as in Spain and Italy) even the wicked in some sort, to resemble the upright, and vice not at all to offend the publick eye: it would be­sides hinder Fools from filling the world with their bastardly books, and the faults of School masters from being as frequent as those are of Ma­gistrates, and Generals of Armies. Truely it is a shame there are Laws against those who counterfeit Coins and falsifie Mercandizes; yet that such are freely permitted who corrupt Philosophy and Eloquence, and who violate those things, the Vulgar ought no more to meddle with then with State government, or Religious Mysteries. The late great plague was of small consideration in comparison of this, which checks all the World: and surely, if speedy order be not taken, the multiplicity of our Authors will make a Library as big as Paris, wherein there shall scarcely be found one good word, or reasonable conceit. These be the fruits arising out of inordinate idleness, and the third scourge caused by Peace, sent to afflict this poor Realm after Duels, and Law-suits. There are hardly any to be found, who are contented to keep their faults and follies to themselves, or to sin in secret; but are also doting upon their [Page 133] own follies, as they do desire to engrave them in Marble and Brass, there­by to eternize their memory, and to make them past retracting. Now to return to the party of whom you particularly required my opinion, and who indeed is the first subject of this Letter. I must ingeniously confess unto you, that next to Beer and Phisick, I never found any thing so di­stastefull as his works: he wanteth (almost throughout) even natural Logick, yea, that part thereof which proveth men to be reasonable crea­tures. In three words he speaks four bad ones, and as he alwayes strayeth from the subject whereof he treateth, so doth he ordinarily talk in an un­known language, though he intend to speak French: Besides, Ice it self is not more cold then his conceits, and when he desires to be facetious (as at every turn he fain would) he had need to be in fee with his Rea­der to make him laugh, as at Funerals in Paris, weepers are usually hired for money. There is no question but truth were of far more force, and disarmed, then it can be with the assistance this simple fellow would strive to affoard her: Now supposing such men were ingaged in the right, without any treacherous design, yet is it as much as to abandon Gods cause, to suffer it to be supported by so weak and unworthy Pens. The Renegadoes have not so much wronged▪ Christianity, as those who have not valiantly defended themselves against the Turks, & such who through defect of conduct & skill, though they wanted neither zeal, nor affection, suffer themselves to be surprized by the same advantages, they other­wise might have had over their enemies. Truely the Empire of the wic­ked doth much more maintain it self by our pusillanimity, then by its own power or forces; nor doth any thing cause virtue to be so badly fol­lowed, as doth the weak and unskilfull teaching and explanation thereof. It were therefore requisite, some wise man, who had been in this Coun­trey, where there is continual debate, and where there is never either peace or truce, (called the Colledge of Sarbon,) and who besides had the art to make good things gratefull, & could bring matters to attonement by a sweet hand; should come to cleanse the Court from those opinions lately introduced, and cure Souls instead of wounding them with inju­ries. It was that great Cardinal who triumphed over all humane spirits, and whose memory shall ever be sacred, so long as there remain any Al­tars, or that oblation is offered on earth. It was I say the Cardinal of Perron, who was able to shew Epicurus himself, something more sublime and transcendent then this life, and cause his fleshly Soul to be cape­able of the greatest secrets of Christian Religion. Though this man had a dignity equal in height to the greatest Conquerors and Monarchs: Yet had he (in what concerned Religion) an heart as humble as that of decreped men and Infants. How often hath he (with those two diffe­rent qualities) imposed silence upon all Philosophy, and spoken of Di­vine matters, with as great perspicuity as though he had already been in [Page 134] Heaven; or had seen the same Devine verity wholy discovered, whereof here on earth, we have onely a confused understanding, and imperfect knowledge. To tell you in plain terms, but for the works of this De­vine person, which I as highly esteem as the victories of the late King his Master, and wherein I desire alwayes to leave mine eyes, when I am necessitated to give over reading: I had been much troubled to retire my self from the tracing the book you sent me, since any mischief doth so easily catch hold of me, when I come near it, as I can hardly look up­on a begger without taking the itch, and my imagination is so tender and delicate, as it is sensible, and afflicted at the sight of any base ob­ject; yet thanks be to God, and the Antidote I continually take, I am the better armed against the conspiracie you intended against me: and have yet life in me, after having been under a fools hands longer then I desired. But by what I can gather, he is notwithstanding in good re­pute in the place where you are, and likely enough to finde store of such as will follow him, in that he is head of an evil partie. I can here­unto answer you nothing, save onely that between this place and the Pyrenean Mountains, good wits do sometimes stray from common opi­nion, as from a thing too vulgar; and do often take counterfeit virtues, yea, even those who have not any resemblance to the right, for perfect verities: But when I consider, how there is scarce any kinde of beast which hath not heretofore been adored among Idolaters, nor any dis­ease incident either to the body, or minde of man, whereunto Antiqui­tie hath not erected Temples. I do not at all marvel, why divers men do sometimes esteem of those, who are no way deserving; or why simple people should hold Sots in high reputation, since they have addressed incense to Apes and Crocadiles. The thing I most vex at herein, is, that both your self and I, are in some sort obliged to the Author of the book you sent me, and that I have received the beginnings of my stu­dies, and first tincture of Learning from the last, and least estimable of all men. For my part, I protest before all the World, I am not for all that guilty, either of the follies he will fall into, or of any such as he hath formerly committed: and that having had much ado to purifie my understanding from the ordures of the Colledge, and to quit my self from perverse studies; I have now no other pretention, but to follow such as can no way be reproachable unto me. Howsoever, I should not reject Chastity, though my Nurse had died of the Pox; and it may sometimes happen, that a bungling Mason may lay some few stones in the building of the Loover, or at the Queen-mothers Pallace.

LETTER XXV.

THe Letter newly delivered unto me from you, is but three moneths and an half old: it is an age wherein men are yet young, yet some Popes have not reigned so long, and in the state wherein the Churches affairs have often stood. You might have written unto me at the be­ginning of one Papacy, and I had received yours at the end of another; howsoever, I can no way better imploy my patience, then in attending my good fortune; and as it was the use to be invited a year before­hand to the Sybarites Feasts, so is it fitting you make me long attend the most perfect content I enjoy in this World. I doubt not but T. T. seeketh all occasions to do me ill offices, and that my absence affoard­eth him much advantage to wrong me; but on the other side, I cannot think men will more readily believe mine enemies words, then mine own actions; or that it is sufficient onely to slander an honest man, to make him presently wicked. It is true what he saith, that I am not very usefull for A [...]amanta's service, I will at all times readily yield that quality to his Coach-horses, and to the Mules that carrie his Coffers: Yet am I too well acquainted with the Generositie of that Signiour, to think he doth more esteem the bodie, then the Soul, or to suppose that a Farmer should be of higher consideration with him, then a man of worth. What confession of Faith soever R. makes, I will not imagine he can ever be really altered: I had rather both for mine own con­tentment and his honour belive, it is onely a voyage he hath made into the Adversaries Countrey, to the end to bring us some news, and to give us account of what passeth at Charenton: Surely, I suppose, I should not wrong him so much in holding him for a Spie among Enemies, as to call him a forsaker of his side, and a Fugitive from that Church, whereto he hath at least this obligation, (if he will confess no other) that it is she who made him a Christian. You may do me a courtesie, to make me acquainted with the cause moving him to forsake us, and to go from those Maxims he hath so often preached unto me; That a wise man dies in the Religion of his Mother: That he never alters his opinion: That he never repents himself of his sorepassed life therein: That all No­velties are to him suspicious.

It is long since I knew, that no mans cause can be bad in the hands of Mounsieur d' Andilly, and that he betters all the affects: he interessed himself in my protection, the 1. day he saw my works; so as it is not any more my self whom he commends, but his own judgement, which he is bound to defend: Yet will I not desist from being much obliged un­to him: For I supposing one affoards me a favour, when at any time he doth me Justice, you may well think. I have right particular, and most [Page 136] tender sensibilities for those courtesies I receive, but they are in special regard with me, when they come from a person of so high estimation in my thoughts as he is, and of whom I should still have much to say, after I had related, how amidst the corruption of this age, and in the authority Vice therein hath gained, he hath notwithstanding the forti­tude, to continue an upright man, and blusheth not at Christian vir­tues, nor vanteth of Moral ones. I hope to see him within few dayes, and to take possession of some small corner in his House at Pompona, which he hath provided for me, there to breath at mine ease, and to set my spirits sometimes at liberty. In the interim you must needs know, about what I busie my self, and that I tell you, I entertain a fool, in whom I finde all the Actors in a Comedy, and all sorts of extravagan­cies incident to the spirit of man. After my books have busied me all the morning, and that I am weary of their company, I spend some part of the after-noon with him, partly to divert my thoughts from serious things, which do but nourish my Melancholy. Ever since I came into this World, I have been perpetually troublesome to my self, I have found all the hours of my life tedious unto me; I have done nothing all day, but seek for night. Wherefore if I desire to be merry, I must necessarily deceive my self, and my felicity is so dependant upon ex­terior things, that without Painting, Musick, and divers other divertise­ments, how great a Muser soever I am, I have not sufficient wherewith to entertain my self, or to be pleased. Think not therefore, that ei­ther my fool, or my books are sufficient to settle my contentment; nay, rather if you have any care of me, or if you desire I should have no lea­sure to be sad, make me partaker of all the news hapning in the place where you are; let me see the whole Court by your eyes, cause me to assist at all Sermons by your ears, give me accompt of the good and bad passages hapning this Winter, and that there part not a post, un­charged with a Gazetto of your stile, as there shall not any go hence, who shall not bring you some vision of my retiredness.

There runs a rumour in these parts, that Mounsieur de Boudeville is slain, but since there are not many more hard atchievements to be wrought, then that, it is too great a death to be believed upon the first report.

The 1. of November 1625.

LETTER XXVI.

WEre I not confined to my bed, I should my self have sollicited the business I have recommended unto you; nor should I have suffered you thus far to oblige me in my absence. But since I cannot [Page 137] possibly part hence, and am here constrained to take ill rest, being far more grievous unto me then agitation; I humbly beseech you, to suf­fer these Lines to salute you in my stead, and to put you in remem­brance of the request I made unto you. Sir, I am resolved not to be beholding to any but your self, for the happy success whereof the goodness of our cause assureth us, and in case your integrity should be interessed, I would owe the whole to your favour: For besides, that you are born perfectly generous, I do not at all doubt, but the commerce you have with good books, and particularly with Seneca, hath taught you the Art, To do good to all men. But to the end the obligation I desire to owe you, may be wholy mine own, instead of re­ferring it to the study of Morality, to your bountifull inclination, or to the Justice of my request: I will rather imagine, I shall be the sole cause of this effect, and that you will act without any other assistance, out of the love you bear me, who am passionately

Your most humble and most faithfull servant, BALZAC.
Paris the 2. of May 1627.

LETTER XXVII.

G X. X. is resolved to leave all worldly affairs in the state he found them, and these great cares which should have extended them­selves over the most remote parts of Christendom, have not as yet pas­sed the limits of his house: He preserves his old age, and prolongs his life by all the possible means he can imagine: But it is thought he will not long make his successor attend, and that his death will be the first news in the Gazetto. Phisicians and Astrologers have concluded upon this point, that he shall not see the end of Autumn. For my part, I ne­ver made any great difference between a dead person, and an unprofi­table one; and if things less perfect, ought to be post posed to more excellent ones; it were a mockery to make choice of sick folks, and cause them to be adored by those who are in health, or to put soveraign power into their hands, to the end onely to have them leave it to others. But it is not my part to reform all things displeasing me in this World, and I should be very ungratefull, if I blamed that form of government, wherein I finde my self very well: In effect (Sir) speak no more to me of the North, nor its neighbours; I declare my self for Rome against Paris, nor can I any longer imagine, how a man can live happily un­der your Climate, where Winter takes up nine Moneths of the Year, and after that the Sun appeareth, onely to cause the Plague, and (weak as it is) forbears not to kill men: There is not any place▪ [Page 138] (Rome excepted) where life is agreeable, where the bodie findes its pleasures, and the spirit his, where men are at the source of singu­lar things. Rome is the cause you are neither Barbarian nor Pagan, since she hath taught you the civility of Religion: She hath given you those Laws which Arm you against errour, and those examples whereto you owe the good actions you perform. It is from hence inventions and Arts are come to you, and where you have received the Science of of Peace and War. Painting, Musick, and Comedies are strangers in France, but natural in Italie: that great Virtue it self you so much ad­mire in your Court, is she nor Roman? That Martchioness, of whom so many marvels are related, is she not Countrey-woman to the Mother of the Graches, and the Wife of Brutus? and in truth, to possess all those perfections the World acknowledgeth in her, was it not fitting she should be born in a place whereon Heaven defuseth all its Graces? Truely, I never ascend Mount Palatin, or the Capitole, but I change spirit, and others then my ordinarie cogitations seaze upon me. This aire inspireth me with some great and generous thing I formerly had not; and if I muse but two hours upon the Banks of Tyber, I am as un­derstanding, as if I had studied eight dayes. It is a thing I wonder at, that being so far off, you make so excellent Verses, and so near the Ma­jestie of Virgils. I suppose herefore, none will blame me, for having chosen Rome for the place of my abode, or for preferring flowers be­fore Snow and Ice. If men choose Popes of three-score and ten years old, and not of five and twenty, the dayes are therefore neither sadder nor shorter, nor have we any subject to complain of our Masters debili­ty, since we are thereto obliged for our quiet.

From Rome the 25. of March 1621.

LETTER XXVIII.

IT is not to answer your excellent Letter, I write you this, but onely to let you know, you have so absolutely acquired me to your service, as you have left me no libertie to do what I desire, when there is any question of performing your pleasure. Since therefore you and your Printers have conspired against my quiet, and that you determine to make my infirmities as publick, as though you meant to lead me to the Hospitals, or Church-porches; I am contented with closed eyes to obey you, and to put my reputation to adventure, rather then seem to refuse a thing you have demanded of me. Mounsieur the Priour [Page 139] of Chives, to whom I communicate my most secret thoughts, and in whose person you shall see that I know how to make good ele­ctions, (in delivering you this Letter) may conclude it, and acquaint you with the power I have given you over all my desires; truely, it hath no other bounds then impossibilities. Since as for those which are onely unjust, I believe I should make small scruple, to violate the Laws for your sake, and to testifie unto you, that virtue it self is not more dear unto me then your friendship; this is

Your most humble and most affectionate servant BALZAC.
The 4. of Janua­ry 1624.

LETTER XXIX.

BEing now ready to alter my course of life, and part hence to come to Court, I held my self obliged to advertise you, that here­in I do, what I have no minde unto, and that they have pulled me out from a soil, where I suppose I had taken Root. It much afflicts me, that I must forsake the company of my Trees, and part from that pleasing solitude my good Fortune had chosen for me, before I was born: But since all the World drives me out, and be­cause what I call repose, my friends term Pusillanimity; I must suffer my self to be carried away with the press, and to erre with others, since they will not let me do well by my self. Upon my Conscience it is not out of my own ambition that I am high-minded, but out of my Fa­thers; and if people of his time had not measured things by the events, & had not believed those onely to be wise, who are fortunate, I should not have busied my self in searching at Paris, for what I ought to have found in my self: But truely I have so great obligation to so good a Father, and the care he hath taken to husband the good grain he hath cast into me, and to finish me after he had framed me; have been so great and passionate, as there is no reason, I should follow my private inclina­tion, by resisting his intention. I go therefore since it is his pleasure, to live among wilde beasts, and to expose my self to hatred and calum­ny, as though the Feaver and Sciatica were not sufficient to make me miserable. At my first approach the Grammarians will call me into question, because I put not the French word Mensonge into the feminine gender, and do not believe the Jurisdiction they have over words, is powerfull enough, to cause this word to change Sex. Those who have not as yet written, will set pen to paper against me, and the new Bridge [Page 140] will Eccho nothing but my name and their injuries. I shall be much distasted to hear I am become an Author, and that I perform indifferent good pieces. The meaner sort of spirits will be much moved, in that I have set so high a rate upon Eloquence, and being unable to follow me, they will throw stones to stay me. The truth I have not dissem­bled, will at once offend our adversaries and ill Priests; debaucht persons will never forgive me the P. P. they have seen in my books; and Hypocrites will wish me ill, because I set upon vice even with­in the Sanctuary. See here (my dear friend) the persecution pre­pared for me, and of what sorts of people the Army of mine Ene­mies is composed. In all apparence there is not any valour able to surmount so great a multitude; and I should do much better to enjoy the peace of my village, and to eat Mellons in securi­ty, then to cast my self into this incensed troup, and to engage my self in an endless War: yet since all Grammarians are not worth one Philosopher, and in that the better part hath often the advan­tage over the greater; I am in hope, Authority and Reason siding with me, I shall easily get the upper hand of multitudes and in­justice. To tax me in these times wherein we are, is as much as to give the lye to his Master, and to condemne the opinion of the prime men of our age. Those who govern at Rome, and at Paris, make my labours their delights; and when at any time they lay aside the weight of the whole World, they refresh themselves with my Works. But if some bad Monks who in religious houses, as Rats, and other imperfect creatures may happily have been in the Ark, seek to gnaw my reputation; Mounsieur de Nantes, and Mounsieur de Berille will conserve it; and you know them for two men, whom the Church in this age beholdeth, as two Saints dis [...]interred out of the memorie of her Annals, or two of those Primative Fa­thers, whose Souls were wholy replenished with Jesus Christ, and who have established the Truth as well by their Bloud, as Doctrine. I have besides, as an opposite to my Calumniators, one of the most perfect Religious this day living; I mean Father Joseph, whose great Zeal is guided by as eminent an understanding, and who hath the same passions for the general good of Christendom, as Cour­tiers have for their particular interests. This irreproachable witness knows, I reverence in others the Piety I finde not in my self; and if I perform not all the actions of a perfectly virtuous person, yet have I at least all the sensibilities and desires. Mounsieur the Abbot of St. Cyran, who is not ignorant of any thing falling within the compass of humane understanding, besides the more sublime gifts and illuminations wherewith he is adorned, and who in a right pro­found Litterature, hath yet a more resigned humility, will answer for [Page 141] me in the same case; and though all these strange forces should fail me; have I not sufficient in the protection of the Bishop of Air, and Mounsieur Bouthilier, who do both of them love me, as though I had the honour to be their Brother; and who are so sage, so ju­dicious, and so understanding in all things, as it is not probable, they would begin to erre by the good opinion they have of me; I sup­pose that hereupon I may venter to go to Court, and that with so powerfull assistance, there are no enemies I need fear. Yet will I once again tell you, and I beseech you believe me, I would not part hence, were I permitted to stay; and that it doth not a little trouble me, to lose the sight of my paths and allies wherein I walk, without being enforced to wear Bootes, or have any apprehension of Carroaches.

From Balzac, the 18. of October 1624.

LETTER XXX.

I Am doubtfull to believe you speak in earnest in your Letter, and that he, of all men, who hath most cause to be satisfied with himself, should need the assistance of any other to comfort him. This is as much as to be distasted amidst the abundance of all things, and to be un­gratefull toward your good fortune, since in the height of those fa­vours you receive, and expectation of those prepared for you; you not­withstanding seek for forraign pleasures, and are sensible of petty con­tentments among great felicities. My writings are no objects but for sick and sad eyes; yea, of such as will be neither cured, nor comforted: They may indeed flatter melancholy, and affoard a man (in despair) poison not unpleasing unto him; but to contribute any thing to the sa­tisfaction of a contented spirit, and to mingle themselves with the pleasures of his life, without corrupting all the sweetness, is a thing I can hardly be drawn to believe: And I herein imagine you have rather a design to tell me some good news, then to write a true Historie unto me. At the age of 0 0 0 0 0. you are seated upon Flower-de-luces, and can you lye down upon Roses? You are wise, and have not ac­quired the same with loss of your best years; you are born the same we desire to be at the best: on what side soever you cast your eyes, you finde present felicities, and certain hopes; and were there neither Loover nor Pallace to promise you preferments or Offices, the house where you are, may alone make you happy. There it is, where virtue hath no cause to complain of the injustice of Fortune, and where she is more commodiously lodged, then among Philosophers; without going [Page 142] thence; you possess whatsoever we desire in our wishes, and what we imagine in our dreams. The dayes which to me are so long, and whose each moment I reckon, pass over swiftly at Villesavin; nor can riches annoy you in a society capable to make even poverty pleasing. What likelyhood is it then, this being so, you should be of your Letters opi­nion, and that you cannot be without me? It sufficeth me, you some­times have me in your thoughts as those in Heaven behold what they left on Earth: and that you receive the votes and prayers I shall here­after address unto you, after the solemne protestation I am about to make, to remain whilest I live

Your most humble and most faithfull servant BALZAC.
From Paris the 15. of September 1617.
The end of the first Book.
LETTERS OF MOUNSIEUR …

LETTERS OF MOUNSIEUR DE BALZAC. The second Volumne, Englished by Sr. RICHRD BAKER.

LONDON, Printed by W. B. for F. E. and I. C. 1654.

The Letters of MOUNSIEUR de BALZAC.

To Mounsieur Moreau, Counsellour to the King, and Lieutenant of PARIS. LETTER I.

SIR,

I Come to renew my old importunity, and require your Authority, to call the Printers of Paris to account: They have set forth, in my name, certain Letters, which I ac­knowledge to be mine, and deny not to father; but yet they ought to have been counsel to them, considering I never meant they should gadd about the streets. By this means, when I think I am in my Closer, I finde my self upon the Stage; they carry me abroad, when I desire to be private, and what I intended an inclosure to my friends, they lay in common for all the Countrey. You know Sir, that this kinde of writing hath alwayes been privi­ledged; and that many things are entrusted to the bosom of Letters, which neither curiosity, nor hatred ought to prye into: nor ever will, if that be any thing discreet; This, any thing generous. An Enemy in War, that neither spares mens goods nor lives, yet makes a conscience of opening Letters: the Law of secrets prevailing against the desire of revenge: Yet so unfortunate am I, that what an Enemy will not offer in War, I suffer in peace; and that by men, that have no cause to wish me ill. I have nothing so properly mine, which they think not as properly theirs; Nothing kept so close, which they bring not to light. If hold could be laid on intellectual things, they would dive (I think) into the very thoughts of my heart: but since their arms are too short for this, they snatch them from me as soon as ever I have made them sensible, and given them a body upon Paper; in such sort Sir, that I should not dare to write my very Auricular Confession, for fear they should put it [Page 2] in Print, and make it be cried upon the Exchange; and I must be forced at last, either to renounce all commerce in this kinde, or at least to invent some strange unknown Characters to speak in secret, and to preserve my conceits from their arresting. They arrogate to themselves a more soveraign power than Princes do, who alwayes leave to private men, the free use of that which is theirs, and never offer to make a high­way of my Garden, nor a thorough-fare of my Court-yard. This is a disorder, where of the consequence reflects upon you, and wherein you are more interested than my self; for I do not believe you would be willing to see those excellent discourses, which I have heard you make at the opening of your Courts; and be disfigured by an uncorrected impression; and it would grieve you that prophane hands should touch them without choice or discretion, and thereby marre their lustre, and defile their purity. I therefore humbly intreat you in this point to take care of your self, and to do your self right: The boldness of these mercenary persons is not restrained by respect, it must have a stronger bridle; and if you give it not a stop by fear of punishment; neither our Closets, nor our Beds will have any thing so secret, which will not be cried upon the Market place, and to speak in the Comedians phrase, That which Jupiter speaks to Juno in her ear, shall be made Table talk for all the people. You being as you are, the censor of manners and Pylot of the state; it belongs to your place to restrain this so Tyranni­cal an usurpation upon the liberty of mens spirits, and whilest you de­fend from violence our fortunes and our lives; you must not expose to the same violence other of our goods, no less dear to us than those. And herein I promise to my self some consideration of my own particu­lar, and that for my sake, you will let your courtesie go further than your Justice. And having obliged me to you already upon the like occasion; I doubt not but you will maintain that first favour with a se­cond, and make the Printers know that you have taken my name and writings into your protection, to defend them against all their pra­ctises. This shall be to me a singular favour, and which shall binde me all my life to seek out means to testifie, that I am

Sir,
Your most humble and most affectionate servant, BALZAC.

To Mounsieur Rigault. LETTER II.

SIR,

HAving adventured to speak Latin, I feared my boldness might have had but ill success; and I doubted whether in a forraign Countrey I might pass for an enemy, or for a friend. But your Letter hath given me assurance of my condition. I account it as the Letters Pattents of my naturalizing; and where I was afraid to be held a Barbarian, I see my self suddenly become a Roman. For since there is now no more use that can serve for the Law; nor people that can serve for the Judge of a dead language; I have therefore recourse to you Sir, in whom I seem to see the very face of the most pure antiquity; and who, after the dissolution of the body of the Common-wealth, doth yet preserve the spirit. The Gothes and Vandals have boasted falsly that they left in it nothing remarkable: I finde still the full Majesty of the language in your writings; and your stile hath in it, not onely the Aire and Garb of that good time; but the very courage and the virtue. You draw your opinions from the same Well, and I see no cause that any man can have to contradict them. It is certain, that to gain belief, one must keep himself within the bounds of likelyhood; and present to posterity ex­amples, which it may follow; and not Prodigies, with which it may be frighted. Words that are disproportionable to the matter, seem to savour of that Mountibanks strain; who would have it believed, he could make a statue of a Mountain, and would perswade us, that a man were a mile long. There are some mens works, not much less extra­vagant than this Mountibanks design; and most men seem to write with as little seriousness; and with as little care to be believed. And though men make a conscience in dealing with particular persons; yet when they come to deal with the publick, they seem to think them­selves dispensed with; and that they owe more respect to one neigh­bour than to whole Nations, and to all ages to come. You know not­withstanding, that this is no new vice; and not to make a troublesom enumeration of the ancient adorers of favour: Is not that base flattering of Velleim come even to us? and was he not a Bond slave, that de­sired one should know he was in love with his Chain? I could curse the ill fortune of good Letters, that hath bereft us of the book which Brutus writ of vertue; and in lieu hath left us the infamous possession, which that villain makes of his loosness, and how he had more care of the dregs of a corrupted Court; than of upholding the main structure of the La­tine Philosophy. If it had been his fortune to have out-lived Sejanus; I doubt not, but he would have taken from him all the praises he had [Page 4] given him to make a present of them to his successour Macron: and if the gaps and breaches of his book were filled up, one should see he had not forgotten so much as a Groom in all Tiberius house of whom he had not written Encomiums. We live in a Government much more just, and therefore much more commendable; the raign of our King is not barren of great examples. It is impossible the carriage of M. the Cardinal should be more dextrous, more sage, more active than it is: yet who knows not that he hath found work enough to do for many ages, and Battails enough to fight for many Worthies: That he hath met with difficulties worthy of the transcendent forces of himself, far exceeding the forces of any other; it is necessary, that time it self should joyn in labour with excellent Master-workmen to pro­duce the perfection of excellent works. The recovery of a wasted body, is not the work of onely one potion; or once opening a vein: the reviving a decayed estate, requires a reiteration of endeavours, and a constancy of labours. The salving of desperate cases goes not so swift a pace, as Poets descriptions, or Figures of Orators. We must therefore keep the extension of our subject within certain bounds; and not say, that the victory is perfected, as long as it leaves us the evills of War, and that there remains any Monster to be vanquished, seeing even poverty is yet remaining, which is one of the greatest Monsters; and in comparison whereof, those which Hercules subdued, were but tame and gentle. With time, our Redeemer will finish his work; and he that hath given us security, will give us also no doubt abun­dance. But seeing the order of the world, and the necessity of af­fairs affords us not yet to taste this happines; it shall be a joy un­to me, to see at least, the Image of it in your History: to return and re-enter by your means into these three, so rich and flourishing years, after which the peace hath shewed it self but by fits; and the Sun it self hath been more reserved of his beams, and not ripened our fruits but on one side. You shall binde me infinitely unto you, to grant me a sight of this rare Peece, and to allow me a Key of that Tem­ple, which you keep shut to all the World besides, I assure my self I shall see nothing there but that which is stately and Magnificent; specially I doubt not but the roof it self is admirable, and that your words do Parallell the subject, when you come to speak of the last Designs of our deceased King; and of the undoubted revolution he had brought upon the state of the World, if he had lived. And though in this there be more of divination than of knowledge; and that to speak of such things be to expound Riddles; yet in such cases it is not denied to be Speculative; and I do not believe that Lyvie re­counting the death of Caesar, did lightly pass over the Voyage he in­tended against the Parthians; and that he stayed not a little to con­sider [Page 5] the new face he would have put upon the Common-wealth, if death had not prevented him. If all my affairs lay here, yet I would make a journey to Paris, expresly for this; and to read a discourse, made after the fashion of this Epitaph, which pleased me exceeding­ly. He had a design to win Rhodes and overcome Italy. I should have much ado to hold in my Passion till then; but now I stand waiting for your Tertullian, that I may learn of him that patience, which he teacheth, that I saint not in waiting till it be printed; what a croud there will be to see him, when he shall be in state to be seen; and when he shall come abroad under your corrections; like to those glo­rious bodies, which being cleansed from all impurity of matter, do glister and shine on every side. This is an Authour with whom your Preface would have made me friends, if I had otherwise been fallen out; and that the hardness of his phrase, and the vices of his age had given me any distaste from reading him. But it is long since that I have held him in account; and as sad and thorny as he is, yet he hath not been unpleasing to me. Me thinks I finde his writings, that dark light; or lightsom darkness, which an ancient Poet speaks off; and I look upon the obscurity of his writing, as I should look upon a piece of Ebone that were well wrought and polished. This hath been ever my opinion of him. As the beauties of Africa, do not therefore leave to be Amiable, because they are not like to ours; and as Sophonisbe would have carried the prize from many Italian faces; so the wits of the same Countrey do not leave to please, though their eloquence be a forreiner: and for my part I prefer this man before many that take upon them to be imitators of Cicero. Let it be granted to delicate ears, that his stile is of Iron: but then let it be granted also, that of this Iron, many excellent Armours have been forged; that with it he hath defended the honour and innocency of Christianity; with it he hath put the Valentinians to flight, and hath pierced the very heart of Mar­cion. You see I want not much of declaiming in his praise; but to avoid this inconvenience, I think best to break off abruptly. I am neither good at making Orations, nor at venting of Complements; I am a bad Advocate, and as bad a Courtier: yet I entreat you to believe that I very truely am

Sir,
Your, &c.

To Mounsieur du Moulin. LETTER III.

SIR, no modesty is able to resist the praises that come from you, And I vow unto you, I took a pleasure to suffer my self to be cor­rupted, [Page 6] with the first lines of your Letter. But it must be one that knows himself less then I do, that dwels long in this errour. After a pleasing dream, one is willing to awake; and I see well enough, that when you speak so much in the praise of my work; you make not use of the whole integrity of your judgement. You do me a favour, I can­not say you do me justice; you seem to have a will to oblige me to you, by hazarding to incurre the displeasure of truth. Now that you are your self at the Goal, you encourage with all your forces those that are in the race; and to perswade them to follow you; make them be­lieve they shall go beyond you. An admirable trick of Art, I must confess; and which at first I did not discover. But whatsoever it be, and from what ground soever this wonderfull commendation of yours proceeds; I esteem it not less than an ambitious man doth a Crown; and without piercing into your purpose, I take a joy in my good fortune: which is not small Sir, to be loved of you, whom I have alwayes exceed­ingly esteemed: and whom I have a long time looked upon in the Huguenot party, as an excellent Pylot that affronts a great Fleet, being himself but in Pinnace. The right and authority is on our side; the plots and Stratagems on yours, and you seem not less confident in your courage, than we in our cause. It is certain, that this is the way to give a sedition the shew of a just War: and to a multitude of mutiners the face of a well ordered Army. By this you keep many in a good opinion of that which hath now lost the attractive grace of Novelty; and though it be now bending to its declination; yet it cannot be de­nied, but that it holds still some colour, and some apparance, by the Varnish of your writings; and that never man hath more subtilly co­vered his cause from shew of weakness; nor more strongly upheld his side from ruine than your self:

Si Pergama Dextra
Defendi possent, etiam hac Defensa fuissent.

This is my ordinary language, when it comes in my way to speak of you. I am not of the passionate humour of the vulgar; which blanch­eth the liberty of their judgement; and findes never any fault in their own side, nor virtue in the opposite. For my self, from what cloud soever the day break; I account it fair; and assure my self that at Rome honest men commended Hannibal; and none but Porters and base people spake basely of him. It is indeed a kinde of sacriledge to de­vest any man, whatsoever he be, of the gifts of God, and if I should not acknowledge that you have received much; I should be injurious to him that hath given you much; and in a different cause wrong an indif­ferent Benefactour. It is true, I have not alwayes flattered the ill disposed French; and was put in some choler against the Authors of our last broils; but observing in your writings that our Tenets are alike; [Page 7] and that the subjection due to Princes is a part of the Religion you pro­fess; I have thought I might well speak by your consent, as much as I said: and in so doing, be but your Interpreter. Whether the tempest rise from the Northern winde, or from the Southern; it is to me equally unpleasing; and in that which concerns my duty; I neither take Coun­sel from England, nor yet from Spain. My humour is not to wrestle with the time; and to make my self an Antagonist of the present; it is pain enough for me onely to conceive the Idea of Cato, and Cassius; and being to live under the command of another, I finde no virtue more fit­ting than obedience. If I were a Switzer, I would think it honour enough to be the Kings Gossip; and would not be his subject, nor change my liberty for the best Master in the World; but since, it hath pleased God to have me born in chains, I bear them willingly; and finding them neither cumbersom nor heavy, I see no cause I should break my teeth, in seeking to break them. It is a great argument, that Heaven approves that government, which hath continued its succession now a dozen ages: an evil that should last so long, might in some sort seem to be made Le­gitimate, and if the age of men be venerable, certainly that of states ought to be holy. These great spirits which I speak of in my work, and which have been of your party, should have come in the beginning of the World, to have given Laws to new people; and to have setled an establishment in the politick estate; but as it is necessary to invent good Laws, so certainly it is dangerous to change even those that are bad. These are the most cruel thoughts that I entertain against the heads of your party: in this sort I handle the adverse side; and take no pleasure to insult upon your miseries, as you seem civilly to charge me, who have written that the King should be applauded of all the World, if after he hath beaten down the pride of the Rebels, he would not tread upon the calamity of the afflicted. The persecutors of those, who submit themselves, are to me in equal execration with the violatours of Sepulchers; and I have not onely pitty of their affliction, but in some sort reverence. I know that places strucken with light­ning, have sometimes been held Sacred. The finger of God hath been respected in them, whom it hath touched; and great adversities have sometimes rather given a Religious respect, than received a reproach. But thus to speak of the good success of the Kings armies were to speak properly: Both sides have gained by his victory. All the penalty that hath been imposed upon you; hath been but this, to make you as happy as our selves, and you are now in quiet possession of that happi­ness, for which before your Towns were taken, you were but suppliants. Our Prince will put no yoke upon the consciences of his subjects; he de­sires not to make that to be received by force; which cannot be received but by perswasion; nor to use such remedies against the French, which [Page 8] are not good, but against the Moors. If the King of Sweden use his prosperity in this manner, and soil not so pure a grace with proscripti­ons and punishments; I make you a faithfull promise to do that which you desire me to do; to employ all my cunning and all my Engines to erect a statue to the memory of his name. You touch the right string of my inclination, when you pray me to praise and to magnifie that Prince, If all the Crowns that are wrought upon his Scarf should be changed into so many Kingdoms, they could never in my opinion sufficiently recompence so rare a virtue; not be able to fill so vaste a Spirit as his is: As I expect nothing but great from his valour, so from his honesty I hope for nothing but good; and although in Spain it be currant that he is the true Antichrist; yet I am neither so devout to believe such a fable, nor so fearfull to be afraid of such a dream. I onely answer some scrupulous persons, who question me about this Prince; that our King hath in him a second to stand by him; and such a one as a fitter could never be found, to strike an amusement into the house of Austria; and to divert it from the care it takes of our affairs. But I will stay my self here for this time; and not enter upon a subject, which I reserve for the dearest hours of my leasure, it is better to make a stand at the porch of holy places, than to enter into them without preparation. Besides, my discourse may seem already long, if not too long, for a beginning of acquaintance; pardon I beseech you, the contentment I take to be this way with you, which makes me forget both your employments, and my own custom: which is not to be troublesom to any, much less to make Sermons to my friends; but your self gave me the Text I have handled, and I cannot doubt, but that having opened unto you the bottom of my heart, without dissi­mulation; you will give my liberty the credit of your belief, and with this I solemnly assure you that I truely am,

Sir,
Your, &c.

To Mounsieur the Abbot of Baume. LETTER IV.

SIR,

I Am true, if not liberal; and I send you that I promised, though I cannot send you what I would. This is neither a moveable for the use of your house, nor an ornament to beautifie your closet; it is mat­ter of discourse onely for two or three dayes at your table; and a No­velty that will quickly grow stale. But if your self have any better opinion of it, and that you account it of any value, I am contented [Page 9] that you leave my stile to the mercy of any that will arrest it; so you please to justifie my intentions to men that are reasonable, and not suffer in the Countrey where you are, that an honest man should be oppressed with the hatred against his side. If I were a revolted Spa­niard, and that the words I write did come from the mouth of a Fu­gitive, they might with good reason be taken in ill part; and we finde that a Grecian at Athens, was once punished for serving the Persians to be their Interpreter: but I desire you to consider, that the cause I maintain is the cause of my Prince and Countrey, which I could not maintain coldly, without a kinde of treason. We punish Prevarica­tours and Traitors, but true and lawfull enemies we praise, and I can­not think that M. the Cardinal of [...]va, will think the worse of my passion, for the publick liberty, who hath shewed himself the like pas­sion, for one particular mans Regency. I am not afraid that a good action should make me lose his favour, or that being himself extream­ly just, he should not more esteem of my zeal, which is natural and honest; than the choller of Doctor Bou [...]her, a mercenary man, and a Pentioner to a stranger. It will be no Novelty to say that of Spain, which hath been alwayes said of great Empires, and that rapine and cruelty is a reproach even to Eagles and Lions. To be a Tyrant and an Usurper, is it not in other terms to be a Gran­dee, and a Conquerour? And are no [...] violence and severity vices that exceed the reach of virtue, and which makes our morality ridiculous; I blame sometimes the counsels of Kings, but I never lay hands up­on their royalty, and if I seek to cut off superfluities and excesses, it cannot therefore be justly said, I tear that off which I seek to prune. Crowns are to me sacred, even upon Idolaters heads; and I adore the mark of God in the person of the great Cham, and of the great Mogoll. Having now made this Declaration, which yet is more expresly deli­vered in my book: I hope there will be no place left for calumny, and I promise to my self, that for my sake you will whip the Spaniards in point of generousness, and shew them that she hath shewed her self principally to do a favour to enemies, and to mingle things, which seem hard to be mingled, courtesie and war together, I demand not these good Offices from you, I expect them from your friendship, and I doubt not but you will continue it to me in spight of all the spightfulness and bitterness of the opposites, seeing I know you are free from those petty passions of vulgar spirits, and that you know I am

Sir,
Your, &c.

To Mounsieur Bouthillier, Counsellor of the King in his Coun­sels, and Secretary of his commands. LETTER V.

SIR,

I Vow I am one of the worst Courtiers of France, and to justifie for­tune, for having little favoured me, I will accuse my self for having little courted her; yet for the love of you, I have used an extraordina­ry endeavour. My affection hath gone beyond my action, and I have put my self to the venture to go as far as Gascogny to seek you out. If you had gone by Cadillac, as I was told you would, you had found me at the waters side at your disinbarking, and I should have put hard with the best of the Countrey to have had the honour to offer you my ser­vice first of any, but God did not think me worthy of my desires. It was his pleasure I should make a journey of fifty leagues not to see you, and I conceive my happiness to be such, that if I should go to Pa­ris with the like intention, God would presently inspire the Kings heart to send you away in some Embassage: Be pleased therefore, Sir, to spare me this travail; I dare undertake no second voyage, for fear least such a thought onely should remove you from the station where all the good of life is seated, and out of which a man can have no contentment, but what he can get by the force of reason and Philosophy. It sufficeth me that I have this one way left me, to present you my complements; and that from time to time I can make you read that your Idea is the dear company of my solitude, and your reputation, the comfortable trouble of my repose. In the estate I now am in, this in effect, is all the part I claim in the affairs of the World; these are the news for which I retain still my whole enquiry; I profess unto you the publick prosperities would be less dear unto me, if yours were not bound up in one volume with them. It doth not trouble▪ me I confess that our affairs are prosperous, and that our armies have glorious success, but to think that you are one of the instruments of so flourishing a Kingdom, and that the King makes use of your Pen to communicate himself to his own people, and to strangers, and to distribute both good and evil to all Europe, this is that which ravisheth me with extremity of joy. From your words are framed the Oracles that are at this day given to all Na­tions, you trouble not your brains any more with the petty interests of Tytius and Maevius; Italy and Germany are now your clients; and the Princes that either fear or suffer oppression, expect their destinies from your answers. I had the pleasure Sir to see all these things before they were visible; I saw the fruit when it was but in the budde, I knew the [Page 11] Gold when it was yet in the Mine, I remember your happy entrance in­to the World, and that you have not needed a time of probation for being perfectly an honest man, you said things to me in your infancie, which I make use of now in my old age; and I keep for a Monument a Letter you once writ to me from Villesavin as a seed of all the dis­patches, and of all the instructions you shall ever make. At that time I was proud of my fortune, and you gave me leave to boast of your friendship, I dare not now use the privacy of such terms; it is fit my ambition should be more modest and more moderate. I crave now onely an acknowledging and a protection, and this I hope, Sir, you will not deny me; but take me for one of the charges descended upon you, with the inheritance of Mounsieur d' Aire your deceased Uncle; Bear with my passion as a thing of your own, and which you cannot put away, since in effect I am and never be other.

Sir,
Than your, &c.

To Mounsieur the Earle of Excester. LETTER XVI.

SIR,

IF I had made a vow of humility, you give me here a fair occasion to be proud for not breaking it, yet this should not be an effect of the love of wisedom; it should be a mark of aversion from goodness, If I did not testifie the joy of the news I have received. I could never ex­pect from Fame; a more sweet recompence of my travail than this, which is presented to me by your hands, and when I see the Son of the great Cecile let down his spirits so low as to mine, and make himself less than he is by representing me in his Countrey; I cannot forbear to vow unto you that it hath touched the most sensible part of my Soul, and that with joy thereof my miseries have given me a comfortable breathing time. For your self Sir, all the stain you can take herein is but this, that it may be said, you have your sports as well as your busi­nesses, and that all the hours of your life are not equally serious, but seeing the gods in times past have changed their shapes, and disguised themselves in a thousand fashions; I conceive it may be justly allowed to you to give us the moral sence of those fables, you are able without any wrong to your self to shew us, that great persons cloyed with their felicity are glad sometimes to imitate the actions of private men, and to put on Masks to save themselves from the importunity of their great­ness. Whatsoever your design were I cannot but turn it to my advan­tage, [Page 12] for by this means I am certainly an honester man in England than in France: seeing I speak there by your mouth; I therefore most hum­bly thank you for the favour you have done me, in making me better than I was; and I joy in this, that by your means I am improved in va­lue, which inables me to make you the more worthy present, in pre­senting you my affection, and the desire I have to be all my life

Sir,
Your, &c.

To Mounsieur de Boyssat. LETTER VII.

Sir,

WHat occasion soever if be that brings me your Letters, it can­not be but very pleasing, I feel a joy at the onely sight of your name, and the honour you do me to remember me is so dear unto me, that though perhaps it be fortune that doth it, yet I can­not but thank you for it. You are one of those whose least favours are Obligatorie, and you never cast them from you so carelesly, but that they deserve to be carefully gathered. When others bear you affe­ction and hold you dear, it is but to be just, and to pay debts; but when you do the like to others, it is to be liberal, and to bestow fa­vours. You may then imagine what glory I account it, that the mean­ners of my spirit hath the approbation of your judgement, and I am not a little glad that my inclination hath so good success, not to be hated of one whom I should love, though he hated me. For a train to this first favour I require from you a second; be pleased Sir that I ask you, if it be in truth my self whom you exhort to moderation, whether you think in your conscience that I am fallen into the vice contrary to this virtue? It is now four years that I suffer outrages; they think it not enough to do me wrongs unless they print them too; they do me hurt, and would have me think my self beholding to them for it; an infinite Army of Enemies are come into the Field against me, under the Colours of Philarque; it is not two or three private men, it is whole Companies, whole Troups that set upon me: I am the Martyr of a thousand Tyrants, and if this unhappy influence pass not over, or abate not, I shall come at last to be the object of persecution for all the World. They have painted me out a pu­blick sinner amongst honest men; a man that cannot read amongst Schollers; a mad man amongst the sober: These good Offices they have done me hitherto without any revenging; I am as yet a deb­tour of these charities to them that have lent them to me; I have taken these blows with hardiness in stead of repelling them with [Page 13] force; and my patience hath been such, that many have called it want of courage: If this be so, you will grant me Sir, that you trouble your self about that which cannot be; that another mans praises should be insupportable to me, when I have not been sen­sible of my own Calumnies: I am not like to be in haste to hinder by my violence the making of friendship, who have by my re­misseness as it were consented to my own hatred. There is no co­lour to think that I should complain of words seigned, and such as declaimers use in sport, who have not so much as spoken a word of the most cruel action, that ever the most premeditated malice could bring forth. Let our friend, if he please, make an Epitaph or a deifying of — let him imploy all his Morter and all his Art to build him either a Sepulcher or a Temple, and to speak after the manner of — let him erect him a shrine, and place him amongst his houshold saints: I say nothing against all this, nor condemne his proceeding, whether it be that he honour the memory and merit of the dead, or that he stand in awe of the credit and faction of his heirs. I easily bear with these small spots in my friends, and exact no more of them than they can well spare. I know that Greek and Latine make not men valiant, nor are things that descended to the bottom of the Soul, they scarce reach to the uttermost su­perficies: they stay commonly in the memory and in the imagina­tion, and polish the tongue without fortifying the heart: I should therefore desire too much, if I should desire at all that these good­ly knowledges should get a new virtue for my sake, and should work a greater effect in the spirit of — than they wrought in the Poet Lucan, whom fear constrained to accuse his Mother, and to praise a Tyrant. If it stay but upon me that this dear Childe should see the light, after so many sower looks and so many throws, I am ready my self to serve for a Midwife. I am content it shall be published to day, and to morrow be translated into all languages, that the Au­thor may not lose a day in his glory, and that his glory be not bound­ed within River or Mountain. Never fear that I will impair his ill nights, or add the care of one process to his ordinary watchings; if he have no other unquietness but what he is like to have from me, he may be sure to enjoy a perpetual calm, and a perfect tranquili­ty; if he be not awaked but by the noise you think I will make him, he may sleep as long as Epimenides, who going to bed a young man was fifty years elder when he rose. Besides, I have too much care of my own quiet, to go about to trouble his; and I love his contentmens too well, not to procure it, being to cost me nothing, but the dis­sembling his weakness, And this I entreat you Sir, to assure him from me. But knowing you to be wise and virtuous in the degree you are, [Page 14] I doubt not, but of your own head, you will tell him, that it becomes not a man of his gravity, to countenance such petty things; and in a point of Schollarship to use as much formality and ceremony, as if it were the Negotiation of an Ambassador; but much more, that it is a base quality to juggle with his friends; and after having said a truth, which was not for all mens taste; to make a Comment upon it, of a So­phister. I have read Tacitus, and the books of — and therefore should know the stile of Tyberius; and the Art of Equivocation; but I should be loath to seem ingenious, to the prejudice of mine honour; and to make use of poyson, though I had one so subtil that would kill without leaving any mark to be seen; I have loved man in affliction; and have made use of men in misery: Lightning hath not driven me from places, which it hath made frightfull; I have given testimony of my affection, not onely where it could not be acknowledged, but where it was in danger to be punished. I am not now so dealt withall my self; and yet if the justice of my cause were not as it is to be regarded, me thinks the violence of my adversaries ought to procure me some fa­vour; doth not even honour oblige those that have any feeling of it, not to joyn with the multitude which casts it self upon a single man? Oppression hath alwayes been a sufficient ground for protection; and noble mindes never seek better Title for defending the weake, than the need there is of them; and to take part with a stranger, it is cause enough that many assault him, and few assist him, and such also I doubt not is your minde: I am not less perswaded of the generousness of your minde; than of the greatness of your spirit, and assure my self you are not the less on my side, because I have many persecutors, as because al­so, I am firmly,

Sir,
Your, &c.

To Mounsieur Huggens, Secretary to my Lord, the Prince of Orange. LETTER VIII.

SIR,

I Complain no more of fortune, she hath done me at least some cour­tesie amongst her many injuries, and since she suffers that you love me, it is a sign she hath some care of amidst her persecutions; this good news I have learned by a Letter of yours to M. the Baron of Saint Surin, who will bear me witness, that after I had read it, I desired no­thing more for perfecting my joy, but that I might be such a one as you make me, and be like my picture. If this be the coal of Holland with [Page 15] which you make such draughts, it surpasseth all the colours that we use here to paint withall, and yet the beauty costs you nothing; but you shall hardly make me believe it; I know Gold and Azure, and can easily distinguish it from coal; I see Sir the Ambushes you lay for me; The facility of your stile covers the force of it, but weakens it not, and un­der a shew of carelesness, I finde true Art and Ornaments. It serves not your turns to do better in the place where you are than we; and shutting us out to hold possession of the ancient and solid virtue; but you go about to take from us all that is any way passable in corrupt estates, I mean the glory of language; and not suffer us to have this little toy to comfort our selves withall, for the loss of all our truer trea­sures. After fifty years Victories you will now be perswading a parley, and will make your selves masters of men by a more sweet and humane way than the former, as much in effect as to be that, you have some­times been termed, the brothers of the people of Rome, and Heirs of the old Catoes, who made profession of severity, and yet were nor ene­mies of the graces. This is to perfume Iron and Copper, and to the liberty and discipline of Sparta, to add the bravery and dainties of Athens, M. de Saint Surin hath hereof made us excellent relations; and you have sent him back to us with his heart wounded, and his minde tainted with that he hath seen; & he wants not much of being become a bad French-man; at least he reteins nothing for his Country but a dutifull and reverent affection; his love your Island hath gotten pos­session of, and I am much afraid you will finde more load-stones to draw him to you, than we shall finde chains to hold him with us. He is full of the objects he hath left behinde him, and when I talk to him of our Court and of our confusions; he answers with telling me of your government and good order. And here you shall pardon me if I change my complement into blame, and require to be right­ed by you for debauching a friend, who with one look of his coun­tenance allayes and sweetens all the bitterness of my life. The num­ber of my persecutours is in a manner infinite, but for how many think you I account so brave a champion? Take him from me and you leave me quite disarmed against ill fortune; I loose my comfort for adversitie, and my example for virtue. And finding you the principal Author of this disgrace, I know not how I should but hate you, and persevere in the resolution I have taken, to be most affe­ctionately,

Sir,
Your, &c.

To the Baron of Saint Surin. LETTER IX.

Sir,

I Learn by the Gazette that you have received a wound at Mastrick; so it be light I forgive it you; but though it be but a scratch I love you too well not to accuse you of too much forwardness. They that are poor in reputation ought to press up to the trenches; and such fer­vour is as well beseeming fresh Souldiers as young Fryers; but for you, you have seen too many wars to be called by the first name, and your valour having been shewed in the presence of the Prince, and approved by the testimony of the very enemy; it seems to me that your part is not so much to bring it forth as a new matter, as to keep it up as a known good. I would have you make good actions, as you use to do; but I would have you do it now, if it might be had with a body charmed and with inchanted Arms, that leaving behinde you all danger, you might have before you nothing but glory. If God had given us three or four lives, we might at any time venture one, and sometimes in a bravery let one go, being assured we have another in store; but to be prodigal in poverty, and to be careless of ones head when no art can make him a new; this is a point hath no apparence of reason. We must not set so light by the beauties of heaven and the Rayes of visible things▪ nor turn our eyes from a spectacle so magnificently erected for us: I offend perhaps the ears of your courage with this discourse, and you are like to send my counsel away as it came; yet take not distaste­fully an officious injury and think it not strange that I acquaint you with my fears, seeing a goddess was not ashamed to attire her Son in Womans habit to preserve him; it would grieve me exceedingly to see you come halting home, or with but one eye, and to bring such un­toward favours from the Wars; I will not be bound to flatter your grief with that word of a Lacedemonian mother, Courage my Son; you cannot now take a step that puts you not in minde of your virtue, and less with that example in the Histories of Salust, he made ostentation of a face remarkable onely for skars, and for having but one eye, wherein he took a pleasure, though it made him deformed, and cared not for losing one part of himself, which made all the rest the fuller of ho­nour. Spare me I beseech you this kinde of consolation, which I should give you, if you suffer the like losses; and be not so hot in seek­ing after a fair death, which can gain you nothing but a fair Epitaph. Give me belief onely this once, and after this I will leave you to your own belief, and commend you to your good Angel. You shall have leave to dispose of your time some otherwise than thus; but remember [Page 17] that Melons are past, and make not — stand waiting too long for you: Our Rivers never ran more clear, nor our Meddows were ever more green. I make use Sir of all things, both reasonable and insensi­ble to perswade your return. In the name of God come and draw me out of the unquietness you have put me in; I have something, I know not what, lies heavy at my heart, and nothing will lighten it but your company: That which a superstitious man would do for a dream, or for some idle presage, do you I pray you for a friend: who carries you alwayes in his minde, and who is more than any in the World,

Sir,
Your, &c.

To my Lord the Cardinal de la Valette. LETTER X.

SIR, the Letter you did me the honour to write unto me, the thir­teenth of the last Moneth came not to my hands till the beginning of this, otherwise I had sooner given testimony how dear these last marks of your remembring me are unto me, and how much I receive of secret glorie, seeing all other is denied me, in that I have done any thing which seems not altogether unpleasing to you. It is no small matter to entertain eyes that use not to stay upon vulgar Objects; and to minister pleasure to a minde, which hath nothing in it but law­full passions, and indeed Sir, the height, of my ambition is bounded there. If I had no other payment for all my travail, but onely your good opinion of it, I should not complain for being ill paid; and your goodness hath made me full recompence for all the wrongs I have received. The number of my enemies is great, I see it well; the time doth not favour me, I confess it; but having your favour Sir, what can I fear under so powerfull a protection? Seeing those to whom God hath given clearer eyes than to other men, and a more soveraign reason, as well as a more soveraign dignity, have no ill opinion of my opinions, what need I care for the censure of the base World? and how can I but hope that the truth assisted by a few sages, will be alwayes able to withstand a multitude of Sophisters? I now send you Sir my answer to such of their Objections, that seem worth the refuting, and which have but any spark of apparance to dazle the eyes of simple peo­ple; the rest are so ridiculous that I dare not oppugne them, for fear you should think I had devised them my self to make matter for discourse; or that I coaped with them about points where I were sure they could do me no hurt. And yet why should I dissemble my ill hap? Those ridicu­lous Objections finde abettours & uphoulders; although I have justice on my side, yet am I sued still, and persecuted by men I never offended; [Page 18] and that when I give over the field and intreat for my life, see the deal­ings of cruel mindes towards those that are good: They have no force, but because I make no resistance; they magnifie themselves in the wrong of their advantage; they have not taken it; it is my self have given it. Their first successes, which my sufferance hath incouraged; have been new bonds for the continuance; and because I have used no words against their blows, they think I judge my self worthy to en­dure them; yet all this shall not make me change my resolution, and I am bent to stay within the bounds into which I have voluntarily put my self. Although I am neighbour to a Marshals Court, yet I chuse ra­ther a disgracefull quietness than to entertain the best quarrel in the World. I have got as it were a habit of carelesness, I dare not say of patience, least I might be accused to praise my self for a virtue. It may happen that their persecution shall not continue so long as my innocen­cy, and that I may see an end of that, which would be my end. It may be a calmer season will follow after this, and perhaps the tempest, that threatens my head, will fall but at my feet. However the World go, I will alwayes comfort my self with the Letter you did me the honour to write unto me. I will put your good will in ballance against all mens malice, and against all the injuries of Fortune; I will account my self not altogether unhappy as long as I shall have place in your remembring me, and that you will believe I am

Sir,
Your, &c.

Another to the same Cardinal. LETTER XI.

SIR,

I Never durst adventure to be suiter to you in behalf of others, and finding my self unworthy of your favour, I have never offered to counterfait a Favorite. But though I did stand so far in your grace as to do good offices for any, and that you allowed me the liberty which I dare not take of my self; yet I should do very untowardly to begin with a suit in behalf of Mounsieur Conrades, and to step before you in your own inclinations. I know your love to him, is one of the most ancient you ever had, and he therefore one of the first servants you ever enter­tained: The choise of so judicious an infancie as yours, hath not, I dare say, been rashly made; and I discover dayly by the opening of his heart and thoughts unto me, the reasons you had to love him at first; I come not therefore as his Solicitour, but as his bare witness; and assure you most undoubtedly, that I know not a man living more religious towards [Page 19] the memory of his masters, more firm in performance of his duty, more fervent in his passions, nor more passionately affected to your service than himself. Now that he hath lost M. the Marshal Scomberg, by whose commandment I came expresly from Bordeaux, to offer him on his part all the contentment he could wish; he thinks he hath right after him to place his hope in you, and that you will do him the honour to uphold with your protection the affairs he hath at Court. I concur with him in this opinion; and knowing that in this so general a corruption of the World, this age of ours owes unto you the laste examples we see of goodness, and that without you neither the dead should any more finde piety, nor the miserable consolation; I have conceived you will not take it ill that I confirm him in this belief, and that I take this occasion to say that unto you, which in the suddenness of my departure, I had not time to say; that I am perfectly and ever

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Angoulesme 23. Nov. 1632.

To Mounsieur de Bois Robert. LETTER XII.

Sir,

YOu are a better man than you would have me believe you are. Your words of fire and bloud agree ill with the sweetness of your spirit, and having received from you a Letter of challenge, I expect from you another of friendship. You may make your profit of the good examples you have seen on that side the Mountains, but follow not the Italian examples of being captious and retaining of spleen, as if it were a Jewel. It is not fit the holy week should pass upon your choller with­out abating it. It would not be an act of courage, but a hardness of heart, and the best extremities partake so much of vice, that even su­pream right is no better than supream wrong. Play not therefore the Tyrant towards your friend, but stay your self within the bounds of or­dinary justice. The limits that part justice from wrong are not so well marked out, but that one passeth them often before he is aware; and it is neither a lawfull greatness to make our selves terrible to those that love us; nor an honest resistance to stand obdurate to the prayers of men in misery. But perhaps I offer remedies to one in better state than my self; perhaps I am affraid of an artificial choller, & am frighted with that which is but a Vizard. It may be you have a desire to know in what de­gree I love you, and that your hard dealing with me is but to try me; such experiments would prove dangerous to any other man besides your self, but you may make them safely; for I make you promise that any patience shall be more insensible than your sence is tender. But yet [Page 20] muse a little upon the honour of our friendship, and upon the opinion of the world. I did make confession to you of my faults, and I am told you publish briefs of your dislike; I have told you confidently that I suffer in it, and because I did not tell it with a good grace, you are offended with the incivility of privacie. Me thinks you should not exact from a plain Countrey man so punctual a discretion; by living amongst clowns I have forgotten all the good manners I learn'd with you: the wild man you had civilized is returned back to his natural condition. I do not any longer walk in the Woods, I wander there; and had it not been to see my Lord Mayors shew, I had not been seen in the Citie; although to say the truth, so obstinate a retyring might justly enough have been censured as a kind of rebellion; & as the study of wisedom takes from me all admiration of vain pomp, so yet it leaves me the reverence of lawfull authority. And to this purpose (that I may change the tenour of my discourse) I must tell you that I am very well pleased with my Voyage, and do not repent me to have performed a small complement, which hath discovered unto me an eminent virtue. I have studied M. de Brassac now eight days together, I have observed him in publick & in private; I have seen him handle dif­ferent subjects, with so equal force, that I am even ashamed, that having so perfect knowledge of his own Art, yet he knows mine much better than my self. He is none of these limited wits that count themselves full, if they have but three words of Latine, & have but read one of Plutarks lives: Take them out of certain common places, within which they en­trench themselves, and draw all discourse thither, every where else they are utterly disarmed and without defence; but his knowledge is so uni­versal, & comprehends such an infinite number of things, that one cannot touch upon any point where he is not ready for you; and to draw him dry, I do not think there are questions enow in the World to put unto him. In one day I have heard him discourse with Gentlemen about hunting and husbandry; with Jesuites about Divinity, and the Mathema­ticks; with Doctors of less austere profession about Rhetorick & Poetry, without ever borrowing a forraign term, where the natural were the fit­ter; and without ever flying to authority where the case in question were to be decided by reason. To answer a premeditated oration from point to point upon the suddain, & to send back our oratours more perswaded by his eloquence than satisfied with their own, this I have seen him of­tentimes do, and no man ever came to visit him, whose heart he did not win with his words, or at least left in it such an impression as is wont to be the first elementing & foundation of love. No liberty can be so sweet as so reasonable a subjection; such a yoak is more to be valued than the Mayor of Rochels Halberds; and when one is once assured of the suffici­ency of his guide, it is afterwards but a pleasure to be led. In less than one week he hath new made all spirits here; hath fortified the weak, hath cleared the scrupulous, and hath given to all the world a good opinion of the present, and a better hope of the time to come. I vow unto you I ne­ver [Page 21] saw a man that had a more pleasing way of commanding, nor better knew how to temper force & perswasion together. I have indeed known some not unfit to command, but rather in a Galley than in a Citie, such might serve for excellent Galley Officers, but are never good to make Governours; they understand not the Art of governing Freemen; there are even some beasts of so generous a disposition, that these men would be too rude to carry a hard hand over them; they would curb them with a Bridle and a Cavasson; whom they might lead in a garter. They think that power cannot subsist but by severity, and that it grows weak and scorned, if it be not frightfull and injurious. This method and manner of governing is not like to come from the school and discipline of M. the Cardinal, from whom nothing is ever seen to come that relisheth not of the mildness of his countenance, and receiveth not some impression from the clearness of his eyes. All that have the honour to come near about him are known by this Character, & wear all the same livery, though they be of different deserving. There is not so sullen an humorist that is not mollified by his presence, nor so dull an understanding that he makes not pregnant with a word of his mouth, this you know, & I am not igno­rant of; he makes powerfull use of weak instruments, and his inspirati­ons lift up spirits to such a height as their own nature could never car­ry them. He needs in a man but a small seed of reason to draw from him exceeding effects of prudence, and he instructs so effectually the grossest spirits; that what they want in themselves, they get by his instructions. These are works which none can do but he; materials which none but he can put in frame; yet I think I may say without offence, that this is more of his choise than of his making. To spirits that languished for want of room to stir themselves in, he hath given scope and imployment, and where he hath found a virtue neglected, to make it as bright as it was so­lid; he hath not forborn to crown it with his friendship. There is not a mouth in all this Province that blesseth not his Election; and every man believes to have received from him that power, which he hath procured to him, who will not use it but for our good. Amongst the showts of exul­tation which wait upon him in all places where he goes; the joy of the people is not so fixed upon present objects, but that it mounts to a higher cause, and gives thanks to the first moover of the good influences, which the lower heavens pour down upon us. And in effect if Cesar thought he took a sufficient revenge of the Africans, for their taking part with the enemy, by placing Salust to be their Governour; who did them more hurt by his private family, than a Conqueror would have done with all his Army; by the contrary reason we may gather that the true Father of his Countrey hath had a special care of us in advancing M. de B [...]assac to the government of this Province, and meant herein to honour the me­mory of his abode there, and to make happy that land, where perhaps the first conceived those great designs, which he hath since effected. [Page 22] I should not have spoken so much in this point if I did not know that you mislike not in me these kindes of excess; and if it were not the vice of Lovers at the first to speak of the object of their love without all limits. Besides, I have been willing to make you forget the be­ginning of my Letter by the length of the middle; and by a more plea­sing second discourse, to take from you the ill taste I had given you by the first. And so adue Mounsieur Choler, never fear that I will provoke you again; it was my evil Angel that cast this temptation upon me to make me unhappy; I might have been wise by the example of — whom you handled so hardly in presence of — I shall be better ad­vised hereafter: and will never be

Sir,
But your, &c.
From Balzac 16. of April 1633.

To Mounsieur de Soubran. LETTER XIII.

SIR,

IF you take me for a man hungry of News, you do not know me; and if I have asked you for any, it is because I had none to tell you, and because I must have something to say; I have done it against the stream of my resolution quite, which is to quit the World both in body and minde: but custom is a thing we often fall into by flying it; and we swear sometimes that we will not swear, I desire so little to learn that I know not, that I would be glad to forget that I know; and to be like those good Hermites, who enquired how Cities were made, and what kinde of thing a King, or a Common-wealth was; I am well assured that Paris will not be removed out of its place; that Rochell will not be sur­prized again by Guiton; that petty Princes will not devest great Kings; that favour will never want Panegyricks and Sonnets; that the Court will never be without Sharks and Cheaters: that virtue will ever be the most beautifull, & the most unprofitable thing in the World. And what can you write in the general of affairs, that hath not relation to one of these points? And for my own particular, what can I hear, but that ei­ther some book is written against me, or that my Pension is like to be ill paid, or that I shall not be made an Abbot, unless I be my self the Founder of the Abby: such news would be terrible to a man more in­terressed than my self, but to me, they are in a manner indifferent, and trouble me no more, than if you should tell me it will be foul weather all this Moon, or that the water is grown shallow in our River, or that a Tree in my Wood hath been overturned with Tempest. I have had [Page 23] heretofore some pretentions to Church preferments, but now they are all reduced to this one preferment of being a good Christian; and so long as they cast not upon Balzac the term of an Apostata for the rest, I am well content with my present condition; and certainly desires so moderate, cannot chuse but be succesfull, and I will never believe that ill fortune any more than good will seek after me so far as this; or that it is possible for him to fall that stands so low; yet if any Devil, enemy of my advancement should envy my retiring; and if any promoter should lay to my charge, that to get out off —. I would corrupt —, I make my self this promise Sir, that you will stand strongly in defence of your innocent friend, and that in so just a protection you will em­bark also that excellent personage, of whom you speak in your Letter. I am, as you know, unhappy enough not to know her, but seeing the honest men of Greece have used to adore upon adventure, and built Al­tars to unknown Deities, it may as well be lawfull for me to use devo­tion to this Saint upon the credit of the people of Rome, who have now these three years looked upon her, as upon one of the true Originals, whereof they revere the Statues; they all agree in this, that since the Porciaes and the Corneliaes there never was any thing seen comparable to this; and that those divine women, which were the domestical Se­nate of their husbands, and the rivals of their virtue, have no other ad­vantage over this French Lady, but that they died in an age of funeral Orations. You send me word that you finde her in the same estate you left her, and that she is now as fresh and amiable as ever she was, and I easily believe it; this long continued state of youth is no doubt the re­compence of her extraordinary virtue: the calm within sweetens and clears the Air without; and from the obedient passions of her minde, there riseth neither winde nor cloud to taint the pureness of her com­plexion. As there are certain temperate Climates, which bring forth Ro­ses all the year long; and where it is counted for a wonder, that such a day it was cold, or snowed: so are there likewise certain faces privi­ledged, preserved to the end of old age, in the happy estate of their infancy, and never lose the first blossoming of their beauty. But it is not for a man buried in the darkness of a Desart, to talk of the most illustrious matter that is in the World: it befits me rather to read that over again which you have written, than to add any thing to it, and for fear least any word should scape from me that is not Courtly, and which may marre all I have said already, without further discourse, I assure you that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac, the 8. of August 1633.

To Mounsieur de la Nauue, Counsellour to the King in his great Chamber. LETTER XIV.

SIR,

I Take great joy to hear you harken after me, and that you need no remembrancer to put you in minde to be mindefull of me. This thought of yours is so much the more dear unto me, because it comes from a heart that hath none vain or casual, but makes choise of the Ob­jects it beholds, and of the Images it receives: to be thought of by you, is to be worthy of being thought of. This ought to be the ambition of men that are worth ought; and a virtue that is not approved of you, shews there is something in that is defective. If then I have this mark, I have the seal and confirmation of the true good: I have both the good fortunes, that of virtue, and that of your favour; and herein at least I have some resemblance of an honest man. There are some whom blinde chance hath lifted up above you, of whom I cannot speak in this man­ner: one may set their blame and their praise in equal degree of indif­ferency, and there is no Obligation to follow them in their opinions, but when they get it by constraint, or else by purchase. All their greatness is in their Titles; there scarce appears upon them one little beam of it in dayes of Ceremony; and if they will have us to respect them, they must be fain to send a Herauld to put us in minde. For you Sir, it is not onely upon the Bench that the World reveres you, but your authority follows you wheresoever you are; she accompanies you even in your ordinary conversation: you cannot so disguise your self, but that I shall alwayes take you for my Judge; and this gravity of your countenance, which changes every word you speak into a Decree, and gives a dignity to your very silence, may serve to verifie that Paradox of the Stoikes, That a wise man can never be a private person; and that Nature her self makes him a Magistrate. Mounsieur Coeffeteat and my self, have of­ten had long discourses about this point, and it is not as we would have it, and as we wish, that a man should be left at the bottom of the stairs, whose merit we see ascended to the top; but this is the destiny of the best things; either they are wholly neglected, or at most but half known: and I have seen in the same place a Munkey set upon the top of a Pira­mis, and a Master piece of Phydias suffered to stand upon a very mean Base; but the satisfaction of your conscience, and the testimony of your good report ought to be your comfort for all such events. There are illustrious lives of divers fashions; but those like yours, which cast a sweet and pleasing light, please me much better than those that thunder [Page 25] and lighten. It is not the noise and the flashes that make the fair dayes, it is a calm and clear air; and a life led in tranquility and judgement, which is the work of reason; is preferrable before one half or the great success, the World admires, which are but the extravagancies of for­tune. See here the decree of a Countrey Philosopher, and matter of meditation for one of your walks at Yssy. To tell you true, I have a great longing to come upon you one day on the sudden, and to surprize you in some of your conferences; but it shall be then with a purpose to return as soon as I have seen you, without so much as seeing Paris; to make you thereby see, I can wi [...]h more ease, go a hundred miles for a man I love, than four paces for the miracle of the World. Such a bravery would be an affront, and subject to interpretation I suppose; yet I am assured that those, who are not diseased with opinion, and infected with custom, would make no ill censure of it, and it little concerns me, that the com­mon people condemn me; if you, and those other good men do justifie me, and believe that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 15. Ja­nuary 1622.

To Mounsieur Chaplain. LETTER XV.

Sir,

EXpect not from me a regular answer to your Letters; for besides that I yield an absolute assent to all they contain, and that in treat­ing with you, I desire rather to believe than dispute, and to be found faithfull rather than reasonable, I should do wrong to the acknowledge­ment I owe unto you, to make you see it, in the pensiveness I am now in, and to dislustre so pure a matter with the impression of so black a va­pour. I therefore reserve it for fairer dayes: when my minde shall enjoy its former serenity; and that I shall possess it without distraction. At that time I continue my ill occupation, and after I have made a Prince, it comes in my fancie to make a friend: you I assure you, must be the man I shall set before mine eyes; and shall not seek a more illustrious Original, nor a more remote: yet it grieves me Sir, that should love with so little success: it is not reasonable you should weary your self in a soyl that will bear nothing, and that you should take pleasure to im­ploy your husbandry in tilling of stones and thorns; you can never dive to the bottom of my ill fortune; you are, I deny not, a powerfull agent, but it must be upon an apt subject; your industry is great, but Art corrects not destiny; and I am ashamed to see, that all hu­mane wisdom should be unprofitablely imployed in governing of me, [Page 26] when whole common-wealths are governed sometimes with less adoe. A whole Fleet would not put you to so much labour as doth one poor Bark; and to succour one particular person, you must enter combate against Heaven and Earth. It is better Sir, that this perpetual Object of scandal be removed by my absence; and that I leave peace to my friends by leaving the field to my adversaries. This resolution is not so unmanly as some would point it out unto me, change onely the terms; and that which they call cowardly and running away, is but to be better advised and to yield to the time. I have read a word in a Letter, which Cicero writ to Brutus, that confirms me much in this opinion; You with­drew your self, saith he, out of a corrupted Citie, you gave place to Varlets; for you Stoickes say, That a wise man never runs away. Cato himself, who would rather die, than live to see a Tyranny; was he not resolved to go voluntarily into banishment for avoiding a more supportable evil? And think you, that he had more reason to love his liberty, than I to love my quiet? Or that his grief was more just than mine? As all re­sistences are not honest, so neither are all flights shamefull; and as there are some naughty joyes, so there are some reasonable griefs; and you shall see in the Paraphrase of our friend, that for a disgrace which Saint Paul received at Ephesus, his heart failed him, and he grew weary of his life. The authority of so great an example, bindes you to pardon in me, the weaknesses you charge me with: For my self, me thinks I hear continually sounding in my ears, the voice that cried to Arsenius, Fuge, sede, Tace; which seems to counsel me, to give my self satisfa­ction by my quiet, and to give others contentment by absenting my self, and by my silence. Some further reasons I will acquaint you with, when I shall have the honour to see you; having no meaning to do any thing without your liking, and without your leave; whose I am

Sir,
Most humble, &c.
At Balzac 8. of April 1632.

To Mounsieur de Nesmond Counsellour to the King, and Controller of the Princes House. LETTER XVI.

SIR,

MY dear Cousin, we were put in hope we should have the happi­ness to see you in this Countrey, and that here you would make one of the reposes of your voyage, but you have not been pleased to make us so happy; It seems you thought not our walks pleasant enough [Page 27] for you; you scorn now the Fountains of Maillou, and the River of Balzac; these sweet Objects, which heretofore gained your inclinati­ons, and enchanted the innocency of your tender years, are not now able to excite in you the least desire, not so much as to tempt your gra­ver age. I finde in this something to be offended at, and whereof to complain. If you had to do with a Poet, he would make a mighty quarrel between you and the Deities of the Woods and Waters; and would send you most reproachfull Elegies in behalf of the Nymphes, whom you have scorned. But it makes well for you that I understand not the language of the Gods, and that I can speak no otherwise than the common people do: this will defend you from a number of naugh­ty Verses: and I will say nothing to you more spightfull than this, that you seem to reserve your self all for Paris, and fear to be prophaned with the baseness of a Village. Princes and their affairs leave not in you so much as one poor thought for us; and the pleasures of the Coun­trey are too gross and meager for a taste that is used to more delicate and solid pleasures. You see Sir, my dear Cousin, that my complaints are sweet, and that I justifie you in accusing you. It is certain, there is a part of the active life, which one may call delightfull; and though Virtue have her joy with less tumult than Vice, yet the very secrecy of her joy augmenteth also the sweetness, and vapours not out the purity thereof; and so it happens, that while you sought but after honesty, you have found withall delight also: you dreamed but of being virtuous and profitable to your Countrey, and into the bargain, you have con­tentment also and pleasure for your self. For in effect considering your humour, I doubt not but the pains you take, is your sufficient recom­pence for the pains you take, and that your very action keeps you in breath; or rather refresheth you; and as one in Aristotle said, That it was a death to him, when he was not in some office; so I verily believe, that to take away imployments from you, were as much as to take away your life, and that you would refuse even felicity it self, if it were of­fered you without having something to do. You do well to love a burden that graceth you more than it weighs, and not to think it a trou­ble to be in a race, which you have entered with as much applause as they can desire that are going out. You have been mens joy, from the instant you were first seen, and your many imployments that have since so happily succeeded, have but ratified the good opinion that was had of you being yet unknown. There are some men that get more reputa­tion by playing upon advantage; but yours is a lawfull acquest, and this integrity, which hath nothing in it, either fierce or fearfull, this learning, which is neither clownish nor quarrelsom, this course, which can avoid Precipices without turning out of the right way, are none of the qualities with which men use to abuse the World, none of the enchant­ments, [Page 28] which you make use of to dazle our eyes. And though our eyes were not capable of illusion, yet having merited the grace and favour of a Prince, the clearest sighted the Heavens ever made, and whose gift I value less than his judgement: It is not for us any longer to examin your sufficiency; seeing he hath chosen you for an instrument of mana­ging his affairs. You would not believe the pleasures that Madam Com­pagnole and my self take in the consideration of this matter; and what reflection we receive of all those good successes that accrew unto you; I can assure you, she forgets you not in her devotions, and if God but hear her prayers, you need not make any wishes for your self; We pro­mised our selves we should see you in our desarts, but since your honour calls you otherwere; it is reason we rest satisfied with so sweet a neces­sity, and to hear with patience that the publick hath need of your ser­vice. It is far from me to prefer a short satisfaction of my eyes before the long and dureable joyes I expect from the progress of your repu­tation; and if I should desire that for your coming hither you should put your self the farther off from your ends, my desires should be in­discreet, and I should not be the man I ought to be.

Sir, my dear Cosin,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 1. Oct. 1632.

To Mounsieur de Pontac Monplesir. LETTER XVII.

SIR,

MY dear Cosin, if the counsel I have given you did not give an in­terest in the resolution you have taken, yet I could not chuse but acknowledge it to be good, considering the good success it hath produced. It is true that till now I never liked of long deliberations, nor of staid lovers; but seeing your wisdom hath concluded in favour of your love, and that it is no longer an idle contemplation of the per­son you love; I seem to conceive the design you had in drawing out the lines of your love to such a length; in which it cannot be said there hath been time lost; but that you would taste all the sweetness of hope before you would come to that of possession; this is not to be irresolute but subtill, and not to make a stop of contentments but to husband them. This is not to have an apprehension of being happy, but to have a desire to be happy twice, so that in this point you are fully justi­fied. This circumspection, which I accused wrongfully, and which is equally removed from Fury and Effeminateness, puts the passions into a just and dureable temper, and makes the minde capable of its felici­ty [Page 29] by a serious preparation; and I vow unto you that the life you have begun was well worthy you should take some time to study it; It is not fit to enter the state of marriage rashly, and by the conduct of Fortune; all the eyes, that prudence hath are not too many to serve for a guide in this business; many men fall into a snare whilest they think to finde a treasure, and errours are their mortal where repentance is unprofita­ble; but God be thanked you are out of danger, and your happiness is in sanctuary. There is no Nectar nor Roses now but for you; (accept from me I pray this one word of a wedding Complement) and in the estate you are in, what are you not? Since a Conquerour that is crown­ed is but the figure of a lover that injoyes; the lover receiving that really which the Conquerour but dreams. You offend not the peo­ples eyes with proud inscriptions, nor astonish them with the clamour of your conquest; you celebrate your triumphs covertly, and draw no mans envy upon you; you raign by your self alone, and all the pomp, which greatness draws after it, is not comparable to that which you in­joy in secret. I am not acquainted with lawfull pleasures, and ought not to be with forbidden; but I have heard it said, that in the first there is a certain peace of spirit, and a confident contentment which is not found in the other: And as the Honey is less gathered from the flowers then from the dew which falls from the Stars; so these chaste plea­sures are seasoned from Heaven, and receive their perfection from the heavenly grace, and not from their own nature. I have learned from the ancient Sages, that there is not a more ancient nor a more excellent friendship than this; that in this sweet society griefs are divided, and joyes doubled, and that a good wife is a Catholicon, or universal remedy for all the evils that happen in life. I doubt not but she, whom you have chosen, is worthy of this name, and though I should hold your te­stimony in suspition, yet I have heard it deposed with so great advan­tage on her part, and by so tender and judicious spirits, that I am not onely glad in your behalf for the good company you have gotten you, but give you thanks also in my own behalf for the good alliance you have brought me. I am exceeding impatient till I see her, that I may between her hands abjure my wrong opinions; and if need be, make honourable amends before her for all the blasphemies I have hereto­fore written against marriage. I solemnly by this Letter ingage my self to do it, and intreat you to dispose her, that she may accept my re­tractions, which proceed from a heart truely penitent and full of pas­sion, to testifie to you both, that I am

Sir, My dear Cosin,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 23. Sept. 1633.

To Mounsieur Huggens, Counsellour and Secretary to my Lord the Prince of Orange. LETTER XVIII.

SIR,

YOur Letter hath run great hazards before it arrived here; It wandred about seven moneths together, and that now at last it is come to my hands; I ascribe it to the remorse of a man unknown, who being but half wicked, contented himself onely with opening it, but would not by any means that I should lose it. Happy were I if I could as well recover other things I grieve for, and that I could say, he were but strayed whom I loved with my heart; but I have lost him for ever, and you are never able to restore me that I lent you; yet I lay it not to your charge, nor to the charge of your innocent Countrey. I am not of that mans humour, who spake a thousand villanies against poor Troy, and taxed all her Histories and Fables, because (forsooth) his brother died there, and perhaps of a malady that he hath gotten somewhere else. My grief is wiser than his, I should take my loss unkindely at your hands, if you were your self the richer for it, but now the loss is com­mon to us both; we both lament a common friend, and your self have rather the greater share in this sad society, in as much as herein you have advantage over me, for having performed to him the last duties. He saw your tears fall amongst his bloud, you filled your eyes and your spirit with all circumstances of his death, and I doubt not but it hin­dred you from being perfectly sensible of the victory at Mastrich, and from shewing a joyfull countenance in the most joyfull day of all your Princes life. For my self, I am not as yet capable of consolation, and I have plucked off from my wound all the plasters Philosophy could lay upon it. Me thinks my grief is to me in place of my friend; I possess it with a kinde of sweetness, and am so tender of it, that I should think it a second loss, if I had it not to pass my time withall; yet I must intreat it a little forbearance, that I may have time to make you an ac­count of your liberality, and that you may know what is become of the presents you sent me; I received them Sir, after your Letter, and that by another kinde of adventure. I have imparted them to the worthiest persons of our Province, I am at this time adorning my Closet with them, and make more reckoning of them than of all the riches your Havens can shew, or then all the precious rarities the Sea brings to you from the farthest parts of the Earth. There is as much difference be­tween your friends stile, and that of other Panegyrists, as between the stoutness of a Souldier and the coyness of a Curtesan. This manly [Page 31] eloquence full of metall and courage, seems rather to fight than to discourse; and rather to aid the King of Sweden then to praise him. The ordering of this Tragedy is according to the rules and intention of Aristotle; precise decency most religiously observed, The verses lofty and worthy of a Theater of Ivory. Every part pleased me, but that of the Chorus's even ravished me, and because I sigh alwayes after Italy, that Chorus of the Romane Souldiers put me in passion; I finde my self touched with it at the very quick, and in all company where I come, I cannot forbear crying out, as if I were in rapture with divine fury: O laeta otia Formiae; Lucrini O tepidi lacus, Baiorum O medii dies; O solae Elysiis aemula vallibus: Lassi temperies Maris: Campani via littoris, lis Baccho ac Cereri vetus, &c. I have onely one little scruple to propose unto you; I know not well why Tysiphone is brought in with Mariamne, speaking of Styx, Cocytus and Acheron; and I cannot conceive how it is possible a natural body should be formed of two as differing pieces as are in my opinion, the Jewish Religion and the Heathenish. My doubt grows from my ignorance, and not from presumption: I ask, as desirous to learn, and not to pick a quarrel, especially with a man, who in such Criticismes is a King, and whom I acknowledge for the true and lawfull successor of the great Scaliger; I have read his two Tracts upon the Sa­tyre of Horace, which are indeed two Master-pieces; and I do not think, I ever saw together so much antiquity renued, so much reason displayed, so much subtilty fortified with so much force. He stands not dreaming upon a word of no difficulty, erecting as it were Trophees of like pas­sages, after the fashion of our Note-makers now adayes, who heap up places upon places, and bring nothing in their writings, but the crudity and indigestion of their reading. He handles Grammar like a Philoso­pher, and makes books to be subject to reason; and the authority, which time hath given them to the principles, which truth hath established; he hath discovered that Idea of art, which the best workmen never yet came near, and hath added that last perfection, which shews spots and impurity in the most elaborate writings. I have a great design Sir, to go make my self an Artist under his discipline, and to be at once both your Courtier and his Schollar, I have thought upon this Voyage a year since; but I would fain your Wars would make passage for me the way I would go, and that there were nothing Spanish between Pa­ris and the Hague. The sanctity of Oratours and Poets is not reverenced over all the World, they bear no awe amongst Barbarians; these pub­lick enemies would not spare Apollo himself, nor the Muses, and my person would finde as little respect at their hands at my book did, which in full councel they caused to be burnt by the hands of the Marquess of Aytona, Yet I think you may say, you never heard speak of a more illustrious Executioner, nor of one that doth more honour to his trade; [Page 32] and that the Counts of Egmont and Horn were not handled in their pu­nishment with such pomp and state. I dare nor laugh, Sir, at this ex­travagant cruelty. The Truce I had taken is expired, and I cannot possibly stretch the leave, which my grief gave me any further. I there­fore leave you to return to her, and end with swearing, Per illos manes numina dolor is nostri, that there is nothing in the World more dear un­to me than your friendship, and that I am with all my Soul,

At Balzac 2. of Febr. 1633.
Sir,
Your, &c.

To Mounsieur de la Nauue, Counsellour of the King in his first Court of Enquests. LETTER XIX.

Sir,

MY dear Cosin, I never doubted of your affection towards me, but I thought it proceeded of pity rather than of merit; and that having nothing considerable in me, but my ill fortune; your good na­ture was thereby onely excited to do me this charity; but now I see, you propose to your self a more noble Object, and think to finde a bet­ter reason for your loving me; yet I know not whether it be so just as the former, and whether you may as lawfully respect a vulgar person as you have protected an unfortunate. If I had had any such seeds of goodness in me as you speak of, my ill fortune would have stifled all their virtue. Nothing can bud forth in an air perpetually tempestuous. It is not enough for the labouring man that he take pains in his husban­dry, and that his soyl be good, but there must be a sweetness of the season also to favour his travel: which I have hither to proved so contra­ry, that I wonder how I have the heart to be alwayes planting for tem­pests to spoil. I finde more good for me in idleness than in labour, and more gain by doing nothing, than by doing well. When I am idle, I am at least at quiet; and envy rests as well as I; but as soon as once I offer but to stir, there is presently an alarum raised in the Latine Pro­vince: and opposition is made before I have conceived any thing to be opposed. Other mens good deeds are rewarded; mine onely, if any of mine be worthy the name, should stand in need of a Pardon from the King: a very hard suite it would be, but to get their Pardon: and I fol­low not virtue onely without reward, but I follow her with danger. You think notwithstanding that I take a pleasure in this ungratefull oc­cupation; and that I have a greater forwardness to it, than I finde re­sistance. You think my spirit should never shrink for ill successes, and [Page 33] that of its own fertilty without either one beam of the Sun, or one drop of dew, and at the mercy of all windes, it is able to bud and bring forth something. You judge too favourably of a vigor that is half extin­guished, and consider not, that melancholy indeed is ingenious and pregnant, when it comes from the temper, which Aristotle commendeth; but that it is dry and stupid when it proceeds from the continual out­rages of adverse fortune. And therefore Sir, my dear Cousin, expect nothing from me to answer your expectation, and to merit the venera­tion you speak of in your Letter, I cannot endure such a great word in your mouth; are you not afraid to come under my office of a Gramma­rian? One such improper term is unexcusable, unless it be you had re­lation to that old Verse, Res est sacra miser; or to that brave fellow in the controversies of Seneca, who in the life time of the Oratour Cestius, but upon the wane of his spirit, affirmed that he reverenced his very Cynders, and would use to swear by his shadow, and by his memory. It shall suffice me that you handle me in this manner, that Mounsieur your President and your self would sometimes say in lamenting me, he had been further off than now he is, if he had met with fewer ambushes in his way. I require your recommendation of my service to that rare perso­nage, whom I dare not call the last of the French; I remember what was laid to Cremutius Cordus his charge; but how ever, I account him worthy of the ancient France, and of the Senate which we have not seen, that had the honour to be Arbitratour between the Emperour and the Pope; a mediator between the King and his people. I require from you but onely the like favour, and I acquit you of your veneration, provided that you keep for me your good will, which I cannot lose if you be just, since I am

Sir, my dear Cosin,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 16. Febr. 1634.

To Mounsieur Conrade. LETTER XX.

Sir,

THe account I make of you is far from being a mistaking. One should do you wrong to take you for any other than your self; and it would be a hard matter to finde a man for whom you could be changed without loss. I see therefore your drift, you would not think the number of your virtues compleat, if you added not humility, and you would make me see that there are Capuchine Huguenots. Indeed a fine novelty, but it belongs not to you, to be so modest; nor to take upon you perfection, who have not yet attained Conversion. To speak uprightly, your respects and your submissions are not sufferable, men [Page 34] used to speak otherwise in the golden age; and to say nothing more hard­ly of you, you are too unjust a valuer of your self. Do what you can, you are never any more able to weaken the Testimony, which Madam de Loges, and Mounsieur Chaplain have given of you, than you can deny me your friendship which I crave of you in their name. You see how conta­gious an ill example is▪ and how I imitate you in condemning you. I can play the reserved as well as you, and seek for mediators and favour to obtain that favour you have granted me already. These are the subtil­ties of my passion, to the end I may taste a second joy, I will make you tell me twice one thing; Moreover, at our first meeting, I will cause you to expound your Letter, thereby to husband the better, yet for that time the pleasure I take to hear you assure me that you love me. Such assurances should perswade me but little in the mouth of many men; but for you, I know with what Religion you make your promises, and of what holiness your word is. I know you approve of no lies, but those of the Muses, and that fictions in Poetry you can bear with­all, but banish them from your conversation; I am glad therefore I have found one face among so many vyzards, and that I can lay hold of something I can feel, and that hath truth in it. It is nothing but true hartedness of my minde that gives me the boldness to approach other virtues, with all which I am at defiance, if I finde not this free­dom in their company. By this Sir, you have won me, and I must vow unto you, that this sincerity whereof, you make profession, hath been a wonderfull allurement to a man, that is no longer taken with the bravery, or gallantness of a fine spirit. These flashes have so often abused me, that I am now grown to be afraid of any thing looks red, least it should be fire and burn me. I suspect these Barks that are so painted and guilded over, I have often made ship-wrack in such: I desire those that are sound and safe, and enter them as Vessels to sayl in, and not as Galleries to walk in. When I speak of a friend, I mean not a companion in trade, or in disorder, nor one that can return visits the next day after he hath received them, who never misseth to send Letters by every Post: and is not failing in the least duties of a civile life, but I mean, a witness of the conscience, a Physician of secret griefs, a moderatour in prosperity; and a guide in adversity. I have some few left me of this sort, but have had many losses, and very late­ly one, which but for you would be irreparable; you whom God hath sent to comfort me, and whom I substitute in the place of one of the honestest men that was in France. Our contract, if you please, shall be short and plain. I will propose no matter of lustre to engage you in it; onely I assure you my heart, and a sincerity answerable to yours. It is now of proof against the most dangerous air of Christendom, I have brought it from Rome, I have preserved it at Paris; It is not there­fore [Page 35] likely that to deceive you, I am come to lose it in a Village; and that I have any design to falsifie my faith; seeing I assure you, I will ever be

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac, the 5. of Febr. 1633.

To — LETTER XXI.

SIR,

SInce you will have me to write that in a Letter, which I spake unto you by word of mouth, this Letter shall be a second Testimony of the account I make of —, and of the feeling I have of the courte­sies received from him. During the time we had his company, I con­sidered him with much attention; but in my conscience observed no­thing in the motions of his spirit, but great inclinations to great de­signs, and to see him do wonders in the World, you need wish him no more but matter of imployment. He hath all the intendments of an honest man, all the Characters of a great Lord: by these he gains mens eyes in present, and their hearts in expectation, and afterwards brings more goodness forth than ever he promised, and exceeds expectation with performance. And in truth, if this Heroick countenance had no wares to vent but vulgar qualities, this had been a trick put upon us by nature, to deceive us by hanging out a false sign. The charge he ex­erciseth in the Church, is no burden to him, he hath in such sort ac­commodated his humour to it, that in the most painfull functions of so high a duty, there lies nothing upon his shoulders, but ease and delight. He embraceth generally all that he believes to be of the decency of his profession, and is neither tainted with the heat, which accompanies the age wherein he is, nor with the vanity, which such a birth as his doth commonly bring with it. In a word the way he takes goes di­rectly to Rome. He is in good grace with both the Courts, and the Pope would be as willing to receive the Kings commendation of him, as the King would be to give it. He hath brought from thence a singu­lar approbation, and hath left behinde him in all the holy Colledges a most sweet odour, and that without making faces; or making way to reputation by singularity. For in effect, what heat soever there be in his zeal, he never suffers it to blaze beyond custom: his piety hath no­thing, either weak or simple, it is serious all and manly, and he pro­testeth, it is much better to imitate S. Charls, than to counterfeit him. Concerning his passion of horses, which he calls his malady; since he is not extream in it, never counsel him to cure it; it is not so bad as ei­ther [Page 36] the Sciatica, or the Gout; and if he have no other disease but that, he hath not much to do for a Physician. One may love horses inno­cently, as well as Flowers and Pictures: and it is not the love of such things, but the intemperate love that is the vice. Of all beasts that have any commerce with men, there are none more noble nor better condi­tioned; and of them a great Lord may honestly and without disparage­ment be curious. He indeed might well be said to be sick of them, who caused mangers of Ivory to be made for them, and gave them full mea­sures of pieces of Gold; this was to be sick of them, to bestow the best office of his state on the goodliest horse of his stable; and to mock in­deed reason it self, and the speech of men, to give them a neighing Con­sul. You shall give me leave to tell you another story to this purpose, not unpleasant. It is of Theophylact, Patriarch of Constantinople, who kept ordinarily two thousand horses, and fed them so daintily, that in stead of Barley and Oats, which to our horses are a feast, he gave them Almonds, Dates, and Pistach nuts; and more than this, as Cedrenus reports, he steep­ed them long time before in excellent Wine, and prepared them with all sorts of precious odours. One day as he was solemnizing his Office in the Church of Saint Sophia, one came and told him in his ear, that his Mare Phorbante had foaled a Colt; with which he was so ravished, that instantly without having the patience to finish his service, or to put off his Pontifical Robes, he left the mysteries in the midst, and ran to his stable to see the good news he had heard, and after much joy expressed for so happy a birth, he at last returned to the Altar, and remembred himself of his duty, which the heat of his passion had made him to for­get. See Sir, what it is to dote upon horses; but to take a pleasure in them, and to take a care of them, this no doubt may make a man be said to love them; and nevertheless not the less the wiser man. Even Saints themselves have had their pleasures and their pastimes; all their whole life was not one continued miracle; they were not every day 24. hours in extasie: amidst their Gifts, their Illuminations, their Raptures, their Visions; they had alwayes some breathing time of humane delight, du­ring all which time they were but like us: and the Ecclesiastical story tells us, that the great Saint John, who hath delivered Divinity in so high a strain, yet took a pleasure, and made it his pastime to play with a Par­tridge, which he had made tame and familiar to him. I did not think to have gone so far; it is the subject that hath carried me away, and this happens very often to me when I fall into discourse with you. My com­plements are very short, and with men that are indifferent to me, I am in a manner dumb; but with those that are dear unto me, I neither observe Rule nor Measure; and I hope you doubt not, but that I am in the highest degree,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 5. Jan. 1633.

To Mounsieur Godeau. LETTER XXII.

SIR,

THere is no more any merit in being devout; Devotion is a thing so pleasing in your book, that even prophane persons finde a rellish in it, and you have found out a way how to save mens Souls with plea­sure. I never found it so much as within this week, that you have fed me with the dainties of the ancient Church, and feasted me with the Agapes of your Saint Paul. This man was not altogether unknown to me before, but I vow unto you, I knew him not before, but onely by sight; though I had sometimes been near unto him, yet I could never mark any more of him than his countenance and his outside: your Pa­raphrase hath made me of his counsel, and given me a part in his secrets; and where I was before but one of the Hall, I am now one of the Closet, and see clearly and distinctly what I saw before but in Clouds, and un­der shadows. You are to say true, an admirable Decipherer of Letters; in some passages to interpret your subtilty is a kinde of Divination; and all throughout, the manner of your expressing is a very charm. I am too proud to flatter you, but I am just enough to be a witness of the truth; and I vow unto you, it never perswades me more than when it borrows your stile. There reflects from it a certain flash, which pleaseth instant­ly as beauty doth, and makes things to be lovely before one knows they are good. Your words are no way unworthy of your Authour; they nei­ther weaken his conceits by stretching them out at length, nor scatter the sence by spreading it out in breadth. But contrariwise the power­full spirit, which was streightened within the bounds of a concise stile, seems to breath at ease in this new liberty, and to encrease it self as much as it spreads it self: he seems to pass from his fetters into triumph, and to go forth of the prisons of Rome where Nero shut him up, to enter into a large Kingdom, into which you bring him with royal magnifi­cence. There are some so curious palats, they cannot relish the lan­guage of the Son of God, and are so impudent as to accuse the holy Scriptures of clownishness and Barbarisme, which made Mounsieur —, who died Archbishop of Benevent, that he durst not say his Breviary, for fear to mar his good Latin by contagion of the bad, and least he should take some tincture of impurity that might corrupt his elo­quence. I will not speak at this time what I conceive of his scru­ple; onely I say that if in the vulgar Translation there be Barbarism, yet you have made it civil; and if our good Malherb should come again into the World, he would finde nothing in your Paraphrase that [Page 38] were not according to the strictness of his rules, and the usage of the Court whereof he spake so often. Some other time we will confer about the Preface, and the Letters I received, which I have in a man­ner all by heart, but especially I have culled out these dear words to print in my memory, and to comfort my spirits. A little patience will crown you, all their throws seem like those of sick men a little before they die, in which I think there is neither malice nor force, if you can but dispise them, Prefer the better side before the greater, and the Closet be­fore the Theater. Honest persons are for you, and I make account you care not much for pleasing others. The people have often times left Terence for dancers upon the Rope, and banished Philosophers, to gratifie Jesters. I have nothing to add to this; and will take heed how I sow Purple with pack-th [...]ead. I content my self Sir, at this time to assure you that I passionately am

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 10. of May 1632.

To Mounsieur de Thibaudiere. LETTER XXIII.

SIR,

I Will not raise to you the price of my tears, though I have shed them for you eight dayes together: I content my self to tell you that I am now comforted; since the news of your death, it changed into tidings of your hurt; and that I am made assured, you may be quitted of it, for a little pain and a little patience. I know well that virtue is more happily imployed in well using honest pleasures, than in patient bearing troublesom crosses; and that without an absolute distemper in the taste, one can never finde any sweetness in pain; yet you shall confess unto me, that there is a kinde of contentment in being lamented; and though the joyes of the minde be not so sensible as those of the body, yet they are more delicate and more subtill; at least, you have come to know of what worth you are by the fear, which all honest men were in to lose you, and that in a time when half the World is a burthen to the other; and every one reserves his lamentation for his own mise­ries; yet all in general have mourned for you, in such sort Sir, that you have had the pleasure to hear your own Funeral Oration, and to enjoy the continuance of a happy life, after receiving the honours done to worthy men after death. If the War of Italy continue till Winter, I will come and learn from your own mouth, all the particulars of your adventures, and I shall then know if your Philosophy have not been [Page 39] moved, and waxed pale, at the sight of the Probe, and of the Rasour. In the mean time do me honour to be mindefull of him who exceed­ingly honours you, and to keep for me that part in your affection, which you have promised me, since I truely am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 29. of July 1630.

To Mounsieur Gyrard, Secretary to my Lord the Duke de Espernon. LETTER XXIV.

SIR,

I Had heard that before, which you sent me word of by your foot­man; and had rejoyced already, for the new Dignity of Mounsieur the President Segnior. It seems you think he is made Lord Keeper of the Scales for none but for you, and that no Feast for the joy of it should be kept any where, but at Cadillac. Within these four dayes you shall see it kept all the Countrey over; it is a favour the King hath done the whole Realm. It is not so much for the purity of the air, and for the fruitfulness of the earth, that we ought to call it a happy year, as for the election of worthy Magistrates. I therefore take a joy in this news, as I am a subject of the Kings; and this is the first Right I claim in it: but beyond this, I have a second Right of rejoycing, in that I am inte­ressed in the advancement of a modesty, which I know; and make ac­count to be made happy, by the prosperity of him, of whose honesty I am assured. I put not forth this last word, at adventure: I am ready to make it good against whosoever shall think it rash; and I know he hath preservatives against all the poysons of the Court; and a judge­ment that cannot be corrupted with all the bribes of Fortune. There is nothing of so high a price, for which he would be willing to leave his virtue: if he had lived in Neroes time, he had been a constant Martyr; but living now under a just Prince he will prove a profitable Officer. To preserve a life, which is to continue but a few dayes, he would not obscure that life, which ought to last in the memory of many ages: and the least spot upon his honour, would be more insupportable to him, than the effusion of all his bloud. He knows that in the admini­stration of Justice, being the interpreter of God; he cannot work of himself; that this Divine Act ought to be a general Suspension from all humane affections, and that in the exercise thereof, he is no longer at his liberty, to shew love, or hatred; revenge, or gentleness. He consi­ders that he makes not law, but onely declares it; that he is a Minister, [Page 40] and not a Master of his Authority; and that the Soveraignty is in the Law, and not in himself. This is the reason why in every cause he cen­sures, he bethinks himself of his own proper cause, which shall one day be censured; he so judgeth, as if Posterity were to take a review of his judging; and as though the present time, were but subalternate to the future. Thus I have heard him to make his account; and from his principles I have drawn my conclusions; and in a conference I had some­times with him, he seemed to me a better man than I have set him forth. In such sort Sir, that I am not of a minde to contradict you; In your writing of him to me, you say nothing which is not of my knowledge; and in my writing of him to you, I do nothing but follow your conceits. Never fear that the common errours will deprave his spirit; he hath laid too sure a foundation in the knowledge of truth; he is too strongly con­firmed in the good Sect. Having often and seriously meditated on the condition of humane affairs, he values them just as much as they are worth, but he adds nothing by opinion; he hates neither riches nor au­thority; this were the peevish humour of the Cynicks, to hate a thing that in it self is lovely; he makes use of them after the manner of the Aca­demy, and of the Lycaeum, which never thought them impediments to happiness, but rather aids and furtherances to virtue. Or may we not say more probably that he hath drawn his doctrines from a Spring nearer hand; and that he hath not gone out of himself to finde out the truest wisdom? He hath examples at home, which may serve him for Idaeas of perfection; and Sages in his own race, which are Artists of virtuous life. Whilest he governs himself by their Rules, he may well pass by all forraign doctrines; and having his deceased Uncle before his eyes; he need not care to have Socrates for a myrrour: Quippe malim unum Cato­nem quam trecentos Socratas. The memory of this illustrious personage is in such veneration through all France, and his name hath preserved so ex­cellent an Odour in the prime Tribunal of Christendom, that it is not now so much the name of a family, as it is the name even of integrity and constancy it self. Remember the Epigram of that Grecian, whose Manu­script I shewed you; which saith, that in a place at Athens when one named Plutarch, there was an Echo answered Philosophy, as taking the one for the other, & making no difference between the two. By the like reason the Muses might use the same figure, and act the like miracle, in favour of this new Pillar of justice. They never need to use reservations, nor fear too deep engaging themselves: whatsoever they lay forth before hand for his glory, shall all be allowed them again in the reckoning. Ha­ving been bred up in their bosom, and being entred into their Sanctua­ry, he will never suffer them to stand waiting and catch cold at his gate; nor that a Switzer shall keep them out from entring his base Court. They shall never have (I assure my self) that unhappy advantage to have [Page 41] given him all, and receive back nothing from him again; to have en­riched his minde with a thousand rare knowledges, and then hardly get him to seal them an acquittance. Let us now come to the other part of your Letter; and assay to satisfie your Doctour concerning his Obje­ction. He findes fault with me, because I praise the Pope for his beau­ty, and sayes that such praise is for women and youth, and belongs not to old men and Priests. First, Sir I answer, he wrongs me in changing my terms; for I make a great difference between beauty and a good Visage: of this I spake in the person of the Pope, and should never have thought I had committed a sin, though I had spoken of the other also. As concerning age, you know there are beautifull old men, though there be not beautifull old Women; and you remember that ancient perso­nage, who by report of History was of equal pleasing to all companies through all the ages of his life. As concerning the quality, besides that God rejected in sacrifice all lean and unsound Oblation; he required al­so to have handsome Priests; and you may shew your friend in the books of Moses, that not onely the lame and pore-blinde, but even the flat no­sed were excluded from being Ministers in sacrificing. But if being, as he is a prophane Doctour, the holy Scriptures do not please him; yet he might have remembred that old word of the Tragick Poet, [...], upon which I had an eye when I said, This Visage worthy of an Empire. And yet more being a Gascogne Doctor, I wonder he ne­ver read the Panegyrick, which a Countrey man of his pronounced at Rome before the Emperour Theodosius; where he should have found these words; Augustissima quaeque species, plurimum creditur trahere de Coelo; sive enim Divinus ille animus venturus in corpus, dignum prius me­reatur hospitium, sive cum venerit fingit habitaculum pro habitu suo; sive aliud ex alio crescit; & cum se pariajunxerunt, utraque majora sunt par­cam Arcanum Coeleste rimari; Tibi istud soli pateat imperator cum Deo con­sorte secretum. Illud dicam quod intellexisse hominem & dixisse fas est; talem esse debere qui a gentibus adoratur cui toto orbe terrarum privaeta vel publica vota redduntur; a quo petit Navigaturus serenum, Peregrinatu­rus reditum, Pugnaturus auspicium. Virtus tua meruit imperium, sed vir­tuti addidit forma suffragium. Illa praestitit ut oporteret te principem fieri; haec ut deceret. In this discourse, there are some terms which yet may seem fitter for a Pope than for an Emperour: and here is to be noted, that Theodosius was no young man, when Latinus Pacatus praised him thus for his beauty, for it was after his defeat of the Tyrant Maximus; and when after many victories obtained against the Barbarians, he was in full and peaceable possession of his glory. Sometime before this; Gregory Nazianzen had upbraided the Emperour Julian for his ill favoured Visage, for the ill feature of his face, and for other de­formities of his body, of which nevertheless he was not guilty. [Page 42] Though one might here question the holy Oratour, whether in doing this he did well, or no? Yet from hence we may at least gather, that the qualities, contrary to these he blames, ought justly and may be law­fully made account of; and that such praises, which reflect upon the Creatours glory, are much more Christian than those accusations, which trench upon the scorning of his knowledge. Your friend therefore is certainly more severe than he need to be. He is much to blame to re­ject in this sort the blessings of Heaven, and the advantages of birth; and to imagine that holiness cannot be examplar and Apostolick, un­less it be pale and lean, and look like one were starved. These are the dreams of Tertullian, who will have it, that our Saviour was in no sort beautifull, and therein gives the lie to all Antiquity, and to the tradi­tion of the whole Church. He draws a Picture for him, which is not onely injurious to his Divine, but dishonourable also [...]o his humane na­ture. This in my opinion is one of his greatest errours, and which most of all startles me in reading his books. If he would have it, that his watchings and abstinence had dried up his bloud, and made him look gastly; that to the burnt colour of Africk, he added also that of burnt Melancholy and of overflowing choler, it may perhaps be granted him; yet I will not accuse, either the Sun of his Countrey; or the tem­perature of his body: but leave every one in his natural estate; and so should he have done. But to go about to disfigure the most beautifull amongst the Children of men, and to eclipse all the beams and lustre of a Divine countenance, this is a sullen humour, which no patience can bear with; no charity can ever pardon. You wondered at this strange opinion when I last shewed it unto you; and I perceived you suspected I did him wrong; now therefore to justifie my credit with you, and to let you see I did it not to abuse you: I send you here the passages I promised you to look out. The first is in his book of Patience; where Christ is called Contumeliosus sibi ipsi. The second in his book against the Jews, where he is said to be, Ne aspectu quidem honestus: but hear the third, which will fright you to hear, in his Tract of the flesh of Christ: Adeo ut [...]nec humanae honestatis corpus fuit; [...]acentibus apud nos quoque Prophetis de ignobili aspectu ejus, ipsae passiones, ipsaeque contumeliae lo­quuntur; passiones quidem humanam carnem; contumeliae vero inhonestam. An ausus esset aliquis ungue summo perstringere corpus novum? Sputami­nibus contaminare faciem nisi merentem, &c. Let us see what Mounsieur Rigaut thinks of this; and whether he be of these sharp and sour ones that would take from Heaven its stars, and from the Earth its flowers. Certainly my censurer is of this number; for I perceive beauty offends him, and he would easily subscribe to Tertullians opinion. Yet say no more to him of all this, but that which he must needs know; and spare sending out a second Process against a man that hath too much of [Page 43] the first, and deserves you should take some care of his quiet; since he is from the bottom of his heart,

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 10. of March 1633.

To My Lord the Bishop of Nantes. LETTER XXV.

SIR,

IT is told me from all parts that you speak of me, as one that is dear unto you, and of my ill fortune, as of a thing that concerns you. If this tenderness proceed from a soft effeminate spirit, yet it would not be without merit; and oblige me infinitely unto you; but now that it comes from a feeling of the purest spirit in the World, and the least capable of weakness; how much ought I to esteem it, and of how great price to value it? It wants not much of making me love that grief which procures me so glorious a consolation; and I vow unto you, that to be pittied of you, is a more pleasing thing than to be favoured of the Court. In that Countrey men go upon snares and ruines; the best places there are so slippery that few can stand upright; and if the mise­rable pretenders avoid a sudden falling, it is by enduring a tedious tos­sing: receiving perpetual affronts, and returning perpetual submissions. I therefore like much better to hide my self here with your good fa­vour, and my own good quiet, than to bear a shew there with their frights and sour looks; and I bless the windes, and count my Ship­wrack happy which hath cast me back upon my old home. Some that were more sensible than my self, would in this case complain of the World; but I content my self to forget it: I will neither have War, nor commerce with the world: I have sounded a retreat to all my pas­sions; as well those that be troublesom, as those that be pleasing; and I protest unto you Sir, I should read with more delight, a relation of one of your walks at Cadillac, than the most delightsom passage of all the German History: when I think upon you in company with —, me thinks I see Laelius come to visite Scipio, and confirming him in the resolution he hath taken to stand aloof from the tumults and turbulen­cies of worldly affairs; and by a quiet retreat to place his virtue, and his glory in a sure hold. I am extreamly glad of the honour he will do my Father to pass this way, and bring you along with him; and you may well think that after this I shall not reckon our Village inferiour to Tempe, or to Tyvoly. If it were not for the sit of an Ague, which is now leaving me, but very quickly to return; I would go as far as Rochel to [Page 44] meet with this good fortune, that I might be at the first opening of those Largesses of the Church, which a mouth so holy and eloquent as yours must needs distribute. But I am not happy enough to see you, and gain a Jubilee both at once; It must be your pleasure to be so gra­cious as to accept of such a complement as I am capable of; and to rest assured with my assuring you by this messenger that I am, and alwayes will be with all the forces of my Soul,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 13. May 1633.

Another to the same. LETTER XXVI.

SIR,

THere are some of your bounties I have cause to complain of; they are such as cannot be acknowledged; and in the least of your actions you are so great, that if I take measure of my self by you, I cannot ap­pear but very little. Your liberality makes me rich, but withall it dis­covers my necessity, there being no proportion between you and me, how extream soever my possession be, it can be no competent price for yours; and in the Commerce that is between us, I return you but Flints for Diamonds, yet I present them to you but informa pauper is, not as a Mountibank; & know I give you nothing, though I keep nothing for my self. I am well assured Sir, that I honour you infinitely, but am infinitely unsatisfied to offer you so mean a thing, there is no reasonable man that doth not as much, & since so much is due to you for onely your virtue, how much am I to pay you more for your affection? Of this last moyity I am altogether Non-solvent; my services; my bloud are not all worth it; and I confess unto you, I shall never be able to deserve but these four words of your Letter, Non discedo abs te Mi Fili, sed avellor; nor those Delicias in Christo meas; nor this, Dulce decus meum, with which you graced me at another time. Mounsieur Gyrard, who knows all my se­crets, and offers to be an agent for me with you, will tell you with a better grace how sensible I am of your so great favours, and how proud of so illustrious an adoption as you are pleased to honour me with; of which I make far greater reckoning then to be adopted into the family, of the Fabians, or the Marcelli; you shall also hear by him, that since your departure from hence, you have been (I may say) solemnly invo­cated, and most honourable commemoration hath been made of you in all our innocent disorderly wakes. Our Curate believes verily that your presence hath brought a blessing to the fruits of our Parish; and we look for better Harvests then our neighbours, who had not the happiness thereof as we had. There is therefore just cause that every week we [Page 45] make a feast upon the day of your coming to Balzac, Et ut tibi tanquam futuro in posterum loci Genio non uno poculo libetur. If this kinde of ac­knowledgement will content you, I shall perfectly acquit my self of performing my duty, having learned in Lorrain, and the Low Countreys the means of testifying that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 6. of June 1633.

Another to him. LETTER XXVII.

SIR,

THough I know the good deserts of — are not unknown unto you, and that you need no forraign commendation to increase your respects towards him, yet I cannot hold from doing a thing superfluous; & assure you by these few lines that it will be no blemish to your judge­ment to let him have your Testimony of his piety. Ever since the time he renounced his errour, he hath continued firm and stedfast in the do­ctrine you taught him: of an erroneous Christian you made him an Or­thodox, and your hand is too happy to plant any thing that doth not prosper. He is therefore your workmanship in Christ Jesus, and other­wise so perfect a friend of mine, that I know not, if in the order of my affections, I ought not to set him in equal rank with my own brother. This at least I know, that the least of his businesses is the greatest of mine, and I will not onely part your savour between him and me, but will become your debtour for the whole my self alone. I am now po­lishing those writings which I had condemned, but that you asked their pardon; and since it is your will they should not perish, I revoke my sentence, and I am resolved your self shall be the other person of my Dialogue; after the example of that Roman you love so well, whose books of Philosophy are commonly his conferences with Brutus, or other Sages, the true and natural judges of such matters; yet Sir it is impossible for me to dissemble any longer a grief I have at my heart, and to end my Letter without letting you see a little cut you have given me there; you made me a promise to come back by Balzac, and now you have taken another way: Thus the wise men of the East dealt with He­rod; yet I am neither Tyrant nor enemy to the Son of God. This kinde of proceeding is far unlike the Belgick sincerity, and it is not fit for Saints to mock poor sinners. But how unkindely soever you deal with me, I can never turn Apostara, and should you prove more cruel, I should yet never be

Sir,
But your, &c.
From Balzac 15. Octob. 1633.

To — LETTER XXVIII.

SIR,

SInce you have taken pleasure in obliging me, I will not have you have the grief to lose your Obligation, nor that my incompetent acknowledgement should make you have the less stomack for doing good. I know your goodness is clear and free from all forraign re­spects, and hath no motive but it self; it is not at any mans prayers that the Sun riseth; neither doth he shine the more for any mans thanks; your courtesies are of like condition: Your favours have not been procured by my making suit; and as of my part nothing hath gone before the kindenesses I have received, so on your part I assure my self you expect not that any thing should follow them; yet some­thing must be done for examples sake; and not to give this colour for shewing little courtesie to such as complain that men are ungratefull. The place where you are is full or such people; all commerces are but Amusements, and to make men believe the whole World is given to deceive; and it is a great merit in you that you can follow so forlorn and solitary a thing as truth is in a Countrey where Divines maintain her but weakly, and where she dares scarce be seen in a Pulpit, doth it not shew an extraordinary courage to take upon him to distribute her amongst the pretenders, and that in open Theater? It is no mean hardi­ness to be good at the Court; to condemn false Maxims where they have made a Sect, and where they have gotten the force of Laws. I have been assured you make profession of this difficult virtue, and that in the greatest heat of calumny, and the coldest assistance that ever a poor innocent had, you have been passionately affected in my behalf, being altogether unknown unto you, but by the onely reputation of my ill fortune; and even at this present you are taking care of some affairs of mine, which I in a manner had abandoned; and upon the re­port you heard of my negligence you make me offer of your pains and industry. The onely using your name were enough for all this; I might well spare my own unprofitable indeavours, where my negligence, be­ing favoured by you, shall without all doubt be crowned. You have heard speak of that Grecian, whom the love of Philosophy made to for­get the tilling of his ground; and of whom Aristotle said that he was wise, but not prudent. He found a friend that supplied the defect of his own ill husbandry, and repaired the ruins of his house. If my estate were like his, I should expect from you the like favour; but I ask not so much at this time. All that I desire now, — hath promised me a [Page 47] dozen times over; and I see no reason to distrust an Oracle. He is nei­ther inspired by any false Deity, nor hath made me any doubtfull an­swer; to that resisting my self upon this foundation, there seems to have been a kinde of Religion in my negligence: and I am not altogether in so much blame, as — would make you think me. He is, I deny not, an Authour worthy to be credited; and his testimony ought to be re­ceived; but yet he hath not the gift of not erring, and never believe him more, than when he assures you that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 9. of Febr. 1630.

To Mounsieur du Pleix, the Kings Historiographer. LETTER XXIX.

Sir,

Since the time that persecution hath broken out into flames against me, I never received more comfortable assistance than from your self; and I account your strength so great, that I cannot doubt of the goodness of a cause which you approve. You were bound by no Ob­ligation to declare your self in my behalf, and you might have conti­nued Neutral with decency enough; but the nobleness of your minde hath passed over these petty rules of vulgar Prudence; and you could not endure to see an honest man oppressed, without taking him into your protection. This is to shew me too much favour in a Kingdom where Justice is no better than Mercenary, and where it is bought af­ter long solliciting. I know well that the soundest part is of my side; and that my state is not ill amongst the wise; but on the other side, there are so many opposites on the By, that make War upon me; that I am ready to leave my self to the mercy of the multitude, and to be perswaded by the number of my enemies, that I am in the wrong. It is therefore no small Obligation I am bound to you in, that you have preserved the liberty of your judgement amidst the alterations and factions of passionate men; and have taken the pains to clear a truth, which is to me of great advantage, and was to you of small importance. I do not desire that men should count me learned: this quality hath of­ten troubled the peace of the Church; and they are not the ignorant that make Schismes and Heresies: And less I pretend to the art of well speaking; many bad Citizens have used this as an instrument to ruin their Countrey; and a dumb wisdom is much more worth than an ill minded eloquence. That which I desire, and which would trouble me much to have taken from me is honesty; of which onely I make pro­fession, and without which we are never able to attain salvation; where with all the Greek and Latine of our books we may incurre perdition [Page 48] Mounsieur Gyrard, a man you dare trust, and one that hath never born false witness, will answer for me concerning this last point. He hath seen my Soul to the very bottom, and can assure you without deceiving you, that I am no lover of vice; and if you desire assurance that I am an extream lover of virtue, he will enter into bond for me that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 12. Aug. 1630.

To Mounsieur Maynard. LETTER XXV.

Sir,

THat sorrow is happy which hath you for a comforter. I finde more contentment in your passionating me, than I finde affiiction in others persecuting me: and I am far from wishing ill to an age, to which I am beholding for so excellent a friend. In this respect I easily pardon it, the wrong you say it hath done me; and should be more unjust than it self is; if being beholding to it for a treasure, I should think much to partake of its iron and rust. It is not now onely that opinion go­verns the World; there hath been disputing against reason in all ages. Contentions and Heresies have ever been, and the truth it self was not believed, when it came into the World in person, and would have spo­ken. I seek not the favour of the multitude, it is seldom gotten by ho­nest and lawfull means; and in that, Enchanters have had some advan­tage over Prophets. I seek the Testimony of few; I number not voices but weigh [...] them: and to shew what I am, one honest man is Theater enough. Therefore never trouble your self that things have befallen me as I made account they would, and never ask for reason of the vul­gar who have it not. Ignorance can never be just, nor go right in the dark: Alarms are given, and surprizes are made by the favour of night: this is the time of Murthers and Robberies, she the mother of dreams and phantasms. Your self have had your part in this experience as well as others. And at this very time I am talking with you, it may be you are accused by some for being a miscreant, for not believing that Saint Gregory made prayers to God for Trajans Soul; or that Saint Paul was ever a bosom friend of Seneca. It may be you are called Huguenot for doubting the infallibility of Philarchus, and denying some of his mira­cles. It may be you are charged with seeking in vain to perswade a Master of Art, that Aristotle had as much learning as Ramus; and that Ciceroes stile is as good as that of Lipsius. What shall I say more? It may be your dear and well beloved Martial puts you to more pains to [Page 49] defend him, than to imitate him; some schollar of Muret maintains boldly against you, that he is a beastly Buffon; and perhaps the con­trary will not be believed upon your bare word.

For sitan & stupidas bona carmina perdis ad aures.

It is fit to laugh at such disorder, and not to grow in choler; and if you will make a Satyr of it, that it be of the Character of Horace, and not of Juvenal. I cannot abide victories that are cruel; I ask mercy for my enemies, and love that my revenges should be imperfit and that your Pen should not be bloudy, as indeed it could not be, but of a base obscure bloud; and to put you into a quarrel unworthy of you, I make too great a reckoning of your valour, and am too much

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 20. March 1632.

To Mounsieur de Descourades. LETTER XXXI.

SIR,

MY dear Cosin, if I could with any honesty leave the business I have in Angoumois: — should not go into Languedoc with­out me; and I would make this journey of purpose onely to have the happiness to embrace you; you would know me presently by the old yellowness of my face; and thereupon the force of bloud would draw along with it a little tenderness, and I do not believe but you would make a difference between your own and strangers. The effects of grace destroy not the affections of nature; they onely take away that which is impure and earthly; and I assure my self you do not love me less than you did, but that you love me in a better fashion. I am told that the kinde of life you have chosen is not austere, but onely to your self; and that your Thorns prick no body else; in truth, a devotion that pleaseth me exceedingly, and I could never away with this studied sad­ness, which disguiseth the hatred it bears to men, under pretence of the love of God. I am right glad you have taken the other way, be­cause we may now come safely to you, and never be afraid your virtue should scratch us. Christian Philosophy hath nothing in common with the Cynick. This disguiseth, and that reformeth; one composeth the countenance, the other regulates the spirit; and indeed without an exact managing the superiour part; all the pain that is taken about the infe­riour is to no purpose without that, Mortification is not so good as [Page 50] Carnality; and if you do nothing but change your cloath of Gold for a russet Coat; and your cut-work band for a demy collar, you shall no doubt be a loser by the change. But the case is not so; you have left cares and trouble, for calmness and quiet; and you possess a happiness which Kings can neither keep with themselves, nor suffer amongst their Neighbours; I speak of peace, which in vain is expected from ther Al­liances and from their Leagues, being not to be obtained but onely of God, and who gives it not but to his friends. You are a happy man to be of that number, and you may believe me that I am not troubled about it, seeing there is good hope I may have a benefit by it my self, and that your prayers may draw me after you; I doubt not but they are of great power and efficacy, and doubt as little that I am my self of the number of those you hold dear unto you; but as one that hath more need then any other, I conjure you to double them unto me, who am in heart and Soul

Sir, My dear Cosin,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 4. of May 1633.

To Mounsieur d'Andilly. Counsellour of the King in his Counsels. LETTER XXXII.

Sir,

I Perceive that Mounsieur the great Master is a great extender of ex­positions, and hath tied you to explain your self in a matter whereof I never doubted. Herein he hath exceeded his Commission, and done more than he had in charge to do. I seek no new assurance of your friendship; this were to shew a distrust in the old, whereas the founda­tion already laid, is such that makes me forbear even ordinary duties, for fear I should make shew to need them, and as if I would hold by any other strength then your own inclination. Care and diligence, and assiduity are not alwayes the true marks of sincere affections, which I speak as well in your behalf as my own: Truth walks now adayes with a less train, men use not to make open profession of it, but rather to confess it as a sin: her enemies are strong and open, her adherents weak and secret: yet Sir, if she were in more disgrace, and were driven out of France by Proclamation: I should believe you would be her receiver, and to finde her out, I should go directly to Pompone. I therefore ne­ver doubted of your love; this were to shew a distrust of your word past to me: I marvelled that — knew nothing of it, and that you let [Page 51] him take possession of his government, without recommending unto him, your friends there. To satisfie my self in this point; I said in my minde, that certainly this proceeded from the great opinion you had of his justice; and that conceiving there would not be with him any place for grace or favour; you would not do me a superfluous office. This is the interpretation I made of an omission, which in appearance seemed to accuse you; and this is the conjecture I made of your silence, before I came to know the cause. Now I see I was in the wrong, to imagine you had such subtil considerations; or that you were restrained by such a cowardly wisedom which dares not assure the good to be good, least such assuring should corrupt it. For my part I renounce a prudence that is so dastardly and scrupulous, that fears to venture a word for a virtuous friend, because this friend is a man, and may perhaps lose his virtue. You do much better than so, and I am glad to finde you not so jealous of the glory of your judgement, but that you can be contented to be slighted and scorned, when it is for the benefit of a friend you love: let us leave flegm and coldness to old Senatours; and never make question whether we ought to call them infirmities of age, or fruits of reason: There are good qualities for enabling men to judge of criminal causes, but are nothing worth for making men fit to live in so­ciety: and he, of whom it was said, that all he desired, he desired ex­treamly, seems to me a much honester man than those that desire so coldly; and are so indifferent in their desires. If you were not one of these violent reasonable men, and had not some of this good fire in your temper, I should not have your approbation so good cheap. That which now galls you, would not at all touch you; and things which now descend to the bottom of your Soul, would pass away lightly be­fore your eyes. I hear came yesterday a man to see me, who is not so sensible of the pleasures of the minde; and took great pitty of me and my Papers: he told me freely that of all knowledges which re­quire study, he made reckoning of none but such onely as are necessary for life; and that he more valued the stile of the Chancery than that of Cicero; he more esteemed the penning of a Chancery Bill, than the best penned Oration that ever Cicero writ. I thought this at first a strange complement, but thinking well of it, I thought it better to seem to be of his opinion, then undertake to cure a man uncureable. I therefore answered him, that the Patriarch Calarigitone so famous for the peace of Vervins, was in a manner of his minde, who being returned from his Embassage, and asked what rare and admirable things he had seen at Paris; made mention of none but their Cooks shops; saying to every body, as it were with exclamation Veramente quelle rostisseries sono Cosa stupenda; as much as to say that there are Barbarians elsewhere, then at Fez and Morocco. One half of the World doth not so much as ex­cuse [Page 52] that which you praise: our merchandise is cried down long since, and to bring it into credit again and put it off, there had need return into the World, some new Augustus and Antoninus, — saith, that whilest he waits for the resurrection of these good Princes; he is re­solved to rest himself: and not to publish his Verses, till they shall be worth a Pistole a piece. I fear it will be long ere we shall see this Edi­tion come forth; for my self who make no such reckoning of my Prose; I have no purpose to make merchandise of it; yet desire I not neither to tire my hands with writing continually to no profit. I mean to make hereafter no other use of my Pen, then to require my friends to let me hear of their healths; and to assure you Sir, that I am no mans more

Than your, &c.
At Balzac 12. June 1633.

To Mounsieur Conrart. LETTER XXXIII.

Sir,

I Had a great longing to see — and you have done me a special kindeness to send it me over. Yet I must tell you, that your send­ing it gets him a greater respect with me then his own deserving, and if you appoint me not to make some reckoning of him, all that I shall do for his own sake, will be but to bear with him. A man had need be of sanguine complexion, and in a merry vein before, that should be moved to laugh at his poor jests. Melancholick men are too hard to be stirr'd; that which goes to the Centre of other mens hearts; stayes without doors in theirs; at least it toucheth but very weakly the out­side; and oftentimes I am so sadly disposed and in so sullen an humour, that if a jeaster be not excellent, I cannot think him tolerable nor in­dure to hear him. It is certain the Italians are excellent in the art of jesting, and I could mark you out a passage in Boccace that would have made — and all his predecessours the Stoick Philosophers to forfeit their gravity. But there are not two Boccaces, nor two Ariostoes; there are many that think themselves pleasant when they are indeed ridiculous; I would our good — would leave his wrangling about controversies, and fall to this kinde of writing, in which in my opi­nion he would provē excellent. This would draw his Genius out of Fetters, and give it the extent of all humane things to play in; onely he should spare the Church for her eldest Son sake, and forbear the Pope for M. the Cardinals sake, one of the Princes of his Court. These are respects you ought to have, untill your conversion furnish you with other more religious, and change this your honest civility [Page 53] into a true devotion. If we be not bound to speak of mens religion reverently, yet we are bound to speak seriously, and ev [...]n at this day we call Lucian an Atheist, for scoffing at those Gods who we know were false. For the rest Sir, I pray take heed you shew not my Letter to —, he would give me a terrible check in behalf of —, he would not in­dure I should speak so insolently of an Author approved by the Aca­demy, De gli insensati de Perouse, and indeed I had not spoken as I did, but that I dare trust your silence, and know, that to discover a secret to you is to hide it. Make much of this rare virtue and never leave it, and be pleased to believe me that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 13. of June 1633.

To the same another. LETTER XXXIV.

SIR,

I Am going to a place where in speaking good of you I shall finde no contradiction, and where your virtue is so well known, that if I say no­thing of it but what I know, I am sure I shall tell no news. I bring along with me the last Letter you writ unto me, and mean to be earnest­ly intreated by Mounsieur — before I yield to grant him a Coppy. As for Madam — she should entertain an enemy upon this pasport, and though she were resolved to give me no audience, yet she would never deny it to the reader of your writings. I know of what account you are in her heart, and how much I ought to fear, least all the room there be taken up before hand with your favour. Yet such opinion I have of her justice, that I willingly make her Arbitratour of our diffe­rence, and require her to tell whether she think I have done wrong to — in desiring him to give over his going to Law, and to pass the rest of his dayes in more quiet and sweet imployments. The art of jesting, whereof I speak is no enemy to the art of morality whereof you speak, rather it is the most subtle and most ancient way of retailing it; And that which would fright men, being used in the natural form, delights and wins them sometimes, being used under a more pleasing mask. Men loath a wisedom, that is drie and altogether raw; it must have a little seasoning, such a kinde of sawce as Socrates was wont to make it; that Socrates, I say, whom all the Families of Philosophers account their Founder, and acknowledge for their Patriarch. The story sayes he ne­ver used to speak in earnest, and the age he lived in called him the scof­fer. In Platoes book you shall finde little else of him but jesting; with disorderly persons you shall see him counterfet a Lover, and a Drun­kard, thereby to claw them whom he would take. He shuns the stile [Page 54] of the Dogmatists, or to speak definitively of things, as thinking it an instrument of Tyranny, and a yoak that oppresseth our liberty. In short he handles serious matters so little seriously that he seems to think the shortest way to perswade was to please; and that virtue had need of delight, to make way for her into the Soul. Since his time there have come men who contented not themselves with laughing, but make profession of nothing else, and have made it their recreation to play upon all the actions of humane life. Others have disguised themselves into Courtiers and Poets, and left their Dilemmaes and their Syllo­gismes to turn jeasters, and to get audience in privy Chambers. We see then the World had not alwayes been sad before Ariosto and Bernia came into it; they were not the men that brought it first to be merry; jeasting is no new invention, it was the first trade that wise men used; who thereby made themselves sociable amongst the people. Theophra­stus who succeeded Aristotle thought it no disparagement to Philoso­phy, nor that there was in it any uncomeliness unfit for his school Ly­caeum; he is excellent at descriptions, and counterfeitings, and his Characters are as so many Comedies, but that they be not divided in­to Acts and Scenes, and that they represent but onely one person. Se­neca, as solemne and of as sullen humour as he was otherwise, yet once in his life would needs be merry, and hath left us that admirable Apo­theosis of Claudius, which if it were lost, I would with all my heart give one of his books de Beneficiis to recover again; and a much greater ransom if it were possible to get it entire. No doubt but you have heard speak of the Caesars, of the Emperour Julian; that is to say, of the sports of a severe man, and of the mirth of a melancholick man. And from whence think you had the Menippaean Satyrs their names; Things so much esteemed of by antiquity, and under which title the learn­ed Varro comprised all wisedom divine and humane, even from Menippus the Philosopher, who was of a Sect so austere, and so great an enemy to vice, that Justus Lipsius doubts not to set it in com­parison with the most strict and reformed order of the Church. I am much deived but Madam — will not be found so scrupulous as you, but will give her voice in favour of an opinion authorised by so great examples. And indeed Sir, why should you not like that our friend should reserve some mirth and some pleasure for his old age? and having declaimed and disputed abroad all day, should come at night to have some merry talk in his own lodging; why should you think it amiss, that after so many wars and cumbats I should counsel him to re­fresh himself with a more easie and less violent kinde of writing; and to afford us such wares as may be received as well at Rome as at Geneva? These thirty years he hath been a Fencer upon Paper, and hath furnish­ed all Europe with such spectacles; why should he not now give over a [Page 55] quarrel that he is never able to compose? He may in my opinion ho­nestly say, it is enough, and content himself to have outlived his old ad­versaries, without staying to look for new. Having had to do with Mounsieur Coeffeteau, and with Cardinal Perron; it would be a shame for him to meddle now with a dizzy headed father, or with the Antick of Roan; and a poor ambition it would be in my judgement to erect Trophies of two such broken Bables; it were better he left individuals and fell to judge of species in general, and that he would consider other mens follies without partaking of them. It were better to discredit vice by scorn, then to give it reputation by invectives, and to laugh with success, then to put himself in Choler without profit. Though there be many sorts of disciplining men, and correcting their manners; yet I for my part am for this sort; and finde nothing so ex­cellent as a Medicine that pleases. Many men fear more the bitterness of the potion that is given them, then the annoyance of the infirmity that offends them; we would fain go to health by a way of pleasure, and he should be a much abler man that could purge with Raspices, then he that should do it with Rhubarbe. Our Gentleman by — his leave is none of these; for commonly he neither instructs nor delights, he neither heals nor flatters their passions that read him; he hath neither inward treasure nor outward pomp; and yet I can tell you, as beggarly and wretched as he is, he hath been robbed and ransacked in France. He could not save himself from our Theeves; and you may see some of his spoils which I present you here.

My fidling Doctor in his visage various,
Had twice as many hands as had Briareus;
There was not any morsel in the dish
Which he with eyes and fingers did not fish;

And so forth.

You see we live in a Countrey where even Beggars and Rogues can­not pass in safety; though they have nothing to lose, yet they lose for all that, and men pull the hairs even from them that are bald. There is no condition so ill but is envied of some, no pvoerty so great which leaves not place for injuries. Cottages are pillaged as well as Pallaces; and though covetousness look more after great gains, yet it scorns not small. But all this while you must remember that my discourse is al­legorical, and that I speak of Poets and not of Treasurers. I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 25. of Sept. 1630.

To my Lord the Mareschall Deffiat. LETTER XXXV.

SIR,

THough I know your life is full of business, and that it hath nei­ther festival, nor day of rest; yet I am so vain as to fancy to my self that I shall be able to suspend this your continual action, and that the recreation I send you shall finde some place amidst your affairs: you are not one to be wrought upon, you know the true value of things, and see in Arts those secrets which none but Artists them­selves see. There is no thinking therefore to deceive you by a shew of good, and by false flashes of reputation; no way to gain estima­tion with you, but by lawfull wayes, and rather by seeking com­mendation from ones self, than testimony from others. This is the cause that I come alwayes directly to your self, and never seek to get a fa­vour by canvasing and suit, which is not to be gotten but by merit. If my book be good it will be a sollicitour with you in my behalf; and if it make you pass some hours with any contentment, you will let me understand it when you have read it. Howsoever I hope you will grant, that the Pension, which the King gives me, is no excess that needs reformation; and that none will accuse you of ill husbandry, if you please to pay me that which is my due. There have been heretofore in the place that you are now in certain wilde unlettered persons, who yet made show of valuing humane learnings, and to respect those graces in others which were wanting in themselves; for­cing their humour and sweetning their countenances to win the love of learned men; and either out of opinion, or out of vanity have re­vered that which you ought to love out of knowledge, and for the interest you have in it, I say for the interest, because besides the virtues of peace, having in you the virtues of war; it concerns you not to leave your good atchievements to adventure, but to cast your eyes upon such as are able to give your merits a testimony that may be lasting; I dare not say that I my self am one of that number, but thus much I can assure you most truly that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 20. Octob. 1633.

To Mounsieur Granier. LETTER XXXVI.

SIR, I have received your Letter of the 27. of the last moneth; but it makes mention of a former which never came to my hands: and it must needs be that fortune hath robbed me of it, for fear I should be too happy, and should have two pleasures in Sequence. This is an accident which I reckon amongst my misfortunes; and I cannot suf­ficiently complain of this Violatour of the Law of Nations, who hath been so cruel as to break our Commerce the very first day of our en­tring into it; and to make me poor without making himself rich. I am more troubled for this loss, than for all that shall be said, or written against me: Slander hath a goodly catch of it to be at war with me, it shall never make me yield; it is an evil: is it not a glory for a private man to be handled in such manner, as Princes & their Officers are? And is it not a mark of greatness to be hated of those one doth not know? I never sought after the applause of —, which cannot chuse but have corrupt affections in such sort, that did they praise me, I should ask what fault I had done? Though their number were greater than you make it, this would be no great novelty to me, who know that truth goes seldom in the throng; and hath in all times been the Possession but of a few. Even at this day, for one Christian there are six Maho­metans; and there was a time when Ingemuit orbis, & se Arrianum esse miratus est. If God suffer men to be mistaken in matters of so great im­portance, where their salvation is at stake; why should I expect he should take care to illuminate them in my cause which no way concerns them; and to preserve them from an errour which can do them no hurt? Whether I be learned, or ignorant; whether my eloquence be true, or false, whether my Pearls be Oriental, or but of Venice: what is all this to the Common-wealth? There is no cause the publick should trouble it self about so light a matter; and the fortunes of France depend not upon it. Let the Kings subjects believe what they list; let them enjoy the liberty of conscience which the Kings Edicts allow them. A man must be very tender that can be wounded with words; and he must be in a very apt disposition to die, that lets himself be killed by Philarchus; or Scioppius his Pen. For my self I take not matters so to heart; nor am sensible in so high a degree. The good opinion of honest mindes, is to me a soveraign remedy against all the evils of this nature. I oppose a little choise number, against a tumultuary multitude, and count my self strong enough, having you on my side; and knowing you to be as vigorous a friend of mine, as I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 15. Feb. 1633.

To Mounsieur Gaillard. LETTER XXXVII.

SIR,

I Am unfortunate, but I am not faulty, I was assured you had written to me, but I received not your Letters. You have been my defen­dour; and I have been a long time without knowing to whom I was bound for defending me: whether it were a man or an Angel that was come to my succour. These are honest subtelties, and generous supe­rerogations. This is to deceive in charity, and to his advantage that is deceived. This is to bring again that good time, wherein Knights un­known came to Freemen, that were oppressed, without telling their names; or so much as lifting up the Beavers of their Helmets. You have done in a manner the like; you have hidden your self under a borrowed shape; thereby to take away from a good action, all appa­rence of vain glory; and to let them that are interessed, see, that you are virtuous without looking for reward. For my self, I do not think I am bound to follow the intention of this scrupulous virtue. If you have a will to shun noise, and the voice of the people; yet you cannot refuse the acknowledgement of an honest man: nor let me from paying what I owe you. Because you are modest, I must not therefore be ungratefull, as I am not by my good will, I assure you. You possess my heart, as absolutely, as you have justly purchased it; I am yours by all the sorts of right, not forgetting that of the wars. I will even believe that my enemy hath gotten a full victory, to the end I may more justly call you my Redeemer; and that you may have the Crown that was due to him had saved a Citizen. Mounsieur Borstill, whose wisdom and in­tegrity you know, will answer for the truth of my words: and for my self, I shall need no surety; when I shall be able to testifie unto you by my actions; that there is not in the World a man more than my self

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 22. April 1630.

To Mounsieur the Master Advocate in the Parliament. LETTER XXXVIII.

SIR,

I Have too great a care of your reputation, to seek to have you be found a liar. It shall not lie upon me, that you be not a man of your word; and that your friend is not contented; and seeing it is expected to see this present day what I have written of his company; It is not fit [Page 59] to put off till to morrow the effect of your promise: or that he should languish in the expectation of so small a thing. It is true my book is not here, and my memory is not now so faithfull, that I dare trust it to deliver that I gave it to keep: yet I conceive after I have stirred it up in your name, which is so dear unto me, I shall finde enough to satis­fie your desire, and receive from it this good office. I seem therefore to remember I said, that after so many years, that the Christian Muses have been in France: he is the onely man hath entertained them with honour; and hath built a Pallace for this soveraign science to which all other are subject and inferiour. He hath drawn her our of an obscure and close mansion, where like the poor Socrates she discoursed in pri­son of the supream felicity, to place her a seat worthy of her, and to set up a stately and sumptuous race for the exercise of her Children. From hence we may apprehend the dignity and merit of our Sorbon: for which a man the fullest of business in all the World, hath yet had so particular a care amidst the most violent agitation of his thoughts, that the design of the house he erects for her, hath found place in his breast, amidst the Forts and Rampires of Rochell. If our predecessors the Gaules next to their Gods, gave the second place of honour to their Druides, who shewed them but a dim and confused light of the state of our Souls after this life; what respect then, what reverence can be too great for those venerable Fathers, who teach us by a knowledge most infallible; what the chief and supream good is; who discover to us in certainty, the things that are above the Heavens, who make us true relation of that admirable Common-wealth of happy Citizens that live without bodies, and are immaterial; and who deliver to us the wonders of the intellectual World, more pertinently and more di­rectly, than we relate to blinde men the ornaments of this visible World. With them are had the springs of pure Doctrine; where with others, but onely Brooks and Streams; with them are had resolutions of all doubts, remedies for all poisons: with them time wrongs not an­tiquity; nor doth old age either need painting, or fear tainting: with them this sixteenth age of the World, beholds Christianity preserved and kept in its first lustre. Seing the memory of the most part of the Romane Lords is perished together with their Baths, their Aqueducts, their Races, their Amphitheaters; whereof the very ruins are them­selves ruined and lost; I finde that M. the Cardinal understands more than ever they did, and goes a straighter way to eternity, travelling in a place where his travel can never perish and leaving the care of his name to a company that of necessity shall be immortal, and shall speak of his magnificence as long as there shall be speaking of sin and grace, of good and evil Angels of the pains and rewards of the life to come. I believe I have not spoken any further of it: and I think I could not have spo­ken [Page 60] less: it is lawfull for us to set a price upon our own; and if an ancient Writer said, that more worthy men came forth of Isocrates School; than out of the Trojan Horse: why may not we say as much of Albertus Magnus, and of Saint Thomas? Me thinks I hear out Countrey men speak of nothing else; but of the Lycaeum and of the Academy: and it is now five and twenty years that I have beaten my brains about the Gymnosophists the Brachmanes and the Rabbins: but when all is done, we should remember that we are Christians; and that we have Philosophers that are nearer to us, and ought to be dearer to us than all they. I am glad occasion hath been offered me to put my opinion hereof in writing; and thereupon to let you know I make no mystery of my writings; and especially with you, to whom I have opened my very heart; and whose I am wholly without re­servation.

Sir,
Most humbly, &c.
At Paris 4. July 1633.

LETTERS of MOUNSIEUR de BALZAC. LIB. II.

To my Lord the Earle of EXETER. LETTER I.

SIR,

IF you had wholly misliked my book, I had wholly de­faced it: but seeing some parts of it, seemed to you not unsound, I have thought it sufficient to cut off the cor­rupt part, that you might be drawn to endure the rest. I now therefore send you an Edition of it reformed, done expresly for you, and which I have taken care to cleanse from the stains, that in the two former were distastefull to you. It is not my purpose to stand disputing in an Argument, where I am willing to be confuted: nor to defend that which is condemned by you, where the question is to give you satisfaction by my rigour; I presently grow insensible of the tenderness of a Father: and shall he uncompas­sionate to my dearest issues, as often as your pleasure shall be that they should perish. My writings are to me no better than Monsters when they offend your eyes, and to seem vile to you, is to be vile indeed; and therefore in stead of asking their pardon, I have been my self the hastner of their punishment. There cannot a greater testimony be given of a mans integrity, than when the Delinquent concurs in opinion with the judge; and is the Executioner, where he is the con­demner. All this have I already done; and although in that unhappy passage which gave you distaste, I had not so much a meaning to bite as to laugh; yet I confess I took my mark amiss for laughing justly. Oftentimes one countenance for another changeth the face of the most innocent action of the world: and though I failed onely in ill explain­ing my self; yet it was fault enough, seeing thereby I gave you cause [Page 62] to doubt of my intention. Truly, my Lord, it was never my meaning so much as to touch the resplendent glory of your Divine Princess. I know well enough, it was fitter to consider her by the magnanimity of her spirit; whereof your whole posterity shall taste the fruits, then by the light flower of bodily beauty; which not onely falls away by death; but runs away at the very first approaches of age. I should come out of another World, if I were ignorant of the Encomiums she hath in this kinde received by all peoples voices. She hath I know been stiled the Star of the North: the Goddess of the Sea; the true Thetis. I have read in a Letter, which Henry the great writ unto her in the height of all his troubles; and in the violence of the league: these words, I will Ma­dam be your Captain General. Even he that excommunicated her, spake of her with honour: and he was, as you know, an understanding Prince, and admirable in the Art of ruling. He took a pleasure to be discour­sing of her with Embassadours resident at his Court; and would some­times say merily, that if he had been her husband, certainly greatness and authority would have been the issues of so renowned a marriage. But though she had not ascended to this high degree of reputation, and though he should be devested of all these glorious marks of honour, yet there are two considerations; less specious indeed in the eyes of the World: but more sensible to my spirit, that would binde me strong­ly to reverence her memory: One Sir, that she hath not scorned our Muses; the other, that she hath loved your house. I was taught by Cambden, the knowledge she had in all kindes of learning; so far, as that she had happily Translated out of Greek into Latine some of So­phocles Tragedies; and some of Isocrates Orations. Of the same Authour also, I have learned the great part your Ancestours bare in her confi­dence and secrets; and your name is so often used in the history of her life, that where soever Elizabeth is mentioned, there Cicile for the most part is never left out. So that she being by good right your domestical Deity, and the reverence you bear her, your most ancient inclination; it is far from me to violate that which you adore, or to hate that which you so dearly love; seeing I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 25. June 1634.

To my Lord the Archbishop of Thoulouse. LETTER II.

SIR,

I Have never been sociable since your departure from hence; no man can make me speak; and I do not yet break my sullen silence, but [Page 63] onely to tell you, I am the saddest Hermite that ever was. Those whom Saint Hierome reports to have been companions of Serpents and Scor­pions, were never of so untoward an humour as I; for I have their vexa­tion, and I have not their consolation. Nothing pleaseth me in the place where I am; you have carried away with you all its worth and goodness; and it is not the hardness of the season, it is your absence that obscures the beauties of my solitude. It was not well done Sir to accustom me to a pleasure which you meant so suddenly to take away from me, or to say better, to shew me onely my good fortune thereby to make me long after it; and then go presently and make others hap­py with enjoyning it; and yet I know well, that such petty considera­tions owe obedience to a greater, and that particular interests ought alwayes to give place to publick. Mine therefore is not so dear unto me, but that I willingly forget it upon such occasions, and easily for go my own conceits, to enter upon the purpose of Divine providence. The peace we hope for shall perhaps by your voyage be advanced, and you are now perhaps sent from Heaven to go whither you thought to have gone without commanding; If peradventure there be found some particular men that are too much heated, your Eusebius and your Theo­doret will help to allay their heat; and if they be too stifly bent upon severity, you will make them abate their rigour by the examples you bring them, of the moderation of their fathers; I have too good an opinion of so many worthy Prelates as are in your assemblies, to ima­gine they would ever agree to arm Princes, either against a penitent, or against an honest man, offended; and would not in the interests of their order content themselves with imploying the Thunderbolts of the Vatican, without calling forth also those of the Arsenal; Whatsoever may be said in defence of such proceeding, it can never in my opinion have so general approbation, but that some honest spirits will be scanda­lized by it. This would be to bring excommunication into a poor account, to make it serve onely for an Essay, and for a preparative of punishment, and to make it the first plaster of a light wound, which ought to be the last remedy of the extreamest evils. Such practise would be far from the custom of the ancient Christianity, and of the age of Martyrs; and I cannot conceive, neither can it be, that Christian Pastors should become Butchers of their Flock; and that the Church, which hitherto hath been in persecution, should now it self begin to persecute. This Church Sir, as your self and the Gentlemen your brethren teach us, is not a cruel Stepdame, proud and maligning her spouses Children; but it is a natural Mother, compassioning her own, and desirous to adopt even Proselites and strangers: You tell us that she runs after the greatest sinners, and goes as a guide before all the World, which is far from saying that it stands not with her dignity to be [Page 64] an instrument of their conversion, nor so much as once to take care what becomes of them; It is you who assure us that she is content to lose her richest Vessels, so as thereby she may gain to her the sacri­legious person who did steal them; it is from you we learn that she is far from animating justice to ruin innocents, who gives sanctuary of pardon to Delinquents. I have heard speak of the sweet nature and sighing of the Dove; but never of her cruelty nor of her roaring; and to give her claws and teach her to love bloud, would be no less than to make her a Monster; this would be Sir to make love it self turn wilde, and Metamorphose it into hate. This would be to imitate the ancient Pagans, who attributed to their gods all the passions and in­firmities of men; no man I hope shall be able to lay such prophana­tion to our charge, we will be no corrupters of the most excellent purity, no handlers of holy things with polluted hands, no stretchers of our defects to the highest point of perfection: They which do so, in what part of the World soever they be, are Anathemaes in your books, accursed in your Sermons, condemned by the rules of your Doctrine, and by the examples of your life. These false Saints do not serve Christ, but serve themselves of Christ; they sollicite their own affairs in his name, and recommend it as his cause when it is their own suit. Perswasion that they do well makes them more har­dy in doing ill; they call their choller zeal, and when they kill, they think they sacrifice. Thanks be to God no part in the whole body of our Clergy is so unsound; it is returned to its Oyl, and to its Balm, in whose place the civil wars had substituted deadly Aconite and bit­ter Wormwood. The League is dead, and Spain heart-sick; our Ora­cles are no longer inspired by forraign Deities, the spirit of love and charity animates all your Congregations; and no doubt he that ought to be the mouth of the assembly, will consider that Bishops are Mi­nisters of mercy, and not of justice; and that to them our Lord said, I leave peace with you, but said not I leave vengeance with you; howsoever the wisedom of M. the Cardinal will strip off all the Thor­ny prickles of passions, and sweeten all the bitterness of figures, be­fore they arrive to come near the King. This Divine spirit is far sur­mounting all Orations, all deliberations, and all humane affairs, and in this he will easily finde a temper both to preserve the honour of the Church, and yet not oppress the humility of him that submits; both to give full satisfaction to the first order, and yet not withdraw regard from the merit of the second; both to make us see heads bowed and knees bended before the Altars; and yet no houses demolished, nor governments destroyed, whereof the Altars should receive no benefit. I am in hope you will do me the favour to inform me of the occur­rents of the whole history, whereof I doubt not, but you are your [Page 65] self one of the principal parties, and I expect by your Letters a true relation of all the news that runs about. In the mean time Sir, I trust you will not take it ill that I speak unto you of this great affair, as a man that sees it afar off; and whom you appoint sometimes to deliver his advise upon matters, of which he hath but small understanding. At your return we will renue the Commerce we have discontinued, and since you will have it so, I will once again play the Oratour, and the Politician before you; yet I fear me much, you will scarce be suffered to keep your promise with me; I see you are more born to action than to rest, and that our rural pleasures are not worthy so much as to amuse so great a spirit as yours is, I therefore wish you such as are worthy of you; that is, the solidest and the perfectest, and such as glorious At­chievements and glorious actions leave behinde them; and I love not my self so much that I am not much more

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 25. January 1630.

To Mounsieur Arnaut, Abbot of S. Nicholas. LETTER III.

SIR,

THe small service you desired of me is not worth considering, but onely for the great thanks I have received for it; I had altogether forgot it when I received your Letter, which makes me yet forget it more in making me to remember it. You have words that change things, and in your language an impuissant willingness is an immortal obligation. If you make so great account of good desires, I marvel what price you set upon good deeds; and if you thus bestow your com­plements without necessity, I fear you will want them when you have need; you should go more reserveldy to work, and retain more pro­vidence for the future. A man may be a good husband, and yet not be covetous; and seeing limits and bounds are fit in all cases, they can­not be unfit in the case of courtesie: Think not therefore Sir, that herein you have done an act of acknowledgement; you have gone far beyond the bounds of this virtue. If there be a vice oppo­site to ungratefulness, your too great officiousness hath made you fall into it; and by the excess you have avoided the defect. The in­terests of M. the Cardinal Bentivoglio have no need of recommending, but amongst people that are not yet Civilized; that which con­cerns his honour, is no matter of indifferency to them that know his virtue, and they that know it not are no better than Barbarians. If to do him service I had not run whither you prayed me but to go, [Page 66] and if I had not required an absolute suppression of that discourse, whereof you required onely but a sweetning; I had performed my du­ty but very weakly, and had deserved blame in that for which you praise me. Though his name were not resplendent in history, nor his dignity in the Church, yet he should have lustre enough in his very stile and writings, and though he were not a Grand-childe of Kings, and a Senatour of the whole earth; yet I finde something in him more worth than all that: I consider him without his Purple, and de­vested of all external ornaments; regarding onely those that are na­tural to him; and which would make him most illustrious, though he had but al black cap on his head, and most eminent, though he were but a private man. These are advantages he hath over other men, and which he communicates to this age of the World; goods that he possesseth and I enjoy. For I vow unto you that in this sad place whither my desire to please hath entrapped; and where there is no talk but of Suits and quarrels; I should not know in the World how to pass my time; if I had not brought his book along with me. This hath been the companion of my voyage, and is now the comforter of my Exile; and after I am dulled with a deal of troublesom di­scourse, and have my ears filled with idle chat, I go and purifie my self in his delicate relations; and gather my spirits together, which the noise and clatter had before dispersed. I never saw in so sober and chaste a stile, so much fulness and delight; if nature herself would speak, she could never make choise of more proper terms than those he useth; and where proper terms fail, she could never more discreet­ly borrow forraign than he doth. The Character of his phrase is so noble, that by this onely, without any other signs I should easily know he is come of a good house; and I see that fortune, which hath been so great an enemy of his bloud, and hath done so much hurt to his ancestors, hath not yet been able to take from him the mark of their greatness, nor the manners and language of a Prince. Afterwards you give me thanks for loving qualities that are so lovely, and that making profession of Letters, I am put in passion for him, who preserves their honour, and who in his Countrey is the Crown and glo­ry of our Muses; as often as there is question for his service I shall need no second consideration to put me in heat about it; I tell you plainly, I shall do it no whit the more for any love of you; I intreat you to pro­vide some occasion apart from all interests of his, where you may see the extraordinary account I make of your merits, and the desire I have to manifest unto you that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 3. of Octob. 1631.

To Mounsieur Ogier. LETTER IV.

SIR,

YOu could never have fallen again to your Pen upon better terms than you have done; and I have a conceit your silence hath not been so much a neglect as a meditation. The Letter you plea­sed to write unto me is so full of infinite excellent things, that it seems you have been making provision three years together to make one feast, and that your sparing for so long a time had no other mean­ing but to be magnificent for one day. The dispatch of the Constan­tinopolitan slave you sent me, and the news of Koppenhagen you writ unto me are so inriched with ornaments of your making, that I see plainly whatsoever passeth through your hands receiveth an impres­sion of excellency, and that glorious atchievements have need of you to be their Historian. It is not strange unto me that M. your brother hath pleaded my cause, I am an eternal client of your fa­mily, and as it is my part to honour my benefactors, so it is yours to preserve your benefits: But verily I could never have thought this last action should have had the Court of Denmark for a Theater, and the King and his Daughters the Princesses for Judges. You sent me word I had a famous decree passed on my side, and that the as­sailant was as much hissed at, as the defendant was applauded. God be praised that grants us justice amongst the Gothes, for injuries done us by the French; and that raiseth up in an end of the World a soveraign defendor of persecuted innocency, such succour some­times he hath extraordinarily afforded when men abandon her; the Lions do become humane, rather than leave her without protection; and in the most frightfull desarts there have been found Nurses for Children, whom the cruelty of their Mothers had exposed. Let us therefore never believe that sweetness and humanity are qualities of the Earth, or of the Air; they are neither proper goods of the easter­lings, nor captive virtues of the Grecians. They are wandring and passant, all climates receive them in their turn, and it is not the Cim­brick Chersonesus any longer, it is Athens and Achaia that at this day are Barbarians. This Divine Princess of whom your brother writes such wonders, hath no doubt contributed much to this change, and and though there should shine no other Sun upon the Banks of the Baltick Sea, this one were enough to make virtue bud forth in all hearts, and to make Arts and Discipline to flourish in all parts. This is a second Pallas that shall have her Temples, and her suppliants; she [Page 68] shall be president of Letters and studies, as well as the former. Even that which you say of the defect of her birth, and of the obscurity of her Mother, might be ground enough for a Poet to make an entire work, and to assure us that she was born and came out of her Fathers head: at least, Sir, if your relations be true, she is the lively image of his spi­rit, the interpretour of his thoughts, the greatest strength of his estate, and who by her eyes and tongue reigneth and ruleth over all objects, that either see, or hear. Why should I dissemble, or hide my content­ment? I must confess I am proud in the highest degree for the praises she hath given me. Never Prince passed the Rhine more happily than mine hath done, seeing so good Fortune hath attended him there, and that there he should be crowned by a hand, which was able to give wounds to all others. What shall I say more? I scorn all the an­cient Triumphs when I think upon this: I hope for no lustre, but from her splendour, I seek for no glory, but in her recommendation; her onely voice is instead of the suffrages of a whole Diet of all the North; and what reason they should not for ever be banished the Empire, who blame that which she praiseth, or that would oppose the soveraignty of her excellent judgement? As for our common enemy condemned by her, to keep company with the Hobgoblins of Norway; since he is no longer in the World, is no longer in state to do her obeysance. If it be not that God will have that to be the place of his purgatory which she would have to be the place of his banishment, and that this proud spirit is confinde to live amongst the tempests and other frantick issues of the North, as Varro speaks of Satyrs. You have read I suppose the Dialogues of Saint Gregorie; and therefore must needs know that all Souls are not purged after one manner, but some pass through the fire, and others endure the Ice; and the extremity of cold is no less an instrument of Divine justice, than extremity of heat. But I purpose not to set a­broach a question of Divinity, for I should then begin a new Let­ter; and it is now time I should finish this: but telling you first, that he which shall deliver it to you, hath in charge to present you a larger discourse; and to let you see, that there is both Greek and Latine in our Village. If it were not for my study, my solitude would neither have excuse nor comfort, and yet shall not have it perfect neither, un­less you bring it to me; and be so honest a man as to come and see me: as I most heartily intreat you to do; and to believe that I pas­sionately am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 7. Feb. 1635.

To Mounsieur Sirmond. LETTER V.

Sir,

BE not scandalized, nor take exception at my silence. The great­est part of the Letters I write are but the paiment of my old debts: and before I answer one, I suffer my self to be summoned three or four times. I seldom stay upon matter of complement; all I can do, is but to defend my self untowardly; I think my self sufficiently honest, if I be but indifferently uncivil; and because I am apt to do courtesies voluntarily; I expect also voluntarily to receive them; of you, Sir, especially, who judge not friendship by the look, and knows that superstition is more ceremonious, than true piety. The new favours I have received from your Muses are to me as they ought to be, exceeding sensible: yet think not, that this makes me for­get your former benefits: and that I carry not in minde, that it is you that gave me the first taste of good, and the principles of vir­tue; you do but build upon the foundation you laid your self; and give estimation to your own pains. Having been my guide in a Countrey which I know not; it is for your honour it should be be­lieved, I have made some progress there, that so it may appear your directions are good. Thus your Poem hath in it a hidden art, which few understand; and I am but the colour of your design. You en­joy your self all the glory you have done me; all the glory you have imparted to me stayes still with your self; and you have found out a way how to praise your self, without speaking of your self: and how to be liberal without parting from any thing. If you come this Sum­mer to Paris, I will give you account of an infinite number of things that will not dislike you; and in revenge thereof, I require to hear from you some news of our male-content;

Cui mos in triviis humili tentare Veneno
Ardua & impositos semper Cervice rebelli
Ferre duces; Coeloque Jovem violare Tonante.

I know not whether you have been able to bring the state in­to his favour; but this I know, it is no small work for perswasion to effect, seeing he is no less obstinate in his errours, thn you strong in your reasons. Whatsoever he say of the time; and of the carriage of things; the impunity with which he triumphs, is a visible mark of the [Page 70] moderate government of this Kingdom; and in any Countrey but this; his head long before this time had paid for his tongue. But I hear he is of so vile an humour, that he is angry for his very liber­ty; and thinks it is done in scorn, that he hath not all this while been put in the Bastyle. He values himself to be worthy of an informer; and of Commissioners; and thinks he hath merit enough to be punisht in state. Let us bear a little with his malady; he is otherwise not evil, nor of evil qualities: It is onely the temperature of his body that is faulty: and if Mounsieur Cytois can purge away his choller, he shall procure to M. the Cardinal a faithfull servant. I expect here­upon an Epigram of your making, and am with all my Soul,

From Balzac 4. March 1631.
Sir,
Your, &c.

To Mounsieur Colombiers. LETTER VI.

SIR,

I Finde by the Letter which Mounsieur de Mantin writ unto you, that you have done me good Offices with him; and that upon your word, he takes me for more than I am worth. It is your part now to make that sure unto him, which you have warranted, and to disguise me with so much Art, that may make good your first deceit by a second. For to think that I shall be able to answer his expe­ctation, and satisfie your promise: I know he expects too much; and know you have promised too much; that which he speaks of me and of my writings, seems rather to come from the passion of a lo­ver, than from the integrity of a Judge: and I ought to take it, ra­ther as a Present, than as a Recompence. I know besides, that the place from whence he writes hath alwayes been the habitation of courtesie; and that the spark of the Court of Rome, which once re­sted there, hath since it parted from thence; left a light which gives an influence to the manners and spirits of the Countrey. So that to this day distinction must be made between the civilities of Avignon, which extend to all sorts of strangers, and the resent­ments of an able man, which respect nothing but reason; and a difference must be put between the honesty of a complement, and the Religion of a testimony. Mounsieur Malherbe deceased, who never gave any mans merit, more than its due: and but coldly prai­sed the most praise-worthy things; yet hath heretofore to me, in so [Page 71] high a degree extolled this man, of whom we speak; that I could not but think, it must needs be a very extraordinary virtue that tran­sported him so unwontedly, and a very pressing verity, that forced him to open himself so freely. I have since been confirmed in my judgement of him by divers persons of good quality, and gene­rally by the voice of all our Countrey: But yet there is in this more cause for me to fear, than hope: Wise men do but onely taste an errour; with which common people drink themselves drunk: They do not plunge themselves in false opinions, they pass them lightly over; and I am afraid you will ere long receive another Letter in re­tractation of this, he hath now written so much in my favour: if the worst come to the worst; and that there be no means for me, to keep all the good you have gotten me; I yet may lawfully require to have a part left me; which Mounsieur your brother in Law cannot honestly deny me. I am unfit for the terms he gives me; I wil­lingly return them back to himself: Let him keep his admiring for miracles; or at least for the great stupendious works of nature; I aspire not, nor have any pretence to so high a degree of his account; but I think I have right to his friendship; and that both of you are my debters of some good will; seeing I honour you both exceed­ingly, and passionately I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 20. of October 1632.

To — LETTER VII.

Sir,

I Am not altogether prophane, yet am but a simple Catechumene neither: I adore your mysteries, though I comprehend them not; and dare not give my spirit that liberty which you give it. Is it fit to be a judge of a Science, of which it is yet but learning the Al­phabet? It scarce knows visible Objects, and runs a hazard, when it considers but the exteriour face of nature; as for that which is above, it climbs not to it, nor soars so high. My curiosity is not so ventrous: and concerning the condition of superiour things; I wholly refer my self to the Sorbone. Never think therefore that I will give my cen­sure of your book: I have not yet discovered the bottom; onely the bark, I must tell you seems very precious; and I am ravished with the sound and harmony of things, I understand not; this kinde of writing [Page 72] would have astonished Philosophers whom it could not have per­swaded: and if Saint Gregory Nazianzen had but shewed such a piece as this to Themistius, he could not chuse but have been moved with it, and must needs have admired the probability of Christianity; though he had not known the secret. These are not words that one reads, and are painted upon Paper: they are felt, and received with­in the heart. They live and move, and I see in them the sinews of the first Christians; and the stile of that Heroick age, where one and the same virtue, gave life both to discourse and actions; gave influence both to the Soul and to the courage; made both Doctours and also Martyrs. Tell me true, Did you not propose to your self a Pattern to follow? Have you not been at the Oracle of —: have you not received some inspiration from our excellent friend? Me thinks I meet with his very Character: In certain passages I observe some marks and traces of his spirit; and when I read them, cannot sometimes forbear crying out: Sic oculos, sic ille manus, &c. You need not take offence at my suspition: so noble a resemblance is an inferiority lifted up extreamly high. You are not therein his Ape, but his Son: There is nothing base not mean in the imitation of so high and perfect an Idea: and you know the example of Plato, made Philo go cheek by jowl with him. All I ask of you at Paris, where you so liberally offer me all the good Offices you can do, is but this; that you will do me the favour, to assure that great personage of the great reverence I bear to his merits: and what glory I count it to be counted his friend: but I require with all the continuation of your own love, with which you can honour none, that is more truely than I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
July 25. 1630.

To Mounsieur Coeffeteau, Bishop of Dardany. LETTER VIII.

SIR,

SInce your departure from Mets; there hath nothing hapned wor­thy of the History I promised you, but onely that Caesar as I hear, hath presented to the view of brave spirits, certain new and very strange recreations by which he hath gained a great opinion of his knowledge. As to make the images in a piece of Tapistry, to walk, and move; to make all the faces in a room, to seem to be double; to make a River rise in a Hall; and after streaming away without wetting of any, make a company of Fayries appear and [Page 73] dance a round; these are his ordinary sports, and to use the phrase of our friend; but the outside of his secret Philosophy. Signiour Mercurio Cardano, swears he hath seen all this, and more; enough to finde you discourse for many meetings: and if you appoint him to set hand to his Pen, he will be a Philostratus to this Appolonius. He hath told me, as he hath heard it from him, that for certain, the Heavens menace France, with a notable revolution; and that the fall of —, hath not been so much the end, as the change of our miseries. For my self who know, that God never makes Mountibanks of his Coun­cel; and that the virtue of the King, is able to correct the ma­lignity of the Stars: I laugh at the vanitie of such presages; and look for nothing but happiness from the ascendent and fortune of so great a Prince. But to change this discourse, and this Mountibank for another: I have seen the man Sir, that is all armed with Thorns: that pursues a Proposition to the uttermost bounds of Logick; that in most peaceable conversations, will put forth nothing, nor ad­mit of nothing that is not a Dilemma, or a Syllogysme. To tell you true, what I think of him; he would please me more if he had less reason: this quarrelsom eloquence affrights me more than it per­swades me. They which commonly converse with him; run in my opinion the same fortune, which they do, that live near the falls of Nilus; there is no overflowing like that of his words, a man cannot safely give him audience; a Headach for three dayes after, is the least hurt he can take, that but hears him talk an after-noon. The Gentle­man that brings you this Letter, hath charge given him from all in general to entreat you Sir, not to forsake us in so important a mat­ter: but to come and free our companies from one of the greatest cros­ses, that hath a long time afflicted civil society. You are the onely man in whom this Sophister hath some belief: and therefore none but you, likely to reduce him to common right; and to bring his spirit to submit it self to Custom and Usage. You can if you please make it appear unto him; that an honest man proposes alwayes his opini­ons, no otherwise than as doubts; and never raiseth the sound of his voice, to get advantage of them, that speak not so loud: that no­thing is so hatefull, as a Chamber Preacher, who delivers but his own word; and determines without Warrant, that it is fit to avoid gestures, which are like to threatnings, and terms which carry the stile of Edicts; I mean, that it is not fit to accompany his discourse with too much action; nor to affirm any thing too peremptorily. Lastly, that conver­sation reflects more upon a popular estate, than upon a Monarchy; and that every man hath there a right of suffrage: and the benefit of liberty. You know Sir, that for want of due observing these petty rules, many have fallen into great inconveniences; and you remember him who spilt [Page 74] Queen Margarets own dinner by striking an argument upon her Ta­ble with too great violence, disturbed and drove Queen Margaret from her dinner. Such men commonly spoil the best causes; whilest they seek to get the better, not because their cause is good; but because themselves are the Advocates; reason it self seems to be wrong when it is not of their side, at least not in its right place, nor in its ordinary form. They disguise it in so strange a fashion that it can­not be known to any; and they take away her authority and force, by painting her in the colours and marks of folly. These are the particular heads, for which we desire you to take the pains of apply­ing your Exorcismes: particularly upon — I dare say, you will have a thousand Benedictons, if you can drive out of his body this Devil of dispute and wrangling; which hath begun already to tor­ment us. We expect you at the end of the week; and I remain

From Mets 15. August 1618.
Sir,
Your, &c.

To my Lord the Earle of Brassac. LETTER IX.

SIR,

THat which I have written of you; is but a simple relation of that I have seen of you: and if there be any ornament in it: It must needs be, that either your self have put it there; or else that Fortune hath lent it to me. I had done it very innocently, I as­sure you, if I had spoken any thing well; who was so ill prepared for it. I should have hit a mark which I aimed not at; and have drawn a Picture, by the casual falling down of my Pensil. My drift was to entertain my friend, who was accustomed to the negligence of my stile: and with whom; if I committed any fault, I was sure of pardon. He cries not out murther, upon seeing one Vowel en­counter another, nor stands amazed at meeting with an untoward word, as if it were a Monster: This favour I receive from him; and he, the like from me: we allow all liberty to our thoughts: and if in treat­ing together, we should not sometimes violate Laws of our Art, we should never shew confidence enough in our friendship. Rhetorick therefore hath no place in writings where truth takes up all: There is great difference between an Oratour, and a Register; and my pri­vate testimony ought not to pass for your Encomium. Yet you will have it to be so; you had rather accuse me of being eloquent, than [Page 75] confess your self to be virtuous; and you avoid presumption, by a contrary extremity. It seems this occasion is dangerous to you; and as in a shipwrack, where all run to save the dearest things: so you abandon your other virtues, to preserve your modesty. She doth her self wrong Sir, to stand in opposition to the publick voice; and to reject the testimony of noble fame. She ought not to contradict the two chief Courts of Europe; whereof the one honoureth your memory, the other makes use of your counsels. Aristotle would never approve of this; who speaks of a vice like this, with which if a man be tainted, he resembles him to one, who will not confess he hath won in the Olympick games, though man come and adjudge him the Garland; and calls himself still culpable, though three de­grees of the A [...]eopage, pronounce him innocent. Be not you of so little equity to your self; and suffer me to tell you what I think: seeing I think nothing, but that which is the common opinion; and I deliver not so much my own particular conceit, as the gene­ral belief of the whole World: They who prefer a Captain of Ca­rabins before Alexander the Great; and know not how to praise the integrity of a Statesman, without affronting that of Aristides, fall into that excess, which reason requires should be avoided. Yet we ought not for all this, generally to slight all merit of the present age; and fancy to our selves, that we are not bound to revere vir­tue, unless it be consecrated by Antiquity. For my self, I judge more favourably of things present, and do not think I run any hazard in subscribing to the Popes judgement of you, that in serving the King, you have been his governour. This would be to be too scrupulous, to fear mistaking, after him that they say can­not erre; and you are too courteous, to count it a courtesie that I do my duty; and to give me thanks that I am not a Schismatick. Concerning the last Article of your Letter; I say it gives me not so much, as a temptation: neither am I indeed capable to receive it. It sufficeth me Sir, that you protect my repose here; for to enter into defence of my interests in the place where you are, as you do me the honour to promise me; I would advise you not to under­take it. You could never look for better success, than the prime man of this age had, who could not obtain of —; the favour he required of him, in my behalf. It is much easier to break down the Alpes; and to bridle the Ocean, than to procure the paiment of my Pension: and there is nothing that can make a worker of mi­racles see, there is something impossible for him to do; but onely my ill Fortune. There are the bounds of this power, which is so much envied: The good will he bears me, cannot draw from the Kings Officers the eight hundred pounds, which are due unto me: [Page 76] and it is Gods will he should be disobeyed in this, that I may be a wit­ness against them who say that he is absolute. I onely intreat you, seeing you desire to oblige me to you, to shew him the constancy of my passions, which is obdurate against ill successes, and preserves it self entire amidst the ruins of my hopes. It shall be satisfaction enough for me that he do me the honour to believe I can adore freely and without hope of reward; and that I should do him as great reverence if he were not in so great a height of happiness. I expect this favour from your ordinary goodness, and promise my self that you will al­alwayes have a little love for me, seeing I have a will to be all my life most perfectly

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 30. of May 1633.

To Mounsieur de la Nauve, Counsellour of the King in his great Chamber. LETTER X.

Sir,

SAy what you can, I am not so indulgent to my passion as you are injurious to your own merits. Amongst all your good qualities, you have one that seems an Enemy to all the rest; detraction doth you more injustice than you do your self, and envy it self gives you that which your own modesty takes away from you. This is not to handle the truth civllly, to respect her then when she embraceth you? This is to render her civil for good, to call her fabulous, when she calls you virtuous. I finde in this Sir more scruple than Religion: The first and most ancient charity is therehy broken, and you are faulty in the first principle of your duty; if owing justice to all the World, you deny to do it to your self alone. It must be a great preciseness of conscience that shall finde in you the evils you accuse your self of, and a sight more clear than mine that shall see defaults in the course of your life. If you have any; they are surely imma­terial, and such as fell not under sence. They come not within the knowledge of any; It must be a secret between your confessour and you. None is known Sir, at least not known to be revealed, and if any were so known, it would rather be sound a proof of humility than a mark of imperfection. I am none therefore, as you say I am, of these charitable lyars, who attribute to them they love all that they want; nor of these forgers of Commonwealths, who carry [Page 77] their imagination beyond all possibility of things; I present not unto you an Idea to make you better then you are, but taking you into con­sideration I propose you as my example to stir me up to goodness; I draw your picture for my own use and not for your glorie; I intend more the instructing my self, than the smoothing you with fair words. The object of so elevated a virtue fills my minde with great desires, and if it astonish me sometimes with its heighth, it makes me at least see by experience, that an inferiour virtue is possible to be acquired; so that to say true, I study you more than I praise you, and am in this more swayed with interest than with passion: I mean this passion with­out eyes, that riseth onely from the animal part; for as for that which is reasonable and works with knowledge, I have that for you in the highest degree, and by all kinde of obligations and of duties am

At Balzac 6. Fe­bruary 1634.
Sir,
Your, &c.

To Mounsieur Heinsius, Professor of the Politicks at LEYDEN. LETTER XI.

SIR,

I Acquit my self of a charge that was laid upon me, and send you from Mounsieur Favereau the Verses he lately made for the King; they have had the approbation of all France, but they have not yet had his own, and if this publick judgement be not confirmed by your particular, he takes it but as the passion of a Mother; and that France doth but flatter her Children. He thinks no glory is legitimate where­of you are not the distributour, and that things are not so good by their own goodness, as by the account you make of them; you see by this Sir what rank you hold in the Common-wealth of Letters, and that I am not the onely man that look upon you with veneration, being seated in the Throan of the great Scaliger, and giving Laws to all the civil parts of Europe. The highest degree that a man can aspire un­to, who is Prince amongst his own, is to become a judge amongst strangers; and there to get reverence where he cannot pretend sub­jection. To this uppermost Region of merit are you ascended; the light of your doctrine shines upon more than one people, and more than one Countrey; it spreads and communicates it self in divets places and kindes; it hath as well adorers afar off, as admirers at home: He of whom I speak Sir, is worth a whole multitude, and makes not onely a part of a [Page 78] choise company, but is himself alone a company and a number. Do you ask for qualities intellectual and moral? for virtues civil and military, would you have a Philosopher; a Mathematician; a Poet, for Latine, Italian, French? you shall finde them all in his one person. He hath the Key of the most sublime sciences, and the superintendance of the noblest Arts. Heretofore he hath been the dispenser of the conceits of Marino, the reformer and pruning knife of the superfluities of his stile, at this time he is overseer of all cu­rious works; the Oracle that Carvers consult, and the spirit that guides the hand before Painters. He meddles in an infinite number of things with equal capacity, and hath as many trades as the Sage of the Stoicks had; but makes better works of them than he did. It is not possible either to fill his spirit, or to set it about work enough; so greedy and unsatiable it is of knowledge, so impatient of rest, and growing fresh with action. And to impart to you the expression of a gallant friend of ours; he is in as great a heat for the pleasures of the minde, as the Princes of Asia are for the pleasures of the body; and as they have many Concubines besides the Sultana, which they marry, so hath he one profession as his principal study, but leaves not for all that to follow other exercises, though follow them but with inferi­our affection; so that it cannot be said of him, that he knows all, but that he ought to know; and that he is nothing less than that he ought to be. He acquits himself most worthily of his charge, and never stands in contemplation, when it is time to be in action. If he be a great Poet, he is no less a great Lawyer; he makes as well the draught of a Process as the description of a Tempest; and having sung Phillis and Amarillis with an admirable grace, he treats of Seia and Sempro­nia with no less solidity. I give this testimony as religiously of him, as if I give it before a Judge, and as if my writing were upon Oath. Is it not fit you should be ignorant of his merit, whom without any merit you ought to respect, though but onely for his respect to you. It is fit you know that he is an elevated person, humbling himself before you, and a Saint offering you sacrifice. It is fit also I should satisfie his desire, which you shall see in the word he hath written to you, as he was going out of his Inne and taking Coach, but that done, Sir, it is not fit I should forget my self; I intreat you therefore you will be pleased that in presenting to you the vows of another, I may of­fer you also my own, and make you this true protestation, that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 5. of December 1634.

To Mounsieur de la Pigeonniere, Lieutenant Ge­neral of Bloyes. LETTER XII.

SIR,

THe Letter you took the pains to write unto me hath calmed my spirit, and given it ease; I could have no comfort of the news of your death, but onely by that of your resurrection; and to make an end of weeping for you, it was necessary you should come your self and stay my tears. I am none of these broachers of Paradoxes, whom too much reason makes unreasonable, and have no feeling either of joy or grief My spirit is more tender, and my Philosophy more hu­mane; and let them, as long as they please, call these passions infirmi­ties, yet for my part I had rather have my malady than their health; If I had lost you, I had lost part of my self, and should never think my self an entire man again, and if I had not hope to enjoy again your learned conversation, I should finde nothing but bitterness in my life; nothing in my studies but Thorns, at this time especially, when I am promised a retreat three miles from Bloys, and that I shall come under the jurisdiction of M. the Lieutenant General. I do not much rejoyce at this your new Dignity, because I do not rejoyce at the servitude of my friends; and because I do not count it any great hap­piness to be alwayes handling the Sores and Ulcers of the people. I make more reckoning of your idleness than of your imployment, and of the Elegy you will make than of all the judgements you will give. If you please to send it, or please to bring it your self to Paris, you shall make choise your self in what place of my book you will have it set; and I shall not be a little proud to have so fair a mark remaining of your friendship. I had more to say, but I was pull'd away from my Letter, and your own best friends debauch me; I must therefore perforce leave you, yet assuring you once again that I am infinitely glad I shed my tears for you without cause, and that no man is more truly than my self

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Paris 7. Sept. 1631.

To Mounsieur Chaplain. LETTER XIII.

SIR,

IF your ticket had overtaken me at Orleans, I had certainly return­ed to Paris to receive that honour it promised me; and not have lost [Page 80] so pleasing a visit, which would have comforted me for a troublesom one that afflicted me not a little the day before. But the mischief is, that I was come hither before your ticket, and all I can do now, is to let you know the grief I take, that my inclination and my affairs lye not alwayes in the same place. They have drawn me from the suburb Saint German, to make me ride Post in [...]he greatest violence of the late heat; and have exposed my head to all the beams, or to speak like a Poet, to all the Arrows of the Sun. I vow unto you that be­ing in this case, I even repented my self of all the good I had ever said of it, and would fain call back my praises, seeing it made no difference at all between me and my Post-boy, who had never praised it. Thanks be to God I am now in place of safety, where you may well think I seek rather to quench my thirst, than to clear my Sun burnt skin; and look more after refreshing than tricking my self up. To this purpose I forget nothing of that I have learned in Italy: My ordinary Diet is upon the fruits of Autumne; being of opinion that no intemperance of these pure Viands can be dishonest, and that it is not fit to be sober as long as the Trees offer us their store, and temptour ap­petite. Be pleased Sir, that my business may not be to do untill the trees shall have nothing upon them but leaves; and that I may not go to the Cittie but when the winter drives me from the Countrey. In the mean time, I leave mine honour to your care, in the place where you are, and I recommend unto you a little reputation that is left me, having so many wars upon me, and so many combinations made against me. I would be glad my name had less lustre, and my life more quiet, but I know not where to finde obscurity; I am so well known, if not by my good qualities, at least by my ill fortune, that though I should banish my self into a strange Countrey, I do not think I could be hidden. Ʋbique Notus perdidi exilio locum, I have no remedy there­fore but to continue in this famous miserie, and to be labouring conti­nually to provoke the envious, and to make work for the idle; where­in notwithstanding, if I shall do any thing that pleaseth you; I shall not think my labour ill bestowed —: I am in truth in great im­patience to make known to all the World, the account I make of your virtue: and to leave a publick Testimony, and if I durst say it, an eter­nal; by which posterity may see, that we have loved one another; and that I passionately have been, and am

From Balzac 10. September 1631.
Sir,
Your, &c.

To Mounsieur Mainard. LETTER V.

Sir,

I Have heard this day by a Letter from Mounsieur Chaplain, that you are at Paris, and that in some business of his you have obliged him exceedingly: wherein you have done more than ever you ment; and your action hath in it a double merit. I owe you thanks for it in my own behalf: and besides, being joyned as I am with him in commu­nion of all goods and evils; you cannot fasten upon him, and leave me free. He sends me no word of the nature of his business, in which you have done him such good offices: but I doubt me, it is some imployment beyond the Alpes, and dependance upon some Ambassadour to Rome. Whereof I think I may truely say, with­out giving reins to my Passion at all; that he hath both the substance and the suppleness, which are necessary in dealing with the brains of that Countrey; and that he, under whom he serves, may lie and sleep all the time of his imployment, without any prejudice at all to the Kings service. They who see but his outside onely, take him for a neat man, and one of excellent and pleasing qualities: but I, to whom he hath discovered that, which he hides from all the World besides: I know him to be a man capable of great designs, and that besides speculative knowledge, he possesseth those also which serve for use, and are reduceable to action. I would say more, if the Post would suffer me. I will onely add this in point of his honesty, which I said to you once of an ancient Roman, that I see no ex­ample of virtue, in all the first Decade of Titus Livius, that is of too high a strain, or too hard for him. Never therefore withdraw your affection, from so worthy a place; and so long as you thus oblige my friends, It is I that will be

Sir,
Your most humble and most obliged ser­vant, &c.
At Balzac 20. of De­cember 1631.

To — LETTER XV.

SIR,

IN the Letter which — received from you, I saw a line or two for my self; that would even tickle a heart that were harder than [Page 82] mine, and which I could not read without some touch of vain-glorie. There is a pleasure in yielding to such sweet temptations, and though I know my merit hath no right to so gracious a remembrance, yet by what title soever I come to be happy, I am not a little proud of my fortune. These are Sir the meer effects of your goodness, and your experiments in that art, with which you know how to gain hearts, and to purchase men without buying them. The fairest part of the earth, in which you have left a dear remembrance of your name, gives this testimony of you by the mouth of its Princes, and of their sub­jects, but seeing in the place where you are, you meet with spirits of love and tenderness; it cannot be that any should escape you, up­on whom you have any design to take hold. All things are biting be­yond the Garonne; the Sheep of that Countrey are worse than the Wolves of this; and I have heard a great person of our age say, That if France had a Soul, certainly Gascogny should be the Irascible part. Yet I hear Sir, you have already sweetned all you found sowr there; and that your onely look hath melted all the steel of the courages of that Province. Mounsieur de — and my self make account to go see the progress of so admirable a beginning, and this next Summer to come and behold you in all your glorie. But if we go thirty miles for — we would more willingly go three hundred for — and I begin to think already of a vow to Loretta, that I may thereby have a colour to go to Rome, to be there at the time when you shall do ho­nour to France; and maintain the Kings rights. This cannot be too soon for his service, nor soon enough for my desire, who am

From Balzac 4. of August 1632.
Sir,
Your, &c.

To Mounsieur Arnaut, Abbot of Saint Nicholas. LETTER XVI.

Sir,

I Am very slow in answering your Letter, but I could not do it sooner; after three moneths of continual agitation, this is my first hour of leasure, and the first place I finde of commerce, to tender you the complement I owe you. I see well that your word is not subject to the accidents of the World, and that I have chosen a plot which is out of the reach of Fortune. Your affection to me is not of this brit­tle matter that friendships at Court be made of; it is of a more ex­cellent stuff, and such as neither time can wear out, nor my negli­gence weaken. I need not doubt of preserving a good that you keep [Page 83] for me; your faithfulness is more than my negligence, and I am more assured of your honesty than of my own; notwithstanding what cer­tainty soever I have of your love, it is no double to me to have new assurances: Men that are well enough perswaded, yet will go to a Sermon, and take a pleasure to hear that they know already. For my self I can never be weary of reading a thing that gives me satisfa­ction, and though it were as feigned as it is true, yet you write it with so good a grace, that it would be a pleasure to be so deceived; yet it was fit, you should have stayed there; and not cause me to fall from joy into presumption: How can you look my spirit should con­tain it self within its bounds, knowing that I am talked of at Rome, and that my name is sometimes pronounced by the most eloquent mouth of Italy? you should have concealed the express charge you had from M. the Cardinal of Bentivoglio, to send me his History; or at least for a temper to my vanity, you should have told me at the same time, that I must not impure a favour to my own sufficiency, for which I am beholding to your good offices; I may believe Sir that he had never had this thought of me, if you had not stirred it up in him by some favourable mention you made of my person; and I know he puts so great a trust in you, that after you have once made a com­mendation, he would make a conscience to use his own judgement in examining my worth. From what ground soever my happiness comes, I am bound to acknowledge the visible cause, and to that I destinate my first good dayes journey that God shall send me. I will not fail to give thanks to M. the Cardinal, and to give him an account of my reading, that he may see I know as well how to receive as he to give. In the mean time I offer him a present far unworthy of the magnificence of his, and which will shew him, how with his hook of Gold he hath fished but brass, such as it is you shall do me a favour to present it to him, and to let me hold the possession I have in your love, whose I am all my life

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 10. of May 1634.

To Mounsieur de Nesmond, Controller of the Prince of Conde's House. LETTER XVII.

SIR,

MY dear Cosin, your Letter hath told me no news, it hath one­ly confirmed me in my opinion; and testified that you are al­wayes good, and alwayes do me the honour to love me. You have qua­lities [Page 84] of greater luster than this, but you have none of greater use; and they that could live without your wisdom, yet cannot bear the miss of your goodness. My sister and I continue to implore it in a business which is already set on foot by your commendation, and which attends a full accomplishment by your second endeavour. It is neither without example nor without reason; it needs but such an undertaker as your self, and you may easily save it from rigorous justice, if you will but lend a little aid to its equity. Of your will I make no doubt, it is the continual agitation of the Court that makes me fear, which drives men one way and their affairs another. But if the Heavens help us not, we are not like in haste to see it in any state of consistence; it will be al­wayes floting like the Island of Greece, untill a great birth shall make it stay; and that God make sure the Kings victories by the Queens fruit­fulness. In the mean time it is not fit you should stay at home, but that you should make one in all voyages; but you must not be of these tra­vellours that get many hoasts, and few friends. You are in a state of ob­liging and making men beholding to you by doing alwayes good; and now for fear you should want matter to work upon, I offer you matter here to set you a work. Be pleased Sir; my dear Cosin, that I intreat you to deliver to — the Letter I writ unto him; and when you deliver it, to testifie withall unto him, that having the honour to be to you as I am, the things that touch me must needs concern you; Heretofore I have held good place in his confidence, and to use the terms of a man you hate not: Vetus mihi cum eo confuetudo & cum privatus erat Amici vocabamur. Even lately at Paris he offered me courtesies that might have contented a prouder mans vanity than mine; and I received from him more good words than was possible for me to return him. But these illustrious friendships require continual cares, and an assiduity without cessation. I know they are subject to a thousand inconveniences, and that they grow cold if they be not stirred up and kindled continually. Three words of your mouth spoken with a due accent, may save me the solliciting of three moneths, and my requests ought not to seem uncivil; seeing I desire nothing but that which — hath done me the honour to promise me; and thinks no otherwise, but that I have received it. To this purpose I send you a short instruction for —: and you may be pleased to be a means, that he cast his eyes upon it; at such time as the business he hath about your person shall permit him. I would not sollicite you so boldly: nor press upon you so burdensome a familiarity, if you had not your self made the overture first. It is a persecution you have drawn upon your self by the liberal offers you made me in your Letter; and I conceive you did speak as you mean, as I do, in protest­ing that I honour you with my Soul; and am

Sir,
My dear Cosin, Your, &c.
From Balzac, 20. Octob. 1632.

To Mounsieur de Borstell. LETTER XVIII.

SIR,

I Do not know my self in your Letters: you are like those Painters, that care not for making a face like, so they make it fair. Certain­ly you thought upon some honester man than my self; when you took the pains to write unto me; and your Idea went beyond your subject: or else you meant to excite me to virtue by a new subtility; and the praises you give me are but disguised exhortations. They could nor be Sir, either more fine, or more delicate: and I do not think, that your pretended Barbarism comes any thing behinde the Grecian eloquence. But tell me true; Is it not as artificial as Brutus his folly? And are not you in plain terms a Cosener, to make us believe you come from that climate, from whence the cold and foul weather comes? Whereas it cannot be you should be born any where but in the heart of Paris, or if any place be more French then Paris, that certainly must needs have been your Cradle. You speak too well, not to speak naturally; this garb, and this purity, in which you express your self, is not a thing that can be learned by Books: you owe it to a nearer cause; and study goes not so far as it. There have strangers been Marshalls of France, but their accent hath alwayes discovered, they were not natural: and they have found it more easie, to merit the leading of our Armies, and to gain the favour of our King; than to learn our language, and attain a true pronouncing. But Sir, seeing in your person, there is seen an Ambassadour of eighteen years old; and a wis­dom without experience: there is not any thing, be it never so wonder­full which being reported of you, may seem incredible after this. It is fit onely, that you make more account than you do, of this so rare and admirable a quality: and that you should use it, according to its merits; and not to employ it upon base subjects, that are not worthy of it. Otherwise how good an Artist so ever you be; you will be blamed for making no better choise of your Materials; and my self, who draw so much glory from your fault; had yet much rather see you employ your excellent language, in treating of Princes interests, and the present estate of Europe; than in advancing the value of a poor sick man: who prayes you to keep your valuing, for —: and ask you nothing but pitty; or at most but affection: if this be to merit it, that I passionate­ly am

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 6. No­vember 1629.

To him another. LETTER XIX.

SIR,

I Remember my promise, upon condition you forget not yours; and that in case you come within six miles of Balzac: you will allow me the half dayes journey, I require. It is not any hope I have to send you away well satisfied, either with your Hoste, or with your lodging, that makes me to make this request: but it is Sir, for my own benefit: for you know very well, we never have commerce together, but all the gain remains of my side. I finde that in your conversation, which I seek for in vain, in my neighbours Libraries: and if there fall out any errours in the work I am about, the faults must be attributed to your absence. Leave me not therefore, I intreat you, to my own sence, and suffer me to be so proud, as to expect one of your Visits, if you go to Santoigne, or otherwise to prevent it, if you stay at Lymousin. There are some friendships that serve onely to pass away the time, and to remedy the tediousness of solita­riness: but yours Sir, besides being pleasant, is withall I vow, no less profitable. I never part from you, that I bring not away pleasures that last, and profit that doth you no hurt. I make my self rich, of that you have too much; and therefore as you ought not to envy me my good fortune, which costs you little: so you ought to believe also, that as long as I shall love my self, I shall be

At Balzac 20. of December 1629.
Sir,
Your, &c.

Another to him. LETTER XX.

SIR,

AT that time when Mistriss — parted from hence; I was too much out of order to present my self before a wise man; and I chose rather to be failing in the rules of civility, than to be im­portunate upon you with my grievances. Now that I am a little at quiet; and can fall to work indifferent well; I must needs tell you, that the confidence I have of your love, sweetens all the bitterness of my spirit, and that in my most sensible distastes; I finde a comfort [Page 87] in thinking of this. It is certain Sir, the World is strangely altered, and good men now a dayes, cannot make a troup. This is the cause, that seeing you are one of this little flock which is preserved from in­fection; and one of those that keep virtue from quite leaving us; I therefore bless incessantly Madam Desloges, for the excellent pur­chase I have made by her means: and proclaim in all places, that she discovered me a treasure when she brought me first to be acquaint­ed with you. If I husband it not, and dress it with all the care and industry, it deserves; it is not, I assure you, for want of desire: but so sweet and pleasing duties, have no place amidst the traverses of a life in perpetual agitation, and your ordinary convensation is reserved for men more happy than I. I wait therefore for this favour from a better fortune than the present, as also occasions by which I may testi­fie, that I passionately am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 1. of Fe­bruary 1630.

To him another. LETTER XXI.

SIR,

ALthough I am ravished with your eloquence, yet I am not satis­fied: but you remain still unjust, and I not well pleased. I see what the matter is; you are so weary of your Pennance at Lymousin: that you have no minde to come and continue it in Angoumois. You like better to go in a streight line to the good, than to go to it by the crooked change of evil; and prefer a safe harbour before an incom­modious creek. Wherein Sir, I cannot blame your choise; onely I complain of your proceeding; and finde it strange, you should disguise your joy, for escaping a bad passage, and that you are content to be unhappy at Rochel; because you will not venter to be unhappy here. These high and Theological comparisons, which you draw from the austerity of Anchorets, concerning works of supererogatition, concern­ing Purgatory and Hell, make me know you are a mocker, and can make use of Ironies, with the skill and dexterity of Socrates. Take heed I be not revenged upon this Figure of yours by another, and return you Hyperboles. For this once, I am resolved to suffer all; hereafter per­haps, I shall help my self with my old Arms. But howsoever the World go, and in what stile soever I write unto you, you may be sure I speak seriously, when I say, that I very firmly am;

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 9. Sept. 1630.

To him another. LETTER XXII.

SIR,

I Am exceedingly beholding to you for remembring me; and for the good news you have so liberally acquainted me withall. If they — loved Suger, as well as they love Salt; they should have enough of it, never to drink any thing but Hyppocras; nor to eat any thing but Comfits. Without jesting I vow, these are excellent Re­bels; and their simplicity is more subtill than all the Art and Maxims of Florence. These Mariners read Lessons now to the inhabitants of Terra firma; and are become the Paedagogues of Princes. There is nothing of theirs that troubles me, but the proposition of their Truce. They should reject it, as a temptation of the Devil: and I dare swear, it was never set a foot, but to gain time and opportuni­ty: The good will, the Spaniard makes shew to bear them; is the baite they shew upon the hook they hide, he seeks not after them, but to catch them; and he makes shew of kindness; because he could do no good with force. Though I have not read the Book you spake to me of; yet I doubt not of its worth and goodness; I know the Authour is a man of great learning and experience, and one that hath been brought up at the feet of Gamaliel; I mean of —: who no doubt hath acquainted him with all the Mysteries of our state. For my self, it must needs be that I speak but at hap hazard of this mat­ter: for it would be a miracle, if by living in the Woods, I should learn the skill to govern the Citties; and that I should be a Polititian and a Lawyer, being scarce either a man, or a Cittizen: for to speak truely, if the first be a sociable creature, and the other a manager of some part of the Common-wealth: I see not in the estate I am in, how I can justly pretend to either of these two qualities. In favour therefore of Mounsieur — I yield up my right in all the good I re­ceive from you; and in all the praises you give me, as things that much more belong to him than me. Admire as much as you will, his subtility; but yet make some reckoning of my true minde; and give him that which I leave him; but yet keep for me, that which you can­not take from me, without doing me wrong: I mean your good will; which ought to be the prize of my passion, and of the fidelity, with which I shall be all my life

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 1. of June 1630.

To him another. LETTER XXIII.

SIR,

I Should be extreamly culpable, if you were not extreamly good; but I know, you are no rigorous exactour of that which is your due, and that you have much indulgence, for the faults of those you love. My idleness is even become stupidity; and hath taken from me all use both of speaking and writing; yet all things considered, this is no ill quality at this time: no man is bound to give account of his silence; and many become Delinquents for their speaking. I do not think therefore you would ask me news, in a time, when reporting it is dan­gerous: and when one may be called in question to make explication of it before Magistrates; though the litteral sense of our words be innocent, they may search the allegorical, and stand punctual upon an equivocal term to make us culpable of another mans subtilty. But I defie the most pregnant Grammarian, and the most severe inquisitour to find any fault in the protestation I make of most perfectly honouring your virtue, and of being with all my Soul

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Paris 4. of May 1631.

To him Another. LETTER XXIV.

SIR,

IF my Letters had not been lost, you should have known long ere this the joy I have had in being made certain of the most important truth, that ever kept my minde in suspence; and in learning from your self that you do me alwayes the honour to love me; not that I ever doubted of your goodness, but I have so much knowledge of my own un­fortunateness, that I cannot hear any ill news so incredible which I do not believe to be very probable. Yet I perceive Sir, by your holding out so firmly in behalf of a party ruined, that you are not easily altered either in your opinions, or from your errours. That which you have once spo­ken, and indeed that you have but once conceived, is never changed nor revoked; and therefore as I have nothing more dear nor more precious than your friendship, so have I nothing also more assured, or of more soli­dity. This your ancient German probity is not a whit altred by contagion of our ill examples, & the strength of your constitution hath been able [Page 90] to resist the ill air of our Court. It is not our of ignorance that you follow not the false maxims of this age; but follow your own and those that be lawfull; and if it be true, that the King of the Flies hath a sting indeed, but never stings; it is much more true of you, that having the power and ability to do evil, yet for all that you are no evil doer. But this would be too little to praise you but thus; they that understand you well, will say with me, there is nothing in virtue so high, or difficult, which your Soul hath not attained unto: and as nature hath given you all the good qualities that cannot be acquired by study', so your own study hath procured you all the good qualities that are not in the gift of nature. Though your courtesies had left me my first liberty, and that there were neither Obligation on your part, nor Resentment on mine, yet I should say as much as I do, and give this testimony of you before all the World, and I am not less true of my word than I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 7. Octob. 1631.

Another to him. LETTER XXV.

SIR,

THis bearer will tell you how often in a day I am speaking of you, and in what esteem your virtue is in all places where I am heard speak; I speak of nothing else but of the kinde of life you have cho­sen, and this I propose as the peace of passions, which with others are so mutinous, and as the Kingdom of wisdom, which is not free in the great World. Never repent you of so hardy a flight, nor of so no­ble a banishment; the leasure that you take is far better than the im­ployment that others desire, and you are that close happy man that enjoys true happiness without either pomp, or envy.

Aemulus ille Jovis, celsa qui mentis ab arce,
Sub pedibus vel summa videt fastigia Regum:
Quem non ambigui fasces, non mobile vulgus,
Non leges, non castra tenent, qui pectore magno
Spemque metumque domat vitio sublimior omni:
Exemptus fatis, indignantemque repellit
Fortunam, dubio quem non in turbine rerum
Dependet suprema dies, sed abire paratum
Ac plenum vita, &c.

[Page 91]This me thinks is your very description, and might be mine also, if I had cut off a little thread by which I hang still about Paris; out of a fancie of my friends, without any hope at all in my self; for thanks be to God I have purged my spirit from all smoaks and fumes of the Court, and my ambition goes no further than the border of my village. I have no longer any thoughts but rustick and provin­cial; and demand not of — but onely abatement — and re­turn of Quart d' Escus; if these be two things, and as it is said, both within his power. One conference with you will fully accomplish the setling me in a good state, and you cannot deny your counsel to a man that hath a longing to put it in practise; and who is with his whole heart

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 1. May 1633.

Another to him. LETTER XXVI.

SIR,

THis day being the six and twentieth of April, I solemnly re­nounce all Complements, yet after I have told you first that I never used any with you, but such as were most true; and that what­soever I have written unto you heretofore untill now, is of as great force and vigour as if it had passed before a publick Notary. I have with a great deal of pleasure read the Latine, which you did me the favour to send me; the force of the reasoning, and the Oeconomy of the discourse content me exceedingly; onely one little word distasts me, and your friend might well have forborn to couple us with Ma­hometans and Infidels. The liberty which the King gives his Sub­jects, not to be of his opinion, ought not to reach to the scandali­zing of that opinion, and seeing he holds it a glorie to be the eldest Son of the Church, to call this Church a whore, is in good French to call —. He deserves Sir more respect, and your Doctours should have more discretion: For in truth, if their Religion were the prime Religion of the Kingdom, and that they were at liberty to preach it in the Lovure; they could never speak in higher terms, nor handle Catholicks in a ruder manner than they do. I assure my self you will be in this of my opinion: One must alwayes remember the condition of the time, and the state of affairs; wise men will never provoke them that are easily able to undo them; and in the ancient triumphs it was lawfull for the Souldiers to scoff at their General; but it was not [Page 92] lawfull for the vanquished to speak reproachfully of the Conquerour; you may please to make some reflection hereupon, and I know you will conceive that innocency it self becomes culpable, if it draw on per­secution. I bid you goodnight, and am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 26. of April 1634.

Another to him. LETTER XXVII.

Sir,

WIthout accepting the challenge you sent me, I thank you for the care you had to make me winne honour; If it came of it self I would perhaps not stick to receive it, but if it cannot be had without contesting, I will none of it; I love my ease too well, I say not to lose it, but even to hazard it in the best quarrel of the World. I am as patient and as utterly disarmed as an Anabaptist; I am afraid of a Foyt, or a Squib; far from running upon Muskets and Swords points, as they say in our Vicinage. It would be a hard mat­ter to draw a man of this humour to a Combat; but a much harder matter to make me stand in argumentation, being resolved to let the World hold what opinion it pleaseth, and even to forsake my own, if any man will wrangle with me for it. I desire neither to establish my own Maxims, nor to destroy other mens; and if a Master of Arts should come and try me with Omnis Homo Currit, I would answer him Lascialo andar; and if he should go on and say, sed Petrus Currit, I would reply, Lascialo star; and if he would conclude, Ergo Petrus est Homo, I would take my leave of him and say, Che m' Importa? I have very seriously considered of the the Letter of — and ab­solutely lost all remembrance of my own; I thought I had reason, and perhaps I was wrong, his intentions might be good, but my in­terpretation of them was naught. The conclusion is; He is a man I make infinite account of, and his friendship shall alwayes be dearer to me than my own opinion. I conjure you to give him assurance hereof, and to get his leave that I may live; seeing I am already beholding to you for so many other courtesies, and am also with all my Soul

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 15. Au­gust 1634.

To Mounsieur de Bois Robert. LETTER XXVIII.

Sir,

IF it had not been for a troublesom rheum which hath followed me now these fifteen dayes, I should have sooner thanked you for the new courtesies you have done me, and for the late pains you have ta­ken for the most unprofitable servant you have. God will reward a nature so free and noble, for my self I can but praise it, and give it the Testimony that is due unto it. But to make it perfect, I intreat you it may be as sweet as it is gracious, and heal me if it may be with­out thrusting your nails into my sores. I desire not to be left in my ill estate by flattery, but yet I desire to be drawn out of it without rough­ness; words alone seasoned with sweetness content me more than good deeds that are dry, and come from a proud hand. Be not therefore like the friends of Job, who reproached him in conforting him; but be compassionate a little to humane infirmities, and remember you cannot alter me, unless you new make me. I dare not say, that I pre­fer the liberty of Desarts before the magnificence of Courts; and that chains, though never so well made and guilded over, do yet not tempt me; I onely say, I know my self too well to meddle in a trade where­of I am not capable, and to begin a life which I must needs end, at the very beginning. Thus Sir, I do that out of consideration which you think I do out of laziness, and the faintness of my spirit comes from that of my body. But I know it is impossible to perswade you to this, and no means is left me to justifie my sickness but by my death, and when you have lost me, then you will finde and say I had reason to complain. In the mean time I understand that the Devils of Paris, of Bruxels, &c. are not let loose, and commit outrages upon me in four, or five languages. The contrary faction fortifies it self dayly, and there seems to be merit and piety in tearing asunder my reputation. Leave me not therefore to adversaries so incensed, and add not your rigour to their cruelty. I conjure you to take some care of an afflicted Soul, if I have defects, supply them by your virtue; if I be negli­gent in my affairs, be you my tutour, but exact no more of me than nature hath given me. You are too generous to put back a man that casts himself between your arms; and one that is more than any other in the World,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 5. of January 1632.

To Mounsieur Descartes. LETTER XXIX.

SIR,

YOur Letter found me in the blackest humour I was ever in in all my life. To tell you, that in that estate it brought me joy; were it to speak too boldly for a man in miserie: but it is true, it did a lit­tle mitigate my sadness, and made me capable of consolation. I do no more now live but in the hope I have to go see you at Amsterdam; and to embrace that dear Head, which is so full of reason and under­standing. This is that which hinders me from inviting you to come hither; where —: He is ever in the slavery of Ceremonies and Com­plements; and playes the coward with such a contradiction of his spirit, that one could not imagine. He hath the Soul of a Rebel; and the submission of a slave: if you may believe him, he hath no ambi­tion; yet he consents to that of another; and dies of a sickness that is not his own, See what is to be a sycophant; and to be undutifull by obedience. But you Sir, have raised your mindes above these vulgar considerations: and when I think upon the Stoicks Wiseman, who one­ly was free, was rich, was a King; me thinks, I see you foretold long ago; and that Zeno was but the Figure of Mounsieur Descartes:

Foelix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas,
Atque metus omnes, & inexorabile fatum
Subjecit pedibus.

Either you are this happy man, or he is not to be found in the World: and the conquest of truth, for which you labour with so great force and industry seems to me a more noble business, than all that is done with so great bruit and tumult in Germany and Italy. I am not so vain to pretend, I should be a companion of your travel herein; but I shall at least be a spectator; and shall enrich my self with the rellicks of the prey; and with the superfluity of your abundance. Think not that I make this proposition by chance; I speak it in great earnest; and if you stay never so little in the place where you are; you shall finde me a Hollander as well as your self; and my Masters, the States, shall not have a better Citizen: nor one more passionate for liberty than I am. Although I love extreamly the air of Italy; and the soyl that bears Orenges; yet your virtue is able to draw me to the Banks of the frozen Sea; and even to the uttermost Border of the North. It is now three years, that my imagination goes in quest after you; and [Page 95] that I even die with longing to be united to you, and never to part from you again: and to testifie unto you, by a continual subjection, that I passionately am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Paris 25. of April 1631.

To Mounsieur de la Motte-Aigron. LETTER XXX.

Sir,

I Have heard of the happy accomplishment of your marriage; and that it hath been one of the great solemnities of Rochell. I have celebrated it here in my particular; with less pomp indeed and tu­mult; but with as much joy, and satisfaction of minde, as they that sung the Hymonaeus. Though perhaps you would not have it so; yet your contentments are mine; you have not any passion so proper to your self, which is not common with me, and play the cruel, as long as you will, I will have a share in that which is yours; even then when you will not affoard to give it me. At the worst, I will love you still, as I have ever done, as a creature supreamly excellent; though not supreamly just: As there are some virtues that are fierce; and scornfull; so there are some sciences which have attractives amidst their difficulties, and which draw us on in thrusting us back: You are like these abstract knowledges: Your merit sweet­ens all your rigours: and how hard soever the persecution hath been, which I have suffered: yet I vow unto you, I could never finde in my heart to hate the Tyrant. I have still so great a care of his reputation, that I would not be thought innocent; for fear he should be blamed to have done me wrong; and I had rather be a Prevaricatour, and treacherous to my self, than to seem I had cause of complaint against him. We ought to condemne the memo­ry of this disorder; and to suppress this unfortunate Olympiade. We ought to perswade our imagination, that the matter is not so indeed; but that it is onely dreamt. When you shall please to remember your words; I shall see your Verses; and your friends Sermons. In the mean time Sir, if you will not have it be a meer liberality; I send you some­thing, to exercise commutative justice, and begin a traffick whereof the Toll is not agreed upon to be taken of right. Never was a man so miserably busied as my self; I am intricated with an infinite number of petty affairs: which, as you know, are no less cumbersom than the great: One thrust of a sword hurts not so much as a hundred pricks of a [Page 96] Pin: and the Arabians have a saying; It is a better bargain to be devoured of a Lion, than to be eaten up of Flies. If I had you, I should have a Redeemer; but your State-business, is preferable before my interests; and it is better I should want you, than come to have you with the curses of the people. I am, and shall ever be

At Balzac 29. Ju­ly 1634.
Sir,
Your, &c.

To Mounsieur de Granier. LETTER XXXI.

SIR,

THe day I parted from Paris; I dreamt not of taking any journey; but a news which I received, made me take Horse within an hour after I received it. This is that which hindred me from taking my leave; and to use such compliments with you, as in such cases are accustomed. If I did not know you to be an enemy of the Ty­ranny of Ceremonies; and that you, as well as my self, cut off from friendship all vain pomp and superfluities, I should study for long ex­cuses to justifie my journey: but in so doing, I should offer wrong to a wise man; to think he had opinions like the vulgar: and that he would not either give, or take so good a thing as liberty. I enjoy it as I would wish within these three, or four dayes; and I have re­ceived it at the Bank of the River where I left it the last year. I ba­nish from my minde all thoughts of the street Saint Jaques; and dream not either of my Prince, or Common-wealth, either of ene­mies books, or of my own: I dream, to say true, continually of you; and finde no image in my memory so pleasing, as that which presents me the time of our being together. I would willingly employ Atlante, or Melisse, to procure me a more solid content­ment; and to convey you and your Library hither in a night. I can­not forget this dear retreat of your repose; for, I know, that with­out this, you would finde even in Tryvolie, a want in your felicity; and that without your books, our fruits would be but sour; and our good cheer but of ill taste unto you. These are imaginations Sir, with which I flatter my self; whilest I stand waiting to return to Pa­ris; that I may there go finde out a happiness which cannot come hither to finde out me. If in the mean time you please to send me some news, whereof, you know provincial spirits are extreamly gree­dy; you shall give me means, to make a whole Countrey beholding [Page 97] to me; and you need but to dictate them to —: who will ease you of the pains of writing them. In these, I require not the strains of your understanding, nor the politick Animadversions which come from this accurate, and Collineant judgement, (to use the barbarous eloquence of our friend) it shall be enough for me that I may know in general some part of that which passeth, and may have some Epitome of the History which you send weekly to Mounsieur d'Andilly. I humbly en­treat you, to assure him that I honour him continually with passion; and assure your self also, that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 10. of Septemb. 1631.

To Mounsieur de la Nauve, Commander of a Company in Pyedmont. LETTER XXXII.

Sir,

MY dear Cousin, I cannot endure you should be come back into France, for nothing but —: and that he should solely and without me, possess a happiness, which more belongs to me than him. His Letters speak nothing but of your conversations, and of your feast­ings; news which he sends me, rather to brave me, and to set me in a longing, than to give any part in his good fortune, and to justifie his stay at Paris. I shall one day have means to be revenged of him for this malice: I doubt not to have liberty to walk abroad, when he shall be tied to stay at home; and to have my turn in feasting and ma­king merry, when he shall stand waiting upon enterrements, and go exhorting men that are to be hanged. Yet he is all this while your Favorite in my absence, though he need not think me absent, un­less he will; for if he love me enough, to be troubled for losing me, he may easily recover me, by looking upon your face. This resem­blance between you and me, is not the least of my vanities; and I vow unto you, I am proud of it in the highest degree: every day I thank my Mother for it in my heart; and do a secret homage for it to Nature. It were enough for me, to be taken for your Coppy; but my gray hairs tell me to my shame, that I am rather your Original, and put me in minde of this untoward advantage. I should not do much good, to paint them, unless withall, I could discharge the pensive­ness that hath changed them: for the tincture of this blots out all other. It is fit therefore to be merry, and to banish sorrow, seeing this i [...] the onely means to new make us, and to make us able to resist old age, [Page 98] I resolve my self to do so, though it be but to do Fortune a spight; and to take from her by my not grieving, the pleasure she thinks to take in her cruelty. But this goodly resolution stands in need of you; my joy would be perfect, if you would sometimes be a man of the Province; and that there were any appearance of hope, to see you at Condeville. I know no reason you should scorn an Island, in which our Ariosto would have charmed his dearest Herces; and whereof he would have made a thousand other strange devises, if he had been able to discover it. Venture to come thither this next Sommer, I conjure you to it by the memory of —: and I will pro­mise you, though not the good fellowship of Paris; yet at least the fair dayes of Paris; yet at least the fair dayes of Pignerol. But I fear me much you are not resolute enough to come to civilize a clown; who yet is beyond all I can say,

At Balzac 3. of January 1634.
Sir,
Your, &c.

Another to him.

SIR,

MY dear Cousin, the beginning of your Letter had frighted me, and I was taking Alarum at these words of death and Physi­cians, but I recovered my spirits when I saw the first had failed of his blow, and that you use not the other but to strengthen you in an estate they have already put you; such dayes as this will prove more healthfull to you than all their Drugs, and the sweetness, which begins to spring from the purity of the Elements, is the onely Medi­cine that heals without corrupting, and cleanseth without wasting. For my self I think not of dying when I have once gotten March over my head, and me thinks I finde my self renewed at the onely smelling of the Violets. I make use of them to more than one ser­vice, they serve me for Broths as well as for Nosegayes. I cannot be perswaded that cold purgeth the Air, or drives away sickness; and I am glad at heart to hear the Duke of Feria is dead of the Purples in the moneth of January, and that in Germanie. At least this will justifie the Summer and the hot Countreys, and will serve us for a proof against — when according to his custom he will plead our adversaries cause. I am more than I thought I was; seeing you as­sure me that I am sometimes the subject of our conferences; and though in this you run the hazard of being in the number of those [Page 99] Oratours, who were blamed for making ill choise of their subjects; yet pardon me if I account the testimony of your remembring me, more dear unto me than the glorie of your well speaking; and if I like rather you should talk of my idleness and of my walks, than to discourse of publick affairs, or voyages of Princes. I regard not the estimation of the people, I would give a great deal to buy out that with which I have gotten it; but there are certain friendships upon which onely I rely, and to be razed out of all accounts in the state would be less grievous to me than to be blotted out of your me­mory. Continue therefore these conferences which are so pleasing to me, and of which I am in spirit a partaker, or rather deny me not these consolations which are so sweet unto me, and whose effect I feel a hundred miles off. I cannot dissemble the need I have of you, I could not live if you did not love me, but withall you could love a man who is more passionately than I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 22. of Febr. 1634.

Another to him. LETTER XXXIV.

SIR,

MY dear Cousin, I am exceeding glad to hear of your news; as for news of the World I set so little by them, and interest my self so little in general affairs, that I may boldly say, I never yet read a whole Gazetta through; you may think this a strange distaste of the present time, and a remarkable impatience, especially in a man who complains that Livies History is too short, and wishes Hero­dotus would never make an end. Things that wounded me hereto­fore at the very heart, do not now so much as superficially touch me; that which I accounted as my own is now become a stranger to me, and my heart is hardned against all accidents that happen, if they concern not either my self, or my friends. It is true the death of — wrought in me some compassion; I can never hate men that are extra­ordinarie, and it grieves me that cowardice should triumph over ver­tue; and the lazie cause the valiant to be murthered. For this man it would not serve to take him at table, it was necessary to come be­hinde him; for else the most resolute of the conspiratours would ne­ver have had the courage to do the act, would never have abidden the splendor of that terrible countenance, and would have thought he had alwayes heard this voice.

[Page 100]
Fallit te mensas inter quod credis inermem
Tot bellis quaefita viro, tot caedibus armat
Majestas aeterna Ducem. Si admoveris ora
Cannas & trebiam ante oculos, Thrasymenaque busta
Et Pauli stare in gentem miraberis umbram.

Change but the Latin names for Dutch, and we may conclude thus; ‘Gustavi stare in gentem miraberis umbram.’

If I should say more, I should seem to make his Funeral Oration; I am neither fit nor officious enough to go so far, my design was onely to write a word, or two, and to pay you all your Complements with this one little word, I am but most truely

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 7. of April 1634.

Another to him. LETTER XXXV.

SIR,

MY dear Cousin, I mean not to shew your Letter to the Doctour that brought it to me, it would make him lose that little hu­mility that is left him, and he would think himself already In statu perfection is acquisitae; you do not well to use him as he were some rare personage, it is the way to spoil him altogether, and to harden a va­nity which durst not otherwise shew it self. I shall have something to do to make him come to himself, and to take down the swelling of his spirit, which your testimony hath put him into. It is an easier matter to corrupt than to reform the good works more slowly than the evil; and I much fear my remedies will not be so forcible as your poyson; Under this name austere Philosophers would comprise the Present you have sent me. They conceive that perfumes are made of sweet and pleasing poysons, and that if they make no impression up­on the body, they yet effeminate the vigour of the minde: For my self I speak no such harsh language, but content my self to say with an ho­nester man than they: Cursed be these Effeminate persons that have cried down so innocent and so good a thing. The use of it is law­full, the excess is forbidden; I know the first, and you would cast me upon the other. For to speak truely what good can come of so [Page 101] exorbitant a liberality? and what means this abundance of Orenge flower water with which you have loaded our Messenger? you would not have sent me a greater quantity of this water, if where you are, men had rained a great showre of it: and let this be spoken with­out Hyperbole; and without putting me upon the high strain. Your good deeds have no spice of the present poverty, one may see in them the abundance of the golden age, and an image of that hap­py time of which a Poet writes; They powred out by Flouds what they give now by drops; yet you have done well to get before hand; hereafter the sumptuary Laws will not suffer you to be so liberal; and you are threatned with the coming forth of a Proclamation that will bring things back to the ancient frugality of our ancestours. Perfumes shall not be used but in Temples, and about the sacrifices at great festivals, nor biskes —; but about the Pallace, or at the Kings Coronation; so that you shall learn the virtue of moderation by a lesson from the Prince, and you shall be made a good husband if you will not be a bad Cittizen. I my self, who profit by disorder, must tell you thus much, that if you reduce not your great Bottles to little Viols, I shall enform against you, and yet will alwayes be

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 10. of June 1634.

To Mounsieur Bardyn. LETTER XXXVI.

Sir,

NEver was Host better paid than I, for making you poor Cheer; if you should make any long journey at this price, you would make your self a poor man before you come home, and your first courtesies are such, that they scarce leave any place for second. You are so good that you are unjust; to compare our fruits to those of Ita­ly is not so much to advance our Village, as to vilifie Naples and Flo­rence. This is to affront her whom Virgil adored, and to whom he said upon his knees, and holding up his hands;

Salve magna Parens frugum Saturnia tellus
Magna virum, &c.

There is no reason to pardon this excess to a man that makes profes­sion of the truth, and who ought to speak that plainly which it is lawfull for Poets to disguise. These fellows make waste of their ornaments and [Page 102] their figures; they call the worst wine they drink Nectar; and though the house of Cacus were no better than an Ox stall, yet in their Verses they make it a Kings Pallace; such liberty is not allowed to Philoso­phers; and without derogation to this quality, which you have so good Title to possess, you could never have bestowed your praises upon such base Vyands as I was fain to set before you. And for my entertainment with which you seem much better satisfied; even that was yet much poorer, and more meager than my cheer. You know Sir, that in our commerce I contribute nothing but my Docibleness, and my ears; I am the people and you the Theater; I mean a Theater reasonable and intel­ligent, inspired with sentences & instructions, to whose audience I would run from one end of the World to another, and never complain of my pains nor of my journey. I would not onely return you your visit in Tourain; but to hear you would do much more, and go much further, willingly untertake as long a voyage as Appollonius did, who travailed many Kingdoms, and passed many Seas, onely to see Ia [...]chas in his Throne of Gold; and hear him discoursing of the na­ture of things. Your Indian visage and your yellow colour make shew of a Gymnosophist; but Gymnosophists had not the virtue that lies hidden under this yellowness; for though they made Trees to speak, and sent tempests on their errands, where they pleased, yet these were effects of their Devillish arts, and no arguments of their wisdom. Yours is not onely more humane and more Lawfull; but is used al­so with less pride and less violence. Instead of filling the eyes with unprofitable wonders, it makes to flow and stream in the Soul neces­sary verities; it doth not astonish me with prodiges, nor affright me with Thunder, but it perswades me to do that I ought to do, and in­structs me to know that I ought to know. It is the same I think that appeared under the Empire of Trajan; and communicated it self to men by the mediation of Plutarch. How have you decked her without disarming her? how sweetned her countenance without weakning her force? how covered her Bones and Muscles with a fair flesh, and made her a body of a Carkass? The Syllogisme, which by the saying of a Grecian is the Trident and Mace of Philosophy, is in your writings all painted and perfumed: After you have purged it from the rust of Barbarians, and from the poyson of Sophisters, you make with it a wholesom and delightfull lancing, and no man seeks to ward your blows, because they heal and tickle. With these rare knowledges you should entertain your friends, and not with the fruits of our Orchard, nor with those of my studies, which are as vulgar the one as the other; But yet seeing they please your taste, and that you demand of me particularly the last piece you saw of my making, I have intreated — who carries it to Paris to de­liver [Page 103] it unto you in the place where you are; By your example I call it my dissertation, because we live in a Countrey of liberty, and where faults of this nature are not under the Jurisdiction of the Kings Com­mission. But I durst not be so bold at the Court, where there is no longer any favour for naughty words, nor safety for innovatours of our language. Remember therefore that I speak under Benedicite, and in our most strait confidence; and imitate herein that Queen, who in publick called her Son by the name of her Husband, but in pri­vate by the name of her favorite; much after this sort do I; having conceived my work from the acquaintance I have with the Latin; I let it in truth carry a French title, but in secret and speaking in the ear I give it the name of his Father. It is now three moneths that M. de Nants hath been in Britanie, and M. de Tholouze in Languedoc. Upon the first opportunity I will not fail to send them your rare Pre­sents, and let them know in what height of account you hold them both. Do me the like office to Mounsieur Bourdelot, and assure him that I have great pretensions upon his learning, and that I ground my self much upon his honesty. Hereafter one of them shall be my trea­sure in the necessities of my spirit, the other my sanctuary against the malice of the World. For you Sir, it is impossible for me to express the high opinion I conceive of you; when the question is to speak of your virtue, I cannot finde words that give me satisfaction, and therefore at this time you shall have from me but the common conclusion of all my Letters, that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 15. De­cember 1633.

To Mounsieur de Aigue bere, Commander of a Com­pany in Holland. LETTER XXXVII.

Sir,

YOur Letter hath stayed here a long time for me; if I had been here at its first arrival, I had sooner testified to you the joy with which I received it: and the especial account I make of the meanest of your favours, I seek not after new acquaintance; I had rather I could forgo one half of those I have already but for yours; I vow unto you I have much desired it, and you had attractives for me, even in the Melancholy of my Quartan Ague. I discovered a great worth under the veil of your disvaluing your self; and saw well, that you [Page 104] sought rather to go safely and solidly, than to go in pomp and state; and had more care to nourish your minde, than to set it out in co­lours. I do not therefore take you for a simple Captain of Holland, who takes nothing but Stoccadoes; and Circumvallation; and studies such other words in that Countrey, to come afterwards and fright us with them here in France. I know you possess no less the virtues of peace, than those that make a noise and handle iron: and that you are a man of the Library, as well as of the Arsenal. Mounsieur Huggens, I assure my self, is of the same minde; and I doubt not, but having observed you in both these kindes, he relisheth as well your spirit, as he values your courage. I am very glad of the cor­respondence that is between you; of which, if you please, I shall make use hereafter, for the safety of our Commerce. But Sir, I have another, more important request to make unto you; and I ear­nestly entreat you to do for me, with my Lord —: the good of­fices, which I have right to hope your goodness will afford me. It hath been written to me from Paris, that he had some sinister conceit of me; and indeed the coldness of his countenance, the last time I had the honour to do him reverence, seemed to shew as much. This misfortune comes not to me by any fault of mine: for I swear unto you Sir, that I have alwayes carried towards him a most religious respect; and have never spoken of him, but as of a man of very extraordina­ry parts. It must needs be, that this is some rellick of those impres­sions, which — hath left in him: and that he judgeth of me by the report of my Enemies. I will not move questions against the memo­ry of a dead man; nor blame the passion of a great worthy. There have been some moved with motives less reasonable, that have wept for their Dogs; and built Tombs for beasts they loved. In that, I acknowledge the good fortune of —: but you know better than any other what his honesty was: and you ought upon this oc­casion to give your uttermost Testimony in behalf of calumniated innocency. I conjure you to do it effectually: and from what Coast soever the evil come, take into your protection an honest man, who passionately is

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 3. of February 1633.

Another to him. LETTER XXXVIII.

SIR,

I Have received in one Packet, a Letter from you, of the four and twentieth of March; and another from Mounsieur Huggens of the fifteenth of December. I give you a thousand thanks for each of them; and complain not, that I stayed a while for the latter, seeing if it had come a readier way, it had perhaps not come so safe a way: nei­ther contains it any news, whereof the knowledge might not be for­born without any danger: no matter in it, that either concerns the life of the Prince, or the good of the state. It might have come time enough, ten years hence; for it speaks of nothing but of Kings and Common-wealths, that have been long ago. Our commerce hath no object, but our books; and I have no reason to complain of a slow­ness, that does a favour to my negligence. But my good neigh­bour, — suffers me to be idle no longer; she will have me here­after make use of her messengers; and by consequent, ease you of your conveying them. Yet for my part, I exempt you not altogether, but if you return into Holland, at the time you have appointed; you shall do me the favour to remember the note I send you. I intreat you also to demand of our friends in that Countrey, what reason they have to bring into our language a new fashion of speaking; and which by the communication you have with them, is gotten into the Letter you sent me. If you say, my Masters the States; you may as well say, Mounsieur the Councel; and Madam the Assembly: and more than this; if many Senatours that make the body of a Republick, may be called my Masters the States, then every Senatour, which makes a part of that body, may be called Mounsieur the State: and if this be suffered, the most strange opinions of — shall be authorised by pu­blick use: of the same words will be made another language, and af­ter this it cannot be thought strange, that — should speak of the Seigneurie of Venice; as of the Infanta of Portugal; and that she should marry with Mounsieur the Kings brother. It is true the league com­mitted the like incongruity when it gave the Duke de Main, the Title of Lieutenant of the State, and Crown of France, but this was not with­out a check: you know what sport the Catholicon makes at it; and with what force he defends at once, both the rights of the Kingdom, and the Laws of Grammar. And where the same Authour in another place, calls the Assembly, which was held at Paris; My Lords the States; he did that but to make it ridiculous; & not with meaning to speak regularly: [Page 106] Our dear friends may make of a little Citie, a great; but of a bad word they cannot make a good: and though their liberty extend very far, yet it reacheth not to license Barbarism. Mounsieur Huggens will con­sider of this point; and if in propounding to the Councel so impor­tant a matter, he shall speed well; he shall have the honour to purge his Countrey of a vitious phrase, as much in the judgement of Gram­marians, as to free it from a Hidra, or Chymaera, and therein shall shew himself a Hercules, or a Bellerophon. This is a way I take with my friends, to make my self laugh; because I am given to pensiveness when I am alone; and I cannot stir up any Joy in me, but by the pre­sence, at least the representation of some person, which is both dear unto me, and chosen for the nonce: of this number Sir, you are, and know well, that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Paris 3. of April 1634.

To Mounsieur de Bois Robert. LETTER XXXIX.

Sir,

IN the mean time, till I see you; be pleased to receive from me a complement, which shall not be tedious: Onely to let me congra­tulate with you the recovery of your health. God hath now a kinde of interest in preserving it; seeing you have consecrated it to him; and your life is vowed to a perpetual Meditation of his Mysteries. I doubt not of his blessing this your holy desire; and look at my return to finde a great Preacher under your Cassock. You will shew me as many Homilies, as heretofore you have shewed me Son­nets: and instead of Parnassus and Permessa; you will speak of Sion, and of Siloe. Yet moderate your self a little at first: and be re­served in a strange Countrey. I would not have you dive too deep into the Abysses of Predestination; famous for the shipwracks of so many Pilots; or to speak more plainly, for the Heresies of so ma­ny Doctours. If you will take my counsel, you shall let the Je­suites and the Jacobins fight it out between themselves about the Que­stion De Auxiliis; and never meddle amongst them, nor go about to part them. The often using of Syllogismes is very dangerous for health; there is nothing that heats the bloud, or enflames Choler more then Disputation. Besides, though you make your self hoarse with speaking for the Truth, and make it never so plain: yet you shall never make your adversary to confess it; or ever be able to take hold [Page 107] of him, so long as he can slip from you by a distinction. Above all Sir, let not the love of Divinity make you forget your temporal af­fairs, and the care of your fortune: for otherwise, It were better I should study with you to halfs; and that you should make the Court both for your self and me. As I am like to acquit my self extream badly; so you are likely to grow soon to perfection; and I despair not, one of these dayes to salute you by the Title, Of Most Reverend Father in God. I know you do not disllike that we should write, to one ano­ther in this kinde of stile, which Cicero and Trebatius made use of, before such time as untoward Complements had corrupted friendship; and that this base-jangling was brought into fashion. This Trebatius was a famous Lawyer: of whom Cicero made great account; and yet is alwayes wrangling with him about his Science, and his formal Writs: the like liberty I am bold to take with you; whom I honour infinite­ly; and should not in this sort contribute to our common joy, if I were not with a perfect freeness of heart

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 11. of Novemb. 1633.

Another to him. LETTER XL.

SIR,

I Pitty your good fortune, the Court that follows you at your Chamber would be to me an unsupportable honour, who would not give my Mornings for all the Complements of Paris. It is the flower and prime of the day that is taken from you; it is the time of Meditation and Prayer which flattery intrudes upon. There is no Cre­ditour nor Sergeant that you might not deal withall better cheap than with these troublesom friends. You are unfortunate to be so beloved, and a man of whom so many other have use, can be of little, or no use to himself. It is better yet to pass for a Clown, than thus to pro­stitute ones self by civility, and better never to sacrifice to the gra­ces, than to make ones self the beast for the Sacrifice. You would perhaps intermit this course, but the time is past for that; a breach would draw upon you a War; and you would run the fortune of that poor Saint, who was murthered with pricks of Pen-knives, and cut in pieces by his Schollers. You would be the object of a Rhetorical, an Historical and a Poetical persecution; and the muses, which now court you, would grow furious, and fall a tearing you, so that you have [Page 108] no remedy now but to hold it out, if you look for safety in the place you are in; you must ever be the mediatour between Apollo and Poets; you must alwayes have a thousand businesses both in Prose and Verse, your Chamber must be the passage alwayes from the University to the Court. This back-door whereof you have sent me a Platform, is in truth an excellent invention, but this will presently be disco­vered, and you will gain nothing by it, but to be besieged in more places at once. Do better Sir, quit the place that is not tenable, and come save your self at — I am not so poor, but I can make you a resemblance at least of the good cheer of Paris, and furnish you with innocent pleasures, such as Philosophy and Priesthood will allow of; It shall be for as short a time as you please; and onely to make an ill custom take another course. All the family desires this voyage, particularly — who is in good hope his Son cannot prove ill, seeing you have no ill opinion of him, and for his Daughter of whom you write me so much good: I cannot stay my self from vow­ing to you, that she is not altogether unworthy of it; and perhaps would have deserved an Air with three couplets of your making, if she had appeared in the time when you were the great Chaunter of France. But now that you have changed your course of life, there is no look­ing for any thing from you but spiritual discourse and Christian Medi­tations, which yet will serve as fitly for a Sex to which devotion be­longs no less than beauty. Bring therefore to us the Original of your piety and of your Divinity, at least shew some sorrow that you cannot do it, that I may see my affection is not scorned, and that I am not without revenge

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 1. of Decemb. 1634.

Another to him. LETTER XLI.

SIR,

IF you hold your old wont, you will tax me with ignorance, and write me a man of another World; one delivered me but yester­night observations upon the process of the Marshall of — and I set my self to reading all the time my Groom set himself to sleeping. In very truth they gave me an excellent rellish; and I vow unto you I never read a stile more subtile, nor that hid its Art more cunningly; I entreat you to send me word who the Authour is, and to whom I am beholding for so pleasing a night. It must needs be some man who [Page 109] understands two things equally well, affairs and how to write, one that partakes of the life of a Schollar, and of a Courtier; like to that God of whom the Poets say, he is of the one and other World, Ʋtro­que facit commercia mundo. From the knowledge of Books he draws the vigour and force of his phrase, and from the practise of the Court; the colours and sweetening of his matter. He speaks the language of the Closet, and brings proofs of the Pallace; but in such sort, that neatness doth not weaken his reasons; and his force is so temper­ed; that even Ladies may be judges of the process. Once again, I entreat you to send me the name of this sage Observer, and be­sides, to give me account what grace I stand in with Mounsieur de —: I was told in no very good grace; neither I, nor my writings neither. If I made but little reckoning of him; I should easily comfort my self for this disgrace: but in truth, it would grieve me much to be condemned by a judgement, to which I should make a conscience not to subscribe; and I rather believe, there are many de­fects in my writings; than that in his taste there is any defect of rea­son. Assure him Sir, if you please, that I am at least capable of Disci­pline: and am apt enough to follow any method he shall prescribe me, for attaining a proportion of knowledge to content him. Let him but tell me my faults, and see how quickly I will mend them; let him but say, what it is in my stile that offends him; and see how ready I shall be to give him satisfaction. If my Hyperboles displease him; I will blot them out of my Letters the next time they are printed; I will truely confess all I have ever used, and make a solemne vow never to use more. Yet it cannot be truely said; that to use this Figure; is a matter that deserves blame; for, not to speak of humane Authours, we should then blame the Son of God; for saying. It is easier for a Cammel to go through a needles eye, than for a rich man to enter in­to the Kingdom of heaven. But I will not seek to save my self by so supream an authority: In this, I will respect our Saviour, but not fol­low him; I will believe that such examples are far above all humane imitation; and will not attempt it no more than to walk upon the wa­ter, and to go forty dayes without eating. In good earnest, I would do any thing to give contentment to a man that gives contentment to M. the Cardinal; and hath perswaded the King of Sweden. If he will play the Tyrant with those that seek his favour, let him; I refuse not hence forward the hardest conditions he can lay upon me; and to gain his protection; I renounce with all my heart my very liberty: It is now four and twenty hours since I laid my eyes together; It is time therefore that I bid you good morrow, or good night; take which of them you please; and believe me alwayes,

Sir,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 4. De­cember 1634.

To Mounsieur the Master Advocate in the Parliament. LETTER XLII.

SIR,

YOu know I have fed upon the fruits of Pomponne, even beyond the rules of temperance; and I told you there that they are ge­nerally excellent; yet I now especially declare my self, in favour of the last you sent me, and finde them, far surpassing the Amber Pear, or all other kindes, which I cannot name. It is true, I affect especial­ly the Tree it self that bears them: and I account the meanest of the Leaves, no meaner than Jewels: yet their own goodness is such, that though they grew in the Garden of —: or grew upon a stock that Father —: had planted; yet I should not for all that, but high­ly esteem them, and take a pleasure in their taste. In a word, to leave speaking in Allegory, and not to flounder my self in a Figure, into which you have most maliciously cast me: I say Sir, that in all your Presents, I see nothing but excellent; and least you should think, I meant to exempt my self from giving a particular account of my judgement, by speaking in general terms: I let you know, that in the first place, the two lines spoken of at the end of the discourse, please me infinitely; and next to this that place which is written up­on occasion of —: that France is too good a Mother to rejoyce in the loss of her Children; and that the victories gotten upon our selves, are fit to wear mourning, and be covered with black vails. All that could have been said upon this Argument, would never have been comparable to this ingenious silence. And as he hath dexterously shunned a passage so tender, so he enters as bravely, and as proudly upon a matter that will bear it; when speaking of —: he saith, that having overcome the waves and the windes, that opposed his passage, and traversed the fires of so many Canons of the Enemies; with a few poor Barks, he made his way through a Forrest of great ships, and despising all the English Forces, made a small Island to be the Grave of the glorie of that great Queen of the Northern Islands. And a little after; where he saith: that God, who bestows his favours upon Nations, by measure; seeing, that the admirable valour of ours, would easily Conquer the whole World; if it had Prudence equal to its cou­rage, seems therefore to have given us, as a Counterpoise to the greatness of our spirits; a kinde of impetuosity and impatience, which to our Armies have oftentimes been fatal, and cause of ruine. But that now the case is altered in this point: that now the French are [Page 111] onely French in the Courage and Valour; that these Lions are grown reasonable; and now, to the strength and courage of the North; they joyn the prudence and stayedness of the South, &c. Also where he saith, that the carriage at Cazal, is a thing incomprehensible; and for which we must be fain to look out some new name; for it cannot be called a Siege, seeing the place was surrendred before ever it was battered: nor it cannot be called a battel, seeing no man strook a stroak: nor it cannot be called a Treaty, seeing Treaties are not made with Weapons in hand, &c. But that which pleaseth me most of all, because it toucheth indeed the string of my own inclination; is that which he speaks of the Marquess of Rambovillet: that there had been Statues erected in honour of her virtue; if she had fortuned to be born in the beginning of her race. For, as you know Sir, this illu­strious Woman, is of Romane stock; Et de Gente Sabella; of which Virgil speaks. These are the passages I can call to minde, having not the Originals by me: being taken from me, by a neighbouring Lady; who affects the King of Sweden with the like passion, as Ma­dam Rambovillet, if I durst discover my self therein; they should both know how I do concurre with them, so eminent a virtue may chastely enough be loved of both Sexes; and let the slanderous History speak its pleasure; I for my part think no otherwise of it, than as the Queen of Sheba loved Salomon: and as Nicomedes loved Caesar. I had begun something for the Triumph of this great Prince, but his death made my Pen fall out of my hand; and therefore you are like to have no­thing from me at this time in revenge of your Sonnet. For your French Prose, I send you another, which I will never believe to be Latin, untill — shall assure you, it is; to whom I intreat you to shew it from me: Vir plane cum Antiquitate conferendus, & qui mihi est in hoc genere, unus curia, Censor & Quirites. I have read many things of his with infinite satisfaction: but I know, he hath certain miseries in his writing, which he lets not common people know; and — hath told me of a continuation he hath written, of the History of M. de Thou; which is not imparted but to his special friends; and which, I am infinitely desirous to see: but I am not a man that will enter by force upon any mans secrets: and my discretion in such cases, shall be al­wayes greater than my curiosity, Optare licebit, si potiri non licet, If I should not presently make an end of my Letter, I should kill you with Latin; for I finde my self in an humour that way; and in this desert where I live: I have no commerce, but wi [...]h such as speak all Latin, I would perswade you to revive them in our language; by an imitation which you are able to do, not much unlike those great examples; I mean of Cicero, of Salust, and of Livie; not of Cassiodore, or Enno­dius Ticinensis, or Sidonius Apollinaris. They that love this impurity [Page 112] of stile, are in a sicker state than they that love to eat Coals and ashes. Fat be it from us, to have such disordered appetites, and let us never be so foolish, to prefer the corruption and decay of things before their prime, and their maturity, I am

At Balzac 4. of February 1633.
Sir,
Your, &c.

Another to him. LETTER XLIII.

SIR,

HE that delivers you this Letter, knows as much of my news as I my self, and will make you ample relation of all that hath pas­sed at —: He hath a business in the Parliament, which is of no great difficulty; and which may be sped without any great eloquence: yet I address it to you, but upon condition, that you shall not imploy your whole force about it; but that your labouring for him may be a refreshing to you, from some other labour. I hear with a great deal of pleasure, of the progress of your reputation, and of the effects of my presages. The acclamations you cause in the Pallace, are sound­ing in all places; and we are not so out of the World, but that the Eccho of them comes to us. But Sir, I content not my self with clap­ping of hands, and praising your well-speaking, as others do; I desire to have some particular ground, for which to give your thanks, and am willing to be in your debt, for complement and reverence; this shall be, when you have sped my friends suit: and which shall be a cause, if you please, that I will now at the end of my Letter, add a superlative; and say I am;

Sir,
Your most humble, most faithfull, &c.
At Balzac 2. of Nov. 1631.

Another to him. LETTER XLIV.

SIR,

I Make no secret of our friendship, it is too honest to be hidden; and I am so proud of it, that I think my self of no worth but by it. [Page 113] Mounsieur Jamyn, acknowledgeth my good Fortune herein, and is himself in passion to get your acquaintance, to which he perswades himself I should not be his worst introductor; and that by my means he might be admitted to your Closet. I will make my self believe that he shall not be deceived in this opinion; and that for my sake you will add to your accustomed courtesies a little extraordinary. They who saw Pericles, how he thundred and lightened in the publick As­semblies, were desirous to hear him in a quieter estate; to know whether his calm were as sweet and pleasing as his Tempest. This man hath the like desire; and though my recommendation were as in­different to you, as it is dear; yet so honest a curiosity would deserve to be respected. He is the Son of one of my best friends, and though perhaps you know it not, you are the example that Fathers propose for imitation to their Children; and by whose name they excite to virtue all their youth. I need not say more to you of this; onely be mindefull of our resolute and undaunted Maxims; and in this age of malice, do not scorn the praise I give you for your goodness. I kiss the hands of all your eloquent family, and I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Paris 16. of Febr. 1634.

To Mounsieur de Caupeau ville Abbot of Victory. LETTER XLV.

Sir,

THe time which my malady permits me, I bestow upon you, and make use of the respite of my fits, to tell you, I have received your last Letters, and the new assurances of your friendship: which is so much the dearer unto me, because I know you use them with di­scretion; and that there be not many things you greatly affect. This makes for my glory, that I can please so dainty a taste; and that I can get good from one that is so covetous. It is no small matter to draw a wise man out of himself; and to make Philosophy compassionate of others evils. Although the place, to which she hath raised you can­not be more eminent, nor more sure; yet my disgraces may be cause that her prospect is not so fair, or pleasant: and how setled soever the peace of your minde be, yet the Object of a persecuted friend, may perhaps offend your eyes. Our Mounsieur de Berville, I assure my self, dislikes not this kinde of wisdom: he likes to have that husband­ed and dressed, which Zeno would have to be rooted out; he knows [Page 114] that magnanimity hath its residence between effeminateness and cruelty; and that the sweet and humane virtues, have place between the Fierce and the Heroick. Poets sometimes make the Demy Gods to weep; and if an old womans death were cause enough to make Aeneas shed tears; the oppression of one innocent, cannot be un­worthy of your sighes. Yet I require from you, none of these sad of­fices: your onely countenance is enough to give me comfort. I do not live, but in the hope I have to see it, and to get you to swear once again in presence of the fair Agnes, and the rest of your Chamber Di­vinities, that you love me still. After that, if you will have us make a voyage in your Abby, I shall easily condiscend: Provided Sir, that you promise me safety amongst your Monks: and that they be none of those who profess exquisite words: and onely talk of Analysis and Caco­zeal. If you have any that be of this humour, you are an unfortu­nate Abbot; and you may make account to be never without suites. First, they will ask you a double allowance: next they will question your Revenew; and if you chance by ill hap to make a Book, you are sure to be presently cited before the Inquisition; or at least before the Sorbon. God keep you Sir from such Friers, and send you such as I am, who eat but once a day; and who will not open my mouth, unless it be to praise your good words, and to tell you sometimes, out of the abundance of my heart, that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 26. of Decemb. 1631.

To — LETTER XLVI.

SIR,

I Am able to live no longer, if you be resolved to love me no longer; and think not that the good you promise me, can countervail the loss of that you take from me. Keep your estimation and your boun­ty, for those that have nothing in them but Vanity and Avarice: I am endowed from Heaven with better and more noble passions; I like bet­ter to continue in my poverty, than in your disgrace; and will none of this cold speculative estimation, which is but a meer device of rea­son; and a part of the Law of Nations, if you give it me single, and no­thing else with it. I must tell you, I think my self worthy of some­thing more; and that the Letter I write to you, was worthy of a sweeter answer than you sent me. If therein I said any thing that gave you [Page 115] distaste, I call that God to witness, by whom you swear; I then wan­dred far from my intention. I meant to contain my complaints with­in so just bounds; that you should not finde the least cause to take of­fence. But I see I have been an ill interpreter of my self, and my rudeness hath done wrong to my innocency: yet any man but your self, would I doubt not have born with a friend in passion, and not so unkindely have returned choler for sorrow. As for my pettish hu­mour, it is quickly over, and there is not a shorter violence, than that of my spirit: whereas you have taken five whole weeks to digest your indignation, and in the end come to tell me, you would do me any good you can, upon condition to love me no longer. I vow unto you, it is a glorious act to do good to all the World, and to make even ungratefull men beholding. But Sir, if you think me one, to whom you may give that name; you do me exceedingly much more wrong, than it is in your power to do me right: Neque decorum sapienti, unde amico infamiam parat, inde sibi gloriam quaerere. I am wounded at the very heart, with this you have written; but since you will not suffer me to complain; I must be fain to suffer and say nothing; onely I will content my self, to make a Declaration contrary to yours; and tell you, I will never make you beholding to me, because I am not hap­py enough to be able to do it; but yet I will love you alwayes, and will alwayes perfectly be

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 1. of March 1633.

To Mounsieur Trovillier, Physician of the Popes House. LETTER XLVII.

SIR,

HAving alwayes made especial reckoning of your friendship; it is a great satisfaction to me, that I receive assurance of it, by your Letter. I doubt not of your compassionating my disgraces; and that the persecution raised against me, hath touched you at least with some sence of grief; for even meer strangers to me, did me these good Of­fices; and though the justice of my cause had not in it self been wor­thy of respect; yet the violence of my adversaries was enough to pro­cure me favour and protectours. There is no man of any generous spirit, that found not fault with the wits of your Philarchus: nor a man of any wisdom that thought him not a Sophister. Yet I cannot [Page 116] blame you for loving him: seeing I know well, you do it not to pre­judice me, and that your affection corrupts not your judgement. You are too intelligent, to be deceived with petty subtilties; and too strong, to be broken with engins of Glass; but in truth, being as you are, a necessary friend, to a number of persons of different qualities; it cannot be, but you must needs have friends of all prices, and of all me it, and that the unjust as well as the innocent are beholding to you. You shall hear by Mounsieur —, when he comes to Rome, the little credit I have with the man you spake to me of, to whom I present my service, but onely once a year; and that I do too, least I should forget my name, and mistake my person. If in any other mat­ter, which is absolutely in my own power; you will do me the honour to imploy me; you shall see my course is not to use excuses and co­lours, but that I truly am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Paris 4. of April 1631.

To Mounsieur Gerard, Secretary to my Lord the Duke d'Espernon. LETTER XLVIII.

SIR,

YOu cannot complain, nor be in misery by your self alone: I par­take of all your good and evil, and feel so lively a reflection of them, that there needs but one blow to make two wounds. And thus I am wounded by the news you write, and though your grief he not altogether just, yet it is sufficient to make me partake with you, that it is yours. We weep for one not onely whom we knew not, but whom we know to be happy: one that in six months staying in the World hath gained that, which St. Anthony was afraid to lose after three score years pennance in the wilderness. I wish I could have had the like favour; and have died at the time, when I was innocent: be­ing my self, neither valiant nor ambitious, I account those wars the best that are the shortest; and that, though in Paradise there be di­vers degrees; and divers mansions; yet there is not any that is not ex­cellent good. Conserve onely your goodly maker of Saints, and you shall finde some of all sorts; I mean of the one, and the other Sex: Religious and Seculars, Gascoignes and French. You know well, I [Page 117] have appointed you here a Chamber; and that you are my debtor of a visite, now a whole year, if you be a man of your word; but I fear me you are not, and that as your custom is, you will content your self with praising my quiet course of life; yet I would have you to flatter at least my spirit, though it be, but with some light hope of so perfect a contentment: promise me you will come, and make me happy; though you break your promise, I shall enjoy at least, so much of good; and in doing so, you shall amuse me, though you do not satisfie me. I send you all I have of that admirable Incognito; of whom there is so much talk, and who hath made himself famous now these three years, under the name of Petrus Aurelius: I cannot for my life finde who he is. Mounsieur de Filsac, told me lately at Paris, that of him that brought the leaves to Printing, he could not possibly learn any more than this, that he was a man, who desires to serve God invisibly. And in truth, if you knew in what sort he carries his secrecy; and with what care and cunning he hides himself; you would confess he takes more pains to shun reputation, than ambitious men take in running after it. For from being a Plagiary, to rob others of their glory, who refuseth that which is his own, and suffers a Phantasme, to receive those accla­mations and praises which belong to himself. This is no man of the common mould; even in the judgement of his adversaries; and his writings savour not the compositions of this age. They are animated with the spirit and vigour of the former times; and represent us a Church we never saw. Yet it seems in some passages, he hath less of Saint Austins sweetness than of Saint Hieroms choler; and that he is willinger to do that, which justice onely permits him, than that which charity counsels him. I could wish he had shewed a little more respect to the gray hairs, and rare merit of Father Sirmond; or rather that he would have dulled the edge of his Arms, and dealt with him in a gent­ler war. But there is no means to bridle a provoked valour, nor to guide a great force, though with a great moderation. All Saints are not of one temper; it is enough for Religion to cut off vices; and to purifie the passions. Our moral Divinity acknowledgeth some inno­cent cholers; and it is the beauty of Christs flock, that there be Lions amongst the sheep, and that as well the sublimest and strongest spirits as the basest and sweetest submit and prostrate themselves to the great­ness of Christianity. If I had learned nothing in his book but onely to know what respect men owe to a Character reverenced of the An­gels, I had not lost my time in reading him. If Bishops be Princes, and if their Dignity be equal or Superiour to Kings, shall we make any diffi­culty, to call a Prelate, My Lord; and esteem him less than a Grand of Spain, or than an Earle of England? You will tell me more of this at your next meeting; and I doubt not, setting aside the interest of — [Page 118] send it me back when you have read it; and forget not the Chapters of honest Bernia. I am more than I am able to express,

At Balzac 15. of October 1634.
Sir,
Your, &c.

To my Lord the Bishop of Nants. LETTER XLIX.

SIR,

I Am now grown shameless, and make no longer any conscience to be troublesom to you. But you may thank your own goodness for it: which hath from the very first been so ready to me, and freely makes me offer of that, for which it ought to make be a suitor. I send you now four leaves for Ruel and if you please to let three of your own lines bear them company, I doubt not but they will have a happy ar­rival, and that the skiff will procure passage for the great vessel. But because Fortune her self, hath done one half of my discourse, and that I have little commerce with any but Latines born, I humbly en­treat you my Lord, to be so good, when I am fallen to help me to rise, and not suffer me to go astray, in a Countrey, where you are Prince. I know you love your own elections, with more than natural tenderness, and that you respect me; as none of the least of your Creatures. This is a cause, why to keep me in your favour, and to ingage you in my in­terests, I will not tell you to your face, that you are the Chrysostome of our Church, that you are privy to the most secret intentions of Saint Paul, That there is neither Jew nor Gentile, that hearing you speak of the greatness and Dignitie of Christianitie, doth willinlgy submit himself to fol­low Christ, I will onely say, it hath been your will to be my Father, and that I am

My Lord,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 8. of Jan. 1630.

Another to him. LETTER L.

SIR,

YOu have a right to all occasions of doing good. I see not there­fore, how I can forbear to offer you one; and to the end, you may [Page 119] alwayes be meriting of thanks, why I should not alwayes be craving new courtesies. The bearer of this Letter is my near Kinsman, yet our friendship is nearer, than our alliance, and the knot which Nature made, virtue hath tied. I humbly entreat your Lordship, to let him see you slight not things, whereof I make such reckoning, and to do that for my sake, which you would much willinger do for his own sake, if he were known unto you. He is a man of mettal and spirit; and hath served the King in this Province, having also had the honour to be in person before him in very famous actions. At this time, he is trou­bled against all right and reason, and they that have drawn him from the exercise of his charge, to make him walk to Paris, have nothing to say, but that they do it of purpose to vex him. And therefore their manner of fight with him, is by flights and retreats, and they cast so many bones of difficulty, between his Judges and him, that it is impos­sible they should ever come to any issue. They are not able to hinder his justification at last; but they are able to delay, and keep him off a long time. You Sir, may save him this long journey, and may break this Project that Calumny sets on; if you please but to facilitate the overture, he will propose unto you, obtaining for him of — onely one quarter of an hours audience, I assure my self, he will not be loath to hear him, being able to inform him of the state of things in these parts; and which he will do faithfully, having thereof a special know­ledge. You shall therefore my Lord, infinitely oblige him, to take him into your protection, and you may be pleased to remember, that it is your dear Son, that makes this request unto you, one whom in the extasie of your Fatherly affection, you have sometimes called your glory; and the ornament of this age, who yet accounts no quality he hath so glorious, as that which he will never part with, whilest he lives; to be

My Lord,
Your, &c.
From Balzac 3. of April 1631.
FINIS.
A SUPPLY TO THE SECO …

A SUPPLY TO THE SECOND PART; OR, THE THIRD PART of the Letters of Mounsieur De BALZAC. Written by him in French, and Translated into English By Sr. R. B.

LONDON, Printed by J. G. for Francis Eglesfield, at the Marigold in St. Pauls Church-yard, 1654.

To my LORD, the Cardinall De la Valet. LETTER I.

SIR, being not able to bring you this untoward Pre­sent my selfe, I humbly entreat you to execuse mee that I send it. Wherein I bind you not to a second perusall, and to read that againe, which perhaps you have read already with distast. It is true Sir, that something is altered in the Copy, and well neere one halfe added to the Originall; but the spight is, that base Wares get no value by store, and the water that comes from the same Spring, can never be much differing: but if in any of the pas­sages, I have not altogether come off ill, and that I have had some tole­rable conceits, I acknowledge Sir, that I have had it all from the good education I had with you; and that it is the fruit of those Instructi­ons, which you have done me the honour to impart unto me. For, no man ever had conceits more pure, more pregnant, than your selfe; no man ever saw things more cleerly than you doe; you can tell pre­cisely in what degree of good and evill any thing stands; and to find out the truth, there needs no more, but to follow your Opinion. But to speake truly, I feare this quality in you, no lesse than I esteeme it; you have too much knowledge in you for a Discourse that requires simpli­city in the Reader. Neither am I so unadvised, to expose it to the se­verity of your judgement, I submit it rather to the protection of your goodnesse, and hope you will not lay open those faults, which none but your selfe shall see: Humbly entreating you to protect a spirit of your own making; and not so much to consider my manner of expressing, as the affection with which I am

Sir,
Yours, &c.

To the same as before. LETTER II.

SIR, I am negligent, for feare of being troublesome, and lest I should be Importunately complementall, I forebeare to shew my selfe officiously dutifull. But my fault growing from discretion, I hope you will not take it ill, that I have a care not to trouble you, and that you will pardon the intermission of my Letters, which hath no other end, but the solacing your Eyes. I seeke no colours of Art, to paint out the affection I owe to your service; This were to corrupt the natu­rall purity. Truth is simple and shamefast, and when shee cannot shew her selfe by reall effects, shee will scorne to do it by verball ex­pressions. It is not in my tongue to expresse her otherwise, than in such termes as are the engagements of a lye; and when I shall have made you most sincere protestations of inviolable fidelity, there will come a couzening companion that will out-vy me, and endeare him­selfe beyond all my oathes. I could wish there were some marke to di­stinguish protestations that are true, from those that are feigned; for if there were, I should have great advantage over many Courtiers, more officious and more hot in offering their service, than I am, and you should acknowledge that the eminency of your vertue, not to speake of the eminency of your dignity, is of no man more religiously reveren­ced, than of my selfe, who am, and ever will be

Sir,
Your, &c.

To Monsieur Godea. LETTER III.

SIR, Disguising will not serve your turne, you are a remarkable man, and whether it be that you call the dissembling of Art, Negli­gence, or that you cannot put off those ornaments, which are naurall in you; I let you know that the excellency of your stile, extends even to your familiar speech, and that you are able to sweeten it without sawcing it. A man may see that come springing and flowing from you, which in others is brought a far off, and that with engines; you gather [Page 3] that which others pull off, and though you write nothing loosly, yet you write nothing with streyning: yet I must tell you, they are not the pe­riods of your sentences, nor the pawses that winne me so much unto you; I am too grosse for such slender and fine threads; if you had no­thing but rich conceits and choice words, this were but the vertue of a Sophister, and I should place you in the number of things that may please, but not of things that one ought to love; I make more reckon­ing of the honesty of a dumbe man, than of the eloquence of a varlet: I looke after the good of society, and the comfort of life, and not after the delight of Theaters, and the amusement of company: Let us make then a serious profession of our duties, and let us give good examples to an evill age; let us make the world see, that the knowledge we have of vertue, is not meerly speculative; and let us justifie our Bookes and our Studies, that now are charged with the vices and imperfections of their Teach­ers. Philosophy is not made to be playd withall, but to be made use of, and we must count it an Armour, and not a painted Coate. They are men of the worst making, that now a dayes make the worst doing; sots take upon them to be subtle, and we have no more any tame Beasts amongst us, they are all savage and wilde. For my selfe, who have seene wickednesse in its Triumph, and who have sometime lived in the Countrey of subtlety and craft; I assure you, I have brought nothing from thence, but loathing and before ever I tasted it, was cloyed: I am exceeding glad to find you of the same diet, and doubt not of the Doctrine I Preach, seeing I read the same in your owne Letter; Believe it Sir, there is none more wholesome, none more worthy of our Creation. Which I am resolved to maintaine, even to Death, and will no more leave it, than the resolution I have made, to be without ceasing;

Sir,
Your, &c.

To Monsieur Godeau againe. LETTER IV.

SIR, I have known a good while, that you are no longer a Druyde, and that you lately made your entry into Paris: I doubt not but with magnificence enough, and not without bestowing some publike largesse. I never knew you go a forraging, that you returned not home laden with booty; and your Voyages have alwayes enriched your followers. I pretend my selfe to have a feeling of this, and though farre [Page 4] removed from the place where you act them, yet I doe not meane, that my absence should cause me to lose my share in the distribution of your good deeds. Cease not Sir, I entreat you, to bind me unto you, and to deserve well of our language. Fill our Closets with the fruits of your brain, and since you can do it, make us to gather more sheaves of Corn, than the best workmen hitherto have left us eares. My devotion stands waiting continually for your Christian workes, and I entreat you, they may be done in such a volume, that we may carry them handsomely with us to Church. That which I have seen of them, doth so exceeding­ly please me, that I would be a Poet for nothing else but with some in­different grace to praise them, and to say, ‘Verses blesse him that makes such blessed Verses.’

If I did not love you well, I should envy you the conversation of Monsieur Chaplaine, of which in a fortnight I received not one small spark by the ordinary Post. Thus I do but taft of that whereof you make full meales; yet remember, I have as good right in him as your selfe, and though I trust you with the keeping him, yet I do not quit my part in him; To him and you both, I am most affectionately.

Your, &c.

To Monsieur Conrat. LETTER. V.

SIR, had undertaken to have answered to every point of your elo­quent Letter, but when I had spent a whole moneth about it, I could not satisfie my selfe with my undertaking. That which I had written, was not worthy, me thought, that I should Father it; and I began to thinke I should doe you a great courtesie, to save you the reading of an ill Oration. But seeing of evills, the least are the best, you shall have cause to be pleased with this complement, which will cost you no more but one looke to looke over, and never put you to the labour of turning over the leafe. I have this onely to say at this time, that the report, which was spread of my death, hath not killed me, and that in despight of rumour and mortall Presages, I intend to be happy by your meanes, and not to forgoe the good fortune presented to me in your person: so I call your excellent friendship, with which no bur­den is heavy, no calamity dolorous. For I know I shall finde in you that ancient generousnesse, whereof Monsieur de la Nove, and Monsieur [Page 5] de Ferres, made profession: I account when I discover secrets to you, I hide them; and shall have no jealousie of my honour when I have put it into your hands. In such sort Sir, that my soule should be a ve­ry hard temper, if it did not feele a kind of tickling in so present and great adventages, and if I should not most perfectly be, as you oblige me to be,

Your, &c.

To my Lord the Bishop of Nantes. LETTER VI.

SIR, I was upon the point of sending my footman to you, when I saw your footman enter my Lodging, who brought me news ex­ceeding joyfull; and now I depend no longer upon Fortune, since another besides her self can make me happy; and am so indeed as much as I would wish, and should never know the value of your friendship, if I made it not the bounds of my ambition. To complaine of for­turne, and to be your favorite, are things that imply a mortall contra­diction: it is an easie matter to comfort a pension ill paid, when a man is in possession of store of treasure, and having neither the gift of impu­dency, nor of hypocrisie, it is not for me to prosper in an age which e­steeme them most that are owners of these qualities. It is enough for me, that M. the Cardinall doth me the honour to wish me well, and condemnes not your judgement of me; all other disgraces, from whence soever they come, I am prepared to beare, and take for a favour the contempt that is linked to the profession of vertue. But it is too much to say of me, that which Seneca said to Cato: Catonem saeculum suum parùm intellexit. These are transcendencies of Mr. de Nantes, and impostures of love. He stretcheth all objects to infinity, and all his comparisons are beyond proportion. The Sunne and the Starres are common things with him, and he can find noting in Nature godly enough to serve for a similitude of that he loves. It is this deceitfull passion hath made you believe, that I am of some great worth, and that my barren soile is fruitfull in high conceits. But Sir, I count all this nothing, if this love of yours peswade you not to come and stay a while in it, and to be mindfull of your word. I have put Monsieur — in hope hereof, and make my selfe sure since you have made me a so­lemne promise; knowing that Truth is resident upon the mouth of Bishops.

[Page 6]
Dixisti, venies, Grave & immutabile sanctis
Pondus adest verbis, & vocem fata sequuntur.

The Authour of these Verses shall be your fourth suppliant: it is one that hath been of your old acquaintance, and was accounted the Virgil of his time. I make use of him upon this occasion, because per­haps you will make more reckoning of him than of mee, who yet am more than any man in the World,

Sir,
Your, &c.

Another to my Lord Bishop of Nantes. LETTER VII.

SIR, I speake Latine but once a yeare, and yet as seldome as it is, it comes more upon hazard than out of knowledge, and holds lesse of learning than of rapture: vouchsafe therefore to take it in good part, that in my setled braines, I answer you in the vulgar Tongue, and tell you, that never Eares were more attentive, nor more prepared to hearing, than those of our family when I read your Letter before them: they were not satisfied to have onely a litterall interpretation, and to make me their Grammarian, but I must declaime upon it, and make a Paraphrase as large as a Commentary. If you will know the successe, I can truly say, that all the company was well satisfied; but I may tell you all, that they were ever ravished with admiration of your bounty, specially my Niece, who in the greatest vanity, that sex is capable of, ne­ver durst imagine she should ever have the honour to be praysed in Latin, and should serve for an Argument of commendation to the greatest Doctor of our age. Shee saith, this is a second obligation you bind her in, to make her a Romane after you have made her your daughter; and to give her so noble a Country, after giving her so worthy a Father. And yet to these two favours, I can adde a third, which she forgot: methinkes Sir, shee fattens and grows up with these prayses you give her; shee is fairer by one halfe than shee was before. And if from vertue there issue certaine beames, which enlighten the Objects that are neere it; and that beauty flowes from goodnesse, as from the Spring, I need not then goe farre to seeke from whence this varnish of her looke, this amiablenesse of her countenance, is growne upon her: It is cer­tainly [Page 7] your late benediction that hath painted her; and to speake it in the words of the Poet,

Formosam Pater esse dedit, Lumenque Juventae
Purpureum, & laetos oculis offlîrat honores.

I have considered of the Letter whereof you pleased to send mee a Copy, and in my judgement, you have all the reason in the World to rest satisfied with it. They could never have been more in favour of you, if you had endited them your selfe, and our friend himselfe had writ them: if you had been the King, and he the Secretary, if I be not deceived, this stile will bring a cooling upon the joy of — and make them see, they have at least mistaken one word for another, and that the absence of — hath not been a discharge of his authority, but one­ly a breathing from the labours of his charge. I am wrestling still with — and preparing you an after-dinners Recreation, which I will bring my selfe to Burdeaux, if you stay there till the next moneth. In the meane time, since you desire new assurances of my fidelity, I sweare unto you, with all the Religion of Oathes, and with all the li­berty and sinceri [...]y of the golden age, that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.

To Monsieur de la Nauue, Councellour of the King, in his first Chamber of Enquests. LETTER VIII.

SIR, my deare Cousin, your noblenesse is not of these times, but you are generous after the old fashion. To call the paines I put you to, a favour, and to thanke a man for persecuting you, this is a vertue which Orestes and Phylades perhaps knew, but is now no where to be found, but either in old fables, or in your Letter. The offers you make me, do not-so much give me a possession, as confirme me in it, and assure me the durablenes of a happinesse, which wants nothing of being per­fect, but being durable. Monsieur de — hath stretched his beliefe yet further; he hath told me of your comming into this Provience, and hath promised me at least some houres of those Grand dayes that bring you hither: if they were as long as those of Platoes year, they should not be too long for mee, if I might be so happy to spend them in your com­pany. [Page 8] I make account to husband the least minutes of it I can take bold of, and am about in such sort to deck up my Hermitage, that it may not be offensive to your eyes. I can present you but with grosse plea­sures and Country recreations; yet, you that are perfectly just, will not refuse to take a little contentment where you are perfectld loved, and preferre a lively passion, and a heart sincere, before false semblances and a dead maginificence. My complements are short, and I am by profession a very bad Courtier, but my words carry truth in them, and I am with all my soule,

Sir, my deere Cousin,
Your, &c.
At Balzac. June 1. 1634.

To Monsieur de la Motte le Voyer. LETTER IX.

SIR, I am going from Paris in hast, and carry with me the griefe, that I cannot stay to tell you in how great account I hold the offer you make me of your friendship. It this be the price of so poore a marchandise, as that I sent you, never was man a greater gainer by traffiking than I: and you seeme in this, not unlike those Indians, who thought to over-reach the Spaniards, by giving them Gold for Glasse. I have long since knowne your great worth, though you would not be knowne to have such worth in you; all the care you can take to hide the beauty of your life, cannot keep the lustre of it from dazeling mine eyes, and though you make your vertue a secret, yet I have pierced into it, and discovered it. And yet I must confesse unto you my infir­mity, I find it too sublime for me, and with my uttermost ability am not able to reach it; all I can doe, is to respect it with reverence, and to follow you with my eyes and thoughts. The World cannot raise it selfe above the pitch of the present age, and be wise in equall rank with Aristides and Socrates; I am contented to be in a lower forme of ver­tue, for I am a man, and they demy Gods, I neither aspire to be their equall, nor their rivall, much lesse Sir, to be their judge or accuser. Anitus and Melitus would be much mistaken in me, if they should think I would joyne with them in their accusation, as though I thought all opinions to be bad, which are not like mine own, I had rather think, that it is I that lose the sight of Orafius Tubero sometimes, than thinke that he is strayed, or out of the way; and rather charge my selfe with weak­nesse, than accuse him of rashnesse. Let him leave the middle Region of [Page 9] the ayre below him, and mount up above the highest; let him take up­on him to judge of humane things, from Shepheards to Kings, from shrubbes to starres, provided, that he be pleased to hold there, and bow his wings, and submit his reason to things divine. I have not time to tell you, how much I value him. Monsieur de — will at more leisure entertaine you with discourse about it, I onely will assure you, that what maske soever you put upon your face, I find you alwayes exceeding ami­able, and that I will ever be

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Paris, 6. Septemb. 1631.

To Madam de Villesavin. LETTER X.

MAdam, seeing it is my ill fortune, that I cannot find you then I come to see you, I entreat you to let me speak to you by an in­terpreter, and that I may make this benefit of my being so farre from Paris, to have a right of writing to you, when I could not have the power of speaking with you. Indeed, as long as you were taken up with enter­taining your deare sonne, whom long absence had made, as it were new unto you, and as long as you were tasting the first joyes which his returne had brought with it; It had been a great indiscretion in a stranger, to intrude himselfe into your private feast, and trouble the liberty of your familiar conversation, but now that your extasies of joy are over-passed, and that a more calme estate makes you sociable to o­thers abroad: Now Madam, you may vouchsafe to accept my comple­ment, and to heare me say, with my Countrey freedome, that you want much of that I wish you, if you want any thing of absolute felicity. I make no doubt but Monsieur Bourbillier your sonne, as he parted from hence a right honest man, so he is turned hither an understanding man; and that to the lights, which are given by Nature, he hath added those that are gotten by practice, and by conference. The ayre of Italy, which is so powerfull in ripening of fruits, hath not been lesse favour­able to the seeds of his spirit, and having been at the spring-head of hu­mane prudence, I assure my selfe, he hath drawn deepe of it, and hath filled his minde with so many new and sublime knowledges; that even his Father (if it were not for the great love he beares him) might not unjustly grow jealous at it. This, Madam, is that happinesse I speak to you of, and which I have alwayes wished to you, and to which, there can nothing be added, but to see shortly so excellent an instrument set [Page 10] a worke, and so able a man employed in great affaires. When this shall be, I shall then see the successe of my ancient predictions, and of that I have long read in his very face; so that, you may well thinke, I shall take no distast at your contentment, as well for the reputation of my skill in Physnomy and Prognosticating, as for that I perfectly am

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac. 2. Octob. 1631.

To Monsieur de Gomberville. LETTER XI.

SIR, the mischance at the Tuilliries, hath disqui [...]ted me all night, and my unquietnesse would have continued still, if you had not [...]en the paines to calme it. The newes you send me, gives me life; A [...]an cannot be innocent whom Madam de Maisonfort judgeth culpa­ble, shee is not one that will complaine where there is no fault; and tru­ly, if she had taken the mischance of her page in another fashion than she did, I would rather have abandoned reason than maintaine it against her, and would not have trusted my own testimony, if she rejected it. You remember, that but hearing her Name, I fell down in a trance, and that the very sight of her livery, struck into me a religious horrour, and a trembling respect, which is not borne, but to things Divine. And in this ranke, I place so rare a beauty as hers is; and though I be no man of the World, yet I am not so very a stranger to the occurrents of the World, but that I very well know, she is universally adored; I must not alwayes passe for an Hermite; this I am sure, she carries with her the desires and vowes of all the Court, and shee leads in triumph those Gallants, who have themselves triumphed over our enemies: yet I know withall, they depend more upon her by their own passion, than by her endeavours, and follow without being drawne. These are Cap­tives, whom she trusts upon their word, for their true imprison­ment, and whom she suffers to be their owne Keepers. In the course she holds of honesty, her favours are so morall, or so light, that either they content none but the wise, because they desire no more than what is given them; or none but the unwise, because they take that to be given them, which was never meant them; so there are some per­haps well satisfied, but it is by the force of their imagination, and no bo­dy hath cause to be proud of a Fortune, which no body possesseth. As her vertue is as cleare as the fire that sparkles in her eyes, so her reputa­tion [Page 11] is as much without blemish as her beauty; and of this, honest people give testimony by their words, and Detractors by their silence. Shee makes thornes that they cannot prick, and makes slander it selfe to learne good manners. And therefore Sir, I should be very unfortu­nate, it I had been cause of displeasing her, whom all the World en­deavours to please; and it would be a shame to our Nation, that a Frenchman should beare himselfe unreverently towards her, to whom very Barbarians would beare a reverence. If this mis-fortune had be­fallen me, it is not the saving my Pages life, should make me stand in the defence; and I would never desire to augment my traine, but to the end I might have the more sacrifices to offer upon the Altar of her choler. But she is too mercifull to punish mean Delinquents, and too generous, to give petty Examples: shee reserves her justice for the Great ones, and the Proud; for those who having more tender senses, are better able to feele the weight of her anger; or else in truth her purpose is to shew me a particular favour, by a publike declaration, and to let the World see, shee makes a reckoning of that of which the World makes none. And knowing what the gratefulnesse of good Letters is, shee is desiro [...] to have them in her debt▪ shee payes our studies before-hand, for the fruit she expects from them, and obligeth the Art which can prayse the Obligation: shee is made believe, that I have some skill in this Art, and I perceive I am not in so little respect with her as I thought; and of this I am assured, by the paines it cost you, to make her take her Page againe that was hurt; and by the civill language shee desired you to deliver from her. It exceeded indeed all bounds of moderation, and it seemes shee would not onely for my sake protect an innocent, but would be ready, if need were, to reward a delinquent. For acknowledgement of which generous goodnesse, all my own spirit, and all my friends put together, can never be too much. It is particularly your selfe to whom I must have recourse in this occasion; you Sir, who set the Crown up­on Beaut [...]es head, who have the power to make Queens at your plea­sure; and to whom Olympia and Yzatide are beholding for their Em­pire: having bestowed so great glory upon persons that never were; and set all France a running after Phantasmes, you may well take upon you to defend the reputation of a sensible and living vertue, and choose a subject that may be thankefull to you for your choice; and this is a matter yon cannot deny, of which we will talke more, and conclude it after dinner in presence of the Lady that is interessed in it, into whose presence, I must entreat you, to be my Usher to bring me, that so I may ever more and more be,

Sir,
Your most humble and most obliged servant, &c.
At Paris, 1. June. 1631.

To Monsieur de Villiers Hottoman. LETTER XII.

SIR, being equally tender of the good will you beare me, and of the account you make of me, I cannot chose but rest well satisfied with your remembring me, and with the judgement you deliver of my writings; you are not a man that will bear [...] false witnesse, and you have too much honesty to deceive the World, but withall, you have too much understanding to be deceived your selfe, and one may well re­ly upon a wisdome that is confirmed by time and practice. This is that which makes me to make such reckoning of your approbation, and such account of your counsell, that I shall be loath to be defective in the least tittle of contenting you. It it farre from me, to maintaine a point, that you oppose: I give it over at the first blow, and yield at the first summons: yet I could never have thought, that of a jeast, there should have been made a fault, or that a poore word, spoken without de­signe or ayming at any, should have been the cause of so great com­plaints. You know, that in a certaine moderne Schoole, there is a dif­ference made, Fra la virtu faemi [...]ile; & la Donnesca; and it is held, that to make love, it more the vice of a woman, than of a Princesse; and lesse to be blamed in the person of Semiramis or Cleopatra, than in the person of Lucretia or Virginia: I carry not my opinions so farre, and I meane to be no Authour of so extravagant a Morality. It may suffice, that without descending from the Thesis to the Hypothesis, I protest unto you, I should be very sorry, I had trenched upon the reputation of that great Queene, or intended to corrupt the me­mory of so excellent an odour, as shee hath left behinde her; of whose great worthinesse, I have in other places sayd so much, that I should but shame my selfe to say any otherwise; and indeed, the termes I used were free, and not injurious, and such, as if they wound a little, they tickle and delight much more: I neither spake disgracefully of the dignity of her royall birth, nor gave her any odious or uncivill Names, as some others have done, whom I condemne extreamly for it; yet Sir, I will yield to confesse, that I have said too much, and though my saying too much should have attractives to charme mee, and were as deare to mee as any part of my selfe, yet seeing it is distastfull to you, I will for your sake cut it cleane off, and never looke for fu [...]ther reasons to induce mee to it. I can deny nothing to my friends, and therefore make no doubt of the power you have over mee, and [Page 13] of my testifying, upon this occasion, without opening my Eyes, that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 4. Jan. 1632.

To Monsieur de Borstell. LETTER XIII.

SIS, I am so farre from seeking to justifie my negligence, that I will not goe about so much as to excuse it: nothing but my being dead, can be a valuable reason why I waited not upon you, to offer you my service; all other impediments would prove too light, to have kept me here: but such is your graciousnesse, that it is impossible to fall foule with you; such your indulgence, that you remit a fault before I can confesse it: you give me no leisure to aske you, at the very first, you oblige me to thanke you, and I have received my pardon here at home, which I never looked to obtaine, but at Oradeur, and that with long solliciting. I have not yet seene the AmbassatriΣ, who hath done me the favour to bring it to me, and I cannot imagine, shee should be surprized with that despaire, as your Letter represents her in. Alciones affliction, in respect of hers, would be but meane, and those women whose teares Antiquity hath hollowed, did but hate their Husbands, in comparison of her: I know not whether you doe her a pleasure, to raise her sorrow to so high, a pitch; for after this you speake of, shee shall never be allowed to lift up her Eyes, and you give her a reputa­tion whereof shee is not worthy, if shee leave but one haire upon her Head. I much distast your exaggerations, and cannot thinke shee will beare you out in the report you make of her miserable estate: if it were such, as you make it, it would be capable of no remedy: Epictetus and Seneca, would be too meane Physitions, to take her in hand; yet I meane not to contradict you:

I thinke when death her Husband seaz'd,
Angelica with her Fates displeasd,
Lookt pale i'th face as Alabaster:
Charging the guiltlesse Starres with blame
In all th'hard Language Rage could frame,
When it is growne the Reasons Master.

Yet the glory of her spirit mak [...]s me believe withall, that this sad [Page 14] humour was but a Fit, and continued not long, and that the same day upon the tempest there followed a calme. A man shall meet with some Women of such spirits, that neither time nor Philosophy can worke upon them; and some others againe, that prevent the worke of time and Philosophy, by their owne naturall constitution. As there is some flesh so hard to heale, that no Balme can cure the prick but of a pinne; so againe, there are some bodies so well composed, that their wounds are healed with plaine Spring-water, and they close and grow together of themselves. I assure my selfe, our faire Lady is of this perfect tem­per, and that she would be no example, to make Widowes condemned for curling their locks, or for wearing their mourning gowns edged with greene. You should alledge unto her the Princesse Leonina, so highly esteemed of the Court of Spaine, and the prime ornament of this last age. Knowing that her Husbands quirry was come, to relate unto her the particular of his death, and hearing that his Secretary was to come the morrow after, she sent the quirry word, to forbeare comming to see her, till the Secretary were come, that so she might not be obliged to shed teares twice. There is no vertue now adayes so common as constancy, nor any thing so superfluous, as the custome of comfor­ting. All the Steele of Biscay, and all the poyson of Thessalic, might well enough be trusted in the hands of the mourners of our time, with­out doing any hurt. I scarce know a man that would not be glad to out live, not onely his friends and parents, but even the age he lives in, and his very Country, and rather than die, would willingly stay in the World himselfe alone. Speake therefore no more of keeping Angeli­ca here by force, who in my opinion is not of her selfe unwilling; and not having lost the King of Sweden, may therefore the more easily re­paire her losse. I would to God Sir, I could be no sadder than shee is, and that I could forget a person, who is at this present the torment of my spirit; as he hath heretofore been the delight of my eyes▪ but melan­cholick men doe not so easily let goe the hold of their passions, and the good remedies you have sent to comfort me for his death, I approve them all, but apply none of them: yet I give you a thousand thankes, though six moneths after they were due; and though I say not often, yet I say it most truly, that you shall never take care of any man, that is more than my selfe,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 30. Aprill. 1633.

To Madam — LETTER XIIII.

MAdam, seeing I could not come to see you at your departure, as I was bound to doe, I doe not think▪ I shall doe you any wrong to send you a better companion than that I promised you; I meane the Booke I now send you, whereof you have heard so much talke, and which you meant to have carried with you into Perigord, to be your comforter for the losse of Paris. It is in truth worthy of the good opinion you have of it, and of the impatience with which I am a witnesse, you have expected it. And if wagers have been layd upon Queenes great bellies, and assurance given they should be brought abed of a sonne, why should I won­der that you have given beforehand, your approbation of a thing that deserves the approbation of all the world? It will certainly bring you out of ta [...] with the present I gave you, when you de­sired me to looke you out some of my Compositions. In it you shall find that, that will shorten the longest dayes of this season; That, that will keepe you from tediousnesse when you are alone; That, that will make you thanke me for my absence. For to say true, all visits will be unseasonable to you, when you set your selfe to the Recreation of so sweet a reading; and whosoever shall come to trouble you at such a time, must needs have from you some secret maledictions, what civilities soever you make shew of, as your custome is. I would be loath to fall into this inconvenience, it is better I give my opinion afar off, and in a Letter, which you may entertain without any solemnitie: since then you will have me beleeve, that my judgment is not altogether bad, nor my o­pinions wholly unsound; I professe unto you Madam, that setting aside the affection I beare to the Author of this work, I have ob­served in the worke it selfe, a number of excellent things, which I could not chuse but prayse, even in an enemy. He is not so cholerick I hope, but that he will pardon me if I say that he is one of the most pleasing lyars that ever I saw. I complaine not of his impostures, but when he ceaseth to deceive me, because I would gladly have them last alwayes. His History hath quite remov­ed my spirit out of its place, and hath touched to the quicke all that I have sensible in me. I will not hide my weaknesse: I knew at first, that the painting I looked on, was all false, yet I could not hold from having as violent passions, as if it had been true, and as if I had seene it with mine eyes: sometimes sorrow [...]ull, some [Page 16] times glad; as it pleaseth Monsieur de Bois Robert to tell me tales of good or bad fortune. I find my selfe interessed in good earnest in all the affayres of his imaginary Kings; I am put in feare for the poore A [...]axandra, more than I can expresse, and as much I am humbled for the mis-fortunes of Lisimantus, and I have seen them both in such extremities, that I made solemne vowes for their safetie, when at the very height they were miraculously delivered. In conclu­sion Madam, though I have a heart hard enough, and eyes not very moyst, yet I could not forbeare to shed teares, in spight of my selfe; and I have been even ashamed to see, that they were but the dreames and fancies of another man, and not my owne proper evils which put into me such true passions. This is a tyrannicall power, which the sense usurpeth over the reason, and which makes us see, that the neighbour-hood of the imagination is extreamly contagious to the intellectuall part, and that there is much more body than soule in this proud creature, which thinks it selfe borne to command all others. The Aethiopick History hath oftentimes given me these Alarums, and I cannot yet read it without suffering my selfe to be deceived. As for other writings of this kinde, it is true, I make some choice, and run not after all Spanish Romances, with equall pas­sion. They are indeed for the most part, but Heliodorus in other clothes, or as — sayd, but children borne of Theagenes and Chariclea, and seeme to resemble their Father and Mother so neere, that there is not a haires breadth of difference betweene them. But in this worke Madam, I make you promise you shall see novelties, and shall find in it this sweet ayre of the wide world, and these dainties of the spirit, which are not common in our Provinces. I confesse unto you, there is in some passages something that may seeme too much painted, and perhaps too garish, and which will not beare examining by the rigour of Precepts; but then you must confesse as well that Fables looke chiefly after beautie, and care not though it be a little immodest, seeing this kinde of writing is rather a loose Poesie, than a regular prose. As soone as I shall be able to ride, I will come and heare your Oracles hereupon, and tell you, as I use to doe, that as your selfe is one of the perfectest things I ever saw, so I am more than any other,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 10. August, 1629.

To Monsieur Hobier, President of the Treasures in the Generalitie of Bourges: LETTER XV.

SIR, though you should say, I present you alwayes with flowers that prick you, and offer you services that may seeme unseasona­ble, yet I cannot forbeare the sollicitations of my Letters, nor the trading with you by this way of Complements. The Booke which I have desired Monsieur de — to deliver to you, shall passe if you please, but for a petition to obtaine an audience; and I am contented that my discourses Morall and Politick, shall contribute nothing to the mending of my own fortune, so they may contribute something to the recommending of my Sisters businesse: if it become me to speake of a person that is so neere unto me, and if you thinke me worthy to be credited in the testimony I shall give of her, I am able Sir, to say thus much, that shee is a woman, either lifted up by her own strength above the passions of her sexe, or that Nature hath exempted her from them, by a peculiar priviledge: so farre, as that amongst us, shee stands for an example, and leads a life that is the edification of all our Province. But though shee make profession of severe vertues, yet shee aspires to no glory by sullen humours; shee hath nothing muddy, nor clownish in her, but tempers her au­sterity with so much exterior sweetnesse, that without endeavouring to please any, shee seemes to be pleasing to all the world. I therefore sollicite you for her, in behalfe of all the world, and crave your fa­vour with violence; for to crave it with discretion, would make but a weake shew of the desire I have to obtain it. In matters that con­cerne my selfe onely, I am held backe by a certaine naturall timou­rousnesse, which makes me oftentimes to be wanting to my selfe; but in that which concernes her, I observe not so much as honest re­spects, but am bold, even to temeritie; and if therein I should not doe too much, I should never thinke I did enough: and yet this is a fault, which leaves no remorse behinde it; the merit of the subject justifies the importunitie of the suppliant; and when you shall know her better you will find no great excesse in that I write, and will blesse my persecution. You have already obliged us exceedingly, and have put the business in an infallible way of prospering; it only remaines Sir that you crowne your courtesie, and draw a conclu­ding word from the parties, whom I shall call Publicans, and cou­ple them with Heathens, if they be not converted and led with that [Page 38] you shall say unto them: but I cannot doubt of the effect of your perswasions, who know, that both by your tongue, and by your pen, you practise out Art, with assured successe. Let us now see the proofe of it, in this occasion, and I promise you, that never favour was more commended, nor shall be more recommended, than yours shall be. The consideration of a good deed being joyned to that of ver­tue, you shall possesse me by a double title, and I shall not be lesse of due, than I am by choice,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 25. Decemb. 1631.

To Mounsieur de Coupeauville, Abbot of the victory. LETTER XVI.

SIR, seeing the Relations that come from Paris tell us no Newes at all of you, I entreat you to be your owne Historian, and not suffer me to be punctually informed of a thousand things, that are indifferent to me, and remaine altogether ignorant of the state of your health, which is so infinitely deare unto mee. It is very likely, you have all the care that may be of it, as of a thing necessary for ex­ercising the functions of a vertuous life; and I doubt not but you containe your selfe alwayes in that excellent meane, which is between disorder and mortification. You are no longer hungry after the Glory of Germanie, and if the Artillery of the Vastoline carry not so farre as the Realie, I asure my selfe, it can doe you no hurt: my minde therefore is at quiet in that point, and I am not afraid to lose you, as I have lost some other valiant friends; and you doe well to leave the Warre to others, and stay your selfe upon the Victory. I aske your pardon for this untoward Aequivocall word, I have rather written it than thought it, and and it is a mis-fortune which surprizeth me but very seldome: I on­ly say Sir, that it is better to be Abbot a dozen miles from Paris, than to be Generall of an Armie in Thuringia or Westphaelia; and that a Crosse of so many pounds a yeare, is much more worth than either Hercules club, or Rowlands sword, and that he that gave you so honest and so rich an idlenesse, hath not ill deserved of your Philosophy, to which I recommend me with all my heart, and wish unto it the continuance of this happie repose; but upon condition, that it make you not distaste our friendship, and suffer you to place one of the most noble vertues of the mind in the number of her ma­ladies [Page 18] and infirmities. Be not a Doctour so farre as that, and re­member, you are my debtor for some affection, if you forget nor, that I am

Sir
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 25. Decemb. 1632.

To Monsieur de Forgues, Commander of a Com­pany in Holland LETTER XVII.

SIR, my deare Cousin, I thinke my self a rich man with the goods you have given me: another that should have received the same present, should not owe you for it the same obligation, but the opinion of things, is the measure of their value, and because I have neither mind nor eyes that be covetous, I account the Emeraudes of your Peacock, of as great a price as those of Lapidaries: at least, whereas they are without life and motion, these live and moove in my base Court; I know my riches, and am known by them, and af­ter I have read my selfe starke blind, I goe and refresh my wearied sight in that admirable verdure, which is to me both a recrea­tion and remedie. Base objects not onely offend my imagination, but even provoke my choler; and I should never receive a Monkey from the best of my friends but only to kill it: but I vow unto you, that beautie pleaseth me wheresoever I meet it; yet because it is a dan­gerous thing in womens faces, I like better to behold it in the fea­thers of birds, and in the enamelling of flowers. Pleasures so chast, are compatible with Lent, and offend not God: and therefore upon these one houre in a day, I take pleasure to stand gazing and amuse my selfe: I thanke you for it with all my heart, and passionately am▪

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 7. March. 1634.

To Madam d'Anguitur. LETTER XVIII.

MAdam, It shall never be laid to my charge, that you speake of me with honour, and that I understand it without feeling. A good opinion is obligatory, from whence so ere it come, but in­finitely more, when it comes from an exquisite judgement, as yours is; and I doubt not, but Socrates was more touched and tickled with that one word the Oracle spake of him, than with all the prayses the world had given him. The favourable discourses you have held of me, ought not to be held of me in lesse account than words indeed inspired, & if I should place them in the number of humane testimonies, I should shew my selfe ignorant, that it is Hea­ven which hath been your Instructour; and that from thence you have received those cleere lights, whereof the Starres are but shadowes. I doe not amplifie any thing at adventure, nor suffer my selfe to be swayed with flattery, but in this point of Illumination, Madam, I alwayes except matters of Faith, least your Ministers should take advantage of my words. We must needs, I say, hold for certaine, that either you have been instructed by an extraordina­ry way, or confesse that you owe it all to your self, and that com­ming to know the truth, without studie and discipline, your vertue is a meere work of your owne making. It is no small matter for one that lives in parts remote from the Court, to be but tolerably reaso­nable, and able to maintaine his common sense against so many opposites and oppositions, as he shall meet with; but in those re­mote parts, where you have no choice of Examples, there to discover the Idaea, from whence Examples are taken, to breath in an infect­ed Ayre, and full of Errours; and yet reteine still sound opinions; to be continually opposed with extravagant questions, and yet al­wayes returne discreet answers; To take pittie of silly Buffons, when others admire them; to make a difference between jeasts picked up here and there, and those that come from the Spring it selfe; betweene wise discourses, and harmonious fooleries: between a sufficiency that is solid, and that which is onely painted; to doe these things Madam, ought to be called even halfe a miracle: and no lesse a raritie in these dayes than in former times, it was to see a white Aethiopian, or a Scythian Philosopher. Our Country may justly be proud of so admirable a birth; It is the great worke of her famous faecunditie, and wee may boldly say, there is that found in Saintoigne, which is wanting in the Circle; that which hinders the Court from being compleat, and that which is necessary for the per­fecting [Page 21] of Paris it selfe. But as well here as there Madam, if ever you will heare the vowes of those who wish your hapinesse, I would think it fit, you should not make your selfe a spectacle for the vulgar, nor suffer your entertainment to be a recreation for idle persons. It deserves not to be approached unto without preparation; and that they should examine themselves well, who present themselves be­fore it. All spirits at all times are not capable of so worthy a commu­nication, and therefore, let men say what they will, I account the re­servations you make of your selfe, to be very just, and it cannot be thought strange, that being as you are of infinite value, you take some time to possesse your selfe alone, and not to lose your right of reigning; which admits, as no division, so no Company. To use it otherwise Madam, would not be a civiltie, or a courtesie, but indeed an ill husbanding of your spirit, and a wastfull profusion of those singular graces, of which, though it be not fit you should de­prive them that honour you, yet it is fit you should give them out by tale, and distribute them by measure. It is much better, to have lesse generall designes, and to propose to ones selfe, a more limited reputation, than to abandon ones spirit to every one that will be talking, and to expose it to the curiositie of the people, who leave al­wayes a certain taynt of impuritie upon all things they looke up­on: by such vicious sufferance, we find dirt and mire carried into Ladies Closets: if there come a busie fellow into the Countrey, presently honest women are besieged, there is thronging to tell them tales in their eares; and all the world thinks, they have right to torment them: and thus, saving the reverence of their good report, though they be chaste, yet they be publike; and though they can spie the least fullying upon their ruffes, yet they wil­lingly suffer a manifest soiling of their noblest part. You have done Madam, a great act, to have kept your self free from the tirannie of custome, and to have so strongly fortified your selfe a­gainst uncivill assaylants; that, whilst the Louver is surprized, your house remaines impregnable. I cannot but magnifie the ex­cellent order, with which you dispose the houres of your life; and I take a pleasure to thinke upon this Sanctuary of yours, by the on­ly reverence of vertue made inviolable: in which, you use to retire your selfe, either to injoy more quietly your repose, or otherwise, to exercise your selfe in the most pleasing action of the world, which is the consideration of your selfe. If after this your happie solitude, you come sometimes and cast your eyes upon the book I sent you, you shall therein Madam, doe me no great favour: the things you shall have thought, will wrong those you shall reade; and so it shall not be a grace, but an affront I shall receive, I therefore hum­bly [Page 22] entreat you, there may be some reasonable intermission between two actions, so much differing: Goe not streight from your selfe to me, but let the relish of your owne meditation be a little passed over, before you goe to take recreation in my worke. To value it to you, as a piece of great price, or otherwise, to vilifie it, as a thing of no value, might justly be thought in me an equall vanity. They who praise themselves, desire consent, and seeke after others appro­bation; they who blame themselves, seeke after opposition, and de­sire they may be contradicted. This latter humilitie is no better than the others pride. But to the end, I may not seeme to goe to the same place, by a third way, and desire to be praysed, at least with that indifferency I ascribe to you; I entreat you Madam, that you will not speake the least word, either of the merit of my labour, or in default of merit, of the fashion of language I have used in speak­ing to you: I meane not to put this Letter upon the score; to speake plainly, I entreat you to make me no answer to it, so farre I am off, from expecting thanks for it. It is not, Madam, a pre­sent I make you, it is an homage I owe you; and I pretend not to oblige you at all, but onely to acquit my selfe of the first act of veneration, which I conceive I owe you, as I am a reasonable crea­ture, and desiring all my life to be,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 4. May. 1634.

To Monsieur Balthazar, Councellour of the King, and Treasurer Generall of Navarre. LETTER XIX.

SIR, I never deliberate upon your opinion, nor ever examine a­ny mans merit, when you have once told me what to beleeve. But yet, if I should allow my selfe the libertie to do otherwise, I could but still say, that I find Monsieur de — well worthy the account you hold him in, and my selfe well satisfied of him, upon his first acquaintance. By further conversation, I doubt not, but I should yet discover in him more excellent things, but it is no easie matter, ever to bring us together againe: For, he is a Carthusian in his Garrison, and I an Hermite in the Desart; so [Page 23] as that which in our two lives makes us most like, is that which makes us most unlikely ever to meet: yet I sometimes heare newes of him; and I can assure you, he is but too vigilant in looking to his Charge; hee hath stood so many Rounds and Sentinells, that it is impossible, he should be without rhumes, at least, till Mid­somer. These are, to speake truly, workes of supererogation; for I see no enemy this Province need to feare, unless perhaps, the Persian or Tartarian: the very Name of the King is generally forti­fication enough, over all his Kingdome; and as things now stand, Vangirod is a place impregnable; that if Demetrius came againe into the world, he would lose his reputation before the meanest village of Beausse: but this is one of your politician subtilties, to make Angoulesme passe for a Frontier Towne, and to give it esti­mation, that it may be envied. Doubt not, but I shall give you lit­tle thankes for this, seeing by this meanes you are cleane gone from us, and I must be faine to make a journey of purpose into Languedoc, if I ever meane to enjoy the contentment of embracing you, and of assuring you, that I am▪

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 1. March. 1633.

To Monsieur de Serizay. LETTER XX.

SIR, if you were but resident at Paris, I should hope sometimes to heare of your Newes, but now that you are bewitched there, it will be an ungratefull worke for you to reade mine. They are alwayes such as must be pittied. In my way there are as many stones to dash against, as in yours there are flowers: and life it selfe is as evill that I suffer, as it is a good that you enjoy: you left me blind, and may now find me lame; my causes of complaining never cease, they doe but change place; and the, favours I receive are so husbanded, that I cannot recover an eye, but by the losse of a leg. I was yesterday in a great musing upon this, when suddenly a great light shined in my Chamber, and dazeled mine eys, even as I lay in my bed. And not to hold you long in sus­pense, the Name of the Angel I mean, was Madam d' Estissac, who thus appeared unto me, and willing to make the world see, how much she hath profited in Religion, runs after all occasions, to put her Chri­stian vertues in practise. This somwhat abates the vanity I should otherwise have taken in her visit; for, I see it is rather charitie than [Page 24] courtesie, and I am so much beholding to my infirmitie for it, that shee made a doubt whether I were sicke enough to merit it; as much as to say, a Paralitick should have had this courtesie from her sooner than I. They must be great miseries that attract her great favours; pietye which teacheth the fayrest hands of the world to bury the dead, may well get of the fairest eyes that ever were, some gracious looks to comfort the afflicted. What ere it be, I have found by experience, that no sadness is so obstinate and clowdie, but pleasing objects may dissolve and pierce, nor any Philosopher so stony and insensible, but may be softned and awaked by their lightest impression. I verily thinke, another of her visits would have set me on my legges, and made me able to goe: but shee thought me not worthy of a whole miracle, and therefore I must content my selfe with this beginning of my cure. I enforme you of these things, as being one that reverenceth their cause, and as one loves me too well, to make slight of the goods or evills I impart unto him. This last words of my Letter shall serve, if you please, for a corrective to the former, I revoke it as a blasphemie, and will never beleeve, that all the Magick in Paris, is able to make you forget a man, whom you have promised to love, and who passionate­ly is,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 3. July. 1633.

Another to him. LETTER XXI.

SIR, this is the first opportunitie I could get to write unto you, and to comfort my selfe for your absence by this imperfect way, which is the only meanes left mee to enjoy you. These are but sha­dowes and figures of that true contentment, I received by your pre­sence; but since I cannot be wholly happie, I must take it in good part that I am not wholly miserable. I will hasten all I can to fi­nish the businesse I have begun, thereby to but my selfe in state to see you; and if my mind could goe as fast as my will, I should my selfe be with you as soone as my Letter. It is true, there cannot be a more delicate and daintie place, than this where I live banish­ed; and a friend of ours said, that they who are in exile here, are farre happier than Kings in Muscovia: but being separated from a man so infinitely deere unto mee, I doe not thinke, I could live contented in the fortunate Islands; and I should be loath to accept [Page 25] of felicitie it selfe, if it were offered me, without your company. Wherefore assure your selfe, that as soone as I can rid my selfe of some importunate visits, which I must necessarily both receive and give, I will not lose one moment of the time, that I have destina­ted to the accomplishment of — and will travaile much more assiduously than otherwise I should doe, seeing it is the end of my travaile, that only can give me the happinesse of your presence. In the meane time, I am bound, first to tell you, that I have seene here — and then to give you thankes for the good cheare he hath made me. He believes upon your word, that I am one of much worth, and gives me Encomiums, which I could not expect from his judgment, but that you have corrupted it, by favouring me too much. I earnestly entreat you, to let me heare from you, upon all occasions; and to send me by the Post the two books, which I sent for to Monsieur — if you have not received them of him al­ready; but above all, I desire you, that we may lay aside all medi­tation and art in writting our Letters; and that the negligence of our stile may be one of the marks of the friendship between us: and so Sir, I take my leave and am with all my soule,

Your, &c.
At Balzac, 2. Decemb. 1628.

Another to him. LETTER XXII.

SIR, either you meane to mocke me, or I understand not the termes of your Letter; I come to you in my night gowne, and my night cap upon my head, and you accuse me for being too fine. You take me for a cunning merchant, who am the simplest creature in the world: if another should use me thus, I should not take it so patiently; but what ere your designe be, I count my selfe happie to be the subject of your joy, and that I can make you merry, though it be to my cost: when I write to you, I leave my selfe to the conduct of my penne, and neither thinke of the dainties of our Court, nor of the severitie of our Grammar; that if there be any thing in my Letters of any worth, it must needs be, that you have falsified them, and so it is you that are the Mountebanke, and will utter your counterfeits for true Diamonds. You know well, that Eloquence is not gotten so good cheape, and that to terme my un­toward, language, by the name of this qualitie, is a superlative to the highest of my Hyperboles. Yet it seemes, you stand in no awe [Page 26] of Father — as though you had a priviledge, to speake without controul, things altogether unlikely; for this first time, I am con­tent to pardon you, but if you offend so againe, I will enforme against you, and promise you an honourable place in the third part of Philarchus. The man you wrote of, hath no passions now, but wise and stayed; he hath given over play, and women, and all his delight now is in his bookes and vertue. Rejoyce, I pray you, at his happie conversion, and if you be his friend so much, and so much a Poet, as to shew your selfe in publicke, you may doe well to make a Hymne in prayse of Sicknesse; as one hath heretofore done in prayse of Health: for to speak truly, it is his sicknesse that hath healed him, and hath put into him the first meditations of his salvation: I expect great Newes from you by the next Post, and passionately am

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 25. Decemb. 1628.

To Monsieur Ogier. LETTER XXIII.

SIR, I cannot but confesse that men in misery never found a more powerfull Protectour than your selfe; and that you seeme borne to be a defender of oppressed innocency. The Fathers of the Minimme Order, are as much beholding to you as my selfe; whose right, you have so strongly maintained, that if I did not know you well, I should verily think, the Saint you speake of, had inspired you. And as by his prayers he gaines a jurisdiction over the fruitfulnesse of Princesses, so by the same prayers he hath con­tributed assistance to this excellent worke you send mee. After this, it is not to be sufferd you should make shew of nicenesse; and tell me of your sloathfulnesse. When fire shall cease to be active, I will then beleeve, you can be sloathfull; but will never thinke you hate bookes, untill — shall give over his suits in Law; or if I must needs give credit to your words, I then assure my selfe, this distast could never come unto you, but by your too great fare, nor this wearinesse, but by your too great labour. I am my selfe a witnesse of your assiduitie in studie; and you know how early soever I rise in the morning, I alwayes find you in the Chamber next to the Meteors; which high region, I conceive you have chosen, that you may be the neerer to take in the inspirations of Heaven. I thinke it long [Page 27] till I come and visit you there, to take counsell of your Muses in a number of difficulties I have to propound unto you. In the meane time, I have this to say, that the Newes you send me, hath even astonished me, and it seemes to me, a kinde of Enchantment. Mon­sieur — will shew you certaine Letters, which I entreat you to consider of, and by which you shall see, that if I be deceived, yet it is not grossely, nor without much cunning used. Make me behold­ing to you, by opening your minde more particularly in this matter, and by beleeving that I am with all my heart,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 4. Feb. 1629.

Another to him. LETTER XXIV.

SIR, there is no friendship in the world of more use than yours: it is my Buckler in all my battels, it is my Consolation in all my calamities; but specially, it is my Oracle in all my doubts. That which before I have your advice, I propose to my selfe with trembling, as soone as once I have your approbation, I make it a Maxime, and an Aphorisme: and when I have once consulted with you, never did an Ignoramus take upon him to be some great Doctour better than I doe: You have knowledge enough to serve your owne turne, and your friends; you are the God that inspires the Sibyllae: for my selfe, I am no longer an Authour, but an Interpreter, and speake nothing of my selfe; but preach onely doc­trine. I give you a thousand thankes for your great magnificence, in giving me so great a treasure, and for the learned Observation [...] you have been pleased to communicate unto me: Assure your selfe I will cry them up in good place, and make your Name alledged solemnly for an Authority. Gratefulnesse is the poore mans best vertue, and seeing I cannot be liberall, I will endeavour, at least, not to be unmindfull: And so Sir, I am most perfectly, and more than any other in the world,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 6. Mar. 1629.

To Madam Desloges. LETTER XXV.

MAdam, being in a fit of a Feaver, I heare you are at Oradour, where I should have the honour to see you, if the joy of so good Newes had the power to carry me thither, and were able to give me the health, which it is forward to promise me. Being there­fore not in case to assure you in person, how sensible I am of your many courtesies, give me eave to testifie unto you, that I am not un­mindfull of the very last you shewed me; and that I give you thanks for the beginning of my amendment, whereof you are the cause. It is certaine, that when I was burning in a most extreame fire, I re­ceived a notable cooling and comfort, to heare you but only na­med; and this, Madam, is the first miracle you have done in this Countrey, if you stay but a while here, I hope we shall see many more and greater, and that you will leave some excellent markes, that you have been here. Our desarts shall be no longer rude, or savage, having once been honoured by your presence, the sweet ayre, that breaths on the bankes of the Loyre, shall spread it selfe hither; and I doubt not, but you will change all the choler of Lymousin in­to Reason, and make our Lyons become men. I doe not thinke, there is any will oppose this truth, unless perhaps — who had the heart to part from you with drie eyes, and could not finde teares to accompany yours. I have told him of it to his shame, before Mon­sieur de — and both of us agree, that in this occasion, he might honestly enough, have broken the lawes of his Philosophie, and might have lost his gravitie, without any lightnesse. Whilst we were together, they desired to see a part of my Prince, which as yet I dare not call by so illustrious a Name; for in truth Madam, he can be but a private person, untill such time as you proclaime him, and that he receive investiture from his Soveraigne: so I call your approbation, which is with me in such respect and reverence, that I should preferre it before Reason it selfe, if they were two things that cold be separated, and that I were allowed to choose which I would have▪ I would say more hereof, but that methinks, I have done a great worke to say so much; for my head is in such violent agitation, with the heat of my last fit, that all I can doe at this time, is but to set my hand to this Protestation, that I honour you exceedingly, am as much as any in the world,

Madam
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 25. August. 1629.

Another to her. LETTER XXVI.

MAdam, I am jealous of my Lacquies fortune, who makes now a second journey to you, and consequently, shall be twice together more happie then my self: he should never have this advantage of me, if to a journey to see you, there went nothing but courage, and if the relicks of my disease, which prey upon weakness, did not tyre me more than the extreame violence did, when I had some strength to resist it. By staying in my chamber, I loose all the fayre dayes that shine in the garden; all the riches of the fields are gathered without me; I have no part in the fruits of Autumne, whereof the Spring gave me such sweet hopes; and I am promised health at winter, when I shall see nothing but a pale Sunne, a thread-bare Earth, and dead sticks, that have brought forth grapes, but not for me to eat. In this miserable estate, I have no comfort, but onely the Letter you did me the honor to write unto me, which is so precious to me Madam, that I even honour it, with a kinde of superstition, and am ready to make a chaine or bracelet of it, to try whether the wearing it about me, may not prove a better Re­medy against my Feaver, than all the other I have used. There is but one word in it that I cannot endure, being not able to conceive why you should call your selfe unfortunate; are you not afraid, least God should call you to account for this word? and charge you with ungratefulnesse, for making so slight reckoning of his great benefits and Graces? He hath lifted you up above your owne sexe, and ours too, and hath spared nothing to make you compleat: the better part of Europe admires you; and in this point, both Reli­gions are agreed, and no contesting between Catholique and Pro­testant; The Popes Nuntio, hath presented our beliefe even to your person, all perfumed with the complements and civilities of Italie, Princes are your Courtiers, and Doctors your Schollers: and is this Madam, that you call to be unfortunate? and that which you take for a just cause to complaine; I humbly intreat you, to speak hereafter in more proper termes, and to acknowledge Gods favours in a more gratefull manner. I know well, that your loyaltie hath suffered by your brothers Rebellion; and that in the publike miseries you have had some private loss, but so long as you have your noble heart, and your excellent spirit left you, it is not possi­ble, you should be unfortunate; for indeed, in these two parts, the true Madam Desloges is all entire and whole. It is I Madam, that [Page 30] have just cause to say, I am unfortunate, who am never without paine, never without griefe, never without enemies; and even at this very time, I write from a house of griefe, where my mother and my sister being sicke on one hand, and my selfe on the other, I seeme to be sick of three sicknesses at once; yet be not afraid, least this I send you should be infectious, as though I had a designe to poyson you with my presents, for I have not yet medled with any of the Musque fruits, which I hope you shall eat; I have not durst so much as to come neere them, least I should chance to leave some light impression of my Feaver upon them: They are originally Natives of Languedoc; and not so degenerated from the goodnesse of their auncestors, but that you will find them, I hope of no un­pleasing taste, and besides Madam, they grow in a soyle that is not hated of Heaven, and where I can assure you, your Name is so of­ten rehearsed, and your vertue so highly esteemed, that there is not an Eccho in all our woods, but knowes you for one of the perfect­est things in the world, and that I am,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 20. Septemb. 1629.

To — LETTER XXVII.

MAdam, see here the first thankes I give you, for you know, that having never done me but displeasures, I have never yet returned you but complaints: but now at last you have been pleased to begin to oblige me, and after so many sentences of death, which you have pronounced against me, and after so many cruelties, which I have suffered, you have bethought your selfe, ten yeares af­ter, to send me one good newes, which truly is so pleasing to me, that I must confesse, you had no other way to reconcile your selfe unto me; and I cannot forbeare to blesse the hand that brought mee a Letter from Madam Desloges, though they were dyed in my bloud, and had given me a thousand wounds. The sense of for­mer injuries hath no competition with so perfect a joy, and of two passions equally just, the more violent is easily overcome of the more sweet. You have hastened the approach of my old age, and made gray one halfe of my haire; you have banished mee this Kingdome, and forced me to flie your tyranny, by flying into another Country: finally, it is no thanks to you, that I have not [Page 31] broken my owne necke, and made matter for a Tragedie: and yet foure lines of Madam Desloges, have the force to blot out all this long story of my mis-fortunes, and willingly with all my heart, I forget all the displeasures I have received, for this good office you now affoord me. I make you this discourse in our first language, that I may not disobey Monsieur de — who will have me write, but will not have me write in any other stile, for in truth, and to speake seriously, now that he leaves me at libertie, I must confesse unto you Madam, that I am exceedingly bound unto you, for the continency I have learned by being with you, and good examples you have given me: your medicines are bitter, but they heale; you have banished me, but it is from prison: and if my passions be cooled by the snow of my head, I have then never a white hayre, which I may not count for one of your favours: I therefore recant my former complaints, and confesse my selfe your debtour of all my vertue. The time I have imployed in your ser­vice, hath not been so much the season of my disorderd life, as it hath been an initiating me into a regular life which I meane to lead. Your conversation hath been a schoole of austeritie unto me, and you have taught me, never to be either yours, or any others, but only in our Lord,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 10. Octob. 1629.

To Madam Desloges. LETTER XXVIII.

MAdam, my evill Fortune gives one common beginning to all my Letters: I am impatient even to death, to have the ho­nour to come and see you: but now that I am well, the ayre is sicke, and all the Country drowned: There is no land to be seene between this and Lymousin; and the mischiefe is, that there is no navigation yet found out, for so dangerous a voyage. This bindes me to waite, till the waters be fallen, and that God be pleased to re­member his Covenant with Noah. As soone as this shall be, I will not fayle to performe my vow, and to come and spend with you the happiest day of all my life. In the meane time Madam, give me leave, to tell you, that I am not yet well recovered of the extasie you put me in, by writing unto me such excellent things, that I could not reade them with a quiet minde, nor indeeed without a [...]inde of jealousie. All Frontignon would be sufficiently paid [Page 32] with that you write of a dozen paltry Muske fruits I sent you; and you prayse my writtings with words, which have no words worthy of them, but your own. This, of one side makes me e [...]vi­ous, and of the other side interessed: and if the honour I receive by your flattering Eloquence, did not sweeten the griefe of being over­come, it would trouble me much that I had no better defended the advantages of our sexe, but should suffer it to lose an honour, which the Greeks and Latines had gotten for it. Yet take heed, you haz­zard not your judgement too freely, upon the unce taintie of humane things: you esteeme well of a Prince, who is not yet borne, you should have seene his Horoscope from the poynt of his conception, before you should speak of him in so loftie termes. But besides that, nothing is lesse assured, than the future; and nothing apter to de­ceive, than hope: Consider, Madam, I beseech you, that you fa­vour an unfortunate man, and that Faction oftentimes carries it away from truth. It will be hard for you, your selfe alone, to with­stand an infinite multitude of passionate men: and it may be said to you, as was said to those of Sparta, upon occasion of the great Armie of the Parsians, that you can never vanquish as long as they can die. Herein there is nothing to be feared, but for your selfe; for as for me, I finde in your favour, all I seeke for; and having you of my side, I care not what fame can doe, having once your testimony, I can easily slight hers; and all her tongues put toge­ther, can never say any thing for me, that is worth the least lyne of your delicate Letter. It is at this time, the delight and joy of my spirit; I am more in love with it, than ever I was with — and if she shew you that which I write to her, you shall fin [...]e I make not so much reckoning of my ancient mistris, as I do of you [...] new messen­ger; and that I desire all the world should know, that I perfectly am,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 13. Octob. 1629.

Another to her. LETTER XXIX.

MAdam, I will not take upon me to give you thankes, for the good cheare you made me; for besides that I have none but Country Civilities, and when I have once said, your humble servant and your servant most humble; I am then at the end of my complements, and can goe no further. It were better yet to [Page 33] let you hold your advantage entire, and owe you that still, which I can never pay. I forbeare to speake of the dainties and abundance of your Table, enough to make one far, that were in a Consump­tion; nor I speake not of the delicacy of your perfumes, in which you laid me to sleep all night; to the end, that sending up sweet vapours into my braine, I might have in my imagination, none but pleasing visions. But Madam, what but Heaven can be compatable to the dainties of your Closet, and what can I name to represent sufficient­ly, those pure and spirituall pleasures, which I tasted in your Con­versation? It is not my designe to take idly, nor to set my stile upon the high straine; you know, I am bound to avoyd Hyperboles, as Mariners to avoyd Sands and Rockes; but this is most true, that with all my heart, I renounce the world, and all its pompes, as long as you please to inhabit the Desart, and if you once determine to stay there still, (though I have sent to Paris to hyre me a lodg­ing) yet I resolve to breake off the bargaine, and meane to build me an Hermitage, a hundred paces from your abode: from whence Madam, I shall easily be able to make two journeys a day to the place where you are, and shall yeeld you a subjection, and an assi­duitie of service, as if I were in a manner of your houshold. There shall I let nothing fall from your mouth, which I shall not carefully gather up, and preserve it in my memory. There you shall doe me the favour, to resolve me when I shall have doubts; set me in the right way, when I goe astray; and when I cannot expresse my selfe in fit termes, you shall cleare my clouds, and give order to my confusednesse. It shall be your eares, upon which I will measure the cadences of my sentences; and upon the different motions of your eyes, I will take notice of the strength or weaknesse of my writings. In the heare of the travaile, and amidst the joyes of a mo­ther, that lookes to be happily delivered, I will expose the Infant to the light of your jugement to be tryed, and not hold him for legi­timate, till you approve him. Sometimes Madam, we will reade your Newes, and the divers Relations that are sent you from parts of Christendome: Publike miseries shall passe before our eyes, with­out troubling our spirits; and the most serious actions of men, shall be our most ridiculous Comedies. Out of your Closet, we shall see below us the the tumults and agitation of the world, as from the top of the Alpes, we stand and safely see the raine and hayle of Saevoy. After this, Monsieur de Borstell shall come and reade us Lectures in the Politiq [...]es, and Comment upon Messer Nicolo unto us: He shall informe us of the affayres of Europe, with as great certaintie, as a good husband would doe of his familie. He He shall tell us the Causes, the Proceedings, and the Events of the [Page 34] warre in Germany; and therein shall give the lye, a thousand times, to our Gazets, our Mercuries, and such other fabulous Histories. Wee will agree with him, that the Prince he is so much in love withall, is most worthy of his passion; and that Sweden is no longer able to containe so great a vertue: After the fashion of Plutarch, he shall compare together the prime Captaines of our age; alwayes excepting — who admits of no comparison. He shall tell us which is the better man, the Italian, or the Germane; what meanes may be used to take off the Duke of Saxony from the house of Austria; and what game the Duke of Bavaria playes, when he promiseth to enter into the League; and is alwayes har­kening to that which he never meanes to conclude. From these high and sublime Newes, we will descend to other meaner, and more popular subjects. It shall be written to you, whether the Kingdome of Amatonte be still in being, and whether there appeare not a rising Sunne, to which all eyes of the Court are turned: Monsieur de — shall send you word, whether he persist in his pernicious designe, to bring Polygamie into France, and to com­mit nine Incests at once; I meane, whether he have a good word from those nine Sisters, to all whom he hath solemnly made offer of his service. Wee shall know whether the Baron of — put Divines still to trouble: whether Monsieur de — have his heart still hardened against the ungreatfullnesse of the time; and whether Monsieur de — continue still in his wilfulnesse to punish mankinde by the suppression of his Bookes. By the way of Lymoges, we shall get the devises of Boissiere; the Epigrammes of Maynard, and other daynties of this nature. The Stationer des Espies Meurs will furnish you plentifully with Romances, and with that they call Belles Choses: and if it come to the worst, from the very Cinders of Philarcus, there will spring up every moneth a new Phaenix of backbiting Eloquence, that will find us recreation for one houre at least. And these Madam, are a part of those im­ployments, in which I fancy in my minde, we may spend our time all the time of the heat; for when the return of Aprill shall bring againe the flowers and fayre dayes, and invite you abroad a walk­ing: we must then looke us out some new pleasures, and change our recreations: we will have Swannes and other strange Birds, to cover this water at once both quicke and still, which washeth the seet of your wals: we will fall a planting of trees, and dressing the allies of your Garden: wee will digge for Springs, and discover trea­sures, which lose themselves under ground, which yet I value no lesse than veynes of silver, because I judge of them without covetous­nesse. And finally, Madam, we will fall a building that famous [Page 35] Bridge, by which to enter your enchanted Palace, and whereof the onely designe puts all the neighbouring Nobilitie already into a jealousie. If you like of this course, and of these Propositions, and that my company may not be troublesome to you, there remaines nothing to doe, but that you command me to come, and I am in­stantly ready to quit all other affayres in the world, and to come and testifie to you, that I am,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 6. Novemb. 1631.

Another to her. LETTER XXX.

MAdam, we receive the Answers of Oracles without making reply; perfect devotion is dumbe, and if you had left me the use of my tongue, I should then have had one part at least, of my spirit free from this universall astonishment that hath surprized it. You are alwayes lifted up above the ordinary condition of humani­tie, and the divinenesse of your spirit is no longer an Article in question amongst people that are reasonable; yet I must confesse, you never shewed it more visibly, then in the last Letter you writ unto me, and if at other times I have beene dazeled with some beame, you have now made me starke blind with the fulnesse of your light. Spare Madam, I intreat you, the weaknesse of my sight, and if you will have me be able to indure your presence, take some more humane forme, and appeare not all at once in the fulnesse of that you are, I were never able to abide such another flash of bright­nesse. My eyes are weary with looking upward, and with consider­ing you, as you are a creature, adorable and divine. Hereafter I will not looke upon you, but on that side you are good and graci­ous, and will not venture to reason with you any more, for feare I should to my owne confusion illustrate the advantage of your spirit over mine. You shall have nothing from me hereafter, but prayers and thanks; and I will make you confesse, that I sollicite better than I praise, I therefore send you now Madam, divers crosses at one time, and persecute you with no lesse then three afflictions at once, I meane, three Letters of recommendation, which I request from you, in behalfe of — humbly entreat you to deliver them to this messenger, & to write them in such a perswasive style, as might be a­ble to corrupt all the Gatoes of Paris, although indeed, the cleernesse of our right, hath more need of their integretie then of their favour. [Page 36] I expect Madam, this new courtesie from your goodnesse, and am alwayes more than any in the world,

Your, &c.
At Balzac, 10. Decemb. 1629.

Another to her. LETTER XXXI.

MAdam, in the state I am now in, there is none but your selfe could make me speak: and I never did a greater worke in my life than to dictate these foure untoward lynes: my spirit is so whol­ly taken up with the consideration of my misery, and flies all com­merce and company, in so violent a manner, that if it concerned me not exceedingly, you should know that — finds himselfe infi­nitely obliged to your courtesies, and my self no lesse than he; I thinke verily, I should have let — depart, without so much as bidding him Farewell. Pardon Madam, the weaknesse of a vulgar spirit, which feeles no crosses light, and falls flat down at the very first blow of adverse Fortune. Perhaps in prosperitie, I should carry my selfe better, and I doe not thinke, that joy could make me insolent; but to say the truth, in afliction I am no body, and that which would not so much as leave a scratch upon the skin of a Stoick, pierceth me to the very heart, and makes in it most deepe wounds. Griefe dejects me in such sort, and makes me so lazie in doing my dutie, and so unfit for all functions of a civill life, that I wondred no longer at those that were turned into trees and rockes, and lost all sense with only the sense of griefe. Yet Madam, as often as I call to minde, that I hold some part in your account and love; I am forced to confesse, that my melancholy is unjust, and that I have no good foundation for my sadnesse. This honour ought to be unto me a generall remedy against all sorts of affliction, and the misery that you pittie is not so much to be pittied as to be envi­ed. From thence it is, that I draw all the comfort I am capable of, humbly entreating you to beleeve you shall never pitie a man in misery, that will be more gratefull than my selfe, nor that is more passionately, than I am

Madam,
Your, &c.
31. Decemb. 1629.

Another to her. LETTER XXXII.

MAdam, I received but just now your Letters of the five and twentieth of the last moneth, and though I know not, by whom to send an answer, yet I can no longer hold from expressing my joy, nor keepè my words from leaving my heart to fall upon this paper. The last time I writ unto you, I had heard of the unfaithful­nesse of a friend of mine, which struck me to the very heart; since which time, a better report hath somewhat quieted me; but it is you, Madam, that have restored to me the full use of my reason; and are a cause that I am contented to live. Although corruption be in a manner universall, and that there is no more any goodnesse to be found amongst men, yet as long as you are in the world, it is not fit to leave it quite, but your vertue may well supply all its de­fects. Besides Madam, if it be true, as you doe me the honour to write unto me, that you account my interests as your owne; this very consideration is enough to make them dearer to me than they were before; and I am therefore bound to preserve my selfe, seeing it seemes, you would be loath to lose me. One graci­ous word, which I observed in your Letter, hath wonne me to you, in such sort, that I have no longer any power of my selfe, but what you leave me; and in all your Empire, which is neither meane, nor consists of meane subjects; I can assure you, that you pos­sesse nothing with more soveraigntie, than my will. If your occa­sions draw you to Annix this next spring, I hope to have the ho­nour to see you at Balzac, where I am trimming up — with all the care I can, that it may be a little more worthy of your presence, and that the amusement I shall thereby give you, may keepe you from marking the ill cheare you are like to find in a Country village: My sister is infinitely bound to you, for the honour you doe her, in remembring her; and I am my selfe, with all my soule,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 1. Febr. 1630.

Another to her. LETTER XXXIII.

MAdam, my indisposition hath been the cause of my silence, and I thought it better to say nothing, than to entertaine you with a troublesome discourse: Besides, I was in a continuall ex­pectation of the performance of your promise; and looked to have the honour, to see you here in May. But seeing you have made my hopes recoyle, and that you make your abode in Limousin for some longer time, be pleased Madam, that I send — to bring me a true relation of the state of your health; and to tell me, if you use, as you ought, the shade of your woods, and the freshnesse of your fountaines: For my selfe, who make my harvest at the ga­thering of Roses and Violets; and who reckon the goodnesse of the yeare, by the abundance of these delicate Flowers; Now is the season for my humour, and in one onely subject I finde cause e­nough, to scorne and slight both the perfumes of the street St. Honore, and the pictures of the faire St. Germain. Thus I make my selfe happie, at a very easie rate, and have not so much as a thought of any want. And indeed, to what purpose should I grieve for pleasures that are absent, and curiously hunt after all the defects of my Estate. If my commerce be onely with dumbe Creatures, at least I am not troubled with the importunities of Courtiers, nor with the verses of a paltry Poet, nor with the Prose of Messieurs —: These are the inconveniences of Paris, which I count more troublesome, then either the dirt, or the justling of Coaches; and at the worst, if by living in the Desart, I should become a meere savage, yet I am sure to recover the garbe of the world, as soone as I shall but see Madam Desloges, and to make my selfe neat and civill, with but one halfe houres conversing with her. This is my wish Madam, and passionately I am,

Your, &c.
At Balzac, 20. June 1730.

To Monsieur de la Nouve, Counsellor of the King in his first Chamber of Enquests. LETTER XIX.

SIR, My deare Cousin, one cannot say you nay, in any thing: to doe you a second pleasure, I am about to commit a second treason, and to send you the Verses, of which I told you who was the Poet. I was bound by a thousand Oaths to keepe them secret, but I must confesse you are a strange corrupter, and your perswasi­ons would shake a firmer fidelitie then mine: yet to the end, we may at least save the apparence, and give some colour to my fault; you may be pleased to say, that it is the translation of an Ode, made by Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi, and that you found it in an ancient Manuscript: you may say, shee made it for one of her sonnes, being in love with a woman, whom afterward he married; and that seeing him one day looke extreamly palo, shee asked him, what it was that made him sicke, There is nothing more true then this Story, and there needs nothing, but to change the Names. It is not indeed, the same person, but it is the same merit, and I am sure, you doubt not, but a French Lady is capable of as much, as Qui [...]tilian spake of a Romane: Graccorum eloquentiae multum con­tu [...]isse Corneliam, matrem, cujus doctissimus sermo, in posteros quo (que) est Epistolis traeditus. — I never heard speake of such an impatience, or such an irresolution, for I cannot beleeve, that it is either feare, or effeminatenesse, or that the spirit of so great a Prince could be subject to such enormous maladies. Whatsoever it be, if he had but read Virgill, a woman would have sayd unto him with great indignation; and is it then such a miserable thing to die? And if he had been in the Levant, he might have learned of a Turkish Proverbe, That it is better to be a Cock for one day, then a Henne all ones life. Et con questo vi b [...]tio le mani, and am,

Sir, my deere Cousin,
Your, &c.
2. August, 1630.

L' Amant qui meurt.

OLympa, made me sicke thou hast,
Thou cause of my Consumption art:
There needs but one frowne more, to wast
The whole remainder of my heart.
Alas undone, to Fate I bow my head,
Ready to die, now die, and now am dead.
You looke to have an age of tryall,
Ere you a Lover will repay;
And my state brookes no more deniall,
I hardly can one minute stay.
Alas, undone, to Fate I bow my head,
Ready to die, now die, and now am dead,
I see already Charons boate,
That comes to ferry me to Hell:
I heare the Fatall Sisters note,
That cryes and calls to ring my knell.
Alas, undone, to Fate I bow my head,
Ready to die, now die, and now am dead.
Looke in my wound, and see how cold,
How pale, and gasped my soule lyes:
Which Nature strives in vaine to hold,
Whilst wing'd with sighes, away it flyes,
Alas undone, to Fate I bow my head.
Ready to die, now die, and now am dead.

To Madam Desloges. LETTER XXXV.

MAdam, I have not dared now a good while tosend you any Letters, for feare you should conceive, they carried an ill ayre about them; nor yet to send you any more Melons, which yet prove excellent good this yeare, for doubt you should suspect them, as comming from a Countrey extreamely, discredited; but since I understand by your Letter, that you are not so much frighted as I was told, and since also, I can protest unto you most religiously, [Page 41] that I write from a place most cleere from any taint of the neigh­bouring misery, and that hath kept sound in the midst of infection: I am most glad Madam, that I have the libertie to tell you, that I value you more, than all the ancient Romans, and that I have no comfort to thinke of, in the deepest houres of all my solitude, but onely you, and your incomparable merit. What businesse soever I am about, I take pleasure to let this thought make me a trewant at my travaile, it is a recreation, for which I abandon all affayres; and there is neither Morall, nor Politique, Plato nor Aristotle, but I presently hive him over as soone as you are once presented to my imagination. I hope I shall need to use no Oaths, to make you beleeve this veritie: you are well enough acquainted with my pride, and know that this Country swayne would not turne flatterer for an Empresse. There are but three persons, I am resolved to prayse; you Madam, are one; and if you have the leisure to read that I send you, you will easily guesse, who the other two are; and so I bid you Good morrow, and perfectly am

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 9. Septemb. 1630,

Another to her. LETTER XXXVI.

MAdam, you shall receive from me no premeditated excuses, I had rather confesse my fault ingenuously, than take the paines to justifie it untowardly. Indeed a fatall sluggishnesse, cousin ger­man to a Lethargie, hath seized in such sort upon me since my comming hither, that I have not so much as written to my owne mother; so as having fayled in this first poynt, I thought not fit to fayle by halfes; and therefore never troubled my selfe much in the rest of my dutie. I speake Madam, of this exteriour dutie, and this affection in picture, which is oftentimes but a false representati­on of the soule, for as for the true respect, and the passion, which hath residence in the heart, I assure you, I have that in me for you, as pure and entyre as ever, and that he that calls you his Soveraigne, yet honours you not more perfectly, than I doe. Monsieur de — will I doubt not, be my witnesse herein; and will tell you, that what part soever I be forced to play amongst jeasters and merry companions, yet under my players cloathes, there will alwayes be found an honest man. I have been sensible, Madam of the losse, [Page 42] which — hath had, and have not been sparing to speake of his unfortunate vertue; yet I never thought, he needed any comfor­ting for it; for, seeing he sees that God spares not his own Images, and that his neerest friends have their disgraces and troubles, he ought not to thinke any thing strange that happens in this inferiour world, and upon inferiour persons; what consideration soever may otherwise make them deare unto him. If you have vouchsafed to keepe the Letters I have written to you; I humbly entreat you to send them to me, that I may see what volume I can make for the im­pression that is required of me: but Madam it shall be, if you please upon this condition, that parting with the Letters, you shall never let your memory part with the truths they containe, but hold undoubtedly that I very firmely am, though I doe not very often say I am,

Madam,
Your, &c.
25. Decemb. 1630.

Another to her. LETTER XXXVII.

MAdam, my labour is happie, since it is never from before you, and since I am told, you make it your ordinary enter­tainment. The end of all fayre Pictures, and good Books, is but onely to please your eyes, and to delight your spirit, and the good you have not yet set a price upon, is not yet come to its utter most perfection. I have therefore all that an ambitious man could wish for, I may perhaps have fortune from others, but glory I can have from none but you; and another perhaps may pay me, but none but you can recompense mee. The paines I have hitherto taken, have beene but ill requited. I have tilled a ground, that brings me forth but thornes; yet Madam, since they blossome for your ser­vice, I am contented to be pricked by them, and I love the cause of my disgraces, if they proove a cause of your recreations. The first Newes you shall heare will tell you what I meane; and that my patience never makes my persecutours weary. You shall see Madam, that there is no conscience made to contradict you, and that the same which you call excellent and admirable, hath yet [...] Paris found enemies, and at Bruxells hangmen. I will say no more at this time, but that I am,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 6. Jan. 1631.

Another to her. LETTER XXXVIII.

MAdam, I writ unto you about six weekes since, but my packet not being delivered where I appointed it, I perceive some curi­ous body hath seazed on it, and sought for secrets, which he could not find. The losse is not great, to lose nothing, but a few untoward words; and small comforting would serve me, for so small a crosse; yet because they were full of the passion I owe to your ser­vice, and carried in them the markes of my dutie, I cannot but be troubled, they c [...]me not to your hands, and that my mis-fortune gives you cause to complaine of my negligence. I dare not under­take to cleere my selfe altogether; for though in this I committed no fault, yet I cannot forget some other faults committed before. The truth is Madam, I have been for some time so continually ta­ken up with businesse, that I have beene wanting in the principall obligations of a civill life; and I have drunke besides so many bit­ter potions, and tasted so many bitter Pills, that I should but of­fend you with my complements; which could not choose but carrie with them, at least some tincture of my untoward hu­mour. What pleasure could you have taken, to see a medley of choler and Melancholy powred out upon paper, and in stead of pleasing Newes, to read nothing but pittifull Sto­ries, and mortall Predictions? But enough of this unpleasing mat­ter. I expect here within three or foure dayes, my Lord the Bishop of Nantes; and I would to God Madam, you could be here at that time, and that you were at leisure to come and taste the doc­trine of this rare personage. I have heard you say heretofore, you never saw a more holy countenance than his, and that his very looke, was a Prologue of perswasion. This conceit, makes me hope, that he is the man, whom God hath ordained to be your Converter, and to bring you into the bosome of our Church, Beleeve me Madam, and you shall not be deceived; trust that ene­my, who wounds nor, but onely to draw out the bloud that causes a Feaver; and never make difficultie to commit your selfe to one, that intends your freedome. The triumph which the world makes you feare, is no way injurious to those that be the captives, nor like unto that of which Cleopatra tooke so sad an apprehen­sion: but in this case, the vanquished are they that are crowned, and all the glory and advantage of the victory rests on their side: I am not out of hope to see so good a dayes worke; [Page 44] and seeing you are rather layd asleepe in the opinion of your mo­ther, than obstinate in a wrong cause: I intreat you, that you will not be frighted with phrases: Wee will not use this hard terme to say, you have abjured your haeresie; wee will onely say, you are awaked out of your slumber, and if our deare friend, Monsieur du Moulin, would doe so too, then would be the time of a great festi­vall in Heaven; and the Angels would rejoyce at the prosperitie of the Church. My zeale Madam, is not out of ostentation: for it is most true, that such a change is one of my most violent wishes; and to see you say your prayers upon your beads, I would with all my heart give you a payre made of Diamonds; though I am not rich, yet I hope you doubt not of the truth of these last words, and that I am with all my soule,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 7. May. 1632.

Another to her. LETTER XXXIX.

MAdam, it hath beene, as much my shame, as my glory, to read your Letter, having so ill deserved it; and the remorse of the fault, I committed, makes mee, that I dare not yet rejoyce in the honour, I received. You are good and gracious, even to the not hating of evill actions; Your delinquents, not only obteine impunitie, but you allow them recompence; and idlenesse hath more respect with you, than deligent service with ordinary Masters. This is the faelicite of the Golden age, where Plentie had no neede of tilling; and where there was reaping without sowing. Yet Ma­dam, I must not so abandon my cause, that I forbeare to alledge the good it hath in it; it is long since I writ unto you, it is true, but the cause hath beene for that these six moneths, I have every day been upon comming to see you and according to the saying of the Oratour, your acquaintance, I have dispenced, with my ordinary worshipping, in hope of a great Holy day; and to performe my devotion with the more solemnitie. If Monsieur de — have kept his word with mee, he hath told you, how often he hath found me upon the very poynt of comming; but as many journeys, as I intended to make, so many crosse accidents alwayes happened to hinder them, and the mis-fortune that accompanies me, makes every dutie, though never so easie to another, impossible to me▪ [Page 45] Yet Madam, I have never ceased from doing continuall acts of the reverence I beare you, and I never sweare, but by your merit. My braine is drie in any other Argument, and words are drawne from me one by one; but when there is occasion to speake of you, then I overflow in words; upon this only Text, I take pleasure to be Preaching; and Monsieur de — to whom I was alwayes before a harkener; as soone as I begin discourse of you, becomes my auditour. I can assure you Madam, he honours you exceedingly; and neither his ambassage to Rome, from whence Gentlemen returne not commonly without a certaine con­ceit of soveraigntie; nor the imployments of the State, which make particular men thinke themselves the Publike, have been able to make him take upon him, this ungratefull gravitie, which makes Greatnesse ridiculous, and even vertue it selfe odious. He hath protested here, before good companie, that hee will never be found other, and that Fortune should have an ill match in hand, to thinke to corrupt him. I used my ordinary rudenesse, and intreated him, to be mindfull of his word, and to be one of our first examples of so rare a moderation. You shall see Madam, in a Letter I send you; that which hereupon I am bound to say of him: and I in­treat you, to maintaine for me, that I am no common prayser: and that, if I were not perswaded of what I say, it is not all the Canons of his Fort should make mee to say it. It is onely the worth of things, or at least, the opinion I have of their worth, that drawes from mee the prayses I give them. If Monsieur de— should returne to be a private person, I should not respect him a joe lesse, than now I doe: and if you should be made Governesse of the Queenes house, I should not be a whit more than I am,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 30. Aprill. 1633.

Another to her. LETTER XL.

MAdam, never trust me any more, I promise that I cannot performe, but though I be a deceiver, I am an honest one; my promises are alwayes true in my intention, though oftentimes false in the Event. I know not what to say of this unfortunatenesse, nor to what knowne cause, to attribute this long [...]rayne of mischiefes. [Page 46] It must needs be, there is some Devill imployed, to hinder voyages to Lymousin: and that will not suffer me to goe thither to see you: sometimes he rayseth up suites in Law against me, sometimes puts me into a quarrell; and when these be composed, and that I am ready to take horse, either he sends me companie to divert me, or prickes my horse in shooing, or puts a leg out of joynt; for, all these crosses have befallen me, as he that delivers you this Letter can be my witnesse. But withall Madam, he shall assure you, that though I do steale away by night, and be carryed in a chayre, it shall not be long ere I will have the honour to come and see you. In the meane time, vouchsafe to accept from me, the amusement of halfe an houre, and be pleased to reade an Inscription, which was lately found, and taken forth of the ruines of an old Building. It is engraven in Letters of Gold, upon a Table of blacke Marble, and seemes Prophetically to speake of you and me. If I were a man could make Verses, you might doubt it were some tricke put upon you; but my ignorance justifies me; and seeing, as you know, Poets are not made, it were a strange thing I should be borne at the age of seaven and thirtie yeares. I expect from you a Comment upon the whole Mystery; and remaine,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 6. Jan. 1628.

In Effigiem D. D. praestantissimae & laudatissimae faeminoe.

Hac est sequa [...]ico, veniens à littore Nympha:
Hospite quá Lemovix jure superbit ager.
Quae desiderium Dominae mibi durius urbis,
Mitigat; & per quam non fera turba sumus.
Vindicat hanc sibi Thuscae caris, sibi musa latina,
Nec minus esse suam, Graius Apollo velit.
Hanc sophiae Gens sancta colit, dat jura disertis,
Princeps Grammaticas temperat una Tribus
Scilicet ut distent speciose sana tumore,
Vna scit, & fractis verba sonora modis.
Judicat urbano quid fit sale tingere ludos,
Et quid inhumano figere dente notas.
Novit ab egresti secernere plectra cicuta,
Vos (que) sacri vates non sociare malis.
[Page 47]Ergo quid infidipetitis suffragia vulgi,
Quidve Palatinus quaritur arte favor?
Quae canitis vivent, si docta provaverit auris,
Et dabitur vestris versibus esse bonos.
At si quando canat, taccas velmascula Sappho,
Te meliùs salva nostra pudore canit.

Another to her: LETTER XLI.

MAdam, my eyes are yet dazeled, with the brightnesse of your Cabinet, and I vow unto you, the Night was never so fayre, nor so delicately trimmed up, as lately at your House.

Not when the Moone accomplishing her way
Vpon her silver wayne, beset with starres,
Within the gloomy world, presents the day.

I have shewed our Ladies the Description of this [...] state­ly Night, and of the rest of your magnificence, which if it were in a severer Common-wealth than ours, would be called a Profusive Wast; they admire you in your house, as well as in your Verses; and agree with mee in this, that wisdome hath a hand in every thing; and that, after she hath discoursed of Princes, and matters of State; she descends to take care of her Hosts, and lookes what is done in the Kitchin. But from a vertue of their own, they al­wayes come to that of yours, asking me continually for Newes of your entertainment, and for Copies of your Letters: and by this meanes, the happinesse which I have from you, is instantly made common to all the neighbourhood; and yet stayes not there nei­ther, but spreads it selfe both farre and neere, so that when you thinke, you write but to one particular man, you write indeed to a whole Province. This is not to write Letters, but rather to set forth Declarations and Edicts; I know Madam, you were able to acquit your selfe perfectly, in so noble an Imployment; comple­ments are below the dignitie of your style; and if King Elisabett, should come againe into the world (you know of whom this is spo­ken) no question but he would make you his chiefe Secretary of State. Monsieur de — extolls you yet in a higher strayne, and is infinitely desirous to see you in this Country. Yesterday, of his own accord he made himselfe your Tributary, and hath bound [Page 46] himself to send you, every yeare, a reasonable number of his sweet balls if you shall like them, they will grow into more request than the Gloves of the Frangapani: but because your people of Lymou­sin may take occasion to Equivocate here: I entreat you to adver­tize them, that this Perfumer hath three thousand pound rent a yeare; and holds the supremest dignitie of our Province, and that this Glover is a Romane Lord, Marshall of the Campe of the Kings Armies, cousin to Sr. Gregory the Great, and that which I value more than all this, one of the honestest men that lives: I am bold to use my accustomed libertie, seeing you allow mee to doe it Madam, haveing given me your Letters Patents for it, and will beare me out to laugh in graver subjects than this is. It may there­fore suffice me to say, but most seriously, that I am,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 2. May. 1634.

Another to her. LETTER XLII.

MAdam, your place is before all other things whatsoever, and therefore no lawfull impediment can be alleged, for fayling in the dutie, that is due unto you. I have these two moneths had great affayes; which in the rigour of your Justice, is as much as to say, I have these two moneths neglected my dutie. Having not written to you, in all this time, I am contented to call it, a Disor­der, which otherwise I should call a Businesse, and I doe not thinke, I could with all the reasons of the world have made you patient, to stay so long, for the thanks I am to give you. Your present hath e­qually wherewith to content both the covetous and the vaine; it hath soliditie no lesse then lustre; the onely sight of it refutes the modestie you use in speaking of it: you are injurious Madam, to so excellent a thing; it deserves the most stately inscription you could devise to give it, and if I were worth the having of a Cabi­net, this should be the prime piece, I would make choice of to a­dorne it. Because vulgar people have nothing but eyes, therefore they value nothing but Candlestickes of Crystall, and guilded vermillian dishes; but men of understanding, who see lesse with their eyes than with their spirits, they reflect upon objects, that are more simple and immateriall, and preferre not the peoples errour, and Artificers fingers, before the truth of things, and [Page 47] before the Master-pieces of the workes of reason. Hee, to whom you did me the honour to send me, is farre above all the Enco­miums I can give him: I have onely this to say Madam, that I have with me here, a famous Authour, who as soone as he hath once read him, is resolved instantly to shut up shop, and give over his Trade. He protests he will never more set band to Penne, un­lesse it be to signe his last Will; and therefore meants to make you a sacrifice of all his Papers. I shewed him the incomparable Sonnet, De L' Amant qui meurt, at every verse, he called you Divine, and made such lowd Exclamations, that he might have been heard to the great high way: which you know, how very farre it is from my Chamber. Hee sayth, he will maintaine it, even to the street Saint Jaques, that Parnassus is fallen upon the Distaffe; and that Racan hath given over the right he pretended in the suc­cession of Malherbe. He speakes in this familiar manner, of these two great Personages, and I never heare him use any meaner style: if I can keepe him with me a while; I will tell you more of him, and promise you a Collection of all his Apopthegms. I saw yester­day Monsieur de — who is a most just valuer of vertue, and by consequent, most perfectly reveres yours. He infinitely desires you would come amongst us, and that you would make choice of one of his houses for your abode: if you were pleased to doe this, I should have no more journeys to make: I should be the happiest unhappie man that ever was, if I had you here to be my comforter, and that I might be alwayes telling you, that I alwayes am,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 1. Aug. 1634.

Another to her. LETTER XLIII.

MAdam, you never heard speake of such a deligence; in two months your Letter hath gone twelve myles; so as a businesse that required hast, had been this way in a good case: and if therein you had given me advise for saving my life, I might have had good leisure to die, before your advise came. I have made grievous complaints hereof, to my good kinswomans — who layes the fault of her fault upon a thousand that are innocent; up­on her Gentlewoman, her Nurce, three maids, foure men, &c. so yas Madam there have beene great arrignments upon this matter▪ [Page 05] and never was any crime so long and so rigourously in examining; for my selfe, the joy I take to heare of your health, makes me forget my most just complaints, and sweetens all my choler. I think no more of the late receiving it; I content my selfe, that I have receiv­ed it at last; and I finde enough in your Letter, to make me a­mends, for the slownesse of your messenger. Besides Madam, I give you to understand, that I have had some few dayes, with me here, Monsieur Bardyn, as much as to say, The living Philosophie: or Socrates risen from the dead. You make doubt perhaps, what the subject of our conference hath been? Indeed Madam, it hath been your selfe, and we have concluded, to erect your statue in the most eminent place of his Lycaeum: and if any Stoick come to new build the Porticus, and any other to restore the Academie, no doubt but they will honour you with the like respect, and you shall alwayes be reverenced of wise men, next to wisedome it selfe. If you write shortly to — I entreat you Madam, to doe me the favour, to put in your packet the dispatch I send you. It imports me much, to have it beleeved, that — and I doubt not, but you will be con­tent, to use this little fraud for my sake, who am without re­servation,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 10. Decemb. 1634.

Another to her. LETTER XLIIII.

MAdam, I am of your opinion, and can by no meanes approve the ambition of your fayre neighbour: her head is full of state and soveraigntie, and aymes certainly at a Crowne. God loves her too well to second her bad desires, and to give her that shee askes: so rare a beautie ought to be the recompence of vertue, and not the prey of Greatnesse: It is fit, that he who possesseth her, should understand, when things be excellent; should know the va­lue of this, and all his life be thankfull to his good fortune for it: it is fitter to make a Gentleman happie, than to give contentment to a tyrant; shee might perhaps be some amusment to him, when he were cloyed with killing of men; but withall, shee might be sure to be the next object of his crueltie, at the next fit of his wicked humour. You know the Story of Mariamne; our Theaters at this day sound forth nothing so much, as the cryes of this poore Prin­cesse: [Page 51] he that puts her to death, loved her above measure; and after her death, kneeled downe a thousand times before her image, pray­ing her to forgive him. Poppea was first the Mistris, afterwards the wife, and alwayes the Governesse of Nero; she had vanquished this Monster, and made him tame, yet at last he slipt from her, and in an instant of his choler, gave her a kicke upon the belly, which was her death. His unkle Caius dealt not so roughly with Caesonia, yet in the greatest heat of his fire, he made love to her in these termes: This fayre bead shall be chopt off, as soone as I but speak the word: and told her sometimes, that he had a great minde to put her on the racke, to make her tell him, why he loved her so much. The meaning Madam, of all this is, that the tamest of all Tygers is a cruell Beast; and that it is a most dangerous thing, to be wooed with talons. I have seene the Booke you writ to me of, and find it not unpleasing; particularly, where speaking of the ma­kers of Pasquius, and of satyricall Poets, he sayth, that besides the golden age, the age of silver, of brasse, and of iron, so famous and so much talkt of in their Fables; there is yet behinde to come an age of wood, of which the ancient Poets never dreamt; and in the miseries and calamities whereof, they themselves shall have a greater part than any other. If I goe abroad to morrow, I hope to have the honour to see you: In the meane time, that I may observe good manners, and not be wanting in formalities, I will say I am,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 16. Aug. 1626.

To — LETTER XLV.

MY Lord, besides the thankes I owe you for my self, I have a speciall charge from Madam de — to thanke you from her, and to give you a testimonie of your Coachmans skill. He is in truth, a great man in his profession, one might well trust him, and sleepe from hence to Paris: He glides by the brink of Praecipices, and passeth broken bridges with an admirable dexteritie, say what you can of his manners otherwise; Pardon mee, my Lord, if I maintaine that they be no vices, and that you doe him, great wrong to reproach him with them in your Letter. He doth that by designe, [Page 50] which you thinke he doth by inclination; and because he had heard; that a man once overthrew the Commonwealth, when he was sober, he thinkes, that to drinke well, is no ill qualitie to well governing: He takes otherwise no care for going astray, seeing he hath a God for his guide, and a God that was returned from the Indies before Alexander was come into the world. After so long a voyage, one may well trust Father Denys, with a short walke; and he that hath yoked Tygers, may well be allowed to guyde horses. Your Coach-man, my Lord, hath studied thus farre; and if they, who hold in their hands the reynes of the State, (to use the phrase of —) had beene as intelligent and dextrous as he, they would have run their race with a better fortune, and our age should not have seene the fall of the Duke of — nor of the Earle of —: it is written to me from the Court, that —: These are onely Newes I received by the last Post; but I send you, in their companie, the Booke you desired, which is (as you know) the Booke of the wickednesse of the world, and the ancient originall of all the moderne subtilities. The first Christians endeavoured to suppresse it, and called it, Mendaciorum Loquacissimum: but men at this day make it their Oracle, and their Gospell: and seeke in it rather for Sejanus and Tigilinus, to corrupt their innocency, than for Corbulo or Thrasea, to instruct them to vertue; at our next meeting wee shall talke more hereof: The great Personage I have praysed, stands in doubt, that his Encomium is at an end, and presseth me to conclude, that I am,

My Lord,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 4. June. 1634.

To — LETTER XLVI.

SIR, I am sorry to heare of the continuance of your maladie, though I hope, it be not so great as you make it. These are fruits of this unseasonable time, and I doubt not, but your Fleame, which overflowes with the rivers, will also with the fall of the rivers, returne againe to its naturall bounds. I have had my part in this inundation, and it would be no small commoditie to me, that things should stay in the state they now are in; for by this means my house being made an Island, I should be lesse troubled, [Page 51] than now I am by people of the firme Land; But seeing upon the abating of the waters, depends the abating of your Rheume, I am contented with all my heart, they shall abate; as above all things desiring your health: yet withall, I must tell you, there is care to be used: you must absteine from all moyst meates, forbeare the good cheare of Paris, and follow the advise of an ancient sage, who counselled a man troubled with your disease, to change the rayne into drowth. You see how bold I am, to send you my prae­scriptions; I entreat you to follow them, but not to imitate me; for in this matter of Medicines, I confesse my selfe a Pharisee; I commend a Julippe to others, but I drinke my selfe the sweetest Wines. But to speake of something else, I cannot imagine, why Monsieur de — should keepe me languishing so long, and have­ing made me stand waiting three moneths after his time appointed, should now require a further prorogation; and a longer delay. For my part, I verily beleeve, he spake not in earnest, when he made you this untoward answer, and that it was rather for a tryall of your patience, than for an exercise: He hath the reputation of so honest and just a man, that I can make no doubt of that he hath promised to Monsieur de — and I am perswaded, he accounts himselfe more streightly tyed by his word, than by his bond. Mon­sieur de — beleeves that I have fingred my money a yeare since, and you know it is a summe provided to stoppe three or foure of my Persecutours mouthes, who will never leave vexing you with their clamours day and night, till they be satisfied. It is therefore your part to use all meanes possible, to content them, at least if you love your libertie; and take not a pleasure to be every morning sa­luted with extreame unpleasing good morrowes, I expect hereupon to heare from you; and am,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 17. Jan. 1630.

To —. LETTER. XLVII.

SIR, you ate too just to desire such duties from a sicke friend, as you would exact from one that were in health. The reasons I can give of my silence, are much juster than I would they were, and me thinkes, three moneths continuing in a Feaver, may well dispense with any obligation whatsoever of a civill life. [Page 54] Yet seeing you will needs have me speake, I cannot but obey you, though I make use of a strangers hand to quarrel with you. I cannot endure the dissimulation you shew, in doubting of my affection, and of the truth of my words. I understand no jesting on that side; these are Games that I am uncapable to learn, and in matter of friendship, I am of that tendernesse, that I am even wounded with that, which is perhaps intended but for a tickling. I perceive I have beene com­plained upon to you, but I entreat you to beleeve, it hath been upon very false grounds; and I require no better justifier, than her owne conscience that accuseth mee. Within a few dayes, I will come my selfe in person, and give you an account of all my actions; and will trayne my selfe on to Paris, in hope to enjoy the happinesse of your companie. In the meane time, be carefull not to cure the ma­ladie you tell me of, which brings us forth such goodly Son­nets, and makes so well agree the two greatest enemies that are in Nature, I meane, Passion and Judgment: so I bid you Farewill, and am with all my heart,

Your, &c.
At Balzac, 25. August. 1620.

To Monsieur de Coignet. LETTER XLVIII.

SIR, I am much bound unto you for your writing to me, and for sending me Newes that exceedingly pleaseth mee. You may well thinke, I have no minde to crosse my own good; and to re­fuse giving my consent to the Earle of Exceters request. To have so illustrious an Interpreter in England, is more then a full revenge up­on all the petty Scribes that oppose mee in France: it is the crown­ing and triumph of my writings. I am not therefore so a Philoso­pher, that I place the honour he doth mee, amongst things indiffe­rent, but rather to tell you plainly, I have perhaps received too sen­sible a contentment in it; and upon the poynt of falling againe into my old desire of glory; of which I thought my selfe to have been fully cured: I send you a word, which I entreat you to deli­ver to him, which shall witnesse for me, how deare and glorious the markes he gives me of his love and account, are unto me; O­therwise Sir, I doubt not, but I owe a great part of this good fortune to the good opinion you have of me, which is to be seene in every line of your Letter; and that you have confirmed the English [Page 58] in this Error, which is so much in my favour. Onely I entreat you, never to seeke to free them of this errour, but so to deale with them, that if you convert them from other, it may still be with reser­vation of this. The truth in question is of so small importance, that it deserves not any curious examination; and in which, to be in a wrong beliefe, makes not a man to be either lesse honest, or more unfortunate: Never therefore, make scruple to oblige me, seeing you shall oblige a thankfull man, and one who is,

Sir,
Your &c.
At Balzac, 12. June. 1629.

To Monsieur de Neusuic. LETTER XLIX.

SIR, If I were only blind, I would try to make some answer to the good words of your Letter; but the paine, which my ill eyes put me to, makes me uncapable of this pleasing contention: and I cannot draw from my head, in the state it now is, any thing else but Water and Waxe. And besides the unhappie blindnesse I speake of, I am in such sort overflowed with Rheumes, that if it were in the time of the old Metamorphoses, I thinke verily, I should be turned into a Fountaine, and become the subject of some new Fable. I have lost as well my smelling, as my taste, my Nose can make no difference betweene Spanish Leather, and an old Cowes hide: and I sneeze so continually, that all my conversation, is but to say, I thanke you, to them that say, God helpe you. Being in this estate, doe you not wonder, I write unto you, and have the boldnesse to be sending Letters? In truth, never complement cost me so deare as this, and if I would make use of the priviledge of sicke men, I might very justly require a Dispensation; but I had not the power, to let your servant goe away, without telling you, that you are a very honest Impostour; and that the Periguran you send, is the most refined Frenchman that ever ranne afoot to Paris. It must needs be, that the people of your Village is a Colonie of the Louver, that hath preserved the first puritie of their language amidst the corrup­tion of their Neighbours. There never were such fine things writ­ten upon the banke of Dordoune; at least, not since the death of de Montaigue, yet I esteeme them not so much, because they are so fine, as because they come from you, whose I passionately am,

At Balzac, 25. Jan. 1633.
Sir, Your, &c.

To Madam Desloges. LETTER L.

MAdam, I am alwayes of your minde; and like not Ladies that would be Cavaliers. There are certain bounds that part us, and mark us out our several duties and conditions: which nei­ther you nor we can lawfully passe. And the lawes of Decencie are so ancient, that they seeme to be a part of the ancient religion. Moses hath extended the commandements of God, even to the distinction of your apparell, and ours: and you know he expresly forbids to disguise our selves in one anothers cloathes. Women must be altogether women: the vertues of our sex, are not the ver­tues of theirs; and the more they seek to imitate men, the more they degenerate from their owne kinde. We have had some women amongst us, that would ride Spanish horses, would discharge Pis­tols, and would be parties in maintaining quarrels. M. the Mar­shall Scomberg shewed me once a letter, which he writ to a Gen­tlewoman of — at the end whereof are these words; I kisse the hands of this valiant and pleasing Lady, that is your second in the day, and your wife at night. This Lady might parhaps be valiant, but to my humour, she could not be pleasing. If she had had a beard, she could not have had a greater fault. Women that are valiant, are as much to blame, as men that are cowards. And it is as un­seemly for Ladies to weare swords by their sides, as for Gentlemen to have glasses hanging at their girdles. I professe my selfe an ene­my, Madam, to these usurpations of one sex upon another. It strikes me with a kinde of horror, when I read in histories of the ancient women Fencers, whom the Romanes beheld with such plea­sure in their Amphitheater; and I account not Amazons in the number of women, but of Monsters and Prodigies. Sweetnesse and tendernesse are the qualities that belong to you; and will your she Friend give over her claime to these, that is, to the succession of her mother, and the priviledges of her birth? will she not be as well contented as you, with the partition which Nature her selfe hath made? I cannot conceive with what face she can goe a hunting amongst such violence and tumults, and how she can run hallow­ing all day, till shee be out of breath, after a kennell of Hounds, and a troope of Huntsemen. God made her for the Closet, and not for the Field: and in truth, it is a great sin to distend so hand­some a mouth, and to disfigure so comely a face, with blowing a borne. To expose such excellent things to all the boughes of the [Page 55] Forrest, and to all the injuries of the weather; and to endanger such pretious colours with winde and raine, with the Sun and dust. And yet, Madam, to see hunting, without being a partie; to goe in Coach, and in Parkes inclosed, where a multitude of beasts are kept prisoners, and come to dye at Ladies feet; such a recreation as this, I doe not condemne, being only entertained with the eyes, and may passe either for a spectacle, or a walke; and is as farre from agitation, as from rest. But this serves not her turne, she cals these but lazie and sedentarie recreations, and takes no plea­sure, but when it is with hazard of her life. But what would be thought Madam, if one would come and tell you, shee is slaine with a fall, by ranke riding, or that shee hath met with a wild Boare, that was too hard for her? In such cases, there would not onely be no excuse for her death, but it would bee a blot upon her memory for ever: and to save her honor, there must bee feigned some other accident in her Epitaph. As for that other discoursing Lady you complaine of, and whom I know, she commits not in truth such extravagant faults as this doth; yet she hath her faults too: and I can no more allow of women to be Doctors, than of women to be Cavaliers. She should take you for a paterne, and make pro­fit of the good example you give. You know indeed, an infinite number of excellent things; but you make no open confession of your knowledge, as ssee doth, and you shew, you have not learned them to keepe a Schoole. You speake to her, when she preacheth to you; and making popular answers to her riddles, and giving di­stinction to her confusion: you doe her at least, this good office, to expound her to her selfe. Neither in the tune of your voyce, nor in the manner of your expressing, is any thing seen in you, but that which is naturall and French: and although your spirit bee of an extreame high elevation, and farre above the ordinarie reach, yet you so accomodate it to the capacitie of all that heare you, that whilest the meaner sort doe understand you, the more able spirits do admire you. It is a great matter Madam, to have gotten the knowledge of such excellent things: but it is a greater matter so to hide them, as if they were stollen, and to call them, as you do, by the name of of your secret Truantings. Your Canvas, your Silk, your Needles are seen, but your papers are not seen; and those women that are taken with men that are not their husbands, are not more surprized than you are, when you are found to have an Authour in your hand, that is not French. I know therefore, Ma­dam, you cannot approve of one so contrarie to your selfe, how faire a shew soever you make, nor will ever change the plainnesse of your words, for her learned gybrish. Pedanterie is not sufferable [Page 54] in a Master of Art, how should it bee borne withall in a woman? And what patience can endure to heare one talke a whole day together, Metamorphosis and Philosophie; to mingle the Idaeas of Plato, and the Praedicables of Porphirie together: to make no complyment, that hath not in it a dozen Horizons and Hemispheares; and at last, when she hath no more to say, then to raile upon me in Greeke, and accuse me of Hyperbole, and Caco­zeale? These be her devises, she will have, in two verses, at least foure full points; she hath a designe to set on foot, and bring into use againe, the Strophes and Antistrophes; she gives Rules both of Epick and Dramatick Poesie, and sayth, she cannot endure a Come­die, that is not within the law of foure and twentie houres: and this she is going about to publish through all France. If I had a mortall enemie, I would desire no greater revenge of him, than to wish him such a wife. Nothing hath more confirmed me in my desire of soli­tude, than the example of this Ladie: and I see plainly, that a single life is the best thing in the world, seeing it lies in covert, and is free from the cumber of this talking Ladie. I expect by this bearer the Essences you promised me, and am,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 20. Septemb: 1628.

Another to her. LETTER LI.

MAdam, I cannot possibly live anie longer without hearing from you: but I cannot hear of any of whom to hear it, and Lymousins are as rare in these parts, as Spaniards since the war was proclaimed. I must therfore make use of a messenger, whom you have raised to an Embassador, to the end he may inform me of your health and your friends. My love of you, drawes on a curiositie for all that are yours: and my minde will not be in quiet, till I heare how the Gentlemen, your children doe, and what good newes you heare from them. Particularly I desire to know, whether you be yet a Grand-mother in Holland: and whether my Lady, your daughte-in law, have brought you Captaines or Senatours, at least, Ma­dam, they shall be children much bound to their mother; seeing, besides their birth, they shall owe her for their libertie, a thing they should not doe to a Fleming of Bruxels. I have seene the Cavalier [Page 59] you have so often spoken of, and I thinke you judge verie rightlie of him. He consists wholly of a Pickedevant, and two Mustacho [...]s▪ and therefore utterly to defeat him, there needes but three clippes of a paire of scizers. It is not possible to bring one — to be afraid of him. Hee sayth, that if he wore a Lions skinne, and carried in one hand a Torch, and in the other a Clubbe, yet in such equipage hee would be more ridiculous than redoubtable. Hee beleeves he hath choler enough, but beleeves not he hath any heart; he reckons him in the number of beasts that are skittish and resty, but not that are cruell and furious: And when I tell him, he hath been often in the field; he answers, me, it hath been then, rather to feed, than to fight. You can, if you please, returne me a hun­dred fold for this my untoward short relation: and it will be long of you, if my man come not back laden with histories, which must certainly have been written to you by the last Posts. Take pitty upon the ignorance of your neighbours, and doe me the honour to beleive I am,

Madam,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 15. Aug. 1635.

To Madam du Fos. LETTER LII.

MAdam, my deer Cousin; There is nothing heard in all quar­ters, but benedictions and praises, which our poor pleaders give you. They invocate you, as their Redeemer; and if Themis be the goddess of good causes, it seems you are the goddess of good success. For my self, I have known a long time, that you are powerful in per­swasion, and never speak without prevayling. This is the cause, why I have promised Monsieur de —, not that you shal sollicit for him, but that you shall speed for him; and I am this day warranted of the Event. I could tell you, to make you respect him the more, that he is able to thanke you, in five or six languages; that he hath a full Magazine of Astrolabes and Globes; and that, being but of a meane statute, he hath yet, by his knowledge in the Ma­thematicks, found a meanes to make himselfe as high as Heaven. But I will content my selfe to say, that he is my friend, and your Oratour: that if my commendation, and your own glory be deare unto you, you cannot but very shortly send him backe with full satis­faction. [Page 58] I promised to send you the two Sonnets, you have heard so much spoken of, but my bad memory makes me sayl in a part of my pro­mise, and I can send you, but one and a halfe.

The one entire is this:

Tu reposois Daphnis, au plus haut de Parnasse,
Couronné de louriers si touffus & si vers,
Qu' ils sembloit te Couurir des orages divers
Dont la rigueur du sort trouble nostre bonace.
Quand l' injuste Menaique a been eu cett' audace
D' employer les poysons sons sarabe couuerts,
Pour corrumpre ton Nom qui remplit l' univers
Et me sprise du temps la fatale menace.
Mais si durant la paix, tes Innocents Escrits,
Forcerent d' avouer les plus rares esprits:
Que Florence devoit ta Temple a ta memoire,
Ce style de combat, Cet Efford plus qu' humain,
Fera voir a quel poynt, tu peux mettre ta gloire,
Qu'and l' injure t' a mis les armes a la main,

The halfe one is this:

Quelque fois ma raison par des foibles discans,
M' incite a la revolte, & me promet secours
Mais lors que tout de bon je me veur servir d' elle
Apres beaucoup de peine, et d' efforts impuissants
Elle dit, qu' vranie est seule aymable & belle,
Et m' yrengage plus que ne font tous mes sens.

The Authour of this last Sonnet hath made one in Spanish, which in the Court of Spaine, goes under the Name of Lopez de Vega, and another in Italian, which Marino verily beleeved, he had read in Petrarke; It is a Spirit, that changeth himselfe at pleasures and transformes himselfe into what shape he list: yet he deserves better prayses than this, and his Morall qualities are nothing behinde his Intellectual, I will tell you his Name, when it shall be lawfull to love him openly, and and to make his Encomium without scruple. But first, it is needfull, that Fortune which hath cast him upon an Enemies Countrey, should bring him backe to Paris, where both of us meane to waite upon or, to make our Court, and from thence I desire not ever [Page 59] to returne, but onely to testifie to you more carefully, than here­tofore I have done, that I am

Madam my deare Cousin,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 4. May. 1630.

To Madam de Campagnole. LETTER LIII.

MY most deare Sister, I send you the Book which you required of me, for my Neece, and I beleeve, that this and her Pra­yer-Booke may very well suffice to make up her whole Librarie: she shall find in it, a Devotion that is not too mysticall, nor too much refined; and which hath nothing but Morall and reasonable. I like this popular Divinitie, which meets us halfe way, and stoops a little, that we may not strayne our selves too much. It follows the example of its Authour, who made himselfe familiar with com­mon people, and put not backe so much as Curtisans and Publicans, farre from making division in families, and with­drawing women from obedience to their mothers, and their hus­bands. It commends this obedience, as their principall vertue, and calls it a second worship, and a second religion. I shall be glad to see my Neece make profession of a pietie, so conformable to na­turall reason, and so good a counsellour of all other duties. But let her not, I pray, climbe higher, and undertake Meditations of her owne head. Irenada whom I sent her, hath taken this paines for her and hath meditated for her, and for all other that shall read his Bookes. There is nothing more dangerous, than to mount up to Heaven without a helper and a guide; and it is a great confidence, one must have in his Spirit, to let it goe so farre, and be assured, it will ever come backe againe. It is not long agoe, there was in a Towne of Spaine, a Societie of devoted persons, who continued in meditation so many houres a day, leaving of all base workes, to live, as they sayd, a more heavenly life; but what thinke you, be­came of it? even a thousand domesticall disorders, and a thousand publike extravagancies. The less credulous tooke the pricke of a pinne, for a Saints marke, the more humble, accounted their hus­bands prophane; the wiser sort spake what came in their heads, and made faces perpetually. In so much, that when in the moneth of May, there did not past three or foure runne mad; it was [Page 62] counted a good yeare. It is fit to stay ones selfe upon the true ver­tue, and not to follow the vaine Phantasmes of holinesse. And it is farre safer, to ground ones selfe upon a solid and certain reading, than to goe wandring in a hollow, and unsteady contemplation. If I had more time, you should have mors words; but he that brings you the letter, calls upon me for it, and I can adde no more to it, but that I perfectly am,

My deare sister,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 15. Aprill. 1635.

Another to her. LETTER LIIII.

MY dearest Sister, all the world tells me, that my Niece is fayre, and you may beleeve, I will challenge no man, for saying so: Beautie is in Heaven a qualitie of those glorious bodies, and in Earth the most visible marke that comes from Heaven. It is not fit therefore to slight these gifts of God, nor to make small account of this sparke of the life to come: It is not fit to be of so crosse an humour, to blame that which is generally praysed. Marke when a comely personage comes in place, having but this advantage of her birth, you shall presently see all that were talking, to hold their peace; and what noyse soever there was before, you shall have all husht, and an universall calme upon a suddaine: you shall see a whole great multitude, all busie in different matters to make presently but one body, and that onely to stand to gaze and won­der; some leave the tales they had begun, some curtoll their com­plaints, and cut them off in the middest; every man puts off his conceits to some other time, onely to take a full view, and to contemplate this divine thing that presents it selfe. If it be at a Ser­mon, they leave hearkening to the Preacher, and they are no long­er the auditours of M. de Nantes, but the spectatours of Calista. The fayre can never be seene without respect, without praises, with­out acclamations. They triumph, as often as they appeare, and their youth hath not more dayes, than their beautie hath Festivalls. But the mischiefe is, my deere Sister, that the Festivals are short, the youth is not lasting, and the fayre at last come to be ill favoured. Queenes and Princesses grow old, and there is no old beau­tie, but that of God, of the Sunne, and of the Starres. [Page 63] These heads that now have neither skinne, nor flesh, nor haire; These carkasses and dry bones have beene in their time, the divinities and wonders of the world; and was heretofore called the Dutchesse of Va­lentinois, the Dutchesse of Beaufort, the Marquis of —: Besides there may happen diseases, which will doe old ages worke before hand, and are oftentimes more gastly than death it selfe. Wee are frighted sometimes to see the spoyle and ruines of Faces, upon which the foote of sicknesse hath troaden, and there is nothing, in which we may more observe, the lamentable markes of the inconstancie of humane things. From hence I conclude, that beauty being a thing so frayle and tender, subject to so many accidents, and so hard to keepe; it is fit we should seeke after another beautie, that is more firme and permanent, that can better withstand corruption, and better defend it self against the force of time. Above all, it is not fit, that women should be proud of a qualitie, that is infamous for the losses and wracks of many poore Consciences, and which as innocent and chast as it can be, will yet be a cause to raise in others, a thousand fowle desires, and a thousand unhallowed and wicked thoughts. Say, my Niece hath some thing in her that is pleasing, some thing that is faire and beautifull, as h [...] friends conceive, yet she ought alwayes to be afraid of such a good, that is so dangerous for doing hurt to others. I set before her eyes, the sad Picture of that which she shall be hereafter; to the end, she may not grow proud of that which she is now. There is no hurt in meditating a little upon this poynt. But allow her the liberty we lately tooke from her; yet withall, put her alwayes in minde, that of the foure beauties I have shewed her in my Tasso; there is but one of them, that will be a fit example for her to follow. She must leave Armida and Erminia, for the Gallants of the Court, Clorinda is for the valorous men of Gascoigne, and Pe­rigord; but she that I propose for her Patterne, is Sophronia. And if she have not courage enough to say to the Tyrant, as she said, It is I that am the Delinquent you looke for, let her at least, have the other con­ditions, that are necessary to the being her follower, and imitate her in them. This faire Saint made profession of modestie, and neglected her beautie; she was alwayes, either hidden under a veile, or shut up in her Chamber, and all the world might suspect her to be faire; but there was scarce any at all that knew it but her mother. She had no de­signe to entrappe any mans liberty, and therefore laid not her snares in their way, nor went to Church to see and to be seene. My deare sister, I cannot choose but take upon me here to be a reformer of cor­rupt manners, and make my complaint to you, of a Custome, which as well as many other naughtie things, the Court hath cast upon us. What reason is there in the world, that women should enter into holy places, of purpose to draw upon them, the view and attention of the [Page 64] Company; as much as to say, to trouble and disturbe the whole de­votion of a Towne, and to doe as bad, or worse, as those buyers and sellers did, whom Christ whipped out of the Temple? By this meanes, good actions become evill, and Pietie comes to have no better odour before the Altars, than Perfumes that are mustie and corrupted. Wo­men now adayes, are bound to be seene to be at Church; and this ve­ry desire of being seene there, is the ordinary prophanation of the place where they are seene. And in truth, seeing this place is particu­larly called the House of God, what is it but to vilifie God, even in the highest degree, to come and offend at his owne doores, and as it were to his face? It is even as great an Impudency, as that of the first Angells, who sinned in Paradise. Yet herein certainly, the Italian wo­men are more pardonable than the French; for they indeed, have no other breathing time of their unfortunate liberty, being at all other times, kept up as slaves and prisoners: but in France, where women are not denyed the company and visits of honest men, they can have nothing to say, in justification of this incontinency of their eyes, and of this unsufferable vanitie, to seeke to part stakes with God, in mens vowes, and to share with him in his publike Adoration. You little thought this morning to heare a Preacher, and I as little thought to be one; but as you see, the zeale of Gods House, hath brought me to it; and finding my selfe at leisure, I was desirous to bestow part of it upon you The Text was given me yesterday, by the company that was here; where my Neeces beautie was so much extolled, that, sending you Newes, which are to her so glorious, I thought fit to send her withall a cooling, to keepe her glorying in some temper: and so my deare Sister, I take my leave, and am with all my soule,

Your, &c.
At Balzac, 3. May. 1635.

Another to her. LETTER LV.

MY dearest sister, having both of us but one passion, it makes us alwayes talking of one thing. My Neece is the subject of all our Lettters, as she is the object of all ou [...] cares. For my owne part I see not a good or a bad example, which I make not use of for her instru­ction, [Page 65] and endeavour to imploy it to her profit. You remember a wo­man the other day, who values nothing, likes of nothing, excuses no­thing; and let her be in the best and most pleasing company that may be, yet she is sure to put them all into dumpes and melancholy. You can come on no side of her, but she pricks and bites: all her coasts are craggie and rockie. And it was not without cause my bro­ther said, that if the man you wot of, had married her, there would certainly have nothing come of that marriage, but Teeth and Nayles. It is impossible to live in peace with such a savage chastitie. I make no more reckoning of it, than of that of the Furies, whom the ancient Poets call virgines, and wonder not, that women of this humour, love no man, seeing they hate the whole world. This sad and sullen poyson taking up all the roome in their soules, leaves no place at all for other passions that are sweet and pleasing. They fly pleasures, rather by ha­ving their mouth out of taste, than by having their judgement in per­fection: and are so continually fretting, that they have no leasure at any time to be merrie. As long as they be chast, they thinke they may lawfully be discourteous, and scratch men, so they doe not kisse them. They have a conceit, that by wanting one vice, they have presently all vertues: and that for a little good fame they gaine to their husbands, they may keepe them under yoake, and affront all mankinde. It is true, the losse of a womans honour is the greatest disgrace she can possibly in­curre; and which once lost, she hath nothing left her that is worth the keeping: But yet it followes not, that the preserving it, is any such royall act; and I doe not admire any, for not being willing to live in misery and disgrace. I never heard, that a woman should be praised, for not falling in the fire, or for not casting her selfe downe a rock. We condemne the memorie of them that kill themselves; but we give no reward to them that preserve themslves. And so indeed it is, a wo­man that magnifies her selfe for being chast, magnifies her selfe for not being dead, and for having a quality, without which she were as good be out of the world, seeing she stayes not in it, but for a plague to her name, and to see her owne infamie. I say yet more, that she ought not so much to consider the vice as an evill thing, as to consider it as an in­possible thing, and not to have it so much in detestation, as in igno­rance. For indeed, if a woman be truly vertuous, She will sooner be­lieve there are Maremaids and Centaures, than that there are any disho­nest women: but will rather conceive that the world is given to slan­dering, and that Fame is a lyer, than that her neighbour is false and disloyall to her husband: though with her owne eyes she should see the fault committed, yet it is her part to suspect her eyes were mistaken, and that it was but an illusion which she saw; at least, she should never give sentence upon this sort of delinquents, seeing Christ himselfe would [Page 66] not doe it to the adulterous woman. When others wrong a woman, it is her part to be sorry: and when others say, she hath beene un­faithfull, it may be enough for her to say, she hath been unfortu­nate. And yet more than this too, I could wish, if it were possible, that where she findes most weakenesse, there she should shew most goodnesse; and I would not, that vertue should beget this bad qua [...]ity. It is an enemy to society, and deserve not to have so good a mother: and one may well flie and blame the vice, so as the flying it, be without ostentation, and the blaming it be without choler. For otherwise, it would be as much as to require a statue for do­ing nothing; and in the smart of the punishment, to seeke for the pleasure of revenge. An honest woman reformes the world by the example of her life, and not by the violence of her spirit. She ought not to proclaime warre against any; not against the most indiscreet and insolent: and if there chance any licentious or uncivill word to be uttered in her hearing, she ought to checke it, either by giving no care, or by falling into some other discourse, or by casting upon the spea­ker a beams of modesty, that may c [...]ver his confusion, and pi [...]ce his very soule: and thus she shall use a chastising withou [...] offending. There is as well a severity in modesty, as a sweetnesse, and which keepes insolency it selfe in awe: and a woman that carries this excel­lent vertue in her eyes, keepes men within the bounds of their [...]uty, without ever falling into out-rage, or into words of choler. Other vertues are hidden, and have nothing in them that is visible, or that falls under sence. This vertue hath a body of light, and riseth up into the face, in those pre [...]ty staynes, which bashfulnesse that is her usher, as Aurora is the Sunnes, sends up into it. And in truth, the Pu [...]ple, whereof the Poets speaks, which appeares at the breake of day, is nothing so rich and glorious, as that w [...]ich is disclosed in an ho­nesty a little bashfull; the effect whereof in noble tempers is not an over-flowing of blood, but onely one single drop well husbanded. It is not a masse of r [...], which sets the face on fi [...]e. It is onely a first im­pression, and as it were, a shadow of tincture, that lightly colours it. This honest blush, which is so pleasing a thing in maidens faces, and which I distinguish from that, which is sottish and untoward, is a barre, and sufficient defence against the audaciousnesse or the most impudent; and when it is seen to shine in a womans looke, there is no licen­tiousnesse that is not dazeled with it, and is not stopt from daring to proceed. And therefore there is no necessity of using any straining of the voyce, any churlishnesse of words, or any agitation of gestures, to doe that, which may better be done by silence, and with quietnesse. And indeed women are bound, if for nothing else, yet for the very in [...]erest for their beauty, to shun a passion, that makes such vilanous [Page 67] faces, and sets so many wrinkles upon their countenance. I have heard some of them complaine, that the scent of a Rose was too strong, and that Musk made their heads ake, because it had not milde sweetness enough: and why then will they not take that sweetnesse into themselves, which they seeke for so much in other things? and finde fault with the want of it in that Art, which proposeth to it selfe no other end? if without this sweetnesse, there grow from the most pre­cious odour, a certaine quality which offends them; and if there be some Flowers, and some Perfumes that please them not, what likeli­hood is there, that Brimstone and Salt-peter can please them, and that their humour can have any thing common with these violent substan­ces? It is true perhaps, that sweetnesse and mildnesse have their exces­ses; but yet, even those excesses are more lawfull, than the justest temper of shrewishnesse and incivility; at least in a woman, they are much more commendable: and it becomes her better to dissemble that she knowes, than to discover verities that are odious: and better she should be though [...] to come out of another world, than to carry to a man the fi [...]st newes of his stinking breath, and teach another to know the infirmity of his race▪ which perhaps he knew not before. These Libe [...]ties are not sufferable in the f [...]eest Conversations, they draw on other more dangerous liberties; and though your sex be inviolable, and have the priviledge of sanctuary, yet prophane persons stick not to lay hands on the Saints themselves, and on their Altars, and nothing is so sac [...]ed, that can escape the hand of sacriledge. Onely those persons that can revenge offences, may venture to give offences; and one that will give the lye, must be of a condition to fight a Duell, and main­taine it by Armes. My Neece hath no great need of these precepts, nor indeed of any forraigne instruction; she cannot wander from the right, if she goe not astray from her owne inclination; nor can be troublesome to others, if shee borrow not a vice which is none of her owne. I have therefore represented to her, the woman of the other day: but after their example, who shewed their slaves drunke to their Children, and that is to make her afraid of filthy Objects, and to make that hatefull to her, which is not in it selfe lovely; to confirme her in the principles which you have taught her, and to draw her out some rules from her owne action: She is (I know) naturally good; but the best natures have need of some method to guide them, and direction doth never any hurt to vertue: she is able to keep her selfe in termes extremely obliging, without ever falling into the basenesse of flattery: She is able to please without colloguing; and although she call not every thing by the right name; nor be so very curious to speak in proper termes, yet her stile shall not for that, be the lesse liked, nor her company the lesse desired. she may call them wise that [Page 68] want the reputation of being valiant; and women that are sad; she may say they are serious. If a man be not of a quick spirit, she may say, he is of a good judgement: and if one be unfortunate in his actions, she may yet say, he hath a good meaning in his counsails But yet in this there is a measure to be held, and a choyce must be made, in lay­ing her colours, that she seeke not to disguise all sorts of subjects: for there are some indeed that are not capable of disguising. Those that are pale, she may praise for their whitenesse: but those that have a dropsie, she must not praise for their fatnesse: she may say, that scruple is a bud of pietie, but she must not say, that prophanenesse is an effect of Phylosophie. She may make a favourable construction of things doubtfull, and sweeten the rigour of particular judgements; but she must not contend against common sence, nor be opposite to verities that are publicke and manifest. She must make a difference betweene errours and crimes, betweene a docible simplicitie and a presumptuous stupiditie, betweene sots that are honest, and those that are wicked. And if she happen to be in company, where some weake spirit is op­pressed, as the world is full of such that will triumph over the weak, and take no pittie of any, she must then, by all meanes, be a protectresse of such a one, and make her selfe a Sanctuary for all those, whom stron­ger adversaties would otherwise ruine. This onely is to be observed, that she so undertake the maintaining of weake causes, that it may ap­peare by the tune of her voyce, that it proceeds from excesse of good­nesse, and not from want of knowledge: and that she compassionates humane infirmities by an act of charity, but makes not her selfe a party by false perswasion. I am now at the end of my paper; and should have beene a good while since at the end of my letter: but I alwayes forget my selfe when I am with you, and never thinke howers shorter, than those I bestow upon your memorie. And so my deare sister, I bid you farewell, not without great longing to see you: and if you and all your company come not hither the next weeke, I proclaime it to you, that I am no longer,

At Balzac. 10. July. 1634.
Your, &c.

THE SECOND PART of the third Volume of the Letters of MONSIEUR DE BALZAC.

To my Lord the Cardinall, Duke of Richelieu. LETTER I.

MY Lord, being stayed here by some occasions, I suffer this hard necessitie with a great deale of paine, and account my selfe banished from my Countrey, being so long a time deprived of your presence. I deny not, but the victorious and triumphant Newes, that comes continually from the Armie, gives me some resentment of joy, and that the brute of your Name in all quarters, toucheth me very sensibly; but it is no perfect satisfaction to me, to learne that by others relating, which I ought to know as an eye-witnesse, and I conceive so great a pleasure to consist in the sight of your glory, that there is not a common souldier under your Command, whose happinesse and good fortune, I doe not envie. But my Lord, though I cannot serve you with my bodily acti­ons, yet I revere you day and night, with the thoughts of my minde, and in this so worthy an imployment, I never thinke the noblest part of my selfe, can doe service enough. Your Lordship, next to the King, is the eternall object of my spirit, I never turne my eyes from the course of your life; and if perhaps, you have Courtiers more officious than my selfe, and such as doe their duties with greater ostentation and shew, [Page 70] yet I am most sure, you have no servant that is more faithfull, and whose affection comes more truely from his heart, and is fuller of life and vigour. But to the end, my words may not be thought vaine, and without ground, I send you now a proofe of that I say, by which, you shall perceive, that a man that is himselfe perswaded, hath a great dis­position to perswade others, and that a Discourse, founded upon the things themselves, and animated with the truth, both stirres mens spi­rits with greater force, and also begets a firmer beliefe, than that which is but feigned, and comes but in the nature of Declayming. This my Lord, is a part drawne out from the whole bodie, and a piece, which I have taken most paines to polish; which, I freely vow unto you, that all the houres of a calmer leisure than mine, and all the powers of a more elevated spirit than ordinary, would have found work enough to bring to perfection. In it, there is handled, Of the vertue, and victo­ries of the King; Of the Justice of his Armes; Of Royalty and Tyran­ny; Of usurpers and lawfull Princes; Of Rebellion chastened, and liberty mainteined; but because the Prince I speake of, is a stirrer, and makes no stay any where, and that in following him, I should imbarque my selfe in a world of severall subjects; I have therefore, prescribed to my selfe certaine bounds, which in his actions, I should never have met with: and after the example of Homer, who finished his Ilias with the death of Hector, though that were not the end of the warre; I have thought fit, not to goe further, than the taking of Size, though this were but the beginning of the wonder, we have seene of his. You know my Lord, that this kinde of writing, which I propose to my selfe, is without comparison, the most painefull of all other; and that it is a hard matter, to continue long in an action that must be violent, and to be violent in an action that must continue long. This prayse belongs properly to Oratours, I meane such as know how to perswade, how to please in profiting; and can make the people capable of the secrets of Governing a Common-wealth. For as for Phy­losophers, that have written of this argument, their discourse is com­monly so dry and meager, that it appeares, their intention was rather to instruct, than to please; and besides, their style is so thornie and cumbersome, that it seemes they meant to teach none, but the lear­ned. And in this, there is no more difficulty, than there is in healing of men that be in health. And for a man, to make himselfe obscure, there needs no more, but to stay upon the first notions we have of truth, which are never, either wholly pure nor well unfolded, and which falling from the imagination upon paper, leave upon it such a confusion, that it resembles rather an informed abortion, than a perfect production. Besides, in the composition of a History, especi­ally where the Politiques have to doe, an Authour is carried, and [Page 71] borne out by his matter, and the things being all made to his hand, which ease him of the paines of invention, as the order of the time easeth him of the care of disposing: he hath little to doe for his part, but onely to contribute words, which is by some made so small a mat­ter, that when Menander was pressed by some friends to publish a worke of his, that he had promised: He made answer, it shall presently come forth; for it is in a manner all finished and ready, there wants nothing, but to make the words. But in the perswasive kinde of writing (besides, that there must be a better choice made, and a stricter order used, in placing the words, than in simple Narrations, which for all their lustre and riches of expression, require no more but plainnesse, and fit termes) they which desire to attaine perfection, or indeed to doe any thing at all of worth, endeavour all they can, to put in use, and reduce to action, the most subtile Idaea's of all Rhetorick; to raise up their understanding to the highest poynt of things; to search out, in every matter, the verities lesse exposed to view, and to make them so familiar, that they who perceived them not before, may by their relation come as it were to touch them Their designe is, to joyne pleasure to profit, to mingle daintinesse and plenty together; and to fight with Armes, not onely firme and strong, but also faire and glittering. They endeavour to civilize Learning; draw­ing it from the Colledge, and freeing it from the hands of Pedants, who marre and sully it in handling: and to say the truth, adulterate, and corrupt it, abusing this excellent and delicate thing in the sight of all the world. They seeke not to avoide Rockes by turning aside from them, but rather by slyding gently over them, and rather to escape places of danger, than to shunne them. And to make it appeare, that nothing is so sowre or bitter, but that it may be sweetned and al­layed by Discourse. Finally, they suffer themselves sometimes to be transported with that reasonable sury, which Rhetoricians have well knowne, though it goe beyond their Rules and Precepts: which thrust an Oratour into such strange and uncouth motions, that they seeme rather inspired, than to be naturall; and with which, Demosthenes and Cicero were so possessed, that the one of them sweares by those that dyed at Marathon, and of his owne authority makes them Gods: the other, askes questions of the Hilles and Forrests of Alba, as if they had eares, and were able to heare him. But if I were one that did come any thing neere so noble an end, (which I neither will nor dare beleive) and that I were able to make strangers see, that all things in France are changed for the better, since the happy Reigne of our King, who no lesse augmenteth our spirits, than he encreaseth our courage: yet it is not I that should merit the glory of this, but I must whol­ly attribute it to the happinesse of my time, and to the force of my ob­ject. [Page 72] Howsoever, my Lord, if I cannot be taken into the List of lear­ned and able men, at least, I cannot be denyed a place amongst honest men, and loyall servants; and if my abilities be worthy of no consi­deration with you, at least, my zeale and affection, are better worth, than to be rejected. With which meditation, I am sometimes so ra­vished, that I doubt not, but my resentments must needs content you; and that it is no unpleasing recreation to you, to cast your eye upon a Philosopher in choler. And though true love content it selfe with the testimony of its owne Conscience: and that I give you many proofes of my most humble service, which I assure my selfe, will never come to your knowledge; yet for your satisfaction, I desire you might heare me sometimes in the place where you are, and might see, with what advan­tage, I maintaine the publike cause, in what manner I controll false Newes that runs about, and how I stop their mouthes that will be tal­king in disparagement of our affaires. It is certaine, that it is not possi­ble our State should be more flourishing than it is, or that the successe of the Kings Armes should be more glorious than it is, or that the Peace of the People should be more assured than it is, or that your Govern­ment should be more judicious than it is; and yet we meete with cer­taine spirits, that are troubled with their owne quietnesse, are impatient of their owne felicitie, cannot be held in any good beliefe, but by pros­perities that are supernaturall; and longer than they see miracles, give no credit to any thing. If present affaires be in good termes, then they cast out feares of those to come; and when they see the events prove happie, then they fall affrighting us with Presages. They take an Oath, to esteeme of no persons, but forreyners; of no things, but farre set. They admire Spinola, because he is an Italian, and their enemie; they cannot abide to praise the King, because he is a Frenchman, and their Master. They will hardly be drawne to confesse, that the King hath o­vercome, though they see before their eyes, an infinite number of Townes taken; of Factions ruinated, eternall Monuments of his Victories: and more easily the King hath gotten the applause of all Eu­rope, than these mens approbation. They would perswade us, If they could, that he had raised his Siege before Rochell; That he had made a shamefull Peace with the Protestants; and that the Spaniards had made him run away. They doe all they can, to exterminate his History, and to extinguish the greatest light that shall ever shine to posteritie. I doubt not, but they cast a malicious eye upon my Booke; for presen­ting an image of those things which offend them so much. And they who believe Fables and Romances, and are in passion, for an Hercules or an Achilles, who perhaps never were; They who reade with extasie of joy, the actions of Rowland and of Reinold, which were never done, but upon Paper: These men will finde no rellish in a true History, be­cause [Page 73] it gives testimony to the vertue of their naturall King. They can like well enough, that against the credit of all Antiquity, Xenophon being a Graecian, and no Persian, should frame Cyrus a life after his owne fancie, and make him die in his bed, and amongst his Friends; when yet he dyed in the warres, and overcome by a woman: and they can like well enough, that Plinie should tell a lye in open Senate, and praise Trajan for temperance and chastitie, who yet was given to wine, and to another vice so fowle that it cannot honestly be named, but they can by no meanes like, that I, who am the Kings subject born, should say that of him, which no man can deny to be most true, and that being to make a patern for Princes, I should rather make choice of his life, than either of that of Cyrus, which is fabulous; or that of Trajan, which is not the purest, that I may not speake of that of Caesar Bogia, which is all blacke with licentiousnesse and crimes. Heaven it selfe is not able to give this kinde of people a Governour to their minde. He that was according to Gods owne heart, should not be according to theirs: They would not thinke S [...]lomon wise enough, nor Alexander valiant enough. They are generally enemies of all sorts of Masters; and accusers of all things the present time affords. They make our heads ake with crying out, that there was no necessity to make a war in Italy; but if you had stayed still at Paris, they would have cryed out much lowder, that it had not been honest to suffer our allyes to perish. Because some of our Kings have made unfortunate voyages beyond the mountaines, therefore they will needs have it, that our King, though he follow not their counsels, should yet fall into their misfortunes. They accuse your conduct with old proverbs, because they cannot with sound reasons. They say, Italy is the Church yard of the French: and being not able to observe the least fault in all your carriage in that countrey, they lay upon you the faults of our auncestors, and charge you with the errour of Charles the eighth. Yet I conceive that these mens sinne is rather of infirmity than of malice, that they are rather passionate for their opinions, than Pensioners of our enemies; and that they have more need of helpe by Physick, than of restraint by Law. But it is a grievous thing to see, how the busie-bodyes of our time, speake the same language, which Rebells did in times past; and abuse the happinesse of liberty, even against him, who hath procured it unto us. They come continually, and tell me, we are like to receive much prejudice by the discontent of such a Prince, that is gone from our side. And I answer them, it is better to have a weake enemy to fight withall, than a quarrelsome friend to make much of. They will by all meanes, that the King at any price, should succour Cazall; and I tell them, that he hath succoured it already, by his conquest of Savoy: and that in the state as things now stand, it cannot be taken, but to be delivered [Page 74] back. They are not contented that you performe actions that are extra­ordinary, they looke you should performe some that are impossible: And though there arise sometimes such difficulties in things, that they cannot by any possibility be encountred; I say not, by defect in the un­dertaker but by reason of repugnancy in the subject; yet they will not take for payment, such reasons as wise men are satisfied withall, but they would have the King doe that, which the Turke and Persian joy­ned together, were not able to doe. Th [...]se things, my Lord, would put me extreamly into passion, and I could never be patient at such ex­cesse of ungratefulnesse, if I did not remember, that there hath some­times beene a spirit, so sullen, and so sawcy, that it dared to finde fault with the workes of God himselfe, and was not afraid to say, that if he had been of his counsell, as well in the creation as in the go­vernment of the world, he would have given him better advise than he tooke at first, or than he now followes. After so immense a folly, you must not thinke it strange, if there be some extravagants; and the vulgar at all times hath beene found but an unjust Judge of vertue; and yet for all that, it hath never beene without admirers, and now, if those that have but little instinct, and can doe nothing but murmure, and doe not favour him, it is for us, my Lord, to testifie unto you, that reasonable men, and such as know how to speare, are of the better side.

At Balzac, 4. Aug. 1630.
Your most humble and most obedient servant. BALZAC.

Another to him. LETTER II.

MY Lord, hearing that Monsieur de — meanes to question me about the Benefice you did me the honour to give me: and that by vertue of his dispensation, he hath sent to take possession, I have conceived no better shelter, to avoide this storme, than under the greatnesse of your Name; nor any safer defence against the forces of such an adversary, than the respect of such a Protector as you are. I require not in this any strayning of your Lordships [Page 75] power; I know you are sparing of it in your owne proper interests, and reserve it for occasions that are publicke and important: I onely re­quire the continuance of your love, and that you would signifie to him that tr [...]bles me, you would be glad he would let me be at quiet. F [...] besides that to stand in suit with a man of his robe, were as much as to fight with a M [...]ster of Fence, and to put ones whole right in h [...]z [...]rd: It would trouble me, my Lord, though I were assured of successe, to thinke I should owe any part of it to any other besides your selfe, seeing I account it more glory to receive from you, than to w [...]est from another Monsieur de — may doe well, to keepe his dispensation for a better ma [...]ket, and draw much more profit with a little patience. And indeed, I verily believe he lookes for nothing to make him surcease, but for some demonstration from you, of your desire: and that he rather hath an ambition to be intreated by M. The Cardinall, than any designe to take your gift from me. I humbly intreate your Lordship to give him contentment in this poynt, and not suffer me to fall, at this first step of my Fortune; and that I may not alwayes be unfortunate, being as I am with all my soule,

At Balzac. 8. Novem. 1631.
Your, &c.

Another to him. LETTER III.

MY Lord, I am infinitely bound unto you for the honour you have done me, to remember me, and for the paines you have taken, to write in my behalfe to Monsieur de — It is true, your paines hath not had so good successe, as I verily hoped it would: for though he had given out, that for his satisfaction he required no more but some small signe, that it was your desire: yet having received that signe, he continues still in the same termes, and holds the same rigorous course he did. It makes me thinke, my Lord, that he knowes well enough of what worth your commenda­tion is: certainly, if it had beene imployed for any other but my [Page 76] selfe, it had found all the yeilding and respect it meriteth: but indeed, I cast unfortunatenesse upon all matters I deale in: my evill Fortune suffers me not to make benefit of your love▪ you have no sooner a thought to doe me good, but presently a thousand impediments arise to hinder it. You give me presents, and doe not receive them. You command I should be paid my pension, and your command is not obeyd. Not yours, my Lord, of which one might say, Est fatum quodcunque votes. You have read my Booke with pleasure, and spoken of it with commen­dation; and yet I suffer persecution for making it, as much as to say, for being a true Frenchman, and a lover of publique Liberty. For as for the objections they make against me, they certainly are but colours and pre­tences: If may words be not learned, or eloquent, they are yet sound, and full of truth. There is not one to be found in all my worke, which a meane Advocate were not able to defend before the severest Tribu­nall in the world. The makers of Libells, who condemne them, are the men of all other, that first corrupt them. I begin my Lord, to be weary of this long and obstinate injustice; my Philosophy beginnes to faile me in this case: and I should be clean and altogether out of heart, if I had no [...] your goodnesse to rely upon. For this, at this day, is the common refuge of all oppressed innocents, and no man invocates it in vaine. I therefore make my selfe believe, that it will at last send me also some faire dayes, after so many storms and tempests raised against me by mine enemies: and that after you have saved Nations, and set Princes in their Thrones, it will be no hard matter to relieve a poore private man, who adores you, and whom calumny seeks to ruine. I know some, my Lord whom, you have made happy, and yet scarce knew their names, when you did me the honour to speak well of me. And some I have knowne advanced by you, that lay hidden in the throng, when your selfe dr [...]w me out, and placed me amongst the few, yet what get I by it? For in truth I could never make any use of this advantage, be­cause indeed I could never serve you with such care and subjection, as the forwardnesse of your favours obliged me to doe. My indisposi­tion hath alwayes hindred my good designes; I have alwayes comba­ted with weaknesse of body, and never durst venture to beginne a life, which I was not assured I was able to hold out. This hath forced me, my Lord, to court you in a new fashion; and to seeke to doe you service by my absence and ease, and not trouble you with unseasonable officiousnesse, and with many low cur [...]sies to no purpose. I am able to say, unworthy as I am, that I was the first man that preached the won­ders of your life unto the people, exhorted all Frenchmen to do their duties; have in mine owne person given good example in the Provin­ces, and have healed many spirits that were sick, and ill perswaded of the present government. I am not so well knowne by my name, as by [Page 77] my forwardnesse in your service: And when the spitefull rumour ranabroad of late, many persons of quality can tell, how grievously I tooke it: and how I resolved to follow you to the worlds end, if so be the unfortunatenesse of France should remove you from the Court. Yet I am not troubled that I make you these proofes of my Fide­lity, though they would be lesse difficult to me, than to entertaine you, as now I doe, with my interests; which to say true is a cruell torture I put my selfe to. It is not my desire, you should have misfortunes, to the end I might make use of my consolations, nor it is my wish there should be disorders in my Countrey, and disgrace to my Master, to the end I might the better shew my selfe a good Frenchman, and a loyall servant. But yet my Lord, why may I not be of some use in a calme, and have a place as well in the joy, as in the sorrow? You alone are the Author of your victory; but you alone cannot furnish your triumph, but must have many Artificers to worke about it. I have materials e­nough to make many large Fabricks; but to undertake the worke, I must entreat your Lordship I may have a little contentment, or at least, a little quiet. The splendour of your person is so great, that it sends forth beames of light to your remotest servants: and the power which heaven hath given you, is so redoubtable to all sorts of Tyrants, that to give a period to my persecution, there needs no more, but that you give some signe you meane to protect me; which favour I perswade my self you will not deny me: for besides the common cause of being oppres­sed, you have knowne a long time, that I make a speciall profession to be

My Lord,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 5. Jan. 1632.

To Monsieur Cytois, Physitian to M. the Cardinall. LETTER V.

SIR, my curiosity were undiscreet, if I should aske you newes of occurrents in the Army; but you cannot take it ill, that I aske you news of my Lord the Cardinals health. I learne the progresse of his glorious actions by the mouth of Fame: but I must learne from you how he fares in his continuall agitation; and whether the temper of his body feele no alteration by the violent motions of his spirit, I conceive [Page 78] that God doubles his force when there is need; and that he hath regard to the necessity of so many people that cannot misse him: but I know also, that he makes use of the second causes, and that your cares and in­dustry concur with this providence. The services you doe to one par­ticular man, are obligations to all the world. Never had any Science a more worthy or profitable imployment than yours hath: And if the Romanes erected a statue to Antonius Musa, for healing of him who op­pressed their liberty, why may not you justly expect a publick acknow­ledgement for preserving of him, who makes us all both free and happy? I send him the discourses which — I humbly entreate you to take care they may come to no other hands but his: and therefore that you will keepe them in your custodie, that they may be safe untill I come my selfe to Paris. I expect this courtesie from that good will you have alwayes promised me: and here I make you this solemne pro­testation, that you can never honour any man that is more passionately than I am.

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 5. Aug. 1630.

To Monsieur de Chastelet, Councellour of the King, in his Councell of State. LETTER V.

SIR, it is a great work of memorie to be mindefull of me at the Court: but it is an effect of a divine goodnesse to make it raine dainties in the desart: Since Manna, there was never seene there, such a thing as you sent me; and if you were bound to furnish me with such fare, fortie yeares of banishment at this diet, would be to me fortie yeares felicitie. To speake in plaine tearmes, your present is unvaluable: and to helpe my selfe in speaking of it, I have beene foreed to fetch compa­risons from heaven, because inferiour things are never able to expresse it. You doe it wrong to give it the name of a Preface: but you will doe much wrong to the worke it selfe, before which such a preface is set: If the outside be so rich, and there be so great magnificence in the Gate­house, what will be in the Galleries, and Cabinets? and what will the Palace be that is worthie of such an entrance? I see indeed that it is a mark of greatnesse, but I feare withall, that it is a want of proportion, and being not possible the rest should equall the beginning, you will be accused for disturbing the order of things, and for putting perfection out of its place, which should not come in but at the last. See here an [Page 79] accusation that is very nice, and whereof it is a glory to be convinced. In this there is lesse account to be made of vertue than of vice; and the disorder which makes a magnificence, is more worth than the method which retaines a poverty. Feare not Sir, the event of this dispute; Beauty gets the prize in all causes where the Eyes are Judges: and they who blame you for adorning too much your refutation of the Bookes of Flanders, blame you for having your Armour too much guilded, and that in striking you dazle their eyes. It seemes they know not that the Lacedemonians never tricked up themselves, but when they went to fight; and that CAESAR made his vaunt, he wan Battailes with perfumed Souldiers. The pompe of your style arrests not the sight without profit: It is pleasing to the Reader; but withall it is fatall to slander. In it there is to be seene the lustre and bravery of Tournaments; but withall, there is to be seene in it the force and terriblenesse of Warre. The onely pitty is, you had not a competent Enemie to fight withall, and that so much force and valour should be spent upon a feeble fury, and which is now at the last drop of its poyson. The wretched man you pursue, and who dyes blaspheming, was not worthie of so noble a Re­sentment as yours, having nothing considerable in him, but that you vouchsafe to speake of him: you make him of some worth by al­ledging him so often. In undoing him, you make him famous, and his objections will one day not be found, but in your answeres. It is five and twentie yeares since he was a fugitive from his order, and should have had his triall before the Generall of the Jesuites. And if these good Fathers did not deale too gently with delinquents, and change imprisonment into banishment, he had from that time beene suppressed, with all the filthy bookes he hath made ever since. But it was necessary, that (to crowne his inconstancie) after he had abandoned above a dozen sides, he should now for his last prize, become a parasite to the Spaniards, and a Secretary to those bad French that are at their Court. Let it never trouble us Sir, that he calles us Flatterers: Atheists call honest men superstitious. Catiline called them all slaves that would not be parricides; and it hath alwayes been impossible, to be vertuous with approbation of the wicked. They are delinquents themselves, that finde fault with our innocency, and they are idle fellowes, who prostrate themselves every day before a Don Dego, or a Don Roderigo, and yet thinke much we should doe any re­verence to M. the Cardinall Richlieu. But it is fit they should be taught, that here is the true worship, at Bruxells but Idolatrie; and that to adore a forreigne Power, and such a one that doth mischiefe to the whole earth, is not, at least an action so truly French, as to revere a vertue, that is native of France, and that doth good to all the world. [Page 80] Seeing they abuse our tongue in praising their Tyrants, and justi­fying our Rebells; It cannot be denyed us, to bring it backe to its naturall and proper use, and in more honest subjects, to purifie and make cleane those words and phrases, which they have prostituted to the conceits of the Marquis of Aytona, or made to serve the passion of Spaine. If tyranny were more to be feared than it is, and that the unfortunatenesse of Europe should make it reach hither; yet it should never make me to unsay the propositions I hold, and it shall be all my life a most pleasing object to me, to see my selfe enrolled in the Catalogue of Authours, condemned by the enemies of my Countrey. I thinke, I may boldly say, I was one of the first mainteiners of the truth, and he perhaps that laid open the field, where so many Oratours and Poets finde themselves exercise: it is time now, that I leave it to younger men, and such as are more able than I am. Yet I intreat you to remember Sir, that I give place without running away; and that it is the coldnesse of my bloud, and the abatement of my strength, that forceth me, and not any want of courage or change of will. Ne­ver thinke I will ever faile in these. I alwayes preserve in my heart the principles of good actions, I meane, good desires; and when I can no longer be a runner in the Race, yet I will be one of the most earnest Spectatours, and clappe with my hands when I can doe no­thing else. In the meane time, to the end, that a good part of my antient travaile may not be lost, and that I may not make that an unprofitable secret, betweene my Muses and me, which may perhaps serve for some edification to the Publicke. I think, fit, to make you account of certaine things I have heretofore conceived; and to shew you, that in actions of my duty, I oftentimes content my selfe with the testimony of my owne Conscience. These are Pieces that were wrought before the second voyage into Italy, and before the lamentable Divisions of the Royall Familie. In the purity of publick joy amidst the applauses of all the Kings subjects; and even of those, who have since lost their loyaltie, and now lye rayling upon us at Bruxells. I send you some sheets, as I first light upon them, and I send them Sir, ra­ther to doe you Homage by laying my Compositions at your feete, than to make a Challenge, as opposing them to yours, rather to ac­knowledge the superioritie of your Eloquence, and to goe in your Lyverie, than to make my selfe you [...] Competitor, and seeke to brave you, with so rash a Comparison. If you finde any rellish in Discourses so farre short of the force and merit of yours; and if you thinke they may give my Masters of the Universitie, any the least contentment, I earnestly entreate you, to present them a Copy; and withall, my humble submission to their judgement. I know, this Societie is at this day the supreme Tribunall that Censures all workes of the Braine, [Page 81] and gives Rules to all other Tribunalls of France. I neither doubt of the sufficiencie, nor suspect the integritie of the Judges that praeside there: Moreover, I confesse Sir, it could never have a more hap­pie Conception, seeing your selfe was the first that spake it, nor a more illustrious birth, seeing M. the Cardinall was a Patron to it; and therefore, borne in Purple, as were those Princes in Constantinople, whom I would call, Porphyrogencies, if the Academie had Natura­lised this Forreigne word. The honour it hath done me, to make me a member of their body, without binding me to part from hence, and the place it hath given me, without taking away my liberty, are two singular favours I received from it, both at one time. And to say the truth, it is no small benefit to a man of the wildernesse, that turnts his face sometimes towards the world, and is not altogether devested of humane affections, that he may injoy together, both the repose of solitude, and yet flatter his imagination with the glory of so plea­sing a Societie. This I cannot doe without thanking you for so great a favour; and if they understand not of my Resentment by your mouth, they may have just cause to condemne me for one of little Grateful­nesse. Lend me therefore, I beseech you Sir, some five or six words, I would ask you more, but I know they are of that worth, and so high in their account, that these few will be enough, not onely to satisfie for the complement I owe; but for the Oration also, it is expected I should make them. You will not, I hope, deny me the testimony of your love, and I require it of you by the memory of the other Obligations I owe you. At (que) per inceptos promissum munus Iambos: you know my meaning, and that I have a long time beene, and am

My Lord,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 15. Iul. 1635.

To Monsieur de Bois Robert. LETTER VI.

SIR, I heare you have beene seene at Paris, from whence, I con­clude, you are not at the warre in Flanders, but are content to goe and give it your malediction upon the Frontiers: If you would [Page 82] acquaint us with the passages of that Countrey, you should infinitely ob [...]ige your old friend, who feeds upon no other nourishment but Newes, and takes no Newes to heart, but those which concerne the King. He is so carefull of the Reputation of his Armes, that he cannot abide his victory should be spoken of with doubting: To make him confesse, we have lost one man, it is necessary there should be foure Regiments defeated; and when he is spoken to, of the Emperou [...]s ayde, his answer is that this is a Remedie to be lookt for, when the contrary part is dead. To make this man a Present, the Poet you wot of, made lately some Verses upon the estate of affaires in Lorrayne, and answers another Poet, who had written, that the King would never be able to hold it, and that the rellicke of affection, which the Countrey beares to its ancient Duke, would never suffer any familiaritie or friendship to reflect upon us. The — that are the Latins of this Countrey, would make him believe, that he hath found a meane betweene the Character of Catullus, and that of Martiall, and that he hath avoided the drinesse and harshnesse of the former times, without engaging himselfe in the luxurie and intemperance of the latter times. With these new Verses, I send you the old Prose you desired, and which hath lyen so long asleepe in my Closet. Though they be writings of an old dare, yet you know, they are alwayes in season; and seeing they entreate of the soveraigne vertue, that is of M. the Cardinall, they intreate of a matter that is immortall, and can never lose the grace of being new. Thermopylae and Platea, are to this day the common places of the Graecians that are in the world; and our remotest posteritie, which shall more quietly enjoy the labours of this rare man, than we doe; shall speake more often, and more honou [...]ably of them than we doe. I believe, the Letter to Mounsieur Chastelet, will not dislike you, and that you will finde something in it worth your reading. I had word sent me from Paris, that his style was too much painted, and too full of Figures for a military style; but you shall see, how in praysing him for the rest, I justifie him in this; and with what byasse I defend the cause of worthy things. I entreate you to aske him for me, the last Libells of —: and to deliver them to — to bring them to me. You have heard by — the cause I have to complaine of Mounsieur de —: Delayes in such cases are very dangerous, and if you have not already made an end of the matter, I feare me, the Stocke that was appointed for paying of me, will goe some other way. Doe herein what you shall thinke fittest, and I shall remaine,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 15. Jul. 1635.
Austrasia infaelix, ne somnia blanda tuorum,
Neu m [...]mores Aquilas, Imperium (que) vetus.
Quamvis & Titulos & Nomen inutile jactes,
Multus (que) in vano Carolus ore sonet.
Carolus ecce iterum, Nostri virtute Capeti
Concidit, & lapsas luget Eugenus opes.
Vel solo dixisse sat est, capta Oppidae nutu
At (que) ulrto exutum terga dedisse Ducem.
Austrasia huic vilis nimiùm & neglecta fuisti,
Nec te ita qui tenuit, credidit esse suam.
Credidit hostiles fugitivus linquere terras,
Sed te qui propriam jam tueatur adest.
Ille Triumphata rediit qui victor ab Alpe,
Et p [...]r quem placidis Mincius errat agris
Ille suo natus Juvenis succurrere saeclo,
Non tantùm Patri sistere Fata suae.
Cur sequeris Fumo? Vacuā cur diligis umbram?
Evereque colis diruta saxa domus?
Desere Fessa tuos supremasae clade jacentes,
Te validam & stantem Deserutre tui.
Prima mali patiens atque inter Gallica pridem
Fulmina & Arctoas non benè tuta minas:
Tandem pone animos, ac Nostra assuesce vocari
Ni facias, Cecinit quae mihi Phaebus, habe.
Alternis vertet te Celta & Teuto ruinis,
Et nisi Pars uni [...]es, Praeda duobus eris.

To Monsieur Favereau, Councellour of the King in his Court of Aydes. LETTER VII.

SIR, He whose Verses you commended, believes upon your word, that he is a great Poet: but I told him, that your words [Page 84] are alwayes favourable, and that he should not flatter himselfe with an approbation which you never denyed to any. He hath, since that, shewed me other Verses, which he made for M. the Cardinall, and intreated me, to shew you some of the places which I thought the most accomplished, but upon this condition Sir, that at least for this once, you shall be a conscionable Judge, and shall tell us upon your Oath, whether you thinke this good or that bad:

Quid referaem Oceanum tibi ne violentior obstet
Oblitum solitus segniùs îsse vices,?
Et tua concordes siluisse ad Classica ventos,
Surgeret ut tacito machina fixa mari.
Machina quam vastos Gens sera tulisse Gigantes
Credat in Aequorei Caerula regna Jovis.
Quid referam Captas primis rumoribus arces,
Castra (que) nec faciem sustinuisse tuam?
Nempe al quid coeleste tibi est, quod cuncta verentur,
Praesentesque trahis semper ad arma Deos.
Non hostem timuere hostes, sed Judice viso,
Horruit ad certam pallida turba necem:
Si pugnas vicisse parum est, &c.
Cernis ut ad subitum conspecti muricis ignem
Depressum attollat Parthenopaea Caput,
Quae quondam vim passae ferumque exosa cubile,
Gestit in antiquos Castra redire thoros.
Non animum foedi amplexus, foeda oscula mutent,
Sed prior invicto durat amore sides.
O quoties superos Mortem Manesque rogavit,
Dum fugeret passus, Maure superbe, tuos.
O quoties voluit fieri vel in aequore rupes!
Frustrarive tuas aequoris unda manus!
Fata obstant, dominumque imponunt multa querenti
Quo gravior Siculus non fuit antè Cyclops.
Qui dapibus àiris, qui sanguine vescitur atro,
Qui formosa sacrâ polluit ora lue.
Qui furto, non Marte potens, &c.
Hîc placidis Doris Tellurem amplectitur ulnis,
Ac leviter summas languida mulcet aquas.
Littus Amore calet solo, cui Myrtea silva,
Sufficit & virides Citria silva comas.
Quô dulces Zephyrorum animas fragrantibus un [...] ­bris
Miscet, & Ambrosio tingit odore Venus,
Exul hyems fugit in scopulos, ubi mollia tantùm
Frigora, & aestivas jussa parare nives.
Caetera quid memorem? teneri domus aurea veris,
Hîc micat, aeternis Ora beata rosis.
Nec steriles ostentat opes sed Praeside Baccho,
Luxuriant pleno Flora Ceresque sinu.
Et dubitat tantae Ludovix accedere doti,
Hectoreis Ludovix jam quoque major avis?
Et Nymphae ingenuos morientis despicit ignes,
Nec memor est alter quam premit esse suam?
Rumpe mor as Armande, haec pars pulcherrimae rerum
Te vocat, & segnes increpat usque moras,
Parthenope te maesta vo [...]at &c.

I have some conceit, this last Description will not dislike you, and having heard say, as well as I, that the Kingdome of Naples is a paradise inhabited by Devills; you will finde some rellish in the fiction of the persecuted Nymphe, and not be troubled with the En­comiums which our Friend affords the Spanyards. Naturally he doth not much love them; but since the warre hath beene proclaimed, and that all traffique with them is forbidden, now his nature is turned into Reason, and now he saith, He should not thinke himselfe a true French-man, or a good Citizen, if he should hold intelligence, so much as with Seneca; much lesse (as you may perceive by the Character of his phrase) with Lucan; whom Scaliger hath handled so hardly, or with another of that Countrey, of whom he is continually repeating these words, which I thinke fit to let you heare: Hispani Poetae & Ro­mani sermonis Elegantiam contaminârunt, & cum inflatum quoddam & tumidum, & Gentis suae moribus congruens invenissent Orationis genus, averterunt Exemplo suo caeteros a recta illa, & in qua praecipuae Poetarum sita laus est, imitatione naturae. Itaque ferè post Augusti tempora, ut quis­que maxime vorsum inflaverat, sententiam maximè conterserat, eo denique [Page 86] modo locutus fuerat, quo nemo seriò soleret loqui, ita in pretio haberi caepie. Quinetiam fucatus isle splendor, & adulterina Eloquentiae species, ita nonnullorum qui vera Eloquentiae gustum non habent, occaecavit animos, ut his quoque temporibus extiterint Hispani Duo, quorum alter Lu­canum Virgilio, alter Martialem Catullo, aut [...]po [...]ere veritus non est. Quorum ab utroque ita dissentio, & siquis Deus potestatem mihi op­tionemque faciat &c. You see by this, that the Spaniards have marred all in the world, and have alwayes beene the corrupters of all good things. It is not the Politicks onely, that they have spoiled, making it an Art of wickednesse, and a science of Piracie; but they have done as much hurt to other inferiour knowledges, and have dealt no kindlier with the servants, than with the Mistris. It is they that brought in the first haeresie, and the fi [...]st novelties in the Latin Eloquence. It is they that have pickt quarrels with Cicero and Virgill; that have made Bookes with nothing but Antitheses, — as one should make Feasts wi [...]h nothing but Salt and Vineger. I make you report of a Poets opi­nion, who requires you [...]s upon the fragments I send you, where his desire is, to come as neere as might be to that ancient grace, which was to be seene in the Romane writings, till such time as the plaster and dawbings of the Spaniards, had mar [...]ed their purity. I intreat you to send him your judgement of it; and in the meane time, will assure you, that he is as much as I can be,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 1. Septemb. 1635.

Another to him. LETTER IIIV.

SIR, I am your vexation in ordinary, and because you have not rejected my first importunities, you have given me encouragement to continue them still. He that brings you this Letter, believes that my commendation would doe him no hurt with you; and I believe so too; and seeing his interests are very deare unto me, I earnestly intreat you, to let him finde that our common beliefe is not ill groun­ded. The favours you doe me, are so much the more pure, in that they [Page 87] looke for no requitall, and that you have no friends that have suits at Balzac. You therefore may worke, as your custome is, by the onely motions of your vertue; and as it is fit, you should be more ambitious than I, so you must be content, to leave me all the profit of our friend­ship, and keepe for your selfe all the glory. I expect an answer out of Holland, where, I doubt not, but your worke is in high esteeme, as well for the merit of the matter, as for the excellencie of the former. I meane, as well for that it is the Production of a great Poet, as for that it is the action of a good Citizen As soone as I heare newes from thence, I will acquaint you with it, and intreate this savour from you, that you will believe I passionatelie am,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 10 June. 1635.

To Mounsieur Girard Secretary to M. the Duke D' Espernon. LETTER IX.

SIR, your last Letters have exceedingly comforted me, and you have such things for me, that they make me forgetfull of all my miseries. With such a friendship, I can mocke at ill fortune, and it makes me taste contentments, which good fortune knowes not of. It is true, that your absence is a perpetuall cooling Card to my joy; and possessing you but in spirit, it requires a very strong imagination, to desire nothing else. Shall we never come to be Citizens of one City? Never to be Hermits in the same Desart? Shall my Counsayle be alwayes twenty myles from me? and must I be alwayes forced to passe two Seas to fetch it when I need it? I hope your justice will doe me reason, and that Heaven will at last heare the most ardent of all my prayers; but in the meane time, whilst I stay waiting for so perfect a contentment, I would be glad to have of it now and then, some little taste: if it be not in your power to give your selfe; at least lend your selfe for some few dayes, and come and sit as supreame President, over both my French, and Latin. I promise you, I will never appeale [Page 88] from you to any other; onely for this once, give me leave to tell you, that the word Ludovix, which you blame as too new, seemes to me a more Poeticall and pleasing word, than either the Aloysius of the Italians, or our Ludovicus; and besides, It favours of the Antiquity of our Nation; and of the first language of the Gaules; witnesse these words, Ambiorix, Eporedorix, Orgetorite, Vercingetorix, &c. In which you see the Analogie to be plaine; yet more than this, I have an Au­thority, which I am sure, you will make no difficultie to allow: you know Monsieur Guyet, is a great Master in this Art, but perhaps you know not that he hath used this very word Ludovix, before I used it; for I tooke it from these excellent Verses of his:

Non tulit hoc Ludovix, justa puer acer ab ira,
Et patriae casum sic videamus, ait.

For other matters Sir, you may adde to that which was last alled­ged in the cause of Madam Gourney, this passage out of the divine Je­rusalem, where Aladin calls Clorinda the Intercessour of Sophronia, and of her lover,

Habbian vita Rispose & libertade,
E Nulla a tanto Intercessor se neghi.

I kisse the hands of that faire creature you love, and am withall my soule,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 20. Septemb. 1635.

To my Lord the Earl of Port. LETTER X.

SIR, I have received a letter from you since your being in England, but not being able to read the Gentlemans hand that sent it to me, for want of a decipherer, I have been forced to be uncivill till now, and have therefore not answered you; because indeed I knew not whom to answer: but now, that this Gentleman (whose name is a my­sterie in his letters) is by good fortune, come againe into this countrey, I can by no meanes suffer him to part without some testimony of the account I make of your favour, and the desire I have to preserve it, by all the possible meanes I can. I will make you Sir, no studied Protestations, nor send complements to a man that is borne in the Countrey of good words; I will onely say, there are many respects that make your person dear unto me: and that besides the consideration [Page 89] of your vertue, which gives me just cause to honour you, that also of the name you beare, and of the ranke you hold, are things that exceed the value of indifferencie. I love all them that love France, and wish well to our great Prince, of whom in truth, I have heard you speake so worthily, that as often as I remember it, it stirres me up to doing my duty, and to profit by so good an example. If it had been seconded in Italy, we should have seene all we could have hoped. But God himselfe saves none but such as contribute themselves to their salvation. Saguntum was taken while the Senatours were deliberating: and a wisedome that is too scrupulous, commonly doth nothing for feare of doing ill. The most part of Italians are themselves the work­men, to make their owne setters: they lend the Spaniard their blood and their hands, to make a slave of their countrey, and are the parri­cides of their mother, of whom they might have been the redeemers. But of all this, we shall talke more at Paris, if you come thither this Winter, as I am put in hope you will. In the meane time doe me the honour to let me have your love, and to believe me, there is none in the world more truly than I,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 10 Sept. 1630.

To my Lord the Bishop of Nantes. LETTER XI.

MY Lord, the joy I take in the recoverie of your health, is not yet so pure, but that it alwayes represents unto me a terrible Image of your last sicknesse. The imagination of a danger, though past and gone, yet makes my memorie afraid, and I looke upon it rather in safety, than with assurance. We missed the losing you but very nar­rowly: and you were upon the poynt to leave us Orphans. I speake it seriously, and without any flattery at all, all the victories we have gotten, or shall get, would never be able to make us amends for such a losse: you wouldd have made our conquest turne to mourning: M. the Cardinall would have found something to complaine of in his great felicitie, and would have watred his triumph with his tears. Let it not be Gods will to lay this crosse upon our time: and if it be a crosse inevitable, yet let it be deferred to our posteritie. It is necessary [Page 90] the Phoenix should live out her age, and that the world should be allow­ed time for enjoying the possession of so profitable and sweet a life as yours. It is true, the world is not worthy of you; but, my Lord, the world hath need of you: your vertue indeed should long since have been crowned, but that your example is still necessary: and the more hap­pie ones there be in heaven, the fewer honest ones will be left upon earth. Love therefore your selfe a little for our sakes; begin now at last to studie your health, which hitherto you have neglected, and make a difference hereafter betweene cold and heate, betweene good and bad aire; betweene meates that are sweet, and those that are bitter. Though you take no care of your health for your own sake, yet you must take care of it for the common good: For, I beseech you my Lord, tell me, what should become of the cause of the poore? what of the desolation of widdowes? what of the innocencie of men op­pressed? I speake not of the hope of such as hope for preferment by you: for though I write you my Father, and call you Monsieur, — yet I am none of that number. I desire nothing from you at this time, but that which you may give me without asking it of another; your love and good will is the onely object of my present passion. I renounce with all my heart, all other things in the world, so I may keepe but this, and shall never complaine of my shipwracke, if it leave me so solid a planke as this to rest upon. Be pleased to doe me the ho­nour to believe it, and that I am with all my soule,

My Lord,
Your, &c
At Balzac, 15 June. 1635.

To Monsieur Senne, Theologall of the Church of Saints. LETTER XII.

SIR, I have been in extasie to heare of your health, and that you keepe your body in that reasonable fulnesse of flesh, which con­tributes something to your gravity, and addes nothing to your weight. I would not wish you to seeke to abate it, nor long to be like the dry and tawnie skinnes of the first Christians. For all Tertullians [Page 91] saying, all Saints have not beene leane and melancholick. The last that we have seene, were of your colour and statute; and you doe an honour to Divinity, to preach it with a bright visage, re­presenting in some sort the stateof future glory you speake of to the people. Monsieur de — made me so rich a descri­ption of your health, that I could not choose but begin my letter with this complement. I have seen since Monsieur de — who delivered me one from you, and with it our friends booke, for which I thank you with all my heart. I have yet perused onely some Tracts, which in truth seem very learned, and are as intelli­gible as the obscurity of the matter would well beare. It is true, the Title deceived me; and seeing you will have me speake freely what I thinke, I must tell you, I thinke they are nothing else than Orations, and that they are fitter to be read upon a Joyn-stoole, than pro­nounced at a Tribunall. I had thought to have found in them the perswasive motives of Oratours, in the highest straine of their stile, and I finde nothing but the drye doctrine of Philosophers, and of them neither, nothing but the ordinary language of their precepts; that it makes me think of these new Companies of Souldiers which are levi­ed under the name of Horse, but are put to serve on foot, when they come to the Armie. I say not, it is necessary to handle Schoole questi­ons with all the pompe and force of eloquence, I onely say, that such discourses ought not to be called Panaegiricks, or O [...]ations, and that there is either craft or rashnesse in this proud inscription, which promiseth more than a Philosopher can performe. Cicero condemnes it of impropriety, as you shall see at the end of this Letter; and you can­not but confesse unto me, that our friend hath mistaken himselfe two wayes: First, to believe he ought to play the Oratour in Divinity: And secondly, to imagine, that to make Orations with successe, he neede but draw forth some Exordiums out of Plutarch's lives, and to alledge the so famous Bucephalus, that was broken by Alexander the great. These are Ornaments so vulgar and so stale, that to use them at this day, is rather a mark of Clownishnesse, than of neatnesse. When fashions are left off in the City, they are then taken up in the Country; and there are none now but poore Gentlemen, that will offer to weare the massiest silver lace, when it is once fitterd, or the richest Plush, when it is once growne thred-bare, Both the one and the other have been in fashion, but they are not so now. They were heretofore novelties, but are now but Rellicks: The first comparison that was made of the burning of Dianaes Temple, was excellent: all other since have beene but idle. And it is not enough, that the spring from whence water is drawne, be it selfe cleare, but to draw that which is cleare, it is necessarie also that Lawndresses and Passengers have not [Page 92] troubled it, I make no doubt Sir, but that which you will shew me, shall be very choyce and perfect. You are I know, of too dainty a taste to be contented with every sawce. I am very impatient till I see those rare productions: and I should ere this have seene them, but that your promises are as deceitfull as the Titles of your Booke; which notwithstanding is otherwise full of excellent discourse, and profound knowledge. It is now foure moneths that I have waited for you, and you have still continued to wrong me, in continuing to breake your word: yet as much wronged as I am, I leave not to be,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac. 1. Octob. 1635.

The Opinion of Cicero concerning the stile which Philoso­phers use in their Writings.

LOquuntur Philosophi cum doctis, quorum sedare animos malunt, quam incitare. Siquidem de rebus pacatis ac mi­nime turbulentis docendi causa, non capiendi loquuntur, ut in eo ipso, quod delectationem aliquam dicendo aucupentur, plus nonnullis quam necesse sit, facere videantur. Mollis ergo est eo­rum oratio & umb [...]atilis, neque nerves & aculeos oratorios habet. Nec sententijs est, nec verbis instructa popularibus, nec juncta numeris, sed soluta liberius. Nihil iratum habet, nihil atrox, nihil mirabile, nihil astutum; Casta, verecunda, incor­rupta quodammodo virgo. Itaque sermo potius quam oratio dicitur. Quamquam en [...]m omnis locutio oratio est; tamen unius orationis locutio hoc proprio signata nomine est.

To Mounsier Granier. LETTER XIII.

SIR, my persecution should be sweete unto me, if in suffering it, I might have the happinesse to see you; but your absence makes it [Page 93] insupportable; and it were as good for me to goe and be killed in the place where you are, as to come hither and die with languishing. Being here against my minde, I finde nothing that pleaseth me; and the objects which I beheld before, as the riches of Nature, I cannot now looke upon but with horrour, and count them but as the moveables of a Prison. I sigh continually after your Cabinet, which hath so often served for a haven to my tossed spirit; and from whence I have so often fetcht Armes and courage to defend me against Fortune. I am not out of hope to see it once againe, and to sit me downe in that greene chaire, where you know I have used to be inspired, and foretell things to come, as Sibil did from her Tryvet. In the meane time I must let the unhappy constellation passe away; and must give place to the choler of heaven. So long Sir, as you vouchsafe to remember me, and to hold me in the favour of Messieurs du Puy, I shall not want a good portion of consolation. These are persons that without wearing purple, or bearing office, are yet illustrious and in Authority, at least in the reasonable world, and amongst men, that can rightly judge of things. No imployment is so honourable as their Leisure: no ambition so worthily at worke, as their vertue takes it rest. You shall doe me a singular favour, to let them know from me, in how great reverence I hold them both: and that never man entred the Gal­lery of Mounsieur de Thou, better perswaded than I am, of their incom­parable merit. I will sometimes expect to heare from you; and will alwayes be with all my heart,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 3. Septem. 1632.

To Monsieur de Brye. LETTER XIV.

SIR, My deare Cousin, I have received three of your Letters, with­in these foure moneths: the other you speake of, are not yet come to my hands, of which losse I am very sensible: for being deprived of your conversation. I cannot but exceedingly esteeme of that, which represents it to me. I have oftentimes told you, that you are naturally eloquent; but yet I must confesse you have gotten new graces, by being in Ciceroes countrey, and the Aire of Rome seemes to have purged your spirit, of all vulgar conceits. Monsieur de — is in this of [Page 94] my opinion: and you have written to us such excellent things, that they were able to comfort us for your absence, if we loved you but a little; but in truth, no Copy can be so good, as the Originall; and if you come not backe very shortly, I could finde in my heart, to goe as farre as Novana to have your company. Your last Letter renues in me my old loves, and makes me with so much pleasure, remember the sweetest part of the earth, that I even die with longing, till I see it againe. It is a long time that Italy hath had my heart, and that I sigh after that happy cowardise with which the valiant reproach the wise. If I could have lived, as I would my selfe, I had beene a citizen of Rome ever since the yeare 1620. And should now injoy that happinesse in possession which you but onely make me see in Picture, but my ill fortune would not suffer me: she keepes me in France, to be a continuall object of persecution: and though it be now foure yeares since I left the world, and lost the use of my tongue; yet hatred and envie follow me in to the woods to trouble my silence; and pursue me even in Dennes and Caves. I must therefore be faine to goe beyond the Alpes to seeke a sanctuary, where I shall be sure to finde, at least my old comforter, who will be pleased to believe, that I am more than any other in the world,

Sir,
Your, most hum­ble, &c.
At Balzac, 10. May, 1635,

To Mounsieur de Silhon. LETTER XVI.

SIR, I have word sent me from Paris, that you make complaints aginst me: but being well assured, you have no just cause, I ima­gine, it is not done in earnest, but that you take pleasure to give me a false Alarm. Yet I must confesse, this cooling word, I heare spoken, puts me to no little paine: for though it make me not doubt of the firm­nesse of your affection, yet it makes me mistrust the malice of my For­tune. I have beene for some time so unfortunate in friendship; that it seemes there needes nothing but pretences to ridde me of them; the sweetest natures grow soure and bitter against me; and if this fit hold, I shall have much adoe to keepe my owne brother of my side. I would like as well▪ to be a keeper of the Lyons, as of such harsh friends; for though I were more faithfull than Pylades and Acates put together; yet they would finde matter of discontentment; and my fidelity should [Page 97] be called dissimulation. I cannot believe that you are of this number but if you be, it is time for me to goe hide my selfe in the desarts of Theb [...]s, and never seek conversation with men any more. It is my griefe and indignation that write these last words; for my patience is moved with the consideration of the wrong is done me: and if you should deale as hardly with me as others have done, it were fit I should resolve to live no longer in a world, where goodnesse and innocency are so cruelty persecuted. These sixe moneths I have received from you but onely one Letter, to which I made no answer, because it was delivered me but in April: at which time, you sent me word you should be in France. Since therefore by your owne account, you were gone from thence, before the time I could write unto you, would you, I should have written into Italy to Monsieur de Silhon, that was not there? And that I should have directed my Letters to a name, without either hands or eyes to receive and read them? You are too wise to deale so unreaso­nably with me, and I should call your former justice in question, if you take it ill, that I did not guesse, or rather prophesie of the stay of your voyage: and yet after a scrupulous examination of my conscience, I can finde no other ground for your complaints, but onely this, and I am ashamed to charge so strong a spirit as yours, with so weak a con­ceit: I must have had a devill at command to send of my errands, and to deliver you my Letters, being so uncertaine as I was, of the place of your abode, and in truth, if I had had such a messenger, I had sooner thanked you, than I doe, for your excellent discourse: and should not all this while, have kept within the secret of my heart, the just praises it deserves. It hath taught me, Sir, an infinite number of good Ma­ximes; the stile pleaseth me exceedingly, and I see in it both force and beauty, thorough all the passages, even that passage which did not so fully please me, yet hath as fully satisfied me, as the rest of the worke: and though of my selfe I be blinde in the knowledge of holy things, yet the lustre of your expressing, and the facility of your method illuminate my sight. When my health shall give me leave to goe from hence, I will then for your Gold bring you Copper, and will receive your corrections and advise, with as much reverence and submission, as any Novice: but in the meane time, I cannot chuse but put my hand to my wound, and require you to give a reason of your doing. I know not from whence should come this coldnesse in you, seeing for my selfe, I am all on fire: nor how you, with your great wisdome, should be altered and growne another man, seeing I continue still the same, with nothing but my common sense: Great spirits are above these petty suspitions which move the vulgar: and I wonder you could conceive ill of my affection, knowing how well you had preserved your owne. If it be the jealousie of eloquence that provokes you, I am willing [Page 98] with all my heart, to leave you all the pretensions I can have to it; and if you please, I will make you a Surrender before witnesse. Con­sider me therefore, rather as you [...] follower, who is willing to encrease your troope, than as your rivall to strive for precedence. Give me leave to live: a man that cannot be lost, what negligence soever be used in keeping me; and remember that the least respected of all my friends is much dearer to me, than all Sciences, or all Bookes. Yet such is my unhappinesse, that few of them returne me the like, but seeme rather they would make a benefit of my paines and sorrowes. Because they see I am persecuted, they will make every the least courtesie they doe me, to be of great value, and set an excessive price upon their friendship, be­cause they imagine I stand in need of it. But I desire them, and you also, to take notice, that my friendship was never grounded upon any interest; but my love is ever without any mercenary designe, or hope of benefit. If they be not willing to embroyle themselves in my affaires, I would have them know, I am as unwilling as they, they should: and if they are not strong enough to defend the truth in publique, and when it is opposed; at least let them not disavow it, when they are in place of safety; let them not deny their friend when the storme is over, and that there is no longer any danger in confessing him▪ You saw my heart, the first time you saw my face; you were at that time my Con­fessour; and I have not a sinne that is hidden from you. I conceive you are too generous to make advantage of this excesse of freenesse you finde in me; and I doe not thinke you so subtile, that you would make a shew of discontent, for feare least I should beginne first. These are subtilities indeed of the country from whence you come: but in my opinion very remote from your naturall disposition: and you need not make complaints of me, to prevent the complaints I might else make of you. It is certaine, that if I had not equity enough to excuse my friends for things they were not able to perfome; I might then perhaps have colour to complaine they performed not their promise; but I am one, that know there happen a thousand impediments, which hinder a man from keeping his word, and that every thing that is promised and not done, is not presently a violating of faith, or a breaking of promise. Some have laboured to perswade me, that —: but I never be­lieved any such thing, and I could never imagine that you would goe about to build your reputation upon the ruines of the reputation of your friend. If any shall make use of such like artifices, to doe ill offi­ces betweene you and me. I earnestly intreate you to make use of the like remedies, to preserve your opinions sound, and not to suffer your judgement to be corrupted. I take God to witnesse, there is nothing in the world more deare unto me than your friendship; I make publike and open profession of honouring you: I highly esteeme a number of [Page 99] eminent qualities in you, both Morall and Intellectuall; I have often­times shedde teares, when I read in your Letters of your griefes; all this, me thinkes should deserve a little affection, and make the Fathers themselves that are my adversaries, not take it ill that you should love me; especially when they shall know, that I passionately am,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Paris 8, Feb. 1631.

To Mounsieur de Sainte Marte. LETTER XVII.

SIR, I am paid for my paines before hand,, and looke for no grea­ter recompence than you have already made me. My ambition should be very excessive, if it were not fully satisfied with your excel­lent Verses: and if I did not thinke my selfe happy to be honoured by a hand, which crownes none but Soveraigne heads, and travells not, but about triumphall Archs, and publicke Monuments. I have long since knowne, that all excellent things grow in your Garden; and that the Latine eloquence, which is but borrowed by others; and a stranger every where else; ought with you to be accounted as your patrimony: but I knew not till now, that this rare quality, is accompanied with so perfect a courtesie; and that a man so worthy of his name, and that addes new glory to that of the great Scaevola, could admire any other mens workes, besides his owne. I will doe all that possibly I can, to deserve this your favourable judgement, and not to make you sorry for being deceived to my advantage: but howsoevers if I be not able to preserve your good opinion by my merit; I hope at least to merit your favour by my affection; and to make you see that I truely am,

Your, &c.
At Balzac, 2. Sept. 1630.

To Monsieur D' Argenton, Councellor of the King, and Master of Requests in Ordinary. LETTER XVIII.

SIR, having taken the paines that I have done, I cannot altogether disvalue my worke; yet I am not a little glad to be confirmed in my opinion by a man of your worth: and that my labour is not un­pleasing to the soundest judgement. The second censure you make of it, assures me of the integrity of the first; seeing I should be too pre­sumptuous to believe you could be deceived twice together. But let us stay there I beseech you, and think not, I will ever entertain the vanity you put upon me. I neither pretend to instruct the world, nor take upon me to teach you in any thing; it is enough for me, that I can finde wise men some recreation; and can lay things before your eyes, which you know already better than my selfe. I may perhaps be some help to your memory, and refresh your old Idaeas; but to adde any thing to your knowledge, and impart to you any new Doctrine, this requires qualities that are not to be found in me. I rather hope to be much bettered in knowledge by you; and make account to account you hereafter for one of my Oracles. Prepare your selfe therefore to be persecuted with Questions, and look to receive importunities from me in ordinary. Thus I use my friends when they are abler men than my selfe; and this advantage, which is not great, is accompanied with this incovenience, which is not small. You shall beginne to finde it at our next meeting; but in the meane time, I intreat you to believe, that what bad designe soever I have against you, yet I meane, perfectly to be,

Sir.
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 17. Septemb. 1631.

To the most reverend Father, Leon, Preacher of the Carmelites. LETTER XIX.

MY most reverend Father, you doe me too much good at once, your friendship is of great worth, being alone, and you send it to me accompanied; it brings with it an infinite number of excellent things, and resembles that happy River which leaves plenty in all places where it passeth. The Present I have received comes from such a fruitfull Vine; it is not a vaine shew of magnificence, which gives onely a light satisfaction to the eyes, but I finde it essentiall and solid, and any spi [...]it that is capable of speculation, may well finde nourishment enough for a long time in [...]he juyce only of your Preface I will not take upon me any more, though you sollicite me to doe it, and instead of giving my ad­vice, would have me, I should pronounce a Decree. Take heed, my good Father, what you say, and consider what a goodly thing it would be to raise my Village into a Parliament, and make appeals from Paris to Balzac. Though you had humility enough to submit to an unlaw­full Magistrate▪ yet I have not presumption enough to intrude upon an unlawfull charge: Remember your selfe besides, that your book is da­ted from Mount Carmell, which is to say, out of our jurisdiction, and that Decrees are of no force, where time out of minde, there have beene O [...]acles. You know what S [...]etonius saith of it, in the life of Vespatian, he makes no bones to make a God of a Mountaine. I like not the bold­nesse of such Metamorphoses yet I am not ignorant, how far the force of piety may reach; and knowing it hath right to remove Mountains, I doubt not but Carmell at this day may be in France, and that upon a place so holy and so high, there may descend more grace and light from hea­ven, than there ascends ignorance and vapours from the earth. Accept from me this true confessi [...]n I make unto you, and dispence with me for that soveraigne judgement you require of me: Though I am not willing to be your President, yet I am not the lesse,

My most reverend Father,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 25. April. 1635.

To Mounsieur Chaplain. LETTER XX.

SIR, I have now these three weekes taken mine ease, in spight of my selfe; and one of my feete, which I have not very free, keepes me in my bed, with more inconvenience than paine. Heretofore it hath put me to torture; and therefore I count it now a favour, that it onely keepes me in prison, which I sweeten as well as I can, with my Bookes and my friends. You thinke you contribute nothing to the comfort I receive; but I assure you, the best part of it comes from you; and nothing comforts me so much for the faire dayes I lose, as that excellent Ode you sent me: I am even ravished with every part of it; the choice and marshalling of the words; the structure and harmony of the composition; the modest greatnesse of the conceits; the force which savours not of any violence: all these are worthy to be ranked with the best Antiquity. In some places you do not onely touch me; but touch me to the quick: the agitation of the Poet, is transferred upon the reader; and no Trumpet makes so loude and silver a sound, as your Harpe doth:

Quand la Revolte dans son fort,
Par une affrense & longue mort
Paya si cherement l' usure de ses crimes:
Et que ses boulevars en fin assujettis
Contre les appareils des armes legitimes
Implorerent en vain le secours de Thetis.
Ils décriuent l' horrible pas,
Où per cent visibles t [...]épas
On crût de nostre Camp retarder la vaillance:
Et figurent encore au mil [...]eu de nos rangs
Themis qui te préta son fer & sa ballance,
Affin de décider ces fameux differens.
Ils chantent l' effroyable foudre
Qui d' un umouement si soudain,
[Page 103]Partit de ta puissante main;
Pour mettre Pegneol en poudre
Ils disent que tes bataillons
Comme autant depais tourbillons
Ebranlerent ce Roc jusques dans ses racines,
Que mesme le vaincut' eut pour liberateur,
Et que tu luy bâtis sur ses propres ruines
Vn rampart èternel contre l'usurpateur.

Either I have no skill in Verses, or certainly these Verses will live to the remotest posterity; they will be alledged for proofe and testimony in the counsels of the last Kings that shall reigne upon earth; and perhaps too, they shall serve for a Law, and for a Decree, as well as Homers Verses did; by the authority whereof a great war that was kindled between the Seig­neury of Megara and Athens was reconciled. I know for my self, I shall ne­ver stay till your death, for putting you in the number of my Authors; and as often as in my presence, there shall be speaking of the siege of Rochell, of the forcing of Suza, of the taking and keeping of Pigneroll, so often shall I alledge the divine Verses you have written of them: and these also, which I lay not lesse carefully up in my memo­ry.

Ils disent que les Immortels
De leur culte & de leurs Autels
Ne doiuent qu'à, tes soins la pompe rendissante,
Et que ta préuoyance & ton Authorité
Sont les de ux fors Appuis dont l'Europe tremblante
Soûtient & raffermit sa foible liverté.
Dans un paisible mouuement
Tu t' éleues au Firmament
Et laisses contre toy murmuurer sur la terre:
Ainsi le haut Olympe à son pied sablonneux
Laisse fumer la foudre, & gronder le Tonnerre,
Et garde son sommet tranquille & lumineux.

And these other, which to him, to whom you addresse them, are as much worth as a triumphant Arch:

[Page 104]
Ton courage aux Monstres fatal,
Est tousiours plus fort que le mal.
Sur le solide honneur sa base est estabile:
Le droit & la raison laccompaguent tousiours,
Et sans que sa vigueur soit jamais affoiblie,
Qu'ou cede ou qu'ou resiste, il vadiun mesme cours.

And these other that are so sage and morall.

L'or pour luy cesse d'estre un metal pretieux.
La beauté perissable est un bien qu'il mospuso:
Pour l'un il est sans mains, & pour l'autre sans yeux

And these other that are so noble and so poeticall;

Cepandant que la Lune accomptissant son cours
Dessus un char d'argent enuironné d' estoiles
Dans le sombre univers represente le cours.

And now, after all this, tell me, if I have not profited by the rea­ding, and have not made good use of your presents. I should quickly grow rich, if you would send me such presents often; but this is too inordinate a desire, I must be convent with one croppe in a yeare; and I may very well entertaine my selfe a long time, with that you have already sent me, for which I thank you with all my heart, and am,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 12 July 1633.

To Monsieur Bonnaud, Councellor in Ordinary to my Lord the Prince. LETTER XXI.

SIR, I acknowledge in your Verses due to me but onely my name, all the rest belongs to somebody else, and is unfitter for me than a Crowne for a private Man. I cannot therefore value my selfe the more, for having a thing I cannot use; nor is it fit I should put on Orna­ments, which being as unfit for me, as in themselves they are rich, would disguise me, rather than adorne me. A Courtier would com­plaine that you mock him, Et que vous en faites une piece, A Doctour would say, you undertake a Paradoxe, and trie the strength of your wit, upon the novelty of an irregular subject. I think, I must my selfe be of this opinion; and charge you Sir, with abusing Poetry, and for chusing an incredible thing to make it believed. Neverthelesse, seeing the Phi­losopher, Favonrinus, tooke upon him to praise a feavour, and the Ro­mans adored it, I wonder not at your designe; for I perceive, there is nothing so bad of which may not be spoken some good, and whereof some or other have not ma [...]e a holy day. After this extravagant Enco­mium, and this ridiculous Temple, you might do well to take my mise­ries too, and consecrate them in your stanzes, and take me too, and make me a thing adoreable and divine, for they are but the sports of wit, which delight, though they do not perswade, and accuse with pleasure, because they are witty; but do not deceive me because I know their craft. For the assurance you give me by your Letter of your friendship, I am infi­nitely beholding to you, and make account to reap no small benefit by it; for having a soule as you have, full of vertue, you make me a P [...]esent that is invaluable, to bring me into so worthy a possession; and whilst you offer me freenesse and fidelity, you offer me the two greatest rarities this age affords. I b [...]lieve you speake more seriously in Prose than you doe in Verse, and that you are content to be a Poet, but have no mea­ning to be a Sophister. I likewise entreat you to believe, that the least word I speak is accompanied with Religion, which I never violate; and that there is nothing more true, than the promise I here seale you, most perfectly to be,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 6 Octob. 1635.

To Monsieur Souchote. LETTER XXII.

SIR, By your reckoning you have written to me thrice for nothing, when indeed I knew not of your first Letters, but by your last: if I had received them, you may be sure I should have answered them, for though I be not very regular in observing compliments, yet I am not so negligent of necessary duties, that I should commit so many faults toge­the, How profound soever my slumber be, yet I awake presentlie, as­soone as I am once stirred; and especially when it is by so deare a name, and by so pleasing a voice as yours is, Never therefore require me to give it in charge to some other, to let you heare from me; such a re­quest would be an offence to our friendship, an action fitter for a Ty­rant than a Cittizen: it were to take me for that great Mogull, who speaks to none but by an Interpreter. I like not this savage stateliness, it is far from me to use so little civility towards men of your worth: when it is I, that am beholding to you, I pray let it not be my Groome that shall thank you for it. I will take the paines my selfe to assure you I am wholly yours; and whereas I did not bid you farewell at my going from Park, you must not take it for an argument of sligh­ting your person, but for an effect of the liberty I presume of, and of the renouncing I have vowed to all vaine ceremonies. They that are my friends give me this leave; and you are too well acquainted with the solidity of things, to ground your judgement upon apparances; neither do I think you will require them of me, who am as bad a courtier, as tru­ly I am,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 20. Iul. 1630.

To Monsieur Tissandier. LETTER XXIII.

SIR, you shall receive by this bearer the rest of the works of —: or to speak more properly, the continuation of his follies. They are now as publique, as those of the great divine Marshall, whom you have [Page 107] heretofore visited in the famous little house. He useth me still with the same pride and insolencie he was wont: and you would think that he were at the top of the empyreall Heaven, and at the bottome of Hell; so farre he takes himselfe to be above me: but I doubt not, ere long, his pride shall be ab [...]t [...]d, and his insolency mortified. He shall shortly be made to see, that he is not so great a man as he thinks himselfe; and if he have in him but one spark of naturall justice, he shall confesse he hath triumphed without cause, and must be fain to give up all the glory he hath gotten unlawfully:

Turno tempus erit magno cum optaverit emptum
Intactum Pallanta:

Monsieur de — is still your perfect friend, and he never writes to me, but he speaks of you. He is at this present at Venice, where he medi­tates quietly the agitation of all the world besides; and where he enjoys the honest pleasures which Italy affords to speculative Philosophers. But Sir, what mean you by speaking of your teares, and of the request you make unto me? Doe you not mock me, when you pray me to comfort you for the death of your Grandfather, who had lived to see so many Families, so many Sects, so many Nations, both to be born and die: a man as old as Heresie it selfe: the League was younger than he; which when the Cardinall of Lorraine first conceived, he cau­sed a Book to be printed, wherein he advertised France of the concepti­on of this Monster. You weep therefore for the losses of another age; it is Anchyses or Laertes you weepe for; at least it is for a man who did but suffer life, and was in a continuall combate with death. He should long agoe have been one of the Church Triumphant, and therefore you ought to have been prepared for either the losse, or the gaine that you have made. Monsieur Rembo was not of your humour; I send you one of his Letters, where you shall see, he was as much troubled to comfort himselfe for the life of two Grandmothers that would not die, as hee was for the death of a Brother that died too soone. I commend your good Nature, But I like not your Lamentations; which should indeed do him you sorrow for, great wrong, if they should raise him againe to be in the state in which you lost him. It may suffice to tell you, that he is much happier than I; for he sleepes, and I wake; and he hath no more commerce with men unreasonable and inhumane, and that are but Wolfes to one another. You know I have cause enough to speak thus, but out of this number, I except certain choice persons, and par [...]cularly your self, whom I know to be vertuous, and whose I am,

Sir,
Most humble, &c.
At Paris, 3. Dec. 1628.

The Letter of Peter Bembo, to Hercules Strotius.

A Vias ambas meas, effoetas, deploratasque foeminas, & jam prope centum aunorum mulieres, mibi fata reliquerunt; unicum fratrem meum, juvenem ac florentem abstulerunt, spem & solatia mea [...] ▪ Quamborem, quo in maerore fim, facile potes existimare. Heu me miserum: Vale;

Id. Jan. 1504. Venetijs,

Another to him. LETTER XXIV.

SIR, if it had not beene for the indisposition of my body, I had not staid so many days from thanking you for your many courtesies; but for these two moneths I have not stirred from my bed; so cruelly handled with the Sciatica, that it hath taken from me all the functions of my spirit, and made me utterly uncapable of any conversation, otherwise you may be sure I should not voluntarily have deprived my selfe of the greatest contentment I can have, when I have not your company; and that I should not have received three Letters from you, without making you three Answers. Now that I have gotten some quiet moments from the violence of my torture, and that my paine is turned into lamenesse, I cannot chuse but take you by the hand, and tell you, in the first place, that you are an ungratefull man, to leave our Muses, and follow some of their sisters, that are neither so faire, nor so worthy of your affection. I intreat you to believe, it is a temptation your evill Angel hath cast up­on you; and that you ought to reject it, as the counsell of an enemy. Things are not now to begin; it is no time now to deliberate; you are gone too farre in the good way to looke back, and to be unwilling to fi­nish that little which remains. To leave eloquence for the Mathema­tickes, is to refuse a Mistris of eighteen yeares old, and to fall in love with an old woman. God keep you from this unhappinesse, and inspire you with better thoughts than those that have carried you to this desire of change. It would be a disloyaltie, I should never pardon you, but should blame you for it as long as I live. For making that reckoning of you as I doe, and expecting g [...]eat matters from you: it were an infinite [Page 109] wrong you should doe, to make me lose the most pleasing of all my hopes. I therefore, by all meanes, intreat you to persevere in your first designe, and to resolve upon a voyage of three moneths, to come and be reconciled to her whom you have offended, and to make her a publique satisfaction by the edition of your writings, by which it will plainely enough be seene, the great favours she hath done you. And for my part, I promise you a chamber, where you shall have the prospect of a Garden twelve miles long; and so you shall be at once, both in the City and in the Country. Besides, [...] binde my selfe to set before your Book, an Advertisement to the Reader, to the end that no man may be ignorant of the part I beare, in that which concernes you. Consider whether you like of these conditions, and whether you have courage enough to come and lodge Au Pre aux Glerks, where I will wait for you without any designe of challenge or processe. You shall be sure Sir, to have there admirable visions, and shall meditate nothing but with successe: And in truth, seeing the least motion of your spirit puts me to extasie; what will it be, when you shall employ your whole forces? And if your con­ceits be so just, and so well governed, in the midst of confusion, and un­seasonable disturbances, what a man will you be, when you shall be at leisure, and have the liberty which now you want? Take my word for it, you need not feare the censure of the world; I'l undertake, you shall have the approbation of all honest people, provided, that you make a truce with your Mathematicks, and never intricate your braines with that melancholick and doting Science, which cost Archimedes his life; at least, before you cast your selfe upon such high and sublime specu­culations, it is fit you should get you credit by exercises that are more sweet and popular. And now Sir, this is all you are like to have at this time, from my Sciatica, that I am,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 23. March. 1628.

Another to him. LETTER XXV.

SIR, I doe but now receive your Letter of the twelfth of this Moneth, which confirms me in the opinion I have alwayes had; that my interests are as deare unto you as your own, to complement [Page 110] with you for this, would be to thank you for being good, as much as to say for being your self; It is much better to returne you friendship for friendship, than to pay you with unprofitable words. In a word Sir, I make profession to be an honest man, and therefore all the thankfulness that can be desired from a person obliged, you may expect from me. As concerning — I assure you I wish him no ill, because I con­ceive he hath done me none; it is sufficient for me, that my friends have no good opinion of his opinions, and that his owne friends begin to take notice of his false dealing. In all this there is nothing either new or strange; I am not the first innocent that have beene persecuted in the world, and if I could not beare detraction and slander, I should be more dainty than Princes, and their principall officers are, who forbear not to do well, though for their well doing they be evill spoken of; the best and foundest part is of my side, I want no protector, either Males or Females, and if I would make use of all my advantages, I could oppose Doctor to Doctor, and Gown to Gown; ‘Fratribus & fratres, & claustra minantia claustris.’ But it is fit sometimes to make spare of ones forces, and to restraine re­sentment within lesse bounds than justice allowes. The Prince you desire to heare of, is yet in the Idea of the King his Father, farre from coming as yet to Paris or Thouleuze; for my selfe I am alwayes block'd up by my Sciatica, and I think all the stormes of the middle region of the aire fall downe upon my unhappy leggs; but it is you that will bring me health and faire weather, and your presence will worke that miracle which I expected from Monsieur de L'orme: come therefore, I inireat you, speedily, and suffer not a man to die for want of succour, who passionately is,

Sir,
Yours &c.
At Park, 30. March, 1628.

To my Lord the Duke Valette. LETTER XXVI.

SIR, it grieves me much, that the first Letter you see of mine, should not be pure and free from all my interests, and that instead of enter­taining you with matters of weight, and proportionable to your spirit, I should bring it downe to the petty affaires of a private man; yet I can­not believe, that you being all gracious, and all generous as you are, will think any occasion of doing good unworthy of you, but that your [Page 111] vertue in this doth imitate the supreme, which is never to busie in go­verning of Heaven and the other nobler parts of the world, but that he takes care as well for governing the meanest of all his creatures. I hum­bly beseech your Lordship to consider me in this last quality, and if it be no incivility to make such a request, that you will undertake the businesse I present unto you, but as a disburdening you of some more weighty, if it be not that my unfortnatenesse makes the easiest that are to become unpossible, I see no reason you neede to imploy your whole forces about this matter; there needes no more but onely the motion of your will, and a light impression of your credit, with — to give it all the solidity and lustre I desire. I should not seeme to un­derstand the tearmes of the last Letter he did me the honour to write unto me; if I had not yet some little hope left, and a kinde of satisfa­ction in my owne Conscience. Yet I alledge to him no merit of my part, but much generousnesse of his, nor speake of any services of mine to recompense him, but of his goodnesse that prevents them, and sub­jects not it selfe to the rigours of ordinary justice: This, my Lord, is all the right I alledge for my selfe, and all the title upon which I ground my pretensions: but now I leave following it my selfe, and put it wholly into your hands, a place perhaps to which my ill fortune her selfe will beare a respect; but if she shall be opposite to your desire, and prevaile above your favour, yet at least I shall thereby know the force of destinie, to which all other forces give place, and which cannot be mastered by any force, nor corrected by any industry; but yet it shall not hinder me from resting well satisfied, seeing I shall in this receive much more from you than I am denyed by him, it I hold any part in your grace & favour, which is already my comfort against whatsoever ill successe shall happen. It sufficeth me to be happy with this kinde of hap­pinesse, which is more deare to me than all the happinesse the Court can give me, being a man no more ambitious than I am,

My Lord,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 25. Decemb. 1634.

To my Lord, the Bishop of Poitiers. LETTER XXVII.

MY Lord, although Monsieur de — hath promised me to give you assurance of the continuation of my service, yet I cannot forbeare to adde these few lines to his testimony, and to tell you that which I tell to all the world; that your vertue is a transcendent far above the abilities and carriage of our age. It is a match for Antiquity in its greatest purenesse and severity. When the Camilli and the Scipio's were not in employment, they reposed themselves and took their ease as you doe; and when I consider sometimes the sweet life you lead at Dissay, I conclude that all the imployments of the Palace, and all the intricacies of the Court are not worth one moment of a wise mans idle­nesse. It is well knowne that from your childhood you have despised Vanity, even in her kingdome, and that in an ayre where she had attra­ctives able to draw the oldest and most reluctant spirits. All the pomp of Rome hath not so much as given you one temptation; and you are so confirmed in a generous contempt, that if good Fortune her selfe should come to looke you out, you would scarce goe out of your Closet to meet her in your Chamber. This is that I make such reckoning of in your Lordship, and which I preferre before all your other qualities; for those, how great soever they be, are yet but such as are common with many base and mercenary Doctors, whereas this force and courage are things that cannot be acquired in the noyse and dust of Schooles. You found not these excellent qualities in the Vatican Library, nor yet got them by reading of old Manuscripts; you owe them indeed to Monsieur your deceased Farther, that true Knight, without spot or wrinkle▪ equally skilfull in the art of warre, and in affaires of peace, and that was the Heros of Muret, of Scaliger, and of Saint Mart. I propose not a lesse ob­ject for my worship than they did, neither indeed is it lesse, or lesse ae­ligious than theirs was; and though you did not love me as you doe, and though you should denounce warre against me, and become head of a faction to seek my ruine, yet I should not for all that forbeare to revere so rare a vertue as yours is, but should still remaine,

My Lord,
Your, &c
At Balzac, 4 May. 1630.

To Monsieur Guyet. LETTER XXVIII.

SIR, I feare not much to lose a thing I esteem but little, but holding your friendship in that account I do, if I should have lost it, I should never see day of comfor more; you must not therefore think it strange that I was moved with the Alarum that was given me, for though I know my selfe to be innocent, yet I conceived my unfortunateness to be such, that I may give credit to any bad news. Now that Monsieur de — hath quieted the agitation of my mind, and hath assur'd me of your love, I cannot forbear to signifie unto you the joy I take, telling you withall, that so I may preserve a friend of your merit and worth, I do not greatly care for loving him [...]hat will leave me. There is little to be seen amongst men but malice and weakness, and even of good men the greatest part is scarce sound; this is a cause why a firm & constant spirit, as yours is, is of wonderfull use in society, & it is no small benefit to them that are weari­ed and overtoyled as I am, to have a person to rest upon, that cannot fall. There is need of courage to maintain a friendship & indeed of prudence to performe the meanest duty of life; tis nothing worth to have a sound will, if the understanding be defective, it is to no purpose that one makes vows and sacrifices: Nil vota furent [...]m, Nil delubra juvant, he complains without cause of his spleen and his other inferiour parts; this is to accuse innocents; the evil no doubt comes from a higher place, & it is the brain that is cause of all the disorder The knowledge I have hereof makes me have compassion of him, and excuse in a Dr. of threescore years old, those base shifting tricks that are not pardonable in a Schollar of eighteen. Any man but my self would call his action a cowardice, & a treason; but I love to sweeten my grief as much as I can▪ cannot become an enemy at an in­stant, & pass from one extremity to another, without making a little stay by the way. I honour still the memory of our former friendship, and can­not wish ill to a man to whom I have once wisht well; but this is too much of complaining & quarrelling. Do me this favour, I beseech you, to make choise of something in your study for a consolation of my soli­tude. I have already the Encomium of Monsieur the Admirall de la V [...]let, but I would fain have the Epitaph of my Lady the Dutchess of Esp [...]non, and those admirable Elegies you shewed me once; In quibus tam [...]e▪ Tibul­lo similis quam Tibullus sibi; I intreat you to deliver them to Monsieur — who will see them safely delivered to me; if you please we will use him hereafter as our common correspondent, who knowing me to the very bottom of my heart, will, I doubt not, most willingly adde his testi­mony to my protestations, that I truly am,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 25. Sept. 1630.

To Monsieur de L'orme, Physitian in ordinary to the King, and Treasurer of France at Burdeaux. LETTER XXIX.

SIR, it is not now onely that I make a benefit of your friendship, I have had profit by it a long time, and you have often been my advo­cate with so great force, and so good successe, that they, who had before condemned me, were glad to revoke their sentence as soon as they heard you speake, yet all this while you did but onely speake well of me, now you begin to doe well for me; it is you whom this year I may thank for my pension▪ Without you Sir, my warrant would never have perswaded my partner, it would presently have been rejected, and he still have con­tinued inexorable. But it must be confessed, there is no wi [...]de beast but you can tame, no matter so bad but you can make good; as you heal ma­ladies that are incurable, so you prevaile in causes that are desperate, and if you finde never so little life and common sense in a man, you are able to restore him to perfect health, and make him become a reasonable man. I desire not to have the matter in any better terms than you have set it, I am glad I shall not need to invocate M. the Cardinall for my dispatch, and that Monsieur — hath promised not to faile to pay me in September. If he should pay it sooner, I should be faine to desire you this favour, to keep it for me till that time. Now I onely intreat you, to draw from him a valuable at assurance of it, and for so many fa­vours and courtesies done me, I shall present you with something not altogether so bad, as those I have already shewed you; and seeing one cannot be called valiant for having the better of a coward, neither can I be accused of vanity, for saying I have exceeded my selfe. I am there­fore bold to let my Letter tell you thus much, that if my false Pearles, and counterfeit Diamonds have heretofore deceived you, I doe not think that the shew I shall make you of my new wares will use you any better. Yet my meaning is not to praeoccupate your judgement, who neither of my selfe nor of my writings, will have any other opinion than what you shall please to allow me. Since the time I have wanted the honour of seeing you, I have made a great progresse in the vertue of hu­mility, for I am now proud of nothing but of my friends affections; Let me therefore never want yours, I intreat you, as you may believed, I will all my life, most passionately be,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 8. Decemb. 1629.

To my Lord — LETTER XXX.

MY Lord, I hope you will not take it ill, that I put you in minde of a man, to whom you have heretofore made demonstration of your love, and that after a long intermission of these petty duties, which are then troublesome when they are frequent, you will give me leave to tell you, that I have indeed omitted them, but more by discretion than by negligence. I know Sir, you have no time to lose, and to put you to the reading of unprofitable words, what were it but to shew an ignorance, how much the King imployes you, and how the present affaires goe. It is therefore the respect I bear to your continuall imployments, that hath caused my silence; and I should be very absurd, if in the assiduity of your cares, I should present you with little pleasing amusements, and should look for an answer to some poore complement, when you have so many commandements of importance, and so many orders of neces­sity to deliver forth. It is enough for me, that you do me the honour to cast your eyes upon the protestation I make you, that in all the extent of your command, there is not a soule more submisse, nor more desirous to beare your yoak, than mine is; and that as much as any in the world, I am,

My Lord,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 10 Aug. 1630.

To Monsieur Senne, Theologall of the Church of Saints. LETTER XXXI.

SIR, you need not wonder to see your name in the Book I send you: Lovers, you know, leave marks of their passion every where, and if they were able, would fill the whole earth with their cyphers and devices. It is a custome as ancient as the world, for with that began writing also: and at first, for want of paper, men graved the names of those they lo­ved, upon the barks of trees. If any man wonder I should be in love with a Preacher, why wonders he not at that Romane, of whom a Grecia [...], said, that he was not onely in love with Cato, but was enchanted with him? You have done as much to many others in this country, and I have [Page 116] here as many Rivals as you have Auditors. Yet there is not the same object of all our affections: they run after your words, and hang at your mouth: but I go farther, and discover in your heart, that which is better than your eloquence. I could easily resist your Figures and your Argu­ments, but your goodness and your freeness take me captive presently: I therefore give you the title of a perfect friend in your Encomium: because I account this a more worthy quality, than to be a perfect Oratour, and because I make most reckoning of that vertue in a man, which humane society hath most need of. For other matters, remember your self, in what terms I did speak to you of the business you write of; and that onely to obey you, I have been contented to alter my opinion. I was well assured the enterprise would never take effect; but I thought it better to faile by consenting than by obstinacy, and rather to take a repulse, than not to take your counsell. I have known a long time that fortune means me no good, and the experience I have of her hath cured me of the malady of hope and ambition. Make me not fall into a relapse of these troublesome diseases, I beseech you, but come and confirm my health: you Sir, that are a soveraign Physitian of souls, and who are able to see in mine, that I perfectly am,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 10. Feb. 1635.

To Monsieur de Piles Cleremont. LETTER XXXII

SIR, having heard of the favourable words you used of me at the Court, I cannot any longer forbeare to give you thanks, nor stay till our next meeting from telling you how highly I esteem this favour. I cannot but confess, I did not look to finde so great a graciousness in the country of maliciousness; and seeing, that the greatest part, even of honest men, have so much love for themselves, that they have but little, or none left for strangers: I thought with my selfe, that the infection of the world might have lightly touched you, and that either you had no passions in you at all, on at least, but very coole and moderate: but I see now, that you have more generousness in you than is sit to have amongst men that are interessed, and that you put in practise the Maximes of our Ancestors, and the Rules of your Epictetus. It is I that am for this, ex­ceedingly bound unto you, seeing it is I that receive the benefit of it, & that am the Object of your vertue. You may then believe, I have not so unworthy a heart, as not to feel a resentment answerable to so great an Obligation; at least Sir, I hope to shew you, that the Picture mine ene­mies [Page 117] have made of me, is not drawn after the life, and that their colours disfigure me rather than represent me. I have nothing in me heroicall & great, I confess, but I have something that is humane and indifferent. If I be not of the number of the vertuous; I am at least of their side. I ap­plaud them whom I cannot follow, and admire that I cannot imitate. I am glad if I can be praised, not onely of the judicious and wise, such as you, and our Monsieur de Boissat are, but even of the simpler sort, that are honestly minded, such as — I know Sir, how to love in perfection, and when you shall know me better, you shall confess there is none that can be more than I,

At Paris, 2 April 1635.
Your, &c.

To Monsieur de Voyture. LETTER XXXIII.

SIR, if I did not rely upon your goodness, I should take more care than I do in preserving your favour: and I should not let a messen­ger go from hence, by whom I should not persecute you with my Letters. But knowing you are no rigorous exactor of that which is your due, much less expect I should give you more; I have conceived, I might be negligent without offence, and that having an absolute power over me as you have, you would use it upon me, with the moderation of good So­veraignes. And I should still continue to follow mine owne inclination, which finds a sweetness in idleness; if I did not think it necessary to ad­vertise you that I am in the world, lest you should think all your courte­sies lost that you have done me. I would have been glad I could have lo­ved you all my life long without any kind of interest, or temporal consi­deration; yet it troubles me not to give honour to my friend, by giving him matter of his vertue to work upon. I am content you shall hold the higher part in our friendship, which is to do good, but then I look to hold the lower & less noble part, which is to acknowledge; and this is so setled in my heart, that a greater cannot be desired from a man exceeding sen­sible, and exceedingly obliged. But though it were so, that you had no tie upon me, and that without ungratefulness, I might forbeare to love you; yet I intreat you to believe, that the knowledge I have of your worth & merit, would never give me leave to doe it, but that the naturall respect we owe to things that are perfect, would alwayes bind me infinitely to honour you, and to be with all my soul, as I am,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 15. July 1630.

Another to him. LETTER XXXIV.

SIR, you are welcome from Flanders, from England, and from Spaine. I am not onely glad for your returne, but I refresh my self after your voyages: For if you know it not, I must tell you, that my spirit hath gone these voyages with you; and you never passed the Sea, that I was not near a shipwreck. They that know what it is to love, will not mislike the novitie of this complement: I have born my part in all the fits of your Feavor, I have drunk part of all your potions, I have accompanied you in all your strange adventures. It is therefore great reason I should give you thanks for giving my friendship rest, and that by finishing your travel, you have finished my unquietnesse. It is better Sir to be a private man at home, where there is courtesie and freenesse, than to be a Lord Ambas­sadour among publique enemies; and if the Jewes said well, that the Graves of Judea were more beautifull than the Palaces of Babylon; why may not we be bold to say, that the Dirt of Paris is better than the Mar­ble of Madrid? It is a juster thing to adore M. the Cardinall, than to put off ones hat to the President Rose, or to the Marquess of Ait [...]na; and it would have been a newes no lesse shameful than lamentable, if we had come to read in the Gazets these pittifull words; A Sonne of France was waiting for the King of spain's rising up;

Atque ibi magnu [...]
Mirandusque Gl [...]ens sed [...]t id Praetoria regis,
Donec H [...]sperio libeat vigilare Tyranno.

Thanks be to God, the face of things is hanged, and a great Prince liberty hath cost but the life of good a Horse. At our next meeting, you shall tell me all the fortunes you have passed; and in requitall thereof, I will tell you newes out of the wildernesse, and it shall be at Monsieur de Chaudebous Chamber, that our conference shall be, at least, if you care any thing for it, and that I be in his favour still. Howsoever, this I am sure, he can never love any man that honours him more perfectly than I doe, or that hath a greater opinion of the beauty and noblenesse of his mind He is alwayes one of the dear objects of my thoughts, and I still take him for one of those true Knights, which are no where to be found now, but in the History of France. I want such an example before my eyes, to stir up the faintness I feel in my duty, and to thrust me forward in the love of Vertue. The least of his words make my spirit both higher & greater, the only sound of his voyce give me both life & strength, & I [Page 119] doubt not but I should be twice as good as I am, if I could but see him once a moneth, and make a third in your excellent conferences. But this is a happinesse which is at home with you, but far off from me, though I have a designe to come nearer to it; you injoy it to the full, and leave to others onely a desire of it and a jealousie, and jealous indeed I should be if I did not love you more than I love my selfe, and if being bound to you for a thousand favours, I did not acknowledge my selfe more bound to take a contentment in your good fortune. Enjoy then your happi­nesse, Si [...], and never feare I will oppose it, seeing I shall alwayes prefer your contentments before my own, and shall be all my life,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 5 Novemb. 1634.

To Monsieur, Mestivier Physitian to my Lord the Duke D'Espernon. LETTER. XXXV.

SIR, I am a thirst for the waters of Vic, ever since I heard you thinke them to be wholsome; the reputation you give them hath made me to send for them, to try whether this Drug will do me any more good than others; I am apt to believe for the satisfaction of my taste, that there are no better medicines than those that are least compounded, and which come ready made from the bosome of our common mother; but specially I have a confidence in nature when she comes authorized by your judgement, and hath the warrant of so esteemed a name as yours, and by this means Sir, you have saved me a voyage into Italy; For, but for you I was taking a journey of two hundred and fifty leagues upon the word of an ancient Poet, to the end I might be of those happy ones, of whom he writes these versts,

Non venas resecant, nec vulnere vulnera a sanant,
Pocula nec trifti gramine mista bibunt.
Amissum lymphis reparant impune vigorem,
Pacaturque agro luxuriante dolor.

I have since received your learned Letter, wherein you prescribe me the order I must hold in using this wholsome disorder, and teach me to drink with art; in truth you have more care of me than I am worthy of, my health is no matter of any such importance, that it should be ma­naged with such curiosity. It is not worth the paines you have taken in treating of it so learnedly, and writing these two leafes of paper you have sent me. The publique, which you will have to be interessed in it, will acknowledge no such matter, it hath no use in these turbulent times [Page 120] of contemplative Doctors. The active life is that defends the frontiers, and repells the enemy, and the least musketier in the army of M. the Car­dinall of Valette, is at this time of more use than all the Peripatericks and Stoiks of this Kingdome; we may therefore think that the publique we talk of dreames not of me, nor is ingaged to preserve my idlenesse, but it you that love me, and would therefore make me of more worth than I am, thereby to have the more colour for your loving me. I am much bound unto you for this favour, yet I doubt whilst you set me at so high a price, there is none would take me for such as you would vene me; but I regard it not, I bound my reputation by your account, and desire no other Theater, nor other World but you: it sufficeth me that in your spirit I enjoy the glory you give me, and sweetly possess my good fortune, which I know I merit nor, if you weigh it in the Skales of Scrupulous justice, but which you will yet preserve to me, if you have regard to the passion with which I testifie unto you, that I am,

Sir.
Your, &c.
At Paris, 3. Septemb. 1635.

To Monsieur de Mesmes D' Avaur, Ambassadour to the King at Venice. LETTER XXXVI.

SIR, if the persecution continue, I shall be forced to give place to en­vy, and to go wait in the place where you are for a change of time, which in this Kingdome is so adverse unto me. It is indeed my adversa­ries design to make all sorts of governments my enemies, and not suffer me to breath at liberty, either in Monarchy Aristocracy, or Democracy. You have seen his Manifests printed, which have flown beyond the Alps; you know the cunni [...]g he useth to draw the publick hate upon me, and to make me ill thought of, as well by the Kings Allies as by his Subject. He goes about to banish me out of all states, to shut all places against me that are open, even to fugi [...]ves, and not to leave my innocency one cor­ner of the earth to be in safety: yet Sir, let him do his worst, and practise what he can, I hope you will beare me cut to say, that he shall never hinde me from having a place in your heart, nor be able to take from me this pleasing refuge. And besides that Ambassadours houses enj [...]y the priviledges of antient Sanctua [...]ies, and that there is neither justice not violence but hath resp [...]ct unto th [...]m; I assure my selfe your onely affection will interesse it selfe for my safety, without any other publique consideration, and that you will defend me as a thing deare unto you; thought the defence of a man afflicted were not otherwise in it selfe, a [Page 121] thing worthy the dignity of an Ambassadour; wheresoever you shall have power to speak, I shall be sure of a strong protection, being as I am as­sured of your well speaking, and this eloquent mouth, which perswades the wise, and by which the just expounds himself, is just, shall gaine no doubt a good opinion of my cause by undertaking it, and a favourable censure of those judges at least that I acknowledge. I expect this issue from your almighty Rhetorick, and hope Sir, that in these troublesom encounters you will double your love and your good offices unto me. Though I should be worse intreated of the world, and of fortune than I am, and should have nothing before my eyes but lamentable successes, and deadly presages, yet you would remember how that Cato stood firm upon ruins, and held himselfe constant to a side which the Gods them­selves had abandoned. I do not think my case is yet in this extremity, it hath subsistence & foundation; and as it is not so bad but that an honest man may maintain it with a good conscience, so neither is it so weak but that a mean courage may undertake it without fear. The Gentleman that brings you this Letter, hath promised to make you a more ample rela­tion hereof, and to inform you of my whole story. I humbly intreat you to give him audience, untill I come and crave it my selfe, and that I as­sure you in your Palace amongst your other Courtiers, that I truly am,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Paris, 20. Decemb. 1627.

To Monsieur de Thure, Doctor of the Sorbone, and Chanon of the Church of Paris. LETTER XXXVII.

SIR, my deare Cousin, the newes you sent me surprised me not, I am so accustomed to receive disgrace, that I finde in this nothing extra­ordinary; it is true, I am a little more sensible of it than of the for­mer, and the place from whence it comes, makes me itake it a little more to heart; yet seeing you seeme to compassionate my misery, I finde my selfe comforted of one halfe of it; and having you for my Cham­pion, I feare not what my persecuters can doe against me. Suffer me to call them so, that solicite your Colledge against me, and make it lesse favourable to me, than I ad good right to hope for. It is not their zeale of your Religion, nor interest of the publique that sets them on work; it is an old spight they beare me, which I could never master [Page 122] with all my long patience. It is the hate of a dead man which lives still in his Tomb, it is his reliques that warre upon me, and whereof some ill disposed French do serve themselves to disgrace a work, which hath no other end but the honour and service of the King. I never doubted of your good nature, and I know, if need were, your charity would cover the multitude of my faults; but in this case, I think I have reason rather to ask justice at your hands, and tell you, that if you take the paines to consider my words as I meant them, and not have my enemies correct them; you will easily grant they contain nothing contrary to the orthodox Doctrine, or that is not maintainable in all the Schools of Christendom. This being so, my dear Cousin, I doubt not but you will strongly defend my cause, at least my person, and will be pleased to assure the Gentlemen of your fraternity, that having always accounted their Colledge as the O­racle of true Doctrine, and as the interpreter of the Church in this King­dome; I could not wish a more sweet or glorious fruit of my travails, than to see them entertained by so learned & holy Personages, that my greatest ambition is but to merit their good acceptance, & to deserve their favou­rable censure; and if for obtaining this I have not either happinesse enough, or not enough sufficiency, I have at least dociblenesse enough to learne of them that which I know not, and to confesse that in their learned conferences they possesse the secret and certainty of all holy points, whereof we in our private meditatoins have but suspitions and conjectures, that if I were assaulted by strangers, I could perhaps make a shift to resist, and that with successe, but that I prefer obedience, which I owe before a victory, which I might get; that I desire not to contest with my fathers, nor pretend to have reason against their authority, to which I submit my self in such sort, that I am resolved to assure my self of nothing, but upon their word and credit, and from henceforth to acknow­ledge no truth, but that which they shall please to teach me: I leave it to you to augment, to reforme, or embellish this complement, as you shall think fit; I make you Master of the whole businesse, and never meane to disavow any thing you shall doe, being absolutely,

Sir, my dear Cousin;
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 18 Jan. 1632.

To Monsieur de Vougelas, Gentleman in Ordinary to my Lord, the Kings onely Brother. LETTER XXXVIII.

SIR, I humbly intreat you to take for your selfe, all the excuses you make to me, and to believe that I have alwayes a love answerable to your vertue; though I say it not so often, as by the lawes of civility I [Page 123] am bound to do. Since the coming hither to Monsieur de — you have been the most ordinary and most pleasing subject of all our conference▪ and I am much more curious to heare of your studies, than to heare all the newes of the great World. Yet I intend not hereby to ask it of you with importunity, and to engage you againe in a commerce of unpro­fitable words, which would but wrong your necessary imployments: I am well enough satisfied with the assurance I have of your love, and am well contented you should keep your complements for those you love not so well, when I shall finde my selfe to stand in need of you; I am not grown so bashfull, but that I can use the liberty I have long used, and trouble you againe by my freenesse. Hitherto it hath afforded you nothing but trouble, and it was your evil Angel that inspired you with a desire at first to be acquainted with me. But one day, perhaps, I shall be more happy; and for so many and great favours you have done me, it may be you may draw from me some small argument of acknow­ledgement. In the mean time Sir, I desire you not to cast upon me, a re­putation which I am not able to maintaine; make no more mocks at my pratling, and hide the shame of your friend, which your other friend hath published. He onely is guilty of the fault that was done; and you may well think, I was not so impudent to send false Latin to the Uni­versity of Paris, as much as to deliver false Money to the Mint, and think to make Mint-men take it for currant. It shall suffice me, that you ap­prove of the French, I mean to bring you; or at least, that you make it worthy of your approving, by making it new with your corrections. If Monsieur Faret be returned from Brescia, you shall make me beholding to you, to assure him from me of the continuation of my service, I make infinite account of him, and am with all my soule,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 15. May. 1629.

To Monsieur Gerard Officiall of the Church of Angaulesmr. LETTER XXXIX.

SIR, my last Letters are great Books, and I have nothing to adde, but only that I intreat you to take the pains to read them over again, and to draw them into heads for the help of your memory, which though I know to be very excellent, yet I know also, it is extreamly full of busi­nesse, and that I am but the five and twentieth of your Clients, I set downe nothing so precisely, but that I leave you liberty to change my [Page 124] orders, if you finde them not fit, and to saile with the winde. Nothing but good success can be expected from your sterning; you will so ma­nage, I assure my self, my resentments with Monsieur de — and make him see so much respect and modesty in my grief, that he will perhaps be sorry be ever disobliged me▪ I assure my selfe also, that when you fall upon my Chapter, where I treat with Monsieur de — that you will not carry your self, as onely my instrument, and as one that hath charge of me, but that you will doe as an honest man should, that is perswaded to it by the truth, and interessed in the cause of oppressed innocency. Concerning the perfumes I desired of you, I could wish you would bring me a shop-full; but you must use some body else to chuse them for you, for you know them not your selfe, but onely by name, and you may per­haps have the oyle of Nuts given you for the oyle of Jasmin, and Gin­gerbread for Sweet-balls. So it is that pretty things are unknowne of great personages: you would think you should doe your selfe wrong to descend to such pedling wares, and of an Ambassadour, and a Philoso­pher, become a Merchant and an Apothecary; yet Aristippus would be dealing in things that you think scorn of, and said, that he and the King of Persia were the two unfortunate Ones, whom Diogenes pittied. You send me word that Monsieur de — hath great Designs in the Com­mon-wealth of Letters, and that he is resolved be an Authour and a Preacher both at once. If you remove him not from so dangerous a reso­lution, your shall seee Books that will be the Funerals of common sense, and let but the name be changed, and it will be said of his Sermons, as an excellent man of our time, said of the Sermons of Fryer Lazarus.

Fe [...] de zele, moins de Science
Faisoit que Lazare bossu;
Preschant des Cas de conscience
N'stoit quasi pas apperceu.

As much as to say, that though the Clock did ring out a great while, and that he hath been talking a song houre, yet so little heed is taken of him, that none will believe there is any man in the Pulpit. Before he comes to the Ave Ma [...]ia, all his Auditors are out of the Church, and he may call them Apostataes from the Word of God, and Fugitives from the Church; yet with all he can say, he shall never make one of them to come back. I have not these two yeares written thus much with my own hand; it is to me, as one of Hercules labours: and can you then doubt, how much I would be willing to do, to do you service? I kiss the hands of all the Family, which you see, and which I honour exceedingly, and am,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 10 Feb. 1633.

Another to him. LETTER XL.

SIR, I love you better than I thought, since you parted from hence, I have had a number of Alarums for you: and though I stand in co­vert, yet that keeps me not from the foule weather of your voyage. But I hope, by this time, you are upon returning, and that shortly, we shall [...]it by the fires side, and heare you tell your adventures of Bcausse, and of Mantelan. Whatsoever Monsieur de — have said unto you, when you tooke leave of him; I doe not thinke, that in all the whole Discourse, there can one passage be found that is subject to any bad in­terpretation: if it be considered as a member depending upon the body, and not as a piece that is broken off. There may, perhaps, be found some proposition, a little bold, but never to go so farre as rashnesse; the An­tecedents and the Consequents so temper it, that if a man will not be too witty in another mans intentions, he can never make any doubt of mine. It was never intended, you know, but onely to prove a Monarchy to be the best forme of Government, and the Catholique Church to be the onely Spouse of Christ; Neither yet doe I write so negligently, but that I am ready to give a reason of that I write, and am able to defend my opinions against those particular persons that op­pugne them; for as for the soveraigne authority, you can witnesse for me with what humility I submit my selfe unto it. The day after your departure Monsieur de — came to Balzac, whom I kept with me three whole dayes; I never saw man lesse interessed, lesse am­bitious, lesse dazled with the splendour of the Court; and to speak ge­nerally, better cured of all popular diseases. By this I come to know the noblenesse, and even the soveraignty of reason, when it is well schooled and instructed, we need not mount up to heaven to finde cause of scorn in the littlenesse of the earth, the study of wisdome will teach it as well: A wise man counts all things to be below him; Palaces to him appear but Cottages, and Scepters but Baubles; it pities him to see that which is called the greatnesse and fortune of Princes, and from the heighth of his spirit,

Il void comme fourmis marcher nos legions,
Daus ce petit amas de poussiere & de bove
Dons nost [...]e vanito fait tant de regions.

I have at last found the Letter you required of me, which I now send you by this Post, our good father hath taken a copy of it, and saith it is fit to [Page 126] be kept for an eternall monument in our house; and addes moreover, that Erasmus never had so much honour done him by the Sorbon, which instead of condemning my divinity, hath given a faire testimony in praise of my eloquence; for so he pleaseth to call the little ability I have in writing; for it is his custome to make choice of very noble termes for expressing of very vulgar qualities. For your selfe Sir, you know it very well, and I intreat you to advertise our other friends that know it not, that all this testimony, and all this honour that is done me, is hap­pened to me by a meer mistaking I had satisfied the desire of the Sorbon long before it, if I had understood they desired any satisfaction from me, but two Editions of my Book coming forth at one time, my cha­ritable neighbours, in my absence, delivered the Sorbone the lesse cor­rected Copy, in which indeed, my proposition was not so fully cleared nd unfolded as was fit, but never told them that in the other Copy I had cleane taken away all colour of wrangling, and justified before-hand, that wherein I imagined they could finde any thing to say against me, I expect to heare by the next messenger of your coming to Paris, and am with all my heart,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 25 Jan. 1632.

Clarissimo Balzacio, Facultas Theologiae Pariensiensis, S.

REdditae sunt nobis ad Calendas Aprilis abs te Literae, vir clarissime, omnibus quidem gratis;simae, non eo solum nomine, quod multam in ordi­nom nostrum observantiam prae se ferrent; sed etiam vel maxime, quod prope [...] ­ssissimam tuam voluntatem immutandi ca quae in Principe tuo offendere men­tes Christianas possent. Hunc in librum inquirendi fama, quae nec te latere potuit, non tam occasionem nobis, quam necessitatem attulit. In quo sane uti nulla nis [...] disertissimo, sic incogitanti quaedam excidisse deprehensa sunt, ex co­rum relatione quibus recensendi ejusdem delegata provincia fuerat. Praetipas, eaque maxime instituti nostri huic Epistolae subnectemus; quae & si judicaban­tur, minus ad orthodoxa doctrinae amussim quadrare, aequum tamen pro Chri­stiana charitate ac dignitate tua duximus, ut omnem judicii aequitatem amicae monitionis humanitas praecederet, quo tu ipse operi tuo emendando quaqua ope­ram dares. I stud vero quam pre voto nostro successerie, 'vel ex [...]o intelleximus, quod tua ipse sponte in idem cosilium conspēraver [...]s docilitatem facultati no­strae, ad id tua Epistola pollicitus. Quad & maxime tibi gratulamur, neque velimus tamen in illud incumbas, ordmis nostri duntaxat authoritate viotus, uti bencvole recipis, sed ipsius veritatis; cui nunquam faelicius triumphant ingenia, [Page 127] quam dum cedunt, summissis praesertim per religionis obsequium armis, quorum usus quantum subsidit, ad decertandum conferret, tantum non posset afferre im­pedimento ad victoriam; siquidem, hoc in genere Vincere, nisi victi non pos­sumus. Ne tu etiam talem deinceps debebis Modestiae tuae gloriam, Cujus laude, non minor inter Christianos audies, quam inter mortales, Facundia audiisti hactenus, ejusdem merito lubentissimos laudatores habebis, quos aliàs multa urgente querimonia, officii ratio coegisset vel invitos esse Censores.

De Mandato D.D. Decani & Magistrorum Sacrae Facultatis Theologiae Parisiensis, Ptt. Bouuot.
Apud Sorbonam: Anno Christi, 1632.

Another to him. LETTER XLI.

SIR, my Philosophy is not of so little humanity, but that I grieved exceedingly at the reading of your Letter, and was touched to the very quick, for the death of — yet seeing he is happier than they that mourn for him, and that he hath left the world in an age when he yet knew it not; I think it no wisdome to be obstinate in an ill groun­ded sorrow, or to account that an evill to another, which is the greatest good could have happened to my selfe. Christianity will not let me say, Optimum non nasci, Bonum vero quam citissime interire: but it hinders me not to believe, that one day of my life, with B [...]ptisme, is better than a whole age of iniquity. I write this Letter to you from — whi­ther I am come to lodge, after I had entertain [...]d my Lord — un­till night. I conceived there was some necessity to deliver him your Letter with all speed, and therefore I exposed my person to all the injuries of an incensed skie, and ventured to make a voyage that would have frighted a stouter man than my selfe. By this you may know, that I count nothing difficult, which reflects upon any interest of yours, or which cencernes your contentment; and I love you so much, that I should not say so much, if I had more craft in me than I have But my good Nature exceeds all other considerations of vulgar Prudence; and I would not keep you from knowing what great power you have over me, though I knew before-hand you would abuse this power. For other things, I am very glad to heare you begin to grow sensible of the charms of musique, and that you go to the Consorts, which are in reputation. Yet I have seen the time, when your eares were no learneder than mine, [Page 128] and when you made no great difference between the sound of Lutes, and the noyse of Bells. See what it is to frequent good company; and to live in a Country of neatnesse. I that stirre not from the Village, know no other musique, but that of Birds; and if sometimes I heare a more sil­ver sound, it comes from those noble Animalls which Monsier Heinsius praiseth so much: and which by Lucians saying, serve for Trumpets in the Kingdome of the Moone. I give you a thousand thanks for your newes, but especially for the last; it is certaine, that the choice of Mon­sieur de Belieure to the Ambassadour of Italy, is a thing will be general­ly well liked; men talk wonders already of his beginnings, of the readi­nesse and Vivacity of his Spirit, of the force and stayednesse of his Judgement, besides some other excellent qualities of his Age, from which we may hope for much. And for my selfe, who am one, that love my Country exceedingly; I cannot but exceedingly rejoice in this new fruitfulnesse, which comes upon him at the latter end of his old age. It doth me good to see famous deceased men, to live againe in their excellent posterity; and I doubt not of the good successe of a Negotiati­on, where a Belieure, a Thou, or a Sillery, is imployed These were our Heroes of the long Robe; and the Princes of our Senate: and now their children (that I may continue to speak Latin, in French) are the Princes of our youth, at least they are names more happy, and that portend more good to France, than the name of — and no doubt she will have cause to thank M. the Cardinall, for respecting races, that are so deare unto her; and for stirring up in the Kings minde, the old inclinations of the deceased King his Father. I fall asleep at this very time I am talking with you, and am rather in case to make ill Dreames, than good Discourses: and so I take my leave of you, my deare and perfect friend, as I also am to you, as much as possibly can be,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 4 Octob. 1634.

To Monsieur Talon, Secretary to my Lord the Cardinall De la Valette. LETTER XLII.

SIR, I took infinite pleasure to see my self in one of your Letters, and Monsieur — who imparted it to me, can witnesse for me, with what greedinesse I read that passage, which concerned me. I cannot [Page 129] say, that he is here, though it be true, that he is not in Gascoigne, for we enjoy nothing of him here but his Image; he is so married, that he would think it a disloyalty to his wife, if he should dare to laugh when she is not by. All his sociable humour he hath left with her, and hath brought nothing to us, but his Melancholy. When I would make him merry, he tels me, I goe about to corrupt him. All visites he makes in her absence, though it be to Covents, and Hospitals, yet he calls them deboystnesse. So as Sir, you never saw man better satisfied with his present estate; not a greater enemy to single life. He is not contented to pitty you and me, and to lament our solitude; but he reproacheth us outragiously, and calls us unprofitable members of the Common­wealth, and such as are fit to be cut off. As for me, I make no defence for my selfe, but your example; I tell him, let him perswade you to it first, and he shall soone finde me ready to follow his counsell. I hope we shall meete together ere long; and then we shall not neede to feare his being too strong for us in our conferences, when we two shall be against him alone. Provide therefore Solutions for his Arguments; but withall deny me not your assistance in other encounters, where it may stand me instead. You can never doe courtesies to a man more ca­pable of acknowledgement; nor that is more truely, then I,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 12 Febr. 1633.

Another to him. LETTER XLIII.

SIR, I am exceedingly well satisfied with the newes you send me; and with the assurance you give me by your Letter of the continua­tion of your friendship. Not that I was afraid, I should lose it, but because it is a pleasure, to heare ones selfe called happy; and that one cannot have too many titles for a possession, which can never be too much valued. I take not upon me to contend with you in Com­plements, or to dispute of civility with you, who live in the light of the world, and have whole Magasins of good words. For besides, that I ne­ver had any skill of the Court; it is now so long I have been a country­man, that it were a miracle, if I had not cleane forgot it all. Pardon therefore a rudenesse which I cannot avoid, and seeing I am not able to answer you, give me leave to assaile you, and require you to give a rea­son of the present state of things: What can you say Sir, of these wret­ched Flemmins, who shut their gates against good Fortune when she [Page 130] would come into them? and are in love with their Fetters and their Kee­pers? I do not think there be truer slaves in all Asia: and I do not won­der our arms can do no good in their Country, seeing it is a hard mat­ter to take a yoak from mens heads, who prefer it before a Crown, & So­veraignty▪ when it is offered. Sick men are then to be despaired of, when they throw their Medicines on the ground, and account of Potions as of Poysonings. It is not therefore our fault if they be not cured: we have active power enough to work, but it must be upon a matter that is apt & disposed. I expect hereupon a Decree from your politicks, and remain,

Your, &c.
At Balzac, 1 July 1635.

To Monsieur D'Espernon, Marshall of the Kings Armies. LETTER XLVI.

SIR, my complements are very rare, and I take no great care for pre­serving your friendship. I account you so true of your word, that I cannot doubt of having your love, seeing you have done me the honour to let me have your promise. It is to no purpose to solicite Judges that cannot be corrupted; it is enough for procuring their favour, that the cause be good. You see therefore, I doe not much trouble my selfe to commend mine unto you, and I present my selfe so seldome before you, that if you had not an excellent memory, you had certainly forgot me long ago. I pray you not to do me good offices, for knowing that you let slip no occasion of doing good: I may be sure to have my part of your good deeds, though you have none of my prayers. Your new Acquests at the Court, make you not leave that you have on this side the Loyre: your friends that are alwayes with you, take not up all your heart, there is some place left for your friends farther off, of which number I am one, and more in love, Sir, with the contemplative life, than ever. I am alwayes under ground, and buried with my trees, and they must be very strong cords, and very violent commandements, that should remove me: yet I am contented to give my thoughts a liberty: and my spirit is often in the place where you are, and my absence is not so idly bestowed, but that I can make you a reckoning of it. I speak to you in this manner, because I know you are no hater of delightfull knowledges, and have an excellent taste to judge of things. Though by profession you be a Souldier, yet I refuse you not for a Judge in our peacable difference, being well assured, [Page 131] there are not many Doctours more accomplisht, or of a sounder judg [...] ­ment than your selfe. This quality is no opposite to true valour; the Romanes, whose discipline you seek to reestablish, used to lead with them the Muses to War, and in the tumult of their Armies, left alwayes place for these quiet excercises. Brutus read Polybius, the night before the bat­tell at Phlilippi, and his Uncle was at his book he very houre before he meant to die. Never therefore fear doing ill, when you follow the exam­ple of such excell [...]nt Authors: none will ever blame you for imitating the Romanes, unless perhaps the Crabates, or other Enemies, as well of Humanity as of France: But to be thus blamed by Barbarians, is an infal­lible mark of merit; for they know no points of vertue, but such as are wild & savage, and imagine, that roaring and being furious, are far more noble things than speaking and reasoning: I leave them to their goodly imaginations, and come to tell you, that though you Letter to my Sister be dated from the Army in Germany, yet it is eloquent enough to come from the Academy of M. the Cardinall; it neither smells of Gunpow­der, nor of Le pais de adieu pas; I know, by certaine marks I have obser­ved in it, that your Books are part of your B [...]ggage, and I finde nothing in it, that is worthy of blame, but onely the excessive praises you bestow upon me; and if you were not a stout champion and able to maintain it with your sword, you would certainely, ere this, have had the lie given you a thousand times for praising me so. I should be very sorry to be a cause of so many petty quarrells, and so unworthy of your courage; a Forraign war hath need of your spirit; make not therefore any Civil for my sake; I desire no such violent proofs of your affection: it serves my turn, that you love me quietly; and, if you so please, secretly too, to the end, that our friendship being hidden, may lie in covert from injuries, and that possessing it without pomp, I may enjoy it without envy: I reckon it alwayes amongst my solidest goods, and will be sure never to lose it, if perfect faithfulness will serve to keep it; and if it will suffice to be, as I most passionately am,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac 4 Jan. 1635.

To Monsieur de Reussines. LETTER XLV.

MY deare Brother, I have upon this last occasion received no­thing from you, but the offices I expected; I know you to be jus [...] [Page 132] and generous, and one that will alwayes religiously pay whatsoéver you owe, either to bloud or friendship, yet this hinders me not from being obliged to you, and to your good Birth for it. This hath bestowed a friend upon me, which I never took pains, either to look out, or to make: it is a present of Nature, which I should have taken, if she had given me my choyce. I desire you to believe, that I never stood lesse in neede of comfort, than now; I oppose nothing against the rage of a thousand ad­versaries, but my scorn: I am Armor of proof against all the tales from the Suburbs St. Honoré, and from all the Libells of the street St. Iaques. They increase daily in sight, and if the heat of their spirits do not abate, there will shortly be a little Library of follies written against me. But you never yet heard of such a gravity as I have, nor of a mind that could take such rest in the midst of storms and tempests as I do; and this I owe to Philosophy, under whose covert I shelter my self: it is not only higher than mountains, where we see it rain and hail below us: but it is stronger also than a Fortress, where we may stand out of danger, & make mouths at our enemies. All that hurts me in the warre of —, is that which concernes the interest of others: it grieves me extreamly, that his cruelty should leave me, and fall upon my friends. I wish I could have bought out the three lives, that touch the honour of — with a third Vo­lumn of injuries done to my selfe, and where no body else should have any part: and I may truly say, that this is the onely blow, which that per­fidious enemy hath given me, that goes to my heart; and the onely of all his offences that I have felt. I intreat you to let my friend know of my grief, and to make sure unto me this rare personage by all the cares and good offices your courtesie can devise. His vertue ought to be inviolable to detraction, but detraction will not spare vertue it selfe, but takes a delight in violating the best things. I have reason to place him in this rank, and considering him as one of the most accomplisht works of Na­ture, I must needes consider withall, that Nature it selfe is sometimes calumniated. Madam de — enquires often after you, and hath a great opinion of your heart and spirit. You may be sure I say nothing in opposition to the account she holds you in, but am rather glad to see my judgement confirmed by so infallible an authority: see, you be al­wayes good, and alwayes lay hold upon our antient Maximes, and be assured I am, and alwayes will be,

My deare Brother,
Your, &c.
At Paris 15, Jan. 1621.

To Monsieur Breton. LETTER XLVI.

SIR, you are a man of your word, and something more. You promise lesse than you performe, having undertaken to furnish me but with Gazets; you extend your largesse to large volumnes of Books. This Jonnius, whose Verses you sent me, is no ordinary man. The boldness, and beautie of his phrase, comes very neare the greatnesse and magnifi­cence of Horace. He chuseth and placeth his words with the same pre­cisenesse, and care; he speakes alwayes loftily, and if in all things there be bounds and limits, he sometimes seemes to goe beyond them. For example, upon the Canonization of Ignatius, made by Pope Gregory the fifteenth,

Nam te ille primus Vaticanis ritibus
Admovit aris Coel [...]tem,
Mixtumque superis aureo curru dedit
Perambulare sydera.

A Pagan Poet could have said no more of the deifying of Julius Caesar, yet in saying so much▪ he should have said too much: there being great difference between consecrating the memory of a mortall man, or the gi­ving him a Divinity, between the declaring or the making a God, be­tween being Augustus or being Jupiter. I know not also, why speaking of Protestant Ministers, he stands so punctually to descant upon the word, which of all conceits is the poorest;

Maltque ominata Verba & & inter Obscaena,
Exinde lege publica reponendum
Solue Ministri Garnifex gerit nomen.

I should think, that this descanting makes not much for the honour of Princes chief Counsellors; and it seems, the Poet in this place, forgot M. the Cardinall, who guides the publique fortune, and governs the world under this name of Minister. There is no greater reckoning to be made, no great matter to be built upon three or four little syllables, which signifie nothing, but what custome, without any reason pleaseth, and are of no more value than use gives them. This word Vates, is taken some­times for a Fool, sometimes for a Sorcerer, sometimes for a Prophet; and the word Prophet it selfe, is sometimes taken for a Juggler, witnesse the Greek Proverb [...]: Will you upon this goe raile [Page 134] up [...]n Prophets, & send them with their name to the place of correction, or shut them up in Bedlam. And yet further to endeare this subtilty of Ionicus: you may say, that Ministers at all times have beene enemies of Christ, and prove it by this, because a Minister was one of those that stroke him on the face in the presence of the High Priest; as it is said, Unus ex Ministris Caiphae, &c. The ground upon which such Figures are built, is so weak and ruinous, that there is no meanes to make i [...] stand firm; our adversaries may make use of it as well as we, and to be even with you for your Text of the Minister of Caiphas, they will I doubt not bring you another Text, where our Saviour himself is said to be a Mini­ster, come to ex [...]cu [...]e in the world the decrees of him that sent him, and to do the eternall will of his Futher. This is called triumphing for syl­lables an [...] words, and running after Phantasmes If the antient Rome had used to play in this fashion, Bishops called by them Pontisices, would have been but makers of Bridges, no [...] Dictators any moe than Schoolmasters. Poor Brutus would have b [...]ene the Bu [...] for all the arrowes of his time. The Assinii, the Porcii, the Bessie, would not have had one day of rest, they would have been forced to get themse [...]ves adop [...]ed into some other Families, and to change their names thereby to s [...]ve themselves from the opprobrious Figures of Orato [...]s and Poets. I meant to have written but two or three lines, and I am come to the bottom [...]f my paper; this is the pleasure to be talking with you that deceives me thus, and makes me think that we are walking together, and conferring about our Bookes and Studies. After all that hath been said, I conclude that your Poet is a great Lyrick Poet, and would have had a Pension of Augustus, and sate at Table with Me [...]oenas. I Bid you goodnight, and am,

Sir,
Your▪ &c.
At Balzac, 10. Feb. 1631.

Another to him. LETTER XLVII.

SIR, I am at leisure for no body but you, and though I am pestred with a multitude of small affaires, yet I quit them all to come and tell you, that I have received your last dispatch, and find my selfe infinitely obli­ged to Monsieur de — seeing you put me in hope that he will spend this winter at Paris, [...] purpose at that time to be a daily waiter upon him, and try what I can do to merit my fortune. I am told, that you are grown friends with the graces, and will no longer be an enemy to honest pleasures Hold you firme, I beseech you, in this resolution, and never give it over, if you mean well to your life. The [...]e is no danger in refre­shing your self some [...]imes with pleasing company, that so you may re­turn more fresh and vigorous to your learned ex [...]rcises. It is better to be [Page 135] innocently merry at the Inne in Venice, than to go kill ones self in the Vault of the Church, as the poore — I lament him, in truth, as a man dead and miserable, and it grieves me he had not time to bethink him of his soules health, and to ask pa [...]don of God; but to conceive, that by his death a great light is extinguished, and that the world hath lost a great man; I knew him too well to have any such opinion He was, to say true, a man of metall, and had certaine slashes of wit that were not un­pleasant, so long as they were not printed; but who would endure him to be enrolled among modern Authors, or give his verse a place among the Poets of this time? Yet he himself counted his courage and his mi­litary vertues as nothing in comparison of his eloquence, and excellent gift of speaking and writing, wherein he was so highly conceited of him­selfe, that onely for telling him one day of it, he never loved me after, and is dead; I assure my self, with a heart-burning against me for it. They that reprove me for writing Neuvelles Victorienses in my first Let­ter to M. the Cardinall, make it appeare they are farre travellers in the Latin Country, and never come to discover Victrices literas, Laureatas literas, Nuntiam laurum, &c. Malice is a very unjust thing, but ignorance much more; Homine imperito, you know the rest. And never take offence that there be some wil not so much as allow me for a Grammer-Scholler, and perhaps have reason. We oftentimes think our selves to be the true owners of things, of which indeed we are but usurpers; there is nothing secure against wrangling, every thing is matter of suit in this wretched world, yet I mean not so easily to yeild and give up my right; for if I were nor able to write according to the rules of Art, I must certainely be one of the most dull capacity, and altogether uncapable of all discipline. For, did I learn nothing by seeing the Cardinall Perron? Nothing by being a Scholler in the French tongue, under Mr. Nicholas Geoffe [...]ean? Nothing by a thousand conferences with the good man Malherbe? And lastly, Nothing by lodging with Father Baudoin? Vel in bicipiti somni­âsse Parnasso? For one is as much as the other, as you know well. This man, in truth, is no ordinary Father, his conceptions and productions are without intermission; he fills our studies with his books, he amends, reforms, embellishes the books of others, he smells a Barbarisme, or an incongruity seven miles off; he hath counted by tale all the improprie­ties that are in —: he is admirable in knowledge and use of all particles, and I am sure he loves me not so little, to hide any secret or mystery of all his knowledge from me; I intreat you to kisse his hands for me, and to believe that I am most truly,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 20. Aug. 1630.

Another to him. LETTER XLVIII.

SIR, three dayes since I imparted my melancholy and my unquiet­nesse unto you, and how much I was moved at the cruelty of — I have since received your Letter of the ninth of this present, which doth not indeed take all my paine from me, because it declares not what is done against me, but yet asswageth it a little, because it declares that nothing is done against me that is deadly. However I must put on a resolution for all events, and comfort my self with Philosophy, and with you; you that are my true and faithfull friend, and that stand between me and all the stones my enemies throw at me. Your affection is no small help to me in these troublesome encounters, and the tendernesse you shew to have of me, bindes me in a very sensible obligation to you. Concerning the ill will of — it can do me no great hurt, and par­don me if I do not think my honour is ingaged to make so bloody a warre upon him as you would have me. The lesse shew is made of resen­ting petty injuries, the better and the more readily they are repelled; if I should think upon answering him, I should but make a comment upon his gib [...]ish, for them that understand him not, and thereby bring his fol­ly into the more credit and request. When time and place serv [...]s we will handle him as he deserves, and doubt not but his lightness shall light hea­vily upon him, onely doe you collect some common places upon this matter, and remember your selfe of all that hath passed between — to the end the History may not be lost. I have had speech with the man whose whole life is nothing but a continuall meditation of death; I ne­ver found him so austere, nor so great an enemy of bravery as now; his devotion respects neither right of nations, nor lawes of civility. I have not been able to get him to write to that person that loves him so dearly, and complaines to you so often about it. All the Answer he returnes to his long Letters, are but these three words of the Gospel, Noli amplius peccare, which in sweeter and more courtly termes▪ is as much as to say,

Lites heures au lieu de lire ses poulets
Desile tes coliers, faits-en des chapelets, &c.

I received the other day a most elegant and gentle Letter from one Mounsieur Ytterius, a Lawyer of Antwerpe; but I know not by what meanes it came to my hands, nor by what direction to return an answer. Pray enquire after him, and let our friends know, that in spight of the Ma [...]quesse of Aytona, I have adherents in Flanders, and therefore he neede not make his bragges for having burnt my booke at Brux [...]s. Sci­licet [Page 137] illo igne, vocem omnium Gentium, & libertatem Europae, & conscienti­am generis humani abolere arbitrabatur. By the next Post I will write to Monsieur Hottoman, and will give Monsieur de la Pigeonnerio thanks for the verses you had of him to send me. We have read them here in good company, both of Males and Females, and they all agree, that the Fa­thers, my adversaries, are none of those Christian Ulysses's, he speaks of, that have nailed their Passions to the Crosse of Christ. I forgot to ask you of Monsieur Seton, and to desire you to call to him for the papers he promised me. I regard him as one of the great Doctours of our age, and make use of the riches of his spirit with so great privacy, that he seems to be but as it were my Treasurer. I know not how to make an end; nor yet am willing to say more, because I must reserve something for Monday next. I therefore take my leave, assuring you there is none more truly than I,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 7. Jan. 1631.

To Monsieur Girrard, Officiall of the Church of Angoulesme. LETTER XLIX.

SIR, I make use of you with the like liberty as I desire you would make use of me; if therefore you have any spare time, you may allow it to the affaires of — but so as you allow it to mine first, and that you make a difference between friendship and courtesie. I doubt not but you will give your best advice to the Gentleman that is recommended to you, and will set forward the best you can the design we have to make him one day an honest man. I find the Booke more neatly, and more correctly printed than I could have imagined; and I would tell you that you are an able Grammarian, but that I feare your Divinity would be angry for giving you so small a praise, and so much vilified by the Mes­sieurs or Masters. The two Latin Tracts you sent me are as different of stile as they are of matter. Any man that can but relish the antient purity will take the first of them for the work of some Roman that lived in the times of the republick, but the other can be but the writing of some Gaule or Spaniard that came to declaim at Rome, in the reign of the sixth or seventh Emperour. One meets at the beginning with something that dazles, and makes a faire shew of some great good to follow, but at the bottome there is no such matter to be seen, nothing but swelling and ob­scurity, oftentimes false traines, and eve [...]y where brags and bravadoes that are not tolerable. It is a pleasure, as I am told, to heare this famous [Page 138] Author talk of himself; he thinks his Pen as much worth as the King of Sweden's Sword, and no less fatall to States and Princes. He saith it is he that bestowes glory or dishonour, makes men famous or infamous as he pleaseth, and that he hath means enough to be revenged of the Emperour or Pope, if the Emperour or the Pope should offer him any wrong. Scaliger, Lipsius and Casaubon were by his owne saying, but his Fore­runners, and all the light of the former age, but the Aurora of his, and yet for all this, he hath but a very little head, and but very staring eys, and but a very fumbling speech, and but a very silly discourse, that you may know his judgement is not the praedominant part of his soule. But the world talks otherwise of him, that he is a lost man, and one that hath forfeited his brains, not onely swallowed up of a strong and vast imagi­nation, not onely bending under the burden of an overcharged memory, but apt to lose himselfe in the walks of Plato's Philosophy, for which yet he is become an Apostate from Aristotles Doctrine. I confess unto you now, that the time hath been I have made much reckoning of this man, & am still of those ill husbands that give presents, but pay no debts It is certain, I discharge my duty extreamly ill; & Mons. Videll hath just cause to think me the most uncivil man that lives. But you know the secret of this matter, and that in my incivility there is a kind of Religion, which I have not dared as yet to violate. Unless I should sin against my faith gi­ven, I can neither enjoy the good he hath done me, nor give him the thanks I owe him; and this is the extremity of my misery, that I have receiv'd a most precious gift, and yet can neither be rich by it, nor thank­full for it. Take some course for Gods sake, that I may dispense with an each that is so contrary to honesty, and so directly crosseth the right of nations and all good manners. Intreat our friend to give me my liberty again, which I have solemnly promised to imploy wholly in doing him service, and in accommodating that confusion which makes me commit this disorder. Monsieur de Plassae hath so powerfully confuted that which I writ the other day to Madam D' Anguitour, that I am become perswaded my self, and am no longer of my own opinion, but willingly confess, that if I should be obstinate in defending my false maxims, I should do as ill as make a schism amongst Ladies, & be the Author of a most pernitious doctrine. I have put this Letter in my packet, that you may see I yeil­ded not for nothing, and that you may shew it also to Monsieur — who hath desired me he might see it. The Encomium of Monsieur de la Valette, which your brother desired of me, is in the 103 Booke of the Histories of Monsieur de Thou. Change but the date onely, and you will agree with me, that it was certainely made for our Monsieur de Valette, that is now. I send it you by this Post, and remain,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 4. Decemb. 1632.
[Page 139]

RUpem brunam profectus, pulsatis muris, cum ab oppugnatione tentatae cum damno suerum repulsus [...]ssit, rurs [...]s redinteg [...]ata verberatione, ubi vidit ab ea parte con [...]um frustra esse; jam ruinis ab obsessis sarta; alio tormenta transfers; dumque in iis Collocandis laborat, ictis majoris sclopeti, in capite sauciatus est; ex eoque vuln [...]re, p [...]st duas horas decessit, m [...]redibili sui Regis Deside [...]o relicto; cui strenuam admodum, ac fidam operam semper navave [...]at. E [...]at vi summa fortitudine praeditus; in periculis imperterritus; in adversis Constans in prosperis mode [...]atus, liberalis, comis, magnae in explicandis ne­gotiis solertiae, in imper [...]o ac magistratu, qua [...] privatus, melior. Espernonius, quem [...]lie hae [...]ede [...] rel [...]quit, eum casum acerhissime tulit: quippe fratre charis­simo, & firmissimo Fortunae suae invidiosae munimento O [...]batus.

To Monsieur de Gues. LETTER L.

SIR, my most dear Father, you have obliged me exceedingly unto you, for imparting unto me the good newes that is come, and for communicating with me, the joy you take in the happy successe of the Kings Army. I do not think he hath a better subject in all his Kingdom, than your selfe; never servant was more zealous for his Masters great­nesse; never Persian more religiously adored Monarchy. You love your children, I know, infinitely, yet this is but your second love; that of the State, and of the Publique, goes farre before it, and I feare me, you would give us all for the poorest Frontier Town of Flanders, or for any paltry Fort of Millan That which I read in the Post script of your Let­ter, did s [...] very well please me; the good opinion which Monsieur de — ha [...]h of me, is more a burthen to me, than an honour: and I could wish, he would make less reckoning of me, so he would let me be more at quiet. You have a strange friend of him, to take me for his common place book, and to think that I am an Index for finding out conceits and figures. In the matter you propounded to me on his be­halfe, I can say no more than what I have said already; but if he please to take the paines to Translate my French into Latin, he may easily do in such sort, that he shall be taken for the Author, and I but for the Translator▪ I have told you of the dignity of the Language, in which he meanes to write, and what great advantage it hath over ours; it is certain, that it [...]levates and raiseth up the low thoughts of the Authors, and gives much more to them, than it receives from them. Whereas ours contrary­wise, hath no beauty, but as the Authors embellish it and set it out. It hath [Page 140] no subsistence, but by the matter, no force, but from the subjects that are handled. I have made choice, of some, which I thought fittest for his purpose, if he finde them for his turn, he may make use of them, and better them much by putting them into Cicero's stile and phrase: and these are they. Good men ought to desire great Dignities, as a necessary means to perform great atchievements, which if they perform them not, both God will call them to account for his graces, no better imployed, and the World will justly complain; it is left a prey to the wicked, and that the desire of their own private quiet, makes them abandon all care of the publick. This is to tell you, my Lord, that you ought to reserve your humility, for actions that pass between God and you; but that for other matters you cannot have too much credit, nor too much greatness, seeing it is fit that wisdom should be obeyed, and that there are some vertues, which cannot be acted by those that are poore, &c. Though we be not so out of the world, but that we hear newes of it; yet it passeth through so many places, that it cannot chuse but receive divers impressions, and can never come to us in purity, seeing it gathers mudde in coming but from the Louure. Yet I have come to know, and fame hath sounded in our desart, the great battels that have been fought for the honour of France, and how you have vanquished the spirits of strangers, which is a greater victory than to vanquish their forces. I have come to know, that Italy hath vented out all her subtilties, and imployed them to deceive us, and yet could not; and that these spirits, which thought to reigne in all assemblies, and to be masters of reason, have not beene able to defend themselves against you, but with spight and choller, nor to complain of any thing, but that you perswaded them to that, which they came resol­ved never to do, so as they which called us Barbarians, and got alwayes as much by their Treaties, as they lost by our Victories, have found at last, that there is wisdome on this side the Alpes, as well as beyond, and are driven to acknowledge, that we had a man amongst us now, able to hinder them from deceiving us as they had done. They wondred to see a Servant that could not endure there should be a greater Master than his own, that felt the least evils of his Country, as if they were his proper wounds, and thought it a hurt to himself, if there were but an offer made to touch the Dignity of his Crowne; but when they saw that you applyed remedies upon the sodaine to all inconveniencies, which they thought you could never have avoyded, that you not only answer'd all objections they made, but prevented all they intended to make, that you dived into their soules, and took hold of their intentions there, and at the first con­ference, made answer to that which they reserved for the second; then in truth their fleam turned into choller, and then you quite routed all their humane Prudence, and all their politick Maximes, &c. I am not able to dissemble the joy I take, to heare that your good services are acknow­ledged, [Page 141] that when divers counsels had been tryed, yet yours, at last, was still faine to be followed, and that in guiding the fortune of France, you are no lesse President of all affaires of Europe. It is true, that of all externall contentments, I have none so sensible to me as this; but on the other side, when I heare that your health is continually assaulted, or at least threatned by some accident or other, that the rest, which the quiet­nesse of your Conscience ought to afford you, keeps you not from ha­ving unquiet Nights, and that in the midst of all your glory and good successes, yet you oftentimes are as it were, weary of your life, then in­deed, &c. And can it not be, that you should come to heare the pub­lique acclamations, but in the unquietnesse of your watchings? Nor of your praises, but in your paines? Must the Sense suffer, and the Spirit rejoyce? Must you be upon the rack, when you are in your triumphs? Must you do two contrary works at once, and at the same time have need both of moderation and of patience? If vertue could be miserable, and that the sect, which accounts nothing evill but paine, nothing good but pleasure, were not universally condemned. Certainely the divine Pro­vidence, would at this day be complained upon by places of all this King­dome, and all honest men, would in your behalfe finde something amiss in the worlds government. B [...]t my Lord, you know better than I, that it is the happinesse of Beasts onely, of which we must believe the body; for, as for ours, which resides in our highest part, it is as little sensible of disorders that are below her, as they which are in Heaven are uncapable of offences by stormes of the aire, or by vapours of the earth. And this being so, God forbid that I should judge of your condition by the state of your health, and not think him perfectly happy whom I esteem. Doe but imagine with your selfe, that you have made a division of the infir­mities of humane nature, with other men, and then you shall finde the advantage is on your side, seeing there is in you but a smal portion of pain for infinite defects that are in others. Yet I cannot but think, that the term of your patience is neere expired, and that the time to come is preparing contentments for you that are wholly pure, and will make you young againe after the time, as before the time you have made your self old. The King that hath need of your long life, makes no wishes in vaine, and heaven heares not the prayers of the enemies of our state. We know of no successour fit to undertake what you leave unfinished; and if it be true that our Armies are but the armes of your head, and that God hath chosen your counsaile for establishing the affairs of this age; why should we feare a losse which hath no right to come but to our posterity? he will not in this onely point leave imperfect the happinesse he hath pro­mised us; be loves men too well to deprive them of that good which you are borne to do them. When Armies are defeated, there may new be levied, and a second Fleet may be set forth when the first is lost; [Page 142] but if you, my Lord, should false u [...], &c. It shall be in your time, that people oppressed shall come f [...]om the worles end to seeke the protection of this Crown▪ [...] by your means our Allies shall be well payed for their losses, that the Spaniards shall be no conquerours, but the French shall be the f [...]e [...]rs of all the earth It shall be in your time, that the holy seat shall have her opinions free, the inspirations of the holy Ghost shall be no more oppugned by the cunning of our adversaries, and that there shall be raised up couragious hearts, worthy of ancient Italy, and able to defend the common cause Finally my Lord, I shall be by your wis­dome, that there shall be no more ty [...]anny in Christendome, nor rebel­lion in this Kingdome: That the people shall leave in their superiours hands both Liberty and Religion, and that [...]om this legall government, and from this perf [...]ct obedience, there shall arise that happinesse, which Polititians seek fo [...]; and which is the end of all civill societies. My hope is that all these things shall c [...]me to passe thorough your wise govern­ment, and that after you have made sure our peace and our neighbours, you shall your selfe enjoy the benefit of your good deeds with pleasure, and at your ease, and shall see the state of things continu [...] flou [...]ishing, whereof none but yours [...]lfe have beene the Author. I earnestly intreat you so to deale with Monsieu [...] de — that he may rest contented with this, and dispense with me for any new meditation which would require more leisure than I am like to have. This bearer will deliver you the History of Queen Elizabeth, which may serve you for a recreation to the end of the week, and then I shall come and aske your opinion, and desire you to give me some light of that time, out of the great experience you have in many things I desire of God with all my heart, that he will be pleased to afford you yet some great matter to exercise your selfe in, and that this wise old age of yours, which we so much admire, may long continue to be a strength and ornament to your family. These are my earnest wishes, and withall, to make you by a perfect acknowledge­ment of your favours a perfect proof that I am,

Sir, my deare Father,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 7 June 1634.

To Monsieur de Boisrobert. LETTER LI.

SIR, the Muses never favoured man as they do you; you are the onely man that need neither retreite nor leisure for your meditations; In the troubles of the world you possesse your spirit in peace, and seeing the bruit of the Court diverts not your attention, neither can the Sea and all its waves hinder your compositions. It is no small advantage to finde that solitude in ones selfe, which others seeke for in the Desart, and not to be bound to goe out of the world for fetching in of sound opinions and perswasive words. If the merit of yours take place, we shall shortly see at Stage-playes, as many long Cassocks, as short Robes, and the most austere Philosophers will have their hands and eyes in the recreations of the people, and so Sir, of a mischiefe you shall make a remedy; you shall set timerous spirits at liberty, and shall free us from two terrible Monsters, scrupulousnesse, and vitious bashfulnesse. You make me long to bear a part in this action, and in this sort to defend the Theater; to take the field after you is not so much to fight as to pursue the victory, and I think it no wrong to vertue to justifie an inno­cent pleasure, and that which is onely worthy of her; this we owe to Jason, to Masinissa, to Brutus, and other worthy men, who live at this day in the person of the man you so much commend, and whom I ad­mire as often as I heare. It is certaine, that the grace with which he pronounceth vertue, gives them a degree of goodnesse, which the Poets could not. They are more beholding to him that pronounceth them, than to him that made them; and this second Father (if I may so speak) purgeth by his adoption all the vices of their birth; the tune of his voice accompanied with the dignity of his gestures, gives a kinde of noble­nesse to the vulgar and base conceits. No soule is so strongly for­tified against the objects of sense, which he forceth not; No judgement so wary and so well prepared, which is not caught with the imposture of his words, in such sort, that if in this world there be any happinesse for verses, it is certainly in his mouth, and in his pronouncing; by which, as evill things get the colour of good, so good things get the uttermost of their perfection. Let me know Sir, wether I hit right upon your in­clinations; and in the mean time I give you many thanks for your ma­ny favours, particularly for the Letter of my Lord you took the pains to send me. He writes indeed in the style of a Conquerour, and these words Accepi, legi, probavi, savour much of these, Veni, vidi, vici of J: Cae­sar, and of these, [...], of another Ceasar that [Page 144] was afterwards. Though I should never receive other mark of his love but this, yet were this a full recompence of all the passion I ow to his service; yet I must tell you, I cannot forget the honour he hath done me, in procuring me a promise that I shall be paid of — I have done all possible I could to blot this thought out of my minde, but I confesse unto you, that my imaginative part is a little strong. I could never hitherto satisfie my selfe herein, and what bad answer soever I receive from men, yet still I rely upon this word of God, who com­mands me to hope well, and therefore I wait still for the accomplishment of the Oracle. All our people are extreamly bound unto you for remem­bring it, and I am my selfe more than all the world together,

Sir,
Your, &c.
At Balzac, 3 April, 1635.
FINIS.
LETTERS OF MONSIEƲR …

LETTERS OF MONSIEƲR DE BALZAC. THE FOURTH VOLVME, Newly corrected.

Printed in the year 1654.

To the READER.

THe name of Balzack is not confined within the Orbe of one Kingdom: his pen hath made him known unto all that pretend to Eloquence and Poli­ter Learning: And had his language been more ge­neral, his worth had been more known. It is then a duty we owe to virtue to unfold it, when it is contract­ed within too narrow limits, and to unlock the Cabi­net, and make it communicable, when it is restrained from that freedom which is part of its essence and na­ture. Wherefore some of our own, finding that our Authors Language was too narrow for the merits of his works, have rendered some pieces of his in Eng­lish. Nor did their Travails fall short of their hopes, but success hath crowned their endeavors. By the in­couragement of their auspicious flight abroad, I made Augury touching the fortunes of this fresh piece, whtch I now expose to the common light, without the countenance and patronage of any great name, but guarded onely with its own fate: It hath a Genius, and carries the name of Balzac in every page, that is enough.

[Page] Pierre Math. Hist. de Hen. 4. Liv. 3.For know (Reader) that he is Master of the pen in France, L' Aigle de l' Elo­quence Francoise, as one stiles the great Chancellour Du Vair, a towring Eagle, whose strength of wings bears him aloft above the tracts of common flights. I may say of him, with some variati­on, what Pliny said of Cicero, that of latter times, and for his own language,L. 7. nat. Hist. c 30. solus in toga tri­umphum meruit, linguae (que) lauream, and if the Muses speak French, they would use no other Dialect, than that of Mons: de Balzac.

If thou dost not find the same thread run through all his Letters, think it a peece of his Art, to vary the Idea and character of his speech, according to the qua­lity of his subject. Wherefore we finde him some­times lofty and magnificent, and sometimes grave and moderate: now he is calm and smooth, and anon he thunders and lightens: here his words fall like hail,Hom. [...]. and there [...], like still and gentle snow, or the silent feet of time. And though they be but [...], strictures, and excursions of his pen, yet upon due examination, thou shalt finde they be decoctions of purest Rhetorick; and take away Monsieur, & vostre tres humble, they be so many quaint orations, and discourses politick and morall.

But never did any beauty gain all sufferages, nor a­ny wit a general applause.Mart l. 4. Epig. 32. Our Author in his Hermitage, like that Bee, intombed in Amber, Dum latuit luxit: he shined through the vail of ob­scurity, [Page] where in he involved himself: but some Owl­eys could not brook the splendor of his light, though at such a distance and declination; and he had more ene­mies in this solitude to molest him, then the Gout and Stone. It was ever the fate of eminent persons to have Antagonists, and envy, like the Athenian O­stracisme, and persecutes the best. A testy Frier, un­der the name of Philarchus, comes out of his Cloi­ster, and raiseth the Hue and Cry after him, as an er­rand Thief, and avoucheth that our Monsieur here, is but a Mountebank, and a Plagiary, that struts in borrowed plumes, and makes a great shew of the frip­pery and brokage of other Authors: pudet haec opprobria, &c. But Balzac found a learned Apo­logist, to refute these imputations; so that this single encounter grew up into a faction, and the Pen-men came so fast into the field, that the Philarkes, and Antiphilarks divided all France.

There happened some disgusts between him and Father Garesse a Jesuite and a man of able parts: But the French King himself did so far tender the studious Repose of Mons. de Balzac, (that by these altercations he might not be discouraged or diverted from greater designs.) He interposed his Authority to make a Reconciliation, and because it makes for the honor of the parties litig [...]nt, I have prefixed here the Kings Act, and their mutual letters, as I finde them at the beginning of Garasse his Somme Theologique.

[Page]And now (judicious Reader) Balzac stands at thy Tribunal, expecting thy doom: He hopes to finde more Candor, and better dealings in England, the Region of peace, as he calls it, than among his own: presuming upon the goodness of his cause, and thy ju­stice, I have adventured something upon thy censure. If thou contractest thy brow, it is no single fate, thou condemnest at once a multitude of Dependents, and Admirers of his virtues, and among them, in an humble distance

F. B.

AN ADVERTISEMENT OF Monsieur the KING.

Vnderstanding of the bad intelligence, which by the unhappiness of the times hath gtown between Monsieur de Balzac, and the Au­thour of this Book, we could not but partake of the discontents of sundry honourable persona­ges; and judging it very reasonable, that to men that continually do good services to the Commonwealth, and from whom it should expect better, yet hereafte should be divided in wills and affections. We have endeavored to dispel those Clouds by the evidence of truth; the business was not very difficult for us, being we were to deal on the one side with a religious man, who by the rule of his Profession, takes a glory in despoyling himself of all interests, and to desire the love of all the world; on the other side, with a man of a fr [...]nk and noble courage, whose discretion guided him to put a diffe­rence [Page] between the faults of men, and the un­happiness of the age.

So that we thought fit, to tye again the knot of friendship, which (by accident) had been untied. It is commonly an easier taske to recon­cile old Friends, than to make new ones. Ha­ving then happily effected that business, we thought that good men, who are ever well af­fected to the sweetness of peace, would gladly receive some authentick testimonies of their good intelligence, and for this purpose, we have got interchangeable letters under their own hands, that confirm the sincerity of their hearts, for to present them to the publick, which can­not be distastful to any, but to those that are pleased with nothing but disorders and contentions.

Johanni Ludovico Balzaco. Ʋ. C. S. P.

QƲod ad te jam scribo, (V. C.) mirari desines, si me, ut Religiosum, & tui amantem esse memineris: & ani­mam, puto, & manum hanc facile agnoveris, sin minus, sal­tem ignoveris, quod utrun (que) gestum est. Non nihil inter nos longi frigoris fuit, seculi potius vitio, quam vestro. Septenni­um est, fateor ex quo mutua inter nos Epistolarum missio in­terrupta cessavit; ex hoc silentio torpor, ex torpore glacies ex­orta: vel patere suis, ut ad te verbis scribat sapientissimus Hebraeorum Doctor, dicat (que) Christallus gelavit ab aqua: sed nosti quid rei est Christallus, cui precium facit ipsa fragi­litas? vel frangatur, vel indomita glacies benigno tepore sol­vatur: favent omnia, & tempus, & amicorum vota commu­nium, & imprimis desiderium meum. Nolo retegere quod odi­osum est, rixarum inter nos argumenta & fomites; fatalia ista sunt, & dissolvendis amicitiis nata: In litibus nullus (ut nosti) finis est: dum

—Liticulas lis seminat unica plures. Versiculos ad te ex­temperaneos & rudes mitto, sed scienti loquor & occupationes meas, & Epistolarem in versu formam; nihil enim ab Heroi­co retinet preter pedes, quos habet formica etiam cum homine communes, sed quo plures eo pejores. Tibi uni prope datum est Heroicas graves (que) literas condere; scripsit Ovidius Heroidas, sed Balzacus Heroicas. Pluribus abstineo, ne quod judicio dico, adulationi imputet, qui non norit me hujns criminis immunem, imo & hostem. Caetera coram amantius & fusius, scis enim a Sapiente dictum: mitte sapientem & nihil ei dicas. Regi­um Proxenetam nacti sumus, hoc nomine totum dixi.

Vale & me ama.

50 Martii. M.DCXXV. ex domo Probat. S. Ge [...]mani.
DIc mihi, quid temerè priscum turbavit a [...]orem,
Qui me corde tuo scriptum (Balzace) ferebat
Atq, unum ad nomen veteris gandebat amici,
Invenisse ratus quo se jactaret, Orestem?
Cet [...]è ego qui cupipè rerum cognoscere causas
Scrutari (que) vices librato examine novi,
Hoc demum pelagus non vestigabile contis
Experior, Sophiaeque meo se curta supellex
Objicit ingenio misera, & deludit amantem;
Nam ne (que) scintillam video fulgere, ne (que) umbram
Quae meri [...]ò nostri radios fuscarit amoris,
E levet affl [...]ctam sapitus sententia mentem
Quam fluxisse reor magni de fonte Platonis.
Ille inter Superos solum accensebat Amorem
Jnfantem vetulum, causas qui rideat omnes
Ʋt pote qui causas etiam praecesserat aevo,
Jllarum (que) putet rigide se jure solutum;
Et puto, si quisqu [...]m recte describat Amorem
Rem male non capiet, si dicat Anaition esse.
Non quod ego gravibus causis Balzace carerem
Cum Genio cogente meo te primus amavi,
Nam primum ut tenerae gemmas aetatis biantes
Et clausum ingenij calicem primoribus annis
Caep [...]sti referare, mihi nec cornea vena
Marmoreo sub corde fuit, nec amare negavi
Scis etenim, haud alium testem volo temporis acti,
Ʋt tecum crevêre anni, spes crevit & ipsa,
Et cum maturos licuit mihi carpire fructus
Arboris optatae ramis, quaem rore sciebam
Este saginatam bibulo, coeli (que) saliva,
Jure meo accessi propius, dectra (que) voraci
Pendulus attraxiramum: sed inania veta
Delusi agricolae durus soedavit Hydaspes,
Qui molles aditus speranti & mustea pema
Excussit rigidas (que) nuces lapidosa (que) corna.
Hic ego me fateor justum sentire dolerem.
Et nemit ab verum memini incusaere Platonem,
[Page]Primus amicitiam qui dixit Anaition esse.
Nam (que) edii immeritum quod tu cessaris amare
Te causas habuisse nego, nisi pestis amorum
Fama, tibi uanat formaverie invida causas
Inconsulta parens edii, quod si vice versa
Forte reclamavi trepidans, contra (que) ligonem
Feruidus opposui volsellem, & me qui (que) culpae
Propterea vis esse reum, Balzace, fatentem
Accipe, nec tantillum obstet, ne simus amici.
Saepius & magnae nascuntur amantibus irae,
Quas voco perpetuum sinceri gluten a moris,
Quin & roribibae nativo foedere conchae
Post validum se fulmen amant ardentius, & quo
Tempestas animosa magis turbaverit aequor,
Purior in testas coelo delabitur imber.
Fac igitur solido generosum pectus amori
Ʋt pateat, nomen (que) haud dedigenerit amici,
Quod devota meo tibi mittit Epistola jussu,
Hanc certe calamo scripsi, queus vulsit ab ala
Ipse sibi sincerus Amor, nigrum (que) liquorem
Esse licet videas tamen est & sanguen Amoris,
Quod tua suspicio nigrum facit, & liber ipse
Non liber est, sed prima [...]ti membranula cordis,
Quam volui ipse mihi propria deglubere dextra.
Haud alias habuisse v [...]lim, Balzace, tabellas
Scriptorem-ve alium, non si vel Toxaris ipse,
Primus apud veteres, formam qui scripsit amandi
Pingat Amicitiam, legem (que) reponat in axes:
Toxaris occubuit, rigidae periere columnae,
Scruptus ipse jacet, quem sculpfit Barbarus axe [...]
Et legem et sculptas absorbuit unda tabellas:
At nos Toxaridae veri, nativa (que) proles
Vraniae, quamvis morienti posthuma matri,
Cordibus innexis verum sculpemus amorem
Qui nullis mergatur aquis, licet ipse frementem
Invidiam vom [...]t Oceanus, vel totus Hydaspes
Influat in medios latices, aut Doris amaram
Suspicione tumens, nos inter misceat undam.
Quin etiam si nostra foret naturae rebellis
Ʋnica prae reliquis ratio te coget amari
Antiquum (que) gelu dulci l [...]ntore resolvet.
Nempe quod impietas tibi displicet, Aulica pestij
Et juvinum famosa lues: nam si omina desint
[Page]Argumenta mihi, queis demum heroica monstrem
Ingenia agnovisse Deum, tum tu mihi solus
Testis eris Balzace, inter (que) examplae fereris,
Tu tibi sis exemplo ipse, & mortalia saeclae
Despice securus; nem (que) ad divina vocaris
Quo Genius te cun (que) vocat: Tibi subditur omnis
Invidia, & resupina facis mortalibus era
Nostrum (que) imprimis video gaudere Malherbam.
Et quod surgenti Cicero tribuisse Maroni
Dicitur inclamans, Magnae spes altera Romae:
Hoc juste Maro jam noster maturior aevi
Surgenti reddit Ciceroni: hoc ipsae videbit
Aemula posteritas, & cernes te quo (que) faemae
Participem: est etiam tibi Corta & Laelius ipse.
Ingenii cos blanda tui, sunt altera coelo
Lumina, nec cunctos sol obtegit invidus ignes.
Nos igitur tecum spatiis communibus ire
Aut ignes inter minimos stellas (que) cadentes
Ad famam patiare, licet non passibus aequis.

A Letter of Monsieur de Balzac to the Reverend Father Garassius of the Society of Jesus.

Father,

YOu have lighted on that side, upon which I confess my weakest strength doth lie, and your courtesies have left nothing for your valor to perform that might force me to yield. Since you imploy all your Muses to beg my friendship, and that you have already requited it with your own, I can no longer de­tain it then as another mans goods. But if this were not so, my injuries are not so dear unto me, but that I do usually forgive them upon lesse reason then they were given, and my passions do never grow so head-strong but they remain still in the power of Religion and Philosophy. Hitherto I was able to maintain a good cause, but should I be obstinate and oppose that also that you desire, I should do wrong to right it self if it were on my side, and from simple enmity which hath been tolerated in some Republicks, I should proceed to tyranny which is odious to all the world. Since we our selves are mortal, there is no reason our passions should be immortal, and that men should glut themselves with revenge, whereof God hath prohibited as well the use as the excesse. This is a thing that he reserves wholly for himself, and because he alone knowes how to use this part of justice, he would not commit it to the hands of mortalls, no more then he would thunder and tempests. Let us therefore stop at our first quarrelling, for it is already too much to have be­gun. Let us not give the name of courage to hardness of heart, and if you have prevented me in the overture of peace, which we negotiate, let it not repent you that you have robbed me thereby of all the honor that was here to be acquired. At other times magnanimity and humility might be two contrary things; but since moral principles have been changed into E­vangelical Maxims, and that the vices of Pagans are become [Page] the vertues of Christians, there is a sort of cowardise that a man of valour ought to shew: and true glory doth not belong to them that have triumphed over Innocents, but to the Martyrs that they have made, and to those men that they have oppressed. But if we must descend from general considerations to that which is between you and me in particular; as there could be no colour that a religious man would disturb the tranquillity of his thoughts, and quit his conversation with God and Angels, for to intermeddle with sinful Creatures, and partake in our disorders: so there were lesse reason yet, that I should go and seek for an enemy out of the world, whereas they are within it so many Huguenots to exercise my hate upon, and so many Rebels to combate with. Moreover Father, what opinion soe­ver you had of it, notwithstanding any thing that I have spo­ken in the beginning of my letter, yet it was never my purpose to wage warre with you in good earnest, I was not so far moved as I made shew of, and all my anger was but artificial, when my words did at any time seem injurious; so that I do willing­ly consent that what was written to Hydaspes, shall passe for an exercise of wit, not for an argument of my belief, and that men should believe that I intended onely to shew that my strength could vanish truth, when I did not fight for her. That Science that durst undertake to perswade sick men that a quar­tane Ague is better then health; Rhetorick, I say, that could frame a Panegyrick for B [...]siris, an Apologie for Nero, and put all Rome into a doubt, whether justice were better omitted then executed, might well yet at this day be practised upon subjects that swerve from common Tenents, and by pleasing fictions raise mens wonder, though not win belief: This makes phantasmes, onely to unmake them again, it hath varnishes & disguises to alter the purity of any thing in the world, it can shift sides without imputation of fickleness, and accuse inno­cence without guilt of calumnie. And certainly Painters and Stage-players are not guilty of those murthers that we behold in their Tables and on their Theaters, but here, he that is most cruel is reputed most just. Those that make Glasses which pre­sent [Page] one object for another are not accused of Imposture, and Error is sometimes comelier then the truth. In a word, the life of the greatest Sages is not evermore serious; all their talke is not preaching, and whatsoever they write is not their last Te­stament, or a confession of their faith. What shall I say more? Think you that I am so delicate as to condemn all the tasts of the numerous multitude which throng to hear you every morn­ing? Do you imagine that the people and I can never concur in the same opinion, and that I mean to oppose the general ver­dict of good men, the approbation of Doctors, and the autho­rity of Superiors? No good Father, I do not allow that swinge and liberty to my understanding: assure your self, that I esteem you in that degree as I ought, I applaud your zeal and learn­ing, and were it truer now then ever that to compose great Vo­lumes is to commit great sins, yet notwithstanding, if you ob­lige me to judge of yours, according to the portion which you did send me, I speak boldly, that it is most excellent in its kind, and Mons: Malherbe and I will not deny you a place in the Classe of Fathers of the latter age. But our testimonies and Encomiums will not be the onely fruit of your labors. I desire with all my heart, that the conversion of Pagans and Infidels may be the approbation of it, and I think that all the glory of this world should be accounted but ayre and emptiness, by them that aim at nothing but the advancement of Gods glory. Wherefore I need not enlarge my self any farther upon this subject, nor wrong sacred things by prophane commendations, my intention is onely to testifie to you, that I claim not so small a part in the interests of the Church, as not to be most hartily thankful to those that do her service, and that I am right glad, that besides the reasons that prompt me to esteem your friend­ship, one so powerful as that of Religion doth yet farther oblige me thereunto.

TO MY LORD THE CHANCELLOR.

MY LORD,

THat Scorn and contempt that you were pleased lately to throw upon a Libel, fram'd against Mons. de Balzac, and your denial then to license it for the Presse, are a suffi­cient testimonie how much you do value the person of that man. You did conceive, that being, as you are, the supreme Dispenser of Justice, you had (in a sort) violated that Justice, in permitting such hard censures to passe upon that man, whom you with so much reason approved, and whom o­thers cannot with any reason reprehend. So that if there be any yet to be found, that cannot fully perswade themselves to approve of this man by your example, their obstinacy is sufficiently confuted by your Authority. And if this cannot represse their sinister intents, yet not­withstanding, it prevents the effects of them, and hinders that he be not persecuted in print. This high favour which flowes from that e­steem, which you did alwaies bear to his writings, did invite me to collect with all diligence, these rare productions of his spirit, for the contentation of yours. And as it was not without his consent, that one of his friends hath deposited this treasure in my hands: so I do verily believe, that this office of presenting them to you, is also very com­formable [Page] to his inclinations. Your worth is so evidently known, that none should imagine I could choose a Sanctuary more noble or more propitieus; and the general current of mens affections to doe you ser­vice, is so strong and high, that I could not shun this Duty. As for me, I confesse I am exceedingly pleased with this occasion that pre­sents it self to me, for to make it appear to your Honour, how ap­prehensive I am of the late favours which your Bounty hath conferred upon me. Certainly, my Lord, my obligations unto you must bee infinitely great, since when I have presented you with all that the E­loquence of this age hath most precious, yet notwithstanding I must remain your debtor, while I draw breath. You shall meet here with Doctrines, which the austerest Philosophy would not disdain to own and professe; Among these severe speculations, you shall see some flashes of wit break forth, which will serve to entertain you with much de­light; I speak of the French Epistles, for as for his Latine, I referre them to the judgement of those that doe better understand the beau­ty and delicacy of that language. I am content to believe that Cicero never entertain'd his friends with better grace and contentment; nay, that the very close and compacted style, and the strong and vigo­rous expressions which B [...]utus found wanting in the writings of that great Orator, are here to be found; But I fear I should detain you too long, from the pleasure of these novel lectures, if in commending [...]a [...]e Epistles, I should arrest you any longer, in reading this poor one of mine. Indeed (my Lord) for to speak nothing that were un­worthy of you; it were requisite that Mons. de Balzac would lend me some of the graces of his style: or, as he will be ravisht with joy, that I have made choice of you to be the Patron of his writings, he would come himself to make the Dedication; It sufficeth me, if my designe and undertaking for to perform something that might be ac­ceptable to your Greatnesse, do not give you any distaste, and that you believe, that I am sincerely

My Lord,
Your most humble and most obliged servant, JOHN CAMUSAT.

TO MY LORD THE CHANCELLOR.

MY LORD,

I Have understood of your denial, for the publishing of a Libel, lately fram'd against me. And though (perhaps) the harm that I should have received thereby, would have been but small, yet my obli­gation unto you, never ceaseth to be great; and this argueth a special care in you of my tranquillity, not to suffer that any, the least noise should disquiet it. I know not (my Lord) if this be not to handle with too much nicenesse and ten­dernesse, a man that makes profession of Philosophy; it were enough that publick Authority should shelter me from the tempest, without exempting me from the wind, and dust, and that it would guard my retrait from savage beasts, without frighting away the flies also, and such importunate Insects. But (my Lord) the goodnesse which you reserve for me, extends farther then to ordinary justice. You take not onely care for my repose amidst the hurry and tumult of Eu­rope, but you would have the world also shew a respect unto my reti­rednesse, and that being sequestred from men, I should be also placed beyond the level and teach of Detraction, yet this fiend did pursue Saint Hierome even unto the gates of Bethlehem, and to the foot of our Saviourss cradle; there she found him (as he relates himself) [Page] although he had thought to hide himself. If this insolent thing had no regard of an admirable sanctity, and a place guarded with Angels, me thinks a vulgar innocence, retired within an ill fortified village, must not expect any favourable treatie. But to passe from common conditions to the learned Tribe; If in all ages, there arose sediti­ous spirits, that rebelled against the Chieftains of Arts, and disci­pline, and if in the memory of our Fathers, it was spoken openly at Paris, that Aristotle was a simple Sophister, J think they deal courte­ously with me in this Countrie, if they be contented to call mee a simple write That great blasphemer of the name of Aristotle (my Lord) was D. Ramus, who afterward, though he was a Catholique, was taken for a Huguenot, at the massacre: And indeed, some did believe that God permitted this to come to passe by a just judgement; and that the Tutelar Angel of good Letters, took the pretext of Reli­gion, for to revenge the injuries that were done to Reason. There is one this day alive in Germanie, a pettie Tyrant in Grammer, an ene­my of common and general verities, and an accuser of Cicero; who (not long since) hath put forth some observations, where he prefers a bill against his own Judge, and questions the precedencie ever al­lowed unto that Prince of Latine Antiquitie. So that (my Lord) the universal consent of all the world, strengthned by a prescription of 18. centuries of years, is not a sufficient title for to warrant the re­putation of that Roman, against the prevaricating quirks of this Bar­barian. Indeed, this is a businesse of no good example, but yet since it is so, and that it doth little avail Virtue, to be consecrated by time, and to be crowned by the people, for to make it inviolable against the practises of some private Humors. There is no reason that I should complain before so many Worthies, that have been so ill intreated themselves, and that I should be had in any consideration, where A­ristotle and Cicero are not in safetie; an ordinary man should not make moan, for suffering the same destiny, which extraordinary Persona­ges have undergone; and I cannot with modestie, desire or expect from you that you should reform the world for the love of me; nay, I know (my Lord) that this little disorder, is of some good use in a Common-wealth; and it were to be wished, that malice would busie it self thus, about things of small importance, that it might not think of businesse of higher consequence. Those that have hitherto be­stowed their pains, in depraving the sense of my words, and in fal­sifying my works, had (perhaps) ere this time, forged mens Testaments, and minted false coins; And he that now desires from you a priviledge, would have stood in need of a pardon, it may be, if it had not been for me. It is better by far, that injustice should exercise it self upon my books, then that it should vex and implead against all [Page] that is good and sacred in a civil societie; that unjust men should ra­ther tosse and transpose words, invert and pervert periods of speech­es, then remove the bounds of lands, or demolish their Neighbours houses; To say the truth, this is the most innocent way that vice can employ it self in, and I believe I have not a little deserved from the Commonwealth, for keeping at work these ten years, such an infi­nite number of idle companions, who (certainly) would have been dangerous Common-wealths men, if they had not chosen rather to have been ridiculous Censors. It is well, that the heat of their brains, is exhaled out this way, and that their intemperance takes this course, and that to prevent their fury, men give some scope and li­berty to their folly. Permit them therefore this exercise (my Lord) they cannot choose but make use of their time, which they will im­ploy farre worse, if you doe not permit them to imploy it thus-Permit giddy Youth to spend their heat and fury upon a senselesse subject, and a dead Letter, which is not capable either of joy or sorrow. As long as these Pen-fincers onely begge the Seal of your Authority, be no niggard of the Prince his grace and favour, and a­bate something of your wonted severity and rigour. If it were a new and unusual thing, it may be, I should be contented to have the first Libel, which branded me with injuries be suppressed, but since there is now a pretty Librarie of them, I am in a manner well pleased it should swell and encrease; and I take a delight to build me a monument with those stones, which envy hath hurl'd at me, without doing me harm. I account it no disgrace to be censured by some men, because I account it no credit to be favoured by them: I intend not to canvasse for voices, nor labour a mysterious secret, whereby I may gain the general applause of the world. I have ob­tained what I desired, (my Lord) if I have obtained your approbati­on, as being derived from an unerring principle, and from an Intelli­gence most perfectly illuminated. God hath bestowed on you, a so­veraign judgement, before the King had committed to your hands, his soveraign Justice. And you were most powerful in Reason, before you were so in Authority. I need not have recourse to this, knowing that the other is no way against me, and I esteem it more glory to me, to have pleased you, then I would think it satisfaction to have my e­nemies proscribed by you. Your speeches of me upon every occasi­on so full of respect, your own pour [...]raiture that you bestowed upon me a year agoe, for a pledge of your Affection, your imparting to me the riches of your writings, I mean those writings, that were a­nimated with the spirit of the State, and were full of the greatnesse of your Masterie, which seemed to mee so farre to transcend the strength and vigour of this age, and so nearly resembling the Roman [Page] Majesty. In a word (my Lord) each moment of that happy after­noon, which I had the honour to passe away with in your closet, are priviledges, which I doe value above that which you denied a Fan­tasme or the successor of Philarchus. I dare not rehearse my other obligations, by which I stand bound unto you, you have herein in­joyned me silence, and believe that your favours would lose some­thing of their purity, if my thanks should still attend them. Never­thelesse you must not stifle in me the intentions of an honest man, or smother the conceptions of grateful thoughts, you have debarred me from divulging my acknowledgements, but you shall not debarre me from acquitting that secret part of duty, and from being, (at least in my soul) and that while I live

My Lord,
Your most humble, most obliged, and most thankful servant, BALZAC.
From Balzac the 1 of July 1637.

A COLLECTION OF SOME MODERN EPISTLES OF MONSIEUR DE BALZAC.

To Monsieur CONRART. LETTER I.

SIR,

BEing arriv'd home but this morning, I could not before the evening frame an answer to your Letter which you honored me with, and was delivered me at my arival; it is so full of baits to feed both the eyes and the understanding, that it were impossible I could refrain f [...]om reading it more than once. It is so judicious, and withal so passionate, that I cannot think of it without congratulating with my Countrey that we have seen Philosophers, even in our own language, and those Philosophers such Professe goodnesse as well as wisdome; the time, you see is now past for to satisfie your desire; but though the King by the activity of his courage could not render those remedies unuseful, which you expect from my idle meditations; yet I mean not to act the bold Empyrick or Mountebank in your presence. It would argue [Page 2] too much impudence to send any drugs and receipts from a country village to Paris, and to undertake the cure of afflicted mindes in a countrey of good Books and great Doctors. Nay, I have seen, Sir, in your own house, a Megazin of rare instructions and examples, both printed and in hand-writing. And Justus Lipsius, (had he been your Neighbour) might have made a purchase of a Constantia of a stron­ger and better temper, then her that he hath bestowed among us. Since then the whole masse and mine is in your own power, I cannot per­swade my self that you could have desir'd those few Grains that I could furnish you with, and that being so rich your self, you were resolv'd to exhaust my poor stock too. Taking view from hence at so farre distance of the estate and affairs of our Frontiers, I cannot di­stinctly and cleerly bestowe my judgement on them. I am content to carry about me the thoughts of an honest man, and to remove from my minde the disgusts of ill successe with good hopes. I know Sir, that the fairest kingdomes have suffered the vicissitudes of good and evil; and that the brightest fortune hath some spots and shadows; and knowing this, I cannot think strange of any disasters that may happen, or be surprized with the news of a revolt, or be any thing amazed with losses more then with gains. Flanders I confesse is ad­vanced pretty farre into Piccardy, and would have given the like alarm to France, as France had given it the yeer before. But it may be they that plunder it freely to day in the field, will be to morrow blockt up in a siege: your good Brothers I know will revenge the quarrel, and they that pillage the Cities of others, will be glad to get them home to save their own habitations against their Ancient subject. We must then confesse that Antiquity hath wisely term'd God of Warre Communem Martem, that Homer never gave it a fitter Epithet then that. It it certain that it never favours the same cause long. This is a Fugitive in all Armies, and a starter from all par­ties, sometimes a Guelpht, and sometimes a Gibellin, sometimes wea­ring the white scarf, and sometimes the red. This is too much Sir, concerning Publique Affairs. Doe me the favour as to send to M. du Moulin the answer that I have made him, the latter words there­of will call to your minde those three verses of our Hierusalem.

Torq. Tasso la Gierusal. Liberata.
Amando in te ciò, &.c.

By loving that in thee, which others fear doth move,
And envious hate, be seems thy virtues to approve:
And willingly with thee could make a league of love.

I beg of you the good favours of that grand adversary of the Roma­nists, but yours above all, sine I am with all my soul

Sir,
Your, &c.
Balzac. 30. Octob. 1636.

To Monsieur du MOULIN. LET. II.

SIR, Courtesie never denies respect to any man, and thinks no mans Presents mean but her own. This was it (no doubt) that made You speak of me in such an high strain, and set so great a price upon my Book, which (indeed) is but the worst part of your Libra­rie. I see you will not alter your course, or forget your ancient ci­vility, for the which I am infinitely obliged unto you. And if some men would needs perswade me that at other times you handle mee something rudely, yet I cannot believe you do it with an hostile hand; on the contrary, I suppose that in your familiar Letters you give a a true copie and character of your self, but in actions of ceremonie, men require another countenance, and more studied gravity; o­therwise, Sir, my nature can bear with my friends, and I am not of so delicate a sense as to complain of pettie wrongs which I suffer-Besides, that I doe not at all meddle with that Science of division which [...]eaches to rent our Saviours Coat into a thousand pieces, and to implead and cavil against every word of his Testament. This com­monly doth rather exasperate mens spirits, then compose affairs, and multiply doubts, in stead of increasing charity. If I were put to my choice, I would take a little lesse of that which puffeth up, and a little more of that which edifieth. Truth is not the purchase of hot blood, or of incensed choler, or a disturbed imagination. The Laby­rinthes of Logick are not the easiest way to heaven, and oft times God hides himself from them that search him with over much curiosity. You will avouch (I am sure) all that I say, and this too, Sir, that the best quarrels prove nought, and of bad consequence, and that the contentions of Doctors prove the murthers of their Brethrens souls, if they tend not to the peace of the Church; for my part, I can with other vulgar Christians, but wish for it; but you can with the Worthies of Christian Religion, contribute much towards it, and whensoever you shall preach and teach this, I shall ascribe unto you one of the principal parts of that holy work. But while we expect that this peace be advanced through the grace of God, and that we draw neerer every day one to another, nothing hinders but that we may maintain innocent commerce, and traffick in things lawful. There is no law rightly interpreted that is repugnant to that of Humanity, doth not accord with the law of Nations. If our opinions differ, it is not necessary that our affections should disagree; the head and the heart have their several motions, and actions distinct; and moral [Page 4] vertue can reconcile and unite what the intellectual might separate. Love me therefore still if you please, since you may do it lawfully, and I believe also, that I may be without scruple, while I live

Sir
Your, &c.
Balzac. March 30. 1636.

To Monsieur L' Huillier Councellor to the King, and Ordinary Mr. of his Accounts. LET. III.

SIR,

YOu can make men happy, and procure them Sun shine dayes, where, and when you please. Let us speak no more of misfor­tunes: there is nothing here within but prosperity, since the Ordina­ry hath arriv'd: and I must recall a language which I have forgotten, since you do restore a passion to me which I had lost. I thought there was no disposition to any joy left in me, yet notwithstanding from a little spark rak'd up in my bosom, you have kindled such an excess, that I never felt the like; such inebriations of the spirit, and sober transportments Philosophie hath observ'd in extraordinary suc­cesses. There is no way Sir to suppress or keep this joy conceal'd, and if it be lawful for me to speak it, my heart is so full and high that it mounts up to my face. I am like to lose by it all the gravity and de­murenes, which I have these many yeares contracted by my melancho [...] ly life. And since there is no apparant cause that might stir such a pas­sion in such a languishing spirit as mine, men may imagine that I paid some remainders, and that I have received an acquittance patent, but that I call it your letter. They still deceive themselves, and take me for another man than I am; for my interests touch me not so sensi­bly as my passions do, and Fortune is not so rich as to present me with any thing that might countervaile the least pledges of your Amity. The world and I do not agree in the rate of things that are bestowed and received. It doth estimate them by an Arithmetical, and I by a Morall proportion, according to which, Sir, all your words to me are weightie and pretious, because all true; and because Truth cannot be sufficientlie estimated in a time where Oracles do fain, and when we have reason to mistrust, even Faith it self, when the great Cato should not be taken without caution and securitie. I do infinitely cherish those speeches of yours, so full of verity, and preserve them as the titles of a possession, which I passionately desired before [Page 5] I went to Paris, and which I account for the greatest business that I did during my abode there. In lieu of these, I will forgive Paris for all the unquiet nights, and other mischiefs I suffered there, I com­plain no more of its impure air, or the jangling of Bells, or of the justling and dirt of the streets. And though I could not carry away thence but the bare Idea of your entertainment, yet besides that you defrayed the charges of my journey in it, I can live here, (yet a while) upon your charges, and feed my thoughts a long time with what I have received from your mouth. Yet I know not whether a provident managing of remnants, may make them last alwayes, or whether old Ideas, do not at the last fade and vanish out of the memorie, or whether an expired felicitie may denominate a man still happie. What ever joy your letter sprang in me, yet (be­ing a mark of your absence) it doth but advertise me, that I am six-score leagues distant from the Author of my welfare, and that there­fore I can receive but imaginarie painted satisfaction, and enjoy but forrain pleasures. You cannot represent unto me the happie houres that I have spent in the closet of Messieus de Puy, and the fine things that I have heard there, without tacitelie upbraiding me with the pensive howers of my solitude, and the gibbrish of my Neighbor-hood. In truth Sir, if you know it not, I must tell you, that Balzac is the frontier of Barbary. But one dayes journey from hence, (Monsieur des Cordes can tell you) the honest Swains do not eat bread, or speak French but upon Sundaies; The most understanding men there, believe that Prestor-John saith Masse; and that the snow in the Coun­trie of the Moores is black, the most gentle and affable find in an in­nocent word, the tenth part of a lie; and are offended with the verie aspect and silence of a man that passeth by. Are not these the right Antipodes to the lodgings of Monsieur de Thou, and especiallie of the Gallerie, which is not onlie full of the noblest spoils of Antiquitie, and of Greek and Romane Treasures, but which is (otherwise) inhabited by all the Graces of the present Age, and all the sociable and civil virtues. Yet notwithstanding these, it might deserve the curiositie of the remotest Nations of the Earth, and invite the inhabitants of Cadiz and those beyond them, for to see there the great President of Councels and humane actions, and the grand Doctor of Kings and Commonwealths. But although this famous and learned Head appeares not there, but by the benefit of paints, yet his memorie still keeps its place, and presides in all the Assemblies that happen there. Me thinks, that of Master of the house, He is become the Genius of the place, and inspires all those that speak there, that so they might not speak anie thing unworthy of his presence. Indeed this is the cause of my happiness here, that my poor conceptions give you some [Page 6] content, as you would make me believe; and that my adventures in print, have the allowance and approbation of those excellent Bro­thers, my dear and loving Friends. Now, Sir, that I begin to grow sober again, and to recover my self from that extasie, which you have cast me into; take good heed, that you make no doubt of the seri­ousnesse of my speeches: assure them, therefore, if you please, that the favours that I have receiv [...]d from them, are not let fall into a bar­ren and ungrateful souls; and that it is impossible to honour them more perfectly then I doe. You shall doe me the favour also as to believe, that you never lov'd a man that could set an higher rate up­on your amity, or would be more then I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
Balzac. Nov. 23. 1636.

To Monsieur the Abbot of Rois-Robert. LET. IV.

SIR, since my departure from Paris, I have received two Letters of yours, that is to say, two singular Emblemes, or tokens of your goodnesse: for it is certain, if you be not exposed to the dan­ger of warre, you are (at least wise) obnoxious to the cumbrances and molestations of it: and in this plight to have found the leisure to remember me, and to send from the farthest skirts of Piccardy, but a thought as farre as Guy [...]n, is a thing that could not be expected, but from a friend that is extremely solicitous of those things that he loves. According to your order, I communicated the newes unto my Father, who doth professe himself much obliged unto you for it. We doe daily groan for that of peace, and if you send us intelligence of this before Easter, I will answer you with a publike thanksgiving, and with the benedictions of all our Arrierban. That Virgin which your Authors call Astrea, was at other times, courted and adored by them (only) of the long gown: now even Gladiators and Pirats think her handsome and comely. I doe not see any man of the sword, but doth at some time of the day mislike and beshrew his own trade. I doe not know whether this be either the cowardize of the age, or the impatience of the Naetion, or the fear of poverty and famine presented to their imagination; or (to speak more favou­rably of the present occasions) a Christian tendernesse and common sense of humanity; so vehemently doth all the world desire peace, [Page 7] that I think Heaven cannot send a better Present to the Earth. I think that — should be imployed upon such a pious occasi­on, and chosen one of the Agents for Coloigne. If he would bring us that excellent Donative of Heaven, he deserved to enter the Academy in triumph, and that Monsieur the President should make the speech himself: For my part, I should receive him after such a Negotiation with more respect, then if he came from commanding an Army; And to tell you the truth, the pacifick Angels doe please me farre better then the destroying Angels. Think it not strange, Sir, that the de­sire of glory is not the passion of Villagers, and that dreaming (some­times) of the Crabbats, I pitch upon the same though with the Poet:

Impius haec tam culta novalia Miles habebit?
—Barbarus has segetes?

These are thoughts which are bred in my rural walke, and which spring from lownesse of spirit; into which I am apt to fall, as soon as I have lost the sight of you. Therefore be pleased to take the pains to fortifie me from time to time, and to send me some preserva­tives against the bad news which flie about. These would help to entertain good thoughts, while we expect the conclusion of the Treatie, and make my Neighbours know, that a man cannot be ill in­form'd that maintains intelligence with you, and make them believe, that I am indeed what I professe my self to be, which is

Sir,
Your, &c.
Balzac 17. Octob. 1616.

To my Lord, the Earl of Excester. LET. V.

MY Lord, having not enjoyed my health, or as least having had no leisure at all, since the time that your Letter was delive­red me; I could not any sooner render you thanks for the testimo­nies of your esteem and affection, which you vouchsafed me therein. I will not any way seem to suspect or doubt of a news that makes for me; and I doe readily believe, that my works that were sent you from the Queen your Mistresse, have been your welcome▪ home among your friends. But herein, I doe acknowledge their good fortune, [Page 8] far beyond my deserts, and the Influences that descend from the Court, beyond all the favors they can receive from a Countrie Vil­lage. Those hands so great and powerful, that gave you this small Present, do ennoble whatsoever they touch, and are able to effect ra­rer transmutations, than those which Alchymy boasts of; with their mark, a trivial Fable may passe for Authentick History, and the Nether-Britton should surpasse the native Frenchman. I have therefore my Lord, no thought of deserving that Elogie, which I owe to so illustri­ous a circumstance; nor do I mean to glorie in the travails, which my Book (as you inform me) hath made beyond the Rhine. Your name (being one of its principal Ornaments) is that to which I must owe my frame in those Climates, and it was upon your recommendation and credit, that all the Courts in the North, and some of their Schools too, have entertain'd my Books. I do here solemnlie promise you never to abuse this favor, at leastwise, never to write anie thing of your Iland, that might give anie distast in the reading, and that will not te­stifie particularlie of you, that I am most intirelie

My Lord,
Your &c.
Balzac. Sept. 20. 1636.

To my Lord the Duke de la Valette, Governor and Lieute­nant General for the King in Guyen. LET. VI.

My Lord,

I Do not mean to tempt your valor, it were precipitate rashness to dare it; yet I shall make bold to tell you, that you have no lesse Art and dexteritie in conquering, than in winning men; and that in you, that which intreats and perswades, hath no lesse efficacie than that which commands and enforceth. It doth nothing avail me to shun the world, the better to enjoy my self in the desart. Three words from your mouth, make me lose all the freedom I enjoy there; and I see my self surprized in that Sanctuary, in which I thought to save my self. I must confess my Lord, that there is no such absolute in­dependence, over which you cannot claim some power; that there is none so discontented and averse that you cannot allure▪ or so wild and disorderlie that you cannot tame. Since you have done me the honor as to write, that you have sent me your heart, I should betray verie tittle skill or judgement in rare and excellent things, if I [Page 9] were not ravisht with such a present, and if I did not esteem it above all that ambition can desire, or Fortune bestowe. It may be, the hearts of Giants were more vast, and lesse limited by reason; but the hearts of the Heroes were not more noble, or of any other elevation then yours is of; and be that speaks of this, speaks of a place hallowed, and purged from all the vices of this age, and where all the ancient Vir­tues have taken Sanctuary. Loe here, my Lord, what gift you have sent; after which, I have nothing to wish for in this world, which I have abandoned, since this is the most pure and refin'd part of it; in which, goodness cohabits with power, and greatness combines with love. To which I must of necessitie, stoop and yield; and my heart were more vile, than yours is generous, if I were not

My Lord,
Your, &c.
Balzac Jan. 10. 1637.

To Monsieur Drovet, Doctor of Physick. LET. VII.

SIR, YOur sorrow is too accurate, and studied to be true; and an afflicted person that writes such brave things, hath no great need of anie thing of mine to solace him. I will therefore for­bear a taske, which I conceive to be so needless, and will be content­ed to tell you, that I know how to discover counterfet sorrows. No man could act a Desperato better than you. Panigarola made not such exclamations when he preacht, that there will be signes in the Sun and in the Moon. And it is a pleasure to see you write of the end of the world, of the falling of the Starres, and the final ruine of Nature, and all this, upon occasion of my Ni [...]c [...], laboring of a feaver. This is to give Virgil the lie, that calles your profession a dumb Science. For in­deed, to finde so manie Ornaments and Tropes upon such a vulgar Theme, could not be without having a Treasurie of words, & without teaching this Mute, Rhetorick. Yet me thinks, you should husband & manage this treasure more thriftilie, & have more care than you had, of the modestie of a poor Maid. Are you not afraid to make her fall into vain-glorie, and marre all the pains of that good Father that guides her conscience? if I did not furnish her with counter-poison, you would infect her minde, and cast her into a worse maladie than that you cured her of, But I have taught her, that there are a sort of [Page 10] Enchanters that bewitch by commending, and that the wanton Court­ship of Sirens hath allured many to their ruines, and fill'd the Seas with frequent shipwracks. She believes her Glasse, and me too, who are more true to her then you, and who (without much difficulty) can rectifie her opinion of her self, which you would have strained too high. For my own particular, I cease not to be your debtor for the quaint extravagances and hyperboles, wherein you expresse your affection towards me; and for her part, separating your commendati­ons from her name, and considering them asunder, by themselves, she esteems them as the wealth of a Jewellers shop, which indeed may delight her eyes, but she findes nothing there that belongs to her. Receive this complement as from her, if you please, I am meerly but her Secretary in this point, and J shall remain

Sir,
Your, &c.
Balzac 12. Octob. 1636.

To Monsieur de Bonair. LET. VIII.

SIR, the honourable mention that you were pleased to make of me in your Book, is a most singular favour, and I cannot behold my self in so fair a seat without some temptation of vain glory. I know not as yet, whether my testimonie be to be admitted or reje­cted; and whether I be an Apocryphall or Canonicall Author; but since you have cited me, it is not lawful for me to doubt any more of the good successe of my writings, and after this, I dare claim a place in the noblest Libraries. It is true, J dare not own that Title you be­stow on me, of the Genius of Eloquence. Besides, that this would be a wrong to Mercury and Pythe, who have for many ages possest the Chair, and swayed the Art of Elocution; it were necessary also that J had the suffrages of all the Preachers and Advocates of the Realm; and you know, Sir, that there is none of them so mean, that doth not perswade himself that he is the God of Perswasion, and would very hardly confesse a superior. J must not therefore entertain an Elogie, which would be challenged from me by two so great Nations, equally terrible and potent, and J am content to be lesse prized by you, since J am sure of the same affection; you shall preserve that for me, if you please, since J am willing to give it its true estimation, and to be really

Sir,
Your, &c.
Balzac. 20. Dec. 1635.

To Monsieur Huggens Councellor and Secretary of the Com­mands of my Lord the Prince of Orange. LET. XIX.

SIR, I have received with your Letter the Dissertation of Mon­si­eur — in Print; but to write my opinion thereof, would be too dangerous an enterprise. I never mean to doubt of the certainty of his Doctrine; and too bad construction was made of me at the be­ginning of our commerce for to adventure farther in that way. It suf­ficeth me to confesse that I was lost in all probability, had it not been for your protection, since even under that, I could hardly be secure. This is a Buckler that hath been pierced in a thousand places, and (to speak freely) hath served me rather for a shew, then defence. My great Adversary (as you call him) would rain have made an example of your poor Suppliant, and shewed that he did not either believe that you did love me so dearlie, or that he did not much reward the persons whom you so loved. Nevertheless Sir, if I had been of a quarrelsom humor, that matter (perhaps) would not have been so appeased; and men would perswade me, that my person only was injur'd, my As­sertions being as firm and as found as they were before the batterie. But let the field be his, seeing he cannot endure an encounter, that I say not a resistance; and I do willinglie yield him all the advantages of this action. He chose rather to take me, then receive my submissi­on, and preferr'd a trophey before an homage. Neverthelesse, I am re­solv'd not to alter my condition or forget my wonted civility. Yet I do make a stand at the very same bounds that he hath leapt over, and give respect to that Character, which he hath violated; I speak of your love and good opinion, which are more precious to me then my writings or my reputation, and which I cannot disesteem wheresoever I met them. Sir, there will be alwaies in the world Oppressors, and man oppressed, and I must be one of the Innocents that must suffer the persecutions of a Herod. But there is nothing so hard that love cannot digest. I pardon (for your sake) all my injuries and sufferings, with all my heart, and am contented to be ill intreated, as long as I give evidence that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
Balzac. 10. Septemb. 1636.

To Monsieur de Racan. LET. X.

SIR, I render you thanks for your Shephtardesse; with whom I en­joyed such ravishing pleasures, that the voluptuous never enjoy the like, and yet so chast and honest, that I think not my self bound to make confession, she hath reviv'd my spirits that were rebated with eager studie, and retired with distinctions and Syllogismes. I cannot dissemble, I have not this long time Sir, spent a day more happilie then when I entertained Her. And if I have thought Her so beautiful in her own simple weeds, and natural habiliments, without the addi­tion of those helps which serve to embellish and adorn; what will it be, when she will appear in the pomp and luster of the Theater? and when those things that are of themselves so powerful, will be mended with the help of the voice and the graces of pronunciation? if I thought She were to come forth suddainlie in that Equipage, I would straight begin my journie for to be present at that joyful spectacle, and to give you the applause which you do justlie deserve. But since you have sent Her me, being yet warm from the birth, and that She must grow up a while and gather strength in your hands, I hope I shall be time enough at Roche to behold her in her glorie. I under­stand Sir, in the mean while, that there is a great contention between the Ladies about the names of Orante and Ortana, and that they are more ambitious of the scrip and sheapheards hook then any thing. It lieth in you to do them justice, & satisfie their ambition: yet notwith­standing, if youl'e believe be, you must casheere this rural Equipage, & adapt yourselfe to Crowns & Scepters. That active and strong spirit which doth swey you, hath too much vigor for to dwell on weaker Themes; it would break all the furniture of Horn-pipes and Hau-bois that you should fill it with; moreover, the Countrie and Cabbin is not the proper spheare of magnificence, and Shepheardesses must not dance to the sound of a Trumpet. I have therefore chosen for you an heroick subject indeed, and worthy the courage and majestie of your style; which style carrieth all the exactnesse of rules, and hath been alreadie used with good approbation by the Masters of Antiquitie. But the [Page 13] sport is, to see you dispute and contend with them for their own victorie and to challenge them at the same carreeres and courses that they have gained their glorie by. This kinde of imitation is more noble and hardie then invention it selfe, and which you are verie capable to undertake. How-ever, if you shall stand in need of some aid, I am readie to doe the Of­fice of a Grammarian, and to give you the literal interpretati­on of the Texts of such Authors, which you meane to follow, with a resolution to out-goe them. I knew that herein I shall not betray any great care of their reputation, nor do any good office to any of them. But Sir, there is nothing that I would not doe for you, to whom I confesse infinite obligations, and will be everlastinglie

Sir,
A most humble, &c.
Balzac. 3. Sept. 1633.

To Monsieur de St. Chartres. LET. XI.

SIR, The disorders of a crazie, and ruinous bodie, and the pains I suffer by it, are the eternal hinderances of my devoir: These also shall be (if you please) the ordinarie Apologies for my si­lence. You may believe, that I do not use to make great preparati­ons for to treat with you, in respect of the familiaritie we professe each to other; and if I could have rendered you thanks sooner for your courtesies, I would not have saved the expence of a few ragged lines, so long a time. I have received the Translation of your friend who doth me more honor then I can deserve. I cannot sufficientlie acknowledge the pains that he was pleased to take for me, being not ignorant how unpleasing a thing is Dependance. I confesse that it is more than a probable argument of a mans love, to submit himselfe to the fancie of a man that holds no superioritie over him. This servi­tude is irksome, and so heavie a yoak to good wits, that they have seldom born it as they should; and Victorius observes a number of passages of Aristotle, which Ciceria [Page 14] did not understand in his translation. And yet to understand an Author aright is not all: things rendered in another language, must retain the same degree of goodness, (if it be possible) as was in the Original: the strong must not be enfeebled, not the well attired be devested or clad in raggs, nor those that are well mounted be unhors­ed, and made to serve on foot. Most Interpreters (indeed) deal with books in that manner, and do violate the Lawes of sacred hospitality, towards the persons of the noblest strangers that they meet with. Commonlie they write French after the Latine mode, and Latine after the French; and I have seen more Authours stript and excoriated, than Authours translated. It is by your good favor, that I am not of the number of those Martyrs; but on the contrarie, your friend hath done me many courtesies which I needed, and furnisht me with a thousand Ornaments which I had not of mine own. I am very much obliged unto him in this behalf, and J owe you also much thanks, for the regard you shewed to my Counsels, preferring them before your first inclinations. Accomplish Sir, that which you have begun, and let us see a Senat [...]r worthie the ancient Republick, and the age of genuine and legitimate Romans. In our time, men do bear a great opinion of their eloquence▪ and a certain Author (whose name I have forgot) talks of the purple of their language, as well as of that of their gowns. I doubt not but you will adorn them: both with the one and the o­ther livery; And that you will make the driest thorns of their petti­fogging Dialect, look fresh and flourishing again, if you will take the pains to dresse and manure them. Monsieur Chaplain followes my counsel, and thanks me in all his Letters for the friendship contracted between you. Preserve Sir for me that good which I do for others, and think me not unworthie of it, since that I am with all my soul

Sir
Your, &c.
Balzac. 4. Nov. 1636.

To Monsieur Baudoin. LET. XII.

SIR, I received the alarm of your sicknesse: but your letter did soon settle and compose my mind; if it be as you write, but an at­tachment without grief, I believe that I am not bound to keep much adoe in bemoaning you; this necessarie rest and residence is good [Page 15] for something: it doth (at least) priviledge a Philosopher from per­forming a thousand pettie Offices, which do distract a Contemplative life, and which a civil life doth seem to exact from him, that hath the free use of his leggs. So that in the state that you are in, you do ob­lige the Publick in despight of you; and doubt not, but divers N [...] ­tions do blesse your Gout, that is the cause of your leasure, since that indeed it doth not handle you rudelie, and that J do (as others) reap much profit thereby; I know not whether I ought to call it good or bad, except my own interest should be more considerable, then the libertie of my friend. Hereupon, I shall consult with my Moral Philosophy, upon that part which treareth of Duties, which you (I am sure) will not have called Offices. You shall understand Sir, in the mean while, that I have received the second impression of my Let­ters, and that my eyes are not so bad, but that I could espie at the first glance, that which they owe unto your care. J should be uncivil (not to say unknowing) if J did not render you thanks for this favor, and if that my Book (having received better order and Oeconomy by your hands) J did not confesse that it is you that did bestowe upon't its last graces. We must confesse that you are an admirable Chymick to refine that with is grosse and drossie in my writings; and that you are a great exterminator of our superfluous Characters. But J should have been yet more deeplie ingaged unto you, if that you had throughly plaid the Aristarchus, and with that Hatchet which is so formidable to SS [...], which you deem unuseful, you had hewn off my other faults, as well as that of Orthography. This shall be reserved for another time, and for a work of greater consequence, whereof you shall be the Judge, upon condition Sir, that you shew no pittie or favor in your censures, and that my stile undergoe all the rigor of your lawes, as long as my person be had in consideration, and that J be still

Balzac. 25. Octob. 1636.
Your, &c.

To Monsieur de Coignet Gentleman in Ordinary to the most Illustrious Queen of great Brittain. LET. XIII.

SIR, J was much discontented that J parted from Paris, without having the honor to bid you Adieu. But it is verie difficult to live regularlie amidst such confusions, and to be punctual in a time when [Page 16] all things are out of order. I thought I had done much, that I had not forgot my selfe, being in the place where I was; and that I did put six score leagues of Land between Me and John de Werth. Be­ing able to make but a sorrie Souldier, I thought that no body had any thing to say to me in Picardy, and that the Kings Armie, would not be the lesse compleat for my absence. Loe now Sir, I am arrived here, this side of the Loire, busie in fortifying, as well as I may, my village with Philosophy; and intrenching my self against the Enemies with good books. If the tempests which threaten the Frontiers of Bayon arrive at us, we must think of another way of safetie, and resolve (in any case) to passe the Sea, and go and dwell in that Region of Peace, and that happie Climate where your divine Princesse reigns. But the good conduct and leading of the King her Brother, and the good Fate of France Forbid us to harbor any thoughts of despair; and the opinions of Sages, that expect a calm and serenitie after a storm, are far different from the Dialect of the vulgar, that think that all storms are everlasting. It shall be then a visit of complement (in de­spight of Iohn de Werth) that I shall perform, and not a voyage of ne­cessitie which I must make; and I hope my words shall finde no eva­sion, and that I shall tell you in London that which I say here, that I am entirelie

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 10. Sept. 1636.

To Madam Desloges. LET. XIV.

MAdam, Take it not amisse, that I do much rejoyce at your re­moval from Paris, since that thereby I do regain the glorious beatitude of your Neighbor-hood; and that I am now but fifteen Leagues distant from Virtue retired: Monsieur d'Auvita did confirm this newes, whereof I had otherwise an intimation formerlie; and he hath farther assured me (Madam) of the good success of your jour­ney, and of your victorie in the Chamber of the Edict. Since the guer­don of this Conquest lyeth in Aunix, I believe it will repent you to have offended the Angoulmois some five years agone. I say it is some pleasure to me to think that you will not digresse any more out of the Roade in contempt of us; and now shortlie will be the time when you will dignifie those men with your presence, which do so passio­natelie [Page 17] desire to see you. I am not so presumptuous as to alleage here my own wishes. But me thinks (Madam) that the Duke of Rochefeu­caut deserves one of your stages; and if it be so, I have reason to hope to be happy in some houres of the two or three dayes, which you cannot denie to afford Him. I was about to send to you — to learn some newes of you: But this excellent Bearer, hath promised me to relate some at his return; and you need not be troubled, in that he did forbear that crude Oration that was provided for you. This is a man (Madam) in whose month are Temples and Altars erected for you, and who adores you in everie word he speaks; He hath no vulgar conceit of your vertues, and he being ab [...]o [...] man of parts, is worthie of that regard you beare to him. I hope he will love me a little for love of you, and that you will do so likewise; and adde this favor to the in­finite number that I owe you, and which oblige me to be more then anie man in the world,

Madam
Your. &c.
Balzac. 7. Octob. 1636.

I send you (Madam) the complement which you desire to see; it was sent ere this, but was not received, because my packet was lost. Since that time, I have never thought of it; but your curiositie findes out things that are lost, and I am so good a Courtier, that none should have seen it besides your selfe.

To my Lord Keeper of the Seales Seguier, since Chancellor of France. LET. XV.

MY Lord, If I had not been advertis'd that it was my bounden dutie to write unto you, I should not have thought it needful so to do. And though I have ruminated as much as anie other, upon the choice that the King hath made of your person, I considered it, as one of the felicities of his reigne, and as a general influence of favor upon all the world. Calling to mind the definition of Aristotle, that calls justice the good of another, I thought it not so congruous to congratulate with him that must be the Guardian of the Lawes, touching a preferment that will put him to a perpetual care and vigilance. But rather to partake in silence of the common felicitie of those people that shall whollie relie upon his watchfulness. But my Lord, since custom cōmands it, & that cōgratulatiōs from the remo­test parts of the Kingdom do post towards you, I should be thought [Page 18] unworthie of that rank which I hold among your humble Servants, if I did not sequester my self from the Crowd to deliver you (a part) some testimonie of my joy, and to make you see, that in places of si­lence and solitude there be not wanting acclamations for you, and af­fections for the Countrey. I shall therefore make bold to tell you, that the joy which seiseth me at this time, is mingled with a kind of vanitie; and having accompanied you with my thoughts and eyes even unto the place of your advancement, I do imagine I have (in some sort) conducted you, whither the judgement of the Prince hath advanced you Wherefore my Lord in your promotion, I do rejoyce for the good success of my Imagination, and take no small pleasure to see my own Divinations verified. Certainlie it is a matter of delight to see a Vertue so laborious and active as yours, brought into the most wide and spacious Carreere that Fortune could make choice of; and this is aspectacle worthie the sight of Heaven, and of the blessed soule of the late Cato of your race. The importance is, my Lord, that you begin in a verie good season, for to continue long; and that you are in the verdure and vigor of your age for to uphold the crazie and de­crepit weaknesse of our State. In this Elevation both of Merit and D [...]gnitie, each man will be your Adorer and Votary: But you will give me leave to assure you that none will approach unto you with a purer and more dis-interessed Devotion then mine, and that I am without much pomp and flourish, yet in much sinceritie

My Lord,
Your, &c.
Balzac. 1. April 1636.

To Monsieur de Morins, Counsellor of the King in the Court of the Edict, at Agen. LET. XVI.

MY Lord, You are noble enough to love a man without anie merits, but I were too loose and forlorn if I were so loved, and yet you have some cause to call me by that bad title; and if Mon­sieur Girard hath not had a care of his friends reputation, all circum­stances condemn me. It is true that my fault was but the omission of a Complement, which had slipt out of my memorie; and yet I avow to you, that this omission is such a sin that hath (a long time) burden­ed [Page 19] my conscience, and causeth such gripes and remorse Sir, that ex­cept the same goodness that hath shewed me favor do grant me a pardon, I cannot make attonemeat with my self. But I am apt to be­lieve that for the appeasing of my thoughts, you will not run the ha­zard of your former benefits, and that you will by your perseverance adde to my obligations. Knowing this moreover, that you are a right honest man; I must necessarilie conclude that you are no Formalist or a man of Ceremonie, and that you do not tie your self to those pet­tie observances and Rites which make the friendship of this age more perplext and difficult then sincere. If Yours may be gain'd or merited by a true and perfect valuation of your worth, I will not be an un­faithful Depositary, beseeching you to believe that I am alreadie as much as anie man in the world

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac Feb. 20. 1636.

To Monsieur de-Vaugelas Gentleman in Ordinary to Monsi­eur the Kings onely Brother. LET. XVII.

SIR, I did read my own thoughts in your Letter; I subscribe un­to all that you have writ unto me, and confesse that in the Elo­gie of Monsieur Arnold the Abbat, you do (indeed) but give your friend his due, and lend him never a grain. This is (in truth) a most accomplish't man, and who at the age of 22 yeares, was reputed wise even by the Italians, that latelie thought wisdom was their own free­hold. He hath with his great knowledge mingled much goodnesse: the sharpnesse of his understanding is tempered and allaied by the sweetnesse of his behaviour, and his modestie doth represse and con­ceal much of his abilities. He never pardons himself, though he doth beare with all humane infirmities in others; and that Pietie which he doth practise, gives respect unto all, but strikes a terror in none. Loe Sir, the testimonie which I add unto yours: which I would bestow upon an enemie that deserv'd it, but would not upon a friend that wanted merit. His knowledge is attended on by other vertues, and it hath furnisht him with excellent moralitie: for without this, it should be solitarie and of little use. I tell you nothing of the late experiment I have found of it in your Letter which he wrote unto you: besides that my best language would be far below my apprehen­sion of it; I know withall too well the power of his Rhetorick to con­test with it; since he hath got so manie advantages over me, he must [Page 20] needs have that of civilitie and complements too; and my silence must not be accounted anie more the effect of modestie but of the E­loquence of his Letter. I send it you back because you would have it so, and because you may make some use of it in your Cabinet; but I shall reserve a Copy of it under your favor, that it may afford some comfort and relief to my discontents. I have seen the siege of Tyre, the death of Darius, the voyage of the Indians, and I have read them with wonder. All these seem to me so good French, and so natural. that it is impossible to pick out anie line there, that doth savor of, or shew anie affinitie with Latine, or wherein the original Author hath a­nie advantage above the second. What would you have more Sir, or what sentence can you crave of me? I have but one word to adde in commendation of your Travels. The Alexander of Philip was invincible, and that of Vaugelas is inimitable. It is that (to say no more) that will deserve the affection of your incomparable Marchionesse, and the fair Beavy or Troop that do often assemble at her house. Monsieur — calls Her a choice and resplendent Court, and the great World refined and reformed: and saith, that there is no Tribunal so soveraign that we may not appeal from, unto the Mansion of Rambouillet. Since I cannot know what kind of work it is that my Stationer shall give you, until this divine Romane Deme shall passe her censure upon it; I dare not as yet, declare my self for a Book which I must not acknowledge, al­though I have composed it. It sufficeth to tell you, that I had an aim to speak French, and to write some Letters which should not put Her to trouble of deciphering. I did not heartilie desire that my Design might take effect; and I should believe I had not gain'd a little, by the commerce of manie years, if what you shall present her with, in my name, may entertain her thoughts for a few howers; the noblest labors of the understanding cannot aspire to a higher blisse than that; Philosophy her selfe should betray too much presumption to think to take them up whollie and imploy them; she cannot claim to be any more than her diversion and by-thought. I shall be verie well con­tented Sir, if I might serve for that purpose handsomlie; and I should boast after this, that I were (though in my absence) verie good com­panie. That timorousnesse that did ever possesse me that I could not be so, any other way, and the fear of troubling the serenitie of ano­ther mans visage by the sullen clowdiness of mine, have made me to refrain from all Feasts and Assemblies, and hindered me from bringing heavie looks to those places which I esteem sacred, and before those eyes which I do reverence. So that it is a pure reverence in me, that I abstain from acceptable and delightful conversation, and from the pleasures of those Cabinets that appertain to them onlie that be hap­pier than I. And I do chuse rather to adore a far off with awful re­gard, [Page 21] then be importunatelie, and saucilie familiar. I leave it to you to excuse and justifie this timoriousnesse which proceeds from re­spect, not from a Stoical ferocitie. Add you will do me a favor, if that while yon represent the best part of your friend, you will take the pains to excuse the worst. Whereunto, I do earnestlie conjure you, and to believe firmlie, that I am

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 26. Feb. 1636.

To Monsieur dela Motte-Aigron. LET. XVIII.

SIR, The Indian Canes which you sent me were prettie, but you have so embellisht them at Rothel, that I doubt me they are not for my turn. They are not made for a private mans use: They are Emblems of soveraign command; and a bolder Orator then I, would render you thanks rather for your Scepters then your Canes. By what name soever we call them, they are the more precious to me, because they came from You, more then for anie other consideration; and though you have not made me rich, yet you have made me verie glorious. It is a Maxime in Aristotle, that Ambition is no more satisfied with benefits received, then covetousnesse. But me thinks, he should have added, when it receives from him, from whom it desired to receive. For all sorts of Benefactors do not far obliege those that are ambitious of the better sort onlie. For my part, I should believe that the Presents of Monsieur — would pollute me, and I would be as much asham'd of his favors as I glorie in yours. In truth Sir, I have quitted the Countrie, and am come purposelie to the Town to shew them. With them, I do sustain my old age with credit, and look as trim as upon solemn daies of Ceremonie. They serve me both for to support and to adorn; for moveables of necessie­tie, and oftentation too. But the worst is, that I have nothing here for to requite so rare a Present, but the shape and lineaments of a vul­gar man, and the sad representation of my own visage. As it were ve­rie unjust that I should pretend to beautie: so it is a verie solecisme that Philarchus calls me a Narcissus. But there are alwaies foolish pas­sions, and idle curiosities in the world. My friends at Paris would needs urge me to have my Picture drawn, and I, to give them contentment, did yield my selfe for one halfe houre to be transcribed, and granted them this meager delight. Some [Page 22] Copies were sent me: one whereof I bestow upon you, supposing that it, will not scare you; and knowing that affection is a better flatterer yet, than the Painter. This is it that will beare a false witness for me to prove me fair, and which will allow me a place in the Classe of your illustrious men. Such a place in your Cabinet, is indeed a high ad­vancement, and which I cannot obtain but by meer favor; but that which you have given me in your heart is no lesse precious to me, and I think I have good right to the possession, since I am reallie

Sir,
Your &c.
Angoulesme 15. Jan. 1637.

To Monsieur de Borstell. LET. XIX.

SIR, I durst not undertake the great and hazardous voyage, which I did impose upon my self some four years past, without taking leave from our noble Lady. I have therefore sent unto her to beg it, by the man that shall deliver you this letter; and that shall bring me back (if you please) some directions for my journey, which I beg of you. Being provided of such ammunition, I shall not fear the rigor of February, nor the unconstancie of March, nor the inundations of the Loire, nor the waies of Beausse. I am sure to arrive happilie at Paris: where Sir, if you have anie businesse, I can furnish you with a Solicitor, who (though but a fortie one) is verie ambitious to do you service. Alte non temo, & humili non s degno: I neither fear the high nor disdain the low. You cannot think of anie imployment that shall not be verie welcom to me; and though I love sloath, and make a profession of Idlenesse, yet I will change my inclination, and of a se­dentary man become a Currier; except this, I am commonlie desirous of privacie, and never bring into the Assemblies of men but my eyes, and my testimonie. There must be spectators at such times, as well as Poets and Actors; and some that must do nothing, for the interest and honour of those that act. But to the purpose Sir; what are become of your Actors of the Low Countries? I do verilie think that there is no more Holland in the world, and that the Sea hath drowned the fa­mousest part of the earth. There was never such a dearth of newes; And the Caribusian Monks do not meditate with more silence, than [Page 23] they do wager warre in that Countrey. If you are more learned than the Gazettes, I pray impart your knowledge by this Bearer, who hath a charge to give you an account of many things, and will acquaint you particularlie how far J am

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 18. Feb. 1636.

To Monsieur — the chief Advocate. LET. XX.

Sir, I am impatient until J can hear of the estate of your health, and learn by the return of my Lecquay, whether your leggs be better then they were wont. Jt is no wonder if they bend under the burthen of so many brave things which they sustain; and being to carrie the counsels of a whole Province, if they be somewhat incommodated with such a weight. Yet J do hope well of the wholsomnesse of that Aire which you breath; and that being out of the reach of that malignant Jupiter, (that noisome mildew, J would have said) which over-runs the Hills of Angoulesme, you will have the leasure to travel to your breaches, and fortifie your self against winter. This is a Neighbor that doth threaten us upon the Frontiers, and if J can, J will flie from him, as far as Africk. But this remedie is something too far. With­out undertaking so great a voyage, we will endeavor to make resist­ance as well as we may; and J am alreadie resolv'd to use all humane industrie, to barricado my Chamber, and to block up all approaches towards it. Jf J can maintain it bravelie against so terrible an Ene­my; I shall account my self no mean Engineer, and shall think my Sconces and Fortifications as regular as those of the Hollanders. After this, this shall be, if you please, the Camp of our riotous discourses and extravagances; of our peaceful disputations, and all other exer­cises that an honest man may perform in a Chair, I do therefore de­sign you for it about mid-November, and remain

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 18. Oct. 1636

To Monsieur de Maury. LET. XXI.

SIR, You have sent me a Present which was extreamlie dear and welcome to me, and which I must highlie prize, both for the man­ner of sending, and the matter sent; the affliction which you paint out and emblazon, is so Christian, that all the joy in the world is not able to countervail it; and you complain in such a learned form, that we must forbid men to comfort you, lest you should cease complain­ing. I am you know, but a simple French Doctor; yet I do now and then, make excursion into the Latine Countrie, and take a view of the Frontiers. But this is too little for to know the just value of your Muse, and to give you the commendation that you deserve. You have an ancient Roman neere you, that can distinguish between the Native and the Forrainer; and makes it Religion to confound the modestie of the age of Augustus; with the intemperaence of succeeding times. He hath a smack of the primitive Poetry, which the Spaniards had not yet vitiated, and made immodest; and of that pure Latine, which the Declamators had not yet corrupted with nice subtleties. He it is, that can give you ample and just commendation, and can make a just esti­mate of the riches of your stile: For my part, I can but testifie unto you my deep apprehension of your courtesies in this behalf, and as­sure you that I will be while I live

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 23. Octob. 1636.

To Monsieur de Mondory. LET. XXII.

SIR, Your Letter was to me an old noveltie, and I received it but in the beginning of December, thought it had been at my house since August: To unfold this Riddle, I must tell you, I am newly re­turned from a long voyage, & that J found your Letter here at my ar­rival. You may believe, that the name of a man that is dear unto me, did at first encounter of my eye affect me with joy; and that it is no [Page 25] small satisfaction and contentment to me, to see that J hold a place in a memory, that is so occupied and fully fraught as yours. This is to lie down among a bed of Roses, when I lie among so many brave Poems, and rare discourses which you contain, as a walking Library. And if it be lawful to tell out the rest, to be the friend of Monsieur de Mondory, is to be a Favorite of a thousand Kings; for indeed you do so lively represent unto us the majesty and magnificence of former ages, that we must confess that your representations, are the glorious Resurrections of those Princes which you do personate. And things be­ing thus, take it not amisse that in my answer I must contradict you. You cannot compare the bonnet of Herod with that of Monsieur the Advocate — without doing some injury to Royal dignity, and a­vileling their Purple and Diamonds; without doing your selfe a bad office, in lessening, and obscuring in me thereby (if you could) the great Idea which I conceiv'd of you, the day that I saw you with that Bonnet. But you may be pleased to humble your selfe; you cannot deface or blot out of my memory that first impression and Image of majestie which you there left; and I cannot figure you in my thoughts, but with a commanding accent, and the eloquence of a Ma­ster, far transcending that inferior Rhetorick, which works but my in­treaties and remonstrances. Yet I speak not this, as though I would alwayes consider you under the name and shape of another; or that I believe, if that you should quit the Theater, you would be out of all imployment in the world. The Letter which you were pleased to write unto me doth sufficientlie witness, that Eloquence is your natural en­dowment, and that without borrowing from any, you can traffick in verie good things of your own. Suspect not then that I should recant to your prejudice, after this new occasion of extolling you▪ On the contrarie, I am readie (if need be) to add something to my former testimonie. I have many reasons to respect you, and I think I may do it with the license of our severest Schools. Since that having re­form'd the stage, and purg'd it from all obscenitie, you may glorie in this, that you have reconcil [...]d Comedy with — Pleasure, with Virtue. And though for my part I stand in need of recreations, yet since I de­sire not to enjoy but those that are cleanly, and which do not violate honestie, I do (with the common voice) give you thanks for the care you have taken, to provide fit remedies, and Antidotes against melan­cholie, and other untoward passions. But farther, calling to mind that you proposed my contentation sometimes, for the end of your action, and that you aimed oftentimes at me alone, I were ungrateful if I did not confesse that I am

Sir
Your, &c.
Balzac. 15. Decem. 1636.

To Monsieur Le. Guay. LET. XXIII.

Sir, You had an intention to perform an act of humilitie; when you did dedicate your Poem to me; for to expect protection from a man that is not reckoned of the world, and light from a name so ob­scure as mine, you could not (sure) forget your self in this sort. The same virtue which obligeth the Saints to acknowledge Superiors where­ever there are men, hath carried you to this depth of lowlinesse; and you have chosen an unhappy man, for to bestowe honor upon, that you might lose that, which you would fain bestow, I must confesse, that no man ever commended his Neighbor more Christian like, and doth more decline the Trade of those Mercenaries, who sell their te­stimonies and credit to any, that have wherewith to requite them. These are Hucksters of Poetry and Rhetorick; that prostitute to the first commers, even those whom you stile the kindred of the Gods and Daughters of Iupiter; and make Pegasus a very hackney of commen­dation, (as I may so say) for all the world. You have a heart of a far better mould then theirs; and though men consider not as they ought, the graces and elegancies of your Muse, we must notwith­standing infinitelie commend their noblenesse and generositie. I con­fesse for my part, that I am a debtor to them as farre as any, and that I know not how to requite in anie measure, the favors that I have re­ceived from them. Yet notwithstanding, I forbear not to load my Porter with a pretrie grosse bundle; not pretending thus to acquit my selfe, or thinking that I am hereby lesse then before.

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 1. April. 1636.

To Monsieur de Silhon, Musqueteer of the Kings Company. LET. XXIV.

Sir, Having your person in great admiration, I cannot misprize or undervalue your friendship. The fair tokens whereof, which I [Page 27] have received in the Letter, that you were pleased to write unto me, have obliged me so far, that I confesse that I owe you alreadie that which you are pleased now to promise me. I will tell you but this, that if Princes could bestow health and vertue, I should tell more se­dulous Courtier then I am, and should stand in more need of your te­stimonie, and the recommendation of your friend. But truly, in the case that I am, my desires are so feeble, and my passions so cold and languid, that I could hardly be perswaded to take up a Crosier, if I found it on the earth. Though Philosophy doth not teach, that we must seek for happiness out of the wheeling Orbe of the Court; my own la­ziness would cause me to apprehend it as a fortune, under whose weight I should perpetuallie groan, and not a place of any ease; and I do lesse esteem of a place of Government that might cumber me, then a field of libertie that may solace me. If you go any time into Gascony, and do me the honor to take my house in the way, you will verifie what I say to you; and avouch, that if I were as well cured of all maladies as that of Ambition I had not many wishes to commence. It is true that some companie (like that of Monsieur your Brother) is wanting unto me; and if this were added to my Hermitage, I durst contend with Jupiter for happiness. This is a speech of Epicurus which Seneca doth alleage, but which I do mean to apply better then it was by the Author; since bread and beare (which this Philosopher made the two Elements of soveraign good) are not so rare or so good, as those excellent instructions and perfect honestie, which I should finde and injoy in the person of my friend. I do charge you to assure him, that I do ever honor and esteem him infinitelie, and for your particu­lar, you may believe, that you cannot affect a man that could be more sincerelie then I am,

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 19. Decem. 1635.

To Monsieur De la Fosse. LET. XXV.

SIR, You judge too seriouslie of my Recreations, and beare too high an opinion of my Essayes. It is no Roman Citizen that you thus respect, it is a Barbarian disguised. I have drawn some rude line­aments and mishapen figures, and you would allow them for just [Page 28] works and exact Pieces. Your eloquence herein doth favor me, but alters me not a whit. You are powerful in Language, but I am hard of perswasion; and I have learnt from a mous Author, that to give things honorable appellations doth cost us nothing: And I see well that Illustrious and Excellent which you grace me with, do signifie (ex­cept by way of Civilitie) but things vulgar and meane. It is true Sir, that I do adventure sometimes to copy out good Originals. I have an eye as much as possiblie I may, to ancient examples, and I do scarce seek them beyond Terente or this side Livy. But these are but idle Speculations (perhaps) and impotent desires which leave an infinite space between my abilities and my Idea; if it be so, as I fear it is, Monsieur de Prieset doth heedfully observe this distance, and pittieth in his soul the vain attempts and rashnesse of my pen. Yet he is so good and loving, that he will not, I should learn this distastful truth from him; and loves rather to commend a fault, then discover it, in a man that is dear to him. He hath written such polite things to me, and in such abundance, that I dare not send forth any replie after his answer, least I should be undone by so unequal a comparison. I must not attempt this great design, for the success thereof must needs be unlucky, though I should make use of Auxiliaries, and demands suc­cours of all the L [...]t [...]xists of our Province. You shall tell him then, if you please, that I do acknowledge the advantage his stile hath over mine, and I think it no disparagement that I must still owe him what I shall never be able to pay him. You are kind enough yet Sir, to as­sure Monsieur Habert the Abbat, and Monsieur de la Chamber, of the constancie of my service; and how impatient I am, that the world doth not yet know, in what regard I hold their vertues. It sufficeth me that they accept and allow of my affection, and that they testifie it unto you with a nod. For to desire Letters, and not tickets from them, were to be ignorant of the present condition of their life, and the homage that they perform to our Monarch, who best deserves it. I have received some Verses from Monsieur de Espesses, and you send me some more of other mens, together with a letter, which my ser­vant left to growe stale upon the Table in my Chamber. You will do me the favor as to deliver him my Packet, and readilie take so much pains for my sake: who will account my self happy to be made your Agent in these parts, and be able to expresse that none is more intire­ly

Sir,
Your, &c.
Balzac. 3. Jan. 1637.

To Monsieur de Espesses Councellor of the King in his Councel of States. LET. XXVI.

SIR, You make me (truly) to languish, and it is more then four moneths, since I have expected our Translation: I call it ours, be­cause you made it in my Chamber, and on my paper; and I might call it mine too, by a rule in the Law, which doth adjudge the sur­face to go along with the profunditie; but that I remembred the exception of the Emperor, which he adds in favour of excellent Arti­zans. Nobis contrà videtur, meliùs esse Tabulam cedere Picturae: Ridicu­lum enim est picturam Apellis vil Parrbasii in accessi [...]nem vilissimae pictu­rae cedere. We must not urge a man that is intent upon more impor­tant affaires. Yet when your leasure serves, be pleased to perfect that same Translation, and try if our language can expresse Ter [...]nce in that nobleness of stile, and the Character of Se [...]pio and Laelius, which the Roman Nation observe to be in it. In the mean time Sir, to have the more colour to demand of you, I send you here a small gift; some Verses which I received latelie from one of my friends in Englend, who doth charge the Muses of the Low-Countries with the making. You are in some sort interessed in it, seeing they question the credit and truth of an Author who among you, is cryed for Indubitable; and seem to thwart your judgement of him, as concerning the certaintie of his Testimonie. But (in good sooth) the Flemmings have reason to re­quire such a scrupulous and punctual truth in our newes: They who are the most fabulous Historians of this age, and for the most part, truck away nothing but Apocryphall Relations. By changing the proper names only in their Verses, we might retort all their Sarcasmes upon themselves; we could speak trulie of their Gazet, what they have falslie written of ours; and tell them farther, that that which they deride so, is well esteemed all over by the most ingenious Nation of the world; It is certain that the fine wits of Rome do admire the a­cuteness and apposite expressions therein; and Monsieur the Abbat of — upon his return from Italy did assure me, that it was pro­nounced in the Academy of the Humorists, that each section of the Pari­sian Gazet was worth a Chapter in Florus, or Valerius Maximus. They are Sir, as you know, Epigrams in prose: and the determination of so famous a Tribunal, is a sufficient Countermure against the assaults of this new Poem. I would, desire you to impart it to Monsieur Gaulmim, and some other [Page 30] grave Judges of Latine learning. That we may know the gust of your great world, and what we are to believe in the Provinces. The de­scription of the Bureand' Adresse, seems to me to have been drawn up­on the plain, or model of that Palace which Ovid hath erected to Fame. But you will make us upon this, and all the rest most large and learned Observations; and I do promise my selfe to receive from you at once, both a Translation and a Commentary. I am perfectlie

Sir
Your &c.
Balzac 25 Nov. 1636.

To the same. LET. XXVII.

SIR, Since I wrote my Letter, it comes to my head that for a Coun­ter cuffe to the Gazeta Parisiensi [...], we might send to the Low Countrey­men, Historia Hispana, and fill it with Comical sport enough. First we must make it to be the ineestuous Off-spring of the Giants, begotten upon their own sister Fame, for the high and mightie lies wherewith it doth abuse the credulitie of the simple; and (in truth) the natural pride of that Nation which appeares, even in the wandring Begger in extreamest miserie; and those Rhodomont [...]des which to them are so proper and usual, that their verie complements reteine a smack of them▪ are worthie of so illustrious an Extraction, and to descend in a direct line from Enceladus and Mimas, and Briareus. This premis'd Sir, and enricht with your art, I would have this monstrous Issue gaine upon the belief of the Indians and the Cockneys of Europe, that the be­ginning of the universal Monarchie promised to Spain, will betide just the next year, which is the Climasterical yeare of all other States; that Gods will is, that there should be but one Monarch upon earth; and that the Pope himself for his better accomodation, doth mean to re­sign Rome to him, and exchange it for the Arch-Bishoprick of Toledo. That the Battle where the King of Sueden was slain, was the last sigh of dying libertie; that this Prince was no such thing as we took him to be, and for those atchievements of his, which we entertain'd with such wonder, nothing was performed without the help of Magick, by vertue onelie of some charms and characters, and the assistance of the Powers of Hell, which at last was found too weak against the House of Austria. That to the end, that the second causes and humane means [Page 31] might concur with the design of providence, forrain affaires do seem to complie of themselves to this great change. That the King of England is not so brave, but that he would be contented to be a Feuda­tary of the King of Spain; and if it goes to the worst, that there will not be wanting some Gunpowder-men to make him caper in the aire with his whole Realme. That the cinders of the Holy League, and the re­mainder of the Huguenot Partie begin to flame a new in Frence by the bellowes and Libells of St. Germaine; that they have bargain'd with some secret Engineers, who have undertaken to fortifie Ro [...]b [...]l in one night. That Duke Charles must be revenged upon Nancy, and that he doth hold Paris alreadie in extremitie; that if there be not a Spanish Garrison alreadie in Turin and C [...]sall, there will be one, when it shall seem good to his Catholick M [...]jesty, and when the Dukes of Savoy and Mantua, shall be received into his favour. That he will have none of Venice or Amsterdam, because that an Illuminatee of Madrid, and a Sy­bille of Naples have assured him, that the Sea will one day swallow up these two great Cities; and the losse of his Spaniards that should be their Commanders, would be a cause of great grief unto him. That he had long since chastis'd the Rebels of Holland, if some considerati­ons of state had not hindered him from it. But let him preserve that Land of contradiction, for a Fencing-schoole for his own Subjects, to keep them from idlenesse, and to breath them by continual exercise. That for the rest, if the world will not be so easilie conquered, he hath in his coffers wherewith to buy it. And hereabouts, this Daugh­ter of Fame and Enceladus her Brother, must raise her tone higher, and out-bid her first figure or number; she must with one dash of the pen make more gold, then the Sun can make in a thousand years; she must make the windes labor, and force the Ocean to groan under the new Fleet, which according to her computation, must arrive everie moneth punctuallie at Lisbon and Sivil; she must make a discoverie (if needs be) of the third Indies, and finde out all the hidden mines there; not those within the Demaines of Antichrist excepted, and cause them to be guarded by those evil Spirits, which S Augustine calls (for this reason) Incubones Thesauroru [...], &c. Behold Sir, a rude draught of a work which expects from you its consummation and perfection, which you might soon finish, if your poetical fancie should once seize you. Here is matter (you see) for an excellent Irony, and wherewith to continue it to a hundred verses and more, though the Comedy did affect you neere so little, especiallie when you shall adde from and fashion to the stuffe which I present you with, who am

Sir,
Your, &c.
Balzac. 27. Nov. 1637.

To Monsieur de Couurelles. LET. XXVIII.

SIR, J cannot write unto you but tumultuarilie: my hands and head are so ful of businesse, that being to take a journie to Paris, I am bound to bid farewell to the Clergie, the N [...]bilitie and the Commons. It is now four years that I have deliberated upon this voyage, and be­ing at last resolved, I am like by your favor to be accompanied then I did expect, Comes facundus in via, &c. I think I may give this at­tribute to your Book, after the Elogy which you vouchsafe me there­in: and if I had not alreadie taken part and declared my selfe, for the Author of the Flandrian History, (who is one of my good Lords and friends) I should have entered blindlie into a new faction, which (as it seems) you do abet and patronize; but Sir, you will not take it a­misse that I professe constancie, and that this second Author, hath not won my first affection. This evening I shall begin to entertain him, and to taste of those delicacies whereof you were pleased to make an Essay. These will not be painted Cares I am sure, not Pageants of good; no nimble juglings and impostures practised upon the eye and imagina­tion, as most part of those things are that come from that Countrie. There is no imposture so finelie contrived, as to be able to cheat so cautious a judgement as yours. And I will folllow you, wheresoever you will please to lead me, (I mean still to except matters of faith) and I believe you will not be offended with such an exception, since the Lawes of friendship will allow it me, and since I never cease to be most affectionatelie

Sir,
Your, &c.
Angoulesme March 8. 1636.

To — LET. XXIX.

SIR, My willingnesse to relieve afflicted men, deserves not the thanks which I have reapt thereby. This is a passion which on my part doth but produce fruitlesse desires, and which cannot by you be [...]d in any estimation, but out of a superlative noblenesse in you. In [Page 33] that I have given harbor to a man that was persecuted, I did but that which the Law of Nations required of me, and what I would not have denied to the misfortunes of an — or a Spaniard. If you take this to mind, and become my debtor, you do assume the interest of all mankind, and acquit the honor of the whole world; for my part, I am twice rewarded for an act, which J thought was sufficientlie rewarded in the doing, and for which J expected neither honor nor acknowledgement. You see Sir, that I am not privie to your secrets, and if you were obliged hereby, it was by an innocent and blindly ignorant man. For the Cavalier, touching whom you aske some news; J believe that he hath prevented me, as being unwilling that any o­ther then himself should be the Historian of his adventures. He will (no question) write unto you, what hath hapned unto him in the Re­sectory of the — Fathers, and the notable advantages he hath got­ten over a Gladiator of the long Gown. J am not troubled a whit that he hath got him some credit in so good a place, and gained the repu­tation of a man of valor. Yet, I must tell you, that his credit is dea­rer unto me then my own interest; and that if he have not the mind to dispute, it is not my desire he should turn for my sake. He may be my friend at a cheaper rate; and I can content my self with the calmness and tranquillitie of his passion, not needing that it should break forth and appear through noise and jangling. Many men (you know) never do a good turn, but that they may have occasion of upbraiding. Poverty is more tolerable then such Creditors; and there are some Patrons of such harsh dispositions, that I would chuse persecution before their succors. Upon our first meeting, I will de­clare my self more particularly to you, and in the mean while, rest

Sir,
Your &c.
Paris May 3. 1631.

To my Lord the Bishop of Angoulesme, chief Almener to the Illustrious Queen of great Brittain. LET. XXX.

MY LORD, I have seen in a Letter that you have written to Monsieur — that my name is not unknown unto you, and that I have some share in your good Graces; this is a favor which I owe to your courtesie one­ly, [Page 34] and I dare not believe, that my more then small deserts, could have acquir'd me such an inestimable good as that. I cannot justlie enjoy it, if you would not admit of that perfect devotion and reve­rence which I offer you, and which I were bound to pay to your vir­tue, though I should never reflect upon your Dignity You have at first boa [...]ding, ingaged my observance. It will be (my Lord) an incredible contentment unto me, to enjoy that happy entertainment and dis­course which you have done me the honor to promise me. And I am confident, that I shall still depart thence a better man, and more learned, though my inclination be never so untoward, and unapt for good purposes, and my memorie never so slipperie to retain the im­pression of fair Ideas. But I begin to fear that your Flock should in the mean while languish for you, and that the interests of France, will crosse and oppose themselves against the wishes of our Province. The fear of that was it, that caused me to send England a Book, which J did heartilie desire, J could have presented to you there, together with the Author. He is one of the great Votaries of that great Cardinal Perron your Uncle: He doth celebrate his memorie without inter­mission, and adores his learned Reliques. He doth glorie in being his ghostlie Son; and you will not (I am sure) make any difficultie, to avow this spiritual alliance that is between you and him, being joyned with the condition, that he desires to live in all his lifetime; which is to be

My Lord,
Your &c.
Balzac 20. Dec. 1636.

To Monsieur De — LET. XXXI.

Sir, I write unto you with a heart wounded with sorrow, and make my moan to you, for the sinister opinion, that you have conceived of me, upon the first evill report that was suggested to you concer­ning me. I thought J had given you a sufficient assurance of the smoothn [...]sse and plamnesse of my soul, that you should not have so ea­sily doubted of it, and entertain a belief so injurious to amity, before you had communicated your jealousies to your friends, and made them cleare enough. You know Sir, more then any other, that my passions are not close and reserved, but J carrie my soul still in my prehead. When J was not as yet, so far your Servant as now J am, J [Page 35] did not use much Artifice, and dissimulation to perswade the contra­rie; and thence you might have deduc'd an infallible conclusion, that if I had chang'd my inclination, I would not have deceived you with new protestations of fidelitie. I do therefore religiously protest unto you, that honoring you with that zeal as I do, you could not inflict a greater punishment upon me, then the forfeiture of your favors. But moreover, I do swear to you by all that is sacred in the world, that I have committed nothing that might deserve such a cruel punishment. After this me thinks you might be confirm'd in the truth, but pardon me if I tell you, you should have been so before; and that I do ex­treamlie wonder, that a weak and grosse calumnie, should quite ruine and deface in your thoughts, the good impressions, which I thought I had left there. I cannot hinder mens mis-constructions of me, or binde Interpreters from doing violence, and putting my words upon the rack, to make them depose things which were far from my inten­tions. Sophisters make use of a true proposition to infer an erroneous conclusion; and Pettisoggers still cite the Law, to authorise their in­justice, and yet none will tax truth to be the cause of error, or Law the mother of injustice. I cannot warrant, but my own thoughts (which are sound and innocent) not those of my adversaries, which are full of malice and rancor. I am responsible for the things that I have written, and readie withall to maintain them. But all the visions and fancies of men are not in my power. Everie man can make a nimble and subtle decipherer of another mans intentions. The same picture, according to several lights and postures, may have several re­presentations; and often times there is a great difference between a Text and the Commentaries, the meaning of the Author and the Cri­ticismes of Grammarians. I said that I knew some strange insufferable hu­mors, and no way fit to possesse and sway free-born men. Therefore I said, that a man, whom I do infinitelie esteem and honor was of that hu­mor. Loe here Sir, (not to say half of what I think of it) a conclusion verie unworthie a Logician, and which is as far from common, as from my particular sense. Jndeed it was not you, that deduced it, yet you should not have entertain'd it at second hand, and if it did not seem to you to be palpably false, yet you might have demurr'd a while, and suspected it; you have done your selfe wrong and me too, in conceiving so bad a thought of your own merit and my fidelitie; in expressing that you have some distrust of your self, who are of no mean value, and but verie little confidence in me, whose freeness is something worth. I have but little skill in fallacies, and a mean Jugler may sometimes gain credit with me: neverthe­lesse, I should never have been thus surpris'd and deluded, and when you have wrote to me in a dozen Letters at least, that you knew some [Page 36] men that wrote pernicious Books, and maintained Heretical Propositions: I did not yield to such an imagination that this did reflect upon me; and when you sent a Lackey into this Province, I did not forbear to send you commendations by him. You see that I am stung, and therefore am sencible. If your love were not deare unto me, I could well enough bear your neglect of me; and if my zeale to you were not strong, I should endeavor to solace my selfe, after your ill in­treating of me. But because I love, I would be requited with love; and I cannot brook to be taxt with a fault, which I thought did not de­serve so much as suspition. Sir, I am upon the point to publish a new Volum of Letters, where there be some which I have written unto you and others, where I make mention of you, as your virtues did oblige me; and where will be one also, wherein (as some would perswade you) I am injurious to you. How I pray, can all these agree? can I be both your friend and your foe at once? can I blowe with the same mouth, both hot and cold? can the literal sense favor you, and the allegorical injure you? can I do you wrong, when I must needs wrong my selfe? shall I give an occasion of distast by ambiguous termes, where I must make my self ridiculous by apparent contradictions? This was it Sir, that was suggested to your credulitie, and which you did not reject at first acquaintance, as I had reason to expect from your good discretion. These were the false surmises which were brought before you, wherein you found more semblance of truth, then in the sincere protestations which I made to you. I cannot conceive (know­ing that you have continued your friendship towards me, and that I too have not lost my reason) how you could imagine, that I intended in a bravery to disingage you, and by those aukeward spirits which I had known, I aim'd directly at you, and might not designe some other as well. I know a great many of the Gascons, and as there be some of them very moderate, so also there be others that are not so. I knowe some of Provence and Corsica, and I am not ignorant of their natural gentleness; I knowe some Spaniards, and I know how agreeable is their yoak with that which they call Castiga vellacos.

Lastly, you may believe that I have not travelled blindfold, & I had in vain conversed with men, if I had not endeavored to know them; and yet in this particular, men would fain make all my acquaintance to be terminated in you, and that I have pardoned a thousand Hu­morists in the world (to whom my proposition might be applied) for to violate you. They surmise, that having an aim to wound some body, I made choice of one of my chiefest friends for my mark; and that I have murmur'd closely and in dark language, that He is rough and violent, whom I proclaim every where, and with loud [Page 37] accent, for compleatly wise and noble. I will not cite unto you mean te­stimonies, for the confirmation of this truth. I can alleage My Lord, the Duke of — and My Lord the Count of — of whom is here question made. They know both of them, how far I am your Servant, and with what servencie I did maintain your honor and interests, on a time when occasion was presented. I am willing to believe that your other friends might serve you in some stead in some other encounters; but in this here, all the whole Company (I except no man) was mute. There was not any there, but my selfe that spake strenuouslie in your behalf, concerning those things that did reflect upon you; and the boldnesse of my affection carried me so far, that the Lords, whom I now named unto you, did give me a publick testimony, and profes­sed, (though with a little disgust) that I was too good a friend to make a Countier of. I am therefore something agrieved at this time, to be requited thus with oblequie, where I thought I had deserved thanks; to have preserved my fidelity inviolable towards you, and now to be accused of treacherie; to be the onely man in your de­fence on that occasion, whereof you have cause to boast, and now to be the onely man of whom you complain. I do not use to value my services which I perform to my friends, and I am content to stand up for them manfullie, without making unto them an account of my prowesse. Moreover Sir, this betrayes grief, more then presumption, and may be termed defending, rather then upbraiding; These are resentments which accompanie innocence that is offended; and which your facilitie (abused by the malice of another) doth force from my heart against my will I will not conceal it from you, you have made a deep wound in it, it makes me think in all my dreams of the injustice which I suffer at your hand, and you had utterlie lost any friend, that had been lesse firm then my selfe; by putting him to such a hazard. Wherefore Sir, for all the revenge that I desire for the injurie which I have received, take it not amisse, that I give you this advice, that you give lesse credit hereafter to another, and more to your selfe; that you would be more jealous of those opinions that you have conceived upon your first acquain­tance of a businesse, and lesse affected to the rumors of the Citie, which are not grounded upon any solid foundation. You should consider the place from whence these quaint Newes have travelled; weigh the circumstances of the thing, examine by what spirit the accuser was led thereunto: and not examine his person onely, and passion, and inte­rests; but also the deservings of the party accused, his manner and behavior of life, and his former actions: suspend your judgement at leastwise, until time shall give you a more exact & particular informa­tion of businesses; otherwise you shall never want disquiet and vexati­on, [Page 38] and you should thus but feed upon suspicion and distrust, which are verie unwholsome viands. Men must not send you relations of whatsoever an undiscreet friend or some rude sturdie servant, or such and such a Neighbor shall report unto — they must have more care of the tranquillitie of your minde; and likewise for your part, you must not sweare unto the testimonies of all the Informers, that have a plot upon your credulitie, and take pleasure in the pain and exercise which they put you unto. If you allow an open gate for all tales and suggestions to enter in, they will throng into your house apace, and first come, first heard. To day, they will inform you (and perhaps with specious colours too) that your Privadoes do divulge your secrets; and to morrow that your Domesticks do rob and rifle you; and at last that all the world is your enemy, and all private conferences, are but conspiracies against you. I conjure you Sir, for your own peace, not to give so much credit to those things which do no way concern Re­ligion, nor to abandon your self to those Relators, who pretend to dispel melancholie, when they are fit for nothing but to whisper fol­lies into your eares, and to calumniate with a good grace: make a distinction betwixt the fraudulent Arts of Parasites and the freedom of ingenious men; between those that adore Fortune, and those that re­gard nothing but Vertue. For my part, I declare freelie unto you, that if Monsieur the — were rais'd again, and would commit his omnipo­tencie to your hands, I should not do that to regain your favor, what I do now perform in regard of our friendship. At leastwise I should be more stern and stubborn (then I am) in my displeasure, and more obstinate in seeking to you, and lesse solicitous of the event of my seeking. But I have not yet the skill to complie with the times, and to be still on Fortunes side; J professe such an austere honestie and good­nesse that is not of the present times. J would take a pleasure to be a Companion of my friend in exile, and be his fellow prisoner, J would runne under his Ruine to bear it off, when J could not help him to stand fast and subsist. Your Fortune being so well established as it is, doth not require any such proof and tryal of fidelity. But it is cer­tain that you cannot desire of me any experiments of love so hazardous, but I would willinglie undergoe them with pleasure for your sake, and testifie unto you that I am (beyond comparison) more then all my Informers.

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 7. June 1633.

To Monsieur de Serizay. LET. XXXII.

SIR, There is no way to beare any longer with the contumacy of your silence, I have sent this Messenger of purpose to make you speak, and to tell you (though with some distaste to you) that you have lost your memorie; and that is no lesse then the third part of your soul. So that there remain but the understanding and the will, wherein I have (perhaps) some nook and seat. You have promised me wonders, and performed just nothing; you did owe me a visit im­mediatly after your voyage to Sainctes, and since that, you might have gone to Rome and come back again. You see here great cause of dis­content; neverthelesse I am so facile, that if you would but bereave your selfe of the pleasures of the Court for three or four dayes, I would seal you a general Pardon for all that is past, and account you as honest a man as ever I did before. While I expect this reasonable sa­tisfaction which you cannot denie me, be pleased to acquaint my Lord the Duke of Rochefoucaut that Monsieur de Nantes is extreamlie troubled that he cannot receive the honor which he would willinglie pay him by comming to visit him in these parts. He expects this morning some tidings from my Lord, the Duke of Espernon for to render himself where he shall appoint him to finde him; and I look upon him as upon a blessing which I expect to lose everie moment. If he were not preparing to Masse he would gnifie unto him his discontents himself, and the earnest desire he hath to make his Son one of the Lu­minaries of our Church. He findes the businesse so for advanced, that there will be no great difficultie to effect the rest, and that his Ex­traction is so happie, that a little cultivation will produce rare and excellent fruits. Do me the favor as to deliver to Monsieur his eldest Son the Panegyricke framed for the King of Sueden, together with the Letter which I wrote the last Summer to poor —. This is not to re­commend unto him the memorie of her: I know that she is infinite­ly deare unto him: nor to put him into any affright; for men of his sort do apprehend nothing but dishonor. I desire only that he should see that my poor judgement doth sometimes jump with good understandings, and that I had the honor to be his Rivall in one passion that he hath harbored. If you do not send me by my Man the Discourse of — garnished with Notes and Commentaries, I shall [Page 40] have a new cause of quarrel; and do not you think that I betake my self to Monsieur — for them, this is an Oracle (indeed) that is al­wayes readie to answer, but I feare me, that you have not alwayes devotion enough to consult with him. Adieu Sir, I am absolutelie

Balzac 30. May 1633.
Your, &c.

To Monsieur Habert, Abbat of Cerizy. LET. XXXIII.

SIR, I believe that you will not be offended with a Petition that this Bearer shall commence unto you in my behalf. Your good­nesse carrieth you so far at to love your Persecutors; and you have entertained so favourablie my first importunities, that I stand not now in feare, of making motions. If you had given me, the repulse at first, you had taught me the vertue of discretion, and provided better for your own quietnesse. But the force of example is dangerous: the evil doth suddenlie insinuate and growe familiar, and treads oft that way, which it was wont to measure. So that I think that I have now some colour of justice to torment you; and it is habitual unto me to abuse a thing, when I have not found difficultie enough to make me use it with moderation. I shall continue Sir, an importunate Begger till you forget to be generous: and do no doubt; but I knowe how to make use of a good so diffusive and beneficial, as in your Amitie. You shall travel to day for the good of my estate, because there is a Coun­cel; and to morrow for the good of my soul, because there is a Sermon; that I may acknowledge you my friend, for my spiritual as well as temporal good, and that you may receive my thanks, both in this and the other world. That which you are to pronounce with gracefulnesse of action, and cannot well be communicated in wri­ting, hath notwithstanding alreadie given me infinite delight upon paper. I have never seen our Mysteries illustrated with so much light of eloquence, nor Reason so succesfullie imployed in the service of Faith, nor Christian Moralitie better season'd, to make it relish well in profane palates. But in this particular, I would fain be lesse behold­ing to you, that I might have the more freedom, and be able to assure you (without any supposition of engagement, or sign of acknowledge­ment) that I admire all your Muses universallie, both the politer and the severer ones; both those that can compose Hymnes and Anthems, [Page 41] and sing the praises of our Saviour Christ: and those that can resolve Problems, and deal in Christian learning. I bid you good day, and remain with all my soul

Sir,
Your &c.
Paris 29 April 1636.

To Monsieur De Gaillard. LET. XXXIV.

SIR, Be of good courage, and start not at the opening of my packet; I do assure you beforehand, that it is not my Ghost that talks to you, and that the Letter that I write unto you, doth not come from the other world. The rumor which was scattered concer­ning my death, hath not killed me; and I am yet, (since it is the plea­sure of God) a witness of his works, and an Adorer of his power. I have ere this, received the alarm of the like newes; but I am no longer credulous to dreams and presages; my soul doth not labor with those popular infirmities: And I do consent with that Grecian, that all the wishes of enemies, all the imprecations of Poets, and all the false bruits of Fame, are not able to bring on our destiny one houre the sooner. There is a Gentleman in Gascoigne, who is chronicled to have been slain in the battle of Yury; and he is yet verie well notwith­standing, and means to live long. I am Sir, of the same humor too, and confesse to you that I do not much hate my life, though I have little cause to love it. Your Stationers indeed did not believe this: they have handled me as though I had been dead indeed, and have magined withall, that they be my rightful Heyres ex asse, having eized upon the first papers of mine that they could meet with. I am omething apprehensive of this injury, and it should grieve me if Monsieur — should be the Author of it; because I should then en­dure it with more impatience yet. To say truth, if this be not to wound and violate (downright) the Law of Nations, it is (at least) to deflowre and taint it: and you will confesse with me, that it could not be pleasing unto me, that the — should be publisht without asking my consent thereunto. Had it been so, I should not have been perhaps very averse, and I should have desired him onely to alter something for my sake, and something for his own. For though his understanding be passing good, yet you know well, that our Grammatians do not al­low his stile for regular; and though their scruples be ill groun­ded, [Page 42] yet they must be considered. That which I would fain have changed, and where I thought I had some small interest, was one word, which nay ancient Enemie had alreadie miserablie mangled; and which, (not wanting spirit and life in its natural place) doth re­semble those delicate plants, which die as soon as they be transplant­ed from their own banks. But remedie comes now too tardie. I must comfort my selfe against this, as well as other injuries. This is but dallying to former wrongs; and such pinches should well be born with, by a man that never useth to complain of Treasons and Assassi­nates. For your satisfaction Sir, let it suffice that I have a perfect knowledge of your wisdom and honestie, and that I would trust you with my life, my honor, and my fortunes. If I had had so base a thought as to suspect you in this dealing, I should believe that I were bound to do penance for my suspition. I know that you are everie way virtuous, and my firm friend, as I am verie reallie

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 10. Jan. 1634.

To the same — LET. XXXV.

SIR, J have received your incomparable Book: in the which (af­ter a long and tedious perusal) my Grammer could finde no con­struction, nor my Logick common sense. This is not the first time that that poor Wit hath strayed so. He hath been this long time ridiculous without being facetious, and hath been a laughing-stock to the vul­gar, and an object of pitty to the wise. The late Monsieur — did use to call him the greatest enemy that ever Reason had, between Cales and Bayonne; and said, he was a fool in two Sciences, and in four Languages. Neverthelesse, if our friend shall think him worthie of some traces of his pen, let us indulge him that exercise, with this pro­visoe, that he be not violent, and that he put not himselfe to a heat; that (if it please him) he do not deal seriously with him, or arm him­selfe at all points, against an Adversary that deserves not any encoun­ter but with pins. As for the — you wrong your selfe, for to mis­trust the moderation of my spirit. In the estate that I have ordered and setled it in, I have lesse passion then the King of the Stoicks, and I [Page 43] must be excited for eight dayes together, to the crueltie of hearing any man whatsoever, for one half an houre▪ It is not my intention to write against Monsieur — but to discourse with him; and I have not so little wit, but that I can distinguish his person from his cause. He hath obliged me with so good grace, and spoken of me in such high language and sumptuous terms, that I cannot doubt of his re­spect, or his affection towards me. And he shall likewise see my re­sentment of it, through the whole file of my discourse; wherein I am resolved to temper my self so discreetlie, that if I perswade him not to my opinion, I shall not make my proceedings odious; and if I do not rest satisfied with what he faith, I shall contradict him but ob­liquely, and with a kind of Biasse, which shall not be distastful unto him. This will be (perhaps) the first example of modestie, that hath been heard of among the disputants of this age; and we will demon­strate to those of that side, who talk outragiouslie in Problems of small importance; that the altercations of honest men are without choler, and that generous enemies live better together then malicious Burghers. For the rest Sir, I desire you to continue the pains that you have begun, and to send me wherewith, J may fortifie all the Ap­proaches that are liable to assault and batterie. I shall feare nothing, being strengthned with so powerful succors; and you will justifie my cause if it be good, or give it a colour of justice, if it be not so. See what an enterprise it was in you to love me: You could never have conceived a more pernicious design for your selfe. It will repent you more then once, and you will renounce at anytime (I am sure) the sory purchase which you have made in the acquaintance of a trouble­some man. Neverthelesse, he is one that is most affectionatelie

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 20, March. 1634.

To Madam Desloges. LET. XXXVI.

MAdam, It is now three moneths that I have expected Monsieur de Auvila, that I might be informed of the state of your health: But having latelie understood that it is not so currant as I could wish it, and mine being not so firm, that I could adventure up­on a journie, I have dispatched one towards you to learn the truth [Page 44] thereof. It will be an incredible ease to my mind, if I finde that it was be a false alarm, or that your sicknesse by this time be over past. I do hope for one of the two (Madam,) because I do passionately desire it, but I beseech you to believe that it is long of my crazie body that I am no sooner cleared of my fear, and rid of the pain you put me to; and that you do not see me in person instead of the Messenger that I have sent. He hath in charge to present you with my fine Cuts or small Ingravery, which I have newly received from Paris; I thought meet to send you this dumb visit, that it might not oblige you to any complement that might put you to trouble; you do receive (indeed) more troublesom ones, sometimes; And if the fullenness of my countenance be an object of bad presage, you will confesse that the perpetual silence that doth accompany it, is a great Commodity: at leastwise it can never be offensive to you, since it leaves you still at quiet, and demanding no ceremony from you, it must perplex you lesse then the Antiquities and Originals of La Marche, and Limousin. Finally Madame, it lyeth in you to preserve your bounties for me, and maintain me in my possession. I know that Monsieur de Alle is of in­finite value, and I believe I cannot loose him, since it was you that gave him me; you have too good a hand to do any thing that should not last, and there is no accident that can menace and shake that friendship, whereof vertue is the cause, and you the Mediatrix. I esteem that of this rare Personage as a treasure, and I would be well pleased, that he should know by your means, that I admire the elo­quence of his Degmatical and peaceable Divinity, though I do not subscribe unto the Doctrine of his polemical writings. I most humbly kisse your hand, and remain

Sir,
Your, &c.
Balzac. 16. Jan. 1637.

To Monsieur De — LET. XXXVII.

SIR, Take pitty on a man that hath not the leasure to live, that is alwayes busie and alwayes sickly, whom a thousand griefs seize upon in his Chamber, and a thousand persecutions throng upon from without. Monsieur de — knowes it well that I am no dissem­bler, and will testifie unto you (I assure my self) that in the state that J am in, I can but admire those letters, to the which I should frame [Page 45] an answer. I avow unto you Sir, that it cost me some pains to deci­pher them. But yet I do not complain of my travel, which found most happy success. I have discovered infinite rarities under the rid­dles of your Scribe, and I did not mistake the graces, though He had begrimmed them all over. I send them back to you, since it is your request, and yet notwithstanding I cease not to detain them; my me­mory is not so unfaithful, but it preserves the better part of your fair compositions, as well as of your excellent conversation. It is certain that this gave me some gusts and appetites which I never had, before you came hither. I am not good Sir, but by your goodness, and if I have any degree of holy heat in me, it is neither proper nor natural unto me, I have it from your communication. You are at this day one of those Authors whom I cite still with a grace and an Emphasis: I do arm my self with your reasons against the enemies of truth, and you are all my French Divi­nity. What a harvest might be reapt (think you) of devour meditati­ons, and spiritual Treatises from lesse seed then are your Discourses and Letters? A man might extract from them more sap and juice then from many Quaáragesimall. Sermons of Spanish Postillers, and were they but a little amplified, they might serve for compleat Apologies of Christian Doctrine, and solid refutations of unsound Philosophie. Your acquaintance then is no small purchase, and I owe you more th [...]n vulgar thanks for it. But since you desire none other but my edificati­on: instead of minting fastidious complements for you, I will labor to put your wholsome counsels to practise. I will become a good man if I can, that you may be celebrated in my works, being not con­tented with words. The curing of a disease doth sufficiently proclaim the soveraignty of the remedy; and it is a far better way to magnifie your stile by performing actions of vertue, which it doth propose as its end, then to cry out Euge at every period. There is no hopes to go beyond this. Remember me if you please in your Sacrifices, that is, love me effectually, after your way, since I am after mine, and that very sincerely

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 30. Decemb. 1636.

To Monsieur Girard, Official of the Church of Angoulesme. LET. XXXVIII.

SIR, Your favor: have exhausted my thanks, I cannot chuse but acquaint you, that I do repossesse my old pieces again, and that your love is still ingenious in obliging those whom you affect. I doubt not but that the courtesies that I have received from Monsieur de — are the effects of your testimonies of me; and I must ascribe all the con­tentment that I have received thereby to your preparation and in­duction. There is no subject so vile and mean but gains price by your estimation. You have found the trick or secret to make objects swell beyond their proportion ad infinitum; and to stamp a man Illustrious, though of a very abject condition. I came to know him by the civili­ties of —, which are far different from the brevadoes of —. Are not these the most tyranical spirits in the world? that should say that I could hinder, that any Books should be written or published, at a hundred leagues distance? that is, that I should maintain an Agent in all the Printing-houses of France, that should prevent the publication of Antiphilarkes. These Messieurs that have handled me in such a sort, that fire and poyson would seem to an Italian too gentle tortures to revenge their crueltie, are at this time, offended (for sooth) that I should be furnished with so much as a Buckler, and that I should be offered a Sanctuarie. They demand a reason of me why a man, whom I never knew, should take compassion on Innocence opprest, and could not endure the noise and insolence of their false triumphs, which I should not do neither, dear Friend, if I would give vent and libertie to my grief, and that nature suffered not in the suppression of so just complaint. And yet I must continue to do her violence, and deserve the approbation of Monsieur our Prelate. I beg from you his good fa­vors, and desire you both to believe that I am affectionatelie

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 20. March. 1633.

To the same — LET. XXXIX.

Sir, It is not your will that I sollicite, but your Memory. For a­midst the presie of businesse of the whole Province, which you do willinglie take the charge of, mine happilie may slip out of your me­morie without your fault. The importance is, to commence it with an opinion that it is feasible, and with a resolution to carrie; for if rea­son be urged timorouslie, and if a man do not descend streight from generalities to particulars, a thousand journies unto the — will not be worth one; and we should but take much pains to little pur­pose. Monsieur de — shall pardon me, if I do not finde my selfe ei­ther hardlie, or strong enough to undertake the work which he hath done me the honor to design me for; and for such a taske, a more peaceable and happy retreat, and a more practis'd and expert quill then mine, are requisite. I have used my hand and minde to write but toyes, and things unnecessarie. For the future, I purpose not to write any works of supererogation, but what the Church prescribes, and God doth reckon as meritorious. I am extreamlie troubled at my Cousins mischance, and the burning of his Study. He cannot chuse but be ve­rie sensible of this losse, since it was the chiefest part of his wealth, and thereby sa [...] the Issues of his brain perish before his face, without be­ing able to redresse it. This must be his comfort, that he is young and laborious, and that Fortune cannot ravish from him those true Gods which he is Master of. The losse of a vessel is not valued, if the Pilot be saved; and Captains have been seen to triumph after the losse of ma­ny Armies. Miser & nudus Imperator invenit exercitum Our Advocate is more cruel then the warre, and more severe then justice: He hath slain in his Letters my Lord the Marshal of — and my Lord the Duke of —, who are yet alive to pardon him. Tell him (if you please) that he do not traffick any more in such newes, for he will be recko­ned among the fabulous Authors else, and men will take me for bad intelligence. I know well that he is not suretie for the newes that flies abroad, but he is answerable for the asseveration wherewith he doth recommend them unto me; and he must talk of something that is not knowe, or at leastwise with the cautious form of the Poets, when they [Page 48] say, ni faema est, ut perhibent, si eredere dignum est, I bid you good even, and remain perfectlie

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 4. Feb. 163 [...].

To the same — LET. XL.

YOur friend doth not well to take the Alarm, since it is not I that gave it him. I was never used to promise but with an intention to perform; and those that have soveraign power over me, have not power enough to make me falsifie my word. As for those idle con­templators that talk according to their fancy, concerning the occasion of my Voyage; I do not think it any part of their office to render an account of my actions; I ever thought that the liberty of going and coming was tolerated, as lawful in this Kingdom; and when a man departed out of Paris, he was not bound to publish a Manifesto, to make it known to all the world. It is not without reason that Monsieur de St [...]ben doth much esteem the eloquence of M [...]ffeus. The late Monsi­eur Scaliger, who was none of the best friends the Jesuites had, did so befo [...]e him; and see here one trace of his pen concerning it, in one of his Letters. M [...]ffaeùt ille quisquis est, vir elequentissimus est, ambitiosae taemen magis quam cast gatae facundiae. He commends him (you see) though not without exception, yet in my judgement without envy; since in this particular the most Intelligent of the Society concur with him in the same opinion, and namely the Historiographer of the Low-country warres, who in his Dialogues, speaks of him thus; though it be in the person of another: Miratus sum florem & numeros O [...]ationis. Dixi Scriptorem mihi videri non hujus aevi, sed è veteri illo Ordine & q [...]t tem Patricio Historicorum. Nihil uspiam incultum neglectum (que) con­e [...]nnae perfectá (que) omniae; nisi forie eo peccat, quòd nihil peccat, nam & in­genium Scriptoris avxium apparet interdum, & dictio videtur exquisita ad sonum, eum (que) famili moduletione crebrò fusum. Quare monui ut orationis culturam saepius [...]b [...]ntius (que) dissimularet, nec verbae itae trajiceret quasi com­plementa numerorum. I am yet in the same state, that you left me in at parting, but that I have still the same malady, though not the same consolation. My Ague visits me every night, though (indeed) not in the same pomp and ceremony as it used, when its accesses were regu­ [...]ar. But yet, it doth still handle me rudely, and I do much fear the [Page 49] consequence of this custom. Come Sir, and exorcize this evil spirit out of my body, by the infusion of some mirth into my minde, and think not that I can receive any true joy, being so far distant from you. I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
Balzac. 7. April 1635.

To the same — LET. XLI.

SIR, Since it is impossible to withstand it, I have sent you the Letter, that you desired to see. But you shall read it (if you please) to your own ears onely, that it may not awake Envie And that some Philarchus do not over-hear you. Loe here withall, the three lines of Cardinal Bentivolio's Letter, which you did so often demand of me, and which I can no longer deny you without incivility. Di nuovo prego V. Stia a ringratiar, &c. I do again intreat you to thank Monsieur Balzac in my name, and by the same opportu [...]ity to make him an ample te­stimony of my great affection towards his deserts; and tell him this withall, that no pen doth more discourage me then his, for I see too well how farre it doth surpasse mine. I must confess that in this particular, to do me grace he hath been unjust to himselfe, and that the same motion of humility that prompts Princes of his rank and parent [...]ge to wash poor mens feet, hath moved him to use me so respectively. Neither do I pretend to take a pride in it; but yet I think, it will not be denied, but that I may derive some comfort from it. And (indeed) it seems that the goodness of this brave Worthy, would needs make me amends for the malice of my Adversaries. These few lines do weigh down the swelling Volums of my Opponents, and I shall use no other refutation of all that hath, or shall be written against me. For the present Sir, I am not of that mans opinion who censures that passage, La noire mere des estoiles; the Poet that so stiles the night, is not so bold and rash as the Grammarian supposeth, that reprehends him. And if this be as he saith, a Gasconisme, Tibollus was a Gascon when he said, ‘Ludite, jam Nox jungit equos: currumque sequuntur Matris lascivo sydera fulva choro.’ The Night there is mother of the starres; as in another Poet the Nurse of them.

[...].
Nox, aurcorum furva nutrix syderum.

[Page 50]Our Man writes to me oft enough, but he puts me to hereafter in all his Letters; and doth ever promise what he never performs. Never­thelesse I do believe, that He will certifie me by the first Poste touch­ing the event of that businesse which makes you so anxious, and I will not sail to impart unto you the newes, as soon as ever the Carrier bringeth them, I am

Sir
Your &c.
Balzac 20. July 1632.

To Madamoisell de Campagnole. LET. XLII.

MY deare Niece, You did not well, that you did not keep that Houry Chaplet, which I had the favor to receive from your Lackey; the winter would not have budded but for you, and by con­sequence you should have better valued this favor, and managed your Roses more sparinglie. They should have been bestowed about your temples, for an honor to its pregnancie, and not have been bestowed on an Hermit: for this were to hide a miracle. J see well your drift herein, you would needs be liberal in a time of scarcitie; and lose your own right, that you might please my passion with something; which is so much affected with true and lively flowers: which J do term so, because the other, which men do so much esteem, having not any odour which animates, are in my judgemrnt but fair Pictures, or specious Carkasses. But J beseech you to resolve me one scruple that doth trouble me; and ease me of my perplexitie. Tell me, was this because there be some alreadie, or because there be some yet left? are these remainders, or fore-runners? was it the last spring that was tardie, or the new that is hastie and forward? loe here a Problem worthie to be discussed by the Philosophers of your Sexe, and it would not be amisse to propose it to Her whom you speak of, for to have her resolution. I professe, that if she be verie expert, she is a ve­rie dissembler, for I could never discover her to this houre. She hath such a heavie dull apprehension, that a man had need interpret twice or thrice over what ever he speaks to her. It were easier to converse with a deaf woman, and I would chuse rather to make my self under­stood by a Cornet, then to be my own Interpreter. Yet if this stupiditie be without malice, it is more tolerable then malicious cunning. God permits himselfe to be intreated, (sometimes) by a simple thumping [Page 51] of the breast, and often rejects eloquent and loud prayers. It is a mi­serable light, that whose glorie and lustre flowes from vice onelie, and yet is not offensive to great men. A good Beast is of more worth than a bad Angel. This is the upshot of all (my deare Niece) that you must lay a foundation of bountie, upon which it is allowed you to raise a Structure of other vertues, that are more high, and more glorious. You did not stand in need of this lesson, but I would needs fill up my pa­per, before I would put a period, and tell you that I am

Your, &c.
Balzac. 15. Dec. 1637.

To Monsieur the Abbat of Rois-Robert. LET. XLIII.

SIR, The world is full of darstardlie friends, but you are none of this world. You can love daringly and resolutelie; and I see that my injuries are (commonlie) more apprehended by you, then by my selfe; neverthelesse I am much vexed with the language which you received from Messieurs the — These are men that do understand too well the points of honor, for to give me any satisfaction; and for my part, I carrie so much goodnesse about me, as to demand nothing from them but my life. I never believed that their Superior had pro­mised me nothing. If he hath left them no other debts to pay but this, they have great cause to commend him for his good providence and thrift. In the mean while, I cannot dissemble my sorrow to you for his death, nor forget to tell you, that in all his ill carriages to­wards me, he hath never done me a greater affront then this, to die. If I had some particular Revelation concerning it, or if he had adver­tised me thereof by the Spirit of Prophecie, which is spoken of in his Elegy, he should have seen his prating long since condemned, and should not have carried away into the other world, that great opini­on of sufficiencie, which his fraternitie did sooth him with. For the other extravagant Doctor, which you mention, it would not be accep­table to God Almightie, that I should undertake his reformation; it were needful to create him anew, for to amend him. It were no mean enterprise but to examine his book, and to make a breviaty of all the absurd things therein contained. I would chuse as soon to be condemned to be a Scavenger for the streets of Paris, and to carrie a­way [Page 52] all the dirt out of that little world. His impertinencies are infi­nite, and would puzzle a better Arithmetician then I am to calculate them, and he that would go about to count them,

Conterà ancorae in sùl'ombraso desso &c.

Will count the Trees on top of shady Appennine
Assoon: or waves, when windes do chafe the curling Brine.

If this Bearer shall stand in need of recommendation to the Councel, I doubt not, but knowing his name, and what a share I bear in his interests, you will effectually assist him for love of me, who am more then any man in the world;

Sir,
Your, &c.
Balzac. 30. Jan. 1629.

To the same — LET. XLIV.

SIR, I am (ever this moneth) confined to my bed, where I re­ceived your Letter directed from Roan. To read there the conti­nuation of your sickness, could not (you must think) be any asswage­ment of mine. I bestow a thousand curses upon the waters of Forges, for impairing your health. Propertius hath not been more liberall, or bestowed more upon the Baia that killed Angustus his Nephew. But a main difference is, that this man was a Poet, and did but act grief: but I am truly afflicted; and true friendship doth really suffer more then flattery can personate. I am very sorry that — hath not de­meaned himself towards you so well as he should have done; and if you have resolved upon his ruine, I do not mean to step in between him and it, and undertake his protection. I do ever side with all your passions without premeditation; and that man that doth not please you, hath no allurements so powerful, as can render him pleasing to me: neverthelesse, if this mans offence were venial, and your justice could be satisfied; I would adventure to beg his pardon, and would become his surety, that he should willingly undergoe all the punish­ments that you would inflict upon him, to regain your favor. There are some businesses between us, that force me to dissemble a little, and do not permit an apparent runture, if there come not from you an ex­press order to the contrary But being once freed out of this turmoil, [Page 53] if he be so unlucky as to offend you again, I declare unto you that I do even now renounce him; and I had rather forget my obligations to him, then to carry affections repugnant to yours. Your Cousen is too generous to oblige (so nobly) a man whom he never knew; and I had rather believe, that his esteem of me, is but the consequence of your love, then to imagine it to be an apprehension of any merit in me. I do purpose a voyage beyond the Seas the next year; If I take ship at Diepe, as I hope to do, I shall not fail to go and kisse His hands at Roan; and to make him see that the Monster, that Father Goulie speaks of, is a tame Beast, (at least) and capable of knowledge. If I did exceedingly rejoyce at the news, when a Canonship was bestowed upon you, I forgot how far this Dignity was below your deserts. It sufficeth me, that I give you some testimony that I am not sorry for it; and that I consider it (as in the croud) among other Benefices that shall fall upon you; knowing that some few mens lives (that be not yet dead) are the onely obstacles to your Vertues. I expect by the first Post, some better news concerning your health, and ever remain with all my soul

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 10 May 1634.

To the same. LET. XLV.

SIR, Your last Message did give me exceeding content, and though I am well assured of your affection towards me, yet I take a singular delight to read in your Letters that you love me. These be words, whose fragrancy time cannot weare away; and which will be as pleasant to me many years hence, as when they were first spoken. I am (indeed) ravished with your last Protestaetions: But I rejoyce with you the rather, for the felicity of this new age, since you are in part the cause of it, and that by your suggestions, Monsieur — doth purpose to allot a considerable Tenement of lands for the relief of poor and disconsolate Muses. We shall see this year Sonnets and Odes, and Elegies enough. The Almanack doth promise wonderful plenty, and Parnassus must not yield lesse then it did under the Pontificate of Leo the Tenth. For you Sir, if you believe me, you shall never take pen in hand again, but in case of necessity, and onely that commerce may not decay. Hitherto you have been a Horace, now you [Page 54] a [...]e Mecenaes; and if we do not celebrate you (everie Scribler of us) and addresse our Works, both in prose and verse to you, you have just cause to indict us of ingratitude. For my part, I would willinglie both live and die under your patronage; and I do provide an oration for you in genere demonstrative; wherein (at the first salute) I shall a­stonish the world with this great prodigie. That you are both a compleat Courtier, and a perfect friend. Since you would absolutely have it so, that I come to Paris, it is to you, that I shall make my most frequent resorts to do my respects; and it is in your Cabinet that I shall (by your good leave) redeem the time which I have lost in the Countrie, but we must give place (a while) to the anger of storming Jove; or to speak the language of men, we must permit it to rain and freeze in Beausse; and not go to outbrave the moneth of February. I have no great need to die out of too much daring. My health is still verie in­firm and unconstant; and if I did not take incredible care, (I say not to preserve my person, but onelie to continue my sleeps) you had lost me a great while since. Since I am whollie yours, you will allow me the use of this word, and take it not ill, that I reckon my selfe in the number of those things, that are not to you indifferent. You have infinitelie obliged me in assuring Monsieur the Count of — of the continuance of my zeal and fidelitie. I have made him so eminent and publick a ma [...]ke, that as I can never recant it, so can he never suspect it. I omit a thousand things that I should tell you of: but this will be imployment for the next week: and I am forced to conclude that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
Balzac. 10 Feb. 1632.

To Monsieur de Savignac. LET. XLVI.

SIR, Either I have not well interpreted my selfe, or Monsieur de — hath not well understood me. I do ever value the me­rits of Madam de Anguitar, and if it must be, that I must (by a second act) confirm that testimonie which J have given of her, J am readie to declare my self anew, and to commend once more a Lady that is [Page 55] so praise-worthy. It is true, that for the interest of her honor, it will be something material, to understand the cause that made my intentions to be misconstrued, and that I lead you to the verie source of this jealousie; whereas, it seemed to certain Cavaliers, my friends, that J did too much approve of her singular humor, and frequent retirings, one of the most eloquent of them took a fancie to publish his dislike in this point; and to write a reproachful Letter unto me in the name (as he saith) of the whole Corporation of honest men. Wherein he pro­claimes open warre against me in their name, as though I had con­spired against fair Society; and calls me the Common enemy; the uni­versally jealous man, the Tyrant to both sexes. He doth imagine that it is my intent to shut up in prison all fair and delectable things, for to punish curious eyes. He cries out, that I would fain abrogate the sweetest lawes of this Realm, and bring in the crueltie of that custom in Spain, where honest women are mewd up in Cages, and honest men adore but doors and windowes. From Madrid, he passeth to Con­stantinople, and tells me in a great rage, that I am good for nothing but to be a Counceller of the great Turk, for to advise him to raise the walls of the Seraglio higher, and to double the Guard of the Sultana; Then he doth accuse me for a thousand mischiefs, and takes me for Him that invented the iron grates, the locks the vails and maskes: and for the author of all those things that oppose his intrusion and saucy curiositie. Insomuch that he imagines that I must render him a reason of the secrets and difficulties of all riddles; of the darkness of all ancient Oracles; of the Allegories of Poets, and of the Mysteries of all Religions. To make answer to farre lesse then this, it behoved me to studie a long Apologie; and (as ill luck was) when I received his Letter, I was not in the humor of making Books. Where­fore Sir, I professe to you trulie, I chose rather to yield then defend my selfe, and abandon my Maxims to the verbosity of my good friend, rather then maintain them with the expence of so many words as he did plie them with: But if J be not deceived, there is a good deal of difference between my Maxims and the praises of Madam d' Anguitar; and he must take heed of confounding in the design that J have, that which I have distinguished in the Letter which I wrote unto Her. To say that She is one of the Perfections of the world, is an immoveable truth, for which I would sight all my life time: But to say that such Perfections must be sequestered from the eyes of men, is (I suppose) a probematical opinion, which I may revoke without prejudice to my own constancie, or to the worth of these Perfections. But on the con­trarie, most will be apt to believe, that this will be sufficient amends, and just satisfaction for the injurie I did them, in condemning them to solitude and retirednesse; and will call it their revoking from exile [Page 56] and releasing out of bondage. Thus Sir, I preserve still my first Design; and my commendations remain whole and intire among the ruines of my Maxims. Nay out of their demolitions, Trophies might be erected to the honor of Madam d' Anguitar, and a Theater built, where she might be gazed upon, by those that can but divine & guesse at Her; and that the Desart might no longer have such advantage over the City. This is not then to rebel against her Vertues, but to wish Her a more spacious Empire, and a greater number of Subjects then She hath had, nor to go about to eclipse her light, but to adjudge, that She should issue forth out of the Clouds, for the benefit and comfort of the Vni­verse. I pitty those Criticks that take it otherwise; and am sorry that Monsieur — is fallen upon a thought so far distant from mine He might have understood me well enough, without putting me to the pains of interpreting my self; and might have seen (moreover) that though in this occasion I would not at all consider the interests of another, yet I should have considered my own at least. Doth he ima­gine that I could have been perswaded to spoil at one dash, one of the dearest issues of my brain? and to bereave my selfe of the acknow­ledgements of one of the greatest Personages of the world, who thinks her selfe in some measure beholding unto me? I am no such e­nemy to my self, or so prodigal of the good that I have acquired. I do not mean to throwe dirt upon that piece, where I have bestowed so many and so rich colours; and believe not you, that I would have razed out (being thereunto intreated by none) those words that did no way mislike me; you that know how Heliodorus denied to do the like, though earnestly solicited thereunto, by a whole Councel. If you do me the honor as to make a journey to morrow to Balzac, I will tell you more; though negociating with an understanding so serene as yours, I think I have spoken enough already concerning it. This is

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 26. March 1637.

To Monsieur Chapelain. LET. XLVII.

SIR, I am newly out of a fit of an Ague; and though the shaking and tossing be past, yet it is not yet calm. My head is so numbed, and deafned with yesterdayes tempest, that I am for no reasonable use; and in the estate that I am, I am not fit for any society. Never­theless, [Page 57] there is no way to put off so just an office as this to another time, and (though with hazard of incongruities, and offending a­gainst Grammer Rules) you must receive from me these three or four ragged lines. You have obligations upon me, both new and old, which cannot by me be sufficiently acknowledged. I am ashamed to be beloved so much, and deserve it so little; and if you be not con­tented with an honest heart, I can offer you nothing worthy so noble and pure affection as yours. The last Letter which you did me the honor to write unto me, hath given proof thereof beyond all questi­on; and I have kist each line thereof as so many traces or foot-steps of the golden Age, and so many Pictures of the sincerity of the old World. Your counsels are most wise and loyal, and I would most punctually render them obedience, if I were in case to do it. But be­sides that it is impossible to appease and conjure down Envy, and that I am too weak to grapple with it: Physitians do prohibit all study and labor of the spirits; and tell me, that I cannot meditate one half hower, without running the hazard of never meditating more. So that Sir, it is more expedient that my cause should perish then I; and that I should be beaten at Paris in my absence, then that I should die here in person You will (no doubt) be of my opinion, and since the occasion (which is presented) of dying, is none of the most glorious: you will not take it amisse if I make some more use yet of my life, to be

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac 30. Jan. 1632.

To the same — LET. XLVIII.

SIR, You do wrong to that Passion or regard which I bear towards you, to call it Civility: it deserves a better name then that; and we are not acquainted in the Countrey with those vertues, counte­nance and shew. I deal very seriously with my friends, and I speak nothing but what I mean to make good; and by the principles of ancient Philosophy, I do think that a Complement doth as much obliege me as a Contract. Think not then that I deal with you out of Commmon places: they are the true motions of my soul, which I shew you, and if J could exhibite my very soul, you would confess, that the expressi­ons of my tongue are far inferior to the Jdea by the which they [Page 58] were framed. It is you alone Sir, that can content those that demand satisfaction, and make my interests even what please you. I have nei­ther liberty nor election when I see the bent of your desire. Teare, burn, scatter the ashes of my books in the wind; I do submit them to all the rigor of your justice; Tibi in me, mea (que) aeternae authoritas esto. You are no more my Councellor but my Soveraign, and by conse­quence, deal not with me by Argumeurs and Remonstrances, but im­pose Lawes upon me, and prescribe Commands. You shall never finde a more docile and supple nature then mine, no not if you were to seek in Asia, that Countrey of perfect Slaves. Neverthelesse, I think that my humility will not take off the edge of persecution, but on the contrary, it will make my adversaries to swell and grow inso­lent: But I have comforts ready at hand against all the ill fortunes which I expect. Jn this, J desire onely the glory of obeying you. It is enough for me that J have shewed that friendship can do more with me, then Tyranny, and J would acknowledge your jurisdiction, when J might decline all other. J am

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 20. July. 1632.

To the same — LET. XLIX.

SIR, Hitherto I have beheld (without disturbance) all the as­saults of my enemies; and they have but scratcht some lines of my books, and at most have called to question some things of small consequence. But now that they wound me in the tenderest part of my heart, I profess to you, I begin to have some resentment. I cannot forgive them the injury they have done me, to raise jealousies, and make a breach between us two. And J have conceived such indigna­tion against this imposture, that it is impossible J should write unto you soberly and moderately. If J do not exercise vindicative justice, there is no reason I should desire it. That which doth most of all trouble me is, that I do run after a Fantas [...]se, and that I know not whom to lay hold upon. And truly, if there were any means to dis­cover this honest Secretary that was bestowed on me without my knowledge, I think it were very just to pay him his wages. However, [Page 59] here is a man that would gain a name by such an occasion; and do [...]h pronounce against him that terrible Arrest. Ligno pereat qui sumum vendidit. These men should be made an example; and whereof a ci­vil Society ought to be quickly purged. They are the most dangerous Theeves of all, that rob us of our friends: which be [...]oods, that should remain ours, after the losse of all other. I confess, that I have many infirmities, and am subject to erre a thousand wayes, but I am not ca­pable of an offence of that high nature that I am charged with; and the goodly Letter which you sent me a Copy of, carries neither my stile nor my Genius; nevertheless, your faith hath betrayed a weak­ness, and you have staggered a little upon the opening of this false Packet. Assure your self Sir, if I have forfeited your good opinion and favor, that I would not outlive so smart an affliction; and you may believe, that I do not rashly hazard a thing so precious as that. I make not onely sincerity and zeal the companions of my friendship: but discretion also and respect. The persons whom I love, are to me al­most most in the same degree of veneration, as those things which I adore▪ I approach them not but with awe, which accompanies Religion; and it is certain, that I am so fearful to attend them, that (least I should distast them with my sullenness) I do force and fain smiles when I am most sad. You shall know more of this in the progresse of my life; and avouch that I know how to practise those maxims, which I hold, and approve my selfe, with courage and constancy.

Sir
Your, &c.
Balzac. 1. March 1632.

To the same — LET. L.

SIR, Since I have arrived here, I have received the Letter, which you did me the honor to write unto me; which is, a continuation of your courtesies and bounty, and an entrance upon a commerce▪ where I must take all, and you give all. While I expect to make be­nefit of your Prose, I feast upon your verses, which have disrelisht all that I took for excellent before. I never saw boldness more discreet, cou­rage better maintained, or sweetness lesse effeminate. Th [...]se are Sir, wor­thy Harbingers of your Damsel. But you do her wrong to seem to doubt of her good Fate, and do not believe the auspicious omens tha [...] appeared at her Nativity, which promise long life. If you have pati­ence enough to consummate this work, all the rest is sufficient: your [Page 60] natural wit is strong and pregnant; you have the perfection of Arts; your Cabinet is a Magazin of O [...]naments and riches, to adorn the Subj [...]ct. What more is wanting to you? Be not nice any longer: you are condemned to go forward with it, except you mean to quit one passion for another, and abandon Poeter for the Politicks: wherein to tell you the truth, I believe you will prove admirable. I am of your opinion, that 1500 verses at one brea [...]h go farre; and that it would not be amisse, to set more reasonable bounds to every Book. But touching all this, you may consult with Vida & Francestorius; and if they be not of the same opinion, Scaliger may be the supernumerary▪ Our Doctor saith, that he hath not so much need of counsel as of aid, and since things past, fall not under deliberation, it is no time now, to know whether he hath err'd; he desires you only to teach him how to deny it with some fair p [...]obability, to perswade the people that Pericles is not fallen, though the people saw it. For my part, I am confident of the good success of all your enterprises. Having found the bel m [...]ivo in favor of the Poet Marini, there is no such Monster which you cannot shape and make handsom; and without doubt, you have such precious Oyle, that one drop thereof is sufficient to blanch a Moore. It is

Sir,
Your, &c.
Balzac. 1. Aug. 1632.

To the same — LET. LI.

SIR, My silence is not the effect of slouth; and you may believe that it is against my will that I deprive my self of the contentment that I took in entertaining you. The reasons that obliged me to si­lence, were more just then I wisht they had been; and a troublesom Defluxion which fell upon my eyes, hath failed to charge you with a blind friend: For in that case, I think you could not have chosen but to have been my Guid; and I did already make account to learn to sing, that I might chant your Poem. But (by the great mercy of God) I recovered my eye sight yesterday; and you are freed from the sad office, which my distressed Fortune might have required from your good nature, Now that I do speak, and do not rattle in the throat; I must give you an account of the voyage that I made; and I must tell you with as much ceremony and eloquence as heretofore, that I have been to meet the Court as farre as Cadilliac. [Page 61] I had the honor there, to do my respects to my Lord —. But his sick­ness that took him the very day that he arrived thither, and mine, which would wait no longer to attach me, did force me to take my way back to my V [...]llage, where I found your Messages, and my Cof­fers. I render you once more, most humble thanks for the care you took to keep them for me; and since you are pleased that I make use of you, with such familiarity, you must permit my thankful ac­knowledgement thereof. The newes you wrote unto me, concerning the sickness of — was told me at Bordeaux, when I was there; and I swear unto you, I have not slept a good sleep since. This is as good a man as ever I was acquainted with, and I do mainly esteem him; because I know him to the very heart, where (without faining) I have found nothing but what was noble, and (I dare speak it) magna­nimous. I know that his out side hath been displeasing to many; But men must not alwayes be judged by the lineaments of the face; and that aversation is unjust, which springs onely out of deformity. I do much wonder that two words which I have written to my Stationer, being half a sheep, are flown out of his shop already. I assure you I am no — nor do not use to put on severity in reading these kinds of Relatiosn. But (in truth) this here did give me much content; and though I meet with some passages that might be altered without any harm, and where a decorum was not so exactly observed as it might have been; nevertheless, (to speak in the general) the invention, to my thinking, was handsome, the narration neat and smooth, and the stile all favoring of the Court and Cabinet. When you have read it, I will think of it, as you shall pronounce the sentence; in the mean while, I use the liberty allowed in points not yet decided; and the interim, that you are too good to agree with me, until you have made the truth manifest unto me. For the Dutch Orator, remembered (as leastwise) that I spake nothing but touching his phrase, for I do infi­nitely esteem his learning and judgement. Be pleased therefore to manage this petty secret according to your ordinary prudence: since I am so unfortunate, that I cannot utter one word, but it will straight finde strange Glosses and Commentaries, and that there be people so charitable, as to stir up warre against me, and create me enemies in all parts of the world. I have never received the Letter of Monsieur de — neither, did I need them to assure me of his love. I know that he is good and noble; wherefore relying hereupon, it sufficeth me to understand that he is well; and it is not material to me, whether I learn this from him or from you. I forgot to tell you that J received from Monsieur the Duke of — many caresses and favors; he hath used me like some great Personage, or mighty Signor; and J have been his Favorite the space of four dayes. [Page 62] I desire no more, nor do I labor to promote my good fortune any far­ther, I am content to bound it Sir, with the [...]ruition of your good sa­vor, and I am most affectionately

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 1. Decemb. 1632.

To the same — LET. LII.

SIR, I have returned no answer to your Letter, in regard I have been combred ( [...]a [...]ely) with some dome­stick affaires, which would allow me no leasure to write; it is your Prerogative, to be able to intend several things at once: you in­joy a spirit so calme, that you can read a Dialogue in Plato, and dis­patch a dozen businesses too at once, with a resolve to die an houre after. For my part, one object is enough to imploy me, and it is im­possible for me to reconcile recreation and business. That which you tell me of Monsieur — is true. The Letter which he wrote unto me is an abrid [...]ement of all his Books; and I cannot return answer to it, though I would, but by the Messenger that goes the next year from Angoulesme. But though it hath been told you, yet be pleased not to believe it, that this Letter offende me, or that mine hath given any offence. Onely upon occasion of one little word, he took a hint to sport it after his ordinary manner, and to make a new shew of his old manner of boording We must be indulgent to our friends mirth, and give way a little to their jolly humor. Nay, a man ought not to doe his enemy all the discountesies he can; and to be very sensible of a wrong, is to add weight and measure to it. Satisfie your self▪ I pray, touching my spirit by these maxims of peace; and fear not that any man can raise my passions to an humor of contention. A thousand Chartels cannot tempt me to one D [...]el, and I can be more coward then the Hot-spu [...]rs of the times are quarrelsome. I fear not their strength nor subtlety, but I fear my own trouble, and I do infinitely love my R [...]st: Honour it selfe would seem unmannerly to me, if it came to disquiet it. And I would fain passe for an Incognito even in my own Province, and my own Village. You cannot believe how much I am fallen out with the world, and how distastful I am to my self. What was wont to tickle and please me, hurts me. An Almanack and an History I esteem alike. Those simple termes of stile, phrase, and period, are so harsh to my ears, that they make my head ake. If it were Gods will, that I should be sentenced to lose my good or bad Repu­tation, [Page 63] I mould resign it (with all my heart) to any that would desire it; and I have a desire to change my name, that I might not any more share in any thing that is spoken of Balzac, nor interesse my self either in the praises or dispraises that are bestowed on him. Is not this Sir, a pretty resolution? and which I should long since have undertaken. This is almost the panoplie of that Philosopher, that patiently took a box on the eare in a publick place at Corinth He professed he had a Hel­met toward future blowes, that if any should chance to give him an­other box, it might fall on an Iron f [...]ce, and not his. Apply this how you please; as for my part, I do but laugh at Rhetorick, and all its Tropes; and have nothing to do with that Art, which hath created me so many vexations. I am with all my soul

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 10. Ian. 1632.

To the same. LET. LIII.

SIR, God doth beset me on all sides, and sends me affl [...]ctions by Troops: To comfort me for the disease of Monsieur de — newes is brought me of that Monsieur de — so that I begin to make a con­science to love you, since my friendship is (in a manner) fatal to whomsoever I give it; and that I possess nothing but I lose it in a moment. But there is no need of doing bad offices about you, or to affright you with any Planet, whose malignity (I hope) you are able to correct. I passe it over therefore to tell you, that as long as Monsieur de — was here, I performed my part with wonderful assiduity, so that I was astonisht at it my selfe. We have had long and particular discourses upon all good subjects, and by consequence, you may be­lieve that you have not been forgotten. I never preach well, but when you are my Text. As I prize nothing more justly then your love, so I praise nothing more willingly then your vertue; and this subject pleaseth me so well that I never want words, if I do not want Auditors. Yet I do not pretend to engage you hereby. To reckon you in the number of Illustrious men, is onely to leave you in your own seat; and to say that the Damsel will be your work, is to say, that Pallas will issue out of the head of Jove. She is at this time the sweetest hope and expectation of honest leasure; She is the desire of the Cabinet, and will be the great labour of the French Muses. I have threatned (this long while) a voyage to Paris; which I intended of purpose to see it; [Page 64] and I hope to surprise you both together one day when you expect me not. But remember Sir, that even your purpose is a vow; and that you can have no such dispensation, that can take away all scruple, if you have a render conscience, and will believe some Divines (that I can name) concerning it. I cannot conclude my letter before I ac­quaint you, that I am ravished with the good opinion you bear to­wards my N [...]phew. I ascribe more to your predictions, then to them that make Horoscopes and calculate nativities; and the conjectures which your good judgement doth suggest, are more certain then those which they derive out of their Art. My Sister is so proud of the testimony you gave her, that she would have returned you a Com­plement; if she durst adventure to speak to you. But her respect did check her desire, and I have promised to excuse her silence; which (I know) you will pardon, because it will save you the pains to re­ply, we desire Sir, the continuation of your good admonitions to this gallant man; and doubt not, but a glance or caste of your eye now and then, will edifie him much. I think you should consider him as something that concerns you. For my part, I make no difference be­tween your affection and mine; and I am without all reservation.

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 25 May. 1633.

To the same — LET. LIV.

SIR, I know not how to present my self before you: though my conscience doth acquit me, some appearances condemn me; and you see my fault, but know not my affaires; I have had variety of them ever these three moneths, which have strangely exercised me; and whereof I am yet so weary, that I must have a great while to re­cover my selfe. All that I can, is to use my idleness well, and to make something of my leasure. Now that I have got it in possession again, I mean not to be disseised of it: If it be possible, I bid eternal farewel to all Contracts, Transactions and Acquittances. These are Ornaments of our language which must not (in my opinion) enter into your Poems. You have more care of the chastity of your Damsel, then to violate her with these villanous terms; and this were of a Vi [...]gin to make a strumpet of her. But I can never obtain that small favor of you, or prevail so much as to see here (at least) the first hundred verses that do concern her. I do preserve carefully all those things that you have [Page 65] sent, and never produce them out of my Treasury, but to impart them to choice wits. The invention of your first Metamorphosis is ingenious, Ovid had swelled up and dilated that subject which you have contra­cted and pressed together. But the importance is, that in this little, you appear great; and I behold you intire in every parcel. The se­cond part doth please me no lesse yet then the first, and I hold that Lionness happy that hath heaven for an Amphitheater, and hath been placed there by such a hand as yours. You make her jarre so well and tunably; and her roaring is so sweet and melodious in your Verses, that there is no musick comparable. Those of — do not flow in such numbers. Longe (que) pulch [...]ius spectaculum est, & dignius oculis cruditi, vi­dere nobilem illam feram, quam miserum & febriculesum Annaei Lucaeni Si­mium. With the last letter I received Bembus which you sent me. In truth he is not so well polished and digested as those Authors in the Library of Monsieur — But all tattered and confused as it is, I can assure you, it likes me infinitely. I never love luxury, and am nothing curious for gay Cloathes. The beauty of Chariclea did shine through her raggs; and your Marini hath made a Sonnet, wherein he tells us, how he fell in love with a canting D [...]xie. I thank you therefore for Vinus and the Graces (though ill attired) which I met with, in your Books, and remain

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac 3. July, 1633.

To the same — LET. LV.

SIR, I entertain your commendations like ill gotten goods; the fruition whereof is sweet, although unjust. It is some honor to me to have so excellent a Flatterer as you are; and I suffer my self willingly, and take a pleasure to be deceived by a man that can do it so neatly. I think (indeed) that the verses which you have seen, are not bad in their kind; but I think withall, that this is the shortest of all kinds. I durst not engage my self in a wider carreere; my strength serves but for a short tugg; and I walk at the foot of your Parnassu [...]; but I should want breath, if I should attempt to mount the top. You do (indeed) Sir, bear the name of a great Poet, and succeed equally in all sorts of Verses; and though you speak with extream modesty of the last work which you sent me: I doe not finde that it oweth any thing to the fairest pieces that you have shewed us. There is no stanza that hath not its [Page 66] particular value; nor no piece but is remarkable for some beauty. But that which did chiefly relish with me was the Prayer which you direct to Apollo; and that admirable Musick, (which proceeding out of the Clouds) heals your malady in a trice. This is not the effect of ordinary Poetry; it is a fit of that divine rapture and fury, which Plato hath acknowledged; and which the first Poets were sometimes possessed with. Send me such Presents often, if you would have me rich in my poverty; and have good company in my solitude. But a­bove all, love me well, if you would have me happy; and assure your self, that no man in the world is more then I am

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 9. Aug. 1634.

To the same — LET. LVI.

SIR, I know that you love me, and I know that you are in health, but this is not enough; I must learn something more concerning it; and you must tell me some newes of your brave meditations. Doth the Girle wage warre, or doth she keep at home in the Coun­try with her Father? Doth Charles grow soft in the embraces of the fair Agnes, or doth he quit love for honor? In what state are the affairs of England? How doth Hire and Pothe? VVhat do your Achil­l [...]s and Aj [...]x? are you for a battle or for a siege?

J [...]m nunc minaci murmure cornuum
Perstringis aures, jam litui strepūt:
Audire magnos jam videor Duces
Non indecoro pulvere sordidos, &c.

See questions enough at once; but you are not bound to answer to them punctually; and provided, that you satisfie me in one Article, you have to deal with a man of a facile disposition, who will not be ri­gorous for the rest. I am now more a Hermit then ever; and for ha­ving here a little Court but two dayes onely, I had the Megrim by it for three weeks. Tranquility and silence Sir, are precious things; and it Epicurus had some reason to complain of his very friends, that they did break his head with their applause and acclamations: what must be said of the bawlings and exclamations of a mans enemies? of the first and second part of the Philarkes of their times? Those that write are subject both to the one and the other persecution. But for my [Page 67] part, I avow to you, that hitherto Complements have done me more harm then injuries. I use none towards you Sir, for fear you should complain of me in the same manner; and I am content to tell you, that I am without complement, that is, intirely

Angoulesme 1. Sept. 1632.
Your &c.

To Monsieur de Silhon. LET. LVII.

SIR, You shew a sort of humility that is not sufferable; and though it be the proper stile of Saints to talk of their vileness, and their nothingnesse, yet to reject all testimonies indifferently, that come from another, is in my opinion rather a contempt of our Neighbor then a modest conceit of our selves. I am no flatterer, but I prayse or disprayse, according as I am perswaded of the merit of things, or their default; and if I talk often of the great lights that you have, whether in a sacred or prophane Learning, it is because I have been dazled therewith. Your three Discourses do please me infinitely; and I am very well pleased that mine did not displease you: But I am the more glad that you are of my opinion touching the putting down quite of all Answers, Replies, Defences, Apologies, and the like. Since I have but laughed at the attempts of a Legion, I do not mean to complain of the insolence of one Garbine; A man were better to pick out an ene­mies, and this here may fight all alone, if it please him: It is not fit to shew anger against a man that deserves pitty, nor to lose patience upon an occasion so obscure, that it were hard to make it appear. You send me no news concerning the affaires of Italy, and I am very desirous to hear some. It hath been told me that Monsieur Maynard hath not appeared in Paris, though Monsieur de No [...]illes be arrived thither. He will (perhaps) be stayed a longer time. If it be so, my af­fection is so far ingenious, as to torment my mind▪ I stand in fear (for his sake) of all the dangers both of Sea and Land. J do apprehend at once that he is led captive into Barbary; and that the Spaniards have surprised him. That which must comfort me in this distraction is, that a good spirit doth passe undauntedly through all; and that they were the Poets (his Predecessors) that made wings for Daed [...]lus. How­ever you will confess, that if Epigrams be current among the Millanois, and that he wants but 2000, of them for his ransom, he hath where­wth [Page 68] to satisfie them without dammage to himself. In truth, I am sol­licitous touching this my dear friend; and you will oblige me, if you will be pleased to send me a relation of his Adventures, when you shall come to know them. I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
Balzac. 30 Decem. 1636.

To Monsieur Gerard Secretary to my Lord the Duke of Espernon. LET. LVIII.

SIR, Happy are those actions that fall under your Pen and History. Since you do extol a mans idleness, even to the envy of the world, and so far, as to propose it for an example, what will you talk of the life of the Swedish King, and other Miracles of our age, if you will take them in hand? The mischief is, that those that have heard you shall see me; and you have set me at so high a rate, that I cannot hold af­ter it, but upon your credit, and by my own absence. If Monsieur the Duke of — passeth by Balzac, the Legend that you have framed of me, will at first dash lose that probability that it carried, and I shall be no more that famous Hermit that hath been related and described unto him by an officious Impostor. In vain will he seek among my pa­pers the fine things that you have promised him; and it will repent him (perhap [...]) that he turned out of the Rode, for such a sad spectacle that I shall exhibit him. In any case Sir, I will present my self, and if hitherto you have deceived him, yet you shall acquit your self of the name of Cozener, when you shall assure him on my behalf of an inviola­ble fidelity, and hearty acknowledgement. These are qualities which I possess in a soveraign degree; and which I preserve for him in the bottom of my soul. But the passion which I bear to his Honour, must not be still kept as a secret, and I will at length profess, what I have this long while adored in particular manner. Do me the favor as to tell him thus much, and believe withall, if you please, that I am

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac. 30. March 1635.

To the same — LET. LIX.

SIR, I love no kind of quarrelling, much lesse with my friends. But it is a thing worthy pitty, that a man should receive conti­nual wrongs, and yet must not open his mouth to complain, but he shall be censured for a troublesom and untoward fellow. I know the eager spirit of that man that speaks so loud, when my interests are in agitation. I know he is carried with the hot vapors that exhale from that sulphury vein, which (you say) lyeth about his heart. But you will confesse notwithstanding, that the bottom of that heart is not bad. His lavishness proceeds from a fair spring; and in acts of friendship an in­undation is better then drouth. I forgive the irritated zeal, inconsi­derate goodness, and impetuousness of a man that cannot love with moderation. We must do him some right; and not hate his passion, though we approve it not; for my part, I do permit it, but not imploy it; and though he tells me, that he hath a fierce Satyre to come forth to kill our Messer, if he do not save himself in the little Cottage; I give him thanks for his good will, but I desire him to deliver the Satyre into my hands, & for this purpose only, that none might see it. You shal find in my packet some latine compositions that were sent me, & particularly, the latter teares of S. Peter, which have been commended unto you. In my judgement, (and I think you will subscribe to it) he is too subtle, and shews too much punctuality in delineating a true Penitent. Na­ture doth not speak thus, nor its passions either, which are the Daugh­ters of nature, as subtleties are the wantons of Art. S. Peters sorrow is admirably well expressed by Grotius; and these four verses of his, which I remember, do weigh down the 400 that I have sent you.

Quae me recondet Regi [...]? quâ maestum diem
Fallam latebrâ? quaero nigrantem specum
Quâ me sepeliam vivus; ubi nullum vid [...]ns,
Nulli videndus, lachrymas soveam meas.

Are not these worthy of the Heroick times and purest Antiquity? the rest of the discourse is animated with the same Genius; and is a lesson for Orators, that sorrow must not be elaborate, or at leastwise must not betray any studied care. I leave your Brother to relate newes; he hath in charge to inform you of all occurrences, and therefore I have nothing to say, but that I am

Sir,
Your, &c.
Balzac. 15. June 1636.

To Monsieur De la Mothe Le Vayer. LET. LX.

SIR, My spirits have been so dull and heavy these three dayes, [...]hat it is beyond imagination. Never did any man lose the relish of all Books and Arts as I did; and hence you may gather that that which you sent me, was very delicate, when it procured an appetite to a languishing man. You have strangely altered me in a moment: my soul is touched to the quick; and you have made it so hungry after knowledge, that I have no mind to any thing but to your Philo­sophy. If you will set up a Sect, I am ready to enrole my self, at least wise, I will subscribe willingly to that franke Doctrine, which main­tains its liberty against the usurpations of Aristotle; and is contented to acknowledge lawful power, but not to be slave to the Tyranny of one particular man. I speak Sir, as I believe Doubtless your work will last, and to give you your full due, I must give it in your own lan­guage: so noble an act of the soul, is not the weakest argument we have of its immortality; and if any shall hereafter take in hand this subject, he will be beholding to you for this new argument, which your modesty would not permit you to make use of. Certainly there were no reason nor colour, that the Off-spring should be of a better condition then the Mother; and that those productions which must encounter time, and conquer Fate, should flow from a corruptible Principle. But since I have sped so well in my first sollicitations, I de­sire not to stop there▪ This good success doth encourage me to re­double them, and in the name of all the Learned, to begge yet more works of the same vigour. Though I should perform no other Office in the Commonwealth of Learning then this, I were not an unuseful member; and this will be (one day) honour enough for me, when it will be said, that I gave the counsel for those labors which you have undertaken. Acquire for me Sir, this reputation, that I may adde it to that which I would gladly deserve all my life time, which is to be

Balzac. 29. March 1637.
Your &c.

To Monsieur de — LET. LXI.

SIR, The Discourse which you did me the honour to send me, is full of an infinite number of good things; and none can deny but your friend is both learned and judicious. Nevertheless I do not think that he will finde in that place whither he goeth, that approba­tion which he promiseth to himself: I think that (for his speaking Latine after the French manner) his meaning is better than his expres­sion. He is not alwayes so regular as I would desire; and his words do sometimes do wrong to his thoughts. True it is, that in these times we are very nice and delicate in the purity of expressions. VVe can brook no stile that is licentious, be it never so little; and whatsoever is no after the garbe of the Court is accounted barbarous. This is not that I am of the opinion of Monsieur do — that said that the good mans judgement could never passe beyond the Gar [...]nd; and that he was put into such a fright at Blaye, that he durst not adventure any farther. VVhen he spake this, he forgot (sure) that Mons. de Pibrac, Monside Montegne, and the Cardinal de Ossat were Gascons; & their solid judgements which are admired to this day over all Europe, do suffici­ently refute that poor jest which passeth among some for excellent. It is certain that Reason is common to all Countries, and consequently is of that, where they say Adieu-sias, as well as when they say Dieu vous condu ssi. It is confined to no place, and we may finde subtlety among the Switzers, and stupidity among the Florentines; but indeed, for the Language, it is not all alike: without question in some places, they speak better then elsewhere, and whereas a Courtier of Rome did tast something of Padua in the Histories of Titus Liviu [...], it is not impossible to observe in the writings and conversations of your men some tincture of their Province. Ever and anon, you shall observe them to let flip vousist for voulust, fausist for falust, cousin mi [...]n, & ie suis esté a Thoulouze, which marre all good speech: and their allarent, donuarent armarent, have run over their banks, and come as far as our Countrey. The late Monsieur de Malherbe hath told me often that he did what possible he could for to correct the dialect of Monsieur de — and purge it of Gasconisme, but could never bring it about: so difficult is it to wipe off our natural stains, and utterly to weare out the badge of our Countrey. Neverthelesse for all this, neither the Patavinity of Titus [Page 72] Livius, nor the Gasconisme of some of our times, do hinder them from being reputed Eloquent. And for one petty fault, either of use or of Grammer, I condemn not those works which in all other respects, are excellent. To satisfie your desire, I have sent by Monsieur de — the Letters of Monsieur Heinsius, one whereof preceded my Dissertation, the other followed his answer. Now that I have furnished you with these two Letters, to entertain you a while; be pleased not to take it amisse that I take leave of you, and all the world for two years. I am forbid to write any thing for so long a time, and this is an oath that I have taken by the order of my Confessor; and upon good and waighty considerations. I hope God will give me the grace to observe it.

Nec mihi scribendi veniet tam dira cupido:

And you will not (I am sure) tempt me to sin, and provoke me to break that silence which I have sworn to. But though you should so­licite me a tho [...]and times, and assault me every day in two or three Languages, I am resolved to be inexorable, and not to be moved with that happy abundance of your words. If you terme me uncivil, and expostulate with me in the words of your Poet.

Ʋnde istam meruit non faelix charta repulsam?
Hostes ab Hoste tamen per barbara verba salutem
Accipit, & Salve mediis intervenit armis;
Respondent & saxa homini.

I will make answer with an audible voice both to your Poet and you, that Religion must sway Civility, and that a lesser duty must yield to a greater. Finally if there be an absolute necessity, that we have some commerce with each other; in this case, I will chuse rather to make a journey then write a letter, and expose my self to the hazard of shipwrack by going to see you, then violate my faith by writing to you. Adieu then until the year of 1639. which we will begin (by Gods grace) by the renewing of our ancient Trafick. Is is

Sir,
Your &c.
Balzac.—
FINIS.

A Table of the Letters (as they lie in order) which are contained in this Volume.

  • TO Monsieur Conrart Let. 1. p. 1.
  • To Monsieur du Moulin. let. 2. p. 3
  • To Mons. L'Huillier. let. 3. p. 4
  • To Mons. the Abbat of Rois-Robert. let. 4. p. 6
  • To my Lord the Earl of Excester. let. 5. p. 7
  • To my Lord the Duke De la Valette. let. 6. p. 8
  • To Mins. Drovet. let. 7. p. 9
  • To Mons. De-Bonair. let. 8. p. 10
  • To Mons. Huggens let. 9. p. 11
  • To Mons. de Racan. let. 10. p. 12
  • To Mons. De St. Chartres. let. 11. p. 13
  • To Mons. Baudoin. let. 12. p. 14
  • To Mons. De Coignet. let. 13. p. 15
  • To Madam Desloges. let. 14. p. 16
  • To my Lord Keeper of the Seals Seguier, &c. let. 15. p. 17
  • To Mons. De Morins. let. 16. p. 18
  • To Mons. De Vaugelas. let. 17. p. 19
  • To Mons. De la Motte Aigron. let. 18. p. 21
  • To Mons. De Borstel. let. 19. p. 22
  • To Mons. the chief Advocate, let. 20. p. 23
  • To Mons. De Maury, let. 21. p. 24
  • To Mons De Mondory. let. 22. p. 24
  • To Mons. Le Guay. let. 23. p. 26
  • To Mons. De Silhon. let. 24. p. 26
  • To Mons. De la Fosse. let. 25. p. 27
  • To Mons. D' Espesses. let. 26. p 29
  • To the same. let. 27. p. 30
  • [Page]To Mons. De Couurelles. let. 28. p. 32
  • To — let. 29. p. 32
  • To my Lord the Bishop of Angoulesme. let. 30. p. 33
  • To Mons. de — let. 31. p. 34
  • To Mons. De Serizary. let 32. p. 39
  • To Mons. Habert Abbat of Cerizy. l. 33. p. 40
  • To Mons. De Gaillard. let. 34. p. 41
  • To the same. let. 35. p. 42
  • To Madam Desloges. let. 36. p. 43
  • To Mons. de — let. 37. p. 44
  • To Mons. Girard. let. 38. p. 46
  • To the same. let. 39. p. 47
  • To the same. let. 40. p. 48
  • To the same, let. 41. p. 49
  • To Madamoisel de Campagnole. let. 42. p. 50
  • To Mons. the Abbat of Bois-Robert. let. 43. p. 51
  • To the same. let. 44. p. 52
  • To the same. let. 45. p. 53
  • To Mons. de Savignac. let. 46. p. 54
  • To Mons. Chapelain. let. 47. p. 56
  • To the same. let. 48. p. 57
  • To the same. let. 49. p. 58
  • To the same. let. 50. p. 59
  • To the same. let. 51. p. 60
  • To the same. let. 52. p. 62
  • To the same. let. 53. p. 63
  • To the same. let. 54. p. 64
  • To the same. let. 55. p. 65
  • To the same. let. 56. p. 66
  • To Mons. de Silhon. let. 57. p. 67
  • To Mons. Gerard Secretary to the D. of Espernon. l. 58. p. 68
  • To the same. let. 59. p. 69
  • To Mons. de la Mothe le Vayer. let. 60. p. 70
  • To Mons. de — let. 61. p. 71

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